Chapter Forty-Three: Here There Be Monsters
AN: Goodbye July, Hello August! Couldn't let the month end without a cliffie, so enjoy!
AN2: Chapter contains some grotesque and violent imagery. Proceed with caution. You've been warned.
AN3: 12 pages.. not too shabby. Hope y'all like this little horror chapter. Wasn't sure how much info to put in but my muse was in a good mood so I just went with it. Working on next chapter :D
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Donnie sat, staring at the screen with the intensity of a cat waiting to pounce on a bird.
"Donnie," Leo said.
Donnie jumped a foot in the air, wide eyed and clutching his chair in a death grip. "Leo! Don't scare me like that!"
Leo smirked. "We're ninja. Stealth is in our nature."
"So isn't heart attacks," Donnie mused, eyeing Leo's sweat soaked attire.
When Donnie returned from Sable's, it was to find his brothers hard at work in making a nice bathroom for her to use while visiting. Leo wasn't too happy with the job, but pitched in nonetheless. The new bathroom was around the corner from their bedrooms, occupying a short dead end tunnel.
Donnie provided the basic plumbing and electrical knowledge, but for the most part, his brother's took it upon themselves to make the place tidy enough for a girl. Mikey and Raph even argued over the color scheme for the tiles and toiletries, and finally, Raph won out, making the room more neutral with white and 3 different shades of grey.
Mikey pouted as his lurid design of neon orange and pink was denied. He still helped Raph with the grouting, often times mentioning how nice the room would look with a splash of color. Raph had to threaten him to make sure the orange or pink didn't miraculously show up during the construction and become a permanent fixture.
Donnie, once the important installations were complete, busied himself in his workshop.
Leo popped his head in, finding Donnie bent double, tongue pressed between teeth, his fingers busy stitching black fabric.
"Do I even want to know what you're sewing?" he asked. He still had moments of vibrant, clashing, thundering attitude, but for the most part, his manner was subdued. Demure, one might say.
"Later," Donnie said, without looking up.
Leo left the resident genius to his work and some six hours later, found Donnie stationed at his computers, attention rapt as a predator seeking prey. Hence why Donnie jumped a foot in the air and nearly soiled his shell from fright.
"Finished sewing?" Leo asked, joining Donnie at the computer. "What are you working on now?"
"Actually, the fabric is curing. Should be ready in a few days," Donnie said, settling back into his seat and tucking into his desk.
"Curing from what?" Leo asked.
"You'll see," Donnie singsonged, then pointed to the main screen he was watching. "There's been activity at the warehouse where the Foot is scheduled to transmit Friday night."
"What kind of activity?" Leo leaned on the desk, staring at a blank screen.
Donnie clicked a button, allowing the screen to blink momentarily, and show the interior of the white room hidden under the warehouse.
"Can't keep the camera on for long as the batteries drain like crazy," Donnie explained, adding the screen shot to a collection he had stored in a folder. He opened the file, showing Leo the changes. "Two new binders on the table. New set of vials and a set of supplies for drawing blood. The table has been checked and given the green light, and the camera and computer similarly checked."
The pictures in the folder showed the new equipment being placed on the table. Men checking the table, testing the restraints, the lighting, the camera, the computer, and then the most recent, showed the new logs placed on the table to record the scientific observations.
"What's the game play, Leo?" Donnie asked, even though Leo had been demoted from his position by their father.
"We see what they're up to and put a stop to it," Leo said, turning a hardened stare to Donnie. "Why?"
Donnie shifted, uncomfortable with Leo's cold glare.
"It's just, we won't be able to calculate their numbers," Donnie said slowly. "And what if there's more going on than what we're expecting? I don't want to be caught unaware." He gulped. "Again."
Leo's nostrils flared. "Are you getting cold feet for a mission or are you more concerned about being away from your woman than performing your duty?"
Donnie's heart broke. "I just want all the variables."
Leo sneered, leaning close to Donnie. "You will do your duty, without question, without fail, and you will do whatever is necessary to protect yourself and your brothers from being injured or captured. That is your job!"
Color drained from Donnie's cheeks.
Leo may have been in a more affable mood as of late, but it had not quelled his bloodlust, nor his violent temper. If anything, he was more volatile. Which meant, if they went on a mission, they were at risk from Leo more than the enemy.
"I'll always do my job," Donnie said firmly, not backing down from Leo's hateful glare. "We all will. But in order for me to keep us safe, I need to know the variables and run the equations." To emphasize his point, he added, "I didn't have all the variables when we attacked the Foot and I was captured. Had I had the intel I needed, I could have avoided being caught and you and Mikey escape injury."
Leo flinched at the rebuke.
To drive his point home, Donnie pointed to the clutter that made up his workstation, namely, the giant white erase board hanging on the wall. It was covered in scientific connotations and equations.
"You want us prepared? Then let me gather the facts, plot the best course of action, and produce the most effective combat tools to win the fight." Donnie observed the war going on in Leo's mind for a moment before added, "Or else the enemy wins due to brash, unfocused, hotheaded blundering that may result in getting us captured, or killed."
Temper cooled by logic, Leo gave a curt nod, leaving Donnie to his work.
Donnie rubbed his face, wishing more than ever, for Leo's emotions to sort themselves out. If Leo was still unstable, it wasn't wise to allow him to accompany the team. Which meant, Donnie needed to create a preemptive strike….. against Leo.
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Friday found four turtles crowded around Donnie's computer at exactly 8pm. The cameras had become operational at 7:30 when people started to arrive at the underground torture chamber beneath the warehouse. The motion detectors let Donnie know the room was coming alive with activity.
Donnie's systems were recording the proceedings, watching the computer monitor from two angles, another focused on the table with the restraints, just in case four sets of turtle eyes missed something during the live show. The leather straps were tested once more, the men muttering amongst themselves so low; Donnie's tiny spy cameras were unable to decipher the words.
By 9, the room held at least six men, three of whom were clad in black and carrying plenty of firepower.
Donnie gave an involuntary shudder, remembering the similar men who held him captive during his torturous experimentations. He was glad Sable was unable to see the live feed. She didn't need to be reminded of that horrible place.
To each turtles' abject horror, two men came dragging in a third who was obviously unconscious.
And undoubtedly homeless, judging by his tatty clothing and lack of hygiene. His beard was past his shoulders, tangled into a mass best described as belonging to a rat.
No offense to Master Splinter.
He was unceremoniously stripped, stained and baggy clothing deposited into a biohazard bag being held by one of the soldiers. His nose remained curled as layer after layer was placed inside the bag for disposal. Once the man was totally naked, stripped of his clothing and what remaining dignity he possessed, the bag was sealed and taken away.
There were three men dressed in white lab coats. The first one stepped up, cleaning the unconscious man's arm and extracting 10 vials of blood. Three vials were placed on a small ridged device that rocked back and forth, keeping the blood mobile.
One vial was immediately emptied and placed upon slides, filling two dozen, their carmine stain a reminder of what was about to happen. The scientists took turns looking up the two different microscopes and jotting down information in one of the binders. While they worked the soldiers busied themselves with wiping the man down with sanitizing wipes and buckling the two inch straps into place to secure him.
This process took just over half an hour.
The remaining samples were placed in one of the two coolers, one scientist scribbling something along its top as another scientist approached the man and injected a clear liquid into his veins.
Slowly, the man's head lulled. He groaned, head and shoulders flopping, feet kicking feebly. It took at least fifteen minutes before he was babbling, tugging at his restraints. While he struggled to throw off the lethargy that had overpowered him, the scientists weren't idle.
One started an IV with a fast drip. Another bag was placed behind it, but it was impossible to tell if either had been adulterated. The man's entire body was photographed, arms and leg bones measured and recorded.
"He's cognitive," one of the scientists said blankly. The whole fact he had a naked man strapped to a table for experimentation, had no course for alarm or remorse. It was simply… an experiment.
"What is your age?" one of the scientists asked.
"Wha?" the man gaped, eyes struggling to focus on the white clad gentleman hovering nearby. "Where am I? What's going on? Who are you?"
"I asked, what is your age?" the scientist repeated, all business, no compassion.
"Thirt…thirty-two," the man blubbered, struggling harder in his bonds.
"What drugs do you partake in?" the scientist asked.
"None," the man stammered, trying to cover himself as the coolness in the room gave him goosebumps. "I drink when I can, but I don't do drugs. That shit will kill you."
"Indeed," two scientists chimed in unison.
"Is this… some kind of a…. an intervention?" the man asked, staring fearfully as a doctor approached, gloves secured over his hands. "What.. are you.. going .. to do?"
"Attach leads to monitor your vitals," the doctor said, opening a pack of silvery white disks and placing them on the man's chest. With the flip of a switch, the man's frantic heartbeat filled the room.
The clock was checked, and at precisely 10:30pm, the camera was turned on while the secret code was typed into the computer.
Donnie's eyes missed nothing. They memorized the password and its pinging address.
To the turtles' shock, Baxter Stockman appeared on the screen, squinting at the settings and adjusting his black rimmed glasses.
"Can you hear me?" he asked, bobbing and weaving in front of the camera. "Can you see me?"
"It is a secured feed, Dr. Stockman," one of the scientists stated flatly. Behind his back, his middle finger shot up.
"Okay, good," Baxter said, performing the sputtering guffaw that served as his laugh. "Don't want anyone to hack the feed."
Donnie was already busy doing just that. As his brothers watched the livestream footage, Donnie created a shadow program, piggybacking onto the feed and sending out pings to locate its original source. The longer the transmission, the better chances of finding the base of operations.
Baxter got the information of the captive, who offered a running commentary in the background, begging for them to stop and release him. His promises of never drinking alcohol again. Solemn oath to never speak of the men or the location in which he was being held.
It was so annoying one of the soldiers slapped him into silence.
"And what delectable little DNA source are you using this time?" Baxter asked, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
"Desert coyote from a glorious specimen in Wyoming." The scientist spoke while typing on the computer. There was a whooshing sound that signaled a file had been sent. "Specimen Intel sent. Shall we begin, doctor?"
Baxter rubbed his hands together again, smiling impishly at the scene displayed on his computer.
"Yes, yes! Let's begin!" Baxter twirled his hand in an attempt to hurry along the procedure.
One scientist extracted a thin tube of pale purple liquid from the secondary cooler. Uncapping a needle, he plunged it inside, drawing the tube to about three quarters of the way before removing the needle, placing the tube back inside its case.
A secondary tube was held out by a white robed scientist. This tube was clear, but there was a sticker on the side designating it to be a pure DNA sample.
The needle was inserted and a fraction of the liquid drawn inside, mixing with the pale purple in the syringe.
"What are you doing?" the man asked in a terrified voice as the scientist approached with the needle. "Let me go! What are you doing? Stop!"
The scientist didn't stop. He slipped the needle into the IV port in the man's arm and began the slow, steady descent into evil, his face a blank, emotionless mask.
"We have to stop this!" Leo barked, eyes wide and staring at the frantic human being injected with mutated DNA. "Gear up, guys! We need to leave ASAP!"
"Wait!" Donnie said, pointing to the screen. "We can't go! If we storm in there, Baxter will see us, shut down the feed and we'll lose all hope of finding his base of operations!"
"The man is being mutated, Donnie!" Leo spat angrily in Donnie's face. "We have to help him! This has gone on long enough! It's up to us to stop it!"
Raph rolled his massive shoulders. "Well, hell, you know I'm in!"
Mikey shook his head. "Donnie's right! It's awful to watch, but we can't let them know we know of their base! Of what they're doing! We'll lose the element of surprise!"
"You cowards!" Leo shouted, shoving Mikey and causing the orange turtle to stagger.
Raph caught him, puffing his shell, snarling at Leo and stepping in front of Mikey protectively. Leo answered Raph's posturing with his own, glaring icy daggers at his brother, body tensed, ready to spring.
"Stop!" Donnie snapped, trying to calm down the situation. "I know it's hard, Leo, but we must stay here! We can't infiltrate that lab! Baxter will shut down everything, and I'm this close," he held up thumb and forefinger an inch apart, "to zeroing in on his base of operations! If I can find out where he is, I can shut him down. Permanently!"
Leo opened his mouth to argue when a louder, stronger, parental voice cut through sharper than a blade.
"Enough!" Splinter hobbled to the computers where his sons were congregated, Leo and Raph preparing for a massive brawl. "Donatello is correct in that we must have patience."
Leo jerked his head toward his father, anger melting away into disbelief.
"While an innocent human is being tortured?" Leo yelled, pointing into the general direction of the screen. "You expect me, after all your years of teaching us what is right and fighting for the innocent, to stand down and allow these monsters the chance to destroy that innocent human?"
"He's already gone, Leo," Donnie said quietly. "He's beyond our help."
Leo stared at the computer, finding the once human male now writhing, half mutated on the table. His arms and legs appeared to be breaking, rearranging themselves into front and hind legs. His nose was elongated, sharp teeth glinting in the sterile lighting of the mutation room.
Leo's fire died instantly.
"We were never able to stop the mutation," Donnie put in sadly, watching as the male bucked and thrashed on the table as he was torn apart on a genetic level. "The only thing we can do is observe and trace. Collect intel and prepare for an attack. Our only focus should be in stopping these experiments. There's no guarantee this is an isolated laboratory. There could be dozens more. We need to center our attention here, on this particular laboratory and search for their main base of operations. To take them down, once and for all."
"Then we can infiltrate and tear their base to shreds?" Raph asked, happily emphasizing the term with a maniacal gleam. "I like this sound of this plan."
Baxter's voice broke through the din, stopping Leo's voice.
"I want a full panel, blood, xrays, scans, the works!"
Four turtles and one rat stared at the monitor that displayed the table restraining the man. Though he wasn't totally human anymore. He had a long snout, sharply pointed ears, a high arching chest bone, sunken stomach, paws on each limb, covered in fur, and his legs were shaped like that of a canine. He growled and snarled, snapping his jaws at the scientists, long slippery ropes of drool flying from his cavernous mouth.
The soldiers stood nearby, guns held at the ready, watching the mutant with wary eyes.
One of the scientists approached the half man, half beast, hoping to get a blood sample. The grayish hackles of a mane stood up, warning the male about his encroachment upon another alpha, but he paid the mutant no heed.
"Can you understand me?" he asked in a strong, clear voice.
The coyote man merely gnashed his teeth, eyes rolling in his head, drool soaking his muzzle, growling viciously at the scientist.
"Sir, I'm afraid it's another dud," the scientist said, showing the first signs of emotion and appearing beleaguered. "There's no kind of intelligence visible, either in his eyes or with his manner."
"Dammit!" Baxter cried, slamming his fist onto the desk and jarring his screen. "I thought I fixed that!"
"Perhaps there was something else in the man's system that adulterated your sample?" the scientist said, observing the new mutant with a dismal air of annoyance.
"Run everything!" Baxter ordered angrily. His voice had taken on a hard, harsh quality. "I want the full results by tonight!"
"Yes, sir, it will be done," the scientist said, cordially dipping his head while simultaneously flipping the arrogant man off behind his back.
Four turtles and rat gasped in abject horror as one of the soldiers withdrew a long, thin cord with "T" shaped ends. Casually, he looped the wire around the mutants neck and gave a mighty tug.
Flailing, whining, howling a broken cry, the coyote man bucked and fought, desperately trying to breath but having his windpipe slowly crushed by the unforgiving cord. The machines monitoring his vitals began to beep and sound alarms, warning of the danger of his expiration.
Bodily fluids began to leak out of the mutant as he thrashed, preparing to exit this life.
Runny, greasy fecal matter dribbled and ran along the cold steel table. His pink, rocket shaped dick popped out, spurting urine, soaking his furry lower body.
He gurgled and whimpered, tail pounding a deafening taboo on the table. With a mighty bubbling grunt, his tail stilled. Eyes became vacant. The pulse along his neck stopped. His mouth hung open, gums graying in death, tongue lulling to the side, already drying out.
Not one single human flinched at such a display of cruelty. They hurried about their business, quickly drawing samples from the dead creature.
No doubt, later he would find his way into an incinerator. Dying in a cold, lonely room, the victim of scientific cruelty at its damnable best. Tossed away, forgotten by not only society, but by the very scientists who ended his life.
They never even asked his name.
Baxter's voice cut through the void left lingering in the mutant's passing.
"Send results by tonight," he was saying, scribbling down information in a binder that matched the one the scientists had on their desk next to the computer. "Send the specimens here ASAP. I'll double check your results." He drew up, as if hearing something, and added, "Lunch. Gotta go! I expect your preliminary results by no later than 6pm my time. And you damn well better send those samples express. The last batch was practically useless thanks to your cheap shipping!"
"Sorry, sir, won't happen again," the scientist said, offering a formal dip of his head.
"It better not!" Baxter snarled before ending the transmission.
"Fucking jerk," the scientist muttered. He turned his vitriol to the others in the room. "Hurry up and get the samples before he decomposes!"
There was a mad rush, one of the doctors picking up a scalpel and slicing into the coyote's man's chest to perform an autopsy.
Donnie turned off the screen. It was a moment before anyone spoke.
"Well, that's was horrifying," Mikey said.
His brothers nodded, too shocked (and sickened) to speak.
"That poor man," Leo whispered, the color drained from his cheeks. The fight had left his bones.
Splinter placed a hand on Leo's arm, gaining his attention. "There was nothing you could do to aid him in escape. The only thing we can do is ensure no others must suffer at the hand of such monsters. We must stay strong and put our trust in each other in find the ones who have done these terrible things to innocents."
Leo gave a muted nod, not trusting his voice.
"Baxter could be anywhere," Mikey interjected sadly, shell drooping.
"Well, my tracking program captured the pattern to his pinging signal and I was able to refocus my algorithms," Donnie said, spinning in his chair and typing furiously.
The screen showed a conical pattern, slowly cycling down to a smaller radius. It gave a dull blip, then the screen focused inward toward a metropolis.
"He's there!" Donnie said, pointing to the upper right quadrant. "The signal originated from there. That's their main base of operations! I bet my shell on it!"
"Great," Raph grunted, squinting at the cross section of streets that didn't conform to a pattern he was familiar with. "Where is he? We'll go pound his brains in tonight!"
Donnie shook his head. "Won't be tonight. I'm afraid his signal came from Japan."
"Japan?" four voices chimed in unison.
Donnie pointed to the section of the metropolis which had a brilliant glowing dot.
"Tokyo to be exact," he said.
"How can you be sure"" Leo asked, staring at the mocking dot. Their enemy was so close, yet, still so far away. "You said he bounced his signal around. Maybe this is a dummy station and he's really hiding in New York?"
"Nope, he's in Japan, I'm sure of it," Donnie explained, going to the consol that had recorded the horrible mutation and rewound the recording.
Stockman repeated, "Lunch. Gotta go! I expect your preliminary results by no later than 6pm my time. And you damn well better send those samples express. The last batch was practically useless thanks to your cheap shipping!"
"If he's having lunch, it's after noon where he is," Donnie explained. "And he mentions the doctors sending the packages via express. If he was close by, they would have driven the samples to him, personally. Also, check out over his left shoulder," Donnie pointed to the screen that displayed an inch wide patch of a window, full of sunlight. "It's near midnight here, so that means, judging by Japan being 13 hours ahead of us, it's nearly 1pm there."
"How sure are you?" Leo asked, not wanting to be trapped in a confined space with his siblings for a 20 hour flight.
It was bad enough the 3 hours being stuck in the cargo plane coming back from Brazil. Then they jumped planes, crashed the one they were in, and had to hike nearly 100 miles to find an airport. Their only stroke of good luck was the plane heading to Washington Dulles, where it was an easy skip to a plane headed to LaGuardia.
"94.63%, accurate," Donnie said, secure in his numbers and his knowledge.
"Good enough for me," Leo said. "Rest up guys. We're going to Japan."
Splinter, eyeing Leo carefully, put in, "Yes, we are."
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WOO HOO! The plot thickens!
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