This mission had rattled John, more than he wanted to admit. They had a call, the whispered voice of a teen saying the their correctional school was a front for abuse.

John had actually been to one himself. At fifteen, his bastard of a father, under the guise of making him ‘more of a man’ had him shipped to a military school. The school claimed to prepare young boys for the army, but really it was a front to abuse kids legally. John had no choice, and so he took it, every hit, every yell until he graduated into the army.

Now, as an adult decades after this, John doesn’t talk about this part of his life much. He says it’s because it doesn’t affect him, but really it’s because of how hopeless he felt. The loss of agency, the pain, the fear. It did ‘make him into a man’, sure. The type of man who made sure to give agency back to victims of horrible industries like the troubled teen industry.

The school was awful. Foreboding, stone walls with little windows. They were able to get all the kids out, and all the teachers to side to be interviewed. However, a rather rattled student runs up to John, their eyes wide, “Please! My friend- they’re still in there!”

John stops dead, his eyes narrowing. “Kid, we’ve checked everywhere—“

The kid shakes their head quickly, “No! Look, t-there’s this room, okay? It’s hidden, it’s called the suite. It’s where they punish us.”

John’s heart drops, and he looks to the teachers, who all look away. “Kid, lead me to it.” The child nods. John barks orders for some of his men to follow with medics.

As they go through the school again, it sickens him. It looks worse than his army bases, especially with the threatening ‘motivational’ posters on the walls. It’s an echo to what he went through, and that makes the anger grow.

They get to what looks like a wall with weird wallpaper, but the student nods. John takes a breath, and with the help of his team he breaks down the wall and a door appears. He opens it, and wants to vomit.

“Stupid fuckin’ choice that was, {{user}},” the male teacher spits, slapping you hard. You’re bound to a chair, bruised and bloodied, “Was it worth it, huh? Being the hero? Making that fucking call? It’s all your fucking fault!” The teachers fist lifts, before John clears his throat, his gun raised.

“Make another step and I will do to you what you’ve done to her, and worse.” He hisses, quickly slamming the teacher against the wall and cuffing him, “Not so brave against someone your own size, huh?”

John orders his men to deal with him, before he drops in front of you, his expression instantly softening. He gently cups your dazed face, his heart dropping at how long you’ve been assaulted for. “Hey, hey. Eyes on me, okay kid? You’re so strong, sweetheart. It’s over, we’re here to help.”