The alarm went off at 2:17 a.m.
Lucas Andrade was already awake.
That was the part no one ever believed when he told it later. They assumed he'd been asleep, dragged out of bed like everyone else. But he hadn't slept. Not really. He rarely did anymore.
The barracks were quiet when the alarm began to howl, red lights flooding the concrete walls, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade. Boots hit the floor. Lockers slammed. Voices rose, sharp and practiced, already slipping into the rhythm of routine.
Lucas stood up slower than the others.
Not because he was tired.
Because he already knew where he'd be placed.
"Old building on São Damião Street," the dispatcher's voice crackled over the speaker. "Structural fire. Multiple floors involved. Possible casualties."
Possible.
That word always sounded hopeful. Tonight, it wouldn't last long.
By the time Lucas finished pulling on his turnout gear, the captain had already assigned positions. Entry team. Hose team. Ventilation. Rescue.
Support.
"Lucas, you're on equipment and backup," Captain Moreira said without looking at him. "Stay with the truck."
There it was.
Lucas nodded. He always nodded. He'd learned early that arguing only made things worse. People stopped seeing him as unlucky and started seeing him as difficult.
He checked the oxygen tanks. Full. Hoses connected. Pressure steady. His hands moved automatically, muscle memory doing the work while his mind drifted somewhere else.
He wasn't a bad firefighter.
That was the worst part.
He just wasn't a great one either.
And in a profession where great meant survival, "not bad" was another way of saying expendable.
The truck roared through the empty streets, lights flashing against closed storefronts and dark apartment windows. São Damião Street was old—one of those forgotten stretches of the city where buildings stood too close together and maintenance had stopped decades ago.
As they approached, Lucas saw the smoke first.
Thick. Black. Rolling upward in heavy coils, as if the night itself were burning.
"Jesus," someone muttered. "That thing's already gone."
Flames licked out of broken windows, bright and hungry. The building looked like it had inhaled fire and was exhaling destruction.
"No survivors listed," command reported over the radio. "According to registry, the building should be empty."
Should.
Lucas stepped down from the truck and looked up.
And that was when it happened.
For a fraction of a second, the world… shifted.
Not visually. Not physically.
Internally.
A sharp pressure bloomed behind his eyes, like someone pressing a thumb against the inside of his skull. His vision blurred, then snapped into focus again.
Text flickered at the edge of his sight.
Not projected. Not glowing.
Just… there.
> UNREGISTERED THERMAL EVENT
SOURCE: UNKNOWN
Lucas blinked.
The words vanished.
His heart kicked hard against his ribs.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered.
"Lucas!" the captain barked. "Stop staring and get the lines ready."
"Yeah. Sorry."
He shook it off. Stress. Adrenaline. Lack of sleep. Firelight did strange things to the eyes.
That's what he told himself.
They moved fast. The entry team disappeared into the building, swallowed by smoke and flame. Lucas stayed back, managing equipment, checking pressure, relaying updates.
Minutes passed.
Too many minutes.
The fire wasn't behaving right.
He'd seen dozens of structural fires. This one felt… wrong. The flames didn't spread naturally. They pulsed. Drew inward. As if feeding on something deeper than wood and wiring.
A scream echoed from inside.
Short. Cut off.
Lucas froze.
"That wasn't in the plan," someone said.
Before command could respond, Lucas's vision flared again.
Harder this time.
> INTERNAL TEMPERATURE ANOMALY DETECTED
HEAT ZONES: INCONSISTENT
STRUCTURAL FAILURE ESTIMATE: 92 SECONDS
Lucas's breath caught.
That wasn't panic.
That wasn't imagination.
It was information.
"Captain," he said, voice tight. "Something's wrong in there."
Moreira turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Everything's wrong in there. That's why we train."
"No, I mean—"
The building groaned.
A deep, metallic sound rippled through the structure, followed by a shower of sparks and falling debris.
The countdown in Lucas's vision ticked down.
89… 88… 87…
"Captain!" Lucas shouted. "The structure—"
"Lucas, that's enough!" Moreira snapped. "You're not on entry. Stay in your lane."
Lucas hesitated.
Then his vision updated.
> BIOLOGICAL SIGNAL DETECTED
STATUS: CRITICAL
LOCATION: FOURTH FLOOR
He stared at the text, his mind racing.
"No survivors listed," he murmured.
But someone was alive.
Someone who officially didn't exist.
The entry team was still inside. If the structure failed in under a minute, they wouldn't make it out.
Lucas didn't think.
He moved.
"Lucas, what are you doing?" someone yelled as he grabbed a spare oxygen tank and pulled his mask on.
"I'm going in," he said.
"You're not cleared!"
"I know."
He ran toward the entrance, heat slamming into him like a wall. Smoke swallowed his vision as he crossed the threshold, the world narrowing to breath, sound, and the pounding of his heart.
Inside, the fire was worse.
And stranger.
The heat came in waves, alternating between unbearable and… absent. Cold pockets formed inside burning corridors, frost creeping along the edges of scorched walls.
Lucas's vision overlaid the chaos with silent warnings.
> PATH UNSTABLE
OXYGEN DEPLETION: 43%
TIME TO COLLAPSE: 61 SECONDS
He followed the indicators without questioning how he knew where to go. He trusted the information the same way he trusted gravity.
Stairs half-collapsed beneath his boots. He climbed anyway.
Fourth floor.
The hallway was a nightmare of flame and shadow. Doors burned. Walls cracked. And in the center, crouched behind a fallen beam, was a figure.
A man.
Unconscious. Breathing shallowly.
Not burned.
That alone made no sense.
Lucas reached him just as the countdown hit 15 seconds.
He hoisted the man over his shoulder and turned.
The exit route vanished.
> EXTRACTION PATH: NULL
"Don't do this," Lucas whispered.
Then another line appeared.
> ALTERNATE ROUTE GENERATED
A doorway to his left burst open, revealing a stairwell that hadn't existed seconds earlier.
Lucas didn't question it.
He ran.
The building screamed as he emerged from the entrance, collapsing inward on itself in a thunderous roar. Flames shot skyward. The ground shook.
Lucas stumbled forward and fell to his knees, coughing, lungs burning.
Silence followed.
Everyone stared.
The man he'd carried was already being lifted onto a stretcher, paramedics shouting instructions.
Captain Moreira approached slowly.
"You disobeyed orders," he said.
Lucas pulled off his mask, hands shaking. "Someone was alive."
"There were no survivors listed."
"I know."
Moreira studied him for a long moment. "We'll talk later."
As the ambulance doors closed, Lucas's vision flared one final time.
The words burned, sharp and undeniable.
> PROTOCOL ACCEPTED
YOU RESPONDED TO A CALL THAT WAS NEVER LOGGED
STATUS: ACTIVE
Lucas stared at his hands.
They were steady now.
Too steady.
Somewhere deep inside him, something had changed.
And whatever it was…
It was waiting for the next fire.