Jack allowed himself to be dragged forward by the firefighter—a man who shouldn't have been a stranger. There was something about the set of his jaw, the way he moved, that tugged at Jack's subconscious like a half-remembered dream. It had to be the echo from the predecessor's memories.
The distant wail of sirens grew louder, closing in.
"Truck 41 to Dispatch, we're on scene at 19:47 South Wabash," a voice crackled through the firefighter's radio. "Two-story mixed occupancy with heavy smoke showing. Initiating 360 survey."
Before Jack could place where he knew the man from, a deep groan rumbled through the structure. The radio erupted again.
"Command to all units, we've got sounds of instability—"
"Shit."
With a thunderous roar, part of the roof gave way. The firefighter—OWENS, read the nametape on his chest—yanked Jack behind a parked ladder truck just as a cloud of gray dust billowed over them.
"Mayday! Partial collapse on Side Charlie!" the radio blared.
"Received mayday, all units maintain situational awareness," came the dispatcher's clipped response. "Truck 41, what's your status?"
"Truck 41 performing PAR. All members accounted for."
Through the settling haze, Jack watched the first engine crew advance, their hose line snaking behind them as their officer barked orders.
"Engine 47 establishing water supply! Truck 41, begin primary search! Ambulance 34, stage for RIT!"
Rapid Intervention Team. The term surfaced from the depths of Jack's borrowed memories. They were the ones who went in if a firefighter went down.
Owens kept a firm grip on Jack's shoulder as he radioed, "Captain, two civilians clear. Need EMS for smoke inhalation."
The dispatcher's voice crackled again, precise and calm through the chaos: "Battalion 4 responding, ETA two minutes. All units note collapse zone established."
The dust settled slowly, leaving Jack coughing, his throat raw. He clenched his fists.
Why isn't it stopping?
His aura should've protected him from the worst of the smoke. But he'd underestimated this world. The mana here was thin—stagnant—compared to the vibrant currents of his old life. Even maintaining a basic protective ward had drained him.
His vision swam as exhaustion clawed at his limbs.
Pathetic.
In his past life, this much exertion would've been nothing. A flick of his wrist, a whispered incantation, and he could've shielded an entire battalion. Now? He couldn't even sustain a personal barrier for five minutes.
Owens frowned, mistaking Jack's stagger for injury.
"Easy, kiddo. Medics are coming."
Jack gritted his teeth. This world has no magic—but I'll find a way to regain my strength, he vowed. Even if it meant clawing his way back from nothing.
Before he could spiral further, Owens hauled him toward the waiting ambulance, where a young EMT sprinted to meet them.
"Jimmy, get your ass over here!" Owens barked.
A fresh-faced kid in navy EMT blues appeared, his eyes wide. "Holy shit—Jack? You're here!?"
Owens's grip tightened on Jack's shoulder. "Yeah, he's alive. And just as reckless as ever." His voice was rough, but the undercurrent of relief was unmistakable. "What the hell were you thinking, charging in there without gear? Last I heard, you were supposed to be recuperating at home in Clearfield."
Jack didn't answer. His skull throbbed—part exhaustion, part mana depletion—and Owens's booming voice drilled into his temples like a pickaxe. He focused on steadying his breath, drawing on the feeble trickle of mana he could still summon to soothe his scorched lungs.
Jimmy was already in motion, snapping on gloves, cracking open his med kit. "Sit him down," he ordered, all business now. "Jack, can you tell me your full name and today's date?"
Assessment questions. Orientation check. Jack's fragmented memories supplied the reasoning.
"Jack… Turrin," he managed between coughs. "Date's—hell if I know."
Jimmy didn't laugh. He clipped a pulse oximeter onto Jack's finger and tilted a penlight into his eyes. "Pupils equal, reactive. But his sats are low—92%. We're looking at moderate smoke inhalation." He reached for a non-rebreather mask. "Gonna give you 15 liters of O2, okay? Deep breaths."
The mask sealed over Jack's face, the oxygen cold and sterile. He hated the dependency, the way it made him feel weak—
"Jack!"
Another voice cut through the haze. Sophie. Oh right, he left her outside before he went in.
Can everyone just stop yelling for five damn seconds?
Jack groaned, frustration flaring. His fingers twitched, muscle memory urging him to summon a silencing ward—but there was no magic here. Just the hiss of oxygen, the too-bright glare of ambulance lights, and the weight of too many eyes on him.
"Thank God you're okay!" Sophie pushed through the medics and threw her arms around him. She was trembling. The scent of smoke clung to her hair, mingling with the faint floral trace of her shampoo. Her heartbeat thudded against his chest like a war drum.
Jimmy adjusted the oxygen. "Well, I wouldn't say he's entirely okay. Smoke inhalation, probable minor burns—"
Owens shot him a glare that shut him up mid-sentence.
The rookie EMT cleared his throat. "But, uh… he's stable. Just… don't do it again."
The fireground roared around them, a controlled chaos of coordination and urgency. Engine 47's crew knocked down the remaining fire on the second floor, their hose stream cutting through smoke like a blade. Steam billowed from broken windows as water met fire. Truck 41 worked the collapse zone, their Halligan tools prying open ventilation points along the roofline while burning debris tumbled into the designated drop area. The RIT team stood ready by the command post, air packs and tools at the ready. Overhead, the ladder pipe arced a master stream into the charred remains of the building, water catching in the flashing emergency lights as it fell.
Owens gave Jack's shoulder a final squeeze. "Watch him, Jimmy." Then, quieter—just for Jack—he added, "Think of the people who need you, for God's sake." His eyes flicked toward Sophie before he jogged toward the command post.
"Hey Cap! Need my help?" he called out.
Captain Ivers turned, face streaked with soot beneath her helmet, radio crackling with updates. "We've got it contained," she said. "You make sure your boy doesn't do anything else stupid tonight."
Sophie pulled back slightly, her hands cradling Jack's face. Her fingers were trembling, her eyes red-rimmed—whether from smoke or tears, he couldn't tell. "You promised me," she whispered, voice raw.
Behind them, the fire gave its last dying hiss as crews began overhaul, tearing apart blackened timber to find lingering embers. The building stood dark and steaming against the night sky, its windows gaping like hollow eye sockets.
Jack reached up, covering one of Sophie's hands with his own. The oxygen tube tugged at his face as he moved. He wanted to tell her he was okay—that she didn't have to worry. But the words withered on his tongue when he saw the fear still lingering in her eyes.
So instead, he simply nodded.
For now, that would have to be enough.
______
"Dude, you need to go to the hospital."
Owens crossed his arms, turnout gear soaked and dripping with hose water.
Jack shook his head, the oxygen tubing slapping against his cheek.
"No hospitals." Just the thought made his skin crawl—two months of sterile walls, endless tests, and doctors treating him like a science experiment. "I'm fine," he rasped.
His breathing had evened out, but exhaustion clung to him like wet ash. He tilted his chin toward Jimmy. "Tell him."
From their brief interaction, Jack had pieced together their dynamic. Owens—Mike, as Jimmy had called him—seemed close to the predecessor. Jimmy, still green, carried the wide-eyed reverence of someone who looked up to Jack.
Now that he thought about it, he remembered seeing them at the hospital when he first woke up. Captain Ivers had been there too—the woman with the stern face and the sharper eyes.
Jimmy hesitated, then glanced at the monitor clipped to Jack's finger and rattled off the numbers.
"SpO2: 98%. Pulse: 88. Respiratory rate: 16. Blood pressure: 122 over 78. All within normal range."
"See?" Jack yanked the oximeter off his finger.
Jimmy scratched the back of his neck. "Uh… yeah. His vitals are holding. I don't know how, but—"
"Bullshit." Mike tore off his helmet, brows furrowed, jaw tight with frustration.
"This isn't just some normal patient. This is the guy who coded from pulmonary edema eight weeks ago." He jabbed a gloved finger into Jack's chest. "You had fluid in your lungs, Jack. You don't just walk away from that and charge into burning buildings like nothing happened."
Sophie's hand tightened on Jack's shoulder. She didn't say a word, but her silence hit harder than Mike's yelling.
Jack met Mike's glare. "Maybe I got lucky."
"Luck doesn't heal scar tissue."
Mike stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, tense growl. "You stop breathing again, and next time? There might not be a defibrillator nearby to bring you back."
The air between them crackled hotter than the smoldering ruins behind them. Jack squared his shoulders, meeting Mike's glare without flinching. To these people, he was still broken—a patient who should be wrapped in cotton wool. But he knew the truth in his bones: this body was whole, even if his old strength remained just out of reach.
"Uh, guys?" The female paramedic, Vii, edged closer, her gloved hands raised in a placating gesture.
Neither man looked away.
"Mike, Jack." Vii stepped between them, her voice sharpening. "Cut it out. Now."
Mike finally broke eye contact to snap at her. "What is it, Vii? I'm not backing down this time. This idiot needs to—"
"Mrs. Grandine's here. The boy's mother," Vii interrupted. "Looking for Jack."
The name landed like a bucket of cold water. Jack saw Mike's jaw twitch, the anger in his eyes shifting to something more complicated. Sophie's grip on Jack's arm tightened reflexively.
A hush fell over the group as a woman pushed through the crowd of first responders. In her arms was a little boy. Her floral dress was rumpled, her black hair escaping its bun. When her eyes locked onto Jack, they filled with tears.
"Mr. Firefighter," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You…
Jack opened his mouth, but Mike cut in first.
"Ma'am, he needs medical—"
"He needs to hear this," Mrs. Grandine said firmly. She reached for Jack's soot-stained hands. "My Tommy's all I have left. If you hadn't..." Her voice broke. "Thank you isn't enough, but it's all I have."
Jack felt the fight drain out of Mike. The older firefighter rubbed his face, leaving new smears of ash across his forehead. "Damn it, Jack," he muttered, but the heat was gone.
Sophie exhaled shakily beside him. Jack could feel the weight of her unspoken question—was this worth nearly dying over?"Just doing my duty, ma'am," Jack said automatically. The words tasted foreign on his tongue—muscle memory speaking, not him.
Mrs. Grandine pressed a trembling hand to her heart. "I will never forget this."
"Yeah! Thank you, Mr. Firefighter!" Tommy bounced beside her, eyes shining. "You were so cool running through the fire like that!"
Vii crouched beside him, checking his pulse with two fingers. "Kid's fine. No hospitalization needed."
"Same here," Jack said, pulling off his oxygen mask.
Jimmy fumbled with his clipboard. "Patient refused transport—"
"Shut up, Jimmy," Mike groaned, rubbing his temples.
Jack stepped down from the ambulance—and froze.
A semicircle of firefighters in soot-streaked turnouts surrounded him. At their front stood Captain Ivers, her sharp cheekbones lit by the flashing ambulance lights.
"Good to see you vertical, Jack," she said, arms crossed. "You stopping by the hospital? Or do I need to make it an order?"
Jack's grimace answered for him.
Ivers sighed through her nose. "Fine. I trust you to know your limits." Her tone made it clear she didn't.
"Cap, for God's sake—" Mike started.
"He's your partner, Owens. You deal with him." Ivers turned on her heel, then paused. "...Glad you're back."
"Alright, let's pack it up!" Her command snapped the crew into motion—but not before they mobbed Jack.
"You bastard, we thought you'd retired!" A bear of a man crushed him in a hug that reeked of smoke and Old Spice.
"Nice of you to finally join us, Sleeping Beauty," a Latina firefighter smirked, ruffling his hair.
Hands clapped his shoulders, punched his arms, squeezed his neck—each touch a brand of familiarity he didn't share. Jack stood stiff, smile tight.
These aren't my comrades... I left them in that dragon's lair...
But this body remembered them. His traitorous heart leapt at their voices.
Sophie's hand found his, her fingers lacing through his. "Breathe," she murmured—low, just for him.Jack realized he'd stopped breathing.
The weight of unfamiliar camaraderie pressed down on him until only Mike remained, his jaw working like he was chewing unsaid words.
"Alright," Mike finally grunted, adjusting his helmet. "Shift's not over yet. You take care of yourself, yeah? If anything feels off—anything—you call. We'll come running."
Jack nodded stiffly.
Sophie squeezed his arm. "Don't worry, Mike. I've got him."
"Yeah, thank God for that." Mike's laugh was rough with exhaustion. "What would this idiot do without you?"
Sophie's sheepish smile didn't reach her eyes.
Mike hesitated, then jerked his chin toward the idling engine. "Or... you could ride back with us. Hang at the firehouse till shift change."
Jack's gaze darted sideways—a tell Mike caught instantly.
"You good?" he asked, stepping closer, voice low. "Wait. Do you even... remember the house?"
Jack's expression stayed blank.
"Jesus Christ." Mike dragged a soot-streaked hand down his face. "And you still ran into a burning building? Un-fucking-believable."
"I just acted," Jack said flatly. "The boy wouldn't have made it otherwise."
"I know that." Mike's glove creaked as his fist clenched. "But you've got people who need you alive, man." His eyes flicked to Sophie. "Think about her next time."
Sophie's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's okay," she lied smoothly. "Everyone's safe. That's what matters."
They stood in brittle silence, all three pretending not to hear the unspoken truth:
Next time might not end with smiles and handshakes. Next time, someone might not walk away.
Mike exhaled hard. "Alright. Truce." He jabbed a finger at Jack. "But you're doing dinner after shift. I'll get you up to speed before you face the crew." His voice softened. "Then we can be one big fucking happy family..."
Jack nodded. For the first time since waking in this world, he felt something faint and fragile settle in his chest—something like relief.