Rasputin placed his hands on the sides of Lincoln’s head, closing his eyes in deep concentration. Lincoln slowly lifted his gauntlets above his head. An arc of lightning shot from one glove, shattering one of the view screens. Then another, and another. Soon, a torrent of bolts was emanating from his hands, coursing over every metal surface.

Rasputin gritted his teeth and, with every fiber of his being, exerted control over the beams of electricity. The electrons sought the path of least resistance, but Rasputin bent them to his will. As Rasputin worked, Lincoln chanted loudly:

“With malice toward all, with charity for none, we summon thee!”

A silhouette began to form in the center of the room: tall, broad muscular shoulders, shoulder-length hair.

“FREEEEDOOOOOM!” With a cry of primal rage that could only be born from a lifetime of oppression, the ghost of William Wallace materialized in the room. He drew his longsword with deliberation.

A stream of oil and urine trickled down MechaHitler’s leg.