Why does this kind of shit always happen to me?

Finally sober—only for my luck to turn this quickly… oh well. Some things can’t be helped.

The sun was too damn bright at this time of day, its morning rays cutting straight through the slanted windows of the terminal.

From the outside, my life probably seemed exciting—a private pilot flying to exotic locations, meeting important people. But the truth? It was just another job. And jobs were only as exciting as the people you flew for.

The high-pitched intercom blared overhead.

"Flight 307, please report to the terminal."

Beyond that, the low hum of departing planes filled the air.

I adjusted my tie and took one last look in the locker room mirror—a tired face stared back.

"This old face has seen a few things," I muttered.

With a sigh, I grabbed my jacket. The metallic clank of my flask hitting the locker reminded me of old habits. But not today.

Rubbing my temples I sighed -Another thrilling day awaits.

Pre-Flight Checks

The Cessna was old, but I never worried about it. Like a pair of worn-out shoes—comfortable, reliable.

Inside, my co-pilot was already in the chair, flipping through the safety checks with his usual youthful enthusiasm.

Rusty. Young, sharp, and irritatingly optimistic. A goody two-shoes who made me look bad without even trying.

"Dan, ready for a great flight, Captain?" he grinned, eyes full of excitement.

I forced a smile, but my eyes didn’t match it.

"Yeah, kid. Let’s see what the day has in store for us."

Of course, the Captain's job wasn’t just flying—for a small upstart airline, it also meant doing the safety announcements.

I stood in front of our four passengers, sizing them up.

✔ Passenger One: A large, well-fed man in a finely tailored suit—looked like a corrupt politician straight out of a bad crime drama.

✔ Passenger Two: A beautiful woman in a low-cut dress, hanging onto the arm of the man next to her.

✔ Passenger Three: A nervous-looking woman with glasses, clutching a folder like her life depended on it.

✔ Passenger Four: The odd one. Tall, unnaturally handsome, dressed in a casual but expensive outfit. Something about him felt off.

Whoever this guy was, he had money. And lots of it.

I ran through the safety speech for the thousandth time.

"Seatbelts, airbags, all the standard stuff. My name is Captain Dan O’Donnell—please enjoy the flight."

Then, I headed to the cockpit.

Takeoff

Rusty double-checked the procedures as I slid into my chair.

I pulled a worn-out photo from my wallet and set it onto the dash—my good luck charm.

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As I announced takeoff, a sinking feeling crept up my spine.

Something felt off.

But I had no idea my luck was about to run out completely.

The blue sky stretched endlessly above us, only a few clouds drifting lazily. Still, I kept the seatbelt light on. Call it habit. Call it paranoia.

Rusty glanced over.

"You heard from Jessica, boss?"

Small talk. Kid was bored out of his mind.

"No," I replied. Simple. Effective.

Rusty let out a low "Oh." A pause. Then, trying to be optimistic: "Well, I’m sure you will soon."

The cockpit fell into silence. Maybe I let it stretch too long, but the boy had to learn—I don’t like people prying.

I sighed, keeping my hands on the controls. "Kid, I know Jessica’s your cousin, and I appreciate the introduction. But let’s keep work and home separate. We’ll talk after we land."

I wasn’t going to. But Rusty was a damn good co-pilot.

He forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, I get it." Then, turning the conversation back: "What about you? You finally find a woman after all this time?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well, you know. If you stay single forever, the ladies might start wondering."

He smirked. "Wondering what” another awkward pause this time it was the kid’s nativity that took him a minute

Rusty nearly choked on his own breath when he figured it out. "Hell no! I just mean to—" He groaned, shaking his head. "I’m picky."

Picky, huh? That’s what I used to say. Before Claire.

My eyes drifted down to the worn-out photo on my dash.

Me back at Fort Bragg.

Her holding James, barely a year old.

I hadn’t seen my boy in—what, a year?

Something tightened in my chest. My hand instinctively reached for my coat pocket. That flask suddenly felt a whole lot heavier.

But I resisted.

Instead, I forced a laugh, shaking off the feeling. "Well, Rusty, just make sure you pick 'em better than I do."

He grinned. "That bad, huh?"

I laughed harder, but the pain didn’t go away.

✦ ✦ ✦

We must have been about halfway when it happened. Honestly, it was so fast I couldn’t tell how far we had left to go before hitting land.

Rusty suddenly tensed, eyes locked on the window. "Boss, our nine o’clock."

A strange light spun outside the cabin, its movements erratic. I turned to look out my own window.

There were two of them now.

And they were getting faster. Spinning. Faster.

Something wasn’t right.

"Mayday! Mayday! This is Private Flight 307! We require an emergency landing spot!" I shouted into the radio, but all I got back was static.

A crash of voices erupted from the passenger cabin behind us.

"I told you, Robert! This would happen!"

"It’s coming for us!

I could hear the politician lunging at the handsome man is voice filled with fear, “I’m going to take you out before we’re all taken out!"

The panic was setting in fast.

I turned to Rusty. "Keep trying to get a response—I’ll handle this."

I unbuckled my belt and gripped onto whatever I could find to steady myself as I made my way toward the passenger cabin. My pulse pounded in my ears. I had no idea what was going on, but I had to get them under control.

And then—

I saw her.

The woman with the glasses, shaking in her seat, clutching a vanilla folder so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but fear swallowed her words.

The air turned arid. The small hairs on the nape of my neck stood up, my body instinctively bracing for something.

The lights flickered—erratic at first, then rhythmic. A pattern. A heartbeat.

Each pulse throbbed in time with the splitting noise drilling into my skull.

I turned toward the two men, my mouth opening to tell them to calm down—

And then—

A blinding light devoured the cabin.

After that—

Nothing

.✦ ✦ ✦

Faint lights flickered in and out of view, distant sounds warping together like an indistinct hum. Is this what happens when we die?

The world around me was blurred, unfocused. Slowly, a strange figure took shape above me—a machine. Sleek. Cold. It loomed over me, a single round, glass-like eye studying me with an eerie curiosity.

Where am I? I thought. My body felt wrong, weak, small.

The machine tilted its head. Then, in a crisp, emotionless voice, it spoke:

"Patient 00307 successfully birthed."

I instinctively tried to yell, to move—but all that came out was an innocent wail.

My arms flailed, tiny and helpless. What…? What am I?

The strange robot gently lifted me from a cradle, gliding silently across a dimly lit hallway. My new body swayed in its grasp as we passed through what appeared to be a maternity ward.

The place was sterile—but old. The walls were cracked, nature creeping in through broken vents and faded ceiling tiles. Despite the decay, the machines still did their duty, maintaining what remained of the once-grand facility.

The robot finally stopped at Room 201.

Inside, a woman lay on a bed, looking exhausted but radiant. She must be my mother. Her dark hair clung to her forehead, sweat glistening on her pale skin. Yet, despite her fatigue, she held a warmth in her gaze that made my new, frail body instinctively relax.

The nurse Bot gently placed me in her arms. A human touch. Warm. A stark contrast to the cold, mechanical grasp of my escort.

She looked down at me, her lips moving, speaking a language I didn’t recognize.

But I understood one word. One name.

"Elias…"