Warning! This story contains some cases of extreme violence, cursing, blood and gore, and adult situations which may be inappropriate for some readers. This story is voluntarily rated R and is intended to be viewed only by mature readers. Kids, do yourself a favor and ask mom or dad before you read ZEROHOUR.
June 11, 2063
Raphael was rudely awakened by a booted toe in his side. He came awake gasping and choking for air, staring at the black-booted feet of a Tracker. He looked up, recognized the dark one from the day before. He tried to lunge at the man’s throat, but he was halted by the chains which secured his wrists to the wall and his feet to the floor. Also, his leg wound did not help his efforts. It was in the same miserable condition as the day before. No chance of escape anyway: two Trackers guarded the door to his small, cement cell, both holding torches in one hand, burn-lasers in the other. Raph grimaced, seeing a smaller version of the weapon that had caused his own wound.
"Wakey, wakey," said the Tracker. "Enjoy your nap?" Raph snarled something incomprehensible and tried to go for the Tracker’s throat again. He tried to guess the time--late night? Early morning? Just how long had he slept? The Tracker did not seem worried by Raph’s attempts to kill him. Instead, he grew suddenly businesslike. "Time for a little Q and A. Let’s begin." He smirked down. "I’ll skip the preliminaries. Why don’t you just tell me who your friend was?"
"What friend?" Raph’s answer got him another kick.
"Don’t play stupid with me, Raphael, because I know damn well you’re not! The person who was traveling with you. Who was it."
Raphael closed his eyes against the pain and grimaced. His side ached now, in addition to his leg. And he mustn’t tell this bastard of a Tracker anything. He couldn’t. Raph’s silence annoyed the Tracker. "Well?" Raph shrugged. "Fine. Let’s try another. What message were you carrying?" Raph, again, refused to answer. "To where were you carrying it?" No answer. The Tracker suddenly changed tacks. He knelt at Raph’s side, ran his hand down his leg. Raph winced as he touched the makeshift bandages. "Hurts, doesn’t it?" he said softly. "Burn lasers do that. I know you rebels have trouble treating the burns properly. But we--we know how. Be nice, wouldn’t it?" Raph bit his lip and looked away. "Come on, be reasonable. Just tell me who your partner was in this, and I’ll make sure you get that leg properly treated and bandaged. Might even be able to get you painkillers." The temptation was fleeting, but Raph felt it. He shut it out. He’s your brother. You wanted to protect him; you can’t rat on him now. Raph opened his eyes and glared at the Tracker.
The man sighed. "Very well," he said, and motioned to a guard, who left the room. Another white-coated Tracker appeared. Raph tried not to cringe away. "Half dose this time," the Tracker instructed. "I want him up this afternoon."
"Understood," said the other man, and bent close with the syringe. Raph couldn’t help flinching as the man jabbed the needle into the soft flesh of his elbow bend. His body was bathed in sweat with the effort of not crying out, or even shaking. Why does it always have to be frigging needles? he wondered desperately. There had been more than one occasion on which he ended up stuck full of needles in a lab, some jerk’s science project. Maybe that explained his sheer terror at any and all syringes he’d seen since. Raph sank back against the wall.
"Rest now," said the dark Tracker, as he turned to go. "Rest, and look forward to our next meeting." With a cruel sneer, he swept out. The door clanged shut behind Raph, leaving him in total darkness.
* * *
Donatello grunted as he felt someone urgently shaking him. "Later," he muttered, and rolled over. A hard shove sent him into the still-warm ashes of the fire. Then Don was on his feet, angrily shaking the ashes from his white clothing. Who had shoved him? He fumbled for a match and relit the torch he had stuck upright in the dirt the night before. Don saw the Raph mirage standing next to him, glaring.
"What does it take to get you up, anyway?" he demanded.
"What’s the big idea! You tryin’ to kill me?" Don exclaimed. In answer, Raph pointed across the clearing. Don looked over the torch, and saw--a lion? A lion in Texas flatland? What the hell?... But the war and the bombs which had turned much of the world to wasteland had shown an adverse effect on wildlife as well....The lion might be descended from an escaped zoo animal that had adapted to life on the plain, feeding off the herbivores that lived in the grasslands. Well, no matter where it had come from, the lion was definitely a threat! He turned to Raph. "Raph?"
The mirage shrugged. "Sorry. I’ve done all I can." And he was gone. Don turned back to the lion, cautiously sticking both hands in his pack to rummage for his weapon, then pulled out the retractable bo. He hit the release and it extended to full length with a soft *shnick*. Damn, I wish I had my blaster! Mutant with bo staff versus lion. What a match-up. The lion slowly advanced on Don, with its head low, watching its prey carefully. Don reached again into his bag and found a hunting knife and a length of cord, which he quickly used to bind the knife to the bo’s end. Don crouched, moved cautiously around the torch, staring directly at the lion. Suddenly, it lunged, and Don dodged out of the way, giving the lion a solid whack with his bo. He breathed a sigh of relief as the flexible metal absorbed the hit. Better than a wooden bo any day.
The lion had already recovered from the blow and was leaping again, this time trying to hit Don high, knock him down. Don ducked and felt the whoosh as the lion completed its leap over his head. At just the right moment, he jabbed the bo upwards, stabbing the lion in the stomach with it. The lion crashed to the ground, then staggered to its feet. Chest heaving, it tried for another attack. Don stopped the weak lunge easily, jamming his bo-knife into the lion’s shoulder, then quickly twisting it free. With a roar of pain, the lion jumped on him, more quickly than before. It seemed to be gaining strength rather than losing it. With a roar of his own, Don performed what he called the "Scots maneuver," a Donatello special, firmly planting his staff in the ground, to meet the lion’s charge with a knife point. The lion was too late to stop himself from running right onto the sharp weapon. With one last agonized cry, it fell over, and died.
Don gasped, pulling his bo free. But the knife was sunk too deeply into the lion to come out. After a few strong pulls, Don gave up the knife and put his bo away. With a sigh, he moved his things, including the torch, back from the body. He sat down and stared at it. Good thing Raph had warned him of the lion, or he would have been toast...Raph? The mirage had reappeared, sitting a few feet away from Don. How can a hallucination warn you of danger?
"Happens all the time," Raph said easily, as usual replying to Don’s thoughts. "Can’t help you fight though."
"Uh-thanks?" said Don. He wasn’t sure whether thanking a mirage for saving his life classified as crazy or not. It sure seemed like it to him.
"Don’t mention it. Go back to sleep. Ya still got a few hours till dawn." Obediently, Don lay down again and soon was fast asleep.
* * *
Splinter was up first in the compound, heading for his training rooms so he could warm up before any of his students arrived for morning lessons. It almost embarrassed him, sometimes, for anyone to see him doing exercises. Especially his sons. He was so old and weak now, he could barely do the simplest katas. He didn’t want his students, any of his students, to see him that way. After a few slow katas to warm up his ancient muscles and bones, Splinter sat in lotus position to meditate. He was disturbed only minutes later when the first of his students entered. It was Trisp.
Trisp was one of his best students, not only in the ninja arts, but in the healing art he was also schooling her in. Splinter made a half bow from where he sat, and Trisp respectfully bowed back. "Good morning, Master Splinter," she said quietly. He struggled to his feet, refusing to allow the pain to show in his face.
"Good morning, Trisp," he returned. And then he had to exchange bows with the other students who were beginning to enter. Splinter took up his walking stick to lean on, ready to begin the lesson. He was content to stand by and supervise as the students stretched and limbered up. Then he instructed them carefully in performing some intermediate katas, ones the advanced students already knew. His beginning students would be this afternoon. But these were the young men and women who had already been in battles and shown their mettle. Some were Splinter’s life-long students, who belonged to Leonardo’s troupe of highly trained ninja. Some were simply MHA members who had gone above and beyond what the Alliance required them to learn of ninjitsu. Thanks to Leo and Splinter, Garret had realized how vital ninjitsu could be to the MHA.
Splinter distributed katana then, and paired the students for sparring. He wandered through the groups, stopping to watch each pair carefully, often correcting gently, or stopping the fight to demonstrate some new or modified position or maneuver. All was routine, as it always was. But in the back of his mind, doubt lingered. He worried for all of his sons, but especially Raphael and Donatello. Both of them were alone, and in this world, that was a dangerous thing to be. What would Raphael do without Leonardo’s support during his captivity? How would Donatello cope with his grief and loneliness, alone on the Texas flatland? Splinter waited--and wondered.
* * *
Leo awoke groggily. Mike was still sleeping, and looked totally peaceful. No more dreams for either of them, apparently. That was a good thing. Leo stood up, stretching and yawning. How was Raph? Was he okay? Leo’s mind bubbled with uncertainty, and he suddenly realized how on the edge he was! He then remembered he had training exercises to work on with some of his ninja this afternoon. He found his watch buried in a pile of clothes and checked it. 8:20. Damn, still plenty of time before his first session. Too much time, his jangled nerves told him. Welllllll.....He could check out one of Splinter’s classes. The advanced ones were always in the morning. He’d missed the first, but he could still catch the second at 8:30....Yes, he’d do that. Leo definitely needed a release of tension, and a good, hard workout was just the thing to do it.
He located his workout things, blue and green to match his group’s colors. He decided to take the katana with him too, just in case.
Splinter’s second class had barely begun the warm-up katas when the old rat saw Leonardo slip quietly in the door and take an empty spot in the last row. Not one of the students glanced at him-- they were far too disciplined to do so, and far too wary of Splinter’s stick--and though Splinter raised an eyebrow at his son, he did not falter in his instruction for an instant. It was unusual for Leonardo to attend classes even as an observer, and never had he worked with the students in this way. But Splinter did not disapprove, and he led the students in a series of katas, increasing in difficulty. Some of the students faltered in the last, hardest one, but Leonardo moved steadily and gracefully, performing the difficult moves easily. All of the students returned Splinter’s respectful bow before splitting up for sparring.
The expression on Splinter’s face was an obvious invitation, but Leo went off by himself to do the high katas; the most advanced single exercises he knew. Splinter watched his eldest son working away at the moves, really working up a sweat, too. He sighed. Ah, well. He needs release. It is good.
* * *
When Donatello woke, he was so exhausted he wondered what could have possibly roused him. Then he saw what it was: the sun was already in the sky! It was definitely way past dawn! Don yelped and quickly began to shove his things back into his pack. He started off at a steady jog, hoping to make up for the two hours he seemed to have lost. A couple miles into his journey, he saw the Raph mirage off to his right, pacing him. Don let out a low snarl. "Hey, helpful entity, if you can warn me of impending danger, why didn’t you wake me?" Raph shrugged.
"I’m not all-powerful. I do have my limits. I can only influence you as much as you let me."
"I don’t LET you do anything!"
"It’s subconscious." Raph was silent a moment, then spoke up again. "Besides, it wasn’t really me who woke you up, technically."
Don glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, it’s all one whether I woke you or you woke yourself, because I’m a part of your mind."
"Oh, that’s right, you’re a figment of my imagination. I’d forgotten."
"There’s no need to be sarcastic."
Don sighed and did not respond. He concentrated, instead, on the long miles to Houston.
* * *
Mike woke late, pleasantly surprised to find that it had not been a dream which awakened him, but hunger. He noticed that Leo was gone. Probably off practicing. He wandered out of Leo’s room and made his way back to his own. He searched the cabinets for something to eat, then checked his cold storage unit. He found a fruit salad left over from the morning before and sat down with it. He hoped the new food shipments were going to come in soon; he didn’t want to have to sponge off of anyone until the new rations were issued. Rationing was a necessity when there was so little agriculture left on the planet, but it was a pain in everyone’s butt. It annoyed Mike most because he could no longer make the elaborate creations he used to before the war. He loved to cook, but there was little room for experimentation.
Mike finished the fruit salad and quickly found himself profoundly bored. After wandering around his small quarters a bit, he sat down in front of his console and called up the computer file on the Sentinel War. He slowly looked over the information he had read a hundred times before and remembered. Calling to mind the events he had experienced, which appeared as vague facts in this file, like the words of a history book. Odd to think of his life as history.
Don and Raph left the planet after the death of the X-men, and for a while, things were quiet. But the relative peace did not last long. An old enemy resurfaced: Mastermold. Years before the turtles had met them, the X-men were fighting the Sentinels, robots built to "control" the mutant population by registering and neutralizing them. The government shut the program down, but the creators of the machines continued to build them in secret, creating Mastermold to run the Sentinel-making operation. Then Mastermold turned against the humans, deciding that his mission of protecting humans from mutants branched to a mission of protecting humans from themselves. In a cruel twist of irony, Xavier’s ideas that mutants and humans were not really different were vindicated by an emotionless robot.
For a while, Mastermold disappeared too. But in 2015, hundreds of Sentinels appeared off the USA’s east coast, headed for Washington, DC. The military was well-trained, but could do little against the thousands of Sentinels that quickly followed. Washington fell, and Mastermold, who was by then known to be the culprit, spread the destruction across the nation. He hit the important cities first. Mutants and humans alike were killed indiscriminately. And as a group of Sentinels moved north out of Washington, US troops moved south to stop him. Just south of New York City, the battle was joined. The troops were crushed, and the two remaining turtles found themselves in a city half-full of panicked people trying to flee.
Many had already done so. But zerohour approached and there were still thousands left to be killed in the carnage the Sentinels would leave in their path. Leo, Splinter, Casey, and Mike took on an almost insane task: evacuating at least a few of the city’s inhabitants. They knew of a group of secret bunkers in Nevada, in the place once known as Area 51. They once held the government's best-kept secrets, but had been abandoned when the projects were all moved to Utah. Now nothing remained of Area 51 but concrete bunkers. But a group of human and mutant refugees could put those bunkers to good use. Mike closed his eyes and sent his mind back.
("I lost my gun! I can’t find it!" The young man was panicked as he babbled at Mike. Mike growled low in his throat. It was not the time to lose weapons and panic and be stupid! Mike didn’t say this though. He was nearly panicking himself, but he stilled his nerves, then wrapped his fist in his jacket and went looking for an arms store. Ah, good. This one was very close. He punched his fist through the window of the long-abandoned shop and then carefully pulled out one of the automatic weapons on display.
"This do?" he asked the man, handing him the gun.
"But," the man stammered. "You can’t just-"
"He’s long gone, pal. No one’s coming back to this shop. And in an hour, it’ll be a waste heap. Let’s go." Mike was businesslike, all his memories of war coming back, putting on the attitudes like a layer of skin: covering his fun, light-hearted nature with a thin veil of grim coolness. He returned quickly to where the caravan was parked. Frantic people were running everywhere with guns, children were crying, some people were getting hysterical, and others were trying to calm them down. Mike yelled a command, and the people began to separate into two groups. Most of the people were crawling into the tractor-trailers, pickups, vans, and all the other vehicles that were parked in Times Square. But some of the men and women reluctantly pulled back from the larger group and joined Mike.
"Listen up," he said calmly. "We’re going to be rearguard, here. Keep the Sentinels focused on us so they don’t notice the others going. Then after they’re all well away, we’re outta here. Got it?" All the people expressed their understanding. "Good. Remember that even a bazooka would have problems downing these things. So aim for vulnerable areas: the gap in the chest plate, the eyes, that sort of thing. Shatter their eye sensors and they’ll be in big trouble. Let’s move." The people dispersed, moved into previously assigned positions. Mike had arranged things so that they could blanket with gunfire the entire area the Sentinels were likely to enter by.
Not a bad job for having only been arranged in the past 24 hours. Mike grimaced and went off to find his friends. Amazing how few of them were actually around these days. And only one they knew for certain was dead. There they were: Leonardo, in the lead truck, since he and Splinter were the only ones who knew how to get to the bunkers, and Splinter with him. They stood outside the cab, and Casey was with them. He looked so alone and sad. Both unusual things for him to look. But who could blame him? April was killed in the first wave, on a business trip to Washington DC. Casey had woken Shadow, asleep in her old bed for the first time in nearly five years, and rushed with her alongside hundreds of thousands of others, all desperate to get out of the city. But in the crowded airport, they’d been separated in the rush of people trying to buy tickets to anywhere where the Sentinels weren’t. And despite his desperate cries that he had to find his daughter, he’d been turned away. No one had seen Shadow since.
Mike hugged Leo. "I wish we didn’t have to separate." He hugged Splinter next.
Splinter smiled reassuringly. "Do not be afraid, Michaelangelo. We will be fine, and so will you." Mike turned his head as they all heard the sound of dozens of Sentinels in the distance, approaching New York. "We must go now."
Leo squeezed Mike’s shoulder. "We’ll see you there," he said firmly, and climbed into the truck. Mike quickly turned, and shouted the order for the drivers to start their vehicles. There was a dull roar, and for a moment it seemed that Times Square was alive with traffic again. Relatives pulled away from tearful good-byes, and Leo slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The caravan sped out of the city, heading west. Mike raced back to the post he had assigned himself, and took the gun the middle-aged woman there offered him. She smiled grimly at him; he remembered that her two college-age sons had died in the first wave as well.
Casey took up position to his left. "Let’s kick some ass." Mike nodded and raised his gun to his shoulder as the first Sentinels came into view. Mike squinted through his sights. He could hear other guns going off in front of him, bullets pinging of the metal Sentinel bodies, a clang as someone hit one in the right place and it fell, but Mike waited to make absolutely sure of his shot. Then, he squeezed the trigger. The roar of the gun almost deafened him, but he quickly jerked it to a new position and fired. He didn’t hear the Sentinel’s eyes shattering, but he could see it had lost sensors from the way it was running into things, unable to tell what was around it.
Mike became lost in a haze of firing, reloading, firing again. Finally someone tugged at his bandanna tails and Casey was yelling in his ear, "Mike! We’re pulling out! They’re getting too close!" He pulled Mike away and his vision cleared enough to make out the last truck full of fighters that were frantically beckoning to them. Without a glance behind for the Sentinels, Mike and Casey raced for the truck. Mike got there first and sprang into the bed. Hands grabbed for him, pulling him safely in.
"Where’s Casey?" one man asked, as the truck started up and began to move toward the path the others had taken.
"He’s right behind me," Mike said, but turned rapidly as the man’s face went white. Casey was down! A huge metal foot slammed to the ground inches away from where Casey lay unmoving on the street. "CASEY!" Mike screamed, lunging, but the people all around him seized and held his arms.
"Are you mad, boy?" one man demanded as he held on tightly. "He’s dead, and you will be too if you get off this truck!" But Mike ignored him and continued his pointless, furious struggle. Finally, the butt of a rifle slammed into the side of his head and he lost consciousness.)
Mike raised his bowed head and stared again at the computer screen. An overwhelming feeling of sadness came over him again, remembering Casey. Everyone died...it was all so pointless. And then it had gone downhill from there. The concentration camps, Trackers, food and water shortage, vicious gangs of humans and mutants attacking travelers....All that crap and more.
Mike sighed as he stood up. What the hell was the point, anyway? What exactly had all this fighting and getting hurt and getting up and fighting again every really done for them? And did the cause you died for really matter?
* * *
~Raph stood in a small dark room. The same as before? Who the hell could tell in the dark. But there he was again--Arik, looking the same as before, his body horribly mutilated, but still he stared at Raph with innocent eyes. "I wanted to go home, Daddy, why wouldn’t you let me?" Raph groaned softly. Not again. Where were the purple clouds? That had been nice, why couldn’t he have repeating dreams like that? But noooooo.....
Arik reached out and touched Raph’s cheek. His fingers were cold and icy. "It’s okay, Daddy," he said softly. He threw his arms around Raph’s neck. "I love you." Raph smiled to himself as he hugged his son: just like he used to hug him before-- Suddenly Arik’s hands gripped Raph’s shell hard. He panicked, and tried to pull away, but he couldn’t. Raph heard a dagger being drawn, and then Arik plunged it into his abdomen, leaning forward to whisper, "You told me you loved me, but it was a lie. You killed me." Arik pulled away, standing back to eye Raph coldly. Raph fell to the floor, choking on his own blood. As he looked down and pressed his hands to his wound, he realized what Arik had done, for the hole in his abdomen was gaping: he was holding his own entrails in his hands. He retched and looked back to Arik, who was watching with a hard expression on his small face. Then he let his head drop to the floor, and everything went completely dark.~
* * *
Leo sat cross-legged on his floor. After his workout, he’d stumbled back to his room and dragged himself into the shower. Four solid hours of exercises! Was he insane? Every muscle was going to be screaming at him in training exercises this afternoon, he just knew it. Still, he’d cleared his mind a bit. Now he wanted to try and contact his brothers. He knew where Mike was, mooching around his room, maybe writing some more futilistic poetry. But Don and Raph were the ones he was worried about. Closing his eyes, he probed, gently seeking with his mind. Raph. He found Raph’s mind, gently nestled into sleep. Drugged sleep.
Leo tried to slip quietly into Raph’s mind, as he usually did. But something blocked him. Leo tried several more times, growing more and more frustrated. Was Raph right, then? Drugs blocked the communication progress? It was like an enormous iron fence put up around Raph’s mind, and he couldn’t get in. With the mental equivalent of a sigh, Leo gave up and drifted off in search of Don. Ah--better luck this time. With a rush, Leo was in Don’s mind, sithing with him. But after a moment, he dropped out of the sith and simply communicated with Don via the simpler telepathy.
--Don? Are you okay? What’s up?--
--Hi Leo.-- Don, though not very proficient, was perfectly comfortable with telepathy. He smiled to himself as he continued to jog along the plain. The mirage, he noticed, had disappeared. --I’m fine, I guess. Still jogging along....I’m something like two hours behind schedule though.--
--Why?-- Leo was obviously panicked.
--Ah, Raph-- Don just stopped himself. He had been about to say because Raph didn’t wake him up! Geez, maybe he was cracking up. --Um, I mean, I got up early and had to fight this lion, and then I went back to sleep and woke up late. Guess I was real tired. Any word on Raph?-- Don was hopeful.
--Sorry. Tried to get through, but I was blocked. Some kind of drug, maybe.-- Don doesn’t seem to find it unusual that I know everything about what had happened without being told. The whole world is so messed-up, I guess he figures it doesn’t matter. Huh. After all, telepaths can figure out whatever they want, right? Leo thought to himself. --Will you be okay?--
--Yeah, fine.--
--I should probably go then.--
--Kay. Bye Leo. Say hi to Mikey for me.--
--I will. Bye.-- Leo expertly broke the connection. Weird, he thought, How strange things like psi powers become commonplace. Well, after all, there were a lot of psychics in the world. All kinds of mutants with mutant powers.....The world was pretty damn weird, and getting moreso all the time. Mutants now seemed the most common and natural thing in the world, contrary to beliefs 70 years ago. We’re all getting up there, Leo realized. By most human scales they were really old. But who knew how long mutant turtles lived?
Forget it, Leo instructed himself. Keep your mind in the present, not the past....or the future.
* * *
Raph awoke with a jerk. He was totally pinned down, not just by his chains, but by strong arms that held his arms, legs, and head still. What was more, there was a needle in his left arm and the dark Tracker was holding his chin and looking into his face. "Well done, Doctor," he said casually, letting go of Raph’s face and leaving his jaw sore. "You dosed perfectly."
The "doctor" stepped away from Raph and tucked the empty syringe into one of his pockets. The dark Tracker waved a hand and Raph was released by the hands. "Now," he purred. "Let’s get down to business." The Tracker, Raph noted, had a look in his eyes like a cat about to devour a mouse. Raph’s eyes shot around him, taking in some new additions to the decor: a fire in a firepit, some tongs and needles and a lot of implements that he would just as soon not guess at the purpose of. "I’m going to ask you nicely, once," the Tracker said. "What did the message you were carrying say?" Raph took a deep breath to steel himself and gathered his courage. He kept his mouth firmly closed.
"Very well." The Tracker shrugged. He slowly walked over to the fire. He picked up something like a knitting needle, about a foot long, but much, much sharper and with barbs. He laid it in the fire and waited. It only took a few seconds for the needle to glow red. The Tracker removed it, carefully, with a set of tongs, then slowly walked over to Raphael. His face wore a small smile.
* * *
Leo felt a stirring in the back of his mind, and with joy, he realized that he was back in communication with Raph. But before he could make any attempt to complete the contact, there tore through him such a wave of sheer agony that he dropped to the floor without a sound. He blanked out. When he woke, he was instantly catapulted back into the pain. He hardly heard the panicked voices of his students:
"Sensei!"
"Master Leonardo!"
"Oh my God, someone get a doctor, quick!"
"No, get Garret!"
"Don’t be an idiot! He needs Master Splinter! Someone run, fetch him."
Leo was held by dozens of hands that he was barely aware of. "Hold on, you’ll be okay."
* * *
Raph bit his lip until it bled, tears of pain running down his cheeks in his effort not to cry out. The Tracker was intently watching his face. Not satisfied with Raph’s reaction, he slowly twisted the needle again. This time, feeling the explosion shoot up his right leg and into his spinal cord, Raph screamed, arching his back, reduced to an animal state by the horror of it. His mind was wiped by the tearing pain.
He tried to think rationally as some of his senses returned from that first blinding flash, realized that another presence was with him--Leo? Unconsciously, he was sithing, drawing Leo unwillingly into his mind. He recoiled in shock as he realized that he’d been forcing his own pain on Leo. God, Leo, what am I doing to you? He tried to shut Leo out of his mind, control the projection of his emotions, but before he could, another flash overcame him, and the entire line of thought was forgotten.
* * *
Leo lost track of the time he spent lying on the floor in the arms of his students. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Time after time, the agony sliced through his leg, and just as the pain was beginning to die, another blow came. Finally, he was left dazed and sick, with the feeling that nothing mattered anymore, wishing he would just die. He rolled onto his side and retched. Probably a good thing I didn’t eat breakfast, or I’d be wearing it.
He became conscious of a furry hand on his face. "Master?" He blinked up at the blurry face. The little rat hurried to reassure him.
"Yes, Leonardo. Was it Raphael again?" Leo nodded, aware that Splinter already knew the answer to his question.
"It was awful," Leo whispered. "I was just trapped. I couldn’t get out of the link, the sithing, and the pain--" Leo closed his eyes. "Christ." Master Splinter held him close, wishing he could share his son’s terror and pain, take it out of him. A tough came on Leo’s shoulder and he looked into Mike’s worried face.
"Bro, are you going to be all right?"
Leo lay back. "Eventually, I suppose. It’s not really physical...it’s all in my head. But it hurts just as much." He groaned softly. "How long have I been out?"
"Twenty minutes," Mike said, furrowing his brow.
Leo stared in shock. "Twenty--" Master Splinter held him still in the embrace again.
"Sleep, my son. Just sleep."
* * *
Don wasn’t feeling so hot. His mind was swimming around like it was trying to escape, his eyes didn’t seem to be working right, and the damn mirage or whatever the hell it was would not leave him alone.
"C’mon, pollyanna, get up!" Don groaned and turned his face to the ground.
"Go ‘way," he mumbled to the turf.
"The HELL I will! You think I went down back there so you could give up? You better get up dammit, or I’ll kick some sense into you!" Don remembered before--could he really touch Don physically? "I sure can, and I sure will if you don’t fuckin’ GET UP!"
Don slowly hauled himself to his knees. "That’s it, keep goin’." Finally, he managed to get shakily to his feet. He moved his foot forward.....And promptly fell down again.
"Now what am I s’posed to do?" Don mumbled.
"Get up again! Walk, crawl, slither on your belly if you friggin’ feel like it, just get movin’!" Taking Raph’s advice, Don got to his hands and knees and managed to crawl. He didn’t even know where he was going or how far it was. He didn’t care. All that mattered was putting out one hand. Then a knee. Another hand. Another knee. Again. His brain reeled drunkenly and he occasionally mumbled something incoherently, as though his brain was no longer properly connected to his vocal cords.
It was past sundown when he dragged himself to a halt next to a perimeter fence. That was where the two guards found him.
"Holy hell! Kris, take a look at this!"
The second guard gaped. "Isn’t that the Oracle? Thought he was up in New York somewhere...."
Don groaned. "Message," he managed to mumble after a few false starts.
"Message? What?" the first guard said, squatting beside Don.
"I think he means he’s got a message."
"Pocket," Don mumbled, and tried to move his unresponsive hands towards his pocket. One of the guards dug the cylinder out of the pocket.
"Open it!"
"No way! This is addressed to the Houston Camp director, and that’s Fireball. I’ll take this to him. You get this guy to the Infirmary. He sure needs it."
Don was conscious of being carried a long way, having his pack removed, and being laid on something hard. Voices echoed dimly in the recesses of his mind:
"Found this guy outside the gates, doc."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! He’s half dead with the sun-sickness! You--get him into a room. I’ll be there directly."
* * *
~Raph stood in a small, dark room. A figure approached, shining with white, holy light, and bearing an ax. It was Arik. Oh, great, here we go again, was all he had time to think before Arik began to speak. "Why did you let me die, Daddy?" Raph buried his head in his hands and sank to his knees. Why, oh why couldn’t this just all go away and leave him alone? All he wanted was to leave the past buried and go on with the business of living...And dying, if that Tracker had his way, but they’d see. It was a problem for another time, not now. "I wanted to go home." The same neurotic bullshit as before! But why?
If I could let all these thoughts go, would he go away and stop bothering me? Maybe. But how do I do that? Raph concentrated very hard on this problem, but the feelings of guilt came over him again. Arik was right, it was all his fault. If he hadn’t been such a fool, if he’d just stayed in Shi’ar and taken care of the kids--
NO! He could not let himself go there. Had to concentrate on what Arik was saying without getting sucked into the craziness of it. He had to sort out the truth from the neurotic thoughts Arik was feeding him. Had to confront his guilt. "You let me wander away and get lost. And then the bad men found me." Raph jumped. Hold up, reality check. He spotted the logical flaw in that argument and pounced on it.
"I didn’t LET you wander away! Speaking of which, ya didn’t wander away, ya snuck away! You evaded the bodyguard I placed to protect you, and you engineered that, not me!" Raph was triumphant. "So don’t give me that stray sheep," Raph paused to consider, then said it anyway, "CRAP, cuz it’s a lie!" It hurt to talk this way to someone who appeared to be his son. But with a new clearness of thought, Raph realized that this was NOT his son. It might look like him, but Arik was dead, and Arik wouldn’t confront him, try to lash out at him. So what was it? Doesn’t matter. Just remember: it’s not your son, it’s the enemy.
But Arik suddenly pouted, his face twisting with sadness and he said, "But Daddy-how can you blame me for my own death? I’m just a kid!" He put on a defiant eight-year-old expression like any child determined to have his own way. Raph stumbled mentally, then recovered as he slammed the door on emotion.
"It was dumb, yeah, and you were just a kid. But that doesn’t make it my fault, just cuz I’m yer daddy." Arik faltered for a minute, but that was all Raph needed to jump in and continue his monologue. "I’m sorry about what happened, an’ I wish to hell that I coulda stopped it. But it happened, and I couldn’t."
Arik chose a new topic. "But I wouldn’t have died if you’d never brought me to Earth!"
"So I was supposed to let you grow up without a parent? Abandon you to the world of orphanages an’ foster homes an’ pretend kindness?" Still cynical after all these years. "I refused to abandon you."
"Well-you should have stayed with us then!"
"And abandoned my family?" Arik had no response for that. "It woulda been the same thing. I couldn’t abandon my brothers and Master Splinter! I had to be with them, and you needed me just as much. So I had to bring you and T’mer to Earth. And you died because you ditched your bodyguard, not the other way around!" he reiterated.
"But," Arik protested, "You abandoned me," he said in a pitiful little-boy voice. Pulling out all the stops for the grand finale. But Raph was on a roll and he wasn’t going to let the childish appeal stop him now.
"How?" he said coldly.
"Well," Arik fumbled. "You abandoned me to my fate, to-"
"BullSHIT!" Raph exclaimed. "That’s entirely the point! I didn’t abandon you!" He suddenly found that his sai were in his belt and drew them to threaten the boy. "Arik’s dead, and even if he weren’t, he wouldn’t do this to me! I did not let Arik die, and I was certainly not responsible for his death! I don’t know who the hell you are, but you AIN’T my son! So I’m givin’ you about ten seconds to reveal yer true nature before I tear ya apart to find it." Raph felt freer than he had in years. An enormous weight was suddenly lifted from him as he said that his son’s blood was not on his hands, and for the first time, really meant it.
As he watched, the creature before him began to shift. The white and holy light turned red, misted with fog, and Arik’s skin began to melt from his body. The creature beneath stretched from its crouched position, giving a howl of defiance. It was black, almost formless. Merely a thin shadow of a shadow, sunken and hollow, with red eyes glowing steadily from its head, and wings extending back infinitely into the blackness. It bared its fangs at Raphael and hissed through its teeth. What the hell was it? Some kind of manifestation of his guilt?
"Youuuuuuuu," it hissed. "Havvvvvvveee wonnnn thissssss rounnnnd, Raffffael, but you havvvve nnnnot esssssscaped yeeeeeeeet." With a sharp, bird-like cry, the monster sprang skyward. Raph lunged for it, but it was gone. There was only blackness surrounding him, but then a crack of light appeared and slowly widened, until he could clearly make out the door, a wide square of light leading back into paradise. Gladly, Raphael stalked towards it, then through. But his relief turned to panic as the door slammed behind him and the paradise disappeared, replaced instead by utter darkness. Raph moaned softly as the hissing voice cackled with glee. Here we go again.~