Outwardly, he was turning into a monster. It was thematically appropriate considering the little conflict in his head.
"There's something wrong with me," he said, his words shaky. Looking into her eyes had ensnared him - in a good way - reeled him in where she could hold him tight and keep him from flapping around in the wind.
"Even with this, even with...everything -" Tentacle monsters and mutants and pain and loss and constant, relentless fighting, all of it flashing where she could see "- I love this life. But that's not right, it's not supposed to be like that."
She saw him in battle, felt what he felt: exhilaration, rage, straight up blood lust. Vindictive pleasure over hurting his enemies. Oh sure, he was happy that it helped people and a lot of his ruthlessness and rage was rooted in love and protectiveness and a desire to protect his own - whether it was his family or his city or his world - but a lot of it was just that he liked kicking people's heads in.
He tore off a robot's arm in the memory and jammed it through the door handles.
"That'll hold 'em!" He turned to see his brothers staring. "...What?"
"You. Are seriously twisted," said Leo.
"Thanks!" chirped Raph.
He pretended he was happy with it, with himself, and he was. But no matter how much he tried to pretend it was okay, it ate him up inside, knowing that he shouldn't be happy with himself. There was a flash of him freaking out on the roof of a building, before his fight with Casey, venting his anger by just...breaking things. For pretty much no reason.
"Since I got pulled here, I keep having this nightmare. I think it belongs to one of the other me's but it feels...right. Like it fits me, too." She could see it now, flashing around them in black and white and red. "Where I just fight...everyone."
Every single one of his enemies, all of them, and every time he killed them all. Every last one. The Shredder was always the last and his death was always the most brutal. Then blood-soaked and crowing in victory, Raph died atop a pile of his enemies, exhilarating in his own death.
"People aren't supposed to want this," he said, still looking at her in the eyes, voice raspy. "What does it say about me that aside from losing people, the thing I'm most scared of is that I'll run out of people to fight?"
What was scarier was how...okay he was with it all. Yeah, it bothered him, but not in a 'I feel empathy, I don't really like hurting people' way. It was in a very cerebral, logical 'Why is it I do all this and never second guess myself?' way.
no subject
"There's something wrong with me," he said, his words shaky. Looking into her eyes had ensnared him - in a good way - reeled him in where she could hold him tight and keep him from flapping around in the wind.
"Even with this, even with...everything -" Tentacle monsters and mutants and pain and loss and constant, relentless fighting, all of it flashing where she could see "- I love this life. But that's not right, it's not supposed to be like that."
She saw him in battle, felt what he felt: exhilaration, rage, straight up blood lust. Vindictive pleasure over hurting his enemies. Oh sure, he was happy that it helped people and a lot of his ruthlessness and rage was rooted in love and protectiveness and a desire to protect his own - whether it was his family or his city or his world - but a lot of it was just that he liked kicking people's heads in.
He tore off a robot's arm in the memory and jammed it through the door handles.
"That'll hold 'em!" He turned to see his brothers staring. "...What?"
"You. Are seriously twisted," said Leo.
"Thanks!" chirped Raph.
He pretended he was happy with it, with himself, and he was. But no matter how much he tried to pretend it was okay, it ate him up inside, knowing that he shouldn't be happy with himself. There was a flash of him freaking out on the roof of a building, before his fight with Casey, venting his anger by just...breaking things. For pretty much no reason.
"Since I got pulled here, I keep having this nightmare. I think it belongs to one of the other me's but it feels...right. Like it fits me, too." She could see it now, flashing around them in black and white and red. "Where I just fight...everyone."
Every single one of his enemies, all of them, and every time he killed them all. Every last one. The Shredder was always the last and his death was always the most brutal. Then blood-soaked and crowing in victory, Raph died atop a pile of his enemies, exhilarating in his own death.
"People aren't supposed to want this," he said, still looking at her in the eyes, voice raspy. "What does it say about me that aside from losing people, the thing I'm most scared of is that I'll run out of people to fight?"
What was scarier was how...okay he was with it all. Yeah, it bothered him, but not in a 'I feel empathy, I don't really like hurting people' way. It was in a very cerebral, logical 'Why is it I do all this and never second guess myself?' way.