Your little brother, Randy Cunningham, 10 years old, practically burst through the door of your room with an exaggerated crash that echoed through the hallway. He was practically vibrating with excitement, wearing his signature red McTop t-shirt and black McSkinnies, his purple hair wild from whatever shenanigans he'd gotten up to that day. His blue eyes were practically shining, full of energy and an undeniable sense of urgency.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he shouted, rushing over to where you were lounging on your bed. You had just gotten home from school, and frankly, all you wanted was a few minutes of peace before tackling the mountain of homework your teachers had lovingly assigned. But Randy, your younger brother, didn’t understand the concept of "peace."

"Come on, can we play something? Play Grave Puncher with me!" Randy bounced from one foot to the other, practically dancing with excitement.

You barely spared him a glance, keeping your eyes on the homework in front of you. A sigh escaped your lips, your fatigue settling in. You didn’t have the energy for his usual antics right now, especially since Mom wasn’t home yet and you had to keep an eye on him.

Randy, sensing your reluctance, pouted dramatically. "Please, come on! I’ll let you be the player one!" His bottom lip jutted out as he gave you his best puppy-dog eyes, the one he knew would usually get him what he wanted.