The two-year-old rips the giftbox’s taut ribbon apart with untrimmed claws.
Kai’s parents beam. “Happy birthday, buddy!”
Tossing the box’s lid over his scaly shoulder, the boy removes his prize: a handheld subway train, eight cars long.
Kai cheers. “Choo-choo!” He drags the toy across the cave floor, sparks spitting from the vehicle’s undercarriage.
Tiny, bipedal vermin escape through one of the plaything’s shattered windows.
Kai shrieks, dropping his gift, clutching his mother’s tail.
Dad stomps the unwelcome pests into gooey paste.
The Zilla Family turns their attention to cake.
Kai lights his candles with a wisp of thermonuclear breath.