A/N: Thanks to my awesome beta-reader and Darkunderworld for beta-ing for me. You guys truly rock.

Disclaimer: see chapter one

Raphael walked around the roof of the Times Tower, looking for anything that would give him a clue as to where his brothers were being held. He tried to keep to the shadows as much as possible, but it was difficult to do this with all of the flashing, bright lights that flickered and burst to life intermittently around him. He was much too exposed for his liking; which was probably exactly what Alfredson had been hoping for.

Raphael growled in annoyance and he fought against the urge to viciously destroy something. Right now, his brothers needed him to keep his cool; which was getting more and more difficult to do with each passing second.

Raphael continued to pace back and forth in agitation. He knew that he wasn't the smart one; heck, he wasn't even the patient one, or the dedicated one. He was the muscle, that was it. He was the one who brought the pain when it needed to be brought. He wasn't cut out for trying to solve puzzles or riddles and things that made absolutely no sense to him; that would be more Leonardo and Donatello's thing. They should have been the ones searching for him; instead he had left his brother's in a fit of anger. Now they were at the mercy of a madman seeking revenge.

"Alfredson had better pray that I don't find him," Raphael spat viciously as he continued searching the rooftop. "Otherwise he'll be the one that ends up six feet under," Raphael growled.

Raphael just hoped that he would be able to find his brothers in time. He violently squashed down the panic that attempted to rise up within him to choke him. He knew he needed to focus, or else he was going to break down into a weak, pathetic ball of fear that would be unable to save his brother's lives.

He reached up and placed a hand on the back of his neck his fingers gently tracing the puckered skin of the brand that marked his skin. He sighed heavily. He had somehow forgotten the brand was there.

Raphael stopped pacing, a heavy sense of sorrow settling in his chest. He and Donatello never should have survived being kidnapped by the Grim Reaper the first time around. It was only by sheer dumb luck- and the fact that they were ninjas- that they were able to escape with their lives. Alfredson's other victims never had a chance. They would never know who it was that had abducted them, or even know whether or not they would ever be found by their loved ones. But the families would know, because they would be the ones responsible for rescuing those who had been abducted. And they would never, ever have any sense of closure, because they would never know who the man was; neither his name nor his face would ever be known to them, only the sickening moniker of 'The Grim Reaper.'

Raphael lowered his hand and looked out over Times Square. What made him and his brothers so different? Besides the obvious fact that they were mutants. Was it because of their ninja training that they had managed to survive? Or was there another reason? He had never been one to believe in a higher power, he had never seen the point; but, it was a nice thought to believe that someone had been watching out for them during their drawn out battle against the Grim Reaper. It was also nice to believe that another reason why himself and his brothers never died in those coffins, was so that they would be the ones to take out Alfredson; once and for all.

Raphael looked up at the sky and something caught his attention. He turned his head to the right and his eyes widened. A few feet above him was one of Leonardo's swords sticking out of a window. Raphael slipped on the shuko spikes he always carried with him and scaled the few feet to his brother's sword. He pulled it out of the window it was wedged in and slid back down to the ground. Raphael held the blade to his chest for a moment, feeling that much closer to his brothers. He pulled it away and noticed that something was tied to the hilt of the sword. Raphael untied the string and pulled off the small roll of paper. He placed the sword against his shell and unrolled the piece of paper.

He frowned in confusion as he studied what could only be called a 'clue'. It looked like the corner piece to a larger picture, but he couldn't make out what was in the piece he held. The red masked turtle turned the paper over and found thick, blocky writing; written in heavy black felt marker on the back.

My construction started in 1930
It took three thousand men to build me.
For my twentieth birthday in 1950 I received a new antenna, making me 217 feet higher, giving me a total height of 1,467 feet.
In 2007, I was named "America's Favorite Architecture" in a poll conducted by the American Institute of Architects.

Who am I?

Raphael slapped a hand over his eyes. "Give me a break," he groaned in frustration.

At this rate he would never find his brothers. He really didn't have time to figure out cryptic messages. He looked down at the clue and read it again. Leonardo and Donatello were the history fanatics not him. They were the ones always spurting out random history facts about people and places.

Raphael frowned. Surely some of what his brother's had said managed to sink in? If so he should know this. He ground his teeth together in irritation. Raphael flopped down on the ground and buried his face in his hands. What was Alfredson trying to do to him? This had to be some new form of torture. Raphael growled again as he tried to search his memory for some clue to answer the riddle. Surely Donatello would know the answer, Leonardo probably did as well, but his brothers weren't here to help him, so he was going to have to suck it up and try to use his brain for once.

He looked down and glared at the piece of paper still clutched in his hand, silently cursing the clue for being impossible, and Alfredson for being a psychotic creep. He got to his feet and stretched as he looked out over the city once again, trying to find something to help him. Off in the distance he saw another familiar building. His eyes widened as he remembered one of Donatello's lectures while they had been out on patrol with him. They had passed that building and his genius brother had spouted off on several facts that Raphael had just tuned out.

He hit the side of his head as if trying to jog the memory. He knew the name, he just needed to be sure the facts were the same. Raphael huffed and took off back for the Battle Shell. Facts or not, he had his next location: the Empire State Building.

Alfredson watched with great satisfaction as Raphael left the Times Tower. The human was sitting comfortably in a computer chair that was located in front of a number of computer monitors that were hidden in a dark room in another abandoned apartment building. Each screen showed different locations around New York, as well as the three buried turtles. The monitors that were trained on different landmarks and sites, each containing a hidden clue, and each more difficult to solve than the last.

The Grim Reaper ran his fingers over the turtle brand on his right cheek and his hatred towards the red masked mutant grew even more. Now, he wished he had branded the youngest, just to add more salt to Raphael's wound when he failed to locate his precious brothers in time.

Alfredson mentally shook and scolded himself. These turtles escaped his clutches twice before, he knew that he should be wary; and not underestimate the resolve, determination and sheer pig-headedness of the hot-head. After all, he had already managed to solve two of the riddles. But there were so many more and so little time in which to find the clues or his brothers.

"Run, little turtle, run," Alfredson whispered in a sinister voice. He watched the Battle Shell speed off towards the Empire State Building. "For it will not be long before I will bear witness to the pain and anguish of your failure, and my delight in your suffering will be so very rewarding."

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