Chapter Nine: A Long Night
Tuesday, 8:30 p.m.
An analyzer beeped, and Don swiveled to check it. Nothing. Again. Well, now I know that besides a few unstable elements, the dart that hit Raph has zero percent match with any known elements, which is so not helpful… This is such crazy tech, it has to involve alien elements.
He thought about recalibrating the analyzer to search for different things, but the liquid was virtually gone; it had been running on fumes for the last several rounds.He suppressed a groan of frustration, grinding his palms into his eyes.
When he took his hands away, he stared at the single sai and lonesome nunchaku lying next to the analyzer. I'm so sorry I haven't rescued you yet, Mikey, Raph. And Leo. I hope your katanas are right next to your cell door so you can grab them when I find you.
He swiveled back to the main screen, which displayed all the information and speculation about the Gamer and his possible plans that he had collected. He stared at the stark white screen without seeing the black letters, which he had basically already memorized anyway. Dots spread across his vision and danced, turning the font into fuzzy rectangles.
The back of his neck prickled, and he turned, blinking, but Saja still slept on the couch. She's still so exhausted, and she's been sleeping for almost a day straight. This teleporting thing must take crazy amounts of energy. It sounds like she's forever pushing herself, and this is the first safe place for her to rest in a while. I know it's selfish, but I hope she's way better tomorrow, and she can go get Raph. I think I'm the most worried about him—if the Gamer has crazy obstacle courses like the train for me to get Leo and Mikey, that's one thing. But darting Raph and making him disappear into thin air—that's another. Casey too, of course, but… yeah. Besides, Saja said he probably wasn't in immediate danger, and might even be able to return on his own—if he's not a knucklehead, which he is.
Don shook himself and swiveled back to his computer screens. He sighed. This is getting me nowhere. It's been three hours—he glanced at the time—and a half, ugh—since supper, and I haven't made any progress.
He picked up his shell cell, but the Gamer hadn't answered the last text. He suppressed another groan and took a long pull of water from the extra-large water bottle he had gotten for when Leo forbid him more coffee and/or he didn't want to have to get up as often for more water. I wish I had time to make coffee.
April, I wish you were here. You'd be right next to me, trying to help me figure this out. Don shifted in his chair. Of course, if she were here, the Gamer would have kidnapped her, too, and rescuing my whole family plus Casey is enough work for now.
Master Splinter materialized at his right elbow, and Don uttered an unearthly cry while levitating out of his office chair.
"It is time for you to rest, my son," Splinter said, unperturbed by Donatello's brief flight. "You did not sleep last night, nor the night before that, I believe."
"Sensei, don't do that," Don said, one hand on his heart.
Splinter stared at him.
Don pushed the chair back a bit and stood. "I can't sleep now, Sensei—what if the Gamer calls, and tells me where to do his obstacle course to get Leo or Mikey? And as soon as I either figure out what was in the dart that hit Raph, or Saja wakes up, we can go rescue him. If-"
"If he calls," Splinter said, picking up the shell cell, "I will tell you. In the meantime, your mind is too tired to puzzle over these pieces. Besides, he has not given you any more clues."
"But, Sensei-"
Splinter leveled The Look on Donatello.
Don sighed, straightened, brought his hands together, and bowed. "Yes, Sensei."
After a quick bathroom break in which Don's brain kept generating logical excuses to keep working and his mouth was smart enough to keep quiet upon exiting, Splinter ushered Don into his room, stood over him until he was settled in bed, and turned out the light. He paused in the doorway. "Sleep, my son. The most challenging puzzles are clearer with a clearer head."
How can I sleep with all my brothers captured? Thought Don, but Master Splinter, listening silently just outside the door, heard the even breaths of sleep before two minutes had passed.
Tuesday, 10:30 p.m.
Two hours later, Don's homemade ring alarm, carefully calibrated to wake him but not alert Leo or Raph, or in this case, Master Splinter, vibrated. Don jolted upright, plucked it off his finger, and returned it to its base to silence it as quickly as possible. His head complained at this sudden movement, and Don suppressed a groan. His body begged him to lie back down, but willpower tugged him off the bed.
Once upright, Don turned on his ninja stealth with an effort.
He made it out the door, closed it softer than a breath behind him, and ghosted past Saja on the couch toward his computer. There he stood contemplating whether he should research some more—and what to research—or go back to the building where he had found Mikey's nunchaku and Splinter's walking stick. I've researched all I know to research for now, he decided, retrieved his bo from where he had left it by his computer, and turned toward the door.
Master Splinter stood between him and the door; Don started.
"Did you need a glass of water, my son?" He spoke softly, but a glint in his eye flashed a warning.
Apparently I won't be going out right now. And I actually am thirsty, now that I think about it. He bowed. "Yes, Sensei."
He hurried to the kitchen, filled a glass, and drank two swallows. From the other room, he heard Saja turn and mumble in her sleep.
Trying not to convey embarrassment and guilt in his body language, Don crept back into his room and closed the door. He set his bo against the wall and slipped into bed.
Day Three
Wednesday, 12:30 a.m.
Two hours later, Don's ring alarm vibrated. Don flipped over, yanked it off his finger, and returned it to its base. He forced his elbow underneath him and raised himself upright from there. His head again throbbed at this movement, but Don ignored it and sat fuzzily on the edge of his bed for a moment.
Once upright, Don grabbed his bo and turned on his ninja stealth with an effort.
He made it out the door, closed it softer than a breath behind him, and peered all around. He didn't see Splinter anywhere, thankfully, but Saja blinked at him with sleepy but curious eyes. He held a finger up to his lips, and gestured for her to go back to sleep.
Scanning the room for any hidden parental figures after every couple of steps, Don crept to his computer, clipped a few extra tools on his belt instead of taking his whole duffle, and slipped out the front door.
Once safely on the other side, he waited a long moment before breathing a sigh of relief and heading out. He returned to the Foot building where Mikey's nunchakus and Splinter's walking stick had been, but no sign of the Gamer, or even of the Foot, remained whatsoever. Some legitimate business had set up camp.
Wow, Don thought as he caught his breath on a rooftop opposite, staring down at the building, they moved out fast. Did they just take over the building that one day when the Gamer started this whole thing… that was yesterday. It's only been—he glanced at his watch—about twenty-four hours. Shell.
He scouted around for clues of where the Foot might have gone around both the alleys and ground level and the surrounding rooftops, but found nothing helpful, which was not surprising but disappointing all the same.
Don sagged a little, then turned to parkour his way to the rooftop battleground where the Gamer's strange technology had zapped away Casey and Raph. It's weird not listening to Leo's orders of where to go next, Don thought as he double-kong vaulted over a giant air-conditioning unit. And not hearing Mikey tease Raph, and Raph threaten Mikey. I even miss their pestering me to hurry up whatever hacking, fixing, or bomb-defusing work I might be doing.
When he finally arrived, wishing he had taken the Shellcycle, Don studied the holes in the sides of the shed and combed the entire rooftop for any clues he might have missed earlier. Thirty minutes of careful searching yielded no new information.
Refusing to acknowledge the depressed worries cycling in the back of his mind, Don realized one place he hadn't had time to search last night. He hurried to the last place he knew Master Splinter, Leo, and Mikey had been. After scouting several alleys, he found only one evidence of a fight and their capture: an orange-handled nunchaku, wedged behind a broken pallet. Don, wincing, could almost picture Mikey being thrown into said pallet. With a sigh, he tucked his little brother's weapon in his belt. Well, at least I can give Mikey both his weapons when I find him.
The alley refused to reveal any other helpful clues, so finally Don went to check on a few other Foot haunts. He didn't dare infiltrate these well-established bases that were definitely associated with the Shredder on his own. Nothing seemed unusual in the patrols of the guards, and Don couldn't risk getting any closer without backup.
Finally, he turned to wend his way home. So far, it seems like the Gamer is acting independently; he just happens to have access to Foot resources. Which is a good thing. I think. He happened to see a clock announcing 2:27 and heaved an internal sigh as he ran. Two hours, down the drain.
Discouragement drooped his tired limbs lower as Don slipped back into the Lair. Master Splinter was nowhere to be seen, but Saja sat more or less upright on the couch. She eyed him up and down and, at his sad attempt at a smile, she offered a sympathetic look. Then she mimed opening a book.
But you don't know English, Don thought and almost said, before he remembered that a) he wasn't wearing his end of the translating prototype, and b) he was trying not to wake Master Splinter. He shook his head and pointed to her pillow.
She gestured back, insisting that she wasn't sleepy, or maybe that reading would make her sleepy, or perhaps that it would pass time until she fell asleep again. Communicating by gestures in near-dark isn't an exact art.
Don gave up the silent argument, crept the few steps to the living room bookshelf and found several books with small, easy words and even some old kids' picture books—the types of books he would want if he was stranded in a world and hoped to pick up a bit of the language. He even found an old flashlight that wasn't very bright and therefore suited for nocturnal education.
This done and gratitude received silently, the turtle didn't even try to get away with more research on his computer. Instead, he slid into his room, shed bulky tools and Mikey's nunchaku, and, after only two or three cycles of worries about his brothers, fell asleep.
Wednesday, 4:30 a.m.
Two hours later, a blue-masked turtle watched the sky slowly melt from black velvet to gray silk to rose cotton. He turned to pace his glass prison, which actually seemed to be a former penthouse apartment, now stripped bare. Absolutely nothing remained—no decorations, rugs, or furniture—except hand soap in the bathroom. Nothing to use as a weapon against his captors. The door had been reinforced, cameras peered down at him from the high ceilings, and even if Leo had found a way to break a window, there was no path down the skyscraper or up to the roof, especially without gear.
It's probably the nicest cage I've ever been in, thought Leo, pausing to stare out the huge east-facing window in what used to be the living room. At least I've got good views to pass the time. No books—but I can do katas all day if I want.
It had been a full day since his capture. Since they stuffed him in here, they only bothered him at mealtimes. Leo rubbed at his neck, where the humiliating collar lay, mocking him. The black-and-silver collar emitted powerful, cruel shocks that always sent him helpless to the floor with taut muscles, something like a turbo dog collar. The turtle had examined every millimeter of the outside of the collar by touch and by leaning awkwardly toward the bathroom mirror, and found no way to rid himself of it. His katanas had been taken away, or else he'd likely have a few nicks and slices from trying to pry it off.
I know he had Master Splinter and Mikey, but I hope Don already rescued one or both of them. I can wait. No telling about Raph and Casey, but it sounds like the Gamer was after them, too. I hope Don's not going too crazy with all of us captured. Leo clenched his fists. Whoever you are, Gamer, you'll want to run fast once Don gets this thing off me. You'll pay for doing this to our family.