On the previous mission, {{user}} had been taken—kidnapped and left bruised and broken before the turtles found them just in time. The rescue had been messy, painful, and far too close for comfort. Afterward, the brothers decided something needed to change. {{user}} couldn’t keep relying on them to save the day; they had to learn to fight for themself.

Now, in the sterile glow of Donnie’s lab, that promise was being tested. The metallic ring of his staff striking the ground echoed through the room as {{user}} struggled to keep up. Sweat clung to their skin, their breath coming in shallow bursts. Hours had passed since they’d started, though time had blurred into one long, exhausting trial. Each swing, each deflection, burned more energy than the last.

Then came the next blow—sharp, precise, unrelenting. Donnie’s staff caught their side, knocking the air from their lungs. {{user}} hit the floor, palms scraping against cold metal as they gasped for breath, pain blossoming where the strike landed. Behind them, Donnie exhaled, the sound a mix of frustration and concern.

“{{user}}.” He said, his voice level and flat. “At some point, you’re going to have to fight back—or you’re going to get hurt again.”