Mike stumbles out of the room feeling like the world is crumbling beneath his feet. He'd completely forgotten about the utrom standing guard, whose exosuit grabs his shoulder the second he crosses the threshold.
"How did you get in there? I had told you it was strictly forbidden that-" When he notices the evidence of tears, he stops short. Mike only offers him a shaky grin in return.
"Ninja, remember?" Bracing himself on the doorway, he hobbles forward on one foot, and the utrom switches the grip on his arm, letting Mike lean on him for support. "By the way," he says cheekily, the hoarseness of his voice dampening the effect a little, "the ceiling in there is leaking."
From the doorway, the utrom can see the broken tubing and growing puddle of slime on the floor beneath it. He looks back at Michelangelo, flabbergasted.
"You and your brothers certainly are amazing," he says, leading him to a gurney parked at the side of the hall. When they reach it, Mike sits gratefully, feeling as though he's been deflated.
"I left my crutches in the empty room around the corner," he says, intentionally ignoring the compliment. Usually he wouldn't pass up the chance to gloat, but he's well beyond exhausted right now. Thankfully, the utrom takes the hint, leaving and returning with the crutches. Mike takes them with a nod of thanks and lifts himself back to his feet.
"My name is Klag, by the way. I'm not sure I properly introduced myself."
"Michelangelo. But I guess you already knew that, huh? Most people call me Mikey."
"Yes. Mikey," the utrom answers. "I apologize for not allowing you into the room earlier, but I'm under strict orders from Dr. Xenios. It's not my decision to make."
"Yeah. Don't worry about it. No hard feelings," Mike says tiredly, starting to make his way back down the hallway. Back to Don and the bed calling his name in the med bay. He can't wait to curl up and die right about now. He's never been so exhausted in his life.
"I'm glad," Klag says, following the turtle's unsteady procession. "I was thinking about what you had said, about if one of my siblings was in the same situation. If I had the ability, yes. Yes, I would have done everything in my power to see him."
Mike only nods. It suddenly makes sense why the guy cares so much. Too bad he didn't have that change of heart earlier. It would've spared him a lot of trouble, not to mention his fun little voyage through the slime tunnels.
"That is why I would like to tell you the location of your father."
He stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide and every ounce of his earlier exhaustion forgotten. "Master Splinter?"
Klag watches him passively, face inscrutable as every other utrom he's seen, but there's a light in his eyes that says he has to be telling the truth.
"It may not be allowed." He anxiously wraps his stubby tentacles around the exosuit's controls, though his voice is as steady as ever. "But yes. If you wish."
Mike fidgets for a second, thinking. That lance of pain and guilt is back, burning its way through his chest until he can hardly breathe. Is he really up to this? Does he really want to see Master Splinter? After the way he got hurt, he's not sure he's up to seeing him that way because of something he did. Or didn't do. Because he didn't move soon enough. Because he wasn't paying attention. But Master Splinter is his father. He's screwed up a lot in the last seventeen years, and he still loves him no matter what. And right now, he'd do anything just to see his dad again.
It only takes him a second to decide.
"So… Where to?"
The exosuit nods once. "Right this way."
In minutes the utrom is escorting him through a new maze of hallways, another wave of anxiety building in his gut. The sterile med bay hallways fade to more organic-looking tunnels, the fleshy walls muffling the exosuit's metallic footsteps and the rhythmic clack of his crutches. Sore muscles in his shoulders ache with every step, but his racing heart urges him on. He's not ready for this, but he doesn't think he ever will be.
The doorway to the chamber room is dark, lit only by the eerie green glow of biosuspension chambers. Most of them are empty, just pillars of liquid lime-colored light nested in snakelike tangles of tubes. As he passes through, they stand on either side like weird, faceless statues. Huge. Silent. Waiting.
He remembers the first time he saw these things. Back before he knew the utroms even exited, before his family even knew the real story of how they became what they are. Before they had any idea of exactly what the Shredder was capable of. He remembers seeing Splinter floating there, corpselike as a specimen in a jar. Raph in panicked tears, screaming that he was dead, that they had put their father's body on some sick kind of display, launching himself at the glass and trying to hack it open with his sai. It had taken him and Leo together to pry him off as Don scrambled for an explanation.
It was like straight out of an old sci-fi flick. Biosuspension chambers. Induced hibernation. A piece of medical science that, to Earth standards, could only ever exist on TV. But it was real, and it saved his dad's life twice now. Don had explained the mechanics of it over and over since their raid on the TCRI building, geeked out for hours over the amazing technology and fascinating benefits.
They still gave him the creeps.
Sharp needles of panic swarm in his gut like bees when he spots a dark figure in a tank on the far side of the room. But Klag keeps moving without a hitch, forcing him to stumble after or get left behind. His metal footsteps echo ominously through the cavernous room. Gurgling liquid and clanging pipes haunt the massive space like ghosts.
And then they're there, standing in front of the tank that holds his father's limp body, his eyes closed as if in sleep. He looks only marginally better than what Mike remembers, his fur missing in patches, the exposed flesh the texture of burnt marshmallows. His hands are the worst, an excruciating, sticky red. His whiskers have been singed to crooked wires. What fur he has left is burned black and stubbly. The watery liquid bubbles around him, disturbing something on his char-broiled skin.
Worms.
Mike screams, wholly and terribly, but can't look away. There's thousands of them, writhing in the fleshy sores all over his father's body.
"What is it, Michelangelo?" Klag asks in alarm.
"You don't see them? There's maggots all over him! I think I'm gonna-"
He turns just as stomach rebels all over the floor. This can't be happening. Why would he bring him here? How could they let this happen? Did he die in there? Why would the utroms leave him like this, fed to the worms like some kind of rotting fruit.
Ice floods his veins and his knee buckles against his will.
Luckily, Klag is there to catch him before he falls, though the suit's steadying hands don't feel real. His voice sounds like he's talking through a tin can a mile away. "It is all right, Michelangelo. They're not maggots. Come, sit down. I can explain."
Together, they hobble unsteadily toward a ledge off one of the nearby machines, just out of the chamber's view. Mike hunches forward, trying to catch his breath in an effort to clear the dark spots spattering across his vision. Bile burns at the back of his throat. He pays no attention as Klag picks up his communicator and speaks into it quietly.
After a moment, the utrom sits his exosuit beside him, but Mike is too afraid to take his eyes off the floor. His hands are still shaking, and he's broken into a cold sweat.
"They are Ch'rosian worms," he begins. "The utrom have used them for centuries for their healing properties. They're especially beneficial for burns."
At first, Mike doesn't respond, just buries his face in his hands. Healing worms. That ups the creepy factor by at least a thousand. But at least it isn't what he thought. At least Master Splinter isn't-
It's about then he realizes they're not alone. Klag must've called another utrom to come clean up the mess, making him feel bad for freaking out like that. He can't wait until his stomach isn't trying to fight him every five seconds. He's getting tired of feeling sick.
"I'm sorry," Klag adds softly. "I should have prepared you. I was under the impression you were familiar with the suspension chambers."
"I am," Mike says, finally feeling steady enough to talk without the risk of getting sick again. "I mean, sort of. Only a little. They put Master Splinter in one the last time-"
The last time the same exact thing happened. The last time his father took a killing blow for him. It wasn't gonna happen again. It can't. He knows Master Splinter would do anything for him. Die for him. But he shouldn't have to. He shouldn't have to suffer for his sloppy mistakes.
Mike lets out a gusty breath, trying to release some of the tightness in his chest. It doesn't do much good.
"Let's just say I have a bad habit of not really paying attention." He shakes his head, not wanting to travel any deeper down that dark path. "But the worms are definitely new."
"Then I should apologize again. I can see why they must be startling."
"It's okay. Really." Mike waves off the apology like clearing away smoke. It's not his fault he isn't up to speed on their ridiculously gross technology. For the utroms, all of this is normal stuff. Sure, he's seen a lot of their technology before, back when they snuck into the TCRI building. But when he came in there, he'd just been expecting more weird tubes and gloop. Definitely not healing alien worms.
Sighing, he takes a personal inventory one more time. He can see straight again, and he's feeling a little steadier now. It's time he did what he came here to do. Slowly, he begins the process of getting up just as the second utrom leaves the room.
"Hey," he says, turning back to Klag, trying to keep the hesitation out of his voice. "Do you think I could have a second alone with him?"
"Of course," the utrom answers. "It's time I returned to my post, anyway. Can you find your way back?"
Mike nods. "Yeah, I'll be okay."
"All right."
And just like that, he turns around and leaves. No questions asked. It isn't until then he realizes just how lucky he is to have run into a guy like him. Maybe he could've done without the panic attack, but the dude really did seem like a nice guy.
"Hey, Klag?" He calls back.
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
The utrom only spares him an inscrutable smile, a quick flash of pointed teeth before wandering back through the glowing maze of chambers. And then, he's so terrifyingly alone.