Disclaimer: You know, President Clinton probably wouldn't have gotten himself into

Warning: Bad language. Probably a little late to mention that, but….Violence,

Note: The characters and situations created in this story do belong to me (thanks to the

Days of Wine

"Only an idiot fights when he has no chance to win. Balls have nothing to do with it."

-Kensuke Aida, Neon Genesis Evangelion

"Nobody ever dies in their dreams."
–Aerosmith, "Nine Lives

(Hey, didn't I already use this song for part two?)

If you look at Shakespearean tragedies, you're bound to notice that when a character is dying or facing their imminent demise, they tend to have incredibly complex, deep, and very quotable thoughts. Thoughts that peer into the innermost nature of mankind, that strip away all the lies and falsities of day-to-day life, leaving only pure, unadulterated truth.

Bingo, of course, is not a Shakespearean character. She's an extremely nervous young mouse about to face one of the premier assassins and martial artists in the universe, Timmy. Hence the lack of "thee's" thou's, and "a plague on both your houses"'s in her thoughts.

Bingo gulped and chewed at her nonexistent nails. She glanced across the dark, dusty basement at her opponent. Her impossibly huge, extremely muscular, super-powerful opponent. Her opponent who looked like he could break her spine with an eyelash. Her opponent who was a star-spangled jumpsuit from being one of the American Gladiators, or possibly a warlord-extra on "Hercules: The Legendary Journeys".

Tension traveled in lightning arcs through Bingo's body. Her entire self shook, as if she had suddenly been struck by low-grade epilepsy. Every part of her felt wired, kicked into nervous overdrive, prepared to fight but more ready for flight. She could feel her heart beating in her ears an estimated six thousand times a minute. There was a huge lump in her throat that she couldn't swallow no matter how hard she tried. Her legs had all the strength and stability of blueberry Jell-O.

She bit her lip until it bled.

All that righteous indignation and fine fury she had burned with earlier when demanding her bros let her take on Timmy alone was gone. It wasn't so much that she had been sure of herself before; she had never really entertained any sort of notion that she could beat him. She had only known that she had to fight Timmy, and she had to fight him alone. Call it a desire to protect her bros, call it duty, call it destiny, call it anything, just don't call it late for supper. The only thing she had been sure of was that this was the way it had to be, even if her bros couldn't see it.

Well, she'd gotten what she wanted.

And she had never wanted to return a gift so much in her life.

It was easy, Bingo reflected, to say, "I can beat him!" when her bros were around. Her big, strong bros, who she could always count on in times of crisis. If nothing else, it would've felt good to have them on the sidelines, rooting her on. Just seeing Vinnie or Modo or Throttle standing there, rooting for her, made her feel stronger.

But when it was just Bingo herself—skinny little Bingo, who couldn't get screw-tops off soda bottles without help—it was a different story altogether.

"And just who told them to stay away, nitwit?" she cursed under her breath.

"Did you say something?" Timmy asked from across the room.

"Nothing!" Bingo squeaked.

Timmy shrugged and continued stretching. Bingo turned away. If her ears drooped any lower, they would have fallen off.

I still can't believe I agreed to this! That I suggested this! How can I beat this guy? He's a tank!

As to why Bingo was still thinking and not fighting for her life, the explanation is simple: she and Timmy had agreed to give each other a few minutes to warm up properly before their fight. After all, it'd be pretty anticlimactic if their battle to the death was lost because of a pulled groin. Timmy, at least, was really looking forward to the fight, and wanted everything to be perfect. He had encouraged Bingo to use the time to check whatever weapons she intended to use, or stretch, or make out a Last Will and Testament.

Bingo hadn't done any of them. She was too damn nervous to do much more than stand and shake. Oh yeah, and breathe. That, too. On the bright side, she had made it through the previous skirmishes with Timmy relatively unharmed. She wasn't quite at her peak; Bingo was a little tired from all the running around, and their little altercation at the garage hadn't failed to leave an impact. But she didn't have time to rest. There was no way to postpone this fight.

Stop thinking so much! she chided herself. Relax!

She turned and watched as Timmy stretched his long arms and legs, cracking his neck for good measure. Look at that! He wasn't letting himself be tormented by doubts. He was getting ready!

As Bingo watched, Timmy, in what was admittedly a bit of show-boating, bent over backwards and grabbed his ankles, his arched back forming a large perfect O.

Holy shit! the young mouse almost shouted, gawking. That's gotta hurt!

She paused for a moment, and looked her attacker over.

Timmy suddenly looked over at her, his bangs trailing on the floor.

"Impressed, are we?" he asked, smirking.

"N-n-no!" Bingo stammered, embarrassed. She hated being caught off-guard like this! "I--I--I--"

"I-I was just getting ready to start stretching myself!" she shouted quickly, trying to get her emotions on an even keel.

"Were you?"

"Yeah! I thought I—I might just see how you stretched first!"

"Mmmhmmm. You know you're blushing?"

Bingo grumbled to herself, and Timmy snickered.

"You know," he commented, hurdle-stretching both legs on the floor, "in another universe, you'd almost be cute.

"Almost."

Growling, Bingo turned her back on her foe, fists tightly clenched.

"I thought you said you were stretching!" Timmy called out cheerfully.

"Worry about your own damn stretching!" she snapped before reaching down and touching her toes. It took her several tries before she was successful, mainly because Timmy's laughter made it hard to concentrate.

Lousy mother……Ugh! I like fighting goons better! They're not intelligent enough to make jokes at my expense. Jerk!

She hung hunched over for a moment, trying to clear her mind. But whoever came up with the idea of clearing one's mind had never spent a day running from a homicidal werewolf. It was impossible. Thoughts buzzed around crazily through her head. Chief among them, other than her extremely annoying opponent, was that incident in the gym with the sword.

Bingo rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. She pulled away dry fingers, much to her relief. The wound there had stopped bleeding, at least in the physical sense. It still dribbled sanguine fluid into her consciousness, where it congealed into tough scabs that she couldn't resist picking at.

…

Oh yuck. That may very well be my most disgusting metaphor to date.

What happened back there? she wondered, staring at the floor. I mean……my God. I've never felt anything so painful in my entire life! I've been shot, caught in explosions, starved half to death, and almost killed in sixty-eight thousand other ways, but God damn!!! All of those put together weren't half as bad as that was! Christ!

She chuckled to herself.

She sighed, her fingertips trailing across the tops of her boots.

Maybe I'm overreacting. Nobody's ever tried to behead me before. Maybe it's just naturally more painful than all those other things I've been through. And that was a bit closer to death than I've ever been before. Makes sense that it would be the most painful thing I've ever felt.

But…it seemed worse than it should've been, somehow. And I kept getting that weird feeling like something else was

Suddenly aware of an acute pain at the base of her back from holding the stretch too long, Bingo stood up and tried to shake such thoughts from her head.

Snap out of it, Ritz! You've just got the pre-fight-for-your-life jitters, that's all! Stage fright! Nothing new there! You're just nervous! You almost got your head cut off a few minutes ago, after all! It makes sense! Stand strong! You can do this!
I hope…

Quickly, she reviewed all the tools she had with her.

Okay. I've still got my gun……not that it'll be much good against this guy. I had it on max when we were back at that little warehouse, and it didn't put a dent in Mr. Talbot over there. Hmm. Maybe I need a silver laser pistol to take on a wolf-guy….. If nothing else, I guess I can chuck it at his head or something.

She ran a finger along the bottom of one of her gloves. It was disturbingly flat.

And then, I guess, there's my sword. I think that might be what I have to use to beat him. At any rate, it's the only thing I haven't tried. Freak. Why couldn't the chosen weapon of the Holy Knight of the Order of St. Dumas be an AK-47?

She smiled in spite of herself. Wouldn't her bros be pissed if they found out she was planning to use her sword as her main implement against Timmy? She couldn't help but grin. Throttle in particular. He'd skin her alive, even if she won!

Her mind went back to planning.

Won't be able to drop anything on him. Ceiling's too low to get anything really big in here. And I'd need something huge to do any damage against wolf-boy over there. That six-hundred pound dude from "Springer," or the entire continent of Asia. Hell, I'm not totally sure either of those would work! So that's out of the question.

Glancing around the room, Bingo noticed cartons of sports equipment, ranging from basketballs to boxing gloves to high hurdles and javelins. Briefly, her mind began to concoct schemes in which to use them, but she quickly gave up. After all, she reasoned, what good could a baseball bat do against Timmy?

Maybe a couple baseball bats…

"Are you ready?" Timmy asked her from behind.

She froze, her breath caught in her throat.

Bingo gulped and turned. Timmy stood before her, cloaked in the shadows. Oh jeez. He somehow looked even bigger, stronger, and more lethal than he had a few minutes ago, if such a thing were possible.

She took in a deep breath.

"It won't do you any good to hide in the dark, you know," Bingo declared, sounding quite a bit braver than she felt. "I can see you clear as day!"

Okay. So maybe that was a teeny-weeny little white lie. She was already having a hard time being intimidating! A little fib to raise her confidence couldn't hurt anything, could it?

"I doubt that," Timmy replied casually. "There aren't any creatures in existence with sharper vision than my kind has. I'm a creature of darkness, after all, and you're one of light." He snickered. "Though that you can see me at all in this light is amazing. You've got good night vision."

"But still, if you can see so well, how about we trade? You can stand over here, in the dark, and I'll stand over there, where there's better light."

"No, thanks."

"In a minute. I want you to be nice and tense before we get started."

Bingo shook her head and mumbled, "You're old hat at this stuff, ain't ya?"

Timmy smiled.

"Well, I've been an assassin since before I could walk, if that's what you mean. Let's just say I know how to turn the situation to my benefit. It's actually been to my advantage to drag this thing out, to have to chase you and your friends for the last hour or so. It provided more of an opportunity for me to show you how skillful I am, and just how little a chance you stand against me. Ergo, you're more frightened of me. Your fear will make you a less effective fighter."

"Where's your sword?" Bingo asked impatiently, in a voice just a degree above a growl.

The wolf stretched his arms one last time, then replied coolly, "I thought we'd work our way up to them. Assuming you last that long. I don't want to dirty my sword any sooner than I absolutely have to."

"Hand to hand combat, then?" the young mouse queried.
He nodded.

"Suits me!"

And so it began.

Slowly, the two began to circle one another. Both had their fists raised--Bingo's in a protective guard, Timmy's to strike--just in front of them. They moved carefully, never taking a step outside their self-made ring, nor giving any hint to their opponent as to what they were planning. The room was silent, save for the sound of their footsteps.

Three times they circled, then four, then five, each time just a little faster than the last. Timmy cycled through the various fighting stances he knew as their wheel turned, to showcase for Bingo the length and breadth of his martial education. She should be proud to know she was being killed by the best! But she was as ignorant to the Crescent Caged Serpent style and the Tiphares form as she was to her position in the great scheme of things.

Wait, make that seventeen ways to kill her just because of the way she's holding that arm.

Bingo, for her part, never let her eyes leave the gigantic wolf (which wasn't hard, given his size). She didn't really have anything to show him beyond what she already had. Unlike her mammoth aggressor, Bingo had no formal training in the martial arts. Just odds and ends she had picked up over time, table scraps in the delicate art of whup-ass. Wallenczech, for example, had done his best to impart to her some of the fighting techniques of the monks of the Order of St. Dumas. Then there was the variety of little things she had gleaned from the Freedom Fighters. And of course, there was everything she had picked up from her bros. All in all, not an insubstantial education in the least.

But would it be enough?

It would have to be.

They continued to circle one another, eyes locked. Bingo could feel the adrenaline coursing through her arms and legs, begging to be spent. But she didn't dare move until she had a hint of what Timmy was going to do. If she just charged in and kicked, he could grab her foot and toss her over his shoulder in a heartbeat--or worse. The thought of that sword hadn't yet left her. Just thinking about it sent a shiver down her spine.

As it turned out, Bingo would be on the defensive end first. Timmy charged at her suddenly, arm shooting out in a palm-heel strike intended for her chin. Bingo easily let herself fall backward and out of range. Timmy's hand flew over her face, and the surprised assassin lurched forward.

But before Bingo could exploit this momentary lapse, Timmy pulled himself back, launching a roundhouse at her head. Bingo ducked and tried to sweep Timmy's feet out from under him. He jumped back and away quickly, then dashed at the young mouse. He slammed into her right side, the impact throwing her against the wall.

"OOF!" Bingo grunted, her lungs exploding.

Timmy stepped back and let her slide to the floor.

"Not bad, so far," he commended her. "You probably could've been a powerful force for evil, you know that?"

"Yeah," the young mouse mumbled, trying to catch her breath, "but I am wise in my own conceit."

"Eh?" Timmy asked. "What was that?"

"He is big head man, he is lousing around!" Bingo added with a wry smile.

"In short, I am so flippant!"

"WHAT?"

"Masturbate in Hell!"

"What in the Hell are you--wait, what's that about my master?"

The thoroughly confused Timmy never saw Bingo's elbow until it had already slammed into his abdomen and sent him flying. He skidded across the floor, then laid there for a moment, stunned.

How did she do that? he wondered.

Bingo smiled and rose to her feet.

"Jamespolychronopolus's first rule of love and war," she proclaimed proudly. " 'If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit!' And nothing makes less sense than Hong Kong movie subtitles!"

She snickered a little and chuckled, " 'Masturbate in Hell….' God, I love that one!"

But Timmy didn't stay down long. Suddenly, he was in the air, and very abruptly, Bingo was on the ground, victim of a powerful jump kick to the chest. She rolled a few feet, then came to a stop.

"Are you about ready to give up?" Timmy asked.

Bingo spat, her spittle laced with blood, and grumbled, "I don't suppose another Super-Choco Bar would make you change your mind about killing me, would it?"

"Are you kidding?" the wolf cried, aghast. "I about had my head ripped off for taking the first one!"

"Didn't think so. Okay, then, back to the senseless violence!"

(Somewhere deep in the recesses of Bingo's brain, a little voice shouted, "YAY!")

The young mouse jumped to her feet with a speed Timmy found shocking, given how hard he had hit her. She was definitely stronger than he'd given her credit for. Most other opponents would have been out for the count after that one.

Bingo let loose a flurry of punches, most of which Timmy managed to block easily. Those that did land were little more than feather-touches to the wolf. Tiny taps barely worth his attention.

But the number that touched him disturbed the young wolf, and he found himself actually having to concentrate on blocking them. How was she moving so fast?

Or was he moving slower?

Timmy started throwing his own punches into the mix. Soon, the two of them had set a manic pace of punching and blocking, each one yielding nothing to the other but taking their hits as they came. Block punch block punch punch block punch block block block. Thwap thwip pam pam thwip thwap.

Bingo clipped Timmy's chin, and sent his head snapping back.

"Nice shot," he said casually, aiming a haymaker at her head.

The young mouse was silent in reply and continued her onslaught.

Oh, starting to get serious, are we? the wolf wondered. Kinda wish you wouldn't. At least before, you could've died with a smile on your face.

Another of the young mouse's shots just missed Timmy's ear.

Maybe you're the one who needs to concentrate, Tim-boy. She almost got you there. And that wasn't the first time. She caught you in the gut just a minute ago, and upstairs. I'm not about to lost a fight to this pathetic little rat because of carelessness.

Timmy's next punch nearly knocked Bingo out.

Now that's more like it.

This went on for another ten minutes. Out of boredom, they started adding kicks into the mix. Block punch kick kick block punch block kick punch block. Thwip thip pam thip thwap pam pam thip thwap pam thwap.

Bingo gritted her teeth as she pulled her head quickly to the side, letting one of Timmy's punches fly past. She hadn't been able to bring an arm up fast enough to catch it. That adrenaline surge was dissipating much more quickly than she had expected. She was starting to feel exhaustion seeping into her arms and legs, slowing her down. The young mouse simply couldn't keep up this pace much longer. Her arms and chest ached from Timmy's better-timed punches. At least he hadn't hit anything vital.

Yet.

But it was only a matter of time before he did.

Timmy was faring better, much better, which didn't surprise him (but really pissed Bingo off). It was not at all uncommon for his enemy to tire before he did. What did surprise him was the fact that he was starting to feel weary himself. The girl's punches and kicks didn't pack much power, but they were fast! Repetitious blows to his body were compounding into increasingly sharp aches in his arms and torso.

Let's see if I can't slow this down a bit.

Timmy pulled back quickly then pivoted to the right, putting about five feet of distance between himself and Ritz. She was still swinging at him, and pitched forward, a surprised look on her face.

He had only a few of the disks left around his neck, and decided to preserve those. No telling how long this fight might last. So Timmy plucked three from his right arm with a magician's quickness and began piercing them with his nails.

"AGHHHHH!"

He looked up and saw Bingo charging straight at him, her gun-belt swinging in a loop over her head like a slingshot. What she planned to launch Timmy couldn't see.

Out of reflex, Timmy threw the disks, realizing only after he didn’t see three tiny trails of liquid following them through the air that he hadn’t broken the seal on one of them.

Bingo leapt clear of the first two explosions easily, springing backward to near where she had first appeared in the room just a minute before. The belt-sling slipped from her hand and flew off harmlessly into the shadows.

The third, unpopped disk continued to fly towards her.

Dammit! That one's going to go to waste! Timmy thought to himself, frustrated. And I've got no way to get new ones until I'm done here!

Forgetting about Throttle’s idea that a careful examination of one of those disks might yield the key to Timmy’s downfall, Bingo pulled the Inferno Sword from its black hole hiding place, then brought the blade down in a screaming flash of light. She halved the disk effortlessly--

KA-BOOM!

--only to be blown into a wall by the resulting explosion!

"WHAAAAAT?!?!?" Timmy shouted.

His words (well, actually, it was just one word) were lost in the thunder of the blast. Waves of raw power buffeted him, and made it nearly impossible to stand up. Angrily, Timmy threw himself behind a radiator to wait out the blast.

He smiled.

Though not much longer.

Timmy rubbed his right arm. It was sore as Hell. He rolled up the sleeve and inspected it. The whole surface was an ugly black and blue, visible even through his thick, dark fur. He'd be with the healers for a few hours after he got back to Black's stronghold, that much was certain.

Much as I hate to admit it, I hope she is dead already. I'm not sure how much more I could've taken before I really got hurt. She was pretty tough, for such a little thing.

Carefully, Timmy emerged from his hiding place. He glanced across the room.

He wasn't as amazed as he thought he'd be when he discovered Bingo was still alive. She was proving herself a far heartier foe than he'd expected. But still, it was a surprise. The force of the blast had blown her into the wall, and had left a huge indentation in its face directly behind her. The aftershock held her in place there, but when it had disappeared, she slipped to the floor, unconscious but still breathing.

Holy crap. She….survived….that?

His fist clenched tightly.

But the advantage quickly slipped through Timmy's hands. The young mouse began to come around. She rubbed her sore forehead (as rubbing a sore anything else would have been judged obscene) and moaned weakly.

When she lifted her head and her hair fell out of the way, Timmy could see that the blast had not left her totally unharmed. Blood traced a pair of divergent rivers across her face from both nostrils, staining the fur around her mouth and all over her snout bright red. Her left eye was swollen and puffy, on the verge of turning black and blue (which would probably clash with orange fur). Large gashes and minor cuts decorated her arms and legs, though whether they came from the blast itself or from flying debris was uncertain. They were no less severe for the ambiguity. One particularly wide wound was obvious across her stomach. The torn edges of her formerly white t-shirt trailed through it, dying them bright crimson.

But….but…..that's pathetic! Timmy thought angrily. A bloody nose, a black eye, a couple cuts--come on! She should be dead! That close to the explosion, she should've been completely annihilated! Ripped to bits! At the very least, she should've lost a limb or something!

Slowly, she worked her way to her feet. She panted, coughing up small spatters of blood as she tried to steady herself. Timmy could at least console himself with the fact that she was dazed.

Suddenly, her eyes were on him, blazing with blue fire. Bingo covered the cut across her midriff with one hand and tightened the grip on her sword.

"Okay, jerkoff," she grumbled. "Now you're--"

"How did you pierce the disk?" Timmy shouted. "And why aren't you dead?"

Slightly annoyed, Bingo snapped, "Your concern overwhelms me. And I don't know. Now--"

"The sword," Timmy whispered. "It must be the sword."

Bingo looked at her blade curiously, wondering what all the fuss was about. There on the sword’s blade, was the plastic-like skin of the disk, cut into two cleanly down its center.

"I knew it!" the wolf shouted.

"Huh," Bingo grunted. "Well, I guess that’s how you pop those things. Nifty-nifty. Now, can we get back to—"

"How did you get a Hellfire sword?" Timmy demanded angrily, teeth flashing.

" 'Hellfire-sword' ?" Bingo asked, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

Timmy held up his own edge. Despite the distance between the wolf and his prey, Bingo could see the resemblance between the Inferno Sword and Timmy's weapon all-too clearly. They were very nearly identical. Oh, sure, the gem in Timmy’s was crimson, and where the crescents should have been, tiny gold X’s decorated the rim of it. That, and his was MUCH bigger, like the ridiculously huge swords of fantasy novels. It looked taller than she was. But everything else, except the cross binding on hers and not his, was exactly identical.

"This is a Hellfire-sword," the wolf said coldly. "Forged in the pits of the inferno itself. Only metal like it, or like my nails, can pierce the membranes on these disks. Now, where did you get your sword? Why is a warrior for good carrying a weapon that can bring about Apocalypse?"

"Wait a minute wait a minute wait a minute," a puzzled Bingo said, raising a finger. "I’m lost here. What’s this about Apocalypse? And isn't he the dude from X-Men?"

"It must've thrown up some sort of shield to protect you from the full force of the blast," Timmy snarled.

Bingo glanced down at her torn and beaten body.

"Yeah? Well, it's pretty fuckin' defective, don't you think?!" she snapped. "Didn't hardly do nothin'!"

"It shouldn't have done anything at all," the wolf hissed coldly. "You got off easy, believe me."

Bingo laughed bitterly.

"The swords don't normally have that kind of power. That kind of sentience. Yours must be special somehow."

"Really?" Bingo asked. She looked at her blade curiously, then told it firmly, "Well, if you do have any magical powers, now would be a really good time to tell me about them, or give me a demonstration, or something, okay?"
The sword did nothing.

"Thanks a load!"

Timmy suddenly charged at her, taking a broad swipe with his sword. Bingo dodged hard to the right, then raised her own blade in a block. The sound of clashing metal filled Bingo’s ears, and pained them greatly. She forced her weight on the blade, pushing Timmy away, then swept her sword around with a trio of quick jabs. Timmy caught each one on the edge of his blade easily. He tried an overhead slash with all his muscle behind it, intending to take off an arm, but Bingo blocked it without fail.

This time, however, Timmy didn't allow her to push him away. He continued to push down with his sword, and Bingo found herself hard-pressed to keep Timmy's sword from her neck.

"Urk….." she growled, teeth gritted.

"Give it up," Timmy whispered seductively.

"No!" she cried. "I---I won't!"

Suddenly, the pressure became too much. Bingo fell to the ground, her sword slipping away and clattering to the ground.

"GOT YOU!" Timmy shouted.

Bingo rolled away quickly before Timmy could raise his sword again and carve her up like a furry orange pumpkin (though no doubt he would have done a better job than Modo and Throttle had on theirs).

"I don't think so," Bingo snarled. "Homey don't play--"

Her In Living Color reference was cut short, for no sooner had she gotten clear than Timmy was on her once again, almost directly in her face. Bingo barely had a chance to whip her tail around the hilt of her sword and bring it to her hand before the wolf warrior was slashing at her again.

"Dammit!" she snapped, trying to get in a few strikes with her sword or with her feet. It was fruitless; Timmy could block faster than she could swing. And even the stronger blows she was able to land were seemingly nothing to her assailant. It shouldn’t have surprised her—Timmy shrugged off Modo’s punches and Throttle’s kicks as easily as anything. How could hers even measure up?

Steady, she told herself, watching the swords flash and bark at one another. She felt almost removed from the action, as if the arms in front of her swinging that sword in those futile blocks were not her own, that the pain shooting through her entire body was actually in the flesh of another.

Suddenly, Timmy got the upper hand (as if he didn’t have it already). His feinted a kick, then drew his blade across Bingo’s right cheek. A thin red line appeared, then grew and widened.

"AGHHH!" she hissed, jumping back. Bingo put a hand to her cheek, then growled, "That hurt, you—"

"That’s the point," Timmy reminded her. "But if it hurt that bad, then maybe you better let me just finish you and get it over with, because this fight is apt to get a lot more painful."

"You wish," Bingo growled fiercely.

"Fine."

Timmy charged again, then leapt into the air. Bingo quickly matched his jump, and swung against him. Once again, it was little more than a block, but it served its purpose. Both of them fell back without incurring any additional injury on the other.

"We seem to be at a stalemate," the wolf panted, rather pleased with himself. "You’re not the best warrior I’ve ever met, but you’re very good for one so young and clearly inexperienced."

Bingo raised an eyebrow and mumbled, "I guess that was a compliment."

Okay, that’s it. Time to go on the offensive while he’s not expecting it!

Gathering up all her reserves of strength in her rapidly tiring body, Bingo began her own charge, holding her sword off and to the right. Timmy dropped into a crouch as soon as he detected movement. When Bingo dropped down to jump again, he leapt into the air, ready to meet her.

Which was a mistake.

Bingo stayed on the ground, dashed under the wolf, and waited until the startled assassin landed. He began to spin around, his sword already tracing another deadly curve, but before it could even begin to connect, Bingo’s blade cut a wide swath across his chest, easily an inch deep and stretching from one nipple to his waist. An arc of blood sprayed across both their bodies. Timmy's jumpsuit grew even blacker, and Bingo's tee shirt turned dark crimson, while her hair became a much darker shade of red. It was annoying, and it was disgusting, but worth it to finally hear the wolf scream in pain.

"AGGHHHH!" Timmy shouted.

Excited, Bingo grabbed eagerly for Timmy's shoulder, intending to wrap an arm around his neck and flip him onto his back. After all, moves like that weren't so dependent on her own strength. It was just a matter of getting them start--

K-BAM!

It took Bingo a full minute after she slammed into the wall to realize just how quickly Timmy had recovered. As the ache in her back from where Timmy had kicked her flared up, she realized that even though the wound she had dealt him was severe, it would only slow him down temporarily. Extremely temporarily, she reflected, trying to figure out if her spine was supposed to creak like that. One thing was painfully clear: before Bingo could put any real hurt on Timmy, he’d kill her.

The young mouse slumped to the floor, sliding down the length of the wall on her face. She laid there for a moment, unable to move.

She struggled weakly, trying to get to her knees, but feel back the ground, nearly in tears.

Before she knew it was happening, however, Bingo was on her feet again, as if pulled up by some unseen benefactor. One moment, she had an up-close and personal view of the cheap cement floor below her, the next, she was staring at the opposite wall. As it turned out, it was just in time. Timmy’s blade came down like a piston on the very spot she had been lying on only a second ago. It was driven almost to the hilt into the cement floor.

Shit, Bingo thought to herself, but not in regards to this feat. Whatever force had helped her rise hadn’t done anything for the pain. Her back was screaming. She almost wished Timmy had severed her spinal cord when he had jammed his foot in her back; at least then she wouldn't be in the misery she was now. Her head was swimming from blood loss. There was a jabbing, glassy pain about halfway down her tail, and she had a feeling she had almost lost it. Another second on the ground and Bingo would've been crippled for life. Still hadn’t caught her breath, either. Barring a miracle, she wouldn’t be able to fight much longer.

Timmy, on the other hand, still looked like he could go another five or ten rounds with no problem. The gash on his chest was deep and frightful-looking, but it caused him no apparent difficulty. He wasn’t even breathing any faster, which annoyed Bingo to no end.

Suddenly, a gravelly voice came to her from the corridors of memory. It was one that anyone else would have found hard on the ears. There was something almost vaguely unpleasant about listening to its clipped, seemingly cold tones.

To Bingo, however, it was comforting beyond measure. It was the voice that flowed through all the best memories of her childhood, the voice of warm summer afternoons, of cold nights wrapped up in old quilts in front of the fire, one that instantly pulled her from the terrifying misery she was in to a warm, safe place inside.

It was the carefully-inflected voice of her long-dead foster father, Wallenczech. Bingo thought about him all the time, but this time, a very specific reminiscence came to the forefront of her consciousness without the slightest thought on her part.

***

It was late afternoon. The dying autumn sunlight painted a yellow block on the carpet as Wallenczech carefully placed a bandage on his young charge's left knee. He smoothed the edges down carefully with his thumbs, then looked up into Bingo's tear-filled eyes.

Bingo hiccuped and continued her wailing.

The scrape, although indeed minor, was still causing the five-year old no end to anxiety. It had been the malicious gift of a belligerent bully who apparently didn't care much for precocious little red-heads who could recite the alphabet forwards and backwards.

Such as Bingo.

As related through the young mouse's sobs, he (the bully) had informed Bingo that, should she ever have the balls to return to preschool , she would be the recipient of a hand-delivered knuckle sandwich. When Bingo had revealed the depths of her ignorance, telling him she liked sandwiches, he had decided to give her a little taste. She skinned her knee on the pavement when he shoved her to the ground.

Naturally, young Ritz was petrified by the thought of returning to school the next day.

Pease, Wall-uh-czech, don't make me go back! she had howled with her adorable little speech impediment. Pease! I'll stay home and help you keen up the house! We'll make cookies!

Wallenczech was only a monk, of course, but was blessed with saintly patience, able to bear anything with a smile. He had listened to Bingo crying about her misfortune for the better part of an hour. She'd been in tears since he had picked her up at two, and nothing he had said since seemed to help much. It looked as though the waterworks were never going to stop.

Finally, he had pushed his silvery-blonde bangs out of his eyes, knelt down until he was eye to eye with his charge, and placed a single finger on her lips to silence her.

Little knight, he had whispered, I don’t pretend to know what your destiny holds. But I have no doubt that you will meet it, and overcome whatever obstacles stand between you and achieving it, be it demons, monsters, or ignorant bullies who are jealous of your perspicacity.

She wiped the tears from her eyes.

Mm-kay. Can we still make cookies?

He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

A tear rolled down Bingo's cheek as she smiled.

Her fingers tightened on her blade as the world finally came back into focus.

I can beat this guy. I can. For my bros, for the Order, for Wallenczech, feh! Just for the Hell of it!

Her lips cracked suddenly into a grin. She had it. A desperate, last-ditch plan. She didn’t have the stamina for another round of their block-block-block game, and there was no way for her to escape. A black hole would get her to safety, but it would only be temporary. And her bros were still unconscious upstairs, insofar as she knew. To run would mean their certain death. It was now or never. But if she wasn’t fast enough to carry her plan off, well then, she was screwed. Probably dead as well.

But if it worked…..

But if it worked…..

No buts. It had to.

She looked down into her palm, to make sure the small, round object in her fingers was what she thought it was. Yup. One of the disks from around Timmy’s neck. She had accidentally pulled a few of them off his collar when she tried to flip him and he had landed that kick in her back.

Perfect. Now I just need a distraction.

"Are you ready to surrender?" Timmy asked, leaning against the pommel of his sword playfully.

"Why?" Bingo asked, slipping her sword behind her back. "You gettin’ tired?"

"No. But you're obviously in a great deal of pain, and I'd like to put you out of your misery. My good deed for the day. Besides that, I am in a little bit of a hurry to get home. I’ve got a big night waiting for me."

"Is that a fact?"

"Mmmhmm. Once you’re dead, sai Black is going to change my name to something other than ‘Timmy.’" He spoke the last word with inestimable disdain.

"Really?" the young mouse queried, actually a little interested. "What else do you get for wasting me?"

Aha! My distraction!

Timmy’s face went blank.

" 'Else?' " he asked quietly.

"Well, yeah," Bingo replied, shrugging. "I mean, getting your name changed is great—especially in your case—but it ain’t gonna get you very far. Don’t tell me that you agreed to kill me and didn’t ask for gold or jewels or a substantial portion of Eastern Europe or something like that!"

"I……I guess I was so excited…." the young wolf mumbled, face bright red.

"Tim," Bingo said with a smile, "you’re one in a million. CATCH!"

"Eh?" Timmy asked, looking up. So caught up in the realization that he had basically agreed to a mission which could have cost a king's ransom for little more than squat was he that he didn't notice the disk flying at him until he raised his left hand to block it.

There it stuck.

"HAI!" Bingo screamed, thrusting the tip of her sword through a black hole. It popped out just in front of the disk, and sliced its membrane clean apart.

Then…

…

…silence.

Nothing's happening! Shit! Did I grab a dud? Isn't my sword made of the right stuff? Maybe Timmy is the only one who can pop them! Or maybe--

PA-KOOM!

A bright orange rose blossomed over the wolven warrior, followed by a blinding flash of light and a sonic boom. Windows shattered. Doors became splinters. The room glowed white. Not that Bingo paid much attention to any of this. The blast had knocked her flat on her ass, and at the moment, it was taking her full concentration to try and stand up. The gale-force winds buffeted her as she struggled to her feet. But even then, she could barely remain standing. Her coat and hair flapped wildly around her, the stitches in the former starting to give at the shoulders. Baseballs, jump ropes, and other pieces of gym equipment playing at being shrapnel pummeled her mercilessly from all directions.

"Man!" she hissed after a badminton racket clocked her in the temple. "Those things have got some kick!"

A fresh blast rocked her, nearly throwing her from her feet once again.

"Stupid sword!" she shouted. "Where's that damn barrier Timmy said about? You're lazy!"

The room began to grow dark as seemingly every dust particle in the known universe (and then some) was picked up and tossed through the air. It mixed with the smoke from the explosion itself, and soon, the entire basement was wrapped in a smoggy haze. The air disappeared, choking our young heroine.

Great, Bingo thought to herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Feels like I'm in the middle of a sand-storm!

Bit by bit, the force began to die down, until it was nothing more than a light autumn breeze. The dust settled. Sports equipment plunked to the ground, the magic that had moved them gone forevermore.

Bingo slowly opened one eye and peered out between her arms. Through what remained of the haze, she viewed a scene of destruction the likes of which she hadn't seen since she and her bros had left Mars. The basement looked as though it had just been sacked by the most circumspect of scavengers, then blown up and torched. The radiator in the corner had a huge dent in it, apparently from an airborne tennis ball moving at roughly Mach 2. Ash covered the floor and made its way up the walls.

"Man," she whispered, scarcely able to believe the scene before her. "What a mess. The janitor is gonna be so pissed."

Bingo took a few cautious steps through the burned-out wasteland and poked at a twisted heap of metal that had once been a basketball bin. She hunkered down beside it and touched the edge of it, then drew her hand back quickly, slightly burnt.

"This is crazy. This place is trashed……even the big stuff got ruined….but I'm okay? How in the world does that happen?"

She rose to her feet and glanced around the room once again.

She smirked and thought of that single disk's raw explosive power.

"Either way, I think I just found Vinnie's next birthday present!"

Suddenly, she felt a dull heat in the palm of her left hand. She looked down, and in a way, wasn't surprised by the fact that it seemed to be coming from the sword.

"You are paying attention, aren't you?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

No reply.

Bingo whirled around quickly, holding her sword up in a guard.

"Okay, Tim-bot, where are you?" she shouted.

Only silence.

"Timmy?"

Lassie, where are you when I need you?

Cautiously, she turned once again, but caught no glimpse of her opponent.

"Timmy?" she asked, looking up at the ceiling. "Where'd you go?"

Did I……did I just…?

"Impossible," she whispered. "It--it couldn’t have been that easy, could it? Hmm. Then again, that blast was pretty strong. I guess all its power was focused on where the disk struck. Yeah. That would explain why I didn't get hurt."

Rubbing a sore spot on her head, she mumbled, "Ignoring the flying baseball bats."

"Tim must have taken the full brunt of it. Yeah. But where is he? Is he alive or is he dead? Where's his body?"

When a brief look over the room yielded no sign of the hairy hit-man, she whispered, "Must've atomized him." She smiled, then cried happily, "Whoo-hoo! I win, I win, I win! Yes! I can't wait to tell my bros! They're not gonna believe this!"

The young mouse snickered, then lowered her voice, trying to mimic Throttle.

"Bingo, you did this all by yourself? That's amazing! No doubt about it; you're the baddest Martian mama-jammer that ever lived! I bow to your magnificence!"

Resuming her own voice, Bingo blushed and cried, "Aw, shucks! I'm not that good!"

Quickly she aped Modo's tone (at which she was no better).

"Ah gotta go with Throttle on this one, Bing-bro! That was somethin'! We were so wrong to doubt you!"

Before she could get too much farther into the Ritz victory dance, including her Vinnie impression (also bad), the sword burned her palm with a painful heat.

"Yeowch!" Bingo yelped, jumping a foot into the air. After blowing on her hand for a moment to cool it down, she shouted at the sword, "Man, you're sure talkative tonight! Ugh. What's your problem? That nimwit is dust!" She pointed with the sword to the empty room around her, as if to emphasize her point.

Suddenly, she noticed a dark shape lying against one wall--in exactly the direction she was pointing. It was about the same size and approximately the same shape as Timmy.

Bingo gulped.

Man, what does it take to destroy this guy?

Holding the sword up in a protective guard, Bingo approached the shape. As she inched toward it, every hair on her body standing on end, she felt her ankle creaking slightly. Every step was more painful than the last.

She touched the cut across her stomach and winced, drawing in a sharp breath.

As Bingo got closer, she realized (bad thing) it was indeed Timmy, and (good thing) he wasn’t breathing.

Carefully, she looked over his body, hunting for some major obstruction to his airway, like a tennis racket driven through his throat, or a caved-in chest from a dodge-ball moving at Mach 10.

Nope. Nothing like that. He was pretty much in one piece.

Except for the fact that his left arm had been pulled from his body like a drumstick off a Thanksgiving turkey. In fact, the blast had done a pretty good job on the entire left side of his body. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, the fabric of Timmy's jumpsuit had been burned away. The flesh underneath was black and cracked, like an over-done roast pig. Third-degree burns a-go-go. Blood pooled at his torn shoulder and made a wide river across the floor. The edges of it touched the soles of Bingo boots, staining them red a quarter-inch deep.

"Holy crow," Bingo whispered, averting her eyes slightly. "If I hadn't grown up in the middle of a war, spent two years in a death camp, and seen John Carpenter's 'Vampires' last weekend, I'd think this was pretty disgusting."

Carefully, she knelt beside his head on the left side, her tail whipped tightly around a metal pipe in case she had to pull back quickly. From one of her jacket pockets she pulled a small mirror which she held over Timmy's bloody snout. After a minute, she lifted it away and examined it.

No fog. No trace of a breath.

"Wow," she whispered, breathing a sigh of relief. "I did it. I really did it." She smiled. Bingo didn't enjoy taking lives, but there was a certain satisfaction to a job well done. Or done at all, when the odds were so stacked against one. Maybe a nightmare now and then to pay as the price for what had to be done in the name of survival, but at least she was alive.

After a moment, Bingo chuckled, "Maybe we can get back to the garage and watch a few more movies before--"

"You little BITCH!"

"Eep!"

Something blunt and of considerable largeness struck Bingo square in the face (she would later discover it was half of a ping-pong table). The world exploded into shooting stars and comets before she blacked out.

Very abruptly, however, Bingo came to, on the ground, when the thudding pain in her head was joined by a sharp blow to a pressure point in her neck. There was a great deal of pressure on her right leg as well.

There, in front of her, was Timmy. He was the one who had woken her up, obviously. Bingo could barely see him, for the eye that wasn't already swollen shut from the first explosion was now black and blue as well, quickly becoming as puffy as the other. At least, she hoped that was all it was, and that her eye hadn't been torn from its socket by the impact. Cool as it looked on Modo, she had no great desire to start sporting an eye-patch. But it didn't take two eyes to see her foe was Johnny-Five pissed off.

"Oh no you don't!" Timmy shouted, eyes wild. "You're not sleeping through this!"

He grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, took a few steps back, then charged toward the far wall, all the while holding Bingo in front of him like a shield. Timmy then jumped into the air and threw all his mammoth weight against the wall, sandwiching Bingo in between.

Blood vessels burst.

Her right arm snapped in two.

One of her ears tore halfway down its length.

Something inside her cracked, and something else gurgled ominously.

Most of the time, Bingo found herself able to repress urges toward what she had always thought of as "stupid girly things." Stuff like idiotic crushes, crying at romantic movies, and a desire to bathe frequently. Above all else, she had learned never to give any sign that she was in pain. She had to be as tough as her bros. There were no two ways about it. That meant you didn't shed a tear unless somebody blew your head off (at which point it would be impossible, anyway) or worse.

But this time, the pain was too much.

Bingo screamed her head off, the sort of blood-curdling horror-movie diva scream that she had never thought herself able to pull off. Upstairs, a few of the partygoers nearest the doors heard it, although they mistook Bingo's cry for a track off a Halloween sound-effects tape.

"Oh, yeah, scream!" Timmy shouted, his teeth gnashing in her face. "Keep it up, come on! Keep screaming! I wanna hear it! Scream!"

BAM! A right hook to her chin. Bingo's head flew back. A lone tooth flew from her mouth and skittered along the floor.

"Come on, cry! Cry for your momma! You little bitch!"

Timmy suddenly kneed her hard the stomach. Blood coursed even harder out of Bingo's wound there. She continued to scream, tears coursing from her eyes, which only made Timmy angrier. Bingo gagged, then coughed up blood.

"Why in the Hell are you crying?!?" he shouted, clocking her once again. "You're barely even hurt!"

He held her in place against the wall with his knee, then brought down his claws on her with lightning quickness. Within seconds, Bingo was covered with long gashes across her face, chest, arms and legs. Nearly all the skin on the right side of her face fell away in a loose flap that hung below her chin.

"There! Now you've got something to whine about!"

Her head drooped. Bingo's breathing was weak, sporadic, and sounded as if she were choking on something.

Timmy scowled.

"You're not paying attention."

He grabbed Bingo's hair and jerked her head up roughly. Her eyes, what he could see of them, were rolled up halfway into her skull.

"Stop…." she whispered.

Timmy slammed his rough, bloody shoulder in her face. He forced his weight on it, doing something that would normally have been considered punching if he hadn't just lost his arm. A dark, heavy trail of blood spread across Bingo's face and ran down her cheeks like dark tears. Timmy even managed to shove the stump into Bingo's open mouth before yanking it out. She wretched a few times, as if she was going to vomit. Good! Just what he wanted to see!

"You cut off my fucking arm!!" Timmy screamed. "Do you know what this means? I can't get this restored! I'm finished! They'll hunt me down and they'll kill me! And do you think Black's going to do anything to stop them? No! You signed my death certificate! BITCH!"

Bingo, still reeling from being thrown into the wall, let alone everything else, slowly opened her (relatively) good eye, barely hanging on to consciousness. She could see Timmy screaming at her--his mouth was moving--but she couldn't hear him clearly. Everything was all muddled together, the syllables of her opponent's words all slurred into one big mess. Had he popped one of her eardrums? Both? It was certainly possible. None of what he said made any sense, but then again, she told herself, she probably didn’t want to hear what he was saying. It would no doubt harm her virgin ears.

Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Ohhhh, mannn, and I thought the beheading thing hurt! Shit.

Am I dying? Is this what death feels like? Oh God, make it stop. I promise, I'll be good. I swear.

Timmy kneed her again in the stomach as he continued his ranting.

Ohhhhhhhhhh. Make it stop. Make it stop. Mother of mercy, be with us now……

She gritted her teeth, and realized as she did that she had lost two molars.

Oh God. Did I swallow those? I'm gonna need dentures till this is all over.

That's right. This isn't over yet. I can't stop. I can't. Everybody's depending on me. I don't wanna die yet. I gotta do something. Now. I won't get another chance.

She shifted a little. A fresh flare of pain shot up her right arm. Bingo realized, horrified, that she could see an inch of bone sticking out of her wrist. She gagged again.

Oh damn. Damn. Charley, you'd better have lots of Band-Aids ready, 'cause I'm gonna need 'em.

I hope I can pull this off.

She panted, drawing in her breath through her teeth.

A small black hole opened beside her left hand, and another over Timmy’s shoulder. Bingo winced and drew in a breath as a fresh shudder of pain wracked her body. God, if something as easy as a black hole hurt this badly, could she do what came next?

She slipped her left arm, sword still in hand, through the near hole, and watched out of the corner of her eye as it slowly pierced the hole near her would-be killer.

Timmy said something, no doubt derogatory (her hearing was just starting to come back), but Bingo didn’t care what it was. It didn't matter. She focused her attention on her arm, as it's tricky and rather disorienting to make your arm move in the proper direction when one half is several feet above you and facing in the opposite direction.

Even more so when you're bleeding profusely.

Carefully, Bingo swung the sword to the right, to the left, then right again, building up momentum.

"Did you hear a word I said?" Timmy snapped, frustrated by Bingo's apparent lack of attention and ready to lay the smack down once more.

"You talk too much," Bingo whispered, teeth gritted tightly.

She squelched her eyes shut tight, and threw all her strength into one last swing. One last swing that would part Timmy's head from his shoulders and end her painful nightmare.

Timmy's eyes grew wide as he saw the blade coming toward him. There was no time to block it.

The sword bit into the right side of Timmy's neck. Bingo watched with glee as it began to dig in.

YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES!

Bingo's eyes sparkled with glee.

This is it, you bastard, this is it! You fucked with me, you fucked with my bros, and now, you are fucking going down! Ha ha! I hope they've got your special little corner of Hell ready! You're--

The sword banged off Timmy's neck, still reverberating. The completely and totally astonished Bingo could feel the vibrations in her shoulder.

"Guh?" she asked, eyes huge.

Timmy chuckled.

"Stupid girl."

"How--?" Bingo whispered.

The wolf smiled and dropped Bingo to the ground (which, in her condition, really really really hurt). As she stared at him, astonished, he pulled down the collar of his jumpsuit, revealing a thick metal collar around his neck. One with various strange symbols carved into its surface.

"Didn't you think I'd take precautions?" he asked. "You're not the first one to try that, idiot."

Before Bingo could gather her wits enough to crawl away, Timmy turned her over with his foot, flipped her over onto her stomach, then pinned her there. He then turned his attention to the sword, which was still hanging in mid-air.

Aw shit!

Bingo quickly pulled her arm back through the hole.

But not quickly enough. Timmy wrapped his fingers around the gem in the hilt of her sword as it began to disappear into the blackness. Bingo tugged on it desperately, trying to get the sword free and back to her. Maybe she could take a swipe at Timmy from the floor, at least get him away from her long enough for her to get to safety (which, considering her opponent, was probably somewhere past Pluto).

It was fruitless, however. Timmy stomped on the arm pulling the sword out, nearly breaking it as well (nothing quite like a matched set, is there?). Bingo's fingers reflexively released the blade, which snapped into Timmy's waiting hand.

Whoo-boy. Okay, now I’m dead. Goodbye, world. Nice knowin' you. Hope Vinnie can find that Offspring tape I borrowed without telling him.

Timmy smiled a little as he gazed down at the young mouse laying prone before him.

"What are you waiting for?" Bingo shouted, tears in her eyes. "Get it over with!"

"Not just yet. I'm enjoying your suffering."

With maddening slowness, Timmy moved his foot, then strolled around so Bingo could see him. He turned the sword around in his palm, until he held it perfectly straight. For a guy who had just lost his arm a minute ago, Bingo reflected, he was learning how to get along without it pretty quickly.

"This sword," he said thoughtfully. "This isn’t just another Hellfire sword. This is…..this is something more. I've never seen one of my disks go up like that. I didn't know they could. Never had any idea they had so much power in them. And the barrier. The shield." He smiled, then said, "This is it, isn’t it? The Inferno Sword? The Honest to God Inferno Sword. Amazing. I always thought it was just a story."

He swung it in a graceful arc, seemingly unmindful of the blood gushing from the other shoulder, and of his young captive, still pinned under his foot.

"This might be just what I need. I can feel its power, and I don't even have any magic! With this thing, I could hold off any comers, even without my arm. Hell, I might even be able to get it put back on with this in my hands! Even Black himself couldn't stand up to me if I've got the Inferno Sword."

Bingo's eyes narrowed fiercely.

"Give that back!" she shouted.

Timmy smiled, then kicked her sharply in the head.

"Idiot. You're not going to have any use for it where you're going. Besides, it's not yours to have in the first place."

"It was my father's, you son of a bitch!" the young mouse countered, blood mixed in her spittle.

"Mine, too."

Bingo's eyes grew wide.

"Who--who was--"
"Black, the bastard."

Bingo's jaw dropped.

"And it was my father's first, so I've got an older blood-right to it than you do. Now, back to business—"

He tucked the Inferno Sword into a nearly-invisible belt hanging around his waist (the invisibility is why it was never mentioned in previous descriptions. Okay, so it's a cop-out! Sue me!), then picked up his own fallen blade. The gem in its hilt glowed brightly.

"You," Timmy said, smiling, "can hang on to this sword!"

Bingo screamed.

The sword came down.

"DIE!"

BAM!

Something very painful collided very hard with something very personal to Timmy. And despite the strength he had shown previously in his battle with the Biker Mice and with Bingo alone, despite all the damage he had managed to take and just shrug off like it was nothing, despite all his incredible power, this final blow was too much for him to take. The titan fell backward, his blade clattering to the floor as he did.

Timmy curled into a fetal position, hands cupped between his legs.

Bingo tossed aside the broken baseball bat she had slammed into Timmy’s cajones. It clacked dully against the ground as she stumbled to her feet.

" 'When all else fails,' " she said with a weak smile, " 'hit 'em in the balls.' Haywire's first rule of love and war."

She picked up the splintered bat.

"Who'd of thunk it?" she mused, grinning, as she slipped the bat into a small black hole. The effort to tuck away the souvenir nearly made her faint.

But if you get out of this alive, it'll definitely be something to show your bros.

Do it now. Before he gets up again.

The young mouse crawled over to where Timmy laid. As he lay there, writhing in pain, she pulled her sword from his belt, tucking it under her useless right arm for momentary safe-keeping.

She intended, of course, to cut his head off. Duh! That's what you do with the wretchedly evil when you're trying to kill them. It works on vampires, anyway, and as evil things go, they're pretty tough. However strong Timmy was, the young mouse doubted that he could put much of a hurt on her or her bros without his head.

Of course, there was always that possibility…..

But first, there was the matter of that pesky old collar around his neck.

Bingo pulled down what was left of the neck of Timmy's shirt, revealing the silver band beneath. It was easily two inches thick, and there was no apparent beginning or end. No way to force a lock.

"Here's hoping," she grumbled, whipping the pistol out of her gun-belt. She cranked it up to full blast, then began to torch the collar. She doubted it would hurt Timmy if the wide fire accidentally hit him, but if she accidentally blew his head off in the process, well, that was having her cake and eating it too, wasn't it?

But given the effectiveness of lasers throughout this story (except on pumpkins), I think we all know what happened. Nothing. Not on the collar, and not on Timmy.

"Okay," Bingo growled. "Now I'm gonna get medieval on your ass!"

She wedged her sword between the collar and Timmy's neck. Biting down hard on her lip, Bingo rocked it back and forth between the two. It annoyed her less that it was cutting into Timmy's neck than the fact that the blade wasn't making much headway into the clunky necklace. Even when she propped her feet against his shoulders (actually, shoulder, singular) to get a better grip, it was no good.

"Oh, sure," she cursed, glaring at the sword. "When you want me to do something, you can't get hot fast enough! But when I need you to pull the blow-torch

bit--"

Timmy's remaining hand clamped on her ankle.

"Crap!"

"Bitch….." Timmy growled, his voice still artificially high.

Bingo tried to get away, but fell flat on her ass. She raised her sword arm, preparing to further dismember Timmy and relieve him of one of that other pesky arm, when she realized the sword wasn't there.

"What in the Hell--?"

"Okay," the wolf seethed, lifting his head up. "This time, you're de--AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"

The pressure on Bingo's ankle released suddenly. She scrabbled backward, not stopping until there was some serious distance between the two of them. Actually, she wouldn't have been comfortable until there were several states between them, or possibly continents, but it was really the best she could do at the moment.

Bingo was in the middle of trying to come up with another desperate move of desperation when she looked up.

Now, it seemed, was Timmy's time to scream. And scream. And scream. In the highest pitch Bingo had ever had the misfortune to hear. Something was happening to him, or had happened. Something serious. Timmy appeared to be caught in the middle of an excessively painful seizure. His remaining limbs spasmed violently, jerking back and forth. His back sporadically arched, usually when his screams worsened. His eyes were rolled back the entire way in his head. Every hair on his body was standing straight up at attention. He looked like he'd just grabbed a high-power line with wet hands standing on sheet metal while peeing on an electric fence. The blood wasn't just trickling out of his shoulder anymore--now it was shooting bright red jets.

Bingo watched in amazed horror. She shivered, but not because the sight disgusted her. It was because she could see a dreadful symmetry between what was happening to her adversary and what had happened to her earlier .

Her thought went no further. Confirmation of her suspicions was no farther than Timmy's neck. The Inferno Sword was still there, caught in his collar, and was digging itself deeper into the wolf's throat with every convulsion.

And was it--

No, it couldn't be--

It was….

Glowing.

Timmy's head turned slowly toward her. A foam had formed on his lips.

"Please--" he whispered, but anything else he tried to say was gibberish, lost in his spasms.

Bingo glared at him.

She crawled weakly to her feet, her right arm hanging useless at her side. Her breath came out in short sputters, coughs, and long, hacking breaths. There was blood on her teeth. Her own. Bloody hair fell around her bruised eyes and cheeks, smeared with Timmy's blood.

"Please."

She stood over him like a titan, pure hate in every muscle of her stony face.

"Please."

She glowered at him once more, then slowly opened her blood-stained mouth.

"I know exactly what that feels like," she whispered. "Because you did it to me. With your sword. Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it? Like--"

She shook her head.

"Like someone's holding a blowtorch over your neck."

"You were complaining about me blowing your arm off. Look at me! My goddamn arm's broke! My ankle's sprained! I'm gonna have a goddamn scar on my face a mile wide! It wasn't much to look at before, I'll admit, but……Do you think I can go to the hospital and get fixed up? No! No more than you could! If Charley can't set my arm right, I'm fucked! You know that? Fucked! I might not be able to use it again!"

"Hell, you probably ruptured something, too! Feels like it. And I'm already bruised as Hell! I can't wait to see what I look like in the morning! If I even make it upstairs! And now you're asking me to have pity on you?!"

She kicked him hard in the side. Timmy winced, and screamed a little harder. The gem in the sword grew brighter. Bingo grimaced, then kicked him again. Harder this time. She kicked again. And again. And with each successive kick, she forgot about the pain in her ankle a little more, which made it all the easier to keep kicking. Pretty soon, she was smiling as her opponent wailed in pain.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE IT, ASSHOLE?" she screamed. "HOW DO YOU LIKE IT? HUH? SPEAK UP! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

Timmy groaned as one of his ribs snapped.

When Bingo stopped, it had more to do with her foot hurting than her rage being spent. She took a step back from Timmy, who, by now, was suffering from shock.

Bingo sneered at him. Pathetic.

"It'd be fair for me to leave you here like this. To just let you suffer. It probably wouldn't be too long before you died, but you'd go through Hell while you waited."

She kicked him again.

"Then again, you'd probably feel right at home there."

Timmy tried to say something, but had long ago lost the ability to form coherent words, or thoughts, for that matter.

"You don't deserve any kindness, any mercy. You certainly didn't show me any. I never did anything to you. We could've been friends, even if Black did send you. I gave you candy, I was nice to you, and this is how you repay me. You try to kill me. You played with me, toyed with me. You could've killed me the moment you saw me and made it quick, but you wanted me to suffer. Why? I can buy that you had to kill me. But you didn't have to make me suffer. You didn't have to hurt me this bad. You--"

She felt a fresh wave of dizziness come over her. She lurched forward, caught her balance, and threw up. When she wiped the last traces of vomit from her lips, Bingo continued.

"You didn't have to drag my bros into it. God. Y'know, I saw some cruel stuff in the Plutarkian War. Shit you wouldn't believe. You're a poser next to some of those guys, but…damn.

"You didn't have to do this. Any of it! You chose to! You chose this! Asshole! It wouldn't even be this bad if you at least had a decent reason. You aren't doing this for love, or anything noble. Just for a reward. For a stupid name.

"And what's more, you'd kill my bros, too, to get to me. They don't have anything to do with this--with the Order, with the Guild, with anything--but you'd do it in a heartbeat. I should tear you into kibble just for that."

Bingo knelt beside him.

"But I'm not in the business of unnecessary cruelty."

Timmy's eyes rolled up white into his head.

Of course, Bingo had no intention of letting Timmy live. After all, when you leave loose ends, even loose ends that seem extremely dead, they have a tendency to twist themselves into a rope that eventually hangs you. And even if he never came back for her, Timmy would be dispatched to kill others. Other members of the Order. Other enemies of Black.

Her bros, maybe.

It was a risk she would not take.

Mercy, for Timmy and the world, wasn't releasing him; it was killing him.

"In your next life," she advised solemnly, "come back as something that doesn't screw with me and my family."

Slowly, she placed her left hand around the sword's hilt. The fastest, best way she knew of to end his suffering was to simply twist the sword around and behead him. She might have to throw her entire body into it since she couldn't very well use her right arm to any reasonable degree, but it wouldn't take long, given the keenness of the blade.

And in theory, it would pretty much end there. She'd brush off her hands, walk back upstairs (a black hole would probably kill her at this point), find her bros, and go crawl into a hole somewhere and die. Or maybe they'd go home and eat ice cream. Both prospects looked equally good at this point

The factor that hadn't entered her calculations was what would happen if that fiery force flowing through Timmy's body entered into her as well. Which it did. And whatever other abilities the Inferno Sword had, and whatever urge it felt to protect her, if any, it did nothing to insulate her against its strange power. Bingo's head snapped back, and she began screaming once more, her voice twining with Timmy's into one long, drawn-out howl. The blood began to stream from her wounds as her fur stood up on end.

Her eyes slammed shut.

"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH--"

Sweet Jesus it huurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrts

(not tearing you)

(he's tearing)

(take it)

Bingo stopped screaming. Her eyes snapped opened, blank and apparently unseeing. She was caught in the grip of something, something nameless and formless, but with very real desires.

A black hole opened at the point where the sword had started to cut into Timmy's neck. It swallowed up the blade until only the hilt was above it.

The zombie-like look never leaving her face, Bingo placed her right hand on top of the pommel, oblivious to the pain in the broken limb as the broken bone slipped two more inches through her skin, and tightened the other hand around the grip. She thrust the sword, gem and all, into the hole, then closed it tightly, until only a thin black line surrounded it. Her hands rested just above the hole.

"Inferno….." she whispered, closing her eyes slowly.

A wide black hole opened beneath the two of them. Curiously, Bingo and Timmy did not sink into its surface. Instead, they seemed to float just above it. A twin to this hole opened just above the mouse and the mercenary.

"…Soul…"

The holes changed into a pair of glowing white pentagrams, each ringed by cryptic symbols and signs, the meanings of which Bingo would not have known even if she were fully concious. A thin column of smoke surrounded the two of them, Bingo now sitting astride Timmy, and began to spiral upwards. And even though it was hidden inside Timmy's neck, the stone in the sword's hilt flashed once more.

Timmy screamed.

Bingo gritted her teeth.

"TOWER!"

The bottom circle suddenly burst into a column of blue fire that swallowed Bingo and Timmy whole.

***

CRASH!

A wineglass shattered on the floor.

"Master Black?" Colby asked, looking up. "Are you all right?"

The wolf did not answer immediately. He pressed a hand to the side of his head, as if in pain, then slowly withdrew it. He turned, and looked up at the skylight. Nothing happened for a moment. Then, blue lightning flashed through the clouds, turning the entire interior of the room a brilliant white. A phantom wind blew through the room, rustling Black's hair and Colby's fins.

"Master? What is it?"

Slowly, as if oblivious to his servant, the wolf walked across the floor and settled into his throne. His movements were strangely puppet-like. He stared into the blank space before him.

Thoroughly puzzled by this point, Colby grabbed his master's arm and shouted, "Master Black! Are you all okay? What's wrong?"

A moment of silence passed.

Geez! the young fish thought angrily to himself. I was just trying to tell him about meeting with that jerk Limburger. He could at least feign interest like he usually does instead of faking a headache or whatever!

"So."

"Eh?" Colby asked, blinking.

"She did it. I was afraid of this."

"Did what? Who?"

"Released the power of the sword. The Dark Tower."

Colby cocked his head to the side.

"She? You mean Ritz? She's still alive? And what's 'the Dark Tower?' Master?"

Black rose to his feet slowly and walked to the other side of the room in quiet contemplation. He gazed up at the skylight once more.

Fine, Colby thought to himself. Don't tell me. Boy, this guy's got some manners. Bad enough he made me spend my entire evening with that pretentious pike Limburger, then this! Jerk. How does he expect me to do anything to help around here if--

"Col-by……" Black growled from across the room. "I can take that card away as easily as I gave it."

Whoops! Gotta watch that! He can read your mind, dumb ass! Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

Black watched the sky above him, lost in contemplation. It had returned to red, with no hint of the blue lightning visible just a few moments before.

So she managed to release the Dark Tower. Amazing. Took me centuries to figure it out; she does it after having the thing for five years. Typical. If those bureaucrats in the main office would've just told me in the first place how to activate it……Ugh. Angels have all the luck, don't they?

He sighed.

God, why did I send Timmy? I knew he might be enough to force the sword's power, but I just let him go anyway. He was the trigger. And now, another Azrael posses the power of the Inferno itself, the power that's supposed to be mine. If the little bastard would've just killed her the right way when he had her trapped--Damn it all to Hell!

Black crossed his arms over his chest.

At least…at least I've got a little better idea what she's capable of. I can send the data to the boys in analysis, and they can help me figure out a strategy. At least it doesn't look like she has any magic of her own. Thank God. If she did, I'd really be up shit creek. Magic and the Dark Tower…God.

Hmmm. Well, just because she released it, that doesn't mean she knows how to do it. She may have spoken the words, but the sword told them to her, took possession of her and made her say them.

***

One hour later.

When it comes to doors, the Biker Mice are best known for not using them. When they do decide to use a pre-made portal instead of blasting themselves a new one, however, they do it with gusto.

So Vinnie didn't just push those double doors open as he raced out onto the street; he exploded through them, using all his strength to tear them open. When he finally came to a stop, the pane in one shattered, and the other fell off its hinges, utterly ruined.

That's what happens when a hyperactive mouse panics.

"BING!" he screamed frantically. "BINGO!"

Only the dark city streets were there to meet him. For the first time since the mice had crash-landed in Chicago, the city was quiet. Too quiet. The cold air was a punch, cutting quickly through Vinnie's fur, and once again, he regretted not wearing some kind of shirt, no matter how much the chicks dug his studly chest.

Vinnie pushed the thought from his head and glanced up and down the street.

He shouted until he was completely out of breath, then waited, heart pounding in his ears.

Some foolish, boyish part of him who didn't know better expected Bingo to pop out of an alley with a goofy grin on her face and say, "Hee hee! Okay, you found me, bro! Sorry I scared you! Just me being silly. Now it's your turn to hide!" Then they'd go get hot dogs, blow up Limburger Tower, and return to the Scoreboard, where a lucious harem of scantily clad women of various sapient species awaited, ready to indoctrinate Vincent into the pleasures of the flesh with the largest orgy in recorded history.

Well, I didn't say the foolish, boyish part of him was innocent, did I? Come on, this is Vinnie we're talking about!

But the cynical soldier in him, the one who had already lost a different innocence on the battlefield, had a much less optimistic theory on Bingo's whereabouts.

In his mind's eye (or perhaps his mind's ear), Vinnie heard a whistle and looked up.

There, on the nearest rooftop, was Timmy, silhouetted by the moon, which was directly behind him (and roughly two hundred times larger than it normally appeared for dramatic effect). He looked peaceful, serene. Like a squirrel bat after gorging itself on Pink Seeds.

Something looked different about him, though. There was a strange orange streak running over his head and down his back. No, wait, it wasn't a streak. It was some kind of…cape. Knotted around his neck. Huh. It looked like it was knotted at the ends, too.

No, those weren't knots. They were--lumps.

No, not lumps, either.

Timmy rose to his feet and smiled at Vinnie. Suddenly, the white-furred mouse's fur stood up on end. He knew that smile. That damnable smile. That wasn't Timmy. There was no 'Timmy'. It was all just a disguise. Just a trick. It was….it was…

Mace.

Anger surged through Vinnie's body. His hands tightened into fits. How he hated that smile! That ingratiating grin! Well, Vinnie would solve that problem. He'd wipe the grin from that bastard's face with his fists. Cut his goddamn face into ribbons. See how he liked being stuck behind a mask for the rest of his life.

"Hey, comrade," Mace cooed mockingly. He still had that friendly, pleasant, boy-next-door voice, the one that was so disarming. The one that hid the traitor. "Long time no see. Didn't think I was gonna leave you alone already, did ya? It's only been two years. I've got a lot of torture left in mind for you. Harley was only the beginning. I'm going to destroy you from the bottom up.

"That reminds me. I've got a present for you. CATCH!"

The orange-furred mouse

(no, he's a rat, he's a rat)

picked up something dark, then heaved it over the rooftop.

It fell to the street. Vinnie couldn't make out exactly what it was, but he saw red as it fell through the streetlights, and red when it struck the ground with a sickening splat. The impact painted the ground bright crimson, just like the lump, whatever it was.

Vinnie took a cautious step forward.

It wasn't just a lump. It was a body.

A skinned body.

A girl's body. A skinned, skinny little flat-chested girl's body.

Tall for a human, short for a mouse.

Vinnie's eyes grew huge with horror.

Suddenly, the body began to raise its head. It--it wasn't dead yet! It wasn't dead yet! It was--it was blood, it was nothing but blood, it was skinless, but it was alive!

Vinnie's stomach lurched.

Its eyes opened--blue, they were blue, they were horribly blue--and its mouth slowly dropped open.

"Vinnie," it whispered weakly.

Pathetic. Dying.

The jaw fell off and clattered against the ground as muscle and flesh melted away into a red puddle.

Vinnie almost screamed before he remembered it was all just in his imagination. His pulse was racing. Sweat dripped from his forehead. Halloween really was a time when it could run away with you (it wasn't just a bunch of b.s. at the beginning of Part One). And if that grim little vision was a portent of things to come, even just a portent of portents of what was to come, Vinnie had a bad feeling he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.

"Okay," he whispered, leaning against a lamp-post to try and get control over his emotions again, "that's it." He panted, shaking. "Next year, no horror movies until after Halloween. None."

Cautiously, he looked up and down the street again. After a moment, he spared a fleeting glimpse at the tops of the buildings around them. Only when he didn't see that shadowy form with the orange streak did he actually bother to take a good look. Thankfully, they were still clear. Had they been anything but, Vinnie would've screamed. There was no question in his mind. He would've screamed like a little girl, the way Bingo hated to.

"Dammit!" he hissed. "Bing, where are you? This is no time for hide and seek."

Frustrated beyond frustration, Vinnie looked up at the night sky (careful not to look at the tops of the buildings). It was almost completely black, with just a few stars speckling it. There was no moon out tonight.

At least back home there were two moons, he thought bitterly. If you couldn't see one, the other was probably out.

Vinnie hated Earth’s night sky. No, he didn’t just hate it; he abhorred it. Couldn't stand it. It was ugly. Inky black. Gray some nights. Most times, you couldn't even see the stars, let alone Mars. God. Mars had a sapphire sky at night, one always awash in starlight. Even in the heart of Hellfire, where the city's bright lights dulled their glow, there was always a guiding star visible just above you.

But it wasn't just homesickness that made Vinnie feel that way. Earth's night sky just sucked! It was sinister somehow. There was something almost smug in that darkness, like it was hiding something. All the personality and responsiveness of a rock, or a statue of a god; you could shout questions at it until you were blue in the face, but you’d never get any answers. That was that.

The young mouse tore his eyes from the sky. Boy, tonight sure had turned into a giant suck-fest in a hurry! One minute, the mice had been watching movies, enjoying themselves; the next, Vinnie was standing alone in the street having horrifying visions where Mace was using Bingo's skin as a high fashion accessory and complaining about the sky.

I hope we're home for next Halloween. Holidays on Earth suck!

When Vinnie had woken up, he hadn't been thinking about Bingo at all. He had been thinking about getting Modo and Throttle's fat asses off him before they snapped his spine in two. Shouting about it, as a matter of fact. He had also been trying to figure out what wax they were using on this floor. He could see his face in it! What a treat! He'd have to find out and give some to Charley-girl. Maybe he could get her to wax that kitchen floor of hers with it. Then all that remained was getting her to start wearing skirts and stop wearing panties, in that order.

After a few moments trying to get their bearings, the three older Biker Mice were able to piece together what had happened. Timmy had pulled the four of them through Bingo's black hole, right into the middle of the gym. For whatever reason, the three of them had passed out. When they woke up, Bingo was gone. After they were awarded second place in the costume contest, the remaining threesome split up and began searching for their errant bro. Throttle had taken the rear of the building, and Modo was searching the halls. All of them were on their guard against a possible ambush, one that would almost certainly end in their destruction.

Vinnie, who had been given the front of the building, was worried half to death. It wasn't that he felt responsible for Bingo's safety or anything like that…... Well, okay, so he did. It was hard not to! She was just a kid! It was just…he had a sinking feeling in his gut that Bingo had gone after that Timmy guy alone.

With nothing but that goddamn sword.

And they still hadn't heard so much as a peep from her.

The orange streak.

Mace.

"CATCH!"

"STOP IT!" Vinnie shouted. He grabbed the sides of his head, trying to stave off his own predacious imagination. When he finally regained control, his fingerprints were imbedded temporarily in his newly-cropped mask.

"Stop thinking like that!" he ordered himself softly, voice cracking under the strain. "She isn’t dead. Bing’s a good fighter. That bozo might have roughed her up a little bit, but he didn’t kill her!"

The cut in his chest burned a little. Now he was cold and dizzy.

Whether she was alive or dead, Vinnie wasn't going to find Bingo standing outside in the street, under that cold, hateful sky. He turned and started back for the doors to the gym. But before he could open them, Modo and Throttle came out (no, not that way). They held a quick conference.

"Any sign of her?" Throttle asked, jaw clenched firmly. He obviously hadn't seen any himself, or he would have mentioned it.

"Nope," Vinnie replied, stretching his arms behind his back. Serious as the situation was, he still hadn't outgrown that nasty nervous fidgeting.

Modo shook his head a regretful no.

"Ah even checked the girls' bathroom. Either she was standin' on the seats, or she wasn't in there. An' those boots 're hard to miss. 'Course, ah wasn't able to look for real long before the ladies said they were gonna call the cops."

Throttle stood for a moment with his chin tucked in hand. He didn’t speak, so totally lost in thought was he. Vinnie often wondered just how he could do that. To be so still when he thought. Vinnie had to tap his fingers, or at least twirl his tail a little bit. Geez, couldn't Throttle at least talk his ideas out loud to let them know what he was thinking????

Modo interrupted suddenly.

"It was that Timmy guy that pulled us all into the hole. If anybody knows where Bing is, he does."

"It’s Bingo he wants," Throttle reminded them. "That must be why he left us there."

"Guy's got no sense of taste," Vinnie mumbled. His attempt at levity died in the air, without a single chuckle to sustain it.

"I just hope," Throttle said carefully, "that Bing didn’t go after him alone."

Vinnie winced.

"Hey, Bing ain’t no shrinkin’ violet," Modo reminded him defensively. "She can fight as good as any o’ us. When it all comes down to it, anyway."

"I’m not saying that she can’t. Bing’s a smart kid, and she’s strong, too, for her size. But all four of us couldn't put a dent in that guy; she isn’t gonna be able to do much all by herself. Not on her own. I just hope she didn't get herself in over her head."

No question here if Bing went on her own. Like a sheep to the slaughter, even after all that stuff we said. Hell, because of the stuff we said, probably.

Vinnie had been ignoring the buzz of the crowd over the last several minutes, like a pesky gnat he could swat away by thinking about Bingo (which I guess would make those thoughts a sort of flyswatter). But too much thought brought him right back to the image of her lying, dead but not dead, on the street, skinless but still alive, so he had allowed himself to listen to their words.

Now the gnat was biting. Vinnie’s ear caught a growing whisper in the crowd. At first, he didn’t pay too much attention to it, but when the words, "blood", "guts", "yuck", and "I’m", "gonna", "puke" entered their conversation, he grew curious. It either had something to do with Bingo, or else somebody had a costume on that was a contender for their trophy.

If it's Bing, he prayed silently, please let her still have fur in all the right places.

He turned quickly, and saw a red shape advancing slowly through the crowd. It parted quickly around the sanguine apparition, both out of fear and disgust. A small path was cleared, leaving the figure ample room to move on a slow, unerring path down the middle of the basketball court, leading straight toward the Biker Mice. Who or whatever it was, it drug something behind them--a stick, maybe? Blood fell off the shape’s hair and body like a tiny red rain-shower. Bloody footprints followed it.

Vinnie's jaw dropped open. He wanted to scream, but couldn't. All that came out was a high-pitched whine.

Just before he exploded into panic and insanity, he noticed a glint at the figure's waist, one tiny patch where the red had dripped off. He looked again, and saw what was immistakably a belt buckle. A silver belt buckle.

Vinnie breathed a sigh of relief, then clapped his bros on the shoulders and shouted, "Bros! There she is! It’s Bing!"

"What?" Throttle shouted, shocked.

"Oh Momma!" Modo moaned, his single eye a huge yellow orb in his face. The only other time he had ever seen so much blood on a person, they'd died on a lonely battlefield several hours beforehand.

The three mice dashed forward and met Bingo on the foul line. The rest of the crowd stayed away, and watched the others gather around her with a strangely sick sense of awe. The party atmosphere was pretty much gone by this point (seeing a girl covered head to toe in blood ´ la "Carrie" will do that to you).

"BINGO!" Vinnie shouted, the first to meet her there. He steadied her as best he could, putting his hands on blood-soaked shoulders, reassured finally that every last hair was where it should be.

Still got fur still got fur still got fur Thank God--

Modo and Throttle quickly joined him, slowly reaching out their hands to help Bingo stay up as well. Their palms slid in the ichor that covered her. All of them were having a hard time keeping their Halloween candy down, if you catch my drift.

Bingo didn’t look directly at her bros, but teetered a little bit when she stopped, as if she was having a hard time staying on her feet. Her sword was in her left hand, the tip resting on the floor. The "stick" Vinnie had seen. Something about it, around the grip, looked different, but Vinnie wasn't sure what. Her clothes had been torn practically to threads. Her long-sleeved jacket had abruptly been turned into a tee shirt, her tee shirt into little more than cropped tube top, and her pants into short-shorts. Small patches clung heroically to her, either by a few tiny strings or plastered there. Her gloves had been totally annihilated. And like the entire rest of her body, they were soaked with blood.

But she didn't seem aware of it. She didn't seem to be aware of anything. Not her appearance, not the crowd around her, not her bros. When Vinnie looked up under her hair, pushing it out of her face, he noticed a strangely dull look in her eyes.

"Bing?" he asked softly. "Are you okay?"

Throttle turned to Modo and said quickly, "I think we'd better get her some first aid pronto. If she's bled this much already--"

"Ah don't think it's her blood," Modo whispered, gagging slightly and swallowing hard. "Ah don't see a cut on her."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Modo gestured toward Bingo's unhurt body and said, "Look. Not a cut, not a bruise, nothin'. She looks fine."

Throttle looked, and confirmed Modo's words. Either she'd been cut up really bad underneath what was left of her clothes, or she hadn't been hurt at all.

"Then where did all this come from?" he asked, unable to believe his eyes.

Modo shrugged.

Throttle put his hands firmly on Bingo’s shoulder and said evenly but resolutely, "Bingo. Can-you-hear-me?"

A moment passed.

"Bingo."

"Bro?" Modo asked softly.

"Bing?" Vinnie whispered.
Slowly, Bingo lifted her head, very clearly dazed. She paused for a minute, silent, then suddenly shook her head left and right, not to say no, but to clear it. Blood flew from her hair and face and spattered the floor, not to mention her bros, who, although still very worried about Bingo, thought it was kinda cool at the same time.

"Bing?" Throttle asked again.

"Uhhhhhh," she moaned in a quiet, weak voice, rubbing her forehead. "Bros?"

"We're here, Bing," Modo said quickly. "Are you okay?"

"When did you wake up?" she whispered.
"Few minutes ago," Vinnie replied. "Some kid in a Death costume was pokin’ us with a stick. Little bastard."

"Where were you?" Throttle asked quickly. "And what happened to Timmy? Where is he?"

Bingo yawned sleepily, then explained, "In answer to questions one and three, the basement. And, as for two, I think…..I think he's dead." The end of her statement sounded almost like a question.

"WHAT?!?" he bros shouted, shocked.

Vinnie smiled, the thoughts of a body that was tall for a human and short for a

mouse lying skinless in the street banished forever by those five sweet little words.

red jacket.
As if seeing it for the first time, Bingo whispered, "Whoah!"

"Guy a heavy bleeder or what?" Vinnie asked with a grin.

Modo interrupted curiously, "But what'd you do, Bing, that we didn't try before?"

"I--"

She stopped, eyes wide. They were the only bit of her person that wasn't bright red. For a moment, she was completely and totally silent.

"Bingo?" Throttle asked. "What did you do?"

Bingo was silent for a moment. Frustration played itself out across her face.

"Bing?"

Finally, she mumbled, "I--I don't know. I can't remember what I did. I can remember…..a little before he died, and I sorta remember stumbling upstairs to get to here, but that's it. Nothin' in between."

Throttle turned to Modo quickly and hissed, "Big Fella, you wanna….?"
Modo nodded and started off to the basement.

"Be careful."
Modo smiled, then continued on his way.

"Is any of him left?" Vinnie asked, snickering. "That much blood, you must've atomized the sucker!"

"Better question," Throttle said firmly. "Are you okay? Did he get you anywhere?"
Bingo snickered and said, "Well, yeah, just take a look at me, for God's sake! I'm surprised I'm still standing!"

Throttle and Vinnie just stared.

"Bing," Vinnie murmured, "I don't see anything."

Her eyes widened.

"You're kidding, right?" she asked.

Vinnie shook his head no. Throttle joined him.

In shock, Bingo examined her unharmed body. A single surprised, "What the HELL?" slipped through her lips as she ran her hands over herself, looking for injuries that simply weren't there. She carefully checked her stomach, which was totally whole, and her right arm. Bingo swung it in wide circles, and was amazed to see it move as easily as it ever had.

"This doesn't make sense," she murmured.

Vinnie shrugged slightly, an amused smile on his face.

"Vinnie, come here a minute," Bingo said quickly.

He leaned over her shoulder and asked, "What?"
Bingo said not a word more, but grabbed Vinnie's head and jerked it down to face level. Using his mask for a mirror, she inspected her face and ears for any sign of the massive hurt Timmy had put on her.

"Y'mind?" Vinnie grumbled as Bingo tried to rotate his head 360 degrees to catch the light better.

"Sorry."

She released him, still obviously troubled.

"You're saying he did hurt you, though?" Throttle asked, brow wrinkled.

"He beat the shit outta me!" Bingo shouted, wanting desperately to be believed. "Repeatedly! He broke my arm! He almost broke my back! He tore my ears up! He--he--he--"

Frustrated, she shook her head.

"This doesn't make sense."

"You feel okay, though, right?" Throttle asked firmly. "Don't feel like you're bleeding internally or anything like that?"

Bingo shook her head no firmly, then added, "I'm just tired. Really tired. And my body feels kinda achy, like I just ran a couple miles or something. I’ll probably really feel it in the morning." She slumped against Vinnie's shoulder wearily, like a tired child.

Vinnie smiled and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him for support. He looked over his shoulder, then cried, "Modo's back!"

Throttle sprinted over to meet their bro, telling Vinnie to stay put with Bingo, and was surprised to see his older bro looking extremely pale. If he had been on the verge of vomiting before, he appeared to have purged several times in the last five minutes. The last five seconds, maybe.

"Modo?" Throttle asked. "Are you all right?"

The gray-furred mouse leaned against the wall and drew his breath in sharply. He nodded, then grimaced.

Oh yeah. He'd definitely thrown up.

Not mincing words, Throttle asked, "Well?"

Modo nodded once more.

"He's dead?'

"Yeah."

A shiver racked Modo's spine.

"Can you tell how Bing did it? What'd it look like down there?"
Modo shook his head, wretched dryly, then mumbled, "Ah'll tell ya about it later."

Throttle nodded, then asked, "You need a hand?"

Modo groaned a little, then shook off Throttle's offer of help. The two of them joined their bros by the door.

"Well, congrats, Bing," Throttle said simply. "Looks like you really did it."

Bingo smiled grimly and whispered, "Told ya I could do it."

It wasn't quite the adulation she'd pictured earlier, but it'd do. They were safe, and that was what was important.

Throttle nodded, some of the toughness in his expression replaced by a more casual face, then said, "We'll try and piece all this together later. But for now, let's go home. Come on. Let’s go get our bikes and head back to the Scoreboard. I don’t know about you bros, but I could sleep like the dead tonight."

"No objections here," Bingo yawned sleepily, nuzzling against Vinnie's shoulder as they began walking out the door.

"Want me to carry you?" he asked.

"Naw. I can walk."

"So, you kicked his ass?"

Bingo nodded wearily.

"Get any really good licks in?"

With a snicker, Bingo replied proudly, "Got him in the balls with a baseball bat."
"Ouch! You kept it, right?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Good. I wanna see this thing. Must be some kinda super-bat."

Bingo smiled.

The wind picked up suddenly, and Vinnie shivered as it danced up his neck.

"Cold, bro?" the younger mouse asked.

"I know, I know. I shed too much in the summer."

"Wanna use my jacket?" she asked, grinning, as she fingered the nearly atomized collar. "I don't think I'm going to be wearing it again any time soon."

"Mmmm, pass. I think I'd rather be cold."

As the four mice walked out into the night, Modo muttered aloud, "Y’know, ah keep thinkin’ we’re forgettin’ something…."

***

"AGGGGGGGGGGGH!" Charley screamed. "WHAT'D YOU GUYS DO TO MY GARAGE!?!?!?"