The Foot Clan was on high alert for the next week — all ninja deployed into the field were ordered to keep an eye out for the rat and his three turtles, and Karai led nightly missions to scout what she deemed to be likely places where they might be. Raphael had no idea what those places were, but they all seemed to amount to nothing, judging by her sour expressions when she returned.

Master Shredder soon made it clear that he was humoring Karai by allowing her to go on these missions. "New York," he informed Raphael, "is too large a place for even the Foot Clan to locate four individuals who are skilled ninja. They will reveal themselves in time, and we will have them then."

Raphael thought back to when Master Shredder had offered the other three turtles a place in the Foot, and wondered what he meant by "have them." But he knew that much, that Karai's missions were failures and likely would continue failing until Master Shredder ordered her to stop wasting time.

Still, he couldn't help feeling frustration that he had been effectively grounded. Not just from the search for Hamato Yoshi and his turtles, but from any missions whatsoever. He had been scheduled to go on one only a few days after the battle with the other turtles, but Master Shredder had informed him that another ninja would be taking his place. Raphael would be remaining at the headquarters.

He began to wonder if Master Shredder was doubting him, keeping him close to make sure he didn't do anything suspicious. He knew that Karai thought he was even more untrustworthy now — she spent too much time unblinkingly staring at him to think otherwise — but he was used to her doubting and undermining him. If Master Shredder doubted him… doubted his loyalty to the Foot…

He didn't want to think about that. It just reminded him of that nightmare, of the blood and the pain, of being stabbed by the jonin for a betrayal that he didn't even understand.

It didn't help that his mind often went back to his encounters with Bo and Swords. No matter how hard he tried to shake it off, their words to him — urging him to leave, telling him they had been searching for him — kept flitting back into his head and sticking there. He wanted to know what they meant, but he also felt that thinking too much about them was dangerous.

But that wasn't the only thing that worried him. For the past two weeks, he hadn't dreamed of Mother at all.

His sleep had been all but dreamless during that time — or perhaps he had dreams, but could not recall them. Not once did he find himself in a spring garden rich with flowers and sunlight, not once did he find Mother waiting for him among the ponds and trees. There was only shallow fitful sleep, which he found himself avoiding more and more.

Where had she gone? Why had she gone? She had told him once "No matter what you do, I am always looking after you, my precious child. Always." So where was she now?

His nerves began to fray as the days went by. He had never realized how dependent he was on Mother, and the comfort and rest that his visits with her brought. Without her, he felt more isolated and lonely than ever, and he began to feel… unstable. As though he were walking a bridge that could collapse at any moment.

Well, that and his temper began to flare up more and more often. The other day he had openly snarled at a woman in the dining hall who had stared at him too long, sending her scuttling down the line to avoid him.

Somehow, Raphael's life was coming apart at the seams, and he didn't know how to fix it.

The night air was colder than ever, with the sharp scent of frost blowing in from the north. The windows and lights of New York City shone like pale stars in the distance, perhaps to make up for the lack of stars in the cloudy sky above. Far off, a siren rang out and faded away.

Raphael drank it in, and sighed. He had missed his nightly excursions.

He hadn't gone on one for almost two weeks, ever since he had tried to rescue the abused woman. The incident had shaken him on some level — he wasn't sure why — and he found himself wondering what he should do the next time he saw something like that. Probably beat the abuser anyway, he concluded. The guy deserved it, even if his victim had a problem with that.

He rested on a ledge, looking out at the alleys and streets for a sign of something — anything — that looked amiss. It had been a quiet-ish night, possibly because the police had been around recently and anyone up to no good had scattered. Raphael sat down on the edge, dangling his legs off into space and waiting for someone to pass by.

Then he saw her.

She was one of the prettiest girls he had seen… although admittedly most of the girls he saw were masked and dressed in unisex ninja garb, so he wasn't usually able to gauge their attractiveness. Her fair skin almost glowed under the street lamps, and her long hair was the color of flames. She was walking a little unsteadily down the street — probably tipsy, Raphael thought — and swinging her purse from one hand.

Probably a college girl, he guessed, coming home from a party or a night out. She'd make it to the bus, get home, collapse into bed and probably be mildly hungover for classes the next day.

Then a sudden motion caught his eye, a few buildings down from the flame-haired girl. It was hard to tell at first, but he thought he saw someone lurking in the alley behind the trash cans. He leaped from the ledge to the rooftop and ran closer, his eyes peering into the shadows below him.

There was a young man down there, about the same age as the girl, lurking in the shadows so he couldn't be seen from the street. He was holding a baseball bat in one hand, which he twirled idly with the surety of someone who knows how to hit hard with it.

And the girl was going to pass right by him.

A grin split Raphael's face. This was exactly what he needed — he doubted this girl would have a problem with him messing up the guy who was planning to rob or rape her. The guy wouldn't have a chance to do either, if Raphael had anything to do with it. He waited until the girl had almost teetered over to where the young man was crouched, her unsteady steps too slow for her to get away effectively. Plus, she was wearing heeled boots, so she probably couldn't run. She was just lucky that Raphael was there.

He dropped silently behind the young man, one of his sai already in his hand. He'd give the thug a sporting chance, and actually let him have the first punch — but after that, it was fair game…

"Get him!"

Suddenly a heavy shape hammered into Raphael's shell, knocking him forward onto his knees. Before he had a chance to recover, something long and hard cracked against the back of his neck, throwing him forward on his hands and sending stars spinning past his eyes.

"I got him down! Quick, before he gets up—"

Raphael let out a muffled roar and tried to throw the heavy body off of him, his hand scrabbling at the muscular arm that had just been thrown around his neck. A loud "Ow!" rang out in his ear, but instead of drawing back, his attacker threw his other arm around Raphael, yanking his head backwards.

Two more shapes crashed into him, and Raphael found himself being trapped by a cage of muscled limbs and heavy bodies, pressing him down to the filthy alley floor by sheer weight. He strained up against them, groaning angrily at being restrained like this, his limbs trembling as he tried to throw them off, tried to break free of the arms and legs scrabbling to hold him—

"Casey, a little help here!" one of the voices called out.

Out of the corner of his eye, Raphael saw the mugger racing across the alley toward him, his dark hair flopping in his eyes as he flung himself down and twisted Raphael's arm behind his shell. The turtle bared his teeth, wishing he were close enough to bite the little thug—

Then he felt something hard pressing against his throat, pushing against his trachea until he started to feel dizzy. They were trying to knock him out, he thought wildly — or suffocate him, whichever came first. A hand clamped on the back of his neck, pushing his head forward. With a loud growl, Raphael tensed every muscle in his neck and shoulders, pushing back against the hand.

"Guys, it's not working. He's not going down," a familiar voice said.

Bo.

Raphael's eyes snapped open as he realized what was happening here. Three bodies tackling him — it had to be the three other turtles. And the mugger — the human guy with the hockey mask who had come to the battle with them —

He snarled again, heaving against the layer of bodies on top of him, feeling them lift from the ground as he tried. But his limbs were getting more tired with every effort — soon he wouldn't be able to move at all.

"Raphael," Nunchaku said in his ear — he recognized the voice now. "You don't gotta be so angry — just calm down and we can talk this out, okay?"

"Talk— this—" Raphael grunted, trying his best to headbutt the Turtle behind him.

Suddenly some of the weight lifted, and Raphael tried once again to push himself out from under the people hanging on to him. Then he heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed, a slow deliberate metallic sound that rang out across the alley.

"I didn't want to do this, Raphael," the voice of Swords said from somewhere above him. "I know it's a cliche, but this really does hurt me more than it does you."

Raphael stared up with baleful eyes at the turtle standing above him with sword in hand. Then the hilt came down on his head with a crack, and he slumped down to the pavement, blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision. The last thing he heard before slipping into unconsciousness was the red-haired girl calling, "Quick, get him into the van!"