The situation was beyond hectic. The simple duel between the turtle and mouse had quickly escalated into a full-blown nuclear war. Sleep darts and gamma rays darted back and forth; most creating craters and scorch marks where they crash-landed. Some managed to fly as far as the rectangular building leaving sizable burns in its walls and others even collided with one another creating miniature explosions of light and metal, but the bullets for the most part never reached their intended targets.
Bentley never thought that he'd be in a gunfight of this magnitude. Sure it wasn't technically a gunfight being that he was using a crossbow and his opponent was wielding some kind of alien death ray, but it still had the same atmosphere as a brawl in the old west that Tennessee Kid Cooper would've enjoyed. The turtle was relatively surprised that he hadn't run out of ammo by now and even more baffled at how he'd been managing to survive this long without being burnt to a crisp. For a guy with limited mobility, he was doing remarkably well. However, in order for this mayhem to end, he was going to need his plan to be put into action as soon as possible. If all went well according to it, Penelope would be incarcerated in no time.
Plan B, or 'Sitting Duck' as Bentley dubbed and explained it during the presentation on the way there, had a simple objective. One of the three of them, Sly, Murray, or himself, was to act as a decoy and distract Penelope. Then the remaining two would sneak up behind and shoot her with blue, custom-made sleep darts that the turtle had made beforehand specifically for that purpose. If that proved too difficult they would have to try anything they could to take her down. Now, he guessed, the decoy was him and he had to keep the distraction up.
In the meantime, the battlefield was a flurry of sand, metal, and man. Bentley leapt to and fro as did his challenger; the two of them both trying dodge the other's fire and attempt to strike the opposition down. Occasionally it would come close, with maybe a bullet singe here or there, but neither combatant gained an advantage.
About a minute in, Bentley was beginning to notice something very strange about the fight that he hadn't caught before. From the direction the match was going, which was nowhere apparently, he began to notice a pattern with Penelope's attacks and evasions. It was as if Penelope was somehow predicting his aim and not only predicting his aim, but predicting the precise rate of fire from his weapon in under a second and be able to react just milliseconds after. The only people-heck THINGS, that he knew were able to do that efficiently were military grade turret security cameras. And SHE certainly wasn't a T-cam 9000.
The turtle really didn't have the time to contemplate; it was far more important for this suddenly trigger-happy rat to be put back behind bars. Speaking of which….
*Buzzzzzzzzz…Bentley, we're in position!*
Bentley gave a brief sigh of relief before he was suddenly brought back to earth with a near bullet-to-the-head experience.
"Great!", he clutched the radio tightly and after shooting about twice more, hid behind a boulder that he cursed himself for not hiding behind earlier, "Do you have a clear shot?"
*Affirmative, pal. One blue-red sleep dart coming right up!*
He smiled. Once that blue-red missile hit its target, it would be game over. Penelope would be asleep and in custody and he could just forget about the whole…
Wait.
Blue-red sleep dart?
But….the ones to take down Penelope were supposed to be just bl…
Oh no.
Rewinding his mind back to the briefing of the mission, he suddenly remembered that he gave them more than one kind of sleep dart for the operation. Bentley had expected the heist to be substantially more difficult than their usual fare, so he had given his friends all he thought they would need in for a standard, difficult to reach target. Though, truth be told, he had a feeling that he should've kept the meeting as short and to the point as usual because he had the shaking suspicion that maybe Murray was a little too overwhelmed with the information. After all, Bentley had gone on for a few hours explaining the specifics of each and every type of ammunition he was going to give them and condensing everything he had learned about using crossbows over the years into what he thought was a simple one hour talk. Of course, he supposed, what was simple and easy to comprehend for him might not be too easy for the others to follow. He did admit he might've gotten a little too excited and into the briefing, possibly adding more information than necessary. But back to the specifics, the paraplegic gave his friends quite an array of ammunition. Among this huge arrangement he put a big emphasis on explaining the uses of the yellow darts, the red darts, the green darts, the camo darts, the blue darts, and the large, blue-red darts. The latter was to be used for destroying any roadblocks or machinery in the way of the target. The chemical reaction from these particular projectiles had enough power to blast apart a mech. If they were to shoot them at-
Bentley grabbed the radio.
"WAIT! MURRAY! DON'T SHO-"
CRRRRAAaaaaaaassss….BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OM!
His heart stopped beating, just like it had a few minutes before. Except, this time, he knew what to expect. Bentley strained his ears, listening for signs that proved that the worst had not come to pass.
Moments passed by and the only audible sound was the crumbling of earth and sand.
He pressed the back of the wheelchair and his neck to the boulder.
He…just didn't…
He looked for a name for the emotion; scratch that, group of emotions taking their toll on his psyche.
Shock? A cruel sense of relief? Anger?
Fear? Guilt? Remorse?
Grief?
The turtle was reluctant to turn around. After seeing the disgusting river of body parts in Mz. Ruby's voodoo domain, he really didn't want to see fresh, burnt, and possibly more mangled remains. Especially hers.
But maybe the missile missed? Maybe the mouse had escaped the blast just in time? After all he didn't hear flesh or bone being torn apart and crushed, only the sound of his metal gear being blown to bits. Or maybe the blast just incinerated her?
Bentley didn't know what to do.
*Bentley?...Bentley?*
He didn't reply. He didn't want to.
*Bentley, look…I'm so-*
"It's…not your fault, Murray. I should've been more specific.", he paused for a moment, "Penelope…what does s-….is she…"
*Dead? No, but it looks like she's really hurt though. She's trying to make a run for the building, but I doubt she'd get far.*
"What do you mean by hurt?"
*See for yourself.*
...
Bentley, after a few seconds, concluded that if the others weren't disturbed by her injuries, he wouldn't be as well. But then again, he did expect the worst as Sly and Murray were a good deal away and probably couldn't tell if it was really bad from that distance. He took the risk anyway.
The turtle looked up from behind the rock.
The two hadn't been kidding; she had her back toward him and the rock and was slowly limping away towards the concrete construction, clutching her upper right arm, which was oddly out of view. It didn't look like she had her gun, which was quickly confirmed with a quick look at the ground where it lay several feet away amongst other oddly shaped debris. Bentley made a mental note to take and study it later.
However, now was the time to catch her.
"Guys, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
*Yep! Let's get that traitor!*
"But be careful", Bentley added quickly, "We don't want to startle her or hurt her even more."
*Don't worry; I won't make that mistake again. That is, if she keeps her mouth shut and doesn't hurt anyone….You coming?*
"Well, what do you think?"
The turtle wheeled himself out from behind the rock and began to move toward Penelope. He started slow at first but then picked up the pace as she got closer to her destination. For a brief moment, the mouse turned her head back slightly to catch a glimpse of her purser after which she began to limp faster than he had thought possible. Bentley likewise increased his speed.
"Geez, you would've thought the shell shock would've affected her more." He muttered.
A swift movement caught his eye and by means of magic or some elaborate desert mirage, the building moved. Well, 'moved' was a bit of an understatement. The entire structure sprang to life and folded itself inward and outward to create a grand crescent shaped entrance that would dwarf a super stadium. Clearly the mad mouse's base was a lot bigger than it had originally looked or she consulted the Home Improvement Guide of Tomorrow to beef up the doorway. It was truly a sight to behold.
However, sightseeing, the paraplegic reminded himself, was not the goal here. Getting Penelope in jail and stopping whatever evil plan she was going to put into play was.
He pressed a few buttons on his chair, which put it into overdrive.
In a few seconds he was just a few feet away from his former ally. He was so close. So nearly there.
He stretched out his arm to grab her as he got closer and closer. He finally had her in reach!
Then she stopped.
Bentley had to jam the breaks on his chair to order to stop himself from running her over. He swerved dangerously to the left, nearly toppling over into the sand covered concrete. The turtle looked down to regain his composure, intended position, and breath, and, after all was satisfactory, looked up.
They were standing in the middle of the crater like entrance a reasonable distance from what appeared to be a sizable, thousand-ton double doorway. Penelope still had her back towards him and was standing perfectly still.
He decided to break the silence as he figured, from what he encountered earlier, she certainly wouldn't.
"Hey!-pant-you-huff-should slow down a bit don't you think?" Hyper speed somehow always got him hyped, and this time was no exception.
Predictably, she said nothing.
"I mean…you survived a bomb for crying out loud! You should probably be…a little bit more…you know."
Her tail twitched.
Bentley sat up a little in his chair. "Pardon me for asking again", he spoke intently, "But…in regards your recent behavior and a very recent explosion….are you ok?"
Once again silence was her only answer.
"Look", he sighed, "I know that you hate me. I know that we hate each other. And I know the entire world hates you…albeit for understandable reasons…"
Her left ear twitched.
"But despite how angry we are at you, you can still come willingly and we will still help you. The Cooper gang still has an honorable code…despite how much you hate that. Sly and Murray might be a little tense, but I can assure you that you won't be hurt….more than you already are. "
Penelope's wall of reserve was apparently unbreakable at this point.
"I know our different attitudes and ideas can be jarring. And I know they can and have caused conflict between you and everyone….But we're both human…right?"
Bentley presumed it was best to stop talking. There was just no way of compromising if all he got was silence.
But then, Penelope began to turn around.
Yes. Now he could hopefully get an answer! Now she would stop acting mute and communicate.
The turtle lifted his head to face her.
No.
His hand clasped his mouth as he expelled a gasp of horror.
No. No.
This wasn't!
IT COULDN'T BE!
"BENTLEY!", Sly and Murray called out from behind him. They were running towards them and approaching at a respectable rate. "Did you catch up with her? Did you-", they froze.
For standing all around them, upon the grand walls of the entrance and the ground as well, was a legion of jumpsuit-clad mice all silently pointing their guns at them.
And standing before Bentley, was a terrible sight.
For one thing, her sunglasses and bandana had been lost, no doubt blown away by the explosion. But now he could see that there was a reason why she wore them. They were covering up her face, her now desiccated face. Her right cheek was torn open by the bomb's shrapnel, her skin peeling and melting off. Her right arm was blown to bits, hanging limp against her chest. Her jumpsuit and fur up to her elbow had been singed to a crisp, the tattered leather strips of her garment contemplating the ribbons of skin dangling off her body.
But instead of flesh and blood, the only thing constituting the injuries, everything under her lavender fur, was bent, broken, and gleaming sliver metal.
And her eyes, previously shielded by her black shades, were even darker, lenses-like rectangles.
This particular mouse, the one they had been after this whole time in the desert...
…was a robot.
A speaker called out from somewhere in the walls.
"You've reached the Wise Industries headquarters! Please state your business…or prepare to be assimilated."