It was two months since Enrico Pucci had died, and Donatello had fallen into the hands of the Speedwagon Foundation. He had been imprisoned by them with no information or news for these two months, before suddenly being sent to the foundation's Orlando headquarters, without being told why. He now sat, still handcuffed, in an office, across from a fat, sweating man in a SWF uniform. The man was going over papers, murmuring to himself and wiping his brow occasionally.

"Well,"

He said, looking to Donatello suddenly.

"The higher ups want us to utilize your abilities, but we really have no place for you other than as an assistant. One of our field agents requested one, so, you can either stay in a cell, or work with them."

He said bluntly, looking at Donatello almost blankly.