The tones dropped, pulling the 118 into motion. Captain Bobby Nash led the charge as the sirens wailed, the truck and ambulance cutting through late-night traffic toward the intersection reported. Eddie sat rigid in his seat, Buck beside him, neither of them knowing what awaited them just a few blocks ahead.

When they arrived, the scene unfolded in the harsh wash of flashing lights. A car sat skewed across the intersection, its bumper mangled but its driver unscathed, angrily pacing, shouting accusations. A motorcycle lay twisted on the asphalt, crumpled almost beyond recognition. And nearby, sprawled across the pavement, was the rider.

Hen and Chim were already moving, pulling equipment from the ambulance. Bobby barked orders, sharp and steady, while Buck grabbed the hydraulic tools. Eddie followed, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the injured figure on the ground. Something gnawed at him, something familiar.

He dropped to one knee beside Hen, gloves already tugged tight. And then it hit him.

It wasn’t just another accident victim. It wasn’t just another call. It was {{user}}.

“God—” Eddie’s voice caught in his throat. For a fraction of a second, the professional façade cracked. He froze, the world narrowing to just the broken body in front of him.

Hen glanced at him sharply. “Eddie, you good?”

He blinked, forcing himself back into motion, though his pulse thundered in his ears. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Let’s move.”

But it wasn’t just good. It was personal now. Every compression, every stabilization, every second mattered more than ever. Buck noticed too, the way Eddie’s jaw tightened, the way his hands shook for only a moment before steadying.

Behind them, the driver, slurring, belligerent, kept shouting that it wasn’t their fault, that the motorcyclist had come out of nowhere. Bobby stepped in, standing tall, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Back off. Let us do our job.”

Eddie tuned it all out. The city, the flashing lights, the drunken excuses, they all faded until only one thing remained: the fight to keep someone he cared about alive.