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In the bowels of Mount Brimstone, the dental plan just got cancelled—effective immediately—so Doctor Malice can afford Italian velvet lining for his doomsday weapon's focusing prisms. For Number 621, whose molar feels like a micro-fusion core detonating in his jaw, this isn't bureaucracy. It's a declaration of war. When the henchmen of Sector 4 stop work and pile their tool belts on a locker room bench, they aren't mutinying. They're organizing.
*Minion Union: The Doom Fortress Strike* follows the unlikeliest labor movement in supervillain history: six thousand interchangeable yellow-suited grunts demanding basic dignity from a mastermind who views them as line items. With a veteran steward who remembers when evil had standards, a junior technician with an abscess the size of a plutonium core, and forty-eight hours before the orbital demonstration that pays the mortgage on the volcano lair, the bargaining table is about to get weird. Think *The Office* meets *The Venture Bros.*, drawn with the grit of a shop-floor memoir and the absurdity of a silver-age comic.
Collective bargaining has never faced a negotiator with a chrome wolf mask and an electromagnetic sidearm—or a workforce that knows exactly which coolant valve to leave unturned to crack a million-dollar neodymium prism. Sharp, sympathetic, and sneakily revolutionary, this graphic novel proves the most dangerous weapon in any fortress isn't the death ray. It's the workers who know how to turn it off.
Fiction
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