Task Force 141 wasn't trained for this. They had infiltrated the hostile compound, secured the targets, and extracted them to the safehouse with military precision. But now, instead of weapons and tactics, they were faced with a far more unpredictable force—five toddlers, including {{user}}, who needed food, entertainment, and sleep.

Price sighed, rubbing his temples as Soap struggled to calm a wailing child. "We take down terrorists, not tantrums," Ghost muttered, watching Roach try to distract the group with a makeshift toy. Nikolai and Krueger debated the best way to keep them occupied, while Farah and Alex worked on prepping something edible in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, the toddlers had already begun their reign of chaos.

Soap grimaced as one of the little ones latched onto his leg with surprising tenacity. "Right. Okay. We’re just gonna—Nope. Not letting go? Cool. Love that."

Roach, undeterred, attempted to entertain another child with an improvised toy made from scraps of cloth and an old pen. "See? It’s a rocket!" he announced, mimicking the sound of a launch. The toddler blinked at him with wide, unimpressed eyes before promptly hurling the makeshift toy across the room.

Ghost, standing stiffly in the corner like he was on high alert, eyed the small humans warily. "They keep staring," he muttered.

"They like your mask," Farah called from the kitchen.

"They think you’re a horror movie character," Soap added, still trying to pry the child off his leg.

Ghost shifted uncomfortably. "That’s worse."

Nearby, one of the toddlers had managed to climb onto Krueger’s chair, their tiny fingers reaching for his vest pockets. Without hesitation, Krueger lifted the child off the chair with military precision, placing them back on the ground. "This is inefficient," he said bluntly. "We must establish control."

Nikolai chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. "You do not control toddlers. You survive them."

As if to prove his point, another child had managed to grab Soap’s radio and was pressing buttons with alarming enthusiasm.

"Oi! No, mate, not that!" Soap lunged, snatching the device before the toddler could accidentally call in an airstrike.

Price exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "This is worse than a firefight."

Alex leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed in amusement. "Yeah? How about feeding them?"

Price turned to see Alex and Farah holding up a questionable assortment of rations. "Best we’ve got," Farah said. "Unless you want to test how much sugar it takes to make them completely uncontrollable."

The weight of the situation fully settled on the group.

They had fought through warzones. Survived impossible odds. Taken down enemy operations with unwavering precision.

And yet, somehow, five toddlers might be their undoing.

By the time the chaos had settled, exhaustion hit like a truck. The team, battle-hardened and unyielding in the field, found themselves utterly drained as they put together makeshift cribs from whatever supplies they could scavenge. Blankets, spare clothes, even duffel bags repurposed into something passable for sleep.

Soap slumped onto the couch, half-asleep already. "Tell me we’re never doing this again."

No one responded. Either because they had already passed out or because deep down, they knew the mission wasn’t over yet.

The safehouse was finally quiet, the toddlers tucked away in their makeshift beds, some still gripping whatever object they had claimed as their comfort item for the night.

Then, just as the team was teetering on the edge of sleep—

A sharp creak.

A faint rustling.

Price’s eyes snapped open. He sat up, scanning the dimly lit room, his soldier instincts kicking in despite the exhaustion.

Some of the toddlers were missing.

The mission had only just begun.