Michelangelo was bursting with excess adrenaline from the unfinished battle, so that he had a difficult time sitting still. The speed with which his red-masked brother was driving was the only thing that forced him to remain buckled in.

Across from him, Greg was quiet. The man was gripping one hand against the gash in his cheek that had yet to be addressed. The young woman from the Travel Agency was curled up in a ball on the far end of the bench seat upon which Mike was sitting; a feat the turtle was impressed she could manage while being strapped in by a seatbelt.

It's not funny, shell-head, he chided himself fiercely. She's scared to death. Say something!

"Hey," he addressed her more quietly than he normally would have, as if he was comforting one of the young ones. "It's gonna be okay now. We're not going to let anybody hurt you, I swear."

He watched her shoulders shudder as she buried her face further in her arms. Shell, does she not want me to see her cry? I think that's the last thing I'd care about if I were her. But I'm not a human girl, and I don't know anything about her.

Mike decided to take his life into his hands by removing his seatbelt, so he could reach the emergency kit that was under the seat. He quickly located a packaged bandage, and tore it open before handing it off to Greg. "Just put some pressure on it for right now, and I'll try to help you more in a minute."

He also found a miniature-sized pack of tissues, and approached the young woman more carefully. She automatically tried to pull away from him, but he persistently pressed the tissues into her hand.

"Nobody's gonna hurt you," he repeated, backing away. When Mike settled down on the seat again, Greg stared at him bleakly.

"I don't know how they found me, Mike. I didn't do anything strange. Jazz and I were just talking in my car, and suddenly the Akiudo were there."

"Jazz?" Mike said questioningly.

Greg pointed to the girl. "I'm really sorry." The man sounded shaken. "I didn't mean to drag you into this, Jazz, or to nearly get you killed."

She was rubbing her eyes fiercely with a tissue, and Mike could see the remnants of heavy black eyeliner disappearing. "What is 'sorry' gonna do for me?" she demanded. "I don't want an apology. I want an explanation!"

"You deserve one," Greg replied. "We don't want to hold out on you; it's just extremely complicated to explain."

"Who are you? Why not start there?" she asked sharply. "That woman called you Agent. Who do you work for?"

"I'm based out of the field office of the FBI, but like I told you, this mission wasn't official business."

"What does that mean? Is there another branch of the government involved?"

"Just the opposite actually," he answered. "We don't answer to a higher authority concerning these missions. We operate independently."

"That only makes this more confusing. Who were those people, and why were they trying to kill us?"

"Do you want a straight answer?" Greg asked.

"Let's consider tonight's events," Jazz said slowly, casting Michelangelo a wary look before turning to Greg. "So far I've survived a break-in involving turtles that talk, being drugged and kidnapped by you, only to be dropped into a gun battle. I think I can handle hearing it straight, Greg."

"What you saw tonight is a small faction of a larger group, which we're actually working on tracking down," Greg told her. "I didn't count on them tracking me down first."

"But who are they?"

"They're bad guys. Terrorists. The kinda people you don't wanna be around," Mike said glibly.

"Terrorists?" she echoed. "I don't understand. Why aren't the real authorities involved? And why are they coming after you?" Jazz directed to Greg.

"Because they want us," Mike spoke up before the man could. "None of this was about you guys. That's why they didn't mind taking shots at our friends."

The young woman focused on Mike, and her grey eyes appeared a little eerie from the effect of crying. "Then what do they want with you?"

The orange-masked turtle shook his head. "We've messed up their plans a few times," he said. "I don't know what they'll do if they catch us aga—"

"You've messed up their plans?" Jazz interrupted. "That's nowhere close to being up front. Let's simplify this, okay? What are they doing here? What's their purpose?"

"They want to catch up with us, but there's more to it than that." Mike looked at Greg for help.

The sandy-haired man shifted on his seat, folding one arm across his chest as he pressed the bandage more firmly against his cheek. "They're called the Akiudo. When we first became aware of them, their main objective was a slave trade. They were trafficking in young women. We faced them here in the US, and again inside their own territory in Okinawa. We tried to finish it last time, and ended up bringing the cops down on their heads. Their leader and several others went away to Prison."

"What were those people tonight, leftovers?"

"More like the resurgence," Greg admitted. "Their leader escaped. He's on the loose, and now he's in New York with revenge in mind. This group is responsible for the attack on the subway a couple of days ago."

The young woman suddenly looked paler. "Did they come here just to kill people?"

"The theory we were operating under is that they'd come to exact revenge for us shutting down their slave trade and for breaking up the gang," Greg said,

"Then why attack people on the train?" Jazz wanted to know.

"Because they want us to suffer before they kill us," Mike said morosely.

Jazz's confused gaze held his eyes until Greg spoke.

"What you need to understand is that the turtles aren't like anyone else you're ever going to meet."

"Oh, I believe that," she returned.

"I'm not referring to their physical differences," Greg clarified. "They care more about innocent strangers than they do themselves. Risking their lives isn't a hobby for them – it's a lifestyle. They care about all life, and the Akiudo know it."

"Are these the people that you were trying to track down through the Travel Agency?"

"We had a clue lead us to that business, which is why we ended up in your neck of the woods tonight," Greg said apologetically. "We didn't mean to completely turn your world upside-down, or I didn't, I should say. It's my fault that you're here."

"Yes, it is," she said flatly. "The question is, what happens to me now? Where are you taking me?"

"At the moment we're just getting the shell away from the cops," Mike supplied. "But I don't think we're taking you anywhere else you don't wanna go."

Greg looked troubled. "We'll drop you off near a Police Station, if that's what you want."

"For what purpose?" she asked. "Do you think I'll be able to rationally describe what happened tonight? Cops are always quick to jump to conclusions over me."

"Not all of them are like that," Mike contradicted.

"They are to me," Jazz said stubbornly. "It doesn't matter what I do, I'm already tainted. I'm not going to the police."

"Okay," Greg said guardedly. "Then what do you want us to do? Where do you want to go? We could double-back around to the Travel Agency—"

"You think I can go back to work after all this?"

"What about home?" Mike suggested.

Judging by her expression, that wasn't an acceptable idea either. She's still scared, he understood. She probably doesn't want to be alone.

"Do you have a roommate?" he asked.

"No," Jazz replied faintly.

"Do you have any family in the area? Friends you can turn to?" the turtle pressed.

"I can't face anyone right now. I won't be able to explain any of this! I'm not about to be accused of using on top of everything else."

"Using?"

"Yeah, drugs, alcohol? That's where all my problems have to come from, right? There's nothing else that could possibly contribute to my messed up life!"

Greg cleared his throat calmly. "Jazz, just tell us what you want to do, and we'll make it happen. Where do you want to go? If it's only a matter of safety, you can stay with me as far as I'm concerned."

"Stay with you where?" she asked uncertainly. Jazz's nerves leaped to the surface as if he'd threatened to attack her.

"In one of my friends' apartment," Greg said. "I have to catch up with someone else who's waiting for me."

Shell, Brandon, Mike thought inwardly. He's probably wigging out in that apartment by himself, and now the rain is back full force.

"Where is it?" Jazz asked.

"Close to St. Joseph's. Do you know the hospital? Maybe it would be better for you to stick with us for a while," Greg encouraged.

To make sure that nothing else happens to you, Mike silently filled in.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes," Greg replied. "Say the word, and you're free."

It was clear that the frightened woman was wrestling with possibilities. "Maybe just for a little while," she faltered, and glanced at Mike. "Will you be there?"

Michelangelo shook his head. "We probably need to get the van out of sight. My bros and I will be heading home. Can you get Marc to take a look at you, Greg?"

"I'll call him and find out what his status with Caleb is, but this wound is hardly life-threatening. I've had a lot worse, and I deserved worse this time."

Jazz ducked her head abashedly. "I'm sorry I hit you," she mumbled. "I wasn't thinking straight. I just wanted to get out of there."

"I don't blame you," he said. "I almost got you killed a dozen different ways tonight." Greg met Mike's eyes. "I'll check with Leo concerning where we're heading first, then I'll call Marc."

The orange-masked turtle nodded. When he turned his head, he found Jazz already staring at him. "So...Jazz," he said casually. "Cool name. I'm Mike." He held out his hand, and she looked down at it, unmoving. "It doesn't bite," he assured her.

From the curiosity in her eyes, he guessed that she wanted to touch him, though she was nervous. Seconds passed before she raised her hand to grasp his fingers in greeting.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" she asked.

"My dad." The turtle winked, knowing the answer was far from satisfying. "He trained me and my brothers since we were kids."

"You have a father? Well of course you had parents, I mean, you had to come from somewhere," she babbled awkwardly.

"We had an adopted dad," Mike offered. "He taught us everything we know about fighting and honor."

"Honor?" She sounded intrigued by the word. "What about honor?"

"Well…like valuing all life," he answered. "And not fighting without a good reason, only to defend someone else's or own lives."

The way she was looking at him underwent a subtle change. "You remind me of some kind of soldier," Jazz said. "I've been around those types all my life, but with you…"

"What?"

"I don't know. It's different – you're different. It's not just the appearance either. You really are good guys, aren't you?"

Mike nodded.

"Can you stop those terrorists on your own?" she asked. "It seems like you need someone else, some larger force on your side. I saw you guys fight and it looked amazing, but…Isn't this why the armies and tactical teams exist, to take out the terrorists? I might not like cops, but I can admit that they even serve a purpose from time to time."

"We took 'em down twice already," Mike said forcefully. By the way her chin quivered, it was obvious he'd come on too strong. "Yeah, it would make sense to have the Police working on stuff like this. But it also takes more time, and the 'due process'. We don't have any restraints in hunting them, except for finding the clues we need to begin with.

"When you're dealing with a certain type of bad guy, sometimes you can't wait on the authorities to catch up. The cops in Okinawa don't even know that the gang's leader dude escaped. They think he's dead. They're not looking for him, and the American Police won't either."

"How do you know that they're behind the subway?"

"'Cause their leader called Greg and basically took the credit for it. We're the ones Takashi wants, but like I said, they want to torture us too. A lot more people could die. Do you understand why we have to do things the way we did tonight? That's why we broke into the Agency. These dudes are bad to the core, and they don't care who they kill. They'll hurt more people to get to us, and we want to stop it before it goes that far."

Jazz bit her lip in consternation. "What was that attack tonight? How did it fit into their plans?"

"We don't know," the turtle replied. "We don't even know how they found Greg, or what they would have done with him. I could try to imagine, but I don't wanna go there."

The young woman shivered. "I don't either. That woman was whacked out."

Mike grinned at her description, but was drawn away from her by Greg hanging up the phone.

"Leo says we're in the clear with the cops. Kat, Tim and Sayuri split off in another direction, but he already heard from them. They're taking the flashdrives under—" Greg paused. "Home. They're taking them back to Donny. Raph is going to drop off Jazz and I at Marc's building, and we're going to hole up with Bran for a while. I'm going to call Marcus and see how soon he and Caleb will be finished in Chelsea."

Michelangelo saw the confusion in Jazz's eyes at all the different names that had just come up. "Hey, we're ninjas, okay?" He smiled. "We keep our word. If we say you're gonna be safe, then you are."

Jazz shook her head. "This has to be the craziest night I've ever had."