The quiet was over.
The snakes were getting in.
A shriek rang out from the corner of the suite as a thin, black serpent shot through a crack in the makeshift panel, fangs bared and hissing. It dove toward a terrified passenger—
CRACK!
Silver's swung his cane and hit the head. The snake's body thudded to the ground, motionless.
"We've got a breach!" Silver barked. "Watch the corners!"
Another crash—the vent near the minibar buckled inward. A thick-bodied python forced its way through, writhing, its powerful coils stretching out toward the room.
Silver leapt forward.
WHACK!
He brought his cane down across its head with a sharp crack, then again, harder. The snake spasmed, hissed, and finally fell limp. His chest rose and fell with short, quick breaths.
"Two down!" he called.
"Another by the sink!" Ponzu shouted.
From beneath Ponzu's cap, a swarm of bees burst forth, golden and furious. They zipped straight toward a rattlesnake slithering near the sink. In seconds, the snake was overwhelmed—stung, blinded, coiled into itself in a frenzy before going still.
Just as quickly, the bees turned and flew back to Ponzu, disappearing smoothly back into her cap like they were diving into a nest.
Silver stared, slack-jawed.
"Wait—what… what was that?!" he gasped. "Where did the bees come from?!"
Ponzu didn't even look at him. She adjusted her cap with a huff.
"I'm a hunter examinee" she muttered. "I came prepared."
Silver blinked. "Okay. That… was awesome!" he exclaimed, gripping his cane again. "Me too!"
...
Time left until landing: 1 hour.
Time survived in the presidential suite: 30 minutes.
The room was a battlefield.
Snakes hissed and slithered through cracks and crevices. Survivors, sweating and panicked, batted them away with anything they could grab—chairs, coat racks, even broken table legs.
Several passengers already had bite marks—wrapped tightly in torn cloth, sweating profusely, struggling to stay conscious.
"We're losing people," Flynn muttered grimly, crouched near the door, reloading. "We won't last another thirty minutes like this."
His voice cut through the chaos. People stopped for a moment—some to breathe, others to brace themselves.
Flynn stood, breathing hard, his throat dry, his voice hoarse.
"Somebody better have a miracle idea, or we're gonna go down before this blimp even touches the ground."
There was a long silence.
Then, Ponzu stepped forward, adjusting her pink cap slightly.
"I do have something," she said. "I brought strong sleeping gas. Designed for… personal defense. It can knock out a whole room in less than 30 seconds and can last around 15 minutes in this closed environment."
"Wait—seriously?" Silver turned to her, eyes wide.
"It's safe," she confirmed. "Non-lethal. Works fast. But it knocks everyone out—snakes, people, everything. No exceptions."
Flynn's jaw clenched. He stared at her for a moment, thinking.
"If we use it, we're rolling the dice. Counting on no more breaches… and that rescue gets here on time."
He turned to the others.
"Alright. Everyone listen up," he barked. "We hold this room for as long as we can. No one uses that gas unless I give the word. It's our last resort."
He looked at Ponzu.
"You'll deploy it if I give the order."
Ponzu nodded.
"Understood."
Flynn glanced at the bitten passengers, the kids huddled in the corner, Silver gripping his cane with white knuckles.
"Let's make it another twenty minutes," he muttered. "And hope we're alive when we wake up."
...
Time remaining until landing: 10 minutes
Elapsed time since attack: 50 minutes
The lights inside the private cabin glowed faintly as turbulence gently rocked the blimp. The man sat calmly in his meditative pose, legs crossed, arms rested loosely on his knees. His face remained unreadable under the simple bandaged cap he wore.
But his eyes… they were filled with confusion.
He had sent out dozens of snakes nearly half an hour ago to infiltrate the presidential suite. He expected at least a few to return—or for the panic to reach him through vibrations in the walls, distant cries, or chaos echoing from the corridor.
Instead, silence.
"What's going on in there…?" he murmured.
His control over snakes came from years of discipline, trained cues, breeding, and a custom-made flute whose soundless vibrations directed them through subtle, unheard pitches.
But now… he was blind.
He stood up, pacing once before checking the wall-mounted cabin clock.
Only 10 minutes left until landing.
His brows furrowed deeply. There wasn't enough time to breach the suite or redirect the swarm without attracting attention. With the way things were going, the authorities would already be mobilized at the landing site.
His mission wasn't just failing—it was dangerously close to exposure.
"No… I won't let them link me to this."
He took a deep breath, walked to a low-lying travel chest, and opened a secret compartment. Inside lay a single viperscale, bred and raised with a mild venom. It wouldn't kill—especially not him. He had exposed himself in trace amounts over time, building just enough resistance.
"Let's make it look good," he muttered.
He picked up the snake and calmly pressed its head to his arm.
The bite was quick.
The venom worked slowly, just enough to cloud his vision and bring on a woozy state. He staggered back to the cabin bench and collapsed with a practiced slump, letting his breathing slow and eyelids drop halfway.
Before passing out, he reached up and ruffled his own clothes, tipping a tray, and dragging a travel blanket across his legs.
"They'll find me… just another poor survivor…"
He gave a weak, self-satisfied smirk before everything faded to black.
Later…
Bright light pierced his vision.
A steady beep.
The smell of disinfectant.
His eyes blinked open inside a medical chamber. His arm was bandaged. The snake was gone. An IV line dripped into his wrist, and a paramedic was speaking softly nearby.
He didn't move. Just listened, gathering information.
They bought it… He closed his eyes again, waiting,