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Royal Road Community Magazine [January 2025 Edition]
No Reincarnation for This Tired Soul

No Reincarnation for This Tired Soul

Lucas stepped onto the plane, his eyes scanning the cabin with a detached curiosity, as if the scene unfolding around him was just another chapter in a book he'd read before. He was a tall man with a strong build, his dark brown hair neatly combed, and his clean-shaven face hiding the weariness he felt inside. Outwardly, he appeared composed—lively, even—but inside, the same dull thought circled in his mind: Just another city, just another task.

His crisp white shirt and black leather jacket gave him an air of casual confidence, but he barely cared about his appearance. In his hand, he carried a black duffle bag.

The cabin filled with energy. The faint hum of the plane's ventilation mixed with the casual talk of passengers and the occasional sounds of carry-ons being put away. The air was a mix of cool, recycled air and faint hints of perfume, deodorant, and the sharp smell of freshly wiped surfaces. The rows of gray leather seats stretched ahead, their metallic armrests gleaming under the ceiling lights.

Lucas walked down the narrow aisle, careful not to bump into the people ahead of him. His shoes made a soft tapping sound against the carpeted floor. Passengers in front were slowly moving, some pausing to heave their bags into the overhead compartments, causing minor delays.

As he approached his assigned row, his eyes caught sight of a young woman already seated by the window. She wore a bright red hoodie. Her face, partially covered by her dark brown hair, was calm, and she seemed lost in thought as she gazed out of the window.

Lucas paused briefly, glancing at the empty middle seat between them before opening the overhead compartment. He lifted his bag effortlessly, placing it next to a floral-patterned suitcase. His movements were smooth, but the faint strain in his arms showed his duffle bag wasn't as light as it appeared.

Sliding into his seat next to the aisle, Lucas settled in and adjusted his jacket so it wouldn't wrinkle. He glanced at the woman by the window. She had her headphones on and didn't seem to notice him, her attention still focused outside.

The middle seat remained empty as other passengers passed by, occasionally pausing to double-check their row numbers. The flight attendants moved gracefully through the aisle, helping some passengers find space for their bags. The sound of zippers and clicks of luggage locks filled the air briefly before fading into the background.

Lucas leaned back in his seat, letting out a small breath as he adjusted the air vent above him. The cabin felt slightly cooler now, but the lingering body heat of the crowd was still noticeable. He watched the flow of passengers continue, wondering briefly who might take the middle seat before shifting his attention elsewhere like seatbelt etc.

He glanced back toward the woman by the window, catching a faint reflection of her headphones in the glass, and then returned his focus to the aisle. The journey was just beginning.

Some time later….The chatter in the cabin had quieted to a soft murmur, and Lucas glanced down the aisle.

An older man, likely in his late sixties, approached Lucas's row. His graying hair was neatly combed back, and he wore a brown jacket over a beige shirt. His glasses sat low on his nose, and he carried a small leather laptop bag in one hand.

As the man reached their row, he paused and glanced at Lucas with a polite smile.

"Excuse me, young man," the old man said gently. "I think I'm in the middle seat here."

Lucas quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up, stepping into the aisle to give the man room. "Of course," Lucas said with a nod.

As the older man walked into the row, Lucas noticed him struggling with his luggage. Without hesitation, he grabbed the bag and lifted it into the overhead compartment.

The older man gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you, young man." Than, he sat down with a soft sigh and adjusted his glasses, glancing at both Lucas and the woman by the window.

"Looks like a full flight," he said with a warm laugh.

Lucas smiled lightly, returning to his seat. "Yeah, it seems like it."

The woman by the window turned her head, gave the old man a smile, and then looking back outside the window again.

The cabin crew soon began their final preparations. A flight attendant walked quickly down the aisle, checking overhead compartments and seat belts.

"Is everyone here buckled in?" she asked, her tone professional but kind.

Lucas adjusted his seatbelt, pulling it to make it comfortable across his waist.

The captain's voice crackled over the microphone, drawing the cabin's attention.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice calm and steady.

"This is your captain speaking. We'll be departing shortly for our destination. Flight time today is approximately three hours and twenty minutes. We expect smooth skies for most of the journey, and we'll be cruising at an altitude of 35,000 feet."

Lucas glanced at the older man, who adjusted his glasses and leaned back slightly, listening to the announcement.

"Please make sure all carry-on items are properly stowed, and your seatbacks and tray tables are in their upright positions. Also, please make sure to disable any personal internet connections before we begin flying."

The announcement paused briefly, replaced by a ring, as the captain continued.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Please remain seated with your seatbelts close until we reach to our destination. Thank you for flying with us, and we'll be on our way shortly."

The engines started up, making the cabin vibrate as the plane began to move. Lucas looked out the window, where the woman tilted her head, watching the ground crew move quickly in their bright safety vests.

The older man leaned slightly toward Lucas, keeping his voice low. "First time flying, or are you a regular at this?"

"Not my first time," Lucas replied, turning his head slightly to meet the man's gaze. "But I wouldn't call myself a frequent flyer either. You?"

"Oh, I've done my fair share of traveling," the man said with a chuckle. "Though these days, I prefer shorter flights. My back doesn't agree with these seats."

Lucas gave a faint smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Fair enough," he said, though he wasn't particularly interested. Small talk felt like a necessary script to him, something to fill the time.

The captain's voice came over the speaker again, announcing they were ready for takeoff. The engines grew louder, and the plane began to pick up speed, racing down the runway.

Lucas felt the familiar pull as the aircraft lifted off the ground. The vibrations smoothed out, but his mind didn't follow. He stared blankly ahead, the sensation of flying doing nothing to affect him. Not scared of crashing. Not thrilled to land. Just... here, he thought to himself, absently adjusting his jacket.

The woman by the window leaned slightly forward, her eyes fixed on the shrinking view of the city below. The sunlight cast a warm glow on her face, but she remained silent, seemingly lost in her own world.

Soon, the plane started flying. The passengers began to relax, some pulling out their devices, others leaning back with books or magazines. The older man let out a soft breath and adjusted his seatbelt slightly, settling in for the journey.

Lucas glanced at his watch, noting the time. He leaned back in his seat, adjusting his position to find a more comfortable spot. The hum of the engines and the faint murmur of passengers created a steady background rhythm as the flight continued on its way.

The plane was smoothly cruising in the air, thousands of feet above ground. Lucas's mind wandered as he looked around, feeling bored. The older man beside him adjusted his glasses and flipped through the in-flight magazine, while the woman by the window had pulled up her hood and seemed to be asleep, her headphones still on. Around them, the other passengers settled into the monotony of a long flight.

Some time later…

Suddenly, the calm of the cabin was shattered when three people suddenly stood up from their seats. The first man was in his early thirties, of medium build, wearing a plain white shirt tucked into dark pants. His skin was tanned, and his hair was a messy dark brown. From under his shirt, he pulled out a black handgun. The other two—another man and a woman—followed quickly.

The second man had a heavier build, with short-cropped black hair and a thick beard. He wore a light gray hoodie and cargo pants, and he pulled a pistol out of his hoodie pocket. His eyes scanned the cabin with cold gaze.

The woman was tall and slim, with fair skin and strikingly sharp features. Her long dark hair was tied in a braid that swung slightly as she moved. She wore a simple dark green blouse and jeans, and she reached into a concealed belt pouch, pulling out her weapon—a small but deadly-looking handgun.

Around them, the passengers reacted with shock and fear. A young couple in their mid-twenties sitting near the first man breathed with a shock, the woman clutching her partner's arm as her face went pale. Across the aisle, a middle-aged man with thinning hair froze mid-bite of his sandwich, his hands trembling.

Further ahead, one of the air hostesses noticed the commotion. She was in her early thirties, her uniform a neatly pressed navy-blue suit with a white scarf tied elegantly at her neck. Her blonde hair was pinned up neatly, and her blue eyes widened as she realized something was wrong. She stood frozen for a moment, gripping the back of a seat before stepping backward toward the galley.

The first man raised his gun and shouted, "Everyone, keep quiet! Nobody moves!" His voice was sharp, cutting through the murmurs of confusion in the cabin.

The woman with the braid moved into the aisle, pointing her gun toward the crowd. "You heard him! Sit down and shut up!" she barked, her tone cold and commanding.

A wave of panic spread through the passengers. A young mother with a toddler held the child tightly, her hands trembling as she tried to shield him. A man in his fifties with glasses and a business suit raised his hands instinctively, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"One of the hijackers, the bearded man, turned toward the first man. "I'll handle the back. You go."

The first man nodded. "I'm going to the pilot area. You two, make sure no one does anything funny," he said before stepping into the aisle, his gun pointed downward but ready to fire at any moment.

- - -

The plane was tense, silent except for the faint hum of the engines. The first man, the apparent leader of the hijackers, was making his way toward the pilot area, his gun gripped tightly in his hand. He moved steadily, his dark eyes scanning the rows of passengers for any sign of resistance.

As he passed the middle rows, he suddenly stopped—where a teenager with a mop of curly hair, sitting in the back and wearing a red hoodie, muttered loudly, "How do we know those guns aren't fake?"

"What did you say?" the first hijacker turned back and said in voice sharp and cold

A man wearing a red hoodie sat frozen, his face pale. He had muttered under his breath just loud enough to catch the hijacker's attention. "I... I just said—how do we know those guns aren't fake?"

The hijacker's face twisted into a cruel smirk. He chuckled darkly, glancing at the red hoodie man at the back rows. "Fake, huh?"

Turning back to the rows, his eyes landed on a small dog sitting in a carrier under a seat just a few steps away. The dog was a fluffy, cream-colored terrier with floppy ears and a small, quivering nose. Its big brown eyes darted around nervously, and it let out a series of anxious barks as if sensing the tension in the air.

The owner, a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and glasses, instinctively clutched the carrier closer to her legs. She was wearing a pale blue sweater and jeans, and her face turned ashen as the hijacker stepped toward her.

"You want to know if this gun is real?" the man sneered looking towards the red hoodie man, his voice dripping with threat.

"Let me show you how real this is," he said, then moved toward the seat where the dog was. After arriving, he pulled the dog out of the carrier. The dog yelped, its small body shaking as it barked loudly, struggling to escape the hijacker's grip.

"Woof, woof…"

"No, please!" the woman cried, her voice breaking. She tired grabbed at the dog back, but the hijacker smack her hands away with a sharp jerk of his arm, making her recoil in fear.

The dog move violently in his hands, its small legs kicking frantically in the air. Its barks grew more desperate, high-pitched and terrified, as the man raised it higher, holding it at arm's length for everyone in the cabin to see.

The passengers nearby were frozen in horror. A young woman in a floral dress across the aisle covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with disbelief. A teenage boy in a baseball cap turned his head away, unable to watch, while the woman who owned the dog reached out desperately.

"Stop! Please don't hurt him! He is innocent!" she begged, her voice trembling, tears streaming down her face.

The hijacker ignored her. With a quick, fluid motion, he aimed his gun directly at the struggling dog's head.

Then he pulled the trigger of the gun, and with a loud bang, the deafening crack of the gunshot echoed through the cabin, sending shockwaves of terror rippling through the passengers. The dog's body jerked violently in his grip as the bullet tore through its small head, silencing its desperate barking instantly.

Blood sprayed from the wound, splattering across the man's face and chest. The warm, sticky droplets landed on the owner woman of dog, who let out a scream. "NOOO…!"

The dog's lifeless body hung limp in the hijacker's hand, its head slumping to the side, and a dark red stream dropped steadily onto the floor. The blood pooled quickly, spreading under the seats and staining the carpet a deep crimson.

The dog's owner let out a cry of despair, reaching toward the lifeless body as if she could somehow bring it back. "No! No! You monster! He was all I had!" she sobbed uncontrollably, her voice raw with grief.

The hijacker tossed the dog's body onto the floor with a cold, careless motion, the lifeless form landing with a sickening thud. He wiped the blood from his cheek with his sleeve, his smirk returning as he looked back at the man who had questioned him earlier.

"Does that look fake to you?" he snarled, his voice calm but dripping with malice.

The red-hooded man who had spoken earlier was now trembling, his face white as a sheet. He couldn't even manage a response, his body frozen with fear.

The other passengers recoiled further into their seats, many of them crying silently, their eyes wide with disbelief and terror. Across the aisle, a man in his forties with a neatly trimmed beard buried his face in his hands, while a young mother tried to shield her toddler from the horrific sight.

The bearded hijacker near the back smirked, his gun still raised. "Anyone else want to test? Next time, it won't be an animal," he said with a chilling smile, his voice loud and taunting.

They don't want to kill anyone—their plan was to exchange the hostages for his people, held captive by a powerful neighboring country. To succeed, they needed as many alive as possible.

But if needed, he wouldn't hesitate to take a few lives, a sinister smile creeping onto his face.

The cabin was utterly silent, save for the sobs of the dog's owner and the faint, irregular dripping of blood onto the carpet.

The leader of the hijackers turned and again started walking toward the pilot cabin. his boots walking through the bloodied mess without a second glance.

As the hijacker passed by Lucas's row, Lucas's eyes followed him, his chest rising and falling steadily. The weight of the situation hung in the air like a thick fog, yet Lucas felt oddly calm. Fear was there, sure—his hands trembled slightly, and his breath caught in his throat—but beneath it all, he felt a strange clarity.

*So this is it*, he thought. *Finally, something different.*