The soft thrum from the engine as it settled into its idle soothed Chris' nerves as she listened for any sound out of place. Old, broken and worn parts lay scattered around her, testament to the chaos made order of the six-cylinder's rebirth. A ghost of a smile played across her delicate face for an instant before disappearing behind her usually emotionless mask. "Old man Barker's going to be pleased with you, so long as he keeps that idiot of a son away from now on."

Barker had brought the Oldsmobile to the petite mechanic yet again after his thirty-something son 'borrowed' it, seizing the transmission's gears and nearly destroying the engine at the same time. The car and mechanic had become very good friends in the year she had taken up residence in the converted warehouse in Chicago, although she was fairly certain the car's owner was getting tired of having to bring it in at least once a month for repairs and maintenance.

She gazed at the chassis that sat a few feet from her and sighed. "He never can say no to that feckless waste of space, can he..." It always seemed to be a waste of her talent, her neighbor's money, and the vehicle's innate strength, and she had tried many times to get the man to understand his son's driving habits, but how can you get someone to stop thinking of their car as a soulless machine and not sound like you need a long vacation in a padded room? Especially when you say the car told you? She shrugged softly. "Somehow, we'll get him to get it... Won't we..."

The deep golden Mustang settled in the garage rumbled to life for a moment, and the smile returned to her face. "Yeah, we will Amber. Soon."

Nice, bright sunny days in Chicago were not to be wasted, and the afternoon found Chris sprawled on a weather-beaten chaise on the roof of her building. The warmth from the sun soaked into her tired muscles, loosening them in preparation of the next day's finishing work on the Olds 98. Her mind wandered as the wind caught a strand of her long chestnut hair, forcing her to idly tuck it behind her ear again. The city looked like a war zone, including the district she now called home: buildings and homes now empty shells, monstrous holes in the pavement, odd reports reaching her ears of at best really good cosplayers and furries running amok all across the city.

Chris knew the signs of war and thought she had neatly cut herself off from the majority of the outside world to avoid it. It seemed to have followed her yet again as her keen ears caught the sound of the three odd motorcycles that had been hanging around the Last Chance garage for ages, engines revving at an unnatural pitch and making her groan. Whenever she heard those engines, disaster and a day locked away indoors soon followed. "Damn, and the sun's so nice today too."

She didn't have time to reach the door on the roof to retreat to the safety of her home before she realized the bikes were on her street, tearing past her building, with three heavily modified war wagons in hot pursuit. The last thing she remembered before her mind sunk into the blackness and her eternal personal hell swallowed her once more was the howl of a mini-gun and the sounds and smells of explosions.

* * * * * * * * * *

**Chris... Chris, can you hear us? Come on, Chris, it's time to wake up! The roof at night is not a good place to be sleeping in a bikini!**

Chris opened her cold grey eyes and almost whimpered as she struggled to slowly sit up. Her head throbbed and any benefits she had received earlier from her sunbathing were now long gone. "How... how long this time, Amber..."

**Seven hours. The sun's been down for a little under one hour,** answered the young-sounding disembodied female voice in Chris' head.

"They aren't getting any better... are they..." She knew the answer before the voice could answer her. "The flashbacks are getting worse and lasting longer. And those Bikers... They bring the trouble with them." She slowly worked her legs under her and stood, weak knees threatening to buckle with each step as she stumbled down the stairs into her home.

**It seems so. Snake's worried, we all are. If that trio that hangs at Charley's are the trigger then maybe discussing it with them might help?**

"Yeah, it could if I take a breaker bar with me to persuade them." She grumbled as she stripped and stepped into the shower. The hairline tracery of scars that covered her body were a constant reminder to her of the hell she had gone through and had been forced to relive yet again earlier. "Maybe I should go over. I can at least check out if that solder table's working out for her.

Twenty minutes later, clean and dressed in a navy wife-beater, a pair of jeans that had seen far better days and jungle boots, Chris meandered her way towards the Last Chance garage and home of a fellow lady gearhead, Charley Davidson. All of her senses were alert as she moved, confirming she had no tails as she seemed to attract, and as she approached she clearly heard the sounds of three distinct male voices and the higher tone of Charley attempting to calm at least one of them down. 'Wha... joking about that fight earlier with no regard to the damage they caused. Men... never change...'

**HEY! I resemble that remark! You know if I could I'd be right there with you, ready and willing to show them a slice of hell with you!** The male voice cut through her thoughts like a knife, indignant as always and looking for a fight. The determination and power in the voice seemed to give a harder edge to the cold mask Chris wore.

'Snake, shush, you don't quite qualify and you know it. I'm trying to get your core built so you can join me out here again, but it takes time and resources, and the resources are in short supply right now. That and the busted control arm on your rear axle isn't helping matters any. But thank you. Now to say hello... Our way.'

The tiny woman paused for a moment to assure herself once more that she had no followers and that her presence hadn't yet been noticed, opened the door and silently stalked in.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Oh man, babe, you should have seen it! We almost HAD that stinkfish this time! I don't know how he does it, but he's got more escape routes all over the place than a politician has lies!"

Charley held her hand to her head as if it was in pain. The overly-excited albino Martian was giving her a raging headache and it showed around her green eyes. The other two Mice weren't helping matters any, filling in with their own anecdotes whenever the albino paused for breath, which seemed to be a rare thing. She murmured a prayer thanking whatever saint watched over her garage for nothing else going wrong, then took it back as soon as the rough, low voice brought even Vinnie to a standstill.

"If you haven't figured out that your enemy will always plan on needing to escape at any time anywhere and by any means necessary, then you need to pull your heads out of your collective tailpipes before you get a civilian killed."

Of all the people she never wanted to know about the Bros, the stone cold woman who looked at them all from the short hallway with dead eyes was high on that list. Chris was unsettling at best, downright terrifying at worst, and could go into a frenzy with no warning and without even a crack in her lack of expression. It didn't help any that she tended to have federal tag-a-longs unless she was in a need-to-care mood. 'Here's hoping she cares...'

"Um, Charley-girl? Who...?" Throttle raised a golden-brown eyebrow to the mechanic, his tone confirming his query demanded an answer.

"Who I am is of no concern to you." The newcomer leveled her gaze on the gold Mouse. He opened his mouth to retort but paused, closing his jaw with an audible click. Even with his shades, her eyes bored into him and held him in their empty depths. "I am of the full opinion that despite any attempts you may make to argue to the contrary, you are needlessly putting innocent civilians at risk with your antics. Whether they are a home owner or homeless, there are still people living in these areas that you so casually fight through. It's a wonder no one has died yet."

The massive grey Mouse's antennae twitched slightly as she spoke, unconsciously watching her body's cues and becoming confused by her. "That may be true, ma'am, but we have certain... safeguards that won't let us harm civilians, even inadvertently."

The stranger's eyes locked with Modo. "Your bikes, I am aware of them. Their chatter some days is enough to make a person go on the bandwagon to silence them." That statement brought the full attention of everyone in the room to bear on her. No one but the Bikers ever heard their bikes. "They do not control the weapons systems of your enemies. Nor can you rely on them to handle all errant enemy missiles. They are good, but not that good if there is too much going on around them to deal with. It is inevitable that something will go wrong. Be ready to accept the consequences when it does."

With that she turned and began to head back to the door, then paused as she passed through the garage bay as if she was listening to something. "And check the top right bolt on your bike's head, big... whatever you are. It isn't seated correctly and could strip the housing." She left them in stunned silence for several long moments, three and a half pairs of eyes transfixed on the door she had exited from.

"She... heard Sweetheart..."

Throttle turned to face Charley and she sighed softly. "The was unexpected, I assure you. I had a feeling that was coming, but I was kinda hoping she would have made her appearance when you three were out somewhere..."

Charley flopped down into the beat-up office chair and began to enter information into the search engine she opened on the equally rough-looking computer before her. "Her name is Christine Hendrix, age twenty-two, she's ex-Army or whatever they call themselves after they get out on a medical discharge, and," she paused as she hit Enter, the monitor flickering as the search engine pulled up her query, "if you can read through this, she's got a reason to be as crazy as she is..."

"What happened?" Throttle leaned over her shoulder and blinked as he realized all of the results on the first page were from reputable news sources. "Is this... all her?"

"Yep. I'd stick with the news sources if you want accurate facts." Charley nodded faintly. "The rest are discussion boards and even a few hate sites. She's not popular among those that aren't in her acquaintance... You'll see why." She stood and handed off the chair to the Mouse who took the proffered seat as he clicked the first link. "Even with her creepy personae, she's not a bad person. Just crossed, I guess you'd say. Come on, Modo, let's go take a look at Darlin'. If Chris says something's off, it doesn't hurt to look into it."

* * * * * * * * * *

Through the night, Throttle poured over the pages the search engine offered to him, stunned once again into silence as the life of the petite iceberg known as Christine paraded before his eyes and offered him a glimpse into who she had been and who she was now. So engrossed in the information he had gotten, that the cool touch of the grey's prosthetic fingers on his shoulder had him yelp, his fur on end.

"Sorry bro, but you've been going over that through the night. It's eight in the morning. Go catch some sleep before you make a pillow out of the keyboard again." Modo looked about how Throttle felt at that moment, drained and running on vapors.

Rubbing the ridge of his nose, he nodded. "Yeah. Charley-girl wasn't kidding when she said Christine had reasons." he stood and swayed slightly, leaning on the subtly-proffered arm in gratitude. "Sleep first, then we'll discuss this new development. I don't think I'll be making much sense in a few more minutes."

Throttle's feet stumbled a few times as he made his way back to the shared room the Mice used when they crashed at the garage on automatic. "Sounds like a plan, Throttle. I'll sleep out here and keep an ear open for trouble."

* * * * * * * * * *

Caliber bound back his long mane and gazed out the ship's canopy at the stars around them. "It doesn't matter how many times I look out into that vast darkness, it still amazes me that we're here and we've made it this far."

"Considering the sheer number of variables and odds against my birth, let alone my launch, I believe your comment falls under the phrase of an understatement."

He chuckled softly and caressed the bulkhead. "You are a miracle child if I do say so myself Kite. Mag's pride and joy alongside his children."

The floor under his bare feet throbbed faintly in a way he had learned meant the vessel he now called his partner was pleased, and if it was possible, would be blushing. "We made the hyperdrive jump as he projected with no issue despite the proximity to the surface. Next up, we get the mineral samples from the target asteroids Command wants and return with the same flair as our departure, then we'll get the recognition Wingmen and Wings should be getting." His deep voice grumbled the last as the tip of his tail twitched.

Kite's cameras scanned her partner as she sighed, an affectation she had learned from the Mice that had built her body during her 'gestation' period. "We are still a fairly new division on Mars, Caliber. It's not their fault other Martians don't see us in the same light or capacity as they do Bikers. It's up to us to prove our honor and integrity, and do so in ways that don't shame us... like drunken brawls with less civilized Bikers."

The reminder of a night a week before their launch made the lanky russet Mouse wince. "They insulted us, then dared to insult Magnum! Those backwater Bikers had it coming to them!"

"At least none of us had to figure out how to get you out of lock-up after that incident. And you did win." The air was filled with the ship's laughter, the voice she had chosen for herself smooth and melodic.

He sniffed and grinned proudly. "Yep, I did. They thought this ol' russet was too drunk to give them the tail-whipping they deserved. It'd take more than the ale I had to get me that wasted! And you did a good job in keeping their bikes out of the mix!"

He gave the ship a thumbs-up as he settled his frame into the pilot's chair, lounging back and making himself comfortable before pulling the helmet down around his head and ears. "Time's wasting, my girl," he said as the layers of displays popped up and gave him the data he needed, "let's get Command and those stuffed shirts the samples they want and beat tail back!"

"Aye, partner. Local space is clear of all enemy vessels and flotsam. We are clear for hyperdrive on your mark." A ponderous moan began to build from the bowels of the small craft as the prototype engines began powering up. "Please enter our coordinates whenever you are ready."

A cursor tracked his eye movements while his brain processed and confirmed their new objectives. "Mark, Kite. Let's fly fast and free, partner!"

The sleek lines of the ship moved forward and slipped into a ripple in space, leaving nothing but a rumored whisper of their presence behind.