Chapter Eight: The Turtle Who Didn't Win the Race
AN: THANK YOU ALEXLUKE for your continued feedback and support! You are AWESOME!
AN 2: I hope y'all don't mind the early posting, but wanted to update everyone that this coming Sunday December 23rd, I'll be starting my 5 days of Christmas freebies on my PAT RE ON (all one word) site.
On the 28th 1 pm EST, I'll be doing a livestream to answer YOUR questions. (if I can't get discord to work then I'll switch to youtube but will post the free link so you can still find me) If there is a disruption (and giving my luck, it's a 50/50 shot) then I will repost a transmission time.
Feedback will be welcomed and questions answered. I'm aiming for an hour or so, but if y'all still wanna chat, I'll stick around for however long it takes.
Be sure to leave questions in the comments on any of my stories. I'm writing them down on index cards so I don't have to go hunting for them and miss any during broadcast.
And now without further delay….
Poor Donnie….
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Donnie lay, weak and shaking upon his bed. His finger had healed, dexterity and strength returned, though he pretended otherwise. He had hoped to make his escape but before he could execute his plan, he had been taken to a new lab and subjected to further testing.
Not the kind for physical strengths or mental testing, but the worst possible kind.
Bound to a table with an indentation in the center to accommodate his shell, he had been spread wide and probed, poked, and prodded. A cold metal tube was rammed up his tail and rectum, causing him to thrash in his bonds and scream as sensitive parts were brutally examined.
Two doctors took small scalpels and removed random scales from Donnie's feet, ankles, legs, groin, tail (that particular one had him physically crying), around his shell, shoulders, neck, and face. Each extracted scale was placed in a labeled container in a cooler.
Donnie thought his torment was over, but it had only just begun.
Emotionally exhausted and physically abused, he was escorted from the room and down the hall, where he was shoved, none too gently, into another room and shackled into place on the floor. He tried to ignore the bleeding spots that dotted his pale green body, and much to his shame and humiliation, his tail. A ring of dried blood clotted the slit, the pain of the exam still lingering as a bad dream haunting his waking moments.
He didn't have time to concentrate on his injuries, as scientists placed small white leads on his chest and head, then exited without a word. The door was closed, sealing Donnie inside the small ante chamber. There was a hiss from the vent and freezing air began to blow.
Shivering, Donnie curled in on himself, chains clanking along the concrete floor. Perhaps it was the trauma of previous injuries, or the fact the temperature was dropping, but it took Donnie several minutes to figure out the scientists were testing his physiology in freezing temperatures.
He spent four hours in near zero temperatures, hooked up to machines monitoring his vitals. Being naked, he suffered from frostbite and other related ailments from exposure before he was removed from the arctic conditions.
His captors didn't bother to assist in his recovery. They gave him a couple of blankets and wheeled him to his room, where he remained curled up, half frozen, barely conscious, for the rest of the evening.
The next morning he had been too weak to stand, and it wasn't an over exaggeration on his part. He was barely able to feed himself. Thankfully, the doctors gave him the day to recover. But it wasn't nearly long enough.
The next day he was granted a short reprieve to have breakfast, then escorted to a room that was more or less a furnace. Sweat poured in rivulets. Breathing became labored and consciousness once again waned from the exposure to extreme heat.
After the endless hours of testing, the doctors called for an end to the experiment and two of the guards picked Donnie up to transfer onto a gurney.
One hissed, "Fuck, you're hot!"
"Totally roasted," the other agreed, wheeling Donnie back to his room.
One eye was swollen shut, lips cracked and lined with dried blood, he lacked the ability to move on his own.
"Sh….show…..shower," Donnie managed to wheeze out.
He needed to cool down and re-hydrate, lest he suffer organ failure. What he needed was a few IVs, opened wide and loaded with electrolytes, but as he guessed, he wasn't to be that lucky.
The guards took pity on him and settled him in the shower where they turned the tap in an effort to help Donnie cool down.
Donnie opened his mouth, catching some of the dribbling water to wet his throat. His tongue was wadded cotton and sticking to the roof of his mouth. His throat was a desert, arid and dusty.
A few minutes of cold water, Donnie began to feel the heat dissipate from his worn and battered frame. He shifted, allowing the water to change direction and cool him off. The guards left, exiting the room and muttering between themselves about how hot Donnie was to the touch.
Donnie was glad there wasn't a water restriction. He stayed under the tap, taking random sips of water for a couple hours until he was able to move. It took great effort for him to gain his feet. He kept his face in the spray, drinking deeply to replenish the fluids he undoubtedly lost while baking in the oven.
Needing rest, he half dragged himself to bed, where he fell immediately to sleep. A couple hours later he was jolted awake with the delivery of dinner. To his relief, his captives saw fit to help him revive, for they provided a couple bottles of Gatorade and soup to help replenish his fluids. He ate quickly, hoping to quell the nausea threatening to turn his shell inside out.
The fluids helped, but he was still suffering.
"More?" Donnie asked hopefully when the guards came to take his tray. They exchanged a look and shrugged, agreeing to the request.
Donnie returned to the shower, maintaining a moderately cool temp and lapping at the water. Several minutes later, the door opened and the guards returned with another tray of food. Donnie turned off the water, nodding his thanks and sat on the bed, eating at a moderate pace as to not make himself sick. Once finished, he sat in the shower, using its limited ability to rehabilitate him back to health.
Later that night, someone stopped by for blood samples and left Donnie to his rest. He was grateful for the reprieve. Exhausted, he slept through the night again.
The next morning, he was drained of a full pint of blood, which left him weak and exhausted, hence why he was once again curled up on his bed. He still needed to replenish fluids but he was too tired to crawl into the shower.
Though his captors had given the day off to heal, he was still suffering from various forms of exposure. Under normal circumstances it would have taken only a couple of days to recover, but given his captivity and subsequent experimentation, his recovery was taking longer.
Which put his plans of escape on hiatus.
The calculations for success became dangerously slim when Donnie factored in his compromised state and the obvious military training of the guards.
Though he wanted to get out of the torturous place, if he made an attempt while compromised, and ultimately failed, the guards would be wise he'd lose his advantage. He needed to show weakness in order to gain precious time to truly heal for making the attempt.
Course, there was the minutiae chance his brothers would mount a rescue.
Then his plans would have to be accelerated, regardless of injuries and health.
Speaking of which…Where were his brothers?
Donnie wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in the embrace of his family. He missed them so much! It was becoming a constant ache.
He missed Mikey's goofy grin. Musical talents. Ability to goad Raph into a shouting match. His insatiable appetite, drawn to anything covered in sauce and cheese. Even stealing bites off his brothers' plates when he thought they weren't looking.
Raph with his gruff voice, booming threats and constant growls as a disgruntled bear disturbed in his cave. The only time Raph was calm was when he was punching something or lifting weights. Or rubbing Leo the wrong way.
Donnie even missed Leo's brooding presence. Scowling face, lurking form, the constant barking for everyone to train. It was all Leo focused on nowadays. Training and meditation and more training. The turtle was absolutely obsessed with honing the skills of his brothers.
And Master Splinter.
Oh, how Donnie missed his father.
He could really use his master's wisdom right about now. It was so hard to stay focused when he was being tortured. Still, he remembered his father's teachings and tried to put his mind far away from the physical pain. It only worked a small percentage of the time, Donnie lacking in that particular skill set.
He doubted his father envisioned someone ramming steel rods up a tail, or putting them in a freezer or oven to monitor their vitals in harsh conditions. Donnie doubted any form of training prepared one for those particular horrors.
Sleep must have claimed him because Donnie was being shaken awake in what seemed the blink of an eye. He groaned, feeling every injury as if it was new, and opened bleary eyes to find one of the guards standing by the bed.
"Ready for some tests?" the guard asked maliciously.
He was new to Donnie.
Judging by the man's rocky features and permanent snarl, he wasn't one to trifle with. His eyes were dark, haunted, hollow. Devoid of feeling and soul.
Donnie hoped he wasn't on duty when he made his escape. He'd put up on hell of a fight and Donnie wasn't sure he could physically best the man. At least not while compromised.
Donnie tried to get out of bed, but shakily fell to the ground. The guard kicked him with a booted foot.
"Get up! Time to run your paces, animal!"
Struggling to gain his feet, Donnie wavered, stomach threatening to rebel. He took two steps when his stomach clenched before exploding in a violent geyser of acrid vomit.
"Perhaps we cooked him too long?" came an unctuous voice from the door.
Donnie knelt on the floor, emptying his stomach of what little it retained. He glanced up to find a new human male framed by the door. A cold, imposing figure that made a chill run down Donnie's shell, despite his fevered state.
"Who… are you?" Donnie asked shakily.
"You may call me, Bishop," the man exclaimed, the very air in the room dropping several degrees.
Donnie had this inkling, a notion he was unable to explain, that this man, Bishop, was the real mind running this lab. That Mr. Point and the other scientists were mere lackeys, performing a job under Bishop's watchful eye.
"Don't want him to expire before we continue with the tests," Bishop said, nodding to a doctor. "Give him fluids. I need him alive."
The doctor dashed down the hall and returned a moment later with an IV kit. Donnie was still on the floor, trembling head to foot, barely maintaining consciousness. The two guards who had come to escort Donnie, picked him up from the floor and manhandled him to the shower, where they turned on cold water and hosed him off with disgust.
Donnie yelped in shock as the icy water struck him, but it did help ease his overheated frame. He settled against the wall, basking in the spray. He whined when it was turned off. The doctor knelt next to him, placing a tourniquet on his arm and finding a vein.
"Thank you," Donnie said with a tired smile.
The doctor didn't acknowledge him. He finished setting up the IV and held up the bag to allow it to drip.
"Get on the bed," he commanded.
Donnie rose in slow motion, lying down with care. His fatigue wasn't embellished this time, much to his chagrin. Hopefully, he could keep up the ruse for several days and be allowed to recover.
The doctor touched a panel on the small alcove, exposing a metal hook he looped the IV bag onto to allow it to drip.
As Donnie settled in, he felt the man's hands turning his arms and legs, examining the places where his scales had been cut off. The doctor pressed around the scab under Donnie's eye. Satisfied with his findings, he left without word, no doubt to record his observations.
Donnie sensed he was being watched and found Bishop remaining in the doorway. He stood, clad in Stygian black, tall and immobile as a statue. His dead, flat eyes staring unblinkingly at Donnie. The chill returned but Donnie didn't show it.
Bishop observed the turtle for a couple moments in silence, then stepped out of the door, allowing it to seal shut.
Donnie glanced to the observation window but it was empty of humans. With a sigh, Donnie closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Donnie's reprieve didn't last long. It took 6 IV's to get him stabilized, his dehydration worse than he thought. He also slept, which was a miracle in of itself. It was a deep, refreshing sleep that eluded him naturally.
A new doctor came in to remove the IV port the next afternoon, dropping off Donnie's lunch, which was a wonderfully melted cheese pizza. After lunch, another doctor arrived to drain half a pint of blood. Woozy, Donnie lay down, frowning as the ceiling spun in fast motion above him. He closed his eyes to keep from puking.
Once again sleep claimed him heavy and fast.
Which proved a much needed respite.
The next morning Donnie was awoke by the same cruel guard who bore resemblance to a chipped brick: squared, pock marked, flat nose and broad cheeks. Donnie barely sat up when his hands and feet were slammed together.
Not expecting the sudden shift, Donnie overcompensated and toppled off the bed, where he landed with a thunk on the floor. He was about to remind them of his docile nature when he felt hands, then blades, upon him.
Knives, needles, even a letter opener was used on him. Shallow slices, deep gouges, and everything in between was utilized along his exposed green skin.
Donnie read once where human children capture bugs and pin them to cardboard to present as a science experiment. He now knew how the bugs felt, jabbed over and over, riddled with injuries that either oozed or poured blood.
The gouge on his thigh in particular.
A knife had sunk about four inches into the green flesh. By pure luck, it wasn't near an artery or vein, as Donnie knew the vulnerable places in anatomy, but it still bled freely, the pain excruciating.
"That's enough," one of the men said. "I'll monitor his clotting factors and rate of healing from lacerations and punctures. Thank you, gentlemen."
There was a murmur of noise, the hands holding Donnie immobile while he was being stabbed, released him. Donnie was only vaguely aware of movement, the humans finished with their task and keen on returning to their duties.
Fingers poked and tugged on wounds, causing Donnie to cry even harder. Shaking violently, he tried to curl protectively into a ball or partially retreat into his shell, but the pain was too great. He could only lay, sobbing softly on the cold, unforgiving tile.
The man examining him paid no attention to the pain filled cries, nor did he show the slightest bit of concern over his subject. He studied the punctures for nearly an hour, scribbling notes on a clipboard he had brought with him. When he gathered everything he needed, he rose and exited, locking the door behind him.
Donnie remained bound on the floor. There were dark streaks of blood where he had struggled during the attack. To say he ached was an understatement. Not even punishment in the hashi compared to the burn and agony permeating his being.
Luckily, his wounds sealed quickly, a blessing of his mutation. Donnie curled on his side, rubbing his cheek on the cold tile in an attempt to alleviate the heat consuming him, body and soul.
The lights powered down signaling the end of the day.
Donnie lay in the semi darkness and wept.
He wept for his brothers and father. For missing home and his comforting den of computers. He ached for freedom and the loving embrace of his family.
But most of all he wept for the inhumanity of it all. Of being caged up and experimented on. Of being prodded, brutalized, bled out, frozen, and baked in an oven.
All in the name of 'science' and 'research.'
For the first time in his life, Donnie cursed science and everything related to it.
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Reminder: ALL feedback is welcomed and I try to answer in a timely manner. For more information, and access to my livestream feed on the 28th, (you don't have to sign up for anything!) be sure to go to PAT RE ON and look for padawan_jinx.
See you there!
