Rock 'n' Ride – A Biker Mice From Mars Fan-Fiction

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own Biker Mice from Mars, or ANY of the characters affiliated with said title.

Chapter 1: Melodies of Life

This is a story of Throttle. Stoker has died, and Throttle is now set to guard the Regenerator, and do what he can to get it to Mars. But, with Catatonian warships in orbit around Earth, there's little he can do to get it off the planet, and General Carbine doesn't have enough forces to eliminate the barricade…

Throttle cranked the gas and soared through the air, jumping high over an eighteen-wheeler. Dust leapt up from the road as his back tire connected, the bike flying forward and righting itself on the blacktop. Throttle stared coldly ahead, his eyes masked by the green glasses that allowed him to see.

Two weeks. Two weeks since Stoker died, and Throttle was set to guard the regenerator. Two weeks since the tan-furred mouse had left Vinnie and Modo the note, saying he was leaving.

Life was hell.

Stoker had done what he could. He'd protected the newly-made regenerator, but he was ready to give it all up, just to save Throttle.

Throttle had been pinned after a cave-in, buried up to the underneath of his shoulders. He had protested, and yelled at Stoker to leave him, to save the regenerator and get out of the mountain. Stoker refused. He wouldn't leave one of the bros.

He'd managed to get the rocks off of Throttle, with Vinnie and Modo holding off the cats on the cliff. That's when it all went horribly wrong.

One cat was a better shot than the rest, and sent a blast straight at Throttle, bypassing Vinnie and Modo completely. Stoker saw it coming and threw away the regenerator, leaping in front of Throttle. He took the blast straight to the chest, sending him flying back against Throttle.

Throttle had managed to catch him, and laid him down against the rocks, quickly flying forward into battle in a berserk fury. He would not be satisfied until every last cat on the assault was dead. By the time it was over, the mountainside was littered with the bodies of cats.

Immediately, Throttle had rushed over to Stoker, supporting the old mouse's head with his arms. He pulled Stoker close and listened; he wasn't dead.

Yet.

His heartbeat was slowing, and he wouldn't last long. All three of them shed tears, for the first time since they left Mars. Well, everybody except Throttle. He didn't have tear glands anymore, so he just cried in his heart, sobbing and wishing the tears would come. They always made it seem easier to deal with something sad.

"Hey bros, what are you guys sobbing for?" Stoker had said, smiling warmly at the mice. "Come on, you're tough guys, you shouldn't be crying." He shut his eyes tight and then looked straight at Throttle. "Listen Throttle, get the regenerator out of here. We can't let the Catatonians get it, so I need you to get it out of here. Got it?" Throttle didn't answer. "I said, you got it?" Throttle gripped Stoker's hand and nodded, staring forlornly at Stoker.

"Awesome, bro," Stoker said, letting out a chuckle. "Well, have a good one. Give one last goodbye to Carbine for me." And with that, the mouse general of the Plutarkian invasion died.

They'd given him a quiet burial, not far from the mountain. Stoker had always liked the peace and serenity of nature, so they buried him underneath the shade of a stout sycamore tree. They made sure to place some of his favourite things near the grave. Vinnie even made a hole and buried a bottle of root beer to its neck at the head of the upturned earth.

They rode back home, not a word passing between them. Throttle had made sure to strap the regenerator to his bike, doing little less than cementing it to the frame.

The next few days were slow. The usual would happen; they would discover some Catatonians and take them out, but it was always done with deadly efficiency. Modo would explode at the slightest aggravation, and Vinnie was always very quiet, taking out his adversaries quickly rather than toying with them or risking his neck.

On the fourth day, Throttle made his decision. He wasn't going to bother risking his bros' lives. The regenerator was his responsibility, and if anybody died for him like Stoker did, he didn't know what he'd do.

So he left a note, packed up, grabbed his bike, and left, strapping the regenerator to his bike. He'd left it in a safe in the old hideout, one that only he knew the combination to. Once he'd got it, he drove away, doing whatever he could to keep his bros out of harms way. He'd even disabled the communications system in his helmet and on his bike.

They would be after the regenerator, after all. And if they attacked the hideout en masse, there would be nothing that could keep the Biker Mice alive.

Throttle snapped back to reality as he drove, but his mind turned to memories of Stoker.

Even when Throttle had a real family, Stoker had been a huge part of his life. It was Stoker who had taken him on his first bike. Throttle remembered cruising through the red dust and stone on the planet, clinging onto Stoker's jacket as he gazed at the red mountains that whizzed by.

He remembered days when he would go to Stoker's and play with Carbine, Vinnie, and Modo. All four of them had been close, and Stoker was always like a parent to them.

Especially after the deaths of their parents during the war.

They were still kids, back then. When their parents died, Stoker took them in, gave them a home and helped to raise them. No matter what they did, whether it was good or bad, he would always be understanding and fair; firm, yet not wrongly so.

I'd hoped to call him my uncle, one day, Throttle thought, biting back a sob.

Then he noticed them, the walkers.

There were three Catatonian walkers lined on the road, waiting for them. Immediately, Throttle set his face and charged. Three walkers wouldn't be a big deal, he could take them. Even with the lasers.

Throttle drew his laser pistol and shot at the furthest to the right, destroying its right leg. Despite all their victories, the Catatonians were not bright. With the walkers lined up, it was extremely easy to manipulate them. In dealing that one blow, Throttle started a chain reaction, with the one walker falling sideways and knocking into the middle. The leftmost walker tried to get out of the way, but to no avail: the middle one collapsed into it, all three falling into the ground.

Throttle zoomed by, sending a few well-aimed blasts into the fray, mercilessly killing the cats. Why should he care about their lives when they didn't care about Stoker's, or the mice on Mars?

His heart was a cold fury as he sped along the highway, heading north. The Catatonians hadn't invaded Canada yet, and the bros wouldn't ever think of looking for him there. He stared ahead, face set, his fur blowing in the wind and his jacket flapping in the air.

Throttle - So...you've got me going solo?

Hera Ledro - Yep.

Throttle - And Stoker died?

Hera Ledro - Yep.

Throttle - Might I ask why?

Hera Ledro - Because, contrary to what my American Dragon: Jake Long fan-fiction may suggest, I'm not all about happiness and amazingly satisfying stories. The best way to evoke passion and emotion is through morbidity, through death. Now, I haven't even started with any real morbidity yet (in fact, this unnaturally short chapter barely rates the term), but rest assured, there will be morbidity.

Throttle - Sorry I asked...

Hera Ledro - Yep.