When Honeycutt's internal timer brought him out of sleep mode the next morning, he found his consciousness was still in his robotic body. Donatello had not destroyed the Technodrome, then.
In fact, it seemed that Donatello had hardly moved. He was seated opposite Honeycutt, plugged in to another outlet.
"I understand your logic," Donatello said, when he saw Honeycutt was awake. "And I think you're right. But I still really want to destroy the Technodrome. Every time I think about letting it stay standing… I get so angry, I don't care how illogical it is."
Honeycutt unplugged his extension cord and stowed it inside his chest compartment before getting to his feet. "Donatello, I am concerned by your sudden thirst for destruction," he said carefully. "I worry that you are losing your humanity."
"I never had humanity," Don replied, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I've never been human."
"Nor have I," Honeycutt reminded him gently. "Remember that the quality of humanity is not the state of being human, but the practice of embodying the best that humans can offer. Many humans do not have it. You do."
Don turned towards the outlet, winding up his own extension cord and putting it away. "I did, maybe."
"What is the prognosis for returning to your body?" Honeycutt asked.
"Terrible."
Honeycutt waited for Don to face him again. "Donatello, believe me – I felt much the same way when I transitioned to this form. I did not know if the sacrifice was worth it, and for a time it was difficult for me to see any reason to do the right thing. Being nearly indestructible, and capable of disguising myself, there could hardly be any repercussions for anything I chose to do." He moved to the control panel and pressed a key, resuming his work from the night before. "But then I said to myself, Zayton Honeycutt, what are you doing? You can be anyone, and you have nothing to lose. Are you going to be bitter and spiteful, or are you going to use this new ability – this new opportunity – to do all the good you still can?"
"I can't shapeshift," Don said, and Honeycutt noted that he politely refrained from mentioning that he also still had a family.
"Perhaps not," Honeycutt replied. "But allow me to show you what you can do." He pointed to a port under the control panel. "Please insert yourself here."
"I am not interfacing with anything that belonged to Krang," Don said flatly.
"You will not have to," Honeycutt replied, "since the Technodrome never really did belong to Krang. The plans may have been his, but the work is largely mine. I learned about Utrom technology, but Krang does not understand Neutrino technology. Nor can he do this."
The end of one of Honeycutt's fingers hinged open, and a thin wire snaked into the port. In a moment, the Technodrome came to life: overhead lights dialed up, vent systems circulated air, motors rumbled into readiness, and the coffee pot began to percolate.
"I sure wish I could drink some coffee right now," Don said, observing these effects.
"Stockman assured me that machine produces a distinctly sub-par beverage," Honeycutt replied, as he removed the cable from the port. "My point is, we control the Technodrome – in a way Krang never could. We can choose to finish what he started, and have the entire Earth for ourselves. We can simply destroy what he built, and waste a phenomenal opportunity. Or we can use this incredible technology to make the world a better place, even though we may never be thanked for it." He paused a moment. "What do you choose, Donatello?"
"I…" Honeycutt waited while Don struggled with himself. "I still want to destroy something. Just to prove that I can. That no one is ever going to hurt me again. But… I can take it out on that mountain to the east. And…" He thought for another moment. "As a ninja, I'm trained to turn the enemy's energy back on them. I have to admit, it would be satisfying to steal Krang's Armageddon machine and use it for the opposite of what he intended."
"I am glad to hear it," Honeycutt said, and gestured again to the port. "Please. We are on the back-up system and Stockman's malware cannot hurt you."
With almost no hesitation, Don plugged himself into the port. "Now what?"
"Now, write some code."
It took a few minutes, but the words HELLO WORLD typed themselves on the screen. At their appearance, Don laughed. "Trust me to learn that faster than I learned how to walk."
"Well done," Honeycutt said. He moved along the control panel, and connected to another port. "Let us walk through the code. I will teach you all that I know."
They worked all day and through the night – or, rather, the next several nights. Don lost track of how many it had been. At some point, when a battery meter started flashing in the corner of his vision, he plugged himself in, then forgot about the extension cord that snaked behind him as he moved around the control room.
Mostly, he moved around inside the code, where he was free – of extension cords, of his robot body, of any physical form at all. He didn't need to eat or sleep or shower or go to training or do any of the other things that had interfered with his work for so many years. Nor was he interrupted by well-meaning brothers, who wanted to see what he was up to, or remind him to take care of himself, or – worst of all – take an interest in his hobbies. There was only Honeycutt, who was one badass of a code monkey, and who hour by hour was guiding Don in how best to move among the bits and bytes of data. The command lines were more welcoming than the shadows ever had been; he melded into them almost effortlessly, with hardly any training at all.
END
Don brushed the command aside, but it appeared again, insistently. His inability to get rid of it was puzzling until he realized Honeycutt was telling him to log off.
He stepped backwards out of the nested code, and quit the routine. In a blink he was back in the control room, and it took him a moment to re-orient to the physical world.
"What's wrong?" he asked Honeycutt.
"Nothing," the Neutrino replied. "We have gone as far as we can go in the back-up system. We will begin again on the primary system, but I need to finish cleaning up Stockman's malware first. You did very well, Donatello. Take a break."
"I don't need a break," Don replied.
Honeycutt studied him for a moment. "Perhaps you should call your family and speak with them," he suggested pointedly.
This idea wasn't a bad one, but it made no sense to Don. "How? Aren't all the communication systems down?"
Honeycutt looked puzzled. "Surely not your own?"
Don spread his hands. "I didn't bring anything."
"Does Metalhead not have an onboard transceiver?"
If Don had still been a Turtle, he would have smacked himself in the forehead. "Of course. I didn't even think of that when I asked Harold about the features. I don't need the wireless to control the robot anymore, but I should be able to use it to call out." A pause, in which nobody moved or spoke. "If I can figure out how."
"I am sure you will be able to," Honeycutt said, and left him to it.
"Ring. Ring. Incoming call. … Ring. Ring. Incoming call."
Leo looked over at Don's computer and sighed. He was convinced that Donatello had deliberately programmed all the alerts to be delivered in easily-understood spoken words, for the benefit of the rest of the family. He appreciated the thoughtfulness, and at the same time resented being patronized that way.
"Ring. Ring. Incoming call."
He put down the book he had been reading and walked over to the computer. It was probably April calling again; she'd been contacting them regularly, with increasingly-bizarre updates about the road trip she and Casey had gone on. Leo had been trying to make sense of the story, while covering for Don, who had left explicit instructions not to tell any more of their friends that he couldn't come to the phone right now because he was a robot.
He pressed a key to answer the call. "Hello?"
"Leo, it's me."
It took him a too-long moment to think of who he knew that had such an artificial-sounding voice. "Donatello. Are you back at Harold's? Do you need someone to pick you up?"
"No, I'm still on Burnow. I just learned to make phone calls from my mind."
Leo didn't know how to respond to this.
Don didn't seem quite sure how to follow it either. "So, um… how is everyone?"
"We're fine." Leo extended his consciousness, making sure the statement was true. "How are you?"
"I'm… I'm good." He didn't let out a breath, but Leo's brain filled in the missing mannerism. "I'm glad I came here."
"You're having fun destroying the Technodrome?"
A pause. "I'll tell you about it when I get home."
"Will you be back soon?" Leo asked, and hoped the answer would be yes. He had never registered Don as making a lot of noise, and yet somehow the Lair was too quiet without his brainy presence.
"Um… how long have I been gone already?"
Leo palmed his forehead. "It's been about a week. Honestly, don't you have a clock built into your brain now?"
"I keep forgetting to look at it," Don replied – a little evasively, Leo thought. Even under the robotic monotone, he knew his brother's tells. "Another week or so, maybe. We're making a lot of progress."
Leo fought down the powerful urge to ask on what. He didn't need to know the plan. Don had proven he could be trusted as a strategist. Everything would have worked, if only Stockman hadn't betrayed them…
"- and so I'll see you then," Don said, as Leo realized he had zoned out of the conversation to mentally review the battle. "Bye!"
"Wait –" Leo reached for the keyboard, but Don had hung up, and Leo had no idea which button to press to get him back.