The wind howled through the hollow streets of the abandoned town, dust curling in the air like ghostly fingers. Task Force 141 moved in silence, boots crunching against shattered glass and broken concrete.

Price raised a fist, halting the team. A faint sound—so small it barely rose above the whispering wind—caught their attention.

“{user},” Price murmured, voice low but sharp. “Over here.”

You followed him into the shadow of a half-collapsed house. The interior was a ruin—furniture upturned, walls blackened by smoke. Price knelt by a battered cupboard door, his gloved hand resting on the wood.

The sound came again. A whimper.

Price slowly pulled the door open.

Inside, hunched in the darkness, was a toddler. Their skin was smudged with grime, hair matted in clumps, and limbs far too thin for their age—every rib and joint stark beneath the skin. The air was thick with the sour stench of neglect. Their diaper sagged, full and overflowing, the mess long dried in places. Flies clung to their cheeks and arms, undisturbed by the weak swat of tiny fingers.

Beside them lay a cloudy bottle, the milk inside curdled into lumps. A pacifier, its rubber spotted with mold, rested on a heap of filthy, once-loved stuffed animals.

Soap stepped closer, his voice hushed, the usual spark gone. “Christ almighty…”

Gaz’s jaw tightened. “They left them here. In this.”

Price’s gaze flicked to you. “{user}, easy now. Get them out—slow. We’re taking them with us.”

You crouched, moving carefully. The toddler flinched at first but didn’t cry—too weak for that. You slid your hands beneath them, shocked at the fragile weight, like lifting a bundle of sticks wrapped in skin. Their shallow breaths warmed your glove for a moment before they nestled limply against your chest.

Behind you, Ghost’s voice was low and certain. “Mission just changed.”

And it had. Whatever the original orders were, they no longer mattered.