Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The lair was a mix of chaos and boredom, just like any other day for the four turtles. Raph and Mikey were sprawled on the couch, watching a movie, Raph begin munching on a bag of chips while he watched a movie with Mikey. He laughed loudly at the funny parts, while Mikey sat next to him, grinning.

In another corner of the room, Leo was sitting next to Donnie, seemingly exasperated. Leo paced back and forth in the lair, clearly frustrated. He was stuck babysitting Donnie, and he wasn't happy about it.

Donnie was chatting away enthusiastically, excited to have his brother's attention for once as he was tinkering with the gadget in hands and was trying to make it work. Leo is watching him, looking bored and disinterested.

"You're always messing with that stuff, Donnie. Can't you just take a break for once?"

Donnie looked up at his brother with a determined expression on his face. He was not going to give up so easily.

"Almost done. It’s a prototype motion sensor. Could help us detect movement topside...that is, if we ever get to go up there.” he said, and then he resumed working on the gadget.

Leo frowned. He didn’t really get the tech stuff, but he respected it. Still, he shifted, obviously bored.

“You know, i think you’re the only one who doesn't seemed to listens to Sensei’s ‘no topside’ rule.”

From the couch, Raph shouted.

Raph: “Only cause he’s scared!”

Mikey: “Yeah, Donnie’s scared the sun will melt his brain!”

"silence you both" Leo reply before letting out a sigh, rolling his eyes at Donnie's determination. "Look, It's the same thing every time with you. You're always messing with some gadget or trying to fix some machine. Can't you just do normal kid things?"

Donnie's shoulders slumped a bit, and he looked down at the gadget in his hands. Leo's words had stung a little, but he was determined to prove that his gadget was worth the effort.

"I do normal kid things,... I think" he muttered under his breath. "This is just... normal to me....look, you'll see."

He continued working on the gadget, his fingers moving quickly and expertly over the various parts.

Leo watched him for a few moments, his irritation slowly transforming into a look of curiosity. He had to admit that Donnie had a knack for inventing things, even if he would never say it out loud.

"How do you even do that?" he asked bluntly, "I never understood how you make those things work."

Raph suddenly let out a boisterous laugh, interrupting the conversation. He turned from the movie he was watching with Mikey and faced his brothers, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ha! Leo loves been stuck babysitting little Donnie," he said. "Must be a real fun time for you, huh, Leo?"

Mikey joined in, also laughing.

Leo shot a glare at his brothers, clearly annoyed at their mockery. "I'm not babysitting him. I'm just... keeping an eye on him," he protested, but his words held no conviction.

Donnie, on the other hand, continued to fiddle with his gadget, trying his best to ignore the taunts from Raph and Mikey.

"That's called babysitting you morron"

Raph reply sarcastically as he kept munching on the chips.

Raph's response only served to irritated Leo even more. "It's not babysitting! It's... uh..." he stammered, unable to come up with a good counterargument.

Mikey let out another laugh, finding the whole situation amusing. Meanwhile, Donnie was still focusing on his gadget, tuning out the sibling banter.

"Oh, just ... shut up, Raph. You're one to talk, watching movies all day and eating junk food. That's such a productive use of your time," Leo shot back grumpily.

Raph chuckled cockily, enjoying getting under Leo's skin.

“Hey, at least I'm having fun! Watching movies and chowing down on snacks is way more entertaining than watching over the little nerd all day.”

Leo gritted his teeth, feeling a sense of indignation at Raph's words. He wanted to defend himself, but deep down he couldn't deny the truth in Raph's words. Taking care of Donnie was often a frustrating and tiresome task.

He shot another glare at his brother and snapped back, "At least I'm being responsible. Someone has to keep an eye on Donnie and make sure he doesn't get into trouble."

"I got it!"

As soon as Donnie shouted, the small gadget in his hands let out a small explosion and enveloped the area in smoke. Leo jumped back, eyes widening in surprise, while Mikey screamed like it was the end of the world. Raph coughed through the smoke, fanning the air.

Raph: "What the shell, Donnie?! You tryin' to fry us?!"

Mikey: "The chips are ruined!"

Donnie sat up, coughing, face streaked with soot. His eyes watered, not just from the smoke.

"Not again," Leo muttered under his breath. It was definitely not the first time this week that Donnie's gadgets had malfunctioned, leaving a trail of chaos behind them. Leo let out a frustrated sigh, used to this kind of occurrence by now but his irritation turned to alarm.

"Donnie! Are you alright?" he exclaimed, rushing over to his brother.

Donnie waved the smoke away from his face, coughing a few times. "I'm okay, I'm okay," he reassured them.

Leo hurriedly pulled Donnie away from the smoke, his irritation momentarily forgotten as he fussed over his younger sibling. Despite being annoyed with Donnie's constant gadget experimentation, he couldn't help but worry for his well-being.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Leo asked, his concern evident in his voice.

Donnie nodded, still coughing a bit but trying to brush it off. "Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a small explosion. No big deal," he said nonchalantly.

Leo's expression darkened as he watched Donnie hastily go back to work on the gadget, seemingly unfazed by the recent explosion. Frustration flared within him once more.

"Seriously, Donnie?" he said, his voice sharp. "You nearly blew yourself up, and you just go back to working on that same blasted gadget? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Raph shrugged lazily, an indifferent look on his face. "Relax, Leo. If he wants to blow himself up, let him. That's just typical Donnie being the science nerd he is," he said nonchalantly.

Leo shot Raph a sharp glare, annoyed by his lack of concern. "Are you serious right now?" he asked, his voice tight with anger. "You're just going to sit there and let him hurt himself? He's our brother! We're supposed to look out for him!"

Raph rolled his eyes at Leo's overreaction. "Okay, okay, chill out, drama queen," he said, waving off Leo's concern. "just give him a good smack on the head and take that stupid gadget away from him."

He turned to look at Donnie, who was still tinkering with the gadget.

"yeah, maybe you should just take that gadget away from him right now before he blows himself up for real."

Leo shot a withering glare at Raph for suggesting such a thing, but deep down he had to admit that Raph wasn't entirely wrong. Donnie was often oblivious to the dangers of his own inventions. However, the logical side of him agreed with Raph's suggestion. He let out a deep sigh, his frustration evident.

"Alright, fine," he muttered, reluctantly approaching Donnie. "Donnie, give me that gadget, now."

Donnie, in his typical stubbornness, defiantly held onto the gadget and backed away, pulling down his goggles defiantly.

"No! I'm almost finished! Just give me a few more minutes, and I'll have it working just right!" he protested, determination in his eyes.

Raph let out a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "See, Leo? That's your problem. You're way too soft with him," he said, rolling his eyes. "He needs a good smack to bring him back to reality."

With a smirk on his face, Raph decided to take matters into his own hands. He approached Donnie quickly, his intentions clear.

Raph raised his hand and delivered a firm smack on the back of Donnie's head. "Give me that thing, you nerd," he said gruffly.

As soon as Raph delivered the smack, Donnie let out a small whimper and rubbed the back of his head, his expression a mix of pain and annoyance, the pain from Raph's hit still lingering. He had always disliked being on the receiving end of his older brother's rough treatment, especially since he was only 4 years old. The stinging sensation on his head and the humiliation of being smacked in front of his brothers threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

Raph loomed over Donnie, his face twisted with anger. "Don't you dare even think about crying," he warned, his voice harsh. "You got what was coming to you. You should have just given up on that stupid gadget. This is your own fault."

Just then from across the room, Splinter’s cane struck the floor once sharp and commanding.

Splinter: “what is going on in here!.”

The room fell silent.

The four turtles immediately ceased their arguing and turned towards their father. They all froze, the air suddenly charged with tension.

Splinter's tone was sharp and commanding. "I demand an explanation. What is all this racket?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the room.

Raph quickly leaped at the opportunity to pin the blame on Donnie.

"It was all Donnie's fault, Sensei!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at his younger brother. "He was playing with this gadget, and it blew up in his face, again. He's the reason there's still smoke in the room."

Still feeling the lingering pain from Raph's smack, Donnie rubbed the back of his head and mustered up the courage to speak up.

"But, Sensei. Raph hit me, and it hurts," he said, his voice small.

Despite Donnie's plea for sympathy, Splinter didn't feel sorry for him. Instead, he walked over to the young turtle with a stern expression on his face. As he approached, Donnie shrank under the weight of his sensei's gaze, feeling the full force of his disappointment.

Splinter's disappointment was palpable as he looked at Donnie, his expression serious. "I told you time and time again, Donatello, to stop messing with those foolish toys of yours," he reprimanded. "You let your mind wander. You ignored your surroundings. And you endangered your brothers with your carelessness, is that what you want?"

The only thing that swirled within Donnie was pain as he listened to Splinter's words. It seemed like it was always him who bore the brunt of the consequences, the one who was blamed and punished. But deep down, he yearned for understanding, for someone to see his intentions and recognize his struggles.

Splinter crossed his arms, waiting for a response from his 4-year-old son, his patience wearing thinner by the second. "Did you hear me, Donatello?" he yelled, his voice firm. "Answer me!"

Donnie trembled with fear, the yelling from his father leaving him feeling scared and vulnerable. The smirk on Raph's face contrasted with the worried look on Leo's face. Mikey, lost in his world of TV, remained oblivious to the mounting tension in the room.

In the midst of all the yelling, Donnie's thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions.

*Why does he always yell at me? I didn't mean for it to blow up. I just wanted to make it work. Why can't he see that I'm trying my best?*

Despite his intelligence and inventions, he couldn't help but feel like a burden to his family. He had heard the words *"careless"* and *"recklessness"* countless times, and they weighed heavily upon his young shoulders. It seemed like no matter what he did, there was always someone there to cast judgment upon him, leaving him feeling small and misunderstood.

Splinter's disappointment and anger intensified, his patience fraying. "I asked you a question, Donatello," he repeated, his voice sharp. "And I expect an answer!"

Donnie was startled at the yelling and accepted defeat.

No matter how much he tried to explain or defend himself, it seemed like Splinter never understood him. The weight of his father's disappointment was too heavy to bear, and with a soft voice, he replied, "Y-yes, Sensei. I h-heard you." avoiding eye contact with his father.

Splinter let out a deep, weary sigh as he processed the young turtle's response. He cared deeply for all his sons, but sometimes he struggled to understand the young genius.

"Sometimes I wonder if you even listen to me at all," he said, his voice now calmer, but tinged with frustration.

Donnie remained silent, his young heart heavy with hurt and confusion. It seemed like the weight of Splinter's disappointment always fell upon him.

Why was it always him who faced the consequences? Why did his father never seem to understand him? These questions swirled in his mind, leaving him feeling more lost and alone than ever before.

In the midst of his pain and confusion, Donnie's thoughts ran wild, a whirlwind of insecurity and heartbreak.

"Why is it always me they blame? Why am I always the one who feels like an outsider in my own family? They don't understand me, they don't seem to care. It's like no one truly sees me for who I am. All they see is the one who messes up, the one who's careless and reckless."

The weight of his loneliness bore heavily upon him, making his small frame slump even further.

Clutching his journal, Donnie poured out his thought across the pages, capturing his thoughts and emotions in ink. He poured out his hurt and confusion, his words filled with pain and loneliness, trying to release the flood of emotions that overwhelmed him. It was already late, and night had settled in the lair as he lay on his bed, the words flowing from his pen like a river of pain and longing.

*I just want to be understood,* he wrote fervently, his small hand gripping the pen tightly. *Why can't they see past my mistakes and my flaws and see who I truly am? Is it too much to ask for a little understanding of a genius?*

"I feel like I'm just a burden to them," he whispered, the words lingering in the still air of his bedroom.

Donnie's mind shifted from the pain to a glimmer of inspiration. He looked over at the remains of the invention that had failed him earlier, a mess of parts and debris.

He quickly turned to the next page in his journal, flipping through the pages of sketches and diagrams, pages where he had scribbled various ideas for his gadgets, showing his true admiration and hard work he puts through all of this before he found a blank one.

With renewed purpose, he set to sketching his new design, carefully crafting every detail and noting each improvement he wanted to make.

Despite his determination to focus on his new design, Donnie found his concentration constantly undermined by the boisterous presence of his younger brother, Mikey. The young turtle was enthusiastically flailing around a Chris Bradford plushie, his carefree energy creating a constant ruckus. He bounced it on the bed, mimicking the so call character's annoying taunts and making obnoxious noises.

"Haha, I'm Chris Bradford, and I'm gonna kick y'all's butts!" he exclaimed, doing his best impression of Chris Bradford's voice.

He bounced the plush against the pillow, imitating a fight scene, completely engrossed in his own little world. "Gimme that," he said, his voice loud and boisterous, "I got you now, Bradford dude," he continued, his imagination running wild.

Donnie let out an exasperated sigh, his focus shattered. It was a nightly nightmare, sharing a room with Mikey, who seemingly couldn't grasp the concept of silence or personal space.

Frustration welled up within Donnie as Mikey's hyperactivity disrupted his concentration.

"Mikey, can you please-" Donnie started, but Mikey cut him off.

"C'mon, Bradford, you can't defeat the great Mighty Mikey!" he declared, holding the Chris Bradford plush up in the air and shaking it around like a toy, mimicking a fight scene. All Donnie was asking was some silence as he tried to focus on his journal and avoid distraction from his hyperactive younger brother.

"Nevermind"

Mikey continued to babble on, his focus solely on the imaginary battle between his plushie and his imaginary enemy. Mikey, oblivious to Donnie's plea for silence, continued bouncing on the bed, his attention entirely focused on his Chris Bradford plush, completely absorbed in his own little world.

"Take this, ninja turtles! I'll show you what a true hero can do!"

This time, Mikey, in his usual boundless energy, couldn't contain himself and hopped onto Donnie's bed, oblivious to the importance of his gadgets on the bed. He bounced up and down, accidentally knocking some of them down.

Donnie finally snapped, turning to Mikey with irritation in his voice. "Mikey!!, Can you just stay still and shut up for a while!? I'm trying to work here!"

Mikey was surprised by Donnie's outburst and fell backwards off the bed, landing awkwardly on his shell. He sat there, slightly taken aback by his brother's sudden anger and the sharpness in his voice.

"Oww...," he groaned, rubbing his head where it hit the floor.

Despite his irritation, Mikey's usual carefree nature prevailed, and he chuckled as he picked himself back up. He had landed quite ungracefully, yet he didn't seem too bothered by it.

Donnie, on the other hand, was far from amused. The sight of his brother's careless nature had once again disrupted his concentration, and now he had another ruined project to add to the count.

Donnie let out a heavy sigh of frustration, ripping the ruined page of his journal out before crumpling in his hand. With a defeated expression, he muttered under his breath, "I just can't seem to get it right,"

As the crumpled paper drifted to the ground, Donnie's frustration flared, blaming himself as this was not the outcome he had envisioned. A wave of self-blame washed over him, his mind replaying the chaos that had unfolded. He felt angry at himself, feeling like a failure once again.

"Why am I such a failure?" he mumbled to himself, his voice low and filled with a mixture of regret and resignation. "Why can't I do anything right? Everything I try ends up ruined."

Mikey held the crumpled paper in his hands unfolding it before chuckling to himself. He looked at the paper with curiosity, before adding it to his secret collection of Donnie's failed projects. He whispered to the Chris Bradford plush.

"You know, Rad Brad, my brother, he's so serious all the time," Mikey said, chuckling softly. "He's always with his gadgets and stuff. He forgets to have fun sometimes... but believe me, deep down, he's a really cool brother."

Mikey was mesmerized by the pages he collected overtime, he examined the sketches, marveling the level of detail and artistry present in every drawing, not fully comprehending the complexities but fully admiring the artistic skill that went into them. Curiously, he turned to Donnie, and finally decided to ask.

"Hey, Dee...why are you getting rid of this, they are sooo good..." he said, gesturing to the collection of sketches and diagrams lay before him.

Donnie's anger softened as he noticed Mikey's innocent curiosity, his irritation temporarily replaced by a sense of resignation. He sighed softly, turning his attention to the collection of sketches and diagrams on his desk.

"They are just... trash, I guess," he replied, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "They're not good enough."

Mikey's eyes lingered on the sketches, the level of detail and artistry in these drawings was beyond anything he had ever attempted himself, and deep down, he yearned to create like Donnie did.

"Can I... keep them?" he asked softly, not sure if he would be rejected.

Despite his focus on sketching, Donnie's response was immediate. He didn't look up from his work, his mind still engrossed in the process of creating.

"Yeah, sure. They're trash anyways, do what you want, I don't care," He nonchalantly replied, assuming that Mikey already understood that he was free to take the sketches.

Mikey grinned, hugging the collection of sketches and diagrams close to his chest, feeling immensely grateful. He turned to the Chris Bradford plush, his happiness obvious in his voice.

"Did you hear that, Rad Brad? Donnie said I can keep all of them! Isn't he nice?" he said, his excitement bubbling over.

Curiosity piqued, Mikey wondered if Donnie has ever shown the sketches or diagrams to their older brothers or even their father. He pondered why such brilliant creations hadn't been shared with them.

"so..ummm.. Dee?..." he ventured, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Have you shown these to our brothers or sensei...?"

Donnie paused from his sketching, he knew the harsh reality - Splinter, or the others would never understand or even care.

"No... They wouldn't understand," he replied in a low voice, his expression a mix of resignation and bitterness, almost as if he expected Mikey to understand. "I'm just ... a joke to this family, so why bother...?"

Mikey's shock grew larger as he listened to Donnie's words, his disbelief mounting. It was unfathomable to him that Donnie would refer to himself that way.

"Wha..what do you mean..?" he managed to gasp, the words stuck in his throat, caught off guard by such a statement.

Catching himself, Donnie quickly realized he had accidentally shared his doubts with his little brother, and immediately tried to dismiss it. He didn't want to burden Mikey with his insecurities.

"No, never mind... just forget I said anything," he said, attempting to downplay the impact of his words.

Mikey let out a sigh before he shook his head, realizing that once again, Donnie was shutting him out, putting on a facade of stoicism mask. He held the Chris Bradford plush and addressed it softly, yet bluntly.

"he's doing it again... trying to act tough," he muttered, his grip on the plush toy tightening slightly. His gaze flickering towards Donnie, who continued sketching, seemingly indifferent to the conversation. "acting tough... like he's got the weight of the world, well you have to show him Chrissy B, show my brother his place"

Intrigued by an the idea that came into his mind, Mikey directed the Chris Bradford plush so that it was aimed directly at his own brother. His smirk grew, as he was curious as to how Donnie would react.

A mischievous glint sparkled in Mikey's eyes as he prepared his aim, his fingers holding the plush toy firmly. He took careful aim, his competitive spirit flaring.

"Target locked! Fire!" Mikey roared, his voice filled with excitement and a hint of playful determination. He hurled the plush toy with all his might, aiming straight for Donnie's unsuspecting head.

The impact was enough to snap Donnie out of his focus, leaving him visibly annoyed. Annoyance flared within him as he shot a sharp glance towards Mikey, his frustration evident.

"What the... Really Mikey?!?, that's it!, you ask for it" he huffed, irritation seeping into his tone.

Despite the initial annoyance, Donnie decided to treat the situation as a playful game, a rare moment of lightheartedness amidst his usual serious nature. With a playful glint in his eye, he threw the Chris Bradford plush toy to the ground, engaging in a roughhousing match with Mikey.

The two brothers laughed as they engaged in the roughhousing, a sudden and unexpected shift in their relationship, the usual tension between them replaced by a moment of brotherly bliss. Mikey and Donnie rolled on the ground, pinning each other, giggling like little children.

Despite his initial annoyance, Donnie found himself embracing the moment with Mikey. As they playfully wrestled on the ground, a genuine hint of happiness crept through his usually stoic demeanor.

"I swear, Mikey, you're such a nuisance sometimes," he muttered jokingly, his voice betraying a smile. "But... I guess it's not too bad to let loose every now and then. Just don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're my little brother."

Mikey let out an amused chuckle, enjoying the rare moment of carefree banter with his brother.

"Hey, you're the one that's always so serious all the time," he responded teasingly, ducking and twisting effortlessly, wriggling out of Donnie's grip. "I think you just need someone as awesome as me to help you loosen up a bit. Just tell me, Dee! I know you love me, you can't resist my charm!" he quipped, his voice filled with playful bravado.

Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Donnie couldn't deny the truth in Mikey's words. He cared deeply for his younger brother, despite his occasional irritation.

Before he could even reply the loud knock disrupted their roughhousing, Raph's stern voice called out from the other side of the door.

"Hey, pipe down in there, you two!" he barked, his annoyance palpable. "It's late, and some of us are trying to sleep here!"

Both Donnie and Mikey snapped back to reality as Raph's stern voice interrupted their roughhousing. They suddenly realized how late it was and how loud they had been, their faces a mix of surprise and guilt.

Donnie quickly composed himself, realizing that they had gotten carried away. "Right...uhm, we'll keep it down, sorry." he muttered, a hint of remorse in his voice, as Mikey nodded apologetically to his older brother.

Raph's stern expression softened slightly as he heard Donnie's words. Despite his gruff exterior, he cared for his younger brothers' well-being and didn't want them up past their bedtime.

"Just make sure you two get some rest," he said, his voice a bit softer now. "It's late, and you need to be rested up for training tomorrow."

Donnie groaned internally, the thought of training tomorrow loomed over him. Unlike the others who were more enthusiastic about training, Donnie dreaded it.

"Ugh... training...yes, we know..." he muttered under his breath, his irritation evident.

For Mikey, training was a chance to show off his skills and have some fun, while Donnie viewed it as a tiresome chore.

Mikey, still filled with excitement, couldn't contain his curiosity as he remembered Splinter's mention of a surprise. He turned to Donnie with a curious sparkle in his eyes.

"Do you think the surprise Splinter mentioned is going to be awesome or what?" he gushed, his words coming out in a rush of excitement. "I can't wait to find out what it is! Maybe it's, like, a cool new toy or a secret mission or maybe-"

Donnie's lack of interest in the upcoming surprise evident. He couldn't understand why Mikey was already excited about it.

"Honestly, Mikey, it's probably nothing special." Donnie said, his tone dismissive. "It's just another one of Master Splinter's 'surprises' that we have to endure. Who knows what dad is up to this time?"

Mikey's enthusiasm, however, remained undeterred. He was used to his brother's dismissive attitude and wouldn't let it dampen his spirits.

"Oh, come on, Don! It wouldn't hurt to be a little excited. Who knows, maybe this surprise is like the best ever!" he replied, his optimism shining through his words.

Donnie sighed, his skepticism refusing to waver. He didn't share Mikey's optimism, and the thought of yet another surprise from their father seemed more like a chore than an exciting event.

"I doubt it," he replied flatly, sinking into the bed. "It's probably just another one of Splinter's training exercises or worse, another lecture on the importance of discipline."

As the young turtles settled onto their beds, Donnie sighed, his mind already wandering off to the world beyond the sewers. He wished he had the chance to explore and learn about the world beyond their little home, rather than being confined to their training regimen.

"You know, Mikey, sometimes I wish..." he began, his words tinged with longing. "I just wish Splinter would teach us about the world outside, instead of just focusing on these never ending training sessions."

Mikey looked at his brother, his youthful curiosity piqued, he also harbored similar desires, but he had also heard Splinter's warnings about the dangers of the outside world.

"Well, yeah, but we've been told how dangerous it is up there. Splinter always says it's not safe for us, remember?" he responded, his words tinged with a touch of caution.

Donnie let out a frustrated sigh, the limitations of their life in the sewers becoming increasingly grating. He wasn't ignorant to the dangers, but the allure of all the knowledge and experiences the outside world offered was too tantalizing to ignore.

"I know, I know. I just can't shake off this curiosity, you know?" he murmured, his voice slightly muffled by the blankets. "There's so much out there in the world, so many things to explore and discover. It feels like we're missing out on so much, locked down here in the sewers all the time."

Despite his own apprehensions, Mikey tried to be supportive, understanding his brother's desire.

"I get it, Don. It does kinda stink being stuck here all the time. But you know how Master Splinter feels about all that." he replied gently, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. "He just wants to keep us safe."

Donnie grumbled beneath the blanket, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "I don't need to be protected. I'm not a baby, it's not fair" he muttered, his voice somewhat muffled by the fabric. "What's the point of training us, if we're never going to see the world anyway?"

Mikey, though sympathetic, couldn't help but tease his brother a bit. Although he understood Donnie's feelings, he reminded him of their youth. "Dude, you're only four," he chuckled. "Maybe in ten years, we can explore out there. But for now, we gotta listen to Sensei's rules."

Beneath the cover of the blankets, Donnie rolled his eyes, his rebellious thoughts taking shape. Despite outwardly agreeing to follow Splinter's rules, his mind was already spinning in a different direction.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll follow the rules...for now," he muttered quietly to himself, the hint of defiance evident in his voice. "But we'll see how long that lasts."

As the night wore on, Donnie's restlessness persisted as his thoughts kept him firmly in the land of the awaken. His mind wandered to the world above, imagining the endless possibilities for learning and exploration that lay there. Most of his gadgets and gizmos he had salvaged came from his frequent escapades to the topside, yet his brothers and his father never questioned how he obtained them.

The clock struck two, before Donnie's eyes slowly fluttered open, his internal clock flawlessly calibrated. He sat up, his eyes adjusting to the dim light in the room. A familiar restlessness stirred within him, a restlessness that only grew stronger during the late hours of the night. With a quiet sigh, he carefully pulled himself out of bed, his soft footsteps barely audible as he made his way towards the door.

As he stepped out of the room, he cast one last look at Mikey, who was still sound asleep in his bed. The thought of waking him up and trying to convince him to join crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it.

Besides, Mikey wasn't the type to keep quiet or stay still for long anyhow. With a silent sigh, Donnie opted against disturbing his brother, and slipped away, his departure a familiar routine that had become second nature to him. A secret habit that he was determined to keep hidden from the rest of his family.

Donnie silently stepped out of the room, making sure to close the door gently behind him making sure not to make any noise as he began sneaking out of their shared quarters.

As he tip-toed through the dark and silent tunnels, he passed by the other rooms of his sleeping family members, careful not to wake them up. His steps were light and almost soundless, his practiced stealth guiding him through the familiar path towards his destination.

He was only 4, yet he was already engaging in an activity that he was well aware he shouldn't be. But that didn't deter him; his passion for tinkering and crafting new gadgets still fueled his desire to sneak out, even at this late hour.

As he reached the end of the tunnel, the familiar ladder leading up to the surface beckoning him like an irresistible temptation. He wasted no time in placing his hand on the rungs of the ladder, that led up to the world above. The thrill of his forbidden escapade sent a shiver of excitement through him, but his resolve remained unbroken.

With a final glance behind him, making sure there were no signs of anyone watching. With a deep breath, he began his ascent, each step bringing him closer to the forbidden world above.

Now the hardest part for him was moving that heavy manhole cover, he strained against it, his small frame struggling to budge the heavy stone. His arms trembled with effort as he managed to push it upwards, the cover making a soft clammering sound as it rolled to the side.

Donnie took a moment to catch his breath, his heartbeat racing with a mixture of exhilaration and a touch of fear. The weight and heaviness of the manhole cover only seemed to be increasing over time, a fact that only made his task more arduous.

As he took one step out from the sewers they so call home. He was cautious, surveying the surroundings before moving forward. The city was quiet and still, the night air cool against his cold blooded skin as he took in the sensations of a world that he was forbidden from. Despite the emptiness of the street, he remained alert, his senses constantly on guard for any signs of danger.

Blending in with the shadows as he made his way towards his destination. Making his way to an empty alleyway where no one was around, making sure to keep away from the light.

He found it—an abandoned stash of treasure, broken tech. Busted radios, rusted tools and circuit boards, batteries with just enough juice to spark and tangled wires sat in a collapsed maintenance room, long and untouched. Who would throw such a thing.

“They threw you away… but I think you’re still good.”

He approached the pile of discarded tech, his gaze filled with excitement and wonder. He couldn't believe his luck, the sheer abundance of potential for his inventing skills were staggering. His mind was already racing with ideas and possibilities, his hands twitching with the eagerness to dismantle and repurpose these castaways.

He crouched, gently pulling apart the metal pieces like puzzle parts, not knowing the names yet but knowing the feeling that they were special.

“oh, this is a gold mine. I bet I can fix you…”

He continued to scavenge through the pile of discarded treasures, meticulously and gently pulling apart the metal pieces, piecing them together like a master craftsman. His excitement was palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. Too engrossed in his work, he was entirely unaware of the lurking presence above him, hidden in the shadows, observing his every move.

High above, in the shadows near a cracked maintenance grate, he was watching.

The man in blades.

Shredder’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, following the soft glow of the little turtle’s eyes. Mutant… child… intelligent one. A discovery unlike anything he’d seen.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

He just watched and something dark curled at the corner of his mind as the tall, cloaked figure stood out of view, watching as he spoke quietly.

"So… you found them. Just as I expected."

As Donnie picked up a cracked radio and hud eyes full of innocent wonder, Shredder watched from the shadows-silent, unreadable, unseen.

Unaware of the sinister presence lurking above, the young turtle continued tinkering with the discarded pieces, his gaze fixed on the cracked radio. He seemed captivated by its battered surface, oblivious to the danger perched above him. As he held the broken object in his tiny hands, inspecting it with fascination, he remained untouched by the menacing gaze that shadowed his every move.

The Shredder remained hidden above, a dark silhouette in the flickering light, completely unnoticed by the oblivious turtle. He watched the young turtle's every movement, his expression completely concealed beneath the shadows.

Shredder had already planned this encounter, laying the bait to study the strange little turtle more closely with his foot soldiers, they were ready to ambush.

Suddenly—

“Donnie! What’re you doin’ out here, bro?”

Donnie jumped, letting out a small yelp and fall backward, gadgets clattering. Mikey stood grinning, clearly proud of himself. Donnie wasn't expecting Mikey out for all to be here. This was a secret.

The young turtle's face was aghast as he found himself on the ground, his heart pounding furiously. He felt an intense mix of fear and annoyance, his secret escapade abruptly interrupted.

"M...Mikey? What are you doing here...!?” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mikey giggled seeing how funny he just scared Donnie.

“You're the one who vanished! I woke up and you were gone. Thought a sewer dragon got you!”

Donnie's annoyance flared as Mikey gleefully regaled his tale of worry and imaginary "sewer dragon?." He shot Mikey a weary look, rolling his eyes at the silliness.

"There is no such thing as..." Donnie replied flatly, trying to keep his tone even as he picked himself up. He couldn't help but feel a hint of irritation at Mikey's interruption.

"oh forget it, you shouldn't have followed me!.."

He tried not to yell but it was difficult with Mikey around.

Mikey continued to giggle, unperturbed by Donnie's irritation. He had a talent for finding humor in the most unexpected places, and he couldn't help but find the current situation amusing.

“Oh come on, bro, you're gonna have to try harder than that if you wanna shake me off. I know I can be a ninja too!" he said playfully, his grin wide and unabashed.

Mikey's playful reply only served to intensify Donnie's annoyance, his irritation spiking at Mikey's apparent disregard for the situation.

"Would you knock it off? This is serious, Mikey! You shouldn't be here." he snapped, his voice tinged with impatience. "I came out here alone for a reason, can't you just go back?"

Mikey continued to treat the situation as a game, unaware of the seriousness of their breach in rules. He carelessly pointed out the looming threat of trouble, his carefree attitude unchanged.

"You’re gonna get us both grounded forever.”

Donnie just shook his head in disbelief. This trip had to be cut early and despite the impending trouble Mikey had brought on, both were completely oblivious to the lurking presence above and the sinister plan being hatched.

The Shredder lingered in the shadows, his gaze locked on the two unsuspecting young turtles. His mind swirled with curiosity and intrigue.

"Two small, strange creatures—like turtles, but walking upright. Intelligent. One curious and quiet, the other loud and annoying."

His eyes locked on the one so drawn to broken machines and forgotten things. A spark. A mind.

“Interesting…but not yet, little one. Soon enough, you'll come to me on your own” He whispered silently, his gaze fixated on Donatello.

He turned to a nearby Foot tech operative.

"He'll keep coming back, as well as his annoying little friend. But the curious one—he's the one I need. I want that turtle. Increase the drops. Make sure he keeps coming back. I want to see what else he can do... before I decide what he's worth."

Meanwhile, Donnie continued convince Mikey to return home seemed futile. He couldn't understand why his brother was so stubborn.

He grabbed Mikey’s arm trying to drag him back to the manhole cover.

"Go home Mikey, you shouldn't be here..." he muttered as he tried to get him back to the sewers as soon as possible.

Mikey groaned, his playful attitude slipping away, replaced by a mix of reluctance and annoyance.

"Ugh, do we really have to go back so soon?" he complained, his words tinged with a hint of disappointment. "Can't we stay a bit longer? Please?"

He put on his best puppy dog face, hoping to convince Donnie to let him stay longer.

Donnie shrugged off Mikey's puppy eyes, remaining unaffected by his plead. His face still stern, he replied bluntly.

"No chance, Mikey. It's way too dangerous out here. We need to get back before someone sees us." he replied, his voice brooking no argument. "and stop with those puppy eyes, it doesn't work on me, only Leo."

Donnie struggled to open the manhole cover, his young frame still too small to lift its weight with ease.

"Ugh, why is this thing so heavy?" he murmured, his irritation clear.

Just then, Mikey perked up and offered a helping hand. "Hey, dude, let me give it a try."

Donnie shook his head, immediately rejecting Mikey's offer to help. He couldn't help but question his little brother's capabilities.

"No way, Mikey," he huffed, his voice tinged with a bit of condescension. "You're probably just going to make it worse. I got this."

Mikey sighed, before pushing Donnie away and doing it. Donnie's eyes widened in disbelief as Mikey effortlessly hoisted the heavy manhole cover, showing a hidden strength he hadn't anticipated. He stood there, stunned by Mikey's surprising feat of strength.

"H-how did you do that...?" he stuttered, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and mild irritation.

Mikey grinned, enjoying the look on Donnie's face. It was clear he was stronger than his older brother, and it was somewhat embarrassing.

"Ha, see? I told you I can do it!, no so smart are you Donatello!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with cocky teasing. "You just underestimated me, bro!"

Donnie's irritation flared, he refused to acknowledge the fact his little brother was stronger. He muttered back, his words filled with irritation.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Lucky one."

He stubbornly crossed his arms, trying to hide his annoyance. He hated being proven wrong, especially by his little brother.

"Now, Keep your voice down!" he hissed, his words stern. "You want to attract every human in a ten mile radius?"

Mikey rolled his eyes, clearly less concerned about the potential danger than his older brother.

"Relax, bro, you worry too much," Mikey retorted, his carefree attitude in complete contrast to Donnie's concern. "No one's gonna hear us. Because, we're ninjas, remember? We're good at hiding." He flashed a cocky smile, clearly unbothered by Donnie's stern warnings.

Donnie shook his head, still irritated by Mikey's carelessness. He scoffed, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"Being ninjas doesn't mean we can just do whatever we want. We need to be careful…"

He began to descend into the sewers, expecting Mikey to follow suit.

As both brothers disappeared into the dark tunnels, leaving the surface behind, the ominous figure above in the shadows watched their every move. The Shredder, concealed by the darkness, witnessed the two young turtles disappear, his mind still processing the strange one's actions.

"Interesting...So your name is Donatello...and you live in the sewers, I'll soon have you, smart one." he murmurs to himself, his voice low and dark, his gaze fixated on the tunnel's entrance.

Then, without a sound, he vanished into the dark.

Meanwhile, deep in the sewers, Donnie and Mikey made their way back to the lair, the weight of their secret rendezvous weighing on Donnie's mind. He felt a sense of guilt and fear, not wanting to be caught sneaking out of the sewers again. Mikey, on the other hand, was oblivious to the potential trouble they might face later...

Little did the two young turtles know that their secret meetup hadn't remained unnoticed. Unknown to them, the city's shadows harbored someone sinister, watching every move they make.

Donnie's worries intensified as he realized Mikey's inability to keep a secret. He turned to him, a stern expression on his face.

"Mikey, listen to me," he said, his voice firm. "We can't let anyone know about this. Understand? No one."

Mikey, who was still blissfully oblivious, shot him a playful smile.

Mikey, still oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, shrugged carelessly. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, bro. I got it. Your secret is safe with me."

Donnie's expression remained serious, his tone firm.

"No, Mikey. I mean it. This is important. We can never let ANYONE know about this, understand?"

He held Mikey's gaze, hoping to impress the gravity of the situation upon him.

"No one, Mikey. Not a soul."

Mikey's carefree demeanor wavered as he sensed the seriousness in Donnie's voice. He wasn't used to his older brother being so intense.

"Alright, alright, I get it! I won't tell anyone, okay?" he assured, his usual grin replaced with a hint of sincerity. "Your secret's safe with me, dude, I promise."

Donnie took a deep breath, a mixture of relief and concern washing over him. The secret he's been keeping was no longer his alone. His trust now rested entirely on Mikey, and that was a risky move.

"Ugh, okay, fine. But you better keep your word, Mikey," he muttered, looking directly into his eyes. "No slips, no accidents. Nobody can know about this."

Mikey shrugged, then, curiosity getting the best of him, he asked, "What about Leo, though? Should we tell him?"

Donnie's expression hardened, and he shook his head firmly. "No, especially not Leo. He'd just worry and lecture us for hours...what part of no one should know you don't understand"

Mikey giggled, Donnie was doomed he knew that. So he just walk over to his room, Mikey followed.

"Mikey, just..." he started, but it was pointless, Mikey would reveal this secret before a second pass by.

He slumped onto his bed, the weight of his secret weighing heavily on his mind. while Mikey simply chuckled, his playful nature undeterred. He flopped onto his own bed next to Donnie's, his carefree attitude on display.

Unable to escape the ever-present shadow of his little brother's carelessness. It would be a long night...

"That was so much fun, bro!" Mikey exclaimed, bouncing eagerly on his bed, his excitement spilling out in a flurry of words. "We should totally do that again soon. Maybe next time, we can go even farther! Explore deeper into the city, maybe find some cool new stuff! I bet there's so much more out there to see!"

Donnie sighed, glancing over at the clock. The digital readout read 4am, a testament to the late hour. Exhaustion tugged at his every muscle, but sleep remained elusive, thanks to his relentless little brother.

He groaned, burying his face into his pillow, hoping the soft fabric would drown out the energetic turtle's words.

The night wore on, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mikey and Donnie both succumbed to sleep, the darkness of the night enveloping the sewer. No one woke up, not even the occasional noise managed to stir the two turtles. Sleep had finally claim their weary bodies.

But unbeknownst to both, the night had only begun...

The moon was still high in the sky, casting its silvery glow over the city. The world lay in shadows, the city's bustle replaced by a quiet hum.

Within the sewers, the turtles slept soundly, their breathing steady and quiet.

But beneath the surface, a silent figure moved with purpose.

The Shredder, an imposing figure, moved through the shadows of New York, the city's night lights casting an eerie glow over his tall, towering silhouette. He was a figure of darkness, a silent presence that blended in with the night. But his mind was anything but silent.

He had taken an interest in the young turtle, his sharp mind and endless curiosity intrigue. He had seen enough to know the boy was gifted, his potential just waiting to be molded. It was a sight that struck a chord in his memory, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Donatello." he murmured under his breath, the name a revelation to him. "Such a unique name for a turtle. A creature with the form of a turtle but the intelligence of a man. A creature that shouldn't even exist"

His thoughts were a whirlwind of contemplation, the presence of these mutated turtles left him confused. He had never encountered such beings before.

The Shredder entered the abandoned church, the cold stone walls and dark shadows of its ruins casting an eerie atmosphere within. The place had become his base of operations. The place was filled with shadows and his trained Foot soldiers who stood ready to their foot clan leader.

Still, there was an urgency in his movements, an edge in his pace.

"Karai!" he called out, his voice cutting through the silence. "Where are you?"

Karai stepped out from the shadows, her youthful presence a stark contrast to the imposing figure of the Shredder. At only eight years old, she was a prodigy warrior.

"Yes, father" she answered, her voice polite and respectfully. She looked up to him with awe and loyalty.

The Shredder looked at his daughter with a mix of pride and determination. Despite his fierce demeanor, he had a soft spot for his daughter. He had spent years preparing her for this moment.

"I have a task for you, my daughter" he began, his voice firm yet filled with a hint of a father's concern. "A new target has caught my attention"

Karai look at him, her eyes attentive and focused. She was no stranger of the Shredder's tasks.

"A new target, father?" she asked, ready to play her part. "What do you need me to do?"

The Shredder's gaze was unwavering, his voice a low, commanding tone.

"I need you to observe and gather information about this target. Gather every detail possible, but do not engage. I want no mistakes."

Karai's eyes sparkled with determination. This was an opportunity to prove herself, to show her father that she was worthy of this task.

"Of course, Father. I understand," she replied, nodding firmly. "Father, before I go. May I ask? What exactly am I looking for?" inquired Karai, her curiosity piqued.

The Shredder's gaze narrowed, a subtle sense of mystery in his response.

"You'll know when you see it. But be warned, this target is unique. It's unlike anything we've ever encountered"

Karai observed her father as he moved past her. Karai couldn't help but be puzzled by her father's behavior. It was unusual for him to be so evasive about a target. She shrugged it off, dismissing it as just another one of his power-hungry schemes.

*Just another human playing hero,* she thought to herself, a sigh hidden behind her stoic demeanor. *Father always wants to rule over everything, as usual.*

The Shredder sat down upon his throne, his mind still swirling with thoughts of the elusive turtle. He had noticed the turtle's nocturnal habits and penchant for scavenging valuable technology. However, Karai was still too young to handle the task on her own.

"Karai," he began, his voice calm and firm. "You will not go alone on this task. Take some foot soldiers with you. They will provide the backup you need."

Karai bristled with defiance as she heard the suggestion of bringing along foot soldiers. She was young, but she was confident in her abilities.

"Father, I can handle it alone," she protested, her tone filled with a mix of stubbornness and determination. "I don't need any extra help."

The Shredder's gaze hardened, his patience tested by his daughter's defiance. He understood her confidence, but he refused to overlook the risks.

"Don't be foolish, Karai," he warned, his voice firm and unyielding. "This is a serious task. You are talented, but you are still young and inexperienced. I will not have you face this alone."

Karai's confusion deepened. She didn't fully understand the significance of the task at hand.

"But father," she protested, a mix of confusion and defiance in her voice, "what exactly am I dealing with here? Is it another training mission?"

The Shredder's expression remained unyielding, his response firm and resolute.

"No, Karai. This is no mere training mission. The target I have set for you is unlike anything you have ever faced before."

The Shredder would then reveal to Karai the true nature of the target she was to observe, his voice taking on a dark tone.

"The target you will be observing, It's a mutant."

Karai's eyes widened, her confusion giving way to curiosity. "A mutant?" she repeated, her voice laced with intrigue. She had heard whispers of mutants, but she had never seen one.

The chambers’ door creaks open, Chris Bradford, one of Shredder's most loyal students, enters the chambers, interrupting the father-daughter conversation.

In his armored grip, he escorted a familiar face, the scientist Baxter Stockman. Stockman, who was previously punished by the Shredder, now wore a look of resigned helplessness.

Bradford approached the Shredder, a grim expression on his face and respect in his voice.

"Master Shredder, I have brought Stockman as you requested. Trying to escape again."

He dragged with him the disgraced Baxter Stockman, who was now working under the Shredder.

Stockman, who stood before the Shredder, his once confident demeanor now replaced with humility and regret. He struggled to justify his actions, his words laced with a hint of defiance.

"I-I was merely testing my theories, Master Shredder," he said, his voice quivering. "I had no intention of escaping." He pleaded, his words stuttering out of fear and desperation. "It… it was just a small setback, I can still deliver the results! I just need more time, and I'll have complete control over my latest invention."

Karai watched as the Shredder stood from his throne, his imposing form approaching the quivering form of Baxter Stockman. She remained confused, her mind trying to make sense of the events unfolding before her.

"Enough with your excuses, Stockman. You have failed too many times," the Shredder's voice rang out, cold and unforgiving. "You promised results, and yet you have delivered nothing but disappointment. Your latest experiment was a complete failure."

Stockman's face paled, his once cocky demeanor shattered, replaced by a face of sheer terror.

"Master Shredder, please, just give me one more chance," he pleaded, his voice shaking with fear. "I can still make it work. I've almost perfected it. I just need more time."

The Shredder's gaze bore down on him, leaving no trace of mercy within his cold eyes.

Baxter Stockman spoke up, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and fear, as he tried to justify his failed experiments.

"I've been experimenting with different animal DNA, sir, but I've come across a problem," he began, his voice quivering. "The fly DNA, it's not stable. Every animal I've tested it on dies off before any significant changes can be observed."

Stockman's trembling intensified as the Shredder's frustration grew. He couldn't afford more failures and needed results.

"I've tried every animal, every possible combination. I-I don't know what else to do."

The Shredder's gaze hardened, his voice cold and unyielding.

"Then, try again," he demanded, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

Xever, one of Shredder's top henchmen, entered the chambers, dragging a cage filled with a variety of stray dogs and cats. The animals were trembling, sensing the danger and the tension in the air.

"Damnit, you stupid beast."

Xever turn to face the Shredder after dropping the cage on the ground.

"Master Shredder, I have brought the animals you requested for Stockman's experiments," Xever reported, his tone steady and obedient. "Stray dogs and cats - ready for experimentation."

Shredder gave a curt nod of approval as he observed the cage of animals. He was satisfied that there was enough for Baxter's experiments.

"Good. He'll need all the resources possible to find a solution," he stated, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. "This is the last time I'll tolerate any further failures"

Baxter felt a sense of resignation as he carried the heavy cage of animals. He was well aware that they all be sacrificed in the name of science. But his mind was already racing, searching for alternatives.

"Fly DNA...it's just not stable enough," he muttered to himself. "I need stronger candidates, stronger than these creatures"

Xever couldn't resist the chance to lighten the mood, even in the face of the dire situation.

"Hey boss, why not use Bradford here?" Xever quipped, his Brazilian accent heavy in his words, a smirk playing at his lips as he gestured to Bradford standing nearby.

Bradford rolled his eyes at the remark, used to the constant jokes at his expense. "Yeah, real funny."

The Shredder's annoyance grew as doubts about the success of Stockman's experiments lingered in his mind. He didn't appreciate the uncertainty, and he wasn't one to tolerate failures.

Karai, her curiosity piqued, gathered the courage to speak up. "Father-”

But the Shredder, irritated by her interruption, abruptly cut her off.

"No, Karai," he commanded, his tone firm and unyielding. "This is not a matter for you to be involved in."

Despite the Shredder's admonishment, Karai couldn't help but speak up. The mention of the turtle captured her attention, and she decided to voice her suggestion.

"Father," Karai persisted, her voice tinged with a hint of defiance. "Why not use the turtle?"

Baxter, suddenly intrigued by the idea of using a turtle, couldn't help but chime in, his mind already calculating the possibilities. Though he didn't know it was a mutant turtle, he did know that reptiles are tough, hardy creatures.

"Hm, a turtle?" he pondered, his mind already whirling with possibilities. "Perhaps attempting the experiment on a reptile would yield more promising results, turtles are quite resilient," he mused. "But where on earth would we even get one?"

Bradford, ever the skeptic, couldn't resist voicing his opinion.

"Turtles, huh? Well, I don't know if they're a good choice," he grumbled. "Turtles are cold-blooded, and New York's climate ain't exactly turtle-friendly. They'd freeze to death in no time"

Xever, never one to miss an opportunity, chimed in, a sly grin playing at his lips.

"Well, I do know of a pet shop nearby," he said, pulling out his dagger with a practiced motion. "I've had my eye on it for some time. Might as well take a quick trip to see if they have any turtles"

The Shredder let out a weary sigh, growing irritated by the constant chatter. His mind was already set on a particular turtle and he would be the perfect candidate for the task.

"Enough," he said, his voice quiet but commanding. "I already have a turtle in mind for the experiment"

Shredder turned to Bradford and Xever, his face stern.

"You two, go to the warehouse and get more gadgets," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "I have a special need for them"

Bradford and Xever nod.

Bradford: "Yes, Master Shredder."

Xever: "You can count on us"

Baxter, still puzzled by the Shredder's plan, couldn't help but wonder. But the Shredder wasn't giving any details.

"Wait, wait, wait," he interjected, his curiosity piqued. "What kind of turtle are we talking about here?, you have the turtle? or not .. and... why the need of more gadgets?, I already have everything in the lab."

The Shredder simply gave him a sharp look, a silent warning that he wasn't willing to share that information just yet.

Baxter would have to bide his time and wait. The Shredder was adamant about getting his hands on this particular turtle, whom he only referred to as 'Donatello'. Until then, he'd have to make do with the other animals.

"No more questions," Shredder growled, his tone final. "We'll get the turtle soon enough."

The Shredder's determination was unyielding and unshakeable. He was dead set on acquiring this particular turtle, and nothing would stand in his way.

"I will have that turtle," he declared, his voice filled with a steely resolve. "And once he's in my possession, nothing will stop me from achieving my goals, nothing..."

Baxter stood silent, unsure of the significance of this turtle.

The Shredder let out a hearty laugh, his gaze fixed on the terrified face of Baxter. He found sadistic pleasure in toying with the scientist's fear and uncertainty.

"Fear not, Stockman," he said, a subtle edge of mockery in his voice. "You will soon know the importance of this turtle I'm talking about"

Baxter chuckled nervously, trying to mask his confusion behind a forced laugh. The sheer importance the Shredder was placing on this particular animal eluded him completely.

"Heh, yeah, right," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm really looking forward to... seeing this ....turtle"

The Shredder's mind was already churning with plans and strategies to capture the elusive turtle. He was focused and resolute in his goal.

"Yes, soon enough we'll have him in our grasp," he said, his voice filled with a sense of sinister determination. "Then my plans can finally come to fruition"

Baxter's confusion still lingered, he felt uneasy about the whole ordeal. He had never seen the Shredder so fixated on an animal before. But he chose to remain silent for now, not wanting to draw any more attention.

He stood with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, waiting for the coming days.

To be continued

Chapter Text

The first rays of dawn peeked through the sewer, signaling the start of a new day. Donnie, with his usual disregard for the early hours, had overslept once again.

The other three turtles waited patiently in the dojo, having finished their morning meditation. Splinter stood near the entrance of the dojo, his gaze scanning the room. He noticed one conspicuous absence among the three turtles gathered before him. A hint of annoyance flickered across his face, not again.

"Where is Donatello?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and irritation

The turtles exchanged puzzled glances, their eyes darting from one to another. They, too, were aware of their brother habitual tardiness.

Raph rolled his eyes, his irritation evident. He let out an exaggerated sigh, his annoyance clear.

"Figures. The guy's probably still snoozing away"

Mikey chuckled at the thought, unable to suppress a smirk remembering the little prank he pulled before leaving his room.

"Haha, yeah. Probably still drooling on his pillow. I put a sock on top of his head to keep him company"

Splinter sighed, shaking his head in frustration. He had anticipated this scenario, and it was becoming an all too familiar occurrence.

"It seems like Donatello's habit of oversleeping is becoming increasingly troublesome," he observed, his voice tinged with disappointment. He had hoped that the young turtle would have grown out of this habit but it seemed otherwise.

Raph couldn't help but offer a cheeky suggestion, his mischievous nature eager to cause some havoc.

"I can give him a little wake-up call," he offered, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "A nice, loud one, guaranteed to get him out of bed in a flash."

Splinter quickly intervened, his stern voice cutting through the room. He remembered the last time Raph had taken it upon himself to wake up his brother, and the results had been less than ideal.

"No, Raphael," he said firmly, his voice bearing an air of authority. "We've been through this before. Last time you 'woke him up', you ended up causing more trouble than need be"

Raph chuckled at the memory, his mischievous nature still relishing in the chaos he had caused. He couldn't help but recall the incident.

"Oh, man... That was a riot," he said with a hint of a smirk. "I still remember the look on Donnie's face when he woke up. Priceless"

He smirked, remembering the events that unfolded. It had involved a lot of shouting, screaming, and definitely some property damage.

(Flashback)

Another fateful night, Raph crept into the room, his steps soft and stealthy. He found his target, the unsuspecting Donatello, peacefully asleep. A grin crept over Raph's face as he approached the sleeping turtle. This should be easy.

He moved closer, standing over Donnie's bed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He had the perfect plan to wake up his little brother.

With a wicked smile, he carefully positioned himself, a playful plan forming in his mind.

Raph's hand hovered over Donnie, silently debating what kind of prank would be the most effective. A simple tap on the shoulder... No, too bland. A gentle nudge... Nah, too weak. Then, an idea struck him. He stifled a laugh, his plan coming together.

"Donnie, ...DONNIE! WAKE UP!!" he shouted, his voice loud and full of exaggerated menace.

Donnie was jolted from his slumber, confusion and a twinge of fear etched across his face. He rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of the loud voice that had shattered the tranquility of the night.

"Huh, wh-what..?" he mumbled, his mind still groggy with sleep.

"What are you doing, Get up, You overslept again, genius," he growled. "Everyone's waiting for you in the dojo."

Donnie's confusion deepened, his tired mind trying to process Raph's words. “What?!, but how?! I set my—wait, I don’t have a clock anymore, why didn’t no one woke me up!?”

Raph chuckled, enjoying the panic he had caused. "Well, looks like everyone tried to wake you up. But you were dead to the world, like usual." Raph continued his act, feigning anger. "You better get your ass up, Splinter's calling for you, and trust me, he's not happy" he added, feigning disapproval.

Donnie's sense of urgency spiked as he heard Raph's words, his sleepy haze quickly fading. He tripped over his blanket and landed face-first on the floor with a loud THUD.

He hastily grabbed his gear, sloppily strapping on his pads and gear, disoriented and in a state of panic while Raph kept laughing before making his getaway.

"How did I oversleep? how could i let this happen" Donnie muttered, his thoughts racing.

The wrong straps ended up on the wrong places as he struggled to properly strap them on.

Despite his rush, the turtle was just too clumsy when he tried to rush, making the task more difficult. He couldn't ignore the noise he was causing. Each move seemed to echo through the silent lair, making him grimace with each fumble. He frantically rummaged through drawers, knocked over a lamp, and caused various objects to fall on the floor with a series of resounding clangs and thumps.

"This can't be happening," he muttered with increasing urgency.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated..." he muttered, exasperated. Each wrong move causing a different noise. He was clearly stressed, frantically trying to get ready as quickly as possible.

"Damn it, why is this so hard?" he exclaimed, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to get properly dressed.

He muttered under his breath as he continued trying to get ready, each failed attempt adding to his frustration. He was clearly stressed. "Stupid straps. Why can't everything just work?" he cursed, his voice filled with agitation. "Why is this so damn difficult?"

His frustration peaked, and he lost his footing, tumbling backwards, a look of dismay etched on his face. He groaned in pain, his fall causing him further distress. He sat there on the floor for a moment.

"This can't be happening!" he groaned, his voice a mix of frustration and pain. "Splinter is going to kill me..."

Splinter, having been disturbed by the noises, appeared in the doorway, his expression stern.

"What on earth is going on in here?!" he exclaimed, his voice betraying his irritation. "Donatello, What is all this commotion?!"

Donnie, caught in the act, looked up at his father with a sheepish expression, still sitting on the floor, surrounded by disarray. He quickly scrambled to his feet, attempting to compose himself and offer an apology.

"I'm... sorry, Sensei," he mumbled, his voice filled with remorse. "I didn't wake up on time, and I was just trying to get ready as fast as possible—"

But Splinter's stern gaze silenced him mid-sentence. The look in his eyes spoke volumes, and Donnie's excuses fell flat. He looked pointedly at the clock, and then back at his young son, his tone admonishing.

"Donatello, do you even realize what time it is? it's the middle of the night. Do you feel no shame?"

Mikey, who had been sleeping peacefully in the next bed, was now awake, rubbing his sleepy eyes as he struggled to sit up.

"morning already?" he mumbled groggily.

Donnie looked back at the clock again, his confusion evident.

"Raph woke me up," he protested, his voice tinged with desperation. "He told me that everyone... that you were waiting for me, Sensei. I didn't know—"

Before Donnie can finish his sentence, Splinter's stern voice cut him off. He had no interest in excuses at a time like this.

“Did Raphael tell you this... before or after you woke the entire lair?”

Donnie gulped, feeling the weight of Splinter's gaze and the disappointment in his gaze, realizing the full extent of the disturbance he had caused. He shifted nervously, avoiding eye contact.

"Erm... both?" he replied, his voice uncertain.

Splinter's expression remained stern, unimpressed by the excuse. He shook his head, his disappointment evident. "Perhaps you should have checked the time first, before creating this racket."

Splinter's disappointment turned into firm resolve. He couldn't let this go unpunished.

"Your recklessness and lack of responsibility will not go unpunished," he stated, his voice authoritative. "For the next week, you will be responsible for cleaning the dojo every evening after training."

"But Sensei... a whole week? That's not fair," he protested.

"Fair? Life is not fair," Splinter replied, his tone unyielding. "You should have thought about that when you decided to disrupt everyone's rest."

Donnie sighed heavily, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He mumbled to himself, "Great, just great."

But Splinter's stern expression remained unyielding, before he left the room he had to address it. "Consider it a lesson, Donatello. Your choices have consequences. It is time you learn that... Now, go to bed."

Donnie slumped back onto his bed, feeling the weight of the punishment upon him. It seemed like luck was never on his side.

"Why does this always happen to me?" he muttered, frustration etched across his face. "It's like the universe enjoys testing me."

But there was no escaping the consequences now. Splinter's decision was final.

(Flashback ends)

Raph chuckled to himself, reminiscing about the memory.

"Oh, man, that was a riot!" he exclaimed, his laughter tinged with a hint of sadistic amusement. "I can't believe he fell for it. Good times, good times."

Raph smirked, relishing in the memory of the prank he had pulled on his gullible brother.

"Raphael, this is not a laughing matter, you should know better than to engage in such behavior. Those pranks are reckless and serve no purpose other than causing distress."

Raph shrugged, his sly smile still present, "Eh, come on, Sensei it was hilarious," he protested, trying to defend his actions. "You seen his face."

Splinter shook his head, still concerned about the root cause of his son's tardiness. He found himself pondering why the smart turtle was always this late. It had become a regular occurrence, and he couldn't help but wonder if Raph was behind it again.

"I have seen his face, Raphael," Splinter responded, choosing his words carefully. "And this kind of behavior seems to be a growing habit of yours. too, I wonder if you are, once again, a factor in Donatello's absence."

"Me? No way, Sensei!" he protested, his eyes widening in surprise while trying to convince him of his innocence. "I only did that once! I had nothing to do with it this time, I swear!"

Mikey caught the exchange between Raph and Splinter, his face betraying a hint of guilt. He was aware of what went on above, but had promised not to divulge the information. The temptation to reveal what had happened was undeniable, but he held his tongue, conflicted between loyalty and truth.

Meanwhile, Raph continued to protest, desperate to clear his name. "Seriously, Sensei! I didn't do anything this time!"

Leo, unable to focus on his meditation due to the commotion, intervened with a sigh. The sound of Raph's protests and the overall chaos were proving to be a major distraction.

"Alright, alright, let's settle down," he tried to interject, his voice steady but tinged with annoyance. "I can go wake him up. I have a better attitude."

Raph, hearing Leo's suggestion, couldn't help but bristle at the implied taunt. He squared his shoulders, facing Leo with a mixture of defiance and resentment.

"Better attitude, huh?" he retorted, "Is that your way of saying I can't be trusted!?"

Mikey chuckled under his breath, secretly enjoying the tension. He was familiar with their sibling banter. "Here we go again," he muttered, anticipating a possible clash. Leo shot Mikey a disapproving look, signaling that a brawl was not the solution here. But Raph wasn't about to back down, his pride wounded.

"Tell me. What's that supposed to mean, huh? You think you're so much better than me?"

Leo tried to keep his composure, his voice steady but firm. "No, I don't think I'm better than you. I just think I handle things more calmly than you do."

Splinter would step in, intervening before Raph's frustration turned into a full-blown outburst. He couldn't afford another brawl to break out among his sons.

"boys, enough," he said firmly, "This bickering solves nothing."

Raph, still reeling in his anger, remained stubbornly defiant not long before Donatello stumbled into the dojo, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the attention of his brothers was instantly drawn to him. The atmosphere grew tense as Raph fixed him a disapproving stare.

"Finally, Sleeping Beauty makes his appearance," Raph quipped, sarcasm tainting his words.

Donnie offered a sheepish smile and an apology as he approached, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Sorry, everyone. I didn't realize how late I was," he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment. He felt the weight of their gaze upon him.

Raph shot him a skeptical look, his arms crossed over his chest. "We noticed," he deadpanned.

Mikey couldn't resist poking fun at the ongoing tension. "haha, if he's the sleeping beauty, I wanna know what you consider me, Raph" He relished the chance to diffuse the mood with a little lighthearted humor.

Raph grumbled irritably, shooting a pointed look at Mikey.

"Oh, you want to know what I consider you, Mikey? you're far from beauty, How about 'the beast'?" he fired back, a smirk playing on his lips. "You know, cuz you're always acting like a wild animal, especially when it comes to pizza... you're also the annoying one who can't resist poking fun of being a pain in the ass!" he retorted bluntly. He certainly had his own not-so-flattering label for his youngest brother.

"Raphael!," Splinter chided firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument after hearing the choice words spilling from Raph's mouth, quickly interjected "Watch your language."

Raph flinched, instantly regretting his choice of words. Splinter's disapproval was a force to be reckoned with, and he was quick to correct his language when his father spoke, "Sorry, sensei..."

Leo let out a short exhale, a mix of concern and irritation evident in his gaze. "Don, this can't keep happening."

Donnie let out a defeated sigh as he took his seat in his designated spot between Mikey and Raph, the order reflecting the age hierarchy within the family. He was all too aware that he was currently the source of the tension, having been late yet again.

The guilt gnawed at him, as it always did whenever he disappointed his family.

"I know, Leo... I didn't mean to sleep in again," he mumbled, already bracing himself for another reprimand from his older brother. "It just... happened."

Donnie couldn't help but wonder what the day ahead had in store for him if this was how it started. But Mikey quickly brushed off his apology, responding with a playful tone. "No worries, Donnie," he said with a grin. "It's not like that ever changes."

Despite the playful retort, Donnie couldn't shake the feeling that he had indeed let them all down yet again.

Raph breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the spotlight had shifted from his earlier confrontation with Leo. As Donnie admitted his error, Raph couldn't resist chiming in.

"See?" he added, his voice laced with a hint of vindication. "I told you I had nothing to do with this. He's always the cause of a problem!" he proclaimed.

*a problem*

Donnie found himself once again grappling with negative thoughts, berating himself for being the source of trouble. The self-doubt gnawed at him.

*You screwed up again, Donatello,*

His shoulders slumped, the weight of his guilt and exhaustion evident.

*Is there ever a time when you don't mess things up?*

As Donnie continued to ruminate, Raph suddenly chimed in, admitting a thought that didn't do much to ease Donnie's burden.

"Actually, I still wish I had tried to wake him up another way.... you know..." he trailed off, leaving the alternative unspoken.

"Then tell us. What was the other plan, Raph?" Leo inquired, sensing that Raph's method might not be entirely benign. He braced himself, already imagining some kind of physical confrontation. "Was it as terrible as your usual pranks?"

Raph shrugged quickly realized it's best not to say it out loud, as he sensed the potential repercussions of such an admission. No, he definitely didn't want Splinter to hear about his mischievous, a sly grin forming on his face with his intrusive thought. In his mind, he had already come up with a plan that involved a pillow and a bit of smothering, but he quickly dismissed the idea, recognizing the severity of the method.

"Let's just say, it was a bit more... hands-on than my usual pranks, big brother." he replied, a mischievous smile still playing on his lips.

Splinter sensed that it wasn't worth delving into the details of Raph's twisted plans at the moment. He would rather focus on more important matters at hand. Donnie was fortunate to avoid the spotlight for now.

"We'll discuss that later, Raphael," Splinter said dismissively, "Right now, we have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Oh, oh, the surprise!" Mikey exclaimed, looking around as Splinter walked away for a moment. "I can hardly wait to see what Sensei is hiding, guys. What kind of surprise would it be? Is it a big one? I can barely contain my excitement!... maybe...maybe it's a pizza party!!"

Mikey's childlike enthusiasm was met with annoyed glares from his older brothers. He was like a child on Christmas morning, eagerly anticipating his surprise.

"yeah?," Raph added, "And i wish you had an off switch, that would be pretty handy right about now."

"No, Mikey," Leo chimed, "Sensei isn't likely to throw a pizza party out of nowhere. Let's be a bit more serious here."

Splinter returned, holding a mysterious item behind his back - the long-awaited surprise he had prepared for his children was finally ready.

"my sons," Splinter called out, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and pride, "I have a gift for each of you, as we continue our journey"

The boys eagerly surrounded their father; as they stare in awe at the weapons before them. It was a moment that held the promise of a new beginning.

The weapons seemed to have an almost mystical connection to their bearers, almost as if they had a mind of their own. "They are a perfect reflection of your unique personalities and skills. You all are the ones that will carry on my legacy. Use them with honor and responsibility." Splinter spoke with a sense of purpose and determination.

"Yes! Awesome, Sensei," Raph beamed like a little kid. His gaze lingered on the weapons, eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and awe. "I guess it makes sense we get our own weapons, but Mikey too?" He mused, eyeing the youngest turtle curiously. "What can he possibly use? a pizza cutter?" He mused, chuckling to himself.

He watched intently as Splinter began preparing the harnesses, wondering what role they would play in this unexpected turn of events.

Mikey grinned at the thought of wielding a pizza cutter as his weapon, a goofy smile spreading across his face. He found his brothers' objections rather amusing. After all, being surrounded by a lot of pizza was hardly a bad thing.

"A pizza cutter? Oh yeah!" Mikey exclaimed, unable to contain his delight. "A pizza cutter would be totally rad! I mean, think about it, slices of deliciousness flying everywhere, I can see the headlines now: 'Turtle with a Pizza Cutter - The Heroic Master of Tasty Slices!, booyakasha!"

"Mikey, dude, I was just kidding," Raph chuckled, not really surprised that Mikey would take his joke so seriously. "I gotta admit, though, that headline you suggested sounds pretty funny."

As Splinter handed Leo a back-mounted gear harness, Raph watched with curiosity, wondering what kind of weapon his older brother would get. Leo's eyes lit up with excitement as he took in the new equipment.

Used for long weapons, allowing secure storage and quick over-the-shoulder access.

Splinter stood beside Leo, a fatherly smile on his face as he watched his son ready to receive his weapon. "I believe the weapon that you are about to receive is not just a mere tool," he said, his voice filled with a sense of significance. "It may reflect your very being, Leonardo, the characteristics that make you who you are."

He placed a comforting hand on Leo's shoulder, indicating that he had chosen well. "Be prepared, my son. Embrace your gift, and let it guide you on your path to greatness."

Leo felt a surge of gratitude and confidence and eagerly looked up at Splinter, his expression filled with excitement. "Thank you, Father," he said, his voice tinged with anticipation. "I promise to uphold the values you've taught me and use my weapon with honor."

Raph, sitting nearby, annoyed with the attention his older brother was receiving. "'Oh, use my weapon with honor' seriously, Leo, can you be any more extra?"

Leo paid no attention to Raph's remark, too focused, as Splinter moved on to the next back-mounted gear harness.

Raph suddenly realized that he was being passed over, and immediately interjected, his voice laced with annoyance. "Apparently, I'm invisible, or maybe I'm just getting replaced by Donnie now? Seriously, what the hell?"

Splinter ignored Raph's annoyed remarks, focusing on the task at hand. He continued to prepare the gear harnesses, each one unique to each child.

"I have noticed that you are not quite ready for a weapon at this moment," he said, his tone gentle yet firm. "But the time has come to take the next step in our training."

Splinter continued, acknowledging Donnie's potential. "It would not be fair to leave you out, my son, even if your path as a warrior may not be focused on brute force. Perhaps your mind and intellect will lead you to a different kind of weapon in time."

He then turned his attention back to Raph, who was growing impatient. "Raphael, have some patience. Your time will come."

Donnie accepted the equipment with a mixture of excitement and nervous. He wasn't too sure what to expect, but he was eager to see how his harness would be. The thought that his harness might resemble Leo's gave him a glimmer of hope that his weapon would be impressive.

As he strapped on the gear, there was a sense of anticipation in the air. The moment had finally arrived for Raph to receive his harness so the loudmouth turtle can keep it down at least.

Splinter got another two harness, different from the ones given to Leo and Donnie. This one's where hip mounted harness.

Better for compact weapons that can be drawn quickly without interfering with movement.

Splinter carefully selected the next harness, and moved to stand before Raph, who was practically bouncing with excitement. The hip-mounted harness was clearly designed for a different kind of weapon and the thought intrigued the eager turtle.

He approached Raph, who was eager and excited to receive his harness. "Raphael, it is time for you to receive your harness," Splinter said, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of fondness.

Raph breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the stars that his harness was nothing like Leo or Donnie's. The hip-mounted design suggested a different weapon, and the notion that his own equipment was unique made the moment all the more exciting.

"All right, this is different," Raph grinned, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. "Finally, a harness with a little personality to match me!"

Splinter continued on his path, moving on to Mikey, making Raph realize that they were going to get the same harness. His enthusiasm took a sudden dip as he realized they were sharing the same equipment.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Raph exclaimed, feeling the initial excitement drain away. "I thought this was supposed to be unique, not a matchy-matchy thing with Mikey!"

Splinter gave Raph a stern look, a subtle reminder to keep his attitude in check.

"Enough of this nonsense, Raphael," Splinter chided, "So what if you share the same harness with Michelangelo? It doesn't change the fact that each of you is unique in your own right."

Raph quieted down, biting his bottom lip to contain his frustration. Despite his annoyance, he couldn't help but wonder about the weapon he would receive. His disappointment at sharing the same harness was temporarily forgotten, replaced by curiosity about the weapon he was about to receive.

With all the harnesses in place, Splinter turned his attention to the most exciting part - presenting each turtle with their unique weapon.

"Now, my sons," Splinter began, his voice filled with anticipation, "It is time for you to receive the weapons that will be your faithful companions. Each one is unique, mirroring your personalities and strengths. Embrace them and learn from them, for they will serve you well on your journey."

The turtles anxiously awaited their individual weapons, eager to see what they would be.

"Although this is mostly from your own choosing. It is clear to me, they chose you."

Starting with his oldest son, Leonardo. Splinter revealed his weapon - a pair of gleaming katanas. This choice reflected Leo's calm and level-headed demeanor, the katana's deadly precision befitting the most composed turtle.

"The katana, a royal Samurai weapon, for those with courage and keen skill."

Leo accepted the katanas with gratitude, feeling the weight of responsibility that came with such a weapon. A determined glint shone in his eyes as he made a silent vow to master the katanas and become a true ninja warrior.

"Hai, Sensei."

Moving on to Raphael, Splinter unveiled the next weapon - a pair of sai. The sai, with its defensive capabilities, reflected Raph's aggressive nature, making the choice a fitting one.

"The sai, for a fierce and fearless warrior, who will always fight the hardest for his family."

Raph gratefully accepted the sai, his eyes shining with confidence. The deadly weapons felt like an extension of his own spirit, perfectly suited to his nature. He couldn't wait to prove himself with this formidable new tool by his side.

"Hell yeah! Sai, baby! Now, we're talking.... I mean... Thank you, Sensei."

Splinter continued to the next turtle, Donatello. He presented him with a bo staff, a relatively simple weapon for the most creative of the group. It was perfect for someone whose strength lay in their intellect and resourcefulness.

"The bo staff, for a thoughtful soul, and a peaceful heart."

"Aw, man. A stick?"

Donnie struggled to keep the bo staff upright, feeling the weight pull him down. Although he wasn't thrilled with his choice of weapon, he suppressed his disappointment and forced a half-hearted smile. Meanwhile, Raph smirked, finding amusement in Donnie's plight.

*Who's going down first? Don, that's who. This is gonna be good* Raph's smirk widened, almost looking forward to the inevitable moment when Donnie's lack of physical prowess would come into play.

Mikey, who couldn't resist munching on some leftover popcorn as he watched the spectacle of his older brothers receiving their weapons. He quickly got rid of the snack as Splinter approached. His eyes sparkled with excitement, hardly able to contain himself.

"Mikey next?! C'mon, C'mon, whatcha got for me, Sensei?" Mikey bounced on his toes with anticipation.

Sensing Mikey's unrest and ADHD tendencies, Splinter advised him to sit and compose himself. He understood the unique challenges that came with his youngest son's exuberance, and the next weapon that would be presented was specifically chosen to cater to these traits.

"My son, please take a seat," Splinter suggested gently, waiting for Mikey to comply before revealing the specially selected weapon.

Mikey obediently took a seat, his impatience still visible on his face. The next weapon came into view - a pair of nunchaku. This choice seemed fitting for Mikey's energetic and sometimes scattered nature. Splinter briefly pondered how to explain his reasoning for giving such a complicated weapon to his absent-minded child.

"The nunchaku, because....Um...They are perfect for you." Splinter said, trying to find the right words to describe Mikey's unique personality.

Mikey instantly took a liking to the nunchucks, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He lovingly held the weapon, feeling an immediate connection to it. With a burst of enthusiasm, he wrapped his arms around them.

"Mmm, I love them." he exclaimed, expressing his gratitude with genuine happiness.

With all the weapons presented and appreciated, it was time to move on to the next level of training. Splinter signaled for all the turtles to stand up, ready to embark on the next phase of their ninja education.

The turtles, now armed with their respective weapons, stood at attention, waiting for their master's instructions.

"My sons, it is time for the next level of your training to begin. Are you ready?"

"We're ready, Sensei!" Leo, Raph, and Mikey responded in unison, striking their respective poses to signify their readiness. Donnie, on the other hand, didn't share their enthusiasm but kept his reservations to himself, maintaining a facade of attentiveness and determination.

The stage was set for the beginning of their next chapter in the ninja arts, a new level of their training that would test their skills, teamwork, and resolve.

As the brothers had already begun swinging, and testing their new weapons, Donnie turned the staff over in his hands, feeling its smoothness, its… emptiness. It wasn’t even carved. It wasn’t… special.

He couldn't help but feel that his own weapon lacked the special touch. The simplicity of the staff made him feel left out, as if his weapon didn't measure up to the excitement and personality of the others.

The only feature that seemed to set Donnie's weapon apart from the others was the Hamato crest engraved on the staff. As he approached his brothers, he couldn't help but wonder if this small nod to their lineage was meant to make up for the lack of intricate decoration.

It was clear to him that he didn't possess the natural fighting abilities of his siblings, and it only added to his feeling of inadequacy.

Donnie approached his brothers, mustering a half-hearted question, "So, do you guys, umm.. like your weapons?" He already anticipated their affirmative responses, seeing the joy and excitement on their faces.

But inside, he was grappling with his own insecurity, feeling like an outsider in their world of unique and intricate weaponry.

Leo enthusiastically swung his katanas, a broad smile on his face. "Takes practice, but I love it!" he exclaimed, thrilled by the deadly precision of his chosen weapon.

Raph, ever the tough guy, simply grunted in agreement, "it's something, I could get the hang of it." his gaze fixed on the sai in his hands. It perfectly mirrored his aggressive nature, and he couldn't hide his satisfaction.

Mikey, his eyes sparkling with excitement, twirled the nunchaku with nimble skill. He was a natural, and his grin grew wider with each swift movement. "Awesome!" he exclaimed.

Donnie's hold on his staff was precarious, requiring both hands to maintain a semblance of control. The weight of the staff felt overwhelming, leaving him struggling to keep up with his more agile brothers.

"Remember," Splinter cautioned, his voice filled with wisdom, "The weapon you wield is a symbol of your path as ninja. It is not the weapon itself that matters; it is how you use it. Each of you will learn and grow with your chosen weapon, and it will become an extension of yourselves." Splinter said, not realizing the internal turmoil Donnie was experiencing. All the young turtle felt was the weight of inadequacy, unnoticed and unaddressed by his father.

Raph: “You got a broom handle, genius.”

Mikey: “Maybe you can invent it into something cool later!”

Leo: “Master Splinter said it’s not the weapon, but how you use it.”

But Donnie wasn’t listening. He was staring at the stick like it confirmed everything he feared.

He wasn't strong like Raph.
He wasn't fast like Mikey.
He wasn't precise like Leo.

He was smart… but what good was that when they didn’t take him seriously?

His gaze remained locked on the simple staff, as if it embodied all his fears and insecurities.

*I don't fit in. I never did.*

Donnie said internally, before he tried to keep up. His limbs were lanky and awkward, his staff too heavy for his small arms. Leo flowed through the katanas, Raph powered through his forms with raw strength, and even Mikey spun with natural energy.

Donnie? He dropped his bo staff...again. This time getting the attention of his whole family, every eye turned to him, and his embarrassment was palpable as he fumbled to pick up the fallen weapon.

With a mixture of frustration and embarrassment, Donnie muttered an apology as he reached down to pick up the staff.

"S-Sorry," he stammered, his thoughts echoing the sentiment. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to regain his composure and get back into the training routine.

But moments later, Donnie faltered again, and the bo staff slipped from his grasp once more. Frustration and self-doubt gnawed at him as he realized that this couldn't continue to happen.

"Not again, can't I do anything right? How am I supposed to be a ninja if I can't even hold this stupid stick!"

Raph couldn't resist the opportunity to mock his struggling younger brother, offering a casual "sucks to be you" as Donnie continued to fumble with his bo staff.

However, Raph's distraction came back to bite him when Mikey capitalizing on Raph's distraction to deliver a swift blow with his nunchucks. A proud smile graced Mikey's face as he reveled in his successful move.

Mikey, still beaming with pride, exclaimed in a triumphant tone, "Ha! Got ya, Raph! Ninja focus, my bro!" He couldn't contain his excitement at successfully landing a hit on his tough-guy brother. "Who's laughing now, huh?" he added, poking Raph playfully.

Donnie watched Mikey triumph over Raph with ease, he wondered if, someday, he would be able to match their skill and agility. He pushed through the physical strain, determined to improve.

*I just want to be like them, they’re the strong ones. The brave ones. What am I? Just the quiet one. The useless one.* Donnie thought to himself, his gaze fixed on his brothers' fluid movements

He strained to lift the staff once more, he failed to match his brothers' coordination and ease of movement. His body wasn't as naturally athletic as theirs, and he found himself struggling to keep up with the training.

Splinter, who had been silently observing the training session, took note of Donnie's constant struggles. As Donnie stumbled yet again making it the 8 time, the wise rat called the young turtle to his side, realizing that his second youngest son needed his guidance.

"Donatello," Splinter called out to his son, his voice firm yet gentle. "Come here for a moment."

Donnie's heart pounded in his chest as he heard Splinter's call. His fears of inadequacy heightened by the attention his failure drew. He shuffled forward, dragging the staff behind him.

"Master Splinter," Donatello began, his voice laced with nervousness. "I-I'm trying my best."

Raph couldn't resist the opportunity to make a jab at Donnie's struggles, he interjected with a hint of amusement, “Clearly not enough, Donnie. Looks like you're more interested in the floor than actual training."

Raph's playful remark only further emphasized Donnie's sense of inadequacy.

Raph's distraction once again proved to be his undoing as Mikey landed another blow, causing Raph to wince from the impact. Mikey's laughter filled the room.

"Twice in a row, Raph! Your ninja focus seems to be seriously lacking," Mikey taunted, his amusement evident. "Maybe you need to watch where you're standing instead of worrying about Donnie."

Splinter knelt down to address Donnie, his tone patient and understanding. "Donatello, my son," Splinter began, "The staff is not a weapon to be rushed. It is a tool meant for balance, precision, and discipline. To master it, you must go slow."

He gently took Donnie's hands and repositioned them along the length of the staff, emphasizing the importance of proper grip.

Donnie did his best to slow down and follow his father's guidance, but the question still lingered in his mind. *Why did I have to get a slow weapon? Why can't I move quickly like them?*

With these thoughts weighing on him, he attempted to mimic the swift movements of his brothers, only to find that his staff, once again, slipped from his grasp, landing in front of Splinter.

"Do not think, Donatello," Splinter gently chided, shaking his head. "Focus on the present and go slow."

Donnie tried again, pushing through the soreness in his arms and attempting to slow his movements. However, despite his efforts, his form remained stiff and uncoordinated. It was clear that he just wasn't ready for this kind of training.

As Donnie continued to fail, Splinter eventually held his son in place, realizing that rushing him would only lead to more frustration and disappointment. "You are clearly not ready for the advanced forms of training. Step aside."

Donnie looked up at his father, unsure of the meaning behind his words. "Step aside?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "But I can try-"

Splinter didn't allow Donnie to finish his thought or argue, responding with a stern tone. "Do not argue with me, my child. Go, take a seat."

There was no room for negotiation in his tone.

Donnie, feeling defeated, moved to the edge of the mat, placing the staff down next to him. He didn't dare to look at his brothers, ashamed of his apparent weakness. His gaze stayed firmly fixed on the ground, gripping the bo staff as if it was a lifeline.

He silently questioned his abilities, feeling the weight of his insecurities.

*Why am I always the weak one?*

Meanwhile, Leo, Raph, and Mikey continued their sparring on the mat, their fluid movements a painful reminder to Donnie of what he couldn't accomplish.

Donnie released a soft sigh, turning his attention to the secret project he had concealed. He was smart, that was evident, but his fine motor skills hadn't yet been fully honed. The stubborn wires refused to stay in place, causing him additional stress.

He wondered if he was even capable of focusing his attention on anything with so much weighing on his young mind

Donnie's gaze was drawn to Mikey as his brother failed to maintain his stance and fell backward. He braced himself for Splinter to do the same to Mikey, to make him sit out.

*Surely Splinter will make Mikey sit down too, right? Or am I the problem?* Donnie wondered, silently hoping that his father would be consistent in his teaching methods.

Splinter walked over to Mikey, correcting his pose with a gentle touch and encouraging him to continue, even though Mikey, clearly struggling and finding the practice challenging, whined. "This is so hard!"

There was a stark contrast between Splinter's patient approach with Mikey and the swift reprimand he had delivered to Donnie.

As Mikey continued to grapple with the training, Donnie bit his lip, struggling to hide how much it stings. Was Mikey really receiving more chances than him?

"I know it can be difficult, Michelangelo, but you are making progress" Splinter urged, his tone gentle and supportive. "You will get the hang of it with practice. Do not give up, my son."

Mikey, feeling buoyed by his father's positive reinforcement, picked himself back up. "Thanks, Dad. I'll get it," he said with a grateful smile.

Donnie, meanwhile, watched from the corner, his focus on fixing the circuit board that had eluded him earlier.

*Is this preferential treatment because Mikey is the youngest, the baby of the family?*

He couldn't help but feel a bitterness at the seemingly unfair treatment. Mikey got to keep trying, but Donnie had been so quickly dismissed.

Donnie stared at his calloused hands, oil stains a reminder of his struggles. *Great, I need to get cleaned,* he thought and decided to make his escape.

"Father, may I be excused for a moment?" Donnie asked, hoping to avoid any further embarrassment. He desperately needed a break.

Donnie felt his embarrassment deepen when Splinter was too engrossed in his brothers' training to even acknowledge his request. "Father!" he repeated, hoping to catch his attention.

But it seemed that Donnie's presence had fallen to the back of Splinter's mind, leaving him feeling invisible and insignificant.

Donnie's heart sank as Splinter continued to ignore him, feeling like a forgotten shadow. Frustration bubbled inside of him. "Maybe they'd notice if I disappeared..." he said to himself.

He decided to make his way out, ensuring not to forget his 'weapon of choosing,' which he had come to resent. As he picked up the staff, it felt like a heavy burden in his hands. "Can't even walk away without this thing," he whispered miserably.

Donnie secured the strap on his back, hoping to alleviate the weight of the staff. He had a mission now - to prove his worth and show his father that he was worthy.

"If I want to prove myself, I have to take this staff, I have no choice. If I want to make Splinter proud, I have to prove that I can carry this burden, no matter how heavy it is." he vowed silently, determination overriding his resentment for just a moment.

Donnie walked with a silent determination despite the staff's weight dragging him down. Still feeling somewhat insignificant, he headed to the bathroom to clean his hands, not expecting his family to even notice his absence.

As he scrubbed the oil stains off his hands, his mind wandered to thoughts of his family and the feeling of being overlooked. Would they even realize he was gone?

Donnie approached the dojo, weary but hopeful that his absence would eventually be noticed. He peered inside, only to see Splinter completely engrossed in training with the others, not a single moment of concern or even acknowledgment for where Donnie might be.

*Of course,* Donnie thought bitterly, feeling the familiar sting of disappointment. *Why would he remember me?*

Donnie stared at the sight before him, the realization hitting him hard. The perfect family seemed to function just fine without him. Each of his brothers excelled in their own ways - Leo becoming an unstoppable force, Raph honing his craft with ruthless efficiency, Mikey quickly adapting to the challenges thrown their way.

Donnie, on the other hand, continued to struggle. Physically, he was lanky and slower than his counterparts, and his curiosity often took precedence over any desire for violence.

*Is there any place in our world for me?* Donnie asked himself, the weight of his insecurity growing heavy.

Donnie looked at the gadgets in his hand; his hands were stained with oil again. *Oh, that's great,* he thought, recalling the mess on his hands. He sighed, frustrated by the setback.

He needed specific components, parts that he'd only find "Topside." It didn't matter though - he was convinced his family wouldn't even notice. They had Splinter and his three perfect brothers.

*It's not like they'd even notice anyway. They're better off without me anyways. Might as well get work done.* Donnie thought with despairing honesty.

With his decision made, Donnie made his way towards the pipe entrance located above the lair, eager to escape the weight of his insecurities and the perceived ignorance of his family.

He slithered through the tunnel, seeking the escape and solitude that the outside world might provide. The weight of his insecurities and perceived neglect pressed against him like the walls of the narrow pipe.

Finally reaching the stairs that would lead to freedom, Donnie pushed aside his concerns for the family he believed he had been dismissed from. *Who cares about the rest?* he thought.

As he ascended the stairs and pushed the manhole cover aside, the light embraced him, and the outside world beckoned with the promise of distraction from his lingering insecurities.

This was what Donnie loved the most: the feeling of unbridled freedom. He basked in the liberating emptiness, temporarily forgetting his troubles as he closed the door to his home and roamed the streets as if they were devoid of danger.

For the time being, he would focus on fixing his gadgets, perhaps finding some solace in the familiarity of his work.

On the other end, Xever and Bradford were engaged in an animated discussion atop a rooftop nearby, holding some peculiar gadget. Xever couldn’t shake the skepticism as they debated the task at hand.

"Mutant turtle?" Xever scoffed, unconvinced. "Really? Shredder must be nuts. Why the heck did he want us to waste our time with a turtle?, not even a normal turtle, but a mutant. We've never even seen one before"

The question was rhetorical, and there was no doubt Xever would have preferred to stick to his traditional thieving expertise. He felt like a fool, having given up his thieving talents for this absurd mission.

Bradford, known for his undying loyalty to their mastermind, defended Shredder's decision.

"I get it, it sounds crazy, but you know Shredder. He's not one for making rash decisions without a solid reason. There's more to this than meets the eye," Bradford insisted, trying to convince his reluctant partner.

As Bradford continued to list Shredder's praises, Xever caught sight of a peculiar sight - a young turtle diligently scanning through some trash further down the street. The strange sight gave him pause.

"What the heck is that?" Xever blurted out, drawing Bradford's attention to the extraordinary vision before them.

"That... that can’t be a mutant turtle. Can it?" Bradford uttered, struggling to process what they were witnessing.

Xever, intrigued by the sight before him, reached for his knife. A mischievous smirk tugged at his lips as he contemplated the possibilities with a hint of predatory curiosity.

"it's real?, and that shell," Xever mused, his excitement growing. "I'm more interested in that shell. I wonder what secrets it holds. Imagine the bounty I can get for a real mutant turtle's shell. That’s a once in a lifetime score."

Bradford, quick to respond, stopped his friend before he got carried away. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he cautioned, grabbing hold of Xever's arm. "We gotta contact the boss first. We can't just go jumping a mutant turtle without a plan and reinforcements. We need to play this smart."

Bradford's practicality and loyalty to their mastermind, Shredder, quickly resurfaced as he insisted on a more strategic approach to their potential prey.

Xever stifled a groan, but with years of experience in the criminal underworld, he understood this wasn't an opportunity to act on impulse. He hated taking orders, and this definitely counted as one.

Still, the allure of the mutant turtle and its extraordinary shell was too promising to ignore, so he reluctantly backed down for now.

"Ugh, fine," Xever said, still eyeing the young turtle suspiciously. "We'll contact the boss, but I still think we can handle this mutant on our own. We don't need to wait for an entire army to take down some...child."

Bradford, keeping his cool, didn't care about the creature's age or the fact that it was a child. His mind was focused on their directive from Shredder - they were here to find gadgets, but this was a rare opportunity that couldn't be ignored.

"Look, I know Shredder said we were hunting for gadgets, but I think it's crucial that we inform the boss about this," Bradford reasoned, trying to maintain their priorities. "We need to let him call the shots on this one. I don't think we should take any chances with a mutant, child or not."

Bradford quickly pulled out his phone and began to update Shredder on their progress and their extraordinary discovery.

"Master Shredder, you're not going to believe what we just stumbled upon," Bradford relayed into his phone, excitement and anxiety evident in his voice. "We may have found our mutant turtle, sir."

Bradford paused for a moment, waiting anxiously for Shredder's response.

Xever scoffed skeptically, not expecting Shredder to answer promptly. "Yeah, right," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Shredder's too busy right now, man. We should just take care of the mutant ourselves, get that shell, get paid, and call it a day."

Bradford shot Xever a stern glare, attempting to quash his impulsive ideas. To their surprise, Shredder promptly replied through the intercom, issuing an explicit order.

"Do not engage," Shredder commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "I'm on my way. Stand by for further instructions."

Shredder ended the communication abruptly, leaving Bradford and Xever standing in stunned silence. Xever, looked at Bradford with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"First time Shredder didn't ignore you, huh, Brad?" he chuckled, the surprise evident in his voice. "Must be your lucky day, or maybe the boss is just really intrigued by this mutant turtle."

Bradford remained focused, however. "Quiet. Shredder is on his way. We don't want to screw this up, so keep your eyes on that kid. We still don't know exactly what we're dealing with here.

Xever's mind began to wander to the money-making potential of this encounter. "I know what we're dealing with, Brad," he said, his eyes gleaming with the promise of riches. "That shell... it's the real deal. With it in our hands, we'll be stacking the cash so high, we won't know what to do with it!"

Xever's ambitious nature was in full gear as he focused on the wealth and power that the mutant turtle's shell might bring them.

Bradford glanced at the shell for a moment, intrigued but less obsessed than Xever, unable to see the value Xever saw.

*The shell... was this idiot for real, what about the rest of the turtle? Surely there was more to him than just some mutant shell, right?*

"You know, I still don't get why you're so obsessed with that shell." he whispered to his partner. "That's probably where all his vital organs are. I doubt there's anything inside that's worth the risk of tangling with Shredder's mutant."

Bradford's focus was on following orders and avoiding trouble, not on the potential monetary value of the turtle's shell.

"I guess I just like the idea of having a real mutant turtle's shell as a trophy, you know? It's not like we come across these every day. Imagine how much we can cash in on that"

Xever's ambitious mind was still focused on the shell, though he couldn't fully explain his fascination with it. For him, the turtle's shell represented a rare and valuable trophy worth risking Shredder's wrath to obtain.

Bradford sighed, questioning his decision to work with Xever on this particular job.

"Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice partnering up with you for this. You're all about that damn shell, but do you even know what Shredder's planning to do with him?"

He tried to snap his friend back to reality, focusing on the bigger picture rather than just the trophy.

Xever scoffed, clearly unfazed by the notion of the turtle's possible torture and death. His mind remained fixed on the prize, the mutant's shell.

"I know what Shedder will do with him, Brad." he retorted confidently. "Typical Shedder, torturing the poor thing and eventually taking his life. But that's okay because I already have a plan for that shell. I'm getting that shell, one way or another, and Shredder better not get in my way."

Suddenly, a deep, chilling voice pierced the conversation. "Better not get in your way?" Shredder's cold voice emanated from behind Xever.

Bradford froze, not daring to speak, waiting for Shredder's judgement. Shredder's presence alone commanded respect, and even Xever, despite his rebellious nature, was momentarily stunned by his sudden appearance.

"I heard your plan, Xever," Shredder hissed, his deep voice cutting through the air. "Let me make one thing clear: You will not come between me and this mutant. Do you understand?"

Shredder's eyes narrowed as he glared at Xever, ensuring his message was clear and unchallengeable.

Xever turned to face the Shredder, his fear evident but contained, and replied in a more respectful tone, "I understand, sir." Despite his initial ambitious ideas, Xever was smart enough to know the dangers of crossing Shredder.

The tension in the air was thick, but Shredder seemed satisfied by Xever's response, acknowledging his submission with a slight nod.

Bradford couldn't help but smirk at what just unfolded. The scene was almost comical to him.

"Well, that was some excellent timing," Bradford remarked, not missing the irony in the situation. "What are the odds that the little guy still present just as Xever here was trying to claim his shell for his own trophy room?"

Shredder didn't respond to his remark, still focused on the tiny mutant turtle exploring the garbage below.

with a mixture of concern and surprise, Shredder remarked, "Well, he's early." The turtle's unexpected presence threw a wrench into their plans, as it was never Shredder's intention to deal with him so soon.

As Shredder observed the young turtle, he pulled out a circuit board from his pocket - a piece clearly looked like it had been fix. He recalled where he had found it - the turtle must have dropped it by accident. The fact that it was still functional after being exposed to the elements was an impressive feat, even for such a small turtle.

"Smart, for a mutant turtle," Shredder remarked, impressed but also a bit frustrated. "This is from yesterday, the turtle dropped it. It was clearly damaged, but now..."

He observed the now functioning circuit board with a mix of curiosity and frustration, not wanting to admit that the mutant had been responsible for its restoration.

Bradford and Xever continued to stare at the object in Shredder's hands, both confused and intrigued. "But now what?" Bradford asked, still trying to piece together the significance of this item and Shredder's plan.

"I don't understand," Xever mumbled, clearly puzzled by the situation unfolding before them. "What's the plan here, Master Shredder?"

Shredder ignored them, and recalled the conversation with Baxter Stockman, the eccentric scientist who had been impressed by the circuit board's condition.

"Someone with the talent for this must have repaired it..." he mused in his mind. "And not just repaired it - improved it."

Baxter's words lingered in his thoughts, adding to Shredder's sense of intrigue and growing curiosity about the young mutant's unique abilities.

Bradford and Xever continued to wait, still confused by the situation unfolding before them. They watched as Shredder's gaze remained fixed on the circuit board, a plan beginning to take shape in his mind.

Shredder turned his gaze back to the turtle, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose - this mutant, this genius, might prove to be incredibly valuable. With his foot soldiers around him, Shredder realized that capturing the turtle and using his intelligence was the key to his ultimate plan.

His resolve strengthened, Shredder declared, " That turtle will be mine."

Donnie clutched a small sack of salvaged wires and broken tech—his treasures he found laying around. Things that did make sense. Things he chose.

“Power’s stable… if I reroute this node—”

muttering to himself about the power stability when, suddenly...

CLANG.

A loud metal scrape cut through the air behind him, he spun, raising his staff instinctively.

Nothing.

Silence. Darkness. Donnie stared, frozen.

“Okay… not creepy at all.” he whispered to himself, scanning the shadows.

Donnie's grip on the staff was weak, and the weight of the weapon was too much for the small turtle. It instantly fell from his hands, clattering on the ground.

"Darn it," Donnie cursed, hating himself for bringing such a heavy burden with him. He needed to be more discreet. He glanced around, but there was no clear sign of whoever - or whatever - had made that noise.

Then, a shadow moved—fast. Too fast.

Donnie stood, gripping the bag to his chest. His staff lay across the floor, forgotten in the excitement. His eyes darted around.

“Wh-Who’s there?!”

*Whoever this is, I need to be ready, but I can't let fear get the better of me*, he told himself, though his own heart pounded in his chest.

"I wondered how long you would stray so far from your den..." A threatening presence emerged from the shadows.

From the shadows, he emerged. Black armor. Bladed shoulders. Eyes like burning coal beneath a horned helm — but not the Kuro Kabuto. This was different. Lighter. More streamlined, suited for stalking.

Donnie stepped back, feeling the weight of his own fear grow heavier. *Stay calm. You've seen tougher enemies before in a cartoon. They are nothing, you can handle this... I hope*

Shredder held up a small mechanical piece that looked familiar to Donnie - it was from the pile he had collected and fixed as he maintaining a cool facade.

"Tell me, boy... you fix this, didn't you?"

He dropped the gadget at Donnie's feet. It was a small mechanical piece - the same gadget Donnie had fixed and forgotten. Shredder eyed him with a mix of curiosity and cold calculation, his tone a stark contrast to the threatening aura he had exuded only moments before.

“you dropped it. Yet you somehow, made it better. Just as I thought you would.”

Donnie stared down at the part, then up at the figure towering over him.

But he still didn’t answer. He Couldn’t. And Shredder didn’t wait for one, as his hand was slightly raised almost like he was going to ambush this turtle any moment now, the foot began getting ready.

Donnie's mind was racing, his instincts screaming at him to run but he couldn't move, couldn't draw a breath to respond. Even if he wanted to, the lump in his throat made it impossible.

The Foot began to get ready, surrounding the small turtle, and Shredder's raised hand seemed to be a silent signal.

Donnie out of fear spoke.

“You—You’ve been watching me?”

Shredder's sinister smile spread across his mask, as if amused by Donnie's timid response. So the turtle finally spoke.

He had indeed been watching him, watching and waiting - the Foot waiting with him, ready to strike.

"I have," Shredder admitted to the small turtle. "And I've been quite impressed, my talented young friend. I see great potential in you."

Donnie's attempts at reaching his fallen staff were thwarted, but his determination persisted. Meanwhile, Bradford and Xever spectated from the rooftop, with Xever sporting a sinister grin, his mind fixated on obtaining the turtle's shell.

"Come on, little mutant," Bradford muttered under his breath, barely containing his malicious glee. "Make a move."

"Rip that shell off him." Xever thought hungrily. "That shell is what I want more than anything."

As Donnie struggled to reach his weapon, he was unaware that his every move was being observed with malicious intent by those lurking in the shadows.

Shredder was ready to issue his command to the Foot, but a sudden discovery made him hesitate. Etched faintly into the wood near the staff's center was a faded emblem—he hadn’t noticed before. A familiar swirl… one he’d seen before. The Hamato crest. Where did he get that?.

He lowered his hand, signaling the Foot to not engage, his mind now focused on the mysterious staff and the story it might hold.

Donnie remained terrified, desperately clinging to his staff despite its weight. Yet, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Shredder's observant eyes that the staff bore the unmistakable mark of the Hamato crest.

This discovery had momentarily stalled Shredder's plan to engage. An air of mystery and intrigue hung thick as Shredder realized that this turtle had connections to the revered Hamato Yoshi - his arch nemesis and, ironically, his brother.

As Shredder maintained his focus on the young, terrified turtle before him, his gaze shifted to the staff that the child was struggling to wield. The significance of the emblem etched into the wood caught his attention once more.

Shredder decided to break the silence with a stern question.

In a commanding yet curious voice, Shredder asked, "Tell me boy, where did you come across that emblem? and do you know its significance?" There was a hint of a threat in his tone, but he was waiting for an answer - and Donnie had better choose his words carefully.

Donnie's eyes widened, and his gaze shifted to his staff before meeting Shredder's inquiring eyes, realizing the implications of the emblem's origin. Shredder's question hung heavy in the air, demanding an answer that Donnie couldn't avoid.

Mustering the courage to respond, Donnie replied, "It was... my father.. h-he was one of the Hamato Clan... and... I am part of that ....Hamato legacy."

His voice was shaky, and it was clear that he was hesitant to reveal too much about the emblem significance or his connection to the Hamato clan without jeopardizing his family's safety.

Donnie's response confirmed that he had a connection to the Hamato clan, with the emblem symbolizing his father's legacy as part of that esteemed lineage. Shredder's curiosity grew exponentially, and he couldn't let the conversation die there.

"Who is your father, boy?" Shredder demanded, his voice laced with a mix of suspicion and anticipation. If the turtle's response truly confirmed that his father was Hamato Yoshi, Shredder's suspicion would be confirmed, making this encounter even more intriguing than he had initially anticipated.

With a surprising casualness, Donnie revealed the truth that was on Shredder's mind all along. He was Hamato Yoshi's son, known to the turtles as their master, Splinter.

His voice was nonchalant as he stated the obvious, "He likes to go by Splinter," Donnie explained, "but his real name is.... Hamato Yoshi."

This revelation confirmed Shredder's suspicion, creating an even more intriguing and unexpected twist in the unfolding drama.

"Hamato." Shredder mumbled, still in a state of disbelief. "Hamato Yoshi is your father?, That can't be," he muttered, his mind racing. "Yoshi... he survived the fire? He's alive?"

Donnie's admission had confirmed Shredder's suspicions, but it also raised more questions than he was equipped to handle alone. The implications of this news sent a shiver down his spine, as he realized that the past may have come back to haunt him sooner than he expected.

Donnie stood bewildered, pondering how Shredder seemed to know about the fire - a secret only known to Splinter, his brothers, and himself. His mind spun as he slowly backed away, overwhelmed by the weight of the situation.

A chilling realization began to creep in, Unless this man is...? Donnie trailed off, unwilling to complete the terrifying thought.

The notion that Shredder might be the very man behind the tragedy that had shaped Splinter's life, it was simply too daunting to accept.

Shredder sensed the fear in the child's eyes and decided to clarify his intentions. He didn't want the young turtle to mistake him for an enemy. He wanted to reassure the young turtle, to establish a connection that might benefit him in the future. After all, Donnie was just a child, making him an easy target for manipulation.

Shredder crouched down to come to the turtle's level, his voice calm and in a way not to frightened the child even more. "Fear not, young one. I am not the enemy you might perceive me to be."

Donnie's grip on his staff was weak, and it was clear that he didn't possess a deep understanding of the art of Ninjutsu. His focus seemed to be less on fighting and more on the technological aspects of his life.

Shredder sensed a potential opportunity in this, believing that Donnie might not truly want to be involved in their ongoing legacy. With that newfound suspicion, he decided to continue questioning the young turtle, his tone still calm but tinged with caution.

Seeing the mistake in how Donnie was holding his staff, Shredder couldn't help but offer a little guidance, even though his motives were far from pure.

"If I may offer a word of advice, it appears you might be holding your staff improperly, young one." he suggested, trying to establish a more neutral and helpful demeanor before delving into more pressing concerns.

Donnie glanced at his staff, realizing that he might not fully understand the proper way to hold it. He had accepted that mastering this skill was beyond his capabilities. However, he can't show his limitations, especially to a potential enemy.

"I.. I'm not sure if I'm doing it right," Donnie admitted, his voice small and hesitant. "I just... I’m never gonna get it right…"

Shredder spotted the gadgets the turtle had collected and pieced together through his resourceful scavenging in the trash. It began to dawn on him that this turtle might not be cut out for fighting or have no interest in the legacy, given his technological inclinations.

A sense of suspicion began to take root in Shredder's mind. He couldn't help but wonder if Hamato Yoshi recognized these traits on his son. Wondering if his interests lay more in technology than in fighting. Shredder asked, his tone still calm and controlled. "Tell me, young one, does Hamato Yoshi approve of this...scavenging habit of yours?" Shredder probed, his interest palpable, as he tried to gauge Donnie's value and potential allegiance.

Donnie's fear momentarily subsided as he regarded Shredder with skepticism. Splinter was unaware of his nightly adventures and even if he was, he wouldn't approve his scavenging activities and that he was acting independently, unbeknownst to his father.

"No, He, he doesn't know," Donnie admitted reluctantly, feeling like he was revealing too much but unable to resist the Shredder's questioning. "He doesn't know I'm out here doing this...He... he is more into fighting... While, me. I-I just like to build things..." as he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty.

"You speak like a thinker, not a fighter. And yet, you're forced to fight." Shredder observed, making it clear that he was taking a keen interest in Donnie's unique approach to the world around him.

Donnie's shoulders visibly shrank beneath the weight of those words. It was true - no one had ever asked him what he wanted. Not even Splinter, who was always pushing him to train harder, focus more, and be ready for battles in which he had no interest.

Donatello remained silent, with his grasp on the staff loosening slightly. As Shredder continued to observe the small turtle, he made a move of picking up another piece of tech the child had dropped, offering it to him as a gesture of goodwill.

"They don't see what you can become, Donatello," Shredder remarked calmly and his intentions were clear - he wanted to win Hamato Yoshi's son's loyalty and allegiance. "but i do"

Perhaps this mysterious man saw potential in him that others had dismissed, a chance to become so much more than just a fighter.

Donnie gulped nervously; he was not used to feeling valued for his intellect rather than his combat abilities. He still sensed some manipulation at play, but his desire to be understood and appreciated grew stronger. He thanked Shredder for helping him even if his original doubts were now overshadowed by the idea that this enigmatic stranger might consider him more valuable than his own family.

"Thank you," he managed to murmur."

Shredder watched with a keen eye as Donnie expressed his gratitude, taking in the young turtle's emotions and vulnerability. The plan was working. Shredder was making headway, exploiting Donnie's insecurities and his longing for acceptance beyond his family's expectations for him.

Shredder smiled inwardly, recognizing the moment when he should not press his advantage further, lest he break the fragile trust that was beginning to form between them. Instead, he retreated, advising Donnie to continue working on his own gadgets.

"Finish your work, young one," Shredder said, maintaining an air of calm authority. "We shall speak again soon." With that, Shredder left, leaving Donnie stunned and puzzled by the encounter.

Donnie stood there, utterly bewildered by the Shredder's sudden departure, leaving behind a cloud of smoke. He struggled to process what had just transpired. Shredder had seemed genuinely interested in him, acknowledging his intellect and offering guidance. But why? What was Shredder's true motive? As the smoke dissipated, Donnie was left to grapple with more questions than answers.

He would then realized he had lingered far too long above ground, and his father would soon become concerned about his whereabouts. Hastily gathering his belongings, including the gadgets Shredder had handed him, Donnie quickly made his way back to the safety of the sewers, determined to keep his mysterious encounter a secret for the time being.

Bradford stood there, bewildered by the unusual encounter between Shredder and Donnie. "What the hell just happened? Did Shredder just let an innocent live?"

Xever, on the other hand, remained focused on capturing evidence of the interaction. He took photos, holding the images in his hand, fascinated by the turtle's shell.

"Who cares what Shredder's thinking?" Xever replied with a smile. "One thing's for sure - I got some valuable intel for the record." he whispered to himself, still admiring the precious shell in the photographs he had just taken.

Bradford scoffed as he confiscated the photographs from Xever.

"That's enough, Xever," Bradford spoke sternly. "Shredder won't be pleased with you gathering that kind of evidence." Bradford reminded Xever, glancing at the young mutant in the pictures.

"Besides, judging by the mutant's size, it might just be a child," he added, concerned about their next steps.

Xever, seemingly indifferent to Bradford's caution, shrugged.

"Who cares?" he retorted.

"If Shredder likes to hide the fact that he let a potentially useful mutant slip by, I'm just making sure we don't miss any opportunities." he argued, still holding onto his belief that the photos were worth the risk.

Bradford struggled to comprehend Xever's motives at times. His reckless behavior and willingness to take risks puzzled him, considering that Shredder had freed him from prison.

"One of these days, your insubordination is going to come back and bite us all in the ass," Bradford warned, his skepticism evident.

He sighed, realizing there was no changing Xever's mind once he set it on a goal. "Just be careful, Xever. You might find yourself right back where you started if you push the Shredder too far."

"Scrud, you really blew it, you know?" Xever spat, irritated that they might have lost their chance to capture the unusual turtle.

"Not only did we lose the mutant, but we left Shredder to do whatever he likes with him?"

Xever's annoyance was evident, his dislike towards Shredder and Bradford's lack of caution making him even more determined to get what he wanted, even if it cost the freedom he had just gained.

"Are you serious?" Bradford retorted. "Shredder made it clear - we are forbidden to interact with ... 'It' whatever it may be." Bradford maintained his distance, still referring to the turtle as an "it" in his mind. He was determined to follow Shredder's orders, even if he was curious about the mutant turtle.

Xever was just about to voice his refusal to follow Shredder's orders when an abrupt, obnoxious voice cut through the intercom, startling Xever.

Shredder sounded annoyed, "Why are you two still up there?!"

Bradford couldn't help but chuckle, amused by Xever's sudden unease. He had warned his partner about the Shredder not tolerating insubordination.

Shredder's voice grew even more stern, "Return to base at once. We have a lot to discuss."

Bradford and Xever exchanged a glance, both realizing that it was in their best interest to obey Shredder's command, especially on a day when he seemed particularly impatient.

"Let's go," Bradford said to Xever, and the two quickly made their way, leaving the mystery of the turtle behind them - at least, for now.

(To be continue)

Chapter Text

Baxter Stockman's Laboratory – Deep in the Foot Clan’s Base

At the heart of the room stood Baxter Stockman, bent over his intricate workstation, his face illuminated by the eerie glow of the equipment. Carefully holding two vials with some pair of gloves, one brimming with a vivid green liquid, the other swirling with a haunting violet hue. He muttered to himself, eyes darting between tubes and scribbled notes, oblivious to the unsettling sounds around him.

In the corner, a small kitten whimpered from a metal cage, pawing helplessly at the bars. It meowed again, weak, pitiful.

Baxter didn't bother acknowledging the small kitten's distress, instead telling it to stay quiet as he remained engrossed in his work. "Be quiet, you nuisance," Baxter grumbled, not once looking up from his experiment. Despite the kitten's cries, Baxter's focus remained solely on the vials he held in his hands.

Behind him, a black trash bag slumped near the biohazard bin, streaked with faint trails of blood. Inside, unseen but unmistakable, were the lifeless forms of failed subjects of small animals, tossed aside like broken tools left to rot. With his attention fully on the vials, Baxter seemed unaware of the grim reminder of his experimentation failures just a few steps away.

Suddenly, the lab’s reinforced door hissed open, revealing Shredder. There were no words, no greetings, Just the weight of his presence sucked the air from the room. Baxter froze mid-action, the vial in his hand trembling in response to the sudden intrusion. In an instant, Baxter's back straightened, and his shoulders tensed with panic.

"M-Master Shredder! I wasn't expecting--" Baxter began, but Shredder cut him off, his approach making it clear that he had no interest in excuses.

“Stockman, you’ve been tampering with something far beyond your comprehension... Tell me, what exactly does this substance do? I want answers. Now.” The words were simple, but they carried the quiet threat of failure-the kind of failure that didn't end with second chances.

Baxter was momentarily puzzled before realizing that Shredder was talking about the mutagen. He quickly tried to gather his thoughts, wiping his hands nervously on his lab coat, desperately hoping he wouldn’t disappoint or worse, anger his master further.

Swallowing hard, Baxter spoke. "Master Shredder... the mutagen you’re referring to? It has the potential to transform living organisms at the cellular level, completely altering their genetic makeup. The results have been..."

He hesitated, glancing toward a cluttered tray of broken syringes and discolored samples. "...somewhat unpredictable."

He forced a smile, trying to sound confident. “I’ve been studying its potential. It’s… remarkable. Unstable, yes, but capable of rewriting DNA down to the molecular level.”

Shredder said nothing his gaze had shifted, now locked on a nearby cage. Inside, a small kitten lay twitching. Its body was halfway between creature and nightmare: patches of coarse, gray fur that didn’t match, a swollen eye, one limb slightly elongated as if the transformation had stopped mid-process, leaving it trapped in agony.

The smell of antiseptic couldn’t hide the rot. The twitching of the kitten slowed… but didn’t stop. Shredder’s expression darkened beneath his mask.

Shredder's eyes narrowed, and he asked, "And this...is your result?" He gestured toward the twitching, malformed kitten. The disgust in his voice was clear as he questioned Baxter about the horrific result of the mutagen's application. Baxter winced but attempted to regain his composure, straightening up slightly as he stood behind his workstation. He braced himself, preparing for the inevitable confrontation though he was well aware of how poor the results had been thus far.

“Yes. Partial exposure ,the reaction is heavily dependent on the subject’s baseline genetic composition. There’s a...uh...molecular instability when fusing vertebrate DNA with more complex—”

Shredder interrupted Baxter, clearly aggravated by the convoluted explanations.

"Do not speak to me in riddles, Stockman," Shredder snapped. "What does this mutagen do to animals?" Shredder asked, his tone demanding a concise, straightforward answer. He looked at Baxter, expecting a clear and direct response without any more scientific jargon.

Baxter’s hands trembled slightly as he tried to steady himself, sweat already clinging to his brow beneath the flickering lab lights. The presence of Shredder was like a weight pressing down on his spine, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he was ready to give.

“I-It’s volatile,” Baxter began, voice thin and uneven. “Unpredictable. The mutagen, I mean. Exposure leads to rapid genetic restructuring .... unpredictable changes, some fatal, some… grotesque. It can increase mass, distort physiology-..."

He faltered.

“I-It rewrites the host. Changes them completely.”

He swallowed, hesitating.

“It even fuses their DNA with whatever genetic material is present during exposure…”

There was a pause.

“And what if…” Shredder’s voice came low, measured, as if each word was heavier than the last, almost like he was speaking the words before he fully believed them. “…the DNA present was human?”

The color drained from Baxter's face. His lips parted, but no words came. He stared at the floor, fingers twitching nervously at his sides. He knew the answer. He knew it. But saying it aloud… felt wrong...Unthinkable...He shook his head slightly, more to himself than to Shredder, as if denying what he already suspected. He looked away, uncomfortable like the weight of the truth was too heavy to say aloud.

Shredder's mind reeled, a dark thread pulling together the fragments of a memory. The boy, the staff, the name Hamato Yoshi, and now, this. The very thought twisted his insides. Could his enemy’s blood run through that creature’s veins? Could that boy… be Yoshi’s creation? Or was it a lie? A manipulation? A ploy for sympathy?

Or worse, a weapon of vengeance, sent to infiltrate from within?

No, Shredder thought. It can’t be. And yet…

Before the question could settle, the lab doors hissed open behind them.

Bradford entered first, scowling. “You let that turtle go?”

Xever followed with a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Didn’t know you had a soft spot, Master. Unless we’re keeping him... do spare me the shell.”

Shredder didn’t turn at first, he didn’t need to. His posture was rigid, the lines of his armor casting long shadows in the sterile light. Behind the mask, his face remained unreadable but even his silence crackled with something cold and wrong.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm… too calm. “It is not your place to question my decisions.”

That was the end of it. Bradford stepped back immediately, chin lowered in silent apology. Xever raised a hand in mock surrender but said nothing more. And yet… both sensed something was different.

Shredder’s voice lacked its usual venom. Not weaker, no, never that... but distracted, like his mind was lingering somewhere else entirely.

Baxter blinked in confusion as the tension began to settle again. “Shell…? Wait, were they talking about that turtle?” He glanced between Bradford and Xever, but neither answered. Shredder’s silence spoke louder than both of them.

Instead, without a word, Shredder turned and walked slowly to the far end of the lab. Baxter followed him with his eyes, uneasy.

There, resting beneath a flickering light, was a canister of mutagen, the same glowing green fluid Baxter had used in his grim experiments. His hand reached out precise, steady and picked up a canister of mutagen. He turned the canister in his hand, studying the viscous liquid inside.

“C-Careful, Master... that’s still unstable...”

In a flash, Shredder spun and raised the canister directly at Baxter with unsettling intent. The scientist flinched hard, backing into a tray of syringes with a loud clatter. The gesture was enough. Shredder’s voice was ice. “Tell me everything you know about the mutagen’s behavior. Specifically… how it interacts with animal and human DNA.”

Baxter flinched as the canister hovered just inches from his face, its eerie green glow reflecting in his glasses. He raised his hands slightly, sweat visibly clinging to his temples. He had no idea what this was truly about… but something in Shredder’s tone told him this wasn’t just about science anymore.

“I-It depends,” he stammered, voice barely above a whisper. “The ooze... the mutagen... it creates mutants by fusing DNA. When an animal is exposed while in contact with a human, their genetic material supposedly merges. You get a new being... intelligent, bipedal, capable of speech... though the outcome depends heavily on the human source. Their DNA determines a lot.”

He dared a glance at Shredder, who hadn’t moved.

“I’ve... never tested it on humans directly,” Baxter added, his voice cracking. “Why are you telling me this, Master? Please...put the mutagen down.”

He trailed off, heart pounding. At last, Shredder lowered the canister slightly, though his stare was fixed elsewhere, not at Baxter, but somewhere far deeper.

“I encountered something,” he murmured at last, voice low and unreadable. “Something… unusual.”

Baxter didn't dare say a word, waiting for his master to elaborate, though he was becoming more and more anxious about how the conversation would unfold. Shredder took a single measured step back, the shadows folding around his armored form.

“A child,” he said. “A mutant turtle...the one I mentioned before. But not natural, It was intelligent, It spoke clearly. He was… articulate. Controlled. Purposeful. He even carried a weapon, a staff. Poorly held, untrained. But the staff bore a symbol…

Baxter’s eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat. The room fell deathly still.

Shredder exhaled slowly. His tone shifted, no longer clinical, no longer cold. Almost… thoughtful. “I believe,” he continued, “he is the product of this mutagen. I want to know how.”

Xever scoffed softly from where he leaned against the wall, muttering under his breath. “It’s still just a turtle.”

But Shredder didn't respond with his usual stern and dismissive tone. Instead, he kept his thoughts to himself, holding onto the unspoken notion that the turtle might be more significant than any of them realized.

Baxter’s brow furrowed, his mind racing. “I’ve never seen a turtle mutate that cleanly,” he muttered. “No deformities. No behavioral imbalance. If what you’re describing is accurate, then… then yes. That mutant likely inherited human DNA. Someone’s." Baxter concluded, swallowing nervously before explaining further. "That would explain his mental stability. His awareness. The mutagen, when exposed to human genetic material, doesn’t just mutate, it enhances. It creates anthropomorphic traits. Human posture. Human intelligence. Emotional range. It seems like it doesn't just mutate; it enhances it."

His voice faltered, then he glanced hesitantly at the canister still clutched in Shredder’s hand.

“I… I could confirm it,” Baxter offered quietly, cautiously. “If I had a sample. Blood, tissue... anything. I could run a full analysis. I could tell you for certain whether that turtle carries human DNA… and maybe even whose.”

He hesitated, lowering his voice even further. “If you can bring me something… I can give you answers.”

Shredder said nothing for a long moment. But the weight of his silence said everything.

"Then that is what we shall do." Shredder finally declared, his tone brisk and determined as he ended the moment of silence.

Both Bradford and Xever flinched at the sudden sharpness of Shredder’s voice finally, action. The time for standing around was over.

Xever’s lips twitched into something close to a grin as he shifted the blade at his hip, clearly eager. The thought of hunting down a mutant didn’t bother him, he enjoyed it, he twirled one of his smaller blades between his fingers.

Xever's lips curled into a smirk as he eagerly awaited his next task, twirling a smaller blade between his fingers. "Finally, some action,” he exclaimed, preparing to leave and pursue the turtle.

However, he was swiftly interrupted by Shredder, who raised his hand to halt his henchman. "I said, capture the turtle. I never said kill him on sight."

Xever stopped in his tracks, puzzled by Shredder's order. "You want him alive?" he asked, turning to face Shredder once more.

Shredder didn’t turn, but his tone brooked no argument. “I don’t want him harmed. He’s young. Draw him in. Lure him. He has a mind for machines. He can be… guided.”

Xever, a bit more skeptical, voiced his concern. "How are we supposed to lure in a turtle? You don't really trust a turtle to make the right-"

He was abruptly silenced when Shredder abruptly swung his metal claws at him, stopping them merely inches from Xever's neck.

Shredder's abrupt action sent a clear message, shutting Xever up, who nervously gulped down his words without further objections.

The Shredder's voice remained icy. "You doubt my decisions?" Shredder asked, his tone suggesting that it would be a mistake to do so. After a tense moment, Xever managed a meek "No, Master Shredder."

Bradford, more composed than Xever, simply gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. Xever, on the other hand, hesitated and scowled, reluctant to follow Shredder's orders to the letter but smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Behind them, near the flickering screens of the lab’s monitoring equipment, Baxter froze. A half-forgotten memory slithered up from the depths of his mind. Shredder had brought him a device. A strange, brilliant piece of machinery he claimed to have “found.” Complex. Inexplicably well-constructed. No human hands had built it. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now—.

*Could it have been that turtle?*

Baxter’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then decided to speak.

“Pardon me, Master, I—I couldn’t help overhearing You keep referring to this creature as… him.." Baxter interrupted hesitantly, adjusting his glasses with a twitch of his fingers. "So it’s male, then? The turtle is a he?”

No one responded. That silence was all the answer he needed. Shredder’s gaze shifted toward him, but he said nothing...waiting.

Baxter’s thoughts tumbled ahead. “I’ve only ever used female animals for my testing,” he murmured, half to himself, half aloud. “Males are… unpredictable. Aggressive. Difficult to control. If the mutation bonded with a male subject, especially one carrying human traits, then…”

He hesitated, then offered cautiously.

"If I may, Master..." Baxter started cautiously, trying to gather his thoughts. "Are you certain this is the right specimen? A female would be...more manageable." He paused again, considering the possibilities. "If this entity truly exists, surely there must be others as well. Perhaps a more suitable candidate, one that is less..."

Shredder cut him off before he finished his thought. "I don't want someone easier, Stockman,” he said, his tone ice-cold and unwavering.
“I want him.”

Shredder’s final words...“I want him”...still hung in the air like smoke, thick and undeniable. Baxter blinked, his throat tightening as he quickly backed a step away, realizing he may have said too much. From the other side of the room, Bradford scoffed, arms crossed again, now clearly irritated.

“You really interrupted all this for something that stupid?” he muttered, not even bothering to look at Baxter. “over some turtle’s gender?...You’re lucky he didn’t break your jaw.”

Xever laughed under his breath, kicking off the wall with casual disrespect.

“What’s the matter, Stockman? Scared he’s gonna bite?” he taunted. “Hah. From what I saw, this one acts like a girl anyway. Scrawny. Quiet. Probably cries when someone scuffs his shell...And that someone will be me” He made a mock sniffling sound, nudging Bradford in the arm. Even Bradford gave a smirk at that. But the moment was cut short.

Shredder turned fully towards his henchmen, and a chilling silence enveloped the room. His voice was low and sharp, leaving no room for further defiance. "Enough." His word hung in the air, heavy with finality. The trio, now fully aware that they had pushed their luck far enough, wisely decided to keep their mouths shut, and stood by, awaiting their next orders.

“You will go,” Shredder said, stepping forward, his voice rising with dark purpose. “You will find that turtle. You will gather his DNA. And you will not return until you have what I want.”

His gaze swept over them, cold and unwavering. Xever lowered his eyes. Bradford straightened, more serious now. Neither dared challenge the order this time. They both gave slight nods and backed away, exiting without another word. Once the door hissed shut, Shredder turned his attention back to Baxter, who stood stiff and pale clutching the edge of his workstation, visibly rattled.

“I don’t care if using a female would be easier,” Shredder said, stepping closer. “He is the one I want. He could be part of the Hamato Yoshi’s legacy. I will break that legacy with my own hands.”

He paused, then added.

“Make it work, Stockman. Or you’ll join the failures in that bag.”

His gaze flicked toward the dark sack of discarded animal remains on the floor. Baxter swallowed hard and gave a trembling nod, already turning toward his lab table. Shredder said nothing more as he walked off into the shadows his thoughts no longer just of war…

…but of vengeance...

And soon, the truth would be his.

(Donatello's POV)

Donatello’s small feet splashed through the shallow sewer water as he ran, breath sharp in his throat, clutching his staff tight to his chest. His heart pounded, not just from the sprint, but from that voice… that strange man in the shadows who knew too much.

Donnie skidded around the final bend leading into the lair, nearly slipping on the slick stone. Light spilled out ahead. Familiar voices echoed through the air. Donnie’s eyes widened, breath ragged. He muttered under his breath:

*I’m late... I’m so late... Sensei’s gonna—*

He stumbled into the dojo space, bracing for punishment, for a scolding.

“Sensei, I’m really sorry I was—”

But Splinter didn’t even look at him.

The other three turtles were deep in their training:
Leo moved with flawless precision, twin katanas slicing through the air.
Raph mirrored him, sai glinting as he struck and blocked, his focus unwavering.
Mikey spun with breathless laughter mid-motion with his nunchucks.

The three of them, so focused on their training.

And Splinter?

He stood at the center, arms folded behind his back, watching them.
Only them.

No heads turned. No voices called out. Not even a flick of recognition...No one noticed he had ever been gone.

It was like he’d never been gone.

Donatello’s voice caught in his throat. He stood frozen, staff still clutched like it had suddenly grown heavier. His fingers twitched. His knees felt weak.

“…I wasn’t even missed?…”

Slowly, he moved to the mat’s edge, careful not to draw attention. His knees hit the floor softly as he sat, the staff slipping across his lap, forgotten, useless. The training went on without him, as if he were nothing but a forgotten shadow, his staff now lying across his lap like dead weight.

He looked down at his hands. They trembled, not just from the run, but from the words that stranger had whispered.

*They do not see what you could become.*

He stared forward, through the flickering light of the dojo, watching his brothers shine in Splinter’s approval. And for the first time in his young life, Donatello wondered...

*What if he was right?*

Donatello sat cross-legged off to the side of the dojo, a small circuit board balanced in his lap. An array of scavenged scrap parts lay spread out in a careful, organized semi-circle around him, old copper wire, a cracked capacitor, bits of broken tech pulled from trash heaps. His tiny fingers twisted a wire into the copper node with intense focus, his brow furrowed, tongue peeking out slightly as he worked.

He hadn’t noticed when training ended. The clack of weapons had faded, replaced by footfalls and laughter.

Splinter stood at the far end of the dojo, hands folded behind his back. He gave a small nod. “Good work today, my sons. I am proud of you all.”

Donnie didn’t hear it. Not the praise. Not the dismissal.

He barely heard it. He was somewhere else entirely. The truth was, Splinter had sighed when his eyes settled on the weakest of the four. Quiet. Still. Alone. *Why can he not be more like his brothers?* the thought crossed his mind, heavy with quiet disappointment.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought lingered, heavy.

Across the room, Donatello finally glanced up, hope flickering when he saw his brothers. Leo and Raph had already started toward the kitchen, playfully pushing and jostling each other along the way. Meanwhile, Mikey was spinning his nun chucks while walking backward, laughing to himself. But no one looked his way. His fingers fidgeted nervously.

“Guys? I—I think I finally figured it out.”

They didn’t stop. Still, he pushed forward, eager, and gathering the courage and pressed on holding up the half-finished device like it meant the world to him.

“If I connect this capacitor to the thermal coil, it should stabilize the voltage. No more shorting out! Then maybe just maybe I can finally get the signal through the sewer walls. It could track movement! It could keep us safe!”

His face lit up. His eyes shone with quiet pride. For once, he was sure this mattered.
But before anyone could reply. Mikey glanced over, then grinned.

“Uh-oh. Donnie’s talkin’ to himself again.”

Raph chuckled under his breath. Leo, who meant no harm, gave a small shrug and said casually. “He does that a lot. It’s normal.” Leo didn’t even turn.

Donnie’s smile faltered, his gaze dropping. His thumb nervously ran along the edge of the circuit board, suddenly unsure.

“I wasn’t talking to myself,” he murmured. “I was… never mind.”

They never listened. He let out a breath and hunched a little lower over the device, the warm spark of excitement dimming in his chest. It would have worked. He was sure of it. But no one ever cared enough to hear.

Splinter sat cross-legged on his mat, silent in meditation, eyes gently closed. He hadn’t spoken to Donnie. Hadn’t even looked his way. For a moment, Donatello hovered, hesitant, almost waiting for a word, a nod, any sign that he’d been seen.

None came.

His fingers clenched tighter around the small circuit board and stood quietly, the weight of his brothers' joy pressing against his chest like a bruise. Not because he hated them… but because it reminded him what he wasn’t.

Not the strongest.
Not the leader.
Not the baby.
Just… extra.

He turned toward his brothers instead, ready to join them in the next room, but as he moved, something small slipped from his belt pouch, clinking softly as it hit the ground.

Donnie paused, frowning, and crouched to pick it up. It was the gadget. The strange, half-broken device the man from the surface had left behind. A tangle of twisted metal, sharp edges, and fractured circuits. Useless to most… but Donatello had fixed it. Without even thinking, without blueprint or guide. It was the only time in days someone had looked him in the eye, not with irritation or dismissal, but with… something else.

*You dropped it. Yet you somehow made it better. Just as I thought you would.*

The memory stirred in his mind, unbidden. His thumb traced the bent metal slowly, gaze distant. The sound of his brothers’ laughter in the next room barely registered.

*I see great potential in you.*

The words clung to the edges of his thoughts. Strange… how no one else had ever said anything like that.

Donnie turned slightly away from the group, the piece of tech clutched tightly in his hand. He didn’t even realize his fingers were shaking.

And yet, someone had looked at him. truly looked, and said he was meant for more.

They never hear me.
But he did.

Then he pocketed it quietly and walked on.

The kitchen was warm with laughter, light from the overhead bulbs catching the edge of Mikey’s spinning nunchaku as he balanced a slice of pizza on his head and stuffing his face, grinning with cheese smeared across his cheek. Raph leaned over the table, twirling a sai between his fingers while a half-eaten crust hung from his mouth. Leo sat back, arms crossed but eyes sharp, always listening, even when he pretended not to care.

Donnie stepped in quietly, holding the repaired gadget in one hand, forgotten by his side.

“—I’m telling you,” Raph said, smirking, “I could take all three of you. Easy. If Sensei had to pick, I’d be leader.”

Leo raised a brow. “You think brute force makes a leader? You can’t even go five minutes without punching something you’re not supposed to.”

Mikey laughed through a full mouth, nearly choking. “Raph as leader? Duuuuude, the sewer would be on fire in, like, two hours.”

“Zip it, shrimp.” Raph shot back. “I’m just sayin’ if someone had to lead us into a real fight someone tough, it should be me.”

Mikey slurped from his soda can and giggled. “Nah, you’d get mad and punch a wall before we even got there.”

Donnie stood near the counter, not far, close enough to hear, close enough to speak. But he didn’t.

He just… waited.

“I know how to win,” Raph added, nudging Leo’s shoulder. “What do you think, Fearless?”

Leo didn’t answer immediately. He glanced sideways, hiding the quiet smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t have to say it. Deep down, everyone already knew who Splinter would choose.

Donnie’s gaze dropped to the slice of pizza Splinter had brought him, cold now, untouched on its little covered plate. Splinter had gone topside just to bring them this rare treat, something that should’ve made the night special.

But Donatello didn’t feel hungry, or special.

He felt… invisible.

*I don’t want food. I just want… someone to notice me.*

The others kept laughing, tossing jokes back and forth about who was the best fighter, who’d win in a real match. Their weapons were part of the argument, Leo’s katanas, Raph’s sai, Mikey’s nunchaku. They lifted them, posed with them, acted out imaginary battles.

Donnie’s “stick”—his bo staff—leaned quietly against the wall, where he’d set it down.

He shifted the small gadget in his fingers, cleared his throat softly. “Um… guys? I—” He hesitated. They didn’t even look his way still talking over each other.. “I’ve been working on something,” he tried again, voice thin beneath their laughter. “It might help us... I think I can—”

Mikey sneezed mid-sip, but Raph shoved him, laughing louder causing him to spill it on the floor.

“Dude!”

“Serves you right,” Raph laughed.

Donnie fell silent. No one had heard him. No one ever heard him.

He stared at them for a long moment. His brothers. The people he loved most in the world.

*But do they love me back?*

He slowly stepped away from the circle of noise and light. His gadget sat cold in his hands as he sank onto the edge of the couch, eyes fixed on it.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t speak again.

He just sat there quietly while the voices of his brothers blurred together, like he wasn’t really there at all and his heart tightening around a single, desperate thought:

*I just wanted someone to see me.*

(Shredder's POV)

The lab was silent except for the faint hum of machinery and the scratchy scribble of Baxter Stockman's pen. His hands moved quickly across a notepad, calculations and notes in tight, anxious handwriting.

On the steel table in front of him sat a simple glass jar.

Inside: a housefly.

It buzzed in frantic circles, wings rattling weakly against the curved glass unaware of the fate Baxter had designed for it.

Baxter adjusted his glasses and frowned. “Attempt eighty-three... Subject: Musca domestica,” he mumbled. “Standard household fly. DNA sequencing stable, for now…”

He flipped through his notes, handwritten scribbles barely legible from the tremble in his hand. The past experiments had failed spectacularly. Rats. Strays. Even a snake. All dead. The DNA fusion using fly material was unstable, every subject either melted, twisted into grotesque shapes, or collapsed moments after transformation.

He glanced nervously at the nearby cage, empty, prepped. A new test subject would arrive soon.

His eyes darted back to the jar. The fly spun wildly again, landing briefly against the inner wall, twitching its legs as though sensing the dread in the room.

Baxter flinched. He always hated insects.

He stepped back, checking a tray of syringes filled with pale green mutagen. Dozens of small corpses sat sealed in freezer units, their limbs twisted in unrecognizable patterns.

This time, he wouldn’t risk using the mutagen directly on a larger host.

This time… he would mutate the fly first.

"..Small steps,” he murmured to himself. “Control the exposure. Mutate the insect first. Then… then maybe transfer the genetic sample safely.”

He set the fly jar carefully on the containment platform and grabbed one of the syringes. “If the insect survives,” he muttered, “and its DNA stabilizes under mutation… we use it as the delivery agent.”

The needle plunged into a small tube in the side of the jar. A hiss. A swirl of green. The fly buzzed violently, slamming into the glass walls, its body beginning to twitch in unnatural pulses.

Then—

The lab door burst open.

Baxter jumped, nearly dropping his tray. The shadows parted to reveal Shredder, his cloak flaring behind him as he stormed into the room.

“Stockman,” Shredder demanded, voice cold, sharp, without patience. “Is the experiment ready?”

Baxter flinched. “Y-Yes, Master Shredder. I—I mean, almost. The experiment is—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "I was just about to initiate the next phase...”

Shredder’s eyes moved to the trembling jar. The fly inside was no longer moving normally. Its wings looked wrong. Longer, rigid, vibrating with a disturbing hum. Its compound eyes flickered with a faint glow. It had begun to change.

Shredder took a slow step forward. “I want results, Stockman. I want answers. No more failures.”

Baxter nodded frantically, turning back to the jar. Forcing his breath to steady, he lowered the injector and released a single glowing drop of mutagen onto the sealed lid. The chemical slid through the air vents and fell inside, dousing the helpless fly. Instantly, the insect spasmed, wings twitching, legs flailing wildly as its tiny body convulsed, trapped and unable to escape as the mutation took hold.

Baxter grimaced in horror and fascination.

The fly swelled grotesquely for a moment, but stabilized, twitching violently inside the jar. Its eyes burned a brighter red, its body enlarged unnaturally but survived. It lived.

He scribbled frantically in his notes. “Partial success. The fly retains life… minimal deformity…”

“Proceed,” Shredder ordered.

Without hesitation now, Baxter retrieved a small, caged lab animal, an unlucky rat, and with gloved hands, carefully transferred the mutated fly into the rat’s enclosure. As he closed the lid, the rat sniffed curiously, then contact. Brief. Simple. The mutated fly, now sluggish and pulsing with green veins under its wings, was released into the same chamber.

“D-Direct contact may destabilize the host,” he warned.

Shredder’s glare was enough of a command.

Baxter sighed shakily, reached into the chamber with a pair of trembling forceps, and carefully nudged the mutated fly forward. The insect twitched once, then crawled unnaturally, its twisted legs hooking into soft fur. The rat squealed, writhing in panic, but it was too late. The fly bit down.

The reaction was instant.

The rat convulsed violently, its body jerking as bones twisted and popped beneath bubbling flesh. Veins pulsed and swelled grotesquely, skin splitting in places as the mutation tore through it. Baxter stumbled back, equal parts disgusted and mesmerized.

The creature didn’t die.
Not immediately.

In the heavy silence, Baxter’s breath hitched. He turned, wide-eyed, to Shredder who remained utterly still, his expression unreadable beneath the cold mask. No praise. No scorn. Just that awful, patient silence.

Then—

A deep, guttural chirring rattled from within the glass.

Something moved.

Something… alive.

Baxter swallowed hard, unable to tear his gaze away. His voice was barely a whisper when he said:

“Mutation… successful.”

The experiment had only just begun.

Shredder’s eyes narrowed as he watched the grotesque silhouette twitch and shift inside the containment glass. Beneath his mask, a slow, rare smile crept across his lips cold, dangerous. “The fly,” he murmured, voice like a blade sliding from its sheath. “It carried human DNA… didn’t it?”

Baxter quickly nodded shakily. “Y-Yes, Master. The fly… was previously exposed to traces of human DNA from earlier trials. That genetic material… it must have been transferred when the mutagen bonded the fly and now to the rat’s biology.”

The rat snarled, its tiny mutated body surging unnaturally against the glass, sharp teeth bared, eyes wild and red. It was still changing...still alive...but more aggressive, more… human. Shredder tilted his head slightly, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. The monster before him was living proof.

Baxter, emboldened by the apparent success, dared to speak. “If—if this holds, Master… we may not need the turtle after all. We can replicate the effect. Control it. We could build an army without… him.”

The words barely left his lips before Shredder’s gaze snapped to him. Silent. Icy. Baxter immediately paled, breath catching in his throat. The weight of that stare alone was enough to freeze him in place.

Shredder’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “You presume too much, Stockman.”

He turned back toward the writhing creature in the glass, the smile gone now, replaced by something colder. Calculating. “The turtle,” Shredder murmured, “is not expendable. He is… necessary.”

His gloved hand flexed slightly at his side.

Baxter hesitated, glancing at the monstrous rat-creature still writhing in the containment unit, then back to Shredder’s rigid form. Something didn’t add up. The fixation. The way he said “necessary.” And then Baxter remembered just hours ago, he had overheard a name spoken in a hushed tone, one he hadn’t heard in years.

“Master… forgive me for asking, but…” Baxter’s voice quivered, brittle with nerves. “Earlier, I—I heard you mention the name… Hamato Yoshi. You don’t actually believe he’s alive… do you?”

The name echoed in his mind like a warning bell. Shredder did not turn to face him. For a long, cold moment, there was only silence, the faint hum of lab equipment, and the soft scratch of the mutated creature’s claws against the glass.

Then Shredder finally spoke, his voice low, unreadable.
“That name is not yours to speak.”

Baxter shrank back instinctively, but Shredder continued without looking at him.

“Whether he lives or rots is irrelevant… for now. What matters is the legacy he left behind. And the threat it poses to everything I’ve built.”

There was venom in his voice, but it was coiled—controlled. As if rage had long since frozen into focus.

Baxter, silent now, could only nod. His curiosity had been answered—but at a cost.

Behind the coldness of the mask, Shredder’s thoughts spiraled inward:
That boy knew the name. That staff bore the mark. Yoshi lives—or once did. And if his blood truly runs through that child…
Then he will not just be a weapon.
He will be my vengeance.

Shredder’s gaze never left the twisted thing in the jar. “There are… unfinished matters that do not concern you, Stockman.”

His voice softened, but only in tone—never in danger. “Focus on your work. That is all I require of you.”

The message was clear: push no further.

Baxter nodded hastily, eyes wide. “Y-Yes, Master. Of course.”

And in the sterile glow of the lab, as the first true mutation writhed in its glass prison, the first seeds of Shredder’s vengeance took deeper root.

(Donatello POV)

The soft glow of flickering lights cast long shadows across the walls of the shared room. On the far side, Donatello sat at his cluttered desk, hunched over a tangled spread of wires, screws, and salvaged circuit boards. His fingers moved with quiet precision, every twist and solder delicate, deliberate. His brow was knit in concentration, lips pressed together in silent determination.

A faint click. The device barely the size of a cereal box came to life.

A tiny radar dish on top began to spin slowly. A screen lit up, pulsing softly with rhythmic beeps as the machine came alive under his fingertips. Donnie’s tired eyes widened with awe. He leaned closer, breath catching in his throat.

“I… I did it,” he whispered to no one, almost in disbelief. “It works.”

For the first time that day, maybe the first time in weeks something felt right. He had worked in silence through the clatter of his brothers sparring and Splinter’s voice. No one had asked what he was making. No one had even looked.

But now, it was finished. And for a moment, just a brief moment, he felt… proud.

“Now we’ll know,” he murmured to himself. “If anyone ever comes close to the lair… it’ll keep everyone safe.”

The device gave another soft ping, its radar spinning steadily. Then the door creaked open.

Mikey’s groggy voice filled the quiet as he stumbled inside, dragging Donnie’s forgotten bo staff behind him like an afterthought. A pizza stain marred his plastron. “Brooo…" he groaned, half-asleep. "you left your stick in the kitchen,” Mikey mumbled, plopping the staff onto the floor with a dull clatter. He yawned, rubbing at his eyes. “Almost tripped over it.”

Donnie flinched slightly, eyes darting to the staff as it rolled to a stop near the wall. His expression faltered, the glow of his invention suddenly not as warm. “Raph stepped on it,” Mikey added, flopping onto his bed. “Yelled at everyone. You’re lucky he didn’t break it.”

Donnie's gaze lingered on the staff for a moment before turning back to the soft glow of his invention. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “I don’t… I don’t need it right now.”

The machine continued spinning, beeping softly—but the glow didn’t seem as warm anymore.

Mikey flopped into his bed, kicking his blanket half off as he rolled onto his side. “Why didn’t you come hang with us?” he asked drowsily, voice muffled by his pillow. “We had pizza and movies…It was fun.”

Donnie exhaled slowly, glancing at his hands. “I did,” he murmured. “I was there. But no one noticed.”

Mikey blinked sleepily, confused. “Huh? Really? Don’t remember.”

That hurt more than Donnie had expected. He gave a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “I had… more important things to do.”

Mikey blinked again, watching his older brother from across the room. The wires, the toolbelt, the glow on Donnie’s face that had started to fade. Slowly, Mikey sat up.

“Hey…” he said, voice softer now, genuine. “I’m sorry, Dee. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just get caught up sometimes. You know how it is…”

Donnie glanced over, surprised.

Mikey’s voice was barely audible now, curling into a soft apology. “I’m sorry you feel left out. I didn’t mean to. You’re just… you. You’re always building stuff. I dunno. But It’s boring without you sometimes.”

Donnie’s heart softened despite the ache. He let out a breathy chuckle and shook his head. “It’s okay, Mikey,” he whispered. “I’m used to it.” He said it softly, like it didn’t matter. But it did.

The radar device let out another soft ping, the gentle spin of its dish the only sound in the quiet room. Donnie didn’t move from his desk, fingers resting on the edge of the metal casing, and the sadness on his face impossible to miss even in the low light.

Then Mikey shifted on his bed, voice soft but teasing. “Sooo… how was topside?”

Donnie stiffened. His head turn slightly, eyes darting toward the door, then slowly turned his head back to Mikey, panic flashing across his face. “Wha—What are you talking about?” he stammered, far too quickly.

Mikey smirked, propping himself up on one elbow, his usual lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “C’mon, Dee,” he whispered, half-playful, half-concerned. “You think I don’t notice when you disappear? you gone topside more frequently...topside...” He repeated the word casually, like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing to say out loud. “I know you sneak out. I ain’t dumb.”

Donnie’s face flushed, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, floundering. “I—I wasn’t— I mean— What makes you say that?”

Mikey rolled over onto his back with a sleepy shrug. “Bro… we share a room. You think I don’t hear you? The guy who literally builds our alarms slipping past them like a ninja ghost?” He chuckled. “I see you sometimes. Little purple blur in the dark.”

For a second, the weight in Donnie’s chest loosened. He groaned softly, dragging both hands over his face.
“Seriously, Mikey… it’s supposed to be a secret,” he muttered, voice muffled. “I just… I go to clear my head.”

Mikey laughed softly, reaching over and nudging his brother’s arm with a lazy fist.

“Relax, dude. I’m not gonna tell Sensei or Raph or Leo, or you'll be in real trouble, I was just curious… that’s all.”

There was a rare pause between them. Donnie lowered his hands just in time to see Mikey grinning again. “Sooo… what’d ya see? Any alien pizza trucks? Mutant pigeons? ohh... Laser cats!?”

Despite himself, Donnie let out a small breath of laughter. “No,” he said softly, rolling his eyes. “Nothing like that. Just… quiet. The sky. The stars. You gone there before, how can you forget...”

Without warning, Mikey lunged, poking at Donnie’s side. “Bet you’re hiding snacks from topside!” he teased.

“Hey—quit it!” Donnie laughed, startled as Mikey tackled him sideways onto the bed. The unexpected contact made his skin prickle, nerves sparking with discomfort. His hands instinctively went up to push Mikey off but the youngest turtle lunged again, They wrestled clumsily no real force behind it, and before Donnie could stop him, they both toppled sideways onto the bed, laughing breathlessly." Stop it! you know how i feel went someone touches me..."

“Say it!” Mikey laughed. “Say I’m your favorite brother!”

“Never!” Donnie gasped, laughing breathlessly as he shoved Mikey’s hand away. “Get off—!”

But then Mikey laughed carefree, silly, warm and something in Donnie hesitated. His usual panic softened. He was still laughing too awkward, breathless, but real. He didn’t like the contact. He never had. But for once, he didn’t pull away.

Suddenly they were tumbling, limbs tangling in a mess of blankets and half-laughs just the rare, easy chaos of two brothers playing.. Mikey giggled helplessly as Donnie finally caught him in a loose headlock, pinning him to the mattress.

“that's it, You asked for this!” Donnie said through a breathless grin.

“Nooo—mercy! Mercy!” Mikey laughed, swatting at his arm.

It wasn’t aggressive, it was clumsy and silly, with Donnie actually smiling as Mikey squirmed beneath him, both of them breathless between muffled giggles.

Then the door creaked open. Both brothers froze.

“Hey, Mikey, did you eat the last slice of—?”

Raph’s voice cut off as he stepped inside, blinking. He froze, staring blankly at the sight of Donnie half-on top of Mikey, both tangled in one bed, out of breath and flushed from laughter.

There was a long beat of silence.

“…I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t see this,” Raph muttered flatly, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him without another word.

Donnie groaned softly and collapsed back onto the mattress beside Mikey, both of them breathless from laughter. “Great,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “That’s all I need.”

Mikey flopped onto his side with a lazy grin, still giggling. “Dude, did you see Raph’s face? Priceless.” He lightly patted Donnie’s arm. “Totally worth it.”

But Donnie didn’t laugh this time.

He sat up, the fun fading from his face like mist under a cold wind. He rose and padded across the room, grabbing the small gadget from his desk. The radar device gave a soft, lonely beep as he turned it over in his hands, the glow reflecting in his tired eyes.

Mikey’s smile slowly dimmed. “Donnie?” he asked, sitting up. “You okay?”

Donnie didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, staring at the thing he’d built—something meant to protect them. Something no one noticed until it beeped.

“…Topside should stay secret,” he said at last, voice low and serious. “It’s not… I don’t know. It’s not something I want Splinter to know about.”

Mikey tilted his head, frowning now. “Why? I mean—he’d probably understand, right?”

Donnie shook his head, his thumb brushing over a tiny burn mark on the device casing. “It’s not about understanding. I just… I don’t want to hear him say he’s disappointed. Or worse...” he hesitated, “...nothing at all.”

Mikey’s smile faded entirely. He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “Donnie… I get it,” he murmured, his usual playful edge gone. “I won’t tell Sensei. Your secret’s safe, I swear.”

He hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his belt, his eyes dropping slightly. “But… I worry about you, dude. Topside’s not safe. What if you get hurt or—” He swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno. I just… I don’t wanna lose you. What if one of these days… you don’t come back? What if you run into someone bad? Topside’s not… it’s not safe...it was never safe” There was no teasing in his voice now. Just quiet fear.

Donatello’s expression softened. For all his exhaustion, for all the weight pressing down on his chest… this part mattered. The genuine concern in his little brother’s eyes hitting him in a way words couldn’t. He set the gadget gently aside, turning fully to Mikey.

“Nothing’s gonna happen,” Donnie said quietly, reassuring but honest. “I’m careful. I don’t go far. I just… need space sometimes. To breathe. To think.”

Mikey bit his lip but nodded, still not fully convinced. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides before he brightened, just a little and without warning, he flopped back onto the bed, rummaging through a pile of random junk and blankets and grabbed something from the corner of the bed.

He held up the worn, slightly crooked Bradford plush from years of rough play and with a goofy grin, pressed it gently near Donnie’s face. “Here,” Mikey said, voice sing-song. “To cheer you up. C’mon… no one can be sad with this guy around.”

“Lets play?” Mikey grinned. “Might cheer you up. Y’know… like old times.”

Donnie let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief but unable to hide the warmth that reached his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

His body still ached with the weight of being unseen, still worn from the silence of their father’s indifference and his brothers’ careless chatter… but somehow Mikey’s ridiculousness chipped away at it, just enough to let him breathe again. He set the gadget down and, for once, let himself sit. Just sit. Next to Mikey. No pressure, no expectations, no disappointment. Just… his little brother being his ridiculous self.

The radar device gave one last soft beep in the background, but Donnie ignored it and spend the moment with the only brother who seemed to notice.

Mikey shifted closer, tucking the Bradford plush between them as if it were some kind of peace offering. His face scrunched in worry. “Donnie?” he asked softly, not looking up. “Can you… just not go topside tonight?”

Donnie glanced at him, surprised by the sudden plea. He studied Mikey’s face, the concern wasn’t a joke. His little brother was scared. Scared for him.

Mikey’s voice was quieter now, more serious. “I know you like it. I know it helps. But… I dunno, man. I get this weird feeling. Just—just stay. Please? I I, I just...don't know what life would be if if....if something happens to you..."

The weight of those words hit differently. Mikey hugged the Bradford plush closer to his chest, his fingers fiddling with its frayed little foot. Something inside Donnie softened, He looked at his little brother, the one everyone underestimated and who acted like a goofball but that someone who actually care.

And for the first time in a long while… Donnie felt wanted.

Needed.

Loved.

He didn’t feel the itch to leave. He just… stayed. so he let out a quiet breath, offering a rare small smile. “Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll stay.”

Mikey’s eyes lit up immediately. “For real? You mean it?”

Before Donnie could react, Mikey threw his arms around him in a quick but tight hug, squeezing him without warning. It wasn’t playful, it was real. Warm. Grateful.

“Good,” Mikey mumbled into his shoulder. “’Cause if you got snatched by, like, evil space pigeons or something, I’d have to save you—and let’s be real, I’m way too pretty to go on rescue missions.”

Donnie blinked, startled by the sudden affection, but slowly his lips tugged into a soft smile. For a moment, Donatello just looked at him. At his little brother. At the only one who really seemed to care that he was there. He gently patted Mikey’s back awkwardly before the younger turtle flopped away again, grabbing his Bradford plush like nothing happened.

The warmth, though, stayed with Donnie who shook his head. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Thanks for the voice of confidence.”

Mikey just beamed, flopping back with the plush still in one hand and the box in the other. He looked over at Donnie, eyes soft with warmth. “But seriously… I’m glad you’re stayin’,” he murmured. “It’s better with you here.”

“…Yeah,” Donnie whispered. “Me too.” And for that night, at least, he stayed.

and—at least for tonight...decided to stay.

Not topside. Not chasing the sky. No cold night sky.

Just here.

With the one brother who actually saw him.

Mikey lay down beside him again, holding up the Bradford plush. He stared at its stitched eyes and muttered, “Hey Donnie… do you think if Bradford were, like, actually real… would he be nice?”

Donnie arched a brow, amused. “Mikey, have you seen that show? The guy’s literally a psychopath, he's supposed to be the good guy, but he’s awful at it. Dude’s reading off a script like he’s in love with his own reflection and that rubber suit episode... was awkward...”

Mikey gasped, hugging the worn plush protectively to his chest. “Rude! Maybe he’s just… misunderstood!”

“Misunderstood? ... He’s basically a wannabe martial artist, he means well, I guess, but he’s terrible at it, I’ll take my chances without him, thanks. That show’s lame anyway.”

Before Mikey could argue, he rolled over and reached beneath the bed, dragging out a crinkly old box and shaking it with dramatic flair.

“Just like Chris Bradford’s Honey Nut Extra Energy Trail Mix Treat!” he beamed. “Besides...he had style.” The cartoonish, faded image of Bradford giving a thumbs-up still clung to the front of the packaging.

Donnie gave a soft sighed not looking. “Style doesn’t make you less useless.”

“Hah! Bet you forgot about this,” Mikey teased, waving the box. He cleared his throat and grinned wider. “Remember the commercials?" he announced in a mock-heroic voice, throwing on his best Bradford impression. Mikey paused for dramatic effect, then grinned wider, raising one finger in the air. “‘It’s just that good!’” he finished with exaggerated flair, beaming like he’d just delivered the line of the century.

Donnie didn’t react. He sat cross-legged on the bed, not even looking, fingers idly picking at a loose thread on his knee pad, clearly lost in thought.

“Look. I said look!” Without warning, he tossed the scruffy Bradford plush straight at Donnie’s head.

“Ow...seriously?” Donnie groaned as the plush bounced off his temple, making him flinch. He rubbed his head, giving Mikey an unamused side-eye. “Yes, I remember,” he muttered dryly, grabbing the plush and tossing it aside. “Unfortunately, that catchphrase is burned into my brain forever.”

Mikey giggled, clutching the ancient snack box to his chest like it was gold. “Classic, right?”

Donnie visibly cringed, eyeing the dusty, crumpled box with barely concealed disgust. “ugh...That’s… actually worse than I remember. Classic and also probably radioactive by now. Mikey, that thing is gross. Pretty sure it’s older than half the junk in your toy pile.... I don't think you should....”

Mikey popped a stale nut into his mouth, completely unfazed. “Tastes fine.”

Donnie shook his head, half laughing, half horrified. “One day you’re gonna mutate into something else from that alone.”

Mikey just grinned wider. “Worth it.”

Donnie rolled his eyes, still half-smiling as Mikey clutched the battered Bradford plush like it was sacred treasure. “Mikey… you do realize Bradford might be real, right? I mean, we’ve seen him. The guy literally ruined his own show and turned it into a weird, self-absorbed propaganda circus.”

Mikey blinked, mid-chew on the stale remains of his ancient Honey Nut Extra Energy Trail Mix Treat. “Yeah, but like… maybe that’s just his stage persona, y’know?” He stuffed another handful into his mouth, crumbs dusting his plastron. “Maybe deep down, he’s really chill.”

Donnie shot him a flat, unimpressed look. “Mikey, the dude’s a narcissistic disaster in both real life and fiction. Honestly, I think you’re in love with the idea of Bradford more than the actual guy.”

Mikey gasped in exaggerated offense, clutching the frayed plush tighter to his chest. “How dare you. Bradford’s my hero.”

Donnie let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You haven’t even met him. Neither have I. But I definitely don’t want to. He sounds like a total jerk, exactly the type who’d betray us in ten seconds flat.”

“Bradford would never!” Mikey cried dramatically, like Donnie had just insulted his entire life.

Donnie smirked. “He totally would. Probably for a sponsorship deal or a new leather jacket.”

Mikey narrowed his eyes but couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Nuh-uh.”

Donnie waved dismissively. “Whatever. Just… can you please throw away that nasty box already?” He grimaced, side-eyeing the ancient snack box still clutched in Mikey’s lap. “It’s probably growing its own ecosystem by now.”

Mikey clutched the box protectively. “But then I won’t have the memory, dude! It’s like… history!”

Donnie arched a brow. “Mikey, I have a printer. I can literally find the commercial logo online and print you a clean, germ-free picture. Way better than keeping that moldy cardboard relic.”

That sparked something.

Mikey’s eyes lit up. “Actually… wait—hold up.” Without warning, he flopped dramatically across Donnie’s bed and reached for Donnie’s laptop, still sticky with trail mix crumbs on his fingers. “Seriously?” Donnie groaned, watching helplessly.

Mikey was already typing, completely ignoring him and licking the crumbs from his fingers. “Y’know what? I’m gonna find him online. Maybe he’s on social media. Maybe he takes fans. Maybe he’s looking for friends.” His voice rose with childish excitement.

“Of course you are,” Donnie muttered, resting his chin in his hand. “Because that won’t backfire at all.”

Mikey’s tongue stuck out in concentration as he tapped away at the keyboard, crumbs still on his face. “Dude...found him!" he cheered. "Chris Bradford—‘The Human Weapon’—official page! Boom! Adding!”

Donnie groaned louder, resting his chin in his palm, watching the madness unfold. “Of course you are. Because nothing about this screams terrible idea.”

Mikey grinned ear to ear, clicking the ‘Add Friend’ button without hesitation. “Done! We’re totally gonna be besties.”

Donnie groaned, too tired to protest as Mikey tapped away at the keyboard. “Seriously? with my account too...i don't want that guy in my life...oh, whatever” Donnie gave him the longest, most disbelieving stare imaginable. “You’re unbelievable.”

Mikey beamed. “Thank you,” he said sweetly, cuddling the Bradford plush like he’d just won something.

Donnie just sighed, but despite himself… the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint, helpless smile.

Mikey stared intently at the laptop, eyes wide, nose practically squished to the screen as he refreshed the Bradford fan page for the tenth time. The “Friend Request Sent” notification blinked back at him, tauntingly still unanswered. "Why isn’t he adding me?” Mikey huffed, clicking refresh for the fifth time in a minute. “C’mon, c’mon, we could be besties!"

Donnie, meanwhile, had quietly slipped across the room, silently donning a face mask, gloves, and even goggles from his sanitized kit. He eyed the dusty, decades-old Honey Nut Extra Energy Trail Mix Treat box like it was radioactive. With surgical precision, he plucked it off the bed.

“You know, Mikey,” Donnie muttered through the mask, reaching for the box like it was a live wire, "that’s not how the internet works. He’s not gonna respond instantly...it takes time.”

Mikey pouted, eyes glued to the screen. “Pfft. What’s the point of technology if it’s not fast?”

Donnie sighed he didn’t even dared answer that. Instead, because Mikey wasn’t looking, he carefully deposited the moldy box into a biohazard bag, tying it tight before disposing of it. The trash can gave a soft ding as he sealed the lid as if the threat had been neutralized. He stripped the gloves off with a shudder. Donnie urgently sanitized his hands like he’d just handled plutonium. “Honestly… one of these days I’m going to catch something just living here.” he mumbled.

“Did you say something?” Mikey called without looking up, still clicking refresh.

“Nothing,” Donnie said dryly, pulling off the mask.

Mikey groaned dramatically. “He still hasn’t accepted! What’s taking so long? Maybe he’s on a secret mission. Maybe he’s punching evil in the face right now!”

Donnie flopped back onto the bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling. For half a second, he actually let his mind wander just a little. “…You know,” he muttered absently, “Since all you talk about is Bradford… I mean, the TV Bradford...the fake one, not the real nutjob, ever wonder what he’d actually be like.”

Mikey clutched his worn Bradford plush dramatically, propping his chin on his hands. “Maybe all that stuff is just for show! Maybe deep down he’s actually cool. Heroic.”

Donnie raised a tired brow. “Mikey, knowing our luck? No. He’d probably sell us to a science lab for autopsy rights.”

Mikey let out a snort of laughter. “Pfft! He would not.”

Donnie smirked faintly. “Or worse...make us eat kale pizza.”

That earned a proper giggle. “Now that’s evil,” Mikey agreed, grinning.

The shared laugh faded into quiet as Mikey kept clicking, still waiting for any sign of a reply. Donnie, though, was already drifting in and out of focus, his tired brain pulling him somewhere else entirely...

*Seriously though…*
*What would Bradford be like? Off-camera. When no one’s watching?*
*Could someone that obsessed with themselves really care about anyone else? Or would he just… take what he wanted? Use people. Toss them aside.*

A flicker of something familiar stirred in Donnie’s chest. Kind of like… Raph, he thought vaguely. All that roughness outside, but maybe something softer underneath.

He sighed, eyelids drooping.

*But Bradford?*
*Nah. Why I'm i even thinking about this guy...*

He doubted there was anything good buried under that mask.

Donnie’s breathing slowed as the soft glow of the laptop screen flickered in the dark, Mikey still murmuring to himself beside him.

He shook the thought off. Bradford was a fantasy to Mikey—nothing more.

But miles away, that “fantasy” was very real—and far less charming.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Somewhere far above them, in the city’s dark underbelly—

Chris Bradford leaned back against the cold metal of a rooftop air duct, arms crossed, expression soured with frustration. Xever sat perched lazily beside him, sharpening one of his blades with a rhythmic scrape-scrape.

“Hours,” Xever muttered, clearly fed up. “We’ve been out here hours and nothing. He’s not coming. I say we call it. For once, maybe the boss’ll be chill.”

Bradford glared down the dark alley below. “Shredder’s never ‘chill,’” he said flatly. “We both know that.”

He shifted uneasily, his voice edged with impatience. “We swept the east tunnel line. The alleys. Every hotspot. Nothing. No sign of that darn reptile.”

Xever crossed his arms, clearly irritated. “We even baited a few locations with power cells and junk tech. Thought it’d lure the little brainiac out.” He scoffed. “Didn’t even nibble. Boss can’t really expect us to wait out here all night. We gave it a shot. Let's just go.”

Bradford glanced at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You think he’s gonna care about that?”

The two men shared a long glance. They both knew how this would end.

Reluctantly, they made their way back toward the hidden entrance of Shredder’s current base. The industrial door slid shut behind them with a mechanical hiss. Their footsteps echoed in the dim corridor as they approached the inner chamber.

Shredder stood waiting.

The gleam of his armor reflected in the low light, his eyes burning beneath the sharp lines of his mask. He said nothing as they approached, but the weight of his gaze alone made the temperature drop.

Bradford’s shoulders tensed as he bowed slightly, his voice even but tight. “We… weren’t able to locate the target,” Bradford began stiffly, his hands at his sides. “We searched every sector, used bait, waited for hours. Nothing. The turtle hasn’t taken the lure.”

Xever, for once, said nothing. His usual cocky smirk was gone, his jaw set tight as he stood rigid at Bradford’s side.

The silence stretched unnervingly before Shredder finally spoke—his voice low, deliberate, cold.
“Failure… is not acceptable.”

Both men stiffened.

Shredder’s steps echoed softly as he advanced, the metallic click of his boots against the stone floor ringing in their ears. “You forget what you are hunting,” he murmured. “He is not a mindless beast. He is clever. He thinks before he acts. He will not fall for something so simple.”

The words were quiet. Dangerous.

Bradford standing straighter. “Then we—”

Shredder lifted one gauntleted hand, cutting him off without raising his voice.
“You will enhance the lure. Refine the trap. Make it irresistible. I want him alive.”

He paused, then added, quieter still, “I do not wish to harm him.”

That sentence, so unlike Shredder’s usual ruthlessness, made Bradford blink. Even Xever’s expression flickered.

Shredder’s tone hardened once more. “But if he will not come willingly… then we will leave him no choice.”

The two Foot enforcers bowed their heads. “Yes, Master Shredder.”

But before they could retreat, Shredder’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the kind that sliced deeper than any blade.
“You will not return empty-handed again." Shredder said, stepping forward, the sound of his armor clicking against the floor like an executioner’s march. “You will increase the bait. You will not stop until the turtle is in my grasp. Am I understood?”

Bradford and Xever straightened immediately. "Yes, Master Shredder."

From the far end of the hall, hidden in the deep shadows, a small figure shrank back.

Karai stood unnoticed, her wide eyes fixed on the scene. Her hands balled into fists as she listened, her mind racing.

She had heard everything.

She had heard the whispers before, about a strange creature her father was desperate to capture. But this time… something was different. The way he spoke… the strange softness in his words. Her young mind didn’t fully grasp it, but something unsettled her.

She watched in silence as Bradford and Xever turned, their footsteps fading into the corridors. And Shredder… her father… remained still, his masked gaze fixed somewhere distant, as if seeing something only he could understand.

Karai slipped away silently, disappearing into the darkness.

The mission would continue.

And the hunt was far from over.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

A while later. Hidden in the shadows of the alley, far from the glow of the city streets, Bradford and Xever lingered on rooftops slick with grime and cold air. Shredder’s command still echoed in their heads: *Do not return empty-handed.*

Xever huffed, arms crossed, breath curling in the cold air. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “We’ve been out here for hours. Freezing. For what? To hunt some mutant who clearly isn’t showing?” He kicked a loose can with frustration. “I’d rather be robbing something useful than chasing some rodent that doesn’t want to be found.”

“Maybe he’s smarter than we thought,” Xever added with a scowl. “Or maybe this whole thing’s a waste. Either way, I’m freezing!!”

Bradford barely acknowledged him. He leaned back casually against the brick wall, the glow of his phone lighting up his face as he scrolled through his social feed.

Xever squinted at him, irritated. “Seriously? We’re on the clock and you’re back on that stupid fan page of yours? Where it’s literally just pictures of you… talking about you… clips of you, posts written by… you” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Nobody cares, man.”

Bradford smirked, not looking up. “Correction, millions of fans care. Don’t be jealous.” Bradford replied calmly, not even glancing up. "You’d look if you had fans.” he casually scrolled, pausing mid-step, his expression shifted, amused and just slightly bewildered.

Xever groaned in disgust. “It’s called narcissism, genius. You post more selfies than actual updates. Who watches that garbage anyway?”

“…You’re not gonna believe this,” Bradford murmured a small amused tilt to his voice.

Xever scowled. “What now? Another one of your shirtless selfies got a like? I swear, if you show me one more protein ad—”

Bradford turned the screen toward him with a glint of amusement in his eyes. The notification sat there clear as day: New Friend Request: Donatello.

Xever’s eyes widened. “No way. Is that—?”

Bradford gave a slow, disbelieving laugh. “Looks like our little ‘friend’ made the first move.”

Xever’s jaw dropped. “Hold up—hold up. Let me see that!” He leaned in, practically nose-to-screen. “…This has to be a prank. That can’t be him. Some loser’s messing around.”

Bradford chuckled under his breath. “Looks pretty real to me.” he locked the phone, his voice dropping with dangerous amusement. “Either way, this just got interesting.”

For a beat, they both stared at the screen in stunned silence. Then Bradford’s smirk deepened. “Maybe this night isn’t a total bust after all.”

They stood there in stunned silence for a moment.

Then Xever groaned, shaking his head. “I swear, if your stupid TV ego is the reason we catch a mutant, I’m never letting myself live this down.”

Bradford smirked wider. “Who cares? A win’s a win. And this time, we’re not going back to Shredder empty-handed after all.”

The two vanished into the darkness, moving silently across the rooftops as the hunt began...

(to be continued)

Chapter Text

The soft, rhythmic sound of the radar device filled the room with quiet beeps as the first signs of morning...well, sewer morning filtered through the tunnels.

Donatello stirred faintly, one arm draped awkwardly off the edge of the mattress, the Bradford plush half-crushed beneath his chest. He didn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep, but the warmth pressed up against his side gave him the answer.

Mikey.

The youngest turtle was still curled up beside him, mouth slightly open, one leg kicked haphazardly over Donnie’s shell, utterly dead to the world. The Bradford plush’s stitched smile peeked out from between them like some forgotten mascot of chaos.

Donnie groaned softly, shifting but too groggy to fully move. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep like this. He hadn’t even planned to stay. But somehow, he had. Somehow, he’d let Mikey talk him into staying for the night. And somehow… he didn’t really regret it.

The door banged sharply. “Hey! Weirdos!” Raph’s voice barked from the hallway, loud and unimpressed. “Get your shells up already. Breakfast’s happening. And I’m not saving you any if you keep being freakin’ lovebirds.”

Donnie finally pulled himself out of bed with a stretch, wincing. “...What?” he croaked, trying to sit up. The door creaked open more, and Raph froze in the doorway, one brow shooting up.

There they were: Donnie, half-on his stomach with Mikey sprawled over him like a sleepy octopus, both tangled in blankets, the cursed Bradford plush between them like a witness to some bizarre scene.

Raph stood in the doorway, blinking in disbelief, and then decided, “Okay. Y’know what? Nope. Not askin’.”

"I-It's not what it looks like-" Donnie blurted out, trying to explain, “Mikey...off....get off—” Mikey groaned, face half-buried in Donnie’s plastron. “Five more minutes…” he mumbled, refusing to budge. Raph just stared his mouth curving into a dangerous grin. “Yeah, sure. Wait till I tell Dad about this. You know how Sensei gets.”

Donnie’s eyes widened in panic. “Mikey, get off!”

But Mikey only clung tighter, muttering something incoherent and stubborn. Donnie grunted, tugging and pushing until—finally—he pried himself free. He stumbled off the mattress… and immediately clipped his knee on the sagging edge of the bed frame.

“Argh—!” he yelped, grabbing at his leg. “Ugh, sewer mattresses suck!” Still clutching his knee, Donnie glared up at Raph. “Why’d you come barging in without knocking?!”

Unfazed, Raph leaned against the doorframe, smirk growing wider. He pointed lazily toward the bed where Mikey was still sprawled out, cuddling the Bradford plush. “This,” Raph drawled, “doesn’t exactly help your case.”

Raph was already halfway down the hall when he swung the door wider, voice carrying with that smug older-brother edge.
“I swear, if Sensei catches you two in a turtle pile with that ugly plushie, I’m not covering for either of you!” He started to leave, then leaned back in just long enough to jab a finger toward the stuffed Bradford. “And seriously… what is that? You two got some secret club or somethin’?”

Donnie, still wincing as he lowered his sore leg back to the floor, grumbled under his breath. He reached for the radar device on his desk, twisting a knob just to distract himself. The steady beeping had blended into the background hum now, competing with Raph’s presence. “We were just—ugh, forget it.”

From the bed, Mikey finally stirred. His eyes cracked open, unfocused at first, then a wide, dopey grin spread across his face. Hugging the Bradford plush tighter, he mumbled with pure satisfaction, “Best sleep ever.”

“Ugh. I’m leaving,” Raph grunted, voice fading. “I don’t care what this is, you both need therapy.”

The door slammed shut behind him and then it was just Mikey and Donnie alone in the room again.

Donnie exhaled, slumping forward. “Great. Just great.”

Mikey stretched, completely unbothered. “You’re welcome,” he yawned, then paused, glancing at the device still softly beeping on the desk. “Hey… at least you didn’t sneak out, right?”

Donnie shook his head with a small, genuine smile. “No. I didn’t.”

Mikey grinned, satisfied. “Knew you wouldn’t.” He flopped back down dramatically, arms and legs splaying everywhere. And despite himself… Donnie actually smile.

Same old Mikey.

Same old morning.

“Training’s off today,” Donnie muttered, mostly to himself. “Guess that means I can finally get some work done—unless somebody ruins it.”

Behind him, Mikey hugged the Bradford plush tighter, talking to it like it was a living thing. How can someone focus like this. “You’re sooo cute, yes you are." Mikey cooed, pressing his nose into the plushie's plush fabric. "Look at your little face."

Donnie tried to focus on his radar device, which was still in the early stages of being built. "Right. Because nothing screams 'adorable,' like a stuffed version of a homicidal maniac." Of course, Mikey heard his remark. The little turtle snorted with laughter, playfully tossing the plush in the air. "Dude, lighten up," Mikey chuckled, grabbing the plush as it tumbled back down, then hugging it again.

"You don't get it, dude. He's misunderstood," Mikey insisted, clutching the plush in a tight embrace. "Just look at his little face, his little legs and hands, "I'm glad Leo was nice enough to find one like this." Mikey gushed, "he's so cute. REALLY CUTE." Donnie sighed, instantly regretting saying anything wishing he'd kept his original snarky remark to himself. Now that Mikey had gone all fanboy on him, he wouldn't shut up anytime soon.

Mikey, oblivious to Donnie's frustration, hugged his worn-out Bradford plush, gushing about its cuteness. “Look at him, Dee, soooo cute,” Mikey gushed, eyes shining. “Man, I wish I’d met the real deal. Wonder what he looked like in person… bet he was, like, super pretty.”

Donnie pressed his lips together, trying to drown out the chatter as he tinkered with his tools, but Mikey’s voice only grew louder and more animated.

“Donnieee,” Mikey sang, cradling the worn-out plush to his chest, “you think he’s cute, right?”

Finally spinning around in his chair, Donnie arched a brow.
“Raph?”

“Ew, no!” Mikey squawked, clutching the plush tighter like it needed protecting. “Bradford!” He snuggled it as if it were the greatest treasure on Earth.

Donnie sighed. “You think everything’s cute.”

Mikey perked up. "Not everything. Just some things," The turtle continued, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he listed his favorites. "Like this plush. And you... when you get all grumpy, and Bradford," Mikey added, a playful smirk playing on his lips. He then glanced around, as if checking to make sure they were alone. "And... maybe ...Bradford.. again," Mikey admitted with a chuckle.

Donnie turned back toward his desk, deliberately tuning out Mikey’s rambling about Bradford. He hunched over the radar device, muttering under his breath as his hands moved across the wires.

“Okay, recalculated the radar device … now within more meters we can be safe and alerted if anyone comes... That’s good. Any questions? No? Okay, thank you, thank you so much. Oh, no, no worries, it’s just... just a passion.” He nodded to himself, lips twitching in a faint smile. “Did I do great work? Well… yes, yes I did. Thank you.”

He gave a quick satisfied exhale, as if the imaginary audience’s applause had been real, before diving back into his tinkering.

Mikey remained utterly confused. Donnie's words seemed to go in one ear and out the other, suddenly, Mikey's attention shifted from the plush to his growling stomach. He remembered Raph's earlier mention of food. "I'm hungry," Mikey mumbled, his stomach audibly rumbling. He placed the Bradford plush gently on the bed and hopped up, his spirits lifting at the prospect of food. "Raph mention food right?, I'm starving, so hungry, but Bradford, he said he doesn't want me to leave.."

"Yeah, he did." Donnie sighed, setting his device aside and preparing to leave the room. "Let's go before father realized we are not at the table." Donnie's words were barely audible. He stood by the door, waiting for Mikey to join him.

Donnie sighed, realizing that arguing with Mikey over a stuffed toy was a losing battle. If Mikey was determined to bring it along, so be it. But Donnie was far from convinced, murmuring, "It's a stuffed toy," as he continued forward. "But whatever," he added, resigning himself to Mikey's choice.

Mikey smiled, clutching the plush protectively to his chest, as he once again posed the inevitable question, determined to extract a response from Donnie. "Dee, you still haven't answered if he's cute?" Mikey repeated, his words laced with anticipation. "He's cute, isn't he?" His eyes gleamed with hope, as if the destiny of the entire world hinges on Donnie's opinion of the Bradford plush.

Donnie let out a weary sigh, responding dryly, "So is poison ivy, yet you don't see me hugging one." Mikey paused, his mind trying to process this strange comparison. "P... poison... ivy?" he repeated, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "That sounds scary!" Mikey's grip on the plush loosened as he envisioned a menacing plant creature lurking in the shadows. "What is it? Is it a monster?" he asked, his eyes widening in fear. "Does it come at night?!"

Donnie tried to stifle his amusement at how dramatic Mikey looked. Deciding to prolong the joke, he took on a grave expression and leaned in closer, whispering with mock urgency, "Yeah, that's right," Donnie confirmed, "It's a monster that comes at night and takes stuffed toys from unsuspecting turtle brothers. In fact, it might take that Bradford plush as its first victim," as he gestured toward the innocent toy in Mikey's arms.

Mikey was on the verge of panic, his eyes widening in fear as Donnie's words sent him into a frenzy. "W-what? No!" Mikey stammered, his grip tightening on the little Bradford plush. "Not my Bradford!" Mikey's eyes darted around, as if expecting the mysterious creature to materialize right in front of them.

But the sight of the distressed, Donnie decided it was time to reveal the truth and put an end to the joke. "It's just a plant, Mikey," He clarify. "Just a plant. Though" Donnie added with a solemn nod, "it, is a plant that can hurt you if you touch it. So you still gotta be careful.”

Mikey stared at Donnie, his fear subsiding as he realized the true nature of the menacing threat - a simple plant. "You're scaring me with a plant!?" he repeated, his tone a mix of disbelief. "Seriously?" he scoffed, trying to mask his embarrassment with feigned disbelief. "That's your big fear, a plant?"

Donnie flashed Mikey an innocent smile, adding the qualifying detail, "Not just any plant. A poisonous plant." However, Mikey's fear seemed to have vanished now, and the mention of poison was brushed aside.

Mikey rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his composure. "Right, right, whatever," Mikey muttered, his attention quickly shifting back to the Bradford plush and the question that had consumed him earlier. "Anyway, Dee, you still didn't answer my question." Mikey's tone took on a pleading quality. "Is Bradford-"

Donnie didn't even need to hear the rest of the question to know what was coming in his mind, he thought, *Not this again* and promptly responded with, "Come on, Mikey, we really should be going, or dad would really be angry."

Mikey, undeterred by Donnie's dismissal, chuckled, teasing his older brother with a playful remark. "You're just grumpy 'cause you don't have a plushie but i do" Donnie didn't miss a step, his response quick, "I don't need one. I have science. And machines. And real tools." But Mikey was unimpressed, dismissing his words with a playful "Yeah, yeah." His focus shifting back to the beloved Bradford plush, which he cuddled closer as if to prove a point.

The two little turtles made their way into the main room, everyone was already settled at the low wooden table, with Leo seated upright like a perfect while Raph slouching with his arms crossed in disinterest, and Splinter standing near the pot, ready to serve the morning meal.

“Morning, Father!” Mikey greeted his father with his usual cheerfulness.. Donnie followed close behind, sitting right next to him like always. The youngest pair glued together as if one couldn’t sit without the other.

“Good morning, my sons,” Splinter greeted his sons warmly, placing bowls in front of each of them, steam rising faintly from the blend of algae and worms. "Eat well. It will give you strength," he advised. Mikey beamed, completely unfazed as he dipped his spoon into the greenish concoction.

"Thanks, Dad!" Mikey exclaimed, a smile fixed on his face. However, Donnie stared at his bowl, as though it contained a complex math problem he couldn't quite unravel. He sighed quietly while fiddling with his spoon.

Splinter, ever observant of his sons, noticed Donnie's reluctance to consume his food. He lowered his head slightly, his voice taking on a gentle, almost private tone, as he reminded his son, "Donatello... finish your food."

Donnie's eyes darted upwards, surprised by his father's quiet yet firm tone. While not harsh, Splinter's words carried a significant weight. Donnie offered a subtle nod, his shoulders sinking slightly as he began to stir his food with his spoon. The green mixture swirled in his bowl, a reminder of the task before him.

“Eat, my sons,” he said, settling at the head of the table. “The day will be long, and you must be ready.” As soon as Splinter set the bowls down for his two youngest sons, Splinter turned his attention to his two oldest children, setting their meals down before them.

Raph audibly groaned, his eyes rolling. "Finally! Took these two bozos long enough. Some of us are starving here.” He grabbed his spoon and dug in, even if his face twisted at the first bite.

Donnie poked at his portion, his frown deepening the longer he stared at it. Splinter’s quiet words, *finish your food* As he stirred his food once more before finally mustering the resolve to take a reluctant bite.

Across from him, Raph was already scraping his bowl. “Ugh. Same algae, same worms. Can’t we ever eat something normal?” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at Mikey. “Wait a sec. What happened to the leftover pizza from yesterday?” Mikey froze, cheeks puffing slightly as he tried not to laugh.

“You ate it, didn’t you?” Raph accused, pointing his spoon at him.

Mikey’s chuckle slipped out, small but unapologetic. “Heh… maybe.”

Raph slammed his spoon back into the bowl with a scowl. “Unbelievable! You left me with this sludge while you’re hogging the good stuff.”

“Hey, don’t blame me!” Mikey grinned, hugging his plush to his side as if it were a shield. “It was calling me. Besides, pizza doesn’t last overnight with me around.”

Raph growled under his breath, but there was no real heat to it. More like a big brother who couldn’t win against Mikey’s shameless charm.

Splinter raised an eyebrow disapprovingly, stating, "Raphael. Michelangelo. Food is not a competition."

"Tell that to him!" Raph muttered, stabbing at his worms again and again.

Mikey's uncontrollable laughter only increased, as his little legs swung energetically under the table like a carefree three-year-old.

Raph continued to grumble in disapproval, Mikey's giggles persisted, and Donnie mechanically nudged his food with his spoon. Leo sighed, finally fed up with the situation, and decided to take charge to keep the situation from spiraling out of control. "Just stop it, you two," Leo stated firmly, sitting straighter in his chair. A hint of exasperation in his voice as he stared at his brothers.

“Father is right. We shouldn’t be competing. We’re brothers. We’re supposed to share.” Raph shot Leo a disgruntled look, but his brother's unwavering gaze remained unfazed.

Splinter set down his own bowl, his expression turning softer as he gazed around the table. "Leonardo speaks wisely. You are family. And family doesn't argue over scraps - it finds joy in sharing, even when the meal is simple."

He then looked at each of his sons in turn, pausing at Donnie, who remained silent but had made progress in consuming his algae and worms.

"Okay, okay. No more pizza wars," Mikey conceded still hugging his plush tightly, offered an apologetic grin.

Raph huffed in dissent but refrained from arguing further, though he continued to stab at his food with fervor, as if it had personally offended him.

Leo allowed himself a small nod, satisfied.

Splinter folded his hands together, his voice warm. “It fills my heart to see my four sons gathered here. No matter how plain the food, this time we share is precious.”

Mikey's grin grew wider, Donnie's frown eased ever so slightly, and even Raph's shoulders drooped slightly as some of his irritation dissolved.

Breakfast proceeded, perhaps not with complete silence, but it was enjoyed together. Splinter had observed the exchange and seemed pleased with the improved atmosphere at the family meal.

Splinter took a sip of his tea, his gaze softening as he observed his sons seated around the table. "Tell me, my children... what progress have you made?" he asked, his voice gentle. It was his subtle way of checking in with them, to gauge their individual progress.

Leo straightened up immediately, eager to please. "I finally got the new kata you've been showing me, Sensei. The one with the shifting stance," he replied proudly. "It took me all week, but - I’ve mastered it," Leo continued, his face beaming with accomplishment. At just six years old, Leo was already making remarkable progress and was clearly becoming one of Splinter's top students.

Splinter's eyes gleamed with pride as he regarded his eldest son. "Excellent, Leonardo," he praised. “I never doubted your discipline would see you through. Such persistence. You are a true warrior. Im proud of you my son."

Raph leaned forward, not wanting Leo to receive all the attention. "Yeah, well, I nailed it too. Maybe not as 'perfectly' as Leo," Raph grunted, but then he added with a smug grin, "but Spike saw the whole thing. Ain't that right, buddy?” His tortoise continued to leisurely eat a leaf on the table, seemingly unaffected by the conversation, but Raph chose to interpret it as a 'yes.'

Splinter chuckled softly, inclining his head in admiration. "Your spirit burns strong, Raphael," he remarked. "Even Spike must admire such determination." Raph smirked, feeling content with the praise.

Donnie immediately chimed in, unable to contain his excitement. "I, uh... I’ve been working on a new machine!" Donnie's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he leaned forward, fingers fidgeting as he spoke. "It's a radar system. It can detect anyone in the tunnels even before they're near us. It'll keep us safe from intruders."

Donnie's excitement was met with silence. Splinter's gaze lingered on him for a moment, unreadable. Then, with a slow breath, he turned his eyes away. “...And how about you, Michelangelo?” his father asked. "Did you do anything new?"

Donnie's faint smile quickly slipped away. All the excitement in his eyes faded. He slumped back in his chair, his body language stiff and tense. Donnie's gaze dropped, and he quietly pushed the food around with his spoon, invisible all over again.

Mikey, oblivious to the tense atmosphere, beamed with a bright smile. "Ooo, I've been working on my jump-kicks! Wanna see? I can almost get as high as Leo!" he exclaimed happily.

Splinter's eyes softened, his voice growing warmer and more encouraging. "In time, Michelangelo," he advised, his voice filled with wisdom. "Your energy is boundless... do not let it scatter, and you will rise even higher."

Mikey giggled, his innocent enthusiasm still intact, as he began to rock in his seat with excitement.

The lively chatter of the brothers continued, each sharing their accomplishments, striving to feel like they truly belonged here. But Donnie kept quiet, not daring to interrupt. His spoon dragged lazy circles through the algae and worms in his bowl. He hunched lower over the table, quiet while the others kept talking, pretending to listen, pretending he wasn’t disappearing in plain sight.

*Guess it doesn’t matter*, he told himself. *Machines aren’t the same as blades.* Not to him. Not for Master Splinter.

Splinter continued to speak, his voice calm and full of pride. "You have all done well. I see your strength growing every day."

Leo straightened up, a faint smile on his face, while Raph smirked and took another bite, pretending to downplay the praise. Yet his eyes seemed to gleam with pride. Mikey giggled at the compliment, his smile bright as he hugged his bowl tightly.

The trio basked in the praise, their smiles soft in the dimly lit lair.

Donnie didn't smile as he continued to sit still, his spoon resting in his still full bowl. He listened, but did not join in, and he didn’t need to look up to know that Splinter’s eyes never turned his way.

*All I want is for him to look at me too*, he thought to himself, *just once. To truly see me.*

But the moment passed, and he remained silent. His brothers continued to eat and laugh around him, remaining blissfully unaware of his feelings of isolation.

One by one, Leo was the first to rise from the table, lifting his now-empty bowl. “Thank you for the meal, Father,” he said, bowing his head slightly before carrying his dish to the sink.

Raph, always eager to stir trouble, leaned back in his chair and put on a mocking tone.
“‘Thank you for the meal, Father,’” he parroted, dragging out the words. “Man, do you ever stop soundin’ like…”

He trailed off, lips twitching. For a split second, he thought about finishing with Splinter Junior but with their father sitting right there, Raph bit his tongue.

Leo turned, brows knitting. “What? Can’t think of anything else to say?”

Raph's smirk turned into a glare as he snapped back, “No. Shut up. I was this close to beatin’ you today.” He jabbed his thumb toward his emptying bowl. “Next time, I’ll finish first.”

Leo exhaled slowly, steadying his tone. “It’s not a race, Raph. It’s about showing respect. That’s what matters.”

"Respect, respect. You sound like a lecture in a shell." Raph retorted in a mocking tone, mimicking Leo's speech. He then turned away and grumbled angrily, "And you are so boring, Leo." He quickly finished his food in a hurry, eager to escape Leo's company.

Mikey sprang up from his chair, his bowl in hand, and hummed cheerfully as he moved. “If it was a race, then I totally win, 'cause I ate the fastest!” He puffed out his chest in triumph, announcing, "I even licked the bowl clean!"

Raph curled his lip in disgust, pushing his own bowl away. "That's not winning, that's just gross."

Before the bickering could spark further, Splinter’s voice cut through, calm but firm. “Enough, my sons. Respect is not found in competition, but in gratitude. It is not about who finishes first or last, but about remembering the hands that provide and the family that shares.” His eyes softened, yet carried weight. “Now, place your dishes in the sink.”

“Yes, Father,” Leo replied at once. Raph grumbled something under his breath but obeyed. Mikey just grinned, plopping his dish into the sink with before scurrying off after his brothers.

The clinking and chatter faded, leaving only one son still seated at the table. Donnie sat hunched over his nearly untouched bowl, spoon dragging listlessly through the algae and worms. His brothers were already gone, their voices echoing down the hall.

Finally, Splinter’s gaze fell on him at last, His voice was low, almost disappointed. “Again…” he said quietly, his words like a weight, “always the last one to finish his food.”

Donnie froze, caught under the sudden attention he had longed for only moments ago. But it wasn’t the kind of attention he wanted. So he just lowered his head, staring at the greenish surface of his bowl.

“The body cannot grow strong if it is not fed,” Splinter went on, his tone edged with patience thinning. “You are clever, Donatello… but cleverness cannot replace discipline. Sometimes, I do not understand you.”

The words stung more than Donnie expected. His fingers curled tight around the spoon. The bowl looked nearly as full as when it was served. He hadn’t been part of their chatter. But can he be blamed, he hadn’t been noticed until now.

*It’s not me you don’t understand* he told himself, his voice echoing only inside his mind. *It’s you who doesn’t understand me*

Yet... he didn't dare speak it aloud. He merely sat there, shoulders hunched, embracing himself as if the table might swallow him whole. Donnie kept his gaze fixed downward, his eyes avoiding Splinter's gaze, which was considered quite discourteous in Splinter's eyes. "Look at me when I am speaking to you, young men,"

Donnie raised his head slowly, his reddish-brown eyes meeting his father's identical ones for a fleeting moment before darting away again. To him, it felt as if Splinter didn't truly understand him at all, and only see a mistake.

"You must learn discipline, Donatello," Splinter said, his tone softer now, but no less firm. "A mind as gifted as yours is wasted without humility. It is not cleverness that defines a warrior, but heart." Donnie closed his eyes, struggling to comprehend his father's words, even though he was supposed to be so intellectually capable.

The words struck him like an undefendable blow. He silently nods to show compliance, but his brothers remain oblivious. To them, it's just another routine lecture. However, for Donnie, it's a confirmation of his deepest fears—that he would always fall short.

"Donatello."

The young boy froze, his grip tightening on the rim of his bowl. He dared not lift his head.

"You may only leave this table once your plate is empty” Splinter continued, his tone carrying more disappointment than anger. "And I expect not to find it discarded in the trash, as this is not the first time, my son."

The young turtle didn't utter a word or make a move. Instead, his spoon trembled faintly in his hand, but he remained silent, his gaze fixated on the bowl, wishing he had the ability to vanish right at that moment.

"Do you understand? I will be greatly disappointed in you. Do not insult my efforts with such wastage."

For a long moment, Splinter stood over him, waiting for a reply that never came.

Splinter would then depart, feeling disappointed and thinking, *Why can't you be more like your brothers?* Splinter's unspoken question hung in the air, adding to Donnie's feelings of inadequacy. Nothing seemed good enough in his eyes displaying his disappointment in his son.

Now The kitchen seemed emptier—like it always did when he was left behind. Donnie took a deep breath, his thoughts swirling with self-doubt and insecurity, wishing his father would recognize him and understand that he was doing his best even amid his struggles.

However, instead of comfort, another voice creeped into his mind, one he may not want to remember.

*They don't see what you can become, Donatello,* Shredder's words reverberated in the back of his head, as clear as if they had been spoken moments ago. *But I do.*

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists on the table. He was well aware of the stories, how Splinter had painted Shredder as a monster. Yet, when his father's disappointment cut so deeply, it was those forbidden words that lingered.

Words that promised he wasn't invisible. Words that suggested someone else truly saw him.

He hated himself for even entertaining the thought. Yet, the conflict within him continued to gnaw at his thoughts, leaving him unsure of whom he should trust.

Donnie remained rooted in his seat, hunched over the bowl as if it had shackled him to the spot. The minutes turned into hours, with the algae growing cold and the worms long since abandoning the dish but Donnie couldn't be bothered to care. Despite the passage of time, his thoughts continued to be consumed by the lingering suggestion of the Shredder, unable to shake his hold over the young turtle's mind.

The kitchen remained quiet with Donnie being the sole inhabitant. However, his mind was anything but quiet.

Then, Splinter's words suddenly resurfaced in his memory, a memory he couldn't silence.

*Oroku Saki, the one who's known as the Shredder... he was once my brother.*

Now he remembers, he recalled the stories Splinter often weaved about Japan. It came to him not as the stern rebuke of earlier, but as a memory one of the countless times their father had sat before them, weaving old tales of Japan, of their clan, and especially of what had been stolen. The memory was so vivid, as if Splinter were still present.

*Rained together, fought together, we shared everything. But jealousy and anger poisoned his heart.*

Splinter's voice rang in his head clear as ever.

*When Tang Shen chose me, he could not forgive.... He struck like a coward, and in his rage, I lost her forever. And then... my daughter, Miwa. Everything I loved was consumed by his hatred.*

Donnie recalled sitting there, wide-eyed and fascinated. He loved those lessons—not because of the violence in them, but for the rich history, the tradition and the sense of a world bigger than the walls of their lair. He cherished learning, piecing together their story, their roots, and their connection to a distant land.

But he also remembered glancing sideways at his brothers. Mikey half-asleep, doodling on the table with his finger. Raph rolling his eyes, clearly wishing he could be training instead. Even diligent Leo was nodding along, but sneaking looks at the TV eager to return to watching that inane space heroes show. None of them truly listened, not like Donnie did. Of course Splinter continued, unfazed by their inattention.

*In his thirst for power, the Shredder is willing to do anything,*

Donnie was mesmerized, while his brothers remained unfocused, their minds elsewhere.

*You must understand my sons, that hatred will consume you as well. It will destroy you and anyone you care for. You must not let your rage control you, but control your anger.*

Donnie was the only one who leaned forward, clinging to every word. He was the one who remembered. And yet... Splinter never seemed to acknowledge that. He never praised him for listening. He never noticed the son who yearned to understand him more than anything. The memories of that lesson now felt like a bitter sting. Donnie wished his father would see him the way he saw Splinter. He had so much to offer... so why didn't it seem good enough?

And now, he sat alone with the echoes of those words,as if fate were tempting him.

*They don't see what you can become, Donatello... but I do.* Shredder's words. So different. So dangerous. And yet... they lingered.

Donnie was so conflicted. Splinter had painted Shredder as a creature of pure hatred. And Donnie believed every word. He needed to believe it. But the memory of that voice, calm and almost respectful, gnawed at him. Why would someone so evil understand him? Was Splinter wrong about some things?

Why did it feel, for just a fleeting moment, that Shredder saw what his father never did? Donnie lowered his gaze, staring into the thick, green sludge in his bowl. The surface seemed to mirror back a reflection that he didn't want to see. A failure.

He remained there, hours slipping away unnoticed, hoping that if he persisted, someone, anyone, would notice him. But at this rate, it seemed pointless. Donnie didn't care anymore; it felt like his efforts were in vain. His father didn't see him, his brothers didn't see him... he was invisible.

Donnie's thoughts drifted deeper and darker. He remembered the first encounter with the Shredder, who had moved towards him with unmistakable purpose and his intention clear: he was going to strike, he saw it in his eyes.

But then Shredder's gaze lingered on the Hamato crest engraved into Donnie's staff. Everything changed. The menacing aura in his movements subsided, and his voice took on a distinct change.

*They don't see what you can become. But I do.*

That quote lingered on the young turtle's mind, a reminder that the Shredder understood him and perhaps the only one who truly did. It was true, Shredder's approach had been filled with evil, a clear threat he couldn’t mistake. And yet… the Hamato emblem had made him stop. Had made him see Donnie in some way.

Why had it made a difference?

His father had claimed that Shredder was consumed by hatred, with nothing left but vengeance. According to Splinter, Shredder had destroyed everything he loved. And yet, Donnie had witnessed a different side, if only for a fleeting moment.
It left him utterly conflicted.

He lowered his head onto his folded arms, burying his face to avoid the sight of the bowl and the reflection it held. His mind was consumed by his father's stories, Shredder's words, and questions he wasn't meant to ask. Nothing made sense.

Hours slipped by, unnoticed. The kitchen remained empty, and Donnie remained motionless, his mind overwhelmed by thoughts too heavy to unravel.

Then, so faint it might have been a hallucination, another voice try to reach him. "Donnie?"

Donnie's head stirred at the sound. He slightly lifted his head just enough to see his little brother standing there. Mikey, eyes wide with concern, hovering in the doorway.

"Donnie"

Mikey's voice drew him back, softer this time, but with its familiarity. Donnie lifted his head just enough to see him approaching. Mikey tilted his head. "Dude... did you seriously fall asleep at the table?" Mikey chuckled, sliding into the chair right next to him without waiting for a response. "Classic Donnie move. Next thing I know, you'll be drooling in the algae."

Donnie provided a half-hearted shrug, attempting to smile but failing. "Just had some stuff on my mind." That was all he said. No details. No truth about the storm still rattling inside him.

Mikey didn’t press further. He never did. Instead, his focus shifted to the practically untouched bowl in front of Donnie. Without hesitation, he reached over, grabbed the spoon, and took a bite. unconcerned that it had been in his brother's mouth moments before. "Man, you're always thinking and thinking," Mikey said, his mouth full, grinning as he prepared for another bite.

Donnie didn't stop him; he didn't even seem to notice. He sat there, staring at the table as Mikey happily devoured the food.

Mikey was halfway through his third spoonful of algae when he asked, through a mouthful "So, like, what kinda 'stuff'... are we talkin'? Science-y brain explosions? Or, y’know, actual explosions? You seem to be good at that," Mikey asked between bites.

Donnie let out a soft breath. “...Just thinking.”

"Hmm." Mikey leaned his chin into his hand, still chewing. "Thinking’s cool. I like thinking too, but mostly about pizza toppings." He chuckled, pushing another spoonful into his mouth before adding with a smile, "Good thing I’m here to help you finish this masterpiece of a meal, huh?"

Donnie’s eyes lingered on him, not unkindly. Mikey’s grin, his carefree humming, the way he ate without worrying about anything it was all so very Mikey. And Donnie didn’t mind the chatter. He didn’t even mind sharing his food. But deep down, he wished someone really listened sometimes.

The Shredder understood, even if only for a brief moment. Donnie's gaze drifted away, focusing on the table as he contemplated these thoughts. He didn't want to spill anything, not the storm in his head, not his doubts. After all, Mikey wouldn't understand. He never did. No one did.

Donnie hesitated initially, glancing back at Mikey. Still, he had to try. “Do you remember that conversation father had with us? About… the Shredder?”

Mikey’s face brightened with recognition. He nodded eagerly. “Oh yeah! The evil-man bedtime story. Splinter made it up so we’d behave.” Mikey said with a laugh, not seeming to notice the serious look in Donnie's eyes as he went to shovel another bite into his mouth.

Donnie shook his head slowly. “It’s not made up.”

Mikey paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Uh… what?”

Donnie looked away, his voice was quiet, with uncertainty. “What if he’s not… as evil as Master Splinter says?”

Mikey froze mid-bite, the algae dangling half-way from his mouth confused. “Huh? Where’s this coming from?”

Donnie flinched. He hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the weight of it had been pressing down on him, and Mikey was the only one who might listen without judgment. He shifted in his seat, staring at the worn tabletop.

“I just…” Donnie hesitated, "I just wonder.”

“Wonder about what?” Mikey pressed, slurping the rest of his bite and leaning on his elbows. His voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp now, “Shredder’s bad news, bro. That’s like… the whole point of father’s stories. He’s the bad guy.”

Donnie’s fingers curled into fists against his knees. “You remember those times I’d go topside? When no one noticed I was gone?”

Mikey nodded slowly, still chewing, though his confusion was growing. “Yeah…? What about it?”

Donnie hesitated. His brothers would hate him if they knew. He shouldn’t say it. Leo would explode. Raph would mock him, or worse. And if Splinter found out… he would never be allowed near the surface again. His freedom, his small stolen moments would be gone.

But Mikey was staring at him, waiting, open and curious in a way the others never were. So the words tumbled out.

“I met him.”

Mikey choked. Half-chewed algae flew as he coughed violently, pounding his chest with his fist. "I only met him once… and he wasn’t what father said. He… understood me and-" Donnie leaned forward, alarmed. “Mikey? Are you okay?”

“Wait—wait—met him?!” Mikey wheezed between coughs. “Like… met-him met him?!” He leaned back with wide eyes. “He’s real?!”

“Shh!” Donnie hissed, glancing toward the doorway as if Leo or Raph might suddenly appear. His whole body tensed. “Yes. Just once.” His voice dropped, quieter. “I only met him once.”

Mikey’s chopsticks slipped from his fingers. “Bro, are you crazy?!”

Donnie felt a wave of shame overwhelm him. “I'm telling you, he isn't what father said… he... he understood me.” The memory replayed in his mind, too vivid to ignore, the rare, fleeting moment where someone had looked at him like he mattered. “He listened. He didn’t look at me like I was weak, or weird, or… less.”

Mikey set the bowl aside and frowned. “Hey, whoa. Nobody calls you weak, Dee.”

Donnie’s mouth twitched. He didn’t answer. Because they did. Leo with his sharp commands. Raph with his biting words. Even Splinter with his silence, the way he favored the others. But Mikey. sweet, oblivious Mikey never saw it. Never heard it. And Donnie didn’t have the heart to tell him.

Mikey leaned forward, concern knitting his brow. “I mean it. You’re my brother. You’re… you. You’re awesome. You build stuff outta junk! You make the lair better! You-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I dunno, Dee… the way father talks about this Shredder guy, he’s, like… super bad news.”

He hesitated, chewing on his lip. His next words came out quieter, almost guilty. “Honestly, I feel like Splinter should know about this. He can help you.”

Donnie stiffened, panic flashing in his eyes. “No.” The word burst out too quickly, too desperate. His hand shot across the table, gripping Mikey’s wrist. “You can’t.”

Mikey flinched at the sudden intensity, he didn't even have to think. Even without understanding, he would do anything to wipe that panic from his older brother’s face.

“Please,” Donnie pressed, his voice trembling. “If you tell him, I’ll never get to go topside again. I’ll never, Mikey, you have to promise me.”

Mikey stared at him torn, he hated secrets. He hated lying to Splinter. And the way his brother was clinging to him like the world might collapse if he let go. He couldn’t do it.

Finally, Mikey sighed, shoulders sagging. “Fine. I won't tell him, but you gotta promise me too.” He jabbed a finger at Donnie. “Be careful, like, extra careful. ‘Cause if Shredder's really real… then he’s dangerous. Way dangerous. And I don’t wanna lose my brother just ‘cause he was looking for someone to listen.

Donnie let out a shaky breath, his grip on Mikey's wrist softening and nodded.

"...Thank you," Donnie whispered. He hesitated, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Mikey in a brief, tight hug. "Really. Thank you."

Mikey, startled by the sudden embrace, but grinned, squeezing him back.

When Donnie pulled away quickly, almost embarrassed, Mikey just chuckled. "Hey, no prob. Not even Leo's gonna hear it from me cause you know he'd rat you out."

Donnie flinched. He hadn't thought about the others, but Mikey was right. Leo would see it as one more rule broken by the odd-one-out of the four...

Mikey grin faded, replaced with a gentle look. "But you also know this secret won't last forever, right? Even if I don't say anything... Sensei's going to find out eventually.”

Donnie did know Splinter would see through all this. The rat always seemed able to know what was going through his mind. But... maybe not now. Maybe not for a while yet.

His mouth twitched into a wan smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He couldn’t make the lie convincing, not with Mikey of all people. The youngest always saw through his masks in a way the others couldn’t. “I… I just need to think of-”

Before he could finish his response, the sound of approaching footsteps made them both stiffen.

"Michelangelo. Donatello." Splinter's voice, calm yet edged with a tone that always made them want to hide inside their shells. He appeared in the doorway, his sharp gaze taking in the scene.

"Michelangelo." Splinter's voice was mild, but had a firm edge to to it. "I'm sure Donatello appreciates your company, but he can eat by himself. I'm certain you have more important matters to see to."

Then his eyes shifted to the empty bowl in front of Donnie. “…At last, you have finished your meal.”

Donnie opened his mouth, stammering, "I—I—"

But Mikey jumped in, waving a hand. "Yup! Totally finished! I was here, watched the whole thing. Dude cleaned his plate faster than Raph on pizza night.” He forced a laugh, sliding his hand into Donnie’s and tugging him toward the door. "And now we're heading to our room," he stressed his words with a pointed look, "right, bro?"

Donnie didn't reply, too stunned but grateful for the excuse to flee, letting Mikey pull him along.

Splinter's sharp gaze lingered on the two retreating boys. For a moment, he seemed ready to call them back, but instead he exhaled, shaking his head. "Children...." he muttered, his voice hardly a whisper as he turned back into the shadows of the lair.

Mikey didn't let go of his brother’s hand until the door to their shared room was shut firmly behind them. "See? Told ya I got your back, Dee," he said, pointing at himself with both thumbs. "Mikey, number one wingman. Not even Splinter can't out-scheme the Mike-inator."

Donnie stood frozen inside the doorway, still stunned. Splinter hadn't pressed further... because it was Mikey. Because Mikey had spoken.

But when he thought about all the times Donnie himself had tried to come up with excuses or half-truths, Splinter had pushed him harder. Always pushing, always doubting, always finding fault.

*Why is it different when it's me?*

"Don?" Mikey's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. He was waving a hand in front of Donnie's face now, eyes wide with exaggerated concern. "Don...to-earth, come in Don. Hello? Anyone home?"

Donnie blinked, dragged back into the present. He rubbed his arm, trying to steady his voice. "Yeah. I'm here."

Mikey tilted his head, a hint of concern in his usually carefree voice. "Still thinking about that Shredder stuff, huh?" He bit his lip. "You... kinda freaked me out back there, bro. Meeting him...? That’s, like, whoa-level dangerous!"

Donnie's mouth opened, then shut again. His heart beat uncomfortably fast. He couldn't do this-not now, not with Mikey staring at him with that mix of concern and confusion. "Just... forget it," he muttered, moving toward his bed.

Mikey frowned. "Forget it? Dee-"

"It's nothing," Donnie cut him off quickly. He crawled onto his bed and lay flat on his plastron, turning his face toward the wall. "Truly. Nothing." Only for his limbs to retract inside his shell, Donnie felt relief. It was comforting inside his shell. Familiar. A refuge to retreat in.

Mikey watched him, his grin gone, replaced by something softer, heavier. He wanted to push-but he didn't. Instead, he lay back on his own bed, folding his arms behind his head.

"...Okay. If you say so."

His tone was light, but his eyes lingered on his brother, worry plain in his expression. He didn't believe him. Not for a second. But Mikey knew better than to force it. For now, he'd let Donnie hide in the quiet, even if the silence between them felt heavier than ever.

Donnie felt guilty. He felt it. Mikey was the brightest, kindest of his brothers. He didn't deserve the dishonesty. His younger brother was good. Better than Donnie was. Mikey didn't deserve the lies or the secrets... but Donnie didn't know how to tell him the truth. Mikey deserved so much better than this broken-down shell of a turtle. All he did was shut his eyes, and let sleep claim him to escape from the guilt eating at him.

In another part of New York city. Far from the sewers or the busy life. Down a shadowed alley, Bradford stalked ahead, his claws clicking against the pavement in his irritation. Xever lagged behind, twirling a butterfly knife with casual ease, his grin wide despite the fact they’d come up empty-handed again.

"Empty-handed. Again," Bradford growled, his voice low. "Do you realize the night we've wasted trailing that thing? And nothing. No sightings. No trail. And what do we have? A dead account. If that were my feed, I’d never go quiet.”

He jabbed a thumb at his phone, the glow showing Donatello’s inactive profile. No new posts. Nothing since the last night.

Thing?" Xever scoffed, sliding the blade closed with a snap. "He's not a thing, he's a he. Show a little respect. Kid’s clever, and this is more interesting than half the missions we've been given."

Bradford spun on his heel, eyes narrowing. "Respect? It's a freak in a shell. That's all...And I'm going to be the one who captured it." He crack his knuckles with a menacing look. "Imagine the trophy, the prize... Master Shredder would be pleased."

Xever rolled his shoulders, unamused. "Always about pleasing Master Shredder with you. You're so boring,Bradford.” He laughed. "You say you want respect? I say i take his shell." He tapped his temple, chuckling. "Unlike you."

Bradford's lip curled, disgusted "You're defending it like it's worth something. All it's done is make our lives harder." He slid the phone away. “And a shell isn't valuable unless you count what's inside."

“That's because you made a fool of yourself out there,” Xever shot back, leaning against the wall so the lamplight caught the knife’s edge. "He's been quiet. Haven't you noticed? No new posts. No late-night 'genius rants.' Not since yesterday. That means he hasn't been out. And if he hasn't been out..."

"...he's hiding," Bradford finished, folding his arms. A dark grin creased his mouth as he started forward, already tasting the hunt.

“Exactly.” Xever pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them. “Turtles don’t hide forever. Sooner or later he’ll slip up. When he does—” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “We’ll be waiting.”

Bradford scowled but didn’t argue. "Fine. But next time, no distractions. No mistakes. I'll have that respect."

His claws flexed once more, aching to sink into flesh. To rip into a green neck of the turtle until he no longer had to care about respect."

Xever was enjoying himself too much, spinning the knife in his hand once more before sliding it onto his belt. “You can keep the respect, amigo.” He said. “I just want that shell. And I want to hear what else he has to say before he screams.”

And like that both decided to wait for the next night and the next night they will be prepared.

Back to the Lair...

Back to the lair. Donatello stirred slowly, his body stiff as he shifted inside the protective curl of his shell. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, the entire day wasted in uneasy sleep, exhaustion dragging him under again and again.

Blinking groggily, Donnie peeked out of the shell, whispering. "Mikey...?" But the room was empty. Mikey wasn't there. That was odd.

"Mikey?" He asked again, louder. He poked his head back further, sticking his neck out, before slithering his way completely out of the confines of his shell.

The only sound was the faint hum of his tech still running, gears whirring as it scanned a cockroach crawling across the floor. It beeped and chattered softly. Donnie sighed, reaching over to shut it down.

The familiar machine in his hands should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like a reminder of how much he relied on things that never loved him back.

He pushed himself upright, stretching his limbs, sore from curling into his shell for so long. Maybe Mikey was around, or the others-

But then he froze.

From the common room came voices. Familiar, warm, together. His father. His brothers. All of them, talking, laughing, bickering in their usual way.

A family gathering. Without him. Without his name even mentioned.

Donnie hugged his invention tighter to his chest, its cold edges biting into his plastron. He knew he wasn’t always the easiest to be around. He worked too much, too hard, lost himself in his projects, forgot to eat or sleep—

But he didn't forget his family. But not being included like this? Being left out?

It stung worse than any blow.

He stepped back into the shadows of the hall before anyone could notice him. He couldn’t interrupt. Not when they looked so whole without him. Not when Splinter's voice was so calm and stead and sure, Leonardo's gentle edge balancing Raphael's rough tone, and Michelangelo's laugh brightening everything.

They didn't need him.

His thoughts began to spiral, racing too fast for him to stop.

*Maybe they’re happier without me there.*

*Maybe I’m nothing more than a burden.*

*The extra weight they drag along.*

*The black sheep father is always correcting.*

*The brother they tolerate.*

*Not the one they want.*

Donnie's arms curled around himself, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the burning.

He turned around and shuffled back to his room, dragging each step.

Alone again, he set the machine on his workbench. In a daze, his head a blur, Donnie collapsed face-down onto his bed. The sound of the lair carried faintly through the walls, muffled as it was a reminder of the world he wasn't a part of.

He buried his face in his pillow, whispering to no one.

“I don’t… I don't belong here…”Donnie pressed his face deeper into the pillow, trying to block out the sound of muffled voices down the hall.

Nobody understood. Nobody needed him for anything except the things he could build, the inventions he could fix.

He was alone. Truly and utterly alone. Nobody but his machines to keep him company. Nobody but Mikey seemed to care. Not Splinter, not Leo or Raph, just Mikey... and even now he had shut Donnie out for wanting to talk about the Shredder. Nobody understood. Nobody needed him for anything except-

With a shaky breath, Donnie lifted his head, blinking back the tears that blurred his vision, to gaze towards his desk, at the familiar glow of his radar device he had built, clicking and chirping as it responded to the scuttling cockroaches crossing the floor.

He sighed, dragging himself up and scooping the device back into his hands. "Of course... you're still running.”

He had planned to go over the recalibrations for his radar, yet he'd wasted his day, sleeping. Wasted the whole day being… nothing.

But that's how it made him feel. Yet again-

What was the point? It wasn't like anyone missed him at all. And he had said that in the back of his mind before a roach crawled across his hand and to the edge of his device yet he nudging it away with a fingertip. Not hard never to kill. Not him. He was the turtle who built, not destroyed.

The radar device let out another beep, louder than before, still locked onto one particular roach as it made its way back to its hideaway. It was supposed to detect larger movements, enemies, threats. Not bugs. Cockroaches weren’t supposed to register at all. Roaches weren’t threats. Not unless your name was Raphael.

but not that it made a difference. It was one of thousands, and it would just find someplace else to go.

"...Should've fixed this..." Donnie whispered to himself, "Should've fixed this hours ago..."

His gaze fell to his T-phone, lying on the corner of the desk. The screen glowed faintly, time flashing across it. Late. Much later than he’d thought. Which meant one thing. The city above was calling again.

Donnie exhaled, shoulders sagging as he slipped the radar under his arm and pocketed the T-phone. If no one wanted him here… then he’d go where they didn’t look.

Topside. Alone. Again. With nobody knowing. Nobody caring.

(To be continue)

Chapter Text

The sewer tunnels were dark, twisting paths illuminated only by occasional beams of light filtering through storm drains. But Donnie didn’t take the usual way, he didn’t need to, weaving through the tunnels with ease. He knew every turn, every hidden side path, every shortcut. He moved like a shadow, radar device tucked to his chest, never once checking over his shoulder for anyone to follow.

Suddenly, a small crash made Donnie turn his head toward a nearby dumpster.

Donnie flinched, blinking out of his thoughts. The crash was small, but noticeable. A piece of metal had rolled to a stop near the bins.

His eyes widened. A part of him leapt with curiosity. He was careful and cautious, but it wouldn't hurt to see this up close.

It was tech, valuable tech, the kind no one in their right mind would throw away.

“Finally,” he breathed, unable to stop the small smile tugging at his lips. “Finally, something good.”

He crouched down, his tired brain already sketching out possibilities.

“Who would throw this away?” he murmured, picking it up carefully. The weight felt right. The casing was dented, but the wiring inside—still intact.

And because he was so wrapped up in it, Donnie never thought to question why it had landed so close.

Why it had landed there at all.

From high above, unseen in the dark, two figures leaned forward, watching the turtle bend over his prize. He wasn’t alone they were already on him.

The radar at his side gave a faint ping. A pulse. Then another. Danger. Proximity warning like it was trying to warn him.

Donnie barely lifted his eyes from the scrap in his hands. “Stupid calibration…” he muttered, tapping the side of the device with his knuckles. “You pick up cockroaches like they’re a security threat, but when I actually need you to scan clean, you throw a tantrum?”

The pings quickened, but Donnie shook his head, too focused on examining the new piece of tech to notice. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix you later…” he mumbled, tightening his grip on the prize.

Donnie adjusted his hoodie, the oversized sleeves slipping down his wrists as he crouched to study the tech. His radar kept chirping, soft pulses that he dismissed with another annoyed sigh. He thought he was alone. But above, on the rooftops, shadows shifted. Quiet eyes tracked his every move.

Bradford crouched low, phone glowing faintly in his palm. He showed the blank activity log to Xever with a sharp grin.

“Told you,” Bradford whispered. “It was only a matter of time before it showed itself. Quiet for a day, then… out here. Alone.”

Xever flipped his butterfly knife open with a soft snick, balancing the blade on his fingertip as his grin widened. “He’s smaller than I thought… almost cute, no?”

Bradford’s eyes narrowed. “It. Not he. A thing in a shell. Don’t dress it up.”

“Pfft.” Xever rolled his eyes. “Always so cold, Bradford. Clever little tortuga. Worth more alive than dead. Even Master Shredder would admit that.”

“That’s the point, idiot” Bradford snapped, closing his fist around the phone. “Alive. We bring it in. Not a scratch.” His lips curled into something sharp. “A pet project for the Master. A prize. And when we do, I will get the respect I deserve.”

Xever twirled the knife and slid it back into his belt, smirking. “Fine, fine. Alive. But I want the first word when we finally crack open that little mind of his.”

While that was happening, from the bottom, Donatello tried to fix the radar that was still beeping, warning him that he was in danger. He sighed, adjusting the dials, checking the reading again.

“Come on,” he muttered, not realizing the faint scuff of boots above and the shadows of two figures as they dropped. ”Clearly there is no one here!"

Both men looked at each other and were ready to ambush, but decided to have a little fun first.

"Well, well..." Bradford's tone was smug as he stepped closer. “Finally, we meet."

Donnie dropped both the tech and his radar, caught in the moment and not realizing that he was actually caught.

He turned around slowly, scared as he faced the two.

Donnie backed away, remembering his own stupid mistakes, his father’s warnings, his own missteps, the moment he realized just how badly he’d messed up. Big. He was caught.

For a split second, it didn’t feel real. His breath came fast, shallow. Two figures stood before him, closing in.

Watching them come closer he recognized that one face. Not from the streets but from Mikey's endless chatter but from the dumb cartoons his little brother obsessed over.

"Bradford? You’re… you’re real,” Donnie blurted, stunned.

Bradford frowned, caught off guard by the reaction. “What?”

Xever chuckled, twirling his knife as if the whole thing amused him. “Looks like your little fan has been paying attention, amigo.”

Donnie shook his head quickly, picking up his radar and hugging it tighter against his plastron like it might shield him.

Xever came closer. still smirking, knife in hand. "Look how scared he is. Nowhere to run, little tortuga."

Bradford moved with him, closing in from the side. The two boxed him in.

Donnie backed up until his shell hit brick. His pulse raced. His staff, he thought of it, wished it was strapped across his back like it should’ve been. But what was the point? He was too weak to pick fight with it in the first place.

He wasn’t a fighter like Raph. Not fearless like Leo. Not even free like Mikey. He was just trapped.

Donnie squeezed his eyes shut, heart thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. Maybe this was it. Maybe fate had finally caught up to him.

All while the sound of laughter echoed around him, Low, mocking laughter, coming from Bradford and Xever, as they laughed at the state Donnie was in.

“Look at it. The little genius thinks if he doesn’t see us, we’ll just disappear,” Bradford sneered.

Donnie forced his eyes open again, forcing himself to breathe, to move. He wasn’t a fighter but he couldn't just stand there. He had to try. He had to escape.

Xever’s grin widened, knife spinning between his fingers. “Cute. But The Shredder doesn’t want him disappearing. Not yet.”

Donnie's eyes widened at that name. *Shredder*

Did they know him? Why were these strangers saying it like it meant everything? Questions piled up, but answers weren’t coming. Only danger.

The men bickered, circling closer, Donnie’s mind worked fast. If his staff couldn’t save him… maybe his machines could. The gadget was crude, untested, but maybe just maybe it could work. He hugged the small device tight, whispering in his head, "Please work… please," he begged silently, "just this once."

He pressed a hidden switch, and the device let out a sharp, ear-splitting SOS tone. Donnie winced, one hand pressing against his own ear as the sound rattled his skull, but the men staggered back, cursing.

Bradford and Xever both dropped their weapons, clapping their hands over their ears, the piercing shriek a relentless buzz that made their heads throb with pain and knives forgotten as they clutched at their heads.

It almost made Donnie smile. Almost.

Bradford growled, eyes narrowing. “What the—shut it off!”

Donnie’s lips curled in the faintest smile. It was working. For once, it was working.

But before relief could settle, a new shadow dropped from above.

A girl, no older than him, landed in the alley with a grace that didn’t match her youth with the sharpness of someone older, someone trained while blades flashed in her hands.

Before Donnie could react, her blade slashed across his forearm. The fabric of his hoodie split and blood seeping through.

He cried out, stumbling back, clutching his bleeding arm. The radar slipped from his grip, clattering against the pavement. The piercing tone died, leaving the alley heavy with silence.

Breathing hard, Donnie pressed his hand against his arm, watching his attacker with wide, confused eyes. She looked down at Donnie, not with cruelty but with a curiosity. Her gaze flicked to the fallen gadget, then back to him impressed.

“So you're the one father’s been looking for,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. Two Foot Soldiers dropped down behind her, silent shadows flanking her sides.

“So this is what Father’s been looking for,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. Two Foot Soldiers dropped down behind her, forming a quiet shield at her back.

“Karai?” Bradford snapped, shaking the ring in his ears. “You shouldn’t be here. We had it handled.”

Xever hissed, flicking his knife shut with annoyance. “Sí, little princesa. You’re out of your depth.”

Karai ignored them, stepping closer unbothered. Her eyes stayed on Donnie, sharp and unreadable. “Funny. Looked to me like you were struggling.”

Donnie backed up until his shell hit the wall again, clutching his arm tighter against his plastron. His breath came in quick bursts. Confusion twisting tighter than the pain. Father? Who were these people… and her? She was just a kid. Like him.

Bradford shot Karai a sharp look, his hands still hovering near his ears from the fading echo of Donnie’s device. “Karai, you shouldn’t be here,” he snapped. “Your father said not to engage.”

Karai crossed her arms, blade still dangling loosely in one hand. “He wanted details. I’m gathering them. That’s what I’m doing.” Her eyes flicked to Donnie again, sharp and curious. “Besides… he doesn’t look dangerous.”

Donnie shrank back further against the wall, still clutching his arm, hoodie sleeve torn and blood dripping to the ground. His brothers were going to kill him if this wound got infected...

“It. It’s an it. A thing,” Bradford snapped, stepping closer to her. “And you don’t decide what’s dangerous. Mutants are unpredictable. That animal is unpredictable.”

“Unpredictable?” Karai tilted her head. “This is what you call dangerous? this, small thing? Look at him. Can't even stand and fight...”

They weren’t even talking about him like a person. Just… a thing...An animal.

Donnie pressed his bleeding arm tighter to his plastron. His hoodie was soaked through, the sting making his vision blur at the edges. Animal. That word clung to him worse than the pain.

Xever smirked, knife twirling lazily in his hand again. “Small, but not stupid. That little toy of his nearly blew my eardrums.”

“Exactly why Master Shredder said it’s too dangerous.” Bradford’s voice was low, tense, like he was reminding himself as much as her. “We take it alive. That’s it.”

“Alive, dead, it makes no difference,” Karai said stubbornly. She took a step closer, her gaze lingering on Donnie like she was cataloging every detail. “He’s a mutant. An animal. Father needs to see what he’s capable of.”

Donnie glanced at his clothes, already stained with blood, pooling at his feet. He needed to get away. He needed to think.

With his good hand, Donnie reached toward the fallen radar, fumbling until his fingers brushed the battered casing. He dragged it into his lap, cradling it awkwardly against himself. The screen flickered, broken. Maybe useless. But maybe not.

His gaze darted to the ground. Dirt. Grit. Something small he could use.

While the three argued, Donnie’s trembling fingers scraped through the grit on the ground, dragging shaky lines in the dust. He kept his movements small, quiet and just enough to scoop and collect it in his palm.

“I wanted it dead. But Master Shredder wants it alive, and—” Xever snapped, annoyed. “Why am I even telling you this? Your father didn’t send you to play soldier. Go home.”

Karai’s chin lifted stubbornly. “No. He needs to know what this mutant can do. And I just saw it.”

Bradford groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t get it, do you? Intelligence is nothing compared to brute strength.”

Donnie clutched the pile of dirt in his good hand, his gaze snapping back to the human girl. Karai was staring at him from time to time. He was sure she’d been staring the entire time, even as her two human allies argued. Yet despite knowing what he was doing, she said nothing.

“…He’s not a fighter,” Karai was saying, dismissive. “Look at him. He’s terrified. I could take him myself.”

“Don’t.” Bradford’s tone sharpened. “Master Shredder said no risks. This thing is unpredictable.”

Xever chuckled darkly. “Unpredictable, sí… but cornered animals bite. That’s when it gets fun.”

Donnie’s heart pounded, but his mind was clear. He had one shot. He took a shaky breath, tightened his grip on the handful of dirt. Now or never.

The moment Bradford turned back toward him, He shoved forward, flinging the dirt in a wide spray. The dirt exploded into both men’s faces, gritty cloud burst into their faces.

“Gah—!” Bradford swore, stumbling back as dust filled his eyes. “You little—!” Bradford managed to keep his balance, but only just, cursing and spitting.

“¡Maldito mocoso!” Xever let out a muffled curse, staggering back, wiping at his burning eyes and dropping his knife to claw at his face.

Donnie didn’t wait. He pushed off the wall, clutching his radar and holding his wounded arm tight against him. His eyes flicked once to Karai, she hadn’t moved just watched him run with an unreadable expression. He staggered to his feet and bolted down the narrow gap at the alley’s end.

She didn’t move.

The two Foot Soldiers shifted forward, ready to give chase. But Karai lifted one small hand.
“Stand down,” she ordered flatly.

The soldiers froze.

She watched the small figure stumble into the shadows, hoodie flapping behind him. “Father needs him alive,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then softer: “Let’s see if he can survive the night first.”

“Are you serious?” Bradford barked, still rubbing at his stinging eyes. “He is! i mean,, darn it, the turtle is getting away!”

Karai’s gaze lingered on the fading shadow of the injured mutant turtle. “Father said not to engage,” she reminded coolly, echoing his own words back. A small, smug smile curved her lips. “Besides… I saw enough.”

“Plus,” Karai said, looking at the ground. “Don’t we already have what we are looking for?”

She pointed to where drops of blood trailed from Donnie’s arm, dark red against the pavement.

“Gahh, why couldn’t we have killed the little monster on the spot...!” Xever muttered, still wiping his eyes.

Bradford stood, trying to clear the dirt from his vision. He scanned the alley looking for the turtle but, by now, he was gone.

He cursed, but his gaze fell on the blood. At least they had something Shredder wanted.

He crouched, collecting the droplets carefully into a small tube. Raising it, he studied the red liquid with grim satisfaction.

“Karai is right,” he said, almost smiling. “We have what we came for.” His grip tightened on the tube. “But next time… we’ll have more.”

Donnie run as fast as his small legs could take him. He was scared. very scared. His arm burned with pain, his heart hammering like it might burst through his chest. Each breath came in ragged gasps. He’d never been this terrified before.

He risked a glance over his shoulder, expecting to see that girl or those men chasing him. Would they still be there?

But the alley behind him was empty. Empty, except for the faint trail of red spattering the ground. His blood.

His vision blurred. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away, refusing to cry… until his foot caught on a crack. He stumbled and fell hard onto his knees, barely catching himself before his face hit the ground. A sharp whimper escaped before he bit it back, trembling.

He couldn’t stop now. Not here.

Then salvation. A manhole cover, just ahead. Home. His brothers. Safety.

He let out a shaky laugh. *Almost there. Almost there.* He pushed himself up, stumbling toward the cover dropping to his knees beside it.

His good hand slipped against the slick, iron surface. His blood smearing across it but he pushed anyway, forcing the heavy lid aside with every ounce of strength left in him. The edge staining red where his hand slid against it.

He was dizzy now. His breaths came too fast. He wanted to collapse, to just let the darkness take him but he couldn’t.

With the last of his strength, Donnie lowered himself into the open tunnel. His sleeve clung to his arm, soaked and sticky, drops of blood falling into the sewer water below. He tugged the cover back in place with trembling fingers sealing him away from the world above. Only then did his knees give out.

His back hit the tunnel wall, sliding down until he sat slumped in the faint glow of a maintenance light. His chest heaved. His arm throbbed and the tears that threatened only moments before finally broke free.

He pulled his arm from his plastron, just long enough to tug his sleeve back.

It stung. He whimpered softly. The cut was deep. Too deep. Blood seeped through the fabric in slow, steady streams, the edges raw and burning. It might even need stitches.

He bit down on his lip, stifling a sob. He didn’t want to look at it, didn’t want to see how bad it really was, he was starting to feel lightheaded...

He’d never been the strongest. He hated it, that weakness, that feeling of failure. He wasn’t a fighter like Leo or Raph. He wasn’t bold like Mikey. He was nothing. Nothing except a liability.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t even know why she’d attacked him, who she was. All he knew was that he was still alive… barely. And that meant he was lucky.

But as the pain clawed deeper, he wasn’t sure how long that luck would last.

There was a sound from up ahead, echoing down the sewer tunnel, then the lair. He was supposed to be going to the lair. Home. He couldn’t stop here, not now. He needed help.

Donnie dragged himself upright, bracing himself against the tunnel wall as he stumbled forward, following the dim glow of lights up ahead.

He whimpered quietly, tears slipping down his cheeks. Every few steps his shoulder brushed the stone, leaving faint smears of red where he leaned. The filth from the sewer walls pressed into the wound; it had to be making it worse, maybe even infecting it. He didn’t know. He only knew he had to keep moving.

For a second, he was struggling to breathe, he wanted to collapse right there, let them find him, let them help.

But no. He couldn’t.

Not when they’d scold him. Not when they’d see this as proof he didn’t belong up there alone. He wouldn’t ruin their happiness with his mistake.

By the time Donnie reached the lair, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip his bedroom doorknob. Red smeared instantly across the metal, and panic jolted through him.

No. They couldn’t know. He couldn’t distract them, not when they were happy together in the other room.

Frantically, he wiped the knob clean with the edge of his hoodie until the stain faded, then pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Donnie pressed his back against the closed door, sliding down until he sat hunched on the floor. He cradled his arm tighter, biting back another sob. Just until the bleeding slowed. Just until he figured out how to patch it himself.

He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, fumbling for the kit on the shelf. It took twice as long as usual to dig the first-aid kit from its spot, his fingers clumsy and trembling. He tried to steady his hands, tried to breathe, promising himself he’d be okay. Just so long as he didn’t pass out first.

He pushed himself up, swaying slightly. His radar device slipped from his belt and hit the floor, streaked with red from his arm. He barely noticed as he made it to his bed, sitting down carefully. He rolled up his sleeve, trying to see the damage in the dim light.

The bleeding hadn’t slowed much. His breath hitched as he pressed a gauze pad against it, his whole arm shaking, trying to muffle the sound of his crying.

The door opened behind him.

“Dude!” Mikey’s face lit up instantly, "OM! that's a very sick hoodie! you got it from topside, can i wear it too"

He didn’t notice the tension, didn’t notice Donnie’s face wet with tears or the way his arm trembled. What he noticed was the hoodie.

Donnie hide his tears he can't show him he was crying.

He turned away, dragging a sleeve over his eyes, trying to hide his sobs his arm his wounds. “M-Mikey, not now…” His voice was broken, but he forced it into something flat, evasive.

Mikey didn’t hear it at first he was too caught up in his joy, bouncing closer, grinning wide. “You gotta tell me everything, bro! What was it like? Did you—”

Mikey stepped inside, eyes bright until they landed on the small device on the floor, and then he froze. Donnie’s radar, smeared with blood. He blinked, confused, his smile fading.

The dark stains he hadn’t noticed before, blood. Then on Donnie’s hoodie. On his hands. The way his brother was hunched, shivering.

Mikey’s eyes went wide. “Dude… what happened to you are you… hurt…?”

Donnie didn’t answer. He turned away, wiping at his face quickly. “I’m fine,” he muttered, voice shaking. “Just a scratch.”

Mikey took a step closer, worry deepening. “That’s not a scratch, bro. You’re bleeding bad. I told you topside’s dangerous!”

“I– I know…” Donnie whispered.

Mikey’s frown tightened. “We… we’ve got to tell Raph and Leo.”

Donnie shook his head quickly. “Mikey, I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” Mikey said flatly.

“Well… yeah,” Donnie’s breathing faltered, his hand pressed tighter to his arm. “I know that. But this is nothing. I’m fine—”

He swayed slightly, dizzy, but tried to stand straighter.

They were quiet for a heart-pounding moment. Then Mikey glanced toward the door.

“I’m gonna get-“

“No!” Donnie’s voice cracked, fear breaking through. He turned toward Mikey, his tear-streaked face finally visible. “You wouldn’t understand—” His voice broke again, softer now, filled with exhaustion. “Every time something goes wrong—it’s me. It’s always me. I messed up again, I went topside, and now look at me.”

Mikey froze, Donnie’s hands trembled as he pressed his arm closer to his plastron. “If they see this, they’ll just… they’ll think I’m careless. They’ll be right.”

Mikey sighed. “Dee…”

“I can’t deal with that right now,” Donnie whispered. “Not the looks. Not the lectures. Just please don’t tell anyone.”

Mikey hesitated, torn between panic and guilt. He hated seeing Donnie like this. “I dunno, Dee. It looks bad. Like, really bad. You need a doctor or a vet or… someone”

Donnie shook his head, forcing a shaky breath. “We can’t. We’re… well, us.”

He didn’t want to ask. He hated it—he hated being weak. But there was only one option left.

“If… I need anything, I’d need sutures. Stitches. Do we have those?”

Mikey’s eyes widened. “Wait—what? You’re not gonna stitch your own arm, Donnie!”

Donnie took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. “I need my tools.”

He moved toward his workbench, but Mikey stepped in front of him, pushing him gently back. “Donnie, sit down! You need rest, not stitches. We’re getting Dad.”

Donnie shook his head frantically, fear rising again. No. No, he couldn’t show Splinter. He couldn’t.

“I—I can do it,” he insisted, voice breaking, stubborn as ever.

Mikey’s eyes softened, fear and determination warring in his expression.

“Donnie! Don’t be stubborn! Dad can fix you up—way better than you and I can!” Mikey’s voice trembled, more frightened than angry.

Donnie flinched at the panic in his tone. “I-I know,” he said weakly, “but… you know how he is.”

Mikey sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He was frustrated, scared, and trying not to show it. “I—fine. Fine. Okay.” He drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “If you just let me take a look… and clean off the blood—”

With a silent nod, they slipped down the hall, checking to make sure no one saw. Mikey peeked around the corner before quietly pulling the bathroom door shut behind them.

Donnie sat on the counter, cradling his arm tight while Mikey dragged the first-aid kit up beside him. The turtle’s hoodie was damp with blood. He hated how small he felt, being the older one, the “smart one,” and still needing his baby brother’s help.

Mikey climbed up on a small stool to reach him, his face pale with worry. His hands trembled as he reached for Donnie’s sleeve. “Dude, it’s… deep,” he whispered. “You sure you don’t want me to get Dad?”

“I’m s-sure,” Donnie lied. “Just- just let me-“

His words faltered as Mikey gently peeled the soaked fabric away from the wound. The cut was deep—an ugly red gash still oozing through the cloth. Mikey’s breath caught, his eyes wide.

"Hold still." Mikey ordered, voice hushed.

Donnie obeyed, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out as Mikey dabbed at the wound with a cold cloth. The sting burned deep, and Donnie’s whole arm trembled, but he refused to let it show.

Mikey’s brows furrowed, concentrating hard. He was a bright kid-far brighter than anyone ever gave him credit for and good at putting things together... But Donnie didn't want him to put this together.

“Donnie,” Mikey said quietly after a moment. “I… I really think we should get Dad.”

Donnie winced, forcing a tiny, wavering smile. “We’ll make it work,” he whispered.

Neither of them truly knew what they were doing, but they kept going anyway, two scared brothers huddled together in the bathroom’s dim light, their reflection in the mirror showing the same thing they both felt: fear, determination, and love.

After struggling through the bandaging, neither brother said anything about the growing wetness soaking through the gauze. Neither wanted to admit it wasn’t enough. Donnie just kept his jaw tight, breath shaking. It would be okay. It had to be.

The wound wasn’t properly stitched. but it was all they could do. He wasn’t sure if it would bleed through, but… it’d stop soon. It had to.

“Just try and rest,” Mikey said quietly, watching Donnie’s shoulders slump from exhaustion. Donnie didn’t argue. He was tired. And hurt. And all he could think about was what Master Splinter would say if he found out.

“Thanks,” Donnie murmured, “For… for staying with me.”

Mikey gave a small, crooked smile. “You’re welcome, just… glad to help.”

He had helped when Donnie needed it most. But Mikey wasn’t ready to let him rest yet. There were things he needed to know.

Once they made it back to their room, Mikey quietly closed the door behind them. He crossed his arms, trying to look serious though worry still softened his eyes.

“Alright,” he said. “No more avoiding the question. What happened to you?”

Donnie sighed, running his fingers gingerly over the thick bandage. “If you have to know…” He sat on his bed, shoulders drooping, and Mikey sat beside him, waiting. Donnie hesitated, then finally said, “There was a… a girl, okay?”

“A girl?” He’d never heard Donnie mention a girl before- he’d never shown any interest, “Wait. A human girl?”

Donnie shot him a look. “Of course she’s human, nimrod. And she cut my arm open.”

Mikey was confused. A girl attacked Donnie. A human girl. He’d thought Donnie. “A girl attacked you?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said flatly. “Didn’t even know her. Came outta nowhere. I just— I was lucky to get away.”

*Mikey had to clear his throat before he continued. “I- I didn’t think you liked girls.”

“I don’t!— I mean, I do!” Donnie stammered, face flushing. “But it wasn’t like that, okay? I don’t even know her, I swear she just attack me out of nowhere“

Mikey couldn’t help it, a tiny laugh slipped out despite the tension. “Well, at least your first interaction with a girl was memorable,” he joked weakly. Donnie groaned, pressing a hand over his face.

“Anyhow, how did a human get the drop on you, dude? I mean you’re the smart one, and….” Mikey trailed off, frowning. He didn’t know how to say what he was thinking without coming off as mean. He didn’t want Donnie to think he was trying to mock him, but how had this happen?

“You always notice things, and you know… you know you shouldn’t trust humans.”

Donnie seemed to have sensed Mikey’s unease, as he let out a short laugh, wincing as the movement tugged on his arm.

“It’s okay, Mikey,” he said softly, offering his brother a reassuring smile. “It was just… just a fluke, okay? Just an accident. It’s not like I go up there every night…well...maybe...sometimes...”

Mikey’s eyes went wide, as if he’d read Donnie’s mind. “Don’t even think about it, dude,” he said, “After this? You’re not going up there again, ever!”

He gestured toward Donnie’s injured arm. “Look what happened!” Mikey looked near tears. Donnie’s gaze followed Mikey’s down to his injured arm, and he felt shame and guilt.

Donnie had known the risks, but he never thought someone would-

“Mikey… I-“ His brother was right. Mikey was right. He sighed, meeting Mikey’s eyes. “I’m- I’m sorry, Mikey. You were right. I should’ve been more careful I… I swear I’ll be more careful.”

For once, Mikey looked older his voice steady, his expression firm. “It’s not about being careful,” he said quietly. “You’re not allowed to go up there. Dad said so.”

Mikey stopped himself. He didn’t want Donnie to think he was trying to rub it in, but Donnie did always know the rules. He was the smart one, the obedient one. This was all so unlike him.

Donnie’s expression fell. His little brother’s words hit him with a sudden wave of guilt. He glanced down at the gauze he’d broken a rule. A simple one. And now Mikey was paying the price for it, worrying himself sick.

“I know,” Donnie muttered, forcing calm into his voice. “Just… just a one-time mistake, okay?”

Mikey shook his head, and his voice was surprisingly stern. “No. It's not a one time mistake. I told you it was dangerous. You’re not going out again. You’re promising me you won’t. Not when she might be out there… whatever her name is.”

“What?” Donnie looked hurt, even angry. He didn’t know where Mikey got off making demands. “Who are you, Splinter? I don’t need you telling me what to do-“

Pain surged through his arm, cutting him off. He cursed under his breath, guilt flooding in right after. He shouldn’t snap at Mikey, not when his brother was only trying to help.

“Fine,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Fine. I won’t go.”

Mikey’s smile hurt more than his injury, and Donnie was forced to look away.

Donnie watched his younger brother, and some of the anger faded. Mikey trusted him, and… and Donnie should be more careful.

He forced himself to smile back, even if he felt sick. He’d said it before, and he’d keep his word. He wouldn’t go back topside. Not again, not ever.

After some time. Donnie was found lay on his bed awake long after Mikey had drifted off. The room was silent. Donnie started at the ceiling, the words he promised still in his mind. His arm throbbed in time, a dull, aching pain he couldn’t ignore.

I won't go topside. Not again. Not ever.

He wanted to believe it. He really did. But something deep inside whimpered that he wouldn't last. That he couldn't stay hidden forever.

The rules were there for a reason. Splinter had made them clear from the very start- and Donnie, in his arrogance, had thought himself above them, smarter than them.

Donnie let his eyes drift to the white bandage wrapped around his arm, the white cotton still stained slightly rusty with dried blood. He thought of the scars he already had, and flinched despite himself.

Scars he’d gotten topside.

Scars he’d gotten by breaking the rules.

Mikey was right. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t go up again.

He shouldn’t have gone topside, shouldn’t have been in that alley. He hadn’t forgotten the girl. Donnie turned onto his side, clutching his injured arm. He’d keep his word or at least, he’d try.

Still, a single thought gnawed at him as sleep pulled him under. He wasn’t sure if he could keep that promise.

While that was happening in another part of the city of New York. Bradford and Xever stood perched atop a rusted dumpster, laughing having finally what they needed. A single vial glinting in Bradford’s hand, the mutant turtle’s blood.

Xever rubbed at his ear, wincing from the sharp ringing that still hadn’t stopped. “I swear, amigo,” he muttered, his accent thick with irritation, “that thing nearly made me deaf.”

Bradford didn’t respond. He was too busy admiring the vial, holding it up against the dim light from a flickering streetlamp. His lips curved into a smug grin with evil intent.

He’d done it. He’d finally done it. A perfect sample. Proof of his worth to the Shredder.

Karai stood a few steps away, her small frame silhouetted against the alley wall. Only eight years old, but she was already a skilled, well-trained warrior. She watched Bradford and Xever with a mix of curiosity.

“That little turtle my father was looking for,” she said softly, “he’s not going far.”

Bradford was quick to notice when Karai appeared, and he turned toward her, an annoyed glint in his eyes. “You shouldn’t even be here,” he barked. “You nearly cost us everything! He got away because of you—!”

Bradford still holding the vial looked to the little girl, scowling. He didn’t have time for children, even children as skilled as her. Not just she just got into their fight but also let the turtle go. He didn’t like what had just happened, not at all.

Karai only shrugged, unbothered by his anger. Her tone was calm, almost teasing.
“We’ve got what we came for, didn’t we?” she said. “Besides, if you waste more time yelling, my father will punish both of you for not bringing that DNA in right away.”

How dare she speak to him so rudely? Karai was lucky Shredder hadn’t been there to witness it. Bradford had his trust, barely. If Karai had ruined that.

“He got away!” Bradford said, waving the vial, the precious blood sample, in the air before Karai’s face. *“All because you-!”*

But as usual, Karai didn’t care. Ignoring Bradford’s furious look.

She’d seen the turtle’s skill, and she wasn’t worried. She was confident, cocky. Her eyes gleamed with the light of a child as she waved her hand dismissively at Bradford’s words.

He took a breath, about to scold the little brat, but Xever cut him off.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Xever interrupted, finally lowering his hands from his ears. Looking down at Karai with annoyance. She was so much like her father. Bold. Unafraid of the Shredder. And the only person who seemed to be able to tell Bradford off and get away with it.

“The girl’s right, amigo. We got the sample. Let’s just deliver it before the boss loses his temper, yeah?”

Karai smirked. She’d won this little victory over Bradford, and she was still glowing with pride when they began the walk back to the Foot Clan’s hideout.

She was still just a girl, but she had the upper hand, not that Bradford would ever admit it. Her voice was mocking, and she spoke loud enough that they both heard. She wasn’t afraid to defy either of them.

“Oh fine, I wont tell my father,” she said. “Just this time.”

Bradford glared after her, muttering under his breath, “Little brat.”

But Xever only chuckled, shaking his head as they followed her into the night, the vial of Donatello’s blood glinting faintly in Bradford’s hand.

As they reached the Shredder’s lair, Foot Soldiers stood guard at the entrance.
Xever was still complaining about the noise in his ear.

“Ugh, I still hear that ringing,” Xever muttered, rubbing the side of his head as he limped toward the center of the chamber. “That blood better be worth all this trouble.”

The soldiers stood aside, bowing quickly as they led the pair toward their master.

Xever was still complaining. He’d been complaining since they left the alley, and Bradford was almost tempted to drop him. Instead, he shook his head, clutching the vial in his hand. He wasn’t going to let Xever’s whining ruin his moment not when he’d finally impressed the Shredder.

“Trust me,” Bradford said, a smug grin on his face. “If the boss is right, this little sample’s gonna change everything.”

Xever frowned. “Or get us both killed if he finds out who really did the cutting,” he muttered, glancing toward Karai, who walked beside them, calm and unconcerned. She quietly split off as they entered the main chamber.

Bradford grinned, unfazed by the comment. He would impress the Shredder. He would get his respect, he’d prove himself to be an indispensable part of the Shredder’s army.

The boss was counting on him. And if that little-

He didn’t have time for guilt. He wouldn’t fail.

“The boss’ll know what it takes to get results,” he said. “Relax. As far as he knows, we got what he asked for. Doesn’t matter how it happened.”

Before Xever could reply, the heavy steel doors slid open, the sound alone was enough to silence them both.

They were now face-to-face with their master. The Shredder stood before them, his presence intimidating and powerful.

Karai had already slipped to his side, retreating to stand at the Shredder’s side.

Both men dropped to one knee, bowing deeply.

“I trust you were not foolish enough to return empty-handed.”

”I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” Bradford said, his voice humble. He stepped forward to present the vial to Shredder. A glass vial filled with dark crimson liquid. “We got what you asked for, Master Shredder.

Their mission, one they had assured they were up to, had been a simple one. Collect the sample. The Shredder took a slow step closer, the faint reflection of his mask glinting off the glass.

Even Bradford and Xever exchanged uneasy glances. Whatever their master was planning, it clearly wasn’t just revenge.

Xever chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, after what we did, let’s just say he won’t be walking straight for a while.”

Bradford shot him a glare and bumped his shoulder. “That was her doing, genius. We just cleaned up the mess.”

But the Shredder wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the vial, the faint crimson swirling under the light.

Karai saw her father studying the blood sample, taking it from Bradford with a nod.

There was pride on her face, but she noticed her father’s frown of concern, the way he tilted the vial into better light. Whatever he was searching for, the blood wasn’t giving him answers.

Shredder straightened, hiding his unease behind a steel tone.

“Excellent,” he murmured, taking the vial between his armored fingers. “You have done well. Leave me. I will see what this mutant’s blood can reveal.” He turned away, cape flowing behind him as he strode toward the shadows of his private lab. Karai followed without a word.

His voice softened, almost to a whisper, as he disappeared into the dark.
“From this, I will know the truth… whether Hamato Yoshi still walks this earth — or if something new has taken his place. Or if that creature is a liar.”

Bradford stood there for a moment, but it wasn’t long before he broke into a grin. It had worked. The Shredder had accepted his gift, and they’d impressed him.

He turned to Xever, who still looked uneasy. “Happy now?” Bradford taunted. “Told you we’d impress him.”

Xever rolled his eyes. “With blood? Real smart.”

Bradford shrugged. “That, my friend, is above our pay grade.”

“Man,” Xever muttered, rubbing his temple again, “I don’t know about you, but every time he talks like that, I get chills.”

Bradford smirked. “You get chills ‘cause you should, pal. Whatever that blood contains… I’ve got a feeling we just started something big.”

Karai scoffed at their words, moving to slip past them unnoticed. “You think?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She didn’t wait for the pair to reply, pushing past them to follow her father. He hadn’t invited her to follow but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t be shut out, not again.

As Shredder and Karai vanished into the lab, Xever muttered under his breath, “Next time she gets involved, I’m gonna—”

Bradford cut him off with a glare. “Shut up, Xever.”

The two turned away, leaving the lair heavy with silence and the beginnings of whatever twisted plan Shredder was about to unleash.

The sound of doors sliding closed followed, Shredder’s private lab closing. Karai moved to the glass, studying her father as he led the way through the dimly lit corridor, the crimson light from torches glinting off his armor. Karai followed a few paces behind, her small hands clasped behind her back, pretending she wasn’t nervous.

She hated feeling helpless. The Shredder moved through the corridor. Behind him, a smaller set of footsteps followed, lighter, impatient.

He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“You may as well speak, Karai,” he said without slowing his pace. His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of command.

“Father… What do you seek to find in that blood,” Karai asked, her words quiet, she asked, curiosity. “It’s just some turtle’s, right? Why does it matter?”

Shredder didn’t answer immediately. He set the vial down on a steel tray, “You weren’t supposed to interfere,” he said, his voice firm but not angry. “Your mission was to remain hidden, or perhaps," he added, glancing her way, “you simply wanted to confirm that I knew it was you who struck that creature.”

Karai frowned, not the least bit remorseful. “That turtle wasn’t much of a fighter,” she muttered. “And I’m fine, aren’t I?”

She crossed her arms, turning her head away like a defiant child. Shredder turned fully now, towering over her.

Beneath the mask, his expression softened. “You may be skilled, my daughter, but you are still young. There are dangers beyond your understanding. I will not risk losing you.”

Karai didn’t answer. She just looked away, pressing her lips together — the beginnings of her silent rebellion.

"You were lucky Bradford and Xever were there to protect you, not the other way around. That was not your mission, Karai.”

Shredder exhaled quietly — a sound that was almost a sigh — before kneeling slightly so he could meet her gaze. “Do you remember the story I told you… about your mother?”

Karai looked up at him, her frown easing just a little. “How could I forget?”

“And you remember the man who tore our lives apart. Hamato Yoshi.” His voice hardened on the name, dripping with venom. “He took everything from us. From her. From me. From you.”

Karai lowered her gaze. “You said he disappeared. Maybe even died in the fire”

“that is correct my daughter,” Shredder said, turning to face her. “But evil such as his does not fade. I believe… he still walks this earth. Hiding.”

Her brows furrowed. “Then what does that have to do with the turtle?”

“fate has placed a clue in our hands. This blood…” — he lifted the vial again, the dark liquid swirling inside “it may hold proof that Yoshi still walks this earth… or that he left behind something carrying his curse.”

Karai eyes widened in surprise. “You think that thing is connected to him?”

“Perhaps, is what I intend to discover.” Shredder said, stepping closer to her. “And if it is true… this creature will lead us straight to Hamato Yoshi...” He trailed off, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder. “You will finally have justice for what he did to your mother.”

Karai fell silent. For the first time, she seemed unsure not because she doubted him, but because the idea fascinated her. If the turtle was connected to the man who destroyed her family… then maybe she wanted to see it herself.

Shredder stood, leaving Karai to watch as he approached the desk, holding each vial up to the light. He studied the blood with a single-minded focus, testing it in a variety of ways. His tests were quick, and he began to mutter under his breath.

Karai watched, waiting for answers.

Shredder placed a hand gently on her shoulder, his voice lowering. “Come. Stockman will begin testing soon. With this… our truth begins.”

Karai’s gaze followed the blood sample, unaware of the deeper deception behind her father’s words.

Things couldn’t be said the same in Stockman’s lab.

Screens flickered with static light, illuminating the cluttered workspace of Baxter Stockman. He adjusted his glasses, scribbling hurried notes as another monitor flashed red, another failure.

The creature in the glass chamber twitched once… then went still.

Stockman sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Another one. Another complete waste, Unbelievable.” he muttered, disgust and fatigue seeping into his voice. Another test failed. Another subject dead.

He rubbed his face with trembling fingers, exhaustion and disgust mixing in his expression. Then his gaze drifted toward the glowing canister resting on a nearby tray, a cylindrical container marked with four haunting letters.

T.C.R.I.

Its green light pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. It almost called to him. A solution to his failures. A shortcut to success. Stockman’s hand hovered over the canister, the green liquid swirling faintly. “Not again,” he whispered to himself. “No more of this madness. I’m a scientist, not a—” His voice faltered, his reflection in the glass catching his tired eyes.

“—Monster”

The truth was, without the mutagen, his tests were useless. But every time he used it, the results were worse. Unstable. Wrong.

He didn’t even know where Shredder had found such a substance — or what kind of people could create something so unpredictable, so alive. Whatever this mutagen was… it wasn’t meant for science.

It was meant for control.

He was about to dump the canister into a biohazard container, but he stopped himself. The test results blinked onto the nearest monitor, static lines and numbers flashing across the screen.

The result was the same. The same as before. Every experiment ended in failure, nothing but dead specimens and corrupted data. He looked at the canister again, and then at the computer. He ran another test and waited. Maybe this was the one… The test completed, and Stockman tensed as more words scrolled across the screen.

*ERROR.* The words were unmistakable. He’d run every test in the book, but there was no match. His experiments remained kept failing. Everything died.

”Nothing? Again?” he muttered, slamming a hand on the table. “I’m done with this madness. And i don’t need this stuff.”

Baxter Stockman was ready to dispose it for good when the doors slid open. Shredder stepped in, his presence casting a long shadow. Karai followed close behind, her gaze flicking curiously around the room.

“Master Shredder—!” Stockman spun around so fast his chair toppled over, his glasses nearly sliding off. “I—I wasn’t expecting you so soon!”

Shredder said nothing at first. He stepped forward, placing a small vial on the counter. Inside was a dark smear of blood.

“You will find where it comes from. What it contains. And most importantly…” His tone deepened. “Whether this blood carries any trace of human origin or if it is a deception.”

Stockman looked nervous. “R-right… of course, Master Shredder. It—it may take some time, you understand. DNA sequencing isn’t exactly—uh—instantaneous.” He gave a nervous laugh that died in his throat when Shredder didn’t react. Stockman’s face fell, and he gave a hurried nod. Shredder was intimidating, even more so when his voice went quiet.

He fumbled for a pipette and held the vial up to the light. “I’ve, uh, been doing… some research, you see,” he stammered, his nerves unraveling. “The mutagen—your mutagen—it’s… unpredictable. It doesn’t just mutate randomly, it… adapts.”

Shredder’s gaze sharpened. “Adapts?”

“Yes! It reacts to the environment, the host, even emotional stressors, it’s almost… alive.” He glance nervously at a cage in the corner. Inside, something buzzed violently against the bars, a grotesque, half-insect creature, its wings twitching.

Stockman stammered, stepping back from the cage as the mutant hissed at him. “What I'm trying to explain is. The mutagen chooses what to become. I can’t predict it anymore!”

Shredder’s patience thinned ignoring that excuse. He placed a hand on the vial, pressing it firmly into Baxter’s trembling fingers. “Then learn. Predict it. Master it. This blood may be the key to understanding what the Kraang failed to control.”

The mention of the Kraang made Stockman flinch. He’d heard that name whispered once before but never from Shredder’s own mouth. “Th-the Kraang?” he repeated softly, unsure if he was meant to hear that.

Shredder said nothing. His silence was enough to make Baxter look away.

Stockman turned back to his equipment, hands trembling as he prepared the sample. He didn’t know if the blood contained human DNA, animal DNA, or something far more complex. All he knew was that it made him uneasy.

He glanced back at Shredder's expectant face, and he forced himself to speak. He had to tell Shredder everything, or face the results. “And… if it truly contains both human and mutant DNA…”

“Then it will lead us to the one I seek,” Shredder interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “Hamato Yoshi.”

Karai looked up sharply, her hands tightening into fists.

Baxter nodded weakly, already pulling the vial under the microscope. “R-right. I’ll begin immediately Master Shredder…”

Shredder turned away. “Do not disappoint me, Doctor.”

The doors slid closed behind him, leaving Stockman alone with the vial and the thing in the cage, still thrumming its wings impatiently. Shredder turned away again, Karai at his side. The two left Stockman to his work, neither speaking as they headed back to the center of Shredder’s fortress.

Karai looked up at her father, curious now. But she understood her father's distrust of the scientist, and why he needed to know more... if the mutant had human origins.

Baxter took a deep breath, staring at the crimson sample beneath the glass. He’d do what the Shredder asked, and as he looked at the cells, he already felt a rush of fear.

The readings were strange and unstable, almost alive. The cells pulsed in a way that made his skin crawl.

Mutagen.

He knew that energy anywhere, that unnatural reaction between cells and chemical chaos. He wanted to push the vial away, to walk out and never come back. The last time he used mutagen, it turned living things into nightmares. Things that screamed.

And yet… the Shredder demanded results.

Against his better judgment, he adjusted the microscope’s focus. The data began to scroll across the monitor erratic at first, then aligning into something coherent.

The blood… it wasn’t just mutated. It actually carried human DNA. And not just any human.

Hamato Yoshi.

He ran the scan again. Same result. Human… and turtle. Both perfectly merged — stabilized by mutagen itself. The fusion was seamless, deliberate.

It confirmed everything the Shredder had suspected.

This turtle’s blood carried the DNA of Hamato Yoshi.

Baxter staggered back, the glow of the screen reflecting off his glasses. Whatever this meant… the Shredder had been right all along.

And that terrified him more than anything.

(to be continued)