A/N: Here ya go! On time. If my net holds out. XD

ZathuraRoy - Leo needs some cute memories...to make up for the what's to come... *shifty eyes*

Sciencegal- Much easier said than done. Ya know? Writing Leo has been so painful. ; _;

efarraiz - Gosh, Dear, I don't speak Spanish. But I got a friend who helped translate.
First, Thank you! Glad to hear you like the story so far. I was worried it'd be a bore for others. LOL.
Secondly, to know what trauma Leo is working through, you must read "Book 2: Hollow Hearts".
Thirdly, my updates will be slow but consistent. It'll pick up (posting wise) if I ever finish the story over the Spring or Summer seasons..

Thanks for the faves, reads, and reviews, guys. It helps.

CHAPTER 03: RAGE

The various chirps throughout the rainforest made Leonardo's eyes flutter. No! His head jerked up.

'Can't sleep,' he thought. 'My food is gone. I must eat something before…'

"Before what, Freak?" Donald asked.

Leo resituated his katanas, saying, "Not now, Donald."

"Or what? I'll spook the game?" Donald laughed—a boisterous act which would've scared any prey if he could be heard. "Why bother? It's not like ya got an appetite."

True. But Leo couldn't live off grubs and herbs much longer.

"The skies haven't been this clear in days," a second man said. "Can you blame him for wanting a proper meal?"

Scowling, Leo kept focused on the coarse texture of his katana's Tsuka Ito and the moist soil he knelt in. Still, Joseph's Chi felt as blatant as Donald's.

"Who knows when the storm will resume?" asked Joseph. "Now is his best chance."

"And what will he find, Jackie Chan? Another Ocelot?" Donald snorted. "He ain't got the balls to eat a cat."

Normally, no. Circumstances had changed, however. Wet Season made for poor hunting conditions. Leo may have no choice except kill whatever living thing came his way.

"The thought boils yer blood, don't it?"

Leonardo sent Donald a glare. "I'm fine."

Donald smirked. "Says the guy who talks to himself. How dumb do ya think I am? I'm part of ya, Freak. I know."

"You don't know anything."

"Even Jackie Chan realizes the truth."

Joseph met Leo's eyes with a pitiful stare. The mutant hated it.

"Ya wanna believe ya've given up on emotions," said Donald, breathy. "That's a lie. There's a rage inside. And ya've been surpressin' it so long, it's scary."

Leo swung his katana sideways, despite knowing he could never cut Donald. "I'm not scared!" he cried.

The wild-haired man grinned. "It's like a molten sphere inside yer chest. It burns. But ya ignore it. Why?"

Leonardo ignored Donald. He lowered his stance and poised his katanas when the ferns ahead rustled. Nothing emerged.

"Just the wind?" Donald asked.

"There is no wind," Joseph said.

Leo whirled as the rustling moved behind him. "Will you two shut up?"

Donald waved an arm. "Ya sure the noise is even real? Ya are kind'a crazy."

More rustles sounded as Leo shook his head. What if Donald was right? What if the movements were a lie, even partially? Or worse, what if they weren't?

"That's right, Freak, panic. Maybe it's a Panther, and ya'll be as helpless with it as ya were at Black Lotus, eh?"

Leo licked his dry lips. His katana blades clanked against one another, the metallic noise resonating through his tense muscles.

"How the tables have turned," Donald added. His words were almost drowned out by Leo's erratic heartbeat. "Our hunter has become the hunted. Or has he?"

Every plant around Leonardo erupted with life. He rooted himself at the commotion's center and readied his weapons. The leaves shook faster. The ground tilted. Then, a distant rumble silenced the rainforest. Leo fell on a knee when someone parted the ferns and vines. Doctor Daniel Stephens. The fat Indian stood, humor spread across his hairy face.

What right did he have to smile? To look at Leo with those eyes? They were shriveled and dark and yet twinkled with pleasure. Disgusting.

"What are you doing here?" Leo whispered.

Doctor Stephens kept smiling, despite the mutant's growl.

"Huh?" Leo asked. "Wh—why are you following me? What the hell do you want?" Each question was met with silence, and Leo's self-control wavered like his unsteady blades. "Do you know what you've done? How many lives Black Lotus destroyed? You—" The mutant drew in a shuddering breath, directing his katana's tip at Doctor Stephens. "I don't understand. How could your sick company have gotten away with so much? Fuck, you took a child. Kaiya didn't deserve that. She didn't deserve…"

Short fingers reached for him at an awkward angle. He studied them with a heavy heart, and when her sobs increased, he reached out as well.

"Now"—Stephens' voice quickened Leonardo's pulse—"time for science!"

The memory sent chills through Leo. He gulped then straightened his posture when Stephens stepped forward.

"Well?" the mutant asked. "Answer me!"

With the same smile, Stephens charged. The doctor's stout body slammed Leonardo's blades against his plastron, flooring him. Leo sunk into the ground and growled as he freed one katana. Its edge sliced the fat Indian across the face, rousing a pig-like squeal.

Good.

Leo staggered up as Stephens rubbed his face, saying, "How's it feel, Doctor? Does it burn?"

Stephens screeched then charged again—this time with enough force to slam the mutant against a tree. Leo grunted, unprepared for the third charge that knocked him breathless and left black spots across his vision.

When the progress reached Abigail's forearm, it stopped. The glow dimmed then faded, leaving behind a reddish color like her rash. The woman's cries died down. Yet how?

The new growth retracted as if it had been bathed in acid. A familiar stench seeped into the air—rancid meat dipped in perfume—and he could hear the sizzling of muscle and skin dissolving.

Leo rolled over a gnarled root and gasped. A sting across his thigh gave him pause, but Stephens' squeal made him gather his weapons and stand.

Their eyes connected. It didn't need to be said. Joseph was sure of his fate.

Like Abigail had been.

Footfalls thumped behind Leo, almost like a galloping horse. How close was the madman? He glanced over his shoulder. Stephens advanced on all fours with inhuman speed and agility.

Donald never passed Stephens. His shoe lifted then sunk back into place, its top splattered with red spots. A gargle sounded in his throat as Stephens retracted a blade, and when Donald collapsed, the wound across his torso gushed. His blood bubbled like popping lava. Stunk, too.

But pride kept the brunette silent.

Leo met the doctor's snarl. Then, the molten anger inside his chest burst. It ignited his veins with such heat, he felt cramped inside his own body. He spun and roared before lodging both katana blades in Doctor Stephens' torso.

Chandler laughed until the noise sounded like a hacking cat. "We're all looking for happiness," he said. "But it's like…chasing rainbows. You find it…over the rainbow…"

A long sigh drifted through Hall F. Then, utter silence. And Leonardo couldn't lift his head.

Blood coated Leo's forearms, its warmth a stark contrast to the cool mud he slid through. It made no difference; the mutant pulled out one katana then sunk it into Doctor Stephens time and time again.

"Tools should sit quietly!" Stephens yelled. He managed a right hook as Leo twisted the syringe out of his grasp.

The Jonin glared, saying, "We aren't tools!" He lifted his body and back-handed the doctor so hard, blood flew. The doctor chortled when the mutant's fist met its mark a second time. "What's so funny?"

Eyes wide, Stephens said, "You think you'll win. I don't lose."

But the madman had lost. He lost everything: that fight, his building, his research, his life. So why linger?

"Just die!" Leonardo screamed. "Die already, and leave me the fuck alone!"

The mutant drove his katana downwards with all his might. It cracked like thunder and Leonardo shivered from a sudden chill. Was he…wet? Another cracking sound brought Leo back to reality and the rainfall. He glanced at the red-tainted water that pooled around him then ahead. He froze.

His weapons were embedded not in an illusion, but in a boar. Its corpse was torn, matted, and wreaked of bile. Had he done that? Had he…?

Leo glanced over the entrails that slipped from the boar's mutilated gut, nauseated by its heat.

"Now who's the monster, Freak?"

Leo scrambled away, eyes focused on his red-coated hands. Such dirty things shouldn't touch him. Neither should his katanas.

'Why did I do that? Why did I…?'

"What did I tell ya about that rage?"

"Shut up!" Leo cried. His chin wavered as sobs bubbled in his throat.

What should he do? What could he do?