The safehouse was finally quiet.

Task Force 141 had spent the entire night wrangling five relentless toddlers, including {{user}}, in an exhausting battle of wills. Between food negotiations, playtime disasters, and Soap’s now-ruined boot laces, they had barely survived the chaos.

In the end, after much struggle, they had managed to secure their tiny charges inside a makeshift crib—supply crates, reinforced with blankets and whatever they could find to keep them contained. It wasn’t pretty, but it would do.

Or so they thought.

Morning came too quickly.

Price stirred first, his soldier instincts kicking in despite exhaustion. His mind barely had time to process the silence before he turned toward the crib.

And froze.

The crib was empty.

Price sat up, fully alert. "Where are the kids?"

The words sent the entire team into wake-up mode.

Soap groaned, rubbing his face. "No, no, no—how?" He pointed at the abandoned sleeping area. "They were literally in there!"

Ghost straightened immediately. "They escaped?"

"They escaped," Roach confirmed, sounding far too impressed for someone who was supposed to be concerned.

Krueger frowned. "They should not be able to escape containment."

"They’re toddlers," Gaz groaned, running a hand down his face. "Containment means nothing."

The team launched into search mode, sweeping the safehouse like a proper mission.

No signs of forced entry. No cries of distress. No alarms.

Just silence.

And the unsettling realization that five mischievous toddlers had successfully vanished into the early morning hours.

Where had they gone?

Had they staged a full-blown escape mission?

Had they found something very unfortunate to play with?

Or worse—were they watching, waiting, planning their next move?

The safehouse had become a battlefield once again.

And Task Force 141 had no idea what was coming next.