Biker Mice: Dehumanizer

by SlushBro19

Two out of the three Mice become ordinary Earth mice thanks to Limburger's new toy.

'What a rush!' Vincent hooted, hitting the gas on his red sports bike and swerving between Limburger's goons, knocking them off one by one. With each disabled enemy vehicle his adrenaline shot up a notch, his red eyes glowing with an almost unholy light (unholy that is for the enemy). This was living!

Taking to a concrete wall to avoid the trio of more goons down the somewhat narrow street, Vincent let loose with his laser pistols, laughing. Three explosions later, he wheeled around to assess his handiwork. Six busted wrecks that Limburger had paid for and would pay for again. Tire tracks on the asphalt, some actually smoking. Fires and a column of smoke winding upwards. A most beautiful scene of carnage, Martian-mouse style. A beaut! Awesome! Even if he did it all by his lonesome self.

Which reminded him. Where were his bros?

'Let's split, Modo! We've done enough.' Throttle spun his hog around in a cloud of gasoline smoke while Modo let loose one last grenade just to remind Greasepit who was the boss of this situation.

'Haha! Got him!

Throttle grinned over at him, glancing behind and up at the rather large oily speck of their less than intellectually unchallenged opponent.

'Good work, bro. Only one tiny problem.'

'What?' Modo was grinning too.

'He will be coming back as sure as … oil rain.'

Modo chuckled.

'Next time let's wear raincoats.'

'That might put a cramp on Vinnie's style. He hates being dirty.' Throttle let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. 'You know, white fur and all.'

'And oil doesn't wash off easily. He'll be hogging the shower for hours.'

'For days, Modo. Days.'

'There is his bike.' Modo pointed with one hand.

'The question is... where is he.' Throttle looked up and down the street, concerned. This was not like Vincent to leave his bike behind. He would usually bawl dramatically if there were even a tiny scratch on it. In fact the white mouse was so attached to his red ride, it was a wonder he had any feelings left for Charlie.

'Wanna check the roofs?' Modo offered, concern on his grey-furred face.

'You do that while I scout around down here.'

Modo nodded and went up the side of a nearby building with no windows out front. Breaking windows was not what his Mama had taught him as a child.

Throttle approached the red bike last after his fruitless search yielded no sign of Vincent. It was shuffling back and forth as if uncertain, behaviour of a confused animal. For a full ten seconds Throttle watched it.

'What the hell…?'

Getting off his own hog, he slowly walked the few paces separating him and his bro's bike. It reared back as if angry, its lights flashing in either dismay, confusion, or anger.

'What's gotten into you?' Throttle jumped back a bit as the distraught machine almost took a run at him. 'What's the problem?'

Then he saw it: a small white creature, dashing around in distress. Its fur was a blinding white. Its eyes were red and panicked. Its tail lashed side to side as it tried to get at the bike - or around the bike? Throttle stared for a brief moment, then narrowed his specs and gasped at what they revealed. Scars on the right side of the white mouse's head, the same scars that Vincent had!

'Vincent?'

The white mouse stopped dead, shivering, and then peeped at him, its whiskers - real whiskers - twitching. There was fear, horror, and dread written in every single hair of his body.

'Help me! Throttle, please…!' He was screaming inside his head, pain constricting his throat and brain. 'A ray! A giant ray! That's what it was!' That thing had turned him into a mouse, a real mouse! He had not realized it until the world had suddenly become very very big, until his hands were not on his handlebars anymore, until his feet were not touching the pedals, and his metal mask fell off. Instead, everything had hurt like all hell. Every single particle of him had been painfully resized - and he had felt every tiny millisecond of it. It. His transformation. This horror of horrors! But there was more! He tried to speak, to call out, and found that speaking hurt - o yes it did - and that his voice was not his own. He was PEEPING! Like a MOUSE! O the shame! The dishonour of it all!

Carefully Throttle picked up the little white mouse that not so long ago had been his bro. It was making frantic sounds, clearly trying to tell him something. But it was not working. All he could hear was ordinary mouse speech: peep-peep. What he could see in his bro's red eyes was fear, such a deep fear as none of them had ever felt before - or even admitted to.

'Vincent, bro, we'll help you. Don't you worry about that.' Throttle promised, stroking the mouse's head, his heart somewhere in the region of his feet as cold dread filled him. 'Let's go find Modo and head back to the garage.'

Charlene had just finished dusting when she heard three bikes revving down outside the open garage doors. A faint fall breeze was blowing through. The sun shone a warm fall yellow. The Chicago air had a crispiness to it that signalled eventual winter. Charlene put down the duster and turned at the sound of only one pair of Martian mice feet. The flirty inquiry as to their latest exploit against Limburger died on her lips when she saw Throttle's face.

'Throttle? What happened? Where are the others?'

Putting his helmet on the table which she'd been dusting, the light brown mouse biker reached into his vest and took out two furballs with long tails. One of them was pristine white. The other an ordinary grey. With tenderness slowly he set them on the table.

'Here.' There was something so dead, so shocked in his voice that Charlene did not know what to say. Her hand covered her mouth as her eyes widened. One of the mice had facial scars that she recognized. The other had a paw missing from the right shoulder.

'My God! What happened?'

'I have no idea - but I am sure Limburger and his mad scientist do." Each word was said with great deliberation, enunciated to the full. Charlene shivered a little bit at the cold anger that came off the words and the body of her friend.

She pulled up a chair and sat down to take a closer look. The grey mouse appeared to be lethargic, depressed. He had simply curled up on the table, the one eye he had closed, tail tucked around his little body. His face looked like Modo's: the gentle giant kind of expression. A mouse who would not hurt a fly. The white one, however, was a total contrast and not just in colour. It was scampering madly around the table, chittering away, its fur standing on end, the tail whipping in all directions.

'Is he just angry or trying to tell us something?' Charlene asked after a minute of watching Vincent on four paws. He must have heard her because he suddenly stopped, stiff, with his tail to her - then suddenly he was off the table and running across the floor to a dark corner of the closet where she kept everyday supplies of various kinds.

'I can't let her see me like this! I can't!' Words and phrases ran around in his head, all jumbled together. He could do nothing. He was nothing. He was…

No! Don't say it! Don't even think it!

O no! What have they done to me? To Modo?

Bro? BRO?

He sobbed as he ran off the table and into the closet, his tail tucked in, his ears drooping. He could feel tears sliding down his muzzle. No face. No. No face. No speech. No fun. No bros. No Vincent...

'Dr. Karbunkle, I must congratulate you - even though one of those infernal mice escaped. Your "Dehumanizer" does its job well." Limburger laughed softly, still remembering the transformations of the two mice they did manage to get. The squeals of that white mouse! So gratifying! 'Although the brain of that group survived intact, the muscle is gone. Minimized.' He popped a few of the slime worms from his bowl and chewed them with renewed appreciation. 'Now we can proceed to the next project: namely turning the rest of the local residents into their own versions of primate evolution.' He chuckled at his own witticisms. 'Yes, Chicago monkeys might just prove a missing link somewhere down the road.' He turned to the machine, stroked it like a pet. 'A shame neither they nor the mice will live long enough to even become pets.' His tone was mockingly regretful. 'How long did you say such a creature has, Doctor?'

'72 hours after the initial beam, Your Ripe Cheeseness.' Karbunkle giggled. 'No body can sustain such radical changes in such a short time.'

'And humans are so… fragile, are they not, Doctor?' Limburger asked with feigned sadness.

'Yes, they are.' Dr. Karbunkle grinned, flashing his teeth. 'As are mice.'

'Indeed…' The large Plutarkian adjusted the collar of his purple suit. 'Shall we proceed?'

'O mama, what have they done to your son?' Modo's three paws pitty-patted across the floor of the closet where Vinnie was hiding. 'I can't function like this. I can't even tell Charlie and Throttle what happened!' He stopped to think things over. The first panic and shock had worn off now. His mind was still intact, even if his body was… No… Don't think about that!

What had he seen before he'd been painfully transformed? He had been chasing some of Limburger's goons, yes. Then there had been the sound of a helicopter and then… then pain had sunk its claws into every fibre of his body. The world had become large, frightening. His bike had almost run him over!

Alright, enough of this. Time to do something about this situation. Throttle and Charlie were gone, off to do their own investigating. Well, he was not going to sit here and wait, paw or no paw.

Cats. dogs. Damn, he had not counted on that! Vincent doged behind a metal trash can, which wobbled as the large brown dog tried to catch him with his paw. Vincent swore, heart hammering as he searched for a hole to hide in. Modo's tail swished into his line of sight and he jumped a little. 'Warn me if you're gonna do that, bro!' he chittered in annoyance.

'You wanna become dinner for that overgrown mutt?' Modo fired back, his one eye hard as steel. 'Follow me.'

'O man, I hate this!' Vincent grumbled, whiskers twitching.

'You think I like it?' Modo's chitter was abrupt and angry. 'You think I want to be like this?'

'No, I…'

'Here.' Modo snuck into a crack between two slabs of concrete sidewalk. 'Let's wait for nightfall. Maybe it will be quieter then.'

Vincent composed himself carefully, tucking in his tail.

'I'm sorry, bro. I didn't mean to… whine.'

Modo sighed, draped the tip of his tail over Vinnie.

'I know. I know,' he chittered sadly, ears twitching in response to sounds outside. There was sunshine there. A cool wind. Cars roared by. Bikes revved. Children laughed, and dogs barked.

'We have to be careful now, Vincent. We ain't seven feet anymore. One bite of those dog teeth and we're…'

'... dog food,' Vincent finished for him, using his paw to wash his face. 'So, what's the plan, big guy?'

Modo scratched his ear with a rear paw, preened his whiskers - very naturally as a mouse would. He did not even notice - but Vincent did. The white mouse inhaled, swallowed. He did not want to become a REAL mouse!

'We sneak into Limburger Tower, find out how we became like this, and…'

'A ray, that's what I remember,' Vincent supplied, the memory making him cold. He shivered, white fur standing up on his skin. 'A red ray. Angry-looking.'

'Yeah, I remember that too.' Modo took a turn around the rather cramped space, his fur brushing the dark underside of the concrete and becoming more grey as little particles of dust settled on him. Without his arm - or rather fourth paw - his motion was a little jerky, off-balance.

'And after we find out how that thing works? We can't tell Throttle and Charlie. They can't understand us!' Vincent's squeak had risen to almost a shriek.

'We'll figure something out,' Modo assured him, although he had no ideas at all. 'First things first. Get into that building.'

'Without getting eaten or walked over.'

'Are you whining again? I thought you liked danger. The thrill of the action and all that.'

Vincent fluffed up, angry. 'I was simply pointing out the potential - and some not so potential - problems. Problems which we can't do a thing about. I hate not being able to fight back!' He snorted, sneezed when dust still did not come out of his nose. 'There. Happy now?'

'I'm sorry, Vincent. I should not have said that.' He held out his tail. 'Still bros?'

Vincent tried to laugh - less than successfully - and presented his own tail. 'Yeah, still bros.'

They shook on it.

'Now we wait…' Vincent murmured, settling into a warmer position to keep his paws from going cold.

'Yea…'

They heard the screams turning into growls and sharp cries before they turned the corner into a small plaza with a McDonald's, a laundromat, and a small cheap grocery store. The concrete-covered plaza was full of parked cars, shopping carts, and people. People half of whom were transforming into animals, monkeys mostly.

'O God! What's happening?' Charlie could not believe her eyes when a woman in a dark blue dress became a chimpanzee that ripped the dress apart. The red angry ray of… something (a laser?) pointed at another woman, a large one in a red track suit, who was trying to hide behind her large SUV. She tried to open the door of her car and her keys fell out of her shaking hand. She reached for them and the beam caught her arm. She screamed but it was too late. In less than ten seconds, she too was a large monkey that was screaming at the others.

'Oh-oh, Charlie, let's pull back.' Throttle reversed his hog around that same corner. 'I don't think we want to be caught up in that.'

'What IS going on?' Charlie carefully peeked around the corner. 'They're monkeys. That laser -'

'- is turning back evolution,' Throttle finished for her in a low voice.

'You sound like you know about these things.'

'I've heard of them but never seen one. On Mars some Plutarkians had these machines, a weapon to turn their enemies into 'harmless' animals. Harmless to them, that is, but not to the loved ones.' His fist smacked the concrete wall of the apartment building they were hiding around of. 'So that is what must have happened to my bros. They got…'

'... dehumanized.'

'Let's take it out of commission,' Throttle offered, staring up his bike again. 'Go right down the barrel.'

'Throttle, no!' Charlie stood in front of his bike and put her hands on the handlebars. 'Or do you want to become a little mouse too?'

'Charlie…'

'Listen to me, Throttle,' Charlie interrupted him. 'They are my friends too.' She thoughtfully patted her bag of tools, a first aid kit of sorts for the bikes which was a necessity with the way the guys used their motorcycles. 'This machine is up on the roof of the next building over. Let's see what it looks like from close up. Maybe there is a way to deactivate it.'

Much as he wanted just to hit something - or someone - Throttle saw the logic of her plan. Scout first, then develop a plan of action. Even if that meant prolonging the suffering of those people in the plaza.

'Take a seat, Charlie. This elevator is going to the top floor.'

The Dehumanizer machine was standing near the edge of the apartment building roof, a cylindrical metal contraption with the control panel on the top. A rifle-like protrusion swiveled in a full circle, able to take out one or multiple victims because the beam was adjustable.

'There is the power cord,' Charlie pointed to a long black rope extending from the back of the machine up to a helicopter above them.

'Cut and run?' Throttle suggested, unholstering his laser gun.

Charlie shook her head. This was another example of Martian mice tactics - direct, aggressive, macho.

'The cord is pretty thick.' Charlie warned him, stepping aside from the line of laser fire.

Throttle adjusted the fire setting on the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The lighting-coloured laser shot out at lightning speed and shattered the armthick power cord in a flash of electrical flame.

'Let's go!' Throttle hit the gas as Charlie leapt into the back seat, helmet on. Behind them the machine coughed, the red beam sizzled out. There was a semi-silence as the human occupants of the plaza stopped screaming but the animal ones did not.

'Blast it! The power cord!' Dr. Karbunkle screeched, pulling at his orange-coloured hair. 'Pull back,' he ordered into his walkie-talkie, watching as the helicopter flew further off. 'Scan the surroundings.'

'Found a motorcycle, two riders, one has a tail,' came the report a minute later.

'Biker Mice…' Karbunkle chuckled. 'Mouse actually.' He pressed the talkie button. 'Destroy them.'

'That helicopter - it's following us,' Charlie informed her brown-furred friend who grunted in answer, 'Let's shake 'em.'

Instead of the expected method of 'shaking', however, Throttle began to weave through the narrowing streets, around buildings that became dingier and more difficult to navigate around.

'Where are we going? The Pits?' Charlie asked at one point, a brick wall inches from her shoulder.

'No, there is a hideout where they won't find us. An abandoned subway station. The concrete will cut off their sensors.'

'But won't they know we are there anyway?'

'Look up, Charlie,' Throttle directed her, slowing down and turning a very very tight corner. This part of the city of Chicago reminded him of Mars, the bombed out tightly packed buildings he and his buds used to hide in, staying absolutely quiet as Plutarkian troops and slavers looked for them. Now, here they were again… Life had a funny way of biting you in the ass, didn't it?

'You mean the roofs, don't you?' Charlie spoke to break his thoughts. 'They are so close together here.'

'Exactly. They can't see us - but we can hear them.' He stopped the bike under the overhang of a dilapidated convenience store and killed the engine. 'Listen.'

After a few moments Charlie did hear it: the characteristic snappy deep sound of a helicopter splitting the cloudy sky.

'Let's go, Throttle. Show me this abandoned subway station.' The bike roared to life again. 'I thought I knew Chi-town.'

'But only mice can take you places that are special.' Throttle chuckled.

'So, bro, what's the plan now?' Vincent asked, pausing at the top of the stairs. He was tired and so had splayed out on the concrete while Modo sniffed the air. Limburger's stink permeated the entire building, and that included the stairwells and elevators. Seeing as how they could not reach an elevator button or risk being seen - and the bikes of course were totally out of the question in their present state -, the stairs had been the only option of getting around. And going up first made sense too: Limburger was here.

'We find that reeking cheese and listen in,' Modo replied, wiping his face. Taking the stairs with three paws was no easy task. 'I want to know what all those animals were doing out there. Chicago Zoo aint that big.'

'It did look like a breakout, didn't it?' Vincent pattered over to the stairwell door and looked up. 'What floor is his office on?'

Modo choked and laughed in a mousy kind of way. Ordinarily that would be a typical Vincent question. 'We never did find that out, did we, bro? We usually just barge in..'

Vincent's ears stood up on his head. Modo was right. This was a very funny situation. The enemy that they had humiliated and visited so often lived and worked here and they had no clue what floor his office was on! That was absurd!...

'You're killing me, bro,' Vincent managed to chitter. 'Cuz you're so damn right! We should've taken the elevator.'

'It would've told us! 'Stinkcheese office - fiftieth floor'!'

For a minute or two they laughed, trying without success to get back to work but… this was just too funny!

'Alright, Vince, I think we'd better take this seriously,' Modo remarked when the hilarity ran itself out. 'What floor did you say this was?'

Vincent stepped back, his tail still twitching from laughing, and peered up at the door.

'Tenth floor, Modo. Hell of a loooooong way to go yet.'

'Let's get cracking then. I want my body back.'

'I want ME back…' Vincent muttered and then corrected himself, glancing at his bro, 'No, US, Modo. US.'

'Are they gone?' Charlie asked Throttle, who was glancing up and down the littered dirty street outside the old cracked-concrete subway station.

'I can't hear them. So must be.' He wiped his forehead. It was hot down in the station with the air system shut off and no fresh air coming in. 'Now we need to think of a plan.' He held up two fingers. 'We have two problems. One - Vincent, Modo, and the citizens of Chi-town. Two - the machines.' He crossed his arms on his chest. 'Ideas?'

'One is connected to the other.' Charlie looked up at the dark sky. 'The machines are the central problem. Take them out of commission and no more people turning into animals.'

'That presents a third problem then: how to turn them back into themselves.'

Charlie tapped her lips with a finger. 'Karbunkle's machines usually have a reverse function - just in case he gets hurt or Limburger wants a way out of a sticky mess.'

'We need to get one of these machines,' Throttle decided, helmet in his hands. He felt restless. He wanted to be doing something, anything.

'I am not so sure,' Charlie objected, leaning on the back of the bike. 'There is not just one single machine. There were a few helicopters flying over the city today.'

'I see what you're saying.' He tapped one handlebar and his bike purred. 'Easy there. I'm just thinking,' he assured his ride, whose lights flashed in acknowledgment. 'Karbunkle must have a command central. From there he can monitor all of his creations.'

'Exactly. And there is only one place where he feels safe enough to set up his command central.'

Throttle's smile had very little humour in it.

'Let's pay him a visit, shall we?'

'So, Dr. Karbunkle,' Limburger crooned happily, approaching his green-specked employee. 'Our cages are full and ready for transport.' His suave voice contained just a hint of a question.

'Yes, Your Purple Cheesiness. I was just about to send them to Plutark.'

Limburger looked up at the large flat screen which showed the square just behind his building with many cages on flatbed trucks guarded by his armed henchmen. He felt satisfied, quite. His plan had gone off well, except for that one broken power cord but that could soon be fixed. A shame that that irritating biker female and the remaining rodent had escaped. However, they did not count anymore. They were two. He had many.

'Please proceed, dear Dr..'

Vincent's teeth hurt after chewing through the tiny metal wires. Definitely not made for metal. He would have the metal taste in his mouth for weeks. And what that did to his breath...

'Modo? You done yet?'

Modo did not answer. He was busily chewing through a rather thick wire. He growled and twisted the wire, shaking it angrily. Vincent moved over to help him, spitting metallic-tasting saliva out.

'Finally,' Modo grunted as the wire gave way under a dual-mouse attack. 'Is that the last of them?'

'I think so.' Vincent glanced around, turning half his body in the process. 'Just wait till Karbunkle pushes the 'Send' button. Ha!' He danced with glee.

'He'll get sent all the way to the restroom. He works too hard.' Modo's eye glinted with dark humour.

'Maybe Stinkfish will send him down the drain after this failure.' Vincent cackled.

'Now, if WE want to avoid a drain…' Modo remarked warningly as the machine started to heat up. Karbunkle had pressed the button apparently and the central machine which controlled all the functions of others and itself rumbled to life. The two mice scampered down and down and down to find that little hole through which they'd crawled. Breathing became more difficult as the central unit started to overheat.

'Hurry, bro, or we'll be fried mice from Mars!' Vincent tumbled down one of the fans, just avoiding being cut into many pieces by the sharp fast-rotating blades. He heard Modo wheezing behind him. Three paws were not enough for a quick get away. Vincent stopped to wait for him, watching the awakening machine with care. He did not want to become mouse mush.

'O mama… I'm getting too old for this.' The grey-furred mouse stopped for a moment to get his breath. He looked exhausted: all those streets, stairs, stress… Vincent did not like the look of him. The sooner they were out of here, the better.

'What is the problem, Dr.?' Limburger asked, seeing the smoke coming out of the machine and the cages still full of monkeys and other animals. 'They are not on their way.'

'Uh, just a moment, Your Creamy Puffiness,' the thin scientist pleaded, sweating and thinking fast. Pressing a large red button to stop the machine, he ran over to the main engine and CPU to open it and check. As he slid open the panel, two small shapes skittered across the smooth floor - straight towards Limburger's boot. Karbunkle did not notice them, absorbed in assessing the damaged wires.

'Dr.?' Limburger called a little impatiently turning - and stepping on a grey mouse's tail. The mouse squeaked despite himself. Limburger and Karbunkle both looked at him.

'O dear me, what have we here?' Limburger reached down to pick up the little one-eyed grey mouse only to have his fingers bitten by a white one with a scarred face. It chittered angrily at him, red eyes blazing death. 'O my, Dr., I think we have a mice infestation.' He laughed, holding up the grey mouse by his tail, the white one now shredding his purple pants with his claws in trying to reach his face and bite it off. 'Ah it's you again.' He waved the writhing grey mouse like a pendulum in front of his face. 'Not looking so mighty now, are we?' He grabbed the white mouse before its teeth had closed on his lip. 'Now now, don't be hasty, my dear mice. You are my guests of honour tonight. Dr. Karbunkle has a special seat reserved for you - from which you will watch the 'free citizens' set off for an interstellar journey.' He held up the two mice, looked from one struggling to bite his fingers to the other glaring death at him, eyes glowing malevolently. 'Before joining them yourselves.'

'Limburger had a secret entrance to this building,' Throttle murmured, scanning the enemy central's walls. It was starting to rain and there was no moonlight to see by. His night specs eventually found the rectangular irregularity incised into the wall. 'Ah here tis.' He pressed the one brick which served as the key and the rectangle opened up, much like a garage door. 'Ladies first.'

'Throttle, are you sure about this?' Charlie asked, concerned about the plan still. 'One of them may get a lucky shot.'

'True, Charlie,' he agreed. 'But as Vincent likes to put it 'I am the baddest mama-jama in the universe'.'

'And do you want to become a dead one?' Charlie hefted her small toolbag.

He reached out and hugged her. A friendly sort of hug.

'You are the baddest mechanic I know of. Even us Martian mice can learn a thing or two. I trust you. Modo trusts you' He turned, closed his helmet. 'So does Vincent.'

He was going to be stubborn about this. And not play fair. Charlie sighed.

'Buy me time then. Just don't get yourself killed.'

'I won't.'

Vincent thrashed around in the gold gilded cage, red eyes glowing with fury. He threw himself at the cage bars which charged his small body with enough electric shock to smack him against the opposite side painfully. He didn't care about that. Pain was a small price to pay. If he could just get at Limburger… Or Karbunkle. He would always remember that madman's experiments.

'I'll kill you, Karbunkle!' he swore. 'I'll turn you into a worm with that machine of yours!'

'First you need to get out of this slammer, bro,' Modo rumbled, morosely staring out at the screen on which the cages were emptying out as more came in. He wanted sleep, he was so tired. This cage at least provided a space to rest.

Vincent continued to pace impatiently around the cage, tail lashing unhappily. He hated sitting still. He hated being helpless. He hated this whole fucking situation!

'Hey, Cheese for Brains,' Throttle called through the loudspeaker of Limbuger's communication system which they had bugged a while back. 'I am here. The last mouse. The one your goons were too clumsy to catch. Come out and play, fishy.' With that, he let loose several bombs which shattered windows and knocked holes in the concrete walls. Shards of glass rained down in the Chicago night, glinting in the strong rain.

'Blast that verminous animal!' Limburger turned on Greasepit. 'Go and catch him. Bring him here. Alive.'

'Ah yes, boss. Alive and kicking.' Greasepit giggled, oil rolling down his body

'Preferably NOT kicking,' Limburger added, chuckling.

'Catch me if you can, useless morons.' Throttle threw the switch on his hog and two flares exploded in front of the goon cart vacated very quickly by the heavy-set man to avoid being killed. Two of his mates fired their own Plutarkian-made weapons, just missing the mouse and his bike. They swore and put the pedal to the metal. However, their lone adversary was already up on the roof of a five-story building and jumping onto the next one. They rode around the corner hoping to catch him in flight but he was already two roofs over.

'To me, yous goons,' came Greasepit's voice over the intercom. 'I seen 'im.'

'Now you see me, Oil Slick,' Throttle muttered, flying through the air on his bike and aiming his gun at the Frankenstein contraption Greasepit was riding. 'Now you don't.' the three-wheeled machine exploded, Greasepit leaping from it double-quick, with a yell of dismay. He had put that car-motorcycle hybrid together himself! Now that damn rodent had gone and smashed it! 'O you gonna pay for that, bastard mouse!'

'O yea?' Throttle hit the gas. 'Then payback's a bitch, ain't it?' His laser blasts hit the pavement near the greasy asshole's feet, making him jump and dance.

'O mama! I needs to scram!' Greasepit howled, crying. 'The boss'll be mad.'

'Is that the best you got, Limburger?' Throttle taunted the fat fish over the intercom again, staring across the grass parkette from the roof he was standing on to the Limburger Tower. 'Just a greasy crybaby? You have a problem with your cash flow lately?'

'O you can gloat all you want, miserable rodent,' Limburger's voice replied sweetly from the top of his Tower. 'But may I direct your attention to this?' He turned slightly and one of his goons rolled forward a metal cart with a metal gold gilded cage on it. Limburger picked it up by the large ring at the top. 'Take a long and close look at this. Familiar eh?'

Activating the zoom on his helmet Throttle did look closer, although he'd had a sinking feeling anyway.

'You cheese-smelling son of a bitch,' Throttle swore softly.

'Now-now, my dear adversary, is that any way to talk to me, the keeper of your friend's lives?;

'What are you talking about, Cheese-Breath?' the biker mouse growled, thinking about Charlie for a moment: had she gotten inside?

'I am talking about the fact that your friends here do not have long to live.' Limburger laughed, his obese body shaking grotesquely. 'You see, they have only a few hours left. Their bodies cannot sustain this transformation.'

In the cage Throttle saw Vincent freeze as the full realization of the fatso's words sunk in. Behind him, Modo's eye began to glow a dangerous red: the big fella was reacting in his usual way.

'What?' Limburger gloated. 'No sharp repartee to offer this time, vermin?'

Throttle straddled his bike, revved it up.

'You'll get a partee alright, Fishguts.' Right down the barrel it was, no matter how much Charlie had wished otherwise. No one messed with his bros without messing with him. 'Get a load of this.' Firing the jets and thrusting up from the roof Throttle exploded at top speed towards the top of Limberger Tower, firing at the goons who answered back. The Chicago night lit up, drops of rain flashing gold. He swerved to get away from some of the fire which still brushed his fur and skin, causing blisters and the smell of burned hair. Limburger was running now, cage clutched close to his chest. Inside the two little mice tumbled about, painfully stung by the Plutarkian electric charges. Behind him Limburger heard the motorcycle maniac picking up speed across the roof, then the door before him blew wide open in a shower of metal pieces. Limburger jumped back, the cage still in his hands.

'Hand them over, you useless sack of putrid shit,' Throttle snarled, laser gun cocked and pointed straight at Limberger's face.

'Take them, rodent riffraff. Enjoy their company while you still may.' Limburger tossed the cage aside straight at a burning goon car and leapt back - towards a helicopter which just at that moment rose up from behind his office building. 'So long, you pestilent rats.' He laughed, waving his hand. All was not lost, after all. He still had his new slaves to sell to Plutark.

'Bros!' Throttle roped the cage over to him and picked it up. 'Bros?' He peered inside. 'You ok?'

The two mice nodded as much as their animal physiology allowed. Modo tried to smile - that did not work out well. Vincent waved his tail. Both were a little singed from the fire. The metal of the cage was warm.

'Charlie? You ready?' he called over the intercom. No answer. 'Charlie?' Again no answer. 'Charlie!?'

Vincent and Modo tensed at his tone. The white mouse stood up on his rear paws. The grey one rumbled.

Throttle secured the cage to the backseat of his bike. He was not leaving them here. 'Hang tight, bros. This ride'll be bumpy.'

Charlene had hidden behind the machine in Karbunkle's lab. Finding the lab had not been hard. The elevator which opened into Limburger's office suite had a black button marked 'Lab' on the panel. She had simply taken the elevator down to a few floors above it and gone on foot from there. No point in tempting fate a lot - not when two of her friends were in trouble. The walls and back doors of the lab were thick: practically no sound came through. That did not pose a really big problem. All she needed to do was override the password system. She had invented a small gadget just for that. It scanned the microchip inside the door lock. That microchip stored the access code which the gadget sensor read off. From there it fooled the system into giving access and voila, the door opened soundlessly. She had slipped inside and quickly taken cover behind an unused engine of some kind. From her refuge she had watched the mad scientist operate the Dehumanizer. When she heard Throttle's voice mocking Limburger through the com link which showed up on the screen in front of him, she smiled. Her macho mouse friend had not lost any of his spunk. Thoughtful and sensitive he might be but Throttle was a fighter at the bottom of his being. He never quit - and neither did Modo and Vincent.

Once Throttle had managed to defeat the goons and rile up Cheeseface enough for him to challenge the mouse by himself, Charlene saw her chance. She scooted over to another contraption. Her virus chip had to be attached directly to the CPU. For that she had to come closer.

'And just who are you, missy?' She heard a deep voice say behind her. Reaching for her gun Charlie whirled - to face a green-eyed monstrosity which had a snake-like appearance, a cobra hood and a forked tongue. Charlie fired and the bullet glanced off, clanking off a metal arm of a tall contraption with no clear purpose.

'An intruder are you?' the deep sibilant voice whispered. 'Well, I'll take care of you.'

Charlie scooted back, firing off a few more shots, none of which were effective.

'Hey! Stop that!' came the sharp voice of Karbunkle, who had heard the ruckus behind him. 'Ah it's you, the biker girl. Grab her!' he ordered the snake monstrosity. 'Don't kill her!'

'It is futile to struggle, girl,' the snake thing hissed. 'You will get tired, your limbs will become flaccid.'

Each word came over her ears like a smothering blanket, oily and cloying. She tried to fight its insidious influence, shaking her head.

'Get out of my head,' she muttered - or tried to. It was harder to form thoughts and put them into words. Her tongue was not moving properly and her reflexes were winding down. The gun dropped from her slack shaking hand. She was so tired!

And still the voice kept whispering in her brain...

'Hey, Slitherbutt,' rang out in a very familiar voice from far down the tunnel of her mind. 'Come slither with me.' A flash of cold white streaked across the large lab to hit the snake monstrosity square in the nose. It hissed, reared up, and spread its hood.

'Ah, an ancient enemy of my people.' It laughed dryly, eyes glinting. 'Come to me, mouse. We will palaver.'

Throttle sneered, 'Cut off the head.' Another laser strike that the snake evaded. 'And the snake shuts up.'

'Doessss it?' The green monster swished its tail and hurled Charlie across the room into a curved wall. She fell, feeling no pain through the fugue in her mind. She felt nothing in fact. Which was not strange, really - was it? Should it be? Should she be feeling some sensation?

'Lemme at 'im! Lemme!' Vincent yelled, banging on the cage bars with his whole little body, furious. 'Don't you dare touch her! Slimy snake!' His fur was standing on end, his red eyes were on fire. 'I'll kill you!'

'Easy, bro, that ain't gonna do nothing,' Modo told him. 'We can't help them now.'

Vincent let out a loud piercing screech. 'If only I had my hands…!'

'Don't you think it's about time you told her how you feel anyway?' Modo's quiet voice cut through his anger. Vincent stared at him, nonplussed.

'What?!'

'I ain't blind. You are as obvious as the whiskers on your face, Vin,' Modo continued. 'You been dancing around Charlie-girl for so long, it's become funny in a way. Why don't you just tell her you love her?'

Vincent's jaw would have dropped had he still been in his old proper form. As it was, all he could do was gape and splutter incoherently.

'Modo…. Is this the time to be discussing my lovelife?' Laser fire was electrifying the air in the lab. His fur was starting to itch.

'No time like the present. We are stuck here until someone opens this cage. We can't.'

'Ough, I hate this!' Vincent ran around the cage, attempting very hard not to think about Modo's all too true words. He had been avoiding his feelings, concealing them behind flirting and innuendo. He was not comfortable. Not at all. He was a macho mouse who flirted, had fun, lived dangerously, yes, but that was part of a tough exterior designed to protect him. It had worked - how else could he have survived the Martian-Plutarkian war? Until he met Charlie, he had been fairly secure in himself. Now…

Throttle leap-rolled out of the way of the snake's tail and fired his guns, on one knee. This thing's skin was tougher than Martian rock.

'Damn you!' He muttered darkly just avoiding a forward lunge by somersaulting to left where he could put a Karbunklian contraption between himself and the hunting monstrosity. 'Die already.'

It chuckled, dry as sand. 'You wish, mouse. You wish.' It reared up, head tilted to one side. 'Your kind have killed almost all of us. Did you really think that we would not strike back? Is your memory that short?'

'It's long enough, Forknose,' Throttle replied, hoping to distract it enough so it would not notice his bike's attack from behind. Snakes had good eyes and even better noses. Their ears, however, were useless. A metal device such as a bike could make all the noise it wanted - or be as quiet as a mouse. 'I remember what your kind did to Mars. The ruin. The devastation. The dead.' Each word was dropped like a stone, like a knife to the heart - except that snakes didn't have hearts.

The monstrosity sniffed and slid forward, extending its long neck. That was all that Throttle's bike needed. It let rip with a sharp barrage of small bursts of laser power designed to inflict pain and disorient at the same time. The snake monstrosity hissed as its skin heated uncomfortably and reared back, eyes flashing and tail whipping side to side. Throttle just managed to get out of the way of its tip which whistled right under his feet and fired a series of short lasers to drive it back towards the Dehumanizer, away from Charlie. If he could just get it down to size…

'O mouse,' Karbunkle's high harsh voice rang out behind him. 'Look what I have here.' Throttle whipped around, gun raised, to see the mad hatter holding up Charlie and pointing the Dehumanizer ray machine at her. Throttle took a threatening step towards him and then gasped as teeth sank into his lower leg.

'Gotcha!' the snake creature laughed as it withdrew its bloodied teeth. It watched with the dispassionate excitement of a snake as the now-poisoned mouse tried to take a few more steps and his knees cut out from under him. It watched him break out into a sweat, hands shivering, gun dropping from his hand. It heard him groan through gritted teeth, heard Karbunkle laugh.

'Poor mouse,' the snake commiserated mockingly. 'Are you alright? Are you feeling pain? Is it cold that makes you quiver?'

Throttle snarled in answer, still attempting to move his suddenly unresponsive body. His arms and legs were filled with water, water that burned. His head was swimming. He could not see properly. He opened his mouth to deliver a cutting retort - and found his tongue would not move. In fact it felt swollen, like after a bee sting. Only this had been one hell of a large-ass bee!

His bike, sensing that all was not right, started to fire again, aiming at the snake and Karbunkle, making them both dance. Its rubber tires screeched across the concrete floor, all its lights blinking in what could be described as anger if it had been a sentient being. Karbunkle shrieked, dropping Charlie, who was just coming to now that the snake's attention was not on her. She felt groggy and disoriented at first - had she been asleep? What were these flashes? Lightning? She rubbed her head and sat up slowly, leaning against something metallic. With her hands she kneaded her eyes, breathing deeply. That had been some strange dream. She had been trying to reach that new machine of Limburger's, the one that sent people - animals? - to Plutark (that was the name right? This was so confusing!). She had almost done it but… had there been a snake? Something about a voice in her head?

'O Charlene, you have to stop watching those horror movies…' she groaned aloud, now more awake. Something sizzled close by and she started. A snake's head was lying close by her feet, green eyes glassy and empty. Charlie scuttled back a bit, bringing her feet closer. It had been no dream! This was that snake!

'Ch… Charlie.' A cough, a soft groan, a muffled thump. She turned her head, away from the smoking dead snake. 'Throttle! What…'

He was curled up on his side, shuddering from the poison which was foaming at the corner of his mouth. She quickly scuttled over to him, touched his arm. 'What happened?'

'S… S…' His breath rattled in his throat. He coughed again, more white froth coming out. He made his trembling hand move, pointed at the dead green monster.

'The snake did this?...' Charlene asked, her heart sinking. He was not looking good at all. If he'd been human, his skin would have been turning an ugly shade of yellow. Under all this fur it was hard to tell. She did not need such visuals anyway.

'G-get… bros…. Mmmmm… machine..' Throttle managed to half-whisper half-croak, folding around the pain in every single cell of his body.

Charlie realized that he was right. She had no way to help him, not here, not now. The snake was dead but Karbunkle was not and he would be running for help for sure. Now was her chance to get the other two mice back to normal (that was an understatement!) and attempt to find a way out for all of them.

'Right,' she muttered, touching Throttle's cheek. He tried to smile encouragingly, reassuringly, and failed. The effort was too much. Just focus on breathing: in and out, in, out, that's it… 'Hurry, Charlie!' he thought watching her head for his bike. It stopped shooting lasers long enough for her to retrieve the cage and used a couple of laser shots to burst the lock open. The two imprisoned mice quickly scrambled out and into the main machine which Charlie put into reverse with a red-tipped lever labelled for the re-humanizing process. A flash of brilliant white light, screams of pain as the little mice stretched and transformed into their proper Martian super muscled mouse forms, and then sudden silence - except for breathing, harsh breathing of three very pain-wrecked macho mice.

'O mama, I knew growing up was hard but this…' Modo moaned, rubbing himself all over, checking his tail twice. He felt a little off-balance - his metal arm was missing. He leaned on the warm metal of the ray machine and enjoyed the feeling of being himself again.

'O yea! Vinnie van Awesome's back!' crowed a large white mouse, puffing out his muscled chest and arms, almost into Modo's ear. The grey mouse jumped, clapping his one hand over his ear.

'Watch it, bro! You're chittering again.'

Vincent shrugged apologetically. 'Sorry, bro. I'm just happy to be me again.'

'Vinnie! Modo!' Charlie grinned at them, deliberately not looking below the waist of either mouse, both of whom were naked. Vinnie's scars appeared even more lurid without his half-face mask. Modo's lost eye revealed an empty, gaping socket. Where his right arm had been was a mass of mangled flesh.

Both mice grinned right back at her, completely unselfconscious.

'Sweetheart,' Vincent flashed his famous smile that had made many females of the mouse species swoon. 'Aren't you glad to see me?'

'Very glad,' Charlie replied, smiling in turn when Modo interrupted with a warm hug.

'I am happy to have you guys back,' Charlie told them both. 'But we don't have much time…'

'And two problems,' Modo spoke, noting Throttle lying on the floor. 'We have to get him help. Immediately.'

'I'm with you on that, bro,' Vincent agreed, concern written on his naked face. He did look different without the mask. More raw somehow.

'But first you two need clothes. Or were you planning on sauntering into a hospital in your fur?' Charlie reminded them both, eyebrow raised.

'Ah…' Modo suddenly realized his and Vinnie's state of undress and blushed. 'O mama…'

Vincent, flushing a crimson shade of red, tried to hide behind the Dehumanizer, wishing to disappear. This was not his ideal of a romantic situation in which to show off the family jewels as it were.

'Good thing I packed you something to wear.' Charlene, pretending not to notice Vinnie's attempt at concealment, opened the bike bag attached to Throttle's motorcycle and extracted two pairs of underwear, blue jeans, black boots. 'I could not bring your metal attachments,' she apologized. 'They did not fit.'

'That's alright, Charlie-ma'm,' Modo said, dressing quickly - quite an achievement with one arm and tail to help him. What his grey-furred mama would have said had she seen him bare before a woman… She had raised him right after all.

'Let's move,' Vincent urged, kneeling by his fallen bro. 'I don't think he has a lot of time.'

'That machine must be destroyed first,' Charlie said, patting it.

'No problem, babe,' Vincent remarked, walking over to Throttle's bike. 'One pile of metal for the scrapyard coming up.'

Modo lifted his fallen bro carefully, grunting. 'We'll get out of your way, shall we? An artist needs his space.'

Charlie shook her head. They had time for jokes at a time like this?!

Vincent fired up the big laser cannons on Throttle's hog. 'Get it, sweetheart,' he crooned to it, squeezing the triggers.

Over Karbunkle's despairing scream of protest, the cannons ripped the Dehumanizer to shreds, leaving a heap of separate nuts, bolts, twisted metal bits.

'You muscled moron!' Karbunkle shrieked, coughing from the smoke.

'Careful, sweetheart,' Vincent almost purred, his eyes narrowed and glinting dangerously. 'This mouse ain't happy now.' He turned his bro's bike to face the green-specked doctor. 'And neither is this bike.'

Karbunkle blanched, stepped back, and tripped over part of the wreckage of his invention. Vincent hooted and let off a few shots just to make his point clearer - sometimes Limburger's goons had trouble understanding simple sentiments.

'Vince, lets get outta here!' Modo called from the back door. 'We got a lift to catch.'

'Coming!' Vincent was having too much fun with his parting shots to just tuck tail and run. 'No one messes with Biker Mice from Mars without payback!'

'Well, muscle mouse? You called?'

He started, gaped.

'Carbine? What..?'

She smiled, thick black hair spilling when she took off her Martian military mask. He grinned, knees suddenly feeling like water.

'I heard you calling, lover.' Her rich voice came around him, hugged him. 'Your pain echoed across all the space that divides us.' She touched his face. 'So, I am here.'

'Pain?' He had no memory of that. He had no memories of anything. 'What are you talking about, Carbine?'

She took his hands and squeezed. 'Do you feel that?'

'Yeah,' he replied slowly, uncertainly. What was she driving at?

'You have sensation here. Good.' She inhaled, her Martian uniform accentuating her curves. 'Your body currently is feeling quite a lot of pain, Throttle' Carbine informed him, bringing him out of his reverie. 'Some sort of snake bite, I think.'

Now that she mentioned it, he did remember. There had been mice, two mice. A machine of some kind. Screaming…

'Charlie?' He frowned. 'Something had happened to her… she couldn't move.'

Carbine stroked his shoulder encouragingly, kissed his cheek. He absolutely felt that! And loved it!

'It bit me.' His hand reached for his leg. There were several punctures in his skin. He rubbed them, then looked up at her. 'Yes, there was a snake. It bit me.' His voice was half-wondering, half-confirming.

'It poisoned you, love,' Carbine said softly, sadly. 'You're dying, Throttle.'

'WHAT?!'

Charlie looked up at Modo, dark circles around her eyes.

'Did he just say something?' she asked in a slightly hoarse voice. She had spent almost the whole day here with Throttle, keeping him company for one thing and giving him meds for another. The meds did not seem to be doing anything though. Throttle kept getting worse.

'I'm not sure, Charlie,' her grey-furred friend rumbled. 'He been talking a lot - to Carbine it seems like.'

Charlie nodded. That was true. It appeared the brown mouse's mind had snapped from shock right back to the one person (was that the right word?) that he did not have to think about because her presence was intuitive to him.

'Where is Vinnie? He should have been back by now.' Charlie drew her hands down her face which felt like a mask on her skull. Modo reached over to take her hand.

'He said he had something to do,' the biker mouse said softly, pressing her fingers. 'You want me to get you a coffee? Or something for sleep?'

Charlene managed a smile. Modo was so caring - like a big brother that she never had.

'I'll be fine,' she assured him quietly. 'How do you feel? After what happened…'

Modo sighed, hunching his shoulders a little bit. His transformation had scared him. Very much. But he had not let it control him. Being helpless like that reminded him of being a small child, of Karbunkle's lab on Mars.

'I…' He looked up at her with a sad dark eye, trying to sound manly. Ah what the hell! Who was he kidding? This was Charlie, his friend! 'It was hard, being so small. Defenseless.' He cleared his throat, straightening up a little. 'The world became so large, dangerous.' He shook his head, remembering the dog that had almost caught Vincent. 'Now I know how prey feels, how people here may feel… how we felt on Mars when Plutarkians came.' His voice had sunk to a low growl, the metal hand clenching in a hard fist.

Charlene stood up and came around to hug him.

'You are yourself now, Modo,' she told him, her voice gentle. 'They can't get you now.'

'Cause they are fried fish tacos now,' came Vinnie's voice from the doorway. Charlie gasped when she saw him. He was covered in dirt, dust, blood.

'Vinn, what happened?' Modo rumbled looking him up and down.

'I was mopping up, bro,' Vincent replied straddling the chair Charlie had been sitting in and speaking softly. 'Busting ourselves out was only act one of Biker Mice Vengeance. Act two was getting the citizens back.' He pretended to buff his nails on his flare belts. 'Well..' he chuckled. 'Old Fishface didn't like that. So he tried to sic me.' His eyes were glowing merrily, his ears were twitching. 'So act three was Limburger Fish Taco.'

'You mean..?' Modo was grinning now.

'Yes, sir, Martian Mouse specialty.' The white mouse was smiling evilly ear to ear. 'Special delivery to the High Chairman's own table.'

'O no' Charlie put both hands over her mouth to hold in her laughter. Just to imagine Limburger as a taco…

'And the last act, ladies and gents,' Vincent stood up and dramatically held up a small bag he had put near the chair. 'Snake poison antidote from our dearly beloved doctor.'

'O Vinnie!' Charlie almost jumped him, hugging and kissing him, Modo watching shrewdly with his arms folded across his chest.

'Yes, sweetheart,' Vincent bowed floridly, holding out the bag, breathless from the embrace (she was no spring flower) and sorry she had let him go so she could take the bag. 'It's all here.'

Charlene opened the bag to find a thumb-sized vial of a clear liquid.

'You sure this ain't water?' Modo asked doubtfully surprised at how small the bottle was.

'Come on, bro! Karbunkle squealed that this was the real thing!' Vincent shook his head, hurt that his bro did not seem to believe him. 'After he boasted to Cheesebutt that Throttle had hours left to live and only this thing could help him.'

'Only one way to find out.' Charlene poured the antidote into a glass. 'Can someone hold his mouth open for me?'

'Well, here comes the cavalry, muscle mouse,' Carbine warned him, stepping away, her hands still on his arms. 'Time for you to go.'

'You sound as if you really want me to go, babe.' Throttle smiled at her, brushing a black lock of her hair away from her face.

Carbine exhaled, caressing his hand which cupped her cheek.

'Your friends have the antidote.' Her hand rested on his chest. 'Don't keep them hanging. That's an order.'

'Yes, sir.' He straightened up, saluting her, with a light smirk, his skin tingling from her touch.

She shook her head, 'O you… go, Throttle. Go.'

Indeed he could not help it. There was no pain, no darkness. He felt lighter somehow. His head, his thinking, was clearer. He couldn't just leave without telling her how he felt. Even if this was not a real sending, vision - whatever it was.

'Carbine, I -'

His eyes opened. His body convulsed.

'Oh…'

'Throttle?'

'Bro?'

He groaned, turning to one side, rubbing his face.

'O damn…'

He blinked, staring into space for a moment. Had it been real? Had Carbine really been there? He wiped his face, brown fur whispering against his palm.

'Throttle, are you ok?'

That was Charlie touching his back, her voice reminding him of here and now. Her voice was real.

'Yeah..' He flopped onto his back, looked at his two bros and Charlie. 'I'm fine. You guys found an antidote I presume.' His voice was hoarse.

'Vinnie did,' Charlie said before Vinnie could start boasting. This was not the time. 'Paid Limburger back for what he did.'

'Heh, good.' Throttle sighed deeply. He did feel better, alert. 'What say you guys get some shuteye? You must have been up for a long while.'

Modo and Vincent looked at each other. That was Throttle to the core: his bros first.

'You sure, bro?' Modo asked just to confirm. 'You weren't looking too good there for a while.'

'I'm sure.' Throttle gave him the thumbs up. 'That antidote…' He coughed. '..worked, Modo my man.'

Modo's fist pumped his bro's shoulder. He grinned.

'Ain't no snake can keep you down.'

'Yeah, no matter how green it is.'

Vincent caught Charlie just as she stumbled. She was exhausted. Her body sagged against the white mouse's warmth.

'Bed for you, Charlie-babe,' Vincent murmured picking her up easily.

She made an indistinct sound, her eyes closing. Carrying her down the hall to her room, Vincent carefully put her to bed.

'Sleep well, beautiful citizen,' he said softly, restraining himself from touching her. Modo was right. He had to admit it to himself: Charlie was a special girl. Hell of a bike jockey for one. Feisty for another. She was also human. He, however, was not. What if she did not feel the same way he did? That would not just be a major bummer…

'O Vincent, get a grip,' he muttered, rubbing his face as he leaned against the closed door of her room. 'One thing at a time, Vincent. One thing at a time.'

'Has anyone seen Vinnie?' Charlie asked, putting the grocery bags on the table in her garage.

'Ah, now that you mention it.' Modo rubbed his chin, glancing at Throttle, who was polishing the leather seat of his motorbike.

'I haven't seen him either.' Throttle frowned. 'When did you see him last, Modo?'

'This morning I think. At breakfast. Then…' The big grey mouse shrugged.

Throttle used a cloth to clean his polish-stained hands.

'Let's look for him, bro,' he suggested, pointing to his antennae.

Charlie looked from one to the other. Sometimes she forgot that they had special abilities. That they were not quite human. The two mice approached each other, touched the glowing tips of their antennae. For several minutes there was total silence in the garage.

'Ah there he is,' Modo finally spoke in his deep voice that seemed to come from his chest.

'The beach.' Throttle tapped his chin with one finger.

'Is he alright?' Charlene asked, worried by their non-committal reactions.

'Yea, he ain't causing no trouble,' Modo assured her.

'Then why are you acting so skittish?' Charlene folded her arms across her chest and stared at her two rodent friends.

'Ah…' Modo looked sheepish.

'He has been jumpy the last week, ever since that Dehumanizer debacle,' Charlie said, not letting them off the hook so easy. She wanted answers. Right now. 'Like he is walking on eggshells.'

'You're right, Charlie,' Throttle nodded. 'He has been acting odd.'

'You mean odder,' Modo corrected him, leaning on his Li'l Hoss, scratching his right ear, from which a piece was missing near the bottom.

'He is… distressed,' Throttle finally supplied after a long silence.

'Vinnie? Distressed?' Charlie was incredulous and worried: Vincent was so full of optimism that his present behavior was completely out of character.

'What happened to him and me was not an easy thing for him to bear, Charlie-ma'm,' Modo told her, rubbing his hands together. 'He was angry, furious.' He walked up to her. 'Helpless.'

'What you have to understand, Charlie, is that Vincent lives dangerously, finds ways out of the tightest of spots,' Throttle put in, shook his head. 'What Limburger did to him was a very tight spot - and he couldn't get out of it.'

'You mean he has lost confidence in himself?' Charlene simply couldn't imagine Vincent with low self-esteem.

'You see, Charlie,' Modo said putting his arm around her shoulders. 'On Mars Vincent took risks.'

'Deadly risks,' Throttle added, coming up on the other side.

'Not just to show off how good he was with or without his bike, his weapons.'

'But to prove to himself that he was the best, that he was not afraid.'

'Afraid of what?' Charlie looked from one to the other of the Martian Mice.

'Life,' Throttle said.

'Death,' Modo spoke at the same time.

'He wants to beat the odds,' Charlie remarked, sudden realization hitting her. 'And with that infernal machine, he couldn't.'

'Yeah… not only that,' Throttle said, coming to a decision. 'You saw him in his helplessness. He thinks you think he's a coward.'

'WHAT!?' Charlene could not believe her ears. 'He thinks WHAT?!' She broke away from Modo and took two steps, then turned. 'I think it's time Mr Vincent Van Swelled Head and I had a talk.'

Modo sighed, shivering. When Charlie got her ginger up…

Throttle smirked. He did not envy Vincent. Not one bit. And perhaps it was time Vincent actually faced reality for a change.

'We'll ride with you part of the way,' he offered.

'O that doesn't look good,' Modo spoke, pointing at the lone huddled white shape on the sand. Vincent had his knees drawn up to his chest, his tail wrapped around his waist. His bike was nearby, silent.

'What are you talking about, Modo?' Charlie asked from her seat behind Throttle.

'His tail,' Throttle whispered, concerned. This was highly unusual, even for Vinnie.

'His tail?' Charlene whispered back, not understanding.

'Yes. Y'see when a mouse has his tail wrapped like that around his body, all tight-like -'

'- that's a sign of pain, distress…' Throttle finished, his palms sliding along his thighs. 'I've seen mice just sit themselves to death like that.'

'This is serious, isn't it?' Charlie said, their words bringing up unpleasant memories of one of her friends.

'Very, Charlie. Very.' Throttle took off his helmet.

'I think this calls for a woman's touch then.' Charlie got off the motorcycle, shook out her hair, which had been somewhat squished by her helmet.

'Go ahead, Charlie. We'll wait here.' Throttle smiled at her in encouragement.

Charlie approached Vincent slowly, having taken her shoes off. He had no weapons on him, except his flares. She doubted he would use them on her, despite his well-developed (maybe over-developed) reflexes.

In fact he did not react at all when she sat down beside him. He was staring out at the expanse of Lake Michigan, not blinking much. His arms were tightly wound around his knees. His ready smile was a tight line tonight.

Charlie did not say anything, just sat next to him, offering silent comfort.

So it surprised her when he put one arm, white-furred and muscular, around her shoulders. The gesture was gentle, uncertain. She smiled, leaned on him.

'Are they talking?' Modo asked, cocking an ear.

'Not that I can hear, big fella.'

'I guess when Charlie said 'touch', she meant it.' Modo jerked his head in the direction of the pair on the beach.

'Yeah.' Throttle started up his bike in quiet mode, an invention of Charlie's. 'Let's pull back a bit. Give 'em some privacy.'

'I hear ya, bro.' Modo agreed, backing up. His mama had not taught him to eavesdrop on his friends. His enemies - that was different. Legal if not moral.

'What should I say?'

'I don't know, man!'

O this was bad. Really bad.

Usually he had no shortage of flirty banter and jokes to impress Charlie-babe with. But now…

'Was it because she saw you as a teensy mouse? Is that it, big guy, macho mouse? Is that what's eating you?'

'And is this really the time for flirting? Why don't you be honest for once? Seriously.'

Vincent groaned. He avoided serious topics like the plague. His life was based on bikes and babes. He had been going along just fine until -

Until crashing to Earth and finding Charlie.

Or had she found him?

And did it matter?

Was he or was he not a coward?

'I don't think you're a coward,' Charlie said, as if reading his mind, her hand stroking his.O man! This was going to be one of those serious conversations! With Charlie, of all people! Vincent swallowed, his ears twitching in his obvious discomfort.

'You.. don't?' he asked by way of responding somehow since she seemed to expect some response.

'No,'Vinnie.' She was looking at him now so he turned his head to gaze back at her, blushing. He definitely was not in control of this situation - no more than he had been of… THAT. What he saw in her eyes made him even more uncomfortable: her eyes reflected his feelings back at him. He could not escape them now. He had to man up.

"I-ah…' He cleared his throat, looking away again.. He stood up, took two steps towards the water, sighed. Crossing his arms across his chest he spoke over his shoulder, 'Charlie, I-ah..' He chuckled, a little bitterly. He, the Motormouth of Martian Freedom Fighters, the Scald of the Flirty Repartee, was stuck. He had no words: for her, for his feelings. He was not sure what his feelings were just now. Her opinion mattered to him, very much. What if she did see him as a… as a small little cute mouse? That was a blow his ego could not possibly take.

Could it?

He scraped his face with one hand, half-angry with himself.

'Look, Charlie, I… I have feelings for you, ok?' He licked his lips, sweating. He turned around, hands at his sides now, his face taking on a slightly guilty look as if he were confessing a crime. 'I love you,' he said in a rush, his throat locking - and waited. He was not sure for what. For her reaction maybe? Rejection?

'Vinnie…' Charlie was speechless, staring at the blushing white muscle mouse. She stood up, a little shaky. She had guessed he might feel something for her: all those flirty remarks they always threw back and forth between each other, the looks he gave her when he thought she was not looking. She had not known how to react but… His attention was flattering. More than flattering. 'Can you look me in the eye and say it again?' she asked a little breathlessly.

His tail shook as he bit his lip, trying for that roguish grin he usually put on for her.

'I love you, babe,' he said again, the words not so tight in his throat now.

Her answering smile was all the answer he needed. Her face lit up, and she hugged him.

'O you silly mouse,' she scolded him through laughter. 'Was that really so hard?'

'Ah… hehe…' He was a rich crimson now, wrapping his arms around her and swinging her around. 'I'm a mucho macho mouse, remember?'

'O really?' She looked at him with half-lidded green eyes that he admired so much. 'Harder than rock, huh?' She punched his shoulder lightly, teasing.

He caught her hand, kissed her palm.

'For you, babe, I can be as soft as a down pillow,' he almost purred.

'Oh… I didn't say I was sleepy.' Charlie pinched his nose lightly. 'Hotshot.'

He grinned - and kissed her, holding her close. She started, surprised but pleased. Her hands held his head when he tried to pull away. He hummed, not unhappy with that, his red antennae thrumming.

'Mm…' Charlene finally broke the warm silence and looked up at him, a little sly smirk on her lips. She felt hot, a little disoriented. These were some heady feelings tonight. 'O my…' She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks.

'Lit your fire, did I?' Vincent chuckled, his long white tail swishing slowly.

'I think it's time for a cool-off, hotshot,' Charlie said, smiling, her hands unbuttoning her shirt.

Vincent's cheeks were flaming now. O this was gonna be one HELL of an explosive night! And that look she was giving him, assessing him up and down. Taking her time about it too.

'You know,' she remarked conversationally, shrugging off her shirt and letting it drop to the sand. 'I don't think I've ever seen you mice swim.' Her green eyes were filled with sly mischief.

'What?' Vincent blinked. That was new. This woman had some serious mysteries going on in her head tonight. 'Swim?'

'You don't know?' Charlie teased, now down to her skin. Vincent didn't know where to look. He'd fantasized about this moment, all these revelations but…. In his dreams he'd been the one in the driver's seat. Here, now, Charlie was in charge. And that for him was an unusual situation. Vinnie Van Victory it appeared was Vinnie Van Vanquished.

And that did not feel so bad. Really.

'Come,' Charlie invited, beckoning him with her hand. 'I'll show you.'

'Ar, woman, you…' He was grinning now, kicking off his biker boots.

'Catch me if you can, muscle mouse!' Charlie laughed, heading for the lake, interesting things happening to her bare body as she did so. Things that made it hard for him to concentrate on trying to get out of his clothes and follow her. She had lit his fire, alright, and no amount of lake was going to cool him off any time soon.

And he did not mind that one bit. This whole love thing was a new challenge he found himself looking forward to.

'Look, bro.' Modo nudged Throttle, who turned to look out of the garage door. There they were, the two of them. Vinnie's white tail wrapped possessively around Charlie's waist, h is arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Cosy as could be.

'Well well… I see you two have settled your… uh… differences?' he half-asked, half-stated, looking slyly from one to the other, his elbow resting on Modo's shoulder. The big grey mouse had his arms folded across his rather broad chest, smirking knowingly.

Vincent's face turned a slight red. He was doing a lot of blushing lately. He had to stop that.

'Differences?' He cocked an eyebrow at Charlie, who was biting her lip - embarrassment or laughter? 'Did we have any?'

Charlie tapped her curved lips with a thoughtful finger.

'Hm… not that I noticed. I don't think we were looking for differences. We were… um… swimming.'

Modo covered his face with one hand, groaned.

'O mama…'

Throttle pretended to cough, clearing his throat. It was getting hot in here…

Vincent grinned at his bros and taking Charlie in his arms he kissed her right smack in front of them. And it was not a light kiss either. It left Charlene speechless and shaky.

'O man… bro, you ARE in love,' Throttle chuckled clapping him on the shoulder.

'I can drink a rootbeer to that!' Modo lifted his brimming mug, grinning, and inviting them to take the other three that he'd set up on the table. Not only that, there was food as well: the hot dogs with ketchup, mustard, and relish. Charlie's stomach growled. It'd been a… hungry night to say the least. Not that she'd felt hunger. Or had time for it.

'Party! Party! Party!' chanted the three mice in unison, grinning ear to ear (if that were possible) and taking very deep draughts of the rootbeer they were so fond of. Charlene watched in amusement, shaking her head. They were something, these three aliens from Mars. All three were pieces of work - and then some. She still could not understand how she had gotten so used to them. They did not seem so strange now. They were… normal (but not ordinary, o no). Macho but that was not really weird or unusual. She had met macho men before. These three took it to another level, is all. And the tails definitely helped. With some things.

Like working on her customers' bikes. In between pounding Limburger, the mice had taken up helping her out - instead of wrecking her garage. They were good too. Great in fact. They knew motorcycles inside and out. They still goofed around, passing instruments with their tails for one. At times the wrenches fairly flew across the garage - right over her head. She knew they did it to tease her and to have some fun. Homebodies they were not. Sitting still was not their forte. Well, considering they\d come from a war back home that restlessness was understandable: a sitting duck - or mouse rather - was a dead one.

'Wha'cha thinking about, Charlie-girl?' Vincent asked, belching from the rootbeer gas and giving her a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows

Charlie rolled her eyes, snorting and crossing her arms. Someone really needed to work on his table manners.

'I was thinking that it's time we all got to work.'

'Work?' Vincent blinked, all innocence. 'But sweetheart…' he wheedled.

'Did you forget that we have two VIPs coming today to pick up their bikes?' Charlie raked all three macho mice (mugs of root beer in hand) with a steely green eye.

'She's right.' Throttle put down his mug, empty now. 'We can finish celebratin' later.'

Modo sighed. 'March break's over, bro.' He winked at Vince. 'Back to school it is.'

Vincent laughed, high and sharp. March break indeed…

'Well, teach.' He turned to Charlie with a very schoolboy look on his face, hands behind his back. 'I guess I should show you my homework, eh?'

Charlie stared, nonplussed, and flushed. Modo shook his head, pinching the space between his eyes. Throttle attempted to not choke - on laughter.

'How would you like a dog's breakfast, Vincent?' Charlie asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes, her green eyes still hard and her hands on her hips. Her foot was tapping the garage floor, all innocently.

The white mouse laughed nervously, tugging at his maroon bandana, realizing that she was serious and that he might just get the promised dog's breakfast. 'I'll get to work, shall I?'

'Good choice, bro,' Throttle said softly, tapping his shoulder and heading for the tool cabinet while Modo cleaned the table off. 'I am sure you won't regret it, loverboy.'

Vincent smiled apprehensively. His bros were right - and he had one hell of a night to think about. Man, how did he get himself into these things anyway? Not that he regretted his decision - he was pretty sure Charlie did not regret hers. Did she? Surreptitiously he glanced over at her standing by the door looking out for the VIPs. He was no mind reader but her body language did not scream dissatisfaction. On the contrary.

'Focus, Vinman,' Modo whispered out of the side of his mouth. 'Or you don't eat.'

Vincent shook himself. Right. Focus. Focus, Vincent. Even though it was hard. And became harder when Charlie glanced over her shoulder at him and winked.

'O cheez…' he muttered, turning on the electronic wrench he held. 'I ran so far away…'

He laughed, happier than he had been in a long while.

Today was going to be a good day after all.