Gadget smiled. And even though she was a hologram, Bernie felt the encouraging warmth that radiated from her. The hologram turned back toward the crowd and said, “Please give Bernie a warm welcome!”
Then, in unison, the entire group responded with loud, ringing voices, “Every part of a watch is important, from the smallest gear on up. For without each part working together, keeping time is impossible. We never sleep. We never fail. We are there for all who call upon us in their time of need. We are the MOUSE WATCH!”
Everyone applauded and Bernie blushed from the tip of her nose to the end of her tail.
So she was the only new recruit! A warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed inside her. She was special after all. She was small but mighty. And she was going to ace basic training and become a full-fledged member of the Mouse Watch even if it meant breaking every bone in her body!
“Welcome to the Watch, Bernie,” Gadget said. “And now, will Jarvis Slinktail join me onstage as well?”
Bernie’s heart dropped. What?
A large figure emerged from the back of the room and made its way toward the stage. For a moment, Bernie thought he was a giant mouse, taller and broader than any mouse she had ever seen.
Then everyone, including Bernie, gasped.
As Jarvis stepped into the light, Bernie realized that he wasn’t a mouse at all.
Jarvis was a rat.
He wore a big, tattered red hoodie, and had a large flop of blond hair that fell over one of his eyes. He positioned himself awkwardly on Gadget’s other side. Bernie noticed that he kept his gaze on the floor and didn’t meet anybody’s eyes.
Then, as Bernie’s shock began to wear off, another realization struck. She was no longer the only recruit standing with Gadget on that stage.
“Mice of the Watch,” Gadget said, apparently unaware that there was also a rat in their midst. “I’m pleased to introduce our second new recruit. Please welcome Jarvis!”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. They recited the Mouse Watch anthem for a second time—though distinctly not as loudly or as energetically as the first.
As the tall rat blushed and shifted uncomfortably, Bernie couldn’t help but think, The only thing worse than there being another new recruit is another new recruit who’s a rat! She sized him up from the other side of the stage.
It had to be a joke. Gadget could be funny and playful. Maybe she was just trying to end the assembly on a surprise note?
Bernie scanned the room. Nobody was laughing. She glanced back at Jarvis. Maybe he was just a really, really big mouse? But one look at the distinctive snout and long, thick tail told her otherwise.
Then a thought occurred to her, one that sent a shiver down her spine. Would it…could it…possibly be that he was the one the Candroid mentioned?
Was Jarvis Slinktail a R.A.T.S. operative masquerading as a new recruit? If so, they were all in trouble…and Bernie, Alph, and Digit were the only ones who knew.
Dr. Thornpaw’s metal claws gripped the rails of a rusted balcony.
The platform on which the rodent stood was bolted to the dripping brick and tile walls, the remains of an abandoned subway station that was now his secret laboratory.
The doctor surveyed the decrepit, sprawling chamber below in greedy anticipation of the glorious moment to come. After years of attempts, this was finally “it.”
It was time to see if the secret formula he’d created would finally work.
On the floor of the lab, next to an array of tables filled with beakers, test tubes, and Jacob’s ladders, was a series of cells with iron doors. Each of them contained one of his numerous experimental subjects. Most of them were permanently damaged in one way or another from his previous encounters with them, and the echoes of their pitiful moans filled the room.
Dr. Thornpaw thought the sounds made excellent background music while he conducted his cruel studies.
The doctor’s one good eye glinted as he watched the latest subject, Ernie, being dragged out of the farthest cell and then roughly placed into a chair that had been outfitted with leather restraining belts.
The terrified elderly man whimpered as he was strapped in. Dr. Thornpaw, oblivious to Ernie’s pathetic struggles, lifted a bullhorn. After switching it on with a squeal of feedback that made everyone, including the laboratory assistants, cringe, the doctor croaked in an amplified voice, “Please make yourself comfortable, Ernie. This test will only take a moment.”
“Will I be able to go home afterward?” Ernie whimpered.
“Yes, yes, of course,” lied Dr. Thornpaw. “Now then, Number Six, will you please administer the spray?”
The assistants, a mob of large rats dressed in identical lab coats, each had a number inscribed onto their right pockets. They also wore red rubber gloves and matching welding goggles, something that the doctor insisted was practical as well as orderly. It was satisfying when everyone matched.
“Um, boss?” A squat rat with the number eight on his pocket raised a paw.
“Yes, Number Eight?” said Dr. Thornpaw.
Number Eight shifted his feet and gulped nervously. He glanced at the other lab rats and then said, “Uh, we were all talking—”
“Oh, you were, were you? Talking? I don’t pay you to talk, Number Eight,” croaked Thornpaw.
“Yes, y-yes, I know that, boss.” Number Eight looked like he was about to faint from fear. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground. “But, well, we were just wondering if we could, well, you know, wear something else? These lab coats are kind of scratchy and the rubber gloves stick to our paws.”
Dr. Thornpaw glared at him with his one good eye. In a carefully controlled voice, he replied, “Number Eight, you know that I insist upon everyone matching while at work. Once our mission is accomplished, you will be allowed to dress as befitting the occasion. For now, I must insist that you carry on doing your job without further distractions, is that clear?”
The doctor’s low, dangerous tone was not lost on the squat rat. Many of his colleagues had been subjected to terrible punishments for asking questions. The fact that he wasn’t dead already suggested Thornpaw was in an unusually good mood.
“Right, boss. Of course, boss,” said Number Eight, nervously saluting. Then, after hesitating again for a moment, he timidly raised his hand.
“Something else, Number Eight?” Thornpaw’s voice grated even more than usual.
“Um, so that means wearing flip-flops is definitely out?”
Dr. Thornpaw pressed a remote control in his pocket. A trapdoor slid open beneath Number Eight, and the rat disappeared with a loud scream. The door slid shut, muffling the sound. There was a hiss, and then a stench emanated from the cracks in the floor. Number Eight was now hurtling far below the subway system, never to be seen again.
“Anybody else need a costume change?” asked the doctor.
All the numbered rats scurried to continue with their duties.
The fate of Number Eight was a good reminder that it was easier to go along with whatever the doctor wanted than to resist.
Number Six, a mottled rat with a single, yellow fang, retrieved a modified human-size bug sprayer that had been bolted onto a small cart. It wobbled precariously as he wheeled it over to the old man. Once it was in position, two other assistants helped him raise it by cranking a small gear that ratcheted it up to the proper angle.
“Now, Ernie, when my assistant pulls the trigger, I want you to breathe in the vapor,” said Thornpaw.
“Is…is it safe?” stuttered Ernie, eyeing the trapdoor that Number Eight had recently fallen into.
“Of course it is,” lied Thornpaw again. “It smells like cheese. You like the smell of cheese, don’t you, Ernie? Everyone does. Nice, safe, good-smelling cheese.” He liked lying. It was fun to watch how readily the victims seized upon what he said, believing it to be true that everything would be pleasant again soon. Humans liked to believe that everything would be okay.
Fools.
The old security guard
didn’t see the look that passed between assistants Number Six and Number Three. It was a look that said they’d heard this same exact speech given to every single one of the other experiment subjects.
“Administer the formula, Number Six,” commanded Thornpaw.
At the signal, all of the rat assistants placed gas masks over their snouts.
After putting on his own, Number Six took careful aim.
Ernie looked even more nervous.
“Hey…don’t I get one of those?” he asked hopefully, indicating the masks with a jerk of his head.
Number Six pulled the trigger.
An orange particle cloud shot out of the sprayer, misting over the top of Ernie’s head. As the particles drifted downward, a familiar scent filled the room, one that the old man recognized immediately.
“Mmmmm. You’re right! It does smell like melted cheese!” said Ernie. “Is this some kind of new air freshener?”
The old man looked relieved as he breathed in the vapors. “Here I thought you were up to something, and all you were doing was trying to freshen up the place,” Ernie said happily. “Although I have to say, I’m not too sure it will be a big seller. Not many people would want…would want…”
Ernie’s voice grew thick and distant.
Thornpaw’s eye narrowed, studying the old man’s reaction. He glanced at the clock.
Ten seconds.
Ernie didn’t turn blue.
Twenty seconds.
Ernie wasn’t screaming with boils all over his arms and face.
Thirty seconds.
The old man’s eyes hadn’t fallen out of his head. This was a first!
A few seconds more, thought Thornpaw.
Finally, at exactly forty-five seconds from the moment Ernie had first inhaled the chemical formula, his blue eyes changed color. The rats all stared, amazed, as the human’s eyes faded first to white, then to green, and then they began to glow, radiating with an unearthly, sickly yellow color.
Thornpaw wanted to scream in triumph. It had taken months of planning and prep work, but finally, his plan was coming together.
First came the spying. Months of watching the Mouse Watch drone fleet for one tiny mistake. And eventually it had happened. The minute that drone crashed, Dr. Thornpaw and his league of minions went into action. Before the pilot could radio back to headquarters for help, the doctor had moved in to swipe it. The Mouse Watch agent was now officially “Missing in Action,” and Dr. Thornpaw had a convenient delivery vehicle.
Just as he predicted, inside the drone was a healthy supply of Gadget Hackwrench’s famous Sleep Spray. All the doctor had to do was chemically manipulate it into something else—something useful!
And now, after months of failed experiments, he had finally done it.
Gadget Hackwrench was brilliant.
But in the doctor’s estimation, she was nothing compared to his own genius.
Thornpaw controlled those feelings of triumph and didn’t allow a smile to cross his twisted face. Instead, the half machine, half rodent picked up the megaphone and growled, “Release the human.”
The lab rats unbuckled the straps that held Ernie in the chair.
“Number Fifteen, start the music. Number Seven bring over that Bunsen burner,” Thornpaw commanded.
The assistant did as she was told, approaching a nearby table and removing a small, burning stove from beneath a bubbling beaker, while Number Fifteen produced a record player.
“Ernie, stand up!” said Thornpaw.
The old man didn’t hesitate, but leaped to his feet like a marionette pulled upward on a string and said in a very dull voice, “Yes, Doctor.”
“Very good,” said Thornpaw. “Now, Ernie, I want you to do something for me.”
“Yes, Doctor,” said Ernie.
Thornpaw paused. This was the true test. If this final part of the experiment worked, then the doctor would finally turn the tables around. No longer would rats be subjected to the whims of humans. No longer would they be forced underground.
If this next test worked, it was the first step toward a brand-new world. It would be a world of the doctor’s own imagining, a world run by rats, where humans would finally know how it felt to be on the bottom of the food chain.
“Number Seven, please start the music,” said Thornpaw.
The assistant did as she was told. She placed the needle on the record. After a couple of pops and crackles, the ominous and familiar strains of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue filled the air.
Perfect, thought the doctor, finger-conducting an imaginary orchestra. He loved sophisticated torture music. Now, if all went well, the subject wouldn’t resist the next command.
Thornpaw paused. Then, after taking a deep breath, he said, “Place your hand in the fire, Ernie.”
Without hesitation, Ernie thrust his hand directly into the Bunsen burner.
He didn’t so much as flinch as the smell of burning, blistering flesh filled the air.
Thornpaw relished the moment, realizing that he hadn’t been wrong, that the final test had been passed.
The doctor had finally perfected the formula.
And with it, the R.A.T.S. would conquer the world.
At first, the voice Bernie heard when she woke up sounded like her mother’s. Up until that moment, she’d been in the middle of a very turbulent dream. It had started with a giant, hoodie-wearing rat with two heads stealing her parents’ smartphone. Then the dream had turned into a nightmare as she’d heard her brother Brody crying out for help, and Bernie had been unable to find him, to do anything other than remain frozen where she stood. She’d then heard her mother screaming at her, “Move! Bernie, get up and move!”
“I’m up, Mom! Calm down!” Bernie mumbled as she forced herself to wake from the terrible dream. But when the voice continued speaking, she realized right away that not only was it not her mother, but it wasn’t alive. It was a robot.
Wake up, recruit! said the voice. Bernie looked around to find the source and saw the Candroid, with its two brightly lit LED eyes staring down at her, in her room. For a second, she was disoriented. Where was she? But then the past twenty-four hours came rushing back, and she remembered that shortly after the welcome ceremony she’d been shown to her new quarters at Mouse Watch HQ. She’d been so exhausted she’d meant to take a short nap.
Apparently, she’d slept much longer than she’d intended to.
She glanced around her room, taking in all the strange new details. The walls were smooth and white. Running through the center of each wall was the same faintly glowing stripe of blue light that ran through most of the facility. There were also some simple, modern furnishings: a desk with round corners, an ergonomically curved chair, and a dresser. Recessed lights were hidden in the ceiling above the bed and in the small, private bathroom.
The only other item in the room was the Candroid, and as far as Bernie could tell, it didn’t seem too happy to find her still asleep. Bernie wasn’t sure whether or not she was actually supposed to reply to the artificial life-form, but then decided that she might as well acknowledge it.
“Okay, I’m up,” she said. “Where do I go? What do I do?”
“You have a busy day ahead,” said the robot. “Breakfast is the first thing on your list. What would you like to eat?”
Bernie’s stomach rumbled. It had been so long since she’d last eaten! Not only that, but because her family usually foraged for meals, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked her specifically what she wanted to eat.
She thought about it for a moment, thinking of all the human food she’d ever smelled and wished she could have tried. She snapped her fingers, remembering a time she’d seen a small child eating something that smelled delicious.
“Peanut butter toast!” said Bernie.
The Candroid played light jazz from a speaker somewhere in its chest cavity while it processed her request. Then it walked over to a hatch in the wall of her bedroom and removed a small tray.
<
br /> A delicious scent of warm toasted peanut butter filled the air.
Bernie’s mouth watered as she took the treat from the robot. When she chomped into the creamy, crispy toast her tail swished with happiness. It was by far the best breakfast she’d ever eaten!
She’d just finished her last mouthful and was about to request a second piece when the Candroid said, “Your presence is required in room one seventy-seven. You have ten minutes, Ms. Skampersky.” Then the voice changed to that of a military drill sergeant.
“MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!”
Ten minutes!
“Yes, ma’am! Sir! Or…whatever you are!” Bernie exclaimed as she leaped into action.
She found several yellow jumpsuits in her closet and was surprised to see her name—B. Skampersky—stitched on all of them. She also noticed that the sparkly pink suitcase had been unpacked and stowed neatly in the corner.
Good riddance to that, thought Bernie. She decided that to keep it in pristine condition, it would have to remain untouched in that closet for the entire time she was training. Her mom would be pleased to see that it wouldn’t have a scratch on it.
Each yellow jumpsuit was sealed in special plastic that kept the uniform immaculately clean, pressed, and wrinkle-free. Glancing around at all that had happened while she was asleep, she could only assume that it had been the Candroid that had done it all.
Amazing.
After peeling away the plastic on one of the jumpsuits, she tried to take a very quick shower. It went a little longer than she’d intended because there were perfectly positioned water jets installed in the walls, ceiling, and floor. The water that sprayed from them was deliciously warm and lightly scented with a special soap that smelled like lilacs and made her fur feel wonderful.
After that, she styled her bright blue hair to its full height using some hair gel that had been supplied, along with a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste, and then, knowing she was definitely running late, she raced out the door with her new goggles and only seconds to spare.
The Mouse Watch, Volume 1 Page 7