The entire red headquarters was an uproar as he came to be.

"What in One-P's name is going on here?" Asked a peculiar soldier, his voice seasoned with equal parts confusion and excitement.

"We're waiting for war!" The second soldier screamed. He was dressed in robust red attire, just like his counterpart, from the perfectly smooth scarlet helmet all the way down to his crimson boots and ambiguously red gun facing vertically, just inches just above the floor.

"Really?" A hint of disbelief was thrown into the first soldier's mixture.

The second smirked. "Y'don't believe me?" He pointed directly upward, to the glass ceiling.

Without a doubt, the structure itself was at least as peculiar as the men's dress code, if not more. Though outward appearances gave the scarlet shaded spire the adamant look of a skyscraper, the inside revealed no more than a hollow silo, a completely vacant tower. No furniture, fixtures, or even above ground floors were pleasant; The contents consisted of simply tiling, bricks, and now the soldiers, making for a perfectly red hue of dull. The only accentuation the "skyscraper" gave host to was a spiraling staircase, leading up to the donut-shaped outpost, a few feet below the building in question's sunroof, which itself was also shaded red.

But today, it was what could be seen through the roof that was most interesting. The sky as they knew it ordinarily was comprised of absolute black nothingness...A perfect match for their infinite red. On this solemnly stimulating day, clouds of white swam in a sea of blue, doubling up as both a refreshing change of scenery and an omen, perhaps ill, of things to come.

Then, as abruptly as the red party had come to, the entire procession drew to a hasty halt. The fanfare of war pierced through the air, but not as a distinctive number of horns coming from a bugle or trumpet-esque instrument would. Through the plane of Battle Island, an omniscient array of digital instruments, sounding more at home in an eastern dance club or some screwed up form of the 1980s, electrically tore through the air. The battle was nearly underway.

Then, as sudden as the music had done so, two officers sprung out from their positions at the top of their bases. One resided atop the red faux skyscraper on one corner of the island, and the other resided atop the blue faux skyscraper on the opposite corner of the island. It was all but obvious to the soldiers who the commanders were, for they sported their tall and pointy commander's hats, an official commander's white handlebar mustaches, and appropriately-colored commander's megaphones: a triple threat.

The red commander took the first turn at megaphonage. "Attention, all opposition! This land of Battle Island shall be claimed in the name of the Red Army!" He also featured a gruff commander's voice.

Atop the blue base, the appropriately shaded blue commander stood. "Nonsense! In fact, it is quite the opposite: This land of Battle Island shall be claimed in the name of the BLUE army!"

"You've insulted my honor!" The red field commander shook his fist at his doppelganger.

"No, you've insulted MY honor!" The blue field commander shook his fist back at his doppelganger.

A discomforting silence befell the small symmetrical island, with nothing but the howl of the perpendicular wind to accompany, when suddenly, almost as if choreographed, the frenzy of war let loose from both ends simultaneously.

On the northwestern side, foot soldiers, each as unmistakably identical and flawlessly red as the next, all stormed out of their hollow and shack-sized barracks, which were flavored a matching ruby hue.

And to the southeast, foot soldiers, each as unmistakably identical and perfectly blue as the next, all stormed out of their hollow and shack-sized barracks, which were flavored a matching azure tone.

The sprinting forces clashed head on in the dead center of the island, each troop possessing no more fear than distinct personality amongst one another. With every soldier standing atop the same grassy sprawl no more than fifteen feet in radius, it was all at once that they let loose a wild stream of gunfire upon one another.

The blue army bled not a single drop of red blood...in fact, no one did; even with hundreds upon hundreds of suppressed bullets flying gracefully through the air, none could find any blood to shed.

Meanwhile, two massive, levitating metallic arrows watched from above, the both armies oddly oblivious to their omnipotent occupancy. So seemingly invisible as they were to the units, their graceful strokes through the seemed to air guide the men to whatever uncertain artificial fate was in store for them.

But nevertheless, the battle raged on. One small red barracks made its peculiar capabilities as a factory known, as the doors which swung open moments ago for the soldiers gave way as the entire front wall swung upward, as a metallically monstrous red battle-tank rolled its way out of the familiar red shack. Large and powerful as they were, the vehicles themselves possessed a laughable quantity, with short, thick barrels and yet another duplicate red soldier manning the turret, smiling as he was, as the wagon of war moseyed on out.

"Take THIS!" the red tank's commander screamed to the enemy headquarters, no more than one hundred feet away.

"No, take THIS!" The blue commander snapped back, mounting equally cute-looking mobile artillery. Both vehicles joined the hectic fray, oddly acting very similar in function, firing upon the clone-like enemy troops instead of their armored counterpart.

Finally, troops from both sides began to show the signs of battle's fatigue. Some ran back into their bases for field treatment, whereas others could take no more. Blood still ceased to spill. Each and every soldier, reaching the end of their own life, jolted backward with a uniform massive leap and an equally identical scream. Laying in nonviolent agony, each troop instantaneously faded out of vision, then back in, then back out, and forth, until the blinking ceased and each soldier finally vanished from the field. But just as suddenly as one had faded away, another stormed out of the disproportional shack's interior, equally eager to engage the enemy just as his predecessor was.

The battle raged on for literally minutes. The two silver floating arrows slingshotted to and fro, guiding the colored chaos culminating below. Soldiers and vehicles kept emerging from the bases and a seemingly eternal struggle occurred. But the arrow flying above the red forces seemed to be superior to his equal, more graceful and tactfully moving; smarter and faster.

The front lines pushed away from the grassy midfield patch and nudged back and forth, but ultimately gravitated ever so slowly toward the blue base. Pushing past the dirt immediately surrounding the grass, the fray moved on a second, larger ring of grass, this one accompanied by an arrangement of trees. The reds pushed farther and farther into blue territory until they could literally touch the blue bases...And that they did. In fact, they climbed on top of them.

The crimson men found their way on top of the blue barracks-factory hybrid shacks, engaging in a mysterious ritual. They all, in synch, leaped on top of the blue structures, over and over, the roofs perfectly able to sustaining their entire weight all at once, until the fruits of their weird labor were yielded. Each building gave way, but the roof did not fracture, nor did the structure take any real damage. The very building itself seemed to transform, compressing down to a flat, unnoticeable gray shape for a moment before happily springing back up in the same shape it was in, just now with an ambiguously applied red coat of paint.

As each blue infantryman fell, no replacement came to the aid; the doors swung open no more. As a matter of fact, the door-swinging came quite to the contrary, as the same endless waves of reinforcements that poured through gates of the red facilities...still poured through the gates of the red facilities, this time from a much more convenient location.

All on the island was taken by red, except for the final structure: The commander's headquarters. He watched the red forces quickly scale the skyscrapers, completely ignoring his presence. They identically began the same ritual on top of his quarters, until it too was ready to concede. With his last conscious breath the commander belted out, "Curse you, red! I'll get you...NEXT TIME!"

The blue headquarters changed its paintjob from blue to gray; the battle was over. The commander simply, albeit inexplicably, keeled over while blinking, then vanishing exactly as all his underlings had. The remnants of the red army let out an exasperated cheer.

"Victory for the Red Army!"

And from above, another voice boomed louder in singularity than the combined might of the red battalion. "VICTORY FOR THE RED ARMY..."

Bewildered, the troops began to gander upward at this mysterious voice. It was then that they finally noticed the arrows above the field, vanishing as humbly as they had arrived. "What was that?" one soldier asked?

But he never received a response. One by one, the soldiers faded away, each as oblivious to their fate as the next. The infantry ceased to stand. Then the tanks and artillery. And finally, the unified red buildings on the battlefield reverted to their original colors, as the sky changed from its ordinary blue and white shades back to an eternal ebony. Two words resonated throughout the battlefield for a very long while.

"GAME OVER..."