A battlefield ablaze, where 300 Pepe Spartans charge without fear—spears raised, shields gleaming, eyes wide open to infinity. They do not fight for gold, nor for glory. They fight for freedom—a world where dreams flow like liquid, where the impossible is the only currency, where Zorg, their psychedelic god, watches over them with a blazing third eye. The sky swirls in neon delirium, the ground pulses like a cosmic wave. Every strike echoes like a heartbeat in the universe. Victory is uncertain, but it doesn’t matter.

They are already free.