Let's keep on with Rifleman Three, shall we?

Rifleman Three's milliscale feet stumbled just a moment when the whole plastic world rocked with an unfathomable blast. As he bolted down the smooth, circular-studded path the airsoft-pellet shrapnel rained upon him. A roar came from the sky as the opposing general of today's combat joyfully pranced; celebrating what he felt was his imminent victory. The Rifleman was not allowed to stop.

The objective was simple: get to Charlie Base. If Rifleman Three could arrive there, the whole war would be over. That statement may seem easy to comprehend, but it is one of weight and savour: the whole war would be over. Not this battle, not this campaign. The war.

Charlie Base lay about fifteen feet farther west. There were two mountains on the path - one with a long, smooth tunnel beneath it, which was a deathtrap if he was sighted on entrance, the other which would have to be scaled. The great cushioney mass was climbable, but without tools it would prove treacherous. A thumping, padding sound which was more felt than heard brought the Rifleman from his thoughts, still running on those little plastic feet. In comparison, they rang shrill against the ground. The terrible source of the noise entered his sight.

"Mrooow", boomed the growling monster. Standing easily five men high and more in length than could be counted, the enormous thing closed on the Rifleman fast. He'd seen it before, but never from within 5 feet. It would pass beneath an airbase, or in the arms of a general. This beast known as Moriarty was an object of fear among all armies, and the Rifleman could do nothing but throw himself to the ground in an attempt to hide.

The pounding drew closer, soft pads of the beast beating the earth like a drum - the Rifleman truly cowered, sliding as close to the plastic line-tree near him as possible. The awful noise would deafen anyone! Now came the hot breath, as the horrific feline slowed and made to capture its puny prey. This was his last moment - the war would go on, Charlie Base would not be reached. Images of the glorious Package flashed in Rifleman Three's plastic mind. He longed for the closeness afforded by the pile he would be tossed into when the war finished. The eternal sleep he could share with his bretheren - now cut from his future. That fishy breath cooled a moment - relief? What could this be?

And a swooshing, awful noise struck. He rolled through the air, smashed by a mighty paw.

Landing in a pile of 1x1 3-high lego blocks, Rifleman Three had a full view of his captor, charging... away? The tree had been ripped from the earth, and sent careening down the path in the direction he had come. Moriarty leaped after it, batting with his terrible arms. The Rifleman was sore, but unscathed. The war could still be won. He pressed on west, to Charlie Base.


-_- ... I'm really not sure what I was thinking when I came up with this.