Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"And the ghost of the boulevard, littered with lonely hearts, city like a graveyard once was a postcard...when you lose your wonder, and you can't remember, when we were living in the days of thunder..."---The Midnight, "Days of Thunder"

***

It was not unusual for a lone wounded animal to wander into the waste to die. Nor was it uncommon for victims of violence or other misfortune to be found discarded there.

At first glance the blood and dust caked mouse laying sprawled on his belly at the edge of a mud hole might have been mistaken for one of these lost victims.

Only death hadn’t come for him.

It had chased him for miles, dogging him at every step. But the madness that had possessed him kept him running, keeping just out of reach.

But collapse had eventually overtaken him. He might have laid there undisturbed until some hungry thing came and took advantage of him. If they were not put off by the smell of sick and fever on him.

But luck or the gods, however strange, benevolent or indifferent, decided to favor him at least one more time.

Bowie jolted into alertness as if from a nightmare. His mouth was disgustingly dry and full of a sick acid taste that burned his throat and stuck to his tongue. His throat burned and ached, felt like it had scraped raw while something that prickled stuck to it as he tried to swallow. His lips were blistered and cracked, bits of dust and dirt clinging to them the same way it did his fur and skin.

He blinked through the grit and crust of his eyelashes, confused and afraid. He tried to call out for someone; for Stoker or Harley. The same people he had always called for when he was in trouble. His voice cracked and croaked, the words falling out choppy and unintelligible even to his own ears. As he began to register that the desert around him was real and not just some fever induced delusion, he realized he was alone.

Bowie shivered, drawing in on himself. All of him ached and hurt. But he was alive. And the fever that had overtaken him had broke. His mind was his own again. Or at least, it was for now.

He laid there a long time, forcing himself to focus not on his hurts but on how he had gotten here. He didn’t recall much. Broken and distorted images of monstrous figures trying to kill him. The hot taste of blood in mouth, on his skin, coating his hands and arms. Screaming. Horrible, horrible screaming that sent spikes of pain through his brain. A dark tunnel and a sky that felt like it was falling in on him. Then nothing.

If this had been in his younger days, he would have said he’d had the worst trip of his life, swore off whatever he’d had the day or night before, drank some water and tea and called it a day. But the blood was real. And he didn’t know who it belonged.

He half remembered Caria. Stoker and the boys and Harley and the children and all of the poor strange mice and rats who found themselves drawn into this bizarre standoff. Glancing around now, he knew he was far from Caria. But how far? And how had he gotten out of the ice?

Bowie tested his limbs, finding himself weak but not immobile. There was the smallest bit of shelter here from the elements. A rotting trunk of a tree from which new saplings were beginning to grow, narrow and still faintly translucent as they reached towards the sun. Their thin springy branches provided some cover from the wind and the direct sunlight, while still letting him keep some modicum of warmth from the day. The mud hole beside him still had some water in it, the dry earth having not absorbed all of it yet.

Bowie scooped what he could up, trying to sift the mud and dirt out best he could. Anything to relieve his burning thirst. The taste of it was strange and disgusting but he choked it down. The few palm fulls enough to relieve some of the need and dry feeling in his mouth.

But he wouldn’t last long like this. Even as dim and exhausted as his thoughts were, he was well aware of this truth. He had to find help, or he was going to die out here.

Letting the drive for survival take over, he slowly got to his feet, leaning on the husk of the tree for support until he felt steady enough to bare his own weight.

He tested himself, taking a few shaky steps forward. He ached and felt tightness in his muscles either from strain or from dehydration, but everything otherwise seemed to be in working order. This was interesting, considering the amount of dried blood all of his clothing and body. But little if any of the blood seemed to be his own.  

Bowie decided not to dwell too long on this, as trying to think on it sent a tremor though him, and he could not afford it now. He moved stiffly forward, until he had walked successfully about a yard without falling or fainting.

The wasteland around him was void of much. Evening was coming on, the sunlight sloped low and making the sky deeper hues of orange, salmon and gold under drifting clouds. He would need to find some type of shelter before dark, doubting he would weather even the early winter cold in the state he was in.

A few miles in the distance there was a low line of rock ridge, drifting off into a few broken formations before falling into flatland again. In the spaces between the lower rock formations, he thought he could make out lights. Pairs of little red and white dots illuminating the deep purple and blue shadows there.

Back tracking, he could see that the broken plates of hard desert bore recent tracks nearby, leading to those formations, and Bowie was beginning to see the edges of an old abandoned road appearing in the shifting dust. This mean the lights were most likely vehicles; bikes or trucks or dune riders of some kind.

The likelihood of it belonging to Sand Raiders was high, but what choice did he have? Get caught by Sand Raiders and probably captured, to where he would at least have some kind of shelter, maybe even food and water to point before being put to labor or sold off? Or stay where he was and die forgotten and unnoticed.

“Fuck that.” He forced the words out, even though it hurt him.

Slowly, determinedly, acting out of a life-long spite for anything that tried to keep him grounded longer than a moment, Bowie put one foot in front of the other and staggered towards the lights.

***

                Rimfire walked the halls of the Cathedra, the morning grey and murky, filtering in through the windows. Though the seat of power in Brimstone rarely was ever fully quiet, there were still far few stirrings at this early hour.

                His eyes burned with tiredness, and nursed a cup of strong coffee in an attempts to pretend he would soon be alert and ready for the day. He could not remember when he had last slept a full night. It had probably been more than a month now.

                Pausing to look out one of the larger circular windows that overlooked western bit of city—the part that had been so devastated by Marshall’s flood of ice, he thought about something his grandmother often said. That as you grow older, the days become longer and the years become shorter.

                As a boy he had thought the expression silly and would shake his head and tell her plainly that it made no sense. A day was obviously shorter than a year. But his grandmother, as always, had been more wise than he had given her credit for.  Never had the days been so long. But felt as if he would blink, and a week would have gone by without his noticing.

                Reconstruction had begun on the homes in the west quarter of the town, as well as the rebuilding of the wall. As if had done them much good. As if any of it had.

                In the sky above the misty morning fields, he could make out the alien federation ship as it hovered there. At first it had been jarring to behold. The shape of it huge and almost monstrous, resembling a sort of barb covered sea creature, like a leviathan. Apparently all the federation’s ships resembled animals in some form, and Rimfire questioned this choice. Was it to appear as something more organic that had swum among the stars like it were an ocean? Or was it to cause fear?

                It had been three weeks since the showdown in Caria.

                Three weeks since the refugees had been evacuated to Brimstone, which was now under Galactic Federation occupation. Three weeks since there had been even a hint of any of his uncles, Stoker, Harley or any of their human companions.

                Three weeks living in limbo. Wondering. Waiting.

                A figure moved down the corridor towards him, drawing his attention from the reconstruction. Carbine was making her way towards him. She was not in uniform; she had not warn it since their return. It was strange to see the General in her civies, which were dark colored and loose fitting.

                Today she wore a duster or some sort of jacket that she was wrapping around herself as if staving off the chill, arms folded as she walked towards him. “Good morning.” He greeted her, offering as much of a smile as he could manage.

                She nodded, coming to stand next to him. “You’re up early.”

                “Can it be considered early if you never really went to bed?” he asked her. This produced a small smirk from her, the woman reaching to pat him lightly on the back. Rimfire saw how tired and drawn her own expression was. How she looked ill, instead of the fabled glow she should have had in her pregnancy.     

                “Don’t burn the candle at both ends too often, Rimfire. It does you no favors in the end.” She reminded him. She pulled her duster tighter around her again. “Cold today.”

                “I talked them into letting us speak with him today.” He said, sipping his coffee.

                The General blinked at him, surprised. “Seriously?” she gasped. “Thank gods…now we might actually get some answers. I’ve been hounding them for days to let us interview him, but they wouldn’t listen. How did you manage to get it through their thick skulls?”

                The wheat colored mouse looked into his cup, looking at the dregs of his drink. “I suppose I used some of that country mouse charm uncle Modo passed down to me.” He offered. But they both knew that wasn’t the reason.

                She frowned, leaning closer to the window. “I hate to admit it…but I’m completely useless here. They don’t trust me, all of my command has been stripped. That bitch is only keeping me around to keep the rest of the troops in line. Even Strain’s authority has been slashed. We’re essentially puppets at this stage.”

                Rimfire cocked an eyebrow at her, expression sour. “You think you’re a puppet?”

                She looked at him sympathetically. “Hang in there, kid. No matter what she tells you. Just keep your cards close to your chest and do what you have to. We’ll get out of this. I know we will. Been in worse spots.”

                ‘You ever get tired of saying that?” he asked, not meaning to sound rude. “I mean really…we relate everything back to the war, but…I think the bar is being set for a new hurdle. I’m really not sure we have been in worse spots.”

                The pair of mice stared in silence into the morning mist, letting this settle between them.

                Above them, something stirred. Both Martians looked up to spot an uninvited guest, who had surely been eavesdropping on their conversation. The Bat woman, who went by the name Nyx, unfolded her wings and let go of the stoney perch she had been hanging from, fluttering down to the floor to stand beside the two disgruntled rodents.

                “Spying?” Carbine muttered at the Federation guard.

                Nyx shivered and shook out her wings, which folded neatly beneath her arms, giving her the appearance of an earthbound creature once more. She eyed the mice, far less troubled than they seemed to be. “Spying? No, I was trying to catch a nap someplace quiet. Not my fault you two decided to strike up a conversation in the middle of it.”

                She looked between the pair. “And if you are trying to have some sort of secret meeting, it’s your fault you picked such an open, widely trekked area to do it in. I’m starting to see why it was so easy for Plutark to walk all over you.”

                Carbine looked like she might take a swing at the other female, but Rimfire put his hand lightly on her arm to stem her impulse for violence. “Why are you napping while on duty, Nyx?” the stripe-haired mouse asked, giving her a knowing look.

                “Did I say I was on duty?” she scoffed.

                “I know your schedules by now. Maybe I should take this up with your unit leader. He seems like a chill understanding guy.” Rimfire retorted, referring to Baron, the unit leader who just so happened to be a genetic offshoot of the Plutarkians they were currently battling against.

                Nyx gave another small shiver, the tuff of black downy fur that surrounded her collarbone fluffing up briefly like a bird feathers as the shiver traveled upward, making her tall leathery ears twitch.  “Aww, Rimfire, no need to pull rank on me. I know you don’t want us here, but it’s for your own good.” She too looked out at the field of devastation beyond the window. “Maybe mediation is the best thing your species can have right now.”

                “Fuck off.” Carbine snapped, making both Nyx and Rimfire blink. “You have a lot of nerve thinking you can just sweep in here and take over, hold us hostage while you try to act like some high and mighty authority and we’re just a bunch of squabbling savages! The fact is, your Federation never did a damn thing for us before, and it’s a little late to intervene now.”

                She looked ready to fight, not uncommon for the hot-blooded general. She had never tolerated disrespect and wasn’t going to start now, no matter her disadvantage. But her outburst was born of more than just her frustrations or her political view.

                Lights were pulsing in her vision as she glared at Nyx, and she felt both suddenly hot and ice cold. Her blood pressure seemed to drop and she sunk back against the railing of the walk way. Rimfire was quick to support her, letting her lean into him. “Carbine?”

                She put a worried hand over her belly again, the smallest beginning of a bump forming there, previously hidden by the cloak of her duster. Nyx softened, looking worried. “Darlin’, getting mad at me isn’t doing you or the little one any favors. You should go lie down.”

                Carbine snarled at her, but Rimfire kept her close. “Nyx, can you give us a minute please?” he asked. “And tell Madam Secretary I’ll meet with her at the planned time.”

                The Bat woman rolled her eyes. “Alright. But I dislike being used as your errand girl.”

                “Too bad, so sad.” He answered. It was childish, but it felt good. She moved away from them, and Rimfire stood supporting the General, who was slowly regaining her composure.

                “Gods, this kid has the worst fuckin’ timing.” She muttered.

                “Kids usually do.” Rimfire reminded her, trying to offer an encouraging smile. “You’ve got to stop pickin’ fights. Any chance at all I can get you to play the sweet, complaint role for like two minutes? I need you in there when we talk to him.”

                Carbine nodded slowly, relenting. “Alright. I’ll do my best. But being a kiss-ass has never been my strong suit. You’re sure they’ll let us speak with Marshall alone? Or are they going to have one of their G-Men eavesdropping?”

                “I’m sure there will be a guard or two. But we’ll have the room alone with him.”

                She nodded. “Let’s hope he’s feeling talkative.”

                “Three weeks in a high security cell? Can’t imagine who wouldn’t be.” He answered. He looked at her cautiously. “Are you okay? Should I get Strain?”

                “No…I just need to eat. And you have a meeting to keep. I’ll go down and talk with Primer and the others. Keep myself busy there where I can actually feel useful. You’ll let me know when it’s time?”

                “Yeah. Just…try not to punch anyone while you’re down there.”

                “No promises.”  She kissed his cheek, looking at him admiring. “Modo would be so proud of you, ya know? Everything you’ve become since those days of tagging along. You’ve grown into quite the Freedom Fighter.” She hugged him quickly, “Counting on you, little bro. Until we get our boys back…we’ve got to hold the fort. You stay strong, alright?”

                He nodded, hugging her in return and watching her go on her way, leaving him alone once more. But he would need the quiet to sort out his thoughts. He had plenty of questions to ask Marshall Limburger, and he didn’t want to mince a single word.

***

                Chicago; midnight.

                The Last Chance Garage had been closed for three hours now, and the inside of it was quiet as any business might be after hours.

                Beyond it however, in the cold rain slick streets, the night was just beginning. Five familiar motorcyles streaked down the highway lanes, trailing neon streaks behind them. They seemed to fly down the wet pavement, going flat out on the stretches of highway that lacked other drivers, drinking in the cover of dark and the backdrop of the glittering city.

                Nearing their off-ramp exit to their desired neighborhood, the group rode in a formation similar to a flying V, the flaming cherry red speedster at the forefront, her wheel rims flashing as she lead the way towards emptier streets.

                The black and silver harley, flanked by the purple and chrome chopper followed her close, their movements easy and in sync with each other, as if connected by a hive-mind. The two other cycles that followed, one black and green, one dark nearly bloody maroon that tinted pink under certain lights followed on either side of these two, matching close as possible.

                They were only partially down the off-ramp when the red cycle punched the gas and sped towards the guard rail, leaping up and over the cement barrier. The others followed suit without hesitation.

                To anyone who might have been causally witnessing the event, it might have seemed like a wild death stunt, like watching lemmings jump off a cliff for no apparent reason. But all of the bikers knew what they were doing.

                The long controlled jumps landed them on the street two tiers below, speeding more freely down these darker, more abandoned roads. The pavement here was broken and choppy, ravaged by unmanaged potholes and shoddy patch jobs.

                It was a rougher area, one full of old run down buildings, abandoned and dying businesses and shells of strip-malls. The street lamps were fewer here, leaving the streets darker, more dangerous. Empty parking lots where suspicious cars loitered watched them with curious and wary gazes.

                The maroon bike suddenly broke her formation, moving up the ranks and weaving in between the others until she was side by side with he rider on the red speedster. She weaved in close, and he weaved back. Charlie flicked back her visor just as Vinnie opened his, the pair kissing quickly before righting themselves quickly.

                “Just can’t get enough of me, huh sweetheart?’

                “No no, just wanted to distract you is all.” Charlie grinned back before gunning ahead of him and taking the lead. Vinnie laughed at the antic and sped off after her, glancing back at his bros. “I love it when she plays hard to get!”

                The pair were off like a shot, chasing each other like birds.

                Modo glanced to Throttle and Max, the three now coming evenly along side each other. “Still a couple of crazy kids, I guess.”  He chuckled, shaking his head.

                “Yep, some things never change.” Throttle nodded, affirmative.

                “You mean they were always like this?” Max asked. “Because I thought they were more of the bickering old married couple type from your account.”

                “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.” Modo nodded.

                They watched as the pair got further and further down the road ahead of them, oblivious to the rest of their party.

                The remaining three bikers fell back, coming to a stop in the parking lot of a long abandoned Dollar General or Dollar Tree or Dollar…something. The pavement here was rippled and cracked with new plant life growing up in it. The last of the autumn wild flowers, drinking in the cold rain before the lake front weather brought the snow in to smother them.

                The three Martians pulled back their visors, exposing their faces to the cold wet air and breathing deep as they listened. The apartment buildings that flanked the other small empty businesses had lights on here and there, but most of the neighborhood seemed to be sleeping or empty this time of night. They staid just out of the puddle of yellow light from the flickering street lamp, just in case anyone might catch a glimpse of their faces and do a double take.

                “Should we tell them to come back?” Max asked, glancing towards where Vinnie and Charlie had become only a faint pair of tail lights in the distance.

                “Nah, let them have their fun. We’ll start without them.” Throttle assured. He scanned the dark buildings beyond their little lot, mentally counting them. “Last known address was one of these old apartments. 342 Belden Building. Problem is there’s two Belden Buildings and it doesn’t give an apartment number. So it could be one of like 24 apartments between the two.”

                “That’s helpful.” Max sighed.

                Modo looked around dubiously. “This seems like a really rough stretch for someone on a Plutarkian’s payroll to be living in. Unless it’s Greasepit, I guess.”

                “Well, this guy seems to have been homegrown before he ran into Marshall and started working for Eris. This was the address he gave on his previous resume.”

                “What was he before this?”

                “Vet tech, according to Google.”

                Modo shifted uncomfortably on Lil’ Hoss, the idea making a chill run down his spine. “Why does that somehow make it worse?”

                “Probably because of the weird jump from human and animal anatomy. Which Marshall must have thought made him a perfect candidate for his mad scientist position.” Max sighed, leaning on his handlebars. It was misting rain now, the droplets fine and icy cold, wafting over them slowly from the swollen clouds above them. He could feel the water trying to work its way down the high collar of his racing jacket, even under the shield of his dreads. “You know we could have picked a better night for this…we could be home, where it’s warm and dry. Tucked in bed…”

                He looked longingly at his partner, as though wishing he could click his heels and make it so. Throttle leaned over and kissed his lightly. “Sorry babe, hero stuff means we’re always on call.”

                “You owe me.” Max pretend pouted, sticking his tongue out.

                Throttle smirked back at him before catching the way Modo was looking between them. The expression on the big grey furred mouse’s face gave him pause a moment, making him reconsider their next move. “Since you’re in a hurry to get this chore over with, why don’t you take that building there on the left and check the names on the door, see if our friend Thaddeus is listed. Modo and I will take the one on the right.”

                “Fine,” the dark furred mouse answered, sitting up and gripping his handlebars again. “But now you owe me double.” He blew Throttle a kiss and sped off across the road, leaving the pair behind at the edge of the street lamp.

                “Double what exactly?” Modo teased. “Cause if it’s anything like whatever you two were doing the other night, we’re going to have to better sound-proof your room.”

                Throttle ignored the teasing, looking at his grey-furred bro carefully. “Big Fella, you okay?”

                “Yeah, why?” It was an automatic response, avoidant and slightly defensive. All Throttle had to do was fix Modo with one of his serious stares of the edge of his shades and the thin defense dropped at once.

                Modo wilted slight, sighing heavily. “Sorry bro…it’s nothing, really. Just a little in my head tonight I guess.”

                “About what?”

                Up ahead Vinnie and Charlie were still racing around, seemingly forgotten that they were out here on actual mission instead of just a joy ride. But things around the Last Chance were tense, and they supposed they couldn’t begrudge them a little levity in the situation.

                “Just…worried.” Modo answered. It was an understatement, but it was also not the whole answer. The way he said it gave it away.

                Throttle put his hand lightly on his bro’s good arm. “Missing her, huh?”

                Modo blinked at him, startled by the fact that his bro so quickly pinpointed the issue. But Throttle had always been freakishly good at reading his emotions, even when he tried to lock them down and keep them to himself. Vinnie was an open book, heart on his sleeve type of guy, but Modo was usually more private about his pain.

                “I’m sorry. Must be kinda awkward, being around all this without her.”

                Modo nodded mutely, “I know it’s not important right now. And I’m happy for both you, really. You know that, don’t ya?”

                Throttle nodded, but he seemed grateful for the confirmation.

                “It’s just…it hits me all at once sometimes. And I feel like I can’t breathe.” He hung his head, tired. Weary from the grief and the worry, and somewhat embarrassed of his emotions. He noted the familiar guilt that appeared on Throttle’s face, how he began to withdraw.

                He put his bionic hand over Throttle’s, keeping him from retreating. “But I know I’ll get through it.” He added, hoping his bro understood. Throttle nodded, squeezing him gently.

                “We’ll get you through it. That’s a promise.”

                Noise then, not from the direction Max had disappeared or from Vinnie and Charlie’s return approach. It drew Throttle’s attention first and foremost, but Modo was aware of it too. The pair searching the roof tops for signs of movement.

                Vinnie and Charlie joined them.

                “Something in the skies, bros?” Vinnie asked, still slightly breathless and riding high on a fresh burst adrenaline. Charlie was a bit more sober however.

                “Where’s Max?”

                “Sent him to the building down the way, checking names on the doors. We’re on our way.” Modo explained.

                Throttle didn’t move, still staring, watching the roof tops,his fur slightly bristled despite the rain. Tense in a way the situation didn’t call for.

                Vinnie and Modo exchanged quick glances, and then Modo nodded to Charlie. “Come on, Charlie-girl, let’s wrap this up.”

                She nodded and followed him across the street, heading towards the neighboring tenement buildings.

                Vinnie followed his bro’s nervous gaze. “If he were here, we’d have caught his scent by now I think.” He offered.

                Throttle gave a small, tight nod. “There are ways around that.”

                “We don’t even know if he’s still crawling around, bro. Last you saw Mace, you said he was being chased by guards at the tower. Could be the new doc and Marshall’s goons have already taken care of that problem for us.” He offered.

                The tan mouse made a noncommittal noise, only relinquishing the visual scan when his eyes began to ache under the strain and he winced visibly.

                “Hey, don’t worry about it. Let’s focus on what we came here for huh?”

                “You in a hurry to get home?” Throttle teased and Vinnie elbowed him lightly.

                “Aren’t you?” He winked.

                Vinnie revved Cherry’s engines, turning and heading towards the buildings. Throttle followed slowly after, trying to shake off his nerves.

                Max was standing at the stoop of the first building, looking at the long list of names written in sharpie on masking tape next to the call buttons. He looked back as the other bikers joined him, bikes lingering in the middle of the street between the two buildings. “No matching names on this one.” He called to them. He looked across the way to the neighboring building which seemed to have even less occupied than this one.

                A window on the third floor facing the street caught his attention though. It was dark save for a pale bit of back lighting that seemed to come from either a kitchen or a hall light beyond the main room. Against this pale light, Max thought he saw a figure watching them.

                He closed his visor again, using the magnifying feature to zoom in, trying to get a clearer view of the watcher. A tall shape shifted from his view, and Max pursed his lips.

                “Something interesting, babe?” Throttle’s voice asked over the com inside his helmet.

                “Think we may have been spotted. Say, you remember how big this Thaddeus guy was when we spotted him back at Eris?”

                “Not really, why?”

                “Was he like…some big Frankenstein sized fucker by chance?”

                The bikers in the road exchanged dubious glances.

                “So what do we do?  Barge our way in there in the middle of the night? I doubt that will go over well.” Charlie sighed. As she glanced around the building she noticed the black zig-zagging line of fire escapes creeping along it’s side.

                “Max, what floor is he on?”

                “Third, two windows from the right.”

                Charlie stepped from her bike, moving around the side of the building, Vinnie following behind while Throttle and Modo staid in the street, watching the sparse bit of traffic come and go from the neighboring side streets, the highway humming in the distance.

                The woman looked up the line of aged brick wall, counting windows until she had guessed where their suspect’s apartment was. “We could climb up the fire escape and get a look inside. See if it’s his place.”

                “’Dunno, sweetheart, looks dicey. What if he’s armed?” Vinnie asked her.

                She smirked and patted the holster on the thigh of her pink and black racing suit. “What if he is?”

                Vinnie grinned, “Oh Charlie-girl, you are just pushing all the right buttons tonight, let me tell ya.” He purred. She pulled him closer by hooking her finger under the lip of his helmet, bringing them in kissing distance again. “Focus, hot shot. We need to find this guy. My guess is he has some kind of keycard or badge or something that will let him into the lab. If we can make swipe it and make a copy, that’s one step closer to the transporter.”

                The masked mouse sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but I still don’t understand why we can’t just blast and smash our way in there. Would save a lot of time and energy.”

                “I told you that’s not gonna fly, Vinnie. They have cameras everywhere these days, and the cops are always patrolling. You go smashing in there, and you won’t have time to worry about goons. You’ll have a SWAT team down your throat so fast it’ll make your head spin.” She explained.

                The mouse rolled his eyes. “You Earthlings…you’ve gotten a lot more paranoid over the years. Takes all the fun out of things.”

                She found the lower run of the ladder but it was well out of her reach, and the nearest dumpster was going to be too heavy to drag over. Plus the noise alone would give them away. “Come on, give me a boost.”

                “Oh you’re not going up there.”

                She glared at him. “Oh don’t you even start.”

                “Hey, hey, I’m just sayin’ that we don’t know what might be waiting up there, and maybe you should hang back until I scope it out.”

                “We’re seriously going to go around about this again?!” she snapped, temper quickly flaring.

                “There’s the bickering married couple I was expecting!” Max’s cheery voice interrupted, making them both look up in surprise. It seemed not only Tourmaline had joined them but so Throttle and Modo.  “Could you maybe bicker a little less loudly though? You’re going to give us away.”

                Charlie flushed both in frustration and embarrassment. “Will one of you big furry lugs give me a leg up please? Or do I have to do everything myself?”

                Modo moved forward, lifting her easily so that she was already three rungs up the ladder, then pulled himself up after her.

                “Hey now--!” Vinnie started to protest.

                Throttle shushed him, “She can handle it, Vincent. Plus she’s got Modo for extra fire power. We need to make this quick before we alert any more civilians.”

                “I feel like there’s a city crime rate joke I could make here, but…it feels cheap to do so.” Vinnie mumbled, before Throttle pressed his helmet and forced his visor to close, muffling his voice.

                All eyes moved upward, watching Charlie and Modo scale the metal grating. It creaked softly under the weight, but gave no indication that it wouldn’t hold. They were lucky enough that the windows in the lower apartments were dark and had curtains drawn against them, leaving their ascent unnoticed for the moment.

                Upon reaching the third floor, the woman pressed herself close to the wall and inched towards the window, which was cracked ever so slightly to allow the fresh air in. Considering the rain and chill, she found this suspicious.

                Modo was watching from the ladder just below her where he could see up and into the window. “Do you see anything?” she mouthed to him.

                The grey furred mouse shook his head slowly. He could smell something from inside the window, something faint and musky, vaguely chemically. But the misting rain that kept washing over them diluted it from this distance. “Be careful. I’m right behind you.”

                She nodded and bent beside the window, peering in as carefully as she could to remain out of sight. She glimpsed an old high back armed chair, facing a television on the opposite wall. A short couch that looked ill used and little else. There was a greenish-yellow glow of a light from somewhere beyond and Charlie decided it must be from the kitchen.

                But there were no sounds of movement or voices inside the apartment. No indication anyone was awake, or even home. Perhaps Max had mistaken a piece of furniture for a person, or saw something in a different apartment window.

                Charlie paused and pressed her com button. “Are we sure this is the right apartment?” she whispered, even though with her visor closed the sound of her voice was dampened.

                “Door buzzer says Thaddeus Zdurich.” Max answered. “Sounds like our man.”

                Charlie wiggled her gloved fingers into the thin gap between the window and the sill, slowly pushing it upward inch by inch. The moments crept by like an eternity, Modo’s single eye staring fixedly on the opening and watching for any kind of movement inside.

                Now that the window was fully open the smell of cleaning supplies wafted out. “Not like the smell of bleach was every suspicious.” She muttered, easing herself slowly inside the living room. Her boots creaked ever so softly on the hardwood floor as she stood there, taking in the apartment more closely.

                Part of her mind raced. What was she doing? Breaking and entry was a felony wasn’t it? If she got caught here, where would Remy go? How would she explain? And how would she ever reach her son?

                Charlie pushed conventional rules and consequences from her mind, reminding herself that this was not a normal situation. Nothing about her life was normal anymore. Modo was at the window now, scoping the place out as well.

                His nose twitched hard at the harsh smell of cleanser and he hesitated before slipping inside as if it was too overwhelming.

                “You okay?” she asked him over com.

                He frowned, seeming as though he was trying to repress the urge to gag. “Smell of that stuff is burning my nose…” he muttered, closing his visor again and setting it to deep space mode. Filtered air rushed in, chasing the smell away and offering some relief.

                “Well…lets just hope the guy’s a clean freak and nothing more.” She muttered. There was still no movement from within the apartment. There was the faint hum of the refrigerator and the radiator kicking on with he new exposure of cold air.

                From their vantage point, Charlie could see the kitchen behind the partial wall at her right, and then a short hallway with three doors, two which seemed to lead to rooms and one that was a closet. Made obvious by it’s slatted door.

                “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

                “That’s good news for us, Charlie. Maybe the doc has stepped out for the night.” Throttle’s voice mused through the com.

                “Not good if he didn’t leave anything behind.” She corrected. She looked back at Modo, “You check the rooms, I’ll check the kitchen.”

                He nodded, doing his best to tip toe through the hall without making a sound. It occurred to him briefly that perhaps he wasn’t the best choice to do any sneaking, but it was too late now. He tried the door on the right first, finding only a very clean bathroom. The smell of bleach from it was enough to burn his nose even through the visor, and he shut the door against it.

                “Damn…that shit is makin’ my head spin.” He muttered. It was in fact. There was a growing wave of sick as it lingered in his senses and low pounding beginning in his temples. He paused by the bedroom door, trying to shake the feeling off.

                From the kitchen, Charlie was rooting through drawers and cabinets, and in short order found what she was looking for. “I’ve got it!” she gasped, more loudly than she would have liked. She held up a lanyard, on which was plastic laminated key card with the picture of Marshall’s doctor upon it.  The washed out, long face of Thaddeus looked back at her with beady eyes from his portrait and Charlie grimaced.

                “Yikes, talk about unflattering…”

                She noticed Modo leaning against the wall then and her nerves pitched up. “Modo? What’s wrong?”

                The big grey furred mouse shook his head, trying to clear it. But his limbs were shaking, and he could swear that he was on the verge of vomiting. Charlie was at his side at once, the keycard stashed into her holster.

                “Modo?!”

                “Hey, what’s going on? Everyone alright?” Vinnie’s voice, tense and questioning, came over the coms.

                Modo shook his head. “Don’t know…that smell…”

                His head was pounding harder now. Not just a headache. Not even migraine. It was like an ice-pick through his eye. He could feel the blood pumping in his ears, feel it pulsing in his temples. A familiar sick sort of haze started to creep over him.

                “Guys, something’s wrong with Modo, can you—”

                Charlie looked up as she heard something shift behind the door she and her furry companion were standing in front of. Both of them went very still, staring at it. The sound of movement came again. Slow, perhaps labored, but deliberate from the other side.

                They weren’t alone.

                The woman locked her arm hands around Modo’s good arm, gently pulling him back away from the wall and the doorway, moving back towards the living room.

                They had made it only a few steps when something crashed through the door, lurching towards them.

                In the limited light of the dark apartment, Charlie could only be certain of a few details. The man, or creature’s height was the most obvious. Max’s off-handed descriptor of “Frankenstein” was fitting. Their attacker was taller than Modo by a head, and just as broad. The hulking body was covered with a mask over it’s face that resembled both a hazmat suit and a gas mask—eyes glowing bright blue-green. The mask was buckled to  in rusty-brown colored trench coat, or perhaps it was something else. The buttons were wrong. They didn’t run down the middle but brought the angle of it to one side—like a lab coat. There were dark smudges on the coat itself, and some part of Charlie’s psyche could guess what they were but would not bring it to the forefront.

                There were bigger things to worry about. Like the goddamn sledgehammer the masked monster was swinging right towards her face.

                Charlie opened her mouth to scream even as her hand instinctively reached for the blaster holstered to her thigh. But it was unnecessary.

                Modo was in motion. He blocked the first swing of the hammer with his bionic arm, sparks flying as result, the one-eyed mouse letting out a short howl of pain as something dented and metal pushed in uncomfortable new ways against the stub of his shoulder.

                But if the pain was bad, it didn’t keep him down.

                As the masked man drew back to swing again, Modo took a swing of his own, striking him once in the shoulder before pulling back and firing on him with his lazor canon. The short hot blast sent their attacker skidding backwards, but did not floor him in the way another enemy might have been.

                He swung the hammer again, and this time Modo caught the heavy steel with his palm, gripped it and jerked it from his hands, giving it a swing of his own. The attacker barely avoided having his head taken off by it, ducking just in time as it went spinning from Modo’s hand and crashed through the wall into the bedroom.

                A cacophony of sound rose from the fire escape, as the window as kicked in by Vinnie, who came in, blaster firing. But in such close quarters, it was difficult to take shots at will.

                “Charlie, hit the deck!” he shouted.

                But instead of heeding his advice, the woman dove at him just as their masked assailant found a new weapon of choice—a whole bookcase.

                “Take your own advice!” She gasped as she crashed into him, the pair of them flattened to the floor as books and other odds and ends fell from the buckling shelves, the heavy wood structure being chucked at Modo.

                There was a thundering canon blast as Modo blew the heavy piece to splinters with his bionic arm canon.

                Maverick charged through the hail of debris, crashing directly into the masked man and driving him through the already shattered remains of the bedroom door. Fists flying, teeth gnashing. The pair seemingly matched for strength.

                Vinnie was up, moving into the bedroom to assist, stunned to see the way both men were pounding away so viciously at each other.

                “Whoa whoa easy big fella save some for the rest of us!” Vinnie called, trying to pry the two apart if only to keep them from tearing each other to pieces. Modo snarled at him, unintelligibly and threw his elbow back when Vinnie got too close.

                The blow hit Vinnie in the ribs hard, winding him, and leaving him open to an attack from the masked man, who slashed at with something small and razor sharp. Vinnie felt a hot tear across his forearm and a suddenly spurt of blood.

                The glowing eyes fixed on him, trying to push Modo off—squeezing the big grey biker by the throat with one large, gloved hand, threatening to crush his throat. Modo kept struggling, seeming to be in a blind rage, not thinking to use his arm canon in the moment but trying to claw and tear at him with bare hands.

                A distorted voice issued forth from behind the shapeless mask over the man’s head, pointing at Vinnie with his one free hand, which bore a viciously long scalpel, freshly red with the mouse’s blood. “You’re unfinished, Mouse…come closer…I’ll see that the left half of your face matches your right!”

                It was such a strange and disturbing statement, especially emitted in the hollow fashion behind the thick leather mask that Vinnie felt himself go cold, his fighting instincts stuttering to a stop in his sudden fear.

                But Modo broke free from the masked man’s choke hold then, grabbing him and hurling him across the room, where he crashed through the window in an explosion of glass and broken frame.

                “Modo what are you--!?” Vinnie gasped, shaken from his shock. Modo turned on him, seeming not to realize it was him, and made as if to strike the smaller mouse squarely in the face. A blow that surely would have dented more than Vinnie’s face mask.

                Two other bodies obscured Vinnie’s vision and Modo’s path to strike in a rush of movement. Both Throttle and Max charged through the door, Throttle catching Modo’s bionic arm and holding firm while Max caught the other swinging arm, the pair driving into the bigger mouse like they were linebackers in a football game.

                The three crashed into the opposite wall, more plaster and pain chipping as result of the force.

                “Hold ‘im!” Throttle grunted, Max doing his best to obey the order despite how hard he felt Modo pushing back against him, trying to break his grip.

                Modo’s single eye flared bright red, a thing that only happened when he was overcome with rage. But a symptom that had been near constant when he was consumed by Frenzy.

                Charlie was beside Vinnie, watching the scene with wide eyes, having a distinct flashback to that fateful night at the Last Chance. To see the scene nearly played out identically as before was jarring, but this time help was at the ready.

                “What the hell is happening!?” Vinnie shouted, seeming to be the only one in the dark.

                Throttle threw all his weight into keeping Modo’s arm pinned, pressing close to his bro as he could. “MODO! Modo snap out of it! Modo, it’s us!”

                Modo howled, trying to shake him and Max off, not seeming to register who was in front of him. Max grunted as Modo nearly broke his hold on him and looked frantically to his partner.

                “Is he fuckin’ relapsing!?” he gasped, not knowing what else would cause the mouse to behave this way.

                Behind them, Charlie’s eyes darted back out into the hall towards the bathroom, remembering the way the smell had bothered Modo so badly. Had this creep booby-trapped the place with some sort of Frenzy trigger?

                They were running out of options, and now could hear sirens beginning to sound in the distance.

                Throttle did the only thing he could think of. He gripped Modo by the back of the head, pulling the larger mouse down closer to him, foreheads pressed, letting his antenna connect with his skull.

                The psychic connection was jarring, painful for the pair. Modo’s distress transferring momentarily to Throttle’s mind. But his bro was able to hold fast, forcing his own clearer thoughts onto Modo.

                “Modo, it’s us! You don’t want to hurt us!  You’re not a weapon!”

                The grey furred mouse broke the connection, leaving both him and the other mouse gasping, slightly dizzy. He sagged into their hold, breathless and confused. But himself again. The fire faded from his eyes, leaving him blinking in shock.

                Max was suddenly pulling double duty, trying to keep both him and Throttle on their feet.

                “Hey, hey! Everyone okay!?”

                “Yeah…” Modo panted, though he clearly wasn’t.

                “It’s okay, big fella, you’re you again. Just catch your breath.” Throttle assured, though he was still a bit shaky himself.

                Charlie moved to the window, looking down to the sidewalk below, sure she would see a body splattered there on the pavement. But there was nothing but a halo of broken glass and splintered wood frame.

                “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

                The sirens were getting louder. Vinnie moved forward, “Time to cut and run. Big fella, can ya ride?”

                Modo nodded shakily, “Yeah, think so.”

                They moved in a cluster, scrambling back down the fire escape the way they’d come, scattering as they sped off into the dark just the first of the police cars exited the highway ramp. By the time they reached the scene, all they found was clearly trashed apartment and no sign of intruder or victim.

***

Chapter Text

***

                Karma paced the garage like a lion in a cage. Every minute ticking by seeming to add fuel to her frustration, that was slowly curing into something else. On the one hand; being on a whole knew planet was a fascinating and thrilling experience. Or it would have been, if she hadn’t spent most of it trapped in relatively one spot, playing babysitter without even being paid.

                Daisy was a sweetheart, and usually very good for her. But Karma didn’t know shit about kids. She hardly felt like she had been one herself—even though technically she supposed she still was—and was not keen to spend her days chasing after one. The little escape she did have was when she could pawn the toddler off on the other child who was stuck here by circumstance. But that had been less and less lately. Remy had eagerly resumed her old life here in Chicago and was taking every opportunity she could to escape the garage full of aliens to stay with friends.

                Karma supposed she didn’t blame the girl, but it was lonelier here without her.  Tonight Remy should have been here to give her a hand, but the girl had snuck out almost as soon at the motorcycles had left the lot. She was going to spend the night with a friend and figured she’d rather beg forgiveness and than permission. It seemed the tighter her mother tried to hold her, the more she pulled away now.

                The red head prowled, hearing the sound of the bikes coming up the back alley. Pausing in the middle of the empty garage with a heavy sigh, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at the door. She didn’t know how many times Charlene Davidson had worn this same expression or stood the same way waiting for the bros to drag themselves inside after a night of wild rides and world saving.

                She expected the backdoor to open, planning to begin raging at the group for taking her for granted. But as Charlie and Vinnie came through first, Vinnie holding his bloody forearm and Charlie trying to stem the bleeding, all her anger got pushed to the side.

                “What happened?!”

                Throttle came through next, Modo between him and Max, the big grey furred mouse being supported between the pair as they guided him inside.

                “It’s cool, kid, don’t sweat it. Just a flesh wound,” Vinnie explained as she moved towards him.

                “A flesh wound that nicked an artery, I think.” Charlie muttered. “Quit yer yapping and help me put pressure on this! I need to get the med kit.” She snapped at Vinnie, pushing him onto a work still and moving quickly past the other girl to run into the kitchen.

                Karma looked around hurriedly and grabbed the nearest clean towel she could find off the work station and moved to cover the open wound with it, helping Vinnie apply pressure. He smiled at her. “Thanks, kid.”

                “Were you guys attacked?” she asked, glancing from to the other three. Throttle eased Modo down onto a work stool, and the grey mouse seemed grateful to be off his feet, hanging his head between his shoulders as he leaned on his knees. She could see that his beautiful arm had taken a bit of beating.

                “Something like that,” Max answered, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully.  “Are we thinking the creep you guys went up against was Thaddeus? Waiting there for us?”

                “Hard to say,” Charlie called, returning quickly with arms full, carrying her medical kit, damp towels and a bottle of pain relieve. She pressed one of the towels and the medication into Max’s hands before returning to Vinnie’s side. Over the years the mechanic had developed so much practice at triaging battle wounds like this that she sometimes wondered if she shouldn’t have gotten her nursing degree. The way Harley had married the two professions over the years making more and more sense all the time.  Something, either machine or mouse, always seemed to be need of patching and care.

                “The guy in that keycard picture seemed a lot smaller didn’t he?” she looked to them for confirmation. “The creep who came at us through that door was supervillain-sized, easy.”

                Modo didn’t answer, seemingly focused on getting his breath. He was trembling all over as Throttle leaned in close. “Big fella, look at me.” He coaxed. When Modo didn’t comply readily, Throttle lightly tugged his ear, a familiar gesture between them.

                It’s small but distinct familiarity made Modo blink and actually smile in some surprise despite of himself, blinking at his younger bro.

                “You’re okay now. It was only a blip. You’re home, you’re safe.”

                Modo shook his head, “I don’t know what happened…it just took over me again. I couldn’t control it.” He looked anxiously from Throttle to Vinnie, feeling helpless and guilty.

                “We know, big guy. You’d never try to hurt us on purpose.” Vinnie offered. “What was it? Some kinda trigger? Or Frenzy relapse?”

                Modo shook his head quickly, dislodging the damp towel that Max had placed across the back of his neck to try ease some of the heat in his skin. “Don’t even think that! It can’t happen, it can’t!”

                He looked helplessly to Throttle, needing him to confirm. “Can it?”

                His bro remained calm, trying to get Modo to do the same. “No big fella, I don’t think it can come back persay. But the disease is such a wild card. Maybe certain things can make it flare.”

                “The smell in that place was really bothering him,” Charlie explained, cleaning Vinnie’s wound, ignoring his hisses out pain at the disinfectant. “Just smelled like really strong cleaning supplies to me. Could it have been an airborn trigger? How do you even contract this disease?”

                “It was airborn the first time Modo caught it.”  Throttle nodded. The two kept exchanging silent looks that the rest were beginning to notice.

                “Ahem, if you two know something, would you like to share it with the class?” Max prompted.

                Throttle stood then, surprising him. “We’ll address it later, bros. Right now let’s focus on patch work.” He looked to Vinnie, “How’s your wing?”

                Charlie was applying liquid stitch the arm, Karma watching in disgusted fascination and standing at the ready with bandages.

                “Well, I wasn’t planning on adding to my kick-ass battle scar collection but I think this one will do nicely! Kinda sexy, huh sweetheart?” he asked, looking to Charlie.

                She rolled her eyes at him, “I don’t know where you’ve developed this idea that women get all hot and bothered after they’ve had to clean up blood and such. It’s not sexy, Vin’.”

                Karma shook her head, staring at the other mouse. “Wow, I think you might be an even bigger loser here on Earth than you are back home. Your lack of game is embarrassing. I hope it’s not genetic.”

                He swatted at her and Charlie yelled at them both, trying to finish her work.

                Satisfied that Vinnie was in no danger, the tan mouse looked to his lover.  “That leaves us to buff the dent out of the big fella’s arm. Up to the challenge?”

                Max looked dubious, as it seemed a very different thing than buffing the dent out of a bike. “Sure?”

                Throttle winked at him, “We’ll have you trained up in no time, babe.” He looked down at Modo again. “You ready?”

                The other mouse gave a small nod, letting his bionic arm go limp and straight, reaching to grip one side while Throttle braced his shoulder. With a short series of clicks, the bionic attachment came free from the shoulder and Modo grunted at the ache and sudden loss of it’s weight.

                Throttle handed it carefully to Max, who stared at it like he’d been handed Excalibur or something. “Wow…just like that, huh?”

                “Yep. Quickest way to lose ten pounds.’ Modo joked thinly, glancing up at him. “Be careful with it, alright? Primer put a lot of work into it.”

                Max nodded, “Of course! Leave it to me!” He grinned with confidence and then turned and looked at Charlie, “Uh…care to walk me through this, oh she-of-the-most-impressive-mechanic-skills-and endless-pity-on-we-lesser-beings? Pretty please?”

                Charlie smirked at him sweetly. “Sure, I’ll be right there.”

                Vinnie scoffed. “Ugh, laying it on a little thick don’t you think, Tourmaline?”

                “Thick as your over-compensation?” Max quipped. “Or is that just your weird body spray?”

                Thankfully, Vinnie was done being bandaged, because he was already waving his arms around, scoffing even harder at the other mouse’s comeback. “Oooh that’s cute, that’s cute! But uh, remind me again what your skill set is? Besides, you know, making Throttle produce some weird sounds late at night?”

                “Please stop.” Throttle groaned.

                “Well I bet poor Charlie would like to know more about those sounds, since the only time I hear her call your name is in an effort to get you to shut your trap.” Max countered.

                Charlie’s cheeks went pink but less out of embarrassment than sheer shock of the comment and how quickly it was fired back.

                Vinnie stepped closer to him, puffing out his chest, clearly getting a small adrenaline high off the sparring match of words he was having. “The only trap that’s gonna shut around here pretty boy is yours!”

                “Oh you think I’m pretty?” Max chuckled. “Careful, Van Wham, I don’t think you could handle this. And I don’t just mean because you can’t reach me. Shorty.” He patted him gently on the head with his free hand and Vinnie sputtered for retort, caught between outrage and laughing.

                “Oh my god, there are two of them.” Charlie groaned, looking haplessly at the other two bikers who were also watching the sparring match.

                Modo glanced at Throttle, who was watching the pair jab at each other with dawning horror on his face. “Yeah, ain’t that funny?”  He gave Throttle a smirk that told his bro he was not going to live this down any time soon. “Care to comment?”

                Both Vinnie and Max looked towards him, curious. “What now?” Vinnie inquired.

                The puzzled and curious expression on both their faces was almost a mirror, and Modo tried not laugh while Throttle looked like he might drop everything and walk out of the room. “Nothing.” He answered, voice composed but tight, one eye almost twitching. “Absolutely nothing, and if anyone says different I will deny it.”

                Vinnie blinked and looked to Max. “What’s he on about?”

                Karma swept past him, clearly over all of this nonsense. “I think he’s having an aneurysm because you two are both idiots but he’s fucking one of you.”

                “Kill me now.” Throttle muttered, mortified.

                Vinnie’s ego grew at least three sizes in the span of a minute and his grin was insufferable. “Oh. Oh I see.  Don’t sweat it bro!” He put an arm around Max, patting him on the back. “Just because you couldn’t get the original doesn’t mean this one’s not a good knock off!” He grinned and then looked Max up and down. “Proportions are all off though.”

                “He’s never had a complaint about my proportions—” Max quipped, and Throttle went scarlet.

                “OH MY GODS!”

                Modo was laughing, the sound an bright note of relief after the tension of before.

                Charlie moved in and pulled Vinnie away, trying to stifle her own giggles. “Enough! I don’t have a defibrillator for when you kill the poor guy. Hand it over, Max, I’ll take it from here.” She said, hands out to take Modo’s arm.

                The dark furred mouse relinquished it, looking humbled and apologetic as he mouthed “sorry” to his boyfriend.

                Vinnie snickered at him, but Charlie tugged at him. “And you’re no better! Since you clearly need a break from putting your foot in your mouth, why don’t you go check on the girls? Let the rest of us do some real work, huh?”

                Van Wham pouted, starting to protest but she had already moved towards the work bench, ushering Max to follow so she could show him some pointers.

                “Fine. But we’re not done talking about this.”

                “Oh I think we are.” Modo answered, waving him off with his remaining hand. He watched as his white-furred bro tromped upstairs to where Karma had vanished, then looked back to Throttle who had settled beside him again, pulling up another stool next to his.

                “Thanks for the distraction.” He told him quietly.

                Throttle nodded, rubbing his back. “Any time.”  Modo winced under his touch, and it was easy to feel the tension and knots in his muscles under his shirt. The pair fell effortlessly into an old routine, the tan mouse working to massage the overtaxed muscles that were always overcompensating for Modo’s prosthetic.

                The relief was like a flood through the big mouse, and he finally began to relax more fully.

                “I know what you saw in my head,” he told him after a moment, catching his bro’s eye again. Throttle looked at him cautiously, still continuing to massage his shoulder and the stump below it. “What do you think it means?”

                Throttle considered, “Looked to me like a memory…something from when they kept you here on Earth.”

                Modo nodded. “Maybe I was here longer than you thought…trapped in that lab with that freak and his experiments.” His shivers started to pick up again. “What if there’s some sort of trigger? A real one? Something that will make me snap back to that thing they turn me into?”

                The tan mouse shook his head. “Won’t happen, big fella. You’re pumped full of vaccine. Until now you haven’t had any symptoms at all. I think the place just tripped your memory is all. You’re okay now.”

                Modo knew he was he was trying to stay optimistic, but heard the edge of denial there in his tone. Neither of them really wanted to think about what would happen if Modo fully relapsed into Frenzy again. But he couldn’t help but worry. “You need to make a plan, just in case.”

                ‘What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “If I lose control. I need you and Vinnie to be ready. I can’t risk hurting any of you again, I won’t—” he turned his head instinctively towards the stairs, knowing his baby girl was upstairs asleep. The anguished thought of himself losing control to the violent feral state he had been reduced to with her in the crosshairs.

                Throttle hugged him. “That’s not going to happen. You wouldn’t hurt a hair on that baby’s head, no matter what fucked up thing they did to you. I know you, Modo.”

                Maverick wanted to believe him, but his good eye trailed to his bro’s throat, remembering his fist around it. He leaned int the embrace and closed his eyes against the thoughts, waiting for it to pass.  

                “Always takin’ care of us, huh?”

                Throttle chuckled. “What are bros for?”

                Modo sat back and looked at him pointedly then in a way Throttle hadn’t expected. Modo reached with his good hand and removed his shades, examining the way his eyes adjusted to the overhead lights of the garage now that they were unguarded. The way the artificial pupils did not as readily adjust to the influx of light. His thumb brushed along one of the scars at the edge of his eye socket, almost invisible now under his fur. “And what about you?
               

                “It’s fine,” Throttle said quickly, trying to dismiss the worry, leaning away from the touch but unable to escape it fully. “I’m getting by. It’ll have to wait until we get back home.”

                “What if it can’t?”

                Throttle replaced the field specs quickly and Modo sighed.

                “One fire at a time, big fella. I’m fine. You’ll be fine. And the sooner we get into Eris and get our hands on the transport unit, the better.”

                “Well, I can’t argue that.”

                He looked towards where Charlie and Max were gathered at the work bench, surrounding his bionic limb. “Well, what’s the damage?”

                The woman looked back at him. “Nothing too bad. But I need to buff out a panel and mend a little of this circuitry, so you don’t get any nasty shocks. I think I’ll keep her overnight. That okay?”

                Modo gave a one-armed shrug. “Guess I can’t argue with the expert.” He rose, feeling steadier and definitely better now that his muscles weren’t in knots. “Man, still got those magic fingers, bro.”

                “I’ll say he does.” Max chimed in, beaming back at his lover, unable to help himself.

                “Yeah well, I say we power down for the evening. Since no one’s banging down our door for the moment I’d say our trench-coat covered friend has decided to lay low for the time being. We can pick up with the mystery in the morning.”

                “You guys go on, I’ll finish up here.” Charlie urged. She paused in her work, and moved to Modo, putting her arms around him and pulling him down so she could kiss his cheek. “Glad you’re doing better, big guy. Why don’t you crash down here in mine and Vinnie’s room? Probably comfier than that sofa.”

                “Thanks Charlie, but I’ll be alright. Besides, definitely feeling the need to stick close to the little one tonight. I’ll go see if she needs tucked in.”

                “Already tucked,” Vinnie’s voice wafted down from the stairs as he approached. His cockiness had gone and he looked slightly anxious, though didn’t give away why. “Go on bros, we’ll lock up.”

                Modo filed past him, pausing to give his good arm an affectionate squeeze before disappearing upstairs. Vinnie turned his attention on Throttle then, smugness returning. “And Throttle, you just let me know if you need someone to give a good night kiss, incase tall dark and gangly is too busy.”

                “You try to kiss me and I’ll give you a fat lip.” Throttle warned, shaking a finger at him.

                “Ooh, kinky.”

                Embarrassment flared in Throttle’s cheeks again but before he could feed Vinnie a knuckle sandwich to end the teasing, Max had slipped his arms around him, kissing at his neck and hugging him close. “Easy, tiger. Short, bleached and dopey is just jealous. Besides, I want those magic fingers all to myself.”

                He stole a kiss from the other mouse, making Charlie chuckle and Vinnie gag.

                The pair excused themselves, opting to reach the upstairs by fire escape if only so they wouldn’t have to endure another volley of banter from Vinnie.  Once they were gone, the white furred mouse turned to his human partner. “Did I hear you trying to give our love nest away to the big fella, sweetheart?”

                She stroked his cheek. “For a night, smart guy. Besides, I don’t think it’s going to get much use tonight. I want to get Modo’s arm up and running as quick as possible and then I want to start work on the keycard.”

                Vinnie looked at her cautiously. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for days and days, baby. You’re gonna burn yourself out.”

                She shook her head, pulling away from him. “It’s not a big deal; I’m still gassed up from earlier and you know that once I get on a project I don’t like to be interrupted.”

                He frowned and she felt a pinch of guilt, realizing her tone might have been a little harsher than she meant. She pulled him in and kissed him lovingly, and that seemed to ease him. He slipped his arms around her waist, pressing her close. Her hand went automatically to his wounded arm, as if trying to protect it from too much pressure.

                He smiled against her lips. “I’m okay. It was just a little cut.”

                “I don’t like seeing you bleed,” she mumbled. “You always play too rough. Gonna make me go completely white before I’m fifty at this rate.”

                “Ooh, then we’d match.” Vinnie teased, kissing her again. He could feel that he was breaking her resolve just a little, and he kept pushing. Not just because he wanted her, needed her, but because he was worried. Charlie had been working herself too hard, strained and stressed at their lack of progress contacting Mars. The worry for her son was evident, even though she tried to put on a brave front. Vinnie saw that it was beginning to break her down.

                His hands slipped lower down her back, lifting her and bringing her closer against him in a way that was more than a little suggestive. With her still wearing her racing leathers it was easy for him to feel the heat of her and he moaned and the same as she did, suddenly very glad Modo hadn’t taken her up on her offer of the bed.

                But Charlie pulled away, looking semi apologetic. “Later, hot stuff…I really gotta finish this.”

                His disappointment was evident and guilt stabbed at her more abjectly, but she pushed it away. “Don’t look at me like that.” She pulled away from him fully, trying to focus on her work bench. “There’s just…a lot on my mind right now.”

                “I know, sweetheart.” He relented.

                This softened her and she offered him another small smile. “Kids all asleep? I know Remy likes to stay up late.”

                Now Vinnie looked nervous and Charlie looked at him hard. “Wait, she wasn’t still on her phone at this hour was she?”

                “Uh…well…” he winced and tugged at the collar of his racing jacket. “I wouldn’t know, cause Karma said she took off for a friend’s house after we left.”

                “What?!” Charlie barked. “And she just let her go?!”

                “Hey hey, she’s alright! It’s the weekend, babe, I’m sure it’s fine.”

                “Just because you treat your kid like ‘one of the guys’ doesn’t mean that’s how I treat mine!” Charlie barked, the words rushing out of her before she could really process or think about them.

                Vinnie blinked at her, “Wow, shots fired.”

                Charlie growled in frustration, hands on her head. “Dammit, Vinnie! This is not okay! She can’t just sneak off in the middle of the night when I have my back turned! She can’t take care of herself! What if something happens and I—” she started to cry in spite of herself, fumbling to find where she had stashed her cell phone.

                Her frustration and sudden overwhelm made her clumsy and she began to curse and tear at her belts and her racing clothes, tears flowing readily in spite of her rage.

                Vinnie caught her hands, pulling her back to him. She struggled against him at first, until he made her look at him. “Charlie. We’re going to bring him home. I promise.”

                She gave up the fight then, putting her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. He picked her up and carried into their little room, an addition built just off the main garage. It had undergone a full renovation since the early days when all they had were plywood walls. Now weeks later they had four solid walls, a window, a door that thankfully locked, fresh paint, hard wood floors and real bed all their own.

                He laid her down on it, curling close around her in the dark. Neither of them bothered with clothing or removing their boots. They just held each other, and Vinnie did his best to comfort her and let her have her tears. It was the best he could for her in that moment.

**

                They snuck into their own bedroom through the fire escape, crawling in through the window. Unaware of the turmoil between the pair below, they were both barely inside before Max was covering him in hungry, desperate kisses.

                “Easy easy…” Throttle cautioned, though it was half-hearted. “What’s got you so heated, babe?”

                “Please, I’m still jittery with adrenaline,” Max explained, peeling him out of his jacket, hands sliding up Throttle’s shirt next as he untucked the form-fitting thin material from his jeans. His own jacket was sagging off his shoulders, getting in the way in his hurry to have less between them.  “Not that I need a reason to want you, babe…” he added.

                Throttle smirked, pulling him closer by his belt and let the taller, dark mouse cover his neck and shoulders with kisses and nips. “Hmm. Sure. Not jealous were you?”

                Max choked on a little laugh, looking up at him. “What? Jealous?”

                Throttle just smirked at him. “I think you were…just a little.” He added with a wink. “You know how I can tell?” he asked, pulling the other to the bed and pressing him down on it, standing over him at the edge.  “Cause your tongue gets a little loose about certain intimate details.”

                Max flushed, half with arousal and half with embarrassment. He grinned sheepishly, “ Aw babe, I didn’t mean anything—”

                Throttle tipped his chin up to look at him directly again and then pressed the same finger against his lips to quiet his chatter. Max realized his glasses were off and he was looking at him with that smoldering expression that made his knees weak and all the blood immediately rush into his groin.

                “Nah-unh. You wanna talk about noises I make, then let’s even the field, babe.”

                Throttle’s tail moved up along his thigh , undoing his belt and tugging his pants open. Max gasped, already painfully hard and straining. His boyfriend push him down flat on the bed slowly, pinning him there with one hand while the other wiggled his jeans down over his hips and thighs, teasing him through his underwear.

                Max arched against the possessive touch, mouth falling open to moan and the tan mouse swallowed the sound with a rough kiss, biting his lip gently when he pulled back to give his some air.

                “Now, you’re gonna see if you can stop yourself from making noises of your own. Aren’t you, babe?”

                Max visibly pulsed with want, pink under his fur, delighted smile spreading across his face. He loved when Throttle played tough guy in bed. Loved it when he threw his weight around and put Max in his place. It made something in him go hot and stupid, and worst of all—made him want to be noisy as hell. Which was exactly the point.

                His boyfriend was about have his cake and eat it too, getting delicious revenge for his little slip of the tongue.

                “Oh my gods…” Max panted.

                Throttle squeezed his thigh as he knelt between his legs, tearing off his underwear in one hard yank. “What was that?”

                Max bit his lip to keep himself silent, eyes full of lust and shook his head.

                Throttle smiled and kissed him, squeezing him softly. “Good boy.”

***

                Modo had not returned to his temporary refuge on the couch, but had slipped into the bedroom where Daisy, Karma and Remy had been staying. Along with the renovations they’d done downstairs,  Charlie had moved the old double bed to the downstairs room, and replaced it with a bunk and cushy little toddler bed, shaped little a little doll house, for Daisy.

                The little girl was inside the cozy covered bed, the embedded night light in it’s removable roof glowing softly pink and yellow through the cutouts shaped like stars. Her thumb was in her mouth, fast asleep and cuddled with a blanket. She didn’t notice when Modo slipped into the room—but Karma did.

                The young woman was not in her own bunk, ready to call it a night, but was in the process of sneaking out the window. She and Modo stared at each other wide-eyed, frozen as they were caught between their entrance and exits.

                “This feels very cliché somehow.” Modo mused, looking at her.

                She looked at him anxiously. “Are you gonna rat me out?”

                “I don’t like that term.” He explained, closing the door behind him quietly so as to not alert anyone else in the house. “But do you have a reason I shouldn’t?”

                She batted her eyes at him. “Cause you’re the cool uncle? My favorite uncle?”

                “Nice try. Anything else?”

                She sighed, relenting, pulling herself inside enough so that she could rest on the sill instead of half hanging out it. “Look, it’s not personal. I just didn’t sign up for this, ya know?” She looked at Daisy, cozy and fast asleep. “She’s a little bundle of sunshine, but…I don’t know nothin’ about takin care of kids. It’s really shitty that you guys just take off and leave us behind.”  She frowned deeply, looking frustrated and sullen. “He never treated me like this before….we used to be equals. Now what am I? Luggage to be toted around? Fuck that.”

                “Language.” Modo warned, his voice soft but stern.

                She scoffed at him, but the look he gave her told her was being serious. And in truth, she was not confident she wanted to test that boundary.

                Modo moved to sit on the lower bunk, which belonged to Remy. It creaked under his muscular form, prompting him to sit closer to the edge. “Where’s your pal? She take off before you?”

                Karma shrugged. “Yeah. Can’t say as I blame her. Must be nice to have somewhere to go.”

                She looked back out at the alley and to the streets beyond. “We’ve been here three weeks and I’ve hardly seen more than a few blocks. You big idiots drag me to a new planet and then you expect me to just sit around on my hands?!” Her voice pitched up and Daisy gave a soft whine from her bed that prompted her to immediately lower her voice.

                “You’re right.”  Modo admitted once she had settled. “It isn’t fair.”

                Karma blinked at him, confused. “Huh?”

                “Look, Karma…this isn’t a situation any of us were ready for. We’re stranded here for the moment, and nothing about it is fair. Life’s like that. More often than not, actually.”

                “So you’re telling me to suck it up?”

                “No. I’m just saying I agree with you. It is unfair. But you’ve gotta give us, and especially Vinnie some leeway here.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Look…I care about him a lot. Have from the start. But he’s not great at this dad stuff.”

                “No one is. Not a first.”

                She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re a great dad.” She looked at Daisy again. “I mean just look at her? She’s doesn’t know how good she has it. All this love around here, all these big tough heroes looking out for her. She’s got nothing to fear with you around.”

                Modo gazed at his daughter quietly, saying nothing. But Karma didn’t like how sad he suddenly seemed. “She’s going on 4 years old, and I’ve been gone a whole year of her life. And the year before that, I was so wrapped up in missing her mama and hating the world, that I wasn’t much of anything to her. She needed me, and I was totally useless.” He hung his head, more unpleasant memories stirred by the earlier incident rising in his mind. “If it hadn’t been for my family stepping up the way they had, I wouldn’t even have this second chance with her. To do things right.”

                Karma had forgotten momentarily about her escape plan, looking at him with pity and concern as she tried to digest what he was trying to say. After a moment, she moved towards him, putting her hand cautiously on his now armless shoulder, sitting down on the bunk beside him.

                “Well. You’re here now aren’t you? Doing the damn thing?”

                He blinked at her and then laughed softly, smiling gratefully. “Yeah. Guess so.”

                “That’s what counts isn’t it?”

                He put his hand over hers, rubbing her fingers.

                “Yep. Counts for him too, right?” he offered.

She relented with a nod of agreement. “Yeah. Guess so.”  The girl repeated back.

“Tomorrow I’ll talk with him. And maybe we’ll take a little ride together. Chicago’s a town that deserves to be experienced, not just admired from afar. Would be a shame to deprive you of such a valuable learning opportunity.”

She leaned against him, unbothered by the missing arm and laid her head on his shoulder, her wild riot of red curls mounding across his chest and back in a waterfall.  “Yeah…you’re definitely the favorite uncle.” She sighed, tired and contented.

Modo chuckled again and kissed the top of her head, thinking of Rimfire and Primer and wishing he could do the same to them. Praying they were safe.

Karma pulled her own phone—a refurbished one that Remy had showed her how to buy off Amazon—from her pocket, the little screen adding a new color of soft illumination to counter the warm dark between them and Daisy’s nightlights. “You wanna watch some really stupid videos of guys totally beefing it on a skateboard?” she asked causally.

Modo nodded, interested, settling back with her, casually pulling the comforter across their laps as they enjoyed the quiet together. From somewhere beyond the little bedroom he thought he heard an indistinct muffled sound that sounded like Max’s voice.

Karma barely reacted, one of her ears twitching. “What was that?”

Modo tucked a pillow behind his head, smirking knowingly. “Don’t worry about it.”

***

                A short time later, as the deneziens of The Last Chance Garage fell into various states of sleep and dream, one remained still stirred.

                Charlie blinked into the dark of the bedroom, feeling the chill from the night air sharply through the window that was not yet finished. All her warmth and refuge from the chill came from the blankets and the warm furry body pressed against her naked one.

                Vinnie was still cuddled close behind her in the dark, his bandaged arm slung across her waist, heavy and limp with sleep, but still protective. His fingers ghosted across her thighs, which were still slightly sticky.

                Crying hadn’t been the only kind of release she had needed that night, and Vinnie was truly irresistible when he dropped the machismo and was his real self with her. The sweet attentive guy who was completely obsessed with her, who wanted her love and affection more than any other shallow enclaves of praise.

                She turned slightly, rolling back to glimpse his face in the dark. This close, she could see the faint dent in his face mask from where he had been shot in Caria. The scar that was just starting to fade that crisscrossed over his brow bone. It was thin now and easily hidden by his fur, but the reminder of it made her insides ache. She kissed his slack lips and he didn’t’ move, only sighing softly in sleep.

                Assured he wouldn’t wake so easily, she carefully wiggled out from under his arm and slipped from his warmth. She scrambled to pull on a pair of discarded sweat pants and a loose sweater over her nakedness before padding back into the main part of the garage.

                She listened there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling above, trying to discern any movement from the other mice upstairs. But it seemed like everyone was asleep. The clock on the wall said 3 am. Perfect timing in her opinion.

                The mechanic went to work, starting a pot of coffee in silence before settling at her work bench, the only light being her laptop screen and the tiny faintly green desk lamp at the corner. She studied the stolen key card in her position, weighing the appearance of the man in the picture. She remembered the strange figure watching them both of the times they had broken into the former Limburger Tower, trying to decide if this pale haggard face matched the one in her memories and compared that to fresh nightmare of the masked man in the apartment.

                While they’d had no further word from Marshall Limburger, or anyone at Eris, Charlie knew they were watching them. She had noticed the increase of police prensence and surveyallance when she would do her drive bys of the place, always careful not to be seen.

                She had alerts set on her phone for any news about the company, and the last one was only to say that they were undergoing reconstruction after an unfortunate gas leak in the building. Everything about Eris was kept so close and closed off. For a company that claimed to be for the benefit of the community, urban renewal and safety, this should have raised all sorts of red flags. Yet no one seemed to care. Or they were paid not to.

                Tonight’s mishap gave her all the more reason to fear the intentions of Marshall Limburger and his plans here on Earth. The lab containing the Frenzy virus and vaccine tucked so far below his building. Modo’s captivity.

                She scanned the badge into the laptop, and went to work, using the new software that McCyber had given her. She paused again as it was uploading, listening for errant sounds of movement anywhere else in the house. Then started a call to Jack McCyber himself.

                It rang a few times, and then a familiar scruffy ginger face appeared in a separate window on her screen. “Well hey there,” Jack grinned. “What’s the occasion, Charlie? Must be kinda early for you there.”

                “I’m trying out your software.” She said, abandoning any formal greeting. “You’re sure it can clone the access credentials on this card? I don’t want it flagging as a duplicate or some shit. I can’t afford any mistakes going into this, Jack. I really can’t.”

                “Yep, it can do whatever you need. I tested it myself on one of my security badges here, no issues, so can’t imagine it would be different there.” He peered at her more closely. “You getting any sleep, girl? That furry boyfriend of yours not wearing you out enough?”

                She gave him a tired but poisonous look that made him laugh, “Sorry, sorry, I was only joking. You know I don’t mean anything by it; the bros and I are cool. Just can’t help worry about you when I get calls like this from you. Sounds like you’re really in it again, huh?”

                “I’m not sure, but it could be bad. It’s bad on Mars, and if they’re playing things this carefully here, you know they’re up to something. But that’s secondary. I need to get in that damn compound and get that transporter. I need it like two weeks ago.”          

                Her eyes stung with tears she couldn’t produce, having cried herself out earlier. She paused and put her head in her hands.

                “Charlie? Are you sure you’re alright?”

                A notification came up on her screen, notifying her that the duplication of the card was done. And under ten minutes. She nodded, impressed.

                “I will be now.”

                “You got the other package I sent you?” he asked. “The um, bonus material?”

                She nodded, her eyes drifting to a corner of the garage where a large box had been tucked back carefully out of sight, waiting for later use. “Sure did. Appreciate it, Jack. You’re the best.”

                “You just be careful, pretty lady. Remind those furry boys of yours to keep you safe.”

                She nodded at him, “I’ve got this, Jack. Don’t worry.”

                “You know, maybe you could fly out here to California if you ever get tired of—”

                She cut him off, ending the call before he could finish his come on or joke or whatever. She owed Jack big for the way he was helping her, but some things about him were the same as they ever were, always a clear reminder of why she hadn’t chosen that path.

                She sent the skimatics for the card to her 3-D printer—another gift from McCyber—and waited while it processed. Tomorrow, she would let the boys take over the functions of the garage, returning to business as usual. As long as they wore their helmets and the overalls, any customers who came for pick up and drop off were none the wiser. And they seemed to enjoy the novelty of it. If she didn’t have so much else to worry about it, it would have been a fun way to get the business up and running again.

                But for now, the day to day was more of a cover than the goal.

                She picked up her phone, checking her messages from Remy. She had received one while she’d been in bed with Vinnie. An apologetic gif with a puppy face and the words “please don’t be mad” followed by several emojiis.

                Charlie sighed at it, typing back an answer despite the late hour. “Big Mad. Talk when you come home. 9 am. No excuses. Love you.”

                It was sent but unseen.

                Absently she checked her last messages from Kirk and then had to close her phone before her throat could tighten and she could begin to drown once more in her worry. She pushed herself off her stool and went the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup and drinking it black as she stared into the dark.

                Remy would be home at 9. She would be Eris by 10. And with any luck, she’d have her boy home by dinnertime. Even if it fucking killed her.

**

Chapter Text

**

Carbine and Rimfire once more found themselves in Brimstone’s prison complex. Luckily, this time they were not in cells, being treated like enemies of the state. Instead, they were charged with interrogating the real terrorist in all this mess.

Marshall Limburger.

The “G-Men” (as Primer coined them) had captured the Plutarkian almost immediately after he’d dropped his payload on Caria. They guessed that Marshall must have stuck around too long, no doubt waiting to bask in the destruction and had been boarded and arrested by the Federation.

Marshall’s cell was a solitary one, located at the highest floor of the complex, where escape would be more difficult. This level of the prison was set up for the most dangerous prisoners, and housed only three cells in total. Instead of being set up as a block like the lower security ones below, each cell had a dedicated section to hold only one prisoner. The cells were entirely visible save for some frosted plasti-glass that covered the toilet area—obscuring the view but only barely. Instead of hall between each row of cells, there was a wide river for flooring between the cell and the platform for guards and visitors. Everything in between could be electrified at any given time.

The lone Plutarkian had two guards standing watch. Neither of them were regular prison guards, both wearing the purple blue Federation uniform. But at least one of them was indeed Martian.

This caught their eye, they observing her with equal interest.

“I wasn’t aware any Martians were part of the Galactic Federation.” Carbine said, eyeing her curiously. Their planet had been so isolated and cut off from the rest of the solar system, even the galaxy, since the war that it was more than a little curious to see one of their kind part of such a far reaching organization with no prior note of it.

The female guard blinked back at them, seeming slightly timid in their presence. “They take all types at the Federation. They like to have a broad spectrum of species. It helps with interplanetary events such as this.”

 “Yes, I suppose it is good practice on their part.”

The others turned to observe Secretary Tourmaline as she joined them on the platform, dressed formally as she always was, but definitely showing some signs of strain in the later days of the new occupation. Her tone indicated that she perhaps didn’t fully believe her words as she spoke to the estranged Martian. Perhaps regarding her with as much, if not more suspicion, than the other Federation members.

The female guard regarded her cautiously, distastefully in turn, only offering a short curt nod before stepping back in line. 

In the cell, Marshall Limburger observed his visitors with both distrust and disgust. Feeling that they were lower beings despite the situation.

 It was clear that he was suffering. The aqua-blue hue of his scales having turned slightly grey and dull. Signs of flaking evident at his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves and pants, all prison issue clothing that was soft, thin and similar to scrubs. He was shockingly lean and cut for a Plutarkian but now he was also beginning to look gaunt and sickly, the prison clothes too loose on his frame. His eyes had begun to sink back slightly in their sockets, giving him a haggard hollow look, his yellow eyes leering back at them eerily.

“I’m not really feeling up to visitors today, thank you.” He muttered at them.

Secretary Tourmaline smirked at him. “I’m afraid you’ve been given ample enough time to stew, Mr. Limburger. My delegates would like to ask you a few questions and you’re going to oblige them with answers.”

He returned her smugness, showing a glint of yellow but razor-sharp teeth.

“Or what? You’ll revoke my privileges?”

The Secretary glanced to the other guard, this a large hulking brute by the name of Wallace. She gave him a small nod and the guard turned and pressed a button on the wall panel outside the cell.

The floor beneath Marshall suddenly went bright, a buzzing noise stinging the Martian’s delicate hearing.

Marshall choked on a cry of pain, electricity surging through him. He was only barely able to pull his feet in, now discolored and blistered and fell back panting and gasping onto his cot.

Carbine and Rimfire looked on in panic, realizing with horror that not only was the space between the cell and the platform they stood on electrified but the cell itself had been rigged as well.

“What are you doing? Turn it off!” Carbine shouted.

The Secretary looked unmoved by the demand. But Wallace obeyed, pressing the keys once more. The buzzing stopped, the floor of the cell returning to normal.

The Secretary looked angrily at Wallace; “Excuse me, were you given a direct order?!”

The leopard-like guard looked down at her, quiet disgust clear on his face. “She did, Madam.”

“She isn’t anything!”  Tourmaline spat with a surprisingly amount of venom in her usually cool and composed voice. It took both Rimfire and Carbine by surprise, though the former General had already learned of the Secretary’s true feelings towards her when she’d had her kidnapped and detained in her private suite, while she sent her own soldiers to hunt down her friends.

Rimfire looked like he might turn and attack the woman but Carbine discreetly gripped his wrist giving it a small squeeze. They exchanged a look as the Secretary kept her focus on the Feds.

“While you are occupying my city, you will take your queues from me and the Regent himself. And if not him, then Mr. Maverick, who is serving as his stand in. No one else. Do you understand?”

There was a soft growling sound that was beginning to rise in Wallace’s throat as he looked down at the puny woman who did not even reach his shoulder.  The Mice noticed that the pupils of his golden eyes began to enlarge, slowly going dark and darker. A dangerous sign of a prey animal, excited or incensed. Raring to strike.

The other Mouse moved to him, pressing her hand to his chest as if to hold him back. “We understand, Madam Secretary. We meant no disrespect. But we do not condone the use of excessive force against a prisoner. I’m sure that Baron has explained this to you. Shall I call him up here to go over it again?”

It was a carefully cloaked threat and they all knew it. But the Secretary was not about to show weakness now. She was not that type of woman.

Madalyn Tourmaline turned her cold gaze on the young woman. “As I said, you will take your orders from me. I have allowed you to continue your investigation within our city walls. We are your hosts. You came uninvited onto our planet, and we are doing our best to accommodate your needs. But I will not be disrespected.”

It seemed that everyone in the room realized that they would get nowhere arguing with the Secretary. The young woman nodded, the movement tight and reluctant.

“Yes ma’am.”

She turned then to Rimfire, trying to remain cool and composed but clearly riled under the surface. “I will leave the questioning to you, Mr. Maverick, but see that you don’t take too long about it. I want a sit-down full report with the Regent this evening.”

He nodded in understanding, waiting until she had fully left the cell and vanished down the lift before letting his guard down.

“What a fuckin’ bitch.”

Both Rimfire and Carbine blinked in surprise, looking back at the female guard, taken aback by he candor.  “This is what Martian Government is now? Ares on the Sword, I’m glad I haven’t been around for that mess!”

Rimfire looked perplexed by the saying but Carbine chuckled. “Haven’t heard anyone use that expression since Scabbard. Maybe my grandfather back in the day. Fitting though, I’ll give you that.”

Wallace crinkled his nose as if he was about to sneeze. “Ugh, smells like fish-fry in here..”

They turned their attention back to Marshall who was shuddering miserably on the cot. Rimfire moved in closer, standing at the edge of the fissure in the floor, the protective barrier between them and the open cell.

“We’re going to get you some help. Just sit tight.”

“Don’t bother, rodent. I need no mercy from you.” Marshall spat back miserably. His pride may be governing his words but his body was telling a different story. He needed medical attention.

“Not your choice.” Rimfire replied. He glanced back at the guards. “There’s medical supplies for burns in the triage office below here. Can you bring them? I’ll tend to himself, no need for a nurse.”

The G-Men looked at each other dubiously and then Wallace huffed, stalking off to retrieve the request, muttering to himself as he went.

“He owes me one.” The girl explained. “I’m Shiloh by the way.” She extended and gloved hand and shook his, then Carbine’s. After shaking each, she reached and removed her helmet. Short, bark brown curls framed her face, the dark brown of hair fading into the soft camel color of fur. The only outstanding color on her being a splotch of white over the left eye.

“You’ll forgive us if we’re reserved about newcomers.” Carbine explained, letting Rimfire keep an eye on the fish for the moment. “The Secretary might be a cunt, but she has a point about people dropping in on our planet and trying to steam roll us. Makes us a bit…prickly.”

The other woman nodded. “I understand that. But she’s wrong. We were invited here. We received the signal from inside Caria as you know, followed by the broadcast. You practically baited us.”

Rimfire sighed, “We didn’t bait you. We were desperate. Cornered. We didn’t even know if you would receive the signal, we were just…trying to make the Plutarkians think twice about attacking us again. We thought if we could bring in bigger guns then them…they’d back off.” He looked helplessly towards Carbine, who just sighed.

“Your uncles have never lacked for bravery, Rimfire, but the three of them share one singular brain cell and it’s always a disaster when Vinnie’s got control of it.”

“Didn’t see you coming up with any ideas, General.” He muttered defensively.

The guard watched the exchange between them curiously, her tail beginning to sway with interest behind her.

“So this is what? A clan dispute?” she asked.

They looked at her strangely again. “What century are you from? ‘Clan’s’ haven’t been in dispute with each other in decades. We’ve had bigger problems to deal with.” The General rumbled. She studied the other, growing more confused by her. “Exactly how long have you been off planet?”

Shiloh had no ready answer, looking to the ground.  “A long time.” Was all she was willing to offer before Wallace returned with the med kit.

Rimfire took it, nodding to the guard to disengage the electrified floor so that he could cross the fissure safely. Wallace did so, allowing him to step onto it and move into Marshall’s cell. To his surprise, Shiloh followed at his elbow.

“I can handle this.”

She just blinked at him. “I’m sure you can. But it’s procedure to stay close in cases like these. To ensure safety.”

“Of him or me?” The strip-haired mouse quipped.

A small smirk appeared on her face. “I suppose that remains to be seen.”

Rimfire moved to Marshall’s side. He was unsurprised when the Plutarkian flinched away from him, but didn’t let him push him away. “Do you want help or not?” he asked, his voice sharp and unyielding. “Because we’re going to get answers out of you regardless.”

Marshall considered this and relented.

The stripped hair moused opened the kit, fetching gloves, salve, wrappings and other items. “We already know you were part of the set up. That you allowed Vinnie and the others to kidnap Stilton and Limburger from your place on Earth. What I don’t understand is what you get out of it.”

Marshall huffed a wheezing laugh. “If it isn’t obvious than I don’t know what to tell you, rodent.”

Rimfire grabbed one his ankles, rougher than need be, and brought it closer to examination, though the smell of the fish at this close range was beginning to make his nose burn and his eyes water. In addition to the smell of his burned and blistered scales and flesh, Marshall was beginning to take on the same slow rotting smell that Stilton had possessed during captivity. It was awful.

“You wanted Limburger dead but not Stilton. Why?”

At first, the Plutarkian didn’t answer. He laid there, considering what he was about to do. Perhaps the notorious and often unearned Plutarkian pride would not serve him here. He would have to fall back on another tenant of his kind: self-preservation.

“Because I made an arrangement.”

“With who?”

“Whom, you peasant.”

Rimfire scowled, and began to clean one of the new blisters with antiseptic. It burned like hell and Marshall cried out, trying to crawl away, but the mouse would not let him.

“Just a little sting,” he cautioned. “You don’t want to get an infection, trust.” He looked at him plainly as the initial bite of the medication dulled, letting the other relax again. “Answer the question.”

“His name is Colby.” Marshall said then at length. “Despite this planet being left abandoned by Plutarkian interests for years now…he’s staid behind. He’s kept an outpost. We helped each other with our mutual goals.”

“Which are?” Carbine chimed in.

He looked to the dark-haired woman and shook his head. “You know, your wanted poster doesn’t do you justice, General. For a flea-bitten female, you’re quite impressive. Number 5 on Plutark’s enemies list.”

Carbine scoffed. “Bet I could move that number up if you give me a chance.” She cooed, mocking him.

He actually smiled back at her, seeming to enjoy the candor. “I bet you could.”

Rimfire moved to block his view of Carbine, his eyes a little colder for his trouble. “Focus. What are your goals?” He began to apply some of the burn ointment to the fish’s feet, hiding his disgust as he touched the raw and flaking places.

Marshall bit off a cry of genuine pain, but slowly began to relax again as the medicated ointment also began to offer pain relief. “…Revenge. That’s always the reason, isn’t it? We aren’t so different in that. One slight begets another. And on and on and on…once it’s begun, the cycle is endless. Exhausting. Inevitable.”

The Martians said nothing, merely listened. “Colby came here a young stupid cadet who didn’t know what he was getting into. Who thought the Occupation would be easy and glorious. I think the shock of it all…the verocisity at which you defended yourselves…warped him. More than he already was. He couldn’t move on. He couldn’t set a bigger goal. He just wanted…revenge.”

“So why help him?”

“I don’t know really. He hated the Regime. He hated Plutarkians as much as he hated Martians. I guess I understood that. I sympathized with it. And of course, it benefited me, when I realized that we shared a certain transgressor in common.”

“Your Uncle?”

“Uncle Drippy-Drawers was a bonus on my end. Colby knew of him, yes, but I think he and my uncle started out in the same school of low ranking fish at the beginning. No. Stilton was our enemy in common. He wanted to take over Limburger’s former territory in Chicago as well as restart the occupation here on Mars. His latest Doctor had brought a business venture to him that promised to be wildly profitable, and he was willing to knock all the rest of us out of the pond to see it through.”

“What venture? You know stealing resources would have revealed you instantly, if not on Earth than here for sure. Since when do Plutarkian’s take business advice from Doctors?” Rimfire muttered.

Marshall shook his head, seeming sedate and subdued now. “Oh no, no. You don’t get it all that easy, little mouselings. No self-respecting fish gives all away up front.” He grinned, almost drunkenly at them and it was somehow more disquieting than the nasty smile he’d flashed earlier.

“What do I get in return?” he purred, looking to Carbine again in way that now had the woman bristling. She was unarmed, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous.

“You get to keep your teeth, worm sucker.” She hissed, flexing her fist.

Rimfire turned Marshall towards him, forcing him to look only at him. “So you and Colby wanted Silton out of the picture. You got that. Why not cut your losses and run, instead of making a spectacle of yourselves? Why did you need Vinnie to be the one who bumped him off?”

Marshall grinned at him. He knew exactly what Rimfire wanted him to say. Wanted him to confess the whole plot right there in front of the Federation so that he would go down with the ship and the mice could flee. “What your radicalized little friend did was all his own idea. I gave him an out. He could have released Stilton and Limburger back to me. But there’s that R word again…”

“You should have staid gone then.”

“I would be glad to do just that.” Marshall muttered. He looked from her to the Federation Guard, looking her up and down. “But you decided to stick your nose in where it didn’t belong.”

Shiloh glared at him. “Your kind have been causing trouble for years, war mongering, destroying planets and species. We were formed to deal with aggressors like you.”

Marshall chuckled. “That’s precious. Really. I almost believe you have the guts, pipsqueak.”

Shiloh surprised them then by moving closer, drawing her weapon from her hoslter and pressing it aggressively to Marshall’s cheek.

                “Whoa! Whoa take it easy!” Rimfire gasped, wide eyed.

                Wallace shifted towards them then, looming now at Carbine’s elbow. “Shiloh! Stand down!” he warned, looking at her with ken worry in his golden eyes. The girl looked back towards him, caught between her sudden impulsive anger and shame.

                In the pair of heartbeats between these glances, Marshall saw his opening and seized it. He moved with fluid speed, grabbing the gun pressed to his face and twisting the arm which held it. Shiloh, startled and seized with sudden sharp pain, was not quick enough to react. She dropped the pistol, allowing Marshall to take it fully while still holding onto her twisted arm.

                He was up and pulling the girl against him. It hurt him to stand, but what would have been debilitating pain that would have hampered him was now entirely manageable thanks to the care of young Mr. Maverick.

                “Nobody move,” He warned them. “Or I put the next shot right between her pancake little ears.”  He grinned stupidly, wondering if this was the sort of rush his uncle used to talk about when he would get the ever so brief upper hand on the situation. When he got to play “gangster” and “tough guy” instead the sniveling toady he really was.

                Wallace emitted a feral sort of barking roar, staring forward with claws extended, not bothering with external weaponry. His fangs alone could ended Marshall in a moment.

                “Big mistake, Marshall.” Rimfire warned. He tried to make a move inward but the Plutarkian twisted Shilho’s arm harder behind her back, threatening to dislodge it. She cried and struggled, but every movement she made, he delt her more pain.

                “The only mistake was you playing nice, rodent. You expect a shark to show you mercy, but it is all instinct. All survival. There is no room for anything else.”

                He looked to Wallace. “You. Take off your belt and give it here.”

                This made the other two Martians blink, looking to the leapord like alien.

                “Odd to demand a fashion accessory.”

                Wallace hissed, baring his fangs again. “You’re not getting out of here in one piece, fishy. Anywhere you go, they’ll follow you.”

                “What the fuck are you talking about?” Carbine hissed at him. She watched as the leopard undid his belt, noticing a small built in panel three notches right of the buckle and small flashing screen with words she couldn’t make out.

                But Rimfire, who had been studying and cobbling together tech with Primer since they were kids, recognized it for what it was. “A personal transport unit.” He snarled. He glared at Marshall.

                “Where do you think you can run? Your ships’ locked down tight and there isn’t a transport unit on this planet or other in a billion miles.” He snarled.

                Wallace reluctantly kicked the belt over to Marshall, who shook Shiloh painfully and made her retrieve it with her tail, still digging the pistol hard against her skull. “I only need to go a million or so…” he mused, giddy between the medication and his own cleverness.

                Carbine and Rimfire exchanged a panic look as the comment clicked. He must have a transport unit back on Earth.

                Rimfire dove then, trying to abort the escape, reaching for the belt in Marshall’s hand before he could set the corridenats.  He nearly pulled it free, trying to break Marshall’s grip on the Shiloh. But the Plutarkian was more agile than the mouse gave him credit for, and his effort was rewarded by being pistol whipped across the face.

                Rimfire fell back off the cell platform into the fisher between it and the others. The sudden intense disturbance set off an alert from sensor. The lights of the cell began to flash. “WARNING! WARNING! DISTURBANCE DETECTED! FLOOR WILL BE LIVE IN 5 SECONDS! WARNING--!”

                “RIMFIRE!”  Carbine was on the move, grabbing the downed mouse from the floor and dragging him onto the platform with less than a second to spare, the floor glowing suddenly bright and both of them feeling a residual shock from the now deadly floor.

                Wallace roared and made a leap at Marshall and Shiloh, but the next second the pair were gone in a distortion of light and sound. The leopard guard crashed into the cell, sparks flying everywhere, and was saved from being fried only landing on the cot and pieces of broken plexi-glass paneling instead of the floor itself.

                Gripping Rimfire close, Carbine turned and screamed towards the door. “SOMEONE TURN THIS FUCKING THING OFF!”

                Sirens wailed, making her head hurt. She saw that Wallace was seconds from becoming electrocuted as he tried to recover from his shock. She let Rimfire rest on the safe bit of floor and sprinted towards the paneling on the wall, slamming her fists onto panel until the buttons began to snap beneath her fists. Finally it cracked enough that she could shove her fingers inside, grip the wiring and pull.

                She got a small, nasty zing out of it for her trouble, but it was nothing compared to what the Federation guard or Rimfire would have gotten. As everything shorted out, there was the thunder of more guards coming from across the other side of the floor towards their cell.

                Carbine looked anxiously from Rimfire to Wallace, who was blinking at her, grateful but stunned. “Much obliged, ma’am…” he mumbled, giving her a salute.

                “Don’t thank me yet.” The former General sighed.

***

Elsewhere on Mars…

The Rovers did what they did best. Pack creatures, they roamed the waste, stalking out what they could scavenge between the harsh flatlands and the winding canyons and mud filled gullies, moving independently of the other packs who bore allegiance to Slobber and his mutts.

They stalked travelers when the opportunity presented itself, but mostly supply shipments traveling between regions. These were rarer and rarer over the years, conditions being treacherous for such traveling over long distances. It made the hunting packs more aggressive as the competition grew and supply dwindled.

Weapons were the surest seller, but they were desperate for supplies too. Food, water, gasoline, and the like. The only thing more profitable than this, was prisoners they could use for labor. The currency on that never went down. The Rovers dealt in the slave trade sure as any other Sand Raider in the waste, but they usually kept their laborers for their own ends and did not barter as indiscriminately as Slobber or other factions.

They believed this to be noble in its way. But it would be fair to call it self-serving.

The hunting party this night consisted of two racers and one large rig, driven by Atlas himself. To an outsider it might have seemed counterproductive to drive such a large, obvious vehicle that could easily be seen and heard from miles off. It gave away any element of surprise certainly.

But the Rovers didn’t need it. What they were hunting tonight was not about surprise. It was about brute force.

They spotted the wreckage  of the transport lying half obscured between spires of rock formation and drifting sand. A smaller convoy; one covered truck and one small gas tanker. The truck had been overturned, the front fender and windshield shattered and dented. One of the doors had been ripped off and was lying poking out of the sand like a bit of modern architecture.

Several bodies littered the ground around the wreck, but there was no hope of survivors. A different scavenger had found the prize first.

Rats. A few Mice among them but mostly the former, many ragged and naked, all obviously in the final stages of Frenzy. Rabid and feral, they tore at both the bodies of the mice who had been in the transport and at the supplies it carried indiscriminately. Busted bottles of water and crates of food were scattered across the sand, much of it crushed and ruined. The Rats did not seem to know or care what it was they destroyed.

The gas truck was upright and left discarded to the side. It looked as if it had skidded to a stop, the cab striking one of the rocks. Hard enough to crush the headlight but not enough to do any further damage.

A few more of the diseased Martians crawled over the large barrel of the tank, smacking at it, scratching. Following the faint whiff of leaking gas they could scent without any comprehension of its volatility.

Atlas watched them in glow of the headlights, moving like ants over a scrap of food.

“I make about 10 of ‘em, boss.” Digger’s voice carried over the CB inside the truck. “Might be a few more hiding among the rocks though. Hard to tell with the smell of gas.”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet,” Atlas answered. The infected Rodents so far seemed unbothered by their presence, which was an added risk. It could be that they were already too far gone to comprehend anything but what was right in front of them. The way a stunned bird might see something in its peripheral vision but be unable to do anything about it.

Or…they were waiting for approach before turning to attack. Their only remaining instinct to kill.

“Think that tanker’s safe to drive back? We sure could use it.”

“Have to get closer to see.” Another of his pack answered.

Atlas turned his gaze to mouse who occupied his passenger seat. The old Freedom Fighter did not return the gaze, staring resolutely out the window at the scene in front of him.

Atlas reached across and hooked one clawed finger under the slim space between Stoker’s throat and the thick metal shock collar fitted around it. It forced the mouse to look at him, red eyes meeting gold.

He could feel the blood in the mouse’s veins jump slightly against his claw and he couldn’t help but smile at it. Stoker’s disdain for him was exciting. Most of his captives were fairly easy to cow or intimidate but not this one. BlackRuby was truly cut from different cloth than many of his kin.

“What do you think, Mouse? Think you can take the lot?”

It wasn’t really a question, Stoker knew. There was no choice here. He would be sent out to deal with the Infected and clear a path for the Sand Raiders to take what they wanted from the scene. If he tried to refuse, he would get a nasty shock for his trouble and be sent out anyway.

He looked from the big black dog back out at the pack of Frenzied Rats and Mice, weighing his strategy as he flexed his stiff and bandaged right hand. The shot he had taken to it weeks ago had done serious damage and it had never fully healed despite Harley’s best efforts.

“Sure. I can handle them. But it seems like a waste of time. You have guns on this rig, so do your racers. Why not just fire a few shots and scatter them?”

Atlas unhooked his finger from the collar, leaning instead to draw the mouse’s attention to the tanker sitting in the deeper shadows. “Your nose must not be working so good. That truck’s got a leak somewhere. A small one maybe but that’s all it takes. A stray shot catches those fumes and whoosh. Instant fireball.”

Stoker scoffed at him, reclining in the seat as much as he could. “Sure sure, if you’re a lousy shot. Which let’s face it, your men are.”

Atlas smirked back at him. “Well, it’s a good thing I have you then. I need precision work.”

He leaned suddenly across the seats, one big hand fisting into Stoker’s shirt, bringing them nearly nose to nose. “That’s what I have you for, isn’t it? Make it a good show for me.”

As Stoker was reeling from the sudden intense invasion of personal space, the dog reached past him with his other hand and opened the cab door before pushing Stoker out.

The Freedom Fighter let out a small yelp in spite of himself, landing flat on his back in the dirt, staring up past the rig at the darkening sky.

He laid there, exhaling painfully as the other Sand Raiders had a good little chortle at his expense.

“Assholes…”

He turned his head towards the scene ahead of them. One or two of the Rat seemed to have alerted to the noise of him, but not enough to take interest. They went back to mindlessly destroying and half consuming their prey as the Freedom Fighter got to his feet.

The driver of the racer beside him tossed him a pair of lazor pistols. Stoker took them, holstering one and readying the other in his left hand.

The Sand Raiders knew they didn’t have to fear giving the Mouse a weapon. So long as his “arrangement” with their leader was intact, he wouldn’t dare turn the weapons on them. Not if he wanted his brood to continue going unharmed. And if that failed, they’d fry him within an inch of his life.

“Don’t get mauled, grandpa.” One of the dogs snickered.

Stoker looked at him evenly. “Now why would they want a tough ol’ piece of leather like me when they could sink their teeth into your soft guts, scrotum-face?”

The other dog laughed at his partner’s expense, but Stoker moved off before they could share any more barbs.

He moved between the racers and the rig, standing in the shadows between the headlights.

He felt a familiar mix of pity and disgust for the scene in front of him. The Infected may still be moving but they were as dead as the poor Mice who had become their prey. They were all victims in his eyes and he kept seeing more and more. It was no longer a stray cluster here and there.

Hordes of infected had begun to roam the waste, attacking everything indiscriminately in their path. The virus was spread in wider and wider circles and soon it would not just be the wastes and outlands at risk. This would come to cities and towns. It would come to Brimstone.

It had to be stopped.

Stoker took careful aim among the pack, taking aim at one of the rats on the outer edge. The shot hit her squarely in the head, ending her quickly and painlessly.

She fell with a soft thud next to her companions, who took little notice. They shifted and hissed, but did not yet realize they were being attacked.

He took aim again and again. Three more fell before the horde finally became aware of a threat. Their milk-white and red-glazed eyes stared blindly about, skittering away from the headlights that seemed to hurt them. They jabbered and made all sorts of guttural noises that Stoker was sure would haunt his dreams. A disjointed symphony of pain and confusion.

Of the remaining seven Infected, two seemed to have enough wits about them to spot Stoker as he moved closer to them.

They hissed and snarled, faces covered with gore and foam.

One made a sudden erratic lurch towards him, mouth open and teeth bared, gnarled hands clawing at nothing and anticipating the moment they would connect with something soft and tear- able as flesh.

Stoker let him get closer before firing the shot, taking him down swiftly and painlessly as the others. He fell within a few yards of the mouse’s feet.

BlackRuby moved forward, stepping over the body, eyes on the remaining hoard. The second jumper came at him at a leap, faster and seemingly cleverer than his predecessor. Stoker had to physically dodge him, spinning to the side to avoid a swipe of his clawed hands and only barely getting to make a full turn and fire before he was on him. The shot did not take him down instantly and he howled and kept coming, either oblivious or spurred on by the pain. Stoker struck at him with his tail, knocking him to the ground before firing the final shot.

The others were scattering now, caught between attack and fleeing. But Stoker was too close now to avoid them. He fired again and again, any missed shots kicking up little clouds of dust as they hit the earth.

Three remained standing. Or so he thought.

Now in the middle of the mess, Stoker could see eyes looking back at him from the rocks. Other infected, lurking in the ridges and crevices of the stone. Maybe a dozen more, slowly skittering out of hiding agitated by the new sounds of fighting.

That was too many.

He whipped his head back towards the racers and the truck, catching a glimpse of Atlas watching him. “There’s more of them!” He howled back in warning.

As if on cue, another surged from the dark, this one a mouse instead of a rat. He came at Stoker like a bat out of hell, screaming and howling. He was too close for the Freedom Fighter to get a shot off, forced instead to take him with his fist.

The punch smashed into the infected Martian’s muzzle and Stoker felt the crunch of bone under his knuckles, the breaking of teeth. Pain sang up his own limb, a hot electric zing that sizzled up his forearm and into his elbow, making it go tingly and numb.

His wounded arm dropped to the side and he let it, allowing it to dangle uselessly while he opened fire again.

More were coming at him, trying to overwhelm what they perceived as lone prey. But new shots came from behind the lights as the Sand Raiders moved to intervene.

Stoker tried to drop back to a more defendable position, his right hand still tingling and nearly numb. His first blaster was nearly spent and he was about to reach for the second when another body blind-sided him.

The Rat’s maw was at his throat, claws already sunk into his chest and shoulders like short sharp knives.

He was on the ground before he fully realized what was happening, his own hands and feet automatically going up, punching and pushing to get the rabid Martian off him. Teeth gnashed at his neck and should have ended him already. But the shock collar had saved him. The infected thing chewed and gnashed at it, willing to break both teeth and jaw in its effort to tear at the soft, breathing thing on the other side with no reasoning that it couldn’t.

Stoker howled and cursed, but the Rat was too big, too strong. It might not tear his throat out, but it was going to rip him to shreds all the same.

Another body moved behind them and Stoker feared he was about to be piled onto. But the mouse that appeared had a weapon and fired on his attacker.

The Freedom Fighter felt the ravaging body go limp, the teeth that had nearly found skin falling away. He kicked the body off him and reached for his holstered weapon.

Luckily, he looked the new figure fully in the face before he did.

Bowie looked down at him. Ragged, dust and half dead. But Bowie all the same.

Stoker shouted his name in shock, unsure if he could believe his eyes.

The golden furred mouse gave him a thin, cracked smile. “Why am I always pulling your tail out of the fire?” He croaked.

Stoker couldn’t think of an answer, staring open mouthed at him in shock.

But their moment of reprieve was short lived. More of the Frenzied were coming at them, driven into even greater agitation by the attack of the Sand Raiders.

Two more ran at Bowie, one tackling him from behind while another trying to follow suit. Bowie made an unholy sort of screech, renewed rage of his own surging to the surface. He lashed out at his attacker with the amplified brute strength that Frenzy fostered in its victims.

Stoker had thrown off and dispatched the second attacker with effort, just to see Bowie snap the neck of the rat in his hand as if it were a toothpick. The Freedom Fighter reached for him as he discarded the body with a snarl.

“Bow—“

The golden furred mouse looked at him fully on the light of the headlights and Stoker could see that one of his eyes had gone white, a wide gash across his muzzle adding to the gore already baked into his fur. It was a nightmarish image, the red glaze of Frenzy in his good eye as he stared at Stoker now like he was another enemy.

“Bowie…” he reached for him again, maybe out of desperation or stubbornness, one as likely as the other. He just couldn’t lose him again. Not when he was this close.

Bowie gnashed his teeth at him as he reached but didn’t attack. Stoker moved in anyway, gripping him hard. “Bow, it’s me! Bowie, look at me!”

The mouse in his arms struggled for a minute, trying to strike at him but Stoker wouldn’t let go. “Come on! Fight it! You knew me a second ago, don’t give in! It’s me, baby, it’s me!!”

He was almost screaming, damn near hysteria. If there was ever a time for such things now seemed good as any. Bowie sagged against him, seeming to faint. Stoker wrapped his whole body around him, the pair lying on the cold hard earth, momentarily forgotten by the rest of the mayhem happening around them.

It took Bowie several moments to find the strength to speak again. He was shaking, soaked in a cold sweat and couldn’t make the world come into focus. But he could feel Stoker against him, and that was his anchor.

“Stoke…” he mumbled, voice a cracked whisper in the others ear. “I wanna go home…”

Stoker clutched him tighter, fierce kissing his cheek and then his mouth. He could taste the fever in Bowie’s skin, the blood and the dirt. He didn’t care.

“I’ll get you home, honey. I promise.”

A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see Atlas had discovered them.

He looked less than pleased at the sight. “Yer not supposed to coddle it to death.” He muttered, reaching to yank Stoker free of what he assumed was just another of the Infected vermin taking up his time and energy.

To his surprise the chocolate furred mouse pushed back, pulling the other more covetous against him. “Back off! He’s not one of them!”

Atlas looked perplexed, glimpsing the mask of blood and dirt on the other mouse’s face.

“Coulda fooled me…”

Digger moved in, attempting to grab Bowie by the scruff and separate the two. “Get off ‘im before ya catch what he’s got ya twit! I saw him snap that other rodent’s neck like it was a twig, I ain’t messin around!”

Stoker bellowed something that was too loud and too forceful with fear and rage to be deciphered and raked his hand across Digger’s face, shoving him back hard from Bowie and leaving the dog’s fur and skin under his nails.

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!”

Stoker felt his voice strain and crack to the point of bleeding with the force of his cry but it still didn’t seem enough to get the point across.

He was pulled back hard then by Atlas who pressed something attached to his utility belt.

Stoker seized as the collar around his neck was activated. Pain gripped him, making him want to cry out. But he bit off the sounds best he could through clenched teeth, fighting against the way his muscles tensed and twitched, trying to keep control.

“Stand down, Mouse. We can’t take the risk.” Atlas warned him, not understanding this sudden irrational loyalty to something he saw as doomed.

He nodded to one of his other pack to take Bowie out while they had an opening. Stoker fought through the burn in his body, twisting and grabbing hold of Atlas. The shock carried from the mouse into the Sand Raider who yelped in pain and surprise, fumbling to the turn the shock off when he couldn’t shake Stoker free.

The moment it ended, the brown-haired mouse threw his body back over Bowie’s covering him fully.

The other Sand Raider hesitated, not daring to risk the shot while Stoker was so in the way. He looked to Atlas, who was slightly frizzed and fuming, snorting like a bull over his “pet’s” insubordination.

He grabbed Stoker by hair and tried to pull him back. He wouldn’t go, dragging Bowie with him. He bent over the pair, baring his fangs, sneering in Stoker’s ear. “He smells sick. You’re getting that same sick all over you. Let go, or I’ll kill you both.”

BlackRuby looked at him out of the corner of his eye and didn’t flinch. “Get on with it then.”

Bowie shifted in his arms, “Stoke…” though barely distinguishable, it was clear it was some sort of plea. His fingers latched onto Stoker’s back and tried his best to hold on. Not just to keep himself semi upright, but seemingly to protect the other mouse from the predator beside them.

Atlas eyed them both, fuming and then dropped them into the dirt. He gave Stoker another nasty shock until he screamed and then let him go limp, turning his back on the pair.

“Sir?”

“Put them in the back of the rig. Then finish loading up the supplies you can save and siphon that tanker.”

The other pack mates looked at each other dubiously. “Both of ‘em?”

“Did I stutter?!” The big dog barked, showing his fangs.

The others lowered their ears and nodded, submitting without further question.

***

Chicago, Earth

2 AM.

Max stared listlessly at the clock beside their bed, the digital numbers leering back at him almost accusingly.

His ears picked up faint stirrings from downstairs, but nothing that caught his attention. It was most likely Charlie, still up and working away as promised. Possibly Vinnie keeping her company.

His own company was warm and breathing softly beside him. Max hated to wake up in the middle of the night, but it was worth it for this. Seeing his partner resting so peacefully and close beside him. He turned towards him, settling in again, watching him thoughtfully, drinking in these small quiet moments between them.

As he gazed at him, he considered again how he was going to explain things. Their talk kept conveniently getting pushed off, we there was always something else more pressing to deal with. Things like cosplaying as Humans while helping Charlie in her garage, patrols of Eris and constant attempts to spy on Limburger. Pressing worries of those they had left behind on Mars, and what their fates were…these were the heaviest moments. The sleepless, anxiety inducing ones.

But there were other, less fraught distractions. Family-style meals full of happy chaos and movement and idly chatter. Midnight rides through a city that was unlike anything on his home world and took his breath away.  Getting used to someone always being “home” when he had previously been so used to being by himself, and then just him and Throttle. While he did miss the privacy of a love nest, this had its appeal too.

And it didn’t diminish the little things between them. Moments like this in the dark.

Happy distractions. A delicate bubble he was terrified of breaking.

Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice the pair of blue eyes looking back at him.

“It’s late…” Throttle whispered, trying not to startle him.

Max blinked at him and smiled sweetly. “You wouldn’t know that if you were still asleep.” He chided. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Too late.” He pulled him in and kissed him sleepily, still warm and dozy. “Thought I wore you out…” he teased.

“Well, I think you tried to suck my soul out through my coc—“

Throttle pressed his hand lightly over his mouth to muffle the rest and Max grinned against his palm and kissed it tenderly.

“You always change the subject.” Throttle yawned. Max knew if he stayed quiet like this, the biker would nod off again. He could keep their bubble a little longer.

But as easy as that would be, the guilt was mounting and he couldn’t have the hanging over his head when he made his next move.

“Babe?”

“Hmm?”

Max moved a little closer, the shift making the other open his eyes again, if only halfway.

“I need to tell you something.”

Throttle blinked at him, still in a partial twilight state. He reached and scratched the hair behind Max’s ear. “If it’s that you’re still horny, it’s going to have to wait till morning…”

“Do you remember the Roadhouse?”

Throttle made a snorting, sleepy sort of snickering laugh, something that only came out at this time of night when he was half asleep or drunk.

“Oh yeah…I remember The Roadhouse…”  he slurred, drawing out the word like it was something exotic.

Max gazed at him, his nerve failing. It wasn’t just that his mother was clearly corrupt and working with Slick on the side doing gods knows what. That was bad. But that she had tried to arrange for the kidnap and sale of not only Throttle but his bros was worse.

Throttle was so protective of Modo and Vinnie. Despite everything, Max knew automatically that Throttle would sacrifice the world for them. What would he do if he realized that Max’s family was such a threat to his? How in the world would they move past that? What if the biker decided that after all he had gone through to get his bros back, that couldn’t take anymore chances? Not even to be with him?

The thought choked him. Tears springing forward in a way that caught him by surprise. He hadn’t realized how long he had been silent until Throttle’s hand ghosted across his cheek, more alert now.

“Babe?”

Max kissed his palm again, trying to hide the wetness staining the fur on his cheeks. But Throttle pulled him down and wrapped him up in his arms. “What is it?”

Max didn’t know how to answer. His lover looked at him worriedly, equally shocked at the fat droplets of tears that kept brining over.

“Max?”

“I need to ask you something.” He managed after a moment, throat still hot and tight. ”…do you think it things had been different when we met…if you weren’t alone and I wasn’t trying to get into trouble…would we still have ended up like this?”

Throttle blinked at him, thoughts of sleep forgotten. “You mean together?”

“I mean…” he bit his lip, knowing the next question was loaded. “…was I just…something to fill that void they left?”

He knew the question was born of insecurity and on some level it was insulting. He didn’t mean it to be of course. But love in his life prior to Throttle had been largely transactional. Or frivolous. What was between them was so foreign to him he didn’t know it for what it was.

Throttle felt a twinge of upset at this, and if it had been spoken at another time he might have gotten offended about it. But Max was clearly vulnerable right now, in a way that the smiling snarky easy going mouse was usually not. It made him consider where this question was really coming from.

“Maybe at first.” He admitted. “I’d say maybe up until that show down we had with Billie in the gas station.”

Max blinked at him. “Why then?”

The tan mouse shrugged lightly, soothing his hands down Max’s back and through his hair, trying to calm whatever storm that had kicked up inside him. “Oh, I dunno. Felt pretty ride or die just then. You had plenty of opportunities to bail on me, but you stuck around. That goes a long way with me.”

“It all just happened kinda fast with us. Not that I’m complaining…just worry that maybe we didn’t take time to hash out some important stuff before hand. Things you’re suppose to talk about before you decide on ‘the one’ and well that…”

“Like what?”

Max blinked at him. Like that my family may have a vested interest in tearing yours apart.

The thought was there but the words still wouldn’t move past his lips. He tried again, attempting to skirt the direct point. “I should have told you who my mother was. How she was. Up front. I just…I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Throttle moved closer if possible, locking eyes with him. Max could drown in those eyes. “Yeah, you should have. But I understand. Family is complicated.”

“That’s an understatement.” Max attempted to laugh.

“Now, this might sound a little funny coming from me,”  the tan biker offered. “But I’m not so easy to scare off. I’m not the running type.”

Tourmaline thought about the many times since their first meeting that Max had been the one to assure him of this. He had meant it every time. But it meant the world to be assured in return. To know he was not just a placeholder.

If he could have melted into the Throttle then he would have. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” The biker assured, kissing him softly, on the lips, his ears, his neck…his hand ghosted up his thigh as it shifted the blankets around them, and his palm brushed over the scar left there. The memory flooded over both of them and Max pressed closer.

“Listen to me, alright? Modo and Vinnie are always gonna be a big part of my life, and my heart. But what I have with you, Max, is something all its own. Not something I could ever have with them.”

“You mean like mind-blowing sex?”

Throttle narrowed his eyes at that stupid too bright grin, trying not to laugh but was struggling. He pressed a finger against his lips again. “Hush, you. I’m trying to tell you how much I love your stupid face.”

Max continued to grin and nipped softly at the silencing finger, feeling the ridges of faint burn scars there. Old ghosts left over from the nuke-nuks.

“By all means continue.”

Throttle nuzzled him, beside himself with how much love he felt for him. “You didn’t fill a void. You crashed into my life and made yourself at home. I didn’t know I needed you then maybe…but now I can’t imagine a day without you. Without that stupid smile.”

Max pulled him to him and kissed him deeply. All thoughts of the broader conversation lost and tucked away again. He refused to ruin this with the dirty specifics of his family’s treachery for now. He would try again. Maybe…

Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe they could just stay like this.

It was a selfish wish and he knew it. But he couldn’t help it. Sooner or later the world would come and blunder in and bring more trouble, more strife, more fighting. There was no need to give it anymore then it would already take from them.

***

Chapter Text

***

                Mace didn’t know how much longer he could run. The nights here on this crowded, twisting metal and asphalt hellscape of a planet were getting colder and less and less hospitable. He had managed to survive by stealing food from street vendor carts and sometimes out of apartments or bodega style corner shops. But the shadow of that mad Doctor kept following him.

                The horror in the hazmat suit seemed to creep around every corner, and had nearly caught him twice now. Mace was sleeping less and less, in fear that he would wake to find the monstrous thing standing over him, scalpel in hand, ready to slice him to pieces.

                In the dark, when it was easier and safer to move about without being seen, he tried to make his way back to the building he had first escaped from. The only place he knew a transporter capable of getting him back to Mars existed. But it seemed toe closer he got to place, the easier it was for the Doctor to find him.

                And when escape and survival was not his main objective…he looked for Throttle.

                Surely the mouse was surviving better than he was. If he could just find him here, maybe their odds of getting back to Mars would be better. If Throttle didn’t kill him first. But even if that was the case, Mace would glad die at his hands than let himself be caught and used for whatever the mad Doc wanted with him.

                The thought made him shiver all over, huddled in his present hiding hole. It seemed like empty buildings and houses were more than plentiful here. He’d found a small house near the dead end of a culd-de-sac, tucked beneath the highway. The house’s overgrown and dead lawn, it’s chain link fence that was warped but still standing, locked at the front gate, and the small, posted sign on the front door saying “condemned, do not enter” was a good indication it would be empty.

                He had hoped the fence and climbed in through the broken root cellar door at the back of the house, making his way inside through the basement. He expected it to be cold here like most abandoned places where, but it seemed like the heat and the electricity were still working here. Maybe it had only recently been condemned, and supply had not been shut off yet. Either way, he wasn’t going to argue with warmth and running water.

                The house was stained, dirty and barren, and some of it’s previous affects had been left behind. A broken down and stained sofa, a table and chairs. A bookshelf full of dusty books that the owners didn’t seem interested in other than aesthetics. Upstairs there were closets full of decorations and moth-ball smelling blankets. A box spring and a mattress had been left behind in one of the three bedrooms as well.

                Mace made a nest for himself in the smallest bedroom, making sure that the mattress was not visible when you first opened the door. Tucking himself into a corner out of direct view.

Here he had slept, and ate, and considered his situation for the last three days, unbothered by the monster in the hazmat suite. On his dreams and his guilt and his growing hunger to trouble him.

But his small streak of luck was about to take a turn.

It was maybe two or three in the morning. Mace could only tell by the amount of traffic he heard from the highway and the depth of the darkness beyond the grimy windows that weren’t papered over. He hadn’t been up long that night, feeling groggy and exhausted. His body was running less than efficiently on Earth junk food, especially what he was able to steal, which mostly consisted overly sweet garbage or cold meat in packages. The best thing he had managed to steal so far had been what were called “hot dogs” from a cart on the street corner, but he doubted he was going to get those again anytime soon. The vendor had screamed at him and tried to shoot him, the shot nicking Mace’s shoulder, which was still tender and hurting. Possibly becoming infected.

Sitting on the worn and stained mattress, he stared at nothing. Trying to decide between going back to an uneasy sleep or to try and make another attempt for the Eris building. The thought of going out into the cold made him shudder, drawing deeper in on himself, pulling the blanket around him tighter. Outside, the wind from the Lake had begun to pick up, rattling the windows. Mace cringed against it.

Teeth chattering. He was sweating despite the chill. Sick.

He let out a miserable whimper in the dark, head in his hands. Not for the first time he thought about how his selfishness and his miserable choices had lead him here. How getting mixed up with a Mad man like Colby and agreeing to go along with his plans—if only because it put him in proximity to power—had destroyed his chance at family and community. Things he had come by honestly more than once and not appreciated. Not seen their worth. Always hungry to be more.

But that hunger had been starved out of him now.

He wished again that Stoker had killed him. Whether back during the war or on that roof top in Caria, he did not care. Death was beginning to sound more like a comfort than something to dread. Anything if would save him from this miserable isolation on a foreign planet, hunted by that thing in the mask.

He thought of Lev and Lexi. How he had let them down. Wished sincerely that the boy was safe. That Lev had somehow survived and would find him. It was the childish sort of hope that Mace usually despised in others and did not allow himself either. But what else did he have?

He thought of Throttle then. Their last brief kiss in the lab before Mace had made a run for it. Wondering if the mouse had felt anything from it, besides contempt. Contempt that Mace deserved of course, but…

He dug his palms into his eyes, feeling them burn with tears and exhaustion. Throttle haunted him. What they’d had, what he had thrown away. For years Mace had convinced himself that there was nothing between him in the Freedom Fighter of any true substance and therefore nothing to miss. That he had been using him and lying from the beginning. Evil and cruel as that was, it was an easier narrative for him.

It just wasn’t the truth.

Yes, he had used Throttle. Yes, he had lied. But he had cared about him. He had, at moments, glimpsed what could be a future for them. A possibility, small and flickering as one match in a dark room. As brief as it had been, it had been real.

It certainly had been real for the biker mouse, or he would not hate him as much. This kind of hate only grew from a very deep wound, and it was only seeded by the loss of love. Had there been love?

His thoughts blurred into a mess of disjointed memories. Their shared times in the chapel in the dark, nights on watch on the roof tops, watching the galaxy of stars drift slowly overhead, while Phobos and Deimos chased each other across the night sky.  Warmth and closeness, intimate conversation. Someone who cared if he lived or died. Someone who had a vested interest in his survival. Who wanted better for him.

He thought of Throttle’s hands in his hair, scratching down his back, harsh breath in his ear. He also thought of those fingers, laced with his in the quiet after. Thought of that voice that would whine and pant his name—screaming for help while shackled to a slab in that blood stained laboratory in Stilton’s castle.

The sudden visceral memory made Mace gag and cough, heaving dryly into a trash bag, spitting pile as there was nothing in his guts to give up.

He had left him there. He could have stepped in, could have made a deal, could have done something.

But he hadn’t. The coward in him had won.

He hated himself for it.

A sound from downstairs made him stifle the last of his gagging then. Muffling himself, he pressed back hard against the wall and listened, ears perked and tail twitching. This was not the sound of some nighttime critter that had gotten in to rummage in the remains of the house. (He had already discovered what a Racoon and a Possum was and found them to be…interesting) Something much bigger, much more deliberate was moving down there.

He could hear things being moved about as well. Heavy items, dragged and reposition. He moved very carefully, being sure to keep his movements on the mattress so they were muffled, and spread himself across the floor board, ear flattened to the floor, listening.

Whoever it was downstairs had a heavy bootstep. The sound heavy enough to cause some faint reverb through the floor. The footsteps moved back and forth through the rooms below, coming—Mace realized—through the kitchen back door, through the kitchen and into the main living area. The pattern repeated itself several times.

Whoever it was lugging something heavy in from outside.

He wondered if it could have been the previous owners of the house, come to remove the rest of their abandoned items. But that seemed unlikely. Something about the footstep was making the fur on the back of his neck begin to prickle and stand on end.

Then the back and forth stopped for a time. There were voices. One very, very faint as if coming from elsewhere and one…distorted, as if through a mask.

Mace felt like his heart was going to drop out of his chest. The sick feeling returned but he didn’t dare even gag. The monster in the hazmat suit had found him again.

He sat back hard on the mattress and looked around for an exit. In the surge of panic he would have launched himself right through the window, jumped across the porch roof and made a run for it.

Luckily, he was able to get some control, ears still twitching. The voices continued to converse off and on, though Mace could not make out their words. But no sound from downstairs gave any indication that they were aware of him.

He staid very still, trying to control his breathing and slow his heartbeat. Tried to let cooler heads prevail. They didn’t know he was here. The monster was preoccupied with something else. Had he caught a different prize?

An intruding thought blinked bright like a warning light in the back of his brain. What if he had found Throttle instead?

Mace crinkled his nose and brow at the thought. As if the biker mouse would go down so easily.

But it had happened before. If they had fought elsewhere, and the Doctor had subdued him and brought him back here to…

To what?

As if in answer, the lights suddenly dimmed. He was only aware off this because of the sound, and the fact that even the street lamps and the neighboring houses outside seemed to experience a sudden suck of power, everything flickering low and then blinking brightly before settling again.

Mace felt static ripple through the air, causing his fur to bristle even further. What in the world could be down there to cause such a sudden power drain that intense?

Another warning light of a thought flashed in his mind.

A transporter unit.

It seemed a long shot, but not impossible.

He continued to listen, the muffled banter between the two strange voices becoming less frequent. The movement down there became smaller, the steps moving less and less distance. No longer going from room to room, but seemingly just place to place within one area.

Mace could feel and hear a low persistent hum and realized his improbable hunch had to be right. The sound of the stabilizing field around an open worm hole had a very particular frequency to it. And he had spent too much time in Stilton’s fucking castle in the old days not to recognize it.

But what could he do? If he made a move, went down there, he was sure to be spotted. And he knew, as bad as he felt, he did not have the strength to fight off the Doctor again. But if he staid here, letting his cowardice once more rule his judgement…he was going to die anyway. Cold and alone and miserable.

Maybe to die quicker in a struggle, with the chance of freedom in sight, was better.

And if Throttle was there? What then?

Mace did not have an answer for that.

Slowly, deliberately, he got himself up from the floor and began to move along the edge of the wall, opening the door carefully to not make the hinges creak. He found that the closer he walked to the edge of things, the less noise the house made.

He moved slowly to the railing of the stairway, looking down into he unfamiliar brightness below. Out here, he was easier to hear the voices.

The Doctor’s distorted voice through the mask was speaking to someone who seemed to be not in the room. Perhaps on a phone or a radio.

“…Thaddeous, how much longer are you going to be? You were supposed to finish hours ago.” A pompous, yet petulant voice whined from the speaker. “Really, I never had such issues with your predecessor.”

“My predecessor lacked vision. “ The Doctor in the hazmat helmet answered. “If you want a job done, Mr. Limburger, you have to have it done right. That means time, patience, and testing. You, I believe, were the one who wanted to draw attention and suspicion away from our base of operations. So I am forced to do my work elsewhere.”  He sounded particularly disgusted and put out by this fact, making sure to add emphasis on the issue.

The voice of the Lawrence Limburger retorted. “Times are what they are. You shall have to make do. And what I recall of your resume, you seemed to enjoy field work.”

“There is a vast difference between a controlled environment and these squallid surroundings and you know it.” The masked man answered, seemingly already frustrated.

Trembling, Mace moved ever so carefully down the first few steps. He was still obscured by the partial wall, he would not be visible until he made it half way down. Where the wall ended and the railing was in place. But if he got close enough, he could watch the scene unfolding in the former living room through the reflection of a mirror still hanging on the wall, angled just so that Mace could get a decent, partial view.

The monster who had been pursing him was laboring a rectangular metal box with a sizeable electric cord snaking from one short side, draping down off the rickety coffee table it was perched on and snaking across the floor to some grounded plug in the wall.

The box was not very large, perhaps the size of a show box. But looked heavy, and was clearly humming with energy. The masked man activated a remote in his palm, and the doors on top of the box sprung open, a swath of bright yellow and white light bursting forth.

Mace ducked back a moment, once more ready to bolt, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. But seconds ticked by and nothing happened. The device hummed and pulsed, and the Doctor seemed busy elsewhere.

Mace inched down the stair again, and began to gauge how many steps he would need to make it to the transporter unit. If he jumped the railing, it would only take him 11. If he went down the stairs and around, it would take him 18.

That was all that separated him and freedom.

He had no idea where this transport unit was set to. But he hadn’t known back in Caria either. The same circumstances then applied now. Anywhere was better than here.

The Doctor might catch him before he could get through however. And that made him shudder. But he swallowed that fear. He was never going to get a better chance than the one he had right now.

Slowly, he inched himself further down, towards the very edge of the wall, his only remaining cover. Another step and he would be fully exposed. It was now or never.

Just as he moved to make the jump over the rail, the transporter light began to churn and pulse, catching both his and the doctor’s attentions.

Before either could register what was happening, there was an explosive pulse of motion, and the transport light seemed to belch out two bodies from it’s beam. The pair of travelers crashed down onto the floor and what remained of the couch with a crunch and yelps of pain and surprise.

The Doctor was on the move, grabbing at the intruders. He grabbed the first, smaller body, that still seemed dazed. As he began to pull her from the floor, Mace realized he was looking at a fellow Martian.

The girl moaned and then screeched as he grabbed her, and just as he reached to slash at her with that hideous scalpel, Mace found himself in motion.

He was up and over the railing of the stair, hitting the floor at a bounce and launching into a kick that struck the doctor hard in the shoulder and head. He let go of the girl with a below, crashing to the side. He made another swipe as he fell, catching Mace along his side.

The razor sharp blade sunk deep, but only had the vaguest sting thanks to it’s sharpness. Blood immediately began to bubble from the new wound, staining his shirt and the hip of his trousers.

The girl on the floor had recovered it seemed, and when the Doctor tried to right himself and slash at the half-breed again, she came at him with her stunner, shooting him twice in the chest. The Doctor bellowed in pain, but was effectively put down for the count.

Behind them on the floor, the other unexpected arrival began to stir. Marshall Limburger, haggard and dazed, was trying to get his wits about him. He realized that the Mouse had reclaimed her weapon and now had it trained on him.

“Don’t move!” Shiloh barked at him. “You goddamn fish flake, where the hell did you take us!?”

Marshall glanced around the squalid surroundings, but being that his former doctor was present, his impulsive plan seemed to have worked out. “Welcome to Earth, cat bait.” He spied Mace, who had dropped to the side, trying to stem the bleeding from his wound. “And I see the damn infestation continues…”

Shiloh tried to understand what happened, looking around the ruin of the room in confusion. Spying the transport unit they had been sucked into and spit out of, and the personal unit Marshall had used to get them here lying on the floor.

She made a grab for it and he didn’t try to stop her. Waiting until she had grabbed the belt before reaching and grabbing her wrist, his clawed nails digging into the flesh her wrist and forearm, puncturing like tiny needles.

He gnashed his teeth at her, reaching to claw her face. Anything to subdue her and get her weapon. She screamed and punched at him, striking him hard in the face and neck until he was knocked back at last. In their struggle, the they pair landed on the long cord of the boxed transporter.

Shiloh fumbled, grabbed at the box itself, now only flickering power, and whipped it at Marshall’s head. It caught him along the top of his skull near his dorsal fin hair, drawing blood and sending him to the floor in a heap.

Shiloh panted, and was surprised to feel more hands on her. She started to struggle again, then realized it was another Martian. The one who had appeared before, saving her from the masked thing.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here!” He shouted to her.

She started at him in confusion, but he was already pulling her towards the back door. As they ran, they discovered a second nasty surprise of the Doctor’s.  The Doctor had been dragging equipment into the house, yes, but among his supplies was what appeared to be a very fresh, very mutilated body. Whether it was human or something else, the pair could not discern. Nor did they care to at the moment.

Mace had locked his hand around Shiloh’s wrist and the pair were sprinting out the back door, feet thundering across the frost crisp ground. They scrambled over the chain link fence and dropped down into the alley on the other side, gone before either Marshall or Thaddeus could recover.

Marshall laid there on the carpet, dazed and bleeding. He heard a familiar voice bleating and bellowing at him from somewhere. It’s familiarity had his head spinning, disorienting him further, making him feel like he was back home on Plutark for a moment. But as his head began to clear, he snarled at the sound.

The phone from which Lawrence Lactavius Limburger was face-timing and bellowing at his evil henchman from was lying on the floor near him. All Limburger could see was the ceiling of course, and his frustration was mounting by the moment.  Marshall reached and fumbled for the fallen device, lifting it to his face.

“Will you please shut up…?” he hissed.

His uncle startled at the sight of him. “Marshall!? How on Earth did you get here?!”

“With guts and grit, Uncle.”

“Where is Thaddeus?”

Marshall looked towards the fallen doctor where he lay slumped against the fireplace. He could tell by the faint fog on inside of the mask that he was breathing. But clearly out cold, if only temporary. “We had a little run in with your favorite pests…I’m in need of some assistance. Can you send someone?”

“Would that I could, nephew, but I’m afraid I have no idea where you are located. Thaddeus has been infuriatingly secretive about his doings lately.”  The other fish hummed, clearly not at all concerned with Marshall’s situation.

“You’re useless as usual…”

“Useless?” Limburger repeated, his voice teetering on agitation, still coated and cloying. Marshall knew the venom beneath it though, knew that his temper was building. “Anything but. You see, while you’ve been wasting your time getting entangled with those rabid rodents on Mars and that mad man Colby, I have stepped in and picked up your slack. Something you should thank me for, boy. The High Chairman would have had you replaced so easily otherwise, and when you did resurface, you would be either brought up for review or abandoned to your own devices here. I don’t know which is worse.”

Marshall felt shaky, dizzy, his vision doubling as he leered at his uncle. “I need your help.” He muttered.

“What was that?” Limburger cooed, unable to hide his smirk.

“I need your help! Surely you have tracking on this damn phone…if you don’t send some one, we’ll be discovered. And if you think I won’t rat you out…”

“Sorry, I’m afraid we have a bad connection…”

“PLEASE!”

Limburger stopped his teasing and took notice. Rare was it that an Plutarkian ever allowed his pride to slip so low that he would beg in such a sincere way.

“I’ll do anything…”

And this was exactly what Limburger wanted.

“Keep the line open, nephew. Someone will be there to fetch you and the good doctor shortly.” He promised.

**

                They had run for several blocks before they began to slow. The cold and the gusting wind child them both, and Mace’s already waning strength began to fail. As they were cutting across an empty lot, the half-breed’s knees buckled and he pitched forward, hitting the ground on all fours.

                Shiloh gasped in surprise, only now pausing in their frantic flight to assess the damage the other Martian had taken. She saw the sizeable blood stain on the other’s side, how it had seeped down into trousers, both steadily turning dark brown with the discoloration.

                She pressed her hands over the wound and he grunted in pain. “I’ve got to apply pressure, get the bleeding to stop.” She explained. She looked at him carefully. “Want to explain to me where we are? Or what the hell was going back there?”

                Mace looked at her carefully, taking in her uniform. “…this is Earth. Plutarkians are here too, if you didn’t notice.” He nodded at their surroundings, at the wide swath of ‘construction’ that was beyond the empty field they knelt in.  Shiloh looked at the shadowy shapes of familiar Plutarkian digging machines, all at rest now, waiting to be reactivated in the morning.

                She felt her insides pinch at the thought. “No…there was never a full scale invasion here on Earth. Problem spots, sure, but…”

                Mace laughed hoarsely. “That’s a good one.”

                She frowned at him. “Alright, wise-guy. What the hell are you doing here? From what I’m aware, Earth doesn’t intermingle with aliens well.”

                “Sure doesn’t. They don’t even like their own species much, much less anything outside of the homo-sapien category.”  He tried to right himself and fell immediately, wilting against her.

                “Hey! No passing out! Absolutely not!” she muttered at him.

                Mace mumbled something, she thought it was a name but couldn’t be sure. After a few moments, he revived somewhat. “We need to find a new place to hide. Unless you can beam us back to Mars now…”

                She looked at him dubiously. “Answer some questions first, tough guy. Why are you here?”

                “Got pulled through a transporter, just like you did I guess.”

                “Why? How? There are no functional transport units on Mars, haven’t been for years. You should know that.”

                “Yeah well…I guess they forgot to account for one.”

                “Are you alone?”

                Mace began to nod, and then stopped. “No…I’m looking for someone. We got separated when we were pulled here.” He explained.

                Shiloh looked around again, watching to see if they were noticed.  Above them, the sliver of a single waxing silver moon hung in the air, occasionally obscured by low rolling heavy clouds. Headlights chased each other in the distance from the highway, but nothing closer than that seemed to observe them. The windows were all mostly dark in the buildings beyond them, and the streets were empty.

                “Yeah? What’s your friend’s name.”

                “Throttle.”

                She blinked and looked down at him. He noted the recognition in her gaze and felt hope renewed. “You know him?”

                She pursed her lips, weighing her options. “Your friends with the Biker Mice?”

                Mace shrugged, “I suppose you could call it that.”

                “And they’re here? On Earth?”

                Mace nodded, though he didn’t know if the other two of the trio had made it to Earth. And for the moment, it didn’t matter.

                “Sure as shootin’…” he mumbled, giving her a dazed smile. She could tell he was fading, on the edge of delirious. She got her arms under him and hefted him up, bearing most of his weight as they started back off across the field, searching for safe shelter.

                “Well, I’ve got some questions for your friends about what happened on Mars. Maybe we can talk to them together. Sure they’ll be happy to see you’ve made it back in piece.” She reasoned. Mace giggled to himself and she shrugged it off as delirium.

                “Oh, they’ll be just ecstatic…”

**

                The night of disturbed sleep continued.

                Modo slipped too suddenly from a dream, blinking back into the waking world. In the dream, he had been with Jessie, talking of nothing. It seemed like an ordinary day in their home, in the newly built house where the Van Wham’s trailer had once stood. For some reason, everyone had been there, moving in and out of rooms. His bros, Charlie and her children, Stoker, Harley and Bowie, his own family of course. Even his father, who’s face was almost gone from memory.

                But now, here he was, stiff-necked and aching backed, with a sleeping warm body against his. Karma’s head was on his shoulder, breathing deeply, heavy and oh so warm in sleep against him. Modo glanced from her to Daisy’s little bed, finding the toddler sprawled on her back now, still soundly asleep.

                Carefully, he pulled himself forward, lowering Karma down onto the mattress and covering her with a blanket, grateful she didn’t wake. He absently pushed aside the riot of red curls and planted a kiss on the top of her head, the same way he had with all the younger family members. It didn’t seem to really matter to Modo if Karma was a confirmed Van Wham. She had been absorbed into the collective and was good as one of them.

                He tucked Daisy in as well, and tried to stretch out the kink in his neck from sleeping upright. His shoulder was equally sore, but the massage earlier had helped some of the ache. He slipped out of the room, intending to make his way to the couch that had become his bed.

                But it seemed to him like he was not the only stirring body within the Last Chance, even now. He made his way downstairs, shocked to see Charlie at work. The clock on the wall said 4 am.

                “Charlie?”

                She turned towards him in surprise. “Geez early, riser…figured I had a whole hour before you started stirring. What’s up?” she asked, quickly stepping from her computer and moving towards him. Modo heard the faint hum and scratching sound coming from her 3D printer, glancing towards the device curiously.

                “Nothin’…fell asleep in the girl’s room. Needed to come down and stretch out the kinks from sleepin’ sitting up.” He explained. Charlie moved closer and rubbed his shoulder, trying not to look at the empty socket below it where his bionic arm should be.

                “How’s the shoulder?”

                “Better.” He nodded. “Why you up so late, pretty lady? I’m sure Vinnie is missing you in that bed of yours. Or did he snore you out?”

                Charlie sighed, “I can’t sleep when there’s something to do. And there’s always something to do with you boys around.” She moved towards the kitchenette. “Coffee?”

                Modo nodded, glancing once more to her computer. His arm was resting behind it, carefully laid out and ready to be put back in place.  “You finish the keycard then?”

                She nodded. “Jack says it should work. I’m going to test it out today I think.”

                “You really think they won’t recognize you?”

                “I know how to change my look up. Besides, I’ve already had fake credentials made up, and been chatting with their HR, the works. I have names and dates and I can bullshit my way through a conversation if someone stops me. Though, if I’m lucky, I won’t have to deal with that.”

                Modo eyed her silently for a moment as she placed the cup in front of him, the bitter roasted aroma wafting up through the steam. “Does Vinnie know? Or Throttle?”

                She lowered her eyes, staring into her own cup. “I don’t want to worry them.”

                “I don’t like it, Charlie.”

                “Look, if one of you macho moto mice tries to get within a 100 yards of that place, even fully covered, they’re going to clock you. At best they’ll chase you off, at worse you engage in a firefight. One I would love for us to avoid. But if I go in there, I blend in. I can get to the transporter and then…”

                Modo looked at her closely. “And then what, Charlie? Go through it yourself? Alone?”

                “Well no…”

                But he had clocked her lie quickly. And even with only one eye, he was looking right through her. Again she stared at the counter. “I know it’s crazy. But if that was the only way, Modo, I would. I would. I have to get back to him.”

                Her voice broke without even saying her son’s name.  Modo reached across the counter and squeezed her hand in his. “I know, darlin’. And we will. I promise you that. Just don’t go getting yourself hurt in the process. Your kiddos need you in one piece. We all do.”

                She nodded, swallowing the rest of her tears and squaring her shoulders. “I see your point, but I don’t know any other way around this. Not without a lot of explosions. Which could mean transporter damage, and even more damage to getting our hands on more that vaccine. This isn’t a problem we can blast our way through, tempting as it might be.”

                They silently mulled over the problem at hand. “Do you think you could get the plans for the transporter? Build one here? If you’re pretending to be an intern at the place, wouldn’t you have access?”

                She considered, fussing with her hair absently as thought. “Maybe…but that might take even more time to replicate here. Plus trying to tear that kind of hole in space-time from scratch isn’t easy. It requires a crazy amount of power. Not sure the Garage could handle it. And it still leaves us lacking on vaccine access.”

                They were coming up with nothing. Seemingly trapped in a maze, unable to find a path that wasn’t a dead end. “I dunno, Charlie-girl. This big-brain sort of thing has never been my strong suit. I’m more of a hands on kinda fella.” He flexed his good arm with a wink. “Why don’t you talk with Throttle about this? Or maybe Max? They might have a better head for this sort of planning.”

                Charlie looked reluctantly at him. “I know…I just don’t want to weigh him down with his.”

                Her companion sipped his drink. “You think he’ll shoot it down.”

                She winced, her lips twisting as though she tasted something sour. “Not exactly. I just know he’ll want an abundance of caution. Something I normally would agree with. But we are seriously crunched for time.”

                Fifteen minutes had slipped by nearly without notice and she felt the weight of it. “I should get back to work. Your arm’s all set though. Need some help attaching it?”

                “You’ve got the magic touch.” Modo nodded.

                She lifted it reverently from it’s resting place and moved to carefully reattach it to the socket. The device inside Modo’s shoulder socket made it simple enough, and relatively painless and smooth. Much smoother with Primer’s new model in fact. But having to force it in always made Charlie cringe. It was no different than the force one might use to push a real bone into the socket, and it always felt too harsh.

                But Modo didn’t even flinch when she attached it, stretching and adjusting to the weight, feeling the nerves and synapses reconnect to his prosthetic seamlessly, giving him a little heard rush. He flexed the arm and the fingers, pleased. “Like I said, magic touch.”

                An alert came up then, on both Charlie’s phone and her computer. It caught the pair of them by surprise, Modo glimpsing the computer screen as Charlie checked her phone.

                “Power surge…that’s a huge spike! Transporter activity!” she gasped. She opened the map on her screen, honing in one the location of the surge.

                “What app is this?” Modo asked, scratching his head. “I can barely figure out how to open candy crush on one of these things…”

                “It’s something Jack sent me. I’ve been tracking the energy signatures around Eris to see if Limburger uses the transporter. There’s been no activity since we arrived, but look at this!” She showed him the map, “This spike shows it came from a neighborhood a not far from us. Not even close to Limburger!”

                Modo’s brow furrowed. “Hmm…you think there’s a second transporter?”

                “Maybe…or maybe someone else beamed in somehow. Like how Vinnie did off the ship when were heading to Mars.”

                “Seems really fishy.”

                “That’s the point.” She nodded. She was up and moving, looking for her boots and jacket. “We should go scope it out.”

                “Whoa, whoa, hold your horses there, Charlie, we should wake the others before we take off. No telling what that could be. Even if it isn’t Limburger related, something randomly beaming here to Earth could mean big trouble.”

                “Someone’s got to be here in the morning to open the Last Chance, plus there’s the kids to think of. We haven’t got time to argue whos’ going and who’s staying!”

                Modo looked towards Charlie and Vinnie’s bedroom, where no doubt the white-furred mouse in question was probably still snoring. “I dunno…”

                Charlie was already moving towards her bike. “I’m heading out. Are you in, or out big guy?”

                He sighed heavily, then moved to grab his own helmet, Lil’ Hoss lighting up at his approach. “You know, you and my wife would have gotten alone just fine.” He muttered. “You’re both impossible to argue with.”

                Charlie winked at him, hit the automatic garage opener, and sped off, Modo trailing close behind. He knew he was in for an earful from both his bros later, and probably and even bigger one from Daisy when he wasn’t there to greet her. But hopefully this would be worth it.

**

                The sound of the disappearing motorcycle stirred the masked mouse from his dead sleep. He sat up with a grunt, fumbling for a blaster, and thankfully not finding one in reach. He had wanted to keep one hidden beneath the bed, but Charlie had forbidden him.

                He sat up, his brain still trying to catch up and shake itself free from sleep. “Mmmhmph…how’s a mouse supposed to get any beauty sleep with all this racket?” he mumbled thickly, yawning. He looked over to see if Charlie had heard the noise as well and was surprised to find her side of the bed cold and empty.

                Vinnie blinked, rubbing his hand along the faint divet her body made in the mattress. “Charlie?” he glanced around, worry becoming the sobering factor that shook the rest of the grogginess from him. He was up and out of the bed, pausing only to drag some pajama bottoms on to cover his nakedness and moving into the garage.

                He expected to find Charlie there at there at her work bench, or tinkering with one of the bikes. But there was nothing. No one in the garage. But the lights were on, and so was the coffee pot. And two half-drunk cups rested on the counter.

                And as he moved around, he realized there were two less bikes present as well. Both Charlie and Modo were gone.

                Vinnie stood there, trying to make sense of the situation. The clock on the wall said it was barely 4:30 in the morning. Way too early for a breakfast run. And she had left without saying goodbye or even leaving a sticky note stuck to his mask.

                A sour prickle of worry knotted in his stomach, the acrid taste of it creeping up the back of his throat and making him frown. “Something screwy’s going on here, I’ll tell ya that much.” He muttered. He moved towards Charlie’s computer, the screen saver drifting by, showing pictures from her camera of her and the kids, as well as some new additions of her and himself and the bros.

                Sweet and unassuming. Vinnie tapped the keyboard to see what she had been working on last, only to find a request for a password. He blinked again, surprised that Charlie kept the computer locked in such a way. He scratched his head, trying to decide what the code might be. Typing in birthdays and anniversaries he could think of. Nothing.

                A warning flashed that he was nearly out of attempts, and he quickly backed off, feeling more frustrated for his trouble. “What is going on here?”

                He got a different answer than expected however, when there were footsteps on the stairs and he turned to see Karma carrying a sleepy and very fussy Daisy down in her arms. “Hey, anyone want to change this kid’s diaper? She’s leaking everywhere…’ she moaned.

                Vinnie moved hurriedly towards the young woman. “Jeezus, you ain’t kiddin! What did you do, Daisy-baby, drunk a whole gallon of milk before bed?” He asked her, holding her carefully so that her obviously wet jammies did not transfer over to his fur.

                She whined piteously and Vinnie pouted with her. “Aw, it’s okay sunshine! Uncle Vinnie’s got ya. Everyone pees, you know…I think.”

                Karma giggled at him.

                “What’s so funny?”

                “I dunno, you’re just so cute and awkward with kids! It’s like they’re tiny aliens to you. Which surprises me, considering you’ve always struck me as just a large oversized one yourself.”

                He set Daisy gently down on the floor and began to peel her out of her pajams. “You know I now long for the days when you thought I was cool. Instead of this blatant character assassination you seem to be fixed on now.”

                “It’s not assassination if it’s true.”

                “Quiet you. Go make yourself useful and grab that diaper bag Charlie keeps by her bed would ya?”

                “Wet!” Daisy fussed, stomping her little feet.

                “Sure are! And stinky too!”

                “You’re stinky!” She quipped back, waggling one chubby finger in Vinnie’s face.

                He mocked biting it and she squealed and he tickled her belly to distract her, lifting her one more time to pull the pajamas from her feet. “You’re gonna need a bath, squirt. Sure wish your dad hadn’t decided to take off with my lady…”

                “Daddy go?” Daisy asked.

                Vinnie blinked back at her. “Oh…yeah. But just for a little bit.”

                The little girl had already turned her head worriedly towards the door, as if she were contemplating if he would come back through it any time soon. She waved at it sadly, her thumb going into her mouth. “Daddy gone.”

                Vinnie’s heart gave an unexpected twist at this. “No baby. Daddy just…taking a ride. He’ll be back. Real soon.”

                She blinked at him wondering. “Promise?”

                “Oh good gods who taught her that?” He wondered, suddenly hating the world and anything that made a child this small feel so worried and insecure.

                “Promise.” He assured her.

                She moved to hug him, her soaked diaper sagging down, and Vinnie gave in to the fact that he was going need a shower of his own.

                Karma returned with the diaper bag, looking sour as she had been for the last few days. She tossed the item at him and then turned to leave.

                “Hey! Where do you think you’re going? You could help you know.”

                “Why?”

                Vinnie looked at her incredulously. “What do you mean why? I’m asking you to.”

                She folded her arms and looked at him directly. “Listen, Pops, I’m not down for this. I didn’t ask to be stranded here in your urban little homestead while you play house and have male bonding time with your fellow motor heads, leaving me to look after someone elses kids!”

                Vinnie stared at her. “Excuse you?”

                “If I wanted this kind of life, I would have staid with my mama and gotten knocked up and trapped like she did!” Karma yelled suddenly, her frustration coming to a boiling head.

                Daisy frowned at her and shook her finger at her. “No yelling!”

                “Go suck on a lego.” Karma returned.

                “Hey! We don’t insult toddlers in this house!” he barked. His ears twitched then as he heard the back door of the garage very quietly open and close, and turned to see Remy creeping in, carrying her shoes.

                “Stop right there!” he called to her.

                The girl jolted, surprised, blinking at the unexpected scene in the garage. “What the hell?” she gasped.

                Vinnie pointed at her. “Language!”

                “Lan-geg!” Daisy tried to repeat, failing spectacularly.

                Karma looked at her human counter part. “You have got to work on your timing, girl.”

                “I was trying to slip in before Mom got up!” she hissed. “I thought she would be happy I was home early.” She glanced around at the garage, and noticed that her mother’s bike was gone from it’s usual spot. “Where is mom?”

                “She ran out, she’ll be back.”

                “It’s not even 5 am!” Remy exclaimed. “Where did she go?! The all-night parts store?!”

                “No yelling!” Daisy whined again, covering her little ears. Vinnie went to scoop her up and her diaper let go completely, flopping to the floor with an audible squish.

                “Bye-bye.”

                Remy started past the Mice cluttering her garage.  “I’m going upstairs.”

                “Oh no you’re not!” Vinnie corrected. “You’re gonna stay down here, and have a chat. I don’t know where your mom is right now, but I do know she’s stressed out of her mind and your antics aren’t helping. You lied to me when you said she wouldn’t mind you going out last night.”

                “I didn’t lie. I assumed.”

                “Semantics! You lied. Look kid, you don’t have to like that your mom and I are a thing, but you do have to accept it. And while I’m here, my job is to help take care of you all. So that means you’re gonna have to grow up alittle and listen to me, not just your mother. You should be trying to help lighten the load, not make it worse.”

                Karma made a snarking sound from behind him and Vinnie whipped his head in her direction. “And you! Same thing! We don’t have to talk about that dad thing, but you sulking around like you’re the same age as Daisy is getting under my damn skin! We are all stuck here right now, and if you aren’t helping the cause then you’re weighing us down!”

                “So what are you gonna do? Abandon me?” Karma mocked. “You already did that, dingus!”

                “I didn’t know you existed, or I never would have!” Vinnie barked back.

                “Oh my god, I am not dealing with this!” Remy yelped, once more trying to make for the stairs.

                Daisy began to cry loudly then and Vinnie looked at her helplessly. She was cold and wet and just wanted all the yelling to stop.

                All three of them went quiet at the sound of her cries, Vinnie trying to shush her gently, while he became even more flustered. To his surprise, Remy moved toward him then, reaching for the baby and taking her gently from his hands.

                “Hey cutie! Don’t cry, don’t cry! Let’s go take a tubby! How about that?”

                Daisy continued to whine, blinking at her.  Karma was on the move, moving towards the deep set sink in the kitchenette. Luckily it was till cleaned out from the night before, not littered with dirty dishes or tools. She plugged the drain and stared the water, careful to assure it was warm, not hot.

                She motioned to Remy to bring the toddler over, and they set her in to the sink, letting her splash in the water, happily distracted.

                Vinnie watched them both, stunned for a moment, and then moving into action as well. He dug into the diaper bag and pulled out a tiny bottle of baby wash, handing it to Karma, along with a fresh diaper and fresh onesie, this one yellow and printed with little flowers.

                 Daisy was settled down, sitting in the sink, happy with the attention and the new sensory input.

                Vinnie stepped up behind the girls, put a hand on each other their shoulders. “Thanks ladies.”

                “No big deal. This used to calm Kirk down when he was kid. He’d scream and yell and mom would just plop in the bath or the sink. Shut him right up.” Remy nodded. Vinnie gave her shoulder a small squeeze.

                “Your mom is working really hard to get him back. Remy. We all are.”

                Remy nodded slowly.

                Vinnie heard a step on the stairs, and looked to see Throttle standing there, watching the whole thing.

                “How long have you been there?”

                The tan mouse shrugged. “Somewhere between the shouting and the diaper drop.” He replied with a smile. “I came down to see if I could lend a hand, but it looks like you have it handled.”

                He gave Vinnie an encouraging little nod, Vinnie returning it with a grateful if not awkward grin of his own.

                “That you making so much noise down here, Daisy-Jane?” Throttle asked as he descended the stairs, peering at her around the corner as she giggled happily and splashed water at him in greeting.

                “No yelling!” She squealed.

                Remy let Karma take over the water control, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Can I go to bed now?” she asked, looking somewhat anxiously between the two male mice.

                “Yeah. But listen for a minute, would ya?” Vinnie replied. She sighed, exasperated but Vinnie waved it off. “No lectures, no big requests! Just a favor, okay?”

                She looked at him plainly. “Stop calling you dingus?”

                “Oh that ship has sailed,” Throttle mumbled quietly.

                “No. Just…cut your mom a little bit of slack, okay? She’s doing her best. Really she is. And, you know…I know this isn’t easy for you either. You can always come to me. I’ll listen at the very least. Okay?”

                Remy considered silently, then gave a small nod. “Okay. Can I go now?”

                He waved her off and she all but trotted up the stairs, bypassing Throttle without another word. Vinnie looked to Karma then, and moved to relieve her of bath duty. “You too. You look tired. Garage doesn’t open for a few more hours.”

                She moved away without comment, making for the stairs. “How about we head out on the town later? See the beach?”

                “Beach?” The girl asked.

                “Yeah. A real lake. BIG one too. Plenty of room to ride as well.”

                “Fine. So long as you don’t try to give me life advice.”

                “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

                She followed the other girl, leaving the two mice alone with the toddler.

                “Well…you handled that pretty well, I’d say.” Throttle nodded, patting his bro on the back. “I’m proud of you.”

                Vinnie shrugged. “Eh…a little clumsy on the entry, I admit. But I always finish with flare.”

                Daisy splashed him for emphasis and Throttle offered him a clean towel.

                “Where’s your better half?”

                “Where’s yours?” The tan mouse countered. He glanced towards the open bedroom door. “Not in bed, I take it.”

                “She and Modo must have peeled out of here. I don’t know why, neither of them said anything before they left.”  He looked anxiously at the other. “Do you think there’s trouble?”

                The tan mouse moved from the sink towards Charlie’s computer, noticing the passcode warning. He thought for a moment, then attempted his own.

                “Hey, careful with that, if it locks her out she’ll have my—”

                The screen opened, revealing a map and several other open tabs.

                “Hey how’d you do that!”

                “Lucky guess.” Throttle shrugged. “Also there’s real faint grease smudges on the number keys she uses the most.”

                “Smart ass.” Vinnie muttered.

                “Ass!” Daisy squealed and Vinnie cringed.

                “Oh gods no no no!!”

                She laughed louder at his reaction, splashing him relentlessly.

                “Daisy Jane, too loud.” Throttle cooed back to her in his firm but smooth tone and she hushed immediately with only a little giggle, pushing her fingers to her lips.

                Vinnie blinked at him. “Hey how come she listened to you and not me?”

                The answer was obvious, and Throttle was kind enough not to rub it in. Another small grace that Vinnie was thankful for, but wasn’t sure he deserved. He looked guilty towards the little girl, washing her hair lightly and watching it curl around his fingers. “Guess I’ve missed out on a lot, huh?”

                Throttle didn’t answer. He was staring at Charlie’s screen. “Hey, she say anything to you about this?” he called back to Vinnie.

                “Me? Nope, I’m just the hunky arm candy around here apparently. No one tells me anything.”

                “This is a energy reading…coming from a strange place at the edge of Wrigleyville. Looks like some of Limburger’s old haunts. Remember when he tried to tear down that old neighborhood there?”

                “Yeah sure…but why would there be an energy reading there? What kind of energy reading we talking?”

                “Dunno, but it’s unusual. Maybe they went to scope it out?”

                “Without us?” Vinnie asked, aghast.

                “Maybe it couldn’t wait.”

                With Daisy now relatively clean, Vinnie plucked her from the sink and did his best to towel her off. “Should we go after them?”

                The other mouse considered, now exploring the other opened tabs. “Well, if Modo’s with her, we can always check in. But…” his brow furrowed sharply as he poked through the different windows. “Vinnie…these are weapon schematics. Heavy stuff. And not just weapons but tech that looks like a higher grade than Charlie-girl usually deals in.” he looked back at his bro.

                “Looks like our girl’s preparing to mount her own offensive against Limburger.”

                “What?”

                Vinnie moved towards him, still cradling Daisy, who was happy to be cuddled close, warm in her towel. Throttle flipped through the different tabs, showing Vinnie what his lady had been laboring over.  There were weapon schematics, not just for the bikes but for other items—phasers, a rocket launcher, smoke grenades. There other things too. Things that looked like she had dabbled in the idea of her building her own transporter. Another for something that looked like a body suit, perhaps some kind of armor.  Vinnie noticed that these plans had several annotations on them, by two different people. Not just Charlie, but McCyber as well.

                “Jeezus…why didn’t she say anything about this?”

                “Dunno.” Throttle asked. He brought up an email, which was an interview confirmation letter from the Eris corporation. ‘Why didn’t she say anything about getting herself hired at Eris?”

                Vinnie looked lost. “This is…crazy. Why is she doing this? Why isn’t she telling me—”

                “To be fair, Vincent, she’s had a lot on her plate. Maybe she just wanted to narrow down some options before she brought it to us.”

                “But she tells me everything! That’s what partners do!”

                “She’s also a mom at her wits end!” Throttle reminded him. “Maybe it’s making her a little crazy right now. But I can’t say I blame her.”

                “No, no, she needs to trust me. I know she’s hurting, but I’m trying my best—!”

                “Bro,” Throttle’s hand was on his shoulder, grounding him before he could spiral. It was such and old familiar action that had been so absent in his life for the last few years that it startled him into silence. “She’s just trying to get back to her family. Just talk to her. I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”

                Vinnie nodded slowly. “Yeah…yeah, you’re right. I’ll just talk to her.”

                Throttle nodded and then opened his arms to take Daisy, since Vinnie was clearly in need of a towel of his own now. The little girl snuggled into him happily, pulling off his specs and chewing on the earpiece. Throttle was reluctant to pull the free from her, tucking them in his back pocket to keep them out of the way.

                “How come you aren’t more freaked out by this?” Vinnie asked.

                Throttle shrugged. “Oh, I’m plenty freaked. I just…” he sighed, focusing on Daisy instead of Vinnie for the moment. “…I’ve been in her shoes for the last two years. I know that kind of drive, that kind of desperation. Can’t exactly judge her for doing something about it.”

                Vinnie felt those words stab at him directly, not knowing if Throttle meant for them to or not. Either way, he was sure they were true. He was still coming to grips with how desperate Throttle had become without them.

                He moved to retrieve Daisy’s pajamas and diaper, allowing Throttle to dress her since she was behaving so well for him. “So uh…you know I was just teasing about the whole Max thing right?”

                “What Max thing?”

                “Oh our little back and forth earlier. I really do like the guy. I mean, how could I not, he’s like a poor man’s version of me.” He grinned, unable to help himself.

                Throttle shot him a sharp look over his shoulder. “You wish.”

                “You wish, apparently.” Vinnie snarked back and Throttle swatted at him with his tail, making Vinnie jump and Daisy laugh.

                “What I’m trying to say is! That he seems like a keeper. If he can ride half as well as he shit talks, well…he might even be cool enough to one of us.”

                “Is that a fact?”

                “Yeah! Might be a good idea and all, to get him officially labled as part of the group. Things are gonna be dicey when we do get home, I’m sure.”

                “How so?”

                “Well, I mean… I’m sure his mother won’t be pleased by any means, and with her track record of taking out people she doesn’t like on the sly…”

                Throttle turned now and stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

                Vinnie froze, suddenly tight-lipped. The confusion in Throttle’s eyes told him that Max had not done as he’d advised. That he had not yet clued Throttle in to the extent of corruption his mother was capable of.  Had always been capable of, apparently.

                He fumbled, “Oh you know…I mean she did literally sick the Army on us back at the farm. I can’t imagine she’s going to take news of her only son shacking up with one of the Biker Mice on a permanent basis well? Might ruffle some feathers, with you working at the Cathedra and all…”

                Throttle turned back to Daisy, who was now up and toddling off in search of a snack from the lower cupboards, finding her own personal box of animal crackers there waiting for her. “Yeah well…she’ll have to deal with it I suppose. Working at the Catherda was really just a favor to Stoke anyway…”

                Vinnie exhaled softly, realizing how close he’d come to another disaster. “Yeah. Hope he’s doing okay.”

                “Me too.” Throttle nodded.

                They stood in grim silence for a moment. The thought of Stoker, Harley and Bowie was too heavy for them right now. It was a topic best discussed over whisky or beer. Not before morning coffee.

                “So this one’s for real then, huh?” Vinnie asked, trying to lift the conversation. “I mean, you seem pretty set on him.”

                “It’s not like shopping for a new helmet, Vincent. I’m not set on him.” Throttle sighed, rolling his eyes. He softened though, smiling to himself. “I love him.”

                “Yeah?”

                “More than anything.” Throttle nodded. The softness in his face when he said made Vinnie realize how serious he was. And he worried now what Max’s untold backstory might hold for that. His bro had been burned bad before by people he loved. Vinnie didn’t know if he could stand back and watch it happen again.

                “I’m happy for you.” He offered. He would have reached and clapped him on the back in approval, or even hugged him. Instead he hesitated and then moved to scoop Daisy up, trying to keep her from eating the entire box of crackers. “And hey, if all goes south, well…Modo and I will be there for you.”

                “Why would it go south?” Throttle asked, looking at him a little too intensely.

                “Huh? No reason! I’m just saying, you know, shit happens…but you can always fall back on us.”

                Throttle huffed a laugh, looking at him incredulously. “It’s too early for me to tell you everything that’s wrong with all the things that just came out of your mouth. And don’t’ say ‘shit’ in front of the baby.”

                “Shit!” She squeaked back.

                Throttle cringed.

                “Modo’s gonna kill us.” Vinnie sighed.

                Throttle moved past him, not returning upstairs but instead setting to work on his own bike. Vinnie knew he had touched a nerve. Things were still fragile between them. At moments it was easy and familiar. And others…the old hurts surfaced and bled.

                “I’m, um, gonna go get her settled in her room.” He mumbled. Throttle didn’t reply, turning on the radio and getting to work checking Lady’s systems and weapons, preparing for if they were going to need to back up whatever crazy thing Charlie and Modo had set out to do.

***

Chapter Text

***

                The pair of motorcyclists pulled slowly down the dark and near abandoned side street, leading to the condemned house at the end of the cul-de-sac. They rolled to a stop there along the curb, staring at the lonely frame of it, a dark and dingy grey color in the pre-dawn light, it’s peeling paint and overgrown, dead yard staring back at them hollowly.

                “You sure you got the right place?” Modo asked, glancing at the woman beside him.

                Charlie checked the tracker on her phone once more. “Yep, this is the place.” She nodded, looking up at the house again with a heavy sigh. “What a dump.”

                Modo glanced around at the neighboring houses and buildings, but saw no sign of anyone stirring. There was no commotion, no sign of activity. If anyone was living in the neighboring houses, they all seemed to be still asleep.

                “Well, I suppose we came all the way here.” He dismounted from Lil’ Hoss and motioned for Charlie to follow him. They decided not to approach head on, but rather to travel along the fence by the side yard, just to see if there was more evidence of activity from behind.

                From one of the side windows, they could see a light on in the lower rooms. Maybe the living room, or perhaps the kitchen? As they came around the back, they saw more warped places in the fencing. Charlie gripped the chain-link fence and pulled herself up and over in a few smooth movements, only swaying a little on the less than stable structure. She landed like a cat on the other side and looked back at her companion.

                “You comin’?”

                Modo shrugged and raised his bionic arm, the lazor cutting a clean hole in the chain, allowing him to simply push it aside and step through.

                Charlie frowned at him. “Show off.”

                Modo nodded past her, spotting the back door hanging open in the breeze, creaking slowly back and forth.

                As the cold late autumn breeze washed over them, Modo’s nose crinkled, catching an odd mingling of scents. He moved beside Charlie as they edged closer to the open back door. In the little pool of the porch light, they saw dark splatters across the cement step leading up to the door.

                “Don’t suppose that’s ketchup?” Charlie asked softly.

                Modo moved in front of her, arm tense and ready to fire if need be. Now in the threshold, the smells coming from inside the house were more pronounced and he was able to pick them out of the muddle the rest.  “I definitely smell Plutarkian. Maybe a dead one. But…I smell Martian too.”

                Charlie blinked at him. “You mean as in Mouse?”

                Modo dissolved his visor and sniffed the air again, pressing slightly inside the threshold of the kitchen now. “Maybe? I’ve definitely scented them before…”

                “Could one of the others have found their way here? Maybe Stoker, or--?”

                The big grey furred mouse shook his head. “No. It’s not Stoker. Not anyone that familiar.” He stepped inside, wincing at the smell in the kitchen. The sharp, biting scent of blood. Old and new. Along with the clear smell of death. He gagged slightly, pausing to recover himself.

                Charlie pressed behind him. She was staring through the kitchen into the living room, where there was a flickering lamp and obvious wreckage.

                Before Modo could stop her, the woman moved across the dirty tiled floor into the next room surveying the scene. The broken couch, the stained and torn carpeting. The toppled, flickering lamp laying half across a rotting arm chair. Broken glass. And a weird smell of ozone. Charlie felt a prickle of something electric in the otherwise stale and cold air of the abandoned house.

                “Well…something definitely went down here.” She said, looking back at Modo, who had finally moved to join her from the kitchen. “Looks like a struggle. And here…do you see these weird burn marks on the floor and the furniture?” she asked pointing to blackened scorch marks on the floor, and the battered couch and broken coffee table. Even the wall bore the markings of something very hot having burst or combusted within the room. Yet there was no smell of smoke, or typical signs of fire.

                “I have a feeling our energy signature came from right here.” The mechanic mused. “The question is…what channeled it?”

                They looked through the wreckage of the room, shifting through the debris of the abandoned furniture. Modo noticed more blood splatter, tiny flecks that reached the short wall of the stairs directly behind where the couch would have been sitting.

                “Someone got hurt. Maybe badly.”

                He looked back towards the kitchen where the dead smell lingered. “Charlie…whatever went down here…I don’t think we should stay.”

                But the woman was only half listening.  She was still shifting through the debris, when she discovered a long severed cable cord, still faintly sparking. She hurried to trail it to it’s plug, yanking the thing from the wall to prevent the fire that surely would have ignited soon.

                “Holy shit…this is hefty. I bet it sucked the power from at least three of the houses around here. Probably all but fried the fuse box.” She mused. Her pulse was beginning to quicken, palms beginning to sweat. She could tell that they were on the verge of something. The energy reading had to be right. There must have been some sort of generator here, it couldn’t have been a blip. She was aware that she was getting her hopes up a little fast, but couldn’t be bother to temper it. She needed this. She needed something to get her back to Kirk.

                She followed the cord back to where it was cut off, eyes scanning the floor. Beneath one of the ruined couch cushions, she found her prize. The dented and flash-burned metal box was turned over on it’s side, still smoking from the inside the metal doors that seemed to contain nothing.

                “Bingo!”

                She grinned manically, holding the thing by it’s severed cord. “Transportation device located!” it was hot to the touch even as she reached for it, feeling the heat even through the black leather gloves she wore. “You know this thing kinda reminds me of those ghost traps from Ghostbusters…you remember that movie?” She looked up, expecting Modo to answer, only to find that the grey furred mouse was no longer in the room with her.

                She tensed, glancing around frantically for where he could have gone, only to hear his familiar heavy step on the stairs in front of her.  She darted past the broken furniture, looking up at him from the bottom of the landing. “Modo! What are you doing?” she whisper-called to him.

                He glanced down at her. “Mace was here.”

                Charlie stilled, lips pursed. “Are you sure?”

                “Positive. Smell is strong up here. He’s been hiding here awhile I think.”

                She glanced back towards the wreckage of the living room. “You think he had something to do with the mess down here?”

                “Honestly? No.” Maverick answered back. He moved back down the stairs for her, “If you’ve got what you need, we should split. I don’t like anything about this place. Something weird has gone down here.”

                She didn’t argue with him, sobered by his serious and worried tone. They moved together back through the kitchen, Modo gagging once more on the death smell that came from there. He did not look, did not entertain investigating it for even a moment. They needed to leave.

                Outside on the stoop, he paused at the sight of the blood again, realizing the trail did not begin here but rather in the living room. It disappeared into the dark, frosted blades of grass across the back yard, but the scent of it was sharp. He drifted after it.

                The smell of Plutarkian and death faded, leaving on the familiar Martian smells. It was not just Mace, who’s scent was locked somewhere deep in his memory bank. There was definitely a second mouse. But how had they got here?

                Modo’s thoughts began to cloud, slipping into a memory loop. The blood and death smells triggered it. He recalled the lab. Once Karbunkles but now home to another maniac. One more calculating, but just as diabolical.

                He remembered tests, and pain. Constant, mind numbing pain. Of being caged and tearing anything he could to shreds. Living things? People? He didn’t know anymore what was real.

                Before he realized, Charlie had taken his good arm and pulled him to a stop. “Modo?” her voice was urgent and worried. He blinked down at her, confused and dazed and then looked around and realized that the house of horror’s they had investigated was a far distant square somewhere behind them.

                They were standing in the middle of an empty lot, over grown with grass that shivered, silver-laced, in the night air.

                “Modo?” Charlene asked again. She reached up and touched his cheek and was relieved when he nuzzled into her palm. “Hey, you still with me big guy? You were following a trail and then I think you drifted off somewhere.”

                “Yeah, sorry…” he mumbled, ears dropping with shame. “Dunno what happened there. Guess I got lost in my head.”

                “Are you alright? You looked like something was hurting you.”

                He shook his head. “Naw, I’m fine.” He looked around them again, and then down at the grass beneath his feet. As his eye began to focus more intently, he picked up on the blood stains there and the way the grass had been pressed down, as if something had lain on it recently. The scent of the other Martians faded off here, the breeze blowing away the rest of the trail.

                “Whoever our other furry friends are, they got at least this far. Not sure where they took off from here.”

                Charlie looked around, scanning the surrounding buildings. Behind them was a fenced off construction sight, dark and ominous even in the grey-blue predawn light. Nothing stirred there, and for that she was thankful. It had become harder and harder over the years to tell Plutarkian mining and digging equipment from those made here on her own planet, but she could still spot the tells. And she despised more than anything that they were cropping up in her city again.

                She took her gaze away from the construction, turning to look across the road from the field and spotting a small convenience store. Its lights were on inside, not just the neon’s of it’s friendly little street sign. The mechanic smiled to herself. “I bet our friend across the street here has security cameras. I wonder if they caught a glimpse of anything interesting last night.”

***

                Stoker woke to the sound of voices, dimly arguing back and forth with each other. Despite this awareness, his body was slow to catch up. He was stretched out on his side, feeling himself lying on a thin bit of matting between him and the ground, the feel of a blanket beneath him. He did not feel the ruffle or bite of wind against his skin and fur, not the overbearing glare of sunlight. He was inside, in a tent most likely from the way his ears began to detect the faint and steady ruffle of fabric rippling with the breeze.

                His muscles ached. Felt stiff and heavy. None of his limbs wanted to respond to the growing awareness in his mind. They seemed to exist independently of each other then. His body just an abused lump of fur and bone and muscle, inanimate and yielding.

                The only thing that gave any real indiciation that he wasn’t somehow paralyzed by something was the faint twitch in his infected hand, which continued to pain him in it’s dull and relentless way.

                Slowly, he managed to unstick his eyes and look at his surroundings. The arguing male and female voices now had shapes. Ones he recognized.

                Harley was standing a few feet away from him, her fists clenching as she yelled and scolded the large black furred figure of a Dog who was looming over here by nearly two full heads, standing at 7 feet from ear tip to foot, over Harely’s diminutive 5 foot frame.

                Still, the Dog looked like he had bit off more than he could chew.

                “—We made an arrangement, Atlas! You gave him your word! Does that mean anything or are you just as bad as the rest of your so called kin!?” The woman snarled at him, furious and unafraid.

                “I will not stand here and be cowed by a rodent!!” Atlas barked back at her, showing fangs and looming closer as if trying to intimidate the woman. She didn’t back down, glaring right into his maw. Even though if he had wanted, he could have set his teeth into her pretty throat and ended her in one hard bite.

                Of all things, Harley pushed him. Shoving at him with both arms.

                The leader of the Sand Raider pack actualy moved, if only a step or two, blinking at her wide eyed. He lowered his head, beginning to growl low in his throat.

                And this was when Stoker began to move.

                He was pushing himself up, however shakily, his tail beginning to glow and lash behind him.

                “Get away from her!” he croaked, trying to yell but finding his voice wouldn’t carry. Harley whirled on her heel, ignoring the snarling dog and moving immediately to her husband.

                “Stoke! Shh, shh, don’t get up!” She was beside him, trying to lie him back down, hands on his shoulders, even as he struggled into a sitting position, not understanding.  He glared past her to the Sand Raider leader.

                “You touch a hair on her head--!”

                “Relax,” Atlas muttered at him, the growl remaining but the temper seeming to subside. “Your woman is in no danger from me.”

                The mechanic turned nurse glared back at him, “You sure about that?”

                Stoker sagged against her and she folded him into her arms, refocusing. “Shh. It’s alright. I need you to stay down, hot shot. Our gracious host and I are just hashing some things out.”

                “What things?” he mumbled, the room spinning, threatening to pull him under again. He pushed past it, looking worriedly up at her. “Where’s Bowie?”

                “That diseased ridden thing is contained.” Atlas answered.

                Stoker pushed himself up again, glaring at him over Harley’s shoulder. “What the fuck does that mean? Where is he!?”

                “They’ve got him in a cage over the pit. Cowards are scared shitless of him, even though he looks like death warmed over.” Harley explained before looking bitterly back at Atlas. “You bring him down and you let us tend to him! We have vaccine, he’s not lost!”

                “I will not risk it!” Atlas barked back at them. The Sand Raider looked at them both wonderingly then, trying to make sense of the situation he presently found himself in. “I think you have forgotten yourselves. You think because I have not let my pack tear you and the bastard whelps you have brought with you to pieces for sport, that I am somehow your friend.”

                He looked nastily from Harley to Stoker, half grinning. “You can ask your husband how friendly I am when he doesn’t do what he is told. Or how much friendlier I can get with more than just a shock collar if he does not submit to my laws!”

                “You made an agreement! You damn well that Stoker is your secret weapon, your one chance not have your clan overtaken by Slobber and his mutts, or killed by that insane creep Colby! So go on, klill us! Keep your pride! See how fucking long you last afterward!” Harley snarled back.

                Stoker blinked at her, a smile creeping across his face. “Gods I love it when you get angry…”

                Atlas loomed close to them, once more glaring down at the woman who would not yield to him. “Do not test me, bitch.”

                Stoker looked like he would jump up and punch him for the remark, but Harley held him to the mat, looking smugly back at the dog instead. “Tell me I’m wrong.” She answered.

                He huffed in frustration, snorting like a bull and then backed off, stalking away further back into the tent, angrily reaching for a bottle of wine or other spirits from the table and drinking directly from the bottle, muttering curses under his breath.

                Harley gave a satisfied little nod before turning back to her husband. “We’re going to take care of him, don’t worry.” She soothed him. They held each other, both relieved and frightened.

                “Are the boys alright?”

                “They’re fine, they’re safe.” She answered, continually pressing kisses to his brow and hair. She wouldn’t let him know how terrified she had been, seeing the state that both he and Bowie had arrived in. How she had screamed and tried to openly attack Atlas’s men when they dragged Bowie from the back of the rig and threw him in a cage, even though he couldn’t even walk on his own.  How her distress had only grown at seeing Stoker with such damaging burns from the collar Atlas had forced on him.  She looked at the swath of burn scarred skin across his throat and neck, the fur thinned and burned away in places. And it was only her careful examination of it that made Stoker realize he was not shackled.

                He looked at her questioningly and she just kissed him.

                The three unlikely companions were quiet for a long moment. Atlas a dark brooding cloud, filling the air within the private tent with the tension of his mood. He sat himself down onto one of the carved chairs that filled his private dwelling, eyeing his prisoners, considering their strange and uneasy alliance.

                He had dozens of slaves at present, Rat and Mouse alike, even other Sand Dogs among them. If you were captured by his clan, you were either put to work, sold, or discarded. Though more often than not, Atlas’s captive workers were eventually absorbed into his collective. If they were productive and they didn’t raise too much trouble. Sometimes he even let them go, though always under the guise of needing to drop useless burdens. His pack was not as aggressive or volitale as some of the other Sand Raider clans. He wouldn’t call himself a war lord, or a master slaver, not like Slobber.

                But despite this, most others knew to leave he and his well enough alone. They stuck together, worked well, and were vicious when they had to be. There was little infighting among his pack, and they trusted his role as their leader. He could afford then, to be merciful when it suited him.

                But it seemed this mercy, first afforded to the honeyed wheat colored female, had come back to bite him.

                “I should have left you in the canyon…” he muttered, more towards her than directly to her. “If I had known you’d come back here and bring me this trouble…” He glared at her, almost miserably. “You call me soft, and perhaps I am. But that can change, don’t forget.”

                Harley ignored him, and now it was the male who moved to speak with him. He watched Stoker get to his feet with effort and stand as tall as he could. Too proud to show weakness willingly in his presence.

                “He’s sick, but he’s not lost. What Harley is telling you is true. We have vaccine. We can cure him, your men are not at risk if we get to him before he’s terminal.”

                The Dog looked at him blandly. “That’s fascinating. But there are other factors to consider. Like the way you disobeyed me. That has to be punished.”

                He saw the anger trembling in Stoker’s limbs, even in his eyes as he stared him down. He stifled a grin. He loved to bait the old Freedom Fighter, found his anger somehow delicious. It was so rare to find someone still willing to bite back when he barked, but this Mouse did not hesitate. He and his woman seemed to be cut from the same cloth in this matter.

                “Then punish me. Not him. He’s an innocent in this, just like the other infected. You leave him long enough, he will become terminal and I really don’t think that whatever rusty cage you’ve shoved him into is going to keep him from tearing your flunkies into strips of dog jerky.” Stoker warned, doing his best to keep his temper in check.

                “And if I believe you, what then? You cure him and I have another mouth to feed.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, taking another pull of his wine, teasing the other. “I don’t see how I benefit here.”

                “You get to keep my foot out of your ass.” Stoker snarled, unable to help himself.

                Atlas grinned, showing his wolfish smile. “Worry about your own ass, metal tail.”

                Harley moved to intervene, but Stoker swept her back, keeping her tucked just behind him. “Look, you and I could keep going at this all day. But the fact of the matter is, you risk infection if you don’t let us cure him. Your pack is at risk. Do something about it.”

                “I don’t take orders from you, Freedom Fighter.”

                “It’s not an order.” Stoker corrected, fighting back to the bite in his voice. He looked at the Sand Raider more earnestly then, and Atlas took note. “It’s a plea. He’s family. Let us save him.”

                None of them said anything for another moment, the only sound being the wind ruffling the fabric of the tent and the sounds of life outside, going on as usual. Atlas considered them again, this strange pair who had unsettled his mundane striving for existence in the waste. He felt caught now as he had been caught upon their first meetings. Torn between a fascination, begrudging respect and a rival like disdain for their defiance.

                His eyes shifted from Stoker to Harley. “Show me the vaccine.”

                The mice shared a quick glance, and Atlas watched. Expecting the whole thing to be a bluff. Their entire party had been well searched, even stripped once they gotten to the camp, their clothes discarded and replaced with those available here at the camp, leaving them in the discarded clothing of prisoners before, though they were allowed to keep their boots and shoes.  How could something like a medicine escape a search?

                But, to his surprise, Harley produced the small precious vials from a fold she had sown into he layers of her loose robes she wore. The liquid inside had a sort of cool blue translucence to it and bubbled slightly as it shifted in her palm.

                Atlas rose from his chair and looked at the item, eyes widening in both awe and disbelief. “Where did you get such a thing?”

                “One of our kin brought it back from Earth. Another one of our family was also infected. He was saved with this. We know it works.” Stoker explained.  He watched the Dog’s expression, weary now what he might do.

                Atlas was intelligent. More so than many Sand Raiders he had encountered. And not merely the sort of cunning intelligence that he was used to, but one that denoted a broader sense of self and purpose and empathy. It was that empathy that had saved Harley initially.  When her convoy had been attacked by rival raiders and then ambushed by one of the infected hoards, she had been left to wander the canyon and the waste beyond until what would inevitably have been death.

Atlas has come upon her by chance. Atlas and his closest hunting party, out looking for scrap had found the woman, bloody, sick and utterly alone. She would have been an easy kill. But he had taken pity on her. He’d set her in Rimfire’s path, even though at the time he hadn’t known this. He’d only known that her chances to live would be better if other Mice found her.  Rather than leave her to the elements and whatever beasts still lived and hunted in the canyon.

It was that same intelligence and empathy that had made her recognize her after they had escaped the tunnel of Caria. Kept his men from killing all of them on sight. The same that made him see potential in Stoker as an ally. But this kindness did not negate the cruel realities of their positions. The strongest still struggled for survival here. Would empathy win over greed and a thirst for control?

                “Vaccine is hard to come by in the waste. And the hoards of infected keep growing.” Atlas mused. “You have been withholding something that could tip the tide of this turf war in my favor. And you want me to just…let you waste it on one deranged mouse?”

                He reached for it, but Harley closed her fingers around it and stepped back, clutching it possessively as Stoker stood between them. The Dog paused and then smiled, starting to laugh softly, withdrawing his reach.

                “This is why you continue to live, rodents. You’re amusing to me.”

                Stoker rolled his eyes. “Enough grandstanding, Atlas. There’s no one here to impress, we’re not one of your whimpering guard mutts.” The Freedom Fighter reminded him. “Are you going to let us help him or not? We don’t have time for games.”

                He considered for another moment, perhaps only to further frustrate them, then nodded. Stoker didn’t wait for anything else. He gripped Harley’s free hand and the pair ducked hurriedly towards the tent flaps, stepping out into the morning light of the camp.

                The sprawl of the Sand Raider encampment opened before them. The day was new and already busy, with Phobos making her first rotation in the morning sky, which was the sort of milky blue that promised glaring sun and winds later on.

                Atlas’s clan boasted nearly sixty Sand Raiders, not including their captives. That would bring their collective numbers to eighty. When they were not on the move from place to place, they swarmed around the camp like a small village, moving from tent to hut to lean-to, working on weapons and vehicles, cooking food and sparing, sorting stolen and scavenged items for use or trade. And of course, laboring.

                The collective slaves were usually sorted into two camps. Either you were fixing machinery, repairing tents or reinforcing the few permanent structures of the camp, or you were digging for ground water.  The other camp, usually reserved for weaker captives, had more mundane tasks. Repairing tents and clothing, look out, or washing garments and preparing meals.

                They were all community minded tasks, unless you were being punished. Punishment could range from mindless hours of digging in the dirt for nothing, moving heavy rocks from one place to another over and over without break, or….you got a view of the pit.

                Bowie at present, had the best and the worst view of The Pit.

                Suspended from a crane over a large ditch, filled at the bottom with up right rusty shrapnel discarded from old rigs, bikes and weapons, the sick and infected bar tender lay curled up on the floor of a small cage, not large enough to even stand in.

                From below, he looked like a dying canary in a rusty birdcage, waiting for the end.

                There was one sleeping guard leaning up against the crane that held the cage. The dog startled awake when Stoker and Harley started towards them, instinctively reaching for his rifle.

                “Hey! What gives, who—?”

                “Let him out!” Stoker demanded.

                The dog, still groggy with sleep, blinked back at the chocolate furred mouse. “Huh?”

                “Let him out!” Stoker shouted again, pointing at the cage for emphasis.

                The other Sand Raiders and workers slowed in their activities as they passed, pausing to watch the interaction with interest. Perhaps hoping a fight would break out, and give them some entertainment to start their day.

                The guard stood slowly and shifted his weapon towards the mouse. “Why should I, vermin?”

                “Because I said so.”

                The guard looked up in surprise then, the words not coming from the Freedom Fighter but from Atlas, who was moving leisurely towards them. This brought even more eyes on the situation.

                “Sir? Ain’t he, like…rabid?”

                “We can help him.” Harley tried to explain. “We’re going to cure him, no one will be at risk, but you need to move!” she was getting impatient, noticing as she looked up that Bowie was not moving inside the cage as he had been the night before.  She felt a growing lump of anxiety in her throat, fearing complications.

                The guard looked from them to Atlas, and saw that he had better obey. Grumbling, he moved to climb into the operators seat, moving the rusting controls, until the crane creaked to life. The cage on the end of it’s long hook swayed dangerously over the pit and Harley had to cover her mouth to muffle to little scream that wanted to bubble out of her.

                But slowly, surely, it was moved away from the dangerous drop and lowered to the ground just beyond the edge.

                Stoker didn’t wait until it even touched the ground before running to it, gripping the bars and breaking the rusty pad lock and chain a little too easily for the other Sand Raider’s liking. He discarded the lot and bent into the cage, anxiously grasping the crumpled mouse on the floor of it.

                “Bow!”

                He pulled the heap of Bowie free from the confines, spreading him out on the ground on his back, Harley rushing beside him. Bowie looked as terrible as he had last night, but Stoker was more alarmed by the stiffness in his limbs. He bowed over him, trying to rouse him. “Don’t you die, don’t you dare die, I will never ever forgive you if you do, baby please…”

                Bowie was breathing, the breath a strained rattle from his throat. Harley took his pulse and pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his insides. As she lifted her head she looked anxiously towards Atlas. “We need water and a med kit. I need a syringe! Hurry please!”

                Some of the dogs shifted, as if ready to comply but awaiting permission. Their leader gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod and one of the smaller guards was off, returning a few moments later with a kit but no water.

                There was more movement from beyond the crowd, and Kirk came bushing his way through, carrying a large canteen of the stuff. Several of the dogs shouted at the boy and tried to snatch him, but he was too fast, even with the heavy metal jug in his arms. “Here! Here!”

                Harley looked up at him with a big grin, taking the water from him. “Stoke, see if you can sit him up, get him to drink some. Gods I wish I had an I.V. …”

                Stoker complied, propping Bowie’s limp body against his and Kirk filled the lid of the canteen with water, handing it to the older Martian.

                “Is he going to be okay? He looks…”  He wisely bit off the last word, seeing the strained looks on his caretakers faces. Instead he focused on the limp mouse’s form, still in awe. It had been weeks, and the boy had held out little hope that he would ever see the jovial bartender again.  It gave him a renewed burst of hope to see that small miracles still happened, even here. Even after everything.

                Stoker did his best to get at least some moisture past Bowie’s dried and cracked lips, but feared he would choke him. He could only dribble in a few drops at a time, most of which seemed to just dribble right back out.  “Bow, you’ve got to wake up.” Stoker urged, half growling in his ear. “I need you wake up. Come on, look me. Please, please…”

                Harley had done her best to clean her hands and prepared one of the vials in one of the few available syringes left in the scavenged kit. She pricked him and pressed the plunger down, she watched anxiously, wondering how quick the effects would be.

                She recalled waking up in the hollowed out barn when Rimfire had found her wandering. How long had it taken her to regain consciousness? Hours? Days? How far gone had she been when he’d found her? Was she like Bowie was now?

                With the vial empty, she withdrew it, her eyes glassy as she watched Bowie’s face. There was no change. At least not immediately. He still looked like could easily be mistaken for a fresh corpse. It made her guts twist. The added knife being the desperation on Stoker’s face, still trying to coax their partner back to the world.

                Not for the first time, she wondered how many other close calls there had been between them. Their story stretching back long before she had entered the picture. When the war was only an uneasy occupation and rumors. When Stoker was a fresh widower, a vigilante steeped in grief and Bowie was his madcap sidekick. She wondered if this would finally be the one they didn’t bounce back from. And wondered too if either of them could bare it.

                Atlas moved closer, his approach breaking the collective hush that had fallen over the watching clan.

                Harley listened again at his chest. The thready heartbeat remained, but seemed to be getting a little stronger. “Let’s get him out of the sun. He’s still hot to the touch. If we can bring the fever down it’ll help.”

                Stoker nodded, moving to lift Bowie best he could, though the extra presser on his arm made him want to scream. He ignored it, holding him close. Kirk moved to help, meaning to take the canteen with him.

                There was a grumble among the crowd.

                “Don’t bring that thing in where he can spread his sick…” someone muttered.

                “Toss ‘em out, let the buzzards have ‘im already!” Someone else barked.

                Harley glared towards the sound, “Shut up! All of you! What would you do if that was one of you? Your brother or you son or you husband!? Are they just food for buzzards!? Are you all really so fuckin heartless--!?”

                Atlas raised one of his big arms as if he would backhand her but Kirk charged forward instead, swinging the canteen. It would have caught the Dog into the stomach at least knocked the wind out of him.

                Atlas avoided it, if only just, his blow to the nurse diverted. He caught Kirk’s arm in his massive grip and made the boy cry out. “You want to be in the cage next?!” he muttered.  Kirk glared at him, fearful tears in his eyes, but said nothing.

                The big dog pushed him aside and Harley caught him before he fell. The big dog turned then on his clan, snarling. “What are you all gaping around at?! I don’t recall anyone being invited for a show! The sick rodent will be tended to so that he’s not a danger to us. And if the cure works for him, then we have something greater to bargain with, don’t we?!”

                The collective of dogs mumbled and nodded to each other, relenting. Pleased with this new idea of leverage.

                “I thought so. Now shut up and get back to work!” He barked viciously towards them and they scattered, some whimpering and yipping softly, tails tucked between their legs as they moved to give their leader a wide berth.

                Without speaking further, the dog turned and lead the little parade of outsiders away from the center of their encampment. He did not take them back to his private tent, but instead lead them through the narrow trails between structures to an older shack, more isolated from the wind and the sunlight despite how dilapidated it looked outside. It gave the illusion of banishing them to someplace at the edge of the community. What it really did was give them a safe, private place to tend to one another.

                There were discarded mats and blankets here, and they hurried to settle Bowie down on the cleanest one, working to get him out of his dirt and blood crusted clothing and cool him down.

                Kirk brought the canteen, bending close and trying to help. Stoker pulled him in and pressed a grateful kiss to his hair. “Good job, son. Good job.”

                Kirk nodded. “He’ll be okay now?”

                “Hope so, kiddo. Hope so. We’ll take care of him.”

                “How can I help?”

                “Go back and stay with Lexi. Harley and I will be with you soon, okay? We need to keep this low profile. I need your eyes on the horizon, got it?”

                Kirk nodded, gave Bowie’s knee a squeeze of encouragement and then quickly scrambled out from under Atlas’s gaze, returning to the main part of the camp and where Lexi waited for him at the lookout post.

                The Sand Raider watched him go before looking back to the Mice. “You must care for this one a great deal.” He offered. It was a summation he had already made, considering Stoker’s defiance at the scene and the way Harley’s quiet demeanor had slipped all together when she had seen how her men were returned to her.

                Neither of the Mice spared him a confirmation glance, focusing their attention on Bowie, who seemed to be breathing a little easier now. Finally Stoker looked at him plainly. “You wouldn’t do this for one of your kin? Someone you loved?”

                Atlas didn’t answer, but Stoker had his confirmation.

                “This is last favor I do for you, BlackRuby. If you challenge my rule, throw my authority into any further question, I do not care what deal we have struck. I’ll hang you from that crane by your neck.”

                Stoker nodded in understanding, both resolving to pretend to believe the statement.

                Atlas left them to return to his own duties. They were but a week out from the inevitable confrontation between them and Slobber. If they were going to stand a chance, they were going to have be prepared.

                Stoker and Harley went back to their own work. They stripped Bowie down and used what they could spare of the water to wash his body, trying to clean any cuts or lacerations. There were a few bite and claw marks, no doubt from the brief and violent struggle he’d had with the Sand Raider he’d killed in Caria. But other than that, he was surprisingly unharmed.

                Harley kept checking his pulse intermittently, feeling a promising rise in his heartbeat. They rubbed his limbs and tried to increase the circulation of blood, hoping like hell the vaccine had survived all this time in it’s little test tube and had not become useless.

                After a little while, Harley sat back, watching Stoker once more try to get Bowie to rouse enough to drink something. She was shivering. Not with cold, but with nerves. Stoker looked up at her, seeing the anxiety on her face.

                He reached for her, squeezing her hand. “Honey. It’s going to be fine. You did good.”

                She looked at him, eyes overflowing. “What if it isn’t?” she rasped. “What if it’s been too long, what if the vaccine’s expired now, what--?”

                Stoker pulled her in and hugged her, knowing nothing he could really say would soothe this uncertain, fearful ache. He felt it too, just as keenly. And he knew the world could be cruel. It been cruel to him more times than he cared to recall. But it could be kind too. And he had to gamble on that. Gamble that Bowie had been found alive for a reason.

                Stoker felt a hand on his knee that wasn’t Harley’s then. He blinked and looked down, the woman following suite. Bowie was looking up at them through the slit of his eyelids. They could both see now that one of his eyes had gone milk white, and was most likely blind. But the other seemed to have some focus, settling on their faces. Bowie’s lips moved, trying to say something that wouldn’t come out. He made a pitiful gesture towards his mouth, trying to indicate the ache in his throat.

                Stoker pulled him up and Harley held the canteen lid to his lips and let him drink as much as he was able. He coughed and winced, trying to get it down, but after the fourth turn he seemed to have slaked at least some of the desperate thirst.

                “Bow? You with us?” Stoker asked, feeling the other mouse heavy against him, his face buried against his neck as Harley rubbed his back and wrapped him in a blanket.

                The croak of an answer came back, strained but so true to Bowie that Stoker felt tears rush down his face in relief.

                “…when haven’t I been?”

**

                Lexi watched the commotion below unfold from his perch. The lookout tower was really a glorified tower of scrap, set into one of the shorter sides of the cliff wall, that let the water at his peak see what was waiting on the surface.

                Presently, there wasn’t much to look at. The wasteland spread out pretty far in either direction, but one could see other craters and there ridges of canyons dimly in the distance, swimming in an orangish grey haze. The clouds above them were moving fast now in the wind, and Lexi realized, far, far off in the distance, that he could see potential for a storm brewing. Whether it was going to be ice, rain or snow he didn’t know. The prayer was always for rain, but as the temperatures continued to dip it seemed less and less likely.

                He saw Kirk break free from the crowd, weaving across the open ground in the center of the encampment to reach the base of the tower and begin the long climb up. The rat boy turned to greet his friend, helping him the last few steps up into the domed look out with his tail.

                “Well?” he asked preemptively, eyes wide with excitement. “What happened?! Is he alive?!”

                Kirk nodded, slightly breathless from the run.

                “Yeah, yeah I think he might be okay…boy he sure didn’t look good though.” He said, his optimism rising and falling in waves. The older boy nodded, understanding.

                “All we can do is hope.” A common phrase his mother and father often touted along with all the other elders of their clan. Lexi had never really understood it until now. Hadn’t appreciated hope as much as he should have.

                The boys settled in together, once more resuming their watch. Most of the Sand Raiders seemed to hate watch duty, at least from the Lookout’s perspective. Perhaps they were not inclined to enjoy heights, being such earthbound creatures by nature. They preferred patrols, or, when they could get them, their chicken walkers, which at times stalked across the desert like strange sci-fi Baba Yaggas in search of prey.

                But the boys loved the perch. So much so it allowed them to forget for a little bit the dire and precarious circumstances they found themselves in.

                “Any sign?” Kirk asked, afraid he missed something. He lifted the worn and slightly cracked goggles from the floor and slipped them over his dirty and now shaggy mass of hair, staring across the scenery.

                “Nothing. Just a storm brewing in the east. Could be trouble. Could dissipate before it reaches us.” Lexi replied.

                Everyday, the boys watched. Everyday, they looked for signs of rescue. The gleam of sunlight of a motorcycle headlight, the low thunderous roar of one of their engines. They looked for the heroes that Kirk’s mother had always spoke about. The ones who never failed to save the day.

                But neither they, nor she appeared.

                Day after day, night after night. For three weeks. It had been him, Lexi, Harley and Stoker.

                The dog, Atlas, kept Kirk’s adoptive father figure on a short and very rough leash, however. The boy watched Stoker try to resist and negotiate however he could, but it usually ended in some kind of punishment or humiliation for the Freedom Fighter. At first, it had frightened Kirk. Then it had enraged him. And he had plotted how to take the dog down, the same way a school boy plots against his bullies.

                It was only Harley and Lexi who helped him understand the situation. Atlas was not their friend. But he was not their enemy. And he and Stoker would spar with each other, sometimes brutally. But most of the time, it was an act. There was something going on behind the scenes. Something he didn’t know all the details of. Only that it meant that when the time was right, they were getting out of here.

                The ache for his mother and sister had dulled. Homesickness prevailed but came and went in waves. The first few nights he spent crying himself to sleep, but now he had settled into a routine. And as much as he missed his mother, plotted and daydreamed of seeing her again, he did not feel unsafe or unloved here.

                Despite the circumstances, Stoker and Harley had strangely provided something he hadn’t experienced since he was 5. A two-parent household. One that wasn’t full of animosity, but cooperation and support. Lexi too, had provided a strange fill in for his sister. An older sibling to help guide him through things, help him gain confidence. And he had to do so, and quickly. In three short weeks, he felt like had matured four or five years. For the moment, it felt empowering. The brain has a way of protecting us like that. And thank Gods for it.

                “Do you think they’ll try and kill him?” he asked, glancing at Lexi.

                The Martian considered. “Maybe. But I don’t know. I still can’t believe they let him come back alive. Stoker must have put up one hell of a fight.”

                “They burned him bad with that collar.” Kirk nodded, frowning darkly. “I hate that collar.”

                “Yeah well, keep your head down or they’ll slap one of you too, trust that.” The older boy cautioned. He held out his hand and Kirk surrendered the goggles to him with a sigh, allowing him to adjust t4he strap and slip them over his own head. It allowed him to see farther, his eyes not tiring so quickly from the dust and the wind.

                He glanced again towards the canyon ridge, the only geological landmark close to them by miles. Still nothing. Just as he was about to give up and take a break, he caught glint of something. Reflexively he reached and squeezed Kirk’s arm.

                “Ow! What?!” the boy barked, smacking at his hand.

                “I see someone!”

                “What?”

                Lexi was staring fixedly towards a distant dune, where he could just make out a figure. A rider, to be specific. Too distant to make out any real details. It might have been another raider, or perhaps a mirage.

                He moved to the edge of lookout, sticking his upper toros over the little guard wall and out from under the dome into open air. He looked like a strange bird peeking out of it’s nest for the first time.

                “Well!? What is it?!” Kirk urged again, yanking on his arm. He tried to shield his eyes from the glare, but could not see anything distinct. “Lexi!”

                The rat boy ignored him, still staring at the rider. Slowly he raised one arm and gave a cautious wave.

                From below, someone saw.

                “Hey! What are you doing up there?!” one of the dogs called up to him, startling both boys and making them look down. “Do you see something?”

                “Uh…no! No, just…there was a bug!” Kirk called back.

                The dog far below them rolled his eyes. “Quit fuckin’ around or you’ll spend the day digging ditches! You want that!?”

                Both scrambled back into the shelter of the dome.

                “Lexi? What was it, who did you see? Is it them!? One of the Biker Mice!? What?!”

                The older boy shrugged his thin shoulders. “I don’t know. They were too far away. But maybe…”

                Kirk cursed under his breath and pulled the goggles off the other boy, pulling them back on himself and trying to spot the rider again. But there was nothing. Whoever it was had disappeared.

                “Do you think they saw you wave?”

                Again a shrug, though the boy seemed dazed with the possibility of rescue.

                Kirk sighed heavily, flopping back onto the blanket covered wooden floor. “You’re the worst lookout. Ever.”

**

                An hour or more passed in realitive silence between the two Martians presently working The Last Chance Garage.

                It was light outside now, early morning, and the streets were beginning to fill with the sounds of daily commute. The Garage itself would not open for another two hours—promptly at 9 AM—but there was still no sign of Modo or Charlie.

                Throttle could feel Vinnie looking at him from time to time. Feel the conversation that he wanted to start. But he couldn’t bring himself to engage. Since coming down to the shouting match between Van Wham and all the minor women presently residing in the run down grease pit that was Charlie’s garage, a growing pain had started behind his eyes and seemed to be getting steadily as time ticked on.

                The constant blooming ache was something that continued to recur over the last few weeks, and he knew what it meant. The damage to his cybernetic eyes was only continuing to grow, their condition—and by definition his own—deteriorating by the day. Eventually, they would fail all together, and he’d be lucky if all he could see was snow. But what could he do about it?

                It wasn’t like he could walk his alien ass into any free clinic and ask for an examine or even some aspirin. Not without probably traumatizing a lot of clinic workers and starting a whole lot of chaos. Getting back to Mars was his only option, and until they could solve that first problem, the rest would have to sit neatly on the back burner and wait their turn.

                But of course, life rarely worked that way. It could give fuck all about back burners.

                On top of the pain, there was the other looming problem.

                He had his bros back. His prime directive for the better part of two years now. But having them back in his life hadn’t been a fix all. The wounds between them were still there, still hurting, not fully closed. Distance may have allowed the small grace of ignoring those hurts from time to time. But now, with all them trapped here, it was becoming damn near impossible to tip toe around the issue.

                Lost in his thoughts, and his head beginning to pound in time with the music, he easily missed Vinnie’s words trying to carry over to him across the garage. So when his bro spoke a second time, Throttle just grit his teeth and winced.

                “What?!” he barked.

                “I said--!” Vinnie started to yell in return.

                Throttle suddenly clenched his head, all but doubling over on the stool he was perched on next to Lady. “For fuck’s sake you don’t have to—” he snapped, just in time for Vinnie to switch the music off, leaving only his raised voice in the silence. “—be so…loud about it.”

                He cringed as Vinnie blinked. “Sorry…”

                “Testy,” Van Wham noted. Then he snorted faintly, smirking. “That’s what your mom said. Ha.”

                Throttle glared back at him, “What do you want, Vincent?”

                “I said you’re hogging the tool kit! How long are you gonna tighten that bolt? You’ve about stripped it at this point.”

                Throttle looked back at what he was doing and winced. “Shit…” he hissed, now hurrying to undo the damage. “Sorry girl.”

                Vinnie moved closer to him. “Hey, you alright? You seem rattled…”

                Throttle threw the wrench into the tool kit and pushed it towards him. “Here, you take over. I need a minute.”

                Vinnie looked at him anxiously as he was up and swept past him, making his way uneasily up the stairs. He completely bi-passed Karma, passed out in Modo’s usual spot on the couch, or the sight of Remy and Daisy in the bedroom, playing with toys together.

                He staggered into the shared bathroom, barely getting the door closed before he caught himself on the sink. The pain was intense now, making him light headed and nauseated. He spit into the sink, feeling like he had the worst case of vertigo.

                “Come on…come on, not now!” he hissed, blinking up into the mirror and waiting for his fading vision to stabilize. His own reflection faded in and out of focus, going white and hazy, then grey and distorted as strange little orbs seemed to float through his vision in bursts of yellow and green and reds. Like traffic lights.

                The field specs didn’t even seem to help, unable to correct the deterioration.

                He heard the door, and felt Max’s hands on his back. “Babe?”

                “I’m okay…” he lied, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of his lover’s worried face in the mirror behind him. “Just a headache.”

                Max put his arms around him, gently drawing him back against him. “Wow, you are literally the worst liar in the galaxy.” He teased gently. “How can I help?”

                Throttle whined faintly, turning in his arms to rest his head on his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. “…don’t suppose you could whip me up a new skull could ya?”

                His lover kissed his temple and stroked his back. “I dunno, I’ve grown kinda fond of this one. I imagine you’re pretty attached to it.” He snickered and Throttle did allow himself a small smile at the corny joke.

                “Oh so you’ll laugh at his jokes, but not mine?” Vinnie’s voice came.

                Throttle lifted his head, confused, but Max guided him back down, looking at Vinnie’s figure now in the doorway.

                “I’ve got this covered, Van Wham. Besides, laughter soothes, while whatever your spewing just tends to make people leave the room.”

                Vinnie curled his lip in a faint sneer, leaning on the door frame. “I bring the crowds, baby. You and your goose-stepping family on the other hand—”

                Throttle’s head shot up as Max tensed. “Vincent!”

                Vinnie blinked, but didn’t move. Throttle’s blurred vision began to focus, just in time to allow him to see his boyfriend and his bro locked in what might be a very lethal stare-down.

                “What is going on?” he asked.

                Vinnie shrugged. “Nothing. Just bros shootin’ the shit. Right, Max?”

                The dark furred mouse narrowed his eyes at Vinnie, trying to discern his game. “Why don’t you do something with your hands and feet instead of your mouth? I think Charlie’s got some pain killers downstairs in the office. Get us some, would ya?”

                Vinnie looked like he wanted to snap back, but the pained look that lingered in Throttle’s expression made him think better of it. “Fine. Back in a sec.”

                When he turned, then tan mouse looked to his lover. “What was that all about?”

                Max exhaled slowly. “Oh…your bro and I have had some things to talk about. You know, anarchist verses the establishment? Rivalry as old as time. He doesn’t much care for my mother. And I can’t say I blame him.”

                Before Throttle could ask more, Max cupped his face, carefully examining his eyes and finding them worryingly bloodshot, the temples and eye sockets tender to his touch, making Throttle wince at even the lightest touch. “Don’t suppose we could try Harley’s trick again? Wrap your eyes and put some ice on it? Let you get a nice long beauty sleep?”

                Throttle shook his head, pulling away from the careful grip. “No thanks. I’ll just down some Tylenol, I’m sure it’ll help.”

                “Yeah, cause the weird earth pills are totally designed to deal with swelling around cybernetic implants.” Max sighed. He looked closely at his lover. “Why are you fighting this so much? You know it’s bad, I know it’s bad. I don’t want to think what’s going to happen if it gets worse! There’s gotta be some kind of solution. I know Charlie isn’t a nurse, but you’d think with all her tech no-how—”

                “—she can build a bike from scratch, she can manufacture all kinds of wild and crazy additions for Modo’s arm, our bikes, our helmets, hell even the garage itself. But at the end of the day babe, she’s a machine girl. And she doesn’t know squat about Martian anatomy.”

                “Except mine!” Vinnie hummed, returning with the prize.

                Both Throttle and Max sighed. “Obviously.” They groaned.

                Throttle held out his hand and before Vinnie could pull the child-proof cap from the large white and red bottle, his bro had snatched it from his fingers, poured about four or five into his palm and swallowed them dry.

                Both Vinnie and Max winced at the display.

                “Must be getting bad, huh?” Vinnie asked cautiously.

                ‘Well it ain’t getting good, I’ll tell you that.” Throttle muttered. “The garage opens soon. I think there’s at least one more standing order left to repair. No sign of Charlie or Modo yet?”

                “Nada.” Vinnie shrugged, his bravado dropping. “Must have went way out of their way for breakfast.” He added, knowing that Remy was probably ease dropping.

                “Right. Well, if you can finish up the last job, Vincent, I’d greatly appreciate it. It’s detail work and I just don’t think these ol’ baby blues are up to it.”  He winced and again and tried to ease the ache.

                “Oh Vinnie and I will be glad to finish up work, babe. Don’t you worry.” Max cut in, making Vinnie’s eyes widen. “Lie down, rest those peppers a bit.” He kissed him, a soft sweet peck at first that he let grow into something smoldering, if only to make Vinnie uncomfortable.

                It left Throttle slightly more light-headed than he had been before, cheeks pink. “Well…I’ll certainly try. Though it might be hard to drift off after that.”

                Max gave him a quick ass-slap for good measure, and Throttle pushed past them, making his way back into the bedroom to wait for some relief. The moment the door closed behind him and they heard him hit the bed, Max looked at Vinnie like he would strangle him.

                “What are you doing!?” he hissed at him through clenched teeth.

                Vinnie smirked. “What? Moi? Doing?” He shrugged, loving playing dumb. “Don’t know what you mean, my guy. I’m just helping out my bro. You know, the guy we both care so much about. The guy you were supposed to lay a little truth on like oh…a couple weeks ago? How’s that going?”

                Max reached and grabbed him by the front of the shirt and yanked him into the bathroom, letting the door snap shut behind them. “Listen, smart ass, I don’t appreciate at this. At all. I get what you’re saying, but there’s a time and a place!”

                “What better time and place is there!? Look, I get that while you were working there in the Cathedra together you wanted to keep things civil. More than fair. But now that you know what she’s been up to, Max, you have to tell him! The longer you draw it out, the more awkward it’s going to be when we do get home!”

                Max frowned, almost pouted, pulling at his hair in frustration, the curls snarling around his fingers. “I know that! You don’t think that I don’t know that?! I tried to tell him last night, but…I just…” his throat tightened and Vinnie saw that he actually looked like he was in distress.

                “…I have watched your brother literally cross a galaxy to fight for the people he loves. For you and Modo. For his family. And I love him for that. But I’m scared…I’m scared that if I tell him that my family has had an active role in trying to harm yours…that he won’t chose me.”

                Vinnie said nothing, taking that in. New guilt stabbed at him. He didn’t know what to do about it. “You aren’t your family, Max. Your parent’s choices aren’t yours. Throttle will see that.”

                “And if he doesn’t?” he asked Vinnie earnestly.

                The white furred mouse, hesitated. “Then maybe it isn’t meant to be.”

                Max stared at him, clearly taken aback. “…what?”

                Vinnie shook his head quickly, “No! No that’s not…what I mean is…if he loves you, it will be fine, right? Can you trust that?”

                Max paused, head reeling and heart thumping loud enough to make him consider lying back down as well.

                Outside, they heard a familiar rumble of motorcycles, announcing that Charlie and Modo had returned. Vinnie sighed, feeling a tightness in his muscles release, knowing his lady was back home and safe as well as their other bro.  “Better go down and see what the status update is.” He nodded. He looked carefully back at Max. “Hey, no hard feelings, right? We both just want what’s best.”

                “Yeah…” Max mumbled, not really answering.

                Vinnie heard the downstairs door and knew they would have to continue this later. He patted Max on the shoulder and excused himself, leaving the other mouse standing numbly in the empty bathroom, trying to stop himself from reeling.

***

Chapter Text

***

The convenience store was nothing out of the ordinary. A white, plaster-sided building with large windows plastered with advertisements and a few glowing neon signs. The parking lot was small, cracked and growing weeds, but the inside was well-kept and orderly and smelled of coolant from the open refrigeration at the deli section and something warm and earthy like spices or sandalwood.

This early in the day the place was empty, only one car in the lot and no one visibly behind the counter.  Alone in the seemingly empty store at such an early hour made the place feel surreal, like they were standing on a set of a movie. Or perhaps it was just the same juxtaposition of realities; such a calm and mundane place combined with their own strange presence. And alien and his human ally, trying to solve a mystery.

“The sign says open…” Charlie mused, glancing at her partner dubiously. Modo staid at her elbow, being sure that his visor was opaque and that he was concealed under his jacket so that neither his alien features or his bionic ones were immediately visible. Though it was a struggle to pull the sleeve of his jacket down over the lower half of his arm. He filled the thing out a little too well.

Inside the helmet, the grey furred mouse’s ears twitched. “I hear rustling in the back room.” He told her quietly. “Maybe they didn’t hear us come in.”

Charlie scanned the store and spotted more ceiling mounted monitors staring down at them, their little red lights blinking.  “Let’s hope these are real and not just for show.”

A moment later a short, somewhat hunched man shuffled in from the back room carrying a box of what appeared to be Twinkies. He looked up at the pair in greeting,  “Oh good morning! So sorry, didn’t hear you come in! Usually I don’t have too many customers this early—” his hasty greeting waned as he took a closer look at the pair, then went slightly wide-eyed, nearly dropping the box of sweets he had been carrying.

“Ay dios mio! Is that you, amigo?” He gasped, looking specifically at Modo.

The Martian behind the helmet blinked, the accent tickling his ears, rattling something loose in his memory.

“Wait a minute…” Modo stepped closer to the counter, studying the clerks face. The age was apparent in his sun leathered skin, but the familiar features were there. Maneulo’s big brown eyes that were almost owl like, the hook of his nose. He had more facial hair now and had gone considerably greyer than when they had met so long ago, both prisoners of The Pitt Boss, but Modo knew him from his wondering expression alone.

He dissolved his visor, revealing his face and the clerk grinned broadly. “It is you my friend! I thought I would never see you again!” He reached hurriedly across the counter and reached to take Modo’s hand in his and then pulled him down into a somewhat awkward but heartfelt half hug. “It is so good to see you!”

“You two know each other?” Charlie asked wonderingly.

Modo clapped the elder clerk on the back and then looked back to the mechanic with a nod. “Sure, Charlie, this is Maneulo. We sprung him Pit Boss’s slave crew back in the day! Don’t ya remember?”

The mechanic nodded slowly, considering. “Oh I remember a few run ins with the Pitts, but this one escapes my mind I guess.” She didn’t want to say how surprised she was that Modo himself recalled, instead refocusing on their new acquaintance. “Any enemy of the Pitt Boss is a friend of ours, of course. Nice to meet you officially, Maneulo.”  

He shook her hand too, nodding eagerly. “Yes, yes! Good to see old friends again, for sure.” His face fell a little then, looking warily back to Modo. “But I have not seen you or your companions in such a long time…does this mean trouble?”

The pair exchanged a quick glance. “Something of the sort. But hopefully none for you. We were wondering if we could take a look at your surveillance cameras from last night? Specifically the one facing the empty lot across the street.” Modo explained.

Maneulo blinked, as if confused by the request. “Well, yes I guess so. What for?”

“We might have some more uh…kin…in trouble. We think they might have been in that field last night. Just wondering if you caught anything that might help us find them.” The mouse explained.

The clerk considered. “I haven’t checked the tapes yet this morning, but you are welcome to have a look. Here,” he moved from his place behind the counter, rushed around them to re-lock the front door and place the “open” sign back to “closed” and the ushered them to the little back room that was dark and cramped but functioned as his office. There was a computer monitor on the desk that the clerk seated himself at, and he immediately began clicking away on the keyboard, bringing up the footage from the previous night.

“I left around 11. I didn’t see anything unusual then. Let me fast forward a bit.”  They watched as the camera sped through the hours, not showing much disturbance from the field other than a few roaming night creatures and the journey of a floating plastic bag as it drifted on its aimless flight.

And then they saw it.

The two figures crashing through the field, the male collapsing and pulling the female down beside him.

Despite the dark and the distance from subject and camera, it was easy to discern the male as Mace. Modo felt his muscles tense, merely looking at the traitor triggering a nervous system response from him of stress and anger. But there was also the memory of the blood at the abandoned house. Now, watching the way Mace fell in the field, he knew the blood belonged to him. Perhaps that was a relief, yet it didn’t sit right with him.

“Who’s that?” Charlie asked, squinting at the female Martian as she helped the clearly injured Mace. “I can’t see her face well…but she doesn’t look familiar. Do you recognize her?”

The big grey mouse only dimly heard her question, shaking his head faintly. “No. Don’t think so.” He mumbled. His thoughts were drifting, something, some memory beginning to stir and take shape in his mind.

“Are you sure?” Charlie asked, studying his features.

Modo continued to stare, but seemed to see less and less of the figures on the screen. Charlie reached and squeezed his good wrist lightly. “Modo?”

Maverick blinked, feeling a sudden tingling in his body and sense of vertigo. His mouth flooded with saliva, making him feel as if he were about to vomit. He swallowed roughly and turned away, closing his eyes to the screen.

“I need a minute…” he mumbled, pulling away. Both Charlie and Manuelo looked at him in concern as he stumbled back through the door into the store. But instead of heading back towards the counter, he fumbled along the wall until he found another door, leading to a back exit. He pushed out it, practically falling into the alley behind and finding it both shaded from the morning sun and empty. A small but vital blessing.

He let the door fall closed behind him and propped himself against the smooth brick and plaster of the building, trying collect himself.  An unexpected weakness went through his limbs, making it hard to keep his feet, and he felt his palms and feet profusely began to sweat, his fur becoming damp with it.

Modo recognized the feeling, though it hasn’t come over him this strongly in a long time. It used to happen frequently, in the early weeks and months after their battle accident and capture by Karbunkle. After he’d lost his arm, and his eye. Even years after, it would creep up on him, when stress or danger triggered the trauma response in his system.

But why now?

Something was swimming to the surface of his consciousness. A vivid, previously lost memory.

Voices. Two men. One a Martian one presumably not, his face covered by a mask. The distortion the same as the freak in the apartment. The same as the Doctor in the Hazmat suit. He doubted this was coincidence.

In the unfolding memory, the men were arguing. No, negotiating. Bartering, perhaps to be more specific. Over him.

                “…this one will suit your needs, I’m sure.”

                “…I imagine any of your ilk this far into the progression of the disease would fit the bill. Yet you astronomically want to upcharge me for this half-mutilated brute. I presume there’s a good reason?”

                “…you did say you…one of the earlier experiments…and he completes the set.”

                Modo winced, but this bit of conversation, spoken by the Martian, was garbled, missing context. He had been fading in an out of awareness then. Sick. So sick. Chained and…

                He recalled a room then. A dark back room of some cold, concrete and sunless place. The smell of machine parts and the sound of metal and heavy things being moved about. Not so different from the sounds of the Last Chance on a busy day. The smells of motor oil and grease. The sharp, cold smell of metal.

                The Martian in his memory became to come into focus. A man, slim and short, black furred and black haired, slick and sleek looking, wearing a tailored but rather out of date sort of formal business attire. He reminded Modo of someone…or the idea of someone. Having the same air about him as a loan shark or a used car salesman.

                Slick…Slick.

                The name stuck in the back of his throat, thick on his tongue like mucus.

                Around him, in the memory, other bodies stirred. The outline of a woman…the one on the film? Brown furred, short hair, wearing almost nothing, trying to talk to him as he struggled. Was she chained like him? He could picture her lips moving, but could not define her face. On the shape of her. Hands, reaching and trying to calm him.

                Then the haze again. The red haze that consumed everything.

                Modo felt himself hit the pavement of the alley, his knees singing as tiny pebbles and broken bits of concrete dug and bit through the fabric of his jeans. On all fours, he tried to steady himself, get his breath back. To not give into the urge to pass out. But he was losing.

                He spat, still feeling on the edge of vomiting. His brain blurred together scenes from the present, the past, and things that may not have happened at all. The girl on the camera, the blood at the house, Jessie’s face, the lab…

                He thought he heard Charlie’s voice from behind him and when he lifted his head to try to look towards her, a glint of morning sun from above the tree line caught his eye, and sent him spinning.

                When the spinning stopped, it was not Charlie he heard or felt beside him. It was Throttle.

                “Big fella? You with me?”

                He was on his back, his head in the tan mouse’s lap, looking up at him. Over Throttle’s shoulder, Vinnie’s face appeared, equally worried.

                “Bros?”

                Vinnie shoved a hand towards his face, “There he is! How many fingers am I holding up, bro?” he asked anxiously.

                Modo winced, the close proximity making his vision double slightly. He pushed the hand away. “Stop…” he whined.

                “The answer is three, but I would have given partial credit for two.” Vinnie shrugged.

                “Vincent,” Throttle shushed, waving their younger bro off before refocusing on Modo again. “Bro, you alright? Can you sit up?”

                He considered, realizing his arms and legs no longer felt leaden and shaky. He nodded tentatively, and began to pull himself forward, but hesitated. Throttle eased him back into position, hand pressed to his chest, the weight calming. “It’s okay, don’t rush yourself. You look like you had kinda a bad turn.”

                “What happened?” the one-eyed mouse mumbled, rubbing his head.

                “You gave Charlie a hell of a scare, that’s what happened.” Vinnie explained, his voice telling of the stress they were all feeling, knowing Modo was in trouble. “She called the garage in a panic, said you passed out. Thought you were maybe having another episode or something, like yesterday.”  He was clearly uncomfortable recalling it, much less sitting with what it could mean.

                He shot a worried look to Throttle, as if asking if that was indeed what they were dealing with.

                “We got here quick as we could. Found you out here, out cold. What do you remember?” the tan mouse asked.

                “Where’s Charlie?” Modo mumbled, this thought more pressing than the others.

                “Inside, with Maneulo and Max. Karma’s keeping watch out front.” Vinnie explained.

                With effort now, the one-armed mouse was able to right himself, but not yet able to stand. Reclined against the cool wall of the store, he reoriented himself with the world and found his immediate view the most grounding. His best friends, his brothers in arms, huddled close, watching and waiting.

                It eased whatever still felt uncentered and unstable in within him. His surest means of steadying himself. “Sorry, bros. Don’t know what came over me, but…I think I remembered something.”

                “Remembered what?” Vinnie asked, cocking his head.

                “Something from when…when I was missing.” He mumbled, trying to make sense of the timeline in his mind. Throttle’s ears perked, clearly curious, while Vinnie still seemed to be grappling with the subject.

                “Did I miss a beat? Charlie said you two came down here because of some crazy energy signal she tracked down. Thought you might have tracked down another transporter source.”

                “We did. But that wasn’t all we found.” Modo explained. “How much did she tell you?”

                “We saw the camera footage.” Throttle said, somewhat bleakly. Modo didn’t miss the faint tone shift in his voice, the way it went softer when he was nervous. “Charlie told us about the house. About what you found there and the trail of blood in the field. Seems obvious Mace came off badly in some kind of fight from there.”

                “Yeah, but that doesn’t explain the babe he was with.” Vinnie mused, scratching his chin.

                “That’s what I remembered,” Modo replied. “Or what I think I remembered…Hard to tell what’s real and what’s a fever dream. The girl he was with. Seen her before I think.”

                “You know the girl?” Throttle probed.

                “Not sure. But something…something about her made me remember something from when I was sick. I think it has to do with how I got here. How you ended up finding me.”  He looked anxiously to Throttle, clearly uncomfortable with the memory of that first encounter at the garage.

                The back door opened then, and Max stepped from inside, Maneulo and Charlie right behind. “Hey, how are we holding up?” He looked relieved to see that Modo was no longer prone on the ground, the familiar bright grin slipping across his face. “Feeling better, Maverick?”

                Modo nodded to him appreciatively. “I think so.”

                Charlie moved past them and put her arms around Modo, clearly grateful he was on the upswing. “You boys are gonna have me completely grey before winter, you know that!” she chided. She kissed his cheek gently, faintly scratching the tuft of fur at the corner of his jaw and behind his ear. “I shouldn’t have dragged you out here after what already happened. You need rest,” she glanced to Throttle then and Vinnie too. “You all do. I should have held off.”

                “Sweetheart, we get it. You went with your gut. And probably a good thing you did, or we wouldn’t have gotten this lead.” Vinnie assured her, squeezing her shoulders. She leaned into him glad for the comfort.

                “I am so sorry we have to meet like this again, amigos.” Maneulo said to them. He glanced beyond the alley, spying behind the neighboring building which appeared empty and back towards the intersecting streets. “But I think you would be safer inside. Come.” He ushered the group back in, Throttle and Vinnie each getting an arm under Modo and supporting him as they limped inside.

                They moved Modo into a folding chair, the store clerk bringing him a little paper cup of water from the water cooler inside his office.

                “Much appreciated, friend.” Modo nodded gratefully.

                Karma was loitering near the front door, periodically checking the parking lot and trying not to get distracted by the flashy magazines and brightly colored treats in boxes near the door.

                “Your family has grown,” Maneulo smiled at them. “It is good to see.”

                Throttle nodded, patting the shorter man on the shoulder. “Good to see you too. I see you’ve been keeping the store in good shape.”

                “Yes! I have a second chance, thanks to you. This place has served me well. But I must admit, the neighborhood has become…a darker place than it was.”

                “Darker?” Vinnie asked. “How so?”

                “Fights. Brutal arrests. People disappearing. Such violence. It is not like before. It’s different somehow. It makes me glad that you’re here again. We will need all the help we can get.”  He looked down thoughtfully, fingers dragging over a sticker covered counter top, tracing one of the designs with his fingertip.  He then became distracted by Karma, who was eyeing a box of snack cakes with a hungry eye. He slipped from the rest of the group and moved towards her, offering her a fresh box.

“Please, have anything you like. You must be hungry.”

Karma grinned, “Oh I like him. Are there more humans like this one?”

“Naw, they broke the mold when they made ol Manuelo here for sure. But there are some good ones if you know where to look.” Throttle assured, glancing back at Charlie who gave him a brief but sweet smile.

                “Go on, Modo, tell us what you remember.” Vinnie urged, looking back to their one-eyed companion. “Maybe it will help make sense of our latest arrival.”

                The grey furred biker paused, hesitating, staring into the little paper cup.  Struggling either to find the right words, or to force them out. “Our hazmat wearing friend bought me, I think. Must have gotten picked up by Sand Raiders somewhere along the way. I was here in the lab at Eris, but it wasn’t just me. There were other Martians. Mice, Rats, Dogs too I think. The woman with Mace could have been there, but…there was someone else I recognized too. Ya’ll remember a certain kingpin back on Mars called Slick?”

                The name clearly resonated, not with just one of his companions, but with all three. Something Modo hadn’t at all expected.

“You saying Slick Szylak was here on Earth?” Vinnie asked pointedly, growing more serious now.

“Not sure, but I know he was wherever me and the Doc were. I think Slick was trying to sell me to him. As some sort of guard dog, like you said before.” He glanced mournfully at Throttle. “There’s more but it’s all foggy now. Can’t quite hold it.” He winced, rubbing his head tiredly.

“It’s okay, big fella. You did well enough for now. Unfortunately, I’m starting to think our issues here and our issues back home are way more intertwined than we first guessed.” He mused, looking to Max and then Vinnie and Charlie.  Max avoided his eyes, looking away and shifting uncomfortably.

“Yeah, they sure are.” Vinnie grumbled, looking to the dark furred mouse who looked pallid under his fur and nearly as shaken as Modo did. “Sounds like Slick has moved on from arms dealing to a different kind of weapons trade.” He continued to stare Max down, waiting for him to speak, to offer something. But Tourmaline remained mute.

Vinnie’s frustration finally came to a head. “Care to comment, Max?”

Throttle looked from Vinnie to his lover, feeling the rising tension between them. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Look, we had a run in with the guy once. Hardly makes me an expert. Not like you apparently. Seems you and the Underground had way more info on the guy.” Max retorted, giving Vinnie a look that begged him, or perhaps warned him, to back off.

“Who’s Slick Szylak? And what does he have to do with Modo being here?” Charlie asked, trying to follow all the new information that was being tossed out like common knowledge.

“Slick’s a crime lord back on Mars. Usually he deals in Black Rock trading; weapons, super villains for hire, fixed fights, bribes, things of that nature.” Karma chimed in, hastily swallowing her snack cake. “Real piece of shit. Runs everything from rigged fights and races to chop shops all across the Tharsis region. We had a few sparring sessions with him.” She nodded to Vinnie who shrugged.

“Eh, more like his personal goon squad. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” He winked at her fondly and Karma nodded in pride.

“Sounds like the Mafia.” Charlie mused.

“Ooh, like those old movies! What were they called…Scarface?” Vinnie pondered, then waved it off. “But he’s moved on to bigger things. It’s more lucrative on Mars to kidnap and sell people off to other planets as forced labor, or…worse. It’s usually part of the Sand Raider trade, but seems Szylak has been dipping his toe.” He frowned darkly.

Throttle nodded in agreement. “Apparently he’s been at the slave trade game awhile now. There was a rumor of a bounty out on our heads. That was how Max and I met, actually. I went to the Roadhouse looking for answers, and got more than I bargained for.”  He smiled at his lover, not understanding his discomfort.

“Boy did you…” Vinnie muttered again and this time both Max and Throttle looked at him sharply.

“Do you have something you’d like to say?” Max challenged, feeling just about fed up with the other mouse’s backhanded commentary on nearly everything he did. “Or maybe that’s a stupid question, cause you always do.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Throttle pressed more urgently this time, hand on Max’s arm as if trying to hold him back from starting towards Vinnie. This felt different, not like the causal sparring they had done back at the garage. There seemed to be actual resentment here that he didn’t understand.

The masked mouse sighed heavily, trying to pick and chose his words now. Something that didn’t come naturally for the daredevil mouse, who rarely used a filter when it came to his thoughts.

“Kade and I have had more than one of encounter with Slick and his cronies while in the Underground. There were rumors about them picking up people who got infested with the Frenzy outbreak. Using them in fights or whatever. But we never got any concrete leads on the matter.” He looked pointedly at Tourmaline again. “Kade said it felt like a cover up. That these people were being targeted. And not just them, but anyone who posed a particular threat to the current regime as a matter fact.”

Throttle was still digesting this when he felt Max’s hand on his shoulder. “Do you remember when Slick had us in that weird factory bunker? When he thought I was a bounty hunter trying to catch you?”

From his seated position, Modo made a soft surprised scoff. “You? No offense, Tourmaline. You look too polished for that kind of work.”

“Polished isn’t the word I would use. Soft maybe…” Vinnie replied, and Charlie tugged lightly at his tail as if reminding him to keep his mouth shut.

Both received a warning look from Throttle and kept further commentary to themselves.

Max continued, looking nervous, perhaps even ashamed. “He believed the story because it made sense to him. Because Slick and my mother used to be friends. And I’m beginning to suspect that they still are. He believed that I would turn to that life because of how dirty my family’s hands are.”

He couldn’t meet his lover’s eyes or look at any of them directly. He felt sick to his stomach. Shame burned in his chest. He had been running from his family name for ages, while simultaneously reaping the benefits of it.  But at the Roadhouse, he had been trying to slip free of all that. Make himself something new. Instead, even in a place that felt so opposite to the prestige and security of his mother’s station within the capital, he had only found himself more entwined with the roots of their legacy.

“I’m sorry,” he added quietly, glancing first to Modo and then finally to Throttle. “I didn’t know how bad it was. How deep she was in. Not until the attack on the farm. I didn’t want to believe it was this bad. That she was complicit in hurting people. In making people disappear.”

Throttle said nothing for several moments, the store too quiet as all eyes fell on him, awaiting his reaction.

“In his defense,” Vinnie offered, tentatively. “He really didn’t know how bad it was. Not until we talked a couple weeks ago and I filled him in on what I knew. I had figured that Slick had some contact in the government, but I never would have guessed the Secretary.  She keeps a low profile. On purpose, apparently. She would actively be keeping Max out of the loop, considering how close he is to you and Stoke.”

But Vinnie’s attempt to smooth the situation was not having his desired affect. He had shaken the hornets nest, and now he was going to have to deal with. Throttle frowned at him, eyes narrowed behind his specs. “So you knew about this?” He asked, his tone sharp and serious. “And you waited until now to say anything? When you knew for weeks?”

Vinnie blinked. “Well… not everything.  The Underground has known the Regent and most of the Cathedra has been corrupt for ages. That’s why when I found out you and Stoke had joined ranks, I figured…”  he bit off the rest, but both Throttle and Modo could see exactly what he had thought on his face.

“Oh Vinnie…” Modo muttered, shaking his head. “You should know better.”

“Hey, I was working with the information I had at the time!” the masked mouse retorted.

“Which wasn’t much, as usual!” Throttle snapped, growing heated now. “Let me guess, you were running of rumor and whatever you heard in outsider circles. You thought our government was selling off infected Martians for profit, and you really thought Stoker and I would willing go along with that?!”

It seemed absurd state in such a blunt way, and Vinnie felt a cringe at how easily he had let himself believe the worst of his friends, all because of the way his grief had overtaken him. “And never mind that, what about Modo!? You knew he was infected, and you didn’t even think to look for him!”

“I didn’t realize he was so sick. Or missing!” Vinnie interjected.

“Or what about Carbine? Her whole life is about protecting Brimstone and it’s citizens! You really just thought that it was you against the whole fuckin’ world, didn’t you? That NONE of us would try to stop such a thing?!”

“Hey, hey, How do you think I felt, seeing my bros get dragged into something like that?! I thought they had you all fooled, they certainly had plenty of other snowed over! If they weren’t, we wouldn’t have been forced to hide in the wastes or be arrested by the people you threw your lot in with!” Vinnie shot back. He looked to Max again, “And then I saw you on the ship and…jeezus. What was I supposed to think?!”

Charlie pressed her hands to his chest, keeping him and Throttle at least a few paces from each other. “Easy, easy. We all know better now, right? It doesn’t matter anymore what you two thought was going on, now you know. Let that be enough.”

Vinnie nodded, exhaling deeply and trying to tamp down his temper. “After Max told me what you two went through with Slick I started putting the pieces together. I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to think what I did about you, and about Max and every one else. But I wasn’t wrong about here. And now knowing Slick is tied in, I can bet she made sure Modo was sold off planet. We were probably next on the list.”

Throttle paced, trying to make sense of the new information. The terrible new link that had been made in the ever growing chain of trouble they were in.  “Our friends are still back there, totally unaware of what their own leaders are doing to them.  We may get back to Mars and find there’s nothing left to save! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is!?”

“Of course we do,” Max attempted.

“But we can’t do anything about it now, can we? Until we can reach out to Mars, find the right channels to go through, all of this information is useless. We have to focus on getting to a transporter, then we deal with the rest!”

“You aren’t going to deal with anything!” Throttle reminded him. “Your head is still on wanted posters and it’s no better after what went down in Caria. You show your smug face, and I guarantee you, you’re going to have ten blasters looking back at you, ready to shoot first and ask questions later! Goddamnit it Vinnie! Did you know about this before we created a goddman intergalactic incident!? Before you dragged the damn Federation into the mud with us!?”

“See this is what happens when we don’t have open communication.” Karma mused, her voice deadpan and nonchalant. Unbothered by the drama between the two brothers. “I swear I don’t know how you boys survived the first war working like this. You’re so messy.”

Vinnie bristled, flustered. “Well, I guess it kinda got put on the back burner, considering everything going on at the time!”

Throttle stepped away, clearly in need of a little air.  But even as he turned his back, Vinnie was far from done with his rebuttal. “Besides, I don’t really feel like it was my place…” he looked pointedly to Max, who bristled in return, shame burning in his cheeks while acid rose in his throat. But he was about to defend himself he didn’t get a chance, as his boyfriend had whirled back, ready to defend his honor.

“Come off it, Vinnie, this is ridiculous! You sat on vital information—" Throttle barked, suddenly furious.

“Why are you mad at me, it’s not my fault your future mother-in-law is working with enemy!”

Throttle’s hand twitched, balling into a fist and Vinnie was both surprised and curious. Caught between a pang of hurt and an urge to hurt back. To provoke. To vent a little of this pent up aggression that had been slow boiling between them, even after reconciling. They wanted mended fences and the closeness they once had. But there was still dirt to clear out of the wound before it could heal.

“Vinnie!” Charlie hissed at him.

Throttle looked like he might square off against him, the pain throbbing behind his eyes only adding to the anger simmering just under the surface. But Max’s hand curled around his wrist, catching his attention and drawing it back to him, his anger dissipating just as quickly at the look of regret on Max’s usually warm features.

“I wanted to tell you, babe...I tried to tell you so many times. I got scared,” Max tried to explain. “But I never would have held back if I thought that she had anything to do with Slick getting ahold of Modo! You have to know that!”

“Hey, hey I think we’re all getting a little ahead of ourselves.” Charlie cautioned, needing to recenter the group and quickly. “We’re all on the same team here, remember? I don’t think anyone tried to intentionally hide anything from anyone. The situation is just…a lot. And you two can’t seem decide if you’re fighting about what’s going on now or what’s happened then. We have enough problems right here right now to deal with.”

“Listen to Charlie, bros. Nobody here is the bad guy. Fighting between ourselves is the last thing we need. It got us here in the first place.” Modo added sagely, hating watching them fight.

Both of the other bikers deflated then, the fight gone out of them.

Karma held out the box of snack cakes towards them. “Anyone hungry? Sugar soothes the savage beast…or something.”

Modo smiled at her, grateful for the distraction. “Ain’t no use at picking at each other, what’s done is done. We need to find Mace and our mystery girl before anything else happens. And especially before Limburger’s latest doctor finds them.”

They grew quiet, Modo having made a fair point.

“Right.” Throttle nodded. “One thing at a time. We find our missing Martians and we cross our fingers Charlie can get that the hunk of transporter working. That only leaves the vaccine problem to deal with. I’m sure we’ll deal with the Doc and Limburger along the way.” Throttle said, firmly tabling the conversation for the moment.

He fixed his attention on Modo, reaching to help him stand. “I think we need to get you home, big guy. Come on, Max and I will ride you back.”

“What about me?”  Vinnie asked.

Throttle side-eyed him, his gaze hard edged. “You can stay here with Charlie and Karma and see if you can figure out where our visitors went. Maybe now that it’s light you can lay down a proper search. I can’t imagine Mace and our Mystery mouse got far in the conditions they were in.”

Vinnie knew that this was an order, not a request, and he wanted to push back. He thought about reminding Throttle that he didn’t need to be ordered around anymore. That he had survived fine for two years without his “guidance” and his playbook. Remind him of the times that playbook had failed, and how Throttle’s own judgement had fucked them over on more than one occasion.

It was right there, venom on the tip of his tongue. But he swallowed it. Thinking of how worn his bro looked just a short while ago at the garage. How frayed he was at his edges. Being quick to anger had never been Throttle’s thing. And kicking someone when they were down hadn’t been Vinnie’s. They were both volatile and pushing it would only bring more hurt.

His ego would have to take one for the team this time, painful as it was. For both of his bros’ sake.

He scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. “Right, let the experts do a little recon while you hold the fort at the garage. Charlie, Karma and I can sniff them out before lunch. What do you think?”

The redhead nodded eagerly ready to jump at the chance to do something more useful than minding the minors, while Charlie looked mildly reluctant. Her mind on the machine waiting in her saddlebag. And then of course there was the not-so-small matter of Remy, who still needed a talking to.

Vinnie grinned at her and patted Throttle on the back. “Rest easy bros! The Vin-Man has it handled! You’d just slow me down anyway.” 

Modo shot him a look that begged him to leave it there, letting Throttle help him up. He was steady enough on his feet, feeling worn but clear headed.

“Can you ride?”

Maverick nodded and the three left Vinnie behind, Max shooting him a wounded look that once more made the white furred mouse sigh with guilt. He ached for the nostalgia of the old days when things between them were not so strained and complicated.

                Charlie pulled him aside gently. “Seriously, what is your problem? Why do you keep going after Max? He’s a good guy, Vinnie. You shouldn’t have thrown him under the bus like that. It certainly isn't making things easier between you and Throttle."

                He frowned, looking guilty at the floor. “I know…it’s just…Throttle’s picked wrong before. Guess I’m just edgy history might repeat itself.”

                She looked at him, confused, and Vinnie kissed her gently. “Story for another day, babe. For now, let’s get to work.”

**

The ride back to the Last Chance was tense and quiet, each of the mice somewhat lost in their own thoughts. They pulled into the back alley rather than making their way directly inside the garage, not wanting to startle the girls with the noise. Modo dismounted, feeling his bro’s worried gaze on his back.

“I’m alright.” He assured, feeling almost totally back to himself now, the previous episode seeming like a total fluke.

“I know,” the tan mouse amended. “Can’t blame me for worryin’.”

Modo nodded, smiling. Feeling a pang of remorse for making the other mouse worry so much. But feeling loved all the same. He looked to Max, offering him a consoling smile as well. “Why don’t you boys make sure the perimeter is clear down here. I’m going to go check on the girls.” He held Max’s gaze, indicating that he should take this as an opening to speak to his boyfriend in private. To clear the air.

“We’ll be in in a moment.”  Tourmaline nodded.

They waited until Modo had disappeared through the back door, barely giving it time to close behind him before the dark-haired mouse began to speak.

“Babe, I can explain—“

The tan mouse reached and took his lover’s hand, trying to stem the flood of apology and anxious explanation that seemed about to explode out of him.

“It’s alright.”

The words were quiet, lacking any emotion that Max was expecting.  He was fully prepared to be grilled and questioned, to see his boyfriend looking at him with anger and confusion. The feelings he had displayed back at Maneulo’s. But they were all gone now, and the biker was as cool as ever, if not on the quieter side.

“What?” he stammered, feeling like a wrench had just been thrown into his bike’s wheel. He didn’t know what to do, left there spinning and trying to re-calibrate his direction. “What do you mean it’s alright? Modo just told us that Slick sold him to the creep who’s presently working for Limburger and terrorizing the city! And my fucking family probably knew about it the entire time…while you and Stoker were in chambers, arguing for better safety measures, pleading for help, she was probably sitting there, thinking about her lunch order and wondering ‘oh soon enough I’ll have them all sold off so what does it matter--!?’”

“Max.”

Tourmaline blinked, pulled from his spiral by the familiar, calming voice. Throttle was looking back at him, not with anger or accusation but with a sort of resigned empathy. His chest pinched, not understanding. Expecting disappointment.

“I should have told you. I should have told you from the beginning. What she was. What I am…”

Throttle leaned a little closer, slipping his hand into his. “When? Between you getting your ass kicked, or me nearly getting my ass shot off?” he teased. He titled Max’s chin towards him, trying to make him meet his eyes fully, instead of pulling away. “You said it yourself…we kinda started off with a bang. No time for things like that. Not up front anyway. Besides…I know why you didn’t want to tell me about her.”

“You do?”

Throttle pulled off his helmet but did not leave his bike, instead leaning against her handlebars as they idled next to each other, like he needed the extra support. “We don’t talk about our families much. Our blood families, I mean.”

His partner blinked, having expected a very different conversation. “No…I guess not.” He hadn’t really thought about it before now. Again, the whirlwind circumstances of their meeting, Throttle already being so embroiled in his quest to reunite with his estranged friends. Friends who were as good as brothers, as close as any Max had ever seen.

“I think we have a common reason for that. It hurts us. I didn’t tell you my family was gone because I hate thinking about it. And because it in a way it feels like a betrayal to my bros, to Stoker, to all of them. They’re family too, even though there’s no blood shared between us. So, I don’t talk about my mother much. And I never talk about my father.”

The dark-haired mouse looked at him carefully. “But why? Did you have a falling out with them?”

The other biker shook his head. “No. I loved them so much. My mother got sick during the early days war. Her mind started to go and the rest of her health followed. There wasn’t anything doctors could do, especially during the height of the conflict when Brimstone had been so cut off. Always on the edge of falling.”

Max nodded slowly, recalling those dark days. His family and he had weathered it better than most, but they had not been unaffected by the tide of hardship and tragedy. His father had been a decorated solider in his prime and his mother held close ties with the military.

 “By the end, she didn’t know who I was anymore. Or my dad. She cried for my brothers though, they died when they were babies, long before I came along. It was something her brain held onto until the very end.”  It was clear that the memory still hurt him, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he spoke, his eyes distant behind his specs.

“I’m sorry. That must have been horrible for you and your dad.”

“No, he got sparred that much. He died a long time before her, didn’t have to witness her decline. Last thing he asked me to do, made me promise to do, was take care of her. I did the best I could.” He gave a small shrug, as if he didn’t really believe his own words. As if nothing he could have done would have been enough, because in the end he could not change her fate.

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen maybe. Too young to lose a parent. But Stoker really stepped in after he passed, so in a way I didn’t lack for a father figure. It’s why we’re so close.”

Max nodded, “He does seem to adopt a lot of strays I noticed.” He nodded. “Though that very much seems to be a theme with the whole lot of you.”

This earned him a genuine smile from his partner before he continued on. “Dad and Stoker went back a long way. They knew Modo’s family and Vinnie’s. Intermingling of clans and all…but my dad and Stoker, they had the same job. They were Rangers out in the wastes. It was mostly patrol work back then, but they got into a few rough scrapes with Sand Raiders, Saber Squids, wild horned beasts during migration season. Pretty hairy stuff, even for two adrenaline junkies like them. They’d be gone for a week or two at a stretch and then come slinking home at all hours, smelling like diesel fuel and river mud and blood. Mom and I would fix them up, and things would get quiet again. For a little while.”

He paused, wallowing in the memories for a moment. Places in his mind he hadn’t revisited in ages.

“Sounds like you’re alot alike.” Max offered. “Dangerous job, working hard…trying to take care of your family.”

Throttle shook his head. “My dad loved us a lot. He was a good man. But, he had a lot of his own demons to fight. He’d seen a lot of bad things go down in the wastes over the years. Things he wouldn’t talk about, except at 2 or 3 in the morning after too much to drink.  He stayed away dealing with it best he could I guess. Didn’t want to burden Mom and I was just a kid. I couldn’t help him, even though I wanted to. Tried to. Sometimes he’d come home, and things would be good. Happy. But sometimes, and it would be ugly. He was like a different person then. Angry, spiteful, paranoid. I got between him and my Mom on more than one occasion. And Stoker got between him and us, once he found out what was happening. We knew he didn’t mean to lash out, but it hurt. Everything he bottled up would get the best of him and he’d explode, and we’d be collateral damage. He was always sorry. But it didn’t get better. We begged him to get help. But he had to handle it his own way. And after he died, I never talked about him. Not ever.”

He paused a moment, then looked at Max pointedly. “I was mad at him. I felt like he gave up. And I was so afraid. Afraid maybe there was a bad part of me that was like the bad part of him. And as unfair as that was to him, it was unfair to me too. Do you know what I mean?”

Max shook his head, still taking it all in. Some quirks of his lover’s personality beginning to make more sense. The constant drive to help, even when the help wasn’t wanted. To mend broken things. To save others.

Max felt that drive too. To be of use. To be worthy.

“Something I had to reckon with was that he made his own choices. And those choices aren’t mine. Whatever blood we share doesn’t mean we’re bound to make the same mistakes.”

He finally stood up from Lady, moving to stand beside Max, who listened and watched him in breathless quiet. He hadn’t realized how fast his own heart had been beating until his lover slipped his arms around him and pulled him against him, Max’s head at chest level, holding him close. The touch alone melted the knots that had been forming in his muscles, fearing the truth of their situation. Fearing he would be pushed away, only to be pulled close instead.

“Whatever your mother or your family has done, Max, that’s their choice. Not yours. Who you are is who you decide to be. And the Max Tourmaline I know is a lot of things; but none of them are bad.”

“How do you know that though?” Max asked, his own voice quiet and choked. “I turned a blind eye to what she was doing…I didn’t want to see. I should have paid attention. I was so stupid and selfish…”

“She’s your mother. Of course you didn’t see.” Throttle tried to explain.

Max clutched at him shakily. “I think—I don’t know—but I think she was the one who put that bounty on your head. Back when we met. For Modo and Vinnie too. I don’t know why—“

Throttle shushed him, lightly. “We’ll figure it out. If she’s involved with Slick there could be a dozen reasons. We’re going to get home and set things right, okay?”

Max nodded silently, gripping Throttle’s hand in his and kissing his fingers, as if begging for forgiveness.

“I won’t let her hurt you. Any of you.”

His lover smiled at him if somewhat sadly, fingers threading through his dreads and curls. “I know.”

What he didn’t say was that he wasn’t going to let her hurt Max either. He was already dead set on that.

Tourmaline moved from the bike, standing so that once more he was a bit taller than the broader more buff biker.

Throttle smirked up at him, knowing he enjoyed this little one up on him. But Max’s expression was intense and mixed, what seemed like a dozen thoughts racing through his mind at once.

“Babe?” He asked, worried now that maybe he’d said too much. Overwhelmed him.

Max kissed him quickly, stifling any other questions for a moment. One of Max’s hands slipped from the place cupping his jaw and began to dig around inside his own jean pocket.

Pulling back for a breath, Throttle raised an eyebrow. “Got something you wanna show me there, big guy?” He teased, confused.

“Just…just a second.”

The dark-haired mouse looked flushed and flustered, scooping something from his pocket into his palm and holding it tight before looking back at Throttle with an earnest expression that made the other mouse’s insides flutter with nerves.

“Max, what is it—“

Tourmaline’s answer was to take his hand with his free one, pressing the object from his pocket into it and folding Throttle’s fingers over it, his own hand closed over the top.

“I’ve been holding onto this for awhile, since before we came here the first time,” Max started, obvious nerves in his voice. “See, I guess I’ve developed a bad habit of hesitating and…I want to fix that. Because I’ve never been so sure of anything, except how much I love you.”

A hot tingling rush spread from the tips of Throttle’s ears down to his toes and tail, his eyes widening behind the field specs. Under the press of fingers he could feel something smooth and cool against his palm. Leather and stone. What he guessed was a wrist cuff or a bracelet.

Max moved his hand, allowing Throttle to look at the item he’d been presented with.

It was a wrist cuff. Antique for certain, but beautifully crafted and made intricate with braiding at its edges, a gold thread weaving through the dark worn leather. In the center was a circular stone, a dark blood orange color that was swirled with lighter hues. Carnelian; a gem once plentiful in the iron rich canyons and mountains on their planet, now nearly all stripped away. This more even than the age of the leather denoted its antiquity.

He ran his thumb over the smoothness of it, stunned.

“It was my grandfather’s.” Max said, voice still slightly shaky but his smile returning. “I’ve been saving it for awhile…I know it’s not exactly a traditional item to do this thing with but…it is one of the family stones. And original, in fact. And…”

His smile beaming but he was clearly terrified. “You’re the only one I want to give it to.”

Throttle continued to stare back at him with huge eyes, everything beyond Max gone completely out of focus for him. The world had shrunk to just the two of them standing in that dirty Chicago alleyway, on the edge of their future.

“Are…” Throttle’s voice came out cracked and near whisper quiet on the first try, but he shook it off quickly, “…are you asking me what I think you are?”

Max laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, leaning closer. “What do you think, tough guy?” He teased, though his heart was threatening to hammer through his rib cage.

“Wanna ride with me? For the long haul?” He winced at his own corniness, unsure why he couldn’t just say the words.

Throttle was still staring at him wonderingly and Max was beginning to think he had rushed this, picked the wrong time, the wrong place…

 “You wanna marry me?” Throttle asked, wonderingly. He seemed dazed, perhaps stunned.

Max smile grew. “Yes! You big, beautiful dummy! Are you always gonna act so surprised when I tell you these things?”

Throttle huffed a small laugh that died off into gasps for breath. He pulled Max as close as he could get. “I can’t help it. You always surprise me.” He admitted.

“So? Will you?”

Throttle grinned, the brightness of it matching Tourmaline’s, eyes glassy behind the green lenses of the field specs. “Say it and I’ll answer, paper-pusher.”

Max put his arms around him, squeezing tight. “Marry me?”

It was such a soft quiet question that it dissolved both the nerves and the playful façade. It was too honest and earnest a question.

“Yes.”

***

Chapter Text

**

The renovations to the office were nearly complete. It had taken time and certainly money, but the improvements were well worth the price. At least, this is what Lawrence Limburger would have usually told himself when made to justify his expense account once again.

In his hay day as Plutarkian overlord of Chicago he often consoled himself with these little pleasure projects. Fussing over small comfort and and aesthetics despite knowing how paltry and meaningless they were at the end of the day, when like clockwork his Martian Mouse problem would rear it’s head and destroy everything in sight. Firmly setting him back to square one, to rebuild again.  It should have been considered a waste of time a resources then to continually redo his office. But it provided a valuable service all the same. It had occupied his time.

Back them, he hours to burn. Trapped in the cycle of plan, attack, small success, large failures. Over and over. He had time to burn, the cycle growing old from the beginning.

But now, Lawrence Limburger was growing steadily aware that he had no more time to waste. In the penthouse suite that also housed Eris’ wealthy CEO, he paced and pondered his latest predicament.

Marshall was currently occupying the bed of the large master bedroom, while the good doctor—or rather butcher—assessed his condition. Whatever the Martians had done to his nephew during his brief captivity had been severe enough to render his would-be usurper frail and bed bound. He found this development to be as alarming as it was interesting. The Martians could be brutal, even ruthless to their enemies. Vicious if provoked. But they were never so deviously cruel as to do something like…this.

His joints ached. A general low malaise had come over him since escaping the red planet. At times he felt disoriented, feverish. Would find himself suddenly and randomly racked with chills. At first he assumed that this was a leftover response from his capture and mistreatment at the hands of his old enemies. The stress alone, never mind the lack of suitable hydration and food, would cause any fish to shed a few scales.

But by and by…he began to suspect the worst. And now, seeing Marshall, his fears seemed to be confirmed. Whatever degeneration had overtaken his former mentor Stilton and brought about his decay and madness, now seemed to have taken hold of him.

                From Limburger’s vantage point, standing in the adjoining lounge that united both office and the bedroom and living area beyond, he listened and watched, while fixing himself a worm filled cocktail that he had little appetite for.

                “…Thad, you’re not telling me everything.”

                Marshall spoke to the doctor as if he were an old friend. Someone to be trusted. The doctor, looking more mundane and unassuming at the moment, dressed in plain dark clothes and looking tall and pallid as ever, pulled the blanket more closely over the younger fish’s form in the bed.

                “I am telling you what I know for now. I need to run some tests to give you a better answer. But the course of treatment remains the same. Bed rest. Hydration. An aggressive round of antibiotics. Until I know better what we’re dealing with.”

                “Those rats must have poisoned me with something. Or Mars has become too toxic a place for us…I underestimated them.” He admitted this last part very quietly, and his uncle knew it must have pained him to do so. But it had been the familiar fatal flaw of all their kin. Underestimating the fight the Martians would put up when faced with domination, subjugation and extinction.

                “It’s not poison, Marshall. It appears to be a rather aggressive infection. Coupled with a mild concussion from your head injury. You need rest. All will be well. I’ll give you something to ease the symptoms, help you sleep.”

                The younger Plutarkian looked at him sourly, though Limburger could see the sheen of sweat on his skin even from this distance. “Don’t you dare.”

                “Doctor’s orders.” Thad teased, patted his shoulder again and then rose, moving to the dresser where he had laid out his needed supplies for the check up. As he moved to disinfect his hands and place new gloves on before preparing the syringe, he spotted the senior Limburger, watching him.

                They gazed at each other for a moment in silence before the doctor returned to his work, filling the syringe and returning to Marshall’s bedside. Limburger turned as well, moving back into his office and looking out the large windows at the city skyline.

                Eris did not have the height nor opulent view that his own former Limburger Tower had. It’s scale now was dwarfed by comparison. But it’s new vantage point did offer it’s own certain advantages. He was much more able to see the scurrying of the humans as they moved about the streets and the immediate neighborhood beyond. Trailing like ants, industrious and almost mindless in their routines.

                He sipped at the drink he had made, and found it difficult to keep down. Glancing into the cup then, he eyed the squirming slime worms and thought better of it, setting the cup aside to be forgotten about. It had begun to remind him too much of the last drink he’d had in this place, and wondered if it hadn’t kicked off the process that was taking place now.

                He heard Thaddeous’s heavy, stomping footstep as he re-entered the office, leaving Marshall to rest peacefully in the bedroom. “You didn’t tell him about your little mishap last evening, I see. That you lost the portable transport unit and that not one, but two Martians are now rouge in the city, only adding to our pest problem.”

                The Doctor blinked at him, as if surprised to be addressed by the broader, more portly Plutarkian. “He’s aware of the situation at hand. There’s no need to further stress him. It will be dealt with.”

                “Your concern for his well-being is touching.” Limburger nodded. “It reminds me of my own good doctor and loyal companion. Your predecessor.”

                He stared at Thaddeous evenly, waiting to see what he would do. But the Doctor’s face did not change. There was no show of emotion. Not even a blink. It only added to Limburger’s conclusion that the man was dead inside. Perhaps a true Psychopath. But he almost certainly have to be, to do the work he did. It would have been a prerequisite on his resume proudly stated along side any actual schooling credentials.

                “Nothing. Not even a cursory nod in acknowledgement?” he asked, almost teasing.

                Thaddeous gave a small shrug. “I don’t know what you’d like me to say. Dr. Karbunkle had his time, and I admit he made some very good starts. Even a few important advancements. But he was sloppy. Careless, and arrogant. Those are not the marks of a good doctor. You may have been more successful in your occupation if you’d had the proper support. I’m surprised you speak so highly of him.”

                “You’re a very…blunt sort of man, aren’t you?”

                “I do prefer a straight forward approach, if that’s what you mean. Saves time and energy for all parties. Everything else is just…filler and fluff.”

                “Then why don’t you tell Marshall that he’s dying?”

                The question hung there between them for a moment, for a beat or two. Thaddeous pierced Limburger with those dark, unblinking eyes that felt nothing. That seemed to him like that of a shark. Perhaps that was what made the Doctor so keen to serve the Plutarkian regime. He was as cold blooded a predator as they were.

                “I wouldn’t consider his condition terminal, as of yet. There are tests to run. Treatment to consider.”

                Limburger smirked at him. “You’re contradicting yourself, Doctor. I thought you were a straightforward man, but you’re lying to my face right now.”

                Thaddeous loomed a little closer to him. “You don’t look well yourself, Lawrence. Perhaps you’re overextending yourself. It’s a lot of stress, hostile corporate take-overs.”

                “Stress? It’s something Plutarkians learn in nursery school.” He retorted. “I am only resuming my own former duties. Chicago has always been mine. Many have tired to take it from me, better and worse men and women than my spoiled up-start of a nephew, mind you, and all have failed. Some call the position cursed. At times I would have agreed. But with age comes wisdom. Chicago is meant to be mine. And no one will pry it from me, until I am cold and dead. Do we understand each other?”

                Thaddeous frowned ever so slightly. “I have no desire for your territory, Lawerence. My interest lie elsewhere. My only concern is who is going to continue my funding for my research. That is where my loyalty lies. If that is Marshall, all the better. If that is you, then I expect you to upkeep your end of the deal. And we shall get along quite nicely.”

                He paused and opened his medicine bag, something Limburger thought of as practically and antique, and offered him a small dark bottle from inside filled with a dropper and equally dark liquid. “Here. It will ease your symptoms. It’s worm protein and several other minerals and vitamins from your home planet. I’ve found it works wonders.”

                Limburger took it cautiously. “Symptoms of what?”

                Those dark dead shark eyes looked back at him, but there was the smallest smile in the corner of his lips. It made Limburger feel cold inside. “I think we both know what, Lawrence. Can I call you, Lawrence? Or do you prefer something more formal.”

                “Mr. Limburger, if you please.”

                “Very well.”  He excused himself without further conversation, exiting by way of the large double doors and down the long narrow hallway to the main business beyond.

                When he was sure he had gone, the elder fish tucked the bottle into his suit pocket and made his way into bedroom where Marshall seemed to be dozing, uneasily. He looked small and frail there, tucked in the middle of that over-sized mattress. Almost like the boy Limburger had known. But there was no stirring of tenderness for his kin. No pity. Just uneasiness.

                He moved to his bedside, and Marshall cracked one eye and watched him dubiously. “What do you want? Come to smother me?” he groused.

                “Don’t tempt me.”

                Limburger sat at the edge of the bed, the whole thing creaking and dipping noticeably. Marshall shifted, as if to avoid the pull. Whatever Thad had given him had made his movements slow and clumsy, and he was fighting the urge to sleep.

                “I have to ask you something. And I feel as if in this present moment, you will be more candid with me than usual.”

                “You know I could kill you at any point, right? I could just…shoot you. Do you really think the High Chairman is going to cry over it? Hell, even Mother…”

                Limburger looked at him pointedly. “You could, but you haven’t. So the point is moot. What I want to know is, what you sought to gain from this. And I don’t mean territory. We both know you have had your pick of anywhere across this globe. It has never been easier. You chose here. And you chose to interfere on Mars. I want to know why.”

                Marshall frowned, looking sour and sick. For a moment it looked like he might vomit on himself, but swallowed the passing feeling, sinking down into the pillows and against the cushioned headboard again. “A favor, I suppose. For a friend.”

                “That mad man, Colby?”

                Marshall giggled. A drunk and dazed sort of sound that was truly unsettling. “Oh how he hates you…and not just you. That bloated aristocrat, Stilton.” He snarled. “His hatred was…fascinating. Stunning. I’d never seen anything like it.”

                “It’s insanity the likes of Napoleon Brie couldn’t even compare to.” Limburger muttered. “What did you gain out of it?”

                Marshall shook his head. “I didn’t expect to gain anything really…as you put it, I was already settled here. Getting you completely out of the way, and twisting the knife in Stilton’s gut well…that was just a bonus. I think I was bored.” He admitted. “I was bored at how easy it was…and I thought of all the trouble you used to have with the Martians. It seemed exciting. I wondered if I could do better. So I poked the bear, as it were. Or should I say Mouse?”

                He giggled again, eyes glassy and stupid. His rationality was fading as the drugs and the fever churned in his system.

                “Is that why you decided to bring one of the Biker Mice here?”

                Marshall squinted. “Oh? Oh yes…I suppose I did. But that wasn’t my idea. That was…Thad’s. He has all sorts of experiments running, multiple species. But he took a liking to Mars. Said it made a good control. The Martians are so scattered across that wasteland, so isolated. Easy to get subjects. Easy to test things. Frenzy was his idea.”

                “A bioweapon is hardly an original thought. Just look at the humans and their nerve gas.” He sighed. “Again, I see no gain for you. Answer the damn question.”

                “I am.” Marshall whined. “For Pike’s sake you’re so…needy. But anyway…I told you my involvement with the Martians was purely a favor to Colby. Everything else just a bonus.”

                “And you created Frenzy for him to use on Mars? Because that’s what he’s doing. I can’t tell you how stupid it is to make an already aggressive species with a chip on its shoulder more aggressive!”  He growled. He stood then, the bed springing back so much it actually made Marshall bounce a bit. “When you brought Stilton and I here for your little set up, tell me, did you think the Martians would kills us right away?”

                Marshall shrugged, giving him another dazed smile. “Well…one hopes for swift results, but…there’s no guarantee. Why do you ask?”

                “Because if we were killed straight off, I imagine your plan wouldn’t have worked very well. That is to say, one bird with one stone and not two.”

                “What?”

                “You poisoned us. You infected us.” Limburger growled. “Like diseased blankets you sent us into their midst, trying to spread more plague. But it didn’t work how you wanted, did it?”

                Marshall blinked at him, more muddled than ever but looking truly confused now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                In frustration Limburger pulled up the sleeve of his suit jacket, revealing his arm. How the scales were becoming discolored and flaking away, the flesh beneath raw and shot through with bright blue veins. It was not unlike how Stilton had looked in the cage back on Mars. Just slower. Less egregious.

                “Frenzy doesn’t affect Plutarkians? I think not. It doesn’t have the same effect that it has on a Martian, but the end result is the same. Terminal. Slow, painful demise.”

                Marshall blinked at him slowly, trying to force concentration through the haze. He shifted and rolled up his own sleeve, revealing a similar wide-spread decay of his skin, more advanced that his uncle’s.  “Why would I poison myself then, uncle? What would be the point in that?”

                Limburger didn’t answer, confused.

                Marshall sank back, too tired to continue. “Don’t worry. It was an interesting theory, I will give you that. Maybe you and Colby are more alike than you think. Now fuck off. I’m tired.”

                He rolled over, dismissing the conversation and the senior Plutarkian didn’t have to be told twice. But Marshall did not immediately fall asleep. Instead he laid there, rubbing the raw place on his arm…thinking…until the drugs pulled him under into an uneasy sleep.

***

Sweep had been awake before sunrise, watching. Anxious. But as usual, she bore those feelings silently.

She moved about the small cramped kitchen of the temporary housing she occupied with her daughter and her mother. Her brother and her baby niece had vanished. Considered missing and fugitives; wanted for questions from The Regent. Her son was in the Cathedra, attempting to make sense of the chaos that had washed over this city once again. And she had not seen him in almost two weeks.

Chaos and absences. These had been daily parts of Sweep’s life for years. They were things to accept and manage. Helpless to do much else.

Except that the helplessness felt less and less acceptable. She did not know how much longer she could bear it.

Now that light was beginning to filter in from outside, the day beginning, she could begin to move and occupy herself without fear of waking her mother too soon.

She made coffee, or the Martian equivalent of it made from bitter roots and herbs that provided a hard kick of energy. As she waited for this to brew, she surveyed the new cramped living quarters. There was one small circular main room which contained the kitchen and a table and chairs and two benches that lined the wall along the wall beneath the circular windows that looked out into the lower part of the square.

They had managed to salvage one of her mother’s rocking chairs from the house and brought here and thank goodness. The poor woman should have some s comfort after everything.

Splitting off like petals from the main room were two smaller circular rooms, each a bedroom with two double wide cots to accommodate multiple sleepers. Between this was the shared bathroom and a small storage space.

Her mother slept alone in one room, and she and Primer were presently occupying the other. Primer’s side of the bed was empty, and long since cold.

She had left in the dead of night, sneaking past the night watch and breaking free of the city walls to continue her search. Whether Modo, Vinnie or Throttle were still on planet was debatable. Rimfire had told them of the transporter that Stoker had discovered beneath the ruin of Caria. It seemed likely that their absence—like their absence in the past—was due to being transported off world, perhaps unable to make a return journey as of yet.

But what was certain was that Stoker, Harley and Bowie were still here, somewhere. And Primer had taken the task to find them upon herself as her personal duty. Her brother may be a hostage of the Regent, playing along to keep the peace, but she was free to move. Un-notable and unnoticed.

It was risky, but it was their only option. There were search parties—military led—sweeping the lands beyond city, looking for the missing Freedom Fighters. Or at least, that was the official statement. That they would locate, and bring the missing mice back to the capital for further investigation.

Sweep prayed her daughter would find them first. Perhaps then she might have a chance of seeing them alive again.

The kettle whistled and she pulled it from the hot burner before it could become any louder, not wanting to wake her mother just yet. She poured her first cup and waited impatiently for it cool, slipping to look out of the plexi-glassed covered door of the pod home.

People were already stirring, already working. Bikes with trailers and smaller vehicles rumbled noisily past, avoiding those in the square who were in tents rather than actual dwellings and those setting up shops and carts in the market for the day. They were heading around the back side of the Cathedra, where the damage to the wall had been done. Where her own home sat untended and in a semi-state or ruin. Not yet safe to return to.

She hated it. Hated this cramped place, impersonal, dull and temporary, full of desperate, confused faces. Waiting to be helped. Waiting for answers. Waiting.

As she watched the bustling square just below her, she spotted a familiar pair of faces weaving through the crowd. Carbine, with the Brigadier close beside her, kept their heads down and their feet moving swiftly. Both were swathed in cloaks and robes to keep out the wind and the chill, and likely to keep themselves from being readily noticed.

Sweep stepped out onto the two short steps leading up from the path between pod dwellings, ushering them forward as her eyes scanned the crowds behind them to make sure they were indeed alone.

Once the pair had ducked inside, the Maverick woman lingered at the door, eyes on the windows and doors of the pod dwellings beside hers, and from the street below, confirming they weren’t being watched. After a moment she ducked back inside, pulling the door closed securely behind her.

Carbine had already pulled the hood from her head, revealing the familiar head of jet-black hair and the scar that slanted across her muzzle, old and healed with age but always noticeable.

“I’m sorry it’s so early,” the former General began, slightly breathless from their hurried trek. Something that would not have phased her in the slightest, but for her present delicate condition, which made even the most mundane task taxing.

“Don’t be sorry for me, honey. You must be exhausted. Sit down, sit!”

She nudged them both to the table, giving Strain a commanding look that even he knew better than to disobey.

She poured them both a cup of the strong brew, being sure to dilute Carbine’s somewhat.

“Thank you, Ms. Sweep.” Strain nodded, grateful and respectful.

“You have news?”

“Yes and no.” Carbine began. “No concrete evidence, but more to go on. The Federation was able to determine that Marshall escaped to Earth. Where exactly is a little dicey, it looks like there was some sort of interference in the transporter signature he locked onto. But I would bet you anything its Chicago. If whatever is being used there is that powerful to pull someone in mid transport, the boys surely ended up there too.”

“But you don’t know. You haven’t heard from them?”

Carbine shook her head. “No. We will keep trying.” She looked to her fiancé who nodded dutifully.

“I’m always scanning frequencies, trying to locate the AI in their bikes. Getting through the field of interference is difficult, but we won’t give up.” Strain assured.

Sweep nodded to him, “I appreciate that.” She trusted the Brigadier’s intentions, but she held him at arms length. He had after all lead the assault on her family’s farm that had hurt her kin. Sweep was not a woman who forgot quickly or forgave easily. He was still earning her good graces.

She moved to fetch a roll from the breadbasket, along with jam and butter and placed it before the former General. “Eat something. You look sick.”

Carbine grimaced and put a hand over her belly which had only started to show the slightest curve of pregnancy. “I am sick.” She grumbled, clearly miserable. “This little goblin is killing me. I can’t sleep, but I am so tired. I want to inhale food that normally repulses me, but everything makes want to vomit.”

“Yep,” the experienced mother nodded. “They’ll do that to you. And much worse. I have something that will help but try and eat that. Never met a baby born or unborn that didn’t like Mama’s jam.”

Carbine smiled at her, grateful and managed a small bite to thankfully pleasant results. Below the table her fiancé rubbed her knee, offering some added comfort.

“And how is my son?” She’d asked, rooting through the cupboard for one the salvaged tins of herbs, tinctures and edibles she had saved from the wreck of their home. “The Regent keeps him close. Like a dog on a leash.”

“It’s not the Regent,” The former General explained. “He is acting as his speaker yes, but I’m telling you, it’s Secretary Tourmaline who has been the holding the power all this time. It’s her that the Federation is dealing with, as contentious as it is.  She’s an awful, awful woman…but I feel she is actually scared. She hates this occupation as much as we do. But I can’t pin down her motivation yet.” 

Strain nodded. “She is trying very hard to keep Brimstone from being fully overtaken by the Federations enforcers, and she and Rimfire seem to be in near constant talks with their unit leader, named Baron.” He shifted, looking sour and uncomfortable. A strange expression on his hard and stoic features and one that also comically mirrored Carbine’s.

Sweep scoffed and glanced out her window. “Hell of a job she’s doing then. This isn’t any better than the Plutarkians. Less numbers perhaps. I’ve only seen a handful of so-called agents from that monstrous looking ship of theirs. How much longer is this bullshit going to go on?”

“Until they find a suitable scapegoat.” A wizened voice came suddenly, as Mama Maverick entered the main room.

They regarded her with wide eyes. The Maverick Matriarch had been a staple of the community for many decades and even after Carbine and Throttle had broken off their engagement, she still acted like family.

Strain was the only newcomer to her, and when he was being absorbed into the collective.

“No matter what they say they are here for, I promise you that is the only goal. They have a mess on their hands, have had for some time. And now they have someone to blame it on. I worry for our Vinnie. I worry very much.”

Sweep moved as if to help her walk but she waved her daughter away seating herself neatly if not slowly at the table along side the rest of this small secrete council.

“Mama, it’s too early. You should go back to sleep.”

Mama Maverick looked at her daughter. “Soon sweetheart, that will be all I’m able to do. Let me contribute while I can.”

Her daughter sighed but didn’t argue. She knew better. Carbine put her hand over Sweep’s and gave it a sympathetic squeeze before looking back at the Matriarch.

“I know you’re worried about Vinnie. We are too. But at least Modo and Throttle are with him. Probably Charlie and Max too. There’s not much the lot of them together can’t handle.”

“And what of the children? No sign of my little petal? Or Charlene’s boy and girl?”

“No ma’am. But I think they were all together at the time. They should be safe with the boys.”

They did not speculate further on this matter. It was too grim to believe anything else for now.

“Primer is at work, I take it?” Strain asked cautiously. They too knew of the girl’s defiance of the curfew and kept her secret. Aiding her by diverting the attention of the night watch and making sure she would have a safe path back into the city.

“Yes. No luck yet.”

Carbine stared into her drink, letting the mug warm her palms. Once again she felt alone, fighting for her planet without her fellow Freedom Fighters. Without the daring steadfast forces that inspired her to keep going, when the drudge and cold reality of battle settled too heavily on her. Throttle was gone. Modo and Vinnie too. Even Max, who had at brought his own brand of levity and courage to the fight. And now Stoker. When she felt her resolve failing, when fear or uncertainly shook her. She looked to him. “What I wouldn’t give for that old man to be arguing with me about everything right now.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Sweep said softly. “You’re sure to get it. And Stoker could argue from sun up to sun down and not even break a sweat.”  She looked sadly into her own drink, almost cold now. Thinking of the last thing she’d said to Stoker before he vanished into the flooded basement and the tunnels beyond. She had not spoken untruthfully, but it had been harsher than she wished. And it would not sit well with her if those were the last words she ever said to the man.

“They are increasing the curfew tonight by an hour. Work is to stop on the west side near the wall for the time being. Reconstruction postponed.” Carbine said then, looking at Sweep pointedly.

“What? Why?”

“Work crews are getting sick. They are trying to keep it quiet for now, but we’re up to twenty cases.”

“Cases of what?”

Strain shook his head. “They don’t know. It’s…mimicking the early stages of Frenzy. The agitation, the fever, the disorientation. But it’s not quite the same. We don’t know what’s causing it. Only that most of the cases have come from the repair crews other there. Two more cases popped last night from the inner city.”

Uneasiness passed between the women as they listened. Mama Maverick spoke.

“Has the ice fully thawed then?” She asked cautiously.

“Almost.” Carbine nodded.

The old woman frowned, considering. “Flood waters often carry disease. I wouldn’t think that something that dropping down from a Plutarkian ship would be any less suspect.”

The former General and the Brigadier looked at each other anxiously. Strain rose, giving the women, including his fiancé a nod. “I should go and make someone aware of that possibility. Heavens know that the Secretary will want to keep it contained if something is wrong. And I have little doubt there is.”

“Go on. I’ll leave separately. It will draw less attention.” 

He leaned over her, kissing her quickly but lovingly, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m safe.” She assured him, in a voice quiet enough that she hoped only he would hear.

But the others caught it regardless.

He did not argue with her hopeful lie, righting himself and squaring his shoulders, thanking the other women once again for the hospitality before departing from the house, hood drawn back up over his head.

Mama Maverick watched him go, thoughtfully sipping her tea. “They built that man like a mountain…what are they feeding you lot these days?”

The question seemed poignant after what she had just spoken about the flood waters. Both Sweep and Carbine seemed to have lost their desire for their beverages.

Sweep recalled her earlier venture then and then handed the jar of herbs to the black-haired woman, “Take these. I boiled them down into a sort of candy. It will help with the sickness.”

Carbine nodded, grateful.

“Is he excited?” Sweep asked her then, “To be a father?”

Carbine didn’t answer and she felt a twinge of regret for prying.  She put her hand over hers again. “Okay, never mind him. Carbine…how do you feel about this?”

Carbine blinked at her, big brown eyes suddenly swimming with tears she wouldn’t shed. “I’m terrified.” She gulped.      

“Never met a woman with any brains who wasn’t.” Mama Maverick replied.

 “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t even think I could…” She paused to catch her breath and compose herself, doing her best to keep from actually crying. “Throttle and I…I think he really wanted one. Wanted a family. I…ran at the idea. I didn’t want to be tied down, I didn’t…” She looked to Sweep and quickly became quiet.

Sweep shrugged. “Carbine…do you think that when Enfield and I decided to have children, that I was sacrificing the life I could have had? That I could have been out there fighting like my brother if I hadn’t become a mother?”

“Sweep, I didn’t mean—”

“Just answer the question, darlin’. Is that what you’re afraid of? Losing the life you’ve built for yourself?”

She nodded, and her silver-furred companion nodded. “Good. You should be afraid. Things will change, Carbine, that I can promise you. But you don’t have to lose yourself just because you decided to be a mother. Your priorities shift. You see the world different. You make choices based on that perspective. I didn’t give up fighting the war beside my brother. I lost my Enfield and I took care of my children. I made sure they were safe. Is that any different than what you’ve been doing all this time?”

Carbine didn’t know what to say, finding herself speechless for once.

 But her hesitance seemed to land uncomfortably on the Maverick woman’s shoulders. Her brow furrowed and she lifted herself from her chair with a deep sigh, then excused herself, vanishing briefly into the bathroom, leaving the former General and the elder Mrs. Maverick alone at the table.

Carbine hung her head, letting herself slump onto the table. “Ugh…I’m an idiot.”

Mama reached across and patted her back lightly.

“No. You’re just scared.”

“Maybe I am looking at this all wrong. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“She’ll be alright.”

Carbine stared at the door where Sweep had disappeared, wanting to apologize, but knowing in the moment she didn’t have the right words. She rose from her seat as well then. “I should go. If I’m gone too long from the Cathedra they’ll come looking.”

The old woman caught her hand in her soft wrinkled one. She looked up at Carbine seriously. “Ms. Maverick?”

“Promise me something.” The old woman said, suddenly very serious, her eyes surprisingly sharp. Carbine saw echoes of both her children in them. The glint that Modo’s eye had, even his artificial one, when he was facing down a challenge. The way Sweep often surveyed a crowd, searching for trouble.

“Of course.”

“Don’t lose yourself in there. Don’t let them twist you around. There’s too much of that going on as is. Too many lies and half-truths. It’s dangerous. And if we can’t trust each other then we can’t trust anyone. Remember that, and make sure my grandson knows it too.”

“I will, Mama.”

**

Madalyn Tourmaline greeted the day as she usually did. Restlessly. She had no need of an alarm to get her up in time for chamber meetings. No matter how listlessly or heavily  she had slept the night before, she always woke precisely at the same time. Her body well trained to the rhythms of her schedule.

Today she rose as she always did, but there was heaviness inside her as woke. The awareness of the empty rooms of her apartment seemed particularly sharp as she stared up at the high stippled plaster of the ceiling above her bed. She sat up slowly, her undone hair failing down her back in a loose braid.

She had dreamt of her son again.

No concrete detail about the dream lingered, nothing specific she could point to. Just his face. The memory of his voice. His shape shifting from little boy at her knee to the man who kept his distance.

She sighed heavily, pushing past the thought and tossing off her blankets, slipping from her bed and hurrying to wash and dress for the day.

At some point while she was at the vanity of her dressing room, she heard the door to her room open and Tilley, her aid, announced herself.

“Madame Secretary! It’s just me, bringing in your mail and your breakfast.”

“On the desk please, Tilley.” She called back.

The young woman poked her head into her bedroom, “How are you today, Miss?”

The Secretary eyed her in the reflection of her mirror. “Well enough. You may leave whatever it is and go, Tilley. I have a very busy schedule today.”

“Yes, Ma’am. But…are you sure there isn’t anything else? I could assist you with?”

Irritated, older woman looked at her sharply then, turning to glare at the young woman only to realize she was not alone.

Rimfire stood a few steps behind her, still respectfully close to the door.

“He followed me in, Ma’am, I—“

Madalyn rose still in her robe and nightgown and strode past her towards where the man waited. “Mr. Maverick. Is there some sort of emergency?”

The Freedom Fighter and former Underground member looked at her coolly as he usually did. He was dressed in more casual fatigues today, forgoing the more formal attire she had been requiring of him since this ordeal began.  “No ma’am. You asked for an update on our present situation. I am here to deliver it.”

Madalyn nodded slowly. “Yes…but I had assumed that we would convene in chambers. I didn’t expect you to make a house call as it were.”

Rimfire didn’t apologize and didn’t look bothered. It was clear that he meant to deliver his message here and now.

Tilley wisely and at last made herself scarce, leaving the other two women alone to speak, though she looked Rimfire up and down as she passed him, clearly admiring his frame.

 Madalyn Tourmaline moved from her dressing room into the common seating area of her private apartment, her office laying just beyond through a pair of ornate double doors.

“Have a seat.” She offered.

“I prefer to stand, Ma’am.” He said, his voice even and calm, if not slightly defiant of her.

The woman smiled back at him, as if intrigued. “Very well. Have your way.”

She looked at the tray of food Tilley had left on the coffee table, inspecting the offerings. Real fruit and bread and strong tea with cream. Considerably better fair than the rations they served in the barracks, or even what was offered for other staff of the Cathedra.

“Can I offer you some breakfast?”

“Madam Secretary, we still haven’t been able to lock in a location as to where Marshall and his hostage landed. The Federation can only specify that it likely took them to Earth. It’s the only transporter source they can locate within a reasonable distance for the belt’s capabilities.”  He frowned. “Though I have to admit…it seems very strange that such an advanced agency wouldn’t have better equipment, despite the damage to our communications.”

She nodded. “I agree. But, for the moment, however flawed their capabilities are, they still outweigh ours. We have no choice but rely on their data.”  She moved to make herself some tea. “You must be at least a little relieved then.”

“Sorry?”

“If they were pulled to Earth, I’d say it is a very good guess that is where your missing kin has gone as well. That must be some comfort. Knowing that it is a least someplace known to them. Where they perhaps have allies.”

He did not rise to her bait, though she did not expect him to. She smiled.

“It gives me comfort too. Just so we understand each other. It is not just your family who has gone missing, after all.”

Rimfire gave a slow nod, recalling Max.  It was strange, but easy to divorce the idea of him from her. Though their resemblance was apparent, Max had such an all-together different personality from his mother that it was easy to think of them as entirely unrelated. Something the younger Tourmaline had clearly been using to his advantage.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s upsetting for you, not knowing.”

Her face fell, but not into its usual sour or cold expression. She reclined back into her chair with a sight, fingers to the bridge of her muzzle, brows knitted in stress.

“This has gotten so far out of hand.”

Rimfire looked at her carefully, perhaps surprised by how vulnerable the hard polished woman was being in this moment. It emboldened him, though he never needed an excuse to be bold.

“Permission to speak candidly, Ma’am?”

Madalyn glanced up at him, almost smiling. “By all means.”

“It never would have gotten this far out of hand if you and Jenner had not been so eager to jump the gun and use Van Wham as a scapegoat for your problems! Brimstone has been rotting from the inside for a long time, it’s problems didn’t start with Vinnie and they sure as hell haven’t ended with him. You know, I know, the Regent himself knows, that this is just a distraction. It’s something to keep the people off your back.”

“That is too far, Maverick.”

“Not far enough,” He answered. “Madam Secretary, you have been given an extreme level of trust by the people of Brimstone and you have not served them well. People who have faith in their leaders, who are cared for and protected and given purpose, don’t form rebellions. They don’t protest in the streets. They don’t struggle to cope with their day to day with sickness spreading and the gap between us and any other Martian city growing wider and wider every day.  They don’t have to look for hope in some outside source.  I don’t know what game you are playing with the other members of the council or the Regent himself. I don’t care. What I do care about is all the people out there who are frightened and confused and leaderless right now. Fear and rumor are taking over. And what are you doing about any of it?!”

The two Mice stared at each other mutely for a moment, the question ringing between them. Tourmaline shakily reached for her tea and sipped it slowly, giving plenty of thought before answering.

“How old are you, may I ask?”

Rimfire’s face soured but she didn’t answer.

“Twenty-five? Surely no more than thirty. Still young. I know you don’t feel it, Rimfire. You’ve seen terrible things since the war, I can only imagine. But the war was not only fought out there on the dunes and in the canyons and waste. It was fought here too. Quietly, yes. But no less ruthlessly. People don’t understand that. They understand heroes who appear larger than life; villains who wear their wickedness openly. If it is not obvious, they do not see.”

The pair regarded one another silently for a moment. She saw on Rimfire’a face some acknowledgment of her words. That he agreed in a sense. This man, raised by rebels, shaped by the war since childhood did not have the education or privileges her own son did. But he was not stupid. No dog or war that would come to heel and do as he was told without question. His affiliation with the Underground was proof enough of this already. But witnessing it first hand as she had these past few weeks made her look at him differently

She looked at him plainly then. “Everything I do is in service to this city and its people. I have worked tirelessly for longer than you’ve been alive to make this our haven. To keep us safe!”

“With what? Your stupid wall?” The stripe-haired woman scoffed. “How did that work out for you?”

“The wall is something people can see. It’s a concrete example. It’s good to have such things. If you deal too long on the intangible, people get confused. They feel less secure and they lose faith. And that is the worst position I can be in; allowing my people to lose faith in me. In us.”

“What us? I’m a proxy for the Regent. A mouthpiece. We both know that. What I don’t understand is why you chose me? Of all people. Carbine would have been a better choice.”

Madalyn considered. “My guess is that the Regent knew that he needed a man of the people to represent him. Carbine is a good leader, has been a hero of the resistance for a long time. But she is still heavily embedded in the Military. A figure of war. I think it is wiser to choose a fresher face. Someone that might inspire hope for peace again.”

“That implies we are at war already. And as of this moment, I’ve heard nothing officially declared by Plutarkians. Despite what Marshall claimed.” Rimfire countered.

She did not answer him, attempting to finish her tea. She looked tired. Strained. “You remind me of my son, you know. Head strong. Always ready with a counterpoint to any argument. When he was little, we would have debates over dinner. It used to make my husband laugh.”  She smiled a bit sadly to herself and stared briefly off into the apartment, looking at nothing in particular. Composing herself. “Your mother…I wonder how she must feel about all this? Your family has so much invested in this city. Has given so much already. Three generations of resistance fighters…and now a fourth up and coming as I understand.”

Rimfire shifted uncomfortably, this more personal conversation putting him both on guard and off balance.

“Madame…”

“Is she proud of you?” She asked pointedly. He blinked in surprise. He expected condescension in her tone but there was none. As she looked at him he thought her face looked as earnest and curious as he had ever seen it.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, brow furrowed in his confusion.

“I apologize. I know that’s a terribly personal thing to ask. But as much as we differ on our view pints and methods, Rimfire, I have to concede to your integrity. Your love for this place. And your family. I hope she is proud of you.”

The youngest of the Maverick sons stood quietly now, weighing this and everything else. He gave her a small nod and then glanced towards the door.

“Well, I’ve informed you on the transport matter. I’ll let you finish your breakfast.” He turned to excuse himself, but just before he reached the door and called out to him again.

“You should go and visit your mother.”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder.

“I’m sure she misses you.”

He gave a nod again and then added, “I’m sure that your son is safe, Madame Secretary. I know my uncle Throttle, he won’t let anything happen to him.”

She looked down, fussing with her robe. “I am not sure your uncle Modo would agree.”

Rimfire said nothing, but stiffened. They stared at each other a moment longer and then he slipped through the door, eager to escape.

As he strode quickly down the corridor, his head was spinning a little. The woman was giving him emotional whiplash. Still he felt as if perhaps he glimpsed some soft under belly to her cold and armored exterior. Some true feeling behind the calculated façade. Something he hoped he could tap into to keep the chaos at bay.

He wanted to hope, but knew it was risky. For now, he would continue to keep his guard up as the Regent had asked of him. Now that they had some good idea where his uncles and their friends had landed, they were a step closer to bringing them home and forcing an end to this uneasy occupation.

But for now…he would visit his mother.

**

Chapter Text

**

                Shiloh had decided that, given a survey, she was going to have rate this planet Earth fairly…mid. Perhaps lower. If anything, she was glad she could breathe here, and that there were—to her knowledge—no wild vicious animals or insects three times her size that might emerge at random from an unseen den and devour her. Even Mars had had those, once upon a time. That certainly was an upgrade.

                Presently, the cold was her biggest complaint. That icy wind that kept making things difficult for her and her unintentional companion. But she’d found them a solution.

                They were huddled together in what she would later learn was mobile home. It, and perhaps a dozen more like it dotted a sparsely green bit of land in between yet another construction site, a pizza shop, a laundromat and what she also quickly learned was something called a “free clinic.” To be more precise, a non-emergency emergency room where people who did not have regular healthcare could wander into with a myriad of complaints to get a more or less temporary fix for said complaints.

                The mobile home was empty, all its items left behind. It seemed like an elderly person might have been its former occupant. Something that spoke of a sedentary and single life. Limited food in the fridge, largely limited to easy convenience foods and soft or liquid items like nutrient shakes and pudding. There was also plenty of clutter and things left untidied. Likely too difficult to keep up with.  Only one set of clothes in the closet and only one bed. But the heat and the power had been left running to the place. A saving grace for the two castaways.

                The half-breed who called himself Mace presently occupied the bed. She watched him from the edge of the plaid recliner in the living room/kitchen, and the only other room besides the small one containing the toilet and shower.

                She was beginning to feel confident that he wouldn’t die. She hadn’t been certain at first, the way he had been bleeding in the field, his condition already precarious before the wound. But since bringing him here, getting him warm and tending to the most obvious problem of blood loss and sickness, he seemed on the upswing. And with one crisis managed, she could focus on the larger problem at hand. Her ability to get back to Mars.

The woman toyed with the stolen transporter belt, checking its frequency. Her communicator was useless here. She was much too far out of range of her ship, even if their weren’t and field of interference.

But, luckily, the belt seemed to be able to hone in on Mars. It least, most of the time. It seemed to lose accuracy depending on their location here, the signal fading in and out. She wasn’t sure if this was due to something on the planet or if the belt had taken some damage in the struggle.

Either way, she was going to have to be very very careful.

If she simply took off now, abandoned her companion, she could probably make it back to her unit no worse for wear. But she would be going back empty handed. And their whole mission to Mars had been to deal with the incident between the rebels and the Plutarkians. Wouldn’t it be something to bring not just Van Wham in but all his accomplices? That would certainly put her up for promotion. Or maybe just vacation…

Maybe she could just stay on Mars?

The thought came upon her in a strange way and before she even fully processed it she was realized her face was wet, her eyes burning.

Why was she so emotional suddenly?

Something in the far back of her mind seemed to stir. A sort of blind wariness. There was an answer to her question but it didn’t surface.

From the bedroom, Mace began to stir. She rose from her spot and went to his bedside just as he was trying to sit up.

He startled at her unannounced approach and tried to strike out at her, still somewhat dazed. She caught his fist easily however, pressing him back against the pillows.

“Hey, it’s really not a good idea to punch the only person trying to help you.” She teased.

He blinked at her, slowly coming all the way around to reality again. “Sorry,” he mumbled, deflating into the bed again. “Old habits.”

She nodded and lifted his blanket, checking his wound. Mace made a small noise of surprise, realizing she had stripped him down to just his briefs.

                She rolled her eyes at his modesty. “Oh please, nothing I haven’t seen before. I needed to clean your cut, it went pretty deep. And honestly, you needed a wash. Guess you’ve been roughing it out here while.”

The cinnamon furred Martian blinked at her, bypassing any embarrassment he might have felt at the statement. “Who the hell are you?”

“We’ve been over this. I work for the Federation. And since that fucking Plutarkian decided to make a run for it, I’m stuck here trying to round up everyone. And keep your dumb ass from dying. Apparently.”

Mace nodded slowly, as if digesting the information again, letting the familiar information sink back into place. But his head was still fuzzy, dazed.

He glanced down at the cleaned and bandaged swath across his side, finding the area sore but not painful. He also became aware of an IV feeding into his arm from a bag held upright on a coat-rack that had clearly been dragged in from another part of the home.

“Where the hell did you get this?” He asked, craning his neck to see what the bag of clear fluid was labeled and finding the motion made him dizzy.  She shrugged; her short examination of his person finished as she tucked him back under the blanket.

“I scouted and found a clinic across the street from our little hideout here. After staking the place out for an hour or so, I made a move. Walked in, took what I needed, got out.”

She said this in such a relaxed and easy tone, but the actual ordeal was anything but. If Mace had been present or even conscious, he would have watched the Mouse steal a hoodie from off a bench (its owner too busy arguing with their companion to notice) and step inside the crowded clinic, doing her best to keep her face covered. It hadn’t worked.

The woman at the front desk behind a glass partition had clocked her as “some kind of whacked out cosplayer” —whatever that was—and Shiloh had made a move. Taking advantage of the poor timing of another nurse stepping into the waiting room to call a patient back, she had darted past her and made a mad dart for the nearer available supplies.

The absolute chaos that had erupted still had her ears ringing, but she had got away cleanly with what she needed. The rest she had on her, as she always carried certain medical supplies with her as part of her utility belt.

Mace studied her, as is suspecting she was holding something back. But he didn’t press her, seeming to deem it unimportant for the moment.

“I suppose I owe you one.” He sighed, giving her a small smile.

“You owe me three to be precise. Van Wham, Maverick and Evander. I’d say that will make us plenty even.”

“And if I help you bring them in, what then? Van Wham is all yours, Maverick too. But Evander is mine. I won’t let you hurt him.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” She protested. “The tribunal wants to talk to them. We can’t make a judgment until we’ve heard from both parties. And now, it just so happens all parties are fugitive and I’m the only one able to round them up.”

“Can’t you call for backup? All your fancy gadgets there ought to be able to contact your ship, shouldn’t it?”

She shook her head. “Too far out of range. Or believe me I would have left you for Wallace to deal with. Or maybe Nyx if I’m feeling really spiteful.”

He studied her quietly and it made her shift uncomfortably. “What?”

“Nothing. Just weird that intergalactic enforcers would be handicapped by such a little thing. But hey…what do I know?”

His stomach made an audible and embarrassing rumble and he winced.

“That sound tends to mean the same thing across planets. I’ll make us some food. Do you think you can get something solid down? Or maybe semi solid given the options here…”

“Lady, I’d eat just about anything right now. No matter what state of solid it’s in.”

She smiled at him and stepped away back through the door and into the other part of the compact house.

Once she had gone, he pulled himself up against the headboard of the bed, testing the movement of his body. It was good to not feel cold or deathly or dehydrated for certain. And with food promised, he was feeling more optimistic about his position.

It was certain they couldn’t stay here forever, as someone was sure to discover them sooner or later. But for the moment he could actually gather himself and plan his next move.

His surprise benefactor was unknowingly providing him with more assistance than he could have hoped for on his own. She was armed, seemed fairly confident in traversing this new world, and she had a ticket for two back home.

She just didn’t know yet that she wasn’t included in the return trip.

Shiloh returned shortly with what appeared to be a large styrofoam cup that was steaming hot. She set down on the nightstand beside him, letting him peer into the opening, spotting noodles and vegetables in broth.

“Earthlings eat strangely.” Mace mumbled. But he had to admit the smell was making his mouth water. He barely let it rest for a full minute before picking up arson and starting to slurp the food down.

Shiloh grimaced as she watched him but was kind enough not to continue staring.

What he had said before had started that itch in her brain again, the same as her earlier thoughts.

She wish she understood why. But every time she focused on the unsettled feeling, all her mind could produce was a sort of void, attached to an awful, upsetting feeling. Like being shut in somewhere, closed off. Caged…?

Her head began to throb the more she thought about it. Suddenly her companion’s hand was on her knee.

She jolted, her turn to be startled.

She smacked his hand away, the one that it’s the IV inside and he yelped in pain.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” the brown furred woman gasped.

“No worries …” Mace winced “doesn’t hurt like a bitch at all, totally fine…” he made a silent open mouth moan and fell back, rubbing the wounded area.  She moved to see if the needle had come free from the vein but he waved her off.   She fell back, looking mortified and staring at the floor, and his heart gave a little worried pang for her. Something he hadn’t expected. “You um…seemed like you went away there for a minute. In your head. Someplace not nice from the look of it.”

She blinked, confused and then stiffened the soldier/agent persona back in place. “It was nothing. None of your business.”

Mace blinked at her attempt at coldness and laughed. “Sure, sure. We’ll keep our cards to ourselves.”

They settled back quietly again, and he finished the cup of noodles, still hungry but feeling a relief from the emptiness of his stomach.

“So tell me, does your friend Throttle find you as charming as I do? He must miss you terribly.” She snarked at him.

Mace didn’t meet her eyes, staring at the ceiling as he considered what to say. How not to give himself away without fully lying to her.  “We go back a long way, Throttle and I. We had a falling out.  His bros have gotten him into a hell of a mess. I just want to make things right. Get him back home. He shouldn’t be here. None of us should.”

He felt her eyes on him, pensive. Trying to detect any obvious lie or manipulation. The problem was, there was no lie in what he had just disclosed.

“And what if he isn’t keen to come with you? I’ve heard the biker mice stick together. And, there is the matter of the fourth. What’s his name…the Secretary’s son. She also believed he was with him when they vanished here.”

Here, Mace soured. His mind flashed back to the abandoned building in Caria, seeing Throttle and Max together in the dark. Jealousy sparked along side his regret. He kept ignoring the idea of Max, trying to keep that scene of them together far from his thoughts. To only focus on his former flame. But the girl was right. Max was going to be a problem. Perhaps an even bigger one than Modo or Vinnie.

“I’m not worried about him.” He answered tightly.

She cocked an eyebrow beneath the fringe of her curls and sighed. “You do realize that you tagging along on this mission means you take orders from me, right smart guy? You try to interfere in anyway, and this little sting on the hand is gonna feel like a kiss on the cheek. You got that?”

He nodded. “Oh I think we understand each other perfectly.”

“Good.” She nodded, satisfied for the moment. “Want some pudding?”

**

It was well past mid-morning now, the area surrounding Manuelo’s store combed over and searched within a two block radius. But there was no sign of Mace or his fugitive partner.

In the bright gleam of daylight, it was more difficult for Vinnie and Karma to move about. Both were equipped with clothing that covered their fur and the helmets suited to cover their faces. But little details were noticeable if anyone were to give them more than a cursory glance.

After combing alleys, an empty bus garage, several empty store fronts they had at last come to a parking garage that was seldom used, seeming to be under reconstruction like so much of the area.

“Why is this area so empty?” Karma asked as they rode their bikes at a snail’s pace up and down the wide twisting levels of concrete. “For such a big city with so many people, you’d think it’d have a little more life to it.”

 “You’re describing the downtown or even the uptown scene, and plenty of other neighborhoods around Chi-town. But we’re not gonna find our pals there. They’re gonna stick to the empty places where they can lie low.” Vinnie explained.

“I dunno,” Charlie mused, her voice coming over his radio inside his helmet. She had stayed behind at Manuelo’s deciding to inspect their find from the abandon house a little more closely while the rest of her team searched. “If one of them is hurt that badly, they would want to find someplace maybe more hospitable. Where are you guys?”

“Parking garage,” Vinnie replied.

“Yeah. Last place I would want to shelter in if I was on the verge of bleeding out. Just saying.”

Karma looked at him as if to say, “I told you so” but Vinnie just shrugged.

“Any port in a storm, sweetheart. How’s your shoe-box transporter looking?”

“Trashed but…possibly fixable. On a wing and a prayer.”

“If anyone can do it babe, it’s you.”

“Thanks for the bode of confidence, handsome. Check in with me later. Love you.”

He beamed and Karma rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Your as bad as the other two saps.”

They had gone up a few levels, rounding the 6^th or 7^th now, their view of the city expanding. More and more construction crews scattered throughout the neighborhood were becoming evident, some active, some not. The trio paused near the outer edge, looking over the thick cement guardrail at the scene below.

“I can’t tell what’s Plutarkian and what’s not.” Vinnie sighed, pulling off his helmet and scratching at the back of his neck in thought. It was a troubling scene for sure. This area looked more like home than he remembered. War torn and half abandoned, places he recalled once being happily occupied by content citizens now just dirt and sink holes and broken concrete cut off by barbed wire fencing and foreclosure and condemned signs.

Karma’s brow furrowed; “That says a lot. Humans trash their own planet so bad you can’t tell if a Plutarkians been here?”

Vinnie nodded. “That’s what made it so easy for them to covertly invade here. And to stick around even after their plans got trashed by yours truly and company. But yeah…it’s a real mess.”

“Does it make you mad?” She asked.

“Huh?”

“I mean…you and Throttle and Modo spent so many years here, trying to protect this place and…doesn’t seem like it even made a difference.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering. “No good deed is ever wasted.” He mumbled. “I think that’s the saying. Even if we failed, we still did some good. We bought people time if nothing else.”

“Is that enough though?”

“Hey, hey…I told you to put on your helmet not your philosophy hat. Give an old Freedom Fighter a break would ya? I ain’t even had breakfast yet.”

Karma sighed but relented. It was a lot for so early in the day and they had already been off to a rocky start. But there were plenty of worrisome questions gnawing at her. And for the first time since his bros had been brought to their hide out, she had his undivided attention.

“So…say we find our target. What then?”

“We keep ‘em detained until we can work out a way back to Mars.”

“Keep them where exactly? No offense to Charlie but it’s close quarters at the Last Chance as is. And from what I understand…you have some pretty serious beef with this Mace guy.”

Vinnie made a gesture then that she had rarely ever seen him do. He touched the flex-plate mask that covered his battle scars, fingers tracing along the familiar edges that molded to the contours of his face.

“Did…that happen because of him?”

“What did I say about loaded questions?”

“ Ugh! Fine, fine! If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”  He was clearly not going to give her an inch at the moment. Better to fall back, try again later. She glanced through the shaded gloom of the garage and it’s few empty cars, feeling a strong breeze ripple through it, giving her a shiver. But the smell of it was different. Not the sort of dry air she was used to back home.

“If you want some lighter fair…” she turned her bike and zoomed away from their overlook to the opposite side of the parking floor giving them a far more pleasant view. From this height they could see over and between the buildings that were waterfront, allowing them one clear straight view of Lake Michigan from their vantage point.

“Is that the beach you promised?”

Vinnie grinned. “Yep! Or a Birds Eye’s view of it at least. Lake Michigan in all her morning glory!” He beamed proudly as if he had discovered it himself. “What do ya think, kid?”

Karma’s eyes were huge, trying to take on as much of it as possible it seemed.

“All that…all that’s just a lake?”

“One or the Great Lakes sweetheart. This part of the world is known for ‘em. But these are bigger ones of course, and the oceans…” as he rambled, these facts nearly as old news to him as if he were a true native the area, he noticed how her face changed. How she wasn’t just impressed by the view. Or the idea that there was even more of this to see and explore. It was deeper than that.

“You’ve never seen that much water in one place have you?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head, smiling and awed. Having no idea what she had been missing.

“It’s beautiful…”

She was beaming, feeling a surge of excitement and eagerness to explore. Something that finally lifted some of the gloom she had been feeling the last few weeks.

“Hey maybe we should go look for our pals there—“ she began, half joking half hopeful. But Vinnie’s attention was diverted now. He was no longer watching her or the view. Instead he was at the edge of the rail, looking straight down at the sound of several loud engines were sounding off.

Several old cars—scrappy old models of racers that looked like they had been pieced together Frankenstein style and put on large off-roading tires—were filtering into the entrance on the lowest deck.  Maybe five of them in total.

“What is it?” Karma asked, at his shoulder immediately.

“Trouble.”

“Obviously. What kind?”

They could hear the cars speeding fast up the levels now. They would be on them in minutes. Both Mice moved hastily back onto their bikes. “Looks like Limburger is finally starting to play old school.”  Cherry revved in response and Vinnie grinned, fingers tingling as adrenaline started to pump and he squeezed Cherry’s handlebars.

“Oooh I’ve waited a long time for this. Now you’re really gonna see some old school action.” He grinned at the red head who smirked at him.

“Dork.”

“Brat.”

The first of the Frankenstein vehicles came speeding towards them along the aisle, what had formerly been a black Oldsmobile Cutlass now on jacked tires and marred with dents and graffiti, and fitting with large spikes on the front fender, came speeding to a hard stop in front of them. Two more filtered in behind, the others likely lurking on the lower levels, blocking their exit.

Headlights glared at them through the gloom, an artificial addition to the sunlight that filtered in from outside. The driver of the black cutlass opened his door and glared at the pair of bikers staring him down.

“This garage is closed, punks.” He growled at them.

“Really?” Vinnie answered “Seemed dubious to us.”

The man, thick built, scruffy and looking like he had recently escaped from some high security prison in an action movie, drew his weapon on them. “Hands up. Nice and slow.”

Vinnie laughed at him. “I don’t see no badge on you, Johnny Law! Not a chance. Besides, we’re a little out of your jurisdiction I think.”

The drivers in the car behind the cutlass began to shift too, and Karma saw that they were about to be heavily outgunned. She let her tail wrap around the handle of her own blaster, side-eyeing Vinnie.

“Seriously? We’re gonna stand here and banter?”

“Hey sweetheart, that’s half the fun!”

“Better listen to your bitch, mouse boy.” The driver muttered at him.

Vinnie didn’t have time to retort as Karma made the next move herself, shoot out the man’s windshield with one careful blast and watching it explode inward, dusting his seat and dashboard with he fragments.

Vinnie blinked at her but Karma kept her eyes on their opposition, offering a sarcastic shrug. “Oops. It slipped.”

“Get them!”

Both mice were ducking low and peeling out to the side before the flustered driver could fully get the order out, leaving his fellow thugs firing into nothing as the two bikes sped off in opposite directions, easily maneuvering around them and making a break for the lower level.

The monster cars hurried to try to follow, one grey and green scraped jeep throwing itself into full reverse and trying to ram them as they made their way down the ramp. The screeching sounds of tires and the smell of gas and burning rubber filling the air as they raced along the concrete.

They reached the third level before the third car, a white and red stripped mustang with a gun mount got close enough to get a bead on them, opening fire.  Vinnie and Karma were both forced to swerve hard to avoid the onslaught of fire, struggling to keep control while trying to return fire.

The mustang veered towards Vinnie, who in turn headed directly into a bank of parked cars, jumping Cherry over them as he returned fire. He managed to put a few holes in the side of the mustang, but not enough to stop the driver.

He was still following Vinnie close, Karma now pulling herself into a front wheelie just ahead of him, kicking her own bike into a bouncing reserve and riding backwards up and over the mustang’s hood, firing her blaster through the hood.

The shots went straight through the interior, through the seat and out the bottom of the car. The driver was so startled that he hit the brakes hard and rear-ended a parked SUV, which only suffered a minor dent in it’s trunk while the front of the mustang peeled and buckled under the impact, it’s front end now stuck in the SUV’s fender.

Karma jumped clear of the wreck, Vinnie beaming at her. “Holy shit where did you learn that!?”

“Oh, I think I saw it one of your old highlight reels.” She offered, and he crowed, the pair of the speeding down another level.

But they were far in the clear. While the cutlass and the Jeep were still trying to catch up, the rest of the monster car party was waiting for them—two big trucks on huge tires blockaded the exit, both hanging out their driver doors and armed with semi-automatics.

Once more they forced to divide and divert, but they were quickly running out of places to go, this level more crowded with cars and the thugs from the upper level quickly closing in on them.

Vinnie reached for one of his old mouse grenades, feeling the weight of it in his hand as he grinned. He made what would appear to be a suicide run right at the monster trucks, their gun fire grazing close enough to him that he could feel the heat of the shots and here the faint ting of them nicking the edge of Cherry’s chasse.

But he didn’t stop.

“Karma, make for the wall and jump! I’ll meet you downstairs!” he called into his calm.

“Got it!”

Van Wham pulled the pin of the grenade out with his tail and made the hard slide beneath one of the high lifted trucks, leaving the grenade behind. He heard the drivers scrambling to get clear just as it went off, blasting the truck into a full back flip and landing it on it’s side while it’s twin skidded and slammed into one support pillars.

Vinnie pulled Cherry out of the slide just in time to jump her over the low guard railing, leaping the remaining two stories down and landing on the street below, speeding to join Karma who was just ahead of him.

The pair kept driving until they were about half a block away, only stopping then at the edge of an intersection to look back at the smoking parking garage, both panting.

“Hey! What was that?!” Charlie gasped from inside their helmets. “I heard an explosion, are you guys alright?!”

“Better than alright! That was awesome!” Karma howled, punching the air.

“Just a little skirmish, babe, but you stay put with Manuelo. It’s about to get messy out here I think.”

“What do you mean!? Are you fighting Limburger’s thugs?”

“Well, I thought so at first but—” his explanation was cut off as he spied two of the monster cars making a sudden unexpected exit from the garage, the black cutlass driving through the barrier wall he had just jumped over, crashing to the ground and recovering too quickly for his liking.

“Gotta put this on hold, sweetheart.”

The pair sped off, the monster cars in hot pursuit.

                Vinnie knew he had to keep them away from any of the residential areas, but taking the highway was also dangerous. His next best option was to head straight into the construction zone.

                With Karma keeping pace beside him, the pair plowed down a side road with a large road closed sign posted , blazing past barrels and hearing the inevitable crunch and thump of them as the monster cars chased them.

                “Guess Limburger got tipped off to us snooping around?” Karma asked.

                Vinnie shook his head. “These don’t feel like Limburger brand goons. Those supped- up monster wagons feel more like…”  He glimpsed the cutlass riding up hard behind them, the engine screaming, the driver looking like Cruella de Ville in that old Disney cartoon. Hellfire in their gaze.

                Vinnie cut punched the gas as Karma peeled off from him, letting the cutlass focus on the red racer. Cherry jumped ahead of the speeding roadster, far enough to allow Vinnie to spin and turn back, charging the thing like a bull, guns blazing.

                He shot out both of the cutlass’s tires and it made a hard skid as it front end hit pavement and dirt. The driver did not even try to course correct, instead pulling out his gun and taking aim at the white mouse.

                Vinnie was too close. The first shot hit Cherry’s side mirror, shattering it, and the next caught him in the arm. Vinnie yelped, swerving, and lost control, going on his side. He and Cherry skidded across the pavement as the only other perusing car—the spike green jeep, came barreling towards him.

                Karma screamed, moving to interfere but there was no time.

                Vinnie did the next best thing. He rolled, managing to position himself last second so that he went between the Jeep’s thick lifted tires, the car passing over him instead of crushing him. Just when it was almost completely past him, he reached up and gripped the back fender, using his tail to help pull him up onto the backside of the vehicle. He clung to it in a move that would have made Spiderman nod in appreciation.

                Karma’s temporary relief that he was safe was quickly squashed when she became the next target. The Jeep turned towards her and she was forced to drive further ahead where the pavement broke into rough earth and gravel and hills of dirt made new obstacles.

                She weaved past the first hill, her bike bouncing beneath her on the rough ground. An open manhole cover caused her to jump, landing on another pile of dirt and deciding to use it as a ramp. She gunned her bike, speeding up the incline and went airborne, taking the temporary gravity break to fire back down on their enemies.

                Her shot hit the hood of the jeep and steam immediately began to gush from the radiator inside, making the Jeep swerve.

                Cherry had recovered from her own fall and was now driving, biker-less, to follow behind the damaged truck.

                The astonished driver looked back at in his side-view, head hanging out the window, only to notice an equally unlikely surprise climbing along the side of his jeep. As he twisted fully to look at the mouse, Vinnie drew back his fist. “Objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear!” he warned before punching the guy hard and knocking him cold.

                As he slumped against the door, the Jeep veered and rolled to a slow stop as the driver’s foot was no longer on the gas.

                Vinnie reached through the open window, pulled the door open and let the driver tumble free onto the ground while he threw the jeep into park. Blood was running freely down his arm, soaking the inside of his jacket sleeve and staining his hand, but the stiffness was minimal. Hopefully it hadn’t done any muscle damage.

                Karma doubled back towards him as they came to a rest, the fight over for now.

                “Are you okay!?” she gasped.

                Vinnie dropped down from the running board, Cherry sliding up to him giving a worried beep of her own.

                “Just a flesh wound, nothing major.” He promised, nodding to the sizable tear in his shoulder and the blood visible against his white fur. With his good hand he presented her a rubber duck he had pilfered from the dashboard. “Even won a prize.”

                Karma looked back down the road to where the cutlass was smoking but there was no sign of the driver now. “Holy hell…that was intense. You used to fight these guys like once-twice a week back in the day?”

                “Yeah, depending on the week. But these guys…they feel more like Pit crew to me.”

                “Pit crew?”

                Vinnie looked to the downed driver from the Jeep and turned him over, studying his clothes and tattoos. The hodgepodge of found and shredded clothing coupled with the heavy metal chains, rings and the abundance of stick-and poke tattoos on the unconscious man’s skin  matched up with what he remembered from their last few visits to the Pits years ago.

                “Bunch of freelance thugs who work for a stitch-head creep named the Pitt Boss. They made a home for themselves in this big fissure that cropped up in old town a long time back after an earthquake or something. Most of the time they keep to themselves down there. But sometimes, when the conditions are right, they crawl back up here and start fucking up my town.”

                “So you have more bad guys on top of Limburger’s bad guys?”

                “There are always more bad guys sweetheart. Stupid and greedy and violent are endless wells that never stop producing. No matter what planet you’re on. But…” as he shifted the man about he discovered a phone in his pocket. What appeared to be a company phone, as the home screen came up with he familiar Eris logo.  “…I think one of the Limburger’s decided to outsource the help this time. Baddies working for baddies. The plot just keeps getting thicker.”

                Karma sighed, slowly coming down from the adrenaline. “You know you talk like a Saturday morning cartoon sometimes, right?”

                Before he could reply to her, they heard another rumble of someone riding towards them. Both were immediately on alert, ready to resume the fight. But instead of another monster car heading towards them, they recognized Charlie speeding towards them.

                “There you are!”

                She wove through the wreckage to reach them, off her bike almost before she had parked in proper. “Are you hurt?!” It was a dumb question, as she could see the blood on Vinnie’s jacket.

                “Just a little tag, babe, nothing serious.”

                Karma reached and poked it, making him shout in pain. “What the hell?!”

                “Looks like it hurts to me.” She mocked.

                “We gotta get you two out of here, police will be coming any minute and I for one am not interested in trying to make bail. Let’s move!”

                “What about these guys?” Karma asked.

                “Let the cops worry about it. Come on!”

***

                With Manuelo wisely deciding to close for the day and head home early, the three bikers sped off towards home, taking the back streets and staying as inconspicuous as possible. They they arrived at the Last Chance via back alley, they were greeted immediately by worried faces.

                Throttle and Max greeted them at the back door, rushing out into the back alley before they were even fully parked.

                “What happened?” Throttle gasped, “You guys stay gone for hours and then the news starts blowing up saying something about an explosion at a parking garage? We thought you were doing recon, looking for our rouge Martians, not playing fast furious!”

                Vinnie looked at them with a sheepish grin. “What makes you think it was me?”

                Throttle and Max glanced at each other with deadpan expressions. “Call a hunch.” Max answered. As they dismounted they saw the state of Vinnie’s arm and grew more serious.

                “Guess things got a little rough huh?”

                “Nothing I can’t handle.” Vinnie assured.

                “He’s lying. He whined like a baby the whole way home.” Karma replied.

                “Slander!”

                “Shut up and get inside!” Charlie urged, glancing around nervously to be sure no one was following them or had spotted them from any of the higher overlooking buildings that might have a view of the alley from afar.

                Without further banter, they ducked inside, Modo quick to draw the hanger doors of the garage closed and latched, turning the open sign to closed while Throttle was already making a beeline to fetch the first aid kit.

                “Where’s Modo?” Karma asked.

                “Upstairs with Remy and Daisy, taking a much needed nap. Are you okay, girls?” Throttle answered, looking from Charlie to Karma. The redhead mouse was beaming, cheeks still pink beneath her fur from the rush of it all, while Charlie looked a bit more stone faced, helping Vinnie pull off his jacket.

                “Careful, careful! I had that tailor made you know.” He muttered, pouting about the obvious hole in the red leather moto jacket.

                “Yeah well, you look better without it.” Charlie tried to tease, leaning in and kissing him softly. “How many years has it been, and I still can’t trust you to go out and not play too rough?”

                “Well these boys were packin’ let me tell you. They didn’t come to play that’s for sure. We either leaving with them or in a body bag.”

                “So what was it? Limburger finally decide to make a move on us?” Max asked. “And we’ve been on such good behavior and all…I wonder what set him off.”

                “Can’t be sure. These guys were tougher than anything he usually employs. I have a bad feeling that these guys came from the Pitts with the wheels they brought with them. Cobbled together Frankenstein cars made from old racers and hotrods, all scrap you’d find down in Pit Boss territory.”

                Throttle frowned darkly. “Great. Last thing we need is for these fish faces to keep stacking the deck against us. We’ve already got one scalpel wielding menace to deal with, much less a Pit Boss collaboration.” He brought the kit over to Vinnie, settling down to start patching up while Charlie helped Karma bring the bikes in. “Maybe this is their way of saying the cease fire is over.”

                “Can it be over if it never really started?” Vinnie wondered.

                As the tan mouse moved to disinfect and clean the open wound on his bicep, he caught a glimpse of the cuff now fastened around Throttle’s right arm, sitting above the tattered red bandana he always wore there.

                “Hey, new accessory?” he mused, reaching for it absently before Throttle registered the question. As Throttle’s wrist turned, he glimpsed the large red orange stone set in the middle of the cuff, and the meaning of the item clicked immediately into place.

                His eyes widened, looking up as he locked eyes with his brother.

                “Is that…?”

                Throttle’s cheeks went a little pink under his fur and his smile gave him away.  “I was gonna tell you and Modo and soon as you got back, it was…spur of the moment.” He looked back at Max, who was just becoming aware that the cat was out of the bag.

                “Dammit! Here, I wanted to do a whole announcement! I was gonna get balloons and fireworks, maybe some doves…it would have been epic. Remy could have put it on that Instagram thing she’s obsessed with.” Max teased, but his smile was as bright as Vinnie had ever seen it and despite the teasing he was practically giddy.

                Vinnie didn’t know what to say, sitting there on the work stool, still bleeding, with this information dropped in his lap.  A million half formed thoughts rushed through his brain like the wind ahead of a storm. Too many intermingled to pinpoint a single one.

                “Vincent?”

                Throttle’s voice was worried as Vinnie suddenly refocused, finding his bro leaning closer, Max having moved to stand beside him.

                “Huh?”

                “Jeez bro, you looked like you were about to keel over. Didn’t think it was possible for you to get any whiter.” Max offered, hand on his other shoulder as Throttle hurriedly went back to patching him up. Vinnie winced when the disinfectant’s cold sting met the open wound.

                “Sorry. It’ll be over in a second.”

                Charlie and Karma reemerged, Charlie smiling at her boys. “Well, what’s the damage? Looks like once again you and Cherry got matching dings.” She sighed. She expected Vinnie to make some jokey comeback, but he seemed to be surprisingly mute, almost dazed.

                She moved in front of him as Throttle finished taping the gauze down over the wound, cupping his face and turning his attention towards her. “Hey, you with me, hot shot? You look a like you saw a ghost.”

                Modo made himself known then, appearing at the stairs. “Hey, what’s all the commotion? Didn’t realize you let me sleep so long.” He yawned. His eye widened at the sight of Vinnie being patched up, simultaneously noting that the whole vibe of the room felt strange.

                “What did I miss?”

                “A lot, as matter of fact.” Max shrugged. He looked to his partner and gave him a little nudge. “Well…I don’t have any doves, but uh…you wanna tell ‘em the good news?”

                Throttle slipped his hand into Max’s before looking to address Modo and the rest of the group. “So…seems Max and I are gonna make things real official!”

                He raised the cuff to show it off. Max beaming with pride beside him. “Now I know it’s a little on the antique side, but trust, it’s the real deal. Been meaning to ask your bro for awhile now, but you know—world saving and rescue missions just tend to eat up the schedule.” He squeezed Throttle’s hand, fingers lacing with his, leaning in closer to nuzzle against him. “But I just…couldn’t wait anymore.”

                 Modo had moved towards them then, his confused smile getting bigger and brighter as the information seemed to settle over him. “Engaged! My bro!  If Mama were here, she’d fall on her knees and yell finally!” He laughed, making Throttle laugh too.

Modo opened his arms to hug him, pulling the other mouse away from his fiancé in a fierce hug that nearly lifted him off the ground.

“Easy big guy, don’t break ‘im!” Max laughed. “And don’t hug me next! I like my spine in the shape it’s in!”

“Hey, hey, The former groom should be the first to hug the next one, it’s tradition in the Maverick house.” He chuckled, eventually settling Throttle back down, the tan mouse slightly winded from the experience. He rubbed his ribs as he laughed.

“Yeah I recall…didn’t you damn near crush poor Enfield when him and your sister got married?”

Modo paused to think. “Hmm, don’t recall. But he was scrapper than you remember. Wiry little guy, certainly gave a run for my money.”

He clapped his hands on Throttle’s shoulders and leaned close, bowing forehead to forehead with him. “I’m so happy for you.” It was sincere, and tinged with a faint-heart heaviness that only the three brothers understood.

“Thanks, big fella…”

Modo’s eye shifted towards Max, who’s tail suddenly went rigid as he recognized he was now on the spot. “Hey, hey! Don’t look at me like that! No Maverick bear hugs--!”

                He couldn’t escape it however, as Modo snatched the other mouse easily and brought him into a purposefully crushing hug, holding him at least a foot off the ground. Which was a feat in and of itself as the pair were nearly the same weight.

                Charlie and Karma laughed at the struggle, Modo finally relenting when Max wheezed out a plea and setting him down again with a playfully aggressive slap on the back for good measure. He would have gone straight on his face if Modo hadn’t kept him up right with one hand on his chest.

“Well, about time you made an honest mouse of our bro, I suppose! I know he’s in good hands with you, Max.”

                “…thanks…” Max coughed, rubbing his chest as he tried to inhale fully again. “…really appreciate the bode of confidence…”

                Charlie moved in, green eyes bright and then laughed and hugged them both. “This is amazing news, you guys! But boy, none of you mice understand a single thing about timing do you!?” She laughed. The mechanic pressed kisses to both their cheeks and an extra on Throttle’s, looping her arms tight around his neck in a private hug. “Does he make you happy?” she asked quietly in his ear, already knowing the answer.

                “The happiest.”

                She grinned and kissed his cheek again. “And you two are both completely nuts. Perfect match, I’d say. Don’t let him get away.”

                “Not a chance, Charlie-girl.”

They hugged each other tight as Karma sidled up to Max and patted him appreciatively on the shoulder, though she had to reach up to do so, their height difference rather stark. “Well done, Tourmaline. Guess this makes us…still not related at all.” She winked.

                “Oh, I think not, little lady. This group of weirdos here has their own gravitational pull, I’ve noticed. Once you’re sucked into orbit doesn’t seem to be any getting out. Never mind specifics.”

                As the laughter died down, both Throttle and Modo noticed that their third was missing. Vinnie had vanished, from the door to the newly attached living quarters Charlie had made for them, they heard the shower running.

                Uncertain quiet fell over them.

                Karma shrugged back at the group, “He probably needed to dust off, that’s all. It was a bit of wild ride out there with those monster car boys.”

                “Monster cars?” Modo asked, ears perking in confusion.

                “Limburger and the Pitt Boss might be collaborating,” Charlie explained. “But I don’t know yet. Let me…”

                Throttle urged her on knowingly. She gave a nod in return and disappeared into their bedroom, pushing the door closed behind her.

                “Vinnie?” The door to the connected shower was open and Charlie moved carefully around the discard of jeans, boots and various battle gear until she stepped into the partially unfinished bathroom

                Vinnie was indeed in the shower, his back to her, just standing in the spray.  Cautiously, she moved towards him, opening the foggy glass door. She didn’t care that she was still dressed, or that her clothes were already becoming heavy and damp in the residual spray.

                She laid her hands on Vinnie’s back, feeling the tense muscles clearly through his skin and damp fur. “Honey…”

                Vinnie didn’t answer her, but he didn’t flinch away either. Worried, Charlie slipped fully into the shower with him, only stopping to kick off her shoes and ducked under his outstretched arms until she was firmly in front of him.

                “Hey…you’re scaring me. Honey, talk to me.”

                He eventually met her gaze, panting and clearly upset. “I’m an asshole.”

                She laughed without meaning to, the statement confusing her. “What are you talking about?”

                “I’m an asshole, Charlie. I can’t…he wants me to be happy for him, and I should be but…I just can’t. Can’t look at him and say…that I think this is a good idea.”

                “Vinnie, you’re not making sense.”

                “They can’t get married. They can’t.”

                “What, why? Slow down…”

                “They’ve only known each other a year! A year?! Charlie…his mother is a monster, and I know that isn’t Max’s fault, but how can they just jump into this without considering what that means!? It’s going to put them both in danger and I can’t just…be happy about it!”

                He seemed on the verge of spirally, and she took his face between her hands, bringing him back to her and just the moment at hand. “You don’t know that, okay? You don’t know that this is a bad idea. They love each other, Vinnie. And Max has done nothing but show us where his loyalty lies. I understand you saw some bad shit on Mars, but you can’t let that color every decision. Especially ones that aren’t yours to make.”

                “He’s gonna get hurt!”

                “What’s going to hurt him more? The possibility that his future in-law is a manipulative monster?---Common experience by the way, thank you very much—or that his best friend isn’t happy for him? Doesn’t support him being with the man he clearly loves?”

                Vinnie sighed, trying to argue, but she wouldn’t let him. “Hasn’t there been enough hurt between you two already? He needs you. So be there for him.”

                He deflated at this, as usual the woman having made her point masterfully. He leaned closer to her, always wanting to be in her space, to be as close as he could get. “You’re right.” He admitted.

                She grinned. “As usual.”

                He glanced down at her now completely soaked shirt that was sticking to every curve of her. “Looks like we’re gonna have to get you out of those wet clothes, babe.”

                She smirked, looping her arms around his neck. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

                He kissed her hard, pressing her against the wall, and quickly began to pull off the soaking clothing until it fell to the floor with an audible wet thud.

                “Did you lock the door?” he panted, hands all over her, mouth at her neck. She glanced nervously back towards the bedroom door, unable to remember if she had turned the latch, then forgot everything when his hand slipped between her thighs.

***

Chapter Text

*mild spicy chapter, heavy angst, lotta gay

***

                The sky above the Sand Raider camp had gone bloodshot with sunset. Great swaths of bloody red and cerulean blue laced over soft faded orange tinged clouds. Another long day drawing towards a close.

                Bowie woke. He felt heavy and weak. Like he had been all night with he flu, on his knees in front of the porcelain god, waiting for his suffering to end. But there was no pain really. Not like their had been. No burning ache in his body and head.

                This upgrade in his physical state was made even better by the sight in front of him. Lying right beside him, watching him intently, was Stoker.

                As his one working eye fixed on the dark furred mouse, Stoker smiled and leaned closer towards him, hand brushing across his cheek and bushing hair from his face. “Welcome back.”

                Bowie’s shaking limbs reached for him, and Stoker moved closer, and letting the golden furred mouse bury himself against him, face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, gripping him like he had just woke from a nightmare. It was not so far from the truth, after all.

                Stoker held him, shushed him, ghosting affection across his cheek and temple and ear, mumbling apologies that Bowie didn’t want or need. All he needed was this. He had always needed this. More than he often let on. But now when he needed it the most, Stoker hadn’t let him down.

                He heard stirring beyond them somewhere, and this made him gather himself, catch his breath again. He pulled back from his partner and looked around them for the first time. They were not in the tent that he last recalled. Though that could have been a dream. Just as he wondered if the cage had been a dream.

                Instead, they were in some sort of shack. The wind from outside whistled in through cracks in the paneling, some metal, some wood, some other materials. It seemed as if the structure itself was just largely composed of scrap pieces. There was tarp dividing the small space that he and Stoke were lying in from the rest. He heard voices. Harley’s and two younger voices as well. Ones he slowly recognized as children.

                “Where are we?” he croaked, voice still cracked and dry.

                “Somewhere in the wasteland, my love,” Stoker sighed, shaking his head. “A long way from home. It’s been difficult to keep my bearings here. We’re camping in some sort of crater where they’ve built a transient outpost.”

                “They?”

                “Sand Raiders.”

                “Of course.” Bowie nodded, head sinking back tiredly to rest on the lumpy mattress they were sharing. His head swam, waves of chills and feverish heat chasing each other through his over-taxed frame. After collecting himself for a moment, he took stock of Stoker again. The scars on his face from the fight in the tunnel with the Rats. The dirty bandages around his wrist and hand.

                Bowie touched it gingerly. “Did I do this?”

                Stoker shook his head. “No baby, you didn’t hurt me.” He kissed him to assure him, lingering close. Bowie felt the tightness in his throat as he leaned close over him, smelled the saline of unshed tears. “Gods, you scared the fuckin’ shit out of me.”

                Bowie gave a strained, wheezy laugh that came out more pitifully than he meant it to. “I’m sorry…didn’t mean to. But it ain’t like we haven’t been in bad scrapes before, babe. That’s what we do. We get into trouble. We get out of it. We fuck, we fight, we make up…same as it’s always been.”

                “Not like this.” Stoker answered, too seriously for the bartender’s liking.

                They were quiet and close for another few moments, Bowie trying to absorb this. Trying to remember. But things were too jumbled, too disjointed in his tired brain and body. “Okay…so we maybe avoid this scenario in the future then, huh?”

                Stoker laughed, and that was all Bowie wanted. All he needed to chase away the shadow of doom that was still at the edges of the room.

                The sound alerted the rest of those sharing the ramshackle place with them, the tarp being pushed aside as Harley appeared. Seeing both her boys, awake and alert, made the nurse smile brightly.  “Good!  You’re up just in time for supper.”

                “Are you the meal?” Bowie teased.

                She moved towards them, moving to kneel on the mattress beside him and Stoker shifted so that she could have the other mouse to herself a moment, pulling him close and kissing him gently. “See, that’s how I know you’re feeling better.” She teased softly.

                Bowie wanted to pull them both down and keep them there. Just stay right there and pretend like they were back home in their apartment above the bar. That this was a lazy Sunday morning, with nowhere to be.

                Harley held and kissed him a moment longer, then sat up and began to inspect him, taking his temperature, his pulse, and his eyes. “Bow, can you see me on this side?”” she asked, lightly touching his cheek below the eye that had gone milky.

                Bowie’s hand slipped over hers as he blinked. His vision was strange now. He was not blind exactly, but it seemed to him everything on his right had gone faintly filmy and grainy.  “Sort of…” he mumbled, which seemed to surprise both his partners. “Why? Is it bad?”

                Harley and Stoker glanced at each other. “Probably some retinal damage. Treatable, maybe.” The nurse mused before sitting back and looking up at the low ceiling of the shack. There was a small round window up there, dingy with dust, but they could still see the sky. “If we ever get the hell out of here.”

                “We will. Five more days, and then Atlas’s clan meets with Slobber’s. If we ever have a chance of getting out, it’s then.” Stoker explained.

                Bowie looked between them. “One of you wanna catch me up on whatever hare-brained scheme you’ve cooked up now?” he looked pointedly at Stoker as he said this. “How did we get out of the dome? Where are the boys? Or anyone for that matter?”

                Harley and Stoker looked anxiously at each other again, and this time Bowie frowned. “Stop that! I can see you, you know, and neither one of you are subtle.” He struggled to sit up, limbs still feeling like jelly. He nearly fell back, but was braced easily by Stoker, who propped him up.

                “Don’t rush yourself! Bowie you’ve been more than half-dead for days—”

                “So what?” the bartender muttered. It was bravado, and they all knew it. But it was frustration to. He steadied himself as best as he could between them. “I know I’ve gone a little soft over the years…but I’ve been in the trenches with both of you. And you should know that.” He poked at Stoker, who relented with a nod.

                “I do. And you’re one tough cookie. You have to be to survive living with my dumb ass for all these years.” He amended. “But Frenzy is a different breed, honey. It took Modo some time to get bounce back from it after the vaccine, Harley too.” He glanced at his wife and she nodded in confirmation.  “You can’t push yourself too hard too fast. And you know it’s serious if I’m the one saying it.”

                Harley leaned in and nodded. “Listen to him. He’s got his head on straight for once.”

                Bowie softened for her and nodded.

                “Stoke and I followed you through a tunnel under the church back in Caria. It dumped us outside the city. But Sand Raiders were waiting for us. They took us prisoner, we’ve been here since. That was three…maybe four weeks ago now.”

                Bowie stared at her, disbelieving. “Three weeks?” he mumbled. Flashes of memory came back to him, flickers of pain and desperate thirst as he stumbled through the desert. Violence in the canyon. Stoker shouting his name, and a desperate urge to hurt him.

                Bowie paled, slumping back onto the bed with his hands over his face.

                Rustling of the tarp announced another entry. Lexi and Kirk poking their heads in curiously. “Everything okay?” Lexi asked, looking at the three mice on the bed together. He was pleasantly surprised to see that Bowie was alert, even if he didn’t look happy or particularly well at the moment.

                Harley rose, “Everything’s fine. Let’s clear up the rations and hide what we can. Come on,” she ushered them quickly back into the other side of the shack, leaving Stoker and Bowie alone once more.

                As the bartender laid there, trying to digest everything, he asked the most pertinent question of the many that were circling around his head.

                “Why is this happening?”

                It hung in the air a long moment between them, and Bowie hadn’t really expected an answer. Not from the mouse beside him. It had been more of a query to the universe at large. Why was this happening?

                “It’s because of us. Our unfinished business.” Stoker’s voice was flat, and tired.

                Bowie looked at him, seeing his profile in the little light of the room. The way he stared off at nothing, as if looking through the walls, out across the distance to some unknown vantage point. Bowie had seen him look that way a thousand times over the years, but it always unsettled him. It was the same way a General looks down the battlefield, weighing the odds, acknowledging the specter of death, who was always waiting. Biding time. Neither friend nor foe. Inevitable.

                “What?” the bar tender mumbled.

                “Colby. This is all because of Colby.” His gaze shifted to Bowie. “Don’t you remember?”

                He didn’t. Not at first. The name was familiar, but how could it not be, so associated with their greatest enemies? But by and by, studying his lover’s expression, it came back to him through the fog.

                “The occupation?”

                Stoker nodded.

                “Gods…that was so long along. That was…”

                “Before the Freedom Fighters. Before Harley.  Before the fall. Before everything completely went to hell. That was the beginning of all of this. The rotten heart of it all.” Stoker looked down his aching and bandaged hand, absently rubbing it. “I should have killed him.” He mumbled, regretfully.

                Bowie raised himself, propping himself against his lover’s body for support. In the closeness they both smelled like sweat, dust and blood. Not so different from many other battles. And not so different from that day either.

                “You couldn’t have known what he would do, Stoke.” He offered softly. He pushed his long hair aside and pressed a kiss to his neck, trying to soothe.

                The memory of that first attack on Bowie’s bar was alive between them. It hadn’t been in the same place it was now, nestled in the heart of Brimstone’s old neighborhood. It had been on the outskirts of town, a little road-side dive that had few but loyal patrons. Stoker being one of them. Freshly bereft of his wife and child after what the government would classify as an “accident” and “isolated incident” having nothing at all to do with the new Plutarkian presence on Mars.

                The night Bowie had thrown out a group of Plutarkian officers who had been stinking up the bar, baiting Stoker into a fight. One that he surely would have lost. Only for two of the young cadets to come back later that night, well after closing, and trying ambush the mouthy bartender and his pitbull of a patron. Likely to make an example of them…

                The bar on fire after…the Plutarkians the ones who became the example. Don’t fuck with Martian Mice. They have teeth, and they will use them.

                Bowie kissed Stoker’s neck again, arm looped around his waist. “You let him live because you saw how young he was. Young and stupid. You wanted to show him mercy.”

                “No.” Stoker answered softly. “That’s not why.”

                Bowie blinked at him, and Stoker put his hand over his against his waist. “I let him go…because I had already killed his friend. I wanted him to be scared. I want him to take that fear back and tell his other disgusting little friends. I wanted someone to live to tell the tale. But clearly, I chose the wrong one to spare.”

                Bowie searched his face. He knew Stoker wasn’t lying. But he had been there too. And this was not the whole truth. “That’s not what you told me.”

                Stoker sighed, fingers squeezing Bowie’s. “Sure I didn’t…I didn’t want you to think I was a monster.”

                “No part of you has ever been a monster. Ever.”

                They laid back together on the bed, Bowie growing too weary to stay upright. Stoker held him again, and he went into that embrace gratefully, feeling safe again. The same way he had felt safe that night he’d lost his first bar. Even blood drenched, Stoker was never someone he feared. Not a monster, not something made of hatred and wrath, but someone full of righteous fury. A sword to Bowie’s shield.

                “We’ll finish this the way it started, then. You and I.”

                Stoker’s voice rumbled through the warm dark, Bowie feeling the vibrations of it in his throat which he was nuzzled against. It made him want to give into sleep again, knowing that his partner was wide awake, watching, guarding. Nothing could hurt him here. Nothing at all.

**

                The Last Chance Garage remained closed for business for the rest of the day. It’s occupants more than busy with other matters.

                So it was a wild relief to Max Tourmaline when his lover—now fiancé—suggested that they take the evening patrol around the city. But instead of taking their now well practiced route through the neighborhood and towards Eris, Throttle lead them to a new location.

                Wriggly field. Presently closed for construction and renovation, it’s vast parking lot abandoned. Baseball season had been over for awhile now, and the echoes of the fans cheers were just fond memories of the summers past.

                “Uh, babe? What are we doing here?” the dark furred mouse asked as they pulled their bikes into a well hidden parking nook hidden below the bleachers. “I’m pretty sure there’s no game tonight.”

                Throttle grinned back at him. “Just trust me, okay?”

                Max chuckled and shook his head, “You absolutely abuse that phrase, you know that?”

                Throttle didn’t answer, instead leading him towards a covered stair well that seemingly would lead to the top of the stadium seats. Instead, they found themselves even higher, climbing into the broad rectangular structure of the actual scoreboard.

                Inside was dark, dusty but shockingly warmer than he expected. Especially from a place he hadn’t realized existed. From the outside the scoreboard screen looked like a flat monolith, but it’s interior spoke of a different time and place.

                He was shocked not only to find a space big enough to not only house wiring and necessary mechanisms for the scoreboard to be lit and operated, but something that was felt more like the interior of a spacecraft. Catwalks and metal stairways spidering up the walls in zig-zags back and forth from wall to wall, while the lower tier housed a collection of remnants. Everything from actual scoreboard equipment, to what had obviously been repurposed and reused pieces of Martian Space ship.

                Close and cozy quarters once for three fugitive bikers from the red planet.

                Throttle moved along the wall, feeling for the fuse box and finding the right switch with some effort as his fiancé stood staring at it, trying to drink in all the little details. With a loud pop and clack, the lights inside came on. Flickers of string lights with bright Edison bulbs, mixed with Christmas lights in their nostalgic mixed colors flickered into existence, all dangling from the railings of stairs and the undersides of the cat walks, illuminating the space below in warm hues.

                Max spotted the control chairs from what would now be considered a vintage Martian Space cruiser, that had been repurposed as lounge chairs. Max saw more parts that had been scrapped and repurposed too. Sleeper bunks that had been pulled out and remolded to be free standing, propped against one wall. Several video screens and consoles rigged up here and there in front of a decidedly rusty folding table and chairs—both of which were decidedly earth made. There was a salvaged couch with broken legs that sat flat on the floor atop a thread-bare rug that looked like a tire or two had been driven over it more than once. It was flanked by a hodge podge of end tables, each sporting a salvaged lamp. One of which seemed to be a little vintage hula dancer. Though Max was only vaguely aware of what that even was.

There was a small cooler close to the couch and end tables, next to a television sitting on a crate.  Behind all this, there was what looked to be ply board room, something that was sectioned off for privacy, not so different from what they had started at the Last Chance. The ply board walls covered in posters and fliers and various memorabilia. And beyond this, there remained a plethora of just…parts. Bike parts, machine parts, mechanic tools and work benches. All of it entombed here.

                Everything seemingly left exactly as it was the last time was used 15 years ago.

                Max looked around at all of it in awe, and Throttle studied his expression.

                “What is all this?”

                “Welcome to the Scoreboard. Our little home away from home when we first crashed here.” Throttle explained.

                “You mean…I thought you guys staid at the Last Chance?”

                “We did, eventually. You don’t expect a girl like Charlie to let three aliens move into her place on the first meeting, do you?” he chuckled. He paused now to marvel at all of it. How had become like a strange time-capsule.

                “Wow…looks like she really did leave everything just the way we left it.” He moved from the fuse box towards the old lounge chairs and the table they were gathered around. There were still empty cans of soda, now dusty, sitting on the table. Finger prints still able to be seen in the relief of the dust. It gave him a strange shiver to look at them.

                “This is adorable.” Max chuckled, and it shook Throttle from his revere, making him blink at him in question.

                “Adorable?” he questioned.

                Max chuckled. “Come on…this place? It’s so…bro coded, you know what I mean? Stuck somewhere between being kids out on their own and…technopunk? Is that the word?”

                Throttle rolled his eyes. “Sorry it’s not up to your taste, babe. We made due with what we could get our hands on. Which was mostly scrap.”

                “Are you kidding me!? I love it!” Max beamed. “This place—despite the cobwebs—this place has more…you in it than your apartment back in Brimstone ever had.”

                He rushed to explore more of the details, rifling through drawers of salvaged consoles, finding old clothing and junk and yet more weapons and parts. A clutter bomb of the practical, tactical and downright weird.

                Finally Max pulled himself from his excitement of discovery to look back at his fiancé, who was watching him silently. “Why did you want to show me all this? We’ve been back for weeks and you guys haven’t even made mention of it…why do I get to be the first to crack open the vault?”

                “Well…the timing seemed right. Scoreboard was always a place to run to when the world, hell the universe, felt a little too big, a little too much. It’s like a touch stone. Maybe it can be for you too.”

                Max nodded, feeling that familiar warm rush as the tan  mouse moved closer to him again. “It will be if you’re here.” He noted.

                Throttle pulled him in, looping his finger through one of Max’s belt loops to bring him flush against him, and the dark furred mouse turned pink under his fur, no longer noticing the cold.

                “Plus, we didn’t really get a chance to take in what’s happened. You popping the question and all.” Throttle teased.

                “Oh?”

                “Yeah…you know you beat me to it. If we were still on Mars, I would have—”

                Max kissed him, unable to help himself. “I don’t want to think about home right now,” he mumbled in the spaces between their mouths colliding. “I just want to be here, in this place, with you. Just you.”

                Throttle nodded eagerly, because that was exactly what he wanted too.

                They pressed close, kissing touching, suddenly too much separating them. Throttle pulled them towards the lower bunk of the bed, pushing Max down on the comforter and climbing over him, hands running through his hair and up and down his neck and chest, over his hard stomach and—

                Max gasped loudly, arching his hips when Throttle teased him through his jeans, suddenly so hard he could barely stand it. “Babe, please…”

                Throttle shushed him softly, kissing him deeply and doing his best to pull them both out of their clothes without breaking contact.

                They had been together as often as possible in the last few weeks, despite the close quarters. But this felt different. Felt more intimate. It wasn’t just chasing closeness or a quick high from orgasm. It wasn’t stress relief or distraction.

                It was connecting, and making a deeper bond. It felt like both of them had something to say to the other, and this was the only way they could express it. Full bodied and close. With no thought to anyone around them.

                After a few moments the only clothing between them was the cuff around Throttle’s wrist and Max rolled his fingers and palm over the stone set into it as he trialed his hands up and down the tan biker’s muscular arm.

                So many scars between them in their nakedness, each one a different story. Max traced the places in Throttle’s skin where the fur was thinned and showed the marks. Places the biker thought ugly, but Max wanted to map. Throttle did the same to him, leaving the dark furred mouse trembling and not understanding how his partner was so gentle with him and so possessive all at once. When Throttle touched him, he knew he was no one else’s. And he loved that. A high all it’s own.

                Max was panting, skin electric, raking his fingers up and down Throttle’s spine and through his hair while the other seemed to be trying to kiss every inch of him all the way down to where he wanted his mouth most. He’d never felt so wanted.

                “I love you.” Throttle panted.

                “I love you…” Max echoed, but the sentiment was muffled by another moan that slipped out of him, too urgent to wait.

                Tourmaline let his vision go soft and hazy, staring up at the dangling lights hanging above their heads from the catwalks, the small square windows that weren’t true windows but places where the letter board had come loose, letting in purple twilight from outside.

                For a moment he wished he could stop time, and stay right here. In this moment. Every time their chaotic world slowed down long enough to let them catch their breath like this, he made this wish. Collecting moments he could keep and live in mentally forever. As if he were stock piling. As if someday, those moments might be all he had.

                That fear caught in his chest and choked him, startling him with how sudden and unexpectedly it had come over him. He gasped, but not out of pleasure this time. Throttle looked up at him, hearing the shift in his tone.

                “Babe? Did I hurt you?”

                Max shook his head, the idea ridiculous, but pulled him back closer so that the biker was fully spread over him. “No…no just…impatient.” He flashed that too bright grin, but his eyes were wet.

                Throttle held him tightly and didn’t ask, his eyes searching Max’s a moment more before kissing him deeply again, holding him tight. It seemed to soothe whatever ache had settled in Max’s chest, the sudden anxiety beginning to fade.

                “Sure you’re okay?”

                Max huffed a laugh and turned his lover’s head so he could kiss his neck, scraping his teeth across the taught length of his throat and hearing Throttle moan in response, hips rolling against him automatically and giving Max the friction he was dying for. “I’ll be better when you fuck me into this mattress…” he replied.

                Throttle did not have to be given the queue twice. He pulled back onto knees and nearly hit his head on the underside of the top bunk. Max giggled at him, “Guess you boys didn’t entertain here much…” but before he could add to the joke, Throttle growled and flipped him over onto his stomach, fingers gripping his hips as he dragged Max up on his knees.

                The tan mouse leaned over him again, grinding up against him and making Max whine with anticipation. Throttle nipped at his ear.  “Whatever you need, babe. I’m all yours, you’re all mine.”

                Max arched back, breathless, trying to catch his mouth to kiss him, but Throttle pushed his head down, fingers twisting lovingly in his hair and Max melted completely. Everything turning to a heated haze where he forgot everything but Throttle’s name.

                It was night when they finally grew quiet again, the pair tangled, still naked and half asleep in the thoroughly abused and used bunk. The wind that whistled through the upper half of the scoreboard hummed and sang and made the string lights swing lightly above them, adding to dreamy ambience of the place.

                Max was asleep against his chest, worn but utterly content, his ear flat against Throttle’s chest, lulled by the steady heartbeat inside.

                Throttle on the other hand was more wakeful, despite the almost achy satisfaction he felt after such an intense session together. Something in him still felt unsettled. Out of place. Like a rock stuck in his shoe.

                He might take a few steps without feeling it, but eventually it would shift and poke and stab, only to be shaken and start the process over again. But the shape of the rock kept changing. It was not just that they were still stuck here, the fate of their friends and family unknown. Or that their enemies on this planet kept mounting. Or that Modo seemed less and less stable since their encounter at the apartment. Or that Mace was wandering around somewhere…possibly dying.

                Or that Max had hidden his mother’s connections, afraid to speak the truth.

                It was all those things on top of one that felt particularly sharp. The way Vinnie had reacted to the news of his engagement. The look in his eyes when Throttle had told him.

                Was it…disappointment? Disbelief? Something else?

                He didn’t know. Couldn’t pin point it. But his confusion, followed by the way he had ducked out without saying anything else on the matter, had left the tan mouse feeling heavy. Hurt.

                It felt like whatever scab had formed over the open wound that he and Vinnie’s relationship had been ripped off, bleeding fresh again.

                Throttle closed his eyes against the thoughts. He had come here to escape such things, holding Max tighter as if to ward them off.

                The dark furred mouse in his arms sighed, clearly roused by the movement. “Mmm…what’s wrong?” he mumbled thickly, still half sleeping.

                “Nothing.” Throttle lied, kissing his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

                Max shook his head, curls and locks falling every which way and shifted so he was pinning the tan mouse to the bed beneath him, looking down at him like he was considering him for a snack. “No way…just needed a little power nap to recharge. What do you say, handsome? Round two?”

                Throttle laughed, “You just woke up, you can’t be—” he glanced between Max’s legs and blinked. “—nevermind.”

                Max kissed him and Throttle moaned into it, flexing his wrists under Max’s hold to test it. Tourmaline didn’t yield, and that was fine by him. He used his tail to loop around the taller mouse’s waist and bring him down flush against him again, missing the warmth and the weight of him. Always hungry for closeness.

                But as ready as Max might be for a second romp, he could tell his partner was not. Not in the moment at least. “What’s on your mind, babe?”

                “Nothing.” Throttle tried to lie again, but Max caught him this time.

                “You’re tense. I can feel it. Your whole body is tight.”  He tapped his lover’s forehead lightly. “So what’s going on up here? Hmm?”

                The biker raised his hips slightly, brushing against him, causing more of that delicious friction between them. Trying to distract. Max kept him pinned and pressed back, not allowing him an inch. “Talk to me.”

                Throttle pressed back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. The dull ache ever present behind them. Another thing to worry about.

                “Too much.” Was all he managed.

                Max eased back, shifting their positions so he could hold his lover rather than pin him.

                “What can I do?”

                Throttle shook his head. He tired of talking. He just buried his face in the crook of Max’s neck and staid there, holding tight. This was what he wanted. Max gave it, without hesitation.

                They had almost dozed off again, content to spend the night here, when the familiar but distant sound of motorcycles interrupted the white noise of other traffic beyond the ball field.

                Max heard it first. His ears perked, listening hard and keeping Throttle right where he was, tucked against his shoulder, heavy and mostly asleep. He prayed it wasn’t what he thought. That maybe some other bikers were just riding without mufflers or something. The sound faded, and he thought for a moment they would be in the clear.

                But then the sound of footsteps coming up the long flight of stairs into the Scoreboard itself told him that their temporary love nest had visitors. They were both up, Throttle looking even more startled and cursing under his breath as he struggled to find and pull on his clothing.

                “Told ya they’d be here!” Vinnie’s voice echoed off the high walls, making them both cringe. Max, more dressed than his fiancé, bolted up out of the bunk and moved to intercept their company, catching sight of Modo and Vinnie as they appeared on the catwalk above.

                “Hey there, boys! I see this place doesn’t have a door bell…shame really.”

                “Never needed one.” Modo mused, looking down at him. “Oh Mama…this place hasn’t changed a bit!”

                “No kidding…” Vinnie added, the pair of them descending onto the main floor. “Whoa. It’s like we never left! Everything in the same spot!” he laughed and then looked at Max. “Well…almost everything.”

                Modo cuffed him lightly from behind, making him yelp. “Can’t help yerself, can ya?”

                “What did I say? Huh!?”

                Modo peered around Max, spying the rumbled lower bunk and Throttle’s boots on the floor but no sign of the mouse in question. Then he spotted rustling behind the tarp and the plywood room.

                “We thought you guys were out on patrol. It was getting late we hadn’t heard from ya…got worried. Tried to radio you, but uh…”

                “Yeah, sorry about that.” Max replied with chagrin. “Guess we got a little distracted. Throttle brought me here, wanted to show me around your old digs. I gotta say…it’s not bad for a hangout. Certainly looks like you boys made yourselves at home here.”

                Modo nodded. “It was home, for a really long time. We thought maybe forever, if we couldn’t get back.” He eyed the pieces of their spaceship that still remained here, now part of the structure of the scoreboard. Repurposed and reused for nearly everything but it’s original intent. “Strange, being back here now. Feels like another life.”

                His gaze turned back to Tourmaline then, looking him up and down in his state of half-dress and smiled knowingly. “Happy couple needed some alone time, hmm?”

                Max blushed, “Well…we wanted to celebrate.”

                Throttle emerged from beyond the tarp, looking slightly exasperated at the sudden drop in.

                “Hey bros…what’s up?”

                “You went dark, we got worried.” Vinnie replied. “Didn’t realize you stopped off for a quickie in our old hangout.” He stared at the lower bunk and the obviously rumpled sheets. “Please tell me you didn’t do it in my old hammock too.”

                Max turned to him, looking at Vinnie sharply. “You know I’ve about had—” Throttle slipped between them quickly, pressing a hand to Max’s chest to tamp down what was about to come next.

                “Vincent, why don’t you and I take a walk top side, huh?”

                Vinnie looked skeptical, but behind them Modo gave him a knowing look, one that warned him to take the offer. Vinnie sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine. Why not? A little fresh air never killed anyone.”

                Throttle nodded and looked back to Max, kissing him quickly. “Why don’t you have Modo show you our old ping-pong table? I thought I saw it back there among the parts.”

                Modo’s eye lit up, “Ooh yeah. There’s a muscle I haven’t flexed in a long time!” He grinned and put an arm around Max’s shoulder. “Come on, Tourmaline. I’m gonna teach you the long lost art of Earth table tennis. It’s a horrible game. You’ll love it.”

                Throttle and Vinnie climbed up the ladders and scaled cat walks until they could step out on the top of the scoreboard, taking in the full night view of Wrigley Field as only few ever got to experience it. The weather, luckily, was giving them something of a break. A warm front moving through and giving them a break from the oncoming cold.

                “Hmm…not the same when the stadium’s empty, is it?” Vinnie sighed, staring into the dark.

                Throttle joined him. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”

                He exhaled deeply, refusing to look at Vinnie directly as they stood next to each other, close enough to feel body heat, but feeling miles away.

                “This stops. Right now.”

                “What?”

                “Your beef with Max. It stops right now. I understand where you’re coming from, Vincent, really I do. But I can’t do this…this passive aggressive cheap shots you keep taking at him. He’s done nothing wrong!”

                “He lied!”

                “Oh wow, set the bar lower. He was afraid to tell me. Yeah, that sucks. For me. But it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with you.” He looked at Vinnie hard then. “I am so confused, you know that? You haven’t been in my life for two years. When you come back, you turn everything on it’s head and now…you wanna make judgements on the people in my life?!”

                Vinnie scoffed loudly, disgustedly, as if the very idea was ridiculous. “Oh please! I’m doing no such thing. I’ve got no problem with Max.”

                “Really?! Because you keep taking shots at him like it’s your job!”

                “You are one to talk. Did you forget how you behaved when Jessie came home? You and her were always sniping at each other. You gave me and Modo hell over it!”

                Throttle shook his head. “That’s not the same…that’s not the same, and how dare you bring her into this!”

                “I’m just calling them like I see it, sweetheart.”  Vinnie said stubbornly, arms folded.

                For a long moment neither of them spoke, trying not to set off the time bomb that was ticking between them.

                “Why can’t you be happy for me?” Throttle asked again after a moment. “And you know what I mean. You said you were, but after I told you Max proposed…Vinnie, the way you looked at me…that wasn’t happiness. That wasn’t support. What was it?”

                Some of Vinnie’s pride ebbed, his guard lowering a bit more. “I just…I’ve seen you fall hard for the wrong people before. Its hard to watch.”

                “And what about Max makes you think he’s wrong for me?” Throttle asked pointedly. “What has he done, besides help me search for you and Modo? Help me protect Charlie? Support Stoker and I in Cathedra when votes and opinion go against us? What has he done, Vinnie, that makes him unworthy?”

                Vinnie didn’t have an answer. Not a ready one at least. “Max is great, for all those things. Really, he is.”

                “Then what is it!?” Throttle demanded, on the edge of pleading. “Do you have any idea how much this hurts?! I have always stood beside you, even at the beginning of you and Charlie, when things were so wild and uncertain. I would have never stood here and tried to tear you down.”

                “I’m not afraid of Max! I’m afraid of what his family will do to you when they find out that you want to bind yourself to him! I’m afraid of how they’re going to come for you Throttle! How they’re gonna tear you apart, piece by piece. Not just for what you fight for, not just for our past here and on Mars, but for every mistake you’ve ever made! Do you get it yet!? Everyone will know what happened to Jessie. Everyone.”

                Throttle just stared at him in the dark, trying to absorb this. His hands started to shake.

                “That’s a fucking lie…everyone already knows.”

                “They know she died in an accident involving a smuggler and a spy, they don’t know it that was by your hand. You think if that was public record that you ever would have been able to set foot in the Cathedra as Lieutenant, even with Carbine and Stoker pulling for you? No way, man. The details were covered. Stoke made sure of it.”

                “It was an accident…”

                “She was killed by one of the Biker Mice from Mars. Intergalactic heroes. You know, that time when we were still considered heroes and not has-beens? You don’t get to make a mistake like that and—”

                “STOP!” The sound coming out of Throttle mouth was so loud and wrenching that it frightened both of them, and Vinnie suddenly lost whatever residual anger that had been building in him. Throttle seemed so broken, leaning on the safety rail for support, face in his hands. “Stop stop stop…please…I can’t talk about her. I can’t.”

                Vinnie gave a shaky sigh himself. This hurt. It felt like disinfecting a wound. The sting and pain of it momentarily making you feel worse than the injury itself. He swallowed whatever tears were trying to well up, moving closer to his bro, cautiously putting a hand on his back. Unsure if he’d allow it.

                “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to…I just got you back in my life. I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“And what’s the solution, Vinnie?” Throttle gasped, gaining enough composure to speak again, but feeling too frayed to keep his usual cool. “To keep you and Modo I have to lose everyone else?! What the hell?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Isn’t it? I’m going to marry Max, whether you or his fucking cunt of mother like it or not! Somethings in my life has to be just mine, Vincent! Not everything can be about the fight! Not everything can be about the bad guys and the blood on our hands! I’m more than that! Modo is more than that! And so are you! Charlie and her kids need you. Karma needs you. And you have a literal bounty on your head. You’re going to tell me to walk away from the man who’s been the only thing keeping me from…” he choked off the rest of that sentence but Vinnie knew damn well what is was, saw the flash of it in his eyes, hated himself for knowing why it was there. “…you’re being a hypocrite. You didn’t forget about Charlie. I’m not going to forget about Max.”

Vinnie wanted to back off then. Wanted to concede the fight, apologize. Hug him and laugh it off over root beer and hot dogs. Tell him that he had just been hot around the collar. Jealous. Paranoid. Anything. He wanted to make this all better. But he couldn’t. He knew too much.

“I don’t want you to leave him. He loves you.” He offered. “Any idiot can see that.”

“But so can the Secretary. And maybe she’s tolerated a fling between you, for now. But when she gets wind of this, everything Stoker has helped you cover up is going to be exposed. What happened to my sister is going to be exposed. Your reputation, burned to the ground. And so what, right? You and lover-boy against the world, right? Except she won’t stop there. She will come after Modo and all of the Mavericks. Rimfire and Primer first for helping the Underground. We’ve already seen it. Then Sweep and Mama for harboring fugitives and traitors. I’m already set to fry, so let’s not even worry about that. I’m good as dead, just like you said."

                “Vinnie…”

                “Then she’ll come after Stoker. And Bowie. If he’s still alive. And Harley. And Carbine isn’t safe either, promise you that. Think she’ll like having to give birth in prison?”

“Stop,” Throttle begged now, his head throbbing, the spots beginning to appear in his vision from the stress.

“I can’t stop. Because she won’t. Everyone in your life will suffer for you two being together.” His face crumbled, chest burning. “And I know that isn’t fair. To you or him. You don’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve it then either.”

                “Then? What are you talking about…?”

                But he already knew. He had suspected from the start of the conversation. He shook his head, his eyes aching, burning with angry tears. “This isn’t like Mace…it isn’t!”

                Vinnie didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like Mace. Max was not a lying traitor using his brother as means to an end. But it was like Mace…in that he feared how impossible it might be for this love to survive. For it to not turn as deadly as did with the traitor in their midst.

                Throttle caught glimpse of himself in Vinnie’s mask, and had to look away, suddenly burning with shame and confusion that he didn’t know how to process. The last time he had made a mistake, what had it cost him? What had it cost them?

He looked like he might be sick, turning away from the other mouse, looking desperately out at the city skyline as if he might escape there somehow. “This isn’t fair…it’s not his fault.”

“I know.”

But of course, that didn’t change the situation.

Throttle seemed to struggle to catch his breath, to right himself.  “I need to get some air.” He mumbled. He moved, too fast for Vinnie to catch him, suddenly rushing towards the stairs. Not those leading down into the scoreboard itself but those leading off the roof.

“Throttle, wait, let’s just take a minute--!” Vinnie tried to chase him, pull him back, recognizing that awful look in Throttle’s eye. One he rarely saw, and thankful of it.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Throttle shouted, much to both his and Vinnie’s surprise. “Just get away from me! Are you ever going to be done punishing me for what I did!? I killed her, so now I can be alone forever, is that it!?”

“This has nothing to do with that!” Vinnie yelled, but he wished he sounded more convincing, even to himself.

Throttle yanked himself out of his reach and jumped from the stair, hitting the next level below hard and continuing to run right towards the edge. He gave a hard whistle and Vinnie heard the tell-tale thunder of Lady as she came racing to her rider’s call.

“THROTTLE!”

He couldn’t catch him, the tan mouse leaping off the stadium edge and going diving into thin air as if he would throw himself into the empty parking lot below. Lady caught him midway, the pair turning the fall easily into a controlled jump, bouncing into a wheelie and speeding away, leaving Vinnie staring after him in the dark.

***

Chapter Text

***

As it turned out, change was not the cure all he had once believed it would be.

 Alone in the refurbished penthouse, Limburger stewed on this fact. Marshall continued to rot in his bed, no signs of improvement. No matter there, he had already made himself “temporary” executor of all the daily operations in Eris. Marshall had a good thing going here, no reason to rock the boat if it kept up the protected façade they had curated here.  And in the meantime, he could work on his own pet projects, quietly, discretely. It was like pulling teeth, picking through old contacts, old resources. But he was managing.

This would have been so much easier if Karbunkle and Greaspit were still at his disposal. His only other “confidant” in this place was Thaddeous…and he had made himself scarce.

Limburger did not investigate. He would not even go into the lab hidden deep beneath the new building, its reconstruction now fully complete. The place felt…off. Even to him.

Once he would have sat here at his desk, bemoaning his quandary of the week, and moving on to his latest scheme to meet his quotas for the High Chairman. All while his minions staid well underfoot, pestering and prodding him, until inevitably his enemies would make an appearance and distract them.

Repetitive as it was…it had become pleasantly so in it’s way.

But his minions were gone now. There was no one to blame his failures on or vent his frustration.

And his enemies too…were being surprisingly quiet.

He had seen how their dynamics had shifted while in captivity and assumed they were still licking their wounds. He would happily leave them to it, were it not for the deep seeded assurance that as soon as he set even a toe out of line, they would be back.

It was all…unsettling.

But earlier that day had brought a small break in the doldrums. His monster squad of drivers—repurposed thugs and villains from the now deposed Pit Boss--had made a rather interesting mouse sighting and had engaged the vermin in a fight. And lost.

The outcome was woefully predictable unfortunately.

But it had been just what Limburger needed in that moment. A return to form. No more watching and waiting while his enemies lurked in hiding, likely amassing new resources to strip his nephew of the little control he had managed here. He would strike while they were weak and disorganized. Let them be preoccupied with fending off such cartoonish thugs, while he did the real work here.

His first order of business was to check in on Marshall’s co-conspirator in the little attack on Mars. He wanted to know where all the pieces were on the board. Then he could begin.

The communicator to his home world seemed to be…ill-used or late. Gathering dust. He wondered how often Marshall really did check in with Camembert or even his own mother. Though he supposed his new phone might possess the same capabilities. Bothersome devices really. Who in their right mind would make themselves that easily accessible to heavens knows how many interruptions?

But there was nothing like the mainstays for Lawrence Limburger. The classics.

As he configuration the coordinates for Colby—the ones that had once belonged to Stilton—he found that his fingers were actually shaking. He paused to compose himself. Unsure if the tremor was due to the memory of that place or from whatever sickness was beginning to eat away at him. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, and will the tremors to stop.

The ghost of Stilton rose in his mind and he tried to pushed it away. “Rot in silence you deluded oligarch and leave me what measure of peace I might still have…you sealed your own fate.”

Steeling himself, he opened the connection, waiting for the answer.

It rang and rang for a time and then…

“…you have some nerve.”

Limburger blinked, confused by not only the voice but the statement itself.

“I beg your pardon?”

As he stared at the screen, he was haunted by the view of a nearly dark room and a super plump figure squatting like a toad in a chair, only partially illuminated by the screen in front of him.

Limburger could just make out of his eyes. Sunken yellow bulbs that seemed bloodshot and suspicious looking back at him from the other side.

He felt distinctly like someone was walking over his grave then.

The shadowed figure before him squinted and leaned forward slightly. “Limburger? Is that you?”

Lawrence adjusted his tie uneasily. “I’m afraid so, Colby. My…it has been some time hasn’t it? You were practically a guppy last I laid eyes on you.” He paused and smirked. “The years have not been kind, I see. Mars ages a fish.”

“Where is Marshall?!” The fish on the other end seethed. “Where is that deserter! That traitor!! He lied! Lied like all of the rest of you!!”

He was howling, absolutely distraught with rage. Limburger took a step back from the screen as if the other might somehow by sheer force of will force his way through it and tear him fin from fin.

“I’m afraid my nephew is very ill at present, and cannot speak with you. But I’ll send your well wishes.” He nodded, trying to redirect his focus. “I’m calling you on a different matter. I think that it would be needless to let your present enterprise with my nephew deteriorate due to unforeseen circumstances. As I understand it…if was you, who lent him Dr. Thaddeous? And you who put him to work on this…Frenzy, as I understand.”

Colby looked at him in disgust. “You’re all the same, aren’t you? All you care about, all you can focus on in that little fish bowl of a skull is how to expand your profits…nothing means anything, does it? Only the money. The prestige. The façade.”

“Power, my dear fish. Power is what matters. Everything else is fringe benefits.” Limburger answered.

“I have enough Frenzy already well supplied here, Limburger…you’ll not get a dime from me. I haven’t any to barter with. Marshall and I operated on an understanding…”

“That being?”

“He produced the virus for me, I allowed Thaddeous to test it on Mars. When I saw the affects, he made more. And the vaccine.”

“Yes…it seems strange to create a cure for it. But, um…” his fingers were shaking again and he noticed the tell-tale flake of his skin beneath the cuff of his sleeve.  “The vaccine is indeed affective, isn’t it?”

Colby studied him. “Yes. Well enough. Thaddeous, as I understand it, has been testing new strains of the virus. Ones that are vaccine resistant.” His yellow eyes flashed in some sort of sadistic delight at the thought. “Faster acting too…I told him it was perfect, not to change a thing. But scientists…they have their own agendas.”

“Well, why not simply command that he stop?”

“That’s not our relationship. I don’t’ operate as you have Limburger. I don’t have employees…”

“Let me guess, you have friends?” the other snarked. “How quaint.”

Colby threw something at him, the drink splattering against the screen and causing a spidery crack in it. But the transmission thankfully did not go out. “If Marshall will not answer for his neglect of our deal then you can tell him to go fuck himself—”

“Wait wait!” Limburger gasped. “Let us not be hasty…as I said. I think we could make an arrangement of our own here, Colby. You needn’t rely soley on Marshall for…kinship, I suppose.”

Colby rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me laugh. You didn’t care about my welfare when I was cadet, Limburger. I hardly believe you’d have even the slightest bit of concern now.” He leaned closer to the screen, showing the haggard state of himself and making Limburger cringe. “Even I’m not that crazy…”

“You may not believe me, Colby, but I do remember you. It took me some time to do so, but admittedly…I’ve had an awfully long time to think lately.” He pulled up a chair and eased himself into it, finding his legs fatigued in ways they should not be. Like his hands, his knees had begun to tremble. Tired. The muscles aching.

“…you’ve started this vendetta against the Martians and who could blame you really? It speaks of old world theatrics, what you tried to pull of in Caria. But I have to wonder…is your ire not misdirected? The Biker Mice have long, long been a thorn in my side. But I don’t recall you dealing much in this particular generation of vermin. Your career, as I recall, was cut short by their originator…wasn’t it?”

Colby stiffened. “Don’t you say his name.”

Now Limburger grinned. “Touchy subject still, I see. So I have to ask…why did you let that same said leader of the Freedom Fighters escape Caria untouched?”

“…what?...”

“Didn’t you know?” Limburger asked. “BlackRuby has had several rumors of demise over the years but I can assure you, none of them are true. There’s even footage from Marshall’s ship, of him addressing the attack.”

“You’re lying!”  he seethed, spittle flying everywhere.

“To what point and purpose?”

Colby had no answer but he looked sick. Terrified. “He can’t be alive…he can’t be.”

“Hmm, not only him but his companion as well. The bar tender, I believe it was. Who can keep track? I swear these Martians, they pop out of the woodwork like—” he trailed off, giggling a little. “—well, like mice.”

Colby looked panicked, triggered by the trauma that had reduced him to the revenge seeking sadist he now was. “No…no….I have to find him. I have to kill him. That monster…what they did…what they did can never be forgiven!”

He was suddenly very close to the screen again as if gripping hold of it, trying to crawl through. “WHERE IS HE?! ARE YOU HIDING HIM THERE! SHOW ME, SHOW ME THAT FLEA BITTEN PLAGUE RAT!”

Limburger blinked slowly. “Oh…I have plenty of vermin here to deal with. It seems a few of them made their way here with me after our little transporter incident in Caria. Something I’m sure you know nothing about…it is possible he’s among them. But I can’t say for sure, not yet.”

“GIVE HIM TO ME, LIMBURGER! HE’S MINE! MINE TO KILL, MINE!”

“You’re starting to sound like Brie…” he sighed. His head was beginning to hurt. He massaged the space between his own watery eyes. “…all I ask for now Colby is that you keep me in mind and keep this line of communication open. I think that we may be able to help each other. And if I find that Stoker BlackRuby—”

“DON’T SAY HIS NAME!!”

Limburger winced and waved at him. “—yes yes…the mouse who shall not be named, then. If I find him, I shall certainly return him to you. Gift wrapped and stuffed, if you like.”

“And in return?”

Limburger scratched at his flaking scales. “To be continued.”

**

                From inside the Scoreboard both mice heard the faint whistle and the sound of a single motorcycle gunning its engines followed by the sound of tires screeching, muffling another sound.

Both Modo and Max tensed, Tourmaline immediately starting forward anxiously, ready to intervene. Modo held out his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Easy, let’s not charge in blind.” He cautioned. “They’ve got to work this out.”

Max glanced at him, barely willing to take his eyes off the roof exit where Vinnie and Throttle had disappeared. “I didn’t know it would be like this…them fighting all the time. I hate seeing him like this…”

“I know. Kills me too. Haven’t seen them like this since….” His thoughts trailed, trying to remember. The funeral, perhaps? Was that when it had happened? When it had come to blows? They day after they buried her in the cemetery behind the Maverick’s farm land. Behind what had once been the Van Wham’s rickety trailer—now rebuilt into their first home. Something to further symbolize that joining of clans.

 He shook himself free from the memory, scrubbing a hand across his face. “I can’t stand it. Things have never been like this. Back then it was explosive, but this is just…uneasy. Unsettled. They make one step forward and five backwards. Vinnie’s mouth running the whole time…”

Max turned his sterner, questioning gaze on the bigger mouse then. “And what are you doing about it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Not trying to be rude, Modo, but you sitting on the sidelines isn’t helping either of them. Maybe it’s time you stepped in. They’re your bros. This hurt is between all of you, not just Vinnie and Throttle. I think it’s gonna take all three of you to work this out.”

Modo stared at him, seemingly caught between irritation and revelation.

“This…is hard for me too. I know what Throttle’s been through to make things right. And I know that Vinnie’s made mistakes but he’s trying to look out for us. Nothing’s exactly clear cut in the situation. I don’t know how to make it right. Not when I’ve got my own feelings getting in the way.”

“Which are?” Max prodded.

“A lot of regret, mostly. And grief. I feel like I lost all three of them that day, to be honest with you. Not just my wife. I was too hurt and I did nothing but push them both away. Something I never thought I would do…” He looked ashamed of himself.

Max took this in a moment and then nodded, patting the bigger mouse on the back. “So don’t let it happen twice.”

Maverick sighed but nodded, returning the affection, giving a Max a little brotherly shake as well. “Has anyone told you you’re really annoying when you’re right?”

Max relaxed, just a little, and nodded. “Oh yeah. My whole life.”

They heard the pounding of footsteps on the metal stairs then and Vinnie emerged on the catwalk above them.

“He took off! Come on, we gotta go after him!”

“What?!” Max gasped, knowing this was serious if Throttle would just bail without so much as a word to him. “What did you do?! What did you say to him—“

Vinnie shook his head, further agitated by the interrogation when all he wanted to do was MOVE “Listen pretty boy, I don’t have to answer to—“

Max pushed past Modo and was charging at Vinnie, pounding up the stairs to meet him on his descent. He grabbed the white furred mouse by the front of his jacket and shook him hard.

“You do have to answer to me, Van Wham! You got that! You can shit on me and my family tree all goddamn day, I don’t give a fuck, but if you mess with him, I’m gonna have something to say about it!”

Vinnie tried to push him off, but Max wouldn’t relent and Vinnie was startled to find that the so called paper-pusher might actually be a match for him strength wise.  “Back off! You don’t own him, Tourmaline! You barely even know him, and what we’ve been through together. You don’t know everything about our past—we wouldn’t even be fighting like this if it weren’t for the shit your family—“

“BULLSHIT! You are so worried about what my family will do to him, but what the fuck are you doing to him, Vinnie?! Tell me that huh?! Who the hell is twisting the knife in his side right now?!”

Max seemed close to punching the other mouse, but Modo was suddenly between them, the stronger mouse yanking them both apart easily.

“Stow it! Both of you! This stops right the fuck now! This is not the Cathedra and it’s not the fucking Underground! Whatever has happened or might happen doesn’t matter right now, you got that!”

The thunder of his voice silenced them both, the squabble between them dying for the moment. Modo looked back to Vinnie; “Where did he go, what direction?”

His white furred bro looked shaken and it was obvious that the point had been made.

“Not sure…jumped off the roof. Heading south I think…” he mumbled. “He wasn’t wearing his specs…he’s probably riding half blind right now. We gotta catch up before he runs into trouble.”

Modo nodded, the three of them taking off to reach their bikes.

Modo was already on Lil Hoss, tapping into her controls. “Lady’s tracker is still on, we can follow them. Looks like he’s heading south, riding fast. Let’s go!” He took off as the other two were still pulling on helmets.

Vinnie looked anxiously across to Max as they started off. “Max, I’m sorry…”

Tourmaline looked over to him, cutting him off; “If anything happens to him, it won’t be my mother you have to worry about.”

**

Lady carried him across town, zigzagging recklessly down the highway, narrowly avoiding being hit several times in his frantic pursuit of escape. Eventually he shot down a closed off ramp, leaping over the half-deconstructed road and finding himself in another rough part of town, clearly ravaged by Limburger’s strip-mining.

For the moment he didn’t care. He had only stopped the wild ride because his vision was going in and out, and no setting on his helmet seemed to help. Unfortunately his field specs had been left back at the Scoreboard.

Lady, sensing his distress and recognizing more than a few close calls on the road had switched herself over to autopilot without his noticing.

Now parked in the ruin of what used to be a school yard, Throttle tried to catch his breath with little success.

He hadn’t felt this sort of wave of despair and panic in a long time. This feeling like he was drowning on dry land. The pain in his head was blinding now, and even as he was still seated on Lady he curled in on himself, holding his skull, eyes squeezed shut, trying to make it all stop.

With Vinnie’s words spinning in his head, he struggled for a way out. He hadn’t cared about the obstacles that Madalyn Tourmaline might present to him. It was just another dragon to slay. He would keep Max safe from her wrath, that he could handle. But the scope of what Vinnie had described…it felt overwhelming. Too many fires to put out on his own.

In the past, he might not have thought of it that way. He wasn’t alone then, after all. He had always had his bros, no matter the problem.

But after Jessie…he had ruined that safety net. Alone had become his new norm.

And it broke his heart even more that despite the three of them being together again…he still felt it. Afraid to trust. Not sure he would survive falling a second time.

His worst thoughts were swarming, reminding him that maybe after all his mistakes, a happy ending with Max wasn’t something he deserved. That Max might not be safe with him. Something he had feared from the very beginning. That fear had been abated for awhile. His lover—his fiancé—going above and beyond to prove to him he could stand beside him, no matter the squalls. But now…there was more to think about.

His relationship with Mace had allowed the traitor to stay in their midst longer than he might have without being discovered. His delusion, his want for someone to be with, had cost Modo an arm and an eye, Vinnie half his face, Stoker his autonomy and his tail and very nearly his sanity, the lives of other Freedom Fighters and Harley’s freedom when Mace had captured her to escape. Never mind his own fucking eyes, now replaced with malfunctioning stand in’s.

His mistake in the village had cost them all even more. They had lost a wife, a sister, a daughter and a mother.

What if choosing Max cost them everything they had left?

It was a crushing choice. One that he couldn’t make.

Somewhere, behind all the guilt, behind the trauma, Throttle knew this fear was only that. It was a threat. Not a reality. And his choices were not the only thing at play. Life did not work that way.

He opened his eyes, vision spotty but not entirely nonfunctional. He looked at the cuff on his wrist, at the stone that remained vivid even in the haze. He rubbed his other palm over it, hands against his chest, breathing starting to regulate slowly.

He wasn’t alone anymore.

His radio crackled then. “Throttle! Bro, do you read? Come back…”

His knee jerk reaction was to turn it off, to leave Modo’s worried voice unanswered. Unsure how to face him or any of them. But his head was beginning to clear, the suffocating ache that had sent him running was beginning to lose its hold on him.

Tentatively he answered, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice; “I hear you Modo…”

“Where are—“

“Babe?! Are you alright?” Max’s anxious voice overlapped through Modo’s question and made him laugh a little.

“Yeah…I just needed to cool off. No need to worry, babe. Sorry for the dramatics.”

“Something tells me you’re downplaying.” Modo replied, and Throttle realized how thin his lie must have sounded, even over the radio.

“What’s your location? We’re en route.”

“If you’re already tracking me, why ask?” He quipped.

“Courtesy.” Modo answered in typical Maverick fashion.

“Who’s we?”

“Me, Romeo and Jughead.” There was a small pause, waiting for a reaction. “That cool?”

Throttle knew, or rather sensed, simply by listening to the static of the open radio that Vinnie was listening silently to the conversation.

His chest pinched again, a breath hitching in his throat without his consent. “Can we nix the party line for a moment, big fella? I’m…”

His ears picked up on the sound of movement from his left, movement that was too substantial to just be the wind. He scanned the area, his vision clearer but still far from perfect, still feeling the pulse behind his eyes.

“Bro?”

Not alone.

He left Modo unanswered, opening his visor so he could get a scent of whatever had decided to join him.

There was not much light here to go by. Four working street-lamps on each corner of the school lot, the nearest to him casting long shadows across high piles of broken brick and dirt and half demolished walls.

The far side of the lot had a chain link fence that was meant to ward off intruders onto the lot, but Throttle had ridden through an open section without a second thought. Now it seemed suspicious. He could smell city air, the cold salty breeze off the lake. Dirt, grass and diesel.

And something else too. But it was too muddled to discern.

He had left the scoreboard in such a panic that he was far less armed than he wanted to be. But Lady’s canons worked just fine, and he always had at least one blaster on him.

His fingers inched towards the thigh holster that held the lazor, licking his lips and trying to keep his breathing steady despite the frazzled state he was just coming out of.

His vision was slipping. In and out of snowy grey and white. Like he was between stations on an old television. He closed his visor again, needing the assist, and tapped his com again.

“Something’s here with me. Can’t tell what. Approach with caution and hang back until I can assess.”

“I hate it when you go all tactical-speak.” Vinnie said. “Are you in trouble?”

“Hard to say. But I definitely feel like I’m being watched.”

“Babe, don’t rush into anything. We’ll be there pronto, just sit tight until we arrive.” Max cautioned.

Throttle muted the com, needing to focus. His eyes kept scanning the shadows, trying to get a hint of what might be lurking just out of sight. Maybe it was nothing. A large raccoon perhaps?

Wouldn’t be the first time one of those ring-tailed arched-back sewer cats had put him or his bros on alert.

He caught movement again, this inside the ruin of the old school building. Throttle tensed and waited but it went quiet again. He exhaled slowly. Whatever was here with him was definitely watching him, waiting for him to make a move.

“Alright. I’ll take the bait.”

Below him Lady beeped softly as if in warning and Throttle stroked along her tank. “It’s alright, darlin’. Just stay close and get ready to blast on my signal, yeah?”

She beeped again, confirming.

He rode her closer to the building, his headlight drifting through the open sockets of windows into the dark and stripped rooms. Most the of the place had been taking down to brass tacks and drywall it looked like, but a few furnishings seemed to be left behind, adding to creepy façade of the place.

As he climbed off Lady, he scanned the lot once more. No sign of any other vehicles except for dormant demolition equipment. Limburger brand, of course.

He made his way up the short brick steps that lead through the open maw of the school’s entrance. Stepping just inside the threshold, Lady’s headlight at his back, illuminating the gloom before him.

Nothing moved down the long hallway. There were rows of doorways to the left and right, most standing open. About midway down the long hall, there were four sets of stairs, two on each side of the hall, flanking large double doors that were respectively a cafeteria and a gymnasium. The stairs obviously led to the upper level. His gaze drifted upward, wondering if the watcher was above his head somewhere.

He heard the faintest creak somewhere in the echoing dark. He exhaled softly, taking several more steps forward, standing level now with the 3^rd classroom door, finding the previous areas all empty save for construction clutter and abandoned items.

 “I’m just gonna say it,” he called just loud enough for his voice to carry. “This all feels wildly cliché. Luring the protagonist into an creepy abandoned building? So over done.”

A footstep and the softest sound the safety of a gun being pulled back. Throttle froze and glanced to the side, into one of the open doors.

“What makes you think you’re the protagonist?”

The Mouse looking back at him, holding him now at gunpoint, was an unexpected surprise. He recognized her from the security footage at Manuelo’s but it was still strange to see another Martian here that was not affiliated with he or his bros.

She nudged the gun at him. “Hands up. Come on now. I’m sure you know the drill.”

He did so slowly, but didn’t drop his own weapon. “Mind I.D.ing yourself, citizen?”

“I’m Shiloh, an agent of the Galactic Federation. Here to arrest you and bring you in for questioning for in regards to the terrorist incident on Mars.”

“Terrorist incident--?!” he began incredulously, then scoffed in disgust and shook his head. “You’ve got the wrong Mouse.” Throttle shrugged, calling her bluff.

She sighed, moving closer. “That’s what they all say. Come on, put the lazor down and keep your hands where I can see. I don’t want anyone getting hurt. Where are your pals?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, doing his best to play it cool. Bored even.

“He’s lying.” A new voice cut in, one that made Throttle tense, his cool and unbothered façade dropped immediately. “He’s better at it than he thinks he is.”

Mace appeared beside him before he could make a move, grabbing his wrist and dragging it behind his back, squeezing his hand and forcing him to finally drop the weapon, taking it for himself.

“Easy, easy there, beautiful…” he cautioned over Throttle’s shoulder, “we’re only here to help. Pretty sure you and the bros wanna get back to Mars just as bad as we do.”

Shiloh watched the expression on the tan mouse’s face change like the shadow of a cloud passing over a field. First shock, then fear and then something beyond rage. Wrath was the only way she could think to describe it.

She was about to open her mouth to warn Mace, when the biker in their midst spun out from Mace’s grasp, breaking the tentative hold the half-breed had on him before changing up the grip and using it to flip Mace over onto his back before pinning him there with his boot on his chest.

“I’ve had enough of your brand of help to last me a lifetime you fucking backstabbing creep—“

Shiloh jammed her gun between the biker’s shoulder blades. “Stand down! Back off! Now!”

Throttle resisted and she pressed harder.

“Better do what the lady says,” Mace wheezed. “She is one of the good guys after all.”

They were all at an impasse for the moment, all waiting to see who would yield first.

Mace moaned, feeling the ache of the throw down through his whole body. Still, he managed to wheeze and grin, tapping the barrel of Throttle’s stolen blaster under his chin softly as he gazed up at him. “You’re so cute when you’re mad…anyone ever tell you that?”

Throttle pressed his boot down harder on him, making him wince and forcing Shiloh to grip his shoulder trying to pull him back while keeping her own weapon on him.

“You picked a hell of a time to come slithering around, you snake…I’m in sore need of a way to vent some aggression.” Throttle seethed, not seeming to care about the woman or her weapon.

Mace grinned at him. “No foreplay in front of the lady, handsome…”

As they glared at each other like to tigers at each others throats, Mace saw something dark well in the corner of Throttle’s eye before falling and landing with a splatter against the visor of his helmet.

They both stared at the discolored drop, all too aware of what it was.

All of Mace’s antagonism vanished, expression confused and worried. “What the hell…?”

Throttle hissed, shaking his head. “No no no not now…!”

“What’s wrong with your eyes?” The question was edged with surprising anxiety, even to the half-rat that was voicing it.

Throttle shoved him back down, “None of your damn business—“

“Shut up both of you!” Shiloh barked at both of them, dragging Throttle back enough that Mace could move freely again. The half-breed had barely sat up when something else moved in the condemned school. Something heavy.

On high alert, all three mice looked towards the entrance into the hallway and saw nothing, until something small was suddenly fired past them.

What looked like a large bebe pellet zipped past them, striking the wall behind them with a tiny thunk before bouncing off before striking the left-over pile of equipment from the work crew.

The old boom box roared to life, the wailing tones and screaming guitar of Bon Jovi suddenly filling the abandoned class room;

“Shot through the heart! And you’re to blame! Darlin’ you give love a bad name—“

The fallen pellet began to hiss and produced a small stream of orange smoke, the smell of it making their sensitive noses twitch.

As obnoxious as it was scented, it still appeared to be nothing more than one of those silly smoke bombs you bought from your local fireworks shop. Harmless.

But the smoke was nothing but distraction.

The real threat came at them like an avalanche, swinging his dagger-like scalpel.

Thad—the assassin in the hazmat suit—came charging at them, gleaming weapon raised, thirsty for blood as the unintended rock serenade continued at full volume.

The mice scattered.

Shiloh began rapid firing at the man, several blows managing to find home, hitting him both in the arm and grazing the top of his head gear. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop his charge. It only slowed him, knocked him slightly off balance. Giving the female Martian the slimmest window to avoid the scalpel being stabbed directly into her neck.

She fell to the side, hitting the ground at a roll and tried to get more distance between her and the murderous thing.

Mace was beside her, grabbing her and pulling her to her feet, laying down more cover fire  just as Throttle moved to defend, picking up a small student desk that had been left behind and swinging it into Thad.

It caught the doctor along the side, throwing him against the chalkboard covered wall which shattered under the force.

“RUN!” Throttle yelled.

“—you promised me heaven then put me through hell—"

The other two didn’t have to be told twice, sprinting towards the door and falling back out into the hall. They made for the front door opening, only to have it explode upon approach.

Rigged. Booby-trapped.

“Fuck!” Mace yelled, coughing on the dust. He pushed Shiloh towards the other end of the hall, seeing another emergency exit sign in the distance.

Throttle came barreling out right behind them, and Mace turned to shoot at the top of the door as he cleared it, bringing part of the ceiling down on the charging maniac chasing them.

Thad roared and cursed at them but despite the plethora of insulation, paneling and the frame of the door falling on him, he was barely slowed.

“What the fuck is that thing?!” Shiloh screamed as they ran, looking over her shoulder as Thad perused.

“Trust me, you don’t want to stick around to find out.” Throttle assured her.

“—ooh there’s no where to run, no one can save me, the damage is done!—"

They were halfway down the hall, the floor taking a dip down several stairs before continuing its trail, two staircases flanking either side of the hall facing them and two behind, leading to the second floor.

The biker skidded to a halt, turning to face the charging Doctor as he lumbered after them.

“What are you doing ?!” Mace yelled, but Throttle ignored him. His vision was going in and out as Thad charged, his visor working overtime to compensate for his eyesight. But despite this, the mouse noticed that the doctor looked less and less human as he moved. Something was definitely wrong here.

He whistled sharply and a moment later, just as Thad was closing the distance, Lady’s roar joined the ongoing guitar riff of the forgotten boom box.

She crashed through the rubble of the front door, leaving flaming hot rubber tracks on the dusty tile floor as she streaked towards the monster in the Hazmat suit. She fired on him readily, each precision shot hitting home.

The Doctor made an ungodly howl of pain at the lazor strikes, knocking him about like he was being battered by tennis balls rather than putting him down for the count.

That was new. Horrifically new.

Lady leapt over the hunched and seething doctor streaking towards Throttle and circling him and allowing him to climb on, gunning her engine viciously.

Thad had collected himself, smoking slightly thanks to the burns that had created sizable holes in his suit. Throttle could see the burn wounds, smell the fried skin. But Thad just gave him that evil grin through the fog of the mask before charging again, his scalpel lost in the fray.

The biker mouse met him, head on.

He rammed Lady directly into the doctor, his tall mass catching on the cover of her front wheel as he slammed against her headlight and handlebars, the bike still speeding forward, driving right up the stairs on the opposite side of the hall, putting plenty of distance between them and the other two Martians.

It left the monster and the mouse to face through their collective face coverings.

Throttle found himself staring into Thad’s face and discovering something he hadn’t expected. The familiar red glaze of Frenzy tainting the whites of the Doctor’s eyes.

Suddenly his wild strength made sense, perhaps the added madness as well. The violence he perused them with. The same way he had acted in the apartment.

They had just hit the top of the stairs, the sudden shift being enough to knock the mad doctor back.

It should have dislodged him from the bike all together, but before he lost his precarious purchase on the black and silver Harley, he made a power play of his own.

His gloved fist reeled back and landed a precise hit to the biker’s covered face. The force was enough not only to crack the visor, but to knock it from the mouse’s head, sending him flipping backwards off of Lady. He hit the floor with another cry and rolled several times before sprawling to a stop.

Lady skidded out, scraping along the hall, no different from her rider, as Thad was also knocked clear, the bike managing one last grace of putting him through another wall before her crash.

For a few brief moments, nothing on the upper floor moved.

Below, Mace and Shiloh had almost made it to the exit when they heard the crash. They both skidded to a halt, looking back anxiously.

“He needs our help,” the girl panted, trying to reload her weapon in a hurry. “I don’t know what that fucking thing is or how it knew we were here, but we can’t leave him alone with it!”

Mace stared at the upper floor, seemingly terrified and rooted to the spot. Shiloh slapped his arm to get his attention. “Mace! We have to do something!”

He wanted to bolt. To get as far away from that creep in the suit as possible. He was sure he’d heard Throttle cry out before the crash. His heart was in his throat. He thought of the blood that splattered on his visor as he had looked down at him. That memory, overlaid the old one from the lab in Stilton’s castle.

Was he really going to just run again?

His eyes slipped to the transporter belt secured around Shiloh’s waist, lingering for just a moment before nodding. They stared back towards the stair, hoping it wasn’t too late.

The Doctor rose from the drywall dust and rubble, moving slower now, more labored. Finally feeling some of the hurt the mouse had put on him.

Panting, the harsh breaths fogging his mask, he staggered towards the downed mouse with murderous intent.

The discarded helmet lay on the floor, rolled on its side, voices crying out from the speaker in disjointed crackles of static. The rodent’s frantic friends, clearly alerted that something was wrong.

Good. Let them come.

This was turning out to be his lucky night. He had started out hunting the first two—the ones who had attacked himself and Marshall in the house—and ended up with a far better specimen to collect.

The mouse began to move again as he approached, whimpering, obviously pained. The blood on his face intrigued the mad doctor, his rush of rage and adrenaline ebbing as the shot he’d given himself earlier began to wane in effect. Letting his intellect take over instead of the brute beneath.

As Throttle tried to lift himself from the floor, Thad grabbed him with one big, gloved hand by his jaw and his neck and hosted him up, letting him dangle in front of him.

The Martian was clearly dazed, struggling, the blood streaks on his cheeks curious. Thad glanced again at the fallen helmet. The visor was cracked yes, but not shattered. It couldn’t have cut the mouse. As he inspected him he noticed the color of the eyes. Blue. Not an unheard of color for a Martian Mouse but rare. And something about them seemed…

He dragged Throttle even closer and grinned at his discovery. Noticing the scars on either side of eye sockets. “I see you also had a run in with my old colleague Karbunkle…much like your big grey friend. But you got the full ocular treatment…”

Throttle gasped and grunted, trying to break the monsters hold on his head without snapping is neck. It was a losing struggle, and his eyes had nearly given up, the new damage bringing more snow and dark blooms that blotted out the uncomfortable closeup on Thaddeus’s face.

The Doctor saw the way the mouse’s artificial eyes did not focus on him, the blood that welled in his waterline. He looked disappointed. “Faulty…” he mumbled, almost as if he felt bad for the state or it.

“You poor miserable thing. Leave to that old quack to leave a job half finished. You and your mutilated little friends…it disgusts me.”

He squeezed Throttle’s throat and jaw for emphasis, making the already wounded mouse gag and gasp, eyes rolling.

“Maybe I should pluck them out…start from scratch…”

Throttle did the only thing he could think of as the Doctor reached his other hand towards his face. He set his teeth into the meat of the doctor’s hand, the front two slicing right through the protective glove and sinking deep.

Thad barked a curse and let him drop as he yanked his hand away. Throttle crashed to the ground and tried to scramble away only to be rewarded with a kick for his trouble that put him down for the count.

Noise outside then caught the doctor’s attention. The sound of cars rushing into the lot. They drove right through the protective fencing around the place, mowing it down under their monster truck wheels, despite the entry he had cut. No means for subtly.

He left Throttle where he laid and moved towards the large now glass-less window frame that looked down over the ruined front entrance.

A dozen cars of various make and modeled, most cobbled together with parts from other cars, came roaring into the lot. Circling the place.

                He frowned in deep irritation. “What are those degenerates doing here?” he spat, fuming, the red glaze in his eyes seeming to flare with this new interruption.

                Thaddeous braced himself against the frame of the empty window and bellowed down to the gathering crowd below. “What the hell are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be patrolling!”

One of the drivers stepped from the car into the dirt dusted lot. “We caught sight of one of those hog riding hamsters coming this way…boss told us to take care of it. So that’s what we’re doing.”

“I don’t care what Limburger wants…this is my quarry and I’ll tend to it as I see fit. You need not concern yourselves with it.”

More of the drivers made themselves known, looking up at the smoking spectacle of the Doctor standing in the ruined window addressing them like peasants.

“You don’t pay us, pal. The Big Cheeses do. So we do what they say.”

“Besides…we have a score to settle.” Another driver, one who had faced Vinnie on the cutlass earlier that day, announced with no small amount of displeasure in his voice.

“Give us the rats!”

More of the drivers joined in the chant and Thaddeus looked at them in disgust.

Several of the drivers started towards the ruin of the entrance—made passable again by Lady’s dramatic entry.

They attempted to step inside only to have the Doctor begin hurling loose bricking at them.

“Interfere with me…you’ll end up in a specimen jar, boys…I can always use spare parts!”

But the drivers of course, were only provoked by this action. They had weapons at their disposal of course, but the Cutlass driver had a particularly nasty idea.

He had a flame thrower. “How about we smoke ‘em out, boys?”

The other thug drivers cheered on this idea, looking demonic in the harsh pools of yellow street lights, the flames of the now ignited weapon dancing in their eyes.

As the driver turned his weapon on the crumbling entrance, the sound of more engines alerted their attention.

The sound seemed to be coming from multiple directions at once, leaving them scrambling to choose a defense.

Lil’ Hoss and her rider made themselves known, barreling in hard from the right and launching themselves up and over a truck as though it was a motorcross ramp, laying down a heavy barrage of lazor fire.

The flamethrower was made short work off, reduced at once to a lump of half melted metal as Modo shot it from the thugs hand and sent him sprawling for his trouble.

The thugs had no sooner turned to defend themselves than Max, a black and neon green streak on his own bike, came diving in from the left like a hornet, laying down his own hail of fire to keep Modo from being swarmed.

“It’s time to make this school house rock!” Modo howled, driving through the crowds, weaving in around them as his canon picked them off, throwing punches with equal devastation.

“I think permanent detention is better suited for these punks,” Max snarled, getting in more than few licks of his own.

Above them, the Doctor watched, vaguely amused by this new development. So amused in fact he did not even hear Mace sneaking up behind him, wielding a 2x4.

He swung it as hard as he could, feeling the still new stitches in his side pull with the effort, several popping and tearing and cracked the board across the Doctor’s head and shoulders.

Unsurprisingly, the brute bellowed and fell aside, almost falling out the window entirely but instead just slumping over the sill with a groan.

Mace dropped the broken board and scrambled back to where Throttle was laying, and Shiloh still armed, trying to turn the unconscious mouse over onto his back to assess the damage.

Her fingers were on his neck as Mace dropped beside them, “Still breathing…”

Mace gathered him carefully, tenderly.  The way they had been once before and probably never again. “Oh baby no…” He looked mournfully at his face, the blood clotting the fur on his cheeks. It was hard to look at, but it had been so much worse that day at Tharsis Rise…

“It’s okay…it’s okay. I’ve got you this time. I won’t leave you again.”

The tan furred biker remained unresponsive and Mace felt his chest give a squeeze of anxiety. His eyes flicked again towards Shiloh’s belt as she looked at him wonderingly, his words catching her attention.

“What does that mean? Again?” She asked suspiciously.

Mace didn’t answer, weighing his options which were very slim.

The sound of fighting and chaos was getting louder and louder drawing her gaze. Just in time it would seem, as the Doctor was moving again, staggering towards them. Unable to be put down for long it seemed. Not by conventional methods.

She cursed and fired on him, striking him twice in the chest now. It only made him scream, more burn marks marring the already horrible suit. He kept coming.

He was on them before she could get another shot off, grabbing her by the arm and whipping her to the side and putting her through the drywall with a cry.

“SHILOH!”

Mace reached for his stolen weapon and tried to fire, knowing he stood little chance. But his saving grace arrived then, busting through the wall in a hail of lazor fire and a familiar battle cry, riding to the rescue on that iconic cherry red speedster.

For a moment, his eyes remained fixed on Vinnie. The hard set expression on the masked mouse’s face, the vision of the wild and furious fury that had charged to their defense. Or rather, the defense of his brother in arms.

Mace turned his gaze to Throttle again, and felt a new sense of heartbreak. Now was not his moment. His prize wasn’t going to be won this easily. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t even sure if he spoke the words out loud, but he felt them in his bones. He let Throttle slip from his fingers, letting him rest on the floor once more, and then was up and in motion.

 As smoke and dust filled the second level hallway. He scrambled, stumbling and falling over the debris to reach where Shiloh lay stunned in the wreckage while Vinnie and the monster continued to battle it out.

Throttle laid where he had left him, and Mace felt choked, knowing he couldn’t go back.

The girl groaned as he got his arms around d her, pulling her up. She was dazed but not down for the count, leaning heavily against him as gazed at the scene through the smoke and lazor fire.

She saw Van Wham, her prime target, and tried to twist free from Mace’s hands. “Wait, stop—!”

“Sorry,” Mace muttered tightly. He found the control on her belt, fumbling with the controls. Shiloh yelped, trying to push him off but with no luck.

A moment later, the pair were gone again in a flash of transporter light.

As the smoke cleared, Vinnie saw no further trace of the monster in the hazmat suit. It seemed like he had managed to blow the mad doctor through several layers of drywall and brick but now there was no trace of him.

It was just as well.

His attention turned immediately to the downed mouse on the floor.

“Bro!”

Vinnie skidded to his knees, grabbing for him, pulling him close. “No no no…” He shook him gently, trying to coax him awake. “Throttle…come on, come on look at me, please…”

Modo and Max were both in his ear, both increasingly frantic in their questions. He ignored them, unable to focus on anything but the limp figure in his arms.

Throttle, his bro, his best friend, had less than a half hour ago been on the roof top with him. Arguing with him. Yelling at him. Hurting, because of him.

Now he wasn’t anything. Just heavy and silent in arms, blood and dust smeared.

Vinnie would have killed to be back on that roof with him. To catch himself and prevent him from leaving. To apologize for everything. The way he should have from the beginning. Finally let go of the burning coal of loss that kept him from what he really wanted.

Vinnie buried his face against his brother’s and begged him to wake up. He was holding him too tight, but he didn’t care. Throttle was breathing, and that alone kept Vinnie from completely losing it. That knowledge alone was keeping him suspended from falling into a pit of despair that he would never crawl out of.

“Please…I can’t lose you too.”

A pained rasp escaped the other’s lips then, body flexing in Vinnie’s tight embrace.

“Throttle!?”

His bro’s face was contorted in pain, eyes pinched shut. He pushed at Vinnie, or grabbed at him, seeming unsure of what to do.

“Hey, hey it’s me bro, it’s me! I’ve got you,” he assured, trying to ease his distress. The other biker still seemed disoriented and Vinnie held him tight, if only to keep him from making his injuries worse. “It’s me, it’s Vinnie. Your stupid little bro, who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. It’s me…”

Throttle stopped struggling, gripping the other mouse tightly instead in recognition. “Can’t see you…” he rasped, pained and afraid.

Looking down at him again Vinnie could tell. His bro was looking in his direction but the blood shot eyes were not focusing, despite their closeness. Even when Vinnie passed a hand in front of his face, his eyes did not follow the movement.

Van Wham nodded and absently pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay. I’ll get you out of this.”

Lady and Cherry beeped at each other, the sister bikes acknowledging each other. Lady’s headlight had been broken, her wheel well slightly warped. It would be a hard ride home for her.

“Vinnie! Do you have eyes on Throttle?!” Modo bellowed.

“ANSWER GODAMMIT!” Max roared, almost blowing out both his speaker and his ear drum.

“I’ve got him!” He answered at last. “He’s hurt! Max, I need you to get to the second floor for extraction—“

Vinnie had barely gotten the words out when the wall that he had previously blown his way through was struck as second time, both Max and Modo crashing through it and skidding to a screeching stop before the other wreckage in the hallway.

Tourmaline was on the move before his bike had fully come to a stop, leap frogging over her handlebars and windshield in an effort to reach his lover faster. “Throttle! Babe?!”

Evander groped blindly for him and Vinnie lifted him cautiously, handing him off to Max.

“Oh my gods…”

Throttle groaned, clinging to him, fingers knotting in his clothing and hair. But the world was fading in and out of substance for him, an ocean in his ears, the copper taste of blood in the back of his throat.

“It was a trap…he was after Mace and that girl…almost caught ‘em. I got the drop on ‘em by accident...” He tried to explain but it was harder and harder to find the energy.

Max kissed him softly, “Hush, don’t try to talk, handsome. You look like you went too many rounds with pair of brass knuckles.” He tried to joke but his voice was cracked, threatening tears.

“I can’t see you,” Throttle rasped again, more afraid now.

Modo saw the desperation on Max’s face, the way he was about to break at the state his lover was in. He moved, leaning next to them pressed a hand to Max’s back while gripping one of Throttle’s hands in his, “Listen to me,” he instructed his voice low and serious, the older brother tone that came out when his bros were in a tight spot. When they needed him to be steady rock he always was. “No matter what happens, you’re not alone in the dark. Right?”

Max blinked, confused by the statement that seemed kind but less than helpful in the moment. But Throttle seemed to understand, giving Modo a small affirmative nod of understanding, his tension lessening if only by a degree or two. This was something between them, he realized, something from before, and there was no time to question it.

Throttle’s fingers squeezed his tightly and Modo returned it before looking at Max, making him meet his eye. “It’s going to be fine. Sooner we get him out of here the better.”

They heard crashing downstairs, more of the rough riders in their monster cars rallying for some payback.

“Sounds like these fuckers are raring for another round.” Vinnie growled, moving to the edge of the stair as he watched the rest of the remaining goons filing into the building, armed with chains and clubs and other viscous toys that wouldn’t save them from the wrath these two Mice were about to visit on them.

Modo’s own eye began to glow red in hateful anticipation. “Get him back to the Scoreboard. Ride hard, don’t stop. We’ll be as close behind you as we can.” Maverick instructed.

Max nodded, no pausing to ask why there instead of the Last Chance. All he cared about was getting Throttle out of here as quickly as possible. He lifted the tan mouse carefully against him and straddled his bike again, bracing the other against him securely.

Throttle held on with what little strength he could gather, but he was fading fast. Without waiting for further instruction, he took off like a streak, leaping out the picture window that moments ago the Mad Doctor had stood in front of, landing gracefully in the school yard below.

The few thugs that remained out there didn’t attempt to impede him, or if they did, they were swiftly picked off by Modo as the pair made a break for the open road.

Only when he saw that they had broken free did he turn back to Vinnie, who was still standing at the edge of the stairway, watching their attackers begin to rush the stuff.

“…how you wanna play, this bro?” Vinnie asked, his voice thick and angry, the playfulness more threatening now.

Modo’s arm whirred to life, glowing ominously as he glared down at the monster squad, who were only beginning to realize what they had walked into.

“Malay. No holds barred.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Vinnie nodded.

They made a leap off the top step, their bikes rushing to join as they plowed head long into the wide-eyed mass of goons, who were about to deeply reconsider their decision to leave the safety of the Pits.

***

Chapter Text

***

                In the blinding flash, they were swept from the jaws of destruction and dropped…where?

                Mace blinked around, still feeling the vertigo causing rush from the sudden transported, the feeling like his stomach had fallen somewhere between his ankles. He reached out for the nearest support and…his palm met with brick.

                He and Shiloh had materialized in a dirty alley way between two tall buildings that seemed to be apartments. Behind him he could hear people dimly from inside windows and, as he turned, an open common area a few yards behind them, obscured only by a fence.

                They were still on Earth. Still in Chicago. Hell, they were only a few blocks maybe from where they had just escaped.

                “What the absolute shitting hell?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone who cared to hear him.

                On the ground beside him, Shiloh was regaining her bearings a little more slowly, still dazed from being put through a few layers of wall. “You absolute idiot…” she muttered at him, trying to get her feet. “Van Wham was right there! They all were! Your friends came to the rescue, and you bailed!”

                Mace glared at her. “What the hell is wrong with your transport belt!? Aren’t you supposed to get us back home with that thing? You came here with it!”

                She started at him and then sighed heavily. “I got pulled here with Marshall because of a huge influx of transport power than sucked us in! The belt can get us that distance but not without another source to filter into. Duh.”

                Mace rolled his eyes at her. “Whatever. It’s all bullshit anyway.”

                She grabbed at his arm. “What the hell does that mean? The only one who’s full of bullshit around here is you I think. Your so call friends sure didn’t seem happy to see you, Mace. And when they were in trouble, you ran! You ran like a—”

                “Coward.”

                Throttle’s voice, in his head, overlapping hers.

                He saw his bloody face in his minds eye again and winced, wilting, his anger and bravado deflated. “I know…I know I did.”

                “Why?” she asked quietly.

                “You’re telling me you didn’t see the monster in leather and hazmat gear?”

                “You care about Evander, that’s fucking obvious. Much as I think he wanted to strangle you downstairs, I don’t think he would have left you in the same position you left him. He was hurt, Mace. I don’t know what that monster did but—”

                “His bros arrived. Believe me, leaving him with them was far safer than trying to take him with us. They’ll take care of him.”

                Shiloh watched him silently for a moment, neither of them speaking, as she considered her so-called partner in this mission. Part of her told her to leave him where he was. To get as far away as she could and focus on her mission. It was what Baron, her commander would have told her to do. It was what Nyx and Wallace, her friends, would have said. Mace was clearly trouble.

                But he was just as alone as she was.

                He noticed him looking at her then. “Are you okay?”

                “I’ll be fine. Just sore. And I’ll be picking plaster bits out of my hair for weeks.” She sighed. She moved a little closer to him. “How about you?”

                He looked at her cautiously, as if he wasn’t sure he could trust her question. She put a hand lightly on his back, away from his injury, but enough to test the sensitivity of the muscle. Mace winced just a little and she nodded. “That was a lot of action. We should head back to the trailer park…lie low until we can regroup.”

                Above them a dark cloudy sky began to rumble and roil softly. Rain moving in.

                Mace looked back out at the streets. In the dim distance he could hear the wail of sirens, his ears perking towards the sound, wondering if they were heading to the scene of the school. “Well…you’ll be glad to know I’m not completely useless at least.”

                He fished in his pocket and pulled out a tiny control, something the size of a small remote, and showed her the screen of it. A moving dot was being ferried very fast across it towards an unknown coordinate.

                Shiloh looked at him in surprise. “You had a tracking device?”

                “A rat always comes prepared.” Mace nodded. “I put it on his jacket when you first got the drop on him. Luckily the fight didn’t dislodge it. After we regroup, this should lead us right to him.”

                “That’s…shockingly intelligent. Good going.”  She patted his back lightly. “You might make a half way decent Agent, Mace.”

                The cinnamon furred Martian said nothing, but seemed appreciative of her praise.

                “I’m glad you’re okay.” He offered, realizing he meant it.

**

By the time Max got them back to the Scoreboard it had begun to rain. The cold drizzle seeping down the collar of his moto jacket and down his back, chilling him through his clothes. He did his best to shield his partner from the dampness but would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved that it washed some of the blood away.

Throttle’s grip on him had become lax, and when Mace glanced down at his face, pressed against his shoulder, his eyes were closed, expression empty. The ache he felt at the sight of this made him redouble his effort, his bike vibrating as they climbed well past the speed limit, a dark streak across the side streets and highways until they reached Wriggley Field once more.

This time, he was able to find a ramp—obviously installed as an after thought by a certain mechanic—that allowed him to bypass the stairs and drive straight into the Scoreboard. And absolute god-send. He would kiss Charlie for it later.

He hurriedly dismounted, shifting the muscle mouse in his arms, who moaned in pain and seemed to come around again. Max hurried past the clutter of dusty parts and junk, rushing him to the lower bunk, the same bed they had shared not an hour ago, still rumpled from love making.

“Babe? Babe…”  

 His chest felt too tight. Heart squeezing in fear. He hadn’t seen Throttle after the accident at the Maverick’s. Had it been this bad then?

He tried to adjust him, make him comfortable, but Throttle squirmed and cried out, digging the heels of his palms into his chest eyes.

“Gods!”

His pain was evident and Max didn’t know how to help. He reached for his wrists return to pull his hands away, fearing he might make it worse.

“Easy! Easy! What’s wrong, how do I help?!”

His partner sat up again, forcing Max back to do so, and sat hunched at the edge of the bed, head hanging between his shoulders. More blood began to run from one eye socket, splattering light on the floor between his feet.

“Pressure…back here,” Throttle grunted running along his left temple, the motion producing another thin trickle of bloody tears.

Max gulped, terrified, but Throttle seemed to gain some composure in this new position, though he gripped hold of Max for support, the others arms keeping him from pitching forward onto face.

“Must be a clot or something…”

“Ice. You need ice. Something to bring the swelling down…” he looked frantically across the cluttered room until he spotted the small refrigerator. He propped the other mouse against the bedpost before darting over to it, wincing at the smell from the long unopened ice tomb. Everything inside the freezer was long since terminally freezer burned but that didn’t matter.

 Max found what he was in search of, spotting several frozen together ice packs. He pulled the whole mess from the box and slapped the lid shut. When they didn’t easily come free of each other and slammed them down on the floor, grabbing the most intact one and moving hurriedly back to his lover’s side, kneeling in front of him as he pressed the cold to his temple and eye socket.

Throttle hissed at the cold touch but didn’t push him away, instead eagerly gripping hold of him again. Seeming desperate for some anchor to assure him Max was really there.

“There…that should start to help in a minute. Just keep taking deep breaths for me, okay?”

The tan mouse looked at him with his uncovered eye, and Max saw how it struggled to focus. It was the first time Throttle’s eyes had appeared as anything other than natural to him. And he had spent plenty of time gazing into them whenever he could. It made that fear in his chest pitch up again.

“Still can’t see you.” Throttle huffed, trying to hold back his distress and failing.

“I’m right here.” Max promised, not fully understanding the panic that was underlying his words but trying to offer some comfort.

“I know…I know, but…” He grit his teeth, feeling childishly afraid of the state he was in. But it wasn’t childish. He had been here before. It was the remembering that was so terrifying.

Max knelt there, slowly realizing the bizarre parallel they were creating. This was so similar to their first meeting when they had been holed up in that shitty abandoned office, Throttle shaking from Max’s attempts to give him first, aid, not because of the injury itself. It was starting to dawn on him what this all went back to.

“You wanna see me?” he asked.  He slipped closer, let his antenna rest on his forehead. “I’m right here.”

They psychic link between them bypassed the physical injury. In his mind’s eye, he could see Max clearly, his lover’s thoughts and memories flashing and meshing with his. For a moment, they could see each other like they had been just a short hour or so before. In this same bed, Throttle over him, safe and happy.

“We can stay right here a minute, yeah?” Max asked, looking up at him, stroking his cheek.

“Yeah…” Throttle nodded, easing down on top of him. He paused to look around at the Scoreboard scenery. Everything soft and slightly diffused in the lights. “This is weird…you can hold a projection really well.” He mused.

“Takes practice.” Max nodded. “But I won’t be able to hold it too long.” He stroked Throttle’s cheek, thumb grazing along the edge of his eye, the same one that was bleeding so freely in the real world just beyond them.

                “Do you feel any pain?”

                “Not now. Not here. But that pressure is still there…” Throttle nodded, feeling his own face, despite knowing this was all illusion.

                “What happened?”

                “Creep hit me hard, knocked me off my bike. Guess what was already kinda loose got looser.”

                “How can your eyes be loose?” Max gasped.

                “When they’re not real.”  

                For a brief, horrible second, the soft comforting image of his lover shifted, overlayed with a horror of an eyeless solider, blood and gore all over his face, looking down at him with empty sockets.

                Max jolted, gasping sharply.

                “What? What’s wrong?” Throttle asked, clearly unaware of the small shift. He winced visibly however, wilting as the projection they were sharing started to crumble. Max took another breath and did his best to refocus, trying to stabilize the connection. He pulled Throttle closer and kissed him, and that was enough.

                The tan mouse relaxed again as the pain was dimmed and pushed to the side.

                “Max?”

                The dark furred mouse looked to his lover, doing his best to hold him this way in his mind, to keep him out of pain and free from the fear that was overwhelming him. But his own fear was becoming a bit harder to manage.

                “Sometimes…I forget where you’ve been. That’s all. Sometimes I let myself forget the shit you’ve seen. I don’t know how you carry it. I could never—”

                His fiancé shushed him, kissing him easily and pressing close. “I don’t want to think about it. I just want this. I want you.”  Throttle said, himself again, not afraid and not in pain. Warm and reassuring. He nuzzled against him. “But I know you can’t hold this much longer. I can feel you getting tired…”

                “No I’m not.”

                Throttle nipped his neck softly. “Don’t exhaust yourself. I can handle this. Just…let me look at you a second more, okay?”

                He turned Max’s face towards him again, drinking him in. Max wanted to cry, suddenly scared. Realizing he was in fact crying.

                “Hey now…no need for those. Show me that smile, Tourmaline. Light up my world.”

                Max laughed, but it made the tears come faster. “Fuck, I love you so much, you big cornball.”

                “Only for you, babe.”

                Throttle glanced away, realizing the connection was indeed fading, beginning to feel the pressure mounting again as they slipped back to reality.

                Max held out as long as he could, but Throttle was the one who broke the link. Both slammed back into reality, and the abrupt rush of pain made the tan mouse grip Max’s shoulders like a vice, gasping, and then screamed.

                Tourmaline was too stunned to move, tense and eyes wide. A deer in headlights.

                It was then became aware of other movement. He felt a bionic hand on his back, pulling him away, Modo and Vinnie’s disjointed voices filtering in through the his daze. He was pulled back from his fiancé as Modo moved in.

                “Let me see! Throttle, deep breath, let me see!”

                It was work to tilt Throttle’s head back, to get him to look up at him. But as he did, telling him to look sideways and then up, Modo saw the problem.

                “Shit. There’s a clot right behind, I can see it.” He turned and looked to Vinnie, who was right beside them now, having guided Max out of the way. “Help me hold him!”

                Vinnie didn’t have to be told twice, moving in and bracing his bro.

                “…hurts!...” Throttle gasped.

                Vinnie gripped him tight, “I know. Just hang on, okay. We’ve got you.”

                Modo glanced at Max who was standing behind them, pale under his fur. “Find a towel or something. This is gonna be messy. Hurry!”

                Modo raised his bionic arm, flexing his fingers. His pointer finger rotated on the knuckle hinge, Primer’s ingenious work showing itself once again as the shell of the finger split, revealing a socket where other tools could be used. In this case, Modo needed a razor blade.

                As it appeared, he was glad that Throttle couldn’t see it. It only would have added to his distress. He moved in close. “Hey, listen to me okay? I have to make a little cut on the corner of your eye to let this thing out, okay? You probably won’t even feel it.”

                As predicted however, the tan mouse was now shaking so hard he was almost vibrating in Vinnie’s arms. He huffed through gritted teeth, hiding his face in his white furred bro’s shoulder. “Fuck fuck fuck….”

                “Bro. We’ve got you. We have to do this or it’s going to get worse. Do you trust me?” Modo asked. Throttle didn’t answer, and Modo took his chin with his good hand, pointing him in his direction. “Throttle. Do you trust me?”

                The tan mouse inhaled deeply, steeling himself, gripping Vinnie so hard he was surely bruising him. “Do it.”

                Modo moved, making the incision as quickly and carefully as he could. A new line of blood opened in Throttle’s skin and more of the bloody tears rushed forward. The tan mouse shuddered, the memory of this feeling making bile rise in his throat, and it was obvious that he was fighting back a scream.

                Blood began to run freely down his face and Modo used his good hand to gently pull down the skin just below the eye. A clot of tacky, thick blood, almost black was pushed from the socket and splattered on the floor.

                “There it is!”

                Throttle was starting to sag, Vinnie almost fully supporting him now. “I’ve got you,” he promised.

                Modo turned to look at Max again and barked at him to move. The dark haired mouse stumbled and then finally did as he was asked, pulled from the shock back into action. Tucked away in the bathroom cabinet he found some relatively clean towels and –of course—a first aid kit. He ran back with both items.

                Throttle was breathing heavily now, but the struggle was gone. There was relief from the pressure in his skull, and now exhaustion in the aftershock was taking over. Both Vinnie and Modo had blood on them, but neither seemed to care.

                “Jeez, bro, you’re shaking like a chihuahua,” Vinnie chuckled softly, his head against Throttle’s as the other slumped on his shoulder. “All this for a little gunk in your eye…kinda dramatic don’t you think?” It was a weak joke at best, and even Vinnie didn’t really find it funny. He was so aware of how terrible it all actually was. But a small attempt at levity was all he could muster to push back those bleaker thoughts.

                “Very funny, Vincent…” Throttle mumbled thickly, exhausted. As he blinked at them, his vision started to return. No more snow, but greying shapes that were slowly starting to gain more color and form. Despite the lack of detail, he could make out each of their distinct forms, and it was great relief. He turned his head slightly towards Vinnie then. “If I weren’t so damn tired, I punch you in the mouth…”

                Vinnie nodded and kissed his temple. “Yeah. I know. You can owe me one.”

                “How about ten?” Max muttered.

                “Stow it,” Modo warned, cleaning his hand and doing his best to wipe away the extra blood as Max handled him gauze and tape. “We’re gonna have matching coverings for a minute, bro. It will be just until this stops bleeding, okay?”

                Throttle’s hand came up and rested on Modo’s arm. “Anything you say Dr. Maverick…” his words were soft and slurred, edged with a delirium only the endorphin rush after intense pain could bring.

                Modo snorted a laugh. “Boy that’d be the day, wouldn’t it…”  he mumbled as he wrapped the left side of Throttle’s face, securing the gauze patch in place for the time being. It reminded them both of the caves, and Modo being the one to help unwrap and rewrap his dressings for the first time after the accident. Modo, the only other witness to the full extent of his damage.

                “There, all better.” Modo nodded, sitting back at last.

                “Man, I really wanna throw up.” Throttle muttered, unable to stop his tremors.

                “It’s just the nerves, it will pass.” Vinnie assured, loosening his grip on him now and testing to see if he could sit on his own. Max moved in immediately, nudging Vinnie out of the way, and the white furred mouse bit off his protest at the gesture.

                “Keep it down, babe, it will just put more pressure on your face. You need to sleep.”

                Throttle couldn’t exactly disagree, but there were more pressing matters. He did his best to focus on Max’s face, little by little the details filling in until he could see him as if through dirty glass. It wasn’t perfect. But it wasn’t the void he had been in before.

                “Hey beautiful…” he grinned at him with that stupid lovesick daze.

                “You see me?”

                “Not as good as I’d like but…we seem to be semi operational again.” He kissed him and pulled him closer before trying to focus on his bros once more. “What happened at the school? Did you find Mace and Shiloh?”

                “Who the fuck is Shiloh?” Vinnie asked.

                “The girl he was with I think. I dunno…feel like I heard him call her that…what happened to them?”

                “They bailed, I’m guessing. Vinnie and I dealt with the rough riders. The cops will be cleaning up that mess for hours, but rest assured Limburger will have them bailed out just as quickly for the next business day.” Modo sighed. “No sign of the Doc…”

                “I must have blown him into another zip code. Maybe he’ll stay down this time.” Vinnie offered.

                Throttle shook his head, very carefully, “Doubt it. He was juiced up with Frenzy. I saw it in his face before he…” the shut the memory out with a grunt, tasting the burn of acid in the back of his throat again.

                “Well that explains some of the berserker strength.” Vinnie mused. “But…shouldn’t he be out of control then? Blindly rampaging?”

                He cautiously looked to Modo, who seemed deep in thought.

                “Bro? Thoughts? Hate to say it, but you do have the most experience with this.”

                Modo shook his head slowly. “Dunno. He’s human. Or human-ish at least. Maybe it works differently on him.” Was all he could muster.

                “We need to get back to the garage, warn Charlie and the girls. Where’s my bike?” Throttle grunted, moving to stand. Max was quick to force him down again.

                “You’re fucking insane, you’re not going anywhere! I just saw a clot come out of your eye socket the size of a silver dollar!”

                Above them the rain started to drum louder on the roof of the Scoreboard, a steady metal dinn that created a wave of white noise through the inner sanctum. The gusting wind off the lake blew some of the dampness in through the upper window vents and through the missing squares in the letter board.

                “We’re grounded here for the night at least.” Modo said firmly. “Vinnie, call Charlie and give her the heads up. I think it’s best we all lay low. Streets are gonna be busy with police and whatever goons Limburger has in reserve. Best not to risk it.”

                Vinnie nodded reluctantly, moving off to make the call. Max glared after him, and Modo patted his shoulder, as if to steady him. “There’s space heaters and other blankets around here somewhere. Help me find them. When the wind’s coming off the lake like this it’s pretty cold up here.”

                Max recognized busy work when he was given it, but didn’t argue. Reluctantly he left Throttle’s side and allowed Modo to have a moment with the battered mouse, while he explored the deeper depths of the hangout.

                Modo knelt in front of his younger bro, carefully examining his face for further injury, and relieved to see that Throttle’s uncovered eye focused and followed him again. “I’m gonna get you a helmet that’s welded to your damn head if you aren’t more careful.” He teased softly.

                “Might make a few things difficult,” the other answered, trying to tease back. But he was exhausted. “This never happens with your implant. And you still have your original.” Throttle mused then, as if just remembering.

                Modo’s eye, save for the bionic glow it took on when he was enraged, looked completely natural. It was easy to forget that both them had lost their sight in the accident.

                The grey furred mouse nodded thoughtfully. “I think this was the only fully functioning one Karbunkle ever made. Considering…” He sighed heavily and rested his forehead gently against Throttle’s, each of them lightly gripping each other by the nape of the neck. “Lord, I wish Harley were here. She’d set you right again.”

                “This is more than even she’s equipped for, big fella. Nothing to be done about it, not till we get home.”

                “You scared me. Taking off like that.”

                Throttle frowned. “I had to—”

                “I know. I know. Not saying I don’t understand. Saying you scared me. You never used to run away from us, not even when things were bad.”  He felt a lump in his throat, thinking again over their last confrontation before they’d gone their separate ways. “I know I fucked up. Pushing you away like I did. I wasn’t a good bro to you. Or Vinnie. But it’s gonna be different now. I won’t let that happen again.”

                Throttle nodded silently, not knowing what to say. Almost afraid to trust, but wanting it so badly. Modo kissed his forehead. “Besides…I desperately need you to stop doing reckless shit. Vinnie’s enough to deal with. You can’t both be the problem child.”

                This made Throttle grin in spite of himself and they both chuckled. “Yeah…suppose that’s not really fair is it?”

                “None of this has been fair.” Modo sighed.

                “He still hates me a little, I think. Or doesn’t trust me. Or Max.”

                Modo shook his head. “He doesn’t hate you. And he doesn’t hate Max either. I think he’s scared shitless and acting a fool about it. Lets face it…Vinnie’s never handled this caliber of mess on his own. But he has a point, worrying about the Secretary. I believe him when says she’ll be trouble. For all of us.”

                Throttle nodded, but it was taking more and more effort to stay afloat.

                “He thinks this is going to be like with Mace all over again.” He touched his bandages gingerly, a vague shadowy memory of his former flame bending over him, saying something when he had only been dimly aware. Remembering Mace’s voice in his ear when they had gotten the drop on him. The feel of his gloved hands on him. It sent a weird, uncomfortable flood of tingles through the mouse’s body, like he was going numb. Another stress response.

                “There’s something else,” Throttle added after a moment, looking at Modo more directly now, straining for clarity. “I bit him.”

                “What? Who?”

                “The Doc. He was…he had me by the face, and I bit him.”

                They were both silent for a moment, Modo feeling the weight of this information settling in his stomach like a rock. He nodded slowly. “Does Max know?”

                Throttle shook his head.

                “It’s fine. If you are, we’ll know soon enough. We’ll get you more vaccine, we know where to find it now. I personally blast Limburger and Marshall through a wall to get it to you. So don’t worry.” He pressed another kiss to his hair, “And stop copying me. I’m too cool for you anyway.”

                Throttle grinned, but could barely hold the expression. He looked pale and drawn, and Modo felt him beginning to drift, the exhausting and the most recent trauma winning out. He needed rest.

                He guided him down on the bed lightly, doing his best to prop his head up. “You’re going to lie here and rest. Or I’m going to have Max tie you to the bed.”

                “I don’t recall auditioning anyone for a third in our bedroom games, big fella. But I like where your head is at.”  Max called, and Throttle tried to roll his eyes, but it only made him hiss in pain.

                “Good lord, please don’t encourage him…”

                Modo pressed him down to make sure he’d stay that way. “Sleep. Or I’ll tell Daisy on you.”

**

                In her suite within the Cathedra, Madalyn Tourmaline watched the second tick by on her clock. The hour long past midnight now. Morning closer than not. She had retired to bed hours ago, but sleep wouldn’t come, despite her best efforts.

                Beside her, her bed partner was still dozing, snoring occasionally, his black hair falling in his face, for once not so carefully quaffed and groomed.

                Her lip curled as she looked at him, annoyed. Why did men always pass out after sex? You’d think it was actually strenuous for them, when really it was a lot of show and little go most of the time.  Although, she realized, given her present mood she was probably being a little unfair.

                Slick sighed in his sleep and reached for her, but she avoided his touch, slipping from the bed and padding softly into the adjoining living room, where she could have a greater measure of privacy.

                Her mind was spinning, combing over details of her day, fitting them into the greater picture. Tillie had brought her the report earlier that evening. That another dozen works had been struck down with the phantom sickness that was spreading from the disaster site at the edge of town. They were well past the point of being able to deny it now. Those infected had been quarantined in the hospital and everything was being kept as quiet as possible.

                But Brimstone, for all it’s glory, was still only one city with citizens who stayed as close knit as bees in a hive. Word spread. She could not be able to contain this forever.

                The idea of Frenzy, here, openly infecting her city was more than she could bear. Until now, it was a problem for the wastes. A blight on their kind yes, but limited to outposts and small hamlets and villages who settled beyond their walls. They were safe as long as they kept to themselves and kept their heads down. As long as they staid vigilant.

                And if no one else was…she certainly held her post.

                Giving up the pretense of sleep all together, she hurriedly dressed herself in more plain, casual attire than was her norm, pulling her hair up into a loose bun on the back of her head and moved towards the double doors that lead out to the balcony behind her desk.

                Below here, there were still lights in the city below. Still movement, though to a much lesser degree. Lantern lights and small camp fires could be seen from the square where many of the relocated were still camped, waiting to return home. The lights of the marketplace were still lit too, doing business to only a select clientele at this hour.

                And in the distance…she could see that ugly eyesore of a ship that Baron and his agents had arrived on. The whale-shaped ship was dark and silent, looking more like a corpse on a beach than any harbinger of goodwill and justice from far off stars.

                She wondered at it. Hating it. Seething quietly.

                “What would have done, if you were here?” she asked, seemingly to no one. But in her mind, her husband stood beside her there on the balcony, his hands folded behind his back, his handsome but stern face staring out at the scene with her. “I suppose you would tell me that I gave in too easily? That I let them walk in here without a fight? You’d have something to say on the matter, that I’m sure of it.”

                “Maddie, you and I both know that you’ve never just allowed anything in your life.” His voice answered in her head.

                “That’s not true.” She said softly. She folded her arms across her chest as if warding off the chill. But the chill was from inside.

                She felt arms around her waist and startled, for a moment believing…but it was Slick’s lips at her neck, his arms around her, still warm from their bed.

                “What isn’t true?” he asked her.

                She didn’t look at him, resolutely staring out at the city instead. “Nothing. I was thinking out loud.” She answered.

                “You do that a lot.” He answered. “I know you’re worried about him.”

                She frowned deeply. “I let him go. Now gods knows where he is. If he’s safe.”  There was spite in her voice, but her throat tightened and burned with a different emotion. One she hated more. One she rarely if ever let herself have.  “Does he have any idea how I worry about him? Does he even care? What have I done to make him defy me, to drive him to…them.”

                Slick sighed and turned her in his arms. “He’s headstrong. Like you. And stubborn. Like you. And wants what he wants. Like you. Currently, he’s obsessed with that biker. An infatuation that doesn’t seem to wearing thin yet. But I think that can change.” He offered. “You’ve sheltered that boy, and now he’s out there seeing what it’s really like. How can you blame him, trying to keep him on a leash all these years? You should have let him apprentice with me—”

                “Apprentice?!” she laughed. “At what? Smuggling? Trafficking? Gambling? Perhaps you have him work in your chop shop like one of those other grease monkeys…” she muttered. “Not my boy. Not my son. He is too smart for that.”

                Slick glared at her coolly. “He is smart. That is why he’s an asset. But you want him as pet.” He sneered.

                “How dare you. Max has a legacy to live up to. His father’s name to live up to!”

                Slick gave her a cold, hard gaze then. Very different from how he had looked at her a few hours ago when she had snuck him into her rooms, like they were still teenagers, messing around on the sly while their parents were in another room.

He was a shorter mouse than her late husband, far leaner, greasier and rougher in every way despite how chic he tried to make himself look. Maximus had towered over her, she only reaching his shoulder, and Max she assumed had gotten his height from him…but his build was…so much more like Slick’s.

                The illusion of her late husband looked back at her from behind the man currently warming her bed, silent.

                She glared back at him, turning and moving back into the bedroom. “Don’t give me that look.” her hand flexed as she thought about it, rolling into a nervous fists, her nails digging into her palm. “You are all so ungrateful. What I’ve done for you. What I’m still doing for you.”

                “And what are you going to do about it now?”

                The voice she heard in her head was her husband’s, making her freeze. But Slick’s voice soon overlapped it.

                “And what are you going to do now, Maddie?” he asked her with a sneer, curling a finger through a loose tendril of greying hair. “Where’s my cutthroat Valkyrie? What are you going to do about it?”

                “Answer him, Madalyn.” Maximus’s voice, as close in her ear as Slick’s.

                She whirled as if to demand he do something about it, instead of pressing her, asking her, demanding of her…but he was gone. He had never been there.  There was only Slick.

And Madalyn knew that well. Yet his voice, his ghost, had never left her. Not once. She didn’t know if she should appreciate or despise such devotion.

Slick looked at her, his ire ebbed as he seemed concerned. “I think you’re over tired.” He muttered. He stepped past her, moving to collect his things. “I have a shipment to deal with tomorrow. I won’t keep you.”

She watched him, considering. “Slick…”

He perked one ripped ear towards her but did not look in her direction.

“There’s…disease spreading in the city. Do you know anything about it?”

“Rumors. That’s all.”

She smirked. “Yes. And what of them?”

“It’s not what I’ve been seeing out on the wastes, if that’s what your so concerned about. But I liken it to a lesser version. You’d better be manufacturing more of that cure all the Lieutenant and his friends brought back in a hurry.” He smirked at her, “See? The future son in law is good for something.”

Her face turned as sour as a lemon. “Don’t you dare call him that.”

“Oh Maddie…I was only teasing.”  He sighed, pulling on his boots. “The boy will elope and you will never know about it. That’s my guess.”

She slapped him, the sound cracking in the otherwise quiet room.

Slick blinked up at her slowly and just smirked. “You really do hate Evander. He blew up my whole operation, destroyed my garage and took out one of my most reliable watering holes. And even I don’t hate him that much. What did he do, Maddie?”

The Secretary didn’t answer, only continued to look at him furiously.

He sighed, foregoing dressing any further, deciding to carry the rest of his clothes as he made his discrete exit. “Ah. Of course. He took your supply away, didn’t he?”

She looked at him, seeming confused. But he knew her better than that.

“What did you expect, Maddie? That one day you would look at him, and he would his father?”

“Get out.”

“Gladly.” He made for the door. “I’ll look into outsourcing some vaccine supplies…be on the look out.”

He was gone without another word, leaving her alone again with her ghosts and her son’s absence burning in her like a yawning void.

                After a moment more in the empty rooms, she pulled on her boots and made for the door, pulling on her overcoat as she went. To her knowledge, no one saw her leave the Cathedra by one of the smaller, less used exits onto an empty and narrow side street.

                Only lamp light observed her as she strode her way through the dark towards her destination.

                The Galactic Federation ship hummed in its low, unnatural way. A deep low sort of whale song, or perhaps mechanical grown that was more felt that heard at this frequency. It was unsettling. The lights along it’s hull were dimmed, and as she looked for an entrance bay, she was increasingly stunned to see no guards. No obvious evidence of precaution.

                This gave her further pause as she explored. Recounting how few agents she had seen since their arrival. She had only spoke to three that she could readily recall and the others had kept to themselves, speaking little if at all, and only when addressed. She was aware of maybe four presently patrolling the city, maybe three more at the clean up sight and Baron and his covenant of 3—now two since Marshall’s escape with a hostage—residing in the Cathedra itself.

                What was that? A dozen?

                The rest of the crew had to be lingering aboard the ship and she had been certain someone would be there to inquire about her intrusion.

                But no one was.

                She found the bay leading into the ship’s cargo area open and shockingly unguarded. But at least here, she heard voices from within. One or two purple clad ensigns working through supplies inside, or taking a break from said chore.

                One of these was a fish similar to Baron and the other seemed more amphibious, but she did not get a good look at either of them. They were tucked away among the crates, sitting on smaller ones while a large was pulled between them…drinking and playing cards and ignoring her silent intrusion.

                She rolled her eyes at how easy this was. And these were the people she was relying on to save her planet and right the Plutarkian’s wrongs? It was utterly laughable.

                As she stepped into the main hall of ship she noticed first how vast it was on the inside, but how…empty. There were units along side the wall that seemed to function more as cells or very tight living quarters more than anything that a crew might be using. And as she moved up the ramp, she felt watched by cameras and surveillance…yet nothing moved towards her. Nothing intervened.

                “What is this? A prison vessel?”

If so it was a poor one.

                Finally she reached a set of doors that looked as if they needed key card access.  Here she stopped, realizing at last she had come to an impasse. The Secretary considered her position. Should she double back? Hope that she wasn’t spotted, as she was most likely to be considered trespassing. Should she take a bolder approach? Demand to speak to Baron, or someone in charge of this flying wreck?

                She reached into he pocket of her long blue overcoat and felt for the sleek pistol that was hidden inside. Insurance.

                As she weighed her options, the doors opened from the other side.

                Abruptly, she and Baron himself were face to face in the threshold, clearly startled by one another.

                “Madam Secretary!”

                For a crystal clear moment, Madalyn Tourmaline saw behind Baron’s lean form into the room behind him, which was presumably the command center, if not the helm itself. A large monitor was on the screen against the wall facing them, a control panel and two chairs mounted in front of the controls.

                The transmission had not quite ended. And Madalyn glimpsed the visage that Baron had presumably been addressing. Recognizing them immediately, despite the years between the last time she had seen that horrible, swollen scaley face plastered on banners and propaganda posters strewn across her planet.

                High Chairman Camembert.

                It seemed that the leader of Plutark did not see her, already turning his attention away as she signed off from the transmission.

                Madayln’s eyes slipped back to Baron’s, who heard the transmission end just as surely as she did. She watched as his dark marble eyes dilated, the moment before he took action. A shark, smelling blood in the water, his hand already twitching towards his belt.

                She was faster than him. She grabbed for his belt instead first, fingers curling around the stunner that he was about to grip and pulling it free. She swung it, smashing him in the face with the butt of hit and knocking him back into the room.

                Baron stumbled with a cry and hit the floor on his back. She followed him in, and then fired twice on him. The convulsive shots put the so called Galactic Agent down for the count. Anxiously she looked behind her to see if anyone else had heard the disturbance. But no one seemed to. Her finger pressed the panel on the wall next to the door, sealing them both inside again.

                She didn’t know how much time she had here. She needed to investigate.

                Secretary Tourmaline moved over Barons prone form towards the controls, her eyes roving over them and then began to tentatively test them. Bringing up tabs and files, communication logs, ship personnel. Oddly, it seemed there were only four active personnel listed for the ship. Only four, with Baron as captain.

                “That can’t be…”

                She looked back at the man on the floor, who was ready starting to come around, a wide gash above his brow. She moved towards him again, standing over him with the stunner ready and her pistol still hidden in her coat.

                “Explain yourself. Now.”

                He groaned, blinking up at her. “…don’t kill me.”

                “Start talking and I’ll consider it.” She replied stiffly. “Who are you? Really.”

                “I am who I said I am.”

                She fired close to his head, burning a hole in the floor. “Try again. I am not a patient woman. You wont get another chance.”

                Baron sighed slowly and nodded. “I am an agent of the Plutarkian High Council.”

                “What is your function? Where’s the Federation? Did you kill them, steal their ship?”

                Baron smiled weakly. “The Federation has been disbanded for years, Madame. Decades longer than I’ve been alive, to be precises. Rumors have kept it alive but…I’m afraid that’s all it was. Rumors. Ghost stories to keep surely planets from overreaching.”

                She sneered at him. “Didn’t work for you though, apparently.”

                “Plutark can’t be stopped by something so ephemeral.”

                “So why the pretense then?”

                “…we heard your transmission. The ultimatum Van Wham presented. My crew and I were dispatched to see that it was handled.”

                “Crew. Yes. We’ll come back to that. But if you were here to handle things on behalf of Plutark, why did you capture Marshall? Our information on him says that he was close to the high circle of fish around Camembert.”

                “He stepped out of line. Him and his co-conspirator here on Mars. It was to be handled quietly, discretely.” He sighed again, eyeing her weapon. “Clearly, that will no longer be the case.”

                She was quiet, considering this. She glanced again at the monitor, careful not to give Baron an opening. “Why are you still here then? You know that he’s escaped to Earth. That is most likely where Van Wham and his conspirators are too. Go there. Torment them.”

                “I’m sure the High Chairman is working on that as we speak.” He nodded.

                Something in his tone clued her in to what was behind his words. She glanced at the monitor again. “…you’re a glorified clean up crew. Is that it?”

                She surprised him then by stepping away from him and moving towards the panel fully, once more at the controls. “This occupation is just pretense to do a cover up. Let me guess…you’re going to try and wipe Brimstone off the map?”

                He looked at her anxiously. “No. No we don’t want that.”

                “When hasn’t Plutark wanted that?” she mocked. “Come on, that makes it easy for you, doesn’t it? We gave you an ultimatum, you counter struck, we took hostages, now…you blow us to bits. Sound reasoning in my mind. If war is what you’re after.”

                “We don’t want a war.”

                “Liar.” She waved her weapon at him. “I’m getting sick of you, Baron.”

                “We don’t want a war! Plutark can’t afford it! It hasn’t the weapons, it hasn’t the resources! Its collapsing in on itself, and direct conflict with this fucking dust ball is the last thing it needs!” It came out in violent, venomous rush that left them both quiet in the aftermath.

                “Go on.” She coaxed quietly. “You’re finally starting to become interesting.”

                Baron struggled to get off the floor, to at least sit up. She allowed it, but never let the weapon out of his sight, watching him with her sharp, dark eyes.

                “…Plutark hasn’t had a successful war, or planetary acquisition in years. Not since the conflict with Mars. It sustains itself on its reputation and scrap and a few pet projects that are acting as life support. War is the very last thing it needs. We were sent to dispose of Marshall, Colby and all the Martians involved in the attack. To erase this incident before it leaks to wider galaxy.”

                “Then why would Plutark enlist anything other than blue-blooded fish to do the job? Four crewmembers. And only one of you a fish. Explain.”

                Here Baron looked more reluctant to speak. She sighed and shot him in the leg. He screamed in pain, the muscle burned and spasming under the assault, but it was still only a flesh wound.

                “They’re prisoners!! Captives…programmed and conditioned for covert and dangerous missions.”

                “And the rest?”

                “…androids.”

                Madalyn laughed and then covered her mouth to try and stifle the sound. “By Gods…you fucking fish heads really, really think you’re more clever than us, even after we’ve driven you back to the cesspool you spawned out of. You thought a dozen fucking androids and few brainwashed hit men was going to cover your ass?! It’s insulting!” she raged, looking back again at the glow of the screen. Her heart was hammering in her chest, anger so palpable it was blinding. This shame, this pitiful version of a Trojan Horse…this was all Plutark could muster for it’s once great enemy? A snuff job, carried by prisoners of war and a handful of tech?

                Baron kept his hands raised; webbed fingers spread. It was clear he was afraid. Clear he knew he was exposed and even if he somehow escaped this room, this mad woman, he had no where to run to.

                “Please.” He said softly.

                “We had no choice. We would have kept the casualties to a minimum. We only want the Biker Mice and the rouge Plutarkians responsible for this act. This does not have to escalate.” He did not expect her to hear him or understand. But he was pleading for his life, what little of it he had.

                “Your subordinates, are they aware of this?”

                He shook his head slowly, blood still trickling from the wound above his eye. “No. They believe the Federation is real. They believe they are here to do good. It’s part of their current programming. After this, who knows? They’ll be wiped clean and start from scratch.”

                “And you?”

                He looked at her, miserably. “Wiped as well. If not eliminated for failure. There is always a handler. I was chosen this time, but I have failed.” He sniffled, voice breaking, unable to control the anxiety that welled and spilled over, knowing what he was facing.

                Madalyn’s rage dropped to a simmer, silent and calculating. “Failure might be premature.” She moved closer to him and he flinched, expecting another blow. Instead, she offered him back his weapon.

                He looked up at her in shock. “I think we can help each other, Baron.” She said, offering him one of her diplomatic smiles, the kind that mimicked kindness, but did not reach her eyes.

                “I…don’t understand.” He said cautiously.

                She pressed the weapon into his palm and wiped his face, the way a mother would, brushing away the tears that had collected there. To her they had the same slightly gritty consistency of sea water. “You will. But first, this communicator…is it linked to other Plutarkians? Or just those on the home world?”

                Baron blinked. “All Plutarkian overlords are connected to the channel, I suppose.”

                She smiled. “Good. I want you to open a channel to Chicago for me.”

                He blinked at her, confused. “That’s…Marshall’s territory. You won’t get an answer.”

                “Oh, I bet I will.”

**

                Night moved on in Illinois. The rain brought with it low rumbling storms, the thunder and steady drumming of water on the metal roof and face of the Scoreboard becoming the only noise for a time.

                Vinnie was sitting up high on one of the cat walks, keeping watch through one of the open squares at the roads beyond. Just in case someone was bold enough to try and follow them here. But nothing out of the ordinary stirred in the streets.

                Modo was at work, dealing with the damage to Throttle’s bike. He would leave the finer tuning to Charlie, of course, but he could handle the basic work.

                Max, unsurprisingly, staid right beside Throttle, who was sleeping fitfully. Max sat on the floor beside the bed, his hand locked in Throttle’s limp one, absently stroking the edges of the cuff on his wrist, gazing moodily around the room.

                His gaze slipped to where Vinnie was sitting, spotting his tail waving restlessly off the edge of the catwalk. After a moment’s consideration, he push himself from the floor, tucking Throttle beneath a blanket as he tried to stretch the stiffness out of his limbs.

                Modo’s gaze slipped towards him warily. “You alright, Pard? Should get some sleep yourself. You look flat out.” He offered.

                Max didn’t answer. His eyes were set on Vinnie.

                He started towards the stair and Modo shifted, ready intervene. Tourmaline waved him off, with a look that assure him he would keep things civil. Or at least, as much as he could muster.

                Van Wham did not notice Max’s initial approach. He was lost in thoughts of his own, staring at the texts between himself and Charlie on the phone she’d given him. Of course, she was utterly pissed that the bros had gotten themselves into even worse trouble, but that was par for the course.

                He didn’t know how to express what was going through his head. The guilt that was beating down on him. He knew this was his fault. That Throttle wouldn’t be in this serious position—then or now—if it weren’t for him.

                Max was beside him suddenly, Vinnie glancing to the side to catch a glimpse of him. “Not a good time,” he mumbled.

                The dark furred mouse dropped down roughly beside him and punched him in the arm, the one that was still sore from the day’s earlier skirmish. Vinnie’s eyes bugged as he gasp and yelped, hand over the wound. “Ooooow!”

                “Oh did that hurt? Good.” The other grunted.

                “God, you are…mean when you want to be.”

                “I get it from my mother.” Max muttered, feeling particularly bitter in that moment. There was no mirth on his face, just anxiety and frustration. He glanced at Vinnie, eyes meeting. “You know things about my family that are dangerous, Van Wham. To you. To him. To all of you. And I thought when you confronted me about that at the start of this, we had an understanding. But you held back. And you stewed on it. And you got it in your head that I’m as much of threat as she is.”

                He looked at him hard. “Make no mistake about this. I am what is standing between you and her. And you don’t want me to walk away.”

                They sat silently together, sizing each other up. “You wouldn’t do that.”

                “Why not?” Max muttered back. “If I rotten fruit from the tree, why wouldn’t I do that?”

                “Because you love him too much.”

                Max gave him another small punch in the arm and Vinnie yelped again.

                “Has it really taken you this fucking long to accept that!”

                “Yes! Fine, maybe it has!” the white furred mouse snapped back. “Maybe…it’s been a lot of things. I’m scared, knowing what I know. Wouldn’t you be?”

                Max nodded. “I’m fucking terrified.”

                They glanced out through the scoreboard again. “You know…I don’t know how to navigate this any better than you do. You see her one way, but…that’s my mother. The woman who raised me. I know her in ways no one else does. I have seen her—” He immediately thought of his father’s funeral, and the way she had been so still, so frozen. Like she had broken inside. His quiet, but fearsome protector, now lost and without an oar or compass. How for the longest time, he was the only thing that made her smile. And she kept him close. So close. Until the closeness was something more like being smothered in your bed. “—at her worst. Her weakest. The woman you describe, who’s capable of all this underhanded treachery? It’s hard to accept that they’re the same person.”

                Vinnie looked at him sympathetically. “Blood of the covenant,” he mumbled absently, thinking.

                Max looked at him, curious. “What?”

                “Blood of the covenant is thicker than….oh what was it?” He muttered, prying his memory for the rest of the phrase.

                “Water of the womb.”  Max finished.

                Vinnie blinked and the other shrugged. “What? It was in an Earth literature class I took in school, I think.”

                “Yeah, well…that’s the shit that counts, isn’t it? The choices we make. The sides we chose. Family we chose.” He glanced at the phone again, thinking of Charlie and Karma. Of Kirk and Remy. And the weight of all that before him. He was starting to appreciate how it shifted his priorities, his goals. How difficult it was to juggle.

                “So…lines in the sand and all that. What do we do now?” Max asked, waiting for an honest answer. “Cause we sure as fuck can’t keep on like this.”

                Vinnie nodded. “No. Guess not.”

                He paused again, glancing at the phone once more. “When we get back…are you going to be able to make that same choice? That’s the question, Max. When the chips are down, when it’s time to confront the rot at the heart of things…are you gonna make that same choice? That’s all I need to know.”

                Tourmaline was quiet for a moment, considering the weight of this. A part of him, quiet and almost out of memory, twisted with guilt.

His mother had relied on him for so long and part of him wanted to remain her loyal son. Her precious son, who looked so much like his father. The bearer of his Legacy. But she held him too tight. The love she gave was…strange. Strange to him now only because he had seen what love was like for others.

 Seeing the Mavericks, and Vinnie and Charlie, Stoker and his partners and Throttle himself…the way they loved without strings. Without counting a score. That they gave of themselves without secretly tallying a debt that would never, ever be repaired in full…draining him.

He could never go back to living the way he had. It was a weight he would have to learn to carry, but his choice was made. Had been made, he thought, since the Roadhouse.

He extended his hand for Vinnie to shake. “You bring the sword, I’ll provide the shield. Like I said.”

Vinnie took his hand and shook it hard. “You’re still a doofus.”

                “Dingus.” Max retorted. He pulled Vinnie forward and gave him a—good natured—revenge slug in the face. Of course, he missed the soft side and struck him right in the mask. The resulting collision made the dark-haired mouse’s eyes water, yanking back his hand in pain. “OW!”

                “HA! Who's the Dingus now!?" Vinnie laughed.

                “Don’t make me come up there!!” Modo bellowed loud enough to make both Mice freeze, their tails bristling in shock. His Mama would have been proud. 

***

Chapter Text

***

It woke her from a dead sleep and she had rarely felt such urgency.  Carbine bolted upright, throwing the covers off of her, barely registering Strain’s sleepy snort of confusion as she bolted towards the bathroom off their bedroom.

She barely made it to the toilet before the gremlin inside her decided that whatever undigested bit dinner remained in her body was simply unacceptable and purged it with force.

The General coughed and gagged, the urge to vomit so much greater than what her body actually had to expel. It hurt, but she was helpless to endure it. The child inside her was like a mad man at the controls, pushing and pulling things that it didn’t understand. Between the flux in hormones, the appetite that was all over the place, the need for sleep that never seemed satisfied and this intense nausea, she felt she had lost all control of what had once had been a predictable and well trained body.  If this was what childbearing was like it was a wonder any woman had a baby by choice.

Her knees shook with the effort to keep herself at least partially upright, hands braced on the back of the toilet. She felt faint, blood pressure dropping as her pores began to seep cold sweat, dampening her fur.

She felt about to buckle but Strain was there, one big red furred arm circling her gently and guiding her back against him. He could support her weight almost effortlessly and she was once again grateful for his presence and the fact that she obviously had a type when it came to men.

“Steady. I’ve got you.”

He pulled back her heavy dark hair from the nape of her neck and turned on the overhead fan with his tail. The immediate rush of cold air being a godsend.

“Fuck I hate this kid…” she whimpered. “Or it hates me…I can’t tell. But I feel like I’m completely losing this war.”

He picked her up and carried her back to the bed, laying her down gingerly. Though he knew this woman could hold her own in a physical fight with contenders his size and bigger, he knew when she needed to be treated more gently.

“It’s not a war. The baby is just…doing what babies do. It’s creating itself. That’s heavy work. Takes a lot of material.” He offered. He put his hand lightly over the small bump of stomach that was beginning to form,  strange to both of them. “It will calm down soon I think. We need to get you to the Doula soon.”

His fiancé groaned and hid her face in his pillow, as if she could hide from her misery.

Strain returned to the bathroom, taking care to dispose of the mess before bringing back water and a cool washcloth.

She let him care for her, a thing she only ever allowed the one closest in her heart to do. She never liked being vulnerable. It was one of her ways of showing her love to allow herself to be so in front of him.

As the nausea abated and her blood pressure began to normalize, the misery abated. He slipped behind her in the bed, cuddled close, chin on her shoulder and big arms around her, big hands massaging the tight muscles in her sides and hips, easing that tension too. She melted, relieved.

“Better?”

She nodded, hands over his. “Much.”

She turned her head, glimpsing him as he kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

His ears perked, one brow raised “what for?”

“I’m a rotten patient.” She explained. “I hate being vulnerable and I hate being sick. And that’s mostly what I’ve felt since this started. I know I’ve been…” she slid her own palm across the small swell of her abdomen. “…less than enthusiastic about this.”

He nodded mutely, kissing her neck softly. “It’s okay. I’m just sorry it’s been so hard.” He was quiet for a moment and then added; “I know this wasn’t in the plan.”

She chuckled softly. “Plans change.”

And as much certainty as she felt in this, it terrified her too. It’s implications so heavy.

“Carbine,”  he shifted so he could look at her more directly, leaning over her more fully now. “If you’re not ready for this…there are options.”

She sighed quietly. “ I know. I’ve thought about it. But…I feel like they’re here for a reason.” She frowned, brows knit. The words weren’t accurate enough to what she felt. Trying to make sense of it all was an exhausting task in and of itself.

“There are so few of us left…it feels wrong to cut this little guy’s chance short considering all that.”

Strain nodded but a smile started to creep over his face that took her by surprise.

“What?” She giggled in surprise. “You find the idea of re-population funny now?”

“You said ’little guy’,” he grinned. “You think it’s a boy?”

She smirked and craned her neck up to kiss his nose. “It’s too soon to tell. So I suppose I have a fifty-fifty chance on that. But yeah…I think it’s a boy.”

There was a light in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before and her heart gave a tug, realizing how much he wanted this. It reminded her of another place, another time. A possibility. A path she hadn’t taken.

She pulled him down to kiss him, needing the distraction, needing to push those thoughts out of her head.

His hands that had been massaging her aches shifted and began to touch her in ways that made all other thoughts vanish. It was particularly easy to rile her up these days. And he loved it. Loved her. Too much, she sometimes feared.

He moved her to the edge of the bed and knelt between her thighs, pulling her sleep shorts aside before she had time fully process his next move.

“Strain…!” whatever question or protest she had been trying to get out died with a gasp, feeling his mouth on her. They had barely started but she was already so aroused, everything went hot and blurry.

He paused and kissed her thigh, pulling her knees up so they would rest on his shoulders. “Shh. I just want you to feel good, honey. Let me do that for you.”

She panted and nodded, pushing her fingers through his short white hair, and let him take care of her.

More than an hour later, feeling satisfied and foggy brained rather than sick, she found herself awake again. Immediately her hand went to her stomach as if to see if there was trouble there. But no. Whatever was inside her was sleeping as well.

Something else, some uneasy feeling had shaken her from her second attempt at sleep. She glanced over at her fiancé, slightly snoring beside her and slipped carefully again from the bed. Without the added urgency it was much easier for her to slip away cleanly, moving from their bedroom and out across the hall that overlooked the living and dining room below.

Through the high circular picture window that sat at level with the lofty hall, she could see the city streets leading back to the Cathedra. The military had always been housed near the seat of power and the former General still retained her dwelling despite her official title seeming to be in suspension, if not stripped entirely. Although her fiancé may have had something to do with that small grace.

The world around her was changing. It felt like the sands beneath their feet were shifting, and the tentative balance here, the peace that they had fought so hard for was beginning to dissolve. But it was so slowly, that it was hard to pinpoint exactly when it had began.

Their government wanted to lay all the blame upon Van Wham. The instigator. The rebel against peace. The terrorist. The catalyst for this unrest. But that wasn’t true. Vinnie might be an instigator—he had always loved to stir the pot ever since she’d met him—but he was no terrorist. He, the now deceased Kade, and their Underground operation were a symptom of the failing system here.

A functioning government doesn’t need rebels. It takes care of it’s people. It addresses issues. It seeks solutions. She couldn’t remember the last time the Cathedra had offered such things. Stoker, as usual, was its loudest, dissenting voice, Throttle his quick second while she and Strain and even Max had to then spin their concerns, their outrage into some sugar coated bullshit that the Regent and the Council would even consider listening to.

She regretted that now. Her voice should have been as loud as theirs. Should have been asking the same hard questions. What are we doing here? What is going on?

Vinnie was not the Catalyst for their upheaval, for the disruption of order. He had come after the fact.

Modo had been the start of it. Modo’s infection and disappearance.

Modo Maverick. Patient zero. The high profile mouse who had finally, finally spurred action and awareness to what had been happening to dozens of others in secret. The Regent and the Council could ignore a dozen or so nameless residents going missing, or contracting a strange illness so long as it did not spread.

But they couldn’t ignore Modo, one of the Biker Mice from Mars, being struck down by the same thing on a recon mission that they had sent him on. And even if they had tried, Throttle was beating down their door, day and night, making sure they couldn’t.

People were sick. Dying. Disappearing. Instead of reaching out to their neighbors in other regions, instead of building the wider network and building their strength to fix this problem and seek help…they were hiding here in the ruin of a capital, pretending nothing else mattered but the small minutia of living. Building a wall that was supposed to keep raiders out, but only served to trap its people inside. Insisting they were safer.

They had never felt so isolated. Not since the War. Not since Plutark had made sure that Mars’s communicator with other planets, other worlds, would be cut off. Years later, those systems were still in shambles with shaky abilities. The transmitter Rimfire and Primer had managed to get working in Caria being a small miracle in and of itself.  Was it still transmitting, she wondered? The place had been left abandoned since the Federation’s arrival. A ruin that was now a forbidden zone.

Brimstone was still trying to keep the wolf from its door it seemed. Forbidden zones and curfews. Spotty communicators. Everything to keep the world out.

But it wasn’t working anymore.

Her communicator, tucked safely back on her nightstand, gave a sudden shrill buzz that she could hear even from the hallway.

She turned and rushed back into the room, finding Strain stirring already, reaching for it blindly.

She grabbed it before him and saw a direction and a time on the screen. She looked anxiously to Strain, who was still shaking off sleep. “Primer’s coming in from the South Gate. We have ten minutes to meet her there.”

“She wasn’t due back for hours.” The Brigadier mumbled, new urgency chasing the sleep from his eyes.

“Must have run into trouble. Hurry.”

The pair raced to dress, Strain throwing on his fatigues and Carbine dressing in dark plain clothing to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. She pulled the hood of her wrap around jacket over her head as Strain finished pulling on his boots. Both made sure they were armed. It didn’t matter that they were on their home terf.

                The “gate” was not a gate at all. Not an official point of entry into the city. Those were heavily guarded and watched these days, and no amount of credentials or military badges of honor were going to make their arrival there at this time of night any easier. Especially without direct orders from the Secretary or the Regent himself.

                The “gate” instead was actually a large run off drain that stood about four feet high, built into the wall of the city to allow run off to escape into the mostly drive river bed outside. This particular drain was located behind a shop in one of the city’s many cul-de-sacs, where most of the surrounding businesses were closed for the evening.

                The Brigadier and the General arrived there, headlights off, rolling in on Strain’s jeep at well under twenty miles per hour, just to remain as low profile as possible. He cut the engine as soon as their ride was tucked back, and followed Carbine’s lead, slipping down the narrow alley to the back of the meat shop.

                Primer was there already, harried and working at the loose bars that would let her slip in and out of the short tunnel opening.

                “I found something!” she said anxiously to Carbine as soon as she spotted her.

                “Shh!” The dark-haired woman hissed at her, fingers to her lips. “Don’t say anything until we get inside somewhere. Come on!”

                She bent to help her with the bar as it seemed to be stuck in place. Primer left her bike safely hidden in the tunnel and slipped through with the other woman’s help. Her legs were still shaky from how long and how hard she had ridden back here, and for a moment gratefully leaned on the other for support.

                “Are you okay?”

                She nodded, and then motioned towards the back door of the meat shop. The pair moved towards it, giving a quick nod to Strain would continued to serve as a lookout, hidden in the shadow of the alley.

                The back door of the shop was easy to open, as the lock had been broken for some time, and the owner, an older gentlemen with perhaps a much too trusting nature, never bothered to fix it.

                The women stepped inside the threshold and listened for signs of movement. But there was nothing.

                They stood together a moment in the silence, eyes wide in the dark, ears perked. Neither said anything, but they both seemed to realize the weight of what things had come to. The bleakness of this midnight rendezvous. It felt familiar and disorienting at the same time, as if time had warped itself and they were in a war all over again.

                “I think I might have found Stoke.” Primer said then, pushing the words out in one breath.

                “Where?”

                “There’s a big crater about 120 miles from here in the wastes. Not so far off one of the old highways. I followed a bunch of tracks there. There’s a Sand Raider camp, looks like it’s been there awhile. They’ve got Mice there for sure, laboring. Doesn’t look like a very big clan though.”

                “What makes you think Stoke’s there?”

                Primer dug in the pocket of her pants and produced a torn scrap from a vest, a familiar patch of hunter green. She handed it to Carbine gingerly. “It smells like him.”

                “Where did you find this?”

                “There was…a wreckage sight where the track started near a canyon. Looked like there had been a pretty big fight there. A few dead Rats and Mice left behind. Really ugly.”  She grimaced. “I found this near one of the dead rats. Stoke must have been in a fight there. I followed the scent a little ways, but lost it. Just staid on the tracks until I saw the crater. Scoped it out for a long as I could, but I couldn’t get closer at the time. Someone was watching me.”

                Carbine fingered the scrap of clothing, considering. It was a fragile lead to go on, certainly and part of her wanted to caution Primer against false hope. She didn’t want to say that it was equally likely that Stoker might be dead. That maybe he hadn’t escaped the fight but had been dragged elsewhere. Or perhaps he had lived through that, only to be killed by something else.

                The blonde seemed to be reading her thoughts though, leaning closer to her in the dark. “He’s not dead. He’s just not.”

                “Primer…”

                “I’m not being a stupid kid about this, okay? I just know Stoker. And I know Bowie and Harley, and they did not just disappear into the wastelands and die. No one is going to convince me that without hard proof.”

                Carbine nodded slowly. “Well, we have something to go on at least. We need to get out there and have a look at this camp.”

                “Exactly! Let me get home to Mama and regroup, then we can take this to the Regent.”

                The general shook her head. “It’s not that easy. They’re tightening the curfew and the patrols. The city’s basically on lock down, no one leaves without good reason.”

                “You’re telling me that rescuing Stoker and the others isn’t a good reason!?”

                “Not to the Secretary, and right now she’s calling the shots. And if we bring it to the GF…they’ll send their people to collect him for questioning, not for rescue. And probably get all of them killed in the process. No…no we have to be quiet about this.”

                “What about Rimfire? He’s acting as the Regent’s proxy, can’t he override the Secretary?”

                Carbine looked apprehensive. “I don’t know. I think it’s all…on very shaky footing. We need to be careful with who knows what. Right now…right now we lie low.”

                “You mean just leave them there?!”

                “No!” Carbine hissed. “We just have to be smart about this, Primer. They are already watching all the gates. If you get caught, you’re going to be sitting in a cell, same as anyone. They won’t care that you’re trying to rescue someone. I don’t think you realize what’s happening.”

                “What? What is happening!?” the other hissed back at her. “Explain it to me, because I’m at a loss. I barely see my brother, they keep him locked up there in that cathedral of stupidity and do nothing! We’re questioned and patrolled by outsiders who say they are trying to protect us, but there hasn’t been a peep from Plutark since Marshall attacked. And all the while there are more and more reports of Frenzy hoards roaming the wastes… no one is trying to help them. We have vaccine and no one is sending aide. People here are getting sick, but no one talks about it. They go to the hospital and that’s that. What the hell is going on!?”

                Her voice was too loud and trembling with both exhaustion and rage. Carbine pulled her in and hugged her, trying to quiet her. The younger woman hugged her back tightly, face in her shoulder.

                “I’m scared. I’m scared for all of them.” Primer whimpered.

                “Me too.”

                They stood together a moment longer in the dark, then Carbine pulled her back, looking her in the eye. “Listen to me. You’re going to go home, see your mother and your grandmother. You’re going to act like nothing happened. Like you never left. You keep your head down, you do your work. Give me two days. We will get to that crater.”

                “Two days?”

                “If Stoker’s out there, if he’s survived with a bunch of Sand Raiders this long, two more days is just a drop in the bucket. Don’t do anything rash. Don’t protest. For all the GF know, you’re a nobody. Go it?”

                Primer sighed deeply. “If I were a Freedom Fighter, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

                Carbine laughed. “Oh sweetheart…you are so sorely mistaken.”

                There was a tap on the door then and they both turned towards the sound as Strain popped his head inside, letting in the moonlight from outside. “Time to go.”

                They nodded and hurried out, closing the door softly behind them as if they had never been. As they made for where the Jeep sat tucked away under the eve of someone’s balcony, Strain pushed them back, coming to an abrupt halt.

                Just ahead of them, another figure moved on foot through the empty street. Aft first they thought it might be one of the patrol, but the Brigadier recognized the hooded coat the mouse wore.

                Carbine was at his shoulder, starting in equal surprise. “Is that Madame Tourmaline?” she whispered, stunned. “What’s she doing out here, at this hour?”

                They watched her hurriedly continue her walk, obviously making her way back to the Cathedra, glancing to the side as she moved further down the street, as if concerned she might be noticed.

                “Nothing good.” Strain muttered.

                He looked back to the girls; “Take Primer home. Wait there for me.”

                “What are you going to do?” his fiancé muttered.

                The Brigadier flexed his massive shoulders. “I’m going to do my job.” He smirked, and Carbine grinned back at him, reaching to scratch lightly at the edge of his jaw.

                “I love a man who enjoys his work.”

**

                Her entrance into the Cathedra was in sight when Strain made his presence known. He stepped from a side street, as if he had been waiting there, had seen her coming and called to her.

                The Madame Secretary for all her poise, could not help but give a small startled scream of surprise, hand to her chest, the other reflexively reaching for the weapon that was still hidden in her coat.

                “Brigadier Strain!”

                “Madame? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

                “Well you absolutely did! What are you doing lurking behind there, like some sort of assassin?!” she hissed at him, too flustered to help herself.

                “Patrol, Madame. I’m relieving another officer. I only heard someone coming just now and didn’t realize it would was you. Is everything alright?”  He staid perfectly calm and congenial, offering not hint that he suspected something. Stone faced, as usual.

                She took a few deep breathes, collecting herself and tucked a few loose strands of greying dark hair back into place. “Yes…yes, and no. I’m sorry. I realize I am breaking curfew but…I had some questions that needed answering.”

                “Oh?”

                “Yes. I needed to speak with Baron, and he was in with his crew at his ship. I thought the walk would help me collect my thoughts before I reached him.”

                It would have sounded like a reasonable explanation, even genuine in it’s quiet exasperation. The unease towards the Federation was well documented, not just with the Secretary but with most of the citizens of Brimstone. It seemed to matter little what their intentions were; occupation was occupation. But Strain sensed something more.

                “It was a productive conversation I hope.”

                She looked at him carefully, and then nodded. “Productive enough.” She adjusted her coat then. “I appreciate your vigilance, Strain. So kind of you, taking a role you are clearly overqualified for. I do hope your officer appreciates the reprieve.”

                Strain remained cool, not rising to her bait. “We all have to pull together in these uncertain times. May I offer you an escort back to your rooms, Madame?” he offered, not allowing her to fully turn from him, keeping step for step with her movements. “It is my duty to assure that all members of the Council stay safe.”

                She stiffened, perhaps not having expected him to parry her so well. It made her take a second glance at him.

                “Not necessary, but thank you. You should go home. I’m sure  Carbine will miss your company. I remember those sleepless nights in the early months. They can be brutal.”

                Strain nodded. “Thank you for the advice. But I must insist.”

                Now she frowned. “I am not a waif who needs looked after, Brigadier. And I am still your superior.”

                “Are you?” he asked, pretense slipping. “Jenner may be dead, but I do not believe his power transfers to your hands, Madame. That is still for the Regent to decide a replacement. And as much as I respect your authority…I know my place. You should know yours.”

                Neither of them spoke for a moment or more. The air between them was heavy, a powder keg, set to explode. They would both have to plan the next move carefully.

                “Goodnight, Strain.” Before he could argue, the Secretary had moved off, and this time he did not follow.

                There was an awareness that they had both exposed more of themselves than they would like. Had made a line in the sand. What happened from here would define everything. But it would not come swiftly.

**

Rimfire was asleep at the kitchen table, his head on his forearms, his drink still faintly steaming, untouched, in front of him.

                He felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, pulling him back from the dark.

                “Baby. Go to bed.”

                He sat up automatically, straight backed, and put his hand over hers, feeling the bones in her knuckles under her soft skin, the callouses on her palms and fingers for years of hard work. “It’s alright, Mama. I just nodded off.”

                He glanced at her, surprised she was as alert as she was. “I told you I would wait up until we heard something.”

                Sweep smiled at her son. “And you’re doing a fine job.” She laughed. She bent and kissed his forehead, and he allowed it, if begrudgingly. “Drink your tea. It will help.”

                “Aren’t you tired?”

                “You get used to a certain level of tired, I suppose.” The older woman shrugged. From the bedroom off the circular pod of their living quarters, they heard Mama Maverick cough again. A dry, uncomfortable sound that had cropped up earlier in the day and seemed to linger now.

                They both listened in silence until it had abated, then returned to their conversation.

                “Anything from Carbine yet?” Rimfire asked.

                “Not yet. But Primer is not due back from a run for a few more hours.” She tapped her son’s arm. “Go lie down. I’ll keep my ears perked.”

                He shook his head again. “I’m fine. Besides…I feel bad we haven’t talked much.” His conversation with Madame Tourmaline had been gnawing at the back of his thoughts since it happened. In truth, it had given him a lot to consider about the woman. Hopes that perhaps her motivations were better than others interpreted.

                His mother however, was not of the same hopeful opinion.

“Yes well…I think that is more the Secretary’s fault than yours. She needs you to hold her hand while she deals with these…Federation people. While they spin some bullshit about how Vinnie is a terrorist and Modo and Throttle are helping him. How Stoker is missing and presumed dead. That’s a lot of work for one prissy bitch with a stick up her ass.”

                Rimfire laughed in surprise. “Mom!”

                “Tell me I’m wrong,” Sweep countered, not finding any of it humorous. Her fur was up, and while Rimfire had seen it plenty of times in the past, it was rare for her to be quite so candid in his presence.  “Tell me that’s not what they’re doing. Please. Because everything I’ve heard coming from inside that place has been slander and lies or complete bullshit. They want us to go about life as usual, to pretend we aren’t under a microscope while they try and make it someone else’s fault.”

                She sighed heavily and reached and squeezed his hand. “Baby boy. I am so worried about you. Don’t go back there. Tell them you can’t. Tell them whatever you have to. You don’t belong there.”

                He said nothing for a moment, his lips a thin line as he squeezed her hand back and then withdrew from it. “ It’s not as simple as that. Me cooperating is what’s keeping me from being under the same microscope they want to put Uncle Modo and the others under. It’s keeping Primer and Carbine out of jail. I can’t just leave Mama…I’m trying to help the Regent right the ship. If I’m not there to tell them what really happened in Caria…we completely lose control. We can’t afford that.”

                Sweep relented looking deflated. “I know. I’m just worried.”

                Nothing he could say or do would change that. She was his mother. He just wished she saw him as someone more capable. Someone as strong as his father or her brother.

                A knock on the door of the apartment pod then, and they both tensed, ears perked, antenna twitching, tails lashing. The door opened, and Primer spilled into the apartment first, Carbine close behind, closing the door behind them and lingering there with her ear against it to be sure they weren’t followed.

                The Mavericks moved towards each other in swift embrace, Rimfire swallowing his sister up in his arms and Sweep folding over both of them.

                “You’re here!” The blonde gasped, all too surprised to see her sibling. “They let you out on day pass or something?”

                “Haha, very funny.”  Rimfire snarked back. “What happened? You’re back early—”

                “I think I found where Stoke is. Can’t vouch for the others yet, but I’m holding out hope.”

                “So he is alive? You saw him?” Sweep asked anxiously.

                “Not exactly.” In short order she relayed the same story she had to Carbine to her brother and her mother, who listened intently with mixed displays of skepticism and hope.

                “It’s not much of a lead, sis.” Rimfire sighed, looking dubious about this whole thing.

                “It’s better than nothing! I’m telling you, he’s there. Maybe I don’t have more proof but I feel it in my gut!” she argued. She looked at her brother intently, “You can take this to the Regent, right? Explain that we have a lead? Get them to investigate? Stoker’s a hero, they have to rescue him!”

                Rimfire looked uncertain and Sweep even more so. “I don’t think being a hero carries as much weight as it used to.”

                Primer studied her brother’s face, eyes squinting, “What are you saying?” she asked quietly. “That we abandoned him and Harley and Bowie? That we just…pray that they’ll make their way back here somehow? Bowie was infected when they followed him through the tunnel. If he’s still alive, out there wandering, Stoke and Harley will need help to bring him back.”

                He said nothing, standing there, avoiding her gaze. His silence frustrated her. She pushed at his arm, and he pushed back reflexively, like they were children. “What the hell is wrong with you!? When we were part of the Underground, you went on missions into the waste to find survivors. You found Harley! You cured her! Why doesn’t Bowie get the same consideration!? Why are you just writing him off—”

                “I’m not!” Rimfire barked, suddenly livid. “I got lucky with Harley! Finding her was completely random. But to find Bowie means risking getting you and Carbine and probably even Mama and Grandma thrown in a cell for questioning. The circumstances are not the same, Primer!”

                “So we just give up!?”

                “No, we just think with our heads instead of our tails! Like Stoker always told us!”

                “We don’t have time for that! It’s been almost a month, Rimfire! How long are you gonna sit on your hands and wait for Uncle Modo, or Throttle or Vinnie to just show up and fix it all!?”

                “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Of the two of us, who has the track record for sitting on the sidelines, huh? Who busted Stoker out of prison, who was the first to actually reach Modo on Earth and come back—and what were you doing? Tinkering with Bowie in the basement, letting me do the dirty work--!”

                She shoved him, harder and Sweep tried to separate them.

                “Stop it! This is not a competition! Your father would be goddamn embarrassed if he heard you two talking to each other like this!”

                “Well he’s not here is he!?” Rimfire yelled suddenly, startling them all.

                “Hey hey, let’s simmer down.” Carbine cautioned, making herself known again among the group. “There’s no winner in this argument, got it? The odds are stacked against us, but we are going to keep trying. Keep looking. The only way we get out of this choke-hold we’re in is to get the boys safely back here to testify. Until then, we are all under the gun and infighting isn’t solving anything!”

                From the bedroom, Mama Maverick began to cough again in earnest. After a moment of hearing the rasping, hacking cough, Sweep left her children and stepped into her mother’s room. She was sitting on the side of the bed, one of her hand embroidered handkerchiefs’ covering her mouth as she coughed, and coughed, bowing with the effort of it.

                “Mama!”

                The white-haired mouse bent over her mother’s shoulder, rubbing her back. Feeling her spine through the thin fabric of her nightgown. It was a strange, alien sensation. It had been years since her mother was the robust woman who ran the daily operations of not only her family farm, but successfully counseled and guided the affairs of her children, grandchildren and community.  But Sweep had never noticed her frailty so acutely as she did then. Or perhaps, she had been too close all this time to see what was right under her nose.

                Finally, the coughing began to settle, and Rimfire brought in a glass of water for her, Primer lingering at the door.

                “I’m alright, not need to cluster! Give an old woman a bit of privacy please.” She grunted to them, trying to be unbothered but the irritation in her voice still snuck out.

                Her grandchildren looked to each other and did as they were told, Primer slipping off to the room she shared with her mother and shutting the door hard. Rimfire sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, feeling guilty.

                “I should go.”

                Sweep looked back at him, “So soon? I thought you’d spend the night.”

                He shook his head, reaching for his jacket and pulling it on hastily. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll check in as soon as I hear more.” He slipped into the bedroom and kissed his grandmother’s cheek, but did not offer Sweep the same, moving swiftly past her.

                He glanced at Carbine. “Are you coming?”

                The raven haired woman looked from him to Sweep, and the other woman nodded to her. It was better that they leave together.

                When the door closed, it left the younger Matriarch with a hollow ache in her chest, the night feeling too heavy. But she turned back to her mother, glimpsing the bit of fabric still clutched in the older woman’s wizened palm.

“Mama…”

                Mama Maverick crumpled the handkerchief in her fist and tucked it away. “It’s alright. Don’t make a fuss.” The tone was soft, but authoritative. Making Sweep feel like she was a girl again. But she would not let her mother drop the subject so easily.

                She stepped closer, taking the rumbled fabric from it’s stowed place, ignoring her mother’s look of agitation and protest. It was smeared with bright spots of blood.

                “Did you breathe in too much dust today going to the market? I told you it’s not good for you to walk so far.”

                Her mother blinked at her. “Just full of advice today, aren’t you?”

                It felt mean of her to say so, and Sweep’s ears lowered a little, turning in frustration back to the sink in the kitchen to clean the handkerchief.

                After a moment, she heard the tell-tale shuffling her mother’s slippers on the floor behind her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re only trying to help.”

                Her daughter didn’t answer her.

                “You have to leave an old woman a little of her pride, you know. Otherwise I might just shrivel up and blow away like a tumbleweed.”

                “If you’re sick, I need to know about it.”  Sweep replied at last, tightly. She looked at her, expecting some protest or argument on the matter. Some insistent that it was only a little cough and that her daughter was just overtired. Over worked. Over worried.

                Her mother looked at her with her big, sweet eyes, and Sweep saw something new in them. An awareness of something. The sage and weary expression of someone who had glimpsed what the future had in store for them.

                “It’s not the dust, sweetie. I’m just old.”

                She could hear the faint rattle in her voice when she spoke.

                “You’re not that old, Mama. You just had a long day. Drink some water, go back to sleep.”

                “Of course, dear.” Her mother nodded, patting her on the back and shuffling back to her room.

***

                Morning. Sunlight just reaching over the crater’s edge, though it had been on the horizon for a little more than an hour now. Kirk was up with the sun—a previously rare occurrence. But since coming to Mars, a lot about the12 year old had changed.

                He sat in the lookout beneath the protection of the dome that covered it, and searched the horizon with the magnifying goggles. Scanning, once again, for the mystery rider Lexi had spotted the day before.

                Below him, he heard the faint rattle of the ladder as someone was coming up to join him. Without looking away, he greeted them. “Did you bring something to eat? I’m hungry.”

                “Depends, are you gonna tip me for the room service?”

                Kirk gasped and turned, pulling the goggles up in surprise. He had expected to see Lexi there, ready to start another day’s watch. Instead Bowie was still making his way shakily onto the platform. “Hey, careful!” Kirk gasped, reaching to grab his wrist, as if he would lose his balance and fall back down the ladder.

                The bartender chuckled at him. “It’s alright kid, I’ve got it. Thanks for the assist.”

                He crawled on his knees across the platform floor and settled beside him, leaning up against one of the posts to rest.

                Kirk eyed him dubiously. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping or something?”

                Bowie laughed. “Oh…I feel like I’ve slept plenty.” He tapped his temple. “Feels like I’ve been sleepwalking for a long time. Now I just…need to shake it off.”

                Kirk nodded. “Yeah. I felt like that when I got the flu real bad one year. I got so tired and bored of being sick and laying in bed. Felt like I was gonna explode if I didn’t go out and do something. I got on my bike and rode for about five miles. Mom was pissed.”

                Bowie laughed softly and patted his back. “I bet she was.”

                He turned, trying to follow his gaze out across the horizon. “Anything interesting out there?”

                “Mostly a lot of sand and rocks.”

                “Yep. No shortage of those.”

                “Lexi and I saw a rider yesterday. Way out there, on the hill near the canyon.” He admitted then. “We tried to signal them, but I don’t know if they saw. They were so far away.”

                Bowie looked again silently. “Hmm. Maybe.” He tapped the floor lightly with the heel of his boot. “This rig here is pretty tall though. It just stick out over the rim of the crater like a swizzle stick.”

                “A what?”

                “Those fancy little stirring sticks you put in drinks to make them look…festive.”

                Kirk blinked at him and Bowie shrugged. “Clearly you don’t spend much time in bars.”

                “I’m twelve.”

                The blonde mouse smirked, “That never stopped my mother.”

                Kirk let the joke lie and turned his gaze back out onto the horizon. “Do you think anyone’s looking for us? Or do you think they’ve given up? Decided we’re dead.”

                “Well you said you saw a rider, didn’t you?”

                “Yeah…”

                “Well there ya go. Someone is on the lookout for us. You can trust that. Martians don’t give up their own easily.”

                “But what if they think you’re dead? Or what if they don’t even know you’re gone?”

                Bowie was quiet, reading the distress just below the surface in the boy’s features. Stoker and Harley had not fully explained how it was the boys ended up on this unfortunate adventure with them. It had been assumed they had come along because there was no other choice, that they had gotten separated from the rest of the group. But maybe that wasn’t the case.

                He leaned closer, clapping his hand on Kirk’s back. “Have a little faith in the people who love you, kiddo. They may mess up once in awhile, and they may even let you down sometimes. But the people who really love you—I mean really, really---they don’t ever give up. Got it?”

                Kirk nodded slowly, seeming to sit with this for a moment.

                In the silence, Bowie considered their perch again. He looked down through the uneven and weathered slats in the salvaged wood, once more tapping it with his heel. “What the hell is the rickety rig built on anyway? Seems an odd place to put a lookout. Wind should have blown it down forever ago, the shape it’s in.”

                Kirk shrugged. “I dunno. Seems like there was big metal rod sticking out of the ground here and they built the tower around it.”

                Bowie blinked at him. “A what?”

                Kirk shifted, pushing aside the course blanket he was sitting on to expose more of the floor. There was a small hole in the wood, there, allowing them to peer down along the right side of ladder they used.

                What Bowie had thought was a solid hunk of a support pillar was actually hollow.  He squinted down into he dusty dark. “What the actual fuck is going on here?”

                Kirk pulled a flashlight from their kit of supplies and shone it down into the hole. “See? There some sort of metal rod there. Lexi thought maybe it was a piece from an old building that got stuck here.”

                Bowie stared at it, realized that the boys were only looking at the tip of the thing. That it was not solid, but actually shaped like…

                He sat back abruptly and whooped loudly, startling the human next to him.

                “It’s a radio tower!!”

                “Huh?”

                “Oh come on, runt! A radio tower! You have them on Earth! You ever drive by one of this big steel bad boys, see it pointing up at the sky like some kind of sentinel, and suddenly you’ve got crystal clear reception on your favorite tunes?!”

                Kirk blinked at him, trying to process. “…yeah? I guess? Is it like…a wifi signal?”

                Bowie rolled his eyes. “Oh my gods, child, you make me feel ancient. But never mind! You keep a look out, I gotta let Stoke know!”

                “Why?!” Kirk called after him, watching him scrambled back down the ladder, until taking the steps was too slow and he actually slid down the rails, hitting the ground at a stumble.

                “Cause I think I just found us a way out of this pothole…”

                He took off at a limping sprint, away from the tower and back towards the collection of shacks that lodged the rest of the captive work force.

                One of the patrolmen spotted him and barked at him roughly, waving his rifle towards him. “You! No running! You wanna get shot!”

                “Piss off!” Bowie called back, flicking him off.

                The dog snarled at him, started forward, but Bowie had already ducked between several structures, and it seemed like the raider was either too tired or too lazy to give chase.

                The golden furred mouse darted through the heavy tarp that was used as their door, and into he still cool dark of the structure. Lexi was not in sight, the mat that he and Kirk shared completely empty. He was probably already off and scrounging for food, as Kirk had been expecting him.

From deeper in the structure, he heard soft sounds.

He moved towards them pushing aside a second tarp that separated the other sleeping quarters. It came as no surprise to find both his partners engaged in some early morning coupling, neither of them having taken notice of him yet, too wrapped up in each other.

Harley’s legs wrapped around Stoker’s hips, his face in her neck and her hands in his hair that had started to come loose from it’s tie, trailing well past his shoulder blades now. Longer than hers.

She gasped, body arching under his and he rocked against her harder making a moan of his own that was only partially muffled.

                The wheat colored woman mumbled something sweet in his ear, encouraging him for more, when she opened her eyes and saw that they had a spectator.

                “BOWIE!”

                Stoker’s head bolted up, eyes wide, hair a mess, and stared at the man in the doorway, grinning at them stupidly.

                “Don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the show.” He grinned. “Although you could have waited until I got back to get started. How rude.”

                Stoker reached for the nearest object, which happened to be his boot and hurled it at their other partner. “How many times have I told you that I don’t like being walked in on!? Get in here, before one of the kids sees!”

                “Oh they’re off and running, no worries. Just us and the dust weevils.”

                Harley sighed, still splayed prettily beneath her husband and tapped his arm lightly. “Welp, that’ll do it for me then. Get off.”

                “I was trying to…” Stoker muttered.

                “Speaking of rods--!” Bowie continued walking further into the room and settling excitedly beside them.

                They both groaned, eyes rolling and Stoker sat back in frustration, Harley dragging the discarded blanket over her nakedness as she looked at Bowie with thin, but saintly patience. “Tell me you have a point and that’s not just a terrible joke.”

                He leaned over and kissed her adoringly. “I do, gorgeous. Either of you happen to inspect what that weird look out tower is actually built around?”

                “Sorry, I’ve been a little busy trying to save our skins to make sure if their shit buildings are up to code.” Stoker grumbled, pulling up his trousers, only for Bowie to stop him before he could close the fly.

                “Well, if you had, you might have noticed something that one of our lads discovered. That big support beam in the center? It’s hollow. It’s just a fucking shell, probably but in years ago during the war to hide what’s actually there.”

                “Which is?” Stoker prompted, trying to nudge his other lover’s hand from his jeans but Bowie wouldn’t be budged, fingers teasing him lightly and keeping the other Freedom Fighter caught between arousal and annoyance.

                Bowie leaned close, still grinning like a maniac, his disheveled appearance adding to the strangeness but not dampening any of his appeal. “A deep space radio communicator tower.” He said each word slowly, letting them sink in.

                Harley sat up, blanket still wrapped around her and Stoker blinked, for a moment forgetting everything else. He gripped Bowie’s ragged shirt front with both hands, drawing him nearly nose to nose with him.

                “Shut up. If you’re joking, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

                Bowie’s grin didn’t waiver. “And what if I’m not, handsome?”

                Stoker seemed confused, breathless. “Do…do you think it still works? It’s coming out of the rock face…”

                “The station control is probably hidden below it. There’s a base there, right? Bet it’s as hollow as the pillar. Control panel is probably still sealed inside.”

                Harley nodded, hope building. “Oh my gods…maybe the Raiders don’t even know it’s there. It might still be viable! We can call for help!”

                Stoker said nothing else, staring quietly between them, as if trying to digest it all. “We gotta keep this under wraps. If the flea biters know what we’re up to, they may try to sabotage it. I made I deal with Atlas…we play our hand too soon and he might consider this a betrayal. Put us all in danger.”

                Bowie seemed surprised. “You’re worried about that big mutt feeling butt hurt over a deal you got coerced into? Baby…I’m not sure enough blood is going to your brain right now.”

                Stoker stilled his wandering fingers and looked at him seriously. “I’m worried about getting us out of here intact. Our best chance of that is to keep this to ourselves. And if we can get it working, make the broadcast when most of the camp is away. That probably includes me. So I’m counting on you two.”

                He pulled them both closer. “This is gonna take a lot of finesse, a lot of brains and a lot of discretion. You feel me? We do this right…we can let Brimstone know what’s really going on out here.”

                “We won’t you let down, Stoke.” Harley nodded, nuzzling in closer.

                “You never have.” He kissed her lightly and looked to Bowie again. “You up for this, pard? You’ve been through a lot. I’ll keep Atlas and the others distracted as long as I can. But if things get too dicey…we’ll think of another way. I won’t risk any of you getting hurt over this.”

                Bowie’s eyes dropped the burns still evident on Stoker’s neck from the collar. The scratches that were now fading to new scars across his skin.

                “What about you, hot stuff? Pretty sure you’re maxed out on how much punishment you can take.”

                “Nah, you know me, Bow. Takes a lickin’, keeps on tickin’.”

                Bowie looked at him anxiously and Stoker scratched his fingers through the tuft of fur at the side of his jaw. “You did good, bro. Really.”

                “Oh yeah?” Bowie smirked, pushing the worry away then in favor of distraction. He pushed Stoker flat against the mattress then, making him grunt with surprise. “So what’s my reward then?”

                Stoker sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Well…I think that depends on what Miss Harley thinks.”

                She grease jocky turned field nurse smiled at her boys. “Well, one of us needs to be productive and keep appearances up. So I suppose I’ll take one for the team this time. But I expect you to finish the job, hero.”  She leaned over and kissed Stoker deeply, enough to warm him up again, enjoying the tease before pulling away and looking to Bowie. She poked him lightly in the chest. “Don’t wear him or yourself out. I’m not done with either of you.”

                “Yes, ma’am.”

                She stood, letting the blanket fall as she gathered her clothes, knowing they were both watching and slipped from the room once she had covered herself. Letting the tarp fall back into place behind her, she had barely made it a few steps before she heard Stoker groan loudly and curse, and Bowie coo something in affirmation.

                The day was looking up.

***

Chapter Text

***

                Rimfire had barely made it back to his rooms in the Cathedra as the sun was rising in the far distance beyond the city. He pulled his curtains closed against it, dousing himself in dark again. Ready to reclaim what little sleep he could.

                He stripped out of his clothing, stuffing them beneath his bed and placing his boots in front of them, the essentials always at the ready. Standing in his briefs, the younger mouse stretched and scrubbed his hand through his hair, ruffling it harshly, as if in effort to expel negative energy. The shiver followed down his spine and to the tip of his tail. An effort to shake off the stress.

                Standing in this room he had occupied for weeks, a space larger than his family’s own living room and kitchen combined and all too himself…he had never felt so strangely closed off and alone.

                How was it possible to feel so claustrophobic and isolated at the same time?

                He dropped down on the edge of his bed, wishing he had handled things with his family better. That he hadn’t been so harsh or dismissive. He knew that his irritation with them was not really about them. It was the disconnect that he was now being forced to reckon with.

                When he had been living primarily with the Underground, it had still felt like he was doing what he knew to be right. The rebellion had shapeshifted, but it was still known to him. And being with Vinnie, working security with Bowie and Primer, his sporadic contact with Throttle…it had kept him from drifting too far. Let him keep at least one foot anchored in what he knew.

                But here? He was wildly out of his depth.

                He fell back onto the bed with a groan and shut his eyes tight. Wanting to block out the world and just…sleep. Forget for awhile where he was.

                But he would have no such luck.

                Just as he was starting to drift, body finally starting to relax and his blankets growing warm with his body heat; there was the heavy sound of something moving or falling from the room next to his.

                His eyes shot open, immediately darting towards the wall as his ears perked, listening. The noise was not a one off. More sound, what was becoming more and more evident. The taupe-furred mouse was up, immediately pulling on his pants and boots and forgoing the rest, checking his holster for his favored blaster.

                He padded across the room from his bed to the far wall, seeing the art that was hung there shaking slightly as whatever was on the other side of it shook.

                There was a door built into the paneling, easy to miss unless you were aware of it. It lead directly into the Regent’s private quarters. With Rimfire serving as his proxy, he was the only one allowed to keep quarters this close to him.

                Rimfire pressed his fingers into the slim handle of the door and gave it a firm but slow push to the side, allowing it to open without making noise on it’s track. Without fully exposing himself, he glimpsed into the Regent’s room, and saw two dark shapes struggling among the disarray of furniture in the sitting room.

                “Stop right there!” Rimfire shouted, moving to action, his blaster at the ready.

                One of the figures cried out, and another turned towards him abruptly. Rimfire fired, striking the turning figure and sending him spinning to the floor, while the other body slumped against the edge of the couch.

                Rimfire cursed, fumbling for a light and finding a switch along the wall that illuminated the sconces attached to it.

                As the lights came up, a grim sight opened before him.

                The two figures took shape. The one closest to him, that of Baron, the Federation unit leader, who was lying sprawled face down on the rug. The lazor burn Rimfire had given him obvious through his shoulder blade, leaving a bloody, angry exposed bit of burned flesh that was seen through the seared uniform.

                He was unmoving. Unconscious if not dead.

                The figure slumped at the edge of the couch was The Regent. The elder mouse had large bleeding wound in his chest and stomach, the blood spreading quickly across the front of his pajamas.

                Rimfire moved towards him quickly, gasping at the sight. “No no no…!”

                The older mouse groaned again, obviously in great pain. He reached and grabbed at Rimfire as the Freedom Fighter did his best to support him and try to inspect his hurts. “Sir! Don’t move, don’t move, I’m going to call for him.”

                The other shook his head quickly, breathless and struggling. As he gripped at his proxy like a man who is drowning, Rimfire couldn’t help but notice the way his bloody palm left impressions all over his fur.

                “Sir! I have to get you help--!”

                “No time…” the old man rasped. His eyes were bulging. “No more time…”

                Rimfire braced him and then turned his head and shouted as loudly as he could; “HELP! I NEED HELP IN HERE! MAN DOWN!”

                “No one’s there…” the Regent insisted. “She sent them all away.”

                “What? Magnus, don’t try to talk. Listen, you’re going to be fine, we’ll get you to the hospital.” He pulled open the man’s pajamas to have a look at the source of the bleeding, seeing a deep laceration in his chest and below his ribs that was bubbling blood.

                Uselessly he pushed his palms over the cuts, trying to apply pressure, trying to stop the bleed out. All it did was seep through his fingers.

                “SOMEONE HELP!” he screamed again, feeling his vocal chords strain with the effort to make himself heard. He glanced back at Baron, who had not moved from the fallen place on the floor. The rug beginning to turn red beneath him too. Everything was turning red.

                The Regent gripped at him again, turning his face back towards him. Magnus was white under his fur, the life draining out of him visibly. “Don’t…don’t believe everything they tell you…use your head, son. Please. I was blind, I looked away. I failed us.”

                “Sir, I don’t understand! I don’t understand, who did this?! Why?”

                Magnus looked at him helplessly for a moment more, slipping down further as he lost the ability to prop himself up. Muscles going lax. Crimson streaks were now up past Rimfire’s wrists. Rivers of red dripping down his elbows.

                He heard footsteps distantly, moving fast now. He felt his own breathing, too quick and too shallow and sharp. Making him dizzy. The man below him had gone utterly boneless, and Rimfire thought that he was looking down at his wounds, at the hands that were doing all the work to hold him up and hold him together only to realize the light had gone out of them.

                The heavy double doors came open with a crash, several armed guards followed by The Secretary herself bursting into the room. All eyes fell on the scene, the guards screaming for Rimfire to put his hands in the air.

                The shaken Freedom Fighter looked back to their now dead leader and did as he was ordered. He raised his blood-streaked hands, and the body of the Regent slumped a little further to the side, falling limply to the floor with a heavy thud.

                The guards moved in, screaming orders at him that he only vaguely registered. He felt the barrel of a rifle pressed roughly to the side of his head, threatening him with harm if he did not comply.

                And then another body moved in, swooped down beside him and forcefully pushed the weapons and the overwhelming guards away from him. “Get off him, you morons! He isn’t a threat! Go fetch a med-team, now! NOW!”

                It was the Secretary. Madame Tourmaline. She turned his face towards her gently, looking at him with both fear and concern. “Rimfire? Rimfire!”

                He just stared at her, breathless and confused. She brushed at the blood on his face, trying to wipe the smears away, and then gripped him gently but firmly by the shoulders, helping him off his knees and supporting him as he stood.

                “Come on. Come on…” she guided him hurriedly away as more people started to flood the room, a pair of gurneys and several medical technicians rushing in to attend to the two downed figures sprawled on the now ruined rug.

                She ushered Rimfire back through the adjoining door into his own room and guided him down onto a cushioned bench near the wall. Previously unused or even noticed by the Freedom Fighter.

                “Rimfire, look at me,” she coaxed, kneeling in front of him as he started to shake. “Breathe. Just take a breath. Look at me.”

                He continued to stare at her, feeling cold sweat began to form under his fur. A needling numbness in his fingers, and toes, even his lips. His eyes searched hers. Not understanding.

                “Tell me what happened. Tell me what you saw.”

                The sleeves of her shirt, silky and thin, dripped down from her arms and he noticed the splotches of blood he had caused on them. He reached absently to wipe them away, an unconscious movement he didn’t quite register. The fabric was cool under his fingers, but the smears remained.

                “Rimfire.” She coaxed again. “Are you hurt?”

                He blinked at her, the question shaking him from his daze. Her hands moved from the resting place on either side of his neck to explore across his shoulders and chest as she frowned anxiously. “You’ve got so much blood on you…is any of this yours? Are you cut somewhere?”

                “No.” he finally pushed out.

                She looked back at him and his hands moved to her wrists, gently retracting her touch. “I was asleep. I heard something hit the wall. I got up to investigate and I could hear more sounds from the room. I opened the door and…it was too dark I couldn’t see. I saw people fighting but I couldn’t see who they were.  I gave a warning, one of them turned…I shot him.”

                He thought about the glaring burn hole in Baron’s shoulder. It would have hurt him considerably yes, but he’d suffered similar injuries over the years. It hadn’t been a lethal shot. But the blood on the carpet beneath him as he laid there—

                Her palm was against his cheek, diverting his thoughts again. He realized that she looked not only shaken, but also disheveled. Her hair, usually so carefully quaffed and done up, was mussed and loose, falling from a lose bun she had tucked it in. There was a cut on her forehead that caused greying strands of it to stick to the now tacky wound.

                 “What happened to you?” he asked hoarsely.

                She exhaled nervously and gave him a reluctant smile. “…I’m afraid that Baron, and the Federation, are not who they say they are.”

                “What?”

                “Listen to me. Listen carefully.” She glanced past him to the doorway, hearing the commotion beyond and seeing several guards lingering there, having secured them inside. Then glanced back to him. “What I’m about to tell you must stay here, between us. At least until morning, when we can gather our wits and address what’s happened.”

                “What? What does that mean?! Magnus is dying, he’s…” he leaned back against the wall, suddenly sagging with the weight of it. “…he’s dead.”

                She nodded.

                “I know…I know. And you were very likely next. They had already tried with me, but I spooked him off…” she swallowed roughly and he could see the markings around her neck where it looked like someone had tried to strangle her.

                “Baron isn’t an agent of The Federation because the Federation is a lie. They’re agents of Plutark. Sent here to clean up Marshall’s mess. I followed Baron to his ship, I heard him talking with the High Chairman. It’s all been a ruse, Rimfire. We let the beast in by the front door.”

                She looked helplessly back towards the Regent’s room, looking anxious and distraught. “And this is the price we paid.”

                He said nothing, trying to understand the information that was being thrown at him. His head was spinning. Just a few short hours ago, he was with his mother and grandmother, waiting for his sister to return from a search mission. One he had to keep secret, because of the curfew imposed by the Federation. To keep them safe.

                “What do you mean…what do you mean ‘clean up Marshall’s mess’? They already had Marshall captive. They could have just taken him out.”

                “They’re trying to prevent another war. They can’t handle another full fledged resistance from us like last time. They’re weak. And slimy. They were trying to take out not just Marshall but the Biker Mice and everyone who was witness in Caria. Erase the evidence of aggression. Keep us from seeing what’s happening.”

                She sat back, hanging her head. He thought, for a moment, she looked…ashamed. Guilty. “…your uncles were right. About Frenzy. About the Plutarkians creeping back onto Mars. Infecting us in secret. They were right about all of it. And I was wrong.”

                He looked at her, not knowing what to say.

                “It’s so much worse than you think.”

                Someone moved then from inside the room, and the guards blockading them parted. Carbine entered, wild eyed and spotted Rimfire and the woman who was kneeling before him.

                Without thinking, without asking what had happened, the black-haired General moved between the pair, drawing Rimfire up and hugging him close. “Are you okay?”

                Rimfire hugged her, tighter than he meant to. She was the needed break in the fog that was suffocating him.

                “I couldn’t save him; I wasn’t fast enough.” He mumbled in a rush against her shoulder. “He’s dead, Carbine! He’s dead!”

                She nodded, shushing him gently and kept her eyes on the Secretary who looked at her from the floor. Her expression was one of vague dread, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that Carbine noticed immediately.

                “Madame Secretary…I came as soon as I heard. Do you need a medic, your head is bleeding.”

                The woman rose slowly. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, folding her arms across her chest defensively, or perhaps protectively. It was difficult to tell.

                “How much have you been told, General?”

                Carbine blinked, stunned by the woman’s use of her former title as she thought she had been stripped of it. But it seemed that in this moment of distress, the Madame’s opinion on the matter had shifted.

                “I was alerted that there’d been an attack among the staff. I didn’t realize…”

                “You shouldn’t have been told even that much.”  She moved past the pair towards the doors leading into the crime scene that had been the Regent’s room. “No one in or out, do you understand! This stays locked down! That includes those at the hospital! No one is to speak of this until I’m ready to give a release to the public!”

                “Yes Madame” came the unanimous response.

                She moved back towards Carbine and Rimfire, pulling the door of the room closed roughly behind her and stood with her back to it for a moment, catching her breath.

                “Are you familiar with the Greek story of the Trojan Horse?” she asked after a long moment.

                “…yes. Of course.”

                “…The Federation is our Trojan horse. They’re Plutarkian agents, using a long dead fairy tale as a cover to get them past our gates. Plutark has been creeping back onto our planet. Why, I don’t know. But they can’t wage war openly. This was going to be a snuff job. They would kill Marshall for bring attention, and Van Wham and the others when they were brought forth. And any other witnesses.”

                “Who the hell told you this?” Carbine seethed, moving closer towards the woman.

                “Baron. When followed him back to his ship tonight.” She replied.

                The General looked to Rimfire, “Did he go after you next?”

                “No…I was asleep. I heard him fighting with the Regent but when I got there, the damage had already been done.”

                The General nodded mutely. She had left Rimfire at one of the more private entrances of the Cathedra less than a half hour prior. And they had not seen the Secretary more than a half hour before that. Which meant that if she were to be believed, Baron must have secretly already been at their heels when she and Rimfire had parted aways.

                “Baron attacked you at the ship?” Carbine asked.

                The other woman nodded. “Yes. But as I said, I chased him off. The coward. I made it back here. I was trying to gather myself, think of what to do next—”

                “You were attacked and you didn’t inform anyone?” Carbine demanded.

                The Secretary looked at her sternly, her eyes dark and sharp as ever. “I did not want to raise a panic, General.”

                Carbine scoffed. “Oh yes, because we wouldn’t want that would we?”

                Rimfire watched as the two women stared each other down, each sizing the other up, gazing with suspicion. Rimfire knew of course, that the Secretary had been spotted by Carbine and Strain out after curfew. The woman wasn’t denying it.

                The question was…was the Secretary aware that she had been seen?

                He hoped not.

                “What we do next is going to determine the state of the Brimstone that the rest of our people wake up in.” Madame Tourmaline spoke very carefully and deliberately now. “There is more at play here than you think, and it must be handled quickly and quietly.”

                “The people need to know that they’ve been lied to. That we’ve been occupied by an enemy, not a friend.” Carbine said resolutely. “You can’t try to play this off as politics. The facts are what they are.”

                “And we’ll tell them.” The Secretary answered.

                Carbine blinked in surprise at her answer, having expected further argument. “I need an hour or two to…collect myself and prep. And then I will make an announcement.” She looked to Rimfire then. “I…would like you to make it with me, Rimfire.”

                “Me?”

                “Yes. The Regent made you his proxy for a reason. You were the last person he ever spoke to. You tried to save his life. I think Brimstone deserves to hear what happened from you.”

                “Madame…I’m not a speech maker, like Stoker was. I’m just…a Freedom Fighter. I don’t know how to talk to them.”

                She smiled at him softly and put her hand on his shoulder. “Just…speak to them how you are now. Assure them they aren’t in this fight alone. I know you can do that. Magnus trusted you. And so do I.”

                There was a knock from the other side of the door and the three turned as they were approached by one of the chief security officers. “Madame? The other council members have been alerted to the emergency. They are waiting instruction.”

                Madalyn Tourmaline sighed heavily and tucked her loose hair back anxiously. “I will be right with them. Thank you.” She looked back to Rimfire and Carbine. “General, see to him. I’ll meet you both in chambers in an hour.”

                Carbine nodded mutely and the pair watched as she excused herself, escorted away by the officer.

                They both waited a breath or two after the door slid shut again and their ears heard the footsteps fade. Then the General turned towards her younger companion. “She’s lying.”

                “What?”

                “Rimfire we saw her! Whatever happened in there—”

                “Carbine, I know what you saw, but I know what I saw! His blood is all over me!” Rimfire barked back. “Baron attacked him! I-I don’t know why…I don’t know if what she’s saying is the truth but…it makes sense, doesn’t it? This lock down? The weird way they showed up here? How they’ve been reacting ever since Marshall…something doesn’t add up.”

                Carbine frowned. “Maybe it doesn’t. But I’m sure she had a hand in this.” She paced, trying to think. “Did they say anything to you? When you interrupted them, did they say anything?”

                Rimfire blinked slowly. “He…Magnus was bleeding out. He said…” It was like an ocean in his ears, the jumble of rushed, dying words the man mumbled to him before dying. “…he said not to believe everything they say. That he was blind. He failed.”

                Carbine sighed heavily, dropping down on the bench Rimfire had previously occupied. “Great. Just vague enough to leave us in the lurch. At least the man staid consistent…”

                Rimfire looked at her incredulously. “He was bleeding out, Carbine. I guess he didn’t have time to explain it better…” he muttered in disgust.

                He shakily moved off towards the bathroom of his rooms, not bothering with the light. He leaned over the sink, getting the synthetic water from the tap running and started to wash it from his face, his neck…the water in the basin turned crimson.

***

                Awake again.

                The pain in his face dulled, a minor throb easily ignored. It took a moment for the world to come into focus again. His already taxed eyes straining to bring things back into clarity. To work how they had been designed. It was harder now, with one covered over still, trapped in the dark.

                Heartbeats. His lover’s, close to his ear. Soft breathing. Throttle glimpsed Max’s sleeping face on the pillow next to his. The darker mouse clearly having dozed off while keeping watch. If he stayed in that position, propped awkwardly against the headboard, he would wake with a crick in his neck and miserable discomfort for the rest of the day.  The tan mouse slipped a hand under him and adjusted him gently, pleased that the small movement didn’t wake him. Just made him sigh softly as if in relief.

                The tan mouse sat up, noting that the dangling lights above them were dimmed, and the Scoreboard was filled with he sounds of night. The rain drumming steadily, the wind gusting softly above them. The buzz of electric heaters. Modo, asleep on the couch a few feet away, breathing heavily, snoring intermittently.

                And Vinnie? Where was he?

                Throttle stood, and detected him still on one of the catwalks above, only glimpsing his tail coiled limply over the edge. It sounded like someone was talking, but distantly. Carefully, still a bit off balance, he padded his way up the stairs until he spotted Van Wham, asleep on the floor with his phone in his hand.

                Throttle slipped closer and gently pulled the device from his limp fingers, and saw that he had been on call with Charlie, who must have fallen asleep as well as the screen was dark now. He smiled and quietly ended the call, just as Vinnie mumbled from the floor.

                “…give it back…”

                His fingers flexed, one eye cracked and looking up at him blearily.

                Throttle slipped it back into his palm. “You should come down. It’s warmer there.”

                Vinnie blinked at him dimly, as if trying to process. Throttle sighed, bent down beside him on the slim expanse of metal. “Vincent. Come on. You can’t sleep up here.”

                “…I was dreaming about her. About them.”

                Throttle stilled, taking a minute to understand. Before he could speak again, Vinnie continued. “…I don’t know how to miss them without being mad at them. Or myself. Is that stupid?”

                “No.”

                Vinnie squeezed his eyes tight, feeling the burn of them behind his lids.

                He opened them with surprise then when he felt the other’s body shift, and found him lying next to him. For a long moment neither said anything, just laying there, the weight of everything between them in the dark.

                Vinnie tried to find the words. What he needed to say to apologize. For all of it. For everything mean and cruel that he had uttered. For all the poison, too overflowing in himself, that he had spread out of grief. Now that poison had turned to fear, to suspicion. He wasn’t trying to push away, he was trying to protect, to pull close. And he was still fumbling. The explanations and apologies that built up inside him but always seemed to get lost on the way to his mouth, or came out twisted and incomplete. But for once, he wasn’t the first to speak.

                “Hey…this feels familiar, doesn’t it?” Throttle asked, almost too quietly to be heard.

                Vinnie nodded slowly after a moment, a smile flickering across his features, though it crumpled and broke. He pushed out a chuckle that was more of a shaky sigh. “Gods…you still remember that?”

                Throttle pressed a little closer, allowing them to share a bit more radiating body heat, but not quite touching.

                “Did you really think I’d forget?”

                Vinnie squeezed his eyes shut, but the tears came anyway.

                The night after his parent’s funeral. When he couldn’t bring himself to go home. Wouldn’t leave with Stoker or the Mavericks. When it was just too much. When he had taken off on foot, leaving Cherry behind. Unable to look at her. Had run all the way back to the cemetery from the Maverick’s.

                Throttle had followed. Found him in the dark, lying the grass next to the freshly disturbed earth with their bodies had been interned. He hadn’t argued with him. Hadn’t tried to make him leave with him, trying to reason that this fixed nothing. Because there was no fixing it, and reason seemed to matter little in the face of death or loss.

                He had just laid down on the grass next to him, just like this. Silent but present, close enough to touch but not quite.

                He never told him not to cry. Not to express the pain that he was in. This grief was his. It had settled on him, attached itself. Made itself a second skin to him. He would have to carry it now, learn the weight of it. There was no salve for that pain. It is like growing and becoming. It can only be endured.

                Losing Jessie was the same. It had to be endured.

 The only comfort was those who would stay beside you while you learned to carry it. That would bear witness. That would not run from your pain as if it were a disease, something catching and to be avoided. They stayed.

                He stayed.

                Vinnie’s arm shot out and dragged Throttle closer suddenly, face pushed fiercely into his shoulder, latched onto him the same way he had that night.

                Throttle stiffened for a moment, but Vinnie shifted, the grip less desperate. Softer now, holding him for a moment more before pulling back enough to look at his face. “You always came and found me, when I needed you most. I never had to say it. You just knew.”

                Throttle rolled his one visible the eye, but smiled. “Good thing. Because you’re shit at this.” He answered quietly.

                Vinnie nodded, in total agreement. He reached and carefully undid the wrapping around Throttle’s head, letting him expose the blood soaked gauze pad beneath. The tan mouse twinged slightly, but the pain was dull now. Just an ache.

                Vinnie looked at the new scabbed line of blood where Modo had made the incision in his skin. This, unlike the half moon scars, would fade without notice, thin as it was. Throttle saw the reflection of it in Vinnie’s mask, and Vinnie felt him tense again.

                So he shifted, tucking the tan mouse closer, letting him be the one to rest against him. Vinnie hugged him, still feeling the tension in his skin.

                Outside it kept raining, and the two mice said nothing, just listening to the night sounds and each other’s heartbeats in the murky grey above the string lights. Vinnie didn’t let go, and after a long string of heartbeats…the other started to relax against him. To melt a little and let himself be held. Vinnie felt shaky fingers press against his fur, then dig in slowly.

                Van Wham nodded, burying his face against his neck and shoulder as his bro did the same. After a moment, he felt the shakiness of Throttle’s breath, felt him try to stifle it and then just let it go. New dampness against his skin. Vinnie said nothing, just held him. Knowing he should have done this in the first place. Wishing he had been strong enough then but knowing he would be now.

                “I know I chased you away, but I found you.”

A shared memory then, a flash of a moment, tucked back and forgotten. Those few seconds in Eris, when they had both infiltrated the building without the other knowing. When Vinnie had arrived just in time to be the shield Throttle needed from the attacking guards. Those few seconds of recognition after two years of distance.

“And I won’t leave this time. I won’t. “

Throttle’s breath hitched and he held Vinnie harder. They were both quiet again, and outside some night thing sang quietly through the rain. The world seemed to settle again, something clicking back into place, at least for the pair on the catwalk floor.

They nearly fell into dozing again until Vinnie felt a tug on his boot. He lifted his head, spying Modo peering back at them in the dark, questioning.

The white furred mouse gave a small shrug, the movement enough rouse the other, who blinked from him to Modo and then sat up slowly, still moving stiffly and uneasily after the day’s earlier trauma.

“You two look like a pair of squirrels nesting.” Maverick teased them. “Everything okay?”

Throttle nodded, “All good, big fella.”

Modo didn’t know what, but knew something had shifted between them for the better, and he felt the relief of it as well. He extended a hand and helped pull Throttle to his feet, keeping him steady as the vertigo persisted.

He glimpsed his face, “How’s the eyes? Any more pressure?”

The tan mouse shook him off. “No, much better now. You probably saved my skull, bro.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Modo nodded. “But can you see me?”

Throttle studied his face a moment. The focus in his eyes still seemed to strain. Slipping in and out at times and then correcting itself. “Yeah. I see you fine.”

                “Yeah, but is fine gonna cut it? You think the field specs will still do the job?”

                “They’re gonna have to, until we can think of a more permanent fix. And to do that…we have to get home.”

                “Charlie’s been working on that transporter unit all night.” Vinnie nodded, reaching for his phone, finding the battery nearly drained. “Knowing her she’ll have it working probably by morning.”

                “Which ain’t far off.” Modo nodded, glimpsing how the light had begun to change outside into something softer, the rain having finally tapered off. “We should head back to the Garage soon. Check on Charlie and the girls. Hard to say how much longer Limburger will lie low, since he seems to be stepping up his aggression.” Modo tapped his chin thoughtfully, “I wonder what sort of bee he’s got in his bonnet. Been quiet as hell for weeks, barely any movement from him, and now all the sudden he’s got creeps from the Pitts stalking us in broad daylight?”

                “Lots of questions, lots of loose ends to tie up. That means it’s time to stop sitting on our tails and kick it into high gear.” Throttle mused.

                Vinnie shook his head, “Agree with you completely, bro, but you’re going to be gearing up from the sidelines. You can’t take anymore big hits in the shape you’re in. Too risky.”

                Throttle scoffed, “Oh please. You’re benching me?”

                “Yeah.” Vinnie said resolutely. He looked to Modo and the grey furred mouse nodded in agreement.

                “Vinnie’s right. And you know I don’t say that willy-nilly.”

                Throttle looked between them, seeing that neither was going to budge on the opinion. “Bros, it’s going to take all the firepower we’ve got to break through that fortress. We really can’t afford to be a man down for this.”

                “Good thing you have an alternate!” Max called from below.

                They peered down at him and he waved back. “Was I not invited to your secrete meeting in the ‘Bros Only’ clubhouse?” he teased.

                “Oh I’d say you’ve earned member status.” Modo replied.

                They made their way back down, Throttle taking the stairs slower than he would like. His muscles seemed to want to give on the last few, the weakness strange and unexpected, made worse by the persistent dizziness. Max caught him, tail coiling around his waist and saving him to effort as he settled him against him.

                “I’m starting to see why Charlie get’s so frustrated by this.” Throttle sighed half-heartedly. “The damsel treatment kinda sucks.”

                “Too bad, stop getting yourself punched in the face.” Max replied, kissing him quickly to soften the blow to his ego. “It’s much too pretty for you to be so haphazard with it.”

                Vinnie and Modo both let out a collective, teasing groan behind them and neither cared. Max looked back at the pair pointedly. “So what’s the plan?”

                “We head back to the garage, see what kind of progress Charlie’s made on the transporter. Then, we work out how we’re going to lay siege to Eris.” Vinnie explained, punching his fist into his palm. “And if that hazmat freak shows his ugly mug for a rematch—”

                “Or those mullet punks and their franken-cars,” Modo added.

                “—then we’re going to wipe the floor with them and feed the leftovers to those two chum-lord Plutarkians until they choke!”

                Max looked to his fiancé. “Are all your plans like this? Smash stuff? Punch the bad guy until he stops?”

                Throttle shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

                The other mouse sighed deeply. “How have you three lived this long?”

                “They’ve had a little help.”

                Charlie made herself known as she came up from the lower hatch, the rest of the girls sleepily following behind her.

                “Sweetheart!” Vinnie moved towards her quickly, eagerly pulling her into a hug. “Thought you’d be tucked into bed still?”

                “Like a girl could get much sleep knowing you guys are out here fighting over the three remaining braincells you share.” She glanced towards Tourmaline. “Okay, maybe four and a half.”

                “Thanks?”

                “I brought the trailer with some things I figured you’d need.”

                “We brought you weirdos breakfast too.” Remy, still in her pajamas and a hoodie that was clearly two sizes too big for her, called from the stairs as and Karma lifted two giant white take-out bags each for the boys to see. “Dibs on the hashbrowns.”

                Karma crinkled her nose. “It all smells like grease and salt if you ask me.”

                “That’s how you know it’s good.” Vinnie nodded sagely. “I didn’t know the Hoagie Diner opened so early!”

                “Chef Andy never says no to his best customers.” Charlie nodded.

                Vinnie beamed at her adoringly, leaning close to nuzzle her. “Sweetheart, you’re the best.”

                She smirked at him and poked him in the nose. “And you’re the worst, you meathead. But I love you anyway.”  She gave him a real kiss as well before pulling away. Vinnie moved to help the girls with their items while Charlie made her way towards their downed soldier.

                She looked at Throttle anxiously, his new damage easy to spot.

                “Hey, Charlie girl. I can see your long face. No need for that.” He tried to assure. She sighed and put her arms around his neck, hugging him quick and close.

                “You know you’re not as easy to patch up as your bike, don’t you? If anything happened to you, I’d lose my mind. You know that?” she asked him quietly.

                He nodded and kissed her cheek apologetically. “I’d never do that to you, darlin’. Promise.”

                She pulled him down so she could better examine the cut on his face, please at least he didn’t seem to be swollen anymore, just black and blue beneath his fur. “Well…whatever you did, seems you got away with it by the skin of your teeth. Once again. Vinnie told me the helmet’s cracked. What’d you do, headbutt the guy?”

                “No, he right to punch a hole through my skull.” Throttle muttered. “Then realized I was ‘faulty’ material. Something about how Karbunkle did a hack job with the implants. And these aren’t even the ones Karbunkle put in.”

                Behind him Max grimaced and Modo and Vinnie exchanged worried looks. “Hey, didn’t he say something like that to Vinnie on our first go-round? Something about…being incomplete?”

                “Yeah, some bullshit like that. Didn’t think much of it at the time…you think it means something?”

                “Maybe. What we do know about this guy anyway? Besides that he’s a total creep who seems to have some knowledge of Karbunkle and works for the Limburger family?” she asked.

                “Dunno. I remember him, I think. From when I was trapped in the lab. But that’s not much to go on either. We already knows he likes to experiment on people. All those poor souls in his freezer…” Modo shuddered.

                This sparked an unpleasant memory in Throttle that swiftly rose to the surface. “Yeah…that ain’t all he had in there. He had the original doc too. Or pieces of him, anyway.”

                They all stared at him in grotesque horror at this new detail. Except for Daisy, who was obvious and more than pleased to sit on the beat up old couch, happily munching on her food while she stared transfixed at all the pretty lights and strange decorations that littered the inside of the scoreboard.

                “That right there? That’s fucked up.” Vinnie nodded.

                “Yeah, so I’d say him wanting to pluck out my eyes on the fly isn’t so far from his regular behavior. Nevermind that the guy seems to be juicing with Frenzy for fun.”

He glanced at Modo anxiously, and both Vinnie and Max noticed.  “Maybe…I dunno…maybe Karbunkle was more than just his predecessor. Maybe they ran in the same sort of fucked up evil scientist circles. Rivals, maybe?” Throttle mused.

                “Maybe. The point is, if you guys are gonna deal with him, these vintage car vigilantes and both Limburgers, you’re gonna need an upgrade.”

                She moved from them to the far wall, where the trailer she had pulled up with bike was sitting. Opening its back hatch, she stepped inside and came out with two totes, which she deposited in the center of their living space. They began to recognize them as the curious boxes Charlie had accumulated in the garage, ones that she had been working on with McCyber.

                “What’s this, doll? Weapons upgrade?” Vinnie asked, eager and struggling to contain that manic excitement that appeared in his eyes anytime Charlie made a new “toy” for them to try out. It had been years, and he was thirsty for something big, shiny and highly explosive.

                “Yes and no.” She nodded. She opened the lid on a smaller box first, this one practically hand held, and produced what looked like…

                “Is that a slap bracelet?” Vinnie blinked, lip curdling.

                Charlie laughed as her daughter looked up in confusion. “Wait, those weird thing you guys had in the 80’s?”

                “No.” she sighed, smirking at them. “But perhaps the design is inspired. Thanks for volunteering baby. Come over here, be my Vana White.”

                “Who?”

                Charlie sighed, realizing she needed to stop dating herself so badly. “Just come here. This will work on you too.”

                Remy, surprised to be included, moved closer to her mother and held out her hand. Charlie turned it so her palm was down and took one of the “slap bracelets” and tapped it lightly to her daughter’s wrist. It made the same cracking sound of cheap plastic as it adhered to her wrist. But then, the game changed.

                All at once the multicolored cuff expanded and formed a sleeve up Remy’s arm. The girl screeched in surprise, but it kept going, up her shoulder and across her collarbone, forming a collar, and kept spreading. Within seconds, she was fully covered in what appeared to be an armored body suit.

                “What—what the hell, Mom!? How did you do that?!”

                Charlie beamed, unable to hide her pride even through her lack of sleep. “Tony Stark, eat your heart out.”

                “This feels weeeeeeird!” Remy gasped, trying to look at herself. Confused how it felt like she was wearing something that fit so close to her regular clothing without choking her, but still felt…solid.

                Max looked at Vinnie. “Okay…I knew this lady could cook, but I didn’t know she could cook! This is wild!”

                “Jack and I have had this in prototype for a few years. I let him sell a variant design to the military a few years back, but I held back these designs just in case you know…you guys ever came back.” She fussed with her hair, letting her fingers snarl in the ends of it, as she always did any time she was feeling a bit too vulnerable or anxious. “Guess in my own way I was always planning for the day you fur-brains came back. I started to think I was wasting my time…”

                Vinnie moved in and put his arms around her again, as did the other two. In the middle of the three of them, she melted. Happy. Despite all the strife. This was her place and she had always known it. Life had just given them all a few detours along the way.

                “So how does this work? I mean…cute as princess looks there, we’re a might size bigger than she is.” Vinnie noted.

                Remy stuck her tongue out at being called princess, but didn’t argue.

                “It’s all flexible and adaptable to the wearer. It’s made with these little nano bots that create the armor once the bracelet is activated to suite the wearer. So it will fit even your swelled head, honey.”

                “Niiice…does it come in red?”

                She sighed and handed him a red bracelet and he grinned like a kid at Christmas, pressing another sloppy kiss to her cheek. “Of course, I added a color option. Remy has the prototype. Basic silver.”

                “Cool, can I take it off now? How do you pee in this thing…?”

                “Pertinent questions, smart girl.” Modo nodded.

                “Just squeeze the tab like this, and it releases.” She pressed both ends of the bracelet between her fingers and it did exactly that, seeming to dissolve as the bots withdrew back into he thick band.

                “Weird. I need a shower now.” Remy shuddered.

                “Okay, it’s portable but how strong is it?” Throttle asked, admiring the other collection of bracelets.

                “The fibers the bots create as able to produce varying levels of strength. Lightweight, but bullet proof. I’m working on one as strong as the Plutarkian glass steel, since nothing seems to get through that. But it’s still in the works. For now…you’d survive a firing squad but maybe not direct missile fire.”

                The bros shrugged. “Good for a start.”

                Charlie sighed and moved on. “Of course I also have upgrades for your bikes and all their weapons systems, and that includes some new toys for our newest riders.” She winked at Max and Karma. She dug further into the tote and pulled out a black case and a smaller hot pink one.

                Inside the black case were the parts to a very sleak, very high tech lazor rifle. Max’s eyes widened. “Holy shit…look at this beauty.”

                “I thought you’d approve. She can hit a target up to 100 feet away. Targeted sighting. But she doesn’t just shoot. She can cut holes through 3 feet of concrete or steel walls, and, my favorite little trick,” she noted a small green button near the trigger. “Tap this guy, and her barrel widens and she turns into a full fledged lazor canon. If you ever need extra fire power.”

                Max was in awe. “Wow…Charlie, this is really something. I’m not much of a sharp shooter though…”

                “Never too late to learn, cutie.” She nodded.

                Karma had opened the pink case and was looking at a pair of matching pistols with strangely wide barrels. “What are these guys? They look cool but…uh…kinda a wide barrel for a lazor, much less a bullet.” She mused in confusion.

                “They don’t shoot lazors. They shoot sound waves. Aim one of those at the side of a tank and it will look like someone side-swiped it. I designed them initially to help me break down scrap. Thought you might have a use for them.”

                “Cool! Can’t wait for a re-match with those junk yard dogs now!”

                “Anything in that box of tricks for me, sweetheart?” Vinnie asked, slightly envious of Max’s rifle if he was being honest. “Of course. But let’s not open all the presents at once, big guy. I think there are a few repairs I need to handle first.” 

                “Oh don’t tease me, baby! You’re so mean…” Vinnie whined playfully. “Be meaner.” He purred.

                “Uh, guys?”  Remy called, waving them over suddenly to the television where she was sitting now with Daisy. “You might want to see this.”

                On the screen a familiar face appeared. The masked visage of Lawrence Limburger, not seeming to have aged a day since his faux face had looked down upon the rampant destruction of the Windy City all those years ago, looked back at them through a camera and played at being dignified yet distraught.

                “…in light of these recent, disturbing events, the Eris Corporation wants to extend a hand in this time of need. We see a community under siege! In a manner not seen in this city in over fifteen years…as a long time Chicago citizen, I can not tell you how my heart breaks to see it. The violence in our streets! Vigilante making our most vulnerable neighborhoods unsafe!”

                They watched Limburger attempt to wax empathetic over events he himself had surely ordered. The core four felt a familiar burning coal in the pit of their stomachs. Suddenly no amount of years between then and now mattered. They were still staring into the face of an enemy, knowing he was mocking them, baiting them, and they were going to have no choice but to face whatever gauntlet he laid down for them.

                “We have made several generous donations to the police and fire departments who have been dealing with the damage from these attacks. And to further offer aid to our brave civil servants in uniform and to those personally affected by the attacks, The Eris Corporation and the Limburger family has decided to host a costumed gala charity event at our community headquarters tomorrow night at 8 pm,  with all proceeds going to those affected by the recent events. We urge the community to participate in this coming together of our cherished citizens. And as always…we are here to serve.”

And then the Plutarkian looked directly into the camera and they knew he was looking directly at them. “And I would just like to take this moment to say…that to those who have infested and infiltrated our community…do not think that you have gone unnoticed. Unseen. This is not the Chicago of past years, where crime ran rampant in the streets and it was accepted as the norm. That time is gone. It is time for a new Chicago. There is nowhere you can hide. Nowhere you can seek refuge. You will be found. You will be held accountable for your crimes.”

That hung in the air a moment before the broadcast panned away, back to a separate news broadcaster.

Max exhaled slowly and looked carefully at the others. “Do I even have to say it sounds fishy?” he asked. It worried him how grim Throttle, Modo, Vinnie and Charlie all looked, and their additions did not fail to notice either.

Daisy squirmed uneasily and slipped down from the couch, toddling over to the TV where the news broadcaster still had a still of Limburger up on the screen as they recapped. She slapped the image of the Plutarkian’s masked face with her chubby little palm. “Bad man. Yucky.”

“You said it, little sweetheart.” Vinnie nodded, scooping her up before turning the television off. “Looks like Limburger’s shifted the goal post again. We need to take him down. And fast.”

“Do you think this gala is just a trap for us?” Modo mused. “He’s done it before. But with other purposes.”

“Definitely a trap,” Throttle nodded. “But I dunno. It feels…different. There’s something…off about him. Has been since Caria.”

“Too bad Stoker didn’t take him out along with Stilton. Save us all a lot of trouble.” Vinnie sighed. “But…nothing we can’t handle. Right gang? Limburger wants to set a trap, we shouldn’t disappoint.”

“I don’t like it. Really don’t.” Throttle said, shaking his head. “Let’s think on it at least. Lay out a solid plan, instead of bargaining in there, thinking we can just blow the hell out of the place and be done with it. We need that transporter. We need the vaccine. And we need flounder fanny and his nepo-baby nephew to take back to Mars with us.”

“Don’t forget your wild cards.” Karma added. “Your ex-boyfriend and the unknown. We can’t exactly just leave them hanging around here, can we?”

“It’s a lot of moving parts, guys.” Charlie sighed.  She glanced at the time, “I’ve got the transport unit running diagnostics back at the garage. Should be another hour or so before I can tell if she’s stable enough to use. We can plan from there.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.” Max nodded. “Sounds like it’s time to get to work.”

As Throttle stared to turn, Max held out his hand, pressing him back. “Not for you, handsome. Like Vinnie said, you’re sitting this one out.”

“Aw babe, you can’t be serious…”

But there was joke or lie in Max’s expression. “You’re still recovering. We’ve pushed the envelope far enough. How long till it breaks? I can’t risk that. I won’t.” He leaned in and kissed him softly. “Do you trust me?”

Throttle sighed. “Now who’s abusing that phrase?” he teased. “Of course.”

Max nodded, grateful.

Vinnie moved forward with Daisy in hand, pressing the squirming and slightly sticky toddler into the tan mouse’s arms. “Besides! I think you and Miss Daisy here have some catching up to do. You and her can lie low here, while Charlie and I go back to the garage and check out the status of the transporter.”

“Cool. Max and I will patrol around, make sure no more of those car thugs are stirring up trouble. Keep the streets clear, as it were.” Modo nodded. He glanced to Karma. “You in, girl?”

As they glanced towards her, they realized that she had been rummaging in the totes Charlie had brought along and looked up at them hastily. “Uh…nice of you to offer guys, but…I think I’ll chill here with if that’s okay? Keep Remy company. Make sure dummy number three doesn’t get in anymore trouble.” She winked fondly at Throttle, who looked confused.

“How’d I get to be number three?”

“Because Doofus is number one, and your boytoy Dingus is number two.”

“Hey what about Modo?” Vinnie gasped, as Max played up being mortally insulted by being number two to Vinnie.

Karma smiled at the grey furred mouse. “I like him better than you. What can I say?”

***

Chapter Text

***

                Morning in Chi-town, still rainy and chilled, but the sun peaked through where it could. Vinnie didn’t mind the cold, Charlie riding behind him doing more to warm him than even his fur could.

                As they pulled down the back alley that emptied into the Last Chance’s back entrance, he tucked Cherry safely from view and sat for a moment with the woman at his back, his hand over hers around his waist.

                “Everything okay?” she asked.

                He nodded, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “With you, doll, I’m always okay.”

                She scoffed softly, pulling off her helmet and pressing a little kiss against his shoulder before pulling free. “Come on, Romeo. Have a look at what I’ve been working on.”

                Together the pair stepped back into the Garage. The hum of the transporter as it ran through it’s test cycles in Charlie’s diagnostic machine was almost painfully loud to the Martian’s sensitive ears, and even Charlie winced a little at it.

                “Damn, is it suppose to sound like that?” he shouted, hands against the sides of his helmet before closing his visor again and adjusting the settings to dampen the droning hum that made his skull rattle.

                Charlie was on the move, moving to the table of equipment and her laptop, fingers flying over keys as different screens flashed over the screen. After a few moments, the sound began to dim, and the power to the machine flickered and then adjusted. The humming remained, but far lower now.

                “All good?”

                She shook her head thoughtfully. “This thing is all over the place. Looks like it’s trying to pull power from the original power source in the lab, but every time it does, it threatens overload.” She sighed. “Whatever happened in that house really fried the thing. Not sure even I can get it fully functional.”

                Vinnie eyed it, sitting in it’s little containment field, still looking like a ghost trap and humming softly. “Yeah, guess they don’t make them like they used to.” He mused. Charlie ignored the quip, still fixed on her readings. But her partner spoke again, surprising her.

                “Maybe…maybe it doesn’t need to be fully operational. Maybe it needs to just…be a skipping stone.”

                She blinked at him, frustration brewing. “What?”

                “Well you said it’s overloading trying to pull power from the other transporter, right?”

                “Yeah, that’s the problem.” She sighed. “The damage to it itsn’t allowing it steadily hold that kind of power on its own.”

                “Maybe it was never supposed to. I mean look at this thing, Charlie. Now I’m not time space timey-wimey expert or anything, for sure, but this dinky little thing…it seems set up for short distances. Maybe it could transport me from here to Michigan. Or hell, maybe Vegas. But across the 20 million miles to Mars? Seems to be asking a bit much.”

                The genius mechanic looked at her superhero boyfriend and tried to make sense of what she was wildly aware was already a very nonsensical situation. It surprised her that Vinnie’s speculation seemed to be more than mere half-baked musings. He had brought up a point that she herself had completely glossed over.

                “That is…a surprisingly good point.” She admitted.

                He shrugged. “Just saying. Have you tried setting it for a shorter distance? Say…stinkfish tower?”

                She smirked at him. “It’s not much of a tower anymore, but…” she continued to play with the controls, adjusting the transporter’s range. The drone of it changed again, settling into something noticeable but smooth, and as she watched it’s power readings they stabilized. “Okay…” she breathed. “That may have worked, I think. But what good does it do us?”

                Vinnie moved back beside her, leaning over her shoulder as he looked at the screen, trying to make sense of it all. “You’ve probably had a better look around that place than I have. Can you pin point a location inside the building?”

                Charlie frowned in concentration, switching into the manual override of the transport itself, to see if she could hack into it’s limited controls. Vinnie watched her struggle, wishing he could help, but so much of this was just a scramble of numbers and codes on a screen to him, aligned with base schematics of a building.

                “Here’s where it gets a little dicey…it’s not allowing me to tune the specifics of our coordinates, but it seems to have locked on some of it’s own within the building. My best guess is it’s probably inside the lab itself.”

                Vinnie grinned. “See what I mean? A skipping stone.”

                She blinked at him. “What?”

                “Use the shoe box as our short cut into Eris. Straight into the belly of the beast. And then use the real transporter to get us the rest of the way home.”

                “But what if that Hazmat wearing freak is in there? Surely he’s gonna notice if we just get the drop on him while he’s in the middle of something.”

                Vinnie tapped his blaster at his hip thoughtfully. “Well good thing I’m always packing heat then, huh? Besides, I’m jonesing for some pay back for what he did to my bros.”

                Charlie was quiet for a moment, tense and staring. “Sweetheart?”

                She glanced back at him. “Do you…do you think there’s a communicator in the lab? Like the one Limburger had in his office once upon a time?”

                Vinnie shrugged. “Maybe. Why?”

                “If…if we could get the timing right. Make sure somehow that the lab is deserted…could we use that to contact Brimstone? It would reach that far, wouldn’t it?”

                “If fish face could reach all the way back to Plutark, yeah. It could definitely reach Mars.”

                Charlie looked hopefully from him back to to where the transporter continued to glow and hum from inside the containment field. Vinnie put his arms around her, kissing her hair as he removed his helmet. “I’ll get you through there, Charlie. If I got to fight a whole army off with my bare hands. I’ll get you back to our boy.”

                She laughed softly, looking at him in surprise. “Our boy?”

                Vinnie blushed faintly, ears lowering slightly as if in embarrassment. “I mean…yeah.” He looked at her earnestly then, and the expression finally made her look away from her experiment.

                “I guess we haven’t talked about this as much as we should. But I wanna be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. No matter whatever bullshit I’ve tried to tell myself over the last fifteen years. It always you, Charlie.”

                She noted how his voice was always just a little lower, just a little softer when he was being truly sincere. It lost the tone of ego-driven confidence, but lacked no certainty.  “And, as I’ve come to realize…being with you means being with your kiddos. And that’s more than okay by me. I don’t know if you knew that.”

                “But are you ready for that?” she asked quickly. “It’s a big job, Vinnie. No matter what age they are. Hell, I’d say it’s harder now that they’re older. They’ve been through a lot, even before you guys came bouncing back into my life.”

                “A lot how?”

                She sighed. “The way things ended with their dad and I wasn’t great. And as much of an asshole as he was about it, I didn’t do everything right either. They’re a little jaded as far as trusting people. If you didn’t notice.”

                “Oh you mean how Remy thinks I’m a loser and Kirk is weirdly attached to Stoker? Yeah. I noticed.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Then again, I didn’t exactly get off on the best foot with them. But I want to fix that. I’m willing to work at it, and maybe it will never be perfect but, hell, what is?”

                She smiled at him, and her expression made something inside him squirm. “What’s that face for? Come on, I’m pouring my heart out here.”

                Her smile broadened and she pulled him in closer. “I know you are, dummy. That’s why I’m smiling. You just surprised me, that’s all. You’re not the same guy who’s tail I was always yanking on back in the day…and you’re not the same guy that came back either.”

                She stroked his cheek, studying his face. All of him familiar but so different it seemed. The month between their stand at Caria and the events of last night had shifted something in him noticeably.  Some of the walls that had built up over those long years of absence finally beginning to come down. It was messy of course, but it was leading to something better. Bringing her back to the man she had been in love with all this time, exposing the core of him. Not just the tough shell the rest of the world saw.

                “Is that a good thing?” he asked quietly.

                She kissed him, pressing close and wrapping her arms around his neck. “A really good thing.”

                They melted into each other, and it was in doing so that the weight of their combined burdens seemed eased at last. It dawned on both of them in different ways. They had both been trying to stand on their own for so many years, having given up on relying on others. Too hurt and too jaded by disappointments and tragedy. It had blinded them to what they had always needed. Not just each other, but all those who had been ready and waiting for them. Who had never really walked away, even at their worst.

                Everything faded for a few blissful, hazy moments. Vinnie lifted her and sat her on the edge of the table, her hands pushing off his jacket and his untucking her shirt from her jeans. She couldn’t get him close enough. It wasn’t just desire, either, it was a need to be held. Be closer to someone who loved her so much. Who made the unbearable situation she was in a little easier to tolerate.

                His mouth was her neck, pushing back her hair, as Kirk sprung to the forefront of her thoughts.

                “Mom?”

                She stiffened, seeing the image of him in her mind, looking for her, calling for her, that it stole her breath.

                Vinnie felt the shift and pulled back, worried. “Sweetheart?”

                Her face was tight, and he didn’t have to ask what was wrong. The heat between them died, but not the affection. He held her, rubbing her back. “It’s okay. You know Sweep and the others are looking after him. She’d never let anything bad happen to him, Charlie.”

                “But…how do we know he’s still with them? What if something else happened?”

                It was not the first time this thought had occurred between them. But it was the first that either had spoken it out loud. And now that they had…there seemed no way to put it back.

                “Even if it did, I promise, someone’s looking after that kid.”

                Their focus shifted then, and Charlie hopped down, suddenly moving into her supply closet and rummaging through the totes, boxes and shelves inside the practically hoarded out space.

                The white-furred mouse peered in after her, arms folded as he watched her climb up shelving and crawl over boxes like a squirrel. “You know, Remy might be right about you being something of a hoarder…”

                She ignored him, rummaging in a box on an upper shelf,  her toes perched precariously on the edge of the lower one as the large metal and wood fixture shook and wobbled. Vinnie grit his teeth and carefully stepped inside, discretely doing his best to brace it while she continued her search, unbothered.

                “Ha! Found it!” she grinned.

                She pulled the item free with both hands, her balance gave, and she would have fallen backwards. Were it not for a clever tail that was quick to circle her waist and bring her back to safety.

                She smiled at him gratefully and he shook his head, knowing that he wasn’t the only crazy one among them.

                The mechanic presented him with what looked like a large, black disc, that looked like a wildly overgrown paperweight that was several inches thick.

                “The hell is that?”

                “This is my old Roomba.”

                “Again…the hell is that?” he probed.

                She poked him in the nose and wiggled free from his grip, moving past him as she set the large disc on the garage floor.

                After pressing a button or two on it’s side, a ring of blue light illuminated around it’s edge and Vinnie heard the whir of little mechanical wheels revving to life as it spun in place and began to beep and putter around the floor like a large mechanical bug.

                “Still works!”

                “Works? What’s it supposed to do?” the Martian asked. He watched as it moved in oscillating circles across the cement, bumping cheerily into everything and bouncing off it, making a chirping noise as it did.

                “Well, originally it was made to vacuum the floor. But I modified mine, because well…it kinda sucked at it’s original job. It kept trying to eat socks. And occasionally the kids would set it at the edge of the stairs and well…yeah. So…I made a few upgrades. Huh, DJ?”

                The disc spun towards her as if recognizing her voice and chirped notably before a blast of music suddenly erupted from hidden speakers, squeaking out the notes to “Weird Science” as high as it’s meager volume could go.

                Vinnie blinked at it and then her. “You know…I forgot they way you’d go totally unhinged sometimes on things with mechanical parts.”

                Charlie smirked. “Just think of what I could have done with your Verminator clone, smart guy.”

                Vinnie’s eyes widened and he had to swallow the laugh that wanted to bust out of him. Charlie moved on, stepping towards DJ as it spun and whirred in little circles, as if it were doing a little happy dance to it’s own music.

                “Now, let me see if those arms still work.”

                “It has arms?!”

                Two tiny spork like prongs popped out of the sides of the disc, their limited range of motion comical. “I added them so it would move things like socks and cords and shoelaces, rather than trying to suck them up. But their a little wonky. It was an experiment, okay?”

                “Sure…sure…so what did you need to unearth this little guy for?”

                Charlie pressed a few more buttons on the modified cleaning device before setting back down on the floor and moving back to her work table. She deactivated the containment field around the shoe box transporter and carefully set it on the floor, giving it a wide berth. Cautiously, she pressed the large red activation button on it’s edge with the tip of her boot.

                She jumped back as the doors of it sprung open like a trap and it bounced and rattled, falling on it’s side. Light and energy sputtered from inside it like a vortex, and Vinnie rushed to grab her and pull her farther away from it.

                “Charlie-girl! What are you--?”

                “Hey DJ! Time to clean up!” she called.

                The tiny robot beeped at the voice command and then rattled off towards the beam of light. As it came within a foot or two of the device, it seemed to be swallowed up by the transport beam, vanishing in a flicker of energy that left the rest of the lights in the Last Chance flashing.

                As Vinnie stared, Charlie reached for her phone and began tapping frantically through different screens.

                “Uh…sweetheart? Care to explain?”

                “DJ has a camera inside him too. I’m going to use him as a spy drone. If he makes it through the transport beam without getting scrambled, he should give us some idea of where we would end up in Eris if we went through.”

                Her Martian boyfriend peered over her shoulder, interest further piqued as they observed the camera feed from DJ.

                “…do you think the little guy will make it alright?”

                Charlie side-eyed him. “Little guy?”

                “What? He’s kinda cute. In a bizarre freak of nature sort of way.”

                “You have a lot in common then.” She chuckled.

                He squeezed her ass playfully. “Hey, that isn’t what you said the other night.”

                As the camera feed slowly stabilized and came back on line, the pair were wowed to see a real-time view of the inside of Eris. But it didn’t appear that they were in the lab, persay. Or at least, it was hard to tell. Wherever DJ had materialized, it was fairly dark. He seemed to be facing a wall, the only distinguishable detail being baseboard the edge of a door.

                “DJ. Sweep.” Charlie commanded.

                The modified Roomba swivled, and they got a spinning view of a dark, wide room. Definitely not the lab. Instead it looked like…

                “He’s in Limburger’s office.” Vinnie gasped, suddenly sure. He recognized the desk. The large, heavy furniture, the draperies over the large windows and a familiar broad chair behind the heavy desk. There was no one sight, but this was definitely Limburger’s office.

                “Wait, how do you know?”

                “Lard Butt has a very particular aesthetic. One his modern-day douche bag of nephew doesn’t share.” He explained. “Looks like the place is empty for now…the fishes must still be sleeping. Good thing we didn’t jump in feet first, I guess.”

                “A very good thing.” Charlie nodded. “The lab is in the basement of the building. How many floors up do you think Limburger’s office is? Place can’t possibly be taller than 5 floors, max.”

                “Then you can bet he’ll be on the top.”

                “Okay…okay…so we lie low and see if we can fine tune our entrance.” She mused. “DJ, quiet mode. Stay low.”

                There was a smallish beep of affirmation and the Roomba whirled and spun over the carpet until it found a place to settle under the darkness of what they guessed was a water cooler, it’s camera facing the side of the desk.

                “Little guy’s pretty smart.” Vinnie nodded in approval.

                “Let’s hope he’s smart enough to stay unnoticed. I’ll keep his audio and camera on. He’ll be our little spy in the meantime.”  She cautiously moved back towards the transporter, deactivating it for the moment and letting it lie resting where it had fallen.

                “Limburger’s gala is tomorrow, right? That gives us a guaranteed distraction. With DJ’s intel, we’ll know where we need to go once we transport inside. We can get to the communicator and reach Mars, then make our way to the real deal in the lab.”

                “Limburger will have plenty of guards around, I promise you that. He’s going to waiting for us to crash the party.”  Vinnie reminded her.

                “Exactly. So you boys are gonna get busy giving him exactly what he wants. You make a mess downstairs, and that leaves me time to make my way to the communicator.”

                “On your own?” He looked worried.

                “Now’s not the time for chivalry, babe. You just be sure you and the guys are up to handling what he throws at you. I can’t have you getting more hurt than you already have, and Throttle and Modo are both a little shaky.”

                Vinnie nodded. “Relax, babe. We got a whole day and half before the big game. Plenty of time for them to recoup. Plus, we got Karma and Max to add to defense.”

                “You’re not at all worried about throwing your own daughter into this situation?” Charlie prodded, then winced, realizing it came out more harshly than she had meant. But Van Wham shrugged, unbothered.

                “My daughter can wipe the floor with most thugs that look sideways at her, if you didn’t notice. She may not be full grown, but she can throw down with the best of us. Besides…anyone who touches a single red curl on her head is gonna get the beat-down of a life time from any one of us. That I can promise.”  He looked at her carefully. “I’m more worried about Remy.”

                Charlie considered this silently for a moment. “My baby girl is tougher than she might let on. We’ll come up with a plan. She’ll be safe.”

***

                Just a room away from where DJ the spy lay in wait beneath the water cooler, Marshall Limburger stirred from an uneasy sleep.

                His symptoms seemed, for the moment, dormant. Or at the very least, lessened by some mercy. But his muscles were weak and stiff, and his scaley skin continued to ooze cold sweat despite the fact that he now felt perpetually cold. Not being a warm blooded, creature, this should not have posed an issue. But this cold was something different. It spoke of something malfunctioning, cut off inside him. A slow shut down of systems.

                But Marshall pushed the thought away.

                Right now, he was focused on a different need. His body was sore from lying in one place too long. The thought of remaining in his bed even a moment longer was utterly untenable. He needed to move. Needed to investigate what had been going on in his absence.

                He got shakily to his feet, keeping his balance by gripping hold of whatever furniture he could until he could gather some strength. Slowly, painstakingly, he made his way from the bedroom to the sitting room beyond, and found the secret lift that would take him down several floors, to where he was sure he would find his doctor, toiling away on his grotesque experiments.

                As the lift door opened up into the repaired and refurbished section of the lab, the ailing Plutarkian was greeted with more questions than answers.

                Thaddeus was there, yes. But the doctor was not carefully and meticulously fussing over beakers and test tubes, or pouring over test results and data. Or even working at his vivisection table, cheerily dissecting some corpse from his frozen supply.

                Instead, he was greeted with the sight of Thaddeus hunched and huffing for air, half slumped in one of his desk chairs, a needle in his arm, pressing the plunger down steadily as the discolored liquid vanished into his vein.

                “What in the hell are you doing?” Marshall rasped out, starting towards him, forgetting his own weakness for a moment as he tried to close the gap between himself and the doctor.

                Thaddeus turned his bulging eyes towards him, and Marshall got a clearer view of the man’s long face. Saw the red tint in his eyes that was beginning to fade. It was obvious that the doctor had been up to something. That he had gone up against some other force and lost. He was bloodied and bruised and smelled distinctively of both smoke, gasoline and blood.

                “Stay back.” Thaddeous warned. Not because he had any care for Marshall’s safety, but because he did not wish to be touched or disturbed. As the Frenzy was still pulsing through him, he knew he was just as likely to reach out and snap his employer’s thin little neck as he was to sneeze.

                Marshall obeyed, but looked at him with confusion and disgust. “What are you doing?” he glanced at the needle. “What good are you to me if you infect yourself? If you wanted to end it all there are cleaner ways, doctor.”

                Thaddeus smiled at him nastily. “…you shouldn’t think so small, Marshall.”

                He pulled the now empty syringe from his vein and discarded it, pulling down his sleeve once more. By and by, his breath steadied and the red haze faded from the whites of his eyes. He seemed himself again. “Frenzy may have started as an agent of death of Plutark, but it has…much greater potential. I’ve had plenty of time to see that for myself. To study it.”

                “I imagine you have. The last bit you sent to Mars for Colby seemed have much more vicious, faster acting results. But it’s unstable., the results are…mixed.” Marshall mused, looking at him sourly. “If they weren’t, all of Mars would be in a state of ecstatic murderous rage right now. Instead, all you’ve done is manage to do some minor structural damage to their already crumbling little city and piss them off!”

                Thaddeus shrugged his broad shoulders, looking away from him as he moved to organize his work area. “I don’t believe I was present on that little ship of yours, Marshall. I gave you what you asked for. It isn’t the science’s fault if you used it improperly and unwisely. But I will admit, your failure there did provide me with valuable information on how to adjust the formula.”

                His employer stared at him, fuming with barely contained outrage. Something Marshall did not usually allow himself. His family members might be prone to outburst of visceral venom, but his own brand of spite was usually cold, calculated and delt in small, concentrated doses. But he was too ill to retrain his cool composure.

“If you wanted guinea pigs, you should have brought back another of those damn mice!”

                “Oh I’ve been trying to.” He nodded, assuring. “This lot is…harder to catch. Martians have always been a vexing species to pin down, but these Biker Mice…they are a breed of their own. If I am honest, I have to admit that I’ve come to have a little sympathy for your uncle. Dealing with this day in a day out for someone with his limited scope and understanding…it would drive anyone to distraction.”

                Marshall stared at him. “You’re not making any sense, Thad.”  When the doctor did not look at him, nor even seem to hear him, the younger Plutarkian overlord felt his frustration rise rapidly to the surface, accentuated by his illness. “Look at me, you bastard! Quit fucking around and…and…” he panted, suddenly breathless. His heart beating too fast.

                The doctor looked at him expectantly. “And what?”

                “Help me…” Marshall spat, spit bubbling in the corners of his cracked lips. His knees started to go out and he slid to the floor. The doctor moved towards him, lifting him with surprising easy, as if he weighed no more than a child. Had Thaddeus always been this strong?

                “The medications I’ve been giving you need to run their course, Marshall. You should be back in bed.”

                The Plutarkian pushed at him. “Fuck you! Tell me what you’re doing down here, because it sure as hell isn’t anything I’ve paid you to do! Did my uncle put you up to this!?”

                Thaddeus continued to look at him with those dark and unsettled eyes. Oblivious to Marshall’s suffering. Devoid of sympathy or empathy of any kind. All his thrashing, all his upset, was no more to this man than the flailing and sputtering of an insect caught under glass.

                “I advise you to take a moment and consider what you are saying.” The doctor cautioned. “I have staid here because your facilities and your interest aligned with my own. We have been mutually beneficial to each other, wouldn’t you agree?”

                Marshall pushed at him feebly again, but Thad would not be budged. “But I think it’s a step too far to think of me as merely another hired hand, Marshall. I don’t work for you. I have worked with you. That is a distinction that needs to be clarified.”

                He sat Marshall down on one of the cushioned, stationary chairs that stood against the wall and let him catch his breath. The other looked at him warily, sensing the shift in the power dynamic between them.

                They were joined then by another figure, this one much broader and rounded then either of them. Lawrence Limburger made his way into the lab with an expression of fake concern on his masked face, studying the pair as they paused mid discussion.

                “There you are! For a moment I thought maybe you had dissolved into that puddle of sweat you left on your sheets. At least I certainly hope that is sweat.”

                His nephew leered at him. “What do you want?”

                Limburger shot a look from him to Thaddeus. “Just checking in after my little press conference this morning. I wanted to see if you were feeling any better, and then I found you gone and well…one never knows, the way things go missing in this place, where they might end up.”

                Thaddeus gave Limburger a wicked little smile, showing sharp teeth nearly as needle like as the alien’s own.

                “You’re funny when you want to be.”

                “Yeah, a real barrel of laughs.” Marshall muttered. “At his expense.”

                Limburger ignored the quips and focused on his nephew again, extending his elbow for the other to take. Marshall looked at him sourly, dubious at the offer.

                “Let me escort you back to your room. You still look a little pale under the gills.” He shot Thaddeus what Marshall would have called a warning look and the doctor backed away. Reluctantly, Marshall excepted the help to stand and Limburger helped to support his weight.

                They started to move towards the lift, when Marshall looked back at the doctor once more.

“You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing down here?”

                Thad considered for a moment, and then finally replied. “I have been manipulating the formula for Frenzy. I’ve managed to create three new variants of it from it’s original formula. I had been hoping to get my hands on one of my old test subjects. That mouse they call Modo. I wanted to use him as a control. To see how the original infection varies from these new strains. But…he’s remained out of reach.”

                “Yes, the swath of damage you left behind was a great testimony to your failure.” Limburger muttered, obviously irritated. “You’re lucky my goons showed up when they did, or those mice would have made short work you.”

                Thaddeus snarled at him contemptuously. “If you hadn’t sent those low-life thugs to interfere, I would have had all of them. I had already trapped two, and then another prime specimen wandered his way in. I had him!” He showed Limburger his bitten and bloody hand where Throttle had sunk his teeth into him.

                Limburger chuckled. “Forgive me, but it looks more like he had you.”

                “Shouldn’t the bite be enough to start another infection? If you can’t get the one called Modo, maybe this one can be your new control. Does it really matter?”

                “This strain I injected myself with was not designed to be transmissible. I designed it for temporary use. Something to give me an edge of our Martians unique strength. If it has any effect on the biter, it would be to sicken him only.”

“Making yourself a personal steroid injection was not what our agreed on funding was for.” Marshall muttered.

“And not where your focus should lie either, if I may add.”

For once it seemed to the two fish were in agreement and took them both by surprise.

                “It’s nothing you should concern yourself with.” Thaddeus answered, unbothered by their objections. “It was a short term means to an end. And I assure you, it has not distracted from my…greater goal in perfecting the Frenzy formula to it’s full potential.”

                “Plutark and I have been funding you to make a bioweapon to finish off Mars. No one asked you to fuck around with something that’s already been proven to work!” Marshall barked, nearly pulling free from Limburger but not trusting he would stay on his feet.

                “Actually, they did.” Thaddeus mused. “And, I don’t know if you’ve realized this about me, Marshall, but…I’m not a man who likes to settle. Not when I see potential for greater.”

                The business fish eyed him curiously, trying to understand, but his uncle was guiding him away now, leaving the doctor and his demented room of diabolical torment behind.

                “I really have to question your taste in minions, nephew. My dear departed Doctor Karbunkle may have been a tad erratic, but he could be counted on to obey orders. This one…I don’t trust as far as I could throw him.” Limburger mused as they made their way back to the penthouse.

                Marshall was silent, unable to argue for once.

***

                From her perch on the steps, Karma watched the strangely domestic, yet somehow still dystopian scene unfold below her. The war hero, battered and bruised, still barely recovered from a malfunction in his cybernetic implanted eyes, sat on the floor with the precious if unwitting toddler that wasn’t even his own. The pair making a game of counting shapes and colors of items tacked up on the walls, and the little girl totally enraptured by it.

                Meanwhile, the human girl sat on the battered couch across from them, and seemed to ignore the world around them at large, lost in whatever she was doing with her laptop, her baby blue headphones on and faintly buzzing with music.

                And here she sat, standing guard over all of them.  As guard duty, babysitter, or part-time grease jockey was all she had been relegated to these days. Things had just started to look up; had started to feel like she was part of a cause and a team once more. And then this…

                The little girl—her cousin, she reminded herself—noticed her watching them and squealed, little hands reaching. “Arma! Arma!”

                The “K” sound of her name was still a little difficult, but the redhead didn’t begrudge her that. In her childish, sweet voice, being called something that sounded way too close to “armpit” was still acceptable.

                “Why don’t you come down and join us there, Red?” Throttle called. “Gotta be kinda lonely up there by yourself. Besides, I’m about to russel us up some snacks.”

                “Nack!” Daisy nodded, clapping her hands. “Nack time. Nack time! Cookie please!”

                The tan mouse scooped her effortlessly and she went without a fuss, always easy and relaxed in his arms. “Well, we’ll see about a cookie…I think Charlie packed you something to chew on. Hopefully something that facilitates a nice N-A-P.” he mused.

                She shook her head, crinkling her nose. “No nap!”

                He chuckled at her. “Oh, you got wise to that one, huh? Well it was fun while it lasted.”

                Karma jumped down from her perch and came to join him as he scrounged through he cooler that Charlie had unloaded along with her totes of tech. The trailer she had brought still sat in the corner, waiting for her return as well.

                “You’re so sweet with her,”  Karma began, catching the older mouse’s attention. “Vinnie acts like she might have a bomb in her diaper most of the time, and Modo is…well, Modo. But even he treats her like she’s a little too fragile sometimes. But you’re just…” She didn’t know how to explain it, but knew it fascinated her. “You just know what to do.”

                The tan furred biker looked from her down to the little girl perched just above his hip, steady and secure in one muscular arm. “Oh, me and Daisy Jane here go back a long way, that’s all.” He explained.  “Huh, sunshine?”

                She nodded, cuddling his shoulder and watching to see what he produced from the mysterious box of munchies.

                Karma’s face fell a little as she took in the meaning of these seemingly innocuous words. “That must have been weird for you. Being there for her, when they weren’t.” She offered. “To be honest, I still can’t believe you hung around the way you did.”

                Throttle gave a small nod. The sadness in his features was evident to the youngest of them, and she looked at him with concern, pulling him closer to her and patting his face gently.

“Poor Tot, you got big ouchy.” She consoled. She peppered his face with sloppy baby kisses, trying to make it all better, but careful of the sore places around his eye sockets. “Love you all better.”

He nodded. “Love you all better.” He agreed.

“Is that what Max says when he kisses you too?” the redhead teased.

Throttle smirked at her.  “Never you mind.”

“Seriously. I don’t know how you did it…going back there after everything. I don’t think I could have.” Karma offered.

“I didn’t think I could either.” Throttle admitted. “Not at first. But I realized something pretty quickly.”  He fished out a baggie of yogurt puffs and another of chopped up apple bits and raisins and set Diasy down with hem at the battered hunk of wood that served as coffee table. “Being with my family, Modo, Vinnie, Stoker…all of them. It was the only thing that made getting up every day worth the fight it was. Didn’t feel right, walking away from that. Even when I tried.”

                He glanced at her thoughtfully, his eyes still taking a minute to fully adjust to her without the aid of his field specs. “You and me, kiddo…I think we have a common thing. Something that drives us to seek the people who need us. People who maybe…fill the void.”

                She stared at him, taken aback by his insight. Wondering what Vinnie might have told him. Or what he might have somehow learned on his own. It was strange to be so seen and therefore so vulnerable.

                “Maybe…but maybe there are some voids that can’t be filled. Things that can’t be fixed.” The thought bubbled out of her quietly, and as he took this in, her eyes slipped from Daisy to Remy, who was pretending not to listen in on the conversation. Her eyes darting quickly back to her laptop and pretending to engrossed. But Karma knew she felt this sentiment too.

                They were four unlikely kindreds, all suddenly out in the open together.

                “No. There are some things can never be fixed.” He admitted quietly. “But we go on. We survive. We keep trying.”

                He fixed his fading gaze on Daisy, who listened to his voice without understanding the weight of his words. He stroked her baby fine curls and let them twist around his fingers.

                Karma’s face fell, feeling sorry for once again poking the wound. It was unfair to him. This place that never seemed to heal.

She turned the conversation, trying to lessen the ache. “Yeah, I guess. I know he’s doing his best. Vinnie doesn’t know what kind of bullet he dodged, really. If she had put two and two together and realized that one of the Biker Mice from Mars fathered her good for nothing kid, she would have been milked it for everything it was worth.” She looked away wistfully, once more taking in her strange surroundings. “Though…I don’t think it would have been what she expected.” She added with a laugh. “Probably better off he didn’t know about me.”

                Throttle laid his hand lightly on her arm. “I’m sorry none of us knew sooner, kid. You would have been a welcome addition to the bunch.” He assured, and then added with a little wink. “You still are, you know.”

                She blushed. “Thanks. But I don’t feel like I’ve contributed much.”

                “I think Miss Daisy would beg to differ.” Throttle nodded and Daisy beamed at her, offering her some of her lunch, which Karma happily accepted. “Listen, kiddo…I know maybe you feel a little like a paperweight right now. Just sitting around doing nothing. But someday when the chips are down and your worn down to your bones your gonna miss this kind of downtime.”

                She eyed him steadily. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you lie to me before.” She teased. She looked at him more closely as Daisy watched the volley between them with interest. “You really gonna stand here and tell me you’re enjoying the paperweight life right now? That you aren’t scared?”

                “Why would I be scared?”

                She gazed at him, then her eyes lowered, withdrawing. In that small instant, he was aware, not just of her retreat, but of two other sets of eyes on him. Watching and listening. Daisy, looking up at him so curiously, and Remy, still pretending not to be, but he noticed that her headphones were silent and shifted slightly off her ears.

                “Okay…I’ll level with you, ladies. I’m scared shitless. Got no clue how dicey things are gonna get and I got a whole lot of people to look after. Frustrated the hell out of me but it is what is . No one likes sitting around on their hands, waiting and wondering, while people they love are out there taking on a risk.”

                They all looked to him directly now, earnestly listening. “The thing of it is, they aren’t taking on those risks lightly, and they aren’t taking them on alone. Just because you may not be in the thick of things, doesn’t mean you can’t help.”

                “And what if you really can’t do anything?” Remy piped up suddenly, making them turn towards her. “What if you’re just…sitting there. Scared and useless? While the people you care get themselves tangled up in more and more dangerous shit?! Are you going to try and tell me that that’s worth just as much as what my mom and others are doing?”

                She expected him to try and pacify her. To shush her and tell her not to cry. To assure her that everything would be fine. A lying lullaby she was more than used to by this stage in her life.

                Instead he moved to sit beside her. She tensed, assuming he was about to hug her. But he didn’t. He just looked at her, as Daisy turned to tug on his fingers, trying to regain his attention. “So…what are you gonna do about it?” he asked her.

                She blinked her big blue eyes at him, still watery with tears. “What?”

                “You’ve got choices, Remy. Maybe you don’t realize that, but you do. And sitting and feeling sorry for yourself. It’s a choice. So all you have to do is make a different one.”

                She stared at him and then looked to Karma, who just shrugged. “Guys got a point.”

                “A point? Not all of us are bodybuilder aliens with super smart bikes! My brother is stranded on your goddamn dust planet, and my mom is using her weird inventions to help you fight—disgusting smelling fish people! I’m fourteen! What am I supposed to do!?”

                “No yelling!” Daisy chided, patting her knee as if in warning.

                Throttle shrugged, “Well…what are you good at?”

                She scoffed as if he were mocking her, but his face remained serious as ever. She looked again to Karma for help and her Martian counter part urged her on gently. Remy swallowed her frustrated tears and turned her attention back to her laptop. “I…I don’t know yet.”

                An idea was beginning to form in the back of her mind, an inkling of an idea. But it was still just spark and vapor. His hand rested on her shoulder then, giving a tentative squeeze. “That’s okay. You’ll get there.”

                He expected her to ignore the gesture, but she surprised him by pushing her laptop away and hugging him properly.  He stared down at her, unsure how to meet the embrace at first, and then folded around her gently. “Brave girl. You’ll do fine. And so will your brother. You both have way too much of your mom in you not to.”

                She gave a small laugh at this and nodded, grateful for the compliment.

Daisy grinned and climbed into his lap, eager to join the cuddles.

                Throttle glanced up at the white furred redhead, “Well? Room on this couch for one more.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Jeez, what kind of loser’s club is this?”

                Daisy reached and tugged at her until she relented and was forced to sit down on the other side of Throttle. “You sit here.” Daisy nodded, very resolute on the matter. “Sit and play nice.”

                “Bossy little thing, ain’t she?”

                “Play nice.” The little one insisted, pushing and pulling the other two until they were in a position that she was satisfied was a hug. “Mama says play nice. Tot says play nice too.”

                Both girls seemed surprised at the mention of Daisy’s mother, but Throttle just nodded and petted her hair gently. “That’s right baby.”

                He winced then, his vision beginning to fade again, the throb in his temple where the clot had been announcing itself once more.

                The teens looked at him worriedly. “I think we should try that N-A-P thing again.” Remy suggested, showing she had indeed been listening the whole time. “At least until Mom and Vinnie get back. They’ve already been gone a couple of hours now…how long can it take to check on a stupid transporter?”

***

Chapter Text

Mars, Sand Raider camp

Morning in the camp had started lazily. A sort of dull, restless feeling had settled over its occupants, oppressive as the heavy air as storms continued to circle the area beyond their crater, bringing only the sparsest gusts of rain but plenty of wind.

Digger sat in the shadow of their tents awning, close to the small trash can fire he and two of his clan were presently enjoying. The three still gnawing at their provisions of breakfast as they eyed the laborers and other Sand Raiders moving about the camp.

The captive female named Harley was busy going back and forth, carrying water and other supplies to her fellow rodents.  When they had first brought them here, she had been skittish and nervous and her movements had showed it. Now, in the weeks since, she moved through the encampment like it was second nature. Never fully at ease, but sure of herself. Unafraid of the eyes that followed her.

Digger found it curious that sun had been up for a few hours now, and yet he had only seen the woman. No sign of the troublemaker Stoker or the waifs or the diseased freak that so often tailed her. He scowled darkly and took another bite of his meat, which had turned tasteless and dry, on the edge of turning.

He looked to his companion on the right, a taller, gangly thing with a long snout and one mangled ear that went by the name of Wesley but was more often went by the name “Weasel” due to his long lean appearance. And the fact he was a known liar and cheat.

“How long we gonna tolerate this, eh? No sign of that metal tail again…Atlas must have his pet cooped in his tent.” Digger grumbled, disgust and disdain evident in his gravely tone. “He’s always up there…scheming. Plotting. Something ain’t right about it, I tell ya. Not right at all.”

Weasel looked at him sideways, “Yeah? So what do you care about it? Let the boss get his kicks with that one, save us the hassle of running his errands.” He snickered softly and bit into his food again. “Fun to see him kick ‘im around a bit, like back at the canyon. Not often we get ones with fight that last this long. Usually they fall in line pretty quick. But that one…oh he loves the trouble, I think. Him and that woman of his.”

His other companion, a short thick bulldog of a Sand Dog, grunted and spit into the dirt beside him. “I think it’s sick,” he muttered, disgruntled. “He wants to play that he’s got that old muskrat by the balls, that he’s working for him, but I think it’s the other way around. Ye can’t trust Mice like these…they bite back, and bite back hard.”

They eyed Harley again as she paused to converse with other workers, who all seemed to light up at her presence. They spoke quickly and quiet among themselves before noticing they were being watched and moving along. The woman eyed them a moment in return, her pretty features stony, and then went about her way.

Claw, the bulldog faced one, licked his blackened lips as  his eyes followed her. “Pretty thing, that one. For a Mouse.”

Weasel snickered, licking his own chops. “Sure sure…but you touch her and you’ll have both of them rodents on you so fast you won’t have time to think. The gold one’s just as vicious I think. Saw him fight back there…who knows, maybe he’s still on the rabid side.”

“So ye get her alone when them other two ain’t around…” Claw suggested.

Digger slammed his fist against the side of the trashcan, making the other two jump to attention. “Stop thinkin with yer knots and focus…there’s only a few days left until we meet with Slobber. How much you wanna bet that those Freedom Fighters are gonna double cross us and leave us all in the dust? With that Plutarkian’s wrath coming down on us alone when he finds out what we done to his favorite Dog?”

Weasel shrugged his shoulders. “So, they make a move, we tear ‘em to bits. No great loss there, mate.”

“It is if Slobber blames it on us and mangles us along with them.” Digger growled. “Atlas has gone soft. He doesn’t see it.” He looked at them carefully. “I think it’s time we took the matter into our own hands, boys. Before we all end up on the meat market.”

His companions looked at him cautiously, leaning closer. “You sayin what I think you’re sayin?” Weasle asked, obviously nervous and lowered his voice accordingly, incase other ears might be listening in.

Digger gave the smallest nod and the other two gave a small shiver of excitement and anxiety. Weasel taking to furiously scratching behind his mangled ear out of nervous habit.

“I think it’s a bad idea, Digs…Atlas won’t hesitate to tear yer throat out if you come near one of his pets in a way he don’t like.” The long snouted dog reminded him.

Digger nodded. “So, we make it look like an accident.”

“Accident how?” Claw scoffed, downing the rest of his beer and setting the half rusted tankard back down in the dirt, the foam staining the sand below it.

Digger grinned showing yellow teeth. “Never you mind…just lie low and wait.”

Weasel and Claw looked at each other dubious, then returned to their meal, knowing better than to argue the matter further.

**

Unaware of the looming plot against them, Harley moved quickly out of the sight of the leering mutts and back towards the relative safety of the prisoner barracks and tents that began at the edge of the watchtower.

Shielded from view thanks to the shade of the awnings and lean-tos, she could disappear into the shadows, unnoticed as one of the tiny lizards that scuttled and crawled across the rust colored rocks around them.

 She hurried to where she could hear the sounds of digging and scraping; spotting  Bowie and Kirk’s dust covered heads as they tried to work in secret, unearthing the partially buried base of the old radio tower beneath the watchtower.

In the past day, the pair had managed to get down maybe four feet into the dirt. It was hard going with the few tools they had.

“A little more discretion, boys. It sounds like a convention of sand hogs making a new burrow over here.” She warned them, offering the pair another ration of water as she crouched at the edge of the hole.

“We’re doing our best, sweetheart.” Bowie grunted, wiping dust from his eyes and gratefully reaching for the cup she handed him, downing it almost without tasting it. “There’s at least a decade’s worth of sand and dirt between us and the outside paneling of this thing. Not exactly easy going.”

“Too bad we can’t use a drill or something.” Kirk sighed, trying to wipe the red dirt from his face and only managing to smear it more. “Would sure make it a lot easier.”

“Easy isn’t a luxury we can afford, honey.”  Harley sighed, handing him his cup as well. “But you’ll get it. I know you will.”

She glanced up the ladder of the tower, spotting Lexi watching them from the hatch above. He made a sign with his hand, questioning their progress and Harley signed back.

The boy sighed and vanished from view again, returning to his post. For the moment, they were still in the clear, unnoticed by the patrolling guards or other raiders prowling the camp.

“Any update from Stoke?’ Bowie asked, pausing to take a rest, leaning up against the dirt wall as he stretched his aching and scraped fingers. “This big pow-pow with the raiders is coming too fast for my liking. If we don’t make some kind of contact with Brimstone soon…I’m worried it’s gonna be one hell of a shit show.”

“Stoker’s got a plan. You getting this ol’ lightening rod to work is just insurance. We’re getting out of here regardless of if Brimstone comes to help or not.” Harley said and Bowie didn’t miss the jaded tone in her voice. She had been left to save herself too many times, and while it had made her all the tougher as a survivor, it had dimmed her trust of others. He didn’t blame her.

“Still, I’d feel a whole lot better if the boys knew where we were. I know Stoke’s chummy with that big mongrel, but I wouldn’t trust him, not even with the deal they’ve made…” Bowie asked, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of their lover being on Atlas’s choke-chain.

“I’ll be able to check in soon. You two just keep your heads down. When Lexi signals, make sure you trade places.” She added, looking to Kirk. “I don’t want them questioning you if we can help it. Those bullies are just looking for an excuse to start something.” She looked warily back past the cluster of slave dwellings towards where Digger and his cronies had been watching her.

“You can count on us,” Kirk nodded.

They saluted her and she smiled, standing again and moving away from their hole. “I’ll see if I can find you some tools. No promises.”

“You’re the best, Harley.” Bowie beamed, blowing her a kiss.

“Don’t you forget it.” She added, winking in reply.

**

Atlas, as usual, was brooding. Growling and grumbling to himself, he paced the carpet strewn floor of his tent. His mood was as stormy as the skies beyond the crater.

Watching him from the map covered table was Stoker, who was still pouring over the logistics of the full moon meeting that loomed ahead of them.

The pair had been studying and marking one of the hand-drawn maps of the agreed meeting place since before sun up. Planning for where Slobber and his men would make their entrance and where Atlas and his men needed to be positioned to pull off their plan.

Once it was in motion, there was absolute certainty of a fire-fight. The only solution would be for Atlas and Stoker to have a clean get away from the remaining Raiders should they choose to pursue once Slobber was dead.

“If you position snipers here at the opening of this ridge, and hide some of your dune riders here, they can cover our escape pretty cleanly. So long as we keep Slobber’s troops sufficiently distracted and preoccupied. I’d say fifteen boxes of “supplies” booby-trapped with automated charges should do that nicely.”  Stoker nodded resolutely at this, glancing up at the warlord.

Atlas did not comment. At the moment, Stoker wasn’t even sure he was listening to him.

Stoker heaved an annoyed and exhausted breath. “Or, you know, we could just send a few suicide bombers straight into the mess and call it a day. How about that?”

Atlas grumbled something, but still didn’t answer. Stoker smacked the table, demanding his attention. “Hey!” he barked at him.

The big dog looked at him, ears alerting, eyes curious but narrowed.

“If I wanted to talk to myself, I could do that back in my own fucking tent, thank you very much. If you don’t care how we’re going to pull this off, then what the hell am I doing here? I’m sure you could find better company to entertain you.” He grumbled.

He moved away from the table, dropping onto a cushioned crate that served as a chair and tried to sooth the constant ache that went up his damaged arm, exhaling faintly in discomfort. They had been at this for hours, and seemed to be getting nowhere fast. Stoker had toughed it out through much harsher conditions of course, but there was no denying he was tired. Worn a bit thin.

Atlas flicked his gaze towards him. “Slobber won’t be expecting a fight but that doesn’t mean he won’t be ready for one. And he never travels with less than 30 seasoned fighters, not to mention any heavy machinery he may be conveying at the time.” He offered at last.

“We’ve planned for chicken walkers, and for the dune buggies and rovers. You have two tangle spring bombs that will take out a good portion of their riders if you set them off right after the other explosives. They’ll be too turned around to follow us if we do everything in precise order.” Stoker explained again. He looked at the warlord earnestly.  “I’ve been fighting these creeps for most of my life now, Atlas. I know their tactics. If they feel it coming from all sides and Slobber himself is taken out, we make a clean get away. They’ll preserve themselves over trying to defend the line for a Plutarkian who isn’t even there.”

“How do you know he won’t be?” Atlas countered.

Stoker blinked, considering. “I guess I don’t. But they aren’t usually the type. They don’t like to get down in the muck and blood with the rest of us. Their manipulation comes from on-high. And the way this little fucker is running things…I promise you, he’s too scared to come on his own.”

“You speak as though you know him.”

Stoker stared at the ground, still nursing his arm. “I do. Or did. Briefly.”

“You have history with the plague spreader? Why am I not surprised…” Atlas laughed but there was nothing funny about it. “I would think you’d want him to show his face there. Then you could finish your business with him and Slobber in one go.”

The Freedom Fighter glanced towards him and returned the sardonic smile. “That would make it to easy for you.”

Atlas chuckled, the sound warm but soft. He poured them both a drink from his own rations and offered it to his captive, only for it to be refused.

“You need to keep up your strength, BlackRuby. The job is not done until Slobber is dead and our territories are ours again.”

“And what about Colby?” Stoker asked. “…Slobber’s only a cog in the machine. Easily replaced. You want to bring down this whole fucking system that’s driving your clan into extinction, Colby is the one to be dealt with.”

Atlas shrugged. “One titan at a time, my friend. One at a time.”

He offered the drink again, more insistently, and Stoker took it with his good hand and sipped at him, holding himself back from gulping down the provisions. The wine was watered down, but that made it all the better in his state.

Atlas sat across from him and finished his own drink in a hefty gulp. “Your little clan…how are they fairing?”

“Well enough.” Stoker nodded. He was careful, not wanting to push the subject or give Atlas any reason to make things harder on them. Though he had proven himself benevolent in most concerns for those who worked under his rule, there was no denying they were still captives, and that if he were to feel his power slipping over them, he might do something drastic to negate it.

“I am pleased to hear it.” He nodded, and Stoker thought that he meant it too.

“Your…friend. The infected one. He’s on the mend?”

“Healed, completely.” Stoker nodded. “The vaccine saved his life.”

Atlas shook his head. “No. You did that. He would have perished in the canyon were it not for you. Your love for him.”

Stoker scoffed, shaking his head. “My love for him got him in this mess…just like the rest of them.” He sighed, staring into his cup.

For a moment, the Sand Raider said nothing, simply watching him. Then he shifted, “Let us discuss the scenario again.”

Stoker groaned loudly, shaken from his self flagellation. “ For fucks sake…again?”

“Yes. As many times as it takes. It must be perfect.” He nodded resolutely. He stood and began to circle where Stoker sat. “Slobber will be waiting there. He will come to the half-way point, armed to the teeth, likely flanked with two or free guards. They will have guns. Or whips. Or both.” He moved closer as Stoker rose, and put one of his large hands on the older mouse’s shoulders, gripping him firmly and dragging him beside him.

“You will be led, chained hand and foot and neck, before him. Presented, like a trussed turkey for his approval. His gift, to let us hunt and scavenge another season in the wastes.”

Stoker stiffened, face sour at the thought. He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll give your little speech about what a great tribute you’ve brought the fat tub of guts and while he gushes over all the disgusting ways he’s going to torture me, I pull out my stunner and blow his face off. That about cover it?”

Atlas shook him, squeezing his arm and making Stoker gasp slightly.

“You don’t understand. You will be bound. Your range of movement harshly restricted. Upon this meeting you will be searched for any sort of weapon. A blaster is not an option. If they find anything on you that they consider a weapon, they will kill you. On the spot.”

“So I shoot them before they get the chance—” he started to argue.

Atlas shook him again and this time Stoker cried out, pained. “Let go of me!”

“You will be helpless. They must believe that above all else. They must believe that you are defeated, Stoker. Or we will never get another chance. They will kill you, and it will all be for nothing.”

Stoker stared at him, trying to understand.

Atlas relinquished his grip on him and moved away, rummaging among the crates and trunks that were stacked at the sides of the tent, and returning with a heavy pair of chains. Manacles, ankle shackles and a chained collar, all connected by a heavy link of chain.

The Freedom Fighter shifted anxiously, his tail beginning to sway in anxiety at the sight of them as the Sand Raider approached him again. “This is what you’ll be presented to him with. You wont be able to lift your arms above your head, or move your feet more than a few inches in either direction.

“Jeezus, what don’t you just blindfold me while you’re at it?” he spat.

Atlas shifted the chains in his hands and showed Stoker the inside of the thick cuffs. He noticed a small groove inside the right wrist. Something that looked like a thin compartment. Applying pressure on it with his thumb, the groove pressed inward, and a blade popped free.

Stoker’s eyes met his in surprise. “That’s what you want me to kill him with?” he gasped. “I’ll have to be right on top of him.”

“He’ll come to you.” Atlas corrected.

The chocolate furred mouse paled, feeling sour bile in the back of his throat. Knowing what that meant. “This idea is shit. If he’s already that close, I’m good as dead.”

“Then you must act quickly,” Atlas said. “And trust that once you stab him, that I will pull you back.”

Stoker stared at him. “Pull me back?”

Atlas nodded, and showed Stoker that the manacles were on a length of chain which connected to another wrist cuff. One that Atlas himself would be wearing, as his handler.

The Freedom Fighter looked away, clearly unnerved. “No no…this is a bad idea. You never said anything about this shit. You said for me to get close, to wait until he came to gloat and then—”

“If I had showed you this a few weeks ago, would you have even considered this plot? Would you have trusted me?”

“What the fuck makes you think I trust you now!?” the Mouse barked.

Atlas sighed. “This is the only chance we will have. If we fail to kill him on the first stroke, we will be lucky to escape with our lives, and we will never, ever be safe. Not my clan. Not yours. It begins with him. And this is the only way.”

Stoker wouldn’t look at him, and the dog relented, putting the chains and cuffs aside, lying them on the table. Then he turned and moved back towards the Mouse. He took him by his injured arm, gripping just above where the tattered tails of his dirty bandages were.

The Freedom Fighter instinctively tried to pull free, but Atlas held him where he was. Not harshly, but firmly, unwrapping and exposing the badly healed wound left by Digger’s bullet.

“I know that what I am asking is not easily given. But I must ask all the same.”

The grip softened as the warlord inspected his forearm, watching the other warily.

“You protect your family so fiercely. But it is to your detriment.” He looked at the other pointedly. “This we have in common. We trust ourselves to sacrifice and do what must be done. But standing alone makes us weak. And we can no longer afford that.”

Stoker didn’t answer readily, instead glancing back out through the fluttering tent flaps at the rest of the camp in its daily routines, scraping out a living here in the crater while they waited for their fate to be decided.

“I’m asking you, not as a warlord, nor as your captor, or even as a comrade…but as a fellow Martian. I’m asking you to trust me. Trust that I will honor the deal we made.”

Atlas studied him and Stoker felt strangely exposed, feeling his heart beat a little quicker. There was such intensity in his words and his gaze that the normally mouthy Mouse could find nothing to retort.

Atlas turned his attention to the wound again, and then brought it to his mouth. Stoker gasped when the felt the Dog’s tongue brush over it, his arm tensing in the grip, fingers flexing at the odd sensation.

“What are you doing!?” he gasped.

“If we are to be true allies, then I must tend to your hurts as I would my own.” He explained before turning his attention to the wound.

 Stoker felt his teeth scraping at the blackened scab, felt the pull of skin as the wound was torn open again, a fresh trickle of blood escaping and running down the inside of his elbow.

Atlas continued to lick at the now open wound, lapping up the new blood. The feel of hot saliva made Stoker’s flesh crawl faintly, but little by little the reopened injury tingled and began to feel strangely warm and numb.

The Sand Raider’s eyes bore into his, and Stoker felt that something oddly intimate was passing between them in that moment. A sort of blood pact that he could not escape.

Once the blood began to clot again, Atlas released his grip. Stoker pulled the offended arm against his chest protectively, eyeing his captor. “Jeez…what was that? You want a taste of me before you send me to slaughter?”

Atlas smirked at him, but the intensity in his gaze made the Mouse feel suddenly hot beneath his fur. “I could have more than a taste of you, if I wished.”

Stoker went slightly red and Atlas looked away, turning back to his maps. “It will help you heal. Sand Dogs have a lot of antibodies in our saliva glands.  We take the phrase ‘licking a wound’ with seriousness and reverence.”

“Is this supposed to make me trust you?” he asked.

Atlas eyed him silently for a moment. “Only you can decide that.”

Stoker stood there quietly for a moment, digesting what had just passed between them. His eyes shifted back out onto the camp once more. “You’ll free them all when this is done, yes? No more slaves. If you really want to break from what Slobber has created, you’ll set them free.”

“They will be free to go. No more bondage. For any of us.”

Stoker nodded quietly, grateful. The persistent pain in his arm had eased a little and he eyed the chains lying on the table silence.

There was a fluttering of movement then from the flaps and Harley appeared, Lexi beside her. She looked between the pair curiously. “Sorry to intrude…we could use an extra hand with the water, Stoke.”

She saw the way Stoker was holding his arm to his chest and felt a pinch of anxiety, quickly stepping closer to her husband. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” He nodded quickly. “Just going over plans.” He explained.

She took his wrist and turned it gently in her palm, eyeing the now freshly clotted wound. “We need to rewrap this. Does it still hurt?”

Atlas offered her a roll of new bandages and tape. “It should be better soon.” He explained. His gaze slipped to the boy, who lingered anxiously near the edge of the entrance, closer to his collection of crates than he had been a moment ago.

“Anything on the horizon, boy? What of the storms?” Atlas asked.

Lexi shook his head. “Still blowing to the west, sir. I don’t think they’ll come here.” He offered, his voice stiff and a bit too formal.

The dog nodded. “We will see. I smell the electricity in the air from miles off.”

He turned away from the lot. “Off with you. I’m tired of your husband’s griping. Perhaps you can put him in a better mood.”

Harley looked at him curiously and Atlas just gave that sharp tooth smile and excused himself, slipping behind another flap of fabric to where his bedding was. Stoker ushered her and Lexi hurriedly from the tent, careful not to look back.

“What was that all about?” Harley asked as they hurried across the dirt path between the various structures, avoiding stepping too close to any of the passing raiders as they made their way back to the other workers.

“I’ll tell you later. Come on.” He glimpsed to Lexi, and saw he was trying to keep something tucked beneath the flap of his jacket. Stoker ushered them around a corner and pulled him aside.

“Show me. Now.”

The young Rat lowered his gaze and carefully showed him a screw driver that he had stolen from a discarded pile of tools laying on the crate. Stoker’s eyes widened. “Lexi! You stole from him?”

“We need it!” he insisted softly, keeping his voice low so they would not be overheard. “For the paneling. Once they clear the dirt, they’re going to have to take the paneling off to get to the controls. I was trying to help…”

Stoker sighed heavily and cursed under his breath as Harley looked to the boy. ‘Lex, that was too risky…if he caught you—”

“Everything here is risky. Everything we do is a risk.” He reminded them. “Don’t speak to me like I’m a child. I want out of here as badly as you. I’ll do what I have to. I don’t care if they catch me, I’ll—” his voice started to pitch up, exhaustion and desperation flaring.

Harley swept him into her arms and shushed him softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay…”

He his tears in her shoulder, trying to swallow the anxious sobs that bubbled up. Stoker rubbed his back gently and turned his face towards him, offering a smile. “You did good, kid. Really. Just…be less obvious about what you take. The pant leg is best. Or your boot. Never let them see you with something in your hand. It makes them nervous. Got it?”

Lexi nodded and Stoker smiled in approval. “Good boy. Come on now. There’s work to be done.”

***

Chapter Text

                Brimstone,

                Rimfire sat on one of the benches that littered the courtyard of the Cathedra. In that bright circle, sheltered by the cliff side structure of the Cathedra itself, he sat among the one of the greenest and calmest places in the city. A refugee from the struggle of daily life both inside and outside the walls.

                But he felt no peace.

                His mind was running in a loop over the earlier events of the day and of the night before. The bloody scene he had walked in on. The bodies now lying cold in the morgue on the lower floor of the hospital. The knowledge of betrayal thrust upon him so suddenly and unceremoniously.

                Like so many things in the young Martians life, it had happened suddenly and without warning and certainly without consent. That was the brutal pace of the world. There was no arguing with it. No debating its choices. All you could do was keep your feet and drive forward.

                His own words from the days earlier address clanged back to him like the gong of a church bell.

                “Citizens of Brimstone…we have been betrayed.”

                He hung his head, fingers lacing across the back of his neck as he tried to calm his breathing, the memory visceral, the aftershocks just now catching up with him.

                “What we thought were allies, come to help us against an old enemy, turned out to be a Trojan horse. We were lied to. We were invaded. We have been poisoned.”

                “The agents that were formerly known as those of the Galactic Federation, have been proven to be spies of Plutark. Their commander attacked and killed our Regent in his chambers, while his staff and confidants slept around him. Unaware of the viper in our midst. Our efforts to save him were in vain. But his death needn’t be.

                Because his assassination was witnessed, we have learned not only the motive, but the mechanism by which Plutark and its spies have attempted to destroy us. The attack on Caria and subsequent flooding of our beloved city, has not been merely an attempt to drown and freeze us, but to infect us with the plague that our enemy has been leaking into our ecosystem for years now.”

                Viscerally Rimfire recalled eavesdropping on the arguments of his uncles in the council chambers, while he had spied, an unknown agent of the Underground at the time. The shouting to be heard as they tried to explain over and over to the Council that the rumors of a bio-weapon leaked in the wastes was not a lie. Not a fluke or a fantasy of war mongering conspiracy theorist. That the Mice and Rats gone missing and found dead and mutilated along highways and forgotten roads were sign of worse things to come.

                How when Modo had gone missing after his exposure, his uncle Throttle had not stopped chasing down leads. Knocking on doors. Day and night harassment, until he and Stoker were threatened with contempt and imprisonment, and the curiously close liaison to the pair—Max Tourmaline—had stepped in to prevent their arrest.

                All the while he and Vinnie and Kade had been racing from town to town, hamlet and village and outpost, trying to warn those on the outskirts, trying to stave off what they feared was coming down the line. Only to be called terrorists and anarchist…thugs and enemies.

                Now he was here, dressed in a formal military uniform, to tell the city what his uncles had been trying to tell them all for the last two years.

                The wolf is no longer at the door. It is among you. You would not listen. Now it is too late.

                “The water that broke through our southern wall and breached our city, has been proven to be infected with a strain of the Frenzy virus. For the safety of citizens, all work on the restoration of the wall and the lands surrounding it have been halted until further notice. All those who have been exposed, have been quarantined and are presently receiving treatment. Our vaccine supply is limited, but Secretary Tourmaline has assured that new supply will be reaching us shortly. Do not panic. Citizen are asked to remain calm, and to do our best to watch for any emerging symptoms of the disease.  The curfews will remain in place, and all citizens of Brimstone are asked to shelter in place until such time as we can be sure of the scope of the spread and contain and cure it. This mandate will go into effect immediately…”

                His own words had started to fade into the drone of cries of panic and outrage from those gathered in the streets outside the Cathedra. They had been told to obey. Told to trust that their leaders knew what was best. And they had been let down. Their heroes were missing…their Regent dead…what would happen to them now?

                “Listen to me! Please…I know that we’ve already asked so much of you. More than you should have ever been asked. But the only way out of this is if we pull together. If we help each other. That’s something we’ve never failed to do. So I’m asking you…not to trust us, but to trust yourselves…we need to pull together and do what is right for our families. For our friends. For our neighbors. Politics aside. We’re here to help. I’m here to help…”

                He shuddered, closing his eyes tight against the memory of all those faces, all those eyes fixed on his. Looking to him for answers. For leadership. As a boy he had dreamed of being the kind of hero his Uncle Modo was, the kind of leader Stoker was. To be like any of his family, leading and protecting their people so fearlessly. But he was not that wide-eyed child any longer. He understood the weight of those lives. He understood the burden of leadership. And he feared he was not enough.

                He didn’t hear Carbine approach, or even register her scent. It wasn’t until her hand brushed his shoulder than he became aware of her. She looked up in surprise, trying to compose himself. But she saw. There was no hiding from the General.

                She sat down on the bench beside him.

                “You did a great job.” She offered softly.

                He scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah…a great job feeding them…what exactly? Not a lie but not the truth either…”

                “You told them what they needed to know. You gave them some direction, and gods know we need it right now. They’re scared, and they should be. But they’re less afraid, thanks to you.”

                “You don’t have to baby me, you know. I’m not that little kid anymore, following Uncle Modo everywhere and getting in even more trouble…”

                Carbine smiled softly at him. “You haven’t been that annoying little tag-along in a long time, Rimfire.”

                They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the way the wind whistled down from the high opening in the rocks and the way it ruffled the leaves of the new trees that grew here. Sounds once so common that they would fade from consciousness, now so rare they were to be cherished like the sweetest music.

                “She can’t be trusted.” The General said quietly. “You know that. Tell me you know that.”

                Rimfire nodded silently. “I know. She knows more than she’s letting on. This…using me as the face of the new Regime…it’s so…”

                “Ingenious. Really.” The dark haired woman answered, her tone flat and faintly bitter. “She’s smart. You’re a perfect proxy. The Regent knew that too. You’re young, you come from a good and well known family, hero stock no less, thanks to your uncle Modo and your dad…you’re too good to question.”

                “It’s disgusting.” Rimfire sighed. “I’m not…cut out for this.”

                “What, to be a pawn in a political take over?” she scoffed. “Oh honey…I don’t know many people who are.” She put a hand over the faint swell of abdomen absently, feeling a tiny flutter there, almost imperceptible.

                “Our focus right now has to be on making sure vaccine gets to those who need it. I don’t know what her idea of a shortage is. We should have been able to make plenty from what Throttle brought back from Earth. I think it’s just a means to scare them even further into obeying the curfew and quarantine.”

                Rimfire nodded thoughtfully, considering. “I’ll look into it as soon as I can. Primer used to work at the hospital, maybe she can get some insider information for me.”

                “Good place to start.”

                They sat a moment longer in the quiet and then Carbine rose. “She’s sending Strain to deal with the quarantine workers tomorrow morning. Apparently they have them sheltering there in the middle of the construction…I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

                “Strain will tell us what’s going on. He’s just enough of a stickler for the rules that she’ll leave him be, I think. She can’t get too heavy handed now. People are too skittish…they’d turn on her instantly.”   He mused.

                “Can’t say that would be a bad thing.” Carbine sighed. She looked at Rimfire thoughtfully. “…did he really do it? Baron, I mean. Did he kill the Regent?”

                Rimfire was silent, the memory playing over in his head of walking in on the scene. It was so chaotic and jumbled, and in the hectic hours since, he was losing the details. Exhaustion and questions eroding the memory. “Yes. I think so.”

                The dark-haired General said nothing, just nodded absently.

                “Just…do me a favor, okay?”

                He laughed, the sound tired but genuine and sweet. “Sure. Anything.”

                “Stay you. No matter what comes next. Just…stay you, Rimfire. Above all else.”

                He stared back at her, wanting to find comfort in the advice, but finding that it left him more unsettled. “Who else would I be?”

                She leaned forward and kissed his forehead lightly, no so differently from how his own mother would at times, then left without further conversation, leaving him alone in the court yard again.

***

Sand Raider Camp

                Kirk gazed out at the horizon, the heat of the day wearing on him, making him feel drowsy and irritated.

He fell into a half dreaming state as he stared out at the ever-stretching orange-grey horizon. Dreaming of his mother and sister and the life he’d left behind on Earth. Lazy Saturday afternoons, not unlike this one, where he’d lie on the floor of their den and beg his mother for something to do.

He missed her voice. The smell of her shampoo and her laundry detergent. The smell of her cooking their meals.

He had reached that age where he was starting to pull away from her. An age his sister had already reached. But there was a strange guilt with this need for independence. She did her best not to make him feel it, not to lament the loss of her baby and make him feel guilty for what was a natural part of growing up.

Now he regretted not appreciating her presence more. Because without it, he felt like he was standing in the tide, sand being drawn out from beneath his feet with every roll of the wave. Threatening to pull him out and sink him.

He whimpered softly and shifted against the wooden rail, trying to shake the sleepiness off and refocusing on the distance.

Still no sign of the rider they had spotted the other day. He slumped back against the rail with a huff of disappointment and muttered a string of private curses.

A noise then from below startled him back into full alertness. He scrambled into a roll and peered down the ladder hatch to the dirt-covered Martians far below in the now sizable ditch next to the buried base of the tower.

He didn’t dare risk to yell down at them and instead wrapped quickly on the wooden planks to get their attention.

Bowie and Lexi’s dirt smeared faces beamed up at him from below, and Bowie gestured to a now open panel in the base. Thanks to Lexi’s acquisition of the screw driver, they had finally been able to pry it free.

Kirk gasped in excitement, struggling to keep from vocalizing it, kicking his feet and punching the air in silent celebration before sliding down the ladder in a hurry and hitting the ground a little too quickly so that he fell on his ass in the dust. But he hardly noticed.

“You got it open!? Does it work?!”

Bowie shushed him. “I don’t know yet. There’s a lot of sand in here…” he inspected the wiring, pleased to see that it was largely intact even after all this time of being buried. Somehow the rickety tower that had been built around it had helped preserve it from the elements, and for that the bartender and sometimes hacker was grateful.

“It will be a miracle if the things is still active. Let’s hope it’s still connected to the wider power grid.” He mumbled, combing his fingers through the various threads of wires and buttons. The boys watched, not understanding what they were looking at or what the former bartender could be looking for. All they knew was that they needed him to find it soon as possible.

Lexi licked his lips and peered back over the edge of the hole again, hoisting himself to the edge so that he could provide a better look out. He heard the typical movements of their fellow captives and the other Sand Raiders as they moved about. No sounds that were too close or too sudden, implying imminent danger. But that didn’t stop his palms from sweating, or his heart from pattering a little too hard inside his narrow chest.

Bowie moved along the wiring and then pried at another side panel off with effort, grunting and groaning with the exertion, exposing more of the forgotten wiring and buttons. “Yes!!” He gasped, fighting to contain himself as much as Kirk had a moment ago.

“What? What?!” Lexi gasped.

Bowie ignored them, frantically flipping a series of exposed switches. It took a moment, but after a breath or two, they felt the long dormant tower come alive. Beginning to hum at high frequency.

They all stared up to the top of it, as if they expected something to blast through. It was silly of course, yet all three seemed to have the same thought.

They crouched there, breathless and listening. The Rat among them listening hard and watching to see if anyone else had taken notice of their activity. But for the moment he neither heard nor saw anything out of the ordinary.

“All clear?”  Bowie whispered anxiously.

The grey furred boy nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

Kirk looked back to the golden furred mouse, trying to make sense of the wires and buttons before him. “So…how do we get a message out? There’s no microphone, there’s no speaker…how do we transmit?”

“Easy kid, easy…I gotta get my head on straight for this.” The bartender answered, trying to solve the newest problem at hand. His fingers moved across the panel, feeling for something. After a tense moment he huffed and breath and cursed softly. “Fuck…okay…okay, we can make this work. But we’re gonna need to outsource a part.”

He looked to the boys who returned the worried gaze with anxiety of their own. “We need some sort of mic. Now, with all the junk and scrap laying around this heap we can probably find something, but our best bet is if we can lift one from one of the big trucks. The ones Atlas and his big gunners like to take out on raids. Those have CB radios inside their dashboard. Wouldn’t be hard to disconnect one and reuse here.”

He leaned closer to the children, looking at them earnestly. “I’m gonna need your help with this.”

“Why us?” Kirk asked, though inside he winced at himself. It felt like such a small, stupidly childish question. One he would have been annoyed with hearing himself. But he hadn’t been able to help it.

“Cause you’re small and largely inconspicuous to these mutts. They’ll be watching me and Harley like hawks and Stoker’s a total no go. But they won’t give you a second glance if you don’t give them a reason to.”

Kirk felt a knot in his stomach at the prospect, knowing what the penalty was for being caught doing something that the partol didn’t like.

He hesitated, unable to meet Bowie’s gaze, embarrassed of the sudden wave of fear that had come over him.

“I can do it.” Lexi spoke. Kirk looked to him in surprise and Bowie looked at the boy seriously.

“You sure, son?”

He nodded. “I know just the one. I can get it.”

Bowie considered a moment, then smiled and patted his arm and shoulder affectionately. “Good boy. Counting on you. We’ll do our best to make sure you have a clear shot, just don’t draw attention, ya dig?”

Lexi nodded eagerly. “No worries…no one ever notices me when I don’t want them to.” He assured.

Bowie nodded and then let the boys help him climb back out of the hole, using a sheet of scrap metal to cover it and throwing fresh sand and dirt over it to disguise it further.

Now back on level ground the golden furred bar tender paused, doubled over, dizzy and hands shaking.

“Are you ok?” Kirk asked anxiously.

He shot him a weak grin. “Yeah, kiddo…just the jitters you know. It will pass.” He said this, hoping against hope it was true. As much as he wanted to believe he had made a full recovery from his infection, it was obvious that it had done a number on his system as a whole and some things were still in a state of flux. But as long as his mind was his own, he could handle anything.

“Let’s get moving, bros. We’re burning daylight.”

Stoker and Harley were already back with the other workers, BlackRuby doing his best to put the encounter with Atlas behind him for the moment.  Lexi it seemed had gotten away with his small transgression, and they could only hope it would stay that way.  The closer it grew to the full moon meeting, the more tensions rose in the camp. Not just between the Sand Raiders, but the Mice who found themselves trapped in their orbit.

The storm brewing on the horizon would break soon, and their fate hung in the balance. Either they would be free, or they would be damned. Killed or absorbed into Slobber’s collective as collateral. And many would prefer death.

The pair moved to where a half dozen of the other mice were gathered around the stone well that had been established near the edge of the prisoner barracks.

The commotion had started when the bucket that drew up water from the aquifer far below seemed to become stuck along the side of the rock casing. It was only in previous years that this well had produced anything but dust, but slowly since the restoration it was beginning to produce water again. And real water was always better than the synthetic and certainly less risky to keep in supply. To loose access to something so vital over something so stupidly trivial as a stuck bucket produced a new wave of anxiety among the collective.

Various members of the captive clan of rodents kept trying to dislodge it by shaking or tugging more aggressively at the rope, but now it had started to fray and was in danger of snapping.

The conflict at hand had two debaters, one an aged tawny furred mouse named Loy and his opponent, a shorter squat fellow about half his age named Gus. As Stoker and Harley approached, Loy shouted to the other; “I’m telling ya, it feels heavier! Like something fell into or got through the screen below!”

Gus replied with just as much ire and bluster as his fellow prisoner. “No, it’s just stuck under a ledge! Damn casing eroded! Come on now, just let me give another yank!”

“No you’ll bust it you moron!”

They snarled at each other, and Loy made to push at the other mouse, who snagged him by the tattered sleeve of his tunic, the seem ripping under the stress. The lot of them, young and old, all wore the same sun-washed and dust bleached tunics, pants and robes, all tattered with time. Some wore ankle cuffs or wrist monitors. Left over devices scavenged from other ships, other bases, used to keep control of prisoners. They would provide painful, even possibly lethal shocks to the wearers if they stepped out of line, or tried to escape. Loy and Gus both sported these.

 It was clear that most of these prisoners had been part of the clan for a long time, and while weary and resented their captors, their drive to escape had been eroded by time and perhaps by the knowledge that way lay beyond them in the waste was less survivable than staying with Sand Raiders.

At least here they had shelter, food, water, and some form of protection. Out there, on their own, none of that was guaranteed. And with no real freedom and limited agency, they often turned on themselves. Where else could they turn with their anger and frustration if not on each other?

Harley gripped Stoker’s arm as they watched the pair scuffle and the other mice around them do nothing to stop it. Her eyes anxiously darted to the nearest guard, who was shifting his dull attention towards the impending fight, fingering his lazor rifle.

“He’ll shoot them,” she whispered to her husband. She looked at him desperately, unsure what to do. “Stoke…”

He was on the move before she could say anything else, leaving her safely in his wake as he made his way slowly but deliberately towards the squabbling pair.

“Easy gents, easy…” Stoker cautioned, trying to stop the argument before it could escalate and draw attention from the armed guard. “A bit early in the day to be at each other’s throats don’t you think?”

They looked at him, scowling and bothered. There was no reverence for the Freedom Fighter. For one of the legends that had helped free their planet from the Plutarkian menace that was still haunting it. They did not care who Stoker was. Heroes had died for them a long time ago.

“Shut up, this don’t concern you.” Gus spat at him.

Stoker raised his palms, giving a faint shrug. “Maybe not. But you’re making a fuss. And that means trouble for all of us.”

“Not all of us.” Loy retorted, sneering nastily back at him. “Pet.”

Stoker felt a barb of hot rage in the back of his throat at the insult, but did little more than frown. “Why don’t I have a look, hmm? No harm in that is there?”

Loy looked dubious, though he could really think of no argument. But Gus squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest towards him.

“Piss off!”

Stoker smiled. “Fine. Of course, there is a simple solution to your problem. If the bucket’s stuck, we could just hurl your ass down there and knock it free. Easy solve.”

Several of the other gathered mice snickered quietly as Gus huffed in outrage. He moved towards Stoker as if he would feed him his fist for his trouble, but one glance at the watching guard and he lost his nerve.

With the argument won for the moment, Stoker moved towards the well, his fellow prisoners watching as he leaned over the dusty stone to peer down into the cool, damp dark. He could see the vague outline of the bucket, caught some three or four yards down. But in the gloom it was impossible to tell what had caught it exactly.

He gave the rope a tentative tug and felt the weight of the thing, his brow furrowing.

“Damn things’ really full…”

Loy shrugged, “That’s what I said. Feels heavier than water! Bet it’s full of rocks and sand…”

Stoker stood back thoughtfully, considering their options, just in time for Bowie and the boys to make an appearance among the gathered crowd.

The bartender moved towards him, coming to stand at his elbow. “Am I missing something good? Or have we all collectively decided to stand around and stare at the hole in the ground and until we die from boredom? Cause I’m game either way.”

“Bucket’s stuck.” Stoke sighed. The issue feeling so mind-numbly trivial after what he’d been through that it made his headache.

“Oh, bummer.” Bowie shrugged, uninterested, leaning on his lover’s shoulder. Stoker followed the others gaze and realized that the boys had already wandered away from the gathered group of Martians and were making their way towards the hefty stock of scrap and rigs and trucks that had been set aside for repair.

He flashed Bowie a questioning look but the blonde did not meet his eyes, instead lightly touching the small of his back. A wordless signal that there was trouble and he needed to follow his lead.

Harley saw it too, and did her best not to look at the children, not wanting to draw any attention. Instead, she turned and looked to the nearest guard who was watching them all struggle without any offer of help.

“Hey, the bucket’s stuck. Do you have a hook or something that we can dislodge it with?”

The dog looked at her with vague disgust and ignored her question. Harley sighed and stepped closer, forcing herself in his line of sight. “Hey. We need your help.”

“Not my problem.” The dog muttered, foam forming at the corners of his black lipped mouth as he stood beneath the beating sun. “Fix it yourself.”

“Listen, if we can’t reach the bucket and get it lose, that means less water. “

“Shame for you then, huh?”

“No, actually, shame for you.” She corrected. “We can’t get water from the well that means you’ll have to break into your reserves, which means less rations for everyone. Including you.”

The guard dog looked worried at this and she did her best not to rub it in his face. His ears went back a little and his cold demeanor softened, if only just. “I’ll find ye somethin’…” he muttered.

“Thank you.” She answered, grateful he didn’t put up more of a fight. She swore he almost smiled at her as he turned and retreated into one of the scrap structures.

“I swear, she could charm a snake out of its skin.” Bowie hummed appreciatively.

Stoker’s eyes flicked past the crowd to where he saw the boys disappearing and repairing around the junk collected there. He didn’t understand, but he knew something was up. Bowie was far too relaxed. Which definitely meant he was up to something.

“So…you think a hook will do it?” He asked, side eyeing his partner again.

“Well, always depends.” Bowie replied, trying to explain without being obvious. “If you can find the right tool for the job, then sure.”

The other mice stared at the two as if they had gone stupid in the midday heat.  Loy and Gus, allies again, scoffed together in agreement.

“I think you boys better get out of the sun. Yer brains are frying.”

“Here let me show ya what the trouble is…” Stoker tugged Bowie over to the edge of the well, putting their heads together as they looked down into the dark, pretending to examine the issue.

Bowie’s antenna briefly brushed against Stokers scalp, showing him a flash of memory. The plan he and the boys had devised just a few minutes ago.

BlackRuby pulled back, blinking in anxious surprise, his head automatically snapping towards where the children were.  There were two more armed guards not far from them, lazily meandering down the road towards the congregation at the well. If they happened to catch the boys rooting in the scrap it would be bad. Very bad.

Harley’s guard returned a moment later with what looked like a splintered and duct taped hockey stick.

“This is the best I’ve got.” He said, his tone slightly petulant but he looked at Harley like the was hoping she would approve.

She accepted it with a grateful nod and turned back towards the others, looking doubtful. “Will this do?”

Stoker looked from her and then back to the approaching guards. He had lost sight of Lexi, but could see Kirk’s head, bobbing just out on the other side of a pile of tires and scrap. He would noticed for sure as soon as the guards came level with him on the path.

They needed a distraction.

“We’ll make do!” he said, plucking the stick from her hand. Without further explanation, he climbed up on the edge of the well, immediately diverting everyone’s attention to him.

“Bow, I’m gonna need an assist on this.”

Without needing further prompting, Bowie planted his feet and looped his tail around Stoker’s waist, squeezing securely. The guards in front and behind them were in motion trotting towards the mouse who was making a spectacle of himself.

“You there! Get down from there! Now!”

Stoker took a deep breath and then jumped, diving down the dark narrow opening with one hand gripping the rope and one hand gripping the stick.

Harley gave a squeak of surprise, rushing forward as Bowie skidded forward under the weight shift and locked her arms around his chest just as he hit the side of the well, bracing himself against it.

“He’s fuckin’ crazy!” Gus sputtered.

“Never any doubt of that!” Bowie grunted, He looked up, looking past the guards, trying to glimpse the boys.

Hidden among the junk, Lexi and Kirk moved with as much stealth as they could muster. It was difficult going, despite the cover of the clutter. Everything around them made noise beneath their hands or feet, and clanked or creaked or groaned as they moved around it. Insects and small lizards skittered away in the wake of their approach, seeking shelter elsewhere.

Lexi moved with purpose, a sort of tunnel vision taking over as he sought for the truck that contained the mic they would need. Kirk followed behind, struggling to keep up. Looking behind them at where the other mice were gathered around the well, bickering with each other.

“Lex, slow down they’ll see you!” the boy cautioned.

But the Rat ignored him. Getting that mic. Signaling for help…it was one step closer to the possibility of getting out of this place. Of finding what had become of Mace…and his father. After days and weeks of inertia, finally, progress. He wasn’t going to let something as constant and inevitable as “danger” stop him now.

The truck, rusted to hell and sporting broken mirrors and three completely shredded tires, sat at the edge of the junk heap, almost fully in view of the path beyond.

The boys hesitated near the front tire. For the moment, they were spared from view by the hood and bumper and the stack of discarded tires that sat in front of it. But the reach the radio, they were going to have to climb inside the truck. And that would make them visible, if only for a moment.

“Maybe we should look for another mic…” Kirk offered, hating how scared he felt in that moment.

Lexi shook his head. “We don’t have time. I know this one has what we need.” He glanced back towards where Bowie, Stoker and the others were gathered. “We’ve got to take the chance. It may be too hard next time.”

Kirk shivered, despite the heat of midday. “But…”

Lexi turned and looked at him harshly. “Stay if you’re scared, but I’m going!”

“Lex--!”

But the young Rat was already on the move, scrambling towards the dented and rusty door of the truck and pulling it open as carefully as he could.

Kirk stared at him, then heard the commotion from the group behind them. He turned hurriedly, just in time to see Stoker disappear into the well. As he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, he heard the guards coming closer and ducked out of sight again.

He crouched there, shivering. Hating himself for how scared he was. Hating this place and the awful creatures that held them captive. Hating his mother for leaving him here…

Kirk felt a sob boiling up in his throat and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Refusing to cry, lest it draw attention to himself.

Bowie let him fall as far as his tail would extend. Stoker gripped the rope hard, feeling the bite of it in his palm and then swung forward, kicking his feet out in front of him to stop the descent. The damp walls were slick and his boot skidded a bit, threatening to leave him dangling.

He did his best to brace himself against the slick, moss spotted walls, feeling the damp sludge of it press through his shirt into his fur and skin. “Fuck! Snap me back any tighter, Bow, and you’ll snap me in half!” he wheezed.

“Yeah well, you’re not exactly a featherweight, honey!” Bowie called back with a grunt.

“Can you see the problem!?” Harley called down, eager for this stunt to be over with before they all ended up over the pit or worse.

More faces crowded out the light from above, Loy, Gus, Harley and now two very disgruntled Sand Raiders.

“What the hell are you doing!? Get out of there!” they bellowed at him.

“Get out of my light!” Stoker barked back. “Ye can yank me up and soon as I fix the problem! Now move!”

They all looked at each other dubiously and then, miraculously, they obeyed. Stepping back to allow the light above to filter in once more.

Exhaling slowly, he did his best to refocus on dislodging the bucket, all too aware that this was all performance, all a distraction. And if he fell and broke his damn neck in the middle of it, the embarrassment would follow him well into the afterlife.

As his eyes adjusted he spotted the bucket and the rough edge of stone it had been caught on. The casing should have prevented such a issue…but it was clear that something had been burrowing through the bedrock and stone beneath the camp.

Cautiously, Stoker hooked the stick around the handle and pulled the bucket free. It sagged and spun, sloshing faintly. It seemed too heavy and he felt the rope giving away, ready to snap any minute.

He looked up to the faces peering down at him. “Pull us up!”

With Harley’s help, he felt Bowie begin to retract him as he continued to grip the bucket, using the upper, still sturdy part of the rope to ease some of the strain on his lover’s tail and backside.

As they drew closer to the opening, Stoker could see now that what was in the bucket was indeed heavier than water. It squirmed.

He was being pulled over the lip of the well just as the thing inside the bucket made a sudden, jerky lunge towards the mouse holding it.

Stoker yelped and hurled the thing away, sending it flipping and rolling between the onlookers as the rope snapped and the pail hit the ground with a bounce and roll, spilling its dark squirming contents on the dry sand.

One of the guards approached it hastily, yellow eyes wide. The squirming thing let out a small angry screech and raising what appeared to be a long tentacle shaped neck and opening a round mouth at the end, filled with razor sharp teeth. A second moved, then a third, All failing about looking for something to attach to, to sink it’s teeth into and bleed dry.

The guard stabbed it with the bayonet at the end of his rifle and it gave a small, pained scream, twitching once or twice before dying.

“Saber squid…” the dog muttered in disgust. “Must have burrowed its way into the well.”

“That’s just a baby…” Harley said warily. “Where’s its mother?”

They all looked dubiously back down into the well again, as if expecting more of the same bloodsucking creatures to come rising from its depths.

A new noise then, the sound of displaced tires falling from their precarious stacks and rusty metal piping and parts scattering to the ground.

The guard jerked his head to the pile of scrap, just in time to see the grey furred Rat boy try and duck out view again. He seized him by the ear and pulled him into the open with a cry.

“You! What are you doing back there?!”

Lexi cried out in pain as he was flung to dirt, the guard’s gun trained on him, his trigger finger looking a little too twitchy for anyone’s liking.

Harley and Stoker were on the move immediately, while Bowie dropped back, silently vanishing among the chaos.

“Don’t you dare aim that at him!” The woman bellowed, marching right for the armed guard jn a fury that was rarely seen but had become well known among their captors.

“He’s a child, don’t you—“

The guard snarled at her and threw back a hand, catching the nurse across her face in a hard slap.

The hand had barely recoiled from her cheek when Stoker’s tail coiled around it and gave a hard enough yank that it nearly pulled the dog’s shoulder from his socket.

“Don’t. Touch. My. Wife.”

Harley moved and bent to help Lexi but the other guards were moving in.

“Bad move, rodent! Drop him!”

Guns pointed at them from all sides. Stoker felt one of the Sand Dogs dig the barrel of their pistol between his shoulder blades. But old Freedom Fighter didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem to care, just glared daggers at the mangey curs who were threatening his own.

“I’ll gladly let him go as soon as he backs off the lady and the kid.” Stoker explained, not sparing any of the looming thugs even a cursory glance of concern.  “You know, you boys got a hair trigger these days, jumping over every-little-thing!”  He paused to punctuate each word, giving the captured dog the smallest shock from his electric, bionic appendage to hit the message home and accentuate the threat he could be if he did not show restraint. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s because you’re a bunch of yellow-bellied jackasses whose balls are sucked up so deep in yer guts that you’re afraid of one little kid!”

The tide of insults earned him a hard kick to the back of his knee, which made him lose balance. His tail uncoiled from the dog as he dropped to his knees and was given a hard bash to the back of his head for his trouble.

Stoker grunted in pain, going forward on hands and knees but refusing to fall completely, despite the way his vision darkened and his limbs shook.

A second guard by Lexi grabbed at the boy and dragged him to his feet before Harley could reach him, shaking him. “What were you doing back there? Show me your hands! Now!”

The young man nodded slowly and held out his palms. His hands were empty.

Irritated, the dog patted him down roughly, but found that the boy had nothing on him save the clothes on his back. He dropped him to the ground and Harley snatched him close, looking anxiously back at Stoker and then at the other mice who were watching.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. He’s just a kid wandering around. But just like he said, you’re scared of everything. No one here was doing anything but trying to help, and you attacked us! Well let me tell you, you’ve got bigger fucking problems than a bunch of Mice if you have a baby Saber Squid burrowing into your well. So maybe you should focus on that instead of bullying people who are in literal chains!”

The guards looked to each other as if they were considering giving her the same treatment as Stoker.

“Shut your mouth, bitch! Or you’ll end up over the pit!”

The nurse turned and spit at him venomously.

The dogs growled, ready to make another move, only to be surprised by Loy and Gus and several of the other mice moving to intercede, making it clear that any further attack on these mice would be met with violence of their own.

The guards exchanged wary looks and then eased their weapons down.

From further down the trail, Atlas made himself known, flanked on his left by Digger who looked both eager and agitated at the sight of the commotion.

“What the hell is all this?” The big black dog demanded, though seemed less irritated and more curious.

His men stiffened, seeming glad for back up and the other mice looked nervous, trying not to look the big dog in the eye while tentatively holding their ground.

“Troublemakers, sir!”

Atlas huffed softly. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” He looked at Stoker’s fallen position and the ruffled, welted place on Harley’s cheek, along with Lexi’s wide and frightened eyes. “But I somehow think there was a bit of provocation here.”

“Want I should throw them in the cage, boss? Give ‘em a nice view of the pit?” Digger suggested.

Atlas dismissed him, his attention now turned to the dead thing in the dirt. His lip curled. “Where did that come from?”

“It was in your well. We pulled it out.” Stoker panted, recovering from his most recent blow. He worked his way back to his feet and stood as tall as he could despite the gun still at his back and hands that grabbed at him, trying to force him back down.

Atlas snarled, not at the mouse but at the guard manhandling him from behind and the other quickly backed off.

“Your cronies here got jumpy when they saw our boy rooting around in the scrap. Probably trying to stay out of the way. Then things got a little tense.”

Atlas surveyed the group, sizing up the situation before stepping a bit closer to the dead squid and giving it a small nudge with his foot.

“Cover the well for now. If there are anymore down there we don’t want them squirming their way up looking for food. Everyone back to work.”

He looked to Lexi. “You’re one of the runts who likes the watch tower, aye?”

Lexi nodded shakily. “Yea sir.”

“Atlas—“ Stoker began but the black dog shot him a warning look and a vicious snarl that told him to bite his tongue.

“I wasn’t speaking to you.” He reminded him. He moved more fully in front of Lexi, who drew himself away from Harley in a bid to keep her safe in the only way he knew how.

“Boy, you started this…” he looked around irritably at his own men as well as their slaves. “…ruckus, as it were, yes?”

Lexi nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

Atlas considered him. “It’s good for a man to own up to his transgressions. That is an admirable trait, no matter your breed. So I expect you to take the punishment like a man as well.”

Lexi did his best to hide how his legs began to tremble at this but he nodded mutely.

“Good. A couple hours digging should suffice.”

Everyone in the gathered crowd seemed surprised by this. Their expressions reflecting varying degrees of shock and relief.

Lexi felt his heart stutter, coming down two the intense anticipation and stress. While digging for hours was certainly more difficult than being on watch, it was not torture or being suspended over that death trap that was the pit.

“Sir,” Digger cut in, muttering low beside his leader. “Don’t you think that’s letting the runt off a bit easy? Everyone’s watching…surely he was up to something to be rummaging back there.” He looked contemptuously at Stoker snd Harley. “Why else would these two be so interested in protecting him?”

Atlas snorted. “Digger, I don’t keep your around to give me advice.” He muttered. “If you think this boney little whelp of a boy is. A credible threat than you’re not much of a dog, are you?”

The bigger dog looked at his underling with such deadly contempt that Digger’s ears went back and his tail tucked between his bowed legs.

“Back off lads. Back to your post. You, escort the boy to the ditches. And I mean escort. Not drag. Five hours shoveling dirt will work out that restless streak just fine.”

As he was lead away, Stoker tried to approach Atlas again. “He did nothing wrong—“

“Whether he did or not is not the point. He stepped out of line and I can’t have that. A little digging will teach him a lesson.”

“I’ll take his place then, if all your after is proving a fucking point!”

Atlas laughed and gave him a small shove which nearly knocked the already dazed Freedom Fighter off his feet again, Harley quickly moving to brace him and keep him upright, though he waved her off.

“Stoker,” Lexi called back to the Freedom Fighter, drawing his attention from the warlord. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”

The chocolate furred mouse nodded slowly, Harley at his elbow as Lexi waved back to them and then let himself be led away by the other guard. Atlas moved to follow and when Digger made to move as well, the warlord stopped him.

“You can clean up the mess.” He muttered, nodding to the dead creature lying in the dirt oozing and ready starting to smell.

Digger whined but new better than to argue.

As their captors moved off, Harley and Stoker made their way back towards the prisoner barracks. They walked slowly, seeming to limp along, until they were sure they were out of sight of any remaining guards. Then they were both off at a run, sprinting past tents and lean-tos and dodging around scrap piles and fire pits u til they they ducked into the narrow nook that opened up into the back of the watchtower.

Bowie and Kirk were already down in the hole, Bowie pulling at wires while Kirk anxiously held the newly acquired mic and waited to go live.

“Where’s Lexi?” He gasped.

The two adults above him shook their heads. “They’ve got him digging until nightfall, but he’ll be fine.”

Kirk felt his heart sink into his stomach. “He let himself get caught so I wouldn’t…” he gasped.

Bowie gripped his shoulder. “Thank him for getting this broadcast through, kid. We’re about to go live!”

Kirk’s big eyes flicked from the bartender to the Freedom Fighter and the nurse perched above him, all of them breathless as they teetered on this chance for rescue.

Kirk felt his throat tightened, palm beginning to sweat around the mic. Bowie’s finger squeezed his shoulder again gently.

“Hey. Look at me. You can do this.”

The boy nodded slowly and licked his lips. He felt the cool rounded metal of the mic in his palm and stared up at the tower. Bowie nodded again, signaling him to speak.

“…Emergency! Emergency!...If anyone out there can hear this…we need help! We’re being held captive at a Sand Raider encampment in a crater somewhere in the Martian wasteland outside of Caria…if anyone can hear me…please send help! Please!”

There was faint crackling over the mic and some of the paneling began to smoke faintly. Bowie cursed and quickly pulled some of the wires free, shaking out his fingers as they burned with the heat.

The rest of the group looked at him anxiously. “Did it go through?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know…we probably wont know for a while. I’m going to keep broadcasting it on a loop…it’s in the ether now. But we should wait awhile before trying again.” He looked nervously towards the controls. “This things is a bit touchy…if we overload the circuits and burn them out then it’s just dead air.”

“Interesting choice of words, bro.” Stoker sighed. He reached down and helped them both out of the hole, careful to cover it over again.

“What do we do now?” Kirk asked.

“Same thing we’ve been doing, kid. We wait.”

***

Chapter Text

***

Chicago, Earth

The Scoreboard

                Waiting seemed to be the order of the day, not just on Mars but on Earth as well.

                The only sounds in the Scoreboard presently were those of quiet, domestic ones. Strange coming from such a…unconventional environment. But Remy found herself feeling more comfortable here than at the Garage.

                Both the old television and the radio droned quietly in the background, the sounds becoming more distorted as they tried to echo off the metal and plywood walls. The sun had come out and the chill and rain had eased off so that there wasn’t’ so much of a constant draft drifting down before the upper levels of the scoreboard.

                Karma was perched on a beat up foot stool right in front of the tv, flipping through channels with fixed fascination. Remy found this quite amusing, they way she stared, almost bug-eyed, at the most inane nonsense ads and crappy programming, like a young child, dazzled by the in-your-face colors and sounds.

                Daisy, with a fully belly from lunch and lavished in attention from her favorite uncle, had given up her insistence that naps were the devil and had conked out on Throttle’s chest, while the tan mouse had followed suit, the pair asleep in the lower bunk together.

                The teen watched them thoughtfully, the huddled deeper into her hoodie and adjusted her hoodie, and refocused on her laptop. She had exhausted her usual go-tos. All her social media apps, watching her friends make silly posts about clubs and field trips and left over pictures from summer. Some she was included in. But she wasn’t sure she recognized her face in those pictures anymore. That seemed like another girl entirely. One with a much, much smaller world view.

                How was she supposed to sit and listen to inane babble of about Tik-Tok dances and celebrity drama and even stupider friend drama, when she had been living out the plot of a terrifying sci-fi adventure on another planet? One that seemed to have swallowed her brother hole, and had consumed most of her mother’s focus and attention.

                Part of her, the childish part that still craved it’s old norms, still resented the whole thing. Resisted these…strangers in her midst and the chaos it had brought to her life. She wanted to push the away, keep them at arms length. As if that could solve anything.

                “You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.”

                It was something her father used to say. Odd that she would think of him then.

                Her gaze flicked back up at Throttle and Daisy and then back to Karma, her arms-length approach to them beginning to shift in her mind. Yes, they brought upheaval and change into her life. But they hadn’t done so maliciously.

                It had all started with a want and a need to return. To find and make whole again. Throttle had crashed into her mother’s life, seeking not only re-connection but her help in doing so with his own family. And now…he was staying, trying to help her put hers back together. There was nothing ill-intended in that.

                And as much as all this change, all this secrecy, all this danger, challenged and stressed her…wasn’t she safe? Wasn’t she arguably safer, more protected here among “strangers” than she often was with her own neglectful father?

                This realization bubbled up in her suddenly and brought a burn to her sinuses and water to her eyes, which she was quick to brush away, refocusing on her laptop screen. She clicked through her uploaded pictures from her camera roll and felt her throat tighten even further, seeing a picture of herself, her mother and Kirk all sat together on the back lawn at sunset. Fourth of July. Fireworks just about to start.

                Her brother’s face, sun-burnt and beaming with the kind of excitement you only feel at that age for these sort of events. When things still feel new and special, not yet mundane. She cried then, in spite of herself. Trying to hide her face in her sleeves.

                The old couch shifted, and Karma was sitting beside her then, looking at her curiously.

                “Go away,” she whined, her voice cracking and squeaky as she tried not let her mascara and eyeliner run and ruin the rest of her make up.

                The older girl just looked at her. Not exactly with pity, but more with curiosity. She craned her neck over her shoulder and looked at the picture on the screen. Her features softened. “You miss the little dude, huh?”

                Remy gave her annoyed look, rolling her eyes as she sniffed. “Duh. Of course I do. He’s my little brother and he’s stuck on  your shitty planet somewhere, probably thinking we up and left him behind. Or that we’re dead or something else fucking awful.”

                “I’m sure he’s okay.”

                “Oh please. I am so tired of hearing that bullshit line. That’s just something older people say to you because they get uncomfortable seeing you cry and they don’t know how to help.”

                Karma pondered this for a moment and then shrugged. “Yeah. I’d say that’s accurate. You sure are making me uncomfortable with your whining.”

                “I’m not whining!”

                The redhead scoffed at her. “You sure about that? Or maybe there’s a better word for it. My mama used to call it bellyaching. You whine and you bitch and you cry, but no one can help you. It’s just something you gotta wait out.” 

                Remy glared at her. “Well excuse me…you don’t have to shit on me just because you haven’t got anyone to worry about.”  As soon as the words left her mouth she knew they were harsh, and incorrect. She expected a reaction from the older girl. For her to get angry or to tell her to fuck off.

                Karma did none of these things though. Just sitting there with the same curious expression, though her brows furrowed a little more.

                Remy sighed in frustration and wiped her face again. “I’m sorry. That was mean.”

                “Yeah.” Karma nodded. “You’re a little bit of a bitch.” The brunette balked at this, mouth hanging open in surprise but Karma smiled. “That’s okay. I’m a little bit of a bitch too.” She leaned back on the couch and looked up at the high ceiling again. “So…you given his suggestion any thought?”

                Remy looked at her a moment and then nodded, quickly clicking through and opening a different folder on her screen, searching through the files until she found what she needed. Karma noted how quickly her fingers moved, like it was second nature, as fast as she had seen Charlie work with perhaps even more fluidity.

                “So…my computer is linked to my mom’s work laptop back at the garage. I synced up our devices about two years ago trying to watch some show on Netflix and then…I figured out I could see all the stuff she was working on.”

                “Okay, so? You hacked your mom’s shit. How does that help?”

                Remy shrugged, “I don’t know yet. But I’ve got access to all her work and her projects. Maybe…maybe there’s something in here I can use to help get us back to Mars. Or…” she flicked a worried look towards where Throttle slept, unaware of their conversation. “Something that can fix cybernetics…”

Karma seemed more than a little surprised by this. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I dunno! She’s scattered brained, I swear she should be on Adderall sometimes…maybe they’re something she’s overlooked.”

                Karma sighed, not looking hopeful. “I dunno, your mom’s pretty thorough. And she’s already loaded with tech.” she nodded towards the trailer. “I saw her put something that looks like an armed baby buggy in there. I think she’s got her bases covered, and if she had anything that could fix our guy’s eye issue, I think she would have brought it up.”

                “Well she has parts for Modo’s arm, why not Throttle’s eyes?! They’re all the same freaky machinery aren’t they?”

                “No. I don’t think they are. Especially something that goes in your skull compared to your torso.”

                Remy sighed, feeling slightly defeated. As she was about to click away, go back to her mindless scrolling, she became aware of a blinking notification at the bottom of her screen. She clicked on it absently, and noticed it was for a live video feed.

                Her brow furrowed as she clicked on it, opening a new window that showed a dark picture of what looked like the lower portion of a large an ornate and official looking office. “What the hell?”

                Karma peered over her shoulder again. “What’s that? Is this what Youtube is? You guys are really strange about the stuff you waste your time on…”

                Remy waved her off. “It’s not YouTube, dummy this is…it’s one of her spy cameras.”

                Now Karma blinked. “Your mom has spy cameras?”

                Remy gave her a deadpan look from beneath the lip of her hoodie. “Have you met my mom? She’s a total techy weirdo. Of course she has spy cameras. I could never get away with shit as a kid, she had these things all over including…” She paused as a new realization struck her. “Holy fuck. It’s on DJ!”

                “Who’s DJ?”

                “Our Roomba!”

                Karma looked at her in exasperation. “Hello?! Alien!? I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about!?”

                “It’s a cleaning bot, it rolls around on your floor and sweeps up crumbs and stuff…Mom frankenstine’d ours and basically turned it into a spy droid that also picked up music from her ipod.”

                The redhead gazed at her with dazed and disgruntled apprehension. “You know I was gonna say sorry about how my dad is such a weirdo, but your mom is JUST as bad so really they are just perfect for each other.”

                From the bunk beyond them Throttle stirred, lifting his head as he made sure not to disturb the sleeping child pinning him down. “…what’s the matter? What’s wrong?” he mumbled thickly, still coming out of sleep.

                Karma reflexively slapped the laptop shut and Remy tried not to look upset by it but failed.

                “Nothing! Sorry. Were we being too loud?”

                He stared at them with a tired, hooded gaze. It was clear he wasn’t buying the innocent act.

                “You know, girls, I might be blind but I can still smell bullshit. Ya know?”

                Daisy stirred on his chest, suddenly blinking as came awake too. “Bullshit.” She quoted sleepily.

                Throttle sighed and let his head fall back on the pillow, grimacing at the knowledge that he was digging this particular hole deeper.

                “Really, it wasn’t anything important.” Remy tried to argue.

                But the tan mouse was up, shifting Daisy with him. “Then let’s have a look-see. I love unimportant stuff."

                Karma hurried off the bed, suddenly at his side as he stood. “Here I can…I can take her.” She stuttered, obviously a bit worried. She studied his face and Throttle’s eyes took a moment to focus on her, but cleared easily enough.

                “Hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. I'm okay."

                She nodded, but did not seem fully convinced. Daisy wiggled, clearly over nap time and wanting to be released. So Throttle set her down and let her loose, letting her return to the television and the few items that were hers to play with.

                Remy opened the laptop again and brought up the camera again. Throttle paused and stared at the dark image, recognition slowly dawning on him as he sat beside her. “This is…Limburger’s office. How are you seeing this?”

                “It’s DJ Roomba.” Karma said as if this were a known everyday fact. But Throttle looked as confused as she had previously. The girl shrugged. “Bro, I dunno, ya’ll are fuckin’ crazy.”

                “It’s a spy cam on a Roomba that mom created. I don’t know how it got where it is but…it apparently hasn’t been streaming live for very long. She must have just got it working.” Remy explained.

                “She must have got the transporter up and running.” Throttle nodded, grinning with a nod. “Lady’s still got the magic touch.”

                “Yeah, Vinnie seems to think so too.” Karma nodded, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I know they give you and Max shit for being ‘boisterous’ in the bedroom but those two are no better. Maybe worse.”

                “That’s why I have headphones.” Remy nodded.

                “Remy, is there any sound to this? Any audio? I see…I see feet under the desk.  He’s there. He’s in the room.”

                She squinted, noticing the outline now herself. She clicked around a bit until she found the auto button and suddenly they could hear a voice from the other side. All three sat stiffly in attention.

                “—you set me up.”

                The voice was angry, petulant, miserable. But it wasn’t Limburger’s. Not the senior member of the clan at least.

                Throttle’s ears twitched as he recognized Marshall’s voice, squinting more closely at the screen. Karma shifted and returned a moment later with his field specs, pressing them silently into his palm. He nodded gratefully before slipping them on, the world clearing back to a familiar norm.

                The more familiar voice of Lawrence Limburger soon joined the other’s, answering the miserable statement that came previously.

                “Isn’t that rich? You think I set you up?” he laughed, but there was no mirth in it. It was almost…sad sounding. “Marshall…you are a testament to the failure of our society. Privileged and ignorant and believing that nothing is your fault.”

                “It isn’t! That fucking quack…him and Colby…they double crossed me. They had to have! They sent me to that godforsaken red rock with a ship full of infected water, knowing it would fail! They plotted for me to take the fall!”

                Fists hit the desk with enough veracity to make the wood tremble slightly. The feet beneath it shifted about it, and Roomba shifted too, as though slightly anxious or perhaps anticipatory, but luckily did not leave it’s hiding place.

                “My dear nephew…Colby believes you have abandoned and betrayed him. And given his delicate mental state, I doubt he’s able to be as cunning as you would suggest. Your doctor though…it is possible, yet I find it unlikely.”

                “Who gives a fuck what you think!?” Marshall spat back.

                Limburger cleared his throat and they saw his feet shift a bit, moving around the desk while he continued to speak. “From what I understand, the original formula had but one purpose. To cause as much damage to the victim as possible before killing it. Arguably you can achieve the same effect with a gun or a bomb. Frenzy’s effectiveness relied on its ability to spread. The first version failed; it was too slow. Too sporadic. It needed tweaking.

So your doctor made a faster acting version. It increased the certainty of death and damage, but not the spread. Martian Mice aren’t like their Earth counter parts. Things don’t appear to be as…transmissible between them.” He paused and they could hear the smug smirk in his voice. “A frustrating little factor I am sure you had not counted on.”

                “He sent me out there to die. To take the fall.”

                “Just as you sent Stilton and I. But here I stand.”

                There was another small silence, and Remy looked anxiously to Throttle. “They’re related, aren’t they? Like…blood relations?”

                He nodded mutely and the girl shivered. “This is some Game of Thrones shit…”

                “The fact is, Mashall, you weren’t sent anywhere. You went. On Colby’s behest. Because you were bored and you wanted a little excitement. No one made you do anything. You asked for a product and it was provided. Not once did you ask how effective I thought it, because it didn’t matter to you. Just as it doesn’t really matter to Colby that he’s sitting in that decrepit ruin of Stilton’s, picking off his perceived enemies by poisoning them and letting them run amuck. No rhyme or reason. Just chaos. Neither of you have bothered to take time to really examine what you could be doing.”

                “And you have a better idea?” Marshall muttered, openly mocking him.

                Limburger answered. “I have. And it will all come to fruition tomorrow evening.”

                “I told you to cancel that stupid fuckin gala—”

                Limburger made a sudden move that bumped the desk and made Marshall gasp in surprise.

                Something on the desk overturned, and what looked like a pencil cup and small glass bowl filled with something wriggly and dark red-brown tumbled to the floor.

                DJ clicked and whirled suddenly seeing a mess to clean and activated it’s primary function.  He moved forward, swiveling back and forth as though it was dancing, as it’s added music feature also kicked in. Dolly’s Parton’s “9 to 5” suddenly began to play as the little robot came free from hiding and zoomed towards the desk.

                “NO!” All three viewers cried from the other side of the laptop in dismay.

                Daisy looked up from her toys, her little ears twitching in concern and eyes big.

                The camera attached to DJ gave them a sudden floor-up view of Lawrence grasping his nephew by the collar of his shirt as though ready to shake or choke him. Both Plutarkian’s turned their attention in surprise towards the sudden musical intruder.

                “What the devil is that?!” Limburger muttered in disgust.

                But Marshall seemed far less concerned with the little robot’s presence. He angrily pushed his uncle away from him with what strength he still had.

                “Don’t change the fucking subject!” Marshall roared. Limburger stumbled back, narrowly avoiding DJ as he hurriedly sucked up the mess on the floor. The sound of which made a truly off-putting soft, squishy noise.

                Remy cringed. “Are—Are those worms?” she gasped.

                Karma made a gagging face and tried to cover her mouth. “Oh gods, it’s slurping them up like spaghetti noodles!”

                “I worked too hard and too long building this place up, making it unquestionable, infiltrating this fucking concrete rat hole with sources, informants, and those who are willing to do anything for a little cold hard cash—for you to walk in here and start your fucking theatrics all over again! They didn’t save you then, and they won’t save you now! All you did was make a mockery of what a real Plutarkian overlord is capable of!”

                He panted as he spoke and as he finished they saw him sag and fall against the desk, barely able to hold himself up. The camera glimpsed his features, sickly and drawn, and the scales that were openly flaking from the exposed bits of his skin.

                Karma actively picked herself up from the couch and walked over to Daisy, still gagging. “Ohmygods Imgonna vomit…” she groaned, running her words together.

                “Ew is he shedding!?” Remy gasped.

                But Throttle remained fixed on the screen, his reaction quite horror at the events unfolding. What they were silently witnessing. “He’s dying…”

                For a moment or two, nothing in the room moved, and Dolly continued to sing cheerily despite the stark juxtaposition of the circumstances DJ was recording.

                “…Barely getting’ by, it’s all takin’ and no givin’…they just use your mind and they never give you credit…it’s enough to drive you crazy if you let it…!”

                “The gala will go on as planned.” Limburger stated, and Throttle noticed the shift in his voice. How it dropped half and octave, it’s tone dangerous and guttural. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms began to rise. He felt his guts pinch as his heart began to race. He leaned closer to Remy, one hand on the laptop screen. But couldn’t pull his eyes away.

                “I’m going to succeed where you failed, Marshall. Where all of you failed. Because I finally, finally understand something.”

                “What’s that?” Marshall muttered, then turned and began to cough violently. Splatters of something fell to the floor next to DJ who did not register them as something it could clean. Throttle saw it was blood.

                “The Glory of Plutark doesn’t matter. What the High Chairman wants? Doesn’t matter. None of it, in the grand scheme of things, my poor doomed nephew…matters. We were always pawns, my boy. There was never going to be a winner, because the game itself is unwinnable. Because it never ends. Plutark is a blackhole…we were just too close to realize it had already sucked us in.”

                “…you’re going to win by losing then? By giving up?” Marshall muttered. He laughed, but the sound was pained and wheezing. He was now putting his full weight on the desk. “That’s…so perfect for you…really…”

                Lawrence moved towards Marshall, more slowly and decisively but this seemed to frighten the seasoned biker more than the previous lunge.

                “Remy don’t look--!”

                The girl blinked in confusion, her eyes then widening as she watched the broader, purple clad fishman take hold of Marshall’s neck with both hands and pull him forward. Throttle slammed the laptop closed and held it shut, staring at it.

                The suddenly silence that came over the Scoreboard felt deafening. The drone of the tv and the radio dim echoes from distant places compared to what they had just witnessed.

                Karma looked back at them, feeling her own stomach fill with ice between what she had heard and the expressions on their faces. “Did he…did he just kill that guy?”

                Throttle didn’t answer. He was up and making a move for Lady, tapping rapidly into her radio. “Bros? Max! Anyone read me?”

                A moment passed before a reply came back, Max’s voice, answering. “Read you loud and clear, babe! Everything alright?”

                The tan mouse let out a shaky exhale, unable to say how much the sound of his voice sent a wave of relief through his whole body, and determined to kiss the man absolutely stupid as soon as he got back.

                “I think there’s trouble at Eris. I think some real bad shit just went down.”

                “Shit!” Daisy chimed in from across the room. Karma shushed her and she giggled.

                “How so?”

                “Hard to explain…you and Modo ain’t close by there are you?”

                “No, further out. We can head that way if you—"

                “No! No, give it a wide berth until I figure out what’s going on.”  He tapped another button on the com, “Vincent? Charlie? Either of you read me?”

                Only static on the other end of the receiver. He tried again, but no answer.

                Remy shakily pushed the laptop off her lap and stood up. “Why aren’t they answering?”

                Throttle tapped the first button again. “Max, Modo, either of you had word from The Last Chance?”

                “Been all quiet since we left.” Modo answered.

                There was a brief pause as he tried to radio them on his own, but once more, no answer came back.

                Remy picked up her phone and hastily dialed her mother’s number. It rang, and rang…leaving the room silent and anxious.

                Then suddenly; “Remy?”

                The girl audibly gasped at the sound of her mother’s voice on the other end of the line. “Mom! Why aren’t you answering your radio!?” she hissed into the phone, her eyes welling against despite her best efforts.

                “Vinnie and I are over at the convenience store, baby, that’s all. Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

                She looked to Throttle for an answer. “No…just…you might want to check your camera feed when you get back to the garage.”

                There was a surprised pause on the other end of the line as Charlie processed this. “What? What do you know about my cameras?”

                “I’ll call you back, I love you.” She hung up before Charlie could question her further.

                “Babe?” Max’s voice on the radio again, more worried.

                “I’m here.” His lover assured. “Just…maybe a good idea if you and Modo head over to the garage and check on the others, then hightail it back here. I’ll explain everything.”

                “I hate when you say things like that.” Modo sighed. “We’ll be right there, sit tight. Oh, and um…was that Daisy I heard a minute ago?”

                “Uh…sorry bro, you’re breakin up—” He made a crackling sound and quickly ended the communication as the girls eyed him.

                “Listen, I didn’t start that, and I’m not taking the fall for it. Understand?”

**

                Along a swath of road that rolled gently along a wide field of overgrown grass, heading into a wooded area, the two bikers stopped to take a rest and take inventory of their situation.

                Tourmaline looked anxiously at the seasoned rider by his side. “What does that mean? Some bad shit went down at Eris? How does he know?”

                Modo sighed, leaning forward on his handlebars. “Dunno. If Throttle sounds that tense and is being that cryptic though, it’s definitely not a good thing. We should turn around and head towards The Last Chance asap. Get Vinnie and Charlie-girl and regroup.”

                “What about Mace and Shiloh?”

                Maverick sighed and gazed across the field, assessing. “We’ve been riding all day, Max. No sign of them. Where ever they’re hold up, they’re out of the way for now.”  He stretched and flexed his back, standing up from his seat and doing his best to stretch his legs as well. “First…I gotta get the feeling back in my rear. Been in one position too long.”

                Max slid from his bike and stretched, glancing up and down the stretch of road before pulling his helmet from his head and wiping away some of the sweat from his neck, his curls and locks damp with it.

                “Careful, pard. Don’t need to attract anymore attention than we already have.” Modo cautioned.

                Max nodded in understanding and reluctantly replaced the helmet. “Man, I don’t understand how you boys did this for so long. Trying to hide in plain sight is kinda…hellish. How did people not catch on to the fact that you were aliens?”

                Maverick shrugged. “Oh…I think plenty of people knew. I think it was more a matter that they chose not to address it. Looking into it further would mean addressing a lot of things that people back then just did not want to deal with.”

                Max nodded, letting his gaze drift off over the grass, exhaling a shaky breath, his worry and jitters obvious and unable to be contributed to merely riding too long.

                “Hey…” Modo called to him to catch his attention again. “He’s going to be fine. Don’t you worry.” He offered him a kind smile, trying to ease some of the anxiety.

                Tourmaline didn’t look back at him, afraid if he saw Modo looking at him the way he so often did that it would cause his own fragile composure to break. He was not a Freedom Fighter or a veteran or even a career fighter or biker.  His tools for coping with the dangerous lifestyle were still developing, and this perceived  weakness felt intolerable. He was not afraid. Not for himself at least. But for Throttle and his suddenly expanded circle of people he truly cared about. It was terrifying to suddenly have so much to lose.

“I guess it just…hit home for me is all. Watching the way you and Vinnie rushed in when he was…hurting so bad. You two knew exactly what to do and I just sat there…useless. I told Vinnie I was the shield, but…maybe I’m full of shit. He needed me, and I didn’t protect him.”

                Modo nodded, “Listen…we knew what to do because he had been through it before. Experience teaches you things. It’s the same way Throttle knows how to take care of my arm when it’s hurting. Or Vinnie knows how to get us distracted when we get too lost in a thought or feeling from before.  And let me guess…that was the first time you even realized that having a cybernetic implant really meant for him, hmm?”

                Max nodded. “I mean I knew…from the get-go really. But yeah…first time it occurred to me that it could mean something like…like that.”

                “Could mean a whole lot worse too. But it’s part of the package. You don’t know how to fix it because you haven’t learned. And boy are you getting a crash course in the matter.” It would have been laughable if it wasn’t so unfortunate.

                Max huffed a small laugh. “Gee, thanks I guess.”

                The grey mouse moved beside him and patted his back lightly. “You know, when Jessie and I first got together…she was usually real careful not to mention my arm or my eye-patch. Told me, eventually, she was afraid that pointing out the obvious might bring up bad memories for me. Thing is…those memories are with me whether she brought them up or not. I get a constant reminder of it. I have to live with it. Best thing she could do for me was to learn to live with it, like I do.”

                “And…that worked for you two?”

                Modo nodded. “Took a little time, but yeah. It worked.” He refocused his gaze on the former liaison beside him. “Don’t doubt yourself. And don’t get too in your head about it. If he needs you, you’ll know what to do.”

                Tourmaline thought back to the link he and Throttle had shared, those few moments of calm when he had been able to alleviate the pain. The way Throttle had asked him to smile for him. To “light up his world.”  That felt like love. Real love.

                His heart gave a little warm twinge and he nodded gratefully at Maverick. “Thanks, big fella. I’ll remember that.”

                “Any time.”

                They glanced down the long expanse of road back towards the city proper. Modo sighed heavily. “Been hours and hours. Where could that Rat fink have gone to hide?” he muttered. “And why is she with him…?”

                Max looked at him carefully, studying his face. Thinking back to the incident outside of Manuelo’s. “You really think she’s got something to do with the Doc and his experiments on you? You said you remembered her from the lab.”

                Modo nodded. “I do. But it’s still hazy. Either way, it doesn’t explain what she’s doing with Mace. Why she’s trying to help him.”

                Max shrugged his shoulders. “Well I mean…did she try and help you?”

                It was a simple question, an almost obvious one. And as Modo focused on it, the memory in his mind began to open up a little further, to unfold like a crumbled ball of paper.

               He had been in such pain. The Frenzy was killing him, slowly and agonizingly. The demented Doc had delighted n agitating him, at seeing how riled up he could make him. Seeing how far he could push and stress his nervous systems before they fell into collapse. It was a wonder he didn’t die of a heart attack, or from a brain bleed. Sure that others must have. But Doc Thaddeus wasn’t his only tormentor.  Those things with the long arms and the leathery skin and tusks…they would poke their long fingers through the bars of his cell, just to see if he would bite back, delighted when he would fly into a rage, throwing himself at the bars, tearing at them and uncaring of any damage he brought to himself. They delighted in his rage, his torment. His lust for violence as the red haze took over everything.

The small tucked away part of himself that was trying to remain intact, wondered if this was his punishment. This rage was his own but amplified by five hundred. The hate he felt, the anger, felt rooted in his real rage against his enemies. Was this divine punishment for that? For the enemies—people—he’d killed in battle?

It was a haunting, ugly thought. That he could somehow deserve this. His whole world had become devoid of reason, or reprieve. Everything was ruinous, bone breaking rage. A world of sharp edges and broken bones.

                But she was soft. The woman in the cell beside his. Her voice was low and did not hurt his ears when she spoke. He had tried to get through the bars to her…to attack her before she could hurt him too…but thankfully he hadn’t been able to. And when he gotten too tired and too sick, he had laid there in a heap, panting like a dog in the summer heat, wishing for death.

                A hand on him then. The first in he didn’t know how long, to touch him softly. Kindly.

                His first instinct had been to recoil. Or to attack.

                But for her sake…he had been too exhausted, and hadn’t moved. Hadn’t done anything but grunt and whimper for his suffering.

                “You’ll be okay. Just hold on. It will be okay.”

                The big grey furred mouse blinked back to his senses, Max still looking at him expectantly.

                “Modo?”

                Before Maverick could answer him, the radio on their coms picked up. Vinnie’s voice coming through the speakers.

                “Hey bros! Any update on our persons of interest?”

                “No, no, nothing yet. We’re heading back your way, Any idea what’s got Throttle so on edge?”

                “Charlie’s looking into it. My guess is Remy hacked into DJ’s camera when we sent it through the transporter into the tower. Must have seen something nasty.”

                Modo and Max exchanged confused looks. “You do realize that almost none of that sentence makes sense, yeah? Who the hell is DJ and when did you get the transporter working? And why didn’t you tell us?!”

                “Easy easy! Don’t take my head off. The transporter only works short distances. So Charlie and I got it to open into the tower. But we can’t just walk in there—according to her. So she sent this little robot dude name DJ in. It’s a vacuum disc…or something. Plays tunes. I think we’ll keep it instead of a cat.”

                Max rubbed his temples, trying to remain patient. “For gods sake, focus Vinnie. What did he see?”

                “I told you, I don’t know yet. Just get back here and we’ll pow-wow then.”

                Modo and Max looked at each other dubiously again. “Sounds sketchy as hell, bro.” Modo sighed.

                “Hey! I don’t see either of you chumps coming up with an idea.” Vinnie fired back.

Before they could offer a rebuttal, a car came flying up the road from behind them. The roar of it at once signaled something wrong, and as they both turned to look, they saw the make a model of it. A rusty, paint chipped mustang, once pale blue, clearly patched and modified by some chop-shop.

                As it streaked towards them, Modo saw something on the hood rise. He realized with growing horror that it was a machine gun, which swiveled to take aim at the two bikers on the side of the road.

                Instinctively, Maverick moved forward, his bionic arm whirring as it warmed to life, ready to fire. The car’s gun open fire at rapid speed, peppering the asphalt and the grass around them. The Mice dropped back from the road, taking up defensive positions as Modo returned fire.

Another shot came from the passenger window, as one of the familiar thugs from their previous skirmish’s raised a pistol and fired right towards Tourmaline.

The shot would have found home in the dark furred mouse’s chest had Modo moved strategically in front of him, his own bionic arm raised like a shield. The bullet pinged loudly off the metal, sparking as it did so, and fell away harmlessly before the arm canon roared to life again. Several shots streaking across the windshield and over the hood, partially shattering the glass.

 Max rebounded as quickly as he could, using Modo’s cover to get a better shot at the swiveling machine mount on the food, and fired a careful shot right at its base. It came free with a clang and small explosion before clattering free from the car and crashing to the road.

                Smoke rose from the hood, now riddled with lazor burns and ill-aimed bullet holes, making the battered mustang fish-tail wildly, before ultimately righting itself. As it passed them fully, another rider fired out of the back window, using a rear-mounted gatling gun.

                The bikers dropped fully to the grass, taking cover as their bikes alerted to the danger, forming a barrier and firing back at the fleeing car.

                Modo looked anxiously at the dark furred mouse next to him. “You okay?”

                Max nodded. “Yeah…that was some quick shootin! You saved my skin!”

                The other biker nodded, getting to his feet in a hurry. “Come on. Let’s chase that boogey down.”

                “Really? Cause it seems like that’s exactly what it wants us to do.” Max offered.

                Modo shrugged his shoulders, grinning. “Exactly. And who are we to refuse an invitation?” He winked at the other mouse, quickly straddling Lil’ Hoss, who was all too raring to go, her engine humming like a puma.

                “Vinnie, looks like some of the thugs we let limp away from last night are back for a rematch! Max and I are in pursuit. Radio to Throttle and the girls and have them on alert. We’ll keep this fight as far away from the Scoreboard as we can.”

                “10-4 bro, watch your backs! Save some for Charlie and I!”

                “No dice, bro, we got this.” Modo answered.

                Vinnie made some exasperated noise on the other end of the line, and started to argue, but Modo muted him as he and Max took off after the damaged mustang, which was still attempting to pepper them with shots.

                “He’s not going to listen to you.” Max sighed.

                “Yeah, I know.” Maverick nodded. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun before he horns in on it.” He added with a wink.

                The pair took off like a shot, kicking up grass, mud and loose pavement as they sped after the instigators.

                The mustang’s rear gatling gun continued to pepper them with shots as they drove, the pair weaving in and out across the two lane road that was thankfully empty to avoid the shots. Max gunned his bike, speeding up on Modo’s left as he laid down a quick hale of rapid cover shots that left a trailing line of bullet holes in the trunk of the mustang and finally shot out the back window, causing the man behind the gun to back off.

                Modo surged forward then, taking the opening Max had given him to open fire with both Lil’ Hoss’ canons and his own. The strikes rocked the mustang, making it bounce and fishtail, tires leaving swaths of black on the pavement as it struggled to stay on the road.

                They were approaching a hill, with a road sign cautioning curves in the road and reduced speed limit. Something none of them paid any attention to, embroiled in their battle.

                Modo drove closer until he leap from Lil’ Hoss and land on the fishtailing mustang. His boots made sizable dents into the hood of the trunk as he grabbed hold of the swaying gun for balance before ripping it from its base and hurling it to the side of the road.

                The man in the back seat looked at the Martian with wide eyes, suddenly realizing the big mistake he’d made with his life.

                Modo kicked him in the face, sending him crashing against the back of the front seats. The car swerved harder as it crested the hill at a jump, briefly airborne before crashing back down.

                The grey mouse was nearly thrown from the vehicle, only managing to keep his tentative hold by grabbing the hood with his bionic fist and clamping down tight.

                Max continued to zoom along the side of the car, taking the occasional fire from the man in the passenger seat. As they began to descend down the hill, he saw the wild curve of the pavement as it zig-zagged down the steep hill, the highway droning by in the distance. There was one lonely gas station, garage combo at the bottom of the hill, the winding road disappearing under a low bridge and then continuing on.

                It was clear they were going to need to cut this chase before they risked hitting civilians.

                Max tired shooting out the tires, managing to take out the one on the front passenger side. But the car did not stop, instead it kept streaking along, running on the ruined rubber and the now sparking rims.

                Meanwhile Modo kept coming, dragging himself across the hood of the cab until he reached about where the driver would be. He fired his arm canon through the hood. Shouts, sparks and smoke as it struck the console.

                Modo peered down at them through the newly created sunroof. “I think now would be a really good time for you assholes to test your breaks!” he roared at them.

                The driver cursed at him and fumbled at his side for a gun as his passenger was still preoccupied with Max.

                “Fucking Rats!” he cursed.

                Modo’s bionic eye flared. “You must be new to this game, son. Because if anyone knows anything about me,” he punched his fist lower, taking hold of the driver’s mop of a mullet and pushing him roughly forward into the steering wheel. “It’s that I hate being called a Rat!”

                The horn of the mustang blared deafeningly and it swerved wildly again.

                Max tried to move free, only for the passenger side to slap against him. He felt the painful crush of metal against his leg and shouted in pain. He tried to swerve away but the driver gripped hold of the sleeve of his purple bomber jacket, pointing his pistol directly at the mouse’s head with glee.

                But Max surprised him, twisting hard in his seat, his bike staying steady despite the lack of guidance and punched the goon right in the face. He crashed backwards into the already compromised driver. The mustang veered the other way with force and Max fell back, knocked from the pavement and sent into a sprawling skid in the dirt.

                He laid there for a moment, gasping and stunned, his leg singing with pain. But there was no time for that. The mustang was now doing uncontrollable donuts down the road, bouncing across pavement and dirt without stopping.

                Lil Hoss staid right with it, Modo still sprawled on the hood, stuck on the wild ride.

                “MODO! GET OFF THERE!”

                Maverick grunted through his com, hearing Max both inside and outside of his helmet. “Easier said than done!”

                The driver was still struggling under his hand, but would not take his foot off the gas. Now the other two passengers were trying to get at him, one finally getting ahold of one of their fallen pistols and starting to fire up through the hood at the mouse on top.

                One shot nearly caught Modo in the stomach, but the swerve of the car saved him by half a second. Seeing the bridge coming ahead of them and the car still spinning crazily, he finally decided to bail.

                Shoving the driver’s head hard against the wheel one more time, he finally let go and jumped free of the spinning wreck. Lil’ Hoss caught her rider and skidded to a harsh stop as the mustang continued to spin and spark before slamming it’s back end into the side of the bridge. The crunch of metal was horrible, and hard enough that it knocked one of the back doors open.

                The rear passenger spilled from the wreck and fell into the grass. Battered and bruised but seemingly without major injuries.

                Maverick panted and then turned his attention frantically back towards Max, seeing him several yards away, wiped out in the grass.

                “Max! Are you okay?!”

                Tourmaline sat up with effort, grimacing with the movement. “My leg took a hard hit…” he panted, bracing it. It didn’t feel broken, and he was still able to move it if somewhat slowly.

                “Don’t move, I’ll be right—”

                His words of caution were cut short however, as he struck from behind with a shot no one saw coming. The big grey furred mouse stumbled forward, dazed, feeling himself going tingly and numb. The familiar effect of a stunner.

                He turned, trying to keep his limbs working, trying not to fade out under the increasing affects of the lazor. Just in time to see a woman appear from the other side of the bridge. The girl from his memories, the strange Martian they had been hunting along side of Mace.

                She moved purposefully towards him at a jog, the weapon still held out in front of her. “Stay down! Stay down!”

                He tried to mumble something, a question or a curse, but couldn’t quite manage. He forced his remaining strength into his bionic arm, lifting it to fire a warning shot at her. He was struck again, this time from a different direction and went down with a thud.

                From his place on the hill, Max shouted as two new contenders made themselves known. Seeing Modo go down, and having no idea if the blows were lethal or not, he twisted and frantically reached for his own weapon as Mace came charging up after him.

                “Leave the gun alone, comrade!” Mace warned. “It’s not worth it! Just come along quietly and nobody else has to get hurt.”

                Max ignored him, still groping for the weapon and Mace sneered, growing agitated, trying to pin him down before he could reach his weapon. “Don’t move! I am not opposed to shooting you right in the face!”

                “Not if I shoot you first!” Max twisted and took aim, clipping Mace’s shoulder and making him shout in pain before falling on him, fists flying.

                They both landed heavy blows on each other before Shiloh was on them, screaming at Mace to stop and pulling him off with effort. “You idiot you’re gonna kill ‘im!”

                Max surged up after him, ready to take him on with bare hands but Shiloh struck first, stunning him with her blaster. At such close range the dark furred mouse was rendered unconscious instantly.

                Mace sat back panting, his nose bloodied for his trouble. “Holy fuck…he’s got a little more fight in him than I remembered.”

                Shiloh looked back down the hill at Modo and at the smoking car beyond. The thugs inside seemed to have made their escape. She glared down at Mace. “We should have been out here helping them!”

                “You saw what happened last time we did that. Besides…did you really want to get in the middle of that car chase? We needed to take them by surprise.”

                “Them? Or the fuckers in the car, because I honestly don’t know anymore!” she snapped at him. But he remained stone faced, unmoved by her complaints or accusations.

                “Listen, after what went down at the school yard, they’re on edge. Approaching in the middle of a fire fight isn’t an option.”

                “But shooting them after the fact is?” she returned. “You’re not their friend. I’m not stupid. But maybe if you stopped pulling dirty tricks they might be more inclined to listen to you, instead of trying maul you.” She wiped the blood from his face as if to prove a point.

                “It’s complicated, okay?”

                “Its bullshit is what it is.”

                She sighed in agitation, bending over Tourmaline and examining him for injury. “We need to get them inside and out of the way. Then we need to do something with that smoking pile of scrap. Someone’s bound to ride along and see it.”

                Mace got to his feet. “I’ll take care of the car. Let’s just get them inside.”

                He grabbed Max by the arm and pulled him up and over his shoulder, letting him dangle limply over him. “I’ll help you with the big fella in a minute.”

                She looked back down the hill at Modo and he saw her look of distress. Mace patted her shoulder. “Hey. I know it’s messy but it had to be done. These thugs are just as bad as the Doc. Getting them out of harm’s way is the best thing we can do for them for now. Until we can explain what’s going on and make a plan.”

                Shiloh sighed bitterly, starting off down the hill again. “If this is how you treat your friends, Mace, I’d hate to see how you treat an enemy.”

                ***

Chapter Text

                As the call ended, Vinnie was left standing on the curb, confused by the silence on his com.

                “Bros? Hello?” he called, more irritated than worried for the moment. “No dice?” He scoffed, repeating Modo’s words. “Since when do I classify as dice?”

                He looked up, spying Charlie still inside the store through the large showcase window. She was standing at the checkout, still waiting in line. Vinnie studied her, the mundane scene. How strangely normal this all felt. And how out of place he felt in that normalcy.

                He looked away from the store front, staring up and down the urban street at the passing traffic, The Last Chance just half a block away. If they left now—dropped everything and just sped off—how soon could he reach wherever Modo and Max were?

                He glanced at his dashboard, tapping through screens as he followed the tracking devices on their bikes. They were in motion, probably some 8 miles away. He could easily catch up. Join the skirmish, or whatever it was.

                He looked back towards Charlie as if ready to call out to her, then stopped. For some reason then, looking at her standing there so calmly and patiently in line, he felt a deep pang in his chest. This had been her everyday before they’d barged back into her life. The small chores and tasks of just…living. He imagined her with the kids in tow, standing there while they distracted her with wants of this and that, or talking mindlessly about their day.  Not worrying about where one of her children was, if they were safe. Not worried about psychotically insane supervillains trying to destroy everything. Stalking her movements. Keeping her constantly on edge and constantly planning for the next attack or counter attack?

                He had always thought of their life in the old days as exciting. A constant adventure, rarely dull, and strangely predictable in its rising and falling patterns.

                But they had both been young back then. And yes, of course, they worried about each other, looked after each other.

                But things were different now. They had others to think about. Children to think about. Young lives that needed stability and safety and this calm. What right did he have to keep bringing danger into her life?

                It was the same thought that had haunted him when he had first returned to Earth. When he hadn’t been able to find the guts to confront her. To apologize and say everything he had never gotten a chance to.

                Here he was…scheming to go off on a chase with his bros, hungry for the fight and glory…and there she was. The other half of his heart. Looking at least somewhat relaxed for the first time in days.

                He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice that Charlie was now leaving the store, two bags in hand. She was almost on him before he recognized her presence.

                “Hey, why the long face?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you were pouting for having to wait.” She added with a sigh.

                Vinnie blinked and then shook his head. “No way, doll. Just thinking.”

                “Everything okay? You had any update from the guys?” she asked, slipping on behind him and securing the goods as best she could.

                “Yeah…” he paused a moment then added, “they’re fine. Still patrolling. Modo thought they saw one of the monster-car thugs cruising along one of the back roads. They’re checking it out.”

                Charlie looked up, “Oh? Don’t you wanna investigate?”

                Vinnie squeezed her hand as it wrapped around his waist. “Nah. They can handle it.”

**

                More than an hour later, the pair were experiencing their first real alone time in the Garage in weeks, and making good use of it.

                The mattress below them squeaked and creaked under their rhythmic movements, Charlie gasping and a little oversensitive, having already finished twice while Vinnie kept driving at her, chasing his own release, growing increasingly lost in it.

                Charlie wrapped her legs around his hips, rolling her own up to meet him every time he thrust into her, breathless. But she was not as lost in the sensation as her partner, a nagging logical worry beginning to arise in her as she recognized the tell-tale signs that Vinnie was about to finish inside her again.

                He squeezed her waist, grinding hard and she gasped, arching at the way he felt inside her, but planted her hands against his chest. “Vinnie…don’t cum yet…” she panted, barely believing she could get the words out.

                Her lover whined, and it was unclear if he heard or understood her fully. “Close…” he groaned, and Charlie knew she had to take the initiative. She dropped her legs and pushed herself back against the pillows, and he gasped at the loss of her, on the edge.

                She wrapped her hand around him instead, stroking hard and he growled, finishing hard against her thigh instead, whole body shuddering with it. Charlie peppered his face with kisses, sorry to disappoint him, but loving the way he clung to her after.

                As blood began to circulate back into his brain rather than his groin, he blinked up at her, pink beneath his fur and blurry-eyed after release, looking confused. “Why’d you pull away?” he panted. “Did I hurt you?”

                She shook her head quickly, kissing his lips and his nose. “No no…you never hurt me, honey. Just…” she chewed her lower lip a moment in thought and he shifted to lay more fully over her, looking down at her thoughtfully.

                “Just what?”

                She smirked, as if he should know what she was getting at. But he looked at her with those big sweet puppy-dog eyes and realized that of course he didn’t. She stroked his cheek, “We just need to be more careful. Just because I’m a woman of a…let’s say certain age…doesn’t mean I can’t get pregnant.”

                Vinnie blinked at her, as if this was truly the first time it had occurred to him.

                “Oh…”

                He shifted ever so slightly, looking down at her stomach and touching the skin below her bellybutton lightly.  “Guess I wasn’t really thinking about that…I mean…cross-species and everything.”

                Charlie rolled her eyes. “Well, be that as it may, handsome, your parts fit in my parts just fine. So I think we shouldn’t rule it out.”

                She huffed and sat up, reaching for something to clean herself with and sacrificing one of her over-sized band tees to the cause. Vinnie was at her shoulder, kissing it softly, arm slipping around her waist to keep her close. Charlie smiled to herself, not letting him see.

                She never would have guessed, all these years ago when the love affair between them first began, that he would be the kind of lover who was desperately love-struck and clingy in bed. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.  She loved it but was always afraid to let on how much she enjoyed it. If not to add to his already inflated ego, then to keep herself from showing how much she loved him. The depth of it feeling too vulnerable to admit out loud back then.

                “Would that be so bad?” he asked her quietly.

                She gave a small laugh, more out of shock than anything else. She twisted to look back at him, and he eyed her warily, making her soften. “Are you serious?”

                “I mean…would it?”

                Neither said anything for a moment, just testing the weight of the question. Charlie leaned back against him, letting him hold her. “I used to think about that, you know. Back then. When we were…casual about things.”

                “Really?” she heard the grin in his voice, not even needing to glimpse it to know it was there.

                “Yeah, of course. Women think about those things.”

                “Yeah well…I might have thought about that too. But…was never the right time, I guess.”

                She nodded. He nuzzled her neck. “You know…if you are…I mean…if it happens. I’d be cool with it.”

                Charlene laughed again and sat up giving him a little slap on the arm. “Oh my god. I’m going back to the store and buying condoms right now.” She wriggled towards the edge of the bed, but he pulled her back with his tail.

                “I didn’t mean it like that! Come on! Give a mouse a break here…” He kissed her apologetically. “What I mean to say is…I wouldn’t mind adding to the family. If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

                She seemed surprised by this and he felt an echo of the ache he’d felt waiting for her on the curb just an hour ago. “I don’t…have a family stone to give you, Charlie. But I would. Or a ring. Or anything. I don’t know if you realize this, sweetheart, but I meant what I said back there in Caria. You’re the one. You’re all I want. However that looks, official or unofficial. It’s always been you, Charlie. I love you.”

                She felt heat and sudden rush inside, because she felt the same.

                “I love you too.” She assured him, needing him to hear it plainly without pretense or innuendo as so often was the case. “I love you. And I want us, all of us, to be together. But I’ve got to talk it over with the kids, and you should talk it over with Karma. It’s not just us anymore.”

                Vinnie nodded, the weight of that truth settling on him.

                There were too many feelings to sort just then. So she just pulled him in a kissed him deeply, letting that be enough for now.  She glimpsed across the bedroom, still half finished, and spied pictures of her children sitting on the dresser. The sight of her missing son sent a stab of guilt through her so sharply that she pulled out of his arms and hurriedly moved to get dressed, avoiding looking at the pictures.

                Vinnie studied her curiously, but for once kept quiet. He glimpsed her phone lying on the nightstand and was reminded of an earlier call. “What did Remy want?”

                Charlie blinked, confused. “What? Oh, I think she just…got freaked out. The little smarty-pants hacked her way into some of my files. She told me to check my camera.”

                “Camera?”

                “She must have seen DJ’s feed. But I haven’t had any alerts. I checked when she called and all I saw was him hiding under something that’s probably a shelf. No alerts since.”

                Vinnie nodded, moving from the bed now to redress himself as well. Glancing at the clock he gave a little jolt of surprise, not realizing he and Charlie had been so preoccupied for so long.

                “Shit…I gotta check in with the bros. Can’t have them having all the fun without me…”

                He hurriedly pulled his jeans up—forgoing the underwear entirely—and hurriedly made his way out of the bedroom door and back into he main part of the garage. Charlie sighed after him, shaking her head.

                “Why does this feel like that first semester of college all over again?” she muttered to herself, hanging her head.

                She hurriedly pulled herself into fresh clothing, knees still slightly weak after the way he’d made her see stars. Her head was spinning with the onslaught of emotions. She reached for her phone and opened up DJ’s camera feed again, seeing that the robot had retreated someplace new but equally dark and out of the way, seeming to look down the side of the wall.

                She sighed, disappointed in her spy-cam’s intuitiveness. Then she looked down at the time lapse, deciding to click back through the recorded footage to see what might have startled Remy. Her guess was that she must have glimpsed what Limburger looked like with mask off. A sight she wasn’t sure the girl had even seen properly. And as strange as mouse aliens were to adjust too, fish aliens were somehow more jarring.

                As she scrolled back, the reality of what she had missed unfolded in front of her. The argument between Marshall and Limburger. The physical struggle that had taken place. Charlie felt ice fill her stomach and all her warm if not confusing thoughts faded into vapor.

                She turned in a hurry towards the bedroom door, still trying to watch the footage. “Vinnie! Vinnie something’s happened, we—”

                The sound hit her first. Deafening and concussive. Roaring at her like a freight train from beyond the doorway. The shock wave came in tandem with the heat and the flash of light and fire. Charlie felt herself thrown forward into the door frame, bouncing off of it painfully, the wind getting knocked out of her, and then falling to the floor.

                Heat pricked over her skin in a rush and then faded, as smoke and ash washed over her like a wave. She laid there on the floor, stunned, on the edge of blackout, her hair covering her face.

                Slowly, the roar died. There was a ringing in her ears and a throbbing in her head. Slowly, too slowly, she lifted her head and peered through the curtain of her hair through the smoke that filled her home.

                “Vinnie…” The sound was a wheeze, the name almost lost.

                She flattened her palms across the floor and slowly leveraged herself up on her elbows, then on her knees. She coughed and wheezed on the smoke, clarity clicking back into place as adrenaline began to spike and survival instinct moved to the forefront of her brain.

                “Vinnie!”

                She crawled through the short hallway until she was in the garage. Where her back door had been before was now a gaping hole. The lower half of stairs were shattered and her kitchenette, work bench and table were broken and skewed.

                The ceiling above the back door dangled low overhead, exposing beams, insulation and piping.

                She turned her head, looking to the rest of the garage through the acrid haze that burned her eyes. She could see spare tires that had come loose from their storage racks, tools fallen and strewn on the floor. She used the wall to push herself up, finding that both her knees were scraped and bloody through her now jeans. Her palms were likewise, scraped across the floor when she had fallen, and she felt a distinct warm wetness on her face, a sizeable gash just right of her bridge of her nose, streaking from her forehead down to her cheek bone.

                Now upright, she could see more of the damaged garage, and spotted Van Wham on the floor, not far from where the shoe-box transporter had fallen, closed and cut off once more.

                She choked out a cry and started towards him at a stagger. She realized that Cherry was on her side close by him, and had likely provided a last second shield from the blow. She beeped, peppered and scorched with new damage but still raring to fight, fully online.

                Charlie pulled her up with effort and let her stand between the gaping hole the garage and where Vinnie was lying. “Vinnie! Vinnie!” She gasping, on the edge of hyperventilating in her terror. She dropped down on bloody knees beside him and shook him roughly, rolling him over.

                He was limp, un-moving, peppered with small lacerations and cuts that looked like they’d been caused by flying debris. He was unconscious, but alive. Charlie shook him as she continued to sob dryly in panic and shock.

                She patted down his still naked torso for signs of greater damage, but there was far more plaster dust on him than blood. He was stunned, probably concussed. But alive. Cherry gave a beep in warning and Charlie whipped her head around, looking over the edge of the bike at the ruined entrance. Movement there. Voices. Not friendly ones.

                As the ringing in her ears started to fade, if only by a degree, her hysterics stifled. Something cold, calculated and practiced kicked in and the hiccuping breaths stopped. Her lover was on the ground at her feet, hurt and unable to help. Whatever was coming through that door meant them harm. Had already caused plenty.  Beside them, the shoe-box transporter, the skipping stone between her and her son, lay with new dents and burns. Possibly ruined. Possibly not.

                She moved closer to Cherry. She was not armed, did not have a weapon on her, but the bike had plenty. Along one of her sleek hidden side compartments, Charlie pulled one of the signature purple, yellow and red Martian lazors, arming it swiftly and easily as if it was second nature.

                She staid low, using both hands to aim and support the lazor as she crouched behind Cherry and waited for the unseen enemy to make itself known.

                Two figures emerged. Charlie did not recognize them. But their clothing, the ragged mix of fatigues, leather, chains and combat gear gave them away instantly. So did their mullets and gas masks. Only a Plutarkian could conjure up such degenerate looking thugs.

                They were armed heavily. One carrying a nail studded baseball bat and one a semi-automatic rifle. Both peered through the wreckage, but seemed slightly blinded by the smoke. Neither had seen her yet.

                The thugs seemed…off. An odd observation considering the situation, but they did not approach as though they were soldier’s infiltrating a bombed out target, looking for hostages. Nor were they exactly cautious. They seemed more…dazed. Perhaps confused and disoriented as she had been. Maybe the blast had been bigger than expected, and struck them too?

                They stepped further into the room, and Charlie saw light ghosting through the garage door windows, signaling headlights. She heard the rumble of trucks and cars. Not the familiar sound of other motorcycles. The garage must be surrounded.

                Panic began to rise again, but did not overwhelm her. It merely made her palms sweat, her fingers tremble, So she tightened her grip and held her breath. Waiting for the thugs at her door to get closer. She couldn’t afford to miss.

                The one with the bat moved forward, spotting the red bike and brandishing his club. It was unclear if he thought the bike was a threat or not on it’s own. Either way, he was about to be very, very sorry.

                He was less than three yards away from her now, surely able to spot her over the edge of the bike. The thug paused, staring, seeming confused for a moment.

                Charlie breathed a little harder, feeling her arms begin to shake and sweat drip down her back. “Don’t move!” she barked. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”

                The club wielding thug jerked his gaze towards her and gave a hard grunt, as though irritated by the sound. His companion, still lurking in the ruined doorway, seemed to flinch.

                “I said don’t move! Put your weapons down and get the fuck out of my garage!” she shouted at them.

                Now the man closer to her cursed and sneered, jerkily moving towards her. “Shut up!” he barked at her, raising one hand towards his head. “SHUT UP!”

                He swung at her, though he was much too far away. Charlie stared at him in confusion, the slow, disconnected way they were moving and speaking. Movement behind her, Vinnie stirring.

                Without thinking, she glanced over her shoulder at him, seeing him pushing himself up with effort. They glimpsed at each other for just a second, Charlie breaking into a smile of relief, before they were in motion again.

                Movement in front of her. The lumbering club-bearing thug did his best to close the distance between then, swinging the club more viciously now and seemingly with more focus. Charlie fired at him, the lazor catching the weapon and sparking off the nails before flinging it forcefully to the side.

                This made the hug scream in rage and moved as if he would plow right over the bike to get to her.

                Vinnie and Cherry moved in tandem, flawless. The white furred mouse wrapped his tail around the woman’s waist, pulling her back towards him as the bike rotated in an effortlessly spin and opened her front facing guns and peppered the two idiots who had dared to break into their sanctum.

                Now the man by the door was on the move too, seeming not care about the danger. Or perhaps incited by it. The one formerly baring the bat shouted and roared as the front lazor guns knocked him back with force, burning his skin, but instead of staying down. He fought his way back up and began to charge along with his companion.

                Vinnie squeezed his woman against his for a moment, his lips at her ear as his hand slipped over hers, gripping around the blaster. “Can I borrow this, babe?”

                She complied without fully registering the request, glancing at him quickly. “Get the transporter, I’ll cover you.”

                He let her go and slipped into position, joining in laying down fire for the two thugs who did not seem to understand what retreat was.

                “I don’t know if you boys know it yet, but you totally drew the short straw on this mission!” Van Wham barked at them. They cursed and snarled in response, still somehow getting closer. The one with the machine gun seemed to suddenly realize what the hunk of metal in his hands was for and began to spray the garage with bullets.

                But his aim was shit. Even for one of Limburger’s thugs.

                The bullets largely found their homes in the wall and storage racks, even the ceiling. He was aiming too high, and screaming like a maniac. His companion seemed to be slightly more focused, coming at Van Wham like a bulldozer again now that he’d picked up his fallen club again.

                While Cherry focused on driving the machine gun maniac back out the way he came, Vinnie played a game of chicken with the other.

                He swung his club wildly at the masked mouse, the woosh of the bat still managing to be heard among the other noise and chaos. At first all Vinnie could do was avoid the swings, unable to get an opening.

                Then the brute lifted it high above his head and meant to bring it smashing down on Vinnie’s skull. This was exactly the opening he’d needed. He surged forward and spin-kicked the bastard hard in the chest, sending him flying back.

                He let go of the club with one hand, allowing it swing down and scrape across the cement floor as it sparked, using his other hand to catch himself on a support beam. Vinnie kept after him, landing two more hard punches across the creeps face that made the mouse’s knuckles sing and the thug’s lip bleed.

                He took a swipe at Vinnie, as though trying to catch him by the throat, snarling and screaming, but also seeming tired.

                But Vinnie dipped low and kicked out one of his knees before coming down hard on the back of the guy’s skull with his elbow.

                Now flat on the floor and seemingly defeated, Vinnie looked to the machine gun thug and found that Charlie had driven him completely out the bombed-out door, blowing him through what was left of the wall.

                “That’s my girl!” he beamed fiercely, before turning towards Charlie.

                As her biker mouse did what he did best, Charlene took her opening. She rushed to gather the fallen and dented portable transporter. As she did, she noticed the sounds outside were growing louder. More engines, more voices. The headlights streaming through the garage door windows were glaring as though someone had their high beams on even in the daylight.

                She heard the short withdraw of tires, as if someone was backing up, and then the gunning of an engine.

                “VINNIE!”

                With a thunderous crash and crush of metal, the truck had been rammed into one of the garage doors. Sparks flew as metal scraped against metal, twisting and folding under the unyielding force. The door bubbled for a moment and then ripped from its upper hinges, chains and screws and shrapnel flying as it came forward with a hard crash.

                The mangled hood of a monster truck lurched forward into the garage, but stopped there, smoke billowing from the fresh wreck. The man behind the wheel threw himself against the driver door, but he was wedged against the wall, not allow him to open it more than a few inches. Not enough to rush out.

Charlie stared, too dazed to move. There was a strange detachment as she watched the events unfolding in front of her, hearing more glass breaking upstairs and realizing—though distantly—that more of these creeps had managed to get up the fire escape and were now on the second floor. They were overwhelmed. Utterly surrounded.

Shakily she looked down at the device in her hands and shook it, frantically trying to bring it back online. But there was nothing, no response.

Vinnie was beside her again, at her elbow. “We gotta fall back and regroup.”

She nodded in response, but before either could make a move, Cherry was squealing, suddenly knocked back as though someone had grabbed her by the side and flipped her.

Charlie screamed as Vinnie gripped her and pulled her aside, flattening her against the wall as his poor bike came skidding back through the open wreck of the garage. She didn’t even have time to register fully what had happened before her lover was on the move, hellfire in his eyes.

“NO ONE TOUCHES MY BIKE!”

He charged blindly towards the new intrusion of thugs, three of them this time.

Dazed, Charlie stood pressed against the wall, taking in the chaotic scene as she pressed the transporter to her chest. The goon Vinnie had taken out before was twitching on the floor, but made no sign of rallying to a new attack. If Charlie didn’t know any better she would think he was on the edge of a seizure…

Her eyes flicked towards the hood of the truck still wedge in the ruined opening of her garage door and the driver inside who was struggling to escape. The look of him was wild, agitated and crazed.

“Oh my god…”

She started to look towards Vinnie, to voice what had suddenly clicked for her. These goons were not just vicious, not the usual brand of violent and bloodthirsty.  They were crazed. Rabid. Infected.

The new crunch of glass jerked her attention back towards the truck, and she could see the driver now as he broke through the already cracked windshield and dragged himself across the hood towards her. He was like a wild dog. And she knew that when he reached her, she would be finished.

                Charlene Davidson was not going out that easily, though. No. Fucking. Way.

                Her face twisted with a new rush of determined fury, and set the transporter down, moving instead for the fallen nail studded bat. He grabbed it from its fallen place and marched towards the hood of the trapped truck and the Frenzy-fueled fiend crawling towards her like a horror movie monster.

                Screaming, she swung the bat down and let it slam full force into the hood, just missing the thug’s groping hands. He looked at her, eyes glazed red and wild, but seemingly aware enough to know that his target was one that was going to bite back.

                “You fuck with my Garage! You fuck with my man! You fuck with ME!” She ripped the bat back out of the hood and swung it again just as the crazed thug scrambled to pounce on her. Her strike connected with his ribs, she felt the sickening way the protruding nails sunk into his flesh and grated against the bones of his ribs.

                He screamed and fell aside as she withdrew, the bat bloody now. Charlie let out a little scream of her own at the brutality of it, but refused to back off or drop her guard.

                “Honey! How’s our exit strategy coming!?”

                From beyond her another one of the thugs was hurled across the floor, sent skidding and rolling to a stop, laying in a heap.

                “I’m working on it!” Van Wham howled back, making the mistake of glancing back at her. He took a hard hook to the jaw for his trouble and sent him stumbling into what remained of the shattered lower steps, nearly impaling himself on one of the jagged bits of wood and nail. He came away with a heavy gash along the side for his trouble.

                “FUCK! I hate splinters!” he cursed. As one of his attackers moved to fall on him, he decided to repay the kindness, yanking the broken bit of wood free from the wall and breaking it across the other’s head. He fell back into his compatriot, who roared and threw him off, turning to attack the other thug instead of Van Wham in his rage.

                It didn’t take long for Vinnie to realize what Charlie had just a moment before.  “These guys have a way worse attitude than normal if you ask me…”

                There was a new series of sound then.

Scuffling from above and behind them, men crying out as if in surprise and then in pain. Hard thudding upon the floor. There were quick series of shots and more cries. It sounded like the fighting was outside now.  Charlie turned her head to look out the grimy windows, seeing shapes and bodies moving, catching glimpses of something strange.

                The pair moved towards each other, Vinnie reaching to right poor battered Cherry as Charlie grabbed her helmet, slapping the com button. “Modo! Max! Throttle! Can anyone hear me!?”

The was a huge boom from outside and the garage shook again. Vinnie reached to cover her as more plaster fell from the ceiling. But this time it didn’t seem like the strike was aimed at the garage itself. There were screams and yells from outside, and as Vinnie looked up he swore he could see flames in the street.

“Guys!” Charlie screamed again into the com. “The Garage is under attack! Someone respond! Anyone!”

No answer. And no time to wonder why.

The surviving brawler from the doorway came charging at them like a bull, eyes glazed red and bulging out of his skull, purple-blue veins showing on his face and neck. He looked like he might drop dead of a heart attack, but not before he tore them to pieces.

Vinnie pushed Charlie aside and fired on the guy, but he was too close. The shot burned through his shoulder, but he kept coming, possibly not even registering it.

“CHARLIE MOVE!”

He moved to allow himself to take the full brunt of the charge, grabbing the guy by the head and trying to drag him to the ground. Even if he got pinned under him, it would be better than letting him get to Charlie.

The pair crashed to the cement, Vinnie crying out in pain under the weight of his heavily muscled attacker. The thug headbutted him so hard that blood spurted from both of them, Vinnie falling back in a daze as his head throbbed and spun, his muzzle bloody.

The thug had a new sizable laceration in his own face thanks to cutting it on the edge of Vinnie’s mask. But he didn’t seem to notice or care about this either. All he seemed to care about was beating the furry muscled thing beneath him into a bloody pulp. He landed three more heavy blows to Vinnie’s face and chest, each only adding to the bruising and blood on the mouse, who was quickly losing his struggle.

Charlie moved in then, cracking the bat into the creep’s shoulder. The nails stuck with another sickening squelch, and she used it to pull the thug off of Vinnie, dragging him to the side before he came free from the bat and it was jerked from her hands. The wounded goon rolled and squirmed on the ground, holding his offended shoulder and foaming with rage.

The mechanic reached to help her love up, until new movement caught her attention and the creep from the car came scrambling across the floor at her like a nightmare thing. “YOU LITTLE BITCH!”

A shot came from the other side of them, from the back door. The crawling, infected thug took full in the side and went rolling over and didn’t move again. Charlie screamed again in spite of herself, dropping to protect Vinnie as best she could from whatever this new attack was.

And then she recognized the newcomer.

Maneulo’s short frame appeared in her doorway, armed with a shotgun, and looking  a little less than the sweet, slow and steady store-clerk she had met just a day or so before. He moved past the bodies on the floor, giving a cursory glance up the stairs and waving someone down.

“Stay right there, Ms. Charlene. I’ve got you covered.”

She stared at him, wondering if she wasn’t going insane. “Right…but who’s got you covered?”

The thug who’s shoulder she had just tenderized snarled and tried to get to his feet again, hellish gaze turned on Maneulo. The shop owner just swiveled his weapon towards him in warning.

“I’d stay down if I were you, pendejo.”

The thug, perhaps still possessing some sense of clarity, merely gave a low guttural rumble and spat towards the newcomer, but did not move to attack.

Behind them then, there was a long screaming scrape of metal, and Charlie watched wide-eyed as the monster truck that had wedged itself through the garage door was pulled back. Exposing the smoking and ruined garage to daylight once more.

She expected to see truck there, one pulling the wreck back by a crane or something. But instead, there was one large, lone figure. For a moment, in the dazzle of light and the swirl of dust and smoke, she thought it might be Modo, having come to rescue. The rest of her boys outside, having taken care of the rest of the goon squad.

But it wasn’t Modo.

Maneulo nodded in approval as Four-By stood in the mangled opening of her garage, having pulled the truck back with his bare hands.

“Looks like we’re a little late to the party.”

Charlie looked at him breathlessly, and the sole law-man of that lawless place called the Pitts smiled back at her. “Miss Charlie.”

He finished pushing the totaled truck out of the way and fully entered the garage, his face twisting with concern when he saw Vinnie down on the floor beneath her and the liter of twitching goons that littered her ruined garage.

He hurried to bend beside them, big hand going to Vinnie’s neck and feeling for a pulse. “Poor guy looks like he went a few too many rounds.” He grimaced. He looked back to her, still towering over her even at a crouch, pushing her hair away from her face as he eyed the cut that ran along side her nose. “You too from the look of it. Where are the others?”

She had so many questions but they all seemed irrelevant at the moment.  “…I think they’re in trouble too. We tried calling them on the com but no answer.”

More people filtered down what remained of her stairs, and as combat ready as they looked, there was no questioning who they were with. One, a tall blonde man who looked like he spent most of his days moving heavy weights, looked at Four-By and Maneulo with concern. “We won’t be able to hold off the squad cars long, Boss. We need to get them to a safe house and fast. Never seen an attack this aggressive in broad daylight like this.”

Four-By nodded, easing Vinnie from Charlie’s grasp. The Martian grunted in protest, still dimly alert.

“Easy, bro. We’ve got it from here.”

Vinnie shook his head, though it pained him greatly to do so. “…gotta warn them…Modo and Max…Throttle and the kids!”

“Kids?” Four-By asked, seemingly extra alarmed now.

Manuelo offered his arm to Charlie and helped to support her as they stood. “I’ll explain on the way. Vamonos.”

***

                Waiting was always the worst part.

                For the moment, Throttle was entirely unaware of the danger that both his partner, his bros and his friend were in. For him, the storm was only looming. It hadn’t yet broken. But the radio silence was slowly beginning to get to him.

                Every few minutes he would glance back at his bike, waiting for Lady’s radio to crackle on, for someone to give him an update. It did not go unnoticed by his young female charges, who were all feeling the same low burning anxiety. Even Daisy.

                Her uncle was engaged in a half-hearted game of make-believe with her, and she took notice. When he glanced again towards his bike, she frowned and dropped the doll she had been holding and moved closer to him. Without concept of personal space, she reached for his face and turned it back towards hers.

                “A-are you sad?” She stuttered a little in effort to push out the sentence in her small little girl’s voice. She looked at him with her big doe eyes, truly curious. The question sincere, and not merely born out of the need for attention.

                Throttle blinked at her, pleased to see how she was growing. “Not sad, baby. Just wondering. Waiting.”

                He knew she knew that word. It had been part of her vocabulary since she first started speaking. She nodded in agreement, looking back at the pretty black and silver motorbike. “Waiting for Daddy?”

                He nodded. “Yes. And Uncle Max, and Uncle Vinnie and your Aunty Charlie.”

                “Chaw-hee!” she giggled, finding that though she couldn’t say the name properly the sound of it tickled her.

                Remy snickered from her place on the couch. “Mom’s gonna love that.”

                Karma, sprawled listlessly beside her with her legs in the teen’s lap and her head flat on the couch cushion, glanced back at them. “What’s taking them so long? Hasn’t it been like an hour?”

                Throttle nodded mutely, looking back at the bike, his brow furrowed.

                Daisy tapped him again. “Sad!”

                He realized that the toddler did not yet have a word for worried, but that was what she was seeing. She pulled his face back towards her again and kissed his nose. “No sad. Daddy back soon. Don’t cry, be a big girl.”

                Both teens snickered at this, but Throttle ignored them, tickling Daisy so she would release him from her authoritative grasp.

                “Sorry, princess. Guess I can’t help myself.” He stood up, his body still slightly winging and aching after the beating of the previous day and made his way towards the bike to check the trackers. Daisy whined in frustration and followed after him, pulling on his tail.

                “No no, come play!” she started to cry, growing frustrated.

                For once though he didn’t give in, his attention focused on the tracking screen. It seemed like both Modo and Max had come to a stand still somewhere, and it wasn’t anywhere close to the Last Chance.

                Vinnie’s tracker seemed to be stationary as well, though that was less of a surprise.

                He pressed the com-link. “Max? You and Modo find something?”

                No answer.

                “Max?”

                More crackling silence. Without thinking he began to rub his hand over the stone in the cuff affixed to his wrist. Behind him, Daisy fussed and cried, but continued to be ignored.

                Karma rose from the couch as Remy set her computer aside again. “Maybe there’s interference.” She offered, but it was a weak consolation. Even she knew that.

                Throttle tried the com again. “Modo? Vincent? Come back, bros. What’s your ETA?”

                Again, only silence.

                Remy was already reaching for her phone. “I’ll call Mom again. They probably got sidetracked…” she sighed and grimaced, realizing what that probably meant. “I swear to god they better be using protection…” She thought she muttered this low enough as to not be heard, but of course the two aliens with animal hearing and pancake ears picked it up easily.

                “Yeah well, Vinnie doesn’t seem to have a good track record for that sort of thing…” Karma joked, not realizing how much she sounded like her father just then.

                Throttle shushed them both, focused now on trying to pinpoint Max and Modo’s location. From what he could see, they were way out on some state road, miles and miles from downtown. There wasn’t much around them either it seemed. No major landmarks, a few buildings that seemed rather non-descript.

                Throttle’s chest began to pinch in worry. “Max? Answer.”

                Daisy gave a full scream of frustration then and pulled too harshly on his tail. Throttle yelped and cursed in frustration, whirling on the little girl. “Daisy Jane!” he scolded.

                She immediately burst into tears, and whatever flash of anger he had vanished, sighing as he picked her up apologetically and hugged her close. “Baby…you can’t do that okay?”

                She sniffled and nodded, but her eyes were huge with tears. She hugged him tight around his neck, as if to both offer apology and to be soothed herself. He let her, kissing her ear and soothing his hand down her back.

                He glanced over at Remy, who clearly had gotten no answer from her mother and was now trying to text. The concentrated scowl on her face as her fingers tapped the screen made the anxiety in his chest cinch tighter.

                “Maybe they stopped for a root beer?” Karma offered halfheartedly.

                A crackle then from the com, and all three of them felt a sudden surge of hope.

                Charlie’s voice, crackling and distorted by other sounds. “Guys--! Under—” the crackle, pop, screech of the bad connection made them wince as her words were lost “—being attacked!”

                It cut off there, the line of communication going dead.

                “Mom!?” Remy gasped, the sound coming out in a panicked whine that was too childish for her age.

                Throttle and Karma both stared at her and then each other. “Take her.”

                He tried dislodging Daisy from his neck, but the little girl screamed, not wanting to let go. Not understanding the dire situation but not immune to the anxiety within the room. She wanted safety, she wanted the comfort of the known. She wanted her Tot.

                “Daisy!”

                He pulled her free with effort, and as she sobbed, he saw she had something grasped in her little hand. As Karma held her squirming little body instead, Throttle took her hand gently and looked at her seriously over his glasses. It was a look the little girl knew and understood. She quieted immediately, though a few sniffles slipped out.

                She reluctantly allowed him to open her fingers and expose the prize she found, stuck to the back of his jacket. It was small with tiny prongs underneath. It looked like a small black ladybug to be exact. Virtually unnoticeable against the deep black of his leather jacket. Both he and Karma knew what it was instantly.

                “That’s a tracking device.” Karma gasped. “Who the fuck put one of those—”

                He shook his head, cutting her off. “Nevermind. I’m going to find out what’s going on, you stay put—”

                She gripped his arm with her free one and he was surprised in the strength in it. “The hell you are! You can’t ride in the condition you’re in!” she exclaimed.

                Throttle shook her off. “I’ve ridden with worse. I’ve got to see what’s going on, and I need you to stay here—”

                “NO!”

                They were both surprised by her defiance, but Karma would not back down. “You’re not going out there on your own. You’re not! Let me go with you at least—”

                “Not a chance, I need you here looking after them—”

                “Im not a goddamn babysitter and you’re not benching me! If anyone should be staying behind it should be the guy who’s taken a considerable amount of blows to the head and may not be thinking straight!”

                “Karma, this isn’t your place!”

                “The fuck it isn’t! I’m not a child! I can fight same as you!”

                Throttle struggled to remain calm then, but looking at all the anxious faces in front of him reminded him that in a sea of chaos he had to stay afloat. Shakily, and against every other impulse, he took a deep breath and held his tongue, leaving them in a momentary stalemate.

                The redhead remained ready to argue, but he put his hand on her shoulder and looked at her seriously. “I know you don’t feel like one. But you are. And right now, I need you to listen to me.”

                Her mouth turned into angry thin line and she seemed ready to argue further, but Remy’s sudden flurry of footsteps rattling on the overhead catwalk diverted their attention.

                “What are you doing!?” she barked up at her.

                The human girl made her way to one of the open panels that served as window to the wide expanse of parking lot at the back of the scoreboard. Her phone was playing something, voices speaking rapidly. But they weren’t her mother’s or even Vinnie’s. It was the sound of the newscaster, Dara Diddle, with some urgent report.

                The disjointed sound of the familiar anchor woman’s voice drifted down from above, and Throttle swore he was in a bad dream. One he desperately wished he could wake up from about now.

                “Remy? What’s going on!?”

                She glanced back down at him. “Come see!”

                As they reluctantly climbed the stairs, he crouched beside her at the open panel. From their bird’s eye view, they could see what appeared to be a rather large blockade starting along the main road beyond Wrigley Field.

                Dara’s voice continued from the speaker of Remy’s phone, overlaying the scene.

                “…a developing situation here in Wrigleyville this afternoon, as traffic is diverted from the main thoroughfare next to Wrigley Field. Police are laying down roadblocks and barriers for citizen safety as the situation develops. Currently is unknown if there has been some accident or safety concern, but clearly no one is getting in or out of the immediate area surrounding the stadium at this time.  A short time ago there were reports of a possible explosion at a local neighborhood garage, causing speculation of possible gas-leaks—”

                Remy’s face was pinched as she looked away from the window at the growing barricade. “I think they hit The Last Chance already.  I think—” her voice started to break and Throttle gripped her.

                “Your mom is fine. She’s fine, you hear me? That Lady has come through way worse, and that Garage has too. Vinnie’s with her, besides. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. You understand?”

                She nodded, the authority in his voice leaving no room for argument. And besides, she wanted to believe him. Needed to.

                “Why are they blocking off the road in front of the stadium!?” Karma asked, just as the tan mouse behind her turned and was taking the stairs two at a time back down to the main level, skipping the last six all together as he leaped over the railing and landed easily onto the floor, moving past Lady and towards where Charlie had parked the trailer.

                “They’re trying to box us in. And they need to cover their asses so the locals don’t panic.”

                “How do they know we’re here?”

                “Limburger’s always known. He just pretends to keep his distance. But I don’t think he cares about that right now.”

                He pulled open the trailer doors and peered inside and huffed a laugh. “Damn, Charlie. You never fail to impress.” He stepped inside and after a moment rolled something out in front of him. The sidecar matched Lady perfectly, and had initially been designed for her, though she could connect to any of the bikes. She had been fully updated from her old days, and her own control panel, and room for one adult rider. Easily accommodating for two smaller ones.

                “Remy, you and Miss Daisy should fit in her easily.”

                The teen looked at him dubiously. “You want me to ride in that thing? How do you even steer it?”

                “You don’t. It attaches to a bike.” He looked at Karma, who shook her head.

                “Wait, what? Okay, flipping the circumstances doesn’t make this any better! I’m not leaving you here alone to fight—what?—an ambush!?”

                “Yes you are. If they’re closing the road that means there’s going to be no way out. Now they have the back lot closed but there’s still a front side exit if you take the gravel alley behind that row of buildings there. It’s too narrow for cars, they won’t bother with it. But you’ll fit down it easy.”

                “Throttle…what the hell is the point of staying here? Come with us!”

                He showed her the tracker again. “I can’t, honey. What I need you to do is get these two to safety, and then go find the others. I will be there as soon as I take care of this. Keep your com open and your ears perked.”

                “He’s crazy.” Remy shrugged, exasperated.

                “Crazy.” Daisy repeated, chewing on her fingers for comfort.

                Throttle helped them both climb into the sidecar as it he secured it to Karma’s bike. The controls on the panel were easy enough to decipher, and he realized that more than just a windshield was available. Pressing a button an entire protective dome folded over the sidecar, sealing the girls inside.

                Satisfied, Evander reached for Karma’s helmet and paused to grab not only an extra blaster, but one of Charlie’s armor bracelets as well. He gave the lot to his niece, who took them reluctantly.

                “So I’m just supposed to leave you here to fend for yourself?”

                “You don’t have to worry about me, girl, not my first rodeo.”

                “But I do!” she cut in sharply. “I do worry. About you. About all of you.”

                He nodded, hands on her shoulders, in a gesture that echoed the way Stoker had spoken to him so often in their younger days. “I know. But a Queen doesn’t sacrifice herself for the Knight, got it?”

                He expected her to roll her eyes, but instead she hugged him fiercely. He hugged her back and pressed a kiss into her riot of hair before she pulled back and pulled her helmet on. “You know you guys and your stupid analogies…it’s so not cool.”

                She climbed onto her bike and as she rumbled to life she looked at him again. “Don’t die, stupid!”

                “Right back at ya.”

                She sped off, the sidecar in tow, and made her way down the ramp, streaking away along the side of the stadium, unnoticed by the squad cars for the moment.

                She heard the crackle of his voice over the communicator inside her helmet. “Once you’re free from the blockade, head for Stienhower’s Hoagies. The directions are in your GPS, it’s synced with ours.  Andy’s the chef there, he’s an old friend, he’ll let you guys stay there until the coast is clear. Keep trying to make contact with the others. Anyone tries to stop you, you know what to do.”

                “Run ‘em over, got it.”

                “You have your dad’s sense of humor.”

                “Don’t insult me like that.”

                Throttle watched them until they disappeared from view, then turned and looked down at the interior of the scoreboard again, fingering the tracker in his palm.  He sat down on the steps, staring at the now empty Scoreboard.

                The silence felt deafening. He pressed the com on his helmet again. “Max?...Babe…”

                Still nothing. His face crumpled, and now alone, he didn’t have to keep up the brave facade. He drew in a shuddering breath. “Please answer me…”

**

                Max came back through the grey fog of senselessness, swearing he was being called by Throttle’s voice. But perhaps it was just the wispy remains of a dream before, or the remains of their psychic link from earlier.

                This became painfully apparent as he opened his eyes, his dark curls hanging in his face, and he realized that his lover was nowhere in sight. Instead he was laying on a the floor of garage that was most definitely not The Last Chance. It was dark, and smelled of spilled motor oil and mildew. Like it had been closed for some time and the dampness of the surrounding area had seeped into it.

                He his hands were numb, and tied behind his back with what felt like cord. Something that had a least a little give, but was still a bit too tight. His feet, thankfully, were not in similar condition. He was propped on his side, and his shoulder and neck were going to give him ten kinds of hell for it later.  But that would be a small annoyance compared to the throb and ache in his battered leg. It throbbed to the bone, pulsing with every heartbeat. Looking down he could see his pant leg had been cut by sheers or scissors, as if someone had been trying to assess the damage. The scrape was long and ragged, not unlike road rash. But the muscle itself hurt more. It was going to be a bitch to walk for awhile he guessed.

                Through the curtain of his hair, he could see Modo lying close beside him in similar position. Except that it seemed his bionic arm was tightly constrained with a length of chain. The big grey-furred mouse looked like he was still unconscious, and Max hoped desperately that’s all it was.

                Ahead of him there was more movement, and he twisted slightly and glimpsed that he was being watched.

                Mace was sitting on a stool near a workbench, where the woman seemed to be preoccupied in patching the half-breed’s shoulder wound.

                “Hope it hurts, you bitch.” He muttered, unable to help himself.

                Shiloh looked momentarily offended, then realized of course, he was addressing Mace, who sneered at him.

                “How’s the head, pretty boy? Or your leg for that matter?”

                Shiloh finished fastening his bandage and then patted it—perhaps a little too roughly, making Mace wince—and moved away from her companion. “You Martian Muscle Mice are all the same, testosterone filled little boys throwing jabs at each other on a playground.” She sighed.

                Max began to squirm, trying to get himself into a sitting position. She moved quickly over to him, pressing him down. “Stop. Just stop squirming, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

                “Oh suddenly that’s an issue? Did the kidnapper’s handbook get revised? Do you have a ‘gentler’ approach with people you abduct now?” he snarked back at her.

                The brown-haired mouse sighed, looking at him flatly. “No. But I’m not against popping you in the mouth if you don’t cool it.”  She looked at him sternly and then sat him up. “And we didn’t kidnap you, per-say.”

                “Coulda fooled me.” Max muttered. He looked anxiously towards Modo. “Is he alright?”

                He noticed then that she also looked worried. Moving closer to the grey furred mouse and tentatively stroking a hand over his head. “I had to stun him twice to take him down. Just a hard shock to the system. But he’ll be alright.” She seemed at least somewhat assured in this, though Max would feel better if Modo was alert and talking.

                He looked back at Mace darkly. “So? What the fuck is the point of this? I promise you I make a lousy hostage.”  He warned.

                Mace snorted in amusement. “Really? I find that funny, considering you’ve probably been one your whole life. The family you grew up in…well…makes my own look a little less shitty.”

                Max spit at him and Mace ignored it, standing up and trying to adjust his wounded shoulder. “We didn’t kidnap you…intentionally. As usually, you and your biker buddy here blundered into something you don’t understand and fucked it up.  We were being hounded by those monster car fuckers and were trying to draw them into a trap. Then you two showed up.”

                Tourmaline shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

                “It’s true.” Shiloh interjected. “We’ve been trying to hide from those thugs since…since what happened at the school yard.” Cautiously she looked towards Max again. “Your friend…I’m sorry we left him there. Is he…?”

                “He’s alive.” Max cut her off, not bothering to hold back his fury. He turned his gaze to rest steadily on Mace. “Luckily. And no thanks to you.”

                He did not know what he expected to see on the half-breed’s face then. Denial. More jealousy. Perhaps indifference to the suffering and certainly indifference to his anger over it. But Mace was none of those things then. He actually flinched away, as though the remarks were physical blows, and guilt was abundant in his eyes. He turned fully away from Max, and it took him a few seconds before speaking again.

                “That Doctor is a monster. I’ve dealt with him too. Throttle was lucky. I thought I was too late…”

                “Well at least you’d be fucking consistent then.” Max spat.

                This time Mace did look angry and started towards him. Shiloh was up immediately, standing between them and her unlikely partner. “Mace—” she warned.

                “You shut the fuck up about things you know nothing about!” The half-breed bellowed, looking like he would push right past the woman to get to the dark furred mouse on the floor.

                Max had maneuvered so that he was on his knees, though it was agony to put his full weight on his injured one, ready to spring forward even if his hands were tired. “And you stay the fuck away from my fiancé!”

                Mace’s blue eyes widened and for a breath he was still, and then he barked a laugh. A sharp, harsh sound that echoed in the abandoned garage. “Well…I guess congrats to the happy couple. I guess he settled on a better class of traitor in the end. Fair enough.”

                Tourmaline grit his teeth and was up and ready to charge, but Shiloh knocked him back on his ass effortlessly.

                “OW!”

                “Sit down or I’ll put you down! And that goes for you too!” She shoved Mace back. “I really think it’s fucking time you and I had a chat about your involvement with our friends here and why you can’t seem to play nice with anyone.”

                “No yelling…”

                Modo’s voice, soft and pained cut through the chaos, echoing the words his daughter so often parroted back to others. Shiloh and Max both turned their attention onto the recovering mouse, while Mace stepped back, taking a breather.

                “Modo?” Max bent close to him. “Hey, big fella, you with me?”

                Shiloh bent beside him and turned him gently, letting his head rest in her lap as he came all the way around again. He stared at Max for a moment, adjusting to the dark of the garage, and then up into the face of woman supporting him.

                He blinked at her, clearly taken aback. His twisted memories from his illness merging with his present reality. “It’s you…”

                She blinked down at him. “Um…I guess?” She smiled at him, and Max noticed something about it. The sweetness in it.

                “Really sorry I had to put you down so hard, big guy. Wasn’t personal.”

                Modo sat up reflexively, only now seeming to realize that not only was he bound but so was Max. His arms flexed and the chains groaned under the stress. It truly wouldn’t take much for the mouse to break himself free.

                “What’s going on?!”

                “Just calm down, okay! We’re trying to help you. I know it doesn’t seem like it—”

                “You’re damn right it doesn’t!” Modo barked. He looked at Shiloh with intense scrutiny, making her flinch almost. “What are you doing throwing your lot in with him!? How did you…how did you get away from Thaddeus’s lab?”

                Her face crinkled in confusion and Mace’s ears perked with new interest.

                “What are you talking about?”

                “I remember you. It’s hazy, but…I’m sure of it now. I know your face. I know your scent. You were there in the lab with me. Slick sold us to Thaddeus for experimental fodder.” The words surfaced slowly, him only realizing their truth after speaking them. More of the memory coming into focus.

                Shiloh looked unnerved.

                “No. I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.” She stood and moved a bit away from him. All her sweetness and familiarity suddenly lost as she wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive sort of stance. “Other than highlight reels and debriefings, Mr. Maverick, and our little skirmish at the school yard I never seen you before. In fact…the only reason I’m here. The only reason I’m fucking with any  of this nonsense,” she looked sharply over her shoulder at Mace. “Is because Marshall Limburger took me hostage when he escaped prison back at Brimstone. And, since I seem to be sole person on Mars who knows your actual whereabouts, it’s my job to bring you back.”

                “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Back where?!” Max muttered.

                “To Brimstone. To stand before the tribunal for your alleged crimes against Plutark.”

                Max laughed, feeling like he was going crazy. “Oh for the love of Aries…you’re joking right? What’s the matter, the Regent and my mother having a tantrum over disobeying orders? A little disorderly conduct?”

                “Your mother—much of a pill as she is—has little to do with this. My orders are from the Galactic Federation. I’m one of their agents.”

                Mace snorted another laugh and she glared back at him. “Do you have something to say about that? I told you that from the very beginning, Mace. And don’t forget who pulled your tail out of the fire back at that house…you owe me.”

                He nodded, his mouth hidden behind his hand. “Yeah…yeah, I do. You’re right, you’re right.”

                Modo squirmed, pretending to test his bonds, despite knowing how easily he could be break free. Really, he was moving closer to Max, so that he could cover the fact that his tail was trying to undo the other mouse’s bonds.

                “Well I don’t know about that, Miss…but I know you. From before. Were you captured at some point.”

                Shiloh shook her head quickly. “No. I haven’t been on world in ages. What you’re proposing is impossible. It had to have been someone else. You were infected…I’m sure there are distortions, confusions…”

                “You’re lying.” Max pointed out then.

                Her head snapped towards him angrily. “What?” she snapped.

                “If it’s not true then why are you crying?”

                She blinked, seeming only now to realize how much her eyes were welling. She wiped them away, feeling as if she had betrayed herself. This insistence leaving her shaken. “Look…this has just been…a real mess okay? This planet is…awful and all I want to do is get you all back to Mars so that this can get sorted out and we can all get back to our lives!”

                “Doesn’t sound like we’ll have much of one once get back.” Modo pointed out.

                “No…no, listen. I know the whole procedure…it seems like a lot, but its just…formality. You two, to my understanding, haven’t done anything wrong really. Your friend Vinnie though—”

                “My bro may have crossed some lines but only because of what those Plutarkian scum did first, so you want to be real careful about how you address him.” Modo said, his bionic eye flaring as he flexed. This time the chains did snap, just as his tail had finished work on Max’s bindings.

                The big grey biker rose, his arm canon whirring, warming up in anticipation of a fight. Shiloh reached for her weapon too, but hesitated. They stood staring at each other, waiting to see what the other would do. Both on edge.

                Max stood with effort, and found he could stand to put much weight on his leg. “Okay, okay…let’s settle this diplomatically, alright?” he panted.

                “You wanted to hide from the creeps in the cars and we got in the way, so you ‘saved us’ and brought us here. Flawed plan, sure. But here we are. So now what?”

                “What…what do you mean?”

                “Well, by my recollection there’s a lot more of those creeps riding around. Under orders of the big cheese Plutarkian no less. So I think, if you really just want to help us, you should table the whole tribunal thing and maybe help us save the rest of our friends?”

                She looked conflicted for a moment and the strain of it showed on her face.

                Modo and Max exchanged another dubious glance, and then Maverick moved cautiously closer to her. “Shy…”

                She blinked up at him, startled. “What?”

                “That’s what you said your name was. Back in the cell. Call me ‘Shy’.”

                She shook her head but her eyes were wet again. “No one calls me that. I’m an Agent. I don’t have silly nicknames…I don’t know you…we were never in a cell together, I was never in  lab, I was never sold like chattel by that drooling disgusting monster Slobber—!”

                She cut off her own tirade with a gasp, slapping both hands over her mouth, eyes wide.  She turned away from the quickly, looking shaken to her core. For a moment it looked like she might buckle, but Mace caught her elbow and pulled her aside, sitting her down on the stool that he had previously occupied. “Easy…easy…”

                The four of them were silent for a moment, seeming to catch their collective breath.

                “What was all that?” Tourmaline asked cautiously, eyeing Modo as the other mouse was helping to keep him on his feet.

                “Not sure…sounds like brainwashing to me.” He muttered. He looked around the garage and was pleased to see their bikes sitting to the side, Lil’ Hoss bolted to the floor, though it was bind she could break with assistance.  “Your leg’s pretty bad, huh?”

                “Tis but a flesh wound,” Max assured airily, then grimaced when he tried to adjust his stance. He bowed and achingly rubbed his thigh and knee. “But yeah, it hurts like a bitch.”

                “Can you ride?”

                “Ride? Sure. Walk, maybe not so much.” He looked past his buffer companion at their uneasy companions. “What do we do about them?”

                It was clear that Modo wasn’t sure. Now that they had found them, they were going to have to figure out away to work together to get back home. But what would happen then? They had one known enemy with dubious motives who had already caused them enough grief for a lifetime and was actively dangerous to someone they both loved. And then there was Shiloh and the question of her identity.

                “I say we sit tight and call the Scoreboard and see what Throttle thinks of the situation. Vinnie’s probably actively tracking us as we speak, he might already be on his way.”

                Max frowned, uncertain. “I dunno…not sure I can play nice for that long.”

                “Look at it this way,” Modo offered quietly. “The longer we keep him here, the further he is away from your man. Hmm?”

                Tourmaline shrugged. “Okay. I see your point.” He winced visibly again and Modo eased him to the floor again.

                “Take a load off, pard. While we can.”

                He patted the other assuredly on the shoulder and then rose slowly, cautiously making his way towards the bikes.

                Mace shot him a warning look, his hand going to the blaster on his hip. “Ah-ah. Careful.”

                Modo raised his hands. “I just want to scope out my ride. Then I’ll radio Throttle and Vinnie. They’ll be worried.”

                The half-breed still looked anxious, and Modo just glared him down. “Hey. We’re all the same team here, right?”

                After a moment’s consideration, the cinnamon furred Martian relaxed and looked away, turning his attention back to Shiloh, who was still trying to compose herself.

                Mace listened to Modo’s footsteps, his mind racing for what to do next. The woman beside him was shaken, and have revealed something he had suspected since that night in the trailer. He cared little about her connection to Modo however. More over, what it meant if she really wasn’t an agent of the Federation. What any of that nonsense going on really was.

                But that was tomorrow trouble.

                Today’s was plenty enough to deal on its own. His thoughts turned towards what Tourmaline had said about Throttle. About what condition he must be in. And how Mace had failed him, betrayed him, even in his attempts to save him.

                He knew, if he went back with the rest of this clan, that he would be treated as a threat, kept at arms length. And when and if they did get back home, he would be discarded just as easily. Was he really just going to stand passively by and behave and give up any chance he still had?

                He did not question himself “chance for what?”

                For now, just getting there was the focus.

                The woman beside him was calming slowly but surely and Mace rubbed her back sympathetically. “Shiloh…listen to me, alright? I don’t know what the truth is here, but I do know that your plan of getting us back home is what we need right now. We need to stay the course, alright? And these guys…they won’t hurt you. I think the big cyclops even has a little crush on you.”

                She laughed and he smiled at the sound of it. She pushed at him playfully. “Gods…you’ve got some bedside manner, you know that.”

                He nodded, but his eyes looked sad. “Hey, promise me something okay?”

                She blinked, still wiping the stray tears that clung to her lashes. “Mace, I’m really not in the mood—”

                “Promise me you won’t stay mad, okay?”

                “Huh?”

                Before she could process the strange request, he had wrapped his arms around her, as if pulling her into an embrace. But it wasn’t anything of the kind. Instead he gripped the transport belt and pulled it from her waist, knocking her back as he stepped away.

                “Whoa whoa whoa what are you doing!?” she gasped.

                Max was trying to jump up, to stop him and Modo was already across the garage, too many steps away.

                Perhaps it was petty, but he couldn’t help but throw a little nasty smirk back at Max. “I’ll tell your babe you said hi.”

                Max jumped at him, but in a flash and distortion of sound, Mace was gone.

        *** 

Chapter Text

***

The transporter belt dropped him onto cement and Mace had to restrain a scream as he landed roughly on his back, his wounded shoulder smacking the concrete. He laid there for a moment, winded and staring up at the late afternoon sky, heavy with clouds that were bringing evening too swiftly.

“Fucking hell…why does our tech never work the way it’s supposed to?” He muttered to himself, rubbing his aching shoulder. “Maybe this is why we were so easy to invade…”

He sat up slowly, finding himself landed in a large swath of blacktop parking lot, staring up at the broad metal curvature of the stadium and the scoreboard above it. In the late afternoon sun, he stood in its shadow, feeling small and strange in this place as he had since his unceremonious arrival.

For a moment the half-breed was confused, wondering if he’d gotten the coordinates wrong somehow. He checked the tracking device again and the reading was coming through strong. Throttle, or at very least the tracker he had placed on him, was somewhere inside this bowing metal mess.

                He approached the structure, letting the tracker guide him as he looked for a way inside. His ears were perked, listening hard. Waiting for tell-tale sounds of motorcycles speeding towards him, ready to mow him down or stop him in his tracks. Knowing he was an intruder here.

                But there were no sounds. In fact, if he had thought about it, he would have realized how strange it was to hear barely any traffic at all. But Mace was not native enough to detect this. His focus was elsewhere.

                After a few minutes of searching, he found his way to the ramp, leading up inside the Scoreboard structure. He might have dismissed it, were it not for the tracker’s insistent signal and the very recent tire tracks that marked the ramp. The sign of someone in a hurry.

                Immediately he thought of the condition he had last seen Throttle in. Broken and bloody. Max’s words overlaying the memory.  That he was alive. Luckily.

                Something inside his chest constricted so tightly it felt difficult to draw or release a full breath and he had to pause and collect himself, talk himself through the feeling so he could move forward. He had said he wouldn’t abandon him again. That he wouldn’t keep repeating his mistakes…

                That was why he was here now, wasn’t it?

                For a few more steps, dark swallowed him as he continued to climb upward. And then, interior light greeted him. Mace found himself inside the strange interior of the Scoreboard, surprised by the obvious way such a rigid and inhospitable structure on the outside could look so…lived in…on the inside.

                Afternoon light filtered in from high above, in places where the wall itself was open in small squares, radiating beams of pale sunlight that struck below like dim spotlights. And then there were the hanging lights, strung beneath the cross-crossing web of metal catwalks and stairways. Most of these seemed to be out, a few flickering here and there. All this gave little illumination to what looked like a junk-yard that had been made home. A familiar concept to the often homeless half-breed but one he thought strange to find here.

He hesitated near the entrance, as if afraid to put another foot forward. This strange place had the aura of some inner sanctum and he was an intruder, invading hollowed ground without permission.

He almost retreated, but then pushed forward. He had come too far to turn his back now.

Mace scanned what seemed to be the main living area, but found no one. His eyes roved over the display of furniture, the clutter, the obvious scrap, looking for small signs of movement or where someone might be hiding just out of sight. His hand hesitated over grip of his stunner, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.

Modo and Max were accounted for of course, but there was no telling where Van Wham or the human woman were. They could easily still surprise him.

He approached the bunk where Throttle’s scent was still most noticeable. Staring at the empty bed and the rumpled bedding, his eyes drifted to the dark drops that stained the flooring next to it. Dried blood splatter.

Mace felt that squeezing in his chest again, accompanied by ice in his stomach. He moved from the bunk and began to search more urgently, moving past the hodgepodge of discarded and salvaged furniture and parts, passing beneath the metal staircase. Passing back and forth, it hadn’t occurred to him that the obviously injured mouse could climb.

At least until he felt the press of the gun barrel against the top of his head.

“Don’t move.”

Mace blinked in surprise, and then slowly smiled to himself, his lifting his hands slowly. “Well…not often someone gets the drop on me.” He admitted. “Color me impressed.”

He chanced a glance up and saw Throttle coiled in onto one of the platforms just a little above his head. As they gazed at each other, the tan mouse slipped down from his perch and his former comrade could not help but notice that he moved slowly, almost stiffly.

His tail continued to keep the gun on Mace, until the biker could move behind him, gripping him roughly by the arm with one hand while the other hastily removed the stunner from Mace’s belt and discarded it on the floor.

Mace did not protest but grunted softly at the rough way the other frisked him, feeling under his vest, along his chest and his waist and down the sides of his legs for any other weapon he might be hiding. “Far be it for me to interrupt a good time, but I don’t have a bomb strapped to me, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Throttle squeezed his arm more roughly and gave him a small shake, his tail reminding him that there was still a gun pointed at his head. “Sure, and I should take you at your word then, hmm?” he mocked.

Mace nodded with a sigh. “Yeah, guess that’s earned. How did you know I was here?”

His search completed and satisfied Mace wasn’t hiding any other weapons, the biker moved to the front of him at last, flashing the tracker he’d discovered before crushing it in his hand and letting the pieces fall to the floor, grinding them into the cement with the toe of his boot.

“Your moves are predictable.”

The cinnamon furred Martian stared back at him. “So are yours.” He said cautiously. The concern in his expression made Throttle shift uncomfortably.  Mace took a very cautious step towards him, trying to look at him more closely.

Beneath the speckled shadows of the stair grates, and with his eyes hidden behind the familiar field specs, it was difficult for Mace to get a truly good look at his old partner.  “Let me guess, you found the tracker, and you cleared the place out so that you and I could have a little private time, that it?” he teased.

Throttle said nothing, just glared silently back at him.

“Feels a little needlessly self-sacrifice-y if you ask me. You could have easily left the tracker here, or thrown it anywhere, and taken off with the rest of your clan. No need to wait around for little ol’ me all by yourself.” Another small, careful step. “Does that mean you wanted to see me?” He grinned, unable to help himself. But the snide confidence was false. He knew better.

Throttle almost smiled at him. He saw the faintest twitch of it in his face. “Maybe. Or maybe I just needed to get you in front of me, where I could make sure you weren’t going to try to use anyone else I love as shield to save your ass. Again, predictable.”

Mace shrugged automatically then hissed slightly in pain, reaching to soothe his wound. Throttle took a more aggressive step forward with his weapon and Mace just looked at him with mild exasperation. “Easy…you know your stupid boy-toy gave me this little tag. You should be proud. He’s not a bad shot.”

“Too bad he didn’t shoot you in the mouth.” Throttle snarled dangerously.

His ex-grinned. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but I didn’t exactly ride in here looking for a brawl, now did I? And if you hadn’t been so riled up back at the school yard, you might have noticed then too. Saved us a whole lot of trouble.”

“Fuck you.”

“Are you offering?”

Throttle stepped closer, lifting the barrel of the blaster towards his face, specifically his mouth. “You want something to suck on, I got it right here, baby.”

Mace tensed and raised his hands again, “Okay okay…point taken. Sorry. I shouldn’t tease a man who’s spoken for I guess.” He glimpsed the cuff on Throttle’s arm, the bright jewel standing out even in the shadows. The sight of it made something in him sink a little. “Jokes aside…I didn’t come here to fight you. I came here to help.”

                “Help how? By stalking me, kidnapping and hurting my friends, leaving me for dead--?”

                “I didn’t--!”

                “Liar!” Throttle yelled, and Mace stilled, wincing, ears lowering. His bravado dropped away, shame boiling to the surface.

                “I didn’t want to leave you there…but your bros arrived and made things complicated, as usual.”  His excuse was thin of course, and not even worth arguing. Throttle dropped back, if only slightly. He gave a cursory glance behind and above him before fixing on his captive again. “Where’s your side-kick? You ditch her too?”

                He winced. “Maybe you have a point about the predictable thing…” he admitted.

                “So you used her too? For what? What the hell is the point of all this, Mace? You had access to the lab after you dragged me here weeks ago! You could have gotten the hell out of dodge any time, gone back to whatever hole you crawled out of on Mars. Why are you still here?!”

                “I couldn’t alright!?” the half-breed barked now with renewed frustration. “Don’t you think I wanted to!? Don’t you think I tried?! I’ve been stuck here, sick and miserable and hiding from the freak in the hazmat suit! He’s fucking hunting us, Throttle! Or didn’t you notice?!”  He shivered visibly and his shoulder throbbed. He dropped back against a standing pile of stacked armored plates, trying to recollect himself.

                “I couldn’t get back to the tower on my own once I got out…and if I couldn’t, I figured you were probably stranded too. I tried to find you but…this place is so big. I don’t know how you navigate it. Shiloh found me by accident I guess when she got pulled here by Marshall. I would have died I guess, if not for her.”

                The biker nodded grimly. “And you still ditched her.”

                “I left her with your bro Maverick and Tourmaline. She’s better off with them than she ever was with me, trust that.” He panted, the ache overwhelming. Could have gone a lot easier if you weren’t all so keen to shoot first and ask questions later.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Throttle muttered. “Where are they, Mace? If you’ve hurt even a hair on their heads, I’ll—”

“Kill me, yeah, yeah sweetheart, you’ve made that threat before. And I’m sure you’d make good on it for real if I did, but they’re fine. Shiloh and I were hiding out, trying to bring down some of these thugs that have been hunting us. Your boyfriend and Maverick got mixed up in our snare, that’s all. No harm done. They’re probably on their way here by now, to be honest.” He admitted, looking disappointed by the fact.

He glanced around the place again. “Where’s the one with the big mouth? If he’s waiting to make a dramatic entrance, I am so not in the mood.”

Throttle eyed him curiously, realizing he had no idea about Charlie or the distress call. His eyes shifted back towards the upper most windows, still hearing distance noises from the blockade, though they did not yet raise an alarm.

“Well…even a broken clock is right twice a day. You’re right about the hunted part. Limburger’s declared open season on Martians it seems.”

“Yeah…and we’re safer in groups.” Mace nodded. “But you seem to be all alone. Again.”

Throttle shot him a look that told him his patience was getting thinner. Mace considered him a long silent moment and then added quietly. “That freak really did a number on you, didn’t he? You’re too hurt to fight. That’s why you got left behind…”

Throttle was on him before he could even fully process the thought, the gun discarded in his rage, gripping Mace by the front of his shirt and dragging him forward until they were nose to nose. He removed his glasses, not caring that in doing so his clarity dimmed to the opacity of pond water. “No Mace, you did this! YOU! Take a good look, because this is your handy work, you got that?!

‘You may as well have been the one holding the scalpel because believe me, baby, if you hadn’t lied through your teeth every second of our relationship, every day pretending to fight beside us while you sold us out on the sly, none of this would have happened!”

Tears welled. Bloody and hateful and spilling down his cheeks in dark streaks, splattering on Mace’s clothing. Throttle could see his pulse in his vision, the blinking, blooming orbs of light in his ever-failing vision. Mace becoming less and less visible as the pain mounted. But he didn’t care. He was too angry to care.

Mace said nothing. No snarky remarks. No excuses.

Throttle couldn’t see the horror on his face, but it was there. He wanted to push the other away, to deny the accusation. The doctor had done this, not him. But that excuse could not hold, not this close to reality. Not with Throttle looking at him so bitterly, so pained, with eyes that were not even his. And even if they could not fully see him, they seemed to bore straight into his soul. Leaving him nowhere else to hide from what he had done.

For a long moment neither party spoke and the echoes of Throttle’s thunder faded into uneasy silence.

Throttle panted, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to stem the pain. He started to pull away, but Mace caught him. Not to restrain him, or to capture him but to steady him.

“Easy, soldier…”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Throttle snarled at him, trying to pull away but Mace wouldn’t let him, and the extra strain only seemed to worsen the blinding pain behind his eyes. With one last hard yank he fell backwards away from him, sprawling on the floor and being forced to lay there a moment, waiting for the pain and the vertigo to stop.

Mace watched him, frozen for the moment. His normal instincts would have told him to get up and run. To walk away from the situation, take what he needed and make his escape. But that thought was dim, and already losing substance. He had run out of running room. Getting stranded on a completely different planet hadn’t been able to keep him from the consequences of his choices. The worst of his sins, laying sprawled out before him, daring him to deny it any further.

After a few more breathless moments, he pushed forward and bent beside the fallen mouse, reaching for him carefully.

Throttle batted at him, but his movements were weak and disjointed at best. “Get away from me—”

“Let me help.” Mace said, easing him up as carefully as he could, lifting him as he would any wounded soldier, moving him carefully to couch.

It seemed the fight had gone out of the tan mouse for now. He seemed dazed, exhausted, laid low by his injury. Mace eased him back against the head rest and did his best to make him comfortable. It was a memory of tenderness between them. Before everything had gone so wrong. Before he had ruined everything with his fear and selfishness. Ache filled Mace’s heart then, longing for nights when they had come back from a skirmish, tired and bruised and sat or lain together like this. When there was still trust. Mace had felt safe there. And needed.

Feelings he hadn’t experienced again until he was with Lev and his family. And the thought of this was a new twist of the knife.

He was glad that Throttle couldn’t see the way his face fell then.

The Scoreboard was silent for a long moment. Little by little, the pain dimmed into something manageable again, and as the biker blinked hard to clear his sight, his eye lashes sticky with saline and blood, Mace came into focus again.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” the other offered.

Throttle frowned and raised his own. “I could ask you the same question.” he asked, flashing his middle finger at Mace, who actually smiled.

“Ah, yes, looks like you’re definitely on the mend.” He teased. Throttle tried to sit forward, but Mace laid a tentative hand on his chest, pushing him back. This was met with a rough grip on his wrist, and Mace knew the other could have easily snapped it.

“Hey. I didn’t come here to hurt you. Catch a clue, would you?” He rose instead and made his way towards the sink before Throttle could stop him, returning a moment later with a wet cloth and handing it to the biker.

The other took it begrudgingly and did his best to wipe the new mess from his face, careful not to put too much pressure on the fresh cut or the too-tender sockets.

Mace watched him a moment longer, then started to pace, trying to devise his next move. Outside, he could still hear dim noises that made his ears twitch with anxious curiosity. “Stay here.” He said the other without really thinking, moving to the stairs and hiking up them quickly. He found a suitable look-out spot that gazed back across the lot he’d been dropped in, seeing the barricade that was forming there, and the cars there were gathered on the inside of it.

Mace frowned anxiously. “Looks like your hideout has been found out.” He called down to his companion. “They’re boxing us in.”

“Well aware.” Throttle muttered.

“So what, you’re just going to hole up in here until…what? Your pals arrive?”

Throttle shot him a dark look from below. “They’re in trouble too. Thanks to you. Like you said, we’re on our own.”

Mace nodded slowly. “Well…you’ve got guns here right? Lazors hooked up to the outside somehow? Booby traps? Come on, this place must have all kinds of things we can blast them with.”

Throttle shrugged and gestured to the mess of scrap. “Does this look like a fort to you? Any guns and amo here besides hand pistols and what my bike is loaded with, are just scrap parts.”

“You’re kidding me.”

The deadpan exhausted look the other gave him told him other wise.

“Fuck…”

He stared across the lot anxiously, counting the gathered monster cars and wishing he had a scope or binoculars on him. But he had come woefully unprepared to be dragged into this kind of trench fight. He scrambled down from the stairs again, his nervous energy mounting. “Okay, okay…so we use the transport belt and ditch them. Easy as pie.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Throttle replied.

“Now’s not the time to be stubborn—”

He reached for the device on his belt, meaning to grab hold of the mouse, subdue him if necessary, and make a break for it. But as he patted himself down, he realized he could not locate it. “What? Where is it!?” he scanned the floor in a panic, figuring it had come loose in their brief shuffle.

“Looking for this?” Throttle cooed.

Mace looked up at him to see him holding the device in his palm, waving it coyly at him.

“Enough screwing around—” the half-rat muttered, irritation spiking quickly in his anxiety, reaching for the device.

Throttle smirked and dropped it the floor and gave it a brief but precise stomp with the heel of his boot. “Oops.”

Mace paled, wide-eyed. “Don’t!”

“Don’t what?” Throttle mocked, grinding his heel and hearing the crack of the casing around the mechanism, a little flash of sparks appearing.

‘STOP! That’s our ticket out of here, you idiot! We’re sitting ducks here!”

“Guess you should have thought about that before you barged in here thinking you were gonna make off like a thief in the night!”

“I was trying to save you!”

“Why the hell would you try to save me!?” the biker barked back.

“Because I still love you!”

It came out in a rush before Mace could reign in his emotion. It was the first time he had admitted it out loud, at least in so many words, even to himself. All this scheming, all this stalking, when he should have been prioritizing getting himself the hell off this planet. All trying to get back something he had long thought he lost.

Shiloh had seen it. Had also called him out on the piss-poor way he was going about it. But this was the first time Mace had been able to utter the words, to name the thing that was driving him. Or at least, what he believed was.

As he looked at Throttle, he wasn’t sure what he expected from his former lover. Shock perhaps, or more rage. Maybe even mockery. Certainly—and sadly—he did not expect a return of his feeling.

But he had not expected the mouse to look at him as he did now. With what Mace could only describe as pity and confusion. “You don’t love me.”

The half-breed stepped closer, “Yes I do—” he began to insist but Throttle shook his head again.

“No. No, Mace. Whatever you think you’re feeling…that isn’t love.”

The cinnamon furred Martian looked at him hard, seeming as though he was trapped between movements. Torn between reaching out for the other and shaking him. “That isn’t what you used to say. Or did getting your head scrambled so many times that you forgot about the old days?” He moved to sit by him and when Throttle started to pull away Mace grabbed his hand in both of his.

“I know you remember. Those nights on watch together, or in the chapel…” His eyes drifted down to the cuff on the mouse’s arm again. Wishing he could tear it off. “Those weren’t lies. You were…the first person in a long time to give a damn about me, and I just wanted…I wanted to keep you with me. We could have stayed that way. We could have.”

He felt pathetic. Like he was pleading his case, or praying at an alter of a long lost god who had gone deaf to such things.

Throttle studied him silently, swallowing the discomfort of his hand in the other’s. “I do remember those times.” He offered. He kept his voice low, if not exactly gentle. Mace looked up at him, suddenly full of hope.

He slipped his hand free and kicked the half-smashed device under the coffee table as he moved to put a bit more space between himself and spy. “I remember a guy who was sarcastic and tried to play it cool to hide how out of place he felt. How alone and scared he was. I saw a guy drowning in what I thought was loneliness, but was really guilt.”

Mace frowned sourly at the stark assessment of his younger self. “So what? You trying to say you had me pegged from the start? Or that the whole thing was a pity lay because you felt sorry for me?”

 “I’m trying to say that I cared about you. But I used you. Same way you used me.”

The spy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

He stood up, and moved away from the other, his attention back towards the roof. Sound was getting louder now, more cars gathering.  He glanced back over his shoulder at the half-breed. “I can’t do all your thinking for you, comrade. In the meantime…we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

Mace stood and joined him, listening to sounds outside growing in intensity. They both moved, ascending the stairs again, Throttle slipping his specs back on as he surveyed the scene.

The monster cars on the interior of the barricade had formed a long line, as they planned to charge the stadium itself. They could see hood-top mounted guns on multiple vehicles, as well as a few that had separate trailers hitched to their tailgate, sporting missile launchers and flame throwers.

Mace felt a new prickle of fear at the sight. “Holy shit…they must think the whole lot of you are up here! Talk about overkill…”

“I don’t think it matters to them how many of us are in here.” Throttle grunted, now more glad than ever that the girls were safely away.

Mace peered over the edge at Lady, still resting below them. “Let’s take your bike and get out of here while the getting’s good.”

“They have the place surrounded. Even if we could blast past the perimeter, we’d be putting civilians in danger. I won’t do that. If we keep them here, we keep the fight contained.”

“Collateral damage should be the least of your worries. From the look of what they’re packing, they’re going to reduce this overgrown billboard into a pile of slag and us along with it!”

Throttle looked at him hard then, “You want a chance at redemption, then earn it by thinking about someone other than yourself for once!”

Before the other Martian had time to speak, Throttle was on the move, gripping the rails as he took the steps two at time and leaping over the last landing and striding quickly towards the stacked totes nearly Charlie’s trailer.

He began digging through items, swiftly sorting out what would be most useful. He pulled out an assortment of mouse grenades, longer range blasters, and a sniper riffle that looked like an earlier version of the protype Charlie had made for Max.

He tossed this up to Mace, who caught it deftly. “I’m gonna trust your aim is a good as ever?”

Mace nodded.

Lady beeped quietly, as if reminding her rider that she was ever ready and revving to ride. Throttle paused and stroked her lightly, “Don’t worry baby. You know I’d never forget about you. We just need to wait for the perfect moment.”

The bike beeped again, flashing a map screen showing possible escape routes and flashing tracker lights, which showed that not only were Modo and Max on the move towards them, but Vinnie and Charlie’s trackers were on the move as well. Throttle grinned, feeling some relief.

“Looks like reinforcements are on the way. Better start the opening act!”

Mace almost smirked at him, a familiar rush of pre-battle adrenaline rising in him along with a nostalgia that he hadn’t felt in years. He watched Throttle ascend the stairs again with their arsenal in tow, only to take note of a new sound rising from the other side of the Scoreboard.

“What’s that?”

He was on the move, crossing the catwalk across the expanse of the board, the string lights hooked beneath it swaying under his footsteps. Looking now out onto the field itself, his eyes grew in alarm. There inside the stadium dome, another collection of cars had scattered across the green. Far fewer from the outside, fortunately. But there were more people here as well, just standing in the field.

“What the hell?” Mace muttered, face curdling.

Throttle was at his shoulder, having slipped his helmet on in the process. Charlie had healed the shattered visor thankfully, allowing him to access its scanning abilities. Zooming in on the disjointed and dazed congregation of goons on the field.

None of them even looked armed. Rather they simply seemed to be standing around. Most seemed dazed or agitated. A few shoving at each other, which quickly turned into punching, then kicking…soon a brawl had broke out among them. With others on the sidelines staggering around in a daze. One began to claw at himself, screaming as though in pain before turning and attacking the man nearest to him.

“Fuck fuck fuck! This Frenzy shit is here too!?” Mace gasped. He looked anxiously to the mouse beside him. “Okay, fearless leader…tell me you have a play in your playbook for this?”

Throttle looked worried but nodded. “Sure. There’s what? Maybe thirty of them all together? Fifteen for you fifteen for me. Nice and even.”

Mace laughed incredulously, half wondered if the former Freedom Fighter wasn’t delirious.

“Sure sure, but what about the line of hot-rod hooligans on our tail? Something tells me they aren’t going to wait their turn.”

Throttle nodded, moving quickly across the walk again. “You’re the sharp-shooter. You’ve got a perch and plenty of amo. Keep them off our backs, while I handle the vintage car-show rejects.”

Mace was about to protest, watching the tan biker move into position and arming one of the grenades.

Throttle leaned out one of the wider, wind-battered openings that overlooked the lot below.

“You Pit Pigs sure picked the wrong day to start a turf war!” he bellowed, the wind carrying his voice down over the roar of the idling cars.

“SURRENDER MICE! GIVE UP NOW AND MAYBE WE’LL LET YOU LIVE!” the mullet-haired leader of group bellowed up with the help of a megaphone.

“Funny, that was what I was gonna say to you!” Throttle called back.

One of the thugs fired a shot, the lazor burning a hole into the paneling less than a foot from where Throttle stood.

“LAST CHANCE, RAT! IF YOU’RE TOO AFRAID TO COME DOWN, WE’LL HAPPILY COME UP AND GET YA!”

This “offer” was met with a round of scattered snickers and jeers, thugs fist pumping from their car windows and the flatbeds of their trucks.

But the laughter died as they watched a small silvery object go flipping through the air, arching towards them, the fading sunlight that broke through the clouds above catching it and making it sparkle.

It was only as it came flipping towards the center car that they heard the ticking that came along with it and realized what was about to happen. The boom of the mouse grenade thundered across the crowd, destroying the windshield of the center car and cracking two on either side of it. Several cars were blown back, leaving hard skid marks across the pavement, and the goons inside were crawling out, gasping and coughing, deafened by the noise.

“Four cars compromised…only seven to go.”

It seemed that the explosion acted as a starting pistol for the infected thugs on the green as well, and Mace tensed as he watched them suddenly surge forward at a hard run. He watched them, feeling no hurry to waste amo.

There was no immediate access from the field to the stands it seemed; the thugs were going to have to scale the wall first. That should by the some time at least. Perhaps even keep them trapped in their little pin. Perhaps these “pit pigs” as Throttle called them were even dumber than he thought.

Just as he was about to relax however, his eyes widened to see one of the thugs fling themselves against the wall, scaling it at a scramble, screaming and grunting. Another soon followed, now staggering their way into the stands.

“Shit!” He did his best to adjust the weapon in hand, getting the fastest, most aggressive goon in his sights and pulling the trigger.

The man fell, rolling down the steps and impeding the ascent of his fellow thrashers. “One down…”

The cars were motion now, streaking towards the stadium. Throttle fired down at them best he could from his perch, lobing another grenade at a car that sprayed the back of the scoreboard with fire from an oversized gatling gun.

Soon the air around the stadium was filled with the sound of smoke and gunfire, and Throttle was almost thankful for the blockade that had been set up, keeping civilians far from the danger zone.

Below them, Lady began to beep shrilly, rolling back and forth across the floor in her effort to gain their attention. Throttle only had time to glance down before he was forced to duck and return fire.

He tapped into his com. “Hey bros! Anyone out there hear me!?”

The crackling static of a broken transmission answered and Throttle sighed anxiously. Charlie had fixed the visor but it seemed the com system was still shorting out.

“Where’s your back up?!” Mace called, taking another shot that cracked through the air, swiftly reloading and firing again. He had taken out four of the frenzied now, but more were coming, relentless.

Throttle glanced down at Lady again, seeing the flashing dots on her screen. “They’ll be here.” He assured.

Mace didn’t argue, for once.

There was another spray of fire that forced the tan mouse to duck for cover, cursing loudly as the Scoreboard trembled under the assault. He crawled along the platform, trying to find a better covered place to fire from, only to get a glimpse of one of the larger trucks breaking from the pack and driving at break-neck speed towards one of the support beams of the stadium.

Eyes wide, Throttle tried to take out their tires. Knowing if that truck hit the beam at full force it could trigger a chain reaction of collapse. He struck the truck’s bumper and the hood, fire and black smoke rising, but it didn’t stop its charge.

For a moment it seemed too late, until a familiar bike streaked across the wave of cars, jumping them as if they were in a monster-truck rally, and came smashing down right on the truck’s windshield.

“KARMA!”

The young Martian on the bike sped up and over the now shattered and concave remains of the windshield, leaping up and over the back of the truck and landing in a hard skid across the black top, the tires of her bike smoking as she spun and came charging back.

She fired at the truck’s back tires and it spun fully out of control. It did crash into the support beam, the loud crunch of metal echoing across the lot. The scoreboard itself shook violently for a moment, threatening to knock both Martians from their perch.

Another blow followed without warning, this one hitting the Scoreboard directly as one of the missiles clipped the top of the structure. The whole thing trembled with force, and the bolts anchoring the section of catwalk Throttle was standing on pulled away from the wall.

As it shifted, the mouse was thrown back against the sparse railing, slipping through and managing to hang on only a by a few fingers.

“THROTTLE!”

Mace lurched from his own spot on the opposite wall, trying to reach the other with his tail. Throttle grunted, trying to climb back onto the still stable bit of walkway. But another shot made him lose his grip entirely.

Throttle yelped as he was suddenly in free-fall, crashing down towards the floor from almost two and a half-stories high.

But instead of colliding painfully with the floor, another body crashed into his, gripping him tight as they swung out into space. One dizzying glance up made him realize that Mace had grabbed hold of a dusty length of rope from the pulleys and lights stored in the upper half of the board, and had swung across the gap to catch him.

Unfortunately, the half-breed was not able to keep his grip, and the pair fell into a painful tumble as crashed down through the web of string lights and tent canopy, which slowed but did not break the fall entirely.

The pair crashed to the floor, groaning and dust covered, but alive.

Mace coughed and wheezed, new pain radiating up his back and down his legs, his shoulder screaming despite having managed to not land on it. Grunting and coughing, hair hanging in his face, he pushed himself up on knees and elbows and tried to make his way to where the tan biker was sprawled.

“Throttle! Throttle are—”

He looked up just in time to see a figure charging towards him from where she had appeared at the ramp.

“Get away from him, creep!” Karma cried, landing a hard right hook across Mace’s face before he could block it. It sent him rolling again and this time he was not in as much of hurry to get him, instead holding his throbbing face.

The girl was about to lay into him again, but Throttle’s hand shot up and grabbed hers, tugging her back. “Karma! Stop!”

She glanced back at him in confusion as he pulled himself into a sitting position with obvious effort.

The redhead dropped to his side and threw her arms around him, and he returned the hug just as eagerly. “I told you not to get killed, stupid!” she gasped.

He pulled her back anxiously, “Karma, where are the girls?!”

“They’re safe, I left them at the diner. I had to come back, I couldn’t let you deal with this alone—”

The place shook again as though it was on a fault line and sparks flew over their heads from bursting bulbs as more of the stairway gave way and crashed down.

They braced themselves, expecting any minute the whole top of the board may come caving in on them. But the barrage of strikes sputtered to a stop, and as the sound of more Martian engines could be heard.

Karma looked up hopefully. “Is that--?”

“AAOOOOOWWWWW!”  Vinnie’s battle cry echoed through the new openings in their hideout, making all three of them smile.

There was the sound of another motorcycle charging up the ramp, and Max’s bike, gleaming black and electric green in the smoke and dust from the upper wreckage, appeared before them.

“What are you doing in here, wallflowers?! Party’s rocking outside and you’re missing out!”

Karma squealed in delight as she helped Throttle to his feet. He had barely made it more than a foot or two before the dark furred mouse had limped to his side and swept him into his arms, hugging him close and fast.

“I came as soon as I could—” he tried to explain, voice desperate now, anxiously looking his lover over for injury.

Throttle dissolved his visor and his own and kissed him hard, “I know.” He assured. The tan biker glanced down, looking at Max’s torn pant leg and the sizeable gash in his calf. “Babe, you’re hurt!”

“What this? I’ve gotten worse injuries slipping on the floors at the Cathedra. Don’t you worry about me, handsome.”

They clutched each other close in relief and then Max glanced at Mace, who was picking himself off the floor. He immediately went for his weapon but Throttle pushed his hand down. Tourmaline looked at him in confusion.

“No need, we’ve called a truce. All of us need to get out of here. These thugs have gone nuclear. We’ve got infected on the ball field, we can’t let them get out of stadium!” the biker explained.

More thunder of explosions outside, and Throttle recognized the sound of Modo’s arm canon going off in quick succession with concussive results.

“I am very, very in favor of getting the fuck out of here, yes.” Karma nodded anxiously. “Even better if I get to blow the hell out of more of those junk yard dogs out there!”

“Easy little lady, you’ll get your chance.” Throttle assured. It was then he noticed that Mace was limping his way back towards the remaining catwalk, having retrieved his fallen rifle. “Go on. I’ll hold them off until you’re clear.”

Max and Karma both looked up in surprise. Max shrugged, “Alright then, sounds like a plan, let’s haul ass—”

He started to pull Throttle along, but of course his fiancé held back.

Throttle’s tail hooked around Mace’s middle and pulled him back. “Nice try, but we’re not done with that itchy trigger finger of yours.”  He explained.

If Mace looked dubious it was nothing compared to how Max and Karma looked.

But any argument that might have been pending was dismissed with one of the frenzied from the field finally found their way inside. The hulked-out hoodlum crashed through the paneling, his eyes red glazed and foaming as he cursed and screamed, trying to mad to get to the Martians below, who he only saw as targets.

“Alright maybe you have a point, the creeper can stay but can we gooo?!”  Karma gasped, clearly less than eager to stay and deal with this hand to hand.

Max was pulling them forward then, still limping. Throttle pulled him towards Lady. “Babe, you ride with me. Mace you take Max’s bike, Karma you cover our tails!”

Tourmaline opened his mouth to argue, but Throttle just kissed him quickly to silence him, giving him both an apologetic and pleading look. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better, hot shot.” Max nodded.

Lady pulled eagerly up beside them, and Throttle slipped on first, gripping her handlebars.

“What are you doing, you can barely see!”

“I can see well enough, besides I know her controls better than you. And…” he reached and handed Max the lazor riffle Charlie had designed for him. “I can keep her steady while you blow the shit out of these thugs.”

Max beamed. “Damn, I love the way your brain works.”

“STOP FLIRTING AND MOVE!” Karma barked at them, zipping forward now and charging down the ramp, Throttle and Max right behind and Mace bringing up the rear.

In the lot below, obvious chaos had erupted. Broken, flipped and blown out cars were scattered across the lot in flaming dent heaps, but more were still roaming about. The monster cars had stemmed the assault on the stadium—their attentions diverted by new challengers.

Modo and Vinnie were both easy to spot, zipping back and forth across the black top, exchanging fire and leaping over cars that tried to run them down. An almost laughably smaller car—a Volkswagon that was covered in spikes and saws, swept too close to Modo and managed to leave a sizeable scrap along Lil’ Hoss’s side.

In retaliation, Modo had actually grabbed the car itself by the door and punched it hard enough with his bionic fist to cause the whole thing to flip. Now laying on its side with its wheels spinning crazily, like a discarded child’s toy.

Karma zoomed past him with a giggle, “Remind me never to park too close to you, Uncle Modo!” she hollowed back to him before setting her sights on a pair of retreating thugs where trying to take pot-shots at her.

Modo blinked after her in surprise, until Throttle and Max cruised along side him. He twisted anxiously to look at his bro. “Where are—”

“Safe at the diner! Big fella, ten o’clock!” Throttle shouted, pointing behind him.

The driver of the car he had just flipped had crawled free of the wreck and was coming at them with a crow bar.  Before he could bring the bar crashing down on Modo’s helmet, Max had shot him off the roof and sent him sprawling again.

“Thanks for the assist!”

Vinnie came barreling towards them then, leaving a hot streak of rubber on the pavement behind him. “Nice of you bros to join the party! Everyone in one piece?!”

“Could ask you the same thing!” Throttle gasped, seeing the way the white mouse was obviously ruffled and covered in barely patched injuries.

“Limburger’s lost it, blew the hell out of The Last Chance, let these monster car fuckers loose on us.”

“Is Charlie okay?!” Throttle asked anxiously, Modo and Max looking equally worried.

Vinnie grinned ruefully, though it hurt his battered face to do so. “You can ask the lady yourself, she’s gunning on the side-lines and she’s pissed.”

“Limburger’s clearly gone scorched-earth on us, he plans to level this place and us with it.” Modo muttered.

“More than that, big fella, he packed extra insurance. He’s doused these goons with frenzy, they’re out of control.” Vinnie added.

“So is Limburger apparently. They’ve got more infected thugs wandering the ballfield, we need to make sure they don’t get out or get past the blockade. Surely the real cops have started to make their way here by now, people will be in danger.” Throttle explained.

“Forgive me bro, but I’m a lot more concerned about us getting out of here than them!” Vinnie chimed in.

There was a loud explosion near them as Mace shot through the gas tank of another car and turned it into a flipping and rolling fireball that drove off any more of the cars trying to approach them.

Vinnie and Modo looked back at him in surprise as the sniper shrugged. “You told me to shoot, so I’m shooting! Are you ladies gonna wrap up this up any time soon!?”

Vinnie and Modo looked to Throttle for explanation but he waved them off. There was no time. “Only exit I can think of at this point is the alley behind the bank and the deli on the east bank. Doubt these thugs have thought that place yet. I sent Karma through their with the kids before this started, if we hurry we can get clear.”

More thugs, unbothered by the fire, began to make their way towards them, cars circling and the group being peppered with fire until they were forced to disperse, splintering off to avoid making easy targets.

The parking lot surrounding Wrigley Field now resembled a war zone, dark tendrils of smoke rising from the trashed and demolished cars, sizable craters formed in the black top and the sound of gun and canon fire filling the air.

Vinnie punched ahead of them, bent low in his seat to allow him to travel that much faster, firing heavily into a pair of approaching cars that were peppering him with gun fire. Cherry leveled direct hits at both of their bumpers, and the concussive force caused both cars to bounce and flip forward, smashing top down on the pavement as Vinnie sped cleanly between them.

He spotted Karma in the distance and sped off towards her, just as Throttle took notice of a massive 4x4 truck on tires that were at least as tall as Modo, bouncing across the bombed out lot and crushing over the remains of the ruined cars.

Max looked up anxiously, ready to take aim with his lazor rifle.

“Hold your fire! I know that truck!” Throttle cried.

“You what?!” Max gasped, more than a little confused.

The deep maroon colored truck rolled towards them and the driver leaned out his window. “You boys lookin’ for a dance partner?” Four-by’s deep rumble of a voice called to them.

Throttle beamed up at him. “Boy are you a sight for sore eyes!”

“Funny choice of words, babe.” Max teased.

From the passenger side, another familiar face appeared. Charlie leaned over Four-by, waiving at the pair. “Throttle! Where’s the girls?!”

“Safe and sound Charlie, glad to see you are too! Scared the hell out of me!” he called back to her. “I see you got Vinnie out of another scrape.”

“What are partners for, hmm?” she asked and then winked at Max.

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna make these fuckers pay for what they did!” he promised, flashing his new toy gratefully at her.

“You’d better.” She nodded. She sunk back into cab for a moment as the men looked at her curiously, and then leaned back out the window, something clutched in her hand. “Throttle! Catch!”

She tossed what looked like a rumbled ball of brown fabric out the window and the tan mouse caught it easily, surprised that it had some weight to it. Until he it opened his palm and realized what it was.

“I’d been meaning to give these to you since we got back, but…now’s good a time as any.”

Throttle’s face was split wide with a  grin that Max both adored and feared. Glancing down he realized that his lover now possessed a new version of his trade mark Nuke-Nuk glove.

“Charlie-girl, I could kiss you!” he crowded.

She blew him one instead, “Thanks hot shot. Now go whip some tail!”

More fire from beside them, but Four-by’s Mighty Moe shielded them easily. Charlie ducked back into the cab, searching through the windshield for where the rest of the bros might be as Four-by called back to them.

“It’s not safe here, bros! Limburger and his thugs have declared all out war on you, and it looks like they don’t care who sees it either. We got to get you guys someplace to lie low until the heat dies down!”

“It’s gonna have to be pretty low!” Max grimaced, twisting in his seat and firing off a warning shot to ward of another thug trying to catch them from behind.

“Good thing there’s no place lower than The Pits then.” He nodded. “But first…let’s finish these thugs.”  He kicked Moe into gear, lurching forward with the power of a charging semi.

.

As they peeled off after him, there were new sounds coming from the stadium and the pair turned to see that there were thugs trying to make an escape from inside, filtering out into the lot.

“Gotta stop that zombie walk,” Throttle muttered, gripping Lady’s handlebars tight. “Hey babe, how much firepower do you think that pistol you’re packing has?”

“As much as you need, babe.”

Throttle grinned and brought Lady around in a smooth arch so that they could sweep along the edge of the stadium’s exit and entrance ramps.  “Torch the pavement, Tourmaline. Let’s give these boys good incentive to stay put.”

Max nodded, charging up his weapon and feeling it hum with the power surge as he took aim. The rifle made a strange, concussive wave of sound as Max fired it at the road, watching as it cut a swath of burning and bubbling tar in a smooth arch as they rode.

Bursts of flame and small explosions erupted from the rivet he carved, effectively creating a fire wall that was enough to drive the infected the thugs back into the interior of the stadium for shelter.

“Beautiful!” Throttle cheered.

They broke off, attempting to regroup with the others only to find a black charger with racing stripes coming up hard on their tail. Some shaved-head goon rose through the sun roof and lobbed something towards the pair.

The grenade sailed over the bike and struck the ground a few yards ahead of them. Barely enough time for Throttle to brace Max with his tail and pull Lady hard to the left to avoid the explosion. Concrete and debris peppered them, scratching and dinging them.

They swerved hard to stay on balance, Throttle kicking Lady into higher gear as her back tire flared with heat and he fired his rear missiles at the Camero.

It too swerved to avoid the explosion and fish-tailed crazily before correcting itself and coming at them even harder.

Throttle glanced at the approaching car in the rear-view of Lady’s mirror, seeing he wasn’t going to lose them so easy.  “Babe, I’ve got an idea. You’re not going to like it.”

“Oh you know me, I’m always down for trying something new.” Max answered close to his ear.

“Glad to hear it. Hold tight!”

Hitting the break, he brought Lady into a front wheelie, just as the Camero was about to slam into them.

Max gasped hard in spite of himself, sure they were about to be flipped and flattened but Throttle threw Lady into reverse just as they felt the heat of the Camero’s front bumper. Lady bounced down, rolling into reverse right up the hood of the car.

Max twisted and saw the bald thug in the sun roof give them a look of horror as he was about to get a face full of tread. He ducked down just in time to avoid the blow, and Lady rolled right up and over the hood until she was on its trunk.

One of the back seat passengers forced his way through the already blown out back window and shoved the barrel of another gun towards them. Throttle’s arm shot forward, the fist that now bore the new Nuk-Nuks over the scars left by the previous pair, grabbed hold of the barrel and twisted it shut.

Before their attacker could fully register what was happening, and wisely let go of the now managed weapon, Throttle yanked him fully out of the car’s back seat and punched him hard, launching him across the road.

The driver tried to turn and fire back on them, but Max was quick to return it, firing twice into the car, hitting the dash board with one and clipping the wheel with the other.

The driver hit the breaks hard as he lost control and they were thrown into a spin. Lady and her boys bounced free and landed hard, leaving both Martians panting.

“Holy shit…” Max gasped, arms trembling faintly as they were wrapped tight around Throttle’s chest and waist. “That might be the craziest thing I’ve ever seen you do.”

“Really?” Throttle panted. “Cause I don’t think that makes even my top twenty…”

Vinnie was suddenly ahead of them, waving and flashing his lights through the haze. “I think it’s time to bail.” Throttle nodded. He tapped the com on Lady, since his helmet was still on the fritz.

“All clear?” he called.

“Good as it’s going to get, we’re out of here, follow me! Four-by’s leading the way!” Vinnie’s voice called back through the radio.

Behind him, Max could feel the way Throttle was trembling, sweating heavily even through his clothing, beginning to sag a little against him. He tucked the rifle behind him and slipped closer, sliding his hands over the handlebars in place of his lover’s, who let go reluctantly. His head dropped back against Max’s shoulder as his vision threatened to fade out, the throb in his head returning, blood pressure seeming to drop after adrenaline began to fade.

“I’ve got you.”

“Never doubted for a second.” Throttle nodded with a smile.

Max braced him and sped off through the smoke until they were caught up with Vinnie, Modo and the others, the bikes fanning out like flock following Mighty Moe’s charge through the smoking wreckage and towards their chance at escape.

Throttle glanced back at the Scoreboard in the rear-view, the lights on it now illuminated in the twilight, a strange beacon reading “Home 2, Away 1”  clearly visible despite the spires of smoke that washed over it. Still standing.

***

Chapter Text

***

They drove through the twilight until the glittering lights and gleaming towers of the city began to fade behind them and the roads opened even as they became rougher and less traveled. Finally, they followed The Mighty Moe and two other heavy-duty all-terrain jeeps onto a dirt path that seemed to lead into a thicket of trees.

Gravel crunched beneath their tires and they saw animals and birds skittered from their path as they continued to move further away from the sound of civilization. Modo, riding to Max’s immediate right, gave a glance at the other mouse, as if testing his reaction.

Tourmaline glanced back at him, obviously dubious and confused, but saying nothing. Throttle was still in front of him but was limp in Max’s hold, head still on his shoulder, the fight seeming to have drained him. Modo himself was also burdened, the woman named Shiloh sitting at his back with her face hidden in his shoulder, and the side-car containing a tense and wary Remy and Daisy hooked to his side.

Karma and Mace followed behind them, with Karma giving their unexpected intruder no lee-way to fuck around, especially while he was riding Tourmaline’s bike.

Max tapped his com, being sure he was only speaking with Maverick. “We can trust this Four-by guy? Where is he taking us?”

Modo gave a nod. “I’d trust him with my life, no hesitation. But as far as where we’re headed…” he glanced up at the moon through the trees. “That I’m not so sure about.”

They bounced over a patch of particularly rough rock and the movement seemed to jostle Throttle back to life as he tensed suddenly and reached to steer. Max’s free arm squeezed his waist and kept him pressed back. “Relax, babe, you’re not asleep at the wheel. Just be still.”

The tan mouse blinked at him, the momentary confusion fading, and then glanced at their surroundings. “Where are we?”

In front of them, Moe’s break lights flashed red, and Vinnie who had been following close, did the same, dropping back beside them as they rolled to a gradual stop at the edge of clearing. There was another small gate in the middle of the road, and Four-by hopped down from his mountain of a motor vehicle to unlock it and let it swing wide, ushering his own people forward first and then waving for the bros to follow.

From what they could see in the fading twilight, they had come to an entrance of some sort of campground, or RV lot. Though in truth, there was a lot more than old RVs cluttered about the tall and waving grass. They glimpsed a few tractors, a semi-truck, along with various piles of discarded parts, trash and appliances including refrigerators, car and truck parts, old tires and more.

“Well,” Max sighed, “I have to admit, I really don’t think Limburger and his pals will come looking for us out here.”

Vinnie glanced back at them, “Four-by’s never steered us wrong before, guess we just gotta trust him on this. Besides, we’re not in much position to argue.” He looked woefully back at his family, the battered and frightened state they were all in. Then glimpsed Mace and smirked, “Besides one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Take that ol’ freezer over there. It’s the perfect size to stuff a certain someone in if they decide to get up to their old shit.”

Mace sneered back at him. “Haha. Still a barrel of laughs, Van Wham.”

From ahead, Four-by waved them on again, guiding them through the winding gravel and beaten-earth path that meandered through the lot. Finally, he pulled Moe to a stop, and the bros could see something strange at the edge of the hedge grove and brambles that grew in front of it.

Throttle sat up, leaning forward as he squinted into the dark, adjusting the specs on his visor. “Is that what I think it is?”

                The big man dropped down from the truck, and helped Charlie after him, as Vinnie dismounted from Cherry and moved to meet them.

At the edge of the RV lot, bordered and obscured by wild weeds and rambling snares of bushes and thorn, the earth itself seemed to split open. At the edge of where they stood now was an incline, leading to what seemed to be something of a shelf that overlooked the wider chasm beyond.

“Considering the circumstances, I’d figured you bros would like to take the scenic way in. Less base-jumping involved. And certainly less crashing.” He explained.

Vinnie and Charlie peered down, tentatively making their way down the gravel incline past lusher grass and small embedded lights that lit their way. The shelf lead to a heavy-duty lift, one that could easily fit several of the bikes at once, and even Moe herself. It traveled down maybe 60 feet to a rocky bottom below, where a small lake had formed. On either side though, there were lights and structures, and as they gazed they realized what Four-by and his own Freedom Fighters had been building in their long absence.

Shipping containers, old trailers, even semi-compartments, had all been embedded into the steep rock face of the Pit, forming livable units that were either stacked and tiered together or united by ramps and bridges, all leading safely down to the floor far below.

And there was not just rock and recycled living spaces, but an abundance of green. Despite the changing seasons, vines, moss and other climbing flora did much to cover the tear in the earth, turning the open wound left by the Plutarkians into an eco-paradise on the outskirts of the city.

“You’ve been busy.”  Charlie gasped, obviously impressed.

“I’ll say,” Vinnie nodded.

Four-by clapped a hand on his shoulder lightly and Vinnie tried not to stumble under the force of it, still feeling a tad woozy after his rumble in the garage. “You’ve been gone a long time, heroes. But don’t worry, we’ll get you all caught up. No one comes out here, not even Plutarkians.”

***

Mars, Sand Raider Camp

Stoker had not realized he’d been asleep until he suddenly found himself awake. Disoriented, he laid on the mattress, staring at the sun-bleached wood planks and rusted scrap that made up the walls of their temporary shelter.

Harley’s hands were his back and neck, massaging the tight muscles. He shifted slightly to look back at her, and she just smiled down at him softly. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”

“I didn’t know I was asleep,” he answered, voice thick and cracking.

She bowed over him and kissed his forehead lovingly. “You’re stretched awful thin, macho mouse. You sorta went hazy on me after we delt with the radio. Bowie and I got you back here and you just…folded. You need sleep. And probably three days in a hospital on an I.V. drip.” She reached past him and pulled a canteen from it’s place on the floor, unscrewing the lid and offering it to him. “Drink this, all of it.”

Her tone told him it would be wise not argue the matter, and besides, the way his tongue felt thick and stuck to the rough of his mouth and teeth made it clear he needed something. He chugged the synthetic liquid down, ignoring the taste or the fact that it wasn’t cold. When he’d finished, he laid there, still exhausted and sluggish.

“Where are the boys? What about Bow?”

“Everyone’s safe, don’t worry.  Kirk went off to collect Lexi and bring him water. Bowie bartered for extra for you and him, so now he’s doing some odd work for the couple in the shack next door.”

Stoker blinked and huffed a small laugh. “Is that anything like borrowing a cup of sugar, or are the rules different when you’re in a forced labor camp?”

She smirked at him pushing his hair out of his face, feeling the new knot on the back of his head as she stroked her hand through the fading brown locks.  “Close to normal as we can get, honey. Go back to sleep if you can. You need it.”

She expected an argument, as he always protested being fussed over. But none came this time and it made her chest pinch a little. Worried now it hadn’t been heat and exhaustion and a bonk on the head that had caused the collapse, but perhaps something worse.

But Stoker gave no complaint. He just shifted his gaze from the slats in the wood to her and back again. “I’m scared, Harley.” He admitted softly. “I’m scared I’m not going to be able to pull this plan off. Atlas wants me to get close to Slobber and…I just see a wide-margin for error.”

If she were Bowie, she would have soothed him with assurances that he was the legendary Freedom Fighter who had been through far worse scrapes than this and had always come out the other side, even if it was with less pieces in tact. He was always triumphant in the end.

Her approach was different however, slipping her hand into his and squeezing gently.  “You’d be stupid if you weren’t scared. I don’t know wall the details that he’s been telling you, but I’ve caught bits and pieces. He’s using you like a worm on a hook.” She frowned darkly.  She paused and considered their options. “I think…there’s a way I can smuggle a blaster. I’ll keep close, if he doesn’t pull you back in time—”

He squeezed her hand. “Harley.”

They stared at each other and the look he gave her made her eyes water immediately, shaking her head. “No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare even think it—”

“Honey…”

“You’re not going to die!” she shouted. “You can’t!”

He sat up and pulled her into his arms, the pair hugging each other tight. She cried, unable to help herself, and angry about it. She knew what she was saying was false. She had no illusions about what could happen to them at any given time, wasn’t sure she ever had. But somehow she had always convinced herself that that day, if ever came, was on some distant horizon.

And, in her bleakest moments, she had found some cold comfort in the fact that she may not live long enough to experience his loss.

But here, nothing was certain. Tomorrow, they would be moving out of the camp, and tomorrow they would either be free, or dead. Anything in between felt deeply unlikely.

After a few moment she pulled back, quickly wiping her eyes, cheeks red both with crying and embarrassment at her outburst. “Sorry…here you’re trying to tell me you’re scared and I go all to pieces.”

He kissed her cheeks and lips. “Don’t be sorry. Glad for the distraction. And the motivation.” He smiled at her, the way that melted her to the core. There was so much love in him under all that fury and fire. “Never want to do anything to make you cry, darlin’. So I guess I better figure out a way to live another day.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Gods, you’re such a corn ball when you want to be.”

He seemed a little clearer now, and that gave her some hope as well. She reached for another canteen and he drank it greedily. “There. That helping?”

He nodded, chugging until he couldn’t get enough air and had to take a breath. He looked around the room and seemed to notice the shift in the light from outside, how the yellow gold of the day was fading into deeper rust.  “Sun’s going down…” Stoker blinked, realizing what this meant. “You let me sleep that long?”

He tried to get to his feet, as if he were late to be somewhere, but she yanked him down easily and pushed him flat again. “Well, you get special treatment anyway, and they certainly aren’t going to make you work when you’re passed out face first in the dirt.”

Stoker rolled his eyes, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah well…it would be an upgrade from the Plutarkian prison camps then.”  He settled back and pulled her down close to him. “If we squint real hard…and maybe disassociate a little…it’s almost like we’re back home in bed. Bowie’s down in the bar, and none of the boys are presently crashing on our couch.” He grinned.

“Hmm, so you mean if I squint hard enough I could go completely into delusion, that it?” she teased. “Even when you weren’t rough riding and fighting, you were always busy, tough guy. You never sit still. That’s why it takes me and Bowie to wear your wiry ass out.”

“Yeah well…maybe after this, we try the slow and easy life. Less chasing after the baby bros and trying to right the wrongs of the world and more…watching the grandbaby and wasting days fixing up old bikes. Getting fat on Bowie’s cooking.”

She laughed again at the thought. “Sounds nice.”

He looked at her earnestly. “What do ya say, pretty lady? The three of us? Retirement? Early-bird specials and bed at eight P.M.?”

It was a wish. Far flung in that moment as it was, it was a wish that they would live long enough to even consider a slow and simple life. But it was too heavy a thing to acknowledge fully, so Harley just smiled adoringly at her husband and kissed him again. “ Till my dying day, Stoke.”

**

                Outside the shack, washed in sunset hues of deep plum and bloody peach, Kirk was making his way towards the yard where Lexi along with a few other hapless mice and rats were digging pointlessly in the dirt.

                Lexi’s eyes were downcast, focused on the good two-foot hole he had managed to dig. The foreman watching the group would walk up and down the lanes, inspecting the progress of each detainee, and arbitrarily tell them to stop, fill in their work and start all over again. Over and over, for as long as they were sentenced. It was boring, sweaty, back breaking work, it’s sole mission to wear the prisoner down.

                And Lexi certainly seemed tired. His fur was dirty and matted with sweat in places, his dark hair falling in his eyes.

                Kirk moved into his line of sight, and for a moment the other boy avoided looking up at him, resolutely glaring at the ground.

                “Lex?”

                The Rat huffed in frustration and stabbed his shovel into the ground, taking a moment to lean on it as he looked up at Kirk finally. “What are you doing here? You want to get in trouble too?” he muttered at him.

                Kirk’s face fell, if only a little, but he didn’t back off. “You’ve only got a few minutes left on your time. I brought you water.” He held up the canteen to show him.

                Lexi eyed it, his gaze suddenly sharp and greedy. He started to reach for it and then paused, going back to his shovel. “I need to finish here.”

                Kirk sighed and moved a little closer, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got scared and chicken-shit and stupid and let you get into trouble. Okay?”  It was the rough, awkward apology of a boy who was still learning to own up to things like a man. But it was heartfelt and sincere in it’s own way. “You saved me.”

                Lexi tossed another shovel full of dirt to the side as he considered. “You were really chicken-shit.” He confirmed, glancing up at Kirk again.

                The human boy chuckled, nodding in agreement. “The shittiest.”

                They both smiled at each other, the friction between them melted. Lexi glanced down the line towards the foreman who was not looking in their direction, and leaned a little closer. “Did it work?”

                Kirk nodded. “Hope so.”

                “Hey!”

                They both startled as they were noticed. The big white-furred dog made his way down to them, and both boys nervously eyed the whip on his belt. “What are you two up to, this isn’t a social call, get back to work—”

                “He’s free to go.”

                They all looked back as Atlas made himself known, approaching the lot. His foreman looked confused, but stood at attention as their leader stepped closer.

                “Sir?”

                “We are on the eve of liberation, my friend. That’s something to be celebrated, for all of us.” He patted the foreman on the shoulder. “Go on and make yourself useful elsewhere. We need to get a few roaring bonfires going and  we’ll need help laying out food and drink for all. I’m sure you can manage that, can’t you?”

                The other dog looked a bit confused, but also relieved. He stepped away hurriedly and Atlas nodded to the few other laborers, who also eagerly dropped their shovels and made themselves scarce. Leaving only the two boys in front of him.

                He smiled at them congenially and then eyed the hole that Lexi was presently standing near waist deep in and nodded approvingly. “Well, commendable progress boy. You may have a slight frame but clearly you’ve got some muscle on you.”

                “Thanks?” the youth replied cautiously, his tail still swishing a bit with anxiety.

                Atlas reached and offered him one of his big paws, helping to pull him up. Then he leveled his gaze on Kirk and the canteen was holding. “Kind of you to bring your friend a drink, little human. But you should save it for tomorrow.  Tonight, the drinks flow freely here.”

                The boys looked at each other dubiously. “Aren’t we about to go fight Slobber and his mutts? Shouldn’t we…ready for battle?” Lexi offered.

                Atlas grinned, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and walking with them down the main lane of the camp, past other Sand Dogs and Rats who were busy making preparations. “This is how we prepare. We are always ready for war, always ready for strife. Our stock piles are high and I can assure that your kin and I have extensively been over the plan of attack. Now…we take a breath and appreciate life.”

                As he looked ahead, so did they, seeing several dogs roll out big barrels of mead and wine saved for such occasions, as well as raiding the food stores that were usually so heavily guarded and rationed.

                Kirk leaned closer to Lexi, “Is he crazy?”

                “Definitely.”

                Atlas laughed at them and then gave them a little nudge forward. “Go on, little ones. Find your kin, they’ll be looking for you to be sure. Enjoy yourselves.”

                They didn’t hesitate, first walking slowly, then quickly and then breaking into a sprint as they headed forwards the slave quarters. Atlas watched them go, breathing the cool night air in deep and looking up as the stars began to show themselves.

                Tomorrow brought an unknown fate. And death lurked in the periphery of every shadow, silent and patient. He had always been aware of it and had reconciled with it’s constant presence in everything since he was a pup. He did not resent this awareness. If anything, it made him able to take in a night like this to it’s full extent.

                And for all the hope he held for victory with the aide of these Mice…he was aware that things could go deeply, deeply wrong.

                As he surveyed his clan, he glimpsed sight of one of his less than savory warriors. The dog that was called ‘Weasel’ was hurrying through the bustling streets with something tucked beneath his vest, beady eyes looking nervously back and forth as he walked.

                The big black-furred warlord huffed a suspicious breath, steam rising in the dropping temperature. Though it was far from unusual to see any one of Digger’s close confidants acting suspiciously, this small act gave him pause. Made one of his tall ears twitch.

                And as if he had summoned him from the shadows, his lack luster lieutenant made himself known, approaching him from behind.

                “Sir! The lads and I have been thinking—"

                “That would certainly be a refreshing change.” Atlas muttered, clearly still displeased with the man.

                Digger scowled at him, but as the bigger warlord regarded him so closely, he bowed, ears lowering and attempted his approach again, feigning a bit more humility. “Maybe it be wise to head out early? Make an early strike of it against Slobber and like? Set a trap before they even arrive?”

                Atlas folded his arms and considered, “It sounds promising, I admit. The problem is, I’m certain that Slobber will have already planned for it. You can not try to beat the underhanded at their own game, especially a bastard like Slobber. If we approach in any manner at any time less than what has already been agreed upon, he will be ready for it. And everything we have planned will be for nothing.”

                “I think ye give the mutt too much credit.” Digger argued. “And…I think ye have too much faith in the rodents.” He added. He eyed the warlord, watching for reaction. He seemed to pause and consider, then stepped a little closer and added in a sly, careful tone. “Some say ye gone soft. That the metal tail is manipulating you.”

                Atlas looked unbothered, merely gazing across the camp. “To what point an purpose?” he asked.

                Digger blinked, seemingly confused by the question. Perhaps thinking Atlas was even further gone than he had previously thought. “Escape of course! To scurry back to their rat holes where they crawled out. Back to their spires and their farms and their cozy little nests.”

                “Perhaps. But if that were their only motivation they would have done it weeks ago.” Atlas replied. He spotted the golden furred mouse among the others, and was soon joined by Harley and Stoker, the boys flanking them. The small group were absorbed into the greater collective, all chatting quickly and quietly among one another, obvious relief on the worker’s face as food and water was passed among them.

                “Their goal is not small, nor single-minded.”

                Digger followed his gaze, but clearly did not see whatever Atlas gazed at. He sneered, seeing only competition for survival. Seeing only something that could have been for himself given to those he deemed much less worthy of survival.

                Atlas saw his disgust and was on the move then. “Why don’t make yourself useful Digger and check the perimeter. I want nothing to disturb us tonight.”

                To his surprise, his cantankerous lieutenant offered no argument or protest at the order, instead nodding eagerly. “Absolutely, sir. Right away.”  He hurried off before Atlas could question him further.

***

Earth, The Pits

                Max stood at the window and looked out at the purple-blue night below them, dotted with dozens and dozens of soft glowing lights, both solar and otherwise. Just when he was getting used to the Chicago skyline and the urban dwelling around The Last Chance, he felt plunged into another world entirely. One that had strange echoes of his native one, with the city built into the rock as it was.

                Behind him, in the large shipping container that had been converted into a sort of bunker, the rest of his companions were being checked over and their injuries tended. His own leg had been cleaned, wrapped and set into a sort of flexible brace, which was allowing him to stand without much pain.

                But it was taking longer to get Charlie, Vinnie and Throttle looked over, leaving the rest of the waiting and wondering.  For the moment, his only company was that of Mace, who had also been looked over and sent on his way.

                The cinnamon furred half-breed was laying on a rather industrial looking bed that had probably previously furnished a door room, feeling dazed and tired after the fire fight and the mild painkiller he’d been given for both his shoulder wound and the still healing wound in his side. Max could feel him watching him, and it made the molted-furred mouse’s fur stand on end.

                He sighed and tried to distract himself, but his thoughts were spinning, worry eating him up. He paced back and forth in front of the window, feeling like a penned animal.

                “You’re wearing a track in the floor.”

                Tourmaline looked up, startled from his spinning thoughts by Mace’s intrusive, falsely relaxed tone. He glared at him hard.

                “What’s it to you?” he muttered.

                “It’s annoying.” The other returned simply. “And unhelpful. You wearing a hole in the recycled flooring isn’t going to bring your sweetheart out of the exam room any faster.”  He chuckled softly, obviously feeling a little loose after whatever they had given him. “Man…you wouldn’t have lasted a fucking second in the trenches. You’d be that guy who went stir crazy and darted out across the field and got shot instantly.”

                Max looked at him darkly. “I don’t take critique from fish-fuckers.”

                Mace’s eyes rolled and his lip curled, resting his head against the wall instead of reclining properly. “Pfft. How original.”

                The dark furred mouse turned away from him, attempting to ignore his presence once more. But his anxiety was an opening Mace couldn’t resist. And it was something he himself had also felt in regards to the well-being of a certain mouse.

                “You’re going to have to develop a lot tougher skin, Tourmaline.” He began without preamble. “Being attached to him…well…I’m sure you’ve already started to figure out that this isn’t a one off. The danger, the attacks…the worrying. The never knowing if he’ll come back the next time he rides off.”

                Max whirled on him, glaring and confused. “Oh that’s rich. Coming from someone like you.” He snarled, feeling on the edge of viciousness. “Are you seriously sitting here and trying to give me—what—relationship advice? For a man you not only betrayed but left for torture and death—more than once?!”

                He stormed towards the other Martian and Mace laughed softly, half expecting the taller mouse to launch himself at him with the same rage he had at their previous confrontation. Max bent over him, slamming his fist against the wall just above his head, leaving a noticeable dent in the metal paneling.

                “Tell me something, do you ever think before you open that fuckin’ mouth of yours?!”

                Mace eyed his fist, but seemed less than impressed. Or at least, he was good at faking indifference. “Nothing I have done changes what I’m telling you.” He continued. “I’m just letting you know up front. Attaching yourself to a hero type? You’ve got to be a masochist or a saint.”

                “Guess we know which one you are.” The dark haired mouse retorted, unable to help but take the easy shot.

                Mace grinned. “Yeah, I could say the same.”

                Tourmaline started to turn away, but Mace surprised him by catching his arm and keeping him close. Max was about to feed the battered half-breed his other fist but the look that Mace gave him caught him off guard. “I’ve stood in your spot, Max. Whether you like it or not. When he fixes you in that gaze of his, you feel like you’re the only thing the world that matters. But it’s a lie.  They’ll always come before you. When the chips are down, it’s bros before hoes, baby.”

                The former liaison yanked back and gave Mace a shove for his trouble. The half-breed grunted in pain, his injured shoulder smashing against the wall before he fell back onto the bed, trying to catch his breath. “Fuck! That was a cheap shot!”

                Max didn’t even fire back this time. His stomach was churning, hating that Mace had hit on a secret insecurity that he had only recently disclosed to Throttle. He hated that the Rat seemed to know exactly what that worry was. Did that mean there was something to the claim?

                Max returned to pacing, trying to focus and ignore the other’s commentary. But it was useless. He started immediately towards the door in quick strides, not caring that his thigh and knee twinged with the extended movement. “What the hell is taking so long!?”

                But Max hadn’t even reached the door before it slid open, rolling on track that seemed to take some effort to move. Vinnie appeared first, but Throttle was right beside him, the pair seeming to hold each other up.

                “Hey, here’s where the party’s at!” Vinnie beamed, grinning at Max. His eyes went to Mace and he frowned, his muzzle crinkling. “Ew, and the party-pooper is here too.”

                Max blinked, confused by the sudden shift in the tense atmosphere. Throttle pushed forward, dragging Vinnie along with him. “Sit down, bro.” he cautioned, helping despite the white furred mouse into the nearest chair. Vinnie flopped back into it with a soft groan, letting his head fall back against the head rest as he rubbed his sore and aching face, covered in fresh bandages and butterfly closures.

                “My head hurts…” he whined.  Throttle leaned over him and clapped him affectionately on the shoulder, bowing down to lay his head against Vinnie’s as they smirked in that long-suffering but brotherly way at each other.

                “Now you know how I feel.” Throttle explained.

Watching them, the conversation before bit at Max like angry but and he could not restrain his own anxiety, reaching for Throttle and tugging him from Vinnie unintentionally.

                “You’re okay? How’s your eyes? What did they—”

                Throttle seemed surprised by the urgency, quick to soothe. “Hey, hey, easy babe, just breathe...” he assured softly, trying to de-escalate. “I’m as good as I’m gonna get right now. Don’t fret.”  He looked down at Max’s bandaged limb, his features tight with concern. “How’s your leg? You need to get off it and let it rest.”

                “I don’t need to rest, I need to know you’re alright!” he exclaimed, stopping Throttle mid movement, eyes meeting. Max cupped his face and gazed at him carefully through the lens of his specs, pleased to see that his eyes followed his movements.

                “You see me?”

                Throttle nodded, slipping a hand over his lover’s and stroking the back of it. Anchor point. Touchstone. Safety. “I see you.” He assured.

                Max exhaled softly and leaned into him, finally relaxing a little.

                Vinnie studied the pair for a moment, then his eyes shifted to Mace, who was also watching. The masked mouse narrowed his gaze at the other in warning, and Mace looked away, pretending as if he didn’t care.

                “You were gone so long I was getting worried…” Tourmaline explained. “Not to mention going stir crazy in here.”

                “Yeah, maybe, but you certainly can’t beat that view.” Vinnie mused, still flopped in the chair as he was. Throttle looked past Max to the wide window that over looked the subterranean city beyond and gave a low whistle. “Whew yeah…I’ll say. How did I miss that view coming down?”

                “Cause you blacked out again, dummy.” Vinnie replied, his mouth still very loose in the same way Mace’s was after some painkiller. “You were supposed to sit tight and stay out of trouble but nooo…you had to go and get blown up.”

                “That was you, Vincent.” Throttle reminded him.

                Vinnie seemed confused a moment, blinking slowly. “Oh, yeah.”

                “Is he concussed?” Max asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

                “Probably. They gave him something to relax him. Charlie sent him out here with me because he wouldn’t stop fussing over her and it was making her nuts.” He explained.

                “Is she alright?”

                “She’ll be alright. Right now she’s with Remy. I think that’s the best medicine she could ask for at the moment. Once Vinnie shakes it off, he’ll make his way back to her.”

                They moved away from the other occupants, until Throttle spotted another door that seemed to lead out onto the balcony outside. The pair slipped away into the dark, surprised with how warm the air was despite how cold it had been topside.

                Looking up through the over growth that edged this part of the Pits, they could see the moon and the tiny red dot of a star that was their own planet.

                “This place is…so strange.” Max sighed. “I just get used to one setting and then someone comes along and blows it up…and before I know it you’re sweeping me off to some completely new world. Makes a guy’s head spin a little, you know.”

                The biker looked back at him thoughtfully, then glanced behind them and noticed a low bench. He guided Max back onto it, surprising him by carefully lifting his battered leg and letting it rest in his lap for inspection.

                “Well, I have to admit, things haven’t exactly been quite since we got here, have they?”

                Tourmaline chuckled, shaking his head. “Not so much.” He settled against the wall, watching Throttle as he inspected the crew’s job of mending his injury, looking over it with the same careful concern he showed his bike when she had a repair.

                “It’s just a scratch.” He reminded him. “A little ding in the fender. I was smashed up worse when we first met.”

                Throttle’s smile softened at the memory. “Oh I remember. You can really take a punch, paper-pusher, I have to give you that.”

                “Yeah well…dark fur almost tends to mask a multitude of sins.” He replied airly. He reached and stroked Throttle’s cheek gently. “Not like you, golden boy. Sad to say.”

                The biker shrugged lightly, “What’s a few battle scars on an old soldier, hmm? Kinda goes with the territory.” He proceeded to distract his lover by carefully massaging the muscles of his thigh and calf and Max moaned, melting.

                “Dear gods those magic fingers of yours…” he sighed, almost lewdly enjoying himself, which only made Throttle smile more.

                “Just relax, babe. Let me take care of you for a change.”

                They sat in the quiet for awhile, breathing easier for this closeness. As Max studied him, he couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift that had begun since the confrontation with Vinnie. His lover had a little more lightness to him, despite all harrowing events of the last few days. It was clear some weight had been lifted. Something had started to mend.

                Max felt heartened by this, and wanted to say something. Wanting to know if Throttle even realized it. But Mace’s voice crept into his mind like worm, jolting him uncomfortably.

                “They’ll always come before you.”

                Throttle glanced at him worriedly, “Did I hurt you?” he worried, thinking he might have pressed too hard on a tender area.

                For a moment Tourmaline blinked at him stupidly then shook his head. “No…not it’s nothing.”

                The tan mouse leaned across him and kissed him and Max clutched at him, wanting to pull him down on top of him, wrap himself around him and just hold on for dear life. Throttle could feel the tension in him and pulled back, but only so far he could look at him.

                “What is it?”

                Max sighed, gathering himself. “Nothing. This whole thing’s just got my head twisted around. Can’t think straight.”

                Throttle nuzzled him and he started to relax again, pushing Mace’s gibberish from his thoughts for now. “That creep didn’t try anything, did he?”

                Throttle looked confused and then scoffed. “Who? Mace? Nah…I think his head’s gotten scrambled since we can through the transporter. He’s desperate. And desperate people do desperate things.”  He looked at Max pointedly, seeming to know what he was worried about.

                “There’s nothing anyone could say, or do, that would make me turn away from you, okay? No one.” He gathered Max closer, pressed almost nose to nose with him and Max felt his heart flutter, the way his big strong hero could just bend and move him however he liked, dwarfing his own strength with surprising ease. “And when I get you back to Mars, I’m gonna make it official. And I wanna dance with you all night that night. Just you and me, babe. You and me. What'd ya say?"

               Max answered by pulling him closer and kissing him breathlessly, desperate to keep him close and willing the universe to let them stay that way.

***

Chapter Text

                Mars, Sand Raider Camp

                Bonfires crackled and billowed smoke up into the night sky, embers twinkling like fireflies as the breeze lifted them up from the flames and wafted them into the distance. The heat of the fires chased the night chill away, felt especially out here in the wastes.

                Both Sand Raider and their prisoners were all grateful for both the warmth and the light it brought. The common, deep-seeded sense of community that such fires brought on cold nights. Even in places where community was unlikely.

                The laborers gathered a communal fire closer to one of the big fire pits, and were brought more rations than the lot of them had seen in a month. The Sand Raiders had kept stocks high, and even when they could be stingy with their rationing, they never starved their slaves. But now they were presented not only with normal allowances of food but nicer, finer things. Fresh things, fruit and vegetables and even meat.

                A tankard of wine and more of the water was brought to them as well.

                The laborers eyed the bounty cautiously, especially the wine.

                Bowie made a move towards it as one of the dog’s left it for them to portion out among themselves. He pulled the cork from the big barrel and smelled it, then managed to tip it just enough to collect maybe a small sip in one of the tarnished tin cups they were given.

                “Bowie, be careful…” Harley cautioned.

                He looked at her side-ways. “Darling. Angel. If I am nothing else in this weird and woolly universe, it is a mouse who knows his drink. If it’s poisoned, it wont take more than a moment on the lips to figure out.” He explained.

                She rolled her eyes, “Fine. But don’t expect me to give you mouth to mouth afterwards.”

                Bowie tested the drink and after a moment’s notice gave a nod to his fellow Martians. “It’s bath-tub swill at best, but it will do the trick! Everyone drink up!”

                Assured by the boisterous mouse, the other more cautious mice gathered, offering their cups for a serving and cautiously grabbing food. Many of them with nervous shifting eyes and shaking hands. As if afraid to get caught.

                While the boys sat together at the head of the table, Stoker and Harley rose and began to help people make plates. Offering some sense of safety and encouragement. Making the meal feel less like prison rations and more like they were at a holiday picnic in the park. The tense air among them began to shift, to relax.

                Even Loy and Gus who had been so critical of Stoker’s presence earlier, gave a solemn if not friendly nod to the Freedom Fighter’s efforts.

                “It’s safe everyone. Eat up. It’s a long day of traveling tomorrow.”

                “Are we really going?” one of the women asked. She was gaunt and ropey, her eyes seeming too big for her face if only for that gauntness. Her fur, once a pretty cream color, was patchy and thin and muddled with dirt and dust to the point she had turned a sort of soft pink-beige. Her clothing, like all theirs, was torn, cobbled together and too big on her.

                “Yes. That’s the plan at any rate.” Stoker answered her.

                She blinked. “But…what if where they’re taking us is even worse than here?” she asked, her voice a quiet, straining warble. He gave her a drink and put his hand on her boney shoulder.

                “You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you, hun?”

                She nodded. Looking around, others seeming to be a nodding along with her. Many, though not all, had the same gaunt and hollow look to them. They were captured and penned creatures, held too long in captivity. They had forgotten what their old lives were.

                “I’m not gonna lie to any of you. Traveling the wastes is always difficult and where this meeting has been arranged is a nexus of Sand Raider territory. It won’t be easy and it won’t be safe. But you won’t be alone.”

They looked at him dubiously, unsure if this mattered. Stoker drew in a heavy breath as he gazed across the huddled mass of them. Aching for what they had been through. Aching for their shared experience. “I know maybe that doesn’t sound like much. But it’s everything. You’re not alone, you have each other to rely on. That’s how you’ve survived this. It’s how you’re going to continue to survive. I know that some of you don’t think of us as one of you,”

His eyes flickered to both Loy and Gus who grumbled and coughed with pretended he wasn’t looking at them. “But we’re still in this together. Whatever happens tomorrow when we meet with Slobber and pigs, we’re putting a stop to this. Slobber has been killing, trafficking and enslaving us for too long. It stops now.”

                There was an excited hush of whispers across the crowd as they considered this possibility. Another mouse, a little closer to Stoker’s own age spoke up; “And what if it doesn’t work? What if you die and Slobber wins and Atlas goes back on his word?”

                Bowie tensed at the question, eyes narrowed at the other as if he were about to argue the matter. But Stoker spoke first.

“Even if I fail, I don’t believe Atlas will go back on his word.”

Loy scoffed loudly at this and it surprised no-one. “You’re a fool. Too many hits to the head.”

“You’ll be free tomorrow, one way or another. I have two friends who will see to it.” He looked pointedly at Harley and Bowie, only for Kirk to speak up as well. “Three friends!” He interjected excitedly.

“Four.” Lexi added with an equally enthusiastic nod.

Stoker felt a swell of love in his chest for all of them, hoping they each knew the extent of it. It did not surprise him that he felt misty eyed. He cleared his throat and looked back at the others. “Like I said; tomorrow you’re free from this. You can go back to your old lives. Begin again.”

“What if we don’t have old lives to go back to?” Another of the older mice, this one a wizened old man.

Stoker leveled his gaze at him sympathetically, and then let it flickered to the boys who were watching him with rapt attention. One who had a mother waiting somewhere, and one who was alone in the world.

                “You’ll come back to Brimstone with us. Make a new start there.”

                There seemed to be some dubious thoughts on this and Gus scoffed loudly, already having finished one cup of the wine. “Brimstone!? Wasn’t that eyesore raised the ground years and years ago?”

                “Gods knows there were plenty attempts. But she’s still standing. More or less.” Stoker nodded.

                “Brimstone won’t take the likes of us.” A Rat woman named Cherise muttered. “We’ll be left in the dust to make our way, as usual, while you Mice make yourselves comfortable and take all the resources for yourselves!”

                “Everyone is welcome in Brimstone!” Harley chimed in sharply. “Listen…I know there has been a lot of bad blood and plenty of axes to grind between us in the past. But we have to let it go. We have to stop looking at each other as the enemy.”

More hushed murmurs but no one gave further argument. They had food and drink in front of them, hardly a guard taking notice of them and a sky washed with light from the Milky Way. And Phobos, lacking only a sliver, rising above them.

Music started up behind them as the raiders began to sing and dance along to the sound. Rhythmic drum beats replaced the usual sounds of work and machines and the rodents found the sounds familiar and enticing.

They all listened with perked ears, some slowly beginning to sway and tap their feet to the beat.

Bowie took another glass of wine and downed it in one big gulp before slamming it down on the table. “Welp! That sounds like a beat I can dance to! Who’s gonna join me?”

The little crowd laughed in a mix of amusement and nervousness and Bowie reached for the nearest young lady who gasped in surprise as he took her hand and pulled her away from the table and began to spin and sway with her in time to the beat.

She laughed and giggled, partly out of nerves and partly out of shock. But it was a happy, infectious sound and soon others were tentatively standing to join them.

Stoker watched the bouncing swaying crowd, feeling more hopeful than he had in days of what would come beyond tomorrow. He felt Harley slip her arms around him from behind, head on his shoulder, the pair leaning into each other.

“Bowie’s still a better dancer than both of us,” he teased and Harley giggled in reply.

“Yes well…you might have two left feet but you sway with the best of them.” She nodded. “Reminds me of our wedding.”

“That was a helluva time.” He nodded, slipping his hand over hers.

They spotted Bowie eyeing them and as he spun his partner away into the waiting arms of another eager dancer, he swiftly made his way to his partners. Stoker shook his head, but behind him Harley was giving their other partner a conspiratorial look, and she used her grip on Stoker’s waist to turn him and give him a little nudge into Bowie’s waiting arms. The golden furred mouse was eager to snatch him up, grinning from ear to ear, as voices and howls and the stomping of feet became part of the rhythm.

“Come on, Freedom Fighter. I know you can still remember how to shake that tail of yours.” Bowie coaxed. The gleam in his eye was star-bright, and perhaps it was the alcohol, maybe it was the adrenaline, but just seeing Bowie this alive after nearly losing him made any reservation the mouse had melt.

His fingers twisted through Bowie’s short snarl of golden curls at the back of his head and pulled him close, swaying and grinding lightly against him before kissing him hard. Bowie melted a moment, before his hands went to Stoker’s hips, grabbing his belt and pulling him forward, breaking the kiss only as the air ran out and more stomping, swaying bodies began crashing into theirs.

                The boys watched the stomping swaying crowd with rapt attention for awhile until they noticed all the food left behind on the table. The pair looked at each other quickly before they began to gather up whatever they thought wouldn’t be missed, eating as greedily and earnestly as children at Christmas left alone at the sweet’s table.

                Kirk saw a cup of untouched wine and reached for it, but Lexi slapped it from his hand.

                The boy looked up at him in surprise, ready to snap in indignation, but the look on Lexi’s face stifled the reaction. The grey furred rat was not looking at his companion, but rather looking anxiously and angrily at the spilled red splash of wine on the ground.

                “What’s the matter with you?” Kirk asked.

                Lexi didn’t reply, still staring at the spill. Remembering how a night like this had been the end of his family, his clan. Remembering that he still didn’t know where his father was. If he was even still alive. Remembering the person who had saved him, only to abandon him.

                Lexi removed himself from the table without giving an answer and moved away from the crowd. Needing air and a moment alone.

                Kirk watched him go, stuck between frustration and worry.  He moved to pick up the fallen cup and place it back on the table, wiping the dust and dirt from it. He could see or smell nothing particularly wrong with it—except that it looked and smelled a lot like the cheap wine his mother sometimes bought. But as he looked down at the spill, he couldn’t help but noticed the way it caught the firelight and how it looked so eerily blood red.

                Lexi hurried, stiff-legging and tight as far away from the crowd as he could. He took shelter behind one of the shacks, and did his best to catch his breath. To stop the spinning in his head. The sudden vivid flash of memories. His mother was dead. His friends were dead. Watching her sicken and struggle to breath, slapping away the cup he had reached for, same as he just done for Kirk.

                He cried for her. Wanted her. Just her.

                That ache, realizing it had been more than a  month since he had heard her voice. Her singing. Felt her put her arms around him in that too-tight hug. Gone. Gone and never coming back.

                His face was wet immediately, the tears hot and burning, his chest pinched beneath his sternum bone, as if his heart was straining. Trying to escape. Trying to get back home to what it had lost. His grief was some potent blend of the typical ache of loss and homesickness so profound it was staggering.

                In the distance, the howls and yips and laughter continued like a steady drum beat.

**

                Brimstone, Mars

                She had been sleeping so deeply she almost hadn’t heard him get up and start to dress. Carbine peered across the edge of the bed, where her fiancé was swiftly dressing himself in the dark.

                “Hey…” she mumbled, still shaking off sleep. She sat up, propping herself up on one elbow. “Where are you going?” she glanced at the clock by their bed. “Primer won’t be back for another couple of hours. Come back to bed…”

                Strain smiled back at her as he sat at her feet, pulling on his boots. “Sorry, darlin. Duty calls.”

                Now she was fully awake, her brow furrowing as her long hair slipped down her back and shoulders. “What duty? They’re sending you back to the wall again what for?”

                He sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing, most likely. Just like before. But we need to lie low. So if she wants me to go look at mud and a broken wall and guard the quarantine tent again, I do so with a smile.”

                The General sighed in dismay. “It’s times like these I regret being Army.”

                He chuckled softly. “Why? Because your Freedom Fighter beau would have blown off such an order as a waste of time? Found other trouble to get into?”

                His mention of Throttle and their past relationship took her a little aback, as Strain was almost diligent never to speak of her past in such a manner. It was no secret that he and the biker mouse were not the greatest of friends in any sense, but their ‘relationship’ had been a working one. Civil if not tense. Unless Throttle was feeling particularly out of sorts. Then he would snipe at the Brigidier. But this was strange.

                “That Freedom Fighter hasn’t been my ‘beau’ in a very long time. What brought him up?”

                He had finished lacing one boot and had slipped on the other when she spoke. Now he paused, looking at her directly, drinking her in. “Nothing. I don’t know.” He moved his big muscular frame towards her and let himself lay in her lap a moment. She stroked her fingers through his short white hair, ghosting against the base of his antenna. Something that always gave him a weird humming tingly feeling that would travel up and down his spine.

                “I know you’re worried about him. And the others. Guess I am too.”

                She almost laughed and he looked at her pointedly. “I’ll deny that if you ever say anything to him.”

                “Cross my heart.” She giggled, bending as best she could and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

                “I’m worried too. But I guess this feels…a little familiar for me. Them dropping off the map. Has happened before, after all. Now I just…have faith they’ll come back. And we keep on in the meantime.”

                He gazed up at her for a long moment, until the intensity of the gaze made her giggle nervously. “What are you looking at?”

                He didn’t answer with words, instead shifting so he could lie her back and kissed her deeply. Wanting to stay in the bed with her, not caring about orders or this sham of a regime that had fallen softly and slyly into place.

                “I love you.” He promised. His hand slipped down the sheets and swept over the small swell of growing belly, she squirmed, still getting used to the feeling. But his hand was warm even if it was rough, and the squirmy little life inside her seemed to flutter in response.

                “If you loved me, you’d take off those boots and come back to bed.” She teased. “Two more hours…then we can do covert regime fighting activities again. Just two more hours?” she cooed.

                He was tempted, she could see it. But he kissed her again, offering apology. “I’ll deal with this and meet you at the usual place. Once she’s back inside, we’ll go back to bed.”

                “Liar.” She teased.

                “Carbine…”

                She kissed him again, letting him off the hook. “I love you too.”

                He smiled and pulled back, bowing to give her belly bump a little kiss as well and then rapidly finished dressing and slipping out the door, leaving her in an empty bed once more, but no longer able to sleep.

**

                Atlas made his way through the throng of his pack, a beacon of reassurance and good will. Boisterous and jovial, and more full of life than most had seen him in ages. For those of his pack who were close to him, who strove to follow his example, they were clearly heartened to see their leader in such good spirits.

                He toasted them liberally, howling and raising a glass in gratitude to the gods and fortune and whatever else for such a fine night, for good luck in the coming battle, for brighter days ahead for all of them. And he did mean all of them.

                After mingling with his fellow dogs, he moved among the rodents, cheering them as well.

                At first, his workers seemed confused, even skittish by his towering presence among them, and their dancing and chatter almost skittered to a stop. But Atlas brought over another cask of drink and broke it open for them, dipping a cup inside and offering a toast.

                “Esteemed Martians…tomorrow we start over. Tomorrow, we strike a blow against a power that has oppressed us all. A power that has been a pillar of corruption on…our poor ravaged shell of a planet. And as I look out at all of you…all I can do is ask forgiveness.”

                This took the lot by surprise.

                “He’s full of it…” Gus muttered dimly, his whiskery facial hair still bearing small droplets of wine as he spoke before flicking the away with a twitch.

                “Or drunk.” Loy added.

                Their mutterings did not go unheard by the tall black dog’s perked ears. But he did not rebuff them, nor bark and demand their respect and submission. Instead he merely stood there, continuing to offer what he could. A token of apology? A peace offering? Or something to ply them and make them forget, if only for a short time that they could so easily end up back breaking rocks and shoveling dirt. Or over the pit.

“Tonight, you are one of us,” Atlas continued. “Tomorrow, you are free of us. I only wish you well.”

Stoker, Harley and Bowie looked dubiously at the rest of the mix of rodents, feeling their wariness and distrust. But something hummed underneath it. A possibility. A flicker of hope for something better. If only they had the courage to try.

                Stoker made to move forward, to take Atlas’s offering. But there was little question he would. He was bound by a deal with the dog, to ignore him might be treasonous. The clan of mice took little stock of his cooperation, still mostly believing it was cohersed.

                But they were surprised then by Kirk, the human boy, with no stock in any of their generations deep feuds and quarrels, moved towards the big dog and held out his hand for the offered cup.

                Atlas stared at the fur-less child in astonishment, but Kirk was unafraid. “Can I have some of that?”

                Atlas nodded slowly, seeming to still be struck dumb. He carefully offered the boy the cup and Kirk took it, peering at the dark liquid that had chased Lexi away only moments before. He sipped it, grimaced, and then swallowed roughly.

                His expression made all of them laugh loudly, Stoker stepping up behind the boy to pat him on the back, and Bowie moving in with a cup of water to help him recover.

                “Maybe it’s a bit much for one so young.” Atlas conceded. “But I am touched by your willingness, boy.”

                Bowie cleared his throat, looking at the war lord cautiously. It was clear he still held plenty of reservations, having spent a good many years of his life fighting not only the Sand Raider’s kin but those they so foolishly supported.

                “Well…perhaps it’s a bit much for the boy, but, not for myself.” He offered his own cup for Atlas to fill, and the dog took it with a nod and happily filled it from the cask, filling it all the way to the rim. 

                Bowie took it with a wide-eyed and appreciative nod. “A generous pour!” he laughed and took another drink of it to make it manageable. The red liquid stained his golden fur strawberry blonde along his mustache and he caught Stoker eyeing him almost hungrily.

                With wine still on his lips he pulled the other mouse to him and kissed him.

                Kirk rolled his eyes and Atlas laughed again as Harley nudged past her men to take a cup herself, bringing the wide-eyed and wary Cherise along with her. “Now now boys, don’t get too worked up. Long night ahead.”

                “With any luck!” Bowie beamed then paused to fan himself. “Oooh what do you put in this? It’s going straight to my head…”

                “I can tell.” Stoker teased, giving him a soft nip on the neck. He was only sipping at his own cup, the few sips enough to give him a decent buzz. He looked past Atlas to the other dogs who were still whooping dancing and singing, and knew most of them were already well on their way to drunk.

                “Do you always spend the night before a battle, um, celebrating this way?” he asked Atlas, who flashed him a toothy grin as he continued to offer drinks.

                “Of course.”

                Stoker struggled to repress a laugh. “Suddenly your fighting style is starting to make sense to me. Yer all hung-over as hell.”

                “Still drunk more like.”

                That did make the chocolate furred mouse laugh.

                The Mice and Rats around them began to relax once more, no longer intimidated by Atlas’s presence and even somewhat tolerant of the closer presence of the more friendly of the dogs. They were not quite intermingled and neither Stoker nor Atlas expected them to be.

                Stoker lingered a moment beside the war dog while Bowie and Harley rejoined the clan and Kirk seemed to drift off as well, back to Lexi he assumed. Not yet aware of any trouble there.

                “That was a pretty little speech.” The mouse scoffed softly into his drink.

                “I meant every word.” Atlas assured.

                “Can you promise me your kin will follow that same word? Or do you stand alone in your peace offerings?”

                “My men stand with me.”

                Stoker looked at him more seriously then. “You know what I mean, Atlas.”

                The dog paused and considered, turning to scan the crowd, eyes searching for particular figures but not finding them among the throng. “There are a few troublemakers. Potential mutineers. You know them already. One put that bullet in your arm.”

                Stoker nodded, not needing to ask further.

                “Alright. I can handle a few troublemakers. But what about the rest?”

                “They just need a strong leader, that’s all. They’ll follow that example.”

                Again Stoker nodded and attempted another small sip of wine. “Whatever we accomplish tomorrow…it’s a drop in a bucket. A step. Not the finish line. You understand that, right?”

                Atlas nodded. “Oh my friend, I do. I do.”

                He flashed Stoker with another smile, though this was less boisterous and full of bravado. More sincere. “But I am so tired of how things have been. Aren’t you?”

**

                Little by little he began to calm, both hands pressed against his chest as if holding everything inside. Slowly he caught his breath, and the burning salty tears stopped. He stared upwards at the purple-pink-grey swath of stars passing over them. He picked himself up and wiped his face on the back of sleeve.

                Glancing around the corner of the shack he looked back towards the dancing mingling throng once more and felt a little of his anxiety ease. Nothing bad had happened. It was easy to spot his misfit clan among the others, unaware of his absence. But seemingly safe for the moment.

                He started back towards them, only to glimpse movement somewhere almost behind him in his peripheral. He paused and looked around in the deeper shadows, and saw the Sand Dog he recognized as Weasel shuffling quickly through the dark, obviously trying to move quickly and without being seen.

                He had something tucked beneath his vest and was glancing to his left and right, as if checking to see if he had been spotted.

                Absorbed in the shadows the way he was, Lexi had gone unnoticed.

                He watched as the dog moved, knowing in his bones that he was up to no good. He hesitated, glancing back at the party. The wiser, more cautious part of him knew he should go and get Stoker and the others. Or at least Kirk.

                But another part, an urgent, impulsive part, told him there was no time for that. This was the part that won out.

                Swallowing roughly, he moved softly and quietly in the shadows, following Weasel’s progress through the camp.

                He didn’t need to follow the dog far. They were just beyond the light of the fires, back to the old well and the junk heap where Lexi had been caught previously.

                The blue-eyed rat watched as Weasel pulled the bundle from beneath his vest. In the dark, it looked like little more than a dark lump, but Lexi could smell what it was. The rancid reek of it curdling his nose and making him gag slightly.

                Meat that had turned, on the edge of going rancid.

                Glancing left and right, the Sand Dog grabbed the tattered remains of the broken rope that held the now useless bucket and attempted, clumsily, to tie it around the hunk of rotten food.

                Lexi’s ears perked, confused. He had seen Sand Raiders do plenty of strange things, but this was something new altogether.  

                As he observed him, something clicked in his mind. Hanging meat out to air this way…it surely wasn’t for the purposes of drying or curing it. Not it’s late, rotten stage. So the only other thing that made sense was creating a lure. But what in the name of the gods was out here to lure?

                And then he remembered why the bucket was no longer attached to the rope. What Stoker had drug up from depths. The baby saber squid.

                This new idea made him shiver, but he didn’t quite understand. A saber squid was nothing but a menace, it wasn’t even technically edible. So what point was there in trying to lure more? And why was he being so secretive about it?

                Vague, uncomfortable answers were beginning to bubble to the surface of Lexi’s mind. He looked hastily back towards the campfires and knew he had to tell someone. He turned to move, getting only a couple of feet before a second body crashed roughly into his, knocking him back.

                The boy stumbled, nearly knocked off his feet, as Claw seemed to sweep out of nowhere, grabbing for him roughly before he could get his bearings. Lexi cursed loudly and made a swipe at him with his fits, but the bigger dog overpowered him easily, smothering one big hand over his mouth to muffle any cries and then dragged him back towards the well.

                Lexi kicked and fought as hard as he could, biting into Claw’s dirty leathery paw. The dog yipped in pain and tossed the boy hard to the ground before giving him a sharp kick for his trouble. Lexi cried out once and then was still, the kick knocking him cold.

                As Weasel looked on in surprise, Claw looked at his partner in disgust. “You idiot, didn’t you even notice the little whelp watching you?” he muttered.

                The narrow-faced dog sneered at him, showing yellowed teeth. “No, I was a little busy—oops!” The meat, still slick with old blood and sweating, slipped from his paw and fell free from the half-tied knot and tumbled down into the well, hitting the bottom with a loud kerplunk!

                Weasel cringed as Claw joined him, peering down into the dark. “Fuck! That was our bait!”

                Claw shoved at him. “No shit, you clumsy bastard! Now Digger’s gonna rip us a new—” he glanced down at the boy on the ground beside him. “---nevermind. We got extra right here.”

                Weasel blinked stupidly for a moment or two and then snickered before adding; “We’re gonna need a bit more rope.”

                Between the pounding beat and the crush of bodies, having been spun around until she was dizzy by both her lovers, Harley stepped free from the throng to catch her breath, and saw that Kirk was sitting alone once more.

                “Honey? Where’s Lexi?”

                Kirk shrugged, still poking at his food, obviously pouting. “He got upset. Took off. I think he went back to the shack.”

                Harley sighed, “You shouldn’t let him go off alone. It’s not safe.”

                The boy, in flash of that coming of age defiance, looked back at her. “What is safe around here?”

                She was almost taken aback by his attitude, but let it lie. Instead she gathered her robe around her a little closer, now chilled away from the fire and the warm crush of bodies, and made her way along the path in search of their missing ward.

                This far away from the camp fires, the camp itself seemed deserted. Not even guards milling about. She went to the shack first, but there was no sign of Lexi. Everything was as they had left it a short while ago. She glanced off towards the narrow alley that lead to the watch tower, wondering if the boy had gone there to shelter and collect himself, as it was really the only other comfortably familiar place in the camp he might hide.

                She started towards it when she caught the sound of a heavier footstep coming from her right. She was too far away from the entrance of the shack to duck back inside now, and if she made a run for the tower it might attract the wrong type of attention.

                So she planted her feet and waited.

                Claw appeared from the dark, his eyes giving an eerie white glint as they caught a stray ray of moonlight. He didn’t seem exactly startled to see the woman there, surely having caught her scent around the bend. But there was an air of surprise to him all the same. The way his ears alerted and twitched, or the faint swish of his tail.

                The pair stared at each other in the dark for a heartbeat or two in the silence, only the sound of drumming music in the distance breaking the quiet.

                Harley felt an instinctual fear rise in her, a tingly rush that cascaded into her lower belly and seemed to seep down like running water into her thighs and knees. The sheen of those white eyes looking back at her in the dark. Her palms began to sweat and itch, and carefully, very carefully, she started to reach for her belt, where she still carried one of her tools. A rusty wrench that she been able to smuggle out of her work shed each day under the folds of her clothing.

                “Not interested in the party?” Claw asked at last.

                Harley kept her gaze boring back into his, no matter how unnerving it was. Refusing to blink. “I could ask you the same thing.” She replied, as if attempting to playfully tease. “Just needed some air.”

                He shifted ever so slightly and she was tight, ready to spring away, but kept her feet planted. All but digging her heels into the dirt.

                Claw snickered softly and then glanced above them, glimpsing the moon rising overhead. “Sure sure…but you know what they say about straying from the pack, don’t ya, sweets?” He grinned and she saw the glint of pale moonlight off his teeth, ragged and long canines promising more than evil grins in the dark.

                She gave him a smile back. A thing that feigned sweetness but hinted at steel beneath. Something deadly if tested. Her fingers curled tightly around the handle of the wrench.

                “That it’s unwise?”

                It was not a question, even if posed as one. It was a warning. A last chance to back off.

                He uttered something that she supposed was a laugh. But it was dark. Guttural and base. Something that boiled up like a bubble through the mud. She felt the hair at the back of her neck stand up on end.

                “I smell them on ya. Those raggedy looking curs that you let pass you around.” He grinned, and she did her best to keep the disgust and anger off her face, not wanting to give him anything to feed off of. “Maybe ye won’t mind another pass? Don’t normally take to vermin but…I guess there’s always an exception…”

                He waited for her outrage, her indignation and insults. But she gave him nothing.

                The drums of the distant music pounded between them, an external heartbeat.

                Claw licked his lips grotesquely and then lunged.

                Harley kept her feet planted until the last second, keeping her eye on him like he was a ball and she was the batter. The wrench was freed from her belt and she swung it in an arch, letting it crack across the dog’s muzzle and skull with a harsh crack.

                Claw yelped with yipped shrilly as the mouth of the wrench cut his lip and left a ragged gash across his muzzle and cheek. He staggered to the side, but recovered quickly even as the mouse took another swing at him.

                He threw up his arm this time, ready for the assault, and the rusty metal crashed against his thick forearm. It too sang with pain, but this only sought to drive him on, all the more eager to get at her, tear at her, make her squeal and scream.

                He pushed back, swiping at her with his big hand and trying to catch hold of her. He snagged the wrapped bit of her robe and tore it free, leaving her in leggings and a longer slip beneath. The force of the garment being torn from her knocked Harley to side, making her skid on dirt and loose pebbles. But she spun and sprung back upright, knowing if he managed to get her on the ground that might be it.

                He charged at her again, trying to drive her into one of the ramshackle vessels, to close her off and corner her. She continued to swing the wrench at him, but only kept him at bay so far.

                Claw waited until her arm swing was on the rebound and then pounced forward, striking the girl in her knee and then in her stomach. Harley gasped in pain as she crashed down, and he grabbed her by hair, dragging her closer to him.

                He laughed at her struggle and shook her painfully, making her scream.

                “Shut up bitch! Stop fighting me!”

                He tried dragging her, on her knees, closer still, hips and the overhang of his belly swinging towards her.

                Harley countered him in a way he did not expect. As he tried push her face into him, she dug her own sharp teeth into soft fat of his belly, dug her free hand into his thigh, pinching hard through the fabric of his pants, and then punched him directly in the groin with her other hand.

                Howling and gasping, Claw tossed her aside by her hair and the woman took a chunk of his flesh with her, which she spit out like bile as she crashed to the ground.

                “You fuckin’ cunt! I’m gonna split ya in half for that!” he howled and wheezed, reaching for his blaster in it’s holster. He had only freed it when a second presence appeared in the small alley of shacks. Stoker, with weapon ready

                “BACK OFF!” he bellowed at the dog, who turned to face him and fired instantly. Stoker barely avoided the shot, the lazor sparking off the side of one of the shacks as he made to return fire and missing Claw by a hair.

                Claw was a quick shot, and neither of the two could make headway, taking cover behind the jagged edges of the shanty homes as sparks and lazor fire flew between them.

                Stoker made a calculated charge, rushing into a tuck and roll, slipping easily under the hail of rapid fire and using his electrified tail to lash out and strike at the bit wooden pallet the dog was hiding before.

                It erupted in fiery splinters and knocked him back. Stoker should have had the perfect opening to finish the fight, but Claw was always ready to play dirty. He picked up the nearest heavy object he could find, which was a bit of drift wood and swung it at the Freedom Fighter.

                BlackRuby was quick enough to block the blow from hitting his face, throwing up his elbow to block. The wood splintered on impact with enough force to knock the mouse back a step. Claw moved in for the kill, ready to shoot Stoker directly in the head.

                Until that wrench came at him again with twice the force. It cracked down viciously across his shoulder, and he felt the shatter of the bone. As his arm went numb and lost its grip on his weapon, he howled and swung to the side. Twisting directly into Harley’s path.

                He stared at her, his eyes having lost the demonic white shine and looked dull and blood shot, wide with confusion. As if he could not believe this woman, this mouse, was still putting up a fight. Could not believe what she had done to him. Her mouth smeared with his blood.

                She in turn, let out her own kind of scream and took her wrench in both hands, bringing it down like the hammer of gosd on his skull. There was a thunk and a crunch, and Claw fell to the ground, as useless as his broken limb. Dead.

                Harley stood over him, heaving with breath as Stoker reached for her and pulled her in. She did not struggle, but it seemed to take a moment for her to register his presence, remaining tight and ready to fight. He pressed kisses against her temple. “Honey, honey let go, you got him. You got him, he’s down. He’s not getting back up.” His hand was gripping hers, squeezing the metal of the wrench so tight she could feel it leaving marks in her palms.

                With his careful coaxing, she slowly dropped the now bloody tool and let it fall into the sand at her feet. Only then did she fall into him, gasping and willing to be held.  The adrenaline in her continued to pump, but her breathing started to even out. She buried her face into his collarbone and he helped her keep her feet, mumbling over and over that she was okay. She wasn’t sure if he was assuring her or himself.

                Finally she pulled back enough for him to look at her, and he saw blood in her hairline where the dog had dragged her by the hair, tearing some from her scalp. He wiped away the blood on her muzzle and kissed her, feeling her shake.

                As she collected herself, new questions rose to the forefront of her mind again. She gripped Stoker by the front of his vest, looking at him anxiously. “Lexi,” she gasped, her voice still a bit breathless. “Lexi wandered off—”

                “I know, Kirk told us.” He nodded, and she realized he had come looking for the boy the same place she had. They looked back down at the dead dog at their feet.

                “What chance do you think this fuck has something to do with our boy missing?” he asked.

                Harley looked down at the body grimly, then looked about them quickly to make sure they weren’t heard or seen by anyone else. She bent, grabbing hold of one of Claw’s arms. “Come on, we need to hide him.”

                Stoker nodded, bending to grab the other arm and the back of the mongrel’s shirt, the pair heaving the deadweight away from the shacks, out towards the watchtower. There was no time to bury the body. Instead, the rolled down a shallow incline into a small rivet into the hardpan earth. The sight of it made Harley feel slightly sick, and she doubled over, hands on her knees and spat bile onto the ground.

                Stoker rubbed her back and held her hair back until she had caught her breath.

                “Darlin’…”

                She shook her head, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She promised, or pretended to. “Right now we need to find the Lexi.”

                “We will. But I need to know your alright first.” He told her pointedly.

                She didn’t know what to say. Stoker hadn’t seen the beginning of the skirmish, but from the way Harley had attacked Claw, he seemed to have guessed what had sparked the fight. And if she were not here to see it, he would have done so much worse to that dog for even thinking it.

                “I’m fine.” She said again, sounding a little more convincing this time. She hugged him again. “You’re here. I’m fine.”

                A low rumble came then. Less heard and more felt. It came up from the ground, the pair feeling it through the soles of their feet as they stood on the edge of the ditch they had tossed Claw’s remains into. Even the body quivered a little.

                “What was that?” she gasped, the pair looking around to try and find the source. But with only moonlight to illuminate the way, they could see little.

                Stoker dropped down into a crouch, hands on the ground, feeling for further vibration. Harley surprised he didn’t have his actual ear to the dirt.

                For a moment there was nothing he could detect, and then the rumbling started again. The ground below them seemed to shudder and shift and with a small curse the pair stumbled back as they watched the parched desert ground crack and splinter.

                Something big was beneath them, and on the move.

                “Fuck. Saber Squid. All the movement and sound must have disturbed them. They’re tunneling under us.”

                The cluster of unsettling coincidences had brought a second of rush of adrenaline through the pair as they looked at each other anxiously. Knowing something was happening but not able to put all the pieces together in sequence. Not yet.

                The rumble became a thunderclap, and the music came to an abrupt halt as the whoops and hollers of excitement and merriment turned to screams of shock and terror.

**          

                Strain arrived on the scene, his way lit by lanterns that hung from poles that lined the dirt and gravel pathway down to the quarantine tents and that stood in a neat winding row along the road’s edge. In the distance, the swamp that had formed in the wreckage of the wall and ice flow bubbled and gurgled off and on as the ground tried to reabsorb all the fluid. Contaminated fluid, apparently.

                There was no telling how this new event would affect them in the long run. For the short term, all wells and ground water had been quarter off, and synthetic water had been restored to the norm and was restricted to only inner city use and constant regulation checks. But there was no telling yet how it would affect the soil they had managed to build back, or the crops and general flora that grew around the city. And the other species, birds, lizards, insects and such, would surely suffer as well.

                But right now, the Brigadier was concerned with his fellow Martian Mice.

                Most of the workers who had been quarantined for exposure, and had exhibited early signs of sickness were given vaccine and making a slow but sure recovery. Some already seemed healed, anxious to leave the tents and return home to their friends and families. But others seemed to linger with the disease. Their infections somehow more resistant to the treatment.

                Strain was greeted by the usual medical representative and given the quick briefing on the situation.

                “Any improvement? These mice should be home where they can fully recover from this in peace. Instead of sitting out here mired in the muck and mess.”

                The head nurse nodded her head in deep agreement, and Strain could see how exhausted she was. “I couldn’t agree with you more, sir. But we’ve been given orders to keep them here at least another day. Incase anything goes awry.”

                The Brigadier actually chuckled. “What hasn’t already?” he wondered aloud.

                “But that isn’t what they called you down here for.” She cut in then, surprising him. She guided him back past the tents, where two other mice were waiting, wearing boots that went past their knees and wearing helmets with lights on the top, much like a miner might. He recognized them as lower ranking security officers whom he had passed occasionally in the Cathedra. But he made no more note of them than that.

                Strain’s face soured into a familiar scowl. He did not like the look of this at all.

                “Sir? Something you should see.”

                The three of them rode the majority of the way to the site in one of the open topped jeeps so often used by the military. It’s thick tires could handled the mud and muck easily, even in most places where the road had washed out entirely.

                They stopped about ten yards from site, which Strain again found odd.

                After dawning his own pair of boots and hard hat, he made his way with them down through the washout and muck, towards the most precarious outer bits of land by what remained of the wall and what remained of the un-melted ice.

                It was a monstrosity to look at. The wave of un-melted ice had turned dull as it melted, looking more blob-like and blunted and made gritty and dirty by blowing sand and debris. The waste land it had created around it was just a bog of what had been new green. Painstakingly recultivated and planted farm land and grassy fields. Now all mud and shards of rock and rebar. All crawling with the strain of madness that was slowly strangling them.

                They approached with closed visors, careful not to breathe in the air here too deeply. Although so far none of the infected seemed to have contracted it through the air, it had been how the infection had been spread before. They weren’t going to chance it.

                Strain looked up at the mess and continued to frown. “So? What exactly is the problem? It looks as horrible as it did a week ago, and the week before. What about this couldn’t have waited until morning?”

                The two mice looked at him, but said nothing.

                Confused, and growing frustrated, he turned to face them fully. “Well is anyone going to tell me what we’re doing out here in the middle of the night?” he muttered.

                The officer on the right raised his hand, gripping a loaded lazor pistol and took a hasty and ill-aimed shot at the Brigadier. The shot went over Strain’s shoulder, startling him, and struck the ice behind him, cutting a quarter size hole through it and leaving a noticeable burn on the surface.

                The seasoned soldier was quick to make a counter move, reaching for his own weapon that was always on his belt. He fired an stunning shot at the officer who fired on him, striking him in the hip and sending him crashing to the ground.

                He turned and made a run for the jeep they had taken out here, the camp almost two miles in the distance. If he could get to the jeep and take it back he could reach the camp and call for reinforcements before these rogue agents could catch up to him.

                A shot struck him from behind, burning his shoulder and making him cry out. He stumbled, slipping on the slicker bit of the trail, only the gravel saving him from wiping out completely. He spun and made to return fire, the other officer coming after him with a surer hand than his partner.

                Strain dropped, scooped up a hefty handful of mud and pebbles in his palm and flung it at the approaching officer. The wet mess crashed across their helmets, breaking the light on one and splattering their visors so that they were temporarily blind.

                The red furred Martian fired another warning shot, but it missed its mark. He was almost to the jeep, relieved to see it’s lights and that it had been left running.

                He was in it’s headlights, nearly to the hood, when the next shot hit him square in the back. The concussive pulse and burn of it threw him to the ground, leaving him gasping. He could no longer feel his right arm, and his chest constricted almost too tight to breathe. There was blood in the back of his throat.

                He pushed himself with his one working knee, managing to put himself just past the driver’s side tire. He rolled, trying to breathe, his left hand clutching his weapon as he rolled to face the other mouse who moved to stand over him.

                Strain rasped for breath, looking up at this fresh faced, stupid young officer, who looked at him with a bizarre mix of determination and terror. Like some part of him realized what he was doing was wrong, but he had come too far to stop.

                “She sent you, didn’t she--?” he forced out through rough breaths.

                The officer above him tried to steel himself, his mouth crinkling like he might cry or whine. But he didn’t answer. He just pulled the trigger.

**

                Lexi was dazed, his head throbbing painfully as he came back to himself. It ached so bad in fact, that he felt like his head might actually explode from the pulsing pressure he felt. Opening his eyes, he soon realized the trouble.

                His view was topsy-turvy. He was hanging upside down, suspended by a rope around his ankles, and all the blood was rushing into his head. His limp arms which had been previously dangling above his head, now flailed as he tried to reach out for purchase. To grab hold of anything that might help him right and reorient himself.

                Damp, dank and rotten smelling darkness spun below him, and he realized that he was in the well. Somehow, he had become the bucket.

                “HELP!” he screeched, his head hurting more for the effort. “SOMEONE HELP!”

                He squirmed and swayed, trying not to let dizziness overtake him and make him black out again.

                A nasty, sneering face appeared above him at the mouth of the well, and in the dark the teenaged rat recognized the long ugly face of the dog who had attacked him grinning down at him like a devil in the dark. “Go on, go on! Keep squirmin’! They like ‘em when they wriggle!” he cackled down at him.

                Panicked, Lexi looked down into the spinning dark again, now remembering the burrowed hole and the baby squid and the rotten meat. He was just above where the hole was. And despite Weasel’s snickering, he could hear something in the well. Not the drip of water from far below. But a sort of…shuffling, dragging sound. Coming from the hole.

                Lexi trembled all over and swore he might actually wet himself. He screamed.

                Above him, Weasel watched the show. Watched the boy squirm like a worm on a hook. His perverse enjoyment in the youth’s terror completely taking his mind off where his partner had wandered off to, or the fact that he really should have been on the look out for curious eyes and ears who might spy the sinister fun he was having.

                But Weasel, as one could guess, was not that bright.

                And he did not hear Bowie coming up on him until it was good and too late.

                The golden furred mouse grabbed the taller, lanky Sand Raider around the throat, muscling him into a choke hold and took distinct pleasure in showing him that he was armed with a rusty screw driver.

                The tip of which was pressed very hard against Weasel’s throat. “What the fuck are you up to ferret face?!”

                A smaller form moved past them, and Weasel’s eyes spotted the other boy, the human rushing to the edge of the well as Lexi continued to scream below.

                “LEXI! HANG ON!”

                “WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?!” Lexi gasped at him. “PULL ME UP!”

                Kirk leaned over the lip of the well, trying to grasp the bouncing swaying rope, but his arms were not quite long enough to reach. He strained, pulling himself up further, extending his reach.

                His fingers could almost touch it, but each time he came close to grasping it, Lexi would jerk or swing in such a way that it would pull it from his reach.

                “KIRK!” Bowie saw what was about to happen, and with a hard jerk was forced to release his old on the mongrel in order to reach out and keep Kirk from falling into the well.

                Weasel went down with a thud, coughing and whining as the bar tender grabbed Kirk by his belt, before securing him more fully with both thick arms around his waist.

                Kirk was able to grab hold of the rope fully and he and Bowie began to pull Lexi up.

                Lexi swung, luckily able to put out his hands and brace himself so that he was not slammed into the side of the well as they did, but the feeling of going up instead of down made him forget how gross the moss and slime felt beneath his palms.

                He craned his neck, trying to get a better look a the hole below him, and could see dirt and debris being pushed out of in small clouds.

                “HURRY! HURRY!” he screamed.

                Bowie and Kirk were both pulling as hard as they could as fast as they could. And Bowie was dimly aware now of the vibrations beneath his feet, though he was not yet thinking about what could cause them.

                On the ground behind them, Weasel had regained himself, and had picked up Bowie’s fallen screw driver. Feeling the burning thirst for a little bit of payback, he got to his feet, weapon in hand and made to drive the tip of the tool into the bartender’s back, knowing he couldn’t stop him, less he lose his grip on the kids he was trying to save.

                And as sweet as that underhanded victory surely would have tasted to the dog, the prize was denied him once more.

                Something much larger than him came bounding forward, letting out a vicious snarl, and arms stronger than his batted him out of the way like he was a fly. The side-swiping blow from Atlas himself sent the Sand Raider airborne momentarily, only to crash down in the scrap just beyond the well. He yelped and gasped, sliced and impaled by a dozen rusty and neglected parts.

                Atlas ignored the sound of his yelps, and instead moved to the mice, reaching past them and directly into the well. The boy was just out their reach, but the big dog bowed over the lip and was able to grip his ankles, pulling him up fully.

                He set him on the ground as Kirk and Bowie rushed to undo his bindings and check him over.

                “What happened here!?” the war lord demanded, looking first to the mice, then past them to the crowd that was beginning to form to see what the commotion was. His men, his guards looked on in what he realized was genuine confusion. Having no idea what had transpired.

                Weasel yelped and whined in agony and the big dog stalked towards him, ready to shake whatever answers he had out of him.

                Behind him Lexi was stammering and gasping for air, dizzy still despite being put right-way up again.

                “What happened to you?! Why did they put you down there?!” Kirk demanded, still keyed up and on the edge of panic.

                Bowie, luckily, had a cooler head. He cupped Lexi’s face between his palms and made the boy meet his eyes. “Lexi. Take a breath.” He ordered.

                The youth gasped, but finally, after a moment, forced out what he needed to in an explosive rush. “THERE’S SOMETHING COMING THROUGH THE WELL!”

                Bowie’s brow furrowed for a second, and then it clicked. His eyes widened, and he scooped the boy up like he was nothing, grabbing Kirk with his tail and bolted away from the well.

                “RUN!”

                The ground below them began to shudder and crack and the stones of the well split and crumbled. With an explosive rush, the huge red and tan plated body of a full grown Saber Squid erupted from the remains of the well with a deafening shriek from all three of its heads.

***

Chapter Text

***

                The sound of screaming and exploding rock and earth lead them to the center of the trouble.

                Stoker had dealt with Saber Squids before. They were a difficult and deadly menace to deal with for sure, even when they weren’t traveling in pods of two or three. Normally they were the size of a mid-sized SUV. Maybe a small truck if you had a particularly well fed one.

                But what came out of the ground that day was something he had never seen before in size. This angry and clearly hungry mama squid was the size of a semi trailer.

                Crashing down from the well, she easily side-swiped and demolished smaller structures and junk in her way. Her scaly armored hide was scraped and scratched by the rusty junk that littered the camp, but little could actually pierce through her.

                The screech she made as her senses became aware of the nest of prey had burrowed herself into was shrill and deafening, making more than a few of them cover their ears in pain. It was a horrible sound, and too often the last thing a Martian heard before one of those gaping tooth filled mouths were set into them.

                As the gathered crowd fled, the two Freedom Fighters had to fight their way through the crush of bodies, trying to spot where Bowie and the boys were.

                They spotted several of Atlas’s fighters rushing in to deal with the menace, Stoker managing to catch their eye. “Aim for the heads! Unless your stunners are set to max they won’t pierce through their hides!”

                He expected some snide remark, but the dogs only nodded in affirmative. One of the dogs, Harley recognized her as the guard she had delt with earlier who had tried to help with the well, tossed both her and Stoker a pair of pistols from her heavily armed belt.

“We need all the firepower we got and I’ve only got two fucking arms!” she hollered back at them in explanation.

With four shooters in place, trying to take out the swaying, diving heads as they attempted to make a meal of the camp, Stoker and Harley continued to fight their way through the crowd.

                They spotted Kirk, alone in the dust. Not far from him, they spotted Bowie and Lexi, the group having clearly been separated by the massive monster and all three seeming to struggle to get their bearings. Leaving them too vulnerable and too close.

                “KIRK! KIRK ON YOUR FEET! GET OUT OF THERE!”

                The boy lifted his head, dazed and dirt-dusted. He rolled and looked back at the creature looming over him, flailing it’s multiple bulbus and tusk-bearing heads on thin spindly necks like some sort of grotesque interplanetary hydra.

                It was the stuff of nightmares.

                The thing didn’t seem to have eyes, yet at least one of the flailing screaming heads spotted him. It’s jaw opened and it made a dive for the boy.

                In the hail of cover-fire laid down by the Raiders, Stoker sprinted as hard and as fast as his legs could carry him. To look at him, it might have seemed his feet barely touched the ground. He was seeing Kirk ahead of him, but his vision had doubled. He saw his boy there too. His Ari.

                Helpless, scared, and screaming for his daddy.

                Save me. Save me. Don’t lose me again.

                The diving head of the Squid seemed to be dropping towards Kirk in slow motion.  Stoker took aim at the inside of the thing’s mouth and fired. The burst of lazor fire struck the vulnerable inside of the squid’s mouth, making it scream again and rear back in pain, giving Stoker enough space to drop into a slide, grabbing hold of Kirk, and dragging him out of the thing’s line of vision.

                Kirk looped his arms around Stoker’s neck as the older mouse bear hugged him against his chest to lift him and then ran like hell. He ducked behind a greater pile of scrap that the squid would avoid, bowing down to leave his rescue there.

                “Are you okay?!”

                Kirk was wide eyed and terrified but he nodded.

                Stoker gave him a cursory glance for injury and then turned back towards the looming monster, now looking for signs of the others. With Kirk no longer easy prey, it had moved on to other targets.

                “Stay here and stay down,” he ordered the boy. He pulled his other pilfered pistol from earlier from the back of his belt and handed it to Kirk, who’s hands shook as it was pressed into his palm. “If it gets too close, aim for its head, you got it?”

                To his surprise, Kirk grabbed his forearm and kept the Martian from pulling away. “We’re safer together! I can shoot, I can cover you! Don’t leave me here!”

                Stoker looked at him desperately. The last thing he wanted was to drag the boy back out into harms way. He was safe here, at least marginally safer.

                “Please!” Kirk pleaded. “I can fight too. I’m not a little kid.”

                And looking at him, Stoker knew that was the truth. This boy, not even 13 yet, had already lived through and seen too much. Childhood and that illusion of safety and that nothing bad can happen had faded for him the moment he and his bros had shown up at Charlie’s garage.

                He hugged him hard and Kirk squeezed him back just as tightly.

 “Okay…okay…” He cast about, eyeing the junk they were presently surrounded by. “These pistols aren’t doing enough without getting really close. Something I’d like very much to avoid.”

Kirk nodded emphatically, already knowing what the theme of his nightmares would be for at least the next few months.

“We need something that lets us get close but move away fast…or something that could blow a big wide hole through that scaley hide…”

Nothing here met that description, however. Nothing they could wield easily or get working fast enough. Until Kirk spotted a shape among the debris and junked machinery. He moved suddenly, slipping away from Stoker before the older mouse could pull him back. Clambering through the junk he crawled until he got a better look, and Stoker saw what he was looking at.

“Is that what I think it is?” Stoker wondered, unsure if maybe he was hallucinating.

But Kirk was on the move, reaching the protruding piece of machinery first. He moved around the front wheel and gripped the handlebars, yanking it free from the heap of scrap it had been hiding under.

A scratched and rusted speedster motorbike stood between them, largely intact if not worse-for-wear. But on closer inspection, they realized that despite the obvious neglect and wear from the elements, the bike was a more recent acquisition. It had a nearly full tank of gas.

“Someone must have stashed this here…” Stoker mused, but there was no more time to dwell on this minor mystery as the Saber Squid screeched again. They saw that it had gained more ground, leaving a swath of destruction in its wake and getting closer to closing in on the other Martians.

“Will it run?” Kirk asked.

Stoker grunted, climbing into the seat and starting her engine. The bike sputtered for a moment and then roared to life, it’s cracked headlight flickering alive as the engine roared at near full volume thanks to a faulty muffler.

“Oh she runs.” The old Freedom Fighter grinned, feeling twenty years younger as a new rush of adrenaline crept over him and he felt the all too familiar and longed missed thrum of a motorcycle beneath him. “Probably not as well as my own, but she’ll do. Climb on!”

Kirk did as he was told, settling nervously behind Stoker. The cybernetic tail coiled around his waist in leu of a seatbelt, keeping him securely in place.

Stoker revved the bike and took off. It took the bike a moment to get herself up to speed, but after a few seconds of lag she jumped and kicked into high gear.

                Bowie was in a scramble. In the chaos, he and Lexi had been separated from Kirk, and tossed to the side, where they were now trapped between two vender stalls and the hard wall of the crater’s side. There was nowhere for them to go, save back out into danger. With the half-demolished stalls blocking their way, they knew there was no way to run without first scrambling over the debris.

                Bowie shook the dust and dirt from his face and hair and tried to find an exit. The great body of the squid slithered past them as it swayed back and forth, the crush of it taking out the stall behind them completely and smashing it into splinters against the rocks.

                “If we run, it’ll spot us. If we stay, it will crush us.” Lexi panted anxiously next to him.

                “I’ll take my chances with spotting.” Bowie nodded. He looked at the boy beside him. “How’s your legs? Can you run?”

                His ankles burned and ached horribly, but he could stand. And if he could stand he could run. Especially if his damn life depended on it. He nodded quickly and Bowie understood.

                They watched the hail of lazor fire laid down by Atlas’s fighters, and when all three heads seemed to be engaged, they took their chance. Bowie launched himself over the debris and pulled Kirk with him by his tail, the two hitting the ground at a run and barreling straight for the retreating crowd.

                Harley spotted them among the crowd and opened her mouth to shout something, but it was lost in the din of noise.

                Out of the corner of his eye, Bowie saw their fortunes turn. One of the three heads had indeed spotted them as they made their wild sprint for safety, and despite the barrage of fire it was taking, made a dive for them, sliding forward in a surge.

                It was moving too fast, and Bowie was about to throw the boy clear in an effort to at least save him if he could not save himself. But something big and black furred came bounding at them from the side, and as the head lowered—swiveling and snake like, attempting to snap them up—Atlas himself went crashing into it.

                Howling and snarling, he slammed right into side of the squid’s head, digging his claws fully into it’s scaley flesh and tearing away ribbons of skin and muscle. The squid screeched again in new agony as something had at last given it more than a peppering of pain to deal with.

                It thrashed and screeched, trying to throw the dog from it. But Atlas would not let go, forcing the bulbous head down to the ground and climbing on top of it as if it were a bucking horned-beast. Pulling a knife at least as long as his forearm from his belt, he stabbed the thing through the soft part of it’s head.

                The other heads screeched, now in pain, as part of their body died.

                A small fountain of blood spurted from the wound as Atlas pulled the knife free, and then leapt away before the other heads could collect themselves. He barreled towards Bowie and Lexi as if he were a quarter back going in for the sack, only to put out his arms and sweep both of them up, carrying them the rest of the way out of range.

                Harley met them as Atlas brought they to a more sheltered area beyond the line his fighters were trying to hold. Lexi crashed into her arms and held her fast, Bowie leaning in to kiss her quickly before looking back at Atlas. “Impressive save…you always carry a knife that big, chief?” he panted.

                Atlas almost smirked at him, but turned to look back at the chaos behind them. “One head down, but that won’t slow it much. We need to inflict more damage.” He muttered, trying to think, trying to figure out how to stop this.

                Bowie looked back to Harley then, “Where’s Stoke!?”

                Harley looked back towards the squid, “He got Kirk out of the way, but I lost sight of him.” She panted, a growing lump of panic in her throat as the Squid screamed again, making all of them wince and bow their heads in agony.

                “We need big guns,” Bowie panted. “Rocket launcher, land mine, a fucking bazooka!” He looked frantically at Atlas. “Don’t your punk ass raiders hoard weapons!? We need more than lazor rifles! This fucking squid looks like it ate four other squids to get this big!”

                But it was clear that the war lord was only half listening to the mouse’s rant. His golden eyes were scanning the crowd, pausing a moment more before he charged forward and began calling to his shooters.

                “Everyone fall back, but keep firing. We need to get it to follow us!”

                “What?!” Harley and Bowie both screeched behind him. Several of his fighters looked back dubiously.

                “Sir?!”

                “We need to get this fucker to follow us to the pit.” He snarled.

                Collectively the Mice and Sand Raiders glanced at each other. They had ground to cover and not much time to do it. Atlas’s men fell back, making sure anyone who wasn’t armed was behind them as they kept trailing fire.

                Bowie tried to move forward, searching for signs of Stoker and Kirk on either side of the Squid’s path. Atlas put a hand out, stopping the mouse from darting into the open. “Stay with your kin, I will find them.”

                The golden furred mouse shook his head, “That’s my kin too! You can come with, but I’m goin’!”

                Atlas huffed a breath, realizing there was no point in arguing and no time either.

                But there charge was not necessary as the unmuffled sound of that engine roaring towards them. The pair looked around in confusion, until the something sleek and roaring like a thunderclap came literally flying up and over the squid, seeming to have used it’s swaying back side as a ramp.

                The remaining collective of Mice and Dogs who had staid behind to hold the line looked up in awe, startled by the sudden apparition as Stoker BlackRuby crashed down to earth once more, the boy behind him managing to land a few shots one the Squid’s remaining two heads before they came down.

                “WOOO! That’s my man!” Bowie whooped.

                Atlas nodded, obviously impressed.

                The biker landed in a wheelie and then bounced forward, regaining balance and traction with great effort by the rider. The sped forward only to turn and make a sharp spin back towards the direction of the squid, both the boy and the mouse firing on the middle head, which had decided to move in for the kill.

                They managed to burn several holes through its mouth, making it scream in pain and thrash more erratically, the third head trying to compensate, snapping blindly at its prey.

                “STOKER!”  Atlas bellowed, his voice managing to carry over roar of the engine.

                As the biker swerved and narrowly avoided a snap from the beast’s jaws, he caught sight of Atlas and the line of shooters that were retreating. The black dog waved him back, pointing far behind them.

                “THE PIT!”

                Stoker nodded in understanding, speeding towards them. They had retreated far enough that the mouse could skid to a stop beside the war lord and the bar tender, pausing only long enough to pull Kirk from his seat.

                “We need to get this thing to follow us to the pit, if we can get it close enough and we can hit it hard enough, we can knock it in. End this before it kills anyone else.” Atlas explained.

                “Got it. Pull everyone back towards the tents at the edge of the camp. You got something that can put a dent in this bastard’s hide?” Stoker nodded.

                Atlas thought to the crates of explosives and other weaponry.

                “Leave it to us.”

                “How much time do you need?” Stoker asked.

                Atlas glanced behind them at the distance between their current position and the weapon’s silo not far behind his own tent. “Five minutes.”

                “I can give you three.” Stoker replied.

                Behind them, the creature had started forward again, in obvious agony and egged on by a sort of bloodlust.

                “Bow, you’re with me. Kirk, stay with Harley and Lexi. You keep that gun handy, you got it? Somethin’ tries to bite you, shoot it in the face.”

                “Sir, yes sir!”

                Bowie climbed on behind Stoker, the dark furred mouse handing his companion both his pistols as he gripped the handlebars again. As he gunned the engine again, he pulled the bike into a quick wheelie and turned back, zig-zagging across the short distance between them and the saber squid.

                Behind them, Atlas waved them to retreat, the remaining dogs, Harley and the children all breaking into a hard run, fanning to the sides of the path to make sure there was a clear path for the bikers behind them and that nothing else would be an easy distraction for the monster in their midst.

                “Snipers, I need you in position. When they lead that thing through here, I need you ready to open fire to make sure it stays on their tail and doesn’t stray.  Take the workers and the injured to the trucks and caravans and get the out of here. Use the lift and get everyone top side!”

                The remaining workers looked dazed and confused, as if unsure why their safety was being considered. Some of the dogs looked equally confused, but there was no time to hassle. The Saber Squid had already made a meal of almost a dozen of them and no one else was eager to share that fate.

                The few who were reluctant to bother with the Mice and Rats were swiftly shown their leader’s teeth as he bared down on them, grabbing and pushing at them and shaking them before shoving them into line. “That’s an order you curs! You want to feed the beast!? By all means be my guest but you will not stand in our way!” He bellowed.

                This made the rest fall into compliance. And as they turned to get into position, Atlas realized who was missing from the scene. Digger, the dog who had formerly been his right hand, was nowhere to be seen.

                For a moment, he considered that the conniving cur might have been made victim of the squid. But then he tried to recall the last time he had caught Digger’s scent and could not even recall seeing him before the festivities had started.

                As the squid roared in the distance again, Atlas paused, beginning to wonder how exactly this creature had gotten into their camp. What might have drove it here, when it just as easily might have avoided them. He thought of Weasel and the scene at the well.

                But he was wasting time. He broke into a hard run, making his way towards his tent, set on getting to one particular crate of grenades, which would do nicely to aide their plan. The night wind made the structure stutter and flap noisily in the breeze as Atlas darted into the open entrance, looking around anxiously in the dark, only to find that he was not alone.

                Inside the tent, Digger was busy. Helping himself to a chest he had pried open and ladening himself down with money and whatever other valuables he could stuff in his pockets.

                For a moment, Atlas stared at him. The sight seemed too absurd to be real. But slowly, steadily, rage began to swell in him.

                After a few more seconds, Digger seemed to catch his scent and looked over his shoulder, clearly startled by the figure of the war lord standing there behind him.

                “Atlas!” he gasped, as though he had seen a ghost. Perhaps he thought he had. “You’re…dammit, I thought you were dead!”

                “Thought?” Atlas asked, stepping forward now, reaching for the long knife from his belt that was still stained with the squid’s blood. “Or hoped? You lying, back-biting mutinous little bastard…”

                Digger looked for a moment like he might run. Like he might tuck his tail and make a break for it. Hoping that Atlas couldn’t catch before whatever hell and mayhem was still happening outside caught up to them.

                But instead, his spite got the better of him. He turned to face him now fully, reaching for his own weapon. “I didn’t leave anything to something as unpredictable as hope. You should have been dead already. That squid’s gonna get your scent sure enough. Once it’s done chomping through those rodents you’ve been kissin’ and coddling up to, it’ll want something really meaty to sink it’s tusk into.”

                “You kill your entire pack for what? Just to rob me?!”

                “Robbing you is only a bonus you thick-headed mutt! Yer no warlord, nor fit to be any sort of leader! You were dragging us all to our deaths at this meeting, anyone with half a brain could see it, I was just the one with enough spine to do something about it!”

                Atlas let out a barking sort of snarl, jaws open, fangs bared and charged the traitor as Digger did the same.

**

                In the wastes, cloaked in blue night and moonlight, Primer was unaware of the implosion happen just a few miles in the distance.

                Since her previous trek, she had been trying to find her way back to where she had spotted that strange tower, and had at last been able to fully retrace her steps. It was going to make her dangerously close to returning to the gate by her designated time…but if there was even a small chance that Stoker and the others might be there, she would take the risk.

                Sitting high on the dune beyond the canyon, she thought she could smoke trailing in the distance, rising in whisps into the sky. At first she thought it might be small tendrils of sand whirlwinds. Harmless, as long as they stayed small and the wind was uneven.

                But there was not enough wind that night for such a thing. And the longer she watched the more she was determined it was smoke.

                She maxed out the zoom on her visor, trying to get the best look she could from this distance. She could make out the dark shape of the tower she had seen before, barely visible above what she now realized was the rim of a crater.

                The smoke was more noticeable now too, growing darker as if more fuel had been added to it. Something for sure was down there. She tried to scan along the horizon, along the edge of the crater to see if there was a patrol or anything there that might cause trouble.

                But she could see nothing.

Primer considered her options. She was alone and miles from any sort of backup. She was armed with a single blaster strapped to her thigh. If she approached and ran into trouble…she was on her own.

 She tuned into her radio then, trying to find the frequency of the nearest outpost. Not to request assistance, but to see if any patrol had been this way. In case someone else was aware of the strange crater.

She knew of course that what she was really doing was stalling while she tried to gather the nerve to do what she came here for.

A voice over the speaker caught her by surprise then. It wasn’t the patrol broadcast that she expected but rather a familiar, smaller voice.

“…Emergency! Emergency!...If anyone out there can hear this…we need help! We’re being held captive at a Sand Raider encampment—"

Primer’s heart did a somersault in her chest. Her head whipped in the direction of the crater then, the pieces starting to fall into place.

She tried to call back, “Kirk?! Kirk do you read me? This is Primer, I hear you! Can you give me your location? Kirk?”

There was no answer, just a sort of crackling interference for a moment or two before the boy’s voice came back, repeating the same message.

It was looping. A distress signal. But how long had it been looping? A few hours? A day? Weeks?

“Dammit Rimfire, where are you when I need you?” She muttered to herself. She looked again towards the wisps or smoke. Her mind finally made up.

                Sighing softly, and knowing both her mother and Carbine were going to be absolutely pissed at her for this, she took off down the dune towards that horizon. She calculated it would take her about ten minutes to reach the edge. Once there she was sure she’d find something, even if trouble came with it.

                The hope of the safe return of at least some of her family lifted something in her, making her ride that much harder, praying to whatever gods still listened to such prayers that she would not return home empty handed again.

**

                “How long can a Saber Squid live if one of it’s heads is dead?” Bowie mused even as he and Stoker kicked up clouds of dust and dirt behind them in their wild and wavering game of chase.

                “Too long,” Stoker grunted. He glanced at the ever encroaching predator in his rearview, watching it surge and sway and struggle to catch up with them, it’s bloody jaws still hungry.

                “I don’t understand why we can’t put this thing down…if it won’t go into the pit, I’ll personally hand-feed it a grenade.”

                “Sounds like a solid plan B babe, but lets focus on not dying right now.” Bowie replied, twisting to fire off another shot at the snapping jaws. The middle head was functioning less and less logically, even dropping once tor the ground and seeming to open its jaws as it scraped along the path, as if in effort to merely scoop them up.

                But the head on the right side was working overtime, full of rage and pain. It seemed to be moving the body almost on it’s own, hinting at this fact by the way it listed more to the right side now no matter the direction the bike made.

                But there were fewer structures here for it crash into or debris to impede its surge. Making even this misdirection matter little in their efforts to escape it.

                “Maybe this thing will just croak and save us all the trouble…” Bowie offered, his voice dropping slightly as a bit of his own fatigue and fear broke through the daredevil façade. He could feel his hands going numb from the constant kick and vibration of the blasters in his hand. Nevermind that he was sure he had left his stomach somewhere in the wreckage behind them, especially after all that wine.

                The squid made an abrupt surge forward and almost managed to catch the bike’s back tire in it’s jaws, until a shot from one of Atlas’s snipers caught it in the neck.

It screamed and reared back, but the closeness of the sound made both bikers wince and Stoker struggle to keep from wiping out. The squid made a sweeping stretch towards them and Stoker had to swerve hard in turn to avoid the crush of it.

The bike beneath them sputtered and made a terrible sound, its dashboard flickering crazily as if it was about to just die.

“Fucking hell!” Stoker gasped and when Bowie was nearly thrown from behind him he clamped his tail around him tighter.

“I don’t know where you found this old hog but she’s about to give I think!” Bowie gasped.

Stoker nodded, “that’s okay. Just a little further.”

The pit was in sight and he drove directly for it now. In the short distance ahead he had expected to see Atlas, ready with something heavy duty to put their predator to bed.

But there was now sign of the dog. Something was wrong.

Once again the old General was going to have to think on his feet.

“Uh, Stoke, don’t you think you should slow down just a little—I’m not really up for trying to jump that fucking gulch of death if you know what I mean…!”

“Yeah, about that…”

Bowie grit his teeth and tightened his arms around his partner, pressing closer together. “Oh you asshole, don’t you dare!” He warned.

Stoker turned his head, looking only to his partner and grinned. “Kiss for luck?”

Bowie didn’t have time to protest further before the darker furred mouse pressed a heated but too quick kiss to lips, then turned ahead again, using his tail to lift Bowie from the seat.

“Remember to bend your knees babe! Run hard and run fast!”

Bowie shouted some unintelligible curse as he was flung free from the bike, which was now sputtering flame and black smoke from its exhaust.

He crashed down, and rolled until he could spring up into a run, though really it was more of a limp.

“If you die I’m kicking your ass, BlackRuby!”

He limped out of sight, finding shelter along one of the taller tents, just as the squid came lunging and squirming past.

It was hot on Stoker’s tail now as the bike was beginning to sputter again. “Just a few more seconds…”

The pit opened up in front of him. There was no going back. No time to stop.

The only thing that broke up the expanse of the spike filled pit was the shadowed arm of the crane that was used to suspend the cage over it.

Luckily, someone had neglected to bring the cage down, leaving it dangling empty over the expanse.

Behind him, the raging squid made one last lunge at its prey, its last two heads pooling enough of its dying energy to snap its jaws around the fleeing mouse.

Stoker kicked the failing bike into a jump, bouncing up and over the edge of the pit. It was a short, high arch. But the engine was flaming out. It would never carrying him all the way across.

He didn’t need it to. Instead, he let gravity and leverage do their thing. He let himself lift off the seat and slung the bike back behind him.

For a few seconds, mid-air and momentarily weightless, he got a glimpse of the squid as it launched itself after him, jaws open, its rows and rows of razor sharp teeth and the open maw of its throat staring back at him.

The bike was now closer and to the squid than its rider, and the beast snapped at its jaw down on it. Its long fangs sunk into the gas tank and the hole damn thing went up like a bomb in its mouth.

The remaining head let out one last terrible roar of rage and pain as it fell, crashing down into the spike laden floor below, impaled in a hundred different places.

The airborne Freedom Fighter might have shared the same fate, but the extra pulse of air managed to propel him to where he needed.

He had thought he would be able to land on the top of the cage itself, but it was too low. Instead he only had a second to grab hold of the suspension chain.

Stoker’s fingers clutched at it, slipped and slid but caught again and held tight. But as he pulled himself in, locking his ankles around the bottom of the chain, the squid in its death throes made one last play for revenge.

Its last remaining head strained up on its spindly neck and clamped down on the corner of the overhanging cage. Its jaw locked into place, and it either pulled or simply fell back.

With its fangs driven into the metal, the cage was pulled down with it. The crane arm strained and gave a miserable metallic whine as it pulled and extended to near breaking point.

Across the pit, Bowie was screaming something, running around the edge of the pit. Others, no longer terrorized by the saber squid had rushed out to join him.

“Hold on Stoke!”  Bowie’s voice carried over the wind.

“I thought that was what I was doing?!” He hollered back.

The whole crane began to tip then, the whole thing teetering into the squid filled pit. But it was a better blessing than one might expected.

The very tip of the arm would reach the ledge where Bowie and a scant few workers and sniper dogs were waiting with wide eyes and slack jaws.

Stoker swung out on the chain and launched himself from it in a leap, like a child leaping off a swing that had gone almost too high.

He came down, but only scraped the ledge. The ground beneath his feet was too thin and unstable to hold his weight and crumbled beneath him.  He scrambled madly to keep from sliding down the side.

Bowie doze for him and grabbed him hard, struggling to pull him up. More hands joined in and the Freedom Fighter was hauled to safety as last.

Bowie crushed him against him, hands dug so deep into him that he was gripping Stoker’s hide through his clothing, leaving bruises that would be felt later.

He panted heavily against his lover’s neck and shoulders. “You absolute bastard…don’t ever do that again, oh my gods…”

Stoker looked up at him, clearly shaken but with that wild maniacal light in his eyes that Bowie had recognized from their first meeting. That wild streak of absolute hellfire inside him. “Sure sure…but to be fair…that wasn’t even as bad as the crater leap.”

The bar tender looked caught between laughing and strangling him. “I hate you.”

“I love you.” Stoker returned and let his lips crash against Bowie’s again. When he pulled back it was only because he couldn’t get enough air. “…and now I’d really, really like to go to bed. For like…a year.”

Bowie nodded in agreement, the pair slowly getting to their feet. In the distance they could see the surviving workers and sand raiders moving up the lift towards the surface along with the Raiders dune buggies and jeeps. It seemed the celebration had been cut short and the company would be moving out to meet Slobber prematurely.

“Where the hell is Atlas?” One of the dogs beside them muttered anxiously.

It was a good question. One that was answered swiftly by several new howls of rage and pain coming from the warlord’s tent.

The Raiders tensed and then made a move. Stoker looked as if he would follow, but Bowie held him back.

One of the snipers looked back to the pair and the other two mice who remained with them. “Get to the lifts, now! Go!”

Stoker hesitated but Bowie looked at him pleading. “Babe, we’ve gotta go. This ain’t our fight. These dogs are killing each other and we’ve gotta get everyone out while we can.”

He nodded and motioned for the lingering workers to follow them. The surviving members of the camp were huddled in a mass, pushing and shoving at each other waiting for their turn to ride the lift to safety. It seemed few of them were aware that the main threat was now neutralized.

Harley had just put the boys on the lift when she spotted Stoker and Bowie rushing towards them.

Her hand went to her chest in relief and she rushed them, hugging both hard. “Nice of you to wait until the last minute, fellas!” She scolded them.

“Sorry darlin, this one was busy showing off.” Bowie replied.

He tried to push Stoker onto the platform with the others, but the dark furred mouse resisted. There was greater sounds of struggle from beyond them, with more or the remaining Raiders looking lost and confused without the direction of their leader.

“They’re trying to kill him!” Lexi blurted out from behind them, drawing both their attention and that of anyone who was in ear shot and listening.

“What are you talking about?”

“Weasel and Claw! They grabbed me cause I saw them trying to put rancid meat into the well! They were baiting the squid! They wanted it to attack the camp!”

“What the hell for?!” Bowie gasped.

“This was all a set up from the inside…” Stoker muttered. He looked pointedly at Harley who was pale beneath her fur. “Claw came looking for me I bet. And found you instead.”

Bowie looked anxiously between them. “Was anyone gonna mention that to me? Or were you saving it for dinner conversation at a later date?!”

“Claw’s dead and so is Weasel now,” Harley gathered. “So who the hell is left?”

Stoker jumped back down from the lift even as they all shouted after him. “Digger. He’s attacking Atlas!”

“Stoker! Come back, don’t you dare!” Harley shouted after him as the lift below them clicked to life and began to raise into the air, going up the side of the crater wall.

He shrugged back at her apologetically. “I made a promise!”

Both Harley and Bowie seethed. “I’m gonna kill ‘im…” the woman muttered.

“You are so fucking frustrating, so you know that?!” Bowie hollered after him, before leaping down after him and hitting the ground at a stumbling run, his aching knees singing in protesting pain. “No amount of good sex is worth this, no amount of good sex is worth this!!”

As they reached the tent, pushing past the torn flaps, they were greeted with still more carnage.

Atlas’s men who had rushed to the scene utterly slaughtered, their bodies riddled with gun fire.

The culprit, Digger, was perched behind one of the poles of the tent, partially obscured by a decorative screen and the edge of a dividing curtain.

The muzzle of the machine gun he was weilding poked out along the seem and they saw his snagged toothed grin as he was about to make them victims or the same fate.

“Eat shit Mice!”

The gleeful grinning murder would triumphed then; all his enemies dead at his feet. Except that as usual, Digger was not only greedy and ambitious but sloppy. Too busy reveling in the fleeting feeling that he had gotten one up on these revolting rodents.

                But before the cur could even pull his trigger, Stoker and Bowie both had pulled their own weapons, each landing a shot in the back-biting dog’s arm.

                As he yelped in pain, his gun clattered uselessly to the floor in front of him. The Freedom Fighters were on the move, Bowie taking pot shots at the dark furred mutt as he scrambled for cover while Stoker searched for Atlas.

                He did not have to look far. The big black furred dog was slumped against his overturned table, their plans and maps overturned and scattered on the floor. He was bleeding freely from what looked to be several wounds, and for a moment Stoker thought they were too late.

                But he moaned, his legs shifting, as if he were trying to push himself up. Stoker was beside him instantly, ducking quickly as a stray shot splintered through the table behind them. He pulled pressed his hand over the most obvious wound in the upper part of the dog’s chest, trying to stem the bleeding.

                “Atlas. Get up,”  the biker urged. “We’re getting this show on the road, don’t you remember?”

                The dog looked at him, dim and dazed. He seemed confused by the sight of the other. “Why are you here?” he mumbled.

                “Lord, I’ve been asking myself that same question but—” He winced as another shot came too close and he turned to fire back at Digger, who was still trying to trade shots with Bowie, who bared his escape. Despite one arm being useless, his other was certainly able to hold a pistol. “—you seem to be in a tight spot, and I’d be sort of a dick if I left you high and dry. Now wouldn’t I?”

                Atlas just stared at him for a moment more, put his big hand over Stoker’s on his chest and gave a grateful nod.

                “Hey fellas, anyone want to help me?!” Bowie shouted to them.

                His momentary distraction cost him however, as Digger kicked over a tower of crates and boxes, which toppled towards the golden furred mouse in an avalanche. The bar tender ducked out of the way, but lost his weapon in the process.

                He scrambled towards it, only to have Digger charge him, kicking him in the face. Bowie yelped and rolled aside, stunned.

                Stoker shouted, turning to fire. He clipped Digger along side his shaggy head, blowing a fresh hole through his ear. The traitorous raider yipped and tried to fire back, but Stoker was pushed aside as Atlas, in a sudden burst of rage, came barreling at the would-be usurper with all the muscle and force of a grizzly bear about to pounce.

                He tried to fire on the warlord again, but Atlas was too fast. He crashed into him full force, as as the pair crashed over crates and other broken furniture, Atlas pulled his knife from his belt and drove it into the other dog’s chest.

                Digger howled and gasped, but did not die. Not immediately. He clutched at the hilt of the blade with his remaining good hand, staring up at the man he’d betrayed. “I hope your moment at the top was worth it.” Atlas snarled at him. “You traded your kin, your family for something as fleeting and stupid as power.”

                Digger rasped and coughed, his teeth red with blood now. “…it doesn’t matter. You’re all going to die anyway…there’s not winning against them and what they got. Never was…”

                Atlas didn’t understand, but neither did he care to. He had heard enough. He pulled the knife free from the dog’s chest with a squelch, and blood bubbled from the wound. The bleed out was almost immediate, and Digger shuddered a few times before going lax.

                Atlas stood with effort, and turned to find Stoker helping Bowie up, the blonde mouse groaning and cursing. “Fuck sake! Anywhere but the face…that’s my money maker, ya know?” he bemoaned, nursing what would surely be a sizeable welt on his cheekbone tomorrow.

                “Good thing you still have your winning sense of humor then, hmm?” Stoker teased, teasing him gently.

                Atlas started towards them, his hand over the bigger wound in his side just below his ribs. “This place is compromised…more squids will come. They won’t be able to resist the smell of blood.” He looked mournfully at his fighters, scattered at his feet. They had tried to save him and been mowed down so senselessly. They had been meant for greater endings than this. “We have to leave. Now.”

                “Half the camp is already up the ridge.” Stoker explained.

                Once more Atlas looked at him as if he was confused by his presence. “Why are you still here?”

                “Don’t ask a stupid question if you don’t want a stupid answer.” The Freedom Fighter replied. With Bowie on his feet, the pair moved to brace the wounded dog, each putting one of his arms around their shoulders.

                “Come on! If you make us miss the last truck up the ridge, and we have to drag your big hairy ass up there, I swear I’m going to have more than second thoughts about this.”

                As they limped their way away from the tent, moving rapidly towards where the remainder of the raiders waited for stragglers, they could hear new disturbances in the now destroyed camp. Indeed, it hadn’t taken the rest of the squid pod long to smell the blood.

                At least two more, small compared to the behemoth that had erupted from the well, came burrowing up through the earth, eager for fresh meat.

                “Don’t look back. Keep moving.” Stoker huffed, knowing what the war lord was thinking. The pity for the dead left behind. “There’s nothing we can do for them now.”

                “Avenge them. I can avenge them.”

                “Right, right, well can we do the avenging somewhere far away from the blood sucking things please?!” Bowie muttered, trying to hurry them along.

                But despite his grousing, he threw a glance back towards the tower, glimpsing it as it shuddered and swayed. The squids had found a easy tunnel there and were in danger of up-ending the whole thing.

                Hope that anyone had heard their distress call flickered out and as his chest ached with the weight of that, he made himself look forward again.

                The last transport pulled all three of them into the bed of it’s truck and then after one last scan across the camp, thumped the side of the bed to tell the driver to move. They rumbled upward, speeding away from the destruction.

                Tomorrow night, they would meet Slobber. With half their men, and even less of their arsenal intact.

                Just a little more than a mile from the edge of the crater now, Primer could see things emerging. Trucks, first one, then two. All driving too fast and cresting over the lip at a bounce.

                She pumped her breaks and slid into a hard skid, nearly upending herself. Panting, she stood there in the dark, and realized that she needed to hide.

                There was nothing around her on what was left of the road save a few small formations of rock and spiky plant growth. She darted behind the nearest cluster and waited, trying to peer between the cracks in the rust colored rock to see what was happening.

                More vehicles emerged, and saw that they were heavily loaded, both with people but also with weapons. Her heart began to pound and her palms began to sweat. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. Her and her lonely little pistol against a whole fucking pack of what she guessed were Sand Raiders.

                Her thoughts flew as she tried to think of a plan. She couldn’t exactly charge a whole caravan alone. Perhaps she could follow them? That seemed the best course. Surely Kirk, Stoker and the others were there somewhere among these mongrels.

                Then, as she watched, she thought she saw a lone figure break away from the pack. A thin, dark shape, back lit by the light of the moon, came sprinting and stumbling across the desert.

                Primer watched, confused and astonished. Twice the figure fell and struggled to get up again and each time she cringed and gasped.

                Finally, he was maybe halfway to her, she darted from her hiding place on foot, racing towards him. For a moment, in the dark, she half hoped it was Stoker. Or maybe Bowie…

                Her heart swelled at the possibility.

                But as he became clearer in her vision, she could see that he was neither. This mouse was clearly older, and obviously very hurt. She could smell the blood on him the closer she got.

                “Help!” he wheezed. He dropped to his knees, to tired or too injured to continue.

                Primer skidded to a stop beside him, dropping down and trying to lift him to have a better look. A face she had never seen before looked back at her with wide, terrified eyes. It looked like he’d been torn into, his shoulder raw and tacky with blood, deep gashes along his chest and into his neck.

                “Help me!” he gasped.

                She tensed, nearly pushed him off her in shock, but gathered herself in time.

                “Hey hey! It’s okay now, it’s okay! I’ve got you, I’ll get you help.” She promised, because what else could she do?

                The girl shrugged off her jacket and wrapped him in it, and he groaned and cried to be touched but allowed her to do what she wanted. She glanced anxiously back towards the growing circle of trucks, afraid someone would come after the escaped mouse. But they either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

                “What’s your name old timer?” she asked, trying to get him to focus.

                “Gus…”

                “Gus, where did you come from? Did you escape?”

                He wailed in pain and nodded. “The whole place…fuckin’ sand squid…couldn’t get out of the way fast enough.”

                Primer’s heart did another set of somersaults in her chest and her chin quivered as she looked back again towards the ridge. Clearly there were survivors but…

                “Gus, listen, I know you’re hurting but I have to ask you…was there a boy there with you in the camp? A human kid? Were their other mice there with him? Freedom Fighters, you might know them—”

                She was desperate for some answer, some confirmation that they were alive.

                Gus wailed in pain and curled on himself and she saw that he was already beginning to bleed through her jacket. He would not last much longer without intervention.

                “Okay…okay…it’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you back to Brimstone. To a hospital. Just hang on!”

                She picked him up and then though he wailed in pain, he did his best to move with her as they limped together back to her bike. With effort she got him onto the back of her seat and kick started her engine.

                Heart in her throat, she glanced back at the caravan one last time, then turned and sped back the way she came, racing against time.

***

                Carbine paced. Standing in the back alley cul-de-sac they had let Primer in just a few days prior. Only now she was alone.

                Both Primer and Strain were late. A thing that made the normally calm and composed General very uneasy.

                Her fiancé she worried less for. Assuming that the Secretary had him busy mucking around with some asinine chore as she had since this mess with the so called Federation had started. He would be here soon enough.

                It was Primer whom she worried for just now. She wasn’t supposed to head out yet. This venture was supposed to wait another day, but in typical Maverick fashion, she hadn’t waited. And in typical Carbine fashion, she was left behind to clean up the mess from her more reckless compatriots.

                So she paced. And she waited. And she watched the Deimos pass in slow steady trek overhead, while Phobos seemed to glow particularly bright, almost fully swollen again.

                Lost in her thoughts and her dozens of worries, her ears perked on the sound of footsteps. She stilled, dropping back into the shadows of the wall, under the bows of short flowering trees. The steps drew closer, but they didn’t sound like Strain’s. They were quicker, and a little too light. A little hesitant as well.

                Her hand strayed towards the stunner strapped to her thigh, her tail twitching.

                A tall figure appeared around the edge of the shop that shielded the drain they used as an entry point.

                “Carbine?” a voice called quietly.

                The black-haired mouse blinked in surprise, her hand immediately moving away from her weapon. “Sweep?”

                The silver-haired mouse moved into view, looking as anxious as the general felt. It was an odd thing to see on the normally stoic woman’s face, that was certain.

                She hurried towards the General as they ducked further behind the shop, making sure no one had seen or heard them from the streets beyond before speaking again. The patrols were much stricter now, and if they were caught there was no chance it was going to be a slap on the wrist for either of them. They’d be cooling their heels in the prison block for a night at very least.

                “What are you doing here?” Carbine hissed at her when she was sure there was no one else around.

                “Same thing you’re doing. Waiting for my daughter.” She replied, voice strained and tense. “She should have been back almost an hour ago. Have you heard from her at all?”

                Carbine shook her head. “No. Nothing yet. But she might be lying low. I wouldn’t put it past them to be listening to any communications they can pick up.”

                “This isn’t like her.” Sweep mumbled. Then she laughed a little, though the sound was bitter. “Actually, it’s very like her. Doing everything she can to get into trouble, and not saying a word to me about it.”

                Carbine studied her a moment, as if considering her next words carefully. “Maybe she doesn’t say anything to you about it because she doesn’t want you to worry.”

                “I’ll worry anyway. I can’t help it. It’s what a mother does.”  She glanced at the small swell of Carbine’s abdomen. “You’ll know that feeling soon enough.”

                The General nodded, but was quick to redirect the conversation. “Can I ask you something?”

                The taller woman perked an eyebrow at her curiously but nodded. “Guess we have time to kill, don’t we? Shoot.”

                “If it was Rimfire out here…would you be this anxious? This…frustrated?” She wasn’t sure that was the right word, but it was the best she could come up with. It had not gone unnoticed by her, the difference in the way she treated her children. Rimfire had always seemed to ride roughshod as long as he was tagging after his uncles, while Primer was held back, almost restrained from following suit. It was behavior she had not expected from Sweep.

                The woman held her gaze for a long moment in silence and Carbine could see a flicker of something in her eyes. Offense? Confusion? Defensiveness?

                But after a moment, she lowered them, looking at the ground with a tired sigh, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against the wall of the shop. “I know how it’s got to look on the outside. Gods know I know how she sees it, my poor girl. Like she thinks I don’t have faith in her. But I do. And she’s so smart. A hell of a lot smarter than I was at her age.” She exhaled deeply. “I’ve already given my husband and my brother and now my son to fight our battles, Carbine. Enfield is long buried. I have no idea where my brother or baby niece are…and my son is a good as trapped behind the Cathedra walls. Are the gods of war so hungry for soldiers that they’ll take my daughter too?”

                The General found she had nothing to say to this. Only that her heart hurt, and the question was heavy. There were no good answers.

                Sound then from beyond the wall and in short order a scrambling through the grate. Both woman startled forward, shocked that Primer would be so loud or reckless, knowing how easily the could be caught.

                “Primer! Keep it down, you’re going to—” Carbine chided, moving to loosen the bars and let the girl through. It was then she caught sight of her, saw that she was carrying—or rather dragging—a bloody figure beside her.

                “Help!” the girl gasped.

                Suddenly being caught didn’t matter. Carbine yanked the bar away frantically and Sweep joined her in short order, giving a horrified gasp at the sight of the mouse her daughter was dragging along side her.

                The Maverick woman twisted and broke off the last of the stubborn bars as though they were bendy strays and tossed the aside, the pair reaching and pulling the other two through.

                The bloodied mouse sagged onto the pavement, moaning softly and shuddering. Primer was blood smeared and shaken, and her mother clutched at her.

                “Baby are you hurt?! Primer—”

                Her daughter pushed her aside much to Sweep’s shock and went down beside the old and clearly dying mouse.

                “Gus?! Gus just hang on a little longer okay. The hospital’s right here, we’re going to get you help!”

                He shook his head, his eyes already starting to cloud.

                Carbine put her hands over his neck and tried to stem the steady flow of blood there. “Tell me what the hell is going on right now.” She ordered, looking to the frantic blonde beside her.

                “The crater. He came from the crater. He ran from the Sand Raider camp…Stoke, Bowie, Harley, Kirk! They’re all there!”

                “What?!” Sweep gasped. “Are you sure?”

                She nodded tearfully. “I…I got an transmission. A distress call, on loop. It had to come from there. It was Kirk, Charlie’s kid! He said they were captive there but…when I tried to approach this caravan drove out…they had so many guns and…I guess there was a saber squid attack…”

                Gus’s wounds made sense now.

                “Primer, was there any one else there? Throttle, Modo, Vinnie? What about Charlie, if her son’s there—”

                “I don’t know!” Primer gasped, her voice shrill with panic.  She looked back at Gus. “I-I had to leave them there, I couldn’t….he needed help…”

                The old mouse clutched at Carbine, but she saw he was fading. “It’s okay. You’re free Gus. You’re free.”

                He nodded, almost smiled, then went quiet. Carbine could feel his pulse fade, the slow and sudden stop under her palms. He was dead.

                She sat back on her heels, hanging her head. “Dammit…”

                They heard sounds coming up the street and realized the patrol was making its rounds. Being caught here with a freshly dead body was not an option.

                “Shit.” Carbine hissed, standing up swiftly. She had to think fast. She turned to the other women.

                “Primer, what did that message say exactly. Do you remember?”

                “I recorded it.” The girl gasped. She tapped her helmet. “It’s saved to my com.”

                “Can you get to the Federation ship? Can you run there?”

                “Carbine that’s half way across town!” Sweep gasped.

                Carbine ignored her. “Can you?! Their about to change the guard, you have time to slip in there and transmit that message to Earth.”

                “What?”

                “The boys are on Earth! I know it! And the only goddamn communicator powerful enough in this city is on that fucking ship!”

                The Maverick women stilled and nodded in understanding. Primer’s face tightened in new determination despite the way the rest of her was trembling. Carbine gripped her shoulder and pulled her close. “You can do this. Go. Run hard, run fast, don’t stop. They need to know.”

                The blonde nodded, glanced at her mother, expecting her to protest. Instead Sweep looked just as determined. “Go baby. Go!”

                Primer nodded and then took off at a sprint, sticking as close to the shadows as she could. She had a lot of ground to cover and not much time.

                Sweep looked down at Gus’s body on the ground and then bent and folded his arms across his chest before getting her hands under his shoulders.

                “Get his feet. We have to hide him.”

                “Where?”

                “The grate.”

                Struggling, they stowed the body back inside the drain, pushing him as far out of the way as they could so that even when morning came and the light changed he would not be spotted.

                Carbine pulled Primer’s coat, now the old mouse’s death shroud, over his face and muttered a quick prayer. “I’m sorry old timer.”

                They hurried from the grate, and rushed back into the cul-de-sac, staying to the lee of the shop until they heard the foot patrol move past.

                “I need to get back to the Cathedra. I’ll contact Strain and then we’ll go straight to Rimfire. There has to be something we can do, some way we can move without the Secretary getting involved. Some way to override her.” Carbine explained, thoughts racing as she tired to wipe the blood from her hands, glad it wouldn’t show on her dark pants.

                Sweep nodded, scanning the street before leading her out. They hurried up the road, trying not to seem like they were doing anything more than taking a late night stroll. Well after curfew, when everyone was supposed to be off the streets.

                Carbine tried her com again, “Strain? Are you there? I need you home sooner rather than later, honey.”

                She tried to keep her voice light, to act like she was merely missing her man from the comfort of their home, instead of wandering the streets, trying to send a covert message to her kin who were presently deemed public enemies.

                No answer.

                Carbine cursed softly. “Why won’t he answer?” she hissed.

                “Our men know how to make us worry.”  Sweep nodded, keeping her eyes ahead. “I think it’s in their blood.”

                This made the other smile ruefully. “It’s inescapable I guess.”

                Further ahead, there were new footsteps, coming down from the side street. Hurried ones. The women stopped mid step and tried to fall back, tried to get out of view, but they were caught.

                But only a lone mouse appeared onto the main road before them. One they knew well.

                Rimfire looked at them across the puddle of street light that separated them. “Carbine?!” he gasped, startled by her sudden appearance.

                Both women let out an exhale in relief and the General cursed again, shaking her head at the way her blood pressure had been made to yo-yo more than once in such a short span of time. “Dammit Rimfire, you always manage to sneak up on me and it’s getting so old!” she snapped through gritted teeth.

                She moved towards him without thinking. “What are you doing out here anyway, I thought we agreed you stay and make sure the dragon was still in her lair—”

                His face was strange as he looked at her and as she closed the distance between them he reached for her arm. “Carbine…something’s happened.”

                It struck her dumb for a second, the irony in that statement. Because yes, something certainly had. But he couldn’t yet know that. So what was that look on his face about?

                Something, a prickle sharp and cold as needles, raised itself at the base of her skull.

                “What are you talking about? I was just coming to see you, Primer—”

                “It’s Strain.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “Carbine…” He struggled, seeming lost for words. He glanced past her for just a moment, glimpsing his mother’s presence for perhaps the first time and the strangeness of that.

                Sweep stared back at her son, and by her motherly instinct alone, had already deduced what he had not yet said. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open, stepping closer.

                “What happened?”

                “Happened?” Carbine echoed, confused. She looked between this new pair of Mavericks, seeing their exchange of looks. Cold had started to pool in her belly, the sick adrenaline fueled kind that came before you were dropped abruptly.

                “What do you mean, happened, what happened?!” she hissed, pushing Sweep back as she looked closer at Rimfire. “Where’s Strain?”

                Rimfire looked at them, brow knit with worry and ache that aged him so terribly. “They said…they said that it was a Sand Raider attack. That some had come through the wall and tried to raid the quarantine tent. There was a fire-fight—”

                Carbine grabbed him with both hands by the front of his shirt and shook him. The mouse who had once been half her size, who now stood almost half a head taller than her. But she shook him like he was still that reckless sixteen year old, trying to get himself killed playing hero. Trying to be his uncle.

                “What happened? Where is he?”

                He put his hands over hers, noticing the faint stains of blood on her fur. “Carbine—”

                “Where’s my husband!?” she shouted, almost screamed. Husband. Not yet. Not legally. But very much so in every way that mattered. Friend, partner, college. Father of her unborn child.

                Sweep covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stifle the shock. Rimfire didn’t say the words, but his face said everything.

                Carbine couldn’t see, her eyes welling up with panicked tears. But his silence was so deafening.

                “I’m sorry…” he whispered, trying to pull her in instead of pull her off.

                She was rigid. Unmovable. Only for a heartbeat.

                Then she pushed him away, drawing in a loud shaky breath as she stormed past him. “They’re lying. They’re fucking lying. He went on a routine patrol. There are no fucking Sand Raiders within miles of this goddamn city…”

                Rimfire turned, moving swift to catch her. “Carbine, take a breath. I need you to listen I need--!”

                “I don’t give a damn what you need!” she howled back at him. “If he’s dead, show me a body. Show me! You’ll never make me believe it otherwise. This is just her, fucking with my head, trying to punish us—”

                He grabbed her arm and though she fought him he pulled her in tight. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Rimfire hissed. “Because you’re damn right. This was a set up. It was a trap. I don’t know why him, and I don’t know why this, but it was exactly that. And if you fly in there and make a scene, you’re going to be in the morgue right next to him!” He warned her, his voice strained and desperate for her to understand.

                “Rimfire!” Sweep moved in, shocked and angry at the way her son was speaking. But he didn’t look back at her. He kept his gaze fixed on Carbine.

                The anger, the denial that had been there a moment before had crumbled. There was just shock now. Wide-eyed and terrible.

                Noises from different ends of the road now. More patrols. Rimfire cursed and looked anxiously up and down each path before looking to his mother. “Where’s Primer?”

                “She intercepted a distress call. She’s taking it to the Federation ship. It’s the only thing that will broadcast it far enough.”

                Rimfire didn’t understand, the words bouncing off him. All that seemed important was that his sister was about to be in trouble.

                “Go. Take her up the road and get her in the house with Grandma. I’ll follow her. If they catch her trying to get on that ship—”

                “GO!” Sweep yelled, needing more explanations. There was no time. She moved swiftly and got her arms around Carbine, driving her up the road the way Rimfire came as her son sprinted off into the dark.

                The women made it up the road, back towards the pod apartment the Mavericks now occupied, the silver-haired mouse practically dragging her companion. They were past the gate of the house when Carbine seemed to snap back to herself and let out a wrenching, screeching cry as she ripped herself free from Sweep’s grasp. “GET OFF ME!”

                Sweep fell back but only a step. She watched as the dark haired woman took a few unsteady steps forward into the little yard beyond the gate, hugging herself and gasping. “He’s not gone…he’s not. He said he’d meet me there…”

                She could see him, smiling at her in their bedroom just a few hours prior. Could still feel his lips on hers, his big arms around her.  Her clothes, her fur, her hair, still had a trace of his scent. He was everywhere. And nowhere.

                Her throat constricted too tight to say anymore, only a cracking cry wrenching free as her knees gave out and she hit the ground on them hard. Sweep was beside her, kneeling in the dust and dirt and dried grass.

                “He-he was just here!” She insisted. “H-how can he just be gone?”

                It was a stupid question. It happened a thousand times a day all across the planet. Lives that just seemed to wink out of existence. Flames snuffed out too soon.

                Sweep watched the other woman, feeling a bone deep echo of her own loss reflecting back at her. As many years had passed between now and her own loss, she had thought that pain had finally begun to dim. But seeing Carbine made it rise, as sharp and crisp in her mind as the day it happened. Grief was like that. Merciless and timeless. A splinter that could not be removed.

                The General gasped, tears falling hot and landing in the dust below her as was caught between weeping and screaming. She unwrapped one arm from around her chest and instead gripped at her stomach, looking at Sweep desperately. “I can’t do this. Not without him. I can’t—”

                Sweep slipped in close and put her hand over hers and held tight, laying her head against hers. “You can. You can and you will. Do you hear me?” she pulled her close, letting her cry and not needing an answer.

**

                Primer ran under her lungs felt like they might burn away, until her muscles ached. She could still smell Gus’s blood on her fur and clothes, mixing with the scent of fire and disease and the desert beyond Brimstone.

                She had sprinted down side roads, through yards, hoping fences and curbs, her feet aching but going so fast she swore they barely touched the ground. Kirk’s message, the scene at the crater, her mother and Carbine, all of it kept chasing itself around and around in an endless loop in her head, driving her on.

                She ship rose into view, and as promised, there was no standing guard at it’s open ramp. They were in the distance, just out of view, she could hear them talking, debriefing.

                She could only pray they didn’t see her. If they did, they might gun her down before she got inside. At this point, it would be the only way she’d be able to stop.

                Blades of grass whished and wiped at her ankles and calves and would have cut her if not for her boots as she pounded forward, the open mouth of the ship rising to greet her. Distantly, she thought she heard voices getting louder. Sounding confused. Someone shouting.

                But she was already inside. Her boot-falls pounding loud on the metallic floor as she left Martian ground and entered the ship racing through the now empty cockpit and stumbling further into the main hull.

                She was still breathing hard, fogging up the visor of her helmet, not quite able to catch her breath all the dizzier as she looked around at its strange configuration. At the tubes and cells that seemed to indicate this was some sort passenger vessel. Maybe a prison one?

                She heard voices shouting clearly now and turned, seeing one of the patrol officers appearing in the cargo bay behind her.

                “YOU! STOP!” he bellowed.

                Primer twisted, looking frantically at the wall on either side of the bay door, then rushed back, slapping her palms against the emergency close button. The hatch door slammed shut just as the officers were gaining, drawing their stunners. She heard several shots hit the door, but it didn’t move or give under the assault.

                Still breathing heavily, she pulled off her helmet and made it further into the ship until she spotted the communication console. The same one—unbeknownst to her—where Madam Tourmaline had caught Baron sending his transmission to the High Chairmen.

                She rushed the controls, fingers shaking but flying all the same, syncing her helmet com to the console as she frantically trying to program the right coordinates for the broadcast.

                She heard new pounding on the door far behind her and knew she didn’t have long.

                After two or three tries, the ship’s system seemed to find what she was looking for. The nearest compatible receptor to the Earth coordinates she had named. It briefly flashed a visual of what looked like a large business building in Chicago’s downtown that read Eris on it’s side.

                “Uncle Modo, if you’re listening…” she gasped, as if he were some other worldly being who could hear her wish from so far away. “…gods please tell me you’re listening!”

                Kirk’s message uploaded and she only had time to send it, watching the screen flash a confirmation screen before the door behind her blew open.

                The transmission automatically began to play across the ship’s speakers as she turned, raising her hands in the vain hope that they wouldn’t shoot her dead on the spot.

                “…Emergency! Emergency!...If anyone out there can hear this…we need help! We’re being held captive at a Sand Raider encampment in a crater somewhere in the Martian wasteland outside of Caria…if anyone can hear me…please send help! Please!”

                “Wait—please, don’t shoot!” Primer shouted, hands in the air, Kirk’s voice in her ears. She felt the burn of the lazor strike her in the chest near her shoulder and she fell back against the console before falling to the ground, all the wind knocked out of her.

                As she started to go numb, to fade to black from the stunning hit, she heard another voice. Her brother’s. She thought she glimpsed him as she faded, though she saw him shove the reaching guard away from her. But she wasn’t sure. The only thing she really knew just then was that she could finally stop running.

***

Chapter Text

***

                Sitting on a large leather sectional sofa—that had been comfortably worn in—Charlie Davidson flipped through news feeds on the large television monitor in front of her, searching the local news for reports. Her hands ached and burned. The fresh bandages they were wrapped in made them stiff, her fingers difficult to flex for the moment. It was a small malady, but one that someone who always worked so heavily with their hands, felt profoundly.

                Beside her, Remy sat with an equal sort of exhausted stiffness, ignoring the monitor ahead and instead trying to flip through her own news feeds on her laptop.

                Both sources largely reported the same. A fictious cover story of armed individuals, who had made unprovoked attacks across the city, one striking a beloved Chicago landmark. Tons of speculation as to who as responsible, and no proof of anything.

                “People are so stupid.” Remy muttered allowed, flicking rapidly through her social media feed and glaring at her phone.

                Charlie glanced towards her. “Tell me something I don’t know, kiddo. It’s probably one of the most consistent things about humans. We’re astonishingly stupid for being the same people who have invented and created so many great things.”

                “Yeah well…it’s all politics and finger pointing at this point.” The teen groaned before tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her in frustration. “Uuugh the one fuckin time the real weirdos who blame occult and aliens are actually RIGHT and they’re nowhere to be found!”

                Charlie reached and patted her knee, though it made her wince slightly to do so. “I’m sorry sweetie, but…what are you really looking for, anyway? Someone to tell you what you already knew?”

                Remy glanced at her mom, trying not to stare at the obvious wound on her face. Her chest pinched and her stomach knotted. “I don’t know. I guess I just…want to feel less crazy.” She replied. “I don’t know how all this crazy shit can be happening, and no one else sees it. No one else seems to care!”

                “Oh honey…” Charlie sighed, scooting a little closer to her, glancing around the room they were in. “I think this place is proof enough that somebody else does.”

                Remy nodded slowly, sitting up as she moved closer to her mom. “I always thought The Pits were just an urban legend.” She admitted.

                “Even after you found my old box of photos?” Charlie asked.

                The teen said nothing, but took one of her mother’s bandaged hands in hers and turned it over carefully, examining it, before kissing the back of it as if trying to make it better. Charlie blinked.

                “I’m sorry,” Remy said quietly, looking at her mother’s hand but not her face. “I’ve been a real bitch lately.”

                Her mother inhaled deeply, bracing, trying to navigate. “I don’t know if you’ve been a bitch but your mouth has gotten infinitely worse, I see.” It was halfway between a tease and a correction, and Remy blushed a little.

                “Sorry.”

                “It’s okay, baby.”

                She reached and pulled her in, and Remy let her. In fact, the moment her mother held her, she melted, wrapping her arms around her and climbing into her lap. She was almost too big, too long and lanky now to sit comfortably, but neither cared. They needed each other.

                “I’m sorry too.” Charlie admitted, rubbing her back, ignoring the ache in caused. “I never wanted to bring you into this scary world, baby. You or your brother.”

                She expected Remy to argue, to say something about how if that was true, she wouldn’t have decided to help Throttle and the others. She would have sent him away that night and gone home to them, and left this all behind.

                Maybe that was her own doubt and guilt talking.

                But Remy just looked up at her from the crook of her neck. “You’re not scared though.”

                Charlie blinked at her, confused and shook her head. “Baby girl, I’m scared all the time.” She corrected. “There are fish people trying to mine our planet to dust. My best friends are alien war refugees who barely survived extinction and they are constantly in danger. And they trust me to help them. To take care of them.” She paused and pushed Remy’s hair from her face and brought her close, kissing her forehead. “Not so different from how I try to take care of you and Kirk. I am always scared. Because I love you. I love them too. The trick is to use the scared feeling to keep moving. To make you tougher. Make you smarter. You gotta use it as fuel, not let it eat you up.”

                The pair sat with this a moment, finding their footing with each other.

                “Yeah…I get that.” The girl nodded. “This all just happened so fast. You were just my weird mom, and we had normal problems like arguing about balancing school work and social time and you not letting me go to a concert with my friends without an adult to…all this.  And now you’re like…this insanely hardcore motorcycle riding tech genius and I guess I just…missed when you were just my weird mom.”

Charlie’s chest pinched, and she opened her mouth to apologize, but her daughter rolled her eyes and pushed her hand over her mouth. “Stop! Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I know you are and you don’t have to be, just…I’m trying to tell you that I get it now, I think.”

“Yeah?”

Her daughter nodded. Her eyes welled, and for once she did not try to hide it. She settled against her mother again, head on her shoulder and Charlie made herself comfortable, no intention of moving.

                “So…do you think we can still do mom stuff? Like…eat pizza and talk about boys? Or does it always have to be fighting fish people and stuff?”

                Charlie kissed her hair lovingly. “Definitely still time for pizza and boys.”

                Remy nodded, satisfied. Tired.

                They changed the channel on the monitor to something more mundane. Some re-run of sitcom they had seen a million times. With predictable dramas and solutions all wrapped up neatly in the time frame.

                Charlene stroked her fingers through her daughter’s long hair, combing out the tangles she found here and there. The weight of her comfortable and familiar. Grounding for both mother and daughter. They were barely five minutes into the episode when she realized Remy was asleep.

                She let herself relax a little more then, gazing beyond the monitor towards the wide window looking out at the reformed Pits beyond and the firefly glow of the subterranean city. A reminder of the wider world, the wider universe beyond them, waiting for them.

                She heard footsteps behind them then, and Vinnie touched one of her shoulders lightly to keep her from startling. She looked up at him only to have him bend and kiss her forehead lovingly. “Easy, pretty lady. Don’t get up on my account.” He cooed.

                “I don’t think I could if I tried.” She chuckled softly, glancing back down at Remy.

                Vinnie pulled off his jacket and draped it over her. “Yeah, she looks pretty comfortable there.” He nodded, noting how much younger Remy looked when she was asleep. He rubbed her back lightly and then eased himself down on the opposite edge of the couch at their feet.

                “How’s your head?” Charlie asked worriedly.

                Vinnie knocked lightly on his skull, “Eh no worries.” He gave a small twinge, a reminder of the wound in his side. He pulled up the edge of his shirt and showed the fresh gauze and bandages. “This is more annoying to be honest.”

                Charlie reached for him with her free hand and Vinnie caught her hand, careful of her wrapped palms. He kissed her palm tenderly. “Guess things got pretty wild back there. Not in the fun way either.” He sighed. “I’m sorry about the Garage.”

                The mechanic let her head fall back against the arm rest. “Thanks but…she’s been through plenty of rough things before. Not the first time she’s had a couple of holes blown into her. What’s a little more spackle and drywall? I’m more worried about the transporter.” She admitted. She frowned, hand against her forehead, letting that statement sink in. “Is that crazy?”

                “You mean the thing that’s going get us back to Kirk? No. I don’t think that’s crazy at all.”

                **

                Modo watched, eagle-eyed, as a young woman—heavily tattooed and looking more like she had just come from a punk concert than an ER—finished her exam on Shiloh. The tawny furred woman had barely moved throughout the check over, the tattooed nurse taking her vitals and looking to Modo for confirmation on what was considered “normal” for his species.

                Other than clear signs of stress, mild dehydration and exhaustion, the woman should have been just fine. But instead she just laid there, nearly catatonic. Mute and minimally responsive to questions or any small movement the nurse made to her limbs.

                “How long has she been like this?” the tattooed woman asked, looking up at him.

                The big grey furred mouse exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Been maybe more than a hour or so now, I guess. She was still talking when we were back at the garage. But…” he looked pensively at the human. “She got something of a nasty shock, I guess. Bad memories. I’m not sure how to explain.”

                The woman removed her gloves and stood up. “It’s alright, big guy. I know what shock and trauma look like. I think she’s just a little overloaded right now. I have a mild sedative I can give her…maybe after a little sleep she’ll come around.”

                She raised one pierced eyebrow as she looked at him. “Is um…that safe to give your kind?”

                “Yeah, should be all good.” Karma interjected, entering the little exam room with Daisy in tow. Each were sipping on a pouch of juice, Daisy finding this new treat quite delightful. And a nice distraction from impatiently waiting for her father to finish his business.

                “I mean, I’ve been on this planet for about a month, and true—I haven’t gotten myself blown up yet—but these big doofs seem to do it all the time. So if there was an issue, I’m sure it would have come up by now.”

                Modo turned towards her, clearly ready to lecture on interruptions, but Karma ignored him completely, looking wide-eyed at the tattooed girl. “Oh wow! Check you out! That’s a ton of ink!” She gasped, clearly fascinated. “Oh man, I’m so jealous!! Do you have any idea how hard it would be to do all these designs in fur?” she gasped.

                The punk nurse blushed faintly and laughed. “No, but I’d be fascinated to hear about it some time.” She nodded appreciatively. She looked back to Modo. “I’ll give her something to help her rest, big papa. No worries. Be right back.”

                “Oh, she’s not my—”

                Before he could further explain the woman was gone, ducking through a sliding door into another section of the hub’s medical wing.

                Maverick glanced at his niece. “Do I really look old enough to be her dad?” he asked, clearly sounding both confused and slightly self-conscious.

                Karma and Daisy both blinked up at him, and then the redhead shrugged her shoulders. “I mean…you are grey furred. Humans are weird. I think they take the color grey as sign yer getting up there.” She glanced back towards the door. “But better question…how old do you think she is?” She sucked up the last of her juice as she looked after where the nurse had left. Modo recognized a look on Karma’s face that was identical to Vinnie’s and he felt his head spin slightly.

                “Oh Mama…you’re starting to take after your old man a little too much.”

                Karma scrunched her face as if she wasn’t sure how to take this comment. But before more could be said on the matter, Daisy came tugging on her father’s arm. “Up. Please.”

                He scooped her up easily, giving her a grateful and loving smooch on the cheek. The girl hugged him back with all her might, and the adoration between the two was palpable. Karma suppressed the urge to coo at how sweet the pair were.

                “Hi sweetpea! Daddy’s  so sorry to keep you waiting. I had to check on our friend.” He looked anxiously back at Shiloh, who just laid there, staring at nothing.

                Karma grew serious then, “What happened to her? That creep Mace didn’t do something to her, did he?”

                Modo shook his head. “Just in shock. Poor girl’s been through it. It’s not an easy thing to come back from brainwashing like what she must have been through.”

                The redhaired girl looked rattled at the suggestion. “Brainwashing? You’re kidding right?”

                Modo shook his head sadly. “Afraid not.”

                He paused to step closer to Shiloh’s bed, putting a hand on her arm lightly. “We’ll be right back, okay? Just try to rest, Shy.”

                She of course did not respond. But Karma could not help but noticed the tender way he spoke her.

                “Do you know her?”

                He didn’t know how to respond to that. Right now, she was a hazy memory. A lighthouse in a sea of lost time. Part of him that still had so many questions about what had happened to him in in his lost year, desperately wanted whatever answers she might have.  But another part of him was wary.  Maybe somethings were best left lost. Modo sighed again. “Long story, little darling.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Is there any stories you guys have that aren’t? Wouldn’t it be a nice change of pace to just say, yeah, I used to shop at the same tire store as them, and that be it?”

                The trio ducked from the room, Modo attempting to get his bearings in the maze of the new environment. “Suppose we should check in with the others. Vinnie and Charlie cleared from triage yet?”

                “Yep, already scooted off to some holding area I guess. Vinnie’s a little loopy, so Throttle hauled him off to check on Max and the Creep.”

                “Creep is putting it mildly.” The grey furred companion grumbled darkly.

                “Explain to me again why we dragged him along? You know we did have a super easy out with him back there at the Scoreboard.” She mused.

                “Because we can’t afford to leave any mouse behind. Even if he is half-rat.”  

                “Dat’s crazy…” Daisy cooed, clearly wanting to join the conversation. Her Daddy beamed at her, amused, and his smile made her light up in turn.

                “Did you learn a new word, Miss Daisy?” he chuckled.

                The toddler, all sunshine and wispy curls and sweetness, gave an absolutely wicked little giggle.

                Karma looked nervous, and was quick to catch Modo’s attention again, “Um, let’s go get Throttle and Max and then we’ll make our way to dad and the others. I think the less time you three spend apart the better.”

                “What makes you say that?” he mused.

                She gave him a deadpan look, “Do I really need to cite examples?”

**

                It was a bizarre scene they entered.

                In the cascade of repurposed dwellings, the Marshall of the Pits has created a central hub of sorts that sat overlooking what would be considered the heart of the town they’d formed.

                The bros noticed several interesting things about the recycled architecture, mainly that there were many wide windows and balconies that gave sweeping views of the place. But the glass that insulated them was unusually thick. Bullet proof. Military grade.

                And as comfortable as Four-By and his people had clearly strived to make the place—even beautiful in its own way—it was clear that this place was prepared to see action. It expected hostilities. It would have been unwise to ever pretend otherwise, considering the roots of the Pits.

                The Martians couldn’t help but notice eerie parallels to their own home city of Brimstone as they surveyed it and wondered, not for the first time, exactly how different they really were from Humans.

                The tall dark-skinned trucker turned lawman rose from his chair as they entered the central room, the core four at the forefront, with Max, Karma, Remy and Daisy behind. Two more were still resting elsewhere.

It was clear that their multiplied numbers had given Four-by a surprise, his expression glad but softer and with a hint of awkward anticipation.

                “Good to see you up and about bros.” He gave each of them a hug and a hearty, if not careful, clap on the back.

                “We appreciate the assist,” Throttle assured with equal warmth. He glanced at Manuelo, who was also present, sitting easily in a chair around a large round table. “I see you two have combined forces for the good of Chi-town.”

                “We do our best, but it hasn’t been easy.” Manuelo replied.

                “No. It sure hasn’t.” Four-by nodded. “Have a seat fellas. There’s a few things we need to discuss.”

                The bros glanced at each other, and then Throttle turned back to where Max, Karma and the kids lingered. “Babe, would you—?”

                “No need to ask, I know that look.” Max sighed, shifting Daisy in his arms. “The second string gets the boot! Whatever, the ladies and I are gonna go rustle up some grub. How about it girls?”

                Karma nodded, doing her best to avoid making eye contact with any of the other Pit members, a faint blush in her cheeks. “Yes please…I feel over dressed for the dress code around here.”  She mumbled.

                Max flicked his gaze towards one of the blonde freedom fighters, who was at least as broad and buff as Modo if not bigger and wore jeans, leather chaps, a studded belt and leather harness across his broad and otherwise bare chest. Max swore he also spotted a nipple piercing.

                “Girl, you’re telling me, I didn’t know the bros were into that kind of scene.” He whispered back.

                Remy giggled, looking back at the catty pair. “Really? I’m not sure they own more than 2 shirts between all three of them. I’ve seen the pictures.”

                Max had to bite his tongue and usher them away before any more out-of-pocket comments could be made, suspecting he was about to have a way more enjoyable time than his fiancé.

                Across the room, Vinnie glanced at Charlie, “And what pictures are those exactly?” He teased.

                “She’s about to go into high school, her life is gossip and dirty jokes she doesn’t fully understand. Let it lie.” She assured him.

                “Have a seat, bros. I figure we have a lot of catching up to do.”

                The four eased themselves down, the heaviness in the room shifting as Four-by and Manuelo gazed at each other, before the Marshall began to speak. “Tonight was an escalation in hostility like we haven’t seen before. Not since Pit Boss himself was still in power and working with your fish-head Lawrence Limburger.”

                “Who’s back, by the way.” Vinnie sighed. “Sorry about that.”

                “I expected as much. We’ve been dealing with his replacement, who’s definitely gone about things much more quietly than Limburger himself did. Although, I have a funny feeling in my gut it was because you three were always getting in his way.”

                “We did our best.” Modo nodded.

                “So are you saying you’ve delt with those monster-truck thugs before, Four-by? They definitely have a familiar…air to them, I guess you could say.” Throttle offered.

                The Marshall nodded. “They’re exactly what you think they are. Remnants of the old guard here in the Pits. But usually they stay in our territory. They mess with us. Their hits in the city itself are few and far between and now…it’s like they don’t’ care. What happened at your garage, Miss Charlie, was bad enough but that kind of violence isn’t out of their norm. A sneak attack in the dark that’s easy to write off as a gas leak or something. But what happened at the Scoreboard…”

                “They’ve never gone to that scale.” Manuelo chimed in. “Never that publicly. Something big is going down. We’ve been watching little happenings around the city for awhile. There are always disappearances, weird break-ins and worse. But it’s all escalated since—”

                “Since we came back.” Throttle sighed.

                “We’re glad you’re back.” Four-by interjected. “Manuelo and I always hoped you would be. We’ve been fighting hard to fill the void you left since you disappeared all those years ago. This place grew because of the people you’ve helped here. People you saved and inspired to work for something better.”

                Charlie beamed at her boys. “See? Wasn’t just me that missed you, you big lugs.”

                Four-by gestured to the window and the sweeping view of the town below it. “All this? Only possible because of what you three started that day you kept me out of jail.”

                The boys seemed caught between flattery, awe and confusion.

                “But, much as you’ve already done for us, we have to ask for your help again.” Manuelo spoke then, his voice wary and serious. “We are no longer dealing with just…the usual sort of trouble Plutarkians bring. Something’s changed.”

                “Let me guess, it has something to do with the way the thugs are acting? Like they’re on some kind of berserker rage?” Vinnie asked.

                Both humans nodded warily.

                “It’s called Frenzy.” Throttle explained. “It’s a bioweapon that Plutark invented, tested and released on our planet. It causes uncontrollable rage and insanity. It’s an airborne agent that they release like nerve gas. But once you’re infected…it’s also possible to infect others. And without intervention, it’s lethal.”

                “Is it curable?” Four-by asked.

                “Yes.” Modo nodded, holding his head a little higher. He reached a put his hand over Throttle’s folded ones. “I got exposed to it on Mars. Patient zero, I guess. We were working on a vaccine back at Brimstone, but it was still in trials. But we found that Limburger’s butcher of a doctor had also been manufacturing a cure here. It saved me.”

                He met Throttle’s eyes as he spoke and the tan furred mouse gave his hand a squeeze in return.

                “Well, that’s something.” Four-by mused. “But that doesn’t explain why Limburger would be using it on us. Unless they’re trying to replicate what they’re doing on your planet?”

                “I think it’s a different strategy here.” Vinnie offered. “If there was a calculated plan to unleash Frenzy on the population, it got blown to hell the day you two found that bunker in the desert.” He explained, glancing to his bros. “After that, everything was sporadic. You’d get a bunch of people exposed here and there, and then maybe only one or two in another area.”

                “Probably helps that Mars is so spread out. The infected usually die before they can reach anyone else to infect. Makes it hard to keep up the spread.” Throttle added.

                “But here, everything’s packed close.” Charlie reminded them. “Dense population. If it got released here the way it did on Mars, Chicago would go up like a tinderbox.”

                An anxious quiet rippled over the table at the statement.

                “But so far, Limburger’s only been infecting his own people. And frankly it doesn’t seem like he’s going to have many left after this last stunt.”  Vinnie mused. “If he was trying to raise a berserker army to send after us he kinda misfired.”

                “Which should be a good thing.” Modo offered.

                “So why doesn’t it feel like it is?” Throttle countered.

                Four-by stood and moved off towards the windows, looking out at the city, mulling this new information over with renewed fear for his people and all they had built. He could defend the Pits and Chicago against thugs and warlords and even aliens. But a lethal berserker virus was entirely out of his wheelhouse.

                The bros and Charlie gazed at each other and Manuelo, each feeling that there was something just out reach, some piece of Limburger’s plan that was staring them in the face, but they couldn’t see it.

                Charlie brought out here phone, and opened up DJ’s feed again. The little robot seemed to be in the same position he was last time, hiding somewhere out of sight. “Remy said something went down between Limburger and Marshall. Any idea what it was about?”

                Throttle nodded. “A bad scene for sure. We watched it in real time.” He took a deep inhale, collecting his thoughts. Wishing Max were beside him. Something to help steady him. This moment felt like too many he had spent in closed rooms at the Cathedra, talking stakes and strategy with Stoker, Carbine and the others. Arguing for every patrol, every precaution. Trying to make a case for the then still mysterious infection that was plaguing them.

                “Marshall said something about being set up. That he went to Mars with a ship full of infected water.”

                The other three tensed sharply. “Infected? What they dropped on Caria was infected?”

                “Can’t be Frenzy, can it? What was in the bunker was airborne. The only other way to spread it was through—” Modo hurried.

                “Blood? Salvia?” Throttle countered, once more looking directly to his grey-furred bro. “We’ve already proven that’s not always the case. Or I’d have it by now.”

                “What?” Vinnie asked.

                “The doc was clearly infected when he attacked us at the school yard. I bit him when he got ahold of me.”

                “So you’re infected?” Vinnie countered sharply and then looked hard at Modo. “And you didn’t say anything!?”

                “Calm down, Vincent. I’m not infected. Clearly. What I’m trying to tell you is that they’re fucking with the formula. There’s more than one kind of Frenzy now. That’s what Limburger said on the feed when he was fighting with his nephew. So I’m sure that was their back-up plan for Caria. Whoever didn’t drown would end up spreading a mass infection that would have wiped us off the map.”

                The pair stared at each other, more pieces of the large, disjointed puzzle beginning to fall into place.

                “They didn’t count on the freeze though.” Charlie said slowly. “Or the dome.” She reached with her bandaged hand and gently tugged Vinnie back into his chair beside her. “Their plan got botched, and now they’re back here. Making a second attempt?” she asked.

                Quiet as they considered. “If they attempted a mass infection on your planet…maybe the Scoreboard attack was their second try?” Manuelo considered, scratching at his facial hair. “They made it into a spectacle. Maybe they meant it to start there? Where you could be found and blamed for the source of it?”

                “But that didn’t work either.” Modo reasoned. “Thanks to you fellas.”

                Manuelo smiled appreciatively. “We dodged a narrow bullet then. Perhaps they will not try again for awhile? Lie low and try to recover from this? They’re down plenty of fighters and it will take awhile for the authorities to sort things out.”

                “Cover it, you mean.” Four-by interjected. “We both know that Limburger or Eris, whatever name they go by, has already bought off everyone they need to, to keep themselves out of the hot seat. Nevermind the protestors, nevermind the witnesses. Nevermind the law. Those slimy fish swim around it every time, so long as they make the right connections.”

                “That’s a tune we know well, sad to say.” Vinnie sighed. “No different on Mars.”

                Charlie hugged his arm and he leaned into her for comfort. “We can’t give in to that sort of thinking though. Limburger’s not the only one with power.”

                Throttle rose then, making his way over to where Four-by stood, gazing down at the new city below. The Marshall looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Well? You think maybe they’ll lie low after this?”

                But the tan mouse shook his head. “No. They’re too desperate for that. I think we’re on the edge of something worse. I think the Scoreboard was a lash-out. Not a calculated set up.”

                “So that was what? The opening act?”

                It was an anxious joke on the law-man’s part, but it sparked something in Throttle’s brain. His eyes widened behind his specs. He turned suddenly and looked at Charlie. “The Gala.”

                Vinnie and Modo frowned, confused. “Huh? You mean that fancy shindig the Big Cheese wants throw as a PR stunt?” Vinnie asked.

                “Boy it’s going to have to be a big party to cover up this mess.” Modo replied.

                Throttle and Charlie continued to stare at each other, both coming to same conclusion. “Oh yeah. That’s exactly the point.” She gasped.

                She hurriedly opened another search on her phone, looking for news about the Gala. There was a sprinkling of articles about it, and so far no indication of its cancellation. There was no official published guest list, but those who had been noted in the articles indicated that it would be somewhat star-studded. Big names in industry, wealthy benefactors and philanthropists, huge corporate sponsors and their guests.

                “This article says there will be at least 500 guests attending.” Charlie explained.

                “That place will be packed like a sardine can.” Modo muttered comfortably.

                “Yep. If you want to create a super-spreader event for a virus, this is the place to do it.” Throttle nodded grimly. “That’s why Limburger fought Marshall about it. He really is taking the nuclear option. He’s figured out where his nephew and Colby went wrong with Caria and is going to take a second run at Chicago with the same idea.”

                They all looked at him in horror.

                “So how do we stop it?” Manuelo gasped, looking at them all. “You must have some sort of plan!”

                “Does putting both Limburger and his nephew through a wall count?” Vinnie muttered.

                “Add that slimy doctor in for good measure.” Modo added.

                “We’re way beyond solving this with a knock-down brawl, guys.” Charlie sighed. She looked at them all anxiously. “Besides, we’re already playing with a handicap. Any of you getting more hurt isn’t an option.”  She stood then. “Four-by, that machine we salvaged from my garage. Do you think you can help me get it working again?”

                He blinked at her. “Well…I’m not much of a scientist, but if it’s a mechanic you need, I’m happy to lend a hand, Miss Charlie.”

                “Perfect.” She nodded. She looked to her mice. “Now listen to me; we have until 9 o’clock tomorrow night to come up with a plan to save Chitown from becoming ground zero for an outbreak. We don’t have a dome to save us like last time, and I’d lay odds that Limburger is going to pull out all the stops to make sure security is through the roof at this event. He wants everyone in and on one out until it’s too late. If I can get the shoe-box transporter operational, we’ve got our in.”

                She grabbed a note pad from the center of the table and a pen and began frantically scribbling down a rough diagram of the tower before pausing to glance up at Four-by.  “I assume you boys have some coffee around here. Better put on a fresh pot. It’s going to be a long night.”

***

                Mace sat on the edge of the cot he’d been given, exhausted but restless. He hadn’t failed to notice they had posted a guard at the door, despite the fact that he was unarmed and injured. Some part of his ego might have taken this as a compliment. That he was considered that dangerous. But really it was a hollow echo of past him. One that he felt less and less connected to.

                Now he just felt defeated. Desperate. Unsure where to turn.

                He hung his head with a deep sigh, fingers threading through his hair as his nails scraped along his scalp. Trying to shake some solution out of his overtired brain.

                He heard the door open then, and almost expected to be grabbed up and marched to some cell. Or perhaps one of his old comrades had come to air their grievances with him further. Either way, he did not look up to greet them, staring at the floor between his feet instead.

                “It’s kinda late for visiting hours isn’t it?” he mumbled.

                Feet stopped close to him and as he glanced towards them, he recognized the familiar black biker boots and the silver buckles they bore. He glanced up in surprise to see Throttle standing beside him.

                Neither spoke, but as their eyes met it seemed both experienced a strange sort of distortion of time. This moment felt as if it had been lived a hundred times over in a dozen different lifetimes.

                “Oh.” Mace mumbled quietly, not taking his eyes away from the other. “It’s you.”

                Throttle blinked and Mace swore he saw the beginning quirk of a smirk in the corner of his lips. But it faded too quickly. “You were expecting someone else?”

                He finally looked away, staring ahead instead. “I never know what to expect these days, tell you the truth.” He admitted. He paused, biting his lip and then added carefully, “How’s Shiloh?”

                “Not good.” Throttle answered. “Coming out of her programing seems to be taking a toll.”

                Mace sighed heavily. “I knew something was wrong with her story…this whole Federation shit. We totally bought it hook line and sinker.”

                Throttle couldn’t help but notice that Mace’s concern seemed genuine, despite his admission that he had left Shiloh behind to pursue him alone. It hadn’t escaped him that Mace had also said she would be better off with his bros. Safer.

                There was a shift in the man before him. Small and at times imperceptible. But Throttle thought he was glimpsing fragments of the snarky go-lucky sniper he’d thought was only a mask.

                “Yeah well…sometimes you want to believe something, even if you know in your gut it’s too good to be true.” Throttle answered quietly.

                Mace looked at him cautiously, “Why are you here?”

                The Freedom Fighter moved to sit on the bed opposite to him. “Someone needed to check on you. Has anyone looked at your shoulder yet?”

                Mace nodded, tentatively touching the new padded gauze and bandage over the lazor wound. It would keep it clean, but it would still take time to mend. “I’ll live. Hope that’s not too disappointing to hear.”

                Throttle looked at him plainly. “This is how it’s going to go. We’re facing down a possible mass infection of Frenzy if Limburger gets away with his most recent plot. I know I don’t need to tell you that we can’t let that happen. So we have the double task of taking down the Big Cheese and getting us all back through the transporter and back to Mars. We’re going to need every available hand on deck to pull this off.”

                Mace raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me for help?”

                “It’s not an ask. You want to get back home, this is the only exit.”

                “I see your point.” Mace shrugged, then wincing as he was once again reminded of his injury. “So, fearless leader,” Throttle’s face soured slightly, hearing Mace call him by same nickname that he used to use with Stoker. “what’s your plan?”

                “It’s in the works.” He nodded.

                Mace chuckled, knowing that was simple code for they had nothing as of yet.

                “But I need you know this doesn’t change anything between us. And when we do get back to Mars, I’m presenting you for trial.”

                Mace rolled his eyes. “Jeezus…okay, yes I understand, Lieutenant Evander.” He shook his head. “Guess I shouldn’t expect any different. People were always gonna expect the worst in me, no matter what side I’m on.”

                “No one feels sorry for you, Mace.  Every choice you made, you made of your own free will. You’ve got a lot to answer for. You had to know that when you got involved in all this.”

                Mace seemed to deflate a little, the snark and cynicism fading, something deeper settling over him. “I know.” He looked at Throttle plainly and this time it was the biker who was taken aback by what he saw.

                Another beat of silence passed between them, something stirring in the unspoken things between them.

                Throttle stood, and Mace expected him to leave without further conversation. Instead he was surprised when the tan mouse stopped at his bedside. “Come on. Let’s go see your friend.”

                He looked up at him in surprise. “Huh?”

                Throttle sighed with mild impatience. “Come on. I know you’re worried about her.”

                Mace nodded and struggled up, wincing at the movement. For a moment, the pair stood toe to toe, closer and calmer than they had in ages. Mace felt a pull in his stomach he hadn’t expected. An ache to reach out. Feeling rising in him he had pushed down and buried deep.

                But he held back. Much as this closeness made him ache, made him feel starved for something he’d lost—no, given up—years ago, it was clear there was a firm wall between them. Throttle gazed at him through the green lenses of his field specs for only a moment before moving on, leading him towards the door.

                Mace walked a pace or two behind him, trying to shake off this rush he felt inside his chest and keep as cool and composed as possible. But the cool, uncaring mask didn’t seem to fit him as easily as it had before.

                He was not at all surprised that when they exited the room to find Modo, Vinnie and Max  were all waiting outside the door.

                The cinnamon furred Martian rolled his eyes. “Wow, you need three bodyguards just to talk to me?” he teased, though they could all see the nervousness in his eyes. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or disgusted by how uncomfortably close you all are.”

                “Yeah yeah, keep running that mouth of yours, I’d love to feed you a bionic knuckle sandwich.”  Modo muttered.

                “Make it a double.” Max replied darkly, flexing his own fist.

                “Basically pal, you’re skating on really, really thin ice.” Vinnie chimed in. “So maybe you should keep your jokes to yourself, hmm?”

                “Boys,” Throttle chimed in, “Save that energy for later. I’m sure we’ll need it.”

                The five made the short walk to where Shiloh was being held for observation. The same tattooed nurse that Modo had spoken with earlier looked up in surprise at the squadron of alien mice who had arrived to visit.

                She was quick to rise from her stool, “Whoa, whoa fellas. I can’t let all of you in at once. She’s still kinda fragile and just needs rest.”

                “It’s okay, Judy.” Modo offered. “Only two of us are going in.”

                She looked pensive, “Well…for just a few minutes, alright?” she countered. Mace stepped forward, and Throttle moved to follow after him.

                Vinnie and Modo both seem to jolt a little, Modo reaching and hooking Throttle’s elbow, “Whoa whoa, where are you going?”

                “Relax, bros. I’ve got this.”  Their leader assured.

                Modo looked apprehensive but nodded, letting him follow after Mace into the room.

                Vinnie fidgeted, huffing in anxious irritation. “Ugh. Everything about this freaks me out. This guy should be in a cell not walking around with a hall pass.” He grunted. He looked in exasperation at the other two mice, though specifically Modo. “Man, why does Throttle have to be the ‘Rat-Whisperer’?”

                “Yeah well, just so long as Mace doesn’t start talking in circles and gets in his head.” Modo replied, clearly wary of the idea.

                Now Max turned his gaze from the window into the room to the two mice beside him, ears perked and tail lashing tensely. “Is that something we should be worried about?”

                Modo and Vinnie glanced at each other silently then replied, "Naw, it’s just…you gotta understand our dilemma here. I hate to give that rat-fink any credit but he is a master manipulator. I mean he talked his way into the heart of the resistance back in the day. And he had a special kind of hook in our bro.” Vinnie explained.

                “Not to say that he would be fooled twice.” Modo amended quickly. “Just can’t help but be nervous, that’s all.” Modo amended.

                Max looked at them both carefully, seeming to scrutinize them. “If he’s so dangerous why are you just standing back and giving the creep any opportunity to mess with him?”

                The pair looked at each other again and Max had the distinct urge to grab them both by the ears and knock their heads together.

                “Well…our bro says to trust him so…I guess we gotta let it play out.” Vinnie sighed, though he was clearly uncomfortable with the prospect.

                Max followed his gaze back through the glass, watching the small exchange of words between the biker and the former traitor.

                “This is the guy you’ve been holding me up against?” He muttered to Vinnie. “Forgive me but I fail to see the comparison.”

                “I mean…you’re both on the tall lanky side.” Vinnie mused, clearly missing the point.

                Modo flashed him a warning look, aware of how on edge Tourmaline seemed at the moment, and not needing anything else to go sideways as so much already had.

                “It’s apples to oranges really.” Modo amended.

                Vinnie snickered, “Both fruits I might add.”

                Max punched him in the arm.

                “Ow!! Hey, I couldn’t resist that one alright? You gotta give a mouse some wiggle room.”

                But Max wasn’t feeling particularly jovial at the moment. He spied a look that came across Mace’s face when Throttle was not looking in his direction. It was not devious; no sly villainous smirk filled with dupers delight. The look on Mace’s face was something more familiar to Max. A longing glance, and a smile that ached.

                A small hot coal of insecure rage lodged in his chest. If he had felt troubled by Throttle’s relationship with Carbine, it was nothing compared to this. Carbine, he knew now, had never been a real threat. But Mace was. Not because he believed his fiancé would be unfaithful, or doubted the love he expressed for him. But because Mace was dangerous. He’d already proven what lengths he would go to take something that wasn’t his. Throttle was vulnerable. More so than he would ever admit.  Max had no intention of letting Mace exploit that.

                He shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms across his chest, taking up a spot against the wall and looking through the glass window that looked into the private room with the grim concentration of a guard dog waiting to pounce on any perceived threat.

                Vinnie meanwhile looked the nurse over, as if just remembering her presence. She looked hurriedly away, as if pretending she hadn’t overheard every word of their conversation.

                “Judy? Really?” he asked. “You don’t give ‘Judy’ vibes.” He gestured to her heavy tattoos, piercings and short blonde hair that was shaved on one side. The girl smiled back at him and gave a little shrug. “It was my grandma’s name. What can I say? I love my granny.”

                Inside the room, Mace approached Shiloh’s bed, immediately made uncomfortable by how still she was. He stared at her a moment and then looked anxiously back at Throttle. “She wasn’t like this when I left. She was…upset, but…how could she end up like this?”

                “Do you know what happened to her?” the other asked.

                Mace shook his head, “Maverick brought up them being trapped in some lab together when he was raging out with Frenzy. But I don’t know how it connects. The brainwashing and the purpose of it. Doesn’t make sense to me.”

                “Colby or Marshall didn’t fill you in that far, hmm?” The biker snarked.

                “I think you forget that Plutarkians are stereotypically paranoid and withholding. And they never trust anyone fully. There’s always an ace up their sleeve.”

                “You seem to have that in common then.”

                Mace ignored the barb, focused instead on the woman in the bed. He cautiously put a hand on Shiloh’s arm, giving it a light squeeze. “Hey, it’s me. You still in there?”

                There was no answer. He could not tell if she was unconscious or just lost too deep in her head, her eyes open just a slit, but seeing nothing. Mace had a sudden sickening flash of memory. A mix of seeing the Freedom Fighter’s he’d betrayed on Karbunkle’s slabs in various states of horrific injury, to his clan’s murder at the hands of Colby. The unseeing eyes of the dead, turned towards him in accusation.

                He jolted away from Shiloh as though touching her burned him and took a quick step back, nearly knocking Throttle back with his effort to retreat.

                “Hey!”

                The pair looked at each other, the tan mouse reflexively steadying the other, Throttle clearly seeing his distress. “What is it?”

                “Nothing,” he gasped, trying to force the intrusive images out of his mind. In doing so, he realized how close he was the mouse, recognized the way Throttle’s arm was around him, bracing him.

                He gazed at the other, wishing he knew how to say he wanted. But there was too much. Mace’s hand tentatively touched the others muscled arm around his, as if testing if it was real. “Always looking out for everyone, huh?”

                He wondered if Throttle was even aware of how deep his protective streak ran, at how automatic it was, even when faced with someone who had only done him wrong. His strength and his weakness entwined.

                Throttle opened his mouth as if to say something in reply, but the half-breed was looking past him.

                Mace glimpsed Max’s face glaring at him through the glass in a way that told him the dark furred mouse might actually leap straight through the wall and strangle him if he didn’t make some space between him and the biker mouse, immediately.

                Mace cleared his throat. “Maybe you’d better leave me here with her for a bit. Your boyfriend looks a bit hot under the collar.”

                Throttle glimpsed behind them and Max’s expression made him realize that Mace perhaps had a point.  

                The cinnamon furred Martian smirked. “Guess he’s the jealous type too, hmm?”

                Throttle gave him a stern look and Mace grew serious again, raising his hands as if in surrender. “My apologies. Far be it for me to impugn the honor of Prince Charming over there.”

                Throttle leaned a little closer to him, looking at him pointedly again and the glare he was given made Mace pale slightly beneath his fur. “You want to make a change for the better, Mace? You start here.”

                The half-breed said nothing, only looking back at Shiloh, his priorities shifting again.

                Throttle gave a small nod and excused himself, greeted by the eager and confused faces of his lover, his bros, and Judy.

                “Babe?” Max was beside him, looking him over, as if he expected there to be damage from the small interaction. “You good? We saw him try to bolt—“

                “He didn’t try to run, I think something about the situation spooked him is all.” The tan mouse explained. He looked at Max over the rim of his glasses, “I’m not so easily bruised, babe. Relax.” He added, more quietly.

                Max frowned, torn between embarrassment and anxious frustration.

                “So what happened?”

                Throttle looked back into the room, pensive. “Hard to say. I think he needs a little time with her.”

                “Time for what? To do more damage than he’s already done?” Modo muttered, the red in his single remaining eye flaring.

                “Big fella, he didn’t do this to her. My guess our pal Thaddeus did.” He glanced back through the glass at the pair, seeing the Mace had settled at the foot of her bed again and seemed to just be talking to her quietly, his hand rubbing along her legs as if to try and rouse her from the stupor she was lost in.

                “He’s been with her all this time. He didn’t do anything to hurt her then, I don’t think he will now. If anything, she might respond to a familiar voice more than any of us.”

                Judy nodded. “It’s true, they can hear you, even if they can’t respond.”

                “I still don’t like it.” Modo sighed. “Maybe I’ll stick around, keep an eye on things.” He looked at Judy. “If that’s alright with you, ma’am.”

                Judy shrugged. “Hey, no skin off my nose, man. So long as everyone behaves themselves.”

                Modo nodded sagely.

                Vinnie shrugged. “Alright then. Charlie and Four-by are up to their elbows in wires and parts trying to get the transporter up and running again. I’ll see if I can help—” he started off but Throttle caught him by his bandana and tugged him back.

                “Ah, ah, not so fast, Vincent. You need some serious downtime after you got yourself blown across the garage. Besides, you know you’ll just be under foot with Charlie-girl.” Throttle reasoned. “I think your time would be better spent taking it easy. Maybe fixing up Cherry at the most. We’re gonna need our rides in tip-top shape for this next rumble.”

                “Plus Daisy’s always looking for a playmate. Time with Uncle Ninny.” Modo grinned.

                Vinnie frowned, folding his arms. “Haha, yeah yeah have a good laugh smart guy. I’m gonna load her up with sugar and send her right back to you. A little ticking time bomb of sugar crash.”

                “That’s low, bro.”

                Throttle laughed, at ease hearing their good-natured ribbing. Max leaned over his shoulder. “Don’t know what you’re laughing about, tough guy. Did you forget you’re still bench warming too?”

                “Hmm, so close.” Throttle sighed, leaning into him.

                “And before you start insisting about ‘work to be done’, I’m well aware. Charlie says we have about 10 hours until the showdown. That means we should all be able to rotate some downtime in.”

                The bros looked at each other, unable to find a hole in this argument.

                “Mouse makes a fair point.” Modo nodded. “Once I’m sure Shy is alright I’ll get to work on our bikes. Four-by’s guards can babysit the stool-pigeon.”

                Tourmaline looked directly at Vinnie then. “Vinnie my man, Modo has a point about you spending some quality time with the munchkin, and also it might be best if you checked in on your own progeny. She and Remy have been taking notice of— let's say—some of the more built and less dressed men that your pal Four-by employs and uh…teenage girls and all.”

                Vinnie suddenly looked like he longed for a concussion.  “I am not prepared for this, bros.”

                “Yeah, you should deal with that. So,” Throttle gave a sudden gasp as Max lifted him up and hefted him into his arms, throwing him over his shoulder like he was a caveman who had just bagged his bride. “Throttle and I will take the first down shift, okay?  Great-thanks-don’t come knocking!”

                “Put me down!” Throttle half laughed half bellowed, face pink and eyes wide. But Max ignored him, giving him a slap on the butt for good measure which made the other yelp.

                Tourmaline turned with his prize in hand and marched away, Throttle squirming and looking helplessly back at his bros, who were obviously going to leave him to his fate. He pushed himself as upright as he could against Max’s back, glasses skewed on his face and shook his finger at them; “If either of you says one word about this; I’ll tie both your tails in a knot!”

                Vinnie sighed, shaking his head as he watched them go. “Uck. Charlie and I were never this bad. They’re like a couple of rabbits.”

                Modo snorted. “Oh please. We had to put up with way worse shenanigans from you two and you were always the instigator.”

                “Yeah well seeing you and Jessie suck face was no picnic either, bro.” He gave a full body shiver. “Nightmares.”

                Modo gave him another sock to the arm and Vinnie was just glad it wasn’t with his bionic fist.

**

                Tourmaline didn’t take him back to the medical wing. Instead he trotted with his laughing and protesting hostage down the winding and labyrinthine corridors until he found a room that seemed to serve as living quarters. Though there was not much other than basic furnishing to indicated that the room might be taken. No scent of any recent visitors, either.

                It gave the appearance of room on a spaceship, with port-hole like windows that bubbled out to overlook a new part of the town, and a bed and couch that built into the curving walls. The room washed in dark blue through the window and only illuminated by the soft gold light glowing over the unused bed.

                “Max!” Throttle gasped, giving his fiancé a thump on the back. “Put me down, all the blood is rushing to my head!”

                Tourmaline winced, “Sorry sorry!” He squatted and put his lover on his feet quickly, but didn’t let him get far, pulling him right back in and kissing him breathlessly.

                There was heat behind the kisses. No low slow burn to get the fire between them going. Max was in overdrive, hands roving, trying to pull his lover out of his clothing as he backed him towards the empty bed built into a cubby in the wall.

                Throttle wasn’t just dizzy from the madcap escape from the medical bay, but from the intensity his lover was operating at, seemingly out of nowhere.

                “Max,” he panted, trying to manage a word or even a full breath between the heated kisses. “…babe, slow down…”

                Tourmaline shook his head, curls bouncing across his forehead and along the nape of his neck. “Shh, just let me take care of you.” He insisted, nipping and licking against Throttle’s neck, hands moving down and palms pressing over a sweet spot just above his hip that earned a little moan from the other.

                Max grinned, having almost successfully gotten him onto the bed, his hands fighting to undo his belts and slip open his jeans, dropping down to his knees in front of him.

                Throttle looked down at him, washed in the warm golden glow of the light above the bed, bracing himself on the overarching edge of the cubby with one hand, while the other cupped the side of Max’s face, bringing his lover’s gaze upward again to meet him.

                “Babe…what’s the rush? Not that I’m not flattered but…”

                Max flashed him one of those dazzling smiles that always left Throttle breathless and kissed his stomach hotly. “Do I need a reason to wanna hear you moan for me?”

                Throttle’s cheeks went red and there was a definite reaction below the belt, one that made Max’s grin even brighter. “It’s been a wild couple of days. All that danger and adrenaline. You’re doing way too much. And if you can’t relax, then let me take your mind off things another way.”  He palmed the other mouse through his jeans, and Throttle’s eyes fluttered, gripping the arch of the bed to keep himself up right.

                Max nipped at him again, encouraged to keep going. As much as he meant what he said, there was more to this frantic and almost base reaction. There was too much in his own head just then, and his go-to solution was physical distraction. If he couldn’t ride, he would fight. If he couldn’t fight, he’d drown himself in a more pleasurable but just as strenuous activity. And riding Throttle until he couldn’t see or walk straight sounded like the perfect solution.

                But his perfect plan was foiled by simple touch. Throttle’s palm pressed against his cheek and turned his eyes towards him again. The want was there certainly, but his gaze was softer, seeing past the smooth Casanova façade that Tourmaline was trying so hard at just then.

                “What is it really?” he asked softly.

                Max blinked up at him, wide-eyed and a little breathless. But he had no ready answer. Instead he just looked lost, caught out in the game.

                Throttle sat down slowly in front of him until they were eye-level with each other again. “Talk to me.”

                Tourmaline smiled but it was awkward, nervous. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he insisted, taking the palm caressing his cheek and moving it so he could kiss down his wrist, feeling his pulse under his lips. “I just want you.”

He leaned over him, stealing another kiss, trying to lay him back against the blankets. But Throttle resisted, holding himself upright and pushing the dark furred mouse back just enough so he could look him in the eye.

                “Max.”

                Tourmaline melted, the way his lover said his name, even a time like this, made his knees weak and his heart do a little dance. His face fell, giving a small, dejected sigh as he leaned into him, but only to rest his head against his shoulder this time.

                Throttle’s arms curled around him, holding him close, welcoming him in where he was always safe, always wanted.  But his brow furrowed, embarrassed by his impulsiveness.

                “Sorry…” he mumbled. “Been…a lot these last few days. I feel like my brain’s alittle scrambled.”        

                Throttle nodded, understanding. He pressed kisses across Max’s forehead, into his wild curls and locks, lifting him to kiss him properly again. This kiss lacked the lustful fire of their previous ones, but there was deeper warmth here. Not a fast-burning match, but a well-tended flame.

                Only now did Throttle let Max lay him back, pulling the taller mouse over him and Max found that Throttle’s hands had no trouble easing the tension in his limbs as he touched him, shrugged him out of his jacket and the tight shirt beneath it, exposing bare skin and fur.

                Max chuckled softly, amazed. “How did you do that?” he asked. “I thought I was supposed to be seducing you.”

                Throttle blinked up at him, perhaps a little surprised by the admission. “Hmm…and why would my fiancé need to seduce me, I wonder?” he queried in return. “Doesn’t he know I’m already his?”

                He reached up and stroked his fingers through Max’s hair with the arm that bore the cuff he’d given him. Max leaned into the touch, putting his palm over the smooth curve of the stone, another flush of embarrassment rushing through him. His face fell, and Throttle pulled him down closer, wanting to erase that look.

                “What is it? “he coaxed again, and this time Max relented.

                “I hate the way he looks at you. Touches you. Breathes around you.” He admitted. “Like he thinks he can just…” he exhaled sharply through his nose, his frustration evident.

                “Max. What are you talking about?”

                The same soft but insistent tone that commanded his attention was spoken again and Max’s ears lowered slightly, his eyes focused on his lover’s throat and chest rather than looking him in the eyes. He felt ashamed of himself.

                “Can’t we stash him somewhere out of sight out of mind? Leave him here with Four-by and his leather daddy’s to take care of?”

                Throttle choked slightly on a laugh at the observation but tried not to be distracted by it.  “I don’t like it any more than you do. But leaving him here isn’t an option. We might need him.”

                Max pulled back, the warmth between them suddenly stolen as the other mouse sat back at the edge of the bed, doused in the dark blue of the night-lit room and no longer under the warm golden glow of the light above the bed.

                He looked away, glaring out the window at the world beyond. “This mission is already going to be risky as hell, Throttle, why do we have to add another complication on top of it? Mace is nothing but a liability, a danger—”

                “I can handle it—” the biker began to protest but Max fixed him with a hard and urgent look, cutting him off.

                “Can you?” he demanded.

                He reached and pulled Throttle’s glasses fully from his face, holding them just out of reach. “Can you even see me right now? Really see me? Or is it all snow and shadows without these?”

                The tan mouse sat stiffly, blue eyes, still freshly scared and still bruised around the edges, staring back at him with a mixture of shock and upset.

                “I can see you just fine.”

                Tourmaline exhaled again and then stood from the bed, dropping the field specs on the mattress. “You’re lying to me.”

                “No, I’m not!” Throttle argued back, chasing after him. He could see Tourmaline fine. Though not as clearly as he wanted or needed to then. Max’s edges were blurred, like he was out of focus, losing the details of him in the dark of the room beyond the light.

                “What is going on? This is not just because you’re worried about the mission. This isn’t like you at all. One minute you’re trying to get my pants off, the next you’re shutting down and shutting me out?”

                Tourmaline struggled, clearly fighting to keep his emotions in check as he tried to reply, “I’m not trying to shut you out, I’m trying to keep you from running yourself into the ground! There’s no way you’re thinking clearly right now—“

                “Excuse me?”

                “That’s not what I mean—“ he moaned growing more frustrated by the second. “-I’m just trying to protect you!”

                “From what, exactly? Where is this coming from? You know my life, Max, danger is part of it! I can’t have you panicking if I get into trouble—“

                Max stared at him, wide-eyed and stupefied. “Trouble? You mean running off after your fight with Vinnie and going head-to-head with that scalpel wielding freak who almost ended you?! Or staying in the scoreboard, alone, with no back up and fighting off an ambush with him to back you up?! What if we hadn’t gotten there in time?!”

                “It couldn’t be helped—“

                “You could have gotten somewhere safe! You could have left with Karma and the girls!”

                “He was tracking me, I couldn’t risk it—“

                “Dammit, what if I hadn’t been there?! What if you’d lost your sight again? What if Mace decided to do exactly what he did in the past, or worse?! What the hell would you have done!?”

                Their voices kept rising, only vaguely registering that they were now yelling at each other.

                “I don’t need you to save me!” Throttle barked back, his pride and his insecurity about his own undeniable frailty rearing its head in the heat of the moment.

                “Then what the hell do you need me for then?” Max fired back, throwing his hands up, exasperated.

                Throttle’s eyes widened in response, the question landing like a brick between them. Both seeming stunned by it.

                “What?”

                “Modo and Vinnie are back. You’ve got your bros to back you up now. You don’t need a paper-pushing weekend rider to watch your back now…not when I can’t even protect you.”

                Max’s face crumpled, and he dropped back onto the couch, disgusted with himself and the situation and put his head in his hands, defeated.

                He waited for the sound of a slamming door. For Throttle to walk away from him, as disgusted with him as he was with himself.

                Instead the tan furred mouse stepped closer to him again, hands on his shoulders as he dropped down in front of him, meeting him where he was.

                “You want to to know what I need you for?” He asked softly. “How about that smile I can’t get anywhere else in this universe? How about the daredevil idiot who keeps pace with me? Or the guy who met me at my lowest and stuck around even when I tried to leave him in the dust so I could self-destruct?”

                Max kept his eyes lowered, ashamed of himself but Throttle lifted his chin until their eyes met again. “I don’t need you to save me, because you already have. I don’t need a bodyguard. I need a partner.”

                Max winced, as though the words hurt, and tried to pull away but Throttle wouldn’t let him. Pulling him back, out of the dark confused jumble in his head. “I know that this hasn’t been easy, and I’ve already put you through the ringer too many times…but believe me when I say I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

                The words were sweet and sincere and Max saw there was no lie in them. But Mace’s words kept buzzing around in his head, making him doubt himself.

                He pressed quick kiss to Throttle’s cheek and then stood, moving past him towards the door. “I think I just need to get some air. Get my head on straight. You should rest while you can.”

                “Babe…”

                Max shook his head, excusing himself without further reply, leaving Throttle standing alone and confused in the dark.

***

Chapter Text

***

                Four-by’s workshop was exactly what Charlie expected it to be after their first few times meeting. About double the size of her own garage, it resembled something closer to plane hanger, loaded with different machinery, vehicles both large and small and tons of scrap parts.

                “Looks like you guy’s have developed quite the stockpile down here.” She nodded. She looked a locked fenced-on hanger with a large assortment of weaponry mounting on wall pegs and stored on racks. Most highly illegal and many modified. “Is all this left over from the Pit Boss?” she asked.

                Her much taller companion nodded. “Oh yeah. He must have spent decades down here building up that stockpile, preparing for a war against every living thing that even came near these pits. I used to think he would use it take on Chicago itself. Sometimes he even talked like it. But I realized, in the end, he was never going to do that. Not without Limburger’s help anyway.”

                “What makes you say that?”

                Four-by shrugged his shoulders. “Simple. He was scared. That’s why he stayed down here, trying to create a world only he could control. Up there, he was just a small time thug trying to be a dictator. Down here, he was a God.”

                “In his own mind.” Charlie chuckled at the trucker gave her a familiar warm smile that admittedly made her stomach flutter a little. He always was a charmer, in a soft-spoken sort of way.

                They moved towards a length of work bench where the dented and scorched remains of the shoe-box transporter remained. Charlie examined it anxiously, “This gonna take some serious elbow grease to get working again.” She sighed. Her hands ached and she winced as she tried to move her fingers.

                Four-by watched her a moment and then put his hand over hers. “Hey, my hands are at your service, Charlie. You just tell me what you need, and I’ll get it done.”

                She nodded to him gratefully. “Thank you.”

                “Hey, anything for an old friend.”

                From somewhere further back in the garage, Charlie detected the sound of movement and realized that other people were present as well. This was not so strange—just because she operated as a lone wolf didn’t mean that other wrench-jockeys did—but the smell she detected just then was strange.

                Her nose crinkled and she looked at Four-by again. “Is that grease I smell? I think one of your boys might have spilled some somewhere—”

                The trucker was turned marshall was about to answer when a voice called out to them from deeper within the hanger, emerging from behind a partition where he had been working on another truck. “Hey boss! I was gonna ask youse—”

                The tall figure of a mechanic made himself known, and Charlie immediately reached for the nearest thing to throw at him, her aching hands be damned.

                It seemed the mechanic had a similar reaction, actually stumbling back a step at the sight of the woman. Slipping on his own grease trail. “H-hey! It’s you!” Greasepit gasped, as if Charlie were a ghost that had materialized out of the dark of the garage to give him a scare.

                “What do you mean it’s me?! You’re the one who—” Charlie gasped, but Four-by was quick to redirect their attention.

                “Easy, easy! He’s harmless, Charlie, I swear—”

                “Harmless?!” she gasped. “Do you have any idea how many times that oily jack-ass either tried to kidnap me, use me as bait or actually kill me!”

                Greasepit lifted his hands in surrender, eyes wide as she shook his head. The familiar red baseball cap that covered his bald dome nearly shaking loose. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Miss Charlie, I swears it!” he gasped, sounding as if he was actually horrified of the idea. “I’s not part of dat life no mores. I turned a new leaf down here in the Pitts, ya see…I ain’t evil no more.”

                Charlie scoffed, the idea seeming crazy, but his expression said otherwise. She looked again to Four-by, and realized he seemed far more concerned that Charlie might try to attack Greasepit than the other way around.

                “Okay…someone better start explaining this to me. My head is spinning as it is.” She admitted, exhausted.

                Four-by nodded and looked back to his oily companion. “It’s okay, Greasepit. You just gave her a start that’s all. Don’t think I can really blame her, all things considered.”

                Greasepit nodded and put his hands down, burying them instead in the pockets of his overalls. “Gee I’m awfully sorry, Miss Charlie.”

                “Just…Charlie is fine.” She corrected.  She looked at Four-by again, “I guess you really were taking in any strays you could find, hmm?”

                “I think we have that in common.” He replied. “I found our friend here sort of adrift down here, after the last big show down you and the bros must have had top side. Pitt Boss had him for awhile, and then I guess he escaped. We picked him up and, he’s been working for the greater good of the Pits since.”

                Greasepit nodded gratefully. “The Boss here really did me a solid, pulled me out of a bad spot. Mr. Limburger didn’t treat me good by no means, but the Pitt Boss was worse.” He winced at the memory and Charlie felt a twinge of sympathy for him. As terrible as Greasepit could be when following the orders of Limburger and Karbunkle, she realized he was rarely ever so villainous when left to his own devices.

                Charlie looked at him skeptically but nodded. “Well…if you trust him, Four-by then so will I.” she amended. “But…” she waved her wrench at him, “…you keep your big greasy hands to yourself.”

                He nodded emphatically.  “Yes ma’am, Charlie-ma’am!”  He looked around the garage then before leaning a little closer to the pair. “So um…are the mousies here too?” he asked, somewhat nervously as he leaned in conspiratorially towards the pair.

                Four-by and Charlie smiled at each other. “Oh, they’re around.”

**

                Modo stood propped against the corner of the wall, watching through the glass as Mace continued to sit vigil next to Shiloh. He’d occasionally see the half-breed’s lips moving, speaking to the woman on the bed, but he couldn’t catch any of the words through the thick glass.

                The big grey mouse glared at him drowsily. The day’s excitement was catching up to him in ways he didn’t care to admit, and he found himself resisting the urge to nod off as he stood there. It must have been obvious to the others as well as Judy brought him a chair and coaxed him into it.

                “You look pretty tired, big guy. I’m sure your bros would understand if you wanted to catch a few winks. I’m loaded with coffee and not going anywhere.” The nurse assured.

                He nodded gratefully, but turned his attention towards the glass again. Focusing on Shiloh, he tried to bring any more memories of her to the surface. But nothing came. Just glimpses, half-dreamed, half-remembered images.

                Focusing too long on that time made his chest tighten and his stomach turn. His jaw tightening and limbs trembling as if he were cold. His body remembering what his mind couldn’t or wouldn’t, in order to protect itself. Modo had glimpsed death more than once in life, but he had never been so sure he was lost as when he was deep in the throes of Frenzy. And worst of all…he knew, at times, in small blips of actual awareness…he had wanted it. Anything that would have given him relief from what the disease was doing to him.

                Modo felt a hand brush along his neck and shoulder then. Fingers ghosting over his fur, and warm lips at the edge of his ear, then his cheek. Her perfume. A mix of green grass, sun-warm leather and sugar.

                “Rest easy, big guy. You’re pushing yourself too hard. As usual.”

                Modo blinked in shock and looked to the side, seeing Jessie at his shoulder. She looked like she usually did when she came in from the yard. Long hair gathered into a bun at the back of her neck, loose bits hanging here and there. Her fur warm from the sunlight.

                He stared at her. “Jess?”

                She smiled at him. “Hey sugar.” She draped herself across his shoulders in in a hug and he took a deep inhale of her, his good hand shakily going up to latch onto her arms looped around his neck. She was so real. But he knew he was just dreaming. Maybe imagining.

                “I miss you.” He breathed. “I miss you so much.”

                She squeezed him and nuzzled against his neck. “I know. I miss you too, handsome. But I’m always here, you know. Never far. All you have to do is think of me.” She kissed the corner of his jaw in a way that tickled and never failed to produce a smile. Even if in that moment it almost hurt to do so.

                The dream or ghost or figment of Jessie looked up from his shoulder through the window at the girl in the bed and the man beside her. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, as usual.” She sighed. “You never could resist helping a lady in need.” She teased.

                Modo looked back at her, as if taken aback by the suggestion. “Jess—she isn’t—”

                She laughed. And he could hear it clear as day. Her laugh. Something that was slightly raspy but also bubbly. His whole core sang with it. His single eye burned hotly and overflowed with tears. His body expressing the ache of missing her. It’s own language of grief.

                His wife gave him a sweet and sympathetic look, wiping the tears with her thumb and kissing his cheek. “I didn’t mean it like that, you big sentimental softy! Mercy, the gods broke the mold when they made you, Modo Maverick. Nothing could turn your head once your heart was set on someone.”

                She looked back at the girl again. “But I’m pretty sure you’re not done helping each other.”

                “Why? What do you know?”

                She looked at him seriously then, fingers still stroking along the back of his scalp and down his neck in the way she had always done to ease him. “Nothing. And a lot of things at the same time. Thing is…I’m not here. I can’t do much to sway things either way. But you are here. It’s all in your hands now.”

                Modo looked down at his hands, his expression overwhelmed and helpless as he gazed as his empty palms, one flesh and one machine. “That’s what worries me.”

                “It shouldn’t.” She assured. “You’ve got your bros with you now. There’s nothing you three can’t do. But don’t sell yourself short either, big guy. You’ve always been the rock.” Her hand ghosted along his bionic arm and he swore he could feel her even there. “And that strength comes from so much more than this.”

                He wanted to pull her in and hold her tight. Wanted that with every breath in his body. But whatever this was—delusion, dream, or vision—he was still aware that he couldn’t. That even though she felt real and warm and solid, touching him, speaking to him, that the moment he tried to hold on she would vanish.

                “Sure wish you were here, darlin’.”

                She smiled, sadly, and sighed. “Me too. I miss you all like crazy. But you take your time, sugar. I can be patient. You just hug my little Daisy for me, tell her mama loves her. And tell my little brother to try and keep out of trouble.”

                She looked away from him then, past his shoulder.

                “Jess?”

                She didn’t answer, and Modo jolted when he felt a hand on his shoulder, giving him a slight shake, familiar voice beaconing him.

                “Modo?”

                The big-grey furred mouse blinked, and Throttle was standing beside him, looking flustered and worried.

                It was jarring, one moment looking at his dead wife to the person responsible for her absence. And even though Modo hated the connection, his brain made it automatically. He flinched away from Throttle’s touch without meaning to.

                “Was I asleep?” he asked, confused.

                “Guess so. You were definitely somewhere else.” His tan furred bro answered, brow knit in concern. Modo glanced to his other side where Jessie had been standing just seconds before, nothing there. But he still felt like she was close somehow. It might have unnerved him on another day, under different circumstances. But for now, it was a comfort.

                Fully in the present now, he realized that Throttle’s anxious appearance was not just for himself, nor did it seem it was even regarding the two Martians still beyond the glass. “What’s wrong?”

                Throttle stood back, glancing up and down the hall beyond them then. “I was gonna ask if you had seen Max, but seems unlikely.”

                “I thought he was with you?” Modo replied, standing now. He rubbed the back of his neck, confused. “Geez, how long was I out?”

                “Not long. Things got a little…I don’t even know. He took off, said he needed some air.”

                “You had a fight?”

                “Not a fight. He’s all in his head about something. Feels like he’s not needed.” His face fell, obviously baffled by the concept.

                “Where would he get an idea like that?” Modo wondered, perplexed, then glanced towards the glass and glared at Mace. “Though one name comes to mind.”

                Throttle looked skeptical though, unaware of the conversation that had taken place in the medbay. “Maybe.”

                “Can I ask why we’re holding out any hope for that lost cause?”

                Throttle frowned as he looked back through the window. “I don’t know, to be honest with you. Mostly I just want to knock his teeth out. But there’s some shift in him that’s caught my attention. Has since Stoker decided not to throw him off a roof.”

                “Not the call I would have made.” Modo rumbled. He eyed his bro, “You just be careful.”

                “You sound like Vinnie.” Throttle replied, his tone edging on defensive.

                “I don’t mean it like that.” Modo amended, more gently this time. “Ain’t nothing about you stupid enough to fall for whatever act he gave you the first time, I know that. But we know how Mace can twist someone up just with talk. Get under their skin. Drive a wedge where it has no business being.”

                The pair looked at each other anxiously, and Throttle suddenly realized why Max was suddenly so keyed up. It might have realized it before, were he not so distracted with everything else.

                “Fuck me sideways…” Throttle sighed, long suffering and exhausted.

                But Modo smirked. “Well, you know, I figured Max already had…”

                Throttle’s eyes widened and he laughed in shock. “Modo!”

                “What?” the other chuckled, “Oh come on you walked right into that one…Vinnie’s not the only one who can think of a good zinger now and then.” He looked at him more seriously then. “You need help finding him?”

                “Naw, I’m sure he hasn’t gone far. I’ll handle it.” He looked back at the window with Mace and Shiloh. “Any change?”

                The grey furred mouse inhaled deeply, fixing his gaze on Shiloh again and thinking back to Jessie’s words.

                “Nothing yet. But not surprised. You remember when Stoker came out of it fully? Wasn’t it weeks before he was running fully normal again?”  

                Throttle shook his head. “Yeah. If you can call it normal. Guy still has nightmares. Awful ones. Still has flashbacks too. You weren’t there at the Cathedra when Vinnie came over the com. The idea that Stilton was even still alive made him spiral.”

                Modo moved closer to the glass, intensely studying the young woman on the bed. “Wish I could remember more about her. Why they had her in the lab with me. Near as I can tell she’s got no signs of the virus. I feel like there’s a connection, just can’t place it. Us crossing paths again can’t just be coincidence can it?”

                “Give it time, big fella. It’ll come back to you, I’m sure.”

                “Time feels like one thing we’re in short supply of.” Maverick mused. “The longer we’re here, the more worried I get about everyone back home.”

                ‘Believe me, it’s weighing heavy on my mind too. But we have to focus on the crisis in front of us.”

                “You really think this Gala thing is gonna work?”

                “Has to.” Throttle replied. “I don’t have a plan B.” He shook his head, trying to laugh but failing. Modo could see how spread thin he was. Had been for such a long time.

                He put his hand on his shoulder gently. “What do you need a plan B for when you got me and Vinnie right here? We’ve always got your back, Throttle.”

                The hopeful look Throttle gave him at this statement made Modo’s heart ache. “You go find Max, I’ll catch up with Vinnie and the others.”

                His bro nodded gratefully, and after casting one more skeptical look back at the figures beyond the glass, moved off in search of his fiancé once more.

                Modo watched him go, but didn’t budge from his own spot. His face fell into hard worried lines, resembling a man at war, on patrol, waiting for the next attack. He instead turned back to where Mace and Shiloh were, and waited. Unwilling to leave his post.

**

                After more wandering, and slowly recognizing the flow of the compound as something akin to a waterfall, Throttle found himself dumped out into a massive, two story garage, where Charlie and Four-by were hard at work.

                Vinnie was not far, presently playing with Daisy, who was drinking up the attention as usual. Of all her adoring relatives, it was clear who was going to let her get away with the most shit, as she was presently riding the white furred mouse around like he was a pony and macho mouse and legendary biker Vincent Van Wham was eating it up. It was good to see.

                “Hey stranger!”

                Charlie called up to him, lifting the shield of her welding mask and waving to him.

                He followed the catwalk landing down, where the mechanic greeted him, leaving Four-by to take up the slack of mending the transporter for the moment.

                “Sorry to interrupt,” he began, glancing around at the huge hanger and whistling in appreciation. “Damn, nice set up our man has huh?”

                “I’ll say,” she nodded, and Throttle swore he could see her mentally planning The Last Chance’s next upgrade.  “Figured you’d be with Modo and Max. Or resting,” she chided, nudging him in the ribs.

                “I’m looking for Max, actually.” He admitted, and Charlie noted the way his face fell, looking worried.

                “Is everything alright?”

                “I don’t know. He’s a little keyed up.” He looked past her towards Vinnie and Daisy, who hadn’t noticed him. Remy was close by, on a beaten up loveseat with her laptop as usual, also ignoring them.

                “He’s been a little…off his game, since Modo and Vinnie came back into the picture. Especially now that things have chilled with Vincent.”

                She nodded, considering. “Ah. I get it.”

                “You do?” he sounded truly surprised and she rolled her eyes.

                “Throttle, honey, I don’t think you three realize what your relationship looks like from the outside to some people. It’s intimidating. You’re like your own exclusive secret club. It’s hard to get on the list, if you know what I mean.”

                He shook his head. “No. You’ve lost me.”

                “Well…when Vinnie and I were first…getting to know each other, I was terrified.”

                “What? Why?”

                “Because I thought it might throw a wrench in the works! You three were so focused on the fight ahead of you, and trying to get back home, that when Vinnie started paying more attention to me…well, it was a little weird. For all of us.”

                He dug in his memory for examples, coming up with nothing concrete. But he did remember warning Vinnie, though perhaps not as sternly as Modo at the time, about mixing love and war. Not wanting either of them to get hurt.

                “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

                “I know Carbine felt the same way. I know you two worked hard at it,” she amended. “But you can’t tell me it wasn’t tough for her, competing for your attention with your bros.” She sighed, stretching and shaking out her hair, reminded that she desperately needed a very long very hot shower. “The trick is to accept that you three dummies come as a unit. You fall in love with one, and you get the other two as a bonus.” She teased.

                He looked pensively at the floor, an old guilt rising in him. She recognized it, and moved closer, stroking the side of his face lightly to gain his attention and meet his eyes again. “I know you love him. And he loves you. So this is just a speed bump; a pothole at best. He just needs to hear that from you, I think.”

                “I tried to tell him that. But it didn’t get through.” He looked lost. Like a wet dog left in the rain. And she would never openly admit it, but it killed her to see it.

                Instead she sighed, “Never send a mouse to do a woman’s job I guess. I’ll talk to him.” She offered. “Maybe he’ll listen to someone who’s been in his shoes.”

                He smiled and kissed her cheek, pulling her into a hug. “You’re the best, Charlie-girl.”

                She smiled at him lovingly, and then turned that same look towards Vinnie and the girls. It seemed Daisy had worn him out at last, and he was lying on the floor, wincing and whing about the ache in his side, while the toddler peppered him with kisses and patted his head. “Poor horsey!” she cooed to him until he grabbed her, held her over his head and blew raspberries against her belly, making her squeal with delight.

                “Yeah well…I owe you one.”

                She looked back at him then, sternly. “But this is on one condition. You sit down, you don’t move, and you close your eyes. For fifteen minutes. At least!”

                “Deal.”

                “Hey bro! Wanna tag in?” Vinnie called from the floor, obviously in need of assistance.

                “Tot!” Daisy waved at him enthusiastically, and Throttle would have been suckered in immediately if Charlie hadn’t side-stepped the toddler’s excited race towards her next playmate, blocking her path.

                “Sorry, princess, but it’s past Uncle Tot’s naptime. You’ll have to make do with your Uncle Ninny.”

                “Tot can’t play?” she whimpered.

                Charlie shook her head, unbudging. “Sorry baby. Not right now.”

                The little girl looked disappointed, then scrunched her face and stomped her tiny foot. “Shit!”

                As Throttle and Vinnie froze, Charlie blinked and looked between the two of them. “Oh Modo is gonna murder you both for sure.”

                “He started it!” Throttle protested, pointing at Vinnie.

                “Hey I’m not taking the fall for this! I taught her ass, not shit!”

                “Ass!” Daisy giggled, her voice hitching into a high-pitch squeal of absolute delight.

                Vinnie resigned himself to his flattened position on the floor, lying spread eagle as if already dead. “Just leave me here. I’m cooked. Maybe Modo will throw his back out trying to punch down at me.” He moaned dramatically.

                Four-by moved towards the group then, removing his work gloves.  “Sounds like ya’ll could use a little help.” He chuckled. He knelt to look at the tiny mooseling and she blinked at him with her big eyes taking him all in, as he stood even taller than her Daddy.

                “Hey little one, how about we go and find a midnight snack? Your uncles both look like they need a nap.”

                She nodded, pleased by the idea of treats and soothed by Four-by’s deep rumble. “Bring Daddy snack too?”

                He nodded. “Sounds like a great idea.” He offered her his hand, and she latched onto the tips of his fingers. He glanced back at the mice and Charlie, “This is just my excuse to get a snack myself. We’ve got a few minutes for the device to cool and stabilize.”

                “We owe you big time,” Throttle nodded gratefully.

                “Thank me after we pound those fish into fillets.” He replied back.

                “You heard the man. You both need to find a place to crash. Now.” She kissed Throttle’s cheek and then moved to help Vinnie up, noticing him wince as he did so. “I need you both in top shape if we’re gonna pull this scheme off. Maybe hit that room with the couches upstairs?”

                “Sounds good, sweetheart.” He kissed her lovingly then moved towards Throttle, pausing to glance back at Remy. “You wanna head up with us, kiddo? Sure Karma’s already picked out prime seating up there. You can talk about, I dunno…nail polish or something.”

                Remy gave him a side-ways glance, “I’m comfortable here, thanks. Besides, if you two start snoring like you do at home, I’ll have to relocate anyway.”

                Vinnie shrugged. “Fair point.”

                He put his arm around Throttle’s shoulder, and it was unclear if it was purely an affectionate gesture or if Vinnie needed the support, as he did indeed look completely flat out, nursing his wounded side. Throttle said nothing, but looped his arm around his waist to offer more support.

                “So, what happened? Figured you and the lunk-head would be occupied for longer than this.” He asked as they started away from the others. “Did your spark fizzle?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Throttle sneered.

                “You know, Vin-man, your jokes are so much worse than I remembered them.”

                Charlie watched the pair limp off together and then looked back at Remy, now alone in the garage. “Are you sure you wanna stay down here? I might be a minute.”

                “Mom, it’s cool. Go peer council or whatever you’re gonna do. I’m chill here.” She smiled at her mom, the expression promising that she wasn’t just saying that to get rid of her. Charlie paused and kissed her forehead, then moved off, anxious to clean up another Martian-made misunderstanding.

                Remy watched her go, and when the silence filtered back into the garage, her eyes turned towards the transporter. She considered it a long moment, the clicked through her laptop tags again. She re-opened DJ’s camera feed, and found that the little Roomba had indeed moved from it’s hiding place.

                It was once more in the office where she had watched the drama unfold before, but in a different part of it now, the desk only being a distant object somewhere behind the little robot as it whirled about the floor, cleaning up crumbs and dirt.

                As she watched it, she glimpsed a large monitor and control panel set into the wall. It reminded her of those built-in entertainment units her mom used to have when she was really little. Hand-me-downs from the bygone days of the 90’s.

                She could hear buzzing from it, as if it was picking static or transmissions…

                She realized that this was the communicator that her mother had been speaking about. Their one means of communication with Mars. She watched, her stomach tight, heart beginning to pound a little harder as DJ hummed and whirred happily, giving her a nice 360 of the room.

                No one else was around. No sign of either of the detestable fish aliens masquerading as even worse CEO’s anywhere.

                DJ was in the perfect spot. But he might not be there long.

                She looked up at the transporter again.

                Setting her laptop aside, she was in motion, walking catuously towards the device laid out on the table, still cooling from where they had reattached it’s doors after one had been torn off. It really did look suspiciously like a ghost-trap from Ghostbusters. Her mother’s nostalgia seemed to the bleeding through the fabric of the world around her, leaving her daughter to follow the breadcrumbs and context clues to make sense of it all.

                The device did not seem to have any complicated controls. In fact, it only seemed to have four buttons on it total, and one small screen. Remy glanced around again, as if afraid someone was going to walk in on her snooping. Then, cautiously, touched the panel.

                Nothing happened. Everything remained blank and still.

                She frowned, disappointed.

                “Did you try plugging it in?” Karma’s voice, out of nowhere, made her scream and then cover her mouth, whirling as the red-head appeared behind her.

                “Dammit you scared me!!” she shrieked, slapping at her arms.

                Karma batted her away, laugh. “Geez, sorry. Not my fault you’ve made yourself half-deaf with those headphone things.”

                She looked at the transporter. “You wanna see if it still works?”

                “Duh, that’s what I was trying to do!” Remy shot back.

                Karma looked at the cord, recently patched and wrapped with black-electrical tape, dangling off the far side of the work table. She picked it up and looked flatly at her human counter part. “It’s literally not plugged in.”

                Remy yanked it from her hand, exasperated.

                “You’re the worst.”

                “I’m the best.” She countered, unknowing how uncannily she sounded like her father then.

                Remy took the hefty rounded plug and cautiously pressed it into the wall socket. The machine on the table jolted with new energy and bounced across the metal surface of the table, giving both girls a scare and making them jump back.

                “Shit! That thing’s like a live wire!”

                “Well…now that it’s got some juice…” Remy approached the panel again, relieved this time to see the screen was lit and showing commands.

                “Last coordinates?” she read off, and then selected it with a tap of the buttons.

                Sure enough, it showed the address of Eris/Limburger Tower.

                The doors of the transporter rattled for a moment, then a steady glow of light appeared before they opened. It shown hot and white, streaking up towards the cavernous ceiling like a spot light. Both could feel the energy humming from it, pulsing, the strange magnetic pull of it.

                Karma’s fur bristled, her riot of red curls frizzing out slightly, standing at such close proximity.

                She looked anxiously to her almost sibling. “Well? What now whizkid?”

                Remy just stared at the light a moment, then climbed up on the table. Karma’s eyes widened.

                “Whoa, wait, what are you doing!?”

                “I can get through. I know I can. Just for a second.” She was grinning, her eyes bright and wild with a look Karma hadn’t seen before. Like she had just figured something out about herself. Discovered something she previously hadn’t thought possible. “My laptop’s open to DJ’s feed. I’ve got the speaker on…just…keep an eye out, okay?”

                “Remy, don’t--! Our parents are gonna kill you and then me!”

                She shrugged. “Sorry!”

                Without giving herself any more time to second guess herself, she jumped into the light, no different than if she were jumping into a pool, and was gone.

**

                Charlie, presently and blissfully unaware of what her daughter had decided to do in a moment of total lack of impulse control, was on the hunt. As she moved through the winding corridors of Four-by’s compound, she was still awed at how many people it held. How many were in the structures outside.

                How many people had come to the Pits over the years. Either liberated from the Pit Boss’s slave camps or migrated here to further the cause. It was astonishing to think about. How this had been taking place, practically under her nose, all these years. That Four-by and his Freedom Fighters had been silently looking in on her and her children, while she had done everything to distance herself from the memory of them.

                She felt regret gnaw at her. An emotion she was deeply familiar with, but he had been tucked into the far back of her thoughts since the moment Throttle had shown up at the Last Chance. There hadn’t been much time to wallow in her prior choices after that. Her past had come back in such a big and loud way, that it was almost easy to forget what had been in the absence of the Martians who had turned her world upside down. Fifteen years, trying to pretend she was someone else. Angry and hurt and confused.

                What if she hadn’t chosen to turn her back? How much sooner might she had gotten back to Vinnie and the others? Found out what really happened to them? Things she still didn’t know the full details of.

                Lost in her thoughts, she turned a corner too quickly and ended up crashing directly into a warm solid body, knocking them both back a step.

                “Hey, watch where you’re--!” she gasped, then stopped when she realized her quarry had run straight into her, looking more flustered and disoriented than she was. “Max! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you—”

                “I can’t talk right now, Charlie…” he muttered, trying to slip past her.

                She blinked, confused and hurriedly made a grab, catching his wrist. “Max wait! Slow down, let’s talk for a second. You look upset.”

                He sighed, clearly resistant. “It’s personal.” He explained.

                The woman nodded. “Okay. I get that. But you know you can always talk to me, okay?” she offered. She moved a little closer, hoping to lower his guard a little. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but you’re one of the family as far as I’m concerned. And family looks out for each other.”

                Max’s face fell, a dark expression ghosting over it that Charlie hadn’t seen before. “I wouldn’t know.” He muttered.

                Her eyes widened in surprise, and the mouse blinked, as if realizing who he was talking to. He softened immediately, looking remorseful for his unfiltered remark. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I appreciate you, I really do.”

                She didn’t doubt it, but was taken aback by this new fragile, almost distraught version of the cheerful and seemingly unflappable Max she had come to know. She rubbed his arm gently. “Max, what happened? You have to know how much Throttle cares about you. I can’t imagine anything that could call that into question.”

                “It’s not that, Charlie. It’s just…things catching up with me. Maybe now that the bros are finally a team again, I’ve just had time to think about it.” He admitted. “Vinnie’s been so worried about the threat my family poses. He isn’t wrong. He never was. I was pissed that he thought that affected how I felt about Throttle, or what I would do to keep him safe.”

                He paused, arms wrapped around himself as in effort to hold himself together. “What I didn’t consider is if I would even be enough to protect him.”

                Charlie shook her head. “Max…I’ve seen you fight. Let’s just say I’m really glad you’re on our team.” She offered, and managed to coax a thin smile out of him in return.

                “Yeah but…I’m not exactly Biker Mice material, am I?” he sighed. “What if I’m just not enough, Charlie? What if I’m just in the way now, that his bros are back? I guess I didn’t think about any of that when this whole thing started. I just…wanted to help.”

                “Because you love him?” she asked.

                “Well, I did ask him to marry me.”

                She managed to draw him in and hugged him. “Trust in that then. Just because you completed one mission doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you anymore. People aren’t disposable like that, Max.”

                It was simple, and he wanted, more than anything to believe her. To believe what Throttle had told him back in the bedroom. But a voice, this one more insistent and more ingrained and somehow more sinister than Mace’s whispered in his mind.

                “Do I love you? That’s not the question you should be asking. You should be asking what you’ve done lately to make me love you. Don’t go around expecting things like that, Max. It will only set you to be hurt.”

                He remembered clearly his mother’s sour expression as she explained this to him, sipping her wine as she shuffled through hefty stacks of paperwork on his father’s old desk. She had looked tired. Angry. But self-assured in her words. “If more people remembered that, there were would be a good deal less heartache in the world I think.”

                He might have been ten when his mother explained this to him. He hadn’t understood any of it at the time, and he certainly hadn’t recognized how wrong it was. But it had rooted itself in his mind in a way the Madame Secretary certainly hadn’t expected.

                Now it mingled with Mace’s seed of doubt, turning into a poison barb that just kept poking him, no matter which way he turned. He needed to shake it loose.

                “I know you’re right, Charlie. I just…need some time.” He tried to muster up one of his famous dazzling smiles, but it fell painfully short. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

                “Max—”

                He turned and hurried away, darting down the nearest stair well to avoid her, needing distance and silence, until he could put his mother’s voice back in the box it belonged in, and push Mace’s out entirely.

**

                Vinnie seemed to be fading fast, ready to sack out for the night before they even fully made it to the couch where Charlie and Remy had been napping previously.

                “Guess Daisy really took it out of ya, huh?” Throttle teased, though he eyed Vinnie’s side anxiously.

                “Oh yeah. A real little pistol that one. She’s got you and Modo totally snowed.” The white furred mouse chuckled. Throttle eased him onto the couch and he folded like a lawn chair with a groan. “Fuck I’m tired…feel like someone let all the air out of my tires.”

                The tan mouse leaned over him pulling the edge of his shirt to look at the bandaged wound, troubled to see the bloody bandage. “I think you lost more blood than you realized. Maybe we should have you checked out—”

                Vinnie patted his arm. “No, no…listen, I’m fine, bro. Really. Just in need of a nap. Something you should consider too. You promised my lady you’d take at least fifteen minutes of actual down time. Don’t make me tell on you.”

                He fixed Throttle with a serious look then. “You and Tourmaline cool?” he asked. “Wasn’t anything I said, was it?”

                “No. Don’t think so.”

                “I mean…I haven’t exactly gone easy on the guy. Can’t have helped things. I’m sorry about that.”

                “I know, bro.”

                “No. You don’t.” Vinnie said seriously. “I was just trying to look out for you. Gods know I haven’t done much of that lately.”

                “Vincent, much as I appreciate the apologies, for once I don’t think this is about you. And I really just need you to get some sleep. You runnin’ on half-empty makes you insufferably loopy. And I haven’t got the energy to chase around two toddlers.”

                He smirked, and Vinnie smiled back, relenting as he laid back, arm slung over his eyes as he tried to get comfortable. “Just give him a blowjob, I’m sure that’ll brighten him right up.”

                Throttle slapped a pillow over his face in retaliation and he cackled. “Hey, I’m just telling you what works for me, okay?”

                Throttle left him to relax, unable to sit still as he moved towards the window and searched the grounds below again. “I don’t know. But this conversation has been brewing for awhile I think. Nevermind throwing Mace into the mix. I don’t want to mess this up.” He rubbed his palm over the stone set into the warm leather cuff around his arm. “I gotta show him he’s more than a placeholder. That he was never anything even close to that.”

                Vinnie reply was a soft snore and Throttle sighed, leaving him to rest, knowing he was going to have to answer to Charlie for not doing the same. But he wasn’t going to get anything resembling rest until he could fix things with Max.

                The tan furred mouse hadn’t gone very far through the winding waterfall of hallways and stairwells before he ran into another familiar face, though not the one he was searching for. Manuelo spotted him from afar, noticing he looked lost.

                “Amigo! You’re looking for your friend, eh? The tall, black hair—er—fur?”

                Throttle nodded with a smile, “Yeah, you seen him pass by?”

                The store clerk ushered him towards a window and pointed below. Throttle peered out, and found that Max had escaped the inner structure of the compound and made his way outside. Just below them, down a short flight of winding stone steps was what looked like a small pond formed by the quarry surrounding them. Everything green and blue and night blooming, shimmering faintly in the flicker-light of lanterns and the moon still overhead.

                “He looked like he needed a place to think. This is one of my favorites. You can forget all your worries there, if only for a little while.”

                Throttle seemed relieved, hand on the glass, as if he could reach through it and touch the mouse on the other side.

                Manuelo fixed him with a curious yet knowing look and then smiled softly, sipping the coffee he had gone off to retrieve. “Love trouble, hmmm?”

                “Not exactly.” He countered, not bothering to ask the clerk how he knew. It seemed obvious to everyone. “Did you ever marry, Manuelo? Do you have family?”

                The clerk shook his head. “No no, sad to say. I am too old to start new like that again. And this life…I would not feel right asking so much of someone, knowing I could give so little back.”

                Throttle nodded mutely, staring into the dark at Max’s back turned to him, looking at the water. “I worry about that too.”

                Only now did the clerk turned gorilla fighter seem a bit perplexed. “Maybe I don’t understand…he seems like good fighter too, yeah?”

                “Yeah,” Throttle nodded. “Hell on wheels when you rub him the wrong way. But his life was…quieter, before I came along. Safer.”

                Manuelo shrugged. “Happier?”

                “I don’t know.” He frowned.

                The clerk shook his head as if this was a non-answer, because it was. “I’m sorry my friend, but people who were happier before they met someone, don’t’ follow that someone willingly into their troubles and trials. It just isn’t done. If he had it so good before you, why follow you here?”

                The tan mouse smiled, obviously warmed. “Because they’re stupid.” He sighed.

                Manuelo elbowed him lightly. “Love makes all of us stupid, amigo. Trust that.”

                Throttle looked down at the cuff on his arm, rubbing his hand over the stone in thought. His companion noticed the adornment and eyed it with a nod. “That’s a very nice cut. Reminds me of the ones here.”

                “Oh?”

                The clerk pointed out at the ragged swath of stone wall beyond the pond and surrounding land. The dark, marbled bits of earth that were still visible between the growth and man-made shelters that had attached themselves to it.

                “The rock here is full of gemstones. Big swaths of amethyst, malachite, tourmaline…”

                Throttle’s ears perked. “Really?”

                Manuelo nodded. “No lie. Could make a man rich selling that alone. The Pit Boss, he knew about it, collected it, ground it up for weapons and such. Everything around his old castle is mined to dust now, but it’s still plentiful here.”

                “You wouldn’t happen to have a few spare, would you?”

                The clerk eyed him a moment, considering the ask, and then smiled, showing all his teeth and patted Throttle on the back. “I have just the thing you need, my friend. Come.”

**

                Remy felt like she had just gone down the first hill of a roller-coaster. The sudden lurch of her stomach, the dizzy, euphoric and yet nauseating feeling leaving her unsteady on her feet for a long moment.

                But the feeling only lasted a few seconds. After which she stood blinking, still dazzled by the blinding light she had passed through. But the details of the new room filtered into her vision, confirming that the transporter had indeed worked.

                Instead of the massive two story hanger of Four-by’s garage, she was now standing in the middle of a huge pent-house office, her feet feeling the plush bounce of dark maroon carpeting and staring out a huge glass window with a stunning view of downtown Chicago.

                She looked quickly around, expecting to see one of the Plutarkians or one of their goons rushing towards her, ready to do god knows what. But she was alone. A familiar mechanical whirr caught her ears, and she looked down just in time to see DJ Roomba heading towards her, seeming to do a few extra spins in excitement.

                “DJ!” she whispered, beaming at the little robot. She could have hugged it.

                It made a small squeal, seeming to recognize her voice. She bent and gave the robot a small pat on it’s flat top. “I see Mom’s been tinkering with your AI settings again. And um, I’m sorry for clogging you up with all those stupid beads. I was just a dumb kid then.”

                It whirred and chirped again in response, and she peered at the little camera on it’s top. “Hey, Karma? Can you hear me?”

                “You are so dead.” Karma’s voice crackled through the music speaker.

                “Not if I don’t get caught.” The other girl answered. She looked around again, warily eyeing the desk where she had seen Limburger attack Marshall only hours before. She turned away from it anxiously and looked back towards the wall, searching for the monitor she had seen before.

                But she spotted nothing immediately. A fact that made her stomach lurch with new anxiety. Had she materialized in the wrong room somehow? But as she looked around, she realized the wall she was facing was not in fact a wall at all. But rather flush cabinets that blended into it. Covert storage. Definitely someone with too much money and nefarious intentions would have.

                She moved closer, feeling along it until she found a small divot that was clearly a push-activated door. It popped open with a small click and she opened it to reveal the monitor and control panel set into the wall.

                She heard the familiar crackle of static that she had heard before and nodded in new excitement, approaching the control panel. There were so many buttons and controls, she was unsure where to start.

                Behind her, DJ and Karma lingered at her heel.

                “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Karma’s voice asked over DJ’s speaker.

                “Nope. Totally winging it.” Remy muttered.

                Flipping through screens, she eventually found something that seemed to be related to transmissions. But as she was trying to figure out how to reach Mars, she saw a flashing message on the screen. One transmission waiting.

                She paused, hovering over it thoughtfully. Maybe it was intel from Mars? From whatever Plutarkians might still be there? Maybe it would give her some insight on what their plan was.

                “Rems,” Karma’s voice crackled, sounding worried. “I don’t know how to get you back from there. Do you see like…I dunno, a return portal?”

                But the teen only half-heard the question, focused on her task at hand. She pressed play on the waiting transmission, not knowing what to expect.

                Kirk’s voice suddenly filled the empty room.

                “…Emergency! Emergency!...If anyone out there can hear this…we need help! We’re being held captive at a Sand Raider encampment in a crater somewhere in the Martian wasteland outside of Caria…if anyone can hear me…please send help! Please!”

                “Kirk?!” Remy gasped, gripping the console, her heart in her throat. “Kirk!? Can you hear me!? Where are you!?”

                Her little brother’s voice answered, but she quickly realized that it was just the message playing over again. That it was a recording. Not a live feed. Like a voicemail. But how long ago had he sent this? A few hours ago? A day? Weeks…

                The cold horrifying possibility that the boy who had sent this message could now be past help hit her like a brick. She, like her mother and all the others, had thought him safe with the rest of Modo’s family. But clearly he was in far more trouble than any of them realized.

                She frantically began playing with the controls, trying to get more info, trying to see if she could somehow return the call. But her fingers were shaking and Kirk’s message kept playing on repeat.

                “Kirk! Kirk I’m here okay! We’re going to come get you, I promise--!”

                DJ chirped and suddenly whirled away even as Karma’s voice over the speaker cried out and told it to go back. It zoomed out of the office into the adjoining room beyond, but Remy could not tear herself away from the device to go after it. Frantically looking for some way to contact her brother.

                “Kirk! Kirk are you there?! Goddamn it how do you work this fucking thing!?”

                She slammed her fist down on it, feeling the keypad crunch slightly under the force.

                “Be careful with that, please.” A voice said behind her.

                Ice shot down her spine, and the girl turned to see Limburger himself in all his bloated, purple-suited glory, looking back at her from the opposite doorway. “That’s a very delicate instrument.”

                She stared at him, terrified. But also angry. And disgusted. The smell of him seemed to push the latter two feelings to the forefront, making her snarl at him. “You’d better back off, fish head. I know what you are. Soon everyone else is going to, too.”

                “Oh I agree, my dear.” He nodded, moving towards her, slowly but steadily. Remy backed up against the console, eyeing the other adjoining door where DJ had vanished. It was only a few steps from her, and she felt confident she could make a run for it. But she had no idea where the room led.  “But I can’t have you spoiling the surprise before opening night and my curtain call, now can I? I’ve waited far too long to tolerate anymore setbacks. Especially from upstarts who throw their lot in with meddling Martian Mice.”

                “You think you’re afraid of Mice? Wait till my mom gets ahold of you, shark-bait.”

                Limburger’s face twisted grotesquely behind his human mask and it was the first time Remy really realized how frightening he was in disguise. How his in-humanness was always there, staring you in the face. That even if she hadn’t seen him as a fish first, she still would have known there was something seriously wrong with him.

                “Come here you little—”

                He dove for her, and Remy screamed, darting away, ducking into the other room just as Limburger made an actual lunge for her and caught her by the back of her shirt, yanking her backwards and too the floor.

                She screamed again as she fell, kicking out at him as he tried to drag her closer. The feel of his cold claws beneath the silky gloves he wore fueling the terror in her. This was something out of a horror-movie. Something impossible and twisted and so deeply disturbing.

                He grinned and she got a glimpse of those needle-like shark teeth that she recognized from Mars. She kicked him squarely in the face, the bottom of her sneaker left tread marks on his face mask, smearing it out of place, making it appear as if his skin were peeling off.

                Remy knew this image was going to be prominent in her nightmares for the foreseeable future.

                His fingernails dug into her leg, scratching her even through the cloth of his gloves and he tried to pull her to him again. She gave him another kick and finally broke free, scrambling backward but not quiet able to get to her feet.

                He came after her, and she saw in his piss-yellow eyes that if he got ahold of her again, she was dead.

                She heard the whir of DJ Roomba zooming at her elbow then, felt the rush of it’s little fan and then realized, that it was carrying something. A sizeable something. Something that, on first glance, she could not decide if it was a toddler, a very small bald man, or some kind of mutated dog.

                Whatever it was, it whooped and laughed. LAUGHED. A cartoonish giggly whoop that made her feel like she had to be having one of the worst dreams of her life.

                “Mind if I play through!?”

                The short, bald creature, dressed in what appeared to be a jumper made of a potato sack and sporting one human arm and one green tentacle, swung at the fish alien with a golf club. Limburger shouted and rolled to avoid the blow. It missed his face and struck his shoulder instead, making him roll back with a howl of pain.

                “Remy! What’s going on!?” Karma screamed.

                The mutant thing with three eyes gave a lopsided grin to the gawking girl and waved his tentacle eye. “Hi there!” he giggled, “My name’s Fred! You shouldn’t be here little missy!”

                “What the hell are you!?” Remy screeched.

                Fred blinked all three of his eyes in slow uncoordinated succession as he pondered this question. “A mutant! I mean…” he looked himself over, all the way down to his mismatched feet. “I thought it was kinda obvious?” he shrugged.

                Behind them, Limburger was struggling to his feet. Fred jumped off of DJ, scooping it up in his tentacle arm and grabbing hold of Remy with his other, pulling her after him. “Come on, it’s Tag-You’re-It! And you don’t want to loose—trust me!” He giggled, but it sounded less gleeful, swiveling his head to look back at Limburger.

**

                Meanwhile, outside the chaos unfolding at Eris and within the garage, Max Tourmaline was struggling with a different sort of problem.

                Max stared into the serene, moon reflecting water just a little below his feet, aware of the beauty of it but taking none of it in. He felt heavy. Now that his anxiety and frustration had passed it’s peak, he was on the downswing of it, exhausted the same way as from an ebbing adrenaline rush.

                He felt ashamed of himself. Embarrassed too. But a small but very old part of himself, argued that those things were useless as he himself was.

                Max frowned, head in his hands, wishing he could sink to the bottom of this pond and just…stay there. Forgotten and unbothered like the rocks far below.

                “Fuck…” he moaned. He scrubbed his palms roughly across his face, pissed off at how his eyes burned. He didn’t feel like a grown mouse just then. He didn’t feel like a Freedom Fighter. Fuck, he didn’t even feel like an agent of the Cathedra. A smart, capable man who could hold his own. Right now, he felt…small. And useless.

                He thought about all his previous “relationships” prior to Throttle. How they were—what? Flings? Trysts? Hook-ups?—He didn’t know what to call them. About half of them had been “arranged” by his mother and the other half had been to spite her. But he had loved none of them. Hell, he wasn’t sure he had even liked most of them. Truth was, till Throttle…he hadn’t cared. Not that he hadn’t wanted to. But he had never been given reason to.

                Before Throttle, love was a flowery word that held about the same weight as a poker chip. You used it to get a bigger payout. That was the lesson he had learned from his mother, who saw love as a lofty ideal that was impractical and dangerous. Losing his father had made this very clear to her, and she wanted her son to understand it as well.

                But her son, in his own contrarian fashion, had inverted the lesson. Rather than view people as something to be used, he searched for ways to be of use. To be needed, and wanted on his own merits, rather than through manipulation. Becoming a liaison was definitely part of that mind set, when he could have had such a higher or more powerful position. And falling into bed with a dozen or so meaningless relationships did too. But it was far less successful.

                 Because as much as Max tried, the people he met didn’t need him. Not beyond the superficial.

                But Throttle?

                Max had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just being slightly star-struck, it wasn’t just that the man was drop-dead gorgeous, and it definitely wasn’t the power that Throttle had. Even before he knew what kind of trouble Throttle had been in at the time, he had sensed the void in him. The ache, the wounded animal, limping around. And Max’s twisted up drive to be of use found it’s jack-pot.

                His spiraling thoughts made a sudden connection then, flashing back to just a short time ago, and Throttle trying to talk him out of this spiral. Really catching on to what he had said just before he had bolted. How Throttle had tried to push him away back then, so he could self-destruct.

                It wasn’t the first time this thought had come to Max’s mind. Even then, it really seemed like the biker had a death wish that he just couldn’t admit to out loud. But it was really settling in now.

                His fiancé had actually said it, the thing they both knew but pretended not to. All the proof Max would need to cement this strange core belief he’d made for himself. That he needed to be needed. And what did he do? He had run away.

                And why? All because Mace had said something that made him both doubt how much he was needed, and simultaneously made him realize how toxic the whole concept was to begin with.

                He inhaled deeply, looking shakily up across the swaths of glittering rock and over-grown vines, glancing skyward again. “I am such an asshole.”

                Tourmaline picked himself up, meaning to make his way back to Throttle and explain himself, beg forgiveness if needed. Only to find that the mouse in question was standing just behind him, having appeared in the dark without his notice.

                “Hey.” He smiled, and the momentary freeze that Max felt melted instantly at the sight of it.

                “Hey.” He grinned back, voice slightly shaky.  He started towards him, eager at first and then hesitating just in front of him. As if nervous that he might not be welcomed after their argument. “I’m so sorry—”

                “Shh.” The biker waved the hasty apology away, moving down the rocks until they were nearly level again. Though for once, the tan mouse stood a little taller than his lanky partner, perched on the rock just above him. “You don’t need to do that. Things got a little…tense. That’s all. More worried about what got you so upset.”