Chapter 4
The Void

Summer was over. The birds had migrated, the leaves, dry and scattered, crunched softly under a lone traveller's feet wrapped in bandage. A cloaked figure emerged from the woods and stood on the slope to gaze over an open field. But unlike those tall grasses swaying in unison in the early afternoon breeze, his mind was adamantly still. He lifted his snout from beneath his cowl, the smell of burning wood mingled with the aroma of freshly baked pie wafting strongly in the air. Then with the wooden staff in his left hand, and a portable aquarium inhabited by three young terrapins in the other, the traveller ambled down the slope and waded across the field towards the farmhouse.

It was not a home he was returning to but a temporary shelter where old friends awaited. They were the only ones who understood; tolerant of his reclusive nature. They knew he moved along with the seasons and would not return until the earth was barren and cold again. Just like today.

Passing through the picket fences, he found himself surrounded by scattered piles of chopped wood in the front yard. He took notice of the car parked in the driveway before coming to a halt on the porch steps. The breeze was stronger this time. Dried leaves and trash swept about while he kept his gaze on a priority mail envelope at his feet. He rested his staff against the banister and knelt down to pick it up. Already open and empty, he saw that the envelope had been addressed to Raphael. How strange, he thought, brushing his thumb over a smudged corporate stamp on the paper. Could this be some sort of omen?

A sudden commotion inside the plastic aquarium caught his attention. The turtles were growing restless, splashing about in the shallow water and nipping and clawing at each other. "Boys, behave yourselves," he said while tapping lightly on the lid as though they could understand. They couldn't now—not since they had started devolving rapidly. While the terrapins carried on with misbehaving, the cloaked one sighed inwardly and decided against leaving them on the porch.

He needed to have them separated as soon as possible.

.

.

Back then, a "dojo" was any empty space they could use. That night was just one of those nights when they were forced to forsake sleep for training outside of home. Michelangelo, Leonardo, Donatello and Raphael were kneeling side by side with their backs facing their Master. Like any physical training they had endured over the years, it was exhausting to the point where they could not keep themselves from nodding away.

Their Master, ever silent and watchful, walked behind them with a bokken in his hand. At any moment (and without warning), he would strike the weapon down on one of them. That was the crux of their training: to sense the moment and anticipate the arrival of "death". Failing to do so would simply mean to start over again, and again, and again.

"Stay focused!" His voice boomed throughout the lamp-lit tunnel, jarring his students awake. They kept their postures straightened, muscles tensed with great anticipation.

Another strike, another failure.

"Again!" he kept saying. "This exercise will not end until one of you gets it right."

Donatello was on the verge of losing his patience.

His brothers turned to look at him discreetly. "Quit it," Michelangelo whispered through his teeth. "Stop crying!"

"I don't care anymore," Don said, stifling a sob. "I don't see why he has to keep pushing us so hard. What's so important about waiting to be hit by a wooden sword? How is this even relevant to modern times?"

His brothers quickly averted their gaze and fell silent as they saw their Master's shadow moving across the wall.

"Close your eyes," he said, while keeping his stance behind Don.

Tears ran down his face as he did what he was told. The second he heard the wooden sword slicing the air, he dodged and sprang into combat position.

"Keep your eyes closed!" shouted the Master as he swung the bokken at Don. Cold air hit his face, drying those tears away. "Reach for the void. Commit yourself to stay alive no matter what." He then leapt forward with several more strikes. "Do not think you cannot defeat me. You must free your mind from the ties that bind us; the separation between master and student; father and son!"

The young student felt himself growing in confidence with every successful dodge.

"Take form. Become the strike. You are the blade that cuts the air." Then at the bokken's final, forceful strike, Don lost balance and fell hard on his back. "You see how easy it is now to dodge my strikes when you force yourself to think like I do?" said the Master, the tip of his sword pressing lightly against the young mutant's chest. "A ninja does not move through time and space; he travels from one thought to another."

The others were left stunned, with only the sound of Don's heavy breathing penetrating the silence among them.

.

.

The walls of the Time Machine were spreading out so fast in all four directions that Raph felt like he was standing in the middle of nothing. He felt himself being lifted off the floor, immersed in a pool of white light.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Don's voice shot through him like a much-needed energy boost.

Raph was panicking. "Where the hell have you been?" he shouted.

"I've been sitting right here, watching all of this."

"Yeah while you're having a picnic over there, explain to me why I'm levitating."

"Because you have no idea what you're doing."

"I'm well aware of that, Don. Now how do I get back on my feet?"

"Remember the time we stayed up all night for that bokken training? We were only seven then."

"What does that got to do with anything right now?"

"I need you to go back there."

"To the tunnel?"

"No," said Don. "Back to the year 1997. That's the year Dale activated the Alpha State."

"You mean the Omega State."

"The Omega State is my version of the Time Machine. You and I are in it right now—simultaneously. I need you to travel to the year 1997 and give her the blueprint of the Omega State as proof. She needs to know that her future has been changed." Don paused before asking, "Are you still floating around?"

"Yes!" his brother answered.

"Just try to relax. Concentrate. Think about Splinter, the bokken and the training we endured that night. That very technique is the only thing you need to travel through time. Wrap your mind around that and you'll be alright."

"Fine," Raph replied. "I'll give it a shot."

"You've done this before. I trust you."

Trust. That was all he needed from Don.

Still levitating, Raph closed his eyes and thought about the night in the tunnel. He remembered the hard strikes on his shoulders, the bruises he earned and the way his father looked at him when he kept failing. Splinter was ruthless back then. But he knew. Had he not been that way, Raph and his brothers would never be able to face anything in their lives.

Tough love. He smiled, despite the fact that the walls were contracting and closing in on him. The more he kept his mind focused on his father, the faster he felt himself falling into the void.

That was when Raph knew the journey into the past had begun.