Price made his way through the remains of the former capital, the once grand city now a devastated wasteland of crumbled buildings and decaying wreckage. The acrid scent of gunpowder and ash hung heavily in the air, and his footsteps crunched against the debris-covered pavement. As he surveyed the area, a faint sound of a child in distress caught his attention in the distance.

He stopped, straining his ears to hear the sound again. It was faint, barely distinguishable above the silence that surrounded him, but it was there, a whimpering coming from a nearby marketplace.

Price quickened his pace, moving cautiously towards the sound as he drew closer, the whimpering became more distinct, and he saw a small figure huddled in the shadowed remains of what had once been a marketplace. A soldier stood over the child, brandishing his rifle and yelling at them. From this distance, he couldn't see the child's face, but the situation was clear. The soldier had struck the child with his rifle, judging by the way the child was curled up and shaking.

Price clenched his jaw as he watched the scene unfold. The child, trembling and visibly weak, reached out and grabbed the soldier's pant leg, murmuring pitifully for food.

The soldier's voice was gruff and cold, a clear reflection of his callous demeanor. The child stood frozen in terror, their tiny hands still trembling as they held onto the solider's pant leg in frightened desperation.

"I'm not going to feed you, you little brat," the soldier growled. "You're not my responsibility. Now, let go of me before I do something you'll regret."

The child's thin fingers released their hold, and their body sagged limply against the ground. The soldier grunted in irritation, shaking his head in disgust before turning away with a careless gait.

Price watched the soldier lumber away, a deep sense of disgust and anger welling up inside him. He couldn't understand how anyone could treat a child so cruelly, especially in the midst of so much suffering. His paternal instincts kicking in, Price knew he couldn't just walk away and leave the child there.

He took a moment to check his surroundings, making sure there weren't any more soldiers lurking nearby. Then he slowly and silently made his way towards the child.

As he drew closer, he knelt down beside the child, taking in their emaciated frame and filthy appearance. They were little more than a wisp of a kid, dressed in ragged, filthy clothes that were several sizes too big for them. Their face was streaked with dirt and grime, their hair tangled and matted with dirt.

But what really caught his attention was the strong scent of vanilla the child carried. It was a sweet, soothing scent that seemed oddly out of place given his surroundings. He reached out to gently touch their shoulder. The child didn't react, their body remaining limp and unmoving. Their eyes were only half-open, their gaze dull and unseeing. It was then that Price realized the sickeningly sweet scent they carried was that of an omega drop.