Adventures in Rock and Roll #1:Rock The World!

*Emily Bronte my butt! Everyone knows it was Charlotte! WHAT THE!?* DaDamerican repeated his thought aloud. "WHAT THE!?" He was no longer in Grendel’s bar. He was somewhere else. Somewhere very strange. Everything was a gleaming white, perfectly arranged in straight lines and squares. People were all wearing the same thing, walking at the same pace. "This is . . .odd." Suddenly, everyone on the street looked at him.

Simultaneously (boy that’s creepy), they said, "He is not us. Become us."

"Uhhh . . .thanks, but no. Could you tell me where I am?"

"No." They all turned away and went on, at the same pace as before.

"I don’t think this is a good development in my life. I—" suddenly the DaDamerican was frozen in his tracks.

AGENTJOSEPHWALTERRICECALLEDDADAMERICAN!YOURBENEFACTORSAREWE/I/YOU.YOUAREINENEMYTERRITORY.CHEESEANDTOMATOESFISHTHROUGHUNDERPANTSHOBBYTOWN.THISPLACEISCONTROLLEDBYDEMONSANDORDERLORDS.POLYESTERRECROOMFULLOFTELLMETELLMEDOLLSMADEOFTHOUGHTNOTHOTFORM.CREATURESHERENOTTRULYALIVECHAOSFULLFORM.SIZESEXTRASMALLSMALLMEDIUMMINDREADINGINVISIBLE.DOYOURJOBCAUSECHAOS.[COPULATE][DEFECATION]UP.ROCKANDROLLINYOURSOULTHEYHAVENONEDESTROYALLYOUCA’WHILETRYINGTOESCAPEYOUMUSTGETOUTANDYOUMUSTDESTROYDON'TWORRYNOTREALLYALIVENOTREALLYKILLING.GOFORTHMYSONSUNSINTINTEN.TRANSMISSIONOVER.

DaDamerican shook his head. "Man, that’s never stops being weird. Like someone’s thinking inside my head. Different than other telepaths I’ve encountered. Well, like the big boys said, guess it’s time to ROCK AND ROLL, [one who copulates with his mother]!" He pulled out his guns and ran down the street, firing at all the non-persons on the street, whose companions just kept walking.

Then an alarm started ringing. The non-people stopped, then went in the nearest door. DaDamerican heard rumblings. Big rumblings. Then he saw the source. Several white tanks accompanied by white-clad identical soldiers were coming down the street.

"Uh-oh," he said. Then he smiled. "Oh well. They ain’t got the rock and roll, they ain’t got the soul, and they ain’t got a chance!"

He ran at the soldiers, shooting one in the mouth as he went. Leaping over gunfire, then ducking beneath, he picked up the soldier’s rifle and set it on auto. He shot down twelve or so to his right, then threw a grenade to his left. "Awwww, yeah, honey! Not often that I get to really go all-out! BRING IT ON!"

He dodged machine-gun fire from a tank that took out five more soldiers. With the rifle, he took out a couple more in front of him, then collapsed the trachea of one trying to sneak up behind him with the butt. DaDamerican was lucky he was a multi-dimensional amalgam of Joe Rices throughout the multi-verse. From the Marvel Joe Rice, he had the mutant ability of photographic reflexes, that is, the ability to repeat any action he sees. The Marvel Joe had studied tapes of Captain America, Daredevil, Longshot, Moon Knight, White Tiger, Iron Fist, Shang Chi, Wolverine, the Punisher, Spiderman, Hawkeye, Elektra, and more. This gave way to an amazing fighting ability, as fluid and beautiful as it was brutal and efficient. In times like this, Joe was very glad Marvel Joe was part of him. He quickly took down seven soldiers without firing a weapon.

Normally, he didn’t fight like this. Only when necessary, and never against truly human opponents. Despite his martial skill, killing was in direct opposition to everything he believed, and everything his Chaotic benefactors wanted him to do. As DaDamerican reflected on this, he realized only the tanks were left. With a slight sigh of disappointment, he flipped onto one and dropped a couple of grenades down the hatch. His chaotic powers and contacts let him know that these non-persons and soldiers were no more human than a gang of demons or flesh-eating zombies. Mindless, soulless, rock and roll-less. He was doing them a favor.

And he was enjoying it.

Part Two: Familiar Faces

DaDamerican smiled. He took a deep breath. Then he coughed. He had forgotten that it’s unwise to take deep breaths after a battle involving exploding tanks and heavy artillery. But he smiled again. After all, it was he that had dispatched the platoon.

"Man, I wish I had a camera or something. The others are never going to believe this! If only the Pantheon were here . . ."

"Attention, offender! We are Us, subdivision code-named Pantheon."

The DaDamerican turned around. The faces he saw before him were familiar, yet completely foreign. These were his friends, twisted into horrific creatures, like the other inhabitants of this damn dimension.

"Surrender to the power of the Internet Incarnate!" screamed one. He gestured and a portal appeared behind DaDamerican. A small, impulsive young man ran towards DaDamerican, who, luckily, had just jumped behind the portal. The young one disappeared into the dimensional whole. The portal’s creator was shocked. "Wha—?!" He felt a tap on the shoulder.

"This system has attempted an illegal procedure. If the problem persists, contact your server." With that, DaDamerican punched him, breaking his nose and knocking him out. "Never did care much for computers." One bullet to the brain later, DaDamerican had dispatched him permanently.

Another teenager approached. "Now shall your mind be mine!"

"Come and get it, greenie." Green strands appeared from the teenager’s eyes and went into DaDamerican’s. Seconds later, the teenager collapsed, convulsing, choking on his own tongue. "Guess I should’ve warned you. A chaotic mind is a little hard to take."

DaDamerican noticed that not all of the Pantheon had a counterpart here. Some were far too chaotic in nature to exist in this strict, confining world.

"Beware my White Lantern’s power! You shall—where did he go?"

A man in a white hat answered, "You don’t see him? He’s right in front of you! He’s got your ring! Only one thing can stop him now: My Anti-Lantern Emergency Hat!" He threw a BLACK fedora at the newly-ringed DaDamerican. The only problem was, DaDamerican had been hiding behind a rock the entire time. Funny how chaos can screw with your head. A moment later, there was one dead White Lantern. A moment later, DaDamerican had snapped the neck of one shocked hat-thrower. A tiny man at his feet pulled out a tiny gun. DaDamerican stomped, and blood flowed from under his boot.

"I know what you are. You’re of another dimension," said a familiar blonde man, holding a gun and a sword. DaDamerican, listening, bulls-eyed a cyborg who was pulling out a huge cannon and threw in a grenade for good measure. A man in a white wetsuit charged him. DaDamerican’s pistol was quickly inserted into the wet warrior’s mouth, who was then wet with water AND blood.

His earring glistened. "These other idiots can’t understand, but I’ve acquired a . . .special deal with the big Order Demons. You’re more of a chaotic, angelic figure, eh, sparky?" The blonde man continued. "Yeah, these twits don’t really stand a chance. You got that spark that they don’t. They’re being controlled, and you’re just totally letting loose. Hmmmm. Nasty bit with a flamethrower and our alien. You know their weaknesses. You probably know us from other dimensions. I’ve done a bit of traveling myself. As much as THEY would let me. I—settle down, sparky."

DaDamerican had approached the blonde commentator. The blonde man looked around. "So, killed ‘em all, eh? Well wait before you try to kill me. I don’t take well to the control here. We might be each other’s ticket out of here. You—YOUR FACE! You look like . . .HIM!" The blonde man and his head fell. At different times. DaDamerican turned around.

Across from him was the scariest thing he’d ever seen. He looked into the eyes. The eyes he saw every day in the mirror.

Part Three: Face to Face

Ali versus Forman. Superman versus Doomsday. Sam versus Diane. Some fights are so epic, so monumental that every witness becomes immediately and completely transfixed.

Such was the case when Joe Rice, the DaDamerican met Joe Rice, servant of Demonic Order. Their eyes met. The stare was held for what seemed like eons. No words needed to be exchanged. They each knew who the other was. They each knew what had to happen. They would fight, and only one would survive.

They walked to each other. They stood, calculating possible moves. Muscles tensed. Were it a Sergio Leone movie, extreme close-ups of squinted eyes, clenched fists, and the like would have been exchanged.

"Physically, we are—"

"—Complete equals. Same for—"

"—Mental abilities, too."

They spoke with the same voice, with the same sentences.

"Fighting would be—"

"—Completely pointless."

"Indeed. Tests of knowledge—"

"—Likewise ineffectual. How do—"

"—You propose we settle this?"

They stood. And stood. And stood longer.

******Much, much later******

"Shall we flip—"

"—A coin? Good idea, DaDamerican. Do you—"

"Have one? Yes." DaDamerican pulled out a quarter. "Heads," he said, and flipped it. The other Joe watched the quarter fly in the air. He didn’t see DaDamerican pull a pistol. He didn’t see the bullet fly into his head. Then he didn’t see anything, least of all the quarter land on "heads."

DaDamerican looked down at it. He chuckled.

Then he saw something even worse. A demonic entity with multiple heads and tails and a being of pure white light stood side by side.

"You don’t belong here," they said.

Part Four: Facedown

"DaDamerican, why have you come here? You are unwelcome. You serve our enemies." This statement seemed to come from the glowing white light.

"Are you wishing your entrails to be feasted upon?" it’s demonic companion asked.

DaDamerican blinked. "It wasn’t exactly my choice. I somehow got flung here."

"Flung?" The light pulsated. "I don’t believe that’s a real word."

"Why must you be so anal?"

"Well, I *am* a Lord of Order. I believe you, DaDamerican. You may serve Chaos, but you also serve higher powers." The demon snarled. "You should have not interrupted our experiment. Things will take a long time to fix. Things must be put back in Order."

"Our servants must exist once more!"

"If we kill you, the balance will be upset. Order must be maintained."

"WHAT? WE MUST FEAST UPON HIS LYMPH!"

"No. DaDamerican, you will not remember this unfortunate incident, and you will be sent back to the dimensional nexus from which you came. The balance will remain."

"WHAT? BUT—"

"Argue not, my partner. All will be well."

DaDamerican didn’t speak. In his dealings with beings this powerful, he had quickly learned to know when to shut up. This was one of those times. There was a flash of light.

******The Pond******

DaDamerican walked out of the bathroom. The rest of the Pantheon were gathered about the bar, talking excitedly. AoAMimic called to him. "Where’d you end up going, Jesse?"

"Uh, the bathroom. Don’t you remember?"

"No, what dimension?"

"What are you talking about?"

"WHAT DIMENSION—oh, for Pete’s sake, never mind!"

"Geez, you folks are weird . . ." DaDamerican said. "Oh, Joe, I made you that rock and roll compilation you asked for. It’s right—what the? I had it in my pocket!"

******The Strange Dimension of Demonic Order******

A young girl, much like the others, surveyed the carnage. The strange black-clad one had caused much Chaos. Something about it excited her. Something caught her eye. It was a cassette tape. Quickly, she snatched it up.