Chapter Eleven:

Project X

{Karai}

"Karai."

His voice stirs me from my sleep. It grates on me, rough and unforgiving, until I'm woken by the harsh tear of my dreams.

"Get up, Karai."

My eyes open sharply to see him at my door, and I drag myself up from my mat.

"The dojo." He turns on his heels and his dark figure exits my view. "Now."

Something bitter and stale lingers at the back of my mouth. Smacking my tongue against my teeth, I push to my feet, ignoring the sore cries of worn limbs and aching muscles.

It's always the dojo. Whether it's day or night or some unnatural hour in-between, I'm in the dojo, training, training, training. Before meals, after meals, and sometimes instead of meals.

Biting back a hiss, I clench my jaw and walk towards the door, with protest in every step. I've been training all of my life. Discipline and strict schedules are nothing foreign to me. What makes it so unbearable is not only the increasing frequency, but also the matter it takes place. Father won't spar with me anymore—he just has his freak-shows try to take me on. He doesn't even watch. Once last month, out of anger, I challenged him to train me himself. He jumped down from his pedestal and beat me into the floorboards under a minute. I never made that mistake again.

Wincing as I go, I attempt to rub the soreness from my arms and legs, but the pain seems too deep for me to reach and I finally give up on it, just like everything else in my life. I don't bother to examine my bruises and cuts; I only allow the aching stiffness to envelop me and drag me down into the numbness.

It's been months. Months of being alone, locked up in this snake pit with my father and his followers, enduring every punch, every kick, every beating and lecture with my mouth glued shut and my eyes downcast. I've taken everything he's given without a word…and it's still not enough for him.

The dojo's open doors are in front of me before I know it. My throat constricts as I swallow and I can feel my insides hardening already. I don't want to go, but my body moves beyond my command, knowing the consequences of disobedience all too well by now. Father shows no restraint anymore—not that he had much to begin with, but before, he at least tried to hold back. There's no mercy for a daughter, no heartstrings to tug with simple pleas—there is only that black, soulless void gazing back at me.

I step into the dojo and scowl at the familiar stench of sweat, leather, and blood. My throat closes up to block it out, but the smell has permeated my every fiber. Standing at the entrance, my eyes trail along the walls, the ceiling, the mats layering the floor, and the sparring posts I've just about hacked to stumps. The set of stairs in front of me ease down into the training zone, stained and worn by years of use.

My body solid and still like stone, I realize I'm alone in this room, and there's no sign of my father anywhere. I don't move for a moment while my brain ticks and whirs behind my eyes, trying to decipher the situation. The silence is eerie, thick with tension and laced with the smell I've grown to hate.

Something's wrong. Something's…

Click, click, click.

I barely manage to roll out of the way before a black figure drops from the beams above me. Tucking my knees in, I throw myself forward and tumble down the stairs, grunting as every step jabs at my body. When I hit the floor below, my limbs unfold, and I spring out onto my feet and brace myself for a fight.

It's a Foot soldier. Tall, lean, and cloaked in the familiar dark attire, he stands at the top of the steps. My fists clench at my sides; this is getting old.

I don't wait for the numbskull to attack again—I charge him directly, leaping forth and using the first three steps as footholds to launch myself into an aerial flip. My foot comes crashing down to meet his chest, ensuring a quick victory, but something odd happens in between. That same clicking noise whirs loudly from his body, and before I can stop myself, he snatches me by the ankle and flings me back down the steps.

The floor greets me with pain and shock. Tumbling across the mats, skin is rubbed raw and bones are shaken until my momentum is stopped by one of the sparring posts. I cry out as my spine crunches against the wooden post and a torrent of sharp stings overwhelms my being.

Anger rears above the pain. Nostrils flaring, my jaw clenches and I drag myself back to my feet. I lunge at him again, this time relying on speed to carry me in a zig-zag formation until I've circled around. Swooping down to a crouch, I extend my leg in a swift kick towards the back of his knee with every intention of snapping his limb—that is, until fingers snag a fistful of my hair and yank me backwards.

My lip curls above my gums in an animalistic snarl. Flailing to find release from the sharp pain prickling through my scalp, I whirl around to throat-punch whoever's touching me when the Foot soldier behind me grabs my leg. I'm pulled down in an instant, and the quick flash of a heel fills my vision before my head snaps back from the blow. Blood quickly spills across my tongue, seeping from the hole my tooth just left in the soft muscle. Grimacing, I spit a wad of crimson saliva at the soldier who has my leg when I suddenly notice his eyes are bright red and glowing. My own narrow into slits and I shout angrily, wrenching my limbs free from their iron grip. Lashing out with my foot, I catch the first one in the jaw and pivot my hips to reach the other. My fist collides with a forearm and I'm shoved back by a force that seems inhuman. Gasping for breath, thoughts frantically scrambling for an explanation, I hit the ground on my side, bruising ribs and sending a painfully uncomfortable jolt up my elbow.

Searing rage boils beneath my flesh. Baring teeth, I heave my body into a sideways tumble and pop back onto legs that shake under my weight. My head is pounding, my ears are filled with the resounding roar of blood and adrenaline—but above all of that, there is fear.

I am not given a chance to attack again. The moment I find some semblance of balance, I see the two soldiers rushing towards me, now joined by a third. All six eyes are glowing fierce and fixed solely on me. The only thing I have time to do is frantically cross my arms in front of my upper chest and face in an attempt of self-defense, but it's not enough.

In a split second, I'm taken down. Slammed into the floor so hard my head rings from the force. Lungs caught mid-breath, I find myself pinned and straddled by one of the soldiers.

"Let me go!" Blood spits out with my words. I thrash wildly, desperately, but I'm held firm, and as I arch and twist and shout obscenities, I become aware of the cold fingers pressing down on my throat. Both hands follow, clamping around my neck without mercy and effectively severing my oxygen supply.

Coughing up red, I convulse and gasp for breath that can no longer reach me. My entire body tenses in a vain act of resistance, and slowly, I feel mind begin to shut down. Splotches eat at my vision, gnawing away the colors and images before me until all that's left are those hot, dead eyes.

I cling to the edges of consciousness with white knuckles and bloody fingers, and just when I'm about to slip into the darkness, a high pitch whine splits the world around me.

The tightening sensation on my throat ceases immediately. The weight lifts from my body and my head drops back with a dull thump that feels a million miles away.

I hear voices. Distant murmurs, and again, the clicking. Opening my eyes takes more energy than I thought it ever could, and my world slowly returns to me.

The high beams webbing across the dojo's ceiling materialize as all of my other senses follow. My heart pounds steadily beneath my ribs and the blood trickles back to my system. A low groan seeps past bloodied teeth and gum, and I manage to lean onto my side.

"There's still a few kinks I need to sort out, of course, but they're functional."

I blink hard and try to swallow, but it hurts. Lifting my head from the floor, my eyes widen to see my father standing along the elevated sides of the dojo with that insect of a scientist at his side.

"Stockman," I spit. My anger floods my veins and gives enough strength back for me to pull myself up from the mats. My eyes narrow when I see the small remote in his hand. Turning full circle, I spot the three soldiers standing at attention before my father, who's glaring at me with dissatisfaction once more.

"What's going on?" I ask hoarsely. My hand gently strokes my throat, feeling the deep bruises form beneath the flesh where cold hands gripped me. I almost died. I could've been choked to death and he wouldn't have done anything.

"Trial runs," Shredder murmurs. "These are Stockman's newest…inventions. Far better suited for combat than those imbeciles from Bradford's dojo."

Stockman's practically trembling beside him; he can hardly keep the remote in his hand. "And did they meet your expectations, Master Shredder?"

My father straightens his shoulders. "They'll do."

I watch them from down on the training floor, incredulous. My throbbing head and raw throat only serve to anger me further.

"Y-You were…testing those things on me?" Fists bunch at my sides. I expect an explanation, or some measly form of an apology, but all I receive is an unfeeling stare and words that set my insides on fire.

"You're going to train with Stockman's robots from now on, Karai. Maybe your performance won't be so pitiful the next time."

And then he turns from me, his cloak enveloping his form in a shroud of black as he walks out the doors with Stockman cowering behind him. All three robots follow suit, and I'm left standing alone, aching and bleeding.

My mind becomes a raging torrent of thoughts and emotions. Eyes brimming with tears, I wipe my face with the back of my hand, smearing sweat and blood across my skin. Everything hurts, but this time, it's too deep for my anger to burn, and all of the thoughts I've tried so desperately to keep out come rushing back in and sweep me away.

My legs move beneath me without command, carrying me in one direction while my mind drags me to another. Images and memories flood my brain, bouncing off my skull and crushing my thoughts. I want to go, to run as far away as I can and bury myself under the earth. I can't do this. I just can't. I'm going to wither away to ashes if I stay here any longer.

But I don't have a choice. In the months I've spent here, chained like an animal to this place, I've finally realized that I've never had a choice. My life has always been whatever he deemed fit. Nothing has ever been my own, and everything I am is a mirror of him.

There's no escape from him. If I ran, he'd find me. If I fought, he'd kill me. And just when I thought I had found someone to call a friend, he locked me in here under a question of loyalty.

I'm standing in the doorway of my room before I know what I'm doing. I slam the door behind me, shaking violently, and then I whirl around and punch a hole in the wall. Plaster and splinters of wood spray across the room. Dust fills the air, and pieces crumble and break around my fist. I jerk my hand out and unfold each finger, watching beads of red glisten along my injured knuckles.

But the pain doesn't register, because I'm thinking of him. I'm remembering blue eyes that shine no matter how deep the shadow, and a calm, protective voice drifts through the chaos of my mind.

Leo.

I shouldn't be thinking of him. He's the reason I'm stuck here. He's the reason my life has dropped to a whole new level of hell. If it weren't for him, for his stupid family, I'd still be in Japan and I'd…

A frown tugs at my lips, but it's quickly wrenched apart by the sudden tear of pain in my chest. I hit the floor on my knees and feel the thick, hot streams of tears as they spill down my bloodied face. My arms wrap around my torso, clutching fabric in a desperate attempt to find something solid and real to cling to just as the sobs rip me through.

Leo.

I can't blame him for anything. He gave me a soul. He trusted me when no one else did; he believed in me, and no matter how many times I betrayed him or hurt him, he was still standing there, waiting for me as if I was worth it.

And crying on my bedroom floor, holding myself because there's no one there to do it for me, I realize how much I miss him. I hate him for opening my eyes, for breaking me down and showing me not only what I was, but what I could be…and yet there's no one else in this entire world that I rather see right now.

But he's already gone. If that fall didn't kill him, my father's new toys surely will.

~T~

{Leo}

"Leo? Leo, wake up!"

A stifled groan rumbles somewhere at the back of my throat as my eyes peel open.

"Donnie," I mumble, tugging the blankets over my face to shut him out. "It's like three in the morning. Go back to sleep…"

My eyes droop, weighed down by the comfort of my bed and the persistent coating of mucus lining my sinuses. Consciousness lingers enough to tell me that stupid head cold I contracted a few days ago is still alive and kicking, and as if to resist the sickness, I clench my eyes shut and try to force myself back into sleep.

"Yeah, I know." His hands snatch the sheets and yank them right off of me. The cold air prickles my skin. "That's why we've got to do this now."

I'm pulled roughly out of bed and before I know it, he's dragging me out of my room. Indistinct protests melt past my lips, slurred by my drowsy, sickened state as I stumble along after him. He's got his arm slung around my waist while I dumbly realize I've left my crutch beside my bed.

"D-Donnie…" My mouth stretches in a yawn, and the sound of a door shutting briefly registers in my sluggish brain. "What's…what's this all about…?"

Yawning again, I slump against the wall. Something clicks to my left and a dim light appears, just barely illuminating the sink.

"The bathroom?" I murmur. "Why are we in the bathroom?"

But my question is ignored when he grabs me by the shoulders and ushers me over to the shower.

"Here, stand on the mat," he says quickly. "And why are you still wearing your gear?"

I rub my eyes and blink past the throbbing in my head. All I want right now is some hot tea and a nap. "I…I guess I forgot…"

He scoffs and mutters something under his breath, and several quick tugs on my arms and legs trigger alarms in my head.

"Hey!" My vision adjusts to the darkness of the room to see that he's effectively stripped me of both knee and elbow pads and is now unbuckling my belt. I smack his hand. "Can you not?"

"Well you're being too slow," he growls. "We have to do this now, before anyone wakes up." A single jerk removes the belt completely as he tosses it aside. The gears in my mind are slowly beginning to turn and a frown crosses my expression.

"Donnie, what's going on?"

"Shh!" he hisses. "You want to wake the whole lair up? Now come here—" His hand grabs my arm and he pulls me into the shower before I can protest.

"Stand right there," he instructs. I'm nudged against the wall beneath the shower head, cold tiles pressed against my skin. A swirl of confusion and fear moves through me and I attempt to back up, but he merely pushes me back in place.

"Don't move, Leo!" he snaps, straining his whispering. "Seriously, what did I just say? You can go back to bed when we're done, but right now, you've got to keep still."

He leans over me to adjust one of the tubes coming from the shower head, and my heart slaps my ribs in a rush of concern. Heat moves through me at an uncomfortable pace and my throat constricts. Panicking, I hastily step back, shoving him aside and hopping over the railing wall of the shower.

"Leo!" he hisses. "What're you doing? I told you to stay there—"

But I merely step back further, my muscles tensing beneath my clammy skin. "You need to tell me what the heck's going on, Donnie, 'cause you're kind of freaking me out."

"Do you want to do this or not?" He sounds irritated, and even in the dim glow of the nightlight by the sink, I can see the crease between his brow.

"Do what?" I press, equally irritated at both him and the mucus stuffed up my head. "You're not making any sense, Donnie. And could you turn on the light? I can hardly see a thing—"

I reach for the switch, but he scrambles from the shower and blocks my way, huffing at me. "We can't let them know we're in here!"

"Why not?"

"Do you really think they'd let us do this if they found out?" He hooks one hand on his hips and jabs the other towards the shower head. "It's already been hard enough lying to everybody and hiding in my lab for the past five months. We're too close now for them to get in the way."

The situation slowly dawns on my aching head. My gaze follows towards the tubes coiling along the shower—tubes that weren't there before.

"Hold on," I say dumbly. "This is for the reto-mutagen?"

"Of course." He pauses and frowns. "Wait, what did you think I called you in for?"

Realizing I've walked myself into quite an awkward situation, I quickly avert my widened gaze to the tile. "Nothing."

He watches me for a moment before lifting a hand to cover his face. "Leo..."

"What?" I hiss, flustered. "You dragged me in the bathroom and started taking my clothes off—I'm sorry if I was a little concerned, Donnie!"

He still won't look at me. "Yeah, we're not having this conversation. Just get back in the shower, will you?"

"Now?" My brow furrows. "Aren't we going to talk this through or something?"

"We've already done that," he says sharply. "Look Leo, you said that if I found a way to change us, you'd be in. Well, I found a way, and it's right over there. So are you in or not?"

The pounding in my head increases, like a drum beat pitching in tempo. Rubbing my temples, I lean back against the wall to ease the weight off my bad leg.

"I-I don't know, Donnie." My throat stings as I attempt to swallow down the phlegm gathering in my airways. "This came out of nowhere—you haven't even mentioned it since the night you got back from the recon mission, and that was almost five months ago. I thought you'd given up on it or something."

Lines cross his features as his expression hardens. "So you changed your mind, then."

A sigh is pushed from my lungs and my mind whirls with a fresh torrent of memories and emotions. I wanted this so badly before, it was all I thought about. The chance to be something more, to be part of the world we so often skim the edges of... Don't I want it? Isn't this my opportunity?

The blood pulses through my skull, heavier now. I should want this... I should take this chance and run with it.

Jump. Stop thinking so hard about it and just jump.

Swallowing, my chin dips into a nod. "Okay," I whisper, almost reluctantly. "I'll do it."

A wide smile spreads his lips and he practically hops back over to the shower, grabbing my arm and tugging me along. A small sting runs up my healing leg at the fast pace, but I bite it back.

He helps me over the railing wall, nudging me into place, and all the while, my heart is hammering up my throat.

"Alright, so just stand underneath just like before. I've already warmed the system up, so the mutagen should just slide right through."

He's pulls aside the curtain, and as I stretch my neck to see what 'system' he's talking about, the machine comes into view. A stout, round glass container holds the alien substance and stands in the middle of the contraption, surrounded by thick cables and tubes that curl in and out. Gears and wires litter the outside, all connected to blinking switches and a few small levers. The whole thing is pushed up against the wall and looks like it's merged with the interior pipes of the bathroom.

"Whoa," I breathe. "When did you have time to install that?"

"Remember yesterday when Mikey said the toilet wasn't working?"

A hazy memory comes forth and I frown. "Yeah."

His smile stretches further, thinning slightly. "I may or may not have severed the water supply."

My eyes close. "Of course you did."

His excited rant steamrolls my comment. "But I figured this would be the most effective way to mutate ourselves. All I had to do was rig up the electrical unit, shut off the water, and redirect a few of the pipes to my little machine here. Now it'll pump the retro-mutagen through the shower the same way it did water. Simple as that."

"None of that sounds simple," I mutter. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"I did," he retorts. "Two days ago, when you were meditating by yourself in your room." He pauses his work on twisting the colored tubes and looks at me quizzically. "Don't you remember?"

My brow knits as I search for the memory, yet I'm unable to find it... Then I recall why.

"Oh." A sheepish grin shapes my expression. "I was asleep."

"I knew it!" he whispers loudly. "I knew you used meditating as an excuse to take a nap!"

"Heh." My grin falters. "...Just don't tell Sensei, okay?"

"Pft." He returns to his work, tugging on a few of the cords. "I'm sure he already knows."

I listen to him fidget around with his machine some more and tentatively glance up at the looming shower head. He pulls a small lever and flips a few switches, and all of the sudden, the clear tubes leading up to the tiled wall are filled with a glowing, green-blue liquid. Fear seeps in with the adrenaline and I take a tiny step back.

"H-Hey Donnie," I stutter timidly. "You're gonna do this with me, right?"

His gaze flickers up to mine and he nervously rubs the back of his neck. "Well, um…I'd need you to go first."

I stare at him. "What?"

"If something goes wrong, I have to be able to fix it," he justifies.

"If something goes wrong?" My voice crawls to something between a restrained shout and a desperate hiss. "You mean you haven't tested it?!"

"No, no, I did—on Mikey's cat—"

"Well I am not an ice cream cat, Donnie!" I snap, furious. "How do I know this thing's not gonna blow me up like half your other inventions?"

"I-It's perfectly safe, Leo—"

"Then why don't you go first?"

The little vein above his left eye twitches. "I just told you why!"

"Together," I say firmly, crossing my arms. "Together, or not at all."

He glares at me for a moment before realizing that I'm not joking. Sighing, he stands to his feet.

"Okay, okay—together. But if something goes wrong, it's your fault."

"It's your invention, Genius," I growl. "So it'd be your fault."

His eyes narrow and he grumbles something under his breath. Puffing out a breath, he reaches over me again to straighten two of the tubes.

"When you're ready, just twist the knob down there, like you normally would to turn the water on."

That clammy feeling comes over me again, flushing my skin with an uncomfortable combination of heat and chills.

"…Okay." Flexing my hands at my sides, I swallow uneasily and reach for the knob. "Wait." I pull back, heart skipping. "Are you sure, Donnie? I mean, if this works…everything will change. Is this what we really want?"

"Is it?" he repeats, sounding a tad bit impatient. "Is it going to be any worse than where we are now? We live in the sewers, in hiding, stuck down here in the dark because we don't look like everyone else. If we could change that, an entire world would literally open up for us."

He places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and I glance back at him.

"I don't know what's going to happen if this works, Leo…but I want to see it for myself. I want to see what we could be, the things we could do, if we weren't trapped down here like this—as mutants. Don't you?"

The throbbing in my head increases as the decision begins to weigh on me. Do I want this? Do I really, really want this?

"What about Karai?" Donnie adds.

I scoff. "You guys all hate her."

"But you don't."

It makes me hesitate, and the memories flash-flood my brain. All of the confusion, the pain, the fear—would becoming human change any of that? Would it change her feelings for me?

Her face lingers behind my eyes. A smile, soft, barely there, plays over and over again. She opened up to me, broke down her walls and showed me a part of her the world had never seen. I don't care what she says or does—she can't take that back. She trusts me more than she lets on…and I'm beginning to think our relationship, whatever it may be, is something deeper than either of us care to admit.

The sound of her laugh joins in tandem. Not the cold, heartless kind, but the bubbly one I've only ever heard once or twice. My heart constricts within my chest, conflicted with all of the feelings I bear towards her. I don't understand them. I don't understand her. But maybe…maybe this will change all of that.

Her voice echoes in my head, carrying the words she spoke to me the night we met.

Stop waiting for others to give you the life that you want. Go out and take it.

Resolve steeling over, I make my decision. My hands tightens around the knob and I give it a sharp twist. A low hissing sound erupts from behind the wall, and steam begins to spill from Donnie's machine on the floor. My heart thumps excitedly, laced with fear, wonder, and something in-between as my eyes fix upwards. The shower coughs and sputters as the thick fluid rises in the transparent coils, and I find myself backing right up into Donnie.

"Keep still, Leo," he chides, pushing me forward again. "You have to be completely covered by the mutagen, hence me rigging the shower. You'll mess something up if you keep moving like that."

His words are merely flies buzzing around my ears. I swat them away, too focused on the insanity of what we're about to do. The sound of pipes clogging with the substance is only freaking me out more, and a tremor runs across my spine. I groan in anticipation. Why does this thing have to go so freaking slow—

A violent gargling erupts from the congested pipes, and before I time to react, the viscous fluid hacks through the shower head and sprays Donnie and I with gooey blobs of mutagen.

Fire. It's the first word—the only word—that my mind can conjure in this moment. The substance spills from the pipes, smothering us. My cry is absorbed in the globs that engulf my body and slip down my throat. It's in my mouth, my lungs, my blood—everywhere, it burns, searing across my being as my own DNA is infiltrated and scattered like puzzle pieces. My body crumples and wilts like the stem of a plant beneath an onslaught of water and muck. I can't tell if I'm on the floor or if I've been reduced to sloppy, sticky splats all over the bathroom walls.

Dying. Fire, fire, burn, burn, melting into steaming remains that bubble and pop. I'm gone. Gone, and not even the strangled gurgles slapping at the air can pull me back. Behind me, Donnie's down, buried beneath the goo and losing the battle for breath beyond the impossibly thick fluid.

My head hits something. The dull buzz just barely registers past the heightening flames engorging themselves on my flesh. I groan, cry, scream, thrash—and yet, no sound or movement escapes me. I'm stuck, weighed down and slipping, slipping, slipping.

My mind clings to consciousness for a few seconds more; just long enough for me to realize this was a stupid idea. The cliff where I once stood looms above me, and I watch it vanish past the blinding pain of mutagen eating me away. My hand reaches up, fingers stretched impossibly far, as if to grab onto something that no longer exists. But the muck pulls me down, and the world is gone.

I jumped.

And now I'm drowning.