I suppose this needs an explanation. Has anyone ever watched the cartoon episodes and thought "Phew, how the heck did they get out of that one?" Or, "No one is that lucky all the time!" It's the kind of reaction a lot of people had when they watched 24, and Jack Bauer survived just about every major disaster life and terrorists could throw at him (if you haven't seen the show, I highly recommend you clear 8 whole days in your calendar and watch it). So I decided to take a look at some of my favourite episodes and imagine what might have happened if things hadn't always gone to plan. I mean - why do the good guys always have to save the day, be it in the nick of time or with inches to spare?

I am intending on doing a whole series of one shots (not every episode, and only the original series - jeez my fingers would bleed and my eyes need bionic replacements of their own if I did that!), some where things go seriously wrong and have long-lasting effects on the mice, others just mildly inconvenient and (hopefully) amusing.

Umm anyway, here is my first (more to follow soon, whilst the flow keeps going). The original version was good, but I did think Modo and the guys got off way too lightly here.

Whilst I am using the original episodes to set the scene, I don't own any of the characters or anything to do with biker mice. Life is so unfair.

Alternative Endings: When things go horribly wrong.

1. A mouse and his motorcycle.

The toxic goo flowed unchecked, tarnishing the beauty and tranquillity of the verdant parkland, ruining everything in its destructive path. Still struggling to rise himself from the purple-blue gunk, the largest and most powerful of the biker mice was slowly fading. The poisons worked their way through his body quickly, absorbed through his skin as if it were a paper towel and then rampaging throughout his blood stream to every vital organ in his body. The damage it was doing was just as catastrophic inside him as it were all around.

He could hear their cries emanating from nearby. His two best friends in the whole universe were shouting out to their vocal limits, pleading with him to be ok, desperate for him to help them out of their own, no less sticky situation. Modo was also dimly aware that his bike, his Lil' Hoss was gone... taken by Limburger.

Karbunkle had already fled the scene, revelling in his personal glory. He had finally defeated the biker mice and for once his boss would be pleased with him. He might even escape the usual kick up the backside that normally greeted him after an encounter with that bothersome band of Martian meddlers. Yes... just for once, he prayed, the mice were surely doomed. And they had succeeded in securing one of the bikes. All in all, the operation had been a major success. Chuckling to himself, and finally out of reach of any danger from the toxic goo, the mad scientist pressed the button on a small remote control he was clutching and the transponder linking it to the on-board transporter of the waiting helicopter activated. There was a brief flash of light, then he was gone.

"Modo!" yelled the frantic tan-furred mouse as he continued to push back against the wall, which advanced relentlessly in the tiny space of the metal cube that imprisoned them. The opposite wall was being fought by his equally hysterical white-furred companion, who joined him in calling out to their stricken friend.

"Modo! We need you bro!"

From outside the box a feminine voice answered them. "Modo's hurt" yelled the woman, before racing to the control panel to save her friends. She was bewildered by what she saw when she reached it. The control panel for the shrinking box had already been sabotaged by the devious doctor, whom she realised was now nowhere to be seen.

Over by the riverbank the grey mouse lay groaning in the caustic slop, desperately trying again and again to lift himself to the aid of his bros. The minutes passed and he made no headway.

"Throttle... Vinnie?" he murmured weakly. Their urgent yells had slowly fallen silent, and even through the haze of pain and delirium that was consuming his body, Modo felt a crushing worry in the pit of his stomach. Why had they stopped shouting? From where the mouse lay, and with the chemicals burning his one remaining eye, he could not see what had befallen his companions.

But Charley could. The female mechanic was frantically pulling apart the wiring of the machine, searching for any way she could fix it and make the thing stop. The view screen on the panel was flashing red, and the small diagram of the metal box now more resembled a capital letter I than a square.

"Guys!" she screamed in alarm. Adrenalin was preventing her from getting anywhere with the repairs, and so she resorted to plan B. Her only other option.

It was a good job she came well prepared. You never knew when you were going to need plastic explosives with all the trouble these mice got themselves into. Running over to the side wall of the box, she pressed the C4 onto it and set the timer for five seconds, and then dived for cover behind the nearest large tree.

BOOM.

When the smoke had cleared and the debris settled, the anxious woman scrambled back to the metal box. The scene inside wasn't pretty.

Two unconscious forms were pinned between the walls. There was a trickle of crimson beneath them; with viscous droplets forming at the edge of the torn metal, then falling silently to the sodden grass below. There was no way for Charley to get them out, for although the machine was mercifully just as useless as most of Karbunkle's other contraptions, and was unable to actually flatten the two mice, it had them pinned and no doubt was well on its way to suffocating them as well.

Using her remaining stock of C4 on each of the pistons of the sliding walls (one block of C4 in her kit was never enough, she had learnt that early on) Charley was finally able to disable the machine. The mice were still stuck fast, but Charley had no option other than the grab hold of their furry arms and pull.

They'll probably not thank me later when I have to reset their dislocated shoulders... but needs must, she thought grimly and she pushed hard against the box with her feet.

It seemed to take hours, and Charley was seriously concerned not only for the fate of Throttle and Vinnie, but for poor Modo - who was still prone in all of that dreadful stuff of Limburger's demented henchman. Finally the white furred body gave way, and Vinnie was stretched out limply on the grass. Throttle's tan-coloured form soon followed. Neither of them were breathing.

Charley had aced her emergency first aid course, and after administering CPR (she would make sure Vinnie never got wind of her giving him the 'kiss of life' or she would never hear the end of it) and rearranging the two mice into the recovery position, she hurried over to help Modo.

"Modo... Modo? Can you hear me?" Her latex-gloved hands stroked his matted fur, but through the blur of tears streaming down her face Charley could see the grey mouse was in critical condition.

She couldn't lift him by herself, and with his friends still out cold there was only one thing for it. Girl Power.

Thankfully she had known the two Martian bikes for long enough now, and with a mere whistle from her the two 'girls' fired ropes around the helpless giant, and pulled him free of the grunge. She had to now make an awful decision. Modo needed help and she couldn't provide it here. She was going to have to take the two bikes back to her garage, and leave the defenceless Throttle and Vinnie behind.

They can take care of themselves, injured or not...

Decision made, the mechanic straddled Vinnie's red racing bike, whilst the black and chrome bike of Throttle's cradled Modo. Now it was a race against time.

The bikes must have sensed the urgency, because after a terrifying high-speed dash through the city, the mechanic and the ailing mouse were soon within the safety of the Last Chance Garage. Their loads dropped, the bikes turned and left the garage so fast the tire marks on the floor almost glowed with heat.

Meanwhile, back in the imperilled woodland park, Throttle and Vinnie were each beginning to stir.

"Charley?" groaned the tan mouse. His left arm felt strange. Kind of heavy, lifeless even. He tried to flex it but it steadfastly refused. All that happened was a violent stabbing pain almost paralysed his body; the muscles in his chest, shoulder and even his throat spasmed in response to the injury. "ARGH! What the h-?" Even cursing hurt, so he gritted his teeth and tried to roll onto his right side.

He could see Vinnie twitching on the ground beside him. His right arm was bent at a strange angle, and Throttle could see that every attempt to move it was having a similar effect to his own. Vinnie's tail thrashed the ground with every moan, as if the mouse were trying to redirect the pain elsewhere.

Jeez... Did Charley and Modo just leave us here? Have they been captured? And where are the bikes? The bikes would never just desert us. They must have been taken too.

The despairing thoughts kept going round and round in his mind. He could barely move himself, so there was no chance of him being able to carry Vinnie as well. It would be dark soon, and at this time of year it still got quite cold at night. There were plenty of times like now he was thankful of his fur... and of his gun. Night time wasn't the safest out here in the woods.

From somewhere nearby his sensitive ears picked up a welcome sound. The reverberation of the bike's engines filled the wounded mouse with relief. He recognised that purr anywhere.

"Hey little lady, aren't I so glad to see you here?" Throttle was using the bike to heave himself off the ground, trying valiantly to ignore the shooting pains down his left side. "Charley and Modo get to safety?"

The bike blinked its lights twice. The mechanical equivalent of a nod.

"Ungh... is that you, sweetheart?" Vinnie croaked weakly as his own bike sidled up next to him. As it had with Modo, it shot out a rope and hauled him upright, until he was at last able to sit astride the vehicle and balance precariously whilst holding on with his left hand.

Their riders now secured, the bikes revved their engines and powered out of the darkening woodland, going as fast as they dared with their delicate passengers.

"You in one piece bro?" Breathed Throttle into his helmet's intercom.

"I think so... apart from this bum arm... you?"

"Ditto... wonder if Modo's ok".

"Me too bro, me too". It had been a long while since Modo had been this badly injured. Not since they were back on Mars... Vinnie shuddered. It wasn't often that the bad guys got the better of them.

"Hold still will ya" yelled Charley for the seventh time.

"But Charley-girl, you're trying to rip my arm off and it really HURTS!" Vinnie's eyes were watering.

"Cry baby. Throttle didn't give me anywhere near as much trouble as you – AND I had to do it twice!"

Resetting Throttle's dislocated shoulder had certainly challenged the mechanic-come-doctor. Despite everything she had read in her textbooks, and the quick phone call to an old friend - a medic who gave her advice more often than he gave his own patients sometimes - that shoulder really hadn't wanted to go back in its socket. Throttle had screamed loud enough to shake the roof off her garage, but he hadn't once struggled to get away from her help. Not even when it popped out again and she had to go through the whole arduous process a second time. Vinnie on the other hand... well that was a different matter.

"Just hold still, I don't care how much you scream and shout and threaten to pulverise me into the dirt afterwards, but if you don't stop wriggling you're going to be stuck with a useless arm forever".

Vinnie winced. "Alright, alright... let's just get this over with, sweetheart."

Like I haven't been saying that for the past half an hour. "Honestly. Sometimes I wonder how you're still able to be so obnoxious" Charley growled, "Or how you're still able to flirt, sorry how you will be able to flirt at all IF YOU WON'T LET ME FIX THIS GODDAMN ARM!"

And just as the irritated woman bellowed at the shocked mouse, she pulled hard on the dislocated limb until she felt it click.

"Aha. That's better." It'd better not pop out again or I swear I'm calling 911. That would be an interesting one to explain to the EMTs.

With a look that dared him to say a word or move a muscle, Charley slid a large cloth triangle under the white mouse's arm and tied the sling into a knot at the back of his neck. Two down, one to go, she thought grimly.

Despite having washed off all the toxic goo, Modo was still in bad shape. She had no idea what the effects of the poison would be on the gentle giant, and the most she could do was try to use the remnants of the chemical compound to try and find an antidote. But she was no chemist, and the best solution would have been to send the other two mice to smash Karbunkle's face in until he relinquished a counter-agent. Unfortunately, they were in no shape to go and tackle the weedy (but nonetheless surprisingly strong) scientist, let alone the whole goon army that would be standing in the way. A dislocated shoulder was one thing, but the cracked ribs and possible, indeed highly likely, internal damage from being near crushed to death... well, that was quite another.

Looking down at the incapacitated hulk of fuzz and muscle, it was hard to believe that this was once the power house behind the trio. He looked so frail, so delicate... almost like a newborn. The chemicals had burned his single eye so badly that after flushing it she had had to bandage it over, afraid that otherwise it would never heal. The toxins that had got inside him had left their mark all over. His thick pelt was now patchy, tufts had begun to fall out and were exposing the angry red rash that was spreading unhindered across his skin. His tail and limbs were twitching - no doubt a result of damage to his central nervous system. A fever was building and sweat was pouring off him by the bucket load, adding to the tremors of his limbs with violent shivers as the sweat evaporated over his burning body. The hours passed and he started to vomit, and then worse, as his body tried desperately to rids itself of the poisons.

"I'm so sorry, Modo" Charley whispered in his ear. "Without an antidote... i'm afraid you're just going to have to wait this one out." Silently she was praying he would actually last long enough to get it out of his system. Throttle and Vinnie's glum faces told her they were thinking exactly the same thing.

"Can't we just go and at least try to get Karbunkle?" Vinnie couldn't stand seeing his friend looking as though he were hovering on death's door. "If they think we're all dead there might not be any goons to fight..."

"Even if that's the case, Vincent" Charley tended to only use his proper name when she was annoyed, "Karbunkle isn't exactly a weakling. You honestly think he hasn't got a backup plan, you know, just in case he failed yet again to get rid of you?"

"But Charley-girl, we can't just sit here and... and..." Throttle didn't want to say the next bit 'and watch their friend die.'

"I know guys, i'm sorry, but would you rather the alternative?"

The two mice looked at each other, gulping, and then back at their human friend. By the look on her face they didn't want to know what her idea of an 'alternative' was. Deep inside though they knew what she meant. That they should try, but fail, to obtain an antidote... and whilst they were distracted by their efforts to get Karbunkle, they would miss the chance to say good bye to their friend.

Swallowing hard, the two mice sat themselves by the bed, each taking a large grey hand into their own. They would sit there for the next few days, feeling helpless as they watched on the news Limburger claiming the destroyed parkland for his own. They would never know if Karbunkle really had an antidote, although they suspected there must be something – or else why would Limburger even bother taking the spoiled land? By the time their arms and other injuries had mended well enough to fight, Plutark had already attained the majority of the resources that Limburger had plundered for them.

Modo spent a further two months recovering from the poisonous goop. His fur grew back to cover the pock-marked scars left by the vicious rash, and his limbs and tail finally stopped spasming (his tail never was quite the same again, and whenever Modo felt even slightly off-colour it would start twitching, ever so slightly, until he recovered once more). Lil' Hoss returned of her own accord whilst Modo was still recuperating. The bros later learned that she had brought the Limburger Tower down single-handedly (after firing a well-aimed laser at Karbunkle's posterior for good measure). Neither Limburger or the mad doctor would try messing with her, nor any of the bikes again after that.

And never again did the citizens of Chicago have to hear the foulest swear words in the English language resonating uncensored throughout their streets. Next time Charley had to fix a dislocated limb, broken bone or any other serious injury, she made damn sure that she had a piece of cloth and a large roll of duct tape in her medi-kit.