It took Donatello and Valeria five days to hack into the Triceraton ship-to-ship communication network. It was an outdated old audio network designed for long-range communication, that was now mostly used for small-talk and gossip. Important plans, orders, and information were sent from the homeworld and flagships using different, highly secure methods that Donatello knew nothing about.

Still, the little information that they obtained was enough to confirm Don's worst fears. Zanramon was indeed back in power. While that was discouraging news, it was unclear whether the Triceraton were headed to earth. Bishop immediately organized a team that would listen into the Triceraton communications at all times. They were bound to hear something useful in the idle chit-chat eventually.

Don's work was far from done, though. Right now, he didn't know where the ships were, or where they were headed. He did have an idea for figuring out how to track them. It involved creating a catalog of the ships, and timing how long it took for the communication to travel back and forth between them. Given how far away the ships were, and the fact that they were moving targets, it would be a tricky job. Elimination of background noise and proper triangulation would be key.

But, Don had other things to worry about as well. He continued to get sicker, and weaker. In spite of this, he was doing his best to exercise, train, and stay in shape. There was no dojo in Area 51, and he had no weapon, but he did as much as he could with what he had.

He ate diligently, even though he knew that nothing would stay down for long. He took his hormones and prenatal vitamins every day. He avoided sushi and coffee, even though they were his favorite foods. Instead, he ate only things on the healthy list. He read as much as he could, about both human and turtle development. He also called his brothers every night. He spoke to them each on a rotating basis.

They had been fighting again. Because of this, Donatello just couldn't bring himself to tell them about his condition. He knew that it would only make the fighting worse. Furthermore, he was embarrassed that he'd gotten himself into this mess. It felt like lying by omission, but he told himself that he'd be breaking out soon enough, and that they would handle the news better if he told them in person.

Don had committed the childhood development book to memory. He'd been avoiding Bishop at all costs, but he did bite the bullet and email a request for additional books about pregnancy and fetal development.

He knew that his children wouldn't develop in the same way as human babies, and he knew that his body wouldn't react the same as a human female's. He was fascinated by the progression from zygote to embryo to fetus, but couldn't stand to look at the pictures of pregnant women. He simply couldn't bear to think of himself in that way. The thought of becoming a father was much easier for him to handle than the fact that he was pregnant. It shook him to his very core.

Don wasn't sure if he would visibly swell up like the women in the pictures. He hoped and prayed that he wouldn't. His frame was wider than most humans, and baby turtles are smaller than baby humans. He hoped that maybe he wouldn't get too big. But, luck hadn't been on Don's side lately, so he could only assume that he'd end up absolutely huge. He knew that he wanted to get out of Area 51 before his pregnancy was visibly obvious, but there was no telling how long he had.

Don's current task was launching some new satellites that could better track the Triceraton communication signals. He and Valeria were designing the satellites' operating software themselves. He was also going to program the satellites to set him free.

He got creative in his programming. An extra character here and there, an occasional superfluous line of code that he could easily explain away - bit by bit, it would all come together. The little bits and pieces that he worked into his coding over the course of a few months would tell the satellites to send April and his brothers an electronic message outlining an exact meeting place and time. That was the easy part, but it was also the last part that would be complete.

The hard part was creating the execution program that would lead to his escape and hiding it within the satellites' code. Using the same programming that he was designing for operating the satellites, he would have to somehow turn off certain portions of the security system that operated on the Area 51 base itself. He had to deactivate specific cameras and set up dummy feeds, program locks to open at just the right moment, and disable motion sensors and alarms. Don had to find a way to allow this code, that was supposed to be merely controlling a series of satellites, to infiltrate the base's security systems like a virus. But, he had to do it in a way that nobody would notice until it was too late, and he had to do it little by little. If it was more than a few characters at a time, he would surely be noticed. His work had to be completely flawless, and it had to work perfectly the first time. There couldn't be any test runs, and he wouldn't get a second chance if anything went wrong.

It required a tremendous amount of work, planning, and foresight. It also required time. Don had allowed himself two months to work on the satellites and their code. Maybe he could've done it a bit faster, but that could've led to mistakes. Plus, he had to factor in how ill and tired he was feeling. He simply wasn't on his A-game. It felt like a race against the clock. He really didn't want to have a visible belly when he was reunited with his brothers. They would need time to adjust to the idea of having babies in the family. If everything went according to plan, he'd be rescued at about three months gestation. Following the rules of human pregnancies, he shouldn't be showing at three months along, but given that it was triplets, he knew that he might be pushing it.

And man, was it ever clear that he was carrying triplets. The illness and exhaustion were constant and severe. Despite a history of going without sleep, sometimes for days at a time, Don suddenly couldn't keep his eyes open. He fell asleep at his workstation in the middle of the day at least a couple of times a week. At home, it might've been funny, but here it was just embarrassing. Valeria and Bishop's guards encouraged him to rest, but they didn't know that he was under a self-imposed deadline. He wasn't allowed electronics in his quarters, so he had to work in the main area, narcolepsy problem or not.

Then there was the nausea. At this point, it was constant. He found himself running to the bathroom on an hourly basis, which may just have been more embarrassing than his Sleeping Beauty routine. Bishop had taken to hovering over him, almost as though he felt guilty. But, Don knew that he wasn't capable of any such emotion.

One afternoon, as Don was dragging himself out of the bathroom, looking and feeling like death warmed over, Bishop met him in the hallway.

"Donatello," he said by way of greeting. "I take it that you're not feeling any better today?"

"How'd you guess?" Don grimaced.

"Look at the bright side. All these symptoms are just indicators that the pregnancy is healthy and viable. Your body is reacting just as it should."

Donatello was in no mood to be talked down to. "Did you have a reason for coming here?"

"I did. My assistants tell me that your project is coming along nicely. I wanted to thank you."

"No problem," Don answered sarcastically. He had nothing but problems.

"Also, You should be about two months along now. I was hoping that you would consent to another ultrasound."

"Do I have any choice?"

Bishop laughed. "No, actually, but I was hoping that you would consent."

Don rolled his eyes. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

Bishop led Don to the exam room, feeling the need to make banal small talk the entire time. Don did his best to ignore it. He was shaky on his feet, which Bishop seemed to notice. He put a hand on Don's shell, and Don bit back the urge to shake it off. Bishop continued with his condescension as he fired up the ultrasound machine. "I'm sorry that you're feeling so unwell. I really am. Just rest assured that this is all for the greater good. You're doing a wonderful thing, Donatello."

After applying the gel, Bishop found that the ultrasound penetrated Don's plastron much more quickly than before. "The hormones are doing their job. Your plastron is really beginning to soften up," he observed.

Don had also noticed this. His plastron was cartilage, rather than bone. It had never been rock-solid, to begin with, but it had been feeling softer lately. There was no visible difference yet, but it did feel different to the touch. He had really been hoping that there wouldn't be any outward indication of his condition. His softening plastron didn't bode well for that though.

"There they are," Bishop said as he pointed, pulling Donatello out of his reverie.

"Wow," Don couldn't help but exclaim. "They've grown." The last time he saw them, his babies were barely discernible dots. Now, after another month of development, they looked like little beans. On Bishop's high-resolution machine, he could even make out tiny arms and legs. Don was awestruck.

"See that?" Bishop asked, indicating a flickering on one of the fetuses.

"The heartbeat," Don said in wonder.

"Yes, all three look nice and strong." Bishop hit a button on the keyboard and the air was filled with a rhythmic thumping. Don tried to ignore that Bishop was in the room, and savor the moment.

Even though this wasn't a path he would have chosen, and even though he was sick as a dog, he still recognized a miracle when he saw one. Furthermore, it had been a month since he had learned of his condition, and now that the shock and terror had worn off, he found himself getting attached. Maybe it was just because he was lonely, maybe it was because of the hormones, or because they were a part of the family that he missed so much, but he was falling in love with his babies.

Listening to their heartbeats, for the first time in a long time, Donatello felt at peace. He couldn't even bring himself to be mad at Bishop.

"Is that a smile?" Bishop asked.

What an obnoxious thing to say. Way to ruin the moment, Don thought. His only response was to roll his eyes.

"I've never been able to get them past this stage," Bishop mused. "But these guys look ready to go the distance."

"What?!" Don hissed.

"They look good," Bishop answered. "Strong heartbeats are an excellent indicator of long-term viability."

"No, I meant the other part. Are you saying that you've tried this before?" Don barked.

Bishop grimaced. He hadn't meant to let that slip. "Yes," he admitted. "It would have been far easier for me not to involve you in person, after all."

"What?!" Donatello snapped.

"I would have preferred to gestate the embryos in an artificial womb. You are a pretty big security threat, after all," Bishop pointed out.

"But you couldn't do it?" Don inquired.

"No," Bishop admitted. "They kept dying. I think that the mutagen in your system is necessary to provide the proper equilibrium for growth."

"How many?" Don growled. "How many times did you try?"

"A few," Bishop answered. He could see that the turtle was practically shaking with anger. "But, that's over now. This system is clearly working much better."

"How many of my babies did you kill?" Don yelled.

"Your babies? They're not yours, Donatello. They were always mine."

"No," Don growled, placing a protective hand over his gel-covered belly. "They're mine."

"Let's just call them ours," Bishop offered. "You can raise them. I've already told you that."

"Tell me how many you killed!" Don yelled.

"None. They died on their own. I wanted them," Bishop argued.

"Just answer me!" Don insisted.

"Nine. I had enough genetic material to create a dozen - the nine that died, and the three that you're carrying now," Bishop explained.

Don choked out a sob. "Nine! What did you do with them?"

Bishop's demeanor was cold and emotionless. "I disposed of them, of course. They were inviable."

Don's body shook with rage and grief.

"Calm down, Donatello. They never even had heartbeats," Bishop attempted to comfort.

Don looked at the screen, the little hearts beating inside of him. He loved them so much already. He couldn't help but grieve for their siblings he would never meet.

"Promise me you won't do it again," Don ordered.

"Why would I do it again if it won't work?" Bishop wondered. "Next time, I'll involve you from the start."

"Next time?" Don repeated.

"The next time I create a batch. I'll need more of your genetic material of course, and I'm fresh out of samples from your brothers. It will be much easier to do this now that you're a willing participant."

"I'm not!" Don scoffed. "And there will be no next time!"

"Of course there will. Do you really think that three will be enough?" Bishop argued. "I'm trying to build an elite team of soldiers, here."

"My brothers and I were always plenty," Don disagreed.

"But if these experiments are successful, why not continue?" Bishop pondered. "It's for the good of Planet Earth after all."

"So are you implying that you intend to keep putting me through this? Over and over?" Donatello balked. "My body is barely holding up as it is!"

"One of your brothers could step in if you should become incapacitated, or even one of your children, when they come of age," Bishop plotted.

"No! We're not experiments or mindless drones. We may look different, but at heart, we're people. We have free will and aspirations of our own. You can't just use us like breeding stock! I won't let you!" Don hollered passionately.

"Donatello, I thought that we were in agreement," Bishop reasoned. "Isn't that why you decided to cooperate?"

"I'm cooperating because of the importance of the Triceraton project, and because you won't let me leave this place," Don snapped. "But that doesn't mean that I'm going to allow myself or my children to become your pawns."

"We'll just have to see how this attempt goes. We'll decide upon the rest later," Bishop attempted to compromise.

Donatello realized that arguing was futile. This latest development only reinforced the importance of getting out of Area 51.

Don looked at the precious heartbeats flickering on the monitor. He was in a tough spot for sure. Once he broke out, he wouldn't have any medical care. Say what you will about Bishop, he seemed to care about the well-being of Donatello's babies. Then, there was the Triceraton project. Don couldn't leave until he was sure there was no threat to earth. He decided to back down for now.

"Okay," Don muttered. "As long as you promise not to do anything else without my consent."

"Seems fair," Bishop agreed. He then extended his hand.

Don reluctantly shook it. Much to Don's surprise, Bishop then printed out a picture of the babies and handed it to Donatello. Don ran a finger over the image, the tender feeling returning. He was doing this for them.

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