((Who said he's not mentally broken? He doesn't have to be maimed or anything to be broken.))
((Too bad the Cult is watching. They're always watching....
))((Private))
Donatello didn't know what was going on anymore and didn't quite care. What he did care about is that his finger was suddenly back and that wasn't good. What would the Cult think if they saw that the finger had grown back? Likely they'd suspect him of having some supernatural ally or powers and deem him a threat. He preferred not to paint a target on his back. No, he needed them to think he was being compliant, that he'd continue to push his agenda and help them. Of course he had no intention of letting them win in the end, but it didn't hurt to use them for his own ends. For now though, he had to deal with the little problem at hand.
Scrounging around the kitchen of his hotel room, Donatello finally came across a large butcher knife. Yes, that'd do quite nicely. One clean chop and his finger would be off. In preparation for his chop, he placed the knife on the stove and watched it heat up. He hoped it'd be hot enough to cauterize the wound afterwards. He need to make the wound look as similar to what it was before and avoid bleeding out. When it was nice and hot, he rested his left hand down on a chopping board and held the knife above it. At first he had it pointing forward, but then shifted it to point right for a better cutting angle. He wanted it to go as smoothly as possible. For good measure, he grabbed a dishcloth, scrunched it up, and shoved it in his mouth to avoid biting his tongue.
Donatello stood there for a few moments, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He was trying his best to psych himself up, but it was not working. He had to place the knife back on the stove to heat it up again because he waited too long. It was not the best solution, but he needed to do it to keep the Cult from growing suspicious. What was a single finger compared to the preservation and restoration of the Empire? He briefly considered the fact that he might actually be going insane, but tossed that thought aside after considering the situation. The Cult was a deplorable organization, but he needed them to get Italy back. He'd do anything for Italy. Well almost anything, thinking back to his refusal to betray the Emperor. A man had to have some boundaries after all.
Once the knife was hot again, Donatello picked it up and held it above his left hand. He did a few practice swings, moving the knife close enough to singe the hairs on his finger. After taking in a very deep breath, it came time for the moment of truth. Yelling into the dishcloth in his mouth, Donatello swung the butcher knife down and severed his pinky from his hand. The pain was excruciating and he pulled his injured hand back without meaning to. Blood spurted from the wound and the Senator quickly pressed the hot knife to the wound. It burned like hell, but he knew it had to be done. His teeth were gritted together so hard he swore he'd bite right through the dishcloth. After the knife started to cool down and the feeling in his hand had practically given away, Donatello felt the handle slip from his right hand. He took one look at his re-injured hand, which thankfully was not bleeding but was now missing a finger, and promptly fainted.
