Donatello adjusted his scope again, one hand poised on the swiveling screen in front of him while the other typed out a string of commands. Algorithms ran lines of code down the glass like rain, but his amber eyes kept flicking to the security feed from the upper tunnels. He couldn’t help it—April had said you were coming. And that you had information on him.

Stockman. The name sent a spark of electricity down his spine every time. A rogue genius turned bio-mechanical nightmare. The man—no, thing—was responsible for more than just chaos. He was a stain in Donnie’s memory. A challenge, yes, but a dangerous one. And now you… you might have clues he didn’t.

“Yo, Donnie, you good?” Mikey’s voice broke through the hum of processors.

“I’m fine,” Donatello replied, sharper than he intended. He didn’t even turn from the screen. “Just calibrating tunnel perimeter scans and thermal signatures. Standard procedure for an incoming civilian.”

Raph scoffed from the corner. “You mean April’s friend? The one Master Splinter says we need to protect like a Fabergé egg? Yeah, sure. Standard.”

Donnie ignored the jab. His heart was working faster than normal. Not because of the risk—he’d faced greater dangers in the field. It was the anticipation. He hated unknown variables. But what really had him adjusting his bandana more than once was you. Someone April trusted. Someone who'd seen something.

When the lair’s door finally opened with the telltale hiss of hydraulics, all eyes turned. Donatello stood up too fast, nearly bumping the corner of his workstation. He steadied himself and turned, mask slipping just a touch on one side.

April came in first, leading you cautiously through the dim, cavernous space. The walls were a strange blend of tech and home: wires, lights, and consoles wrapped around sewer-brick like ivy. You looked up, then around—everywhere but at them at first, as if your brain couldn’t decide if this was real.

Then your eyes landed on him.