Biker Mice From Mars - The Black Rebels

No Sacrifice No Victory

Mars - Freedom Fighters HQ - Somewhere near the city of Brimstone.

The tension in the command center of the Freedom Fighters was sharp enough to cut with a knife.
Everyone present in the room had their eyes glued to the screen on the wall, their hearts almost beating in sync to the rhythm of an undefinable mars as they watched how the ships of the enemy rose into the air, one by one.
One of the viewers was a proud, pureblood Martian Cave Mouse with fur as white as the phenomenon they call snow on Earth and the most peculiar eyes one had ever seen, for they were as red as the sand that covered the planet that was his home.
His home, that was invaded by aliens carrying the name Plutarkians.
The fish-looking creatures were here for many years now, stripping the red planet to use its resources, for they wasted all of their own.
But that was about to change.
"It seems like your plan is working, Stoker. They're leaving", the impressive-looking white-furred Martian said as he leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to the right so-called nonchalant as he kept his ruby-red eyes pointed at the screen, not wanting to miss a single detail but still highly aware of his -as he liked to call it- spotless reputation.
Sitting on the edge of his seat like a kid that was watching ET going home for the first time didn't exactly fit in that image.

It was actually kind of pointless to say out loud what was happening on the screen and thus outside, for they all could see it with their own eyes, but nobody in the room had neither the heart nor the presence of mind to tell him that.
After all, seeing the enemy leaving their planet after years of war, after countless losses, felt like a dream and nothing more.
Saying it out loud, perhaps, made it more real.
But, as they soon found out, it didn't.
If one would ask how it felt to watch them go without even putting up a fight, each one of those present would simultaneously give the same answer — surreal.
Stoker, a tall male mouse with lustrous dark-brown fur that was about the same age as his white-furred companion, didn't respond as he stood there, entirely motionless in the middle of the room, surrounded by high-tech technology that used to belong to the Martian Army and people who he considered as family.
His usually sparkling brown eyes were now dull and fixated on the screen while a frown decorated his weathered yet handsome face, making him look ten years older than the twenty-six years he actually was.
Or at least more burdened than ever.
The only thing that moved was his long, with tiny brown hairs covered tail, swaying back and forth like a clock and there was a certain energy coming off his body, like waves of electricity, that would make the ones around him feel slightly uncomfortable if they weren't so caught up in what was happening on the screen.

Truth be told, for a mouse who was about to win a long-standing war, a victory that would go, without a doubt, into the history books, he didn't look delighted at all, which should've been a sign for the rest that something was bothering him.
Or at least a sign for the white-furred mouse that was behind the controls, for Stoker was more than just his best friend.
Their bond was best described as fraternal, but not even he noticed the sour look on his friend's face, mainly because he was sitting with his back towards him.
The fact that Stoker didn't reply to him stating the obvious didn't ring any bell either.
After all, it wouldn't be the first time.
No, instead of Stoker's somewhat hoarse voice, the only sound heard in the cave that was their command center, carved out of the characteristic red stone that defined Mars, was the soft murmuring coming from the portable radio standing on the desk of the white-furred Freedom Fighter.
Voices belonging to Fighters that were stationed at bases all over Mars.
And for once, instead of bickering with each other like small children like they usually did, they now all said the same.
"The enemy is leaving."
It was, indeed, surreal.

Time ticked by, slowly, as if it had no rush now peace was finally within hand's reach, which would've been frustrating for the impatient white Martian if he wasn't so shocked that this plan actually worked.
He wasn't the only one having this strange feeling of surprise combined with a hint of skepticism and with every Plutarkian ship that ascended, the tension in the room rose a bit higher along with it.
Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the tough soldier with an ego bigger than Mars and shiny white fur straightened his back and he pointed a finger, one that was partially covered in a black fingerless glove, at the screen.
"There goes the last one."
About twenty pairs of eyes followed the same dot he was referring to and they all held their breath as they silently watched how the last ship launched into space.
"So long, suckers... Good riddance", one of the younger rebels mumbled and a few others chuckled at this dry comment, but most of them didn't even hear him, all deep in thought while the last enemy ship disappeared out of sight.
"How is the escort going, Floki?", Stoker finally opened his mouth for the first time in a long time and his white-furred friend pushed a few buttons to switch to another camera of one of the many drones the Freedom Fighters owned.