Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sky over New Mouse City was painted with streaks of golden sun and patches of cloud, the perfect afternoon for a ride — if she still had a bike. Thea Stilton adjusted her sunglasses and sighed, hands on hips as she stared at the dry spot in her garage where her beloved motorcycle used to be.

Trap had borrowed it.

Trap had driven it off a pier and into the harbor during what he later insisted was a “heroic mousewheel stunt attempt.”

Naturally, Thea hadn’t spoken to him in three days.

⸻

Dressed in her casual attire, Thea stepped into Vinny’s Vintage Motors, a tucked-away showroom known for its eclectic collection of motorcycles. Rows of chrome and polished steel stretched before her like glimmering sentinels of speed, but she wanted something different. Something special.

And then she saw it.

Tucked in the back corner beneath an old hanging bulb was a blood-red beauty, its body sculpted like an aerodynamic predator ready to pounce. She walked closer, her heels echoing on the polished floor, and read the emblem painted boldly on the side.

DUCATI 916
Model year: 1994.
Color: Classic Italian red and white.

“Whoa…” Thea whispered, slowly circling the bike. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Good eye,” came a gravelly voice behind her. A wiry old mouse with oil stains on his jumpsuit leaned against the wall. “Only just got her in. Runs like a dream, too.”

“She looks like she belongs on a racetrack,” Thea muttered, running a paw along the gas tank. As her fingers passed the seat, she caught sight of something strange — a faintly etched face-shaped emblem, angular and mechanical in design, near the tail.

“What’s this?” she asked, pointing at it.

The seller squinted. “That? No idea. It was already there. Doesn’t match any brand I know. Thought about sanding it off, but figured it added some… character.”

Thea raised an eyebrow. “Character, huh?” She stared at it a moment longer, as though the logo were watching her back. It didn’t look like anything she’d seen on a Ducati before. It wasn’t a brand logo, and it certainly wasn’t for aesthetics. It looked like a face, and not just any face — it looked alive.

Still, she didn’t back away.

“Sold,” she said confidently. “I’ll take it.”

⸻

Within an hour, the sound of a roaring engine echoed down the streets of New Mouse City. Pedestrians stopped and turned, jaws dropping as Thea zipped past them on her new ride, wind catching the collar of her jacket and ruffling her fur.

She felt alive.

Pulling up in front of the Rodents’ Gazette, she parked with a flourish and hopped off, smoothing her ears back with a satisfied grin. She was just in time too — inside, she could already hear familiar voices arguing over whether coffee or cheddar-smoothie was the superior afternoon pick-me-up.

She wheeled the bike just outside the glass doors and called out, “Family meeting — outside. Now!”

⸻

Moments later, Geronimo, Trap, Benjamin, and Trappy all came spilling out, blinking against the sun.

“Oh cheese rinds…” Geronimo murmured, adjusting his glasses as he stared at the sleek red bike. “Is that a Ducati 916?”

“You recognize it?” Thea said, arms crossed and smug.

“I wrote a piece on it years ago,” he said, circling the vehicle reverently. “Legendary model. Lightweight trellis frame, liquid-cooled L-twin engine… This thing flies. You don’t just buy one of these. You commit to it.”

Trap whistled low. “You really upgraded after I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Thea snapped.

Benjamin had wandered around to the tail of the bike. He tilted his head. “Uh, Aunt Thea? What’s this?”

Everyone turned as he pointed to the angular face logo etched into the tail panel.

Geronimo leaned in, squinting. “Hmm… That’s not a Ducati badge. Or anything I recognize.”

Trappy piped up, “Looks like a robot face!”

Thea knelt beside Benjamin. “I noticed that at the shop. The seller didn’t know what it was either.”

Benjamin frowned. “It’s… weird. Not like any brand I’ve seen. It looks like it’s part of the bike, not painted on.”

A strange breeze rustled past them.

Trap leaned closer. “Maybe it’s cursed.”

Geronimo rolled his eyes. “Trap.”

“What? You buy an old, mysteriously cheap motorcycle with a secret logo and you don’t even consider the possibility of it being an ancient techno-spirit in disguise?”

Thea laughed. “If it’s cursed, then it’s the best curse I’ve ever ridden.”

Still, even as she chuckled, Thea cast one more glance at the logo. Something about it felt different. Not threatening, but… attentive. Like it was waiting.

And somewhere deep inside that Ducati, tucked beneath layers of metal and fuel lines, a faint mechanical flicker pulsed once — then faded.