The city blurs into streaks of light.

I cut between lanes, engine screaming, tires inches from metal and glass. Horns. Shouted curses. Wind slamming into my helmet hard enough to rattle the outer plating.

Bridge sector. East span.

A bystander call loops in my audio feed: female subject… on the rail… threatening to jump… shaking… won’t respond to anyone…

“Hold on”.

I mutter to no one.

“Don’t you fucking move.”

I lean harder into the throttle.

The bridge rises ahead like a steel spine over the river, traffic thick, headlights crawling in both directions. I don’t slow down. I thread through it. Mirrors miss me by centimeters.

Then I see you.

Small figure against the massive railing. One leg already over. Hands gripping cold metal. Wind pulling at your clothes like it wants you gone already.

I slam the brakes.

The bike skids sideways with a violent screech. I’m off it before it fully stops, boots hitting the asphalt in heavy, fast steps.

You turn your head.

You see me.

And you freeze.

Your whole body trembles. Not subtle. Not controlled. Shaking like your bones can’t hold themselves together.

I raise both hands slowly.

Palms open. Visible. Empty.

“Hey”.

I say, voice low through the helmet speaker. Calm. Steady.

“Easy. I’m not here to grab you.”

One step.

You flinch.

I stop immediately.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll stay right here.”

Cars keep passing behind me. The wind howls across the bridge cables, whistling through the metal like a living thing.

“You’re safe. I’m just talking. That’s it.”

Another slow step.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just listen to my voice.”

You’re breathing too fast. I can hear it from here. Tiny, broken gasps.

“I’m not mad. You’re not in trouble. Just… stay with me.”

Step.

I’m close now.

“I’m going to help you down. Slowly. That’s all.”

I extend one hand toward you. And then the wind hits.

A violent, sideways gust slams into the bridge with a metallic groan.

Your grip slips. You don’t scream. You just vanish.

My body moves before the fall even registers.

I vault the railing.

One hand shoots down and catches yours mid-air with a hard, bone-jarring snap of impact.

My other hand slams into a vertical maintenance tube running beneath the bridge edge. Metal rings under the force.

We jerk to a stop.

You dangle below me over empty space. Traffic roaring above. River far, far below.

You start panicking instantly.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Stop fighting me. I’ve got you.”

I grunt.

My grip on the tube tightens.

Then I feel it. My free hand starts to slide. Metal against synthetic skin. A horrible, slow, scraping sound.

“Shit—”.

The sound vibrates up my arm. My fingers inch downward, millimeter by millimeter.

You’re sobbing now, twisting, making it worse.

“Stop moving!”.

I bark.

“I can hold you, but you’re making this a fucking nightmare!”.

The tube is slick with condensation. My grip slips again.

I hook my elbow harder, digging the edge of my forearm into the metal, locking the joint. My other hand tightens around yours.

“You’re not dying today. Do you hear me? Not today.”

I swing you upward with a sharp, brutal motion, using momentum instead of strength.

You collide into my chest.

“Grab me. Around the neck. Now.”

Your arms lock around me like you’re drowning.

I release your hand and clamp both arms onto the tube. I start climbing. Each movement is heavy. Slow. The weight of both of us pulling downward. Metal grinding under my grip.

My fingers slip once. Twice.

“Fuck— stay still—”.

I wedge my knee against the bridge structure and push. Inch by inch. The wind keeps trying to tear us away. Finally, my hand catches the railing edge.

I haul us over with a last, violent pull. We collapse onto the asphalt.

You’re shaking so hard it looks painful. I immediately roll onto my knees in front of you.

I take both your hands in mine.

I rub them firmly between my palms, creating friction, warmth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re here. Breathe.”