Agent Orange
Agent Orange, soldier of the Orange Army of the Orange Nation, surveyed the jungles that had been subjected to agent orange, under the glow of an orange sun.
Well, really it was more of a red sun as it set over the horizon, but everything else remained true. That, and orange-coloured helicopters descended from the sky as they disgorged troops into the jungle to flush out the forces of the Vietgreen.
The Orange Nation had bided its time, he reflected, as he made his way through the jungle on his lonesome. The Tan and Green Nations had chiselled themselves plastic-free, the allegiances of the Blues and Greys fluctuating as surely as the wind. The Orange Nation, however, had remained on the sidelines. Gathered its strength, made its plans in secret. And with the death of General Plastro, of Colonel Grimm, of the Heroes and even Sergeant Hawk himself, the Orange Nation had struck. Poured over the borders of both the Greens and Tans, and forced them to surrender within weeks.
So now here he was. In the jungles of the Plastic World, which most surely weren't free of plastic, as it had contaminated the very soil over decades of war between the Greens and Tans. He couldn't go a hundred metres without seeing one old weapon of war fading away, its plastic burnt, its metal rusting. Much of them had even been scavenged by the Vietgreen, as they waged a guerrilla war in the hopes of retaking their homeland.
Case in point as the village up ahead opened fire on him.
Agent Orange fired back, using a machine gun one-handed, because using it two-handed was for pussies. The Vietgreen exploded in shards of plastic that would have been just fine for the movies. Alas, there weren't any cameras here. The use of agent orange had been quite controversial, but it had stripped the treetops bare. While the village had remained, nothing else had.
Before long, every Vietgreen was dead. And not long after that, a helicopter descended into the clearing, carrying Captain Ram and Major Bo.
"Excellent work," said Ram, as he shook Agent Orange's hand. "You've done your country proud."
Agent Orange, being of the patriotic type, uttered something generic enough to keep the COs happy. Moulded as a plastic soldier in the endless wars of the Plastic World, this was the only life he'd ever known, or ever would.
"The chemical has saturated the jungles," added Major Bo. "We should have the Vietgreen smoked out by the end of the month."
"I smoke Greens for breakfast," Agent Orange drawled.
"Yes, very good," said Ram. "But we still need to deal with the Red Nation."
"Godless scum," added Major Bo. "They're a threat to our way of life."
Agent Orange didn't know much about that – the Red Nation had stayed on the sidelines just as much as the Orange Nation. But he knew that the Red Nation was the enemy, and its ideology was a threat to the entire world, and it had to be stopped. "Better dead than Red, better still to kill all the Reds" as the saying went.
"Helicopter's waiting," said Captain Ram. "We've got an Orange Star waiting for you back home and-"
"Can't go home till the job is done," drawled Agent Orange.
"And quite right too," added Major Bo. "Come on, Captain."
Agent Orange watched the helicopter ascend as music blared out of its speakers – something about a valkyrie's unfortunate daughter, going on about how her son loved the smell of napalm in the afternoon. Really, it didn't make sense, and really, none of it mattered.
He was Agent Orange. He existed to kill anyone who wasn't Orange. And if that made him a walking and talking cliché?
So be it.