Episode One
Runnin' on Empty
"Limburger! You won't get away with this!"
Throttle flexed his muscles, straining to free himself from the bonds that held him tied to his two unconscious bros. The Plutarkian glanced over his shoulder as he keyed digits into the console. The empty space between the two Tesla coils began to spin and oscillate, various brilliant colors swirling together to dazzle his eyes. The grin on Limburger's plastic lips infuriated the Martian Mouse; but his struggles were to no avail. He couldn't budge the iron constraints, nor could he drag the limp weight of his bros across the floor. Whatever Limburger's device was meant to do… it seemed to be accomplishing.
The Tesla coils sparked and crackled, electricity causing the Mice's fur to rise on end. An uncomfortable prickling sensation rippled through his skin, as Throttle snarled in the face of his enemy. The colors began to solidify, forming a picture between the two coils. He strained to see, wishing fervently that his cybernetic eyes actually worked properly for once. Before the picture came completely into focus, however, Limburger's broad shape moved to block the Mouse's view.
"Get a good look," Limburger hissed, exhaling rank, rotten air into Throttle's sensitive nose. "Because this is the last of this world that you shall see!"
The fish stepped away again, allowing Throttle to get a good view of the image between the coils. Confusion was written upon his brow as he pondered the meaning of it all. Beyond the coils, where once had lain a solid wall with open air beyond, now lay the shimmering frost-laden ground of Quigley Stadium. Limburger reached for a very large, very potent laser rifle, and casually checked his watch.
A large ball of orange began to flicker like flame off to his left, hurtling in at incredible speeds. Throttle's eyes widened behind his field specs. He recognized that day! That was the first day they had all crashed on Earth, and sought out Charley's help. Limburger chuckled softly, checking the ammunition rounds on the laser rifle. Glancing back one final time, the fish waved his fingers lightly in the Mouse's direction.
"Sayonara!"
Throttle felt suffocated, as the vision of the Martian runabout hurtled closer and closer. He wanted to move; he flexed, he tried, he pulled until he felt his shoulders would dislocate. Limburger watched him for a moment or two, before resolutely stepping between the Tesla coils. The image stretched and rippled, as if the giant piscine alien were stepping through a wall of liquid. As everything twanged back into focus, Throttle watched a puff of breath rise from Limburger's mouth. He could almost hear the crunch of the frost beneath his patent leather shoes.
Limburger looked right, then he looked left. And finally he looked up at the hurtling object in the sky. With painstaking casualness, Limburger knelt in the frosty grass, lifting the heavy laser rifle up to rest upon his shoulder. Shifting forward slightly, he put his eye to the scope, and settled into position, his finger sliding lovingly over the trigger. Throttle could hear himself giving the orders to bail from the ship, his mind dragged him back to that night.
The report of the laser rifle seared his ears, twice. Behind him, he felt his bros stir into wakefulness, only to stiffen and grunt in pain. Throttle ground his teeth together as the laser rifle hissed again. A moment later, warmth spread through his chest. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, finding himself whispering apologies. It was painful to breathe, but he forced himself to do so, until his head filled with static.
A sudden searing heat exploded over him. With a last, wheezing breath, Throttle went black.
------------------
"Oooooh…"
"Hold still, bro; Vinnie's cutting us loose."
That was Modo's voice! Throttle felt joy rip through his perception, forcing it's way past the pain. He made himself relax, calmed every nerve that told him they shouldn't be here. Limburger's device, the laser rifle… it was all so fresh in his memory. And it couldn't have been a dream. His hands were still bound to his bros.
Silently, he thanked Vinnie for his talented tail, and his bandoliers of fusion flares. The flares easily melted the metal bonds, allowing the three of them free. Throttle went to bring his arms round before him, and hissed in agony. One of his shoulders had dislocated, and the burning nerves threatened to sweep him off balance. Instantly, Modo's flesh hand was steadying him, the warm touch of the huge Mouse comforting at the same time Throttle was disturbed.
His field specs must have been knocked off when he passed out. His vision was a sea of static, broken by shadowy movements at his peripheral vision. Almost as quickly as he put his good hand out to look for them, a strangely silent Vinnie pressed them into his hand. Vinnie was shaking, and he clutched for a long moment at his bro's arm. When he was finally released, Throttle slid the specs on, and surveyed the Tower.
Well, it was supposed to be the Tower. Limburger's fortress was nothing but rubble. Rubble that surrounded them and left them exposed to the elements. Throttle rose slowly, clutching his shoulder, and he moved forward through the tumble-down brick and concrete to stand between his bros. None of them said a word, nor did they look at each other. The sky hung oppressively low, thick, black clouds blocked out every trace of blue, and sun that could have ever existed. Everywhere they looked, there was neither a single trace of green in Chicago, nor even a hint of water. No parks. No laughter. No humans in sight at all.
Modo swallowed. "Oh… Mama…" he choked out, tears threatening on the edge of the deep voice.
"How long were we out?" Vinnie asked, his voice cracked too, and he wavered as if he were struggling to stand up. "This can't be Earth."
Vincent swooned, stumbling backwards as a wave of vertigo swept through him. Modo was faster than Throttle, jumping back to catch him before he dropped like a rock. The youngster's white fur was grimy, and he stood with his arms wrapped around his ribs. Modo's hand in the center of his back steadied him. Of the three, he figured himself to be in the best shape. Throttle's shoulder was shot, and it looked like Vinnie suffered from broken ribs. Modo tucked his cybernetic hand beneath one of the white Mouse's biceps and forced him to loosen his grip a little bit. Vinnie hissed and pulled away, but not before Modo could see the deep lacerations cut into his side.
"We're in some bad shape," he muttered to himself as he sat Vinnie down. Throttle was working on some field dressings, using his belt as a temporary sling for his shoulder. Modo untied Vinnie's bandana and worked on binding Vinnie's ribs. "Think we should find Miss Charley?"
Vinnie seemed to brighten at that thought, but winced in pain as he inhaled to speak. Throttle nodded slowly. "If anyone can tell us what's going on, she definitely can." He looked around then, as if expecting to see something. "But… our rides…"
Modo scowled, forcing Vinnie to stay down with one determined look. He tucked his fingers around his front teeth, and whistled. Both his bros winced at the shrill sound, and a few stubborn crows took raucous flight at the disturbance. Modo held his breath and waited, straining his ears for the sounds that he loved so much.
"C'mon, Li'l Darlin'…" he whispered softly. "Please…"
The rumble started nearby, beneath a pile of rubble. Modo beamed, his ears perking up. Ozone drifted through the air, making him sneeze as the trapped motorcycles melted their way out of the rubble with searing laser fire. He glanced at Throttle and Vinnie and beamed proudly. His Li'l Hoss, the intelligent motorcycle he doted upon and loved with all his great big heart, rumbled happily to see him.
"Can you ride?" Throttle asked Vinnie as he helped the youth up.
Vinnie nodded, the headlights reflecting off his Flexi-Plate mask. His eyes were wide and frightened, an expression that left him vulnerable and wounded. "It looks just like Mars…" he whispered for Throttle's ears only. "Nothing left… just… pain…"
Throttle couldn't speak; he couldn't agree with the observation verbally. Steadying Vinnie with one arm, he helped his bro climb onto the sleek red machine that idled before him. Vinnie patted her gas tank affectionately, and let go of his ribs to lean over and twist the throttle.
Modo trundled up as the beige Mouse was mounting his own machine. "They look a little beat up…" the big gray Mouse noticed, pointing out some dings in Li'l Hoss' chrome exhaust.
"Let's head to the Last Chance," Throttle directed, smoothing his bangs back before sliding into his helmet. "Charley'll know what's going on."
The Stadium was gone…
The hot dogs stand too…
Tears sprang to Modo's eyes as they passed the rubble of his favorite radio station.
They skirted past Quigley Field, each staring in horrified awe at the massive sprawling complex that lay where the baseball diamond had once been. Even through their helmet filters, the stench of Plutarkian was almost overwhelming. Throttle swallowed, something was definitely not right here. He reflected on the scene beyond the giant Tesla coils… It couldn't have been more than two hours ago that he witnessed it. They couldn't have been out for long!
Definitely not long enough for Limburger to successfully rape the planet! But his eyes were telling the truth, gaping holes where concrete and dirt once was; smoldering stumps where trees had been clear cut away. He feared the worst had happened to the Last Chance Garage; feared that Charley was gone, and the home they had once enjoyed was destroyed. He almost laughed with relief when he found that his worst fears were unfounded.
The Garage still stood. A tall barbed-wire fence had been erected around the structure, which bore the pock-marks and damage of many sieges. Of all things to decorate the front yard, there was a monolithic tank, blown over on its side and gutted of any salvageable parts. Cautiously, the boys rode through the gap in the fence, single file. They left their bikes idling in front of the heavy steel bay doors, while they dismounted, and limped to the side door.
The interior was dark. Throttle tested the door and found it unlocked. He glanced at his bros, and stepped inside. Vinnie refused help as he followed, leaving Modo to tag along behind.
WHAM!
The blow came out of nowhere, something large and solid collided with the back of Throttle's head. As Throttle blacked out, he heard Vinnie and Modo hit the floor as they too, were assaulted by the unseen figures.
"I say we put them out of their misery, right here, and right now."
"Easy, Brock, if we did everything the way you wanted to, we'd all be dead now."
"Charley's got a point there, Brock."
"Shaddup, Jack. They're MICE, for Christ's sake. They're here to kill us."
"Dad, they're hurt… they can't kill us… I'm getting Danny, that white one is going to bleed to death!"
Charlene McCyber rubbed her face wearily as the girl ran from the room. Everyone had valid fears, everyone had valid points, but Charley didn't know just what do to about the three six-foot tall Martian Mice. They had strolled in like they owned the joint, and now they were lying on the concrete floor, hands, feet and tails bound together. She looked at Jack for help, but her husband was kneeling by the largest of the trio.
"Check this out! This one's got cybernetic augments!" Jack chimed like a little kid.
"Disable it," Charley warned him, frowning at the notion.
"It's an old model… that's easy." Jack shook his mahogany hair out of his eyes as he flipped the metal arm over, exposing the linkage box at it's elbow. Popping a few wires out, Jack nodded, satisfied that the arm wouldn't function when the behemoth woke up.
Brock stood guard over them, his thick arms crossed over his thick chest. He didn't care if they were wounded, or hale. Those damned Mice were the enemy… "They're probably part of Parmesana's crew… she likes the shirtless male look," he snarled at the unconscious creatures.
Danny emerged into the bay just then, with 10-year-old Zoë in tow. Brock refused to look in his daughter's direction, unhappy with her compassion for the creatures that had slain her mother last year. Danny patted the girl on the shoulder, before he broke from her company to join Charley and Jack.
"So?"
"They just wandered in here," Charley was confused, and it showed in her voice. "No weapons drawn; banged up; totally unsuspecting…"
Danny knelt between the beige Mouse and the white one. He scrubbed a hand through his salt and pepper hair, sighing long and low. Before the invasion, Danny had been a surgeon at Chicago Regional.
"Let's get these guys below ground…" he muttered.
"You're going to heal them?" Brock snapped, rolling his thick shoulders.
"We need answers," Charley countered. "They can't answer us if they're dead."
Zoë bounced to the stairs. "I'll get a room ready!" She called back to the surgeon.
Brock scowled harder, infuriated with his daughter's desire to help. But he couldn't go against Charley's word. He owed her his life… and his daughter's. If she said it had to happen, then it had to happen. Grudgingly, he slung the biggest Mouse over his shoulder, not really caring that big gray's knuckles dragged against the concrete.
"Do I make myself clear, young lady?"
Zoë kicked her feet in the dirt, and scowled. "Yessir," she mumbled. Brock crossed his broad arms across his chest, and tapped his foot expectantly. "I won't go anywhere near them when they wake up!"
"Good," he ruffled her thick curly black hair. "That's my little trooper." Brock stumped to the door, his boots dull and thudding against the earthen floor. "Come on, peanut, let's let the band-aid do his work."
Zoë glanced back at Danny. The former doctor was bent over the white Mouse, carefully wrapping bandages around his ribcage while Jack positioned the body for him. As the Martian moaned, Zoë winced, and followed her dad out of the chamber. The curtain that covered the otherwise open hole in the wall flapped a little in a breeze. Brock glanced up and grinned. Charley had cleared whatever had been obstructing their fresh air. It was a nice change, feeling the cool air slide over his baldpate. It rinsed the stench of humanity out of the little complex; unfortunately there was nothing they could do any longer about the fishy Plutarkian stink.
He paused and waited for his little girl. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he ushered her into the video chamber. Automatically, she took her usual seat, spinning around once, before settling in to watch the three interior screens. Brock patted her shoulder as he turned his attention to the exterior cameras.
"Everything's clear," he muttered. "Charley got their bikes out of sight, even."
Zoë didn't answer; she frowned and glanced over at her father, upset at his anger. Not one, but three rooms were now occupied by their unlucky guests. Charley had mentioned something about Mice being most dangerous when they were around their own kind. Danny had given the slim white one his highest priority; the poor thing seemed to have suffered greatly. And Brock would have killed them instantly. Zoë was glad that Charley and Jack were in charge; they believed in second chances too.
Again… Throttle's head was on fire for a second time in the past twenty-four hours. He groaned as he shook himself awake, rolling his shoulders. He hissed again, but the burning pain of his dislocated shoulder wasn't as bad as it had been earlier. Hesitantly, he touched his arm, and found it to be supported by a sling, his shoulder, popped back into place. Someone had taken his field specs; effectively he was blind again. He reached out, and felt around. He had no weapons. They had even taken his glove of nuke knucks. 'They?'
The last thing he remembered was stepping into the Last Chance Garage.
"Vinnie?" He asked tentatively, listening hard for sounds of their presence. "Modo?"
Nothing. His ears were greeted with a most disappointing silence. His brow furrowed, not total silence. There was someone else in the room with him. A slow steady breathing, as if someone was trying to keep themselves calm. Throttle sniffed the air, smiling at the scent of vanilla musk.
"Charley-girl?"
She was dead silent, but her breath caught. Throttle could almost picture the way she would be sitting. Stiff and straight, with fear and worry etched on her pretty features. Fear? He wondered why he had put that on her, but found himself answering that question quicker than he would have liked. She was terrified of him.
"It's me…" he felt the need to keep talking, keep giving her information. "Throttle. Don't you remember me? Remember the bros?"
"You're not part of a Death Squad?" As soon as she asked the question, Throttle felt the first churnings of fear in his own stomach. He didn't know what to tell her, and found himself staring blindly into the static that covered his vision. "Where the hell did you come from?"
"Mars." The answer came quickly, and Charley's instant response was laughter.
"Mars has been a dead planet for three years." She fairly growled the words. "Ever since the Stink Fish started to rape Earth. They killed Mars, and they are going to kill Earth." He could hear her rise, and began to pivot to face her. She stopped him, pressing a knife against his throat. "You will tell me why you came here. Or I will kill you before you kill us."
"Kill you?" Throttle's normally calm voice cracked, spiking high at the thought of dying at Charley's hands. "We're not here to kill you! We need your help! We can't figure out what's happened!"
"Here's the short of it: The Plutarkians came, they saw, they conquered." Charley hissed into his ear. "From all accounts, it's the same thing they did on Mars. You know, where you came to Earth from."
Throttle was panting, with each breath he could feel the knife-edge press a little harder into his throat. Charley's weight pressed against his back, positioned so she could wrench his bad shoulder right out of its socket again if she needed to. He had to resort to pleading.
"You don't remember me? You don't remember the bros? Vinnie? Modo?" Throttle grasped at verbal straws, hunting for something that would spark her memory. "The Scoreboard? Root beer and hot dogs? The Big Cheese? We fought against Limburger together! You came back to Mars with us once… you've experienced my memories!"
Charley pressed her knee into his shoulder, causing Throttle to cry out in sudden pain. "Don't lie to me! All Mice work for the Plutarkians. All of them!" She shoved hard against Throttle's back, sending him off balance and falling to the floor. He curled into a little ball of misery as he heard her slam and lock the door behind her.
Modo was calm. He was determined to stay calm. Just because his cyber arm wasn't working all of a sudden didn't mean that he had to get upset. Just because he was tied down with titanium-steel alloy straps didn't mean that he had to get upset. Just because he was alone in the room with no idea what had happened to Throttle or Vinnie didn't mean he had to get upset. So he remained calm. Answers would come in their own good time. Things like that always did.
He really didn't expect his answers to come in the form of Jack McCyber waltzing into the room with an air of ownership. The bells started go off in his head as soon as he saw the hacker. Charley had never allowed him to stay long in the Last Chance. His presence had always made her uncomfortable. Modo studied the scruffy hacker, and for a few seconds, he allowed his eye to linger on the single, plain, golden ring around his ring finger. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.
"Hey," Modo began, wishing he could sit up to talk with Jack in a dignified manner.
"Hey, you're awake." Jack pulled a chair up beside the slab where Modo lay. "I'm Jack. What's a big strapping Mouse like you doing in this neck of the woods?"
"I know who you are." Modo pondered at his introduction. "You don't remember me?"
Jack shook his head. "You need to answer my questions, big guy." He was being awfully nice. "Why're you out here?"
Modo looked around, seeing nothing but blank gray walls. "I'll answer your questions on one condition."
"Name it."
"Tell me where my bro's are, and how they're doing."
"They're safe. The beige one's in conference with my wife. Nothing more than a dislocated shoulder. The white one, however, is still out cold. He's got three broken ribs, and some seriously bruised internal organs. He'll survive alright."
Wife? Modo's eye widened at that thought. He can't mean Charley-ma'am! Modo frowned, pressing his tongue against his uneven front teeth. It was obvious that he didn't know them, even after they had two unsavory encounters in the past. He sighed them, almost in resignation.
"We're looking for Charley… we were knocked out while trying to stop Limburger… and, well," Modo couldn't look around anymore; he closed he eye, and resigned himself to inactivity. "This don't feel like home."
Jack seemed to process it, but kept all of his relevant thoughts to himself. "How did you first arrive on Earth?"
Modo swallowed. "Three years ago… we crashed our cruiser into the scoreboard at Quigley Field."
Jack harrumphed, but didn't respond as Modo twisted his head around and gave him a questioning look. "How do you know Charley?"
"She helps us. Fixes our bikes. Upgrades our weapons—" Modo didn't get any further than that before Jack had cut him off.
"Woah, woah! Hold your horses there. Charley doesn't help Mice! She kills them!" Jack was laughing; he found this so funny. Modo's eye glimmered slightly, as he felt the first inklings of anger building in his gut. "I don't know what kind of drugs you're on, or what's giving you these delusions… but you are certainly out of line!"
Modo opened his mouth to ask a question, but Jack was already heading for the door. As he reached the door, he shut off the tape recorder in his pocket. Charley was waiting for him. She looked visibly shaken, her eyes closed and she was worrying her lower lip. As Jack slid an arm around her shoulders, she looked at him with stricken eyes.
"Jack?"
He soothed her, squeezing her shoulders. "I know." He kissed her dark auburn hair, losing himself for a moment in the vanilla scent. "Nothing survived the Quigley crash."
"Do you believe them?" Brock was asking as they all gathered in the dining room. "Zoë, eat your veggies." He tapped the table to get his daughter's attention back to the listless green lettuce that she pushed around on her plate.
Jack was tinkering with a little black box. He took a moment and glanced up at everyone. "I may have some hard evidence here, if I can crack the access code."
"What is that?" Charley asked as she settled into a chair beside her husband.
"A recording device, all Martian AI's have them. Verification purposes, usually, or to discover the last moments of a certain Mouse." Jack nodded slightly as he twisted one of the small tools in his hand. With a satisfying click, a light at the front of the box began to flicker. Within moments, a three dimensional holograph rose over the table.
The three of their visitors appeared in the air, bound together. Zoë hid her face as the unmistakable form of Lawrence L. Limburger filled the projection.
"That's not the complex," Charley observed suddenly. She pointed to the giant holographic Tesla coils. "The old tower? And… what in hell is that?"
Jack narrowed his eyes, and rose, walking around the table to get a good view of it all. The three holographic figures slumped over as if dead. Limburger stepped back into view from between the giant Tesla coils. He gave the beige Mouse a kick, and laughed. The Plutarkian disappeared from the frame of view again, and all was still for a few minutes. Suddenly, one of the Tesla coils emitted a giant spark; a spark that ignited the substance hanging between the two coils. The explosion was gargantuan, violent, and blinding.
"Holy…" Brock swore, covering his eyes. "That was the boom that took down the old tower yesterday, wasn't it?"
Jack was nodding. "That was an abandoned complex." He mentioned. "So..." The white static cleared from the holographic display then, revealing to the humans a familiar scene: the decimated Chicago.
"What does it mean?" Charley asked, quietly.
"At
least part of their story is true," Jack answered, nodding. "They apparently hate Plutarkian's as much
as we do."
"See, Daddy?" Zoë asked
suddenly. "I told you they didn't work
for the bad guys!"
Throttle didn't care what kind of situation he was going to be walking into, he was just happy that Charley had decided to believe him after all. He and Modo were let into the room where Vinnie was still sleeping, allowing them some privacy to talk.
"This is creepy," Throttle observed, leaning over the white Mouse to check on him. "At least they patched him up good."
"Jack married Charley." Modo said suddenly.
"What?"
"This is some kind of nightmare, bro." Modo whispered quietly, putting his head in his hands. His rusty cyber arm was working, but Jack had refused to enable the forearm cannon. "Limburger's won; Charley doesn't know us. We're beaten, battered, bruised…" Modo looked up, meeting Throttle's hidden gaze as best he could. "Throttle? What happened after…?"
The beige Mouse took a deep breath. After a few moments, he rounded, spinning on his heel. "That's it! That's what happened!"
"What's what?" Modo echoed, looking around bewildered.
"Limburger went back in time!" Throttle fairly vibrated with the epiphany. "This is what would have happened on Earth if we hadn't survived the crash!"
"So… we're dead?" Modo asked, scratching the back of his head. "Then how come?"
"Something must have happened with the machine," Throttle began to pace. "Something that made us come over here! After all, it's been almost three years since the crash. And Charley did say that Mars has been dead for three years."
Vinnie stirred in the bed nearby. "Charley?"
The two bros gave each other panicked looks. "Take it easy, hotshot," Throttle warned with a hand on Vinnie's shoulder. "You need your rest."
Vinnie's eyes barely opened, before he was trying to twist himself into a seated position. Throttle didn't move fast enough to stop him. The white Mouse groaned aloud as his ribs ground against each other; his eyes opened just enough to show them rolling back into his head, before he slumped back again.
Modo rose to help Throttle straighten him out a little. "It's best if he stays out," Modo muttered, nodding to himself. "He couldn't handle Jack before; it'd be impossible for him now."
Throttle agreed with a slight nod. "Hey, did you hear that?"
Modo grew silent, tilting his head up so his large round ears were pointed up. "Sounds like a fight…"
They moved towards the door; Modo pressed his hand against the frame. It was muffled, and distant, but they both had to remind themselves they were underground. Feet ran past the door, and moments later came back to the jangling of keys. Throttle pushed Modo back, waiting to see what was going to open the door.
"Quick! Quick! We need your help!" The door flung open to reveal a small mocha-colored girl. She couldn't have been more than ten and she bounced excitedly. "Jack's on the upper level! Follow me!"
Modo raised a brow at his bro, but Throttle only shrugged. Together they followed the kid out of their prison, and through the complex. This place was a lot bigger than they had first expected. In addition to the concrete lined garage basement, there were two additional levels, dug from earth and strutted with wooden beams and stray pieces of metal.
"Zoë!" A giant black man ran forward and pulled his daughter away from the Mice as they entered the basement level. He held her close as the Martian's moved past him, towards where Jack was connecting the last few wires on their bikes.
"Jack?" Throttle asked, quietly.
"It's a Death Squad." Jack answered nonchalantly. "We get hit at least once a week by them. Unfortunately, this one is Limburger's finest." He rose from the bikes and wiped his hands off. "There…" he sighed. "Charley's manning the turret up top, but she needs you two to stir things up."
Throttle looked over at Modo, and Modo looked at Jack through a narrowed eye. "My arm cannon?" He held out his cyberarm and waited, while Jack connected wires and plugged in his power source. "Alright."
"Well, bro… let's rock…" Throttle dropped his helmet back down.
Modo followed suit, and chimed in with his bro: "And ride!"
The two new bikers to the fray didn't even pause to take stock of the situation. To their count, there were five bikes, peppering the Last Chance with laser fire. Throttle was the first to open fire, blowing the rider of a fatboy hog clear off his bike. Modo gave chase to navy chopper, dodging personal mines that it dropped behind it.
A sand-colored racing bike spun into Throttle's side, sending him skidding across the broken pavement. The Mouse jumped clear of his bike before it hit the tall wire fence surrounding the Last Chance. Tucking and rolling, he spun clear of the catastrophe before he winced at the potential damage to his ride. He was on his feet bare moments later, his tail lashing at the air in irritation.
Smoke rolled across the pavement as something exploded. Over the helmet's communications, Throttle could hear Modo whooping in triumph, before spinning off to take another bike out. His ear twitched as something much closer caught his attention. The crunch of a boot across the pavement brought him spinning around, his Nuke Knucks flaring to life with a touch. Balanced low to the ground, he eyed the figure that approached him slowly.
She was curvaceous and moved with a confidence that Throttle found instantly attractive. His eyes widened slightly as she paused in her approach, putting her hands on her hips. They regarded each other for long, tense moments. Just as Throttle thought she was going to attack, a bike roared through the scene between them, brilliant flames painted on the tank were all Throttle could process. As he looked back up, the femme rider had vanished.
" Throttle, they're pulling back! " Modo chimed over the comm., his voice slightly tinny from the old technology.
"I noticed," Throttle griped softly. He rose again, and dusted himself completely off. "Don't follow them." Wrestling with his bike, he freed it from the wire fence, and the sandy-toned racer that had slid into it. He walked his bike a distance away before setting it up on its kickstand; he could smell gas, and that just wasn't a good thing.
Returning to the enemy ride, he gave it a yank, righting it easily. His hands followed the familiar lines of the bike as he examined it carefully. It was definitely a Martian make; the lines and flow easily pleased the eye. Dual exhaust, and an all matte finish.
Behind him, Modo pulled up quick, disengaging his face shield as he could get an unobstructed view. "Hey, bro?" Modo pointed at the bike with a curious eye. "Isn't that Carbine's ride?"
Just as quickly as Throttle had pulled the bike up, he dropped it. The thought had lurked, unsaid, in the back of his mind. Modo was stricken as a visible wave of anguish froze his bro on the spot. He looked for something to say, but found himself at a lack of words. Dismounting, he crossed over to where Throttle stood, and reached down to gently right the bike again. As he looked up, his cybernetic gaze was drawn to a glint high in the rubble of a nearby building.
"Sniper!" Modo threw his arm around Throttle and flattened them both to the ground. The first bullet whizzed by their ears, and slammed into the concrete, causing a fist-sized dent. The second shot clipped the fallen motorcycle's gas tank, and sent the bike up in a holy rain of fire.
Modo glanced back over his shoulder and whistled softly. The sniper had vanished from the building.
End Episode One
Go To Episode Two
