United

Leonardo stared at the monitor in front of him with narrowed eyes seeking any mismatch or alteration in the image. He played a few seconds of video before pausing to examine the feed minutely again.

There must be something here. Some sign of what happened to my little brother.

Michelangelo didn't simply disappear. Someone hurt him. Someone kidnapped him. Fury coiled like a viper in the pit of Leo's stomach.

They better pray I never find them.

His muscles were twisted as tight as his focus, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. All he needed was a trigger.

With all his senses on such high alert, he noticed immediately when Raphael re-entered the lab. Leonardo identified him easily without needing to look. Raph's stiff-legged gate gave him away. That and the fact Donatello lay directly to Leo's right; sleeping in the lab's small bed.

Raphael's glare bored into the side of his head as the hot-head crossed the room. Leonardo grimaced internally but did not allow even a hint of discomfort to mar his expression. This was the fourth day of their search and Raphael was still beyond pissed at him. They hadn't exchanged more than a few words since the morning of Leo's horrid accusation.

In this time of crisis, the family ought to be united—acting as one. This standoff is only hurting our chances of bringing Mikey home.

They needed to find their way back to some sort of balance, but Leo was uncertain how to broach the subject. For a strategist of his caliber, not having a plan was a foreign feeling. One that induced panic, like floundering in deep water with no idea how to swim.

It's giving me a headache.

Raphael pulled out the chair next to him roughly, letting the legs scrape unnecessarily hard across the floor before taking a seat. He re-started his own video clip on a second monitor, glowered at the screen, and hit the spacebar to stop it with a fist.

Leo frowned at him. They were only here at Don's sufferance. If Raph damaged the equipment Donnie would banish them. That would slow the search considerably.

"We need to talk."

Leonardo deliberately paused his own feed; unwilling to show precisely how shocked he felt by Raphael's abrupt statement. Somehow he managed to keep his expression neutral, though he couldn't stop a surprised blink.

This is... different.

When offended, Raphael generally chose one of two courses: silently hold a grudge and wait for a pleading apology, or beat the shit out of the one who insulted him. He was not, as a rule, one who instigated conversation.

At least, not conversations that begin with the words 'we need to talk.'

Giving his brother a piercing once over, Leo waited in silence to see what would follow the unexpected declaration. Darkness clouded Raph's eyes. The churning swirl of emotions had been pulsing to the forefront more and more since Mikey disappeared.

"I want to know..." Raphael began, shooting a glance at Donatello to make sure he was still asleep before locking eyes with Leo, "what you saw that night in the alley."

It was no use pretending not to understand which alley or what night. This discussion was going to happen whether Leo was ready for it or not.

"I told you already," he answered with a sigh. "You and father both. I apologized, Raphael. I was wrong and I'm sorry. Do you want me to repeat it some more? Is that what you need to hear?"

Raphael shook his head a little desperately, "No. I mean, yeah an apology is nice an' all, but I need to know why."

"Why what?"

"Why did you believe I was raping her? You know me. I couldn't— I would never—"

"I know."

"But, your eyes when you told Splinter. They did that thing they do when you're absolutely certain! An' you called me out officially. You didn't drop into the alley and try to beat the crap out of me. So there must'a been something you saw, either then or some other night"—Raph gritted his teeth until they ground together, then growled out—"Some reason you were so fuckin' sure I'd become a monster."

Leo closed his gaping mouth with a soft click.

I didn't know there was a visual cue when I... switched.

"It's not what you think."

"What?"

"You're not a monster, Raphael."

He's not, but I am.

"I ain't fishin' for compliments here, Fearless. I ain't done my best for us"—Raph swung his arm in a circle, taking in the room, the lair, their world— "for a while now. I spend too much time playin' vigilante. An' even I don't think I'm making much difference anymore. Hell, I've never been the son Splinter wanted. But I didn't think I'd fallen that far, like to where I'd hurt an innocent. 'Cept, I never thought I'd ignore my family either and I did that so..."

Raphael shook his head. "You see things we don't, Leo. The truth. Lies. All that aural shit I could never master."

"You heard Master Splinter. You didn't rape her."

"But you were certai—"

"I WASN'T!" Leonardo roared.

Raphael stood and stumbled back, knocking over his stool at the vehemence of Leo's shout, only to realize Leonardo had done the same. They stared at each other for a few stunned seconds, breathing hard as both fought to control the adrenaline that ordinarily pushed them into battle.

"O-o-o-okay then." Raph righted his chair and sat back down, watching from the side of his eye as Leo hesitantly resumed his own seat. "Ya' care to tell me what actually happened?"

Leonardo took several more deep breaths, seeking a way to explain that Raphael would understand. Raph didn't talk about emotions. Raph didn't like complex reasoning.

Maybe you are selling Raphael short.

The annoying contrary mental voice that consisted of some mix between his own self-doubt and his conscience jumped in with its two cents. But this time it might have a point.

I mean, Raph is asking...

For eleven years, he had kept this story to himself. Only Sensei knew it and understood his triggers. When Splinter asked him to stay behind after the fight the other morning, it was to counsel him in regards to sharing that information with his brothers. Leo wasn't sure he was ready to tell the tale, but...

They should be aware when I'm... different.

Leonardo took a deep breath. "Raph, did you ever intentionally kill anybody?"

Raphael stifled a gasp and squinted his eyes.

What, now he's tryin' ta pin murder on me too?

After a careful scan of Leo's face, however, Raphael decided his brother was asking a serious question. Even if it was a leading one.

"Ya' know dad frowns on that sorta thing," he answered with a deadpan expression, "but we work with lethal weapons. Sometimes people die. It's not like I keep track or anything, but there's been a few who went down I knew weren't gettin' up again."

"But you didn't kill them on purpose."

Raphael scowled, not sure what Leo was getting at. "There's been a time or two when I was out with Jones that I wanted to take a guy out for what he's done. And of course, there's Shred-head. I ever get the opportunity he is definitely gettin' wiped out."

Leonardo pinched the bridge of his beak as if his head pained him.

"I don't mean killing out of momentary anger or revenge. I'm talking about cold-blooded, calculated assassination... I guess I should be grateful none of you needed to learn that particular skill."

"An' you have?" Raph retorted.

"Yes."

That single word rocked Raphael to his core.

Fearless assassinated someone? My goodie-two-shoes brother? When? Why? Wait. Is this some sorta distraction?

"What's this got to do with the other night?" Raph demanded.

"Nothing. Everything. I'm trying to explain," Leonardo said, exasperation leaking into his voice. "Let's back up a second. When one of those fights got out of hand and people died, what triggered it?"

"What, the fight? No telling. Usually something bad."

"No, what caused the escalation?"

"Depends. Sometimes if Donnie's getting whaled on or Mike's got his back to the wall, I might go harder than I need ta."

Or if Leo's in over his head, though I'd never admit it to his face.

That was an understatement. If any of his family got hurt Raphael changed his tactics in a heartbeat and fought dirty, doing a hell of a lot more than breaking bones or bloodying noses.

"Sometimes a mission just goes to shit," Raph continued. "An' we're outnumbered. Or yeah... Guess it happens more than I like to think."

"It's not merely instinct that triggers the change, though is it?" Leo asked. "There's a kind of mental shift when one of us decides the battle has to be taken to another level."

"Huh. Maybe. I never really thought about it. Don's the one who breaks stuff down into the whys and hows."

"That shift is a decision. A choice between our moral code and necessity. Sometimes necessity has to win. For our own survival or the survival of those we love."

"Ok. So, where is this goin'?"

"There's another mindset a step beyond that choice. A place to go when death is the only option left. A place with no emotion. No doubt or uncertainty. There can't be, or you can't accomplish the goal. When I believed you had betrayed us, I had to go there. There was no other way to face what I thought was about to happen."

"You were going to kill me?" Raph gasped.

"No! But I thought I had lost a brother..."

Donatello woke with a start, taking a moment to orient himself to the fact he was not in his bedroom. Yawning hugely, he scrubbed at his face and nodded to Leonardo and Raphael where they sat at his desk a few feet away. His eyes tracked automatically to the clock on the upper right corner of the monitor. It read 0400 or four in the morning.

They let me sleep for almost eight solid hours this time.

Day after day, night after night, trading off scanning the raw camera footage with time spent in the cot had become their new routine. Little else mattered.

Don's heart, already mired in a deep form of silent depression, sank a little lower. They hadn't found any signs of Michelangelo or they would have woken him.

"I'm headed for coffee," Donatello muttered. "You guys want anything?"

Raph grunted an inarticulate 'no' and shoved back from the desk. He staggered to the bed and collapsed without another word. He looked disturbed, but Don didn't inquire. When Raph wanted to talk, he would.

"Some tea would be nice," Leonardo replied with the ghost of a smile.

The leader was trying to keep up a solid front, but Donnie could see the ache in the back of his eyes. After days of around-the-clock searching, Leo was also losing hope.

Donatello plodded through the living room to the kitchen. He poured water in the kettle and put it on the stove to heat before preparing the one extravagance he allowed himself. A coffee from one of those single-cup espresso-type machines.

The hiss of the steam through the granules was familiar, almost soothing. He sighed as he set Leonardo's tea to steep. The light almost medicinal smell blended nicely with his dark roast. If he closed his eyes, he might pretend for all of thirty seconds it was the start of a normal day.

But the kitchen stood silent and empty. The domain of their missing brother. No one felt inspired enough to cook, so their meals had been cold. Cereal and milk. A salad or two. Protein bars. None of them could face ordering out even if delivery could be made in this weather.

A notification sound from the shell cell at his hip broke into his reverie.

"Don?" Leo's voice projected through the speaker, "I found something odd."

"I'll be right there."

Donatello snatched his favorite to-go mugs from the cupboard, poured both beverages, and secured the lids before hurrying back. Open drinks in the lab invited the worst kinds of accidents. Especially with Mikey around.

Mikey...

Just thinking the nickname made Donnie's heart stutter and his brain want to shut down. Gulping back tears he refused to let his brothers see, he picked up his pace, shoving the metal door aside.

Leonardo sat on the other side, staring intently at a video of an empty rooftop somewhere uptown. Don's eyes remained glued to the screen as he crossed the room. He recognized the clip. He had skimmed it before. But he hadn't discerned anything suspicious by the time he reached the leader and handed over his drink.

"What am I looking at?" Don asked.

"Nothing," Leo said.

And that's different from what we've been scanning for days how?

Don thought hard for a moment. There had to be something he was missing.

"What is so interesting about this specific nothing?"

"See the pigeon on the right ledge of the shorter building? He flies off in a second. In another two minutes, he'll be back in the same spot."

Donnie's brow wrinkled in worry. He examined Leonardo more scrupulously.

He may be in worse emotional shape than I thought.

"I hate to break it to you, Leo, but there are more pigeons in this city than I can count. So what if two of them like to swap space on a ledge?"

"It's not another bird, Don. It's the same one, in the exact same location—going through the same motions. The recording is on a loop. It's a long one so I didn't catch it right away, but it repeats every five minutes or so."

Donatello shot him a dubious glance, but sat down at his computer anyway and dug into the metadata. Leonardo was right. The time stamps were correct but the same frames of footage looped over itself continuously covering about twenty.

How did I miss this?

"Hmm," he groused. "Whoever blanked that knew what they were doing, but there's no way to tell if it's related to... Mike."

"It's ten blocks from where Raph found his coat and the only suspicious thing we've seen in days," Leo countered. "Let's run with it for a while and see where it takes us. And speaking of where can we narrow down the focus? There are at least seven high-rises and multiple bits of other buildings in view of the camera. Which ones could Mikey possibly have been on?"

"It's hard to say. These are all residential structures and I don't know enough about what was removed to speculate on the target."

Don typed for a bit and a three-dimensional grid appeared over the video. Some of the squares highlighted in yellow, but they were all well in the background.

"None of those structures equate to any sort of Foot activity," Donnie complained. "I've gone back in our records for more than ten years and there's not a trace of the clan there. The neighborhood is too upscale and there aren't enough commercial locations to tempt them."

"Should we take a closer look, in person?" Leo almost hesitated to ask the question; worried that Don would freak out again. But the genius had long since regained his temper.

Or maybe I'm just too depressed to be angry anymore.

"We'd have to get real close," Don said bleakly. "If someone is holding Michelangelo hostage they'd see us coming. If not, well the owner of those cameras will have footage of us. It's probably not worth the exposure."

Leo clapped him on the shoulder and stood. "Keep researching the area just in case. I'm gonna go grab a shower and we can go over anything you find when I get ba—"

A small chime interrupted him and Donatello jerked in the direction of another computer as though his head had been yanked by a chain. His eyes widened when the signal repeated and he attacked the keyboard in front of him with the intense concentration of a fanatic.

On a third monitor, a multi-level, wireframe map of the city scrolled through a section of the upper west side, and a red pinpoint began to blink over a structure.

"What is it?" Leo demanded.

"Mikey's shell cell. The homing beacon came back online."

As Donnie worked the images on all three screens merged into the center display; the buildings overlapped in perfect alignment.

"It's in the middle of your dead zone."

"Raph! Suit up!" Leonardo barked.

Raphael was awake and headed through the door before Leo finished the order.

"Don, wake father. We'll need his input before we head out."

Donatello nodded and dashed for the door himself as the leader leaned in to study the terrain, formulating a plan.

Splinter twitched an ear at the rapid footsteps approaching the door of his chambers so early. He sat up in an instant, pulled on his robe, and pushed himself upright on tired shaky knees; composing himself for whatever news Donatello brought.

My sons aren't the only ones shorting themselves of sleep.

He suppressed a groan and shifted into a slightly more comfortable posture. Splinter had spent nearly every waking moment since Michelangelo's disappearance, seeking his son's aura on any level he could reach. And the effort was exhausting.

Thankfully, Michelangelo had not appeared on the ancestral plane. With a huge amount of concentration, Splinter could still feel his spirit in this world. His light was weak though. So dim sometimes it was almost nonexistent. But it pulsed occasionally with gratitude and contentment.

Only the relief Splinter felt from Michelangelo in those moments helped him hold on to hope. Hope they would find his youngest son in time to keep him alive. Splinter knew the others were losing that hope. From the color of their auras alone he could tell they had moved on from the shock of loss into grieving.

But Michelangelo is not yet gone. Perhaps this new development will renew their strength.

Donatello knocked on the shoji screen with reverence and Splinter took one last deep breath.

"Come in, and share your news, my son."

With a few hours 'til dawn, Sharra forced her way out of the hatch to her home and ghosted across the rooftop, keeping her head down and walking fast. The snow had stopped momentarily. But the sky was still dark and the howling wind pelted her with bits of frozen debris from the nearby drifts, erasing her tracks within moments.

She didn't wish to leave Michelangelo and the snuggly warmth of their covers. But this errand couldn't wait.

There's no more food.

Sharra had compiled enough supplies to last out the storm, but she hadn't counted on company. And, since Michelangelo was healing from several near-fatal wounds, it was only logical to assume his body required a lot of sustenance.

She had fed him everything she owned.

Considering his almost alarming rate of recovery, it was the right move.

Her stomach clenched and growled at the mere thought of food, arguing against that conclusion. She laid a hand over it to quiet its complaining. A bite here and there while cooking over the last few days wasn't enough to keep her going. Starvation was beginning to take its toll.

A pipe hidden under a snowdrift caught the toe of her boot and she stumbled. For a moment, she thought her legs would give way, but a mental pep talk straightened her spine.

We'll eat breakfast soon, I promise. Real breakfast. Not like before.

She had meant to go earlier, but the storm trapped them inside for several days. Also, she couldn't guarantee the Foot had grown tired of hunting for the disappearing turtle. Dark ninjas on patrol had triggered her early warning alarms twice more since her unexpected guest came to call.

Not that I could do much to stop them if they found the entrance, but...

Regardless, she hadn't wanted to leave Mikey alone. But she had to go now. There was nothing left to feed him and she didn't dare risk climbing out during daylight when anyone might see her.

She paused to rub aching eyes, bleary from minimal sleep.

I only got a couple of hours of rest, but I can always nap later on.

The trip to the pavement via a fire escape three buildings away was harrowing. Conditions weren't much better on the ground. The streets, so familiar to her in the daytime, were horribly full of unexplained movement from the blowing snow.

Shadows leapt out at her around every corner.

Flinching at the slightest sound, Sharra ducked from alleyway to parked car. Forging her way slowly down the street until she darted into the store. The all-night bodega wasn't particularly cheap, but she couldn't keep feeding Michelangelo out of dumpsters. She didn't have the time or energy to search for the good stuff and he deserved better than garbage.

My meager savings will cover some staples.

Eggs, milk, flour, and sugar for pancakes filled her shopping basket. And orange juice to drink. An appropriate beverage given Mikey's bandana color. She also picked out bacon, lettuce, tomato, and cheese along with canned soups. Several packages of ramen and some day-old bread completed her purchases. With these supplies, she could make lots of types of food from BLTs to pizza.

The cashier, a seedy-looking guy in his twenties, barely acknowledged her as she paid. And she quickly gathered her bags before stumbling out. Sharra heaved a sigh of relief as her path up the blustery street remained deserted. She hurried her steps, unable to contain her excitement.

She couldn't wait to see Mikey again. To surprise him with a decent breakfast.

To tell him about the message for his father.

Despite the urgency created by the beacon's reappearance, several hours elapsed before the three Hamato brothers even left the lair. Leonardo insisted on a full planning session. Splinter had to be convinced to stay at home. And Donatello needed time to chart a route for them to bypass the compromised cameras.

The icy condition of the sewers slowed them further, forcing them to travel most of the way through the subway. The climb up the backside of one of the neighboring buildings was excruciating in the cold, but eventually, they made it to the top and separated to scout the area.

Leonardo examined the scene through slitted eyelids in what little light remained of the false dawn. The raging blizzard had eased somewhat, though the wind still swirled the snow. As far as he could see, however, the surrounding rooftops were empty.

Empty, but terribly exposed.

Their target was in a depression. Taller structures surrounded it on three sides. A straight drop to the street in front eliminated it as an approach. There was no way to close the distance without being seen, even dressed in the white stretch thermal camouflage outfits Donatello had somehow produced from his bag of tricks.

It's a kill box. A location guaranteed to be lethal.

A small group of men armed with automatic weapons inside the adjoining buildings could take them all out if they made the jump to that temptingly vacant expanse.

If the Foot are behind this, they have seriously stepped up their game.

The brothers' only advantage lay in the still miserable conditions. The baddies would be dependent on their eyes in the sky—or in this case the security feed from the other building—to see them coming.

Leonardo tapped the headset he was wearing lightly, activating the com unit connected to their shell cells. "Don, we need to own those cameras. Let me know when we're green."

As the genius worked to take control of the offending hardware and cloak their final approach, they held their positions, each on top of a separate building. From his location, Leo could scarcely make out the silhouettes of his brothers—and only then because he knew where they hid.

"I can't hack them," Donatello said.

Leo shook his head and jiggled his earpiece. He must have misheard.

"Say again?"

"I can't break in," Donnie repeated with irritation. "I'm in the network but I can't shut it down. At least, not with these tools. The protection program is too... slippery for my normal algorithms. I need either more processing power or a boatload more time."

"Com'on, Don!" Raphael's voice cut in with a growl. "You've unlocked half the freakin' U.S. with your tablet, how hard could it be?"

"If it's so easy, you do it," Donnie snapped.

"Guys this isn't the time," Leo interrupted. "If Don can't get us in covertly we'll come up with a new strategy. Where is the signal coming from exactly?"

"As near as I can triangulate, it's broadcasting from the center of the shortest building."

Of course it is.

"It sounds weird though," Donnie added, his voice perplexed. "I noticed on the way over the tone is shifting through a series of oscillating variances. It's almost as if..."

"Almost as if what?" Raph asked. "Don't leave us hangin' here."

"It's a code."

"Could Mikey set that up?" Leo asked.

"If he did, we need to have a serious conversation because he's been hiding some major brains," Don grumbled.

"Can you decode it?"

"Give me a sec."

"We don't got much time left here, genius. The sky is gettin' lighter,'' Raph objected.

"The clouds will conceal us a bit longer," Leo said. "This information could be vital."

"Ok, this is a broken translation. I'll need more time to write a program to get every word, but the message reads... Something about the Foot. Injured. Too secure. Await rescue. 'M'"

"They got him," Raph exploded. "I knew it."

"But why keep him here?" Don asked. "They own more military facilities. And I don't know how Michelangelo could encode that."

"The point is to lure us to that roof," Leo cautioned grimly. "First the beacon, then Mikey saying he needs help to seal the deal. He might not be here at all."

"Well, I sure as hell ain't leaving 'til we find out,'' Raph snarled. "If Mike says it's too tough for him to get out on his own, that's enough for me. I'm goin' in."

"Hold position," Leonardo commanded. "Someone's coming."

A single hunched figure hurried over the top of the adjacent building. They slinked across Leo's roof, stumbling to a halt mere feet from his hiding place, and bent their knees to jump down to the source of the beacon. That kind of fall would be damaging to an untrained human, but a ninja could do it.

What am I looking at here? A trainee? A mutant trying to gain points with Shredder?

Whoever it is, they know what really happened to Mikey.

Leonardo wasn't about to let any of the actors in this heinous play escape judgment. He drew his blade and stepped forward.

All the color drained from his eyes.