Leo was carried down hallways and through doors, and he tried counting the turns but Stockman was squeezing him too hard for blood to flow well, and had he been human, his ribs would have broken already.
"Good," Bishop's voice said from behind Leo. The turtle was slammed onto a table hard enough to hurt him, then flipped over onto his plastron mercilessly. Humans tugged at his wings, which he fought to keep closed. However, they proved too strong and managed to pull Leo's wings out and tie them along another two tables each, they were that long.
Then, they encased his tail in a cloth padding that soon hardened but stayed loose so it could be slipped on and off with ease. His horns were covered in the same stuff, and his arms were strapped down like his wings. His ankles and knees, too, were pinned to the table he rested on, and his shell was strapped down as well.
Bishop walked up, his feet making hardly a sound, and he held something that smelled like blood in his hand. Leo was about to breathe fire, hoping to hit something, when a metal bit was forced into his mouth again. He kept his jaw locked tight together, but a human pushed painfully on his mouth joint until he relaxed and the steel machine was forced into his mouth. Unlike the last one, this seemed to ooze over his teeth and then hardened, and what felt like liquid metal – but cool to the touch – slid down his throat and hardened.
He couldn't breathe fire anymore.
Bishop looked carefully at the turtle, paranoid that they might have missed something that would pose a threat. Satisfied that he had not, the biologist stepped forward, towards Leonardo's right wing. It twitched and lay still again, but was shaking when Bishop put his hand on the very tip of the wing, over the claw.
Swiftly, he cut a section of the wing open and Stockman pinned the flaps of bleeding skin down to the table as the turtle's body shuddered and he gasped, but didn't cry outright. Bishop was disappointed and cut a section of the wing off for testing.
"Hm. It seems as though this reptile has become warm-blooded," Stockman murmured, strapping a pore-tester onto the animal's arm. It probed his pores and took samples of the blood and sweat coming from the turtle.
"Indeed. His wings are a mark of abnormality, even for a freak. Such wings… they are dragon-like, you know," Bishop murmured, looking at the membrane under the microscope next to him. The fibers that made up the membrane criss-crossed and were woven into a tight, air-proof, thermal blanket; Bishop grinned. If he could replicate this material, he could grow winged soldiers!
"So, Leonardo, tell me how you came by this wing," Bishop drawled, suturing the end of the right wing back together. After all, he wanted to see how fast it healed.
But the turtle was silent; Stockman bapped him over the head and went on with his work, testing the piece of skin he'd taken from the mutant's right arm. Shrugging, Bishop went back to his careful stitching.
"It seems that Leonardo here has mutated past being a turtle-human, and become a hybrid of a dragon, turtle, and human. He has the intelligence, agility, and speed of a human, the shell, skin, and beak of a turtle, and the wings, tail, horns, and scales of a dragon. This writing on his skin, though, is fascinating. I do not know what it is, nor where it comes from, but it seems to be most legible on his arms and plastron." Stockman grunted at Bishop's identification, a very funny noise coming from a robot. The turtle was silent.
"We will have to dissect him further," Stockman asserted, lighting a welding torch. Carefully, he burned away a section of Leo's shell, lifted the plate, and exposed the tender muscle and flesh beneath.
"Not now," Bishop said. "Put that back. I want to run some agility tests first. We'll dissect them all later, once I have as much information from them as I can while they are alive. Patch that up and give him a healing shot. Then we'll dump him in the wind tunnel." Finished with his careful stitching, the scientist moved to Leo's other wing, examining it and taking measurements much like Donnie had.
Back in the cold room, Raph's teeth were clacking quickly together, though he skillfully hid it.
Agh, Winged One, we need you now, he said, careful to keep moving. Don and Mikey were also walking up and down, but Mike's limp was getting worse. Finally, Donnie told him to sit down and the braniac went over the long cut. Hardly sparing them a glance, Raphael kept walking.
He tried reaching out with his mind, but he was too distracted by the cold. He rubbed his hands over his large arms briskly.
"Don," Raph grumbled, "how's Mikey's leg lookin'?"
"Okay," Don muttered, tying his mask around it to help soak up the blood and keep the wound closed. "We should huddle together, like… we were."
"I don't know about you, but I ain't wantin' to hunker down in this cold. I wanna keep moving. Bishop, if you can hear me, you need to turn up the heat! I mean, come on. This is downright low." Raph glared at the light, since it was the only thing other than white walls in this cell.
"Has Master Splinter reached you yet?" Mikey asked, looking up at his fuming brother.
"No. I can't reach out, either, with this cold. I wonder how he's doing." Raph didn't need to specify; they were all wondering about Leo, and what was happening to him.
Mike was silent, Raph's feet sliding around as he paced up and down, and Donnie was tying knots in a mask long run out of fabric to tie knots in.
Leo stumbled as a human pushed him forward. He was in too much pain from the chip in his shell to count the turns, and was thoroughly lost. Bishop and Stockman walked in front of him, and a guard held his gun at Leo's head. One wrong move and he'd be turtle paste.
Stockman opened a door to their right and shoved the winged turtle into the tunnel. At one end was a large, rotating fan behind a grid too small for even a human pinkie to fit through. Behind Leo was a large, sharp-bladed grid. If he fell into that… turtle-dragon soup would probably be served.
The fan sped up and a gust blasted into Leo, who flattened onto his plastron as a result and pinned his wings down, the claws holding onto the rough floor surface.
"Ah, cheating," a voice said from a speaker above the door. "Unfortunately for you, I don't allow cheating."
Leonardo couldn't tell if the voice belonged to Bishop or Stockman, and didn't have time to think about it, because the floor rippled and spike shot up at the bladed fan's end, quickly moving for Leo's position.
Like a quail scared into flight by a gun shot, Leo sprang off the ground and flapped his wings. He pushed against the currents of air to keep from being pushed into the blades behind him, and fought for altitude. He wasn't tired… yet. However, with no food for many hours, and with his increased need for calories, Leo knew he would soon be tired. For now, though, he flew, his reflection bouncing off the mirror Leo was sure Stockman and Bishop were standing behind, watching him.
Briefly, the winged turtle thought about flipping them off or something similar but disregarded it. After all, he needed to think, and this was the perfect opportunity!
First, though, he'd better contact Raph if he could. Closing his eyes, Leo reached out with his mind and touched his brother's. It was filled with dark thoughts of revenge on Bishop and Stockman.
I'm here, Leo mind-sent. Raph's mind started and turned towards him.
Leo? How're you holding up? Raph's voice came to him not in words but pictures and thoughts.
Pretty well, actually. I'm in a wind tunnel. I think they're testing my endurance, but since I haven't eaten in a while… I don't know what I'll do. There are spikes behind me and on the floor, so I can't land.
Can you hold onto the walls? Raph asked, sending a picture of a dragon clinging to a tower, from a movie they had once seen. Maybe?
I'll try. Leo turned his head towards the wall and opened his eyes. Thankfully, Bishop had left his mask on, and he could see without hurting himself. He reached out and touched the cement; it was rough and bumpy, like the floor.
Carefully, Leonardo latched himself like a tick onto the wall, just above the mirror so it would be hard to see him, and his wing claws dug in with screeches. He felt safer, somehow, when his wings took his weight from his hands and hooked him to the wall and ceiling.
Behind the glass, Leo could envision Bishop smiling evilly. Surely the walls were protected?
It's working, for now. How're you holding up?
We're cold, Raph sent back angrily. And Mikey's wound is hurting him.
I'll be back as soon as I can, Leo promised. So maybe I should continue flying?
Raph sent a video of him shaking his head angrily. No way, O Winged One. Keep your strength. You'll need it later.
Very well, Raph. I will see you all as soon as I may. Leo cut the connection and reached out for Master Splinter, who accepted his tired mind and gave him strength.
My son, where are you? Master Splinter's voice was probably the sweetest sound Leo could have heard at the time.
I am in a wind tunnel clinging to a wall. Mike, Raph, and Don are in a cell that is cold. I have been officially declared warm-blooded. How are you? Is April there? Or Casey? Leo was worried about their human friends. Bishop could let them go free, but they'd never be without a guard and would always be watched.
I am fine, my eldest. Mr. Jones is in the cell next to me, and Ms. O'Neil is with him. She is still unconscious, and he is groggy but functional. When you get back to your brothers, please discuss a plan to release us all.
I will, Sensei, Leo promised warmly.
I know, my son. Peace be with you.
Thank you, Master Splinter. Leo slid away from the connection with an image of him bowing sent as a last goodbye to his mentor. He opened his eyes to find Stockman in the doorway, a buzz baton in one robotic hand. He was approaching Leonardo, who looked around. The floor was still covered in spikes, and the fan was rotating quickly.
An electric bolt shot through him, and Leo cried out as his wings released the wall and he fell towards the floor. He landed on the small spikes with a groan as they slammed into his scales and plastron, and he was soon bleeding a little from numerous holes in his flesh and bony chest plates.
"No cheating," Stockman said, walking back out. Leo stumbled to his feet and opened his wings, beating them against the currents again.
An hour later, he was so tired he didn't care if Stockman shocked him again; he landed on the ceiling and tore into the cement with his wing claws, hanging there and soon falling asleep.