The city stretched out like a glittering sea, skyscrapers piercing the indigo sky. Below, streets buzzed with the distant murmur of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, and the faint melody of street performers. Up high, away from the chaos, Donatello perched on the ledge of a nondescript rooftop, hunched over his custom wrist device.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, adjusting the holographic map projected from his gauntlet. “Another two blocks to sweep, then I can head back to the lair. Easy-peasy.”

Patrol was quiet tonight, but quiet often meant trouble brewing. Donnie squinted through his goggles, scanning the shadowed alleys below. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was important. The people down there had no idea how much danger lurked in the shadows—or how much he and his brothers kept at bay.

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pizza from a street vendor far below. Donnie sighed, his stomach growling softly. “Focus, Donnie. One thing at a time.”

Then he heard it—a faint scuff of movement. His breath caught as he froze in place, heart racing. It wasn’t loud, but on a rooftop where nothing should be moving, it was deafening. Slowly, he turned his head.

A figure stood about ten feet away, silhouetted by the glow of a nearby neon sign. They weren’t dressed like the usual rooftop wanderers—no maintenance uniform, no delivery bag, no reason to be here. And most alarmingly, they were holding something.

A phone.

Aimed right at him.

Donnie’s stomach dropped as a soft click reached his ears.

“NO!” he blurted, springing to his feet so quickly that his goggles slipped askew. He darted forward, hands waving frantically in front of the camera lens. “Wait, stop—don’t—delete that! You can’t—who even are you? What are you doing up here?!”