A mechanical whirring filled the room. It wasn’t an alien. It was the "Cat," a furry titan the size of a skyscraper, prowling the perimeter. The Cat sniffed a Bazooka Joe on the front lines. With one disinterested flick of a massive paw, Joe was sent tumbling into the dark abyss under the sofa.
The infantry moved with stiff-legged precision. They used marbles as cover and a discarded sock as a trench. As they reached the base of the Ottoman Cliffs, the Galactic Raiders opened fire—at least, they would have, if their spring-loaded missiles hadn't been lost behind the radiator years ago. Instead, they relied on their terrifying presence and the fact that they glowed in the dark. “Charge!” Grunt signaled.
The hallway door creaked open. A giant silhouette appeared—the Boy. “I knew I left it here,” a thunderous voice boomed.
The enemy was formidable: the Galactic Raiders, a ragtag group of neon-purple aliens with oversized heads and translucent blasters. They held the strategic high ground of the Ottoman Cliffs.
“Man down!” Grunt cried silently. “Ignore the beast! Advance!”