" -You are too paranoid Michelangelo. It's not said that if we split up they will follow you-. Yes, Leo, why not?! And as it happens, instead, they always and only follow ME!", the youngest of the four turtle brothers exclaimed angrily , turning to the silence and darkness of the sewage pipes that served as a hiding place and in which he had been wandering aimlessly for perhaps hours.
They had once again had to face the Kraang, but given their obvious superiority in numbers, they had to retreat; to better succeed and not get captured, Leo had proposed that they separate, despite the protests of the turtle in orange based on the more than once tested theory that whenever they split up, the pursuers on duty targeted him. As planned, his brothers had minimized his concerns, but as expected Michelangelo had again become the target of the Kraang.
Luck had it that he had managed to lose them by taking refuge in a manhole, but he had realized too late that he didn't have the slightest idea where he was. He didn't know those tunnels, they were in an area quite far from their refuge, which he had never had the opportunity to explore alone or with his brothers. And sadly the turtle-phone wasn't picking up a signal there, so there was no way to get Donnie to track his location.
A sudden low hiss behind him made him literally jump in place with a shrill little scream; he grabbed his nunchucks, getting into a guard position and carefully looking around for anything that could have made that sound, while he felt goosebumps creep up into his shell.
Michelangelo had never liked being alone. Not because he wasn't capable of defending himself, on the contrary, but simply because, being the youngest of the four anyway, he had always been used to the idea of having someone he could count on in any situation. Between brothers they watched each other's backs, like a real team, but little Miky had always had the feeling that if he remained alone for too long he would not have survived.
He knew for certain that he didn't have Leonardo's technique, or Raphael's strength, or even remotely Donatello's intelligence; although Master Splinter had however reassured him several times about his warrior skills, he could not prevent that small part of his brain from suggesting that without them he would have accomplished nothing.
And when he was alone with himself, with no possibility of concentrating on anything else, those thoughts became more and more intrusive and persistent…
A new hiss, closer than the previous one, made him make a new 180 degree turn, with such speed that he almost lost his balance, slipping on something that he hadn't identified at his feet.
He instinctively lost his guard for a second, lowering his gaze to understand what he had stepped on; from the manhole holes just above his head a small blade of light filtered, which fell in his favor to illuminate the point he was staring at.
Michelangelo's eyes widened, a shiver of pure terror ran down his back, making even his shell tremble, while only one thought appeared in his mind.
Run.
He was not fast enough.