Bishop leaned back into the car seat and observed the quiet street that eked out before him. The faint glow demonising his features was slowly extinguished as he snapped the laptop closed. The decaying sanity of the sentient mind was a beautiful thing to behold. He should have severed communications sooner. He had allowed him to relay more information then he was truly comfortable with, but what did it matter? After all he had the brains of the operation, how clever could they really be? Still, it wouldn't hurt to speed up the process at little. A twisted smile creased the corners of his eyes.

Michelangelo eased his way slowly into Donatello's room, he hung in the doorway unable to shake the feeling that he was trespassing somewhere incredibly private. Nothing had changed in there during the weeks of his brother's disappearance, yet the room seemed strangely cold and un-naturally dark. Dead almost, as if someone had stolen the very heart from it. Carefully he lowered himself into the desk chair, nervously chewing his bottom lip as the springs creaked pitifully. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here, but he had to do something. He watched the grey screen as it flickered to life, the grinding whirr of the computer's fan filling his ears. Moving several piles of paper and a few electronic devices in various states of dismemberment he eventually located the cordless mouse. Soft teardrops left clean vacant spots in the dust, he sniffed, wiping them away with the back of his wrist as he set about clearing a space beside the keyboard. The only thing he could think of doing was asking Google. His trebling fingers hovered above the keys as he searched his vacant mind for the right words. This was stupid, he was stupid. This was Don's department.

A shaft of light sliced it's way into the room and swept across Michelangelo's face. He could feel his older sibling watching him from the doorway. Raphael crossed his arms and lent against the door frame, carefully regarding his brother's illuminated face for any clue to his current mood. Tearful would be a pretty good guess. His rage had long since evaporated leaving behind a dark hollow feeling. He had given up trying to make Leonardo see sense and had left him to scuttle off into the sanctuary of Splinter's room. No doubt to waste more time discussing futile tactics and counter strategies. Why the hell weren't they out there looking for Donatello already? Scouring the streets, asking questions and twisting a few arms to get the answers. Someone, somewhere had to know something. His thoughts turned to his missing brother, Donatello had always passionately voiced his opinions on the moral implications of 'friendly methods persuasion'. Raphael wasn't well versed in the art of 'friendly' and besides, he preferred decidedly unfriendly methods of persuasion, they got better, faster results. He shook his head and sighed. As much as it pained him to admit it, and it pained him, Leonardo was right. He didn't know where to start looking either.

"What you doing?"

"I," Michelangelo flinched involuntary as Raphael gripped the back of the seat and lent in closer, "I was going to search for New York cemeteries containing Sphinx moments."

"That gonna work?" Raphael arched an eye ridge, his gaze remained firmly on the computer screen. Michelangelo shrugged.

Leonardo watched them from the passageway, he sagged under the immense weight that had begun to settle on his shoulders. He was accustomed to pressure, but this, this felt different. How were they going to find Donatello without Donatello there to help with the more technical aspects of the search? The helplessness of the situation didn't sit well with him, in fact it churned furiously in the pit of his stomach. Feeling as if he was missing a vital limb, he hit the call button and pressed his cell phone against his ear.

He could feel his warm breath beginning to condense on his cold skin. Shifting uncomfortably he attempted the stretch out the cramp starting to knot in the muscles of his lower legs. The scent of damp earth was now so strong he could taste it in the air. At what point had pins and needles settled into his extremities? He fruitlessly pumped and flexed his hands for relief. He could only hope that the numbing blackness of hypothermia would take over long before the air ran out. Years of his own studies had shown that many species of turtle could hold their breath for several hours, some species of sea turtle even hibernating under water for several months. However Splinter had expressly forbidden any forms of self experimentation in the bath tub, or any on his brothers. He couldn't stop the dry chuckle escape and it bubbled at the back of his throat. Ironically, it looked like he was going to find out exactly how long he could hold his breath.

When the days of captivity had begun to merge into weeks Donatello had retreated in on himself, locking away the last precious silver threads of sanity. He tightly clung to them for security, but Bishop always had ways of finding them and relinquishing them from his grasp.

"Wrong!" The voice bellowed.

The anguished echoes of his own scream rang throughout the laboratory as the leather restraints ate into his quivering flesh. The pain, as ligament was torn from bone and tendon from muscle, pushed him to the very brink of mental collapse before ebbing away with the thick fresh trickle of blood.

"You don't seem to be grasping the concept!" The voice sounded frustrated as if the exasperation of explaining complicated matters to a petulant child was beginning to take it's toll. "I'm going to give you one … last … chance. You are a soulless beast, and animal, devoid of all meaning and purpose. Again, what are you?"

Donatello glared defiantly through narrowed eyes at his own reflection in the mirrored glass. "I. Am. A. Person." He forced out. "A sentient living being."

"Such a disappointment. You are again, wrong."

"No. No. No." Donatello panted as the binds began to tighten once more.

A buzzing vibration coursed through the casket, cutting Donatello from his vision. Frantically scrabbling in the darkness Donatello snatched up the cell phone and wrenched it open.

"Leo?" He croaked.

"Sorry to disappoint you." The voice slid into the casket making Donatello's nerves bristle. He growled lowly, he wasn't one to advocate violence or the pursuit of mindless revenge but in Bishop's case he was willing to make an exception. "It's been hours since your last communication with your so called 'brothers'."

Had it really been hours? He could no longer be sure of anything, the passing of time seemed non existent in the darkness. Bishop continued.

"And yet your 'brothers' have not come to your rescue."

"They will!" The whimper in his voice surprised Donatello. How could he be so certain that they would be able to find them in time. Bishop didn't like to make things easy and soon he would tire of this game. Losing Bishop's interest was a dangerous thing.

"Will they? You seem so sure. I expect, as you speak, they're fighting amongst themselves like the animals they truly are. They have no concern or thought for futile struggle for existence…"

Donatello snapped the phone shut, swallowing back the rising bile that was burning in his chest. "They will!" The silence didn't respond.

A/N I'm still not sure if I am writing Bishop correctly, but I have been watching episodes invovling him on Youtube. Not a very nice chapter, but I think I'm happy with it. Thank you for reading.