Title: Go West, Young Mouse
Rating: T
Genre: Western/Adventure
Characters: Vinnie, some scenes with other BMFM canons, supporting OCs
Summary: Being a hero is never easy, and some days, it's harder than normal. A simple crash-and-smash of yet another of Limburger's schemes turns south when Karbunkle's latest mechanical menace gets involved. Having never quite charmed Lady Luck, Vinnie is separated from his bike and his bros, deposited smack in the middle of the budding 1800's American West.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay… here's the deal. I have not yet watched the majority of the original series. I am working on it, but it is insanely difficult to find. Therefore, I am not one hundred percent comfortable with writing the characters, so there may be some influence from the 2006 series and/or some out-of-character-ness. Please, if you see something glaringly wrong, let me know and I will do my best to fix it. Constructive criticism is forever welcome. And now; on to the story. Let's rock and ride!
Chapter One
"Oh, man; this reeks." Vinnie made a face and leaned on his handlebars, squinting down the hillside at the machines ripping up the earth below. "Even for stink-face."
Beside him, Modo and Throttle nodded. The land they were staring at was a wide stretch of sand and gravel; simply put, worthless. "I smell a trap," the large grey mouse said, giving his mechanical arm a cursory once-over.
"Probably." Throttle shifted his specs, frowning. The way it looked, he was ninety-nine percent sure that that was exactly what they were looking at. "But the big cheese might actually be up to something." Like supplying a sudden Plutarkian demand for Zen gardens. Right. This was definitely a trap.
"So let's go crack some skulls already." Vinnie's tone bordered on a whine.
"Hey, hey; cool it, Vincent. We gotta play this one smart."
White fingers drummed against red steel. "Play it boring, you mean. If they were actually lookin' for something down there, the walking oil spill would've spilled it by now."
Vinnie had a point. Throttle's gaze swiveled to Greasepit, standing by the small transporter. That slime ball could carry a mousetrap to the grave, but any other secret plans spilled out of him like oil.
"Definitely a trap?" Modo questioned bemusedly.
"Yup. Definitely a trap." He pushed a button on his helmet, bringing up his visor. "Stay sharp, bros."
"A-owooo! Now you're talking, Throttle, my mouse!" Vinnie revved his engine, effectively blowing any surprise they had. "Let's rock and ride, you mammajammers!" With another whoop, he tore off down the hill. Throttle and Modo spared a second to share amused looks before falling in on his tail, engines roaring.
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Limburger gloated from his perch inside Karbunkle's newest invention, rubbing his hands together in greedy satisfaction as he watched the biker mice come roaring over the ridge. "Excellent work, Doctor. Those vexatious vermin don't even realize we're here."
Karbunkle looked surprised at the praise before his face split in a sickly grin. "Yes, Your Pragmatic Provolone-ness. I calibrated the external panels to reflect light in such a way as to render us virtually invisible."
A maniacal chuckle erupted from Limburger's throat, growing into a sinister cackle. "Those bothersome biker mice won't know what hit them until after they've been smeared into the sand! Make sure you're ready with the controls, Doctor. I want them flattened the first chance you get."
"Of course, Your Grand Gouda-ness."
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Blasters and laser rifles exploded to life as soon as they came into view of Limburger's goons, directing the symphony of badly tuned engines and squalling tires as the digging machines were abandoned in favor of dune buggies. The mice split up, creating three targets instead of one cluster, and wove recklessly between the more cumbersome vehicles. The air filled with squeals and the scream of folding steel, punctuated by the bros' laughter and shouts and the occasional guttural threat as one goon or another almost came close enough to land a blow.
"This seem a bit too easy, bros?" Throttle asked suddenly, slugging a thug as he roared by.
"No way! We're just that bad," Vinnie hollered, twirling his blaster and shooting over his shoulder, blowing out the tires of the buggy that had closed in behind him.
Modo put a little more thought into his answer, firing happily with his arm cannon. "Not much of a trap, is it? Where's the pop up cage and giant magnet?"
"A-owooo! Who cares? Line 'em up, bros, and I'll knock 'em down."
The red sport bike shot out of the dwindling fray, heading into an open stretch of ground and starting a wide curve. Throttle glanced after Vinnie and slammed on his brakes, stomach dropping. He nearly took a bat to the head for his distraction, rocketing out of reach at the last possible second. "Vincent! Watch it!" He raced after his bro, eyes locked on the hulking mass that rumbled to life, mere feet ahead of Vinnie's bike. He didn't know how he had missed it, but he could tell by the way its outline wavered through his lenses that Vinnie couldn't see it; it or the large foot that was about to come down on top of him.
Time seem to slow down. In a series of flashes, Throttle pulled up beside the red racer, twisting his own handlebars hard to the side. He slammed into Vinnie's bike, knocking him out of his turn and out of the way. He watched his bro sail through the air, and then his own bike bucked, pitching him after the white furred mouse. His shoulder protested in pain as he met the dirt. Vinnie flew farther, landing in the glow of the transporter a nanosecond after a blaster shot caused the machine to surge.
And then there was a crunch of metal, and time resumed its pace.
The tan mouse pushed himself up, twisting around, his heart breaking. The back half of his bike was mangled, crushed under the foot of whatever metal monster Limburger had unleashed this time. Rage filled him, turning to panic as he suddenly realized that it was much too quiet. He wheeled around, eyes widening behind his specs. "Vincent?!" he hollered, knowing it was in vain. The racing bike lay on the ground, wheels spinning, but Vinnie – and the transporter – was gone.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Vinnie was stunned; not only had he been knocked off his bike (unheard of for a mouse of his raw awesome caliber), but Throttle had been the one to sideswipe him. He felt a twinge of betrayal until he heard the fur-raising sound of crunching steel and saw Throttle bite the dust, thrown mere seconds before half of Lady was crushed under…something. He couldn't see anything, but his bro's bike making like an empty pop can could not have happened on its own.
A sudden sense of wrongness settled in his stomach and he tried to push himself up only to realize that he had never completed his fall. He heard Throttle call out to him, but the sound was far away and fuzzy, like he had his head stuck in water. His body felt strange; weightless and tingly; and then, without warning, his stomach leapt out of his mouth and held on to his tongue in a wild joyride as gravity reclaimed him and brought him crashing down. A splash went up around his ears, raining back onto his helmet and dampening his fur.
"Aww, man! Yuck! And I just took a bath last week." He stood up and shook his shoulders. First thing first; he had to get on the wire with his bros. Then he could find out where he was. He activated his helmet's communicator, but all he heard was the faint, rustling hiss of dead air. There wasn't even the crackling of static. Frowning, he moved his finger to the button that withdrew his visor; he couldn't see past the water droplets. It vanished with the soft woosh that reminded him of racing through a short tunnel, and his jaw dropped at the sight in front of him.
He was in a wasteland, and that was being generous. The land stretched out flat and dry all around him without a single tree. The only buildings were a small, squat house that he doubted was occupied and a rundown barn with half its roof missing.
"Where the hell am I?"