David barely had time to react, his mind still grappling with the severity of the situation. Fortunately the chest had wheels and a handle at one end, like a suitcase, as if they had known the Eagle would be rushed.

The scenes were all a blur for David. They hurried past many corridors, each with identical mysterious black doors. It was a struggle to get the chest down the many flights of stairs and David, now in his forties, no longer had the boundless energy he once possessed. His joints ached with each step, and his mind wandered to the irony of a hero like him struggling with something as mundane as stairs. The chest bumped heavily behind him, its weight a constant reminder of how far he waa from his days in the cockpit. His breath grew heavier with each step, the handle biting into his palm as he dragged it down the stairs. He wondered for a brief, tempting moment, if it would be easier to just let go - let the damn thing tumble and take Arcane out with it.

At the last flight of stairs, David couldn’t see his own hand before him. Arcane must have been far down since he couldn’t see his glowing runes. David walked down, counting each step. 52. Finally, he reached a steel door, adorned with the American Bald Eagle.

He wondered if this was worth the hassle. He could have been home right now. A quiet evening in front of the TV, a lukewarm cup of tea in his hand - that was his idea of peace now. And yet here he was, dragged back into a game he thought he had left behind.

He sighed heavily before opening the door. It was locked.

“What the-” He tried a few more times but it wouldn’t open. There was no sound from behind the door.

Something seemed to glow with a golden hue to his right. A keypad door lock. He remembered these from the war. Planes were fitted with these for obvious reasons. It stopped glowing when he turned to it.

“Alright then.” David was determined to enter. He tried to recall his old plane’s pin. He tried 1856. Incorrect. No, that was his friend’s plane. The thought of his friend and his harrowing death caused him to hesitate. No, this wasn't the time for sentimentality. He was supposed to be America’s Eagle. Heroes don’t freeze up.

2386. Incorrect. What was this game they were playing? That had to be the right answer. He realised that was the Vietnamese jet he once had to hijack. “Oh.”

When he remembered the pin, he saw a message above the keypad lock. “One more attempt.” He knew it was 4293. But what if he was wrong? Is this a test of his intelligence? What if he failed? Would he not be America’s Eagle?

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

His heart skipped a beat when a message on the keypad flashed: “One more attempt.” David cursed under his breath, sweat beading on his forehead. Years of flying missions didn’t prepare him for this, a simple keypad threatening to halt everything. He inhaled sharply. Focus.

He looked for another way in. There was none. He couldn’t see anything around him - no tools to gain entry.

Opening his chest, he saw only his suit and weapons. Would the weapons blast open the door? Something caught his eye that he hadn’t noticed before. A number on the weapons: 166. This number was also present on his suit, as well as his helmet.

He closed the chest and turned his attention back to the keypad. He paused. After all that, it seemed too easy.

David’s fingers hovered over the keypad. One wrong move, and it could be over. He felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him.

He pressed enter…

After a short while, the door hissed open, and David heaved a sigh of relief. He grabbed his chest and rolled it into the brightly lit room.

“Congratulations!” John’s smile was too wide, too smug. David couldn’t tell if it was mockery or genuine admiration, but either way, it left a sour taste in his mouth. “I knew you had it in you!”

David couldn’t even reply. His gaze was switching from one thing to another. From targets to robots, hurdles to machines, tyres and trees to weapons and armour. The light was shining brightly on the large area, large enough to fit more fighter jets than David had ever flown.

“How did you know what the pin would be?” John asked, as if he didn’t just say he knew David would figure it out.

As speechless as David was, he managed to answer. “I knew it must have been something to do with my plane. When the pin for my plane didn’t work, there was only one other thing it could be: the plane itself.”

The Lockheed C-130. That was the pin. 130. David couldn’t help but grin. They thought they could fool him with the numbers on his suit.

“What are the numbers on my suit?” he asked, smirking with arrogance.

John’s eyes flicked topward David’s chest, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “166, huh?” he said, as if it should mean something to David. “The number of bald eagles left. You could be the 167th” he eyes David’s balding head.

David’s mind was in pieces. He couldn't understand why the number of bald eagles was so important. Although he was supposed to be a proud patriot, he couldn’t care less for the American bald eagle. But then again, he couldn’t care for much at all nowadays anyway.

David realised Arcane was nowhere to be seen. It was just the two of them now. Almost as if John could read his mind, he said with a smile, “Now then, let’s train.”

David clenched his fists, resisting the urge to argue. But John’s steely gaze left no room for negotiation. He wasn’t here for a friendly reunion. He was here for a purpose.

But what was David’s?