TMNT – Broken Roots

SAME AS IT NEVER WAS

PART I – FAMILY REUNION

Donatello's blood was flowing towards his head, and he was starting to feel a migraine headache, all the while cursing himself-it wasn't like him to be that careless, and much less when he was in his Phantasm persona. Silence was absolute; the only thing that broke it were the faint sounds of drops of water falling into slimy puddles echoing in the distance; but the mutant knew he wasn't alone.

He knew that, lurking somewhere close by, the... thing... studied him. He opened his eyes, to face it, and a ghastly image presented itself to him. Under normal circumstances, he thought, he would have vomited upon seeing such a horrid disfigurement, but instead he simply said: - Hi.

And then he felt as if his eyeballs were being pushed towards his skull, and everything went black.

He woke up with the sound of conversation. He tried to get up, but his muscles were stiff, and his blood cold – well, colder than usual, that is. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and he soon figured he was inside a partially ruined tunnel, perhaps a subway, and the voices were coming from an illuminated corner around a large fallen block of concrete. He entered ninja mode, to assess the situation; he knew much too well the kinds of power he was fumbling with, but Cartwright's mask didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary there, so he thought it might be humans.

He was right; from the other side of the boulder, he saw a small group of people around a blazing oil gallon, reeking of burning garbage and something remarkably... disturbing. Donnie, too, noticed the band was well-armed with BARs, Uzis, some Molotovs and crude knifes made with scrap metal. They were too many, and didn't look too friendly; Donnie was stepping back to leave, but his reflexes were still numbed from his previous experience, so he didn't feel the soda can behind his foot until it was too late.

- Who's there? - the voice of the thug was unsettling, way more than that of your average criminal. The others immediately turned their heads to the boulder, and sprang up to their weapons.

A shot of adrenaline rushed through Donnie's body, as he turned and fled while thinking frantically what he should do; fighting wasn't an option, and, since he had no idea where he was, he couldn't make his way to N.Y.'s sewers, the subways, even the river, anywhere but topside. So, distraught, he rushed along the tunnel in the direction where its slope was slightly upwards, hoping he had a better chance to lose his pursuers in the outside.

After running for what seemed like hours, occasionally hearing the sound of a speeding bullet passing by, he saw the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, and sprinted for it. Not much to his surprise, he saw a couple of guards coming out from the shadows on both sides of the entrance; he bombarded them with flash grenades and crouched before the first shots were fired. After some crawling and a bit of a struggle, he neutralized them hitting their nerve spots, which left them paralyzed long enough for him to reach the grayish exterior.

As soon as he got there, many things happened: first, the rest of the band caught up to him, shouting and swearing; then, two shots hit Donnie on the shoulder from behind, and he tripped, twisting his ankle. He didn't have time to catch his breath, as a battery of firearms followed and hit the band of thugs, making some losses on their ranks, as they fell back hastily towards the tunnel.

For a split-second, Donnie thought of turning back and saying "Thanks" to his mysterious helpers, when he realized he shouldn't be seen, specially considering he didn't have a clue as to what were the intentions of these new characters.
Anyway, Donnie got up, groaning, with both arms lifted, and slowly turned around, even though the newcomers hadn't said anything at all. However, when the turtle could see the face of one of his saviors, he immediately recognized that they weren't human.

Nor mutant; in fact, even though those things were generally humanoid in shape, wore clothes and held rifles, even Donatello could pass as a regular human being if in comparison. The mutant's heart was about to explode with a new surge of expectation and anxiety rushing through it. All pain was forgotten; the black mask didn't allow any doubts in Donnie's mind, and he knew that his chances of escaping were slim – as well as what the price of failure was.

The wind changed, and now the foul smell of the creatures hit Donatello as a cloud of pestilence, clinging to his overcoat and festering his open wounds, something he tried not to think about. The creatures' clothes had an authoritative look about them, as well as what seemed like paramilitary ranks embroidered to them; one of the things, presumably their leader, raised one icky finger toward the mutant and gurgled something, just before it was hit by a string of shots that came from above.

Donatello looked up quickly towards the place where the fire came from; with all that happened, he hadn't been able to examine his surroundings, which now, under the light of a cloudy day, he saw were ruins of buildings in what used to be N. Y.'s downtown, some of which – like the Goseico HQ – he recognized. It was exactly at the Goseico building he was looking at now: at the first floor, he could see someone hiding behind a window, the tip of a rifle sticking out towards them. Even as Don was looking, another burst came from the window, many of the shots hitting their mark on the rank of ghoulish creatures; the creatures counterattacked, but the window was considerably farther than the tunnel's entrance, and, watching more intently, Donnie could see a small red dot flashing about the thing's chests.

Without a doubt, the sniper could have taken down the ghouls – there were some fifteen or twenty of them – if he would be able to hold his position, but after the third or fourth burst he retreated and didn't show any more signs of being there; Donatello realized that the shooter must have given up and left the area. Slowly, as if nothing had happened at all, the ghouls turned back to Donatello, who had hit the floor as soon as the sniper started shooting. The turtle got up as fast as he could and readied his bo, now concentrating on taking down as many as he could as fast as he would; the sniper fell four or five of them, but the injured ninja turtle was still far outnumbered – and outgunned.

Just then, for his surprise, Donnie saw that the ghouls were again being attacked, this time on their flank, as the characteristic sound of a SMG sprayed around the stunned band from a nearby ruin, from where a shadowy figure leaped after emptying his gun's magazine.

- Ghost! - a voice as raspy as a bag of glass shards hissed, and others mimicked it, short before the jaw of a ghoul came flying from the impact of a nunchaku, a ninja weapon.

Donatello's heart stopped, when the attacker came closer to the light: he was a pale mutant-a one-armed mutant turtle, whirling around and bashing the ghouls with a single nunchaku.

No... it can't be...

Donatello, however, was aware that both of them were still in danger, and snapped out of it, hitting the nearest ghoul with his staff and using the momentum to spring a small blade from the tip of it. With the effect of the surprise attack and the help of this new mutant, who, despite his mutilation, seemed to be a capable fighter, both of them were able to easily dispatch the rest of the police-ghouls.

After the battle was over, Donnie, exhausted, reclined on his staff, panting; just then, the pale mutant approached; he couldn't see Donatello's face, but asked anyway in a tired voice: - Hey, man, you OK?

Donnie's sweat ran cold; though that mutant's voice was grittier now, even sarcastic, there was no point in denying now. He lifted his head, and stared straight into his eyes: - Mikey?

It was the albino's turn to froze still, at the sound of Donatello's voice. He stared at the masked turtle's face, with glassy eyes. - D-Donnie!? - but his surprise didn't last long; his blank expression quickly turned into an angry mug, and, as fast as he came, he turned his back to his brother and ran off to the ruins.

- Mike! Mike, wait! - but it was in vain; Michelangelo had reached the ruins by now; he stopped briefly, to turn his head back once more, and resumed his running to a backalley.

- Dammit! - Donnie knew it would hurt like hell, but he had no choice; so he bit on his bo's strappings and twisted his ankle back to normal, the pain almost blinding him, and, limping, started after his stray brother.

Tracking him down, of all people, is gonna be tough, but he doesn't know I can see things other people can't – and, as he sprinted forward, Donatello tightened the black mask on his face.