The packed stadium crowd roared an unwavering and all-deafening roar while a drawling announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers in deep, barely-discernible pulses. Parents herded little tots into seats as they held hot dogs in one hand and wiped boogers with the other. Cries for cotton candy, popcorn, licorice, soda, and beer tried to rise over the general hum drum, but only the bellows of the most waddlesome vendors carried beyond a small radius.
In the center of it all, on a platform a hundred feet above, atop one of the most powerful jet-propulsion motorcycles ever built, sat Dirk Gerson, stuntman extraordinaire, about to perform the single most anticipated stunt in the entire history of human stuntmanship. Social media was all over it.
On another platform three hundred feet in front and sixty feet down from him was a portal, it’s center glowing bright green swirls sucking all nearby matter into a randomized wormhole that would carry them to any infinite number of other dimensions. And Dirk was about to make one hell of a jump straight into that big green beauty.
The announcer drawled on but Dirk revved his engine to let everyone know he was ready, and the crowd roared, drowning out the announcer and bringing a crack of a smile to Dirk’s hardened, chiseled jawline. Dirk waved back to the crowd, sucking up what last affection he might get for a while.
The Final Countdown blared across the stadium, with the crowd screaming along to the words. Behind Dirk, a screen the size of a not-so-small house showed the seconds remaining until he went over the edge.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
Then, without so much as a moment’s hesitation, Dirk slammed his bike into gear and with a wild rush of air pushing against him, he flew down the ramp to ground level, then back up towards the portal.
The crowd fell silent as he sped towards the end of the ramp. His wheels left, and he was sailing through the air, a big wall of green swirls rushing towards him. In the blink of an eye, Dirk Gerson disappeared into the portal, and the crowd held their breath in anticipation.
Dirk careened through the abyss of spacetime. A tunnel of light and gravity made into one brilliantly-woven tunnel to carry him across the void itself.
His heart, lungs, knuckles, toes and every other muscle in his body clenched against his bike for everything he was worth.
And then he took a breath. He looked up above. But just as his eyes focused in on what was before them, Dirk was spat out on hard, dusty ground.
The impact wasn’t gentle, but Dirk was still in one piece and nothing felt broken. He staggered to his feet, and looked around. He was in the center of a stadium, built from rough bricks, and with thousands of green blobbish creatures in the stands. They wailed an ungodly noise down at Dirk, and wiggled their giggly bodies.
Before Dirk could look closer at the creatures in the stands, something moved just next to him, and Dirk spun in place to face it.
It was a man, in a flashy jumpsuit just like Dirk was wearing. He had the same neatly-trimmed beard and his hair flowed maybe even a little more elegantly than Dirk’s. In his hands the man held a long, shiny blade.
The man swung the blade at Dirk and Dirk dodged backwards once, twice, thrice.
“Who are you?” cried Dirk. “What is going on?”
The man paused his attacks. “My name is Diesel McFeasible, I was captured by these… things nine hundred days ago, and fight every day for my freedom.”
Dirk’s breath caught in his chest.
“Diesel McFeasible, the stuntman? ” Dirk felt giddy as he spoke. Of course he knew Diesel McFeasible! Only from the poster he’d hung on his bedroom wall as a kid. Diesel was a legend, the very reason Dirk had become a stuntman in the first place.
It had been decades now since Diesel vanished in the nether on a horrible stunt accident, but Dirk remembered it like it was yesterday. The shock, the disbelief, the struggle to accept that he was gone. But now he was there, before Dirk.
Diesel shrugged and looked down. “I was a stuntman, the greatest sci-fi stuntman that ever lived. But now… well I don’t really know what I am anymore.” Diesel lowered his blade and looked at Dirk with tender eyes for a moment.
Then Diesel's stare hardened and he raised the blade again. “But I know what I have to do.”
Diesel swung.
“No, wait,” Dirk cried as he ducked backwards. “Diesel you don’t have to do this.”
Diesel swung again.
“Listen we can get out of this together, you and me. We’ll do it.”
“How?” Diesel growled as if he barely cared for an answer.
“I brought a ray blaster, we can use that, we can blast our way out. These things look pretty squishy, you know.” Dirk felt at his hip where his blaster should’ve been, but the holster was empty.
Drat! Dirk looked around, panic setting in. The ray blaster was on the ground, a few feet away, but on the other side of Diesel.
Diesel followed Dirk’s stare back, raising an eyebrow at the blaster lying in the sand.
Dirk held his hands up. “Easy now…”
Diesel wasn’t having any of it. He lunged for the blaster, reaching it in one leap and turning to aim. With one pull of the trigger, he blew Dirk Gerson into a thousand charred pieces.
The crowd roared, and Diesel tried to wave to them but had to cover his ears to save himself from the spine-wrenching sound. After a moment of vanity, Diesel turned and ran to the opening gate at the far end of the stadium.
The things were bringing out the next round of fighters, and chains for Diesel. But this blaster changed the situation somewhat, and the things didn’t seem to realize it just yet.
Pew! Pew! With two quick blasts Diesel blew the things at the gate to sizzling green bits. The things didn’t seem to blow into as many pieces as a human would, but enough nonetheless.
Diesel blasted his way through the bowels of the stadium, blowing every thing he met into pieces and finally escaping to the world outside the stadium.
And thus continued the adventures of the Diesel McFeasible, Trans-Dimensional Action Hero.
