Biker Mice From Mars - The Black Rebels

I Once Had Two Best Friends Who Are Now Strangers

Throttle pulled off his helmet and hung it on one of the handlebars of his beloved black cruiser-type motorcycle.
Despite that the helmet was specially designed for Martian Mice, his big ears were still sore after the long trip from the Black Rebel's HQ to his current whereabouts, and he rubbed them with a small frown between his brows.
While he was doing that, he gazed up, only to find out that clouds of dust caused by the wind were blurring the usual breathtaking view of the starry sky, which was quite unfortunate, actually.
Although he had seen the night sky of Mars many times already, it never ceased to amaze him.
For some reason, it always reminded him of how fortunate he had been to grow up in a war-free and relatively safe environment, something his parents couldn't say.
A heavy gust of wind made him shiver and he quickly dismounted his bike, knowing that if he would stay outside any longer, he soon would have to face the first effects of hypothermia.
Martian nights could be mercilessly cold, and although he was properly dressed, the long ride did not rule in his favor.
"See you later, Raven", he said to his bike lovingly, patting the crankcase with one fingerless-gloved hand.
Beeping softly, the bike flashed her mouse-shaped headlight in return and one corner of his mouth curled up in endearment as he turned around.

After taking a few steps, he stopped again and took a little moment to look at the small yet graceful building that was his destination for tonight, as it was many nights.
It was one of the few places that had survived the Plutarkian war, which was especially evident in the ancient architecture.
These days, the Martians actually build buildings instead of carving them out of the red-stone mountains, just like they did on Earth, but if Throttle had to be honest, he preferred the old architecture over the new one.
There was a certain charm hidden in structures that were in reality nothing more than a cave with a door, but it was common knowledge that nothing ever remained the same.
Not even entire planets.
Not even Mars.
Another ice-cold breeze forced the tan-furred Martian into movement and as he headed to the entrance of the tavern named The Steel Horse, his bright blue eyes wandered over the bikes that were parked randomly in front of the premises, which happened to be a lot.
As always, the bar, which was like the home away from home for the majority of the Black Rebels -as it previously was for the Freedom Fighters-, was completely packed.
Parked closest to the door was Vinnie's cherry-red racing bike, an impressive machine that was made for speed and speed only.
By the looks of things, Throttle's white-furred teammate had been one of the first to arrive here to celebrate the beginning of the weekend, as it was no surprise.
A little further away stood Modo's purple cruiser, carefully tucked away under a cover to protect it from the rough weather conditions, much to Throttle's amusement.
If it had been permitted by law, the grey-furred mouse probably would have married his precious bike, that was how much he loved his ride.
They all did, it was a Martian custom, after all, but Modo really took the cake when it came to bonding with his bike, a fact he was very often teased with.
He never seemed to care, though, something Throttle admired him about.

When he finally reached the wooden door, Throttle struggled with the doorknob for a moment, thanks to his now almost frozen hands, but eventually, he succeeded.
The moment he opened the door, he got greeted by loud chattering, heavy metal music, and a very welcome yet almost suffocating heat.
After the heavy wind practically blew him inside, he quickly closed the door behind him and the dark-brown quiff between his big ears bounced back to its usual position as soon as the wind was locked outside.
The silver-furred bartender, who was around Stoker's age and carried the relatively strange name Itchy, looked up from his work when he heard the door and a warm smile appeared on his weathered yet friendly face when he saw who entered his very dear bar.
"There's a storm coming", he greeted the young male, one he had grown quite fond of during the years.
"I think it's already here", Throttle scoffed, but with good intentions only.
Still shivering despite the warmth coming from the big fireplace, he took off his black padded Army jacket, along with his woolen bandana.
Itchy snorted as he put the mug he had been cleaning back on one of the overstuffed shelves.
"This light breeze? Boy, this ain't nothing yet. There's a sandstorm coming this way, I can feel it..."
"In me bones", Throttle whispered, hanging his jacket on the coat rack next to the entrance.
"...in me bones", Itchy, indeed, finished his sentence and Throttle smiled, despite that it was an easy guess on his part, still highly amused by himself.