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Chapter 15
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He stood there for a second, frozen in time, drinking in the satisfaction. Though his face was mostly obscured by the mask he wore, his eyes told them everything they needed to know.
"Saki." Donatello spit the word out, a disgusted sound, like the word tasted bad.
The Shredder stood still, chest moving, his eyes brimming with a hatred so true. Karai flitted in, accompanied as always by a couple of their most elite soldiers, her personal guard. She entered formation close to the Shredder, a show of her importance among their ranks.
"My master is disappointed with your insistence on staying alive. He has watched your progress remotely, but now tires of this game." She took a few steps forward towards them. "It is time to end this."
She signaled to a couple of guards and they moved in. Hands grabbed Michelangelo.
"Mikey!"
He didn't make any sound at first, didn't struggle or resist. Eventually, Michelangelo just raised his head slowly, painfully, and looked at his brother. "It's okay Donnie." So calm, so serious. So sad. So unlike himself.
Michelangelo was hauled out of the room. Karai left with them, but the Shredder did not move. Before she was entirely out the door, she gave a hand signal to the remaining guards.
They fell upon him. Donatello, weak and hurt, exhausted and emaciated, had nothing to offer. Stoically, pathetically, he tried in vain to block their attacks.
His eye exploded in stars. His lip gushed blood, and a few teeth slipped along a blood stream out of his mouth. Attacking an unarmed and utterly defenseless enemy, was there anything more dishonorable? Spitting blood and teeth, he croaked, "Cowards."
The attacks increased in intensity. Taunting them… not the smartest thing I've ever done, he thought cynically, but definitely satisfying. It made him think of his more impulsive brother, Raphael. Impossibly, a smile crept over the side of his bleeding mouth. I regret nothing.
Pain exploded throughout his entire being. No thought could enter, no feeling. Pain was all there was, pain was all there would ever be. A punch had connected squarely into his wounded shoulder, bursting the wound open. A mix of blood and pus spilled out, a sickening smell of rotting flesh filling the air.
He was vaguely aware of more punches hitting his frame, but it was all so far away. Eventually the attacks stopped, but he was hardly aware. As he was lifted upwards, his body tried to vomit, but nothing was there to expel.
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Michelangelo was shackled to the wall this time, both arms in a single knot above his head. Sorry… Leo… sorry… Raph… Donnie… Master... He repeated the chant through his head. This was it. He knew that death was soon, his desperate mind turning only to his family in this moment. Sorry… so sorry… I failed you all…
He heard a commotion outside, and then the door opened.
Donatello was dragged in and thrown unceremoniously into the corner of the room. Several guards took position on either side of him. He raised his weary head and met eyes with his brother. Incredible though the pain was, his shoulder was momentarily forgotten. No, please, no… this can't happen. Please.
He didn't know what he was praying to. Donatello was far too analytical to put much stock in the spiritual. Nevertheless, it didn't stop him from crying out in his head, pleading for some deus ex machina–type savior. Please, help us.
He raised his chin and looked at his brother, trussed up like a slab of meat on the wall. Michelangelo's eyes were hollow. He's giving up. Donatello wanted to cry. He wanted to tell his brother to keep fighting, to stay strong… but what was the point? One or both of them were not coming out of this room, that much had been made clear. He just wanted Mike's pain to end now.
Flashes… images, sounds, feelings, input. So fast, the way they say 'my entire life flashed before my eyes'… only this was Mike's life. Donatello's memories of his brother, flashing by in seconds. He saw Mike at 7 years old, crying because Optimus Prime had died in the movie. He saw Mike snuggling up to Raphael, the two of them asleep on the couch after a long training session. Mike caught sneaking out of Don's lab, keyboard in pieces, grinning sheepishly. Mike rambling incoherently last summer, as Don put him to bed after a drinking session with Casey and Raph. Mike sparring with him. Mike smiling. Mike laughing. Mike happy.
Always happy. That was Michelangelo, before all of this madness, of course. Don't worry little brother, Don thought, it'll all be over soon.
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Michelangelo's scream was deafening in the small room. The tambo had nearly shattered his kneecap. Donatello lunged forward on impulse, but a swift kick sent him flying back into the corner.
And still, the Shredder did not move, did not speak. He stood, arms crossed, a voyeur statue in the room. Donatello's eyes met his. He's enjoying this.
"I will say it again. You will tell us the location of your lair," Karai looked deep into Don's eyes; hungrily, lustfully. Pure evil aside, she was actually quite beautiful. In another life, I could've loved you, he thought absently, feeling disgusted by it.
He said nothing. Her hand went up, another blow fell, and another mind-shattering wail erupted from his helpless brother. Quiet tears began to fall down Donatello's face. "Tell us, and your brother will be given a quick death. Fail to comply, and my master will see to it that his suffering never ends." To drive the point home, she signaled another attack, this one landing across Michelangelo's face.
Gasping, Mike looked at him, struggling with the words. "Don't… don't, Donnie…"
His face wet, Donatello looked at him silently. He spoke evenly, not taking his eyes away from Mike's. "I will never tell you." I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… Mikey. New tears blurred his vision, but he made no sound.
The man Oroku Saki, known to them more commonly as their greatest enemy the Shredder, at last broke his silence.
"Enough! You are stubborn, turtle." He spoke slowly, his voice just above a growl. "Your failure to give in to us is admirable. However, it will not save you or your family from your fate." He turned towards Michelangelo. Without another word, he swiped one forearm across Mike's chest, flaying it open with his bladed gauntlet.
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