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His brothers knew more than they were letting on.
Not about his condition, or at least, his amnesia. They were clearly clueless on that front. From their perspective, he just went to his lab and then to bed like any normal night, and then the next morning poof: seven months gone.
Except it wasn’t any normal night. Or at least… not the normal he knew. Some kind of new normal that entered during the past seven months. He didn’t miss how his brothers looked at him differently. They looked scared.
Not of him, but for him.
Because he has amnesia, they said. But that doesn’t explain all of it.
The whispers were another thing, and they always fell silent when he walked in. It irked him. He didn’t like being coddled, and he was very much getting the impression they were coddling him.
But for what? He wasn’t injured.
Except for maybe his brain. Mysteriously.
He took note that the first morning he felt absolutely shit, like he’d just been in the fight of his life. But they hadn’t been in a fight the night before. That was one clue. His aches and strains seemed to be healing normally, again, like anything else gained from strenuous exercise. He had no bruises or cuts or tender areas that suggested he was hit anywhere. Not even around his head… and he checked very thoroughly. No signs of a concussion, and he didn’t even have a headache.
The doctors that Splinter and Draxum dragged him to were buzzing over brain scans and mystic imaging. So far it suggested that the source of his issue was in his hippocampus (duh. The memory problem is in the memory center, what a complete surprise he thought sarcastically).
So. A normal night with no big fights. A morning with his body feeling like he’d gone ten rounds against Ghost Bear. 7 months gone from his memory without any other side effects. He was with his brothers, then went to his lab, then went to bed.
His lab would be a place to start.
He scoured it top to bottom, looking for anything out of place. What experiments were he last working on? Any signs of an accident? Of foul play? Of an intruder?
His security measures were all still in check, except for his cameras. Immediately he ran a log to identify the time the cameras went down, and was shocked to discover that they had been off for months.
He shut them down himself ages ago.
The motion, heat, bio, and other sensors were all still functioning. Just no video or audio recordings.
Why would he do that?
There were bits and pieces of projects he didn’t recognize, and stranger still, they hardly formed a coherent picture. They were all random, half-finished, barely touched, small things. No big designs, no overarching theme or goal with all the plans and notes. It looked like haphazard tinkering.
Nothing jumped out to him as extreme, nor jogged his memory.
The Pizza Fun Box was clean.
He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned it. But it was dazzling and tidy, definitely the tidiest part of the lab. Even skipping the last seven months it had been ages since Donnie had touched it, and he recalled it being buried in the corner of his lab by many other pressing projects and greater needs. In fact, hasn’t he been raiding it for spare parts over the years?
He inspected it more closely. It was fully intact. Functional, probably.
A suspicion started blooming in his gut, small, but heavy. He didn’t want to explore it just yet. He dreaded the implications.
The rest of the lab held nothing unusual. He had two new clues.
Okay. Okay, time to see if they lined up.
He ran the energy logs on the Pizza Fun Box. Sure enough, it was fired up the night he lost his memory.
Who… who put him in there?
No signs of any intruders.
His fingers shook as he brought up the code to see what was done to him.
“Deleted?”
Nothing. Blank. Blank. A gap in the computer’s memory, though much smaller than his own. He dug deeper. Still nothing. Deeper still. Found a self-destruct sequence for any commands run from that night.
He growled in frustration. This was very thorough. Was it the Purple Dragons’ doing? Leo had asked him about Kendra that first morning…
The computer blinked at him. The code vanished and a message appeared.
STOP NOW
Donnie whirled around, as if the source of the message was in the room with him. Still alone.
The message continued.
STOP NOW
STOP NOW
STOP NOW
PLEASE
SAFE 2-9-24
He checked the code behind the message, hoping to find a hacker. Instead, he found it was a trigger set up if someone got deep enough into investigating the missing code in the Pizza Fun Box. There was a hum in his bones, his body picking up the scent of a clue trail, of answers.
Of Knowing.
Safe 2-9-24. The night in question. Did that mean he became safe? Someone else is safe? His family?
He smacked his forehead. There was one spot in the lab he hadn’t checked yet.
Donnie got up and walked to the safe. To his surprise, the code was the same one he remembered. It was definitely due for a change, then.
The only new things inside, right on top, was the old family video camera and an envelope. The camera was from the late 90’s or early 2000’s – a bulky monstrosity that had just crossed into the digital age. He placed it on his desk.
The envelope was thick, like it contained a very long letter. The front of it read: If You Ever Think You Want to Remember.
Donnie’s heart pounded. He closed the safe and sat down at the desk, gingerly opening it.
He had to know.
Several sheets of paper were crammed inside the envelope. He unfolded them and was half-surprised to see it was all in his handwriting. Nothing was typed. There was a pen at the very bottom, too.
The very first line read: I know we have trouble trusting recordings right now.
Donnie stopped. He eyed the video camera.
I know we have trouble trusting recordings right now. But I have to believe myself. If I don’t believe myself, what am I left with? So, for evidence: I am writing this in ink so that you can analyze the handwriting. The pen I’ll include so you can test for DNA and fingerprints. You can also test for the same on this video camera. The footage I’ll leave on it alone, as it’s too old-school for editing on it and you won’t trust a file, anyway.
What the actual shell? Donnie frowned. Did something make him paranoid in the last few months?
Gingerly, a robotic arm extended from his shell and picked up the pen from the envelope. He began scanning it and the video camera. The pen had only his fingerprints and DNA. The video camera had some more ancient traces of his family using it over the years, but all the fresh stuff was his.
So what was wrong with recordings? Donnie opened the side viewer and navigated to the menu. He pressed Play on the most recent video.
His own, tired, eyes looked back at him.
He almost dropped it in surprise. Past Donnie adjusted the camera for a bit, centering it on this very desk and chair, paper before him. He frowned, looking at something just to the left of the camera, then reached up and jostled it some more.
Flipping the viewer around, so he couldn’t see himself.
He looked… terrible.
Donnie was having a hard time believing this was him just a couple weeks ago. He had huge, dark, bags under his bloodshot eyes, like he barely slept a wink. His purple hoodie swallowed him up, and from his wrists poking out from the sleeves he looked frail and thin. He was hunched inwards, as if cold.
Present Donnie rubbed his wrist. He’d noticed he’d lost weight. It was another one of those things his family tiptoed around.
Past Donnie picked up the pen and began writing. After a while, Present Donnie realized this was a full recording of himself composing the letter. He looked back down at the pages.
I am about to erase all memories predating July 15th, 2023. Knowing myself, not knowing and therefore finding out will be my biggest risk. I must believe myself: THIS IS FOR THE BEST. THE ALTERNATIVE IS HELL.
Donnie looked back at the recording. He didn’t look… healthy.
Imperative information first:
DO NOT attempt to retrieve memories EVER.
If you ever encounter her Kendra again, d-
“D-destroy her.”
Donnie jumped, goosebumps flashing down his arms to hear his own voice. Past Donnie in the recording was staring at the paper before him. “Write it,” he said to himself. “How hard can it be? It’s what needs to happen… needs to be done… d-doubt has no…” he grimaced and rubbed his temples hard.
Donnie looked at the paper in his hands. If you ever encounter her Kendra again, don’t believe her without solid evidence.
He watched himself painstakingly struggle to write that for a while. (How’s Kendra doing? Leo asked.)
That pit of horror in his gut grew larger. It was now an uncomfortable stone squeezing against his insides. He kept reading.
You have been brainwashed.
You are in recovery.
You have a bunch of false memories of your life planted there by… her.
So your brothers tell you.
“Damn it,” someone whispered.
It is so confusing to confirm which events did happen and which didn’t. Your brothers love you. Your brothers hit you. Kendra is your friend. Kendra is your enemy. You are rescued. You are in danger.
Whichever the truth, you have been recently abused.
Donnie set the paper down. Took a long, slow, deep breath.
The aches in his body were back.
Past Donnie was scribbling fast, rocking back and forth.
You have evidence in favor of your brothers, beyond recordings. Your ninpo. You have no antagonistic memories of Casey. The timeline works for them. The timeline can be studied. If you were truly kidnapped July 15th and subjected to… brainwashing, then you can reset things. Go back to a save point. Reboot. Your memories remaining after the erasure will be the true ones.
What is the loss of seven months compared to a confused lifetime?
Past Donnie began muttering.
I must believe myself. I must trust myself. Who can I trust if not myself? I have to trust myself.
“Do. Not. Attempt. To. Regain. Your. Lost. Memories.”
If you have found peace, keep it.
Pleadingly signed,
Donatello
His signature was at the bottom. Donnie looked at the video and saw himself staring off into space for a long moment. Then, with a shake, he reached over and jostled the camera. The video ended.
Present Donnie sat there for a long time.
Seven months was a huge chunk of time. He figured he missed a lot but this was… a LOT.
Kendra allegedly kidnapped him July 15th?
And he still looked like that seven months later?
And brainwashing really works? No nanochip, no spell, just sheer…
… how long did she have him?
His breathing quickened. All of his insides were pooling towards that rock.
What all did she do? How did he get turned into that broken, fearful, doubting creature on the video?
What happened to him? What happened to him, what happened to him what happenedtohim-
I must believe myself.
I must trust myself.
Do not attempt to regain your lost memories.
Why would he do something so drastic? What would make it that this was the best solution?
I must believe myself. This is for the best.
He could reconfigure the Pizza Fun Box. Now that he had an idea of what he did he could reverse engineer it. And he could find a way to undo the effects.
His own effects.
I have to believe myself.
Donnie pushed away from the desk. He walked.
“Hey, Leo?”
His brother was lying down in the dark of his room, but since the sleeping mask was on his forward he had to be awake. Donnie was proven correct when he sat up, peering at Donnie through the darkness.
“Hey, what’s up?” It was that same tone all his brothers used now: polite, warm, inviting, yet tinged with alert caution.
Donnie drifted inside and sat on the foot of his bed. He shook his head when Leo reached for a light. “Dark is fine.”
“Dark is completely fine. What brings you by?”
“I know what happened to my memories.”
Leo sucked in a breath and held it.
“To clarify: I don’t have those memories. It’s still all a blank void. But I know why I don’t have them.”
“And why is that?” Goddamn his brother for his perfected neutral-casual tone.
“I erased them myself. And left myself a note.”
Leo finally exhaled. “What did the note say?”
Donnie sighed. He wiggled a little closer to his brother, who shared the fuzzy blanket with him.
“It didn’t go into details. But it was very clear that I should not undo what I did.”
He waited for his brother’s response, listening in the dark to his breathing. When Leo spoke, he was quiet. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“So you think the blank void is a good thing?”
“It’s complicated.” Leo looked at him. “On the one hand, this is the most you’ve been, well, you in ages. It’s… encouraging to see. I want to believe that you can just erase trauma like that, but…”
“But it has to be imperfect,” Donnie finished. “I may have rewired my brain, but the body keeps score in other ways. Memory is a fickle thing. Some olfactory trigger could set off a sudden flashback I’ll have no reference for. The aches returned, at least, for now. I could be a time bomb.”
“You’re not a time bomb.”
“Oh really?” Donnie cocked an eyebrow. “And what if we run into Kendra?”
“We won’t.”
“But what if we do and-”
“We won’t,” Leo insisted. “She’s not allowed back in New York.”
This took Donnie by surprise. But of course, he’s here in the lair. He was ‘rescued’ so of course they know who the culprit was. And of course they would deal with her.
“She’s not in New York anymore?”
“Mikey and I handled her.” He looked Donnie in the eye. “And if she’s alive and does try to come back, we’ll handle her for good.”
If she’s alive… To hear his cavalier brother speak so darkly it almost disturbed him as much as watching his pitiful past self.
“What happened to me?” he whispered. He leaned against him.
Leo returned his contact, shoulder to shoulder.
“You were missing for ten weeks,” he said. “We were able to rescue you after another two. We don’t know the full extent of what you went through while she had you. At the end she had you running missions for her and your ninpo was critically low – like nosebleeds and passing out levels low. We learned from Jace and Jeremy that in the beginning there was a feed. Just a constant video feed of… false memories or something like that. I don’t know how long that went on.” Leo fell quiet.
I know we have trouble trusting recordings right now.
“I guess that makes sense,” Donnie whispered.
His brother made an odd noise. When he spoke, his voice sounded heavier, like it would crack under the weight of the words. “Donnie… I don’t know what happened in the middle. After the feed. Between the missions. None of us have a full picture. It’s not that you didn’t… or couldn’t talk about it. It’s… sometimes, especially in the beginning after we got you back… you would say, or do, something that… raised a whole bunch of questions and alarms all at once… and fuck, that’s frankly what scares me most about you erasing your memories. You’re the only one who knows what she did to you, and now you don’t anymore. And I’m so glad to see you so… yourself, but I’m quaking that we’re unprepared for something, or not addressing a major thing we don’t know we need to address.”
More questions. I want to, I have to KNOW.
I have to trust myself.
“Has my life been in danger for the past four months?”
Leo startled. “What?”
“Has my life been in danger for the past four months? Am I going to suddenly keel over and die?”
Leo caught his drift immediately. It didn’t elicit a smirk and a pun, but he dragged his hand over his face. “No. Physically, you’re out of the woods.”
“Alright then. I think all the other bridges can be crossed later.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think…” and was Donnie really about to say this? “I think I don’t want to know. At least not now. Whatever imperfections or triggers we encounter – we’ll handle them as they come up. I think this experiment is still in progress.”
“Experiment?”
“The Donnie who went through all that was adamant that I do not try to recover my memories, ever. But I have some context that he doesn’t: these current, new memories I’m making right now. Of discovering my own erasure. Of learning in a different way what occurred over the last several months. I think now would be too soon to make any attempts, but maybe a year from now? Or two years? With more, fresh, memories under my belt? Maybe we can poke that bear when it’s smaller, further away. At any rate, I’ve already proven the first part of his hypothesis right.”
“What’s that?”
Donnie settled his head against the wall.
“That my brothers love me. That Kendra is the enemy. That I’ve been rescued. He said that the memories that remained after the erasure would be the true ones.”
“And you believe him?” That cautious, careful tone was back, but with a dash of hope, too.
“Yeah,” Donnie nodded. “I trust myself.”