A/N: Thanks to Amonraphoenix and Darkunderworld for beta-ing for me.

Disclaimer: see chapter one

Raphael stared at the television with the phone still to his ear, even though all he heard was the sounds of a dial tone.

Is this really happening? he asked himself in mind numbing horror. Or is this one of those all too realistic nightmares where I just think I'm awake? he silently questioned himself bleakly.

He was all alone.

April, Casey and Splinter were away, and his brothers were captured by a murderous psychopath. Raphael finally lowered the shell cell and closed it with a sharp click that seemed to echo around the silent lair. He sank down onto the couch with his eyes still on the television screen.

What's so important about the news story? he wondered desperately. It obviously had nothing to do with his abducted siblings.

He linked his fingers together and placed them under his chin, leaning his elbows on his knees. He knew he didn't have time to be sitting around doing nothing; his brothers lives were in jeopardy. But he also knew that if he didn't take time and think things through, his brothers were as good as dead. He wanted nothing more than go out, find Alfredson, and wring his neck for even thinking about showing his face again or placing his brothers at risk again. Instead he sat rooted to the couch glaring at the TV angrily as if it was to blame for what was happening.

As the news woman talked, Raphael's eyes searched the scene around and behind her. He knew the location well; Times Square. It was doubtful that his brothers were in Times Square, unless Alfredson changed his game strategy and wanted to expose them, which was also doubtful.

Think, Raph, think! Raphael berated himself irritably. He growled as his patience began to wane. "Thinkin's for Donny," he snarled in frustration as he swiftly got to his feet.

He was about to head for the elevator when his eyes caught something on the television screen. He squinted as he stepped closer to the TV. He let out a quick breath as he made out the outline of the Times Tower. Everyone knew the building, after all, it was where the New Year's Eve ball drop took place every year.

"What are the chances that..." Raphael started to muttered softly.

Raphael didn't take time to answer his own question. He turned off the TV and bolted for the elevator.

Michelangelo groaned as he began to wake up. His mind was still groggy as if he was unable to fully shake the slumber that threatened to drag him down again.

The first thing that he noticed was that he was really cold. He blinked his eyes open and looked around. He was sitting in the corner of something he couldn't quite see. He glanced up and panic instantly took over when he saw a fish swim by. Michelangelo looked around again and saw the outline of a clear container. It was big enough for him to stand up in and wide enough so that he could stretch his arms out all the way before touching either side.

He tapped the side, hearing the clink as his knuckles hit the thick glass. His breathing came out in quick, deep gasps of terror. Michelangelo tried to get his breathing under control as he curled up into a tight ball, wrapping his arms around his knees. He was terrified and confused, not knowing what was going on, or how he had gotten trapped within his underwater glass cage. His eyes drifted upward, seeing the faint glint of light above him. The moonlight flickered across the top of the water in a soothing dance, luring Michelangelo back towards unconsciousness.

However, a burst of static broke the serene feeling that had fallen over him. Michelangelo bolted straight up and looked around. He looked up and saw something attached to the side of his container. He squinted as he forced his eyes to adjust to the darkness beyond. He gasped when he made out the shape of a speaker. A groan and moan came through the speaker and Michelangelo instantly recognized the voices belonged to Leonardo and Donatello.

"Leo? Donny? Can you hear me? Are you guys okay?" he asked, his voice shaking with hope that he wasn't trapped alone, and that perhaps his brothers were close enough to rescuing him.

"Mikey?" Donatello asked in confusion. "Where are you?"

Michelangelo looked around at his surroundings. "Underwater," he quietly answered.

He heard Leonardo cough and hiss in pain, most likely due to his many burns not having fully healed yet and the deep gash in his arm.

"That's different," the leader grunted his voice containing an edge of anger, confusion mixed with pain.

There was a short pause before anyone spoke again. "How did we get into this mess?" Donatello quizzed.

They knew of only one person who would go to such lengths, and such tactics and Michelangelo's hand went quickly to the back of his neck, and was thankful that the skin was still smooth and unblemished; the Grim Reaper's brand was absent.

Michelangelo frowned in confusion. The brand wasn't the only thing that was missing; his memory of the events leading up to this point were as well. He tried as hard as he could to remember what had happened, but he drew a blank every time.

"I hate this guy," Leonardo growled.

"At least we can talk to each other," Donatello pointed out softly.

"But, we can't help each other," Leonardo added bleakly.

No one spoke after that. Helplessness was a shared fear between the brothers.

Michelangelo curled into an even tighter ball and placed his chin on his knees. As he listened to his brothers move around their cells a thought occurred to him: Raphael hadn't spoken. Hope began to rise as the thought of his red masked sibling still being free.

"Guys, Raph's still out there," Michelangelo said with excitement. "He's looking for us, I just know it."

"Yes, but knowing the Grim Reaper, finding us isn't going to be easy," Donatello told him gently.

"Come on, it's Raph, he won't give up that easily," Michelangelo put in. He had complete and total faith in his hot-headed brother. He would not stop until he had found them, and no doubt this time, Alfredson would fair much worse than their previous encounter.

In his coffin, Leonardo watched as fish swam outside the thick glass. He swallowed down his fear and his panic, because it would not help him, nor would it help his brothers.

He pulled his legs up to his chest and placed his arms on his knees. A small sigh escaped him as his eyes drifted to the blood soaked bandage that was still wrapped around his arm. Michelangelo was right; even though the road ahead was going to be difficult, Raphael was too stubborn to give up. And hopefully that stubbornness would pay off.

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