The rotor still wouldn't work.
After hosing it down, foaming it down, and hosing it down again, there was still some microscopic speck of corpse-flower juice somewhere in the system making it stick. Donnie sat in his lab with the hover shell strewn out before him, tinkering with a screwdriver.
Whirrrrrr…kzzz…kz..kz..kzz.
Did the juice leave behind some kind of residue, like glue or other adhesive? He'd need to detach the funky rotor and go over it with a scraper if that was the case. Except he'd already done that. His tired brain was going in circles. He'd been up all night trying to make it work smoothly again.
Whirrrrrr…kzzz…kz..kz..kzz.
He stifled a yawn and his hand groped for a coffee mug. It was cold, but he downed it anyway. He really didn't want to replace the rotor with a new one. That would mean chipping into the one brick of titanium he had left, which meant another 6 hours of work alone on getting enough flakes to coat the blades with a thin layer of armor. Taking care of some plant-juice shouldn't require anything that extreme. Maybe he could disassemble it and soak the parts in bleach and other sterilizing liquids. Or maybe there was a way to just burn it off.
As he was contemplating the withstanding temperatures of titanium alloys versus flowery biohazards, he didn't notice the soft footsteps entering his lab. "Hey, Donnie?"
He jumped at the noise and dropped his screwdriver, flailing into a ninja-ready pose for a moment. "Oh, what's up April?"
Her hazmat suit was folded and tucked neatly under her arm. Without her regular jacket to cover them up, the bandages from the fight stuck out brightly. It was always nerve-wracking to see bandages on any of them, but they seemed to stick around longer whenever it was April that was hurt. When they all arrived home the night before they had insisted that she stay over. Leo's room was the quietest, ever since Donnie sound-proofed it following his first Lair Games victory, and his brother volunteered to bunk with Raph. They all said goodnight, Donnie retreated to his lab, and now he didn't even know what time it was.
She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "No one else is up yet, so I was wondering if you could give me a ride?" She stretched and pushed her glasses back into place.
Donnie's shoulders slumped as he looked back at the hover shell. "Unfortunately, that beefed-up rotor is still misbehaving; it won't be able to give one turtle a ride much less a turtle plus one human." He kicked the screwdriver towards the table and glared at it.
"Donnie."
He looked at her. She had on her rethink-that-don't-make-me-explain-it-you face. What was he missing?
She stared at him.
"OH, you mean in the Turtle Tank!"
"Have you been up all night?" She fell into step beside him as he walked over to the wall displaying his rebuilt battle shells.
"April, I have two modes: sleep is for the weak and sleep for a week. It does not take a genius such as myself to figure out which of the two is currently in progress." He selected one of the jet packs – it was a little lighter, and should be suitable for just a quick drive. He relaxed as he felt the comfortable, steely, weight settle on his shell and hiss into place.
"Well, I guess thank insomnia that you're up, then." She picked at her bandages as they headed down to the garage. The lair was quiet save for Splinter's snores drifting out of his room. Donnie glanced at his brothers' doorways as they passed them, then looked curiously at April.
"Hey, are you doing okay?"
"What? I'm fine!" Her voice echoed for a moment and she cringed. They paused to ensure their stealth mission remained undetected. Splinter's snores continued and no one emerged from their rooms.
"I know that," Donnie said, opening the garage. "But you don't normally leave without telling everyone good-bye."
April slumped and rubbed her arms. "Yeah. Does that make me a bad person? I left a note on the fridge but I just want to… veg out in the apartment, y'know?"
He did know. He knew April was the worst patient out of all them (including Leo) and hated getting hurt. For someone who could bounce back from anything, wounds were an incredible annoyance. Especially when they led to another annoying symptom: mother-henning from well-meaning family and friends. He understood the need to retreat and heal privately, to escape the embarrassment that came with injury. Donnie rested a hand on his battle shell.
He also knew the value of not bringing it up. "Totally. Where's your bike?"
They made most of the drive in silence, staring zoned-out through the windshield as they battled the dredges of sleep and early-morning New York traffic. Clouds scuttled low overhead, shedding a few drops and promising more. Donnie thought about putting the tank on autopilot, but it had trouble working correctly on slicker roads. Maybe if he updated the sensors to keep track of the type of pavement-
"It's hard to keep up with you guys sometimes."
He blinked and looked at April. She still picked at her bandages, but also the hazmat suit. Mikey's sewing peeked out from one of the folds. Hmm, if she was talking about what he thought she was talking about, then maybe he could add a layer of Kevlar to her suit, and jacket too, probably-
"I mean, I love the crazy fights and situations we get into, but I've also seen you guys take some really big hits and still walk away." She balled her hand into a fist. "This sucks."
"Does it itch?"
"Of course it itches!" she snapped, then groaned. "Sorry, Dee, I'm just tired and itchy."
"No probles." Definitely adding the Kevlar, then. Now, how to get April to relinquish her beloved jacket?
"Do you ever think-" she stopped, uncharacteristically abrupt. "Nevermind."
"April, I always think. Now, what are we thinking about?"
"Well…" What was with the hesitating? That was so weird for her. "When we were younger I used to want a shell like you guys, that I could pop in and out of and crash-land on. I haven't thought like that in years, but, our fights have been getting more intense… so I've been wondering: what about mystic armor?"
Donnie gripped the steering wheel tightly. "What about it?"
"Well, that would be totally rad, right? And I don't mean like Shredder's armor, obviously, but I dropped my mystic weapon back in Draxum's lab. We know this kind of stuff exists, so I wonder if maybe I should look into it."
"No need," he dismissed. "We don't need any mystic mojo. And is it really so 'mystic'? Would you like me to make you a battle shell?"
April chuckled. "I'm good Donnie, it's just something that crossed my mind."
He gripped the wheel harder and remained silent, the swirling thoughts in his head unable to make their way out.
"Mystic armor, glowy forcefield with diamond-linked chainmail…" He stomped back into his lab. "What is she thinking?" He picked up the screwdriver and plopped down before his battle shell. "Take hits, hit harder…"
Whirrrrrrrrrrr…kzzz…kz..kz..kzz.
"Ohhhh, for THE LOVE OF-" He spun away from infernal rotor and pressed his palms to his forehead.
April wasn't supposed to voice his own thoughts! He handled the overthinking while she took care of the overconfidence. That was their thing! Not… whatever that conversation was. Besides, what could mystic armor do that he couldn't already?
Not break down, whispered a voice. No scratches, no tears, no repairs, no maintenance… But he couldn't trust it! He knew the durability, melting point, compressive strength, malleability, and chemical makeup of every alloy in his lab. What could mystic energy guarantee?
Magic… power… safety…
It was just glowiness. Like he was going to let some fancy light protect him!
Raph caught Leo with that light. It even held Shredder back… for a moment.
"Shut up," he growled.
Consider it…
What was there to consider? He'd already studied his crystal a billion times! There was no point borrowing one of his brother's weapons for yet another test. He needed to fix the rotor! He needed to upgrade his tech! Not… not…
His computer pinged.
Donnie dragged his hands away from his face and looked curiously at it. It was a priority alert… for another email.
He glanced back at his sticky battle shell. He definitely needed a distraction from his project and the thoughts in this head. A second was all it took to confirm that it was a message sent from the same John Bishop. Perhaps it was to thank him for turning in the Purple Dragons. Seeing those punks put in kid genius jail would be sure to lift him out of this mood.
Donnie sat down at his computer and opened it.
Bootyyyshaker9000,
I have spoken with your rivals and there is much to be desired. For all their scheming and brilliance, they still left themselves vulnerable, vulnerable enough that you were able to outsmart them.
It is clear that you are at least a highly skilled coder and perhaps engineer. I was surprised to learn that while you did not hack into our project, you still managed to destroy it. As the BAI rebuilds the mech, we would appreciate your input in how to best defend it against similar threats. I understand if you still have reservations about us, but I assure you the offer is genuine. I would rather the BAI work with someone capable of your achievements than against them. If time is a factor in your considerations, know that I am a patient man. The offer will not expire.
While I don't know what thoughts you have in mind for your future, I hope you will consider one with us. The alternatives may pale in comparison.
Signed
John Bishop
P.S. Additionally, is there a name or title you would prefer other than this username?
Donnie stared. He reread the email.
This… couldn't be real. Even ignoring the vague, potential threat at the end there was no way this was actual recruitment. It was a ploy. It was a scam. It was… he clicked on the link to a website attached to the email that his computer deemed clean of viruses.
Totally legit.
The Bureau of Anomalistic Investigations was a real organization. It had been around for twenty years! And John Bishop was actually the head. Why was the head of a government agency emailing him?
Donnie explored further, and to him the website seemed pretty bare. There were a lot of links to job opportunities and positions that needed filling, but not much on what the BAI actually did. There was no mention of any mech or technical projects, but then again, he had destroyed their prototype quite epically. There were a couple other projects found under the 'Careers' page. He clicked on one called Project Bronze.
There are some things in this world that appear as mysterious forces, enticing New Age gurus and pagan practitioners to attest to their mystical qualities. However mysterious, the BAI has committed a team to investigating unusual phenomena through rigorous scientific research and methodology. Much like how the mysteries of magnetism, electricity, and gravity were eventually cracked, so too does Project Bronze seek to understand the stranger energies influencing our world.
"Holy Faraday, they're studying mystic energy," he whispered.
How… how much did they know? What kind of tests had they conducted? Did they know about the Hidden City? What objects were they using to study? Did they have samples of raw mystic energy? Had they published peer-reviewed papers? What had they discovered? What did they know? What did they know?
Donnie tried to choke down his hopeful, pounding, heart. Would they even let a mutant like him join their research team? Wouldn't they just – wait a minute.
He reread the email, then smacked himself in the face.
He was so stupid! Bishop talked with the Purple Dragons! Why did he just offer them up on a silver platter like that? They could have told him anything! And everything! And yet… they didn't?
He double-checked. Bishop still didn't know his name, even though the Purple Dragons did. There was also no indication that the agent was aware of his… unique condition. Wouldn't the tech club have at least mentioned that he was a giant turtle? Or, maybe they did… and maybe Bishop didn't care.
It was the Bureau of Anomalistic Investigations… maybe he'd encountered weirder things.
Fingers trembling, Donnie ran a quick search of the man on whom his hopes were hung. He bit his lip as the results loaded.
There wasn't much.
There was the statement on the BAI website that Donnie had already read confirming that he was the head and co-founder. But beyond that there were no social media accounts, no press releases, no news stories, and no pictures of the man. As a government official, he supposed it was possible that the nature of his position required immense security and privacy. The email account also wasn't personal, but connected to the bureau as a whole. There wasn't anything to go on other than Bishop's own word.
But what a word it was!
A squeak escaped him as he navigated back to the email. He swallowed and flexed his fingers over the keyboard. Take a moment, calm down, be cool, don't look desperate, omg omg omgeeeeeee-
Dear Mr. Bishop,
I have looked into your organization and am especially fascinated with your Project Bronze. I, too, have been conducting my own studies of this 'mystic energy'. As a scientist, I believe there is no such thing as magic, and I am extremely pleased to find like-minded individuals such as yourself also working to debunk it. I am sure your prestigious team has made more progress than my lonesome self, but perhaps we could exchange notes? I am sure we can forgive and forget a destroyed mech in the wake of breakthroughs made in this chimerical field.
Sincerely,
Othello von Ryan
He sent the email and then couldn't contain himself any longer. He launched out of his chair with an excited shout and danced in a circle.
"Mystic armor, prepare to be reclassified as scientifically-explainable armor! Shelldon, play music, work station 11!"
Shelldon did not respond this early in the morning, but the other systems in his lab did. Donnie tapped his foot to the beats as he rummaged around for a blowtorch, reinvigorated. There was still work to be done while he waited for a reply, but it was work that would not defeat him.
He approached the sticky rotor and pulled his goggles over his eyes. "Now," he grinned, igniting the blowtorch. "Let's burn this sucker."
Maniacal cackle!