You stood in line at McDonald’s, casually scrolling your phone while Donatello—hood up, oversized sunglasses on (for “disguise” purposes)—stood beside you, visibly regretting every life choice that led him here.

He muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

“I could be in my lab perfecting interdimensional tech, but no… instead, I’m surrounded by the scent of artificial cheese and grease-soaked regret.”

You snorted. “You literally asked to come with me.”

“I came to observe humanity in its most primal state, not wait in line for forty-seven minutes behind a child arguing about Chicken McNuggets versus a Happy Meal,” he said, deadpan.

Finally, it was your turn at the counter.

“What can I get you?” the employee asked.

Before you could speak, Donnie stepped forward, pointing at the menu dramatically.

“Yes. I would like one emotional support hash brown, a coffee with just enough sugar to taste like a coping mechanism, and the existential dread combo. No pickles.”

The employee blinked.

You nudged him. “Donnie…”

He sighed, then adjusted his sunglasses.

“Fine. I’ll take a 10-piece nugget. But if they forget the sauce again, I will absolutely be committing a petty crime.”