Chapter Text
Woo! Another successful patrol in the books.”
Leo was the first into the lair, followed eagerly by his brothers, with Raph balancing four pizzas in his arms. Donnie was the last in, muffling a yelp as his battle shell zapped him for the umpteenth time. Getting slammed into a brick wall by a few burglars is never pleasant. His stomach growled as he watched his brothers head for the kitchen. But as his malfunctioning gear reminded him, repairs needed to be done.
Donnie hobbled back to his lab, slamming on the shell’s release switch the minute the door shut behind him. He let the contraption fall to the floor as he massaged his shoulders, tender from the wayward sparks. He carried the battle shell over to his desk and scanned it with his goggles. Nothing serious, just a few fried wires and damaged hardware.
He booted up his computer and assembled his tools across his desk when he heard the door behind him creak open.
“Hey, Donnie,” Mikey greeted.
The softshell groaned at the interruption.
“Not now, ‘Angelo. I need to get started on these repairs.”
Mikey trotted over to the desk, undeterred by Donnie’s statement.
“Just wanted to check on you. You seemed kinda banged up on the walk back. And you’re missing pizza.”
Donnie rolled his eyes.
“While I appreciate the concern, dear brother, I am perfectly capable of assessing my own injuries.” He stood from his chair, allowing Mikey to scan his body. “As you can see, I have sustained nothing more than a couple bruises and scrapes that will fade on their own in a few days.”
Mikey cocked his head.
“And were you also going to count the giant gash on the side of your face?”
Donnie paused, then brushed the back of his hand along his cheek, hissing when the skin stung. He drew back his hand and examined the fresh blood staining his glove. When did that happen?
“Can you at least let me help you clean that up a bit?” Mikey asked.
Donnie sighed, his gaze lingering on the awaiting battle shell on his desk.
“I suppose.”
--
Donnie never liked the med bay much. The cold fluorescent lighting and the sharp stench of antiseptic were enough to send him crawling under the gurney and never coming out. But here he was, patiently holding himself in place as Mikey cleaned the debris off his face. The things you put up with for brothers. He swung his feet back and forth, trying to not think about the burning on his cheek.
“Can you turn your head a little to the left?” Mikey asked.
As Donnie pivoted, he caught glimpse of a mirror standing behind him. His eyes widened as the faded outline of three claw marks along his shell assaulted his vision. His breath quickened and he jerked his head forward, interrupting Mikey’s work. The box turtle set the cotton ball in his hand down and stepped back.
“Hey, what’s going on, Dee?” Mikey’s eyes trailed above his brother and locked on the reflection behind them, with Donnie’s scarred shell front and center.
“Oh.” He placed his hand on Donnie’s shoulder. “Do you want me to cover that up for you?” Donnie nodded, averting Mikey’s gaze.
The younger turtle threw a spare sheet over the mirror and resumed his work. Donnie looked back in the direction of the mirror, the memory of his reflection still fresh. The two continued to sit in silence until Mikey declared the dressing done.
“Thanks,” Donnie murmured as he slunked off the gurney, eager to make his escape.
“Do they still hurt?”
Donnie stopped in his tracks at Mikey’s question. He squeezed his eyes shut as he became forced to once again acknowledge the scar tissue along his shell.
“It’s fine, Mikey. Just leave it alone,” Donnie said in a warning tone. He continued walking out of the medbay. To his dismay, Mikey followed him.
“I know you don’t like to talk about it much, and it’s pretty much healed, but don’t forget to let it breathe a bit, and also—”
“Thanks, Mikey, I got it!” Donnie balled his hands and rushed back to his lab.
The softshell grabbed his chair and fell into it with a huff. He stared at his monitor, unable to focus on any of the text on the screen. He hadn’t wanted to lash out at Mikey, but his brother never knew when to stop picking at something, did he?
It had been two months since the rise and fall of the Shredder. All four brothers had emerged stronger, sharper, and more connected to their heritage and each other.
But despite the victory, Donnie couldn’t help letting the losses of their first encounter with the beast cloud all feelings of triumph. With just a few swipes, all his tech was destroyed, his own personal weapon, even his own shell. Despite all the painstaking advancements he had made to his artillery and protective gear, it didn’t stand a chance against a monster fueled by mystic energy.
Donnie held his arm out in front of him and tried summoning his ninpo. A weak purple glow enveloped his hand before quickly petering out. He slammed his fist on the table and grabbed a nearby pair of pliers, turning to his damaged shell.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of how easily the mystic arts came to his brothers. Even ninpo was still a mystery to him when he wasn’t following his family’s lead in battle. Without his tech as a starting point, mystic energy just read like greek to him.
But he couldn’t let that get to him. He still had his tech, and his genius was greater than all of his brothers combined. If he just kept upgrading his defenses, no matter how much his brothers grew into their powers, he could still keep up, no matter how far his mystic abilities lagged behind. He just had to keep trying.
---
If there was one thing the Foot Clan always prided itself on, it was the lengths it would go to accomplish its goals. That, Yudai Takeshi at least had to give the group credit for. But the serpent yokai had to part ways the moment the Shredder became out of control. He knew a losing team when he saw one.
Takeshi lounged in his study, surrounded by a mix of dusty tomes touting knowledge in both conventional sciences and the mystic arts. For years, he had developed his own mystic powers, turning to engineering and the like once the arts no longer suited him.
But there was a connection between the two sets of disciplines, he knew it. If he could just get them to work together, he could unlock more power than that blasted clan could ever have dreamed of.
Now all he needed was help. He had all the muscle he needed after the Foot clan’s dispersal. Being a popular clan member had its perks when recruiting a few new acolytes. But he was getting nowhere close to chasing his goals on his own.
The Baron was the first who came to mind, but Takeshi quickly dismissed it. He was a lost cause the moment he defected to the Hamato. And the Hamato themselves? Sore, misshapen excuses for the clan they claim to represent. They couldn’t make a dent in the Shredder without relying on the backs of those who came before them, just lobbing mystic weapons at whatever problem they encountered.
Except for one.
The yokai concentrated on all the Foot clan’s run-ins with the so-called “Mad Dogs.” Behind all their mystic tricks, there was always technology present, and it was wielded by the purple one. He fought using his own creations. Even more importantly, those creations used both technology and mystic energy simultaneously. If he could just get the turtle to show him his knowledge, they would be an unstoppable force.
But could the boy’s loyalty to the Hamato prove a barrier?
Takeshi conjured a screen of mystic energy, then projected onto it his memories of one of the warehouse battles. As he studied the scenes in front of him, he noticed how the purple turtle never led. His base strength was also slightly weaker than the others, bolstered by his extensive weaponry. The yokai fiddled with one of the many bejeweled rings adorning his fingers. It was a risk, but there was potential.
Takeshi rang a small bell on a nearby table, and two former foot soldiers stumbled into the room. They knelt at the yokai’s feet.
“What do you need, boss?” One stammered.
Takeshi gestured to the mystic screen over the fireplace.
“Do you see that purple turtle there?”
The two soldiers nodded.
“Bring him to me, alive and unharmed. I have a proposition for him. Understood?”
As the two yokai scurried away, Takeshi returned to his chair, deep in thought. His plan grew clearer in his mind, and he smiled to himself as he mentally ran through the preparations required.
He couldn’t wait to greet his new assistant.