CHAPTER 13: DONATELLO 

Donatello watched below as he looked at his hands. The metal in his hands, glimmered. Not with hope, but of the future. The promise it holds not anymore.  As the woman below the church began to get robbed by a teenager, Donatello sighed. 

He didn’t know what he believed anymore.  All his life, there was a meaning for everything.  Sometimes the meaning was hidden, and no science yet could prove the answers he seeked, though he knew one day the answer would arrive. 

Today was not that day.  The realization... the reality of the situation was that the answer may never come.  As the void grew larger and larger, he felt it consume him.  Yet in the corner of his eye, near the bell towel, he saw a pigeon.   

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” he screamed as a large blast of energy fired from his body, aiming at the bird.  The bird flew away immediately, thus missed being fried. As the blast soon disappeared in the distance, Donatello tried to catch his breath.  The Robot was still in control some how, despite the program being deleted.  The cyborgnettic body though apart of him, was alien to his mind.  Control was something he was afraid to acquire.  For with much power, comes much responsibility. Though out of a marvel comic book, it was something Master Splinter instilled in his early teachings.  Donatello feared now, what he become.  Though he yearned to be something more than what he was, he didn’t know what to do. What to say.  He looked out over the railing.  He knew he needed a moment in his mind, instilled there forever, which will make him laugh.  He needed to not think of such horrors which constantly plague his mind.   

A small antidote of Michaelangelo and a trench coat made him chuckle. “That’s it!” he thought aloud, as he looked below at the people.  “I need to get the heck out of here.”  

Donatello wasn’t much of a ‘people’ person, but he needed contact with other life.  And besides, that  ‘Canyon’ guy isn’t supposed to meet him on that same rooftop to gaze at stars and discuss some things until next Saturday.  Too long.  The thought of home hit, but... he felt sick of returning.   

Then the queasiness turned into something else.  “I need a drink.” he thought to himself, as  he looked around.  “God... and I hate to drink.” 

****

 Raphael was always the big drinker of the group.  Only once or twice he drank, and mostly due to the fact Donatello was a social drinker.  Now, in public with some spare change he gathered from around the lair he took with him, Donatello was now on his fifth bottle of Bud Light.  For some reason, the taste of the bottled beer, and the atmosphere of the Blang-Blang club was refreshing.  Donatello watched the dancers walk by him.  The fedora was like an invisible cloak, shielding him from the outside terrors of the world.  Mostly, people ignored him when he entered, until he raised his hand.   As the last drop of the beer oozed down his throat, he yet again raised his hand, as a waitress came back over and placed a beer on the table. 

“How thoughtful. You know me well enough already. Yet I only have been visible to you for four hours--” 

“Buddy, save it.  Just keep drinking and leave me with a good tip. That’s all I ask for.” and with that, she walked away. 

Donatello sneered as he sipped the beer from the bottle.  “Well thanks for listening.” 

Then a beautiful woman caught his eye.  As he watched her dance gracefully, he wished to stand up and offer money.  But the money he scrounged up was barely enough for the beers he was getting.  As he gazed, he noticed her glance every now and then back.  In thus, he began to get excited.  Finally, a human was looking at him in a favorable light.  But yet,. the light was dim in his corner of the bar, and he was wearing a fedora, one which he stashed or so many moons ago.  And if she did see him, it would be something he’d regret, for she’d scream.  Screaming... Donatello knew, drew crowds.  Crowds, hate freaks.  Donatello knew he would be considered a freak, by those he longed to be accepted by.  “Human Behavior.” he grumbled as he took a sip from his Bud Light.  As a sigh escaped his lungs, he continued to watch her. 

As she wrapped her legs around, the woman slid down the pole, her feet the only support in keeping her balanced as she hung upside down.  Cozying up her breasts with her own hands, she then slowly, in an erotic tone, slid her bikini top off.   

Donatello watched her, as she moved from the pole, to the floor. To the floor, to the front row, where she did what many other dancers would do: nice shots and close ups of her T & A.  Donatello wasn’t much for looking at such... as he refered to, smut, but... he was attracted to it.  The surroundings were so shady and slim, that he felt he belonged.  But... belonged to what?  He wasn’t human. he wasn’t even a normal mutant turtle anymore.  He was a pure freak.  He belonged no where.  And no one would ever again accept him for that.  As the thoughts probed back further and further, the answer still came up blank.  But what was the answer he was searching for? 

Donatello often tried to look for answers. He was the scientific kind. Raph was the hot head. He usually ran hot or cold.  Leo was the leader. Mike was the jokester.  And Don was the thinker.  He looked for answers to anything, things which intrigued not the others.  Though the question of “why we are, the way we are” often comes in his mind, and no answer appears to any avail, this time, that question was just the underlying stepping stone for what his mind was trying to get the equation for.  

As the 5’10 dancer jumped off the stage with the one dollar bills in her hand, her breasts jiggling as she leapt away, Donatello slowly got up and began to head for the exit of the bar.  This was a place where he didn’t truly need to be.  He needed solace. Solace and peace that not even the New York Church of God could grant him. 

****

Looking about, he felt at ease. More trees. More distance.  Central Park would of been a great place to hide almost. But during the day, in which for the most part, he now slept during, he would most definitely have been found. But here, Donatello found the solace he seeked, from, but within, the outside world. 

he felt tired.  He was tired of the lies. The unanswered problems and questions.  The Death.  the fights.  He was tired of everything.  He was tired of saving others lives... those who would reject him, for not being like the rest of the world.  But... the rest of the world... there is no one kind of person in the rest of the world.  Each person though stemming from Adam and Eve, and Moses and who ever else, were different.  Cain and Abel were night and day.   

That is just personality. he thought. 

Donatello began to move back on the branch, to lean his shell against the trunk of the tree, when he heard a noise.  

Computer, intensify sound readings.   

COMPLIED. 

“Quick.... ‘fore I di--” 

What the hell? What is that? Computer. In which direction is the sound in section Four dot eight sourced from? 

NORTHWEST FROM YOUR CURRENT POSITION.   

Donatello jumping off the branch, felt the green grass below his feet and rose.  He walked northwest, maneuvering a couple trees, and then stopped.  Ahead, he saw a man, talking to himself. 

The man was in a khakis, and looked down at the ground sobbing. 

“Great.” he thought aloud to himself.  Donatello peered closer. 

The man was around six feet tall, and was holding a gun in his left hand.  He was sobbing uncontrollably, and was mumbling to himself. 

Computer...  

“- because I wouldn’t go thru with this unless you gave me a sign...” 

Donatello froze.  He knew what was coming next.  He had to do something.  But... what? It wasn’t his place to save this man’s life.  He isn’t a hero.  Was he? Who’s place is it for him to stop the circle of life from continuing? 

Computer... intensify voice levels. “Here we go...” he said to himself as he jumped up into the tree branch above him. 

The man turned around, facing the area with the noise. 

“Hello?” he cried, as he wiped the tears from his cheeks.  The man was a husky fellow, ragged hair.  His blue jean-like dress shirt was wet from the tears streaming down his face.  His tie was loosened, like he had come home from a bad day at work.  And what a bad day it was. 

“HELLO.” 

The man turned and looked around.  The voice was coming from everywhere. 

“YOU ASKED FOR A SIGN. I DELIVER.” 

“God?” 

“YES.” 

The man paused.  Silence filled the small secluded section of the park, as he looked around, holding the gun up, shaking hysterically.  “This isn’t funny!!!” 

“LIFE AND DEATH IS NOT A FUNNY MATTER.” 

“Bullshit!!” and the man took the gun’s nozzle and put it right on his forehead. 

“AND A SIGN... YOU SHALL RECEIVE.” 

As the man’s tears came down his face, and his trigger finger was shaking, a bush in front of him caught afire.  The blaze was amazing.   

“DEATH... HAS NOT CALLED UPON YOU YET, CHILD OF GOD.” 

The man looked at him.  Unsteady from the burning bush ahead of him, he reached to his pocket, pulling out bullets, yet other items fell to the ground.  As he looked at the bush, kneeling down to pick up some of the items, he stood up, and dropped the gun.   

“I’m... sorry...” and with that... the man left. 

Donatello jumped down to the ground, as he looked at the bush, still ablaze.  His hand morphing into a gun, shot hot air on the bush.  As some of the ashes spread, the fire quickly was out.  His hand slowly morphed back into the three-fingered hand. 

“Great.  Now I’m God.” 

Donatello looked at the items he left behind.  A piece of paper, some pennies-- maybe the paper had something about what he was doing?  Maybe. 

Donatello reached forward and picked up the piece, and began to unfold it.  Inside, was a suicide note.

The words began to fill his mind, and his heart, felt like it no longer existed.  The words effects him so greatly, he was glued to the words, as if reading a number 1 best seller, like he did in the old days.   Yet, as he finished the note, a lone tear from his lone eye, ran to the end of his beak, and fell to the grass.  Donatello sighed, and crumbled up the note and threw it to the ground, disappearing into the shadows of Central Park. 

CHAPTER 14: BODYCOUNT 

The night air was crisp, and the snowfall had stopped hours before.  It was two hours till the crack of dawn, and the frost resigned on the windshields.  Atop a large two floor factory or development of sorts, a man, a sniper, stood ready in wait. 

Across the way on the other side of the roof top, another guard signaled him.  The one then leaned his head to his chest.  “How things go there, Eagle?” 

“All things go well here, Snake. ” the guard said into the comm. “Another smooth night here, copy.” 

“And you Gatekeeper?”  

In a small box, on the outskirts of the grounds, which was covered by a fence, stood in a chair, sipping a hot cup of joe, was the apparent Gatekeeper. 

“All here is w--” as he paused, he looked ahead.  Sitting his styrofoam cup down, he squinted his eyes.  He hadn’t been in the best condition with his eyes, and an eye surgery could fix such a thing, but the job was too important.  Apparently not important enough. 

Thru the mist of the frost and fog which slowly had set upon the city of New York since nightfall, a figure was seen approaching the gate.  Head on?  Maybe? 

Leaning forward, pressing the green button, the microphone began picking up.  “We have a visual.  Someone is approaching the bench, Eagle. ” his finger backed away from the button as he reached for a hidden compartment at the bottom of the desk, featuring a nine millimeter. 

Holding it at ready, his finger reached for the green button.  “Eagle, you get the shot ready, Snake, get backup and ask the Boss if he had any plans on any deliveries coming in tonight.” The button no longer being held down, the figure was close now.  Six feet away at the most.  Either this person was very foolish, or very brave.  Either way... wasn’t the good way to approach him. 

Slowly, the hand rested on the gun, as the other reached for the window of the Gate and slid it to the side.  The Gatekeeper peered at the figure closely.  In his ear, he heard Snake thru his ear piece.   “Snake here.  Men ready to go.  It’s probably nothing. Eagle has visual.  Hold.” 

“Stranger, I think you’re at the wrong place.” the Gatekeeper said, politely.  The figure calmly looked around.  Still he couldn’t see his face... nor what he was wearing.  A hooded jacket? Maybe? 

“Really? Well it looks like the right place to me.” the figure responded. 

Snake turned to his men.  “Gang, looks like a false alarm.” but yet, the loud ka-boom behind him, followed by the fire display turned his statement false.  “Shit!” reaching for his mike, he grabbed it and spoke into it.  “Eagle!! Do you have visual? Ifso, take it! Who is this fucker??” turning away from the microphone, he looked at his men.  “Move it, move it!!!!!” 

“Hold.”

Eagle looked thru his sniper rifle scope and tried to look thru the smoke.  The incident was quick. He didn’t even see it coming. It was like the guy had a bomb on his body and exploded.   As the fire raged from the gate, he saw something.  He had to? Did he?  But... something just moved. Didn’t it?  The fire continued to  blaze,  as Eagle looked up, in awe.  “Jesus Christ. What the hell did that?” as he peered thru his scope again, he began to whisper “The Lord’s Prayer.” finally he aimed at a moving figure. 

“We have visual, I repeat, Eagle has visual from nest. Fire?” 

“Yes!!!” 

“Can not fire yet.  Copy.” 

“Why the hell not, Eagle?” 

“Lance. It may be Lance and--” 

“Screw Lance.  Shoot the damn thing!!!” The shot rang out.  He saw the figure hit and go down.    

“We have take down. Get your boys down there.” 

“A step ahead of you.  Get back up.  Make sure the ransom is okay, and get down here.” 

Eagle sighed, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief  as he walked towards the door, not reloading his gun.  

The smoke from the fire still ablaze, covered the night sky.  Eagle, Snake and his men surrounded the figure. Eagle nagged Snake aside.  “What the hell happened down here?” 

“They checked Lance.  A piece here. A piece there.  You should know. What happened?” 

“The visual... was out of bounds.  I didn’t witness the entire thing.  It was like there was a bomb on his body and it went off.” 

“Boss... you should look at this... he is bleeding green blood. And he’s glowing.” came the voice.   

Making their way thru the dark skinned guards and looked down.  Snake turned towards Eagle, motioning to get back in place.  Eagle nodded and began his trek back.   Kneeling down, looking at his men, Snake sneered at the odd man.  As he held his ear, receiving a transmission, he stood and walked away, as the guards swarmed around the glowing figure, which was now so bright only an outline remained foreseen.  

“Yeah.” Snake hissed.  “But we got the situation under-- well it’s not fucking safe!” he paused as the message continued.  “Fine. FINE!!!” he said.  His reached into his pocket, going for his Camels.  What was this supposed to prove?  This attack?  Lane was dead for sure, no doubt.  But whatever it was, it woke up the big ringleaders, and they were coming down.  Personally... he thought it wasn’t a wise move.  But lately alot of things have been coming to fruitatian with who is running this town.  Who is the major crime s-- Pulling out a pack, he heard some rustling of feet behind him.  “Keep it the fuck down back there. I’m trying to think,” he said, as he tapped the box of cigs into his coat pocket, “bastards.”   

Bellowing from behind him, the voice rang out deep. Low.  “Need a light??” the bellow was a mixture of grunts and speech, and as he turned around a bright light covered his eyes. Then blackness.  

The body fell, headless, the neck aflame, and the burning monster turned and roared.  As the guards that were coming from the north flanks rushed, with guns blazing, the guards didn’t know if the burning monster was screaming in pain, or roaring.  It was as if it was a mixture of both.   

Firing, the one guard coming from the west side of the factory gates fires his Klobb, and the bullets disappeared behind the flames of the burning figure.  Each bullet hit, repeatedly, that it was an automatic, and green blood oozed out. Again, a cry came from the creature. 

“What the fuck!?” 

“Did it just say, girl?” one said. 

“The bullets aren’t working!!!” another guard screamed, as a blast of fire hit three men coming from the doorway in the east.     As more of the guards continued to charge in, the smell of death, decay... and charred flesh filled the misty, fog laden air.  Each one, falling down in flames, or disintegrated by the large blasts of fire and energy, adding the fuel to the fire. 

The voice rang out again, like a distant cry, but understandable under the roar:  

“You know what??” 

but the monster’s cry was unfinished as two ninja from the sides came in.  As bullets continued to hit the monster, the arms outstretched, grabbed the ninjas appendages and then squeezed.  As the burning affected their dogi, and soon, their skin, they screamed in pain.  Blood scourged from his hand, until he dropped one and then grabbed the other ninja’s neck.  “I simply loathe violence.” the monster applied, as the flames hit the ninja’s neck, being the monster’s hand was fire, the pain surged thru his body.  The man began terrible screams of pain, while thru the flames, the outline figure of the monster’s face smiled.  And with the tight grip enclosing harder, a snap sounded, and the ninja was dropped from the monster’s grasp, his neck lifeless. 

The monster turned, to face the sound of doors opening, with seemingly two squadrons of men and the “big boss”.   

Eagle, watching on as all the events transpired, reached for his cell phone.  He hit 911, and then looked below.  Yet, he did not hit the send button on his Motorola.  He slowly began to reload his sniper rifle, laying the Motorola on the edge of the roof, as he lowered himself down, and aimed thru the scope.  As he adjusted himself, he then paused.  He looked thru the scope, and saw his boss was cindered, and that some of the men were firing upon the creature, the others running.  And the monster, his back to Eagle, shot a ball of green energy and fire right at a man, and then paused. Eagle then looked aside, and made sure his shot was ready, and his aim was true, as he looked thru the scope.  His head bobbed back, and it was a look of shock.  Eagle prayed, as he held the gun, remaining brave as his other hand reached for the send button.  And thru the scope, he saw the Monster smiling right at him. 

CHAPTER 15: AFTERMATH 

The smoke behind her was being put out, as the sun hit the pavement.  Margaret looked down slightly, at the charred remains of a human male, around fifty years old.  The skin was seemingly burned right off of the bone. And some of the bone was burnt so bad, it seemed it had been mummified for years, and was crumbling away.  It was just like some of the men during the Farley Brothers Gang crime scene.  But... the range of the scene was larger, and much bigger.  More devastating.   As she looked around, she walked over to Tommy, who looked at her. 

Tommy Horner, had been with the FBI, working in the New York City branch for over ten years.  Dropping out his junior year, a month after prom, he ran and joined the army.  The skills he possessed, he became a marksman of incredible range and talent. But yet, though he loved the job of the FBI Agent, he yearned for more.  Going to Berkley, graduating six years ago, he became one of the head of the forensic team in the NYC Branch.  His years recently have been serving him well.  And as of late, he has been called in for actual duty, instead of the usual court hearing, as an “expert” witness.  The best you could hope for was something to happen; the opposite side for who you’re the expert for, digs up some hidden fact about you.  Horner had no background that was to be reckoned with, no dirty little secrets in closets.  Nothing.  He was tired though of being such a thing, and though out on the job almost every day for the last three months in the rash of strange crime land murders, he appreciated the job’s recent perks of not being in a lab and court room twenty-four-seven. 

“This guy has been dead... how long?” Margaret asked.  Tommy yawned as he looked at her pulling off his white powerless rubber glove. He seemingly dismissed whatever was on his mind and paid attention to the subject at hand.  

“Maybe an hour or two? Three or four?  This happened... well expected death is around three.  So Between Three A.M. and Four A.M.” Horner mumbled as he began walking over to another set of bodies.  the smell was terrible.  He heard that in Africa, during the small outbreak they had there, that the burning and decaying flesh stuck with your mind forever. The smell.  That is how he felt.  But it was in his back yard; his backyard of New York City.  “The Altecians never had a chance.” 

“And this is all of them, correct?” 

“I believe so.  We think this was the leader of them all.  This guy right here.  But we’re not sure.  His face is so badly...” he looked at it, and then stepped over the body, looking at some more.  “Dental records may be the only thing we have that could identify half of these victims.” Horner turned to Mazzello.  “They fought back.  Smell the air.  It smells like fire, but also-” 

“Gunpowder.” she said. 

Margaret walked over to a Klobb, and putting on one of the gloves, she picked it up and began sniffing the barrel of the gun.  She smelled the remains of the bullet leaving the barrel.  Guns were definitely used.  But where are the shells?  And they had to hit something?  “Horner, get me Carrey on the line.” 

“Carrey? Fuck, why?”  

“Because.  I said so.” 

“You know we’re supposed to be in this as a team you know, Marge.  And unless you have something you’d like to share with everyone, I think--” 

“Just shut up, and call Carrey. Tell him I’m coming in.  Look some stuff up.” 

“Jesus.”  Tommy muttered as he pulled his cell phone out and looked at some of the other officers and policemen as they searched and combed the area.  “Hello? Extension forty-two, twenty-three-fifty. Yes.  Thank you.”

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