A/N: Yes, I know it's been a while. Real Life and other projects have been chewing on me for some time. Kudos to all those still visiting and reading!
Monster World
Chapter 6 – Hardened Thinker
The scientist picked up a tool and unscrewed the bolts holding his leg in place. As he did, he thought about the past – about the creatures that his family had been battling. Mythical and monstrous; new types and species kept popping up everywhere. It didn't help that their territories kept changing – an area that was infested with Minotaurs one month was crawling with Wyverns the next. It also didn't help that his youngest brother was always going topside to "right what was wronged" – or that he was constantly meeting the Exile. He sighed at the thought – finally loosening the bolts on his leg. He reached down and detached it off the mangled stump of what was his left leg. A battle with a pair of rutting Cyclops had cost him dearly. He laughed softly, the sound echoing off the cold brick of the lair. Just one wrong move and it had happened…
Flashback
The scientist knew he shouldn't have been out this far – not tonight anyway, but he just had to see. He just was curious to see the monsters and what they did to mate. He crept to the site of what was once Foot Headquarters and peered over a ridge of debris. He saw two brutish Cyclops in what appeared to be a mating fight. He watched – not realizing that he was upwind from them. They paused, sniffed the air and turned to his location. The scientist just watched with growing fear and slowly backed away…only for his right foot to come down on a crushed soda can. The scientist flailed his arms as silently as he could – and was saved from a loud fall by a pain in his left leg.
His leg was in the grip of one of the Cyclops. The scientist was bodily yanked up, his head colliding with the ground painfully – making him see stars. He groped for his weapon on his back but even that action was cut short as the creature slammed him into the ground without releasing his leg. He balled his hand into a fist and struck out blindly. As luck would have it, his wayward fist slammed home into the eye of the brute holding him. The Cyclops staggered back in pain and dropped the scientist – slamming him in to the ground yet again. Testing his leg, he found that he could still move it – barely. The pain was excruciating, but tolerable. After all, he was trained to channel the pain into a useful weapon against his enemies.
He never saw the blow from behind that sent him sprawling heavily on his plastron. The blow knocked the wind out of him and left him spluttering. He craned his head up to see what had hit him. It wasn't the second Cyclops as he'd been expecting – but the female. A towering mass of muscle, claws and teeth. She reached out with one hand and he tried to get away. Not that it helped – her fist closed over his already battered left leg and squeezed. He felt something in his leg give way and then heard a sound like someone tearing wet cloth followed by a horrific sensation of fire and ice in his leg. He crawled forwards – away from the creatures, but collapsed in pain. With some effort, he rolled over onto his shell and looked down at the damage.
His leg was gone. From the knee down – everything was gone. He was bleeding out rapidly and knew that no one was going to look for him. His vision dimmed and his head lolled to one side. In the distance, he heard a rapidly approaching hum – almost like a motorbike. It couldn't be the Exile, could it? He didn't know and didn't really care. Everything was light and he was weightless. He heard sounds of combat and a few roars of pain – and then silence. So that was it, the Exile had bit the dust. As the scientist lay there, he felt sad for some reason – and started apologizing to whoever was out there. He couldn't remember what he had said, just that he was sorry for yelling at the Exile and he always loved him no matter what. He felt himself being lifted up and then the wind rushing over his body – and then nothing.
End Flashback
He smirked sadly at the memories, adjusting the motors in his leg. He had woken up on the couch, his leg cleaned and properly bandaged. His father told him that he didn't know what had happened – that he had found him outside the lair. He had a feeling his father wasn't telling him the entire truth, but he had let it slide. His life was more important – that and his ability to fight. His first attempts at a new leg were disastrous – until he applied himself. The first mechanical leg was a bit too long, the second one a bit too short. In a Goldilocks subversion, the third one was just right…but shattered the first time he attempted a kick. Granted, the kick was on the chest of a mutated Wendigo, but it was a good test of the stresses of combat.
He smiled sadly and put down his tools. He often wondered who had saved him – since his youngest brother had been on the other side of the city at the time. He had often thought that it was the Exile – and he had heard what the Scientist had said. Well, he wasn't going to take any of it back. Even though he thought he was on the brink of death, what he had said was true. He missed his brother – missed having him around, joking with him and fighting alongside him. He still resented him mildly for killing their eldest bother, but that would always be there. He reattached his leg and stood up. It was perfectly weighted and could hold up to the strongest of kicks. He smiled in satisfaction and sheathed his new staff. Ironically, it was made out of all three failed legs and was weighted at one end for extra striking power.
Donatello was ready to rock – again.