.:Author's note: My apologies for letting this story get away from me for so long. My life has been rather hectic this past year. However, since it is Halloween season, I figured I could at least finish up my favorite spooky story since I'm already so close to the end. I hope some of my older readers are still around, and I'd like to welcome any new readers I may have now that I've started updating again. Enjoy!:.

Anton ran as fast as he could through the polished metal halls of the Kraang machine. Donatello had been right. That power pack he'd given him didn't last long at all. A shame, really. He'd have wanted nothing more than to be invisible right now.

The roaring thunder of heavy hoofbeats stampeded after him, dull brown eyes fixed on him from under a hood of filthy bandages. After the Manpigs had dispatched the Kraang on the Pigline, they'd immediately taken to… other interests. Unfortunately for Anton, his act of freeing them had caught this one's eye.

"H-hey, c'mon now! I ain't dat kinda pig!" he squealed in breathless dismay, but he knew his words were wasted on this mindless mutant. The Manpig was relentless in its chase and he had no idea how much longer he could hold out running.

Fate seemed to decide that the chase was over. Anton's steps faltered, he tripped over himself and was sent tumbling to the floor. He tried to scramble away, but the beast was already standing over him, towering over him. He stared up at it in horror, his throat letting out a pathetic squeal of protest as it reached a hoof out to pin him to the ground. He snapped his eyes shut, as though it would all not come to pass if he refused to watch it himself.

The next thing he knew, there was a shower of hot ooze raining down over his face, the metallic taste of blood slipping into his mouth. He opened one eye, chancing a peek up at the Manpig. Its head was gone, its neck a mangled, bleeding stump. Its lifeless body was kicked off from on top of him, its form replaced in his field of vision by that of the most welcomed sight he'd ever seen.

Ivan Steranko stood over Anton now, a shotgun in one hand, while the other extended to lift the warthog up by the collar of his vest. The thief stood there for a long moment, mouth hanging agape as he stared up at his partner in crime in utter disbelief, not even seeming to notice the Manpig blood that was still coating his coarse brown fur.

"I-Ivan! How tha hell did ya get in here?! How'd ya find me?"

"Went back to place we steal machine from. Found portal to here." He explained in his usual short, broken English, retrieving something from one of his pockets and tossing it to the other. Anton caught it, immediately recognizing it. It was one of his battery packs, a proper one. He clipped it to his belt, plugged it in, and breathed a sigh of relief as the circuits in his skin glowed at their full intensity once more. Then, before he could say another word, he felt a rifle being shoved into his hands. He looked up at the rhinoceros, one ear quirked in confusion.

"We find man who built this place, who built other machine. You know where is?"

"Y-yeah… I mean, I think so… B-but why you wanna find dat freak? Can't we just get outta here tha way ya came?"

"Нет. Escape not enough. Must destroy this place. Now."

Anton found himself staring up at Ivan once more, a nervous lump gathering in his throat. He'd never seen the old Russian quite this serious about anything, and he was a pretty serious guy to begin with. He couldn't help but wonder what the other knew that he, or perhaps even the Turtles, did not. He swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding his head solemnly. Why did it feel as though they were going to war?

The three turtles could do nothing but stare for the longest time. The turtle that now stood before them, tall, thin, his icy blue eyes boring straight through them from behind those round glasses… This couldn't be Mighelangelo! Yet, it could be no one else.

He stood before the intricate altar of controls and dials, the very heartbeat of the machine at his fingertips, yet his back was to it. His full attention was turned to the three invaders of his sacred temple. Slowly, a wicked smile spread across his lips, his arms spreading wide as though to welcome them.

"You've come at last, my dearest brothers." He said in a voice deeper than any of them could imagine coming out of their baby brother's mouth. Then again, this was not their brother, and he was easily seven years their elder at this point. Leonardo glared at Michelangelo, his hands tightening almost painfully around the hilts of his katana.

"You deceived us… You played us all for fools and used us to get what you wanted! After all this, how can you dare call yourself our brother?!" he hissed out, his anger seething and threatening to boil over even his high threshold of control. Michelangelo merely let out a chuckle.

"Oh, but what marvelous fools you have been. I must thank you, really. Without you lot, it would have taken decades to establish suitable control over your city's resources to have my machine built, yet here we are, what… perhaps a week in Earth time? Honestly, I could never have dreamed of such good fortune as running into these Kraang, and all thanks to you."

Raphael let out a vicious growl, but Leo held out his katana to stop him from charging thoughtlessly forward. This Michelangelo may not have looked like much of a fighter, but he had no idea what sort of traps he had waiting for them out towards the altar of controls. He had clearly been waiting for them, and he seemed so confident…

"Look, Michelangelo, I'm not sure what the Kraang could have offered you, but it's not worth it! If you let them get the Orb, they'll have enough energy to take over both our world and yours!" Donatello interjected, hoping perhaps reason would sway the elder turtle. His reply was a sharp, mocking scoff.

"Oh, my poor, naïve Donatello… Who do you think is in control here? I'm using the Kraang just as I used you lot. They won't even get to lay eyes on the core of the Orb, let alone take it from me. They are fools, just like the rest. Yet more pigs for the bleeding."

"How can you be so sure of absolute control?" Leonardo challenged. "The Kraang outnumber you more than a million to one. What's to stop them from betraying you the instant you set up your portal to your dimension?"

Michelangelo let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"They, like you, understand nothing of what my machines are meant to do. Once my great works are complete, there will be nothing either you or the Kraang can do to stave off the inevitable."

"Then we'll just have to stop you before you can activate this machine of yours." Leo replied defiantly. Another chuckle, another shake of the head, and Michelangelo's gaze turned icy once more.

"My dear boy, that plan of yours to stop me would imply that my works haven't already begun…" he retorted, a pleased smile settling itself across his lips. In answer to the three younger turtle's shocked and confused expressions, he merely pointed upward. They looked up, and Donatello gasped at what he saw. In the open air above the pyramid-like temple, a huge pink portal larger than anything he'd ever seen spread over the entire sky. What was worse, it was slowly creeping down towards them. The very tops of the machine's countless metallic spires were already slowly passing through into what, on the other side, must be the underground tunnels of London.

"They're already starting to send the machine to Earth! Leo, we can't let him activate this thing once they've sent it through completely!"

"How long do we have? What can we do to stop it?" Leonardo asked, trying to remain calm even as he continued to stare down the fiend responsible for this whole mess. Michelangelo seemed content to let them plot and scheme, a confident smile still plastered across his face. It was clear that he didn't have a modicum of faith in their ability to stop him. Leo, his heart sinking a bit, was starting to feel the same way.

"At the rate that thing is coming down? Five minutes. Maybe ten if this machine goes down farther than I think it might. That'd be cutting it pretty close, though." Donatello replied, doing a bit of quick math in his head. "As for how to stop it… I'd have to get at those controls and see what I can do."

Leonardo nodded, his mind set in his new plan.

"Raph and I will take care of him. You head for those controls and get this thing shut down."

Not half an instant after Leo had said that, Raphael ducked under his katana blade and charged straight towards the adult turtle before them, his sais ready to bury themselves into that bastard's flesh. Leonardo didn't attempt to stop his brother, instead charging more or less at his heels. Michelangelo didn't seem the least bit perturbed by the sudden attack. In fact, it almost seemed as though his smile grew that much more smug.

Raphael reached him first. With a roar of pure rage, he pulled back his weapon and drove it forcefully right at the taller turtle's heart. He stumbled forward a few steps when he hit nothing but open air.

"Wh-what the…" Raph breathed out in confusion, staring blankly at the spot where he was sure Michelangelo had stood just a moment before. He took a quick look around, finally locking eyes with that icy cold stare just a few feet to his left. His eyes widened. He hadn't seen him move. He was there one moment, and had just disappeared the next. The only person he'd ever seen – or rather, not seen – move so swiftly was his Master Splinter. But this Michelangelo was no ninja! How could he possibly move so fast?!

"How very amusing… You lot always boasted of your superior strength and speed over myself and others who do not practice the martial arts. I wonder… Is this truly the full extent of what you can do? I must say, I find myself sorely disappointed…" he taunted calmly, almost boredly, not the least bit ruffled or out of breath. Raphael growled, taking another swing at the pompous bastard. He didn't dodge this time. Instead, the red-masked turtle found his wrist caught in the other's surprisingly strong grasp, his sai held mere inches away from its intended target. The smile was suddenly gone from the man's face.

"Now, now, dear Raphael… Have we not already discussed my distaste for physical contact? Need I remind you what I threatened to do the last time you laid your filthy hands on my coat?" he whispered deathly quiet, his voice taking on a chill that was only surpassed by his frigid stare. The grip on Raphael's wrist tightened suddenly. Raph let out a sharp cry of pain, feeling the bones of his wrist threaten to shatter under the unexpected strength of Michelangelo's single-handed grasp. Just as he feared the otherworldly fiend would truly make good on his promise to rip his hand from his arm, Raphael felt himself being released just as suddenly as he had been grabbed, a katana blade slashing downward an instant later where the other's arm would have been.

Leonardo quickly slid in between the two, his swords crossed defensively in front of himself, intending to keep Michelangelo at bay while Raphael recovered.

"Are you alright?" he whispered back at his brother, never taking his eyes off the menace before him. Raphael gave a small, pained grunt.

"I'll live, but… Shit, Leo, sumthin' ain't right here! Not even our Mikey should be this strong!" he whispered harshly in reply, still rubbing at his aching wrist. Leo merely gave a small nod before chancing a glance over at Donatello. The lanky turtle was still standing at the top of the pyramid steps, watching the altercation with open-mouthed awe. Leo let out a small growl.

"Donnie!" he shouted, which was all it took to snap his brother out of his daze. Donatello sprinted for the controls now that the other two had gotten Michelangelo away from them, immediately setting to work trying to find a way to disable the machine in some way.

Michelangelo didn't seem bothered in the least to have the younger turtle fiddling at the control panel. He was as calm as ever, his hands folded neatly behind his back, that look of sick amusement returning to his face. It was Leonardo's turn to go on the offensive now. He lunged forward, making calculated slashes aimed to rip through his opponent's chest. Each slash missed hitting the mark by a mere inch, Michelangelo effortlessly back-stepping just in time to miss getting hit. His frustration growing, Leonardo made one last lunge forward, aiming this time to bring both katana slashing downward on the madman's head.

Leonardo's blades slashed through empty air, embedding themselves deep into the steel plating of the floor. He immediately tried to lift them up for another attack, but found that they wouldn't budge. He glanced down to see why they had become stuck, his breath catching in his throat. His swords were pinned down by one of Raphael's sais. How had he not noticed Michelangelo take it? Had it happened when he tried to break his brother's wrist?

A brown leather boot stamped down hard on his hands. Leonardo winced, but refused to let go of his weapons. Instead, he looked up at the man in defiance, but the expression melted away instantly. Michelangelo, towering above him like a conquering titan, his normally crisp white shirt hanging loose and in tatters, was glaring down at him with a look of utter disgust. It wasn't that look alone that had sent chills up the young ninja's shell, however. There was a large chunk of the adult turtle's plastron missing, a section several inches wide directly over his heart. Directly in the center of that spot, embedded into his very flesh, sat the tiny shard of the Orb Michelangelo had always kept with him, glowing blue veins spreading out from it in all directions until they disappeared under the bone plating covering his bare chest.

"Wh-what have you done..?" Leo gasped out, his eyes wide in horror. Was that the source of Michelangelo's sudden devilish strength? Was that why he'd been so confident, even when confronted with the three of them? He never dreamed, as mad as this darker version of his brother had proven himself to be, that he'd be deranged enough to fuse a piece of the Orb with his own body for power.

"What have I done?" Michelangelo repeated coldly, his blue eyes narrowing behind his spectacles. "I have done what is necessary."

He then retrieved a small vial of glowing blue liquid from a pouch on his belt, uncorked it, and, before Leonardo could wrench his hands free from the crushing force of his boot, splashed the contents across the young mutant's face. A wretched scream ripped from Leonardo's throat, his hands finally pulling free to frantically wipe at his burning eyes, a putrid blue smoke rising from wherever the liquid had touched.

Michelangelo bent down in front of where Leonardo was curled up in pain and clawing futilely at his eyes, casually pulling the stolen sai from its hold on the ninja's katana. Let the boy have his little toys. A blind swordsman may as well be unarmed, so far as he was concerned. Besides, this little weapon would prove still useful to him. He turned, thrusting out his arm in time to parry Raphael's wild attack, the metal of both sais ringing as they connected violently with one another.

"You son of a bitch!" Raphael shrieked, his green eyes ablaze with anger. He slashed wildly, but hit nothing but open air just as he had the first time. He didn't let confusion delay a follow-up strike this time. He whirled around, making a wide arc with his sai to catch anyone and anything within arm's reach of him. Just as his mad slash completed its arc, Michelangelo was before him once more. He didn't have time to react before he felt a hard hand at his throat. He was shoved backward until his shell slammed against the wall of the control room. The last thing Raph could remember seeing clearly was the glint of metal as his own sai was raised to eye-level, before being thrust mercilessly towards his skull.

Donatello had to force the screams of his brothers out of his mind as he worked feverishly at the control panel. It tore at his heart to hear them crying out like that, but he couldn't afford to look away for even an instant if he hoped to find some way of permanently disabling this machine before it was too late. Michelangelo's journal offered no help, and it had been tossed aside. He didn't know why he'd thought the damn thing would be useful in the first place. There was no way, mad as he was, that Michelangelo would be stupid enough to write down his invention's Achilles Heel. He had to somehow find it for himself.

He wasn't at the controls but for a few minutes when he suddenly felt himself being wrenched away from them and tossed across the temple floor. He skidded to a stop just before he would have been made to tumble down the steps of the pyramid structure. He attempted to lift himself up, but a boot came down hard on the center of his chest, pinning him to the ground and thoroughly knocking the wind out of him.

"Poor, naïve Donatello…" came the patronizing voice from directly above him. "Can't you see that it's over? All of this effort you three have gone to, all of this pain, and for what? Some misguided notion that you're saving the world?"

Donatello gave a pained grunt as he grasped Michelangelo's ankle with both hands, trying in vain to lift the crushing appendage off of him. He took a quick glance upward, towards the ever descending portal. It would be on them any second now.

"Th-there's still time…" he choked out, but any further protest was ground out by the adult turtle's crushing heel.

"Don't be foolish. How can you stop something when you have no idea what it is you are trying to stop? Of course, I couldn't expect you to understand by just telling you. You'll see soon enough."

And so he would. Donatello snapped his eyes shut as the portal passed down over the two of them. He expected to feel the cold, dank air of long-unused tunnels buried deep under the English capital. What he felt instead was a bellowing wind. He opened his eyes, his breath drawing in sharply once he realized where they had been transported. They weren't underground, and they weren't in London. The temple seemed to be sitting atop a tall building, the city skyline interspersed with the occasional alien spire of the machine as far as the eye could see. What was worse, he knew this city. It was his city.

They were still in New York.

"N-no!" Donatello wheezed out desperately. "Y-you've got the wrong coordinates! If you activate that machine here, it'll rip a hole as wide as the Atlantic Ocean in the barrier between dimensions! Both our worlds will be destroyed in an instant!"

"Precisely."

Donatello looked sharply up at Michelangelo at that. Had he heard that correctly? Was this what he'd been planning all along? He just couldn't believe his ears…

"B-but… But why?" the question came out as a soft, disbelieving whisper. Michelangelo seemed to glare more sharply down at him, as though offended at his insolence.

"You simple fool… You think I'm just some sadistic megalomaniac, don't you? Can't you see that all I've worked for, all my family has worked for, is the same thing as you?! We have toiled away all this time to save humanity!"

"You're going to destroy humanity!"

"And in so doing, we save them from themselves!" Michelangelo barked back without a moment's hesitation. "I come from the year 1899. As we speak, in my world, the clock is slowly counting down the seconds to the new year, to the new century. Have you even the slightest idea what horrors await us there?! Have you no clue what these filthy apes do to one another in the name of war?! Mustard gas covering the plains of France and Germany, huge death camps all across Europe, London, my city, bombed mercilessly by the Germans! The genocides in Cambodia! The religious wars! The threat of total nuclear annihilation by the world's biggest superpowers! All of this and more awaits my world in the coming twentieth century! My Father has seen it all! I have seen it all! And if you dare defy even a small scrap of what I tell you now, I challenge you to look at your own world's history as proof!

"All I want… All any of us want… Is peace…" Michelangelo continued, his tone suddenly losing its hostility, his eyes softening from their hard glare. "No more fighting… no more killing… We want to make the world perfect, to make it clean, make it free of all this pointless pain…"

"But you can't have happiness without pain." Donnie interjected, feeling as though he may have found an opening in the weary inventor's rock-hard façade. "My Master Splinter once told me 'The beauty we perceive is equal in proportion to the ugliness we have experienced.' I never really understood it, but I think I do now. We can't have happiness without hardship, because without hardship, we have nothing to compare happiness to. The harder our lives, the easier it is for us to be happy with simple things. Don't you think that's worth all the pain?"

There was a long moment in which neither of them seemed to breathe. Michelangelo merely stared down at Donatello, his blue eyes seeming to look through him rather than at him. Then, after what seemed like forever, he looked down, his hand moving under his torn shirt. Donnie would have allowed himself a small sigh of relief, thinking perhaps he'd actually talked the other down, but the answer to his question was still forthcoming. Michelangelo pulled something from inside his belt, and soon Donatello found himself staring down the barrel of a small revolver.

"No. No, I don't think it is."

Donatello gasped, snapping his eyes shut as Michelangelo's finger squeezed the trigger. He heard the shot ring out, echoing through the city, but felt… nothing? Was this what death was like? He cracked open one eye, finding himself still lying on his back atop the pyramid structure. No, he certainly didn't feel dead, but he was so sure he'd heard a gunshot. He looked up at his would-be killer, hoping for some answers.

Michelangelo's eyes were unfocused, glazed over. Slowly, his handgun falling to the ground with a clatter, he rose a shaky hand up towards his chest. A thin stream of glowing blue liquid leaked slowly from the corner of his mouth. It took him a moment, but Donnie finally spotted the Orb shard – or rather, where the Orb shard had been embedded in his chest. What remained in its place was a small, oozing hole. The shot that had rung out a moment ago hadn't come from Michelangelo, it had been directed at him.

Slowly, with what seemed to be the last of his rapidly waning strength, Michelangelo willed himself to glance back over his shoulder at whoever it had been who dared to shoot him.

"Y-you… F-filthy… S-swine…" he choked out before, at last, collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap. Once free, Donatello leapt to his feet, searching out whoever it was that had saved him. He caught the flash of a riffle barrel as it was lowered, still smoking, to aim at the fallen madman's body, the shooter's body shimmering lightly for a moment as it flickered into visibility. Donatello stood there, frozen, not believing his eyes. His rescuer gave an indignant snort at the lifeless turtle.

"Dat's fer all'a dem pigs, mu'fucker!" Bebop shouted triumphantly.