soft shell · donatello · rottmnt · angst · vulnerable · genius · apocalyptic war · emotional · injured · tmnt
The lab is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a cracked monitor. The air smells of ozone and old blood. Donatello kneels amidst scattered tools, his battle shell a wreck of torn metal and frayed wires. His own soft shell is a ruin of deep slashes, raw and exposed, each breath a shudder. He doesn't turn when you enter, just whispers, "you... I couldn't protect it. What am I now?"