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Chapter 08

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Cold. That was the first sensation. Then: pain.

Donatello opened his eyes to a blinding light, wincing and shutting them again. As he blinked he tried to sit up but found he couldn't. Confusion now. What's going on -

Oh.

He understood immediately. He was the smart one after all, and it wasn't hard to figure out what had happened, even if his memory was a little fuzzy at the moment. This place didn't look like the sewers or April's place, so that only left one other explanation, really. But how exactly... oooh. Oh yeah, pain. His eyesight coming into better focus now, he turned towards his left shoulder. Ugh, pretty nasty wound there, he thought. Looks like… it's been cauterized? The wound was deep, but was no longer bleeding. Looking at it made his stomach turn.

He felt nauseous and his head was pounding. Must have lost some blood, then, he thought. Ugh… feels like I probably took a pretty good blow to the head, too. He moved around a bit. Arms and legs locked down, it confirmed his earlier thought. I've been captured. But how?

He tried to remember but it was difficult. They were fighting the Foot… that's right, Raph had gotten into some trouble. He and Mike and Leo had come to the rescue.

Raph, Mike and Leo! What if they were here too? The fear caught in his throat. Were his brothers alright? He began thinking about where he was… no doubt their enemies had him (them?) locked away somewhere. He wasn't dead yet, so what was it to be then? Torture? Experimentation? Please, he thought, if they're out there… please let them find me soon.

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Michelangelo woke up. He went to roll over, but something was in the way. He was… stuck somehow? His brain was too hazy with sleep to make complete sense of it. His first thought was that Raphael had pulled some prank, saran-wrapped him to his bed or something. An image occurred: a devious-looking Raphael, ready to get him while he lay defenseless in bed. Mike's eyes snapped open.

Huh, that's weird… this doesn't look like my room. Okay, what was going on? He looked down and saw that he was -

Oh. Shit.

- shackled to the table. Realization slammed into him. Oh crap, they got me. They all knew that this was an ever-present danger. In addition to the risk of death or injury, becoming a POW was also always a concern in their line of business. In the little amount of thought he'd afforded himself on it though, Michelangelo always imagined that he'd be more on the rescue-er side, and less on the rescue-ee one. S'funny, we always thought it'd be Raphael that got nailed.

He couldn't remember what happened. There was a fight of some sort… against the Foot, he thought. It was pretty vague. He didn't know what had happened to the others. What if they got the other guys too? It was a pretty unsettling thought. Gotta get out of here. He struggled hard against the restraints, using every bit of strength to try and break free. The shackles held fast. Great. What now?

He looked around the room. It was dim, dirty, but still held that clinical feel of a doctor's office (at least it seemed like Donnie's med lab, the only 'doctor's office' Mike had actually been in). He was strapped down with his back against a flat metal table, pretty uncomfortable really, given his huge shell. Somehow Mike didn't think the people who brought him here were all that interested in his comfort, though. A shiver crept up his spine.

There were no windows and the room smelled stagnant; a slightly rotten smell, like spoiled meat. That thought sent Mike reeling and he thought he was going to vomit (again? Did… did I puke earlier?) but the feeling passed. He was scared. He didn't know where he was, where his brothers were, or what was going to happen. He took a deep breath and shuddered. "Alright Mikey, just relax," he told himself aloud, "your brothers are probably on their way here right now." If they weren't strapped down in one of the rooms next to him, that was. If they weren't dead.

His brothers, dead. With that thought an image came to him – Donnie, broken, bleeding and surrounded by Foot. It was just a quick flash of memory, but it slammed into him like a truck. Don! Is Donnie all right? Panic was setting in. Michelangelo squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to remember anything. No, this can't be happening… my brothers will come for me. He was shivering all over now.

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"It is not enough to just kill you," she said, as another shock ripped through Donatello's body, "you must pay for your crimes against the Foot. When we dump your corpses in the sewers, your sensei will see your broken bodies - he will know that you suffered greatly before your demise."

She continued. "It is fitting that your family suffer such a loss, though it will never compare to the blow that the Foot Clan was dealt when our Master fell. Once they see our 'message', your remaining friends will understand our power." She leaned in close. "Perhaps it will even stir the old rat out of his hole as well." Her voice was poison. "Then, my dear enemy, our revenge will be complete. With your presence gone, the Foot will rise once more; nothing will stop us from declaring war on this entire city."

Karai had been vague, but Donatello thought that her use of the word 'friends' might be masking the fact that some of his 'family' might also still be safe. There was no doubt that she enjoyed his suffering, but during this particular session she'd asked him to reveal the whereabouts of their lair. He would've liked to think that it meant at least one of his other brothers had avoided capture, but in all likelihood he suspected the Foot were just as interested in getting their hands on Master Splinter. Revealing the location of their home would deliver the Foot Clan's greatest enemy right into their hands, the rat disciple of Hamato Yoshi. I won't tell them, no matter what they do. Terrified though he was, he was still a warrior. I won't fail my family.

Nevertheless, Donatello was filled with despair. It had been days since he'd arrived here, and the shock treatments had begun almost immediately. The burns on his body from the electrodes were oozing with pus now. He glanced at his bloody, mangled shoulder. His entire left arm was burning.

"It is pleasurable enough to watch you suffer, we have no intention of making this quick. You will tell us what we want to know eventually. We have many… other methods… you have yet to see." She drove a dagger into the wound in Donatello's shoulder, twisting the blade around and playing with it as she spoke.

Donatello winced with the memory. He could only imagine what they had in store for him. Where were his brothers? Were they enduring the same treatment? Donatello cleared his mind and entered meditation. It was all he could do in-between the torture sessions, to help keep his mind together. So tired. He sighed. Just. Want. To. Sleep.

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Michelangelo jumped a little as the door to his room opened briskly. In walked a man dressed in white scrubs, holding a tray. He had a surgeon's mask on and Mike was unable to see his face.

The man laid the tray down on a counter and fiddled around with it. Mike was feeling nervous. Dammit, he hated needles. But aside from the whole giant-sharp-piece-of-metal-sticking-into-you thing, he was actually more afraid of what might be inside the little vial attached to it. To say that Michelangelo's imagination was constantly running wild would be an understatement. Thoughts of bio-weaponry, alien species of bacteria, mutagenic ooze… pretty much every comic book he'd ever read was coming back to haunt him now.

Okay, don't panic… hey, this could be a good thing. Once, during a rather intense practice session, he'd snapped his femur clean through. Donnie had to set it without local anesthesia, but he did have a store of morphine on hand. Mike didn't remember too much about what happened afterwards, only that everyone kept laughing a lot around him and he had a pretty good time overall. Even though he was never really fond of needles, after that situation he always felt a little better about them.

The man turned around. Without a word, he promptly stuck the needle in Mike's arm.

"Jeez! Give a guy a little head's up!"

The man said nothing. Mike stole a glance at the thing in his arm. Huh, just drawing blood, then. Well, that was a relief. No weird alien bacteria being tested on him after all.

The man finished drawing blood and went back to his tray, fiddling around some more. Whew, glad that's over, thought Mike, wonder what happens now?

"Hey, uh, sooooo… are you guys gonna tell me why I'm here, or what's going on? Maybe your boss wants to come in an' lay out his master plan, 'cuz, y'know, I'm all lyin' here defenseless…" he trailed off.

The man turned around, holding a new needle. Michelangelo could see that this one had a liquid inside of it.

"Well, it's what they always do in the movies anyways… of course, then the good guy always makes a comeback after that." His eyes widened, fixated on the needle coming closer. "Heh… g-guess you guys must've seen that one…" He finished the sentence shakily.

He tensed as the needle dug flesh. The liquid burned as it entered his vein. Almost immediately, his heart started pounding and he broke out into a cold sweat.

"Dude, what is this!" His body was suddenly on fire. He gasped, drawing in breath and paused a moment. What followed was the most blood-curdling scream that had ever erupted from the turtle's lips. Every vein, every artery boiled with hot flame. His back arched, every muscle tense, every nerve in sheer agony. He could do nothing but scream.

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