The thick metal door to the Presidential Suite slammed shut behind the last survivor, Flynn locking it tight as chaotic sounds of hissing and screaming faded behind reinforced walls.
Inside the suite was a moment of calm—dim lighting, expensive furniture, plush carpeting, and the faint scent of citrus air freshener.
And then came the yell.
"Who the hell are you guys?! What are you all doing in my suite?!"
Heads turned toward the center of the room, where a girl—about Silver's age, maybe a little older—stood with hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.
She was dressed in an unmistakably loud outfit: a pink bucket hat over short blond hair, a pink jacket with blue sleeves, baggy yellow pants, and bright blue shoes. A small blue bee-shaped pin was clipped to her chest like a personal emblem.
"I won this room in a lottery back in the Jappon region!" she snapped, glaring at Flynn. "Do you have any idea how rare that is?! I saved ten thousand points on an airship raffle and spent my whole summer dreaming about this trip!"
Silver blinked, momentarily distracted by how fast she was talking.
"Miss," Agent Flynn said, stepping forward, still composed, "this isn't a vacation anymore. We have a situation. The plane is under attack."
"By what?" The girl folded her arms, unconvinced.
"Snakes," Flynn said simply. "Dozens, possibly hundreds. We're isolating survivors in this room until we can regain control of the aircraft. You'll need to cooperate."
The girl's expression shifted as she looked around—people shaken, some with blood-stained sleeves, a woman sobbing quietly in the corner. Silver gripped a cane and stared grimly at the door.
"Snakes," she repeated, her voice a little softer now.
Flynn gave a firm nod. "Yes. And they've already killed several passengers. We have no idea how they got on board."
A long pause.
Ponzu sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Fine. But you're all using coasters if you sit on my side of the couch."
Silver gave a tired chuckle. Flynn allowed himself the faintest smirk.
"Noted," he sighed not having the energy to argue.
"The name's Ponzu, by the way." She introduced herself without reservation.
...
The soft buzz of the overhead lights filled the tense silence. People huddled in corners, some quietly praying, others clinging to each other.
Agent Flynn stood in front of the suite's lounge table, drawing a rough sketch of the airship's layout on a napkin using a hotel pen. Beside him stood Silver, Ponzu, and a few able-bodied passengers. Sanders sat nearby, arms crossed, pale but alert.
"We need to decide our next move," Flynn said, voice steady but serious. "We can't stay in this room forever."
Ponzu scoffed. "No kidding. There's only two tiny bathrooms and zero room service."
Silver tapped the cane he still held, eyes sharp. "What about just… waiting until we land?"
Flynn nodded. "Option one: we stay put. The suite is isolated and sealed. If the pilot can keep control and land safely in Zaban City, we might make it."
"Might," Ponzu echoed.
Flynn didn't flinch. "If the snakes don't breach the ventilation system, if the pilots are still alive, if we don't run out of air or get overrun before landing—yes. Might."
A heavy pause.
"Option two," Flynn continued, "we attempt to kill all the snakes. Secure the ship."
Someone in the back laughed bitterly. "There's hundreds of 'em! That's a death sentence!"
Flynn nodded grimly. "Agreed. It's almost impossible unless we know their source or control mechanism."
Ponzu raised her hand halfway, sarcasm thinly veiled. "Option three: we open a hatch and jump. Hope we survive the fall?"
Flynn turned toward her. "There are parachutes in the emergency cargo hold. But getting there would require moving through at least four compartments—most of which are probably crawling with snakes."
"So…" Silver began slowly. "What if we lured all the snakes into one place and trapped them there?"
Flynn raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
Silver glanced between Ponzu and Sanders. "Snakes are acting… weird. Like they're being guided. If there's something—or someone—controlling them, maybe we can reverse it. Make them go where we want."
Ponzu frowned. "Like a reverse-Pied Piper thing?"
"Exactly," Silver nodded. "Maybe we can use vibrations, sound, or heat as bait. Trap them in the cargo hold. Then either we jump, or seal them and wait."
Flynn leaned on the table, considering. "It's risky. But it might be our only shot if things get worse."
"They will get worse," Sanders muttered, staring at the door. "These snakes… they're not just animals. They're weapons."
Another chill ran through the room.
Flynn stood tall again, eyes narrowing.
...
A sudden crackle burst from the wall-mounted intercom in the presidential suite, cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife.
Everyone froze.
Then came the voice—strained, weak, and fading in and out with static.
"Th-This is your captain… speaking…"
The passengers glanced at each other, wide-eyed.
"We are experiencing… an emergency situation on board. Multiple reports… hsskk… of snake attacks throughout the passenger deck. The flight crew… gkk—sshhh … is compromised. I—I've been bitten…"
A gasp rang out from someone near the back of the room. Flynn stepped closer to the speaker, listening closely.
"I've… I've reported our situation to control and set the ship to auto-pilot… Zaban City is still our destination… approximate time to landing… 1 hour…"
The voice cracked. He sounded like he was gasping for breath.
"To all remaining passengers… Godspeed. Find safety where you can… stay together…"
A long pause followed. Then:
"Tell my wife… khhh…kghhhh… I—"
Silence.
The intercom went dead.
A cold stillness gripped the room. Even the flickering suite lights seemed to dim with the pilot's final words.
Silver swallowed hard.
Ponzu clutched her sleeves, trembling slightly. "He's… gone?"
Flynn took a slow, steady breath. "Looks like the auto-pilot's all we've got now."
Then he looked back at the others, eyes sharp with renewed urgency.
"Which means it's up to us to survive the next hour."