Chapter Text
Michelangelo hated silence.
He’d always been like that. When they were little and Splinter gave them their own rooms, Mikey had fought tooth and nail to claim the one situated under the sewage pipes. His brothers never understood why, but it was the white noise of the gushing, sloshing water that helped him sleep at night. Sometimes when a space was too quiet, he made his own noise to fill it, much to his brother’s annoyance.
Especially to Donatello’s annoyance. Especially when he was trying to work. Mikey couldn’t understand it, but his older brothers couldn’t seem to focus well unless his surroundings were dead as a tomb.
“Mikey, can you PLEASE stop making noise for two minutes?” Donnie snapped, glaring darkly at the youngest turtle. Mikey froze, his fingers suspended over a group of glass beakers, and grinned.
“Sorry Dee, I just like the sound they make when you tap them,” he apologized. Donnie rolled his russet eyes, bloodshot with weariness, and re-focused his attention on the microscope in front of him. Mikey glanced back at the beakers and began to make faces in the glass. “Blehhh.” He stuck out his tongue and crossed his eyes, and his warped reflection returned the look. “Haha! Urgghh. Mmmm… Pbthhh. Guuhhhh. RaaaAAAAHH…”
“MIKEY!!” Donnie marched over and grabbed his younger brother’s arm. “If you can’t be quiet then you are STAYING OUT.”
The youngest turtle found himself facing the door to the lab as it slammed shut, his snout scrunched up in annoyance as Donnie’s footsteps retreated. He could hear his brother grumbling faintly. “What gives??” he asked the metal wall in front of him, to which it had to reply. He hadn’t been THAT loud, had he? Geez, it’s like his sensitivity’s been cranked up to 11. Not like that was unusual recently. Mikey kicked the door hard, listening to the dull bwummm as the metal reverberated, then huffed and spun on his heel. If Donnie was so desperate to get some peace and quiet, fine. He’d go hang out with Leo instead.
The splashing of sewer water in the canals echoed throughout the eerily still lair as he crossed the room. The training dummy hung limp on its chain, spilling stuffing and skewered with random shurikens. The TV was blank and sat lonely among stale pizza boxes. The kitchen was dark and as still as a tomb. The pinball machine was nothing but a plastic corpse. Not even the usual street noise from above seemed to penetrate the silence. Mikey hummed the Space Heroes theme to himself, rubbing his arms. He mounted the stairs towards the dojo in three hops and crept towards the entrance, hoping his brother hadn’t fallen asleep meditating.
“Oh Leeeeoooohh,” he chirped, sliding one of the doors open a crack. “Whatcha doin?”
The eldest turtle sat at the base of the tree, surrounded in a pool of afternoon sunlight filtering through the roof. How Splinter had managed to plant a tree in the sewers of New York remained a mystery to Mikey, but it at least made the room feel more alive. He stepped in and shut the door behind him, sneezing in the still, warm air. They really needed to dust the place. After his nose was clear, he inhaled deeply. It smelled like warm leather, earthy herbs, and tea. Jasmine tea specifically, with a hint of honey. Splinter’s favorite. Mikey’s throat grew tight, so he swallowed and walked forward.
Leonardo was in his meditating position: eyes closed, legs tucked underneath him, hands out with the fingers splayed in a position Mikey didn’t know the meaning of but knew was important. He breathed deeply and evenly, as if asleep. Mikey sat in front of him, knowing how snippy his older brother got if disturbed, and tried not to fidget with the frayed rug underneath him. He was unsuccessful, and soon several new threads had been picked loose by his fingers.
After several minutes (and after Mikey had shifted through about twenty different sitting positions, none of which were comfortable enough to hold) he watched as Leo sighed slightly and opened his gray-blue eyes. “What is it, Mikey?” His expression was tired and vaguely sad, but that was normal. Well, normal now.
Mikey sighed dramatically and flopped down. “I’m booored, and Donnie kicked me out of the lab again. He kept snapping at me for doing anything and poking around with his computers instead of talking, and I could tell he just wanted to get rid of me.” He tried a new position, folding his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his kneepads. “So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out? I’m pretty sure they’re doing a rerun of the Space Heroes Christmas special today, we could watch that! Ooh, or we could play Punch Kick III ! I’m pretty sure you owe me a rematch.” He punched Leo lightly on the arm and grinned.
Leo pursed his lips. “I’m busy right now. Maybe later, okay?” Mikey’s smile dropped, knowing that was Leo’s way of saying I’m saying no, but I’m trying to be nice about it.
“Busy doing what, dude? All you do is sit on your duff with your eyes closed for hours every day,” he argued. “Either that or you’re training like… an Olympic athlete or something!! You haven’t even slept in your room in like, two weeks. Donnie has to practically drag you out of here to eat. It’s like you’re trying to avoid us or something!”
The older turtle pitched the top of his snout with two fingers. “I’m not trying to avoid you guys! Honestly. It’s just…” he sighed and fell silent, his face drawn tight. “Splinter always said that leaders have to be spiritually and mentally refined. And the only way to do that is to meditate and train. I know I spend a lot of time in here, but I’ve been trying to do it more often since he…” Le’s voice cracked, and cleared his throat quickly, blinking hard. “...and, you know, it just takes up a lot of time. You understand, right?” He put on a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and patted his younger brother’s head.
Mikey felt his shoulders sag. “But…” He trailed off and sighed heavily. “Yeah, no. That’s cool. Leadership stuff. I get it.” He stood up and shook the static out of his legs. “I guess I’ll see you at dinner.”
He could feel Leo’s eyes on his shell as he left the dojo, but he didn’t bother turning around. Part of him knew he should have expected this. Leo practically lived in the dojo now, stuck to the floor like an ant on a glue trap. He was acting similar to Donnie in that way. Distant. Detached. Like quarantining themselves in their safe havens would make everything better. But all that did was let the grief incubate. Mikey punched the training dummy as he passed it, frustration and misery building in his gut.
Maybe Raph was home. It was unlikely he was, and even less likely he wanted to hang out, but right now Mikey just needed someone to interact with. If Raph wanted to give him an indian burn for bothering him, at least it’d be better than being waved away like a gnat. Mikey changed course for Raph’s room, his feet tracing the familiar path.
He reached the door and opened it, glancing around the dark room. Aaand he was gone. Of course. The bedsheets were carefully made and tucked in and the floor was cleared of junk and swept. Definitely not Raph’s doing. Donnie had probably gone on another cleaning streak last night. Mikey stepped into the room and glanced around, looking for his brother’s t-phone. If it was sitting on his drum set like usual, that meant he’d gone off to patrol and didn’t want to talk to anyone.
“Chirrup?”
Mikey jumped slightly at the noise and squinted into the darkness. Two gleaming maroon eyes returned the gaze. “Oh, it’s you,” he sighed with relief. “You’re a sneaky lil dude! You’d make a great ninja.” Chompy Picasso chirped and waddled towards Mikey, his tongue lolling out playfully. The freckled turtle chuckled and scooped up the little alien, nuzzling him fondly. He’d hit a growth spurt in the past half year and was now roughly the size of a football, and his spikes had gotten longer and sharper. Mikey scratched him in his favorite spot on his chin, and Chompy squeaked, rolling his eyes back with delight.
“Where’d your papa go, huh?” he murmured as Chompy made biscuits on his arm. Sadness pricked in Mikey’s gut, and he rubbed the baby’s head soothingly. “You hungry? Let’s get you some grub, lil dude.”
The door to Raph’s bedroom swung shut with a lonely creak as Mikey made his way back down the hallway. It was really uncharacteristic of the second oldest to ditch his beloved pet, even for patrol. No matter where Raphael went, Chompy was always perched on his shoulder, riding along on his shell, or tucked safely in the protective arms of his papa. Why on earth would Raph have just left him here?
Mikey stepped into the kitchen and clicked on the solitary lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Chompy jumped down onto the island and made himself comfortable. “Chirrup!”
“You feelin’ up for pizza, dude?” Mikey said, tugging open the fridge. “I think we got some leftover meat lovers in here.”
Chompy squeaked as Mikey pulled out a cold cardboard box and flipped it open. There were two slices left. “Here you go bud,” the turtle cooed, setting one of them down in front of Chompy, who attacked it with gusto. “ Bon appetit , as the Italians say.”
Both of the slices were gone in seconds. Mikey wasn’t anywhere near full, but Chompy’s tiny stomach was stuffed. He growled contentedly as the youngest ninja scooped him up again, heading out into the living room. “I should probably call Raph and tell him you’re still here,” he muttered to himself.
Mikey tramped to the couch and flopped down on the cool seat cushions as Chompy began to snore, tiny flames huffing out of his mouth with each breath. He pulled out his t-phone and opened it, clicking on Raph’s phone contact. After a minute of listening to the ringtone he sighed. No reply. Of course. Mr. McBroodypants is probably blowing up a warehouse or something. He huffed and hung up, letting the phone fall to the cushions. Maybe there was something interesting on TV. Mikey’s fingers found the remote and he turned the set on, flicking through channels mindlessly. News, weather, an old black and white movie, history channel, talk show, home renovation, nature channel. His eyes began to glaze over.
Raph had gone MIA. Donnie was ten times more hostile than usual. Leo was holed up in the dojo. It was like living with strangers. The lair felt strange and foreign. A home that’s no longer home , he thought sadly.
If Splinter was still here, none of this would be happening. He’d probably whip them all back into shape and tell them they should always be vigilant and work together or some other wise advice. And then after a long day of training they’d fight over the TV with Casey and eat pizza together. Instead his brothers were pulling apart, trying to deal with their father’s absence in their own ways. Isolating themselves from each other. From Mikey.
And where does that leave me? Mikey thought angrily. He had nothing to anchor himself to. His support beams had collapsed in on themselves, leaving him to drift around the lair like a ghost with nothing to haunt.
Mikey switched the TV off and rubbed at his eyes. His stomach growled angrily. “I agree,” he sighed. “That single slice isn’t gonna hold me over.” He should order something from Antonios. Supreme sounded really good right now.
The t-phone buzzed by his knee. His bleary blue eyes cracked open and glanced down at the screen. It was Casey.
CJ: yo dude r u up for some sk8boarding its been ages
He blinked. Skateboarding. That sounded fun. He picked up the phone and tapped out a response.
Mike-n-ike: yeah that sounds awesome! meet u @ the usual spot
CJ: k b right there gotta get away from my dad tho he never lets me out on my own anymore ugh
Mike-n-ike: prob have 2 do smth with u almost dying like 20 times bro
CJ: lol if he knew i was hanging out with you guys hed ground me till im 80
Mikey laughed at Casey’s text. The light, warm sound became hollow as it echoed off the walls, fading quickly into the still air. He wiped at his nose with one hand and typed with the other thumb.
Mike-n-ike: that wld suck if u were gone :’( i’d miss laughing @ you tryna do an airwalk
CJ: dude shut upp that was one time
casey jones thrives on skates anyway he is a man of the rink not of the ramp
Mike-n-ike: lol ok batman
u shld grab mondo on the way doesnt he live near u
CJ: yes on it
c u there dont get jumped by the PDs ;P
Mikey smiled as he put his t-phone away and hauled himself to his feet, setting the sleeping Chompy gently on the couch. His skateboard was leaning against the pinball machine; he snatched it before making his way over to the turnstiles at the entrance to the lair. Should I leave a note?
Nah. He’d be back before his brothers noticed he was even gone. If they noticed he was gone, that is. He hopped the turnstiles, hunger forgotten, and disappeared down the subway tunnel. Water gushed through the pipes overhead. A distant subway train sent rumbles through the floor. A cockroach skittered down the wall, wiggling its feelers. Raph would have hit notes like an opera singer if he saw it.
It was like everything had been steeped in a tea of silence. And Michelangelo hated silence.
_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_
Casey and Mondo Gecko had already hit the ramps by the time Mikey arrived at the skatepark. It was their favorite spot– secluded, rarely ever used, run down just enough to where it was functional but not tempting enough for human skaters to frequent it. Humans except Casey Jones, that is. He viewed the rickety architecture as a bonus challenge, a test of his skill. Plus it was the one spot he could meet with his mutant buddies without worrying about spooking innocent passersby.
It was a fairly small park, all things considered– a solitary grind rail, a few ramps and one or two half-pipes, and a bean-shaped bowl at the far end. In total it wasn’t any bigger than a very small parking lot and was squished uncomfortably between a bunch of run-down buildings. The cracked concrete bloomed with weeds, and long-discarded beer bottles and soda cans littered the place. Stagnant water pooled in the bottom of the bowl. If someone owned it they hadn’t set foot there in years.
In other words, it was perfect.
As Mikey slipped under the decrepit chain-link fence surrounding the property, he watched Mondo drop in the nearest half-pipe and attempt an ollie, to zero success. Mikey giggled as the gecko wiped out with an “OOF”, his skateboard rolling clumsily away.
“How’d the ground taste, dude?” he called, grinning.
Mondo looked up. “Michelangelo!” he beamed, bouncing up to his feet like nothing had happened. He snatched up his fallen baseball cap and ran over to Mikey. “You didn’t see anything, brah. How ya been?”
Mikey grabbed Mondo’s hand and shoulder bumped him, returning the smile. “Eh, average. You ready to be blown away by my amazing gazelle flip?” He flicked at the brim of the gecko’s hat, blue eyes shining.
“Ha, it takes more than a gazelle flip to impress me, man!” Mondo teased, giving Mikey a friendly shove. “You can’t out-skate the king of the ramps that easily.”
“Shouldn’t the ‘king’ of the ramps be able to land an ollie without eating dirt?” Casey glided up to them on his rollerblades, his pale face stretched into a gap-toothed smirk. The human teen lacked his usual crime-fighting mask and armor, but still had his twin hockey sticks strapped to his back and sported his favorite black hoodie speckled with spray paint. Mikey noticed with a jolt that he had cut his long black hair into a mullet. And it kind of worked on him, too. “Bout time you showed up, Mikey! I was starting to worry I’d be stuck with this moron all day.”
Mondo scoffed indignantly as Mikey and Casey laughed and fist-bumped. “Don’t worry bro, I’d never leave you at his mercy,” the turtle assured him.
“I’m ignoring both of you,” the gecko sulked, sticking his snout in the air like a pretentious poodle. The other two laughed; everyone knew he wasn’t really mad.
“Hey, is Raph coming?” Casey asked, spinning one of his hockey sticks absent-mindedly. “I was gonna challenge him to a race, but I haven’t seen his ugly mug in like, two weeks. He won’t answer his t-phone either. Your jerk of a brother didn’t quit the team again, did he?”
Mikey froze. Of course Casey would be worried about his brother. He was trying to hide it, but underneath his casual demeanor the concern was blatant; his shoulders were tensed up, his eyes didn’t match his smile, his fingers fidgeted while he waited for an answer. Guilt stabbed Mikey in the plastron- the turtles had basically gone MIA on the only two humans who cared about them, and now Casey probably thought they were avoiding him on purpose or something!
He didn’t want Casey to worry. He hated seeing anyone worry, but especially not Casey. This was supposed to be a time for them to hang out, not have a collective mental breakdown. Reassuring. Look reassuring, Mikey. The youngest turtle laughed and flapped a hand, trying to ease the tension appearing on his friend’s face. “Nah, dude, it’s all good. He’s just out on patrol again, being a vigilante and all that jazz. Probably murdering Vizioso’s goons or something. The usual.”
Casey relaxed slightly. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” He flipped the hockey stick around again and scratched at his nose, appearing thoughtful. “You guys have all just been a little distant since… um, since you defeated the Shredder. So… just lemme know if you need help or anything, ‘kay?” His tone was unnervingly serious, which made Mikey tense. Casey Jones was never serious.
Ohnono he’s still worried. MAYDAY MAYDAY!! “Yeah, of course,” Mikey said too quickly. “We’re all cool, dude. Thanks.”
He wasn’t fooling anyone, and they both knew it. Casey’s smile dropped and he opened his mouth to say something else, but Mondo cut him off, flicking his tail at Mikey. “So, you ready to show me that gazelle flip, brah?”
A distraction. Thank the pizza makers. Mikey’s smile widened as he pulled his skateboard off his back and tucked it under his arm. “You know it, dude. I’ve perfected my technique. Not to brag but I’m pretty much Street League level at this stuff.” He patted himself on the plastron smugly.
“Oh yeah? I could out-flip your flip anyday, brah!” Mondo challenged, forgetting he was supposed to be acting mad. The two mutants dashed off to the bowl, laughing and shoving each other around. Casey stared after Mikey, a line of concern crinkling his brow. He sighed, spun his hockey stick around one more time, and skated after them.
Like a balloon losing helium, the sun sank slowly in the sky, staining the horizon with orange and red hues. Looming shadows stretched over the park, and night lights appeared in the city, glowing through the twilight. As the sun finally disappeared, Mondo called it a day, leaving Casey and Mikey at the park together. Mikey practiced his casper flip while Casey did laps along the fence, whacking cans around with his hockey stick.
After landing another flip and feeling satisfied with his practice, Mikey paused at the top of a half-pipe to grab his skateboard. He sat down with a huff, and Casey skated up to him.
“Taking a breather, old man?” he teased.
Mikey nodded and slumped backwards, leaning on his elbows. His stomach growled again, and he clutched his abdomen. “Dude, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since like, lunch time,” he groaned.
Casey leaned down to tighten his rollerblade straps. “Yeah, same. Wanna run by Antonio’s?”
In a flash, Mikey was on his feet. “Like you even have to ask, bro! You’re paying though, right?” He patted his belt pockets for emphasis. “I don’t really have, you know… money.”
Casey rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Casey Jones is a generous man,” he assured the turtle. “But I get to choose the toppings. You care for olives?”
“You are speaking to a living garbage can,” Mikey replied solemnly. “If it is remotely edible, I shall eat it with relish. And mustard. And maybe hot sauce.” His stomach growled again.
“Pizza it is.” Casey straightened up and put his hands on his hips. “Let’s roll.”
The two gathered their stuff and slipped under the fence again, checking that the alleyway was abandoned before clambering up a nearby fire escape and taking off over the rooftops. Mikey rode along on his skateboard, grinding along ledges and jumping gaps with kickflips and 360’s. Casey followed on his skates, sliding in between air conditioning units or under water tanks with mere inches to spare, the whole time singing an AC/DC song to himself. He was secretly proud of how easily he could keep up with the mutant now, and how well he knew these rooftops. A couple of years ago, skating over New York instead of through it wouldn’t have even been an option he would consider. Then again, he wouldn’t have considered being friends with ninja turtles either. Man, my life is weird.
Eventually Mikey skidded to a halt by an AC unit and hopped off of his board, stretching his arms. Casey skated to the edge of the roof and peeked down, spotting the slightly run-down pizza joint on the street below. He pulled out his phone and typed in the number. After a minute it picked up.
“Yeah, I’d like two–” he caught Mikey’s puppy eyes and sighed. “I mean, four pizzas to go. One cheese, two pepperoni, and one supreme. Oh, and can you add olives to all of them? Black, not green.” He paused, listening. “ Kalamata ? Is that even a word?”
As Casey placed the order, Mikey finished stretching his arms and moved to his legs. His hamstring muscles were tighter than he had realized, and he winced in pain as he reached down to touch his toes. Man, am I out of shape. How long had it been since he’d skated? Or breakdanced, for that matter. His boombox was probably sitting in his room with his yoga mat, collecting dust. “I should do that more often,” he mused.
“Do what?” Casey asked, gliding over as he twirled his hockey stick again.
“Nothin.” The turtle finished his stretches and stood up, shaking out his limbs. “Hey, do you think they’d let mutant turtles into a yoga class?”
“Uh, I dunno? Probably not.” Casey let his hood down and pulled his black hair into a short ponytail. “I’m not that well versed in that typa thing.”
Mikey nodded absentmindedly and sat down to butterfly stretch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Casey watched him for a moment and then sat down next to him. “We have fifteen minutes till the pizza’s ready for pickup.” Mikey nodded again, staring at his hands as he leaned forward to stretch. Casey frowned.
“Hey, Mikey… are you okay?”
Well, that was abrupt. Mikey blinked and looked up at his friend as he sat up straight. Casey met his gaze and held it, his eyes back in their worried squint.
“Uh, yeah… yeah I’m good.”
Casey snorted. “I might be an idiot, but I’m not stupid, Mike. Your brothers are ghosting me and this is the first time I see you coming topside in weeks, and you just expect me to believe everything’s peachy at home?” His gaze softened and he looked away. “I’ve been worried about you guys, and how you’re handling… everything.”
Mikey blinked hard and looked down as well. Crap. He was not prepared for this. “I… I mean, well…” he huffed. “Yeah, it has been tough without dad. I mean, Sensei.” He still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to call Splinter. A lump lodged in his throat, and he swallowed hard. When he spoke again his voice was shaky. “Donnie and Leo have holed themselves up in the lair. And Raph is, well, tryna do everything on his own. He even abandoned Chompy tonight; left the little guy in his room.”
Casey’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Raph ditched Chompy? No way.”
“Yeah way, dude,” Mikey confirmed. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “A while ago Leo told us that everyone deals with stress in different ways. And the same thing probably goes for grief. So, like, I guess if they wanna be alone I’m supposed to leave them alone, right? But it sucks!” He suddenly threw his hands up in the air and smacked them on his legs. “It sucks being alone all the time!! I miss hanging out with you guys, and with them, and just being a normal family. I feel like they forget I’m even living with them most of the time.”
Casey was quiet as Mikey rubbed at his eyes. He leaned closer to the turtle and put an arm around his shoulders, and Mikey sniffed as he curled his knees up to his chest. “I thought defeating Shredder and avenging dad would fix everything, and we’d be able to adjust after that and be a good team again, but… but I feel like everything is falling apart. They don’t want to be around me anymore. I don’t know what–” his voice cracked as the tears spilled over, bleeding into his bright orange mask. “I don’t know what to do.”
His soft sobs were drowned out by the street noise from below as the two sat there for a bit. Casey stared at the ground and said nothing. Mikey felt all the frustration and sadness and loneliness that was pent up inside bubbling out of him, shaking him down and leaving him exhausted. And as he sat there, curled up on the roof, the moon shining overhead and the chaos of New York below, he felt himself emptying of everything he’d been holding back. Like shaking up a soda bottle and popping off the lid.
It felt like hours, but after a while his sobs ebbed down to quiet hiccups. Casey gave his shoulders a squeeze. “You good now?”
“Yeah… S-sorry,” Mikey stuttered. “I th-thought I… was done.”
Casey sighed. “It happens, dude. Heck, I couldn’t stop crying for weeks after my parents split up.” He played with the strings on his hoodie and let out a huff of amusement. “I hate crying in front of people, but my sister saw plenty of me blubbering that month. She was my shoulder to cry on. Which is stupid, right? Like, I’m the older brother, I should have been the one comforting her.” He scowled, then rubbed his face. “But everybody needs somebody like that. So I try to be that person for you guys. Even if most of your bone-headed brothers wouldn’t know empathy if it smacked them in the face.” He nudged Mikey’s knee with his own, and Mikey laughed.
“Th-thanks, Casey,” Mikey said, smiling up at his friend.
Casey ruffled his bandana tails and helped him to his feet. “Anytime, bro. Casey Jones is a reliable therapist. C’mon, the pizzas are probably getting cold. Whaddya say we–”
Suddenly, a white-hot light burst above them, blinding the teens like a flash bomb. Mikey yelled and clapped his hands over his eyes, spots dancing in his vision. He heard Casey swear loudly ( watch your language, said Leo’s voice in his brain) followed by a loud thump. The light intensified, bleeding through the cracks in his fingers, and a loud humming sound filled the air. Mikey dropped to his knees, adrenaline pumping in his veins. Was there another invasion? Had a meteor hit the earth? Were the squirrelanoids returning to claim his soul??
Abruptly, everything went dark and the humming stopped, leaving a pregnant silence in its wake. Mikey cracked open his eyes cautiously, a kaleidoscope of colors swimming in his vision. “Uh… Casey, are you okay?”
“Ow,” came the teen’s shaky reply from the ground. He must have fallen over.
“OH, GROCK! I missed it AGAIN!”
Mikey frowned. “Casey, what are you talking about?”
Casey sat up, digging his knuckles into his eyes. “I didn’t say anything. I don’t even think ‘grock’ is a word.”
Wait, what? Mikey blinked the spots away and looked around. Okay, a: what language was that, and b: WHO was that, because Casey was the only other person on the roof with him. As his eyes adjusted, he grabbed his nunchucks and scanned the rooftop, all senses on high alert. After a moment he heard the voice again, muttering something about “stupid charge”. He crept towards the voice, clutching his chucks tightly. “Uh, hello? Who’s there?”
The voice fell silent, and Mikey froze. Crap. In the corner of his eye he saw Casey grab his hockey stick and hold it out defensively. “Hey, mystery voice, are we chill or not?”
A shadowy figure stepped out from behind the nearby water tank, wearing a billowing cloak and holding some sort of staff. It regarded the two of them silently. Mikey narrowed his eyes and assumed a fighting stance, prickles running down his spine. “Do you speak English, dude? Do I need to translate? Or, wait, I think I know some ASL–”
“OHMYGOSHIT’SYOU!!” The figure was lightning-fast as it leapt out and streaked towards him. He yelped with surprise and tumbled onto his shell. Casey dashed forward, swinging his stick, but the figure was faster and grabbed the stick, twisting it out of his hands before kicking him in the chest. Mikey watched as he went flying into the nearby AC unit and fell on his stomach, dazed.
“HEY!! LEAVE HIM ALONE!” the ninja cried, jumping up and lashing out with his nunchucks. The figure twisted around but failed to escape as they were swiftly wrapped in tight metal chains. Mikey tugged backward and the figure was yanked to the ground with an “oof!”, the staff falling with a clatter. He stomped on the chain to hold it in place and leaned down, scowling. “You don’t just get to ruin our pizza run like that and get away with it! Who are you??”
The figure struggled against the chains. “Wait, wait! Please, don’t hurt me, I’m a friend!”
Mikey glanced over at Casey, who had gotten back on his feet, and saw the teen’s narrowed eyes and slowly shaking head. “Then why’d you punt my friend like a hacky sack, huh?”
The figure looked up and their hood fell back. “It’s called self-defense, genius!” Mikey’s eyes widened as a pair of pale gray eyes stared him down defiantly. It was a teenage girl. “Now if you’d untie me and let me explain myself, Michelangelo, we can get this all sorted out.”
“Wh– how did you know my name?” he stammered. The girl smiled.
“Because you’re a world-famous hero!” She clumsily sat up, drawing the chains tight. “Well, not yet anyways. Hold on, let me start over.” The girl wiggled a hand loose and held it out, smiling brightly. “My name is Renet Tilley, self-taught time traveler, and I’m from the future! Pleased to make your acquaintance.”