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I: Hanging by a Thread

ID_Tuner - posted on 4 Jul 2016 @ 8:34am

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Bogus Basin Rd. Idaho Present Times
Throttle crawled on his hands and knees from the twisted metal wreck
of part of what was once a martian thunder pike. His bros were
nowhere in sight, and he was bleeding badly, his body battered,
bruised, and lacerated from the crash landing. His right leg was
broken. He couldn't stand up. Pain seared across his leg as he
dragged himself away from the smoldering wreckage. He couldn't even
find his bike. Nor could he tell what shot him down. Throttle
remembered what happened after they took off from Quigley Field.
Right when they were exiting the atmosphere, they were shot at by
something on the ground. The ship had taken several severe hits, and
broke up into three pieces on re-entry. He wasn't sure where he was.
His head felt like it was going to split, and the gash in his side
flared up in pain as he continued to crawl. The memory was still
fresh, of him reaching out to try and grab Vinnie and Modo, as they
tried to grab him. But they were out of reach of each other, and they
plummeted to earth, landing in different places on a northern
continent. Throttle had landed on a mountain. A barren, alpine
mountain. Throttle crawled up to a road. He dragged himself over the
guardrail, then lay on the side of the road, on the verge of blacking
out. One thought plagued him: Was he going to die?
He didn't
notice the car approaching him until it pulled over...

Manuel Vernandez drove down Bogus Basin road on his way back from
his latest delivery for his father. He drove a bit slower tonight,
which was rare, considering he liked to fly down the mountain as fast
as he could. He then saw a body in the road! Manuel pulled over, and
turned his hazards on. He got out of the car, and walked up. He was
in shock at what he saw! A human-sized, anthropomorphic mouse, in
biker clothes, with antennas! It had tawny colored fur! The biker
attire it was wearing consisted of a black, studded vest, blue jeans,
and black biker boots, along with metal knee pads and tinted specs of
all things! "What the hell?!" Manuel said, thinking it was
some sort of costume. That's when he saw it wasn't. The mouse had
been hurt. Blood was slowly flowing from a gash in his side, and he
had cuts on his arms and forehead. It's right leg was limp, and
looked broken. But nothing could prepare Manuel for what happened
next: The mouse spoke! "Help… Help me..." The mouse said
with a pained breath, before losing consciousness. Manuel panicked.
He ran back to the car, looking for anything he could use to stop the
bleeding. He carried an emergency kit in the car for winter in case
the car got stuck in the snow, or some other emergency. He got out
the kit, and found some tape bandages, antiseptic, liquid and string
stitches, a needle, and other things. He got out, and administered
first aid the best he could, sewing shut the gash, then he patched up
the rest. Manuel wiped the blood off his hands after he had done all
he could. What else could he do? He couldn't just leave it here. If
he did, something told him he would regret it for the rest of his
life. But he couldn't go to the police, either. They'd think he was
crazy. Which at the moment, didn't seem that far from the truth.
"Okay, get a grip, man!" Manuel snapped to himself. "Calm
down, and breathe..." Finally, mentally exhausted and sleep
deprived, Manuel loaded the mouse into the passenger seat of his
modified Honda Civic CR-X, and drove back to his apartment as fast as
he could go. He had to take him home. He didn't know what else to

Back at Manuel's apartment…

Manuel heaved the unconscious mouse-man up the steps of his
apartment building to his unit. He was starting to wish he had taken
the first floor option instead of opting for the third floor
apartment with the balcony. "Damn me and my love for a good
view," He muttered as he grunted and strained. The mouse-man was
a bit taller than him by about five inches, but what made it so
difficult getting him up the stairs was the weight from the muscle
the mouse-man had: He could put any Hollywood heartthrob to shame.
But Manuel wasn't worried about how fit the mouse was, as he dragged
him up the steps, perspiring. Right now, he was more worried of
losing his grip on the mouse-man due to his heavy weight and having
him fall down the stairs, causing him further injury! The weight was
no doubt from his chiseled physique! He felt like he weighed twice
what Manuel weighed! Manuel was no slouch in fitness, but his figure
was more lean than bulky, weighing in at one-hundred seventy-five
pounds as he was more of a track participant in school. Manuel
wondered how it was possible this mouse-man got so buff, as he
dragged him up the final set of stairs. Finally, after what seemed
like hours of grunting and groaning and grinding his teeth in
frustration, Manuel reached the top of the staircase. He checked his
watch. It was just around one in the morning. He dragged the
mouse-man down the hall to his unit: a door with the numbers
three-zero-five. He unlocked the door. As Manuel dragged himself and
the mouse-man in, he was greeted by his simple, yet slightly
disorganized studio apartment: In the main room, there was a
queen-size bed, along with a computer near the window, complete with
desk, and all the accessories for testing car instruments strewn
across it. There was also a land-line phone with answering machine on
the desk. A big-screen TV parallel to the bed, along with a recliner
in front of it completed the arraignment, with a nightstand and
digital alarm clock. Manuel shut and locked the door behind him, then
looked at the bed, sighing. It looked so inviting right now, but he
couldn't use it. The mouse-man would need somewhere to lay while he
was recovering, so Manuel would have to camp out on the floor. He
prepped the bed with towels, seeing he wouldn't want to get any blood
on the sheets, alien or otherwise. He then sighed, and using all his
remaining strength, heaved the mouse-man up, slinging his arm around
his shoulder, and with much strained effort, cursing included, set
the Mouse-man on his bed. Manuel proceeded to check the injuries
closer. He rolled up one of his pant legs, and saw how limp it was.
It was no doubt broken. Manuel went to the bathroom, and got out his
home medical kit, which was even more thorough than the one in the
car. He also got out his old leg brace, from when he injured his leg
in that cycling fiasco two years ago. Then he went and booted up his
computer, and looked up various medical sights, looking up how he
could treat the injuries the mouse-man had. He couldn't take it to a
doctor for obvious reasons, thinking they might try and dissect the
mouse. Or worse. After many Google searches, and stressed patching,
Manuel finished. This was the best he could do. He looked over at the
clock: It read two o-five. Manuel felt exhausted. He went to get his
sleeping bag, then heard the mouse-man speaking again. Manuel turned
to face the mouse-man. It was muttering things, as if he was having a
nightmare, his head tossing back and forth. "Vincent… Modo…
No… Carbine… Leave… Alone… Stink… Fish…" Manuel
walked up. He remembered when his brother, Hector, had told him what
him to do with kids who had nightmares when they were camping at a
family reunion. He hoped it worked with the unconscious, as he took
the Mouse-man's hand into his own, squeezing it slightly. "Relax."
Manuel said, unsure if he was being heard. "Nothing's going to
hurt you. It's safe here. You are safe here."
The mouse-man
seemed to calm down, relaxing. It seemed to have worked. He
remembered Hector saying he hated to wake people up when they were
sleeping, Manuel included. So that's what he did when they were
young, and Manuel had a nightmare. Hector said it was better to face
your fears with some support, rather than run away from them. Manuel
couldn't stay awake anymore. He was so tired. He changed into his
pajamas, unfolded his sleeping bag, got into it, and went into an
uneasy sleep. #

Throttle woke up. His body ached horribly. He opened his eyes. He
still had his specs on for some reason. He knew he wasn't dead. He
hurt too much to be dead. He then noticed that his cuts had been
bandaged, and the gash was sewn shut. His arm was in a sling, and his
leg in a brace, the pant leg rolled up. Throttle looked at his
surroundings. He was laying on a bed, in a small room, with a
computer and large TV on the opposite wall, far from the bed. In the
middle of the room was a recliner, right in front of the TV. There
was a sliding glass door near the computer, and the other end of the
room looked like it led to a kitchen. He then saw a human: A young
man in his twenties, sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag. Judging
by his posture, he was out like a light. Throttle sat up, and
struggled to get up, straining himself. It hurt when he sat up, but
he couldn't just lay here. He needed to find Modo and Vinnie. He
slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed, and slid off the
mattress into a standing position. His legs immediately protested
with screaming pain, one more than the other. It felt as if someone
had dipped his entire leg in molten lava! He clenched his jaw,
letting out a grimace, leaning on the bed post for support. The human
woke up immediately on hearing Throttle's grimace, clearly a light
sleeper. The young man turned, seeing him, then got out of the
sleeping bag in record time, and was at Throttle's side, slinging his
good arm over his shoulder. "Take it easy. You broke your leg."
The human said. "...Where am I?" Throttle asked weakly
between pained breaths. "Where are my bros...?" "Easy.
One thing at a time." The human said. "Right now, you need
to recover. You nearly died at Bogus Basin. Lie down, take it easy."
Throttle felt dizzy. He finally gave up standing, and let the human
boy help him lay down on the bed once more. "...Thank you for
helping me. Who are you?" Throttle asked the boy. "My
name's Manuel Vernandez" Manuel answered, half asleep. "What's
"...My name's Throttle. Throttle Thorneboy."
Throttle replied. "...Well, Throttle, I don't know what you are,
other than you're, well... A giant mouse-man. But we'll talk more
when the sun rises." He said with a yawn. "I need to get to
sleep, or I won't be able to get up for work. Once you've recovered,
I'll help you in any way I can."
With that, Manuel got back
in his sleeping bag, and fell asleep. Throttle leaned his head back,
and stared out the nearby window at the stars outside, eventually
falling into slumber himself.