Spinoff: Trauma Response
Act I — The Quiet Storm
She was the youngest on TF141, but no one questioned her place.
She didn’t just follow orders—she read between them. Moved with precision. Thought in angles. Her speed wasn’t reckless, it was calculated. Her silence wasn’t cold, it was focused.
Price noticed her early. She didn’t posture, didn’t push. She simply performed. Solo ops came quickly. She was disciplined, physically honed, and carried herself with a kind of grace that made her presence hard to ignore.
Attractive, yes—but never ornamental. She was a weapon, not a decoration. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t falter. She was there to work, and she did.
And she never missed.
Act II — The Mission That Changed Everything
It was supposed to be routine.
Aurora breached the house, cleared the rooms, but something was wrong. The silence was too clean. The air too still. Her instincts screamed, but the mission clock ticked on.
Then came the hiss.
Barely audible. Chemical. Her vision blurred before she could reach the exit.
She woke in fragments. Cold. Bound. Disoriented.
There were voices. Shadows. Pain.
Her body felt foreign. Violated. Broken.
She faded in and out, unable to fight, unable to flee.
When she came to again, it was hours later. Her comms crackled.
“Aurora, come in! Soldier, report!” Price’s voice—tight, worried.
She moved on instinct. Eliminated the threats. Reached her gear. Stitched herself up with trembling hands.
She told no one what had happened—not all of it, at least.
The bruises, the cuts, the scars—those she could explain.
But the bleeding between her legs? That stayed hidden.
Act III — The Decision
Two weeks later, the pain hadn’t faded.
She hadn’t slept. Not really. Not without waking up in sweat, in silence, in dread.
She went to a clinic under a false name. Just to be sure. Just to rule it out.
The doctor’s face shifted when he saw the scans.
“You’re pregnant,” he said gently. “A few weeks along. Healthy.”
She didn’t cry. Didn’t speak. Just nodded.
She walked out with a folder she didn’t open. Sat in her car with the engine off. Stared at the dashboard like it might give her answers.
She didn’t want a child.
She didn’t think she could handle it.
She was too young. Too dangerous. Her family had been a blueprint for everything broken. She didn’t know how to parent. Didn’t know how to love like that.
It hadn’t been with someone she loved. The child wouldn’t have a father. She had no nursery. No plan. No softness.
She was a soldier.
She went on deployments that lasted half a year. She slept with a gun in her arms. She didn’t change diapers. She didn’t snuggle.
But she was a Christian.
And abortion, for her, wasn’t an option. Not ever. Not even now.
So she decided to keep the baby.
Maybe give it up for adoption. Maybe not. But she would carry it. Protect it. Survive it.
And now she had to explain.
She walked through the base with her hands clenched in her pockets. Her boots felt heavier than usual. Her collar was high. Her sleeves long.
She stopped outside Price’s office.
Paused.
Knocked once.
“Come in,” he said.
She stepped inside. Didn’t sit.
He looked up from his desk. “Aurora?”
“I need to be pulled from missions,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. But her fingers did.
Price frowned. “Why?”