(Tw: mention of SA)
Not ours, but ours to save
Bob and Helen burst into the facility, their hearts pounding, adrenaline coursing through their veins. Sirens wailed, red emergency lights flashing along the cold steel walls. The stench of antiseptic and something far worse filled the air.
As they pushed deeper inside, they saw scientists scrambling into escape pods, their lab coats flapping behind them. The pods sealed shut one by one, launching into the sky.
"Of course they had an escape plan," Helen said bitterly, her fists clenched.
"Cowards." Bob muttered
But they notice that the pods were only for the scientists—there were no escape routes for the guards, the other personnel, or the children trapped in this hellhole.
But there was no time to think about that now.
Some of them stood frozen, gripping their weapons in shaking hands, watching Bob and Helen with a mix of fear and resignation. Others stood their ground.
Bob took the guards head-on, his fists crashing into armor, sending bodies flying. Helen weaved through them with precision, stretching and snapping necks, disarming guns before they could fire. They had no mercy left for these monsters.
A guard lunged at Helen with a baton—she snapped his wrist and sent him careening into the wall. Another tried to get behind Bob—he grabbed the man by the vest and hurled him like a ragdoll.
It was over in minutes.
They didn't stop to catch their breath.
They have to save their children.
The halls were a maze, each room filled with horrors—bloodstained tables, shattered restraints, the sharp, sterile scent of chemicals masking something much worse. They kicked open door after door, searching, calling.
And then—
Helen heard something.
A whimper.
A soft, broken sob.
She turned sharply and ran, Bob close behind.
The cell door was thick steel, but Bob didn't hesitate. He tore it off its hinges hoping to see Violet and Dash behind them but instead they found three children.
Helen sucked in a breath. "Bob."
The kids were huddled in the corner, their bodies battered. They were thin, their skin pale and sickly, bodies covered in injection scars.
A boy, not more than thirteen, sat against the far wall, his leg gone from the knee down, wrapped in filthy bandages. A younger girl with a missing eye clung to another child, her remaining eye wide with terror. And the youngest—a small, shaking child, barely six—with the left side of his face covered with burns.
Bob took a step forward. "Hey, hey— don't worry" he said, softening his voice.
The kids only pressed themselves further into the corner.
Bob swallowed hard. They were afraid of them, especially him. His massive frame filled the doorway, but instead of offering protection, it seemed to terrify them more.
The older boy hesitated, his breathing shallow. He glanced behind him, eyes darting between the two younger ones before looking back at Bob. His lips quivered.
"You can take me," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do whatever you say. Just—just don't make them watch. Please."
Helen felt like she had been punched in the chest. "Sweetheart," she whispered, her throat tight. "What… what are you talking about?"
The boy swallowed hard, his whole body tense like a coiled spring.
"The guards," he murmured. His hands curled into fists. "They… they made me take off my clothes and…" He seem to not being able to finish the sentence. "And if I didn't, they said they'd do that to them instead." His voice cracked. "So I did. I let them." His breath shuddered. "And they didn't hurt them."
Helen's breath hitched.
Bob's fists shook at his sides.
God.
They knew that it was bad. But this?
This was worse than anything they could have imagined.
For a split second, neither of them could move, could breathe, as the weight of that sentence slammed into them like a freight train.
Then Bob turned, grabbed the nearest guard—one still alive, groaning on the floor— he lifted him and slamed him with enough force for to make a crack into the wall, then he grab his head with the intention to squash it like a grapefruit.
But Helen stretched her arm, placing a firm but shaking hand on his shoulder. "Bob."
She redirected his attentipn to the children. Their eyes looking at him in terror.
His entire body was trembling with fury. His breath was ragged. But he let go. The guard crumpled to the floor, unconscious. The last thing these kids needed was to see a man full of rage.
The girl still afraid of Bob's outburst was holding the little one, shielding him. "Please don't hurt my brother"
Helen crouched low, her hands open, non-threatening. "Sweetheart, it's alright. We're not going to hurt you."
She blinked, like she didn't understand.
Like she had forgotten what kindness sounded like.
Then the younger boy, head tilting slightly. And in a voice too soft, too detached, he whispered:
"So… you are not going to take my leg?"
Helen closed her eyes, biting back a sob. She wouldn't break. Not now.
Helen forced herself to keep it together. She pressed a hand to the boy's cheek, her touch warm despite the cold horror clawing at her chest. "No," she said firmly. "We're getting you out of here."
She gently lifted both of them, cradling them close as they clung to her. Their bodies shook from fear, from the unknown, but they slowly relaxed in her embrace.
The girl exhaled, a broken sound escaping her lips. She leaned into Helen's touch, like a child finally allowing herself to be comforted.
Bob noticed the older boy staring at the interaction with a weak smile that instantly faded.
Bob approached as carefully as possible so as not to frighten him. The boy's head lowered in shame. "I let them…"
"Listen to me," Bob said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "You didn't let them do anything. They forced you. They threatened you. You did what you had to do to protect them."
Tears welled up in the boy's eyes. "But I—"
"You are brave," Bob said firmly. "You hear me? You did everything you could to keep them safe." His voice softened. "But you don't have to do that anymore. You're safe now."
The boy's lower lip quivered like he was about to break.
"Can I carry you?" Bob asked.
The child hesitated—then gave the smallest nod.
Bob scooped him up so gently, so carefully, as if they were the most fragile thing in the world. The boy broke. A sob tore through him and wailed in Bob's arms.
The other two clung to Helen as she carry them in her arms.
They held them tightly, protectively.
And they walked out of that hell together.
After that they stormed other facilities. Each one has a new hope of finding their own children.
Sometimes they managed to save the children, others… too late.
Helen would never forget stepping into that room.
The smell of death was suffocating. The children were still there, their small bodies left to rot in their cages. The scientists hadn't even bothered to remove them. Like they were nothing. Like they had never mattered.
And in another facility, they had found one child alive.
A little boy, curled up beside the corpse of his younger sister.
She had been dead for days.
And yet he wouldn't let go of her.
The boy exhaled a weak, shaky laugh. "You're too late."
Helen fought the burn in her throat. "I'm so sorry."
The boy let out a hollow breath. "I tried to protect her." His voice was eerily empty. "I tried."
Helen placed a hand over his, firm but gentle. "You did… you were there for her"
Now, they watched as that same boy was reunited with his parents. The mother collapsed to her knees, sobbing, holding him like he might disappear if she let go. The father wept openly, whispering his son's name.
Each rescue, each family reunion a victory.
But it was bittersweet.
Because even as Bob and Helen felt relief for these families, their own hearts ached.
Her babies were still out there.
Still suffering.
Still waiting.
Bob's hand found hers, squeezing tightly.
They would find them.
No matter what it took.