Written by: ChloP
Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure characters and images ™ & © 1989, 2003 Creative Licensing Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Feel free to share these stories with your friends, but please don't repost on the web without asking the author's permission first. Thanks!!
Disclaimer: Nothing except the Monroe sisters are mine.
Author’s Note: Revamped. A few minor details have been changed, but for the most part it’s the same story. I don’t know how long its been, you guys, but I know I’ve been a very bad girl, withholding all of this fun from all of you. Enjoy and stuff!
In which we meet our friends, foes, and heroes…
Barry C. DeNomolos paced the full length of his large, sterile laboratory. (Pronounced “lab-or-ah-tor-ee” thank you very much!) Before him stood two pale, shaking, naked copies of the two people he despised most. They would need to be trained of course, and given full histories of the people they were supposed to be impersonating, but first and foremost; they needed to be clothed. Nothing irked him more than naked idiots.
“Uh…” stated the blonde. “we’re—uh—totally freezing here, dude.”
“Yeah, dude. Can we get some boxers or something?” added the brunette.
“Shut up!” shouted DeNomolos, fury lighting his eyes. “I did not grow you to speak!”
“We got grown?” asked the brunette. He tilted his head to one side in a most questioning manner, making his large, brown eyes wide with wonder, and frowned. “I don’t know if I like being grown.”
The scientist who was quite obviously of the mad variety made a move as though he were going to slap the boy who had spoken. Instead he tried to make his angry, lined face as welcoming and gentle as possible, and handed the two long, white robes. He was growing more impatient the longer he remained in their presence.
“Gentlemen, why don’t you take a seat. We’ve still got quite a bit of work to do before you two are ready to join the world,” said DeNomolos, crossing his arms. As if from nowhere, two men in black appeared and forced the boys into cold, metal chairs. Robotic arms shot from the floor, sharp pointed ends glittering in the bright light. “This will only take a few moments.”
“Ted?” said the blonde, looking sidelong at his dark-haired friend.
“I think we are in a most undesirable position.”
* * * * * * *
“Once more with feeling!” shouted Bill S. Preston Esquire, cracking his knuckles.
Wyld Stallyns had been doing wonderfully since the battle of the bands only a few months earlier. They’d finished their short tour, playing small stadiums and clubs, not too long ago, and were now due in the recording studio to start work on their first album. The problem was, neither Bill nor Ted knew what songs they were going to play. This meant one thing; hours upon hours of practicing, brainstorming, and song-writing. They’d spent the past three nights on their respective couches as a result of these long hours, in fact.
“Dude, we’ve been at it for hours already,” whined Ted. “I wanna go home and see Elisabeth and little Bill.”
“And I don’t want to see Joanna and little Ted?” snapped Bill. A glance at his friend told him he’d behaved most uncharacteristically, and should immediately apologize for his short temper; which he promptly did. “I’m sorry, dude, it’s just we’ve got to make sure this is perfect—yah know?”
“Yeah, dude, I totally understand,” Ted stated, running a hand through his thick, jet tresses. “I’m just not looking forward to another night on the couch. It’s all lumpy.”
“All right …” said Bill, lowering his guitar. “Let’s call it a night for now, but be here bright and early tomorrow. We’ve got to finish these songs.”
“Got it, dude.”
The two made guitar-playing motions, though neither of them actually struck a cord, and quickly began packing up their instruments. It was time for a well-deserved night with their families. Little did they know, they were in for the greatest test of their young lives.
* * * * * * *
“Good evening, my excellent friends,” said Rufus, smiling broadly. Cassandra and Francesca Monroe looked up from their current project to greet their mentor, both with a similar expression on their very different faces.
Cassandra’s thin, somewhat angular face sported bright silver-blue eyes and soft, light skin framed with long, amber hair. With thin, well-groomed eyebrows, carefully lined and shadowed eyes, and full, glossed lips she was the picture of elegance and expression. Her eyes betrayed emotions that her face often tried to mask. Unsuccessfully.
Francesca, on the other hand, had a round, golden face making her look far less frail in comparison. Her round emerald eyes were set deeply into her face, gleaming under thick full arches and were neither painted nor shadowed. With high cheekbones, a strong chin, and a heart-shaped mouth, she was as expressionless as the harvest moon. Long, dark tresses fell down her back, tied in place for function more than style.
Both wore the facade of pure innocence, as though they were doing something they were most certainly not supposed to be doing. If Rufus noticed this, he said nothing of it. Instead, there seemed to be something else that vexed him. Something more important than any nonsense the two could have come up with.
“Ladies,” began Rufus. “I have some most heinous news to tell you.”
“What’s up?” asked Sandra, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m afraid something terrible is about to happen to the Great Ones.”
He had their attention now.
“What’s the deal, Rufus?” demanded Frankie. It never occurred to either of them to inquire as to why they, of all people, were being told this universe-altering information.
“A future version of myself just informed me of an unbelievably egregious infraction of the laws of both time travel and genetic reconstruction. It seems that DeNomolos’s son has cloned the Two Great Ones, and has sent them back in time to destroy their lives.” Cassandra and Francesca exchanged glances then rolled their eyes simultaneously.
“How is that any different from the other DeNomolos making robot-baddies, and sending them through time?” demanded Frankie.
“Believe me, this is different. Once they’ve disposed of Bill and Ted, these clones will take over their lives, and destroy everything we all believe in.”
“And…the difference is?” asked Sandra.
“They’re human, Cassy. Copies of the real Great Ones in every way, except for their desire to enforce DeNomolos’ plan. They will live and die as the Great Ones, and no one, not even their own wives, will ever know about the switch.”
Cassandra raised her eyebrows and began pondering the weight of the situation. If the new evil Great Ones were human, they would – obviously – be much more life-like than a pair of robots. They would take over everything that had once been Bill and Ted’s destiny, and mold it to the designs of a second-generation mad man.
This, of course, begged the question: How did DeNomolos Senior ever procreate. The sheer mechanics of such a process made the young blonde queasy.
Without a word she got up and searched for her purse, which had been equipped with a Black Hole device. It would hold just about anything she put into it, as long as it was inanimate. Once she had that, she began filling it with everything a girl could possibly need to live in the 1990’s.
“What are you doing?” asked Rufus, raising his eyebrows.
“Well, you came and told us for a reason, yes? You want us to save the world?” said Francesca, who had understood what Cassandra had been up to from the moment she stood up.
“Something like that,” was the older man’s reply.
“So let us pack.”
And with that, Francesca began putting her own items into her sister’s purse. With much of the contents of their room stowed and their sunglasses set firmly upon their noses, the girls appeared quite ready to take on anything.
“Shall we go then?” asked Rufus.
The pair of time-traveling, crime-fighting teens nodded and strutted out the door, their mentor in tow. As they neared the Center of Time Travel, however, Rufus was beginning to have second and third (and fourth and fifth…) thoughts about sending the girls to save the day. They were young, foolish, and far too hyper for their own good.
Though they were being serious in that moment, Rufus knew that as soon as the endeavor was underway something would happen. Cassandra would be distracted by a shiny object, or Francesca would set something on fire…again. There were just too many things that could go wrong.
I hope that the Council Members knows what their doing… he thought.
That was when he noticed the rapidly changing world around him. The famous statue of the Great Ones was beginning to look rather unkempt and shabby, and the buildings were starting to look rather angular. Not at all like the soft, rounded buildings that he’d grown up with. It made him nervous and angry to see everything he’d ever believed in being torn apart. Again.
“Look at this…” commented Francesca. “It's like they’ve already won.”
“I’m going to rip DeNomolos a new—”
“Cassy!” warned Rufus, casting a wary eye upon her. She glared at him and stuck out her tongue, then fiddled with her rings.
At once, the two lost their serious expressions and smirked. They were sharing an idea, and, from the looks of it, they were going to be doing more than just stopping clones.
“Be excellent to each other,” said Cassandra, waving.
“And party on, Rufus-dude,” added Francesca. Before their mentor could question his decision any more than he already had, the booth disappeared in a flash of blue lightning.
“I do so hope that they won’t cause too much trouble…” he muttered, running his hands over his balding head.
* * * * * * *
We’re all British…and…stuff
“Bill, Ted, what are your missions?” asked Barry DeNomolos. The two clones looked at each other then grinned.
“To totally take over Bill and Ted’s life!” said one.
“And to promote the ideas you have so graciously imbedded in our skulls,” added the other.
DeNomolos nodded, grinning sinisterly as he did so, and the pair of newly-evil clones worked their hands as though they were playing the guitar. Sighing with either aggravation or satisfaction, (neither clone knew), the mad scientist lead the pair to an updated version of the infamous phone booth. The two slipped on their sunglasses and stepped inside; their mission fresh in their minds.
DeNomolos only hoped that they would remember the directions long enough to get half-way through the job. That blasted Bill and Ted DNA might take over, causing the clones to become every bit as good and decent as the real “Great Ones”. Even if they managed to screw it up, though, the fail-safe chip he’d implanted in the backs of their necks would automatically kill them. As soon as those clones were terminated, a new pair would be activated, and would pick up exactly where the former ones left off. The way he saw it he was standing in the thick of a win-win situation.
* * * * * * *
“Cassy, are you sure we’re going the right way?” demanded Francesca, examining a map. The elder of the two sisters rolled her eyes, adjusted her sunglasses.
“Don’t call me Cassy,” she replied, simply. “It’s either Sandra or Cassandra. Never Cassy.”
“Okay, Sandra, are you sure we’re going the right way?”
“Was there a particular reason you jammed your foot on the breaks?” Frankie inquired, gripping the arm-rest with white knuckles. The woman behind the steering wheel grinned and pointed to the red octagon on their right.
“We are so doomed.”
Bored already with the conversation, Cassandra thumbed through various compact discs, while steering with her knees. Eventually she found a suitable mix and slipped it into the CD player, while her sister screamed her name loudly. It was not until the blonde looked up that she realized that they’d slipped onto the wrong side of the road, and were headed strait for a tour bus.
“Foo—” she screamed, turning the wheel abruptly to the right. Once the car was safely static, she finished her half-curse with a loud shriek. “—ook!”
“You okay?” asked Francesca. The driver nodded, looking paler than usual, and glanced in her rear-view mirror. The bus was also stopped, and two young men were coming toward them. Upon hearing that her sister was well, Frankie punched the girl hard in the arm. “DON’T DO THAT AGAIN!”
“I think we’re gonna get our hindquarters kicked,” commented Cassandra, as though her sister had not spoken. She rubbed a growing bruise but ignored the ranting younger woman in favor of coming up with an explanation for her horrendous driving.
She doubted the old “I’m used to driving a hover-craft” line would work.
“You babes okay?” said the taller of the two men. He had wild, dark hair and intense eyes that were very difficult to read. The other had curly, golden hair and very bright, sapphire eyes. The kind of eyes that girls swooned over. It was Francesca who realized who these men were, but being that Cassandra was still shaken over her near-death experience; there was little hope of the elder Monroe sister understanding anything for a while.
“We’re fine,” said Frankie, lowering her sunglasses.
“What were you two doing on the wrong side of the road?” asked the blonde boy.
“We’re—uh—from…Europe. You know, driving on the left side of the road instead of the right,” explained the dark-haired girl.
“Europe?” said the brunette. “As in England and stuff?”
“Uh…yeah,” Frankie uttered, perhaps a bit louder than she should have. “London; England. We’re all British…and…stuff. Thanks for the concern, though. I’m Francesca and this is my sister Cassandra. We—uh—didn’t mean to wreck your bus.”
The men raised their eyebrows simultaneously and glanced back at their bus. It was smoking slightly, but that was more for the fact that the wheels had been forced to a screeching stop than any actual damage. The Monroe sisters’ vehicle, however, was billowing smoke from the hood, presumably from the engine.
Cassandra – who had decided to deal with shock by playing mechanic – hopped out of the driver’s seat and pounded her fist on the front cowl. It popped open with only a little more encouragement, causing more white smoke to surge into the blonde’s face. She coughed audibly and screamed in frustration. A loud, angry curse rung out, making the three onlookers wince at the force of the statement.
“This sucks!” she exclaimed, slamming the flat of her hand upon the roof of the car. “The bloody thing is broken!”
“It can be fixed, Sandra,” said Francesca, calmly.
“But I don’t know how to fix it! Oh sure, I can re-rout power from any plant in the country to charge my digi-phone, but I can’t fix a ***damned car!”
The blonde girl continued ranting at vocal ranges that would have astounded anyone less experienced in her moods. Francesca politely assured the Great Ones that yes, Cassandra Monroe had lost her mind, but would find it somewhere on the side of the road.
“She just needs some rant-time,” explained the younger Monroe sister. “She’ll calm down once we’re where we need to be.”
“Well, where were you headed?” asked the curly-haired blonde boy.
“San Dimas,” replied Francesca.
“Excellent,” said the brunette. “That’s our home-town. Hop in, we’ll drop you off.”
“Serious?” asked Cassandra, who’d regained her sanity only slightly. Her left eye continued to twitch violently, making the Great One’s wince with worry.
“Totally,” said the blonde. The girls grinned and made the movements of two women playing the violin. When they were met with questioning stares by the pair of super-dudes, the girls only grinned and giggled.
“Well, air-guitar ‘s been done,” explained Francesca.
“No – er – disrespect, gentlemen,” added Cassandra, batting her eyelashes. The pair of guitarists raised their eyebrows for what must have been the millionth time at the girls, and smiled simultaneously. They were not going to argue with cute British girls. They had too much experience with their own British girls not to know where an argument would lead them. (On the couch, with no dinner…)
“Hop in, babes. We’ll take care of you,” announced brunette, grinning more broadly than before.
“Oh…total rudeness, dude!” said the blonde.
“What’re you talking about?”
“They’ve got no idea who we are! I’m Bill S. Preston Esquire,” said the blonde Great One, extending his hand.
Cassandra took it, though in her mind she was reeling from excitement. The actual Great Ones! They were practically gods, for crying out loud! And in her frustration over breaking the car, she’d forgotten who they were and what her mission was! What kind of a secret agent was she? She sighed and thanked the heavens that Rufus wasn’t there to see it.
“…Oh, right!” said the other, who could only be Ted. Francesca shook his hand, grinning from ear to ear. “And I’m Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan.”
“Together we are Wyld Stallyns” added the pair simultaneously. Cassandra and Francesca exchanged looks of pure adoration for the Great Ones and joined them in their obligatory air-guitaring before hopping into the tour bus.
* * * * * * *
A flash of blue lightning and a blast of yellow sparks was all that separated the pair of evil clones from their quarries. They had been trained to do one thing, and that one thing would result in the end of everything that had ever been right and good in the world. They slipped their sleek sunglasses into their respective pockets, (Bill putting his in his shirt pocket, while Ted put his in his front, jeans pocket), and went about the business of hiding the booth and getting a ride.
It occurred to them to steal a car, but given the success of the last pair of evil Great Ones, they were going to do everything the others didn’t. They assessed their situation, decided that they were not so far away that walking was out of the question, and once they reached the real Bill and Ted’s respective homes, they would dispose of them in a non-lethal way. After all, they were band mates with the Grim Reaper. There was no doubt in either clone’s mind that if the two Great Ones were killed, the Grim Reaper would gladly bring them back without a second thought.
This begged the question: How would they dispose of the real Bill and Ted without killing them. DeNomolos had equipped them with the Lightning Rod 4000, an advanced sort of stun-gun that could shoot electricity of varying voltages at any given target. They could set the Rod to shock anywhere from a tiny bolt of static-electricity to a bolt of lightning. Knowing this, they planned to simply shock the pair unconscious and send them through the Time Line, back to pre-history. Once there, the phone booth would self-destruct, and the Great Ones would be trapped.
DeNomolos had accounted for everything. With the Great Ones gone, and his clones in position, there would be no possible way his plan could fail. Somewhere, thousands of years in the future, the mad-scientist was laughing maniacally.
TO BE CONTINUED . . . .