A/N: This is where I take StillThunder86's idea and run with it to tell my own story. I couldn't have done it without her. Check out her profile: [FF] .net/u/2596218/
CHAPTER TWO
Mack
Raphael felt sick as he was wheeled from the room, leaving Donatello alone and having no option but to trust that Bishop would keep his word. He was pushed through a door with the number '5' painted large on it. He felt shadow fall over him as someone stepped up behind him, a sharp pain in his arm, and then he was being tipped forward. Suddenly, his bonds were released and he fell off the table to land on the concrete floor. His quick reflexes meant that he landed on his feet, but when he tried to grasp his weapons and spin to face his captors he realised two things. First, his sais were missing, and second, his legs didn't seem to be working properly. Cramp, from being strapped on that table? Ah, no. He only just had time to recognise that he'd been drugged before sleep overtook him. His last thought as he hit the floor was for his brothers.
-TMNT-
He woke up to find himself stripped of his belt and mask, but otherwise unharmed. He was slightly surprised, as he had expected to come to on one of Bishop's examination tables – or not at all. One wall of his cell turned out to be made of bars, covered in sharp barbs. He hadn't noticed that when he came in. Then again, he hadn't noticed much about where he was taken. He was more concerned about where his brothers were. He stiffened as he saw Bishop on the other side of those bars. The man was smiling his usual, superior smirk, the one that made Raph want to break his face every time he saw it.
"Good, you're awake," Bishop observed. He made a note on his clipboard, studying the turtle as if he were a particularly interesting specimen in a jar. Raph felt his temper start to boil, but he knew that trying to grab at the man through the bars wouldn't do any good. Bishop had already shown himself to be too fast to be caught so easily, and Raph would only injure himself on the sharp barbs that lined the bars of his cell. He forced himself to stay still as he met Bishop's gaze, stare for stare.
"What have you done with 'em?" he demanded. "Leo, and Mikey and Don – where are they?"
"They are safe – for now. Look." Bishop took a remote control from his pocket and pointed it at a monitor in the corner of the room behind him. Through the bars of his cell, Raph could see his brothers on the screen. They were all together, in the room where he had left Don. Don was free from the table he had been strapped to, and was busy tending to Leo's injuries. Raph could see that Mikey was already lying on another table, a bandage around his head.
"Your brothers have food, water and all the medical supplies they need. They are being treated well. If you want this situation to continue, you will co-operate with me in everything. Do you understand?"
Raphael glared at him. When he didn't answer, Bishop pressed another button on his remote. In the room holding his brothers, the wildly flashing lights started up again. Although he couldn't hear anything from the monitor, it was clear from the way they held their ears that there must be a horrible noise going to match the strobe lighting. In fact, he thought he could hear it, echoing far away down a distant corridor. He glared at Bishop, who merely raised an eyebrow at him.
"I said, do you understand?" he repeated, without emphasis. He didn't look at the screen, preferring to watch Raphael's horrified reaction instead.
"Yes! Yes, I understand!" the distressed turtle snapped. "Cut it out! Right now!"
Bishop pressed another button, but the lights didn't stop flashing. Rather, they got faster, and brighter. The sound was louder, too. Raphael could hear it clearly, now. He made a lunge for the remote, not caring that he would rip his arm on the barbs. But as his hand approached the bars, a shock of electricity arced from them to his arm. The surprise, as much as the pain, threw him back against the far wall of his cell.
"I give the orders here, not you. Is that clear?" Bishop's voice stayed calm, but the menace in his eyes was chilling.
"Yeah, OK. Just stop hurting them. Please." he added, in response to Bishop's raised eyebrow.
"That's better," said the scientist, approvingly, as he once more lifted the remote. Raph had just enough time to see the lights return to normal, and register the sound shutting off, before the screen went blank. "As long as you behave, they will not be harmed. Resist me, and... well, I'm sure you know that I have far worse things than light and sound at my disposal. Consider this your first, and last, warning."
Raphael slumped against the wall of his cell, staring at the blank screen that had shown him his brothers.
"Hang in there, guys," he said. "I won't let him hurt you again. I promise."
-TMNT-
Donatello's face creased into a worried frown as he looked over his brothers' injuries. He had done all he could to clean and treat their wounds, now it was a question of waiting for them to wake up. He wouldn't know what sort of lasting effect Bishop's serum had had on them until then. And when they did wake, he didn't know what to hope for. If they remembered nothing of the whole incident, then he would have to tell them what had happened, which he could hardly bear to think about. On the other hand, if he did have to tell them, at least he could give them the edited version. They would never have to know about the awful way they had looked at each other, dealing out vicious attacks and showing no restraint. But if they remembered everything... Don shook his head again, trying to dislodge the vision of Leo and Mikey unable to look at each other for guilt. He knew that he would be able to tell, as soon as they opened their eyes and saw one another. He would know at once whether or not they remembered. His mind played out both possible scenarios, and he honestly didn't know which one he dreaded more. The third possibility – that the serum had permanently damaged their minds – he refused to even consider.
Seeking something to keep his mind off his brothers' possible fates, Donatello obsessively checked and re-checked their medical supplies. Bishop had been thorough, giving him everything he needed to tend his brothers' injuries. Donatello could almost have been grateful for this, if it weren't Bishop fault that they were injured in the first place. There were a dozen clean dressings, of all sizes, along with enough bandages to wrap them both from head to foot many times over. Three bottles of antiseptic, and sterile needles and thread for stitches. Even warm and cold compresses, to reduce the pain and swelling of the bruises, and ease over-used muscles. They had everything they needed – except a way out of this place. Don stared at the table of supplies. Surely he could come up with something from all this? He was the inventor, wasn't he? The clever one. They were depending on him.
Don could feel the panic rising in his chest again, and looked for another way to keep busy. As he re-checked Leo's bandages, the lights in the room suddenly began to flash furiously. A piercing wail seemed to be coming out of the walls, echoing around the small room. The dressing dropped from Don's nerveless hands as he screwed up his eyes and clutched at his head in an effort to block out the terrible noise. He squinted furiously against the lights to check on his brothers, and saw them both curled up on their tables, hands pressed to their ears and eyes tight shut. Michelangelo was shaking, and Leo's hands were clenched so tightly that the wound on his arm had re-opened. Donatello tried to reach for the bandage, but as soon as his hands left his ears the noise threatened to split his head. He fell to his knees as the noise intensified and the lights flashed faster and brighter. His only ray of hope was that all this noise was an alarm of some kind, and that it meant Raphael had escaped. If he could make himself work through it, maybe he could use the diversion of Raph's breakout to get his wounded brothers to safety.
Donatello stood, forcing his hands to his sides and his eyelids open. He reached again for Leo's arm, and the room went suddenly quiet. The lights stopped flashing and settled back to a soft, steady glow. A rush of relief was followed by a wave of concern for his brother. Did this mean he had been caught? Donatello felt suddenly guilty. What if Raph really had been causing a diversion, trusting him to do something with this chance, and he'd wasted it? Raph was relying on him – they all were. He was letting them down. Donatello sank to the floor, guilt crushing him so badly he could barely breathe.
He looked at Leo and saw blood seeping through the bandages on his arm. Donatello pulled himself together. This, at least, he could do. He went over to his older brother and began to change the dressing. He saw that both Leo and Mikey had their eyes open, although neither seemed truly aware of their surroundings. Don should have been relieved to see that the blackness was gone from their eyes, but the blankness that he saw there instead was almost worse. As he began to work on Leonardo's arm, the older turtle turned those blank eyes on him without recognition.
"Leo? It's going to be OK. I just need to get to your arm for a minute. OK, Leo?" Donatello kept his voice calm, but his heart was racing. He fought back tears as he focused on wrapping the clean dressing around his brother's arm. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Leo or Mikey were permanently damaged by this serum of Bishop's. He had never felt so alone, or so helpless.
"Don?" Leo sounded uncertain, as if he barely recognised the turtle standing at his side. "Don? Is that you? Where are we?"
"Leo? You're..." Don paused. He had been about to ask if his brother was alright, but, of course, he wasn't. "You're... awake," he substituted, feeling foolish. He glanced over at Mikey, who was trying to sit up.
"Hey, Donnie." Mikey said, blearily. "Whatcha doin'?"
Relief poured through Donatello, as he let the tears fall at last.
-TMNT-
Back in Raphael's cell, another wall rose to reveal another set of bars. These were smooth, but there were two sets, spaced four feet apart. On the far side of both sets of bars, Raph could see a figure curled on the floor, seemingly asleep. Bishop re-appeared behind the barbed wall.
"This is your first test," he announced, without preamble. "Mack here is another specimen of mine. You might be interested to know that the serum my team is currently developing was inspired by Mack. It used to be intelligent, once. Could talk as clearly as you or I. Well, as clearly as you, anyway. Somewhere along the line, though, Mack went feral. Any human intelligence it used to have appears to have been lost, subsumed by its animal nature. The serum currently under development aims to reproduce that response in a controlled manner. Meanwhile, Mack remains a useful benchmark."
Raph rolled his eyes at Bishop, and the creature in the far cell. "You say that like you expect me to care, Bishop," he said. "What's any of this got to do with me?"
"Rather a lot, I think you'll find. At the moment, Mack represents the raw, brutal nature of the Berserker without having to use the serum itself. You, meanwhile, are currently unaffected by any drug – beyond the residual effects of the tranquiliser from earlier. Observing your fighting styles will provide us with valuable information on the strengths and weaknesses of the Berserker method. Between you and Mack, we should be able to refine the serum to combine the best of both techniques."
The bars dividing his cell from Mack's started to move, one set moving up into the ceiling, the other sinking down into the floor. The creature in the corner stirred, as if familiar with the sound. Bishop brought his remote control from his pocket, and pointed it at the wall behind Mack. A light flashed, and the creature started.
"The fight will end when one of you is rendered helpless. You may defeat your opponent in any way you choose, but it's only fair to warn you that Mack will be trying to kill you. You may begin when ready." Bishop calmly replaced the remote control in his pocket, and readied his clipboard. Raph found his detached interest truly disgusting. He turned to where Mack was pacing on the far side of their battleground. The creature was watching him warily, as if trying to size up the threat he posed. Raphael adopted his fighting stance, wishing more than ever that he had his sais.
The creature growled low, baring its teeth at the turtle. In one bound, Mack cleared half the distance between them. Raphael barely had time to brace himself before the creature sprang again, aiming for the throat.
The fight was on.