TMNT: Ricochet ▶ON HOLD (till gets more reads, votes and comments)◀

Chapter 1

The chaos freezes like a gasped breath held in waiting lungs. Scorching heat becomes crystal, a wall of snow that hangs in the air like fog. All he feels are pins and needles, and he's floating, listlessly drifting in an endless sea of static. His heart is as unbeating as a stone in his chest. His body hums like fluorescent lights with the flatline ringing in his ears.

Donatello is sure he was dead. But in that blindingly white, bodiless world, voices filter in from darker places.

"—can't breathe! I need—"

"—arterial bleed. He's—"

"—need a biosuspension chamber prepped! Now!"

It's like startling awake from one nightmare and into another. His body half-numb with a brain full of molasses, awareness sinks its teeth deep into his arm and drags him like a savage dog into the swirling confusion of semi-consciousness.

The last thing he remembers is the molten blaze of the ship's power core combusting into pure, destructive energy. The next, he's blinking up at... something. Something living—a network of tissue and veins lining the walls and ceiling. Vaguely, he wonders if he's been eaten alive. And his arm hurts. A lot.He'd be more worried if there wasn't Utroms everywhere. They hover with worried looks over mounds of tubing and equipment, barking orders, hurriedly muttering to themselves, mechanical arms ticking needle-like fingers with frantic precision. All around him is a living, techno-organic marvel of Utrom science.Laughter burbles in his chest from a well of pure, sick relief and panic. From the minute it starts, it doesn't feel right. There's no humor or happiness in it, and it bangs its way out of his throat like gravel. But he laughs so deliriously his eyes fill with tears. Even when utroms, flitting around the room like mayflies, stop to squint at him worriedly. Even when the pain shredding his arm makes him want to throw up because he knows that pins and needles feeling, that cold static that tears you apart and makes you feel like you've been turned inside-out and back again...

It was a transmat.

He's alive. Against all odds, he's alive. He made it out of there. The Shredder... They...

"No!"

His body is still numb as he bolts upright with the grace of a poorly-strung marionette. His broken arm screams at him in protest, making him stifle one of his own, his vision going dark around the edges.

"Donatello, please! You must lie back."

But he can't. He's wild-eyed and completely out of his senses, still half-blind and deaf from the blast. There's nothing to laugh about.

All around him, the real picture unfolds. His arm is in a sling. Utroms swarm like bees over mounds of blood-stained gauze. The sick smell of burnt hair, iron and antiseptic permeates the air. Above the hurried voices, the hum of machinery and the beep of monitoring equipment, he can hear his family in the throes of misery.

On one station, he can hear Raph's ragged breathing even over the clamor of the emergency room's chaos. His chest aches in sympathy as every breath grates through his brother's lungs with a deep-chested wheeze.

Across the room, he can barely see what he knows is Leo. The only thing visible are his feet and the growing crimson pool on the floor. There's blood everywhere. Utroms' faces are spattered in red over grim expressions, their metal limbs bathed in the stuff.

It happens in an instant—pure panic floods his senses, lighting a fire in his chest. Eyes wide, his heart thundering inside of him, and the taste of metal on his tongue, he ignores his own pain and swings his legs over the side of the cot. Can't catch his breath as the world tilt-a-whirls around him, but the ache in his chest is screaming just go to them, be with them, do something. His brothers are dying right in front of him. He can't just lie there and watch them die!