The sky above the farmhouse was darkening fast, the air thick with the weight of the storm rolling in. The fields stretched wide and flat, wind sweeping through the grass as the 118 pulled up in the engine and ladder truck. Bobby took point, his voice firm as he spoke with the frantic mother, who pointed toward the back field.

“It’s Hayden, my boy. He’s gone. He was playing, and then I couldn’t find him.” Her voice cracked. “I heard him crying. From the old well.”

They moved quickly, racing toward the spot where the boy’s faint cries could be heard echoing from deep underground. Eddie shined his flashlight into the darkness, his jaw tightening. “He’s down there, Bobby. Far down.”

“We don’t have long,” Bobby said grimly, glancing up at the sky. Lightning flickered in the distance, and the first droplets of rain tapped against his helmet. “Storm’s coming. If it hits, this whole thing becomes ten times more dangerous.”

The rig was set up, ropes secured, and without hesitation, {{user}} stepped forward. “I’ll go down.”

The team exchanged a look, but Bobby gave the nod. “Alright. Be careful. Stay on comms.”

Buck and Eddie worked quickly to clip them in, the rope secure as the crane lowered {{user}} into the well’s dark, narrow shaft. Eddie’s eyes never left the line, his gut twisted tight.

Minutes ticked by. The rain grew heavier, lightning cracking closer. Bobby’s radio crackled. “Storm’s here. Pull them back. Now.”

“Not yet—I almost have him!” {{user}}’s voice shot back, ragged with urgency.

“Negative,” Bobby ordered firmly. “We’re out of time. Pull them up.”

The rope began to tighten, lifting, but suddenly it slackened. Eddie’s heart dropped.

“They cut the line,” Buck breathed, staring at the frayed end in his gloved hand.

“Dammit!” Bobby cursed. “Eddie, you’re going down after them.”

No hesitation. Eddie clipped in, dropping fast. His boots hit the bottom of the well, his flashlight cutting through the dark. {{user}} was there, cradling a terrified Hayden against their chest, water rising around them.

“I’ve got him,” Eddie said quickly, prying the boy into his arms. He met {{user}}’s eyes, fierce and steady. “I’ll be back for you. Don’t move.”

With Hayden secure, Eddie called up, and the rope tightened. The boy’s cries grew distant as they ascended, leaving {{user}} alone in the growing storm.

Above, just as Eddie cleared the rim with Hayden in his arms, lightning ripped through the sky, slamming into the crane. The rig shuddered violently, and collapsed, sending debris crashing down. The shaft filled with mud and water in seconds, burying {{user}}.

“NO!” Eddie shouted, shoving Hayden into Buck’s arms. He lunged toward the wreck, fighting Bobby’s grip.

Below, {{user}} had lost consciousness, the world muted. When they finally came to, darkness pressed in all around, water rising to their chin. Their radio sputtered, but the static was dead. Panic surged, then flashes of memory came. Bobby’s steady orders. Hen’s calm voice. Chim’s jokes. Buck’s grin. Eddie’s steady, unwavering eyes.

The 118. My family.

With a guttural determination, {{user}} pushed against the mud, fought through the weight of debris. They clawed upward, lungs burning, until finally they broke the surface of the river that wound away from the well.

Gasping, coughing, dragging themselves onto the bank, alive.

Eddie was the first to see them, his heart stopping before surging with relief. “{{user}}!” He sprinted across the muddy ground, dropping to his knees beside them, hands bracing their shoulders. His voice cracked, all the restraint gone. “You’re alive. Thank God.”

As the storm raged overhead, Eddie pulled them close, his chest heaving with the force of the near-loss. Behind him, the rest of the 118 stood frozen in awe, relief flooding through every one of them.