Most of these volunteers have ordinary day jobs—they are IT professionals, truck drivers, hospital staff, or corporate employees at Fortune 500 companies. Rescue is their second calling, sustained entirely by voluntary dedication and out-of-pocket expenses.
When asked why they do it, everyone has a different starting point. For many, their journey began with the devastating 2008 Wenchuan earthquake—a watershed year that marked the founding of many rescue teams and altered the course of their lives. Others joined after witnessing accidents close to home, wanting to make sure they had the skills to help when it mattered most. Once they experienced their first rescue, they were hooked.
The captain of the Blue Sky Motorized Rescue Team once told Tina: "Rescue is addictive." Tina says this single sentence completely transformed her understanding of this community.
"They aren't born heroes; they are ordinary people," Tina says. "But once they lend a hand and experience that profound, genuine sense of accomplishment, they can never stop."
Both operational models have their merits and their struggles, but they share one commonality: the heavy emotional toll of this work, which is rarely seen by outsiders.
Whether it is searching for an elderly person lost in the city, performing late-night crisis intervention, or searching through debris after a major disaster—most missions happen far from the camera's lens. One captain recalled spending hours trying to talk someone down from a crisis, only to fail in the end. He said that image is permanently etched in his mind; every time he closes his eyes, it’s there, and he struggles to move past it. Yet, he is still out on missions at dawn, still replying to messages in the group chat. He even studied psychology to try to process these experiences, but some scars never fully heal.