A/N:

LOL, remember how I said I would have chapters 7-10 done by now? Well, school decided to be an obstacle, and I am nowhere near done with them.

Hopefully, I will at least finish Chapter 7 by October 31st, since it is a Halloween chapter, but don't get your hopes super high. I'll try to keep you guys updated on scheduling.

But how are you guys? It's been awhile! Is four weeks long enough to mull over Kurtzman's death?

This chapter is shorter than all the other chapters, but it's really…insightful. Let's just say, details shouldn't be glossed over.

Welcome back to the Shaded Sunrise. Let's just dive right in…

XXX

Chapter 6: Storybooks

"So, you really have never been to 24/7?"

Rainwater rolled off his shoes as Michelangelo held the door open for Timothy, the little bell resounding to signal their arrival.

As Timothy retracted his umbrella, he entered the noodle shop with eyes as wide as dinner plates, wonderment luminescing his lineaments.

"Nope, this would be a first," his words tailed after a sigh of awe.

The boys had agreed to the decision to start spending time outside of class, and as soon as Mikey found out that he had never been to his favorite restaurant, he knew that that would have to change.

"Well, you're in for a treat!" the door closed behind him as Mikey then lead Timothy to the stools at the counter, "Mr. Murakami makes the best food!"

On and off rain must have been unappealing, as the once bustling restaurant was now lonely and only managed to reel in two customers.

Clambering onto the tall seat, Mikey watched as Mr. Murakami came over.

"Murakami-san, this is my friend Timothy, Timothy, this is Murakami-san," Mikey introduced, happy to connect, intertwine, and create a whole network of friendships.

Timothy tensed, giving an awkward and shy wave, "Uh, hello."

The old chef grinned, though he obviously did not see the gesture. "It is always nice to meet one of Michelangelo's friends."

Mr. Murakami turned in the direction of Mikey's voice, "Do I need to question what you two will be ordering?"

"Nah, because I'm going to make Timothy try the famous pizza gyoza," Mikey finger-gunned his friend.

The man chuckled at his predictable response. "Alright, I am on it," he said before going to prepare the dish.

The usual thrumming conversations that filled this place simply did not exist on gloomy days like this. Timothy began to whistle idly when Mikey chose to pull out his phone and activate its camera.

His camera roll took up most of the storage on his phone—he loved to capture memories and cosset every captivating and convivial concept he came across. Moments he'd cherish and would want to view again. Pockets of happiness in his troubling life were things he never took for granted.

But lately, he had been too riveted and rocketing towards his destination to slow down and enjoy the spaces in between.

Without telling Timothy, he turned on the front camera, positioning it so that they both were in the picture. Though Timothy caught sight of it and smiled by instinct, which made Mikey grin in return.

Click.

Mikey looked at the picture.

It was a nice, sincere, sepia snapshot. Another for the collection in his camera roll.

"Mikey, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What?" he said, not looking up.

"Are we really friends?"

He turned his screen off and put it back in his pocket.

The pompom from his beanie fell in the center of his forehead as he stared at Timothy.

"Of course—why would you doubt that?" he answered with confusion.

Panic on a minor scale roused in the teen, making him wave his arms in rushed reassurance, "Oh, nothing! It's just that, well, we don't really know each other. I mean, we kind of do, but we don't know about each other's lives."

Mikey crumpled like paper. His story was something he liked to keep packed and stored away, to be left untouched and collecting dust.

It wasn't because he was ashamed of his past, but rather he knew that the contents were hard for people to swallow. Words were painful, most chapters written with ugly tragedies.

Yet his cover was misleading. People were quick to misjudge by his cover—he appeared so wholesome. So happy, so warm, so pure.

Yet once he was opened up, and they discovered the pages that bind him up, they would be taken aback. Their perspectives would change, as well as their behavior.

All Mikey ever wanted to be was a light unto the world, even though his past was tainted with dark handprints from this place, and speaking of it always left a mark on others as well.

Delicate sympathy was something he was sick of, he was sick of people treating him like he was a glass figurine.

He was sick of ruining moods, sick of being a broken record. Sick of being broken.

He gave a side glance. "Well, that's true," he told his friend, though with averseness.

Timothy beamed, sitting upright and clasping his hands together, "Ok, I'll go first! So, like I've said before, I'm an only child. My parents got a divorce when I was really young, and I still visit my dad in Rhode Island, but I live with my mom."

He began to count with his fingers, "I'm allergic to peanuts, I have a pet gerbil, I love NES games, and I kinda have trouble making friends."

Timothy sighed, but continued on. "That's why my mom made me sign up for something so I can get out of the house. I thought being a ninja and fighting Purple Dragons would make everything complete. Make me, like, the whole package," there was a hint of cockiness in the last remark, but he wrapped it up by adding at the end, "Now, what about you?"

"You have a gerbil? That's awesome!"

"Uh, yeah, his name is Spunky. But what about you?"

"I don't have a gerbil—but I have a kitty named Klunk!"

"No, no, I mean what's your backstory?"

Mikey bit the inside of his cheeks, quick to turn away. "Oh...well, I mean, I already told you about my brothers. There's nothing much more to it."

He really hoped Timothy would drop it, but it only got worse.

"I'm sorry to bring it up like this, but you also mentioned your dad being...what about your mom?"

Mom.

Breath hitched, Mikey switched to biting his lip. He yanked his beanie to cover his eyes.

'C'mon Mikey, if you want to be a vigilante with him, he's gotta know your origin story. If you want to be his friend, he's gotta know you.

He tried to cheer himself up, and slowly exhaled, pulling his beanie back.

"There's nothing much I really know about her," Michelangelo forced himself to say, "She kind of passed away when I was really little because of kidney failure. In fact, the only things I can really remember her by is her special spaghetti, my blonde hair, and the fact that she gave me a bad kidney too."

"Wait...are you dying?"

"No!"

Mikey's stool screeched as he turned to face him, it now being his turn to quickly reassure, "No, no, I'm not dying. I just used to have autosomal dominant polycystic kidney disease when I was a kid. It's when these gnarly cysts grow all over them and your kidneys shut down. It got so bad on one of them that I had to get a transplant when I was nine years old."

It had been a long time since he read aloud that chapter of his life. Though that experience would always be a part of the present, he never liked to purposely dive into history.

"Jeez..." Timothy cowered in his seat, "I'm sorry Mikey."

"No, it's ok!" Mikey plastered on a smile, "It wasn't all bad. My dad got me some rad things, like my ukulele and even my kitty, Klunk."

His father had been very against owning a pet cat, he remembered. But even his father fell victim of the guilt that one feels when seeing their child in a hospital bed.

That white bed, the blue gown. He prayed that he'd never have to lay in one ever again.

There was one nice thing he could correlate with the bed, however.

"I even met my best friend through my times on dialysis. My best friend—Renet—her mom's a nurse. So, after school hours, Renet would come and visit me and keep me company. We'd talk for at least an hour every time she came to see me."

She used to always wear cute Sunday dresses. Pastel ones with bows and frills—she'd even sometimes wear a floppy hat. Renet would always come in with stories to tell, books to read, video games to play. She'd sit at the end of that white bed and always cheered him up. Renet was the first person he really felt deeply connected with.

Now, it had been a while since he's seen her. He missed her.

"You also became good friends with me after the surgery, Michelangelo," Mr. Murakami spoke up, pulling Mikey away from his daydreams.

The stool squeaked from under him, "Oh yeah, after I got my new kidney I had to start a strict diet, and so Murakami-san taught me how to make some pretty mean substitutes."

Timothy looked impressed—though it never took much. "You can cook? That's so cool!"

"I guess that's pretty cool," Mikey rubbed the back of his neck. "But yeah, that's why I have to take so much medication every single day," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"What does it do?" Timothy asked.

"Well, since it's someone else's kidney, my body will try to reject it. The immune system or whatever. So, the medication makes it so it weakens that. They're called immunosuppressants. Which sucks, because now I get sick super easily." Mikey shuddered at the memory of his flu vaccination.

His friend's features scrunched in concentration, "Wait, so let me get this straight...if you have someone else's kidney, does that mean you have two sets of DNA?!" His eyes bulged from his own comment.

Hm. He never thought of it like that.

Mikey shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do."

He could already begin to feel the burdensome denseness that was crushing the both of them. His stories tended to do that. Puffing out his cheeks, Mikey took a finger and subconsciously traced a double helix on the polished counter.

"So, if your mom...does that mean that you're..."

A deep breath.

"Yeah."

Nose tickling, eyes stinging—all the familiar sensations of weakness. All the signs of appearing to be the same broken boy people pictured him out to be when he told his sad tales.

He was so sick of crying. So, not this time. No, he wouldn't allow his past to take control of his present.

"About my dad..."

He shut his eyes. Tears retreated. He was ok.

Michelangelo twisted his chair and faced Timothy head-on.

"He wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't sick like my mom. It was just a normal evening when I found out that..." He blinked dryly.

"He was murdered."

Timothy gasped, "Oh, shit."

"We don't know who killed him, and what kind of degree of murder it was...but my family is managing okay. I still have three older brothers, and I have Renet and Murakami and Sensei Bradford and my other friends. And now I have you."

Now he hoped his smile wasn't too faulty. Mikey looked at his friend, his short brown hair sticking to his forehead as he was still subdued to silence. Mikey twiddled his thumbs to exert his nervous energy.

Timothy eventually sat straight, a mellow expression softening him. "Wow, Mikey...like I see you totally different now."

"I'm sorry—"

"No, in a good way," Timothy grinned, "I totally respect you dude! You're a strong little guy. I'm proud of you."

Mr. Murakami then interrupted, placing two plates in front of them, "Two orders of pizza gyoza."

The boys thanked him, the man ruffling Mikey's head before heading back to his kitchen.

Taking his chopsticks, he said to Timothy, "You know, I'm proud of myself too."

XXX

"Kurtzman was murdered, Usagi. Jack Kurtzman was killed."

Impetuous, Leonardo flitted ahead of Usagi towards the patrol car, vigorously shaking his head.

The cops had to go on another stakeout at a different location. Chief Zeno was not happy when he discovered that the thieves gotten away under their watch. First strike out of three.

So, off to another hospital in hopes of finding Anton and Xever—if Harmony hadn't disposed of them herself.

But those three weren't the ones that had the upper hand on his fragile brain.

Claws sunk deep into his mind, any comfort he had experienced in the recent past now spoiled and revealed to be a betrayal.

Detective Kurtzman was murdered, he just knew it.

"That is ludicrous," Usagi called out, "I have already told you, I was acknowledged that Mr. Kurtzman's mortality was caused by a heart attack. You sound—"

"What?" Leo whipped around, causing Usagi to come to an abrupt stop, "Delusional? Paranoid?

I'm not crazy. The heart attack, that's the coverup. It's way too much of a coincidence that after years of searching for a lead on my father's case, that the moment he finds one, he dies out of the blue."

The rookie jostled the car door open, climbing inside and not hesitating to slam it shut. Childish, but he didn't care.

Out of the corner of his eye, Leo saw Usagi go onto the driver's side, unlatching his door before huffing and sitting beside him.

"He was fifty-four, Leonardo—"

"And that's not old. He was a healthy person, this was obviously a murder. And now his killer is walking free—"

"Leonardo, listen to me," Usagi gripped his shoulder, Leo wincing at the strength of the touch and shrinking under the eye contact, "Please respect Jack Kurtzman. You are spiraling down the same harmful path you took when your father passed. I understand that all of this news is very unsettling, but you are jumping to conclusions rather too quickly. Instead of engrossing yourself in your emotions and fear, please respect the dead. You have to trust me when I say that this was no malicious act, and that nature has run its course. Death does not have to be born from a nefarious act."

Death does not have to be born from a nefarious act.

Car engine grumbled. Brown eyes ignited.

Lips began to quiver, the youth cleaving apart from the searing stare as he crumpled and caved in on himself.

It was then that he grew conscious of how cold he really was. Leo shivered.

Misty eyed, his voice became a pathetic whimper, "I just...I can't believe he's really gone. I can't believe he was so close to figuring out who killed my father. I just can't believe my friend is gone."

Rain pitter-pattered against the windshield. Lungs became shallow and hollow, his breath just as temporary as the lives of those around him. Breath entered, and breath dissipated, much like human souls.

Condensation clouded windows. His vision was opaque, and his path was so hazy.

He wasn't a stranger to grief, but with every single loved one buried, a portion of himself was lost. Irretrievable and irreplaceable.

Usagi pressed the gas pedal.

"It is going to be alright. Kurtzman is in a wonderful place now, filled with peace and pure bliss. I am positive he would not want you to be in such despair over him."

Leo closed his eyes.

"I can't help it."

The ride was short but filled with lethal laconism. Like a single utterance would rupture a fracture. Like speaking would make Jack Kurtzman even more dead.

Windshield wipers swayed back and forth like a pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth.

Leonardo had thought the pain was coming to a stop, but he should've known that things were going too well. When things are going too well, the scale must tip, and the pendulum would swing back to tragedy.

If only someday, he could just find equilibrium.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Usagi and Leo stayed a block away just like the last stakeout. Though hours had gone by and Anton and Xever had yet to creep out of the shadows. Maybe it was because of the rain.

Leo chuckled to himself, Usagi turning his head at the first human sound to appear in a while.

"You know," Leo began, staring out the blurry windshield. "It rained when he died. My father, I mean. A cruel cliché, but the truth nevertheless."

No words. Usagi turned off the wipers.

"I had just turned twenty-one. He had taken me out for my first legal drink," he continued, recounting the most painful day of his life. No matter how badly he'd wish to repress the tragedy, it was stained on every component that made him human—heart, mind, and soul.

"I know it's kind of lame for your father to be the one to take you out on your twenty-first birthday, but it hadn't bothered me. We were close. Really close."

He cracked an ironic smile. "While we were at the bar, he had given me this whole, long speech about what it meant to be an adult. What it meant to be a man. I can't really recall the words anymore. Probably something wise and whimsical, something that could probably help me right about now."

As the story unfolded, memories became clearer and more prominent. He swallowed hard.

"We were in a taxi on our way home when I noticed my father appearing lost in thought and distracted. I knew he hadn't gotten too drunk, and that he was too focused on something to be just spacing out. And that was when he suddenly told the driver to pull over."

Young Leonardo's eyes raise as he sees Yoshi exit the taxi with undeniable urgency.

"Father? Are you sick? Where are you going?"

Remembering gave his body a negative response, the trauma making his heart pound. He pushed through and continued the story, "I didn't know why he got out, but I didn't get too worried until he looked at me dead in the eyes, and said to 'stay in the car'."

Yoshi's eyes are hooded with darkness as his eyelashes catch raindrops.

"Stay in the car. I will be right back, but it is crucial that you stay in this taxi. Do you understand?" his voice is stone, the wrinkles on his forehead adding more to the sternness of his tone.

Worry pours in faster than the rain.

"Father, what's wrong?" his voice shatters similarly to a child's.

"I cannot explain—just promise me, promise me you'll stay right here and not go after me."

"Papa—" he begins to beg for an answer.

"Leonardo! Promise me, please."

This only fans his curiosity, but the desperation in his beloved father's voice creates a strong sense of fear and respect, which overpowers. He leans away from the car door before nodding.

"Okay."

Leo gripped the armrest is his seat.

"The serious and stern way he said it made my stomach drop. I then watched as he disappeared down a narrow alleyway. Seconds transitioned into minutes, and the taxi driver wasn't the only one growing impatient. As you know, my father believed in spirits. He passed down that ideology to me, I suppose. I was never too certain where I stood on my belief until that moment. Because in that moment, I swear something possessed me. A feeling, a warning. A constant voice that was screaming at me that something absolutely terrible was about to go down just beyond the alley. And I couldn't just sit there anymore. I ran out to follow where he had gone."

"Sensei?" he calls out, the taxi stranding him as he ventures further down the suspicious alley.

"Father?"

"I remember hearing my father yelling, though my mind couldn't translate the dialogue due to the terror fogging it. But I do remember my father saying one thing, one haunting thing that I think about every night before I fall asleep."

As voices grew louder, young Leo clings to the wall to stay hidden. Unexplained shudders rattle him as rain weighs down his hair. He pants with anxiety.

"He said, 'death comes for all of us, but something comes much worse for you. For when you die, it will be without honor'."

"Death comes for all of us, but something comes much worse for you. For when you die, it will be without honor."

The boy can't hide any longer.

Gripping the armrest tighter, his throat constricted as mangled words were forced out. "It was when I finally turned the corner when it happened."

Bang!

"The trigger was pulled, and the bullet was shot."

Leo's pupils shrink as he lets out a measly gasp.

Tears streamed down his face. "My dad stumbled backwards into me, and I was able to catch him before he could fall to the ground. My knees buckled. I instantly went into a state of shock. I couldn't think, I couldn't talk, I couldn't breathe. All I could do was stare as the bloodstain grew larger and larger."

Red. Inking, spilling, spreading. Such a beautiful color. Enchanting, almost. Beautiful crimson. A hand runs through his father's wet hair.

His bodily functions force a sharp inhale, sucking Leo back to reality long enough for him to lift his head up.

"During a pocket of mental control, I looked up to try to see the man who had done this. I only managed to see the barrel of a gun, and a masked face before the killer ran off. And then suddenly I heard strangled words struggling to surface from my father's bloodied mouth. He was choking on his own breath, the very thing that gave him life was now forsaking him. He couldn't speak. He didn't give me any last wisdom. It all happened so fast. It was when his eyes rolled back that mine began to water."

"...Papa?"

Eyelids close. He shakes his father once more.

"Papa, please don't. Papa don't, please."

Hyperventilation. He trembles violently.

"The initial shock wore off long enough for me to catch up on what had just happened. I uselessly began to call out for help, attempted to salvage what little blood supply he had left."

Pressing his white hands over red, his lungs finally give him permission to bawl.

"Help! Somebody! My dad's been shot! Someone, anyone, please! Help me!"

His pleas went ignored. Gazing down, he slowly rose his new bloody hands, uncontrollably shaking. But he doesn't give up hope. His father taught him to never give up hope.

Cupping Yoshi's face, he uses his thumbs to wipe the rain from his closed eyes.

"Papa, please open your eyes, ok? Just open your eyes."

Nothing.

"Please! Daddy, please! Please don't go!"

Sniffling, he pulls him in closer and places his ear against his chest.

Nothing.

"I was too late."

"No...no, you can't die! Please come back! I still need you!" he sobs.

Crunched up in the back of the alley, the boy continues to sob and scream until his throat turns raw and tastes of iron.

Peering down at his father, he only then notices how ashen he has become, how still. How lifeless. Hiccupping, he lowers himself down, kissing his father's forehead one last time.

A thumb suddenly wiped a tear off his cheek. Leonardo jumped, looking and seeing the sympathy written on Usagi.

"...It's not your fault," his friend told him.

He took a deep breath, rubbing away the excess tears that escaped from telling his tale.

"I know it's not. It's the bastard with the gun, whoever the hell he is. I just, I just don't get it. My father never explained what he was doing, or why he got out in the first place to speak to this man. But whoever he is, he doesn't deserve any mercy."

Somewhere along the course of the story, the rain had stopped, and the clouds had parted for the time being. A shaded sunrise was beginning to poke over the horizon, casting an ominous warmth and mixture of light and dark. An equilibrium.

But Leo knew this was far from over. And he knew that whoever killed Kurtzman was also his father's killer.

"And it's like my father said," Leo said to Usagi as they started up the patrol car to head out.

"When he dies, it will be without honor."

XXX

Preview for Chapter 7: Spooky Suspicions !

Before leaving, Usagi gave Leonardo one last look. "Tell the boys I wish them a happy Halloween."

The Oroku mansion was, for a fact, the most lavish place Raphael had ever set foot in—outstretched, crystalline windows made up a portion of the building's walls, flat roofs sheltered it, and it had a striking white exterior—recognizable, modern Japanese architecture.

"Karai?"

Coming out October 31st !

XXX

JLJ, AXA, XKA, COFBKA,

XII QEOBB EXSB AOLMMBA ABXA.

LKB FII, LKB HFIIBA…

TFII JLOB YLLA YB PFIIBA?