The countdown began. Catastrophe smiled, his eyes wide with glee. He ran up the stairs as quickly as he could, then burst through the door and threw himself over the railing into the air…

Below him, flames exploded forth from quad-rockets, smoke billowed out, and the missile began its upward climb. Catastrophe caught hold of the nose, whipped himself around to straddle it as it hurdled into the clouds. He flipped his belt around the tip and used it as a reign, riding the missile as if it were a bull to be broken. He let out a war-cry the likes of which hadn’t been heard since the fall of the Incan Empire.

Into the ionosphere, the bomb reached the peak of its arc, and began its descent.

The adrenaline coursed, forced out in a scream of pure excitement and ecstasy, as Catastrophe rode the 100-megaton weapon of death towards its target.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have reached our final destination.

The End was rumbling downwards, caught between the thighs of Catastrophe.

Good riddance.