Hello, it's been awhile. Once again I am sorry for the wait. I have to give a lot of credit to DinoDragonMaster for giving me great ideas for the story, and also helping me refocus. Please check out his work. As for my delay, well, work and life can make something like writing a more arduous task than it already is. Between studying and minor social obligations this ends up falling pretty low in my to-do-list sometimes. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and for those who actually read this stuff, I just wanted to say thank you, and if you actually enjoy this work, THANK YOU SO MUCH. Once again, all characters and brand names are copyrighted to their respective owners. Ride safe.
CHAPTER 7: BROTHERS
Jason stood outside the garage, fidgeting, rolling his lit cigarette through the fingers in his right hand. His mind was racing, his heart banging against his ribcage as he felt a barely controlled panic rising from within. A cold sweat sullied his brow. Throttle's revelation had shattered his world. His earlier humor long since forgotten. The food he had eaten that was once delicious now settled in his stomach like a bed of ash. He wanted to throw up.
That couldn't have been him, no fucking way, no way no how not in a thousand years could that have been him, he thought in disbelief. He didn't want it to be true but those memories Throttle had projected onto him weren't lying. Even though he didn't actually see the face of his brother through the smokey gray polarized lens of that white helmet it was the logo on the back of that jacket was all too familiar. Daniel had worn that same logo for years, it was his identity on the track, on the street. The skull, the crown, the title. If it wasn't the only one, it wouldn't have taken long to call the roll.
It was the last thing Jason saw as his brother sped off into the night almost four years ago.
Jason remembered.
He remembered in stark horror at what his brother had done; he had shown up at the house, hands and jacket bloody from having just stabbed a man at the local bar. A fight over a spilled drink. Daniel was a fugitive now. The same person who for years was Jason's rock, who grounded his temperamental disposition with steely coolness and good-hardheartedness had been warped into this monster. The war had changed him as it had changed Jason and just as it had taken Brian.
These young ones, children who had dreams of doing the right thing were turned into killers for the state. They would return; some traveled alive but warped, bent, broken; others moved in coffins, armless and legless and tucked under an American flag.
Jason offered no aid his older brother, only exhorting him to go to the police. Daniel refused as he cleaned the blood from his hands and jacket and got back on their dad's old VMAX. He was going to flee with nothing more than the clothes on his back and the steel horse he saddled.
"Remember," Daniel had said, his voice cold and distant, "there are no heroes. Only the dead. I'll see you on the other side, brother."
And with that he vanished. Jason called the police as soon as he got back into the house. He was grilled for hours at the station, giving every piece of information he could; his brother's identity, what he wore, what he rode. Jason felt no reservations for aiding the law. After all, the creature that wore Daniel's skin was no longer his brother—that man had died as soon as he had left for Iraq. When Daniel had returned he had grown distant from the family. He had become cruel, prone to vicious outbursts of violence. Once they were inseparable, Daniel and he, but now there seemed to be an insurmountable gulf between the two of them.
Jason knew that despite his help Daniel was probably out of reach of the Maryland state police. A man of his riding skill would be almost impossible to pursue. After a few hours he would've been out of the state, and from there who knew where he went. The man whom Daniel had stabbed died later from his wounds. He was a father of three. The FBI had placed Daniel on the fugitive list, and they frequently visited Jason asking for any updates or new information. Jason had none to give. He never saw or heard from Daniel again—he figured his brother was either dead or out of country. Eventually the visits and calls from the police got fewer and further in between until they eventually stopped altogether. Justice would not be served.
Four years. Four long lonely years. All that was left for Jason was wreckage left behind.
But out of all that despair and all that loss and as Jason's world began to fall apart only then did his goddamn older brother decide to reappear.
It had to be fate. Or a cruel joke. It was becoming too much for Jason. He was left so alone. He didn't know what to do next.
HEY THERE
A sudden warm and moist sensation began to trickle down the back of Jason's neck. "Who's that?" he asked. Around him were only the empty dilapidated streets of south Chicago.
There was no one.
IN YOUR HEAD, DUMBASS
"What?"
IT'S YOUR ID, YOU MORON
"Oh, uh, hello?"
LISTEN FAM, I GOTTA GET LEVEL: YOU'RE LOSING IT AND I DON'T LIKE IT. IT MAKES ME ALL NERVY. YOU'RE THIRSTY. YOU NEED A DRINK
Jason felt a pang inside of his chest. He hadn't had a good stiff drink in days. It was always his help when things started to get a bit out of hand.
YOU'RE HAVING THE DREAMS AGAIN. ALIENS ARE REAL. THE GOOD ONES BLEW UP YOUR MOTORCYCLE AND ONE OF THEM IS BUMPING UGLIES WITH A MECHANIC. YOUR BROTHER IS AN ASSHOLE WORKING FOR THE ASSHOLE ALIENS. YOU NEED SOMETHING TO THINK THROUGH IT. YOU'RE TOO SOBER. YOU GOTTA NUMB THAT PAIN
To Jason that sounded like a good idea.
"But where am I gonna get some booze."
DUMMY YOU'RE IN THE GHETTO, THERES LIQUOR STORES ON EVERY BLOCK. LOOK TO YOUR RIGHT
Down the block at the first intersection was, in fact, a store. The entrance sign read Guns 'n' Booze 'n' Bail Bonds.
"Oh."
C'MON BUD. JUST HOP ON OVER AND PICK UP YOUR OLD PALS JIMMY AND BEAN. YOU STILL GOT ALL THAT MONEY FROM SELLING THE HOUSE. WHAT'S THE HARM? WHAT. IS. THE. H A R M?
"Well... I guess..."
ATTA BOY! NOW GO ON DOWN THERE AND GET PROPER FUCKED UP. AND THEN COME BACK HERE WITH YOUR SWAGGER INTACT. YOU KNOW YOU WANNA STICK YOUR TOUNGE DOWN THAT CHARLEY-GIRL'S THROAT. VINNIE'S A LITTLE BITCH, ANYWAYS. HE'LL LET YOU WALK ALL OVER HIM.
This is getting ridiculous!
Another voice. It was piercing and cold. Shivers raced up Jason's spine.
It's your Ego, numbskull. You're going about this all wrong like always. You're letting Id walk all over you, and you're gonna fuck it all up. You're a coward, Jason, and you're gonna retreat back into that bottle the moment the going gets tough. You never were a hero, and once you start walking away from here you're never gonna stop. You're gonna take your pain and bury it with booze and pills, never to confront it. You'll never be a good person. You'll always be a—
FUCK YOU EGO
No, fuck you, Id.
DOUBLE FUCK YOU
Jason crumpled over on the pavement, his hands gripping the sides of his head. A searing, horrendous pain lanced through his head. He began to shake.
"I'm losing my fucking mind..." he hissed.
NAH, THAT'S JUST THE DT'S
Because you keep making this weak-willed nancy boy drink until he can't remember shit.
WELL TRIPLE FUCK YOU
Stop.
It was another strange voice. It seemed to well up from a deep spot within. It felt warm, soothing, direct. It was the one semblance of control Jason felt he had left.
It's your super-ego if that's what you're wondering.
"You know, I thought the whole Freudian thing was mostly outdated now and this is kind of an amateurish interpretation of things. You're not gonna start making me talk about my father's penis, are you?"
It doesn't matter, just listen to me. You're stopped at a fork in the road and you only got two ways to go. On one hand you can let Id and Ego pull you willy nilly—basically the status quo to what you've been doing these last couple of years. You're gonna get drunk, pass out somewhere, buy another bike and then ride like the wind out of this shitty situation. All of those things that you hate about yourself you get to continue being.
"Well, I am a coward piece of shit."
Yeah. Or there is another way.
"I'm all ears."
Do you remember what Danny said all those years ago back at the old place?
"When I was a kid."
When the sky was awash in pink and indigo. The world was open. Things made sense. There was an American dream. We had some ice cream under the tree. We howled in joy all summer's day. There was hope. An anger at an older brother, an anger that gave way to love. A learned thing that was shared...
What is a hero?
"He said a hero is someone who is always true to himself,"
He always does the right thing no matter the consequences.
HE HAS TO BE STRONG SO HE CAN HELP OUT EVERYONE ELSE
And he never backs down or takes the easy way out.
Jason slowly rose to his feet. He looked above. The morning sky was painted in the same hues as he remembered on that evening over twenty years ago.
He gazed at the flickering neon lights above the garage bay doors. The Last Chance Garage. Jason hung his head. He would run. He always ran. Things a real hero wouldn't do. Things he would do, because he was not a hero.
"...because I am not..."
"Not what?"
A sudden sharp pain jolted Jason. He gasped as he dropped the cigarette that had burned down to his fingers. He turned and saw Throttle standing behind him by a few feet. The mouse looked haggard.
"Nothing," said Jason as he turned away and looked back at the neon sign. The 'L' was now only partially lit. Jason felt that Throttle wanted to say something but wasn't sure where to start.
"So, imagine our luck," said Throttle as he walked up to stand abreast of Jason, also staring at the neon sign. "Me and my bros were just some alien punks who just got shot down by a Plutarkian destroyer and crash-landed in Wrigley Field in the middle of a game. Strangers in a strange land. As we were out searching for spare parts we wound up in this joint, stumbling into the best damn mechanic on the planet. If it wasn't for our Charley-girl I don't think the three of us would have lasted long here. She's always been there for us; to fix our bikes, stitch us up, foot our bills and put up with with our antics."
"She sure is something else," said Jason, not taking his eyes off the sign.
"More than something else, she's a real hero."
A hero.
Throttle looked over at Jason. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that anyone can be a hero. It's all about making the right choice at the right place at the right time." Throttle put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Most heroes are just regular, ordinary people who got put in extraordinary circumstances. That's who I was, so were my bros, so was Charley-girl, so are you."
"It's my last chance." whispered Jason, staring back at Throttle, the redhead's eyes looked sharp but with no shine. My last chance to redeem myself. Maybe I can do one right thing. Tell him the truth.
"Last chance for what?" said Throttle with a hint of a chuckle at the back of his throat.
"That man I saw. The man you showed me. I know him."
"I figured as much with they way you reacted when you saw him. How well do you know him?"
"More than you could imagine. He's, uh... he's my older brother. His name is Daniel."
Throttle's eyebrows shot up, clearly visible above the rims of his sunglasses, his mouth slightly agape in surprise. "Oh. Wow. Uh, well, that's gonna be an awkward family reunion."
Jason a rueful chuckle. "It wouldn't be much of a reunion. Just my brother and me."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that he and I are only ones left." Jason walked over the storefront, leaning himself against the brick wall next to the garage bay doors.
"What about everyone else?"
Jason wondered if he should tell Throttle his story. Should he tell the martian of his loved one's fates? Would he even understand the nature of his loss? He was starting to break down again. All the self hate, the old painful memories were creeping in. He needed to tamp them down, push them aside. He needed to be strong but he was weak. It would easier to do if he had something to drink, something to numb his agitation and distance himself but here he was: sober, lost, alone and painfully aware. Jason started to slide down the brick wall, collapsing into a heap on the concrete sidewalk, his hands covering his face, as if he was trying to dam the tears that started to well up.
Throttle walked closer and took a knee beside Jason, resting a hand on the shoulder of the crying man. At first Jason shook it off, but Throttle placed his hand back on again, calmly assuaging the man in is moment of distress. "It's ok, it's ok..." repeated Throttle in a soft, gentle tone. Eventually, with a snort and quiet sigh Jason started to regain some semblance of composure.
"C'mere," said Throttle as he tenderly helped the tear-stained man pick himself up and they embraced in a hug. Jason usually avoided such displays of affection: he was, after all a man, and men needed to be hard-hearted and emotionally detached, but here he was too worn down to care and found the exchange comforting. Throttle didn't say a word, merely patting Jason's back a few times before releasing him.
"Thanks, I needed that," said Jason as he dusted himself off.
"No problem." Throttle put his hands in his pants pockets and started to look around the area, he appeared to be carefully considering about what to say next.
"I'm not sure how to say this all neatly so I'm just gonna be up front: we need your help. Maybe you can talk to Daniel, if you're so sure it's him, maybe you can convince him to stop working for Limburger, otherwise we're gonna have to kick his tail. Also, you need help. You're sick, you're lost and you're hurting and there's nothing wrong with you to admit that. You been through the ringer, life has beaten you down and we can help you with that."
"What kind of help? Like a shrink? Because all they ever did was talk at me, shove me in the loony bin and give me meds that made me even more loopy than I already am." Jason knew Throttle was right but he was skeptical of what manner of help Throttle and the others can offer.
"Weeell... It's not necessarily a shrink. It's more like we have 'specialists' that can come here from the home planet; psychic healers. Those who can get inside your mind and fix what's broken or damaged. They can help you but that's if you want to stay and help us with your brother. It's your choice. After all, you've got no attachments, no home, nowhere else to go. Why not?"
"So it's just that easy to get assistance from mars? I thought you guys crash-landed here with no chance for support."
"We did, at first, but we found a way to break the Plutarkian blockade that surrounds Mars. We get supplies and other stuff on a quarterly basis. As in a quarter of your Earth years..."
"No, what I mean is that you guys can at any moment go back to Mars. Why stay here? Earth isn't your fight."
Throttle looked upset at Jason's question, like he had touched a nerve. "Not our fight? Listen, brother," said the mouse with a rather harsh tone at Jason's unintended ignorance, "Wherever those stinkfishes go is our fight. What they did to us and our planet they will do to you. Earth is full of wonderful people like Charley, good people, and as long as my bros and I ride we will stand tall, stare at the face of evil and fight these sons of bitches with everything we have. Chicago is every bit our home, just like Mars, and we won't give up our mission until every corner on this city and this planet are free from Limburger and his kind."
Throttle was now mere inches from Jason's face, his eyes seemingly boring a hole into the human.
"So," asked the mouse, "are you with us or not?" Jason noticed his breath smelled of birch bark.
Jason stepped back for a second.
He was at a loss. There was a fork in the road.
Only two ways.
Either he can keep on running in the night, alone and aimless.
Or maybe...
...maybe he can right himself. Pull himself straight. Take back some measure of control over his pathetic life, call back to the proud warrior he once was and fight for good.
One last chance-
A fire was starting to rise within Jason. A burning inside that he had not felt for years. At what was once a man who looked lost and weary he now stared back at Throttle with an intensity that surprised the Martian mouse.
"Alright, I'll do it. I'll help you guys: but on one condition."
A wide grin spread across Throttles muzzle. "And what's that?"
"I want to join the freedom fighters."
Jason was told by Throttle to wait in the garage while the others convened in the upstairs living room. The intent, it seemed, was to keep their conversation secret. The result, however, left a lot to be desired since Jason could hear everything being discussed through the thin walls and flooring.
"You have got to be kidding me! Him? Joining us? The man is a nutjob!" Jason could clearly tell from the indignant tone and slight whine that it was Vinnie's.
"He may be a little bit unstable, I admit, but who among us can say that we all aren't a little loopy ourselves? Besides, he can be our ace in the hole with his brother." Throttle seemed to be attempting a balancing act of both placating the white mouse, as well stating his case. Jason noted how put off the tan mouse was when he asked to join their group. Even to himself it seemed like a crazy idea, but he had nowhere else to go. Hell, he was surprised at his own request. He was still trying to figure out from where this desire welled up.
"I gotta be honest, bro, I think you're makin' a rash decision. We don't know much about this guy, and with him possibly being kin to Limburger's latest lapdog isn't helping your case. Are you sure you're not feeling a bit loopy from your last telepathic link with him?" Modo seemed to be the most level-headed of the three, at least until he got riled up. Jason shuddered at the memory of the large gray mouse's one good eye flashing red in a barely contained fury.
"Trust me, I'm certain he's not in cahoots in the stinkfish. I can't explain it, but I feel like I know him, or at least understand him."
Jason was starting to feel uncomfortable, like he was on trial. He decided to busy himself by looking at all the machines stored in the garage. Eventually he laid eyes on the motorcycles the three mice rode.
They looked like vague facsimiles of current model bikes, heavily modified. One bike resembled a Harley Davidson VROD Muscle, with the swooping exhaust pipes and long rake, drag handlebars and straight bolstered seat-cushion. It's black paint on the tank and bobbed fenders was shined to a near perfect gloss. There was no chrome on the bare metal parts, only what appeared to be a brushed aluminum. The engine appeared to be a conventional V-twin, but there were parts that Jason was unfamiliar with. Although he could clearly see what looked like a twin-screw supercharger bolted above the engine block. It was a menacing looking machine, exuding immense straight-line performance. It resembled a black panther, a night stalker. It was the bike a leader, a strong-minded individual, most likely belonging to a leader of men... or mice. It had to be Throttle's
"You think you know him? Don't you think that sounds a little odd? I saw the look on your face after that last link-up you had, and the time before that. Are you sure he didn't leave a less than healthy impression on you?" There was concern in Modo's tone.
The human wondered how well Throttle's bike would handle itself when the road got curvy due to it's cruiser seating position. The Ducati he had ridden was extremely fast, but in the turns his lean was limited to the extent of the foot-pegs. As soon as he had a good angle, the pegs would scrape and so would the kickstand and part of the exhaust pipes. It was a fair trade for it's comfort, but in the clutch when he was trying to escape from Vinnie's pursuit it had left a lot to be desired.
"Wait, is that the whole 'imprinting' thing you were talking about earlier?" Charley had taken a backseat for most of the conversation, to hear her voice so suddenly was surprising
The next ride most certainly seemed to fit Vinnie's adrenaline-junkie's persona to the letter. A no-nonsense superbike, resembling what might have been a 1199 Panigale. It's front half was covered completely in bright, arterial blood-red fairing. The rear half was exposed, showing the transmission cover, parts and pieces of suspension and other, unknown bits all of it painted a light-absorbing black. On it's massive tires were alloy rims and a pair of disc brakes almost as large as the rims themselves. This was a machine made for speed in all corners and straights, it's rider's arms and legs tucked in a near fetal position to maximize drag-reduction, his head pointed forward as he would attack the road. The exhaust was a short, barely-noticeable thing, visually, but he remembered how screeching loud it was at emission. The machine had a shape both utilitarian and beautiful, a symmetry between form an function.
"Bro, if he's inside your head then it's all the more reason to get the help we need from him, and send him on his way. We've already screwed him up enough, and he in turn has screwed you up. How can we even be sure he can hang with us? He's just human, is what I'm saying." Vinnie sounded adamant in his opinion. Jason couldn't help but agree. It seemed everything he took part in, everything he touched went to pure shit.
"'Just human'? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Charley sounded like she was about to go off on Vinnie.
"It's not like that, babe!" Vinnie now seemed to be trying to walk back his previous comment. "I mean, you're one of a kind! You're amazing! But he's just another guy, we know almost nothing about him-"
"Just like you guys knew almost nothing about me but you guys took a chance anyways."
"I mean, yeah, but he isn't some super-hot babe who offered up help—OW!"
Jason tried to ignore the sound of repeated slapping and punching as he approached what he assumed was Modo's ride. Of the three, it's appearance seemed the most conventional—closely resembling a mid 2000's Honda Valkyrie. It was a beast of a bike in size, with a massive engine soaked in acres of glitzy chrome. It's fenders and fuel tank painted a brilliant iridescent blue, ocean-like in it's scale. It had ape-hanger bars, jutting straight upward, and it's black-leather seat was almost couch-like in size. It dwarfed the other bikes—it looked bigger than some cars. Jason got closer and looked over the gauge cluster. He noticed it had some conventional dials, like a tachometer, a speedometer, and an engine-oil temp reader. There was also what appeared to be a digital screen smack in the middle, on the chromed cross brace between the front tire's inverted fork suspension. He jumped when the screen came to life.
HELLO JASON, it read in solid block white letters.
"Um, hello?"
"By the gods, Charley-girl, Vinnie isn't even putting up a fight! Calm down." Modo seemed to be trying to hold back his laughter at the altercation happening upstairs.
"Wait, how do you know my name?" Jason was talking to a motorcycle. He felt confused, which is now normal. He felt very normal.
MORTIMER MY RIDER HAS TOLD ME ABOUT YOU MY NAME IS (LIL' HOSS), the letters on it's name were flashing.
Modo talks to his bike. The bike is now talking to me. And Modo's real name is Mortimer. I wonder what Vinnie's real name is. Could it be Vincent?
"Are you some kind of an A.I.?"
YES, I AND THE OTHERS WE ARE AWARE
Jason felt an instinctive unease, like he was now suddenly being watched. He looked at the other bikes. Both of their fronts were now turned, their headlights pointing straight at him.
Holy shit.
A beeping sound brought his attention back to Lil' Hoss.
DO NOT BE AFRAID WE KNOW YOU ARE A FRIEND
"How do you know I am a friend?"
CHARLEY-GIRL TOLD US SHE TAKES GOOD CARE OF US SHE IS A GOOD FRIEND
The other two bikes beeped in agreement.
Oh dude this is so fucked. Well at least Charley-girl put in a good word for me.
"Do the other's have names like yours?"
YES THE ONE THAT IS THROTTLE'S IS NAMED (NIGHTSTER) AND THE ONE THAT IS VINCENT'S IS NAME (HARLEY)
Harley? Another girl's name?
WAS THAT YOUR BIKE?
"The wrecked one? Yeah."
WE ARE SAD WE ARE SORRY MAYBE CHARLEY-GIRL CAN FIX HER LIKE SHE FIXES US SHE CAN FIX ANYTHING
"Listen, let's at least give him a chance. We'll put him through the trials." Throttle now sounded like he now issuing an order.
"Trials?" Charley's voice bore the exertion of being held back by someone, probably Modo, and probably for the purpose of keeping her from wailing on Vinnie.
"For new recruits, Charley-ma'am. To see if they're up to snuff. But I don't think he'll make the cut." If Modo was the one holding Charley back it sure didn't sound like it. But then again, he looked large enough to toss ship's anchors like horseshoes.
"I guarantee he won't pass what I have in store for him—OW! Stop, babe, you're actually hurting me this time—DAMNIT OW!"
VINCENT DOESN'T HAVE MUCH FAITH IN YOU
Vincent it is. This is too cute. Mortimer, Vincent, Theodore. I'm dying.
WE HAVE FAITH IN YOU
"And why is that? I don't even have much faith in myself to be honest."
WE HAVE HEARD YOU TALK AND WHAT IS ALSO SAID OF YOU YOU HAVE A GOOD HEART BUT YOU ARE HURTING
Great. Now I'm getting life coached by a fucking motorcycle.
THEY CAN FIX YOU THEY CAN FIX ANYTHING
Fix me? How can you fix something that is utterly broken?
Fix a broken man. Heal invisible wounds. How can they...
"I'll stay as long as I can. I guess it depends on whether or not I pass these 'trials' they have planned for me."
YOU WILL PASS BECAUSE YOU HAVE A GOOD HEART
BECAUSE EVENTUALLY WHEN YOU ARE SO HURT AND BROKEN DOWN THAT YOU CANNOT GO ANY FURTHER
THEY WILL HELP CARRY YOU THE REST OF THE WAY
BECAUSE THEY WILL KNOW YOU WILL DO THE SAME FOR THEM
BUT FIRST YOU NEED A RIDE AS A NEW MEMBER OF OUR FAMILY
WILL IT BE THE BROKEN ONE? OR WILL IT BE SOMETHING NEW?
'Lil Hoss tilted its headlight towards what appeared to be something hidden under a large, black cover. It was clearly a motorcycle, but of what model Jason had no clue. Before he could uncover it he heard boot-steps from the nearby staircase. There stood Throttle, arms crossed; standing like a principal waiting for an unruly student to enter his office.
"Well, you can come up whenever you're ready," said the shaggy mouse, bearing no expression.
Jason turned back to look at the mice's rides. They were back in their resting position, as if they had never moved at all. Jason wondered if it was all some hallucination. His suspicion was dashed the moment he looked at Lil' Hoss's screen.
RIDE FREE, it read.
When Jason walked back into the living room he felt an almost palpable tension in the air, and for once it wasn't caused by himself.
Throttle took a seat on one of the vacant chairs. The other three were all sitting on the couch, Vinnie and Charley sitting at opposite ends with Modo—against the laws of spacial relationships—sitting between the two as a buffer. Vinnie now spotted a few fresh lumps on his head, and what wore what will eventually turn into a black-eye. Charley looked pissed, and Modo looked like he just wished everyone would calm down.
"You ok, Vincent? Looks like you fell down the stairs," said Jason with a hint of humor in his voice.
The look Vinnie gave Jason made his blood curdle. The earlier fury that seemed almost funny in it's awkwardness was replaced by what appeared to be a real hurt. Jason feared his remark may have crossed a line. Instead of lunging at him Vinnie coldly replied, "you haven't earned the right to call me 'Vincent', recruit." There was extra venom at that last word.
"So, uh, heh, as Vinnie just said, you're our newest recruit. So, uh, congrats!" Throttle seemed to be forcing his enthusiasm.
"Recruit? So I guess I have to pass some sort of test to be a full-fledged member?" Jason knew this already, but felt that at least it would polite to play dumb and not indicate to them that he had been sort of eavesdropping.
"That's right. We're gonna put you through your paces, to make sure you're the kind of guy who can be one of the bros. We all had to go through it, so don't think of it as some kind of hazing ritual for non-martians," said Modo.
Charley did not look happy with this decision, "I don't remember going through some set of trials, guys, and aren't I in your exclusive club? Or is it guys only?"
"Charley-ma'am of course you're a freedom-fighter. You proved yourself time and time again, we had no need to do our normal routine. But Jason here," Modo waved his robotic hand over to Jason and continued in his polite tone, "Jason is still an unknown to us. Don't get me wrong, bud, I'm glad you want to help us, and I'm pretty sure we all here are glad to help you, but to be one of us you gotta walk the walk. I'm sure if you're half the man that Throttle seems to think you are then you'll get through it, but it won't be easy." Jason remembered Modo's earlier doubt of him being able to make the cut. It hurt.
"What does this training consist of?"
"First we'll get you back in shape," said Throttle, "and when we think you're ready for it we'll put you through our trials."
Jason winced slightly at Throttle's remark. Sure, he wasn't fat, but admittedly he was a far cry from his former self. There was some paunch, is all.
"Trials? What does that mean, exactly?"
"Each of us will have some sort of event, a one-on-one set up. We'll test you on the tenants of the freedom-fighters ethos, our code. Pass all three and you're in."
"And how long will all this take?"
"As long as it needs to, but probably a couple of weeks... maybe three," said Throttle.
"Three weeks? That's awful quick. And that'll get me all chiseled and badass like you guys? How? What the fuck are you guys eating—because I don't think you get the body of a WWE wrestler from just chilidogs and rootbeer."
"Remember? We're aliens? We got the technology, dumbass?" Vinnie seemed to be losing patience. It was clear to Jason that his hostility might be a problem for him down the road. He probably shouldn't have given him such a razzing earlier.
"Vinnie, I've had it up to here with your negativity—" Charley was starting to get mean again. But Vinnie didn't flinch, it seemed like he was starting to get mad.
"Negative? Are you kidding me? We're on day two with this guy and now we're gonna let him join in like we're one big happy family?" Vinnie's upper lip was quivering, his face a dike holding back a roiling ocean of emotion, "we had guys and gals we knew for years, years, that lost everything, that died before they had a chance to join our brothers and sisters, and I would trade a thousand Jasons before I give up a Runner or a Nightshade-"
"Or a Harley?" Jason didn't mean to say the name, it slipped out subconsciously.
The human, it seemed, had touched a very sensitive nerve. Upon his utterance Vinnie seemed to run through a succession of emotions in the span of a couple of seconds. First, his ruby red eyes went wide with shock, then his face shifted into a look of confusion, and then it contorted into white hot anger.
Jason knew he had fucked up, the Vinnie that he had wrestled with earlier was more annoyed than angry at his ribbing. This was a wounded Vinnie, the name he had uttered seemed to cut into the white mouse.
"Who told you that name?" he asked with a strain to his voice. Everyone else in the room was on edge; Jason knew he had to be very careful with his next few words or Vinnie was going to erupt.
"The bike named Lil' Hoss—it talked to me."
Modo looked shocked, his one good eye lighting up with a flash of red. "My bike? It talked to you?"
"Y-yeah, the other bikes were lookin' at me, too. I don't know... I just, walked up to them."
Vinnie's anger that seemed so close to erupting just as suddenly faded, but the hardness in his gaze did not falter.
"Fine, alright...ok" Vinnie's tone was now measured, place his next words carefully to maximize their impact. "You wanna join us? Huh? Fight the good fight? Be a good little human? Fine. I'll make sure you sing for your supper." Vinnie stood up and walked up to Jason, the white mouse's eyes boring a hole through the man's skull. "Because I'll tell you something, friend-o, you're trying to get into the tightest knit group of bros on this side of the galaxy." Vinnie poked a gloved finger into Jason's chest.
"Earn this," said the white mouse. And then he left the room, walking into the garage in a huff.
Charley looked at the other two mice in confusion, Throttle and Modo gave her helpless glances in return. She then hopped out of her seat and quickly followed Vinnie.
Jason was shaken slightly, he was certain that he had just avoided a catastrophe. "What the hell just happened? Did I just fuck up?" he asked out loud, to no one in particular.
"Not really, you just surprised us. Our bikes tend to be very... selective with those they like," said Modo. He walked up to Jason and patted him on the arm, nearly doubling the human over. "As to the why: you'll find out soon enough." And with that Modo left as well.
Only Throttle remained. He seemed nervous, almost as if doubting his own decisions. The shaggy-furred mouse scratched at a spot at the side of his head, readjusted his sunglasses and coughed quietly.
"Well," he said, "when Charley-girl comes back you two'll go shopping, gotta get you geared up, and then get you a ride. Training starts tomorrow. You got what you wanted, a chance."
"Thanks," said Jason. "To be honest, I don't think I'm all to welcomed though."
"We'll see. If you give it your all and give us some time, we'll see. On that note, I do have one more question."
"What is it?"
"What's the deal with that saxophone?"
Jason laughed.
So, that's it for this chapter, hopefully I can get the next one up sooner than a goddamn month. I have the first couple of pages written down, and it'll be on our coming antagonists. Also, some news for Throttle that will be very surprising, also some more Vinnie/Charley. Also, what the fuck is going on with that saxophone? FIND OUT SOON.
I had been listening to a lot of Lazerhawk recently, and the name of this chapter is also the name of one of his songs. Check it out, it's on the album SKULL AND SHARK; it has a grim, ominous tone to it that seems kind of jarring to the title which for many people would seem to think of as positive. There's also another song on that album that inspired the title of this story.
Anyways, a thank you to anyone who has stuck with me and not gotten bored yet. Next chapter will be FINALLY getting out of the goddamned garage, and into the plot. Things will pick up. Love you all.