A/N: Thanks to Amonraphoenix and Darkunderworld for beta-ing for me. And thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. I'm glad you're all enjoying the story.
Disclaimer: see chapter one
The first thing that passed through Raphael's fuzzy mind when he started to wake up was that there was a horrible buzzing noise inside of his head. He groaned and tried to pry open his eyes, but his eyelids were still too heavy from the sedative to respond. Sounds melded together to make a nerve grating noise that started to drive him mad. Raphael winced as he moved his head and the stiff muscles in his neck pulled in protest. Finally, he managed to get his eyes open and found himself strapped to a lab examination table. Raphael groaned again and looked around the dark room. The room was empty save for the table he was strapped to. There were no windows and only one door that was at the far end of the room. The room looked to be made out of concrete, making it a little bit on the cold side.
"Ah! So good to see you're finally awake," came the chillingly familiar voice of the newest Grim Reaper.
Raphael looked around the room for the source of the voice. "Too chicken to come out and face me yourself, huh?" he called angrily. "Had to get a couple of girls to do your dirty work for ya."
"That was Alfredson's problem," the voice said calmly. "He became too attached. Attaching yourself to the victims makes you sloppy, as Alfredson has so successfully proven."
Raphael fought against the straps that bound his wrists and ankles. The voice laughed mockingly.
"You won't be able to break those straps, Raphael," the Reaper stated.
"So you can see me," Raphael muttered under his breath, looking around the room again.
He looked up at the ceiling and saw several cameras positioned in different locations, no doubt giving whoever was watching him a full view of what was happening. Sick creep probably wanted a three hundred and sixty degree view of what was about to happen. Raphael laid his head back against the table and sighed in resignation.
"So, what's your game, anyway?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" the voice asked back.
Raphael tugged at the straps around his wrists again. "With Alfredson it was to see how many lives he could mess up and destroy. What's it with you?"
"And here I thought Donatello was the curious one," the voice said surprise.
Raphael growled slightly when his brother's name was mentioned. How did this guy know about him and his brothers, anyway? He remembered the girls and figured out that the Purple Dragons must have had something to do with it; probably looking for a little payback.
"I'm the Grim Reaper, Raphael," the voice finally answered. "No one cheats death, not even a mutated turtle."
"Get over yourself," Raphael snarled. "You're not the real Grim Reaper. I've met the Grim Reaper on more than one occasion, and he's not some clown in a Halloween costume."
No, the Grim Reaper was a shadow; a life draining shadow. Raphael remembered the chamber he had been in on the cusp of death when he had tried to commit suicide from the grief and guilt he felt for taking a life. There had been a dark presence in that chamber, a presence hovering just on the edge of his vision. It had sent Leonardo back to the world of the living knowing that it wasn't his time to die yet. Any whose time had not yet come were not allowed within that chamber and the presence sent them back to whence they came. It talked a persuading deal. Raphael had, had his hand on the door to eternity by the time the shadow was finished with its spiel on how much easier his existence would be once he crossed over to the other side. However, something stopped him from opening the door and he demanded the shadow to send him back instead, and it had; if not a bit reluctantly, but not without first telling Raphael that the next time they met, he would open the door. Raphael just hoped this wasn't that time.
"As I said before, I take many forms," the voice said patiently.
Conceited creep, Raphael thought angrily.
The door at the far end of the room creaked opened and someone walked in. Raphael looked up to see who it was, but it was obviously someone he didn't know. The man wore surgeon scrubs with a heavy, white plastic apron over them. He carried a tray of silver surgical instruments and gloves which made Raphael's heart pound painfully against his ribs. He swallowed hard and tried not to let his fear show on his face.
"Doctor Aaron Travis is an expert in his field," the voice explained as the man set up his equipment on a small table that extended from the table Raphael was lying upon.
"And what field might that be?" Raphael asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Travis turned to look at him, a strange, dark glint in his eyes. "Torture techniques," he replied simply, as if he was talking about the weather.
Horror destroyed the neutral mask that Raphael had built up and his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.
"I'm here to see how long it takes to make you scream," Travis said excitedly.
Donatello breathed a tired sigh of relief when he finally finished stitching up Michelangelo's wound. The gash had been deep and came close to severing several major arteries, not to mention his windpipe. Donatello looked up when he heard faint footsteps pad into the infirmary. Leonardo walked in, his left shoulder heavily covered in clean white bandages.
"How's Mikey?" Leonardo whispered worriedly, looking at his motionless baby brother on the operating table.
Donatello looked down at his unconscious baby brother. "When he's more stable I'll move him to a cot," he whispered back, evading the question. He glanced over at his eldest brother. "How are you doing?," Donatello said.
Leonardo put a hand over his shoulder and sighed. "I don't know what Raph was thinking. The look on his face told me that he was seeing someone different...someone from his nightmare."
"Alfredson, maybe?" Donatello guessed.
Leonardo shrugged. "Maybe," he agreed.
He turned to leave when Donatello's voice stopped him.
"And where do you think you're going?" the purple masked turtle asked firmly.
Leonardo half turned around again. "To go find Raph," he answered.
Donatello shook his head. "You're not going anywhere, Mister. Not with that shoulder and the amount of blood you lost. Raph will be just fine. He just has some issues to work out. He needs some time to himself."
Raphael clamped down on his tongue to keep from screaming in pain as Travis tore a scalpel down his upper right arm. He wouldn't scream; he wouldn't give these clowns the satisfaction to know that he was in pain.
"No? Nothing?" Travis asked rhetorically. "Of course, you're used to getting cut and beat up all the time, so this must be nothing to you."
Raphael clenched his hands into a fist. He wouldn't scream or cry out no matter what they did to him. The turtle tensed as the scalpel was sliced through the soft tissue of his side just under the edge of his plastron.
Don't scream. Don't scream, Raphael kept repeating to himself.
"You're tougher than I thought," Travis commented. "But no matter; I have all night, and all the time in the world. However, I can't promise that you'll survive."
"He had better survive, Travis," the Grim Reaper threatened. "I still have plans for him."
"That's comforting," Raphael muttered under his breath.
Travis grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Holding back is never fun." Raphael glanced over to see the so-called doctor pick up a hand saw and his heart began to hammer painfully against his ribs. He tried to squash down the fear that was quickly taking over, but so many possibilities as to how Travis was going to use the saw ran through his mind that Raphael thought he was going to be sick. To his relief, Travis laid the saw back down on the tray, however he picked up a cork-screw shaped scalpel. Travis tested the sharpness of the small cutting instrument with his thumb.
"You know, before getting into the art of torture, I was a bit of an artist," the human explained as he walked over to the table Raphael was strapped to. "I did sketches, mostly. And I loved sketching symbols, it didn't matter what kind of symbol it was."
"Knowing you they were probably sadistic," Raphael growled.
Travis chuckled. "No, they weren't, surprisingly. I liked coming up with my own symbols, as well. I came up with one for my first initial, and I'm quite fond of it."
Raphael swallowed hard as Travis came to stand over him. The man ran his hand over the skin of Raphael's shoulder.
"For a reptile you have extraordinary skin," Travis commented. "It would make an excellent canvas for a tattoo or brand."
Raphael tried to calm his breathing down. "Haven't been one for ink," he replied.
"That's okay. I'll give you one free of charge," Travis said smiling sinisterly.
Raphael's body seized up when the scalpel was plunged into the soft tissue of his upper right shoulder. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and bit his tongue to keep from making any kind of sound as the scalpel tore through his flesh.
"You have to do it just right so that the skin scars correctly," Travis explained. He smiled. "And this is going to be a beauty."
"You're a sick and twisted sociopath," Raphael ground out through clenched teeth.
Travis looked at him and smiled. "Trust me, we're just getting started."
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