Chapter 44: War Zone (Part 2)

Donatello jerked his head up from his tablet. He did so in pure instinct, his heart skipping a beat as a Purple Dragon fell, face-first, into the linoleum he knelt on.

"Oi, Braniac!" Raphael's gruff voice brought Don's gaze towards a brightly-lit doorway. The hero heaved—that much was certain, even if his Nightwatcher uniform hid his features—and he kicked aside an AK-47 rifle that had likely been aimed at the younger brother seconds before. "Stay focused!"

"Bishop's firewalls are more sophisticated than your average company's," Don shot back. He stood up then walked alongside a narrow table lined by conference chairs. Such casualty earned a finger jabbed in his direction.

"Ya scrambled Oswald's feeds earlier. How's this any harder?"

"Back then, I wasn't—" The genius cut himself short and shook his head. Returning to the tablet, he imputed a few more key commands into his scrambler program in hopes that the red 'denied' symbol would lift from its screen.

"Hugh needs ya at a hundred percent," added Nightwatcher, stern. "Like Nia 'n Sensei did."

"Yeah, well," Don raised his eyes from the beeping tablet to set them on his brother's tinted visor, "so does Mel."

"Ya can't help her, Donny."

"Camera crews are on the move. You haven't even seen what she's done to the ground floor of this place. If LH doesn't stop her soon—"

"Ya think it was easy for me ta accept I couldn't do anythin' for Ni?" Nightwatcher interjected. He spun his sais, a usual tick, then glanced beyond the room's doorway. "What ya're feelin' right now is how I've felt for the last few months. Ya're her husband. An' can only watch her struggle."

"Nia was—"

"Bein' destroyed in a different way. It's the same principle, Genius. Point is, I had nothin' ta offer except support an' trust that yer geek team will make things beddah. So ya gotta do the same wit' Melody n' LH."

Insightful outlook, yes, yet Donatello couldn't help a bitter smile as his thoughts dwelled on how hostile Mel and Raph had been towards one another throughout the early year. "And here I thought you'd jump at the chance to fight her."

"We don't always agree," the hero countered with a sigh. "But there are some things I respect her for. Now, are the feeds fried or not?"

Donny glanced at the tablet under his brother's growl, imputing one final combination that might work. To his relief, the red logo flashed green and in milliseconds confirmed all the video footage had been corrupted—from core drive to any satellite relays Bishop may've set up. He smirked as he slipped the tablet back into his duffle bag then pulled his bō staff from its holster. Nightwatcher understood his readiness and so signaled him closer to the doorway.

"Did ya see prison cells on any 'a those cameras?"

Don flashed a blank look, his mind still racing with the possibility of an EMP attack. He had to force Blaine's story from his head before he recalled surveying the feeds. Once he did, he snapped his fingers.

"I did. Hugh wasn't in any of them."

"What?"

"There's a body and an empty chair in one. All others are vacant."

"Ya mean ta say he ain't even here?"

Donatello returned Nightwatcher snarl with a steady look. "He's here. I spotted him two floors above us. Western wing."

"So he freed himself?"

"Seems that way, but…he's with a crowd, near where trainees test their firearms."

"That sounds promisin'."

"Least we know where to look for secret passageways."

"Too bad they only take us up one floor at a time."

"There's a pattern, if you notice."

Nightwatcher paused, his helmet dead still. "We still gotta deal wit stray PDs along the way."

"Please." Donny rolled his eyes then veered around the doorway to seek another passageway. "You like punching things."

"Damn straight," the hero said behind him. "It's a good outlet. Considerin' all the shit's that's been happenin', I could use it."

For once, Donatello agreed with Raphael. However, no matter how much he wanted to hit something, his anger paled in comparison to his dread over Melody's chaos. It had struck him terribly when he arrived on scene in the Battle Shell, and he could only pray Blaine and Damien stayed safe on the ground floor while Leatherhead attempted to stop her attack on Hunt.

Blaine should've avoided the HQ's front entrance.

While Donatello told him as much, the whole reason they had split up had been because he wanted his face seen by fellow officers. They'd have no means for accusation in regards to Hugh's release if Blaine was recorded on ground level. Unfortunately, the blonde had little success in tracking down Noah, Donna, and Kyle, and his feet felt heavy as he sprinted across the war zone carved by Melody's rage.

It was the first chance he had gotten to move in the last few minutes. Otherwise, he would've still been stuck beside a concrete slab the female cyborg had uprooted by tilting it sideways.

'Her strength's incredible,' he thought, gasping through the dusty air.

But his marveling moment was broken as he skidded to a halt. An EPF soldier's body curled around the concrete chunk it'd landed on and Blaine almost ran into it when loose rocks below his shoes unbalanced him. His hand saved him a fall by gripping the soldier's vest, although the clouded look over the figure's eyes threatened to cave his legs.

'Incredible and dangerous. Does she even realize the damage she's causing?'

How could she not? The front courtyard looked like a bomb had exploded across the concrete tiers—only that bomb had come in the form of her hands and feet. They hadn't seemed powerful before. It left Blaine wondering how such slender things could leave craters in the wake of where her target once stood.

And yet, whenever his eye caught her figure—at the brief moment it hung suspended against the sun from a high leap—her expression read blind rage. It was the rage of one lost to their pain, and convinced Blaine to steer clear of her path at all costs.

"Mister Williams!"

Blaine heard the deep voice before a large hand ducked his head. He cursed when a second body almost clipped him, except it was mostly directed at the thick claws he felt along his clammy brow. They were too close for comfort, thus he lifted his gaze with care, in case the beast behind decided to toss him.

"U—uh, Leatherhead, was it?" he asked in a shaky tone. The giant croc retracted his hand with a nod, much to the blonde's relief. "Thanks."

"A 'thanks' is hardly needed," the mutant replied. His dark eyes blinked then drew forward, their bloodshot nature adding to the tired wheeze he released. "Humans should avoid this courtyard."

"Someone your size hasn't taken her down yet?" Blaine jumped at Leatherhead's subsequent growl—surprised first by its ferocity then by how it trailed into a shallow cough. He noticed the beast clenched a hand against his lower abdomen, its prominent scales tainted dark. But when he looked up at Leatherhead's raised snout, he saw pure determination behind the mutant's glare.

"My friend is fighting a demon," Leatherhead noted.

"You don't say," countered Blaine. He followed the croc's attention to the cyborgs, whose power collided once more. Their impact corrupted a side pillar along the HQ building, reducing it to rubble as Leatherhead's narrative continued,

"I do not mean Hunt. I mean herself, her rage. It is a fight I know well."

"So that makes you best suited to stop her?"

"No. My might is the reason."

"Why even bring it up?"

"Because I notice how you gaze upon her."

Did Leatherhead sound grieved or frustrated? It was hard for Blaine to tell since that the croc's solid features remained stony.

"She is no monster. She cannot contain the emotion. And like me, she needs friends beside her, not enemies."

"You think I'm gunna rally against her?"

Leatherhead's silence spoke volumes, but less so than the glint in his thin-slit eyes. Darkness seemed to spread over their entirety when they landed on Blaine, and a panic welled in the blonde's chest as the mutant's massive tail twitched, as if ready for retaliation.

"We are here to aid her," Leatherhead added sharply. "See to it your friends know as much."

Blaine never got a change for a counter statement; he had to duck instead, so he could avoid any contact with the mutant's tail as Leatherhead dove back into the fray. Tip or not, the cop had a feeling its power would break his bones.

"Wonder if Damien's having better luck finding the others," he muttered with a sigh.

Turning his back towards the fight between the three powerhouses left Blaine uneasy, yet he did it. He spun then rounded the corpse and seven-foot concrete chunk to head for the building's garden section beyond the west wing. He vaguely recalled Damien fighting in said direction, though for the longest time vaulted over bodies. Until he did see a familiar face.

"Kyle!"

The lanky brunette looked displeased—disheveled even—when he whirled beside a wide bridge that leveled out the incline between ground and first two sub-levels. Blaine found it odd how the man glared from the bridge's inner-most post, yet never showed it and stood steadily as he surveyed the man's undone suit.

"You okay?" he asked.

Kyle pushed his greasy hair back, scowling at the lone portion that fell back into his tired eyes. "Peachy."

"Really?"

"I've taken bullets before, Williams."

"Alright." Blaine frowned under Kyle's snarl then glanced at the man's dress shoes, which seemed to itch for movement across the fake grass. "Where are Donna and Noah?"

"They were with me. Holding up the west wing in the cafeteria until that psycho barreled through."

"You mean…the cyborg?"

Kyle tried again to push all his hair back to no avail. "I tried getting them out of the way, but…"

The blonde lowered his voice. "But what?"

"They got hit, like the PDs inside. Tossed right towards the frame. They…" The brunette shook, his bloody hand gesturing upwards.

Blaine's studied the water feature beside the bridge. It flowed down from a purposeful break between the second and third story, against the HQ building, before emptying into a basin below. Only half of it still worked, and the clear view from the second half revealed that the cafeteria's window wall had been busted. Jagged shards remained wedged in the metal framework, though, like half-foot icebergs tainted red.

"Th—they didn't—" Blaine couldn't finish the statement, simply because it sounded too horrible.

"Both," Kyle confirmed.

That thought alone was enough to send the blonde into a heated frenzy. "Well, wh—where are they now? Why aren't you seeking medical help?"

"I just got down here, Willaims! I haven't even seen their bodies yet."

"They're underneath?"

Suddenly, Kyle's haste to slip between the bridge and building seemed understandable. Just after the brunette nodded, Blaine pushed him forward, uncaring about the steep, concrete slope that carried away the water's excess for recycling.

"Hey, I'm injured enough," the lanky man complained.

"Then hurry up before they bleed out!"

"Yeah"—Kyle's tone oozed a strange placidness as he preceded Blaine under the bridge—"wouldn't want that to happen."

"Good thing Mahoney was able to draft some schematics, eh?" Donatello asked. He used a thumb and forefinger to enlarge the blueprint on his tablet screen, rotating it to find the dead end stairwell Raphael and he guarded just behind a closed door.

"It ain't accurate," Nightwatcher spat.

"There's a marginal twelve-point-five, two-point-seven difference. It's hardly noticeable."

"Which is how we got lost, right?"

"The blueprints didn't account for the wall we ran into, but we were never meant to take those stairs. Or these ones, apparently."

"Ya were the one who mentioned a pattern."

"And it broke, I admit. Otherwise, these plans fit the building to a 'T'. Mahoney was Bishop's best architect. Even he couldn't deny the practicality in Mahoney's designs. I mean, these hidden passages flow like—"

"Like a stopped up sink."

Donny heard a sai whirl beside him and glanced down at the leather-clad hothead peering through the thin window towards the hall beyond it. "Because Bishop alternated them. Well, added more walls."

"I vote we break through 'em."

The genius withheld a groan when his older brother growled; but the longer he stared at the stocky hero, the more he wanted to smile. Their half-foot height difference only enhanced the comedic thought of Raph acting like a pouty child. Or, as Mikey would call it, 'troll pouting'.

"What're ya grinnin' at, Einstein?"

"To think I was once scared you'd end up as the biggest."

"What's that mean?"

Nightwatcher stomped forward, only to be stopped by a sudden light that broke through the door's window. It arched like a shooting star between the mutants, burying itself into the stone wall beside the stairs leading downwards. They needn't question one another about its nature; both knew it had been a plasma blast, so they readied their weapons as they peeked through the slit.

"See anythin'?"

Don shook his head then leaned down further for a better look. "Just a hole ahead. The hall's half lit. A few circuits must've tripped."

"Wonder what could'a caused that."

"Raph"—the Bō master blanched at his brother's sarcasm, pushing Nightwatcher away from the window entirely—"shut up."

"Great comeback, Genius. Been savin' that?"

"Shut up and listen."

Thankfully, the hothead complied and gripped his sais as he turned the side of his helmet towards the door. Could he even hear through the padding in that thing? Don doubted the possibility, yet couldn't say for sure. He listened alongside his older brother, noting several more blasts in the distance.

They grew closer, then further away again before a clamor of voices erupted. Distress, annoyance—the mutant could detect these emotions just below an onslaught of beeps, so he ensured he and Nightwatcher remained unseen as several heavy footsteps ran past the door.

Donatello counted them all until the seventh. The last one tripped and Don twisted his head when he felt a thump against the door. He didn't see the fallen figure, but he did spot a Purple Dragon wielding a plasma rifle, which she aimed at the door with a demonic smile.

"Don," Nightwatcher hissed.

"Got a smoke grenade," the Bō master countered, having already produced the egg-shaped weapon from his duffle bag.

"Toss it. I'll go."

While he found the idea of his brother entering the fight alone distasteful, Don was aware others were less likely to misidentify the hero as a monster. So, he nodded then tossed the grenade through the window. A dense cover filled the hallway instantly, causing the PD to cough then curse while Nightwatcher slipped out the door. He made quick work of the woman, although her rifle discharged once in her surprise.

Donny jumped at the heat by his feet and before sending a glare through the window at the cloudy view beyond. "Watch it!"

"Dude, it's not my fault she—oh shit."

"Someone's not dead, are they? Please, tell me—"

"No, Brainiac. It's Hugh."

"What?"

The mutant opened the door without hesitation. The stairwell draft sucked in sweeping portions of the smoke screen from the hall, as well as a long body dressed in orange. Its torso caught Don's legs when it tipped over the threshold, and when Don knelt for a closer inspection through the haze, he noted a head of thick, tight curls.

"Hugh?" he asked through a cough.

The detective trembled, his breathing erratic. "C—c—can't. Gotta—gotta m—move. Gotta move."

"Oi, Reese?" Nightwatcher tugged at the man's inmate uniform to turn him towards the lit part of the hallway.

The sight that awaited the brothers closed Donatello's throat with guilt.

Hugh looked horrible. Downright horrible. Over half his dark face was swollen—from his puffed lips to his right eye socket, which resembled a mass of bloated flesh. His festering scent alone convinced the genius he had been denied care for any recent wounds inflicted under Bishop's scrutiny.

And whose secrets had placed him in such a position?

"Oh, God, Hugh," Don whispered.

He ached to apologize, except shook his head to focus himself on checking for any broken bones or signs of a plasma burn. What he stumbled on brought a new sinking feeling to his stomach.

"That wasn't from her gun, was it?" Nightwatcher asked—a broken, soft action.

Donatello swallowed his dread and forced his eyes off the cauterized wrist Hugh clenched against his chest. "Sir, do you know who you are?"

"What kind'a question is that?"

"He's in shock, Raph. Now quiet and stand guard." Although he huffed, Nightwatcher turned as Donny gently gripped Hugh's forearm. "Sir, do you know who you are? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Stop calling me 'Sir'," Hugh countered in small words. His left eye lifted from the ground to meet the mutant, except it didn't sparkle like normal.

"That was quick," Nightwatcher noted from behind.

Hugh coughed, almost snidely. "Arguing. Wakes me up every time."

"Hey"—Don lifted the man's chin—"we're here to get you out. Although it seems you've done half the work already."

"It was—it was my chance. War zone or not, I"—Hugh's low tone cracked—"I had to. I have to see them. I have to ask her if it's true."

"If what's true?"

Silent, the detective leaned against the doorjamb when Donny reached into his duffle bag. His fingers found a gauze roll, small water bottle, and antibacterial cream in a side pocket. A poor excuse for the treatment Hugh required, but at least it helped.

"So," the mutant kept a firm frown as he opened the items then straightened the man's left arm, "how'd this happen?"

"No worries," Hugh replied. He smiled, which revealed an empty space where a tooth had been until Don poured water over the bubbled wound.

"Your hand's gone," Don said dryly.

"Nonsense; it's in my pocket."

Don grimaced under Hugh's weak chuckle, dabbing the arm stub dry before applying any antibacterial cream.

The man would've withdrawn his arm, if it hadn't been for the firm grip Don held on his bicep, and the mutant exercised all his strength just to start wrapping the gauze around Hugh's forearm. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But this isn't funny."

"Forgive me, Donatello." Hugh closed his eye, leaning his head back as he fought a whimper. "S—sometimes, jokes are all I have."

"Guess that's why you and Mikey get along so well."

"Y—yeah. Where is he anyway?"

"Off bein' an idiot."

"Oh; hello, Raphael."

"Sure did a number on yerself, didn't ya?"

Dark eye lifted high, Hugh quirked a fat lip. "Had I known you were coming, I would've held off."

"Wait"—Donny paused to fasten the gauze's end—"you did this to yourself?"

"I—I'll let you know if it was worth it…later."

All this stress was giving the genius a headache. He felt it pulse in his skull and jammed the left over medical materials back into his duffle bag with a groan. "Let's focus on leaving. We'll call Blaine once we reach the Battle Shell."

"B—Blaine's here?"

"Hun launched an assault on this place," Nightwatcher answered. "That's why there's PDs hangin' around, although he left a while ago. They must have a secondary mission."

"So Blaine's fighting them?"

The hero nodded as Don began lifting Hugh off the floor. "Lot 'a cops are. An' EPF jerks. Last I knew, Blaine 'n Damien went ta track down yer friends."

"Donna and Noah?"

"An' Kyle," Donatello added. Was that the wrong thing to say? Hugh tensed as if a cold rush had frozen him over, and his wide eye darted to the mutant's slack-jaw expression.

"Send Raphael after them."

"Now? But Mikey—"

"If Kyle has them together, they need help."

"Hugh." Don almost shook

his head, until Hugh's arm around his neck tightened.

"Kyle's a mole," the detective whispered. "He set me up, and if anything pushes him over the edge in this war, he'll snap."

Blaine felt sickened by the red water he sloshed through. It wasn't deep, but it was rich in the faint sunlight from the entrance, and he growled when Kyle slowed his pace. "For the love of—move!"

The blonde pushed the taller man aside then dug out a small flashlight from his pocket. Clicking it on, he surveyed the dark area under the arched stonework. He could hear collected moisture from the ceiling dripping back into basin like a maddening tick, yet stayed still until he heard a groan.

"Donna?" he called. "Noah?"

The groan sounded again. Maybe replying. Or maybe it was just the industrial filters working overtime to cleanse the tainted water.

"Donna!" he tried again—this time, more distressed.

"Come on, Man," Kyle added from afar. "A wound and fall like that? They can't possibly be—"

"B—Bla—aine?"

Donna sounded so weak and scared that Blaine's eyes began to sting. His erratic flashlight danced across the concrete space, stopping only when it landed on a heap of blue wedged against the bridge's center pillar. He dashed through the water without much concern for where he stepped then landed on his knees before reaching the figures.

"Donna?"

"I—it's cold," Donna replied in the same broken voice.

"Okay. Just—" Blaine lifted his light to see her contorted expression stained by blood trails from her split lips. Unlike him, she couldn't keep her tears away, so he smiled for her, drawing the light down further.

'Oh, God. So this is where all the blood's…' The blonde swallowed hard then lifted his free hand towards Donna's torso.

Her uniform was torn in many places, but none more noticeable than at her abdomen. It was sliced open from a glass spear that protruded a good inch from her hip. His fingers traveled over the wet, bloodied area towards the back. When he lifted up to see Noah behind her, he found the glass piece had also impaled the Grecian, although…his injury was more centralized. And his eyes remained closed.

"K—Kyle!" he cried. "There's no signal down here. Go out and call for help!"

"N—no, no, no, no," Donna stammered, reaching for Blaine's sleeve.

"Donna, it's okay. I'll stay."

"K—Kyle's here?"

"Yeah, he—"

The woman's tears increased as Blaine stroked her head. "Stop him."

"W—why?"

"Because I was the one who pushed them in the way."

Shit.

Blaine turned in the shallow water to met Kyle's dead stare amidst the daylight. He was fazed less by the snot Donna rubbed against his arm when she ducked her head and more so by the pistol Kyle aimed their way.

A/N: A pissed Mel is a force to be reckoned with...And Kyle...yeah. But through this all, Hugh still has some humor.