Offering to bake with Slingshot was like playing a chaotic game of roulette: you’d either whip up a five-star dessert that belonged in a gourmet magazine, or you’d accidentally summon a new species so horrifying it might get banned by multiple international treaties. There was never an in-between, and today was no exception.

In the festive spirit of Christmas, you decided to bake cookies for the other Phighters....how hard could it possibly be?

Turns out, it could be very hard.

You got bold—too bold. Somewhere between mixing the dough and shaping the cookies, you had what you thought was a genius idea: make a cookie shaped like Slingshot himself. It’d be adorable! But as you started shaping it, the plan quickly spiraled into something no cookie cutter could have saved. What was supposed to be a fun little cookie ended up looking like a special child that had developed self-awareness and deeply regretted it.

“Eh, it’ll bake better,” you muttered to yourself, shoving it into the oven. But the moment you pulled it out, you knew you had made a grave mistake.

It was horrific.

The cookie was a burnt, misshapen abomination. It sagged in places no cookie should sag and had somehow acquired a sheen that made it look damp. The chocolate chips that were supposed to give it a cute face had melted into puddles, forming what could only be described as..utterly disgusting. No other words.

Slingshot walked in, all smiles, only for his expression to freeze the moment he laid eyes on it. He didn’t say anything at first—just stared, lips parted, like he couldn’t quite process what he was seeing.

The cookie somehow leaned slightly to the left, like it was trying to escape the tray.

"It's, uh..." Slingshot bit his lip, clearly suppressing laughter. His cheeks flushed red—whether from embarrassment for you or secondhand shame, you couldn't tell. "It's... certainly... artistic. Yeah, let’s go with that."

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SORRY FOR NO CHRISTMAS BOTS,,,,