Mech Mice Story - Chapter Nine

CHAPTER 9: Nothing Personal

Magenta couldn’t scream to save her life. Snatched from above by the piercing talons embedded in her shoulder it was all she could do to breathe and even that wasn’t going so well. Her immediate reaction was to try and wrestle herself free from the iron grip of her captor, but it was a futile effort. A talon’s grip is a one way trip.

The world was a blur of movement as they soared silently over the earth, over the horrified squad, and along the banks of the stream. Magenta quickly lost her bearings and fought the urge to pass out.

“Sleep, little one,” a soothing, almost whispery voice called from above. “Your struggle here is nearly over. Rest in me, for I am night.”

Magenta forced herself to stay awake in spite of what the voice said. She shook her head and glanced up at the underbelly of her attacker – soft white feathers, speckled with brown stripes, covered its chest. At first, there was no head to be seen, but all at once a pair of enormous luminous orbs rotated into view where the creature’s neck should have been. Magenta gasped at the sight of them – a she-owl. The unblinking gaze of the owl lulled Magenta into a kind of stupor. Centered between and below the awesome yellow eyes, a black beak, sharpened to a point, spoke in hushed tones.

“My name is Kee-ow,” she said. “and I can assure you my intentions are pure. You will die mercifully. Nothing personal.”

“I’ll…pass,” Magenta gasped, straining heavily with each word.

“My, you are a spirited one, I’ll give you that, but I will kill you just the same. Rest and enjoy your final flight.”

Magenta wanted to spit in the owl’s face, but a fierce sensation spread through her left arm, burning like invisible fire where the talons had caught her. Gathering her senses, she reached for her blaster which was still slung over her impaled shoulder. She managed to work it free, but in her weakened state the handle slipped through her grip. She cursed under her breath as her last hope of fighting back dropped to the distant floor.

“Still yourself,” the owl commanded in a slightly annoyed voice. “The night is upon us and you are tired and weak.” Magenta wasn’t listening. Never before had she felt so helpless as she did now. Time was working against her. She needed to act quickly before her wits abandoned her.

“Think, Maggy, think!” Magenta muttered to herself. Suddenly, it came to her. She’d fight talons with talons. Taking aim with her grappling claw she fired it into the wooded brush below. The razor sharp claws tangled in a tree and caught hold of a branch near the edge of the woods. Seconds later, the silk line went taunt, jolting the owl to a halt mid-air.

“What magic is this?” Kee-ow hissed savagely at the unexpected turn of events. She couldn’t see the transparent line that anchored her to the forest. Kee-ow strained to free herself from the tethered line, but only managed to thrash about wildly in the sky. Magenta was no better for it. Caught between the talons of the bird and the trees below, each time the bird yanked on the line it put a new strain on Magenta as well.

“Release me…,”Magenta strained to speak. “And I will…release…you.”

“I will do nothing of the sort,” the great owl seethed. It was the first sign of emotion she had shown. “There is none who can best me for I am the queen of the sky. Keeper of the night. And I will get what is mine!”

In a fit of desperate rage, the owl dove toward the treeline and swooped back toward the sky in hopes of breaking free of her invisible chains. The line slackened as they lowered, and tightened as they climbed. Magenta closed her eyes in preparation of the inevitable tug that would, in all likelihood, severe her arm from the talons and drop her to her death. It never came.

When she opened her eyes she saw they had indeed come free from the tree limb. The line was dangling freely now.

“You see,” Kee-ow bragged, “even your sorcery has no hold on me. My mercy has grown thin. Your death will not be quick.”

Magenta felt defeated, out of ideas and terribly alone until she looked down and spotted something she hadn’t noticed before. A mouse was clinging to the end of the line.

***********
Ziro couldn’t believe he was doing this – he hated heights. Yet here he hung, hundreds of tails over the rushing ground below. The sight made him sick. He chose to look up instead. Magenta was alive, her eyes wide with shock as if she hadn’t expected anyone to try and save her. Blood ran down her shoulder and across her chest from the talon’s grip. The wound didn’t look good.

He recalled the muffled gasp he had heard when the owl first dug its talons into Magenta. His back had been turned on his way to the stream but he spun around just in time to watch Magenta lifted skyward. He remembered yelling something and, while the rest of the squad dashed out of the pond to suit up for battle, he rushed after the owl in desperate attempt to save Magenta. He wasn’t fast enough, she was gone. He followed after them for as long as he could, but lost his line of sight as they entered the forest. Still, driven by instinct he continued to press forward. All he could hope for was a miracle.

He had just given up hope of ever seeing her again when a commotion in the air drew his gaze skyward once more. The owl screeched and hissed wildly as it floundered about in circles overhead. It was almost as if something were holding it in place, keeping it from stealing Magenta away. It was the miracle he had hoped for.

That’s when he had spotted Magenta’s silk line glistening in the air; tethering the owl to a tree branch. He scurried up the tree in hopes of reaching Magenta and took hold of the line before thinking twice. What he hadn’t planned on was the line coming loose while he was on it.

The good news, was that the owl seemed to be oblivious to Ziro’s presence. That wouldn’t last long. All hope would vanish if they made it to the owl’s nest. Gritting his teeth, Ziro pulled himself up the line toward the owl’s shimmering talons and Magenta.

“You okay?” he whispered, eyeing the great bird in fear of being discovered.
She shook her head.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out. I’m going to get you out of here,” Ziro said. He had no clue exactly how he was going to manage it. He certainly hadn’t planned on being airborne at all. All he knew is that he couldn’t leave Magenta like this. He had to fight back. Better to die falling than to be eaten. He eyed the owls leg and wondered if he had the strength to cut them free.

At that moment, Kee-ow rotated her head back to check if her prey was still alive. To her shock, she discovered a second mouse had joined them. She smiled at the sight.

“What fun,” she said in devilish delight. “A heroic rescue doomed to fail. ”

She lashed her free talon’s out toward Ziro in attempt to grab hold of him as well. He dodged the attack by sliding down the line out of reach of the flashing talons. Kee-ow was impressed.
“So, that’s your trick,” she said, noticing the silk line for the first time. “Well, two can play at this game.” She cackled and began to spin, weaving and diving between the treetops in a series of tactical maneuvers designed to shake Ziro off the line. It was a deadly game Ziro couldn’t win for long. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to take the offensive. In the distance, an emerald lake opened in the middle of the forest. It gave him an idea.

“Can you swim?” he shouted up to Magenta.

She could barely manage any response outside of casting a drained glance toward the deadly talon embedded in her shoulder. It was a chance they’d have to take. While Kee-ow wasn’t looking, Ziro scaled the silk line once more and pulled Magenta’s hidden knife out from her boot. He embraced her tightly, gazed into her fading eyes and exchanged a silent promise: Trust me.

She nodded, and clung to him with her one good arm. Ziro raised his knife overhead and targeted the center of the owl’s leg. He’d only get one shot.

Kee-ow felt Ziro moving about on her claws and returned her gaze to the commotion below.
“No…” Kee-ow gasped in disbelief as she watched Ziro lower the knife.

“Nothing personal,” Magenta shouted back, as Ziro buried the knife into Kee-ow’s limb. The blade passed through the other side severing the tendons and relaxing the owl’s deathgrip. Kee-ow howled in pain as Ziro twisted the weapon loose leaving only a small part of the limb still attached. Magenta’s shoulder slipped off the talons. Clinging to Ziro, the two tumbled in a free fall toward the sparkling waters below.

Ziro and Magenta hit the water’s surface together, sinking down then back up, spitting and coughing but alive. At least for now. Seconds later, the owl’s severed leg splashed into the water beside them. It’s talons now lifeless and limp, but every bit as sharp as before. Ziro counted his blessings that they hadn’t been impaled once more. As Kee-ow flew away screaming, and her talons sunk to the bottom of the lake, Ziro helped to pull Magenta to shore.

Lying on her back in the sandy bank, Magenta gasped for breath. Ziro used her knife to cut the shoulder of her battle suit free and observe the talon wound directly. He was no doctor, but it looked as if the cut was a clean one. He pulled a first aid kit from his pack and did his best to dress her wounds. There was hope, but they needed help soon. Ziro called Nightshade on his communicator. “I have Magenta! Repeat, I have Magenta. We are on the ground.”

“I have your coordinates and we’re our way, Chief,” Nightshade replied.

“Hurry,” Ziro added, “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Magenta groaned from in pain and tried to sit up.

“Take it easy, Mags,” he said, trying to calm her. “Help is on the way.”

“I’m such an idiot,” she said, shaking her head and closing her eyes. With the talons no longer clamped in her arm she found it a bit easier to speak. Still, her voice was weak. “I should have been watching my back. I let my guard down and…”

“Don’t worry about it, you did everything you could have.”

“No, I didn’t. I got myself hurt…again. Elites don’t do that. Elites know how to stay alive out here. You should have just left me to die. What were you thinking, anyway?”

Ziro was confused. He had thought she would be grateful for his help.

“I was thinking you were family,” he said, simply.

Magenta didn’t know how to respond to that. Nobody had ever sacrificed themselves for her before. Even Nitro had cut her from the Alpha squad the first time she got hurt in battle – replacing her easily with the next available lieutenant.

“Look,” Ziro said, breaking the silence between them. “Sunlight is fading quick. I’m going to get a fire going. You rest here. The others will be along in the next hour or so.”

Magenta nodded. Ziro turned to go.

“Hey Ziro!” Magenta called out as he started to walk away. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “I… I owe you one.”

Mech Mice Story - Chapter Eight

CHAPTER 8 -  Middle of Nowhere

Tension was high as the squad waited in earnest for the creature to reappear. With blasters raised and vengeance on their minds, they scanned the waters.

“First shot is mine,” Ziro said. Nobody argued the point. With wide eyes, and ears up, they bided their time.

Eventually, a series of subsurface rumbles sent quivers through the sinkhole. Something big was on the move beneath the water. A trail of bubbles zigzagged their way toward the shoreline, stopping a few paws from where the mice stood. For a time all was silent, and then…
SPLOOSH!

A beastly form covered in black sludge burst out of the depths with a mechanical groan. It erupted with such force that a torrent of bone-chilling water sloshed over the banks and doused the squad from head to tail knocking Streak completely off his feet. Holding his balance, Ziro clawed his trigger and took aim at the sludge-covered heap towering over him but before he took the shot Ziro hesitated.

Even through the darkness, there was something familiar about the shape of the mass. Then, it began to shake wildly, flinging bits of sludge, slime and snake guts all over the squad. Before it was done, Ziro was covered in the putrid muck.

“Oops, sorry about that guys,” a booming voice echoed in response.

“Demo?” Ziro muttered, recognizing the voice straight away. It couldn’t be. He wiped the mire from his face and squinted at the form in front of him. The mouse was hardly recognizable at first, but it was Demo all right. He was piloting his Heavy XR Suit and covered in sludge. Ziro could hardly believe his eyes.

“You’re…you’re alive!”

“Last I checked.”

“But that thing in the pond…how did you?”

From inside his suit cockpit, Demo motioned toward his chest and the mechanical suit repeated the gesture. “Nobody messes with my suit and lives to tell about it. Let’s just say that thing won’t have the guts to try that again.”

As if on cue, a jelly-like glob of black goo slipped off his cockpit window and fell to the ground with a wet splat! There were smiles all around as the team regrouped to assess their situation. The tunnel on the far side was completely caved in, which meant the only way out of this mud hole was up.

The sinkhole walls were much too steep to climb by paw, they’d have to use other means to ascend to the surface.

“Okay team,” Ziro commanded, “Claws up, we’re going topside.”

In near unison, Magenta, Streak, Nightshade and Ziro all activated their grappling claws. Razor sharp hooks emerged from beneath their wrist communicator and launched sky high. The claws landed just outside the rim of the sinkhole, and sunk into the earth. The silk line that connected the hooks to the mice shimmered in the dim light. It was thin, but sturdy enough to hold the weight of a mouse. Spider silk – amazing stuff.

“Hey, Tin man, last one up is a rat’s rear end,” teased Streak, eyeing Demo and his suit of steel. Streak engaged the grappling winch and sped up the line. Demo didn’t have any grappling claws in his suit. It was built for firepower, not scaling walls. Still, he had other means.

“Oh, it’s on,” Demo’s eyes lit up. He was always up for a challenge. Besides, he had been dying to test the limits of his suit.

Demo fired up the jump jets which were mounted on the back of his suit and rocketed a quarter of the way up the far wall. Pushing against the mud, he glanced back across the gap and repeated the process jumping his way back and forth toward the top of the sinkhole. From below, he looked more like a mechanical baboon than a mouse, but he was gaining on Streak, rapidly.

Streak crested the ridge of the pit. Blinking in the sunlight he caught a glimpse of a monolithic form, silhouetted before him. As his eyes adjusted he realized it was Demo. His jaw dropped.

“Mess with a Heavy and your gonna get crushed,” Demo bragged.

Streak frowned sourly. He never liked being second at anything.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the squad joined them on the surface. One quick glance at the desolate terrain was all it took to realize they were nowhere near Liwa. As far as the eye could see the world was a wasteland of rocks and dust. The few plants that dotted the landscape were shabby and frail. It could have been another planet for all they knew.

“Stranded in the middle of nowhere,” Ziro muttered, “Nice.”

Nightshade went to work immediately, trying to determine where they were.

Ziro’s wrist communicator lit and chirped with an incoming message from Colonel Black. Ziro answered. The holographic image of Black projected out from the communicator, hovering a half-tail over the ground. Black’s back was facing the camera, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Commander Ziro! Ziro, come in…do you read me?” Black growled.

“Here, Sir,” Ziro replied, awkwardly talking to the Colonel’s backside. Streak tried not to laugh.

“Huh? Where in the blazes? I can’t see a blasted thing with this newfangled radio… What’s that, Mildra? Oh for crying out loud, why didn’t you say so?” Black turned around to face the recorder and looked as flustered as ever. “Ah, there you are, Ziro. We received a distress signal from your transport. I need a status update!”

Ziro cleared his throat and tried his best to explain the situation.

“We’ve hit a snag, Sir.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Black snarled.

“The track was compromised. We crashed into pit, killed a pond monster…everyone’s okay, but…”

Black wasn’t interested.

“Don’t bore me with the details, Commander. The reason I’m calling…the ONLY reason I’m calling…is to make sure you’re still up for the task, or if we need to find replacements.”

One thing was certain; Black had a way of making you feel disposable. It served as a not-so-subtle reminder that he could pull them from the mission at any time. The message was clear – perform or be replaced.

“Yes sir…I mean, no sir…” Ziro replied, dutifully. “We’ll continue the mission sir, on foot.”
At this, the Colonel gave a devilish grin. Maybe these runts weren’t such pushovers after all? They had guts.

“That’s what I like to hear, Commander. Now, listen up. Sources tell me there’s been a considerable shortage in Liwa crops. The trouble started after our final patrol left the region a few seasons ago. If my suspicions are right, Liwa may be aiding the Remnant. Find out what you can. Get evidence. Remember, this is recon. Observe and report. Don’t try to be heroes. You’re my eyes in the field – that’s all. Got it?”

Ziro nodded eagerly. He couldn’t help but sense there was something more to the Colonel’s urgency than just a field training exercise. Maybe what they were doing might actually be important. The others felt it too.

“Well,” the Colonel barked, “don’t just stand there, get a move on.”

Bleep! Just like that, the holographic image disappeared.

“Yes sir,” Ziro saluted out of habit, even though no one was there to receive it. With the Colonel gone, he could refocus on his team.

“Sir,” Nightshade said, “I have our position.” A map appeared on Nightshade’s wrist. A blinking dot identified their location and beside it, a name.

“Io?” Ziro had never heard of it.

“The borderlands,” Magenta answered, accenting her statement by cocking her blaster. “Not exactly a friendly place to be having a picnic.”

“Agreed,” Nightshade added, “Out here we are vulnerable and Liwa is still a full day’s hike north, however…”

“Too far, we’d never make it,” Magenta interrupted. She scanned the skies with both the wisdom of a huntress and its prey.

Zrat. Zrat. Zrat.

She fired three quick shots into the sun, dropping a trio of flies to the dusty ground between them. Streak was impressed, but confused.

“Are you saying we’re supposed to be afraid of…flies?” Streak asked. He reached out to pick up one of the goo-covered insects by its wing, but Magenta slapped his hand away before he could touch it.

“Out here, it never hurts to be too careful,” she explained, picking up the largest of the three flies to inspect it closer. Satisfied, she tossed it in her mouth. With a loud CRUNCH, she bit down on the creature and swallowed. “Eat…or be eaten, kid. No two ways about it.”

“Actually, there is another way,” Nightshade said, hoping to continue where he had been cut off.

All eyes returned to the slender black mouse.

“If we head east, instead of north, we could reach the Forest of Rama before nightfall. It’s a bit out of the way, but our only chance at cover for the night. From there we can make our way through the forest to the northern regions.”

“We don’t have much choice. It’s getting hotter by the minute,” Ziro commanded, shading his eyes from the afternoon sun. “Let’s move out.”

To help pass time, Streak suggested they chant one of their marching cadences from the Academy. Magenta rolled her eyes from the front of the pack as the others called out their marching tune.

“We are Mech Mice,” Ziro started.

“THIS IS TRUE!” The others shouted back.

“Mess with us,”

“YOU’LL BE BLACK AND BLUE!”

“When evil stirs,”

“THERE AIN’T NO FEAR,”

“The Mech Mice guard,”

“ALL ALWAYS NEAR.”

This went on for the next hour with several variations of the chant. All the while, Magenta kept her distance. She wasn’t into the whole “Rah, Rah!” team-building thing. Being outnumbered she didn’t have much of a choice. She did her best to endure it for a few more rounds until they started in to a chant she couldn’t stand:

“One day I saw a butterfly,”

“Wink at me as it flew by,”

“I offered him a piece of bread…”

At this point, Magenta had heard enough. The whole thing was getting on her nerves nearly as much as the relentless heat. It had to end. She decided to inject a bit of her own flavor into the final line and shouted it out, overriding the squad’s usual lyric with one of her own.

“AND THEN SHOT OFF HIS PUNY HEAD!”

For a moment, the squad was quiet. Then Demo and Streak burst into gut wrenching laughter.  Somewhere along the way the enthusiasm level of the chants had dropped significantly. The heat had been draining them dry.

“Melting-mozzarella! Who turned up the heat?” Streak complained in between puffs; his usual energy sapped by the relentless sun.

Demo grunted his agreement. “They sure don’t train you for this part in the simulators.”

“At least you get the free ride,” Streak jabbed a claw up at the Mech suit Demo was operating. “How ‘bout a lift big fella? What do ya say?”

Magenta rolled her eyes and gave the younger mouse a friendly push back into formation.
“Seriously, Streak, you sound like a whining pup. What’s next, ‘Are we there yet?’”

“Now that you mention it…” Streak called forward to his Commander. “So what is it, Ziro. Are we there yet?”

Ziro wiped the sweat from his own brow and tried his best to pass off the news as no big deal. “If we pick up the pace, it’ll only be about another hour or so.”

The squad let out a unified groan. The silent march continued until Ziro added, “And, once we reach the forest, we’ll have to switch into full recon mode – so, no more chants.”

“Now that,” Magenta chuckled, “that’s what I call good news!”

“So Chief,” Streak asked, “Anything we should know about Liwa before we get there?”

Ziro deferred the question to Nightshade who always seemed to know obscure data when you needed it. Nightshade repeated what he knew with near textbook perfection.

“The Liwan mice are farmers mostly,” he explained. “Berries, nuts, things of that nature. However, their biggest resource is tree sap. They tap the trees and sell it as syrup and glue.”

“Sounds like a real exciting life,” Magenta noted sarcastically.

“Hey, my mom used to use their syrup on my grubs,” Demo explained. “Real tasty stuff. Maybe we can snag a few jars to take back. You know, as souvenirs.”

“We’re not here to sight-see, Demo” Ziro reminded him. “We’re not even supposed to BE seen.”

“Fine,” Demo sighed, “Call it evidence.”

Ziro shook his head, and pressed forward across the rugged terrain.

“Curiously enough,” Nightshade continued, “Even though they fall under the protection of the Mech Mice, they are simple mice. They don’t use any form of machinery in their colony.”

“Whoa. That ought to slow harvesting down. What are they, gluttons for punishment?” Streak asked.

“Actually, their tribe believes it’s an abomination for mice to engage in what they call the Dark Arts. Our technology isn’t exactly acceptable to their elders.”

“Somebody should remind them of that the next time we save their tails,” Magenta replied.

The sun was very nearly set by the time the squad crested the final ridge of Io. Ahead of them, the black forest of Rama seemed like an oasis from a dream in comparison to the rocky terrain they’d experienced for the past hour. Ziro couldn’t believe their good fortune. All along the treeline a small stream of glistening water separated the forest from the wasteland.

“Is that what I think it is,” Streak shouted happily, rushing down the hillside in anxious pursuit of the treeline. “It’s water! Real, running water!” In no time flat Streak reached the edge of the stream pulled off his suit and dove head first into the refreshing water.

“What are you guys waiting for?” Streak called out, “It’s amazing!”

Nightshade and Demo took off down the hillside, anxious for rest and relaxation. Ziro paused for a moment and smiled as he watched his squad enjoying their moment of success. Magenta eyed him warily. Though she’d never admit it, she had started to appreciate Ziro’s leadership. It occurred to her that despite all their faults, this squad had something she hadn’t experienced before in a team…a true bond.

“You really like these guys, don’t you,” she prodded.

“Yeah, I’d trust them with my life,” he said, realizing that for the first time Magenta had actually initiated a conversation that didn’t feel forced. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. He decided to see how far he could take it. “We’re family.”

“Hmph,” Magenta smirked. “Yeah, right.”

Ziro didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, he just watched and laughed as Demo ejected from his Mech Suit and splashed into the stream with spectacular cannonball style. Magenta eyed Ziro again. He pretended not to notice.

“Come on,” Ziro said. “Race you to the stream.”

“You’re crazy,” Magenta replied, “I’m not going in there. I’m not interested in being leach bait.”

“Suit yourself.”

Ziro took off after his squad.

“Family,” Magenta mumbled under her breath as she started down the hill. The word held so many negative memories for her it felt like a curse word. Abandoned by her father, neglected by her mother, Magenta was on her own a full season younger than most pups. In the wild, she learned how to fend for herself, to trust no one. It was survival of the fittest and she never looked back.

Only after she surveyed Mech Mice elite guard in action did she realize the potential it offered. She joined up that day as a way of getting her aggression out. She made Elite squad in her first year, paired with Nitro and the Alpha team. She was really good at her job, but it didn’t matter. When Nitro got tired of her, he cut her from the team…just like everyone else in her life. Family!

She was so lost in thought as she sauntered down the hillside, she didn’t even hear the owl gliding up behind her, until it’s talons were in her back.

Mech Mice Story - Chapter Seven

CHAPTER 7 – Dead Ends

There were only two things Ziro knew for sure at this point: he was going to throw up, and he wasn’t going to look cool doing it.

The way the WURM rattled and squealed as it traversed along the rails made Ziro think twice about his choice to become an Elite Guard. Like a rickety roller coaster, the dubious transport jostled its passengers left and right with each wildly twisting turn of the track. Every so often the tunnel dropped downward, turning Ziro’s stomach against him.

Clutching his armrests and gritting his teeth, Ziro took stock of his crew. Demo was busy at the controls, monitoring the sonar display to ensure the track was clear of obstacles and flipping the occasional switch. The big guy was clearly just glad to be piloting something real for a change – even if its tech was a hair outdated. Nightshade traveled in a tranquil, sleep-like state, seemingly unaware of the chaos around him. It was one of the things Ziro appreciated most about Shade, he was calm under pressure – ever the eye of the hurricane. Streak, on the other hand, was a storm chaser; a thrill seeker. The energetic youth spun his chair in circles as they rattled along, making the most out of the wild ride. There’s something wrong with that kid, Ziro thought.

Then there was Magenta – the wild card. He didn’t know much about her time with the Alpha squad, but anyone that had a falling out with Nitro was okay in his book. Currently, she was cleaning her blaster, making sure it was in proper working order. When she finished she sat back, and stared at Ziro. Her dark eyes were intimidating. It made him nervous, almost as if she could sense his insecurity. The bemused smirk on her face seemed to say, ‘face it, kid, you’re in over your head.’

Ziro dismissed the thought and turned his attention back to the cockpit portholes. The tunnel ahead streamed past in a dizzying blur of amber light. At one point, it opened unexpectedly into a broad underground cavern. The track clung to the ceiling for a short distance, weaving between formations of stalactites and dodging giant pillars of rock. Then, the rail dropped nearly straight down falling nearly three-hundred tails before leveling out alongside the cavern walls. The outer rings, which encased the WURM containers, rotated to accommodate the new alignment. No longer were the tracks overhead, they were running parallel to the cavern walls. The WURM followed the contour of the cavern walls until the tunnel swallowed them up again.

Ziro caught his breath and ventured another glance at Magenta. Her eyes were still fixated on him.

“What?” he asked. Obviously something was on her mind. Magenta shrugged casually and continued to analyze him.

“It’s not nice to stare, you know,” Ziro said, trying to lighten the mood between them.

“I don’t do ’nice’,” Magenta replied, narrowing her eyes slightly. Still, she kept watching Ziro as if she expected him to do something besides quiver and clutch his chair.

Ziro tried to ignore her, but you can only sit for so long with somebody glaring at you before it gets on your nerves. He couldn’t tell if she was just playing with him, or trying to annoy him on purpose. Either way, he’d had enough.

“Would you stop staring at me,” Ziro begged. “It’s freaking me out.”

“Is that a command?” Magenta asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“It could be,” he said awkwardly. He hadn’t meant to pull rank on her, but it seemed to work. Magenta nodded, mock-saluted and smiled coyly before looking away.

Funny thing was, now that she was no longer looking at him, all Ziro could think about was how to get her attention again. After all, he knew the rest of his team like the back of his hand. As it stood now, there was just a big question mark hanging over her head when he looked at her. Sure, he knew her history with the Alpha’s, but that was only through the rumor mill. He cleared his throat and tried to reengage the conversation.

“Ehem. Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t apologize,” she replied coolly. She wasn’t rude, just distant. Like she was keeping herself at arms length from the team.

The WURM car jostled a bit more as it banked to the right. Ziro regained his composure and attempted again.

“So, I was thinking. As long as we’re going to be on the squad together we should probably, you know, get to know a bit about each other.”

Magenta eyed him curiously, raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

“Okay, I’ll go first.” Ziro said. Realizing she wasn’t interested in offering information. But before he could start, Magenta interrupted him with her own detailed interpretation of him.

“Allow me,” she started. “You’re the young commander of a budding Elite squad in training. You’ve got tons of heart, but your instincts…well…stink. Can’t even keep a team together. If you were perfectly honest with yourself (which you rarely are) you’d tell yourself to quit while you were behind. Despite the fact that they are loyal to a fault, you know your squad mates have thought about it a dozen times in the last week too. Shoot, you’ve even had a few quit on you already. If you listened, you’d tell yourself that underdogs don’t win in real life. But you don’t quit, and do you know why?”

She paused a moment. Ziro found himself shaking his head in captivated response even though it was his own story she was telling.

“…because you’ve wanted to be an Elite all your life and the only thing you’ve wanted more was to beat your brother who (by the way) just happens to be the best Elite Guard commanders in the entire Academy. Sure, he’s a grade-A jerk, but he’s really good and that bothers you. So, you do the best you can to NOT be like him. After all, being like him wouldn’t be enough…you have to be better than him to prove anything. Still, no matter how hard you try; you can’t seem to get a break. Then, one day, you magically find yourself on a little pet mission for the Colonel himself. Your big chance is here, but you’re frightened out of your fur, with no clue how you got here and a thousand reasons to doubt yourself. That’s when reality hits you…”

Again, she pauses. She lets the unfinished statement hang in the air like a half-painted wall. Ziro could tell she is baiting him, but try as he might he can’t resist the urge to ask.

“Wh…what is it?” he ventures to ask. Magenta smiles, motions him to lean in closer and half-whispers the answer.

“You don’t even know who you really are.” With that, she leaned back with a content smile and asked, “How did I do?”

Ziro was stunned. She had nailed it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Close enough, I guess,” he said.

Magenta rolled her eyes and went back to cleaning her blaster a second time. Ziro had an idea.

“Well, since I went first…it’s your turn,” Ziro said.

“My turn?” Magenta asked.

“Yeah, what do I need to know about you?” Ziro asked. He had tricked her. Magenta looked almost impressed. She had underestimated Ziro’s persistence.

“There’s only one thing you need to know about me,” she offered.

Ziro waited.

“Survival,” Magenta said.

Ziro was lost.  “What do you mean?”

“Out there, there’s no room for being nice or making friends. Nice mice get killed. I survive.”

An awkward amount of time passed in silence between them. All the while, Ziro was left with more questions about her than answers. Despite her tough exterior, Magenta was an extraordinary mouse just trying to survive in a world that had not been kind to her.

“Well, you got one thing right,” Ziro said. “I’m not like my brother. Trust me.”

“I believe you,” she replied firmly. “But I don’t trust anyone.”

An alarm sounded from the control panel, interrupting their conversation. Demo’s ears went pale.

“Crumb, that’s bad,” Demo groaned. From the look on Demo’s face things weren’t just bad – they were downright dire. It took a lot to rattle the big mouse, this had him shook up real good.

Ziro’s training took over and he shifting into commander mode. “Status report,” Ziro ordered. The tone of his voice impressed even himself.

“Sonar is detecting a slight gap in the track ahead,” Demo said urgently.

“How slight?” Ziro asked, trying to assess the situation.

“About thirty tails,” Demo responded. He pointed to the screen where a sonic map was being displayed of the terrain ahead. The tunnel widened just as the rail line disappeared.
Magenta didn’t look happy, “You call that slight? Don’t they maintain these tracks?”

“Apparently not this one,” Ziro decided, his worst nightmare was coming true. Now, more than ever, he wanted to hurl.

Nightshade had awakened from his slumber and began analyzing the situation, “It appears there has been some kind of cave in. A sink hole perhaps.”

“Well, whatever it is,” Demo determined. “It ain’t going to make for a soft landing! Hang tight, everyone.”

Demo pulled a lever and the transport jolted violently. A shower of sparks trailed behind the WURM as the brakes engaged and clamped down on the rail. The squealing WURM echoed through the tunnel as it approached the inevitable end of the line. Everyone held their breath, eyes glued to the portholes ahead as the transport slowed.

“We’re going to make it. We’re going to make it,” Ziro said, laughing nervously. But his laughter faded almost immediately when he realized they weren’t slowing nearly as quickly as he had hoped. “Oh crumbs, we aren’t going to make it.”

“Hold on to your tails, everyone,” Demo bellowed over the screaming rail. “We’re going over!”
The last hundred tails of track slid by in slow motion as they inched their way toward the gap. Ziro held his breath and clinched his eyes. Demo groaned as he pulled on the lever with all his might in a futile attempt to accomplish the impossible. For the first time on the ride, Streak looked genuinely frightened. With wide eyes he screamed as the WURM edged over the final stretch of rail and toppled downward hanging over the void of a massive sinkhole.

For a short while, they dangled in place. The cabin faced straight down into the abyss, suspended by the weight of the cargo hold behind them. Below them, through the portholes, the team could see a glistening surface reflecting in the WURM’s headlights. The squealing of the rails stopped and all fell silent. For the moment, they had escaped death.

“We made it,” Streaked squeaked in disbelief, feeling lucky to be alive. “We didn’t fall.”
There was a groan behind them and the cabin lurched forward another ten tails.

“Nobody move,” Ziro commanded.

“I’m not moving, I’m not moving,” Streak said.

Another moment passed in silence.

“Now what?” Demo asked.

“Well, we can’t hang around here forever,” Magenta finally pointed out. “This thing is a deathtrap.”

Right on cue, the cargo hold groaned behind them, as if to let them know it couldn’t hold on much longer.
“Demo, how far do you think that pond is below us?” Magenta asked.

“Just over a hundred tails, why?”

“Too far to jump?”

Nightshade frowned. “I wouldn’t’ advise it. We don’t know how deep the pond is, or what lies beneath it.”

“Either way, we’re dead,” Magenta said, stating the obvious.

“Magenta’s right,” Ziro said, “We can’t stay in here. But we can’t just jump either. If we can lower ourselves down maybe we can swing to the side or something.”

“I’ve got plenty of rope over here,” Streak said, pointing to a container of climbing gear that was latched to the side of the cabin.

“Good,” Ziro said. “Now, to do this we’re going to have to work together, as a team. No quick movements…or we all go down, got it?”

Everyone nodded.

Under Ziro’s command, Magenta shot out one of the porthole windows and attached the rope to one of the chairs, lowering it out of the window and down toward the water below. Streak, the youngest and lightest of them all, was chosen to go first. In a twitch, he slung his blaster over his back and shimmied down the rope.

He reached the end of the rope a good five tails above the watery surface below. Just ahead he spotted a ledge of mud, where the water met the edge of the sinkhole. It looked large enough for the entire team to stand on. He pulled a beacon from his belt, lit it and tossed it to the ledge. Then, swinging ever so gently he dropped to the ledge.

“All clear,” he shouted up to the rest of the team.

Magenta went next, sliding gracefully down the rope to safety.

“So far, so good,” Ziro sighed. “You’re next Shade.”

Like a shadow, Nightshade disappeared into the dark abyss. He was with the others in record time. It was Ziro’s turn to go. He swallowed hard as he took hold of the rope.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Demo said, instilling confidence in his teammate.

Ziro lowered himself out into the open air. He was surprised how warm it was out here. There was no breeze at all, nothing to slow him from his descent. Paw over paw, he started down the rope. He was more than halfway when there was another groan from the cargo transport, and a second lurch dropped the WURM and the rope further over the edge. Ziro lost his grip in the process and fell thirty tails into the icy cold water.

Seconds later he emerged, gasping for air and treading water. The water tasted awful, a bitter concoction that smelled of sulfur. He was an expert swimmer, but in full battle gear it was slow going. He made it to the ledge and Nightshade hoisted him up.

“You okay, Commander?” Nightshade asked.

Ziro nodded, and promptly threw up onto Magenta’s boots. His stomach had finally had enough.

“Not cool,” Magenta griped, as Ziro wiped his mouth and tried to apologize. At least now his stomach wasn’t queasy anymore.

With Ziro safely ashore, the others shouted their encouragement to Demo high above. Demo unlatched himself from his chair and crawled toward the porthole. As his weight shifted, so too did the balance of the WURM. There was a slow grinding noise and a loud THUD as the cargo container gave up its last grip on the railing.

“Oh crumbs,” Demo said, as the WURM toppled out and down toward its watery grave below.
“Demo!” Streak screamed in horror.

Ziro and the team watched helplessly from the ledge below, as the WURM dropped, end over end, with their beloved friend still trapped inside. With an ear splitting impact, the WURM splashed into the black pool below. The waves from impact sloshed up onto the ledge where the rest of the squad stood in stunned disbelief at what they had just witnessed.

Time passed slowly. The surface of the water sparkled from the WURM’s emergency beacons. But even as the waves began to calm, Ziro’s instincts began to seethe.

“I’m going in,” he said boldly. Ziro hurried to lighten his load. He unstrapped his belt and removed his boots, but before he could dive in, Nightshade took him by the arm.

“Wait,” Nightshade said, his ears alert.

“What are you kidding me, my friend is drowning and you want me to just leave him…”

“He’s my friend too,” Nightshade reminded Ziro, “but there’s something out there. Something in the water. Listen.”

Half a twitch later, Nightshade’s suspicions proved to be true. Streak was the first to spot the movement.

“Look over there,” he shouted excitedly. “It’s…It’s Demo!”

Sure enough, the big mouse had surfaced and was already swimming toward the half sunk transport. How he had miraculously survived the horrifying wreck defied explanation. Everyone was so glad he was alive they didn’t even notice he was nursing a sore arm. Demo hoisted himself up onto the remains of the WURM and collapsed.

“Way to go, big guy!” Streak shouted at the mouse. “I knew you could do it!”

Lying on his back Demo raised his paw in a thumbs up signal. He was exhausted, but happy to be alive.

“If I never pilot a WURM again,” Demo said, between heavy gasps for breath, “it will be too soon.”

Ziro chuckled, it felt good to know Demo was in good spirits. Still, in the back of his mind he knew they had come within a whisker of losing him. There was no doubting it; this was not a game anymore.

All at once, a deep moan echoed through the sinkhole. It was a living sound that seemed to originate deep beneath the surface of the water. The moan reverberated up the sinkhole and echoed in a hauntingly angry tone.

“What was THAT?” Streak gawked.

“Whatever it was,” Nightshade said, “it doesn’t sound good.”

The team scanned the lake for any sign of life. Nothing appeared, but none of them could shake the feeling that they were being watched.

“Demo, are you okay? Can you make it to shore?” Ziro asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just a small cut.”
The big mouse stood up and took stock of his injury. He had a deep gash on his forearm from the jagged edge of the shattered porthole. With proper treatment, it would heal. It would be his first real battle scar. The thought made him smile with pride.

Ziro shouted back, “See if you can make your way to the back of the cargo transport. It’s a shorter swim from there. And be quick about it, I think we’ve got company.”

Demo nodded and followed orders.

The big mouse stood up and started maneuvering his way toward the back of the transport. He’d only taken two steps when a pair of long, slimy tentacles shot out of the water and hovered over him. The blackish-green limbs swayed hypnotically like cobras before a strike. From where he stood, Ziro could see the undersides of the arm-like appendages were covered in thousands of smaller feelers that wiggled and reached out like boneless fingers in search of something to hold. They were reaching for Demo.

“Hey, keep your paws to yourself,” Demo demanded. He punched the creature as it slid past him. It recoiled in shock and retreated back into the water. “Hmph, that’ll teach him.”

But Demo was wrong. Moments later, the water around the transport began to bubble furiously.

“Get out of there, now,” Ziro commanded.

“Way ahead of you,” Demo replied, mid-leap toward the cargo car.

No sooner had he landed than the slimy tendrils made a second appearance, only this time there were five of them – and they were much bigger. The tentacles wrapped themselves around the front half of the WURM’s cabin and pulled it down toward the unknown depths of the black pool. Luckily, the two halves of the transport separated at the joint, leaving Demo bobbing atop the cargo hold. The monster had claimed half of its prize, but it wasn’t satisfied for long. Even before Demo could gain his footing, the water surrounding him began to churn again.

“Guess I shouldn’ta done that,” Demo said.

Nearly a dozen arms rose out of the darkness, blocking any hope of Demo’s escape. Each of the arms swayed in time to a silent tune and slowly closed in on their prey.

Magenta had seen enough, she opened fire on the creature with her blaster. Every shot was a direct hit, plastering the arms in neon blue plasma. Mere seconds after impact, the arms began to dissolve. An angry groan resounded from the deep.

“Take that,” she spat as the last of the arms sank back into the water. Demo looked relieved, but the moment was short lived. Without warning, a single larger arm rose up behind him. Magenta took the shot with deadly accuracy, but the limp limb fell across the transport and split it in two. In the chaos, Demo disappeared into the water once more.

“Demo, NO!” Ziro shouted again.

The water fell still. Nobody moved. All eyes were on the surface, where Demo was last seen. Everyone, hoping for a second miracle, but knowing it wasn’t likely to be fulfilled.

“He’s going to make it, right?” Streak asked in a rather quite voice. “I mean, he’s not… He can’t be…”

Ziro put his paw on Streak’s shoulder and nodded. There was nothing to be said.

The pool began to churn again, only this time the trail of bubbles began to wander ever so slowly toward the shore. The sight infuriated Ziro. This creature had caused them to crash, and had taken his friend. He loaded his weapon and targeted the line of bubbles waiting for a clear shot. The rest of the team followed suit.

“Come and get some, Pond Scum,” Ziro said, through clenched teeth.

Mech Mice Story - Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX – RIDING THE W.U.R.M.

Nothing could erase the smile from Ziro’s face, not even the gut-wrenching anticipation of being rocketed two hundred tails per second on one of the most rickety transports ever designed. This was a moment he would cherish forever – the Genesis Squad was being deployed.

For the fiftieth time today, Ziro loaded the Mission Objective screen on his wrist communicator. The screen lit up with the details of the his squad’s first mission. He couldn’t help but let his chest swell a bit as he read it one more time. It read:

MISSION: 1
SQUAD: Genesis
STATUS: TOP-SECRET
OBJECTIVE: RECON OF LIWA REGION
ORDERS: SCOUT AREA, OBSERVE AND REPORT
ACTIVITY DIRECTLY TO COL. BLACK.
TRANSPORT: PLATFORM 99 AT 13:00
ACCESS code: I-IIII-II-I

Ziro lowered his arm and stared at the round door to platform 99 in front of him. The number was stenciled onto the iron in black paint.

“This is it,” he said, slightly winded from the long walk. “Behind these doors…our transport awaits…and our first mission begins.”

The new Elite Commander looked proudly over his squad. Streak, Magenta, and Nightshade were already standing beside him, dressed in full battle gear and ready for action. Demo was the last to arrive; his pilot’s jumpsuit already soaked in his own sweat from the long winding hike through the seemingly endless passageways that had led them here. He gasped as he arrived, clutching his side as he closed the final fifteen tails between him and the rest of the squad.

“I thought…we’d never…make it,” the big mouse panted. He covered his mouth and burped loudly. “Phew! Remind me not…to eat so much…before a mission…next time.”

“How many platforms are there anyway?” Streak wondered aloud.

“This is the end of the line,” Nightshade answered. Pointing to where the tunnel came to an abrupt end only a few dozen tails further ahead.

“Better last than never.” Ziro said as he reached for the door. He flipped open a hidden panel in the door revealing sixteen unmarked switches in four even rows. From bottom to top he toggled the appropriate switches in order.

First row: switch one.
Second row: switch four.
Third row: switch two.
Fourth row: switch one.

A moment later, the mechanism that secured the door began to click. The door opened. The team stepped into a large but crowded room. The entire space was a cluttered maze of dusty crates and an odd assortment of supplies. A midst the collection there were coils of ropes, a pile of rusty springs, reams of flypaper, barrels of tree sap, boxes of rivets, a few over sized gears, some metal tubing, several bags of expired food rations and a crate of greasy rags to name just a few items.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Magenta eyed Ziro with more than a hint of suspicion. She didn’t like being teased.
Ziro scratched his head in bewilderment, “No. This is the place, alright, I must have double checked the Colonel’s orders a dozen times.”

“What a dump. It doesn’t look like its been used in years,” Demo blurted out.

“More like ever,” Magenta snorted, as she slid her claw through a thick layer of dust which covered a wooden crate beside her. “What a waste of time.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!” Ziro replied fanatically, refusing to let his team give up. He raising his wrist communicator once more. “I’m sure there is an honest explanation. I’ll contact the Colonel and get things straightened out.”

“Commander,” Nightshade said in a hushed tone. “I hear something.”

With ears up everyone listened to the faint sound of an electric sizzle, accompanied by the occasional metal clank of a tool. Somebody was working nearby.

“The source seems to be coming from the other side of these crates,” Nightshade added.

Led by Ziro, the team wound their way through the heaping piles of cluttered junk. It was a much deeper room than it first appeared. Eventually, the mess thinned and gave way to an open platform alongside a massive tunnel which stretched into infinite darkness in either direction. Along the ceiling, a series of tunnel-sized harness rings hung from a singular rail. These were the connectors that allowed the diverse selection of modular transports to be deployed down the tunnel.

It was an ingenious system, really, devised by the Mole Guild as a means of delivering troops and supplies to the far corners of the Migeddo valley. Unfortunately, the container that had been chosen to carry Ziro’s squad was a far cry from the sleek new transports that were available to most.

A pair of iron-ribbed, cylindrical containers had already been connected inside their rings. There was nothing attractive about them. they had all the appeal of a pair of tin cans tipped on their side, punched with a few portholes for good measure. The Mech Mice insignia was flaking off on the side near an open hatch. Clearly, this particular transport was more than a few seasons old. Demo wasn’t impressed.

“Ugh…WURMS,” he muttered, “of all the transports in the world we get stuck with a WURM. They should have scrapped these things seasons ago.”

Streak looked confused, “What’s a worm?”

“Technically they are U.R.M.S,” Nightshade answered pointing to a ID number imprinted on the side of the vehicle. The markings were almost completely faded away with age but Streak could just make them out. It read: URMS-23. “It stands for Underground Rodent Mobilization Sleds. But the entire system is so old they have a reputation of being …shall we say…less than stable.”

“Stable?” Demo snorted, “They’re a bunch of death traps, that’s what they are. Hence the W.”

“What does the W stand for?” Streak asked.

“Wretched, Wacked, Wonky…” Magenta explained, “depends who you ask.”

Demo smiled and gave his opinion, “or there’s my favorite, What-A-Piece-Of-…”

Before he could finish his description, a grimy mole popped up from beneath the transport and hoisted himself onto the loading platform. With a broad, jovial smile, he raised his miner’s helmet and blinked at the new arrivals. He was a star nosed mole with enormous paws and brownish black fur.

“Oh ho, you must be them! The one’s Black sent, right?”

Ziro extended his paw and cleared his throat.

“Name’s Ziro…Commander Ziro…and this is my squad,” he said with as much formality as he could muster. The mole eagerly reached out and shook paws with the mouse, transferring the grime from his own paw to Ziro’s in the process.
“I’m Rudd, maintenance engineer for the northern lines. Sorry bout the mess. I don’t get visitors in this area very often. To be honest, I didn’t think we still sent squads up to Liwa. Mostly this is the place we put all the stuff no one wants anymore.”

Ziro wasn’t so sure he liked the sound of that. After all, they were here now. Were they no longer needed? He pushed the thought from his mind and tried to focus on the mission at hand. He turned his attention to the vehicle.
“I assume this is our transport,” he asked, in a somewhat broken voice.

“That she is, lad. And a finer piece of machinery you won’t find anywhere else in these tunnels.” No sooner had the mole said this than a metal handle fell off the door and clattered noisily on the floor. The mole picked up the handle and without even the slightest pause, added, “I was just finishing a few minor repairs on her when you arrived. I’ll have that back on in a twitch of a whisker.”

Ziro shot an embarrassed glance at his team. Their great mission wasn’t exactly off to a glorious start.
“Are you sure she’s…uh…safe,” Ziro squeaked.

“Safe? Of course she’s safe. She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts,” Rudd said proudly. He tapped the fallen door handle against the side of the sled. It echoed like a giant oil drum. “Even made a few adjustments meself.”
“Easy for him to say,” Demo half-whispered to Streak, “It ain’t his hide on the ride.”

Rudd noticed the concern on their faces but he didn’t seem too worried. It’s hard to rattle a mole.
“Anyways, yer heavy suit and field supplies are being loaded in the cargo container. Why dont’s ya go on in and find yer seats. I’ll finish up the repairs real quick like.”

Ziro and Rudd exchanged nods and the maintenance mole set to work reattaching the handle to the cargo bay door. While the rest of the squad started toward the entrance of the forward transport, Demo turned the other way.
“Oh yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about…” Demo gawked as a robotic claw arm moved across the platform with a large item in its grasp. Streak joined the big mouse to see what all the commotion was all about. “My first real suit,” Demo sighed, completely oblivious to everything else except the heavy suit being loaded in the transport. “Isn’t she a beauty.”

“I guess,” Streak replied. He couldn’t help notice a slight tear forming in the corner of Demo’s eye but he wasn’t about to say anything. Demo put his hand on Streak’s head and messed up his hair.

“You know what they say, little buddy. The two biggest days in a Heavy’s life are the day he first gets his suit, and the day he dies in it. Thanks for sharing the moment.”

“Well you can’t die yet,” Streak said, playfully punching Demo on the arm. “We still have a WURM to ride.”
“Oh right,” Demo said, sarcastically. “thanks for reminding me.”

The squad filed into the front most sled. The interior of the transport was a bit less of an eye sore, but not by much. There were two captain’s chairs in the cockpit, and four jump seats immediately behind them. It was tight quarters, to be sure, but the U.R.M.S. weren’t built for comfort – it was a utility vehicle.

Near the front of the vehicle, just under the four circular porthole windows that overlooked the track, lay a large control panel with dozens of flashing lights and a central monitor.

With the most piloting experience, Demo took the controls alongside Magenta and started loading the coordinates for Liwa into the auto-pilot. The others harnessed themselves into the remaining seats in anticipation of Rudd’s return. Ziro tried to relax, but he hated riding in these things. He’d only done it once before and had nearly lost his lunch. He spotted a safety card in a pocket alongside his seat and pulled it out.

“You do know nobody ever reads those things,” Magenta said.

Ziro nodded. He pretended to drop it on his lap, but cast a glance down anyway when Magenta wasn’t looking.
It provided an illustrative detail of a typical WURM ride. The pictures were simply drawn and almost humorous in places if it weren’t about to be happening to you.

The first diagram in the sequence portrayed a crew of mice strapped securely into their seats. Ziro put a mental check in the box. The second picture showed the rocket igniting and the vehicle racing down the tunnel tracks at nearly 200 tails per second. At this he cringed. Already he could feel his stomach turning. Below this, an insert illustration showed the passengers all smiling in their seats, except for one who had was holding a paper sack to his mouth. Ziro swallowed and tried not to think about it.

He skimmed over the rest of the pictures without truly paying attention to them. Even though he had only ridden a WURM once before, what followed had left an indelible mark on his life. There would be the sudden ratcheting stop as the transport reached its final destination. The crew would disembark the vessel and make their way to the chutes where they would be sucked up to the surface in a heartbeat. Ziro shuddered at the thought of the moments ahead and tried to remind himself that it was part of being an Elite Guard.

Even though this was only a training mission, he was now one step closer to fulfilling his lifelong dream and making his family proud. My how things had changed since yesterday.

Twenty four hours ago: Ziro had sat in paralyzing silence, nervously rehearsing what he might say to convince the Colonel to give his team another chance.

Ten minutes later: An explosion of paperwork rocked the quiet reception room, sending Ziro diving for cover and the Colonel’s previous appointment fleeing for his life. Colonel Black beckoned Ziro into his paper-strewn den and read the squad’s Training Report aloud. It wasn’t good.

When put down in black and white, the results were clear. Ziro knew if ever there was a time to stick out his whiskers and make a bold defense for his team’s merits it would have to be now. Surprisingly, it was precisely at that same moment, seventy minutes ago that everything changed. Without warning, Colonel Black tore the report into pieces, letting the bits of it flutter down to be counted among the growing number of casualties in his recent war on paperwork.

“Forget the blasted reports…you’ve got instincts, kid. Know what your problem is? You need to stop relying on all this worthless technology and start trusting your guts. The only trouble is…I’m not sure you’re ready for this,” he had said.

“Sir, I was born for this,” Ziro answered confidently.

Colonel Black didn’t smile (he rarely did) but Ziro could tell he was pleased with the answer.

“Good. You have 24 hours until deployment,” Black replied. “Gather your team and complete one trial mission for me and I’ll consider keeping you in the program a little longer. Do we have a deal, Commander? Are you ready to be an Elite?”

Ziro remembered those last words well. It’s what gave him the strength to ride the WURM. He was ready.

“Well, that should do it, yes,” Rudd said, sticking his head through the side door, and startling Ziro from his thoughts. “The repairs are finished and the track is clear, see. Is everybody strapped tight?”

Demo nodded in reply. “Coordinates are set, we’re ready for launch, and it’s a good way to die if this rust bucket doesn’t hold.”

“She’ll hold, right,” Rudd said, giving the thumbs up. “Ears up, mice!”

“Ears up,” the squad shouted in unison.

Rudd smiled and slammed the door shut, latching them in the notorious WURM. There was no backing down now. No escape from the horrors of tube travel.

Demo pressed a red button, and the rocket engine began to ignite. He adjusted a few dials, as the roar from the rocket grew steadily louder. The entire transport started to shake and rattle from the building pressure of the rocket’s power. At times, Ziro wondered if the whole thing would rattle apart before they left the platform. Part of him hoped it might…the other part…

“Hold on to your tails, kids…this is where it gets fun,” Demo shouted. He released a lever and the transport shot forward like a bullet from a gun. Before Ziro could even say a prayer, they were hurling down the black throat of a winding tunnel toward Liwa.

“Yeeeeeehaw!” Streak shouted, clearly enjoying every minute of it.

Ziro felt sick…with each lurch and drop in the track, every turn or jolt, he could feel his stomach sickening. Even so, he couldn’t force the smile off his face. It was the best moment of his life.

Mission One had begun.

Notes:
The RocketSnail team is currently developing a new game called Mech Mice. Our first task is to create a world, full of characters and stories. We plan to launch the game in the next 2 years.
UPDATE: Now around late 2013

Mech Mice Story - Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE – Magenta’s Deal

Ziro wasted no time rushing across the room in pursuit of the perfect recruit. He was at a full run by the time he reached topside from the tunnel. The girl had clearly moved faster than he first anticipated. Puffs of his breath hung in cool night air as he scanned the empty cavern before him. There was no trace of the mysterious fighter.

SCHUNK!

The ground between he feet shuddered suddenly. Ziro froze as he looked down at the knife buried just a whisker from his tail.

“Get lost, creep,” commanded the female voice behind him.

Ziro raised his paws and turned slowly face the mouse standing in the shadows. He didn’t need any light to know he’d found who he was after. Or, rather, she had found him.

The slender, slightly taller, red mouse stepped out from the shadows, a second knife held at the ready. Though you could hardly call it knife; it was practically a small sword. Either way, it was a dangerous weapon even in unskilled paws and this doe knew what she was doing. She glared at Ziro, then snorted when she recognized him from the pit. “Nevermind. You’re already lost. You and your buddies don’t belong out here. Unless you came out here to find trouble.”

She eyed Ziro suspiciously like he might have been some ill-informed idiot thinking he’d like to ask her out on a date. Ziro took a step back from the advancing mouse.

“No. No need for trouble here.”

“Then scram, kid. I don’t like being stalked.” She kicked at the knife she’d lodged in the ground, caught it, and re-holstered it to her belt in one smooth motion.

When Ziro didn’t move, she glared, clearly annoyed that he hadn’t gotten the message.

“My name is Commander Ziro.”

Ziro tried to deliver the words with all the authority he could muster. His potential recruit didn’t look impressed. But at least the introduction helped drop her guard a bit. She smirked and leaned in close.

“That’s cute. Listen, ‘kid commando’, keep at it and maybe someday you’ll earn a real command.” She mockingly straightened his academy jacket and patted it’s rank patch.

Ziro could feel his ears burning now. “Thanks… but I’ve already got one.”

That actually got a laugh from her.

“Right. I don’t think so. Believe me, kid. I know Elites when I see ‘em. And you are not one of them.”

She laughed to herself some more and turned to leave.

“Neither are you, last I checked,” Ziro called out before he could think better of it.

His challenge stopped the volatile soldier in her tracks. Ziro gulped as he watched her tighten her fists and found his mind was suddenly preoccupied with any and all escape routes he might have to take. He jumped when she snapped her head back toward him to shoot him down with an icy stare.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you were an Elite…once. Lieutenant Magenta. Alpha Squad.”

Magenta narrowed her eyes. Sensing he was treading on a virtual mine field, Ziro chose his next words carefully.

“You were one of the best shots. Set the academy record for marksmanship. It wasn’t your fault that Alpha dropped you. After your injury you were replaced -”

“Kicked off, you mean,” She interrupted.

Ziro was surprised at the emotion Magenta allowed herself to show in that moment. It was clear from the look on her face that she had been hurt – deep.

“Listen,” Ziro continued, “Nitro was an idiot. You don’t leave a squad member behind like that.”

Magenta’s expression hardened again and the large knife arrived at Ziro’s throat quicker than he knew to react.

“You sure know a lot for a mouse I don’t know. How long have you been following me?”

“No! It’s not like that, honest! I’m just looking for a new lieutenant for my squad, that’s all! We ship out tomorrow on Colonel Black’s orders! You can see for yourself. See?”

Ziro’s trembling hands moved only enough to point her to the paper orders he had tucked inside his jacket. Without lowering her knife or menacing stare, Magenta snatched the papers out. Her intense eyes only left Ziro’s long enough for a cursory glance over the orders.

She frowned as she read over the details. “Liwa… Platform 99… Recon…” she muttered. She paused slightly before saying “Commander Ziro Federink”

Suddenly the realization came to her.

“Federink? You’re Nitro’s little brother, aren’t you?”

“Yes… I mean – ”

The knife pushed closer, cutting him off. He could actually feel the cold blade on his skin now.

“So he put you up to this little joke, did he?”

“What?! No! Nitro’s not my brother… I mean, yes, he’s my half-brother. Less if I had my choice. The orders are from Black. You can see that yourself.”

That last part seemed to talk some sense back into Magenta. Her crazed look seemed to fade a bit. Slowly the blade lowered. But the irritated soldier made a point not to put it away just yet. Jabbing it towards Ziro, she drilled him further.

“Tell me, Ziro. Besides the chance to babysit your long-shot squad on this pansy patrol hike you’re being sent on, what could possibly motivate me to join you?”

Ziro looked straight into Magenta’s eyes.

“Redemption.”

Though outwardly Magenta did well to maintain her tough exterior, her silence that followed gave Ziro hope that he wasn’t far off the mark with his answer.

Magenta finally managed to clear her throat. “Redemption is overrated, kid. Thanks, but I think I’ll wait for a better offer.”

Ziro was glad to see her sheath her knife once again, but he didn’t want to see her walk away.  Not like this. Everything inside him told him that landing Magenta was his squad’s only chance.

“10,000 marks,” he said hastily.

“Excuse me?”

“The mission is worth 10,000 marks… each.”

“Yeah, like I said, kid, good price for a babysitting mission. I’m not interested in that.”

“Then you can have my cut too. Complete the mission with us and I’ll transfer my marks to you – double payment.”

Magenta folded her arms and gave the offer some thought.

Ziro knew he had her.

“And,” he added, “You get a chance to prove you still have what it takes on the field – it’s a chance to get recognized.”

Magenta let herself smile.

“Blah blah blah. Let’s just skip to the good part, kid.”

Ziro looked confused. “Which is…?”

Flashing a mischievous grin, Magenta shaped a gun with her paw and took an imaginary shot somewhere out beyond Ziro.

“I finally get to shoot something real again for a change.”

“Well, I don’t know… orders didn’t say anything about–”

Magenta laughed at Ziro’s obvious discomfort with her remark and waved over her shoulder as she walked away.

“Consider your lieutenant position filled. See you in the morning, Commander.”

Mech Mice Story - Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR – Into the Pit

With slack jaws and wide eyes, Demo, Streak and Nightshade sat on their respective bunks in a stunned stupor. What their commander had just offered them defied all logic. Truth be told if it weren’t for the mission papers Ziro wouldn’t even believe it himself.

“Let me get this straight,” Demo questioned, scanning the official documents Ziro had brought back. “Colonel Black just up and invites you into his office and tells you he’s giving us a shot at an Elite field trial? Just like that?”

Ziro collapsed into his chair, kicked off his boots and nodded.

“I still can’t believe it,” Demo muttered, holding the papers up in front of himself.

“Let me see those,” Streak said snatching the papers out of Demo’s hand from the top bunk. He glanced them over. “What’s not to believe? You can’t argue with a shrew’s instincts. The Colonel used to be an Elite himself, remember? I mean, he’s practically a legend. He obviously recognizes talent when he sees it.”

Nightshade looked bewildered, “I assume he was aware of our current simulation record? We haven’t ranked on the leaderboard yet, you know.”

“Actually,” Ziro replied, propping his feet up on his desk, “it’s one of the reasons he wants to test us. He said he doesn’t trust the simulators. I think he believes we’re better than our record shows. He called us diamonds in the rough, or something like that.”

At this, the faces of his squad members lightened. Could it be someone had finally taken notice of them?

Ziro continued, “The only way to find out for sure was to give us a field test. That’s why he’s sending us on a little recon mission up in Liwa. If we complete the mission, he’ll consider us for promotion. Oh and we each get 10,000 Marks, just for going.”

Everyone gasped.

“10,000? Each?” Demo choked on his own words. “I’ve never had that many Marks at one time.”

“You will tomorrow,” Ziro said confidently. “That is, if we take the job. So, what do you guys think?”

“When do we leave?” Streak asked anxiously.

“We suit up in the morning,” Ziro said.

At this, Demo stood up, snapped his fingers, and waved a claw at Ziro expectantly.

“Wait a twitch, are you saying I get to pilot a real Mech Suit?”

Ziro leaned back in his chair and tried to act casual about the news, “Well, we wouldn’t be a proper squad without some serious firepower.”

Demo’s face beamed brighter than ever. For the first time he allowed himself to embrace the idea. This was really happening.

“Ka-Boom!” Demo shouted, clapping his hands together loudly and laughing. He was so enthused, he snatched Streak right off of his bunk and squeezed him like a teddy bear.

“Whoa! Can’t breathe here,” Streak squeaked.

“Sorry about that, little buddy,” Demo apologized. He released his hold on Streak and set him back down on the top bunk. “I’m just can’t believe all this is happening so quickly.”

Amidst all the commotion, Nightshade silently pondered the opportunity carefully. Like a computer, his mind methodically processed the data. A moment later, his eyes shifted to the only unclaimed bunk in the room. It was going to be a problem.

“We can’t go,” Nightshade decided firmly. “We don’t have a…”

“I’m way ahead of you, Shade.” Demo boasted, “We’re going to need a real squad name. I’ve been thinking about it all day. What do you guys think about, The Fangsters. Eh? Sounds dangerous, right? Like gangsters…get it?”

The room was silent.

“Oh come on, it’s a good name,” Demo whined.

Nightshade continued, “It is not our name I’m concerned about, it’s our number. We lost Lefty, remember. As of this moment, we’re one member short. I doubt the Colonel would allow us to go if he knew we didn’t have a full squad. It wouldn’t look good on his report if things go wrong.”

Ziro dropped his feet and jolted forward in his chair. All eyes shifted toward Lefty’s empty bunk. His stuff was gone, but his name was still displayed on the digital nameplate.

“Crumbs,” Ziro said. His face went blank. “I totally forgot about Lefty.”

Streak wasn’t going to give up the dream that easy, “Maybe we could ask him to come back?”

Ziro shook his head, “No, he already turned in his transfer papers. We need somebody who isn’t attached to a squad already.”

“Well, we better hurry. Curfew starts in just a few hours,” Streak pointed out.

Ziro stood and wandered toward what used to be Lefty’s bed. He reached for the digital nameplate and pressed a button to erase Lefty’s name. As he did, he started talking aloud to himself.

“We need a mouse with real field experience. A tough recruit with killer instincts…Somebody who will stop at nothing to win.” His voice started to drift a bit.

Then, all of a sudden, the answer hit him.

“Get your boots, boys. There’s only one place to find a mouse like that. We’re going to the Pit.”

********

Demo drove like a maniac, but that was nothing new. The Armadillo transport tore wildly across the rugged surface of the meadow toward the outskirts of the Academy grounds. It’s wide wheels dug into the ground, throwing bits of dirt into the air behind them. Ziro clung to the handlebars in the front seat and tried not to let his motion sickness get the best of him. Nightshade and Streak sat behind him in rear facing seats. Soon, the ride got even more bumpy as they entered the throat of a small rock cave. They were nearing their destination.

The Pit was a notoriously brutal fight club for off-duty soldiers who wanted to engage in a more aggressive form of paw-to-paw combat training. It wasn’t exactly a sanctioned event by the Academy, but leadership didn’t exactly seem in a rush to shut it down either.

“Are you sure about this, Chief?” Demo asked as he slowed the transport to a stop near the Pit entrance. From the surface, it looked to be little more than a hole in the ground between a pair of rock spires. There were rodents passed out on all sides of the spires, from various injuries. “Talk is that it gets pretty rough in there. One mistake and you walk out without a tail. Nobody ”

It didn’t need to be said. The place was rough. Enough to make Streak squirm in his seat.

“Listen guys,” Ziro said, hoping to still their nerves. “We only have one chance at this mission assignment. If we don’t find a replacement for Lefty tonight, we’re through. This place is our only hope.”

“Forgive me, Commander,” said Nightshade, “but the Pit hardly qualifies as a breeding ground for  ‘winners.’ I fail to see the logic in directing our search here.”

“I can appreciate that, Nightshade, but the way I see it, we’re looking for a recruit who’s both available and motivated. In a place this rough, we’re bound to find a few unclaimed mice with something to prove. If we’re lucky, we might even land someone with a bit of experience.”

“Yeah. Um. Are we talking like mission experience or cut-of-tails experience?” Streak asked nervously reaching for his tail.

Ziro just chuckled. “We’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like we’re here to start a fight.”

“That’s what they all say,” Demo mumbled.

The four team members unloaded and made their way toward the Pit entrance. Inside a narrow, zigzagging stairway led them down toward a lower level where the fight floor awaited. The sounds of a raucous crowd cheering echoed up from below. At times the passage was a tight fit, almost too tight – especially for Demo.

Having reached the lower level, Ziro led his team into the heart of an irritable crowd of dubious looking rodents. There were tables strewn around the outer edges of the room where grim looking mice played cards, threw darts and eyed each other with devious glares. Wooden support beams jutted up from the dirt floor giving the room a more rustic look than anything you’d find in the Academy burrow.

In the center of the room, a horde of spectators gathered in a buzz around the perimeter of a sparring floor where pair of mice were already engaged in paw-to-paw combat. Ziro took in the fight. Immediately he noticed these weren’t the rehearsed maneuvers they taught in sparring class at the Academy. This was the real thing. The kind of sparring that left you with black eyes and a broken snout if you lost.

A massive white Albino with fiery pink eyes was set to face off against a jet black mouse only slightly smaller in size. The two viciously clobbered each other to the crowd’s delight. From the looks of things the fight had been going on for quite some time. The Albino was gaining the upper paw quickly over his tiring rival. His punches were coming harder and faster than the black mouse could keep up with.

Then, a misstep. The black mouse saw his chance. He stomped hard on the Albino’s foot and swung his elbow up into his opponent’s snout…hard. The Albino was in a momentary daze and the black mouse took his chance to kick him dead center in the chest leaving the Albino flat on his back.

The crowd went wild. The black mouse raised his paws in victory, but the moment was short lived.

In a rage, the Albino recovered, grabbed hold of the blackie’s tail and yanked hard. Before the bewildered mouse could react, the Albino was on his feet and began to swing his opponent in circles by the tail. The helpless mouse went airborne as the Albino spun him faster and faster. Then, with a devilish grin, he released his hold on the tail at the peak of his flight. The black mouse soared over the crowd and collided into one of the wooden pillars scattered throughout the room. There was a loud and sickening “CRACK” before the limp form of the black mouse slid to the ground.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd as all eyes turned to the now motionless creature on the floor. For a moment, nobody moved. Then, slowly, the black mouse spat a few teeth on the ground and weakly raised his paw in a whimper before passing out.

Another cheer erupted form the crowd as the Albino claimed the final win. Marks exchanged hands as the winning bidders collected their earnings.

Ziro nodded to his team.

“Okay, let’s pair off and see if we can find anyone. Nightshade and I will take the left side,” Ziro said, “Demo and Streak, you circle around the other way.”

The team split up and started rounding the room in search of their new recruit. The further they wandered, the more Nightshade became agitated by the caliber of the crowd.

The first thing he noticed was the slack dress codes of everyone else in the building. There were no uniforms here, the few that were on display were worn in sloppy disrespect. He searched the scene for anyone with team potential, his gaze fell on two mice arm wrestling at a table. For a moment he watched to see which might win. Just as one seemed to be gaining the upper hand, the other up and walloped him in the face with this free arm. Despite the clear violation, his small audience cheered him for his efforts and carried the now unconscious victim out of his chair.

Nightshade shuddered at the sight and muttered under his breath. “Uncivilized brutes.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than a mouse standing a little too close to him took notice and grabbed him by the collar.

“Who you calling uncivilized, beatnik.” He was an ugly grey mouse, with a giant pink tumor covering one eye and a toothpick wiggling between his crooked fangs.

Nightshade fumbled for an appropriate response. He tried to catch Ziro’s attention, but the commander had continued walking and was quickly swallowed up by the busy scene, oblivious to Nightshade’s predicament. Nightshade was flustered. He had never been good at talking his way out of things. Social skills were not his strong suit. It wasn’t that he meant to be rude, he just said things straight.

“I didn’t intend to insult you personally. I was merely making an general observation about the kind of mice that seem drawn to this establishment. They wouldn’t know real fighting if it hit them between the ears.”

Nightshade’s response hadn’t made things better. Now, instead of one angry mouse, he had attracted a small posse of them. Before he could be lynch mobbed, a pair of massive paws took hold of him from behind and lifted him clear off the ground. Spinning around mid-air, Nightshade finally focused on his newly offended friend. It was the Albino. His cockeyed gaze led Nightshade to believe he had been hit on the head one too many times.

“You talk pretty tough, for a little lady,” the brute said.

“I’m no lady, sir, and I can assure you there is no need for things to get out of hand.”

If the big brute heard him, he paid no mind.

“Listen up, around here if we have an issue with someone, we let our fists do the talking. Now get out there.” Before Nightshade could respond again, he was shoved out into the middle of the Pit floor, followed by three angry mice. The crowd roared at the sight of another fight about to start.

“Well, that was uncalled for.” Nightshade reasoned with nobody in particular, as he stood back up and brushed himself off. “But if that’s the way you want it.”

Nightshade calmly studied his assailants. There were three of them – one of them the monster mouse who had tossed him out here to begin with. The advantage was clearly not on his side. He was unarmed, but far from defenseless.

First things first, Nightshade quickly labeled his threats. The black mouse was short, but well built. He had a nervous twitch that made him flinch ever few seconds. Nightshade named him Tremble.

The lumbering albino was by far the strongest and biggest threat in the group. His shoulders were as broad as Nightshade was high. Brute would be his name. Nightshade made a note to take him out first if he got the chance. With any luck, he’d still be winded from his last fight.

The last of the three was the tumor plagued grey mouse. He looked sly and a bit over anxious for a fight. His jagged teeth hung out of his mouth even when his lips were closed. He was probably the most prone to bite. Nightshade hoped the tumor wasn’t contagious if he did. The name Fang seemed to fit him well enough.

Nightshade narrowed his eyes and waited for their next move.

“Trust me, you don’t want to fight me,” he said.

Apparently they didn’t believe him.

As expected, Brute rushed first. When he was within an arm’s length, Nightshade dropped to the ground and hurled himself at his opponent’s knees. The top-heavy mouse was caught off guard by the low hit and stumbled head over heels to the ground. Nightshade spun around and placed a well aimed kick to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious in seconds.

One down, two to go. The crowd began to exchange Marks in response to Nightshade’s quick performance.

With the albino out of the match, the remaining two spread out in hopes of surrounding their victim. Nightshade used this to his advantage. He targeted Tremble, the weaker of the two assailants, and stepped forward into a forced close quarters attack. Tremble hadn’t expected to be singled out so quickly. In a flash, Nightshade unleashed a rapid series of fist punches at the mouse’s snout. Shocked, Tremble’s mind immediately switched to defense mode, as he struggled to deflect the blows. Nightshade grabbed his wrists, pulled him forward and head butted the mouse in the nose.

That was two.

Unfortunately, Fang jumped him from behind a bit earlier than expected and twisted both of Nightshade’s arms behind his back.

With Nightshade neutralized, a recovering Brute, who wasn’t nearly as unconscious as first hoped, wound up to land a shot on Nightshade’s chin. Nightshade didn’t struggle, he let the big mouse coil for the blow. Then, at the last second he kept his arms loose, bent down and spun himself back under Fang’s left arm. The leverage forced Fang to release his hold on Nightshade’s right wrist, and to step forward into the Albino’s punch. By the time he realized what had just happened, Brute’s heavy fist pummeled the tumor-mouse right in his good eye, knocking him out cold.

The crowd roared with excitment, hungry for more action.

Ziro finally took note of what was happening, but he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Nightshade?” he gasped. Of all the mice, Nightshade was the last he thought would pick a fight. Ziro tried to push his way through, but the crowd wouldn’t move.

Brute was angry now. He hadn’t been expecting Nightshade to be able to fight. He attacked with new found vengeance. Nightshade countered every move, blocking punches and wearing his rival down. His only mistake was forgetting where he left the fallen bodies of the other two. Nightshade stepped back and stumbled over the tumor faced mouse. The Albino wasted no time pinning Nightshade to the floor. He pressed his forearm into Nightshade’s neck and began to strangle the breath out of him.

“Time to sleep,” the Albino taunted.

Nightshade struggled, but the more he moved the harder the Albino pushed on his throat. His vision began to darken and blur. Then, just before he might have passed out, Nightshade spotted another figure leap into the fray.

Nightshade gasped for air and rolled on his side to watch the phantom mouse take on the Albino. He couldn’t see much through his blurry vision. It wasn’t Ziro (the figure moved too quickly) and it wasn’t Streak (it was too tall). Nightshade sat up and rubbed his eyes, hoping it might help restore his vision quicker.

It did a little. Enough to realize the mystery mouse who had just saved his hide was…a girl. Nightshade stared in disbelief as this doe, dressed in a black jumpsuit, made quick work of the beastly Albino who had bested him a moment ago. In the end, she twisted the Brute’s arm behind his back and drove him face first into a wall.

The crowd ate up every minute of it. The girl noticed Nightshade was standing up again and sauntered over to where he stood. As she neared, Nightshade got his first good look at her. She was an attractive mouse. Too pretty for this crowd. But it was a dangerous beauty. The kind you could never trust. Her green eyes looked like they were up to no good already.

As she approached, Nightshade extended his paw, swallowed his pride and said, “Thanks for the help…for a moment there I thought…”

Without warning, the doe who had been his savior only moments ago, gripped his paw, leaned her hip inward and face planted Nightshade into the floor…hard. She pressed her knee into his back and pulled back on his arm. Nightshade grimaced.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said in anger. “I did it for me.”

To say Nightshade was confused would be an understatement. He was flat out stumped. What on earth could this doe have to do with his situation?

“Do you know how much you cost me?” She asked.

“I…I don’t follow,” Nightshade groaned, his mind spinning for answers.

“A thousand marks! I bet a thousand marks on the Albino to lose his next fight – a fight he was supposed to have with me! Thanks to you, the whole thing is off.”

“Sorry…I didn’t realize…”

She bent his arm back a little more, just to prove she had the upper hand.

“Don’t talk,” she demanded. “And don’t ever steal my fight again, got it?”

Nightshade nodded the best he could. The doe narrowed her eyes as if examining if he were telling the truth. She released her hold, wandered off the sparring ring and disappeared into the crowd.

As the crowd began to disperse, Ziro and the others rushed to Nightshade’s side. Streak was the first to talk after it was clear Nightshade was okay.

“Dude, you were awesome,” Streak said, “Right up to the part where you were schooled by that girl.”

Demo and Streak burst into laughter. Nightshade didn’t see the humor in it at all.

“Speaking of which,” Ziro asked anxiously, “did you see where she went?”

“No, why,” Nightshade asked. “I hope you aren’t thinking…”

Ziro nodded. “I am. And if she’s who I think she is…she could be the answer to all our troubles.”

“Or the start of new ones,” Nightshade muttered to himself.

Mech Mice Story - Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE – OLD SCHOOL



Colonel Black bit hard on the squirming grub and frowned as he chewed. It was too sweet, he much preferred bitter bugs. He set the remainder of his meal back on his plate and scowled at the blabbering fool who sat across the desk from him.

Nothing about the grey field mouse impressed the Colonel. He was a new face, but still a stooge. One of those overdressed, underprepared, delivery mice sent down from the General’s office. The grub smelled of cheap cologne and was rambling far too long to keep Black’s attention. He had started talking three minutes ago and the Colonel could tell they were no nearer to the real reason this mouse was even here.

“As you will see from my report, Colonel,” the young mouse boasted as he pushed a large pile of paper across the desk, “Increasing our patrols of the southern meadows has been very productive. The tribes there seem very grateful for our presence and we’ve managed to liberate quite a few of them from all kinds of beasts. Alpha is very pleased with the results. His popularity has grown considerably among our great Colony. Despite the dwindling number of recruits it’s our hope that…”

Black was getting impatient. “By my uncle’s whiskers, would you spit it out already? I haven’t got time for this nonsense, and I could care less what is in your report. I’m here to do a job, I suggest you do yours and tell me what you came here to say.”

The mouse trembled a bit and nervously wiped his brow. Black may have been a small shrew, but he never let anyone push him around. He knew this pup was only a glorified messenger, but that didn’t mean he had to make his job any easier.

“Well…Sir, General Hatchet feels that increasing the number of Elite Guards by six squads before the new moon could be just the thing we need,” said the mouse.

“Six squads,” the Colonel bellowed.

“Yes sir, after all, the Elites are our most visible and marketable assets. With more Elites in the field, more mice may be inspired to join. After all, the General wants the largest army ever assembled ready before the first snowfall.”

“The General is a buffoon!”

“I…beg your pardon,” the messenger said, clearly shaken by the boldness of this little Shrew in expressing his opinions.

“You heard me!”

The Colonel lowered his bushy eyebrows, picked up the thick stack of papers and waved it in front of the messenger’s nose, “Tell me, son, where exactly does this magical report suggest I find enough mice capable of bearing the responsibility of six Elite squads?”

The question caught the young officer completely off guard. He hardly knew what to say.

“That’s not really…”

The Colonel interrupted, his voice rising as his agitation with his situation grew.

“Not everything is about numbers. Whatever happened to strategy, to tactics? Do you even know what it means to be an Elite Guard?”

The messenger squirmed in his chair, but said nothing. Like a wind before a hurricane, the Colonel was just getting started.

“Our Elites are highly trained combat units, masters of stealth, fearless fighters, capable of survival in any environment. They are battle hardened, tough tailed, killers who’d rather cut off a paw than lose a mission.
That’s the kind of mice I need!” The Colonel’s ears were now burning red. He took a deep breath and continued his tirade, spitting furiously as he shouted. “The mice I have are a bunch of sloppy, spineless, rookies who rely far too much on these fancy new tech-toys the General keeps giving them to figure anything out on their own. They wouldn’t know real battle tactics if it kicked them in the tail. That’s the mice I have.”

There was a long silence as the messenger measured his next words carefully.

“Surely there must be some among the grunts who you could promote.”

Before the Colonel could respond, the communicator on his desk interrupted. A small screen lit up and the face of Mildra appeared.

“Colonel, Commander Ziro is here to see you, sir,” she said in a decidedly drab voice.

“Make him wait,” the Colonel shouted, but Mildra didn’t disappear.

“Uh sir,” the young messenger offered, “you have to press the red…”

“I know what I’m doing, you twit,” the Colonel said. He pressed the red button and all of a sudden a second face lit up on the screen. It was his wife.

“Oh, hello Smoochie,” the shrew on the screen answered. “I wasn’t expecting you to call so…”

“Blast,” the Colonel shouted as he pressed another button. This time it was Mildra again.

“Sir…did you want me to send him in?”

“No! No…for crying out loud…NO!” He slammed his fist against the machine and her face disappeared at last. This was exactly what was wrong with the world today. Too much technology, too many contraptions. The Colonel sighed and looked back at the messenger mouse who was sitting across from him, mouth agape and eyes wide with shock. The mouse quickly regained his composure and extended an olive branch to the befuddled Colonel.

“Listen, Colonel. I’ll do my best to relay your concerns back to the General, but with the Alpha’s approval already granted, I’m not sure there is anything that can be done about it. I suggest you do your best with what you’ve got and we’ll see if we can’t work something out in the meantime. Okay?”
For Black, this was the last straw. He hated being belittled, least of all by some pint-sized runt with zero field experience and a clear disregard for his elders.

“Get out of my den,” the Colonel growled.

“But sir, I…”

Black picked up the report that had started the whole ordeal and hopped down from his stool. He headed for the corner of the room, rolled it up and shoved it into the barrel of a device that looked vaguely like a bazooka. He cranked back on the spring loaded lever and shouldered the weapon, aiming it’s crosshairs at the now frightened Lieutenant.

“I said, get out of my den, and tell General Hatchet he can put this in his report next time!”

The mouse scrambled frantically to gather his briefcase and scurried for the door. All the while, the Colonel chuckled to himself and kept the cross hairs steady with the well groomed dunce. Just as the messenger threw open the door the Colonel clawed the trigger and sent a massive flurry of paperwork out of the barrel and into the office and the hallway beyond.

The messenger rushed out of the den toward the reception hole where Ziro sat patiently waiting.

“That mouse is insane,” he shouted at Mildra as he stormed out of the den altogether.

Satisfied with himself, the Colonel dropped his weapon, slammed his door and headed back to his desk amidst a snowfall of paper that made his office feel much like a snow globe. He sat there basking in the glory of his battle won. For a moment, it felt like the good old days when he was still in the field…still getting things done. He sighed.

“How did I ever end up here,” he said softly to himself. He let his eyes wander around the walls of his den. Every inch of it was a testament to the early days of war. Photographs of gritty battles and war-time posters hung in perfect order on his walls along with artifacts and weapons from the good old days. In many ways, his den served as a museum of memories from the age of gears and springs.

Yes, he was an Old World kind of shrew, with plenty of field duty and more than a few scars to show for it. The virtues of war were bred into his nature. It was a much a part of him as his tail. Like his great grandfather, Black had been Commander of the most decorated Elite squad in the Mech Mice guard history. The Venom squad.

Ah, those were the days, Venom could strike swiftly and silently. No one had seen them the night they infiltrated deep into enemy territory and took down the Dark Union. It was Black’s bite that had sent the dreaded Dr. Verminion, leader of the Dark Union, tumbling to his doom. Black was a war hero – a legend even. But that was long ago. Now, he was little more than a paper-pusher. A relic of war in a museum of his making.

How times had changed. Under the new leadership of General Hatchet it seemed like missions were more about meeting quotas, expanding the Colony borders and gaining popularity than it was about eradicating what remained of Verminion’s army. Many of the battles being fought now were un-necessary distractions. Too quickly fought and too easily won. He had been around long enough to know something was up. Why were they focusing so much energy on the southern meadows and hardly any to the north in Liwa? There hadn’t been a squad sent to Liwa in at least three seasons. And yet, despite the Mech Mice absence things had been quiet in Liwa. Too quiet.

Black had his suspicions. He even had the courage to voice his concerns before the Mech Mice council once before. A lot of good that did. It was what landed him in this lousy job stamping papers. If he had any hope of discovering the truth, he couldn’t do it publicly.

If only there were a way to put things right again. To prove to the council that the Colony was at risk of attack from the north too. Who was he kidding? His tactics weren’t needed anymore. He had quotas to meet – General Hatchet’s orders.

He glanced down at his paper snow covered desk and spotted a single blue paper. It was another one of those digital field reports from the battle simulator. This one was for the Genesis squad. As usual, the report was already graded by a central server. The recommendation was to dismantle the team and send them back to basic training. Normally, he wouldn’t even give the report a second look – he’d call the commanding team leader in and deliver the news – but this time, something made him pause.

He half-heartedly scanned the report a second time. Surprisingly, there were a few bright spots in the report, not Elite status by a long-shot, but not horrible either. They needed a lot of work. Then, a subtle smile crept across the snout of the shrew and he did something he had wanted to do for a long time. He made a decision on his own.

If it was numbers the General wanted, he would give it to him. He’d approve these less than perfect grunts and give them a shot at the big time. But first, he’d give them a special trial mission to test their worthiness. If they failed, he’d just be following orders. But maybe…just maybe…they’d manage to come back with something useful from the field. Liwa would be the perfect place to start. Nobody would be expecting it.

“Oh-ho-ho Augustus, you are a clever little shrew,” he said, chuckling to himself.

He depressed the red button on his desk communicator to call this Commander Ziro in for the news, but it was his wife’s face that appeared instead of Mildras.

“Smoochie? Is that you again,” his wife asked.

“Blast!” he cursed and slammed his fist against the device. The image went black.

He hopped down from his stool and headed for the door. He’d do this the Old School way.

Notes:

• We changed Black’s rank from General to Colonel.
• The Chapter Illustration will be added later
• If you find any errors or mistakes please post them to the comments