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The late afternoon sun covered Stilwater’s skyline in a burnt orange haze as Brianna steered her car around a corner, phone pressed to her ear. Her tone was tired as she spoke. "Yeah, I just finished running some errands," she said, followed by pause. "Still trying to get used to this new place... no, I haven’t had time to decorate much. Work has been so hectic lately."
Her eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, watching as traffic shifted behind her. Just up ahead, Samson’s garage was coming into view. She let out a quiet breath through her nose.
“I’m heading home now,” she added, a frown coming across her face. "Tell Momma I’ll call her later."
Another pause.
"I love you too, sis." she said with a faint smile.
She ended the call and set her phone in the passenger seat beside her, where her purse and a Vice 9 sat untouched. The smile dropped the second the call disconnected. Her focus sharpened, her grip on the wheel tightening as she pulled up to one of the parking slots at the garage and cut the engine. She packed up her belongings in the purse.
One of the garage doors sat halfway open when she stepped out of the car, the smell of oil and gasoline hitting her instantly.
Troy was outside waiting, leaning against a rusted tool storage, arms crossed and that familiar smirk on his face. He straightened when he saw her.
“There she is,” he said, voice easy. “Figured you’d show.”
Brianna smiled and walked over, giving him a quick side hug. “Be lucky, I was all the way across the city when y’all called.”
Troy chuckled. “Dex is bringin’ the truck around. You know why he wanted that thing?”
Before Brianna could answer, the garage door creaked open and Dex’s voice carried from inside.
“Shit, Troy… if you wanted to know, all you had to do was ask.”
Troy lifted an eyebrow. “I did.”
Dex stepped into view, “Well, I guess you did. Ain’t that a bitch.” He nodded toward the back, where the freshly repaired delivery truck gleamed under the hanging fluorescent lights. “Now that we’ve got things in the Row under control, we can get back to the plan.”
Brianna’s gaze shifted to the truck. Samson really had cleaned it up well, she almost didn’t recognize it since the last time she saw it.
“I had that truck you jacked fixed up good as new,” Dex continued. “Load it up with a crew and drive it right into the Carnales’ production plant. When you get inside, hop out and take the place over.”
Troy raised a brow. “Not exactly the most original plan…”
“There’s something to be said about the classics,” Dex replied. “Just remember what I said: take the place over—don’t blow it to hell. The more shit you blow up, the more shit we have to replace once we’re runnin’ it.”
Brianna gave a short nod, lips pressing into a thin line. It wasn’t a flashy job, but it would hurt the Carnales where it counted.
“Got it,” she said. “Let’s do it then.”
Dex held up a hand. “Pause, just gotta’ wait for some of the crew to get here. We called you first because we needed a driver. Gat was braggin’ on your skills the other day, so we’re taking a chance. Just don’t disappoint, we’re countin’ on you.”
Brianna raised an eyebrow, her mouth turning into a smirk. “You mean to tell me that Johnny of all people was out here giving compliments? I’m shocked.”
Troy chuckled, arms still crossed as he leaned into the side of the truck. “You and me both.”
Dex gave a short laugh and shook his head. “Whatever. Just make sure you get us to the front door in one piece.”
“Any idea who’s ridin’ with me?” she asked.
“Gat was gonna’ go initially, but Eesh got him on a leash after the date situation,” Troy replied. “The crew should be here any minute. Julius handpicked a few for this run. Some of the newer ones, but they can hold their own.”
“Anyone I know?” she asked.
“A couple you’ve probably seen around the church,” he said. “One’s named Curtis. Solid with a shotgun, but runs his mouth too much. The other’s called 8-Ball. Quiet. Good shot. Keeps his head down. A few others… Oh, I think ya’ girl Dejah is coming too.”
Brianna exhaled as she walked to the driver’s side of the truck, “Doesn’t sound like a bad bunch.”
Their conversation was cut short as a tricked-out purple Aqua pulled into the lot, bass thumping and tires screeching slightly as it came to a stop in the garage’s parking lot.
The driver's door swung open, and out stepped Dejah, gold hoops swaying, box braids pulled into a tight ponytail, and dressed in a sleek black varsity jacket over a cropped purple tee and light blue jeans.
Brianna looked over, and her face lit up instantly. “Dejah!” She bubbled as she dragged the last part of Dejah’s name.
Dejah grinned widely, already closing the distance with her arms spread. “Bri!”
They met in the middle with a tight hug, followed by a quick, playful shake as if neither wanted to let the other go. The two acted like they hadn’t seen each other in ages, but in reality, they talked on the phone yesterday; it was just the vibe of being in the same space.
“You ready?” Bri asked, pulling back slightly but still holding Dejah by the arm.
“Girl, yes. Just don’t kill us.” Dejah teased, flashing her teeth.
Bri smirked, “Girl, stop.” They both laughed, energy radiating from the two.
More Saints were arriving on foot or in beat-up rides, weapons slung across their backs or tucked under jackets.
Before the moment could stretch too long, a throat cleared. Dex, standing just outside the garage now, arms crossed.
“ Girls, save the reunion for after we take the damn plant,” he said. “We’re on a timer. Let’s move.”
Brianna nodded. “Sorry, Dex.”
She pulled open the cab door and climbed in, taking a quick glance around. The interior was unfamiliar, she wasn’t used to driving anything this heavy, but with the Saints starting to pile into the back, she took a moment to get her bearings and figure things out. “It’s like a car… just with more buttons,” she muttered under her breath, scanning the dashboard.
Troy appeared at the passenger side window and popped the door open slightly. “Hey, Bri—I’ll be on the phone with you the whole way. Just keep a cool head. You got this.”
He pulled out his phone and gave her a call. She fished hers out of her purse and answered with a short nod.
“I’ll see you there,” Troy said with a small grin, then closed the door and backed away.
A few minutes later, a couple of solid bangs hit the side of the truck, Dex’s signal to move.
Brianna turned the key, the engine roared to life, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling out of the lot.
A tall figure sprinted into view, Curtis, hoodie up, duffle bag bouncing against his side as he tried to catch up. “ Yo, don’t leave me! ”
Brianna caught sight of him in the side mirror and sighed, already shaking her head.
“Keep going,” Troy instructed through the phone. “They’re pulling him in.”
Sure enough, one of the Saints at the back leaned out just in time, grabbed Curtis by the wrist, and yanked him into the moving truck with a grunt. The rear doors slammed shut behind him.
The drive to the drug factory was projected to be a bit of a drive. The truck rumbled steadily down the road, the sound of the engine filling the space between her and Troy’s voice on the other end of the line.
“So,” Troy said, his tone light and curious, “What do you actually do for fun?”
Brianna chuckled, one hand on the wheel, the other holding the phone to her ear. “I mean, between gang work and family stuff? Not a lot. I just moved into a new place, with the money I’ve been earning, though I’m trying to make it feel like home.”
“Oh yeah? That spot over in North Misson Beach?” he asked.
“Yeah, off Angel Street. Small, but it’s mine,” she said proudly. “And I’ve been working on my cooking too, but the oven is really shitty. Last week I tried to make pasta and set off the damn smoke detector.”
Troy laughed. “Damn, maybe just stick to Freckle Bitch’s when we go out.”
She smirked. “When we go out? Is there somethin’ you wanna tell me T?”
He played it off cool. “Just saying, some of the guys are probably hoping to shoot their shot first.”
Brianna rolled her eyes, smiling. “I already caught one of them checking me out at the church the other day. Can’t lie, there’s some cute ones. I might hook up with one just for fun.”
Troy burst into laughter. “ Damn , you’re wild. But nah, you’re too good for half the dudes we got. They’d fall in love after one night and start crying when you don’t text back.”
“Sounds like a them problem,” Bri jested, eyes on the road as the truck rumbled across the bridge out of Athos Bay.
She glanced at the green street signs overhead, then spoke into the phone, “Alright, I just hit the Bay Bridge—once I’m off, I take a right past the old depot, yeah?”
The truck bounced slightly over the bridge joints, causing the cab to rattle.
“Yeah, after you make that right, it’s a straight shot down Fox Drive, should take you right to the edge of Pilsen.” He responded.
Brianna exits the bridge and makes the right at the train depot. She stops at the intersection to Fox Drive and looks both ways. “Alright, Troy I’m turning onto Fox Drive right now.”
“Cool, this is where I hang up,” Troy said, his voice losing a bit of its casual ease. “Dex’ll probably hit you up in a second to make sure everything’s going smooth. Just keep your head cool, alright?”
Brianna gave a small nod, more to herself than to him. “Gotcha. Thanks, Troy.”
She ended the call and dropped her phone onto the passenger seat just as the truck rolled past the chain-link gates of the drug factory. Her eyes flicked to the security booth stationed at the entrance, completely empty. “That doesn’t seem right…” Brianna worried to herself.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the wheel, instincts creeping in. The Carnales weren’t the type to leave their front door open.. The missing guard could mean anything: bad planning, a trap, or maybe they were already short on bodies.
Still, she pressed forward, the truck groaning under its own weight as it entered the wide factory yard. A few rundown delivery vans were parked haphazardly to the side, and the open loading docks ahead loomed.
“Alright…” she muttered.
Bri cranked the wheel, spinning the truck in a tight arc, gravel crunching beneath the tires as she maneuvered the rear end to face the main building.
She slammed it into park, took a breath, and looked in the side mirror. Leaning over, she gave the interior wall of the cab two sharp knocks. The back doors burst open almost instantly, the Saints flooding out. Dejah was the first one to hop out, already barking orders and leading the charge toward the factory lot.
Brianna popped open the driver’s door and slid out, grabbing her handgun from her purse as her shoes hit the gravel. She moved quickly behind the crew, eyes scanning for movement as she jogged forward.
“It’s the fuckin’ Saints!” a voice from across the lot shouted.
Then came the gunfire.
Rounds ruptured through the air, echoing off the factory walls. Bullets sparked off the pavement, shattering a side mirror on one of the delivery vans nearby. Bri ducked low behind a rusted-out car, firing back in tight bursts as the Saints spread out, returning fire with wild energy and loud war cries.
Dejah surged ahead of her, weaving between cover and taking down a Carnales guard with two clean shots to the chest. “Bri, you got space to move inside!” she called, not missing a step as she dropped another and made for the side entrance.
Brianna nodded and took over the push, slipping through the door with a small squad at her back. The interior of the factory was all metal catwalks and concrete, smelling like old plastic and chemicals.. Shadows moved in the upper walkways as Carnales scrambled into position.
“Watch the rafters!” Bri shouted, ducking behind a crate as a volley of bullets tore into the wall behind her. She leaned out, caught one of the shooters in her sights, and pulled the trigger—once, twice. He dropped.
The factory had turned into a warzone within seconds, muzzle flashes lighting the dim interior. Her heart pounded, but she kept her breaths steady, focusing on the path forward. “Jesus Christ.” She mumbled to herself.
Gunfire echoed through the steel corridors, the Saints pushing forward through waves of Carnales resistance. Brianna took point with calculated force, each burst from her handgun sent another enemy crashing to the stained concrete floor. Behind her, the Saints shouted commands and encouragement.
Suddenly, a screech of feedback rang out overhead—followed by a voice, crackling through the factory’s intercom system.
“ Get those fucking Saints out of my goddamn factory! ” the voice barked with fury, laced in a Spanish accent. It was deep, commanding, likely one of the Carnales’ top lieutenants.
Brianna glanced up at a dusty speaker bolted into the ceiling. “Someone’s pissed,” she muttered.
They pushed through a production room lined with chemical drums and half-packed crates of drugs, gunning down Carnales and the drug workers as they scrambled for cover. The air stank of smoke and powder.
“Curtis! Hit the left!” Bri shouted, ducking under a catwalk as a Carnales thug opened fire from above. 8-Ball responded with a precise shot, dropping the shooter before Curtis could even move.
The intercom flared again, angrier this time. “Mátalos! Every last one! You let these pendejos into my factory? If they don’t kill you, I will !”
Brianna wiped sweat from her forehead with her sleeve and advanced toward the upper levels, climbing a staircase littered with spent shells. The gunfire slowed for only a moment before roaring back to life in the next room.
The Saints were tearing through them and clearly winning the battle.
“You hear that?” Dejah called, crouched beside a broken crate as she reloaded. “The motherfucka’ is losing it.”
Brianna fired twice over her shoulder and ducked into cover beside her. “Good! Let him.”
They breached a hallway leading to what looked like the central processing area—bright fluorescents flickered overhead, casting long shadows as Carnales regrouped near stacked pallets. The Saints wasted no time lighting them up, bullets cutting through the maze of equipment.
The voice came back, “¡No más excusas! Don’t let them reach the heart of the factory! This is MINE! The Saints will die here!”
Brianna gritted her teeth as she returned fire and yelled. “Not tonight, you bastard!”
She moved fast, weaving between overturned tables and busted crates, closing in on a side corridor that led deeper into the factory. Her gun swept side to side, ready for anything—until she turned a corner too fast.
A blur of red slammed into her.
“Shit!” she gasped as her back hit the wall with a hard thud , her gun-hand pinned.
A Carnales grunt, crazy-eyed and snarling, had her wrist in a death grip. His free hand fumbled at her weapon, trying to rip it from her grasp. “ Puta !” he spat, breath hot in her face.
She grit her teeth and twisted her body, slamming her knee into his thigh to throw him off balance. His grip faltered for half a second. “Fuck off me!” She yelled.
With a sharp grunt, she yanked her wrist free, flipped the grip, and drove her elbow into his throat. The man staggered back, choking.
He looked up at her, but before he could react.
Brianna aimed her gun at him and unloaded.
Five rounds tore through his chest. He hit the ground like a sack of bricks, blood pooling beneath him.
She stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling, then quickly checked the hallway again.
“Bri, you good?” Dejah’s voice called from the other room.
Brianna stepped over the body and rejoined the others, face calm but eyes sharp. “Yeah!” she said, “One of 'em got brave!”
The intercom blared again, this time with a furious howl of frustration from the Carnales voice overhead.
“You think you can take this from me? You’re dead, Saints! DEAD!”
Brianna looked up at the speaker and shook her head.
“Keep talkin’,” she muttered.
More gunfire echoed off the concrete walls, louder now, closer.
Dejah ducked behind a metal crate, popped two shots off toward a retreating thug, then turned to Brianna. “Yo, Bri! Me and the rest of the crew’ll finish sweepin’ the floor. You—” she nodded toward the stairwell leading to the upper offices, “—go handle that asshole. Sounds like he’s holed up in the office wing.”
Brianna didn’t hesitate. “No problem D! Fuck em’ up!”
Dejah grinned as she picked up an SMG. “Oh, you know I will.”
Bri turned and sprinted for the stairwell, sneakers pounding against the worn metal steps. The factory dimmed slightly as she rose, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The second floor was quieter and much calmer.
She crept past a glass-paneled office, glimpsing a Carnales grunt inside rifling through a drawer. He looked up too late.
Two suppressed shots dropped him quickly.
She kept moving, slipping through the cubicle spaces and past abandoned desks, where old paperwork fluttered from bullet vibrations below. Another Carnales came around the corner, startled by her sudden presence—but Brianna ducked low and fired a single shot to the chest. She fell without a sound.
The hall curved slightly before opening into a more secured wing. A single reinforced door stood at the end, security wires snaking around the top. A nameplate had long since been scratched off.
Brianna approached, gun raised, and tested the handle.
It opened with a soft creak.
The security room sat still and dim, some monitors glowing in a soft green hue, while others were off or broken. The scent of stale coffee and sweat hung heavy in the air.
She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.
Brianna moved quietly, her eyes flicking across each glowing monitor in the security room. The place was empty. The constant gunfire from below had dulled to sporadic bursts, replaced now with the hum of the surveillance equipment and the faint static of an open intercom.
“He must’ve fled… Damn it.” She whispered to herself.
She turned toward the far end of the room, about to check behind one of the racks when movement caught her eye.
Then the creak against the floor.
Before she could react, a figure lunged from behind a server cabinet, shoving hard against a metal shelf. It toppled toward her.
Brianna dove to the side, rolling against the cold floor just as the shelf slammed down where she’d been standing. Sparks shot from a dislodged power cord.
She scrambled to her feet just in time to see a massive figure charge her. She raised her gun to shoot at him, but he connected right into her, causing the gun to go off at the ceiling.
The impact knocked the air from her lungs.
He was massive. Built like a damn freight train—easily over six feet, shoulders broad and thick with muscle, the cut of his basketball jersey doing nothing to hide his form.
Bri’s gun was knocked from her hand as she crashed to the floor. The man straddled her as he drew a knife from his belt. There was no hesitation in his eyes. “Fuckin’ whore!” he snarled.
Brianna gritted her teeth beneath him, muscles straining as she fought against his weight.
The blade came down fast, too fast, but Bri reacted on instinct, grabbing his wrist with both hands mid-swing, straining to keep the knife from driving into her face.
"Get the fuck…off me!" she snarled, muscles burning as she fought to hold him back.
But he was strong, too strong. Her arms trembled under the weight of his strength, and she knew she couldn’t hold him for long. Thinking fast, she twisted her body and redirected the blade toward her own shoulder.
The knife plunged into her flesh with a crunch, fire ripping through her nerves. Her scream tore out of her throat as blood pooled beneath her shirt.
"You crazy bitch!" he hissed, yanking the blade back with a savage tug.
Before she could react, his hand slammed down again—this time, driving the blade into the center of her palm as she tried to cover her face. The steel pierced through skin and bone.
Brianna screamed again, grabbing his face in desperation. Her fingers latched onto his ear and with a furious yell, she slammed her forehead into his nose. He got a quick slash at her arm when she did that.
“Fuck!” he shouted, stumbling back as blood sprayed from his busted nose.
Bri rolled to the side, her vision swimming, her hand bleeding and shoulder burning. She looked around frantically for her gun, but it got lost in the scuffle.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she surged to her feet and charged.
He was still dazed from the headbutt when she slammed into him, fists flying. She threw jab after jab into his chest and jaw, ignoring the pain radiating from her injured hand.
But he recovered fast—grabbing her by the arm, twisting her off balance. The two of them crashed against the wall in a tangle of limbs and raw fury. His elbow cracked against her side, hers smashed against his ribs.
He grabbed her by the wrist, then by the hair before taking her down to the ground. As he started throwing more jabs, her hand brushed cold steel.
Without hesitation, Brianna gripped it and swung, not to fire, but to beat him senseless. The butt of the pistol connected with his temple once, twice, and a few more times; until he collapsed on to the floor, unconscious but alive.
Breathing hard, Brianna staggered back, blood dripping from her hand and shoulder. She stood over him for a long second, chest heaving, eyes wild.
"Motherfuckin’...asshole," she muttered through clenched teeth and labored breathing, kicking his knife away as she leaned against the wall.
Footsteps pounded from the hallway. Brianna turned sharply, aiming her gun with her bloodied hand just as Dejah burst through the door, gun drawn.
“Bri!” Dejah’s voice cracked with alarm as she scanned the room, then saw her, slumped against the wall, blood seeping through her shirt.
Behind her, 8-Ball entered quietly, rifle raised until his eyes landed on the lieutenant’s unconscious body. “Damn…”
Dejah rushed over, dropping to her knees beside Bri. “Shit, girl—what the hell happened?!”
Brianna winced, slowly lowering her weapon. “He got the drop on me…”
“You’re lucky he didn’t,” 8-Ball muttered as he walked over to the body. “This dude… I’ve heard stories. That’s Domonic. One of the Carnales’ main enforcers. He moves more product than half their lieutenants combined. Heard that he used to roll on Victor's side before he got big.”
Brianna’s brows furrowed. “Domonic?”
8-Ball nodded. “That’s the guy. No one really gets close to him and lives to talk about it.” He turned toward her, eyes full of awe. “But you? You fought him off and lived . That's a hell of a thing.”
Dejah glanced over at the unconscious man, then whistled low. “You did a number on his face, too.”
Bri exhaled and leaned her head back against the wall, some of the pain finally catching up with her. “You say that like he wasn’t kicking my ass.”
Dejah smirked. “Yeah, and you’re still here, but we need to get you to a hospital before that adrenaline wears off.”
Before Brianna could answer, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She dug it out and answered without checking the screen.
“You good?” came Dex’s voice on the other end.
“Barely,” she grunted. “I’m bleeding and pretty sure I’m gonna pass out soon… but we got him. Domonic, one of the Carnales’ big players... He’s out cold.”
There was a pause.
“Well shit,” Dex said. “Julius is gonna wanna hear that. Bring him back to the church. See if we can get some info out of him.”
She hung up without a word.
Brianna looked over at Domonic’s unconscious form, then to Dejah. “You take him.”
Dejah raised a brow. “Wait, what?”
“I’m not dragging that big bastard anywhere with a knife wound in my shoulder and a hole in my hand.”
Dejah gave her a short nod. “Alright. 8-Ball, tell Curtis to help me get him in one of the cars. And you’re goin’ straight to the hospital.”
8-Ball nodded, stepping forward and carefully helping Bri to her feet.
He slipped an arm under Brianna’s good arm to help steady her, her weight heavy with every step. She hissed through her teeth.
“You good?” he asked, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual.
“No,” she muttered, “but I’ll live… I hope.”
They passed through the hallway and re-entered the main floor of the factory. The remnants of the firefight ringing in their ears as smoke and the scent of gunpowder clung to the air.
Curtis stood nearby, checking some of the equipment out, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked up as they approached.
“Damn,” Curtis said, eyes wide as he caught sight of Bri’s bloody arm. “What the hell happened to her?”
“Upstairs,” 8-Ball snapped. “Dejah needs help with somethin’.”
Curtis hesitated for a half-second, then nodded and jogged off toward the stairwell.
“Alright, come on, we’re almost out,” 8-Ball said, sounding like he said it more to himself than Brianna. He helped her through the exit, pushing open the side door and stepping into the cool air of early evening. Sirens could be heard in the distance.
In the lot, a sleek, deep purple Destiny sat idling by the curb, its engine rumbling low. It must’ve been one of the reinforcements Dejah had called in.
8-Ball guided Brianna over to the passenger side, fumbling to open the door with shaky hands. “Okay, okay—here we go, almost there.”
Brianna chuckled weakly,“Are you good 8-ball?”
“I-I’ve never done this before, alright?” he blurted, easing her into the seat. “I mean, not like this. Not with someone important. Just… Please don’t fall asleep. Or bleed out. Please.”
She settled back, her head resting against the window as he hurried around to the driver’s side.
“Chill out, I’m gonna be fine” she tried to reassure him.
“O-okay!” He muttered, climbing in and gripping the steering wheel. “I’m just tryna make sure you don’t die on my damn watch.”
He glanced over at her one more time, swallowed his nerves, and floored it down Fox Drive. As they crossed the bridge back into the Row, police cruisers raced past in the opposite direction, sirens wailing and lights flashing.
The noise jolted Brianna awake, snapping her out of the daze she’d been slipping into. Otherwise the ride was quiet, 8-Ball turned on Sizzurp FM to keep some sort of sound going to prevent her from sleeping.
Not long after, they pulled into Harrowgate, skidding to a halt outside the emergency entrance of Stilwater General Hospital.
8-Ball barely threw the car into park before rushing out, circling around to the passenger side. “Alright, let’s go… Hang in there,” he muttered, moving fast to help Brianna out of the car.
He threw open the passenger door and carefully pulled Brianna into his arms, her blood soaking into his shirt as he cradled her against his chest.
“Shit… hang on, Bri,” he muttered, pushing the emergency room doors open with his shoulder.
The hospital lobby fell silent for a beat as all eyes turned to them. Staff, patients, visitors, all frozen by the sight of the young woman, bloodied and barely conscious in his arms.
“She’s been stabbed!” 8-Ball barked, his voice cracking under the pressure. “W-we need help, now!”
A nurse at the front desk jumped into motion. “I need a gurney! Now!” she shouted behind her.
Two orderlies rushed in with a stretcher as the nurse moved to guide them. 8-Ball gently laid Brianna down.
The nurse and doctor came to her side, ““She’s going into shock.”
“Her name’s Brianna!” he said, his breath shaky.
“We’ve got her,” the doctor assured him, checking Brianna’s pulse. The nurse then directed 8-Ball, “Sir, you need to step back—let us work.”
8-Ball hesitated, hands twitching at his sides, before slowly backing away as they wheeled her through the ER doors.
The gurney wheels squeaked beneath her as they pushed her down the corridor, the harsh white lights overhead flickering across her vision in passing blurs.
Voices echoed around her urgently and unintelligible. Faces leaned over her, but they were indistinct to her.
Brianna blinked slowly, her body growing heavier with each breath.
“We’re losing her!”
The last thing she saw was the ceiling lights bleeding together in a soft white haze—then, everything went dark.