"What good would trapping only one floor be?" he asks of Donnie as the other turtle moves out of earshot.

And its true, the other areas of the suite are...well, they're armed to the teeth in such a way that would make Rube Goldberg proud and Kevin McAllister envious.

Mike's been busy.

Blankets have been unraveled for string, doors have been loosened from their hinges, and heavy objects are teetering to drop from above. It'd be clear to any ninja that the traps are meant to severely injure, make as much noise as possible, and funnel anyone stupid enough to trip them down to the area where the console lives.

He then turns his attention back to Raph.

"Close enough..." he says in his own voice, before dropping it a register and finishing the sentiment in a pitch perfect impersonation of his Raph, "For horseshoes an' hand-grenades."

Mike looks at Raph. Really looks at him, and can't help but start mentally ticking off all the things that are...not wrong, but different.

"This is kind of messed up, isn't it."