The following is a piece of fan fiction based on Biker Mice From Mars. All characters were created by Rick Ungar, original story by Tom Tataranowicz, and are not my property.
This is an AU retelling of BMFM and explores mature subject matter including death, violence, abuse, sex (con and noncon), torture, and mutilation. Reader's discretion is advised. Some character history has been altered from their original source but like I said, this is an AU.
Chapter- 17
Of all the things Vinnie should have expected walking into Stoker's office that morning, an ambush attack from his leader was not on his list. As soon as Vinnie made it through the doorway the older mouse tackled him. The force of Stokers attack threw him off balance and the two fell to the floor. Vinnie attempted to push Stoker off of him with his feet, but the old mouse positioned himself to put Vinnie in a leg lock.
Stoker reinforced his lock on Vinnie's incapacitated leg with his own leg and metal tail, freeing up both his arms to put the kid in a half nelson. Despite Vinnie's thrashing and curses, Stoker did not let up. Modo and Throttle were doubled over with laughter.
Eventually, Vinnie had no option but to tap out and Stoker quickly released him from his hold. The two mice rose from the floor dusting off their fur and pants; Stoker feeling smug and satisfied, and Vinnie feeling humiliated.
"You're all gotten soft," Stoker reprimanded the three mice. "The other's left, but you still remain because there is still work to do. The hard battles are won, and now comes the slow tedious job of not letting our planet fall into chaos. Just because we're no longer going out into the fray doesn't give you the excuse to slack off."
"Is this because we took one vacation?" Modo asked defensively.
"No, this is because you spend all your free time either wrecking your own bikes trying to out-stupid each other, or you're busy flirting." Stoker eyed Vinnie at his last statement. Vinnie said nothing but clenched his fists hard enough that he began to scratch the skin on his palms with his nails.
"We're going after General Baxter tomorrow," Stoker said. "Special request from the military."
"And since when did you start following military orders?" asked Vinnie.
"Since they made Carbine a general. The request came from her personally. She figured you boys need a bit of fun and she needs to focus resources on peace keeping efforts."
"Damn they are pushing her up the ladder fast," said Modo. "Imagine where you might be if you stayed in, eh Throttle?"
Throttle smiled. "I would have been court-martialled along-side Stoker. Carbine, she is cut from a different rock than the rest of us."
"I bet Scabbard is pissed," said Vinnie, chuckling at idea Carbine's superior had been passed over for promotions.
Stoker shrugged. "I know Scabbards, he is happy where he is and wouldn't want any more responsibility, but we're getting off track. Baxter is cornered and scared and he will fight to the death if it means he doesn't have to go back to Olympia."
"And you don't think we can take him?" Modo scoffed.
"I don't want to think you guys can take him; I want to know you guys can take him. Preferably alive."
"So, what is our plan for the day?" asked Throttle
"Hit the gym, and then target practice. Now get the hell out of here while I do some real work before we head out."
The three left Stoker to his own musings and made their way breakfast, each taking turns flexing their muscles to prove to themselves that they were not soft. Their amiable conversation amongst one another over who could bench press the most, who could dead lift the most, and who could do the most chin ups quickly became heated. By the time the three entered the dining hall, they were each taking turns punching one another in their abs to see who maintained the strongest core. Modo used his left hand out of fairness.
"What the hell are you three doing?" Charley asked as she watched in utter disbelieve as the bros, still punching each other in the stomachs, made their way to the table.
"Stoker said we're soft," Vinnie snarled, clearly trying to work his way through the pain of multiple blows.
"Yeah, who would expect us mice to be soft?" Throttle chuckled as he sat down.
Charley stood to reach over the table and tousled the top of Throttles fur. "Oh, I don't you, you all seem pretty soft to me." She sat back down do her morning meal. Baked flat bread with wild herbs and a simple broth.
"Stoker wants us to work on our guns," Modo said flexing his left arm.
"Yeah, and then we need to work with our guns," Vinnie added. He mimed holding a pistol and aimed it across the table to Modo.
"You know I'm pretty sure Stoker really meant that one of us needs to work on themselves," Modo said with a cheeky grin. "The rest of us have to go along to not hurt his feelings."
"Well whichever of the two of you Stoker was talking about, I'm here to support you," said Throttle.
The banter back and forth continued non-stop during the meal, and the novelty of their discourse quickly disappeared. Charley and Rimfire's eye could only roll so much so they ate quickly and prepared to leave.
"Oh, Rimfire," Modo spoke up above the other two arguing mice. "I need you to spot me this morning."
Rimfire's shoulders sank, and he lifted his head to the sky as he slowly turned to face his uncle. "Do I have to?"
"Yeah, It'll be fun. You're always going on about how you want to do more stuff with us so now's your chance."
Vinnie had a brilliant idea and perked up, "Charley you can me my spotter too?"
Charley stood with one hand nursing her left temple and the other supporting her elbow. "Do I have to?" she asked in a tone much dryer than Rimfires.
The mice' idea of being a spotter was not what Charley had expected, and at the same time, it was precisely what she had expected. Her and Rimfire sat on a bench in their gym and watched, or spotted, how many reps, how much weight, how strong and amazing and manly the three mice were.
Other part of their duty as spotters was to say, "WOW! That is so impressive!" and "Oh, I don't think I could lift that much!" However, the line: "Gee, I wish I can be as strong as you one day," was specifically reserved for Rimfire.
After who knows how many reps had transpired Rimfire turned to Charley and said, "They will be at this for hours, do you want to head over to the firing range before they tell us it's too dangerous."
Charley, bored out of her mind, got up with the kid and left the trio to their own flex-off. "I doubt they'll even notice we've left."
The shooting range was outside due to the fact that repeated firing of their plasma weapons left a miniscule ozone residue that could prove hazardous with enough accumulation. Fired in a room with proper ventilation, or outdoors, the efficacy was greater than any other traditional projectile weapon, achieving the same results without a need to reload bullets or the calculation of wind resistance.
Steel posts with painted bullseyes were set up at intervals spanning from 50 to 1000 yards. The posts appeared to be repurposed support beams and had tell tale signs of being shot down and welded back together leaving each one uniquely crooked. The targets were clearly mean to be replaced after being riddled with so many laser holes.
Charley hadn't been to a gun range since her grandfather was alive. She was his only grandchild and when it was clear that she was tomboyish enough to be interested in all the things he and her father were interested in; he began to teach her how to shoot a pellet gun. Eventually she moved up to higher caliber rifles. She was a good shot, but it was nothing she was particularly interested in on her own; this was just a fun way to spend time with her grandpa.
Stoker was already at the range checking the condition of their weapons when Charley and Rimfire showed up. He had no qualms with them setting off a few rounds; he had personally coached Rimfire on weapons handling as Modo proved to be too much of a helicopter uncle to see the boy get maybe possibly hurt just a little. He handed them each a weapon and sat back to watch them shoot.
Rimfire took first position, standing with a rifle nestled between the right side of his chest and shoulder blade, he aimed for the 50-yard target. Bulls-eye. The kid raised his gun and fist in the air celebrating his own achievement before quickly regaining his composure. Bulls-eyes for the next three targets at 100, 150, and 200 yards; he was able to hit inside the target up to 500.
"That's not bad considering I'm not wearing field specs," Rimfire sounded a bit smug when he stepped back to give Charley a turn. His ears perked up with a sudden exciting thought, "Charley, I bet you could hit farther than any of us without specs!"
"We'll see," Charley said as she took her preferred position, lying down on her belly on a small mound of dirt. "I haven't shot a weapon since I was fourteen." She got herself comfortable while Rimfire quickly did the mental conversion from Earth to Martian years.
She took careful aim at the 200-yard target and fired. It hit but was outside of the target ring. She readjusted her aim and slowed down her breathing. She purged her mind of all thoughts and existed only in this present moment; just her, the gun, and the target. She fired again. Bulls-eye.
She aimed for the 300-yard target. "It's just like riding a bike," she muttered to herself as she shot and hit the target center again. Stoker and Rimfire started to get excited when she started hitting 500-yards and up. Stoker got out a pair of binoculars to keep track of where she was hitting.
It took her a few tries to get the bulls-eye on the 1000-yard target but once she did, Rimfire nearly jumped out of his own shoes. The bros, after realizing that they no longer had an audience, came to see what the commotion was all about. Stoker offered Vinnie and Modo a pair of binoculars to watch Charley shoot. To their credit, as much as they enthusiastically celebrated their own machismo, they were just as able to enthusiastically celebrate Charley's targeting skills.
"I sure could have used someone like you during the war," Stoker mused as Charley finally got up, handed her rifle to Throttle, and dusted herself off. "We could use someone like you in Brimstone."
"Whoa, no way is Charley going to Brimstone with us," Vinnie interjected. "It's too dangerous. Best leave it up to us manly mice."
"What a thoughtful chauvinist you are, Vinnie," Throttle said.
"I wouldn't like the idea of Charley-ma'am heading out either," said Modo. "I don't mind risking my fur and limbs, but she didn't sign up to get caught up in our war."
"I think Charley could hold her own and be a great freedom fighter with a bit more training," Stoker said in a defensive tone.
"Thank you but no thank you, Stoker," Charley finally spoke up for herself. "Shooting at a target is easy, but shooting at a living being? I don't think I could do that. I'd just be a liability out there."
"Well, if you think you need extra help, I could go with you," Rimfire quipped.
"No," the four mice said in unison.