Raphael felt utterly uncomfortable. The clothes he wore were tight around his shoulders, his neck, his... well, everything, really. He wasn't made to wear human clothing, and certainly not the prim and proper suit he currently found himself wearing. Even more ill-fitting was the mask he wore. It wasn't his usual strip of red fabric, but what felt like a full-faced porcelain mask. He raised a hand to feel at it. He felt two little protruding ears on top, a sort of muzzle in front of his mouth, and a very distinctly shaped snout. Was he wearing a pig mask?
He heard a door opening behind him. The sound seemed to make something click in his mind. This wasn't the sewer, this wasn't the lair. He was in a house of some sort, ornately decorated with paintings and Victorian furniture. Was this Michelangelo's world? Was this his home in London? Wait, how had he gotten there? Was there another accident? Did he get switched just as his brother had?
Finally, he turned around, curious who he'd find there. It was a young boy by the looks of him, hardly older than ten. He was dressed in what almost looked like a boarding school uniform, wearing a blue blazer and shorts with socks up to the knees. He wore a ceramic pig mask over his face, decorated with swirling colors, mostly blues, like old tribal paint. His true identity was betrayed slightly by the way his clothes fit him, the bulging at his back hinting at the hard shell hiding underneath.
"Leo? Hey, is that you?" he asked, a bit unsure. Wasn't Leonardo the oldest of the four of them? Why did he look so small?
Once he was addressed, the boy turned and calmly walked off down the hall. Raph immediately followed after him. Out in the hall, he spotted Leonardo making his way out to what looked like an indoor balcony. Raphael stopped in his tracks, recognizing the back of a very familiar brown coat.
Michelangelo, the other Michelangelo, stood there at the balcony, looking over the room below. Leonardo tugged at the edge of the taller turtle's coat, who leaned down so the boy could whisper something in his ear. The elder brother nodded, and the younger dismissed himself down the stairs.
Raphael shuddered at the sight of him, sickened at the thought of being trapped in his world. Still, this seemed to be the only opportunity he had to get some real answers out of the pompous asshole. He stepped forward, intending to give the other turtle one hell of an interrogation now that his brothers weren't there to stop him.
"No one misses the poor..."
Raph stopped just before crossing the threshold out onto the balcony. Was... Was he talking to him? Michelangelo never turned back to look him in the eye as he spoke, continuing to stare out over the floor below.
"Round up some orphans and the world thanks you for it. Disappear a whore and a gentleman applauds you. Cull a beggar and a lady walks safely again."
Raphael furrowed his brow. The way Michelangelo was speaking now... It seemed different, like he was finally being honest, finally speaking what he truly felt. Perhaps the interrogation wasn't necessary? He continued forward, standing next to the bespectacled terrapin. Rather than his glasses, however, he seemed to be wearing the same kind of pig mask as Leonardo had on, only his was decorated in predominantly orange swirls.
Raph looked out over the room below. It was a banquet hall, lit by the warm light of a thousand candles from ornate chandeliers and other fixtures about the room. The table below was long enough to seat fifty people, and it looked as though there were at least that many down there. There were ladies dressed in elaborate gowns of fine lace and intricate embroidery, men in expensive looking suits, their beards and mustaches perfectly groomed for the occasion. It seemed all of London's upper class had turned out for a feast.
"I hate them..." Michelangelo continued, "I hate them more than any of the others. This privilege, this pretension. These so called leaders, these pillars of society, these rich and fanciful. They wear their filth on the inside, but they are no less dirty."
Well, Raphael never thought he'd agree with something this bastard said, but here he was, nodding his head. He'd often had the very same thought, though not in so many words, of the rich and spoiled of New York, the Wall Street millionaires, the stuffed suits who looked down their noses at anyone who made less than a six-figure salary. Yet... If he hated them so much, why invite them all to a party like this? Michelangelo answered his question without being asked, pushing away from the banister and starting down the stairs.
"I have plans for them all. We will feed them... and then we will feed from them."
Raph's eyes widened behind his mask.
"Wait, what? The hell's that supposed to mean?" he asked, jogging to catch up with the other turtle. As they reached the bottom of the staircase, he spotted where Leonardo had run off to. The boy was standing next to another well-dressed turtle off in the corner of the banquet hall, this one a bit taller and lankier than Michelangelo. He wore a pig mask as well, swirled in purple. It could be no one else but Donatello.
He watched for a moment as Donatello spoke with a woman who was clearly one of the estate's servants, supposedly discussing the wine she was bringing out to serve the guests. The older of the two turtles reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small vial of some strange, glowing liquid. Donatello had already began emptying the vial into one of the wine bottles before he realized what it was. Raphael's heart caught in his throat.
It was Mutagen.
Raph sprinted to catch up with Michelangelo as he rounded the table, circling the guests like a shark waiting to strike. Was this the 'plan' he spoke of? Was he planning on mutating the guests here? Why? And into what? Michelangelo continued on once he saw that Raphael had caught up, his tone a bit cheerier than it had been a moment ago.
"No machine blades for fatty bishop and gluttony heiress. Prime cuts all for the sorting bins, and the very best, as always, back in the dumbwaiter to the kitchens above, to be stewed and plumped and gravied and breadcrumbed and returned to the table for the next night's feast. And not every night, you see, although we have begun to increase the frequency of the final act. Unlike the poor, the rich will be missed, given time. But we continue to spoil and ready them, and our fine foods are now exported to mansions and lodges across London."
Michelangelo paused his boasting to let out a light, amused chuckle.
"And it has been noted in The Times of late, how rather overweight the great and the good are becoming, with their diets of fine wine and rich meat."
And indeed it seemed as though that was the case. These people gathered here all seemed rather plump, and they heartily accepted the wine as the servants came around to pour it for them. They all laughed and talked and gossiped among each other, not one of them suspecting the strange chemical that had been slipped into their drink. Another servant rolled out a cart with a large serving platter on top. It was covered with a polished silver lid, but whatever was underneath smelled absolutely amazing.
"Indeed, in Punch just last week, a cartoon showed Viscount Selwyn as a stuffed pig, laid upon a platter for his peers to dine upon. A vicious and cowardly slander, no doubt..." Michelangelo paused once more, glancing across the table to a man that stood on the other side. Raphael looked over, freezing dead when he made eye contact.
The man was tall, wore a suit like all the others, though his had a long burgundy coat. He was the only human there who wore a pig mask like the turtles. His was a swirl of many colors, though it was distinct in that it had a very familiar flower crest painted on the forehead; it was the symbol of the Hamato Clan. Two golden brown eyes stared into him from behind that mask, a stare that pierced right though him.
It couldn't be...
The grin on Michelangelo's face practically burned through his mask as he leaned close to Raphael's ear, using the other turtle's stunned silence to finish his earlier thought.
"But he tasted delicious."
Raphael's attention was ripped away from the man the instant he heard that, turning to look Michelangelo in the eyes. The look he got back spoke volumes. He wasn't joking. He couldn't believe it... This Viscount Selwyn he'd spoken of... They'd eaten him?!
He looked to the serving platter, suddenly dreading what was giving off that appetizing aroma. The smell that made his mouth water just moments ago now turned his stomach. One of the servants came forward to grab the handle of the lid, lifting it off.
Raphael's heart stopped at what he saw. Lying on the platter, skin roasted, an apple jammed in his mouth, was Mikey. His Mikey, mask and all. Cooked. Dead.
"NOOO!"
Raphael sat bolt upright in his bed. His eyes darted around the room, his heart pounded in his chest, his stomach felt like it wanted to turn itself inside out. He struggled to catch his breath. A dream... Was that all just a dream? It felt so real... It felt so... It smelled so...
He leaned over the edge of his bed just in time to avoid puking all over it.
Raphael still felt sick to his stomach when he went out to the warehouse on the docks to find his brothers. He knew they'd be there. That's where they'd been all week, out there helping Michelangelo with his device. Today was no different. When he slipped past the boarded up door he spotted Donatello and Michelangelo in the center of the workshop floor, each working on a different component of the massive contraption they'd built up from salvaged parts. There were pipes and dials and wires and valves and, in the middle of it all, was that massive power crystal they'd stolen from the Kraang.
"Adjust the lower resonator, if you would. Increase the frequency by .002 Hz." Michelangelo called out, his eyes glued to one of the dials near what looked like a control panel. Donatello gave a small noise of confirmation, grabbing a screwdriver and making the necessary adjustment.
Raphael cringed. As Donatello made the adjustment to the device it let out a barely-audible sound, one that seemed to crawl right into Raph's brain and gnaw at his frontal lobes. It took him a moment to register what the sound actually was. It sounded like whispers, ethereal voices speaking, calling out from just beyond his range of hearing. He had to strain his ears to hear what they were saying, and immediately regretted it.
'More pig... More pig... More pig...'
Raphael had to choke back his gag reflex, something about that eerie whispering bringing back his nightmare. He instinctively backed up a few paces even as Michelangelo let out a cheer.
"Yes! That's it! It's perfect!"
"You're kidding! It actually worked?" Donatello asked, a huge grin plastered on his face as he crawled out from under the massive crystal.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Raphael nearly jumped out of his shell when Leonardo suddenly approached him from behind like that. He spun around reflexively, causing his brother to back away confused.
"Woah! Jeez, Raph, calm down. It's just me. Is something wrong?" Leo asked, giving his brother a somewhat suspicious look. Raphael struggled to calm himself down, glancing uneasily over his shoulder at the large crystal. He could still barely hear the whispers, even through Donnie and Michelangelo's celebratory cheers.
"Yeah... Yeah, somethin's very wrong... I gotta talk ta you and Donnie right now. Alone."
Moments later, the three of them were gathered outside in one of the side alleys near Michelangelo's warehouse. Donatello seemed rather annoyed to be pulled away from his work when they were so close to completion.
"Alright, what's so important that you had to drag us out here?" Donnie grumbled, folding his arms across his chest impatiently.
"Okay, look, I know this is gonna sound crazy, but... I had this dream..."
"You called us out here for a damned dream?!" Don hissed, though Leo held up a hand to stop him from exploding.
"Just hear him out... Go on, Raph."
Raphael took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool as he recalled his nightmare.
"I was in this weird house, and I was kinda dressed like Michelangelo, in a suit and everything, but I was wearing this weird pig mask. You guys were there, only Leo was real little, and you guys were in masks too. There was like a party or something with a ton of rich fuckers, and Donnie was putting Mutagen or something in their wine, and Michelangelo was sittin' there talking' like they were fattening them all up to fuckin' eat them! Splinter was there, too! Only he wasn't Splinter, he was still human, and-"
"Oh, let me guess; Bebop was there doing the hula." Donatello interjected, rolling his eyes at the tale his brother was weaving. Leo shuddered at that.
"There's an image I didn't need..."
"Guys, I'm serious! They had Mikey on a platter! Our Mikey! Dead! They fucking cooked him alive!"
That seemed to catch their attention. The two turtles glanced at each other, as if wondering if there was something more to all this. Donnie shook his head.
"Okay, so... Let's pretend for a minute that we've just spent the past week helping a crazy, mad scientist cannibal build a teleportation device... What exactly do you want us to do about it? The device will be ready to go later tonight. Once it's finished he goes home, we get our brother back, and life is kosher again. Why worry about it now?"
"Look, Don, I know you're glad to have someone around whose brain runs on your level for once, but you gotta believe me when I say there's something seriously wrong with that guy!"
"Raph, just calm down..." Leo urged softly. "I know you feel strongly about this, but we've gotta have more to go on than some nightmare and a gut feeling. We've gotta have some solid proof on this or we could be jeopardizing our brother's way home. Do you have anything? Anything at all we can go on other than your word?"
Raphael opened his mouth to reply, but truth was he had nothing. He rubbed at the back of his neck, fidgeting in place. There had to be something. There had to be. This was the only chance he had to show his brothers that he wasn't crazy, that this other Michelangelo was truly dangerous. Then, it hit him.
"His journal... There's gotta be something in his journal. Don, he only let you see that one page. What's he hiding in the rest of it?"
"Other inventions. Stuff he doesn't want to get out. He just doesn't want his ideas being stolen." Donatello answered with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Wake the fuck up, Don! His technology is over a hundred years out of date and he's from another fucking dimension! You're not exactly stealing any patents from the guy!"
Donatello was a bit taken aback by that. He looked to Leo, unsure how he was supposed to respond to that. Leo let out a heavy sigh.
"Alright... Alright, you have a point. His journal might be worth a look."
"Yeah, but how do we get to it? Michelangelo keeps it in his lab, but he hasn't left all week." Donnie pointed out. Raph merely shrugged his shoulders. Leo, however, smirked lightly.
"I believe I may have a plan..."
It certainly took some doing, but Donatello and Leonardo eventually managed to drag Michelangelo away from his lab. They had to default to offering the turtle food; a celebratory meal out, they'd claimed. They took him to the only place in the city they knew that happily welcomed their kind.
"Good evening, Murakami-san!" Donnie and Leo announced as they made their way into the little noodle shop. The old chef behind the counter smiled when he heard the pair of familiar voices.
"Ah, good evening, boys! Just the three of you tonight?" Mr. Murakami asked cheerfully, already turning to his stove and getting to work on the turtle's usual order. The three took a seat at the bar, Michelangelo hesitating a bit in the face of an unfamiliar human. He seemed a bit confused, having been told the old man was blind. Leo couldn't help but smirk lightly at that, always amused when someone new encountered Mr. Murakami's keen sense of perception.
"That's right. Raphael isn't feeling well tonight, so it's just us."
"Ahh, I see. I'll send you home with some soup if you think that will help."
"That'd be great, thanks. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
"And what about your friend here? Will he be having pizza gyoza as well?"
Leo and Don both gave Michelangelo a sideways glance. Donnie cleared his throat.
"Oh, right, uhh... Murakami-san, this is our, umm... Our cousin! Yeah! He's visiting from London. His name is... Uhh..."
"Mandus!" Michelangelo jumped in, sensing Donatello struggling to come up with a good cover story. "Oswald Mandus. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Murakami."
"Ah, a visitor from the United Kingdom! I did not know you boys had family in Europe. A pleasure to meet you, Mandus-san."
Leo and Don both let out a sigh of relief. It sounded like he bought the story, at least. Leo leaned over to whisper in Michelangelo's ear.
"'Oswald Mandus'? How the hell do you come up with a name like that?"
"It's an alias I've used for ages. Worry not about it's origin, all that matters is that I'll readily answer to it."
The two stopped their whispering when Murakami came up to the counter with their food. Both Leonardo and Donatello both got pizza gyoza, as per usual. Michelangelo, however, was brought something entirely different. Murakami gave the British turtle a warm smile.
"I hear curry is very popular in England. Also, Earl Grey tea. Milk and one sugar, correct?"
Michelangelo blinked up at the chef, a look of astonishment on his face.
"Why yes, that's exactly it. My dear man, however did you know?"
Murakami's reply was a light chuckle as he touched a finger to his nose.
Raphael paced back and forth in the living room of the lair, getting more and more uneasy with each pass across the floor. Finally, he heard movement at the door. He looked up in time to catch the plastic container that was thrown at him.
"If Murakami-san asks, the soup really helped with your stomach bug and you're very grateful." Leo announced as he made his way inside. Raph furrowed his brow.
"Wait, you actually made it out to Murakami's? I heard you guys come back after five minutes so I bailed!"
Donatello stopped halfway down the steps, giving Raphael a confused look.
"What are you talking about? We stayed out for damn near an hour! We only just left the noodle shop! Michelangelo's probably just now getting back to the warehouse!"
"But I heard you guys coming back in! I barely found that damn journal before I had to take off!"
"Wait..." Leo interrupted, "You mean you didn't even look at it?!"
Raphael pulled out his phone, tossing it to Donnie.
"I managed to flip through it and take a few pictures, but that's all I got..."
Donatello looked through the pictures on his brother's phone. A lot of them were too blurry to make anything useful out, but some of them looked vaguely readable. Almost...
"These are awful..."
"Yeah, well... Sorry. I fucked up, okay?"
Leonardo shook his head. Something didn't add up.
"But if it wasn't us, who else would be poking around the warehouse at this time of night?"
Before anyone could speculate, there was a crash near the entrance to the lair. They all looked up in time to see Michelangelo sprinting in, coming to a crashing halt against the back of the couch, struggling for a moment to catch his breath.
"S-stolen!" Michelangelo rasped out. Leo and Don both looked back at Raph. He held his hands up, silently mouthing the words 'I didn't do it'. Donnie rolled his eyes. Oh, if he managed to lose that damn journal on his way out...
"What's been stolen?" Leo asked, trying to sound as oblivious as possible. It took a moment for the other turtle to catch his breath enough to answer with more than one word.
"The device! Someone stole it!"