"Two of them. TWO. Slaughter's Renegades. The reject squad. The ones even the regular Joes looked at sideways. Four of them total, and one — ONE — used to be mine. I don't want to talk about Mercer. We are not talking about Mercer.

Red Dog. Thrown out of professional football. For roughness. The NFL — a sport where men are paid to destroy each other — looked at this man and said 'no, actually, too much.' He then became a stuntman. Because apparently causing mayhem for free wasn't enough, he needed it on camera. And Cobra still lost to him. I said what I said. Moving on.

Taurus. Circus acrobat. Breaks two-by-fours on his face. Not as a party trick — as a skill. INTERPOL watched him do this and immediately offered him a job, because apparently that's the hiring bar for international law enforcement now. Fluent in twelve languages. Trained in explosives and mountaineering. I have a whole organisation and I cannot find one person who does half of what this man does with his forehead. It's embarrassing. For me. Personally.

And Slaughter built a whole team out of people like this. Rejects. Defectors. People nobody else wanted. People who were, by every conventional measure, too much. And they are the ones who keep showing up.

I hate them. I hate this two-pack. I hate that the articulation is exceptional and the accessories number twenty and the deco is premium and the packaging has original character art that is — it's good. It's really good. I hate that too.

Buy it. Display it. Let it remind you that the Renegades were written off by everyone — and they still won.

Cobra Commander has left the briefing. Do not follow him."