.:Author's note: I've had to do a lot of repair work on this chapter due to corruption in the formatting of the original upload. Please let me know if I've missed any odd html bits.:.
The first thing Michelangelo could remember upon waking was the hiss of steam in the background. His head was killing him, he couldn't think straight. He tried to open his eyes, but everything was a blur. He could just make out some machinery, a blinking red light. After a moment, another light came moving towards him. A flashlight? He couldn't quite tell. The light was set aside when it reached him, and a silhouette faded into view above him. A voice spoke to him. It was muffled, but he could just barely understand what it said.
"Blast… Then I was too late… Worry not, dear brother. I will make this right yet…" The voice sounded familiar, though the accent made it hard to pick up on who it was right away. Mikey let out a groan as he felt his body being pulled up, feeling consciousness start to slip away from him once more.
"D... Donnie..?" he mumbled out before everything sunk back into blackness.
When Michelangelo awoke next, he found himself lying in a huge four-poster bed. He sat up slowly, his head still pounding. He had to wait for the room to stop spinning before he attempted to climb out of the bed.
"Oww!" he yelped, rubbing the top of his head. What the hell had he hit? He squinted his eyes, trying to see through the darkness. Metal bars? What the hell was this, some kind of cage? Who would cage a bed? Mikey eventually found the door, which, luckily for him, was unlocked.
He tumbled out of bed and looked around. The room was ornately decorated with Victorian furniture and expensive-looking oil paintings. Everything looked like it had come right out of Sherlock Holmes. Well, everything but that creepy pig mask sitting on the dresser.
Mikey made his way out into the hall, which was dimly lit by some very old electrical fixtures mounted on the walls. At least this place had power. Here he was worried he'd be stuck with candles or oil lamps or some shit like that. This place looked old enough for that.
The hall he was walking down seemed to go on forever. This mansion was huge, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. One thing was for sure; he wasn't in New York anymore.
"Donnie? Hey, D! Are ya in here?!" Mikey shouted, his voice echoing down the deserted corridors. He got no reply. At least, not at first.
Suddenly, the whole house began to shake violently, so much so that Mikey struggled to keep his footing. Dust rained down from the rafters, the entire building creaking and moaning from the strain. Then, as suddenly as it had began, it was over. Mikey stood perfectly still for a long while, as if afraid it'd start up again. Once it seemed safe, he let out a sigh of relief.
"Dude... Earthquakes are way more intense in real life than on TV..." he mumbled to himself. Well, that had cemented the fact that this wasn't New York, at least. Donatello had previously assured him that earthquakes, especially ones powerful enough to be felt, were extremely unlikely in New England. Donnie probably thought he hadn't been listening, but he paid attention more than his brothers often gave him credit for.
Crisis averted, he continued through the deserted building, eventually making his way downstairs. He passed through what looked to be a banquet hall with long tables that would seat more people than he'd ever met before in his life. There was a grand piano in the corner, on top of which lay another one of those fancy, colorful pig masks. It seemed like it was staring right at him. Right into him. Michelangelo shuddered.
"O-okay, piggie, yer seriously creepin' a bit, bruh..." he whispered meekly, going over and turning the mask away. It was still creepy, but at least it wasn't looking at him anymore.
He continued through more rooms that were clearly meant for entertaining, one with a bar and pool tables, a few old gramophones lining the walls, another piano. He soon came to a door that looked to lead to a more private section of the mansion. Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulders before opening the door and going in.
This time he found himself in a study. There was a fine wooden desk sitting by the far wall, bookshelves filled with dusty old books and files, and on the wall next to the desk hung several hunting rifles. Of particular interest was the painting hanging behind the desk of a man and his wife, a small baby held close in the woman's arms. The man was well-dressed in a suit and top hat, and the woman wore a Victorian noblewoman's fine lace gown.
Mikey had never seen this particular painting before, but somehow it felt so familiar to him, like he'd known it all his life. It wasn't until he'd gotten a closer look that he realized what it was. Their faces. He knew them. He could never forget them. They looked exactly like the ones in the picture his master kept in the dojo, the one possession Splinter had managed to keep since his home in Japan was burned to the ground. The likenesses were uncanny. The man in the painting was none other than Hamato Yoshi, the woman Tang Shen. That could only mean the baby was their daughter, Miwa. Karai.
"Woah... Dude, what the hell is goin' on here..?" he breathed out, feeling chills go up his shell. Had someone painted this as a joke or something? Who would even know about his master's true identity? Who would bother with such an elaborate rouse? Surely not Shredder...
Mikey turned to look for some answers in the desk next to him. This room in particular looked more untouched than the others, a layer of fine dust covering everything. He opened the draw to look for hints, any kind of clue as to who really owned this place. Inside he found only a piece of paper that looked to be ripped out of a journal or something. He read it, or attempted to. The handwriting was neat and rather beautiful, but he struggled with some of the words and concepts.
'November 7th, 1898
The bank is refusing credit, the ignorant swine. I sit alone at night and weep, once the children and servants are safely asleep, when they cannot hear me. My darling, how I need you now. They say I have squandered my fortune, that my investment in these latest machines has ruined the family name. What? That I was to remain a local butcher?
What are these two arms compared to the multitude that can be applied, without pay, without tire, by adapting the mechanisms we find in the looms and the mills. But, if the bank has its way, it will all come to nothing. If they come for the house I swear I will kill them, I will kill them all. I will take my rifle... my rifle...'
Mikey wasn't sure what to think. Could Hamato Yoshi, could Splinter really have written this? It didn't sound like his master at all... And was that date accurate? 1898? That was well over a hundred years ago! Just what the hell was going on?!
As if in answer to his question, the mansion shook once more. Mikey grabbed onto the nearest solid object to keep from falling as he waited it out. Eventually, it stopped.
"Oh, man... I must be in California or sumthin'..." he commented, shaking his head to throw off the fresh layer of dust. Suddenly, whatever he was using as a brace gave way under his weight, causing him to land face first on the floor. He looked up to see what it was, worried he'd broken something. What he saw was one of the hunting rifles hanging halfway off the wall in such a position that it really should have fallen to the ground with him. Next to the rifles, a section of the wall had opened up.
"Dude! Secret passages! Sweeeet!" he said as he hopped back up to his feet. He entered the passage without hesitation. This space was much different from the rest of the house. No ornate decorations, just bare wood and rafters, concrete below his feet. A short ways in, he passed what looked like a window out into the hall. Except... Hadn't he just been down that hall? He didn't remember seeing any windows... And why did it look like there were faint images imprinted in the glass? Then it hit him. This wasn't a window at all, it was the back of one of the oil paintings in the hall! So, someone liked spying on people behind the walls, eh? That wasn't creepy at all.
He was about to continue down the passage when he caught some light moving out of the corner of his eye. He looked back to the painting just in time to see someone walk by in the hall outside. Someone very familiar.
"Donnie!" Michelangelo shouted, pressing his face against the glass back of the painting. It was indeed his brother, there was no mistaking that, but... What the hell was he wearing? It looked like some old grey suit tailored specially for him, a loose purple bow tied around his collar. He carried what looked like a lantern of sorts, lighting his way through the dim hallways. He didn't seem to notice the younger turtle there behind the walls.
Mikey sprinted through the passage as Donatello rounded a corner and left his sight. He had to find a way out of there. He had to talk to Donnie. If anyone would know what was going on, it would be him. Eventually, he reached a dead end. He slammed a fist against the wooden wall, cursing under his breath.
"Dammit! C'mon, open up!"
But this was one time percussive maintenance wasn't going to work. He had to find an intelligent solution to this. Yeah, good luck there. But wait... He'd played video games like this before, hadn't he? Surely there was a switch around here that would open up away. Sure enough, he managed to find a lever nearby, opening the passage out into the hall.
Mikey sprinted out, trying to catch up with his brother. He couldn't have gone that far, could he? He soon found the hall he'd seen Donnie turn down, and was instantly greeted by the light of a lantern being shined in his face. He shielded his eyes, having gotten so used to the darkness of the mansion that he was nearly blinded when he rounded the corner.
"Yo, D, turn down the light, bro!" he whined as he made his way forward. As he approached, however, he realized that there wasn't anyone holding the lantern. It had been placed on the ground, the owner nowhere to be seen. He picked up the lantern and used it to look around. Nothing. Donatello had vanished without a trace.
Then, there was a loud ringing just behind him. Mikey let out a yelp, nearly jumping out of his shell at the sudden noise. He looked over to see what it was and saw... What the hell was that? Was that supposed to be a telephone? It was like some weird wooden box mounted on the wall with a small speaker mounted in it, an old microphone-looking object resting on the small shelf attached at the bottom. It continued to ring at him, the sound of brass alarm bells echoing down the hall. With some hesitation, unsure how to work the thing, he reached over and flipped a switch. A green light came on. Did it work? He leaned forward and attempted to speak into the microphone.
"Uhhh... Hello..?"
'Good, you are awake. I haven't much time to explain...' came the voice over the speaker. For a moment, Mikey couldn't believe his ears. This voice, speaking low and quick, also had a British accent, but he knew it well.
"Raph! Dude, is that really you? Where are ya? An' why the hell are ya talkin' like that? Have you an' Leo been watchin' 'Doctor Who' again?" he asked quickly, not giving the person on the other end of the line time to answer between questions.
'All will be made clear in time, but you must first return to the factory. The Machine is fouled, it is breached, it is flooded. I cannot return you to your world until it is repaired. The task is a simple one, but I need you here to reactivate it.'
That whole bit had Michelangelo's head spinning. Wait, what factory? What machine? And what did he mean 'his world'? Where the hell was he if he wasn't already in his world?!
"Ummm... Dude, what?"
'Cut through the chapel to avoid being seen. Below the altar. The passage will take you here, but make haste. We haven't the time to dally.'
"W-wait! Raph! What chapel?! Where do I go?!" Mikey asked hurriedly, trying to catch Raphael before-
Click.
Yeah, he wasn't sure why he didn't expect that to happen. It was Raphael, after all. He let out a sigh and clicked the phone's switch off.
No sooner had he touched the switch than the house began to shake violently once more, more so than it had earlier. He was sent tumbling to the floor, the lantern flying out of his hand and flickering like the rest of the hall lights. Once the shaking stopped this time, however, the lights didn't come on again.
"O-okay, chapel it is!" he laughed nervously, scrambling to his feet and snatching up the lantern from the floor. He made his way quickly through the mansion, wanting to get the hell out of there before the whole thing came crashing down on his head. Eventually, after opening just about every door in the massive house, he found one that led outside.
It was a frigid night, pitch black and cold as ice. Mikey's breath came out as puffs of fog, goosebumps covering his bare skin in an instant. Okay, this was one time he really wished he wore clothes... He didn't have time to worry about that, though. From the way Raph had been talking, the chapel couldn't be far away. He had to find it and get inside before he froze to death.
It must have been late, because the streets seemed as deserted as the mansion had been. Everything was pitch black. There were street lamps, rather large, ornate ones, but they were all out. Was the power out for the whole city?
He made his way out through the mansion gate, staring up at the buildings lining the cobblestone road. They looked as old as the mansion, some much older, it seemed. He'd never seen a town like this, at least not in real life. He was used to skyscrapers, apartments, office buildings, subway trains... He wasn't even sure there was a place like this in America, let alone New York.
He didn't have to go far before he spotted what he was looking for. A steeple appeared through the fog, a golden cross sitting atop it. That had to be it! He didn't bother with the gate. Knowing his luck, it was probably locked. Plus there was some rust-bucket of an old truck parked in the way. He jumped over the gate, and... fell flat on his face in the dirt of the courtyard.
"Oww..." he mumbled against the ground. Well, that was graceful. He was glad no one was around to see that. Where did he land, though? It smelled worse than the sewer. He lifted himself up to his hands and knees and-
"Holy shit!" he screamed, scrambling out of the ditch he'd fallen into. He looked back down, back at the two lifeless brown eyes staring up at him from under a filthy linen headwrap. The creature was hideously deformed, like someone had made some attempt to twist the poor creature's form into something else. It was a mutant, it had to be, but... He'd never seen one quite like emthis/em. He craned his neck to get a better look at its face without tumbling into the open grave. He spotted a somewhat familiar-looking snout, a pair of short, dull tusks sticking out from its lower jaw. It was a pig.
"Duuude... And I thought Bebop was ugly..." he whispered to himself in awe. Well, whatever this thing was, he didn't want to be around it much longer.
Michelangelo grabbed his lantern and made his way up to the church entrance. He pushed the heavy wooden doors open and slipped inside.
The church seemed massive on the inside, with high vaulted ceilings and tall pillars holding the roof up. It was just as dark in there as it was outside, and ten times as creepy. He just had to find the altar, right? Raph said something about a secret passage underneath. He made his way down the center aisle between the pews, up towards the pulpit. He stepped up, and immediately froze.
The solid stone altar sat before him in the middle of a large circular alcove, its edges still trimmed with holly from Christmas service. The holly had been stained, however. Drenched, really. In blood. He didn't need to wonder where the blood had come from. Pinned to the large cross on the altar, its belly slit open and its innards spilling out, was a pig. It wasn't a mutant, not like the one outside in the open grave. It was a normal pig. Of course, that didn't make it any less disturbing.
"Uhhh... 'Kay... I, uhhh... I think I'm done playing this game!" he squeaked out, stumbling backwards a few steps. Raphael really could have done well to at least warn him about this! Oh, this was some seriously bad mojo going on here. But... He had to get through, didn't he? Raph was waiting for him. He was going to explain everything, to help fix everything. Something he'd expect more from Donatello, but he'd take anything he could get at this point.
With considerable hesitation, not wanting to touch the pig's spilled intestines, he braced his hands against the edge of the altar and pushed. He pushed with all his might, but it wouldn't budge. He put his shoulder into it, he even tried to kick the damn thing, but it was hopeless. He slumped down against the stone, taking a moment to catch his breath.
"Aw, man... This is impossible... What the fuck am I supposed ta do?!" he growled in utter frustration, slamming a fist against the ground. A few seconds later, the tile he'd hit sunk into the floor by about an inch. He glanced down at it, confused. Then, he felt the stone move behind him. He jumped up to his feet and watched as the altar slid back to the wall, the sound of huge gears meshing and turning under the floor, behind the walls. The floor split open, and stone steps descended into the darkness.
"Huh. It worked this time." he commented to himself, grabbing his lantern once more and darting down the stairs. He didn't think whatever was down there could be any worse than what he'd just left upstairs.
He was starting to get really sick of being wrong all the time. This 'secret passage' of Raphael's was a dingy, filthy cellar, large cages lining the walls and stacked up to the low ceiling. Some of them were covered with canvas. He could swear he could hear moaning from some.
"Okay, no... Nope. Nuh uh. Not doin' this. I'm out, dude. I'll find some other way to the factory." he whimpered out before turning around to dart up the stairs. He never got the chance. The stone slabs that made up the stairs moved quickly back up against the floor of the church, the way back sealed by over two feet of solid marble. No way back now.
"Aww, c'mon, dude! Ya gotta be kidding me!" he groaned out, immediately starting to look for a switch or something that would bring the stairs back, something that would open everything back up. He'd been searching for several minutes when he heard something just behind him. It sounded like something scoffing at him, snorting almost.
"Dude, don't rush me, bruh. I'm tryin' ta find the damn switch..." he grumbled, brushing whoever it was away. It took him a moment before he realized the obvious problem. Slowly, Michelangelo peeked back over his shoulder, shining his lantern up at the mysterious person. Towering over him, brown eyes staring down at him, muscles rippling under deformed flesh, stood the mutant from earlier, the Manpig lying in the grave.
But that couldn't be possible... That thing was dead!
As if angered by the very thought, the Manpig let out a loud, screeching roar, raising a club-like hoof above it's head, preparing to bring it down on the little turtle's skull. Michelangelo's eyes widened. Yes, he was quite sure at this point that he did not like this route to the factory.