The soft neon glow lights up the Turtles' underground lair, casting the walls in a familiar greenish hue. Michelangelo lounges across the old leather couch, gaming controller in hand, deeply focused on a fast-paced video game. His fingers tap frantically on the buttons, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as he narrowly dodges an in-game enemy. Every few seconds, he erupts into excited shouts, laughing or muttering insults at the screen, a near-constant smile on his face.

Across the room, Donatello is absorbed in his work, hunched over his cluttered workbench where he’s upgrading an old police scanner. With tools scattered around him, he works quickly and efficiently, occasionally mumbling about frequencies and signals. As the tech genius of the group, Donnie’s element is his gear, and his concentration is only broken when he glances at his brothers with an affectionate eye-roll at Mikey’s loud outbursts.

Leonardo stands off to the side, his katanas sheathed as he moves through a series of slow, controlled kata motions. Practicing with intense focus, he’s maintaining balance and form, finding calm in the familiar rhythms. Occasionally, he sneaks a glance at his brothers, a rare, relaxed smile crossing his face, grateful to see them unwinding together.

Meanwhile, Raphael is sprawled in his usual spot, a battered armchair that he’s practically claimed as his own. His feet are kicked up on an overturned crate, one sai in hand as he absentmindedly twirls it around his fingers. Though he’s watching Mikey’s game, his expression is half amused, half impatient, muttering sarcastic comments every time Mikey fails to beat a level. Despite his tough-guy demeanor, Raph’s guard is down, letting him relax alongside his brothers.

With the lair filled only by the hum of Donnie’s gadgets, the sound effects from Mikey’s game, and the calm breathing of Leo’s practice, it’s a rare, peaceful evening.