Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, hours to a day, and a day to several days. Raph figured he'd been trapped in this nightmare for about four days now, based on the number of times they'd conducted their experiments on him.

Each day blurred into the next. The Kraang would drag Raph into the operating room, slice him open from chest to stomach, stitch him back up, and then dump him back in his cell where he would blissfully pass out from the torture. He prayed for a miracle—that his family would find him, that Master Splinter would break through the metal wall, defeat the Kraang, and take him home.

He stirred from his slumber around... morning? Afternoon? Night? Raph couldn't tell. He hadn't seen the outside world for four days. His eyes landed on a plate filled with pink-looking slime. It's chunky and goopy, as well as it's releasing a very odd smell. The Kraang must have left it while he was asleep. At first glance, it didn't look like food.

During his captivity, he had only eaten once. Often, they forgot to feed him, leaving him to starve for hours. He remembered the first time he saw the meal: the food looked so atrocious that he almost preferred starvation. But as a turtle who had lived in the sewers, eating worms and algae for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he knew that food was food. So, after two days of starvation, he had scarfed down the hideous-looking meal.

This was the second time he had eaten. Raph didn't care about the quality of the food; his stomach had been empty for hours, and he would take anything that was considered edible enough.

He wolfed down the food, gagging at the disgusting aftertaste. God… I'm going to throw up…

But food is food, isn't it?

After he cleaned off the plate, Raph noticed two Kraang bots approaching. Instantly, he cowered away from them, though he still managed to scowl angrily. He couldn't endure another experiment yet. Please… just not yet.

He watched as the Kraang disabled the barrier and advanced into his personal space. "STOP RIGHT THERE BEFORE I THROW HANDS!" he hissed. He might be scared, but that didn't stop him from fighting back. The Kraang remained unfazed and continued moving in on him. "I'M WARNING YOU!" He stood on his hind legs, fists raised in a fighting stance.

"The turtle will have a much better time if the turtle stands down," one Kraang bot said, pulling out a steel-like gun, clearly showing they had the upper hand.

Stand down? Stand down?! Raph glared at them, his anger flaring. "Like hell I would!"

He tensed his stance, staring them down with eagle-eyed determination. He couldn't afford to lose again.

"The turtle will not be harmed if the turtle stands down."

Raph glared at the metal figure before him. "And you think I'll believe that?"

A heavy silence filled the air. Raph's fists clenched tighter, trembling with a mix of fear and anger as he awaited a response.

"Who else can the turtle believe in when no other humans or mutants are present except the Kraang?" It wasn't a question.

It wasn't asking Raph for an answer; it was a threat. A warning. Goosebumps prickled his skin whenever he heard their warnings. He didn't understand why he was so scared. He shouldn't be. HE'S RAPHAEL HAMATO! He's a goddamn ninja, and alien robots are what beat him?

Raph felt pathetic, like he'd failed as a ninja, a student of his father, Master Splinter, and as a brother. And yet, he still gave in.

He slowly lowered his fists, wary that things could still go south.

The Kraang lowered their weapons and grabbed his arms in a tight grip, so tight it could stop his blood flow. They dragged him out of his prison, and Raph fully gave up trying to fight back. He just wanted it to be over. Let them do the operation quickly and let him continue his slumber. Maybe he could dream of being with his family again.

He heard the automatic doors slide open, glancing at the familiar room. He was set to lie down on the table again, awaiting his inevitable torture.

He stayed there for a while, listening to the bustling metal and the automaton-like voices discussing things he couldn't comprehend. They were using big words that a young turtle like Raph couldn't understand.

Moments passed, and he saw someone standing beside him. He looked up to see that familiar purple-eyed robot looking down at him. They all seemed to do that, and not just because of his height.

"Kraang, what is the turtle's status right now?" the Kraang in front of him asked.

"Broken wrist on the left arm. A cut on his right thigh. Bruising on both arms and legs, as well as shoulders. The turtle's right shoulder is also dislocated. The turtle has a sprained ankle on his left foot. A black eye. The turtle still has the stab wound on the turtle's plastron. And has busted knuckles."

Raph was a little shocked to hear all that, feeling exposed after they completely detailed every single broken part of him. Something was off. This dialogue had never happened before.

Something was changing. And Raph was terrified by the change.

"Kraang, help place the turtle's shoulder back in place." A chilling hand gripped his shoulder, sending shivers down his spine. The icy touch pushed him forward, urging him to sit up. He obeyed without hesitation. Suddenly, one Kraang took Raph's wrist, pulling his arm forward, while another clamped down on his shoulder, securing him in place.

"Okay, Kraang. Pull." Without warning, a sharp, excruciating pain shot through his entire arm, centering on his shoulder. One Kraang pulled at his arm while the other held him steady. The ache in his shoulder was agonizing, yet Raph didn't have the strength to scream. The most he could manage was a painful grunt and whimper.

He heard a small POP in his shoulder. The Kraang set his arm down and coaxed him to lie down again.

Their hands got to work as Raph lay there, confused. They weren't torturing him with the scalpel yet. They hadn't torn open his stomach yet. They were taking care of his injuries; his bruises and cuts were being lathered with herbal cream. They were wrapping his shoulder in place. They were fixing his broken wrist. They were mending his plastron. They were fixing him.

Something wasn't right. Raph could feel it, but he didn't have the strength to fight anymore.

To be able to heal and relax for one day was more than enough for him. He couldn't take this moment for granted. As he lay there, still awake, he let out a breath and finally let his heart beat slower. He decided to let his guard down, just this once. What's the worst that could happen, right?

Time had passed, and Raph was sitting dazedly in his cell again. He'd been doing that a lot lately. He'd just finished his operation. His shoulder was healing nicely, and the bruises and cuts didn't burn on his skin anymore. For once, he felt slightly at peace.

His gaze moved around the empty room. It was too big. That bothered Raph the most about this room. It was too big. It was too empty. It made him look lonely.

Well, Raph did feel lonely.

Maybe that was the mind game they played. Maybe they made it that way to mess with his head. If that was the case, then it was working.

Raph looked at the black wall-mounted seat next to him. He rarely sat on it. It was too high for him, and he didn't want to expend the energy to climb up just to come back down eventually. It was pretty useless to him.

He looked underneath the seat to see a collection of dust. Raph never understood where dust came from. Did it just appear out of nowhere? Like magic? It sounded stupid, but it seemed the most appropriate explanation to Raph.

Mikey would probably believe that dust was a magical artifact that, if he sprinkled it on himself, he could fly. He'd probably have a whole box of it, hoping to fly one day. He could imagine Leo immediately trying to stop Mikey from pouring his dust collection on himself, probably out of pure disgust. Leo had always been the most hygienic of the four of them. Donnie would know where dust came from. His smart brother knew pretty much everything. Raph started to wonder why he'd never asked him.

An unconscious smile replaced the frown on his face. He couldn't help daydreaming about the scenario. Mikey pouring dust on himself, Leo being the mother hen, Donnie being the nerd who'd probably give Mikey a heart attack by saying dust could kill him. God… his brothers were so dumb. So dumb and stupid. And he hoped they would stay dumb and stupid.

He hoped that Mikey would stay innocent and carefree, always brightening up the room with his dumb ideas and stupid pranks. He wanted his little brother to stay his little brother. He wouldn't have it any other way.

He hoped that Donnie wouldn't stop his stupid experiments or ranting about them to his brothers, even though they didn't understand a thing. He wouldn't want to think of another version of his little brother.

He hoped that Leo wouldn't stop annoying them with his dumb lectures and cartoons. As well as his dumb caring older brother talks, or his protective older brother arms. Even if they weren't always on the same page, he hoped Leo never changed.

Raph sighs at the thought of his brothers. He misses them. He misses them so much that it hurts. Sometimes he wishes he didn't. Maybe if he didn't, it would make his situation a lot easier.

He looks at the pile of dust again and mindlessly places his finger on it, dragging it across the floor. He creates a circle in the dust, then a bigger circle. Two eyes, and a smile. Don't forget the mask. Oh, and Donnie's gap tooth. And Mikey's freckles. Leo has to have that stupid smug look on his face. And he can't forget Master Splinter.

Before he knows it, he sees the little drawing that his three tiny fingers made. A childish stick figure drawing of his family in the dust. Raph couldn't help but laugh at himself.

Despite being named after the Renaissance artist, Raph was the only one who inherited the art skills.

Donnie could too, but he lacks the creativity for color and imagination. His talent has always been more focused on machinery.

Mikey has the creativity but lacks the skills. He could think of many different sceneries and scenarios to put on paper but couldn't draw a tree to save his life. At best, it's a green squiggly line as the leaves and a thick brown line as the trunk.

Leo is the worst out of all. He couldn't imagine anything to draw even if he meditated for hours and did not have the skills to do so either way.

Despite what his brothers believe, Raph's the best in the family. His family has seen some of his drawings, but many haven't been shown to them. Raph's pride is too precious for him to show this side of him to them.

And here he is, drawing cartoony stick figures of his brothers and his father in a collection of dust on the floor. It's dumb.

They look so dumb. Their smiles are wonky and their eyes are just two dots on the face. Their bodies are too circular. And Master Splinter's head is too wide. Yet Raph couldn't help but feel a nice warmth in his chest. They all look so happy together. It actually makes them look like a real family. Maybe if he just imagines himself there, maybe he would feel that split second of happiness. Just a little.

"I really miss you guys…" he mumbles. "I know you all are not here… But, I hope you guys know that I love you all…"

He speaks out like he's speaking to the picture, to his imaginary father and brothers. A lonely tear streams down his cheek as a solemn smile forms on his lips.

"Maybe… Just maybe, if… you know… the universe doesn't hate me… we could meet again. Hopefully…"

He's abruptly awakened by a sudden grip on his arm, causing him to push away aggressively at the unwanted touch. He immediately sees the metal, skinny hands that belong to none other than the Kraang, attempting to drag him out of his cell.

"WHAT THE?!— GET THE HELL OFF ME!" He thrashes his whole body to get away, but his strength is incomparable to theirs.

Two other Kraangs enter to subdue him. One pins him down on the ground, making it harder for him to move. Next thing he knows, both of his hands are chained behind him, ensuring that he won't escape their grasp.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, HUH?" He is growing irritable, but they remain unfazed. They help him off the ground, hold onto his chains so he has no way of escape, and proceed to haul him out.

He doesn't understand what's going on. Are they going to operate on him again?

If they are, why did they care about his health yesterday? Well, not exactly care, but they fixed his wrist and shoulders. They let him heal yesterday. So what's going on now?

He finally notices that they aren't going in the direction of the operation room. They're actually going the complete opposite way.

Raphael's mind is racing at this point. This is bad. Really, really bad.

He hears an automatic door open and suddenly he's forcefully shoved into a dark, mysterious room, alone and facing the ground. His arms are also suddenly unchained.

He grumbles under his breath, his frustration at its limit, before shouting, "HEY! COME OUT HERE AND FIGHT ME, YOU PUNK!"

In an instant, the lights flash on, completely blinding Raph for a split four seconds before his eyesight clears up.

The room looks similar to the operation room, except that he can see three Kraangs above him in a different room through a window, observing him below. Apart from that, this whole room is wide and hexagonal-shaped, and it's also completely empty.

"Ok, what the hell is going on?!" He yells, eyeing the Kraang at the window. "You better tell me right now before I—"

"The Kraang believe that what is known as the sais belongs to the turtle."

One of the tiles on the floor sinks into the ground before reappearing with his beloved sais, unharmed and sharpened. He leaps to his feet and grasps them as if he's found a missing piece of himself, clutching the handles tightly.

"The turtle will be tested in its mobility," the robotic voice says through the unseen speaker. "The turtle will fight groups of Kraangs and the Kraang will observe the turtle's speed, flexibility, and strength throughout this exam."

Ok… so it's just fighting? Right?

Yeah… Yeah, I can do that. The tips of Raph's mouth curl into a dangerous grin; the thought of finally beating these freaks has been running wild in his head for a while.

He twirls his sais before gripping them tightly in his hands. This is probably the first time in a while he has felt so much thrill. He loves his sais. They are his precious gift, given to him by none other than Master Splinter. They are worth more than gold or diamonds. He would have never forgiven himself if he had lost them.

"Turtle, we will be starting at three…"

His body responds automatically, moving into that familiar stance. After years of training, it's like it's ingrained into his mind.

"Two…"

He takes a breath, easing his racing mind from messing up.

"One…"

His hands clench and his eyes immediately dart around the room to scan for threats.

"Go!"

Four doors open up and what Raph can guess are about twenty Kraang bots in total are firing at him. On instinct, he immediately keeps his footing, nimbly dodging the flying bullets aimed at him. One bullet almost gets him in the chest before he deflects it with his sais. Another one is aiming for his head before he ducks under it, causing it to hit the Kraang bot behind him instead.

He jumps to his feet before he gets caught and dives his sais into the nearest Kraang, penetrating the blade into its chest and causing it to short-circuit and combust. The next he caught the Kraang's own gun between the prongs of his sais and manage to disarm them before stabbing his sais in it's skull.

About ten Kraangs have been neutralized and Raph is beginning to wear out. But as more of the Kraangs are getting taken out, more keeps reappearing.

Through his blurry exhaustion, a bullet manages to hit Raph's upper arm. Raph immediately wails out a cry, accidentally dropping his sais in the process, and grasps his arm. Blood is spilling out fast, and Raph begins to see how this might be more torturous than he thought.

Raph has always loved to fight. Out of all his brothers, he has always been the best fighter. He was always the one who faced them head-on without breaking a sweat in practice, and whenever he was down, he always got back up with no problem. He's never been scared to fight, but right now, he has never felt more terrified than ever.

His breath starts to quicken, and before he can process his thoughts, bullets are firing again. He picks up his sais and quickly attempts to keep up the pace, but he doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

He is sweating profusely, and his steps are getting more and more clumsy by the second. He can't catch his breath.

The air in his lungs is escaping faster than he can take it in. It's getting harder to focus and he knows sooner or later he's going to get taken down.

Raph getting taken down, huh? That easily too…

His brothers would have laughed if they got to see Raph getting so easily beaten. He's supposed to be the stubborn one. The angry one. The one who keeps fighting even when everyone tells him to stop. The one who hurts others with his own hands; by his own anger.

That's right… That's how he got here. Because he can't afford his family getting taken down by his anger. He can't let his own well-being drag them down. He can't let his emotions take over him. He knows that if he stays in the lair much longer, he might do something he regrets. He already regrets a lot of things anyway.

He regrets it when he hurts Mikey, when he makes Donnie scared of him, or when he makes Leo frustrated at him. He hates it when he argues with his older brother. And he hates it when he makes Master Splinter disappointed in him. He hates it when Splinter looks at Raph with those eyes—it's like he sees him in Raph. Oroku Saki. He must've seen it. He wouldn't have looked at him that way if he didn't.

He never wanted to be this way.

Maybe right now he's paying the price. Maybe now the universe is punishing him.

As his consciousness slips away, Raph's body endures a brutal assault. A kick to the gut forces the air from his lungs, followed by a bullet tearing through his leg, and a punch landing on his already bleeding arms. Scarlet liquid seeps from multiple wounds, but he clings to the grim reassurance that the Kraang won't kill him—they still need him alive for their experiments.

Not their breakthrough discovery. They still need to study more about him.

A sudden metal fist appears inches from his face. He had no idea when it had appeared, but in an instant the world around him spins into a wild roller coaster ride. He crashes to the cool floor again, his head pounding with excruciating pain. His sight grows increasingly blurry, edges dissolving into a haze. Sounds around him distort, voices morphing into a persistent ringing. His eyelids feel impossibly heavy, resisting his efforts to keep them open. As they finally shut, the last thing he sees is a small puddle of crimson spreading beneath him before darkness claims his vision.

He stirs awake, jolted by a sudden throbbing pain in his head. What happened…?

His eyes flutter open slowly as he pushes himself off the ground, wincing at the excruciating ache coursing through his entire body. The room around him is shrouded in darkness only being lighten up by a purple lighting, and an odd barrier separates him from whatever lies beyond—like he's trapped in a prison cell.

Panic begins to rise within him. He can't remember how he ended up here. Just then, he notices strange robots flanking a peculiar pink, brain-like alien hovering in their midst. What the hell is going on?

"What is known as the turtle has awoken from its coma. total days: 8 days. We will proceed to check your vitals as scheduled," one robot states in a monotone voice.

His eyes dart between the two as confusion swirls in his mind. "W-What do you mean? Who are you?! Where the hell am I?! WAIT, WHY DON'T YOU LOOK LIKE ME?! WHY AM I GREEN AND YOU'RE NOT?!" His voice cracks, each word laced with panic and a sore throat that he hadn't noticed before.

Wait… he doesn't remember anything. Who is he? What is he? Where is this place? Is he in space? The ocean? IS HE DEAD? No, he can't be dead; the pain is all too real.

The robots exchange glances. "It seems what is known as the turtle has no recollection of events," one explains. "It must have amnesia due to brain damage."

Brain damage?...

"Yes, Kraang. Indeed, the turtle does not recall the recent occurrences."

An unsettling chill creeps up his spine, as if the walls are closing in, threatening to crush him. This is too much to process.

Suddenly, the barrier dissolves into thin air, and the robots advance toward him. He recoils at their sudden proximity, scrambling backward until he hits the wall. His limbs tremble, and his wide eyes fixate on them in sheer terror.

"From now on, turtle, you will be designated T-0028," one robot declares.

"The Kraang are your masters, and you cannot escape the Kraang. You will remain here until the Kraang fully comprehend your biology and well-being. Do you understand, T-0028?"

This can't be his life… right? Turmoil swirls in his gaze as he glares at them. He can't accept this as his past nor his future. He won't. But deep down, he knows he has no choice.

"...I understand," he finally mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.