*Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles franchise.

*Special Note: A huge thanks to my wonderful friend, Flaux, for providing the amazing new cover art for 'Lost in the Fight.' It turned out absolutely perfect!

*Author's Notes: Chapter 36 of 'Lost in the Fight' is finally ready and this one's action-packed. So sorry for the long wait. Life kind of got in the way. ;)

Before jumping into the chapter, I want to take a moment to thank everyone for reading, favoriting, following, liking, reblogging, reviewing, and/or commenting on my stories. Also, thank you to everyone who nominated and voted for my stories in the 2016 TMNT Universal Fanfiction Competition. It was truly an honor to be listed amongst so many incredibly talented writers/artists out there. Congratulations to all the nominees and winners and thank you so much to everyone who helped organize the competition. I must admit I'm still completely blown away by the results. I never expected to be nominated, let alone win in multiple categories. Wow! I don't even know what to say. There are no words to properly express my gratitude or explain what this means to me. I am so very grateful for the tremendous support everyone has given me. You are all wonderful.

Okay, let's get onto the story before I completely lose it here . . . 8'} CJ

Chapter 36 – Big Bang Theory

In all honesty, Donatello was feeling a lot more like a gutless fraidy-cat than an accomplished ninja turtle.

As much as he could use his brothers' help right about now, he was glad they weren't there to witness his current predicament, because he was pretty sure he would die of embarrassment.

The genius turtle was presently straddled over two horizontal pipes suspended from the top of the sewer tunnel, hiding from his enemies like a coward. He had used a conveniently placed sewer valve hand wheel to help him climb up on top of the pipes, which were effectively keeping him out of sight.

While Donnie kept both eyes glued on his enemies, he tried his best to disregard the painful throbbing sensation in his fractured leg that was pressed up against the pipe below him. He was also trying hard not to pay attention to how exceedingly corroded the metal brackets supporting the bulky cast iron pipes were. Even though he had lost a bunch of weight recently, he still didn't feel all that warm and fuzzy about the rusty pipes' capability of supporting him.

Pipes don't fail me now . . .

If the sewer pipes he was on were to come crashing down, Donnie could only hope that they would successfully take out the four armed Foot-bots currently standing underneath him. Because if the pipes did give way, it was highly probable that he would be in no condition to put up any kind of fight at all. Not after the heavy metal pipes broke his fall, as well as multiple bones, and possibly his shell . . .

Out of nervous habit, Donnie gnawed on his bottom lip while his eyes followed the Foot-bots' every movement. He was carefully assessing the situation and cerebrally developing a crisis management plan. The genius turtle had already taken mental note that two of the robotic soldiers were packing a mace and a katana, whereas the other pair were wielding a kama and a buzz saw. And those were just the weapons that Donatello could see from his vantage point. He was willing to bet that they were toting a lovely assortment of hidden weapons and objects to boot.

Perhaps some tantos, a few throwing knives, or maybe even a jitte or two . . . Ooh, and a set of caltrops would be nice. I haven't been tripped up by something like that for a while . . . Donnie thought sarcastically, attempting to maintain a somewhat upbeat attitude in the face of his prospective demise. It had been said that the power of positive thinking could ward off stress. He was really hoping it could ward off ever-upgrading ninja robots as well.

Logically, the brainiac turtle knew he was not the hands-down favorite to win this battle if he and the Foot-bots were to come to blows. After all, he was injured and had neglected to bring a weapon to this little get-together. His opponents, conversely, were all tuned up and armed to the teeth. But Donnie wasn't about to let something like logic, odds, and excessive weaponry stop him from at least trying. He had brains on his side and he knew that hand-to-hand – or in this case hand-to-Foot – combat was not the only way to win a battle.

A beeping sound rang out, immediately capturing the attention of everyone within hearing range. It was just the cue Donnie had been waiting for.

It was time to put his plan to the test.

As the repetitive sounds of his digital timer echoed down the sewer tunnel, Donnie watched his enemies approach the duffle bag that he had purposely left on the ground over a dozen feet away from his current position. He couldn't help but to smirk to himself, knowing that his enemies were falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book, just as he had predicted they would.

Thank Darwin's beard that common sense can't be taught . . .

The genius turtle knew that the bonus of engaging in a battle with robots was just that . . . they were robots. Artificial intelligence, though intelligent by namesake, was beautifully imperfect and skillfully stupid. The whole purpose driving the science of artificial intelligence was to develop computers that simulated actual intelligence, but Donatello was well aware that this endeavor was integrally flawed by nature. Humans, with their intrinsic singularities, were entirely too unpredictable to truly carbon copy. No machine could ever accurately replicate the human thought process, nor could a machine – or a ninja robot in this working example – be programmed to recognize an obvious trap when they saw one.

While Donnie kept a close eye on the Foot-bots now looming over his beeping duffle bag, he quietly dropped down onto the ground about fifteen feet behind them. Any sound he inadvertently made was completely drowned out by the blaring timer, just as the brilliant turtle had planned.

In Donatello's hand he clutched a light bulb that he had plucked from the sewer tunnel wall just before climbing up onto the overhead pipes. Around the base of the light bulb were a dozen wooden matchsticks secured in place by some extra wiring he had had in his duffle bag.

With the Foot-bots' backs still facing him, Donnie picked up the small chunk of concrete he had strategically placed on a dry surface underneath the pipes that he had been perched on. Carefully but firmly grasping the top of the light bulb, he proceeded to strike each of the twelve matches as quickly as possible. Once all of the matches were ablaze, the genius turtle extended his good arm back. He paused for a split second to say a little prayer that his aim would be true, and then, released the overhand pitch, delivering a perfect strike into his duffle bag on the ground in front of the robots. Just as Donnie had hoped, the light bulb flew straight between the legs of two of the middle Foot-bots and shattered against his bag.

Then came the boom . . .

Having been a witness/instigator of dozens of explosions in his lifetime, Donnie had a pretty good idea just what to expect. He heard the telltale 'woof' sound that typically accompanied a combustible explosion. He then braced himself for the jolting force he knew would release from the chemical reaction he had just created. Despite being fifteen feet away from the epicenter of the explosion, the genius turtle was still thrown some five feet back by the subsequent blast wind, landing awkwardly on his carapace.

From a molecular standpoint, the explosion was glorious. Well, at least what he could see of it was. His eyes were a bit hazy from the billowing smoke all around him, so it was a little difficult to see the full effect of his handiwork.

From a physical standpoint, the explosion hurt . . . a lot. The blunt force trauma was noticeably worse than he had anticipated. Hence the reason he was still splayed out on the ground.

As his vision slowly came back into focus, Donnie's first reaction was to clutch his side. He was fairly certain he had gotten nailed in the abdomen with a piece of flying debris from the blast, but he chose to ignore the pain. Right now, all he was concerned about was how well his plan had turned out.

Pushing himself up off the ground, Donnie shifted his eyes to where his duffle bag laid. He failed to stifle a coughing fit brought on by the smoke and dust particles floating around him. When he was finally able to stop choking on the dirty air that continued to fill his still vulnerable lungs, he approached the carnage he had caused and his eyes grew wide with wonder.

"Holy mackerel! It actually worked!"

Mouth falling open in shock, Donnie gaped at the four downed Foot-bots. The bodies of the two robots that had been closest to the core of the blast had been flung approximately ten feet away from the explosion. They were still burning brightly, with their black attire serving as kindling. Every so often, pink sparks would shoot up from underneath their charred and carbonized outer casings. What was once shiny and new was now singed beyond recognition. The other two Foot-bots that had been on the outskirts of the explosion were also down, but they weren't nearly as fried as the middle two robots, nor had they been hurled quite as far away from the blast. Not that it mattered a whole lot. All that really mattered was that they, too, weren't moving.

The plan had worked.

Donatello took a few steps backwards and held an arm up to shield himself from the extreme heat still exuding from the fire. He cringed at the sight before him, but not on account of the scorched carcasses of the now-former Foot Clan members. His reaction was due to the shock of seeing the barbecued remains of his cherished duffle bag.

Just before climbing up onto the pipes, Donnie had made the rather difficult decision to turn his treasured duffle into a makeshift bomb. He had doused the bag and surrounding area with a nearly full bottle of rubbing alcohol, knowing the Foot-bots would not be able to detect the strong odor. After that, he had used several rubber bands and a couple of aerosol cans to fill the air with combustible gas. He then just had to wait for the right moment to throw the light bulb and lit matches at the duffle bag, knowing that the spark from the broken bulb and/or the flames from the matches would ignite the highly flammable isopropyl alcohol and the gaseous fumes, thus causing a chain reaction. To further assure that his strategy would work, he had set his digital timer to go off so as to draw the Foot-bots' attention to the loaded bag.

Everything had fallen into place. Unfortunately, his success had come at a price, but at least his duffle bag's sacrifice had not been in vain.

Donnie was seriously considering humming 'Taps,' but ultimately decided against it. He instead bowed his head down in respect. Again, he did so not for the Foot-bots, but for his duffle. He was really going to miss that bag.

After a drawn-out moment of silence, Donnie lifted his head up so he could finally stop and admire his achievement. The triumphant sight made him clench his fists in excitement.

I guess this gives a whole new meaning to one Foot in the grave . . .

When he finished mentally amusing himself, it suddenly occurred to the genius turtle that there still might be enough time for him to make it back to the lair before his brothers returned from patrol. Maybe there was still a chance he could pull this whole thing off without his brothers knowing about it.

Putting a little more spring in his step, Donnie scurried away from the smoldering pile of Foot-bots.

Regrettably, turning his back to his enemies was just one of his many tactical errors of the evening.

Just as Donnie grabbed onto his crutch that he had leaned behind a vertical sewer pipe, something kicked him hard in the lower ribs and sent him staggering sideways. Somehow, the injured turtle managed to maintain his balance and stay on his feet, although he didn't earn any style points in doing so. He was about as graceful as a Biotroid.

Spinning around, Donatello discovered that not one, but two of the Foot-bots had survived the blast, although the one looked as though it had been literally raked over the coals about seventeen times. Its left arm appeared to be completely nonfunctional and half of its face was burned away, not to mention its whole body was kinked at an awkward angle in one of the worst displays of posture Donnie had ever seen.

While Donatello was temporarily distracted by the more mutilated Foot-bot, the other robot took a swing at the genius turtle with his mace. On the edge of his vision, Donnie caught a glimpse of movement and let out a high-pitched yelp as he ducked out of the way with only a half-second to spare. His eyes quickly surveyed the wall he had just been standing next to and saw that the mace that had been aimed at his head had taken several substantial hunks out of the concrete.

The mortified look on Donnie's face silently spoke the word 'Egad!'

Diving down to the ground, the purple-clad ninja temporarily set his crutch aside and seized hold of the first sharp object in his path. He leapt back up to his feet so that he was facing both Foot-bots, and then, swiftly embedded the shank of his slotted screwdriver into the more impaired robot's neck. The Foot-bot made a series of strange noises and looked as though it was malfunctioning. It was gyrating about, much the way that Mikey typically did when he was trying to dance. Donnie took this golden opportunity to snatch the kama away from the impaled robot.

Holding onto the kama handle with both of his hands, Donnie swung the blade forward like a baseball bat and sunk the confiscated weapon deep into the Foot-bot's chest, effectively incapacitating the ninja robot. Its eyes stopped glowing red and it toppled to the ground in a broken heap, sadly taking the kama down with him as he fell.

Donnie turned towards the other robot and let out a nervous little chuckle.

"Heh, heh. I don't suppose we could call it a draw?"

In response to Donatello's proposal, the lone remaining Foot-bot assumed an attack stance, readying his weapons to presumably make another attempt at taking the turtle's head off.

"Didn't think so."

With lightening fast speed, Donnie swept down and picked up his crutch, deftly twirling it up in front of him like it was a bo-staff. He placed his hands where he normally would have had it been his preferred weapon, with one palm up and one palm down. Disregarding his injured shoulder, leg, and even his side's vehement protests, Donnie took a long front stance, preparing to strike or defend as necessary. The crutch wasn't an ideal replacement for his bo-staff, but beggars can't be choosers.

Not feeling real upbeat about his chances of winning, Donnie found himself deliberating over whether it would be better to be struck down by a mace or a katana.

That is so not helping my self-confidence . . .

Taking in as deep of a breath as he could, the wounded turtle forced himself to concentrate on this moment rather than what may or may not come to pass.

The situation reminded him of something his father had once said to him . . .

"Remember, the only way one can truly fail is if they do not try at all."

With that thought in mind, the frontal lobe of the genius's brain began analyzing and calculating his alternatives.

Being that the Foot-bot was ambidextrous and Donnie had only one good arm to work with, the turtle in purple decided it was best to let his opponent make the first move. Theoretically, this would allow Donatello to block the incoming assault, and then, go for a quick strike in an effort to knock at least one of the weapons out of the robot's hands. Donnie knew that his odds would significantly improve if he didn't have weapons coming at him from both sides. Taking out the mace or katana would leave him less open to attack.

So Donatello stood his ground, waiting.

Suspense hung thick in the smoke-filled air. Time seemed to stand still as the turtle engaged in a staring match that he couldn't possibly win since Foot-bots weren't capable of blinking, but he didn't let that stop him from trying. While he continued to wait, Donnie got caught up his remorseful thoughts once again, finding himself seriously regretting a majority of the decisions he had made to lead up to this event.

As always, the vindictive voices in his head were right there with him.

"You could have gotten yourself killed going after the Foot on your own like that."

"It was a stupid move, Donatello. Stupid!"

"You let him take you out!"

"If you can't handle yourself around one Foot Soldier, then . . . "

History was attempting to repeat itself. He couldn't let that happen.

Logic dictated that the genius turtle was going to lose this battle, but he had seen with his own two eyes that even something as sound as logic could be defied.

"Remember, the only way one can truly fail is if they do not try at all."

Just as he tightened his grip on his crutch, Donnie watched the katana finally come slashing forward, slicing towards his neck. Knowing that timing was everything here, the purple-masked turtle held out as long as he could. When the blade was about to breach his flesh, Donatello jutted his arm up and blocked what would have been a fatal finishing move. The edge of the sword cut into the wooden crutch, nearly chopping it in two. Ignoring the disconcerting fact that the crutch had barely stopped the deadly slice from the katana blade, Donnie instead focused on his next plan of attack. His other arm thrust forward, launching the opposite end of the crutch powerfully into the handle of the mace clasped in the Foot-bot's hand. The top of the crutch broke off and flew to the ground with a 'donk' sound. Much to Donnie's surprise – and relief – so did the mace.

The brainy turtle's eyes flicked down at the spiky ball of the dropped weapon for a moment, and then, his eyes shot back up at his own 'weapon.' One end of the peg-like crutch was still pinned underneath the katana of his enemy, but the other end was now busted and somewhat sharp. Donnie twisted the pinned end of his crutch to the side and drew the crutch back as far as he could. He then forcefully propelled the crutch forward with all of his might, plunging it close to where the Foot-bot's heart would have been if it had one.

The fault in Donnie's method of attack became clear all too instantly. The stabbing blow that was supposed to disrupt the robot's circuitry and shut it down did no such thing. What made matters worse, was now Donnie had both ends of his 'weapon' immobilized.

The Foot-bot used this opening to deliver a fierce kick to Donnie's stomach. It hurt a lot more than the average kick to the gut, but the intellectual turtle just chalked it up as a side effect of his prolonged period of inactivity. Regardless of the pain and the unpleasant sensation of getting the wind knocked out of him, Donatello held fast to his crutch, using it in a somewhat nontraditional way to remain standing. But he didn't remain standing for too much longer, because another swift kick to the gut sent him hurtling backwards into a wall. He crashed into the concrete, emitting an 'oof' as he hit. He then flopped down to the ground, plastron first.

Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Donatello sluggishly pushed himself up into a sitting position only to see that the Foot-bot was now standing over him, about to stab him in the chest.

Obviously, the robot wanted a little payback.

Not good . . .

Somehow, Donnie didn't think he'd fare quite as well with a sucking chest wound as the robot had earlier, but he didn't really have much of a choice in the matter since he currently had no way of defending himself against the incoming blade.

As the Foot-bot lunged forward, Donnie turned his head away and closed his eyes, not really knowing what else to do as the deathblow was issued.

I'm sorry, guys. I'm sorry I was such a failure as a brother, was all Donnie could think of during his last moments.

And then, he felt nothing.

Well . . . he felt his usual aches and pains, but he didn't feel anything that felt like what he imagined being stabbed in the heart would feel like.

Maybe I died instantly . . .

"Donnie?"

But if I'm dead, why can I still feel my other injuries?

"Donnie!"

And why would Raph be yelling at me like that?

"DONNIE! ARE YOU OKAY?"

And if I was lying here dead with a sword through my heart, why the heck would Raph be bothering with asking me if I'm okay? Wouldn't the answer to that question be quite obvious, even for Raph? I mean, if I'm dead, clearly I'm not okay.

And why does my shoulder hurt so bad all of a sudden?

It . . . it almost feels like someone's trying to . . . trying to shake me out of my shell?

Wait . . .

"R – Raph?"

The genius turtle slowly pried his eyes open to see his second oldest brother leaning over him, shaking him vigorously by the shoulders. There was an unusually panicked expression on Raph's face.

Off to the side of the two turtles, there was a prone Foot-bot with one sai speared into its eye. Another sai could be seen sticking out of its chest, right next to where Donnie had stabbed the robot with his crutch.

"Ouch," Donnie's raspy voice croaked out, although he wasn't entirely sure if the word was on behalf of the exterminated Foot-bot or for the intense pain his brother was causing him by relentlessly manhandling his injured shoulder.

"Do you have any idea how much you freaked me out just now? If I would've been just a few seconds later, you wou – " Raph couldn't finish the morbid thought, still too flustered to think straight. The only reason he was still somewhat coherent was because he was running off the fumes of his anger. "Don't you ever do that to me again! You hear me?"

Finally – and mercifully – Raph let up on the younger turtle's shoulders.

Donatello blinked a few times, still trying to process what exactly had just happened. He was having a difficult time catching his breath. He wasn't sure if that was due to the shock, a panic attack, or the prolonged smoke inhalation.

"Raph? How . . . how did you know I was out here?" As the smartest turtle wheezed out the words, he made no attempt to get up. For the moment, he was perfectly content to use the wall behind him for support. He was pretty sure his body was in no shape to stand at this point.

"We came back from patrol early because you – " there was extra oomph put on the word 'you' and a stumpy finger was pointed towards Donnie's chest as Raph continued " – didn't answer your T-phone."

That figures! The one night I'm not eagerly waiting by the phone . . .

"B – But how'd you know where to find me?" Feeling a serious headache coming on, Donnie rubbed his hand against his forehead. For some reason, he was starting to see spots in front of his eyes and things were getting noticeably dimmer.

Knowing my luck, I'm probably getting a migraine on top of everything else . . .

Too caught up in his rant, Raph didn't even notice his brainiac brother was clutching his head.

"That's easy. I just followed the sound of the explosion. Explosions always seem to lead to you." The temperamental turtle let his tone soften a little, but the reprieve from yelling didn't last long. "What the shell are you doing out here? You're injured and you go off on your own without your phone or your weapon! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

As Raph raved on, Donnie noticed the words were getting quieter and quieter, but yet, his older brother looked just as riled up as before.

Something was wrong.

Before Donatello could say or do anything about it, his whole body went numb and his arms fell limply at his sides. It was as if someone had discovered he had a power switch and shut him off.

"Donnie? Donnie! What's wrong?" Again Raphael started with the shaking, but abruptly stopped. He then stared down at his little brother's side in horror.

The genius turtle could see Raph's mouth moving, but there was no sound. He then saw his older sibling grab his T-phone and start shouting something into it, but still, he heard nothing. Despite feeling lightheaded, Donnie's body suddenly felt like it had been weighted down with cinder blocks. His head flopped forward and he rested his chin against his chest. It was then that he saw what had Raph so upset.

There was something sticking out of his side, but Donatello had no time to assess just how bad the damage was. Unconsciousness was already claiming him.

Everything started to gray around the edges, and then, it all darkened to pitch black.

To be continued . . .

*Author's Notes: How many cliffhangers in a row is that now? I've lost count. XD I do believe that is the last one in the story. Well, I guess that all depends on your definition of a cliffhanger . . . O_o

As always, please take a moment to favorite, follow, like, reblog, review, and/or comment on 'Lost in the Fight' if you are enjoying it. I have missed hearing from all of you during my absence, so I'm super excited to be back. *hugs*

Thanks so much for reading, my friends. I adore all of you. CJ ;)