Two seconds.
Two measly seconds, and he could have spared himself a world of trouble. Then again, maybe not.
If he had only woken two seconds earlier, he might've been able to avoid it.
He had awoken in the middle of the night to a hammering heart and alert senses, his ears straining to hear through the oppressing silence.
Darkness had always felt oddly comforting to Donatello, like it was his cocoon of safety. But now, it felt like an enemy, a traitor that hid it's own threats.
Then, just the slightest shift in the darkness, the barely perceptible sound of movement.
Donatello bolted up, snatching his staff from where it lay beside him for exactly this reason and waited.
Adrenalin pumping through his system, Donatello hesitated.
He had heard something, hadn't he?
And then he saw it, that slight shift in the shadows, and lunged.
He thrusted his staff securely into his attacker's esophagus and shoved back, forcing them into the wall and giving him an advantage.
"Who are you?" Donatello demanded, careful not to crush their throat under his taunt grip.
"Release me, Donatello!" A furious, immediately familiar voice gasped out. "Immediately!"
He didn't hesitate in allowing his weapon to fall to his side and stepping away, but he couldn't bring himself to drop his staff.
Great job, genius. He berrated himself. You just earned an extra trip to Dr. Roland. Fantastic.
Karai rubbed her throat momentarily before stepping closer to him, glaring her discontent.
"Apologies, Mistress Karai." Donatello said as he bowed low. "I didn't know it was you."
Karai didn't immediately answer and Donatello glanced up to see that her expression was one of rare apprehension.
"Karai?" He asked, dropping the formality and straightening. Was something wrong? "Are you alright?"
"I... apologize, Donatello." She said hesitantly, true sincerity ringing in her voice. "This is not how I would do things."
"What do you..." He began but stopped abruptly when he felt the prick of a needle in his forearm.
Almost immediately he felt the effects. His mind felt like a great fog had invaded it and his body felt weighted by a sudden exhaustion that he hadn't had previously.
He vaguely felt himself colapse onto the ground and saw his door open before he closed his eyes.
Donatello groaned as he came to and attempted to open his weighted eyes to no avail.
What happened? He remembered patching himself up and going to bed, but he did not remember being used as Shredder's personal punching bag, as that was what his body felt like.
His muscles refused to cooperate, his limbs fought against the tiniest task, leaving him entirely helpless and Donatello didn't like it.
Gradually, the invisible weight on his eyes lessened until he was able to open them.
He almost wished that he had kept them closed.
He was strapped to the same table in Dr. Roland's lab, his wrists and ankles shackled to the table with the retractable cuffs. In addition to this, they had also secured a strap of leather across the top of his plastron to keep him absolutely immobile.
His stomach curled at the realization. This wasn't his normal visit to Roland. First, he didn't remember coming here. Second, he had never been strapped down like this. It was never necessary- the eletric cuffs always sufficed to keep him from moving too much.
Looking past the table, Donatello saw the doctor writing something down on a little chart that he had rarely ever seen him use before. He mostly kept it by his computer.
"How long until you begin?" A voice asked
Looking toward the doorway, Donatello saw Karai's stern face aimed at the doctor, her arms crossed over her chest.
A memory hit him suddenly, knocking the wind out of him as if he had been punched in the gut.
She tricked me, Donatello realized. They had known that he wouldn't attack Karai, so they sent her in to subdue him.
But why? Since when had he ever had to be subdued to be taken to Dr. Roland? Unless this wasn't the shock therapy. Unless they knew...
They couldn't know. Baron doesn't even know! Baron thinks that he was saving him, for shell sakes. Why would he suddenly rat him out?
But regardless of the simple facts, Donatello's heart still reacted erratically and he could feel himself getting anxious.
"I'll begin shortly." Donatello faintly heard Roland reply over his pounding heart. "I'm to meet with Shredder once I am done, I'm aware."
Karai bowed before turning and closing the door behind her, leaving him strapped to the table with only Roland for company.
Great, Donatello thought sarcastically. Just who I want to be alone with...
"No use pretending that you're asleep, Donatello." Roland said from beside him.
Knowing that Roland would just shock him if he didn't comply, Donatello opened his eyes and glared at the doctor.
"What are you doing?" Donatello demanded with much more venom than he normally dared use on a normal basis. "You're not supposed to go against Master Saki's orders-"
"I'm actually following Master Shredder's orders to the letter, turtle." Baron cut him off easily. "He gave me expressed permission to do whatever necessary."
Donatello watched as Roland picked up his chart again, glancing over what appeared to be some kind of list.
"Whatever necessary for what?" Donatello snapped.
"You've met the Hamatos' haven't you?" Baron asked, then continued his rant without an answer. "The turtles. They've been a regular pain in Master Shredder's side since he encountered them, and you are very much like them. Take this as your opportunity to help the Foot clan to get rid of them."
Donatello shook his head, trying not to make his desperation noticeable. "But we're not. I was mutated in a lab, they were mutated god knows where!"
"And yet your mutations are similar in body structure." Roland looked back at him. "Master Shredder has tasked me with finding a weakness to use against the turtles."
"Through me." Donatello realized out loud.
The doctor didn't reply as he got ready- Donatello refused to look and see what he was preparing- and Donatello attempted to focus on correcting his breathing, which had become frighteningly erratic.
Stop freaking out! He scorned himself. He's going to do this whether you're freaking out or not, don't give him the satisfaction!
As childish as it was, Donatello squeezed his eyes closed and attempted to ignore the horrific situation, unable to do really anything else.
Donatello vaguely heard the doctor taking notes on him, heard the scratching of his pen on that stupid clipboard.
"Skin has a leathery texture, more similar to a natural turtle's skin along with the color."
Donatello continued to keep his eyes tightly closed, his hands balled in their restraints, and attempted to no avail to rid himself of the thought that he was being handled like a lab rat.
It wasn't until he felt something sharp graze his plastron that he opened his eyes to set his sight on a scalpel held in Roland's hand as he took notes.
"Plastron appears to be thicker than a natural turtle. A sort of natural protection..."
Donatello had always wondered why Roland talked to himself during these sessions, as if he were speaking to a room of people instead of just him and for that, Donatello had often thought the doctor delusional. Other times, Donatello felt certain that he did this only to frighten him.
This was one of those times.
Roland sat the clipboard down on his desk before gripping the scalpel in his hand and leaning over his plastron.
Donatello suddenly realized the reason that he was strapped down, and even though he knew it would be useless, he couldn't stop his thrashing as he felt Roland cut into his plastron with the sharp tool.
He yelled out, his feet stomping against the table, his hands squeezing together so tightly that his palms began to bleed but he couldn't bring himself to stop.
He felt warm liquid pour down the front of his plastron as he squirmed away from the blade but he was unable to do anything more.
Donatello barely realized when Roland had pulled back, putting something in a metal tray on a seperate lab table.
The pain in his plastron didn't stop now that he wasn't being cut. It felt like he had been skinned alive- though thankfully he had never been through that experience before- and even though he tried to stay as still as possible, the wound that he couldn't bring himself to look at still throbbed.
"I'll have to run some tests on that.."
Donatello didn't pay any attention to Roland's ramblings, too busy as he was at maintaining a steady breathing pattern. The last thing he wanted to do was freak out and accidentally hurt himself more.
Keeping to that train of thought, Donatello kept himself from looking down. He didn't want to see whatever Roland had done until he absolutely had to.
A sudden shock wept through his restraints and he cried out, unable to stop it.
"I asked you a question, Donatello. How long are you able to hold your breath?" Roland asked, his hand grazing the button.
"I don't know." Donatello snapped. "I've never tried."
Roland tilted his head and grabbed something from a nearby cabinet.
Considering the question that the doctor had just asked, Donatello found it wise to hold his breath when he got close, unwilling to trust him to give him a warning.
True to form, Roland didn't say a word before strapping an oxygen mask around his face, effectively covering his nose and mouth, only Donatello was ninety percent certain that it wasn't clean air the mask was delivering to him. In that belief, Donatello did not dare attempt to breathe it in and find out.
His throat burned for air and his eyes pricked but he still held back the urge to taste the air.
And then he lost his battle with his instincts and desperately took in what he truly hoped was air, hoping against hope that Roland may have thought it wasteful to use one of his poisons on something this minor. Of course, common sense was there to correct him once again.
As soon as he opened his mouth, he was submitted to what felt like razor sharp pieces of glass being shoved down his throat. His lungs screamed for oxygen as they repelled the horrible concoction. He thrashed about wildly, completely forgetting his injured plastron in the hopes of shifting the breathing mask off of his face.
Just as his vision was beginning to turn black at the edges, he felt the mask being removed and he immediately gasped in as much air as he was able, his eyes stinging and his chest heaving.
He could feel the bile in the back of his throat but swallowed it back, refusing to add humiliation to the list of injuries.
"Six minutes and fourty seconds, so a gas bomb wouldn't work well unless in an enclosed area with no escape..."
Donatello glared venomously at Roland as he continued to vent to himself, wishing for the thousandth time that his hands were free.
"What was that?" Donatello sputtered as soon as he was able.
"Something I was working on. It makes the victim unable to run while it works through their system." Roland explained as he marked something on the chart. "I believe it will come in handy."
"Find what you need?" Donatello demanded.
"Not quite." Roland replied.
Donatello shook his head. What exactly was Roland going by on that list?
Next, Roland experimented with his body's reaction to heat by pressing what Donatello couldn't help but see as a cattle prod to his side, only instead of delivering an eletric shock to his system, the tip lit up with an orange glow and when pressed against his exposed side, emmited a heat so high that Donatello was certain it gave him at least third degree burns.
Next, Roland pressed that same rod against the right side of his plastron.
Donatello couldn't help the ragged scream that left him that time and for a moment, he saw white.
Donatello wasn't sure what hurt more- the burn or the cut that Roland ahd made.
He was so distracted by the pain that he didn't realize at firts when Roland removed the rod, once again muttering to himself.
"Plastron handles abuse better than skin. Skin is relatively weak..."
It was pretty obvious that the doctor hadn't found what he was looking for yet and was becoming fed up with It as his movements became more erratic.
Apparently covering his basis, Roland went on to lower the temperature in the room to what Donatello thought was a morbid rate.
As the ridiculously cold air swept through the room, Donatello's body was racked with shakes and shivers.
He was cold-blooded for God sakes! Was Roland trying to kill him? Low temperatures were pretty much a death sentance for a turtle!
Oh, right. He thought. Because that's exactly what he's trying to do, Brainiac.
Donatello fought with his eyes to remain open as they struggled to close without his permission. His muscles became more rigid, almost frozen to the point that Donatello could no longer move even an inch.
He made out Roland, who looked as pleased as a maniac ever could, scribbling something down on that stupid clipboard.
Donatello noticed that Roland had yet to seem affected by the temperature change, then again, that man was hardly an accurate indicator for human behavior. Regardless, he wondered just how low he had turned the temperature down to.
Was he simply reacting worse to a low temperature or was the temperature not that low and he was just more perceptible to it?
He had to admit, the scientist part of him was curious as to the answer, but the larger, more frightened part was screaming, "Get the shell out of there!"
"You don't handle cold very well." Roland observed.
Donatello wanted to say something, anything, but his jaw was as frozen as the rest of him. Then again, it was probably good for him that he couldn't talk or he would probably speak out of turn.
This didn't go unnoticed by Roland.
He tilted his head at the turtle, surprised by the lack of response.
"Can you not move?"
Donatello could do nothing in response, thus confirming the doctor's theory.
Thankfully, he seemed to be satisfied as he turned the temperature back to normal. Even so, it was several minutes before Donatello was able to move his fingers and feel his muscles again.
To his surprise, the cuffs on his wrists and ankles retracted back into the table, freeing him.
Cautiously, Donatello sat up and watched as the doctor grabbed his clipboard.
"Am I done?" Donatello asked hesitantly. Was this another test?
"Yes, I've found what I needed." Roland said off-handedly. "You're to stay in your room until you're called."
Donatello was more than happy to comply and quickly stood up, pressing a hand to the wound on his plastron, which thankfully wasn't bleeding as badly, and hurried to the door.
He opened the door but quickly froze in his tracks, staring at an obviously infuriated Baron.
"Master Baron," Donatello greeted him with a bow. "Exc- what happened to your leg?"
Baron's left thigh was wrapped in several bloodsoaked towels that appeared to have once been white. In his hand was a clenched katana with a blue wrap around it.
Donatello immediately recognized it as Leonardo's and his gut clenched in response.
"The turtles happened." Baron hissed as he limped into the room. "They wanted information."
"Information about what?" Roland asked as Baron eased himself down onto the table that Donatello had been strapped down on not so long ago.
Baron shared a hesitating, pointed look with Roland but didn't answer.
"Donatello, you may leave." Roland said, very obviously addressing him, but he didn't turn to look at him.
"Hai." Donatello said before walking out of the room.
He heard the soft hiss of the door closing behind him as he hurried toward his room. Part of him wanted to know what happened, how he had gotten Leonardo's katana, and what happened to it's previous owner. But a larger part of him knew that patching himself up was a more pressing matter and quickly headed for his medical supplies under the bed.
Before now, he had refrained from looking at his plastron for fear that he would lose his stomach, but now he forced himself to study the gory wound.
There was a mess of red down the front of his plastron, both dried and new and so it was difficult to actually see the wound to treat it. At first he tried to use a cloth to wipe away the blood, but more took it's place and it quickly became apparent that the cloth wasn't going to cut it.
He sighed and went to the basin in the corner and dropped the cloth inside and wrung it out before scrubbing his plastron clean. It took numeroustrials of this until his plastron was clean enough for him to see the wound.
In the right corner of his plastron, a small, squared section had been removed, cut out by the scalpel in clean precise slices. They were so precise that Donatello found that he could actually see the exposed meat that rested beneath his natural protective layer.
And that was it for his stomach.
Donatello held a bloody, shaking hand to his mouth and knelt beside the toilet in the corner of the room. There he expelled the remains of his- breakfast? Lunch? He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten- and sat there shaking and giving an occasional shudder and waiting for it to stop.
It only took a minute for his stomach to rid itself of it's contents- much of it being nothing but bile- but it took much longer for him to stop dry-heaving and for his body to stop it's ridiculous shuddering and spasming.
He sat down and rested his head between his knees and waited to regain control of his body. He needed to clean and dress his plastron, but he simply couldn't bring himself to move from his position on the floor.
Once he felt relatively stable and his hands stopped their shaking, he forced himself to stand and walk back to his medical supplies. He washed his hands until they were relatively free of blood and turned to his supplies. He popped two pain killers in and swallowed them before taking out his antibiotic cream and spreading some out on his hand. Even though the cream was cold on touch, he would have thought that he were applying literal fire to his plastron.
He clenched his teeth and carefully made sure that the cream covered the entire wound before unwrapping the roll of gauze. He put part of his thin sheet in his mouth and bit down on it as he unwrapped his last roll of gauze and quickly applied it to his plastron. The sheet helped to muffle the scream that escaped and he continued to wrap it, ensuring that it wasn't loose before collapsing on his bed and spitting out the bed sheet.
His plastron throbbed painfully and his breaths were in short supply and his wrapping had been messy, but overall Donatello was satisfied with his work.
Donatello bolted up at the sound of his door opening and grabbed for his staff, which had been left where he had dropped it on the floor this morning, before catching a glimpse of Karai in the doorway.
Donatello glared at the person that he had once considered to be a friend as she stared back, her arms crossed impatiently over her chest.
"Shredder has projects for you in the lab." She said, not bothering to elaborate. Her voice was firm and emotionless.
Donatello couldn't bring himself to bow or wait to be excused as he pushed past her, his staff still in hand. He hadn't realized how furious he was at her until that moment. Since they were kids, he had covered for her. And even in missions, when she would make a mistake that would bring negative attention to her, he had taken the fall. He didn't understand why her betrayal hit him so hard.
He was still fuming when he walked into the lab, allowing the sensor to scan his palm to let him in. To his surprise, the lab was empty for everything except for the regular lab animals. Donatello vaguely wondered what had happened to the rats at Stockman's lab, but quickly dismissed the thought. It didn't matter now.
The lab was a decently sized room with both engineering and biomedical capabilities that was almost entirely specified to Donatello's use. He was the only person to use this lab, though multiple people had access to it.
Donatello went to his desk and to the computer there. He wasn't necessarily surprised to see the project that popped up, but it still made him sick to see it nonetheless.
Roland had attached the results of his, "exam" and wanted a device to put the results to use.
Unwillingly, his mind constructed an idea and he moved about the lab expertly, gathering the materials he thought he would need.
He had been entirely engrossed with designing his idea when the door opened and he heard the uneven, sided walk from behind. He already had an idea of who it was, but turned his head regardless.
Donatello bowed as Baron stopped, then quickly turned back to his project.
"Anything I can help you with, Master Baron?" Donatello asked as he pulled out the blueprint he had been editing.
"Yes, actually." Baron replied and a moment later Donatello heard the distinct sound of something being pulled in front of the lab door.
Donatello whipped around to see one of the few lab chairs in the room pressed under the handle, effectively blocking his only exit.
His senses were immediately alert as he took what he hoped were several subtle steps backward.
Baron was glaring at him with what Donatello could only accurately describe as pure loathing, an expression that he had seen on the man's face few times.
Even though Baron's leg was wrapped up tightly and Donatello had seen the injury himself, Baron still looked as if he would personally tear him apart at that moment.
Donatello tried in vain to convince himself that Baron wasn't stupid enough to attack him without reason, and that even if he did, he was injured and his leg would be an easy target.
"What's going on?" Donatello demanded, edging his staff out of it's holster as he spoke. "What do you think you're doing?"
"You're supposed to be a genius, and you don't know?" Baron snarled.
Donatello's stomach dropped at what should have been obvious hit him like a wrecking ball. Only one thing that Donatello could have done would make Baron look at him like that.
"You covered for me." Donatello stated. "Why?"
"You attacked me, let's start there." Baron mimicked. "Why?"
"Why would you lie to Shredder?" Donatello asked, hoping to change the focus from that subject as quickly as possible.
Baron raised an eyebrow that was almost amused. "And who's going to tell him? You?"
Donatello felt himself relax as his mind worked through the fault in Baron's words.
"No, but you won't either." Donatello said confidently.
"And why are you so certain of that?" Baron asked him, moving closer, his stance obviously threatening.
Donatello took several steps backward with his staff securely in hand before giving his answer.
"Because you would have to admit that you lied to the Shredder, and you would be dead as quickly as I would." Donatello confidently explained. "You can't tell him now without killing yourself."
"Not yet." Baron confirmed, a droll smirk on his face.
"Look, how about this?" Donatello suggested, holding his palms out in a placating gesture. "How about we both forget that any of that ever happened, hm? That way we both get to live and we can go on about our lives in peace."
"I think that we both know that's not going to happen." Baron replied easily. "See, I may not be able to do anything right now, but there will come a time when I can. When my clan separates from the Foot, I'll already have secured a target on my back. What's to stop me from letting it slip that you attacked a superior and lied about it?"
Donatello's confidence fell like a box of rocks. How did he always end up in these situations? Just when he thought that he had gotten lucky for once...
"So why am I not dead?" Donatello snapped, tired of the games. "Why lie in the first place? Why not kill me when you wokeup?"
"That would be a terrible waste of a mind." Baron said as casually as if he had been talking about the weather. "Why destroy something when you can extort it?"
Donatello stiffened, not liking the way the conversation was going at all. Then again, he hadn't particularly liked it's intro either. Or any of it's contents.
"What makes you think that I would work for you?" Donatello demanded. "That would paint just as much of a target on my shell as yours."
"It would, but the key difference is that you wouldn't be here when he finds out. Either way Donatello, he will find out that we both lied when my clan disbands from his, your choice lies there. Either you accept my offer and live past that day, or you don't, and you suffer at Shredder's hand." Baron shrugged. "Your decision, but you're a smart turtle. I'm sure that you'll see sense."
This can't be happening...
Baron nodded and with a self-satisfied smirk, moved the chair back to it's usual spot and opened the door.
Donatello couldn't move. He felt as frozen now as he had been on that table. His breaths were in short supply and he was finding it impossible to draw in air.
Slowly, with legs that felt like led, he sank into the chair and tried to no avail to calm himself.
He hated it, the entire situation. But what choice did he have? Either he accept Baron's offer and get a target painted on his shell for the rest of his days- which were likely to be few if he were with Baron- or he could refuse and die the moment that he left.
Of course, there was the unmentionable third option- leave permanently. But then that would get him targeted by both Baron and the Foot. And then where would he be?
"Turtle luck." Donatello growled.
Don't kill the writer! I think it goes without saying that everything is kind of downhill from here... Baron really is just a horrible person isn't he? And let's not even start about Roland... Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it. Comments are always great and I love to hear your thoughts! Have a great day everyone!