"Now arriving at Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport," hollered the conductor.

The old train had limped its way into the station as people on the platform, who were dressed in all kinds of clothing, waited to board the cold, decently designed train. Its horn could be heard shrieking through as another train also called out.

The conductor who took Johnny's ticket was a young man his age. He wore a black suit with a transit pin on his right side. The hat he wore was a clean black and white conductor hat with the transit on the front above the brim. He was smaller than Johnny and had light skin. The train had been full of fresh recruits on their way to the basics. It even had some veterans returning to war, whether it be that they lost everything while they were gone or that they needed more action than before.

Johnny had grabbed his bag and hauled it over his shoulder. He looked at the conductor, who had been greeting and saying, "Cya later," because he always thought it was a good luck charm. Everyone smiled as they walked off the train, even those who weren't even going off to war.

Johnny stepped foot onto the crumbling platform that needed renovations. This transit system was built a few years ago, but the platforms were all historical. The trams that were still operated to this day only served a selective number of areas.

The bag hauled over Johnny's shoulders was starting to take a toll on him. He moved with the crowd until they got into a shuttle and made their way toward the correct terminal. Multiple vans were lined up for the large volume of people being shipped out. Johnny was one of them. His heart is racing, and his palms are getting sweaty.

The sky was getting partly cloudy, but the sun still hung high in the sky. The airport was busy with a ton of people. Not everyone was getting shipped out. The crowd of people speaking as loud as they could swirled throughout Johnny's head. It made his stomach hurt to know that his mother and sister would be alone. Throughout the train ride, he received numerous calls from them. It's not that he didn't want to pick up the phone. But his arm was paralyzed every time his phone vibrated. It was as if he didn't want to hear their voices. Fearing he'd desert the path he'd already set in stone.

After checking in, he made his way through TSA and sat down on a chair next to a wall. There were a lot of people at the boarding gates. Some were crying on the phone. Others were sitting down, looking up at the ceiling. The rest were either families, businessmen, or other regular civilians who had no interest in the military. None of the teens, young adults, or older adults were speaking to one another. But it wasn't quiet.

[A Fortunate Man]

*Vrrrrrn*

"Hello?" whispered Johnny.

"Johnny?" asked Mr. Maimo. "Did you get through safely?"

"Yes," Johnny whispered.

"Have you spoken to your mother?" Mr. Maimo asked.

Johnny didn't respond.

"Please, kid," Mr. Maimo asked. "Please just speak to her. Tell her you're alright."

"I know, I know," Johnny sighed. "I just don't know what to say."

"Just say that you're fine, and everything will be fine," Mr. Maimo said. "As long as she knows you're alright, she'll have a small weight lifted off her shoulders."

Johnny was quiet on the line. Bowing his head down as he looked at the rugged floor. His hands were rapidly moving as his mind kept picturing his mother and sister standing alone in his room. Clutching each other and looking at the cleaned-out room as if it were a fresh guest room. Johnny's mind when he was packing his belongings was aimed downhill. He didn't think he'd come back home.

"Johnny?" asked Mr. Maimo continuously. "Are you still with me?"

"Ah!" he choked. "Yeah, yep, still here."

"Right," Mr. Maimo said. "I have to go. Please speak to your mother. If I cannot call you back, I wish you a great future and pray for your return home."

The phone cut off abruptly. Johnny still had his head aimed toward the floor. His phone hung low before he put it up toward his face.

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"I can't do it," he sighed.

Johnny's gate started to generate more passengers. It even generated a ton of unknown attention.

"Please get out of my way!" screamed a feminine voice.

"Paparazzi?" asked an old man sitting a few seats over.

"Uh-, uh," Johnny couldn't get any words out of his mouth. It was as if he were being choked with two hands.

"What was that?" asked the man. He turned more to the left to face Johnny, revealing his prosthetic arm. "Cats got your tongue?"

Johnny still couldn't speak. The old man looked over at the crowd, as did Johnny.

"Must be a celebrity," he chuckled. "I've seen my fair share of them being shipped out."

Johnny didn't understand. Although he couldn't say a word without sounding like he was being brutally strangled, the old man understood his intentions.

"I've seen many people, from Gerald Raheem, the football player, to Sabrina Montoya, the singer," he stated. "I heard Gerald had enlisted on his own. Great man, but Sabrina." The old man chuckled again. "Sabrina made a whole scene. The airport was very interested in her words."

Johnny looked confused.

"Sabrina is long dead now, sadly," he stated. "She died, I believe, in a gruesome battle in Madrid. It was her first actual battle. A battle we sadly lost. This was a year ago, I believe."

Johnny flung his head toward the crowd of people gathering around where the lady was screaming. The old man had stopped speaking and also joined in. So did most of the people sitting down waiting to board, whether it be at Johnny's gate or the surrounding ones.

"That there is the daughter of a big social media company," the old man stated.

"How do you know?" Johnny asked. He turned his head toward the old man, this time with an intrigued expression. It took him by surprise that he could now speak.

"I know a lot," the old man said. "I travel a lot now."

*Ding Ding Ding Diiiing*

"Attention passengers, this is the pre-boarding call for..."

"Say," the old man said. "What is your name?"

"Johnny," he responded.

"Johnny, what?" the old man asked. "If you don't mind, I want to wish you the best of luck."

"Johnny Niemen," he answered. "Yours?"

"Oushua Timmons," the old man smiled.

"Oushua," Johnny repeated. "That's an interesting name."

"Do you have a family?" the old man asked.

"I do," Johnny replied. "I do."

His voice cracked as he repeated himself. Staring back at the phone. He wanted to call his mom, but he couldn't.

"Are you having trouble?" the old man said. "Maybe a quick call saying how you are is alright. Just a quick one. A mother would be in distress if you didn't say anything."

"But I can't," Johnny said.

The old man looked at him. He put his arm on Johnny's shoulder and rocked him back and forth.

"All it takes is a quick dial," the old man stated. "You cannot be scared. This is something that you shouldn't get scared about. The real horror lies behind those doors, in that plane, when you know you cannot turn back anymore."

Johnny put his head down, his hands itching his hair rapidly as he tried to think.

"This is the first battle you have to face, Johnny," the old man stated. "Do not mess it up. This is the first battle; it may be hard for you now, but in reality, this battle is easier than you think. But you're not alone. Many people were, and still are, in your shoes. Be the hero for your family. All it takes is a little acknowledgement. Just to show them that you're here and that you're not running away. Let them know you're alright. You're one fortunate man, Johnny. You're fighting for them, me, your friends, and the whole world. Is that not why you enlisted?"

"Now calling..." announced the gate agent.

"It's time for me to go," Johnny whispered.

He got up from the chair and walked a few feet, putting the phone up toward his face. Holding it tightly before going toward the call logs. Exhaling while looking at the 15 missed calls from his mother, Johnny gained the courage to speak with her.

"Mr. Timmons?" Johnny asked as he turned around with a small smile on his face. "I'll give it my all. What?—Where?"

The old man had simply vanished.

Johnny walked over to the seat but saw nothing. He moved toward the restaurants across the way, but the old man was nowhere to be seen. Once he got in line, he asked a girl who had been sitting a few feet away from him if she saw an old man with glasses and wrinkles.

She looked confused.

She told Johnny that there was no man next to him at all. It was just him, swinging his head left and right and murmuring to himself.

Johnny was in disbelief. The old man simply vanished, he thought. But now he realizes that there was no old man to begin with. Was there even a man named Oushua Timmons?

Even still, Johnny took the words the old man gave him. Shortly after boarding and sitting down near the window, he looked at his phone again. He dialed his mother's number and waited only a short second before a soft breathing noise could be heard.

"He-hello?" Johnny choked. Small tears were running from his eyes.

"Johnny, my baby, you've finally picked up," his mother cried.