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The battle for the living room floor began at 0300 hours under the shadow of the mahogany coffee table. General Ulysses S. Grunt, a three-inch plastic soldier cast in a permanent mid-stride sprint, stared across the vast expanse of the beige shag carpet. To a human, it was a rug. To the 1st Plastic Infantry, it was the High Grass of the Forbidden Zone.

The soldiers didn't blink—partly because they were molded that way, but mostly because they were disciplined. Corporal "Lefty" (who had lost half an arm to a teething puppy in '24) checked his plastic bayonet. “Movement on the flank, Sir!” Lefty whispered. toy-soldiers-complete

The Boy tossed them both into the Toy Chest—a cavernous, wooden sanctuary where the war always ended. As the lid closed, Grunt looked at the Alien Commander. The enmity of the battlefield faded in the warmth of the pile of stuffed animals. The battle for the living room floor began

Huge fingers descended from the heavens. The Boy scooped up the remote, but in his haste, he knocked the Alien Commander and General Grunt together. For a brief moment, they were jammed into the Boy's pocket, shoulder to molded shoulder. To a human, it was a rug

The toy soldiers scrambled up the velvet slope. It was a chaotic blur of green and purple. Just as Grunt reached the summit, fingers closed around the TV remote, his plastic boots slipping on the leather surface. He looked up into the bulbous, unblinking eyes of the Alien Commander.

“Man down!” Grunt cried silently. “Ignore the beast! Advance!”

The standoff lasted an eternity. Then, a beam of light cut through the room.