"Red Sky Burning"
by Donny's Boy
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Disclaimer: I own neither the characters nor the plot relating to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I am making no money from this story. I mean no harm.
Warnings: Donny angst? But you knew that already. Also moderate violence, no blood or gore.
Author's Notes: This story is an AU set within the universe of the original cartoon's "Red Sky" seasons.
So what makes this an AU? It's based on one very simple, very important change: What if in the "Cry H.A.V.O.C." episode, Don and Raph had stayed with the pro-mutant terrorist organization H.A.V.O.C? The aftermath might look a little something like this.
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Chapter 1: Fallout
"fallout" ( n.): The slow descent of minute particles of debris in the atmosphere following an explosion, especially the descent of radioactive debris after a nuclear explosion. --The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition (Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004)
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The sky was red. A deep, dark red--not quite the color of blood but close.
It was beautiful, in its own way. Certainly it stood out in stark contrast against the steel and concrete of New York. Standing atop a skyscraper that towered above its neighbors, Donatello stared up at the reddened sky. It really was mesmerizing. Nodding in satisfaction, he pocketed the heavily modified Geiger counter he was holding.
"So, brainiac. What's the verdict?"
Donatello turned around to see his brother standing by the rooftop's access door, shifting nervously and looking impatient. "Things look promising. Give it another week or two, and I think we'll be ready to activate the radioactive particles."
In lieu of a reply, Raphael merely grunted.
"Oh, for goodness--what is it now?" Don fought back a sigh. "If you have something to say, then say it."
Wearing an uncharacteristically inscrutable expression, Raph simply shrugged. "I just ... I don't know about this, Donatello."
"Well, fortunately I do. And that, my dear Raphael, is why I'm the brains of this little operation."
Raphael muttered something under his breath and, with a small shake of his head, looked away. Meanwhile, Donatello frowned. He hated when Raph chose to be stubborn like this. Chose to fight him, chose to constantly second-guess. It was so incredibly frustrating--not to mention a waste of precious time.
"Raphael." Don consciously worked to sound calm and patient as he walked over. "Raphael, you have got to trust me on this. Okay? Trust me to know what I'm doing." He laid his hands on Raph's shoulders once he was close enough and felt encouraged when he wasn't shaken off.
They stood like that, in silence, for several long moments.
Finally, Raph whispered, "What about Master Splinter?"
"What about Master Splinter?"
"He's a human."
"No, Raphael." Don scowled deeply, not bothering to hide his distaste. "He used to be a human. Very big difference."
For his part, Raph rolled his eyes. "Donatello! This ... this is serious stuff we're talking about here! Now is not the time to split hairs."
"I told you, already, that I know what I'm doing."
"Believe me, I heard you the first two hundred times you said it." Raph tilted his head. "But tell me something else, genius. How many people live in New York City? Hmm?"
Donatello felt his jaw clench, almost involuntarily.
"A million? Two million? And how many of those people did you actually ask whether they wanted to be turned into mutants or not?"
"Seven point five million," snapped Don irritably, "give or take. But you have to understand, Raphael, that this is for the greater good! The humans will thank us once this is all over. You'll see." His tone softened. "We'll be treated like heroes. Like we should have been from the very beginning."
Raph's smile was devoid of all humor. "Seven and a half million. Huh. That's at least a million more than the Holocaust, isn't it? Of course, you're the mathematical genius here, not little old me."
Biting back a sarcastic retort of his own, Donatello chose to ignore his provocative brother and instead returned his attention to the New York skyline. Then he frowned. Something looked wrong to him, and it wasn't just the color of the sky. It took a few second before he remembered, with a sinking feeling, just what exactly was off.
The Channel Six building. In its place stood only empty air and razed earth. Of course. How could he have forgotten?
Time ticking. Like a bomb. Too late. "I never bluff," Saki had sneered. One minute too late. The windows had exploded. Flames. Everything in flames. Too late.
And it had been the last time he'd seen either Leonardo or Michaelangelo.
"Donatello?"
Quickly Don's head whipped around, and he found himself staring into the unexpectedly gentle and concerned eyes of his last remaining brother. Blinking, he dazedly wondered just how long he hadn't been paying attention. Stupid, thoughtless Donatello. If only he'd paid attention then … if only they hadn't felt so certain that Shredder wouldn't do what he'd plainly said he would. Sighing softly, Don replied, "Yes, Raphael?"
"Never mind." Raph sighed too. "I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm in seriously desperate need of a hot shower. So, can we get the heck out of here already? Unless you feel the need to play mad scientist some more, that is."
Donatello felt his entire face harden into a frown. Would Raphael ever take anything seriously? "No. No, let's get back to headquarters."
In silence they climbed down the building in the same way they'd ascended earlier, via rappel. Once they reached street level, the two turtles quickly scanned the alleyway to make sure they didn't have unwelcome company before making a dash for the manhole. They paused once they reached the relative safety of the sewers. At the bottom of the manhole ladder stood the monument of chrome, steel, and cybernetics that Donatello had lovingly nicknamed the Turtle Trike. It wasn't really a tricycle--rather, it was a hulking, tricked-out motorcycle with sidecar--but Don had liked the alliteration.
Raphael just called it excessive.
Don tossed a helmet in Raph's direction before reaching for his own. After clapping it firmly on his head, he threw a leg over the bike. Raphael, meanwhile, settled into the sidecar, grumbling about the injustices of always having to ride shotgun. Donatello pretended he couldn't hear him through the helmet. Revving the bike's engine, he took off down the sewer tunnels.
The ride wasn't a long one. Neither Don nor Raph liked to venture too far from headquarters. There was, after all, safety in numbers. In less than ten minutes, the two were hanging up their helmets and walking through the pristine, stainless steel hallways of the H.A.V.O.C. main base of operations. While Raphael smiled and nodded to those he passed, Donatello marched through the corridors with a singular determination. Finally, with a loud, exasperated sigh, Raph began jogging to catch up.
Don was unconcerned. If his brother wanted to dawdle, so be it. He sure wasn't going to keep the big boss waiting. Entering the main chambers, Raph hot on his heels, he quickly glanced around and froze as soon as he spotted Titanus. The massive mutant was standing, his hands clasped together as he contemplatively studied the computer monitors that lined an entire wall of the room.
Respectfully, Donatello lowered his gaze and waited patiently for Titanus to speak first.
"It is done?"
Don tensed a bit as he sensed Raphael fidgeting beside him. Silently he begged his brother not to embarrass him. "Oh, yes, sir." Donatello forced a light, confident tone into his voice that belied the nervous knot in his stomach. "The radiation levels are precisely where they're supposed to be."
Titanus chuckled--a mellow sound, yet somehow deep and dark. "You have done well, Mr. Hamato. Very well, indeed."
And, for the first time that day, Donatello smiled.
--
The sky was red. A deep, dark red--not quite the color of blood but close.
It was terribly ugly.
Leonardo scowled. As if it wasn't bad enough that the sky was dark and ominous and probably a harbinger of certain doom and destruction ... as if all that wasn't enough, the sky had to go and offend his aesthetic sensibilities as well. Which was simply unforgivable.
"Kinda freaky, isn't it? The sky, I mean."
Leo turned away from the edge of the roof and back towards his brother. "Yes, Michaelangelo," he replied, "and I believe things might get even 'freakier' before they go back to normal."
Mike nodded glumly. "I was afraid you were gonna say something like that."
"C'mon." He pointed to a rooftop a few blocks away. "We're going to find out just what, exactly, is going on here."
Cracking a grin, Michaelangelo reached for the grappling hook on his belt and gave it a few experimental twirls. Leonardo, meanwhile, positioned himself behind his brother and wrapped his arms tightly around the other turtle's torso. Mike glanced at him over his shoulder.
"Ready, dude?"
Leo gave him an affectionate smile. "Do your thing, Michaelangelo."
"Hold on tight …" With a whoop, Mike flung the both of them from the rooftop while simultaneously throwing the grappling hook. "Cowabunga!"
Leonardo grunted involuntarily as their downward descent abruptly halted and they began swinging parallel to the ground. He really didn't know how Mike handled doing this all the time. First the nunchaku, then the grappling hook … Leo much preferred his simple, straight, non-circumvolving weapons.
Though, he had to admit that Mike really knew his way around a grappling hook.
In the space of two long swings, they had reached their destination: a tall building made of smooth glass and shining steel. Leonardo quickly glanced around, an abbreviated surveillance, while Mike gathered up his weapon and returned it to its rightful place. Then, across the roof Leo spotted it--Channel Two's very own, top-notch, state-of-the-art weather satellite dish. He reached down and nervously ran his fingers over the small metallic device clipped to his belt.
He hoped it still functioned properly. Actually … had it ever functioned properly? Leo couldn't remember. What's worse, he had no idea if he could even figure out how to make it work. If it did work.
Swallowing his anxiety, he headed over to the satellite dish with a purposeful stride. He could sense Mike fall in behind him. Leonardo knelt next to the satellite dish and, after giving in a good long look, he gulped. Wow, there were a lot of buttons on this thing. A lot of buttons.
He sighed then grabbed for the contraption on his belt. Carefully, hesitantly, he plugged it into an input on the satellite dish. "All right. Now, time to see if Donatello's old invention still works …"
"Uh, Leonardo? Did it ever work?"
"Sure! Sure, it used to … well. We'll find out." He shrugged amiably as he began pressing the brightly-colored buttons on Don's device. "All I know is that this little guy is supposed to sense … " He paused, frowning, as his memory groped for the correct phrase. "Is supposed to sense 'localized and aberrant meteorological phenomena.'"
There was a beat of silence before Mike ventured, "Translation, dude?"
"Not a clue. Sorry, Michaelangelo." Leo squinted at the machine's display screen. He wasn't Don, it was true, but it seemed to him that the little gizmo was taking an awfully long time to scan. "It has something to do with the weather. At least, that's what Donatello said. And April told us that this satellite dish should extend its scanning range."
"Y'know, I wonder why he never came back for all his inventions when he … I mean, when him and Raphael … when they …"
Michaelangelo trailed off. Several long, uncomfortable seconds passed in which the only thing to be heard was the quiet whirr of Don's scanner.
"We'll get them back." Leonardo's voice was deathly quiet, deadly serious. "I promise you. We'll bring them home."
He glanced up in time to catch Mike's fleeting smile, there and gone in the space of a nanosecond. Leo smiled back, warmly if a bit wanly, and felt a sudden wave of gratitude rush through him at not having lost all of his brothers. The smile quickly turned into a frown, however, when he heard the machine begin loudly beeping.
The scan was complete.
Still frowning, Leonardo carefully studied the displayed results. He scratched his head. Then he tilted the scanner in his hands and gave it a little shake. He could feel Michaelangelo leaning in close, trying to sneak a peek.
Leo's frown deepened. The readings had to be wrong. That was all. The device was too old, or Leo simply didn't know how to properly operate it, or something. And yet …
"Well, dude? What's the doohickey tellin' you?"
"It says … " Leonardo swallowed. Then he cut his eyes towards Mike. "It says that the entire atmosphere is loaded with Zetatron radiation."
Mike's frown matched Leo's own. "Zeta-whosit?"
"Zetatron radiation. It's a specially-developed and experimental form of radiation that … that … " That had been invented by a world-class, unparalleled genius. A world-class genius who had very earnestly promised his family that he'd never let his radiation formula fall into the wrong hands because, if it did, it could be used to accomplish great evil.
A genius who had sworn--with a jaunty, careless grin--that he himself would, of course, never use it inappropriately.
While Michaelangelo waited for the rest of his answer, Leonardo turned away and let his gaze wander along the stark, brutal, crimson-bathed skyline of New York City. Although his body remained relaxed and at ease, ever ninja-ready, his mind whirled madly. He gently placed the scanner back on his belt. The machine laid heavily against his leg, like an anchor, dragging him down.
His brothers' jokes aside, he had always been very well aware that there were a lot of things he didn't know in life. He didn't know how to correctly time a joke, like Raph could. He didn't know how to surf, like Mikey did. He didn't know how to build crazy inventions from junkyard treasures, like Donatello was able to. But Leonardo had always prided himself on his knowledge of his brothers, of his clan. He loved his family, and he knew his family. So, the thought that Don could be responsible for … for all of this …
No. No, Don couldn't. Don wouldn't.
Would he?
Leonardo honestly didn't know, and that simple fact terrified him much more than an unnaturally reddened sky ever could.
