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Collections/Challenges: Whumptober 2026, Day 9
Prompt(s): Infection, Lab Rat, Quarantine, “What if we’re the only ones? What if theres no survivors?”
Characters: Donnie, OMC (x4), minor/mentioned—Leo, Raph, Mikey
Rating: Teen
Summary: Donnie and his brothers have been kidnapped. By who and for what, he can’t say. He was the only one awake, and no one else was around to give him any answers.
All he knows is that he can’t move, they’ve all been infected with some sort of virus, and they might be the only ones left.
Great. Really—this was just how he wanted to spend his night.
———————
Donnie would never not be astounded by the situations they found themselves in.
I mean, really, they’ve gone to space, other dimensions, hell they’ve even time travelled! There’s nothing they hadn’t done. Yet, somehow, they still managed to get kidnapped by lowly, good-for-nothing villains. Just as they had now.
Donnie and his brothers had been grabbed while on patrol; hit in the neck with tranq darts before they even knew what happened. The last thing Donnie remembered was pulling the needle out and cursing, collapsing into a heap near his brothers a second later.
When Donnie finally woke up, he found their predicament was… unfortunate, to say the least. He was suspended, wires and IVs sticking out of almost every square inch of his skin. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was locked inside a glass tube, hanging by his shell. It didn’t take long for him to spot his brothers; he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or horrified.
Leo was in a similar position with all the wires and IVs, only he was chained to a table with the pleasure of lying down—unlike Donnie. From what he could see, the older turtle was unconscious, almost peaceful.
Raph and Mikey were both the lucky ones. If you could call them that, anyway. They were both chained in a cell directly across from Donnie. Their right ankles had large metal cuffs, and the cell itself was glass with steel bars across the outside, a small keyhole being the only indicator that the cell even opened. They both seemed to be awake, but they looked drugged. Raph was sitting shell to the wall (Mikey leaning on his shoulder), but his eyes were droopy and his hands hung limply at his sides. The same went for Mikey, only his mouth was open. The youngest was probably two seconds away from drooling on the hothead. Whatever they took must’ve been strong since that would usually get a reaction out of Raph, but right now Donnie wasn’t even sure the turtle knew where he was.
So, clearly, Donatello was the only one awake and coherent, but that did fuck all when he was chained up and couldn’t move.
He wiggled his hands and legs. They responded, but their movements were sluggish, slow. They must’ve injected him with something to stop him from escaping—likely the same thing as his brothers—but the real question was what.
Unfortunately, time ticked by slowly. No one came in. Leo didn’t wake up. Raph and Mikey didn’t become any more coherent—but Donnie knew something was off.
It started with his breathing. At first, he thought it was the pressure from being strung up, but it couldn’t be. His lungs seemed to spasm, tightening with every inhale until his breathing was just as slow as his brother’s.
Donnie felt his heart drop to his stomach, forcing himself to look at Raph again. He tried to focus, analyzing the turtle, and it confirmed his new assumption. His older brother was barely breathing, his forehead covered in sweat—despite the fact that turtles didn’t sweat. Even with the dim lights in the cell, he was able to make out a slight yellow undertone in his skin.
Was he—were they infected by something?
He turned his gaze to Leo, the IVs. Most looked normal, but there was one that caught Donnie’s attention. Pale, a light, off-white cream colour, half empty. Could that be it?
He looked around at his own IVs and sure enough, he spotted a bag that looked identical to Leo’s, only his was still close to full.
He hung his head, mind racing, his body slow. They needed to get out, but how? What were they injecting them with? Was it deadly? Would it kill them?
Donnie didn’t know. Donnie couldn’t say. He could only assume Mikey and Raph had been given the full dose and Leo was well on his way to being next. Donnie was the only one who could do something, but—could he? He couldn’t move his hands above his head, how would he manage to do anything?
Another ten minutes passed, maybe more. The IV had drained down to half now, and Leo’s was a quarter done, the older turtle taking on the slight yellow pallor Raph had. He wasn’t awake—who knows if or when he would be—but he’d started twitching too. Small jerky movements, like his body was trying to fight off whatever substance this was.
Donnie’s head was going fuzzy. He could still think but everything was lagging, his vision doubling with the slightest movement. He felt high, or drunk. Staticky. What could he do?
Another ten minutes. Donnie was out of it. He’d never felt like this—like the worst sickness in the world paired with the worst high. His body didn’t feel real, his veins burned, he could barely move. Holding his head up to look around at his brothers was exhausting, glancing at his IV hurt his neck, everything was spinning and he couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t know where it would lead. He didn’t know what to do.
He had to do something, right? But what?
He heard voices at some point, but he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not. A few minutes later and he realized he wasn’t. Four men decked out in hazmat suits and respirators stepped into the room, walking over to Leo. Donnie wanted to scream, tell them to fuck off, leave him alone, anything, but all he could manage was slightly heavier breathing.
He watched them disconnect the IVs, taking the now empty bag of whatever away. They grabbed him, walked over to the same cell Raph and Mikey were in, and set him down hard. Leo didn’t move. Raph looked up but he acted as though the four men didn’t exist. (Was he even coherent?) Then they put a chain on Leo’s foot, attaching it to the same wall as the other two.
They stepped out of the cell, talking amongst themselves. Donnie thought for sure they’d be leaving but they came over to him instead. His eyes tracked every movement, watched one of them tap on the glass like he was a zoo animal, and despite everything in his body wanting to do something, he couldn’t.
“The virus seems to be working well,” one said, walking up to the other guy who’d tapped on the glass. “It’s strange that he’s conscious, but the boss did say it might affect them all differently.”
The glass guy snorted. “Yeah, conscious seems like a stretch. He’s aware, sure, but what can he do? He’s just a helpless mutant.”
One of the guys in the back crossed his arms. Donnie was struggling to keep his gaze on the person talking—the conversation was moving too fast for him to follow—but still, he tried. “Don’t be so cocky. If we hadn’t hit them with tranq darts they probably would’ve kicked your ass.”
The glass guy snorted. Donnie decided he didn’t like him very much. “Yeah, but now what are they? Helpless. They can’t do shit.”
The fourth spoke up from behind them. “You said that about the last batch too, and look how that turned out. The monkey almost killed you.”
Monkey? Did they have the professor?
“‘Almost’ being the keyword.” The glass guy scowled. “Besides, don’t act like you don’t know what happened to him and the gator after that. They can’t do anything now.”
The second guy shook his head. “You’re too cocky. You need to respect these things.”
“They’re mutants,” glass guy snarled. “The only respect I’ll give them is that of a cockroach under my foot. Oh, what I’d give to lay a hand—”
The third guy spoke up again. Donnie was finding it really hard to pay attention. “Yeah, you say that, but if you touched them you’d get infected too, and then what? You’ll get quarantined. Maybe even die. Don’t be daft—leave them alone.”
The glass guy finally backed off. “You’re all too morally righteous. They’re not human. Besides, I think if I touched one of them even without the virus I’d catch a disease.”
The four walked away, their voices turning into a mess of chatter until the door finally shut behind them, cutting them off. Donnie was terrified. Not that he could show it, but he knew they were fucked. If they somehow subdued the Mutanimals—the professor, of all people—their chances were slim to none.
Really, the only question was if they were the only ones left. Were there any survivors? What other mutants did they have? How far did this go?
Donnie didn’t know—and as the last of the virus drained into his veins, he wasn’t sure he ever would.