Chapter 8.

Charley walked into the kitchen and saw Spectre leaning against the windowsill, looking through the glass, as he seemed to do a lot.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Pretty good, but the big guy snores pretty loud" came the reply. "Hey, last night. You didn't really..."

Charley smiled. "I'll tell you later."

"I'm not sure I want to know."

"It's funny. You'll laugh, I promise. Hey, you like hot dogs?"she said, putting on some boiling water on the stove.

Spectre looked puzzled.

"You're a mouse, you'll love them."

Modo and Throttle came in, rubbing their eyes and yawning.

"Morning, Charley-girl."

"Mornin', Charley-ma'am."

Soon, food was on the table and everyone started to tuck in, when Vinnie came in, trying to work some kinks out of his back and neck. He swooped past Throttle and grabbed the hot dog he was just about to bite into.

"What's wrong Vinnie?" Throttle sniggered, noticing his bros discomfort. "'Get up' on the wrong side of the bed?"

"Didn't get up on any side of the bed," he grumbled, ignoring the pun.

Everyone except Charley frowned, who giggled.

"She made me sleep on the floor!"

Now all eyes were on Charley.

"Well, he said 'one of us could always sleep in my room,' he didn't specifically mention the bed," she shrugged.

The effect of what she said set in, and Modo and Throttle crowed with laughter. Spectre allowed a slight twitch of his lips to happen.

The insults and remarks aimed at Vinnie from his bros seemed endless, and only ceased after Vinnie was forced to leave the room to salvage what was left of his masculinity. It was then that Throttle noticed Spectre in the room for the first time, or so it seemed. Instead of direct, upfront questioning, he decided upon a different tack.

"Spectre, I know what it's like to be a Plutarkian prisoner, and it's not a good experience. I imagine that you have had much worse times than me, judging from what I can see."

Spectre visibly softened.

"I would just like to be able to hear your story. You don't need to tell me all the specifics. Just how you have survived this long."

Spectre sighed. While he wasn't being forced into it this time, he still didn't want to say it, but felt he had an obligation to repeat his story again. And so he repeated what he had told Charley the day before, not venturing too far; just enough to keep the leader of the Mice happy. At the end of his spiel, Throttle slowly nodded.

"So what's your story? With you guys?" Spectre asked, turning the question around.

Throttle's eyebrows flexed upwards, not quite expecting the inquiry but not surprised by it either. He gave a rundown of who they were, what they stood for, and how they came to be on Earth.

The story finished, and Spectre squinted. "You're not telling me everything," he said.

"Either are you," replied Throttle casually, as if he could read anyones mind while he had his shades on.

Spectre nodded, making a mental note that Throttle wasn't stupid, along with the other one; that he was a mongrel when he was tired. After nobody said anything, he went back to the window.

"So what now? What are we going to do?"

"Well, you can move into the scoreboard with us. It got repaired a lot quicker than what we thought," answered Modo. "We could get a bed for you, and we can just hang out. We could always use an extra player for basketball."

Spectre shrugged, indicating he didn't know what the hell 'basketball' was. Even so, he liked Modo. Gentle and friendly, even though they hardly knew each other.

It was agreed that Spectre would move in later that day. But for now, he would keep doing some work on his bike while the bros patrolled the city, searching for any trouble. They hadn't gone to trash Limburger's plaza after Charley figured out that there was no extra Plutarkians here during her brainwave in the shower. Who knew what the Big Cheese was going to come up with?

*

Lawrence Limburger observed the view of the city from his office at the top floor of his tower. He often did this when he was plotting another scheme in order to get Earth's natural resources to Plutark. Seeing the people scurry around in the streets always seemed to jog his mind into thinking of some sort of plan.

However, this time, he wasn't going to try and get dirt or oil or water. Last week, he received a call from Lord Camembert informing him that some sort of renegade on a weapon-laden motorbike had totalled a large section of the Plutarkian capital, then escaped by using a shuttle. Thousands had died. Now, after the spaceship crash a few days ago, Limburger was relatively certain that the same fighter was now on Earth, in Chicago no less.

"Greasepit!" he yelled.

The door burst open in a flash and the muscular but mindless hulk stumbled into the office.

"I need that mutinous motorbiking maniac in my office, right at this moment."

"Duh, what was that, boss?" Greasepit stammered.

"Get me whoever crashed here a few days ago," Limburger yelled his request in a simpler form.

"Uh...oh! Ok, Mr Limboiger, I'll go get him and bring him back here. Yeah, that's it," he said before sliding out the door and down the corridor.

Limburger sighed, before going back to his desk and taking the elevator down to the lab.

"Karbunkle!" he bellowed.

"Yes, your exquisite evergreen-ness," the evil scientist wheezed.

"I need that runaway who stole a ship and crashed here two days ago, and that pathetic, petroleum protruding ponce will never be able to pull it off, even if it was a fluke. I need a villain who can grab him while the goons keep those Biker Mice distracted."

"Of course, your cheesiness! I have just the fellow to help us," Karbunkle replied, as he activated the transporter. After a few minutes, a puff of smoke exploded and a slim character in a black jumpsuit emerged from the chamber. "May I introduce to you, the Ninja!" he exclaimed.

Limburger looked the Ninja up and down and wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He had the appearance of a dog, with narrow eyes, snout and pointy ears. He then spoke in some dialect that Limburger couldn't tell teeth from tail. The Plutarkian rolled his eyes. This was a doozy.

The Ninja's eyes glinted, then he threw a smoke bomb on the ground and all in the room were blinded from the dark smog. It eventually dissipated, and Limburger saw the Ninja standing in the same spot, but had somehow removed Limburger's entire business suit form his body. He threw it in the air, before leaping after it and slashing the purple garment clean in half with a sword. It was sheathed before he touched the ground and assuming the stance he had moments before.

Though he was totally embarrassed, Limburger was impressed with the skill of this newcomer. "Well, done, my dear Ninja," he applauded, before muttering something about using something other than his new suit. "Now, to business. I need you to find this mouse and bring him back to this building." he retrieved a blurry picture taken from a security camera and showed it to the Ninja. "There are three other vermin you should be aware off..." his voice trailed off, as he realised that the minute minion had disappeared without so much as a sound.

"Uh, Karbunkle?"

"Yes, your now almost naked-ness?"

"How did he get my pants off? My feet never left the floor."