I feel the clawed hand around my neck tighten, and that red eye seemed to narrow as he watched me struggle to breathe. I could feel how his hand tightened around my throat. My hands shot up, wrapping around his armoured wrist, scratching uselessly. But when the iron grip seemed to loosen, I gulped air greedily. That's when I saw the long snout part in a cruel smile, and a mocking laugh escaped.
"So this—this is meat bag that thinks he can swing at me-me! But meat bag has good ears… not good-good enough. Shredder should make meat bag red. Shredder likes it when the meat bags are red..."
But, "Master likes this meat bag. Master doesn't like his meat bags red."
The disappointment in his voice unsettled me. He spoke as if killing me was some great dessert he had been told to watch, but not eat. And as if he had made up his mind, he released me. He loomed over me, as if he hadn't fully discounted the idea of just killing me and dealing with the consequences later.
But as he walked away from me, I heard that crazed voice again.
"Master wants me to make this meat bag good at making meat bags red."
I didn't know if the crazy storm-vermin was talking to me, but then I spotted my forgotten sword. I rushed to pick it up, and when I got to my feet, I held the sword in front of me, ready to defend myself. I watched as the self-proclaimed Shredder stood there with a smile on his face.
"The meat bag has good-good instincts…"
I watched as he drew his sword slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. The sword was rusted and chipped from use—but still a weapon. In the next second, my sword was pushed aside by a slash, followed shortly by another.