A/N: I'm hoping the spelling is alright in this one. Man, I'm tired. But I've gotten back to writing, when I can, on my three open stories. Next update will most likely be for The Art of Trying.

I'd like to thank the reviewers since last time. Midnight, SewerSurfin and. Thank you for your great reviews on 'Apocalypse then' in the one section. And Nutella Swirl Thank you so much for reviewing on 'TMNT: Apocalypse then' in the other.

Chapter 4: The pending genesis

Donatello tapped his metallic indexfinger, you get to interpret which one of the three that is, fervently on his desk.

Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap

For the first time in as long as he could remember, and he could remember most of his life as a robot, he felt trapped inside his bunker. As his finger moved on urgently, he noticed he was doing his best to avoid the gaze of the familiar face on the chair opposite to him. Why this was, he didn't quite understand. Donatello had never been the most introspective of the turtles. Leonardo had that art down and Michelangelo was so used to looking at the world and himself from any and all possible angles… Perhaps only Raph had a harder time with that. But then again, that guy had had some major anger issues.

"So. Nice place you got here, Donatello. Bloop." The head offered.

It was obvious the professor was picking up on the tension.

It should have been easier to reply. To say something. Anything. Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything? Some refreshments? A limb or two? No matter how forced small talk might seem, Donatello knew it served as an essential part of social interaction. It built bridges and broke tensions. All he had to do was be courteous and ask something in reply. The conversation would be rolling and he wouldn't be so nervous anymore, not needing to go over in his processor of a mind just what to actually say. Anything would do. Anything!

Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap

"Love… Love what you've done with the place. Really… Livened it up." The head spoke hesitantly, his cybernetic eyes darting around. Still the professor was trying to sound his cheery self.

For God's sake. If Donatello had nails still, he'd be consuming them by the handful by now.

But what did you say to someone like professor Zayton Honeycutt? Someone who sacrificed himself for the earth? Someone whose legacy you failed shortly thereafter? Someone you'd left up in the atmosphere, alone? Someone you had so utterly disappointed? Before him sat the one man he'd needed to see more than anyone else. The answer to all his prayers. And yet now that, miraculously, he had him before him, both words and direction failed the mechanic turtle.

A compliment wouldn't do, now would it? Hello professor, you look well for someone deemed dead for over a century. Say, did you lose some weight? It couldn't be done. How are you? Simple, right? Not quite. Social convention dictates you answer that with: Oh, I'm fine, how are you? But the disembodied head wasn't fine, now was he? If Donatello was to ask that, he'd make the man out to be a liar within minutes of their reunion. And they'd both know it.

Come to think of it… The fugitoid already was a liar. Donatello's visor scanned the room. This lab located in the upper quarters of the bunker was not fit at all. Functional, yes, but not lively. Lived in, perhaps. But not great. It had to have been a joke. Hahahaha. Look at us laughing, two chums back together again. Isn't this funny? Like nothing happened. Like you didn't blow up! Like I didn't turn into a robot! LIKE THE ENTIRE WORLD DIDN'T END! HAHAHAHA!

"You alright there Donatello?" Zayton's voice was clearly troubled now.

Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap

He'd have to ask him. Donatello knew that he'd have to ask him. Now that the professor was here. He'd have to ask him for his help. But how? And how many formalities would he have to suffer through before he would ask the ultimate favor? Was it best to get right to the point? He was running out of time, after all. For decades Donatello had toiled with his invention. For decades he'd tried his very best all the while knowing it would probably in vain. That had been the deal. He'd feel like he was trying his best to save a world. And in return, he'd feel little pressure. He'd always have the fail-safe of knowing it wasn't his fault but that time had been against him. And in even in these last few months when that realization broke from the back of his mind to the forefront, he'd found a way to cope with it. Not completely successfully, mind you, but it had born some semblance to balance, at least.

When he wasn't short-circuiting, that is.

Actually… He'd been failing. Crumbling. Breaking down…

But at least he'd been breaking down on his own terms! To put Zayton in front of him, to present hope in the jaws of defeat… That was a cruel trick of fate. Truly.

"I understand this, Blip, is quite overwhelming my friend." The professor spoke. "I must admit I feel it too. Never thought I'd be back on this earth again. Let alone see a familiar face. Well, its not your old face… I suppose… but, uhm… yeah."

TapTapTapTapTapTapTapTapTapTapTap

Truth be told. It hadn't just been overwhelming. The initial shock had him ecstatic; dancing wildly with the professor's head in his hands. At first he hadn't wanted Mira and Mirk to leave. They had to share in this bliss too. But the old meercat had ushered her grandson away, saying that Donatello and the professor would need some time to catch up. And he'd been too busy laughing and cheering that he hadn't had the time to tell them to stay.

Now, seeing as he was handling the situation a few minutes later after they'd both calmed down, he was glad they weren't here to see him struggling.

"Donatello..." The professor tried. "Look at me."

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

He didn't want to. He couldn't. Too much had happened. He couldn't face those kind, understanding eyes. He didn't deserve to. The entire world was…

"It's not your fault, Donatello."

The tapping stopped. His hand balled up in a mixture of frustration and relief.

He swayed his visor towards Zayton's. They both had artificial faces… But he could tell the man was being honest. Not just kind. The turtle's head sagged as he brought his hands to his knees.

"I'm sorry." The turtle managed, eventually.

"It's quite alright." The beheaded one spoke in that friendly demeanor of his. He clearly misunderstood.

"I'm sorry we accused you..." Donatello spoke, finding his old friend's gaze again. "I'm sorry I figured out your plan too late. I'm sorry we couldn't stop you… save you. And I'm sorry I never picked up you were out there still… That I left you up there, alone. And I'm sorry… most of all… that after your sacrifice… we still failed you." He leaned back. "We failed the world."

Now it was the professor's turn to be oddly silent.

He craned his metallic neck. "Tell me we didn't?" Donatello asked. It sounded almost like a genuine challenge.

"You can't blame yourself for what your enemies did..." The alien professor spoke, eventually. "And you can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It will crush you, Donatello."

The mechanic turtle rose to his feet and walked about his lab. "It's a small world now." He countered. "I'll show it to you in the morning… all that we have left." He turned to his friend. "What we have is beautiful." He would have smiled feebly if he could have.

"I would like that. Bleep." Honeycutt replied. His eyes cheerful arcs. "It's a brand new world out there."

"Yes..." Donatello agreed. "A new world."

He recognized the tone he lay himself. It was not a pretty one. Sometimes he was amazed by the sheer amount of poison and bile the years without his family had brought him. Surely, he hadn't always been this sarcastic? There had been a time it had still been a loveable character quirk? He hoped so. He hoped he hadn't always been half the turtle he remembered himself being, once. Before decades of losing loved ones, growing amounts of solitude and detachment and an expanding cynical point of view had made him a half-shell of his former self.

Surely the professor looked at this all from an opposite point of view. He'd just spent over a hundred years in space, alone thinking he'd failed everything too. This had to be like when Donatello and his friends first found the Oasis. That feeling of calm and happiness; a moment's respite of the inner turmoil. To the fugitoid this wasn't a place where he'd lost the last of his family. To the fugitoid this place too was hope. A gift he never expected after all these years.

"Right." The loose head tried from its resting place. "Tell me… What exactly happened to the old one then?"

"A mutagen bomb."

"Ah yes, well I figured as much, with the talking meercats and all." The head said in a conspiratorial and even humorous voice. "But who did it?"

"Three guesses?"

"The Kraang? Bleep."

Well… The man was an intergalactic genius.

"Ding ding ding ding." Donatello faced his friend and felt instantly ashamed for the display of sarcasm. He was feeling off already, less balanced more and more, and somehow these recent events seemed to drive his centre further out of reach. "Sorry…" He replied. "Its not easy to talk about. I haven't … since before Mikey past away."

"Michaelangelo is gone?" The lights in his eyes displayed his sad-face.

"They are all gone, professor." He sighed. He rubbed his metallic arm in thought. The old habit now produced a scraping sound. "Master Splinter, Raphael, Leonardo, … All our friends."

"Oh..." The professor's voice sagged.

"Well… What did you expect?" Donatello tried levelly. "Tooth of time, in case of my brothers. Its been over a century fugitoid."

"Well… I hoped… As you were still here… Some turtles can live up to surprising ages."

He agreed, nodding. But still he had to burst the man's bubble. "This wasn't exactly the healthiest of worlds. And they were all aged substantially beyond their years. Via mutation, burden or isolation combined with a rather unhealthy diet."

"How are you still here, then? Blup."

"Pardon?"

"Oh excuse me." Honeycutt stated in a polite manner. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that your biological parts are suspect to the tooth of time too, right?"

"Biological parts?"

"Yes. Blip. Like your brain? The old noggin? My robot-body is doing a stellar job in keeping my brain alive and slowing down process of decay. But that's made, bloop, by the finest of intergalactic engineering."

"I don't think you understand, professor." Donatello said, kneeling in front of his friend. "I don't have a brain anymore. Not an actual one."

The man seemed puzzled. "How is that… What do you mean, Donatello?"

"I didn't have a robot that placed my brain into itself… When the mutagen bomb struck, I downloaded my brain into this body. I was connected to it; controlling it remotely."

"You mean… you are a simulation of the real Donatello? Bleep. A copy?

"No." The mechanic turtle rose and shook his head. "I drained and transferred it."

The disembodied head seemed to need a few seconds. "Run that by me again?"

"I was connected to the Mark II at the time of the explosion and transferred my consciousness."

"Donatello… Bleep. There are many things I know that are possible in this universe. Wondrous things. Things that seem like miracles to the untrained and uneducated eye. But what you've just described, is not one of them. It is simply not possible without some bonding agent. An actual mind can't, Blip, run on a software."

"I don't know what to tell you, professor. It worked."

"Exactly what happened that day, Donatello?"

Donatello turned away from his friend. If he pretended to close his eyes and focus, the mechanic turtle could still hear her voice.

"Donnie." April's voice trailed, lost but never forgotten. Her voice filled to the brim with pain; perfectly conveying her bloody struggle. He could see her in his mind's eye as she clambered over the rubble pressing down on him. And could still recall the pressure it had had on his real body. Like a phantom pain. The force that pushed down on his right arm, chest and legs as well as the sounds his shell had made. That cracking, crushing noise claiming the breath of him as the world grew dark and blurry. It was nothing compared to the pain in his heart for seeing her suffer and bleed out. Her fan lay discarded and scattered at the bottom of the rubble of what once had been an apartment building. Her black jumpsuit turning darker still as the ill-illuminated blood spread, in stark contrast to her skin growing more pale by the second. All around them the earth itself was shaking mercilessly. Screams and howls and shrieks were abound. The entire night sky that awful green as the moon itself was torn asunder. And yet, amidst all the chaos, death and despair; it seemed to be just the two of them. He could hear her fragile moan.

"Donnie." It haunted him still, along with the sight of her broken body and the trail of red she left in her wake as she crawled to him, inch by inch. She was close now. Close enough to see the tears in her eyes.

He'd wanted to speak. To say something back, but his lungs were collapsing and he couldn't manage more than a wheeze. Already his mind was transferring, though the jump didn't quite make it. Perhaps because he fought it, not wanting to leave her here, all alone.

"Donnie?" For one second, her voice was distorted, half hers and half robotic. It wasn't until the professor repeated himself that he realized again where he was. But he could still hear her calling out to him. He always could.

"Yes. Professor. Yes, I'm sorry. I was… lost in thought for a second."

"Do you think you could tell me what happened?"

The turtle struggled. "Some other time. Perhaps."

"It might do you good."

"I said…" He turned and heard his voice rise. He took a second to bring it back down. "Please professor. Some other time."

The alien cyborg carried a quizzical expression. "Are you alright, my friend?"

"I've been a little high strung as of late." He admitted. "Sorry. I don't know what it is. Just some minor malfunctions, I'm betting." The turtle evaded. "They're just driving me insane."

"Oh, well, Blip." The fugitoid said, apparently running with it. At least, should he still have been able to run. "If there's anything I can do to help?"

"Well…" Donatello said, picking up his friend and raising him to visor-level. "There just might be something."

"Bloop."

Indi kept its head bowed and low as his prickly hands and fingers worked the machinery inside the flying technodrome. The God's chosen cacti, the buff guards, patrolled the bridge. Their broad features and huge thorns gliding past the rest in long, slow steps. The rest, here, were of course the slaves chosen to work the controls under their supervision. Indi hated every moment of it, even though it knew it couldn't complain. It's brethren in the other parts of the monstrous, flying fort had harder, more dangerous and more draining tasks. They carried heavy loads and worked the dangerous machinery. And those that fell, either due to exhaustion or any number of accidents, were disposed of and fed to the machine itself. Or so the rumors went. Indi had to content itself with only being overlooked and occasionally stabbed by the guards, who in turn were overlooked by the God himself, seated atop high throne.

Indi risked a lashing as its eyes peered. The God sat, waiting impatiently, its metal body glistening. The resentment boiled within the living cactus. "Be grateful, ya undercooked vegetable." He had told Indi after being offered the prized Kabuto. "I got a fine reward for ya."

Being stuck in here doing his menial bidding was apparently a fine reward. This survivors guilt, along with the knowledge that it'd brought in a new age of terror for its people, was apparently a fine reward.

The hatred building up within Indi was almost enough to have it search the controls for some switch. Some protocol. Something to blow the entire contraption to smithereens. Indi knew there was only one way to atone for its sins; to take out the evil that was their pink God and this infernal machine as well. It knew it couldn't take the monstrosity one-on-one. Better cacti had tried and failed. But, even though the rest of its people seemed to despise Indi for finding the Kabuto and heralding an age of even harder and more cruel labor than before, the sentient cactus knew it couldn't harm its brethren. No matter their ignoring him. No matter the amount of looks and moans behind its back… It had to make something right, not something worse.

But how? Indi was just one…

All of a sudden, the gentle cactus-mutant moaned in a deep, guttural fashion. The pain spread throughout it's body, raked by the long vine of razor-sharp needles. It's green blood splashed across the ground as it sank to its knees. Biting down to get through the pain, Indi's eyes looked up, finding one of the guards staring down. It was a particularly impressive specimen, three times as wide as Indi and about a million times as mean-looking, covered in both thick, almost iron-like, thorns, as well as black and dark-purple flowers.

Indi's hand moved gingerly to the skin of its back and winced when its fingers made contact. As cacti, its people had always had a healthy tolerance to the pricking of needles. But this warlike abuse of their nature was something else entirely. The flesh underneath lay bare, the upper layers of it crumpled and torn with the rest of the skin.

The monstrosity looming over Indi moaned deeply. The message was clear.

"Keep working."

At Indi's initial moan, some of the others around him had looked over. A primal fear and surprise overtaking them. Their gazes were quick to abandon though. All returned to the work at hand. And Indi, for the life of it, couldn't tell if they bowed their heads out of fear for the same treatment or shame for not standing up. Then again, perhaps they simply weren't interested in helping the one that brought them their new form of damnation.

Indi dragged itself up on the giant computer, moaning softly as the tears flowed harder than the green blood ever could. Never in its life had it felt this powerless.

And yet… It was about to get worse. From high above, the pink God's voice bellowed; a previously slumbering calamity rising.

"What's happening down there?!" Its metal framework stood tall as its one eye fell to the floor below.

Looking up, Indi's voice stalked in his throat. The eye found the whipped cactus and there was no mercy to be found.

"All I ask is for you ungrateful poor excuse for porcupine-muties to keep working. And you can't even do that!" The God waved it's arms theatrically. For a second, he seemed to think things over. But before long he continued. "That's it." His rough voice growled. "Bring him up here!"

For one second, Indi froze. The tremendous pain in its back even forgotten as imagination took over; like a rip through time he was certain he could already experience all the wrath the undeniable near future would invariably bring.

But as the thorned whip lashed its way around Indi's neck; the young cactus was torn from the daydream in its mind to the nightmare that was its life. Its fingers reached for the leash immediately, but already the broad guard was ahead and tugged the whip. The thorns, already cutting deep into the flesh of its neck now mercilessly carved their way through. In desperation the shamed mutant tried to follow the constant tugging as he was dragged on to its doom. Each step took it closer, like a lamb to the slaughter under dozens of watchful and fearful pairs of eyes.

As Donatello carried his friend in one arm, he used the other to push open the heavy, door. It shrieked as it opened, revealing his deepest lab where just hours prior, Mirk had come to collect him. It was still, as ever, poorly lit. The mess was still abound as well.

"Ah?" The cheery decapitated professor remarked. "Are we here then, I must say… this is all..."

The metal turtle walked in a calculated pace. He couldn't tear his own visor off the machine and the message scribbled all over and around it. The professor was part robot too. He knew binary. Now the only question remained; was that what made the fugitoid fall silent? Or did it recognize the machine for what it was? Or at least, what it was meant to be? All the tubes and vials hooked up to the cogs and monitors in turn hooked up to what could have passed for a BDSM throne. With wires and currents to attach to his body and a horrific helmet dangling over it, just to finish off the nightmarish presentation.

"This is all..." The alien genius continued. But Donatello could now sense a hushed cautiousness in the man's voice. "… Impressive." The head finished, choosing the word carefully and obviously ignoring the writing on the wall.

The last ninja turtle wondered if the obviously omitted questions for an explanation both for the digital code, as well as the unfinished contraption, thousands of galactic years out of his reach, were a sign that his companion deemed him insane. And with that wonder came the inevitable question that if so, perhaps he was right?

In any case, they'd come too far to stop now. And if nothing else, the markings were a reminder that he was indeed running out of time because of these unexplained malfunctions. The only way onward, was forward.

"I wanted to show you this." Donatello said, indicating the machine. "Though I guess we might best mention the elephant in the room."

"Yes?" The head asked, still staring at the writings on the wall. When it became apparent that Donatello was struggling to begin, however. His friend tried to bridge the gap. "You wrote that?"

"Apparently."

"Why?"

The Bo-staff master considered, for a moment, to lie by omission. To keep his reasoning as cryptic as possible, as with Mirk. Perhaps the professor would believe it to be simply a reminder. It could be fitting, considering the machine itself… And though such a thing would at the very least be eccentric, perhaps it could be overlooked and understood through decades of solitude and separation from the biological world.

But this was a man he was going to ask for help. Help to accomplish the impossible. To make his one dream and hope come true. No matter how tempting the lie was, it was not something he could muster. They were going to need trust here.

"It told you…" Donatello tried. "I'm having some… minor… malfunctions."

"Bleep." Zayton offered.

"I'm not insane."

"I assure you my friend, I implied no such thing."

"Really?" The turtle asked. "I thought you were supposed to be smart."

"Well… Blip… Believe you me, Donatello; I know first hand the stress and grief and regret from failing loved ones… failing yourself and feeling responsible for the destruction of worlds. Its not an easy burden to bear. And something like this… Its not insanity. Bloop. I wouldn't want to meet the person who could go through all of that and not have… a moment, once in a while."

"How do you cope?"

"When I figure it out..." The head chuckle miserably. "I'll let you know. Bleep. But I think… if anywhere… the grace lies in accepting our shortcomings and moving forward. There is no point in dwelling in the past. We can only, and must always, strive to do better in the future."

"Interesting choice of words." Donatello spoke as he walked towards a nearby desk. Gently, he placed his friend down and kept him upright with the help of some advanced physics handbooks. From his place on the desk, the professor had a good eye on the machine. "How's that worked out for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Donatello said as he moved for the machine. His metal hand touched the helmet as he collected his thoughts. "Professor, … You atoned for your sins. You did all you could to correct your mistakes. And I am grateful for that. I don't hold anything against you. But in the end… was that enough, for you? Did, knowing you could never right your wrongs entirely, it ever feel like you'd done enough? Even now?"

"No." The professor admitted. "You can only try to make it right, knowing you'll never truly succeed. You can only do all that you can."

"I've done all that I can here. My brothers and I saw to that. And for the past few decades, without them, I've been carrying on. Never relenting, because I promised I wouldn't."

"You're not responsible for this, though, Donatello." Zayton urged, his voice pressing.

"It was our job to protect this world."

"And you, Blip, did your best."

"And my best wasn't good enough." The mechanic turtle turned to his comrade in frustration. "Look… I don't want to spend all night arguing about this. You can at least agree I feel responsible. You can get that?" When Donatello got the distinct impression that his friend would have nodded if he could have, he continued. "I've given everything I have to the future, professor. And I don't regret that. But I can't keep going. I can't. And I know it won't be enough. Not even then… But I have to dwell on the past. I have to do more. I can't truly undo our failure… But I have to do the next best thing." His hand found the support of the horror-throne and squeezed it.

"I'm not following, Donatello. Sorry."

"Do you know what this is?" Donatello asked, gesturing to the metal seat, helmet and assortment of machinery and vials plugged into it.

"I'm trying my darnedest to shake my head, my friend."

"What if I told you this part here..." Donatello continued, pointing to a metal box left of the horrid seat. "Is relativity-circumventor and I've just finished installing a Heisenberg-amplifier module."

The professor's lights for eyes grew bright and large.

"My word… You haven't… Bleep?" The beheaded cyborg started.

"I haven't." Donatello agreed. "It still needs some different modules here and most importantly I can't get the calculations right. I've tried, for the longest time… But I just can't get them right. After that, it would simply be a matter of finding an energy-source strong enough to get it to work."

"A time-machine?" The flabbergasted professor exclaimed.

With the thorned whip still around its neck, cutting deep and leaving green sap to run down its shoulders, Indi fell to his hands and knees before the almighty God.

"Well what do we have here?" The mutant heard its master's voice bellowing; putting up quite the show. On this higher platform, Indie had no doubt they were most visible and all eyes would be on them. "A mutie not interested in bringing about my vision?!" The horrible voice droned on. "What? You think you can just decide not to work for me?! Like you're some person?! You are just a stupid plant, you…. Look at me when I'm yelling at you!" The tantrum was growing louder.

And yet, Indi couldn't get itself to lift its head up and meet the God's one-eyed gaze. Not out of defiance, but rather out of fatigue, fear and desperation.

"I SAID LOOK AT ME!" The monster raged.

No sooner had he screamed or Indi felt the metal boot hitting him square in the stomach. The force was enough to lift it up and send it falling onto its back. The thorned whip tugged and tore more skin in its flight and crash. Through its tears, Indi was finally looking at the pink God in the hulking, metal body.

"Hey..." The monster spoke in what had to be mock-kindness. "Don't I know you?"

Indi wheezed.

"Yeah. Yeah." The God's tentacles moved and along with the metal arms. The frame's fingers snapped knowingly. "You're that one. The one that brought me the kabuto. So what? You think that means you don't got to do stuff no more? That ya can be as lazy as ya want?"

Indi's hands reached for the whip in vain. It was too tight and cutting too deep. An answer, even if it'd still had the strength and the will, would have been completely impossible.

Raising it's artificial arms, the god claimed all attention, making himself the center of the world. The guard that had dragged Indi, it seemed to the gentle mutated plant-man, seemed to revel in the display. There was a sense of pride for delivering its fellow cacti to its master.

"I give you lot simple instructions, because I know you ain't capable of much." The god spoke to those below, turning his back to both Indi and the guard. But even now, all hope and illusions of escape were thrown out the window.

"In fact, ya morons, there is only one simple rule!" The monster screamed. "Ya Do!" It exclaimed. "As I!" It continued, punctuating the words. "Tell Ya!"

Filled to the brim with rage and indignation, the hulking metal frame turned. His voice now turned cold with anger. A more personal anger, seemingly aimed straight at Indi. With slow, calculated steps, the behemoth drew near.

"And if ya don't listen..." The God promised menacingly. "I ya don't hear what I say… You'll feel it."

For all of three seconds, he stood there, looming over the fallen cactus; heaving under the crushing weight of his own wrath. And then, without due notice, the savage attack began. The huge metal fist was sent flying and when it made contact with the face, the green blood exploded into all directions. Indi watched in shock as the heavy guard staggered back from the blow, releasing its grip on the whip. It didn't have time to recuperate for long however; One of the God's metal arms deployed like a buzz-saw and raked it across the legs. The guard fell to the ground moaning deeply and horribly.

"Didn't I tell ya?!" The God accused.

From its place on the ground, Indi could just make out the squirming figure that had been its captor. Its one arm reached out, pleading for its master to stop. But there was an insanity in that monster's eye. Something far beyond reason and pity. One quick transformation later and the God's arm extended a huge laser-gun that made short work of the Guard's arm.

"Didn't I?!" He screamed as he clambered atop the fallen and maimed cactus. Indi saw him grabbing it by the neck and squeezing tight. His other hand turned into a fist and rose high into the air. It came plummeting down, causing the body to writhe, but there was far less movement after it connected. And even less when it connected again. And again. And again.

"I told ya! Ya stupid neanderthal!" The god screamed as his fist bashed time and again against the cactus' head turning it rapidly into a mushy pulp. "Nobody! Touches! That one!"

By the time the Kraang was finished, he'd been pounding his fist straight into the floor of the bridge. There wasn't even any twitching left in the body now. Nothing whatsoever.

Heaving from the effort and the uncontrolled wrath, the monstrosity finally rose, turning once again to his shocked audience. "This one!" He shouted, pointing at Indi. "This one has done more than all you lot combined. "I am a merciful leader." His voice carried. "A just leader. Do as I say and I will grant you what you need. I will protect you. But fail me… And you will end up like this baboon!" He added, now pointing at the dead cactus. "Now all of you..." His voice dropped to a sickeningly sweet for just a second. "Would you all just kindly… GET BACK TO WORK!"

The scuffle below told Indi all it needed to know. There would be no mutiny. Not today.

"And you..." The trans-dimensional creature said as it turned its focus back to the battered but living cactus-mutant. He gestured to its less fortunate counterpart. "Clean this mess up."

Indi supressed it's screams. This was technodrome, it reminded itself. And death was listening. It would take the first one who screamed.

Honeycutt hadn't missed his arms quite this much in over a century's time. As his long-time friend rambled on about the sleepless nights and countless hours he'd spent in the infernal contraption, the fugitoid wanted no more than to gesture him to slow down and to lay his hand upon him in a soothing fashion. Truth be told, the lad seemed so fanatic, so excited and anxious, … It came across as both worrisome and pitiful.

"… Of course I still need to calibrate the flux capacitors and therein my calculations fall ridiculously short." Donatello went on. "But I've made great progress on the 'Distortion Receptor With Higgs Overlay'. Really, all I need is the mathematics to write the necessary codes and then only an ample energy-source. If we had those, we could be travelling through time in no time."

Though not having a body to exhaust, the boy seemed exhausted when he finally turned back to Honeycutt and back to a stable footing in reality. The professor didn't like it, but he was going to have to knock him all the way back to the ground. For the boy's own sake.

"Donatello. You forget..."

"I forget what?" Donatello asked, suddenly seeming hunted and filled to the brim with worry as he turned to the throne. His hand caressed the only line of hope he had for the future. Or the past. Or … the future passed.

"Even if you could power the bloody thing..." Zayton said, trying to keep his tone light. "Even if the parts you made it with were adequate. And even if I provided you with the necessary mathematics..."

"You could?"

"Blip… Well of course I surely can." The professor retorted, succumbing to the momentary derailment at the question of his qualifications as a scientist. "It might take me a few days but… But that's not the point Donatello. Even if all that went well, it'd still be impossible. When the black-hole generator went off in the prime-reality and it swallowed the earth, the presence of the black-hole negated any chance of repeated local time-travel. I told you that when we first met, didn't I?"

"I remember." Donatello challenged, for some reason not seeming fazed at all.

"Do you know something about physics that I don't?" Zayton asked, picking up on his attitude.

"Not much." The turtle replied, collecting a chair from across the room. He sat himself down in front of his friend and continued. "But maybe one thing. Did we ever tell you about Renet?"

"Bloop?"

"A time master. Well… Mistress."

"A Time-Mistress?" Zayton asked, slowly.

"In training." The metal turtle added.

"Ah." Zayton replied, pretending that made more sense.

"We met her both before and after our adventures in space. Before and after the Black-hole generator struck. She never had any trouble getting to our time and space with her time-scepter."

"A… Bleep… Time-scepter..." Perhaps he had to review his previous notion regarding Donatello's sanity after all. Poor overstressed kid.

"Yeah, she always used to say that were the turtle heroes that saved the world numerous times. And yet now, we live in a world that never will lead to that. It forms a paradox that has in no small way intrigued me over all these years. Its what first got me to hope that maybe we could go back in time and set all of this right, after all. Like we had travelled with her to so many times and places." The mechanic turtle paused. "Something wrong, professor?"

"It's just… Blip… That what you are saying is going against the current interstellar understanding of trans-dimensional physics. You can't just ask me to believe in some mystic timelord and her sonic screwdriver and…."

"Time-Mistress." His friend corrected him sharply. "And a Time-scepter. Not a screwdriver."

"Details." The professor quarrled, feeling his pride as a scientist well up. "It sounds like magic to me."

"Doesn't all technology and science we don't yet understand? I am a scientist too, professor. But I know there are shifts in paradigms and jumps in knowledge. And I experienced first hand how much behind I was when I first met someone as brilliant as you. Can you not imagine the same humility? Can you not imagine, somewhere in the cosmos, thousands or millions of years from now, there will be those who know more than we do today? Who can do more?"

The professor bit back his words. Time had clearly had it's effect on the once slightly subservient Donatello. The defiance in his voice was a clear testimony to that. But, truth be told, even if Zayton didn't like the tone, he had to agree, deep down, with the message. So rather than scolding or arguing, he took a moment to reflect how consumed and driven this seemingly immortal, mechanical turtle must have past the last century. And that regret was something the professor could relate to. At last he sighed.

"Given that what you say is correct and that there is some… higher form… of time-travel, some path that… well, I don't even know how to Bloop put it… that… takes a path unbeknown to me… I don't think I can make those calculations then. I wouldn't know where to start."

"I know where to start. I just can't get there on my own." Donatello replied, bending closer to him.

"What do you mean?"

The turtle reached passed him. From the corner of his synthetic eyes, the fugitoid saw him draw an external hard-drive. As the turtle continued to plug it in into the fold of it's shell, he explained.

"I've had a few occasions to work with the scepter. I've studied it. I don't understand it." He said, seconds later, he unplugged the drive. "But you might be able to bridge that gap. On here..." Don offered the memory-bank. "Is all the information I have on the thing. May I?"

"I'd nod if I could, my good chap."

His friend's metal digits were gentle as they pugged in the device at the back of Zayton's decapitated head.

"Good thing I've got a universal port." The fugitoid commented cheekily.

As he allowed the foreign device access, he tried to steel himself. To prepare himself for a new understanding of the universe. His preparations didn't even come close. The information… The realization and understanding: it was both world-shattering and -recreating. As the bytes flew through his brain and filled in the gaps he didn't know where there, the entire space-time-continuum folded in on itself inside his mind and expanded into a multitude of realities more wonderful than he'd previously ever been able to imagine.

"You okay, professor?" The robotic turtle asked, his old caring self shining through again.

Though he hadn't had a real body in such a long time, Zayton could feel the tears of awe well up, like phantom pains.

"Time it's not… Bleep…" The professor started, eyeing his friend. He was aware how his voice shook, but he couldn't control it. Nor did he try. "It's not a straight line. It's not a circle. It's not a tree. It's nothing like that at all." He breathed. His friend nodded encouragingly. "It's… It's like..."

"Like a multi-dimensional lasagne that's been out of the fridge for 12 days?"

"Exactly." The fugitoid felt relieved someone else shared this sudden insane epiphany.

"So can we do this?" His friend asked, seated eagerly on the edge of his seat.

But he hadn't heard. His mind still boggling at the ground-breaking news. "Huh?"

"Can you work with this?" Donnie explained himself. "Can you crack the calculations?"

Honeycutt's eyes focused instantly on the machine Donatello had slaved over all these years. Suddenly, it all made sense. His eyes darted back to his friend. "You made a helmet." The professor said, accusingly, his mind still drowning in a see of new information.

For a second his friend seemed embarrassed. His visor turned to the ground. It was clear he dared not face him as he replied. "I couldn't think of another way. It had to be this."

"Donatello… You can't be serious?"

"It's the only way." Donatello spoke sternly, finally meeting his gaze. "Look we can't take the highway. You said it yourself. We have to take one of the hidden paths. And getting a power-source with our equipment will be a challenge enough. We're centuries and solar-systems apart from creating a immaterial conductor, even if we knew how. Using the mind as a makeshift one is the only way. You know this to be so."

"It'll crush you."

"You don't know that." The boy countered feebly.

"You know it!" The professor declared hotly. "Blip… I get what you would be doing. If you want to turn your body into an anchor and mind into a conductor, a line… Bleep… By travelling backwards down the line while you, your body, is still travelling forward here, you are … think of it as reinforcing the line, temporarily at least. You might not be able to keep that going forever, but it wouldn't get bent as long as you kept your conscience together, while the entire universe would exert pressure, the line would be unable to break. And by manifesting … Bloop… yourself in the past with this line reinforced, you'd force the universe to split off into a different… line, path, whatever. But the entire time-space continuüm? Donatello, you can't be able to expect to keep your conscience together."

"My faculties might be scattered, but my purpose isn't, professor. And my mind is now without a brain, it is the only one that can substitute for a conductor. It's without mass and attachments. It can serve as the reinforced line."

The Fugitoid tried his desperate best to stave off this madness. "Even if your mind could take it, Donatello. At best the experience will cause disorientation and black outs… Hell, there will be white ins! I don't even know…. Bleep... exactly what they would be like, but they'd be there; the exact opposite of a black out."

"Isn't that being conscience?"

"Oh no; it would be moments of overloading and paralysing hyper-awareness. Bloop… You wouldn't be unaware of things, you'd be too aware of things. Things in present, past and future. That much stress… Donatello, in time it would tear your conscience apart."

"How much time?"

"That's the question, isn't it? With time-travel and the distortion of that fourth dimension… Who could tell. We're going to have to invent a whole different mathematics to even comprehend it."

Donatello sagged in his chair.

"So why would you put yourself through that?" The disembodied head asked after a while. "You wouldn't fix this world. And you wouldn't be able to stay in the other one indefinitely. Your anchor, your body, will be here. Blup… Even if the strain weren't to destroy you, your body would run out of energy after a while. Say you could do it… Say you could create this alternate universe… It would be one you couldn't live in."

"But others could." Donatello countered.

"Blip… Pardon?"

"Professor… I would lie if I said I hadn't considered changing everything. But however messed up this world has become, I know I can't undo it. My brothers and I failed, but new life has bloomed since then. This tribe… I couldn't undo their existences, even if I could turn everything back. I can't erase them… make them pay for my mistakes. But every single day I continue to exist here, I can't stop thinking about that. I can't stop beating myself up over it. I want to change it. I desire it more than anything. I want to take it back. And as I told you, Renett even said we were the turtle-heroes that had saved the world so many times. So how could we fail? …. So you see, I have to make it work. I have to make an alternate reality in which she was right. To give ourselves, somewhere else, a chance. I just… I want to know that somewhere… they were alright… Karaï, Shinigami… My brothers. Casey…"

"And…" The head ventured. "April?"

He nodded. "Yeah." Donatello agreed. "And April. I just… I can't… I can't die not having that be somewhere… If not here, then somewhere… I want to give us all a chance. I want the world to be saved… somewhere."

"Donatello..." Zayton tried, feeling like he was losing the conversation.

"Look I just..." The boy said, but got no further.

His voice abruptly stopped, his visor turned red.

"Donatello?" Zayton's dissembodied head asked, concern for his friend rising.

When a response abstained, Zayton continued calling the ninja's name. Even when a strange static started to arrise, quickly taken over by what he could only describe as elevator music. And the boy just sat there, lost to the world.

"Donatello!" The fugitoid screamed. "Donatello!"

It was almost twenty whole seconds before the android showed new signs of consciousness. With a start the metal frame shrugged back into the world. In one go it's visor turned back from red to purple.

"What?" The boy asked, clearly distraught. "What?"

"You uhm..." Zayton started, feeling somewhat relieved at the return of his fellow scientist. Though the underlying worry remained. "You zoned out there for a second, or twenty, my friend."

"Ah, bunker apples." Donatello sighed, hanging his head in his hands.

"Minor malfunctions?"

"I know what you are implying. But this doesn't mean I can't take it. It just means we need to hurry."

"Donatello… Come now, you're not well. Bloop… You can't do this right now."

His friend seemed to ignore him. Zayton's guess was that it was intentional. His pressed conversation tried to waltz all over his ow. "The last time I made a mental connection to the Mark II when I still had my body was two hours before the Mutagen bomb went off." The metal turtle droned in a rapid pace. "We were gearing up. But if we travel through that connection I could theoretically speaking inhabit my old body. For an elongated time, that would cause problems; a brain isn't designed to run two consciences at once. Even if they are basically the same. But if my current conscience just travels through, it should be fine. I could move through the fourth dimension, backwards inside that brain until the time I made the first connection to this metal body; one day prior. Then I jump into Metalhead and boot out past-Donatello." The excited iron turtle explained.

"Theoretically." Honeycomb countered, not unkindly.

"Theoretically." Donatello agreed. "Now look… Do me a solid here, Fugitoid. Don't tell me I can't do it. If I could, what would be my flaw?"

"Apart from the fact that you need to have your hard- and software checked out? Bleep."

"Assume that's fine? Assume you can make the calculations, based on your knowledge and my intell on the scepter? What would be the problem? If you get me there, I can get the job done. I know I can."

"Well… I'm saying… You know I said you could do it theoretically. So it's not really a flaw… but I wonder: Why not, for just a day or two, borrow your real body? I bet you would prefer that over this metal one."

"Past Donatello would be in that too. We could probably be harmonious for those two days… But it could cause lasting damage to him."

"But you are the same … Bloop… conscience."

"I know what you mean. It's why it would probably be okay for a day. But I can't risk it. It could harm him in the long run. Theoretically speaking… If two minds were perfectly linked, they could exist in the same brain. But I have had other and more experiences than past me. Our minds wouldn't be 100% compatible. Prolonged exposure would, inevitably, lead to … complications."

"Such as?"

"A sense of … schizophrenia… I imagine. Black outs. More than the amount from the time-travel itself.… Loss of time as one mind dominated. Loss of memories. Experiencing things that weren't there. Experiencing things out of order…"

"And I suppose the perfect link would only by hypothetical?"

Donatello nodded in agreement. "If two minds were perfectly linked at the moment of… transfer or entwinement. I guess. But if they were just a second off… Probably they'd be okay for a few months, maybe a year… But inevitably; a rift would grow, exponentially."

"Alright." The professor conceded. "So you'd take this body, travel the road of your conscience back, enforce it with the pressure of the universe and hope it doesn't crack your very being into smithereens. All to create a reality you'll never inhabit." His tone must've been showing.

"You don't want to help me." The ninja concluded, picking up on it.

"I want to help you Donatello. Blup... I just don't think this fools errand is doing that. You're already falling apart. It will kill you… Worse perhaps… What if we're wrong and you're launched outside of time and space; forever adrift in the void that never was and never will be? Bloop?"

"I am falling apart." Donatello acknowledged. It seemed something especially hard for the boy to say. "I am." He repeated.

"Then let me fix you."

"The time it would take me to make you a body so you could fix me, even if you could because you think that how I even got into this state is impossible, would take longer than it would take you to do the calculations we need." Donatello wagged his finger knowingly. "And that would require a whole new set of spare parts. I wouldn't even know where to find them.

"Then let me..."

"I'm falling apart!" Donnie raised his voice. "I'm losing it. And its getting worse. So it's now or never, professor. Because soon there won't be anything of me left. I'm going to die soon." Appalled, Honeycutt didn't know how to respond. So small wonder that a few moment later, a dejected yet determined Donnie continued. "A few weeks? A month? Maybe a year? At the rate this is going? I don't really know. But I'm going to cease to exist soon. So you can either help me make that matter. Make us matter. Or you can spend the rest of your natural life wondering if maybe, just maybe, taking the chance would've been worth it. And I don't think I need to tell you, of all people… But as someone who has lived a long life with the memories of friend let down; there are some things worse than facing almost certain death."

At long last, after what seemed like aeons of uncomfortable silence, Zayton sighed. "I'll help you make the calculations, Donatello."

"Professor, I..." The turtle's hand's reached out in appreciation.

However, Zayton didn't let him finish. "And… Blip..." He continued. "I've got some Fusion left in the old noggin. I'll be your power source too."

Somehow, the professor knew, if his friend could, he'd be crying.

Indi moaned in exhaustion as it finished shutting the heavy metal door. On the other side, in the small, tubular chamber, the body of the unfortunate bully of a guard lay. Indi peered through the thick glass and eyed the dismembered and maimed corpse. It felt like it ought to be lucky it wasn't lying there in it's place, atop the white slab. But it's disgust at the entire situation proved far too great for such trivial feelings. In truth, it didn't know whether to be happy or sad that the guard lay there. All it felt was an inner anger. At the guard? At itself? At it's cowardly people? At their monstrous God? At this flying fortress of horrors?

Perhaps all. Perhaps more than that. Perhaps…

Perhaps it was just tired.

The anger turned to solid depression as it's green hand moved acros the panel next to the door. A strange gas filled the small chamber and inside the body liquefied. It disappeared through the tiny drains in the slab.

More energy for the flying fortress of doom…

How many brethren had fallen? Fed to the technodrome? And if so many lives could only keep it barely at minimum power… What kind of terrible power-source could their God be after?