WARNING: This chapter contains strong language, and scenes of abuse that some readers might find upsetting.
OK here it is, that one chapter I have been trying to write for the last four months. Took me the longest ever run up to get here, and like any bumpy ride it needed a long track to get off the ground. Hence this is a very long chapter, and a really hard one to read (and to write, if i'm honest). I might advise tissues, and I send my apologies now to miceaholic, who no doubt will want to bash me over the head for this one, lol. Sorry!
I just want to thank those of you who have been patient with me during my long spells of writer's block, and an extra thank you to those giving me inspiration in its various forms. And all that artwork (thanks MayaPatch and xStarlitSkyx), please see my profile for links.
I say again, i'm so sorry for this chapter, I really am. Please don't hate me... meeeeeep!
Chapter 38. Brother no more.
Day by day Vinnie's world changed around him. Changes so subtle an outsider would barely perceive them. Changes so profound the familiar would stand back astounded. Changes that to many would seem so small they might be dismissed as insignificant, yet were in fact quite the opposite.
Each day since his night in his master's private quarters something would happen that would edge Vinnie closer to his one and only goal: Freedom. Not escape – he had long given up on that impossibility – but instead the more attainable goal of being allowed something of himself to return. And that one thing he longed for was quite simple. He wanted his voice back, and he would do anything to get it.
Anything.
If he had to endure being the object of the Pit Boss's carnal desires, then so be it. At the end of each day he would follow the man to the upstairs of the castle, and though he hung his head in embarrassment, and tried his best to simultaneously ignore the giggles of the pit crew left behind him, the fluttering in his belly, and the dryness in his sealed mouth, he would hold his hopes ever higher that his reward was coming. Or it would do, if he did what was expected of him.
The whole experience flew hard in the face of everything he had been taught as a young male Martian mouse. And yet, in a strange way, also complimented it. That's what he told himself anyway. Each night, as he bore his master's hefty body upon his own, he would reassure himself by making the connection to a long forgotten past, a life he once had. A life that was infinitely more honourable than this. He would tell himself that this was just like Mars, that it was just like with his comrades, and that this was just part of the process. The process of bonding. A sacred process, now corrupted.
Of course Vinnie's mind had been twisted so much by need and desperation that he no longer saw the act as a violation, and after each session would lift his tear-stained face to the man above him and welcome the scant caress that followed.
The Pit Boss would dry his eyes and pull him close, and rub him and pet him until he soothed. And then he would have him returned to the workshop, if Vinnie had been fortunate enough to fall asleep. If not, then the white mouse was encouraged to go further to show his devotion to his new role, and that's when things stopped making any sense at all.
Or at least Vinnie ceased trying to comprehend them. He drew more parallels with what he knew from his youth, and then having accepted them as such drew his confused and inquiring thoughts to an end. It no longer mattered why the man wanted him to do such odd things; he wanted him to and so he did them, end of story.
It was without doubt that the Pit Boss was not a one-dimensional thug like the men he employed; his motives and actions were complicated and underwritten by hidden nuances of his true character, so much so that even those who had known him the longest did not try to unravel them, and certainly did not pretend to try to understand him.
He was clever, controlling and sadistic, and at his simplest a pervert. In the environment he had created in the Pits he was terrifying and omnipotent. Like a chess player he controlled his pieces with such forethought he could almost predict an outcome from his very first move.
And so it came to pass that he had his kingdom, his crew, his slaves, and the three mice he had so desired, and in particular he had the one he had most sought after right where he wanted him.
And now that he had him there, he was going to make damn sure he was put to good use.
Those times that Vinnie did make it back to the metal shop he would resume his place under Wes's care, and with the daily needs dealt with he would be taken out again and put to work. He would complete his tasks and then find himself back at the foot of the granite throne, and a new set of duties would begin. The same set each evening, the same each day, variation only in the details of their enactment.
Thus each day would go by, and the moment that Vinnie hoped for would draw closer. One small change per day, one step nearer to freedom.
How long had he been down here now? he wondered. There was no night and day, no variation between activity and inactivity. Nothing to mark the passing of time at all in this wretched place. Just the continuous periodic cries of despair, the screams of pain, and the banging of doors to indicate when one of those would end and the other begin.
His own means of transitioning between the two had not yet opened once. It stood stubbornly shut, unmoving and unyielding, a constant barrier between his existence and theirs.
His bros. Had they forgotten him? Had he been erased from their minds like he had from the world above? Did anyone remember he, and they, existed at all?
Throttle had plenty of time for these questions to be asked again and again in his mind. He lay there in his tiny, windowless, lightless cell, pressed between the solid stone walls and bare rock floor, unable to leave, scarcely able to move. The pit crew had ensured his long wait in the bowels of the castle be as uncomfortable as possible; they had seen him soundly beaten before being thrown in, and with no space and no bedding the bloodied mouse was forced to lie on an increasingly dirtied floor. Occasionally a slot in the bottom of the heavy door would open and a shallow dish of wetted food be slid in. His only sustenance.
The mouse had tried his best to avoid soiling himself and his wounds, and after the first few meals had pushed that dish back out re-filled. Whoever was outside obviously didn't approve and the next time the dish appeared it was as he had left it, and Throttle had quickly gotten the hint. Each time the dish appeared it became harder and harder for him to consume its fare, not because of what it was (the usual prison glop) but because of what it became. It became more difficult for the wasted mouse to decide if it really was worth it any more. What was the point in eating when he might not ever see beyond these walls? If he was meant for a slow death, cushioned by his own filth, then he would rather quicken it and be all the cleaner when it came.
Then the slot in the door would draw open again, and Throttle was forced to stare at the appalling choices that he had once more.
The first night with his master had been awful. Vinnie must have sobbed for well over an hour afterwards, his body wracked with the terrible combination of pain and shame, both of which slowly dissipated into the gentle embrace he was given to soothe him. By the time he had calmed he was almost asleep, and could barely feel himself being lifted and carried out from the dorm and passed into the arms of one of the waiting crew. Or another slave. Vinnie never knew who it was because the exhaustion had finally overcome his senses.
By the time he awoke it was on his straw pile in the little workshop. The woollen blanket had been pulled over him and he felt noticeably warmer with it. Vinnie buried his nose in the fabric and inhaled; it was a familiar and comforting smell, vastly different from what he had had to breathe in earlier. There were other scents, too, of antiseptic and soap, which the mouse knew meant he had been bathed since his return.
To his relief the smell of his master had been washed away, but even so he could still feel the man on his skin, and inside where it continued to hurt him considerably. He wondered if Wes had attended to that as well, flushing him in the usual manner, or if he had been ordered not to? He wondered just what exactly the metal-moulding man thought of him now. Surely he knew what had become of him up there in the castle? Did it make any difference to him, knowing that no matter what the changes on the surface, deep down Vinnie was just as much as a slave as anyone else?
But not like anyone else. He was something more now, he reminded himself, just like the man who tended to him. They weren't identical, but they were the same. Vinnie also wondered if Wes had ever been subjected to their master's strange affections. It was unlikely, the welder seemed to have almost been given to the head of the pit crew, Flint, and his closer cronies to play with at their own leisure. If there was one thing Vinnie had worked out about his master, it was that he didn't like sharing.
The biggest clue to that came in the form of his next reward. Vinnie might not have thought much of it beyond the obvious, but when his carer drew back the blanket to check on his patient his comment about it was telling.
"That'll protect you from more than the cold" the man had said, lifting the old cotton shirt to clean the wounds on his chest where the manacles had dug in.
Vinnie swallowed, averting his eyes from the man so that he couldn't see what he was feeling flashing across his face. It was a mixed bag; there was the embarrassment and shame, the pain and the hurt, the uncertainty and confusion – all of which were expected – but then there was also something else. A little bit of pride. Even as Wes removed his trousers so that he could dab the torn flesh beneath his tail with ointment, and even as he murmured something about the practicalities of stitching such a location, Vinnie increasingly felt that tiny glow of pleasure in knowing he had satisfied his master, no matter the cost to himself.
When Wes had done his duties to his charge and began his work for the day, a knock at the door signalled the mouse's own job was to start. Like in the previous days he was to shadow various members of the crew and guards, and under their watchful eye he was to take his place in the administration of the slave mine.
Many of the slaves still had no idea what was to be the next chapter in their lives in the Pits, but for the time being it was as if little had changed. Each day they were led out into the mine as usual, and required to continue their work in breaking the heavy rock and carting it off to various locations around the prison and the castle. Rumours flew that the Pit Boss desired a second castle, or a larger prison, or a larger space in which to build. More chilling gossip carried the idea that they were building something worse, something that might be used to ensure their suffering continued until the very end, and that this place might even facilitate that end.
Vinnie overheard the crew themselves musing over the Pit Boss's plans for his slave colony and the mine. What he heard was that something of value had been discovered down here in the caverns, and that there was money to be earned from the slaves' hard labour. To him this seemed like a very likely scenario; having spent years fighting off Limburger's attempts to pillage the city's natural resources it only made sense that the land still had much to offer, being as it had been so attractive to the foreign fish in the first place.
Whatever was going to happen didn't concern him though. The white mouse was focused on his given task, which was to oversee the slaves and make sure they weren't distracted from their work. Control stick in hand Vinnie gazed down upon the mine with determination. He was going to make sure he did his duties well, for he yearned for another chance to please his master, and take himself a step closer to his ultimate reward.
That night was his second in the upstairs room of the castle. On top of the previous session's wounds this time felt like torture, and instead of silent tears there were distinct, if muffled, yelps coming from Vinnie's smothered throat. But it wasn't so bad; the mouse knew that when it was over there would be something less rough in store for him, and if anything he suspected his master had hurried things along a little to reach it.
Whilst Vinnie let it all out the Pit Boss adjusted him in his arms into a cradle position. He rocked the crying white mouse for a while, and Vinnie soon calmed down and the tears stopped. He was given a few more minutes to settle, and then finally the man spoke.
"Open your eyes my pet, I have something special for you."
The crooning words of his master had Vinnie snap alert in an instant, and there above him he saw in the Pit Boss's grubby fingers what he had wanted to see for so long.
The little scissors made short work of the threads in his lips, but to his disappointment only two of them were cut. Two stitches just to the right of his buck teeth, and once they were severed the Pit Boss explored the new hole with one of his grimy digits. He seemed quite satisfied with his work, and shifted his slave into a new position. One which Vinnie had not experienced anything like for the largest part of his life, and would hence forever block from his mind if he had the choice.
"Good boy" once again reached his ears, and he relaxed slightly. It was odd, but it wasn't too terrible.
Just another part of the process, he assured himself. Just another step towards freedom.
Apparently they didn't want him to starve to death. For the first time in his life, and since his incarceration, he experienced what it was like to be well and truly force-fed.
Now the tan mouse knew how his younger bro had felt, and it wasn't at all enjoyable. Poor Vinnie, he thought, how did he manage it? And with his mouth sewn as well...
At least he didn't have to suffer that. Throttle deeply regretted how he had regarded his white-furred friend's punishment, and now with a tube pushing down his own snout he could only feel sorry for what it must have been like for Vinnie to endure. He was getting nutritious food pumped into his belly, but the white mouse had been much less fortunate.
The guards left and the door slammed shut once more. It had been the first glimpse of the dimly lit cell block Throttle had had since being locked down here, and for a brief second he had also been able to see just how dire his current situation was: Very dire.
And the bulge in his belly only further reminded him of how much worse it was going to get.
Several days passed by with the same routine. Vinnie continued to return daily to the wooden workshop so that the welder could attend to his daily necessities; he still required liquefied food plus the anti-emetic to be syringed down his nasal tube, and now with the nightly sessions in the castle there were other matters of the medical kind to be addressed. But these visits became less and less frequent as the mouse's duties in the mine increased, and the duration of each visit now only ever lasted for as long as was needed.
After a week though it became noticeable to Vinnie that there was something missing from all of this. He had not seen either of the other two mice at all, neither in the mine nor their cages; and though he sometimes caught a whiff of the older mouse's scent, fresh as if he had just missed him, the other was distinctly absent from anywhere he went, including the arena and throne room.
He vaguely remembered the looks on their faces the last time he had seen them. They had been stunned, horrified even, and he was surprised he didn't at all feel bad about that. And it didn't even occur to him that Throttle's desperate plea for him to stop might be the reason he had all but vanished from the slave colony. Vinnie was only starting to wonder why he had not seen them, but only because he now wanted to really show them just how far he had come since they had abandoned him.
Then, on the eighth day since he last set eyes upon them, there he was. Modo was in the mine, pulling the heavy carts as if nothing had ever changed.
But something had changed. It wasn't just that the grey mouse was out there on his own, nor that some of his more physical suffering had been relieved, and that his healing was beginning to take effect. It wasn't just those things that made a difference.
It was him. Vinnie had changed; he stood on the crest of the mine wall looking down at the other mouse and swelled at the vast dissimilarities between them. He stood tall and clothed, nourished and cared for. Modo was still just a slave, an animal, a working animal. Nothing but a chained beast. A beast that didn't seem to be working hard enough, Vinnie thought.
The control stick in his hand twitched. Vinnie looked between the grey mouse and his stick, and then up at the guard who was with him today. It was the same man who had once taken delight in tormenting the larger slave, and whom Vinnie had once loathed for it. But not this time. One inquiring look at the man was all it took to confirm it.
The guard quickly pulled out his radio, and soon after several of the crew had gathered around them to watch.
"Go ahead mouse, do your thing" the gleeful-faced guard said, not really needing to give his charge the slight push that he did. "Your master will be very pleased" he added with only a slightly suppressed giggle.
Behind Vinnie there was a small chorus of accompanying laughter. He didn't even hear it, only the words in his mind which were to focus him to his task. One that he knew he would be highly rewarded for.
Deep down in the dark depths of the castle he could hear voices. Excited voices. They drifted through the door to his ears, distant yet distinct all the same.
Throttle lay still as he listened to the guards chatter in the next corridor. He recognised one voice; the head goon must have been doing his rounds, by which he meant picking on one of the other captives to abuse out of sheer boredom.
Sounds like he'll get a reprieve today.
The tan mouse sighed. He wondered which poor soul would be taking his place. From the level of enthusiasm he could detect it was likely to be quite a show, and would probably even be worthy of the Pit Boss's attention . A real source of entertainment for the pit crew, who seemed to suffer from a lack of other amenities to keep them safely occupied. Throttle slapped his tail in disdain. Lucky them, he mused, and unlucky slave whoever you are.
En-route to his load's drop-off point Modo was flagging. It had been a long day in the mine, and though some of his energy had returned since being relieved of his nocturnal duties, not to mention finally being free of that dreadful thing on his sheath, his long interment had taken a significant toll on his body. As strong as he had been, that was long gone. It had maintained him far longer than many, but now he was thin and weak, and falling behind. Soon he would fall and not get up; it was only a matter of time now, he thought dully.
His mind was buried in his own negativities, and Modo was unaware that his consequent slowing had been noticed. Being whipped to speed him on his way was so commonplace though he barely even flinched when he felt the first strike land.
It was the second, and then the third, and then the fourth that drew his eyes upwards. Why would the guards beat him so much that he couldn't even get up to continue his work? It didn't make sense to Modo, until he glanced up to see the source of his over-heavy punishment.
His own blood. Not by birth, but by bond. Vinnie was glaring down at him in a terrifying manner, the small rod dripping red still clutched tightly in his hand and raised above its target, poised to deliver yet another cruel blow.
Modo didn't even know how to comprehend what had just happened, not rationally anyway. There was his bro, his comrade, his friend, standing above him with the same look on his face as he had had the last time he saw him. The same look that had drawn Modo from his stupor just in time to witness that abominable transformation take place. His bro, now a murderer. A monster.
Noo, Vinnie!
Squeaking in fear he hurriedly pulled himself to his feet, and with all the strength he had left he leaned hard into the straps of his harness and willed his body and his legs to keep on going.
But he wasn't going fast enough and he felt more lashes, determined strikes to his heels and thighs, more than just simple motivation.
This was revenge, and he could feel it. His own bro was seeking retribution. He was yearning for his blood. And there was only one person responsible for all this, and it was he that had the final say on the matter.
"Enough!" The Pit Boss had appeared to see the action, and with a wave of his hand the white mouse ceased his beating of the other animal-slave.
Whilst Modo struggled onwards, desperate to get away from this new nightmare he found himself in, Vinnie left the mine and returned to his master's side. He smiled. The man looked very happy with his work, and the cheering of the other crew only added to the growing satisfaction he himself felt. Vinnie dropped to his knees and pressed his face against the Pit Boss, looking hopefully upwards for a sign that this was so. He got it.
"Good boy, mouse. Very, very good."
The malicious man grinned smugly, petting the white mouse's head by his side. Once again he had been spot on. He knew that if he withheld the encounter with the other mouse until the right moment that he would get the desired result. And he had; his new pet had taken the opportunity with great relish, and proved himself loyal to his master whilst also severing ties with his past. There was only one more tie left and the white mouse would be his forever.
"Excellent, in fact. You have earned yourself another chance to please your master. Would you like that?"
The Pit Boss smirked. Of course the mouse wanted it. Vinnie was practically begging to be led into the castle, and had he been so inclined he would have offered himself up right here and now.
"Later, mouse. For now I want you to return to your current duties. Try not to kill anyone today please, I need a decent sized workforce for upcoming projects."
Vinnie nodded and rose to join the other guard back at their station. He didn't even flick an ear to the conversation unfolding between the Pit Boss and Flint as they left for the castle, but instead refocused himself back to the slaves toiling wearily below them.
Stick in hand he waited for one of them to stumble.
"Another day I reckon, then we'll see."
"Do you think he will do it? I mean... do you think the Pit Boss is right about this?"
"Course he is, he has been so far hasn't he?"
"Yeah, well either way it's going to be fun to watch. Another day you say? Great, i'm getting sick of the smell. Dirty fucking rat."
Throttle's eyes flipped open. Even though he hadn't heard much, just the fact that they were talking about them was telling enough. Something was going to happen. In one day something would happen, and even if he didn't know what it was he knew that afterwards things would be different.
It'll all be over soon, he thought. Just one more day and one of us will be free.
Hour by hour his world changed around him. Vinnie woke that morning in the large double to find a pair of boots waiting for him on the floor. He had been meant to receive them a few days earlier, apparently, but other matters had taken precedence over a slave's clothing.
The Pit Boss now stroked his back as he tentatively inspected the heavy rubber soles. It had been so long since he had had anything on his feet he wasn't even too sure what to do with them.
"Go ahead, try them on my mouse. They're just your size... I should know, I spent a long time searching for the perfect set."
Vinnie nodded and slipped each boot on in turn. Though strange, and somewhat claustrophobic, the sensation was slowly becoming familiar again, and he took his first shoed steps around the bed with careful hesitation. He wobbled a little, but eventually got the hang of moving in them, and their weight. It took him a few more minutes to realise these weren't just any boots... but his own.
He threw himself down onto the Pit Boss in joy and nuzzled into him, throaty squeaks indicating his intense gratitude and pleasure. The man laughed and pulled him into an embrace. "You're welcome my pet, a well-earned reward indeed."
Sensing that there might be more Vinnie pushed further to show his affections, flipping himself over and nuzzling hard into the fabric of the Pit Boss's fouled shirt.
"Clever boy" he crooned in response, "You know there's more don't you?"
From his pocket the Pit Boss slowly fished out a small key, drawing out the suspense, and Vinnie upped his muted squeaking in excitement. At last, at long last!
The manacles fell away from his wrists leaving the mouse staring in awe at the furless flesh below. As with his ankles it made him sick at the sight of the raw, welted skin, and he looked away once it had registered that his arms were finally free. To emphasise his appreciation he wrapped his liberated forelimbs around the hefty man's huge waist and hugged tightly.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
"Yes my little mouse, I know. Just one more thing left to give you now isn't there?" The Pit Boss dropped his voice to a whisper, knowing that Vinnie would be paying full attention to his every word. "And you're going to have to do something very special for me if you want your last reward."
The door groaned on its hinges as it was pulled back from the frame. The meagre light of the torches flooded the small space, now exposed, and the huddled figure within cringed at the relative brightness.
This was it, Throttle guessed. They've come for me, it's all over.
"On your feet, rat" the guard ordered, tugging harshly at the chain connected to his neck. "You stink, disgusting animal. Sleeping in your own shit. Now i'm the one who has to clean it all up. What do you think of that huh?"
The man clearly wasn't in a good mood, and Throttle's ribs bore the brunt of his frustrations. It was little mercy that he chose to use his boots instead of a rod, but it was likely he had been told to not do more damage than was necessary. Why exactly escaped him, but he knew there must be some meaning for it.
The tan mouse was dragged down the shadowy corridor for the second, and last time. Beyond its terminus he knew not what was waiting for him, only that he hoped that at its end was his own, for nothing else could possibly be worse than that, surely?
Vinnie had been returned to the little workshop once the Pit Boss had done with him. The welder received instructions via the guard that the mouse was to be cleaned and fed, and some other small preparations for the afternoon. He was to keep him there until then, at which point Wes was to take him directly to the castle.
The slight-framed man sighed as he read the note in his hand, and left for his back room to run another bath. When it was ready he led the mouse through to the sitting room, pulled off his clothing and examined the white-furred body before him.
Soon the mouse was in the tub and the antiseptic soap kneaded into his broken and scarred skin. He noticed that his carer seemed distant, and that the man hardly made a sound as he worked on cleaning him up. Normally Wes would give a running commentary on just about everything he did, but the last few days had said less and less, until today he was practically as mute at his patient.
The welder didn't say anything about the mouse's new footwear, nor about the lack of manacles and the wounds they had left beneath. He didn't make any remark as to the blood oozing from the re-opened tears beneath Vinnie's tail, and simply snorted in contempt as he pulled his small first aid kit from the sitting room desk. He hadn't let these subtleties alter his normal practice with the mouse though; that iron collar was still in place for a reason.
Vinnie stood chained to the wall and gritted his teeth as the man finally gave in and began stitching. He hoped that this would be the last visit he would have to pay the metal shop and its occupant, and despite all the help he had been given here, right now the lack of conversation or compassion really irritated him.
He should be happy for me, Vinnie growled mutely. If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here; I wouldn't be what I am now.
He must have vocalised his annoyance because Wes looked up and caught his eye. But he still said nothing, and merely shook his head sadly and resumed his task. Vinnie wrinkled his face but held back from anything further. Soon enough he would show him. He was something more now, just like he was. He knew who he was, why couldn't Wes just accept that?
The last thing the metal-moulding mouse doctor did for him was to give him breakfast and his meds, and then with one more unhappy glance at the white-furred face before him, Wes pulled the tube from his nose in one, final, smooth motion.
"You probably won't been needing this anymore" he muttered, tossing the slender feeding tube to one side.
Vinnie sniffed hard a few times, and rubbed the tip of his snout to explore his newly freed nostril. He looked up at the man, hoping to convey that he knew he was right, but Wes had already turned away to begin his own work.
So the mouse lay down on his straw bed and waited. His stomach swirled with anxiety; his instincts were telling him that when that door opened he was going to have one, and only one, chance to show his master his complete devotion. And he really didn't want to fail him.
After what had happened yesterday Modo had spent the hours since in a daze. It was hard for someone like him to even imagine that kind of betrayal, let alone be the one to experience it. The closest comparison he could make in his mind was to that of on Mars, where it came from all sides at all levels; species against species; government against populous; friends against friends. The treason committed by the rat infiltrator Mace was probably the only thing that even came close to what the grey mouse had just witnessed. And felt.
Though Vinnie had not hit him again, his very presence in the mine had been just as painful. The gentle giant mouse had actually cowered the next time his white-furred kin had walked by him, and that alone made his insides writhe in turmoil.
How could Vinnie do that to him? How could his own bro turn against him?
He knew why; he knew it was because of what had happened to Vinnie and his reaction to it. Modo knew that turning his face away from the suffering of his young friend had ultimately fractured their close bond. He knew that deep down, and lamented the loss of that most special of connections that only his kind could feel.
Back in his cage that night he had tossed and turned, unable to sleep from the pain and the hurt and the guilt, until eventually his body was too tired to even feel those any more and he passed out. It was some time the next day when he finally woke, and he knew by the silence in the prison yard that it was later than his normal rousing.
In fact, his sensitive nose detected the lingering smell of the midday feast that often wafted from the castle to the mine, and he surmised the guards must have been ordered to let him sleep into the afternoon. Now they were pulling him to his feet and towards the source of that fading aroma.
Modo assumed he wouldn't be getting any leftovers today. Whatever the reason for this abrupt change to his routine, he knew better than to hope for anything as benign as an invitation to dinner.
Minute by minute his world was changing around him.
It had not been long since Wes had dropped the white-furred mouse off at the castle, and now alone Vinnie paced the empty floor of the arena, waiting in mounting excitement for whatever his next task was to be. Not that he was even attempting to imagine what that was; he kept his mind focused on his goal, and not the path to reach it.
Soon, he thought. Soon he would be free. Soon his mouth would be free of its bindings, and he would once more have a voice. Or at least he would have a mouth again, a whole mouth, not just a small hole with limited uses.
Vinnie squirmed at that image. He couldn't wait to move beyond liquid foods and put his teeth back to use again. Though what state they would be in after all this time, and after being ground away by the Pit's thoughtless doctor, was another matter entirely.
But maybe teeth weren't so much the issue here, as a little flicker in the back of his mind brought a memory of something the Pit Boss had murmured in his ear that morning. He pushed the thought away. His master wouldn't do that to him, not after having him wait for so long to have his mouth opened up and put back to use.
He hoped not anyway. But it didn't matter, he was so close now. Another step closer to freedom, another step closer to being allowed a voice. OK so that was another step beyond what had been promised, but he felt confident he could earn that too, especially if he did his best to please his master today.
After pacing the whole room for a few more minutes the back door to it finally swung open. Between two of the guards was a third figure, the double chains around his neck pulling him forward and preventing him from deviating from the direct line to his tether.
Modo was soon fixed between two iron loops on the stone floor so that he was facing the centre of the oval arena. His grey body shook; clearly by the expression on his gentle face he was petrified, but also he must have been freezing cold, as his fur was still wet from having been doused by the cold water of the pressure hose.
The large mouse shivered and his eyes were wide with fear. He pulled himself down and away from the approaching white figure as far as the tether chains would allow him, which wasn't far, and Vinnie smirked in satisfaction at his ex-friend's reaction.
It felt good to finally be the one at the top, at the head of their trio. For too long he had been regarded as the junior member of their group, the lowest ranking, the most subordinate. Not now, he thought. He had taken a step up, and it was he that was in control now.
Or at least he would be soon. It finally occurred to him that this might be what his master wanted, and his suspicions were soon to be all but confirmed.
The side door of the oval room opened next. Vinnie watched as the rings of seats around and above him slowly filled, and what must have been almost the entire pit crew and many of the off-duty guards took their places to witness the event.
The Pit Boss entered shortly after and took his place on the throne. He beckoned the white mouse over, and once in range he pulled Vinnie down by his iron collar and into his lap.
"Such a good boy" he murmured, "such a good, good boy."
Vinnie ignored the muffled snorts coming from the stands and nuzzled hard into the fat felon's rounded chest. He felt the Pit Boss sigh beneath him, and persisted in his actions for a while longer, until finally the man pulled him up into a sitting position on his lap, facing out down the arena and towards the expectant crowd.
In a louder voice the Pit Boss addressed the room. "Does my pet want to prove himself once and for all?"
A reverberant 'yes' echoed around the room, and Vinnie puffed himself up in readiness to meet the offered challenge.
"Will he do whatever it takes to please his master, and earn the reward he so longs for?"
Another yes, and Vinnie nodded his head frantically, his face full of willingness.
"Excellent, excellent" the Pit Boss said at a lower volume. "Bring him in then."
The door at the far end of the room opened again. From his seat on the Pit Boss's lap Vinnie was struggling to see exactly what was coming through the far door, but his nose was much quicker to recognise who it was before him.
Beneath the stench lingering on his freshly rinsed fur Throttle's natural scent still resided, and it carried across the open space to the white mouse's little black nose.
Vinnie sniffed, and curled his lips in disgust. And he wasn't the only one; nearly all the goons and guards did the same thing, although their reaction was undoubtedly to the more pungent aroma reaching their less sensitive nasal receptors.
The tan mouse was greeted not only by this visual reaction, but by an audible one. Loud cries of boos and hisses filled in the shuffled steps he made to the centre of the room, and continued whilst he was tethered there. Through his watering eyes he could just about make out the more horrified look coming from somewhere to his left side, Modo's gentle face betraying his feelings about what he could see standing in front of him.
Throttle was thin, very thin. Not skeletal, as he had been made to eat quite regularly whilst within the castle, but the wasting of his muscles only pronounced the overall long-term loss of body weight. His golden tan fur was tattered and dull, and his eyes that had once been so full of life were now dimmed and filled with suffering. His head was hung low, and his tail was tucked firmly between his legs.
But then something changed in him. His red eyes caught sight of the white-furred mouse ahead of him, and he lifted his head up for a better view.
So there was hope for them after all. Vinnie had made it, he was no longer a slave. He would get them out of here, he knew it. His bro, that magnificent mouse, had risen up above them, and it would be him that saved them all. He had sworn to protect them until the very end, and here it was, the end. This was where he would come through for them, he felt sure of that now.
Catching the look of recognition and optimism on the tan-furred mouse's face was priceless. The Pit Boss leaned his head down and whispered into his slave's ear, and Vinnie stood, nodding, and started toward the mouse in the centre of the room.
Throttle tilted his snout so that he could better see the white Martian standing in front of him. Vinnie had approached and stood slightly to his right, in essence forcing the tan mouse to turn away from the grey. Vinnie could see from the corner of his eyes Modo frantically shaking his head, twitching his tail in agitation, and wordlessly mouthing to the back of their leader's head a warning he would never see.
Vinnie smiled, and squatted in front of the other mouse so that he could peer into those ruby red irises of his. He knew that Throttle would be struggling to focus on him, but would be able to see well enough for this to be worth it.
He pulled back his right arm, and landed a heavy slap on Throttle's expectant face. Tears spring from those ruby eyes from the force of it, and surprise registered in the slap's wake.
From the other end of the room came the white mouse's orders. "Show him who's in control now. Show that worthless piece of filth which one of you is in charge!"
Vinnie obeyed, gladly.
Throttle's pitiful yelps started as Vinnie landed another blow to his face. He screamed as the empty fist was filled with a small rod, and sobbed in despair as his bro, his friend, his comrade, as the mouse that now stood over him cut his skin and beat him into submission.
Throttle cowered, his body begging for mercy. He didn't dare ask for it in words.
But Vinnie wasn't going to give the tan mouse what he had wanted. He knew that in the state he was in, and with the revelation that his younger cousin was now at the head of the chain of command, that Throttle was begging for the kind of mercy that would end it all. Vinnie didn't want to end it, though, he wanted his ex-friend, ex-leader, ex-bro to pay for what he had, or rather hadn't done.
Vinnie wanted Throttle to know that it had been a mistake to allow them all to end up trapped here in the Pits, and an even bigger one to abandon his two bros to their fates. Vinnie wanted to make sure Throttle understood that he would never forgive him for leaving him at the cruel mercy of the Pit Boss, and for allowing him to eventually become what he was now.
Something more.
This was what he was, Vinnie thought. Something more than the two other mice, something more than their comrade, their friend, or their bro. He was something more, and he was in charge now.
The Pit Boss was calling him again, and he dropped the control stick into one of the guard's hands before making his way back to the throne. His master was pulling him down into his lap, seating him as before facing forwards, and adjusting him so his legs were splayed out over the gigantic ones upon which he sat.
Then the man was reaching down and unbuttoning the tattered trousers his slave wore.
Then he was signalling to the guards to bring the tan mouse closer.
Closer still.
So close that Throttle's face was resting on his master's thighs, his snout between his legs. And between Vinnie's legs.
Vinnie grinned behind his stitches. He knew what his master wanted him to do, he knew how to show the tan mouse who was boss now. And it was perfect, it was just the right way to put a Martian mouse in his place.
From the sidelines Modo watched in silent despair. The guards had told him before they brought him in what his role in all of this would be. He was to watch, as he always had had to, as this once brilliant and strong of leaders was taken down a further notch, and put in his rightful place at the bottom. It hadn't dawned on him that they meant like this.
It reminded him of that day, the last one they had both spent in the original pits. He had been forced to watch then, too, as they had broken apart the last of what his tan-furred friend had once been.
He didn't think there was much left now to break, from the condition that Throttle was already in he didn't see how much further down they could push him. How wrong he had been.
Vinnie's moans of pleasure hammered through his thoughts, and hit him straight in the gut. He felt sick. The monstrous man had twisted his bro beyond all recognition, and there he was enjoying himself whilst his comrade was humiliated even further.
The Pit Boss was also having a good time of it. The grey mouse could hear his praises directed at the slave in his lap. He was stroking Vinnie all the while that the tan mouse worked on him, and when it was over he embraced the white mouse, laughing, whilst poor Throttle choked in disgust at his feet.
After that Vinnie was given the opportunity to have a go with the clippers, and once the purple scar was uncovered again he was encouraged to go ahead and give his ex-leader his first ever order.
Naturally the Pit Boss had already whispered to him what that would be, and soon Vinnie was enjoying the sight of Throttle's pink tongue shining his long-lost biker boots. The white mouse wondered if Throttle had recognised them yet. Perhaps he will when I leave their mark on his backside, he mused with malice.
"It feels good, doesn't it my pet? To be the one in control. To be the one giving orders."
The Pit Boss's voice broke him out of his reverie, and the following chortles of glee around him made him turn round with a look of delight on his face. He nodded. He wanted more.
"You have done extremely well, you should be proud of yourself."
Vinnie was, he was very proud. He was practically bursting with it.
"I bet you would like your reward now, wouldn't you my pet?"
Vinnie's heart rate doubled. This was it, this really was it. He nodded. He would very much like his reward.
"Very well, if you promise to do one more thing for me in return."
The Pit Boss laced his last statement with as much honey-sweetness as he could muster. This was his final test for the mouse, a definitive trial of his devotion, and though he knew which outcome he would prefer, either would be just as satisfying.
The mouse would obey, or he wouldn't.
It certainly looked like Vinnie was keen to do whatever it was, though that could all change in an instant. The Pit Boss beckoned the eager mouse once more, and after whispering his last request he pulled the scissors from his pocket.
Second by second his world was changing.
Vinnie's mouth was finally free. And as an added gesture, a promise of things to come, he had been given his voice back too. Just for long enough to demonstrate his obedience, mind, it was a gift that could be swiftly revoked.
The white mouse hadn't paid much attention to that last bit. He had affirmed his intention to keep his promise, and held his head still whilst the scissors worked around his lips.
And then he had stood, taking the tether chain offered to him, and led the tan mouse from the arena to the prison yard as asked.
He was surprised to see that the slave populous were already back in their cells, and all were peering down to see what it was they were bearing witness to this time. They were given a huge clue as to the nature of the show when they saw the white mouse pulling the tan-furred slave by a chain, and tethering him as he once had been himself between two posts in the yard's centre.
They saw the guards leading the third of the mice back to his cage, and though he looked a little bedraggled, and obviously in some degree of distress, he otherwise seemed unharmed.
They deduced this show was to be all about the tan mouse, and the white. They figured this was to be something quite monumental. Life changing, even.
The rest of the guards and the pit crew soon assembled around the walls and grounds of the prison. Even Wes had by now made an appearance, and if anything he looked more gaunt and more pale than ever. He looked rather worried, too.
Not far from the cages stood Flint and his cronies. Compared to the welder they looked flush with health and vigour, and were clearly ecstatic about everything that was going on around them.
Last to appear was the man himself. The Pit Boss. The lord of his domain, and the grand master of all who resided within it.
He gave a gesture, and the fervent cacophony around the prison instantly silenced.
"My slave wishes to demonstrate his unwavering and infinite devotion to his master." He announced.
A ripple of laughter ensued from the pit crew, but soon quietened.
"He has already proved himself to be something already quite... special. I am sure that now I have bestowed him with his most desired gift he will use it well, and he will use it to commit himself to my will, or forever sacrifice it should he fail."
A hundred slaves peered down upon the white mouse. All those eyes watching to see if that one amongst them, that one who had dared to climb above their ranks, would really fulfil this most defining of ultimatums.
The Pit Boss bent down over Vinnie and spoke low into his ear, low enough so that only he, and the tethered mouse below them both, would be able to hear him. "Show him who is his master. Show him, like I showed you."
Throttle might not have known what had happened in that most mysterious of places within the castle. He might not have known that the white mouse had even seen it, let alone been inside. Throttle might not have known that of all the slaves that had ever had the misfortune to be interred down here in the Pits, only Vinnie had set foot inside his master's dorm, and that he, and only he, had ever been taken by him.
But he soon found out what had happened, even if he didn't know the significance. In front of the entire population of the entire underground world, Throttle was raped by his bro.
And Vinnie made sure he did it exactly as his master had to him. Rough, unfeeling, and without any love behind it. Everything that should have been, everything that used to be, everything that once made their joining an honourable and sacred act, the act of Martian bonding, everything about it was absent. Instead Vinnie forced himself upon that tan-furred mouse beneath him, and severed the last thread of love connecting them as brothers.
"Well done" whispered into his ear when he was finished.
Throttle was sobbing, finally and completely broken. Modo was inconsolable, he too also irreparable. Vinnie stood tall, grinning widely, filled with pride.
He had done exactly what his master wanted. He had become what his master had wanted, and though before he hadn't known what he was doing, now he knew his purpose. He knew exactly what he had become.
But a voice behind him in the yard hadn't finished with him yet. The Pit Boss had one last request to make of the white mouse, his devoted slave, one last promise that Vinnie was required to keep. Or else.
And in that one instant, that one moment, that one point in the timeline, Vinnie knew that everything had changed.
He had forgotten who he was.