12:54 AM
An instant later, Casey Jones was running.
Street lights. Headlights. Lights brighter than the sign, brighter than the sun, brighter than heaven and hotter than hellfire. Across the street. Horns. Someone slammed on breaks, someone else rear-ended the person who slammed on breaks. And Casey was across the street.
He tumbled into a dark alley behind a building and gasped for air.
Kidney. Gone.
Raph. Gone.
"As our program draws to a close tonight...yeah, I know," rambled Mitch as someone in the audience cried out in dismay.
Gone.
The next thing Raph knew coming to his senses was being hit hard across the face by someone's fist. His vision cleared. Malcolm was striking him repeatedly, rage burning hot on his face. He was on his back. Jim and House had him pinned to the ground on either side, Enzo was standing at his shoulder with a gun, and Jez was lying far away, breathing, but otherwise motionless.
"You crazy?" screamed Malcolm.
Confusion. Panic. What the hell happened? He remembered Jez, his hand where it should not have been, the humiliation, the Brazilian gangster's request for a flashlight to—no, not that. That couldn't have happened. Dismay filled him. He hadn't. He couldn't have...
He didn't, Raph realized as he suddenly understood what had happened.
He had flown into a rage and attacked Jez. It wasn't an unheard-of occurrence, sometimes happening when he grew too angry to stand it—his vision would go red, then black, and he would have no idea what he was doing. It was one of the many things Raphael had always feared. This time, it had been his salvation.
"This's it, Malcolm," snarled Enzo as Malcolm ceased his battering. "The little bastard's gonna die." Raphael heard a snick as a gun was cocked. He jerked instinctively against the men holding him.
"Point it up your ass, Enzo," sneered Malcolm.
"YOU SAW WHAT IT DID!" Enzo screamed at Malcolm. "I'M GONNA KILL 'IM!"
So it was between getting raped with a flashlight and being shot by a maniac. Choices, choices.
"Jones comes back an' finds 'im dead, we don't get the kidney," bellowed Malcolm, giving Enzo a glare full of poisoned daggers. "An' then, you got me an' the boss to deal with. You wanna kill 'im? Fine. But wait till we get the kidney. Then you can go t'town, for all I care. Stick the damn flashlight up 'is ass. Blow 'is brains out, I don't care."
"I don't hafta wait on you, you ain't in charge here. The bastard's gonna die."
"You do, I bust your gut." Malcolm pulled a baseball bat from his belt, tapping it against the pavement threateningly.
Enzo snorted. "Yeh, that's real scary, Malcolm. Tell ya what. I take this thing out, then I use your little stick for a toothpick." He aimed his pistol at Raphael's head and fired..
Raph twisted suddenly, jerking away from the men holding him as the gun went off. He rolled a yard and leaped to his feet. Pain shot through his wounded leg all the way up to his head, and he swayed. Pinpricks of light clouded his vision. Voices threaded their way into his conscious mind.
"...uck you...kin' turtle's dead!"
"Enzo, stop!"
POW!
Everything went black.
No.
They weren't going to take Raph. Casey would get him back, without that stupid kidney, like he should have done in the beginning. No way those freaks were going to push him around anymore. Not them, not Hun, not that little tyrant Mitch, still rambling in his ears, reminding him of how little time he had.
Casey ripped off the scrubs and yanked the mask off his face. No way he was running around the streets wearing the outfit that said "Hi, I broke into the hospital right over there and stole a kidney." He dumped the scrubs in the shadow of a garbage can and ripped the elastic from the mask. The elastic, when tied together at the ends, made a serviceable ponytail holder, and Casey put it to use, finger-combing his hair into a ponytail and twisting the band around it. Leaning against the wall by the trash can was an old broom, the kind with real straw and a wooden handle, and Casey grabbed it. He swiftly broke the handle above the straw over his knee and cast the straw aside. It wasn't what he was used to, but it was better than nothing. He glanced at his watch, and his stomach flipped. He had four minutes.
Showtime.
Casey Jones broke into a run.
Author's Notes: Yes, it's a very short chapter, but it had everything in it that it needed to. The next will have quite a bit happening. Thank you for the reviews!