Hello, all. Anyone else live where it's insanely hot? Know how I know that it's insanely hot here? I took a shower today, with the knob turned to cold, and still got hot water. Shoot. Me. XP Here's to hoping that all of you live in a cooler climate than I do. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Krrzzzt. Krrrrrshhhh. Going…tunnel…don't…krrrrrshhhhzzzz…any—kzzzztttt…M.N.T…

I didn't like this. I didn't like this at all. We'd just spent forever traipsing around in this muggy jungle, and now we were face to face with Dr. Morris? Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen. We didn't trust this guy before, and I sure as shell wasn't going to willingly walk right into his hands now.

I surreptitiously glanced around, looking for a way to escape. Our escort was behind us, but they were bunched up on the path. There was a small clearing around the cabin, maybe fifteen feet on each side, if Donny and I could make it into the trees maybe we could give them the slip.

Donny was still gaping at Dr. Morris. He opened his mouth, but I nudged him with my elbow. He understood my intent immediately. Without warning we both lunged away from the door—in opposite directions. I cried out as I felt my arms wrenched behind my back. Don's head cracked into the back of mine as we both fell on our butts.

Dr. Morris looked down on us with a raised eyebrow. "Was that intended to be an escape attempt?" he asked archly.

I gnashed my teeth together. Two of the men from the ship stepped up and jerked us back to our feet.

"Code 27 subparagraph 4 of the T.M.N.T. handbook states that during an escape attempt in a highly wooded area, escapees should always lunge to the right off the psychotic man's porch," Don hissed at me out of the corner of his mouth.

The two men shoved us forward. Dr. Morris stepped aside and let them manhandle us into the front room. They shoved us down onto a moth-eaten, dust-ridden couch. My eyes watered as a cloud of who-knows-what erupted from the cushions.

"It does not! Can the smart guy act, Donny," I hissed back.

Before Don could reply, Dr. Morris was in front of us, "Boys," he started warmly, "It's been a while."

"Not long enough," I muttered into my knees. Not long enough.

Splinter watched the sidewalk as he walked with his hands in his pockets. He had no real destination in mind. A warm breeze ruffled his shirt, alleviating some of the sweat that had collected under the unwavering sunshine. Splinter brushed damp hair from his eyes, noting offhandedly how much gray was starting to show. Kids, he thought with a wry smile.

The humor faded quickly, though. Kids indeed, he thought, I wonder where mine have gotten to. Splinter tossed the situation around in his mind, going back to last night, when the whole affair had started.

The rescue team got to the island seven minutes after the initial strike. They had monitors posted around the area, alerting them to any unusual activity. Taking into account an average of two minutes to scramble the teams, and five minutes to reach the safe house from the mainland, they should have been able to intercept the attackers.

Splinter shook his head. It must have been one very disciplined assault. Replaying Donovan's conversation with him, the whole thing just tripled in convolution. It went from a straightforward kidnapping attempt, to a mess of double agents, mysterious explosions, and an extremely qualified assault team.

Splinter considered his options. What was his best opportunity for locating his sons? He had free rein to investigate any possible avenues of information. It hadn't taken much to convince Director Cunningham to allow him to take over the assignment. Not that he would have let Donovan stop him from investigating anyway. Splinter would hardly let something as trivial as his boss stand between him and his sons.

The way he saw it, there was a number of different approaches he could take on this case. He had the teams working the bombings, or he could try to flush out the mole. He supposed he could even go down to the island and check it out for himself; he doubted he'd find anything, though. No, priority number one would be to discover the identity of the double agent. If he could find the agent, he could find the people he or she was working for, and from there it would only be a matter of time before he got to his sons.

Decided on a course, he found his feet suddenly had a lot more direction. He hurried to an old, antique shop, stepping inside and closing the door softly. He wound through the store with practiced ease and proceeded up the stairs in the back. He knocked lightly on the door and smiled when it opened.

"Ms. O'Neil, I had hoped to find you at home. I would like to take you up on your offer of assistance."

I leaned back into the couch, inadvertently dragging Donny with me. "Whaddaya want, Morris?" I asked, deliberately slurring my words together. "I thought Leo told ya to buzz off last time."

Dr. Morris smiled, "Your brother and I did not see quite eye to eye when we last met, but I can assure you, my position has not changed. My only goal has been to reunite you boys with your parents."

I yawned loudly, cracking my jaw, "Blah blah blah, that's the same stuff you were trying to sell us last time. Right before your lab blew up, in fact. That wasn't nice. Any idea who's got it out for ya, Doc?"

"Nothing more than a jealous rival attempting to sabotage my work," he replied disdainfully. "Now, as to the reason I had you boys brought here—"

"What kinda work you in anyway, Doc?" I interrupted. "Not security, surely, I mean Leo and I broke in in like two seconds flat. You could be some kinda mad scientist, I guess. You keep enough people in jars anyway." Dr. Morris took a seat, sitting down stiffly. He leaned forward, and I could see him physically trying to remain conversational, trying to remain in control of the situation.

"Now, Raphael, is that anyway to talk about your parents?" he began.

I shrugged, "Who says those were my parents? You? No offense, Doc, but you're not too trustworthy. You've got more of the crazy, I-experiment-on-humans vibe going on, than the trust-me-I'm-a-good-Samaritan kind of vibe.

I could see Dr. Morris' pleasant façade beginning to crack. I was no Mikey, but I could still tick people off when I wanted to, and angry people were easy to manipulate. They didn't think too clearly when their emotions were running high. I should know.

"If you'd just listen to what I'm about to say—"

Finally, for the clincher, I belched, loudly, cutting him off mid-sentence. Belching on command, Mikey would be proud.

"You two!" Dr. Morris finally screeched, pointing at two of the commandos from the boat, "Remove this buffoon from my presence. I will talk with the intelligent one. Alone."

I grinned inwardly. The two commandos stepped forward. One drew out a knife and cut Don's handcuffs. I felt the smile fighting to break out as I felt the knife begin to slice through my own. This was just too easy…

Does that last line sound ominous to anyone else? Anybody think it's going to be that easy? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?