At first it was light. A casual, breezy theme. We didn't know what was coming. We could never have known.
Sure, there were warnings. Hints at the horrors to come.
Hints at what could be.
But maybe it was innocent. Just an unassuming bit of placement on a couple of products.
Surely this is just a minor thing? Should we be worried about minions being on our food?
But people began to despair at the scale of their invasion.
There were people who even employed Soviet-style propaganda methods to keep them at arm's length.
But they were everywhere. A nice minion bong? When the stoners have fallen, who stands between humanity and complete destruction?
Humans were held in thrall to the power of the minion.
Parents were driven to desperation, sacrificing their children to the minion overlords, hoping it would be enough to save themselves.
Some believed they could resist, could fight the good fight, and the minions would let them be. But this is no fairy-tale world.
Some practiced more direct resistance as minions flooded out.
Some went further, declaring open rebellion against our new overlords.
We wanted to fight, we really did. But across the world, when it came down the cutting edge, those efforts were tiny in their scale, but colossal in cruelty.
Occasionally, one might even be captured, but then the most lurid, darkest facets of humanity would come out, and force us to question everything about ourselves. Are we any better than them? Who are really the minions?
"Are some things still worth dying for? Is the American idea one such thing? Is ours a generation called to make great sacrifices in order to preserve our democratic way of life?"
But it was too late anyway, as the great temples of humanity were transformed into palaces of the minions.
In hope of protection, cars were emblazoned with the symbols.
The tributes became larger and larger, as innocent people vied for favour.
All must be sacrificed.
Our festivals were taken from us.
Our food was infected.
Our monuments were corrupted.
People felt compelled to brand themselves, forced into it by the all-consuming force of minion-kind.
People tattooed their tongues.
People took their new fanaticism so very far, stripping away the very values that made them human.
People wanted to do things to them.
Nothing is not minions.
Where previously there was love, now there was fear.
Where there was hope, despair.
And where there was beauty, minions.
Then the assimilation came, humans melding with minions, producing new cruelties against nature.
Nature abhors these... things.
Hybrids rejected by man and god and minions alike.
Why, we asked. Why. Why must existence hurt this much?
The minions won. They ruled, they took over everything.
None could stand against them. None.
All is dust.
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