Biker Mice from Mars: Brotherhood of Mice

"Vince!"

"Vinnie!"

"Bro!"

He knew he should not have done it. He knew it was a trap, a trap set by that blue fish-cheese. He knew it - and he still did it, still fell for it. Even as his bike spin out of control and crashed through the wooden 'dead end' sign and flew out over the Pits, he knew he should have told his bros. It was too late though. All the glory he'd wanted was now so much free fall, him and his bike. He had wanted so much to show 'em what he could do, what Vinnie the Awesome was capable of... what glory would have been his...

Limburger had set his trap well, however. He knew his Martian enemies. He knew what drew them, what they responded to. It was almost too easy truly. So he had set temptation in their path, specifically for that loudmouth, the white mouse. He was the easiest to entice, to dispose of. He rushed into things, without thinking, sure of himself - overconfident. That was to be his downfall - and of the others too. His 'accident' would bring his buddies to the rescue. Then the Pits would claim them all. Haha! Yes, a most ingenious plan! And the best part: if it went wrong, well, the Pit Boss would pay the heavy price!

Throttle pressed a button on the side of his motorbike helmet to zoom in. this was nightfall and ordinary vision was useless here. The white speck at the bottom of the high-sided rocky pit became larger and finally resolved into Vincent.

'He ain't movin'' was his first observation.

'i don't like that,' Modo rumbled, kneeling on the edge and peering in.

'Me neither, bro,' Throttle remarked standing up. 'One of us has to go in and get him and his bike.'

'These are the Pits, Throttle,' Charlie objected. 'You know what happens here.'

'Yes, Charlie. But we don't have a choice. None at all.' Throttle took off his helmet and scratched one light brown ear. 'If the Pit scumbags get him -'

'- we ain't never gonna see him again,' Modo finished smacking his grey fist into the metal palm of his bionic arm.

'What will you do then?' Charlie asked them both. 'He must be unconscious down there. Maybe his bones are broken.' She did not mention the last dreadful possibility: that he was dead.

'Only one thing, babe,' Throttle set his helmet back on his head. 'I rock and rescue'

'But!' Modo started to object.

'No, Modo,' Throttle cut him off. 'You and Charlie will get the bike. I will get Vince.'

'You got it, boss,' Charlie assured him. 'Modo, my truck. We can use that to pull Vinnie's bike out.'

'Good idea, Charlie,' Throttle smiled at her, mouse-fashion, as his bike rumbled, ready to leap into the dark pits.

'Luck, bro,' Modo wished him in his low voice, obeying reluctantly.

'Vincent,' Throttle touched his bro's shoulder. No response. Not even a twitch of a whisker or an ear. This was highly unusual for the ordinarily ebullient white mouse.

'Come on, Vincent. Stop playing with me,' Throttle cajoled him, checking his pulse which was faster than a human's under normal conditions. Which these were not.

Throttle quickly went over Vinnie's arms and legs. Those did not appear to be broken. The ribs might be though. Vinnie was not breathing properly. There were little catches now and again, hitches as of a body in pain. It was only when he touched the back of Vinnie's head that Throttle found the biggest problem.

'Damn!' he whispered, rubbing his blooded fingers. 'You took a quite a wallop, didn't you, bro? Now, where is your helmet?'

'Right here, rodent,' sounded a slightly familiar voice behind him.