Thanks to those who have reviewed thusfar. I'm having fun, which is always a good sign for a story. More pain and torture to come...Please review! And as always, the Turtles et al don't belong to me.
Donatello didn't so much wake up as explode into consciousness. One minute was blissful non-existence; the next was an onrushing wave of pain, nausea, and the taste of blood. His head was throbbing with a splitting pulse and he drew his arms and legs up to his chest, curling away from the pain. Nausea rolled over him and he gagged once, vaguely glad that he hadn't eaten in a few days. A few dry heaves and he rolled onto his stomach, laying his cheek against the cool floor and taking a few deep, shaking breaths.
Oh, this is bad. Very bad.
Forcing himself to open his eyes against a fluorescent glare, he scanned his surroundings quickly, squinting in the light. He was in a tiny room, only big enough to lie down, covered from floor to ceiling with dingy white tile. There was a patch of dried blood beneath his head, and he touched his lip with his fingers to find an ugly split there. He sucked it a moment, feeling a fresh bloom of blood wash over his tongue with a coppery tang. His skin was dark with bruises, and there was a nasty gash across one of his biceps. He pulled off one of his wristbands and wrapped it tightly around the wound, wincing as the cloth bit into the flesh.
Slowly, Don began to curl his fingers, flex his arms, bend his knees; checking for injury. Other than a stiffness borne of the vicious beating given by the Dragons, he felt generally undamaged. Thank goodness for small favors.
"Awake, my friend?"
The voice drove Donatello to his feet in an instant, his hand instinctively grasping for his staff, only to find air. "Who's there?"
The air before him shimmered and a face swam into view. Holograph, thought Don, backing away until his shell bumped against the wall with a dull thump. His heart clenched as he recognized the image. "Bishop."
"I do apologize for the rough treatment you were given by my friends. They lack a certain subtlety." The man's smooth voice belied the violence that Donatello knew lurked beneath.
"Well, that's what happens when you don't do your own dirty work," Don growled, clenching his fist. "I have to admit, I'm going to enjoy killing you."
Bishop chuckled deep in his throat, shaking his disembodied-head. "I seriously doubt that. To be honest, by the time we're done…" He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I think you'll probably be begging me to kill you."
"You killed April, you son-of-a-bitch." Don's voice was edged with icy hate.
"There's no need for name-calling, Donatello. It was an unfortunate sacrifice, but one that had to be made." Bishop feigned a look of sadness.
"Why? Why did you do it?" Donatello hated the catch in his throat, the waver in his voice. "She was innocent. How could you kill a woman in cold blood?"
"I needed to draw you into the open. The best way to do so was to take something you loved. I knew that her death would light a fire beneath you, a desire to find her killers. I needed you to come looking for me." Bishop's cold logic made Don sick to his stomach. "It brought me no pleasure, I assure you."
"I'm sure that makes her family feel much better," spat Don.
Bishop inclined his head to one side. "To be honest, I really expected your brother Rafael to come. I thought his temper would bring him here quickly. I was taken aback that you were the one that they brought to me."
Don sneered, "Get used to surprises."
"False bravado doesn't become you. And actually, it is probably more fitting that you are the one. As a scholar, you should be able to appreciate the idea of sacrificing for science." Bishop gave a small, twisted smile. "Take solace in this, my friend. What we learn from you will benefit mankind for ages to come."
"You can kill me. But my brothers will come for you, and you'll pay." Don leaned forward, eyes flashing. "They're going to make you scream." With that, he spat at the hologram, not caring that it flew straight through the image and smacked against the wall. It was the thought that counted.
"We shall see, Donatello. But in the meantime, I suggest that you seek peace with your Maker. Whoever that may be." Bishop's eyes narrowed. "Because I'm not the one who will be screaming before the end."