#lab leak theory

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

Three years into the COVID-19 pandemic, the U.S. again gave the “lab-leak” theory a major boost, as its Energy Department, citing “new intelligence” but holding “low confidence” in it, joined the FBI in smearing China.

Reported exclusively by the Wall Street Journal (WSJ) on Sunday, the claim immediately made headlines in major U.S. news outlets. However, its timing and source “only show the low credibility” of the report, analysts said, adding that the new hyping of an old topic is part of the U.S.’ political and information warfare with China.

[meditating-dog-lover]

Why I think it came from a lab

Note: before you judge me for what I'm about to say, just know I am speaking from a scientific and biological standpoint. I'm a cell biologist who works in virology, and have a BSc in Anatomy and Cell Biology and MS in Neuroscience. I'm a scientist, not your 40 year old conservative MAGA uncle on Facebook. I absolutely hate how the pandemic was politicized as you should never introduce bipartisan nonsense to indisputable and factual matters like science and diseases.

So coronaviruses are nothing new. There have been previous coronavirus strains that infected the world. There is the one that caused SARS in 2002 and the other that caused MERS in 2012. And yes, bats do spread them. They are species capable of zoonotic infections (between species), including rats (spread the bubonic plague) and cattle. However, COVID-19 was a lot more devastating than the other 2 outbreaks. With all the modern knowledge and technology we have on disease prevention/control and vaccines/drugs, the fact that this outbreak was devastating to the point of causing a global pandemic is suspicious. There is no way something as cataclysmic came from nature given our current immunological and microbiological advancements in the 21st century. And judging how bats have spread coronaviruses in the past, it was never this catastrophic.

This leads me to think there was gain of function research involved using animal models in a lab (the Wuhan Institute of Virology). I do have a theory as to how they conducted their research, but it could be wrong. But gain of function research was definitely taking place. I believe they had animals in the lab that were positive for coronavirus (either bats or rats). They took nasal swabs and/or saliva samples from them to be able to harvest cells that had coronavirus RNA replicated in them. One strange thing about some viruses is that they do not possess any DNA. They contain RNA, which is the nucleotide chain that is generated from DNA during a process known as transcription. And most RNA sequences are converted to proteins via translation. Why some viruses lack DNA, however, I never really knew why.

Now in this day and age, we have the technology to modify the sequence of DNA/RNA. This process is known as gene editing. You would have to cut the sequence at specific nucleotide junctions, either insert or remove nucleotides, and then glue the sequence back together. One famous method of doing so is using the CRISPR technique. But there are many other ways to modify DNA/RNA sequences. These modifications do have an effect on the function of the virus. By editing the virus' RNA sequence, you can either cause the virus to weaken (loss-of-function) or to strengthen (gain-of-function). Some modifications lead to no changes in the viral strength and activity. Weakened viruses are used in traditional vaccines, so this is when RNA editing can be beneficial. However, I do believe gain-of-function gene editing was performed in the lab by using the coronavirus RNA sequences harvested from these animals that tested positive for the virus.

This is one theory as to how the gain-of-function research was conducted. There are many ways to do it, we can never be sure as to how it was exactly performed with these coronavirus samples in the lab.

Now how it spread from the lab to the rest of the world, I have no idea. Obviously, infections spread between people who interact with one another. How it expanded from a single lab to the whole world is a complex process to understand.

So this is my theory as a cell biologist regarding the origins of COVID-19. Yes it came from a lab. I fail to believe something this infectious and destructive came naturally from bats. We have the technology and immunological knowledge to aid in minimizing the spread of illness and creating effective drugs and vaccines. Looking at previous trends where bats have spread coronaviruses to other animals and humans, they did not result in global pandemics to this extent. So I think the virus was genetically modified to become more infectious. What was the reasoning behind this? What was the hypothesis they were trying to test? I don't know.

Here in the US, there are strict regulations as what type of research you can conduct in a lab. In theory, you can create almost anything in a lab, from drugs, to explosives, to deadly bioweapons. However, just because you can, doesn't mean you should. While that strictness is enforced here, it is not in other countries unfortunately.

I am devastated by the destruction the pandemic caused. From a single viral outbreak, to illness, disease, lockdowns, crashing economy, closing of small business, politicization of science and biology, anti-Asian hate, etc... Had we had the knowledge beforehand, this would have fared better for us.

[sgreffenius]

First, let us get our terms right. Lab leak became shorthand for one explanation of how Covid-19 started and spread. Wet market became shorthand for a competing explanation. Both the outdoor market and the virology lab at issue were located in Wuhan, China.

The term conspiracy theory became attached to the first explanation on this side of the globe. At no point did anyone accuse staff at the Wuhan Virology Institute of cooking up a conspiracy to infect the world with a gain-of-function virus that would kill millions of people all over the world.

We know how the phrase conspiracy theory works in the West. It actually works in a lot of ways. I don't need to explain them here. Arguments about whether Covid-19 infected millions due to an accidental release of a gain-of-function virus developed at the Wuhan Virology Institute actually do matter, though. We can't let Dr. Fauci's changing attitudes about this explanation for the pandemic obscure that.

We kept hearing the phrase during the pandemic, follow the science. Without a doubt, public health officials' primary aim throughout the pandemic was to protect themselves from looking bad, not follow the science. They certainly did not want American citizens to know that the National Institutes of Health, an agency Dr. Fauci's agencies worked with, had funded gain-of-function research at the Wuhan Virology Lab.

Thus Dr. Fauci and his colleagues subjected us all to mumbo jumbo about conspiracy theories. Once you introduce that term into your argument, you increase confidence that your side has the upper hand. No one one wants to be caught believing in a conspiracy theory. Calling an accidental release of the virus from the Wuhan Virology Institute a conspiracy theory was a perfect way to distract attention from the fact that the National Institutes of Health had funded gain-of-function research at the lab for years.

That was Dr. Fauci's strategy. When you want to protect yourself, and the truth makes you look bad, you do not tell the truth. You obscure it. When the truth comes out down the line, you can deny your denial. You can deny that you ever denied an accidental release of the virus from the lab as a plausible explanation. That's all you need, a double denial, to make many people not care whether you are a trustworthy public official. Who, after all, expects public officials to be trustworthy in the first place?

[parttimereporter]

The lab leak theory that many called a COVID conspiracy theory now looking more likely ..

The Department of Energy now thinking it was probably what happened all..

More..

The U.S. Energy Department has concluded that the Covid pandemic most likely arose from a laboratory leak, according to a classified intelligence report recently provided to the White House and key members of Congress.

The shift by the Energy Department, which previously was undecided on how the virus emerged, is noted in an update to a 2021 document by Director of National Intelligence Avril Haines’s office.

[nando161mando]

[grub-s]

is the fbi for fucking real like………….. i’m sorry to even be posting about this but honestly this is so dumb

[paladinguy]

The Lab Leak Hypothesis: Wrong AND Dangerous

[phagodyke]

this assay is so fucking fake......

[forbiddencomma]

Magical thinking and the limitless power of fear

An Orwell quote featured below is fancied by those presenting themselves to their peers as reasonable, moderate rationalists. Jake Tapper and Andrew Sullivan have or had it featured, for instance. People who copy-and-paste it to their social media bios mean to tell us that they are wise enough to see the world for what it is, unlike you easily swayed rubes in the cheap seats with your sub-1k…

[omg-erika]

Covered up: Ebola Also Comes From The Laboratory.

by Dr.Harald Wiesendanger– Klartext What the mainstream media is hiding Is Ebola, one of the deadliest viruses, really natural? An American scientist presents convincing evidence that it actually came from a bio lab – no different than the Covid-19 pathogen. Once upon a time, there was a two-year-old boy named Emile Ouamouno. He lived with his parents and four siblings in Meliandou, a village…

[cedarmoonzz]

between the bars •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

followed by: once more to see you and slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford pines x reader

warnings: brief mention of boners, making out, angst

summary:

being engaged to the world’s smartest idiot feels like navigating a storm while he’s engrossed in his portal research. you wonder if there’s anything you can do to help him.

Three months.

Ninety-one sleepless, tormented days. 

That’s how long you’ve watched Ford, once so full of life, become a shell of himself.

Each day seems to blend into the next, weighed down by the crushing demands of his portal. His bright eyes have lost their spark, replaced by a weary, distant look that suggests he is fighting a constant battle with exhaustion. He’s always buried in his research, disappearing into a maze of endless calculations and theories, only coming up to ask for coffee, food, or help with his measurements. Each interaction is a reminder of the distance that has grown between you, making you ache for the vibrant person he is beneath all the work. It allows you to realize something.

Stanford is an incredibly stubborn man.

You count your breaths, letting the full force of Ford’s distance fill you. Once a day, only in the evening, you allow yourself to feel abandoned, lost, and alone—but only here, only in the evening, before Stanford trudges upstairs for his third pot of coffee. Afterwards, you must set these feelings aside, for there is still so much work to be done, so much still at stake.

Stanford lets you handle all the paper calculations and complex math for the portal, trusting you with the intricate details crucial to his project. Yet, despite your role, he keeps you from seeing the fruits of your labor. You are barred from the basement, the place where the results of your hard work come to life. This exclusion only deepens your sense of isolation and frustration, as you toil endlessly without ever truly understanding the impact of your efforts. The distance between what you contribute and what you’re allowed to see only reinforces the feeling of being a cog in a machine, valued for your skills but denied any real connection to the end result.

Beyond the kitchen door, you can hear your lab mates arguing. The last light of day was leaking through the fissures of the window shutters, changing shape as they paced outside, their shadows stretching to where you sit, hidden, not yet prepared to face them. Though you could not make out their words, you could detect the urgency in their voices. You pressed your palms against your eyes and sighed, then rolled up the loose sleeves of Stanford’s (now your) sweater.

With a harsh, abrupt grunt, akin to the percussive crack of a twig beneath a boot, your fiancé wrenched the splintered door open, slamming it shut with a resounding thud. You were jolted from your thoughts, having been lost in your own reverie as the unexpected noise shattered your concentration. As he stood there, his face etched with a mixture of anger and exhaustion, you could see the deep lines of fatigue and frustration carved into his features. He muttered a stream of incoherent curses under his breath, his visible irritation and weariness painting a stark picture of his emotional state.

Softly, you encouraged him. “Ford, what is it?”

He didn’t answer; he only stood, looking at you as if he might scream.

“It’s Fiddleford!” Stanford growled. “He’s speaking nonsense! Trying to propose that only bad can come from the portal we spent months on! Your calculations, my handiwork and experience? All down the drain because McGucket is scared? It’s ridiculous! I should’ve never trusted him. It seems I can trust no one with my work these days!”

His words caught you between places: you stare down at the ring that graced your finger, the tea kettle whistling, trails of steam emitting behind you, leaving you in between your selves.

“No one?” you repeat, but did not elaborate further. You did not want to be cruel to him, but now that he had insulted you (now, of all times, when you were working so hard to understand him), it was difficult to resist lashing out at him.

Ford paused, words caught between his teeth as you stood in silence. “[Y/n]… my love.” Regret crept into his voice, daring to color his words with a warmth you were sure was genuine—but rather than comfort, it only wounded you. “Of course I can trust you. This portal… It wouldn’t be possible without your work.”

It broke you—or broke what feeble grip you had on yourself, the reserves of strength you used to keep your grief and despair in check all spent.

“My work,” you spat out, almost hissing the words through clenched teeth. You threw the kettle off the stove and pivoted to confront him, closing the distance between you with two broad, angry strides. Pointing a finger at him, you seethed, “Is that all the trust you have? Just your precious portal? Ford, when was the last time you actually talked to me? I can't deal with this anymore! I followed you all the way to Gravity Falls, to the middle of nowhere, and you barely let me see the full scope of my work. Always holed up in the basement.”

Your palm remains red from the heat of the kettle’s handle, but that does not burn as bad as the heat of your fiancé’s abandonment. And still, stupidly, in spite of it all, you wanted to trust Ford. To believe that there was a reason, an explanation for all the half-truths and deceptions. You want to protect him. You want your answers. You want to see him: not a passing nod of acknowledgment, or a pat on the back as you walk past him, or a fragment of him in a dream, but his skin in the flesh, and you loathe yourself for how badly you want it… but you turn that loathing outward, funneling it through the anger, and set the air around you crackling with fury.

As you glared at him, a profound sense of abandonment and worthlessness enveloped you like a shroud. It felt as though you had been reduced to nothing more than a glorified calculator in Ford’s eyes—a mere instrument, a cog in the vast machinery of his ambitions, used and discarded with no regard for your own significance. The weight of your perceived insignificance bore down on you, each moment in his shadow a reminder of how fleeting and unimportant your role had become. The very essence of your being seemed to diminish with every unacknowledged contribution, leaving you to wrestle with the crushing realization that your efforts and sacrifices had been eclipsed by his relentless pursuit, barely noted and even less appreciated.

Stanford’s eyes met yours, narrowing ever so slightly as he took in the gravity of the moment. He measured the tension between you, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he struggled to comprehend the full extent of your pain. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken remorse, before he finally cleared his throat, his voice betraying a hint of sorrow for the hurt he had caused and the realization of how far he had let things go.

“I'm sorry, [Y/n].” Stanford reached out to hold your waist—and did you imagine it, or did you lean into that touch, pressing your body to the warmth of his open palms? You swallowed. Softly, he asked you, “Do you want me to go?”

You shook your head, more as an excuse to look away from him than anything—now that you had reprimanded him, you realized just how close he was, and your hair fell in front of your eyes, offering you a moment of reprieve. It was difficult having him so near; when your rage subsided, you were left with a profound sense of abandonment and a wounded heart. In a voice tinged with desperation and hurt, you asked, “Why can’t you just let me help you, Ford?”

As the words left your lips, you found yourself instinctively moving closer, your breath mingling with his. The proximity heightened the tension between you, the unspoken emotions crackling in the air. Your lips nearly brushed his as you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice blending with an undeniable, charged intimacy.

“[Y/n],” he begs, but he keeps his hands around your waist. “It’s dangerous…” But even as he speaks, his head is falling towards yours, his mouth ajar and questing, breath ragged.

You lift your hand from the collar of Stanford’s lab coat to hold his face, running your thumb tenderly over the stubble that graced his sharp jawline.

“I’m just as capable as Fiddleford,” you whisper, only inches between you now, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck as you speak the words. “Let me prove myself to you.”

Ford shudders. When his eyes meet yours again, they read something within them—perhaps some hidden fate or doom—and then, he remains. He holds you in his eyes like he is weighing you, or trying to carry a piece of you away with him. With a weary sigh, he lifts his hands to frame your face instead, tracing your cheek with his thumb. He leans forward—you dare not breathe—and presses his lips to your brow, just below the line of your hair. You can feel the soft warmth of his breath against the top of your head. Your eyes sting with tears; you will your body not to shake.

“I know you’re incredibly intelligent, but what Fiddleford saw in that portal… it ruined him. I don’t want the same fate for you.” He pleads, raising a hand of his own as if to pry yours from his face, but it trembles instead, then covers yours, holding the warmth of your palm to his cheek. “It is not that simple.”

“It can be,” you insist, as you lower your other hand to rest above his frantic, pounding heart. “It is.”

The space between the two of you is shrinking before you know whether you or Ford had moved first. Then your palm was carding through the tangled brown hair at the back of his head, drawing him closer as you kiss. When your mouths first met, Ford flinched, as though he might retreat… but he parted his lips for you, and your knees weaken at the taste of his tongue. You clutched his lab coat; his hands danced across your waist to the small of your back and held you against him. His heat rose against you; you could feel him through his slacks, insistent against your thigh—

“I’m sorry,” Stanford whispers, his lips brushing against yours before he pulls away. He turns abruptly and exits the room. Without another word, he heads straight for the basement, leaving you standing there, your heart aching with the weight of unsaid confessions and unfulfilled desires. The intensity of the moment lingers in the air, a palpable reminder of the emotional distance that remains between you.

The way he looked at you was too much; so much unspoken between the two of you, so much you wish to tell him, confess to him: how he always makes you feel safe. That this whole research project, the calculations and all, had only ever been bearable because he had let you be by his side. That his presence is more valuable to you than anything; that you had treasured every moment spent with him. That you’re worried for him.

That you felt like he was in danger, and you were running out of time.

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

I don't know very many people who scratch the surface of conspiracist thinking without collecting more or less all of them sooner or later

it makes me sad that most of the people I used to know who were into guns / WWII have moved on to being super into fascism / jew hatred / conspiracy theories

[simply-ivanka]

Hunter Biden trial shows media pushed false narrative to help the left

It turns out the ones who were spreading garbage were Biden and these disinformation “experts,” who, along with a complicit mainstream news media, quashed and discounted an important story just weeks before the presidential election. 

[crazycatgirl420]

It's not Magic, It's Science P2

The Fentons had been good at inventing, at research, at theories and experiments to prove or disprove those theories. They had not been good at bussiness.

Danny gave Tucker a hundred dollars to fix the FentonWorks website into something more professional. Sam was his first Client, and they sat down to figure out how Danny would take clients and sell his inventions.

With the Portal closed, the only Ghosts who came through were coming from Vlad's Portal. Being Emancipated meant there was no custody issues. All of Vlad's attempts at forcing his way into Danny's life were slowly esclating with Maddie and Jack dead.

Danny didn't have time to be dealing with the Mayor of Amity Park's obbession with him. So he took the collection of cameras and mics to the police and requested a restraining order.

"Mister Fenton, is it true your parents knew Mayor Masters?"

"-that your parents supported Mayor Masters?"

"-know that Mayor Masters took videos of minors?"

"-Are you pressing charges? Will you sue?"

Valerie and Dash stepped between the Papparazzi and Danny, as they left the school. Sam and Tucker sheilded Danny from the back, and together they fled to Jazz's little car.

"Go with them," Val said, as Sam and Tucker took the backseat with Danny. "I'll follow on my bike."

Danny never thought he'd need bodyguards, or that Dash would become one of them. But a lot of things changed after the funeral. Hiring Val and Dash as bodyguards would probably be smart, at least until the issue with Vlad goes away.

Danny slowly grew Fenton Works into an actual Amity Park bussiness, instead of a local oddity. Ectoplasm was a wondeful green energy source, natural and rewnewable, at least until a thousand years after all life on the planet dies off. Harvesting it from the air, using things the Doctors Fenton had already built that do just that, and then making that into a collection of power sources.

Ecto-Batteries, and their charging pods. Ecto-Light Blubs, with a filter for red light at Sam's insistance, that went into all public lights. Ecto-Blubs for the schools, bussinesses, houses that came with a collection of color fliters to choose from.

"Can Ecto replace gas?" Sam asked, the first time Jazz's car had a leak.

Danny spent the weekend under Jazz's car, and three hours after school learning at a mechanic shop. It took six months, dozens of trips from the lab to the car port, but he built a car able to run on Ectoplasam.

The issue came when he added it to his website.

"Mister Fenton? This is Timothy Drake-Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. I'd like to talk to you about your Ecto-fueled vehicle. Do you have time to talk next week?"

[halogalopaghost]

Doctor On Call

read on AO3

“Hey Donnie, is this infected?”

Donatello jerked away from his workstation as Mikey’s foot came down on it heel-first. A large nodule stuck out from the lateral interior of his foot—red, angry, and (oh, goody) leaking.

He wrinkled his nose and used his screwdriver to push the foot unceremoniously off his desk. “How’d you even manage to get a blister there? We don't wear shoes, Mikey.”

He laughed. “You’re tellin’ me, dude. But uh, it kinda hurts, so—”

Donnie heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Hang on, let me go sterilize a needle.”

---

“Y’know how you said to never remove a weapon if you’re impaled?”

Don swiveled around in his chair, only able to see a green and red blur through his magnifying visor. He pushed it up and away from his eyes with the back of his grungy hand, and found a little more red decorating the scene than he would have liked.

“Raphael,” he began evenly, “would you care to explain how this happened?”

Standing on the threshold of his brother’s lab, Raphael shifted from foot to foot. The sai embedded in his shoulder wobbled slightly, but he didn't so much as wince. “No,” he finally said.

Donnie put a hand to his face for a moment, drawing in a steadying breath. “At least have the decency to go get the suture kit, then.”

Raph grinned guiltily, then went for the kit.

---

“Heeey, Donnie,” Leo drawled.

Donatello froze, hunched over his workspace. “What did you do?”

Leo must have taken that as an invitation to enter, because his bare feet padded farther into the room, stopping just behind Don. He rested a hand heavily on his brother’s shoulder. “Why assume I did something? Do I need an ulterior motive to check in on my little bro?”

Donnie’s mouth thinned into a line as he stared bemusedly at his latest robotics project. “Well we could start with the slurred speech and the weave in your gait.”

He shrugged Leo’s hand off and turned around in the worn desk chair. It was lucky he did, it gave him just enough time to snatch Leo’s arm before he completely busted his shell. The fast-bruising welt on his head proved Don’s theory.  

“Did you hit your own head, or did Raph finally snap?”

For a second, Leo looked like he was going to deny it, then his shoulders fell and he sighed. “I lost a fight with the cabinet above the stove. Think you could check for a concussion?”

“Only if I get lifetime mocking rights,” he shot back. “Fearless Leader Felled by Cast Iron Pan From Above, what a headline.”

Leo sat heavily on the spare stool. “Fine, fine.”

Don plucked his penlight from the pencil cup and swiveled toward his brother. “See, this is why Mikey doesn’t let you in the kitchen.”

---

“Excuse me, Donatello.”

Donnie startled in his chair. Master Splinter always surprised him like that; he could hear his brothers coming from a mile away, but never their father. He stood and turned to face him, bowing quickly. “Yes, Sensei—oh.”

Master Splinter stood on the threshold of the lab, holding out his shaking paws—the pads of which were an angry red, and growing blisters quickly. Donatello practically picked his father up in the process of getting him to a place to sit down.

“Leo!” He hollered in the general direction of the dojo, hoping that’s where his brother was. “Bring ice! Sensei, you should have put these under the faucet immediately,” he chided softly.

“Yes, my son, I realized that halfway here.” He chuckled, despite how painful it must have been to have Donnie poking and prodding at his hands. “What is it that you say? Six, half dozen?”

Donnie laughed too, he couldn't help it. Anything sounded like a wise old Japanese proverb when Master Splinter said it. And the fact that his first thought had been to go to his son…well, Donnie knew he was no doctor, but it was touching how much trust his family placed in him.

Leo, bless him, showed up less than sixty seconds later with ice wrapped in a thin dish towel. “Sensei!” He sucked a breath through his teeth, catching a glimpse of his burned paws before Donnie placed the ice on top of them. “What happened?”

He looked at his sons from beneath his thick brows, one ear twitching. “We shall tell your brothers a different story, but…I was trying to make tea,” he finally relented.

Donnie’s hand audibly smacked against his forehead. Leave it to the master ninja to give himself partial thickness burns with a pot of water.

Leo laid a hand on Sensei’s shoulder. “We’ll tell Raph and Mikey that you were training and save you the torment.”

Sensei laughed again, more heartily this time. “Thank you, my sons.”

Donnie took the ice away from his hands. “Hmm, that doesn't look good. Let's go back to the kitchen and run them under water, okay?”

“Of course, Donatello. Thank you.”

Holding onto Sensei’s elbow as they left for the kitchen, Donnie beamed at the praise.

---

Three things happened at once: first, a string of very colorful language drifted from Donnie’s lab over to where his three brothers sat in front of the television; the power flickered twice and then cut out; and in the very brief, very dark silence that followed, the fire alarm in Donnie’s lab began shrilling.

All three of them jumped up without a word to one another, expertly navigating their home in the dark. 

“Donnie!” Leo called, skidding into the dark lab.

Raphael clambered on top of a workbench to silence the alarm, sending Donnie’s projects and gadgets tumbling all over. There was no fire, just the smell of smoke.

“Don?” Leo tried again. He stilled, briefly confused that he couldn't find his brother in the dark. Usually he would at least hear his breathing—

Oh shell, he wasn't breathing.

The three of them realized as one, and the scramble began anew. Leo fell to his hands and knees to find his brother, Mikey went for the emergency floodlight on the wall, and Raph left the lab altogether. By the time he came back with the AED, Leo was already halfway through a round of compressions.

CPR on a turtle was…complicated. Their hearts were dead center in their chest, to begin with, which meant ‘the medial joint of their plastron’s scutes prevented compressions too deep’, as Donatello had so technically said. Donnie assured them all that if a scute was cracked or bruised during compressions, it would be okay. But now that Leonardo actually had his brother's plastron beneath his palms, hearing and feeling the groan of it every time he pressed down, he didn't feel so certain.

Raph knelt on Donnie’s other side while Mikey stood over them with the flashlight, trying to illuminate as much of the scene as possible.

“Do you smell that?” Mikey asked, voice shaking.

Yeah, they smelled it. Burned flesh was hard to miss. But treating whatever other wounds Donnie had sustained had to come second to his heart.

Raph tore the paper off the AED pads and carefully placed them just like Don taught him, then pressed the on switch. They all nearly jumped out of their shells when Donnie’s voice, thin and tinny, came out of the AED. “Analyzing cardiac rhythm,” it said. 

Raph wanted to cover his ears. If the last time he heard his brother’s voice was from the stupid AED—

“Administering shock. Stay clear of the patient.”

“Clear,” Raph said.

“Clear,” both of his brothers echoed, Leo holding his hands up near his head to prove it.

“Shock will be delivered in 3…2…1…” Donnie jolted once as electricity shot through him. “Shock administered, check pulse and breathing and resume compressions if necessary.”

Raph put his fingers on Don’s neck, then shook his head. Leo moved to resume compressions, but he signaled him to stop. No, there was something there…

Both brothers froze.

“I have a pulse, but he’s not breathing.” Without giving his brothers any time to respond to that information, Raph lifted one meaty fist and brought it down hard on the center of Don’s chest. 

Donnie took a deep breath, eyes flying open in terror. He wobbled on his shell, off-balance in a panicked effort to flee. Three sets of hands came down on his chest to stop him.

“Donnie, don't move,” Leo said urgently. He took his brother’s pulse, actually timing it this time, and listened to his heavy, ragged breathing for a moment.

The power came back on.

“What the fuck, Don!” Raph yelled.

He looked between his brothers, clearly disoriented, but less panicked with a good view of his surroundings. “Sorry,” he gasped out. He accepted his their help as he struggled to sit up, hands over his plastron. “Ough, my chest. What happened?”

Leo grabbed his hands, flipping them palms up. He wrinkled his nose. Well, he figured out where the burned flesh smell came from—Donnie’s palms were both blistered and slightly charred, but it didn't seem to cover too much surface area.

“We were kinda hopin’ you could tell us,” Raph sighed out, adrenaline ebbing.

Donnie eyed the AED, then looked over Raph’s head up to his workstation. He blinked a few times, then smiled sheepishly. “I, uh. I think I forgot to unplug it.”

They followed Donnie’s eyes up to the unidentifiable appliance on the workbench. Whatever it was, Donnie had long stripped it of its housing and any other identifiable features. Other than that it was made of metal and plugged into the wall, they didn't have a clue what it was.

“You knucklehead,” Raph muttered. “I’d kill you if I hadn’t just finished savin’ your skin.” He ripped the pads off Don’s chest and tossed them in the AED bag, standing up to wash his hands of the whole affair.

Mikey scooted into Raph’s spot and threw his arms around Donnie’s neck. “Don’t ever do that again! I thought you were toast, bro!”

“Don’t do what again?” Splinter appeared in the doorway, body-blocking Raphael. He tapped his cane on the ground, whiskers twitching.

“Oh—Sensei, uh. I just had…an accident. Everything’s okay now. No need to worry.” He tried for a smile. It was too wobbly to be reassuring. 

He gave all four of his sons an incredibly unamused stare. They all ducked their heads, still unwilling or unable to stick their ground in the face of that all-knowing look. “Leonardo, how badly is he wounded?”

“It’s not too bad, Sensei.” He held Donnie’s burned hand out, showing him the minor damage. “I’m more worried about the fact that your heart stopped, Donnie.”

Donatello had the decency to look ashamed. “It probably didn’t stop,” he muttered. “Most likely, it was ventricular fibrillation.”

“Oh, that sure makes me feel better,” Raph drawled sarcastically. “I guess he’s fine, guys, let’s all hit the hay. Are you stupid, Donnie? No—don’t answer that.”

“I’m fine! You guys knew exactly what to do, so I'm fine. Just a little bruised up.”

Splinter, with his ears pressed flat against his head, closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. “You four will be the end of me. Donatello, be honest—what side effects should we prepare for?”

He pulled his hands away from Leo, using the side of one to rub absently at his chest. “Uhh, nothing much. Just, uh, that my heart doesn’t…stop again. Or something like that.”

“Oh, sure, nothin’ too serious,” Raph scoffed.

Only the telltale twitch of their father’s whiskers alerted them to his vague irritation. “You will be sleeping in the infirmary bed tonight, my son. Come, help your brother up.”

Mikey and Leo got Donnie to his feet pretty quickly, and Raph put a hand on the back of his shell as if to say ‘there, I participated, are you happy?’ They helped him the few steps to the infirmary cot, which Donnie was surprised to actually need. Not only did his legs seem unwilling to comply—it seemed that the electricity had left an exit wound on the bottom of his left foot.

Master Splinter sat in the chair beside the cot, pulling the rolling cart of medical supplies closer to himself. “I will treat the burns while you set up the heart monitor.”

“Guys, really, I'm okay.” Even as Leo started sticking EKG nodes on him and Raph clipped the pulse oximeter on one green finger, he protested. “The likelihood of going into v-fib again is infinitesimal.”

“Ahh, darn, looks like we can't comply with your complaints if we can't understand the words yer usin’,” Raphael drawled.

Splinter gently drew Donnie’s burned hand into his own. “My son, it is you that so often cares for us when we are injured or unwell. Let us return the favor now and care for you.”

Donnie smiled in spite of himself, looking down at his lap as he felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. Thank you, Sensei.”

“Didja hit your head on the way down?” Raph asked, standing behind his head.

“Uh, I don't think so. No bumps, no headache.”

“Good.” A smack reverberated around the room. “Be smarter next time, genius.”

Don lurched forward, hands raised instinctively to protect the head that Raph smacked. “Ow! Talk about insult to injury!”

“That's actually injury to injury,” Raph corrected, leaning into his field of vision. “You die, an’ I'm gonna dig you up just to kill you again. You hear?”

Donnie winced as Master Splinter made his first pass with the antibacterial gel on his hand. “Loud and clear, boss,” he grumbled.

Maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to let himself be taken care of.

Just this once.

[therainscene]

Ohohoho, the First Shadow spoilers trickling in certainly have me thinking thoughts.

Specifically, thoughts about my Mind Flayer origin theory.

Major TFS spoilers ahead. Bear in mind that I haven't seen the play for myself; I'm relying on opening night leaks, which may or may not be accurate. Do what you wish with that information.

------------------

Looks like I got the powers part of my theory totally wrong, but that's fine, because that part wasn't really necessary for the theory to work.

The important question is whether or not the black cloud was created by El when she disintegrated Henry in the lab... and whether I got that right or wrong hinges on a particular detail I'm dying to learn more about.

[Source]

I need to know what he drew.

If he drew a formless cloud, then I guess the Mind Flayer really is just some evil extra-dimensional alien that always existed and has nothing to do with El. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But if he drew the spider monster. In 1959. When we know Henry wouldn't create it until at least 1979?

Then we've almost certainly got ourselves a predestination paradox -- the perfect vehicle for telling a story about the cycle of abuse. Let's recontextualize what S4 showed us:

------------------

Young Henry gets trapped in Dimension X and is possessed by the Mind Flayer, granting him powers. Later, he draws the monster that possessed him.

Adult Henry, driven batshit fucking insane by his decades-long enthrallment to both the Mind Flayer and Dr. Brenner, slaughters the lab kids to absorb their powers and tries to encourage his favourite to join him in super-villainy.

She refuses. He tries to kill her.

Terrified and desperate, Eleven uses the powers she inherited from him to turn him into a mass of black particles and chucks the whole sorry lot into an alternate dimension.

Henry finds the cloud of black particles in Dimension X.

He immediately recognizes them for what they are, and realizes that he and the particles haven't just been sent back to Dimension X, but back in time.

The thing possessing him had been his older self all along.

He fashions the cloud into the monster he saw as a child -- becomes the predator he was always born to be -- and lies in wait, like a spider in its web, for the cycle to repeat.