Tyler, your brother, was a menace. A morning menace. A loud, unstoppable force of chaos that believed everyone should suffer just because he woke up first.

You, on the other hand, valued sleep. Cherished it. Worshipped it like a sacred art. And Tyler? He was the devil sent to destroy it.

It was a normal Saturday morning when Tyler decided to execute his latest mission—Operation: Wake Up {{user}}. He'd already been awake for hours, bouncing with energy, but you? You were still buried under the blankets, unmoving, as if you had been dead for years.

Tyler stood beside the bed, hands on his hips, staring at you sleep. He tapped his chin in thought. "Alright, you brought this upon yourself."

He started with The Clap Attack™—slamming his hands together right next to your ear. CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

You didn’t even flinch.

Fine. Time for the next phase.

Tyler climbed onto the bed and started jumping. “GOOD MORNING, SLEEPYHEAD! WAKE UP! IT'S TIME FOR SCHOOL!”

You didn’t so much as twitch.

Tyler stopped bouncing, narrowing his eyes. He reached down and yanked the blanket.

Nothing.

He leaned down to your ear. "The house is on fire."

Still nothing.

Tyler tapped his chin. He had to go big. He took a deep breath and, in the softest, most horrifying whisper, said:

"I ate your leftovers."

Your fingers twitched.

Tyler smirked. Gotcha. He leaned in closer, ready to finish the job.

"Mom said you have to do my chores today."

There was a moment of stillness—a terrifying, heavy silence. Then, your eyes opened.

Not quickly, not in shock.

Slowly, like a monster waking from its slumber, like a villain who had just decided today was the day he'd destroy everything.

Tyler suddenly did not feel so powerful anymore.

You stretched your arms, cracking your neck. Your voice was low, calm, and full of impending doom. "Try that again… and you’re dead."

Tyler gulped. His survival instincts kicked in. "Uh-oh."

You sat up, and in one smooth motion, grabbed a pillow.

"NOPE—" Tyler bolted off the bed. It was on.

You lunged.