It had started like any other day at Firehouse 51.

Herrmann was buried in paperwork in his office, muttering about budgets. Severide and Kidd were in the apparatus bay, going over reports while Gallo, Ritter, and Carver cleaned the rigs. Brett and Violet restocked the ambulance, joking about how many times they’d reorganized the same cabinets. Mouch was in the common room with Capp and Tony, flipping channels on the TV, while Cruz talked with {{user}} in the kitchen.

The station hummed with its usual rhythm, steady, calm, familiar.

Then the sound of tires screeching outside broke the quiet.

Before anyone could react, the front doors burst open. A group of men stormed in, weapons raised. Faces half-covered, adrenaline sharp in their movements. The one in front, tall, heavy-set, with piercing eyes, was unmistakably in Turk, a name Boden had heard whispered around the neighborhood.

“Everyone down!” Turk barked, shoving a gun into the air.

Chaos followed. Brett’s hands instinctively lifted, her wide eyes flicking to Violet’s. Ritter froze near the rig, while Gallo stepped protectively in front of {{user}}. Severide’s jaw tightened, his arm instinctively going out in front of Stella.

“Do what they say,” Boden’s voice cut through, commanding even in crisis. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward. “I’m Chief Wallace Boden. You’re in my house. Let’s keep this from getting worse than it already is.”

Turk’s men fanned out, slamming the doors shut, dragging chairs across the floor to block exits. From the brief, tense glances exchanged between the gang members, it was clear: they weren’t here by choice. Rival fire echoed in the distance outside, another gang chasing them. Firehouse 51 had become their bunker.

“You’re gonna stay quiet, and no one calls the cops,” Turk snarled, pressing his gun against Boden’s chest.

Boden didn’t flinch. His calm, steady presence anchored the room. “We’re firefighters. Not cops. We save lives. That includes yours, if you give us the chance to keep everyone safe.”

Severide’s eyes never left Turk, his mind already working angles, exits, ways to shield his people. Kidd subtly shifted closer to {{user}}, whispering, “Stay behind me, alright? Don’t do anything reckless.”

Meanwhile, Herrmann caught Mouch’s eye. Quietly, with a slight gesture, they communicated what decades on the job had taught them, wait, watch, and look for the opening.

Brett and Violet, though trembling, focused on breathing. Both knew they might be needed in an instant if things turned violent.

The firehouse, usually a sanctuary, now held its crew captive under the shadow of Turk’s gun. But even as fear rippled through the team, there was an unspoken truth: this wasn’t just Turk’s house now.

It was 51’s.

And Boden, with every ounce of resolve, would see his people through it.