Volume 3 introduces us to one of the infamous Four—the four members of the Dinkley family responsible for the nanite plague that turned the world into ravenous monsters. Rufus Dinkley is the epitome of the sort of self-centered, powerful men who have been making the news more and more in recent years. While THE FLINTSTONES is the Hanna-Barbera title that I tend to think of when I think of artfully addressed social issues, I love that Giffen and DeMatteis took the opportunity with the character of Rufus Dinkley to reflect the birth of a pretty big social movement.

Velma and Daphne have been at the forefront of the Scooby Apocalypse franchise from the very beginning, but this third volume really cements these two women as the most capable of the gang. Personally, I love that Scooby Apocalypse puts women in the position of co-leaders, while the men are left to pick up the emotional slack. Volume 2 saw the women setting aside their differences and taking tentative steps toward a friendship and Volume 3 expands on that, largely through the eyes of their male counterparts.

The culmination of the Rufus storyline involves the Scooby gang adding a new member to the team: Daisy, Rufus’ beautiful, but abused wife with whom Shaggy is immediately smitten. This is a very literal representation of them stepping out from the fallen former society. Throughout the rest of the volume, both Velma and Daphne struggle with overreaching their expertise and assuming that they know what’s best. Meanwhile, the men, rather than asserting that they know best, instead often pick sides, debating whether it’s Daphne or Velma who truly has the strongest plan. The reality is that they all know best—the team is at its strongest when everyone is working together.

This volume also provides a resolution to the series’ Shaggy-Doo subplot. Shaggy has been a hero to the dogs of our now very wrecked world from the very beginning of the series and his emergence puts him under unique pressure in this situation.

Much like the cartoons, Scrappy is pretty unlikeable on the surface. He’s wild and vicious and claims a one-armed human child as his pet. However, when he shows up and—SPOILERS!—heroically sacrifices himself and almost manages to redeem a decades-long legacy of being irritable beyond belief, you can’t help but love the little guy.

Due to his injured leg (that I can’t believe has stuck around as long as it has and wasn’t just resolved with comic book timeline magic!), Fred remains stationary for most of this arc. He’s charged with watching Cliffy (the aforementioned one-armed boy), and must look outside of himself (and Daphne, of course) for the first time. Despite Fred being nothing like a natural parent, this is the type of growth that I, for one, never ever expected to see from a character I’ve known for such a long time. For much of the series, Fred has been the most one-note character—every decision he makes is based on his feelings for Daphne, that’s his sole motivation—but it seems like we’re starting to see him come into his own.