The whole block had been cleared out and barricaded, as a tank rolled down the empty street. The soldiers' march came to a halt, aiming their rifles at a man covered in rags. One of them — bearing the burden, both physical and reputational, of the hundreds of medals stuck to his chest — held a megaphone to his mouth.

"Sir, step away from the banana crate! This is your first and final warning!"

The ragged man remained unmoving, feet planted into the ground.

"Open fire." The troops unleashed an astounding fusillade, the lead bullets slicing through their target like a hot knife through butter. Tanks fired round after round, kicking up a storm of dust thick enough to invalidate the Sun's presence.

The barrage coming to a halt, silence swept over the battlefield as the cloud of dust cleared up; the eye of the storm. But they knew, the storm wall's return was imminent. The man of rags stood unfazed with nary a graze to be spotted, in a crater filled with lead and pure destruction, peeling open a banana.

The medal-bearing soldier's pupils shrunk to a mere dot, mouth agape with amazement and dread. "It's over.." he muttered.

The man swallowed his banana, and lunged forward with extraordinary force, rushing to slap a banana peel smack onto the soldier's face.

He briefly shrieked, and calmed down as nothing happened. He smirked. "Hah! This is it? Those HQ bastards making us come out here for this loser-" And so were his final words, among with his fifty thousand comrades as they promptly blew up into pieces of the gruesome crimson soup of carnage.

The man heaved the banana crate onto his shoulder, and walked off.

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