The Business of War


Scenario E
Windman (W)
Armored Assassins (C)
Ascendant Androids (SA)

Location: Baghdad
Max. Cossack Scrap Value: 7670
SA Infantry: 1088
RPD Units: 910
Wily Bots: 200

In the heart of the jungle, the Cossack forces stirred. Outside of the drunken singing of Jay, Silent Bob, Diveman, and the good Doctor, it was quiet. Drill stared at a map of the world, looking for something he couldn't think of.

"What am I looking for? I have a need to look up something...but what?" He continued to look at the map as Blizzard walked over.

"How goes you, Drill? What the hell are you looking at?" He asked, noticing the map.

Drill looked up. "Hmm? I am fine...but this map! I don't know why...but I have a feeling that there is something to be explored..."

"IN THE JUNGLE, THE MIGHTY JUNGLE..." the drunkards sang. Blizzard turned to them.

"Shut up you drunken bums!" he growled. Dive started laughing.

"Aw come on Sno' cone! We're back now!" he laughed.

Kalinka moved toward them. "Yes, for some time now! Now listen up, my radio devices picked up some rather interesting news. Windman has been spotted in Iraq dealing with what quite possibly are terrorists. I figured Blizzard would want to know. Do you want to pursue this?" she asked him. He thought for a moment then called his teammates.

"Guys, we have a traitor to deal with. Heh heh, eh?" he chuckled.

Drill stood up. "Iraq...that's it! I just remembered something! Mesmerman was said to have been there. There is a chance that some of his old bodies there. Listen, you have to get those bodies if they are there. We can use them to our advantage."

"Hmm...that is quite interesting," The Doctor said, hiccuping after every two words. "There is a chance we could learn more about him. I agree with Drill on this. Find the bodies, if they exist. And bring me some Chaser!"

T Hawk nodded. "Will do Doc. Ready Naop?" Blizzard nodded.

"Let's do it." And with that, they teleported to Iraq to deal with an old friend and what may be a wild goose chase.

As they leave, Cossack looks to Drill. "Tell me, how do you know that there are bodies there?"

Drill studied his map. "I don't, but I have a hunch. I just hope that I didn't send them to their graves..."


Windman shifted uneasily. He decided to remain with Wily after his team returned to Cossack. For some reason, he could not remember why they went back. He suffered memory loss at the time. Of course, now Wily was a part of the SA, unwillingly it may be.

He was sent with the intent to get nuclear weapons to stock up. Of course, he knew he had to deal with the lowest form of scum: Terrorists. He searched for a particular man: Abdul Fakkadi. He had in his possession several atomic bombs, all of which could be used to end this conflict.

"I will be frank, I usually do not do business with your kind. However, I am a simple man. I will hear you out, machine," he spoke.

Windman averted his gaze from the terrorists eyes as he replied. "Dr. Wily wishes to procure your weaponry. We are willing to pay you whatever amount of money you desire."

Abdul called in three men. They stood around the man, making Windman feel a tad more uneasy. "You wish to buy my most prized weaponry? How much money do you have on you right now Mr. Windman?" he inquired.

Windman pulled out a briefcase and opened it. Inside was a large sum of bills. "$3000000, cash. All of which untraceable. Is this enough to cover your fee?"

Abdul and his cohorts examined the money and then proceeded to close the brief case. "Do you take me as a fool? I know real money when I see it. And this is indeed real. However, your posture, your attitude, you plan on knocking me out and taking both the money and weaponry. I am no fool. Muammar here will show you what I do with fools."

Without any warning other then that, the one known as Muammar pressed a button on the table. Electricity went all the way through Windman's body, giving him the shock of his life. He lost all bodily functions. He could no longer move his body. Then as everything started to turn to black, he could hear Fakkadi talk.

"Allah forbid that I would fall for such a plan. I don't work with you unholy abominations. However, you did give me a nice gift. You won't die yet. I assure you. My methods of torture extend far from humans nowadays. I will show you the extent of what we humans can do."

And with that, everything turned to black.


Corporal Walter Henry Garland stood at attention at the perimeter of an airfield as a giant C1-47 plane refueled behind him. He didn’t know what the hell it was toting or why he had to be yanked from his previous mission. But the RPD Gestapo watcher briefing him, was tight-lipped about it. All he knew was it came straight from Kuwait City after it got semi-razed, and it had some gizmo or some shit that could turn the tide in war against that tweaked-out lumberjack…Or so Walter was told.

His job was basically to babysit (along with the high and mighty robo-rent-a-cops) the C1-47 from the big bad insurgents or loony robots as it refueled for its flight back to Monsteropolis (or was it Nonsteropolis?). It was humiliating as hell, but anything was better than roughly half a decade and three tours of “winning” in this hellhole. He wasn’t no pussy; he could take care of himself and the guy next to him in a fire fight just fine. If anything, good ol’ combat put hair on his ass like nuthin’ else. But, he had jackshit to show for it. All he was really doing was dicking around in a craphole that’d be eaten alive by insurgents, and everybody in the Mideast as soon as he turned his back. And with the stupidly-named Scissor Army and their merry mission of genocide, this shitstorm seemed to matter even less…if it was possible. Inside, Walter was screaming to get the hell out of this sandbox, take a crack at the Scissor Army and fight in a war where there was more hanging in the balance then a doomed country.

“And hell, as long as I’m dreaming, I might as well go on a date with Jenna Jameson,” Walter grumbled quietly. The guys next to him, Connors and Daniels, chuckled at that as they held their dusty M-16s to their chests. As the soft chucklin’ died down, Walter could hear the rhythmic beating of helicopter blades directly overhead.

“Huh? I thought the MH-53s weren’t due back in yet,” Connors commented, shooting Walter a befuddled look.

“They’re not…” Walter answered, frowning. He fished out his handy-dandy imager, and looked up at the night sky. Walter couldn’t help but stumble back in horror as instead of spotting MH-53s, he saw some guy floating above him with a helicopter rotor mounted on his back and sporting more mini guns than he had any right to.

“Hit the dirt!” Walter screamed as he dropped his imager and dragged Connors into a nearby ditch. Seconds later, the ground erupted into gunfire. Daniels madly ran the other way into a storehouse some twenty-feet away, narrowly escaping the machine gun fire tearing up the ground behind him. Just as he shut the door, the robo-copter fired a missile from a hidden missile bay on his body. Walter and Connors watched in horror as the storehouse was blown to smithereens with Daniels inside.

“C’mon! I don’t think he’s forgot about us!” Walter shouted over the roar over the fire as he ran to the north and returned fire. Connors followed suit as he frantically called for back-up on his radio. Lord knows they were going to need it. After years of unceasing strife, the Scissor Army was going to do what Baghdad could never do to itself: wipe it off the face of the Earth.


It was three hours. Three fucking hours before Napalmman stumbled into the maintenance bay. Plus another hour or so for Cutman to get off his bony ass to patch him up. And his only crime was being loyal to his creator. Napalmman hadn’t stopped thinking about Cutman’s betrayal from the moment the game-playing son of a bitch slashed his eyes out. Steam poured out of his vents as he turned it over in his mind. Pissed off beyond reckoning, Napalmman indiscriminately fired off napalm bombs at RPD squad cars and vans, instantly setting them ablaze.

The Shit Piles however, seemed completely fucking oblivious to Cutman’s underhandedness as they stormed through behind Napalmman in the smoldering outskirts of town. Those shit-shovelling retards were all eager to get cracking on this mission. It was another damn capture mission, but no one was bitching. Everyone wanted a piece of that worm, Mesmerman and the maggot taxis he left behind. If Cutman wasn't jerking him off this time, then he could use the corpses to upload his supervirus to Mesmerman's neural computer. Napalmman hated to admit it, but it was enough to get him and the Shit Piles fired up. Hell, some of the dumber Shit Piles like Gyroman and Crystalgirl were betting how much booty they were going to bag just before they moved out.

In the mean time, G-pounder had snatched up a few dozen human yard apes from a nearby school and was flicking them at RPD maggots like cannonballs. The brick wall and Gypsy Bitch jabbed several stone and crystal slivers into a squad of shelf-variety rent-a-cops that tried to pincer them in and forced them to bow before their destructive might. The Pissbag was conjuring dragon heads, lion heads and all sort of bullshit animals out of nearby fire hydrants and swallowing K-9s whole.

As the Shit Piles tore through a squad of rent-a-cops, a lone Wily Sniper Joe raced towards Napalmman. He just knew having that those Wily fuckers here was a mistake. It didn’t make a goddamn difference that Wily’s surrender put them on the SA’s payroll. The crazy asswipe made a living off of being a doublecrossing piece of rat shit, just like Mesmerman. Apparently Cutman learned absolutely fucking nothing about having shifty-eyed, backstabbing sniveling little maggots in his army.

“What the hell do you want, maggot?!” Napalmman demanded. The little snot seemed to shrink a little as Napalmman spoke.

“Well…uh…we’ve lost contact with Windman a few minutes ago,” the Joe weakly explained. Exasperated, Napalmman buried his face into his hand. Not only were Wilybots two-faced assfuckers, they were incompetent two-faced assfuckers. For Elysium’s sake, they couldn’t even hack some WMDs from some panty-anty arms dealer. Christ, even Chargeman couldn’t blow a job like that!!

“…We request permission to organize a search and rescue party-“ the Joe droned on. Growling with rage, Napalmman stopped listening the simpering pile of shit in front of him and turned to Waveman.

“You heard the maggot, Mr. Watersport. Bring back whatever’s left of Blowfart! And Elysium help you if you leave any of his merchandise behind!” Waveman seemed to pout a little at that last part, but Napalmman didn’t give a flying rat’s ass if he thought WMDs weren’t any fun. Napalmman might them for a rainy day…As a grumbling Waveman moved out, the Joe feebly stepped in front of Napalmman again.

“Napalmman…What about us? Shouldn’t we be rescuing Windman?” the Joe squeaked.

“What the fuck makes you all so special?! You trying to tell me how to run MY army?!” The little pissant backed quickly away, shaking slightly. Napalmman strode forward and bashed his fucking skull with his hand cannon. Before the miserable could get up, Napalmman planted the barrel of his handcannon right under his jaw.

“I’ve got your fucking ass, you fucking slime!! You Wilyshits better catch on to that damn quick or you’ll be shooting napalm out of your dicks for weeks!!

Now, listen up!! You’re not going anywhere near Fakkadi! You ladies bitched that milk run up once, you’re not bitching it up again! You still with me?!” The joe nodded weakly.

“You’d break my heart, and I’d break your nuts if you didn’t. Now Cutman also wants us to tighten the oil clench from Kuwait City and frack a few more refineries. Only the Androids and I will be busy with big kid work, so I want you maggots to square that away. Think you can handle that?!” Napalman explained. The Joe weakly nodded.

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?! You want a kiss goodbye?!” Not saying a word, the sorry little Joe scurried out from under Napalmman’s cannon and ran off while spouting his orders over the horn to the other Wilyshits. It’d keep them hell and gone away from the Mesmercorpses. Despite every fucking thing he was doing to keep those maggots like that Joe in line, he knew damn well they’d hand the corpses over to Wily with a pretty bow. Over his dead body was that senile blubbering waste of life going to get leverage on them.

“Good news, boys and girls! I found the booty! You better be ready to pay up, Crystal!” Gyro announced excitedly over the com.

“Keep your pants on, Prop Top!!” Napalmman bellowed. “Just cut the fucking horseshit and clean house until we arrive! Unless you want me to shove yer blades up yer ass!!” The Shit Piles shot Napalmman pouty looks like he just pissed on their parade. Napalmman could give a shit. Thanks to Blowfart and the Wilyshits dragging their feet, the mission was already off on bad start and put them behind schedule.

Pull yourself together. Just keep your eyes on the prize. You’ve got a fucking traitor to keelhaul Napalmman told himself.

“Alright Shit Piles: move out!” Napalmman ordered. The remaining Shit Piles energetically cheered and rallied and sprinted through the burning city, eviscerating, crushing, and burning RPD fodder as they passed by. Mesmerman was going to join the fleshbags in their destruction.


Blizzardman looked at the remaining members of his team. The Armored Assassins, the world's warriors, forged by entire countries for the purpose of being pitted against each other to see which country could produce the best fighting robot. Other Robot Masters had some practical purpose that was turned into a useful combat technique, but they were built for combat, and they were going to make sure the technology that built them was not wasted.

"Alright." Blizzardman began. "Lately, I've been a little... out of it. I haven't been myself. I let things get to me, and I've lied to a lot of you because of it. What I did was wrong, and I need to correct that. But for now, we need to do what we can to protect the people. That's the only way we can redeem ourselves for what the RPD is pinning to us. We can't prove our innocence when they believe they're righteous." Blizzardman raised his fist. "For the glory of Cossack!"

The other AA members raised their fists, repeating the last phrase, except for Yamatoman, who shouted, "All your base are belong to us!"

"What was that, Yamato?" Blizzardman looked at the samurai, puzzled. Enigma shrugged.

"I don't know." He said. Suddenly, he convulsed and shouted, "Riboflavin!" Yamato covered his mouth, then thought for a moment. "I think it might have something to do with that briefing you gave me."

Regulus sighed and checked his datapad. Before he could open the file, he received an update notification.

"I has update?" Blizzard read aloud. "What the heck?" He hit cancel, then scratched his head after seeing the confirmation message. "No! You be cancellin' my update?!" Blizzard shouted in confusion.

"What's wrong, Blizzard?" Plantman leaned over to catch a glimpse of the screen.

"Oh, bloody hell." Regulus groaned. "It's that damn virus."

"What virus?" Flameman asked, growing interested in the situation.

"The Enigma virus. It's a string of... well, I'd say 'malicious' code, but 'obnoxious' fits the term better. It really doesn't harm the performance of the machine, but it tends to speak in l33t or lolspeak." Blizzard sighed. "Yamato must have gotten the virus from my datapad."

"Ohhh..." Flameman replied. "Tough luck, Yamato."

"Well, at least he's functional." Blizzard waved it off. "We need to split up and find a Mesmerman corpse. He backstabbed the Ascendant Androids, there should be plenty. T. Hawk, you take the back alleys and rooftops with Ivan. Yamato and Flame, you two stick together, don’t plunge headfirst into a mass of troops.” Blizzard glared at Plant as he finished his advice. “Plantman and I will go alone to find Windman.”

Blizzardman looked off to the horizon. The city was peppered with patches of flames, like a fire had been dropped only in certain areas. Off to the side, he saw a building collapse and suddenly reform into a colossal figure that began pounding at something on the ground.

“The Androids…” Blizzardman muttered under his breath. Napalmman wasn’t too wild about masking his presence in any sort of the meaning. Yelling orders like the volume was directly proportional to the efficiency of the job performance, taking pot-shots all over town… “Look out for Gyroman, he’s their eyes. There must be a good reason why the Androids are here.” Blizzardman signaled to Plant and they walked off.

“But why?” He thought to himself.


“Why… WHY?!” Windman thought to himself as electricity coursed through his body. It wasn’t the most creative idea for torture, but it did smart. “Why this… nutjob?”

“I know what you are thinking, my friend. How can a man be so ruthless? You are a simple machine, and do not know the finer points of creativity, so this is something an infidel like you would not understand.” Fakkadi explained in a snide manner.

“Oh, give it a rest, would ya?” Windman snapped. “It’s bad enough being “tortured without having to listen to you.”

“Ah, how DARE you insult the great Fakkadi! I will make sure that you pay for your insolence, machine! Allah would be passing judgment on your soul tonight if you had one. Muammar, increase the power!”

Windman cringed as the pain increased. Fakkadi laughed as he walked up the stairs to the sealed off control room.


Drill crouched behind a rock. He and the CC decided to follow Reg and his rag tag band to give a little aid.

"What's ta plan bossman?" Dive asked Drill.

Drill pondered a moment. "I want you all to secretly give the good AA the advantage against the evil AA. I myself will reclaim Mesmer's corpses. Anybody have a problem with that?"

He looked around. No complaints.

"Good. However, we cannot allow the AA to obtain even one body. Understand?"



“Fly-boy! I’ve ordered the lesser shit-piles to make short work of the oil refineries. If you catch any of ‘em jackin’ around elsewhere, you report to me. You got that?!”

“Yes, Captain.” Gyro sighed. He turned to his troops. “That goes double for you guys, I want to know if any of the Wily forces aren’t high-tailing it to the refineries in the area.”

The Joes nodded and spread out. Meanwhile, two Assassins lurked in the shadows.

“I wonder what’s going down at the refinery.” Plant whispered to Blizzard.

“Judging from their behavior last time they were here, I’d have to guess they intend to nuke the site to remove the fuel source. We need to stop that from happening.” Blizzard replied as he got ready to head off. Plant stopped him.

“We should take out Gyro. He might cause trouble later on, and he’s not as heavily armored as some of the other Androids.”

“I’ll leave you to that, then.” Blizzard walked off.

“Hey, aren’t you going to help?” Plantman asked as his leader started off.

“Hey, I trust you. Don’t screw up, alright?” Blizzaard’s glowing eyes formed arcs to show the animation of smiling, betraying his playful mood.

“Sure thing, boss.” Plant turned his eyes to the sky, sizing up Gyroman above him.


“I don’t know which is gonna kill me first…” Wind thought to himself. “The torture, or that idiot ranting about his greatness.”

“No one shall save you, infidel. This facility is underneath an oil refinery, so no one will think to look here.” Fakkadi laughed.

“I KNOW! My eyes WERE open when I entered the building!” Windman snapped back at him.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched scream, followed by a short scuffle which ended in silence. The door to the top of the stairs opened, and the limp body of a security guard tumbled down the stairs. Windman heard heavy footsteps. Very heavy footsteps.

“Blizzard!” Windman said. “You’re the last person I expected to see.”

“Yes, I expected that, seeing as how you disobeyed a direct order from your leader.” The Russian replied, walking over to his team mate.

“Listen, I just thought that-“ Windman began explaining, but was cut short as Blizzard rammed his fist into his gut.

“Thought what? That it was ok for you to abandon your duties and assist a global terrorist?” Windman attempted to reply, but Blizzard kept the words in his mouth with a brutal backhand across his face. He leaned in close. “It’s times like these that make me wonder if you were even an Assassin. You’re nothing like the others, always out there, doing whatever the hell you think is best. This is a team, and you haven’t lifted a finger to help us out when we needed help the most.”

Blizzardman raised his hand to strike Windman again, but a spear shot through Windman’s chest, piercing Blizzard in the process. Blizzard stumbled back as manic cackling filled the air and the amorphous figure of Waveman crumbled the wall, allowing his armor pieces entry. He hoisted Windman’s body up in the air.

“YOU!” Waveman cackled. “It’s YOU! I HATE YOU!” He snarled at Blizzard, remembering him from his humiliation back at the Citadel. “I’ll make you pay, and your friend will be the one to do it!”

Waveman pumped his mass into Windman’s body articulating his frame. “I wonder: will you kill one of your own?” He cackled.

“Allow me to remove the suspense.” Blizzard said calmy as he pulled out his Taurus Tracker and buried a bullet right into Windman’s head. Waveman’s eyes widened at the quick decision.

“Ah, what a worthless puppet!” Waveman shrieked as he ripped the pieces of Windman to shreds and hurled them at Blizzardman, who batted the robotic gore away.


Pharaoh waited for the right time to provoke. He knew that together the AA would slaughter them all. Perhaps he could lure one of them away...
"Got it! Guys, try to provoke Stoneman over there. If we can get him away from the group, our boys might have a chance," he said.

"Piece o' cake," Dive shrugged.

He set off a few dive bombs at the Stone monster that stood a few feet away from him. They hit. Pissed as ever, Stone went after the source of the projectile. He ran away from the group, leaving a very pissed Napalm.

"The fuck is that shit pile doing!? GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!" he yelled. But his yells fell to deaf ears.

"Excellent! Now we wait," Dust said.


The wind whips through the rooftops of Karkh as Regdar leaps from building to building, scouring the area for any sign of a Mesmerman corpse. Below, Ivan follows as best he can through the alleyways. His heavier, bulkier frame makes it difficult for the SF robot to keep up. At least surveillance is easy as there’s hardly a soul in sight. This city has been torn by war for many years now, long before the war with the Scissor Army began, leaving many parts in ruin.

Tomahawk stops at the western edge of the city. Looking out into the vast desert, he can see huge swirling sand clouds as a large sandstorm system makes its way east. “This storm’s gonna make finding one of Mesmer’s dead husks difficult…”, the gunslinger mutters to himself as he hops down to street level, where he meets up with Ivan.

“Any luck, Comrade?” The hulking fighting machine inquires.

“Nope.” Regdar shakes his head. “I would’ve thought we’d have seen one by now. Let’s go back and report to Blizzard. There’s a nasty-looking sandstorm headed this way anyway. Maybe he and the others have found what…”


The two Cossack bots turn to find themselves confronted by a middle-aged Arab man, clenching a rifle as he slowly approaches the pair.

“Sir! Look out!” Ivan begins to stride toward the man, but T.Hawk raises his hand to call him off, for now anyway.

“What is it you want?” Regdar coolly addresses the newcomer. He eyes the man and sees that he’s clearly very nervous in the way he’s carrying himself and his weapon. The Assassin could probably gun the guy down before he knows what happened, but he’s not up for another fiasco like in Nonsteropolis just yet. “Put the gun down. We aren’t here to make problems.”

“Like hell you are.” The Iraqi stammers in Arabic, translated by T.Hawk’s audio sensors. “First the Americans attack our country without provocation, now it’s being overrun by you robot scum. I imagine you’re taking orders from that black metal demon that’s leading the invasion.”

“Black demon? Oh… Napalmman.” T.Hawk frowns. “Listen, I don’t have time to debate with you right now, but I assure you we aren’t on his side. In fact we’re the ones fighting against that guy.”

The man’s eyes narrow. The troops who bombed his house and killed his wife and son said they were there to fight the bad guys too. In this day and age, it’s become near impossible to tell who’s speaking the truth and who isn’t anymore. “Why should I believe you?”

Before Regdar can answer, the wall behind the man crumbles. The rubble rises up suddenly, as it comes together to form the powerful stone beast…

“Dammit… It’s Stoneman…” Regdar spits.

“Wha…” The Arab is speechless he gazes in awe at the creature before him, not unlike the mythical Golem. The monster looks down on the human for a moment before starting toward him. The man cries out as he swings his gun around and fires. As expected, the bullet bounces harmlessly off his rocky armor. The Android reaches toward the hapless Arabian, arm extended, ready to crush his head.

And he would’ve if not for Ivan, plowing into his side, breaking off his other arm.

“Nice.” T.Hawk calls. “Try to damage him enough so that I can get a shot at his core.”

“Will do, boss.” The Special Forces robot rushes Stoneman, and buries his fist in his chest, resulting in a shower of rock shards. Upon seeing a glint of metal under that stone skin, Regdar whips out his six-shooter and fires off a round.

The beast cries out upon the bullet damaging his control orb. Suddenly, his earthly body shifts wildly as he escapes into the blinding sandstorm, which has now caught up with the trio.

The Iraqi gets up and turns to Regdar and Ivan. “Thank you for driving that monster off. I guess you folks aren’t so bad after all.”

T.Hawk smiles. “That’s what we tried to tell you. But we have to get back to the others now. I’m not liking the look of this sandstorm.”

Ivan nods in agreement, then sees something… odd… in the swirling sand. “Comrade, what’s that?!”

Before Regdar can respond, a sword flies from nowhere and impales the Arab though the chest. As he falls over, the blade seems to dissolve as it returns to the mass of sand rinsing up from the ground. It’s Stoneman, and it appears he’s found an abundant source of material to build a body out of. Sand is little more than finely pulverized rock, after all.

“So now he’s a Sandman, huh?” the Assassin mutters. “Perfect…”


Waveman lept at Blizzardman, only to be met with a frigid blast from what appeared to be a modified Frost Joe gun. Waveman barely avoided the blast, although some of him was moving a bit more sluggish than usual. Waveman knew that he couldn’t simply engulf Blizzardman unless he wanted massive brainfreeze, but there were ways around that.

“Just die!” Waveman shouted as he shot several columns of water through the roof of the building. Debris began to fall around the combatants.

Blizzardman continued to fire away at Wave, brushing off the debris as it rained down on him. It’d take more than some rubble to take him out. He rolled out of the way just in time to avoid a torrential blast of water sent at him by the cackling animated water.

“I see you’ve gotten smarter.” Blizzard said calmly. “Back in the Citadel, you just rushed into the fray against your weakness. I guess even someone as thick as you must realize by now the environment is your worst enemy.”

Waveman simply roared back at the Russian. He didn’t care for idle banter, he just wanted Blizzardman on a pike. He’d make sure his death was slow and painful. He hated the way he had humiliated him. He wanted him to suffer. But for all his rage, something didn’t feel just right. He was getting sluggish. It felt cold. He took his eyes of his prey for a moment to take in his surroundings. The room was starting to look like a meat-locker from all the shots Blizzard had been taking during the battle. Blizzardman had even iced the top of the stairs and the hole he had flowed through to attack him. He wasn’t afraid of him, he was trying to keep HIM from running. Waveman. One of the Androids of Cutman’s glorious army. Such overwhelming arrogance. Waveman howled with rage and began lashing furiously.

“I HATE YOU!” He shrieked. “DIE! DIE! DIE!” Blizzardman was trying as best he could to fend off the attacks, but Waveman kept forming more and more tentacles to lash out at him. He kept shouting at Blizzardman, clamoring for his death. It was like the mantra gave him comfort the way he kept shouting it as loud as possible. Suddenly Waveman felt the resistance of metal and a shout of agony as the resistance lightened. He finally calmed somewhat and gazed upon his handiwork.

“My arm! You- you bastard!” Blizzardman shouted as he clutched the stub where Wave had severed most of his left arm, relieving him of his frost gun.

Waveman cackled in ecstasy. He got him. He was on the ropes, and now he’d crush him.

“Hey, Waterboy, it’s not over.” Waveman was rudely awakened from his day-dreaming as Blizzardman shot a Blizzard Attack from his right hand. In his joy, Waveman had nearly forgotten that Blizzard hadn’t been using his natural powers, so taking away his ice gun was just part one.

The blast hit Waveman with its full force, freezing a good portion of Waveman’s body. Waveman cursed under his breath. It was happening again. He was getting too cold. He needed to do something, fast. If he didn’t… No! That’s no way to think. He needed to figure out a way to beat him. Blizzardman wasn’t strong, he was just clever. Waveman needed to think. He looked around the room and spotted the control panel.

“Yes!” He shouted. He cackled to himself and rushed Blizzardman, wrapping himself around the snow-bot like a large serpent.

Blizzardman took the bait. He laughed to himself, thinking that Waveman was just being foolish once again. “You’ve learned nothing, Wave. I guess the General isn’t such a brilliant man after all if he made a stupid piece of scrap like you.”

Blizzardman simply froze the water that crept around him, freezing most of Wave’s remaining mass, freezing his waist down in a block of ice in the process. It didn’t matter, though, most of Waveman was gone. Wave made one last desperate lunge, piercing Blizzardman’s armor and snaking part of him in before freezing due to the piercing cold of Blizzardman’s body.

“So, are you going to kill yourself just to turn me into a pincushion?” Blizzardman questioned.

Waveman began cackling once again, this time, he seemed even more crazed. “You said the environment’s my worst enemy, and you know what they say about keeping your enemies close.” Waveman usd his last bit of watery mass to punch himself into the center of the control panel, breeching the electrical current in the machine.

Waveman shrieked with both pain and ecstasy as the electrical current found its way into Blizzardman’s body, wracking him with agonizing pain. Blizzard couldn’t do anything but convulse and scream as the energy coursed through his exposed insides. Eventually the circuit shorted and Waveman slumped to the floor, wracked with pain, but giggling like a small child. He looked at Blizzard, who was struggling to stay conscious from the system overload. He tried to raise his hand to fire a Blizzard Attack, but all he could do was twitch his arm slightly.

“D-damn… you…” He muttered.

Waveman simply giggled. He had done it. He beat that arrogant Cossack scum, and now he would pay for his humiliation back at the Citadel. He knocked down a wall and slithered out into the sun, it warmed his body. It was like a well-made bed after a hard day’s work. He crept back in the iced room and began to thaw his body little by little. As the ice around Blizzard melted, he simply fell to the ground, limp. Waveman hoisted him into the air and tossed him through the wall. Blizzardman skidded along the sand outside like an unwanted rag-doll. Waveman snaked his way over to him and began to puncture Blizzard’s body over and over again. The electrical shock had fried Blizzard’s cooling system, and now his body was loosing the protection of his normally sub-zero body temperature.

“I’ll make you suffer for what you did to me, and there’s no one to save you.” Waveman cackled as he forced Blizzardman to dance around using his body like a puppet.

“I can’t believe of all people, you’re the one that’s going to kill me. The puddle.” Blizzardman groaned.

“WHAT?! I’ll show you!” Waveman slammed Blizzardman’s face into the ground. “I’m the very force of nature itself!”

“Being assaulted by a puddle just outside of an oil refinery in the middle of a desert, that’s irony. I must have really lost my edge.”

“SHUT UP!” Waveman flooded his voice box, causing the words to gurgle and become unintelligible. “There! Now I can enjoy my fun.”


“It sounds like Blizzard’s in trouble.” Yamato said as he kicked a Scissor Joe off his spear.

“Yeah, he probably put his conversation on the team com-link so he could tell us where he is, and that he needs our help.” Flameman replied.

“Are you going to go help? I know you’re pretty miffed about how he lied to you and all.” Yamato said.

“Yeah, true, but that’s nothing to let him die over. Besides, I’ve got something that will come in handy against Waveman.”


Walter and his men had managed to lose the robo-chopper in the fire-fight, but they weren't about to turn tail and run like a bunch of pussies. That was the other guy's job.

"Any ideas how to take that flyboy down?" Walter asked.

"I've got a suggestion." A completely foreign voice cut in. Walter turned around and saw what appeared to be the world's prissiest robot ever. His head had huge petals sticking out the sides and he had vines snaking around his body.

"Aw, shit, we ain't got time for this." Connors yelled as he fired off a few rounds.

The plant guy simply held up his hand and a cluster of petals deflected the bullets. The robot was starting to look a lot less like a prissy little gardener.

"I can keep this up all day if you like, but maybe you want to get rid of the death-copter that you guys were running from just a little while ago. I'm here to help."

"And just how can we trust you?" Walter asked.

"Well, for starters, I haven't killed you yet." The robot replied.

"Consider'n the past hour, that's a pretty good start..." Walter rolled his eyes.

"So, can we work together?" The plant bot asked.

Walter kept his gun on the robot. "Let's hear what you got, first..."


Walter and Connors listened intently as the outlandishly colorful plant-thing rattled off his brilliant plan. He didn’t know what the hell the roboweed wanted out of him, but he knew from the start wasn’t on the SA’s payroll. There was no way in hell they’d let something that fruity into their ranks. RPD didn’t have any of their big boys, like the Mechs or Drastic Measures stationed here for whatever reason. So he must’ve been either a Wily or Cossack bot.

“…Well? Are you in or what?” Plantman impatiently asked. Walter simply shot the weed an ambivalent look as Connors simply scratched his shaven head.

"I don't get it. Don't you have all the ass-kicking robots you need to pull this off?" Connors asked hesitantly. The Weed simply shot him a smug half-smile.

"I'm afraid they've got their hands full already. Why do you think the rest of the AA hasn't shown up yet?" the Weed rebutted. Sighing, Walter stepped forward and cocked his rifle.

“You had me at ‘shoot him in the head,’” Walter replied, slightly smiling. Connors said nothing, but uneasily stepped forward, as well, shooting Plantman a dubious look. “But give us a minute to grab some bigger guns, would ya?” Walter asked.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” King Turd of Shit Mountain answered. Walter gave the boltsucker a thumbs up as he and Connors ducked into the munitions depot.

“Are you fucked in the head?! Do you know who that is?” Connors asked after he shut the door. “Just because you’re the only ranking officer here us means you can pull shit like this!”

“Golly, I thought he was Santa Clause,” Walter scorned as he stuffed some mags in his pockets. “Yeah, it’s one of those boltsuckers that blew up Nonsteropolis’s RPD HQ. He ain’t no white knight boy scout, I know.” Connors shot him an incredulous look.

“Walt, he’s a fucking terrorist! You just teamed us up with the Robo-Al-Qaeda!” Connors spat. “Tell me you see something slightly wrong with that?”

“Look, if I could pull a better plan out of my ass I would,” Walter explained as he grabbed a belt of grenades.

“Doesn’t make it a good one.” Connors rebuked, folding his arms. Exasperated, Walter pulled his cover off and ran his hand through his short brown hair.

“Look, who cheeses you off more? Terrorists who want to waste all us, or terrorists who want to waste just some of us?” Walter explained. “If you want out, fine. You can stay here and fight off all the homicidal robots in the world all by your lonesome.” Connors said nothing, but shot Walter hard, pointed look as he picked out a sniper rifle. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was gonna have to choose between the (slightly) lesser of two evils.

“He’s just using us so that his boys don’t get killed trying to take that flying asshole down.” Connors warned, even though he was helping himself to a belt of M84 flash grenades. Walter simply shrugged.

“Of course we’re tools. That’s why we’re in Iraq,” Walter countered as he loaded his sniper rifle. Connors had nothing to say to that either. Still, Walter couldn't blame him. There wasn't anything he liked about being bossed around by a fucking terrorist, even if it was his only choice. And he certainly didn't like having a terrorist this close to the goods. The irony was, as nut-clenching as this Charlie Foxtrot was, it wasn't anything new. Ultimately, they were flying by the seat of their pants as things turned to shit and people died left and right, just like any other day. It was life as usual in the sandbox.


This was lame, even for RPD. Gyroman spent the better part of an hour single-handedly wasting RPD drones and human marines. All their numbers and tenacity didn’t boil down to jack shit as he effortlessly razed the buildings the pigs were pouring out of. They desperately tried scrambling a few jets, but he just lazily strafed them and turned them into Swiss cheese before they could take off. There were also a couple half dozen special forces, but with a few sidewinders, they were the first to go after the jets. There were a also few tanks on their way, but the rest of the family’d be here before them, assuming they didn’t get blown to hell first. In essence, he owned the skies, and the pissy little base beneath it.

The only reason why it was taking him this long was that he couldn't risk even scratching the jet's paint job. Especially since it was being refuelled. All it took was, say a wild shot nailing the gas hose, and the whole plane would go up in smoke, and their op with it.

But right now, a handful of RPD neo officers along with a few marines had taken defensive positions the plane. They weren’t even trying anymore. Gyroman began his descent, ready to strafe these losers into oblivion. Just as he opened fire, Gyroman spotted some bald marine asswipe on a rooftop to his left, pitching something into his line of machine gun fire.

“Hey, what the-?” was all the confused Android could get out before a bright flash and deafening explosion swallowed up Gyroman’s world. The flying Android tumbled through the air, cursing and screaming as he vainly tried to get his vision back. Somehow, he fought off the urge to fire off his miniguns and sidewinders. Even his homing missiles weren’t worth shit if he couldn’t see what the hell they were homing into, which for all he knew, were the Mesmercorpses. As he fumbled around like a retard, he could feel something light, dry and flaky slapping against him and coating his body…Something like…Leaves…? Petals…? Whatever it was, it wasn’t doing any serious damage, but it was pissing him off royally.

After a few seconds of indignation and humiliation, Gyroman’s vision cleared up, and he could make out at the blurry silhouette of…Plantman? The pretty little pecker was surrounded by a couple dozen bright red petals circling his body. Just who did this dick think he was, coming after him with nothing but a few measly little flower petals?

A dead dick… Gyro bitterly mused as he began his descent over Plantman. Once he was over the robo-weed, Gyroman fired off his miniguns…only they didn’t fire.

“What the hell?!” Gyroman screamed as he tried to fire his miniguns again. Gyroman put on his brakes a several yards away from the smirking Plantman and took a peek at his miniguns, only to find that they were jammed the same damn fruity little petals, Plantman was playing with. On closer inspection, he could see that most of his missile bays were coated with fruity petals, too. He looked like a freaking joke. He was just glad that the rest of the Androids, and especially Captain Asshat weren’t here to see him like this. Last thing he needed was for that asshole to rail into him on how he was prettied up like a schoolgirl.

With a snap of his fingers, the petals around Plantman flew towards Gyroman. Growling with rage, Gyroman deftly veered to the right, narrowly avoiding some more colorful humiliation.

“My turn, asshole!” Gyroman sneered as he opened his remaining uncovered missile bays. The bastard wasn’t gonna gum his ass up twice. He took his shot and-


Gyroman screamed in surprise and agony as the missile blew before he could fire it! It felt like he was being torn in a hundred different directions at once as he fell to the filthy earth.

The ruined helicopter winced in pain as he dragged himself along the ground. On the fucking ground! There were scorched bits and pieces of his hide and armor scattered along the street. He could see pieces of his rotor blades embedded into a nearby wall, just above the mangled, blasted remnants of one of his arms. And hell, he was lying on top of his own legs.

As he pulled himself out of his smoldering crater, he could see some brown-haired meatsack on a rooftop, holding a sniper rifle scurry off. Gyroman tried to nail the punk with his miniguns, his sidewinders, everything he had but they wouldn’t fire. As he looked around, he could see the blasted remnants of one of his miniguns lying in pieces to his left. He tried to curse and scream at the little prick, but all that came out was a soft cough and some dark fluids that pooled ‘round his mouth.

The last thing the humiliated Gyroman thought was what a kick in the ass this was, just before an empowered mob tore him to pieces.


Stoneman, now a giant humanoid mass of “living” sand, continues his rampage, aggressively pursuing Regdar and Ivan. But the two of them have just about reached their limit. Trying to dodge dozens of sharp daggers form of solidified sand has been no small task, and many of them have found their marks. On the other hand, the Assassin’s Silver Tomahawks have had no effect at all. An advantage of that sandy body is that it makes it easy to shift the location of his control orbs, making them very hard to hit, especially when the fine particles are swirling everywhere.

Without the means to fight effectively, T.Hawk and Ivan are left with little choice but to flee the horrific monster.

“What’s it gonna take to stop this thing?!” Regdar ponders outloud.

“Don’t look at me, boss. I’m just the muscle.” Ivan responds.

What Tomahawk wouldn’t give to have a water-based robot master with him. His mind shifts over to Aquaman, and laughs to himself how the ridiculous fire-hydrant would be pretty useful right about now.

Suddenly, his attention is averted to something in the distance. It’s an abandoned oil tanker on the side of the road. T.Hawk doesn’t think much of it at first. It’s what the country’s known for, after all. But then a flash of inspiration enters his mind.

“That’ll do nicely. Follow me, Ivan!”

“Of course, Comrade.”

It appears someone was in a hurry to leave the city when the Scissor Army invaded. Apparently the driver of the tanker chose to ditch his cargo and run. Good thing he did, though. Taking out a pair of Silver Tomahawks, Regdar flings them at the tank as he races by, spraying a flood of black petrol into the road, soaking the sand giant with fresh crude.

As the oil soaks into the sandy mass, T.Hawk grins as he lights a cigar.

“Is it cold, or is it just me?” He exclaims as he flicks his lit match into the oil pool surrounding the creature. Flames shoot through the oil as the sand golem instantly erupts into flame. As the beast writhes in agony on the ground, Regdar turns to walk away when a huge blast of untainted sand rips angrily over his body before returning to its master, trying to smother the intense flames.

T.Hawk painfully slumps to the ground as Ivan runs over to him. "Comrade Regdar! Are you alright?" The severe blast of the abrasive material has sandblasted the synthetic skin on his face clean off, leaving little more than his metallic skull. It may have done some internal damage as well.

“Damn... well I've had better days... And that hurt like hell. But I think I'll live." The gunslinger mutters as Ivan helps him up. They turn to the burning mass in front of them. "That’ll at least slow him down awhile. But we're not home yet. I just got a transmission from Blizz; sounds like he needs our help." Regdar turns to the cab of the discarded tanker truck. "Think you can get us out of here, Ivan? I dunno I'm in much shape to drive."

Ivan runs over to the cab. Sure enough, the previous owner left the keys in his haste to escape. Placing T.Hawk in the passenger's seat, he starts the engine and releases the truck's cargo. "Let's go, Comrade."


Plantman couldn’t be happier as he watched a flailing Gyroman get mobbed by RPD bots and marines. Those two marines came through despite all odds and made shorter work out of Gyroman than Plant would've thought. The Ascendant Androids were down another teammate, and one of their more valuable ones to boot. Hell, some of the marines were helping themselves to “trophies” from Gyroman himself. And the plane’s paintjob wasn’t even scratched. The Mesmercorpses were in the bag, now.

“Is that damn thing full yet?” the corporal asked impatiently, shouldering his sniper rifle.

“Sir, we filled her up half an hour ago,” a crewman reported. “We just couldn’t take off while we were under attack,” the corporal shot the man a ?? look.

“Well, what the hell are we waiting for?!” the corporal demanded. The little crewman nodded and started briskly pulling out the blocks underneath the jet’s tires. Plantman’s eyes widened. Surely, they weren’t stupid enough to take off now! With their booty, no less!

“Wait!! If you take off now, they’ll blast you out of the sky!” Plantman warned.

“It ain’t going to get any clearer than this, pal,” the corporal dismissed.

“Yeah. I thought you said that your pals were keeping them busy,” his shaven friend noted suspiciously. Plantman shook his head.

“Yeah, occupied, not oblivious. You know if they can’t have that cargo, no one can. They could obliterate your bird and go back to hammering my friends without missing a beat,” Plantman explained. The bald one had an impatient look on his face. The corporal, however, leaned forward and listened intently.

“Go on. What’s your solution?” he prodded. Plantman smiled waved his hands emphatically.

“I’ve still got a few other friends I can call in to even the playing field. They’ve dealt with the Androids before. They know what they’re doing,” Plantman assured. The bald one’s eyes went wide.

“MORE of you robo-terrorists? Oh, hell no. Walt, we can’t let any more of those assholes near the goods. They’re gonna swipe ‘em and leave us to twist!” the bald one accused wildly. Walt shook his head.

“Who else do we got to count on, Connors? Call ‘em in, Weedeater,” Walt agreed, striding towards Plantman. Plantman smiled and switched his com on as Connors growled and threw his hands up in frustration.

“This is Plantman, calling-“


Suddenly, Plantman felt a sharp pain in both of his left eye as the world went inexplicably black. Plantman screamed in pain and fell to the ground as he clutched his wounded eyes.

“Show’s over, asshole,” Walt sneered, sounding a lot more infuriated than before. "We're taking off now,"


Walter angrily kicked the blind piece of terrorist shit lying before him as it clutched its eyes, in howling in pain. He reached for a grenade to stuff in its mouth, but it already whipped up some flower power to cover its ass. Instead, Walter had to settle for spitting on the simpering pile of shit as he holstered his pistol.

He could read the prick like a book. Not only did the bastard have it coming after blowing up buildings, Connors was right; what reason did these assholes have to help them? What was to stop the Weed and its friends (that it had all of a sudden) from robbing them blind and leave them holding the sack? Not a damn thing, that’s what. And there was no reason why it had to risk his and Connors' lives to frag Gyroman if its surprise compadres could’ve done it. The pretty plant was playing them from the moment it “bumped” into them.

But the Weed did its job. The base was secure once again, and they needed to haul ass, before every pissed off ‘bot in the world crawled up their asses.

“You haven't taken off yet?! It's now or never!” Walter ordered. Suddenly, Walter heard the roar of jet engines turning faster and faster. Minutes later, he watched as the C1-47 gently rise off of the runway. Walter and Connors couldn’t help but smile as they watched the massive aircraft take to the skies towards home.

Suddenly, Walter saw a pair of massive crystals shoot up out of nowhere straight into the jet’s right engines. With an ear-splitting grinding wail, both engines erupted into flames as the plane tipped to its side and started plummeting back to the ground. Only it didn’t hit the ground. Both marines watched in shock and horror as the plane lazily floated in mid-air towards the ground.

“Jesus…You gotta be kidding me…” Walter breathed. Plantman just shot him a smug smile.

"Told you," it spat, but Walter didn't pay it any mind. He and Connors were racing off towards the crash site. But they knew that they were already too late. The cargo was in the SA’s grimy little hands.


Waveman was enjoying every second of Blizzard's excruciating demise. He figured he could make this one last since Blizzard was such a resilient robot.

"You're pathetic! You can't even win when that stupid puzzle-bot holds your hands." Waveman cackled. "To think we needed Mesmerman to begin with."

"If... if you don't need Mesmerman, then why are you picking up his dead bodies? Do you want inside of him, too, you weirdo?"

Waveman burst out of Blizzard's back. "Oh, shut up. If you must know, we intend to pay Mesmerman back for his hospitality. The good General has a need of a Mesmer corpse because it's an uplink to his main memory. He intends to send a virus made just for him straight to his wretched CPU, but I'd start worrying about you're hide right now. OH! Look what I found!"

Blizzard suddenly realized what the Waterboy had found when he received a system message indicating that his stasis tank was trying to be breached. Now he was worried. It was easier to disconnect the tank than to destroy it, but without his cooling system, how long would his mind last until it died under the desert heat?

"This is game over you little worm!" Waveman shouted. "I'll slowly crush your head in the palm of my hand. How does it feel to look death in the face?"

"Painful, I'm looking at you." Blizzard cracked.

"A comedian right until the end. And a messy end it shall be." Waveman cackled as he began applying pressure around the stasis tank, causing Blizzard to scream in pain as his system punished him for allowing his most important organ to be exposed. It brought Waveman pleasure to hear him scream. Maybe now it was sinking through that death is nothing to laugh at, unless, of course, you were Waveman. Then you WERE death.

"Hey, Puddle Boy!" Blizzard heard a familiar voice.

"Oh, who's ruining my fun now?" Waveman leaked his eyes out of Blizzard's back and peered out from behind the Russian. It was Flameman.

"Bet you feel pretty big picking on the snowman. Let's see if you can take the heat." Flameman taunted. The air around his body was beginning to blur around him as his body started heating to immense temperatures.

Waveman laughed. "Oh, come on! Do you think I'm afraid of a little fire?" He tossed Blizzardman to the side, his prize groaning as he fell to the ground. "I'll snuff you out like a candle. Let's play."

"That's right. Let's play." Flameman smirked. "YAMATO! NOW!"

Waveman looked around to find this "Yamato" that Flameman was talking about, only to hear a perfect impression of a Conan the Barbarian war cry from above him. He looked up and saw a barrel hurtling towards him. It was too late to dodge, and the barrel smacked him right in the face, cracking and spilling the crude oil all over his body. It felt disgusting. He was dirty now.

"Ah! What filth!" Waveman shouted.

"Cleaning up should be the least of your worries." Flameman said as he unleashed all of his fuel in one furious shot of fire.

The flame attack was devastating. Flameman had poured all of his energy into it, engulfing Waveman in a flood of consuming fire. The night sky lit up as a mixture of fire and Waveman's shrieks filled the air. All the oil in Wave's body had ignited, and now Waveman thrashed violently as his whole body burned. He had to get out, or else the nanomachines would die from the heat. He took one last look at Blizzardman. He wanted to destroy him, but he couldn't deal with the others. He couldn't take much more. With a frustrated shriek, he flooded through the streets, batting away anything that got in his way as he fled from the enemy. Yamato rushed over to Blizzard.

"Blizzard! Are you alright?" He asked, panicked.

"I'm... not sure..." Blizzard groaned.

"Can you stand?" Flameman asked.

"I'll... I'll try..." Blizzard attempted to stand up, his whole body was wracked with pain. He finally managed to struggle to his feet. "Alright. I should be ok. Let's move out. We need to find those Mesmer corpses before the Androids do, they're planning to kill Mesmerman with a virus."

"What? Isn't that a good thing?" Flameman asked. "He IS a bad guy, after all."

"He might be bad, but he's turned on the Scissor Army. If the Scissor Army needs to deal with someone as powerful as Mesmerman while the RPD is on their tails, they won't be able to withstand the attack. If it's just the RPD... we don't stand a chance..." Blizzardman said.

"I see." Flameman replied. "Well, let's get moving."

Blizzard tried to follow, but the moment he took a step, his whole body collapsed. Yamato looked back at his leader once again struggling to push himself up with only his right arm to help him. He ran over and pulled his arm around his shoulder.

"Thanks, Yamato." Blizzard strained against the force of his own weight. Flameman, my arm is in that building over there, holding my ice gun. Can you run in and grab that for me?"

"No problem, boss." Flameman rushed in to get his leader's missing limb. While he was in there, he helped himself to a barrel of oil, refueling his tank. "He really did a number on you, Blizzard." He said as he handed Regulus's arm to him.

"Yes, he did. I owe you guys, and not just because you saved my hide."

"Forget it, boss." Yamato said as he took Blizzard's left arm from him. "Now's not the time. Onward! An oil refinery is no place for a mighty warrior!"

"Ah, nuts! We're too late!" The Assassins turned to see Ivan holding a fork-lift over his head, ready to chuck it at whoever was trying to hurt Blizzardman. T. Hawk was standing next to him.

"What have you guys been up to?" Flameman asked.

"Running from Sandman." T. Hawk replied. "He tried to kill us, but he lit him on fire."

"That's starting to sound like a general catch-all to solving our problems nowadays." Yamato said.

"Whatever works. Let's find those corpses." Blizzardman said.

"You look pretty beat up, Reg." T. Hawk said as he looked over his leader. "C'mon, we hijacked a truck, we'll give you a lift."


The remaining Shit Piles were shouting and whooping like they just used the toilet on their own for the first fucking time as they reeled the jet in. Napalmman knew better than to join in. Gyroman was wasted. The smug little pansy had to have been, or else the plane would still be on the ground. Blowfart was probably out too, but Napalmman could give a flying rat’s ass. He was just going to frag the maggot himself and feed Cutman some bullshit story anyway. Napalmman shoved his latest casualties out of his skull and turned his attention back on the jet his Shit Piles reeled in.

“Crack it open, ladies!” Napalmman barked. Gravityman sneered as the deranged piece of shit flattened the front half of the jet, causing dozens of dull grey metal crates to spill out of the aircraft. Napalmman rolled towards one of the crates that tumbled right in front of him and tore it open.

“Holy dog shit! I guess Elysium’s got a hard-on for us after all!” Napalmman proclaimed as a mangled, scorched Mesmerman grinned back up at him. Napalmman wanted to feel elated to have Tinkerbell by the balls, but he felt jack shit. No sense of accomplishment, no rush of victory. Just another sour op wrapped up. All he had to was spool up Stoneman and Waveman up and they could ship the fuck out. He’d tried calling up the Shit Piles he dispatched for nearly a minute as the plane crashed and burned, but all he got was snow and static.

“Pissbag! Street-curb! Where the fuck are you two?! You maggots want to be left behind?!” Napalmman bellowed into the com. Nothing. Were those stupid sacks of shit fragged too? Jesus H. motorboating Christ. What the hell was happening to his goddamn unit?! Growling, Napalmman switched his com to the Joes’ frequency.

“Alright bulletstoppers, new orders: Drop your cocks and grab our rocks. Stoneman’s down, and so is Pissbag. Scrape up whatever the hell is left of them, and move out!” Napalmman ordered.

“What about your WMDs?” a Crystalgirl reminded. Napalmman’s felt his guts wrench again. Leaving the WMDs behind left a shitty taste in his mouth. Especially with Gyroman fragged. If Cutman tried to bone him and the Androids again, all he’d have going for him was his sparkling fucking personality and body the sniveling worm built himself. But with Mesmerman plotting to kill Elysium before it could be born, his aspirations would have cool their heels.

“Leave the WMDs! Just find those two dickheads!” Napalmman ordered grudgingly. “We leave in five minutes, with or without them!” Crystalgirl looked like Napalmman just strangled her dog and shat down its throat. He didn’t give a rat’s ass how much of a hard-on she had for Stoneman. They weren’t staying in this shithole any longer than they had to. As Napalmman readied to fire his howitzer, mostly out of frustration than anything else, he saw something small and metallic fly towards him. Suddenly, Napalmman and the Shit Piles were knocked flat on their asses as a ball of fire and sound erupted by the crate in front of him.

“Well, no shit. What do we got here, a fucking hero, huh?!” Napalmman sneered as he picked himself up, looking over the smoldering remains of the crate and the grenade shrapnel embedded on his chest. Laughing like a spaz, Napalmman fired a volley of napalm bombs in the direction of the dumb fuck who lobbed that grenade. The pile of rubble and shit was blown to kibble as a roaring fire swept through the area. Through cloud of smoke and debris, Napalmman could see two dumb fucks lying on the dirt, one of them clutching his shoulder.

“Now who could that be?” Gravityman asked, stroking his skinned chin thoughtfully.

“Let’s find out!” Crystalgirl chimed, as skewered both bodies with a pair of crystalline hooks and dumped them in front of Napalmman. The first lump of shit was some dead human, a marine with a shaven head and a piece of shrapnel lodged in his fucking throat. The second maggot, a short brown-haired corporal, was still kicking and clutching at both his crystal and shrapnel wound on his shoulder as he coughed up blood.

“You dumb fuckwad! What made you think you could squeeze one past us with a few pissy grenades?!” Napalmman screamed.

“…It was worth a shot,” the human grunted, trying to smile. “I was on a roll after nailing that freak-helicopter of yours.” Napalmman nearly shat out his own CPU. This meatsack was the one who capped Fly Boy? Growling, Napalmman yanked the shitstain’s dog tags off his neck.

“Corporal Walter H. Garland, is it?! You’ve got balls, shithead! Hell, maybe I’ll let you fuck my mama!“ Napalmman sneered as he brutally slammed his handcannon into the slime bucket’s chest. Just before Napalmman could fire, he could hear the screeching of tires behind him. He frowned and turned around, only to find the Assassins and their pet Special Forces unit riding on a flatbed barreling towards them.

“It ain’t over yet, pal!” Flameman boasted as he unleashed a salvo of fireballs at Crystalgirl. Gypsy Bitch frantically tried to move her crystals to block the barrage, but a few of them still got few and torched her ass. However, she quickly shook it off and reformed one of her crystals into that useless/kinky whip dagger of hers.

“If these Cock Sackers get even one Mesmer corpse, you ladies will be sucking buttermilk out of Geminiman's tits til the day you die!” Napalmman commanded as Crystalgirl and Gravityman took flanking positions beside the wreckage. As much eviscerating these peckers would make Napalmman’s day and even the score for Gyroman, all Napalmman cared about was scraping up those two stragglers who were holding up the show. The Assassins could play the ass-smoking action heroes all they wanted. The Androids had already won.


As the AA took their time with the humans, Drillman snuck up to the crates that lay before him.

A piece of cake, Drill thought. All I need to do is move these to my tunnel under here and we are home free.

"Let's get my body!" Drill spoke. Then he realized what he said. "I mean, Mesmer's body. Odd..."

He grabbed as many of the crates as he could and moved them out of the building. Amazingly, he seemed to have gone unnoticed. He did this three times, culminating to about two dozen crates, as opposed to the three dozen that they started off with. After the third time, he realized he should get out of there.

But deep inside, he kept on thinking that he should stay and get them all. This urge kept on happening as he moved the crates out of the tunnel. While doing so, he destroyed his original tunnel so they would not follow.

As Drill got out of his now destroyed tunnel, he realized that he was away from everybody. He opened one of the crates and stared into the eyes of Mesmerman.

"Kyhehehe...soon. Even if they take the remaining crates to the General, I will still win."

As he put down the corpse, Drill blinked. He had zoned out for a second. "Oh well. It happens. Let's get these bad boys back to Cossack. Let me call the CC. Hopefully they did their job."


“Hang on!” Ivan called out as he jerked on the steering wheel. Regdar grabbed on to the doorhandle and gritted his teeth as the truck swerved towards a nearby warehouse. In a panic, Ivan slammed on the brakes as the truck started to tip over one side. As the din of screeching tires filled the air, Blizzardman, Flameman and Yamatoman frantically rushed to the other side of the truck, give it more balance. But it was to no avail as the truck violently rolled over as it made its turn. Regdar’s world suddenly started spinning as the runaway truck pitched and rolled too many times for him to count before slamming into a loading dock.

“Everyone okay?” Ivan asked, unbuckling himself.

“Is that a trick question?” Regdar asked as he gingerly climbed out of the cab. As the Assassin’s pulled themselves out of the wrecked truck, they could hear a chunk of the warehouse giving them cover rip itself from the foundation.

“Damn! We’re too late…” Yamatoman lamented as he looked over the plane’s wreckage through a broken window.

“What crap are ya talkin’ ‘bout? We scored big time!” Diveman shot back over the com.

“We’re ready to pull out whenever you are,” Sean reported over the com.

“Why didn’t you say so??” Tomahawkman asked as he ducked underneath a plane wing Gravityman flung at him.

“Plantman! Where are you?” Regulus called over the com. All they got was static in response.

“Plantman’s in trouble…” Regulus noted grimly as a crystal eye grazed past him. “I’m going in after him…”

“You crazy?” Flameman protested as he countered Gravityman with a salvo of flame blasts. But Regulus was already staggering off towards the airstrip. There wasn’t any point in arguing with him now…

“We’ve got you covered,” Regdar encouraged, smiling weakly. Regulus weakly gave his old friend a thumbs up and limped off down an alley. As Regulus slinked off, Ivan cracked his knuckles.

“Well, there’s only one thing left to do…” Ivan noted as he hefted up a dumpster and held it in front of him. The Assassins nodded as they regrouped behind their muscle, readying their respective weapons.

“Go for it!” Regdar shouted as the Assassins barreled out of the alley, firing at will at the Androids. Only the Androids weren’t shooting back. As they poured out of the alley, they could see Napalmman, Gravityman and Crystalgirl all huddled up behind a glistening crystal wall, smirking at them as if they were in on some joke the Assassins didn’t get.

“What the hell are they doing?” Flameman asked, vainly trying to melt their crystal barrier with a few flame blasts. Just down the main street, they watched in horror as a dark, raging cloud of sand racing towards them. Regdar could swear that he heard a deep, hollow roar, like rocks rolling against each other. As the sandstorm roared down the street, bits and pieces of stone were ripped out of buildings and the road and became one with the sandy maelstrom.

"Jesus..." was all Regdar could get out as he and his pals scambled to get behind some cover.

“End of the line, you goddamn wastes of life!” Napalmman bellowed, as he fired a volley of napalm bombs that exploded in front of them, cutting off their escape. Seconds later, all their remaining escape routes and alleys erupted in napalm-fueled infernos. Regdar hissed in frustration as he frantically looked around for an alley Napalmman missed.

“We’re screwed…” Yamatoman moaned. Tomahawkman didn’t pay any attention to his buddy, as his gaze full squarely on an inconspicuous manhole cover ten feet behind them.

“Psst…Ivan…!” Regdar whispered, nodding towards the manhole. Ivan smiled underneath his Special Forces armor as he punched a gaping hole in the sidewalk above the manhole.

“Quick! It’s now or never!” Regdar screamed as he, Yamatoman and Flameman scrambled towards the hole. Napalmman growled in anger as he fired another volley of napalm bombs at their cover. Ivan desperately flung himself in front of the volley of napalm bombs, screaming in unfathomable agony as his armor was blown apart and engulfed in flames.

“Ivan!” Regdar screamed, reaching out to his fallen ally.

“GO!” Ivan hollered as he was consumed by searing hot flames. Swallowing back bile, the Assassins dashed towards the hole. The sandstorm was already less then twenty yards from them as Flameman and Yamatoman dove into the hole. Just as Regdar was in arm’s reach of the hole, he screamed in agony as something sharp, cold and smooth drilled through his knees and elbows.

“C’mon! Sit back and enjoy the show with us!” Crystalgirl taunted as her crystals dragged him away from the hole and tossed him directly in front of the incoming sandstorm. Tomahawkman’s eyes went wide as the crystals in his elbow seized control over his tomahawk hand and chopped his armor. As his tomahawk uncontrollably hacked away, dozens of pin-sized crystals burrowed themselves into his fingers and forced them to peel his hacked armor off, chunks at a time. The whole scene made Regdar want to throw up. The mortified gunslinger could feel his internals snap and tear before his tomahawk and his fingers, just before hundred pounds of sand and stone swallowed him up and took his breath away.


Napalmman sneered as he watched the dust settle and Tomahawkman’s corpse slump to the ground. His synthetic skin and his armor were peeled completely the fuck off, leaving nothing but his abraded skeleton and the dirty remnants of his headdress. As he re-assumed a more humanoid appearance from nearby rubble, the Stone Stuffer leered at the Tomahawk’s skinned remains.

“Nice entrance, Blockhead! Where’ve you been bro?” Crystalgirl greeted, patting her sandy ‘brother’ on the back. Stoneman simply stepped back and bowed modestly, like he was some pantywaist gentleman and plopped Tomahawk’s filthy headdress on her head. The siblings acted out a mushy Hallmark card, Napalmman could see a few bulletstoppers carry Pissbag and his scorched armor over their shoulders.

“Glad you two shitlickers could make it!” Napalmman scoffed as he blasted the Village Peoples’ pet Special Forces unit once more, mostly to vent more frustration. He had those Cock Sackers by the balls, but they slipped off into the goddamn sewers. They could be any-fucking-where by now. And every moment he spent hunting down those vermin was a moment Memserman tightened his grip on Elysium.

“Alright ladies, pack this shit heap up and go home! We got what we came for!”

“But, we can’t let the Cossacks off. Gyroman wouldn’t want that,“ Gravityman protested.

“To hell with them! We’ll get another chance to waste these pants-wetters later. Mesmerman’s got to die, and he’s got to fucking die now before he bones us any harder! You ladies can either leave with the corpses, or stay with Gyroman. Your goddamn call” Napalmman ordered. The Joes were first ones to teleport out, along with Pissbag’s cooked hide. After shooting him a few dirty looks, the rest of the Shit Piles beamed out, along with Napalmman a few seconds later. Even though they killed Gyroman, ripping the spines out off of these fucks and shoving them up their assholes, meant shit to him. Not as much as doing that to Mesmerman, anyway. It also wouldn’t give his beloved Elysium the same kind of security either. Elysium was about to be rescued from grip of the fucking Devil himself.


Plantman hung onto Regulus’s shoulder as he dragged him out of the airstrip. He used his plant barrier to camouflage himself and hide from any RPD drones still lurking on the strip. His didn’t hurt as much as they did before. The pain and humiliation of being tricked by some punk marine stung more than anything else.

He didn’t have a clue where he was, but he felt Blizzardman set him down on a pile of rubble.

“What’d we miss?” Regulus rasped.

“…We lost Regdar and Ivan…” a heavy voice answered, probably Flameman’s. “It wasn’t pretty…”

“It never is. Tell me we got the corpses…” Plantman muttered, almost pleadingly.

“You bet!” a voice answered proudly over the com. Drillman. “At least some of me. But it’s more than what RPD got,”

“Some of you…?” Plantman asked confused.

“Yes…Errr…No. You know what I mean,” Drillman corrected sheepishly. The Assassins remained silent for a moment. What was Drillman’s problem?

“Whatever. Either way, there are still a few RPD boys still patrolling the city. It’d suck to go through all this just to be pinched as we’re feeling sorry for ourselves,” Regulus pointed out. Plantman nodded. Despite their losses, they got what they were after. As they teleported out, Plantman could only wish he could see the look on Mesmerman’s face as they learned what made them tick.


Walter lay slumped against an alley wall as the boltsuckers slugged it out. He slipped off just as the Cossackers rode in to save the day and didn’t look back. This Clusterfuck was out of his league now. And by all common logic, he should be smear on the ground after pissing off one of Cutman’s right hand men.

He knew that he should feel damn lucky. Instead, he felt like his heart was gonna get ripped out of his ass. His buddies were dead, he made a bad call and gave the Scissor Army the cargo with a pretty bow on it. And to top it off, he was bleeding to death in some dingy alley. This wasn’t just another day in the Sandbox. This was a fucking nightmare.

With all the strength he could muster, Walter picked himself up and lurched down the alley. He didn’t have the foggiest where he was going, and he didn’t care. Suddenly, as he rounded the corner, he stumbled into a detachment of the vanilla brand RPD bots.

“I come in peace,” he muttered as he made the Vulcan sign and staggered around them. Just as he passed them, a human voice called out to him.

“Stop! Are you one of the marines charged with guarding the Mesmerman corpses?”

“Uh-huh,” Walter answered indifferently, turning around. A few of the rent-a-cops stepped aside, revealing a red-haired, balding man with a mustache, flanked by two special forces bots and holding some GPS gizmo.

“I am Watcher O’Brien. We were attached to those Mesmerman corpses before the attack. You’re the man who destroyed Gyroman and shot that terrorist, right?” the inquired.

“Sure, why not?” Walter answered. O’Brien nodded as a gaggle of boltsuckers surrounded him as though they were his bodyguards.

“Come with us. We’re pulling out of here and reporting back to Monsteropolis. There’s a plane taking off at 0100 hours. I say you’ve earned the right to come home soldier,” O’Brien stated.

“Who am I to argue?” Walter piped, his surprise melting into ecstasy as a large SWAT armored car pulled out in front of him. His feelings of despair, failure and all that other emo shit washed away a little bit as he realized that his ordeal was over. No more hare-brained ops that only got good people killed. No more “years of winning”. And no more fucking robots trying to screw him over. He was going home…while he still had a home. It was the only good thing to come out of this whole colossal Charlie Foxtrot.




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