A/N: Exactly, D. Exactly. Never a break for the Hamato clan...

:P

September 24
7:07 P.M.

Hamato Melody squirmed against something cool. Yet inside—through her bones, blood, tissue, and wires—a hot tingle left her breathless, paralyzed. It was an unfamiliar feeling and she fought it when her eyes opened, if only to determine the reason for the rhythmic thumping she felt.

Darkness reigned. Not like that could hinder a cyborg. A simple thought changed her robotic eye's filter to Night Vision, and she craned her neck from a thin mattress.

The green haze revealed the back of a transport van; Mel could recognize one easily from the times she had been escorted to precincts and hospitals in her teen years. It was gutted with closed off windows and a mesh gate on both ends—just enough resistance to keep people caged.

But Melody wasn't normal. She could rip through those gates. That is, if her limbs would move.

'There are no restraints across my body. Why…why…?'

"Melody?" Michelangelo's whisper broke through the van's hum.

Mel's head twisted with effort, his wide eyes and bruised cheek not overlooked by her Night Vision.

"Yo—you're breathing differently," he added. "You're up, right?"

"Can't…move," she said. Two breathes were required for her answer, which heated her blood even more.

"I was like that for a while. Fingers are still tingly, but I can sort'a roll."

"What…happened?"

"Not sure. There were intruders. Something got scrambled. A wrong sensor was tripped. Then boom! No more Lair."

"What?"

"Wanna know the worst part? Donny rigged it up that way. Was supposed to be a last resort in case Bishop found us…"

"Did he?"

Mikey glanced behind him, at another gurney where Nia slept. "No. These guys aren't EPF."

Mel swallowed then cringed at the pain it brought down her tight throat. "You…sure?"

"There are some uniforms in the corner. My pillow, I guess. Can't see well in this stupid van, but they checked on us once. Didn't notice I was faking, so before they shut the cab window, I read their patches."

"And that's"—the cyborg hissed, her arms still glued at her sides—"important?"

"They said they belonged to the Metuchen First Aid Squad…"

New Jersey. Sudden memories flooded Melody, washing away all sense of time and place. She stood in a round room with no doors or windows. Naked. They enclosed on her, their walls splattered by coagulated blood and many faces. Many horrible, contorted faces. They screamed in voices that cut like dull scalpels, and one above all stopped her heart.

Leonardo.

"Melody!"

Whisked away from her revere, Mel gasped for the air, no matter how musky it was. She fought a whimper, reminding herself that the mutant turtle beside her was not the one she had left in the hands of madmen.

No, that wouldn't happen again.

"Mel!" Mikey's three fingers landed on the forearm that felt like stone to Melody. "Stop. You're gunna bust a circuit or something."

"It won't happen…again."

"Trust me; I get that it's scary. The three of us have already been abducted at least once and—"

"I am not scared for myself."

The Nunchaku master reeled, yet smiled. "I have a crazy idea. Can you call Don? Or Sven?"

"Sven won't answer," Melody muttered through parched lips.

"Still too soon?"

"Until…until we are ready, we will not open that channel." The cyborg cringed when a Nubian's sly smile entered her mind, and her fingers curled with her deep sigh. "I will try Donatello's cell."

Michelangelo knew better than to speak any further, so he slumped at the wheels of Nia's locked gurney. He rubbed the artist's limp hand while Melody imagined her husband's cell number, much like she would if contacting Sven. With the carrot-top, however, the call was more instinctual. For several long moments, she feared the connection had failed.

'He—hello?' Donatello's strained voice echoed throughout Melody's mind like a ghost. The invasion was far from off-putting; Sven spoke the same way when their channel was open.

'Donatello,' she thought. 'It worked.'

'Are you…calling me without a phone? Is that possible?'

'Evidently. Now listen: I have no idea how long I can keep focused and if I lose you, I may not have the energy for another try.'

'Got it. We just reached the Battle Shell. I—I've already started to track you. It looks like you're moving.'

'We're in a transport van.'

'I see. And, uh, how are you doing?'

'My body feels as if an elephant is sitting on it. Michelangelo is tingly. Otherwise, he's normal. He can talk better than me.'

'Isn't that always the case?' Don chuckled, maybe in relief, but a static through the line corrupted whatever he said next.

'What'd you say, Damn Mechanic?'

'I asked about Nia.'

'She's unconscious.'

'Okay. But is she injured?'

'Like I can tell from here! My body's too stiff. The last thing I remember is Michelangelo yelling. Maybe it should be you telling me what happened at the Lair.'

'I'm sorry, Mel. I just…' The genius sighed. 'It's important. Before everything collapsed, I was running tests on Nia.'

'Alone?'

'Don't pout.'

Feh. She wasn't pouting.

'You've been studying hard for your license. You needed sleep.'

'Uh-huh. I take it the results were telling?'

'Yeah. They…they showed high traces of hCG.'

Melody gasped—an action she could neither control nor hide. Her Night Vision fell on the curled-up artist, whose dark lips parted with shallow pants. 'Nia is pregnant?'

'That's what the tests say. So—' Don sucked in a noisy breath. 'I know you're strong. You and Mike both. You can handle a lot. Nia…'

'She has a head injury, just above her brow. Her abdomen seems fine.'

'Thank God. Mel, we-re—'

Static cut off Donatello. Melody tried to recall the connection, only the white noise grew louder. Feedback. Who knew it could be so maddening?

Now the only question that remained was this: why did it start?

Chet signaled his van's blinker then steered towards the left lane inside Lincoln Tunnel. "Damn New York drivers," he said, gripping the leather-covered wheel.

He contemplated hitting the horn—just so the Subaru who cut in front of him knew his displeasure's extent. But that hadn't made a different the last five times. Why would it now?

"Just don't kill us," Water said. He lay, slanted, on the passenger side of the bench seat to keep pressure off his bandaged ass. Although, he looked more like a bored kid counting the seconds until they saw the night sky again.

The white man snorted.

"It ain't funny, Asshole."

"It's a little funny."

"You get bit by a pig-me-thing with razors for teeth and you'll know how funny it is. There better be extra for this."

"Should be, considering." Chet narrowed his eyes at the expansive sea of red tail tights across the dim-lit tunnel and raised a fist towards the windshield. "Come on! We're basically in Weehawken already!"

"Leave me to my small towns," added Walter.

"Geez…What're you fiddling with?"

"Another device Master Changeling mailed. Like the Tracker, drilling gear, Shells, and Jammer. Don't you remember?"

"Yeah. But it's been unimportant so far."

"It was acting weird." Walter hit the remote-like device, pointed ears twitching as he studied its digital screen.

'Ain't the only thing,' thought Chet.

"Look." The Chinese-American shoved the remote in his friend's face, which seemed permissible since traffic was stale.

"It says it's activated," Chet read. "Activated to do what?"

"Beats me. It said a forbidden single was being relayed and asked if I wanted to block it."

"What's that mean?"

"Dunno. Maybe it has something to do with cyber-chick?"

The two exchanged glances.

"Check the back, Walt."

Walter did as told—this time with no complaints. He slid the back window open and Chet regarded the darkness beyond the mesh barrier through his rearview mirror.

"Everybody alive back there?"

Stillness. Walter's reflection shrugged. He lifted a hand to close the window, but a sudden bang made him jump. He hit the dash with a curse, facing a horrid snarl from behind the mesh. Yes, that seemed more like it. More like the cage beasts they were then the docile things he and Walter had pushed into the van not half an hour ago.

"Jesus!" Walter panted. "Damn well gave me a heart attack."

Chet laughed. "He can't reach you. So long as the Jammer is on, neither can the cyborg. Why so tense?"

"They're monsters," Walter choked out. A bead of sweat down his temple was a testament to his true concern. Maybe he hadn't been the best partner choice after all. However, he had been the only one with a willing ear.

"Just shut the window if it freaks you out that bad."

"You can't say you aren't freaked!"

"Of course I am." Chet frowned when the trapped animal assaulted the mesh again.

"Then how are you so calm?"

Months of practice. Just off the top of his head, the brunette could remember over a dozen times where he imagined looking the turtle creatures in the eyes. To see the ferocity behind them that he imagined. Too see how strong they assumed they were. They were unnatural, a cry against nature. Chet had spent countless weeks seeking to balance that nature.

A bribe only sweetened the deal.

'Changeling better pull through. He originally contacted me through my blog about the cyborg. But he also said other test subjects could be negotiated. I wonder… how much can I get for these three?'

"You have no idea what kind'a things I wanna call ya dudes!"

It came as no surprise that the turtle creature could talk; the others could. What tore Chet's gaze off the road was the surfer-esque chime in his speech pattern.

"I'm just so frickin'—gah!" He banged the mesh a third time.

"Michelangelo!" Someone cried in the back. They sounded deep, although Chet knew the other captives were both female.

"I can vent, Mel. These guys have no idea who they're screwing with!"

"I didn't tell you so you could go ballistic, Idiot!"

"I'm not ballistic!"

"You sound like Raphael!"

"Well, someone has to be the protector!" The creature—Michelangelo, was is?—snorted. His head met the mesh wall, which seemed invisible when he glared. His bright blue eyes cut through it so sharply that Chet shivered.

"Do we gotta tranq you again?" asked Walter. He flinched while resituating himself on the bench seat and avoided the open window.

"Why not come back here and find out?"

"Awfully mouthy for someone in your position."

"Well," it seemed like the beast tried hard to remain casual, "I just got some life-altering news. So if you think you're going to take that new reality away from my clan, you're dead wrong."

Dead—Michelangelo hissed the word. But Chet wouldn't let it affect him. He was safe in his cab, his only issue being the congested traffic beneath the Hudson River.

"Wait until we meet Master Changeling," the brunette said when the van finally broke fifty-miles-per-hour. "Then we'll see who's dead."

"You're going to sell us for pocket change?"

"Think a little bigger. What we're being offered with ensure we'll never have to work another day in our lives."

"Sounds lazy."

"It's a win-win. We get money. He gets his rewards. And the world is that much safer."

"Safer?"

"You're a freak," Chet said in a tone plague by lingering fear. "The EPF has it right; Earth belongs to humans. Which none of you are."

"My sisters are human."

"Sisters? Not likely…"

"Che. Mel, we're moving faster. Have I stalled long enough?"

Walter caught Chet's gaze. They glanced at the window then down at the Jammer box on the center seat between them. Its red light no longer flashed. When had it been turned off?

"Senbon," Michelangelo told them.

Then, a sudden force tipped the van on two wheels.

A/N: Least Mel and Mike can still hold their own. Sorta. :D