I'm too busy to answer the phone.

I've been working through the night, trying to stay one step ahead of a hacker from the Middle East trying to corrupt my website. I've located the guy's IP and email, and I'm sending a rather nasty virus his way.

My office is four blocks from home in an apartment block with my three brothers. It's decorated in light green with dark feature walls - and a blazing 'Mutant Turtle Market' logo that lights up when we have important investors coming round.

Image is everything. A business that seems to be thriving gives investors a buzz and they are more willing to cough up extra cash. Not that I need the cash much anymore, but I still need support from the major investors. Networking is as important as funds at the end of the day.

My mobile has been ringing incessantly. I should answer it. Something is important enough to merit a call in the early hours of the morning. It's almost dawn and I feel unsettled. I have this strange twisting feeling in my gut that something is terribly wrong. In truth, I think I'm afraid to answer the phone.

Finally, I pick up my phone and scroll down the messages received. I see they are all from Mikey. At least that means Mikey is all right. I do harbour worries of him being killed on duty. It's not as if he needs to work, my business can look after all of us. Problem us, the others are proud and need a purpose. Leo has his dojo. Mikey has the force. Raph has his vigilantism.

I scroll down to the first message and in an instant it flashes up on the screen.

I can feel myself rising to my feet before I truly register what the message says. Even the hacker seems unimportant as I race out the door and down the block. Hailing a taxi, I ask them to take me to the local hospital.

Nothing comes before my brothers. Especially when one of them is hurt and needs my help.

I'm nervously biting the skin on my broad fingers when we arrive at the hospital's main entrance. I fling a couple of bills at the driver and take off. Reception is quiet, and I stammer out my brother's name and ask his condition.

I'm panicking. They can see it. Their calm professionalism and sincerity eases me, and they lead me to a family room. I can see Leonardo pacing inside, his face distorted with worry. Mikey is sat on the sofa, staring at the ground. They both turn to look at me as I enter the room.

"Raph?" I utter the word in a soft voice, and I look at them expectantly.

Leonardo breathes a sigh and Mikey tries to calm himself down. He's trying not to cry, but I can see that resisting tears is hard work. I feel that way myself, I feel sure that Raph's been killed. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my legs feel strangely numb.

I think savagely of the vengeance I will inflict on those responsible, if Mikey condones it or not. There is no way these people will be arrested. I'll see to that.

By the way Leo is staring at me, he's having the exact same thoughts.

"He's alive. He's lost a lot of blood though. Shot wound to his right shoulder. It wasn't clean, it didn't go straight through. "Mikey stops for a moment. His years in NYPD have given him a sense of responsibility and a professionalism I admire. He's just as torn as the rest of us, wanting vengeance. I can see how angry he is.

I can also see the blood on his hands. He hasn't washed them yet, and they are stained red.

"Mikey? I know more about our anatomy than the doctors here." I pull myself together. My input might be the difference between life and death. "I need to see Raph. Is he in surgery?"

Unlike most citizens, my broad knowledge of biology and science (especially of the mutant turtle kind) allows me access to areas that other people are forbidden. On the rare occasions one of my brothers is brought in for surgery, whether minor or major, I'm usually in the operating room and consulting with the surgeon. This is especially important because our biology is different to human beings.

I get scrubbed and suited. Having me in the operating theatre is not generally known, because of health and safety reasons. However, the surgeons know the extent of knowledge I possess in a subject they have little experience of.

During our earlier years, I was more than just the tech guy who can put anything together. I was also the medic, treating my brothers after fights and explaining the importance of wound cleaning. I knew all of the common practices of the hospital, and that Raph would be in good hands. However, I needed to be in there with him, talking to the surgeons.

I step into the operating theatre with my scrubs concealing the shell on my back. I must look like a hunchback, but I'm not bothered.

"Don. I heard you were here." The surgeon in charge is Mickey Slowe, someone I trust with my life. If ever I were wounded in battle, I'd want him working on me. "I need your input here."

"How's he doing?" I turn to face the Vital Signs Monitor, a cumbersome machine that tells me everything I need to know about Raphael's condition. His heart rate is strong, and I can tell he's not going under without a fight.

"He'll live. The bullet glanced off a bone and has caused some damage internally. His major organs are unaffected. He was lucky. This time."

"Need some help?" I ask. Let's face it, I know more about our mutant bodies than Mickey does.

"I got it, Don. It's simple. Internal stitches in place already. The bullet is out, I'm just closing him up."

I pass three nurses and another doctor as I move over to the table. They have a special table for mutant turtles, with a hole for the shell to pass through. It allows them to work on our bodies without hinderance.

Raphael's hand has fallen out from under the sheet, so I put it back under. The shoulder wound doesn't look that bad now its being sown up. I can imagine how it would have panicked Mikey at first, the sight of all that blood. I watch carefully, adding a comment here and there, keeping an eye on Raph's vitals.

The operation has taken three and a half hours overall. I only wish I'd answered the phone earlier. I watch, protectively, as Raphael is wheeled into Recovery. He looks pale, his face drawn, and I sit beside him for a while as I watch his heart rise and fall. He looks vulnerable without his breast-plate, and I take his hand in my own.

"Want to tell me what happened, Raph?" I say lightly, hoping my voice will stir something within. "Maybe I should just guess. You were fighting or brawling and someone pulled a gun on you. Or maybe you were targeted. Someone with a hate on for us."

Raphael is breathing steadily, his heartbeat strong.

"Could have been a million different scenarios. You might have intervened if someone needed help. That's something you'd do, even if you were drunk and couldn't fight. I do know about the drinking. Granted, you leave it until after your vigilante exploits, but I know what you do in the early hours. I wish I could help, but you never confide in anyone. Not even me."

My voice is cracking a little. Raphael used to be so strong.

I think of the two events that changed him. My memories drift away to a difficult time in our lives. The first event being the catalyst that drove Raph to the edge of despair.

The death of Master Splinter ...

Donny