TMNT do not belong to me. Mirage is the owner, and I am the groaner.

Counterphobic

Mikey was very quick and very careful. The trip to the abandoned foundry was a time-consuming side-trip, but he made pretty good time.

He gazed at the place from where he judged that he and Raph had entered the sewers. The snow was still drifted and piled around the place, but the setting sun was bright, casting long shadows across the ground and stretching towards some distant point like an indication of which way to go.

With relative ease he hopped over the fence and looked around.

The street noise came from the distant area where a large group of apartments sat. The street Mikey was on had not been cleared, and it seemed that there was probably less traffic here even in good weather.

This place used to be a foundry for making cast iron products; indeed, some of what Mikey saw reminded him of the really old water system that sometimes they would come across- water systems that dated back to the 1800s. Several old pipes still lay strewn about, surprising him considering the number of scavengers who could have made use of the stuff, no matter how old it was. Mikey why anything wasn't at least classified as "historical" and protected somehow. The place had been closed decades ago- not really needed since the steel industry took dominance. Oh, they had struggled on, doing specialty work, but it evidently became too expensive to maintain.

Mikey wondered why, considering the high cost of property, that no one had torn it down to build fancy condos or something.

The buildings were row upon row, laid out like a mini-town, with little streets and alleys. Dominating the center was a HUGE round "furnace", or "smoke stack" of some kind, completely made of stone and brick. It was sure neat looking! Surrounding it were various one and two story buildings- the main offices looked to be near this fantastic structure.

It would make a cool place to train! Like a Ninja playground! They could have some serious fun here!

He had not meant to go far, but he felt as if this place was from another time, and that he had traveled back to it. He could almost hear the workers going about their business, calling out greetings; perhaps there would be a few horses standing around, waiting to haul something somewhere, while the drivers chatted and killed time. It was as if the outside world vanished, and Mikey had discovered a hidden doorway into the past.

Yet, as he wandered around the outskirts of the abandoned buildings, something seemed odd to him. There were the usual broken windows, the usual crumbled by the weather sections, the usual "rotting" piles of wood and other organic material, still drift-covered with snow that the wind scattered in fine yet lazy swirls. But something was missing, something he had become used to when "touring" other places, whether they were abandoned or not:

Graffiti.

Mikey realized with a sort of growing dread that not one building was tagged.

This place was a tagger's dream, and yet the walls were free of marker and paint.

A place like this, so close to all those apartments, and no street art? That just doesn't seem like New York to me.

A stretch of snow in front of him brought him to a sharp halt. He was now between two buildings, and the sun was angling in from the horizon, illuminating the area just enough for him to recognize the tiny footprints of many, many rodents.

His skin began to crawl as he suddenly and vividly recalled his last encounter with a large multitude of rats. He remembered the guy who seemed to command the vicious little rodents; he remembered being captured and tied up and left to become a meal for the multitude of hungry squeaking things.

He remembered that he had thought it was Victor.

He realized that he couldn't swallow, that his skin was clammy with nervous sweat, that he was shaking and not from the cold.

"What the hell am I doing here?" he whispered, realization setting in. The rats had moved here... what was that?

Movement to the left of him- and a scurrying rat skittered along the edge of the building, to quickly duck inside through a convenient hole.

He froze, listening intently. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, or if he was hearing the rustling of hundreds of the hungry rodents.

Nervous, he had both chuks out, turning this way and that. No one was behind him- now! But Mikey could feel his blood chill as he realized that he apparently was being followed. Several sets of rat footprints had come behind his own- he KNEW that they were not there as he'd made his way into this narrow place between the buildings!

A hollow laugh echoed so softly on the lightly blowing wind that Michelangelo was convinced he was imagining it. Hurriedly, he retraced his steps, the lengthening shadows fading into the dusk of a normal winter evening in New York. But as he came to the end of that particular alleyway, the laugh sounded again, to the right and above him.

Looking up, he saw his "ghost"- the tall man, wrapped with bandages in places, dirty, ragged bandages that shown out around some of the clothing he had on. Somehow, somewhere, he had found an old trench coat, blue and torn and long and none too clean. A breeze, cold and shivery, blew between the buildings, spiraling up loose grains of snow with it into a sort of dust devil shape, rising up to envelope the figure laughing down at him, completely hiding him from view- and then, when it disappeared, so had he.

Michelangelo, without thinking, found his way to the roof of the building, where no one was visible. On guard, he swiftly made his way to the spot where the figure had been peering down at him- no footprints were visible! Nothing was visible up here except the occasional dusting of snow and the last of the sun's pale rays as it sank below the horizon, deepening the gloom.

Street lights, faint and few, show him the way he should go- straight to the fence, hop over, and get the hell back underground!

Then he heard it again- that strange, hollow, faint laughter. Frantically he scanned the rooftop. There were precious few places to hide up here. He knew that his "ghost" was somewhere below him, yet he was convinced he was still somewhere close by, possibly inside the building.

Going to the ledge closest to where he thought the sound had come from, he eased his head over the side, and spied an open window, large enough for himself- and anyone else- to fit through.

Go home, Michelangelame! he could hear Leo saying.

He swung himself over the edge, hanging for a moment, then dropping to the window sill below, catching hold and flipping himself through the opening.

Are you out of whatever mind you have? the voice of Don echoed in his head.

Empty room, barely lit from whatever outside light managed to filter in, no furniture- hey! A nickel!- and the door before him was open into total darkness. Beyond it, he could hear a strange sort of murmuring; not of voices, but of movement.

And that laugh bubbled up from somewhere in the dark and came into that room.

Mikey stared at the door, feet edging him closer and closer...

You're gonna do this, aren't you? You didn't learn your lesson the last time, and now you're determined to have your ass turned into rat droppings.

"Shut up, Raph," he whispered to himself. "There's no way I'm going in there without a flashlight and you guys."

Quickly he turned, quickly he went back out the window. He hit the ground running, chased by that laugh.

He would have made a clean getaway if not for the fact that he could see the ground moving in front of him. He didn't need anyone to tell him that there was a furry welcoming committee waiting for him with open paws. He veered quickly to the right, ducking down a much narrower "alley" between two of the largest buildings, scanning his surroundings for a quick way to the roof of either if needed.

At the end, all clear to the right, but to the left and in front, more rats!

As he ran, a group of rats dropped from above- from the low building to the left of him. Without hesitation he quickly killed and maimed them with chuks and feet and hands, running as he went, leaving the dead and screaming wounded in his wake. More rats appeared in front of him, trying to swarm him.

Thwack! Thwack thwack thwack! Crack!

More screams of rats, to be swallowed up by the new sound of angry chattering and squeaking surrounding him. Looking around, he saw he had no choice at the moment direction/wise- it was back down yet another alley- twisting, turning, his way blocked, only to find another way- and all the time feeling as if he were trapped in a maze, just within sight of escape that the front gates and the sewers offered.

Panting now, scanning the roofs above him, wondering if he should try barricading himself in one of the buildings, killing more rats, running down yet another narrow path, feeling as if he was going in circles...

KNOWING that he was going in circles. He was now by the large round stone "furnace" building of earlier. More rats were coming up behind him. He spared them one brief look, then turned to run- and collided with a tall figure who had managed to come up to him silently!

He looked up, surprised, into the face of his "ghost"-

Then was knocked unconscious before he could register anything else.

He had been watched for a long time, not realizing that there was a shadow keeping an eye on him.

Equipped with weapon and a small flashlight, he had left the Lair ten minutes behind Michelangelo, confident that he would be able to locate him quickly.

And he had! This shadow had found him with great ease, despite the head start. The direction had puzzled the watcher, but he quietly followed, never revealing himself by sound or sight.

Not that Michelangelo suspected anything, but even the watcher could tell that he was taking great care, despite the innocence of his mission- whatever that was. They all took great care in the sewers, even when secure in the knowledge that no one was around. It was part of their training, their lives.

So the shadow followed Michelangelo to the opening, then to the street, keeping well hidden despite the lack of available cover. He was puzzled, however- why did this foolish turtle want to come here?

The place was abandoned, run down, and fenced off. Was he meeting someone here? Was there something going on that the family knew nothing about?

The shadow watched as his subject hopped over the fence. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he, too, was soon on the other side, following, staying under cover, waiting to see what the turtle was up to.

As unaware as Michelangelo was of his shadow, the shadow was unaware of his own shadow.

Shortly upon leaving to follow him, a second "shadow" left the Lair with weapon and small flashlight, following the first. As quietly as the first one went, the second was even more so. He, too, was puzzled at the direction Mikey was taking; he, too, was curious once they all had hit street side.

He was over the fence as soon as he was sure he could do so without alerting his own subject to his presence.

Both shadows unknowingly shared the same questioning thought: What was the big draw to this place for Mikey?

The first shadow had detected the rats following Michelangelo. He managed to avoid their attention, quickly getting above them onto a low roof where he could still keep an eye on the as yet unaware turtle.

The second shadow briefly wondered what was going on with the first- and then he, too, saw the rats! Quickly he ducked into a small building, keeping close to the door, making sure that the room was rodent-free. Carefully he played his small flashlight around the area, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had not forgotten the last encounter with the rats- he was sure that this was the same megagroup from the warehouse district.

The laugh caught his attention, and he quickly killed the flash, straining his eyes and ears in the dark. He scanned the direction that the one he'd been following had gone, but realized that he had for the moment lost him. Back into the dark outside he went, moving closer to a sound that caused cold fear to briefly take hold of him- the sound of rats dying.

On the roof, the first watcher had seen the foolish turtle scale the other building, only to find nothing.

You are going to wish that you had never been hatched he thought to himself, preparing to leap the short distance to the other roof top and confront this foolish ninja. But just as he did so, Michelangelo had disappeared over the side.

Carefully he made his way to the approximate location where he had seen the turtle go over the side- and as he gazed down, he saw his target suddenly bolt from the window, hitting the ground running.

And then he heard that laugh coming from the same window.

He had heard that before- he was sure of it!

And then a strange sensation came over him; a sensation as if someone was calling to him, calling to him from a very great distance.

He shook his head to clear it, and just in time! On the roof were rats, numerous rats, and they all were converging on him!

Weapon ready, he launched the attack, driving them back, sending many to their deaths as he cleared a path that allowed him to leap back to the first building.

I must find Michelangelo!

The second shadow had encountered his own large group of vicious rodents as well. Vaguely aware that Mikey must be fighting, he, too, pulled his weapon and began dispatching as many of the creatures as dared get close to him.

Where are you, Mikey?

Both shadows were now being pursued. Despite the death and destruction they both dealt out, the sheer number of rats made escape necessary for both.

The first had left the roof; he had caught a brief scent, a brief glimpse of Michelangelo moving towards the large round building. He had to get there, to help him!

The second heard the commotion coming from behind him, and without hesitation he made for the sound, swiftly followed by many daring rats.

Both shadows witnessed what happened to Mikey. But before either could act, the tall man had slung the turtle over his shoulder and entered the "furnace" building, coming out almost immediately and closing the huge door.

Then something strange happened- the rats quit chasing the two shadows. Suddenly they surged forwards, straight for the tall figure in the long coat, right past the two whom they had been after.

The first shadow once again felt that strange calling sensation- and then he caught sight of his own "shadow".

The second one, standing there on guard but watching, mesmerized by this turn of events, realized that he'd been spotted. No time for that now, however. The first was motioning to him to circle around to the left, while indicating that he would be going to the right.

He nodded in understanding, then moved to do as bidden. Soon he was on the far side of the large stone building, watching in disbelief as this strange figure led the rats into the adjoining building. Not one rat paid him any attention- indeed, several scurried over his feet on their way, as if summoned for some special purpose that blinded them to all intruders!

Carefully he played his flashlight up the side of the round stone edifice, and spied an opening where part of the stack had crumbled. Without another thought, he easily scaled the side, and soon was at the opening, shining his light down into the center, where Mikey lay for the moment.

He studied his options, then found a quick and safe way down into the room. By now the moon was out and shining whatever pale light it could reflect down into the center of this roofless place, revealing the slight trace of blood oozing from the corner of Mikey's mouth where the blow had caught him.

On the other side, the first shadow was expertly climbing down from a much higher position. The two shadows met in the center over the now stirring turtle at their feet.

"I guess this means I'm grounded for the rest of my life," the second shadow said.

"You will be in good company," the first replied, fixing a fatherly stare upon the now awake yet groggy turtle on the ground.