An early chapter as an apology for last week's delay...

Harley stared in horror at the scene before her. After the bros showed up, she was sure that the odds were in their favor, even if they were still outnumbered. She never expected this to happen.

From where she and Carbine were standing, she could see Vinnie try sluggishly to get up, grasping at his face in apparent pain before collapsing once more. Modo and Throttle did not move an inch from where they lay. A quick glance towards the Sand Raider buggy showed Stoker incapacitated before the vehicle from where he'd been hit on his way to help the bros.

"Throttle!" Carbine called out as she rushed over the hill. Harley was close behind. They scrambled through the ditch to reach their fallen comrades and lovers, and reached the edge just in time to see Sand Raiders and Plutarkians grab the bros and drag them away. Their bikes were not spared either, towed onto a Plutarkian tank. Harley gasped as tears sprang to her eyes.

"No…" Carbine whispered, before grabbing her gun, "No!" The roar of engines sounded as the rest of the Freedom Fighters arrived, desperate to save their General and their comrades. Lance came to a stop next to Harley, holding out a hand to her as he fired his weapon. She barely had a second to get on before he yelped, gun having been fired out of his grasp. He held his hand close to his chest while Thrill took over steering. She heard Carbine order a tactical retreat from her position behind Scythe. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving Vinnie in the hands of those monsters, but she didn't see any other way.

Once back at Headquarters, Harley began to take stock of their wounded, and there were many. She rushed over to Scythe's side as he nearly collapsed off of Echo, placing his arm over her shoulder and providing support as they entered the mess hall. Mace was there to greet them.

"Have we struck another blow for freedom's cause, comrades?" he said with a smile, before frowning. "Hey, where's Stoker?"

"The fish heads got all of them." She replied dejectedly as she helped Scythe into a chair. "Stoker, Modo, Throttle…" Her breath hitched as she removed her helmet, fighting back tears. "…Vinnie."

"Our bravest warriors, gone. Tragic lose." Mace lamented.

"Those Plutarkians were ready for us!" Carbine shouted as she threw her helmet down in anger. "It's like they knew we were coming to take out the Tug-Transporter." She paused for a moment as if a thought hit her. "Maybe they did know…A leak from inside the resistance…"

"Carbine…" Blade interrupted her train of thought from his seat at the comms, "…Rimfire and Primer are on the vid-comm. They're asking about Modo." The grey-furred female shared a despairing glance with Harley before sighing and making her way to Blade's side in front of the screen. Harley followed as well.

"Kids…" Carbine greeted. Rimfire and Primer immediately knew something was up, looking at everyone's injuries and their dejected faces.

"Carbine, Harley? Everybody looks trashed. Where's Uncle Modo?" Rimfire asked. Harley and Carbine winced and Harley stepped closer to the screen.

"Modo and the bros got caught in a fire fight, we don't know-"

"What?" Primer asked, shocked. Rimfire's eyes widened when he registered what she was insinuating and he glared.

"Uncle Modo's no casualty! If he's a prisoner, we're busting him out!"

"Hang on! Let's be smart about this!" Carbine called out, but Rimfire brushed her off dismissively.

"No, no, no hang on nothing! Look if you wanna help, fine, but I'm already gone."

"Rimfire, wait! Let u-" But it was too late, the twins had already hung up. Carbine growled and hit the control panel in frustration. "Remind me never to have kids." Harley turned to her friend.

"Carbine, we've gotta stop them, they'll get themselves killed." Carbine nodded and turned to the room filled with injured and downtrodden men.

"I won't ask anyone of you to come. I know this battle was tough on all of us. But if anyone wants to volunteer, I'm going to try and break the bros out." She moved to grab her helmet as Mace stepped forward.

"I'll come with ya, Carbine. The rest of you comrades need to recover." Harley followed the two of them as they headed for the garage.

"Carbine, do you really think there could be a mole in the Fighters?" She asked, recalling Carbine's train of thought from minutes before. Carbine frowned as she gripped her helmet.

"It's the only thing that makes sense."

"But it couldn't be…" The two women turned to Mace, who had a contemplative look on his face as he muttered. "…no, she wouldn't." Carbine raised a brow.

"What?" Mace turned towards them with a troubled expression.

"It's just…well, I saw Charley leave this morning, after you came back with the computer module. I haven't seen her since then. She wasn't at the battle, was she?" Harley felt her breath hitch at Mace's implication.

No. There was no way that Charley would have betrayed them like that. But Carbine did not seem to share her faith in the woman.

"Why that no good… I should've seen this coming!" She rushed to her bike before Harley could blink. "Harley, if she dares show her face here, arrest her." Harley shook her head.

"Wait, Carbine I don't think…Carbine!"

But it was too late. They had driven off. Harley was left behind, feeling confused and distressed.

Stoker woke slowly, the sensation of swaying movement drawing him from the black abyss. His body ached, and he remembered the battle. He opened his eyes…and wished he hadn't.

A hyena was standing over him and when he looked towards his feet, he saw a Plutarkian carrying the end of the stretcher he was on. He tried to flip out of the stretcher, but his limbs were still feeling the effects of the laser shot from before, and he grunted in pain. The Plutarkian glanced down at him with a vile snicker.

"Don't bother, rodent. You and your comrades are ours now." Stoker turned his head when a sickly laugh reached his ears.

"Stellar specimens for the final stage of my bionic experiments." Stoker felt his blood run cold as he was carried past the bulbous headed man with ginger hair, green goggles hiding his eyes. Dressed in a lab-coat and wearing black rubber gloves, Stoker knew he was in the clutches of the infamous Dr. Benjamin Karbunkle. As he was grabbed by two Plutarkian guards and dragged from the stretcher towards what he could only describe as a dissection table, he noticed with horror that he was not the only prisoner. All three bros were captured as well, still unconscious as they too were strapped down to examining tables, their wounds bandaged. A platform lowered from above and Stoker grit his teeth as the figure of Dominic T. Stilton arrived. Stoker exclaimed as he was slammed into the table and his arms and legs were shackled.

"Stilton…" he growled back, "You…argh!" His head snapped back into the table as one of the guards pulled him back by his hair. Stilton let out a chuckle.

"Indeed, a red-letter day for Plutark." He wiped down a surface using a pristine silk handkerchief. "The Tug-Transporter nearly operational, and we've captured the very heart of the resistance. Their leader…and three best warriors." Stoker felt a chill go up his spine when Stilton turned to leer at the bros' unconscious bodies.

"You still don't stand a rat's chance of winning, you chum-chugger." He grunted, trying his best to draw the fish-face's ire back to him. Stilton did indeed turn back to him, victorious smirk still in place as his shadow fell over him.

"I beg to differ." He countered, gesturing over to the malicious doctor. "When Karbunkle is done, you…" He approached Stoker with a smarmy swagger and grabbed at his hair, pulling back hard. Stoker refused to let his pain show. "…the four most feared Freedom Fighters on Mars, will fight for the glory of Plutark." He pushed Stoker's head forcefully when he released him, heading back to the platform. "Commence transmutations, doctor. Beginning with this boorish brute."

Stoker's breath hitched as Karbunkle's snickered, approaching him with a syringe filled with an unknown liquid. He twisted against the metal holding him down, but it was no use. The needle stabbed his neck, and his vision went dark once more.

Rimfire checked the coordinates on his map once more. According to the Freedom Fighter intel (he'd apologize to Uncle Modo for hacking the system later), Stilton's castle was another 45 minutes away from their current location. He stashed the map and turned to Primer, who was pacing nervously.

"Sis, you ok?" he asked. Primer turned to him, worry clear on her face.

"Rimfire, we shouldn't be doing this. We should just let Carbine and the other Fighters handle it." She added, rubbing at her arms. Rimfire winced and approached his sister, giving her a comforting hug.

"Any other time, I might have agreed with you, sis. But I think something is going on here." She pulled back to raise a brow at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember what Aunt Charley said? About wanting to stop something bad from happening to the bros?"

"And us thinking it probably had something to do with future Uncle Modo's arm?" she posed in response. Rimfire nodded.

"Exactly. Uncle Modo and the bros have never been caught in a firefight. So this must be connected to that." He theorized. Primer bit her lip.

"But if that's true, then why didn't Aunt Charley do something?"

"I don't know. And I didn't see her with the rest of the Fighters during the call either." He added, recalling the feeling of dread when Carbine and Harley had appeared on the screen, sans his Uncle and his bros. "I think something went wrong. And if that's the case, then Charley's gonna need all the help she can get." He plead with his eyes, hoping his sister would see his side of things. After a few minutes, she groaned.

"You know Mom's gonna ground you for life after this?" Rimfire smirked, throwing an arm over his twin's shoulder.

"That just means we'll be sharing life sentences. Me for this rescue, and you for the Berlock Root incident." Primer guffawed and pushed her brother away, smiling. After a moment, she reached out her hand to him. Rimfire took it and squeezed tightly. Together, the teens continued on with their trek.

Karbunkle was delighted with the progress he had made. The white-furred mouse was the least injured of the group of three, with his face having sustained several third degree burns in the explosion that had taken them out. No matter, facial disfiguration would have no impact on his work. He was still deciding which modifications would suit this one best. In the meantime, he had successfully replaced the once destroyed arm of the grey-furred mouse with a mechanical one, as well as replacing one of his eyes with a bionic eyeball. The other had been a lost cause, the optic nerves in his left eye completely destroyed and useless. The tan-furred mouse would be a hit or miss. Both of his eyes had been damaged, however, Karbunkle couldn't tell if the bionic eyes would assimilate to the damaged optic nerves, or if they would be rendered useless as well. Oh well, for every success, there had to be a failure. He could always dispose of unusable subjects later.

Currently, he was working on completing his modifications of Stoker. The use of a Martian tail had always fascinated him, and he hoped that his prototype would be revolutionary in his plans for a bionic army. As soon as the new robotic tail was joined to the soon-to-be-ex-Martian General, he would undergo the Mind-Bender Beam. The first test subject. He cackled to himself. This was going to be glorious.

A scuffle drew his attention and he turned, scanning his lab. He saw nothing but the mouse currently laying on the operating table. He narrowed his eyes before turning back to his work. Must have been his imagination. He plugged in the control box for the tail, chuckling delightedly as it began whipping around, functioning perfectly as intended. He heard the platform descending behind him.

"Karbunkle!"

"DOCTOR Karbunkle to you." He informed the low-life bootlicker Limburger. The fool was constantly scheming to try and get promoted, and failed miserably every single time. Karbunkle found the slob to be truly pathetic, and had taken great delight in his little glue caper, for which he was happily still accepting bribes for in 'finding a solution'. He really did look ridiculous in the 'Gangster Period' get-up from Earth, combined with the ludicrous mask. Said fish simpered as he approached him.

"Uh yes, yes quite. I'd be genuinely grateful if you'd concoct a way to remove this mask…" he paused to pull at said mask, revealing it to still being firmly adhered to his scales. "…sooner than later." Karbunkle rolled his eyes as he focused on the tail, reaching down below his work table and pulling out a handheld chainsaw, switching it on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Limburger gulp nervously as he adjusted his tie. "Never mind!" Karbunkle put the saw away, yanking the tail out of the control box. As he turned towards the operating table, he could have sworn he saw a flash of red moving in the corner of his visions, but after a few moments simply decided his mind was playing tricks on him. Making his way toward the operating table, he turned the mouse over, having already perform surgery that would connect the tail to the nerve endings. With a smooth motion, he inserted the tail, and ducked as it spontaneously whipped around, much to his delight. He heard Limburger exclaim behind him.

"Uh you know Kar…" he turned to glare at the fish, who tittered. "Uh…Doctor? The resistance will surely arrange a rescue for these rebels?"

"So?" Karbunkle questioned as he dragged the Mind-Bender Beam closer to the operating table, wondering where this was going. Limburger crossed his arms.

"Should they succeed; it will no doubt signal the end of Stilton's assignment here." He turned his back, placing his hands behind him as he continued. "Which of course means he would be demoted and relocated…along with his doctor." The threat to his life's work made him gasp as he handled the antennae of the Mind-Bender Beam. He turned to the Plutarkian, beginning to see him in a new light.

"Uh, just what are you proposing, you obsequies obesity?"

"Merely that you focus your genius on building a Supervillain. One who could assure us a permanent employment on Mars." He listened to the appeal as he placed the antennae on the sides of Stoker's head, before placing the final one in the middle of his forehead. With a few button-clicks, he was ready to begin.

"Activating Mind-Bender Beam." He announced, switching on his machine. Stoker exclaimed as the machine began to alter his mind. Karbunkle contemplated Limburger's offer. "I could divide my time between that and uh, my present enterprise…" he drawled.

"LIMBURGER!" said fish flinched at his master's call, Karbunkle let a wicked grin cross his face at that.

"Uh, let's just keep this between gentlemen, or whatever, shall we?" he asked, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a wad of Plutarkian Gold Gills, before placing an arm around Karbunkle's shoulder and leaning over to slip the bills into his lab-coat. "Excuse me while go avoid…uh, attend to Lord Stilton." And with that, Limburger left once more.

A ding from his machine alerted him, and he turned as Stoker sat upright, looking… far more dazed than he should be. Perhaps he would need to adjust the settings of the Mind-Bender Beam for the grey-furred one.

"Oh, Stoker's done." He approached the mouse gleefully, removing the antennae on his forehead. "And how are we feeling, my syn-mechanical masterpiece?" he clasped his hands together in anticipation.

"Feel?" The general's voice was soft with rage, and Karbunkle found himself faltering as the mouse continued, slipping off of the table. "I feel…like any Freedom Fighter… who just found himself in a Plutarkian lackey's claws…" Karbunkle stepped back, shocked. His machine had failed? Impossible!

"Wh-what?" he voiced in disbelief.

"…PISSED!"

Too late did he see the fist. He fell back hard and knew no more.

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