Chapter 1: The Weight of the White Helmet
It was an ordinary evening, or at least it started that way. I had finally finished another long project at work and was finally heading home, my body heavy with exhaustion. Sitting on the MTR, the carriage was quiet except for the low hum of the train, but I noticed a strange energy. People were staring at their phones, whispering "OMG" and showing their screens to friends. I was too tired to care, closing my eyes and counting the stops until mine.
When I stepped off at my station, the city didn't feel right. The air was thick—not with the usual humid city scent, but with the sharp, acrid sting of smoke. Then came the sirens, a chorus of them, screaming louder as I walked.
Must be another fire, I thought, my feet dragging. I’m too tired to be curious.
But as I turned the corner, the exhaustion vanished. Seven residential blocks were silhouetted against a terrifying orange glow.
Flames licked the night sky, and the sound of the fire was like a roaring beast. "OMG," I breathed, my heart finally waking up. "What happened?"
Through the chaos of flashing red lights and scurrying crews, my eyes landed on the Mobile Command Unit. The door opened, and a man stepped out.
He was different.
While everyone else seemed to be moving in fast-forward, he moved with a steady, quiet calm. The bright lights caught the gleam of his white helmet, marking him instantly as a high-ranking officer. He didn't look panicked; he looked like a man solving a puzzle. He spoke firmly into his radio while another fireman stood beside him, holding a large architectural blueprint open against the side of the truck.
I was supposed to keep walking. I was supposed to go home and sleep. But I couldn't move. I was completely drawn to his professionalism, my eyes locked on the man in the white helmet as the world burned behind him.
