Between Andy Herrera and Robert Sullivan and Victoria Hughes and Travis Montgomery as romantic.
The city was a canvas of lights, a buzzing hive of energy that never slept—until tonight. Seattle, with its towering skyline and restless heart, fell into an abyss as the power grid flickered and surrendered to the dark.
Station 19 had been a beacon amongst the chaos, with generators keeping the emergency lights on, as calls flooded in from all corners of the city. Captain Maya Bishop's voice was a steady drum, assigning teams and resources with military precision. But beyond the station's walls, the world was a different place—a shadow realm.
Andy Herrera's boots echoed on the tarmac as she finished suiting up, her mind a fragmented collage of the station's buzzing atmosphere and the stillness that awaited outside. The night was supposed to be routine—dinner with the crew, paperwork, drills—but the blackout had sparked a different fate.
Robert Sullivan, who was moments away from ending his shift, caught her in the bay, his silhouette framed by the red exit sign glow.
"Looks like we're up," Andy said, keeping her tone professional, though the sight of him never failed to twist her heart into knots. "Got your gear ready?"
"Always," Sullivan replied, and they shared a look—a mix of anticipation and old wounds—before heading into the void. The once-familiar streets had transformed into ink-black mazes, the usual comfort of streetlights snuffed out like dying embers.
As they navigated the alleys, with only their flashlight beams to guide them, the rest of the world seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them and the night. It was surreal and unsettling—like a scene from a disaster movie, except there were no cameras to yell "cut," no director to dictate their next move.
Engines revved in the middle distance, the sound alien without its usual visual counterparts, and Andy felt Sullivan's presence like a charge in the air, heavy with things unsaid.
"Over there," she said abruptly, pointing to a group of huddled figures by a dumpster. There were cries for help, a slice of life suddenly needing their expertise in the ambiguity of darkness.
Their rescue was swift, a testament to their training and teamwork, but as they turned back toward the direction of the station, a low rumble started beneath their feet. The ground shook, subtly at first, and then with enough force to throw them off balance. Sullivan reached for Andy instinctively, steadying her.
"Earthquake?" Andy's voice was a mix of adrenaline and uncertainty, her flashlight beam dancing erratically across ruined masonry that now blocked their path back.
Sullivan's hand latched onto her arm, a grip that was both protective and necessary. "Could be an aftershock. We need to find another way around."
Alone and cut off from their team, with crisis upon crisis unfolding, they'd have no choice but to lean on each other if they wanted to make it through the night. This blackout was more than an absence of light—it was a catalyst, and as the earth steadied beneath them, their journey was only just beginning.