Chapter Text
Donnie startled when an obnoxious beeping pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked across the lab to see a flashing light under a pile of unfinished projects.
He huffed, rolling his chair over and digging out the device.
It was his mutagen tracker.
And it found another canister of mutagen!
Donnie stared at it for a moment before checking the time. It was almost 11pm, which meant it was dark out.
He quickly considered his options, deciding to go after the canister.
He grabbed his Bo, and a duffel bag, and stepped out of the lab. Leo was in the living room with Mikey and Raph, watching TV.
“Hey, I’m going out real quick.” Donnie announced.
Leo turned. “Where to?”
“I picked up a rogue mutagen signal. I think it’s a canister we missed.”
Leo tilted his head a bit. “You want me to come with you?”
Donnie waved his hand. “Nah, It’s not moving or anything, so I don’t think anything has been mutated. It’ll be quick there and back, I’m sure of it.”
“How sure?” Leo crossed his arms over the back of the couch, looking at the brainy brother skeptically.
“94%. I have my shell cell if I need anything.” He waved the device before settling it into his belt.
“Let 'im go, fearless.” Raph pitched in. “we haven’t seen ear or tail of any of our enemies in over a month”
“Alright.” Leo still seemed a bit unsure.
“Don’t worry Leo!” Donnie smiled. “I got this! I love you guys!”
Mikey and Raph chirped their responses, and Leo waved, before turning back around and settling back into the couch cushions.
Donnie grabbed the stealth bike and drove off to his location, the familiar scent of home replaced by the pungent sewer smell that he’d gotten used to.
Donnie got to the location and hid the bike behind a nearby dumpster out of habit. He climbed out, and pulled out the tracking device as it continued to beep loudly, grating against his ears.
He looked around the alley, and followed the beeping as it became more rapid.
Then a long tone, pointed directly at a different dumpster.
Donnie huffed, trying to get a better read on where in the dumpster it could be, before coming up blank and making the decision to climb in.
A horrible decision, really.
It was smelly, and something sticky clung to his legs and arms as he dug through it, looking for any hint of the glowing green substance.
He found nothing in the dumpster, and climbed out, slightly aggravated.
He looked at the device. Maybe it was broken?
He glared at the dumpster as if it would give him answers, but it did not.
Then he sat down, pulling out a mini tool-kit to see if he could fix the tracker.
And he noticed a pulsing green light under the dumpster.
Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that?
Donnie got up, setting the device down and peeked under the container, and lo and behold, a mint-condition mutagen canister that was completely full wedged between the building wall and the edge of the dumpster.
It was a gold mine! He’d needed more to offer mutants around the city that needed it, but hadn’t found any in a while. He excitedly got to work using his staff to push the dumpster away from the wall and wrestle the canister out.
He held it excitedly for a moment, tapping his fingers on it, before unzipping the duffel bag he had and placing it and the tracker safely inside.
He pulled out his shell cell and texted Leo.
Mission accomplished, heading home!
Kk, see you in a bit.
Donnie replaced the cell in his belt and moved to return to the stealth bike when he heard something.
He froze for a moment, catching a downwind scent of wood, steel, and… kevlar?
His brain buffered for a moment. Kevlar? What in the world used Kevlar?
Bulletproof vests used kevlar.
Who used bulletproof vests?
Police, that’s who.
Donnie dove behind the dumpster, out of sight of the street view.
Police used guns, which would explain the steel.
But what about the wood? What kind of police guns used wood?
Donnie caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, a misplaced reflection.
He looked up and locked eyes with someone on a nearby roof, aiming a rifle with a wooden handle right at him.
Shit-
As soon as the man recognized he’d been spotted, he took the shot, and Donnie bounded back out of the way.
A dart stuck to the ground.
Double shit-
Donnie ran, knowing he was going in the opposite direction of the stealth bike, but finding the latter option much less likely to succeed.
Success meant not getting caught.
And he was being chased (that much was clear by the noisy stomping behind him.)
He was being hunted.
Donnie wound through the alleys with expert precision. He wouldn’t get caught, not now, not ever. He’d trained his whole life to avoid that kind of thing.
Plus, if he had no idea who these people were, his brothers sure as hell didn’t know. Without that information, they would be less likely to find him given the concept of his capture. It dropped lower with the notion that he would be unable to aid in their search.
Dilemma: low chance of being found and rescued if caught.
Solution: Don’t get captured, under any circumstances.
Calculating options…
Donnie took a split second of space after rounding a corner to shoot an SOS message to the group chat, along with a quick access link to the tracker in his shell cell, so they’d know his location.
Then he dropped the dead weight, discarding his duffel bag carefully into a pile of trash bags. He’d circle back for it later, when he was safe.
That made him lighter, quicker, more agile. And the buzzing of his cell against his plastron told him that backup was on his way.
He knew he was on a time limit. Unlike Mikey and Leo, Donnie and Raph were better sprinters, with short bursts of energy and lower stamina. Donnie buried himself in the biological research of that at one point and found it was dangerous for him and Raph to run for longer amounts of time, as their bodies produced lactic acid in their muscles and the build-up could be detrimental.
He could sprint for a short amount of time, but he was fast, faster than Leo and Mikey, and faster than Raph when he wanted to be due to his longer legs.
He slid around another corner and was nearly blinded by a flashlight that shone directly into his face.
Triple shit-
He spun, and dashed the other way, running by more shouting pursuers, and spotting a fire escape ladder that he swiftly scrambled up, onto the rooftops.
Then he processed, and slightly panicked.
There’s no cover on the rooftops, you meathead.
Donnie silently cursed to himself and ran across the roof, jumping onto the next one. The muscles in his thighs began to ache, symbolizing he was nearing the end of his time limit.
Push through, get home.
Donnie ran, and jumped, and slid out of the way of more incoming darts, but something was telling him to stop. Maybe it was his body screaming at him, his flight instincts and panic blocking out the signals and only allowing the ever present urge to stop to leak through.
Or maybe it was something else.
Needless to say, he ignored it.
Push through, get home.
He felt a sting on his shoulder, and spared a glance to see the fluffy red dart sticking into his skin.
I lost count of the shits-
It didn’t take immediate effect, he noted, which was good. It gave him a quick minute to find a hiding place. He pulled it out and kept moving.
He slid back down into an alley, looking around frantically for a manhole. He needed to get underground. His brothers would find him there.
He stopped for too long, and his body caught up with his head, shooting fire up his thighs and calves. He stumbled, noticing the slowly increasing weight in his limbs.
No, no, no, not now!
Finally he dove into a nearby dumpster, curling into the back, burying under some of the trashbags. His brain fuzzed a bit and the growing desire to sleep pressed into the back of his mind.
He quieted his breathing, hearing shouts and nearby commotion.
Don’t find me, Don’t find me.
His fingers and toes went numb, the sound of his own heartbeat increasing his panic as he prayed the pursuers couldn’t hear it.
But at the same time, his panic was settling deep into his gut, calming itself just like his body was doing. His head drooped, but he clenched his teeth.
Stay awake, fight it, stay awake.
Push through, get home.
And as he lost feeling in his extremities, and found himself unable to move, or even think any more, his shell cell went off and the ringtone shot violently through his head