200 Proof

[THE Hal E. Burton 9000]

HOLYSHITWHATTHEFUCKIT'SFINALLYBACKOHMYGODTHISISAWESOMEWSIFGSIEYFUCKYEAHGOORNETTEFGIAEUFG
IAJBEFLKJAEBLKEPICJFBICAGEFBUEBALLSGf&AISGEFpI&BALLSEFGp9&GFAEGFBALLSyFAEIy.

[Sailor Star Dust]

Freakin epic! I loved this update!

[BrikHaus]

My main concern here (which seems to be coming true), is that I waited too long between chapter updates, and none of the newfags are going to read 200 Proof.

[Sachi]

My main concern here (which seems to be coming true), is that I waited too long between chapter updates, and none of the newfags are going to read 200 Proof.

They're fags, who cares?

[Themaninblack]

agreed. Now that the tell a story fad is over, its cooler than over.

[Shiro]

I finally come back to this forum on a whim, and I see something beyond epic.

BrikHaus, my dear gentleman, you have not lost your touch.

[UrsusArctos]

BrikHaus, my dear gentleman, you have not lost your touch.

QFT.

[fadingreminder]

Don't let that be a concern to you, newfags are of no concern to 200 Proof. Besides the wait is justified. This is the Second Coming we've all been looking forward to and hopefully the first of many updates from you.

[BrikHaus]

Thanks everyone! :)

I am hard at work on the next chapter. It should drop in the next day or two.

[BrikHaus]

200 Proof

Chapter 6: Every Rose Has It's Thorn

Place: Earth
Time: 2008

The fiery orange sun burned brightly in the sky. Waves of heat shimmered in the distance. The grass of the fairgrounds was mostly green, but outlined with flecks of brown, hinting at signs of drought. Ornette walked toward the entrance to the fairgrounds and read the sign painted in large block letters, "Korean Chili Cookoff." Given Tokpile's unbridled passion for hot and spicy foods, Ornette deduced his former bandmate would be here.

He entered the fairgrounds, and strolled down the wide, grassy hill. He was inundated with the aroma of beans, veggies, and cat meat as it simmered in large greasy pots. He walked slowly and closely examined every stall to look for Tokpile. It would be difficult to find him. His friend would be 20 years older now. He could look completely different. In fact, he might not even be able to play the tambourine any more. Ornette shuddered at the thought. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and continued the search.

Ornette had only needed to perform one time in the city's subway station to raise enough money to purchase some proper clothes. He wore a pair of black shoes, black slacks, a black shirt, and a long black leather jacket. His gleaming red guitar was strapped to his back, and marked a striking contrast that would telegraph to any passerby: this man knows how to rock. Awaking from a 20 year coma and reorienting himself had been difficult, but he had the power of rock to guide him. He pushed his glasses up his nose, and checked the face of every person he encountered.

Koreans swarmed around him. Although Ornette towered over them, it was still difficult to pick out Tokpile. He could only catch glimpses of some people. At times he thought he saw Tokpile, but he simply was not sure. Nevertheless, Ornette knew he would be here. He could sense it. And then, he noticed something. At the far back corner of the fairgrounds, a multitude of people had gathered around a single chili stand. The sound of onlookers increased rapidly from a murmur to a roar. Faster and faster, people flocked to that location. The crowd was growing exponentially larger. Ornette focused his gaze in that direction. Amidst the sea of Korean chili fans, he could barely make out the red and white lettered sign above the stand, which read, "Hottest Chili in the World: Duel to the Death." Immediately, Ornette knew that was it. Tokpile had to be over there. He nodded his head confidently, and strode toward the mob.

As Ornette hit the torrent of people, he found that it was like moving through deep water. It was possible to move, but was also very sluggish. He shoved people aside, left and right. All around him the noise of the crowd grew louder. The cheers, taunts, word of encouragement, and obscenities the crowd emulated turned to white noise. The overlapping sounds became nothing more than static to Ornette, who did his best to ignore them. He continued to push forward, but as the crowd grew larger, he felt them closing in on him even more. If he didn't keep moving, they would certainly crush him. He had never experienced something like this. What was it about Koreans and their love of chili?

Soon, he saw a light. Daylight. He saw a break that signaled the end of the mob. Feeling his dismayed heart lift in his chest, Ornette gave one final, hardy push. He was thurst foward, his body jettisoned from the throng of people. Suddenly, the cacophony of the crowd was even louder. All around him, onlookers shook their fists in excitement toward the chili stand's stage.

Atop a wooden riser sat two men. One was thin, wiry Korean with jet black hair. With a new, shining metal spoon in each hand, he alternated scooping up huge mouthfuls of chili, and shoving them down his gullet. He did not divert his gaze toward his food, but rather kept his eyes locked firmly on his opponent. Sitting opposite him was a plump, balding Korean, years past his prime. Slowly, docilely, he consumed bite after bite with a cracked and splintered wooden spoon. This man did not bother to look at his competitior. Instead, he looked mournfully at the chili before him. It was almost as if this man had lost all hope and was now dead inside. Why would such a person bother to take part in a competition? It was then, that Ornette realized what was occurring.

He was bearing witness to something seen only once a generation. It was the ancient Korean spiritual practice of the Special Chili Rite. In this, the spiciest chili imaginable is served to 100 men and women. The chili is only deemed worthy if it is potent enough to kill a dog, which is later consumed as an appetizer. The 100 people eat the chili day and night, without rest, until only one remains. Typically, most drop out from an upset stomach. However, the true competitors, nay, the true warriors eat until they are either triumphant or dead from an ulcer. The victor is crowned King of Chili, and is prophesied to lead to Korean people to a glorious future of prosperity.

Ornette looked the two men over. At first glance, the younger one appeared to be winning, but upon closer inspection it seemed that he was acting rashly and was making too many mistakes. The older, while moving more slowly, seemed to be well in control. Ornette's eyes fixated on a strange object which sat on the table. The bowl from which the older man ate was an odd shape. It was indeed a circle, but had a completely flat bottom. There were rings of rusted metal placed at even intervals around the sides. It was made of an ancient, rotting wood. It appeared to be an inverted tambourine. Ornette looked at the fat old man again. Could that really be Tokpile? Ornette tried to imagine his friend, 20 years older, bald, and 200 pounds heavier. It was a possibility, but there was only one way to know for sure.

With a swivel of his hips, Ornette swung his sparkling red guitar around his body and into his hands. He gripped the neck of the guitar, and touched the pick lightly to the guitar strings. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. The din of the crowd dissipated as his mind prepared to rock. And then, he pressed down with all his might. He jammed out the opening lines to "Now I'm Here" by Queen. And then, as quickly as he had started, he ceased.

And waited.

He saw the ears of the obese Korean perk up a bit. Ornette played the opening lines again and stopped, slapping his hand against the vibrating strings to silence them. The Korean tapped his foot back in time with the beat of the song. Ornette grinned and knew that he had been right all along. He played the guitar again, faster this time, as he launched into the next part of the song. He played it for exactly 30 seconds and then stopped. The Korean began to shake. As he brought a spoonful of chili to his mouth, bits of meat and beans started to fall out, as he could barely control his convulsions. Below the table, his feet furiously tapped to the beat of the song. Ornette played again. As he did so, the Korean's free hand began to inch closer toward his bowl. When Ornette stopped this time, the Korean tapped with his feet and slapped his hand against the table. Across from him, his opponent was uncertain what was transpiring. A scowl materialized upon his face. He began to eat more rapidly, shoving in spoonful after spoonful of chili.

Ornette knew that he was almost there, he just needed to play once more. He rocked out harder than ever before. As he did, the Korean began to shake uncontrollably. A low hum emitted from his mouth, and he flung the spoon from his hand. Suddenly, he snatch up his bowl, and dumped out the chili. This sacrilegious act was met with gasps from the crowd. The Korean, not noticing them, shot out of his chair, and leapt onto the table. He began to stomp hard, and shook his wooden bowl in time with Ornette's guitar. As he played, the Korean began to transform. His weight diminished, his hair grew back, and his once youthful features were returned. His bowl was engulfed a brilliant blue light, and when it was gone, his tambourine was restored! It was Tokpile! The power of Ornette's rock had returned him from a life on the brink of mediocrity! Ornette leapt onto the riser, Tokpile leapt down from the table, and the two of them rock hard, back to back.

As they reached the end of the song, Tokpile found himself imbued with newfound confidence. He raced over to a metal vat which contained 12 gallons of steaming hot chili. Another, identical vat stood beside it. Tokpile grabbed the vat, ignoring the searing heat that penetrated his hands. He flipped it upright, and opened his jaw wide. Steaming hot chili poured down his throat, faster and faster, hotter and hotter. He downed the entire 12 gallons of chili, and released a mighty belch.

Not to be outdone, the opponent raced toward the other vat of chili. He grabbed it, and screamed out in pain from the intense heat. Nevertheless, he inverted the vat, and let the chili roll into his mouth. He screamed out in pain. There was a horrible metal clang as the vat fell to the ground and rolled away. Chili flew everywhere, killing grass and small rodents instantly. The man dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat. His face grew redder and redder as he gasped for air. His eyes darted back and forth looking desperately for water. And then, with a powerful BOOM, his head exploded. Blood and brains and unchewed chili rained across the fairgrounds.

Silence hung over the crowd. Tokpile and Ornette surveyed the thousands of onlookers. Tokpile smiled in delight. He had won! He would be crowned King of Chili, and he would lead the Korean people to prosperity! He turned to Ornette, unable to believe his eyes. With a wide grin on his face he said, "I can't believe it's you! How long have you been out of the coma?"

"Not long."

"Well, thanks for saving me. Can you believe how much I--"

"Hey! That's cheating!" a man in the crowd cried out.

Ornette and Tokpile exchanged a nervous glance. The crowd was swirling around them. They had launched themselves onto the stage riser and were thirsting for blood. And chili. Despite the astounding performance they had just seen, they felt cheated out of the competition. And they wanted revenge. And chili. As the angry mob closed in around Ornette and Tokpile, they knew they had to do something quickly.

"Ornette, what should we do?"

"We need a song."

"Something psychedelic?"

"No."

"Something that rocks so hard it's gut busting?"

"No."

"Then what?!"

"Something to pacify them. And I think I know the perfect song."

Just as hands reached out from the mob, Ornette strummed a chord on his guitar. The sound made the crowd freeze momentarily. They drew back and fell silent. They looked at the two musicians with distrust. They weren't sure what to make of this turn of events. The faces of thousands of angry Koreans turned toward one another. As a chili-loving hive mind, they could think as one. And they had decided to advance again. They stepped forward, reached out, and then...

...the jingle of Tokpile's tambourine filled the air. Ornette and Tokpile, two disparate musicians, played as one. They performed a magnificently haunting rendition of "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" by Poison. It was so melancholic, yet so sweet, the crowd was drained of its murderous rage. One by one they sat down on the riser, and all around the fairgrounds. Tiny flames from lighters popped up everywhere, and swayed back and forth in time with the music. As Ornette strummed his guitar through the powerful chorus, the blazing heat of the day ceased, and a cool breeze floated through the fairgrounds. While Tokpile shook his tambourine through the final verse, woodland animals gathered around and hummed along. It was perhaps the most beautiful version of that song ever played. It was so beautiful, in fact, somewhere in the world, while filming the latest season of Rock of Love, Bret Michaels wept. Even rockers can have a sensitive side.

With the song over, and the threat averted, the two men put their instruments away and shook hands.

"It's good to have you back," Tokpile said.

"Thank you," Ornette said with a forlorn smile.

"So does this mean 200 Proof is getting back together?" Tokpile asked with optimism gleaming from his eyes.

"That's right. All we need now, is BrikHaus. Any idea where we can find him?"

"I haven't seen in him 10 years. I heard that he went crazy, and was living on an island somewhere in the South Pacific."

"Just as long as he hasn't lost his drumming skills. What do you say we go find him?"

Tokpile smiled and nodded, with tears of joy running down his cheeks.

No longer concerned with the chili cookoff, the two members of 200 Proof strode triumphantly out of the fairgrounds. They had a mission. They would find their missing member, and set off to create a new golden age of rock. One free from over-produced rap songs, dime-a-dozen pop songs, and boring Top 40 music. The world would be a better place.

As they exited, a group of asian men in black suits and sunglasses appeared suddenly and surrounded them. Tokpile and Ornette reached for their instruments, but they were snatched away too quickly.

"What's the meaning of this?" Ornette asked with a current of anger.

One of the men responded in a heavily accented voice, "You just killed the man who was supposed to be the new King of Chili. He was the son of North Korea's glorious leader. You're coming with us."

To be continued.

[UrsusArctos]

One of the men responded in a heavily accented voice, "You just killed the man who was supposed to be the new King of Chili. He was the son of North Korea's glorious leader. You're coming with us."

Classic stuff, man! Do get to complete your Christmas Special this year as well, ja?

[TheAyanamiOtaku]

Now, I normally don't do this, but...

[Tokpile Quohog]

Brik. you are the coolest doctor/drummer of all time.

[BrikHaus]

200 Proof

Chapter 7: Won't Get Fooled Again

Place: Earth
Time: 2008

The silence of the night was broken by a deafening roar. The black sky was illuminated by a yellow and orange explosion of energy. Flames, from a pair of rocket engines, propelled the weapons upward. The members of 200 Proof watched, horrified. They each looked toward the sky, with dread upon their faces. If they didn't act quickly, then those atomic weapon would strike, and plunge the world into a new age of death and destruction. A nuclear war would ensue, and it could mean the end of all life on this planet.

Earlier that day...

Tokpile and Ornette, handcuffed and at gunpoint, were loaded onto a private plane and flown to an unknown location. Tokpile looked out through one of the plane's oval windows and marveled at the sparkling blue waters that surrounded a tiny island with white sand beaches and lush green forests. The plane touched down on a landing strip that hugged the coastline. Ornette and Tokpile jostled in their seats. It was a bit of a rough landing, and Tokpile wondered if the pilot had a few too many of those miniature airplane bottles of liquor. He looked at Ornette, who stared blankly at the seat in front of him. "What's he doing? Planning a way to escape?" Tokpile hoped.

The engines sighed as they cooled down. A moment later, the men that had apprehended 200 Proof reappeared. Still wearing their black suits and sunglasses, they approached their captives, with guns drawn. One of the men shoved a gun into Ornette's face and shouted, "Come on! Move!" Hands shot forward and grabbed Ornette and Tokpile by their shirt collars. The men hauled them out of their seats, and shoved them forward. As they passed through the open airplane hatch, they were engulfed in blinding sunlight.

They descended a short metal staircase and stepped onto the runway. Waiting for them was a bulky gray cargo truck with a single red star stamped on the side. Ornette stopped and surveyed the area. The island seemed practically deserted. As far as he could see was pristine forest and untouched beaches. It was incredibly humid, and he immediately felt beads of sweat form on his forehead and underarms. The songs of tropical birds and the hum of buzzing insects filled the air. Wherever they were, it certainly wasn't North Korea. Ornette felt the hard nose of a gun press against his back. "Keep moving, scumbag!"

Ornette and Tokpile resumed their sullen march toward the cargo truck. They were shoved into the back. All of the men in black suits and sunglasses climbed in afterwards, with their weapons still aimed at 200 Proof. They had no intention of letting them escape. Tokpile sat upright, with pain exploding throughout his body. As the engine of the truck rumbled to life, he wished he had never entered that damn chili contest. The truck pulled away from the landing strip, and proceeded down a dirt road through the jungle.

Ornette looked out through the open back of the truck. He watched as the jungle rolled by in reverse. He shifted his attention back to his captors. They unflichingly kept their guns trained on him and Tokpile. Without an instrument, there would be no way to escape them. Although he knew the secret technique of “Pulling a Guitar from Thin Air,” he wouldn't be able to perform it with his hands cuffed behind his back. He looked at Tokpile, whose eyes pleaded for a sign of hope. Ornette solemnly shook his head left and right. For now they would have to wait. However, fate had not yet ordained the end of 200 Proof.

After an approximately 15 minute drive through the jungle, the truck began to slow. The underserviced brakes squeaked loudly as they came to a halt. One of the captors peaked out the back of the vehicle and said, “We're here.” Then, just as violently as they had been hauled into the truck, Ornette and Tokpile, were thrown out. Before the two musicians could pick themselves up, they were kicked from behind. Tokpile sprawled out on the unforgiving dirt road, his body wracked with pain. Ornette dove into the ground even harder, face first. He didn't mind the pain, though. In fact, he welcomed it. After almost 20 years in a coma, any physical stimulus was an improvement upon his previous situation.

The men in black suits and sunglasses laughed heartily as Ornette slowly rose from the ground. His all black clothes were smeared with brown dirt. He tried to shake it off, but found he could do very little without the use of his hands. The captors laughed even harder at the ridiculous sight. Ornette, with his glasses barely hanging on to the edge of nose, stared directly at the men. His face displayed no emotion. It was haunting look, so intense and yet so cold, that it would strike fear into the hearts of anyone who bore witness to it. As the captors became aware of it, they found themselves shaken to the core. Their laughs stopped almost immediately, and they fearfully looked around at one another.

“You'll regret that,” Ornette said, evenly.

With a quiver in his voice, one of the captors spoke up. He attempted to sound authoritative, but the tremulousness of his words revealed his trepidation, “All right, men. Let's get them inside.” The others nodded solemnly. They picked up Tokpile, who had still been flailing on the ground, unable to get up. All business now, the captors rushed the members of 200 Proof into a squat concrete bunker.

It was dark inside, and it took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the light. As everything came into focus, it looked almost as if they were transported back to another era. The walls were bare concrete, decorated only by the occasional photograph of North Korea's Supreme Leader. Two naked light bulbs hung from exposed wires in the ceiling. An antiquated radio sat atop a dust covered desk, and an ancient fan oscillated left and right, doing nothing to cool down the room, it only blew hot air back and forth. At the end of the room was a stairwell that led to what appeared to be an endless black abyss. One of the captors gestured toward it with his gun. Reluctantly, Tokpile and Ornette obeyed.

As they descended, the air grew cooler, and the noise of the surrounding jungle faded into the distance. With each step down, Tokpile felt his anxiety double. He looked at Ornette and thought, “He has to have come up with something by now!” After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the bottom of the stairwell. What lay before them was an octagonal room surrounded by men in green fatigues, each wielding an AK-47. At the far end of the room was a red and gold throne, upon which sat a diminutive man in plain brown clothes and a pair of thick glasses.

“Keep going,” one of the captors said.

He pushed Ornette and Tokpile into the center of the room, and kicked both of them in the back of the knees, forcing them to the ground. Quickly, he backed away.

“How good of you to kneel before the Supreme Leader,” the man on the throne said in a heavily accented voice.

“You...bastard,” Ornette choked.

The Supreme Leader rose from his throne, and made wild gestures with his hands as he spoke, “The two of you are in serious trouble. My son was supposed to win the Special Chili Rite. As the King of Chili he was going to lead the Korean people to prosperity. He was going to crush the annoying insect that is The South. But you had to ruin that, didn't you?”

“He brought it upon himself,” Ornette argued.

“Wrong! If it hadn't been for your outlandish guitar playing, then he wouldn't have beaten that old fat man,” the Supreme Leader countered.

“No. We didn't force him to chug the vat of chili. He did it of his own free will,” Tokpile chimed in, trying to better make their case.

“Silence! I will not have a dog from The South speak to me!” The Supreme Leader spat with vitriol. He turned his attention back to Ornette, “And now my plans are ruined. It was a perfect plan, really. First, we would crush South Korea. Then, Japan. Next, we would conquer China. After we had secured the rest of Asia, we would set our sights on the United States. And once it was under my control, I would also have control of Hollywood. I would become the greatest writer, actor, and director of all time!”

The Supreme Leader began to laugh maniacally. Was this really his plan? To conquer the world, so he would have creative control over Hollywood? This man was beyond ludicrous, he was certifiably crazy. He didn't even seem to care that his own son was dead, but was more upset that his plan had been thwarted. But he wasn't done. What came next was even more horrifying.

“I would be the greatest star the world has ever known. I would star with the most beautiful actresses in the business. Just think of the sex scenes. And with me directing, they wouldn't even have to be simulated! HAHAHAHAHA!”

Ornette and Tokpile simultaneously cringed at the thought. So, his true motives had finally been revealed. It was an elaborate attempt to get laid. While many men throughout time have gone to extreme lengths to bed females, this was by far the most ambitious, dangerous, and insane plan ever concocted. They looked at one another. They had to break free from these handcuffs. Something had to be done to stop this lunatic.

“So, what do you have to say for yourselves? Hmm?” The Supreme Leader asked.

“You'll never succeed,” Ornette said, suddenly feeling like he was in a James Bond movie.

The Supreme Leader took two steps forward and cocked his head to the side. “What's that? Do we have a pair of non-believers here?”

“Go to hell!” Tokpile screamed.

“Oh, it's too bad you feel that way. Because I've decided to cancel the plan.”

Relief fell over Ornette and Tokpile. Perhaps this maniac had some sense of reason.

The Supreme Leader giggled and then, with both arms raised over his head, “Guess what?! I have a new plan! I'm going to skip all that other stuff, and just launch a couple of nukes straight at The South and the United States! Isn't it delicious?! HAHAHAHAHA!”

Ornette and Tokpile looked around the room at the guards. They stood motionless, brainwashed and obviously unaffected by their glorious leader's plan which would inevitably lead to the destruction of the entire planet. The two members of 200 Proof began to struggle with the handcuffs, in a desperate attempt to free themselves. If they only had their instruments, they could put a stop to this madman!

The Supreme Leader's laughter died down and he returned to his throne. As he eased himself onto the seat he said, “It's too bad neither of you will be alive to see it. Bring in the Head of the Ministry of Torture!”

A metal door in the back corner of the room opened. The silhouette of a man appeared. He stepped out into the light, and approached the members of 200 Proof. With each step he took, the ground trembled. He was a hulking, bearded man, with a dead look behind his eyes. No one knew his real name. He was only known as The Enforcer, The Drummer, or The Man You Call When You Really Need Someone's Ass Kicked. He had mysteriously appeared on this very island 10 years ago. The North Koreans were unable to subdue him, so the Supreme Leader decided to enlist him. He quickly rose through the ranks, and with his natural knack for crushing the souls of others, he was promoted to Head of the Ministry of Torture. Whenever the Supreme Leader needed a high profile target disposed of, he turned to this man. He approached Ornette and Tokpile with a spiked club in each hand.

“Destroy them!” the Supreme Leader cackled.

“I smash them!” the horrible figure replied.

He raised his arms, and swung them both down. Tokpile and Ornette rolled in opposite directions. The clubs smashed into the floor, breaking the concrete. The man looked at them, and knew he would have to take out one at a time. He turned his full attention to Tokpile. He unleashed a flurry of attacks, smashing the ground with lightning quick reflexes. The way he swung the clubs down, alternating with each hand, was like a drummer performing an incredible solo.

Tokpile continued to dodge, but his breath was growing short. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep this up.

“Hey! Over here!” Ornette shouted.

The man turned around, just as Ornette's foot connected with his face. He staggered backward, giving Tokpile a chance to escape. The man howled in pain and anger. He raised both clubs, and sent them careening toward Ornette. With expert timing, he hopped backward, spun around, and extended his cuffed hands outward.

The clubs connected with the chain that linked the two handcuffs. It snapped in half, and Ornette was free! He quickly spun back around, ready to battle. He pulled a guitar out of thin air, spun it rapidly over his head a dozen times, and then let it drop down to chest level. The man before him hesitated. He growled menacingly and then shouted, “Bring me drums!”

Four of the AK-47 wielding guards disappeared, and re-emerged a moment later carrying a drumset. They set it down before the hulking man, and then hurried away. He unleashed a guttural laugh, and suddenly launched into a face-melting drum solo.

Ornette was blown back by the sheer force of the attack. This guy knew what he was doing. Not to be outdone, he countered with a backwards version of “Flight of the Bumblebee.” His opponent took heavy damage, but he did not give up. Meanwhile, in the back of the room, the man whom Ornette told would regret his actions, suddenly burst into flames.

Ornette's opponent responded with a drum solo of every Def Leppard song, at the same time. The lights overhead exploded, and the clothes of all the guards instantaneously caught fire. Ornette was impressed. He readied his guitar. He paused for a moment, and then played a “Cat Scratch Fever/T.N.T.” combination. The opponent was stunned. Half his drumset was obliterated by the attack. But he wasn't about to lose, not when the Supreme Leader needed him. He responded with a final, desperate attack. He drummed out the entire library of Ramones songs! Ornette's clothes were ripped apart, his guitar cracked in half, and the roof of the bunker exploded.

Blood streaming down his face, Ornette knew he couldn't give up. The guards that had once encircled the room now clambered to escape. The Supreme Leader shouted at them to return, but they would not heed him.

“Ornette! We can get out of here!” Tokpile shouted.

“Not yet,” he gasped.

“It's stupid to keep fighting. This guy is too good for us!”

“I...have to finish this!”

The heat of jungle once again enveloped them. Night had now fallen upon the island, and starlight illuminated the bunker. The Supreme Leader was jumping up and down on his throne, screaming at the Head of the Ministry of Torture to finish 200 Proof once and for all. The hulking man raised his clubs again, ready to deliver the final blow to Ornette. But before he could, Ornette steadied his guitar and unleashed hell. He shredded guitar like he never had before. The Who's “Won't Be Fooled Again” blasted outward in every direction. A fierce wind slammed against the opponent and his drumset. He began to slide backwards. He struggled to hold on. His drums began to shake. Ornette continued to play, faster and faster. He raced through the song, adding his own variations to the music. Meanwhile, his opponent took up his clubs, and attempted to play, but he couldn't. The force of Ornette's high-powered rock was too much. His drums rattled harder. They began to glow a brilliant red color. Ornette reached the end of the song, and then, he played the guitar solo from “Beat It.” The opponent's drumset exploded, and the resulting pillar of flames engulfed him.

“You did it!” Tokpile exclaimed and clapped his hands together. He looked down and realized that his wrists had been freed from the handcuffs. He couldn't quite remember when that had happened. It was just another by-product of Ornette's amazing guitar skills.

When the flames dissipated, a smoldering human figure remained on the ground. He groaned and struggled to raise himself from the ground. As the smoke cleared, Ornette and Tokpile recognized him. Their faces instantly brightened and they raced toward him shouting, “Brik!”

BrikHaus clutched his head, which throbbed with the worst pain of his life. “Wha-what happened?” He was no longer the hulking beast of a few moments ago. He had returned to his original form. As his friends clapped him on the back, he shook away the fogginess that had enveloped his mind. The purity of Ornette's rock had lifted the Supreme Leader's mind control.

BrikHaus smirked and said, "Thanks for saving me. I won't get fooled again."

"Glad to have you back," Ornette said.

"Ornette. When did you get out of the coma?"

"A few days ago. I'm putting 200 Proof back together. What do you say?"

"That's funny. I remember when you didn't want to join us."

"That was a long time ago," Ornette said.

"Sure, of course I'll join. I haven't gotten to rock in a long time," BrikHaus replied.

"Let's get out of here," Tokpile chimed in.

"Not so fast!" the shrill voice of the Supreme Leader pierced the ears of all three members of 200 Proof. "You haven't defeated me yet! I'll still destroy my enemies. And there is nothing any of you can do about it. HAHAHAHAHA!”

The Supreme Leader flipped open a hidden compartment in the armrest of his throne, and pulled out a small console. 200 Proof made a start toward him, but they weren't fast enough. He depressed two buttons, and ripped the console out of the throne. Sparks flew into the air. 200 Proof stopped in their tracks. Whatever he had done was irreversible now. They looked toward the horizon as they heard a distant rumble.

The frenzied laughter of the Supreme Leader was soon overpowered by the fury of a pair of exploding rockets. In the distance the members of 200 Proof saw two nuclear missile lift off. They climbed higher and higher, reaching into the distant night sky. They split off in opposite directions, one headed toward South Korea and the other toward the United States. As the Supreme Leader doubled over with laughter, arms flailing and feet kicking, the members of 200 Proof looked at one another. They were the only ones who could stop this. They would have to use their powers of rock to prevent what could be the most destructive attack ever. But would they be able to stop both rockets in time? Fists clenched, they readied themselves.

Their night was not over yet.

[TheAyanamiOtaku]

Yes.

[UrsusArctos]

[fadingreminder]

BrikHaus smirked and said, "Thanks for saving me. I won't get fooled again."

I wept.

[Merridian]

Jezus! this is amazing!

Ornette dove into the ground even harder, face first. He didn't mind the pain, though. In fact, he welcomed it.

This… this is the ultimate portrait of badass, refined & distilled into its most pertinent and primal components. It reads like hardboiled fiction vamped up to 11. I love it!

[Sailor Star Dust]

I love how Supreme Leader maintains his Team America parody-status.

Epic EPIC job. I can't wait for more.

[BrikHaus]

Thanks for the feedback, everyone.

I've got another long night on call tonight, so hopefully I can get started on another new chapter if I have any downtime.