Breaking the Habit

A Biker Mice Vignette – Song Fic

The bike flies down the street; it's rider bent low over the gas tank, all sleek lines and sweeping turns. A black leather boot strikes the gear shift with a fervor that can only be described as possessed. The street lamps reflect like strobes off the glossy helm and visor that hides the rider's features from observers. Reverberating inside the helm, throbbing bass and wailing guitar are piped in from the motorcycle's radio.

Memories consume
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again
You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
Unless I try to start again

"Why? Why did I have to say that? Why did I have to do that?" The words run rampant inside her head, as she leans the bike into another dangerous turn. Her left knee brushes against the pavement, the leather growing warm against her. Her face is screwed into a rage-filled sorrow, but she does not cry. She cannot cry. No matter how she wants to.

I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

Her memory is filled with images from the fight. The pain she could see etched in his face was like a dagger straight to her heart. Why? Why? This isn't the way she wants to be, combative, angry. This is not her purpose in life. She is a cold-blooded killer, that's true. But she is a family Mouse. A woman with a life, and a sister who depends on her. Why? Why now, when everything is just beginning to make sense?

Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more
Than anytime before
I had no options left again
I dont want to be the one
The battles always choose
'Cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused

Her mouth forms a scowl, a frown, and a gaping gasp of agony. Her foot finds the gear shift one more time, pushing the sleek black machine far beyond its limits as she streaks through the late Chicago night. There are flashing lights behind her, sirens wailing in her wake. Her azure eyes narrow against black fur. She glances over her shoulder just once. Before making up her mind. "Modo… Ricochet…" her mouth forms the words as the bass echoes inside her ears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I'll paint it on the walls
'Cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends
I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity
to show you what I mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So, I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

Her hands flex against the textured grips of her handlebars. The bike whistles softly as she leans it into a sharp corner, the yellow, diamond-shaped sign goes unheeded as she settles herself as comfortably as possible into her seat. At the last second, she squeezes her eyes closed, so tightly that even her augmented vision sees a blossom of red lines against the darkness.

The brick wall offers no cushion. The fireball, red and angry, can be seen against the twilight skyline for miles around. It raises into the sky like a blossom of blood, smoke and fire. The sirens wail on.