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"STEELFINGER"
Written By: Bob Forward
Produced By: Tom Tataranowicz
Directed By: Tom Tataranowicz
Executive Producer: Rick Ungar
INTRODUCTORY SUMMARY NOTE
One of the funniest episodes of the first season, "Steelfinger" parodies the classic James Bond films while also delving into Modo's character a bit more (a better examination than in the other Modo-focus episode, "A Mouse and His Motorcycle"). On the Bond side (called "James Bomb" in the show), there are lots of obvious references to the original movies, in what is one of the most entertaining homages to these classics that you're likely to see. There are also tons of in-jokes, both from the Bond films and from Marvel, the company that (I think) owns "Biker Mice." On the Modo side, we find out he's not quite so thrilled about his bionic arm as one might think, and witness him having to make a difficult choice between his convictions and his desires. Plus, Charley in a harem girl outfit!
EPISODE SYNOPSIS
There is no better case that can be made for not having a phone in your car than getting buzzed by Plutarkian High Chairman Camembert. At least, Lawrence Limburger would certainly think so. As our episode opens, he's once again getting a tongue-lashing from Plutark's big cheese, this time while en route to a Chicago steel mill in his limousine.
"The shortage of metal for Plutark's battle cruisers grows acute, Limburger," Camembert growls. "We need steel, and we need it NOW!!!"
"And you shall have it, your ranking reekiness," Limburger answers, taking a brief moment away from wringing his hands to pump an armpit at his boss (a shortened version of the Traditional Plutarkian Greeting. It's not something sick. Well, it's no sicker than the Traditional Plutarkian Greeting, anyway).
Limburger puts down his window as the limo pulls to a stop. He watches Greasepit and several of his goons, each one wearing a heavy tank on his back attached to a spray gun, pull up next to the mill.
"The first phase of my--heh heh--'iron resolve' is already underway!" the fat fish announces.
Greasepit uses a laser to blast a hole in the door, through which the goons send a noxious greenish-gray smoke. Instantly, the steel mill's workers begin to cough and hack. Soon, they've all passed out, and only the bad guys (who had gas masks on, of course) are left standing.
"Heh heh heh!" Greasepit chuckles. "Look at all these clowns sleepin' on the job!" The danger past, he pulls off his mask and turns to Karbunkle, laughing.
"Hey, Doc, ready to dock 'em a day's work?"
Karbunkle, irritated, snaps, "The Transport tunnel is already set up and operating, you stagnant simpleton!" He tosses a wrench into a small glowing portal hanging in mid-air. Seconds later, the wrench pops out of a corresponding hole thousands of miles away in space. It falls into a gigantic Space Holding Bin, and lands with an audible clink in a huge pile of rubble, amidst which can be seen the tops of skyscrapers and other buildings--Limburger's handiwork from before the Biker Mice arrived.
"We're ready to steal the steel!" the doctor concludes, in one of the worst puns I have ever heard.
Greasepit pulls a switch on a nearby control panel, which slowly brings a giant cauldron of molten steel closer to where the Transport tunnel is. It begins to tip forward. Greasepit, being a villain, begins to laugh crazily.
Until…
"You'd better just pour yourself a cold one, grease-gusher," Throttle shouts from somewhere off-camera.
Greasepit looks up. There, on the cauldron, are the Biker Mice, mounted on their rides. A fabulous entrance!
Vinnie palms on his helmet's screen and adds, "'Cause if you think things are hot now…"
"We're really gonna light your fire," Modo concludes, firing off a shot from his arm cannon. It strikes the lever on the control panel. The cauldron abruptly stops moving, its liquid metal cargo still safely inside.
Now, if you had just gone to the trouble of knocking out all the workers in a steel mill in order to take said steel, wouldn't you be ticked if someone got in your way? Greasepit certainly is.
"Hey goons!" he screams. "Obliterizate them! Now!"
Greasepit's goon squad quickly zips into the building in their dune buggies, opening fire on the mice. Our heroes rev their engines, shout their trademark phrase, and leap off the top of the cauldron into battle (interestingly, the order of who says which part of the aforementioned phrase is reversed this time. All three of them say, "Let's rock--" and then only Throttle says, "--n' Ride!").
Throttle grabs a large steel beam from a pile of them, then rides over to where his bros are. He drops it so that all three of them are supporting part of it horizontally, then calls out, "Dump and Jump Maneuver Three!" The bros throw the bar forward at a group of oncoming goons, then leap out of the way as it strikes the goons' buggies. All of them are tossed out, and their vehicles go flying--right into the cauldron's molten steel. They promptly explode.
"AOOOWW!" Vinnie howls as the three mice pull to a stop. "Mucho mamajammer madness!"
Suddenly, a pair of long metal arms shoot out of the wall. At the end of each is half of a box-shaped mold, which the mice abruptly find themselves trapped in. They're pressed in so tightly that they can barely move, let alone free themselves.
"Not so fast, Biker Mice!" Karbunkle coos from the control panel. "You look a little…tired."
He pulls another lever, which causes the mold (and the mice, obviously) to move closer to the cauldron--which is still, if you remember, filled with extremely hot molten steel.
"Yeah!" Greasepit laughs. "We think you need a little iron in your diet!"
He kicks the lever that makes the cauldron pour. Slowly, it begins to dip closer toward the mice, its deadly payload inching toward them.
"Uh-oh!" Throttle mumbles. "Another cliffhanger!"
"Definitely a tense moment," Vinnie adds.
"Yeah," Modo agrees. "If this were a James Bomb movie, the cool titles would start…now."
Any James Bond aficionado will know what Modo is talking about. If you don't, I recommend you rent one of the original films, particularly "Goldfinger". I've never seen it, but the band of the same name is great, so it can't be too bad. Here's what it looks like, Biker Mice style:
A spotlight moves across the totally black screen, left to right, until it comes to the right-most edge, at which point it expands into a sort of art-deco gunsight. Modo enters, dressed to the nines in tux and tails (so now he has three. Rim shot) and carrying a laser pistol. He walks to about the mid-point of the screen, the sight following him. Suddenly, he stops and fires, with the laser discharge filling the whole screen. This is one of the coolest visuals in the series, so make sure you catch it.
"Say bye-bye, Biker babies!" Greasepit laughs. Clearly, he's not too broken up over their departure from the mortal world.
"We'll cast statues in your memories," Karbunkle adds joyfully.
The mice, however, aren't about to give up so easily.
"Vinnie! Modo!" Throttle shouts. "Maneuver number twenty-two!"
"Naw, man, twenty-one, twenty one!" Vinnie protests.
"No," Throttle says in his "this-is-the-final-word" voice, "twenty-two."
"Aw, man," Vinnie grumbles, pulling out a flare and throwing it, lit, at the cables lowering the cauldron. They snap, and the cauldron stops just short of dousing the mice with molten steel. Modo then blasts one of the supports on the left side, causing the giant bucket to go swinging wildly over to where Greasepit and Karbunkle are standing! They dive out of the way, but the control panel is smashed to bits. The mold holding the Biker Mice breaks away, and they're freed.
Vinnie grins, turns his bike around, and asks, "How do you spell 'relief'?"
"I'll tell you how I spell it," Throttle replies, pulling up beside him. "R-O-L-A-I-D-S!"
No, kidding. Actually, he spells it, "Whip tail!"
"Yeah! Music to my ears!"
"Let's do it!"
Our heroes charge forward, just as Greasepit launches a missile at him from his three-wheeler (which Karbunkle is also on). It flies just over their heads and crashes into the cauldron. Molten steel immediately comes rushing out in a huge, orange-hot wave--right behind the Biker Mice!
"Uh-oh," Throttle says as he glances behind him. "Steel yourselves for action bros, 'cause surf's up!"
Oh God. The bad puns just aren't going to stop, are they?
Outside, Limburger peers out his car window and wonders aloud, "What is taking those hopeless hooligans of mine so--"
Out of the mill shoot Greasepit and Karbunkle, followed by the remaining goons and the giant molten metal wave.
"--long?"
Quickly, Limburger regains his composure, shouting at Fred the Mutant, his chauffeur (this is the bad side of affirmative action), to get them out of there pronto. Fred, who has been chewing on the steering wheel up until this point, gleefully cries, "Pedal to the metal!" and slams his webbed foot into the gas.
The bad guys race down the road, trying to outdistance the lava-like flow behind them. Seconds later, the Biker Mice burst through the side of the building, sticking to their apparent "doors are for pansies" policy. They continue chasing after the Big Cheese even after the metal wave has stopped its pursuit, and soon are within a hair's breadth of Limburger.
"Quick, bros!" Throttle shouts. "Maneuver Number Seven!"
"Number Six, Number Six!" Vinnie cries.
He's feeling awfully contrary tonight, isn't he?
This time, though, Throttle acquiesces. The cannons begin to pop out of the mice's bikes in preparation for the maneuver's execution.
"Let's see if we can't cook their tails for keeps this time," Throttle says as they draw closer.
"Time to grill us a Big Cheese sandwich!" Vinnie chirps.
"Now aim for the tires…On three!"
"One!" Modo counts.
"Two!" Vinnie cries.
Suddenly, Throttle notices the light ahead of them beginning to change. As Karbunkle and Greasepit slip through, the leader of the mice puts on the breaks and pulls to a halt just in front of his bros, forcing them to stop.
"What are you doin'? They're gettin' away!" Vinnie howls.
"Yeah!" Modo shouts. "We had them wrench-heads cold!"
Throttle thumbs toward the signal.
"Red light, bros."
"Aw, man."
"We always obey the law, Vincent."
Doesn't being a good guy just suck sometimes?
Back at Limburger Tower, things aren't looking so rosy. If the screaming hordes of goons fleeing from lasers blasts emanating from Limburger's office (one with a shark clamped onto his butt) are any indication, our favorite flabby fish is just a tad upset about his recent loss to the Biker Mice. But, hey, it's just speculation.
"Failure, failure, failure!" Limburger shouts, pounding his fist into the desk. Slime worms fly up out of their bowl (which is accidentally thrown across the room) by the impact, and the smoking machine gun next to them jumps a few inches into the air.
"Once again, you feeble-brained fools managed to muff it!" he shouts as Greasepit and Karbunkle quake with fear nearby.
"Duh, sorry, boss," Greasepit mumbles, pulling the bowl of worms off his head.
"'Sorry's not good enough! Plutark needs steel!"
Limburger strolls over to one of his large picture windows and, his back to his subordinates, gazes out at the city he intends to turn into a giant crater for a moment. He then continues.
"And I have a plan guaranteed to procure an awesome ocean of iron for my beloved home planet." He pauses a moment, then adds, "But there is just one, or rather, three, little problems."
"Duh, the Biker Mice, boss?" Greasepit asks.
"Of course the Biker Mice, you pathetic pinhead! No matter what miniscule mission of menace I attempt to embark on, those worthless wombats always arrive to interfere! And why? Because you can't stop them! What are you--a man or a mouse?"
Greasepit proudly replies, "A man!" Then, slightly uncertain, he pulls at the front of his pants, looks down them, and mumbles, "I think…"
Suddenly, Limburger is struck by a bolt of inspiration. He snaps his fingers and cries, "That's it!"
"What's it, boss?" Greasepit asks.
"A mouse! One of the Biker Mice! If I can get one of them to join my side, I would have an assistant worthy of the title! One of the Biker Mice themselves!"
Limburger seems positively enthralled by this idea. He reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a trio of fat white darts. While Greasepit protests, he strolls over to a wall on which are mounted three dartboards, each one with a Biker Mouse's picture on it.
First, Limburger takes aim at Throttle.
THWACK! The dart hits too far to the right.
"Nope. Too clever."
Next, he throws at Vinnie's portrait.
THWACK! Too far to the left.
"No." A chuckle. "Too hard to control."
Finally, Modo.
THWACK!
Dead center.
"Aha!" Limburger cries. "Perfect. Big. Strong. A sensitive sort of fellow. Just the one to get the job done. Now, all I have to do….is make him mine."
Cue dramatic evil laughter.
As it happens, Modo is picking up some refreshments for him and his bros. His arms are so over-laden with root beer--eight cases in all--that he has to kick the grocery store's door open with his foot. Anyone who's ever carried a case of soda knows how heavy one can be, so Modo's carrying eight of them without assistance is nothing short of amazing. Still, he seems to have little difficulty with the load. One gets the impression that he could carry another two or three with no real problem.
"Only problem with havin' a mechanical wing," he chuckles, "is that ah always get stuck havin' to do the root beer runs!"
He walks over to his bike and places the tall stack on top of the rear end of his bike (he'd better put some straps down over those cases, or he's not going to get more than ten feet before he loses one), then sighs and takes a step back, wringing his hands sadly. Modo gazes at both palms, one metal, one flesh and blood, and sighs.
"But this old arm's gettin' a little rusty and dented. And, ah gotta admit, it's kinda ugly, too."
Modo looks sadly into one of the store's windows, in which is prominently displayed a poster for a James Bomb movie. Bitterly, the gray-furred mouse grumbles, "James Bomb would never have a creaky old mechanical arm like this."
(Just a brief reality check--unless I'm sorely mistaken, the arm isn't that old! He only got in a few years ago, near the end of the Plutarkian War! Oh well. Hindsight's always twenty-twenty.)
Suddenly, Modo scents something disgusting on the air. He sniffs a few times, then mumbles, "Man, somethin' sure stinks around here. Smells almost like…almost like…"
He lifts up his shoe to see if he stepped in something just as Limburger pulls up in his limo.
"Greetings, dear friend," he coos, rolling the window down.
"Limburger!" Modo shouts. He whips out his arm cannon and aims it directly at the Plutarkian. But Limburger is curiously unafraid.
"Oh, do be a good chap and put that away," he coos casually, all smiles. "I've not come here to battle--I've come here to bargain!"
Thoroughly insulted, Modo turns his back and snarls fiercely, "Ah don't bargain with stinkin' Plutarkian slime-fish scum! Whatever you want, the answer's no."
"Oh, really?" Limburger chuckles. Snapping his fingers, he orders Karbunkle to show Modo what his "signing-on bonus" will be.
Karbunkle exits the limo, walks slowly around the front, and presents Modo with a large black suitcase. He opens it, and reveals the contents to be a beautifully-crafted, brand new mechanical arm. This one has a smooth, muscular structure, as opposed to the boxy design of Modo's (ironically, Karbunkle built both of them).
Modo's eye grows huge.
"Wow……"
He reaches for it slowly.
As the next scene opens, we see a James Bomb book lying on a wooden chair in the Last Chance Garage. Very abruptly, both of them go flying when an extremely upset Modo kicks the chair halfway across the room.
"The nerve of that stinkin' cheese-breath!" he howls as his bros look on.
"Hey!" a woman's voice shouts.
The mice look over to see Charley entering the room. She picks up the book and chides, "Easy on the equipment, guys! This stuff doesn't come cheap, you know."
Modo bows his head reticently and mumbles, "Sorry, Charley ma'am."
"Modo's just a little hot under the helmet," Vinnie explains.
"Yeah, had a run-in with Limburger," Throttle adds.
Charley laughs it off, then notices the still-dejected look on Modo's face.
"Are you okay, Modo? Did he hurt you?" Her voice grows angry, as if, the second he gives an answer to the affirmative, she's going to walk right down to Limburger Tower and kick his fat ass herself.
"Naw, worse!" Modo groans, sitting down in a chair that escaped his rage. "He offered me a job!"
"WHAT?!??!" Throttle, Vinnie, and Charley shout. Throttle and Vinnie seem particularly horrified. After all, a job is a bad enough thing on its own when you're a Biker Mouse, but when it comes from a Plutarkian, that's even worse.
Modo quickly assures them that he has no intention of taking the job. Then he pauses for a moment, reflecting.
"But…he had this pretty new arm….all smooth and shiny….not old and creaky like this one."
As if to prove Modo's point, sparks fly out of said arm while he talks.
He sighs, then rests his head in his hands sadly.
"Poor guy," Throttle murmurs, motioning toward his disconsolate bro. "This just ain't like him."
"Yeah, we gotta cheer him up somehow!" Vinnie declares. "I could sing him a song!"
Charley grins and asks, "Vinnie, aren't things bad enough already?" She picks up the book she had grabbed earlier, then suggests, "Maybe there's something on the tube, like a James Bomb movie." This should do the trick, since Modo is, of course, a huge fan.
The mechanic turns the television on, but it's the face of television reporter Tara Diddle that they see, microphone in hand, instead of the dashing double-oh seven (or, for parody purposes, something along the lines of "double-oh six").
"In other news," Diddle announces, "Lawrence Limburger has almost finished construction on the world's largest solar power planet, capable of supplying all Chicago's power needs for free!"
"WHAT?!??!" all three mice and Charley shout (boy, it's just a day full of surprises, huh?).
"Oh man," Throttle grumbles. "What's that stink-ball up to now?"
As the reporter continues, we can see Limburger's planet behind her, with scads of huge, light-collecting panels and a large central antenna covered in what appear to be satellite dishes.
"Limburger has generously offered to trade the power plant to the city in exchange for--"
The view changes, this time to a scene of several large pipes, out of which are pouring a hideous puke-green liquid.
"--this rather disgusting sewage treatment plant," Diddle concludes. Her voice betrays the fact that she is now holding her nose. "The Mayor and our city leaders have promised to give Limburger an answer by tomorrow. Back to you, Jim." She sounds excited to get the report over with, and to put as much distance between herself and the plant as possible.
"Man!" Vinnie exclaims as Charley turns off the television. "That's the weirdest thing I ever heard!"
"Yeah," Modo agrees, a slight smile coming to his face. "Doesn't he stink enough already?"
Throttle nods, obviously glad to see his bro in a little better mood.
"Could gag a maggot. Hmm. That treatment plant collects all the run-off from the city's sewers and storm drains. That's nothin' that even Plutark would want."
"Hero time!" Vinnie cries, flexing proudly. "We gotta find out what that catfish-bait is up to!"
"Any suggestions how?" Charley asks, raising a sarcastic eyebrow.
Vinnie stumbles for an answer, then finally shrugs his shoulders, clueless.
"Well, I think I have an idea, bros," Throttle says coolly, plucking the James Bomb book from Charley's hand. "What we need is a secret agent."
He puts a hand on Modo's shoulder.
See? All this pseudo-James Bond stuff is going somewhere!
"Delighted you decided to join me, dear boy!" Limburger cries happily, clapping Modo on the back. They're standing in his office, Limburger happily thanking Modo for his participation, Modo staring at him coldly with his arms crossed over his chest. The Plutarkian seems so thrilled that he may very well be dousing his drawers.
"Delighted! I couldn't be more pleased! Anything you want is yours! Anything at all!"
"Where's the arm?" Modo asks in a gravelly voice.
"Except that."
"WHAT?!" the mouse growls, eye flashing red.
Limburger draws away and replies coolly, "Well, you must understand, dear boy, we have been enemies a long time. You'll have to begin on a trial basis. Say….a month? After that, the arm is yours."
Eye still flashing, Modo growls, "Oh yeah, well tell me, you rancid--" He catches himself, and corrects, "--your respectedness, what do ah have to do?"
Casually, Limburger strolls to the window and looks out.
"I'll be giving a costume ball tonight," he explains. "All of Chicago's most influential people will be there. I'm trying to convince them to accept my generous offer of the power plant."
Modo thinks those over for a moment, then asks curiously, "Yeah? Then why are you tradin' your brand-new power plant for a stinkin'-old sewage plant anyway?"
Limburger chuckles mysteriously.
"My dear, muscular mouse, I fear that must remain my little secret. But I would prefer that the proceedings remain free of, say…"
On the street below, within view of the tower, Vinnie and Modo race past on their bikes.
"…a less desirable variety of vermin?"
Modo, catching the hint, grins and joins him at the window.
"Got ya."
He points his cannon at his bros and fires. Two bright blue lasers streak through the air, and promptly hit their mark. Throttle and Vinnie both go flying, and end up in a pile with their bikes, looking very, very, dead (or at least as dead as people can look according to FCC guidelines).
Modo blows the smoke from both his arm's barrels.
"There'll be no trouble."
Limburger smiles proudly.
"Excellent."
Day turns into night, and with the coming of sunset comes Limburger's costume ball. At his tower, the city's best, brightest, and most powerful gather, all dressed in colorful garb. Remember that remark I made about Marvel in-jokes? Well, just about everyone you see in the crowd scene is dressed as some sort of Marvel superhero. Look closely, and you can see Gambit, Wolverine, Thor, and Psylocke, along with a few generic heroes. Chun Li, Guile, and the Lone Ranger are also in attendance. Of course, the last three aren't Marvel, but Hell, they're pretty cool cameos. All the colors are off in at least some degree--the man dressed as Gambit has black hair, a moustache, and his headpiece is orange, but you should still be able to recognize them. This is similar to the Thing reading the Biker Mice comic book in the "Worlds Within Worlds" episode of the "Fantastic Four" animated series.
Meanwhile, up on the rooftop, a pair of dummies made to look like Throttle and Vinnie are thrown to the ground. Both are still smoking. The Throttle dummy has a black eye, and both of the life-sized doll have holes in their abdomens easily over five inches in diameter.
"Whoah," Vinnie mumbles. "Remind me never to get Modo really mad at me."
"Yeah, well, just so long as Limburger bought it," Throttle reminds him as they approach the edge of the roof. "Now stay low, bro. We gotta be ready in case Modo needs backup."
A cold breeze blows across both mice as they hunker down.
"You think he can handle this?" Vinnie asks, shivering.
"Hey, he's been watchin' James Bomb movies all day," Throttle laughs. "He's primed."
Inside the party, a new guest has just made his appearance. One who's turning all the ladies' heads. Cries of "he's so cute" and "oh my" permeate the room as the women jockey to get a look at this new caller.
In steps Modo, the object of their affections, wearing a tuxedo (the same outfit he was wearing during the cliffhanger) and looking extremely sharp.
The doorman, one of Limburger's goons, asks, "Name, please--sir?"
With practiced ease, our favorite gray-furred guy replies, "Mouse. Modo Mouse."
He flashes a toothy grin at the ladies. They continue to "ooh" and "ahh" over him. One faints.
A swarm of goons suddenly surround Modo (you know, it would probably look better to the city council if at least one of them would have gone to help that woman who fainted). But Modo's casual cool remains unperturbed.
Limburger quickly rushes into the mess and explains, "My new assistant! Oh, kindly extend him every courtesy!"
"Yes, sir!" the doorman answers, saluting. The other goons drift away as he compliments Modo on his costume, and asks if there's anything he can get for him.
"Yes. Root beer, very cold, not shaken, not stirred."
Across the room, Limburger is flirting with a group of scantily-clad young partygoers. Greasepit watches it all jealously, a curious bowler perched on his head in place of his normal red ballcap.
As Modo strolls through the throngs, feelings the eyes of dozens of gorgeous women on him, he's offered a plate full of hot dog h'ourderves, which he samples coolly. One thing is for certain: he's trained well for this part.
"A mouse could get used to this!" he laughs.
Vinnie and Throttle, in the meantime, are watching it all from the rooftop with a small hand-held monitor. The night air is only getting colder, and it seems that every two-degree drop in the temperature is accompanied by Vinnie growing two degrees more irritated.
"Oh, man!" the white-furred mouse grouses. "He's makin' time while we're freezing our tails off!"
As if things can't get any worse, a pigeon then attempts to nest on Vinnie's head. He shoos it away angrily, then snaps, "He's gettin' the women while I get the wildlife! This ain't right! I'm the cool one in the group!"
"Yeah, and gettin' c-c-cooler by the second," Throttle grumbles, teeth chattering.
Suddenly, something on the monitor catches his eye. He grabs the small attached microphone and shouts, "Modo! Grease-ball at three o'clock!"
Downstairs, Modo catches the message via a small receiver in his ear, and glances to his left. Just as Throttle had said, Greasepit is standing nearby, and is ready to attack.
Oh, yeah, a fight breaking out in the middle of the ball will really help Limburger's case to get the treatment plan.
"Eh, so you think you can take my job, huh?" the grease-dripping goon asks, taking off his razor-brimmed hat. "Well, this buzz-saw bowler should cut you down to size!"
Greasepit draws back, then throws it like a Frisbee (once again, a classic right out of the Bond films) toward Modo. It flies toward him, its razor-sharp edges twinkling in the bright lights.
However, Modo is unruffled. He puts his drink down on a nearby table, then holds up the pinky finger on his right hand. The hat collides with it--and is instantly ground into dust.
"Steeeeelfinger," he coos, grinning.
The ladies sigh and moan from the sidelines.
Modo, smiling from ear to ear, grabs a low-hanging banner next to him and pulls down hard. As it happens, the banner is attached to a mirror ball hanging from the ceiling. It drops nearly to the ground, landing smack-dab on top of Greasepit's head. The ball cracks like an egg as it hits, covering the goon until only his head and legs can are protruding.
Still smiling, Modo tugs on the banner again, this time producing the opposite effect. Now the mirror ball--and Greasepit--are pulled up to the ceiling, effectively getting him out of Modo's hair.
"Danger," the mouse purrs, brushing off his sleeve, "is my business."
An entire row of women simultaneously faints. And here you thought Throttle was the lady-killer!
"Having fun?" a familiar female voice snarls.
Modo turns and sees Charley right behind him. Like all the partygoers, she's also in costume (although it's more of a disguise in her case), as a harem-girl/waitress. And she does not look pleased to see Modo goofing off.
"Charley ma'am?" the mouse asks. "What are you doin' here?"
"What you're supposed to be doing!" she snaps. "Namely, finding out what Limburger's up to! Come on!"
The mechanic grabs Modo's arm and leads him out of the room. As they disappear off-screen, we can see Greasepit, still trapped in the mirror-ball, rotating above the crowd.
Charley leads Modo into a nearby hallway. Unlike Modo, she's been investigating the whole time, and has found a decidedly suspicious door.
"Looks like Limburger's got somethin' to hide behind it," she explains, holding her metal serving tray under her arm as she tugs at it. "It's locked."
Modo rolls up the sleeve on the right arm of his coat and pops out his arm cannon.
"Got the key right here. Step aside."
A single blast from Modo's laser renders the lock ancient history. He sniffs the rose on his lapel casually as Charley grins and says, "Smooth. I like that in a mouse."
They enter the room to find a scale-model of Chicago, accurate to the last detail. Particularly salient are Limburger's new solar power plant and the sewage treatment plant. Both of them puzzle it over.
"This whole setup stinks!" Charley cries. "Limburger's got something dastardly up his sleeve, I know it. But what?"
Modo says nothing as he takes a moment to ponder the problem. As he does, he places one of his gloved hands on the side of the table the model is resting on. Inadvertently, he presses a button.
Suddenly, just above Modo and Charley, a giant, high-powered light comes on. It strikes the miniature mirrors and dishes of the solar power plant, reflecting strong laser beams all over the scale city. The tiny buildings begin to melt into an ugly dark gray slag, which flows into the miniature city's storm drains and directly to the model sewer treatment plant, where an ominous-looking Transport tunnel catches it.
"That's it!" Charley announces. "Limburger's gonna melt down Chicago!"
Modo catches the idea quickly.
"The melted steel flows into the storm drains--"
"-and ends up at the treatment plant-" Charley adds.
"--where the Big Cheese sends it to Plutark!"
"That's why Limburger wanted the treatment plant!" the mechanic concludes.
"He's gonna use it to steal Chicago's steel!" Modo declares.
Oh God, not that pun again!
"Very good, Mr. Mouse," Limburger's voice calls from behind.
Charley and Modo wheel around to see Limburger and a small army of his goons at the door, each one packing a pistol aimed directly at them.
"But I'm afraid your cleverness has just cost you an arm," Limburger continues. "And your life!"
As Limburger laughs diabolically, Modo mumbles, "Guess this mouse won't be needin' a monkey-suit anymore," and tears off the tuxedo. However, broadcast standards being what they are, Modo happens to be wearing his normal clothes underneath. Sorry, ladies. Maybe if they put out an enhanced DVD someday with added footage…
"Too bad," Charley says with a grin. "You looked good."
"Oh, you really should remain in formal dress, dear boy," Limburger scolds. "It's so suitable for the occasion--the occasion of your demise!"
But before Limburger can blast Modo and Charley into the hereafter, the roof is suddenly blown wide open by laser fire. When the dust clears, who should be peering in from above but Throttle and Vinnie, mounted on their bikes?
"Nobody's demise-ing today, Limburger," Throttle informs the fish as he and Vinnie jump down into the room. Modo's bike (Lil' Hoss) tags along behind.
"Yahoo!" Vinnie cries as Modo jumps onto his bike and throws his helmet on. "Is this the nick of time or what?"
Well, Limburger is understandably upset by this turn of events. Bad enough that anyone should come along to rescue Modo, but then it had to turn out to be his dead compatriots? No fair!
"I thought those maddening mice had been vaporized!" he shouts.
"Well, you can't believe everything you see, fish-eyes!" Throttle retorts.
Limburger races out of the room while his goons open fire on the mice. One blast is headed straight for Charley, but she manages to reflect it with that metal serving tray I mentioned a few paragraphs ago. It bounces off, ricochets on the wall, and his Vinnie smack in the butt.
"Ouch!" he shouts. He rubs his sore rear and chides, "Watch the merchandise, sweetheart!"
One of the walls suddenly draws up like a garage door, releasing a swarm of goons on dune buggies. The Biker Mice's lasers quickly make short work of them. There's a lame-ass rap here that I refuse to reprint, but I will mention that as the mice leave Limburger Tower to give chase, Charley smacks another goon with her serving tray and sends him flying out of his ride. Thing's pretty damn handy, ain't it?
Limburger, in his limo, races out of the Tower. But no sooner is he on his way than the Biker Mice burst out of a window, hot on his heels.
"Quickly!" the fish commands Fred, who is once again his driver. "It's almost dawn! We must activate the solar mirrors and melt the metropolis before those blasted Biker Mice interfere!" Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Limburger activates a rocket mounted in the rear of the limo, increasing its speed. The Biker Mice follow, but slowly Limburger pulls ahead, and they are unable to catch him before he reaches the plant.
"Uh-oh," Vinnie says. "The Big Cheese made it inside…"
"Things could start gettin' a little hot around here," Throttle observes grimly.
Inside the power plant, Limburger and Karbunkle are already busily fiddling with the controls. Limburger grins happily and adjusts the position of one of the mirrors just as the sun breaks out over the horizon. The mirror catches the light, then reflects it in a deadly-hot beam--right at the Biker Mice! Fortunately, the beam is slightly off-target, and only nips the tip of Vinnie's tail. He yelps, then grabs his wounded appendage, glares at its thoroughly blackened tip, and groans, "I hate tan-lines!"
"Should've worn my sun-screen," Modo adds thoughtfully.
Limburger quickly grows frustrated with his inability to score a direct hit on the mice, and snaps angrily at Karbunkle when he interrupts his concentration.
"What is it? Can't you see I'm occupied?"
"I simply wish to report that the sun has now reached full intensity, your fulsome fragrantness" the doctor answers. "Chicago melt-down may begin!"
The mice watch as the main antenna of the power plant begins to turn to catch the sun's rays.
"Hot news flash, bros!" Throttle announces, pointing dead ahead.
"About another ten seconds--" Modo quips.
"-and Chi-town's gonna be Fry-town," Vinnie finishes.
Throttle throws an arm in the air and shouts, "Let's ride--"
"--N' Rock?" his bros ask, puzzled.
Throttle shrugs apologetically.
Limburger is once again at the controls, throwing switches and hitting buttons with giddy intensity.
"A few more seconds," he rumbles, "and Chicago will be my own delightful deep-dish…pizza."
The mirrors turn again just as the sound of roaring motors and squealing tires fill the air. Limburger spins around just in time to see the Biker Mice explode through the near wall.
"I'd cancel that order, Limburger," Throttle advises.
"Yeah," Vinnie agrees, "'cause we're here to deliver our own specialty!"
"Plutarkian pizza with extra stink-cheese!" Modo adds.
"In thirty seconds or less."
"Yeah, and you pay!"
The Biker Mice race forward and split up. Throttle and Vinnie knock down Karbunkle while Modo goes after Limburger. He leaps from his bike, then lifts Limburger off the floor by the collar of his shirt.
"Hey there, boss man," he growls. "Time to talk about my retirement." One gets the impression that he's been looking forward to this meeting since the night Limburger first approached him about the job.
On the other side of the room, the other two mice seem to have subdued Karbunkle, who is lying on the floor, a suspiciously familiar black suitcase lying on the ground next to him.
"Just get up and come along quietly," Throttle says firmly.
"Here! I'll give you a hand!" Vinnie says triumphantly, doing just that.
Karbunkle grins and reaches into the suitcase.
"A hand? An excellent idea, you mutant mole," he hisses. "But let me give you one instead!"
He rises from the floor, the bionic arm he had prepared for Modo firmly mounted on his own right shoulder (what an incredible bit of foresight that he thought to bring it with him). Throttle and Modo can only gape as Karbunkle knocks them both off their bikes, something the diminutive doctor would not be able to do without his new invention.
"An impressive instrument, is it not?" he asks, quickly catching Modo's ear. The mouse turns, still holding Limburger aloft, looks with awe at the arm--the arm!--in action. His face looks like that of a kid in a toy store.
"Yes!" Limburger agrees, able to sense a deal in the making. "And it's yours, all yours! All you have to do is release me!"
"Release you?" Modo asks, slightly in a haze.
"Exactly!" the fat fish replies happily. "Permit me to depart and that spectacular new arm is yours to possess!"
"That new arm…for me..."
Modo's bros watch in horror.
"No, big guy …." Vinnie starts to shout, reaching out an arm. Throttle shushes him, however, before he can say anymore.
"That's right!" Limburger continues, closing the deal. As Modo continues to stare at the arm, transfixed, his former employer stipulates the final conditions. "Put me down, release me, and the arm is yours. What do you say?"
Modo continues to stare at the arm for a moment, then suddenly, he turns his head away, eye blazing red.
"What do ah say?" he growls, grinding his finger into Limburger's nose. "Ah say ah'd give both my arms to get rid of a stink-fish like you!"
Having made his choice, Modo promptly throws Limburger right into Karbunkle. Whew! Glad that tense moment is over.
But trouble isn't going to go away that fast! Karbunkle gets up quickly and fires a round from his arm's cannon. Modo easily deflects it, then fires a round of his own, which strikes Karbunkle's laser dead-on. It explodes, leaving a small, smoking crater in its wake.
"Blast!" the mad scientist curses.
"Just can't beat the real thing," Modo says with a grin. "Now for the final test."
He and Karbunkle clasp hands and begin arm wrestling. For a moment, it seems as though Karbunkle has the upper hand, but then Modo overpowers him, lifting his opponent off the floor and crushing the arm into dust. As the scientist gapes in horror, Modo punches him halfway across the room, right into Limburger. They slam into one of the computers controlling the mirrors, which immediately bursts into sparks and flame. Karbunkle and Limburger quickly race out of the plant, rears aflame.
"That stinkin' cheese-dip is bookin'!" Modo cries, but his last words are drowned out by the sounds of explosions. The whole damn plant is on fire now, flames spreading and swelling quickly. The mice begin to race for their bikes, but Modo stops abruptly.
"Alright then, you bros get goin'!" he shouts. "Ah'll catch up!"
Another explosion rocks the plant.
"Say WHAT?!" Vinnie shouts, unable to believe his ears.
"Come on, you can't stay here!" Throttle exclaims.
"There's somethin' ah gotta do!" Modo calls back as turns back and runs into the wall of fire. He disappears amidst the flames.
Outside, meanwhile, we see Limburger's limo racing just ahead of the flames. Its jet pops out of the rear once again, speeding it on its way.
"Quickly!" the Big Cheese shouts. "Back to Limburger Tower!"
Modo, having climbed to the top of the tower, wraps his right arm around its base and puts all his weight and strength into wrenching it around. It refuses to move at first, then slowly begins to turn. It catches the sun once again, and another laser begins to streak across the city--striking Limburger Tower just as its owner pulls into the garage.
As the building catches fire, Limburger can be heard asking Karbunkle if it seems "unusually warm." Seconds later, the whole place is ablaze, and soon, nothing more than a runny pile of glop is left behind.
"Oh, noooooooo….How typical."
Back at the solar power plant, the Biker Mice give each other a celebratory high five (or whatever you'd call that thing at the end of the opening animation), then leap onto their bikes. The speed away just as the plant goes up in a smoky fireball.
"I love a spectacular ending!" Vinnie crows.
"You bet!" Throttle agrees. "Save the day--"
"--and do it in style!" Modo concludes.
The mice find Charley (still in the harem girl outfit, for anyone who's interested), helmet in hand, waiting for them along the road. Vinnie whips his tail around her waist and drops her onto his bike as they go.
"We are the baddest mamajammers in the universe!" Vinnie cries.
All four of them shout, "Rock--N' Ride!" as they ride off into the sunset--a sunset capped by a cloud shaped like the Biker Mice emblem.
(duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh!)
MY FEELINGS ON THE EPISODE
This is without a doubt one of the best episodes of the first season, and probably a strong contender for a spot in the top ten of the entire series. "Steelfinger" is one of the best-written parodies I've seen, not just in animation, but in all types of TV shows. Bob Forward's writing rarely disappoints. As I mentioned earlier, Modo's conflict over whether to accept the arm from Limburger is one of the defining moments of his character. You know that he's going to refuse, but still, it does give us a better idea of just who Modo is. The fact that he's not overly fond of his arm, as shown in this episode, eventually leads into the revelation that it was Karbunkle built it as part of a plan to enslave Martian mice. So some interesting plot points are introduced. The visuals for this episode are among the best. The Marvel character cameos have always been one of my favorite moments, and the Bond-style gunsight opening is very well done.
If you haven't seen this episode yet, I highly recommend picking it up. Since it is one of the thirteen first-season episodes, you can still pick it up. The tape is titled "A Mouse and His Motorcycle", and contains that episode and "Steelfinger." E-bay is a great place to pick up the first-season tapes, usually at a bargain price. Simply enter "biker mice" in the search field, and a listing of available Biker Mice products will be given. Amazon.com is another good place to go looking. Searching through Yahoo and AltaVista might also turn up video sources online. You won't regret your search. Good luck!
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