VI: Take Me to That Other Place...

Without prior knowledge, no one would have been able to tell that the mouse known as X was once a seasoned warrior, except maybe for his unmoving posture as he now stared in the face of death. He'd seen the cold flash of eyes, the sheen of velvet fur. He could hear it slinking around. He continued staring straight ahead, an ironic smile on his face. Death was a beautiful feline thing with large ears and dark blue eyes, and a darker mane of dreds. Emanating from it was a smooth, comforting purring sound. The purr surrounded him. He felt warm and safe, a feeling he hadn't felt for a long time, not since however long it had been since his squad had been sold out.

He'd known he was going to die for a long time. Those two other ones, one that looked around his age and the other just a kid really. They'd tried to talk to him, tried to convince him to partake in some escape plan. He couldn't. It had been done before, and it had only ended in death and pain. Death was always a certainty but it was closer than ever now.

X's body yielded to the slight pressure but other than that he barely moved as a soft, warm body pressed up against him. Death was female. His ironic smile widened. Typical. The weight he felt crawl into his lap seemed wrong for the mass his hands could feel. A slender tail eased around his waist. The purring was temporarily halted, replaced by a low, almost sad keening sound. Again he saw the flash of blue eyes, like two gemstones. A soft hand caressing his face.

"I'm ready," he said simply.

An almost inquisitive whistle. He could almost see her clearly, her feline head cocking first one way, then the other. Her odd eyes betrayed nothing, and yet he sensed trouble there. He waited.

She purred and rubbed up against him again. It was sweet, comforting. It was nice to just be held. The innate fear of death, always there regardless of how he thought about it, slipped away, replaced by a strange sense of peace. Her hand moved from the side of his face to his neck, just under his torn ear. She nuzzled into his opposite shoulder. The purr was closer. He barely realised it when he allowed his neck to relax, his head resting on hers, inhaling the sweet scent emanating from her dredlocks. He couldn't identify the smell.

The irony left X's expression, leaving him with a contented smile extremely out of place in his context. Somewhere in his conscious mind he was aware that the purring noise Death was emitting seemed to be originating from her lungs as opposed to her throat as one might expect. That thought only lasted for a second as a cold, prickly sensation beginning from her hand and spreading through his entire body commanded his attention. It tingled, but not in an unpleasant way.

He felt light...weightless...warm...sleepy...at peace. He tried to speak, to thank her. He felt strangely detached from his body. It had stopped hurting. Death was not black as one might have expected. Death was a deep blue-purple like the twilight sky. Death had oversized ears like butterfly wings. Death was strangely beautiful in an alien way.

Death rested a...it couldn't quite be called a hand...more of a large paw elongated enough to almost be a hand...over his eyes.

X felt himself drifting. He was free.

*******

"What the."

That comment from Modo pretty much summed it up.

Throttle leaned on the handlebars, staring impassively up at the multitudinous civilians crawling over Limburger Tower. A couple of months ago there'd been the supposedly insurmountable, indestructibly thick titanium laced reinforced concrete barricade (it was still there actually, looked like the hole they'd made had been repaired). Who knew what these guys were doing. But one thing was certain. They couldn't bust in there without potentially hurting innocents. And at any rate the civilians wouldn't understand and neither would the cops when they rocked up to arrest three Martians for disturbing the peace.

"Looks like our reekin' friend's finally wisin' up to us bros," Throttle commented. Though why he was only just starting to take preventative measures was anyone's guess.

"Excellent," cackled Vinnie, "maybe it'll be a challenge to get in there this time."

"Later, can't hurt the civilians."

"Awww man." Vinnie put on a huge show of looking annoyed and disappointed, but he knew as well as the rest of them did that they should try to keep the body count down as much as possible. Especially where innocent people were concerned.

Modo looked across at Throttle. "What now?" he inquired somewhat listlessly.

"Gonna make a few calls." Throttle revved his bike up hard, spun about leaving a neat arc with his back tyre and shot off in the direction of the scoreboard.

Modo, Vinnie and Charley exchanged glances. None of them had to ask the others if they thought he was going to try to get in contact with Carbine.

*******

- FLASH -

The locker-lined hall was strangely long, and it felt empty even though there were other people around. She didn't think it odd that although she could see their mouths moving, and see them moving, that she couldn't hear a single sound from them. All she heard was the gentle humming of her deck as she skimmed smoothly over the polished floor, echoing as though it were the middle of the night and she was the only thing alive.

There were others but they weren't important.

She paused when she saw him, kicking the board up towards her head and catching it neatly with one hand, tucking it under that arm. He was not too tall but definitely not short, slender and wiry. His tan fur shone gold under the right lighting. He didn't really stand out among the biker rebels, sporting the typical earring and black leather jacket, but it was easy to see why he was considered one of the most desirable guys in school.

His girlfriend was with him, leaning against the next locker as he sorted his gear out. She was one of those leggy blonde cheerleader types that Carbine despised. They had nothing between their ears and were completely ditzy and stupid, though whether by nature or by action she had never been able to determine.

"Will you leave me alone, Jem." He sounded annoyed. That was unusual. Carbine pricked up her ears.

"You're not still mad at me are ya?" Jem had one of those incredibly irritating I'm-so-perky-and-cheerful-and-happy-it's-impossible-not-to-love-me type voices. The kind of voice that was supposed to make brainless hunk types fall passionately in love with her gorgeous perky self and chase after her. Scarily though it worked most of the time.

He paused in what he was doing, not looking at anything in particular for a second before turning to Jem. "I told you it was over and I meant it."

"Really Throttle," Jem's tone of voice had changed to you-can't-posibly-be-serious, "we were just muckin' 'round, it didn't mean anything."

"Yeah?" Throttle slammed his locker shut, uncharacteristically bad tempered for him. "Well it meant somethin' to me." He turned swiftly, his golden mohawk waving gently. "If that's you 'muckin' 'round' with someone I'd hate to see what flirtin' is."

"Lighten up baby." Jem put an arm around Throttle's neck. He pulled back, gathering his books to his chest like a shield.

"Get it through your head, Jem. It's over. It's not a fight, I won't get over it, I'm not comin' back." He brushed past her, then paused and turned back. "I found someone else."

Jem stopped where she was, one foot poised in mid-step, her tail frozen in a sexy little kink behind it. That absolutely dumbstruck you-can't-possibly-be-dumping-me-do-you-have-any-idea-how-lucky-you-are-to-be-with-me-in-the-first-place-several-guys-would-love-to-be-you expression on her face was priceless. Carbine almost wanted a camera to capture the moment.

"Hey bikerboy," Carbine puffed that annoying bit of hair that would never every stay in place out of her eyes and smiled as Throttle approached.

He started out of whatever dark place he'd situated himself in. "Hey skatergirl." He smiled tentatively. He always seemed to be nervous around her lately. Carbine still wasn't able to figure it out. She'd kicked Vinnie in the balls the day they'd met, but that had been a while ago now. They'd never had any full blown fights, even over conflicting views they felt strongly about. They'd been working together on a group project for about three weeks but considering they were on a par with everything in it, she doubted it was that. They headed towards their next class.

"So you finally ditched the bitch?"

"Yeah." Throttle flicked his head slightly, sending his braid back over his shoulder to settle neatly along his spine. "You were right."

"Aren't I always?" Carbine grinned lop-sidedly.

"Most times." This time Throttle's grin was the more familiar, cheeky one, with no trace of the inherent nervousness.

"So," Carbine said casually, "who's this new girl?"

"Someone special," came the cryptic reply.

- FLASH -

"How fucking blind are you?" Throttle shouted.

"Orders are orders, runt," Quickshift returned, his voice never changing in pitch. "That's the way it is around here. And you better learn to respect that 'fore you get yaself into some real serious shit."

"Fuck's sake Quickshift," Throttle didn't so much pace as storm, "you gotta be able to see we're bein' misdirected!"

"It's not up to you or anyone else to decide how these battles are fought. That's what the tacticians are for. You just shut up, follow orders and do your fucking job."

"We're goin' nowhere jus' in case you missed it! It's fuckin' pointless! We're not helpin' anyone or anything. Fuck this, I'm quittin'."

"What?"

She hadn't known anyone else who could inject so much of a threat into one single, solitary word. At this point she'd stepped around the corner, still hovering around the doorway. It was none of her business...but at the same time it was all her business.

"I'm fuckin' quittin'!" Throttle yelled, fronting up to his older brother. This image of them burned into her mind, never to leave. This moment in time, frozen in her memory, placed in context, revealed every similarity and every difference contained in the two. Quickshift, three years older, was a couple of inches taller. He was broad-shouldered and muscly, and while wiry Throttle was not exactly skinny, Quickshift still made him look small. Quickshift looked like he'd give even Modo a run for his money. Both bore the same tan fur, the same dark gold manes. Throttle's was still rebelliously long, caught back in a ponytail. Quickshift's was long on top with short back and sides. They shared the same deep red eyes. Throttle's were still fiery and idealistic, Quickshift looked like he'd seen too much pain. Their poses reflected their personalities perfectly. Young, outgoing Throttle, fists curled slightly, leaning forward, weight evenly distributed on feet only just thrust out into a stable fighting stance, his tail held loosely out of the way behind him. Quickshift, prematurely aged by too much responsibility too soon, standing comfortably with feet shoulder width apart, muscled arms folded across his chest, with a glare that would shatter ice.

Training helps but it doesn't beat experience. Ready as he was, unready as Quickshift looked, Throttle was still caught mostly off guard when Quickshift suddenly rammed him into the wall behind him. The harsh blow knocked the wind out of Throttle's lungs. Reflexively trying to draw air caused a coughing fit.

"Those stinkfish scum killed our family. You gonna jus' sit back and let 'em get away with it? ANSWER ME!" The apparent twitch in Quickshift's hand was a well placed lovetap in the chest. Throttle, still unable to draw breath, shook his head vehemently. "You are always - running - away." Quickshift stood up, the disgust and the disdain evident in every hair on his body.

"We'd be doin' more if we were actually doin' somethin'," Throttle finally managed to rasp, one hand rubbing his chest where Quickshift had jabbed him. He looked up in time to see the older mouse glaring at him, then turn and saunter out of the room as only Quickshift could, his tail soaring gracefully behind him in the way Throttle emulated so well. The crestfallen expression in Throttle's eyes had nearly caused tough-as-nails Carbine to cry.

- FLASH -

He felt warm and wonderful, his body was firm and toned pressed up against hers. His mouth was sweet, she could almost feel him burning with desire. She pulled back and looked into his beautiful eyes.

"You look better like that."

"Was never big on the army. No offence." His voice was huskier than usual as he easily undid the buttons down the front of her uniform with one hand, the other at the small of her back, pulling her against him. She could feel how much he wanted to.

"None taken."

She smiled and drew him down, running her fingers through his dark gold mane, listened to him groan softly as she ran her claws down his back. He finished unbuttoning her shirt, easily sliding it over her slender, well toned shoulders, burying his face in her breasts. He murmured something that sounded vaguely like "oh babe", but she lost the meaning of it in the moment.

Nothing existed but the two of them.

- FLASH -

She could not believe herself. No amount of soap or anything could wash off the self disgust and self-loathing. She could not believe herself. How could she have done that? Sure he'd been cute but so had several other guys. Even when they'd hit on her (when they'd had the guts to - she usually polished them off shortly if they persisted) she had never once been tempted. What the hell had she been thinking?

One thing was certain. She could not keep something like this from Throttle. It wouldn't be fair to him, he deserved better than that. He deserved better than her. She turned her face up to the hot, hot shower, the searing heat mixing with her tears, washing them away, eliciting more. She didn't want to lose him. She could just not tell him. For all she knew he was probably cheating on her too.

She knew that was ridiculous as soon as the thought occurred to her. Throttle was the most loyal man she'd ever known. He'd never do anything like what she had done. She had to do the right thing. For him.

- FLASH -

She slithered recklessly down the side of the ridge, only just keeping her footing, somehow managing to arm herself a she went. The last two metres she pushed off, landing neatly on her feet but jarring her ankles. She only barely felt it as she hit the ground running, sprinting as fast as she could toward Throttle.

He struggled desperately against this...thing...she couldn't quite make out what it was, but it held him in its crushing grip, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of him. She fired off two shots at it, ducking gunfire that went past her, not concerned about it, only wanting to get there, to get him away from the thing.

Throttle struggled violently, and then went still. She screamed his name. She couldn't lose him. Not again. Not again.