Life of a Foot Mutant

by purplefern

Being a villain is hard enough, but it's even harder when you have to cope with mutation, strange new instincts, and, for Xever, a total loss of freedom. (Mixture of various one/two shots about Bradford, Xever,Tigerclaw, and the rest of the mutated Foot clan. Some funny, some dark, most written for character exploration.)

10. Helpless (a drabble)

I'm getting a little braver about posting drabbles that aren't exactly stories, more like musings. This is more of a little something from Fishfaces' days in the tank, expanding on something from the first Fishface fic I did.

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Though he tries to shove the experience from his mind, there was a period of a few weeks where Xever had been completely helpless. Helpless; he hated applying that word to himself, but that's what he was. The first day, he had hidden his fear under anger, lashing out at Bradford and most others who would open the opening hatch of the tank he was in to stare at him with curiosity. He got hungry, and realized that he would have to be fed to get anything to eat. It infuriated him to no end, not being able to even get food for himself. Helpless, he was completely helpless.

The first time that someone noticed and cared enough to throw food down the hatch (the Shredder had not, although Xever was in his throne room. Maybe his Master considered this punishment for his failure at the hotel), Xever refused to eat it, no matter how hungry he felt. Pride was a deadly sin that he was certainly guilty of. As the days went by, his burning anger combined with the predatory instincts of the carnivorous fish that he now was. So, when something living was thrown into his waters by some low-ranking Foot soldier, he hardly thought twice about attacking it; biting through its thin skin then swimming back as he watched it squirm from his venom. As it finally lay still, his stomach growled loudly at him from days of neglect. Too angry and lost in a predatory mode to even think, within seconds he lunged at his prey and in one large gulp it was gone.

Although killing something made him feel a little better, he soon came to the realization that he had hunted some fish and then ate it. Disgust rose up in his throat, replacing the anger that he had felt. Was this how the rest of his life go, then? Would he spend the rest of days being fed, and then hunting and killing and eating like some wild animal? Helpless until someone cared enough to throw food his way? He could almost handle the physical changes, the isolation, the lack of mission, but he couldn't handle the humiliation of the thought that he now had to be fed to eat. Helpless, he was completely helpless.

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Well… R&R? Until next chapter?