ZEROHOUR

by Blue

Texas, 2063: Personal catastrophes force the TMNT to come to grips with themselves.

Warning! This story contains some cases of extreme violence, cursing, blood and gore, and adult situations which may be inappropriate for some readers. This story is voluntarily rated R and is intended to be viewed only by mature readers. Kids, do yourself a favor and ask mom or dad before you read ZEROHOUR.

Day 1: Bombshell

June 8, 2063

The various members of the Mutant-Human Alliance (MHA) gathered around the meeting hall. Of course, not all of them were there. Only their top operatives, it seemed. Warriors tried and proven many a time, called forth now--for what? Donatello could only guess. Leonardo, as always wearing his adamantium katanas, a gift from the emperor of Shi'ar, gave him a discreet nod. Leo, the great Alliance ninja. Nobody dared laugh at his skill anymore. Michelangelo smiled slightly at Don, pistol at his waist, tense and grim; something was in the air. Raphael slouched on a stool in the corner, silent and taciturn, his enormous ax leaned up against the wall. Looking bored, as always.

It was Garret who had called them all together, and it was Garret who at last stood to speak. The assemblage fell silent, waiting in tense apprehension for the terrible announcement they were sure was forthcoming. "There is good news and bad news," he said. Don frowned. Was Garret trying to make a joke? Garret? "We have received critical information from a spy deep in Houston base." The good news? Houston was Mastermold's main HQ, they all knew it. Mainly because of oil supply, desperately needed to fuel the machines that built and powered his Sentinels. Even now, MHA soldiers were nearby, ready to strike. "Our troops may be in danger. The Sentinels plan an attack." Garret held up a hand for silence. "If they succeed, our people will be wiped out. But with knowledge of the plans beforehand, we can cripple Mastermold and take his precious base." Now even Raph was paying attention. This was big stuff.

Don was nearly delirious. So many years! Could it be that the war might end now? "This news must be taken to our camp near Houston." Of course. Don's heart sank. So that was why the meeting had been called in Pero camp. Pero was just a makeshift clutter of buildings, but it was the closest the Alliance had gotten to Mastermold.

Mastermold controlled the majority of the oil supply in the world, and even that which the MHA did possess, they didn't have the power or the people needed to get it out of the ground. So they scrimped, went without, used what they stole from Mastermold, hooked the closest camps into the Sentinel factories they took over. But it was never enough. There was no gas to power the aircars Don had so carefully built, and they were only used for emergencies, which was why they all had known how serious he matter was: Garret, leader of the Alliance, had ordered them all picked up and brought here as quickly as possible, using aircars.

But the aircars could not go beyond Pero; partially because of lack of gas, but mostly because, while people on foot might elude pursuit, aircars would immediately be picked up by radar. So someone would have to hand-carry the message the 150 some miles to Houston camp. Don swallowed. Anyone to do that risked death--or worse, torture at the hands of Mastermold, who was known to reside(if you could call it that) in Houston base.

"I trust I do not need to explain the dangers involved," Garret said, and there were murmurs and mutterings in various places about the room. "And the message must be there in three days." The room exploded into cacophony. 150 miles in three days! Insane! The messenger would have to move like mad to come close to getting there. Garret whistled, catching everyone's attention. "Thank you. I am not going to order anyone to do this. You have been called here because I believe you to be the best fighters in the MHA. I need volunteers. Two of them. Just in case. I will go to my office, and anyone who wishes to discuss this further can meet me there." Garret turned to go. His exit was interrupted by a harsh, low voice.

"I'll go." Heads swiveled to stare at the speaker. It was Raph. "Bad odds ain't news to me. And I'd just as soon die on a mission than when Mastermold gets Houston and comes up here to stomp us." Don admired his brother's forthright manner. This was pure Raph, rushing forward into danger, not thinking about the consequences. Leo frowned slightly. Why does that piss him off? wondered Don. He hesitated, thinking, Do I know what I'm doing? Then he found himself speaking up in the vast silence.

"What the hell? Me too." Eyes bugged out. Don almost grinned.

--Coming over to my side at last, eh?--Raph's voice said in his head.

Don responded with a mental smirk. --Somebody's gotta keep you out of trouble.-- Don sensed varied feelings from those around him. Regret, worry, anger. And confidence. All present knew that if anyone could really do this suicide mission, it would be him and Raph. Don realized he'd been projecting this to Raph.

--Yeah, we're pretty hot, all right.--

Don sniggered, --Yeah, I've got the genius brain and you have the big jock body.--

Raph replied good-naturedly, --Har har. Come a little closer and say that, why don't ya?--

Garret recovered slowly as they engaged in mental conversation. "Well-thank you," he said. He clearly hadn't expected such an immediate response to his request, and certainly not from them. "You're sure?" At Don's nod and Raph's rolled eyes, Garret added in a final word. "Fine. I'll meet you at the outside gate, 4 am, two hours shy of sunrise. We'll set up your gear then." He nodded to them and left.

No one seemed to want to talk to Raph and Don. What was there to say? "Thanks for saving my butt there, good luck, hope you don't get turned into dog chow?" Don sighed. Why was nothing ever simple. The two of them drifted together as they moved down a corridor towards Don's room, one of hundreds in the vast complex. Mike raced to catch up.

"Hey, guys!" he called. Then, sobering, he said, "Why?"

Raph shrugged. "Told ya already."

"Don?"

"I don't know," he said slowly. "Maybe I just don't want Raph to do it alone." Raph snorted. "Knock it off, Raph. But somebody had to do it. Why not me? Can't spend days deliberating." It was true, but it wasn't the real reason. Why had he said he'd go? Suicidal urges? He doubted it. He probed deep into his mind. Maybe it had something to do with last night's dream? A repeater, it was beginning to worry him. Blackness, cold metal turned to flame as he touched it, squeezing hands, flame leaping into his chest, the chill wind, a chain wrapped around his neck, detached laughter, blinding pain. I'm worried for Raph! Don realized. Why did he sense that the dream was a premonition about Raph? He'd have to think about that. In the meantime, he closed off his thoughts of dream, grimacing. Leo was suddenly there in their minds. Furious, but his mental voice was calm. He had heard the explanations.

--You're a fool, Raph, a damned fool.--Leo growled mentally. He's worried too! Don decided. That's why he's so angry! He thinks Raph's endangering himself and he doesn't like it because he won't be there to look out for him.

--I'll be careful.--Raph assured.

Don added privately to his brother --I'll make sure his fool ass doesn't get in any trouble. Stop worrying so much, Leo.--

But Leo still doubted.

Raph asked --Meet you all for dinner?--

--Sure.--Mike agreed. --My place okay?--

--You know it!-- Don looked forward to an excellent meal this evening. Mike was a master. He suddenly thought of another reason for Leo to be ticked off. He would be the one to tell Splinter what Raph had done now and invite him to dinner. Don grinned. Good luck, Leo!

* * *

They all pushed back from the table, full, if not happy. Don shot a glance at Splinter. He'd taken Don aside earlier, asked him about his feelings concerning Raph. He'd already heard the dream, but Don told his sensei why he felt the need to rush after his brother. Finally, Splinter had nodded and pulled away, understanding, although not condoning, his choice.

Splinter sighed. It was so hard to support his sons when they did such reckless things. He reflected on the Sentinel War. It had gone on for decades, though to Splinter it seemed more like centuries since that first day, so long ago. ("We've got to get these people out of New York! Mastermold and his pals are coming!") He had trained ninja, now fully prepared to leave the actual fighting to Leonardo and his young pupils. Leonardo did well, he was proud of him. He was proud of all his sons. They had experienced pain and sorrow, fear and anger, and overcome. He regretted Donatello and Raphael's decision, but it was theirs to make. And if they felt they had this duty, he could not stop them. And yet--he worried.

Raphael frowned to himself. He was never quite sure why he did anything any more. His words in the meeting had been snap, flippant, not thought out. Why did he want to go? Did he have some kind of death wish? Was he absorbing Leo's principles of honor and duty? He chuckled. Unlikely, he decided. Then why? Ever since Arik's death, his resignation from the Orabu nation, when he came to the MHA, he was never sure what he was thinking or doing. Or even what he felt inside. Perhaps this insane death-run could banish his inner demons once again, before they glutted themselves on his soul.

Leo scowled at Raph, cursing silently. How could he put that look sadness back into Splinter's eyes? Stupid fool, Leo thought. Why can't he just stay put where he belongs? Leo was shocked, then. But wouldn't I be the first to jump if my honor were at stake? But Raph--could this be about his honor? His fury? That was something new to consider.

Mike took another sip of wine and sighed deeply. What was left to say? In less than twelve hours, his brothers would be bound for the great unknown, in danger of their lives. He wished he had thought of it before Don--he should be the one to go with Raph. Hell, no! he thought then. We should all go! We're a team, aren't we? Aren't we?

But no one was there to answer his plea.

---

Day 2: Suicide

June 9, 2063

They stood just outside the gate of Pero camp as the sun turned the sky to pink and gold. Don and Raph were carrying only the barest necessities for their three day journey; they couldn't afford to be weighted down with heavy parcels. "When you're ready," said Garret quietly, and shook their hands, pressing into Don's an airtight canister containing the precious message. "Good-bye." He walked back to the control booth, ready, after their departure, to throw the lever that would close the gate again to protect Pero camp. Not many had come to see them off, the sole hope of MHA. There had been handshakes, silent frowns or smiles in the hall, but again, what was there to be said?

Splinter had left them at the gate. The damp of the morning was getting to be too much for him, and his rheumatism gave him trouble. He embraced Don and Raph, looking them in the eyes, silently willing them to come home to him. Come back. We will be together again, soon.

Now the four turtles stood alone, unable to put into words the things they felt. It was Leo who found the solution for them all, opening all his mental channels, welcoming them into a powerful link. The four brothers locked together in mental embrace, sithing with all their will, sharing love and hope with each other. Each was for the other. Four were, for a moment, one. It was with regret that Donatello drew back, pulling Raph with him.

"We have to go," he said simply. Leo and Mike held each of their brothers in turn, both thinking the same thought: Please come back to me.

Heads bowed, Don and Raph turned away, hearts filled with love and sadness. They broke into a light jog south across the hot, parched land. They would make it. They had to.

* * *

They traveled miles upon miles, stopping only to remove rations from their packs to munch on as they went. They jogged or walked in turns, until their muscles screamed for relief, then rested ten minutes. Then they rose to continue. Don knew they had to keep going; if they didn't delay, they could make the needed 50 miles that day, stopping to sleep shortly after sunset. But it was easy to say, and a lot harder to do. 50 miles, Don was realizing, is a damn long way! He tried to put his thoughts on something else, anything else. He needed the diversion to ignore his body's distress. He finally settled on multiplication: twice sixteen is thirty-two. Twice seventeen is thirty-four. Breathe deep, Donny, don't give in.

Raph was trudging along, reflecting on the heat. Why does it have to be so hot? he groused mentally. His feet and Don's were wrapped in cloth to cool the hot, hard ground against their feet. It wasn't a desert, but it came pretty darn close!

It was only a couple hours before sunset when the noise began. Raph was the first to hear it. He cocked his head and signaled Donny to listen, silencing his questions. Then Don heard it too; a humming....Humming...as of power? Circuitry? Sentinels!

"Raph, run!" cried Donny. And they took off across the prairie as fast as their legs would take them. Oh, God, why now, not on the first day. We've only gone forty miles or so, what's a Sentinel doing so far out? What difference does it make, we're going to die... Don mentally shook himself. No, don't start thinking that way! Start thinking survival--weave and dodge, avoid anything he might try and hit you with. No shelter here. Just have to outrun him. No problem. Just keep going.

Raph could hear the grinding of metal gears as the Sentinel lumbered after him; the only good thing to be said about them was that they were far too slow for such a quick pursuit. Raph was elated. They were going to make it! Just then, a second Sentinel loomed up in front of them and the two Turtles were forced to cut off to the left. It must have been lying in ambush for them, alerted by the first Sentinel. The Turtles cut sharp zigzags in the grassy plain, trying to avoid the lasers of the Sentinels....they were burn lasers that seared a burning black hole into the target, one of the nastiest weapons available to Mastermold. So naturally, the bugger was sure to include it in all his Sentinels. If you can't kill the enemy at first sight, might as well hurt him really badly.

Man, Raph thought. If I had a blaster right now....but we can't afford to stop--even if we defeated them without getting hurt, they could call for more, and we'd be caught for sure. Gotta keep moving. Don't look back. Just run, dammit!

Then the inevitable happened: Raph veered right into the path of one of the lasers. He gave a sharp cry of pain as he felt the terrible beam cutting into his leg, stumbling and falling hard on his side. Donatello turned back, grabbed Raph's hand and pulled him up; both felt the tension and the desperate need for speed. C'mon Raph, thought Don, We can still make it! Raphael rose, balanced on his left leg, but when he tried to take a few steps, he fell with an involuntary groan.

"Raph, get up!" cried Don. The same urgency and desperation was in his voice. A lance of fear stabbed through him.

Raph grimaced. "I can't walk. I'll have to stay here."

Don scowled. "The hell you are! Quit being such a fatalist and get up." But he knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that Raph was right; there was no way he could walk, much less run, all the way to Houston camp. You knew you ran this risk when you volunteered, Don reminded himself. You knew you were going through enemy territory and one of you might get hurt. But reminding himself didn't help deal with this situation. What would happen if he couldn't get Raph up?

"G'wan, get out of here." Raph was half-lying on his left side to ease the pain in his right leg, where the laser had hit just above the knee.

Don started. He looked the truth in the face....if Raph couldn't keep going, Don would have to leave him. He looked down at the message in his hand. A message that could win or lose the war. A message that would never get to the front if they didn't go on. Thus his dilemma; he wasn't particularly concerned about being captured with Raph, but what would happen if Mastermold got the message, which he certainly would in that case?

"Better think fast, you've only got five minutes or so before the Sentinels get their slow butts over here," Raph said easily. Don growled softly. Here Raph was, about to be captured by some of his worst enemies, and he was sitting here deciding his fate and expecting Don to go along with his dying martyr bit. And he wasn't exactly all shaken up about it either. Damn him! thought Don. I'd almost feel better if he was weeping all over me begging me not to leave him. But that wasn't Raph's way. Raph's way was to decide what should happen and twist others' minds until they made it so. "So," Raph said. "Ya gotta make a decision, bro: kin or country? What's it gonna be?" He grinned. This isn't funny! Can't you be serious for once and let me think! Don turned away, clutching the canister that contained the all-important message, trying to decide what to do.

He turned when he heard, almost simultaneously, a click and Raph saying, "Here, let me make it easy for you." Raph had somehow gotten a projectile-firing pistol (nearly an antique by now), and it was pointed directly at Don's head.

Raph!" exclaimed Don in shock. "What are you doing!?"

Raph grinned sadistically. "Helpin' you out, bro. Now take off, before I make the decision that tha Sentinels are gonna make for you in mere moments." Terrific, thought Don, he's finally lost it. Completely round the bend. Or maybe not. Don realized that given the time to think, he'd rather stay with Raph. Screw the MHA. They could do without them and the message. But now he had a gun in his face. But, he wondered, how could he really be serious? Raph fired off a shot that went dangerously close to his head. He ducked.

"Raph!" he yelped.

Raph scowled. "Now get outta here, man. I'm not telling you again....and next time, I might just hit you." Something in Raph's voice gave Don the full understanding of his position; but why was Raph so nationalistic all of a sudden? Concerned with honor? That sounded more like Leo. But then, Splinter had always said that the two were much more similar than anyone else could guess. Perhaps that was why they seemed to clash so often. Don backed away a little.

"Next time I see you," he warned. "I'll kick your butt for this."

"Whatever, Don." Raph smirked. "You couldn't touch me on your best day. Besides, who knows if you'll-" He stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Ah, thought Donny, a crack in the martyr's armor of honor. Raph knew the possibilities and didn't like them much. He was likely sacrificing himself and he knew it. But he grinned, regardless. "But then again, I've been known to come back from the dead." It was true.

(This, thought Don, was ridiculous. How could a turtle drown? But there was Raph, lying motionless on the pilings, totally wet, not breathing. "Come on, buddy!" he cried aloud, desperately. Raph's skin was as cold as ice! He needed a hospital, and Don was definitely not a doctor. But he had to try. "Breathe, dammit!" he screamed, bending again to force his own warm breath into Raph's cold, clammy lips. He again laid his two fingers on Raph's neck. But the reassuring throb was gone. "Noooo!" cried Don. His heart had stopped! Denying it, refusing to believe his brother was dead, Don knelt over him, thanking God that Splinter had insisted they all learn CPR. "Please live, Raph, please," Don begged. "We need you, man, don't leave us."

He cajoled and pleaded with his silent brother as he pushed on the turtle's chest, trying to make the heart beat, bent again to breath for Raph. He couldn't stop thinking about statistics, about Rescue 911, about all he knew of CPR; CPR so rarely worked, it was really only an interlude, something to do and hope might help until the ambulance arrived. But there would be no ambulance, and Don wished he had more than a nearly useless technique with which to revive his brother. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "No, Raph, no, I'm losing you. Don't slip away." But the turtle gave no response. Over and over, Don followed the motions, pumping the chest, risking breaking the turtle's ribs, he pushed so hard,, but it was worth it if only he would live! But with each second that passed, Don's chances of saving Raph lessened.

He pumped harder, willing Raph to live. Hopelessly, he checked for a pulse he was sure would not be there. It was all through. But there was something--a faint *thump*, perhaps? Again, Don went through the cycle, breathing, five pushes at the chest. The heartbeat strengthened, expanded. Don could almost hear it, pounding in his ears, matching his own elated rhythm. Raph coughed, rolled to his side, vomiting seawater. Don embraced him, laughing and crying.

"Geez, Don, don't crush me, huh? Give a guy some room!)

But even Raph's incredible track record might not save him this time. "Go!" shouted Raph, cocking his pistol, ready for another shot.

"I love you, Raph," he said, and went.

Raph closed his eyes. It was finished. But better this way. He had saved the Alliance, but more importantly, he had saved Donny. There was nothing left but to wait, and that was something he didn't have to do for long. The Sentinel came closer. Raph went limp as he felt the enormous hand close around his fragile body, bit his lip and tried to hold back the screams. The metal fingers were not exactly delicate, and his leg was killing him. A wave of dizzying red faded to blackness.

* * *

Leonardo started. Something had disturbed him in his meditations. A voice? Calling to him, faintly, but not, he realized, in the physical plane. Leo paused, listening carefully with the inner ear he had trained so well. There it was again--a voice, still so faint, but he could still make it out. It was Raph's. His mind was calling out to Leo, searching for him. It communicated without actual words, using emotions to stress its point: I'm hurt. I need you. Leo immediately forgot everything, his meditation, his students, his appointment with Splinter, and sent his mind seeking. His concentration must be complete. He must break all physical bonds and transfer his spirit into--there!

The move was much quicker than it had been all those years ago when he first discovered this power within himself. Leo's mind had found Raph, and in a moment, he was inside Raphael's mind with him. Leo almost recoiled when he felt Raph's emotions, streaming into him as though they were his own. Tension, fear, anger...and pain. Leo searched, and found the source of the pain, a laser burn a couple inches above Raph's right knee. It looked, and felt, serious.

--Raph, I am here. It'll be all right.--Leo thought, trying to calm the turmoil he felt around him.

--Leo?--Raph was confused.

--You called me. I came.--Leo thought how strange it was that their minds automatically sought each other out; it was no longer by strength of will alone which helped them sith. The messages they sent back and forth were not just in words, but also in pictures and feelings. But each understood what was meant. In this state, it was impossible to hide one's emotions; Leo's confusion poured over Raph. What was wrong?

--I'm hurt. Don must take the message on.--Raph admitted. --Or it will mean an end to the Alliance.--

--Stop being so melodramatic. What are you doing?--Leo had noted with alarm that Raph had the just fired a gun past Don's head. Raph allowed calmness and assurance to sweep over Leo.

--Don't worry. I can handle it.--Raph said. --See?-- Don was going, back on the path south once again. Raph seemed resigned as a Sentinel approached. --Take care, Leo.--he thought sadly. --It may be awhile before we truly meet again.--

--Don't be silly.--Leo began, but was cut off by the dizziness that swept through Raph as the Sentinel lifted him. Why couldn't the meathead be more careful? As Raph was struck by the pain, it touched Leo too, and he willingly extended his presence, took a part of Raphael's agony. Raphael said nothing in words, but sent his gratitude. Leo was amazed--the wound must be very severe to cause such anguish. He had no more time for reflection; as Raph writhed in the throes of fire, Leo mimicked the motions of his tortured body. Cripes! His leg was on fire! He shared Raph's mental cries, as the turtle made no noise aloud. Then, with a jerk, Raph lost consciousness and Leo was rudely pulled back from Raph's now silent mind, his spirit dragged back to his body.

"Here! Hold him down while I give him this." Leo felt a needle inserted into his arm, something injected. As he always felt after he'd been sithing, Leo was oddly detached from himself, observing his body as he had observed Raph's--very aloof, but still aware of every action. So he realized with surprise that he was writhing in agony, convulsing with the pain of Raphael which he had just shared. Gasping, he found himself calming as he centered in and felt more like a part of his body and less of an abstraction. Eventually, his body stilled, and when he tried to move, he found his reflexes painfully slow, his body refusing to respond to his commands as fast as it should.

"Are you all right, sir?" A young woman leaned over him, one of Splinter's new students--what was her name? Ah, Trisp, that was right.

"Fine, Trisp," he said. His tongue felt heavy and swollen, he could barely talk. "What was that?"

"Muscle relaxant, sir. We didn't know what was wrong, and you had already hurt yourself.." It was true, he realized. In his convulsions, he had bruised his shoulder on a low table and cut his hand on a knick-knack he had knocked off a shelf. His attention was diverted when he noticed Master Splinter standing before him.

"My son," he came to lay a hand on Leo's forehead. "You are not badly hurt. Is something wrong?" His deep brown eyes were filled with concern for his eldest son.

"Yes, Master, I was sithing with Raphael. He has been badly injured and captured. Donatello has gone on without him." Splinter stroked his chin, obviously upset. "What shall we do, sensei?"

"We must see what happens. For now, these matters are beyond our control." Leo sighed. He knew Splinter would say that. "Rest now, Leonardo. Sithing is no easy task, I know. When you wake, we will decide what to do." Leo was glad to let his mind drift away to join Raph's in black oblivion.

* * *

Michelangelo was in Pero camp's makeshift firing range, pouring his emotion into his pistol and firing it again and again. He wished he was back in New York and didn't have to worry about this crap....but he wanted to be as close as possible to Don and Raph's destination. Plus, if and when a battle for Houston was joined, reinforcements would gather at Pero base. Mike hadn't been sent into the first seige, but he'd be damned if he missed the next battle! He was in the middle of his third round when he heard a scream. It tore through him, causing him to jerk, his shot going wide as the cry echoed back into the deepest recesses of his mind.

Wait--his mind? Why did he hear the cry in his head? He identified the voice--Leo! He must need help! Dropping his gun and tearing off his headpiece, Mike dashed for the door and bolted down the hall toward the source of the scream. By the time he reached Leo's room, however, the crisis was over. Leo was lying on the floor as Splinter and one of his students carefully removed chunks of a glass statuette from his hand. "Master?" asked Mikey. Splinter turned. "What's wrong? Is Leo okay?" He knew by then that he was not dead; he was sure that he would have felt Leo's death. But if he was hurt badly--

"Leonardo will be fine." Mike sighed in relief. "However, Raphael has been hurt, quite badly I fear. He has been captured, and Donatello has gone on without him." Mike shared Splinter's look of worry and sadness. Poor Raph. After all he'd been through--returning to a ruined planet, losing Arik, resigning as a chief of the Orabu nation--to be tortured at the hands of Mastermold's traitor mutants, the Trackers? The pain and injustice he was sure to experience turned Mike's stomach as he remembered the atrocities he'd seen the Trackers commit. He remembered seeing Arik's small body, mangled in the mud. ("The Trackers--how could even they be capable of--of this?") If they could do that to a child--what then, lay in store for Raphael, a proven enemy of Mastermold, who had Tracker blood on his hands? Mike shivered uneasily. He gently touched Leo's mind, deep in slumber. It was silent now. He reached, straining to find Raph--but could not. Mike sighed. They've always been better than me, he thought. Leo will have to try for us when he wakes up. God! What kind of pain could make him scream that way? And was it his--or Raph's?

Mike felt so empty. What could he do? Where was Raph? How did he fare? Will he survive this night? Mike wondered, gazing out a window at the darkening twilight. Head bowed, eyes closed, he said a silent prayer for his brother. Hang in there, bro. You'll be back, I just know it; I will find you. And if I have to die trying, then so be it. He turned away.

* * *

Donny stirred his small, smokeless fire with a stick. Not much to burn around here, lucky he'd found that small stand of brush. For a moment he put off the gloom--but then grief for his lost brother washed over him. Will I ever see him again? Then, Bah, and I say Raph's a fatalist? Of course I will! Nothing can keep Raph down! Somewhat consoled by this knowledge, Don considered his next move. Raph had sacrificed himself for this message. He had to keep it moving, get it to Houston on schedule. Without getting caught. No easy task, now that the Sentinels knew he was out here. He felt so open! There was nothing to hide behind! Still, if he didn't run into any more of the robots, he should be fine; motion sensors the Sentinels carried would be a problem, but his low body temperature usually fooled heat sensors.

Donatello wrapped a blanket around him and curled up. Wish Raph was here, so one of us could watch for Sentinels. But Raph wasn't, and Don would have to sleep if he wanted to move by sunrise. After all, I can't very well sit here awake all night. Donny thought of Raph. Where was he? Surely at Houston base by now. Was he awake? What was he thinking? Don reached outward, sought Raph's mind, but found it silent and unresponsive. Ought to try Leo or Mike, he thought. So I can tell them- But he didn't have the chance to contact them; he had slipped instantly into sleep.

---

Day 3: Nightmare

June 10, 2063

Don awoke as the sun peaked over the Texas flatlands. Yawning, he struggled to his feet, bleary-eyed, and gathered his things. Have to get moving, was his only thought to penetrate the haze of sleep. The air was already humid, and Don realized that it was going to be just as scorching as it had been yesterday. Yesterday....He remembered Raph and bowed his head in grief. Considered looking for one of his brothers mentally, then decided against it. Probably all sound asleep anyway, he told himself. I can't afford to waste time. So after scooping some dirt onto the remains of his fire and grabbing an energy bar from his pack, he jogged off across the plain. The canister, tucked into a pocket of his white cloak, banged against his knee. Don concentrated on his mission and drove himself on relentlessly, despite his near exhaustion from the past day's trek. Another day, another fifty miles. Damn it, why'd I ever agree to this?

The dream, he remembered. And then he realized that for the first time in weeks, he had not dreamed. There had been no fire, no cold hard fingers clutching at him, no derisive laughter to enrage and frighten him. Apparently, the dream truly had been a prediction of Raph's capture. And I, the great dreamer, knew it was coming and couldn't help him! Crap, Don thought. I don't think I'll ever get used to having these blasted dreams, whatever Splinter says. Why can't I just dream about kittens or something?

* * *

~"What are you?" The man's voice was cold and expressionless. It betrayed no hate...but no great love, either. Michaelangelo once again tested the ropes binding him to the rough wooden table. As he moved, the planks rubbed against his shell with a scraping noise. No way out. Gotta stay calm, he thought, trying to obey his own orders.

"What?" He paused a moment to take several deep breathes, then replied, hoping that honesty was indeed the best policy. "I'm--a turtle, doc. A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle to be exact." Another deep breath. "My name's Michaelangelo." He tried to control the tremor in his voice. Couldn't let this jerk know how terrified he was....Wish I could see what the hell was going on. I hate being blind. Even if he had been untied, he'd be helpless--how could he possibly find his way out of this place alone? He didn't even know where he was. And this time, his brothers and Splinter weren't here to help him out of this mess.

"How very humorous," the doctor sneered. "How very humorous indeed." Mike recoiled in shock. He doesn't believe me! The irony of it was astounding. To worry all these years about what would happen when the government discovered the reality of mutant turtles. Now their fears had come true--but this man refused to believe that he was a mutant turtle! "I'll ask you once more: what are you?"

What do you think I am? Mike wanted to ask. But instead he patiently began again. "I just told you, doc. I'm a--" Then he suddenly felt something sharp jabbed into his arm. He yelped in surprised pain. "What's that!?" he cried.

"Needle. Syringe. Full of Phenobarbital. Also known as truth serum. I won't tolerate lies." Mike wanted to scream with frustration. "Let's begin again, shall we? What are you?" The doctor's voice had dropped low. He didn't sound too pleased with the current frame of events. Tough, thought Mike. Cuz neither am I.

"Honest, doc." What did it take to convince this guy? "I'm Michaelangelo. I'm a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle..." he trailed off. His head felt weird. What the hell did he shoot me up with? Drugs and what they did to people were Donny's department. His head spun and he slumped, feeling unable to control his body. His fingers flexed and unflexed, his muscles tightened and relaxed, jerking against the ropes which bound him.

"What are you?" the doctor snapped. He was furious, but Mike was too sick and giddy to realize it.

"I'm a turtle," he giggled. "I'm a poet. I'm a ninja, don't ya know it?" He gave a little chuckle. The silence was grim. Mike wished he could see the expression on the man's face--it has to be priceless.

"Perhaps your alien metabolism neutralizes the effects of the Phenobarbital," the doctor said slowly, controlling his rage carefully. What? Mike thought in confusion. Does he really think I'm a- "Perhaps a little persuasion is in order. Perhaps a little pressure is called for." Mike didn't like the tone in the man's voice, dangerously calm, like the quiet before the storm. And he definitely didn't want to know what he meant by "persuasion"....but he had a feeling he was going to find out.

He heard the clink of metal, and felt the searing pain lance through him. Mike was so out of it he couldn't even tell what part of his body the doctor was so viciously...twisting? Pulling, ripping, tearing. He could feel blood trickling down his legs, and he screamed in agony. He found that he was drooling, unable to control even this simple body function. With all the wounds he had suffered throughout his years as a ninja, he had never imagined pain could be this intense. Finally able to give shape to his cries, he screamed, "But I AM telling you the truth! Stop! Please!" Mercifully, the terrible twisting stopped. He could sense the doctor's face near his own.

"Perhaps..." he murmured. "Perhaps you are. Tell me then--" He pulled back, grew more businesslike in tone. Mike wished his hands were free. He felt a desperate need to punch the doctor in the mouth. "How is it that you came to damage your sight?"

Mike considered what he should say. Why the hell not? Won't believe me anyway. "In Jerusalem. We were saving the world from this monster, but a molotov cocktail blew up in my.." The doctor's loud snort interrupted him and he coughed as the human blew of puff of foul-smelling cigarette smoke into Mike's face.

"I don't believe you." Big surprise, Mike thought. "Preposterous! A creature like yourself? In one of the world's holiest cities? Hardly." Mike insanely wondered what was wrong with that. If he were an alien, it'd be one of the major spots to do the tourist thing, right? What did the doctor think--he was some demon from hell that would vaporize when he set foot on holy ground?

The bile rose in Mike's throat and he wanted to howl in rage. How dare he! Sonofabitchin' BASTARD! "Fine," he said curtly. "Don't believe me. Jerk." He gathered the saliva in his mouth and spat. He heard the satisfying *splut* as the spit struck the doctor. There was another silence and Mike felt a perverse pleasure in having shut the man up, if only for a moment.

"Hmph," snorted the doctor. "I tried to be civil." Yeah, right. "I tried to show you what avenues of persuasion lay before you...should you fail to cooperate. Yet you continue to be most uncooperative. So be it." Mike gasped as the doctor neatly planted his cigarette butt on Mike's shoulder and twisted it to put it out.

The unjustness of it all took Mike's breath away. "But I AM cooperating!" he protested, trying to think of a way to explain himself. "It's just that sometimes....truth is stranger than fiction, dude...."

"Perhaps." Mike heard a crackle of electricity. Puzzled, he remained still. "And perhaps this electric cattle prod can help us divine truth from fiction..." Mike was frozen in incomprehension. No way, he couldn't--

He did. For a moment, Mike thought he could see again as blue current ripped through him and lit up his sightless eyes. All he saw was blue fire, and he was immersed in it. He writhed, agony filled him. If he could formulate his thoughts, he would've told the man anything, anything he could think of...any ridiculous lie to make the pain go away. But all he knew was blue fire. His senses disappeared. His reason disappeared. There was only Blue. Fire. Pain. Sensory overload. He blacked out.~

And awoke screaming, twisting in his bed, still alive with the pain and fear that had filled him then. Mike was tangled in the sheets, twisted into the blankets, panting with exertion, soaked in sweat. Finally, he began to calm down. Fumbled for the light, remembered. "On," he gasped, and continued to gasp, trying to calm himself and recover from his nightmare in the reassuring glow of the lamps. Damn it. Haven't had one of those in ages, he thought to himself. Why would the nightmares, banished for so long, suddenly return to haunt his sleep? Mike remembered weeks, months of nights laced with dreams of blue fire and cruel voices, hard planks beneath him and ropes cutting his wrists. The USCGS Dator. Doctor Synargo.

Mike buried his face in his hands. It's been 70 years, dammit! But there was a worse reality to meet him today, he remembered. Raph had been captured.......

* * *

Raph awoke to the pain in his leg, and to strange voices murmuring. He was lying on his stomach on a cold metal floor, staring at a cold metal wall. He got to his knees, wincing as flame danced through his right leg. But a booted foot instantly slammed against his shell, sending him crashing back to the floor and pinning him. Raph couldn't quite get his arms under him and his jaw smacked painfully against the floor. He tasted blood.

"Stay where yer put, mutie," snarled one of the voices. "You wait till the boss is ready for ya." The boss--Mastermold? This would be Houston base. Whatta pit, Raph thought, turning his head to look in the opposite direction. The metal hall was enormous. Trackers in sleek black uniforms and jackets, carrying heavy laser blasters, lounged here and there against the wall. No chance of escape then, especially with his leg in this condition. He wished he could see it; he wanted to know how bad the damage was. Real bad, he thought, moving it slightly and feeling the pain course through it. His pack was gone, probably never to be seen again. As I will be. There would be questioning, of course. That meant, translated, torture. More pain to add to his already abundant store. And then, he would disappear into the Sentinels' world, never to be seen or heard from again. His brothers, he felt sure, would want to rescue him. But there wasn't much chance that Garret would allow them to, and even less chance that they would make it to him in one piece.

Likelihood of rescue, he thought in grim mockery of the late computer Cerebro's matter-of-fact tones. Zero.

* * *

Leo awakened with the knowledge that somewhere, Raph was also awake. So tired--but I have to find him. Again his mind sought Raphael's, desperately calling his brother. Then, with a warm wave of relief, he realized that they were together. Leo was not totally within Raph's mind this time, but he was aware of Raph's thoughts and feelings and perceptions, just as Raph was surely aware of his. He sent Raph feelings of relief and concern. In response, Raph showed him the interior of Houston base and sent uncertainty and yes, even a little fear. It was strange to think of Raph as being so afraid. He never betrayed it through his words or actions, but one could not hide such feelings when sithing.

There was nothing much to talk about, so for a time they remained free of any direct communication, letting their feelings flow back and forth between them. But--a Tracker approached Raph.

"On yer feet, mutie," he snarled. Raph was dragged upwards by his two guards, and Leo felt the excruciating pain in his leg once again. They were both feeling the pain as Raph was pulled to his feet and shoved in the direction of a discreet door in the corner of the large hall. Raph desperately wanted to be back on the floor, to escape not only the agony caused by the stress on his leg, but the inevitable meeting with Mastermold. Raph had never met the robot, and neither had Leo, though both knew it to be artificially intelligent on a massive scale.

Raph didn't resist the Trackers who propelled him through the door. He didn't have to, because he could barely walk with his leg in such terrible condition. And so soon he found himself forced painfully to his knees before a massive hulk of metal. Raph shifted his weight off his right knee to ease the pain, then studied the set-up. The Trackers who brought him had disappeared, save for two who guarded the door and a third who stood a few yards to Raph's left. He could see the Tracker out of the corner of his eye, dark-featured and sneering, a cigarette poking out of his mouth. And before them....the biggest robot Raph had ever seen, bigger than he had dreamed possible. At least four stories high, if not more was Raph's guess. Mastermold looked down at him, the perpetual scowl on his metal features, studying Raphael. Leo's mind as well as Raph's flooded with apprehension.

"What is the mutant's name?" Raph was startled but fought not to show it. The voice was uncannily deep and powerful, but not loud; apparently he had toned it down so that it would not deafen those whom he commanded. Raph set his mouth, not wanting to answer any of the questions Mastermold would put. But this one was not directed at him.

"His name is Raphael, m'lord," the dark Tracker said smoothly, giving a little bow as he answered.

"What was he doing when apprehended?" The voice rang out again, making the combined consciousness of Raph-Leo flinch.

"Taking some kind of message through the Texas flatlands, m'lord. He had a companion, but it escaped." The Tracker calmly exhaled, lit another cigarette. There was a pause.

"You will see that he is properly questioned."

"Yes, m'lord," the Tracker said obediently. Butt-kisser, Raph thought to himself, then realized that Leo was listening.

--Isn't he though?-- They shared disgust for someone who would so follow a ruthless monster.

"If I might make a recommendation, sir?" The nod of the massive robot assured the Tracker and he continued. "This mutant has a bond with at least one other mutant that I know of. It may be to your disadvantage to have him giving out information about you. Therefor, allow me to drug the mutant so that he will be incapable of using his power to communicate mentally." Raph recoiled in shock. How much does he know about me? the question reverberated.

--Is he right?-- Leo asked. Raph knew much more, had learned much more, than Leo about their powers of the mind. So Leo turned to Raph to ask this question.

--Yes.-- Raph answered simply.

Suddenly the dark Tracker bent close to Raph and whispered in his ear. "Oh, I've done my homework, Raphael. I look forward to our next...conversation." With a nasty smirk, he motioned to the guards, who came to hold Raphael still. Leo could feel his terror, larger and very real, as a lab-coated Tracker was summoned and brought forth with a syringe. Leo winced in sympathy for Raph--he knew that his little brother had always been terrified of needles.....

* * *

Donny collapsed to his knees, too weak to continue. It was well past mid-day, and the sun was at its peak. He lay for a moment with his face close to the hot ground, then attempted to struggle back to his feet. He looked out over the flatlands, blinking away the sweat that clouded his bleary eyes. Was that--Raph? Raph! His brother stood, looking like a black shadow in front of the bright sun. He looked at Don with a scowl on his face.

"Well?" he said. "Are you gonna get up or what, nerdboy?" Donny bristled. Then he shook his head, tried to get a hold on himself. A mirage, he told himself. Just my mind playing tricks, cuz I'm so hot and tired, and I want Raph here so bad.

"That's right," the mirage told him. "You wanted me and I'm here. Now get up and get moving."

Don groaned. "I can't. Besides, you're not even real."

"So what? I didn't get myself captured so you could sit here and cry and feel sorry for yerself." And I thought Raph was insane, thought Don. This is ridiculous. I'm talking to a hallucination. Still, he had a point. "C'mon, you some kinda pollyanna? Get UP!"

"I can't," mumbled Donny. "I'm too tired. Just leave me alone." He closed his eyes momentarily. Raph stomped over, grabbed his arm, and twisted it, trying to jerk Don to his feet. Don shook him off. Suddenly, the mirage was gone and Don was looking at a buzzard that had just sank its talons into his arm. He swore violently and punched the bird as hard as he could. With an indignant squawk, the buzzard hit the dirt a few yards away. After a few seconds, it reoriented itself and flapped away. Don carefully examined the talon marks, then used some disinfectant and bandages from his pack to take care of the deep puncture wounds. Adrenaline pumped through him and he growled as he started back south. He'd almost been bird food! Lucky he'd still been conscious enough to feel it before it did any real damage.

Don sighed as he thought of Raph. How was his brother doing now? The mirage had seemed so real....Don wished it hadn't gone. It wasn't exactly Raph, but at that point, Don would have welcomed any companion.

~Raph woke lying back on a recliner of purple clouds. Others floated nearby, but he barely noticed them. Smiling, Raph felt pure bliss. There were no monsters or bad guys here, nothing to disturb his perfect tranquillity.

But what was that? A door was approaching from his left. A large steel door, with great iron hinges. It bulged, looking ready to burst open; and then it did. With a shriek of triumph, the creatures burst forth, hideous and black as shadows on a dark night. They came straight for Raph, seized him in a cold, steely grip, and dragged him toward the door. With a cry of fear, Raph struggled against them, trying to draw his sai, to tear them apart before he came to the terrible door. But they were too strong, and dragged him inside.

He was released, the demons were gone. He raced for the door, only to beat his fists helplessly against it as it slammed shut in his face. He whirled, eyes wide, as a voice spoke from the darkness.

"Daddy?" said the small child's voice. Raph's eyes filled with tears as he looked again at his son Arik. His eyes were wide with innocence and wonder, and his light blue skin fairly shone with radiance. His honest, clear blue eyes looked deep into Raph's own.

"Yeah, Arik," he whispered roughly. "It's me."

"Why, Daddy? Why did you let those bad men do that to me?" A tear dripped down Raph's cheek.

"I--" He didn't know what he could say.

"I wanted to go home," the small boy said tearfully. "I wanted to, Daddy, but you wouldn't take me. You said I had to stay." Raph winced, remembering how often Arik had asked him when, when were they going back home to Shi'ar. When he could return to the world he knew and leave behind the hell that was Earth. "You said that Earth was important." The child's voice was accusatory.

"It was, I just--" Raph was helpless to explain his motivations. He couldn't abandon his home and brothers when they needed his help.

"More important than me and T'mer," Arik accused, his blue eyes growing hard. "And then I tried to go home. I knew where you kept the spaceship, I heard you say. And I wanted to go home.....But then the bad men came." Suddenly, Arik began to shed his skin like a snake. And as the layer of upper skin peeled away, it revealed the body underneath: the body of a small boy tortured to death. His face was bloody and torn, contorted with agony, his shoulder-length black hair hacked short and blood-smeared. His entire body was rent with knife wounds and burn marks from brands and lasers. But worst of all were his severed fingers and ears, which had been clumsily stitched back onto his body. Raph recoiled in horror, remembering again the time when he first saw the mangled body of his dead son.

"YOU killed me!" the apparition screamed. "You did it!" Raph was flooded with grief and guilt. He couldn't deny it, couldn't look at his son's face. Arik held an ax in his hands, and he advanced on Raphael, who had no desire to move. "You," hissed Arik. "It was all your fault!" Years later, Raph could not leave his past behind. It attacked him with an animal snarl, and Raph was incapable of resisting the suddenly enormous strength. With wild swings of the ax, Arik cut into Raph's right leg, hacking and hacking. Raph knew he was dreaming, but there was no way he could wake up.

The nightmare was not just a dream.

The nightmare was his life.~

* * *

Mike knocked softly on Leo's door, then entered. Although it was late afternoon, the room was darkened. The explosion-proof metal shutters had been shut tight, and none of the lights were on. "On," he said experimentally, but the lights remained inactive. They had been unhooked, then. Several candles in ornate holders had been lit, and they stood vigil over a silent, crouched figure.

Leo sat cross-legged in a circle of candles. One of his naked blades was laid across his knees. Leo's eyes were closed, and he seemed absorbed in intense concentration. Mike slowly circled him, called his name softly. No response. He was obviously deep in trance, and Mike knew that it would not be a good thing to disturb him, especially when he held that blade. He sat in a nearby chair and waited for Leo to return.

* * *

A few hours later, Mike again woke bathed in sweat. He found that one of his hot hands was gripped by a cool reptilian hand, his other by a frail and furred one. He took a few long, shuddering breaths as he looked into the anxious faces of his master and brother.

"Mike?" asked Leo. "Are you okay? You were--thrashing around. And screaming. I called Master Splinter for you." His brow furrowed as he looked at his little brother's frightened face.

"I--" Mike tried to calm himself. "I had another dream. Nightmare. About," His voice wavered. "The USCGS Dator." Leo raised an eyebrow in spite of himself. That had been decades ago, he thought Mike had forgotten it. He looked to see Splinter's reaction. The old rat was concerned. He touched his son's cheek with one finger of his free hand.

"Michaelangelo," he said softly. "Please tell me." So Mike did, describing the feelings and sensations of being a blind prisoner of the government being tortured for information. When he was finished, he heaved a great sigh, feeling as though a burden had been lifted.

"So, Master?"

"So what?" The rat raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Don't you have anything to say? I mean, that's why you wanted to know, right?"

The rat sighed. It pained him to have nothing to do to help. "I cannot change the turmoil within your mind, my son. But sometimes it helps to tell your troubles to someone who has an open ear." He got to his feet, using his walking stick to support himself. "I am going to return to my room for meditation, my sons. If you wish, you may join me."

Leo slumped back into his circle with the candles that were almost out. "I think I've had enough meditation for one day, Master. I was trying to reach Raphael all day, but after that guy injected him...." Leo shook his head. "I just need some sleep. I guess they're going to let Raph alone for today." Mike looked from Leo to his sensei, torn. Splinter laid an understanding hand on his head.

"Stay with Leonardo if you wish, Michaelangelo. I will not be offended." He smiled before hobbling off down the hall. Mike stayed close by his brother as Leo crawled wearily into his bed. Sitting beside the bedframe, he held his silent vigil.

* * *

~Leo stood before a massive structure. It looked like a temple; lots of pillars, and he could smell the sweet scent of incense on the gentle wind. With a smile, he pushed the door open and entered. He walked up the aisle, passing the bent forms of pilgrims bowed in prayer, to kneel before the altar. Another figure was beside him, silent in contemplation. Suddenly, it turned to him, threw back its hood to reveal a disgusting monster. Its flesh was rotting off the bones, its face was twisted into a picture of gleeful agony. "Leonardooooo," it hissed at him. Leonardo jumped back, felt for his blade, drew it with a *shnick* of metal on metal. It was then that he realized he was naked.

It didn't matter; he had fought thus often in his youth. Striking a stance, he held the blade before him. The demon attacked, and as he did, the blade in Leo's hand turned to paper, which the monster easily torn from his grasp with a sneer. Leo tried to throw a kick, a punch, but he moved in slow motion. He tried to run, but his feet seemed strangely stuck to the floor. Then, with relief, he realized that a bowl of holy water sat at his right hand. It might just stop this demon, if there was any truth to legends. Grabbing it up, he raised his arm to fling it on the demon, but it seized his arm and wrenching it back, threw the water on Leonardo.

Leo screamed as the liquid burned him. It burnt away the flesh from his face, and trickled down his plastron to cover his whole body. Soon, the damage was complete. His hand flew up to touch his face and it made a scratching noise. For no apparent reason, the entire room turned suddenly to mirrors. Leo gasped in horror as he saw himself, transformed as he was. He was a skeleton.

The demon extended a hand toward him, grinning sadistically all the while. "Leonardo," he hissed again. "Welcome--brother."~

His heart pounding in his ears, too terrified to even scream, Leonardo sat straight up in bed. Great Buddha, now even he was having crazy dreams. Though that one was a lot less real than Mike's....He gazed over at Mike, who was lightly dozing in a nearby chair. He had stayed then. Leo spotted a tray of food on a bedside table, half-emptied. Leo realized that he was ravenous; what time was it? The candles in the circle had burned out, but Mike had found a couple fresh ones and lit those near the bed. Leo went at the food with a will before laying back in his bed again. Maybe now he could get some decent sleep.

In moments, he was sleeping again.

* * *

~Splinter was chained against a hard metal surface. Oroku Saki was before him. Splinter's whiskers twitched and he twisted at his bonds, trying to get away. Saki sneered at him triumphantly. "Ha, old rat. I have you now." He nodded to a nearby minion. "Bring in the turtle." The Foot soon returned, two of them dragging Raphael, whom they chained across from Splinter as he watched helplessly. The turtle's eyes were wide with terror as he stared past Oroku Saki at Splinter.

"Master," he begged. "Help me--please." Raphael's pleading eyes made Splinter want to cry. I...cannot, he realized. Splinter could do nothing to help his son as Saki lifted the shining katana which had carefully been laid across a bench. He hefted the weapon and smirked at Splinter, then turned and slashed at Raph's leg. Above Raphael's scream of agony, Splinter heard the sickening *thunk* as the sword sliced through muscle and bone to sink into the metal beneath the leg. Splinter and Saki were both sprayed with blood from the open wound. It also ran down Splinter's wrists as he strained against his chains. Raphael needs me, he thought to himself, but the harder he tried to escape, the more closely he seemed bound to the metal wall.

With a sharp movement, Saki pulled the sword out of the metal, and handed it to a Foot member, who used a cloth to wipe the sword clean and polish it. All the time, Saki stood enjoying the screams of agony that Raphael emitted. Again, he took the sword in his hand. Splinter cried out above Raphael's voice. "Saki! Your fight is with me!"

Saki chuckled. "Indeed, old rat. Indeed." He pointed a finger at Splinter. "Watch and suffer, old one. For though you may suffer through your own death, you will suffer more through his." He raised the sword and it flashed down again, this time severing the other leg.

"You are not Saki! Even he was not this mad!" Splinter gasped.

Saki laughed again as he turned to Splinter. "No, old rat. I am Saki; at least in your mind, where Saki represents every evil you have come to fear. Perhaps you should reconsider that belief--outside your mind, Saki may be gone, but the evil he represents is not." With another sneer, Saki turned back to Raphael, and the gory torture continued.~

* * *

Donny sat beside his small fire, trying to work out with a pencil and map how far he had left to travel. Looking across the fire, he saw Raph again, this time sitting and staring into the woods.

"Okay," he said aloud. "It's official. I'm a nutcase." Raphael turned to him with a chuckle. "There's no sun, so this can't be a heat-induced hallucination or mirage. Maybe just because I'm looking into the fire." In answer, Raphael stood up, walked around the fire, and stood next to him.

"There, convinced?"

"Yeah, convinced that I'm nuts." Donny shook his head. "What's IN these things?" He studied an energy bar.

Raphael grinned mischievously. "LSD?" he guessed.

"Ha ha," growled Don. "Shut up, Raph." He did a double-take. "Oh, good, now I'm calling it by name and carrying on a conversation with it." He sighed. Raph sat down next to him. "Why are you here?"

Raphael shrugged. "You wanted me to be." Don stared at the fire again.

"You were captured. You're at least 50 miles away by now. Probably more...I still have 55 miles left to Houston base." Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to him. "Raph--" The apparition looked at him. "Are you Raph's ghost?"

Raph jumped. "Hell no!" He settled back down with a sigh. "You've been thinking of me as an apparition; I think that's as correct as you're gonna get." He smirked. "Just an illusion created by yer troubled mind."

"So you admit I'm crazy." Don sank back and rested his head on his pack, feeling sick. Great, I'm friggin' nuts and I have to go 55 miles tomorrow, too.

"Nah, not crazy." Raph pulled out his sai and played around with it. "It's just stress and isolation, bro. Mountaineers used to report seeing helpful entities when they were up in th' Himalayas. And that one boating guy, Joshua Slocum, said the pilot of one of Columbus' ships guided him out of a storm and talked to him."

Don winced. "Wasn't Slocum later put in a mental institution?"

Raph shrugged. "Okay, bad comparison. Think of me as your 'helpful entity' then. Nothin' wrong with that." He paused a moment. "Hell, even Socrates had one, and I doubt you'd call him crazy." This time Donny mirrored his grin.

"Right. Now I'm going to sleep, o helpful entity. See ya tomorrow?"

"Sure," said Raph as Don drifted off.

~Don was standing in front of a pyre on which Raphael was tied. His hollow eyes looked through Don. "Hang on," said Don, going to untie the ropes. "I'll get you outta there, buddy." But before he could even touch the ropes, Raphael was engulfed in blue flames. He screamed and writhed in the fire and Don staggered backwards, away from the heat. Cruel laughter behind him made him whirl. There was a dark, cigarette-smoking man. He had plagued Don's dreams for months now, and Don suddenly remembered who he was.

"Don Peroti Madolini," he hissed. "What have you done to my brother, you bastard?"

Madolini laughed. "What have I done? Rather, what have you done? You are a traitor, Donatello." He spit the name out like a curse word.

"Me? You're the traitor! You're the one who sides with that damn robot against the entire mutant and human race!" Don was usually calmer than this, but here was the man he had hated for years, ever since he first met him. His stomach turned. Madolini had competed with him for Mastermold's favor, when Don served as a spy for all those years. Madolini had killed for the sake of the killing, and that Raph was another of his victims made Don's blood boil.

"I am the only winner in this war," Madolini growled. "And you shall soon be the loser." A sword appeared in his hand, and another in Don's. They advanced to the fight.

Raph was suddenly out of the fire, standing at Don's side. "Help me!" cried Don. "I can win if you help me!" But Raph's face was a picture of joy.

"They're gone!" he said simply, and then disappeared, leaving Don to face his enemy alone. Back and forth across the area they fenced, each desperately seeking to cut the other's throat. Madolini hit with a wrist cut. Fortunately, it was not his sword hand, so he kept moving, holding the injured hand against him to staunch the blood. Madolini laughed.

"Oh, I have you now, little fool."

"I don't think so." Don slashed out with a smashing head cut that caught Madolini totally unaware and sent him to the floor, his heartbeat speeding madly. With his dying breath, he thrust his own sword into Donatello's chest. As Don toppled slowly to the floor and lay dying, he reflected that this must be a dream. Certainly the least surreal he had ever had. But shouldn't it be about now that he woke up?

Then there was no more thought, only the dark room.

---

Day 4: Memory

June 11, 2063

Raphael was rudely awakened by a booted toe in his side. He came awake gasping and choking for air, staring at the black-booted feet of a Tracker. He looked up, recognized the dark one from the day before. He tried to lunge at the man's throat, but he was halted by the chains which secured his wrists to the wall and his feet to the floor. Also, his leg wound did not help his efforts. It was in the same miserable condition as the day before. No chance of escape anyway: two Trackers guarded the door to his small, cement cell, both holding torches in one hand, burn-lasers in the other. Raph grimaced, seeing a smaller version of the weapon that had caused his own wound.

"Wakey, wakey," said the Tracker. "Enjoy your nap?" Raph snarled something incomprehensible and tried to go for the Tracker's throat again. He tried to guess the time--late night? Early morning? Just how long had he slept? The Tracker did not seem worried by Raph's attempts to kill him. Instead, he grew suddenly businesslike. "Time for a little Q and A. Let's begin." He smirked down. "I'll skip the preliminaries. Why don't you just tell me who your friend was?"

"What friend?" Raph's answer got him another kick.

"Don't play stupid with me, Raphael, because I know damn well you're not! The person who was traveling with you. Who was it."

Raphael closed his eyes against the pain and grimaced. His side ached now, in addition to his leg. And he mustn't tell this bastard of a Tracker anything. He couldn't. Raph's silence annoyed the Tracker. "Well?" Raph shrugged. "Fine. Let's try another. What message were you carrying?" Raph, again, refused to answer. "To where were you carrying it?" No answer. The Tracker suddenly changed tacks. He knelt at Raph's side, ran his hand down his leg. Raph winced as he touched the makeshift bandages. "Hurts, doesn't it?" he said softly. "Burn lasers do that. I know you rebels have trouble treating the burns properly. But we--we know how. Be nice, wouldn't it?" Raph bit his lip and looked away. "Come on, be reasonable. Just tell me who your partner was in this, and I'll make sure you get that leg properly treated and bandaged. Might even be able to get you painkillers." The temptation was fleeting, but Raph felt it. He shut it out. He's your brother. You wanted to protect him; you can't rat on him now. Raph opened his eyes and glared at the Tracker.

The man sighed. "Very well," he said, and motioned to a guard, who left the room. Another white-coated Tracker appeared. Raph tried not to cringe away. "Half dose this time," the Tracker instructed. "I want him up this afternoon."

"Understood," said the other man, and bent close with the syringe. Raph couldn't help flinching as the man jabbed the needle into the soft flesh of his elbow bend. His body was bathed in sweat with the effort of not crying out, or even shaking. Why does it always have to be frigging needles? he wondered desperately. There had been more than one occasion on which he ended up stuck full of needles in a lab, some jerk's science project. Maybe that explained his sheer terror at any and all syringes he'd seen since. Raph sank back against the wall.

"Rest now," said the dark Tracker, as he turned to go. "Rest, and look forward to our next meeting." With a cruel sneer, he swept out. The door clanged shut behind Raph, leaving him in total darkness.

* * *

Donatello grunted as he felt someone urgently shaking him. "Later," he muttered, and rolled over. A hard shove sent him into the still-warm ashes of the fire. Then Don was on his feet, angrily shaking the ashes from his white clothing. Who had shoved him? He fumbled for a match and relit the torch he had stuck upright in the dirt the night before. Don saw the Raph mirage standing next to him, glaring.

"What does it take to get you up, anyway?" he demanded.

"What's the big idea! You tryin' to kill me?" Don exclaimed. In answer, Raph pointed across the clearing. Don looked over the torch, and saw--a lion? A lion in Texas flatland? What the hell?... But the war and the bombs which had turned much of the world to wasteland had shown an adverse effect on wildlife as well....The lion might be descended from an escaped zoo animal that had adapted to life on the plain, feeding off the herbivores that lived in the grasslands. Well, no matter where it had come from, the lion was definitely a threat! He turned to Raph. "Raph?"

The mirage shrugged. "Sorry. I've done all I can." And he was gone. Don turned back to the lion, cautiously sticking both hands in his pack to rummage for his weapon, then pulled out the retractable bo. He hit the release and it extended to full length with a soft *shnick*. Damn, I wish I had my blaster! Mutant with bo staff versus lion. What a match-up. The lion slowly advanced on Don, with its head low, watching its prey carefully. Don reached again into his bag and found a hunting knife and a length of cord, which he quickly used to bind the knife to the bo's end. Don crouched, moved cautiously around the torch, staring directly at the lion. Suddenly, it lunged, and Don dodged out of the way, giving the lion a solid whack with his bo. He breathed a sigh of relief as the flexible metal absorbed the hit. Better than a wooden bo any day.

The lion had already recovered from the blow and was leaping again, this time trying to hit Don high, knock him down. Don ducked and felt the whoosh as the lion completed its leap over his head. At just the right moment, he jabbed the bo upwards, stabbing the lion in the stomach with it. The lion crashed to the ground, then staggered to its feet. Chest heaving, it tried for another attack. Don stopped the weak lunge easily, jamming his bo-knife into the lion's shoulder, then quickly twisting it free. With a roar of pain, the lion jumped on him, more quickly than before. It seemed to be gaining strength rather than losing it. With a roar of his own, Don performed what he called the "Scots maneuver," a Donatello special, firmly planting his staff in the ground, to meet the lion's charge with a knife point. The lion was too late to stop himself from running right onto the sharp weapon. With one last agonized cry, it fell over, and died.

Don gasped, pulling his bo free. But the knife was sunk too deeply into the lion to come out. After a few strong pulls, Don gave up the knife and put his bo away. With a sigh, he moved his things, including the torch, back from the body. He sat down and stared at it. Good thing Raph had warned him of the lion, or he would have been toast...Raph? The mirage had reappeared, sitting a few feet away from Don. How can a hallucination warn you of danger?

"Happens all the time," Raph said easily, as usual replying to Don's thoughts. "Can't help you fight though."

"Uh-thanks?" said Don. He wasn't sure whether thanking a mirage for saving his life classified as crazy or not. It sure seemed like it to him.

"Don't mention it. Go back to sleep. Ya still got a few hours till dawn." Obediently, Don lay down again and soon was fast asleep.

* * *

Splinter was up first in the compound, heading for his training rooms so he could warm up before any of his students arrived for morning lessons. It almost embarrassed him, sometimes, for anyone to see him doing exercises. Especially his sons. He was so old and weak now, he could barely do the simplest katas. He didn't want his students, any of his students, to see him that way. After a few slow katas to warm up his ancient muscles and bones, Splinter sat in lotus position to meditate. He was disturbed only minutes later when the first of his students entered. It was Trisp.

Trisp was one of his best students, not only in the ninja arts, but in the healing art he was also schooling her in. Splinter made a half bow from where he sat, and Trisp respectfully bowed back. "Good morning, Master Splinter," she said quietly. He struggled to his feet, refusing to allow the pain to show in his face.

"Good morning, Trisp," he returned. And then he had to exchange bows with the other students who were beginning to enter. Splinter took up his walking stick to lean on, ready to begin the lesson. He was content to stand by and supervise as the students stretched and limbered up. Then he instructed them carefully in performing some intermediate katas, ones the advanced students already knew. His beginning students would be this afternoon. But these were the young men and women who had already been in battles and shown their mettle. Some were Splinter's life-long students, who belonged to Leonardo's troupe of highly trained ninja. Some were simply MHA members who had gone above and beyond what the Alliance required them to learn of ninjitsu. Thanks to Leo and Splinter, Garret had realized how vital ninjitsu could be to the MHA.

Splinter distributed katana then, and paired the students for sparring. He wandered through the groups, stopping to watch each pair carefully, often correcting gently, or stopping the fight to demonstrate some new or modified position or maneuver. All was routine, as it always was. But in the back of his mind, doubt lingered. He worried for all of his sons, but especially Raphael and Donatello. Both of them were alone, and in this world, that was a dangerous thing to be. What would Raphael do without Leonardo's support during his captivity? How would Donatello cope with his grief and loneliness, alone on the Texas flatland? Splinter waited--and wondered.

* * *

Leo awoke groggily. Mike was still sleeping, and looked totally peaceful. No more dreams for either of them, apparently. That was a good thing. Leo stood up, stretching and yawning. How was Raph? Was he okay? Leo's mind bubbled with uncertainty, and he suddenly realized how on the edge he was! He then remembered he had training exercises to work on with some of his ninja this afternoon. He found his watch buried in a pile of clothes and checked it. 8:20. Damn, still plenty of time before his first session. Too much time, his jangled nerves told him. Welllllll.....He could check out one of Splinter's classes. The advanced ones were always in the morning. He'd missed the first, but he could still catch the second at 8:30....Yes, he'd do that. Leo definitely needed a release of tension, and a good, hard workout was just the thing to do it.

He located his workout things, blue and green to match his group's colors. He decided to take the katana with him too, just in case.

Splinter's second class had barely begun the warm-up katas when the old rat saw Leonardo slip quietly in the door and take an empty spot in the last row. Not one of the students glanced at him-- they were far too disciplined to do so, and far too wary of Splinter's stick--and though Splinter raised an eyebrow at his son, he did not falter in his instruction for an instant. It was unusual for Leonardo to attend classes even as an observer, and never had he worked with the students in this way. But Splinter did not disapprove, and he led the students in a series of katas, increasing in difficulty. Some of the students faltered in the last, hardest one, but Leonardo moved steadily and gracefully, performing the difficult moves easily. All of the students returned Splinter's respectful bow before splitting up for sparring.

The expression on Splinter's face was an obvious invitation, but Leo went off by himself to do the high katas; the most advanced single exercises he knew. Splinter watched his eldest son working away at the moves, really working up a sweat, too. He sighed. Ah, well. He needs release. It is good.

* * *

When Donatello woke, he was so exhausted he wondered what could have possibly roused him. Then he saw what it was: the sun was already in the sky! It was definitely way past dawn! Don yelped and quickly began to shove his things back into his pack. He started off at a steady jog, hoping to make up for the two hours he seemed to have lost. A couple miles into his journey, he saw the Raph mirage off to his right, pacing him. Don let out a low snarl. "Hey, helpful entity, if you can warn me of impending danger, why didn't you wake me?" Raph shrugged.

"I'm not all-powerful. I do have my limits. I can only influence you as much as you let me."

"I don't LET you do anything!"

"It's subconscious." Raph was silent a moment, then spoke up again. "Besides, it wasn't really me who woke you up, technically."

Don glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's all one whether I woke you or you woke yourself, because I'm a part of your mind."

"Oh, that's right, you're a figment of my imagination. I'd forgotten."

"There's no need to be sarcastic."

Don sighed and did not respond. He concentrated, instead, on the long miles to Houston.

* * *

Mike woke late, pleasantly surprised to find that it had not been a dream which awakened him, but hunger. He noticed that Leo was gone. Probably off practicing. He wandered out of Leo's room and made his way back to his own. He searched the cabinets for something to eat, then checked his cold storage unit. He found a fruit salad left over from the morning before and sat down with it. He hoped the new food shipments were going to come in soon; he didn't want to have to sponge off of anyone until the new rations were issued. Rationing was a necessity when there was so little agriculture left on the planet, but it was a pain in everyone's butt. It annoyed Mike most because he could no longer make the elaborate creations he used to before the war. He loved to cook, but there was little room for experimentation.

Mike finished the fruit salad and quickly found himself profoundly bored. After wandering around his small quarters a bit, he sat down in front of his console and called up the computer file on the Sentinel War. He slowly looked over the information he had read a hundred times before and remembered. Calling to mind the events he had experienced, which appeared as vague facts in this file, like the words of a history book. Odd to think of his life as history.

Don and Raph left the planet after the death of the X-men, and for a while, things were quiet. But the relative peace did not last long. An old enemy resurfaced: Mastermold. Years before the turtles had met them, the X-men were fighting the Sentinels, robots built to "control" the mutant population by registering and neutralizing them. The government shut the program down, but the creators of the machines continued to build them in secret, creating Mastermold to run the Sentinel-making operation. Then Mastermold turned against the humans, deciding that his mission of protecting humans from mutants branched to a mission of protecting humans from themselves. In a cruel twist of irony, Xavier's ideas that mutants and humans were not really different were vindicated by an emotionless robot.

For a while, Mastermold disappeared too. But in 2015, hundreds of Sentinels appeared off the USA's east coast, headed for Washington, DC. The military was well-trained, but could do little against the thousands of Sentinels that quickly followed. Washington fell, and Mastermold, who was by then known to be the culprit, spread the destruction across the nation. He hit the important cities first. Mutants and humans alike were killed indiscriminately. And as a group of Sentinels moved north out of Washington, US troops moved south to stop him. Just south of New York City, the battle was joined. The troops were crushed, and the two remaining turtles found themselves in a city half-full of panicked people trying to flee.

Many had already done so. But zerohour approached and there were still thousands left to be killed in the carnage the Sentinels would leave in their path. Leo, Splinter, Casey, and Mike took on an almost insane task: evacuating at least a few of the city's inhabitants. They knew of a group of secret bunkers in Nevada, in the place once known as Area 51. They once held the government's best-kept secrets, but had been abandoned when the projects were all moved to Utah. Now nothing remained of Area 51 but concrete bunkers. But a group of human and mutant refugees could put those bunkers to good use. Mike closed his eyes and sent his mind back.

("I lost my gun! I can't find it!" The young man was panicked as he babbled at Mike. Mike growled low in his throat. It was not the time to lose weapons and panic and be stupid! Mike didn't say this though. He was nearly panicking himself, but he stilled his nerves, then wrapped his fist in his jacket and went looking for an arms store. Ah, good. This one was very close. He punched his fist through the window of the long-abandoned shop and then carefully pulled out one of the automatic weapons on display.

"This do?" he asked the man, handing him the gun.

"But," the man stammered. "You can't just-"

"He's long gone, pal. No one's coming back to this shop. And in an hour, it'll be a waste heap. Let's go." Mike was businesslike, all his memories of war coming back, putting on the attitudes like a layer of skin: covering his fun, light-hearted nature with a thin veil of grim coolness. He returned quickly to where the caravan was parked. Frantic people were running everywhere with guns, children were crying, some people were getting hysterical, and others were trying to calm them down. Mike yelled a command, and the people began to separate into two groups. Most of the people were crawling into the tractor-trailers, pickups, vans, and all the other vehicles that were parked in Times Square. But some of the men and women reluctantly pulled back from the larger group and joined Mike.

"Listen up," he said calmly. "We're going to be rearguard, here. Keep the Sentinels focused on us so they don't notice the others going. Then after they're all well away, we're outta here. Got it?" All the people expressed their understanding. "Good. Remember that even a bazooka would have problems downing these things. So aim for vulnerable areas: the gap in the chest plate, the eyes, that sort of thing. Shatter their eye sensors and they'll be in big trouble. Let's move." The people dispersed, moved into previously assigned positions. Mike had arranged things so that they could blanket with gunfire the entire area the Sentinels were likely to enter by.

Not a bad job for having only been arranged in the past 24 hours. Mike grimaced and went off to find his friends. Amazing how few of them were actually around these days. And only one they knew for certain was dead. There they were: Leonardo, in the lead truck, since he and Splinter were the only ones who knew how to get to the bunkers, and Splinter with him. They stood outside the cab, and Casey was with them. He looked so alone and sad. Both unusual things for him to look. But who could blame him? April was killed in the first wave, on a business trip to Washington DC. Casey had woken Shadow, asleep in her old bed for the first time in nearly five years, and rushed with her alongside hundreds of thousands of others, all desperate to get out of the city. But in the crowded airport, they'd been separated in the rush of people trying to buy tickets to anywhere where the Sentinels weren't. And despite his desperate cries that he had to find his daughter, he'd been turned away. No one had seen Shadow since.

Mike hugged Leo. "I wish we didn't have to separate." He hugged Splinter next.

Splinter smiled reassuringly. "Do not be afraid, Michaelangelo. We will be fine, and so will you." Mike turned his head as they all heard the sound of dozens of Sentinels in the distance, approaching New York. "We must go now."

Leo squeezed Mike's shoulder. "We'll see you there," he said firmly, and climbed into the truck. Mike quickly turned, and shouted the order for the drivers to start their vehicles. There was a dull roar, and for a moment it seemed that Times Square was alive with traffic again. Relatives pulled away from tearful good-byes, and Leo slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The caravan sped out of the city, heading west. Mike raced back to the post he had assigned himself, and took the gun the middle-aged woman there offered him. She smiled grimly at him; he remembered that her two college-age sons had died in the first wave as well.

Casey took up position to his left. "Let's kick some ass." Mike nodded and raised his gun to his shoulder as the first Sentinels came into view. Mike squinted through his sights. He could hear other guns going off in front of him, bullets pinging of the metal Sentinel bodies, a clang as someone hit one in the right place and it fell, but Mike waited to make absolutely sure of his shot. Then, he squeezed the trigger. The roar of the gun almost deafened him, but he quickly jerked it to a new position and fired. He didn't hear the Sentinel's eyes shattering, but he could see it had lost sensors from the way it was running into things, unable to tell what was around it.

Mike became lost in a haze of firing, reloading, firing again. Finally someone tugged at his bandanna tails and Casey was yelling in his ear, "Mike! We're pulling out! They're getting too close!" He pulled Mike away and his vision cleared enough to make out the last truck full of fighters that were frantically beckoning to them. Without a glance behind for the Sentinels, Mike and Casey raced for the truck. Mike got there first and sprang into the bed. Hands grabbed for him, pulling him safely in.

"Where's Casey?" one man asked, as the truck started up and began to move toward the path the others had taken.

"He's right behind me," Mike said, but turned rapidly as the man's face went white. Casey was down! A huge metal foot slammed to the ground inches away from where Casey lay unmoving on the street. "CASEY!" Mike screamed, lunging, but the people all around him seized and held his arms.

"Are you mad, boy?" one man demanded as he held on tightly. "He's dead, and you will be too if you get off this truck!" But Mike ignored him and continued his pointless, furious struggle. Finally, the butt of a rifle slammed into the side of his head and he lost consciousness.)

Mike raised his bowed head and stared again at the computer screen. An overwhelming feeling of sadness came over him again, remembering Casey. Everyone died...it was all so pointless. And then it had gone downhill from there. The concentration camps, Trackers, food and water shortage, vicious gangs of humans and mutants attacking travelers....All that crap and more.

Mike sighed as he stood up. What the hell was the point, anyway? What exactly had all this fighting and getting hurt and getting up and fighting again every really done for them? And did the cause you died for really matter?

* * *

~Raph stood in a small dark room. The same as before? Who the hell could tell in the dark. But there he was again--Arik, looking the same as before, his body horribly mutilated, but still he stared at Raph with innocent eyes. "I wanted to go home, Daddy, why wouldn't you let me?" Raph groaned softly. Not again. Where were the purple clouds? That had been nice, why couldn't he have repeating dreams like that? But noooooo.....

Arik reached out and touched Raph's cheek. His fingers were cold and icy. "It's okay, Daddy," he said softly. He threw his arms around Raph's neck. "I love you." Raph smiled to himself as he hugged his son: just like he used to hug him before-- Suddenly Arik's hands gripped Raph's shell hard. He panicked, and tried to pull away, but he couldn't. Raph heard a dagger being drawn, and then Arik plunged it into his abdomen, leaning forward to whisper, "You told me you loved me, but it was a lie. You killed me." Arik pulled away, standing back to eye Raph coldly. Raph fell to the floor, choking on his own blood. As he looked down and pressed his hands to his wound, he realized what Arik had done, for the hole in his abdomen was gaping: he was holding his own entrails in his hands. He retched and looked back to Arik, who was watching with a hard expression on his small face. Then he let his head drop to the floor, and everything went completely dark.~

* * *

Leo sat cross-legged on his floor. After his workout, he'd stumbled back to his room and dragged himself into the shower. Four solid hours of exercises! Was he insane? Every muscle was going to be screaming at him in training exercises this afternoon, he just knew it. Still, he'd cleared his mind a bit. Now he wanted to try and contact his brothers. He knew where Mike was, mooching around his room, maybe writing some more futilistic poetry. But Don and Raph were the ones he was worried about. Closing his eyes, he probed, gently seeking with his mind. Raph. He found Raph's mind, gently nestled into sleep. Drugged sleep.

Leo tried to slip quietly into Raph's mind, as he usually did. But something blocked him. Leo tried several more times, growing more and more frustrated. Was Raph right, then? Drugs blocked the communication progress? It was like an enormous iron fence put up around Raph's mind, and he couldn't get in. With the mental equivalent of a sigh, Leo gave up and drifted off in search of Don. Ah--better luck this time. With a rush, Leo was in Don's mind, sithing with him. But after a moment, he dropped out of the sith and simply communicated with Don via the simpler telepathy.

--Don? Are you okay? What's up?--

--Hi Leo.-- Don, though not very proficient, was perfectly comfortable with telepathy. He smiled to himself as he continued to jog along the plain. The mirage, he noticed, had disappeared. --I'm fine, I guess. Still jogging along....I'm something like two hours behind schedule though.--

--Why?-- Leo was obviously panicked.

--Ah, Raph-- Don just stopped himself. He had been about to say because Raph didn't wake him up! Geez, maybe he was cracking up. --Um, I mean, I got up early and had to fight this lion, and then I went back to sleep and woke up late. Guess I was real tired. Any word on Raph?-- Don was hopeful.

--Sorry. Tried to get through, but I was blocked. Some kind of drug, maybe.-- Don doesn't seem to find it unusual that I know everything about what had happened without being told. The whole world is so messed-up, I guess he figures it doesn't matter. Huh. After all, telepaths can figure out whatever they want, right? Leo thought to himself. --Will you be okay?--

--Yeah, fine.--

--I should probably go then.--

--Kay. Bye Leo. Say hi to Mikey for me.--

--I will. Bye.-- Leo expertly broke the connection. Weird, he thought, How strange things like psi powers become commonplace. Well, after all, there were a lot of psychics in the world. All kinds of mutants with mutant powers.....The world was pretty damn weird, and getting moreso all the time. Mutants now seemed the most common and natural thing in the world, contrary to beliefs 70 years ago. We're all getting up there, Leo realized. By most human scales they were really old. But who knew how long mutant turtles lived?

Forget it, Leo instructed himself. Keep your mind in the present, not the past....or the future.

* * *

Raph awoke with a jerk. He was totally pinned down, not just by his chains, but by strong arms that held his arms, legs, and head still. What was more, there was a needle in his left arm and the dark Tracker was holding his chin and looking into his face. "Well done, Doctor," he said casually, letting go of Raph's face and leaving his jaw sore. "You dosed perfectly."

The "doctor" stepped away from Raph and tucked the empty syringe into one of his pockets. The dark Tracker waved a hand and Raph was released by the hands. "Now," he purred. "Let's get down to business." The Tracker, Raph noted, had a look in his eyes like a cat about to devour a mouse. Raph's eyes shot around him, taking in some new additions to the decor: a fire in a firepit, some tongs and needles and a lot of implements that he would just as soon not guess at the purpose of. "I'm going to ask you nicely, once," the Tracker said. "What did the message you were carrying say?" Raph took a deep breath to steel himself and gathered his courage. He kept his mouth firmly closed.

"Very well." The Tracker shrugged. He slowly walked over to the fire. He picked up something like a knitting needle, about a foot long, but much, much sharper and with barbs. He laid it in the fire and waited. It only took a few seconds for the needle to glow red. The Tracker removed it, carefully, with a set of tongs, then slowly walked over to Raphael. His face wore a small smile.

* * *

Leo felt a stirring in the back of his mind, and with joy, he realized that he was back in communication with Raph. But before he could make any attempt to complete the contact, there tore through him such a wave of sheer agony that he dropped to the floor without a sound. He blanked out. When he woke, he was instantly catapulted back into the pain. He hardly heard the panicked voices of his students:

"Sensei!"

"Master Leonardo!"

"Oh my God, someone get a doctor, quick!"

"No, get Garret!"

"Don't be an idiot! He needs Master Splinter! Someone run, fetch him."

Leo was held by dozens of hands that he was barely aware of. "Hold on, you'll be okay."

* * *

Raph bit his lip until it bled, tears of pain running down his cheeks in his effort not to cry out. The Tracker was intently watching his face. Not satisfied with Raph's reaction, he slowly twisted the needle again. This time, feeling the explosion shoot up his right leg and into his spinal cord, Raph screamed, arching his back, reduced to an animal state by the horror of it. His mind was wiped by the tearing pain.

He tried to think rationally as some of his senses returned from that first blinding flash, realized that another presence was with him--Leo? Unconsciously, he was sithing, drawing Leo unwillingly into his mind. He recoiled in shock as he realized that he'd been forcing his own pain on Leo. God, Leo, what am I doing to you? He tried to shut Leo out of his mind, control the projection of his emotions, but before he could, another flash overcame him, and the entire line of thought was forgotten.

* * *

Leo lost track of the time he spent lying on the floor in the arms of his students. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like hours. Time after time, the agony sliced through his leg, and just as the pain was beginning to die, another blow came. Finally, he was left dazed and sick, with the feeling that nothing mattered anymore, wishing he would just die. He rolled onto his side and retched. Probably a good thing I didn't eat breakfast, or I'd be wearing it.

He became conscious of a furry hand on his face. "Master?" He blinked up at the blurry face. The little rat hurried to reassure him.

"Yes, Leonardo. Was it Raphael again?" Leo nodded, aware that Splinter already knew the answer to his question.

"It was awful," Leo whispered. "I was just trapped. I couldn't get out of the link, the sithing, and the pain--" Leo closed his eyes. "Christ." Master Splinter held him close, wishing he could share his son's terror and pain, take it out of him. A tough came on Leo's shoulder and he looked into Mike's worried face.

"Bro, are you going to be all right?"

Leo lay back. "Eventually, I suppose. It's not really physical...it's all in my head. But it hurts just as much." He groaned softly. "How long have I been out?"

"Twenty minutes," Mike said, furrowing his brow.

Leo stared in shock. "Twenty--" Master Splinter held him still in the embrace again.

"Sleep, my son. Just sleep."

* * *

Don wasn't feeling so hot. His mind was swimming around like it was trying to escape, his eyes didn't seem to be working right, and the damn mirage or whatever the hell it was would not leave him alone.

"C'mon, pollyanna, get up!" Don groaned and turned his face to the ground.

"Go 'way," he mumbled to the turf.

"The HELL I will! You think I went down back there so you could give up? You better get up dammit, or I'll kick some sense into you!" Don remembered before--could he really touch Don physically? "I sure can, and I sure will if you don't fuckin' GET UP!"

Don slowly hauled himself to his knees. "That's it, keep goin'." Finally, he managed to get shakily to his feet. He moved his foot forward.....And promptly fell down again.

"Now what am I s'posed to do?" Don mumbled.

"Get up again! Walk, crawl, slither on your belly if you friggin' feel like it, just get movin'!" Taking Raph's advice, Don got to his hands and knees and managed to crawl. He didn't even know where he was going or how far it was. He didn't care. All that mattered was putting out one hand. Then a knee. Another hand. Another knee. Again. His brain reeled drunkenly and he occasionally mumbled something incoherently, as though his brain was no longer properly connected to his vocal cords.

It was past sundown when he dragged himself to a halt next to a perimeter fence. That was where the two guards found him.

"Holy hell! Kris, take a look at this!"

The second guard gaped. "Isn't that the Oracle? Thought he was up in New York somewhere...."

Don groaned. "Message," he managed to mumble after a few false starts.

"Message? What?" the first guard said, squatting beside Don.

"I think he means he's got a message."

"Pocket," Don mumbled, and tried to move his unresponsive hands towards his pocket. One of the guards dug the cylinder out of the pocket.

"Open it!"

"No way! This is addressed to the Houston Camp director, and that's Fireball. I'll take this to him. You get this guy to the Infirmary. He sure needs it."

Don was conscious of being carried a long way, having his pack removed, and being laid on something hard. Voices echoed dimly in the recesses of his mind:

"Found this guy outside the gates, doc."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! He's half dead with the sun-sickness! You--get him into a room. I'll be there directly."

* * *

~Raph stood in a small, dark room. A figure approached, shining with white, holy light, and bearing an ax. It was Arik. Oh, great, here we go again, was all he had time to think before Arik began to speak. "Why did you let me die, Daddy?" Raph buried his head in his hands and sank to his knees. Why, oh why couldn't this just all go away and leave him alone? All he wanted was to leave the past buried and go on with the business of living...And dying, if that Tracker had his way, but they'd see. It was a problem for another time, not now. "I wanted to go home." The same neurotic bullshit as before! But why?

If I could let all these thoughts go, would he go away and stop bothering me? Maybe. But how do I do that? Raph concentrated very hard on this problem, but the feelings of guilt came over him again. Arik was right, it was all his fault. If he hadn't been such a fool, if he'd just stayed in Shi'ar and taken care of the kids--

NO! He could not let himself go there. Had to concentrate on what Arik was saying without getting sucked into the craziness of it. He had to sort out the truth from the neurotic thoughts Arik was feeding him. Had to confront his guilt. "You let me wander away and get lost. And then the bad men found me." Raph jumped. Hold up, reality check. He spotted the logical flaw in that argument and pounced on it.

"I didn't LET you wander away! Speaking of which, ya didn't wander away, ya snuck away! You evaded the bodyguard I placed to protect you, and you engineered that, not me!" Raph was triumphant. "So don't give me that stray sheep," Raph paused to consider, then said it anyway, "CRAP, cuz it's a lie!" It hurt to talk this way to someone who appeared to be his son. But with a new clearness of thought, Raph realized that this was NOT his son. It might look like him, but Arik was dead, and Arik wouldn't confront him, try to lash out at him. So what was it? Doesn't matter. Just remember: it's not your son, it's the enemy.

But Arik suddenly pouted, his face twisting with sadness and he said, "But Daddy-how can you blame me for my own death? I'm just a kid!" He put on a defiant eight-year-old expression like any child determined to have his own way. Raph stumbled mentally, then recovered as he slammed the door on emotion.

"It was dumb, yeah, and you were just a kid. But that doesn't make it my fault, just cuz I'm yer daddy." Arik faltered for a minute, but that was all Raph needed to jump in and continue his monologue. "I'm sorry about what happened, an' I wish to hell that I coulda stopped it. But it happened, and I couldn't."

Arik chose a new topic. "But I wouldn't have died if you'd never brought me to Earth!"

"So I was supposed to let you grow up without a parent? Abandon you to the world of orphanages an' foster homes an' pretend kindness?" Still cynical after all these years. "I refused to abandon you."

"Well-you should have stayed with us then!"

"And abandoned my family?" Arik had no response for that. "It woulda been the same thing. I couldn't abandon my brothers and Master Splinter! I had to be with them, and you needed me just as much. So I had to bring you and T'mer to Earth. And you died because you ditched your bodyguard, not the other way around!" he reiterated.

"But," Arik protested, "You abandoned me," he said in a pitiful little-boy voice. Pulling out all the stops for the grand finale. But Raph was on a roll and he wasn't going to let the childish appeal stop him now.

"How?" he said coldly.

"Well," Arik fumbled. "You abandoned me to my fate, to-"

"BullSHIT!" Raph exclaimed. "That's entirely the point! I didn't abandon you!" He suddenly found that his sai were in his belt and drew them to threaten the boy. "Arik's dead, and even if he weren't, he wouldn't do this to me! I did not let Arik die, and I was certainly not responsible for his death! I don't know who the hell you are, but you AIN'T my son! So I'm givin' you about ten seconds to reveal yer true nature before I tear ya apart to find it." Raph felt freer than he had in years. An enormous weight was suddenly lifted from him as he said that his son's blood was not on his hands, and for the first time, really meant it.

As he watched, the creature before him began to shift. The white and holy light turned red, misted with fog, and Arik's skin began to melt from his body. The creature beneath stretched from its crouched position, giving a howl of defiance. It was black, almost formless. Merely a thin shadow of a shadow, sunken and hollow, with red eyes glowing steadily from its head, and wings extending back infinitely into the blackness. It bared its fangs at Raphael and hissed through its teeth. What the hell was it? Some kind of manifestation of his guilt?

"Youuuuuuuu," it hissed. "Havvvvvvveee wonnnn thissssss rounnnnd, Raffffael, but you havvvve nnnnot esssssscaped yeeeeeeeet." With a sharp, bird-like cry, the monster sprang skyward. Raph lunged for it, but it was gone. There was only blackness surrounding him, but then a crack of light appeared and slowly widened, until he could clearly make out the door, a wide square of light leading back into paradise. Gladly, Raphael stalked towards it, then through. But his relief turned to panic as the door slammed behind him and the paradise disappeared, replaced instead by utter darkness. Raph moaned softly as the hissing voice cackled with glee. Here we go again.~

---

Day 5: Heartbreak

June 12, 2063

Garret stood back from the telscreen with a satisfied smile. At last! The sun should rise promptly at 6 am, and then the new communications system would be fully operational!

"A communications system?" Garret whirled in surprise to see Leo standing in the doorway. He hadn't realized that he was speaking aloud; but then, maybe he wasn't. Leonardo was a telepath, and there was no keeping secrets from those nuisances....

"Especially not when you think so clearly and loudly, Garret." Leo's eyes flashed dangerously. "What kind of communications system is this?" Don't lie to me, Leo added directly to his mind. Garret tried to think of a way to forestall the inevitable...

He gave up. "I'm going to establish a communications link with Houston Camp."

Leo's eyes froze. "Houston Camp?" Garret knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Look, Leonardo, this is an incredible break-through. Our communications system is finally able to access solar power. No more tight-line communications; we can use the telscreens to talk to ANYBODY! There's finally communication between the camps!" He wilted under Leonardo's glare. "Isn't that great?" he finished lamely.

"You mean," Leo said slowly. "You're going to use the solar panels that have been attached to this structure for months?" At Garret's nod, he continued, "You mean you could have established a communications link with Houston Camp at any time?" Garret looked away, and suddenly Leo's calm attitude broke and he attacked. Garret found himself instantly on the floor with Leonardo's fingers gripping his neck, pinching his windpipe closed. "YOU MEAN YOU RISKED MY BROTHERS' LIVES FOR NOTHING?!!!! YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! RAPH COULD BE DEAD NOW BECAUSE OF YOU!!!!!!"

Garret struggled with the words, gasping, "Leo...please...not like that...you don't understand..please let me...'splain..."

"I don't UNDERSTAND???" But Leo let up a little on Garret's throat.

"Leo, it was their risk; I asked for volunteers, I said it would be dangerous!!!" Leo snarled in reply. "It wasn't just the message!" he blurted out. "That was way too important and secret to send over an open communications link anyway, someone might have picked it up! But that's not the only reason they were sent!"

"What was the other reason," Leo said flatly.

"A computer chip...a chip, Leo, I swear."

"Excellent, you risked my brothers' lives for a computer chip." Leo squeezed slightly tighter.

"NO, not JUST a computer chip!" Garret gasped. "I can't explain it all, Leonardo. It's just...we needed a way to get our troops to Mastermold's headquarters...It's the only way to destroy him! But he'd see our troops, realize what we were planning....There are too many Sentinel patrols." Leonardo snarled again. "With them planning to attack Houston Camp, it was the perfect opportunity! We had to notify the Camp secretly, and we had to have some kind of distraction to keep them from noticing we're going to attack!"

"We distract them, and while they are secure in the knowledge of their own attack on Houston Camp, we send our mass force in and destroy them. A sneak attack." Leonardo grew slightly calmer.

"Yes!" Garret exclaimed, coughing. "Now let me up?"

"Maybe. I think you should explain the details of this little attack plan to me. And I would like to know what the computer chip you mentioned has to do with this scheme."

"Let us remember," Garret said, trying to affect an attitude of haughty indifference. "That I am still leader of the MHA."

"And let us remember," Leonardo said softly. "That I am still leader of the MHA ninja group. And I cannot guarantee their support."

Garret glared. "Are you threatening to withdraw your ninjas from the MHA?"

"Maybe." Leonardo finally got up and moved slightly off. He calmly picked up the bottle of red wine on Garret's desk and poured himself a shot. "I do not know if I can guarantee support to a man whose crazed attack plans I only half understand." He swished the wine in the glass and took a sip. "Californian '08," he remarked almost to himself. Then he grew thoughtful again. Garret slowly stood up and glared. "You can lead a blind-folded soldier to battle," he said quietly. "But you cannot make him fight."

"All right, all right, I get your point," Garret groused.

"I have three questions. You will answer them."

"And if I don't want to?" Garret disliked Leonardo's arrogant, pushy attitude.

"You will answer them." He took another sip as Garret reached to pour a glass of his own and sat down in the desk chair. "One. Will we be able to determine Donatello's condition using your telscreen?"

"Wait a minute," interrupted Garret. "Thought you guys were all mentally linked. Why don't YOU determine his condition?"

"I have been unable to reach him." Leonardo obviously did not like admitting his fallibility. "Two. Will we be able to release Raphael at any point during this....battle? Three. What is your itinerary for the next several days?"

"Well," Garret began. "One, yes. Two, maybe. And as for three, you better sit down, cuz this will take quite a while."

* * *

Raph woke slowly. Not this time to the feeling of roaring pain, at least. He peered about his cell in confusion. No instruments of torture...apparently they had been removed. But the dark Tracker stood above him. Raph's lips curled in a snarl.

"Still being stupid, I see," the Tracker said casually, gently toeing his injured leg. Raph bit off his scream of agony. "Ooopppss, sorry." He bent to examine the turtle. "Something different today, I think." Raph didn't make a sound. The Tracker waved forward another white-coated figure, who again brandished a needle. Raph could not stop a moan from passing his lips. The Tracker grinned as the "doctor" bent and injected a bright green liquid into Raph's arm. "Enjoy it, Raphael, you're breaking new ground in the world of torture." The Tracker laughed to himself.

Raphael began to sweat. Uncomfortable emotions of anger and hatred swept through him. He couldn't control them. Wave after wave of pain swept through him, but it almost seemed pleasurable to his mind. The Tracker watched carefully as Raphael slumped back. "Gotta love those controlled substances. Enjoy your pain, I'll be back to check on you later." With a jaunty wave which Raphael barely registered, the Tracker was gone and the door slammed shut. Leaving him alone. Again.

* * *

Mike softly knocked on Leo's door. "Leo?" he called. When he got no answer, he keyed open his brother's door, unlocked as always, and stepped in. Leo was sitting in the dead center of his room, with his back to the door. "Aw, Leo," he groaned. "Meditating again. Don't you ever-" He reached out and grabbed Leo's shoulder, but Leo immediately fell onto his side and curled into a fetal position. "Shit!" said Mike as he knelt to look at Leo. His eyes were wide open, but they were bloodshot and Leo looked as though he was completely out of it; peering into a distant world only he could see. Or more likely, Mike thought, into a world only he and RAPH could see.

Mike silently cursed his brother yet again for being unable to block his emotions so that they would not be transferred to Leo. Leo's fingers clenched and unclenched. His breathing was slow and shallow. "Nuts," Mike said aloud. "Bro, this time you aren't gonna argue." Literally impossible, Mike thought with something close to amusement, looking down on his oblivious brother. "You need someone to keep an eye on you." He reached down and scooped his brother up, hefting the weight over his shoulder. "You are one heavy sucker," he grunted. Mike had never been the most muscle-bound of the four...that title was reserved for Raph alone.

Face creased in a frown again, he wondered, Am I the only one of us who isn't completely screwed up? He keyed open the door again and stomped down the hall to the Infirmary, opened that door and slapped the buzzer to summon the intern on duty to come to reception and see him.

"Hellfire, sir." The young man gave a quick salute as he came into the room and saw Mike. He nodded grimly in response.

"I'd like to speak to Dr. Errins."

"Yessir." The man disappeared for a moment, and they returned, followed by the doctor, a woman slightly over middle age with silvering hair.

"Can I help you, Michaelangelo?" she asked, addressing her old friend by his given name.

He managed to smile faintly. "Yeah, Maddie. My bro here has a sorta psychic connection with another brother of mine, Raph....It's sorta hard to explain, but Raph keeps getting hurt and stuff, and transmitting his pain to Leo. I'm just afraid to leave him alone any more. And now something is weird with him...." Mike trailed off.

"Yes, I heard about that. I am sorry." Mike shrugged and Maddie laid a hand on his arm. "But let's see what we can do for Leonardo." She led Mike, still toting Leo, into a ward near the back, and pointed to where he could deposit his cargo. Maddie Errins closed the door to the little room and came back to the bed. Leo, once dropped, had immediately curled up again. Errins peered into his eyes, felt the muscles in his arms, legs, and hands, and frowned. He was completely tense. She exited the room and quickly returned with another doctor and several needles.

"Mike," she said. "From what you say, it sounds like Leonardo is experiencing some kind of pain, but it is within his mind. If that is the case, we can't really help that much. But we can do some tests on him, and keep him under observation for the time being. Okay?" Mike nodded mutely. Errins gave him a quick hug and motioned to her colleague to get started.

* * *

A short while later, Mike was summoned to Garret's office. "Sir?" Mike stood in front of Garret's desk and watched his superior pace around the room.

Garret suddenly turned and looked at him. "I heard Leonardo was in the Infirmary."

"Yes, sir."

"Something to do with Raph again?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did Leonardo tell you about our little conversation this morning?"

Mike shook his head in surprise. He knew Leo disliked Garret intensely and avoided him whenever possible.

Garret scowled. "Good." He stood in front of the telscreen. "Your brother requested that I check into Donatello's condition."

Mike almost laughed at Garret's furious demeanor. Probably more like "ordered" than "requested," knowing Leo!

"Since he is indisposed, would you like to talk to the Houston Camp med wing?"

"You mean--the Infirmary, sir?" Mike radiated alarm.

"I'm told that's where he is. Fireball, the camp director, told me, but he didn't know much more than that."

"How are we going to contact them? I thought we didn't have a communications link."

"We do now." He hastily added, "I hope you understand better than your brother did that the message I sent your brothers with required absolute secrecy and HAD to be delivered by hand. Please understand that it is crucial to our plans."

"Which are?"

"Full frontal assault on Houston Base." Mike gasped. "But we have to GET there first," Garret said grimly. "And that requires surprise.....and also a critical piece of hardware I sent with the message to Fireball. Please trust me on this one for now, Hellfire." Garret preferred to use Mike's professional name. "You'll get your full disclosure when the time is right. I wish your brother had been as patient." He uneasily rubbed the bruises at his throat. "Ready?" At Mike's nod, he punched the number which would dial the telscreen into Houston Base's med wing.

The face of a calm, serious man appeared on the screen. "Yes?" he asked calmly, then nodded as he recognized Garret. "Sir, what can I do for you?"

"I understand you are currently holding a mutant named Oracle, or Donatello, in your Infirmary, Doctor Trevowski," Garret said. At Trevowski's nod, Garret yanked Michaelangelo forward into view of the telscreen. "This is Hellfire, the Oracle's brother. He wanted to check on Oracle's condition."

"Yes," said Mike. "Why is he still in the Infirmary? Didn't he get there last night?" Mike licked his dry lips and felt sweat trickle down his arms. Fear gripped him. "Is something wrong?"

"Your brother came in almost unconscious. He has the sun-sickness, and badly too. I have no idea how he managed to crawl his way up to our very gate in his condition." Mike swayed slightly and felt light-headed.

Is-is he okay?

The doctor frowned. "In a manner of speaking. He's still rather sick from being out in the heat for so long. His fever is quite high. But so are his odds at recovery; worst case of sun-sickness I ever saw, and I've worked in Texas all my life. But your brother is strong and will recover."

Mike sighed in relief and felt the tension seep out of him. "Can I-can I talk to him?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not yet, I'm afraid. He will recover, but it may take a few days. His fever, as I said, is quite high, and he has been having some strange delusions."

"Delusions?"

"Yes. He doesn't seem able to reconcile his surroundings; he keeps talked to someone as if he were really there."

Mike felt another chill. "Who?"

"The name he has said is Raph."

Mike broke the connection and sank to the floor with his head between his knees.

* * *

Splinter headed back to his room during a break in classes. He was almost done for the day. One more class, then dinner, then a spar with Trisp later in the evening. Then he could stop running around and get some sleep. Now, Splinter planned to meditate for a while and compose his mind. But first, he went to a cabinet and got out two pills to take for his persistent indigestion.

* * *

In a lonely cell in Houston Base, Texas, heart of the Sentinel empire, Raphael lay in a fetal curl. His eyes flicked to random locations around the cell, his muscles expanded and contracted with a will of their own, and his mind writhed in the grip of a powerful hallucinogen. Visions far stranger than anything he had before imagined spun through his head. At least he was not plagued by the nightmares today. But that was little consolation in the face of the misery the drug produced in him. Misery coupled with pleasure. Pleasure coupled with pain. Raph was crying, although he was unaware of it.

He wanted to go home.

* * *

Splinter smiled and beckoned to the young woman. Trisp looked back at him doubtfully. "Come, Trisp," he said sternly, though almost playfully. "Do you doubt your master's abilities?" She seemed embarrassed, but still hesitant to advance on him with the katana she gripped loosely in both hands. Splinter was almost overcome by his own doubts, as well as by the indigestion which refused to go awa. Pushing them both back, he held his bo carefully in his wrinkled and nearly crippled talons of hands. He quickly snapped the bo towards her, and she lifted her katana to block the strike. He smiled at her. "Good. Now attack me." His expansive gesture was an obvious invitation. Encouraged, Trisp held her katana in proper position and darted it towards him.

A quick movement of his bo blocked it. The exercise progressed, the two alone in the room. Master and student going through the motions of a simple spar. So why did the air feel so heavy to Splinter? He was sweating more than even a heavily-furred rat in Texas summer should. Well, he thought to himself. I am no longer a young ninja. It is to be expected. But he did not feel so weak that he could not continue, and so said nothing. Trisp's blade sliced the air as she made attack after attack. With each stroke that Splinter repelled, she grew more confident and bold, dodging for narrower openings in his defenses, trying to find a way around what seemed to be impenetrable defenses.

Meanwhile, Splinter tried to ignore the weakness. Ridiculous. Just a simple spar....he shouldn't be so tired. Splinter silently cursed his feebleness as he blocked one of Trisp's moves. Far too slow, he thought. I almost let that one through. A momentary pain shot up his left side. He thought about quitting, but felt all the more determined to continue, prove to himself as well as Trisp that he could still fight, that he was still worth learning from. How could he expect students to respect a master who couldn't even endure a spar? So he ignored the slight dizziness, assuming it to be a product of his weakness. The pain in his chest was mild, he might even have imagined it...

He suddenly stumbled, without warning, in the middle of another of Trisp's strikes. She watched with horror as her blade whistled dangerously close to Splinter, nicking his cheek. She paled, instantly crying out an apology, but Splinter barely heard. He felt the sharp metal bite into his flesh, the blood trickling down his cheek, and he heard the blood pounding in his head, fast and loud. The pain came in red, dizzying waves, the blood pounded more quickly, and the world seemed to freeze for one silent moment when his heart was completely still. And then he felt something like a muffled explosion in his chest, propelling his heart into his very throat.

* * *

Leonardo woke suddenly in the Infirmary, sitting straight up in bed. He felt as he never had before; something was being torn away from him. It was as if a vital part of his body had just been cut out of him and he was swept by the overwhelming sense of loss.

* * *

Donatello lay barely conscious in the Houston camp infirmary. Through the haze, a lightning bolt struck, and for an instant his mind was paralyzingly clear. And his new knowledge burnt him far more than the Texas sun.

* * *

Alone and in pain, Raphael listened in the dark. For a moment, it had seemed a single voice cried out to him, and then was gone. And with a shock, he was overwhelmed by anguish...and fear.

* * *

Michaelangelo rose from the chair before his computer console. In an instant, the anguish, fear, and pain of not one, but five rushed through him. But he could put a name to source of these emotions. "Splinter...."

In an instant, Mike had slapped the button on his telscreen and punched the number for the med wing. Screaming something he hoped was comprehensible, he made for the door and turned his panic-wracked body toward the training rooms. The first door he opened yield nothing. The second, nothing. But through the third, he beheld his small master crumpled to the ground. With a choked sob, Mike dropped to his knees beside him as the first of the medical teams sped into the room. Mike cradled the small body in his arms even as one med team member pushed him gently away, reassuring him.

Heart still racing madly, Mike stood back to let the teams work. His mind retreated, leaving him barely able to hear the conversations around him, and totally unable to comprehend the meaning of the words. Phrases picked themselves out and danced across his fevered mind.

"...stress..."

"...heart attack..."

"...no warning..."

"....no vital signs..."

"...attempt...revive..."

"..defribulator...current...."

"...possibility...brain damage..."

"..understand..."

"...old age..."

"...low probability....revival..."

Mike attempted to stagger to the wall. He needed something to brace himself against, so he could get a grip and try and take control of his body. Unseeing, he tripped over something in the back corner of the room. Looking down, he saw a person, a woman, doubled over with her face to her knees, rocking back and forth. Mike squatted to look at her face, and it was one he recognized. Trisp, one of Splinter's better students. Struggling for control, Mike reached out his hand to hold hers, gently murmuring, "It'll be okay," and wishing he believed himself.

Trisp's hand was slippery with blood. He stared at her hand in surprise, not understanding. "I did it," Trisp whimpered. Her face was streaked with tears, and she moaned softly as she rocked on her heels. Apparently in shock...she needed to be taken care of. "I did it......It was me...It was my fault. I killed him, it was me, it was me, it was me....." Her voice died to a low moan, but she couldn't stop repeating it, over and over. Mike reached for her again, to try and comfort her, and saw what he had not before.

The blood-stained katana gripped in her right hand. The blood soaking her clothing. The entrails spilling out of a gaping abdominal hole into her lap. Mike again fought the urge to vomit. He felt panic again....She needed medical care, immediately. But it was too late, he realized as he looked into her eyes. They were already blank and staring, and the light in them was fading fast. She still murmured repeatedly, "It was me." Mike cried out for a medic; but knew she was too far gone for anyone to revive her. He stood and stepped back as she toppled to the floor on her side, voice and eyes mute, katana still clenched tightly in her right fist.

---

Day 6: Darkness

June 13, 2063

Michaelangelo stood back, watching the medics work and nervously clenching and unclenching his fingers. He could hardly keep from running over, grabbing his master by the shoulders, and shaking him. He wanted to scream to Splinter to stop playing around, that he loved him, and why couldn't he just live, dammit?

Medical personnel were scrambling around his master's frail, old body. One of them had begun CPR and kept it up as others set up IVs and measured drugs. The drugs would be of immeasurable benefit to the old rat's struggling heart.

But they would only work if his heart was already beating.

Tears ran down Mike's cheeks, and he was unable to look away from his master's face, alternately covered and uncovered by the team member who was desperately trying to force his heart back into motion. Listening carefully, Mike found that the low voices of the personnel became much clearer.

"We're going to have to try."

"He's so old, Lynn...Are you sure the shock to his system wouldn't just-"

The woman almost laughed. "Kill him?"

"He's already clinically dead. I meant, what if the current just puts his system further into shock?"

"Then we won't be any worse off than if we just stood around worrying about it all day. We have to get his heart beating, NOW. The CPR isn't working. This has to."

The man didn't quite agree with the woman's optimism, but he set up the defibrillator anyway.

"DC," the woman ordered. "And crank that sucker."

"But-"

"Just do it."

He set the current to a more than judicious level. She was, after all, in charge, and what was he supposed to do about it? She took up the defibrillator paddles and double-checked the current.

"Ready?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she knelt beside Splinter's body and darted a quick glance to the extremely worried Mike. She smiled very faintly at him, attempting to reassure him mentally, but his mind was closed to her. She bit her lip and turned back to Splinter. When the girl doing CPR finished the latest cycle, the woman sprang in with the paddles. She gave the other personnel only moments to back away from the body before she carefully touched the paddles to his chest. Splinter's body almost seemed to jump, his muscles twitched and then grew still again. The woman immediately jerked back the paddles and the girl checked his pulse.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "We've got it!" She checked another vein, but Mike needed no confirmation. He sobbed softly with relief as he felt Splinter's heart begin to throb again. The sensation of his master's presence rushed back into his mind and filled the hole in him which had been so empty for the last terrifying few minutes.

The medics were now rapidly, though carefully, trundling Splinter onto a sort of bed on wheels and preparing to move him to the Infirmary. The woman packed up the defibrillator and barked orders. "I want him in Intensive Care, get him hooked up to everything we've got, especially ECG. I want temperature, blood gas readings, chest x-rays, the works. And hey," she directed at the personnel with the IV, "Get that thing hooked up. Pump him full of Epinephrine, that should help him keep his heart beating. And potassium," she added as an afterthought. She rapidly made her way over to Mike. She raised an eyebrow at him. "You coming?" Mike nodded, unconsciously rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants. "Come on, then."

* * *

Mike met Maddie Errins at the door to Leo's room. "Thank God," she said. "I was just about to look for you."

"What?" Mike asked. He didn't think he could handle any more stress this morning.

"Just a few minutes ago, he was thrashing around like crazy. Insisting he had to go somewhere. We had to restrain him. But he just stopped."

Mike sagged with sudden relief. "Oh." Maddie looked concerned, and he answered her unspoken question. "Master Splinter...just...had a heart attack."

"Oh!" Maddie wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry. Is he-" She was afraid to say it, knowing how close Mike was to his "father."

"They managed to revive him. He's being monitored. I think he'll be okay now."

"And Leonardo....knew this?"

"I would be very surprised if he hadn't sensed it. He's always been the most sensitive to Splinter anyway....And we're all very close..." Maddie squeezed him.

"I have to go," she said. "I've patients to see. But you let me know if you or Leonardo need anything, hear?" At his nod, she swiftly departed the room. The door swished shut behind her. Mike turned toward Leo, where he lay strapped to the white hospital bed. An IV was taped to his arm. Mike carefully examined the bag of fluid, identified the drug as a sedative, and closed it off. He perched on the edge of the bed. Leo's eyes remained closed, but Mike was not surprised when he spoke mentally.

--Thanks a lot, Mikey.--

--You needed someone to watch you. You can't just be so out of it all the time, thrashing around, hurting yourself. What if you cut yourself and bled to death because no one was there and you couldn't call for help?--

Leo did what he always did when he was in the wrong: he changed the subject. --What happened to Splinter?--

--Heart attack.--

--But he's all right now.-- It was a statement, not a question. Leo knew as well as Mike did how Splinter was doing. --I guess that makes you the only one of us who's functioning normally.--

Mike laughed. --I guess so. I talked to the doctor at Houston Camp. Don's hallucinating. They say he keeps talking to Raph out loud.-- Mike could feel Leo's mental frown. --What did you and Garret chat about?--

--Not a lot I can share with you. Plans for the attack on Houston Base. I made him tell me.-- Mike laughed again at the thought of Leo intimidating Garret. He was good at that.

--He told me there was going to be one, and not much else. Did he say when it's going to be?--

--Soon. Very soon. But they need to set up our diversion first.--

--What?--

Leo hesitated. --I probably shouldn't tell you...but I will. Just keep it to yourself, okay? Garret may have mentioned the "crucial hardware" he sent to Fireball along with that message. It's a computer chip.--

--A computer chip? Why is that so important?--

--Because it's the last, and crucial, part of the device which will jam the Sentinel communications and sensors. There won't be any way for them to detect the attack until we're right on top of them.--

Mike boggled. The information was simply astounding...

--It's taken them near thirty years to perfect it, and it's been top secret, which explains why I've never heard of it. It was too important to risk espionage attempts. But they've finally got it. Garret's working on calling in troops and setting up strike forces to complete the first leg of the journey, to meet the forces at Houston Camp. That message wasn't the only reason the best MHA fighters were called here.--

--And all these years I thought Garret was a real dumb ass.--

Leo's mental laugh was uproarious. --Mike, Mike, Mike....-- He didn't complete the thought, just sent the mental picture of Garret on his back with Leo sitting on top of him, hands on his throat. Mike had to grin at the thought of his brother scaring the crap of the much larger man. He was still laughing when he departed the rooms minutes later.

* * *

Raph woke suddenly, surprised to see that he was alone in his cell. It was the first time the drugs had worn off before the dark Tracker returned to- Raph tried not to think about it. He didn't want to think about his leg, or about what the Tracker had done to him and would do when he came back. About what kind of torture he would use next. Stop it! he told himself firmly. You're scaring yourself, and nothing's even happening right now!

Raph was still chained with his back to the wall. How many days had he been chained like this? Did it matter? A small trickle of blood was draining down his arm. A drop fell onto his beak and he went slightly cross-eyed trying to look at it. The drop of liquid made his beak itch uncomfortably, but he ignored it. The blood was coming from his wrists, manacled to the wall. His arms had cramped from being in the air so long, most of the blood drained from them. Raph flexed his fingers, just to see if he could do so.

The digits tingled as the scant blood flowed sluggishly through them. His arms had gone limp as he sat unconscious. The weight of gravity had pulled his arms down, pressing against the metal. Raph suddenly realized how much his wrists hurt. His stomach rumbled at him and he suddenly realized how much that hurt too. How long had it been since he'd eaten? He'd really been too preoccupied most of the time he'd been awake to notice the pangs of hunger. Last time the dark Tracker had been in the room, he'd given Raph a small drink of water; he remembered that now as he licked his dry lips and tried to use saliva to soothe his throat. It wasn't working.

Raph tried to reach his mind out to Leo, but his mind was still sluggish with drugs, and he couldn't seem to find the way. Raph wondered about the mental pain he'd felt a while back. He pondered its source. Something deep inside him said it was Splinter. He reached for Splinter's mind, but again the traces of drug stopped him. Frustrated, Raph kicked his good leg, rattling the chain and scowling into the dark. Only a small amount of light filtered under the door and through the small barred window in the door, making the cell nearly pitch black. He didn't know if he really wanted to see his cell...There was enough information coming to the rest of his senses to make him wish that those were absent as well.

He heard distant screams, probably those of another helpless mutant prisoner. Or maybe a human. Raph remembered the vehement hatred he had once bore for all humans, but he wasn't so sure if that feeling held true any more. A unity between mutants and humans against the common enemy, the Sentinels, had erased most enmity between the races.

His sense of touch was definitely functioning. The continual pains in his leg, the hunger, the feel of the manacles cutting into his flesh; all sent sensations flooding into his brain.

Taste remained to him as well, but there was nothing TO taste, except saliva.

His sixth sense, the mental one, was shot too.

But the real killer was his sense of smell...The feedback Raph was getting from that was completely unwelcome. He'd mostly been trying to ignore it, but.....He could smell blood, both his and others', sweat, and the pus that was draining from the still untreated leg wound. He'd been here for at least several days, and he seemed to have soiled himself several times. He didn't remember doing it, his bowels might have released when he was in such unbearable pain from the torture. That was the most overpowering stench in the enclosed area, and it was getting hard to ignore. But Raph tried not to think about that, either.

For the first time in several days, he was awake and alone. After days of alternating torture and drugged sleep, it should have been a comfort to be wide awake and aware of his surroundings.

But somehow, Raph really wished he wasn't.

* * *

~Don was walking down a long hallway in what seemed like an art museum. Portraits covered the walls to either side of him, neatly framed. Large portraits, done in oils. Don paused to glance at a few of the paintings. To his surprise, they were of him and his brothers.

He walked down the hall more slowly, looking carefully at each painting. They seemed to be depicting the turtles' lives. He passed pictures of the young turtles playing and fighting, watching the turtles in the pictures grow older as he moved down the hall further. He saw their fights, their defeated enemies, their entry into the war.

And then he approached the more recent and familiar scenes. The meeting in Perro Camp. The Sentinel shooting Raph. Don turned his eyes away from pictures of his brother lying suffering in Houston Base. He wiped away the tears blurring his eyes and moved on.

Then he saw new paintings of scenes he did not recognize. A chill ran through him as he realized that his psychic talent was coming into play again. He hated knowing what was going to happen. He hated predicting the future in ambiguous dreams, hated interpreting those dreams, hated frantically wondering if his dreams were literal and if the awful things he dreamt of were just nightmares or if they were visions of what lay in store for those around him. He tried to stop his journey down the hall, but found he could not. Don began to sweat as he fought in vain against the unstoppable force that kept him moving down the hall, kept his eyes on the portraits, and wouldn't allow him to wake up.

He saw things he did not recognize. Scenes of further torture, of battle, of Raphael lying in a hospital bed looking up at him as if his heart was broken. And then, directly after that dreadful scene....a grave. A tombstone at its head taunted him, and Donatello struggled to read it, despite himself. The letters on it refused to come clear. But the grave and its significance was completely clear; Don's dreams were never wrong about such things.

Someone was going to die.~

* * *

Dr. Trevowski watched the machines carefully, particularly the one that was monitoring the patient's brain activity. The Oracle had inhabited this room less than 24 hours. During that period he had remained mostly unconscious. His brain, however, seemed very active.

The orderly had called him just minutes ago, after a sudden jump in the Oracle's brain activity. But the phenomenon suddenly ended, and the monitor once again registered only normal activity. Trevowski frowned and ordered the orderly to send him a printout of the pattern. It was strange. But then, the patient's case was strange to begin with. Working closely with mutants definitely made for bizarre experiences.

* * *

Mike made his rapid way to Garret's office. He had just finished explaining to Splinter and Leo's students what had happened to their teachers. Now he been ordered to report to Garret for instructions.

Garret was sipping red wine and pacing nervously. Mike stepped into the room. "You wanted to see me?"

Garret stopped, looked at him, nodded. "I know you must still be pretty upset about what happened this morning, but we have things to do." So Garret had heard. Mike wasn't surprised; Garret usually knew what was going on. "I'm organizing the MHA for the attacks."

"Attacks?" Mike asked, stressing the plural.

"That wasn't a slip of the tongue, Hellfire. This isn't just Houston base. If we can take Houston, we can destroy Mastermold and the war will be over." Over. The word echoed in Mike's head. He had almost forgotten what it was like when the war was not going on. It had been years since there had been any sort of peace.....

Garret interrupted his thoughts again. "It's time to share my vision with you, Hellfire. I want multiple strike forces. MHA troops mobilized throughout the world. Hundreds of thousands of trained troops taking dozens of Sentinel bases. And I want you in on the Houston attack." Mike remained silent and waited as Garret paced some more. "I gathered the best MHA fighters here. We're going to organize the forces and march on Houston base. Fireball's people are going to grab them from the other side." Garret picked up a sealed manila envelope and handed it to Mike.

Mike grinned. "Afraid the room is bugged or something? Why can't you just tell me?"

Garret shrugged. "I'm a slave to tradition. Read the orders, I've also give you a list of the people you'll be commanding. Have any questions, call me." Mike nodded. "Would it be all right for me to deliver Leo his?"

Mike shrugged. "Be my guest." He slung a half-salute in Garret's direction and made his way back to his room.

* * *

~Raph was again in the room of his dreams. He was once again picking up just where he left off...Dream continuity, how comforting. He wondered what would be thrown at him this time, and prayed it wouldn't be Arik again. But no, he was confident he'd dealt with that particular demon, and now that he'd revealed it for what it truly was, it would not trouble him again. But SOMEthing was there. Raph looked all around, warily.

Behind him, a voice called, "Hello, Hatchet." Raph whirled.

"I'm not Hatchet any more," he said hoarsely. Hatchet had been his name in the Orabu Nation, the band of mutants and humans who spent most of their time terrorizing people and pretending to be insane. It had seemed fun when he first joined, became a chieftain. But he'd been with the Orabu when Arik died....The name brought back things he didn't wish to remember.

The man standing before him was wearing the torn uniform of a Tracker. Raph flinched away as the man grinned. He stank of alcohol. "Good to see ya," he slurred. "Y'know, I never really did get a good look at ya. All that face paint got in the way, y'know? 'Sides, I was mostly concentrating on the pain...."

A woman strolled up beside him, her clothing in the same shape as the man's. She too, grinned maliciously and smelled of too much beer. "Yeah, good to see you again."

"What-what do you want?" he asked in a loud whisper, fear rising in his throat. It can't be, he thought to himself. This cannot be happening. It cannot. They grinned idiotically at him.

"We jus' wanted to thank you," the man said.

"Yeah, for, y'know, teachin' us the error of our ways," the woman chimed in.

"I feel so lucky to be here." The man was beaming all over his dirty face. "After all, not everybody gets a chance to meet the man that killed 'em."~

Raph awoke in a cold sweat. He must've drifted off to sleep for a while. But a light sleep, if sheer terror could wake him from it. He breathed deeply and added the man's leering face to the list of things he didn't want to think about.

* * *

Don found himself awake, lying in a white, clean bed. The feeling of the cool linen against his parched skin was absolute heaven, and he closed his eyes to savor it. Opening them again, he took in the machinery that surrounded his bed and smiled a little to himself. A drip ran into his arm. He sat up in the bed, and closed his eyes as dizziness overwhelmed him. He still didn't feel too hot.

When he opened them again, it was to see Raph, sitting on the edge of the bed. "How ya feelin'?" he asked.

Don recoiled. Somehow he had thought of the vision of Raph as some kind of bad dream, and one that would go away when he woke up. He vaguely remembered making it to the camp, he must be in the infirmary now. But shouldn't the mirage go on its merry way, back to wherever hallucinations spent their time when they weren't harassing people?

"Harassing?" asked Raph. "That's rather ungrateful of you. I've saved your life a couple times, I think I deserve at least a little respect." He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

Don rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, sorry." Great. Was it possible for him to be any crazier than he already was?

"Give it some time," Raph suggested helpfully.

"Just shut up. You're driving me insane!"

"You're driving yourself insane," Raph corrected gently. "I don't really exist, remember?"

"Just-dammit, quit confusing me!" Don threw himself back on the pillow, squeezed his eyes shut, and mentally willed the hallucination to go away.

"Fine. I will."

And it was gone.

* * *

Mike looked over the list of names again, tossed it onto his bedside table. Garret had put 25 young mutant fighters under his command. Joyous. Now he had even more to worry about. He briefly reached out and touched the sleeping minds of Leo and Splinter. He stretched as far as he could go and felt Don's presence. But he soon gave up on Raph and drifted into gentle sleep.

* * *

~Raph lay on the ground wrapped completely in chains. He looked pitifully up at Don, begging to be rescued, but whenever Don tried to touch the chains, they drifted away from his hands like smoke. And again Don Peroti Madolini was standing there with that arrogant smirk on his face. He struck a paper match and held it up, smiling at Donatello across the tiny flame. Then he touched the flame to Raphael.

Raphael went up in flames like a sheet of paper, and in an instant was no more than ash. But before Don could comment on this or even move, Raph was there again, rising from his own ashes. He smiled broadly at Don, turned, and walked off without a backward glance.

Madolini waved a hand. "Shall we?" Don reached for his bo and grasped it tightly. Madolini produced one of his own, and the two set to fierce dueling. The ends of both bos were points, very sharp and very nasty-looking. You didn't need a sword to cause serious damage to an opponent. Don thrust his bo at Madolini suddenly, sending him to the floor with the bo in his chest. But as Don reached to retrieve his weapon, Madolini's vicious upward thrust caught him in the chest.

He fell face-down just beside Madolini, unable to breath for all the blood that filled his throat. "You know," he gurgled in between gasps. "This dream sequence is really getting old."

Madolini just smiled.~

---

Day 7: Tension

June 14, 2063

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.

---

Day 8: Massacre

June 15, 2063

Mike was reading and rereading his orders, clutching them with sweaty fingers. He figured he'd read them about a hundred times or so since he woke up, pretty much memorized the damn things.....But he couldn't think of anything else to do, couldn't find anywhere else to put his eyes. Nervous anticipation made him edgy, and fear for Splinter increased his agitation.

He'd been in to see Splinter that morning. Held his hand, talked to him. He'd been doing better, was able to sit up a little, and even talked some. He asked Mike how Leo and Raph and Don were doing, how HE was doing. Mike didn't want to tell Splinter about the nightmares and the pain and the fear (hell, Splinter had his own problems), but he did anyway. Mike never lied to Splinter. He just couldn't do it. And something in his eyes told Mike that he knew anyway, that it was okay, and that he understood. Mike had almost forgotten what it was like to open himself up to someone.

But all too soon, an orderly popped in to warn him not to tire Splinter, and to remind him that dawn was fast approaching. Wouldn't do to piss Garret off by holding him up. Not today. So Mike reluctantly stood up to go, somehow managed to choke out a good-bye through the lump in his throat. Splinter was calmness itself: "Good-bye, my son.....I love you."

Mike blinked back the tears which blurred his vision. Despite his attempts at stoicism, one dripped down onto the sheets of paper he held. He hurriedly swiped away the tears and the grief along with them. Maybe later he'd have the chance to get by himself somewhere and have a good cry. But not now. He had to be tough, play the soldier.

He turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Leo.

"You okay?" he asked, looking hard at Mike. He sighed knowingly and swiftly hugged his brother. "It'll be all right." Please don't say anything else, Mike thought. Don't say anything else, or I might start crying. And then I won't be able to stop.

Leo was decked out in his blue and green ninja garb, katana strapped across his back. He looked totally professional, regal and commanding. The perfect leader. He was eyeballing the mass of moving blue and green that was his ninja group. Mike's own group of 25 was drifting into the area, some dashing away tears brought on by their own good-byes.

How many of them will die? Mike wondered, as he always did. Most of the fighters were in their late teens and early 20s. Hell, they were just kids....But he had been a kid when he started fighting. Mike asked himself once again what his life would have been like if he hadn't been forced to battle for his life right from the tender age of 15. Considerably more peaceful, perhaps. But without all the years of intense battle training, would he have survived the war this long?

Mike always felt sick to his stomach when he thought about leading a bunch of kids (Men and women, really, but still young enough to be my kids, maybe even my grandkids...) into a battle they most likely wouldn't walk away from. T'mer, Raph's son, was that age now, wasn't he? Mike squinted and tried to remember. Lessee...he was a little over two years when Arik died.... Shit! T'mer must be 25 by now! Mike hadn't seen him at all for nearly 23 years. When Raph dropped out of sight, he took T'mer with him. Eventually he turned up in the MHA, minus T'mer. Raph never talked about his son, and Mike never had the courage to ask much beyond whether the boy was alive or dead.

Leo was gazing out across the sea of warriors and commanders, all readying themselves to depart for Houston base. "Scared?"

"Of what?" Mike asked with a faint grin. "Marchin' off to die in a raid on the biggest and best-armed Sentinel base in the world? Nah, 'course not."

"Seriously, Mike," Leo said softly. "Are you scared?"

"Shitless," he confessed.

"Me too." They watched the sun peek over the horizon as Garret stomped his way to the front of the ranks and bellowed for everyone to get organized. "Be seein' ya," Leo finally said.

"Yeah," Mike replied. Leo stalked back over to his ninjas, putting on a "tough warrior" act of his own, covering his fear so he could get things done. Mike stared at his orders one more time, reeled off the list of names. Each of the 25 was present, and he managed to get them into some kind of marching order before he hefted his pack, with all the food and supplies and shit, onto his back; officers usually rose horses, but it just wasn't practical for a desert trip. He checked to see that his pistol was in its holster. Slung his laser rifle across his back. Slid his hand into his uniform jacket, to the big inside pocket, and fingered his nunchuku. Hardly ever used the damn things. But he got them from Splinter, and so they were important, if only for luck. Don't leave home without 'em.

Garret once again made himself heard over the crowd. "Awright, people. We got a lotta ground to cover. So make sure ya got all your gear and move your asses out!"

Mike gave his 'chuks one last pat before he jogged to take his place in the column.

It was gonna be a long day.

* * *

~Raph stood looking at Arik's body, as hideously mutilated as always. But this time, it did not rise to accuse him of murder. It was just a corpse, still and silent.

Raph wore an outfit that seemed to be a meld of biker fashions and homemade garments. Beads, bullets, various other decorations, his face painted black and red...And his ax strapped to his carapace. Just as on that terrible night when Arik died. Consciousness receded as memory took over, and Raph once again became Hatchet, the violent leader of the Kiola Clan, part of the Orabu Nation....

My little boy. Hatchet sobbed and gathered the bloody child into his arms. "Oh, Arik," he moaned. He was only eight! He should not have died like this! Hatchet looked back to the man standing behind him. "Hawk," he whispered, saying the man's name as if it were a prayer. Hawk had been the one to see Mike and his people with the body. Mike would have tried to keep it secret for a time, Hatchet knew, but Hawk stopped that plan. And now Hatchet curled on the floor of a makeshift morgue, clutching his child and feeling rage building within him.

In his youth, he had often succumbed to such frightening rages. But he had, over the years, learned to control his temper. He was a chieftain in the Orabu Nation, and he didn't become one by losing control. But now, he felt his face flush as his automatic coping system kicked in. Thoughts of, "How could someone do this?" changed to "How dare they!" Raph didn't even try to stifle the anger; it was a welcome substitute for grief. He lifted his child in his arms. "Hawk," he said in a chillingly calm way. "I will see to this. Call the others together." Hawk nodded silently and was gone the next moment.....

The spies had led them true. Arik's killers had bragged too many times, and Hatchet crouched on a rooftop, watching the door of the Melting Pot, a popular Tracker hangout. The two murderers were probably not expecting retribution for the death of a lone half-alien child; but they had surrounded themselves with dozens of friends. Just in case. Hatchet, too, had friends. His fighters blanketed the entire area, waiting for orders. In a series of quick hand signals, he gave them.

In, he signed. Kill.

Kill all.~

* * *

Another nightmare. Don rubbed his eyes and tried to think. The dream had been complex from the very start, with Raph dying and rising again, and variations on a theme wherein he and Madolini killed each other. But this time, it had been complicated further. Madolini had suddenly started speaking metaphysically; Donatello had never known him to be inclined to deep thought...only violence. And why did the dream-Madolini challenge his sense of reality? A horrid idea struck him.

Perhaps the Madolini in his dreams was the real thing.

Madolini had always been good at manipulating his victims' minds. Was it possible that this manipulation was not psychological, but involved Madolini actually screwing around with people's thoughts from the inside of their heads? Could Madolini intentionally go into Don's dreams? That opened up a whole new realm of speculation involving the dream's meaning. His recurring nightmare could just be Madolini's sick game, an attempt to defeat him without a real confrontation. Don wished that he could manipulate dreams too....but even in his own, he seemed little more than an impartial observer. The dream version of himself was just a puppet, and Don was the audience while someone else pulled the strings. Don shuddered at the idea that the puppetmaster might be Madolini. The man was, as far as he could tell, completely evil.

("What?" asked Madolini, noticing Don's stunned expression as he turned.

"What do you mean, 'what'?" demanded Don. "You just killed that family!"

"That man was a mutant and an anti-Mastermold agitator," Madolini said with a shrug. "We were ordered to eliminate him. That's what I did."

"But those children didn't do anything-the little one can't be more than a year old. And I'm almost positive that the woman is pregnant-" Don stared in horror at the bloody mess that used to be this family's living room.

"So? What difference does it make? They're just common mutants anyway. Come on, let's go." And Madolini strolled out the door, leaving Don to stare at the mangled bodies....)

Don acutely remembered the nearly 18 years he spent working with Madolini and people like him....18 years of hell. Feeling obligated to stay because after all those years, he was the best, the only Alliance spy who had been able to maintain his cover. He learned to avoid staining himself by faking deaths and using cheap parlor tricks, but he still had to keep company with the Trackers, still had to pretend delight in cruelty and murder. There were times he nearly buckled under the pressure, unable to handle the strain of maintaining his bloody reputation. In the end he got out, relatively unharmed; a miracle considering that most spies ended up discovered and dead after a year or so. At least, he appeared unharmed. But much of the damage was psychological.

Therapy had brought most of his problems under control. He started eating again, stopped going into hysterics every time he saw a fight of any kind. But even now, Madolini still haunted his dreams. Damn you! he thought. Leave me in peace! But the nightmares nagged at his mind.

Don tried to analyze the elements common to the dreams. In most of them, Madolini had killed Raph. Don remembered dreaming that someone would die. Could it be Raph? Now that Madolini and Raph were connected in reality as well as dreams, it was a real possibility....After dying in the dream, Raph usually came back to life and walked away. But that couldn't be right......Don somehow doubted that Raph would rise from the dead. So maybe it was metaphorical death? Or metaphorical resurrection? In that case, the scene could mean any one of a thousand things-Don ground his teeth in frustration. DAMN it! Why wasn't any of this making sense?

And then he and Madolini killed each other. He couldn't find a way around the stark reality of that image. No matter how they killed each other, or who struck first, Don would still be dead....

Don looked at the door as it opened. The dreams were quickly fading as he remembered his problems here in reality.

"Good morning, Donatello, I'm glad to see you're awake," a kind-looking woman said brightly. "My name is Annie Hebner. I'm a psychiatrist."

* * *

~Raph felt as though he were outside himself, watching it all. He wanted to step in and stop the action, prevent the scene from occurring, but he was only reliving a memory. And Raph did not know how to change the past.

Hatchet stood just inside the doorway, listening to the screams as the first of his people struck. Trackers leapt to their feet, drawing weapons. Some of the Orabu fell. But surprise was on their side, and many more Trackers than Orabu died. Hatchet paced through the club, watching his men and women work.

Red and Jerin teamed up to club one unarmed Tracker; his skull caved under the blows, and he crumpled to the ground. The pair beat him for several more seconds before realizing that he was dead. Talon held one struggling victim by the throat as she disemboweled him with a curved knife she held in her other hand. Shear rammed a sharpened pair of scissors through the eye of his victim, ignoring the shrieks of pain the man was producing. Elsewhere, groups used more conventional weaponry to slash throats and pierce hearts and brains, eliminating each person quickly so they could move to the next. Hatchet, their leader, had commanded that all within the Melting Pot die. Some of the Orabu were just enjoying the slaughter more than others.

Hatchet moved through the carnage, noting each new death, but remaining aloof. One Tracker leapt toward him with a drawn knife, but Hatchet quickly seized the outstretched arm, twisting and breaking the arm. He reached down and broke the man's neck, then continued on his tour of the club. A shout hailed him from the left, and he turned that way. He weaved his way through the carnage, and stopped when he found Hawk, who had called out to him. Monster was kneeling on the back of a dazed woman in Tracker colors. Scream was holding a man.

"You bastard," spat the man. "You Orabu freaks are crazy. I always said you were a buncha revolutionaries, but they never listened. We shoulda cleaned you out." Hatchet's expression was unreadable; it was his savage face, the one he put on for all the fools, to maintain the illusion that the Orabu Nation was an asylum....

"What do you want?" croaked the woman. She had been grabbed by the throat at some point in the struggle and her voice was hoarse.

"You have taken something from me. I have come to exact my payment." Hatchet's voice was as calm as his face. Nothing could reveal the turmoil in his mind.

"We don't owe you anything," the man snapped. But Hatchet was not a telepath for nothing. He quickly touched their minds. The man was a liar. These were the right two. But of course they could not know that he was Arik's father.

"Go on and kill us," the woman said defiantly. "We are not afraid to die."

"Oh, you will die, believe me," Hatchet said. He pulled from his pocket a switchblade, which he flicked open. "You will die."

* * *

Leo stood silently, fingering the bottle in his pocket. The group had stopped for a short rest, and he wondered if he ought to take one of the pills. Mike's doctor friend had handed the bottle to him as he checked out of the Infirmary that morning. She had told him that the pills would, like the drugs he had been taking the past few days, inhibit his telepathic abilities, and thus block the pain that surged to him through his connection with Raph.

Another tradeoff, he thought. After years of taking his mental gifts for granted, accepting them as part of himself, it was odd not to have access to them. No telepathic contact with his brothers, that was the worst. He wanted to talk to Don, but that looked impossible right now. He sighed and released the bottle as the order came down the line to move out again. Leo squinted at the sun before moving into his place and dragging his tiring body after the group in front of him. Soon, soon the sun would set and they would camp. Soon he could lose himself and his constant worry in sleep.

* * *

~Hatchet tuned out the woman's screams and the man's small cries of horror as he stood up. Crouching over the woman while Monster and Hawk held him still, Hatchet had carefully removed each of her fingers. He had pushed the knife cleanly through each digit, thinking of his son's hands, how these people must have drunkenly laughed at his cries as they sliced his fingers off. Then, he neatly cut off her ears. Blood stained the knees of his pants where he had knelt on the floor. The outside world was gone for Hatchet. There was only him, and the Trackers, and his mental image of his son's mangled corpse; their pain would mirror his child's. And then they would die.

He sought his memory for the next step, and thrust his knife into the man's leg, just above the ankle. Twisted the knife and yanked it out, listened to the man's responding howl of pain. But no realization came over his face. They had probably mutilated and murdered so many, they did not remember what they had done to each individual victim. Good. Hatchet wanted them to die as Arik had died, alone and afraid and not understanding what was happening to him. At Hatchet's signal, Scream hauled the man to his feet and held him. Terrified eyes searched Hatchet's expressionless face. For the first time, he released his poise and allowed the full hatred he held in his eyes to wash over the man. Hatchet slashed the man's cheek, not deeply, but just enough to spray some blood. The man whimpered. The knife slashed lightly at his arms, his chest...and Hatchet's knife hand finally hovered at the man's waist, giving him a clear idea of what was coming next.

"No...please," he moaned.

Hatchet reached out with the knife in hand and sliced through the belt.~

* * *

Don sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and listened to Dr. Hebner.

After his last little exchange with the Raph mirage had been overheard, the doctors consulted and decided it would be best to turn him over to the Houston Camp psychiatrists. So now this doctor was sitting in the chair next to his bed, trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

"So you've been under a lot of stress lately?" Don clenched his fingers and tried to remember that she was just trying to help him. But it was difficult. If only she wasn't so...clueless.

"I would say so, yes."

"Hmmm...." Hebner studied him carefully.

"You know, Dr. Hebner, I am inclined to believe that my...er, hallucination, is merely an aftereffect of my illness, which as you can see, I am quite recovered from. I am not a danger to myself or anyone else, so I don't see why I should be examined by a psychiatrist. In fact, I can't think of any reason why I shouldn't be released from the Infirmary." Don sighed as Hebner shook her head.

"I don't think that would be wise. I haven't even reported my diagnosis yet."

"How hard is it? I'm hallucinating. Do you think I'm crazy or something?"

Hebner flinched. "We prefer not to use the word 'crazy,' Donatello." Don knew that. In fact, he had chosen his words for that very reason. Hebner shook her head again. "So what exactly is it that you see, again?"

Don began again. "Several times, starting shortly after my brother Raphael was captured by a Sentinel, I have seen him appear in the room, and conversed with him."

"Hmmm..." Hebner said. Don buried his face in his hands. Oh, God....

* * *

~Scream let the man flop to the floor, sobbing with pain. Hatchet rammed the knife up to the hilt in the man's shoulder, and stepped back at the resulting scream of agony. He turned away, and for a moment, the Trackers looked relieved. But he turned back again, pulling the ax from its sheath. The woman tried to struggle, feebly, as Hawk and Monster stretched her out. Hatchet ran the edge along her abdomen almost gently, and for a moment it appeared that he had not even cut her. Then blood welled up, the woman gasped, and the long wound gaped open, exposing internal organs. Hatchet knew the wound would bleed quickly, and he had to be quick.

He wrenched the knife out of the man's shoulder. Kneeling at the woman's head once again, he laid down the ax and plunged the knife directly into her left eye. She arched her back and screamed in agony as blood streamed from her wound. Hatchet waited until her screams subsided to softer cries before he thrust the knife into the other eye. The woman convulsed. She was bleeding profusely from her abdomen and eyes, and blood began to flow from her mouth as she tried to breathe. The breath rattled from the blood which was filling her lungs. As she gasped her last, Hatchet turned back to the man. He was lying on the floor, curled in fetal position and clutching his groin desperately.

Hatchet stood over him a minute, then bent to retrieve his ax. He walked all around the man once before kneeling at the man's head to bury his knife in the eyes, twisting the knife in each eye before removing the blade, covered with blood. Hatchet stood again.

There was a reason he saved this man for last. He had been forced to threaten Hawk, to drag from him the full details of the body's condition when found. Hatchet wanted them both to die slowly and painfully. But for the man in particular...There was no cruelty great enough to punish him for the crime Arik's lower body had evidenced. With one furious cry of rage at the thought, Hatchet whipped his ax up and slammed it into the man's back. He could feel his victim's spinal cord snap, hear the cracking vertebrae, despite the man's unbearably loud scream. The man thrashed his arms and spewed blood, splashing the boots and lower legs of his tormentors. His body began to still, and Hatchet knelt once more, planting one knee in a pool of wet, red blood. He seized the man by the hair and jerked his head to the side. Hatchet bent to whisper in the man's ear.

"You raped my son." Hatchet could not tell if the man could hear him or understand him. "You murdered my child." But Hatchet felt better, somehow, having told the man.

He stood, took up his ax. With it, he swiftly decapitated both bodies. Little caring about the mess, he grabbed them by the hair and lifted the gory trophies. "Clear out!" he bellowed.

"But Hatchet," protested a nearby Orabu. "There's still some alive. We've got them trapped in the stockroom."

"Forget them and get outside." Hatchet held the heads in one hand, and with the other he smashed his ax across the bar, coating it with wine and broken glass. The others caught on, using bottles and barrels of alcohol to drench the interior. Finally, Hatchet led the group outside. Hawk struck the match and tossed it inside. The flames leapt high and bright as Hatchet stood watching. In front of the blazing building, several horses were tethered to a row of metal poles. Hatchet loosed the horses, and neatly planted each head on a pole. The faces stared grotesquely at Hatchet and his group, a warning for anyone who might pass this place in future. Hatchet turned his eyes away from the flames, turned his ears away from the screams of the trapped Trackers dying inside. He walked from the site as his people stood in utter silence. No one followed.

Hatchet walked home, went into his quarters. He locked himself into a bathroom and stared at the mirror. His clothing was soaked with blood. Blood streaked his face paint, and his hands were covered with gore from the mutilations he had performed. He lifted those hands to his face and stared. The whole episode seemed a dream already. Did any of it really happen? Hatchet wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything at all any more.

He wasn't even sure who he was.

Hatchet sank to the tiled floor and began to cry.~

Day 9 coming soon! I'll update this entry as soon as it's done!