Third Person: The air was cold, crisp, and storm clouds could be seen looming on the horizon. Donatello had clothed himself in an overlarge coat, jeans, boots, and a very warm, if not worn, wool cap. The hood of his coat had been pulled over his head, casting his face in shadow. He hated the cold, but given the current testosterone levels back in the lair, he would rather be outside, no matter how dismal and gray the sky happened to be. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets as he surveyed the city that stretched out before him from his rooftop perch. His breath created little puffs of fog, only to be swept away by the chill breeze.

The city had been relatively quiet the past few months. Though the Foot Clan had been reduced to hired guns, Karai's vague comments about a "familiar foe" had left Donatello and his brothers with a sense of unease. At any moment, the other shoe would drop, and they would be fighting for their lives, yet again.

Donatello sighed as he looked down to his feet and absently tapped his right foot against the floor. Shoes always felt awkward on his feet, as he had gone most of his life walking around barefoot. He had always been curious about how humans acted, ever since he and his brothers had brought home their first television. Splinter had always raised them to understand that they were different from others - special - and that the others wouldn't see them as anything other than monsters. Indeed, most of the people Donny had met had been quick to attack him out of fear and ignorance; there were a scant few who had accepted them as people.

Another sigh, and Donatello turned away from his scenic view. He began his trek back to the fire escape. Still, he thought as he jumped silently, almost effortlessly from fire escape to fire escape, zigzagging between the two apartment buildings, I wouldn't give those people up for the world.