u/Garebear90000

The boys: TruthCon is full of conspiracy claims. However one is lady liberty is stormfront. Which is right.

Godzilla vs. Kong: Bernie Hayes runs a conspiracy podcast and believes Apex Cybernetics is hiding something enormous. He is right. Apex is secretly building Mechagodzilla and conducting clandestine experiments.

The Fairly OddParents – Mr. Crocker: people think he is crazy but that is the joke. He is frequently correct about the conspiracy and just incapable of proving it.

How they doing?

The boys comic - butcher puts a bomb in little Nina’s vibrator that blows up when she uses it.

Saints Row 3 - dildo bats are an equipable weapon

Dead Rising 3 - dildo flamethrower held by Dylan Fuentes a psychopath boss that represents lust

Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth

Neon Genesis Evangelion

If Damon actually decided to kill someone with the traitor perk, who do you think he would pick?

These are the only fangans I played/watched.

Reverse Harem Jutsu — Naruto Shippuden: During the battle with Kaguya, Naruto transforms a group of shadow clones into nude, attractive men. It catches Kaguya completely off guard and distracts her just long enough for Naruto to land a punch.

Pin-up magazines — Metal Gear Solid:Snake can leave adult magazines on the ground as a trap. Enemy guards who notice one will stop what they’re doing and stare at it.

AI: The Somnium Files — dirty magazines: Armed enemy soldiers are distracted scattered porno mags on the ground, completely taking their attention away from the fight. This gives Date the opening he needs to send a fire extinguisher at them.

Ranfan — Dragon Ball: Ranfan strips down to her underwear and adopts provocative poses, leaving Nan flustered and reluctant to attack.

Bayonetta (self titled)

Ivy (Soul Caliber)

Poison (Street Fighter)

Gravity falls (dipper and maple) - they rubbed on a carpet that switched bodies

Jojo part 5 (mista and Trish) - silver chariot requiem made everyone nearby swap bodies and mista and Trish swapped.

How you feel for Spider-Man 3, you get to play as Peter Parker a good chunk of the game, but later found out instead of Peter it was Otto Octavius most of the time and he manage to switch with Peter Parker at some point.

Context: She is the third killer who killed Kai, not Toshiko, everything else up to that point played out the same.

Blinding white lights poured over Diana like a tidal wave, bleaching the stage into a shapeless white glare. Her eyes squeezed, but the brightness injected in her like white-hot needles, leaving red veins swimming in the darkness. When she forced them open, tears blurred the golden curtains and turned every camera flash into a spear piercing her eyes.

She pulled against the straps fastening her wrists and ankles to the salon chair. Pink leather squeaked beneath her trembling body. Metal buckles bit into her skin. The restraints tightened whenever she moved, squeezing harder as if the chair breathed with her.

The stage glittered like the inside of a jewelry box. Golden curtains stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Flowers bordered a polished runway, their sweetness smothered beneath hairspray and disinfectant like the sweetness of vanilla perfume curdled beneath the stench of burnt plastic. 

Cameras floated around Diana. Black lenses opened and closed like hungry eyes.

Beside her stood a life-sized mannequin shaped in her image. Its smooth face wore Diana’s smile. Wolfgang’s sheep pin rested over its chest. Eva’s crow feather and Kai’s pink butterfly accessories curled through its artificial hair. Ulysses’ notebook hung from one plastic hand. The mannequin’s blouse opened lower across its chest, exposing Jean’s dragon tattoo beneath the polished skin.

Perfect posture.

Perfect skin.

Perfect smile.

Diana thrashed against the chair, wrenching at the restraints until the buckles carved deeper into her skin. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts. 

A mechanical bell chimed.

The golden curtains parted.

Cara stepped onto the stage. A spotless pink beautician’s uniform covered her body. White gloves reached beyond her elbows. Cara carried a pair of enormous silver salon scissors, their open blades framing her body. 

Oversized makeup brushes descended like birds of prey folding into a dive. Sewing machines rattled like snakes arming their venom. Mechanical arms rose from the floor, unfolding with sharp clicks. The audience leaned forward, scorecards pressed against their chests.

A metal clamp burst from the armrest and snapped around Diana’s left wrist. Its ridged jaws tightened against her pulse, pinching skin between cold steel until her fingers went numb. She pulled back, encouraging the clamp to grab harder, grinding against bone with every frantic movement.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened as terror hollowed out her face, every instinct screaming to run while the restraints held her perfectly still. 

The machine stretched her arm away from the chair until her shoulder burned. Diana twisted against the straps. The pink leather squealed beneath her.

Cara advanced without hurrying, dragging the scissors behind her as though Diana had nowhere left to run. Each metallic scrape echoed in her ears closer, more shrill, carving two thin scars into the polished floor. She stopped beside Diana and placed the open blades around her shoulder.

Diana shook her head frantically, eyes wide and wet, a silent plea trapped behind her clenched teeth. Cara stopped. Slowly, she tilted her head. The scissors began to close. Diana’s eyes widened. A wet crack split the music.

Diana’s scream tore through the pageant hall. Her spine bowed away from the chair before the restraints snapped her back into the leather, buckles biting deeper. Blood struck Cara’s gloves in hot bursts, streaking across the white fabric and speckling her spotless uniform. Diana’s remaining hand clawed at the armrest, her nails scraping uselessly across the polished surface. 

The severed arm dropped and Cara caught it before it touched the floor. She carried it to a preparation table and placed it beneath the salon equipment. Brushes spun against the skin, scrubbing away blood. Powder burst into the air. Needles stabbed through torn flesh, stitching the wound into a smooth line.

Cara walked to the mannequin and twisted off its left arm with a hollow pop from the socket. She pressed Diana’s arm into its place with a wet click. Metal clasps tightened inside the shoulder. Needles darted around the seam, pulling flesh against plastic until the gap disappeared. The doll got its first flesh-and-blood arm. 

Diana’s fingers twitched against the leather like severed puppet strings. The mannequin’s smile widened like she wanted to put a smile on her face. 

Cara carried the discarded plastic arm back to the chair. Diana stared at it. The fingers were stiff. Its skin shone beneath the lights. A hollow joint waited where bone should have been. Cara pushed it against Diana’s open shoulder. Metal hooks sprang from the plastic and buried themselves in her flesh. Diana screamed again. The hooks pulled the arm inward. Needles stitched skin around the artificial joint. Electricity crackled through the plastic fingers.

Diana felt them crush inward around the torn vessels, a brutal pressure that stopped the warmth spilling from her body. Her heart kept beating. Her lungs continued dragging in air. 

The plastic fingers curled inward, one joint at a time. Diana had no control of it, like something inside her hand had just awakened, like something meant to replace her. 

The mechanical audience erupted. Scorecards rose. Six. Seven. Eight.

Blood streamed down the chair in thick, uneven ribbons, slipping into the seams and pooling beneath Diana before soaking the pink leather into a glossy, almost black red.

Another bell chimed. A second clamp seized Diana’s right wrist and stretched her arm straight. Cara circled the chair, her blades reflecting Diana’s swollen eyes and open mouth. The scissors snapped shut. Diana’s scream climbed until her voice tore apart, the final note collapsing into a wet gasp. Cara caught the arm, carried it to the table, and let the machines scrub and stitch it.

Brushes whirred. Powder burst. Needles flashed. Cara removed the mannequin’s remaining plastic arm and twisted Diana’s flesh arm into its place. Then she returned with the hollow replacement.

Diana threw herself from side to side. The chair rocked beneath her, buckles sawing deeper into her skin. Her new plastic hand slapped uselessly against the armrest.

Cara shoved the artificial limb that had Ulysses’ notebook into the empty socket. Hooks pierced. The thread tightened. The plastic hand opened. Closed. Opened again.

The audience applauded louder. Eight. Nine. 

Diana kicked against the restraints. Clamps burst from beneath the chair, locking around her thighs and ankles. Her left leg was pulled straight. Cara placed the scissors around her upper thigh. 

A slight adjustment. A turn of the wrist. The blades closed. Diana snapped forward. The restraints caught her before she could fall. Her scream cracked into breathless sobbing.

Cara dragged the leg to the preparation table. Scrub. Powder. Stitch. The mannequin’s plastic leg came free with a hollow pop. Diana’s flesh replaced it with a wet click.

Cara returned and drove the artificial leg into Diana’s thigh. Hooks fired into her. The joint tightened with a grinding turn.

The second bell rang immediately.

Before Diana could inhale, Cara opened the scissors around her remaining thigh. The blades shut. Her second leg fell into Cara’s arms. The machines scrubbed, stitched, and attached it in a blur. Cara forced the final plastic leg onto Diana before her first scream had ended.

The artificial feet struck the floor together. Clack. Clack. The sound resembled shoes walking through an empty hallway. The mannequin stood beneath the brightest lights, balanced on Diana’s real legs and wearing her real arms. Its plastic torso rose between them. Its artificial face continued smiling, her fingers at the edges of her lips.

Diana remained strapped to the chair. Two plastic arms hung from her shoulders. Two plastic legs stretched from her hips. Her face had lost its color. Sweat and tears coated her cheeks. Her mouth opened, but only a weak hiss escaped.

The audience lifted perfect scores. All tens. The cameras shifted away from Diana. Their lenses turned toward the mannequin. The spotlight followed, leaving her at the edge of the stage while the thing wearing her limbs gleamed beneath the lights like a false idol wearing flesh like a coat.

Cara set down the scissors. Metal braces closed around Diana’s neck and hips. Another pressed against her spine, forcing her upright. A broad silver blade slid behind the chair and aligned horizontally across her waist, directly above the plastic legs. 

Cara brushed the wet hair from Diana’s face, gentle as a beautician calming a nervous client before the final reveal. A red button rose beneath Diana’s chin.

Across the stage, the mannequin waited with her stolen limbs spread beneath the light. 

Diana lowered her eyes. Plastic hands rested where her own had been, their glossy fingers trembling in small spasms. Plastic legs stretched from the chair, stiff and hollow, unable to feel anything; not pain, not even discomfort; nothing. Between those artificial limbs remained her real torso and real head. 

However, pain hammered like a jackhammer through every joint where metal hooks met flesh. Her body was rejecting her like she was the foreign object her body was allergic to. She tried to move her fingers. They did not obey. She tried to pull back her feet. They only flailed haphazardly in the air.

Her breath rattled through clenched teeth, shallow and uneven. Across the stage, the mannequin stood on her legs and wore her arms beneath the spotlight.

Diana stared at it. Tears slid down her face without a sound. She no longer pulled against the restraints. Her eyes no longer darted around. She only watched the mannequin wear what remained of her.

Cara raised one hand.

The audience fell silent.

Diana closed her eyes and lowered her chin. The button clicked. The blade tore through her waist in one merciless stroke. The chair convulsed beneath her. Diana’s eyes flew open, then slowly emptied. Her plastic fingers curled once before falling still. 

Cara released the restraints and lifted Diana’s torso with her head from the chair. Her hair hung over one shoulder. Her arms and legs remained across the stage, already attached to the mannequin and waiting for the final piece. 

The salon equipment descended. Brushes scrubbed the blood from Diana’s skin. Scissors trimmed the severed edges. Needles flashed, stitching flesh into clean seams.

Cara tore the mannequin’s plastic head and torso away as one hollow shell. She pressed Diana’s remains between her real arms and legs. Clasps snapped shut. Thread tightened.

Cara carried the discarded plastic head and torso back to the chair and locked them between Diana’s artificial limbs. The fake Diana was whole again, sitting upright with painted eyes and a frozen smile.

Eva’s crow feather and Kai’s butterflies curled through its artificial hair. Wolfgang’s sheep pin rested over its hollow chest. A painted copy of Jean’s dragon tattoo stretched across its polished skin. Its plastic hands closed around Ulysses’ notebook. Every keepsake followed the artificial pieces home. 

Across the stage, the real Diana stood, reconstructed, her head and torso once more joined to her arms and legs. Her body had finally been returned to her, after there was no life to claim it.

A recording played from inside the fake Diana’s hollow chest. “Put a smile on that face!” Its painted mouth widened into Diana’s signature smile.

Confetti exploded. The audience shot to its feet. Applause crashed through the hall until every clap became part of one deafening roar.

Cara approached the reconstructed Diana carrying a silver tiara covered in pink diamonds. She settled it carefully into Diana’s hair. Then a velvet-lined glass case surround her. Cameras surrounded the case, flashes bursting against the glass. Beside her, the plastic Diana sat smiling in the blood-soaked chair.

The body wore her beauty.

The doll wore her place.

Diana wore the crown.