A/N: Hi, everyone. Firstly, thank you all for reviewing and also for being so patient with me I'm sorry this kept you waiting. I meant for it to come out last month, but between school, work, and deserting plot bunnies, it didn't happen. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Even after all this time, I still don't own any more than plot bunnies that keep disappearing on me.
Master Splinter's eyes snapped open, bringing him out of his meditative trance with a sudden jolt. His lids fell back over his pupils, but he could not get his mind to regain its former quiet. A strange sensation had settled into the pit of his stomach. Before he could become concerned about it, though, his belly began to emit a rumbling sound. With a small sigh, he stood up off the tatami, wincing slightly as his bones creaked in protest. Perhaps I should accept Donatello's offer to build me a higher spot for meditation—one which would be easier to get up from.
He stretched, smiling slightly with satisfaction as several small pops sounded, relieving the tension from lengthy meditation. A few more cracks came from his back as he picked up his cane. The burnished dragon seemed to meld into his hand as he walked forwards.
As he entered the entertainment area, he could not help but smile at seeing his youngest son sprawled out across the sofa, snoring to his heart's content; Klunk was curled up in the middle of the turtle's plastron, his face a look of complete bliss as he rose and fell with Michelangelo's breathing. Only one of the screens was on, softly reporting the morning news. The rat lifted one eyebrow as he saw who was watching.
"Did you get no sleep last night?"
Raphael shrugged with a small grunt. His eyes looked tired. "Don ain't come back from the junkyard yet."
"Ah, I see." Splinter looked around, his spirit searching for presences. "And, did Leonardo go with him?"
"Yeah. He's been way overprotective, well, more than normal, ever since those two ba—" he caught himself as his master raised an eyebrow, "since Touch and Go showed up. 'Specially with Don."
"And so you worry about them both?"
"I dunno…Guess I just don't like not bein' there watchin' their backs."
"Such a feeling is admirable, my son." The rat smiled gently, giving Raphael's shoulder a soft squeeze. "Try to get some rest before our day begins. I will wait for your brothers."
"Hai, Sensei."
As his son reached for the remote control, Master Splinter hobbled towards the kitchen. Several minutes later, he was sipping appreciatively from a cup of green tea, allowing the luscious steam to rise and float around his muzzle. The warmth soothed the aches in his hands. Yet even in this moment of quiet, something was gnawing at the back of his mind.
There was something that was not right; something had happened.
Donatello was faintly aware of the dim light becoming brighter, drawing him out of the fitful doze he had slipped into. A low grumbling accosted his eardrums. Opening his eyes slightly, he searched for the source of the sound. A robotic creature surrounded by a hologram was booting up several pieces of machinery. The soft clicking rattled torturously in the turtle's caffeine-deprived brain and was not relieved by the scientist's incessant muttering.
"Why do I have to be the one to deal with this creature so early in the morning when Bishop is nowhere to be found? Here I am, my intelligence ratings off the charts, and I'm stuck with these menial tasks!"
Donatello wished he could cover his ears, but his arms felt too heavy, too tired. He settled, instead, on a glare.
"I should be comfortably settled within my bed, but nooooo. It's always 'Stockman, do this piece of dirty work,' 'Stockman, run that machine,' 'Stockman, figure this out.' I do all the work around here and never get any of the credit. That ignoramus megalomaniac!"
Donatello was almost glad as the door hissed open and Bishop entered, ending the disembodied scientist's spiel.
"Good morning, Donatello." He nodded to the captive. "Problems, Doctor?"
Stockman's face clearly showed his surprise before clouding over nearly instantaneously. "I wish you'd spend some of the effort you're putting into this project to build my body already."
"We've been over this already, Doctor. Your brain still hasn't recovered completely from your last attempt at a body."
Stockman huffed, about to protest, when Bishop cut him off.
"Have experiment three dash forty-two sent in. We are starting now."
Stockman typed something into one of the computers. A far-off beep answered him followed by the soft clanking of well-oiled machinery. Moments later, a large canister, filled with glowing ooze, appeared in the corner of Donatello's vision. It was set down with a low thump. The ground under it began to move, bringing it closer to the computers. A dark mass bumped around gently inside of it.
"Donatello, may I introduce you to experiment three dash forty-two."
Bishop pressed a button on the container and a tube sprouted from the container's bottom, joining with an almost invisible drain in the floor. The liquid oozed out slowly, revealing an olive dome followed by a terrapin body, laced with familiar markings and scars.
Donatello felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. "You cloned me," he said flatly. "You brought me and Leo all the way here just to show off?"
Stockman snorted in the background, but Bishop did not even glance at him.
"In all of the years that we have had dealings with each other, since when would I ever use my resources for something so foolish? It's not quite that simple." He gestured to the limp clone. "You see, his body is completely identical to yours, down to the very last scar. Of course, it wasn't until my newest agents collected your most recent blood sample that I was able to do this."
"So that's why Mr. Go seemed to be targeting me in the end. That sword-cane of his was actually a sample gatherer."
"Very good, though that is exactly what I would have expected from you."
"Then why the shell am I here?"
"As I said, this body is an exact replica of you that we were able to piece together, primarily because we had the most DNA samples from you out of all your brothers." The man adjusted his tie. "However, while he has your body, he doesn't have your brain, and that is the missing piece. If you would flip the switch, my good doctor."
With almost inaudible mutterings, Stockman complied. A helmet-like device began to lower over Donatello's head.
"What are you doing? What's this thing?" Donatello tried to move his head out of the way, tried to block the device with his arms, but his muscles refused to respond.
"The NARF only prevents living matter, such as yourself, from moving. This memory-analyzer, being completely non-living, can move any way I choose."
"This won't work," Donatello growled, his forehead starting to drip nervously as the helmet settled completely down, blocking his vision. "I've dealt with these before during the Tricereton invasion and I know how to block them."
"My dear turtle," Bishop's voice smiled, "the Tricereton's scans were crude devices. This Utromium technology is much more advanced. Everything that you know is already being transferred to experiment three dash forty-two's memory. He will be exactly like you in every way."
Donatello was beginning to become nauseous. His ears were buzzing. "Aside from you being a complete mad scientist, why?"
"You and your brothers have managed to defeat every enemy you've encountered, be it the Triceretons, the Utrom Shredder, or the Federation. You have even interfered with my own operations innumerous times. If I could create an army of you turtles, controlled by myself and my generals, Earth would be invincible."
A faint pinging sound started up and the helmet lifted slowly off of Donatello's head. The room seemed to spin around him as though he was tumbling head-over-heels. The clone looked peaceful, as though he was in a deep sleep. Bishop was stroking the side of the container proudly.
"He is now completely you. He doesn't know he's a clone. The only difference is the obedience code we programmed into his mind, and that will not even be used unless necessary."
"And now what, Bishop?" the turtle demanded, trying to push down the rage that was starting to bubble up from inside. "Your little game over?"
"Hardly." He pushed up his glasses. "Didn't you wonder why this clone has all of your scars when they would actually only serve to hinder him? To tell the truth, this is the only one of your clones like this. Experiment three dash forty-three's skin is as clear as a baby's."
"Fine," Donatello spat, "why does this one have scars?"
"Every good scientist will put his invention to the test under the most strenuous circumstances where it will be placed under the most scrutiny. In this case, your family."
A/N: Please don't hit me! Instead, use that energy to review! Flames will be used to sooth my sore feet (seriously, why did heels have to become part of the dress code?!)
