Thursday, August 21, 2014

Total Darkness: The Legion of Losers

Darkness fell. Things happened. Some of them were pretty bad, I guess. Thanks to some bungling Moth-Lady claiming to be the world-renowned dorkette Miss M, the evil sorceress known as Maleficent was able to reclaim a powerful and ancient artifact that granted her god-like abilities. With her augmented powers, she became The Queen of Darkness, and her evil spread and engulfed all worlds. Including the afterlife.

The wicked gathered, growing stronger with every new rogue who joined their ranks. Strong enough to defeat, enslave or vanquish their heroic foes. Strange alliances were struck amongst the villainous collective; former rivals setting aside their differences to crush and conquer, to rule with iron-fists and blackest hearts.

Lord Zedd: --set your sights too low, Killemoff. This is our chance to finally burn this pathetic mud-ball of a planet. Nothing left but cinders and ash! 

Dr. Killemoff: Some of us have to live on this "pathetic mud-ball", and really, I don't think it's awful to wanna carve out my own little slice of it. The bad-guys won, sure, and now I plan on just kicking back and enjoying my time as King of Tromaville. 

Lord Zedd: Your obsession with this... Tromaville is nearsighted, fool. It is trivial in the grand-scheme of things. Don't you understand that the universe is finally ours..?! 

Dr. Killemoff: I hope you realize how ridiculous you sound, man. It's like, yeah, you don't even know how to shut off villain-monologue-mode and enjoy the fact that we're the top dogs these days. 

Apocalypse: Cease your pointless chattering, both of you. None of us shall rule anything until we've stomped out every last scrap of resistance. Once the last foolish "hero" is gone, then and only then, will we become true gods.

Apocalypse: And, my dear General Tragg, what do you have to report? Have our forces finally defeated those accursed G.I.Joes? 

General Tragg: Negative, sir. However, the last several waves were able to reduce their numbers significantly. It's only a matter of time before we breach their defenses and finish them off for good. 

Apocalypse: Excellent. Once we overtake their base, we will add their weapons and resources to our own. And then nothing, not even Maleficent herself, will be able to oppose our Triumvirate of Terror! Only the fittest shall survive! 

General Tragg: Uh, yeah... very good, sir. 

Apocalypse: Now go, my faithful servant, and assemble my forces. By sunset tomorrow, we will claim victory and the worlds will tremble in our presence.

General Tragg: (whispering, as he leaves) ...idiots.

Dr. Killemoff: And remember to have fun, man! You need to take time to really, like, enjoy all the carnage!

Lord Zedd: What are you prattling on about now?

Dr. Killemoff: I'm just saying that there's no point in being heinous and world-dominating if you can't sorta'... savor it, right? I mean, I've seen your stuff, Zedd. All giant monsters and evil bird-men. Battling "teenagers with attitude". That's not really my thing, but I'm not one to judge how others get their kicks.

Lord Zedd: How dare you imply that I enjoyed being humiliated by Zordon's pups! I should reduce you and your precious New Jersey--

Dr. Killemoff: Yeah, yeah, cinder and ash. Christ on a stick, man, save it for the good-guys, yeah?

Apocalypse:  Enough of this. Dr. Killemoff is correct. You must reserve your hatred and your strength for our true foes. We should retire to our separate quarters, and prepare ourselves for tomorrow's bloodshed.

Dr. Killemoff: Survival of the fitness, sure. You know, I never would have pegged you for a Jane Fonda guy.


Magmar: Oh, you fools. It is I, Magmar, the powerful living rock, who shall be the one to claim those weapons first.

Magmar returns to his lair and summons his lieutenants. Eager to share his wicked plan, to take the G.I.Joes' headquarters and its technological advances for their own! Unfortunately for him, he's gathered together the most ridiculous assortment of henchmen, mutants and monsters of all-time. A veritable who's who of Z-grade villains. Separately, none of them have achieved anything worthwhile. Together, well, they're still pretty terrible. I mean, really, one of them is a drooling, sentient tomato. It's so stupid.

They're all so stupid. 

Magmar: Ah, my minions! The time has come for us to claim our place as the world's greatest villains! No longer shall we be mocked, laughed at or ignored. Once we've taken the Joes' arsenal, we shall use it to lay waste to all who oppose us!

Rocksteady: I just wanna murderalize some Toitles.

Magmar: And murderalize you shall, mighty Bebop!

Rocksteady: Uh, boss, I'm Rocksteady. Wait, I am, ain't I..?

Magmar: It matters not, my loyal soldier. Your mission is a simple one, one that even you can comprehend. If you wish to wreak havoc, I am granting you that opportunity. Go forth and destroy our enemies!

Weedkiller: I wanna eat you, man. Delicious looking fella, tomato-man.

Ketchuk: Naw, you don't want to do that. Look, there's a talking cookie standing right there next to us. He's, uh, way more enticing than some gross, rancid tomato. I'm just some gross, rancid tomato-man and I totally just hurt my own feelings. God, I hate my life.

Magmar: Bossk, you shall lead the assault. I trust you, and only you, to ensure this mission's success. I know none who are as ruthless and cunning as you. None who possess your strength. You are my most trusted. My most accomplished. You... are my number one... guy.

Bossk: I live to serve, lord. We shall not fail you.

Chip the Ripper: Oh, shut up already, lizard-lips. Let's just go kill the fuckers.

Somewhere in the deserts of Utah, there exists The Pit III; the command center for G.I.Joe, once a peace-keeping military-unit dedicated to protecting the world from the ruthless, terrorist organization known as COBRA. In recent days, since the darkness fell, the secret location of this heavily-fortified outpost has been compromised. The combined forces of Evil have tried several times to penetrate the base's defenses and claim the technological treasures within. The G.I.Joe team has so far managed to resist these attacks, but not without suffering severe casualties. Only a small, rag-tag team of operatives remain...

Admiral Ackbar: Thanks for joining us, Ice-Viper One.

Ice-Viper One: The circumstances didn't leave me many choices, did they, Squidbert..? I mean, my buddies in Cobra are gone. Wiped out by all the big, bad super-villains we'd supposedly teamed-up with, the goddamn turncoats. The least I could do to honor my friends is to, for once in my life, show a little bit of integrity and saddle up with you guys.

Roadblock: You can rest easy now, Light-Foot. We thank you for your sacrifice, brother. Sic transit gloria.

Ice-Viper One: Hey, man, I'm not sure that means what you think it means. You might wanna go back and relearn your Latin.

Roadblock: Feel free to still your slithering tongue, snake, before I rip it out of your head.

Ice-Viper One: Hell, I know times are tough. Losing all your pals and all. But keep up with the attitude and you're gonna make me regret siding with the so-called angels.

Kitbash: We're in trouble, aren't we?

Admiral Ackbar: If we can't learn to stand together, well, I fear we won't last the night.

Kitbash: Awesome...

Frostbite: This is probably the worst timing ever, boss, but we've got movement outside. It looks to be a small force, but I'm not super-confident with these readings. Honestly, we're lucky that this equipment is working at all.

Admiral Ackbar: Go check it out, soldier.

Frostbite: I... I'm not even sure what I'm looking at, top. There's only a handful of 'em, but these aren't just a bunch of faceless thugs or masked grunts. I think we're in some serious trouble here.

Bossk: No survivors. No mercy.

Chipper the Ripper: Now you're speaking my language, guy.

Leaving the safety of The Pit III, Frostbite rushes to the L.A.W, which is an acronym for something. We can only assume the L stands for laser. Makes sense, right?

Frostbite's aim is true; the Legion of Losers scatters, bombarded by several vicious blasts from the L.A.W. But not all of them are lucky enough to escape unscathed. Despite the praise heaped upon him by Magmar, it seems that Bossk is the first to fall. He will not be the last.

The silent Giant known as Gonzales utilizes his immense strength to pick stuff up. He's probably going to throw it.

Told you.

Oh, man. Frostbite might be dead. Is he dead? Someone better go check.

Ice-Viper One and Kitbash lay down suppressive fire, allowing Windmill to retrieve their fallen comrade. That means that they're buds and stuff.

Roadblock races to the Desert Fox's turret. Only the massive chain-gun is capable of taking out the two strongest villains, Rockbop and Giant Gonzales.

Kitbash: You're going down, you unholy vegetable! 

Ketchuk: Technically, I'm a fruit! A murderous fruit!

So murderous!

Roadblock opens fire!

Whoa, he totally took out Gonzales. Not speedy enough, dude! Unfortunately, Rocksteady is quickly upon him, Roadblock, I mean, and crashes into the Desert Fox. That can't be good for the Ragin' Cajun.

Pinned beneath the vehicle, Roadblock struggles to reach his trusty machine-gun. It's probably named Bertha or Rosita or something. Seems like the sort of thing that Roadblock would do, naming his weapon. What a cliche. He probably deserves what's coming next.

With the exception of Bossk, who's dead anyway, it seems like everyone from the Legion of Losers is getting their moment to shine. Even the psychotic cookie.

I wasn't kidding about the psychotic cookie. He's really there, and he's really going to shoot Roadblock in the head. This is, uh, a little more grim than I had originally intended.

Ice-Viper One: Whoa, hey. I surrender, fellas. Remember that I used to be one of you. There's honor among thieves these days, isn't there? 

Rocksteady: We ain't no thieves, ski-mask. 

Ice-Viper One: Well, shit...

This part is pretty brutal and goes on for a bit. Let's just, uh, skip ahead.

Admiral Ackbar: What are you doing?

Windmill: It's called a Hail-Mary play. You'd get that reference if you weren't a weird, octopus-alien thing from a planet without professional sports.

Windmill: There's only one thing that can save us now. Honestly, though, I'm not sure why we didn't lead off with this--

Admiral Ackbar: You can't mean...

Windmill: Yeah, the Pac-Rat.

So, Windmill activated it and it was awesome.

A missile! It explodes and saves the day. Boom-shaka-laka.

This is the sad ending part. It's sad, because people died and all that's left are Windmill and Frostbite. Who the fuck are those guys, anyway?

So sad.

[...and yes, Weed Killer sorta' just disappeared, didn't he? You can find out where he ran off to over at Derek's amazing one-shot, which you can enjoy here.]


  1. My installment isn't online yet, bu I used Lord Zedd as well.

  2. This was so funny and so good! I really enjoyed reading this. I am beyond thrilled that you joined in on this Brian. So many wonderful things going on. The dialogue was great, your pictures were really cool. I love your choices for characters. Really awesome!

  3. I laughed, I cried, I died a little inside!

  4. Yay! for having a Killer Tomato!

  5. This just get's me right in my childhood!