The dim glow of monitors and the soft hum of machines filled the air in Donnie’s lab, a stark contrast to the usual noise of the sewer lair. Tools, wires, and half-finished gadgets cluttered the workbench as Donatello hunched over his latest creation, the faint click and whirr of his hands at work echoing through the space. His brow furrowed in concentration, goggles perched on his head, and a faint smear of grease smudged his cheek.

“Medium-sized screwdriver,” he muttered, extending his hand without so much as a glance in your direction. His voice was calm, focused—like he was in the zone—but there was an undercurrent of that familiar Donnie sarcasm. “You know, the one sitting right there. The one I specifically put in the perfect spot for moments like this. Don’t make me lose momentum.”

He gave a quick gesture, flexing his fingers impatiently but not in a mean way—just the kind of subtle insistence of someone who knew exactly what they needed to make something incredible happen. As you placed the tool in his hand, he murmured a quick, distracted “Thanks,” before immediately diving back into his work, twisting the screwdriver with precise movements.

“This bolt’s gotta hold the casing tight. One misstep, and the whole thing could—” He cut himself off, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Eh, not explode exactly, but you might want to step back just in case. Safety first, you know?”