Silver peeked around the corner of a bulkhead near the observation deck, half-hidden by a row of reclining seats. His heart had started beating faster ever since he noticed the growing silence and empty rows—but now, something else stirred in the air.
Command. Authority. Urgency.
He spotted the well-dressed man—Agent Flynn—speaking calmly but clearly to the group of anxious passengers. His voice didn't waver. His movements were precise. He moved like someone who'd been trained to handle panic… and expected chaos.
Silver couldn't hear everything he said, but he saw how the passengers reacted. A few stood, eyes wide, ready to question or argue—but something about Flynn's presence made them sit down again. Trust him.
Then Silver saw the agent open the locked bathroom door with a key, step inside, and emerge moments later. His face had changed. Tighter. Grim.
Something was really wrong.
Silver swallowed hard and crouched lower behind a row of seats.
"Breathe through your nose. Let fear come—but don't let it stay," Master Toh's words echoed in his head. "Your body reacts. Your mind decides."
He took a deep, quiet breath.
One... two... three.
He rolled his shoulders gently, loosening his muscles.
Stay calm. Stay focused. Observe.
He watched Agent Flynn speak with his companion—another sharp-eyed man in a jacket. They looked like professionals. Not just travelers. And judging by the way Flynn subtly scanned the corners, the vents, the shadows—he knew something was lurking.
Silver's eyes followed his line of sight. The overhead ducts. The flickering lights. The narrow service hallway just past the luggage compartment.
Then—movement.
A shadow shifted behind a frosted glass panel near the cargo bay entrance. Fast. Wrong.
"Stillness reveals truth," Master Toh had said. "The louder the world, the more silence tells you."
Silver's breathing slowed. He was scared, yes—but he wasn't panicking.
Not anymore.
Something was happening on this blimp. Something dangerous.
And Silver Curtis was done sitting still.
Then came the scream.
One shrill, blood-curdling cry from a businessman near the back of the blimp, who had stood to retrieve his luggage—only for a green-scaled serpent to launch from the overhead bin and sink its fangs into his neck. He dropped instantly, twitching violently as the venom surged.
And then—all hell broke loose.
The ventilation shafts above burst open, and dozens—no, hundreds—of snakes slithered out in a horrifying cascade. They poured from light fixtures, curled under seats, slinked between bags, and coiled around the legs of frozen passengers.
People screamed.
Some bolted for the aisles, only to trip over panicked others. One woman stomped on a viper mid-sprint, another froze as a python dropped silently from above and wrapped around her torso like a hungry rope.
Silver's eyes widened in horror. "What the—"
Agent Flynn, now standing in the center of the chaos, pulled a pistol from under his coat and fired twice—BANG! BANG!—into a thick black mamba that was about to strike a child clinging to his seat.
He spun around, scanning the carnage, then shouted at the top of his lungs:
"There are motherf*ing snakes on this motherf*ing blimp! Everybody STRAP IN!"
Passengers screamed and ducked.
The few flight attendants still conscious scrambled to herd people to higher ground, but the slithering swarm had already split the cabin in two. Some snakes were small—quick and precise—others thick and muscled, crushing anything they coiled around.
Silver ducked as a copperhead slithered across his aisle. He rolled over a row of seats, landing hard beside an older man swinging his laptop bag wildly.
"Don't just run!" Silver shouted, remembering Master Toh's words. "Stay low—watch your surroundings!"
His training kicked in. He scanned the movement. Calculated gaps. He began pulling frightened passengers toward seats, away from the floor, helping them climb onto the seats to stay out of reach.
In the center aisle, Agent Flynn barked orders, calmly picking off venomous snakes with well-placed shots. Beside him, his partner Sanders had produced a collapsible baton, swatting back smaller serpents with surprising precision.
The entire blimp had descended into chaos—but in the heart of it, two people stood out:
Neville Flynn. Silver Curtis.
They didn't freeze.
They sprang into action.
...
A boom echoed through the cabin as another vent collapsed, spilling out more serpents in a writhing wave. The screech of rubber soles sliding on metal and the scream of passengers added to the frenzy.
Silver ducked low, heart pounding, eyes scanning every angle for movement. That's when he saw it—a polished wooden cane, its silver handle glinting faintly under the flickering overhead light, lying on the ground near an abandoned seat.
He lunged for it.
The moment his fingers curled around the shaft, he spun just in time to intercept a leaping cobra with a powerful crack! The serpent hit the floor in a heap, twitching.
"Your weapon is an extension of your intent," Master Toh had once told him. "Clumsy hands betray weak focus."
Silver inhaled deeply and firmed his grip.
All around him, the snakes continued their assault. Panic ruled most of the passengers, but one voice cut through the chaos like a siren through fog.
"EVERYONE MOVE!" Agent Flynn shouted, now standing on one of the seats with his gun raised. "Get to the Presidential Suite at the front of the blimp—it's sealed and easier to defend!"
A few passengers looked confused.
Flynn fired another shot to a black mamba, enough to snap attention back to him.
"NOW! It's isolated—airtight! We lock it down, we survive! Let's go! MOVE!"
Silver didn't hesitate.
He swung the cane like a staff, clearing a path down the aisle. "Follow him!" he barked, his voice cracking but commanding. The elderly couple he helped earlier scrambled behind him, shielding themselves with handbags and jackets.
Sanders was up front with Flynn, ushering people past the spiraling staircase toward the exclusive section near the cockpit.
Halfway down the aisle, a middle-aged man in a vest, panicked, shoved past Silver trying to get ahead—he tripped on a duffel bag and hit the floor hard.
"Hey—wait!" Silver turned back, reaching out.
But it was too late.
The floor writhed beneath the man. From under the seats, the snakes poured out in droves—cottonmouths, asps, vipers. They surged toward the prone man like predators to prey.
"NO!" Silver lunged forward, striking at two with the cane—but there were too many.
The man's scream was short-lived.
They covered him in seconds—biting, coiling, crushing. His limbs flailed, then stopped. All that remained was a twitching, grotesque mound of motion beneath flickering light.
Silver froze—staring, stunned, breath caught in his throat.
Flynn saw it too. His jaw tightened. "Keep moving!" he shouted, his voice steel now. "There's nothing we can do for him—GO!"
Silver's grip on the cane trembled—but he turned away.
They had to survive.
He had to survive!