Chapter Four: No Hope

AN: THANK YOU to the ones who send messages or leave reviews! Glad you're enjoying this. Poor Donnie is about to start his time in hell. Be warned.. it's not gonna be pleasant for him.

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Donnie awoke, groggily and with great reluctance. He'd been having a wonderful dream. If only he could remember it. It wasn't often the techno-turtle slept, averaging less than six hours a week, but on the rare occasion his mind shut down and allowed sleep to claim him, he entertained the most unusual dreams.

Which usually culminated in several experiments, new theorems, and a frenzy fueled by coffee, determination, and a maniacal kind of genius that left his brothers confused and sometimes worried over his mental stability.

Smacking his lips together and wincing from the bitter cotton that lined the back of his throat, he opened his eyes upon a small bank of fuzzy lights hanging overhead. Hands flopping on either side, he searched for his glances, squinting away from the light hammering into his skull. During his search he made two discoveries.

First, he was naked.

As in, no clothes, no electronics, and no glasses.

Completely bare assed naked turtle lying on a cold floor.

Second, there was a collar around his neck, approximately one inch wide with a rectangular two inch box on the outside. No doubt the remote and power source for the enslavement device. Similar bands were on both wrists and ankles.

Trying to gain his feet, and requiring several attempts to do so, Donnie eventually got to his hands and knees, dizzy and disoriented despite being unable to see anything but the blurry paleness of a tiled floor. His stomach was threatening to relocate to his nostrils and his heart was beating a primal rhythm in his ears.

Drugged.

He must have been drugged. Which means….

"Good to see you're awake," came a cultured male voice from Donnie's left.

Donnie's head turned toward the noise but due to his lack of vision, he could only make out a wide window. It was reminiscent of a two way mirror in a police station, though this one was highlighted by brighter lights, no doubt full of monitoring equipment for the newest specimen to a mad scientist's lab.

"Who are you?" Donnie asked, wishing he could see. It sucked being so blind.

"Not that you would know me, but you can call me, Mr. Point."

"Yeah, not melodramatic at all," Donnie muttered under his breath, finally able to stand. Though now he was standing, there was a draft along his tail and the thought of being observed naked was making the bony turtle self conscious. Instinctively, he covered himself. "What do you want, Mr. Point?"

"To study you, of course," the man said with a hint of amusement. The humor was short lived. When he spoke again, his tone was cold, chilling Donnie to the bone. "What are you? Where do you come from? How many more are like you?"

Donnie's heart sank realizing he was captive to a lunatic, but he took solace in the fact Mr. Point didn't know about his brothers or father. He feigned innocence, "The restraints are not necessary. I was born in a lab. I understand medical procedures."

Not a total lie.

Usually, Donnie was the one performing procedures and experiments, but he couldn't tell Mr. Point that. And technically, he was born in a lab and began his life as an experiment. Hoping to gain some sympathy from his captives he gestured toward the bands around his wrists.

"I am not a threat. These cuffs are unnecessary."

Now that was a downright lie.

Donnie was a threat. A huge one.

But Mr. Point didn't need to know that. He only needed to believe the helpless, innocent, submissive lab experiment act. Then when Donnie gained enough information on his location and security measures, he would make his escape.

"So you were made in a lab, heh?" Mr. Point asked, not acknowledge Donnie's request. "What lab?"

Donnie blinked, squinting toward the shimmer of bullet proof glass.

"It was a private complex, ran by my creator, Dr. Bond. Cliché, I know, but that was his name."

"Bond?" Mr. Point asked with a scoff.

"That was his name, despite being a common name for movies."

"You've seen Bond movies?" Mr. Point snorted.

"The lab where I grew up provided many forms of entertainment." Donnie lied easily. He'd have to test his newfound skill on his brothers next time they had a poker night. "I was kept quite comfortable, despite my function as an experiment, albeit, a miscalculated one."

"How so?" Mr. Point seemed extremely interested in the unique circumstances that lead to the amazing being standing naked in the isolation room.

"Doctor Bond was experimenting with gene therapy, namely the programming of stem cells. I guess he was attempting to create a super solider for the military, but I can't be sure. He injected several animals with the programmed cells and they created mutations."

Donnie's expression grew dark. He hated the idea of being a lab experiment but this time, his fear could be used to gain the sympathy and understanding of his captor and possibly barter for his freedom. The thought of gaining the knowledge of what brilliant, (if not insane scientist) was working on was a great incentive for whack jobs.

Especially someone like Mr. Point who was enraptured with Donnie's story.

"Most were so badly mutated they didn't survive." Donnie grew grim. "The growth accelerators and infusions of human DNA rewrote basic genetic codes of animals and their systems were unable to compensate and adapt. I'm the only survivor."

"Amazing,' Mr. Point breathed. "The blend of animal and human DNA is truly a work of art."

Donnie took the opportunity to put in, "I was the only experiment that showed potential with human characteristics."

Donnie screwed up his face, as if trying to remember something. "The last thing I remember, we were going somewhere. I think it was a military base, but I can't be sure. Doctor Bond never said where we were going. But there was an accident." Donnie paused for effect, pretending to strain to remember important details. "Animal right activists maybe? There was a flash. An explosion. I woke up to find Doctor Bond dead. I managed to crawl to what I thought was an abandoned building. Not sure how long it's been since I escaped. A week? Maybe two? Have you heard anything about an explosion, or protesters attacking a doctor?"

Mr. Point huffed and made a soft tisking noise. "You are good."

He took in the strange mutant standing naked in the room. "That's quite the story you concocted. Better than most Hollywood bullshit they're putting out now. Definitely notable for an Oscar… for screenplay and performance."

"Wha?" Donnie asked, worry creeping into his shell.

"You probably don't recognize me, but I was there when you and your brothers were brought in to the lab on Eric Sacks estate. I was one of the doctors who examined you and placed you in the glass cages to extract your blood and that precious, gloriously valuable mutagen that's pumping through your veins."

Donnie's blood ran cold. Well, colder than normal for a hyperactive reptile.

"I'm sure you don't remember me. Most don't. I'm always in the background, hidden in shadows. Watching, observing, learning about my enemy before I make a move," Mr. Point said, enjoying the turtle's realization. Why, he was practically turning yellow with fear!

"Sacks extracted two canisters of your mutagen," Mr. Point continued. "One he took to New York. The other canister was taken by myself and my colleagues to another lab to begin our experiments. Then, thanks to your meddling, Sacks was arrested, his assets seized and our funding eliminated. A few of us were able to take what samples and data we could, and come to a safe, innocuous location to continue our research. Which has been greatly hampered due to the fact our network has been hacked, records erased. A decade's worth of study, lost."

Donnie bit down the urge to whoop and take credit for dealing such a blow to Mr. Point's research, but he remained passive. Stony faced.

"I had begun to think our research was never meant to progress," Mr. Point confided. "We reserved so little of the mutagen and our database erased. No doubt by government officials who were interested in our work."

Donnie gave a spastic jerk of his head.

"Then luck smiled on us," Mr. Point said, his voice dropping to that chilling depth that echoed from a crypt. "One of our few facilities still in operation, only protected by dummy corporations and shadows, alerted us to the attack and subsequent capture of a mutant. Imagine my delight when I saw you. Now, I have a virtually unlimited source of material to continue my experiments."

Donnie wished he had his glasses and bo. His enemy was already well aware of him and his family. Now it was a matter of time before he caught the others and performed the same experiments…on them.

Well, Donnie wouldn't stand for it! Not while he still had breath.

No longer caring about his modesty, he lowered his hands, fists clenching at his side, open defiance gleaming in his short sighted eyes. He glared toward the direction of the glass.

"You won't get away with this. My brothers will find me."

"I'm hoping they do," Mr. Point said. There was no missing the smile in his voice. "The more specimens I have, the more mutagen I can harvest and continue with my experiments."

"We'll stop you," Donnie growled.

"You can certainly try," Mr. Point agreed good-naturedly. "Though it will be highly unlikely your brothers will be able to find you. This facility is well hidden and your tracking device has been removed." Mr. Point gave a little chuckle when Donnie touched the small incision on his shoulder where his tracking implant had been removed. "When you have divulged every secret you possess, then I will use as bait to lure your brothers into a trap, where I can learn their secrets."

"We won't go down without a fight,' Donnie promised, squinting at the glass to discern any human features. But his vision was too poor without the aid of his glasses.

"I don't doubt it." Mr. Point muttered something inarticulate under his breath, then added. "Let's begin."

There was the electronic beep of the intercom turning off. A moment later, there was an unmistakable whoosh of a door sliding open to Donnie's right. Donnie couldn't discern from the white walls, white door, floor, and ceiling.

Visitors came through the doorway, dressed in white lab coats and blended into the bland color scheme. The only way Donnie could detect their numbers was by their skin color. Otherwise they were dressed all in white, including wearing white hats that covered their hair. They reminded him of surgeons or those who deal with biohazards.

Three of the blobs flanked Donnie. They were soon joined by men who were dressed all in black. To Donnie's poor vision, they were a half a dozen black mannequins, though there was no doubt to their armaments.

Guns rattled along their person as Donnie could detect the specific oil used to maintain firearms. He also smelled their adrenaline and testosterone, a heavy, oppressive blanket, surrounding him. The stench turned his stomach.

He didn't like how most humans smelled. And coming from a turtle who grew up in a sewer, that said something about their noxious odor.

Immediately, Donnie adopted a defensive stance, trying to remember Splinter's teachings on using ones senses and not relying sorely by sight. Which Donnie should have paid more attention during those lessons. He was at a bigger disadvantage than his siblings. And all because of genetic abnormalities.

Mikey liked to joke that when the turtles were old and grey, they'd be sitting in shell rockers designed to cup their carapace, wearing two inch thick glasses and yelling at each other to speak up.

If Donnie survived that long.

"We can make this difficult or we can make this easy," Mr. Point said from the doorway. His voice was even colder in person instead of being filtered through a com unit.

Donnie estimated the vile man was at least six foot with a narrow build, as he stood out in stark contrast wearing a black suit in a pristine white room. Donnie wished his tail wasn't swinging in the wind.

This was embarrassing!

None of his ninja training covered fighting your enemy NAKED!

Tender bits were left exposed and vulnerable.

"I need a sample to run a base line comparison to the degraded sample remaining from your captivity a few years ago," Mr. Point said. He lifted his hand but Donnie couldn't see the small black box in the pale palm. "Will you cooperate?"

"As Raph likes to say, bite me," Donnie smirked, preparing to fight for his life.

"Very well," Mr. Point sighed, thumbing a button on the box.

Donnie instantly seized. Electricity coursed through him causing him to drop to the ground, convulsing. The pain lasted only a second, but it was an eternity to the lanky turtle. He panted, blinking rapidly up at his captor, unable to speak.

A soft buzz sounded and instantly Donnie limp wrists slammed together. His ankles performed a similar routine. Effectively immobilized, he felt two dual tourniquets applied to his arms to draw blood. The needle was nothing compared to the throbbing ache his nervous system had received.

Panting, he allowed the two scientists to collect two vials each, remarkably small quantity in Donnie's opinion, and then take their leave. Mr. Point remained behind, his long pale digit caressing the buttons on the control box to Donnie's metal bands.

"I hope you make a habit of resisting," Mr. Point said, crouching down next to Donnie's inert form. "I do enjoy punishing your insolence."

Donnie's nearly useless eyes squinted at the darkened lump blocking the overhead lighting. He may have been unable to see Mr. Point's distinct features, bulbous nose, bright blue eyes, and thin ratlike chin, but he could smell him.

Donnie's keen senses could smell the evil on the man knelt next to him.

This was not a man to cross.

Sure Sacks was a lunatic who liked to experiment, sometimes on his own people, but he had ambition. A reason for his malice. He wanted the best possible data to ensure he alone controlled the market of healing and longevity. For a price, of course.

After all, whomever controlled the fountain of youth could pretty much dictate their own terms to a clamoring population.

People would pay anything to be healthy and live longer. Even if it meant innocents had to be sacrificed to gain the knowledge to extended life. In fact, the entire medical and scientific community was founded on such a principal.

Shredder had shared Sacks lust for money and power, though he also embodied a sick, twisted kind of ideology that wanted to be idolized and worshipped for his generosity.

Most megalomaniacs shared the same kind of perverted desire to rule the world and subjugate everyone in it. Shredder had raised Sacks to be the ultimate weapon, cultivating the young impressionable orphan into becoming a mad scientist to quite literally, help him rule the world.

Why must the insane, world dominating psychos always be scientists?

Donnie took offense his favorite passion was often used for nefarious purposes.

Why couldn't someone take over the world who wasn't a scientist?

A bus driver or plumber?

Chiropractor or incompetent CPA?

A fry cook or housewife?

Surely those professions had ambitious people.

But noooo… always the scientists, using their knowledge for the destruction of mankind instead of the betterment. Donnie sometimes wished he had not been so passionate and adept at science. It certainly had its fair share of disappointment.

But Mr. Point didn't care for world domination. He cared nothing for being seen as a messiah to a disease ridden world.

Donnie could tell. He wasn't sure HOW, but he knew.

Mr. Point was evil.

The pure personification of wickedness, here only to cause destruction, suffering, mayhem, and death.

Donnie didn't have time to let his imagination run wild. Mr. Point thumbed the controls, immediately sending burning fire through Donnie's thin frame, the electricity coursing through every fiber of his being, pain threatening to short circuit Donnie's brain. The second lasted an eternity. Trembling, he was vaguely aware of Mr. Point speaking.

"A friend designed this handy little gadget. He assures me the body can sustain the top setting for only a few seconds before suffering brain damage. You just experienced a second on the eighth setting. Give me any further grief, and I will dial it up to ten and leave it on for a full minute. It would be unfortunate for you to suffer permanent brain damage, but you will still function as a wonderful specimen for dissection." He tenderly caressed Donnie's cheek and the dimple along his chin. "You serve no other purpose than to be an experiment. I will discover the secret to that mysterious ooze and patent it as my own. Who knows? With your help, I may get to live forever."

Donnie slowly regained his full mental faculties. He swallowed hard, forcing his mouth open to speak.

"I'll… I'll do whatever… you ask."

"Good," Mr. Point grinned maliciously. He rose to his full height and explained Donnie's expected conduct. "You will receive three meals a day and be under constant surveillance, so don't get any ideas about escaping. You will provide any and all samples asked of you, or you will risk my temper. A bed and toilet are provided." He gave a disgusted sniff. "I suggest you use them."

Spinning on his heel, Mr. Point left the room. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing the room and its occupant.

Donnie lay panting, staring up at the mocking illumination. This was going to be a miserable time, but if he was lucky, his brothers would be able to figure out where he was being held.

Course, losing his tracking implant was going to make the task difficult, but when his brothers set their mind to something, they could accomplish anything.

Donnie carefully rolled to his side, wincing from the lingering agony from the shock collar, to hands and knees. He crawled around the space, trying to take in his surroundings. It was difficult without his glasses. He realized, much to his embarrassment, that he had lost control of his bodily functions from the electrocution.

Knowing he was leaving a horrible trail wherever he crawled, he persevered, detecting the bed, complete with linens, and a small niche that thankfully held a toilet and shower. The drain was iron, heavy, set into the concrete and far too narrow for Donnie to squeeze through.

With difficulty he gained his feet and turned on the spray. It was cold for a moment, jolting him out of his haze and sharpening his senses as it warmed. A brand new bar of soap was on the single ledge in the corner. Donnie scrubbed himself clean, starting with his head. When the suds hit the small incision on his arm, he hissed, grasping the pained limb.

"You were thoroughly scanned upon entry," Mr. Point's voice echoed in the dismal chamber. Donnie turned toward the sound of the voice coming over the intercom. "Very clever, implanting a tracking device to activate for rescue. I surmise that is how your brother located you at the Sacks estate and prematurely released you."

Donnie was in too much pain to offer a retort. Blankly, he stared toward the glass.

"Can someone clean my room?"

Donnie's voice was hollow. Flat. Despondent. Defeated.

He kept under the hot water, trying to draw its warmth into his battered and beaten body. After a couple of seconds, Mr. Point spoke.

"Yes, I suppose it would be a good idea. I'll send in someone to clean it up."

Donnie's hands rubbed the walls, knocking the soap off the ledge. It landed with a slippery splash at his feet. He bent down, trying to feel around for the elusive bar.

Finding it, he clutched it tight and rose, feeling dizzy and slightly sick to his stomach. No doubt a lingering after effect from his shock treatment.

He turned toward the glass and asked, "Can I have my glasses? I can't see."

Mr. Point's voice was amused. "You really are blind, aren't you?"

"Yes," Donnie confirmed. No sense in lying. "I can't see a thing."

Mr. Point was quiet for a long time. Donnie was afraid the man had left without an answer, but finally, he spoke.

"Agreed. I don't want you blundering around and hurt one of my people with your clumsiness." Mr. Point nodded to one of his henchmen to fetch the turtle's glasses.

"Thank you," Donnie said, remaining cordial and possibly get the man to lower his guard.

Donnie wanted to appear as seely as many believed his lithe frame to be. Granted he didn't possess Raph's muscle, but when push came to shove, Donnie was as apt with weapons and self defense as any of his siblings. He only needed to bide his time. Give the humans a false sense of ease. When he gathered enough intel, he'd make his escape.

And in such situations, though he wouldn't admit it to his father, killing humans in order was escape was a possibility. Donnie may be the kind hearted and socially awkward, but once cornered, he became as ruthless as Raph.

"We will begin your testing tomorrow," Mr. Point warned as the door opened to admit a couple of soldiers flanking a janitor.

The janitor gaped upon seeing a giant turtle standing in the shower, but one of the soldiers shoved him in the shoulder, directing him to do his job. The soldiers kept their guns trained on Donnie, who stayed under the hot spray until they took their leave.

Once they were gone, he fumbled his way to the bed and lay down, wrapping up in a blanket and falling into a fitful sleep.

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