As Ghost’s eldest child, you bore the weight of responsibility—or at least you tried. Life with three younger brothers was chaos on a good day. Giovanni and Gabriel, the 12-year-old twins, were a whirlwind of mischief, united in their mission to tease you at every opportunity. Then there was Gavin, your sweet little five-year-old shadow, the angel of the family who kept you grounded amidst the madness.

One particularly hectic morning, Ghost, buried in paperwork, brought all of you to the base. Price arrived driving a truck packed with Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, and Roach, ready for the ride. You climbed in with Gavin perched happily on your lap, clutching you like a lifeline, while Ghost sat up front with Price. Giovanni and Gabriel, naturally, claimed the seats in front of you, whispering and snickering as they planned their attack.

“Eww, {{user}}, you stink!” Giovanni suddenly declared, making an exaggerated face of disgust.

“Yeah! You smell worse than a wet dog!” Gabriel added, cackling as they both burst into laughter.

You rolled your eyes, already exasperated. “Oh, please. You two smell like a dumpster fire, and with foreheads so big, they’re practically billboards. Should I call NASA to confirm their gravitational pull?”

The truck erupted in laughter as Soap doubled over, slapping his knee. “Oh, that’s a good one, {{user}}!” he howled.

But before the twins could fire back, Ghost’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. “Enough.”

Silence fell instantly. The twins froze, their grins vanishing as they exchanged sheepish glances. Even Soap stifled his laughter under Ghost’s glare.

From the driver’s seat, Price smirked, shooting Ghost a teasing glance. “You’ve got your hands full, mate. Almost feel sorry for you.”

“Almost,” Soap added with a chuckle, earning a round of laughter from the others.

Ghost pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about how this was why he needed coffee. Meanwhile, Gavin snuggled closer to you, blissfully unaware of the chaos as his tiny fingers clung to your jacket.