At Zaban City's Hospital. Inside one of its white-curtained compartments, a man slowly sat up from his hospital cot, his movements deliberate.
His face was pale, but his eyes sharp beneath the bandaged cap. The effects of the snake venom had worn off—mostly. He glanced around, analyzing the environment. Monitors beeped. Another patient groaned quietly two beds down. Clean linens. Unmarked uniforms. No signs of alarm.
A nurse, her expression calm but tired, noticed him stirring.
"Oh, you're awake. How do you feel?" she asked with a gentle smile, adjusting his IV line.
"Alive," The man rasped, then cleared his throat. "What's the situation? With… the airship."
The nurse tilted her head, as if gauging how much to share.
"The blimp landed safely. Emergency teams met it on the runway. There were a lot of injuries… but also survivors."
"Survivors…" he repeated, feigning dazed curiosity. "How many?"
"About thirty total," she replied. "Fifteen of them were found in a presidential suite. Apparently, they managed to barricade it and defend themselves the entire flight. Miraculous, really."
The man blinked slowly, his jaw clenched imperceptibly. Fifteen? They actually pulled it off.
"Was there a man named Sanders? John Sanders. Tall. Black jacket. Nervous look. He's an acquaintance during the trip, hope he is alive?" He lied.
The nurse tapped a tablet. Scrolled.
"Yes," she confirmed with a small nod. "John Sanders was among the suite survivors. He's being transported separately under government custody—witness protection, I think."
He leaned back slowly into the pillow, his fingers tightening beneath the thin blanket.
'So he's alive... and under protection. Just perfect.'
The nurse looked back down at her tablet.
"Sorry, I don't have a full ID on file. Could I get your name, sir?"
He hesitated—just a second—then gave a tired half-smile.
"Bourbon," he said simply. 'No use hiding it. I'll be taking the Hunter Exam anyway.'
The nurse nodded and entered the information.
"Understood, Mr. Bourbon. Rest while you can."
As she moved away to the next patient, Bourbon stared at the ceiling, silent.
So he failed. He need to call Kim about his failure. And also prepare 5 million as failure fee. Another dip to his dwindling funds. He hopes he could pass the Hunter Exam this year and get more jobs other than assassination.
...
The presidential suite was a mess of overturned furniture, bloodied clothing, and makeshift barricades. The walls rattled under the relentless hissing and slithering of dozens of snakes trying to force their way in.
Flynn pressed both palms to the reinforced door, breathing hard. His shirt was torn, a bite mark on his forearm wrapped tight. Beside him, Ponzu clutched the metal canister tightly, her pink cap stained with sweat and dust.
"We've got no time left!" Flynn shouted. "If we don't use it now, we're done!"
Ponzu gave a trembling nod. With one sharp twist of the valve, a thick mist hissed into the air—colorless, odorless, but powerful.
"Sleeping gas released!" she called out. "Everyone breathe steady and lie down!"
"Hope it is as strong as you claim!" Sanders prayed as he smashed a broken chair to a slithering snake.
One by one, the survivors slumped to the floor—some curled into fetal positions, others holding hands or leaning against the walls. The hissing grew distant, the pounding on the suite walls still present but more sluggish now.
Silver stood near the doorway, a broken cane in one hand, blood streaked across his orange tank top. His breath came in gasps, adrenaline fighting off the fog of sleep that slowly blanketed the room.
A snake wriggled in from a broken vent—he kicked it aside.
Another slithered toward a resting passenger—he swiped it away with a broken lamp post.
He was the last one still on his feet.
"C'mon… not yet…" Silver muttered, eyes flickering. "Just a few more minutes… just—just hold on…"
His vision blurred, the corners of the room pulsing with pressure. The sleeping gas tugged at his limbs like a tide pulling back from the shore. He staggered, waving off another slow-moving serpent as it slid across the carpet.
He turned back one last time, checking every sleeping face—Ponzu, Flynn, the injured attendant, the elderly couple who'd clung to each other the whole time.
"Heh… made it," he whispered, knees buckling. "Please have the rescuers finds us before the snakes wakes up."
And then he collapsed to the floor beside the door, cane clattering from his hand.
Time remaining until touchdown: 9 minutes and 43 seconds.
...
The soft beeping of a heart monitor brought Silver back to consciousness. His vision slowly adjusted to the white hospital ceiling above him. A dull ache throbbed in his limbs, but more than anything, he felt… relief. He was alive.
He sat up groggily, pulling back the light sheets. His orange tank top had been swapped for a hospital gown, but he could still see dried bandages around his hands and arms — signs of the battle.
"Look who's finally awake," came a familiar voice from his right.
Silver turned quickly, a grin breaking across his face. There, propped up in a nearby bed with her pink cap on the table beside her, sat Ponzu, a wide smile on her face. Her arm was in a sling, but her energy was unmistakable.
"Ponzu! You made it!" Silver exclaimed, nearly leaping out of bed before wincing and sitting back down.
"Of course I did," she smirked. "You think some snakes and knockout gas are enough to get rid of me?"
They both laughed—genuine, hearty laughter that echoed through the quiet room, cutting through the heavy memories of chaos.
After a few minutes of rest and recovery, a nurse entered and updated them on the situation. Most of the survivors from the presidential suite had been treated and were stable. A few had been moved for further observation.
"And Flynn and Sanders?" Silver asked.
"You mean the men who helped lead the group?" the nurse nodded. "They were picked up by special authorities this morning. They should be safe."
Ponzu glanced over at Silver.
"So… what now?" she asked, her tone quieter.
Silver's eyes drifted to the small side table. There, his spiderman backpack is placed. Inside, his Hunter Exam application card. He reached for it slowly, turning it over in his hands.
"We keep going," he said firmly. "We made it through all of that… no way I'm backing down now."
Ponzu grinned, already sitting upright and swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
"Hunter Exam location's not far. They said they'll clear us for discharge later today. Let's go together."
Silver gave a tired but determined nod.
"Together."