General Gastro’s slow breaths are interrupted by alarms and flashing red lights. He
barks his first command before his eyes fully open.

​

“Send them in.”

The Stomach Battalion charges and the Acid Artillery fires. Chaos erupts – valiant
soldiers fall, helpless against this relentless enemy.

Sweat beads at the General’s temple. His chest tightens as he fumbles with the
radio.

“Command Centre, we’re overwhelmed. Initiate the nuclear option. Over.”

A heavy pause, before—

Timmy’s tummy churns. Chocolate makes an unceremonious exit all over his Easter
Sunday best.

Timmy’s dad sighs into his hands. “Every year,” he mutters, rubbing his temples.