Scene from Final Force (1984)

  The year 2116. Just five years after the big one hit and the entire world was destroyed except for Arizona. Those that survived became increasingly desperate, and as such, increasingly more difficult to control. And so a militia was formed: Final Force.

  FF Agent Griff Slabs mounted his solar-powered motocyke and donned his helmet. The heads-up display on his visor showed him a bird's eye view of his patrol zone. He revved the engine a few times, enjoying its growl. It was his own design, made out of soda cans and pure willpower.

  "Agent Slabs, proceed to quadrant 5. Agent needs assistance." his radio squawked.

  "Don't we all?" he replied in a merciless tone, before gunning the engine and zooming off into the dunes like a shimmering phantom of masculinity.

  Quadrant 5 was the Needle Boys' turf. As far as they were concerned, anyone passing through had to pay a toll: your vehicle or your life. When Griff Slabs arrived on the scene, fellow Agent Sarah 6-Pack was pinned behind her cactus-powered hover cruiser, bullets ricocheting off the armor panels just inches from her face.

  Griff thumbed a button on the right grip of his motocyke and 4 gatling guns deployed from the chassis like demonic wings, 2 on each side. He depressed another button on his left grip and a maelstrom of bullets exploded ahead of him. Half a dozen Needle Boys were instantly reduced to little more than blood smears on the sand, peppered with random bits of charred organs.

  6-Pack pursed her parched lips like a whorish tigress. "About time you got here, Slabs! I was just about to kill all these small-pricked fuckheads all on my lonesome!"

  But Griff wasn't listening. He had started to stand up on the seat of his cyke, slowly unsheathing the FF-issued hydrosword he kept strapped to his back. It was made from the antimatter equivalent of solid ice and would never break or melt, despite the constant 134°F temperature in this shithole wasteland we now called the world.

  The few remaining Needle Boys were now concentrating all their fire at him, but it was nothing the nanokevlar couldn't handle. As he raced towards them, standing on his cyke seat, twirling his hydrosword, quad-gatlings still blazing away, his biosuit injected the adrenaline he would soon need into the tip of his penis. Time slowed down and he could see the events unfold with startling clarity.

  Sarah 6-Pack stood up and added her share of bullets to the frenzy, cheering Griff on. "Yeah, Griff! Do it! Kill those guys a lot!"

  He slashed his blade from side to side as he entered the mass of men. Limbs, torsos, and heads flew into the air like gory graduation caps. Agent 6-Pack soon lost sight of Griff Slabs in the haze of bloodmist. Within 30 seconds the roar of gunfire and screams of terror died down to little more than that sweet cyke-engine hum and a handful of death rattles. Griff emerged from the crimson cloud, once again seated properly on his cyke.

  "That was some brutal shit, Slabs!" Sarah remarked, wide-eyed, her privates turning swampy.

  Griff Slabs slowly removed his helmet and made a halfhearted attempt to wipe away the sand-caked chunks of sinew and brains from his visor.
  "Well," he said, "a brutal world needs a brutal hero."

  Sarah's eyes rolled upwards, his gravelly voice filling her with an ecstasy no human female had ever known before. When the barrage of orgasms finally ceased and she regained control of herself, she found that Griff had already left on his motocyke, in search of new crimes to punish. She was confident he would find some.