There's music playing. Loud, bright, cheery, the merry horns scraping at the inside of Leo's skull. He's on his knees in the big tent, the limp bodies of his opponents staining the dust red around him. The stands are full of blackened, crispy bodies, the stomach-turning scent mixing with cotton candy and hot pretzels. 
"Wake up," he whispers. He slams his fists into the side of his head, but it doesn't change. "Wake up!"  
"Careful, love." A hand grabs his wrist and twists, sending Leo sprawling on his shell. "You'll hurt yourself." His own face grins down at him, smeared with a garish bloody smile and streaked with white paint. "Save the pratfalls for the main event," the doppelgänger says.  
He's dressed in a tight, sparkly parody of the old Foot gear. It's designed for showing off, not combat, highlighting the curve of his muscles and the vulnerable juncture between his thighs. There are fingerprints on his hips, prints like the ones Leo's seen on himself so many times, outlined in shiny silver paint. 
"Get away from me," Leo rasps, staggering to his feet. Something squelches under his heel, and he tries not to flinch at the sound, at the memory.  
His otherself just smiles. "The ringmaster's coming," he chides. "Pull yourself together." 
One hand shoots and grabs Leo by the chin, jerking his head up (look at me, chunin, I like to see your eyes). The other, dripping a dark and vicious red, reaches towards his face. Leo gags as it rubs across his mouth, the taste of blood bitter on his tongue. 
"There," his otherself coos. "Turn that frown upside down, love." Leo lunges, but he's slow, (always too slow), his movements as stiff as if he's moving through water, and the otherself dodges with a laugh. 
"Now for the rest of it," he croons. "You want to help me with that, pretty?" His hand goes to his crotch with a lewd like giggle, and that's when Leo realizes that the white stuff on his otherself's face isn't paint at all. 
He turns to run, but the audience is sitting up now, bits of ash rattling on to the seats as they shift their broken bones. A few, still wearing the cracked and stinking remains of turtle shells, raise their popcorn boxes and giggle. 
"You're the main event." The otherself grabs Leo's hands and twists behind his back, spinning him so that they're inches apart. "And they love you." He leans forward to nuzzle Leo, eyes bright and laughing, and hard as he tries to squirm away Leo can still feel some of that stuff being smeared across his face. 
Leo hates, hates that he can recognize Oroku Saki's semen just by smelling it. Hates how familiar it feels on his cheeks, like he's just an eager little kid on his knees again, feeling almost blessed by the warm spray across his face. 
His otherself spins Leo back around, forcing him to face the crowd. "Doesn't he look jolly, folks?" They cackle, uproarious waves of laughter rumbling through Leo's bones. He whimpers before he can stop himself, cheeks turning red. 
"They want us," his otherself whispers. He's got his hips pressed up against Leo's backside, voice soft and cruel in his ear. "Want you, I mean. The rats and the turtles and the men, oh my, they're hungry." He giggles. "Doesn't that feel good?" 
"Let me go," Leo grits out. He's trying to growl, but he knows his voice is shaking too hard to be effective. 
"You like it," the otherself says. "Being special, being good. You always have." 
"Not like this," and it comes out as a half-sob. Is this a punishment, maybe? For his weakness, for his pride, for the way he chews up praise like an addict? 
The crowd is smiling, reaching for him with crumbling fingers. Leo can't run, can't fight, and maybe that's best, maybe once they get their hands on him it'll stop--  
A whip-crack echoes across the tent, and the crowd goes still. Leo's heart stutters in his chest. 
"It doesn't stop, love," his otherself chides. "The ringmaster's coming, remember?" 
There's a figure striding across the ring towards them, crimson cape fluttering, metal boots making the bloodied dust dance with every step. He's traded in the helmet and mask for a top hat, regarding Leo coolly as the whip tap taps in his hand. 
"We're going to put on such a show," the otherself breathes excitedly in his ear. He's hard against Leo's backside, fingers digging into Leo's scales. If he pulls any harder, he might simply bury himself in Leo's flesh. 
Shredder smiles at him, the kind of smile Leo used to pull close and hoard. "Ladies and gentlemen," he booms, and his voice is loud enough, deep enough, to fracture the world around him. Leo staggers with a gasp, head ringing. 
"Go on, then," the otherself coos. "Smile for the nice man." 
And he doesn't want to he doesn't want to-- but Leo feels his lips quirk up into a slow, twisted smile. Shredder looks him up and down, from the tops of his bloodstained feet to his filthy, ruined face. 
He laughs. He laughs so loud Leo screams with the noise of it, but he can't hear himself over the noise coming from Shredder. The crowd joins in, and the otherself giggles childishly in Leo's ear. 
Shredder reaches out, coming up to touch to hurt to ruin and Leo can't get away, he will never get away-- 
The world shatters into pieces around him, torn apart from the vibrations. And he's falling, falling into the dark, the laughter chasing him all the way down.