Different As It Always Will Be
Phase I:
Chapter Five: The Uncertainty of Awareness
Silence. At first that was all Donatello heard. If only one could hear pure and utter silence. It was dangerously beautiful. He could revel in its magnificence, but usually silence was ever so painful as well. Right now sound was not only silent, but pain was as well. And sight, and touch, and smell, and taste. It was all silent. Was he dead? Was it finally over? He wanted to grin, to dance, to leap for joy in his deathness. If this was death, he was in heaven. His heart soared.
He choked suddenly. It was all coming back. Slowly, with his heart soaring and beating in his chest, he was coming back. Darkness began to turn to light before his closed eyes, the smell of alcohol filling his nostrils. He could taste his blood still, he could hear the beeping of the machines. Not the machines...he couldn't move...hey would pierce through him again...the cold metal being left in his flesh. The pain was returning in full force, but stopped. The sounds he heard were ones of anguish, garbled, but familiar. He wanted to reach out, to open his eyes, but they were so heavy. He could barely focus on what he needed to for survival. He had to move, if only to avoid what was coming for a single second. Anything to give him one second of relief. But he could not move. He remembered this...being strapped by the wrists and ankles as they poked and prodded. That was when he had it easy. Before the trials.
A soft hand stroked his face, and he jumped, all of his senses now fully online. His eyes flew open, and he barred his teeth. The light above his head was just blinding as usual, but he would adjust. He twisted his body violently, trying to break his bonds. He knew he was going to tear his wrists again, but he began shouting at the top of his lungs.
"I am going to kill you! Every last rotting piece of you! Do you hear me?! I am going to kill you!" He struggled, snapping his teeth as the hand recoiled. "Let me go! Let me show you what you have made!"
"My son..."
That voice, they were using these tricks again. It was not going to work. He had no hope left, so how could he fall for it? "You learned long ago that I will not go for your ploys..." He brought his voice so low into a snarl that he was almost surprised his voice did not cut out entirely.
The light dimmed, moving to the side, and a face came into view. "My son..." Tears were not just dripping from the face he was staring at, but pouring down. Drop by drop they fell onto his carapace. "My dear, dear son."
Donatello only stared, tense and apprehensive. "Let. Me. Go."
Green hands came up to his wrists, unbuckling the leather shackles that held him down. In the moment they were free, he snapped, not caring that his legs were still bound. He reached for the throat of the body the hands were attached to, staring the robot down. A perfect representation of Raphael. It was disgusting. "Release me," Donatello demanded.
The bot only looked at him, unmoving. Another, similar to Michelangelo, unlatched his feet. In one swift move, Donatello swung a fist straight into the gut of the Kraang bot he was holding onto, leaping towards the other. It backed off, and Donatello ran.
He could only the words, "Let him go," as he raced out the room. Why? What it going to be today? What surprises would he have to endure? A booby trapped maze? They enjoyed testing his intellect alongside his physical form, pushing the boundaries of both.
His feet could not carry him far, but far enough would be fine. His neck ached, his scars ached, his muscles and bones ached. His head ached. But he gasped as he ran into a room that he knew far too well. How could the Kraang have known the lair so well? Were they able to finally use their probes to take all his memories? They had such difficulties in the past with his mutant brain.
Donatello begged for his body to move, but with each step, he began to decelerate. His knees buckled underneath, but before he could hit the floor, someone caught him. "I've got you, Donnie," Leo's voice echoed to him. "And I am never going to let you go," The words were almost gasped out. But how many times had he heard them? How many times had he allowed them to work? How many times had he paid the price? But he was too exhausted to fight back. Surely they would know that. They always got a kick of bringing him just to the edge before giving him enough time to heal within a hair's breadth of living.
Someone came up beside him. It was the Raphael styled one, reluctant, but helpful. They begin carrying him back to the bed, but he knew what they were going to do. If he was in a bed, they were going to use the mutagen. They were going to make his mind nothing more than mud, before bouncing it back to his current state. It had some nasty side effects, but it could be worse. It could be so much worse.
They didn't strap him back in this time. They knew he wasn't going anywhere, their sensors probably proved that. A face mask was attached over his mouth and nostrils, and fresh air flowed, allowing him to breathe. Waiting, waiting for it to be over, he could do nothing but wait as the fresh air filled his lungs. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. The being beside him was barely out of his peripheral range, but it was too quiet, too unmoving. An occasional hum came from it, but then its towering frame moved towards his direction. He jumped, still waiting. He was disgusted with how perfect they had made his father. More grey in his fur this time, thinner than before, but a direct mockery of his beloved master.
"Donatello, my son. I understand that you cannot comprehend this, but I will prove it to you. You are safe, and you have no need to worry. Over time, you will learn this, but for now, you need to rest. Rest your mind, my son. Rest..." The hand passed over his face, and almost like magic, he closed his eyes, unable to lift them again. His mind, as powerful as it was, found it impossible to function, and he slipped into the welcoming realm of silence and darkness once more. Impossible, was his last thought before succumbing fully to power of the spoken words.