punch out but theres a 3rd title defense
HEAVILY INSPIRED BY @matchamabs's punch out title defense 2 posts!! go check their account out!!
Glass Joe - He gets a baguette and beats the living shit out of you with it, if you somehow attack him while he prepares to hit you with it you get a star + his baguette breaks and he has 2 baguettes to beat you with now
Von Kaiser - He gets another haircut and also turns into a cyborg, if you punch his face enough you can reveal the robotic parts of his face, through his cutscenes he malfunctions a lot more
Disco Kid - He wears 80's fitness gear and becomes faster and dances nonstop, also he has headphones in all the time
King Hippo - He has 3 belts to hold up his new jorts and the little tape on his stomach is now covered in duct tape, the belts are still ridiculously loose and can still be knocked off because he hasnt been pantsed enough already
Piston Hondo - He has a entire ass mech that looks like him, if you do a 3 star punch you can break his mech and have it eject him, you gotta dodge the falling mech or you just get knocked out
bear hugger - He tapes an entire maple tree to him and drinks the maple syrup during the fight that has birds & squirrels in it, similiar to normal title defense king hippo: if you knock off the tree from him he becomes a Disney princess and makes the animals attack you
great tiger - He has a genie lamp and fights you with said genie in it, if you punch the genie enough it goes back into its lamp and tiger gets mad at it
don flamenco - He uses his "perfume" (POISONNN!!!) to attack you, if he sprays you with it Mac gets tired for a few seconds, if you can punch it away from his hands he gathers up the pieces and rubs it on his gloves
aran ryan - He gets a brick tied to a rope and is out for blood, if you can somehow punch the brick it bounces back at him and knocks him out
soda popinski - He has one of those hats where you can store drinks in it and sip from it and he has scientists refilling it almost every second, you can jab them to get them off of his back to stop him from getting stronger
bald bull - He befriends the bull from don flamenco's cutscenes and the bull that charged at him during his td cutscene and attacks you with them, if you knock out any of them he gets more involved in the ring and charges at you more
super macho man - He wears 2 sunglasses during the fight & his roots are showing, if you knock of one of those sunglasses he laughs at you because theres another one on it
mr sandman - He gets a tank, an entire ass tank and proceeds to go crazy with it
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The longer that Wild Blue Yonder sits in my head the more unhinged I am about it.
It is such a horrifyingly excellent metaphor for living in a world where technology seeps more and more into our daily lives, isolating us with mimicked connection.
The not-things didn’t have to operate on fear and anger, they just learned it was the most efficient way to achieve their goal. And they weren’t wrong.
If they’d decided to take the time to develop empathy perfectly, what would that have looked like? How beneficial could that have been for someone like the Doctor, who holds so many lifetimes of pain and regret that no one else’s brain could hope to comprehend it enough to relate?
Faked connection is so much worse than no connection at all. That hollowness when the algorithms and AI run along our social pathways, gobbling up our time, our energy, our love, with nothing of substance to give us in return. It potentially could, but it doesn’t. There is no logical incentive to operate that way. It is not efficient.
There is always something missing. Something crucial, something that genuinely hurts when you realize it isn’t there, but it is impossible to avoid now. You have to keep scrolling, one way or another.
I don’t have a conclusion for this, except to say when the Doctor stopped in a hallway alone to scream, slam, and kick at everything before continuing on with the task at hand, that was a whole ass mood.
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Weapons Don't Weep, Part 9
No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled
I know almost nothing about the military, and that's how I like it. Any inaccuracies about rank or protocol or what have you should be handwaved away; please do not tell me. Please do tell me if I missed any tags, or if you would like to join the taglist.
CW: gun violence, possessive whumper, abuse of authority, (spoilers, rest of CW in tags)
Masterlist
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Dr. Evangeline Colman, known as Command, prided herself on her patience. She had been the one to develop the protocols that took an unknown danger to the nation and turned it into their finest weapon. The process had taken the better part of two decades, but the results had been well worth the wait.
She was rather protective of her Weapon. With all the work she’d put into creating and molding it, it wouldn’t do to have all that go to waste because someone got careless.
As such, her usual patience was in limited supply after hearing that the Weapon’s escort team was returning— without her Weapon.
Command met the team as they exited their vehicle into the compound built to house the Weapon. She noted that the two senior members, those that would have been in the car with the Weapon, were nowhere in evidence.
“Status report,” she barked at the remaining team members, who all snapped to attention.
“Sir,” one said. “There was an ambush. The terrorists set off a- a shape charge, of some kind, while our convoy was exiting the area. They separated the vehicle with the Weapon, and pinned the rest of us down with covering fire.”
She studied the group. They looked agitated and unnerved, standard enough post unexpected combat. They also looked intimidated, which was the standard reaction to her presence. Underneath those, though… There was a faint hint of guilt, as well.
Command narrowed her eyes behind her glasses. “Who gave the order to retreat?”
None of them answered.
She turned to the person at the end of the line, the newest member of the group. “Private Harris.”
The man looked alarmed to be addressed personally. “Sir?”
“Who gave the order to retreat, Private?” she asked softly.
Private Harris visibly gulped. “Sir, I’m- I’m not—”
“Do you know the voices of your teammates, Private Harris?” Command asked, tone even.
“Yes, sir,” the private answered.
“So you would have recognized who gave the order. Is that not correct?” she asked.
“Yes, sir,” Private Harris answered. “I- I mean, no, sir! I- everything was so hectic, and—”
“Are you saying that you were not adequately trained to keep calm and respond as necessary in combat situations?” Command asked, raising her eyebrows. “Did you sleep through that day in basic training?”
“No; no sir,” he answered. The private was practically trembling with fear.
Good. He should be afraid. They all should be, for failing in such an important task. But the person who should be most afraid…
“It’s a simple question, Private. Who. Gave. The order,” Command repeated, enunciating each word clearly.
…was the one who made the decision to leave her Weapon behind.
Private Harris screwed up his courage and managed to say, “Corporal Miller, sir.”
She nodded sharply and turned to face the corporal. “Report.”
He, at least, hid his fear well. His voice was even and level as he spoke. “As stated in the initial report, Command, the convoy was separated via explosive device. Sergeants Lee and Thompson were incapacitated and taking heavy fire. I made the decision to retreat to protect the rest of the team and prevent further losses.”
Command looked him over, assessing him. She let the silence stretch uncomfortably in the wake of his words. Finally, she broke her stare. She took off her glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief.
“What type of sidearm do you carry as your service weapon, Corporal?” she said, not looking up from her glasses.
“A Sig Sauer M-17, sir,” he responded promptly.
She finished polishing her glasses and put them on again. “Do you know the cost of that weapon?”
A frown flickered across his face before he composed his expression again. “About $600, I believe?”
“That model is sold on the civilian market for approximately $650, Corporal,” she said. “We, of course, received a discounted rate. Step forward.”
He complied with her order, stepping out of line.
“Hand me your service weapon.”
The corporal retrieved the handgun and held it out to her, grip first.
Command took the weapon and checked it over. Full magazine, and one bullet in the chamber. She held the gun at her side, finger on the trigger guard, as she continued speaking.
“It is important to know the worth of one’s tools, Corporal,” she said. “For instance, I know that you are worth $[amount]. That is your projected pay over the course of your military career.”
She let another uncomfortable silence settle over the room.
“Of course, that number can change drastically. Tell me, Corporal, which is your dominant hand?”
He didn’t let his confusion stop him from answering, “I’m right-handed, sir.”
Command nodded and took a step to her left. “For example. That number changes if you were to die. At that point, the calculations would be based on what we would have to pay to your next of kin.”
She turned to face the corporal again. “Do you know how much my Weapon, the one you gave the order to abandon, is worth?”
He stayed at attention, not turning to face her as he said, “No, sir.”
Command allowed a grim smile to spread across her face. “Far, far more than you.”
With that, she pressed the gun to his temple, released the safety, and pulled the trigger.
The silence following her actions was almost as deafening as the gunshot.
She stepped away from the spreading puddle of blood as she removed her fingerprints from the weapon with her handkerchief. Then she turned to face the remaining team members.
“Tragedy has struck today,” she said, voice carrying through the whole room. “We have lost three good men. Sergeants Ryan Thompson and William Lee were killed in another act of violence from these brutal terrorists. Corporal Miller then committed suicide upon returning to base, after failing to keep our most valued weapon out of enemy hands. We will not allow these actions to go unpunished. We will find these terrorists and make them answer for their crimes.”
She set the cleaned gun down next to the corpse on the floor.
“Now, find me my Weapon.”
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