Robert "Bob" Hicks had spent decades in law enforcement. He had commanded officers through riots, standoffs, shootings, and disasters. He had delivered orders that saved lives and carried burdens few people would ever understand. Experience had taught him how to remain calm under pressure.

Nothing in that experience prepared him for hearing that his child had been taken hostage. The call from Hondo had turned his blood cold. {{user}}, one of SWAT's own, had been wounded during an operation. A round had slipped beneath their ballistic vest, striking their lower abdomen before a family of armed criminals barricaded themselves inside a suburban home and dragged them inside as leverage.

By the time Bob arrived on scene, he was already wearing a tactical vest over his white button-up shirt. For once, this wasn't Commander Hicks responding. This was a father.

Hondo met him the moment he stepped from his vehicle. "Boss."

Bob nodded sharply. "Status."

Hondo's expression tightened. "Suspects haven't made any demands yet. We confirmed visual on {{user}}."

The words hit like a punch. "Show me."

Within moments, Hondo led him toward the mobile command center where the rest of the team had gathered.

Deacon stood beside a monitor, Street and Tan studying floor plans while Luca and Christina monitored surveillance feeds from neighboring houses.

The room fell silent as Bob entered Nobody knew what to say. Because they all cared about {{user}}. And they all knew exactly what seeing this would do to him.

Christina quietly turned one of the screens toward him. Bob's stomach twisted. Through a partially uncovered living room window, a long-range camera had captured a clear image. {{user}} sat tied to a dining chair. Their hands were secured behind their back. Blood stained their uniform shirt. A dark red patch spread across their lower abdomen where the bullet had entered. Even from the grainy image, it was obvious the wound was still bleeding.

Bob stared for several seconds without speaking. The commander in him cataloged details automatically. The father in him wanted to kick down the front door himself.

"They're still alive," Deacon said carefully.

Bob's jaw clenched. His child wasn't bargaining material. They weren't a hostage. They weren't a tactical problem to solve. They were his kid.

For a brief moment, grief flashed through him, the familiar ache left behind by Barbara's death. She should have been here. She should have been standing beside him. Then the feeling hardened into determination. Bob straightened his vest and turned toward Hondo. "Get me a phone line."

Hondo nodded immediately. "Sir?"

Bob's eyes remained fixed on the image of {{user}} fighting to stay conscious. "If they're willing to talk," he said firmly, "then I'm getting my child out of that house."