Danny sat on the sofa of the Last Chance's living space, her knees pulled up to her chest while watching a movie on the television. After Throttle and Vinnie had left the garage to stake out Limburger's hideout to find out more about whatever new scheme he was up to, Charley offered Danny the downstairs shower. Danny thought about protesting at first, but the idea of a hot shower and washing off the grime she was sure seeped through her clothes and onto her skin last night was an all too tempting offer not to take up. Charley had also offered Danny some fresh clothes after she finished her shower: a long sleeved red and grey baseball shirt and blue jeans without any rips or stains. Danny at first wanted to decline the offer as she had packed her own clothes, but Charley had insisted on the teenager wearing what was provided to her. Something about what she had not being appropriate due to the weather and the many holes and tears. When Danny got a better look at what Charley had offered her, she was hard pressed not to turn down the provisions. And she was glad she didn't: not only did the borrowed jeans and baseball shirt fit her perfectly, but Charley seemed to have similar tastes in clothing and in colors. It also helped that the clothes Charley selected for her smelled like they just came out of a dryer and not from the hamper after a long day of sweating and other activities Danny did not want to think about.
After showering, changing, and enjoying a meal of scrambled eggs with hot dog links (it was the most readily available meat which Charley had in large supply of), Danny was guided to the living room upstairs where she was given free reign of the sofa. Charley brought out a couple pillows and a spare blanket from her room, allowing Danny to use the couch as a temporary bed. Danny dug through her duffle bag, looking for the spare pack of cigarettes she had brought from her apartment last night. After everything that happened yesterday, and that morning, she figured a smoke would be good way to calm down. She realized that there was no cigarette carton in her backpack or duffle bag when she searched for it, causing her to frown. The carton most likely fell out from her bag on the journey over, or she didn't pack a carton like she thought she did. Danny shrugged it off. She was trying to wean herself off from tobacco completely and perhaps this was a sign she needed to go cold turkey. But she still needed something to take the edge off her stress levels and forget about what she went through for a while, and the nicotine withdrawal was not helping her situation. She grabbed a remote control nearby and turned on the television. After flipping through infomercials and TV Evangelists, she got lucky and found a channel that was playing Star Wars: A New Hope. She briefly glanced around and realized she was even luckier: nearby were a couple of pencils and some blank paper. She grabbed the materials and placed the stack of paper on her thighs while the movie was on, multitasking between watching and sketching.
Unfortunately, even sketching and watching fights with laser swords were not enough to keep Danny's mind from wandering. She had realized that she did not think out her plan thoroughly. She was so focused on just finding the Biker Mice and getting out of her environment that she didn't think over what would happen afterwards, and that the hard part wasn't over. It wasn't just the matter of finding out why the main villain wanted her dead and stopping him. No, that would be the finale and everything would be wrapped up in a nice package. There were other details that needed to be ironed out that she didn't think about. Danny didn't want to say anything, but she had overheard the conversation the four were having in the other room. It was kind of hard not to hear them, seeing as the three Martians had loud, booming voices and no sense of volume control, and that the garage walls weren't that thick. She knew staying with them was only a temporary solution, and that she'd most likely be sent elsewhere to live after the mission was complete.
I can't believe they'd actually consider getting rid of me and that I'm only here on a temporary stay. Shit like this never happened any of the X-Men, Star Wars, or Justice League stories!
Danny sighed and tossed the pencil onto the coffee table in front of her, then leaned back against the sofa. Too much was going on for her to concentrate on either sketching or watching the movie simultaneously. She tried to focus her attention onthe movie, and the lack of cigarettes to calm her nerves was not helping. She couldn't stomach the thought of being sent away after all she went through just to find them. She had survived almost being gang raped by members of her sister's boyfriend's gang, a missile blast to her bike, being held at gunpoint, being held hostage, being held at gunpoint AGAIN, being abandoned by what little family she had, and also narrowly surviving falling from her apartment window. Surely after everything she survived from that day and before meeting the Biker Mice, they wouldn't allow her to suffer anymore. Why would they consider after all this letting her go when she hasn't even been with them for a full day? These issues were definitely not covered in her comic books.
This is so not what I was expecting. Danny sighed. After everything I've been through for the past almost fifteen years of my life, especially after the last twenty-four hours, shouldn't that be more than enough for me to have my happy ending? Danny placed her sketches on the coffee table by her discarded pencil. Maybe if I knew more about what that expired fish bait was up to, I could sabotage whatever he's up to. Prove to those mice tha-
"How's the movie, Little Lady?"
Danny almost jumped out of her seat when she heard that question being asked of her. She turned her head to her left and saw Modo standing by the entrance way. He held up his hands in defense when she jumped up.
"It's only me, Danny. Sorry for scaring you. Guess you were really into that movie. Thought maybe you'd like some company?"
"Oh. S-sure. Lots of room on the sofa." Jeez, Danny. You need to stop being so damn jumpy.
He smiled at her and made his way to the sofa and sat next to her. When she felt the weight of his body on the sofa, she one of the cushions she sat on rise up. Was he standing at the doorway the whole time and she just didn't notice until he spoke? Did he hear what she was thinking, or sense her fears for that moment? She didn't say her thoughts out loud, but she felt as though the Mice, especially Modo, knew what she was thinking before she even though it herself. Were they mind readers, or was she just overthinking things?
More to the point, the sudden jolt that went through her body caught her off guard. She felt it before whenever someone was about to hurt her. But unlike with Keith, her grandparents, or others, the jolt wasn't followed by the instinct to either run away or put up a fight. She didn't say anything when it happened, but when Modo placed his hand on her shoulder earlier and came to her defense after the motorcycle incident she felt that same jolt go through her body, followed by a warm sensation. She knew that she was safe as long as she was with Modo, but it still didn't explain the surprise jolts were followed by the strange warm sensation, or why she was feeling jolts at all.
Okay body, what the hell gives? First you make me jumpy and then you go all warm on me. What's going on? Danny paused for a moment. It was shock. Yeah…that was it. He caught me off guard. That's all it was.
"You alright, Danny?"
"Hmm?" Danny turned to look at Modo.
"You didn't answer me when I asked you about the movie and you were pretty quiet. Something wrong?" Modo paused. "Wait, you don't need to explain. I think I know what it is."
"You…you do?" Danny blinked.
"You're worried about everything that's been happening and if we'll be able to stop Limburger, and that Throttle and Vinnie are alright." Modo reached over with his flesh arm and gave Danny's other shoulder a gentle squeeze. "My Bros know what they're doing. As for Limburger, we've defeated that overinflated piece of bait before. You're in good hands."
"Oh. Yeah…yeah that's it. And…I guess I'm still trying to believe that all of this is happening, and this isn't some crazy dream."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, just yesterday I was living on a dirty carpet floor, telling others where to pick up junk to get all loopy and nuts, and just trying to survive in a crazy neighborhood where everyone spits on you just because you exist. Now I'm here, caught up in an ongoing battle against survival from evil aliens who are trying to suck our planet dry then move on to the next one. And I'm the key to bringing down their empire. It feels like I'm Luke Skywalker from the Star Wars trilogy…but in a dystopic world like in Terminator."
"I noticed you make a lot of references to comic series and a lot of films set in the 1980s. Why is that?"
"Is it bad that I like these things?" Danny eyed Modo cautiously. She had a sinking feeling at the bottom of her stomach when he asked her that all too familiar question. If I got a nickel for any time someone gave me crap about liking "boy" stuff I could buy my own damn house by now.
"No, not at all. You like what you like. Personally, I'm more of a James Bomb kind of guy. I mean, when you've a survivor of mass genocide and have been a soldier for as long as I have, films like Star Wars make you numb because of how they treat the issue of war and interplanetary invasion. Spaceships flying and shooting at each other, space stations blowing up, duels with glowing swords, the always epic battles of good versus evil…now I like stories like these too, but the creators and audiences can never see beyond the surface. People like Lucas treat the whole rebelling against an evil occupier from another planet like it's all some game. What they don't realize is that there's so much more to it than just shooting up bad guys and blowing up his castle or command station. The aftermath of it all is even worse than the battle itself. The loss of friends you've grown up with, rebuilding your life from the ground up…and after everything you've seen and survived, you're never completely the same again." Modo paused. "Wait, where was I going with this?"
"You were asking me why I like these over glossy science fiction films of spaceships blowing up giant space stations and fight scenes with swords that glow in the dark," Danny answered in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I mean, who doesn't love a good action film about a hero from the middle of the nowhere believing he was never meant for anything more than to do someone else's grunt work, only to find out he was destined for greater things? To top it off, traveling to different worlds, cruising through space…" Danny felt her voice getting softer as she kept speaking to hide the fact her voice was breaking, and fight the tears that were forming in her eyes. "To have the ability to stop those who use their power to hurt people instead of protecting them…to find out that, after being kicked and exploited over and over, you belong somewhere..." Danny paused, then vigorously wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve. She was not going to let anyone see her cry no matter what. "Damn…there sure is a lot of dust in here, isn't there? I think it's affecting my eyes."
"Sorry about that. The air vents here are pretty old, but Charley-ma'am hasn't had the time to fix them." Modo gave Danny's shoulder another squeeze. "It's okay if you like this stuff. No one's gonna think any less of you for it, especially me. If you like it, then that's all that matters."
"R-really?" Danny eyed him. "You don't think it's weird that I like stuff like sci fi comics and other stuff like it, even though I'm a girl?"
"…why should your being a girl matter?" Modo asked, confused. "You like what you like. As long as it's not hurting anyone, or letting it run your life, I don't see the harm in them."
Danny blinked, processing what Modo told her. No one had ever told her that it was okay to like the things she did, though it didn't stop her from doing so. Everyone told her the same thing: girls were to be docile, domestic, and be focused on obtaining a man and having as many children as possible and as young as possible. To deviate from that expectation were always with harsh consequences: the loss of a favorite toy, a week without food, being beaten all over with whatever object was available, or forced to sleep in a dark room. But by far the worst, and her offender's most favorite form of punishment, were being made to say over and over that she was sorry to have been born in the first place. Many people, particularly her grandparents, would frequently tell her that she was an abomination that should have been exterminated as soon as she born.
Ironically, it was the same things that brought her so much trouble with her family that were also her saving grace. It was from this genre, which people mocked and ridiculed her for enjoying, that she gained the help she needed to keep her hope and sanity in a society deprived of compassion. So someone telling her that there was no shame in enjoying what she did caught her off guard and put her on the defensive.
"I…can honestly say I never expected anyone to tell me that," Danny said while she looked at him. "I mean, just a few hours ago when I mentioned George Lucas's name you were all rolling your eyes and acting like I'm a nutcase."
"What do you-oh. You mean earlier back at the Scoreboard." Modo paused for a moment. "It was because it felt like when we explained to you what was going on, we were concerned you weren't understanding just how serious the situation was. Believe me, if you were a boy and you were thanking a movie director for being in the center of an intergalactic occupation instead of getting scared and praying you were in a bad dream, we would still react the same way."
"Oh…I guess that did make me sound mental."
"Trust me, Little Lady-it didn't." Modo smiled at Danny. "We get stuck in dangerous situations all the time, and we make jokes about it too. Vinnie's the worst offender of us all. The more likely something is to kill us, the more he looks forward to it."
"He does crazy things all the time, and he says I belong in a looney bin?" Danny scoffed. "The nerve of that guy!"
"Don't take Vinnie too seriously Little Lady," Modo assured. "He shoots off his mouth before he thinks, but he means well in the end."
Danny paused, taking in what Modo told her. It was a speech she was all too familiar with from Raquelle when it came to Keith: he was a good person even when he was hurting everyone around him. Now she was being told that Vinnie was a good person even when he was making those snarky comments. He didn't exactly make a good impression with her, and didn't go out of his way to make her feel welcomed among the group. Hell, he even made the suggestion to drop her off at the circus for good. Then again, he did help save her life on more than one occasion. There were always those types in the hero team as well: the ones who made snarky comments and were jerks on the surface, but their actions demonstrated they were not as self-serving as they acted to be. Maybe that was the type of person Vinnie was. But could she trust that Vinnie was trustworthy after all he said?
Reality is crazier than comics. Now I'm being talked into giving a chance to a guy who made it very clear I'm not welcomed. Or at least joked that I wasn't welcomed…either way, said things to me I don't like. How can he make such a convincing point without even trying? I think I'm turning into my sister...I do not like that thought at all.
"Hey, can I take a look at those?"
Danny blinked, not sure what Modo meant. She looked at where he was gesturing and saw he was pointing at the sketches she had drawn earlier. In everything that was going on she had completely forgotten about her drawings. She picked them up and handed them to Modo. Danny watched Modo skim through each of the sheets of paper and looked at each drawing on each sheet. He had a serious look on his face while he was skimming through her sketches as if he were trying to assess if they were good or not. Danny never had anyone take an interest in her artwork, or at least not a positive interest. No one-her grandparents, teachers, or Keith-would even give her art a glance before saying she had no talent and that she was wasting her time and other things. It did not stop her from sketching whenever she had the time and resources as art was another one of the few things aside from science fiction that made her feel better.
Even so, she still couldn't help but wonder what Modo would feel about her work. She watched his face, looking for any signs of approval or disapproval. What she saw instead perplexed her: instead of smiling or frowning, his mouth was quivering. All of a sudden, he started laughing. Modo fell back against the sofa, laughing loudly. Danny just stared at him, now annoyed and confused instead of nervous.
"Okay, I obviously missed the joke. Just what is so damn funny?"
"One: Language." Modo suddenly stopped laughing and gave a gentle but firm tug on Danny's ponytail. "Two: I know I'm no art critic, but I'm pretty sure Limburger doesn't look like this."
Modo pointed at one of the sketches Danny had drawn earlier. In one of her sketches was their Plutarkian nemesis, Lawrence Limburger, or at least his face. From the neck down, Limburger's body resembled a giant, bloated worm with wrinkles covering his body instead of an alien fish trying to disguise himself as a human. To complete the image, Limburger had a fedora hat on his head, a lit cigar in the corner of his mouth, and was holding a tommy gun in both of his hands. Danny paused, then laughed.
"Oh, that." Danny smiled. "Well, Limburger reminds me of a combination Jabba the Hut from Star Wars. Since he pretty much has the body weight of a Hut, and has a mob boss personality like Jabba, I figured it would make sense to combine the two."
"I think that overstuffed anchovy would make a better Hut than a human," Modo laughed. "Okay, I can get why you drew him as a Hut. But why is he wearing a Fedora, and holding one of those old age guns from the Gangster Era? Last I heard, they don't exist in the Star Wars universe."
"When I first saw Limburger, he kind of struck me as a mob boss kind of guy. Sort of like Al Capone, or Kingpin from the Daredevil comics. A fedora and tommy gun just seemed to complete the look for him." Danny shrugged. "I have a weird imagination sometimes."
"Identity crisis aside, these are really good."
"You really think so?"
"Definitely." Modo gave Danny back her sketches. "You're a really talented artist, Danny. The details you put in with the shading and the folds in the clothing, the lines in the hair and our fur…I don't think most professionals have this kind of talent. Where'd you learn to draw like this?"
"Nowhere really," Danny answered, shrugging her shoulders again. "I just stared as soon as I learned how to hold a pencil and could move it across something. I basically would sketch whenever I could get ahold of whatever paper and writing utensils I could find."
"So you're self-taught? That's even more amazing." Modo smiled. "If you ever made a comic right now, I know I would buy it."
"Really? You really think I have talent?" Danny brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Definitely, Little Lady." Modo picked up one of the sketches. "I'm no art expert, but I know you got talent. I didn't know you could draw like this…or draw at all."
"Yeah…well, the opportunity to talk about it never came up." And no one was interested before, so I didn't think anyone would be interested now. "Speaking of not knowing things, I realized that I know almost nothing about you. I know you came from another planet, but I didn't bother to learn anything after that. What planet did you come from? Why did you come here? Are there more like you? What happened that got you that cyberarm? And-"
"You should let the person answer the first question before you ask another," Modo suddenly cut in, then laughed. "You remind me of Primer."
"Who's Primer?" Danny asked.
"My niece. She was a lot like you when she was around your age. Feisty, always asking questions, hated being left out of something, and she was always getting in trouble." Modo paused. "Not seeking trouble I mean, but trouble had a habit of following her."
"She sounds like someone I'd love to be friends with." Danny smiled. "What she doing now?"
"She, uhh…" Modo paused, then sighed sadly. "It's…some things are just better left unsaid, Little Lady."
"Oh…"
Dany watched Modo's facial expressions. He looked down at the carpeted ground, his arms rested on his legs. Did she commit a taboo by asking this question? She hoped she didn't do anything to upset him and make him want to get rid of her. Modo slowly looked back at Danny, and smiled.
"Don't be like that, Little Lady. You didn't do anything wrong. Now, you were asking more about where me and my Bros came from before Earth?"
"Right!" Danny nodded vigorously. She turned her whole body towards his and prompted herself onto the sofa, resting on her ankles.
"It's actually a long story. First, my Bros and I come from Mars. Before our homeworld became the red desert planet you've seen in a lot of those old sci-fi movies and comics and books, it looked a lot different. We actually had rivers, all sorts of flowers and plants and fish…very different from what you would see today."
"Wait…Mars?" Danny blinked. "Wow…so close by, and I never realized it." There was a pause. "Wow…I wonder what Joseph Samachson would say if he was alive and found out the truth about life on Mars."
"Who's Joseph Samachson?"
"He's the creator of the J'onn J'onzz, also known as the Martian Manhunter from the Martian Manhunter comic series. He's tall, green, and he has a lot of superpowers: super strength, shape shifting, telekinesis, telepathy, and he's good at being a detective and figuring things and people out. I think he's one of the reasons whenever people think of life on Mars they think of green people."
"Okay, the stuff you learned about Mars from comics and movies…forget they exist. They stereotype me and my people." Modo cleared his throat. "Anyway, many years ago, the Plutarkians came to Mars and bought property on our planet to ship back to their home planet. And-" Modo paused. "It's actually a long story, and some is hard to put in words…it might be better if I just show you everything."
"Show me? How can you show me?"
"Easy." Modo pointed to his antennae. "These allow us to transfer emotions and memories to others. I can show you what happened on Mars from the Plutarkians better than telling the story."
Danny reached up to Modo as he lowered his head. She ran her fingers along one of his antennae. When her digits touched the red antennae on Modo's head, it felt smooth, as if it was a mix between leather and skin. The color and thickness reminded her of red licorice, and she had to mentally remind herself that his antennae weren't candy and couldn't be eaten. She felt a soft heat eradiating from the antennae, heating her fingers. Danny's fingers trailed up Modo's antennae slowly up to the tip, and traced the slightly swelled nub at the top in a circular fashion, and then back down. She felt a slight vibration from the tip when she did so, and noticed Modo was staring at her, a slight tinge of red on his face. She watched as Modo gently gripped her wrist with his flesh hand and slowly lowered her arm back to her side.
"Please don't do that, Little Lady," Modo asked, the blush gone. "Our antennae are very sensitive, and it's considered a violation of privacy. It's like if I touched one of your breasts without asking you first."
Danny looked away from Modo. Another lecture about curiosity getting the best of her. It was bad enough she was lectured about being curious from Vinnie, but now she was getting a lecture from Modo. When Vinnie lectured her she was quick to go on the defense, and was sure she would have attacked that white-furred loudmouth if Modo didn't stop her. But when Modo lectured her, what she felt instead was guilt and shame...feelings she hadn't felt for her actions in years. Or at least, that she had pretended not to feel. She did not want to tell the other Mice at the Scoreboard when they found out what she did, but she wasn't happy with helping others provide cocaine and other narcotics to people in the city. It went against what she had embraced in her comics and movies: be a hero and do what is right for the greater good. Unfortunately, being related to someone in the drug cartel left no room for her desire to live up to what she was taught by such characters, and she knew she did not have the weapons or powers to take down those so powerful on her own. So she suppressed those feelings for what she had done in the name of survival. Now that she was in an environment where she wasn't expected to do such things, those feelings she had suppressed for so long were making their way through. And she did not like these feelings one bit, but as she had nowhere to run, it was better to avoid looking at the source. It didn't help that Modo, who was making her feel things she rather not feel, cupped her chin and made her look at him straight in his working eye.
"It's okay, Little Lady," Modo assured her and released his hand from her face. "You're not in trouble. Just keep it in mind for the future."
"So…how does it work exactly?" Danny asked, resisting the urge to touch the antennae again. The guilt and shame she was fighting to keep down was gone and her curiosity returned once more.
"It's really easy." Modo's antennae began to glow, a yellow light surrounding them. "When my antennae touch your head, I transfer my memories to you and you see them live out in your head."
"Whoah…just like a Vulcan mind meld!" Danny paused. "Wait, if you can do that, will you be able to read what's in my head? Because there are thoughts and memories I do-"
"Don't worry, Danny," Modo assured. "It doesn't work like that. We can transfer memories, but we can't read thoughts. You won't have to worry about me learning any secrets or things that you don't want us to know about. You can tell us these things when you're ready."
"Will it hurt me?" Danny asked.
"No."
"Will it hurt you?"
"No."
Danny nodded, then closed her eyes and waited for Modo to visually tell her how he and his friends came from Mars to Earth. She felt the tips of his antennae touch her forehead, and suddenly she saw images of a red desert with an even more red sky. What followed was a slow showing of the strip-mining of their world, to various battles his people fought against their invaders, their escape, their coming to Chicago, their meeting with their human friend Charley, and other adventures they had during the time they were in her city. Seeing these images face to face felt so surreal…as if she had a private screening for a movie or a video game. The streaming of images came to an end and when she opened her eyes she saw Modo sitting at his original position, looking at her.
"W-wow…" Danny was able to say after a moment. "That was…I don't know how to describe it."
Actually, she could. It was as if it came right out of a film that was a cross between the Star Wars trilogy and the Mad Max trilogy. But Danny had decided to not say that out loud. She figured he heard enough fiction references for a while, and would probably assume that something so sensitive as mass genocide shouldn't be compared to film.
"Yeah…it takes time to get used to these mental transfers."
"So, was the war how you, umm…" Danny gestured to Modo's bionic arm.
"Huh? Oh, you mean my arm." Modo flexed his bionic fingers. "Yeah…during a mission, there was an explosion which knocked me right off my bike. I don't remember losing my arm, but I remember the pain from the explosion and falling unconscious from the explosion. When I woke up, I was on a lab table and I had this in place of my real arm. The Plutarkians had kidnapped a lot of other Resistance members, including me and my Bros. They were planning to brainwash us all and turn us all into thoughtless killing machines. If I hadn't woken up when I did I probably would have become one."
Danny got the feeling that there was more about the arm that Modo was feeling, but he couldn't bring himself to talk about. So she did not press him further about it. She reached out to grab his bionic hand and squeezed it, then looked right at him.
"I think it looks cool on you," Danny said, smiling.
Modo blinked and looked back at Danny, causing her to pause, a sudden tightness gripping her heart. Did what she just tell him offend him? She meant that she didn't think any less of him even with his bionic arm and to make him feel better about what happened to him. Did what she tell him made him feel like she was reducing him to a character from the comics and movies she was enjoying? More and more she was starting to feel like looking for him and his friends was a big mistake…until Modo smiled.
"Thanks, Little Lady." Modo gave Danny a pat on her shoulder. "I know what you were trying to tell me…and it means a lot."
"Am I interrupting anything?"
Danny and Modo turned their attention to the entrance way and saw Charley standing there, smiling. Danny realized she was still holding Modo's bionic hand and quickly released it from her grasp and tucked both of her hands between her knees. She looked back at the television, trying to make it look like she was engrossed in the movie that was playing on the screen.
"Not at all, Charley-ma'am," Modo replied casually. "Danny-girl and I were just having a conversation about Star Wars. She even showed me some drawings she was doing. I think we have a budding artist with us."
"Really?" Charley made her way over to the two. "Is it alright if I see for myself?"
Danny paused for a moment, then slowly gave the sketches she had worked on to Charley. Charley skimmed through them, then stopped at one sketch in particular. Danny waited for Charley's reaction, anticipating if she would like or dislike what was being displayed. Charley snorted, then burst out laughing. She obviously found the one where Limburger was redesigned as a Hutt.
"This…this is probably the most flattering portrait of Limburger I have ever seen in my life. And that's saying a lot!" Charley gradually stopped laughing and smiled. "As for everything else…Modo's right: you got a lot of talent."
"You think so too?" Danny perked up slightly.
"Definitely." Charley paused. "Hey Modo, I need your help with a big order I'm finishing up on."
"Sure thing, Charley-ma'am," Modo replied. "Besides, I need to head back downstairs and resume my watch against Limburger's goon army."
Modo sat up and gently patted Danny on her shoulder before making his way from behind the sofa to where Charley was standing. He stopped and looked back at Danny.
"I'll be downstairs with Charley-ma'am if you need me, Danny-girl. You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, definitely," Danny answered. "I have Luke, Leia, and others to keep me company."
"Well, let me know when you've had your fill of helping them and the rest of the resistance take down the emperor and restore freedom to the galaxy." Modo chuckled. "Even resistance fighters need to take a break from it all once in a while."
"Okay. After I help Han and Luke nuke the Death Star and get medals I'll come down and join ya," Danny winked.
"No spoilers!" Modo laughed and followed Charley down to the garage.
Danny couldn't help but laugh from Modo's comment, and watched him follow his female mechanic friend downstairs to the garage. She turned back to the television, trying to make herself get back into the movie. While she wanted to get engrossed in the movie, Danny's mind could not help but wander back to the conversation she heard from the others earlier that morning. With everything that had happened during the conversation, she didn't get the chance to talk to Modo about what she had overheard. Or rather, she didn't have the courage to talk to him about the earlier conversation. She wanted to talk to him about their plans to send her away and see if she could convince him to talk them out of it. After all, Modo was her biggest advocate and the one who had protected her the most since their first fateful meeting. If there was anyone she was sure she could convince to keep her, it was Modo.
But how can I convince them to let me stay? She thought. I know Modo wants me around, but the others aren't convinced I'm a good fit here. I'm no fighter, I never used a gun outside of those plastic ones in arcades, and I know I don't have super strength. I'm pretty street smart and I'm fast on my feet, but. Being an artist and genre savvy
Danny leaned back onto the sofa to ponder her options. She would have to work fast if she wanted to make sure her place in their lives was cemented before then.
Throttle and Vinnie brought their motorcycles to a halt at the warehouse Danny told them about. Throttle thought about deactivating the visor on his helmet, but decided against it. If there was evidence of cocaine or whatever drug being made or packaged here, then he did not want to have any of it enter his system. He was aware the effects it had on people's systems when it entered through their nostrils, and he knew a Martian's olfactory sensors were stronger than a human's. The rain had started picking up again, so whatever evidence of drugs may had been washed away, or muddled up by the water. Still, if there was any way to figure out whatever Limburger was up to he had to start somewhere. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and activated it.
"Keep your guard and visor up Vincent," Throttle ordered. "If there was drug production here, the last thing we need is for it to enter our system and screw up our insides. This place might also have traps set up to keep others out, and there may be some people here keeping watch."
The two mice men proceeded down the steps of the warehouse, moving slowly as the steps were slippery from the rain and there was no handrail for support. Throttle pressed his spare hand to the wall to brace himself while going down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he looked down at the water at the base, covering his booted feet. He grimaced. Even though his feet were protected from the elements, he did still did not like the idea of rain water-especially dirty rain water-sloshing around his boots.
"Ugh!" Vinnie lifted up one of his feet when he felt the rain water slosh around his boots too. "Okay, seriously-would it have killed anyone to put a drain at the bottom? It's like a kiddie pool down here…if you don't mind kids swimming in rain water mixed in with things you don't wanna talk about out loud."
Throttle ignored Vinnie as he felt the door, hoping it would be unlock. Not surprisingly, it was not. Upon kicking down the door, he broke off the doorknob, leaving a gaping hole where it used to be and leaving the door slightly ajar. Pulling his blaster out of the holster on his right leg, he slowly pushed the door all the way open and entered the room, Vinnie trailing behind him. Upon entering, they realized the interior was pitch black. Pulling out a flashlight, Throttle turned it on and used it to first locate a light switch, but the lights didn't come on even after he had located the switch. Shining his flashlight on the ceiling, he saw that someone had removed all of the light bulbs from the light fixtures, and it didn't look as though there were any windows in the room, either. Further investigation revealed that everything in the room was not only removed, but cleaned up to remove any evidence of what had been occurring in this room. There were still a few stains and some residue, however, indicating that it was a rushed job. Without proper lighting, anyone else entering the room for whatever reason could risk unknowingly exposing themselves to leftover toxins.
"If there was any cocaine production – or whatever drug Limburger is hoarding-going on here, these people are making sure to cover it up," Throttle observed. "That reminds me-don't touch anything in here. If there's any residue there's a chance it can get in through your fur and muck your insides up that way."
"The thought didn't get in my brain until now…but trust me; this is one place even I'm not stupid enough to want to touch," Vinnie replied.
"We'd better make this search quick. Even with the helmets on deep space mode I don't want us to be here longer than we have to. Ten minutes tops, then we get out of here."
Throttle and Vinnie searched around the darkened room, being careful not to touch the walls or anything that was out in the open. While there was nothing out in the open, Throttle did not want to take any chances. Personal experience had taught him that nothing was ever what it seemed, and that even the most benine of appearances could be a mask for something more sinister than anything anyone could imagine, including a vacant room. He scanned the entire room with his flashlight, hoping to find anything that would tip him off: drug powder, dried blood, an old cup, ANYTHING to give him a clue as to what's going on or where to go next. SO far, nothing of significance came to his attention.
"Hey Throttle. What if we can't find any clues to what Limburger's up to here?" Vinnie asked as he looked over another room.
"Then we'll try for Limburger tower next. That overgrown anchovy is shipping the cocaine to Plutark, so an order that big would have to be stored somewhere police and regular citizens wouldn't know about. But I want to have all known bases covered just in case."
"Well the sooner we get this done with the sooner we can get the hell out of here," Vinnie said. "I don't like leaving Charley-girl alone with that kid."
"That's why Modo stayed behind: to keep Danny from causing trouble. And he'll radio us if anything comes up," Throttle answered, still examining the building. "Besides, we talked about this Vincent: options were limited. I didn't like that Charley-girl elected to let her stay with her either, but it wasn't like we had other options to fall back on."
"Doesn't mean I have to like what was decided," Vinnie grumbled. "I can live with her being a geek and making references to comics and those cheesy sci-fi movies, but not an annoying smartass who doesn't show the least bit of respect."
"Story of my life," Throttle muttered under his breath. He then turned to look back at Vinnie. "I get how you feel Vinnie; sometimes she makes me want to rip out my own hair. But until otherwise, she's our responsibility."
"Maybe…but I still don't like the idea of leaving her with Charley, even if Modo's there to protect them both. What if us taking that Danny kid to Charley was part of Limburger's plan to make it easier to hunt her down? Even with Modo guarding the two, there's still a chance for Charley to get hurt or killed, and the pest too. Or if not the goons, someone from that kid's drug cartel gang. If someone did something that goes against the gang, they come after you. Once you're in one, you're in it until death. I've seen enough movies to know how it ends." Vinnie paused, and turned to look back at Throttle. "And is it just me, or does Modo seem really attached to Danny? I mean, we all know he's got a soft spot for kids, but his attachment with Danny is…more. Not like, Miranda's law more, but…something else."
"Not the time and place to bring up a touchy subject, Vincent. And like I said earlier: limited options," Throttle repeated. "Besides, we won't be here much longer." Throttle paused and looked back at Vinnie. "Just keep looking for clues."
"I don't know what we're gonna find in a place like thi-" Vinnie stopped when there was a creaking noise, indicating a loose door. "Throttle! I think I found something!"
Throttle rushed from where he was standing earlier and stood by Vinnie's side. Vinnie was at the foot of what looked like an old storage room, most likely where the mixing ingredients and cleaning supplies were kept when not in use. When Throttle stood where Vinnie was, he found two empty large metal barrels inside the storage space, and nothing else. He looked inside the barrels and found that they were empty, but they had black residue inside.
"Oil barrels? Here?" Throttle blinked.
"Storage?"
"Probably. Or they could have made the cocaine in here. It looks like it's been used a lot, and it looks a bit corroded."
"But there's only two of them. If this order is for Plutark, you'd need a hell of a lot more than just two measly barrels to make and shipt it."
"Danny told us that the cartel would switch labs every so often to keep the cops off their trail and make it easier to make and distribute cocaine, right? Obviously they would have more than two barrels to make to sell their product individually, let alone fill a huge order. I'm guessing this is just one of the shifting labs, and these two barrels got left behind in the hurry to relocate."
Throttle bent down on his knees to get a better glimpse at the barrels. The exterior of both were a green color, eroded from years of use leaving rust along the upper and lower parts of the barrels. Obviously these barrels have seen better days, but they were still intact. Other than the color or rust, there was nothing to indicate where it came from. As Throttle was about to remove the flashlight from the barrel, something caught his eye.
"Vinnie, turn the flashlight where I'm pointing it. I think I found something."
Throttle waited for Vinnie to flash the light where he was, then turned his flashlight around. Throttle scraped the barrel with the butt end of the flashlight. The rust started chipping off the barrel, giving him a better look at the mark on the barrel. When he scraped off enough of the rust, a logo that was on the barrel's center became more visible. Throttle squinted his eyes behind his glasses when he was able to chip off enough to read the label: an oval shape, red on the top and blue on the bottom, the logo "STANDARD" on the center and a lit torch through the middle.
"What you find Throttle?"
"This logo. This was the old age logo for Amoco oil." Throttle looked back at Vinnie. "It used to be called Standard Oil, and it was the company that distributed gasoline throughout the Midwest in the early Twentieth century. Before everything was self-serviced, anyone who owned a car or motorcycle would buy their fuel in buckets. This must be one of the barrels the company used to deliver the gasoline before everything was do it yourself. Guess one of the gang members worked for the company in the old age and held on to the barrels, or some members rummaged and found some at one of the old abandoned fuel stations."
"So the ones contributing the gas to make the junk are working for this company?"
"Not really. These are old, so it's unlikely Amoco is taking part. At least now we have an idea of how they're making the stuff."
"That's great and all, Throttle…but it's not getting us any closer to finding out what Limburger wants with all that cocaine and where it's being delivered to. That over bloated fish bait wouldn't think about having it delivered to his building; it'd be too obvious."
"That bothers me to-" Throttle stopped in midsentence. "Did you hear that Vinnie? Someone's coming. Might be one of the gangbangers who make the stuff."
"Good. Maybe we'll get some answers from one of them." Vinnie started cracking his knuckles.
"No, Vincent."
"But-"
"We don't know for sure if it's one of them. We need to lay low and find out first. If we're discovered we'll fight then, but only if we have to. We may be able to overhear something valuable."
Throttle grabbed Vinnie by his bandoleers and dragged him inside one of the other rooms, most likely storage room where supplies were kept, and hid himself and Vinnie there. Almost as soon as he did so, Throttle heard footsteps descending down the stairs. He clenched his left hand into a fist and placed his right hand by his holster, preparing for a fight if he needed to. The footsteps grew louder, followed by distinctly male voices. He decided to wait and let them speak, hoping to find some valuable information.
"Hey, someone got here; the door was kicked open!" One of them said. "You think cops were here?"
"Doubt it; there's no yellow tape. Probably some dumbass hobo looking for a dry spot from the rain."
"Yeah, someone was here alright. One of the old barrels was moved and it's lying out."
"Maybe that hobo was looking for some rags to wash or hoping there would be some old pills or drugs lying around; who knows what goes on their heads. Anyway, let's just grab the two barrels and get the hell out of here."
"Why do we need these damn barrels anyway? The coke's already made and ready to ship; do we need to make more already?"
"Boss says there's too much of the product to ship little by little without tipping off cops. We're gonna use the barrels to hold it all. C'mon-the sooner we get to the warehouse where it all is, the sooner we can get our money. Then after that we gotta find Spelling's little runner. Joe wants to make her pay personally for bruising his balls before the boss deals with her personally."
"But wouldn't she have gone with Spelling and his hoe when we were ratted out by one of the other runners?"
"Doubt it; he was tipped off while she was still in holding so she's out in the city somewhere. The little puta can't hide forever."
"How the boss plan to off her?"
"No idea, but I know he wants her to suffer before he has her bite it. Before he puts her down, maybe he'll let us all take a turn or two with her. I mean, it'll be our last chance to tap dat ass! She may not have those big boobs like that bimbo sis of hers, but I hear Spelling was holding her out until she was eighteen and legal. Something about doing it with a virgin just gets me goin'."
"I hear she's not even fifteen either," the other added in. "That'll make the cherry pluckin' all the sweeter. Which body part of hers do you think'll be better: the boca, the choca, or the culo?"
Throttle tightened his left hand harder, his fist shaking. Even though he didn't understand any Spanish, he was able to understand the gesture of what the two were talking about. He briefly glanced at Vinnie, who also looked like he wanted to beat those two punks to a bloody pulp. If it was hard for Throttle to keep himself in check, he was sure it was even harder for Vinnie, who had less patience and little to no impulse control. After all, it was terrible enough what those thugs were talking about with the cocaine, but making plans to rape and murder a teenager? He just hoped he could hold it together long enough to put an end to whatever Limburger was up to; then he and his Bros could take personal satisfaction in preventing the two from using their body parts for they were bragging about doing.
"Personally I'm more of a culo kind of man, but I like to take a sample of all three from the little puta. C'mon; we're wasting time."
"Still don't get why that much coke is needed for this one guy. Far be it from me to question business, but what does one man insist on doing with over 200,000 pounds of cocaine? He can't plan to use it all for himself."
"Who knows, but when over two million is offered as a down payment, you don't question why someone wants a shit down of deadly waste, 'Ese. You'd think you'd learn that by now."
Throttle listened as the two men left the room while dragging the barrels, listening for their foot prints and metal banging against the steps as they went up the stairs and left, closing the door after themselves. After making sure the coast was clear, he and Vinnie left their hiding spot and looked back at the now closed door.
"Drug dealers, kiddie rapists, and murderers. Limburger knows how to pick 'em," Vinnie spoke under his breath. "Okay, remind me WHY we didn't kick the crap out of them right then and there! We could've made them squeal where their hideout was, then toss them on the porch of a police station while on the way there."
"There's no guarantee beating them up would've made them give up the location Vincent," Throttle answered. It was tempting, but he had to maintain control and focus on the primary objective first. "They probably would've blurted out the first place they could think of to get us to stop. Even if they did give us an honest answer, their boss-whoever he is-would've probably found out that two of his gangbangers were missing and get suspicious, which would've tipped off Limburger. Then our whole stakeout would've been a total bust. Besides, now that we found two of them we can follow them to find out what Limburger is doing with all that coke."
"And then the party begins, right?" Vinnie pulled out his gun, smiling.
"Definitely Vincent. Definitely."
Greasepit laid flat on his stomach on a building roof, looking out through a pair of binoculars at the Last Chance. He was not happy with his situation. He was stuck outside, lying flat on a roof, and it was both raining and cold. Even the grease that would ooze from his body was not keeping him warm. The rain kept washing off the only thing that would protect his body from natural elements, and the grease that would reform never got the chance to warm up from his natural body heat to protect him from the chill of the Chicago winds. Being forced out to the Last Chance for a recon mission in the rain and cold was bad enough, but if it was just that he could swallow it. No, it was more than that. On top of dealing with the weather, he had to put up with the muttering and complaining of the goons he brought with him, who were faring no better from the rain and wind. Many of them were hugging themselves trying to stay warm, or holding up their muscle vests to try to keep the rain from soaking them further.
"Why the boss makin' us wait up here this early in the morning, and in this damn cold?" one goon complained while hugging himself. "The wind is biting my skin and it's raining icicles out here!"
"You're thinking of hail," another goon shot back. "We got no hail; just regular old rain."
"Call it whatever you want, it's still COLD!" the goon complained. "Couldn't the boss let us change into something warmer for this stake out? Or at least let us get some coffee and donuts for the job? We've been up all night without any breaks at all."
"Shut up youse all!" Greasepit turned back to yell at them. "Dis job is hard enough without youse all complainin'!"
"At least tell us WHY we're here Greasepit!" another goon complained. "It better be worth freezing our bits 'n pieces off."
"The boss wants the kid, remembers?" Greasepit answered. "We need to find a way to get her from dem meeses, 'n bring her where da Boss wants her. After wese get da Mice ta follow us, that's when de fun begins."
It wasn't just orders that were making Greasepit put up with his current circumstances though. Even though he was loyal to Limburger, he had a personal motivation to complement his assignment: pride. One little teenager – who didn't even come up to his chest- put him through so much pain and humiliation in one day. It was bad enough when the Biker Mice did these things to him; he could bounce back from being beaten up and humiliated by three mice with physiques near his own size. Even their female companion he could bounce back from. But to be taken down by someone so much smaller than him, who took him out by simply spitting in his eye and then dodging his blows? Humiliating. He would've been able to kill the girl had she not been rescued by the Biker Mice in the nick of time. She completely humiliated him in just one day, and to make matters worse she was under the protection of those mice. They may have been able to protect her the first two times, but Greasepit would make sure that they wouldn't be able to save her a third time. Once his mission was complete and the Biker Mice were permanently out of the picture, he would make sure she would be another casualty after breaking a few bones and knocking out a few teeth. There were three things he knew he was good at: scaring people, hurting people, and killing people. He was going to relish doing the last two of the three on her.
Greasepit looked through his binoculars again back at the Last Chance. He focused his view on the front window, and saw the large grey one called Modo looking through. He wasn't good at remembering names, but he was able to remember the names of the three Martian nemeses. So far it looked as though Modo didn't notice he was there. Greasepit waited a few moments to see what else he would do, and who else would come by. Through the window he saw the black haired teenager come up behind the larger mouse. Modo turned around to her, and it looked like they were talking about something. Greasepit didn't think anything of it; they could've been talking about the weather for all he knew and care. But he also noticed something: Modo was the only one of the three mice at the window. He saw no signs of the ones called Throttle or Vinnie.
"So da big mousie is protectin' da little brat all bys himselves, eh?"Greasepit snickered. "Dis'll make dings so much easiers."
Greasepit watched Modo walk away from the window with the young girl in tow. Now was the perfect moment. Greasepit looked back at his small army, who were still huddling from the chill of the rain and wind
"Now everyone remembers da plan? We nabs the kid 'n takes her wid us back to da place Mister Limburger tolds us to go. I only saw one of dems mice, so this'll make it easier."
"Wait, if it's just one of them why don't we just kill him AND little shit here and now?" one of the goons asked. "It'll be way easier."
"Dose aren't Mister Limboigers orders!" Greasepit yelled. "He needs da brat alives right now, and he wants all three meese live for da 'surprise' he has for them, and sees dem get torn apart himselfs. He'll be really mads if one of dem is deads and he ain't dere to sees."
Greasepit reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable radio, covered in grease. While waiting for the frequency to adjust, he looked down below. Right underneath him, another goon, almost his size, was standing next to a large metal crate while holding a Tommy Gun. Greasepit turned it on and pressed it to his right ear.
"Greasepit to Bammers. Is da 'invitation' ready?"
"Ready, Greasepit. The invitation sounds like it's just wakin' up."
"Den it's time to deliver the invitation," Greasepit chuckled. "Let him out."
Greasepit watched the goon called Bammers unlock the metal box, then immediately retreat behind the metal box and climb up the ladder as fast he could. And not a moment too soon; the front of the metal crate suddenly flew forward and skidded down the alley into the street. Moments later, a large male stepped out, with no clothes aside from ripped pants and shreds of what used to be a muscle shirt, step out. His entire body was covered with blue veins that looked as though they were about to pop out of his skin at any moment. The blue veined man-if he could be called that-arched its head back and let loose a loud, animal like roar and marched forward, grabbed its torn metal door and flung it forward. After watching the door crash into a large dumpster, the creature continued forward, like a feral beast on the hunt for something-or someone.
Greasepit watched from the safety above as the rage with his fellow goons as the creature made its way towards the Last Chance Garage, and snickered.
"Gets ready everyones." Greasepit reached behind him and pulled out his own laser rifle. "It's playtimes."