This is just a one shot, and a short one at that. The idea crossed my mind in the wee hours, as they often do, but it's one I'm not sure if I'll elaborate on, so here's the main idea of if.
Enjoy.
"At least you two are physically doing something!" Carbine snarls as she climbs the rackety metal steps of one of the dingiest apartment blocks Throttle has ever seen. Modo's ears droop as the female snorts in disgust as some of the railing comes off in her angered grip.
She tosses it to one side and the two bikers in tow duck to avoid it.
"He just sits up there until someone comes calling and then bam, somehow he pulls a missing mouse out of freaking nowhere." She pauses to let them catch up, not noticing that the two are keeping their distance out of self preservation.
Carbines tail swishes furiously as she hops up the last four steps and twists to take off down the corridor in a furious march.
"We don't know how he does it, surveillance hasn't seen his bike leave here, let alone him stepping out of that hovel he calls a home."
Throttle opens his mouth to defend his bro, but it ends in a silent whistle as they round the last corner of the corridor to stand outside of a door that was nearly hanging off of the frame. The hinges were well and truly rusted. Carbine punches the door a few times. Modo cringes, expecting it to cave in.
Surprised by it's sturdiness the two bro's exchanged a discreet look behind the Generals back as she bangs the block of wood again and shouts for the occupant to open it.
A brief moment of silence passes, only broken by their more delicate, less feminine company catching her breath.
"If he's not in I'm going to hang him with his own tail. This is why I wanted you to come, we've got to find this informant, and, -lucky- for us," she strains the word lucky, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, "he's the only one on Mars capable of it."
She takes a breath and the tan mouse raises a brow curiously, he thinks he knows where her train of monologue is going.
"Which is ironic really, considering he can't even find his own fucking girlfriend."
This last bit she spits at the door. The tallest of the three narrows his gaze at the woman before him, feeling upset on behalf of his comrade. He chose silence instead, sharing a disbelieving look with the other freedom fighter before him. Now wasn't the time for emotional arguments.
"VINCENT!"
She bangs on the door again, tail swishing angrily.
"Right, we haven't got all day, this has to be done as soon as possible if we want to find this guy alive, the information he has could save lives." With that said, Carbine tried the door handle and with a soft click the door swung open so quickly they all thought someone was on the other side opening it.
When they were all met with an empty entrance hall a coldness settled over them. Had someone gotten there before them?
"Modo, check the corridor and windows for signs of entry, then keep a look out, Throttle, I want you out on the fire-escape, check for the same. Move." The grey mouse takes out a blaster and levels it before her, entering the apartment stealthily.
As Carbine scouts the first two rooms she can hear music coming from a room further down. With a few quick steps she finds herself peering around a doorframe at the mouse she was looking for. With an irritated snort she holsters her weapon and clicks on the communications device attached to her ear.
"Modo, Throttle, he's here, it's all clear. Continue security sweep. See you in five."
The white furred mouse is sitting with his back to her, scars barely visible under the fading sunlight pouring generously through the window. For a few moments it reminds her of before the war, when her father used to sit at his desk and bask in the Martian evening sun before finishing his paperwork. She dashes the memory with a shake of her head.
"Vincent."
He lifts his head and casts a bored glance at her. The sunlight isn't flattering on his mask. It makes him look cold. With a brief moment of concealed shock she realises it makes him look old. Too old.
"Carbine?"
The freedom fighter is not pleased to see her. She folds her arms and looks at him with an air of dissatisfaction. He raises a brow in question.
"You again. Quit losing your soldiers Carbine, the lives of our people aren't toys to be played with."
Lucky her, he feels like sharing his age with her. Now she feels aged too.
"As caustic as usual. You have any leads?" She snips back. He's not one for witty banter anymore. She supposes when you've spent as much time looking for mice lost during the Plutarkian war you lose your sense of humour pretty quickly.
"I will do, you know I've only taken this 'assignment' because of the people involved." He looks grave as he turns fully to her, then stands, looking too stiff for his years.
He stretches and moves over to another table, picking up a file bulging with papers. He opens it, flicking through to pull out two papers and places them on the table with sad resignation.
"Didn't think it'd come to this. Hoped it'd never…" He mutters under his breath.
"There's someone I need you to find."
"I know, that's why you called me?" He starts, frowning at her abruptness. He continues, "Throttle and Modo, M.I.A you said, that's why you needed me to-"
"Hey bro! Long time no see!" The two in question enter the room, pleased to see their old biker buddy. The sentiment is not returned.
Suddenly the room is stifling and the white mouse tears his disbelieving eyes away from his bros to round on Carbine with a furious roar.
"WHAT THE HELL? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLAYING AT!"
"Vinnie, calm it bro-"
"-Shut it Throttle, don't defend her like you always bloody do, she's-"
"-Look, she just wants to help out a friend of ours-"
"-Oh! Really? A friend of yours? That's interesting, because she told me I was going to be looking for you!"
Moments tick by as the two mice behind Carbine turn to her for an explanation. She rubs her temples and sighs loudly.
"I had to do it that way. You don't take our requests anymore!" Carbine begins, only to be halted when Vinnie holds up a hand in objection.
"No, you don't get to do that. Do you have any idea of just how sick your idea was? Do you know how many lost mice I've tracked down, only to find corpses?"
Vincent turns away, rubbing a hand roughly down the side of his face shielded by the mask.
"How many mothers I've had to tell that their husbands are gone, how many children who'll never see their parents again? How many friends who never got to say goodbye? Do you have ANY idea? Any at all of what you've just done? With this stupid prank of yours?"
Carbine goes to speak, but a hand on her shoulder from Modo halts her. She's surprised it isn't Throttle, but the tan mouse is watching his brother-in-arms intently.
"No. I'm not helping you. Find some other poor bastard to do your dirty work."
"You have to do this, this is about score of lives Vincent!"
He doesn't turn around. There's a delicate tap as his tail accidentally catches the edge of the file. It tumbles to the floor and the pages spill out, littering the floor with hundreds of faces.
The mice glance down, unable to suppress their curiosity.
Men, women, children, teenagers, babies, the elderly. And not just mice, but rats too, of every age and fur-pigmentation. A few pages are clean. Unmarked save for a 'missing' stamp in blue. Even fewer have an accompanying stamp in green of 'recovered'.
But more, too many more have a red stamp. Carbine freezes as she looks down at the piece of parchment thats landed on her foot. Slowly, more slowly than she can ever remember moving she kneels down. Picking it up she doesn't bother to stand as the strength leaves her legs momentarily.
There's something clinical about the sheet in her hands, the blue stamp on it is reassuring at first, making her think there is some hope for the one it is referring to. But the singular stamp below it brings a nausea she didn't think she could still feel upon hearing tragedy.
"Leave." Vinnie's voice is quiet. Too weak in comparison to the way it was when they'd finally come back to their planet victorious and ready to purge their world of the blight left over from the war.
Very weak.
Almost beaten.
Almost defeated.
The paper drops from her hand into the pile of faces below it. Joining the many others with the same brightly coloured markers. She stands and turns, reaching out with to the two either side of her and dragging them out with her, out of the room and into the hall. Out into the corridor, not bothering to close the door, and down it. Down the corridor, out into the open air and onto the rickety steps descending to their bikes.
When they reach the top of the steps she stops, head bowed.
"Who?" Throttle asks tentatively.
She rattles off what she can remember from the sheet, trying to block out the rest of the information she had unintentionally taken in.
"Male: 6'4", Fur: Chestnut, Region: South-West, Neredium Montas…Missing in Action…Deceased…" She halted, gasped then continued, because they had to know, even when their faces told her they already knew and that she didn't have to say, "Occupation: Freedom Fighter, Name: STOKER."
"Oh sweet mercy, not Stoker." The large mouse staggered backwards out of her grip and leaned against the wall behind him for support.
For his part the tan mouse remained stalwart, pulling her against him and holding on tight.
The three stand out in the corridor, stunned by grief for longer than they care to admit. They all know they shouldn't be surprised. Yet despite knowing that they've go to act quickly to save another life before many more are extinguished, the shock halts them all, makes them incapable of continuing onwards. Suddenly, after losing something so close, that was so fundamental to their fight, their own battle becomes almost worthless.
Throttle looks out over the surrounding area, finally taking in the surroundings and realising that the place is a bombsite. It was hardly any wonder that the place was falling apart, it was amazing it was still standing after what had been a standard plutarkian air-raid.
They stumble down the steps and lean on their bikes heavily, not quite ready to move. The air is cooling with the sun descending in the sky. Their hearts are heavy.
"What next?" He lifts his shades and watches her carefully with red eyes. She's mourning, but there is still work to be done. He knows it's harsh, but she would do the same for him, she'd have used their military ranks to pull them out of whatever emotional pit they'd fallen into. So with a look he reminds her. She's the General, it's time for her to lead them, give them an order, move them forward.
He smiles grimly to himself. It's what she's good at after all.
The sound of metal creaking makes them all turn towards the building again, to find Vincent standing before them, worn look still in place, but coat and backpack on with a sheet of paper in his hand.
It holds a blue stamp only.
""Male: 5'7", Fur: White, Region: North, Kunowsky…Missing in Action…Occupation: Freedom Fighter, Name: DICE."
Their ears prick as he smiles slightly when he takes a step forward.
"Whereabouts: Last seen, Vogel District, western Noachis."
Carbine straightens and nods at Vinnie. He shrugs and clicks his tongue. A roar answers him and his bike comes around the corner, unchanged since it's return to martian soil.
She raises her eyebrows and looks taken-aback.
"Vincent?"
He casts an amused look at the two other guys and then looks back at her.
"Carbine."