Throttle and Modo were playing football on the field of Quigley Stadium.

The tan-furred mouse grunted as he attempted to get air back into his lungs after a particularly powerful tackle of Modo's had pounded him into the ground like a tent peg.
He levered himself up on his elbows, pulling the football out from under him, and glanced back down the field. He sighed and quickly measured that the skid they had left was roughly 150-yards long.
Turning his head, he looked off to his left to where Modo still lay draped face down across his back. The gray mouse was grinning at him smugly. "Y'know, bro., I don't remember you playin' this hard back on Mars."
"Then ya don't have a very good memory," Modo laughed as he levered himself up off of Throttle and stood, hauling his smaller Bo to his feet.
They dusted themselves off, then noticed that Vinnie was circling the field at tail-spinning speed before heading in their direction.
"Huh. Wonder what's got him all stirred up?" Modo muttered.
"Who knows? Probably no really good reflective surfaces near the root beer stand today," Throttle joked, and the two laughed as their younger Bo pulled up beside them.
Before the other two could even open their mouths, Vinnie, with an especially crazed gleam in his eyes, snarled, "Listen to this." He pressed a button on the computer module of his Rocket Sled motorcycle.
The other two Biker Mice listened to a conversation the white mouse had recorded while he'd been out on the root beer run.
"Yes, yes . . . this is Lawrence Limburger. I need to speak to Mr. Chandral. . . . Yes, I'll hold. . . . Mr. Chandral? This is Lawrence Limburger. I would like to purchase your pharmaceutical company. . . . Yes, I know you're in need of a buyer, my good man. I'm just the businessman you need to deal with. What is your original asking price? . . . Oh, let's not quibble about the price; I'll make it an even five billion, how does that sound? . . . Yes, I had rather thought you'd like that. Come by the Limburger Tower later today and we'll draw up the contract. Good day, Mr. Chandral."
There came the buzz of a disconnected phone line and then silence. Throttle and Modo looked at Vinnie.
"Where'd you get this, bro.?" Throttle asked.
Vinnie's tail was lashing as he said, "I pulled out onto the freeway and was almost to the root beer stand when I spotted ol' blubber-butt's limo. First I was gonna harass him a little, but then a cop showed up, so I just nailed him with a listenin' device. Figured if I couldn't rough `im up any, I could at least find out what Stink-Cheese was up to today. I recorded that."
Throttle stared down at Vinnie's bike. He scratched his head and tried to recall all the information he had on Chandral. "Now, let's see . . . Chandral is the owner of the Chandral Chemical Corporation. He was just brought up on federal investigation charges a little while ago when it was found out that he had a supply of DX-14 in there; he claimed it was accidentally concocted when a batch of chemicals accidentally got mixed together."
"But that was too much of a coincidence that these chemicals just happened to produce DX-14 a highly lethal nerve gas," Vinnie supplied with a wild, grim stare.
"Oh, Mama. And if Limburger's purchasin' the chemical plant . . ." Modo breathed.
"Then you know Chi-Town is in for a hurtin'," Throttle finished. He whistled for his and Modo's bikes, and the mice climbed on when the motorcycles arrived, donning their helmets.
"Let's Rock --!" Throttle called out.
"And Ride!!" his bros. roared with him, and the Biker Mice from Mars roared off to stop Limburger's latest scheme.

Meanwhile, the Brass in the Pentagon were making their own plans.

Ryan, his girlfriend Katline, and his friend JB, met with the director of the FBI. Along side of him was the head of the Military Division, and the head of the Chemical Warfare Division. The FBI Director sighed heavily as Ryan sat ready for his news. Finally, he spoke.
"Ryan, this is the worst threat that we could ever face. We have just discovered that a businessman named Lawrence Limburger, owner of Limburger Enterprises which controls almost half of the business in the city of Chicago . . . has in his possession the most powerful chemical weapon ever made, the DX-14 nerve gas . . ."
He sighed again, barely able to choke out the next few words.
". . . This not only threatens the entire city of Chicago, but the very existence of the United States of America!"
He was so overcome by this news that the head of the Chemical Warfare Division took over in his place. "The DX-14 was made by the Chandral Chemical Corporation. It was not created accidentally as many people believe. Its intended purpose was to fight the effects of cancer; it was to kill the virus faster than chemotherapy, and to be less toxic. However, it was even worse."
"The DX-14 was one-hundred times more toxic. Its effects are worse than Bulimia, or Gulf War Syndrome. Your flesh starts to burn and rot off your body; your muscles contract so hard, they shatter your bones. It causes internal bleeding and your body becomes a human water balloon; the slightest jab, the tiniest pinprick, and you will explode. Also, the blood becomes acidic, burning inside and out, turning what's left of you into a rotting pile of slime."
The Director finally composed himself. Gazing at Ryan and his friends, he asked, "This will be the worst fight of your life, although you will be accompanied by a team of military agents. You will not only be fighting a private army, but also for the lives of five billion people. Will you accept?"
Ryan thought the situation over. He knew that this single weapon was capable of such a holocaust; it would make Hiroshima look like a small incident. He agreed to go.
Katline then agreed, always wanting to be by his side so she could personally see that she never lost him again. JB also joined; he owed his life to Ryan, who had saved him from being killed by a school gang.
They walked off, realizing that it would be the worst fight they'd ever had to face. Little did they know it was about to get even worse . . .

"Well, this is turning up zip zilch nada ciento."

After uttering that statement, Vinnie turned and walked over to a packaging machine and peered inside it.
The Biker Mice had made their way over to the Chandral Chemical Corporation and were nosing around, trying to find some clues. So far, they'd discovered that the place had been stripped bare with only a few things left. They were, as Vinnie had stated, turning up nothing.
"Well, think of it this way," Throttle began. "We know Limburger bought it. Now, if they were going to continue making this stuff, and they'd want to mix an' match a few things, they'd need to keep a close eye on it, right?"
"So that means . . ." Vinnie said with a wild grin.
"That Fin-Fanny and Company are going to keep it in the Limburger Tower!" Modo finished. The conversation hadn't been too difficult for him to follow.
Throttle climbed onto his bike and said, "Let's go pay that fat, fish-faced felon a friendly visit."
Modo and Vinnie climbed onto their motorcycles, and they all roared off towards the Tower.

* * *


CRASH!!!

"Yes, gentlemen, how may I help you?" Limburger smirked at them from his seat at his desk as Throttle slammed open the door and rode into the office, quickly followed by his bros.
As the door swung shut, Karbunkle leaned against the wall dizzily, rubbing his aching face. He was getting so tired of being inadvertently damaged by this building!
The Biker Mice got off their bikes and spread out around the office. Modo towered over the cowering Karbunkle while Throttle stood behind Limburger and Vinnie leaned over the desk, barely restraining himself.
"Can it, you Plutarkian Pusbag!" he snapped. "What's your latest scheme??"
"Quite simple, you simpletons!" Limburger gloated as he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He began eating his slimeworms as he continued. "I plan to manufacture the DX-14 nerve gas and then move from city to city, starting with Chicago, and spread the nerve gas around. Once the local citizenry has been disposed of, I'll simply tear up the land and ship it to Plutark!"
Modo reached out and hauled Karbunkle up to face level with him as he growled, "Well, then, you won't mind if we stop you, huh?"
Karbunkle let out a mewling squeal of fright as his limbs went rigid, his legs curling up under him involuntarily.
"Well, we've already gone through the lab " Throttle began.
"Yes, we're quite well aware of that," Limburger said snidely as he grimaced.
"and we didn't find it, so where are you hiding it?"
Limburger just smirked at them.
With a wicked grin, Vinnie pulled out two of his flares, lit them, and held them right up under Limburger's eyes. "Spill it, sweetheart, or I'm going to start a little amateur Plutarkian Torch-Welding."
Limburger gulped and began to sweat visibly. Keeping his eyes raised so the light from the flares wouldn't blind him temporarily, he began to stammer, "It it it's in the . . . the . . . b b base "
But before he could finish, there came the sound of a loud explosion, followed by gunfire and screams. A moment later, Greasepit charged through the doors. Totally ignoring the Mice in his fright, he yelled, "Boss! Some governamental-types humans is blastin' thru th' Tower! We's bein' oblitieratized!"
The Biker Mice looked at each other. Past experience had taught them that enemies of Limburger didn't exactly mean friends for them.
They climbed onto their motorcycles and Throttle said, "We'd better check this out. We'll be back to finish this up later, Limburger!"
"Let's Rock --!" Vinnie snarled.
"And Ride!!" his bros. echoed, and they raced down to the Lobby where the firefight was being held.
Upon arrival, they took in the chaos and decided simply to blast everyone and sort them all out later. Leaping into the fray, they fired their lasers and missiles, used their fists, feet, and tails, and rendered everyone unconscious.
But when the smoke cleared, their self-congratulations faded into silence as they found three individuals still standing and staring at them silently. All three appeared to be highly unhappy.
The leader leveled a flat, grim stare at the Biker Mice, and the three macho mice silently admitted to themselves that this was definitely not a good thing.
"We might actually have a problem here . . ." Throttle muttered under his breath.

Ryan drew both glok .45 handguns, aiming to kill. He had never witnessed such monstrosities . . . except once.
Three years ago, he and his friends were asked to search the old mansion in their old hometown of Charterville. This mansion was surrounded with outlandish stories of zombies inhabiting it. Many people disappeared there, even the younger brother of the one who'd asked them there.
Peter, the one who had called them to investigate, gave them an armament of weaponry just to explore the mansion, but Ryan and his friends had later discovered that those weapons were their saviors that helped them survive and escape the Hellherst Mansion.
A biological weapon called the Hellherst Virus caused the zombies, along with other mutations. It caused people, animals, and plant-life to mutate into a vicious killing machine that wanted nothing except to appease its hunger for human flesh.
He'd seen creatures inside, dogs and even insects, mutated into large, bloodthirsty, ravenous creatures. These three mice could be the creation of an even better virus, one more powerful than any known to man!
Katline edged closer to Ryan in fear. "Ryan, what the hell are they?!"
"I I have no idea," he replied softly.
JB then readied his shotgun and yelled, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU FREAKS?!"
They all aimed their weapons at the mice, allowing them no explanation. The three Biker Mice sat there, stunned, and then finally, Vinnie replied, "Gee, you kids shouldn't be playin' with guns . . ."
Ryan went rigid as fury crashed through him. Even before his father's death, he'd been training, pushing his body past its limits, becoming an expert in firearms and a 3rd degree master of his father's karate style. Now, some freak had just insulted his whole quest to avenge his father, and everything he believed in!
"PLAYIN'?! I'LL TELL YOU, FREAK, WHAT I'M DOIN' WITH THIS GUN!!! IV'E GOT ORDERS FROM THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT TO BLOW AWAY ANY AND EVERY DAMN PERSON THAT GETS IN MY WAY OF BLASTIN' THIS PLACE TO KINGDOM COME!!!"
All three mice sat on their motorcycles in shock. Of all the responses they'd imagined, this one had never crossed their minds. Vinnie finally muttered back, "Oh."
Ryan then continued. "YOU WILL GIVE YOURSELVES UP, OR ME, MY FRIENDS, AND MY TEAM WILL TURN YOU INTO CONFETTI!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?!?!"
The Biker Mice looked at each other nervously. Finally, Throttle said softly, while jerking his thumb at Ryan, "Uhhh, methinks Mr. Blow-a-Gasket is definitely OFF his Prozac. Bros.? Any suggestions on how to handle this one?"
"Maybe we could try explainin' to them that we're on their side?" Modo muttered.
"Yeah. Since when are the Biker Mice the bad guys?!" Vinnie growled.
"Since they noticed the fur, tails, and antennaes, bro.," Throttle replied with a grin.
"Ain't that always the way?" Vinnie sighed. "I guess we shoulda known better. I mean, humans can't accept people of different colors easily; can you just imagine different color AND fur? I'm here to tell ya, bros. . . . NO WAY!!"
The other two mice nodded, then faced Ryan and his friends again. "Uh, listen, citizen, I think you've got the wrong idea here," Throttle began as he got off his motorcycle and walked towards them. "Y'see, we're the Biker Mice from Mars, and we're here to SAVE the world, not destroy it! We're tryin' to STOP Limburger from . . ."
But the three humans were in no mood to hear it. They had just seen these three mice ride in and decimate both Limburger's private army AND their team of highly trained military specialists who ranged from the Navy S.E.A.L.S to Marines to Green Beret candidates with an ease that was frightening.
JB lifted his shotgun and grinned wryly at Ryan. "Sounds to me like they're resisting arrest, Ryan. What do you think??"
Ryan glared at the approaching Martian, then readied himself for a fight and snapped back, "I think I'm going to have take him by force, is what I think. Both of you stand back."
Katline and JB moved back and watched as Ryan advanced, JB and Katline keeping their weapons trained on the other two mice.
Throttle watched as Ryan approached as well. Something in the way the human man held himself, his demeanor, suggested that a no-shit punch-up was in the offing. He stopped and started to raise his hands as he said, "Now, waitaminute, kid, I don't wanna fight you "
That tore it and buried it. NO ONE called Ryan "kid". His eyes narrowing into slits, he roared, "SHUT UP!!!!" Ever fiber of his being filling with rage, Ryan blasted the leader in the side of his neck, making sure not to kill him.
"YOU STAY RIGHT THERE!!!! I DON'T GIVE A FLYIN' CRAP WHAT THE HELL YOU ARE, BUT YOU STAY THE HELL WHERE YOU ARE, OR I'LL BLOW YOU EIGHT WAYS FROM SUNDAY!!!"
Throttle crawled back, clutching his wound as blood streamed down his neck. "Look, kid, you gotta believe us!"
"Yeah, we're the good guys!" Vinnie asked, his blood heating to a boil as he reacted to Throttle's pain.
Ryan just stood there grimly. "Just give yourselves up. My team will detain you, and you walk away living. I'm not in the mood for any of this."
Throttle tried again, despite the mind-numbing pain. "But we CAN'T. We're also here to shut him down!"
Ryan stood his ground. "Look, I ain't takin' chances with people I don't know. ESPECIALLY over-grown rodents! Just give up, no questions asked."
Vinnie shook his head as Modo's eye lit red with fury. "Nope. Afraid we can't do that!" Vinnie sassed as he whipped out both blasters, which only made the situation worse.
Ryan leaped aside, taking Katline out of the crossfire as the situation exploded. JB leaped against a wall, blasting with his shotgun. Shells flew out as shotgun pellets exploded forth, like millions of tiny, white-hot knives.
The Biker Mice fought back just as ferociously, firing with lasers and flares and blasters, trying to knock their opponents unconscious. What resulted was a hell of a firefight and lots of smoke and noise as Ryan began firing at full speed. Katline joined in, filling the room with the deafening echo of gunfire.
The three mice decided that victory was the better part of valor, and so they made a tactical retreat without incurring any further injuries. As the smoke and panic dissolved, all that Ryan and his friends observed was destruction and a broken door, still swinging on its hinges.
Ryan held Katline in his arms, close against him. He knew that whatever had happened, it was now over.


* * *


The three Biker Mice hid in a storeroom as Modo cleaned Throttle's neck wound and Vinnie guarded the door.

"So now what do we do?? Those three humans are a match for us!" Modo snapped as he methodically cleaned out the wound with disinfectant, then tied Throttle's bandanna more securely around his neck.
"I say we whip their tails and hand `em back to them," Vinnie snarled, more than a little damaged ego and hurt pride in the words, as well as anger that Throttle had been hurt.
"No!" Throttle snapped as he stood carefully. He eyed his bros. "The only way they're going to believe us and work with us is if they SEE us helping them to defeat Limburger."
"So we need to create a set-up that kills two birds with one stone," Vinnie sighed glumly. Then he perked up and grinned wildly as he realized that this meant he would get to show off some of his patented moves in front of more people and impress them even as he tore Limburger a new pinstripe.
"You got it, bro. Now just ramp down and let me think about how to DO this," Throttle said.
So the three mice sat quietly and waited as Throttle's brain hummed to create a workable plan.


* * *



"EXXXX-CELLENT."

Limburger purred the word as he gloated full-force in his penthouse office chair. He and Karbunkle were in the office, viewing the ensuing firefight and the mice's tactical retreat through the last working camera in the Lobby.
As he watched the humans go about reawakening their team members and handcuffing his goons for arrest, Limburger thought hard on how to get them out of his scales. Finally, he turned to Karbunkle.
"Doctor, I wish for you to summon a villain for me. Please bring in that villain Catscan; the alien feline with the power to mentally produce whatever he wishes. These physical foes of ours may have a hard time combating someone of his nature."
Karbunkle wheezed and grinned as he asked, "Yes, Your Cheddary Richness. And what of the Mice . . .?"
Limburger let out a bark of laughter. "After their comrade getting wounded and that telling set-down they received, I doubt that they'll be in any shape to contest us in this. Now, make haste, my dear, demented doctor, and summon Catscan. We must act quickly to ensure that we have the upper hand."
"Right away, Your Dairy Creaminess!" Karbunkle wheezed and cackled, and then disappeared.
Limburger sat back, satisfied and gloating. Things were finally going his way.


TO BE CONTINUED . . .