Day 6: Darkness

Michaelangelo stood back, watching the medics work and nervously clenching and unclenching his fingers. He could hardly keep from running over, grabbing his master by the shoulders, and shaking him. He wanted to scream to Splinter to stop playing around, that he loved him, and why couldn’t he just live, dammit?

Medical personnel were scrambling around his master’s frail, old body. One of them had begun CPR and kept it up as others set up IVs and measured drugs. The drugs would be of immeasurable benefit to the old rat’s struggling heart.

But they would only work if his heart was already beating.

Tears ran down Mike’s cheeks, and he was unable to look away from his master’s face, alternately covered and uncovered by the team member who was desperately trying to force his heart back into motion. Listening carefully, Mike found that the low voices of the personnel became much clearer.

"We’re going to have to try."

"He’s so old, Lynn...Are you sure the shock to his system wouldn’t just-"

The woman almost laughed. "Kill him?"

"He’s already clinically dead. I meant, what if the current just puts his system further into shock?"

"Then we won’t be any worse off than if we just stood around worrying about it all day. We have to get his heart beating, NOW. The CPR isn’t working. This has to."

The man didn’t quite agree with the woman’s optimism, but he set up the defibrillator anyway.

"DC," the woman ordered. "And crank that sucker."

"But-"

"Just do it."

He set the current to a more than judicious level. She was, after all, in charge, and what was he supposed to do about it? She took up the defibrillator paddles and double-checked the current.

"Ready?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she knelt beside Splinter’s body and darted a quick glance to the extremely worried Mike. She smiled very faintly at him, attempting to reassure him mentally, but his mind was closed to her. She bit her lip and turned back to Splinter. When the girl doing CPR finished the latest cycle, the woman sprang in with the paddles. She gave the other personnel only moments to back away from the body before she carefully touched the paddles to his chest. Splinter’s body almost seemed to jump, his muscles twitched and then grew still again. The woman immediately jerked back the paddles and the girl checked his pulse.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "We’ve got it!" She checked another vein, but Mike needed no confirmation. He sobbed softly with relief as he felt Splinter’s heart begin to throb again. The sensation of his master’s presence rushed back into his mind and filled the hole in him which had been so empty for the last terrifying few minutes.

The medics were now rapidly, though carefully, trundling Splinter onto a sort of bed on wheels and preparing to move him to the Infirmary. The woman packed up the defibrillator and barked orders. "I want him in Intensive Care, get him hooked up to everything we’ve got, especially ECG. I want temperature, blood gas readings, chest x-rays, the works. And hey," she directed at the personnel with the IV, "Get that thing hooked up. Pump him full of Epinephrine, that should help him keep his heart beating. And potassium," she added as an afterthought. She rapidly made her way over to Mike. She raised an eyebrow at him. "You coming?" Mike nodded, unconsciously rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. "Come on, then."

* * *

Mike met Maddie Errins at the door to Leo’s room. "Thank God," she said. "I was just about to look for you."

"What?" Mike asked. He didn’t think he could handle any more stress this morning.

"Just a few minutes ago, he was thrashing around like crazy. Insisting he had to go somewhere. We had to restrain him. But he just stopped."

Mike sagged with sudden relief. "Oh." Maddie looked concerned, and he answered her unspoken question. "Master Splinter...just...had a heart attack."

"Oh!" Maddie wrapped her arms around him. "I’m so sorry. Is he-" She was afraid to say it, knowing how close Mike was to his "father."

"They managed to revive him. He’s being monitored. I think he’ll be okay now."

"And Leonardo....knew this?"

"I would be very surprised if he hadn’t sensed it. He’s always been the most sensitive to Splinter anyway....And we’re all very close..." Maddie squeezed him.

"I have to go," she said. "I’ve patients to see. But you let me know if you or Leonardo need anything, hear?" At his nod, she swiftly departed the room. The door swished shut behind her. Mike turned toward Leo, where he lay strapped to the white hospital bed. An IV was taped to his arm. Mike carefully examined the bag of fluid, identified the drug as a sedative, and closed it off. He perched on the edge of the bed. Leo’s eyes remained closed, but Mike was not surprised when he spoke mentally.

--Thanks a lot, Mikey.--

--You needed someone to watch you. You can’t just be so out of it all the time, thrashing around, hurting yourself. What if you cut yourself and bled to death because no one was there and you couldn’t call for help?--

Leo did what he always did when he was in the wrong: he changed the subject. --What happened to Splinter?--

--Heart attack.--

--But he’s all right now.-- It was a statement, not a question. Leo knew as well as Mike did how Splinter was doing. --I guess that makes you the only one of us who’s functioning normally.--

Mike laughed. --I guess so. I talked to the doctor at Houston Camp. Don’s hallucinating. They say he keeps talking to Raph out loud.-- Mike could feel Leo’s mental frown. --What did you and Garret chat about?--

--Not a lot I can share with you. Plans for the attack on Houston Base. I made him tell me.-- Mike laughed again at the thought of Leo intimidating Garret. He was good at that.

--He told me there was going to be one, and not much else. Did he say when it’s going to be?--

--Soon. Very soon. But they need to set up our diversion first.--

--What?--

Leo hesitated. --I probably shouldn’t tell you...but I will. Just keep it to yourself, okay? Garret may have mentioned the "crucial hardware" he sent to Fireball along with that message. It’s a computer chip.--

--A computer chip? Why is that so important?--

--Because it’s the last, and crucial, part of the device which will jam the Sentinel communications and sensors. There won’t be any way for them to detect the attack until we’re right on top of them.--

Mike boggled. The information was simply astounding...

--It’s taken them near thirty years to perfect it, and it’s been top secret, which explains why I’ve never heard of it. It was too important to risk espionage attempts. But they’ve finally got it. Garret’s working on calling in troops and setting up strike forces to complete the first leg of the journey, to meet the forces at Houston Camp. That message wasn’t the only reason the best MHA fighters were called here.--

--And all these years I thought Garret was a real dumb ass.--

Leo’s mental laugh was uproarious. --Mike, Mike, Mike....-- He didn’t complete the thought, just sent the mental picture of Garret on his back with Leo sitting on top of him, hands on his throat. Mike had to grin at the thought of his brother scaring the crap of the much larger man. He was still laughing when he departed the rooms minutes later.

* * *

Raph woke suddenly, surprised to see that he was alone in his cell. It was the first time the drugs had worn off before the dark Tracker returned to- Raph tried not to think about it. He didn’t want to think about his leg, or about what the Tracker had done to him and would do when he came back. About what kind of torture he would use next. Stop it! he told himself firmly. You’re scaring yourself, and nothing’s even happening right now!

Raph was still chained with his back to the wall. How many days had he been chained like this? Did it matter? A small trickle of blood was draining down his arm. A drop fell onto his beak and he went slightly cross-eyed trying to look at it. The drop of liquid made his beak itch uncomfortably, but he ignored it. The blood was coming from his wrists, manacled to the wall. His arms had cramped from being in the air so long, most of the blood drained from them. Raph flexed his fingers, just to see if he could do so.

The digits tingled as the scant blood flowed sluggishly through them. His arms had gone limp as he sat unconscious. The weight of gravity had pulled his arms down, pressing against the metal. Raph suddenly realized how much his wrists hurt. His stomach rumbled at him and he suddenly realized how much that hurt too. How long had it been since he’d eaten? He’d really been too preoccupied most of the time he’d been awake to notice the pangs of hunger. Last time the dark Tracker had been in the room, he’d given Raph a small drink of water; he remembered that now as he licked his dry lips and tried to use saliva to soothe his throat. It wasn’t working.

Raph tried to reach his mind out to Leo, but his mind was still sluggish with drugs, and he couldn’t seem to find the way. Raph wondered about the mental pain he’d felt a while back. He pondered its source. Something deep inside him said it was Splinter. He reached for Splinter’s mind, but again the traces of drug stopped him. Frustrated, Raph kicked his good leg, rattling the chain and scowling into the dark. Only a small amount of light filtered under the door and through the small barred window in the door, making the cell nearly pitch black. He didn’t know if he really wanted to see his cell...There was enough information coming to the rest of his senses to make him wish that those were absent as well.

He heard distant screams, probably those of another helpless mutant prisoner. Or maybe a human. Raph remembered the vehement hatred he had once bore for all humans, but he wasn’t so sure if that feeling held true any more. A unity between mutants and humans against the common enemy, the Sentinels, had erased most enmity between the races.

His sense of touch was definitely functioning. The continual pains in his leg, the hunger, the feel of the manacles cutting into his flesh; all sent sensations flooding into his brain.

Taste remained to him as well, but there was nothing TO taste, except saliva.

His sixth sense, the mental one, was shot too.

But the real killer was his sense of smell...The feedback Raph was getting from that was completely unwelcome. He’d mostly been trying to ignore it, but.....He could smell blood, both his and others’, sweat, and the pus that was draining from the still untreated leg wound. He’d been here for at least several days, and he seemed to have soiled himself several times. He didn’t remember doing it, his bowels might have released when he was in such unbearable pain from the torture. That was the most overpowering stench in the enclosed area, and it was getting hard to ignore. But Raph tried not to think about that, either.

For the first time in several days, he was awake and alone. After days of alternating torture and drugged sleep, it should have been a comfort to be wide awake and aware of his surroundings.

But somehow, Raph really wished he wasn’t.

* * *

~Don was walking down a long hallway in what seemed like an art museum. Portraits covered the walls to either side of him, neatly framed. Large portraits, done in oils. Don paused to glance at a few of the paintings. To his surprise, they were of him and his brothers.

He walked down the hall more slowly, looking carefully at each painting. They seemed to be depicting the turtles’ lives. He passed pictures of the young turtles playing and fighting, watching the turtles in the pictures grow older as he moved down the hall further. He saw their fights, their defeated enemies, their entry into the war.

And then he approached the more recent and familiar scenes. The meeting in Perro Camp. The Sentinel shooting Raph. Don turned his eyes away from pictures of his brother lying suffering in Houston Base. He wiped away the tears blurring his eyes and moved on.

Then he saw new paintings of scenes he did not recognize. A chill ran through him as he realized that his psychic talent was coming into play again. He hated knowing what was going to happen. He hated predicting the future in ambiguous dreams, hated interpreting those dreams, hated frantically wondering if his dreams were literal and if the awful things he dreamt of were just nightmares or if they were visions of what lay in store for those around him. He tried to stop his journey down the hall, but found he could not. Don began to sweat as he fought in vain against the unstoppable force that kept him moving down the hall, kept his eyes on the portraits, and wouldn’t allow him to wake up.

He saw things he did not recognize. Scenes of further torture, of battle, of Raphael lying in a hospital bed looking up at him as if his heart was broken. And then, directly after that dreadful scene....a grave. A tombstone at its head taunted him, and Donatello struggled to read it, despite himself. The letters on it refused to come clear. But the grave and its significance was completely clear; Don’s dreams were never wrong about such things.

Someone was going to die.~

* * *

Dr. Trevowski watched the machines carefully, particularly the one that was monitoring the patient’s brain activity. The Oracle had inhabited this room less than 24 hours. During that period he had remained mostly unconscious. His brain, however, seemed very active.

The orderly had called him just minutes ago, after a sudden jump in the Oracle’s brain activity. But the phenomenon suddenly ended, and the monitor once again registered only normal activity. Trevowski frowned and ordered the orderly to send him a printout of the pattern. It was strange. But then, the patient’s case was strange to begin with. Working closely with mutants definitely made for bizarre experiences.

* * *

Mike made his rapid way to Garret’s office. He had just finished explaining to Splinter and Leo’s students what had happened to their teachers. Now he been ordered to report to Garret for instructions.

Garret was sipping red wine and pacing nervously. Mike stepped into the room. "You wanted to see me?"

Garret stopped, looked at him, nodded. "I know you must still be pretty upset about what happened this morning, but we have things to do." So Garret had heard. Mike wasn’t surprised; Garret usually knew what was going on. "I’m organizing the MHA for the attacks."

"Attacks?" Mike asked, stressing the plural.

"That wasn’t a slip of the tongue, Hellfire. This isn’t just Houston base. If we can take Houston, we can destroy Mastermold and the war will be over." Over. The word echoed in Mike’s head. He had almost forgotten what it was like when the war was not going on. It had been years since there had been any sort of peace.....

Garret interrupted his thoughts again. "It’s time to share my vision with you, Hellfire. I want multiple strike forces. MHA troops mobilized throughout the world. Hundreds of thousands of trained troops taking dozens of Sentinel bases. And I want you in on the Houston attack." Mike remained silent and waited as Garret paced some more. "I gathered the best MHA fighters here. We’re going to organize the forces and march on Houston base. Fireball’s people are going to grab them from the other side." Garret picked up a sealed manila envelope and handed it to Mike.

Mike grinned. "Afraid the room is bugged or something? Why can’t you just tell me?"

Garret shrugged. "I’m a slave to tradition. Read the orders, I’ve also give you a list of the people you’ll be commanding. Have any questions, call me." Mike nodded. "Would it be all right for me to deliver Leo his?"

Mike shrugged. "Be my guest." He slung a half-salute in Garret’s direction and made his way back to his room.

* * *

~Raph was again in the room of his dreams. He was once again picking up just where he left off...Dream continuity, how comforting. He wondered what would be thrown at him this time, and prayed it wouldn’t be Arik again. But no, he was confident he’d dealt with that particular demon, and now that he’d revealed it for what it truly was, it would not trouble him again. But SOMEthing was there. Raph looked all around, warily.

Behind him, a voice called, "Hello, Hatchet." Raph whirled.

"I’m not Hatchet any more," he said hoarsely. Hatchet had been his name in the Orabu Nation, the band of mutants and humans who spent most of their time terrorizing people and pretending to be insane. It had seemed fun when he first joined, became a chieftain. But he’d been with the Orabu when Arik died....The name brought back things he didn’t wish to remember.

The man standing before him was wearing the torn uniform of a Tracker. Raph flinched away as the man grinned. He stank of alcohol. "Good to see ya," he slurred. "Y’know, I never really did get a good look at ya. All that face paint got in the way, y’know? ‘Sides, I was mostly concentrating on the pain...."

A woman strolled up beside him, her clothing in the same shape as the man’s. She too, grinned maliciously and smelled of too much beer. "Yeah, good to see you again."

"What-what do you want?" he asked in a loud whisper, fear rising in his throat. It can’t be, he thought to himself. This cannot be happening. It cannot. They grinned idiotically at him.

"We jus’ wanted to thank you," the man said.

"Yeah, for, y’know, teachin’ us the error of our ways," the woman chimed in.

"I feel so lucky to be here." The man was beaming all over his dirty face. "After all, not everybody gets a chance to meet the man that killed ‘em."~

Raph awoke in a cold sweat. He must’ve drifted off to sleep for a while. But a light sleep, if sheer terror could wake him from it. He breathed deeply and added the man’s leering face to the list of things he didn’t want to think about.

* * *

Don found himself awake, lying in a white, clean bed. The feeling of the cool linen against his parched skin was absolute heaven, and he closed his eyes to savor it. Opening them again, he took in the machinery that surrounded his bed and smiled a little to himself. A drip ran into his arm. He sat up in the bed, and closed his eyes as dizziness overwhelmed him. He still didn’t feel too hot.

When he opened them again, it was to see Raph, sitting on the edge of the bed. "How ya feelin’?" he asked.

Don recoiled. Somehow he had thought of the vision of Raph as some kind of bad dream, and one that would go away when he woke up. He vaguely remembered making it to the camp, he must be in the infirmary now. But shouldn’t the mirage go on its merry way, back to wherever hallucinations spent their time when they weren’t harassing people?

"Harassing?" asked Raph. "That’s rather ungrateful of you. I’ve saved your life a couple times, I think I deserve at least a little respect." He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

Don rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, sorry." Great. Was it possible for him to be any crazier than he already was?

"Give it some time," Raph suggested helpfully.

"Just shut up. You’re driving me insane!"

"You’re driving yourself insane," Raph corrected gently. "I don’t really exist, remember?"

"Just-dammit, quit confusing me!" Don threw himself back on the pillow, squeezed his eyes shut, and mentally willed the hallucination to go away.

"Fine. I will."

And it was gone.

* * *

Mike looked over the list of names again, tossed it onto his bedside table. Garret had put 25 young mutant fighters under his command. Joyous. Now he had even more to worry about. He briefly reached out and touched the sleeping minds of Leo and Splinter. He stretched as far as he could go and felt Don’s presence. But he soon gave up on Raph and drifted into gentle sleep.

* * *

~Raph lay on the ground wrapped completely in chains. He looked pitifully up at Don, begging to be rescued, but whenever Don tried to touch the chains, they drifted away from his hands like smoke. And again Don Peroti Madolini was standing there with that arrogant smirk on his face. He struck a paper match and held it up, smiling at Donatello across the tiny flame. Then he touched the flame to Raphael.

Raphael went up in flames like a sheet of paper, and in an instant was no more than ash. But before Don could comment on this or even move, Raph was there again, rising from his own ashes. He smiled broadly at Don, turned, and walked off without a backward glance.

Madolini waved a hand. "Shall we?" Don reached for his bo and grasped it tightly. Madolini produced one of his own, and the two set to fierce dueling. The ends of both bos were points, very sharp and very nasty-looking. You didn’t need a sword to cause serious damage to an opponent. Don thrust his bo at Madolini suddenly, sending him to the floor with the bo in his chest. But as Don reached to retrieve his weapon, Madolini’s vicious upward thrust caught him in the chest.

He fell face-down just beside Madolini, unable to breath for all the blood that filled his throat. "You know," he gurgled in between gasps. "This dream sequence is really getting old."

Madolini just smiled.~