This is based on the Archie TMNT story Blindsight. Michaelangelo was blinded by a Molotov cocktail in Jerusalem and, while flying back to the United States, the Turtles' plane crashed into the ocean and Mike was captured. This takes place between the crash and Michaelangelo's torture aboard the USCGS Dator.

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"I hear the anxious sound of an approaching helicopter...
the hollow splashing of waves against the hull... my heart in my throat...
I hear the hurried footsteps, the tone of deference.
I hear, therefore I am. I listen, because it's all I can do.
I'm in the dark here, really in the dark. I'm blind...
I've been captured by the government... and I'm all alone.
Alone with my thoughts. Adrift within myself..."

Michaelangelo, TMNTA #58

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Where was he? Where was his family?

All he remembered was the crash. The plane had crashed into the water. He had heard them calling out to him. He had heard their voices… but they were gone.

But now there were others. Humans had pulled him out of the water. He was now with them on a tiny boat. Two of them... two humans. He heard voices. They were surprised... frightened of him. He didn't have the energy to move.

"Ho-lee shit..." one of the voices exclaimed.

"Is it alive?"

"I don't know... hold on..."

He felt a touch on his throat.

"I can't find a pulse."

"Wait... it's breathing."

Another voice joined in, marred by the static of a radio pushed to its greatest range.

"We've got the pilot. She's in pretty bad shape, but she's alive."

"Okay, take her to the Dator. We've got a... survivor here, too," one of the men near him said.

"Just one?"

"Affirmative. Not... normal, though. You're closer to the ship, be sure they have a security detail set up for our guest."

"Why? Is he violent?"

"I don't know if you're going to believe this," the man said, chuckling, "but I think its a giant turtle. Over."

"A sea turtle?"

"No... a human-type turtle."

"You're shitting me," the static voice said, lapsing out of protocol.

"It looks like it may be blind, too... it has bandages over its eyes," his captor followed replied.

"There was only one?"

"Yeah... if there were any more they probably died in the crash."

He felt his heart sink within his chest.

Long minutes passed, then hands pulled him out of the rescue boat, holding his full weight in their grip. He felt himself being thrown to the deck. People gasped and stepped back, away from him. He heard their heavy boots on the metal deck.

"Where the hell is security?"

"What in Jesus' name is that?"

"Wiley! Get the captain!"

"Christ..."

"We found it... it looks pretty beat up."

There were five voices - five strangers.

He rolled and rose to his knees, holding his head in his hands. He heard more mumbling and someone pushed him back down onto his plastron on the cold deck. A knee pressed itself against the back of his neck.

"Don't move!" a voice warned from above him.

"Take it easy, Edgar... it might bite."

Instinct took over and he rolled away, springing weakly to his feet. He wobbled and threw his arms out, trying to regain his balance.

"Great... now you pissed it off..." someone said.

He felt someone behind him and swung around. But he was too slow - and a fist contacted his face. He faltered back, then lurched forward, landing hard on one knee. More hands locked around his arms. He didn't think -- he acted… just like Master Splinter had taught him. Using all his diminished strength, he pulled the men at one another and they both let go.

He sprung up and started to run. He didn't know where he was going, he just needed to go. He couldn't be there now... he had to find his family. They had to be alive... they had to. They couldn't all be gone. The sailors must have been wrong... there had to be more survivors.

He couldn't see past his blindness and ran into the ship's metal railing. He started to swing his leg over it, but a hand pulled him back. He threw a punch that landed on nothing. But the sailor's strike met its mark, landing on the turtle's jaw. He tried to kick, but there were too many of them now. They were yelling, swearing at him. Hands pushed him from one man to another.

"Wait!" someone nearby yelled - one of the ones who had found him. "Its too weak... it can't hurt anyone!"

"We'll be sure of that, won't we, Gary?"

Gary laughed. "Damn right..."

They forced him onto the deck and two pairs of fists pounded against his face and arms. Someone hit him in his eyes and he let out a yell of pain. Why were they doing this... what were they afraid of? They didn't know anything about him... why..?

"Stop..." he said weakly. "...Please..."

Breaths were drawn in and the pummeling ended suddenly.

"Did... did that thing just talk?" someone asked nervously.

"Jesus..." he felt somebody touch his throat again. "You damn near killed it."

He heard steps. More, many... they were running towards him. The people around him stepped aside and he was hauled to his feet.

"Get back!" an authoritative voice yelled.

"W... wait..." he mumbled.

They threw him down again and he heard a rifle as it was cocked. The next moment its hilt struck him dead-center of his forehead. There was a brilliant flash of white in his mind - then his thoughts went black.

.
.
.

It was dark -- he felt as if it had been dark forever. His mind raced, struggling to make some sense of the world around him. He had woken up here -- thinking perhaps that he had died in the crash -- that he had drowned that last time he felt himself go under the water. Pain told him otherwise.

He had been captured. Made prisoner and held within a tiny cell. Guarded by frightened humans with guns. And he was alone. His brothers, his master... none of his friends that had been on the airplane were there with him. Perhaps they were dead. Perhaps their bodies lay somewhere nearby.

Strange sounds assaulted him. Footsteps -- steel-toed boots echoing on the cold metal deck as the sentries marched back and forth in front of his cage. He heard distant voices -- someone saying that he had never seen anything so frightening in all his days in the Coast Guard. The vessel rocked with the waves and his stomach turned. He tried not to move, not to make a sound. But his throat still burned and his stomach ached from the seawater he had swallowed. He coughed, and outside his prison guns were cocked. Metal rang against metal: a rifle barrel being banged against the bars, warning him to stay quiet.

The smell of primer drifted in from somewhere beyond the room, sickening him more. He heard the whispers of sailors as they watched him. He couldn't see them, but he could feel the weight of their stares. The vibrations of diesel engines traveled through the ship's hull, reverberating through his body. Somewhere above, a helicopter grew near. He shivered and hugged his legs close to his plastron, a rush of cold making its way up his spine. The bandages covering his eyes were soaked through with sea water, burning where his skin still had yet to heal.

More whispers. They said that someone was coming. A doctor... a scientist. Nearby, a door squeaked open and hard-soled shoes descended a flight of metal stairs. He heard the sound of heels being drawn swiftly together as someone snapped to attention; the rustle fabric as an arm raised to salute smartly. The echoing footsteps ceased and there was a quick intake of breath as someone new beheld him for the first time.

"Remarkable!" a deep male voice exclaimed. "Then the news reports have been right... there really are mutant turtles..!"

The stranger whispered to somebody and then walked across the room. The human's footsteps returned, joined by the sound of wheels as a table-tray was pulled near to the cage. Something was dropped onto the metal and the stranger -- the doctor -- let out a quick laugh.

"All right, my remarkable friend... my remarkable reptilian friend," the human said. "I hope you don't mind if we run a few tests, do you?"

He slid back into the corner and coughed again.

"Where am I?" he asked.

The stranger's feet spun and his face lowered, bringing his voice nearer. "So... you can speak? Fascinating."

The cage was swung open. He slid back, but two pairs of strong human hands grabbed him, pulling him to his feet. Instinct forced him to resist, pulling with all his diminished strength away from the people that sought to restrain him. Another pair of steel-toed boots ran near and air was displaced as a rifle was swung out. The human thrust the weapon against his head and he fell back, resting his full weight on the four tightening hands. His head filled with haze and they threw him to the deck.

"Take that stuff off of it," the doctor said.

Someone flipped him over and he felt the pads being pulled off his arms and legs. They pushed him forcefully to the side and he felt a knife scrape against his plastron as his leather belt was cut away. He was hauled to his feet again and they pulled him across the space, dragging his feet behind and giving him no opportunity to support his own weight.

"Put it there," the doctor said. "Be sure it can't escape."

They pushed his shell to a vertical board and pulled his arms up hard. Cords were twisted around his wrists and ankles, the board was inclined and the restraints were tightened. He flexed his hands, attempting to force blood into already-numbing fingers.

"Now, then..." the doctor said. "How do I look?"

"Fine, sir," a kowtowing voice replied.

"Okay... you may start filming whenever you're ready."

"Ready in five... four... three..."

There was a pause and the doctor spoke up again, in a friendlier, somewhat excited tone.

"Hello," he said, obviously speaking into the camera and not to the prisoner, "I'm Doctor Richard Synargo..."

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