Looking at the pile of meat that had recently been Arianna Huffington, George Takei winced as one does upon seeing a friend step in poo.
He turned to survey the battlefield and assess his situation. Most of the Order was dead, but there was still a chance for victory.
In the distance was a large boulder, and he wagered it was the Fetid Lord’s best hiding spot. Nearby, Putin continued his rampage.
It was time for the next phase of “Operation He-Gassen.” Pausing for a moment, Takei thought fondly of his mother, then charged.
Sprinting at top speed directly toward Putin, Takei thought of nothing but the task at hand. He relinquished his life to the Order.
“You CLOWN IN BLACKFACE!” Takei cried, his voice rending the air with a physicality normally reserved for freight trains. Putin turned.
Takei was bounding up the beach like an uncaged tiger, brown eyes calm, silent save for the fluttering of the sashimono on his back.
Putin had to admit his assailant looked pretty badass, katana cocked behind his head, banner streaming behind him, and carnage all around.
It was a shame. Putin nodded slightly, out of respect. Takei continued his sprint, closing in, seconds from striking distance.
Putin twitched his arm like he was shaking off a horsefly, and a beat later, Takei was engulfed in green flames.
Without breaking stride, Takei continued toward his target, an unstoppable force until the Putescent fire reduced him to ash.
Putin took a last look at the ashes of his honorable foe, then turned away and saw Robot Scorpion Walt Disney creeping toward Snowy and MC.
Putin opened his mouth to call a warning into Snowy’s comm, but Disney’s advance was suddenly halted when a giant pincer grasped his tail.
The jar containing Walt’s partially frozen head swiveled to face his attacker. A terrible fury of mouth parts bore down on him.
An Insekt scorpion, half again as big as Disney’s mech and brandishing fangs, had him held as firmly as a child grasping a kitten’s tail.
With a quick snip, the scorpion popped Disney’s cryogenic telson helmet into the air. It landed in the snow and rolled down a slope.
Putin chuckled at the Mouse King’s ignoble demise, eyes narrowing as he remembered being snubbed at Club 33 during a visit years ago.
Without Disney’s half-frozen brain controlling it, his robot scorpion body flipped into self-destruct mode. The hulking mech squatted.
Then, as the Insekt assailant rushed in to finish its kill, Disney’s exuviae erupted into a ball of wind and fire.
Putin was momentarily blinded by the flash. He shielded his eyes and turned away, white spots dancing in a black sea and ears ringing.
As his senses returned, a blurry figure by the surf slowly came into focus. “Come, Vovochka. It’s time to go home.” Putin knew the voice.