Chapter Six: And the Award for Best Performance By A Turtle Goes To….

AN1: THANK YOU TO ALEXLUKE for all your feedback and support!

AN2: Thank you to my readers/reviewers! Love the feedback and appreciate every one of you!

This chapter is gonna be a bit darker. In fact, the next 2-3 chapters are going to be rather rough on our favorite shelled geek. He will need lots of TLC... any takers?

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The days were long and arduous for Donnie. His routine rarely changed the first week. Someone would collect blood samples, then he was taken to the exercise room, where he spent the first two hours of the day on the treadmill. Feigning exhaustion, Donnie did his best to act slow and sluggish, as if still recovering from the previous day, but the doctor found amusement in providing Donnie with random jolts of electricity when he dragged his feet too much. Barking in pain, Donnie sped up his efforts, making sure to last for a few minutes before falling lax once again.

After his workout on the treadmill, Donnie was forced to endure poking and prodding as the doctor evaluated muscle mass and physical attributes. The doctor was particularly interested in Donnie's ability to sweat, as regular turtles lacked sweat glands. He swabbed the perspiration off Donnie's face, swiped under his arms, around his shell, and much to Donnie's discomfort, his tail.

Scribbling notes and muttering to himself, the doctor set about his work without verbal interaction with Donnie, which was fine by the lanky turtle. Once the doctor was finished, he waved to the guards to escort Donnie back to his cell, where food was waiting.

Couple hours rest, then the soldiers reappeared and took Donnie back to the gym, where he was forced to test his strength. Attempting to lift 200 lbs 100 times, Donnie mused it was lucky he was captured instead of Raph.

Raph would have loved to show off his strength. Then again, Raph's rashness would have gotten him killed, as he undoubtedly would have stormed the guards to overpower them during a foolhardy escape.

Strategy wasn't Raph's strong point. He was more brute strength than actual analyzing and plotting.

Raph's motto was: 'Why think your way through trouble, when you can charge it head on?'

Wise words from someone who was the size of a mountain, but for those of a weaker nature, barreling into the middle of a melee wasn't feasible. It was best to learn the enemy's strengths and weaknesses. Detect patterns, a routine they followed. Assess their capabilities in combat. Though such things were difficult to the untrained eye.

Take Donnie for instance.

He gave the appearance of a feeble, slow moving turtle. Nothing about him suggested he was a martial artist, a trained ninja with deadly skills.

Which is how he wanted to be perceived.

One of the most important lessons Master Splinter taught him was to never underestimate your enemy. But rather, allow them to underestimate you. For if they didn't perceive you as a threat, when you did attack, they would be taken unaware and were easier to overcome.

Master Splinter exuded such a non-threatening persona; one would think he was an easy target.

They'd be sadly mistaken.

A lot of strength and attitude was packed into that minuscule frame. Splinter was as a kind and gentle as they come, especially when it came to his sons, but if one provoked him to anger, they'd get to see the full extent of that combat rat.

Donnie fought back the urge to cry. He missed his family terribly. He wondered what they were doing. If they were all right. He doubted they were captured, as the soldiers would have loved to taunt and torment him with such information.

No, he was sure they had escaped.

But to what end?

It had been a week. Donnie knew it was difficult to ascertain his location, as he himself was garnering very little information to aid in his escape. But surely his brothers were looking for him? Surely there was a lead? A scrap of evidence left behind that would give at least the general location where Donnie was being held?

Leo and Raph were smart enough to deduce clues and figure out where Donnie was imprisoned. And Mikey may be a goofball, but he knew his way around computers. He was no hacker, granted, but Donnie knew Mikey possessed a keen intellect when it came to computers.

Donnie wished they'd hurry up. He'd already been here a week too long. The work outs and tests were a nuisance, especially when Donnie had to closely monitor his progress and have his strength fade accordingly.

The lights flickered overhead, winking on Donnie's prone form. It wasn't the physical tests that were so demanding, it was the agony of being mentally inert. Donnie's overactive brain kept him awake, formulas and theories floating through his head nonstop.

To preserve the thoughts, Donnie usually wrote out everything filtering through his mind. The lair was filled with his scratched writing. On tables, chairs, walls, even the alcove that served as his old bed was littered with half formulated ideas. Things he wanted to expound upon when he had the chance. Things potentially leading to the betterment of mankind.

But here?

Being stuck in a bland room with nothing to write with was enough to tax Donnie's training in patience. He tried to file away random thoughts, hoping to be able to write them out when he was free, but the more he tried to concentrate on an idea, the further it slipped away.

It was torture.

Donnie cursed his own mentality. He wished he could shut down his thoughts, but even meditation didn't help at this point. Truthfully, it never really worked for him anyway.

Master Splinter said it was because he was too thoughtful, but Donnie knew it was because he lacked the patience to sit still for two hours and listen to himself breathe, when he could be working at the computer or building something. He was more at ease when his hands, and mind, were at work.

That was his place of Zen. What centered him. Gave him focus and inner peace.

An idle life was not for him.

The door opened, signaling the start of a new day. Donnie remained where he was, as always the consummate actor. He groaned when woken and was slow to roll over and stretch, yawning hugely and blinking owlishly at his guards.

"Morning already?" he asked lazily. "Can I have a few more minutes?"

"Get up," came a clipped bark in the doorway.

Donnie sat up, rubbing his face and finding Mr. Point standing at the door flanked by two more guards. It was rare Mr. Point visited Donnie in his cell. Occasionally, the man would stop by to go over test results, but he never engaged Donnie otherwise. His visit made Donnie's hackles go up.

If he had hackles.

"Let me guess, more gym time to train for an Iron Man Competition?" Donnie quipped, hoping to offset the chill circulating his veins.

Mr. Point didn't speak. He lifted the control box and thumbed a button. Instantly, Donnie's wrists and ankles slammed together, drawn by their magnetic locks. Donnie teetered for a moment on the edge of his bed, but regained his balance in time to find Mr. Point standing before him with surprising speed and agility. His expression was…hungry. And maybe a tad bit psychotically gleeful.

Donnie was creeped out.

"You've shown very little progress in strength and endurance testing," Mr. Point said. His breath was hot along Donnie's face. "I am disappointed."

"Sorry," Donnie gulped. "I've done my best."

Mr. Point's frozen blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Have you?"

Donnie nodded emphatically.

"I may present a humanoid appearance but I assure you, I'm a turtle. I'm sure you've been able to deduce my heart and lungs are far different than that of a pure blood human. I believe your scientists are basing my abilities upon human factors, and not of a turtle."

Mr. Point's head tilted slightly. "Have it all worked out, don't you?"

Donnie lifted one bony shoulder by way of pointing out the obvious presence of a shell. "Spent my entire life being told I'm not human."

"No doubt by those obviously strong and powerful brothers," Mr. Point muttered, eyes narrowing into slits reminiscent of a snake. "Too bad we couldn't capture all of you. Oh, well. At least I have one specimen. Perhaps with the knowledge I gain from you, I can devise a way to entrap your brothers to further my studies?"

"Don't you dare hurt my brothers,' Donnie snarled, glaring the man down. "You lay one hand on them and you'll regret it!"

"What are you going to do about it?" Mr. Point snickered, not impressed by Donnie's empty threat.

"They'll find me," Donnie grated against his will. He didn't want to give Mr. Point any ideas about fortifying their location, but the words slipped out, on their own. "And when they do, they'll burn this place to the ground."

"I would be impressed if they accomplished such an impossible task," Mr. Point said nonchalantly. Given his unconcerned expression, he was either confident their location was undetectable, or he seriously underestimated Donnie's brothers.

Something told Donnie, it wasn't the latter.

"Now, to business." Mr. Point motioned for two of the guards to flank Donnie. They held onto his arms to keep him immobile as Mr. Point showed Donnie the strange metal box he held. He placed Donnie's left index finger onto the cool metal plate inside.

Donnie thought they were going to take his fingerprints, until a heavy bar dropped down over his finger, trapping it on the pressure plate. Donnie winced, instinctively trying to remove his finger but the guards held on tight, as did the trap.

It squeezed and squeezed and Donnie thought for sure the end of his fingertip was going to pop like a zit, but much to his shock, and intense pain, the device gave a whirring groan and snapped Donnie's bone.

Donnie screamed, thrashing wildly, knocking both soldiers onto their asses. Unfortunately, he was still bound by the magnetic locks on his wrists and ankles. He overbalanced, clattering to the floor next to one of the soldiers, clutching his aching hand close to his plastron.

"Interesting," Mr. Point said, observing the screen on the bone breaking device. "Nearly three times the pressure required to break human bone. Quite remarkable."

The guards stood, dusting themselves off and snarled angrily at Donnie, who continued to whimper, clutching his hand. One of the guards gave the turtle a swift kick to his side, causing Donnie to cry out in renewed agony.

"Send someone to reset the bone, then I want him scanned every 4 hours to monitor his healing process," Mr. Point snapped to the guards before spinning on his heel and leaving in a hurry.

One of the guards grabbed a walkie from his belt and called for someone to come reset Donnie's broken bone. Within a couple of minutes a man appeared in a white lab coat.

Donnie reeled on the floor, trying to protect his damaged hand, but the doctor wasn't to be deterred. He grasped Donnie's broken digit and gave it a yank, resetting the bone and causing Donnie to scream, eyes fluttering as consciousness threatened to leave him.

The guards stood sentry as the doctor bound Donnie's broken finger to keep it stabilized. When he was finished, he gave a curt nod.

"Keep it immobilized. We'll take you to x-ray in four hours."

Without another word, he exited, the guards following him. Before the door closed, the magnetic bands buzzed, releasing Donnie from his bondage. He struggled onto his bed, cradling his hand, cursing as fluently as Raph.

Hand throbbing, stomach churning, Donnie closed his eyes to stave off the tears threatening to fall.

Where were his brothers?!

What was taking them so long?

Were they completely inept without him?

It was unlikely they had been seriously injured or killed, as Mr. Point would have gloated over Donnie's distress. Rubbing the proverbial salt in the wound, as it were.

From what Donnie deduced, his brothers had escaped capture at the Foot facility, hence Point's taunts of capturing them for study.

So, where were they?

It had been a week already. There should have been an inkling of them scouring the city. Donnie listened to the guards closely and none of them mentioned Leo, Raph, or Mikey. Wherever they were, it was no where near this hellish place.

Donnie was alone.

Abandoned.

His brothers weren't coming for him. Rescue was up to him. If he wanted to survive, it was up to him to make it happen.

Or die in the attempt.

That thought wasn't comforting. Even dead, he would serve as an excellent lab specimen. It was cruel and clinical, but Donnie could see the scientific benefit of having such a rarity to observe and catalogue.

He must have dozed off because suddenly someone was yelling at him.

"Get up! X-ray time!" A guard barked, giving Donnie's shoulder a rough shake.

Donnie rose, groggily. One of the guards hit the button to magnetize his wrists. The sudden jolt caused him to cry out, doubling over his injured hand to protect it.

"Easy," one of the guards chastised his comrade. "I've had my hand broken. Hurts like hell. Give the guy a break."

"Whatever," the other snorted, rolling his eyes.

They flanked Donnie as they escorted him out the door. As per usual, they turned left, taking Donnie to one of the doors he had yet to inspect. His questions were answered when an x-ray machine and CT scanner came into view.

"X-ray first," a doctor exclaimed, yanking on Donnie's arm to place his hand into the correct position to take a picture.

Donnie tried to withhold the cries of protest as the doctor twisted first one way then another, taking multiple angles before motioning Donnie to the glass enclosed CT scanner. The doctor placed him on the table, sliding it back and forth to ensure Donnie would fit. He had to lower it a little to make room for Donnie's cumbersome shell.

Once the tests were done, Donnie was escorted to his room, where he curled up on the bed, nursing his injured hand.

As instructed by Mr. Point, Donnie was scanned every four hours. Even during the night, he was dragged from his bed to undergo tests, though he was grateful they weren't too obtrusive. It would have been worse if they wanted to yank on the damaged bone and test his pain threshold.

Donnie wisely kept his mouth shut, lest he give them ideas.

The x-rays and scans were kept on a strict schedule over the course of several days.

Five days after he broke Donnie's finger, Mr. Point made another visit, his unctuous sneer glued into place.

"You are healing at an accelerated rate," he informed a glowering Donnie. "In fact, I'd be willing to bet you will be completely healed within the week."

Donnie refused to speak. Mentally he was counting down the time he'd be able to use his hand. He had every intention of wrapping it around Mr. Point's scrawny neck and feeling the satisfaction of his bones breaking.

Raph would be proud of him.

Mr. Point performed the damnable head tilt, the one that meant he was being far too perceptive.

"Do not take the news as a good omen," he said softly, pale blue eyes lifeless and devoid of a soul. He thumbed the control box lovingly. "It would be most foolish for you to try to escape. Your brain would be turned into mush before you got past the guards."

The guards flanking the door shifted menacingly, rattling their weapons as if to dare Donnie to challenge them.

Focusing inward, Donnie calmed himself, remembering to act docile and obedient.

"Please, don't hurt me," Donnie whimpered, cowering away from the cruel human.

Mr. Point's expression was glacial. "We will do whatever is necessary to protect humanity." Darkness glittered in his eyes from a shadowed past. "We will not give up without a fight."

Donnie's curiosity was killing him, but he exercised control. There was definitely something he was missing. A piece to the puzzle of Mr. Point, and his obsessive focus on Donnie and the mutagen coursing through his veins.

It had nothing to do with curing humanity's biggest maladies, as Eric Sacks had elucidated.

Donnie surmised Mr. Point had a different agenda, as he didn't strike Donnie as being hungry for money or fame.

No, there was something far more sinister at play.

There were too many variables for Donnie to focus on, so he opted to remain as an obedient lab rat, (so to speak,) and hoped to gather more information before his eventual escape.

Because whether Mr. Point liked it or not, Donnie was getting out of there.

When the time was right and Donnie's broken bone was healed, and if he didn't sustain further injuries, Donnie planned on making a break for his freedom. Course, if his brothers ever got their shells in gear and came to his rescue, he'd do everything mutantly possible to guarantee their success.

Mr. Point's face flickered with emotion before he spoke, his voice more of a consolation to himself than actual conversation with Donnie.

"Little more time. I only need a little more time."

If Donnie didn't know any better, he would have thought the man was speaking into a communication device. He searched Mr. Point's face for a second before the man realized he was speaking aloud. Thin lips clamped together and he exited Donnie's room without another word.

Donnie waited a minute until after the humans left, then stretched out on his bed, staring up at the blank, white ceiling.

"What was that all about?" he muttered. He risked a glance to the observation window but no one was in sight.

As was becoming increasingly common.

In the beginning, Donnie had round the clock spectators, but after the initial week the novelty of a mutant turtle wore off, and he was given increasing solitude. The constant security detail was whittled away to a few random hours of despondent observation.

Even the night security became lax.

No longer two armed guards stood at the window, hands on weapons. Now, a guard stopped by three or four times during night before lazily continuing his rounds.

Donnie was secretly glad he no longer had someone staring at him while he rested. It creeped him out.

He tested his broken finger, wincing when the burning pain flared to his wrist when he made a fist. It was going to take another day or two to heal, thanks to his mutagen. The scans documented how quickly the bone knitted, but Donnie intentionally kept his strength in check. Whimpering, protecting his hand, and flinching away from the guards, Donnie set the stage for his break out performance.

Since he played the quiet, submissive animal they believed him to be, his captors were relaxing their guard, believing him timid, weak. By the time he was able to strike, they would be caught unaware. Donnie calculated the details every night, going over his plan until it would be second nature.

When the guard made his usual round at 10pm, Donnie planned on faking an injury, luring the guard to open the door, where Donnie would overpower him, use the control box to release his bonds, gain entry into the observation room, hack the computer to plant a virus, find an escape route and disappear into the night.

By the time anyone realized he was missing, it would be too late.

Over and over Donnie practiced the plan in his head. When the time came, he'd flow through it as easily as breathing. Course, if the alert sounded of an attack on the facility, courtesy of his brothers, he would have to put his plan into motion prematurely.

The noticeable decline in open hostility toward him was favorable. Not exactly best friend material, but the guards were more relaxed, not expecting a violent outburst or fight from the lanky captive. If anything, they perceived him as a nuisance, especially when he was so tired from his exercise regime he needed to be half dragged/half carried to his room.

Donnie bid his time. He enjoyed the solitude now granted by his captors, as he didn't appreciate an audience when he slept or used the bathroom. Now, his sole purpose was to heal and prepare himself for the fight of his life.

Literally.

Nothing was going to stop him from leaving this terrible and wretched place.

Nothing.

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