A CLOCKWORK RODENT
A "Great Mouse Detective" Fanfiction By The Mouse Avenger

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hello again, dearest friends, fans, & fellow GMD lovers! In addition to my two new one-shots & Chapter 9 of GMD 2, I have another surprise for you...the final revision of my GMD fanfiction "A Clockwork Rodent"!

Now, here's a little bit of history for those of you who are new to my stories: Back in 2004, I became curious about the controversial cult classic "A Clockwork Orange", & I decided to write a GMD retelling of the film's story. In the original concept, the major & minor characters from GMD were to star as the rodentified ACO cast, but it didn't stay that way for long; when I first watched ACO in 2006, I (naturally) became obsessed with it to the point where I created my own GMD versions of the Droogs & other ACO characters. At that same time, I also wrote my first draft of "A Clockwork Rodent", starring these new members of my GMD Fanfic Cast. Hard to believe that was 10 years ago...My, oh, my, how time does fly!

Before I continue with the author's notes, let me give you a helpful hint: The 'strange' language that the Droogs speak is called Nadsat. It's a dialect that one can easily understand when figuring it out through context. Just use the clues, & you'll figure it out. (wink) Or if you're still stumped, you can look up Nadsat dictionaries on the Internet. They'll help, too.

When you're finished reading, feel free to leave a review. I'll take anything from simple comments to constructive criticism, as long as they're not flames or written in a mean, stern, or overly-harsh manner.

And, now, for a brief copyright & disclaimer...
All "Great Mouse Detective" characters, elements, & properties © Walt Disney Studios.
All "Clockwork Orange" characters, properties, & elements © Anthony Burgess, Stanley Kubrick, & Warner Bros.
All original characters, elements, & properties © The Mouse Avenger (that's me). Please be sure to ask for my permission before using them in your stories or role-playings. Thanks very much in advance.

And now that my copyright & disclaimer is finished, let the fanfiction begin! Happy reading!

Chapter 1:
The Modern Youth

There was me, that is Alex, & my three droogs—that is Pete, Georgie, & Dim—& we sat in the Koratva Dairy-Pub, trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. The Koratva Dairy-Pub was what you would call a "moloko mesto" in this modern day & age—specifically, if you wish to know, 1923 in the Year Of Our like Lord & Holy Bog. The tale which I have commenced relating to you begins in the month of January, on a cold, dark winter's nochy, with snow blowing all around & whatnot. The usual fog that filled Mouse London in these frosty months did not appear tonight, strangely enough; outside, the air was as clear & cloudless as it would be on a May morning. You could viddy all the lights shimmering & shining & blinking & blazing in all the colors of the rainbow, & if you ever took a look at the brightness, it would shine before your glazzies like a burst of heavenly sunshine. But enough about lights & all that cal; there's a story that needs to be told here, as you very well know.

Now, as I was attempting to skazat before that very unpleasant digression, the Koratva Dairy-Pub was a moloko mesto, in which one could come down from the upstairs (the Dairy-Pub, you see, was built in the underground basement of an old, abandoned human's pub) to, as they say, kick back, relax, & have a drink or two (or more, if so desired) of rich white moloko, which tasted as delicious as it would if it came from the cows upon a starry old farm in the English countryside. Or, if you were ever in the mood for something more, you could place a half-crown into the slots of the moloko-mannequins (large statues, they were, of scantily-clad mouse-cheenas in chains & paw-cuffs that posed in seductive stances, made of white fiberglass & decorated with garish make-up & big, big, colorful wigs) & pull a malenky lever on the sides of them that would cause special kinds of moloko to flow from their mouths (almost in the manner of a fountain or gargoyle) into the glasses presented in front of them.

Now, what was so special about these kinds of moloko, you are probably wondering? Well, the moloko from these mannequins—let us call it milkplus—was regular milk plus a certain kind of chemical or drug that was put into it. For example, you could have milkplus with vellocet (which could make you drowsy & lethargic, though that was just one of its effects), synthmesc (which was a hallucinogenic & caused you to have dreamy-like visions or viddy things that weren't really there), or another drug named drencrom. The latter veshch—that is to say, drencrom—was what my droogs & I were drinking with our milkplus tonight, as this would sharpen you up & make you ready for a bit of the old ultraviolence...And we were certainly planning to do a lot of ultraviolence on this fine, horrorshow nochy, Georgie, Dim, & I were (but not so much the same for Pete, as you will learn shortly).

The four of us mice were dressed in the heighth of fashion that was typical of British rodent gangs during the 1920's; we all had our hair in what they called "page-boy" cuts, cropped shoulder-length & combed nice & neat until it fell from the gulliver in a smooth, wavy waterfall of curls. Upon our fursons, we wore crisp silver jumpsuits (with open collars that had malenky wing-like flaps) with long, long sleeves for the arms & legs; over these jumpsuits, covering the nether-sections, we wore very tight tan codpieces to make our bits-&-pieces look larger & more attractive to the devotchkas (but the codpieces my droogs & I wore were fashioned more like hot pants than of the usual design), & to keep the codpieces nice & snug upon us so they wouldn't fall down, we held them up with black suspenders.

Upon our nogas—feet—we wore dark-gray combat boots for real horrorshow kicking & marching about on the cobblestone streets. The rest of the gang outfit as usually worn comprised of a black hat of whatever sort, but while the members of other shaikas all wore the same shlapa, my droogs & I took a different approach to the matter & wore various kinds of caps. Georgie wore a black top hat (with a red ribbon-stripe around it), Pete wore a black beret, & Dim & I both wore black bowler hats with red ribbon-stripes around them.

As far as decorations go, Georgie, Dim, & Pete did not have any extra accessories or trimmings for their gang uniforms, but to assert myself as their high & mighty leader, I donned a pair of false eyelashes upon the lids of my right glazzie & bloody eyeball-cuffs upon the wrists of my jumpsuit-top. My black cane, tipped with shiny gold, rested at my leg-side, while Dim's long chain-whip was wrapped around his pudgy stomach; our other weapons were concealed safely within our clothing, not to be taken out until we left the Koratva to embark upon our evening adventures—or rather, should I say, our villainous capers—which would start very, very soon, O my brothers & sisters.

So there we were, Pete, Georgie, Dim, & I, all sitting together on our favorite plushy-wushy couch as we helped ourselves to glasses of milkplus with the old drencrom, paying no heed at the moment to the other rodents that were in the Dairy-Pub with us. The room was dimly-lit by the dozens of bulbs that shone from every which-way, & the sounds of the latest & so-called "greatest" pop songs filled the air, but we cared not for such cal & ignored what was going on around us as of the here & now. At one point, while we were brooding oh-so quietly in our lonely spot, Georgie turned his gulliver to face me. "So, what are we doing tonight, brother?" he asked me.

Georgie was what you would call the second-in-command of my gruppa of droogs; he was a tall, lean veck, not much younger than your Friend & Humble Narrator (we were apart by a year, he being 17 & I 18), who looked quite handsome & charming for his age (though not nearly as much as I). He had auburn-red hair, sort of like the color of ginger-spice, with a long, thin pink tail & peachy-tan fur; he had a malenky bucktooth, which he kept sharpened real horrorshow with a human's nail file, & tall pink ears that stood up alert-like & could slooshy nearly any sort of sound—real acute hearing, Georgie had, which was only one of his many strengths. His glazzies were golden-colored, almost like a rat's, & above these flaxen eyes were thickiwick black glazz-brows—very theatrical-like, these brows were, as if they came from the litso of that starry old actor Vincent Price I himself. A malenky pink button-morder was fixed between Georgie's eyes, a nose that could sniff & smell things real horrorshow, no matter what direction or distance or sources those vons came from.

Next to myself, Georgie was the smartest & cleverest of my droogs, with great intelligence & a mind that held knowledge of many veshchs. Georgie had the cunning of a fox (as he would often boast), & not only was he a bright malchick in the manners of books & brains & suchnot, but he was a sneaky little snake-in-the-grass who knew how to figure out a plan for just about anything—how to commit (& get away with) the perfect crimes, how to escape from the millicents, how to don disguises & gain access to forbidden mestoes without being recognized...indeed, Georgie had the makings of a criminal in him, & that certainly made him the most cherished of my droogs & assistants.

But Georgie & I go much further back, we two, back to when we were just malenky mouselings growing up together in the under-streets of London. We were the first to ever become droogs, & we were the closest, as well, of our circle of like friends that was forming at the time; Georgie & I were the kind of droogs that would always play the same games, ride bikes & go to the park every day during our after-school hours, share secrets, play pranks on one another, & get into trouble...But there is no point in dwelling on the past, so I shall speak no further about our mouselinghood. We return to the here-&-now, brothers & sisters, at the moment when Georgie turned to ask me about our plans for the night.

"So, what's it going to be then, eh?" Georgie inquired again, when a silence had passed & I had not yet responded to him.

I took a minoota to wipe the moloko-moustache from my mouth, & then turned to look back at Georgie, before finally giving my answer: "I'm thinking now, brother, but I have not yet decided what we shall do this nochy."

After some seconds, Dim looked at me with a clueless expression & asked rather foolishly (though this was typical of him), "How about now, Alex?"

"No, Dim," I snarled back at him with an angry glower. "And I would be able to think of ideas sooner, if thou wouldst shut thy rot & kindly stop interrupting, you gloopy bastard."

Dim, needless to say, was—without a shadow of a doubting Thomas—the dimmest of we four; take everything I hath skazatted to thee about Georgie, & translate it to its like exact opposite. When it came to most veshchs, Dim was more of a liability than an accessory to our gang, as he tended to foil our wicked plans or thwart our crimes-in-progress with his unfortunate stupidity & his gloopy acts of like foolishness; I simply could not tell you, O my faithful listeners, about all the times when Dim brought about our failure in some scheme or other, much less about all the times when he irritated me (if not worse) with some brainless remark or childish little antic.

Dim was the sort of mouse who had no second thoughts about picking his morder or blowing spit-bubbles in the presence of others; he was the sort of mouse who slept with a teddy bear & a fuzzy blanky, who would rather play with toys or watch cartoons (or do some other childlike veshch) than do as he was told, who engorged on cheese constantly (as though it was the only thing he had in the world to eat) & had the table manners of a filthy pig...Ah, you get the point, right-right? Let me just say, in conclusion, that the vast majority of things about Dim were not what one would consider as likeable.

And Dim was not the most attractive of us four, either; even though he was the tallest in our group, that didn't hide the (rather sad) fact that he was terribly fat & out-of-shape. Whenever Dim went, he plodded about like a slow, skulking beast & was always lagging behind, even in running speed (or his sorry excuse for such); also, unlike Georgie, Pete, & I, poor Dim was the clumsiest of us all, always stumbling or tumbling or tripping or slipping or suchnot without any sense of proper direction or balance. He was a lazy slug-a-bed who never exercised or did anything other than sitting about & munchy-wunching on junk snacks (or whatever it was he chose to do in his spare time). He never took care of himself hygiene-wise; he hardly ever bathed, he tended to "forget" to brush his zoobies, he didn't usually tend to his hair...

Well, that's more than enough about Dim & all his fursonality flaws. Viddying how impatient you're probably getting with your Humble Narrator, I shan't ramble on anymore, & thus, I return to my earlier discussion about Dim (that is to say, before the digression). As I'd started to skazat earlier, Dim was not a very good-looking mouse (far from it), but his obesity & laziness & such were not the only veshchs to blame for this. His dark-brown hair, due to never being washed or combed, was largely dirty & unkempt, & his litso was speckled with acne (which could not be viddied underneath his tan fur), with a noticeable mole (darkish in color) upon his cheek that didn't make him look any more handsome.

Dim had a big, bolshy bucktooth that jutted out from his rot (as many other rodents have), & all the other zoobies he had were tainted yellow with decay; he also had large, beady brown glazzies that were as dull as he, but whenever he gave a particular expression, said glazzies usually assisted very well in displaying it (especially when he was happy, sad, or just plain clueless). Much like the rest of his body, Dim's litso was pudgy & plump, & his lips were decorated with bright-red goober-muck (he liked putting it on because it made him look like a silly clown—which was rather fitting, wouldst thou not agree?).

"Did you think of a plan yet, brother?" Dim asked soon afterwards, for what may have been the umpteenth time in a row. Annoyed with that moronic bratchny, I skvatted my cane from beside my leg & attempted to give him a strong, horrorshow crack on the knees with it, but Pete swiftly reached out a paw to grab the handle & keep me from doing so. "No more picking on Dim, brother," Pete told me with a scolding glare. "Be kind to your droog & bratty!"

Pete was the most different member of our gang, for a very particular like reason; unlike Georgie, Dim, or I, little brother Pete was everything we three were not—decent & righteous, always acting on his most horrorshow behavior & trying to be an upstanding malchick in the eyes of the goodie-two-shoes rodent world. He was the very last of us who would commit crimes, & when I managed to get him to follow my orders, he caused the least damage to our victims & actually went so far as to stay behind & help them when we were done giving them the old tolchocks & suchnot. Pete was the only one of us who willingly went to church on Sundays (what a useless waste of time, that was), & whenever he did any crimes, he always stooped down for a minoota or two to give his prayers to Bog in heaven, begging for forgiveness & all that chepooka. He was the kind of mouse who gave to charity whenever possible, did random acts of kindness for others, used his very best manners with the ladies, never spoke a word or performed a deed in anger...Well, I suppose you get the point now, & I wish to speak no further about this, as govoreeting about Pete & all his horrorshow qualities is starting to make me sick with like contempt.

But there was more to Pete than just his goodness & sense of ethics. He was a dreamer, always sitting off in a corner & staring off into space, with all sorts of messels & sneets cavorting about in his brain. He was an artistic malchick, too, usually painting or reading or going to the pictures or suchnot whenever he had spare time, as he greatly enjoyed looking at art & cinnies & stories & all that cal (that is, when he wasn't crafting them with his own two lapas, & with all the creative skills that he possessed, he did a real horrorshow job when it came to artisanship). Pete also enjoyed singing & dancing, & my droogs & I often had him perform for us whenever we needed a bit of entertainment; truth be told, Pete had rhythm in his nogas & a velvety voice that could charm any cheena with its sound. (Had Pete not become one of us, he could have been a real fine mousician or some other such veshch, I'm certain, but there really is no point to dwelling on what could have been, now, is there?)

Underneath his black beret, Pete's gulliver was adorned with locks of dark-brown hair that went very nicely with his tan fur & malenky pink nose. His two glazzies were a soft violet, much like those of his mother & his little brother Chris, & whenever one gazed into them, they saw kindness & caring within them. When Pete was up to his puckish mischief or a childish prank of some sort (he being an impish little joker), these same violet glazzies would twinkle a bit with a bright flash that indicated he was vareeting something in that intelligent like rassoodock of his.

"Let Dim alone, brother," Pete told me with a stern look as he put the cane beside my knees once more. "As his droog, you should not act out in anger against him."

I scoffed at Pete, leaning back onto the couch as I held my glass of milkplus in my paw & planted my boot-clad nogas upon the statue-table (modeled in the form of a scantily-clad mouse woman bending over on her back, with all fours on the ground). "Well, Pete," I retorted, "perhaps I would not wish to act out in anger against Dim if he were not such a gloopy nazz."

"I am not a gloopy nazz!" Dim retorted, glaring at me with frowning brows & a grumpy face.

"Then if that is the case, brother," Georgie responded with a smuggiwug grin on his litso, "why didst thou ask your question to Alex, even though he hath already answered it?"

Upon slooshying these slovos from Georgie, Dim's expression soon became one of embarrassment, & as he squished his rookers together & placed them between his legs in like shame, he cast a downcast glance towards his lap & answered simply, "I don't know."

"And that," Georgie smirked, "is precisely why we call you 'Dim'."

"You know that Dim is short for my real eemya, Dimitri," Dim shot back in a fit of like offense. "Pee & Em called me that, too."

"And for a horrorshow reason, brother," Georgie snapped. "You failed all your grades in skolliwoll back in Shostka!"

"Shut up, you bratchny," Dim growled, getting angrier by the second & looking as though he planned to drat Georgie in a fight. "I don't have to slooshy the stinkin' cal that flows from your rot like grazhny garbage!"

"So what?" Georgie challenged with a sarky look on his litso. "It's not like you're going to remember any of this govoreet between us later on..."

This didn't keep Dim from getting any bezoomnier, & I could sense when he was about to reach the boiling point. Just before anything else could happen between my two droogs, I put my fingers to my goobers & gave a sharp, piercing whistle that sent them back to their seats all nice & quiet-like. Dim & Georgie were then given orders from me not to drat anymore, & after they vowed to follow that command, I decided that I had finished coming up with my ideas for what we were to do this evening.

"Tonight, droogies, we embark upon a night of malicious mischief," I declared, setting my glass of milkplus down upon the statue-table for a minoota to face my gang-mates. "We shall go out & viddy what opportunities the world has to offer for us on this fine, horrorshow nochy. Leave the rest up to me, & I shall tell thee what crimes we shall commit. Dost we all pony clear & crystal-like, brothers?" My droogs nodded in understanding, & with that, I picked up my glass of milkplus & lifted it into the air, as Pete, Georgie, & Dim followed suit. "But first, before we venture out, a toast...To the modern youth!"

"To the modern youth," my droogs echoed in unison, clinking their glasses together & taking big, bolshy sips from them until their moloko was all gone. After taking a moment to wipe off the milkplus-mousetache from my litso, I took up my cane again & rose to my nogas, steadily walking out of the Koratva Dairy-Pub as my droogs came up behind me to join their mouseter & leader for the night of ultraviolence & crime that awaited us all...