If You Think I'm Gonna Come Up With A Title For This, You're Dead Wrong

Chapter 18

"Get the fuck away from me!"

She slams you into the wall, your head pounding before you are yanked out of the way. Karai, currently trying to wriggle out of Leo's arms, looks considerably worse than she did before, her left eye covered in bandages, one forearm missing more mass than the other. You had not gotten a clear look at her during the struggle; you had presumed— and you can see now that it is an unfounded assumption— that you were the only one who was left worse for wear.

Currently, she is staring you down with murder in her eyes. It would be hot if you were not terrified.

She flings herself forward, using her legs on the smooth wall as leverage and dragging Leo with her. "You have the nerve to challenge me and run away like a coward?"

"You fucking drugged me!" You almost laugh at the ridiculousness of the question. "You tried to kidnap me! What other possible reaction should I have had?"

"To face me properly!"

"I don't really want to do that!"

"Mikey, no!" Raphael is momentarily distracted from his helping his brothers by his youngest picking a cardboard box off the concrete floor and trying to slice it open with a nonexistent fingernail. "Put it down!"

"It's a box." Giving up on that particular method, he tries to get his fingers under the tape. "What's it going to do? Explode?"

The fight is momentarily forgotten as everyone's attention is directed towards him and the bodies of every other ninja in the room are thrown at the box in an attempt to get it away from Mikey. It is only after almost half a minute of wrestling for it do they realize what you can surmise from your tentative distance; the box is decidedly not exploding. There is a momentary eruption of yelling as the Hamatos unanimously scold the youngest amongst them for trying to open a strange box— as if they would not do it themselves, you cannot help but smile dryly— before even considering its contents.

You dissociate a lot more than you used to now. You did not do it much before ending up here. It is hard not to in stressful situations like these, and being locked in a ten-foot by ten-foot box of solid concrete, in your mind, counts as stressful. The room is lit, you note passively, by lighting not dissimilar to that in a storage unit hallway, tubes of electricity that hums overhead with not nearly enough force to fill quite the whole space. Nostalgic and unnerving. 'Oh joy.'

You are snapped out of it by the box being plopped down in front of you. You had not noticed that you had sat down, absentmindedly wiping the blood off your lip with the back of your hand. "Here." The second oldest brother kicked the box closer still to you. "You know what's happening?"

You shake your head. "If I did," you promise, reopening the flaps, "I would have a plan by now to get us out. I don't, so I don't."

Donatello sits down beside you, looking over your shoulder as you start looking over the contents. "Letters?"

"Looks it." Your breathing slows as you turn them over in your hand. The colors of the envelopes are the first thing you notice: they are incredibly obnoxious. Each letter is labeled in an odd chicken scratch with at least one name, and with a quiet focus— you have always loved this sort of menial work— you sort them. You discover, through this, that there is at least one letter for each person in the room, a stack with both Donnie's and your name on them, "All", and a stack with no name at all. Only one is plain white, and has the word "Instructions" written on the front. "And this isn't the Foot's doing?"

"I wouldn't be here if it were." She exhaled slowly, crouching at the other end of the room. "The handwriting isn't mine, nor my father's."

"Awesome." You turn one of the letters over, a vibrant orange with white text. "And it's too messy to be Kraang, right? Then who wrote it?"