Work Text:
Cattle prod / shock / “You in there?”
The substitute for the day seemed pretty chill, as they usually were, and Donnie finished the busywork that their usual teacher had left with fifteen minutes left to spare. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through social media, trying to pass the time as he waited for the bell to ring.
He got down to five minutes left in class and the substitute stood up, letting everyone pack up early. “Oh, and…” he looked at his roll sheet. “Don Atello?”
Donnie set his phone down on the desk. “Yes?”
“Could you stay after for a second? I’m supposed to give you a message.” he sat back down, and the rest of the students started standing up, chatting.
Donnie shrugged. It wasn’t uncommon to be held back after class for questions or such, so despite the awkwardness of being held back by a sub, he stood with his backpack, waiting for the rest of the students to leave.
He stood there, staring at the substitute who hadn’t moved from his sitting down position, until the door clicked closed, blocking out the sounds of students outside the door bustling to class.
Then the man stood up, looking over at Donnie, who tilted his head. “So… what’s the message?”
The man walked around the desk slowly, and Donnie felt uneasy by his pace. “I was told to tell you that you had a message.”
“Yeah…” Donnie took a step back as he came closer. “And?”
“The message is from my boss.”
“The principal?” Donnie shifted from foot to foot, growing more anxious. This was weird, right? Anyone else would have found this weird too.
“No,” the man reached into his jacket. “Cynthia Utrom.”
And there it was, he was right.
Donnie jumped back when the man swung at him with a long stick, flinching at the loud crackling noise coming from the end of it. “Is that a cattle prod?! What the heck man!”
The man… agent jumped at him again, trying to shock him with the end of the device, but Donnie jumped over the row of desks, creating a buffer between them.
Unfortunately, he didn’t consider the shifting of weight on his shell with his backpack, and slipped on the slick linoleum. He fell onto his shoulder with a shout.
The agent scrambled over the desks, and Donnie sat up, scooting back until he hit the back wall of the classroom.
He was cornered. That wasn’t good.
He looked up at the agent, who held up the prod over him, about to finish him off (he likely wouldn’t die but he’d end up back at that damn machine which seemed about on equal standing.)
The moment was interrupted by a knock on the door, one of the other students Donnie figured. “Hello? Mr Wright? Can we come in?”
Donnie glanced at the agent, who did the same for him, then moved to shout at the door for help. The agent pounced, clamping a hand over Donnie’s snout and pushing the pole part of the prod up to his throat. He squirmed in the hold, hearing the students right outside the locked door talking amongst themselves.
The second bell rang, and everything fell still and quiet for a bit. Donnie hated the intrusive thought that he was late to his next class cause god forbid he have priorities.
The agent refused to release his iron grip until 15 minutes into the next class (and a tardy turned into an absence) and the sound of the class outside the door dissipated. Their teacher hadn’t arrived, so they had the hour free.
The agent looked back at Donnie, tightening his hand around the turtle's snout. “Say a single word and you’re getting shocked, got it?”
Donnie huffed at him. What, did he expect him to nod while he couldn’t move his head? What an idiot.
Idiotic enough to let go without an answer apparently, but the threat of the prod kept Donnie’s mouth firmly closed.
“We’re going to take a little field trip.” the agent said, grabbing Donnie’s forearm and hoisting him up to his feet. Then he pulled Donnie’s backpack off his shell, and took his phone, much to the turtle's dismay. He put both objects under the teacher’s desk and chauffeured Donnie out of the room, the prod hidden in his jacket sleeve on one arm, the other around Donnie’s shoulders.
A couple students passed, but no teachers, and no one gave the normal-looking interaction a second glance. Donnie was on his own.
Not for much longer, he found, as they exited one of the side doors, out to a parking lot, and walked towards a black van that Donnie did not want to have the opportunity to be inside.
“You’re missing three.” he pointed out, earning a glare from the agent.
“Shut up.” he warned. “We don’t need all four of you yet.”
Great . He was going to be shoved in a van alone to figure a way out. There were still around two hours left in the school day, so no one would even realize he was gone until then.
They arrived at the van and the agent switched to holding his arm again. “Get in.”
Donnie pulled against him, searching desperately for an opening. “Can’t I at least finish my classes?”
“Your attendance won’t matter.” the agent yanked him toward the back of the van. “ Get. in. ”
Donnie tried to pry his fingers off, pulling back. “No!”
The prod dropped from his other sleeve and into his hand and Donnie panicked, stepping forward enough to bite the agent’s hand. The man shouted, letting go, but also swinging the prod, which Donnie miraculously managed to duck under. He was free!
He turned and ran back toward the school.
“Hey!” the agent shouted, and Donnie heard something behind him click.
Then a shock shot through his body and he cried out, tumbling to the concrete. The shock stopped after a moment, but left him gasping and achy. They hadn’t thrown the prod had they?
He looked up enough to see the van drive up beside him, blocking his view of the school, a second agent in the driver's seat. The first walked up to Donnie, pocketing his taser and brandishing the prod once more. “Last time, freak. Get in.”
And for the last time, Donnie didn’t comply, and the prod was brought down onto his head, making his vision go black.