Warning: body horror
T-0028 has picked up a few hard lessons since he escaped into the outside world.
Though his newfound freedom is thrilling, it comes with endless struggles just to keep himself alive. Survival hasn't come easy.
First, finding enough food is nearly impossible. He stumbles across a few small meals here and there, but never enough to quiet his constant hunger. Even the big green bunker boxes only give him a minimal amount of servings.
But then again, the Kraang never gave him much to eat either, so perhaps he shouldn't expect any better now.
Sometimes, in the most desperate of times, he had to murder the flying creatures and eat their flash raw. No amount of forgiveness could remove the heavy guilt whenever he goes through with it. He grew fond of those small creatures, feeling as though they were the only friends he could make in these difficult times. That's why it feels so wrong when he pounces upon the lonely animal, and the poor thing wails and cries for their companions for help as T-0028 crushes its neck by his hands. He shivers at the mere thought of it.
It's all survival at the fittest.
Second, the creatures who live outside don't seem to like him. He isn't really sure what they are, though. None of them look the same; some have very pale skin, while others are darker. Some have long strands coming from their heads, some have curly strands, and some don't have any at all. These strands come in all different colors: black, yellow, orange—even purple. Some are very tall, while others are short. Some are slim, and some are pudgy. They even wear different clothing.
T-0028 has never seen clothes before, and he hadn't known there were so many kinds. The only things he's ever worn are a straitjacket and bandages. The clothes before him all looked so different from one another, and the vast variety was overwhelming to take in.
But despite everyone's appearance being so unique, they never seem to like him. Ironic how a whole place is full of variants and yet they don't accept one.
"MONSTER! I-IT'S A MONSTER!" They all wailed as they sprint in the opposite direction, crying for safety as if he might gobble them up. He didn't even know what he had done. He was sitting on the floor, eating food, and suddenly there was a whole commotion about him being a threat to the world.
Once a full group of them went out of this machine with wheels when they saw him, "HANDS IN THE AIR NOW!" One of them yelled as they pulled out their gun, "I SAID HANDS IN THE AIR! A FREAK LIKE YOU SHOULDN'T BE IN THE STREETS!" He didn't listen to them, not sure why but something in his guts told him to run and hide. He remembers the hundreds of bullets firing at him as he dashes away from the scene; he can still feel the burning sensation that grazes on the calf of his leg.
He just doesn't get it. He hasn't done anything to them. So why do they hate him so much? Was it because he's green? Well, suppose no one's skin here is green, but does it really matter? Was it because he was a turtle? He's really not sure. They all look different, so why do they all judge him so much? Was he a different kind of different? A bad different?
Funny how even out here he has to hide and keep quiet to keep himself alive.
The third thing he picked up was that now he knows that apparently the sky can change. Not that he doesn't know the concept of day and night, dry and cold weather, but sometimes the shifts are so drastic. One day, the air could be so blisteringly hot that his scales feel like they might shrivel up, and the next, he could be freezing to death. And then there's the rain.
He hates the rain. It's so cold and heavy, he could never feel comfortable with his skin drenched—shivering in a thin black plastic sheet that he uses as his blanket. He hates it even more when lightning strikes on the ground. He couldn't even stop his heart from falling out of his chest when he hears the loud BANG from the sky. Bright light flashes through the tiny peepholes from his hideout. Curled in the corner of his hideout, he clings to himself in fear, though his cuffed arms barely allow him any comfort. He really should try to get them off sooner or later.
He knows the lightning shouldn't be able to reach him as long as he's inside the box, but the very thought of it still sends a chill through him. The memory of electric shock coursing through his veins is something he'll never forget.
He would know.
"LET GO! I—I SAID LET ME GO!" A young turtle's scream echoes, his cheeks wet with frightened tears.
"Endurance test 1, level 1. The Kraang may proceed."
A switch flips and an electrifying power burns against his skin, his tissues incinerating layers of his tissue little by little. From deep within, he releases a strangled scream, thick and unrestrained, echoing through the room as if ripped straight from his core. His veins feel as though they might burst, throbbing painfully against his skin. Closing his eyes brings little relief, but it's better than facing the silent gaze of the robots, their cold, mechanical eyes fixed on him as they jot down notes on their investigations.
"Kraang can stop now."
The charge finally dissipates, but the burning sensation left a forever scar on his body. His body aches in agony, his throat feels charred, and his skin stings uncomfortably. Even the littlest amount of movement sends an excruciation through his spine.
"Kraang, does the Kraang think that what is known as the turtle can handle level 2?"
Wait, wait—… Level 2?
"Hm Kraang doesn't know. Kraangs shall see."
No… No, no, please not again...
However, his throat hurts too much to scream anymore, whether it was from his guttural screech or because of the electricity.
And the process repeats over and over until they are satisfied with their results. And then they stitch him back up like a doll.
It's weird, actually, to not be treated like a broken object. He often finds himself unsure of what to do, and most of the time, he feels overwhelmed and helpless. No orders being told, no punishment being given. There are times when he makes a mistake—one he knows will anger them—and he finds himself hiding from his own hallucinations, shackled by the chains of his own memories.
Sometimes he wonders, Was it even worth leaving if his suffering followed him?
——
Night has fallen, and he can feel the aching rumble in his stomach. God… He's so hungry...
He doesn't want to eat another flying creature; it's too painful to hear their cries again. And also, it just takes too much effort to catch them.
He slips out of his hiding spot and scales the tall building nearby, setting off to find food. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, he silently prays he won't fall. He figured staying above ground would keep him safe from being spotted, but the first time he tried this, he struggled to climb up because of his chained wrist; at the same time, he fell hard and cracked his shell. The pain still lingers even now.
He scans the area for any potential meal, having searched through about ten green boxes, only to find a few scraps of food. His stomach growls louder with each passing second, and by the time he reaches the next box, he has to take a break. He leans against the brick wall, sliding down until he hits the ground. He breathes heavily, selfishly taking quick gasps of air.
His muscle crumbles into the ground as there is no energy left to get back up. Maybe it was a mistake to take a rest—now his body feels paralyzed.
He lets out a deep sigh, deciding not to bother with his empty stomach anymore, and moves his gaze to the sky. There's many things about being outside that he hates; the night sky is not one of them.
When the droplets don't fall, the beautiful twinkle in the night will be revealed. The first time he saw it, he almost couldn't believe what he's staring at. It shimmers when the sun can't, brightening the dark sky in an elegance he has never seen before. He loves it when the cold wind grazes over his skin, sending a calming breeze over his shoulders. He loves the small creature, who chirps and flies across the heavens; he just loves to hear them sing. He can't believe that sometimes he has to eat such a pure thing.
Speaking of small creatures, he spots one in the corner of his eyes landing right across him. "Oh…" He smiles softly, his voice in a hush tone, "Hey there…" The little animal tilts its head towards him as a response.
"Don't worry… I'm not going to eat you." He calmly stated, making sure to not scare the little one. He stares at it as it does its little hops around the floor, chirping in a bubbly tone.
"Do… do you have friends?" He asks, to which it replies with a tweet. He glances down at the ground, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Yeah… I don't too…"
They both sit there in solemn silence, T-0028 looking over the cute bundle of feathers. "Maybe you... want to be my friend?" He waits a few seconds before the small creature responds with a tweet. He chortles softly. How can something be this adorable yet have no one around? It must be lonely, being so small in such a big world. "Okay, let's be friends today," he hums tenderly.
His gaze grew softer as he stared at the little animal; he didn't even believe that there was such a thing so small and yet alive. It's like a bundle of innocence warped in feathers. Just looking at something so fluffy-looking makes him think—
His body flinches at a sound of SPLAT as the creature is suddenly covered in green goo, a substance that just seems so familiar to him. It stands there for a mere second or two, confused at whatever it was submerged in, before a reaction suddenly occurs.
His eyes widen in terror as he watches the sweet little creature morph into something that he couldn't even explain. Its neck bones pop in and out in ragged snaps, elongating further away from its body; its wings stretched grotesquely, twisting and bulging as they grew, while patches of feathers tore from its skin, falling in piles of clumps to the ground. It screeches out an agonizing cry as its body expands beyond its weight, its bones contorting and shifting in unnatural, deformed angles.
The green goo... His pupils tremble as the puzzle pieces click into place, forming a memory he'd long tried to forget.
It happened once; they trapped him in a container as they poured the same goo inside where he stands. He doesn't exactly remember what happened next, but the torturous contortion, the sizzling burn on his skin, the overwhelming pounding against his skull—it's hard to forget.
No no no no no… The Kaang is here... He dreads.
Get away. Get away. Get away. Get away. Get away. Get away. Get away. GET AWAY!
The monstrous animal lets out a hoarse howl before flying away, hopefully never coming back. However, the horror wasn't over, as he heard multiple SPLATS going around the place, following with horrid screams and cries for help booming through the air.
He presses his shell even closer to the wall, as though he could submerge himself into it. His palms sweat profusely, and the shackles around his trembling wrists clink with each shake.
Hide.
In a haste, he flings open the lid of the green box and quickly snaps it shut again. He pulls himself into a corner, hugging his knees tightly together, squeezing his eyes shut. His body trembles on the spot, tears lining eyes under the crushing weight of terror. He didn't dare to mutter a word, not even to draw a deep breath, forcing his lungs to suffocate in silence.
His ear tries to muffle the terror outside—the screams and the sobs, the howls of the newly morphed monsters. "LET GO OF ME!" He hears a young girl scream; she sounds high up in the air. Oh god… a cold shiver crawls up his spine, afraid to imagine the possibility of what is happening. Go away… please go away… He begs for mercy.
Why?… he wonders. Why is the world so cruel? The small creature didn't deserve that. It was just trying to live in peace, to find a place where it could belong. All it ever wanted was to fly and make friends. It didn't deserve this fate. It didn't deserve to become… that. It hadn't done anything wrong, had it?
He doesn't deserve this, does he?
——
Days pass after the mutation catastrophe. The city has never felt more endangered than it has ever before. Mutants roam around the streets freely, harming the people of New York City. A young raven-haired boy is aware of the circumstances.
Mutant monsters and robot ninjas are taking over my city.
How long before those freaks hurt somebody close to me? Like my dad? My little sister? April?
Well I'm not waiting around to find out.
All my life, I knew I'm meant for something greater. This is my calling. My destiny. A true warrior has gotta be prepared.
He glances at himself in the mirror, preparing for the worst possible scenario. "Huh? Who do you…. Why do you think you are?" He mocks, as if he's speaking to the villains themselves. "A ninja? Bring it, punk!" He unleashes his wrist taser, electricity crackling across the secret weapon before he sheaths it back into his glove. He twirls his hockey stick, feeling adrenaline rush through his veins as he stares at the dark sky through his window, ready to protect the city.
"Scum-sucking, mutated freaks of the world—Prepare to meet, Casey Jones."