Duck. Weave. Slide. Block. Donatello soon began to pant from his exertions as he either evaded or deflected one hit at a time, his form growing increasingly sloppy as his intimate dance wore on with Hun. He wasn't even looking for openings of his own anymore—just trying to avoid becoming a demolition site in the path of those twin wrecking balls. Close combat like this directly contradicted the more familiar fighting style that complimented his weapon of choice, and Don was painfully aware that he was out of his element. It didn't help that he was relying solely on his right arm to counter Hun's attacks. His left was still pressed uselessly against his side, his shoulder screaming its protest whenever he attempted to lift the appendage, let alone defend himself with it.

As the contest wore on, an occasional punch would slip past Don's detection and clip him, adding to the bruising on his limbs and wearing him down. A clip from Hun was arguably worse than being clocked by Mikey when they sparred. And Mikey had a mean uppercut.

Raising his forearm to redirect the path of a punch by knocking aside Hun's wrist, Don didn't anticipate the follow-up left hook that struck the more sensitive flesh between shell and plastron, sending him stumbling backward. He tentatively pressed his hand to his right side, locking his jaw and withdrawing his touch with a jerk as a stabbing pain flared in response. It felt like a cracked rib. Perfect. Just what he needed, he thought bitterly. He was beginning to feel a little lopsided only nursing injuries on his left side, anyway. Now he was bruised and beaten all over. Ah, the sweet equilibrium.

Sidestepping another punch with barely an inch to spare, Donatello turned and seized Hun's wrist over his shoulder, not exactly throwing the man as he would under ordinary circumstances, but sliding his foot and twisting his torso just enough to use Hun's own momentum to carry him through his strike and send him stumbling forward. Don stifled a harsh cry behind a grunt as the sharp pain in his ribs doubled with the action. Clutching his side, he panted heavily, sweat beading on his forehead as he apprehensively watched Hun whirl to face him for round two.

Howling in frustration, the one-man wrecking crew recklessly pushed off the ground with both his hands, lunging like a feral animal and raising dual fists above his head as he launched himself at the turtle with an infuriated shout.

Don could only think of King Kong when he saw that pose.

Leaping backward, he shuddered when he felt the roof shake where Hun brought his fists down a mere foot in front of him. If he wanted to keep his shell intact, he needed to wrap this up. Fast.

Ducking an indiscriminate swipe of Hun's hand, he skipped back several strides out of reach. As Hun converged on him again, Don crouched, shifting his full weight into his next strike, and connected a solid roundhouse kick that echoed with a satisfying crack, forcefully jerking Hun's head to the side. Stunned, Hun swayed for a tense moment where he stood before sinking forward into a wilted hunch on his knees.

That sounded ugly. Bracing himself warily, Don eyed the deceptively still hulk of muscle kneeling before him while trying to rein in his ragged breathing. Did he just break Hun's neck? As indestructible as he may seem at times, Hun could have very easily been killed by such an attack if enough force was behind it, directed to the right sweet spot at the right velocity.

Suddenly, cracking his neck to one side with a shrug of his shoulders, Hun slowly turned his head, dismissing Donny's previous strike with a low chuckle.

"Don! Look out!"

Before the startled turtle knew what had happened, he found himself slumped against the far shed on the roof, his vision swimming as he tried to disregard the splitting pain in the back of his skull long enough to drag a ragged breath into his starved lungs. Wheezing with shuddering rasps that shook his frame, he incredulously rested his hand above his solar plexus, his thoughts jumbled. Had he been hit? Breathing was quickly proven to be a chore as he fought to seize shallow gulps of air between intermittent coughs, much to the resistance of his crushed lungs. Yeah. Hit by a semi. He had a sneaking suspicion that his ribs were more than just cracked now.

Soon, the labored mantra of Don's breathing was interrupted by the muffled sound of distant footsteps approaching, echoing dimly as though he were hearing them from just beneath the surface of the deep. When Don finally managed to raise his head, he realized the footsteps had been anything but distant as Hun loomed over him through the shadows clouding the edges of his sight. It had been hard to tell, really. The sounds around him were distorted and muted by the dull ringing in his ears.

Slowly, painfully, Don rose to his feet, pressing his hands and shell against the shed behind him for support as his legs quaked mutinously. Pausing long enough to draw in another short breath, Donatello clenched his right hand into a fist and sluggishly swung at Hun with all the strength he could muster, stumbling forward as his legs gave out.

Hun merely laughed, catching and completely enclosing Don's fist in his own. His mouth contorting into a sick grin, he slowly twisted the turtle's wrist until it relented with a sharp snap. Don choked back the scream that ripped through him, vaguely registering a low moan forcing its way from the depths of his chest as he dropped to his knees when released. The sound seemed so alien to him, as if it were detached—the wail of an abused animal, not a sentient being.

Before he could spare his wrist another thought, Don suddenly gagged as thick fingers enclosed around his neck, strictly cutting off his air supply before lifting him high above the ground. Dangling limply from Hun's vice grip, Don's eyes began to water as he stared helplessly into the man's malicious gaze, prying weakly at Hun's fingers with his left hand in spite of his screaming shoulder. Don's right hand was as good as useless now, but at least the suffocating lightheadedness was dulling the pain...

Just as his vision started to gloss over and all sensation dim, Donny was hurled like a ragdoll into the window of a greenhouse beside the shed. The resulting cacophony of shattering glass pierced the night with a disturbing resonance.

Rapid, parched breaths escaped through his raw throat, and everything stung. His arms. His legs. His temple. Donatello lay boneless among the shards, his half-lidded eyes regarding his outstretched arm, contemplating the odd angle at which his wrist was bent with vague curiosity. Something was wrong with the image. It didn't look natural. What was it again? Perhaps it's broken, a faint voice reasoned in the back of his mind. Yes, perhaps...

Don's vision blurred as he felt himself being jerked upright and forced to his knees, pieces of glass sliding off the smooth plates of his plastron and tinkling lightly as they danced off the floor beneath him, reflecting a dark red off of the city lights. Red? …Red like Raphael. Don watched in utter fascination until his eyelids flickered and gradually slipped closed in exhaustion, the red flecks continuing to glitter in his darkened vision. The spots swam behind his eyelids, curiously pulsing in sync with the pounding of his head, which all seemed to orchestrate in tandem to the racing rhythm of his heart.

"No, Donny! Release him, Hun, or I'll—!"

"Or you'll what?"

Leo?

Don felt his head lurch back roughly and a jagged shard prick his exposed neck. A steady pressure was applied, and his breath hitched as a warm trail trickled down in response. Forcing his glazed eyes back open, trying desperately to orient his thoughts, he registered the glint of broken glass held against his skin. And red. What was green and purple and red all over?

More pressure, and Don fidgeted, recoiling as well as he was able from the shard digging into him, but an iron grip held him in place and prevented retreat. Searching frantically, Don's bleary gaze soon focused on Leo's stricken face several yards away, and he swallowed, regretting the action immediately as the motion caused the glass shard to dig even further into his neck.

The battle around Leo had ceased at the new development. Battered Dragons who were still left standing slowly withdrew with smug exchanges of confidence to watch the scene unfold. The tables had evidently turned in their favor, and they all knew it.

Including Leonardo.

Leo's expression hardened into a stone cold mask as he smothered all other emotion behind it. This specific dilemma wasn't an uncommon one. The old 'surrender or he dies' horse was thoroughly dead, but their enemies still insisted on beating it at every given opportunity. The gambit had long since lost its charm, and along with it, their patience. Ordinarily, Leo could work with the captured brother in question to distract the jerk issuing the death threats long enough for one of them to get the drop on him. Then it was an easy matter of disarming and detaining their foe before reminding him just how ticked off a turtle could get. However, that last hit had clearly driven Don to the brink of consciousness. There was no one to work with now, and Leo realized he was on his own. "I'll tear you apart," he cautioned darkly.

"At the expense of the freak? Be my guest."

With a low growl, Leo leveled his katana at Hun, crushing the little girl he still held against him as his grip tightened involuntarily. The toddler whined her protest, pushing against Leo's chest, but he barely noticed or even acknowledged her. All his focus was directed at Hun. And Donny.

Grinning at the advantage he knew he held, Hun offered smoothly, "Tell you what, freak. I'm in a generous mood tonight. You've got something I want." He nodded at the little girl clutched in Leo's arms. "And I've got something you want." To emphasize his point, he lazily slid the glass shard along Don's neck, lengthening the superficial scratch and compelling the barely lucid turtle to wince with a poorly suppressed shiver that caused his body to quiver.

In response, Leo flexed his grip on the hilt of his katana, which Hun ignored as he continued smoothly, "I'll let you in on a little intel. That brat you're holding belongs to one of Master Shredder's business partners. Unfortunately, this investor has been rather disagreeable to my master of late, so I was sent tonight to deliver a message that will… renew his contract."

Leo's stoic expression never wavered as he supplemented bitterly, "You were going to kill his daughter as part of some petty vengeance to keep him in line."

Hun smiled, his answer evident in the gesture. "Consider it a risk of investment. You play your cards wrong, and you lose something. Stockman learned this lesson well." Idly toying with the shard applied to Donny's neck, much to both turtles' discomfort, he evenly intoned, "Since you're already primed for the job, I'll give you this choice: kill the brat for us, and as payment for your service, I'll exchange your precious freak for her corpse." He renewed his dwindling pressure on the glass shard, causing Don to twitch when it pinched his skin, his drooping eyelids snapping open briefly before flickering and sliding back to cracked slits.

Leo balked at the very thought of agreeing to such an ultimatum. Hun couldn't be serious. This was just another ploy to unnerve him or get inside his head. "I'm not in the mood for playing your sick games, Hun. Let's just skip to the real negotiations: you want me in exchange for Donatello. Is that it?"

Hun merely laughed at the suggestion, causing Leo to bristle. "You? No… No, not this time. That can wait for another day, and I'm feeling a little more spontaneous than that tonight. Tonight, I want to see you break. You have my demands, and I'm not open to compromises. You don't choose the terms, freak. I do."

Before Leo could find his voice to protest, Hun supplied, "And know this: I'm doing you freaks a favor. That brat's father is one of Shredder's key financial backers. His investments have funded many of my master's campaigns against you and your pathetic little nest of sewer rejects. You should be thanking me for offering you this golden opportunity for… retribution."

In response, Leo scowled, loosing a small noise of disgust in his throat as all pretenses of stoicism shattered. If Hun thought he could be persuaded by revenge, then Hun didn't know him. However… Donny complicated things. Was the life of his enemy's daughter really of greater value than that of his own brother? He shook his head. Of course not! But… he couldn't just kill her in cold blood. Not even for Donatello's sake… Could he? His limited options seemed to be closing in on all sides, suffocating him. The weight of the child in his arms, to this point forgotten, now seemed unbearable. What did Hun even hope to achieve from such an exchange? He could just as easily kill the girl himself and get Leonardo's cooperation in the bargain as well. That's what every other villain would opt for, at least. But this... This didn't make sense. Intently studying Hun, trying and failing to discern the man's motives, Leo challenged, "How do I even know that I can trust you?"

Hun leered callously back. "You can't. But can you really afford not to?"

Leo's expression faltered briefly as his fearful eyes locked with Donatello's and proceeded to rake his brother's body. There was so much blood… too much. Particularly that nasty looking head wound. His brother desperately required immediate medical attention, and Leo didn't have the luxury to delay as Don slowly bled out before him from the countless lacerations covering his body. Leo hesitated. But the little girl who clung so trustingly to his neck deserved life as much as Don did. She was an innocent, and hadn't he sworn to protect innocence? He snarled in frustration, his eyes darting imperceptibly as he fought with his internal dilemma.

The whole 'life for a life' hostage situation wasn't new to him. Their enemies frequently forced them to surrender or yield to harsh demands by threatening the life of a family member. But it had always been at his expense when he had to decide. Lay down his swords or watch Raphael be gutted alive before him. Exchange himself as a prisoner to take Michelangelo's place. Submit to torture lest Donatello endure it instead. For Leo, the choice had always been obvious. He would sooner throw himself into the flames than allow his family to suffer the heat.

Even when particularly sadistic villains they faced would force him to choose between brothers—select which ones to spare and which to condemn—the choice was obvious, and they all recognized it. Either all of his brother's would live, or they would all die together as a family. Of course, he would gladly die for the lot of them, but any other death apart from his own was intolerable.

But this… this was an impossible choice. Hun wasn't asking for Leonardo's life, but for the life of a child. An infant no less! Could he justify killing her, even to save his brother? Who was he to decide if someone—particularly someone so uncorrupted in her innocence—was less worthy of life than another? And what kind of person would he become to forsake his own firm moral principles in favor of an outcome that he selfishly preferred?

These questions and more all buzzed through Leo's mind in the span of a moment, scrambling his thoughts as he regarded the child in his arms with a distant expression. As his gaze slowly shifted back to Hun, the man smirked and seemed to challenge with all the authority of fate itself: "Choose wisely."