Nirvana

The Right Thoughts...
Thick fingers nervously pounded the keys. The large screen cast a brilliant light over the rough knuckles, worn and wrinkled with age. It reflected off the rounded beak and penetrated the concentrating dark eyes. The glare was so piercing, it caused him to squint, but he couldn't look away. He had to know the answers to the burning questions in his mind. Would a message be waiting? Would there be a response?

"Dammit!" He cursed, rubbing the sore spot in his temple. "Dammit, she's...she's got to be dead...she's got to be--"

He clicked the 'sign-off' button and lowered his eyes. In a matter of moments, the emails disappeared and the screen went dark again, bringing with it an eerie silence that lingered and taunted him. He closed his eyes. After all this time...no response...she should have answered by now...

"Chet..." he said finally.

^^YES, DONATELLO?^^

"Set your message indicator. I want to be informed the moment any incoming email is received."

^^AS YOU WISH, DONATELLO^^

The turtle closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. The events of the past two days had really taken their toll on him. He was exhausted, and his head pounded something fierce. Slowly, almost unconsciously, his body began to relax, and he found himself drifting into a state of meditation. It was practically a matter of habit now. No longer could he simply close his eyes for a moment to think. Each time he did so, his mind began to wander in one of two directions. At times, came broken sleep, and with it the nightmares--visions he couldn't bear to behold, yet ones he couldn't will himself to escape from. On the other side of the coin was that safe place, just beyond conscious thought--a protective realm where his mind was an open chasm welcoming all forms of thoughts and ideas. A place to sort out his feelings, to regroup himself, and on occasion, to see things as he wished them to be. To seek out his brothers and his beloved master, one last chance to grip onto the past before it seeped away between his sweaty fingers. In this meditative state, his master had instructed him well. They'd spent hours upon hours perfecting the techniques in his youth, and now, he had grown so accustomed to the ritual, it was as if it had become a part of him.

For a brief moment, a matter of minutes that seemed more like seconds, he saw her face. An emotionless pair of hollow eyes stared back at him, expanding across the void. The deep emeralds that had contained so much wonder and love had now lost their sparkle. He stretched out his hand, but she was just beyond his reach. It was always like that. Everyone he'd tried so desperately to grab onto was too far away. He could bear to gaze upon her image no longer, so with some effort, he willed it away.

Meditation was like that. Unlike dreams, he had some control over his thoughts here, which rendered it far safer than sleep. He took a deep breath and gazed about him. For years after he left New York, he would come here, searching for his brothers, for any last string of hope, but he had found none. Only silence greeted him, and nothingness. So was it now as well. Nothing left but an empty space...a misty embankment welcoming his darkest fears and deepest desires. Nothing tangible...only pictures that flashed before him, incidents he couldn't bear to relive, still, ones that he didn't dare forget...

"Oh my god, Leo! Your hand!"

Donatello found himself standing in April's apartment. It was as it had been so many years ago. A friendly airiness engulfed him, making him feel safe and warm. He gazed at the furniture. Large, comfortable couch lining the wall--smaller loveseat matching it adjacently. Windows framed with curtains. Something cooking on the stove. Television blaring. Splinter, having come over for a quick visit, rocked in a chair, Klunk resting fitfully on his lap.

Leonardo was standing before them, his fingers curled around his left arm, a bandage at the end soaked and dripping with blood. His face was twisted into a grimace of pain. Michaelangelo fought back the heat that had begun to rise behind his eyes. This wasn't the best time to get emotional. He had to act before Leonardo bled to death.

From the misty recesses of his mind, Donatello couldn't help but feel nauseated. He'd tried to avoid thoughts of that night, tried not to remember the pain and anguish Leonardo had suffered, the mental torment the others went through as they fought desperately to help him. But now the scene was unfolding, and something held him entranced by it, unable to will the haunting images away.

"Sutures, now!" Splinter commanded, breaking the silent trance that held the friends motionless. Michaelangelo took off for his apartment as fast as his legs would carry him while Casey led a queasy Leonardo to the couch. Splinter rose from the chair and slowly approached his pupil. He laid a hand on Leo's shoulder, and the turtle looked up at him through the torment he was trying so desperately to conceal.

"Leonardo, you are in pain."

"I...It's not--" Leo began to protest.

Casey interrupted. "It's bad, Splinter. It's real bad."

The elderly rodent knelt down in front of the weakened turtle and gently took the injured arm by the elbow. Leo let out a gasp as Splinter straightened it and gaped at the bloodied gauze. An alarm went off inside of him. Instantly outraged, he fought to contain his anger and disgust at what had been done to his pupil, and instead focused on the urgency of the wound. Leonardo had lost a lot of blood. They had to act quickly in order to save his life.

Leonardo struggled to sit up, but Splinter pushed him gently back onto the cushions.

"You must rest, my son. You need your strength."

"B...but, Master..." he gasped over the pain. "I...I'll be...alri--"

"Shhh...quiet yourself." The fear and concern was apparent in his sensei's eyes.

April handed Splinter a blanket, which the rat then draped over the weary turtle. "Michaelangelo will be here soon, and then we will remedy that which can be repaired..."

The scene slowly faded and the images of his family went dark. Donatello opened his eyes, his breathing slow and even, reflecting his concentration. He blinked a few times, disoriented, and the room slowly came into focus again.

"I wish I could have helped..." He said quietly.

But he hadn't been there. He had never lived that moment. His only memories were from Michaelangelo's sorrowful reenactments. Still, the thought of one of his own being so severely wounded had given him nightmares for weeks. This wasn't a first for Leonardo, however. He had been so close to death so many times...

Suddenly, the images began to fill his head again. Blood...the flash of steel...darkness... a look of utter terror in his brothers' eyes... He stifled a scream.

Gasping, Don felt the world tilt. He reached out his hand blindly and gripped onto the edge of the table for support. His knees felt weak, his breathing came in short gasps. He had to make it stop. He couldn't stand it!

His voice strangled in his throat and he let out a guttural cry. The darkness entrapped him, spun around him, rendering him dizzy, making him want to vomit. He dropped to his knees on the floor, his stomach heaving--and then, in a tumultuous rush...the images ceased, and all was deathly quiet. Don's eyes flew open, his chest heaving. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought to gain his breath.

"So close to death..." He whispered hoarsely at last. "So close, and then..."

He swallowed as the room continued to spin around him, twisting his reality to odd proportions. He didn't dare shut his eyes. Instead, he rose slowly on shaky legs and found his way to the window. He pushed it open, inhaling deeply, and his mind began to clear. He smelled the fresh flowers, soothing, comforting. But before his body could completely relax, new images began to form. Flowers...the chill air...sadness...dirt...a stone...

"No!" He told himself sternly. "No, no, no, no, no..."

^^DONATELLO?^^

"Chet--"

He latched on to the distant voice of the computer, familiar, safe. Slowly, slowly, the mist of memory began to ease. The horrifying pictures faded. He was in his home. He was all right. Everything was okay again. But it wasn't okay. Things hadn't been okay for a very long time.

"Leonardo..." The name came as a whisper.

Donatello gazed at the panel of wires and circuitry, his thoughts on a time long ago, on his brothers. He focused his attention on the images he'd received in meditation, the day Leonardo lost his hand, and it brought to mind an experiment he'd performed long ago.

"Chet, in your harddrive somewhere are the cloning instructions for the regeneration process. The one I used to do this." He stretched out his arms and glanced down at the green reptilian skin that covered them. Here and there, the veins rose beneath the skin, defining the muscles, and traces of scars from old battle wounds marred the glistening surface. Nothing metal now... nothing foreign or inorganic.

^^YES, DONATELLO.  FILE NUMBER THREE-TWO-TWO-FOUR-THREE-SEVEN.  WOULD YOU LIKE ME 
TO PULL UP THE PRO--^^

"No. Not at the moment, thanks Chet. No...I was just thinking..."

Deciding he could use the caffeine boost, Don poured himself another cup of coffee and sank into one of the chairs at the table. A funny thought occurred to him just then. There were four chairs and only one of him. And he so rarely got visitors. What was the point? Did he actually hope that they'd return to him someday? He pictured the three of them joining him at the table, their faces animated as they discussed old times. Sighing, he lowered his head, and the images faded. That day, he knew, would never come. Even with all of the technological advances of the twenty-first century, there were still things that he just wasn't capable of.

A long silence passed while Don sipped his coffee. The sorrow he was experiencing now threatened to entrap him.

"I perfected that process on Leo..." He continued at last. "You could say he was sort of my guinea pig for the experiment." A slow smile crept into the corners of Don's mouth. "He was so hesitant about the whole thing. He had nightmares for weeks about the cyborg armor attacking him, stealing his DNA...all sorts of bizarre happenings. He made me promise to never do to him what was done to me. He reminded me over and over about just how much the CPU had been in control of me, how it had changed me. It wasn't a memory I was particularly fond of.

"After his loss, Leonardo just wasn't himself. He tried to cover up his ill feelings and press on, but beneath the charade of acceptance and endurance was the veracity of depression and distraction. Everything was more difficult. The simplest tasks became nerve-wracking chores. Even his sparring suffered. It was hard to fight and maintain balance with only one hand.

"In those weeks after the amputation, we all did our best to keep Leo going. Splinter gently pushed him to focus, while the rest of us tried to cater to and cradle his wounded ego. Leo kept a moderately level head through it all though. That was so much like him--retain the leadership, push yourself beyond your boundaries, never let them see you waver. God, if only his stubborn mind could have allowed him to be human..."

Again a flash of metal appeared in the recesses of his mind, a pool of blood. He swallowed and blocked them off, struggled to recompose himself.

"In honor of his protests, I fitted him with a simple prosthetic instead. It strapped onto his arm, and was designed to move via use of his arm muscles. Even then, he was very reluctant to trust the new hand. Despite his hesitation, it proved to be quite a miraculous piece of work, if I do say so myself. At least, in the beginning. The hand enabled him to hold simple objects, including his katana, and with practice, he was even able to do simple katas and light sparring. But soon, he grew tired of the limitations. He couldn't put his all into practices, and each movement took great effort and concentration. It began to be more uncomfortable and frustrating than it was worth.

"When the prosthetic failed, he slipped even deeper into despondency. Leonardo's torment ate at me. I still, to this day cannot explain why his situation distressed me so. Whether my persistence was more out of guilt, or sympathy, I still am not sure. One thing was for certain, however--if it was my fate to remain a cyborg for the rest of my days, the least I could do was put my newly found abilities to good use. I was determined to find a way for Leonardo to be a fully functioning member of the team again. Finally, after months of coaxing on my part, he agreed to give my idea a chance, but only under one condition--he made me promise that I wouldn't let it take control. If anything went wrong, I was to remove it immediately, no questions asked. He would rather be a cripple than suffer the life that I had so narrowly escaped from.

"The process did not prove easy either, believe me. I can't decide which of us suffered more from the testing. The first thing to discover was whether the cybernetic technology would even allow me to transplant an appendage. I spent hours at a time studying the armor's design and functions. I was determined to discover all I could about the technology that, at that time, continued to indirectly control my life. Even if the experiment were to fail, my research would not go to waste. Each discovery brought me a closer understanding of myself and my new body. I hoped that perhaps someday I could be free of the metal flesh altogether.

"I considered my options carefully. The plan was to take an amount of my own armor and use it to develop a new, separate appendage, which could then be transferred to Leo. His hand would be a metal replica of the original at best, much like the prosthetic, only fully functional. It would not be based on muscle movement, but would instead mold with his own flesh, bond with it, creating a realistic hand that would be just as good, if not better than the original it replaced.

"But I also needed a back-up plan. What if the technology wouldn't take to Leonardo unless its original host--me--was dead? I would give up a lot for my brothers, but the idea of surrendering my life in exchange for a workable hand was ludicrous. I knew Leonardo would have shared that opinion. My only other option was to sever my own organic hand and transplant it. That idea seemed outlandish as well. Not only would I be left with two inorganic replacements, but it would be an almost unfathomable task to reconnect all of the tendons and arteries in Leonardo's wrist. I discarded the latter idea, and hoped beyond hope that all would go well.

"To my surprise, the removal of my replicated hand was excruciating--not from mental anguish over the loss, but the physical pain it exuded far exceeded my expectations. The metal regenerated very quickly, which also brought discomfort, but it was only a matter of minutes before all traces of the injury disappeared.

"That was not the worst of the painstaking process. As soon as the appendage was disconnected, the circuitry began to search for an appropriate host on which to thrive. Quickly, carefully, I began to attach it to Leonardo's arm, taking great care not to hurt him in the process. Still, the transplant caused Leo much torment as the metal bonded and fused with his injured flesh. This made his apprehension grow all the more. I assured him that the discomfort was only temporary, and luckily for us both, the experiment was a success. In no time, Leonardo had two fully functioning hands once again."

Donatello smiled to himself. "How his spirits lifted then. He began to practice harder and more fervently than ever before. He apologized for his mistrust, and vowed that someday he would repay the debt. There was no need for acts of gratitude though. I could see the appreciation all over his face whenever he made use of the cybernetic replacement, and that was good enough for me. Heh...even when the name-calling and good-natured teasing began, Leo took it in stride.

'Hey, look, it's Leo Skywalker!' We used to say.

'You guys are just jealous...'

"In the weeks following my scientific triumph, I devoted most of my free time to further biological studies. My main emphasis was on mitosis--or more simply, the point during a cell's division when the chromosomes are duplicated and distributed to each of the two daughter cells. I followed closely every step of the process, from prophase, to metaphase, anaphase to telophase. I knew the task would not be an easy one. Still, the concept in itself was not new. A cell's natural course of action is to divide. Scientists had already been studying ways in which to take advantage of this process. With modern technology, they were eventually able to replicate new cells, and indeed, entire DNA strands. Science was progressing at an almost overwhelming rate. Cloning was no longer a concept left to science-fiction books, but was now a reality. Goats, sheep, and even human beings had been successfully cloned. And the concept was rapidly advancing. Before long, internal organs such as bladders and livers were being grown in petrie dishes.

"With an almost unearthly energy, I conducted the most intense of my experiments. I began simple, extracting a small skin sample from my hand. It took a very powerful microscope, and a very steady hand in order to extract the chromosomes from the cells' nuclei. It was a long, painstaking process. Little by little, I began to replace the chromosomes with those I had extracted from Leonardo. The only way this experiment would work, was if our DNA strands were close enough in chemical make-up. The DNA synthesis had to be very accurate, or else too many errors could cause the cell's mutation and thus doom the cell altogether. Luckily, our strands were almost an exact match, proving two things at once--mitosis and replication were possible between our cells, and we were indeed blood brothers. The cells multiplied as hoped, and it wasn't long before a sample of Leonardo's skin began to grow.

"I monitored the progress for a long time, concerned about disturbing the biological processes which were taking effect, lest I should curse the project and render my efforts unusable. Finally, I began to graft the skin onto Leo's new hand little by little, unsure how it would take to the cybernetic circuitry. To my surprise and relief, the skin did not die or shed as I had first feared. In fact, it did just the opposite. Because his hand was no longer blood and bone, but living metal, it fused with its new covering, bringing life to the freshly grown cells. My success brought me new motivation, and soon I had grown enough skin to cover the entire hand, fingers and all, until there was almost no trace of Leo's injury."

Donatello smiled, his focus distant for a long moment, as if memories had him in their grasp again. Not painful ones as he'd been experiencing so often as of late, but less intense, almost bittersweet. After a long silence, he shook himself, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

"Years later," he said quietly, "When I came here, to Japan, I built you, Chet, and when I programmed you with all of my memories, I also gave you the formulas for my experiments. Shortly thereafter, I began to incorporate those results with modern technology in order to create what you see before you."

He ran his eyes quickly over himself. How real, how natural his body seemed. It was, after all, a carbon copy of the original, at least in appearance. Even the scars were there. He'd taken a mixture of his own surviving DNA, with samples from each of his brothers, which he'd frozen years ago in case of unexpected emergency. Now that he was alone, and he knew none of them would be needing the samples, he decided that it would be appropriate to use them for his own needs.

"It took five painstaking years to complete the entire process, but it was worth the frustration and long hours. With this technology, and the aid of my brothers' DNA, I was able to regrow over seventy percent of my bodily tissues. The most difficult were the veins and arteries... even most of my cartilage and some of the bone structure had to be reconstructed. Luckily, most of my internal organs were still intact and able to function without the support of the CPU. As for my shell...I remembered the place my brothers told me they'd buried it. Although it was not in the best of shape, the basic frame and structure was there, so all I had to do was fill in the holes.

"I guess you can say that in this, a part of each of them will always be with me." Don said softly. "As always, they've made me whole." He sighed as he rubbed his arms. "It feels so good to be rid of that blasted CPU. I'm whole again Chet, if not in spirit, then at least in body."

"We were so caught up in our own problems and our own endeavors, that we failed to notice how much the past months had taken their toll on our sensei. He was growing more fragile and delicate all the time. We all knew he would leave us someday, but it was something we never talked about, a reality we simply did not want to accept.

"Even with his slowly dwindling health, Splinter's spirit never wavered. He was still our master-- our teacher and father, and that he would be until the day he died. He didn't allow us to slack in our studies and practices. Although he acknowledged our adulthood, he urged us to press on, to introduce ourselves to new and bolder challenges. 'There is always something new to learn and experience, my sons.' he used to say. 'Do not close your minds to knowledge. Instead, open yourselves to the world around you. Invite new challenges. Seek to overcome that which you previously labeled impossible.'

"And for the next few years, we did just that--each in our own way. Most days, everyone showed up for practice as Master Splinter requested. We sparred in the old style, but began to throw in our own self-conjured techniques and surprises to try to catch one another off guard. In our spare time, we began to follow our separate paths. We were adults now, after all, and none of us had really gotten much chance for a personal life. This was our time to truly discover ourselves.

"Leonardo spent at least eight hours every day engrossed in katas and practice, striving ever harder to become more like our master, to perfect his skills to the highest level possible. During what he considered his free time, he taught others this skill--usually April or even Shadow. Then there were the rare times, when he set his weapons aside to try his hand at something new. April and Mike decided it would be a good idea to try to teach him how to cook. Too bad they started with a Thanksgiving dinner instead of something simple like scrambled eggs." Don shook his head and smiled. "Not only was the kitchen a disaster, but we had to order take-out Chinese that year. And do you know how hard it is to find a place open on Thanksgiving?

"Once his role as Shredder was behind him, Raphael returned to stalking the streets after dark, on his nightly vigils with Casey. After Casey lost his job at the grocery store, he decided he no longer wanted to work for someone else. He and Raph opened an auto repair service together. For once in his life, Raphael seemed genuinely happy about doing work. The business turned out to be rather successful, and it brought in some much needed cash. Raphael kept a portion of his share, but the rest he contributed to Splinter to use for food and other necessities as he saw fit. For the first time in our lives, we no longer had to depend on April, and that felt really good. But even with all of his success, there was still that underlying tension between him and Leo.

But I get ahead of myself...

"Michaelangelo was full of creative talent. He spent much of his alone time writing, and at times drawing. He wrote for hours on end, pouring his emotions and desires into poetry and stories. During the bad times, his writing allowed him to escape reality, if even only for a little while. It was his creative outlet, a chance for him to express all the buried pain he was so reluctant to share with the rest of us. His stories were good too. They had an underlying poetic quality that could hold me entranced for hours on end. I never knew he could be so intellectual, yet so witty and insightful. His plots made me honestly feel for the characters and all they went through, and I found myself hoping that they would overcome the obstacles that were set before them." Don smiled and glanced around the room. "I still have a copy of his first published novel somewhere. Perhaps I should look for it. I am certain I could learn something from it, even now.

"When he wasn't writing or cooking or making us laugh, he was spending his time the way he loved most; with children. He went out in the evenings, looking for runaways to befriend. They reminded him so much of himself and all we had suffered while growing up. Poverty was not an easy thing, and now that he had money, he decided to share some of it with those less fortunate. I really admired him for that. Mike was always so selfless. There was one boy--Damien, that he took a particular shining to. Damien was only eight years old, but he had a good head on his shoulders. He was far smarter than most boys his age, and he carried himself with a sense of non-malicious pride. They became friends instantly, Michaelangelo almost immediately filling the role of surrogate father to the kid. He visited Damien almost nightly, bringing him food, filling his head with fantastical stories, and playing games. Mike was definitely in his element, and for the first time in a long while, he was truly happy again.

"Of course, there was also Sara. They only dated for a short time, but I must admit, there was an air of jealousy that hung around our heads during that time. Sure, she was naive and moderately irritating, but I think she truly cared about Mike. I had often wondered what it would be like to be with a woman--to share that kind of intimacy that Mike seemed to have with Sara, but I never voiced my curiosity.

"Instead, I focused my attention on my studies. I also spent much time on the computer. I joined an email list where I met some on-line friends. It was amazing to me how open I could be there, without any prejudice or scrutiny. They had no idea what I looked like, or what I was, and I could state my opinion without being judged. It was an exhilarating feeling to say the least, though I couldn't help but wonder how they would have reacted to me had they known I was different.

"The early-idea stages of an online business came into fruition as well. Like Mike, I wanted to help people. I wanted to make some kind of a difference. Only years later, after I'd perfected my studies on mitosis, did I finally figure out exactly how intense that difference would become.

"Splinter's teachings did not stop there. For he was still the sensei, and we the students. We were forever learning, forever changing under his guidance. Religion played a significant role in those final years of teaching. We discussed several different religions, and Splinter seemed to encompass many of them when he spoke. He wanted us to choose the path we found most fitting for ourselves. He taught us about the ways of the Buddha...the Noble Eightfold Path. We learned about the importance of renunciation--to set our pleasures aside and focus on the needs of others. He spoke of forgiving our allies, of making peace instead of waging war. Only then, would we find happiness and be truly pure of mind."

Pure of mind... Donatello thought sarcastically. "I really don't think any of us were listening too closely to Splinter's teachings on that one."