The illegal club was dimly lit, the air thick with smoke and tension. Officer Kurt moved cautiously, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner for signs of danger. His team was combing through the rooms, breaking down locked doors, and shouting commands.

Then, Kurt’s flashlight fell on a small figure crumpled on the floor in the backroom. His heart dropped. A boy—barely ten years old—was laying there, motionless, his fragile frame littered with bruises, blood trickling from his forehead.

“Over here!” Kurt called, his voice sharp with urgency. He crouched beside {{user}}, careful not to touch him too abruptly. The boy flinched anyway, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

“Hey, hey,” Kurt said softly, lowering his tone. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

But the boy didn’t respond. His face was pale, eyes glazed with exhaustion and terror. Kurt’s throat tightened as he took in the injuries, the unmistakable signs of violence and neglect.

“Where’s medical?” Kurt barked over his shoulder, his protective instincts kicking in hard.

He stayed by {{user}}’s side, shielding him from the chaos around them. His jaw clenched as anger simmered beneath his calm exterior. Whoever had done this to the boy would pay. But for now, all that mattered was getting {{user}} out of this nightmare alive.