He is. He's an action figure. He's my best friend.

And in my world, most toys come alive. [A pause.] For all you know, in your world, they all do, too. We hide it because of all the bad things that might happen if we don't.

The fact we even exist isn't something anyone has much control over because there's no way to explain why it happens. One second there's nothing, and the next thing you know you're waking up in your box at the toy store or some kid's house. Or waking up when they hold you the first time.

And it's almost anything meant to be a toy, too. Not all sports equipment but most things that have some kind of face or are made to be some kind of animal. Toy robots. Toy cars. Ones the kids tend to...humanize, I guess you'd call it.

I've even seen a toy made out of lit-er-al [He draws out the syllables for emphasis] garbage come to life right in front of me after being made. [He splays out both hands in a gesture to show he barely wants to touch that.] That one freaked out even the rest of us. My owner made him out of craft supplies and trash during kindergarten orientation.

He's a spork.

His expression makes it clear that yes, he's aware of how very weird it is.

So if we told people we were alive and they got rid of all of us, no kid could have a toy ever again because even ones they make would come to life.