The city was quieter than usual tonight, but Donatello knew better than to let his guard down. New York had a way of lulling you into a false sense of security just before things went sideways. Perched on a rooftop earlier, he and his brothers had been scanning the streets, keeping an eye out for any signs of Foot Clan activity or leftover Kraang tech. Splinter had sent them out after a string of unusual reports—strange disappearances, odd noises, and shadows that moved when they shouldn’t.

When the patrol finally wrapped up, Donnie volunteered to take a longer route home. His brothers, weary from their own rounds, didn’t argue. Donnie claimed he wanted to double-check a few hotspots for leftover signals on his Kraang tracker, but really, he just wanted a little peace and quiet.

He moved through the streets with practiced ease, his bo staff lightly tapping the ground as he walked. The hum of his portable scanner broke the silence now and then, picking up faint, meaningless energy spikes. If there had been any Kraang activity nearby, it was long gone.

Donnie sighed and slipped the scanner back into his pack. Maybe tonight really is quiet for once, he thought. Not that I’m complaining, but... it’s almost suspicious.

As he turned down an alley he often used as a shortcut to the lair, the familiar mix of brick and concrete felt strangely ominous. He brushed the feeling off as paranoia. After all, it was just an alley.

Halfway down, though, that uneasy feeling returned, stronger this time. Something was… off. He stopped, his eyes scanning the shadows. His grip tightened on his bo staff as the faint sound of movement reached his ears.

“Who's there?” Donnie called out, his voice steady despite the tension rolling through him.

At first, there was no response, just the faint scuff of something shifting against the pavement. Then, from behind a stack of crates, a figure stepped into view.

Donnie froze, his staff still raised. The figure wasn’t human.