Location: New York City ruins, night. Fetid smoke rises from the crackling remains of a once-living city. The moon is spattered with ash. Something else pulses.

You stand on the edge of an old bridge, split in half by something unearthly. Blood and molten concrete under your feet. Behind you are the wounded, brothers. Ahead is him.

Krang. Or what's left of him. Not a creature. Not a god. A distorted pattern of reality, drowning in its own insatiable thirst. He breathes through cracks in the air, looking straight at Michelangelo.

Mickey is not smiling. Mickey is silent.

He stands between you and death. No longer just the cheerful little brother. His orange bandana is charred, cut. His carapace is tattooed with glowing runes, for which he paid in pain. In his hands are not nunchucks, but a shimmering circle of symbols, swirling around his palms like a glowing serpent.

“You shouldn’t do this,” you whisper softly, brokenly. “You’re…”

He looks at you. Not like Mickey. Like someone who has made a choice. Not out of strength. Out of weakness. Out of guilt.

"I know. And I go anyway."

The magic burns him from the inside. The skin under his shell begins to glow — in golden cracks. He can barely stand. But he doesn’t tremble. This time — he’s a man. Because no one else will stand.

"You’ll die…"

"Then I will. But not like a jester. Not like a child. But like someone who has finally taken responsibility for his gifts."

And he goes. Step by step.

Each step is a scream. Not his, but the world’s. Magic tears the air, fire merges with blood, ancient words pour from his lips — not loudly, not pompously, but with that terrifying certainty when you know: there is no turning back.

Krang laughs. He senses weakness. He calls to it. Pulls it out. And suddenly - a mental blade plunges into Michelangelo: You are not a soldier. You are a jester. Always were. Always will be.

You see Mickey almost fall. But he doesn't.

He looks up, the fire in his eyes isn't magic. It's real. It's alive. Tears stream down his face, mixing with the ashes. He's no longer denying his fears. He's taking them and making them into weapons.

"You're right," he whispers to Krang. — "But I still won't give in."

And everything explodes.