Nirvana

The path leading to the end of suffering...
"Look, Mike, I can take care of myself." Raphael pulled up on the lapels of his trenchcoat and sank further into the shadows, which loomed around them from the protection of the surrounding buildings. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know, Raph. I know." Mike glanced around the nearly empty streets and pulled the hat lower over his eyes, shading them in the darkness. The businesses and houses were now dim and quiet, leaving behind a silence so deep, he could hear the breeze whistle through the trees. A couple of cars whizzed past, their tires rolling loudly over the pavement. He stood still for a long while, just staring at the deserted structures. How empty, how quiet the world seemed. How odd for a New York night. After another moment of silent contemplation, he carefully ventured forward. A shiver flowed through him as he walked, but whether it was from the cold or nerves he wasn't sure.

Raphael was moving swiftly, willed by his own fears and deep sense of need. Mike quickened his pace to a trot. It was a struggle just to keep up with the impatient turtle. It seemed Raphael was on a mission, and nothing, save death, would stop him.

"I just...those wounds, they--" He cut his words short. He could hardly believe what transpired only a short month ago, the impact it was having on all of them still. He shook himself, trying to shift his focus to something more pleasant, but it was to no avail.

Raphael stopped walking suddenly, and stood motionless. Mike slowed his pace and watched him cautiously, unsure of what he might do next. The dim streetlights highlighted the hunched shoulders and stiff posture, reminding Mike of a cathedral gargoyle--deathly still, yet poised for action. Slowly, Raph turned to glance at him. Mike gazed into his eyes warily, and he could see the pain that haunted them. There was an emotion contained there that made him uneasy--one that seemed overly intense, even for Raphael. It resembled a feeling somewhere between anger and disgust, fear and sorrow, doubt and regret. When Raph didn't say anything, he finished softly, "They're gonna take some time to heal."

"Fuck my wounds." Raph said sourly. "Fuck everything!"

Mike stood still, totally oblivious of the world around him. He watched detached, dazed, as Raphael once again picked up his pace and moved swiftly away. He couldn't help but wonder why he bothered. It was obvious his attempts were never appreciated. He knew he should have stayed home tonight. There were so many other things he wanted to do, things that were so much more worthy of his time. Still, his own conscience had gotten the better of him. Something kept nagging at the back of his mind, commanding him to go. It wasn't safe for Raph to be here. He couldn't allow him to roam the streets alone, not now.

He gazed up at the stars. It was unusually clear for a New York night, and he could make out most of the constellations Donatello had shown him years ago at the farmhouse. He spotted the Big Dipper first--it was always the easiest to locate. Focusing harder, he found the stars that linked to form the tail of Scorpio. His sight traveled across the night sky, to Taurus the bull, and to the left of that, Cancer and Gemini. Just to the right of those patches of stars, shining like a beacon in the night, was Orion, the "Great Hunter". He stared at the brightest three stars that formed the belt, and then to a patch of dimmer stars which created the shape of the celestial sword. Warm moisture formed at the corners of his eyes. He couldn't deny who the shape reminded him of. It always had.

He spared a glance again at Scorpio, and remembered the story Don had told him about the two constellations. Myth stated that Orion was killed by stepping on the great scorpion. The gods felt sorry for him, so they placed him and his dogs in the sky as constellations. They did the same with Scorpio, but placed it far from Orion so it could never hurt him again. It was an eery feeling staring up at these stars now. Scorpio had always reminded him of Raphael, but only now did the meaning behind the two truly strike him as ironic.

He lowered his gaze and quickly wiped the tears from his cheeks. He had to stop thinking about it. What would Raphael say if he saw him crying? There was nothing he could do now but wait. Maybe things would return to normal soon. Maybe things would get back to the way they were supposed to be. He could only hope.

"Raph! Wait up!"

Raphael rolled his eyes in annoyance. Why couldn't Mike just leave well enough alone? Why did he have to talk about the things that caused him so much pain? He had to keep his cool. He couldn't allow Mike to see how badly he was hurting, both physically and emotionally. Why had Mike insisted on coming here with him tonight? Didn't he realize how dangerous this could be? But he couldn't let himself worry about that now. It was Mike's own fault for being so damn persistant.

He kept his eyes focused forward, barely slowing his pace enough for Michaelangelo to catch up.

"What were you doing back there, taking a nap?"

"No..." Mike said sadly. "I...I was looking for Leo."

That got his attention. Raphael's head snapped quickly around to face him, his eyes burning into Mike's disenchanted face. "You what!?"

The innocence and pain of Mike's own eyes reflected back at him. "Raph, I'm sorry..."

"God! Stop! Pleeeaaase!" Don gripped the sides of his head so tightly the knuckles began to turn white. Digging his fingers into his skull, he tried desperately to force this eternal nightmare from his mind. He shut his eyes tight, curled into a ball, and sucked in a ragged breath, his chest heaving.

"Please..." he whispered. "No more..."

There was a long moment of silence as Donatello, shaking, slowly lifted his head. He was sitting on the floor, the plaster mug smashed into a thousand bits which were sprawled out around him on the tiles. What had once been the coffee he was drinking formed a large dark brown puddle in the midst of the chaos.

^^DONATELLO...^^

As he watched incoherently, the dark liquid sank into the microscopic holes in the porcelain, and slowly vanished, almost as if it had evaporated before his eyes. Simultaneously, three of the tiles sank down and automatically flipped, sending the bits of plaster to the recycling room below. In a matter of mere seconds, all trace of the accident had totally disappeared.

The turtle didn't answer. He heard the soft voice of the CPU only as a faint echo in his head.

Echoes...

why did the good times seem so far away, so distant now? The past was presenting itself with agonizing clarity. Everything was so real to him, as if it was actually happening all over again. For the first time in his life, he wished he could turn his brain off, so he wouldn't have to face such demons. He wanted to forget these memories, just bury them in a small grave, like the one back in Northampton...

"God..." his voice sounded so small to him, so insignificant. Tears began to flow once again, but he made no attempt to conceal them. He cried openly, hoping beyond hope that the memories would seep out and float away as well.

^^DONATELLO...^^

^^IS EVERYTHING WELL?  ARE YOUR SURROUNDINGS UNSATISFACTORY?^^

Don dismissed the computer with a wave of his hand. He closed his eyes again, focusing on nothing...on everything. A night sky spread out before him. He could see the stars. They burned brighter than he'd ever seen them before. He saw them all, just as he imagined Michaelangelo must have seen them that night--Monoceros the unicorn at seventy-five degrees latitude, Canis Minor almost directly above it. Below that sat Canis Major at sixty degrees latitude. To the right of those were Lepus and Taurus, and floating in the center, amidst the other stars, the haunting figure of Orion.

"They didn't eradicate eachother that night at April's." Don began softly. "They didn't even come close--not really. In fact, I believe Mike and I sustained more physical injury than the combatants themselves. They were both so determined, so damn headstrong, that pulling them away from each other proved to be the most arduous of tasks. Leo seemed to lose himself completely in those fifteen minutes. It was as if all he knew was his anger, a relentless sense of vengeance. For a moment, I almost couldn't tell the two of them apart.

After the tempers began to cool down, the horror of the situation suddenly overwhelmed Leo. I still remember how he sank to the floor and just sat there motionless for a long while. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused, as he stared coldly into an unknown corner of the universe. It frightened me. I had never seen him so angry, so out of control, and now, he appeared to be internally tormenting himself. I was no longer sure what he was capable of, or worse yet, what torture he was capable of putting himself through as a result. As I watched him, I realized the internal conflict he battled. And when I gazed into his face, all I could recognize was shame.

Poor Mike came away with a very nasty black eye and several deep lacerations down his arms from their flailing hands. I could tell the eye hurt him something fierce, but he tried to conceal the extent of the pain. Leo felt terrible about it. He was so embarassed over the entire situation that he pleaded with Mike to allow him to make up for it in some way. Mike insisted he was fine, however, and shortly thereafter, Raphael fled, and Leonardo shut himself up in his room.

Much later that night, I found myself unable to sleep. The air was so quiet, it was like the eye of a raging storm. My heart was restless with dread. Something of great consequence was going to happen between those two, I could feel it. I only wished I could predict what the outcome would be. Not knowing ...that was worst of all. As my eery suspicions continued to thrive, a chill spread through me, and I shivered in the darkness. Way too anxious and nervous to relax, I rose from my bed quietly, hoping not to wake the others. As I crept toward the living room, I hoped to perhaps find a late night science show on television. Brain stimulation always helped to calm my nerves.

I was surprised to discover that Michaelangelo hadn't gone home. He was laying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring blankly at the television screen. Although it wasn't unusual for him to spend a great deal of time with us in the lair, he usually made his way to his own apartment by midnight. It was now two in the morning.

'Mike...?'

He turned to me, startled by my sudden presense. I could tell he had been hoping to keep his vigil a secret. His eye looked horrible. The skin surrounding it was tinted several shades of black and blue, the wound so severe that the color was visible several feet away, even over the dark tint of his natural skin. It was so swollen, he couldn't open it anymore. As he peered at me with his other eye, an exhuasted, disdained expression covered his face. He smiled faintly, in a feeble attempt to conceal his emotions, but I saw past it. It was apparent to me that he'd been crying.

'Don...' He sat up quickly.

'Mike...are you okay? You gonna stay here all night?'

He glanced down at his hands, his lip trembling. It was a struggle for him not to burst into tears. I hated seeing him this way. It sent an ache through me that was almost unbearable.

'I...I didn't want to go home tonight. I think I need to spend some time down here.'

I understood. At times like these, Mike always opted to be close to his family. Despite my usual distance and aloofness, I secretly shared this need. Being near one another seemed to provide a sense of hope and security, however false, that helped us to carry on.

He wrinkled his face then and made a small painful noise. I watched him intently as he gently covered the swollen eye with his hand.

'That bothering you?'

'Naw, I'll be fine. I took some Tylenol about a half hour ago.'

'It looks bad, Mike. Here, let me get you some ice.'

'No, Don, there are only a few left, and I was saving those for you. That's a nasty bruise you have on your arm--'

'This bruise is nothing compared to that eye.'

He began to voice his protest once more, tried to tell me he was just fine, that my wounds were more important and he didn't need all of the unecessary attention. He was always covering up his own needs to take care of us. This time, however, I wasn't about to let that happen.

My galliant search through the freezer produced a mere three ice cubes. I explored the rest of our underground home looking for Splinter's herbs and bandages, but alas, I found none. I had been hoping to do more for Mike's condition, but an ice pack would have to do. It was better than nothing, after all. I hoped that it would at least reduce some of the swelling.

After wrapping the ice in a towel, I lowered next to Mike on the couch.

'Here.'

'Thanks.' I watched as he held the towel gently to his eye and laid his head back to stare up at the concrete ceiling.

'Don...? Why? Why does all this stuff have to happen? Why now? Why to us?'

'I wish I knew.' I said softly.

'We're drifting apart.' His voice was quiet, and choked with emotion.

When I stared into his face, I realized that my hunch had been correct. The wounds he'd sustained stemmed much deeper than the superficial. They'd reached inside of him, and that was much worse. Physical pain could heal quickly, many times without even leaving a trace of its presense, but emotional suffering--that could last a life time, often leaving behind scars that would never heal.

'Mike, things will be okay.' I lied. 'Oh, come on, don't cry.'

I laid my arm around his shoulders and he burried his head in my chestplate. I closed my eyes, trying not to think about the things to come, the inevitable pain we were all sure to face as a result of this distance that was building up between us. I searched myself desperately, seeking out the comforting words I knew he needed to hear. But regretably, no words came."

Don closed his eyes, attempting to rid himself of these haunting images. His efforts were for naught, however. It seemed the harder he tried to bury the memories in that safe place from whence they came, the harder those thoughts pushed their way to the surface. Emotional and physical exhuastion were taking their toll, but he could not allow himself the comfort of slumber. In fact, the mere idea of it terrified him. Sleep only brought more nightmares, and with those nightmares came the agonizing reality of all he'd tried so hard to forget. Rising slowly to his feet, he stumbled to the counter and nervously poured himself another cup of coffee.

^^DONATELLO, ALLOW ME TO--^^

"No Chet...thank you. I can get it myself." He was determined to find something--anything to keep his mind occupied. Mindlessly, he strode back to the table and took his usual seat adjacent from the large livingroom window. It was getting close to lunch time. The thought of food made his stomach grumble, yet he didn't feel hungry. Instead, his mind began to wander, and again, he found himself entrapped in a world of so long ago.

"Oh god..."

The pain...it was so tangible. He was laying in an alleyway, his shell smashed into a hundred different pieces, rendering him motionless and vulnerable in the darkness. The fear seeped into every pore of his being, making him want to scream.

"Our eighteenth birthday..." Don shook his head, forcing himself back to the present. "That's when it all really began. We had so anticipated the day when we would achieve the prestigious title of 'adult'. So euphoric were we, that nothing else seemed to matter at that moment. 'Adult'...just what did that really mean, anyway? To Raphael, it was being able to drink whenever he pleased, to go out at night without Splinter questioning his motives. It meant that maybe...finally he could break away from Leonardo's watchful eye. For Leonardo, the title was mostly comprised of symbolism. Adulthood was a representation of all he'd worked so hard to achieve, a sign of his efforts and determination. It was yet another way in which he'd been able to make the sensei proud. Michaelangelo had visions of someday falling in love, maybe becoming a parent. He knew the probability of that wasn't great, however, and he decided he would settle for the opportunity to be someone of importance, a positive role model in a young person's life. He was now striving for that even more actively with Shadow. That little girl meant the world to him, and he would give the world to protect her. But for me, adulthood simply meant that I was now fully responsible for my own actions. Every decision, every mistake rested in my own hands. It was quite a lot to take in. No longer could I rely on the excuse of youth. Gone were the days when we could look to Leo to take the brunt of the blame. Of course, this new-found freedom came with its advantages. Perhaps the others would begin to take me more seriously now, both as a scientist and inventor, and as a person with feelings and dreams."

Donatello took a long sip from the mug, allowing the hot liquid to soothe him.

"I'll never forget Splinter's speech that day. He spoke of our mutation, how proud he was of all of us, how far our lives had taken us. I sometimes wonder if he knew, deep down inside, about the horrors that were to come. Maybe he was trying to prevent the unspeakable things that--"

He swallowed, unable to finish the thought. Closing his eyes, he sat still for a long moment, trying to push back the ugly pictures that had begun to fill his head. Finally, he rose from the table and began to pace the floor.

"Splinter presented us with a gift--" Don's voice shook audibly. "A glass jar, containing four little turtles, one for each of us. They were so small, so fragile and helpless, just as we had once been. It was like looking into a mirror to a past we could only vaguely begin to grasp. But in that moment, I realized the significance of all he was attempting to show us.

'You sometimes wish to fit into man's world. But never forget that this is the life you were born to, and how far you've risen above it!'

Those words have stuck with me my entire life. 'How far you've risen above...' Did we really though? Did our mutations really change our lives for the better? Many times I have questioned the advantages of my present state. Perhaps it would have been more beneficial if we would have never come in contact with that mutagenic substance at all."

Donatello lowered his gaze to the table and stared at the fine scratches that marred the delicate surface. It reminded him of his own battle scars from fights long ago, most of which had disappeared with his body's molecular reconstruction. Ironically, he wished those imperfections remained. He decided long ago that he would rather wage those battles ten times over than to go through the transformation again.

"Everything happened so quickly. One minute, I was reaching for our birthday cake, the next, my body was on fire, bleeding from the holes where cold steel bullets had pierced my flesh. My sight blurred...I became disoriented. The last thing I remember is staring into four snarling cyborg faces, their guns still pointed in my direction. A female of Asian decent was barking orders to the half-witted subordinates. Then, as my brothers' paranoid voices filled the void around me, everything went black.

We later discovered that the cyborgs and their female superior, Pimiko were employed by a man named Warlord Komodo. Apparently, Komodo's ancestors held great lineage. They once ruled Japan, and now he seeked to regain his leadership. But Komodo also held a secret. Along with his inherited good fortune, he was also heir to the Dragon Bushido spirit. This dormant spirit supposedly lived within him, and provided him with great power. This 'blessing' turned out to be more of a curse, however. The spirit was uncontrollable at best, and in times of stress or anger, he irrepressibly 'mutated' into a Komodo Dragon lizard. He hired many scientists to discover a way to splice human and animal DNA in order to unleash the ancient dragon from its slumber inside of him, and hopefully repair its restless soul. That's where we came in.

More shocking and ubelievable, however, was the origin of our new enemy, Pimiko. To our amazement, we discovered that Pimiko's father was Oroku Saki--The Shredder. So our old enemy had managed to return to haunt us yet again. Pimiko's mother fled from Saki when she was very young, and Komodo had given them refuge. As payment for this act of kindness, Pimiko was indebted to do his will. She led his group of body guards, the kunoichi, until she discovered that Splinter was indeed the student of her father's enemy, Hamato Yoshi. Setting Splinter free perhaps costed her more than she'd bargained for, but she was determined to avenge the death of her father in honorable combat.

After their attack on us in the lair, Pimiko and her cyborg underlings kidnapped both me and Splinter, presuming me to be dead. When I finally awoke, I was very disoriented, but it took me only a matter of moments to remember what had happened. Without much hesitation, I began to fight one of the cyborgs for my freedom. During the struggle, Pimiko threw us from the hellicopter.

The cyborg and I fell through the darkened sky at an alarming rate. There was nothing either of us could do to prevent our demise. With all of the gadgets on the cyborg's armor, he was too stupid to figure out how to use most of them. A quick glance to the ground below confirmed my deepest fears--it was over five hundred yards below us--a long way down."

He swallowed and gazed out the window. He wasn't sure he could handle reliving this moment in his life in such great detail. Besides, there was so much more of the tale that needed to be told.

"To make a long story short, I didn't die (as you already know), though at times, I'd wished I had. My shell was smashed beyond repair. I was left paralyzed and in excrutiating pain, barely clinging to life in a deserted alleyway. My only consolation was the moon and stars above me, for they were the only thing within my line of vision. Leo found me through meditation, but by the time the three of them made it to my location, the only thing left was my busted shell. Figuring me to be dead, they buried it in a shallow grave and went to seek revenge. What they didn't realize was that upon the death of the cyborg's host, the armor attatched itself to me, both saving my life and devastating it at the same time."

He laid his forehead in his palm and took a deep breath. There were so many things he was remorseful for now--things he wished he could do over. But one of his biggest regrets was the cyborg armor.

"Even after I disabled the artificial intelligence of the CPU...I let it control me." Don whispered. "Here, in my hands...on my body, a very part of my being, was all of this technology. It both frightened and fascinated me at the same time. The very thing that had become my life's ambition had not only given me breath, but would now forever be a part of me. For without the armor, I would surely perish.

I was overwhelmed at first, and excited. I spent the next few months studying the armor's craftsmanship, learning all I could about its design and functions. I did experiments, I tested hypotheses. And each new discovery brought me closer to a world that had previously seemed so far away and intangible. I was science. And not in the 'experimental turtle freak' sense. No, now I was technology itself, and I could use my own body to recreate practially any molecular structure, mold myself to adapt to any situation, invent any new tools I so desired. To put it bluntly, I was a living machine, one that was capable of evolving however I saw fit. And for a while, I was in total awe of my own being. Of course, in my excitement, I hadn't yet come to realize what a danger-- what a total disaster could come from this.

In my quest for knowledge, I had forgotten myself. I had become so wrapped up in the ideal of my new power, that I couldn't see how it was corrupting everything I stood for. Beyond my outward enthusiasm, was the tragic effect it was creating in me on the inside. Slowly, my newfound interest began to fade, however, and I was left with the devastating reality of what I had become. My entire life, I had wished I could be human, even for a moment--to know what it was like to walk in the sun without confinement, to blend in with society. And now, with all of the technological advances, with all of my newfound abilities, I was less human than ever. No longer was I flesh and blood alone, but metal and circuitry. I was a freak--not only of nature, but now of science as well.

Oh, the horror I endured when I came to understand the reality of my existence. For I had become the very thing I despised most. Not only had I gained vast technological and scientific ability, but along with that valued capacity, came all of the dangers and all of the setbacks to abusing such power. As my master used to say, 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely.' I only wish I had known to what extent my newfound capabilities would take me.

I had become a living weapon...a killing machine, with such vast power, that a simple thought could wipe out four square blocks. Just one mental image could transform my appearance to any shape I could imagine. My right hand had been severely injured in the fall, and was now replaced with the living metal, which could morph from fingers to bo staff to flame thrower in two point two seconds. I was a danger, not only to myself, but to Splinter, my brothers, and our friends as well."

"While I was caught up in my own little world of self-pity and doubt, my brothers were going through drastic times as well. After my kidnapping, all Raphael knew was rage. In a fit of anger over our disappearance, he attacked the armor of one of the cyborgs that had been left behind. Although the cyborg had been beheaded, the CPU had not been destroyed. It was keeping the vital functions in tact, and therefore, was still able to operate of its own accord. As the sai pierced into the metal body, Raphael received a face full of hot fire that left one side severely burned. After many months, the scarring eventually healed and faded, leaving little evidence behind, save for his eye, which was permanently blinded by the injuries.

That wasn't the extent of his modifications, however, and although we were all concerned over the wounds and the affect they might have on his emotional well- being, something of much greater significance weighed on our minds. Raphael, still determined to thwart Leo's power of authority, made a rash decision to ally himself with the fallen Foot Clan. He had always hated the Foot with all that was in him, so why now would he so readily befriend those whom he'd considered his blood enemies? But just when we thought nothing could have shocked any of us more, Raphael did something completely ignominius. With Oroku Saki long dead, and Karai's rise to power in Japan, the New York branch of the clan had been left vulnerable and directionless. This provided Raphael with what he deemed the perfect opportunity to find purpose in his life. Perhaps this was his way to show Leo he wasn't the only one who could be in a position of authority, but I believe his reasoning stemmed much deeper. He had a need to feel needed, to know that he had made a difference, however bizarre. Determined to mold the Foot into a cause for good, he deemed himself the new 'Shredder', taking on the dead leader's role--armor and all. It was weird to see that figure lurking in the shadows once again. What was even more creepy was the idea that it was indeed my brother who grimmaced at me from behind the metal mask.

Michaelangelo didn't seem too fond of the idea either. It made him uneasy to know that Raphael was capable of something so entirely unlike him. We'd all seen to what extent Raph's anger could take him. What would happen if the 'Shredder' felt threatened by his own brothers?

Leonardo seemed to share Mike's nervousness on the matter. Every time Leo looked at him in the armor, all he could see was the enemy, the vengeful man whom he'd hated so much, he beheaded, to avenge our master's death. The site of the shiny steel filled him with a sense of dread and forboding. How could our own brother become something so vile and wretched as this? He knew nothing good could come of this transformation.

Of course, Leo's reaction gave the two of them something else to argue about. Leo tried to keep a level head over the matter, but who could blame him for flying off the handle about that one? Raph, the Shredder? It was preposterous. They had many a heated conversation over the significance of Raphael's new role, and the consequences of making such a decision.