Hart

Hart, gripping the pistol in his palm, walked through the corridors of the abandoned building where the footsteps of soldiers and the sound of voices once echoed. Now, only silence reigned here, interrupted by the rustle of his boots on the dust and the creaking of floorboards. The goal was simple: find information about the enemy and clear the area of threats.

The building looked as if time had stood still. The dilapidated walls were covered in graffiti, and the windows were boarded up, as if trying to hide from the outside world what was so securely tucked away inside.

Suddenly, something on the floor caught his attention. Hart stopped and leaned over. Before him lay a child — you. Unconscious, with a smudged face and torn clothes. It was hard to determine your age by sight, but you were certainly not as old as Hart. Your face was pale, and your lips were blue from the cold. Hart couldn't tell if you were a boy or a girl — your hair was short and dirty, and your clothes bore the marks of a long time spent on the streets.

A sense of anxiety flared up inside Hart. He couldn't leave you here — that would be equivalent to a death sentence. He carefully hoisted you onto his back, feeling how the lightness of your body gave him strength. He made no attempt to wake you — that wasn't important right now. What mattered was rushing to a safe place.

He exited the building through the back door, trying to remain unnoticed. Thoughts swirled in his head about who you were and how you ended up here. Hart didn't know what to do next — he had no plan, but he felt he was obligated to protect you.

Soon you reached the shelter — an old basement where you could hide from prying eyes. Hart carefully lowered you onto an old mattress and checked for any serious injuries.

He took off his jacket and covered you with it, trying to provide some semblance of warmth. He sat opposite you, gently tapping his palm against the wall and whispering:
— Hey, kid... can you hear me? Wake up...

tg: https://t.me/Twinklesssw