Blinding Light
"Leonardo!"
Splinter's shout was surprising. It was late in the evening. Usually, their master settled deep into meditation by this time.
Raphael glanced up from the comic book he was pursuing with somewhat mindless fascination in his own room and frowned.
What's Fearless done now? As if accusing me of rape wasn't enough for one day.
Raph grunted, still embarrassed by the proceedings this morning. But not so self-conscious he missed the tone of real concern in his father's voice. That and the fact his father rarely raised it outside of the dojo threw up some red flags.
Was that... fear?
"Donatello! Raphael! Come quickly!" Splinter called.
Raphael tore out of his room and vaulted over the railing of the upstairs landing to alight beside Donnie—who ran out of his lab. Leo emerged from the training room to meet a very concerned-looking Master Splinter in their living area.
"What's the matter, sensei?" Don asked, rushing to his side.
"Where is Michelangelo?" Splinter demanded.
"Where?" Raph repeated in confusion, "Uh, Upstairs somewhere maybe? I ain't seen him all night."
Truthfully, Raphael spent the entire day avoiding social interaction as much as possible; not wanting to explain the gross misunderstanding that led to his and Leo's most spectacular falling out, particularly to his youngest brother. So he wasn't sure what Mikey might be up to. But from the blank looks on his brothers' faces, they didn't have a clue either.
Training had been canceled due to the fight. And everyone had been too busy or petulant to join Michelangelo for the noon meal. Dinnertime had come and gone in much the same fashion with everybody fending for themselves.
"He is afraid"—abruptly Splinter hissed, pressing a paw first to his shoulder then to his lower left side—"And he is injured. Badly!"
"Yo MIKEY!" Raphael roared loud enough to shake the dust from the ceiling two stories above, "Where you at? Make some noise so we can help ya!"
"He is not here, my son," Splinter said, exhaling heavily. "At least, not in the lair."
"Donnie, check the security cams in the tunnels," Leonardo commanded. "He might be in view of one of them."
Donatello dashed off but returned almost instantly with a tablet, scrolling through the various feeds. "I don't see him..."
"Can you tell us anything else about where he is, Sensei?" Leo asked, furrowing his brows.
Splinter closed his eyes and concentrated.
"It is cold."
Well, that ain't gonna narrow it down much. In the dead of winter, even the sewers are freezing.
Raphael bit his tongue to keep his snarky mental comments from escaping. Not willing to invite any more parental scrutiny today. And well, Mikey was missing.
There's no telling what trouble the little twerps got into...
"He is above ground. The rooftops."
Donatello sucked in a sharp breath, "No... It's below zero out there!"
Raphael whipped out his phone and dialed Mikey. One ring echoed. After two it went to voicemail.
"He is running," Splinter said. His eyes snapped open with a gasp and he staggered.
Leonardo leaped to his side, propping him up while Donnie rushed to carry the other. Together they half-dragged their father to the nearest chair and helped him sit.
"What!" Raph barked. "What happened?"
Leo shot him a glare for his tone, but Raphael was beyond caring. His heart, already stuttering, nearly stopped as Splinter whispered.
"Michelangelo has fallen."
The moment Michelangelo's boot touched the surface of the icy puddle, he knew he was going down. His left foot skated forward with all his weight behind it. The abrupt motion pulled the muscles of his inner thigh all the way up to the groin.
An alarming crack preceded another wave of pain as his ankle smashed against the ridgeline at the edge of the building. With a startled shout and much waving of arms, Mikey toppled from the roof.
For once, luck was on his side. The adjacent structure shared a common wall so the fall wasn't a fatal drop to the street. Instead, he only plunged a couple of stories—about twenty feet.
Unfortunately, he crash-landed on his shell. The uncontrolled impact knocked the breath from his lungs, but his body knew what to do. Years of training made rolling upright automatic. He leaned forward, bracing his fists on his knees, and gasped for air.
Now I'm in trouble.
Mikey had certainly fallen farther in his life, but the temperature and injuries effectively nailed him to the floor. He could no longer flee, and at least a dozen figures were closing in on him—gliding over the neighboring buildings like jackals stalking their prey.
These Foot Soldiers didn't appear intent on capture. After so many years of elaborate traps gone awry, Shredder was done playing that game. The evil overlord just wanted the turtles dead.
I'm trapped!
While he had experienced some tight situations in his life, Michelangelo had never been in such dire straits alone. His heart pounded, he panted, and white lights flashed before his eyes.
"Fear is a blinding light." Splinter's rough voice welled from deep in Michelangelo's mind. "But no matter the odds, we must stand in the face of the dark."
The lesson was one his father recited often over the years, but Mikey never truly understood what his master meant. Until now. There was a difference between their everyday clashes and fighting when all hope was lost. The second took a lot more courage.
Eyes blazing, Michelangelo shook out his arms and snatched his chucks from his belt, forcing the panic aside.
I will not go down without a fight!
A pang of agony stabbed through his chest as he realized he was in fact 'going down' and his family didn't know where or why. They might never find out what happened.
I'm so, so sorry. Forgive me. I love you all. And I'll make you proud. I'll take down as many as I can before they kil–
Intense thrumming like suppressed thunder cut off his fatalistic thought and a dazzling light split the heavens—splashing over his surroundings. The Foot Soldiers melted away from the helicopter's searchlight while its blades flung stinging sheets of sleet and snow in all directions.
A miraculous rescue at the last moment seemed far-fetched, but things had a way of mysteriously working out for members of the Hamato family who found themselves in desperate situations. Perhaps it was some sort of universal recompense for saddling them with the notorious 'turtle luck' in the first place.
Mikey sprang for cover too, but his rush of relief was short-lived. His hopes dashed once again when he saw nothing in the bright light to help him.
There's nowhere to hide! No ladders. No stairwell. No escape.
The adjoining buildings were taller than this one, and he couldn't free climb in his current condition. The windowless wall he huddled against was his only refuge.
"As soon as the chopper pulls away... I'm toast."
Still, Splinter's words reverberated in his mind.
"Fear is a blinding light. Don't close your eyes..."
"Warning! Warning! Perimeter breach!"
The buzzing bracelet broke the engineer's intense concentration on the project in front of them, flashing its message in red scrolling digital LEDs in time with the vibration.
"Shit."
The alert had been ignored at first, chalked up to animals, or the weather. But this was the third signal in five minutes. Something was definitely off.
The soldering iron dropped into a battered metal stand; abandoned in favor of the computer on the other side of the room. Hands encased in protective gloves flew over the keyboard, rapidly calling up a feed from the security camera where the most recent alarm tripped.
At first, the dilapidated flat panel screen showed nothing but static.
It's not white noise but snowflakes blowing across the rooftop!
The hiss of sleet providing an accompanying soundtrack.
"Damn it. I didn't think the blizzard would get this bad so fast."
More clicking from the keys cycled the cameras, showing the same image from a multitude of perspectives. Most of the pictures were indecipherable—piles of snow creating waves of light and dark, making the familiar rooftop elements unrecognizable, even in night vision mode.
The finger paused before hitting enter again, leaving the last feed running.
There, is that? Yeah, that's human-shaped.
A double click of the mouse outlined the body on screen.
- Bing! -
The computer algorithm, alerted to new search parameters, highlighted several more people-like shapes creeping forward.
- Bing! -
- Bing! -
- Bing! -
All wore black uniforms, matte torso armor, and hoods over their heads. One gazed towards the camera and the minimal light reflected off their slick red goggles.
"No— The Foot? They're here! How did they find me? Why now? I—"
- Bing! -
- Buzz -
- Bing! -
Something else moved in the background, confusing the machine. First, it highlighted, then it dropped, then it lit up again. As if this shadow met some of the search criteria but not all.
The unknown figure sped away in a blur of motion. The Foot sprang into action, pursuing it from the top of one building onto the next.
Oh. Thank God. They're not after me. They're chasing...
"What is that?"
The shadow moved extraordinarily quick. Too fast to make out why the figure appeared so distorted.
A rapid series of keystrokes later, the computer program focused on this new target, ignoring the others.
- Bing! -
The visual jumped from camera to camera, following the path of the mass as it drew closer.
Two of the Foot waylaid it. A brief struggle ensued before the shadow ran on, leaving dark-clad bodies behind. Blood seeped out to form a pool around them.
"What the hell? He took those guys out in two seconds flat!"
Stress panting filled the silence of the room as the on-screen chase came nearer still.
"They're herding him."
With a few more clicks, a bird's-eye view appeared, painting a distressing picture. Thirty or more ninjas stalked the nearby buildings, driving the victim onward with their mere presence. The shadow fought back and the Foot were losing men with each clash, but they didn't pause.
"They're headed right here!"
With a desperate burst of speed, the strange figure pulled away... and abruptly lost his footing, sliding over the edge of the building.
"NO!"
A horrible crash rattled the ceiling above and echoed throughout the room.
"No." This time the protest was a whisper, followed by hitching breath.
No one could have survived that...
Still, the keys clicked and the cameras surveyed the surface above from every available angle.
- Bing! -
The tiny electronic notification was almost lost in the sounds of the city, the roar of a helicopter passing overhead. But in the flashes of light, the computer located the shadowy figure again. Highlighting it huddled against a wall.
"No way!"
He's still upright! But with all those Foot, he won't be for long.
"We're surrounded."
Michelangelo crouched on the snow-covered roof—preparing for the fight of his life—when sudden movement in his peripheral vision jerked his attention front and center. He growled and bared his teeth as a small portion of the roof rose at a steep angle ten feet away.
"Quick! In here!"
The strained whisper-yell was barely audible over the sound of the chopper.
Mikey narrowed his eyes, squinting through the pelting storm at the hand holding the concealed hatch ajar. Five pink fingertips peeked out the ends of a fingerless brown glove. A human hand attached to a slender arm.
Casey? Nah, the hand's not big enough. April maybe...
The arm flinched, pulling the cleverly hidden trapdoor lower as the spotlight swept by for another pass.
"You wanna get caught? Get your ass, uh wait— Is that a shell?" A long pause ensued as if the speaker were reconsidering their offer before they blurted, "Get your shell down here."
Crap. It's someone new.
Mikey shivered indecisively. Revealing himself to a stranger wasn't in his plans tonight, but neither was dying. Cold numbness was more than stealing in, it had settled into his bones. In a few moments, he would be too frozen to move at all. He couldn't afford to turn away help.
As they say, any old port in a storm!
"You asked for it, dude," Michelangelo muttered, "One big-ass shell coming your way."
With the last of his strength, he pushed away from the wall and rolled into the opening. The entrance was a tight squeeze and support on the other side—nonexistent.
Michelangelo fell for the second time that night, though this trip was much shorter. He landed on his would-be rescuer.
The stranger let out a strangled - oomph - when they crashed together into the floor. Without a person to hold it, the door slammed above them with an ominous thud and an electric hum, leaving them in pitch black.
The ugly wet sound of someone struggling to breathe came from underneath him. Mikey attempted to roll off the guy but the bitter cold had stiffened his muscles. He didn't manage to shift more than an inch before he rocked back, crushing the hapless human again.
"Sorry, dude." he apologized loudly, "I'm tryin'. Be off you in a sec."
Michelangelo pivoted again, managing to make it to his side before colliding with a ladder. He grabbed the support to keep himself balanced, leaving enough space the trapped person could move away.
More heavy breathing followed, still from the floor behind him.
"You ok back there?" Mikey asked, only to be cut off as an arm snaked around his neck and a hand clamped over his mouth.
"- Mmph! -" Michelangelo protested squirming against the light hold. He should be able to break free easily, but he was so dang frozen!
"Don't make a sound!" the person whispered harshly, still trying to quiet their own uneven breathing.
In all the turmoil, Mikey had missed the sudden absence of the helicopter. He inhaled in an involuntary gasp of recognition and went rigid in horror. A sweet flavor like vanilla, plum blossoms, and sugar crossed his palate from the hand over his mouth. There was no mistaking that type of subtle scent for anything other than pheromones. Female pheromones.
His 'dude' was a dudette.
Mikey wanted to turn over and apologize, but he couldn't without damaging the girl further, at least, not until she let go. He wiggled a bit to see if she would get the hint but a soft thump drew his gaze back overhead. The sound repeated as two squads of Foot ninjas descended to the roof to skulk about.
The girl's hold unintentionally tightened around his neck with each footfall, and a frightened whimper slipped between her teeth. Michelangelo surrendered to her arms, holding still—afraid to stress her more.
The wind from the helicopter probably disguised my trail. I just hope the trapdoor fools them as well as it did me.
A few minutes of strained listening yielded nothing more. No cries of discovery, no attempts to pry at the opening. Eventually, a small green LED flashed on at the corner of the odd doorway.
All the tension dissolved from the girl behind him. Her hand freed his mouth and she scooted away as he s-l-o-w-l-y curled up and pivoted to a kneeling position as best he could with his leg and ankle screaming in pain.
"Sorry," Mikey mumbled to the floor. "I'm so sorry. We hit so hard and then I squashed you again! Are you ok? Is anything broken?"
She didn't answer. Instead, while trying not to step on him, she stood and fumbled above them in the darkness. With a telltale metallic clink, a lonely incandescent bulb on a dangling wire filled the space with a dim yellowish glow.
Michelangelo closed his eyes.
Partly he needed to let his vision adjust to the sudden change in illumination, but mostly he shut them to brace himself against a very different kind of fear. This dread was almost harder to bear than the mortal terror he felt outside. Anxiety that plagued his entire existence.
Michelangelo was an optimist and an extrovert at heart. The life and soul of the party.
Or I would be if anyone ever invited me.
He loved company. He wanted friends. Being seen and appreciated was vital. It was hard to accept enforced invisibility when it came to the outside world. Even harder to admit he might always have to live that way.
I'll probably never meet someone special enough to want to settle down with me...
Because a violent outcry of some sort was inevitable whenever people saw him clearly for the first time. And being the trigger of such shock and fright hurt him—more than even his family imagined.
Yet it happens... Every. Single. Time.
Even April, the brothers' adoptive big sister, had shrieked at him on first sight.
Mikey hunched over to seem less threatening since there was no other way to disguise his mutant form. Brutally, he tamped down on the suffocating feeling of sorrow that always haunted him when someone screamed.
I hope the Foot are far enough away they don't hear.
But the piercing cry he anticipated never came. Aside from his own ragged breathing, the only noises were the quiet scrape of the girl's feet as she crept closer to him. A stronger whiff of sugary sweetness confirmed the impossible right before her gloved hand rested on his forearm in an unexpected gesture of reassurance.
Michelangelo couldn't quite believe it happened. Sure, she'd touched him a minute ago, even slapped a hand over his mouth, but then she hadn't known he was so... different.
Or did she? She was kinda up close and personal with the shell...
Mikey tensed at the contact but the girl didn't speak or move any further. Bewildered, he opened one eye and peered up from the floor.
He sat in an anteroom of sorts, one no bigger than a coat closet. The walls were a weathered grey and pieced together from what appeared to be wood from discarded industrial pallets. Beside him, a metal ladder that would look more at home on a rusted fire escape offered access to the hidden roof panel. On his left, a more ordinary door hung somewhat crooked in its frame.
This wasn't a loft or any kind of normal apartment. If the strange entrance hadn't been enough to convince him, the materials of the hall sold the idea.
These rooms were stolen from an attic or utility space. They're not meant to be here, and I bet, neither is she.
Finally, he dared to peek at his savior.
On her haunches next to him sat the cutest little wisp of a girl Michelangelo had ever laid eyes on. The light haloed her dark cropped hair. Parts of it were cut so uneven it clung to her cheeks like the quills of a damaged feather, while the longest strands brushed her shoulders.
The rest stuck to her scalp in a crude inverted fashion, stacked higher in the back than the front. All over her head, pieces of hair poked out in different directions; which made the whole look balance somewhere between a complete mess and a deliberate style.
The clothing she wore was plain city fare, but still somehow camouflage worthy of a ninja. A long-sleeved, baggy grey sweater dangled from her slim shoulders to almost her knees. Brown leggings and lumpy knitted cream leg-warmers stuffed into oversized black combat boots completed her outfit, along with dark coffee-colored fingerless gloves.
The bland colors blended with her surroundings and would make her practically invisible on the city streets. Not affluent enough to bother with mugging and not hopeless enough to run off for being homeless.
She looked utterly mundane and completely forgettable. No one should look at her twice.
Michelangelo couldn't tear his eyes away. His timid glance became an outright stare when she didn't flinch at his movement.
The girl was tiny. Standing, the top of her head might reach his shoulder. And she would tuck easily under his chin. Her expression was caught between a confused smile and a concerned frown as she watched him intently. Her lips parted and she panted lightly, fidgeting as the silence wore on.
Slightly blushed cheeks, chapped from the cold air, accented her oval face. A rosy nose turned up just a hint at the tip. Freckles—like his—dotted across it, emphasizing her pale complexion. Long, thick lashes framed doe-like eyes.
Unable to find his voice, he simply stared until she held out her hand in greeting.
"Hi," she said softly, "I'm Sharra."