It was a typical Saturday morning. The sun was about to rise, it was still dark and cool out, and Ryo was sleeping peacefully under his Spiderman bed sheets when from out on the lawn there arose such a thunder that he sprang from his bed in terrified wonder. And he stepped right on White Blaze's slumbering body.

As the 700-pound Siberian tiger let out a roar and sent Ryo hurtling face first toward the dresser, the Ronin of Fire had but one thought (and one thought only) in his mind: Talpa was back to kill him, and this time he was actually going to do it. Then Wildfire smashed his chiclets into the dresser and the only thing left in his brain was the Windows 95 starfield screensaver.

Another peal of thunder rattled the windows as Ryo lay on the floor holding his face and groaning in agony. White Blaze, fur fluffed in agitation like some kind of mutant cotton ball, immediately decided that he'd had enough of this Dynasty shit to last him a lifetime and began to maniacally claw his way under Ryo's twin sized bed. By the time he managed to wedge himself underneath it, the floor was coated in gouges that bled sawdust and only two of the bed legs were actually touching the ground.

A third deafening crash shook the house to its foundation and suddenly Cye burst into Ryo's room, looking panicked and just barely awake. "Fucking hell!" he swore violently without restraint—his true colors were showing, and they were red, white and blood. "What in the bloody blazes is that awful fucking row! Who's respon—good Lord, Ryo? Is that you, mate? What hap—" KABOOM! "—blimey fucking bollocks!"

"What's going on?" Sage shouted breathlessly, suddenly appearing in the doorway. He was wearing smiley face boxer shorts and had a case of bedhead so sexy that celebrities would pay $250 in a Hollywood salon to look that good. "Is it the Dynasty?"

"Sounds like the bloody Yanks finishing World War II—"

KABOOM!

Ryo sat up groggily and saw two blonds and two brunettes standing in his room. Then the screensaver in his brain locked up and was replaced by the Blue Screen of Death. "Lallc yer yarmers," he slurred. "Mab topaz snurggin' mah gravy." Then his pretty blue eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the floor in a dead faint.

"Oh my God, that last chromosome just gave out," Sage said, as if he'd been expecting it for some time now.

Cye crouched down at Ryo's side. "No, looks like he tapped himself against the bureau."

"Huh?"

KABOOM!

Cye pointed out the streak of bloody snot on one of the drawers. "Like a bird whacking a window. Shits itself on impact."

"I wonder if the Cowardly Tiger under the bed had anything to do with it."

KABOOM!

"Alright," Cye muttered, standing up and stomping to the window, "this is starting to piss me off. What the fuck is going on out there?" He parted the blinds and stared down at the house next door.

KABOOM! A hot, blinding light flared from the open garage. It could have been flames, but it also could have been a small nuclear explosion. Or maybe a rip in the space-time continuum.

Cye let the blinds snap shut and he turned to give Sage a knowing glare. "It's those fucking cunts next door. They've twocked a jet and now they're chopping the bloody afterburners!"

Sage closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. "Cye, it's too early in the morning for the C word."

". . . Chop?"

"Will you please speak a form of English I can understand? Perhaps one that isn't punctuated with profan—"

Sage didn't get to complete his request before Rowen, who would never have oozed from bed at this hour for anything less than the end of the world, barreled through the doorway, plowed right into him, and sent them both sprawling onto the floor. Sage's reflexes were a bit sharper than Rowen's this morning and he managed to land on his hands and knees instead of his face. Rowen thudded into Sage's back and rolled off with a sharp "Ow!"

KABOOM!

Sage crawled up and punched Rowen's thigh as hard as he could. "Watch where you're going, egghead!"

"Well don't stand in the doorway, fatass! Get in or get out, it's a simple decision!"

While Sage went red in open-mouthed shock, Rowen gave a cheery wave to Torrent. "Mornin', Cye. Ryo run inta the wall again?"

"Bureau."

He winced. "Ssss. Ouch."

KABOOM!

"Well," Rowen said, "I guess we betta go oveh an' tell the Warlords to knock it off, eh?" (He knew it was them. He was smart.)

"I'm going to knock them all for six if they don't bloody stifle it," Cye muttered. "It's not even seven in the fucking morning."

"Hey dudes!" Kento was suddenly in the doorway, wide awake, covered with motor grease and grinning like a possum licking a light socket. "You've gotta come see the new mods I helped put on Cale's Harley! It's friggin' sa-WEEE-eeeet!" Pause. "Don't all come rushing at once or anything. Jeez. I've seen happier faces at a morgue. Now come on, we only spent all night workin' on it!"

Seven-thirty in the morning saw three Ronins gathered in the driveway next door like a herd of sleepy sheep, staring with sleepy, slightly-homicidal expressions at the shiny black Fat Boy up on blocks. Kento and Cale were proudly explaining how they got the new deafening exhaust pipes outfitted to the bike (or rotillermotora as Cale called it) and how easy it was to replace the engine with something much more powerful. And noisy.

"Why all the modifications?" Rowen asked at the end of the show. "Ya just junked an othawise efficient means 'a transp'tation by addin' all this flashy crap to it. I bet the engine's displacin' only about 75 pacent of what it could, and there's no way the handlebars're aerodynamic when they're like that." He sipped his sugar-loaded coffee daintily. "This thing would be much better off if it were water-cooled. I should work on that design."

Cale and Kento stared at Rowen as if a giant alien spider had just crawled out of his mouth wearing the uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, tipped its hat, and waved at them.

"Since when do you know so damned much about bikes, Rowen?" Kento asked warily. As if his friend might actually be Hannibal Lecter.

Rowen shrugged. "I don't. I just know a lot about mechanical engineering."

Cale, who was a little less impressed, said, "To answer your question, Strata—"

"Hashiba."

"Hashi—"

"Rowen."

"Rowen." Pause.

Rowen just smiled kindly.

"To answer your question, Rowen, we modified it because we wanted it to look 'wicked'. And that's the only reason."

"Ohhh, right. Wicked." Wink. "Gotcha."

"Well," Cye huffed moodily, "if it's alright with the grease monkeys, may we return to the comfort of our beds now that your experiment in breaking noise ordinances has been successful?"

"Of course," Cale said, flashing a dazzling smile in Sage's direction. "Do forgive our noise. I would hate to arouse anyone from a peaceful sleep."

"Quite," Cye sniffed. (That's how the British accept apologies.)

"Eh, I wasn't sleepin' anyway," Rowen commented. "I was actually just about to go to bed, but since I've already had my coffee I guess I'll just have to go to sleep sometime this aftanoon . . ." He wandered back toward the house talking to himself, Cye and Kento following behind, Sage bringing up the rear. But Sage was stopped when Cale gently caught his elbow.

He turned around to find the tall, dark, outrageously greasy and wildly handsome Warlord staring down at him with a slight grin. "Maybe you'd like to take a ride with me sometime," he said in the lowest, sexiest voice he could summon. "It'll be a hard ride, being such a powerful machine, but I'm sure you can handle it. I can go fast or slow . . . however you like it. Whatever you want."

Sage curled his lip, showing off his incisors. "I'd rather scour my genitals off with a rusty Brillo pad." He placed a hand on Cale's chest and pushed. It wasn't hard enough to make the man step back, but it did move him. A tad.

Cale looked dejected. "You're not impressed then?"

"Not a bit."

"Oh. That's too bad," he murmured. "See, the whole reason I tricked out this rotillermotora was to impress people. Bouncers have to have a tough ride, you know?"

Sage would have fled the scene at this point, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Bouncer?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Just got hired last week. The Wild Sushi Roadhouse on the edge of town."

Sage didn't know it, but it sounded like a dive. A tough, dangerous, manly dive. He swallowed dryly. "Congratulations. Beating up drunks sounds like a fine way to make a living." He about-faced and started to walk away.

Cale grinned. "You're welcome to stop by and say hello any time."

"Okay. I'll just put that on my To Don't list." A few steps later he paused, turned halfway. "By the way, idiot, it's a motorcycle."

Ryo was still out cold when Sage returned to the house. Though he was inclined to let Ryo just sleep it off, he wanted to at least have one good thing to show for an otherwise ruined morning. He dragged Ryo off of the floor and put him back in bed (the tiger was gone now and apparently yowling for breakfast downstairs), and after a few moments of deep concentration with his hand pressed to Ryo's forehead, the busted nose and bruised forehead were healed. Sage stood up, congratulated himself on a job well done, and then decided that maybe the day wasn't off to such a horrible start. He went to his room, got dressed, and met the others downstairs in the kitchen.

White Blaze was hunched over his food dish and munching away at God only knows what, but it smelled only a little bit better than dead dog casserole. Cye, now in a much better mood with a crumpet and cup of oolong under his belt, was chatting pleasantly with Rowen, who was having Pop Tarts and Mountain Dew for breakfast. Sage slid into the chair beside him and made a face at the sugary repast.

"You're going to rot your guts out, Rowen," he predicted with stark clarity. "Or your teeth."

"Well at least I have taste buds. What're you havin' fer breakfast? Plain oatmeal n' white toast, eh?"

"There's jam on the toast."

"Yeah? Where?"

"Right there."

"That's barely a smear. A grape wiped its ass on yer toast, and ya think that's part of a balanced breakfast?"

"Rowen, just cut it out or I'll tell Cale you're harassing me and he'll come over here and kick your ass."

Rowen's eyebrows shot up and an intrigued grin spread across his face. "Oh really?"

Sage went white. I can't believe I just said that, he thought.

"Yeah, Cale's a real macho man!" Kento chimed in around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "He got a job working at the Wild Sushi Roadhouse as a bouncer."

"Ya don't say," Rowen declared.

"Yup. And Dais got a job through a temp service. Some kind of office gig or cubicle type job or somethin'. I don't even think he knows what he's doing."

"Ya kiddin'," Rowen said.

"I thought the only place that'd hire a bloke like him would be a kiddie theme park." Cye sipped his tea. "Or the post office."

"It's funny you should mention that . . ."

From somewhere up the road there came the screeching of tires. Kento's expression became serious.

"Sekhmet spent a whole month getting rejected from every job he applied for."

The rev of an engine. A sudden screech. A bang. A pause. Another screech and rev.

"But finally he found a place that didn't send him away."

Rev. Screech. Bang. Pause. Louder rev. Louder screech. It was coming closer.

Rowen's face went slack. Sage's one visible eye went wide. Cye held the teacup en route to his mouth and stared over the rim at the view outside the kitchen windows. A view that looked right down the front walk and the mailbox at the very end.

The boxy shape of an ancient Japanese mail truck suddenly plowed up over the sidewalk and slammed into the mailbox, uprooting it to a thirty degree angle. Behind the wheel the driver, with green hair and a postal uniform, cursed for the 45th consecutive time and tossed loose junkmail onto the front lawn, then took off with a screech.

"A guy who's gone postal actually works fer the postal service," Rowen ascertained, a lunatic grin tugging the corner of his mouth. "Ya gotta be shittin' me."