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Chapter 11

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They were all together. Mike had picked out a pretty decent kung fu movie, and all four brothers were settled down in front of the television.

"Well, it's highly unlikely," Donatello sounded mildly annoyed. "I guess theoretically it's possible, but have you ever seen anyone fight like that in real life? No. You know they're using wires."

"But it is possible! You said it! I heard ya! Mike was triumphant. "Dude! If we just trained enough we could do that stuff! What about those shaolin monks on that boring show you were wachin' the other day? Those guys were unreal!"

"Yeah, well, I tend to think the reports of what the shaolin monks are capable of these days is greatly exaggerated…" Don grumbled. "Besides, the Discovery channel has traded some of it's credibility for ratings in recent years."

"YOU were watching the television?" Leo smirked, turning towards Donatello. "Will wonders never cease."

"Yeah, musta' been a pretty great show to tear ya' away from that computer for two seconds," Raph said, leaning back and casually twirling a sai. "You get tired of chattin' online with guys pretendin' to be ladies, or somethin'?"

They chuckled. Donatello crossed his arms and huffed, "Better than hanging out with the sausage-fest in here every day."

One second of silence passed before all three turtles erupted in laughter. It was a funny expression anyways, but to hear the normally brainy brother use such a low-brow term… sausage-fest… it was too much to take. Even Donatello himself couldn't help but start giggling along.

The laugher eventually died down. After a little while, Raphael looked down mischievously at Michelangelo, who was seated on the floor in front of him. Mike was starting to get engrossed in the film once again.

Casting a sly look at Leo and Don, Raphael said, "Hey, watch this," and extended a hand towards Mikey's neck.

One second later, Mike suddenly found himself lying on the floor, unable to move. Great. I GOTTA get Raph and Leo to teach me those pressure points one of these days.

The three un-paralyzed turtles burst into another round of laughter. "Ah, don' worry Mikey, you'll be up an' around in a few hours," Frozen to the floor, Mike's eyes turned to Raphael, widening. HOURS!? Oh, damn you, Raph.

Through his laughter, Leo attempted to put Mike at ease. "Heh. It'll wear off in a couple of minutes, Mike, not to worry." Leo wiped a tear from his eye.

Mike could see all three brothers in front of him, all laughing, smiling. Something was wrong. He was stiff and the floor was biting into him, like he'd been lying there for hours. He tried to speak, but nothing was coming out. Raph, Leo, Don… guys, help me. His vision and hearing were getting fuzzy. Guys? Help me!

Michelangelo awoke on the floor of the cell.

He just couldn't contain it anymore. The dream had been way too saccharine. What cruel fate would show him such comfort and return him to this hell? Sobs racked his body. He pressed one hand tightly against his mouth to contain the noise of it. He missed his brothers, his home. How he just wanted to be there now. He wondered what the others were going through; probably running themselves ragged looking for him. No, not 'probably'… definitely. He knew his brothers were tearing the city apart looking for him. Their bond was strong; they would not rest until he was recovered. That thought just made him even more homesick.

Days came and went, but being that there were no windows anywhere in this place, it was impossible to tell how much time was passing. Sometimes he was hauled off and given the injection, sometimes they just came in and beat him. His body was covered head to toe in cuts and bruises. One hand was swollen shut and he was pretty sure one or more of his fingers were broken. Exhaustion forced him into sleep when they weren't busy with him. Sweet sleep, it was his only escape.

That's it then. I've died and gone to hell. He wished he knew anything. Was anybody coming to rescue him? They keep asking me where the lair is… must be 'cuz the other guys escaped. Just gotta give 'em some more time. He clung to that thought, but nothing was for certain. All Michelangelo knew was that he'd been here for a long time. So long… it felt like a goddamn eternity since he'd left the life he knew.

Even meditation was becoming a dangerous thing for him now. Though it still served as an escape from this misery, he knew that he was starting to shut down. He remembered Master Splinter warning them that long periods of intense meditation could be lethal, especially in times of great stress; it was crucial not to overdo it in extreme situations. "Use caution not to go too deep too often, or you may not be able to recover," the old rat had said, "it is possible to lose your way, entering a sleep you may never wake from." Though the words rang in his head, he could not fight it. Michelangelo put his head to the wall and found freedom.

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It wasn't the physical torture; the shock treatments, the wounds, the blood, the infection, the fever. It wasn't the helplessness, the hopelessness of each passing day. It wasn't the constant fear that any moment would be his last. It wasn't even the sickening ignorance of where his family had been all this time, whether they were looking for him, whether or not there would be any escape from this wicked place.

No. What drove Donatello to the edge, to this foreign feeling of pure hatred, was what he saw in that room. He felt murder capable in him. Someone would die for this.

He looked at Michelangelo's battered body and saw his brother dead. Michelangelo no longer existed. His eyes, frozen open, were a blank stare. He was almost unrecognizable thanks to the amount of damage on his person alone; his body was so bruised and swollen that he barely even resembled himself in a physical sense. None of that mattered now though.

This is why they put me in here, thought Donatello, they wanted me to see this.

Michelangelo; the youngest and most childlike, the one that always made them laugh. He was stupid, he was ridiculous, he was annoying. He was a constant pain in the ass. He got so excited about the latest video game, he'd talk your ear off for days about it. He was constantly pulling pranks. He still gets scared of the dark, for chrissakes.

Don thought that what he'd endured up to this point was bad enough… but this was just too much. How dare they. How dare they.

That was what did it. He swore revenge; silently, passionately, he vowed to return this pain upon them tenfold. Mikey… I don't care if it takes my entire life, I will avenge this.

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