The hesitation had cost her.
Spike wasn't stupid. She knew that the Shredder never trusted her, probably never would. But he had thought he'd made progress. As much as she didn't want to admit it, he probably had. The promise of April's eternal safety was a tempting one, one that she, even now, couldn't bring herself to ignore.
But she'd slipped.
Spike may not have had the 'reporters instincts' that April claimed to use so often, but she wasn't stupid, either.
The Shredder had noticed her moment of hesitation. He was watching her more closely now, waiting to see if she'd do it again. He hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything, just sent the Purple Dragons above surface to collect the samples from the animals. He'd let her keep the weapon that she grasped in a vice-grip in front of her as she stood, silent, at the foot of the dais, staring straight ahead. He'd even fed her, allowed her to regain some strength.
The Shredder may anticipate her disloyalty, but he didn't view her as a threat.
And he knew that as long as April remained in danger, as long as the Shredder could help get her out of it, Spike had no choice but to go along, trapped in this mobile, metal prison.
She shivered, the black leather jacket doing little to protect her from the bone-chilling cold of the interior of the Technodrome. She felt the weight of the Shredder's stare as it bored into the back of her head, from his position seated on his throne.
She was finding it progressively harder to breathe, to think, as the thick pressure of fear constricted her throat and chest, tightening her stomach and pushing her heart to beat so fast she was surprised it hadn't burst. Not fear for herself, but the all-consuming, helpless terror of knowing that the person she'd sworn to protect, that she'd trained her entire life to be able to take care of, was in mortal danger, or dead already.
And there was nothing she could do.
She shifted in place, frowning as another weight brought itself to her attention, an object nestled in her jacket pocket.
The tape recorder.
That tape would get April that story of a lifetime she'd always wanted.
The Shredder's confession to working with the Purple Dragons, ordering the death of Morgan Burch, and admitting to arranging the death of April herself; all of it was on that tape.
Spike didn't need much of an imagination to figure out what would happen if the Shredder got suspicious and found that tape.
He'd kill her without a second thought.
The thought in and of itself, surprisingly, didn't bother her terribly. What did was the knowledge that without her, there wouldn't even be the pretense of keeping April alive.
She couldn't afford to screw up again.
Spike's frown deepened as a voice crackled through the communications system embedded into the Technodrome.
"We got your samples, Master Shredder, an' I'll have y'know it wasn't easy. N' I spoke to the rest of the boys; your parts are bein' delivered to the dropoff point."
Behind her, the Shredder spoke into the microphone mounted in his throne. "Excellent work, Hun. For once, you do not disappoint. You may enter." He depressed a button on the arm of his throne, and the door hissed open, revealing a battered Hun, Bebop and Rocksteady.
Hun led the trio into the room, slowly, warily stepping forward, gripping the box between his hands. He dropped into a stiff bow, his upper lip curled in a mixture of defiant sneer and pained winced. "Anythin' else y'want while you're givin' orders, sir?"
The Shredder leaned back in his throne, studying Hun with shrewd, cold, eyes. "Not from you. However, I have decided to relieve you of your subordinates. Permanently."
Hun's dark eyes flashed with suspicion as he straightened, still clutching the white box. The overly-bright overhead lights emphasizing the tattoos over his shoulders, proclaiming his allegiance to the Purple Dragons and the Foot. "Killin' your own tools don't seem like your style, Shredder."
The Shredder stood slowly, allowing Hun to take in his imposing figure. "Master Shredder to you, street scum," he growled. "Rest assured, I do not kill what I can still use."
He didn't look at Spike. He didn't have to.
Spike glanced at the Shredder from the corner of her eye, jaw grinding. The words were meant for her as much as they were Hun, a reminder, if not a threat. If he was trying to intimidate her, it wouldn't work.
Hun stood his ground, though he shifted uncomfortably as he held the Shredder's look. "Whaddaya want my boys here for? We got your parts, n' your samples. We've done everythin' you asked for. When're you gonna hold up your end of the bargain?"
"As a matter of fact, that is exactly what I tend to do right now." The Shredder slowly sat back down, his movements controlled, his voice even. "Your men have proven themselves of little value to me. They have failed, repeatedly, and I intend to...improve them."
Hun snorted. "Failed? It was the Purple Dragons that was gonna off O'Neil. You're the one that told us you wanted her alive."
"One act of competence does not erase the rest of your record. Your work is careless, clumsy. You leave behind a trail that the most unskilled reporter could follow. However, I believe that with proper modifications, I can make your gang a powerful fighting force." The Shredder leaned forward in his throne. "Starting with these two."
Rocksteady started, glancing up from under his heavy eyelids and folding his arms. "Hold on. We didn't volunteer for nothin'."
"I wasn't asking for volunteers." The Shredder refocused his vision on Hun. "They will have the strength and power of a dozen men. They will be unstoppable."
Hun narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so. Weapons is one thing. Modifying our guys is a whole different ball game."
The Shredder moved his hand slightly, depressing a button on the arm of his throne. The doors swished open, allowing entry to two dozen robotic Foot soldiers. Despite their heavy metal frames, they moved quickly, circling the throne room, effectively closing the three Purple Dragons in.
Hun's hand snapped towards his hip, as his fingers closed around empty air where his gun had been, ignoring the deafening clatter as the box fell to the floor. "Hey, what is this?"
The Shredder watched him impassively. "I do not require your permission. I am taking what I need. Footbots, seize them."
"Hey-"
"What?!"
Bebop and Rocksteady had just enough time to lunge forward angrily before the Footbots were upon them, locking grips onto their arms before they had a chance to twist away. Two more of the robotic ninjas shot from their positions against the wall, trapping Hun's arms at his sides. He struggled to pull away, teeth bared, eyes blazing. Another robot bent down stiffly, reaching out to clasp the fallen box, carefully picking it up.
The Shredder rose from his throne once more, stepping down from the dais and crossing, almost casually, towards the control panels, tapping a few keys almost disinterestedly. "Perhaps you would like to witness the procedure yourself, Hun." He turned. "And you, Ms. Sanchez. I think it is beneficial if you observe it as well."
Spike jerked her head up, twisting around to stare at the Shredder. "Me? How come?"
"I believe you will both find it a rather illuminating experience."
With a soft hiss, a panel on the console slid open in front of the Shredder. A long, cylindrical canister rose slowly from the machinery, catching the light on its silver surface. The Shredder reached out, carefully plucking it from the console and turning, his movements relaxed, his voice controlled. "Footbots, take the experiment subjects to the laboratory and prepare the samples. Ms. Sanchez, I advise you to bring the kanabō. You may need it."
She'd known this was coming.
But for some reason, as Spike followed the Shredder down the corridors of the Technodrome towards the laboratory, she felt sick to her stomach.
This wasn't pre-fight nerves. This wasn't even fear.
It was regret.
The pit in her stomach felt like a black hole, churning her gut. Her jaw ground so hard her teeth ached, her chest now felt so tight she could hardly get enough air in. She felt trapped. The weapon over her shoulder and the tape player in her jacket pocket felt like opposite weights, pulling her in different directions. She could hear Bebop and Rocksteady, shouting and swearing, voices full of bravado, from the front of the procession.
Bebop's words from before the fateful boxing match a few nights ago echoed in her mind:
When you mess with a Dragon, you get the fangs.
The memory of Rocksteady's triumphant grin, even as she'd pounded his face until it was ground meat, seemed almost unreal.
You're dead, he had snarled, confident in his defeat that she would be the one paying. Today, however, it was he who was frog-marched down a hallway, the subject in the Shredder's war experiment.
She should be satisfied. Instead, she felt grim.
You ain't doin' this. Shredder is. He woulda done this with or without you, she told herself.
"In here," Shredder said brusquely.
Spike glanced around as the Shredder led the procession into another blindingly white room, lined with console panels not dissimilar to the throne room. Unlike the throne room, however, at the center stood two seperate tables, exact duplicates of the one she had been strapped to when she'd first woke up in this monochrome nightmare.
Spike's stomach lurched as Bebop and Rocksteady renewed their struggling, a frantic note entering their threats.
Behind her, Hun was silent, restrained by more robotic Foot soldiers as he strained against their grip.
"Secure them to the tables," the Shredder instructed, crossing to the center of the room. Every movement was controlled, his voice steady, like so many cold, mad scientists about to create monsters in so many of those movies that April hated. Spike grimaced, the motion pulling at the stitches as the Footbots slammed Bebop and Rocksteady down, stepping back only as the metal bonds forced their chests, waists and legs to the table.
"What're ya gonna do ta us, man?" Rocksteady bellowed, bucking against the restraints. His beady eyes were dilated, bravado now totally gone.
"Let us outta here! The Purple Dragons ain't gonna take this sittin' down! Y'mess with a Dragon, y'get the fangs!" Bebop roared. His ever-present sunglasses slipped from his face in the struggle, landing on his chest to reveal the wild-eyed expression of terror that rendered his words void. "Right, boss?"
Hun's face was dead-white. He didn't move, didn't speak. There were no words of vengeance, no assurances that all would be well.
The Shredder advanced on the squirming Dragons, the canister still clasped in his hands as another Foot soldier stepped forward, a swab in either hand. The soldier smeared one swab on Rocksteady's hand, and the other on Bebop's, before stepping back, its mechanical movements becoming more menacing by the minute.
Spike's head was pounding to the same beat as her heart as she stepped forward, mouth open as the Shredder raised the canister. Before she could stop it, the words tumbled out:
"Hold on."
The Shredder paused, inclining his head slightly as he lowered the canister. "Ms. Sanchez. Surely you are not volunteering."
"No." Spike drew herself up to her full height, looking the Shredder in the eye as she forced herself on. "Jus' thinkin' maybe this isn't such a good idea. I mean, if y'need these guys ta go find somebody, maybe makin' 'em monsters ain't such a good plan. I thought y'ninja clans were all 'bout stealth n' all."
"Yeah!" Bebop agreed desperately. "We're no good to you 'f y'- wait. Monsters?!"
Rocksteady renewed his struggling. "Yeah! Or, why don't y' just use her instead? She's a prisoner, an' an enemy of the Dragons!"
Spike's knuckles turned white as her hand clenched into a fist around the handle of the weapon. She swung it down from her shoulder, bracing it against the floor, refusing to break
"I never throw away what I can use," the Shredder said calmly. "And I never misuse a resource. Ms. Sanchez will be useful enough in another time, in another way. But your usefulness, as you are, has run out."
He raised the canister. "Ms. Sanchez shows excellent foresight, but I have Foot soldiers for stealth. I am merely refining these two so they may excell at what they were meant to be: mindless brutes."
In one smooth motion, the canister was open. The Shredder stepped smoothly between the tables, carefully pouring a few drops of the thick liquid onto both Purple Dragons.
Spike stopped cold, mid-step, mouth open, as for a moment, the room fell silent. The Purple Dragons went utterly still, the Shredder frozen in anticipation.
And then the screaming started.
Spike had seen countless horror films, but nothing could have prepared her for this.
Bones contorted, muscle structures reforming as the metal bars across the subjects bent outward, stressed until they snapped as each figure grew twice their size, writhing and howling in agony. Bebop's nose stretched into a snout, brown hair sprouting over his entire body, bursting through his clothes as his lower teeth elongated into tusks. Rocksteady's nose grew a horn as his skin grayed, clothes ripping slightly as he grew, ears moving to the top of his head as it stretched, bones cracking as it formed the face of a rhinoceros.
And all the while, the screaming never stopped. Spike was unable to look away, the sight searing itself into her memory as she fought a wave of nausea. The kanabō dropped from her grip, clattering to the floor as Spike raised a calloused hand to knot in the shirt over her chest, stomach and shoulders heaving.
The Shredder watched, coldly observing with interest as he placed the cap back on the canister and stepping back. Hun roared, lunging forward once more. With a grinding, shearing sound, the Foot soldiers' grip released. Hun shot forward, raising his fists as he surged towards the Shredder.
The Shredder was already moving, turning slightly as he tucked the canister close to his body. His fist raised once, blades shining, before they came down, carving through Hun's clothing and piercing his right shoulder, grazing his jawline on the way down. Hun dropped to his knees with a shout, clutching with his left hand at the blood-soaked fabric.
"Foot soldiers, take Hun to a prison cell. I will deal with his insolence shortly," Shredder said disinterestedly. He drew back his boot before driving it forward, into Hun's gut. The Dragon collapsed to the ground, groaning as his blood smeared across the pristine floor.
The Foot soldiers stepped forward, grasping Hun from either side, yanking him backwards, onto his knees, dragging him from the room. The door opened, then closed behind them, out of Spike's line of sight. She barely noticed, barely registered the entire event, eyes fixed on the tables.
Bebop and Rocksteady had stopped writhing, now apparently complete in their transformation. Hun's word seemed now more appropriate than ever: Monsters.
The Shredder took another step back, eyes blazing with intensity as he gazed upon the mutants. "Are they not marvellous?"
Spike staggered, fingers clutching tighter at her chest. This is too far.
Bebop rolled off the table, hitting the ground with a thud. He slowly rose, rolling his hairy shoulders as he reached towards the table, sliding his sunglasses back over his warthog snout as he flexed his massive arms. "Hey, Rocksteady. You feel that?" He flexed again, balling his hands into fists.
"Yeh." Rocksteady sat up, rubbing his hand over his horned head. He grinned, an unnatural-looking expression on the animalistic face. "Y'feel strong, Bebop?"
"Yeh. Maybe this won't be so bad after all." Rocksteady jumped off the table, shaking the room as he landed in a crouch. "An' I know jus' the punk ta test this new horn out on." His beady, half-crazed eyes landed on Spike, blazing with ferocity.
Spike's eyes widened. She craned her neck, looking up at the massive frames as realization set in.
She swore.
Fighter instinct took over, cueing her body into position. Her hands closed into fists, her weight steadied as she crouched. Her heartbeat and breathing slowed.
"Ready for a rematch, Sanchez?" Rocksteady pounded his fist into his leathery palm, lowering his head, brandishing his new horn.
The Shredder took a step out of the way, watching with interest as Rocksteady charged, head-first.
Spike leaped out of the way as the horn smashed into the wall, denting the metallic surface outward. She landed awkwardly, fighting to regain her balance. She swung her fist into Rocksteady's eye, now higher than it used to be. He yowled, bringing his heavy head around and raising a massive fist.
Spike braced her arms above her head, barely catching the fist that came down over her head. The weight and force drove her to her knees, smashing down onto the cold, hard floor as she stared at the faded Purple Dragon tattoo, still visible on Rocksteady's leathery forearm.
The snort behind her was her only warning before Bebop smashed into her back, his hand clasped around the back of her neck, tangling in the coarse hair, wrapping in her jacket collar.
"We're gonna enjoy this!" Bebop tightened his grip, yanking her backwards into his gut. Spike gagged, choking on her collar and the stench of animal now emanating from his fur. "Hey Rocksteady, take a swing at her. Show her what happens when you try ta get the best of a Dragon!"
Spike gritted her teeth, driving her elbow back with as much force as her powerful frame could muster, directly into the center of Bebop's pig-snout.
The warthog-monster squealed, releasing his grip on Spike as he raised both hands to his nose. Spike lunged out of the way a split second before Rocksteady plowed into his partner, knocking them both backwards onto the table Bebop had been transformed on. The combined weight snapped the table in half, and it crashed, groaning, to the ground.
Spike's boots slipped in the puddle of Hun's blood as she staggered, spinning back around, raising her fists again, eyes blazing, blood thundering, red-hot, through her veins, almost calming in its ferocity. This was better.
She could understand a fight. She'd take a fight over trying to use her wits any day.
Even if the fight was one that she probably wouldn't win.
"Perhaps you would fare better with your weapon."
Spike started at the sound of the Shredder's voice, echoing from across the room where he stood, a spectator, coolly watching her fight for her life.
Her gaze flickered away from Bebop and Rocksteady, clumsily untangling themselves from the wreckage of the lab tables. She spun, jaw grinding, wide eyes frantically scanning the floor for the discarded weapon.
There.
The kanabō lay on the floor by the wall, abandoned from when she'd dropped it during the transformation.
Spike whirled, starting for it just as Bebop raised a piece of the broken table, hurling it after her.
A hunk of heavy metal clipped her bad shoulder, knocking her to the floor. Her head collided with the surface with a crack.
"Gotcha!" Bebop crowed.
Spike shoved herself to her knees, groaning, shaking her head in an effort to clear the pounding haze blurring her thoughts. She tasted blood in her mouth. The stitches holding the mutilated flesh on her right cheek had torn open, leaving the skin raw, open, dripping as the ripped thread hung down, brushing her bruised jawline. She didn't feel it now. She would later, if she was lucky.
She raised her head, forcing her eyes to lock onto the kanabō. Her vision swam. The floor beneath her trembled as the mutants stampeded towards her.
Get up.
She wasn't used to being on the losing end of a fight. She wasn't even used to being on the losing end of a fight against Purple Dragons. It had been less than a week since she'd beaten Rocksteady, somehow finding it in her exhausted body to keep going, round after round, wearing him down.
But that had been in a ring, with rules, against a human. This was a no-holds-barred brawl, one against two inhuman monsters. Her gut twisted, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end as the mutants came closer, their heavy steps as loud as thunder.
Her only shot to stay alive was to keep them stumbling over their own strength.
She pressed her palm onto the ground, shoving her shoulder up, grunting with the effort.
Get up, Sanchez!
Bebop reached her first.
Spike shot to her feet, pulling from energy she didn't know she had, pulling back to smash the side of her fist into Bebop's hairy stomach as he charged her. He barely noticed, raising one booted foot to slam it down onto her chest, pushing her back to the floor.
She hit the ground, the wind gusting out of her lungs under the weight.
Rocksteady was still coming, roaring as he rushed down the length of the room.
Spike threw her arm out, grasping blindly at the area she'd dropped the kanabō, fingers closing around empty air as Rocksteady came steadily nearer.
Her fingers brushed the cold handle.
She set her teeth, planting her heels. She bucked her hips, heaving with all her strength, shoving herself just an inch away from Bebop's weight to wrap her fingers around the weapon.
A sense of grim satisfaction swept over her.
Gotcha.
She wrenched her shoulder forward, heaving in a clumsy arc over her head to slam the kanabō spike-first, on Bebop's knee.
He yelped, stepping back, foot coming off of Spike's chest. She threw herself into a roll, just barely avoiding Rocksteady's fist as she clambered to her feet, grasping the handle with both hands. She spun again, setting her weight, chin down, eyes up, thick shoulder muscles bunching as she set to swing the bat-like weapon again. Rocksteady turned, almost instantly, to absorb the next blow with his thick hide.
The shock of impact reverberated up Spike's arms, not quite enough to make her drop the weapon, but enough to make her step back, chest heaving, sweat pouring off of her in rivers.
They were getting faster.
Spike swung again, smashing the spiked end of the kanabō across Rocksteady's face as he advanced. Her abdomen tensed, bracing as he howled, bending double to crush his meaty shoulder into her gut and throw her back into the wall. Her spine protested the abrupt contact as her head snapped back, cracking against the metal. She shook her head to clear it, fighting to keep standing as her aching muscles worked almost instinctively to clumsily raise the kanabō again. Her eyes strained to focus on the blurred image of the mutated rhino and warthog, now standing together and slowly advancing, grinning.
There was blood on her knuckles, blood in her mouth, the coppery taste a comforting sense of familiarity among the nightmare. She was going to lose. For the second time in her life, she was going to lose a fight. Her last fight.
She worked her jaw, spitting a stream of bloody saliva onto the pristine metal floor as she drew herself up to her full six feet and three inches of height.
Show them why they call you Unbreakable.
Spike set her weight, boots digging into the smooth floor as she bent, swinging the bat-like weapon in an upwards swing, catching Bebop under the chin.
His jaw clicked shut and he staggered off balance, bumping into Rocksteady. Spike gritted her teeth and pressed in, reaching up to slam the hilt of the weapon into one of Bebop's tusks, using the momentum to arc the kanabō up, bringing it down on Rocksteady's horn. She ducked under a swing of a ham-sized fist, but wasn't fast enough to avoid Bebop's huge elbow, catching her across the chest and sending her sprawling to the floor.
Above her, the ceiling and its bright lights spun in dizzying circles as her vision blurred, nausea gripping her battered guts. Her throat tightened, almost closing as she fought to get in another breath, eyes dilated.
She refused to die like this. If death was coming, she'd meet it on her feet.
She rolled onto her side, propping her elbow under her bruised ribs, gritting her teeth and shoving herself to one knee, head up, chin jutted out in an expression of defiance. She braced herself on her weapon, hauling herself to her feet, staggering.
Slowly now, the pair advanced, grinning.
"We toldja." Rocksteady gloated. "Nobody gets the best of the Purple Dragons. An' now you, and yer reporter friend, are gonna die, just like Burch did. Shoulda stayed outta our turf, Sanchez."
She was going to die.
It was a cold realization, not a surprise. There was no shock, no panic as Rocksteady raised a fist, preparing to split her skull open. In this moment, the only thing that filled her memory was one regret: the regret of her broken promise.
The fist came down. She watched it fall.
"Enough!"
The Shredder's voice echoed off of the walls, overwhelmingly loud. Bebop faltered, hand falling, limply to his side. Spike staggered, gasping in a breath as the head of the Foot Clan approached, still holding the canister of mutagen.
"Perfect. A complete success."
"Success?!" Bebop bellowed, spreading his arms. "Y'call this a success?"
"It is a disappointment that nothing could be done to enhance your intellect, but with the power you now wield, you will have no need for it. You are far more effective in this form than you ever have been in the past, the perfected form of brute force."
"We can't do anythin' else," Rocksteady grunted, gesturing at his body. "Look at us! We're freaks!"
"A necessary evil."
"Necessary for what?" Bebop grunted.
"Necessary for combating the turtle-mutants that have so recently bested my Foot soldiers. You will find the lair where these mutants are hiding, invade, and destroy. Leave nothing alive."
Spike's head shot up, eyes bloodshot as an icy chill shot through her chest. "Hold on," she spat, pushing herself off of the wall. "That ain't what y' said. April gets out first, 'member?"
Shredder paused, turning slightly to eye her. "That was to be the deal struck should you vow allegiance to me. And you, my dear Ms. Sanchez, show allegiance to no one except Ms. O'Neil. If I were to allow her to live, you would obey me only until you could have found a way to usurp me."
Spike's gut wrenched.
"Rest assured, I could easily have handled your inevitable betrayal. However, my ally and I decided upon a quicker and more efficient way to make use of you. Ms. O'Neil is a loose end, and now, so are you."
Her grip tightened on the kanabō, knuckles aching. She took a step back, heart hammering as it dropped into her stomach, pounding so loudly she couldn't think.
She could hear April's voice in the back of her head, warning her, telling her to be careful, to try to talk her way out.
Spike had never been good with words. They wouldn't do her any good now anyway.
She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze, thin lips curling into a snarl. She bared her teeth, jaw grinding.
"Let me outta here," she growled.
The Shredder chuckled, a hollow, tinny sound through the mask. "I think not. Your loyalties will never be secured, but that does not mean I have no use for you. You will serve very well as another experiment as I perfect and expand my mutant forces."
April is going to die.
The thought overran her, bringing her mind to a halt as the thought repeated, over and over again, louder every time. Her broken promise tore at her chest, accompanied by the memories of Bebop and Rocksteady's agonizing mutation.
The pain of her failure boiled over, white hot. Frustration, terror, rage and uncertainty came to a crescendo, her muscles bunched.
She didn't realize she'd started moving until she was halfway through the swing, lunging forward with a roar, eyes blazing, aiming the kanabō for Shredder's unarmored midriff.
The Shredder was there to meet it, blocking with his gauntlet before side stepping, wrenching his arm downward, throwing her balance. Spike caught herself, swinging with the handle this time, jabbing upward at his faceplate just fast enough-
The plate came off at one side, hinged from the other side of his helmet, revealing Oruku Saki's face, too human for the monstrosities he had created, for the inhuman actions he had committed. Spike's face twisted further into a wild looking sneer, heaving the head of the kanabō towards his face, utterly consumed by the urge to smash it in, to make him pay.
The Shredder's gauntlet came up to block, blades flashing. She flinched. The memory of the stabbing, blinding pain slicing through her cheek staggered her, freezing her for just an instant, eyes wide as the aching wound on her cheek throbbed again, blood dripping down her collar.
Panic rose in her chest and throat, panic for April, terror for her own inevitable mutation at the hands of this monster. Her chest burned with hatred, real hatred, with an intensity she had never felt before. Her gut roiled with it, the heat of loathing inflaming every muscle.
Spike butted the handle of the weapon against his abdomen, driving all her weight into the blow. The Shredder's eyes flickered, the only indication that he'd felt the hit. His arm came up, blades shining in the bright light, crashing down, elbow first, on the back of Spike's wounded shoulder with a crack.
Spike shouted, dropping the kanabō. She staggered back, teeth gritted, shoulder, neck and head pounding with pain.
Bebop and Rocksteady were on top of her, grabbing each of her arms, gleefully pulling them roughly back, forcing her to her knees. Rocksteady's huge hand knotted into the matted hair on the back of her neck, yanking backwards, pulling her head back, chin up, forcing her to stare up into the Shredder's face. He stepped forward, looking down with a cold, disinterested expression.
"You could have been a great warrior, if you were intelligent enough to submit when you were defeated," he remarked. "As it is, you are little better than the brutes you look down on. You shall meet a similar fate."
Spike's lip curled further, mouth too dry to spit as rage and pain blurred the room around her, chest and shoulders heaving for air, throat tight, pulse roaring in her ears. Her muscles bunched, but she could only struggle, attempting to wrench out of the mutants' grip.
"Drop dead," she growled hoarsely, the veins in her neck throbbing.
The air crackled with the sound of static, the Shredder's head jerking up as a voice came through invisible speakers.
"Oruku Saki!"
The voice was garbled, almost slimy-sounding, high-pitched in comparison with the Shredder's commanding baritone, but no less cunning.
The voice of the Shredder's unseen ally.
"Saki, report to the throne room, immediately. Our search is over. It seems our prey has come to us."
The Shredder paused, eyes searching the ceiling as he listened. He nodded, satisfaction spreading over his face as he reached up, re-attaching the faceplate to the remainder of his helmet, obscuring his features once more. "The old fool has fallen right into my trap," he murmured.
He turned, eyeing Bebop and Rocksteady. "You two, return Ms. Sanchez's weapon to the cache and escort her to a cell." He reached his hand out towards the wall, thumbing a button on a control panel. "Foot soldiers, assemble a squadron to wait by the entry and prepare for capture. We are about to have another guest."
Thank you guys so much for reading! If you liked it, please let me know in a review (or give me any constructive criticism), I really appreciate it and it helps me keep writing. I hope to see you in the next chapter!