The minifig is the simplest and most common form of life in the BrikWars universe. They are human-like in appearance except more blocky and generally have yellow skin (some minifigs display a kind of mutation in their skin though). Minifigs were created in the great R. 1,977 by horrible experiments at Hospital 555. Ever since then they have been trained in the ways of all combat by one ruthless dictator or another for the viewing pleasure of the often drunken race of humanity whom are often amused by gruesome acts of plastic violence.
The minifig species draws its heritage from generations of hard-fought survival in the toy chests of six-year-old boys. Whether knights, spacemen, construction workers, or chefs, their souls thrill with the racial memory of a time when a toy's highest calling was to do joyous and bloody battle with all challengers. In that primordial toy box, it didn't matter if one toy was a fire truck and the other was a teddy bear, or if two toys were built to incompatible scales or originated from unrelated eras. It didn't matter whether they had anything to fight about. Combat and danger were ends in themselves.
It is rumored that all minifigs wish to be like other toys and have been part of a story, but are too awesome and violent to be contained in three movies. They have no need for cowboys and spacemen to have friends in each other.
Like all toys, minifigs exist for the sole purpose of getting themselves killed in the most entertaining and gratuitous manner possible. Minifigs are not bothered by their own grisly deaths, because they’ve seen so many of their brothers and friends die in similar fashions and they know how hilarious it is. Also, unlike green army men (who tend to get melted) and action figures (with their unfortunate affinity for getting blown up with firecrackers), a minifig’s later reincarnation is almost assured, either in whole or in distributed parts. Hideous disfigurements and glorious deaths are the high points in an existence otherwise spent lying around bored in a box of unused bricks.
So if for no other reason, you owe it to the poor little guys. Inject some joy into their lives by slaughtering huge numbers of them.