SPACEDOOM: A Johnny Explosion Adventure
By jsb

Chapter 1: A Prelude...TO DOOM!

It's hard living on the mean streets of Neo-Chicago sometime in the near future. Especially for me. The name's Johnny Explosion. I'm a barbarian and I'm a hard-boiled private investigator.

You might think that the life of a barbarian PI would be full of adventure and wealth, and you'd be wrong friend. I'm flat broke. If it wasn't for the little bit of money I manage to scrape up by singing for the rock 'n roll band Johnny and the Facekickers, I wouldn't even be able to pay the rent on this dingy little office. The only thing keeping me from dying of boredom is my robot assistant, Bitzbub 2000. Unfortunately he got infected with spyware a few days back so now all the bastard wants to talk to me about is enlarging my penis.

I wish I could tell you about the glamourous life of a barbarian detective, but that's just not how it is...until the day he showed up at my door.

It was just another lousy day. I was sitting at my desk, staring out my window. Outside on the rainy streets, the peddlers and pushers skittered to and fro, going about their business like rats in an abandoned cheese factory. In the distance I could hear a car alarm, wailing like a neglected baby. Right in front of my building, a crackhead had been running in a circle for almost an hour. As I watched, he suddenly burst into flames, burned for a few seconds, then exploded, splattering my window with toasted crackbits and sizzling crackgoo.

"Damn crackheads," I muttered to myself, "always exploding."

I was just about to get a squeegee when Bitzbub 2000 buzzed in over my intercom. "Johnny, it looks like you have a potential client here to see you. He looks important. He has bodyguards and everything."

Bodyguards? I immediately though it was the neo-mafia come to settle an old score. Oh well, a good fight would liven up my day. "Send them in." I buzzed back, drawing my broadsword.

"Sure thing boss. Say, have I told you about the latest male enhancement pill? It's all natural and can boost both your width and your girth by thirty-five percent!"

"Damn you Bitzbub! My mighty barbarian penis has no need for herbal supplements! SEND THEM IN!"

"Yes sir."

I heard a bit of formal robotic chatter as Bitzbub led the client and his bodyguards to my door. Pausing every few sentences to offer them free exotic wives or whatever his malfunctioning system was trying to hawk off at the moment.

I was expecting a mobster seeking vengence. Maybe Louie The Stapler or Georgie the Corpseraper, but instead of a scarfaced goon, the man that entered my office flanked by four very official-looking bodyguards was...

"Ronald MacGuyver." I said.

"I see you reconize me." He smiled. He was a frail old man; spotted, wrinkly face, your typical patch of short grey hair, but very professional looking. He wore the average buisiness suit-and-tie getup but he carried himself with a certain poise beyond that of a lawyer or banker. The reason why was obvious.

"Of course I recognize you. You're the president of The United States of Neo-America.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to drop your weapon." One of the secret service grunts said, nodding towards my broadsword. He already had one hand reaching into his jacket, no doubt going for the gun in his shoulder holster.

I hate being disarmed. My broadsword, Excelsior was handed down to me by my father Grundig Explosion, who recieved it from his father/my grandfather Nigel Explosion. Excelsior has served me and my family well, and I'm loathe to be away from it. Regardless I placed it on my desk.

President MacGuyver smiled politely. "Sorry son. Regulations and all that. Can't be too safe when you're in my shoes."

"What do you want?" I was growing annoyed. Johnny Explosion doesn't do political formalities. I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves.

"Straight to business then? Very well detective. I am here on behalf of the Neo-American government to ask a favor of you."

"I don't do favors. Especially for corrupt political beaurocrats. I'm not some puppet for The Man."

"Aww yes," he chuckled to himself, "there's the Detective Explosion I was looking for." I was shocked; he saw it. "The rebellious, shoot-first-ask-questions-later private dick that I heard so much about. What is that you sing in that rock band of yours? 'Burn down fascist neo-congress; We're the Facekickers, time to bomb this'."

I have to admit, I was shocked. "You're a Facekickers fan?"

"Heaven's no. Too much screaming and banging. I'm a Huey Lewis fan myself." He dropped the fake smile, his face retracting into a wrinkled, grim frown. "But I'm getting away from the point. This isn't some political favor, Mr. Explosion. We've got a problem on our hands. A problem that can only be solved by a hard-as-nails, rock 'n roll barbarian detective. The entire world's in jeopardy son, and it's up to you to save it."

Well, that got my attention. "What's the situation?"

"My daughter's been Professor Apocalypse." 

My barbarian heart almost stopped. "That's impossible! Professor Apocalypse is dead! I killed him myself!"

I remember it all too well. Professor Apocalypse had enslaved the voluptuous but deadly women of the Avocado jungle in an attempt to steal their secret voodoo zombification spell. I managed to free the jungle beauties, and together we threw the vile professor into the sacrificial Pit of Certain Spikey Death. There is no way he could be alive.

"I'm afraid the Professor is very much still amongst the living. And now that he has my daughter, the world is in danger."

"How does kidnapping your daughter endanger the world?"

"Because, aside from being the world's sexiest bikini and lingere model, my daughter Sophia MacGuyver is also the foremost expert on doomsday devices. We believe that Prof. Apocalypse plans to force her to invent some unfathomable gadget which he would use to take over the world."

I punched a wall for dramatic effect. "That bastard!"

"My sentiments exactly. We've sent our best agents to every corner of the Earth looking for him, and so far we've turned up zilch. Which is why we need you. You've dealt with this guy before, we're hoping you can find him."

Suddenly, he didn't look so stoic. There was a desperation in his eyes. He almost looked human. "We need you, Johnny. We're going to pay you 3.7 million for the job - half now and half after it's done - and we will provide you with all the equiptment, transportation, and secret high-tech gadgets you need. We'll even..."

I grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him close enough to see the twitching in his now-panicked eyes. The secret service grunts shuffled about, unsure of what to do. I ignored them, focusing all my anger at the president. "Listen here, you corrupt beaurocratic pig! I'll take you're rediculously oversized paycheck, but if you think for one second I'm gonna use your filthy government gadgets, you've got alot to learn!" I lowered my voice to a this-is-serious-buisiness growl. "If I'm gonna do this job, I'm gonna do it my way. And my way is the old school way. All I need is my badge, my broadsword, and my rocked-powered surfboard..."

(I have a rocket-powered surfboard, by the way. It's awesome.)

"...and if you or your secret service goons get in my way while I'm on this case, Professor Apocalypse will be the last of your problems. GET IT?!"

I let him go. He quickly shrank behind his bodyguards. "Y-yeah."

I pointed to the door. "Now get out. I have a job to do."

The president made a frantic bolt for the door, the goons right behind him.

"Leave your number with the robot. I'll call you when it's done."

"Yes sir!" he replied, not looking back.

"And have the money wired! I don't have time to wait for a check!"

"Of course!"

I sat down at my desk, lit another cigarette, and looked out the window. The rain had washed away most of the crackgoo. I could hear the president and his goons as they made their way downstairs and out to the street below.

As I watched them drive off, the big question hit me: Professor Apocalypse is alive. How?  For now that would have to wait. After all, I had to find him first. And if the government's agents couldn't find him, then it looks like I've got my work cut out for me.

I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out that dirty glass and that bottle of scotch that every private eye seems to have. As I poured a glass, Bitzbub came in. "What was that all about?"

"That, Bitzbub..." I raised my glass, "...was a new case."


Will barbarian detective Johnny Explosion rescue Sophia MacGuyver, the presidents daughter, from Professor Apocalypse and stop his evil plans to take over the world? Find out in the next awesome chapter of SPACEDOOM: A Johnny Explosion Adventure!