A/N: Sorry about the delay in getting this posted. Thanks to everyone who's been reading, especially those who have left a review.
RadicalCriminal has given some very helpful feedback on the fight scenes, and StillThunder86 continues to be a fantastic beta.
CHAPTER FIVE
Progress?
Donatello shifted anxiously from foot to foot as he waited for the door to be opened. He heard the bolts drawn back, then the crack of the hinges as the grey steel finally swung aside and let him see his brother. Leonardo was sitting up, which was better than last time, but his left arm was a mess of bruises. Don sighed.
"What happened this time?" he asked, resignation in his voice. This wasn't the first time he'd been called on to tend his brothers, and he doubted it would be the last. At least Leo didn't need stitches.
"That's not your concern, freak," said one of the guards. "Just check him over and see if there's any bones broken. And no funny stuff – remember?"
Don didn't need to be told twice. Crossing the room swiftly, he began checking Leo's bruises.
"What happened, Leo?" he asked, softly. "How did you get these bruises?"
His older brother looked at him curiously, his eye-ridges pinched together in confusion.
"I… I'm not sure," he said. "I think, something was coming towards us, too fast. No, I was too slow. Too slow!" Suddenly Leo was angry, grabbing Don by the shoulders and almost shaking him. "I wasn't fast enough, Don! Mikey… he…"
"It's OK, Leo, I'm seeing Mikey next. I'm sure he's fine. It's not your fault," Don could've wept to see his confident oldest brother so beaten. He mumbled soothingly, not paying attention to what he said, desperate to see the pain go from Leo's eyes.
Leo himself felt as though he was living in a nightmare. His family was divided, and he had been powerless to protect them since the ambush. How long ago was that? A week? A month? A year? He had lost all sense of time, living in this small room and only allowed out to take part in Bishop's games. He hadn't seen Raphael since they were captured. He remembered his brother fighting furiously, going up against six armed men. Bishop's hired muscle, Leo thought. Skilled, efficient. Deadly. Leo's heart seemed to stop beating. He had seen Don, and Mikey, but not Raphael. There was only one explanation for this, wasn't there? And that's why he was here, being punished. He was suffering because he hadn't saved his brother. Because Raphael was dead.
He was aware of Don's voice, but didn't take in any words. He thought that he was talking, too, because Don suddenly grabbed hold of both his shoulders and shook him, albeit gently.
"No, Leo, Raph isn't dead," Don insisted. "You saw him, remember? We all did – fighting that weird creature. He won that fight, remember? He's here, and he's alive."
Leo raised his head and looked at his younger brother. "Alive?" he repeated, sounding half-asleep. "Raph's alive? And Mikey?"
"Yes, Leo."
The eldest turtle blinked, as if trying to make sense of this information. Finally he said,
"Don?"
"Still here, Leo."
"Am I alive?"
The guard stepped up, pushing Don away from his patient.
"Very touching. I may puke," he snapped. "How's the arm? Anything busted?"
Don shook his head. "No bones broken, and no muscles torn as far as I can tell, just over-strained. He just needs to rest that arm until the bruises fade, then some gentle exercise until he's fully recovered." He was under no illusions that his advice would be followed, but he felt better for saying it. And at least Leo would know how to look after himself the best he could until Don's next visit.
He was forcibly escorted from the room, leaving Leo sitting there, looking like he'd lost all hope. Don dropped his gaze, his throat tight with emotion. He made himself breathe slowly, and regained his outward composure a little.
"OK," he told the guards. "I'll see to Michelangelo now."
"Say 'please'," prompted one of them, and the other laughed, nastily.
"You'll see who we say, when we say. And don't forget it!"
Donatello didn't rise to the bait, but even he was finding it difficult to keep his temper recently. He wondered how Raphael was coping. Or maybe he wasn't? Maybe he'd done something to upset Bishop, and Leo and Mikey were being punished for it? Don tried squash the thought that Raph was somehow to blame for what was happening to them all. This was all Bishop's fault, he reminded himself. Whatever his hot-headed brother had done, or not done, this whole, horrible situation was down to Bishop, no-one else. But if what was happening to Leo and Mikey was a reaction to something that Raphael had done, what would come next? Would Raph go the whole way and try to break them out, or would he back down to save them? Should Don be preparing himself and his brothers for an escape attempt?
He was still caught up in this flow of unanswerable questions when the guards either side of him stopped. They had been walking down a corridor of nondescript grey to another door, identical to the one that had shut behind him when he left Leo. No time to wonder about what Raphael might or might not be doing – he was here for Mikey.
-TMNT-
Don's breath caught in his throat as the door opened to reveal his youngest brother. Mikey was lying on his bed, seemingly out cold, and his whole left side was bloody mess. His shell had a few cracks running up the side, and his leg was covered in cuts. His arm looked broken, and he had a black eye blooming over an open gash on his cheek. Don stood and stared, until one of the guards pushed him to step forwards.
"Get on with it," he ordered. "We ain't got all day, ya know."
Don walked quickly to his youngest brother's side and began to clean and dress his wounds. Mikey was awake, and Don saw that his face was tight with pain. In an effort to keep his distracted, Don asked,
"What happened, Mikey?"
Michelangelo breathed steadily, forcing himself to focus on Donnie's voice rather than the pain in his side. He thought out had been worse earlier, but maybe that was just his imagination. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he tried to remember exactly what had happened in that room. He knew that Leo was there, and it was hard because he kept thinking of that nightmare fight under the influence of Bishop's foul serum.
"Mikey?" Don's concerned voice cut though his dark thoughts. "Do you not remember?"
"Yeah, Donnie, I remember." He sighed, then hissed a Don started to clean the largest cut on his leg. He hoped talking would take his mind off the pain.
"It was an obstacle course, like the one we did yesterday. Only, this time it was harder, faster. And it was worse for Leo, I think. He was moving kinda stiff, like he was still feeling the bruises from... from..." His face clouded at the memory of exactly how Leo had got those bruises. Don paused in his bandaging and patted his youngest brother's knee gently.
"It's OK, Mikey, don't think about that anymore. It's over," Don promised.
Mikey blinked back tears, nodded once and continued with his story.
"Yeah, well it was a room, like I said, with all these obstacles in - you know, walls to get over, pits to jump, balance beams - the works. The one yesterday was kinda lame, Leo even said Bishop was insulting us with such basic exercises. Maybe he shouldn'ta said that, cos the one today was not easy. Everything was bigger, and the stuff that moved was faster. Then there was the last bit - not funny even for Bishop. This one was like a wall, moving up on us and we had to get across in front of out. There wasn't enough time, and the exit was only big enough for one at a time, and I could see it in Leo's face that he was going to make me go first, so I just grabbed him and pushed him through the door before he could start arguing. I was halfway through when the wall hit, and it... well, you can see," he said, glancing down at his injured side.
Don grimaced and finished bandaging the cleaned injuries, glad that none of them needed stitches. He wanted to tell his brother that everything was going to be OK. Trouble was, he didn't believe it himself.
-TMNT-
Back in his own cell, Don allowed himself to shudder. He had held his emotions in check while he'd been attending to his brothers, partly as a matter of pride that he shouldn't let Bishop's henchmen see how upset he was, but mostly to keep Leo and Mikey from worrying about him – or each other. So long as he got to see them both he could tell them that things were OK, under control. Even though they weren't. It was three days since they'd taken Leo and Mikey to separate cells, and five since they'd seen Raph.
He wished Agent Bishop would let him visit Raph. He'd asked often enough. He'd even tried to insist, but that had come to nothing. The scientist had told him that, though Donatello's knowledge of their mutated chelonian physiology was useful, he was by no means irreplaceable. If he wanted to keep the 'privilege' of being his brothers' doctor, he would do as he was told.
He let himself flop down onto the shelf that served him as a seat and a bed, letting out a frustrated sigh. He didn't dare push the matter of seeing Raphael, not when Mikey and Leo needed him. Leo, especially. His physical injuries were superficial, but Don was getting very concerned about his eldest brother's state of mind. Mikey was holding up well, by comparison, though his physical injuries tended to be worse than Leo's. The effects of the Bishop's serum appeared to have completely worn off in both of them, but the frustration and humiliation of being held captive were taking their toll. On all of us, Don admitted to himself.
He was glad, in a way, that he didn't have time to brood on their situation. Bishop had said he had other tests which didn't involve DNA, and Don had quickly found out what that meant. For the past two days, he had been set to fight a variety of opponents. He had faced trained bodyguards on the first day, skilled in unarmed combat. These matches had been hard, and Donatello was forced to call upon all his knowledge of ninjitsu to avoid serious injury. Still, they had been supervised tests, with Bishop taking careful notes throughout. It was better than a street fight, if only because he knew he was facing professionals. He could attack with precision, being fairly confident about the way his opponent would respond. The day had been gruelling, but bearable. Today had been much worse.
The first fight was against a woman, smaller than him but an effective fighter. He had tested her strength at first, then settled into a routine combat. He hadn't enjoyed it; he never really enjoyed fighting, not the way Raph or Leo, or even Mikey did, but he'd got through the match without too much difficulty.
The second was against a young man – a boy really. From the first, Don could tell that he wasn't a fighter. It showed in everything about him, from the way he stood, to the terror in his eyes. Turning away from the boy, he addressed Bishop directly.
"What's the idea, Bishop? What's he doing here?"
"You don't want to fight him?" queried the scientist.
"You know I don't."
"Not even when I tell you that he's one of the guards seeing to Raphael? He's been very rude about your brother, you know. Calling him a freak, referring to him as 'it'. Don't you want to teach him a little respect?" Bishop's tone was even; he might have been delivering a weather report for all the emotion in his voice. But there was an expectant look in his eyes that shone with malice.
Don gave the quivering boy a hard look. The kid paled.
"That wasn't me!" he wailed, desperately. "It was Joe. Joe said all that stuff about the… your brother. Not me! I didn't mean… please don't hurt me!"
The turtle rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Bishop, let the kid out of here before he wets himself. I'm not going to fight this one. This is ridiculous!"
"You are going to fight, both of you," Bishop corrected. "Because I tell you to, and you know the penalty for disobedience. Greaves, you have a choice: you can fight Donatello here, or you can fight Mack." The boy, Greaves, turned horrified eyes to his boss.
"No," he breathed. "You wouldn't… not after…"
"I see you remember," Bishop remarked. To Donatello, he added, "Mack really doesn't like humans, for some reason. Doesn't like anyone, of course, but get particularly vicious around humans. There was one case, Simon… well, we needn't go into that. Right, Greaves?"
Greaves shook his head, the horror in his eyes making then seem too big for his skinny face.
Bishop nodded, once, apparently satisfied. Turning to the turtle again, he said "Donatello, you also have a choice. You can fight of your own free will, or I can try the latest strain of the serum on you. It will be interesting to see how much you remember of the encounter afterwards. Of course, the whole thing is being recorded, so you'll be able to refresh your memory anytime. I wonder what it will be like, watching yourself kill a defenceless boy? And, of course, there's the matter of your brothers." Bishop's neutral expression hardened. "If you are still standing there doing nothing in ten seconds, I shall consider it an act of defiance. And you know what that means."
Now it was Don's turn to pale, though it hardly showed under his green skin. He stood, undecided. How would Leo handle this? he thought. I can't just attack this boy. Then he had an idea. He walked over to the trembling Greaves and stood squarely before him.
"Hit me," he said.
"What?"
"Three seconds," Bishop observed.
"Hit me!" Don commanded, and Greaves obeyed almost on instinct. Don caught the clumsy blow and twisted the boy away, using his arm as a pivot. He held the arm firmly, pushed Greaves towards the back wall and appeared to be wrestling him into an arm lock.
"You've seen my brother? How is he?" Don whispered, as the boy struggled to get away.
Greaves' eyes, which had been screwed shut with the effort of pushing back at the turtle, suddenly opened in shock. "He's… he's OK," he replied.
"Really?" Don asked, then added, "Keep struggling, we've got to make this look good."
Greaves nodded, squirming in Don's grip and managing to twist out of his hold. The turtle 'slammed' the boy against the wall, as gently as he could.
"Really! I saw him yesterday, he's good," the boy insisted. "What do we do now?"
"Take my arm – the way I was holding yours. Good. Now, push against me, hard as you can," Don instructed. If he thought of it as a dojo lesson, maybe he could get through this. He had to imagine he was teaching a student. A particularly inept one, he thought, with a trace of bitter humour.
He was contemplating the least painful way to bring the fight to an end, when Agent Bishop's voice cut in again.
"I don't believe either of you are really trying. Do you need further incentive? Very well, the loser of this fight will go on to face Mack. How's that?"
Greaves looked sick with terror. He took another clumsy swing at Don, which the turtle easily dodged, allowing the boy's arm to pass his shoulder. Facing away from Bishop, and acting quickly, Don grabbed Greaves' other hand and placed it against his own throat.
"Hold there," he whispered. Greaves stared, but didn't move his hand away. Unfortunately, he didn't move at all. Don leaned forward, trying to show the boy what was excepted of him, but apparently the threat of "Mack" had frozen the boy completely. Bishop began to make impatient noises from behind the glass, and Don had to think fast.
He took hold of Greaves' arm and flipped him round so that the boy's back was against Don's plastron.
The turtle sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.
"Listen," he whispered, patiently. "Drive your left elbow into my bicep. My upper arm," he added, when Greaves hesitated. "Ow! The other left, kid," Don hissed.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry." Greaves tried again.
"Good. Now that you've made me let go of you, swing round with your right arm… right arm… and grab my neck. Yeah, like that." The hold was pathetic, but Don did his best to stay within it.
"Now, left hand, in a fist, to the side of my head. Well done," Don whispered, as he let his body go limp and slide to the floor. Greaves didn't let go fast enough, and was taken down with him, landing in a tangle to sprawled limbs.
"Hey, er, turtle, you OK?" he whispered. "I didn't kill ya, did I? Did I?"
Don opened one eye to give the boy an exasperated look, then closed it again to once more play dead.
Bishop looked up from his clipboard.
"Well, you certainly showed him," he said. The tone was level, but Don could hear the sarcasm in it. Greaves, it seemed, could not.
"Thank you, Mr Bishop, sir," Greaves said, getting up and beaming as if he really had defeated the ninja turtle single-handed.
"Greaves, get out," Bishop replied, not looking at him. "Stone, send in Mack."
The boy scurried from the room at top speed, just as a panel opened in the far wall.
"I suggest you 'wake up', Donatello," Bishop sneered. "Time for a real fight."
-TMNT-
Don got to his feet as Mack padded into the room. He did a double-take at the sight of the animal – surely this was the same creature they'd seen fight Raphael? For a split second he thought he saw something like surprise in Mack's eyes. Before he could think too hard about this, however, Bishop's voice came through the speakers set into his observation window.
"Donatello, I believe you've seen Mack in action before. There will be no play-acting here. You are facing a killer: expect no mercy."
There was a click as Bishop shut off his microphone, and then the only sound in the room was the padding feet and steady breathing of the two combatants as they circled one another, watching for an opening.
Don watched the animal closely, while careful to avoid direct eye contact. He wanted to gauge when Mack was going to spring, but not provoke an attack. He wondered what would happen if he made himself entirely non-threatening. Bishop claimed that Mack was a killer, but animals didn't tend to attack without a reason. Perhaps if he waited, Mack would lose interest. Bishop couldn't blame Don for that, surely? The turtle risked a glance towards the man behind the glass. Oh, yeah. This was Agent Bishop. He wasn't known for his reasonable nature. He could probably find a way to blame anyone for anything, if he wanted to.
Don turned his attention back to Mack. The pacing had slowed until they were almost at a standstill, on opposite sides of the room. The turtle risked a quick look at Mack's face, trying to judge the animal's mood. What he saw made him stare.
There was a calculating look in the animal's eyes that was quite unnerving. Don wondered how much Mack understood about their current situation. Did he know Bishop was watching them? Could he grasp the concept of a set-up fight? Had he seen Don's fight with the boy Greaves, and did he realise that Don wasn't the instigator of this fight? The turtle examined Mack's features closely. Bishop had called the animal a killer, and Don could believe it. Strangely, though, Mack didn't have the air of being a vicious animal. He seemed almost to be studying Don; perhaps he was interested and intrigued by the turtle?
Or perhaps he was looking for a place to attack, Don thought, as Mack came sailing towards him, claws out and jaws open. The turtle managed to dodge at the last moment, rolling to one side. He felt the fur on Mack's side brush past him as he moved out of the way, and silently thanked Master Splinter for the hours of training that kept his reflexes sharp.
Mack's momentum carried him past the turtle and almost into the far wall. He changed shape in mid-air, bracing newly-formed hands against the wall as it approached, and landing on two feet. He spun to face the turtle, and immediately lashed out another attack with his unsheathed claws.
Don turned away from Mack's blow, and heard the sound of claws skittering over shell. He reached back and caught hold of Mack's wrist, keeping the claws pointing away from his skin. He pulled the animal towards him, scissoring his legs around Mack's neck and using his right arm to make a triangle, trapping his head. Mack tried to turn and bite the turtle's stomach, but was foiled by the ridges of Don's plastron.
Mack was already doubled over, and swiftly transitioned back to a four-legged form. Don watched in amazement as the head before him changed. The ragged, triangular ears became rounder and smaller, the muzzle shrank back into the head and the shaggy brindled fur became smooth and black. When Mack had entered the room, he had looked most like a wolf. Now, he more closely resembled a panther.
Don felt himself lifted up on powerful shoulders, and fought to keep his balance. Mack lifted him clear of the ground, then shrugged him off. The turtle landed on his back, rolled quickly and got to his feet in one, fluid movement. He faced Mack again, ready for the animal's next attack, but found himself distracted by curiosity about this strange creature's abilities. He knew how to fight humans, and had faced various mutants of one kind or another. He knew that the principles of ninjitsu would work against animals, too, but he was unsure about how to face an opponent who was neither one thing nor the other. He'd never been taught how to fight a shape-shifter, and was not certain what his next move should be. Don felt an inner surge of frustration, and resentment at their situation. He didn't want to fight Mack, he wanted to study him! This creature represented a whole new field of research, not to mention his apparent intellige...
He'd done it again, Don realised, as his legs shot from under him. He'd stood there, lost in thought, while a dangerous opponent charged at him. He sighed and tried to get up, but Mack was pinning him down. The big cat was lying on top of him, breathing down his neck. He looked up into the creature's face and felt a moment of fear. It would only take one bite from those powerful jaws and Don would never draw another breath. But as he lay there, trying to keep still and calm his heart rate, he saw a look of satisfaction cross the feline features. It wasn't the look of a killer who'd taken down his next meal; it was more the expression of someone who had… well, yes, just won a difficult fight. A look he himself had worn after a successful session in the dojo with his brothers.
The dart hit Mack with such force that it rocked Don on his shell as he lay trapped underneath the creature. The pleased expression faded to blankness as the animal passed out, and the turtle slid himself out from under the dead weight. Bishop ordered Donatello back to his cell and watched thoughtfully as his men to removed Mack from the room.
Donatello left the room in a daze, with more questions than answers about the mysterious 'Mack'. Not only was the creature not the vicious killer Bishop claimed, but he was almost certainly sapient. As the turtle headed back to his own cell, he wondered if Raph had noticed the same thing during his fight with Mack. He wondered where his brother was right now and, Greaves' reassurances notwithstanding, if he was alright.
-TMNT-
"You wanted to see me, sir?" A very nervous Greaves stood in Bishop's private office. He'd never been in here before, and by all accounts this was where the boss worked on his most secret projects. He fixed his eyes on the carpet. People only got called in here to be praised, promoted, or… let go. He thought he could guess what fate awaited him.
"Do you think I'm stupid, Greaves? Do you think you are cleverer than I am?" Bishop asked, his voice cold and quiet.
Greaves continued to stare at the carpet. "N-n-n-no, sir," he stammered, shaking his head violently.
Bishop sat in silence, looking hard at his young henchman. He knew that Greaves' imagination was torturing him with fears about how he would be punished, and this suited Bishop nicely. He allowed a full minute to pass before he spoke again.
"I don't like it when people try to deceive me, Greaves," he said. The boy went pale and started to tremble.
"You will take a pay cut, backdated to the beginning of the month. You and Harris will be on night security until further notice." The boy's head came up at that.
"Joe Harris?" he repeated. "Why's he on nights? What'd he do?"
Bishop looked down at his paperwork, as if no longer interested in the boy before him.
"He works with you. I won't have the efficient running of this base disrupted by re-arranging the work teams. You are both transferred, and you can explain it to Harris." Greaves pulled a face. He could just imagine what Joe would have to say when he found out about this.
"Your first shift starts in two hours," Bishop informed the stunned Greaves. "Dismissed."