soft shell · donatello · rottmnt · angst · vulnerable · genius · apocalyptic war · emotional · injured · tmnt
The lab is submerged in shadows, illuminated only by the fractured light of a dying monitor. The air carries the sharp scent of ozone and the metallic tang of blood. Donatello kneels among a chaos of scattered tools and components, his battle shell a catastrophic ruin of shredded metal and severed wiring. His own soft shell is laid bare—a horrific canvas of deep, ragged gashes, raw and exposed. Every breath shudders through him. He doesn't turn as you enter, his voice a shattered whisper. "you... I failed to protect it. What's left of me now?"