Witch Sister Three and TMNT *EDITING*

38- Armegeddon (Morgan)

“Man,” Michelangelo began, wrinkling his nose.  “How many of these clusters of Foot Clan members are we gonna find?  It’s just...disturbing.”

I nodded, using the neck of my shirt to hinder the smell of rotting corpses.  Thankfully, there were only three bodies this time, but it was the fourth group Mikey and I had found over the past four days.  The most we had seen was seven, slain without care and very gruesomely.  “It’s almost too consistent for my taste.” I said, my voice muffled through my shirt.

It had been four days, like I mentioned, since we had split up as a group.  We all had returned to the lair during the day to regroup, and by some miracle the chaos ceased with each sunrise.  But once the sun set, the city was plunged back into chaos.  They had tried calling in the National Guard, but Shredder had blocked their every entrance into New York City.  I had found the irony in it at the beginning, comparing wise and noble grandfather to Bane in The Dark Knight Rises, but only Mikey saw my humor.  That had been two days ago, and since then all the humor had been sucked out from even the Trickster and Ms. Mischief.

Very obviously, I was tired of being dark and ominous, but it wasn’t like I had a choice.

Caitlyn had healed my knife wounds, but I still had subtle scars that jagged from my chest to my shoulder, and I found myself sometimes subconsciously rubbing them.  I couldn’t remember a time I felt like my life was in total balance between life and death, and I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps I was living on borrowed time.  According to Nightmare, my entire life was borrowed time.

“Hey, Dreamer, come back down to Earth.” Mikey teased lightly, touching my elbow.

I shook my head to clear it, giving him a half-hearted smile.  “Sorry, just a lot to process.” I admitted.

“You’re telling me.” Mikey replied.

I pondered for a moment.  “You know, maybe it’s worth a trip to Foot Tower, see if we can snoop around for any answers.”

The orange-masked turtle gave me a bizarre look.  “Are you feeling particularly suicidal?” He asked.

I laughed slightly.  “No, but that does sound suicidal.” I said, sighing and fingering back my bangs once more.  I took Mikey’s hand and led him away from the slaughtered group of ninjas, quickly scaling a fire escape to return to the rooftops.  We paused when we got to the top, looking left and right for some sort of direction to go.

My head throbbed.  “Ugh…” I groaned, putting a hand to my temple.

“Mo?” Mikey asked, worried.  “What is it?”

I shook my head, putting my hands on me knees.  I felt sick again.  It had been a theme these past few days of death and carnage.  “Nothing.  Just an emotional overload.” I told him, trying to put everything back in its box so the world would stop spinning.  I felt a three-fingered hand on my back, gently rubbing.  I focused on Mikey’s emotions, channeling him to put it all back where it came from.  I focused on his worry, his playfulness, his curiosity, his frustration, even his fear.  But it was when I dug just a little deeper that I started to tear up.

I felt what he felt for me.  I felt the overwhelming care, the promise to protect me no matter what.  And the idea of life without me, if this battle didn’t end the way we wanted it to.

I straightened slowly, green eyes meeting blue.  “Mikey, I…” Somehow, I couldn’t find the words.  I simply threw my arms around him, and after a moment of confusion, understanding flooded him and he hugged me back.

There was a shriek nearby, and we jumped apart, Mikey immediately putting me at his back with a nunchuck drawn.  My heart sunk when the shriek came again, followed by laughter and some scuffling.  “I swear, if those are Purple Dragons again, I will go bat crazy!” Mikey growled.