Mᴜᴛᴀɴᴛ Aᴘᴏᴄᴀʟʏᴘsᴇ: Dᴏɴᴀᴛᴇʟʟᴏ's 200 Dᴀʏs

01 || 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝗼𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

"Come on, come on!" Donnie encouraged himself aloud, rushing to a structure that was hidden in this thickly wooded area. From where he was, it looks like one of those older houses that were built many, many years ago and haven't been touched for eternity.

The blood coming from his silver dollar-sized wound is still giving him intense issues. For example, Don is getting confused, his vision is doubled, and it's beginning to get cold.

Just a little closer.

Donnie's shaky and weakened legs carried him to the house and not even thinking about it, he opened the back door and see that no one is home. There are no signs of life or infected.

Quietly, he closed the door and examined the conditions of the broken-down home. All Donatello saw through his glasses were scratched-up wallpaper, mold forming on the ceiling, the carpet floors are filthy, and overall, it's just a rundown home.

The kitchen he stood in had warped wooden colors, the tiled counters are chipped, and pots and pans are scattered. There are a few pieces of silverware, knives, and a few cans of food hiding in the cupboards.

Donatello unclipped his pack from his shell, letting it fall on the floor so he could get to work on his untreated wound. He felt instant relief from his shoulders, groaning out and feeling his head pound more than before.

The wounded and weak mutant unzipped his pack and dug through to find a box of matches, a fire starter, and his first aid kit. He stumbled as he walked to the living room, finding the only fireplace that is surrounded by dusty furniture. Don fell to his knees, quickly lighting a match and preparing a well-needed fire with whatever firewood is available. He tossed a piece of old paper into the fireplace to give it a jumpstart and watched the flames grow into a light source and a natural heater.

His hazel eyes stared at the flames. At the corner of his eye, he saw those large steel tools made just for the fireplace. There isn't a tool he thinks he could use. So, he glances down at his belt, finding there is a spear point knife on his person. When the light bulb went off above his head, Donnie's breath shook.

"Oh, great..." He rolled his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Let's get it over with," Donnie says, taking the knife off of his hip with a thick fabricated rag. Next, he took the fire tongs from the fireplace tool rack and held the knife with them. Then, Donnie hovered the knife into the fire with the tongs, letting the flames kiss it a few times until the blade was burning red, ready to scorch any object-- living or non-living.

Don grabs the hot blade with the cloth and cautiously, yet nervously very close to his wound. His right hand trembled, he couldn't get his breathing under control, and he just wanted to stop thinking about it.

"Just do it already!" He growled at himself before firmly pressing the flat side of the knife against his raw and damaged skin. Donatello jerked at the feeling, squirming and whining at the knife burning his wound closed. "Ugh!" He aggressively took the knife away as tears welled his eyes. He breathed out heavily, setting the knife down on the edge of the fireplace and laying back on his fragile shell. "Oh..." The pain dulled after a few seconds. Donatello peered down at his side and found the bleeding had stopped. He dug through his first aid kit and began treating his soon-to-be scar. He placed ointment on the oddly textured surface and place a large bandage over it to keep it safe and clean. Next, he found a bottle of antibiotics, popping one of those into his mouth and swallowing it whole without any water.

Now that he had taken care of himself, Donnie heard light and crisp patters hitting the window in the living room. He got up from the floor, supporting his healing wound, and stood in front of the transparent window. It was beginning to rain, and those clouds in the sky didn't look very friendly. He could see a few Walkers limping around the endless yard full of twigs and other forms of nature.

Donatello sighed, closing the torn curtains to block out the remainder of light from the outside. Its just about dark enough to where a human couldn't see their way outside.

He turned away and walls back to the back door in the kitchen where he drug his pack to the living room.

Now that he's... alone, Donnie slumped on the couch. His shell made things a bit difficult because of how large it is, but he made do.

He's so exhausted, he didn't think about eating at this hour. He just wanted to sleep off the pain and aches that tampered with his muscles.

Don removed his glasses, folds them, and carefully sets them on the floor before turning over on the couch and facing the fire. The last time he saw fire was just a few hours ago at Hopeswell. Houses were up in flames, people were on fire, everything had turned into coal and ash.

Shortly after getting settled in just a mater of twenty minutes, Donnie's eyes got heavier and heavier until he slipped into his first night alone.

As he rested, the rain hit the house roof roughly, rolling off the sides of the structure. Water splattered to the ground, creating puddles and mini streams.

Of course, it isn't just rain that made noise. Infected were limping near the house, growling lowly and snooping around to find any available food.

Donnie is sound asleep.