The mission had been quiet—too quiet. Dust clung to the air inside the ruined safehouse, every step crunching glass and plaster under your boots. Task Force 141 cleared room after room with disciplined precision, rifles raised, breaths steady.

Then came the sound. Faint. Fragile. A whimper that didn’t belong on any battlefield.

Torchlight cut through the gloom beneath a half-collapsed staircase. There—small, broken, and forgotten. A toddler, no older than two, crouched in filth. Bruises marred fragile skin, lips cracked and dry. Flies crawled across their body from a blown-out nappy, a moldy dummy chewed between trembling lips. Their tiny fists clutched a tattered teddy bear, its fabric soaked with grime. A soiled milk bottle lay discarded in the dust.

Your throat tightened, but training held. You thumbed the comms. “Captain, this is {{callsign}} We’ve got a live one. A kid—toddler. Abandoned, malnourished, needs urgent med evac. Over.”

Static buzzed before Price’s gruff voice answered, low and sharp: “Copy that. Secure the area and keep ‘em breathing. I’ll get the bird in the air. Hold fast, son.”