Many heartfelt Thank You's go out to the reviewers! Its -all- about the reviewers!

Laurenke1: You were my first reviewer after I returned from the dead and started updating on again, and I appreciate your commentary sooo much!

fenestrae: I know, Throttle is too cute to dent! I will do my best to not leave any ugly scars on Throttle. ) Also, don't apologise for being on a field trip, hehe! I hope you had fun, though!

Windshale: thanks for you review! I love writing Limburger! I've been following your lovely stories diligently, btw.

FairDrea: Your kind and dear words make me blush! I'm not quite a master of description yet, I've just been working hard on that aspect of writing. I agree, descriptions are often underrated ( however, it's also easy to write too much description, which is boring. I try to spread out the descriptions, as to not bombard my readers... still plenty of room for improvement! Let me know how I do!

Intrepidwarriors: thank you! I'm glad you found my little fic, I hope you find the time to read on!

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Dark Times - Saga: Part 1

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own any intellectual property taken from "Biker Mice from Mars" the television series. This story is NOT for profit. The story belongs to the author, but it may be referenced for more NON profit usage.

I do NOT own discovery channel. Or the universe. Or Mars. I just reference it for NON profit usage.

Ah, gotta love that ugly word, usage.

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Dark Times - Saga

The Biker Mice's lives are threatened when Plutark tests it's latest weapon, ready to defeat Mars once and for all.

Chapter 3 - Unravelling Concerns

Change slowly befalls one of the Biker Mice. Carbine and her troops fall into further danger. Throttle gets a shower scene!

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Swiftly and silently, he lectured himself inwardly.

He dared not even take a breath. He slowly crept onward with tensed muscles, moving with the stealth and precision of an experienced warrior. His movements were fluid and predatory as he inched toward his objective. His destination: the door. His footsteps fell soundlessly onto the concrete floor, like the noiseless creeping of a mouse.

Of course, he was a mouse. A Martian Mouse. Yet, his species wasn't gifted with the innate ability to slink softly. Most Martian Mice were as clumsy and loud as the clamor of pots and pans. However, this Martian was different. He was a high-ranking Freedom Fighter! His stealth was unsurpassed by his peers. Years of battle experience had sculpted him into an exemplary adversary, graced with the talents of a natural-born leader. Nothing could prevent him from attaining this goal. He merely had to sneak past...

A feminine voice cleared its throat from behind, then said, "Throttle, you weren't trying to sneak off, were you?"

Throttle froze in mid-step. Apparently, sneaking by Charlie-girl was a greater challenge than sneaking past plutarkian snipers. At least Throttle had managed to sneak past those fish-faced snipers on a fair number of occasions. Had living with the famous---or infamous---Biker Mice from Mars turn Charlie into a soldier with a sixth sense? Was the human woman's skills and senses honed, her instincts enriched?

Years of learning to deal with the mice's antics, immaturity, bloated egos, and male chauvinism probably influenced Charlie more than anything else. It had been more effective than any training the mice could have offered. The three mice perpetually tried her patience, and she knew them far too well.

Throttle gave the door a despairing last glance, then sadly let out his held breath. He had been so close to achieving his goal! So close to escaping into the blissful freedom awaiting outdoors. He felt so caged, and even more defeated. Why was it so hard to be alone with one's thoughts, these days?

Throttle turned around slowly and gave the human a sheepish grin. "Hey, Charlie-girl... I was just..."

Charlie stood with one hand on her hip, and her chin held up sternly. Her beaming eyes looked right through Throttle's attempt to hide his true intentions. She waited expectantly, eager to hear Throttle's excuse. Despite her strict exterior, it was obvious that she was greatly entertained by the mouse's reaction.

Throttle found himself clearing his voice before resuming his explanation, "...I was just... going upstairs. I heard Modo finish with the washroom, so..."

Charlie raised an eyebrow, and the corners of her mouth twitched, threatening to break out into an amused smile. She was deriving great satisfaction from the warrior's squirms. She also found it hilarious that her glare could produce such a reaction from the leader of the renown Biker Mice from Mars. She struggled to keep a small frown on her face.

Throttle's eyes drifted to the floor, and his feet fidgeted uncomfortably as he continued, "... I thought I'd go have a shower myself..." Throttle didn't enjoy stretching the truth. He was just so incredibly desperate to escape the smothering care of Charlie and his bros. It was touching to see how much they cared, but today he couldn't handle it. He needed to be alone, but such a simple request seemed impossible.

He cast an annoyed eye on the bucket and washcloth that had been handed to him earlier. It sat deserted by the couch, just where he had left it. He was still covered in soil from head to foot; even the insides of his boots had manage to pick up some debris during incident at the warehouse. Throttle had tried to sponge off the dust and matted blood from his fur, but it was too tedious a task. Not to mention the indignation he felt when Charlie refused to let him out of her sight.

Charlie nodded slowly. "I see," she spoke deliberately, "you mean, the washroom at the top of those stairs?" She pointed behind her at a staircase, located in the opposite direction of which Throttle heading.

The tan mouse managed a short and weak chuckle. "Yeah, he replied, those stairs..."

Throttle heard Vinnie snicker from the other side of the room. He was holding a bottle of peroxide in one hand, and gauze in the other, waiting for Charlie to return and finish cleaning the scrapes on his back. Vinnie had been the first to have a shower, and his spotless white fur gleaned delightfully, as if to further mock Throttle. The tan mouse glowered at Vinnie, but that only added to the albino's amusement.

Charlie was giggling herself, unable to further resist the beguiling hilarity. "You know, Throttle," she remarked, slightly out of breath from her laughter, "if you really want to get washed-up upstairs, I'm sure Modo can bathe you..."

Throttle's eyes widened upon hearing her words, and his fieldspecs lowered on his snout. His jaw gaped open, and his face stretched in horror. He waved his hands defensively in front of him, and took an involuntary step backward. "No! ...no, no thanks!" he blurted out. His head shook away the disturbing mental imagery. He regained his composure, and uttered a short nervous laugh.

Throttle then sighed, and looked back at the couch. His shoulders sank, along with his spirit. "I guess I'll give the... bucket another shot." He glared at the soapy water and sponge, as if suspicious of its intentions.

Charlie bit her lip as she tried to subdue further laughter. She felt almost giddy. With the stressful morning melting away, she was left with an intoxicating feeling of relief, as Throttle recovered miraculously before her eyes. An hour earlier, she had been worriedly examining the wounded Martian for serious injuries, searching for the source of his physical distress. He had been so weak and dazed... Tensions had been high, and everyone restless. Vinnie and Modo had hovered nearby, badgering Throttle and Charlie with concerned questions, wondering how the wounded mouse was feeling, if he needed anything, if Charlie needed any help... With frayed nerves, the human mechanic had to keep shooing and shoving them away. Throughout the ordeal, Throttle had looked visibly overwhelmed by the smothering attention. He had seemed prepared to give away his soul in return for a method of escape.

Now when Charlie looked at him, he bore only a few scrapes and bruises. She noticed his strength was recovering, along with his mischievousness. Compared to humans, martian bodies were more resilient, and healed at an accelerated pace. Still, Charlie was wary; there was a shadow of distress haunting Throttle's facial expressions. The ghost of fear residing in his eyes. Defeat echoing in his voice. Disturbed angst lingering in his unhurried and lethargic movements. Something was wrong, and until Charlie figured out what it was, she wanted to keep him close-by. The mice had done so much for her, they had rescued her on countless occasions, and had liberated her city from numerous disasters. The least she could do was offer them protection in her own caring way.

Charlie watched Throttle attentively while he sauntered back to the couch, and flopped himself down. Ignoring the bucket, he leaned his head to rest on the back of his seat. He let out a heavy sigh, and sat unmoving. Plotting his next escape attempt, no doubt, Charlie thought to herself with a fond smile.

Charlie had resumed disinfecting Vinnie's scrapes, when the sound of heavy footsteps and creaking stairs stole her attention. "Ah, Modo," she said sweetly, when she saw the giant grey mouse stroll into the room. His fur was wet and stuck together comically, each matted lock of fur angling randomly in different directions. The scent of wet of fur wafted into the room. "Perhaps you could keep an eye on Houdini while I tend to Vinnie?" She didn't expect him to understand her joke, but she said it anyway.

Modo stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her with confusion. "Dini? Who's Dini?" His brow lowered, and he scratched his head with his fleshy left hand. Charlie could almost see the gears turning and clicking in his head.

Throttle didn't budge from his restful pose, but he did offer a lazy reply, "Houdini was an earthling escape artist." His voice lacked energy, and barely displayed his interest. "Lived in the 19th century, and is supposed to be the most famous magician ever to walk the Earth."

Charlie forgot about the gauze in her hand, and let it fall abandoned to the floor. Modo ceased scratching his head, and his hand dropped limply to his side. Even Vinnie did a double take. Three surprised heads turned in unison to look at Throttle questioningly.

Throttle raised his head to investigate the source of the sudden quiet that had claimed the garage. Discovering that he was the target of three scrutinising looks, his cheeks blushed deeply beneath his golden fur. "Uhhh," his voice dripped with self-conscious embarrassment, "I watch the Discovery Channel when no one else is around..."

Charlie's emerald eyes sparkled with amusement. She knew Throttle was intelligent, but she hadn't known the extent of his thirst for knowledge. She gave him an impressed nod, openly pleased by his interest in her planet's history and culture.

Modo chuckled and shook his head. He went to join Throttle on the couch, and sat with his arms folded. He gave Throttle an encouraging look, but the tan leader just let his head fall back onto the couch. Modo wondered if Throttle would ever clean the matted blood and filth from his fur.

Vinnie resumed his snickering, but failed to drag a response from Throttle. "You're such a nerd, bro," he teased the golden-brown mouse, watching his bro intently, and determined to get a rise out of him. "What else do you..." he tried to continue, but was interrupted by a searing pain on his back. "Yowww!" he squealed, as he twitched and wiggled away from Charlie's touch. He twisted his upper body around to look at her accusingly with his large puppy eyes. A cute pout formed on his lips, and his head even tilted to one side, reminding Charlie of a dog she owned as a child. "Take it easy, Charlie-girl," Vinnie pleaded, "that stung!"

Charlie smiled innocently, but her eyes glowed with mischief, and her head was held high with victory. "I'm sorry, Hotshot, did I use too much disinfectant?" Her voice utterly lacked sympathy, and her apology was hollow. Vinnie's eyes narrowed with distrust, but Charlie didn't give him a chance to respond. She spun his shoulders back around, forcing him to expose his back to her again.

Modo watched the interaction with interest, and chortled with amusement. Throttle didn't moved, but he did allow himself a brief chuckle. Too brief. Despite his seemingly reposeful demeanour, Throttle was unsettled. His eyes were wide as they stared up at the beige ceiling. It was littered with cracks and dents, each imperfection holding a memory captive. Throttle could identify the origin of each damaged area, each memory clear and crisp in his mind, as if they had occurred only yesterday. That long and shallow groove to his right was the product of a frustrated Modo, driven crazy by the uselessness of a broken leg... The deep dent in the centre was the result of one of Vinnie's temper tantrums, after he had found his tires slashed...

So many memories were associated with this garage. So many reminders of the time spent away from Mars. Throttle's eyes drifted out of focus. He imagined that he saw through the ceiling, that he was gazing at the afternoon sky that lay above, laden with grey clouds that carried promises of sweet spring rain. Throttle's thoughts gravitated past the clouds, soaring through the air until he breached the atmosphere. He floated weightlessly in space. His hands could reach out and brush the glimmering stars with his fingertips. His feet could stretch out and walk on the moon. The blue-green planet beneath cradled his body, as if it were his bed. The starry expanse displayed itself before him, but he was only interested in one tiny detail. One shimmering red freckle, looking so small and fragile as it twinkled in his eyes. It seemed so strangely laced with abating familiarity, like a forgotten dream. He could not reach it; it was infinitely beyond his grasp. He could only remain where he was, and guard the planet Earth bellow.

Throttle sighed deeply and wondered what was happening on that twinkling red dot, his beloved home planet, Mars.

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"Get down!" Carbine shouted urgently. Vecta stood beside her, the cream-coloured martian with the golden hair that reminded her of Throttle. Carbine grabbed Vecta by the waist, and flattened them both onto the rocky sand. She heard the subtle thumps of other martians following her example. Silver streaks sliced through the air above them like a meteor shower, scarcely missing the martians stretched out on the russet terrain.

The laser fire was unmistakably plutarkian.

Carbine grunted as she rolled onto her back and fired her automatic weapon. The attackers were scattered amongst the base of a rocky mountain. Carbine had been leading her soldiers there for shelter, but darkness was falling, visibility was low, and her soldiers were exhausted. No one saw the danger until they had already walked into the mouth of the beast.

Carbine ceased firing and rolled herself toward a nearby rock, closely followed by Vecta. Around them, the other martians were firing their weapons and quickly seeking their own shelter. Carbine heedfully peaked her head from behind the safety of the rock, and shot her trusted martian gun toward the enemy soldiers. The exchange of weapons fire was so heavy in the air, that a small twitch could leave Carbine fatally wounded. Even the friendly fire of her squadron was daunting.

Despite the dissipating light in the twilight sky, she could see all the positions of the attacking enemy soldiers. With the exception of sniper's attire, plutarkian uniforms were coloured a bright royal blue, outlined with vibrant violet stripes, and garnished with forest-green capes. They preferred parading themselves over blending tactfully with the terrain. Carbine often wondered how the Plutarkians had earned themselves a reputation for cunningness. The martian soldiers had one advantage: they were clothed in a camouflage of dark beige, splattered with reddish-tan and tawny spots. In the darkness, the earthy camouflage proved even more effective.

Carbine prayed that there were no plutarkian snipers. Those maggots were too unpredictable. They would lay in waiting until the martians felt comfortable, letting perfect shots and opportunities slip by, as if gaining the martians' trust. Then, without warning, they would fire a series of fatal blows within a blink of an eye.

Carbine's submachine gun finally struck its target in the chest, and a lifeless Plutarkian toppled. Carbine smiled proudly, but her small victory was cut short when she heard Vecta gasp painfully beside her. Carbine turned and saw the martian woman pressed up against the rock, clutching her right arm tightly. Crimson drops slipped between her fingers, joining the small scarlet streams trickling down her arm. Vecta smiled reassuringly and lifted her wounded arm, as if to signal that she wasn't badly wounded. Carbine cursed under her breath, and ripped a strip from her tank top, exposing a taunt midsection covered in soft grey fur. Carbine had already lost her black bandanna to another soldier's wounds. If this continued, she would soon find herself fighting in the nude.

Carbine secured the strip tightly around Vecta's arm, and the cream-furred woman bit her lower lip. The rest of her face was smooth, and one could hardly tell that she was in pain. She was an elegant beauty, with long golden hair pulled back into a wavy ponytail. Her fur coat was flawlessly smooth, and her sultry figure caught the attention of every appraising male eye she met. Occasionally women and enemy soldiers also gave her lustful glances. On the outside, Vecta was a gorgeous goddess, but on the inside, she was a respected and hardened warrior. A corporal in the army, she was stationed as Carbine's right-hand. She was a stealthy and deadly assassin, and had saved Carbine's life on many occasions.

The two female soldiers turned to look back to rocky ridge, just in time to watch another Plutarkian fall. Carbine saw an opening in their positions. She quickly signalled to her troops, using army hand gestures to inform them of her intentions. She ensured that they knew to advance on her signal. The sergeant looked upon her soldiers approvingly. Not even an hour earlier, they had been drifting in and out of consciousness, collapsing and mumbling incoherently. Since then, they had pulled themselves together, and bravely threw themselves into the heat of the battle. It was as though they had never been ill. While these mysteries remained unsolved, there was no time for contemplation. Afterall, she wasn't a detective, she was an army sergeant trapped in crossfire.

Carbine tapped Vecta's shoulder, and crawled out from the safety of the small boulder. Her and Vecta slithered forward quickly, scrapping painfully against the rocky terrain. They could hear martian weaponry increasing with fervent determination, and they felt safe under the provided cover fire.

They reached the base of the rocky ridge and crouched, safely hidden between the jagged protruding rocks. Carbine flicked the pin from her only grenade, waited a moment, then thrust it into the mountainous range. Considering the amount of Plutarkians who remained standing, a single grenade could put a favourable dent into their ranks. The two martian woman covered their heads protectively with their arms. The grenade exploded loudly, pulverising rock, throwing plutarkian bodies, disabling enemy soldiers, and leaving a small crater in the mountainside. This ambush now belonged to the martians!

Carbine heard the rest of her squadron charge forward, firing their weapons viciously. She leapt up with Vecta and shot down a few surprised Plutarkians. From part-way up the mountain, an enemy soldier dropped down, landing in front of Carbine. She struck the Fish's face with the blunt side of her submachine gun, and jumped backward. She aimed her weapon, but before she fired a single shot, a distinct whipping sound zipped through the air between Carbine and her assailant. A large bullet struck the ground at her feet, in the spot where she had just stood.

The sound made by the bullet was barely audible, overpowered by the fierce battle at hand. However, her martian ears were attuned to the sound, like a musician picking out a flat note from an entire orchestra. When Carbine heard the bullet racing through the air, her heart froze, her breath caught, and she momentarily forgot everything else. Her assailant, the battle... nothing existed but her ears, and that sound.

Carbine swore under her breath. There was a sniper.

Carbine fired her weapon quickly, and the plutarkian soldier in front of her collapsed. She ducked, hoping that a bulging rock would block the sniper's scope of vision. She couldn't see Vecta anywhere, but she did notice two martian bodies lying with deadly stillness, on the open plain.

Carbine growled angrily and flung herself over the jagged protruding rocks. She zigzagged and sprinted to the base of a steep slope, leaping over any obstacles in her path. She started hefting herself up the mountainside, her gloved hands gripping the rocks easily, and her powerful muscles springing her body upward at an incredible pace. As she climbed, a few dislodged pebbles fell from above and landed onto her face. The sniper had given away his position! It motivated her to quicken her pace, adding to the turmoil of passionate rage stirring through her system.

She reached a flat ridge jutting out of the huge rocky formations. This was surely the sniper's position, stationed here within the shadows. She quickly grabbed the ridge with her left hand, and flung herself up. She landed gracefully, her weapon already aimed at the sniper's shadowy figure. She almost pulled the trigger, but the ghostly starlight reflected off the sniper's white fur, and Carbine caught a glimpse of his face...

The sniper was a martian mouse! A Freedom Fighter! His fur rippled with flexed muscles, and his soft facial tissue twitched, proving that he wasn't wearing any mask or disguise. His snout was also small enough to rule him out as a Rat. Carbine's stomach somersaulted with the realisation that she had almost killed one of her own people.

The sniper looked at her calmly, his sniper rifle hanging relaxed at his side. He had a small close-range pistol tucked into his belt, Freedom-Fighter issue. The sniper's tranquil stance seemed to forgive Carbine for her brash actions. She cursed internally, but kept her weapon trained on him, as if expecting to see molting fur, shedding and revealing a scaly amphibian underneath. Perhaps the sniper wasn't actually firing at her, but trying to strike the pouncing Plutarkian instead? Yes, that made sense. The male mouse's head leaned to one side, and he looked at her quizzically. Carbine reluctantly lowered her gun, and whispered in her native language, "What are you doing here? I didn't know Stoker had positioned any freedom fighters in this area!"

"I happened to be in the neighbourhood," the sniper responded in his baritone voice. He spoke friendly, and with such sincere gentleness that Carbine released her wary tensions. She let her eyes peel away from him. She no longer deemed him a threat. Besides, in the entire history of Martian Mice, not a single one of them had defected.

Carbine looked around hurriedly. She saw her troops surround the remaining Plutarkians. All weapons suddenly ceased firing, and a surprised gurgle echoed up to Carbine's ears, as the last enemy soldier was tackled to the ground. She turned her body slightly, so that she could better survey the remnants of the battle. Her soldiers began sweeping the area. Carbine trusted that her squadron would soon eliminate any remaining dormant threat.

Carbine continued talking to the mouse while she observed the scene bellow, "I'm assuming you climbed up here to..." Carbine looked back at the Freedom Fighter, and cut herself off with a sharp intake of air.

The treacherous Freedom Fighter was smiling evilly. His short-range pistol was aimed at her chest.

With a deep grimace, Carbine twisted her body and dove to the side, in a vain attempt to evade the imminent fire. She snapped her weapon back in front of her.

She was too late.

A single laser blast resounded in her ears, echoing off the mountainside and stealing away into the night. The laser ripped through Carbine's flesh. She fell backward in pain, and her vision was consumed by darkness.

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Alone, at last.

The serenely painted walls of ocean blues and greens attempted to calm Throttle's tensions. The cascading hot water soothingly caressed his fur, while the powerful shower head massaged and penetrated the tight knots in his muscles. The steam embraced his body and flowed into his lungs, rendering him light-headed. This washroom was his fortress of solitude, reigned only by his thoughts. Although it was just a temporary freedom, it was more than he had been granted all afternoon. He was alone, free of distraction, and isolated from any unwanted attention. Free from the heavy weight of everyone's watchful eyes.

Throttle usually looked forward to showers. It was his favourite moment of the day, and it cleared his mind of polluting thoughts and emotions. Since arriving on Earth, he had come up with his best ideas while in the shower. He had solved the most complicated of mysteries. The shower was a wondrous invention, and he wished he could have had them around during the war, back on Mars.

Throttle stretched, and lifted his face upward, wishing the streaming water could wash away his cares. The sensation of water sweeping across his antennas was exhilarating, and unlike anything he had experienced on Mars. It was almost enough to distract him from his tortuous thoughts. Almost.

Throttle wanted to relax, but there was so much bothering him. His mind was in chaos, and he was haunted by his memories of the warehouse. Karbunkle's face was tormenting him, laughing at his gullibility, and ridiculing his weakness. When Throttle closed his eyes, he saw flashes of Karbunkle's face towering over him. Despite the intense heat enveloping his body, shivers crept up and down his spine, while his troubled thoughts raced.

Dried blood and dirt slipped off his fur, tainting the water brown as it streamed down his wide muscular chest. He idly watched brown water coil down his trim waist, weaving its way down his lean legs. The water reopened the scabs on his arms, but he didn't notice. His eyes were mesmerised by the streams of liquid, his ears serenaded by the descending water, and his thoughts absorbed in the far-distant corners of his mind.

He felt different. Ever since visiting Limburger's warehouse, he felt... altered. Something was changing inside of him. He couldn't describe it, nor could he identify it. Something was just... different. Throttle's eyes closed as a wave of nausea swept over him. Karbunkle had done something to him. Throttle didn't want to remember, but it was necessary. The scientist had held something in his hand, some sort of needle... or container... Throttle leaned against the wall of the shower, and groaned quietly. What should he do? He couldn't bring himself to tell anyone. He wasn't entirely sure why, he only knew that no one could discover what had happened.

He needed to escape tonight, to be far away from his friends. He needed more time to think. Perhaps a good solo ride would cheer him up, or a nice brawl. Maybe a trip to the lake would offer the peace he sought. He just needed to escape.

Throttle grabbed a bottle of "Canine Shampoo." Charlie had bought it from a pet supplies store, and it cleaned fur beautifully. He lathered his body, his hands working slowly as he spread the soap on his chest. Before smearing shampoo onto his arms, he examined them closely. They were stained crimson and fresh blood seeped through the broken skin. There was a mess of scratches from where the flung chair had torn at his flesh, but the damage was very shallow. It would heal well, and leave no scar. Other than the scrapes on his arms, there were no other markings on his body. No puncture marks, no suspicious wounds. Nothing. Throttle sighed in frustration. He quickly finished lathering up, and rinsed himself off.

Without warning, the world spun around him, as he was suddenly seized by a spell of weakness. He leaned once more against the wall. He was succumbing to the asphyxiating steam, because he still hadn't regained all his strength. Maybe Charlie was right to worry. She always was right, even when he thought she was overreacting.

He turned off the water, and pulled back the pastel shower curtain, releasing the constricting steam from its chamber. He sat on the edge of the porcelain bathtub, breathing deeply. He watched the steam with keen fascination as it bellowed and swirled off his soaked fur. He waved an arm in front of him, and watched the ghostly white flames twirl and embrace his limb. He still hadn't fully adjusted to living on a planet brimming with water. It was an exotic experience, and he was as captivated as a child. His eyes followed a thick cloud of steam as if drifted to an opaque window. A sly grin formed on his face. Of course, the window! That was his escape!

As he dried himself off, he mumbled under his breath, completely unaware that he was speaking. It was almost an unconscious act, as if he wasn't speaking himself, but someone else was borrowing his mouth. In a way, it was someone else. He kept repeating two words: "No more. No more. No more. No more... "

To Be Continued...

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Thanks for reading! please review, its what makes the world go round!

Yay new chapter! I took a little longer with this chapter, because I thought it was too weak. I had to fix it up before posting it! Even still, I think its a little weak. Not as fast-paced as I want.

Im striving to update frequently. I also dont have an editor or proof-reader, so thats another couple of days to add on before each chapter release. (

I hope to make Part 2 a crossover story! I hope you all like crossovers!