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"Five..."
These moments were what Michelangelo lived for.
The pulling-back of the slingshot, the loading of the cannon- the way the night seemed to wrap around him and nudge him forwards. Saying go. I've got you.
"Four..."
The tails of his mask floated into his peripheral, flowing in the breeze and almost golden in the harsh, fluorescent lighting flowing up through the skylight.
"Three..."
Donnie was counting on Mikey's left, Raph twirling his sai on his right, and he felt all three of them take a steady breath that seemed to slow the tick of seconds.
"Two..."
It was the calm before the storm. Everything faded out, even in Mike's own mile-a-minute brain.
It was what he figured meditation was probably like for Leo, but with about three thousand percent more oomph.
"One..."
The lights cut out in the warehouse below, and it felt like every single watt of electricity had surged up into Mikey's body instead, crackling and thrumming and urging him to move.
Here we go.
"Now!"
At Donnie's signal, the three of them leapt down through the skylight, shattering it in the process. Shrieks and shouts filled the warehouse below them, punctuated by the shower of glass on cement, and the drop painted a grin onto Mikey's face.
Tuck, roll, plant feet outside the wreckage, launch himself forward. Simple, familiar beats, things he'd been doing since he was fifteen- things he'd been training for for much longer than that.
Nunchuck to the side of a guy's head, another guy's ribs, firm kick to a third goon's chest- firm enough to send him flying, Donnie stepping smoothly out of the way before using his bo to disarm another- dodge the swing of a crowbar, relieve goon of said crowbar, relish in goon's wide-eyed stammer. It was like a dance- not practiced and polished like a waltz or ballet, but fluid and intuitive like his favorite freestylers. It came naturally to him, even more so after years of practice and training and learning exactly what rules he could bend and which he could break.
With the fight being second-nature, all but autopilot, something in the loft area above caught his attention.
"Leo, give-" No Leo. He was still- had better be- resting a broken leg at the lair. Mikey recovered from the muscle memory quickly with a shake of his head, a fist to another bad guy's head. "Raph, give me a boost!"
Like magic- and with a loud groan from whatever poor soul had been in his way- Raph was there, and before Mikey had even fully registered his own movement, he was planting a foot in Raph's outstretched and intertwined hands and being propelled upwards.
Catch the catwalk, pull up, barely even land before launching after the Foot soldier hauling ass towards the exit.
Ignore the fight echoing below. Focus.
That last step sounded a lot like Leo in Mikey's mind, so he trusted it. He threw himself over a line of crates and tackled the guy in a clumsy-but-effective motion, knocking his cargo free of his arms and scrambling after it.
The guy groaned something that was probably supposed to sound threatening, something about "the Master" and "get you."
"Sure thing, brah!" Mikey called over his shoulder, making his way back to the catwalk. "I'll tell your boss down here you deserve an A+ in Threatening 101." He paused for just a beat, tuning back into his brothers' violence. "...assuming he's still awake. "
"Mikey, status!"
"Ready to roll, Don. One freaky chemical thermos coming right up!"
"Then let's get out of here before the surprise part of surprise attack wears off," he yelled, jerking his head upwards. "Raph!"
Raphael grunted, throwing one of the Foot henchmen into two others. "I never get to have any fun, y'know that?"
"You want fun, then you can give Leo a mission report!"
In Leo's defense, none of the brothers took well to being sidelined; not even Mikey, who relished the chance to lay around. Milking an injury to get out of chores (and get gift bags of the good snacks from April) could only hold his attention for so long.
And Big Blue didn't even do that, so really it was no wonder he was fifty kinds of pissy under his calm cool demeanor. Sweeping with a broken leg would do that to a person, Mikey figured.
Either way, it was enough for Raph to groan and retreat, following Mikey and Donnie up to and out of a window.
It was a quick trip back to the rooftops, fading back into the night's familiar grip and out of the sights of goons with guns.
Mikey passed Donnie the bottle of whatever evil goop the Foot had cooked up this time, shot Raph a grin, and took off across the roof like he was finally shot out of the cannon. Now that Don had The Package, Mike could afford to give the reins to the remaining sparks of electricity just under his skin- he could pour absolutely everything he had into a dead sprint just to feel the wind, could drain his battery the best way he knew how.
In the final stretch to the manhole cover of the evening, he added in some flips for flavor.
Five buildings to go.
A double back handspring was just what the doctor ordered, the familiar rattle of his nunchucks punctuating each motion.
Four.
He charged straight at an air conditioning unit, leaping right over it and sticking the landing with flair.
Three more.
Gotta make it count. As many round-offs as he could manage, just because he could. Just to feel the rooftop under his palms.
Two.
He turned, moving backwards and watching his brothers clear the roof behind him with smiles not unlike his own.
"Nice series, Mikey!" Donnie called.
"Ninja skills for the win, dude!"
One left.
A steady jog- forwards this time- to bring himself back to baseline. Let Raph and Donnie fall in step with him.
Pass him.
Mikey stopped on the lip of the roof, staring up at the moon and breathing in the city. Breathing in the night.
Raph- warm and fond, like the night had softened him too- called up to him. "C'mon, man. If I have to deal with his grumpy ass, so do you."
Michelangelo made a big show of his sigh, releasing the last of the fight into the air as theatrically as he possibly could, before following his brothers home.