Day 3: Nightmare

Don awoke as the sun peaked over the Texas flatlands. Yawning, he struggled to his feet, bleary-eyed, and gathered his things. Have to get moving, was his only thought to penetrate the haze of sleep. The air was already humid, and Don realized that it was going to be just as scorching as it had been yesterday. Yesterday....He remembered Raph and bowed his head in grief. Considered looking for one of his brothers mentally, then decided against it. Probably all sound asleep anyway, he told himself. I can’t afford to waste time. So after scooping some dirt onto the remains of his fire and grabbing an energy bar from his pack, he jogged off across the plain. The canister, tucked into a pocket of his white cloak, banged against his knee. Don concentrated on his mission and drove himself on relentlessly, despite his near exhaustion from the past day’s trek. Another day, another fifty miles. Damn it, why’d I ever agree to this?

The dream, he remembered. And then he realized that for the first time in weeks, he had not dreamed. There had been no fire, no cold hard fingers clutching at him, no derisive laughter to enrage and frighten him. Apparently, the dream truly had been a prediction of Raph’s capture. And I, the great dreamer, knew it was coming and couldn’t help him! Crap, Don thought. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having these blasted dreams, whatever Splinter says. Why can’t I just dream about kittens or something?

* * *

~"What are you?" The man’s voice was cold and expressionless. It betrayed no hate...but no great love, either. Michaelangelo once again tested the ropes binding him to the rough wooden table. As he moved, the planks rubbed against his shell with a scraping noise. No way out. Gotta stay calm, he thought, trying to obey his own orders.

"What?" He paused a moment to take several deep breathes, then replied, hoping that honesty was indeed the best policy. "I’m--a turtle, doc. A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle to be exact." Another deep breath. "My name’s Michaelangelo." He tried to control the tremor in his voice. Couldn’t let this jerk know how terrified he was....Wish I could see what the hell was going on. I hate being blind. Even if he had been untied, he’d be helpless--how could he possibly find his way out of this place alone? He didn’t even know where he was. And this time, his brothers and Splinter weren’t here to help him out of this mess.

"How very humorous," the doctor sneered. "How very humorous indeed." Mike recoiled in shock. He doesn’t believe me! The irony of it was astounding. To worry all these years about what would happen when the government discovered the reality of mutant turtles. Now their fears had come true--but this man refused to believe that he was a mutant turtle! "I’ll ask you once more: what are you?"

What do you think I am? Mike wanted to ask. But instead he patiently began again. "I just told you, doc. I’m a--" Then he suddenly felt something sharp jabbed into his arm. He yelped in surprised pain. "What’s that!?" he cried.

"Needle. Syringe. Full of Phenobarbital. Also known as truth serum. I won’t tolerate lies." Mike wanted to scream with frustration. "Let’s begin again, shall we? What are you?" The doctor’s voice had dropped low. He didn’t sound too pleased with the current frame of events. Tough, thought Mike. Cuz neither am I.

"Honest, doc." What did it take to convince this guy? "I’m Michaelangelo. I’m a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle..." he trailed off. His head felt weird. What the hell did he shoot me up with? Drugs and what they did to people were Donny’s department. His head spun and he slumped, feeling unable to control his body. His fingers flexed and unflexed, his muscles tightened and relaxed, jerking against the ropes which bound him.

"What are you?" the doctor snapped. He was furious, but Mike was too sick and giddy to realize it.

"I’m a turtle," he giggled. "I’m a poet. I’m a ninja, don’t ya know it?" He gave a little chuckle. The silence was grim. Mike wished he could see the expression on the man’s face--it has to be priceless.

"Perhaps your alien metabolism neutralizes the effects of the Phenobarbital," the doctor said slowly, controlling his rage carefully. What? Mike thought in confusion. Does he really think I’m a- "Perhaps a little persuasion is in order. Perhaps a little pressure is called for." Mike didn’t like the tone in the man’s voice, dangerously calm, like the quiet before the storm. And he definitely didn’t want to know what he meant by "persuasion"....but he had a feeling he was going to find out.

He heard the clink of metal, and felt the searing pain lance through him. Mike was so out of it he couldn’t even tell what part of his body the doctor was so viciously...twisting? Pulling, ripping, tearing. He could feel blood trickling down his legs, and he screamed in agony. He found that he was drooling, unable to control even this simple body function. With all the wounds he had suffered throughout his years as a ninja, he had never imagined pain could be this intense. Finally able to give shape to his cries, he screamed, "But I AM telling you the truth! Stop! Please!" Mercifully, the terrible twisting stopped. He could sense the doctor’s face near his own.

"Perhaps..." he murmured. "Perhaps you are. Tell me then--" He pulled back, grew more businesslike in tone. Mike wished his hands were free. He felt a desperate need to punch the doctor in the mouth. "How is it that you came to damage your sight?"

Mike considered what he should say. Why the hell not? Won’t believe me anyway. "In Jerusalem. We were saving the world from this monster, but a molotov cocktail blew up in my.." The doctor’s loud snort interrupted him and he coughed as the human blew of puff of foul-smelling cigarette smoke into Mike’s face.

"I don’t believe you." Big surprise, Mike thought. "Preposterous! A creature like yourself? In one of the world’s holiest cities? Hardly." Mike insanely wondered what was wrong with that. If he were an alien, it’d be one of the major spots to do the tourist thing, right? What did the doctor think--he was some demon from hell that would vaporize when he set foot on holy ground?

The bile rose in Mike’s throat and he wanted to howl in rage. How dare he! Sonofabitchin’ BASTARD! "Fine," he said curtly. "Don’t believe me. Jerk." He gathered the saliva in his mouth and spat. He heard the satisfying *splut* as the spit struck the doctor. There was another silence and Mike felt a perverse pleasure in having shut the man up, if only for a moment.

"Hmph," snorted the doctor. "I tried to be civil." Yeah, right. "I tried to show you what avenues of persuasion lay before you...should you fail to cooperate. Yet you continue to be most uncooperative. So be it." Mike gasped as the doctor neatly planted his cigarette butt on Mike’s shoulder and twisted it to put it out.

The unjustness of it all took Mike’s breath away. "But I AM cooperating!" he protested, trying to think of a way to explain himself. "It’s just that sometimes....truth is stranger than fiction, dude...."

"Perhaps." Mike heard a crackle of electricity. Puzzled, he remained still. "And perhaps this electric cattle prod can help us divine truth from fiction..." Mike was frozen in incomprehension. No way, he couldn’t--

He did. For a moment, Mike thought he could see again as blue current ripped through him and lit up his sightless eyes. All he saw was blue fire, and he was immersed in it. He writhed, agony filled him. If he could formulate his thoughts, he would’ve told the man anything, anything he could think of...any ridiculous lie to make the pain go away. But all he knew was blue fire. His senses disappeared. His reason disappeared. There was only Blue. Fire. Pain. Sensory overload. He blacked out.~

And awoke screaming, twisting in his bed, still alive with the pain and fear that had filled him then. Mike was tangled in the sheets, twisted into the blankets, panting with exertion, soaked in sweat. Finally, he began to calm down. Fumbled for the light, remembered. "On," he gasped, and continued to gasp, trying to calm himself and recover from his nightmare in the reassuring glow of the lamps. Damn it. Haven’t had one of those in ages, he thought to himself. Why would the nightmares, banished for so long, suddenly return to haunt his sleep? Mike remembered weeks, months of nights laced with dreams of blue fire and cruel voices, hard planks beneath him and ropes cutting his wrists. The USCGS Dator. Doctor Synargo.

Mike buried his face in his hands. It’s been 70 years, dammit! But there was a worse reality to meet him today, he remembered. Raph had been captured.......

* * *

Raph awoke to the pain in his leg, and to strange voices murmuring. He was lying on his stomach on a cold metal floor, staring at a cold metal wall. He got to his knees, wincing as flame danced through his right leg. But a booted foot instantly slammed against his shell, sending him crashing back to the floor and pinning him. Raph couldn’t quite get his arms under him and his jaw smacked painfully against the floor. He tasted blood.

"Stay where yer put, mutie," snarled one of the voices. "You wait till the boss is ready for ya." The boss--Mastermold? This would be Houston base. Whatta pit, Raph thought, turning his head to look in the opposite direction. The metal hall was enormous. Trackers in sleek black uniforms and jackets, carrying heavy laser blasters, lounged here and there against the wall. No chance of escape then, especially with his leg in this condition. He wished he could see it; he wanted to know how bad the damage was. Real bad, he thought, moving it slightly and feeling the pain course through it. His pack was gone, probably never to be seen again. As I will be. There would be questioning, of course. That meant, translated, torture. More pain to add to his already abundant store. And then, he would disappear into the Sentinels’ world, never to be seen or heard from again. His brothers, he felt sure, would want to rescue him. But there wasn’t much chance that Garret would allow them to, and even less chance that they would make it to him in one piece.

Likelihood of rescue, he thought in grim mockery of the late computer Cerebro’s matter-of-fact tones. Zero.

* * *

Leo awakened with the knowledge that somewhere, Raph was also awake. So tired--but I have to find him. Again his mind sought Raphael’s, desperately calling his brother. Then, with a warm wave of relief, he realized that they were together. Leo was not totally within Raph’s mind this time, but he was aware of Raph’s thoughts and feelings and perceptions, just as Raph was surely aware of his. He sent Raph feelings of relief and concern. In response, Raph showed him the interior of Houston base and sent uncertainty and yes, even a little fear. It was strange to think of Raph as being so afraid. He never betrayed it through his words or actions, but one could not hide such feelings when sithing.

There was nothing much to talk about, so for a time they remained free of any direct communication, letting their feelings flow back and forth between them. But--a Tracker approached Raph.

"On yer feet, mutie," he snarled. Raph was dragged upwards by his two guards, and Leo felt the excruciating pain in his leg once again. They were both feeling the pain as Raph was pulled to his feet and shoved in the direction of a discreet door in the corner of the large hall. Raph desperately wanted to be back on the floor, to escape not only the agony caused by the stress on his leg, but the inevitable meeting with Mastermold. Raph had never met the robot, and neither had Leo, though both knew it to be artificially intelligent on a massive scale.

Raph didn’t resist the Trackers who propelled him through the door. He didn’t have to, because he could barely walk with his leg in such terrible condition. And so soon he found himself forced painfully to his knees before a massive hulk of metal. Raph shifted his weight off his right knee to ease the pain, then studied the set-up. The Trackers who brought him had disappeared, save for two who guarded the door and a third who stood a few yards to Raph’s left. He could see the Tracker out of the corner of his eye, dark-featured and sneering, a cigarette poking out of his mouth. And before them....the biggest robot Raph had ever seen, bigger than he had dreamed possible. At least four stories high, if not more was Raph’s guess. Mastermold looked down at him, the perpetual scowl on his metal features, studying Raphael. Leo’s mind as well as Raph’s flooded with apprehension.

"What is the mutant’s name?" Raph was startled but fought not to show it. The voice was uncannily deep and powerful, but not loud; apparently he had toned it down so that it would not deafen those whom he commanded. Raph set his mouth, not wanting to answer any of the questions Mastermold would put. But this one was not directed at him.

"His name is Raphael, m’lord," the dark Tracker said smoothly, giving a little bow as he answered.

"What was he doing when apprehended?" The voice rang out again, making the combined consciousness of Raph-Leo flinch.

"Taking some kind of message through the Texas flatlands, m’lord. He had a companion, but it escaped." The Tracker calmly exhaled, lit another cigarette. There was a pause.

"You will see that he is properly questioned."

"Yes, m’lord," the Tracker said obediently. Butt-kisser, Raph thought to himself, then realized that Leo was listening.

--Isn’t he though?-- They shared disgust for someone who would so follow a ruthless monster.

"If I might make a recommendation, sir?" The nod of the massive robot assured the Tracker and he continued. "This mutant has a bond with at least one other mutant that I know of. It may be to your disadvantage to have him giving out information about you. Therefor, allow me to drug the mutant so that he will be incapable of using his power to communicate mentally." Raph recoiled in shock. How much does he know about me? the question reverberated.

--Is he right?-- Leo asked. Raph knew much more, had learned much more, than Leo about their powers of the mind. So Leo turned to Raph to ask this question.

--Yes.-- Raph answered simply.

Suddenly the dark Tracker bent close to Raph and whispered in his ear. "Oh, I’ve done my homework, Raphael. I look forward to our next...conversation." With a nasty smirk, he motioned to the guards, who came to hold Raphael still. Leo could feel his terror, larger and very real, as a lab-coated Tracker was summoned and brought forth with a syringe. Leo winced in sympathy for Raph--he knew that his little brother had always been terrified of needles.....

* * *

Donny collapsed to his knees, too weak to continue. It was well past mid-day, and the sun was at its peak. He lay for a moment with his face close to the hot ground, then attempted to struggle back to his feet. He looked out over the flatlands, blinking away the sweat that clouded his bleary eyes. Was that--Raph? Raph! His brother stood, looking like a black shadow in front of the bright sun. He looked at Don with a scowl on his face.

"Well?" he said. "Are you gonna get up or what, nerdboy?" Donny bristled. Then he shook his head, tried to get a hold on himself. A mirage, he told himself. Just my mind playing tricks, cuz I’m so hot and tired, and I want Raph here so bad.

"That’s right," the mirage told him. "You wanted me and I’m here. Now get up and get moving."

Don groaned. "I can’t. Besides, you’re not even real."

"So what? I didn’t get myself captured so you could sit here and cry and feel sorry for yerself." And I thought Raph was insane, thought Don. This is ridiculous. I’m talking to a hallucination. Still, he had a point. "C’mon, you some kinda pollyanna? Get UP!"

"I can’t," mumbled Donny. "I’m too tired. Just leave me alone." He closed his eyes momentarily. Raph stomped over, grabbed his arm, and twisted it, trying to jerk Don to his feet. Don shook him off. Suddenly, the mirage was gone and Don was looking at a buzzard that had just sank its talons into his arm. He swore violently and punched the bird as hard as he could. With an indignant squawk, the buzzard hit the dirt a few yards away. After a few seconds, it reoriented itself and flapped away. Don carefully examined the talon marks, then used some disinfectant and bandages from his pack to take care of the deep puncture wounds. Adrenaline pumped through him and he growled as he started back south. He’d almost been bird food! Lucky he’d still been conscious enough to feel it before it did any real damage.

Don sighed as he thought of Raph. How was his brother doing now? The mirage had seemed so real....Don wished it hadn’t gone. It wasn’t exactly Raph, but at that point, Don would have welcomed any companion.

~Raph woke lying back on a recliner of purple clouds. Others floated nearby, but he barely noticed them. Smiling, Raph felt pure bliss. There were no monsters or bad guys here, nothing to disturb his perfect tranquillity.

But what was that? A door was approaching from his left. A large steel door, with great iron hinges. It bulged, looking ready to burst open; and then it did. With a shriek of triumph, the creatures burst forth, hideous and black as shadows on a dark night. They came straight for Raph, seized him in a cold, steely grip, and dragged him toward the door. With a cry of fear, Raph struggled against them, trying to draw his sai, to tear them apart before he came to the terrible door. But they were too strong, and dragged him inside.

He was released, the demons were gone. He raced for the door, only to beat his fists helplessly against it as it slammed shut in his face. He whirled, eyes wide, as a voice spoke from the darkness.

"Daddy?" said the small child’s voice. Raph’s eyes filled with tears as he looked again at his son Arik. His eyes were wide with innocence and wonder, and his light blue skin fairly shone with radiance. His honest, clear blue eyes looked deep into Raph’s own.

"Yeah, Arik," he whispered roughly. "It’s me."

"Why, Daddy? Why did you let those bad men do that to me?" A tear dripped down Raph’s cheek.

"I--" He didn’t know what he could say.

"I wanted to go home," the small boy said tearfully. "I wanted to, Daddy, but you wouldn’t take me. You said I had to stay." Raph winced, remembering how often Arik had asked him when, when were they going back home to Shi’ar. When he could return to the world he knew and leave behind the hell that was Earth. "You said that Earth was important." The child’s voice was accusatory.

"It was, I just--" Raph was helpless to explain his motivations. He couldn’t abandon his home and brothers when they needed his help.

"More important than me and T’mer," Arik accused, his blue eyes growing hard. "And then I tried to go home. I knew where you kept the spaceship, I heard you say. And I wanted to go home.....But then the bad men came." Suddenly, Arik began to shed his skin like a snake. And as the layer of upper skin peeled away, it revealed the body underneath: the body of a small boy tortured to death. His face was bloody and torn, contorted with agony, his shoulder-length black hair hacked short and blood-smeared. His entire body was rent with knife wounds and burn marks from brands and lasers. But worst of all were his severed fingers and ears, which had been clumsily stitched back onto his body. Raph recoiled in horror, remembering again the time when he first saw the mangled body of his dead son.

"YOU killed me!" the apparition screamed. "You did it!" Raph was flooded with grief and guilt. He couldn’t deny it, couldn’t look at his son’s face. Arik held an ax in his hands, and he advanced on Raphael, who had no desire to move. "You," hissed Arik. "It was all your fault!" Years later, Raph could not leave his past behind. It attacked him with an animal snarl, and Raph was incapable of resisting the suddenly enormous strength. With wild swings of the ax, Arik cut into Raph’s right leg, hacking and hacking. Raph knew he was dreaming, but there was no way he could wake up.

The nightmare was not just a dream.

The nightmare was his life.~

* * *

Mike knocked softly on Leo’s door, then entered. Although it was late afternoon, the room was darkened. The explosion-proof metal shutters had been shut tight, and none of the lights were on. "On," he said experimentally, but the lights remained inactive. They had been unhooked, then. Several candles in ornate holders had been lit, and they stood vigil over a silent, crouched figure.

Leo sat cross-legged in a circle of candles. One of his naked blades was laid across his knees. Leo’s eyes were closed, and he seemed absorbed in intense concentration. Mike slowly circled him, called his name softly. No response. He was obviously deep in trance, and Mike knew that it would not be a good thing to disturb him, especially when he held that blade. He sat in a nearby chair and waited for Leo to return.

* * *

A few hours later, Mike again woke bathed in sweat. He found that one of his hot hands was gripped by a cool reptilian hand, his other by a frail and furred one. He took a few long, shuddering breaths as he looked into the anxious faces of his master and brother.

"Mike?" asked Leo. "Are you okay? You were--thrashing around. And screaming. I called Master Splinter for you." His brow furrowed as he looked at his little brother’s frightened face.

"I--" Mike tried to calm himself. "I had another dream. Nightmare. About," His voice wavered. "The USCGS Dator." Leo raised an eyebrow in spite of himself. That had been decades ago, he thought Mike had forgotten it. He looked to see Splinter’s reaction. The old rat was concerned. He touched his son’s cheek with one finger of his free hand.

"Michaelangelo," he said softly. "Please tell me." So Mike did, describing the feelings and sensations of being a blind prisoner of the government being tortured for information. When he was finished, he heaved a great sigh, feeling as though a burden had been lifted.

"So, Master?"

"So what?" The rat raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Don’t you have anything to say? I mean, that’s why you wanted to know, right?"

The rat sighed. It pained him to have nothing to do to help. "I cannot change the turmoil within your mind, my son. But sometimes it helps to tell your troubles to someone who has an open ear." He got to his feet, using his walking stick to support himself. "I am going to return to my room for meditation, my sons. If you wish, you may join me."

Leo slumped back into his circle with the candles that were almost out. "I think I’ve had enough meditation for one day, Master. I was trying to reach Raphael all day, but after that guy injected him...." Leo shook his head. "I just need some sleep. I guess they’re going to let Raph alone for today." Mike looked from Leo to his sensei, torn. Splinter laid an understanding hand on his head.

"Stay with Leonardo if you wish, Michaelangelo. I will not be offended." He smiled before hobbling off down the hall. Mike stayed close by his brother as Leo crawled wearily into his bed. Sitting beside the bedframe, he held his silent vigil.

* * *

~Leo stood before a massive structure. It looked like a temple; lots of pillars, and he could smell the sweet scent of incense on the gentle wind. With a smile, he pushed the door open and entered. He walked up the aisle, passing the bent forms of pilgrims bowed in prayer, to kneel before the altar. Another figure was beside him, silent in contemplation. Suddenly, it turned to him, threw back its hood to reveal a disgusting monster. Its flesh was rotting off the bones, its face was twisted into a picture of gleeful agony. "Leonardooooo," it hissed at him. Leonardo jumped back, felt for his blade, drew it with a *shnick* of metal on metal. It was then that he realized he was naked.

It didn’t matter; he had fought thus often in his youth. Striking a stance, he held the blade before him. The demon attacked, and as he did, the blade in Leo’s hand turned to paper, which the monster easily torn from his grasp with a sneer. Leo tried to throw a kick, a punch, but he moved in slow motion. He tried to run, but his feet seemed strangely stuck to the floor. Then, with relief, he realized that a bowl of holy water sat at his right hand. It might just stop this demon, if there was any truth to legends. Grabbing it up, he raised his arm to fling it on the demon, but it seized his arm and wrenching it back, threw the water on Leonardo.

Leo screamed as the liquid burned him. It burnt away the flesh from his face, and trickled down his plastron to cover his whole body. Soon, the damage was complete. His hand flew up to touch his face and it made a scratching noise. For no apparent reason, the entire room turned suddenly to mirrors. Leo gasped in horror as he saw himself, transformed as he was. He was a skeleton.

The demon extended a hand toward him, grinning sadistically all the while. "Leonardo," he hissed again. "Welcome--brother."~

His heart pounding in his ears, too terrified to even scream, Leonardo sat straight up in bed. Great Buddha, now even he was having crazy dreams. Though that one was a lot less real than Mike’s....He gazed over at Mike, who was lightly dozing in a nearby chair. He had stayed then. Leo spotted a tray of food on a bedside table, half-emptied. Leo realized that he was ravenous; what time was it? The candles in the circle had burned out, but Mike had found a couple fresh ones and lit those near the bed. Leo went at the food with a will before laying back in his bed again. Maybe now he could get some decent sleep.

In moments, he was sleeping again.

* * *

~Splinter was chained against a hard metal surface. Oroku Saki was before him. Splinter’s whiskers twitched and he twisted at his bonds, trying to get away. Saki sneered at him triumphantly. "Ha, old rat. I have you now." He nodded to a nearby minion. "Bring in the turtle." The Foot soon returned, two of them dragging Raphael, whom they chained across from Splinter as he watched helplessly. The turtle’s eyes were wide with terror as he stared past Oroku Saki at Splinter.

"Master," he begged. "Help me--please." Raphael’s pleading eyes made Splinter want to cry. I...cannot, he realized. Splinter could do nothing to help his son as Saki lifted the shining katana which had carefully been laid across a bench. He hefted the weapon and smirked at Splinter, then turned and slashed at Raph’s leg. Above Raphael’s scream of agony, Splinter heard the sickening *thunk* as the sword sliced through muscle and bone to sink into the metal beneath the leg. Splinter and Saki were both sprayed with blood from the open wound. It also ran down Splinter’s wrists as he strained against his chains. Raphael needs me, he thought to himself, but the harder he tried to escape, the more closely he seemed bound to the metal wall.

With a sharp movement, Saki pulled the sword out of the metal, and handed it to a Foot member, who used a cloth to wipe the sword clean and polish it. All the time, Saki stood enjoying the screams of agony that Raphael emitted. Again, he took the sword in his hand. Splinter cried out above Raphael’s voice. "Saki! Your fight is with me!"

Saki chuckled. "Indeed, old rat. Indeed." He pointed a finger at Splinter. "Watch and suffer, old one. For though you may suffer through your own death, you will suffer more through his." He raised the sword and it flashed down again, this time severing the other leg.

"You are not Saki! Even he was not this mad!" Splinter gasped.

Saki laughed again as he turned to Splinter. "No, old rat. I am Saki; at least in your mind, where Saki represents every evil you have come to fear. Perhaps you should reconsider that belief--outside your mind, Saki may be gone, but the evil he represents is not." With another sneer, Saki turned back to Raphael, and the gory torture continued.~

* * *

Donny sat beside his small fire, trying to work out with a pencil and map how far he had left to travel. Looking across the fire, he saw Raph again, this time sitting and staring into the woods.

"Okay," he said aloud. "It’s official. I’m a nutcase." Raphael turned to him with a chuckle. "There’s no sun, so this can’t be a heat-induced hallucination or mirage. Maybe just because I’m looking into the fire." In answer, Raphael stood up, walked around the fire, and stood next to him.

"There, convinced?"

"Yeah, convinced that I’m nuts." Donny shook his head. "What’s IN these things?" He studied an energy bar.

Raphael grinned mischievously. "LSD?" he guessed.

"Ha ha," growled Don. "Shut up, Raph." He did a double-take. "Oh, good, now I’m calling it by name and carrying on a conversation with it." He sighed. Raph sat down next to him. "Why are you here?"

Raphael shrugged. "You wanted me to be." Don stared at the fire again.

"You were captured. You’re at least 50 miles away by now. Probably more...I still have 55 miles left to Houston base." Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to him. "Raph--" The apparition looked at him. "Are you Raph’s ghost?"

Raph jumped. "Hell no!" He settled back down with a sigh. "You’ve been thinking of me as an apparition; I think that’s as correct as you’re gonna get." He smirked. "Just an illusion created by yer troubled mind."

"So you admit I’m crazy." Don sank back and rested his head on his pack, feeling sick. Great, I’m friggin’ nuts and I have to go 55 miles tomorrow, too.

"Nah, not crazy." Raph pulled out his sai and played around with it. "It’s just stress and isolation, bro. Mountaineers used to report seeing helpful entities when they were up in th’ Himalayas. And that one boating guy, Joshua Slocum, said the pilot of one of Columbus’ ships guided him out of a storm and talked to him."

Don winced. "Wasn’t Slocum later put in a mental institution?"

Raph shrugged. "Okay, bad comparison. Think of me as your ‘helpful entity’ then. Nothin’ wrong with that." He paused a moment. "Hell, even Socrates had one, and I doubt you’d call him crazy." This time Donny mirrored his grin.

"Right. Now I’m going to sleep, o helpful entity. See ya tomorrow?"

"Sure," said Raph as Don drifted off.

~Don was standing in front of a pyre on which Raphael was tied. His hollow eyes looked through Don. "Hang on," said Don, going to untie the ropes. "I’ll get you outta there, buddy." But before he could even touch the ropes, Raphael was engulfed in blue flames. He screamed and writhed in the fire and Don staggered backwards, away from the heat. Cruel laughter behind him made him whirl. There was a dark, cigarette-smoking man. He had plagued Don’s dreams for months now, and Don suddenly remembered who he was.

"Don Peroti Madolini," he hissed. "What have you done to my brother, you bastard?"

Madolini laughed. "What have I done? Rather, what have you done? You are a traitor, Donatello." He spit the name out like a curse word.

"Me? You’re the traitor! You’re the one who sides with that damn robot against the entire mutant and human race!" Don was usually calmer than this, but here was the man he had hated for years, ever since he first met him. His stomach turned. Madolini had competed with him for Mastermold’s favor, when Don served as a spy for all those years. Madolini had killed for the sake of the killing, and that Raph was another of his victims made Don’s blood boil.

"I am the only winner in this war," Madolini growled. "And you shall soon be the loser." A sword appeared in his hand, and another in Don’s. They advanced to the fight.

Raph was suddenly out of the fire, standing at Don’s side. "Help me!" cried Don. "I can win if you help me!" But Raph’s face was a picture of joy.

"They’re gone!" he said simply, and then disappeared, leaving Don to face his enemy alone. Back and forth across the area they fenced, each desperately seeking to cut the other’s throat. Madolini hit with a wrist cut. Fortunately, it was not his sword hand, so he kept moving, holding the injured hand against him to staunch the blood. Madolini laughed.

"Oh, I have you now, little fool."

"I don’t think so." Don slashed out with a smashing head cut that caught Madolini totally unaware and sent him to the floor, his heartbeat speeding madly. With his dying breath, he thrust his own sword into Donatello’s chest. As Don toppled slowly to the floor and lay dying, he reflected that this must be a dream. Certainly the least surreal he had ever had. But shouldn’t it be about now that he woke up?

Then there was no more thought, only the dark room.