Title: Validation
Summary: Never the perfect son or student or brother, Raphael does the unthinkable. Away from the lair and into an allegiance with Shredder, honor is replaced by his pronounced desire for validation.
Disclaimer: I have no ownership ties to the TMNT fandom or anything else I might reference. Credit to those who do.
SPECIAL THANKS TO! Bella13blue, my own personal Nemesis! (Because everybody needs one.) MY Nemesis has been a good friend; she's a great soundboard and has been kind enough to encourage and offer suggestions on my work for this fic.
Author's Notes: This chapter is split into two parts. The first part gives you a taste of the aftermath of Raphael's mission. The second part backtracks to exactly what happened during said mission.
Questions or comments, submit via review or PM. Thank you.
...
CH 26
[Construction Site, early the following morning, Post-Heist]
Too early for even the sun to rise, the sky was almost black, save for the the half-moon that decked the atmosphere: a cosmic flashlight, a beacon of sorts; next to that, the only other source of light came from the vibrant glow of a pendant worn by an emerald-skinned mutant. That pendant, a brilliant gold. The relic itself was in the shape of a bladed star. It emitted a fantastic light that its current wearer failed to notice...
Raphael's mission had been a success. The Golden Shuriken was in his possession; its chain was loose around his neck- the mystic icon itself rested over the bisected pectorals of his plastron.
That golden relic, proof of his own abilities and worth. Proof of an underlying loyalty he couldn't bring himself to focus on right now.
Not under these circumstances.
His respirator was gone. His own right leg was a mess of seared flesh and blisters beneath a tight makeshift wrap. His left arm was bloody and marred by a series of nasty serrated gashes, but the blood had thickened and clotted- it would scab over soon. Yet, those injuries paled in comparison to the heavy feeling that settled in the turtle's heart as he shoveled dirt over a corpse in a nice deep hole he'd dug. That corpse, now so cold, he'd held it when it was still warm.
He knew the feeling of that body in his hands; he knew the weight of the dead. Its heft and size was notable. It wasn't small. It wasn't even human. But it still deserved a burial. And after successfully obtaining the mystic relic, Raphael had personally dragged the cooling and stiffening body all the way back to the familiar construction site. He picked a fair spot where the ground was soft, comprised of less clay than other parts. Then, with the same shovel he'd used to bury the Pennington family, he began to dig.
He was tired, but he wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. Emotions subdued for the time being, he was infinitely restless and desperate for a sense of purpose.
He would not rest until he was finished, and even then, sleep would be a monster and a bully- something to mock him in his more vulnerable hours. Sleep: the mistress that would invite him into her clutches and work to destroy him from the inside out... but now was not the time to think of sleep.
He had work to do.
He plunged the tip of that shove into the earth, stamped it in a little deeper, and upturned several tufts of dirt and rock. Then, he kept going. And going. Digging deeper and deeper until his shoulders and back were sore; until a light sheen of sweat slicked his leathery skin; and, until a fair-sized hole had been made. Then, at long last, he dropped the shovel, drew the dead thing into his arms and heaved it into the pit; he'd have been gentler in his efforts if he could, but the sheer mass of the creature made it difficult.
After his hands were free of the furry thing, he straightened his posture, squared his shoulders, and stared down for several long minutes.
Silent. Not out of stealth. Not because he was a ninja. But because he'd taken a life, and he owed at least a little respect.
When his own twisted feelings felt a little more at ease, he reclaimed the shovel and proceeded to bury the remains of something that had been so lively before.
'I'd say sorry...' Raphael thought, 'but it wouldn't bring ya back. So, I won't apologize. No need ta waste words. I ain't got nothin' ta say anyways. My silence, it's the best I can offer. It ain't enough, but... it's all I got.' Little by little, he filled in the hole. As he worked, his mind gradually grew into something blank, something manageable. Switched to auto-pilot and allowed him to continue almost mindlessly.
To him, the world became gray-scale and muted.
It was easier that way.
The last coherent thought he remembered was: 'It's over. I just wanna go home.'
And he willed himself not to think beyond that. Not to grieve. Not to focus on what he'd done. More importantly, he pushed away any thought of home and the comfort he could only hope for. Because, whatever the term 'home' once meant, it didn't mean the same thing. Not anymore. Home stopped being a place to retire when his work was done. In his mind, home wasn't tangible. It wasn't something he could return to. It was something he'd lost- a treasure that would forever elude his capture.
A fragmented memory, distorted and wrought with ruin.
Home wasn't a lair hidden beneath the streets. And home wasn't Central, but that was the closest thing he had.
And as he finished packing the dirt over the unmarked grave, he was too damn tired to make sense of anything. So, roughly shoving the head of the shovel into a mound of dirt and leaving it there, he turned to leave.
He stopped trying to think. He let his mind go. Set it free. Gave into something strange and harrowing that resided within.
Habitual stealth as his aid, he began making his way back to Central despite his pronounced limp, he didn't pay any attention to the relic as its glow became brighter and brighter and a haze of ambiguity began to cloud over his mind.
...
[Earlier that evening]
The sun had gone down. The dark hours approached. It was mission-time at now'o'clock. An ancient relic of mystic forgery awaited a certain mutant's thieving hands. That's what it all boiled down to.
Before departure, Shredder had mentioned something of primitive security, but he'd left out a few details. He apparently hadn't saw fit to mention the landmines that littered a field as a precursor to actually getting to his destination. Outdated method or not, someone had gone through the trouble of warding off intruders, which could only lead Raphael to believe that whatever was inside that facility had to be important.
Still... landmines... were not something he'd expected. Trip wires, hired guns, things of the like, maybe. Lasers and motion detectors, bring it on. But the mines...
Raphael supposed that the fairly minute explosions would go unnoticed out in the middle of nowhere, miles away from civilians and city life; any 'boom' and billow of smoke would fall on deaf ears and blind eyes should the turtle trigger another one. Because, in absence of warning, he had carelessly bumped his foot against one that had been packed into the ground and concealed by dirt and grass. Once his foot had disturbed the previously latent apparatus, Raphael just barely managed to catch a faint beeping sound, and that was all the warning he received before the mine erupted in a show of sound, heat, and smoke.
The explosion had been small, controlled, and did minimal damage, considering, but flesh on the shin and calf of his right leg was scorched, and small traces of unforgiving shrapnel had found itself embedded- parts of his skin... shredded and peeled.
Raphael had cursed quietly at the happening, gritting his teeth and chanting a mantra of expletives that came out too muffled to be translated. With a series of deep breaths, he willed the pain out of focus and deduced that the rig had been planted to serve as a warning. A deterrent. It was meant to send him packing and running the other way, but he would not heed the threat.
His goal was ultimate. His focus tunneled. His eye was on the prize, his trophy and victory. Proof of his worth. Acceptance...
'I made a promise ta Shredda... He's counting on me. I made a promise, and I ain't gonna fail. I gave him my word.' His thoughts held his virtue; his resolve was firm. But all the honor and determination in the world couldn't steal him away from the fact that he was wounded and bleeding; parts of his leathery skin was swollen, mottled red-brown-grey-black with mounting white blisters and a crusted outline of dead flesh.
The burn was a bitch, the way it seemed to nag at him. The searing pain would have been blinding if his focus hadn't been steeled on his desire to succeed. He felt the pain and noted it dully- similar to the way the mind tricks its host into feeling phantom pains. He deluded himself into ignoring the thermogenic throes. To an extent, he managed to detach himself from the abhorring sensation. He blinked long, slow and hard as he breathed deeply until the burn seemed more like a memory and less like an all-encompassing torrent of hellfire.
Once he was coolly detached and able concentrate, his clinical instinct was to field-dress the new wound to avoid infection. He grabbed a tail of his Foot-branded scarf, pulled a knife from his utility strap and used it to cut off a lengthy piece of the fabric. Then, putting the knife back, he thickly wrapped and tied the cloth around this wounded leg; he'd further address the issue when his mission was complete and he made his return to Central.
For now, he sat back, hidden in a small flood of shadows, breathing deeply through his respirator and taking time to properly survey his surroundings. Now that he really focused, he could see the ground littered with upturned or out-of-place debris, each little spot potentially holding a landmine... And Raphael had no intent to trigger another one. That little piece of shrapnel stung like hell, but removing it would only cause him to bleed more; he'd leave it in and have a medic handle it later.
For now, he had to be careful not to alert anyone of his presence- at least, that was the idea. Stealth had nothing to do with the current mission, but he was still a ninja. Instinct and habit worked together to remind him to stick to the shadows and keep out of sight. He was honestly surprised -but not ungrateful- that the small explosion hadn't blown his cover.
'Alright. Clear the mine field- literally. Then, beyond that fence over there, looks like I can expect some company. Some kinda patrol unit. They're roundin' the perimeter. And I need ta get in there.'
For a moment, Raphael wished that he was not so alone on the mission. Too many things could go wrong. The humans were likely armed. If Raphael were to get shot...- He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the thought. He needed to maintain his confidence. As far as he was concerned, he was, and would remain, invincible. Untouchable. Indestructible.
'I ain't gonna get shot,' he thought stubbornly. 'Bastards are probably packin' tranquilizers at best... Ain't that usually how dis goes?'
He reaffirmed his confidence. There was no room for worry or doubt. He was responsible and would succeed, come out on top. He had to. It wasn't a matter of trying or risking failure. It was a matter of doing it. If he sat back and over-thought the situation, he'd only be holding himself back. He needed action, not thought.
Impulse would be his ally. Rash decisions, combined with his new sense of hyper-focus, would pull him through; he was counting on it.
He drew in a few steady breaths before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Firstly, he had to focus on clearing the field, getting passed the patrol unit, and breaking into the facility. From there, it was a matter of getting into the lowest level -known as the Vault- where the relic would be stashed and waiting for him.
The slightest hint of self-doubt was faintly registered, but Raphael pressed onward, putting faith in himself to achieve what was expected of him- what he'd promised without question.
In the name of honor. For the reward of acceptance.
Seriousness aside, Raphael found his mind drifting and musing... 'Gotta watch where I step. Like that game we played as kids... The game. The Floor is Lava, it's called. I hated that game, but... the others liked it. The other turtles... We'd climb on the furniture and do a Follow-the-Leader thing while avoiding the floor. Because, accordin' ta the rules of the game, the floor was fuckin' lava. Touch it and die. Similar concept here, except dis shit is real... Just gotta watch where I step.'
Deft and nimble, agile beneath the guise of night, he moved, from one shadow to the veil of the next, he crept along, toeing between the mines and stepping over hair-triggers that had been planted.
'The floor is lava. The floor is lava... -Don't step there! The floor is lava.' A quick flip and tumble there and into another safe oasis of darkness. His leg throbbed, but his hiss of pain was barely audible and not his main concern.
He could do this. He would do this. For himself, for the Foot, and for the Shredder.
With substantial efforts, he remained calm, cool, collective. Alert with muted enthusiasm. He couldn't afford to be too reckless as he continued on, stepping between the mines and over hidden triggers and laden sensors.
Before long, Raph was encased in a new puddle of shadows; the mine field had been successfully crossed, and a fence was the only thing between himself and the that damn patrol unit, which seemed to consist of few spanning humans and a single dog- if that thing could be considered a dog. It definitely resembled a canine; it was noticeably larger: the size of a small bear. It had a large muscular upper body, but the lower half was much leaner to the point of being near-skeletal; the way it moved was fast and smooth. Elegant and lethal. The glow of the moon and the dancing beams of flashlights from passing guards highlighted the creature's giant powerful jowls and sharp silver claws...
It was something right out of a horror movie. But Raphael would not allow himself to be held back by fear. He wasn't scared. He was determined. He would display no amount of cowardice behavior tonight.
He just needed to take it one step at a time.
The fence was in his way. It was chain-link and barbed wire, nothing special. It didn't even look electrical, so he didn't think twice about lacing his fingers through the links and climbing up. Getting over the barbed wire with his right leg injured was harder than he anticipated, but he succeeded, propelling himself over the top bar of the fence and landing on the other side in a low, soundless crouch.
The 'dog-thing' almost immediately seemed to detect Raphael's presence.
The canine stood in place, tail pointed, nose sniffing, and hackles raised. Its lips drew back to reveal rows of shark-like teeth as it slowly approached, curious and wary and growling lowly.
Without a second through, Raphael returned the growl, baiting the animal.
The canine-creature drew in closer, teeth bared as it reared back, jowls open as it prepared to either bite... or bark and alert the nearby humans.
For a moment, the turtle remained crouched and frozen. Up close, the animal appeared much larger; if it were to stand on its hind legs, it was easily taller than an average human. Up close, Raphael could make out the outline of the animal's musculature through its short coarse fur that was smooth in some areas and rough and matted in others.
The dog-thing snarled and drew in a breath. With the way its head and throat was angled, the gleam in its eye, and the way its body language articulated, it was obvious that the animal was about to bark...
But Raphael would have none of that. Nearly panicked for a moment, Raphael lunged at the dog, pitting his own weight against that of the creature. The dog had snapped its teeth at him, but he countered by lodging his forearm into its mouth; the protective leather wraps along his arm lessened the pending damage, and for as long as he could hold his arm there, the canine wouldn't be able to take a bite out of his throat.
Up close- too close for comfort, Raphael could smell the animal's breath, tart and acrid and earthy, and... it smelled like death, which put the turtle on high-alert.
Still, the creature was determined, primitively instinctual and vicious; it would not be subdued so easily. It launched itself against the bipedal turtle and tackled Raphael to the ground. The animal was large and strong... and its teeth were cutting through the leather wraps around Raphael's arm; he could feel the sharp points beginning to dig into his flesh and scrape...
For a moment, Raphael felt trapped; that tinge of panic ripped through him and offered a spike of adrenaline, and he fisted a handful of thick fur in his free hand before bending his knees towards his chest and planting his feet against the creature's abdomen; then in one swift fluent motion, he rolled back on his carapace, yanked his arm free from the cage of teeth, and kicked the canine off and sent it flying back over his head. Once free, Raphael got to his feet, shook the blood from his newly wounded arm, and reached for his sais... but he made a conscious decision not to draw them.
'C'mon, pooch. Come at me. Just... keep the noise level to a minimum. I don't wanna hurt ya. It ain't yer fault ta be in dis position. I won't fault ya. Now, be a good boy...'
Much to Raphael's expectations and dismay, the canine was obviously not a telepath; it lunged at the turtle, angry jaws snapping and claws outstretched in jest of threat as it pounced.
Raphael dodged and slammed one fist into the side of the dog's head, but that only pissed it off further.
The dog rounded on him, ready to bite and mangle.
Raph quickly stepped back and made a grab for the animal's face; he managed to get one hand on top and one hand beneath the canine's furred muzzle, holding firmly to prevent further biting. This, however, proved ineffective as the dog whipped its head to the side and freed itself before attempting once again to bite. This time, as Raphael reared his fist back, he stepped forth as his fist moved to connect with the animal, adding torque to the uppercut he delivered to the animal's lower jaw.
The creature flew back and let out a yipping sound in response to the blow. The noise was soft, but against the deafening silence of the night, it sounded so much louder, amplified.
'Shut up, shut up, shut up,' Raphael's mind chanted frantically, as if thinking hard enough would telepathically communicate with the dog and will it so. 'You alert the humans, and I'll have no choice but ta-' He didn't finish the thought. Instead, he acted. Without fully processing what he was doing, Raphael found himself on top of the large canine, his own arms wrapped tightly around its neck from behind; his hands pressed around its windpipe... choking off the animal's whimpers and leaving it releasing snarled half-gasps instead.
Raphael needed the mutt to be quiet.
The dog thrashed in panic, but the turtle didn't let go.
Refusing, and possibly unable to let go, he squeezed tighter as the dog thrashed harder and bucked wildly before stilling in submission, silent pleading. There was a sudden moment of horrific clarity when Raphael realized just what he was doing... He could feel his own eyes widen and his breath catch between his lungs and throat... but then... nothing.
For a moment, Raphael thought his own heart had stopped; he couldn't feel it. As he pinned the large animal to the ground, it took him entirely too long to realize that it had gone limp beneath him.
It stopped struggling, stopped breathing.
Raphael slowly got off the canine and moved to crouch in front of it. He stared down into its large, unfocused and unblinking eyes as the spark of life began to fade into something glassy.
'No... Yer okay, pooch,' he thought, but he couldn't dredge up any sort of assurance. He placed an unsteady hand on top of the dog's head and cautiously stroked the soft fur there. 'Yer okay. I just wanted ya ta shut up. I didn't mean...- No. Yer okay.' He petted the animal a little more firmly and thumbed at its ears. They were so soft...
His chest felt insanely tight. He could feel his heart now, and it was beating entirely too hard, as if it was trying to beat its way out of his plastron.
For a moment, he wanted to scream. At himself or at the world, he didn't know. Maybe he wanted to yell at the dog-thing to get back up. Maybe he just wanted to shout wordlessly into the night until he had nothing left to shout about.
But he didn't scream. He didn't yell. He didn't even speak another word. Instead, his usually sharp eyes turned soft and he cradled the animal's head in his hands.
'Betcha had a name like Max or Rover, or somethin'...' He lightly petted the animal again. 'Then again, I dunno what kinda dog ya are. Probably not someone's pet. Yer probably on yer own. Out here patrolling among the humans. Never given respect fer what ya do. Never treated as anythin' special... No wonder yer so aggressive, so pissed. Ya had every right ta be.' A prickling sensation behind his eyes warned of spilling emotions, but he set his jaw tight, clenched his teeth, and focused on the physical pain in his own body. He would not cry. He was not weak. And he wouldn't act like a damn pussy over a dog that got in his way.
Still, the wave of guilt that washed over him was nearly unbearable. It hurt, twisted him up inside; made his chest feel tight and his head throb with stress. But it didn't last long.
Despite everything, he managed a crooked smile.
'At least ya died fighting. Ya didn't die alone either. If I had ta go, I'd wanna go out like that. I just... wish I'd given ya more of a chance, a better fight. A more honorable death... But I hadn't meant ta hurt ya. Didn't mean ta take ya out like that. It was a cheap shot. Nothin' like I should've done. But ya gotta understand, I was just tryin' ta...- I thought...-' His thoughts sputtered off into fragments. He couldn't tell if it was stress or physical pain or something else, but he was starting to feel heavy, as if his arms and legs bore lead weights.
He distantly noted fatigue setting in as he blinked slow and hard, trying to keep focused. Trying... and failing.
'Shit...'
Rolling his head to look at his arm, he caught sight of a feather-tipped dart with its point embedded. Easing his hands away from the animal, he reached for the dart and plucked it from his arm; he stared at it for a long moment before releasing a soft, bitter chuckle that came out distorted through his respirator. 'Wonder where dis came from? And here I am, feelin' sorry for pullin' a cheap shot. Heh.' Tossing the dart to the ground, he turned to see a human standing nearby, armed and smirking.
Raphael's vision blurred in and out of focus, but he remained on his own two feet and facing the human. "Ya... caught me at a bad time," he told the human.
"The freak talks..." The human said, sounding both curious and surprised.
Raph flexed his fingers, as if assuring himself that his motor skills were still functioning. Seemingly satisfied with his own assessment, he drew a sai into each hand. His grip didn't feel as sure as it usually did, but he wasn't about to back down. "Y'know..." he said, voice not holding the malice he tried to put into it. "I don't... like bein' called a freak. In fact, it... pisses me off." He slid his feet apart and slipped into a favored fighting stance. He gave his tri-bladed weapons an experimental spin and fought back a wince when one almost slipped from his grip. He tightened his hold on them, knuckles paling.
"I don't know how you're still standing, freak, but you won't be for long." With that, the human pulled a radio from his belt.
Raph's vision continued to fade in and out, and his hearing seemed to follow suit.
As the man brought the radio to his mouth, the mutant only caught half of what he said.
"Alert... Freak... Appears to be injured... Call in backup."
If the human was going to say anything more, Raphael would never know; he didn't give him the chance. His sais slipped from his hands and fell unceremoniously to the ground. Thinking quick- or perhaps not thinking at all- he drew two sharp kunai from his utility strap and skillfully launched the projectiles at the human.
Both hit.
The first caught the man in the thigh and he dropped his gun and radio in favor of attending the wound, but his hands never made contact with the injury. Because, in that same instance, the second kunai came his way; this one stabbed the human through the throat and pierced his jugular.
From his vantage point, Raphael could see the bladed projectile connect and penetrate.
Sudden desperation clouded the human's mind. Panic set in. His only thought was to remove the thing that became lodged in his throat. He unthinkingly- stupidly- brought a hand to his throat and ripped the blade out.
Raphael witnessed the removal of the kunai as well as the the gush of blood that became a waterfall.
The man's eyes had gone wide; his jaw flapped soundlessly. Seconds ticked away and the human fell. It was a slow and reluctant descent. He hit his knees. A few seconds later, his fall continued; his face hit the ground last.
Raphael's own focus was still drawing in and out, but he didn't feel ready to collapse like he half-expected; whatever sedative he'd been hit with must have been mild. Fast-acting but weak, intended for a normal human rather than his mutant self. It wouldn't last long.
Not for the first time, the turtle counted it as a blessing, that he was not human.
Speaking of humans, more would be on the way, but Raph directed his attention to the large canine-creature's corpse.
'Hey there, pooch.' He approached it with stumbling footsteps. Then, dropping down to a squat that was only slightly hindered by the pull of burnt skin on his leg, he grabbed for the animal and proceeded to drag its body backwards until it rested safely out of sight. 'I promise... if it's the last thing I do tonight, I'll give ya a proper burial. Ya... deserve... better than what the humans would offer.'
Raphael released his hold on the corpse and forced himself to stand at full height; he stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the moon just as a dozen humans came into view. He glanced towards where he'd dropped his sais and briefly wondered if he could get to them in time. His vision blurred again, shapes turning into muted shadows, and he gave up on the idea of fetching the weapons.
As the humans moved in, coming closer, they fanned out in an attempt to encircle the mutant.
Raphael distantly noted that while the humans appeared armed, he didn't see a single gun. That fact alone gave him the incentive to keep going. Proper vision or not, even while clumsy and weighed down with drug-induced fatigue, he wasn't capable of giving up.
Defeat wasn't something he could simply accept. Not without a fight. Not with his honor at stake.
He drew a shuriken and launched it at a blurry figure he knew to be human. He couldn't be certain of his accuracy, but he wouldn't let that stop him. He lurched forward, almost losing his footing but remaining upright and continuing forward. He lessened the gap between himself and the humans and reflexively knocked away a set of tonfas that came towards him. A weighted chain whipped towards him next, and he caught it around his uninjured forearm; then, with all the strength he had, he yanked, pulling the person on the other end towards him and catching the human with a fist to the face. The man went down without a fight, and Raphael unraveled the chain from his arm before pulling it between his hands. He instantly recognized the weapon as a manriki.
Checking his stance and blinking hard, he watched the other humans close in.
They brandished weapons, similar in their assent.
'Bastards don't even realize it,' Raphael thought hollowly, 'but they just leveled the damn playin' field. I ain't got much ta compete with guns... but a few ninja weapons? Yeah, I got dis...'
Raphael spun the weighted end of the manriki chain before tossing it towards a pending threat; the chain caught around a human's legs, and Raph couldn't help grinning at the turn of events. After all, he hadn't expected it to be easy. But a fight was something he could manage. And if not, at least he'd go down the way he always wanted.
An attack from behind sent the turtle off balance and falling plastron-first to the ground. A dizzying wave of nausea rolled over him, but he ignored the sensation and scrambled to his feet. As he got up, something felt off. He looked down at his hands to find them empty. No manriki chain. Nothing. He'd lost his hold on it when he'd taken the fall. Wherever the weapon was now, it wasn't in his immediate sight.
A kick to the shell sent him down again, but he rolled onto his carapace and managed a flip to regain his footing. He swayed a little, disoriented, but as far as he could tell, the tranquilizer he'd been shot with, while it was still effecting his performance, was beginning to wear off. His vision was still blurry; his focus was shoddy at best; but he was able to move without feeling the lethargic restrictions that had plagued him moments prior. The odds were still against him, but he'd bet his shell that he could take on these stupid humans, drugged or not.
He dodged a blow here and an attack there. He delivered a successful low, middle, and high reverse roundhouse kick in rapid succession to his surrounding foes. And while he couldn't properly see them, he didn't need to see- not when he could hear the bodies drop.
He kept fighting them. They kept getting back up.
Minutes passed as the fight drew on. Raphael's body was taking its share of hits, but hardly any of it registered. For as long as he was able to fight, he would.
In time, his vision grew less bleary. Sharper. More focused. The fatigue and nausea were still a plague to him, but he could manage.
He had a decision to make. The fight would draw to a close soon enough, and if he were to be the victor, he needed to incapacitate his foes. Somehow.
The solution came to him when he delivered a punch to another human's nose and he felt the cartilage give beneath the force of the hit. Before the human could do anything, Raphael grabbed him by the face- his green three-fingered hands wrapping around that small fleshy expansion, palm pressing against what had been a nose...- and he slammed the human's head into a nearby crate, hard. Hard enough for blood to spill. Hard enough for him to stay down, permanently.
"I ain't playin' around no more. Let's fuckin' end this," the turtle grumbled once full coherency found him. He was more than ready to deal back the fate those wretched people had intended for him. Spying his sais laying on the ground, he walked over and snatched them up. He gave them a spin and almost laughed when he was able to handle them expertly. He glared at the humans who backed away, their weapons poised but fear hindering their actions. "What?" Raphael spat at them. "Ya afraid of a little turtle? Figures. It's all fine when yer the ones on the offensive, but I retaliate a little and ya get scared. Typical human scum. Always want the cards ta be dealt in yer favor... Well, tough! 'Cause, right now, I'm yer dealer, and there ain't no countin' cards in dis game. Ya done pissed me off, so deal with it!"
He slammed his elbow into the gut of one man before rounding on a few others. A headbutt here, a split-kick and a few stabs of the sai there, and the humans were no longer attacking or retreating. They were simply laying on the ground with a telltale redness pooling around and beneath them.
Raphael stared at them all with disgust. "Can't even play fair. Shot me with a tranquilizer... and ya still can't beat me!" Breathing heavily, he kicked a bleeding man in the side for good measure before stepping over another body and simply walking off. He was tired, angry, and he was downright sick of humans. As far as he was concerned, they were the real freaks. Slipping his bloodied sais into their respective slots, he reached back behind his head and unhinged the respirator. He tore it off and threw it carelessly to the ground as he gulped in several heaps of tainted New York air.
The air burned his lungs, but it felt too good for him to complain.
He approached the facility at long last. Looking it over, it appeared to be a church, but Raphael knew better. That appearance was strictly for camouflage purposes, and he wouldn't be fooled by something so stupid- not when the outside had been so judiciously guarded.
Stealth wasn't mentioned in his mission's criteria, and he was damn tired of hiding. Ninja-be-damned. So, he opted to take the full-frontal approach. Something Leonardo wouldn't do if his life depended on it. But fuck that self-righteous reptile. Raphael didn't operate under his leadership anymore, so it didn't matter.
All that mattered was this mission. Returning with the Golden Shuriken.
Approaching a large and admittedly beautiful stained glass window, Raphael punched a hand through it; the bulk of it shattered and he jumped through the newly made entrance. He landed among countless shards of glass, but the pieces were large and their sharp edges didn't touch his callous feet. He drew out the last of his own projectiles- two kunai and a final shuriken- and proceeded to march down a well-lit hallway. Through a breezeway and around a corner...
He caught sight of a lone woman in an over-sized officer's jacket, sporting a pair of glasses that made her face look too small and mousy. Raphael prepared for her to scream or attack, or something, but she didn't react in any way he could have imagined; instead, she just stood there with an unassuming expression and held out her hand to offer him some kind of laminated card; then she pointed down another hall.
'Must be someone Shredda bribed. He said there wouldn't be much of a problem once I got in, but I ain't expectin' dis ta be a cakewalk.'
He accepted the card, looked it over and found it to be some kind of access pass; he clipped it to his right utility strap before continuing on his way.
Two halls later, and Raphael found an elevator. Just as he approached, it dinged open to reveal four very startled humans. Without any thought or hesitation, the mutant launched the last of his projectiles at them, and each hit their targets in either the head or throat. Raph then stepped inside the elevator and stood next to the last human standing: a fearful young man who trembled in place as he regarded the mutant turtle.
The young man looked like he wanted to run but the elevator doors closed before he could. He stuttered something unintelligible and wordless before pressing himself into a corner and trying to blend into the wall- which was an impossibility; his navy-colored clothes contrasted against the pastel walls of the elevator.
Raph showed no concern for the human. After the night he had, the blood he spilled, the emotions caught between traumatic and placid, he couldn't be bothered to worry over a few more dropped bodies.
His mission... he was so close to finishing it.
He hit the button that would take him to the lowest level, and then he simply stood there, waiting in awkward silence. "Nice weather we're havin'," he tried to lessen the awkward tension and failed. If anything, the air grew thicker. He sighed before trying again. "Don't get in the way, and you'll be fine," he told the young man. "I ain't a bad guy." Even as he spoke the words, he glanced down at the red-stained corpses, and he suddenly wasn't so sure of himself.
'I'm not the bad guy. Just... keepin' my promise. It would be no different if Master Splin- the rat... It would be no different if the rat had asked me ta take out some threat ta the family.' His head throbbed, stress gifting him a nasty migraine that started in the middle of his skull and worked its pressure behind his eyes. 'Shredda took me in. Unlike the rat... he gives a shit. He knows that I'm capable of doin' stuff. He trusts me; he listens ta me. That's why I'm here. That's why I gotta do this. Fer my new master. To prove myself...' He glanced down and frowned at the warm crimson liquid that had spread and managed to reach his feet; he curled his toes against the warm wetness and suddenly felt sick.
Seeing a corpse, that was one thing. Spilling blood, it wasn't hard. But to actually touch the blood of a victim...
'Victim...' A fresh wave of guilt ripped at his insides and knocked his heart into his throat. 'Those people were victims... My victims. I did dis ta them. Fer no good reason.'
His face scrunched up in sheer agony. Then, a timid voice reached his ear slits.
"Hey, are you... alright? You don't look too good." That weak and timorous human in the corner, he was asking about the mutant's well-being.
Raphael snorted in response and consciously avoided eye contact. He cleared his throat before daring to speak. "Just keep outta my way. I ain't got no business with ya."
The conversation, if it could be called that, ended there.
The elevator reached the bottom level and the doors slid open. Raph overstepped the bodies upon exiting, leaving behind three cadavers and a wary human.
'Those people... They were in the way,' he thought to himself. 'I did what I had ta do. If I hadn't... they might have- They could have...- No. It was either them, or me. I chose me. I did nothin' wrong...'
He wasn't stupid. He was perfectly aware that he was trying to convince and delude himself, but somehow... the thought made him feel a little better.
'They were in the way. Obstacles, and I removed 'em. That's all.'
The new line of thinking placated him, calmed the storm of stress that had made itself known.
Raph looked over his new surroundings. Previously, everything had been pristine and immaculate and brightly lit, but this new chamber was dim, lit by flaming torches that lined the stony walls at uneven intervals. It looked very much like he imagined a dungeon would.
'The Vault...'
He followed the flickering lights deeper and deeper into the unfamiliar territory. He stopped when a faint glow caught his eye- a glow that was not warranted by the flickering of fire.
Curious and expectant, he approached. And, there, sitting upon an altar of sorts, caught beneath a thick glass casing, was a star-shaped item, colored gold and giving off a radiant glow.
Raphael grabbed for the access pass and swiped it under an adjourning scanner. In an instant, the glass casing split in two and slid away, revealing the prize.
The Golden Shuriken.
If this was it, Raphael was immensely disappointed.
It was too easy, to simply take it and walk out.
He suddenly felt cheated. Still, he collected the item, left the access pass in its place, and turned back.
His feet scuffed along the stone flooring with every step. His shoulders slumped.
There was no great joy, no triumph at his victory for obtaining the item.
There was simply the the thought of: 'Well, that's done. What next?' And part of him really didn't care. He may have succeeded, but as he approached the elevator and ascended once more, he felt more defeated than ever.
His toes were still speckled with human blood. His left arm and right leg were in need of medical attention. He felt rundown. Exiting the elevator once he'd reached the main floor, he trudged the halls and made his way back to the broken glass window he'd come through earlier. With a heavy sigh, he slipped the pendant around his neck for convenience and leapt through the opening.
Once outside in the night air, he recalled his promise to the strange canine. With a sense of duty and little more, he decided that he had one last thing to do before returning to Central.
''I'm comin', pooch. Just like I said I would.'
And Raphael kept his promise. It was the one thing he always had and always would do...
...
[Another chapter! And, I wanted to put this in the beginning A/N, but I didn't want to add a spoiler. The canine that Raphael buried was supposed to be a less-than-sentient Rahzar.]