Final Mission.
For the shattered plastic man of action.
After so many missions.
After so many breakages.
Scatter your parts across an ersatz playmat field of honor.
Gruesome set dressing.
If I’m playing out a post-apocalyptic scenario maybe my still functional Good Guys and Bad Guys will wield your arms and/or legs as clubs once the last bullet has been fired.
A ceasefire doesn’t apply to my guys if they choose to pummel each other into the ground with fists, feet, clubs, and so forth.
Not a shot fired.
No more shots to fire.
We’re compliant.
Of course . . . we are left with an abiding mystery.
Who declared the ceasefire?
My theory is that, in this instance, it was more of an “emergent ceasefire” due to all the ammo being spent.
Now, we can have the mutually assured beatdown of all times.
Beats goin’ home.
All the utilities have been blown up, so there’s not even anymore shitty cable TV or insipid streaming content to watch.
Not that actually watching was really the point, right?
The real fun was bitching about media outputs by creating media outputs on antisocial media that inspire further media outputs that require responses in kind.
That’s all done now.
Now we have the Final Winner of the Last Action Figure War.
He’s lost an arm.
He’s wielding someone’s arm-possibly his own-as a club.
I’ve done him up with a red permanent marker.
I’ve got raw liver and chicken gizzards at the ready to stage a Fulchi-esque zombie cannibal feast.
I’ve also worked up some papercraft tentacles, eyestalks, and long-necked dragon heads that can be easily attached to indicate the Last Winner’s transformation into a ravenous beast.
My main-man-in-plastic’s looking Johnny-Got-His-Gun-rough now, but I got a feeling that in the fullness of time he’s about to eat his way into a totally fresh Terror-Upon-The-Earth aesthetic.
And wouldn’t you know it?
I gotta box of kaiju and titans and vengeful spirits and nosy extraterrestrials and Bad Old Gods just waitin’ to make the scene.
Final Mission?
Not So Final.
Fun Eternal.
That’s what I’m about.
