Welcome to the panic room

Where all your darkest fears are gonna

Come for you

***

Another shriek crosses the area between them.

It always has to be THAT, doesn't it?! DOESN'T IT?!

Raph stomps a foot, horror overwhelmed with fury, hands in the air before he throws them forward in an irritated gesture. That freak of nature is dead! Zapped! He hasn't seen a glimpse of that thing since he blew it up! So either he's losing it or-

Raph would probably knock his head against the wall if one existed.

...Now how is it fair that of all the mutants in New York, Ferrall just happens to get his hands on the ONE thing that hates his guts more than anyone and wants to wipe him off the face of the planet as much as he wants to get rid of it!

What is this- his new game to get Raph to kill something?

Bring him something they both want squashed?!

As if in response to the frustration lining the thought, the cockroach brings out the saw from the folds of its chest, loud buzzing claiming the air. Raph's skin crawls and his gut twists, urging the impulse to flee and hide. His hands go to where his belt should be, only to return empty. He looks down at his hands as problematic talons flex with his fingers, and then through the dark that offers no assistance with the looming threat.

Well that's just great because this thing isn't going to be the one to die tonight!

He doesn't realize that he's breathing heavily until the roach shifts. His airway makes a strangled sound, legs taking him away from the danger, hunching in on himself. It steps forward and he steps back. They stare at one another, chainsaw filling the silence, and then it lurches.

Long, steady strides take it to Raph before his brain can catch up, and then he's sprinting in the opposite direction with a desperate yelp that pricks needles into flesh. He loses his footing, startled by the sudden blast of pain, and then it's in front of him. There's a sharp stab into his arm as the roach locks its grip and throws him down.

He hits the ground, a jolt up his spine, and shoves against the shielding on its arm. His talons fail to pierce and it repeats the process, slamming him twice more. It raises its chainsaw and brings it to his face, but he reacts quickly, turning on his side so it drills into the black. The cockroach yanks him into the air and then hurries to separate the saw from the floor, but he swings his weight and kicks out, ramming the freak of nature in its ugly face.

It shrieks and drops him, allowing him to break into a run.

Raph puts plenty of space between them, watching as it furiously removes its buzzing appendage from the black nothingness that they stand on, and feels the momentary flicker of smugness. The muzzle disconnects from his face, arm throbbing with the pressure left over, and then the realization truly sinks in. He's overcome with the bitter irony.

After all this time, he got his wish.

He's finally allowed to hit something that actually deserves it.

It's not Karl, but he'll take what he can get.

He lowers his hands, staring the red glow down. It bristles, chainsaw buzzing wildly.

A familiar hatred swells and he growls the only warning that it gets.

You know what? Forget the muzzle and the cell and the stupid mad scientist. I took you down once, and I can do it again. How about you come get some, you murderous piece of-

It charges and Raph barely has the chance to dodge the spinning blade. It whirls, centimeters from the bars of his muzzle- wait, did it go through the mu- and he throws himself forward before it can try that again. He grabs at the connection between the cockroach and the saw, horrifyingly reminded that it's a large mass of slime and grime. His gag reflex knocks him in the throat as he releases it, flailing to get the sticky sensation from his hands. A cry tries to escape, but he clamps his mouth shut when spikes press against delicate skin, more focused on the gunk between his fingers.

He doesn't notice the movement until he's been slammed in the plastron by a massive arm, knocked to the floor. He rolls out of the way of another strike, bounding to his feet and lurching away from its outstretched claws.

His palms press against the ground, leaving a trail- ew, ew, ew, gross WHY- as he comes to a stop. He stays low, trying to focus on the giant creature across from him and not the sensations of snot on his skin, watching as it lumbers closer. He has no idea how he's going to get close with that chainsaw flying everywhere. He's seen what it can do to the ShellRaiser.

It's larger and grosser and unnatural and out for blood and far more intimidating than he remembers, so unbelievably smug with those wide steps and steady gait that makes it the perfect gruesome monster to leer above its victims-

And it's at that moment that he realizes that he's never seen it run.

Maybe it can't? Advantage, then. Good, good, brilliant.

He could use that. It's like the lasers. Find the weakness. Exploit it.

No, no, no, no, bad idea!

He can't do this. It's staring at him with that inhuman red eye, locked on his every motion, predicting the best way to rip him to pieces and plant its babies in his skin-

Stop thinking stop thinking-!

He brings both hands to the side of his head, barely cognizant of it advancing, struggling under the weight of the images planted in his mind. They aren't real. It's not real. He-he can make it not real. He's a warrior. He's a ninja. He's awesome. Fear is nothing. This means nothing.

Kore wa nani mo imi shinai. Kore wa nani mo imi shinai.

He looks up, eyes dilating, forcing air into his lungs.

He's got to be faster, smarter, cooler. Don't let it see him coming.

Kore wa nani mo imi shinai.

Raph sprints out toward the dark. He skids to a stop well out of reach, watching it match his direction. He waits until it's a few feet away to repeat the sprint and skid. He gets the dumb roach used to the pattern until it decides that it's bored with his little game. It throws out its chainsaw in front of him, and he leaps. He sinks his talons into the slimy intestines, grabs the end of the saw, and drags the cockroach down with him.

He lands on his carapace and squeezes his eyes shut, holding the saw above him and listening to the sickening buzz as the saw embeds itself into slimy flesh. He expects to feel a spray of goo or snot or whatever toxic grime resides in the creature. He doesn't dare breathe in case that risks letting it into his lungs.

DIE DIE DIE DIE-!

There's no pressure, no grime, and no steady buzz of saw.

He peeks an eye open, and finds his hands empty.

He gasps in the air that was denied as he sets both hands back on the ground, heart pounding against his plastron as he scans the dark. There's no body at his feet and no slime between his fingers as he pants and scans, trying to figure out why his nerves are on edge.

His muscles are riddled with tension and his skin prickles with goosebumps. He gets to his feet, slow and unsteady, trying to ignore the surging panic.

He turns, and comes face-to-chest with a slimy white blob.

It reaches for him, what was once a cockroach now a mess of sludge. It's limbs and body melt as it lurches, slime dripping down and pooling at their feet. Raph wants to scream, but a hiss escapes instead. He whirls to run and trips, hitting his knees as a gurgled shriek echoes, white goo sticky against his leg.

He yanks his leg free and bolts, ignoring the sensation along his ankle, determined to get as far as possible before it can catch up and he-

-runs right into a solid in the black.

His body had been bent forward and his muzzle took the force of the blow. He stumbles back, spikes latched into flesh and launching fire along his face, dizzily noting that he'd found a wall.

He lands on his rear, consumed by the flames of agony, tears welling in his eyes. The air smells stale and strangely metallic and small spots of yellow flutter in his vision. He's unsure how a world that black could be so out of focus. Also, how did he lose the wall.

Raph squints, baffled, as if that might make it radically appear before his eyes.

It doesn't, so he rolls onto a knee, reaching out warily.

Fingers brush the firm surface, flattening as he continues to lean. He steadies his weight against it, pain dying down to a familiar ache. He can't remember why he was so worried about the wall being gone in the first place. It was a wall. Wallsdon't move.

He groans and falls back, slumping to the ground. His eyes burn and his muscle ache for some undetermined reason. He doesn't particularly care about his physical state right then. He must be really losing it if he actually started to believe that wall wandered off. Next the vent will start talking to him, or the roof will fly away.

It's mildly amusing to imagine the four corners of the roof spinning like a fan blade as it disconnects from the walls. Sounds like something Mikey would say. He considers the black, smirking drowsily. Must be the slow-creeping insanity talking.

Raph hopes his brothers are okay. He can't remember how long he'd been locked up, but it had to be a while, right? Where they free? Did Ferrall have them?

He hates not knowing.

He hates that he prefers thinking that they're sitting in Room of their own, because that means that they aren't letting him rot in this black tomb.

"̶Y̸o̸u̶ ̶d̶o̸n̸'̶t̵ ̵r̵e̷a̵l̷l̴y̶ ̵e̴x̸p̷e̶c̷t̴ ̷u̶s̶ ̷t̸o̶ ̸t̵a̷k̸e̶ ̴t̵h̴a̷t̴ ̷k̸i̵n̶d̵ ̴o̸f̴ ̴a̶ ̸r̷i̵s̴k̷ ̴j̴u̵s̷t̶ ̵f̵o̷r̸ ̸y̸o̸u̵?̵"̶

He sits up.

The voice is fuzzy at best, bring a breathless anxiety with it. The words are mushed and blended like they were never meant to be understood at all. He narrows his gaze, trying to track the memory, the sound, the fear. A light migraine pulsates, making the squint into more of a wince. He continues the chase, understanding slipping and clinging like water through his fingers.

They're- in a small space. Them. Him and his brothers. And the- the voice sounds like Leo's. It sounds like- but when did he say that? And what does it mean? Why does it hurt- when he doesn't even know when- or how- or why-

A growl from the dark.

He snaps his body to face the sound, shoulders hunching. He's met with silence, but he doesn't buy the safety. He listens, searching for any signs of the perpetrator, wondering how anything managed to get into his concrete cage. Did Ferrall let it in? And it's- what, just been watching all this time? How did he not notice?! He's a ninja for crying out loud!

Ninja sense are apparently useless because in that very next second, he can hear the grin in Razhar's voice before sharp teeth sink into the flesh of his shoulder, crunching and cracking carapace as pain spasms in a blaze.

"Gotcha-"

-he gasps as he punches out, flat on his back and ready for a world of pain to continue. His brain is quick to put together the pieces, and he swallows as he remembers where he is. His body trembles from the agony that he knows doesn't exist- at least, not anymore.

Karl can't touch him. Karl can't touch him.

His hand brushes over to his shoulder but there's no hint of the wound that he can feel in flesh, despising the memory of bone separating from bone.

He shudders before he forces himself to his feet, glad he puts out a hand when he discovers how close he is to the wall. He doesn't normally sleep with the wall in front of him. He sleeps with it to his left and to his carapace, as far back as he can be from the door. He must have been tired to pass out here.

He wonders if maybe he rammed his noggin, as yellow dots swirl unnaturally in the black.

It would explain why his head hurts.

A spark of blue in his peripheral has his attention in an instant.

Blue fire flickers innocently several feet away. There's no sign of firewood to feed the flames, but there it is, growing slightly before his eyes. He steps away warily, pressed up against the wall as it grows, but then it stops. It's bright and strong and somehow manages not to light up the area, stubbornly keeping its glow purely for itself. Raph hesitates, uncertain, whipping his head to face the next fire that blossoms into a full blaze.

They begin popping up along the walls and he quickly scrambles away from the one that he's leaning on before they can reach him. Within moments, he's completely surrounded.

Wait- wait, he knows this.

First comes the fire then comes the rock music and then comes the-

Two giant eyes peer out from the black, a low hiss and the flicker of a pink tongue. Raph waits for the snake babies, the stage, the zombie brothers- but the snake has other plans, crossing over the flames in mock show of power. He doesn't understand what's going on.

It was a dream; it was a nightmare; it's over.

And yet the snake sways in front of him, real and daunting and leering, as it reveals it's piercing fangs and the flames glow brighter.

He goes to run, trapped by the flames that are closing in, turning just as the snake lurches. He screams, lifting his arms in a futile attempt of defense before he's swallowed by the giant maw-

-only to lower them again when nothing happens.

He looks around the boundless dark and pushes himself off the wall behind him, brain whirling to catch up with events. There's- there's something big, massive in the dark and he's- he knows what it is knows that he can't fight it- what is it he's fighting- what? Why is he fighting? There's- there's nothing there- just, just walls and black, he knows that.

Just walls and black. Just roof and walls and black.

Raph cups his hands behind his neck and huddles in the safe position, heart pounding and adrenaline quickening his breaths. He feels like something's watching him. He feels like he's being watched which is impossible because he's alone. He's alone and he's stuck in this cell where he doesn't have a speck of light to even check if something even is out there-

"Raphael?"

His breath catches. He tears his eyes open to scan the dark, heart pounding as he shakily holds to hope. He heard him. He knows he heard him so he climbs to his feet and staggers forward, listening for heavy steps. Slash?

"Oh, Raphaeel."

Slash!

He turns in surprise to find him standing off to the side, far out of his reach, mace planted firmly on his shoulder. He doesn't seem to see him and Raph's eyes light up. He means to cry out, stopped by the pricks of metal. Raph doesn't let it phase him as he starts moving, so relieved to take in the familiar face that he doesn't notice the unnatural way his head tilts as he spots him, mace dropping carelessly to the floor.

The spikes are coated in a red glaze, scraping the color into the black as he drags it forward. Raph pauses, steps sputtering out, listening to the eerie screech of metal.

"Guess what?"

He looks up, alarmed as the fist opens to dangle a torn red cloth, movements slow and precise. The plastered grin remains, hilt firmly in hand, three strips of color along his arm. "I fixed it. I fixed everything."

...Spike?

He steps back and Slash's dark pride echoes, "I did it for you. For us. Everything you needed. To be free."

No. Nononono-

"I know you. I know you better than anyone. Now you can be happy. Now you're FREE!"

He charges, suddenly, cutting his mace through the air. Raph only manages to dodge because of the distance between them, eyes caught on the strips of colors, on the red coating spikes. A large weight slams him in the plastron, throwing him against the invisible wall.

Raph forces his head in the game, barely missing a blow to the skull.

"You wanted it and I gave it to you! Who's the real monster? Am I next, brother?"

His arm is caught as he tries to run, superior strength tossing him. He flips in the air and lands on his feet, only to find Slash right above him as the mace comes down. He can barely keep up, lost in the blur of guttural roars and brutal swings, claws tearing into skin whenever the brute catches him. He heads for the wall in an attempt to spring off it and over his assailant, hoping to get a second to catch his breath, but the mace crushes his leg before he can.

He chokes on a scream, a safe whine escaping through the restricting muzzle, body hitting the ground. Slash lumbers up beside him, grasping the lip on his plastron, nails stabbing above his collar bone as he growls, "You're no brother of mine."

He throws him down and swings. Raph feels everything as the mace caves his plastron in, exploding in a flare of white hot fire, drowning in the manic laughter of someone who's supposed to be his ally his friend his pet his-

-hands are shaking as he remains huddled against the wall, talons locked over the metal of his muzzle, trying to get it off his face. His eyes are burning and he wants to throw up. He's being watched by something. He knows he is because he's been on alert for hours and it's got his body freaking out but his ninja sense can't pick it up and he doesn't know what's out there.

It's big and it's dangerous and he's going to die.

It's going to tear him to pieces and he's not going to be able to do anything about it.

He's sure of it with everything in his being. He knows. HE KNOWS.

He can't breathe he can't breathe why can't he breathe-

He doubles over as he tries to get breath back into his lungs. He's not hurt- he's not hurt but he can't breath which means he must be panicking. He's helpless and he's vulnerable and he's not helping his case by having some kind of panic attack while he's being hunted and studied as some monstrous thing's next prey-

"-Is the little turtle scared?" He's pressed against the wall, a furry arm on his throat. Karl hovers over him, manic smile wide with bloodlust as he drives Mac's bloody spike into the bridge of Raph's shell. He can't move- paralyzed- weak- as lightning pain shoots up his side and Karl keeps drilling. "Just tell me know when it hurts."

Raph whines, crackling and pathetic, conscious of the liquid dripping down the side of his shell. Karl tilts his head and preens, "Oh, yeah. You can't."

Karl rips it out, brings the dripping object over his plastron, and says, "Let's see if we can't get you free of that. Hold still."

Raph hears the metal snap and can only watch and feel as his skull crumbles inward under sheer force of malice and the avalanche of agony-

-gets comfortable in his pitiful excuse of a working brain. He knocks the palm of his hand against the side of his head, frustrated with the thumping of his heart inside his skull and the churning of his stomach because they're distracting from his watch. He can't go to sleep. He can't go to sleep when every instinct is waiting for something to happen.

Raph's so tired. He's tired and he's sure that's why this- this paranoia and conviction of doom is so strong and blinding. He feels like he hasn't slept in ages and maybe his brain is introducing this ache in order to confirm his suspicions.

He's not insane. He's tired. That's all.

Maybe. Maybe he can afford a rest. Maybe a short one. Couldn't he?

He moves to trace the wall back to his sleeping spot-

-when something shoots from below to wrap around his arm and the cuff, dragging him to the floor. He barely manages to catch himself before slamming his chin against concrete, trying to wrench his arm free of what feels like a vine.

He's trapped in a concrete box! How are there even plants-?!

There's a vine wrapping up his other arm, dragging it flat out, inching for his shell. There's a thin string looping around his neck, curling around his carapace, forcing his cheek onto the grass. They're coiled around every limb and pressing his plastron into dirt, sliding into the smallest openings in shell.

He can feel them exploring the one safe area where nothing should be able to reach. He tries to yank himself free as thumping steps come closer, long wiggling strings of green reaching for his face, throat closed off when he tries to pull away from it. He screams as the forest goes black and it closes around his face, disrupting any chance of air. He's suffocating under the smell of fertilizers and leaves and clean-cut grass and he can feel it prodding and slipping past scales to slither under his skin as-

-Raph hits his knees, tearing blindly at the muzzle so that he can breath again. He quickly realizes that it's not cutting off his air flow, arms suspended as he tries to figure out why he thought that it would. He lowers them cautiously, heart racing and surroundings swirling, panting as he fills his lungs with air and tries to rid himself of the smell of- of-

His stomach growls and his heart lurches. Soup.

It's soup and all of the sudden he is keenly aware of the fact that's he's starving.

He gets up, stumbles, and hits his knees. The weakness doesn't stop him as he realizes that he's not at his normal sleeping spot, so he stays low and feels along the floor until his hand bumps metal. He scoops up the bowl and something crawls out.

He feels it touch his finger and dash up his hand. He screams, muzzle slashing at skin, tossing the tainted liquid and batting away the tiny creature as it hurries for his shoulder. The bowl echoes and swirls at it hits the ground, liquid on his legs, but he can't think about that now.

He continues swatting desperately even after he no longer feels it, heart pounding as he scopes the area. It's useless. He knows it's useless.

It's in here with him and he can't see it.

A hiss crawls up his throat as he continues moving away from where he left it. Surely, it was more interested in the food than him- the food that's on him.

Raph squats down, sticky droplets over scales, and frantically scrubs the sensation away with his palms. He hears it, a faint sound in the dark, skin crawling as it makes its way across the wall. It's not even trying to hide and he can hear it everywhere. It's taunting him and he brings his hands up to his head, pressing against the straps.

He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses, loud.

Stay away stay away stay away-!

A beat of silence rings; only broken by the sound of his own heavy breathing.

There's a scuffle. And then another. And another.

He stands, lightheaded. There's more than one. There's more than-

Oh, no. Oh no no no, please, please.

He remains frozen in his daze, goosebumps crawling as the sounds continue. Raph startles himself with a chirrup when another appears out of nowhere and walks right over his foot.

The total and utter lack of boundaries has him scrambling in the opposite direction, stopping only when his carapace crashes into the wall. There are more scuttering sounds, so many more, and he realizes that he's in a very compromising position.

He should stay with his carapace away from the wall, but what if that leads to them surrounding him while he's in the open? He can't risk that, but he can't press up against the wall because that might give them easier access to his shell so they can burrow themselves inside of it inside of HIM and why is he thinking like this why would they do that why are there so many bugs in here its a cement box there's no way for him to get out much less for them to get in-

He can hear them all in front of him, scurrying around and traveling the walls, and his arms come up in a safe huddle, carapace against the wall as the cockroaches- that's what they are, aren't they AREN'T THEY- why is it always COCKROACHES- travel directly above him.

They aren't touching him, but he's certain he can feel them all over his skin, walking over scales like they're finding the warmest position to begin forcing their way inside his veins-

He sucks in a frantic bout of air and he scratches at his arms frantically, making sure that not a single cockroach is tainting skin or chewing and burrowing beneath- oh please oh please no- hissing when talons slice through skin- why would he do that now he's gone and given them an opening- why would he do that-?!

One crosses his foot and a whimper escapes as he covers the bleeding cut with his hand, clamping down to make surenothing can get in. He doesn't dare open his mouth and he keeps his eyes shut because it's not like he can see them anyway, flinching as one crosses over his shoulder and don't move don't move maybe if he stays still they won't be able to tell the difference between the warm floor and warm scales.

And then there's one on his plastron and having his mouth shut isn't enough it's not enough they can get in but with the muzzle there's no way to put up another barrier between his innards and the insect demons of his nightmares.

His breath hitches with a sob because there's more on him- he can feel them- but he can't move don't move please for the love of everything don't move or they'll know he's there and they'll do so such worse-

He can't tell if they're in his shell but everything itches and it's all he can think about now.

He knows they're trying to find a way inside and he's never wished that he wasn't acutely aware of pressure on his shell more than this moment and he knows that they're not the innocent little creatures that his brother say they are they're finding a way in and getting inside and they'll devour him from the inside out because why ELSE would they want insideand there's an itchy presence on his legs and arms and the sticky area where his fingers sit over the cut and their little antenna are feeling it like they know there's an opening, a way inside him, they're going to bite down and craw under his skin to gnaw on guts and veins-

And he wants to scream- MAN how he wants to scream but there's one hanging from his muzzle and he can hear so many scurry scurry scurrying all around him and he can't move can't make a sound doesn't dare even breathe or they'll get in they'll get IN-

Don't move don't move don't move don't move don't moVE DON'T MOVE DON'T THINK DON'T BREATH DON'T THINK DON'T THINK DON'T THINK THINK THINK DON'T LET THEM IN-

"Raph!"

He shrieks, talons sailing at the unforeseen danger, a grip catching his thrash. He can still feel the cockroaches as they make trails over his skin why are they still here get them off he's moving why is he moving don't move get them off get thEM GET THEM OFF OFF OFF-

"Holy-! Dude- wake up!"

A heavy thud against his chest and he jolts upright with a gasp, knee jerking up on instinct. His wrists are locked in a separate grip as the entity that had decided to punch him rolls to the floor.

He looks around frantically, his world a blur of colors as he tries to lock down the hysteria that turns each breath into desperate wheezes. He yanks his arms back and his hands come free, frantically wiping down his body to make sure that there were no more roaches on his skin.

A hand on his shoulder. A worried voice, getting louder and louder-

"Raph!"

Raph freezes, trimmed nails pressed over skin, and looks up, pale as death.

Three pairs of eyes, masked in purple, blue, and orange, stare back.