Michelangelo glanced past the fake smile of Oroku Saki, looking like some cheap version of Mr. Roger and Freddy Kruger, and judged how high he was in the building. He had to be a few stories up. If he was in his own body, he was confident he could use something heavy to shatter the glass, jump out, and escape. But he wasn't in his body. He was in a human body, and this body was probably much more effortless to break than his own turtle body. He didn't know how to move in this body and how it would handle a situation. He could hear his name being called, and his world returned to focus. Oroku Saki's hand was out, gesturing for him to take a seat in front of him. Yet, all Michelangelo wanted to do was crawl out of his skin at that very moment. How could this be real? How could The Shredder be a freaking therapist, and not just any, HIS! Was the universe sitting back and laughing at him? He took a deep breath and decided he was here, and he might as well get some therapy in because hell knew he would need it after this adventure.
He took a deep breath and sat down.
"You seem more agitated than normal Michael."
His eyes shot up, not realizing they had been cast down, trying not to look this man in the eye. The same man was the sworn enemy of his master Splinter, his father. Wait, does this mean he had a Krang inside of him? He'd have to find out later. Probably cost him a few days of sedation, but he was willing to try for it. He was curious. 'Maybe they were the ones up to this? They had the technology they had the ability, but why? Maybe an alley to Ch'rell? That could be possible.'
"Well yeah, when you keep your room like a sauna." He moved his hand across his brow, feeling the sweat come off his hand.
Oroku got a confused look and glanced at the thermostat.
"Maybe your body is reacting to your sudden outbursts from yesterday and knowing you have to now face them. The temperature is the same as it always is in this office, 68 degrees."
Michelangelo turned around, squinted, and saw that the stupid Shed Head was telling the truth. Yet, he felt like he was sitting in a sauna. Weird.
"Tell me, why the sudden outburst yesterday? You have been doing so well." Oroku asked. He placed his hands in front of him and gave almost a smug smile that Michelangelo wanted to kick off.
"Well, as I try to say, what would Raphael do? As you know, this leaves me open to pretty much everything." He wanted to test the waters, mentioning one of his brothers. Maybe he could tell them where his brothers were if they were part of this charade.
Oroku Saki's eyes cast down in, 'what was that, disappointment' that Michelangelo caught, as The Shredder tapped his fingers as though contemplating his following sentence.
"I had thought we had grown past this. Mentioning having brothers."
Michelangelo studied Shredder for a few seconds, trying to find the lie and sense some type of deceit. Yet, there was none. This man believed he didn't have brothers. What kind of sick game was this?!
"I mean I can understand you considering those you severed with in combat were your brothers and even sisters, but you were an only child, an orphan."
"I see you have had a setback, but that is okay. I understand with the type of headwound you are able to create these thoughts, and memories that seem so real. But I'm telling you, you never had three brothers, you never knew your father. You joined the Army when you turned eighteen and were in a rollover when your MATV struck an IED. You were the only survivor."
Memories started to flash in Mikey's mind, memories that were not his! He didn't recognize any of the people. A memory of him sitting in the back of a combat vehicle, looking down and seeing what looked like an M4 between his legs. He turned and glanced and saw a guy to his left with a controller in his hand. He controlled the weapon, the .50 cal sitting on the MATV. Two other people were talking up front; one looked back and smiled. Then nothing.
He shook his head. Those were not his! He didn't know those people. This was fake. He wanted to throw up, scream, kick something. What kind of sick joke was this?
Though it felt like an eternity, it was only mere seconds after Oroku Saki informed him he was not a mutant ninja turtle, that he was some human that had been deployed down range and somehow was the sole survivor of an IED.
"Then, why am I in here? Why hold me against my will?"
For some reason, The Shredder looked uncomfortable. "Because you are a danger to yourself and others around you. Recently you have been convinced that you are a," he stopped as though he couldn't finish the sentence, "A ninja turtle. That you have three older brothers and were raised by a rat in the sewers of New York City, you have created some false reality to try and escape your own, and in doing so, you can't be trusted to take care of yourself without endangering yourself or those around you. Until your mind heals from the trauma, you experienced in Afghanistan.
The heat smothering Michelangelo since he got into the room finally let up, and what felt like for the first time, he could breathe again. He just nodded his head. The thoughts rumbled through his head. He swallowed hard, noticing how dry his mouth was.
"So, all the people I've made up is some type of fabrication reality thing that I have created because I won't face reality? Why a mutant ninja turtle of all things? Aren't you the doc with years of school? What is your explanation?"
Michelangelo wanted a better explanation then, he hit his head, and now he was making up stories. This was bullshit; some lie they were telling him. Why though? Who could be doing this to him, and why? The man sitting in front of him could sit there and spin some bullshit about why he was locked in a mental hospital, and it was probably the man responsible. He just hadn't shown his true colors yet.
Oroku Saki finally answered Michelangelo's question. "I honestly can't comprehend that portion and I have a few theories but honestly the mind can be mysterious even with all the knowledge that we have. It could be a variety of things, such as you read a comic book or even a story you were thinking of, you had a pet turtle growing up, a tv show you loved as a kid. The mind is a wonderful and scary thing when it has been through something as traumatic as you."
The rest of the session blended into another reality as he detached from the situation and tried to escape without any more world-shattering news. Finding out that supposedly you were not a mutant ninja turtle, that you had no brothers, and that your father didn't exist was about as big as they could come. Not sure what else could top that. Michelangelo had difficulty focusing the rest of the day, not wanting to talk or converse with this fake or objective reality he was living in.
Thankfully everyone left him alone. Mikey walked back to his room and could almost feel the energy draining from the very core of his body. How could this be real? This couldn't be, right? Someone had to be gaslighting him. Earlier, he had thought about what Raphael would do in this situation. Well, what would his other brothers due? Leonardo would devise a grand strategy about getting out of there, and Donatello would have hacked the system and somehow figured out who was doing this to him. Neither of his three brothers would have spent as long as he had. But, of course, not him. Not dumb, Mikey. He always had to rely on others to come and bail him out.
He desperately wanted to leave, exercise, and run off this pent-up energy. Yet, it seemed this place wouldn't let him walk outside for half a minute. Nothing recreational. Well, for the first time, no one had to tell him to do his katas. Half the time, he would complain, bitch, and moan as he walked to the dojo, oversleep, or find some reason not to pay attention to the daily lesson. Find a way to make a joke out of it. It's not that he didn't think the training was a waste of his time; he just preferred to be doing something else. Maybe somewhere deep down, he knew his brothers would always be there for him, that he didn't have to work as hard. He should have known they couldn't always be there and that he would have to figure shit out alone for once.
He had to find some calmness and serenity and allow his mind to rest and not think about a thousand different things at the moment. Body, Mind, Spirit.
He moved into the first set with ease, moving right, then left, stepping forward, a few steps, punching outwards, pushing one forearm up, then the next while advancing. His body naturally performed without even thinking about the next move. He was fighting the invisible threat that was not there. Just because he couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there.
He found himself scrunching in frustration when he felt his balance was off entirely from the lack of not being used to the human body. They felt wobbly when he moved forward and planted his foot like he couldn't find the right balance. He was used to carrying a significant shell on his back, and now he felt weightless.
The first set of katas was relatively effortless but not his best performance; when he went into the kicking motion, he felt entirely off and needed help to balance correctly. He was going to have to work on that. He would have to get used to it if he was stuck in this human body.
"Whoa, I didn't know you knew Kung Fu; pretty narly stuff you doin' there, my man." Fake Mando said as he came to appear at his door. Michelangelo almost stopped to start talking, yet he could hear his brothers and Sensi telling him to concentrate, not listen to the outside world or noise trying to stop or distract him on purpose. As he continued and Mando stood in his doorways admiring, Michelangelo finally came to an end, satisfied for now on his set. He would have to continue.
"It's not Kung Fu, by the way. It's Ninjutsu." Finally, acknowledge Mondo's comment. Looking at him.
"There's a difference? I thought they were all just a lot of yelling and heyeahs." Throwing out a sloppy punch motion. Michelangelo felt his eyebrow go up in judgment.
If only Donatello were here. Michelangelo could see and hear how Donatello would respond to such a question and or statement—vividly picturing Donnie bristling at Mondo, not knowing the difference and his older brother having to want and the need to explain it away.
"There is a difference in many different types. Both are from Japan, but Ninjutsu is….think of them as siblings, brothers. No brother is the same, but they have similarities to one another because of their heritage and where they are from." That statement held so much weight, not just for the context they were discussing but for his brothers and how he missed them so profoundly.
Mondo seemed to accept this answer, which Michelangelo was grateful for. He didn't want to get into a history lesson with Mondo, especially since this was more Donatello's department. Donatello would bore you with the facts of when it was first introduced and every little-known thing about the topic. Mikey was all about skipping right to the point and moving on. His brain was always moving a hundred miles a second anyways and was already onto the next topic.
Something caught the attention of Mondo as he glanced out of the hallway. "Looks like medication time. I'll catch you tomorrow." Mondo walked off just as Nurse Karai came to stand in the doorway, filling it and not allowing any escape. He felt like he would never get used to that one, no matter how often he saw Karai. Whoever thought she would make a good nurse had to have a sense of humor.
The tray was in hand with little paper cups to ensure they didn't get mixed up with other patients as they went to each room. Michelangelo had no intention of swallowing any medication they gave him. It had taken him far too long to clear the drugs out of his system from when they sedated him, and the last thing he wanted was more drugs in him, trying to do God knows what to him. He wanted a clear head, well, as clear as one could get in here. She held out his prescription to him.
"Medication time."
"What is this?" He felt himself already gearing up for a fight.
"It's your normal dosage, as it has been for months. Just take the medication or do I need to get assistance and administer the hard way?"
Debating his options, he realized he had no choice. He then grabbed the medication, downed it, and used the water to ensure no aftertaste. He put the cup none too gently on the tray, irritated by the whole thing.
"Open your mouth so I know you took it."
"Are you serious?"
She gave that look he had seen before when she was ready to swing her blade and try and take off Leonardo's head. She was serious.
He opened his mouth wide and moved his tongue so she could see no hidden medication.
She did not indicate that she cared as she then moved away. As she stepped away, Michelangelo could hear doors being closed in the hallway and locked. Hun walked right after her and glared at him as he closed Mikey's door and locked it behind him.
'Great, so locked in here for the night. Hopefully, I don't have to take a dump or piss.' He then got an idea. He didn't want to do it, but he was desperate not to have to take medication. He walked over to a drawer and found a sock. He turned his back to the door in case they looked through the window. He then put his hand into his mouth as far as he could and started to gag himself. Coughing, the act wasn't enough to upset his stomach and cause the effect he needed. He did it again, this time but harder. This time it got the desired effect, and he threw up into his sock. He looked to see if the medication was part of the throw-up, not having enough time to dissolve in his stomach acid. Happy with the result, he got another sock, tied them up, and placed them away. He would throw it out tomorrow in the trash. As the lights turned off, he climbed into his bed and sat with his back against the wall.
His brain was still running over what Oroku Saki had told him. He was not a mutant ninja turtle, and he was some war veteran. His brothers weren't real. No, it couldn't be fake. He wouldn't allow himself to believe in such a delusion. Yet, what if it was? What if he was crazy?
He could hear the distinct cry of another person starting to scream, probably with all the voices in their head keeping them awake. He could relate to all the racing thoughts in his head. Deciding the only other thing he could do was try and mediate and find some relief from the chaos.
He maneuvered his feet so he could sit cross-legged, breathed in deep, and allowed his hands to gently fall onto his legs as he began to fall into a meditated state. Yep, he decided he was not going to spend another night here. He was going to escape. Get back home! His real home!
He reached out as far as his mind could and pushed the boundaries hoping that his brothers could hear him and that he would get out of this hell hole. His mind screamed for his brothers and his father, hoping somehow, some way, they would hear his plea and cry.
'Please. I need you. Leo, Raph, Donnie, Father. Anyone. Please don't leave me alone here. I don't want to be alone. Please, you know I hate being alone. I'm here, just come find me,…..please.' A small tear left his eye, for Michelangelo would not hear anything back, and for the first time that he could genuinely remember, he was truly and utterly alone in the world.
TBC…