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Michelangelo
Banks of monitors cast an amber glow across the concrete in Donnie's lab, their screens flickering with schematics, code, and data streams. The air smelled faintly of solder, the perfume of Donnie’s genius.
Michelangelo wasn’t supposed to be in there.
Which, in retrospect, was probably clue number one.
He had come in only to grab the spare controller for the VR rig — the one Donnie had built for “neurological reflex enhancement,” but Mikey mostly used for obstacle course races with himself. Just five minutes, he’d told himself. Quick grab, no biggie.
Except, five minutes in Mikey-time was about thirty, and by then he’d noticed the glowing canister pulsing in a containment case at the far end of the room.
“Whoa…” he whispered, leaning closer. The core was no bigger than a basketball, its surface webbed with faint blue light, pulsing like a heartbeat. “Hello, beautiful sci-fi mystery egg. What are you?”
The answer, as it turned out, was:
The most expensive thing Donnie had ever made.
Mikey’s fingers hovered above the glass, his curiosity doing jumping jacks in his skull. “Maybe just a little poke? I mean, it’s sealed and all. What’s the worst that could—”
The containment alarm screamed before he even finished the sentence.
Mikey jumped back, panic flooding his veins as a low hiss of steam vented from the base of the chamber. A cascade of warnings flashed across the monitors. “Containment breach detected.” “Core stability compromised.”
“Oh no no no no no—” Mikey scrambled toward the console, trying buttons, flipping switches, his heart racing. The screen spat back red text like a personal insult.
System override locked.
Error: Cooling array failure.
Backup protocol—offline.
A metallic crack split the air. Then another. And then, silence.
Mikey froze. The containment case went dark.
He exhaled shakily. “Okay… okay, maybe it’s just… taking a nap. Yeah. Tech stuff naps sometimes.”
That’s when Donnie walked in.
He was holding a mug of coffee and a datapad, his eyes scanning readings until they lifted to see Mikey standing amid blinking red lights and a faint curl of smoke rising from the core chamber.
For a second, Donnie didn’t say anything. Just looked.
Then his voice came, low and sharp:
“What. Did. You. Do?”
Mikey’s throat went dry. “Uh… technically? Nothing permanent—probably? I mean, it’s not on fire, so that’s a win, right?”
Donnie dropped the mug. It shattered against the floor. “Mikey. That was my data core. Fourteen months of compiled neural modeling, lab data, research logs—gone.” His voice cracked like static. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”
Mikey flinched. He wanted to shrink, to disappear into the floor. “I swear, I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course you didn’t mean to! You never mean to! You just do! You walk in, touch things you don’t understand, and—” Donnie’s hand cut through the air. “Do you think this stuff builds itself? Do you think I just wave a staff and it happens?”
Mikey’s stomach twisted. “I just… wanted to see. It looked cool.”
Donnie’s laugh was dry, humorless. “You wanted to see. Well, congratulations. You saw what happens when curiosity meets idiocy!” He stepped closer, the anger radiating off him. “Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve spent—how many hours—”
“Donnie—”
“Do you ever think before you act? Before showing off your ineptitude?!”
That one landed like a blade. Mikey blinked, eyes stinging, throat tight. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
He just stood there, staring at the broken case, at the faint trail of smoke rising from what had once been something brilliant.
Donnie rubbed a hand down his face, exhaustion leaking into his tone. “Just… get out of my lab, Mikey. Please. Now. Before you inevitably fuck something up again.”
It wasn’t shouted. It was worse than shouting.
That please burned more than the anger.
...fuck something up again. Again. Again. Again. Againagainagainagainagain-
Mikey nodded once, the motion stiff, throat tight, voice squeezed out. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
He backed out, his nunchucks clinking softly at his side, the lab’s lights flickering behind him like dying stars. Donnie didn’t look up again.
The lair felt too big afterward. The silence pressed against the walls. Even the familiar hum of the pipes seemed distant.
Leo was meditating in the dojo. Raph was lifting weights, headphones on. Nobody had heard the fight — or maybe they had and just didn’t want to get in the middle. Mikey didn’t blame them.
He slumped onto the couch. The TV remote lay on the table, but he didn’t touch it. His reflection in the dark screen looked smaller than he remembered — wide eyes, guilt hanging heavy across his shoulders.
He tried to tell himself Donnie was just mad, that it would blow over.
But he’d seen the look in Donnie’s eyes. That wasn’t just anger. That was loss.
Mikey wasn’t used to feeling like a screw-up in the serious way. He was used to the kind of mistakes that got laughs, eye rolls, a shove from Raph or a lecture from Leo. This was different.
This time, he’d actually broken something that mattered.
He buried his face in his hands. “Nice going, Mikey,” he muttered to himself. “You broke science. You broke your brother’s heart. Real A+ stuff, dude.”
Time slipped by, slow and heavy. The others drifted off to their rooms, lights dimming. The lair settled into sleep.
But Mikey couldn’t.
He lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying Donnie’s words.
Do you ever think before you act?
Each time, it hit harder.
He thought about apologizing right then — sneaking into the lab, saying something stupid but sincere, like “I’ll fix it, bro,” even though he knew he couldn’t. But the image of Donnie’s face stopped him cold.
Eventually, he got up. Quietly. Bare feet against the cool floor. He grabbed his pair of nunchucks and his skateboard.
The city called to him in the way it always did — distant and dangerous, but alive.
Maybe up there, the air would feel lighter.
He scribbled a note and left it on the table beside the TV. Just three words:
Needed some air.
Then he slipped into the tunnels, the shadows swallowing him whole.
The manhole cover slid open with a soft scrape. Cold night air washed over him, damp and electric. The city stretched out, endless and flickering, the smell of rain on concrete sharp in his nose.
Mikey climbed up and crouched on the edge of a rooftop, looking out over the skyline. Lights blinked in rhythm, cars hissed through wet streets below, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.
He pulled his shoulders back, watching the city breathe.
Down there, everyone was moving — people going places, doing things, messing up, trying again. Humans got to break stuff and move on. For him, mistakes always seemed to stick harder, echo longer.
He exhaled, fog curling into the cold air.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Real good job, Mikey.”
And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like joking about it.
There was nothing to joke about.
Steam rose from the grates, car horns cut through the dark, and neon bled against the drizzle. Up here, Michelangelo could almost pretend he wasn’t the team’s screw-up — just another night breeze passing through the skyline.
Almost.
He skated across a slick rooftop, wheels clicking over cracks in the tar. The sound was sharp and steady, but his thoughts were anything but. Every push forward brought the echo back louder, like a bad song he couldn’t turn off.
“You saw what happens when curiosity meets idiocy!”
“Do you ever think before you act? Before showing off your ineptitude?!”
“Just… get out of my lab, Mikey. Please. Now. Before you inevitably mess something up again.”
Each line came back with perfect clarity — Donnie’s tone brittle with frustration, his words clean, sharp, surgical. Mikey winced, pressing a hand to his chest like he could physically shut them out.
He wasn’t mad at Donnie. Not really. He knew his brother hadn’t meant it like that — or at least, not all of it. Donnie got tunnel vision when it came to his projects, and when something broke, it hit him like grief. Mikey understood. He really did.
Didn’t make it hurt any less.
He jumped a gap between buildings, the city yawning wide below. The air hit his face, cold and clean, almost enough to numb the ache that had settled behind his ribs. He landed hard, steadying himself with one palm against the rooftop gravel.
“I’m not an idiot,” he muttered under his breath. “Not all the time.”
A stray cat darted from a trash pile, startled by his voice. Mikey laughed softly, a hollow sound. “Yeah. You get it.”
He sat down near the ledge, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them. Coldness stuck to his damp skin. Somewhere far below, he could hear the muffled rhythm of music — a bar, maybe, or a passing car stereo. The kind of beat he usually couldn’t resist bobbing along to.
Not tonight.
He thought about going back. About apologizing again, properly this time, without the jokes or the nervous babbling. But he could already see Donnie’s face in his mind — that tight jaw, that exhaustion — and he couldn’t make himself move.
Maybe it’d be better to wait until morning. Maybe things would reset by then.
Except… he wasn’t sure he could face the lair at all right now.
The guilt crawled in under his shell, slow and steady. He’d always been the light one, the glue, the laughter. But what did it mean when the glue cracked, too?
He took a deep breath and let the city fill his lungs. The smell of wet asphalt, hot metal, and rain. The sound of distant traffic. A siren somewhere in the distance, fading out.
Then he heard something closer — a soft voice, singing.
Mikey turned his head. Across the alley, a few stories down, a small light flickered from an open apartment window. A girl sat on the fire escape, wrapped in a blanket, earbuds dangling from one ear, quietly singing to herself. Her voice wasn’t perfect — raw, slightly off-key — but it was real.
And more than anything, it sounded alive.
Mikey hesitated. He knew better than to get close.
Rule number one: Don’t let humans see you.
Rule number two: Definitely don’t talk to them.
But… she wasn’t looking his way. And the words she was singing drifted through the rain like a secret:
“Everybody breaks sometimes… everybody falls apart…”
He laughed softly under his breath. “Yeah. No kidding.”
The girl stopped singing mid-line, glancing around like she’d heard something. Mikey froze.
For a second, he thought she’d seen him — that his night was about to turn into a disaster of epic proportions. But she just frowned, shrugged, and turned her gaze to the skyline again.
Mikey exhaled. Then, before his brain could stop him, he muttered, “You sound good.”
The words slipped out like a reflex.
Too late to swallow them back.
The girl startled again. “Who said that?” she called out, peering into the shadows.
Mikey cursed silently and flattened himself against the rooftop edge. “Uh… nobody. Just… your conscience.”
Her brows knit. “My conscience talks like a surfer?”
He grinned despite himself. “Totally. Radical moral compass, dude.”
She laughed — actually laughed — a sound quick and surprised. “Okay, now I’m curious. Where are you?”
“Uh, you don’t wanna know.”
“Try me.”
Mikey hesitated. He knew this was a bad idea. But something in her tone — not scared, just… open — made him pause. He shuffled closer to the edge, keeping himself hidden in the dark. “Let’s just say I’m the friendly neighborhood night person.”
“Night person,” she echoed, amused. “That supposed to be code for something?”
“Code for… me being really bad at daylight.”
She tilted her head, scanning the rooftop shadows. “So… you’re homeless?”
“Technically subterranean.”
That made her laugh again. The sound echoed faintly off the walls, blending with the drizzle. “You’re weird.”
“Takes one to know one,” Mikey said, smiling faintly. Then, quieter, “Why’re you out here this late, weird girl?”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Long day.” She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “What about you?”
Mikey looked down at his hands. The green in his skin seemed darker in the city light, almost invisible. “Same.”
“Bad day?” she asked.
He let the question hang. Then, quietly: “You ever screw up so bad that even when you didn’t mean to, people look at you different? Like… you’re just the mess-up now?”
She blinked, her breath fogging the air. “Yeah. I think that’s pretty universal.”
“Yeah, maybe for people,” he said softly. “Not everyone gets that luxury where I’m from.”
The girl leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees. “You know, mystery rooftop voice, sometimes breaking something doesn’t mean you’re broken too.”
He snorted. “You sound like one of those motivational posters Donnie puts up.”
“Who’s Donnie?”
He froze again. “Uh, just… someone who’s mad at me right now.”
“Boyfriend?”
He choked on a laugh. “Ew—no! Definitely no. He’s my… brother.”
“Ah.” She nodded, smiling faintly. “Problems with him?”
Mikey looked up sharply. "How do you even know?”
“Your voice carries sadness.”
He froze. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing! I mean—uh—nothing at all. I just…”
She shrugged, smirking. "I think that whatever happened, he was in the wrong.”
Mikey frowned. “What makes you say that?”
”Why? Am I right? I'm just saying it 'cause usually people exaggerate when they're stressed or angry. It says everything about him and nothing about you."
Her words landed quietly, like raindrops on stone.
Mikey sat with them, the ache in his chest shifting just a little. “Yeah,” he whispered. “He lost something he worked hard for. And I… I wrecked it.”
“Then fix it,” she said simply.
“I can’t.”
“Then fix him.”
He stared into the dark, the rain dripping steadily off the edge of the roof. Fix Donnie.
He wasn’t sure how. But the idea stuck.
The girl yawned, stretching. “Well, whoever you are, night person, maybe give your brother a chance to cool off. Then tell him you’re sorry. Real sorry. The kind where you mean it.”
Mikey smiled faintly. “Yeah. I can do that.”
“Good.” She stood, gathering her blanket. “And hey — thanks for the weird conversation.”
“Anytime,” he said softly. “It’s kinda my thing.”
She hesitated, then added with a grin, “Goodnight, conscience.”
“Night, weird girl.”
She disappeared inside, closing the window softly behind her.
Mikey sat there a long while after, listening to the city breathe. Her words replayed in his head like an echo:
Then fix him.
He looked out toward the skyline again. The rain had slowed, just a soft mist now. The world felt a little less heavy — not fixed, but not broken either.
For the first time all night, he smiled.
Mikey lingered on the rooftop for a few minutes after the girl went inside, letting the quiet settle around him. The city was calmer now, just the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional drip of rain from fire escapes. He clutched his skateboard under one arm, the other hand fiddling with his nunchucks, mind spinning with everything she’d said.
Then fix him.
Fix Donnie.
The words echoed, looping in his skull like a soundtrack to guilt and resolve. He wasn’t sure how to do it, not really. But for the first time, he didn’t feel like running from the lab, like he’d wanted to when Donnie’s fury had crashed down on him.
Still, the night wasn’t done with him yet. He pushed off the rooftop, skating across the tar, aiming for the next fire escape down the street. Concrete and steel blurred under his feet as adrenaline surged again—not from fear this time, but from purpose. He’d wait until dawn, he’d figure it out, he’d find a way to make things right.
A sharp metallic clang echoed behind him. Mikey froze mid-skateboard push. He tilted his head toward the alley below, and his stomach sank.
Two Foot soldiers, their dark attire dull in the night, crouched in the shadows of a stairwell, weapons drawn.
Mikey’s first instinct: run. But the street was narrow. He had nowhere to go fast without drawing attention. And he was still processing the night, still half-lost in his own guilt.
“Uh-oh,” he muttered under his breath.
One soldier stepped forward. “Something moved,” he said, voice low, mechanical almost.
The other tilted his head, scanning. “Check the rooftops.”
Mikey froze, the weight of his nunchucks suddenly heavy in his hands. He could hear the faint hum of the city beneath him, the distant sirens, the drip of rain. Everything seemed amplified, every sound sharper, every shadow more alive.
He didn’t have time to think. The soldier spotted the motion of his silhouette and raised his sword.
“Shit,” Mikey whispered.
He spun, dropping to the side, narrowly avoiding the first strike. Sparks hissed off the edge of the metal fire escape railing as the blade clipped it. He flipped backward, rolling onto his skateboard and slamming it down for momentum. The second Foot soldier charged up the stairs, katana raised.
Mikey’s stomach flipped. He hadn’t faced this kind of serious danger alone in… forever. His brothers were sleeping. Donnie, angry. Leo, meditating. Raph, probably snoring somewhere in a corner. He was it. And suddenly, the girl on the fire escape seemed like she was a world away.
He ducked behind a vent shaft, heart hammering, trying to think. Think, Mikey. Think.
He swung his nunchucks in a wide arc, hitting the first soldier’s wrist just as the blade came down again. Sparks flew. The soldier stumbled but recovered quickly, eyes narrowing. Mikey spun, using the railing to vault himself onto a higher ledge. He grabbed the next pipe, swung across like a pendulum, feeling the familiar thrill of parkour — but this time it was tempered with real fear.
The soldiers split, flanking him now. One went up the fire escape, the other went down, trying to box him in. Mikey’s breath came fast; sweat mixed with the drizzle soaking his mask. His mind was spinning with thoughts he didn’t have time to process.
Donnie’s face.
The data core.
Her words.
I have to get back.
He dropped down to the next rooftop, heart pounding in his ears. He tried to keep quiet, but the concrete beneath him groaned. The closer Foot soldier raised a hand, throwing a short gadget that spun through the air — a flash grenade.
Mikey twisted, barely avoiding the blinding burst, letting it slam into the wall behind him. Sparks and smoke filled the air. He coughed, wiped his eyes, and looked up — the first soldier had climbed higher, now peering over the edge, katana at the ready.
Mikey skated forward, launching himself onto the fire escape. Metal screeched under his weight. He scrambled upward, eyes darting. Another soldier appeared at the top of the stairwell, waiting.
“Not good… not good… not good,” he muttered, backing up.
He leapt to the next rooftop, landing heavily, feeling the slap of rain against his shell. His mind raced — the city below was dark, chaotic, and alive with sound. Somewhere far away, someone might be calling for help. Somewhere else, his brothers might wake. But right now, it was just him.
And the Foot.
The first soldier above him raised a blade, voice low and mocking: “End of the line.”
Mikey’s stomach sank. The ledge was narrow; one wrong move and he’d plummet several stories. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum. Every nerve screamed at him to run, but there was nowhere safe to go.
He swung his nunchucks, aiming for the soldier’s wrist, trying to keep the distance. But the soldier was faster than he expected. The blade sliced through the air, knocking the weapon out of Mikey’s hands.
Mikey stumbled backward, almost slipping off the edge. He grabbed the fire escape railing with one hand, teeth gritted. His other hand clawed at the night air, searching for anything to hold onto.
The soldier pressed forward, stepping onto the same ledge, blocking his escape. Rain slicked metal underfoot made the whole thing a deadly balance act.
Mikey’s mind spun with panic, adrenaline, and guilt all at once. I didn’t come out here to die. Not like this. Not because I messed up once, even if Donnie’s mad at me.
He looked down. The alley yawned like a dark mouth. Cars glimmered far below. A misstep and it would all be over.
The Foot soldier grinned beneath his mask, katana poised. Mikey’s heart sank further. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to move, to survive.
And then — a sound.
Soft, almost imperceptible over the rain: a faint click, like metal on metal. He froze.
The soldier stepped closer, unaware that the rooftop edge just behind him was loose. One more shift, one wrong step…
Mikey’s breath caught in his throat.
Too late to think. Too late to plan. Just survive.
He lunged sideways, grabbing a pipe jutting from the wall, swinging himself away from the soldier, losing the nunchucks in the process. The soldier staggered but recovered, eyes narrowing, katana ready for another strike.
Mikey swung again, rain slapping his face, heart hammering. He didn’t know if he’d make it, if the roof would hold, if anyone even knew he was up here. His thoughts flashed — Donnie’s words, the data core, the girl on the fire escape, all looping in his mind.
And then — a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.
Mikey froze, stomach knotting. He twisted — only to see… nothing. No one. Just the shadows stretching long across the city.
But the feeling lingered. Someone had been there. Watching him. Waiting.
The Foot soldier lunged again. Mikey’s eyes widened. His options were gone. He had to fight.
And that’s when the rooftop beneath the soldier groaned ominously. A crack split the night.
Mikey’s stomach lurched.
This was it.
The world tilted, a scream caught in his throat, rain and adrenaline and fear spinning together.