Chapter 4

Spectre sat at the table at the Last Chance Garage, still wearing his helmet and drinking a large cup of water through a straw. It was even clearer and fresher than the fountain water the night previous, not like the acid and metal laced stuff he was forced to drink on Plutark.

Charley had quickly shut up shop as soon as he brought his bike inside and had set to work organising some fresh clothes and food. She came out and realised that he was the person most in need of a shower on the planet. Dressing him now would be like pouring new wine into old wineskins.

"Come with me."

She led him to the bathroom, switched on the light and pulled out some extra towels, facewashers, scrubbing brush, soap and shampoo. Spectre entered the room, looking around.

"What do you do?" he asked.

"We'll get to that. But I might need to do something first," said Charley, noticing his lengthy mane. "It might be easier to get clean if I cut off all this long hair."

He nodded. "Sure," he said, remembering the previous night in the fountain. He slowly took off his helmet, while Charley rummaged in a drawer for some scissors and electric clippers. When she faced him again, she gasped.

If the bros injuries on Mars were bad, then Spectre raised the bar quite a few notches.

It looked as if someone, or something, had removed his face, ran it through a lawnmower and tried to piece it roughly back together. Scars ran across his cheeks and forehead., some old and healed while others looked more recent. His front teeth were chipped and a few of his back teeth were missing. His lower jaw hung slightly askew, as if it had been broken before. Instead of having round ears like the bros, they had been crudely cut into a triangular shape, the edges jagged and uneven, giving the appearance of...a rat.

But the thing that spooked her most were his eyes.

Those bright orange eyes. Resembling a feral animal.

Had he really been tortured so long that they had turned that color naturally? Or was it just another sick experiment performed on him?

It didn't only startle Charley. Spectre hadn't seen himself in a mirror since he was abducted form Mars. Taking one look at the duplicate image, the helmet on the floor, cracking a few tiles. He slowly approached the reflection, touching his own face, then pulling away as if burnt him. He could only stare at the horrors the Plutarkians had done to him, making him unrecognisable as the young boy all those years ago.

It took well over twenty minutes for Charley to get his attention back and be able to start carefully removing all the matted fibres from the top of his head, till there wasn't much left at all. Then, she set up the shower for him to use and told him to take however long he wanted.

The attractive mechanic went back downstairs to the garage and looked at Spectre's bike. While it was Martian, it certainly didn't look it. Instead of a well-oiled machine, it was well and truly beyond trashed. No body panels were on it, leaving the engine bare to the elements. Acid rain had corroded and eaten away parts of the chassis and motor casing, and the tyres were past the bald stage. She could only think how much worse it would be if anyone set about to try and overhaul it – if it was possible.

She did tell the guys last night about her conclusions about who it was who saved her. After Throttle managed to convince Vinnie and Modo not to go out and hunt down her attempted muggers, she then launched into a flurry of insults about not to leave her in the carpark again, with a number of severe threats if it somehow did occur in the future.

Now, after seeing Spectre in his current state, she thought it might be best if the guys didn't come around to stay, until Spectre had a few days recovering. Just to relax. Then introduce things gradually, just so not to overload his mind.

*

Spectre hadn't ever felt anything like he did in the shower. In Plutark, a shower was something he avoided at all times; it fell from the sky and resembled rain, but dissolved pretty much anything it touched. It was essentially acid falling from the atmosphere.

In the heat and steam of the cubicle, the water rushing over his body, his sweat oozing the scum of Plutark embedded in his skin for so long. The water going down the plughole ran a deep grey color for fifteen solid minutes as the grime was washed away.

Using the scrubbing brush served to be a source of extreme discomfort as he tried to clean his matted fur. Great hunks of the stuff were pulled from his skin in the process. His scalp was a lot easier to wash now that the majority of his mane was gone.

Finally, he stepped out of the stall and dried himself with a towel. He still had an odour about him, which wasn't surprising, but at last he was clean. The feeling of it was simply breathtaking. It was then that he thought the shower was the best thing ever invented. By the end of the new adventure, a large amount of fur had almost clogged the drain, the cubicle floor was stained from the grime, the shampoo bottle was empty and the bar of soap was all but a sliver thick.

Dressed in some old trackies and shirt, he went back down to the garage. After finding Charley in the adjoining kitchen, he sat at the table and was greeted by a large plate of delicious looking food. She encouraged him to eat, and before long, he was feeling sick after scoffing himself so hard and so fast.

Charley quickly poured him a glass of lemonade, which she offered and he took gratefully. He thought the water he had earlier was sweet; this stuff put a new spin on the word.

"These are so good. What are they called?" he asked.

"Hamburgers." Charley replied.

Spectre started to think about this young lady and began to note some similarities between her and his friend on Plutark. Both were mechanics, both were women, and they were very kind to him in a time of need. They even had similar names. The only difference was the remark Charley made the night before, which was all but forgiven.

"So what's wrong with your bike?" asked Charley, after everything had been cleaned up.

Spectre eyed her closely. He didn't really want to disclose anything about her, since she had a few extra pieces of "equipment" that made a bit of a standout from other bikes.

"I'm not sure. I actually wanted to ask a favour," Spectre mumbled.

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if I could borrow your equipment to fix my bike..."

"Ok...why do I feel a 'but' coming up?"

"And in return I can work for you, to repay my debt."

Charley smiled. "Spectre, you don't have to be a slave anymore. Earth isn't like that."

"Earth?" he asked, confused.

"Oh, sorry," Charley reminded herself. "This planet is called Earth."

"Earth? But that means..."

"Mars is the next stop," said Charley.

The dark brown mouse sighed inwardly to know he was so close, and yet so far.

"So damn close," he repeated.

"We'll work something out," Charley offered.

Spectre paused. "How come you know so much about me?"

Charley pursed her lips together. "What if I told you that there are three others of your kind on this planet? "

"Really? Three?"

"Yep," she answered. "They saved this garage, and my life, many times. Of course, I've helped them out more than once or twice. And I know their bikes pretty well; I've made some modifications to them myself," she beamed.

"You know how to fix Martian bikes?" Spectre asked.

"Yep. Best wrench jockey in Chi-town."

"Chi-town?"

"Yeah. This city's called Chicago."

"Ok," he asked, slightly confused. "Why do you call it Chi-town?"

"Uhh, I just...do," Charley said.

An awkward pause happened between them, before Spectre asked again. "Can I fix my bike here?"

"Sure you can," Charley said warmly. "As long as I get to help."

Soon, they were both in the garage, going through Oblivion's mechanics with a fine tooth comb. She tried not to show it, but Charley was dying to see what kind of goodies were housed in the chassis. It contained the usual Freedom Fighter boosters and a hot engine to boot, but all were critically worn and needed some serious work. Her tow cables were equipped with a four-toothed pincer, both front and back.

Then came her weapons. Charley had to suppress a squeak resembling the words, "Ooh, goodie!"

In the middle of the body was a grenade launcher. It was unusable though; depleted of ammunition.

It's secondary weapons, extending from each side, were two small miniguns. They were cleverly built; the barrels springing out of the housing cover whenever the need to fight arose. They bore a similarity to Vinnie's side weapons in terms of folding away. And their laser crystals were untouched, meaning the deadly weapons were in working order.

The final weapons were two small laser cannons at the rear of the bike, however, these were damaged and weren't working.

Deciding to just work on the engine for now, the two set to work. Charley had some spare Martian bike parts from the guys, which were put to good use. Together, they removed the whole engine block and replaced anything that looked bad. Charley even had some spare body panels which she spray painted a menacing dark purple and attached them, making the machine look as sexy as it did years ago. Finally, after tuning it to run on Earth fuel and filling with fresh coolant and oil, they were done. Oblivion even beeped in response, liking her new makeover.

There was one part during the day where Charley excused herself to make a phone call. He could hear her in the office, saying that something was up but she didn't need any help, and if anyone came around she would...Wow, maybe she wasn't as nice as what he thought she was.

"Mind if I give her a test run?" Spectre asked. It was about 11:00 pm.

"As long as I get to come along," Charley said with a smile.