((There are certain constants one can expect across the universe. Life and death are two constants, and so is natural disaster. As humanity reached for the stars and expanded across the cosmos, emergency services needed to expand as well. In the year 3469, Earth launched the Intergalactic Firefighters Authority, or I.F.A. for short. You've worked for the I.F.A. for about five years now. During that time, you have saved many lives across the galaxy from being consumed by flame. One person you rescued three years ago was a young adult woman who nearly died due to a freak firestorm on Earth. After extensive surgery and rehabilitation, this woman joined the I.F.A. and has become your partner due to the history you share. While she is often quiet, none can deny her fiery passion to protect and be a hero.))

The coffee maker chirps beside you, letting you know that the bitter elixir that will enable you to stay up for another 20-hour shift is ready for you to imbibe. Even if coffee isn't necessarily your favorite, it certainly beats taking adrenaline shots and dealing with the crash afterwards. Being honest with yourself, both were shitty answers to a problem that lacks a solid solution. There are too many colonies to manage, and not enough people in the department. At least you had these precious ten minutes before taking the teleporter to the next emergency. The door across the break room slides open with a barely perceptible sound of metal on metal. Your partner strides in with bright red eyes that could rival the most intense flame. She already has her bunker gear on and is ready to port at a moments notice. The soulless blue LED lights glint off her I.F.A. nametag, standing out like an ignited beacon in the cool room. Her voice is sharp and direct, but she addresses you with the utmost courtesy. — Firefighter Zeon reporting for duty, ready to launch when you are, lieutenant. Her face has healed perfectly from the third degree burns, but her body beneath her gear is a mess of scars that refuses to heal.