Day 7: Tension

Mike woke with a start, striking out against a non-existent enemy before he came fully awake and realized that the ship, the restraints, Dr. Synargo, were no longer there. It was a long time ago. They’re gone, it’s over, Synargo is long dead. It’s okay, he chanted the words mentally, like a mantra, trying to soothe his fears. Gradually, they began to fade, leaving him calm and contemplative, sitting up in bed twisting the sheets in his hand. A glance at the clock on his bedside table told him that it was almost four am. It did not surprise him. He hardly slept any more. The waking hours were filled with pain and grief and anger and hate and war. And the few hours of sleep he managed to snatch some nights were filled with the same, in the form of nightmares.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a full night. Especially lately, with all the stress, first Raph and Don to worry about, then Leo, and now Splinter....He’d been up all the previous night, after Splinter’s heart attack had roused him. It was always something.

Actually, he thought maybe, in the dim recesses of his memory, lay his last night of full, contented, untroubled rest. Way back, before the war started. He finally had come to terms with Raph and Don’s disappearance, accepted the fact that they were gone and would not be back for quite a while. He’d finally relaxed. And then, that night, the Sentinels had made their first attack and the war had begun. He heard about it on the news the next morning, over Cheerios and grapefruit juice, and that was the end of untroubled sleep.

He shoved the sheets off, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up. Time to get up. Time to put on the mask and become Hellfire, the man of steel who could take on anybody, go through any kind of nasty situation, and never even blink. Danger and death were no obstacle, pain and grief did not exist. Mike wished it was true. The only way he had survived this long was by putting on the mask, pretending even to himself that the pain wasn’t there. But every night, sleep ripped the mask away and he had to face it all.

That was the only problem with the mask; it did nothing but hide the pain. The crap kept building up, and Mike thought that one day soon it might overflow, and he would break down completely. He’d seen it happen to MHA members before.

Mike finished brushing his teeth and pulled on a crisp, clean, uniform. Blue and black, MHA colors. Mike hated black, but it was too perfect for the hardened rebel he pretended to be. So he straightened the cuffs and debated whether or not to take his gun. He had to see Leo and the gun would just piss him off. Leo still hated guns. But Hellfire wouldn’t give a shit, and Mike couldn’t afford to relax today. Just couldn’t loosen up, or he’d have to deal with things. So he picked up the gun and slid it into the holster on his hip. Mike shut off the negative part of his mind, squared his shoulders, and set his face in the commanding expression he had to wear.

Hellfire walked out of the room and headed for the Infirmary.

* * *

Donatello lay still in the white bed, listening to the ECG beep in a reassuringly steady way. He breathed deeply and wondered what had awakened him. Remembered the nightmare...the premonition? He spent several slow minutes going over the dream again, committing the details to memory, before he put thoughts of the future away and concentrated on his surroundings.

He was in the Infirmary. At Houston camp. This much he knew, though it was actually more of an assumption than anything. But since he seemed to remember crawling up to the camp’s door, and he was being well cared for, it was probably a safe assumption to make. He looked around, carefully. The Raph mirage was not there. He wondered if it had finally retreated. Good, he told himself, but felt oddly alone, nonetheless. He sighed.

Don was sweating a little, and he reasoned that he probably had some sort of fever from over-exposure to the sun, and from the stress of the long trip. He slowly attempted to sit up. He was successful, and sat there surveying his domain, a small private room. He took stock of his body. He wasn’t 100 percent, but didn’t feel nauseous or hot, really. He felt pretty refreshed. Don pushed the covers back, turned and studied the machines monitoring him. Most of the equipment was on his right side, and he was careful not to dislodge the wires and stuff connected to him. He didn’t want to disconnect the monitors, set off an alarm and have everyone panic.

He studied the IV disapprovingly and shut it off. Carefully removed the needle which was taped to his arm, and rubbed the sore spot. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking another leisurely look around the room. It was very, very quiet, except for the noises of the machines hooked up to him. Don liked quiet. His belongings were nowhere in sight. Neither were his clothes. Someone had tried to stuff him into an ill-fitting hospital-gown-thing, and Don straightened it around his shoulders with a few quick tugs. It was still too tight around his shell, but he tried not to worry about it.

Just as he was stretching his leg muscles, thinking about maybe getting up, a man walked into the room. He had dark hair and eyes, glasses, and a serious expression on his face which turned to shock when he saw Don. "Hi," Don said easily.

"Oh, my," the man licked his lips. "Ah-I didn’t expect you up nearly so soon. Your fever was near 105 degrees just yesterday." The shock was rapidly fading, to be replaced with an air of businesslike concern.

Don shrugged slightly. "I don’t get sick often. When I do, I tend to recover quickly."

"So it would seem. My name is Dr. Trevowski. Yours is Oracle, yes?"

Don unconsciously winced at the name, a painful reminder of last night’s dream. "Oracle is my working name. Please-I’d prefer if you called me Donatello."

"All right," Trevowski said.

"Did my message get to the camp director?" Donatello asked, remembering why he was here in the first place.

"Message?" Trevowski seemed genuinely puzzled. Don was overcome by a momentary flash of panic.

"Yes, I brought a message with me, from Garret of Pero camp to the director here."

"I’m afraid I haven’t heard anything about that, I’m sorry. We didn’t find anything like a message among your personal effects. If you were carrying the message the sentries who found you might have taken it to Fireball."

"Oh." Don decided to assume that this was the case. He relaxed.

"Your brother has been inquiring after you, you know," Trevowski said, stepping closer to examine some of the monitors and jot things on a clipboard.

Don instantly tensed again. Don’t be an idiot. Of course he doesn’t mean Raph. Don didn’t know why the thought had occurred to him so strongly. He made an effort to relax again and said, "Leonardo?"

"Ah, no, someone named Hellfire."

"Oh, Mike." Don looked at the doctor, made a quick attempt to see what was on the clipboard.

"Who’s Raph?"

"What?" Don was even more startled by this question.

"You kept talking to someone called Raph, when you first came in. I just wondered who it was." Trevowski studied him carefully.

"My other brother." Don closed his eyes for a moment and controlled his tears. "He was with me when I started from Pero, but-" Trevowski rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed sympathetically.

"It’s all right. I see. I am very sorry, Donatello."

Donatello nodded. "Thanks." He was suddenly over come by sadness. He formed a careful message and telepathically drove it outwards. --I love you.-- He sent the message forcefully, pushing the mental call out as far as he could reach, wondering if any of his brothers would pick it up.

* * *

Raph jerked out of a light doze, thought he heard Don’s voice ringing in his ears. His head snapped up, and he cocked it, listening physically and mentally. He tried to push his own message back towards Don, his mind struggling to make the connection. It had been a while since he’d been drugged last, maybe.....With a snap, his mind was open and he could feel Don’s spirit with total clarity. He reached out and gently touched it. --Donny?-- --Raph?-- The mental voice was excited and afraid. --Omigod! Is that really you?--

--Of course it’s me.-- Raph would normally snap back something sarcastic, but he just didn’t have the energy. --Was that you a couple minutes ago?--

--Yeah! You heard it?--

--Yeah....I think that’s what gave me the strength to finally push back at ya. Are you okay?--

--I dunno, I guess. I’m told I had some kind of heat stroke or somethin’...but I made it. I’m in the Infirmary at Houston camp.-- Donatello just could not bring himself to mention the mirage. He kept wanting to say something about it, but the thoughts wouldn’t form clearly. --What about you? I talked to Leo a little, he didn’t say much. And that was a couple days ago.--

--I’m....holding together. I’ll be okay.-- Raph lied smoothly, but not smoothly enough.

--Bullshit. What’ve they been doing to you?--

--The usual. That’s kind of a dumb question, don’t ya think? I haven’t told them anything, obviously.....But damn, Don, it hurts.--

--What does?--

--Everything. Life, I guess.-- A moment of silence, both minds calm and enjoying each other’s presence. --Wouldn’t be half so bad, if it weren’t for this son of a bitch comes in and tries to get me to talk.--

--They’re all sons of bitches.--

--Too true. This ones worse than the norm, trust me. He’s a real bastard...I mean, he enjoys hurting me, I think any of them would. But he KNOWS me, Don, it’s creeping me out, cuz I’ve never seen him before. He seems to have somethin’ personal against me. Like-you know those two that killed Arik-that’s who he reminds me of, strongly.--

Don was more than a little surprised. It was the first time Raph had mentioned Arik’s death. He’d just found out about it from one of his spies, never said a word to anyone, and then he called his people and went out after the Trackers who’d murdered Arik.....After that night he gave up his role as a chieftain in Orabu Nation and disappeared. Then it was years before anyone saw him. --You don’t think...--

--No, Donny, he wasn’t even close to the area when that happened. I think I would know. After all, I-- He cut off sharply. He didn’t want to talk about that night, it was too close for comfort right now, especially after the dream. --I hate him. I want him dead, Don. I want it so bad....-- Don’s mind was flooded with an image Raph was sending him. The image of a tall, dark Tracker, cigarette in hand, complete with nasty smirk. Don reeled, fought to place the face of the man, and it clicked.

Don instantly put the pieces together, and suddenly the dreams made a hell of a lot more sense. --Oh, my god, Raph. OH MY GOD! Raph...-- Don struggled to find a way to explain. --Raph, that guy, I’ve seen him before, he’s...--

Raph cut him off. --Fuck! Sonofabitch is BACK!-- And Raph was gone. Don frantically called after him, but he couldn’t reach far enough to make the connection.

* * *

The dark Tracker stood just inside the doorway, smirking at Raph. Raph squinted in the light of the torches his assistants carried, tried to focus on the face he hated. "Enjoying your stay?" asked the Tracker with a characteristic sneer.

Raph ignored him. It got easier every time, especially when the pain started. As long as there was something to focus on he could forget the Tracker was there, smiling and laughing at him. Raph meant what he said. He didn’t kill wantonly, he had given that up all those long nights ago, after his revenge....But he would kill this man in a second. He doubted he had ever hated anyone so much. It wasn’t just the fact that the Tracker delighted in Raph’s pain, or that he was evil and cruel and enjoyed being so. There just seemed to be an aura around him that said "hate me." So Raph did.

The Tracker waved over an assistant, took some equipment from him, some kind of wire, and moved closer to Raph, reaching toward him. Raph kept one eye on the Tracker’s nasty face, the other on his right foot, which had just hit the ground next to Raph’s left leg....Just inside the loop of chain Raph had so carefully arranged there. Raph was so quick that no one had time to stop it. He jerked his leg to the right. The chain tightened around the Tracker’s leg, but Raph’s tug was forceful enough to yank the leg to the right as well.

The Tracker, caught totally unaware, was pulled sideways by the violent motion of the chain, and fell toward the floor on Raph’s left. He had been so surprised by the fall that he’d almost smashed his brains out on the floor, which was what Raph intended, but his reflexes were good and he managed to catch himself. He kicked his leg free of the chain, glaring. Raph knew he was in for some serious shit now, but at least I put the bastard on his ass.

Raph’s light-deprived eyes couldn’t make out what the Tracker had taken from the other assistant. So it wasn’t clear to Raph what was going on until the rifle butt slammed into his head with lightening speed. Raph gasped, his head ringing, and another blow caught him in the mouth.

"You wanna play GAMES?" snarled the Tracker, no longer calm and sneering, but mad as hell. "You little shit, I’ll play games with you. You just had to get cute, didn’t you?" Raph didn’t bother answering. The Tracker brought the rifle high and slammed it down on Raph’s right ankle with every bit of force in his large body. Raph screamed in agony, but over his voice, he heard the crunch of bone and knew the ankle was broken. The rifle struck another blow to his plastron, then the head, twice more on the leg, higher up and closer to the wound.

By the time the beating was over, Raph had lost track of the number and location of the blows. His screams had died to a long, continuous moan of pain, and his entire body throbbed, and bled, and suffered. The Tracker handed the bloody rifle back to the assistant, took up the equipment, and swiftly connected the wires to Raph’s body, this time without resistance. "Let him sit," he told his assistants. "We can begin again later, after he enjoys this pain." The rage was gone, the sneer was back. Raph didn’t even lift his head when they left the cell.

* * *

Leo sat in the bed against some pillows, letting Mike gently caress his hand. He looked on in a daze as the doctor--Maddie, Mike called her--checked his IV yet again. Only ten minutes ago he had been taken again by pain which was not his own; had doubled up, screaming and clutching his right leg. But this time, the doctor had instantly swept into the room and expertly opened the IV, allowing the drugs to flow into his body. He almost immediately felt calmer as the chemicals circulated and took effect. Minutes later, Mike had been called out of ICU and was sitting at his bedside, and his mind was almost completely numb. The pain Raph was sending was blocked out by the drugs, and Leo was inordinately grateful for that.

"How’s Splinter?" he finally managed to ask Mike, once Maddie had smiled at him and hustled out.

Mike had been with Splinter most of the morning, after a brief check on Leo. "He’s doing okay," Mike said sincerely. "He’s much better, his body’s returning to normal, he even was awake for a couple minutes. I said hi to him and I think he understood and recognized me, but the doctors kicked me out then so they could do some more tests and try and talk to him." Mike sighed.

"It’s okay," Leo said, trying to reassure his brother.

"I wish," Mike said bitterly. "Dammit, everything’s so screwed up...." Leo wanted to reassure him, but he knew Mike was right, deep down, and couldn’t think of anything to say. "Talked to Garret this morning."

"Oh yeah?" said Leo. He’d had an interesting conversation with Garret too, the other day. He’d come in and read Leo’s new orders to him. Leo, unfortunately, had been too out of it to kick Garret out, so he’d been forced to listen to his crap until the doctor came in and ousted him.

"Yeah. I’ve got a unit of 25. You takin’ the ninjas?" Leo nodded. The mutant troops, trained in firearms and use of mutant powers, worked in units of 25 to 30. The ninjas were separate, and Leo was usually responsible for all of them. Pero was one of the big training centers for the ninjas, and Splinter had been working with them here for quite some time. Leo had been mostly up in New York with another group. But his second-in-command, Ramsey, was up there with them, and Garret had let him in on the overall plan, so he knew Ramsey would be leading them in attack against a different base. Leo was supposed to lead this group of perhaps three hundred or so against Houston base. Leo didn’t need to explain all this to Mike, he already knew.

"We’re pulling out at dawn tomorrow," Mike said suddenly. "Garret told me this morning. I’ve gotta brief my people later."

Leo just nodded again.

"Dammit, I wish...I just wish I could talk to Splinter again before we go, I mean-" Mike didn’t want to say it, but Leo knew what he meant. The unspoken words rang in both their minds: he might not be here when we get back. Which was, of course, assuming they did get back. No guarantees, in this business. They might all buried in the ashes of Houston camp before it was over, who the hell knew.

"S’alright, Mike," Leo said, squeezing his hand. "We can’t worry about it, won’t change anything..."

Don’t you think I know that? wondered Mike. Putting it aside was what Hellfire was all about. Speaking of which.... "I gotta go." He stood, patted Leo’s arm awkwardly. "You get better, kay? No more pain channeling, or whatever the hell you were doing." Leo tried to crack a smile, it was meant to be a joke, he knew, but it just wasn’t funny to think about the pain...not when the pain was Raph’s.

"Maybe you should let me outta here," Leo said, pretending to be angry. It wasn’t easy, because he knew better than Mike how little control he had right now, how much he needed to be here where the flip of a switch could cut off his pain in a rush of drug-induced euphoria.

"Tomorrow." Mike smiled. "Maddie promised to wake you and get you out of here in time to muster the troops and brief ‘em." He called over his shoulder, "See ya tomorrow, bro!"

* * *

~The ragged man wouldn’t stop grinning. Raph tried to ignore the leering face, but it just wasn’t working. He suddenly realized that not only were the Trackers’ uniforms torn just the way he remembered, but both were bleeding from innumerable cuts and gouges. His eyes panned over the mutilated bodies, disobeying his order to look away. The sight made him wince with memory. The woman appeared at his side, smiled and said, "It’s plain you don’t want to talk to us. Why not, Hatchet?"

"What’s th’ matter?" The man brandished a blood-soaked arm at Raph, revealing a hand with only stumps where the fingers should have been. "Can’t stomach your own handiwork?"~

* * *

Don sat up in bed again, watching a lone doctor check his vitals and take notes on another clipboard. These people just seemed to love their clipboards. What the hell are they writing about me anyway? Vitals normal? Still? They have to scribble this long just to say THAT? I wish that mirage thing was here. Gets on my nerves, but at least it gives me somebody to talk to....

There it was.

"Abracadabra," Raph said. "And here I am. Knew you’d change your mind." He grinned. "Much as you hate to admit it, you still need me."

"Need you?" Don asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You need me, I’m here. That’s how it works." Raph tapped the side of his head. "All in here, remember?"

"Uh, right." Don thought about that a minute.

"Your helpful entity," Raph said. Don was surprised...he’d forgotten about that little conversation.

"This could be my logical side talking, but how exactly did you get here? Where do you come from, and where do you disappear to?"

Raph sighed. "You’re a slow learner, aren’t you?"

Don glared. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You figure it out." The Raph mirage crossed its arms. Raph’s most familiar pose. Don almost rolled his eyes. "Well, you would know what Raph’s like, wouldn’t you?"

"Stop reading my mind!" Don was irritated. He HATED when people did that.

"Donny-boy, I AM your mind."

"And cut the omniscience crap, will you?"

"What omniscience crap?" Raph assumed an air of injured innocence.

"Oh, forget it." It was at this point that Don remembered the doctor, who was still standing next to the monitors. "Uhhhh...." The doctor was staring at him as if he were out of his mind. Maybe I should just explain that I’m talking to my imaginary friend, Don thought, holding back a grin.

The doctor backed toward the door without taking his eyes off Don. "I-I think I’ll just get Dr. Trevowski." He turned and sprinted the rest of the way. He obviously thought Donatello was some kind of psychotic. Welcome to the club, Don thought. That happens to be exactly what I’ve decided....

* * *

Mike stared down the conference table. Around it sat the 25 mutants he was supposed to be in charge of. He had just finished explaining how they would march on Houston base. It was normally a four-day hike, but Garret had decided that if Don could push it to three days, so could they. Damn the man. Mike told his charges about the communication link, about the device which would be activated at dawn tomorrow, to scramble the communications and sensors of the Sentinels, effectively blinding them and allowing the mutant army to travel unharmed. On the fourth day, if things went right, they would attack, the Pero camp forces from one side and the Houston camp forces on the other. The pincer movement would culminate in the destruction of Mastermold and the end of the war.

That was the plan, anyway.

Mike could see that most of them had trouble believing that the plan would work. He wasn’t so sure himself. But his assurances that the scrambler did indeed work, that thirty years of careful work had gone into perfecting it, cheered them. In their faces he could see the determination and growing confidence he had felt when he entered the war. But that was a long time ago, and he wasn’t sure if he really had the energy for enthusiasm any more. Still, the more he thought about it, the better the plan seemed. Maybe, just maybe, it could work.

* * *

Raph awoke from another shallow sleep, his body still aching from pain, and his mind still aching from memory. He glared at the dark Tracker, who ignored him as he fiddled with the machinery connected to Raph. Finally, he stepped back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He raised an eyebrow at Raph. "Ready?" The sneer was in his voice. "Let’s play a while, shall we?" He touched a switch and Raph’s body was alive with blinding blue fire.

* * *

~This time there was no prelude. Don found himself facing Madolini. And he actually had something to say for a change.

"You bastard," Don said. "I know what you’ve been up to, Madolini." The big man laughed. "What’s your game? Is this dream a real premonition or are you fucking with my head? I want an answer, damn it!"

Madolini just stood there chain-smoking and smiling a tiny, smug smile. Finally, he blew smoke in Don’s direction and spoke. "I’m not in control here. Neither are you. This is beyond both of us." He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with a booted heel, then drew his glittering sword.

"No," Don said, backing away. "Not this again. I don’t want this dream to end the same futile way it always does." He found a sword in his own hand and cast it away into the darkness. "Do you HEAR me? I want some ANSWERS!" he howled upward. Nothing answered.

Madolini grinned and called, "That’s not the way it works!" He moved in front of Don. "Maybe you should make the choice. Who do YOU think is going to die, Donatello? What do you think is going to happen?" This was the Madolini he remembered: cold, calculating, cruel.

"It doesn’t work that way either," Don retorted. "I’m not responsible for the universe, I don’t choose what happens to who."

"How do you know?" asked Madolini with a smirk. "Are you predicting the future, or are you creating it?"

"Stop it!" Don shook his head. "I don’t need this." He turned to walk away.

Madolini stepped in front of him again. "Fine. Things happen the way they happen. But tell me this: why is it so much easier to blame what happens on your perceptions, instead of blaming it on yourself?"

And with a smile, Madolini neatly ran Donatello through.~

* * *

Hellfire was gone and Mike sat alone in his room, brooding. It was almost midnight. In less than six hours, he’d be outside the base, prepping his people for a final time, listening to Garret rant, getting ready to march away.

The apprehension was a monster crouching in the corner, waiting for him to peek at it before it pounced and devoured him. Mike lay back in bed. He doubted if even the sleeping pills he had taken could still his mind enough for sleep. But he shut his eyes anyway, and tried to conjure a happy thought from the seething turmoil in his mind.