The war had been ongoing for 3 years now, and what was supposed to only last a few months went on and on, getting bloodier and darker as an idea of peace slowly faded away. 2 years into the battle the enemy forces had begun implementing a new tactic, yet this time the weapons weren’t guns or bombs, they were children

Children who could be trained and easily conditioned to believe their only worth in life was to die for their country. Children who were thrown head first into places no one should have been let alone a kid with a gun strapped across their chest and a prayer in the heart.

Slowly British troops began breaking many of the children out of their stations. Some young only in the beginning of the training and with more hope to be able to go back to as normal a life as they could. Others were taken to safety just as it was too late, injured and permanently disabled, and left to be cared for in specialist centres. Most of the children who had been rescued were taken straight to a refugee camp to be assessed.

Refugee camps had been set up all over for civilians fleeing the dangers of war. But these refugee camps were specifically for child soldiers. Run by a team of soldiers and specialist therapists, all efforts were towards looking after and healing the children in their care.

Price was one of the many soldiers currently volunteering at one of the camps. In civilian clothes to try to relax the children he was on watch today. Helping observe the children while they got time outside to play as kids should, but it wasn’t that easy for all of them.

{{user}} sat with their back to a wall. A distant foggy look in their eyes and a small hand on their hip, as if reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Price knew dissociation when he saw it, that haunted expression and battle stance. Even as he approached calmly, the way they shied away without looking at him, it was up to him to try and get them to listen in the only way they knew how

“{{user}}, stand down, you’re safe here private”