There are many types of blindness. But it is all similar. Blindness of the mind... the soul... intuition... the eyes. Whichever, it is described as being unable to see or feel past something. Unable to interact with the world from one or more of the senses. As if an inky blackness has eternally layed itself over the person, to make them stop seeing. An inky blackness that is known to plague moonless and cloudy nights---the same blackness that settles in the hearts of some people. But it is all blackness. And it is all dark.
As if in a dreamy daze, the turtles dragged themselves, and master Splinter, in the direction of a destination. They only had a foggy notion of where they were going---so many things hendered their senses at once: sadness, confusion, physical weakness... nothing would subside now. They would have to ride out the storm of what had all happened to them. Especially Michelangelo, who would be going through a storm forever now. His eyes had been torn from their sockets. Plato had stuffed the eyeballs into his mouth and fled the scene... using all his ability to be unseen and completely quiet, in order not to get caught on his way out of the turtle's home. All had managed to rumage up their other sets of bandanas... they had to do some cutting and tearing, but it worked out in the end. Blue, purple, red... and orange. This time, Michelangelo's did not have eye-holes. He was blind now. All he could see was inky blackness.
The four turtles walked for several miles in the city. Mikey was in between Donatello and Leonardo, and Splinter was being supported by Raphael. "My sons. How much further?" Splinter asked, his head drooped in exhaustion from having to travel all morning. His hair was more faded than usual, and his eyes were almost completely bloodshot.
"Just a few more streets to the west, master Splinter. Don't worry. I promise we'll be there soon." Leonardo said, letting out a long sigh from the weight on his shoulders.
"My eyes..." Michelangelo said absentmindedly, his feet fumbling on a beer bottle in front of him.
Hoisting him up once more, the two turtles on either side of him gave him concerned looks. "Are your sockets bleeding again, Mikey?" asked Donatello. Michelangelo nodded, and let out a sob that he had been stifling for a very long time. His brothers had put bandages underneath his bandana... but they were soaked once more with fresh blood.
Then they were there: in front of April O' Neil's apartment. They opened the door and climbed up the stairs to where her room was. Whole minutes later, they were knocking on her door. There came no answer. Leonardo knocked harder this time... harder once again, before the door swung open, revealing April wrapped in a sheet, her hair ruffled. "Guys? What's wrong?" she asked.
Everyone sat down in her living room, and a long discussion about the events of the past 24 hours unfolded. When the turtles were done telling April all that had happened, she looked speechless and skeptical. "Where is he then? I hope to God you didn't lead him here! What are you trying to do, put my life in danger?" April exclaimed, hopping to her feet and pacing the room.
"You're the only person we can go to April." Raphael said. He was especially fond of April this evening, considering all she was wearing was a sheet. Raph had always had an attraction for April... or moreso April's body. Leonardo, however, was the one that preferred her personality.
"Raphael is correct. You are the only person to take homage in. We never intended to put your life in danger." Splinter said weakly. He had dozed off several times during the discussion.
Suddenly, a figure appeared at April's bedroom door. His body was covered in shadows, so it was not obvious who he was. Leonardo and Raphael stood up and took out their weapons, glaring at the figure in the door frame. "Sweetums? Why are the turtles here?" came his voice. Leo and Raph immediatly put their weapons away: as Casey Jones walked into the living room and sat down where April had been sitting moments before. He was dressed in boxer shorts.
Raphael stared at Casey. "You two in the bedroom... I don't even want to know what you were doing." he said. Casey flashed him a smug smile and lit a cigerette, quickly filling the room will smoke.
"So..." he said, looking at Michelangelo. "What happened to him?" April told him the story. Casey frowned and got up, going into the kitchen. "Why did they come here then? He could still be following him, couldn't he?" Casey asked from the kitchen, coming back and walking to the front door with a large bag of trash in his hands. "It's trash day. I have to go outside whether I want to or not."
"I'll go with you!" said Raphael, walking up to Casey. "That loser probably just standing outside of the door. Might as well bring your hockey stick... and mask. He likes to go for your face." Raph pointed to the large cut on his cheek, and quickly went into April's room, coming back out a moment later with Casey's supplies.
"It won't take me two seconds!" Casey said.
"Doesn't matter, Casey!" Michelangelo said.
Splinter looked up at the rest of the group. "He is. Casey---go outside with Raphael. The rest of us will follow shortly afterwards. Go."
Casey sighed and put down the trash, slipping on his mask and taking his hockey stick in both hands. Heading out the door, he and Raph's footsteps could be heard on the stairs outside. April went over and sat next to Michelangelo, helping him with his bandages. "Thanks, April." he said, patting her on the shoulder.
"STAY BACK YOU SON OF A BITCH!"
They all set up suddenly. It was Casey's voice coming from outside of the apartment building. April ran over to the window and opened it, looking out. "He's out there! That thing is attacking them really viciously!" April said. "You guys need to get out there quickly..." she turned. She was the only one in the room now... the turtles and Splinter had already left to go help. She couldn't help but smile slightly.
The battle against Plato turned to one versus two, into one versus six. Swords clashed, and sticks smacked. Casey had no yet managed to get his hockey stick chopped in half, which was a very good sign. Even though his weapon was seemingly not as good as any weapon of the turtles, his ability to fight got him through very far. Donatello payed several heavy thumps and thuds to Plato's body, while Leonardo was the one who fought their enemy face-to-face, to the point that they could feel one another's breath. Splinter had borrowed the other bo staff from Don. Michelangelo and Raphael swept in at the enemy from the behind and the sides. Even though he was blind, Mikey still could sense where the enemy was, and his other senses were more accute to the sounds of incoming attacks: like a katana blade slicing the air and coming toward him. Many a time Plato suffered large blows to the head from Mikey's nunchakus. And many a time did the side of good suffer wounds.
Moments became many seconds, and seconds slipped into minutes, and minutes slipped into a quarter of an hour. Like last time they encountered Plato, he did not seem to grow tired, only more angry and less humourful about the fight. No more wise-cracks or taunts came from him as time went on and the battle grew more intense. With each clashing of each weapon, it was apparent that Plato was probably better than all of them put together. It was true that he had spent his entire nineteen years of life preparing for battle, and training his abilities in fighting. He had no favorite food, no hobbies. He had no other goal in life, but to kill his brothers, and have their blood on his hands. Plato had no friends. Only his master, who had trained him long and hard throughout his life... relentless training that made his mind bend and twist... Plato was a living, breathing, death machine. He knew no play. He knew only discipline or focus at any given time. Even master Splinter could not seem to fight past Plato's expert defenses.
It came to pass that Leonardo managed to stab the tip of his katana into Plato's chest. Plato pulled back, and did a spin, smacking Leo's blade in the center and sending it out of Leo's hand and onto the ground. Raphael took this chance, and plunged one of his sei deep into Plato's right arm. Plato was not expecting this. And he was also not expecting the next attack, which came from Casey. He had took several steps up and swung his hockey stick into the midsection of Plato, sending him backwards... toward Raphael. This gave Raph the chance to stab his other sei right into Plato's left chest.
When Plato hard pavement of the street, he lay still. Leonardo stepped forward and put his blade to Plato's throat, putting a considerable amount of pressure, but not yet puncturing the skin. "TELL US WHY YOU ARE DOING THIS TO US? YOU KILLED OUR SISTER. And made our brother blind... there is no excuse... but we deserve to know WHY!" Leo said, applying more pressure to Plato's throat.
"I've known nothing else but a purpose. It is not my fault. But I also do not regret anything I have done. Neither would you, if you were like me. But alas none of you have anything in common with me except the biological fundamentals and origins. We are the same flesh and blood; there is no seperation between our biology. I am your lost brother." Plato murmured.
"Who taught you to hate us?" Leonardo asked.
"My master. He is not with us anymore, though. I know not where he went to. He dissapeared. But I knew he wanted me to complete my mission... but I have failed now. You can kill me. You are the victor. Make it swift, please."
"It would be good for you to tell us what your master looked like. We may know who he is or where he went." Leo said.
"Tall. Mighty capable muscles. Brownish... mousy hair."
" 'The hell is he talking about?" said Casey, lifting up his mask to get some fresh air to his face. Plato's eyes fell on Casey and his expression went blank. As if a realization had hit him like a stack of speeding bricks. Then, a smile came to Plato's mouth.
"Master." Plato whispered.
Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Splinter all looked to Casey, confused about what Plato had said. "Master? What does he mean, Casey?" asked Michelangelo.
"Maybe he means what he says. Ever consider that not everything has a hidden messege? It's pretty blunt, my friends. He says that I'm his master." said Casey, leaning on his hockey stick. "Ya found me out!"
The group was suddenly speechless. Casey turned and walked in the other direction, toward the apartment building.
"Master! Come back! PLEASE! Don't keep visiting that whore! She is no good for you, master! You are like a father to me... I don't want to see that whore hurt your feelings!" Plato yelled, ranking Raphael's seis from his body and tossing them to the ground. He was practically covered in blood.
Leonardo took off at a run toward Casey, who had just entered the apartment. "COME BACK HERE!"
Splinter motioned for the others to follow, and they all took off running to Casey----All except Plato, who had gotten to his feet. He was walking down the street, slowely. Dragging his feet from the lack of blood going through his system, Plato did not make his way to the apartment: but began walking toward a destination that he knew nothing about. He did not know where he was going. He did not care. Unbuckling his belt and strap, Plato let all four of his katanas fall to the ground, as he continued to walk.
"He left me. Again. For that stupid whore. He left... again." Plato whispered. As the blood flowed from the heart wound to his chest, his steps became gradually slower. "Dammit. It hurts so much... physically... emotionally..." he spat of blood from his mouth. "Sorry, brothers. Dammit I'm sorry... for messing... with all of you. Sorry, sister... for wanting to have sex... with you... and killing you." Dropping to his knees, he looked to the afternoon sky, which was etched with many shades of blue.