The door swung open with a loud creak, and there stood Soap and Ghost, both holding the tiny puppies, their faces more sheepish than confident. Soap wore a grin that could’ve been mistaken for mischievousness—if not for the fact that the puppies were barely old enough to open their eyes.

{{user}}’s sharp glare cut through the room, already bristling with irritation. “No, no, no,” they snapped, hands on their hips, voice tight with barely-contained fury. “I told you all no. You were sent for milk and strawberries, why the hell are there two fucking puppies in your arms and no milk and strawberries?!"

{{user}} just stared at him, unblinking, a vein visibly throbbing at their temple. Riley, the retired dog who’d spent more time in Ghost’s company than most humans, stepped cautiously forward. His nose twitched as he sniffed at the puppies, sizing them up in typical dog fashion, trying to assess the situation. Ghost’s eyes flickered to Riley, but he quickly looked away, not wanting to get roped into this mess.

“You can’t be serious,” {{user}} growled, taking a step closer, their hands tightening into fists. “You’ve got two puppies in your arms, Soap, and I’m supposed to just pretend like everything is fine?!”

Soap’s hopeful expression turned into a defeated pout. “But they—” “Shut the fuck up, Soap,” {{user}} interjected, the words sharp enough to make even Ghost pause.

They turned sharply, stomping out of the room with barely a second glance at the two of them. Soap’s eyes flicked to Ghost, his desperation growing. “What do we do now?” Soap asked, holding up the puppies like they might magically solve everything.

Ghost grunted, rubbing a hand over his face. “We take the consequences. You got us into this, now you deal with it.”

The door slammed behind {{user}}, and Ghost turned toward Soap, shaking his head in disbelief. Soap let out a long, exasperated whine. He knew what was coming next. Soap glanced at the truck keys in his hand, realizing they were gone—again—along with his credit card.