Chapter Text
Chapter One: What’s Left
The number of people who tried to flee proved to be too much for the narrow streets of New York City. Abandoned cars were crammed into each other, completely gridlocked. People were forced to flee from their cars and carry on on foot, or succumb to the kraangification that spread like wildfire. The fleshy pink matter consumed everything in its path. The result being a wall of flesh, eyeballs around every corner, and the horror of turning into a husk dialed into the Kraang hivemind.
Without that hive mind, what’s left is a thrawl with no master. A wandering slab of Kraang matter attached to a human, controlled on pure instinct. Hunger, impulse, noise, anything that provides stimulus in a world without an inner voice is sought after. Like a moth to a flame. Well, a crazed moth with tentacles, sharp jaws, and a freaky eyeball.
Street lights flickered, creating a light source that Donatello very much wanted to stay out of. He stuck to what was familiar in this unfamiliar New York, alleyways and rooftops. Though there were definitely no people around this sector, there were still government drones canvassing the area. Their propellers sounded like mosquitoes circling over his head. He found himself obsessively checking the sky for any small dot that could be a drone. He was alone; he couldn’t risk being seen.
Donnie stayed pressed against a building’s brick wall, slowly making his way down the alley. The map on his wrist pulsed with directions and points of interest. Donnie needed equipment. The world, though it didn’t know it, needed Donnie, who needed equipment; the only way to get said equipment was to scavenge what was left behind. Left behind by humanity, and by the Kraang.
Donnie’s location was just a block away from his destination. But there was no way he was going in blind. He typed a few commands into his purple hologram screen on his wrist. A couple of beeps and boops later, and a tiny S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N was released from his black battleshell.
"Good evening, Donatello,” the tiny drone chimed, its mouth lighting up with each word. Donnie built him just like the S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N that came before. But, with the limited amount of resources at his disposal, Donnie had to go a bit smaller for S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N Junior. “What would you like me to do for you?”
“I need a birdseye view, Shelly J,” Donnie exclaimed, “and scan for the materials on my list.”
“Sound’s excellent, Donatello.” The little drone's wings buzzed as the propeller blades lifted him upwards. Donnie watched as the tiny purple drone disappeared into the night sky, subsequently lighting up his hologram.
A birdseye image of the area streamed through the live feed. The sector used to be a shopping district, a ghost of what it used to be. Though the rebuilding of New York City was underway, it was still taking forever. The stains of signs etched above the store entrances, some still had letters intact, others just a smudge of grease; a phantom of what the name used to be. Now, they were all just rubble waiting to be broken down and rebuilt.
A hum came from SJ as the scan continued, looking for material, energy, and/or any thermal signatures in the area. Finally, a signature of interest lit up the screen, pulsing in a light blue. Whatever it was, it had a strong energy signature.
“Oh, what do we have over here?” He jested, “SJ, take us in closer.”
“You got it, boss,” Shelldon replied. He flew closer to the signature; it pulsed inside what used to be an electronics store. There had to be some good tech in there, not only tech, but the parts he needed. But then a heat signature lit up from deep inside the store.
“Ah, great, why can’t anything I do be easy?” He complained, rolling his eyes. “Alright, Shelly boy, come on back.”
“Yes, sir,” Shelldon cut the feed, and the whizzing noise from his rotors came closer and closer as he returned to Donnie. The battleshell opened up, and Shelly J snuggled into his charging port and ‘closed his eyes’ for a nap. Donnie took a peek around the corner to see if anyone was looking and headed for the electronics store.
The entrance’s windows were cracked and smashed, with broken glass scattered across the raised sidewalk. Donnie didn’t have to open the door to get inside; he stepped right through a smashed window. The inside didn’t look any better than the advertisement out front.
Like a lot of the stores around here, the place was picked clean. Opened merchandise boxes were scattered across the floor, along with a bunch of random items still left behind. Items that were not useful to anyone in a severe disaster zone. Turns out a bunch of people who are scared and don’t know what tomorrow would bring get a little handsy.
It was hell trying to get supplies for a couple of weeks. They needed what everyone else needed, which made it ever more difficult to get. It didn’t take them long to blow through the medical supply stash, especially with Leo’s “laundry list” of injuries.
At the corner of his eye, Donnie saw a Jupiter Jim figurine lying on the ground, forgotten by the storm of people that no doubt trashed this place. It was still in its packaging. Though the packaging had been trampled on and had some water damage, the figurine inside was still in pristine condition.
Donnie picked it up with one of his retractable metal claws. He admired it closely and stuffed it inside his battleshell, and mumbled to himself, “I hope this will be an acceptable peace offering.”
A display stand crashed to the ground. Its metallic shelving reverberated in his very bones. Donnie whipped out his tech bo and readied himself towards the sound, keeping his breathing steady. Then, another scuffle and another. Whatever it was, it was closing in on him, fast.
“Come on, you pink idiot,” Donnie hummed, voice low, “it’s ok. I’ll only fry you a little.”
An inhuman screech came from the darkened isle behind him and pounced. Donnie flipped around and whacked it with his bo. It was stunned but came at him again, and again, attacking with its pink tentacle arms. It screamed, its twisted tongue flickering like a snake.
Underneath the pink living tissue was a person, locked away. She had long, matted hair that was soiled from the elements, as were the clothes she wore on invasion day: a business casual outfit and one leather shoe. She used to be someone. Used to be… it took another swipe at Donnie, wrapping its tentacle around his tech bo, pulling on it with all its force. Donnie tugged back, keeping a firm grip on his weapon. He twisted it, twirling the tentacle and snapping it off. It let out a scream of pain as pink goo filtered out like a hose.
“I am so sorry, I know that hurts!” His statement only made it angrier. It rushed at Donnie, the only thing he could do was defend and block its animalistic attacks; he didn’t want to hurt the person inside. It forced Donnie back until he ran into one of those line marker things. What were they called again? They have those seat belt straps that mark where people are supposed to line up for checkout. It’s on the tip of– Shit!
The Kraangified human swiped low, taking his legs out from under him. He landed right on his back, his sore shell radiated with pain. The grooves and tunnels from interfacing with the tecnodrome had yet to heal. He groaned in pain, leaving an opening for it to pounce on top of him. He held back its snapping jaws with his forearm. It's thick, goey drool dripping onto his skin. Donnie shuddered from the texture. It was a fight to get his feet against its chest so he could push the thing off of him and straight into a display case. It cried as it crashed into the metal framing, struggling to get back up.
Donnie shuffled underneath the straps and rushed up to his feet. In one quick motion, he detached the strap and circled the Kraangified woman. He wrapped it up in the long black strap and tied it off. It struggled and whined before falling to the ground with a thud.
“Ha! Gotcha! Looks like you’re all tied up. Haha! Zing!” He cheered. The Kraanged woman struggled, gasped, and screeched, trying to get free. That thing put up quite a fight; it took a moment for Donnie to catch his breath. All while it screamed and hissed at him. But, alas, it was time to get back on track. There was some tech patiently awaiting his deft hands.
“It’s been fun, but there is something I gotta do.” He shrugged and turned to walk away. Then, she cried. Just for a moment, she cried. Donnie turned back and saw the glint of the person underneath, a scared and confused girl who couldn’t do anything. Whatever consciousness she had didn’t last long, and the Kraang took over once more. It growled and hissed, even more aggravated than before.
“Sigh, fine, alright,” Donnie said with a somber tone, “look, I don’t know if you can hear me or not.” The Kraanged snapped and bit towards him viciously. “I’m going to go with the ‘or not’ theory. Ugh, Mikey is so much better at this,” he groaned. Mikey was a lot better at this; he had the bedside manner, the technique, everything down to… well, a science. His method was even gentler and not full of electricity like Donnie’s.
Donnie began to rub his hands together, warming up the friction. Just like Casey had said, just like he had practiced. It’s a good thing that the future boy was here to give them some spoilers on how to deal with the aftermath and the lingering infection.
“Anyway, I can free you from your alienated prison, just sit still. It’s gonna suck, try not to hate me afterwards.” Donnie closed his eyes and focused on the pixeled purple power that coursed through him. The friction from his hands began sparking and zapping like an electrical current was shuffling through him. He grabbed both sides of the girl’s face and opened his eyes. A bright purple glow overtook his vision; the markings on his arms lit up as a current of pure mystical energy coursed through him and into the woman.
She screamed, a garbled Kraang scream, tongue flapping about as the infection burned. It burned off her arm, sloughed off her face, and purged from her brain. She kicked her feet, the Kraang inside her head fully convincing her she was being killed. That they were going to die. Donnie held firm, doing exactly what Mikey advised when Donnie had struggled to learn the cleansing technique. Reach for the person inside and pull them out.
She was there, tangled up in vines of noxious purple, deep within her own mind. He reached a hand out and grasped the vines. Donnie knew what it felt like to be restrained in such a way; even the slightest movement would bring more pain. With more pain came more control. Anger flashed in his chest, his sharpied brows pierced together, and all that rage came out in an electrical fury tuned to Kraang matter.
The vines fried under his grasp; they shriveled and collapsed until she was free. As she slipped from the entanglement of vines, he reached out and caught her. She took her first free breath in his arms. But she was still weak and needed help getting back to the forefront of the person she is. Donnie carried her forward. The darkness turned to light, sickness to health. Life came from limbo.
Donnie let go and pulled the plug on his power. The rush left his head feeling light and tingly, like he himself touched a live wire. He panted, trying to catch his breath and calm the heart that galloped in his chest. The black spots danced, his vision blurred, he twisted on that y-axis, and fell backwards. He barely got under himself before his shell took another jolt from a fall, slowing his descent into the rugged ground.
The swarm in his head would not let up; nausea bubbled in the back of his throat. Donnie lowered his head between his legs, “Ugh, I hate this, oh, hate this,” his stomach lurched. The twisting party in his head swirled as he closed his eyes, trying to stay present. Then, the girl coughed and gagged on a nauseating liquid. She was choking.
“Oh, shit!” He launched forward, ignoring the reluctance to move. Donnie quickly rolled the tied-up woman to her side, where she threw up the remnants of the Kraang and whatever… whatever it made her eat. Bones of varments, cockroach exoskeletons, and muddy water came up; all gathered into a pink, murky puddle of… ew.
Donnie’s face twisted at the sight of the pile of sick, “oh god,” he covered his mouth, “keep it down, Vomatello–” he mumbled, turning away from her. But it was a losing battle; his anti vomit fraze failed. Donnie gagged and coughed. Then, he proceeded to lose his dinner on the generic, grooved carpeting.
Donatello groaned, annoyed, and wiped his mouth. He hated that; puking was the worst. The threat of another round lingered on, and he once again pulled his head in between his legs, trying to settle his stomach and make the dancing stars go away. Donnie needed a moment. His Ninpo energy felt tingly and weak. He just needed a little bit of downtime for the feeling to subside. Then, something stepped on a piece of plastic, and a crinkling noise echoed through the empty electronics store.
Donnie’s breath caught. He grasped his tech bo and used it to help himself stand back up, using it as a cane. His head still felt like a wave had smashed into it, but if another one of those things was still here, it didn’t matter. Donnie tightened his grip on his staff and painfully waited for another one to show itself. To attack like a brainless, directionless animal whose only instinct was to kill. That’s all they were without the hivemind, deranged and dangerous, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Its shadowed figure sheepishly walked into the dim light.
“Huh, what?” Donnie blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. Fully convinced the dizziness had gotten to him, that he was hallucinating. “Mikey!?”