Someone Set Us Up the Bomb [IC, Closed]

[Qianrong]

Myagkov was finally done with his business in the lavatory. After washing his hands, he made his way back to the seat, not knowing of recent events that have occurred in the cockpit that may change the course of his flight, let alone his life.

He soon saw an empty seat, next to the passenger he had been sitting next to.

After a brief stretch, and before he was about to sit down, his palm made contact with his face. He must have left his multilingual phrasebook in Ainin which contained some useful phrases in various Esquarian languages: French, Gaelic, and a few others, including some obscure tongues, like... Lec.

Eh.

He'll try and get another one when the plane arrives in Daecon.

Glancing at Tomôszki, he took his place. In a matter of moments, he buckled himself up, and once the rolls of fat spilled over onto Tomôszki's seat, he turned to him.

"If he cannot understand my language," Igor Myagkov muttered under his breath, "I'll try and speak their tongue with what little Lec I remember, since I think he is a Lec."

Here goes.

"Witéj," he began, horribly mangling the Lec language.

It was only going to get worse from here on out.

After a lengthy pause while he tried to remember what the phrase "How are you?" was in Lecistani. After a while, he remembered, and uttered it. Unfortunately for Myagkov, the actual words meant something along the lines "I have three testicles."

God help him.

Jesus fucking Christ, Tomôszki thought to himself. He's fat, he's loud, he's noisy, and he has no sense of privacy. He sighed, using ever ounce of willpower he had to keep the knives he had concealed on his person hidden. "That's... unfortunate," he replied disinterestedly, pointedly turning to face the window.

At least Rzeski and Szczypir should be in the cockpit now, he grumbled internally. It wouldn't be long, hopefully, before they forced the pilot to give the signal- telling the passengers to look out the right side window and observe a flock of Conitian geese. Once the signal was given... well, Tomôszki would finally be able to pull out his knives and deal with the person sitting next to him.

[Luziyca]

...at least that phrase was translated correctly in Myagkov's phrasebook... or at least, perhaps it was?

Just as he was about to correct his blunder, Tomôszki turned his face towards the window. Perhaps Tomôszki had a bad last day in Ainin.

"Sorry to hear," Myagkov said in Lec. At least that translated right...

But when he finished that statement, he said what he thought was "I'll leave you alone." Little did he know was what he just said translated to Please kill me.

Now, it was time for him to kick back and not bother his seatmate for the rest of the flight. He reclined his seat once again, and began to daydream of his plans in Daecon... plans that will probably never happen.

[Katranjiev]

Prince Andrei glanced as he saw the two first-class passengers head to the cockpit.

Handing the baby to Anna Vang, he asked her in Katranjian, "What the fuck is going on here? Were they backup?"

Anna Vang received the baby. "I do not think anything is going on in here," she responded in Katranjian.

"I saw two first class passengers get up from their seats and enter the cockpit," he replied. "I am not sure what has happened."

"I am pretty sure that they were backup crew," she replied. "I am certain that they were called into the cockpit because something has happened to the pilot and co-pilot."

"I'm pretty sure that the backup crew are in a separate compartment. If they needed a backup pilot, I'm sure that one of those fellas will come down from there and take over if needed."

"Yes, but usually, the seats closest to the cockpit are reserved for the relief crew," Vang remarked. "Also, Andrei, how do you know about those compartments?"

"I read a wiki article about it while in Huimont, remember?"

"Ah, right. Was busy trying to feed Prince Igor, ja."

[Ainin]

Szczypir quickly pulled out his knife and thrust it against Maria's throat. With his free hand, he carefully unbuttoned his coat, revealing what looked like a suicide vest underneath.

"Do not touch that transponder," Rzeski barked in highly accented French, pulling out his own knife. "We are taking control of this plane. You will turn off the radio, the transponder, the in-flight wifi, and any other communications systems. You will then redirect this plane and fly it to Nevanlinna. If you attempt to resist, then we will not hesitate to destroy this plane."

"We have friends in the cabin of the plane," he continued. "They are armed as well. If they hear anything suspicious going on here, then they will destroy this plane too."

As the terrorists made their move, the entire flight deck was plunged into fear and terror. Caroline could do nothing but stare at the two Lecs, her muscles having decided to shut down without consulting her brain. Her body drained of all emotion, not fear, not sorrow, and she could feel her knees weakening under her own weight. They had trained for such an event, but it had never happened in Ainin since the dawn of the jet age. Why did she have to be the first? Meanwhile, her first officer, twenty years her junior, coped a lot worse and began trembling. He stared at Caroline, hoping that the fearless captain he knew would sort the whole situation out, no matter how unlikely he knew that was. But for the first time since he met her, she didn't respond to him with a reassuring look. After several seconds of dead silence, he deflected his gaze from Caroline and redirected it at the glare of the afternoon sun reflecting off the titanium blade on Maria's neck.

In the co-pilot's seat, Marc hesitated for a few seconds. Against all his military training, which called for resistance no matter the odds, he convinced himself that he couldn't risk putting the three hundred souls onboard at risk and reluctantly turned off the transponder. He then slowly stood up ― "no sudden moves," the flight school instructor had advised in the 'highly improbable' case of a cockpit intrusion ― and switched off the WiFi and entertainment system from the overhead panel. Meanwhile, Hugo, as pilot-in-command, followed his co-pilot's lead and turned off the radio.

A few seconds later, with a few laboured breaths between his words as he struggled to collect his thoughts, his voice began filling the cabin from the intercom.

"Err... This is your, erm, captain speaking. Due to technical interferences, we, err, must turn off the entertainment system and Internet service," he said followed by a few seconds' pause. "We apologise for the, erm, inconvenience. However, erm, if you look out the window, the right side one, you can see a flock of Conitian geese."

While the crew seemed to be complying, they had no intentions of ever flying to Nevanlinna. Hugo couldn't gamble his plane's safety based on whether Nevanmaa's manic leaders woke up on the right side of the bed this morning. Setting the flight computer to execute a few elongated zig-zag turns to disorientate the hijackers, the aircraft's flight path continued due west, towards continental Nordania. His first officer, who quickly caught on after glancing at the flight computer which still showed the normal waypoints, pressed another button which shut down the instrument display with the compass.

Meanwhile, the immediate danger gone, Maria and the backup crew uneasily settled into the jump seats, the former still shaking with the raw terror of her ordeal.

[Qianrong]

Szczypir quickly pulled out his knife and thrust it against Maria's throat. With his free hand, he carefully unbuttoned his coat, revealing what looked like a suicide vest underneath.

"Do not touch that transponder," Rzeski barked in highly accented French, pulling out his own knife. "We are taking control of this plane. You will turn off the radio, the transponder, the in-flight wifi, and any other communications systems. You will then redirect this plane and fly it to Nevanlinna. If you attempt to resist, then we will not hesitate to destroy this plane."

"We have friends in the cabin of the plane," he continued. "They are armed as well. If they hear anything suspicious going on here, then they will destroy this plane too."

As the terrorists made their move, the entire flight deck was plunged into fear and terror. Caroline could do nothing but stare at the two Lecs, her muscles having decided to shut down without consulting her brain. Her body drained of all emotion, not fear, not sorrow, and she could feel her knees weakening under her own weight. They had trained for such an event, but it had never happened in Ainin since the dawn of the jet age. Why did she have to be the first? Meanwhile, her first officer, twenty years her junior, coped a lot worse and began trembling. He stared at Caroline, hoping that the fearless captain he knew would sort the whole situation out, no matter how unlikely he knew that was. But for the first time since he met her, she didn't respond to him with a reassuring look. After several seconds of dead silence, he deflected his gaze from Caroline and redirected it at the glare of the afternoon sun reflecting off the titanium blade on Maria's neck.

In the co-pilot's seat, Marc hesitated for a few seconds. Against all his military training, which called for resistance no matter the odds, he convinced himself that he couldn't risk putting the three hundred souls onboard at risk and reluctantly turned off the transponder. He then slowly stood up ― "no sudden moves," the flight school instructor had advised in the 'highly improbable' case of a cockpit intrusion ― and switched off the WiFi and entertainment system from the overhead panel. Meanwhile, Hugo, as pilot-in-command, followed his co-pilot's lead and turned off the radio.

A few seconds later, with a few laboured breaths between his words as he struggled to collect his thoughts, his voice began filling the cabin from the intercom.

"Err... This is your, erm, captain speaking. Due to technical interferences, we, err, must turn off the entertainment system and Internet service," he said followed by a few seconds' pause. "We apologise for the, erm, inconvenience. However, erm, if you look out the window, the right side one, you can see a flock of Conitian geese."

While the crew seemed to be complying, they had no intentions of ever flying to Nevanlinna. Hugo couldn't gamble his plane's safety based on whether Nevanmaa's manic leaders woke up on the right side of the bed this morning. Setting the flight computer to execute a few elongated zig-zag turns to disorientate the hijackers, the aircraft's flight path continued due west, towards continental Nordania. His first officer, who quickly caught on after glancing at the flight computer which still showed the normal waypoints, pressed another button which shut down the instrument display with the compass.

Meanwhile, the immediate danger gone, Maria and the backup crew uneasily settled into the jump seats, the former still shaking with the raw terror of her ordeal.

Rzeski and Szczypir stayed in the cockpit, their knives still drawn, to keep control. They knew, however, that their compatriots in the cabin had been given the signal at last...

---

Tomôszki grinned. At fucking last, he thought to himself. He pulled out one of the knives hidden on his person and thrust it through Myagkov's throat, before pushing his body into the aisle. Someone sitting nearby let out a scream of terror as the Luziycan bled out onto the floor.

"EVERYONE REMAIN IN THEIR SEATS!" he yelled in Lec, fully aware that most of the passengers would not understand a word he was saying. Hopefully a man with a knife screaming at them in a foreign language would be enough to get the message across. "WE ARE TAKING CONTROL OF THIS PLANE IN THE NAME OF THE WORKERS OF LECISTAN!"

Keeping his knife out towards the passengers and standing on Myagkov's gut, Tomôszki opened an overhead bin, unzipped a pouch on his carry-on, and pulled out a pistol. Several rows behind him, he heard Zëdewski shouting. "WE ARE TAKING CONTROL OF THIS PLANE! ANY ATTEMPTS TO CHALLENGE US WILL BE RESPONDED TO WITH DEADLY FORCE!" Looking over, he saw that Zëdewski had taken off his jacket, revealing a suicide vest. Turning the other direction, he noted that Jaszdzewski and Biélawski were also standing up, boldly gesturing with knives and shouting at the terrified passengers.

Several rows ahead, he knew the same situation was taking place in the business and first classes. Lùtórowski, Młodski, and Olszewski would also be standing up, waving knives and shouting at the passengers. Lùtórowski and Młodski spoke French, and might be shouting in that language instead of Lec as they seized control of the plane. Młodski was also something of a mule for the terrorists, carrying several guns and knives in his carry-on; it is likely that those in the front classes would quickly be very well armed.

---

Lykraitė flinched as she heard the sound of a scream back in economy, followed by screaming in some incomprehensible foreign language. Her worries soon grew more pointed as a man and a teenager armed with knives began marching into first class, shouting in one language she was able to identify as French but not understand, and a language that she could only figure was the same incomprehensible foreign language she had heard being shouted in economy.

Speaking Aucurian and Luziycan was proving rather unhelpful in this situation.

She cowered in her seat as the pair strode past. The man was wearing what looked to her like a suicide vest, the kind that political cartoonists drew on Caliphate terrorists, while holding up a pistol and a knife.

Oh Jesus Christ, she thought, please just let me get home safe.

---

"...geese?" Tanaka said quizzically. "Why is the captain talking about geese?" "I have no clue," Yukimura replied. "There's no way you'd see a flock of geese in the stratosph-"

Yukimura's words were cut off by a scream behind them. The pair attempted to turn backwards in their seats, but were unable to clearly see what was going on behind them. They were, however, able to hear someone shouting in some foreign language. Shortly thereafter, someone a few rows ahead of them, they heard another man shouting in the same language, raising a knife over his head. "Fuck, I think the plane is being hijacked," Yukimura muttered.

"Well what do we do?" Tanaka replied, flustered, leaning in and talking quietly. "Don't panic," Yukimura said. "Just... stay calm and lay low. Hopefully, then, we can just-"

"HEJ!" came a yell from the aisle. Turning, Tanaka and Yukimura saw a man standing over them, holding a knife in their direction and a gun at his side. "Nié rozgòwôr!" the man barked before turning away and yelling some more at economy class as a whole.

"Do you know what he said?" Tanaka queried. Yukimura shook his head. "Maybe he doesn't want us talking, maybe he wants us to keep our hands out of our pockets or something, I don't know. I couldn't even tell you what language he's speaking."

[Luziyca]

As Tomôszki stabbed him in the throat, Igor Myagkov uttered the phrase "FUCK YOU!" in Luziycan towards Tomôszki. It was not like he could understand him or anything, but there was this animal instinct to at least utter those last words before his demise.

Once he was pushed out onto the aisle and bled onto the floor, Myagkov had to deal with Tomôszki standing on top of him. It was not like Myagkov could speak anymore, but this was kinda a little humiliating.

Glancing up at the angry Lec standing on top of his dying body, he stared at him for as long as he could. If eyes could speak, his eyes would be stating "What did I do wrong?"

Before he knew it, Aininien 303 was, due to unforeseen communist fundamentalism, diverted to paradise. His body was now cold, inert, and grave.

[Katranjiev]

Anna Vang, sitting at the pod next to the window knew that there was no way in hell that a flock of geese would be flying at such an altitude, let alone arrive from Conitia. They were most likely from Nordania or Velkia.

"Andrei," she began in Katranjian, "I think you were right. They are definitely not backup crew."

"No kidding," Prince Andrei replied. As he heard the Lec screaming at them with a knife in a their language, Andrei realized that this may be a hijacking. He turned towards Anna Vang and their three-month old son.

"Anna, listen to me," Andrei said. "I do not know how long I will last. But if I get killed by the Lecs, if I have to sacrifice myself to help the rest of the passengers, and especially to save you, I must let you know that I love you, and I want you to take care of my son. My life is expendable, but if it means saving you and my son, it shall be worth it."

Anna Vang was shocked. "I do not think you will," she stated. "If they have hijacked the plane, I am sure that they will want to keep us alive. Last time I checked, I am pretty sure that any hijackers would want to keep us alive. After all, they must have leverage!"

Prince Andrei chuckled at that last part of her statement. "Gallows humor," he thought. "I like that."

"Anyway," Anna Vang said, "I think that as long as we cooperate with the hijackers, we'll be fine. If we don't make them want to kill us, then I am sure that we will be able to get to Daecon safely."

Andrei sighed at that. "A shame that we cannot let Daecon know that our flight is going to be late," he muttered.

"It is the will of Vanho," she responded to Prince Andrei's utterance. "All we can hope for is that where-ever we end up, will not be at the gates of Baicheng," referring to Vanho's battle with Rishen.

"Amen to that," Andrei replied.

[Nevamaa]

Nevanlinna Air Traffic Control Center
Oceanic Sector
Lumikka, Länsimaa, Nevanmaa
5:10pm

It had been fifteen minutes since Aininien 303 was scheduled to fly over waypoint ZEBRA and relay its location to Nevanlinna Oceanic control. Delays like this were routine, but he usually expected aircraft to report them. "Stupid Aininians, always so arrogant", Lahtinen thought as he switched on the mic.

"Aininien 303 heavy, report passing waypoint ZEBRA".

Silence.

"Aininien 303, Nevanlinna Oceanic. Report passing waypoint ZEBRA".

Silence, again.

"Aininien 303, Nevanlinna Oceanic. Radio check, how do you hear?".

It wasn't completely unusual for a plane to experience failures with its radio equipment. However, it was unusual that the plane wasn't squawking 7600, the international code for radio failure. Lahtinen sent a SELCAL ping and quickly switched his radio to 121.5 MHz, the international aircraft emergency frequency. Still, nothing but silence.

"Nelly 65 heavy, Nevanlinna Oceanic"

"Nevanlinna Oceanic, Nelly 65"

Lahtinen switched to his native Nevan to communicate with the flight that was slightly behind Aininien 303.

"Listen, I'm trying to contact this Aininien flight, an Azimut 81 about 20 nautical miles in front of you on flight level one one four, that's 400 meters above you. They were supposed to check 15 minutes ago after passing ZEBRA but they're not responding to my calls on this frequency nor on 121.5 and they're not squawking 7600 either. Can you try and contact them, see if there's some interference or something?"

"We'll do that, Nelly 65.

A minute passed.

"Nevanlinna Oceanic, Nelly 65. We tried calling them on both frequencies but they're not responding. We also tried if we could see them from our window but the visibility is pretty bad, less than two nautical miles."

"Nelly 65, alright. Thanks for your help.

20 minutes had now passed since the flight was scheduled to cross ZEBRA, and Lahtinen knew that 20 minutes without radio contact was enough to trigger the start of emergency procedures. He pressed a small yellow button next to the radar display, informing the Controller in Charge that he required his immediate presence. A couple of minutes later, CIC Joonatan Käsmä walked to his location. "What is it, Kyösti?", he asked.

Lahtinen explained the situation to Käsmä.

"Alright, that does sound unusual. Try to get in touch with them and advise all aircraft close to him to be alert for an uncommunicative aircraft. I'll go up to the office and get the company on the line. We'll see what they have to say."

5:25pm

It took a while for Käsmä to figure out what number to call, but after a lot of searching and an accidental call to Aininien's reservation center, he finally managed to get through to the company's emergency line.

"Hi, it's Joonatan Käsmä, the Commander in Control of Nevanlinna Oceanic. We've lost contact with one of your planes. Aininien 303 heavy, an Azimut 81. He was scheduled to report his position when he reached waypoint ZEBRA around 30 minutes ago but we haven't heard from him at all, he's not responding to our calls nor to calls from other aircraft or SELCAL. And he's not squawking 7500, 7700 or anything else for that matter. Can you see if you can contact them via ACARS or something? If not, we're gonna start implementing emergency protocols here"

[Ainin]

Aininien Operations Centre
Tourres, Isle-Royale

---

Igor was bored.

As a recent summa cum laude graduate with a master's in communications from the University of Le Rocher, never in a million years did he think that he would be spending his evenings working in a stuffy basement, faxing documents and taking frantic calls from controllers whenever the radio on Aininien's dusty old A-51s broke. But, as cruel fate would have it, he did. As it turns out, manning the graveyard shift at the operations centre was the first step in everyone's career there. His colleagues were all fairly wealthy and happy and he would only be stuck in this task until they hired the next newbie, he consoled himself by thinking as he started his third game of solitaire of the hour.

Suddenly, a bulky black box covered in grey plastic buttons, an office telephone straight out of the 1980s, began ringing and vibrating. He knew already who would be at the other end: a panicked controller trying to find some Aininien jet, probably an A-51, after losing radio contact.

Lo and behold, so it was.

In an overbearing accent, the caller began reciting the usual spiel. "Hi, it's Joonatan Käsmä, the Commander in Control of Nevanlinna Oceanic." Igor could barely bring himself to vocalise an "uh-huh" from his nose.

"We've lost contact with one of your planes. Aininien 303 heavy, an Azimut 81." Igor briefly took his eyes off of his game of solitaire upon hearing the last two words. The A-81 was a recent plane, and radio failures weren't that common. Strange, he thought, but given the shoddy work the industrial unions do, not too surprising.

"He was scheduled to report his position when he reached waypoint ZEBRA around 30 minutes ago but we haven't heard from him at all, he's not responding to our calls nor to calls from other aircraft or SELCAL. And he's not squawking 7500, 7700 or anything else for that matter. Can you see if you can contact them via ACARS or something? If not, we're gonna start implementing emergency protocols here."

Well that's a new one, Igor thought to himself. It was fairly unusual for an aircraft to lose both radio contact and its transponder signal at once, and could be a cause for concern. Then again, it could just be some harmless issue with the cockpit power supply. As he recalls from the training textbook, an improperly-installed power unit once caused similar problems in an A-51 and resulted in a fighter scramble over Huimont in 2006.

"Okay, roger that," he finally replied after letting the Nevan controller finish. "Let me find him and pull him up on ACARS."

He minimised the solitaire window and opened a terminal-like interface. With a few taps of the keyboard, a map appeared on the screen.

"So according to the ping, your flight just crossed the 60th meridian at 76°18'. It's where it should be, there must have been some sort of surge on the flight deck. I'll keep you on notice when they respond."

[Nevamaa]

"Okay, roger that. Let me find him and pull him up on ACARS", the voice on the other end of the phone responded. "So according to the ping, your flight just crossed the 60th meridian at 76°18'. It's where it should be, there must have been some sort of surge on the flight deck. I'll keep you on notice when they respond."

Käsmä was relieved. He was almost expecting that the plane had gone down.

"That's good news then, let us know when you get a reply. Relay it to Abermore too if you can, if the plane is west of 60 then it's on their turf, not ours. Thank you and bye!"

Käsmä then dialed the number for the Commander in Control of FIR Abermore.

"Hey, it's Joonatan Käsmä here, CIC for Nevanlinna Oceanic. Just to let you know, Aininien 303, an Azimut 81 that's due to arrive in your airspace is experiencing some problems with their radio and transponder. Both of them seem to be broken, so we have no comms with them. Right now they're cleared for flight level one one four and their flight plan shows that they intend to fly via ZEBRA, TARSI, CALEM, NIKKI, RAMEN, MALGAF and MASON. Be aware."

It took fifteen minutes to make the same call to FIR Ettsten and FIR Waterwitt. "Thank God it's out of our airspace now so it's not our problem anymore", Käsmä thought as he walked downstairs to a large hall where the controllers were working. He tapped Lahtinen on the shoulder. "Hey, I just talked with the company. They say it's still airborne and past 60 west, so not our problem anymore. It's probably some electrical fault that's screwing with their electronics, so no worries."

[Pisdara]

Still looking out his window, Usseli took note of a rather sudden call on the PA that said to look out for some geese flying by. Narrowing his eyes, he didn't notice any thing near them. The skies had been clear for almost the entire flight.

Then, suddenly, a scream.

trying to look back, Usseli could see someone getting pushed into the aisle, while a younger man emerged from the back of the plane with a knife. He thought the man was speaking some Slavic language, maybe Katranjian or Lec or even Luziycan, but it really didn't matter., Just the sight of him made Usseli turn back his head towards the seat in front of him and swallow, closing his eyes, and trying to suppress a scream. The young teenager beside him was, justifiably, growing freaked out and screaming, and began to move in his seat. Grabbing him by the arm, Usseli tried to calm him.

"Restez calme, s'il vous plaît!"

He never been in a situation like this, but Usseli thought getting the maniac to notice him and the people around him was the worst thing to do. Still holding onto the teen's arm, he sunk into his seat and tried to breathe. His plan didn't really matter, the hijacker was already at the seat in front of him by the time he gathered what was going on, yelling at two Monic students.

He closed his eyes harder, hoping this would go away.

[Tuthina]

Sitting on the port side of the plane, Nyaklan did not react much to either the strange announcement regarding the impossible geese, or the proclamation that the plane had been hijacked. When the hijackers in the first class compartment yelled in French to state their purpose, she simply took her attention from her book towards them, before returning to her wait for the food. If anything, concerns over not receiving the intended service most likely outweighed other concerns that most people would have when the plane they were on was being hijacked.

[Austrosie]

With every passing minute, Lietwin knew he was closer to see his beloved motherland again - a comforting idea, pleasant enough to offset earlier sinister omens in his mind. Wishing not to bother Katarina for now, so deeply devouring her book he feared to snap her out of it at the first word he'd utter, he instead elected to lay back in his seat, seizing the opportunity to try and get some much needed sleep, his eyes half-closed and his alertness still high as always. Drifting from thought to thought, from reminiscing over his career to the cherished memories of his now gone wife, he ended up thinking anew about the earlier words of his daughter, back in the terminal. He was slowly coming to terms with the once unacceptable idea that one could worry excessively - a concept only further proven right by the hallmarks of ageing that his face exhibited, deceitfully making the man appear a dozen of years or so older than he truly was. For a seemingly timeless moment, the acceptance of this idea allowed Lietwin to drop out of his ever vigilant state, finally feeling free from this long-running anguish. As he allowed himself to fully close his eyes, the agitation a few seats behind denied him rest one more time.

His Luziycan was rusty from years of disuse, if not only passable to begin with, but he didn't need to do a double-take to understand what the man just said. But of course, his Luzzy highness has to make sure everyone is aware of his obnoxious royal presence he thought to himself, exasperated, and was ready to go on with his distaste of Luziycans, if it wasn't for the scream that followed. This is a scream that means trouble, he established, crushing in an instant the progress he achieved just moments ago. His guess was proven correct a split-second later, as the terrorist started yelling. Lietwin never went to Lecistan, but did hear the language on few occasions, at least enough to determine it with certitude now - not that it truly mattered, for the man waving a knife around and screaming in a foreign language was good enough to get his message across. Not without a certain pride, he identified with certainty one word of the hijacker's speech - robòti. Had he been anywhere else than in the concerned aeroplane, he may even have smiled at the whole commotion.

The old man's odd serenity in spite of the events was not shared by everyone. As the hijacking started, Katarina was still wholly focused on her book, not paying attention to the oncoming events and dismissing the shouts as strange plane noises. It wasn't until Jaszdzewski - next to whom she had been sitting, unbeknownst to her - brandished a knife in her face that she finally understood something was happening. As she uncertainly looked up, she made eye contact with the yelling man threatening her. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. She wanted to run, yet couldn't move a muscle. She tried to think, though her mind went blank. She had no idea how long she had been paralysed by fear, for the handful of seconds felt like hours to her. Only after the Lec moved his weapon away from the terrorised girl, Lietwin slowly moved - taking caution to avoid appearing threatening, and looking out for any sign of disapprobation from the terrorist - to hold his daughter in his arms. "It's going to be okay, Katia", he whispered in her ear as she came back to her senses "Everything is going to be okay, I promise you."

[Lanos]

"Okay, roger that. Let me find him and pull him up on ACARS", the voice on the other end of the phone responded. "So according to the ping, your flight just crossed the 60th meridian at 76°18'. It's where it should be, there must have been some sort of surge on the flight deck. I'll keep you on notice when they respond."

Käsmä was relieved. He was almost expecting that the plane had gone down.

"That's good news then, let us know when you get a reply. Relay it to Abermore too if you can, if the plane is west of 60 then it's on their turf, not ours. Thank you and bye!"

Käsmä then dialed the number for the Commander in Control of FIR Abermore.

"Hey, it's Joonatan Käsmä here, CIC for Nevanlinna Oceanic. Just to let you know, Aininien 303, an Azimut 81 that's due to arrive in your airspace is experiencing some problems with their radio and transponder. Both of them seem to be broken, so we have no comms with them. Right now they're cleared for flight level one one four and their flight plan shows that they intend to fly via ZEBRA, TARSI, CALEM, NIKKI, RAMEN, MALGAF and MASON. Be aware."

It took fifteen minutes to make the same call to FIR Ettsten and FIR Waterwitt. "Thank God it's out of our airspace now so it's not our problem anymore", Käsmä thought as he walked downstairs to a large hall where the controllers were working. He tapped Lahtinen on the shoulder. "Hey, I just talked with the company. They say it's still airborne and past 60 west, so not our problem anymore. It's probably some electrical fault that's screwing with their electronics, so no worries."

The commander in control of FIR Abermore responded.

"Nevanlinna Oceanic, acknowledged. We will notify any and all aircraft in vicinity to watch for the flight. Thanks for the heads up."

The commander turned to one of the controllers next to him.

"Layton, begin warning aircraft about Aininien 303. It's not responding to controllers from Nevanlinna and its transponder is off. It was cleared for flight level 114 and the Nevans informed us their flight plan is intended to..." He rattled off the tracks to the controller. "Warn the aircraft he's a NORDO and that his transponder is also down. Watch the radar for any blips near those tracks. I'm going to call the admin. about this. I swear to God, this better not turn ugly on us."

The commander sit down and also began to warn aircraft of the flight, not sure of what was going on.

[Qianrong]

Rzeski and Szczypir heard a series of knocks on the cockpit door, in a rhythm that had been agreed upon between the terrorists to designate that the cabin was secured. Szczypir opened the door, revealing Olszewski standing at the door. "The plane is ours," he declared in Lec, eliciting a nod from Rzeski. "Good," he replied. "I'll make an announcement over the intercom. You all begin enforcing the rules." "Yes sir," Olszewski replied, turning around and heading back into the cabin.

Rzeski walked to the front of the cockpit and directed the pilot to turn on the intercom. Once the intercom was on, he began speaking. "Good afternoon," he began, speaking formally in French. "I am the leader of the group that has taken control of this plane. Please remain calm and in your seats, and do not attempt to resist. We are members of the Workers' Army of Lecistan, and have experience in combat in our country's wars against the Nevan occupation. We are armed with knives, with guns, and with bombs, and are will not hesitate to use them if the need arises."

"We will be establishing a set of rules," he continued. "Firstly, we will be confiscating all devices capable of recording video or audio, or connecting to the internet, including cameras, cell phones, tablets, camcorders, laptop computers, and smart watches. Please place these devices in the aisle so that they can be collected. Do not leave any of these items in your carry-ons, or on your person."

"Second, you will remain in your seats with your seatbelt fastened unless you are given permission to get up. If you need to use the restroom or get up for any reason, you must ask one of us and obtain our approval first. This goes for the flight crew and the flight attendants as well," he said, glancing around the cockpit. "If we remain long enough that it is necessary for the flight attendants to serve food or beverage, they will do so under tight supervision."

"Third, do not make any attempts to seize control of the plane, or do anything that could be construed as such. Keep conversation to a minimum and make no suspicious actions. If we believe you are planning something of the sort, then the response will be immediate and it will be without mercy." He inhaled before continuing. "If a passenger revolt is attempted," he declared, "then we will use our explosives to destroy this plane and kill everyone on it."

"We will not harm you so long as you comply with these rules and do not resist, but violators of these rules will be punished severely," he emphasized. "God willing, you all will soon be allowed to go home and Lecistan will finally go free. Thank you." He then signaled the pilot to turn the intercom off.

[Katranjiev]

"Very well," Prince Andrei said in resignation. Taking out his tablet, he placed it in the aisle to help ease the collection of such electronic devices.

Once the tablet had been placed on the aisle for easy collection by the Lec hijackers, he took a deep breath. The conference that he was supposed to attend... somehow, it will probably not happen.

All they can do now is to cooperate with the Lec hijackers: to make sure that the hijackers do not want to kill them. Especially the baby. God knows what would happen to Prince Igor if he started to cry...

Thus, Anna Vang put a pacifier on him...

[Gibberan]

Ricardo was jolted awake by the bloodcurdling scream a few rows behind him. His military instincts immediately switching into gear, he looked back to try and get a view of what was happening. Passengers all around him were reeling in shock, and one man—was that one of the Lecs from the cafe?— was towering above the others looking at him with a horrified fear.

What the hell was going on?

Then the corner of his eye saw the blood pooling down the aisle.

The tall man, standing on the belly of a fat, old, and now-dead tourist, was waving around a silver knife coated with a shimmering deep red, and he launched into an unintelligible tirade in his native language. Ricardo was not fluent in Lec. But the meaning was all too clear. This was a hijacking.

And the hijackers were out for blood.

As if to pound in his message, the man reached into an overhead compartment and seized a dark black pistol—who the fuck let that in here?—gripping the used dagger in one hand and the firearm in the other. There were more screams from even farther behind him, and another one of the Lecs stood up and yelled something similar; this hijacking had been one well planned out indeed. There was a similar commotion taking place up in premium economy and business classes, however Ricardo did not feel any sudden movements or losses of control over the plane, which meant that whoever these radicals were, they had already gained access to the cockpit as well. Stupid, he thought, remembering back to the scene in the cafe. Only now did it seem suspicious that the group had conveniently dispersed to every important chokepoint in the plane. And yet, he had thought nothing of it. Why did you have to be so stupid?

The man behind them stomped over to their row, fire in his eyes, and pointed the tip of the knife at him. Ricardo could see the drops of freshly-taken blood fly from the blade as he waved it, a sight he knew all too well. His face remained stoic, remaining focused on the seatback in front of him, not giving eye contact to both the armed terrorist and the two gay Monics in the seat next to him. The man barked an unintelligible command, which Ricardo took to mean don't move, and seemingly content, took his aggressive thundering to the next few rows.

His head craned back to the man bleeding out in the aisle. By now he was all but gone.

A man just died in front of you.

Thunder. Not outside the plane, as he was no longer in the plane. Artillery. A mortar blast. The rattle of machine gun bullets. Dirt in his eyes. Smoke in his lungs.

A boy coughing on the ground, white eyes bleak, leathery skin pale, red oozing from his throat.

Another mortar blast. This time it was him who was gone.

Back in the plane.

Ricardo felt his chest and realized his palm was sweating. He looked at his gold-plated watch for no particular reason, and then felt his breast pocket for the cigarettes that were no longer there, but that he needed right now all the same.

A minute passed. With the thoughts racing in his head, it seemed like an eternity. He was waiting for another scream farther ahead, maybe even a gunshot emptied into some unfortunate do-gooder's chest.

Instead the intercom crackled on. A voice speaking fluent French with only hints of a Lec accent came through, one that sounded more like an actual flight attendant than a bloodthirsty Lec that held the lives of three-hundred souls in his hands. "Good afternoon. I am the leader of the group that has taken control of this plane. Please remain calm and in your seats, and do not attempt to resist. We are members of the Workers' Army of Lecistan—"

Dammit. Like any Cortoguayan paying attention to regional geopolitics, Ricardo knew of the syndicalists that West Cortoguay had so valiantly and so ineptly tried to arm during the Lecistani Civil War a few years back. Their campaigns on the battlefield in 2015 had failed them, but there was a chance that it might succeed in the air. No, that's wasn't possible. The passengers would revolt somehow. Or maybe the authorities would intervene. Maybe the terrorists would be so kind as to let them go when they got where they were going. "—and have experience in combat in our country's wars against the Nevan occupation. We are armed with knives, with guns, and with bombs, and are will not hesitate to use them if the need arises."

So much for that idea, he thought to himself, letting his head droop down in defeat if only for entertaining the plan.

The terrorist went on to say they were instituting "a set of rules," with the insincere sweetness as if he was a schoolteacher in a class of rowdy Sunday schoolers. First off on the list, he wanted to confiscate all recording devices. Phones

His only connection to the outside world. To his wife. To his daughter, and soon, his grandson.

He paused, tuning out the rest of the announcement.

They couldn't conceivably know that they had every single person's phone, could they?

He edged the smartphone out of his pocket. It was silver and thin, and fit in his pocket without creating any sort of a visible bulge. He looked around him at the other rows. Nobody had seen him. Most importantly not the two Lecs that had earlier been terrorizing the compartment.

He was an old man, old enough to conceivably pass for not carrying the newfangled technology on him or going as far as rejecting it entirely. Or maybe, if questioned, he could just say that, in his senility, he forgot it at his hotel.

But they wouldn't question him. He doubted they would notice they were a phone short; generally in high-takes situations like these, the hijackers wouldn't waste time counting phones to passengers whilst the very passengers they were arguing about would be planning a revolt.

It was too risky.

But maybe it would come in useful later. Whenever they landed in Waterwitt, or wherever they were going.

He shifted in his seat. And in doing so, discreetly flipped the small, thin, nearly-invisible smartphone, already shut-off so as to not make a sound, into the tiny crease in between the seat and the backrest. Shifting again, he covered the spot with his rear and took a relaxing breath. Nobody could have seen it.

[Ainin]

Several hours later
Approaching the Lanosian coast | FIR Abermore

---

Apart from the murder at the start of the episode, the transoceanic flight had been fairly tranquil. Shortly after the Lecs' takeover of the plane was complete, Caroline and her co-pilot took over flying duties from Hugo and Marc, who promptly dozed off in the cockpit jump seats, under the watchful eye of their assailants. A seasoned pilot, Maria took very little time to catch on as to why the autopilot was still on a westbound course after the terrorists had ordered the plane diverted to Nevanmaa. She played along.

Now, as the aircraft began approaching the coast of Lanos, the difficult part began. The plane, which had already been contactless for hours, was about to re-enter a region with radar coverage, meaning that every deviation in its flight path would be closely watched by ground controllers. To make things worse, the terrorists were still under the impression that the plane was about to arrive over Nevanmaa, and Lord only knows what they would do if they found out the truth.

Her stomach began to violently growl. With the terrorists interrupting meal service, most of the plane hadn't eaten in virtually an entire day. While her co-pilot continued to monitor the instruments, she turned towards the two men in the cockpit, knowing that they were probably starved as well.

"Excuse me," she said in an atypically feminine voice, judging that they would be more pliable if she feigned the archetype of the weak woman. "We're going to be over land in half an hour, but I think that everyone onboard the plane is starving. Sir, would you please let us start the next meal service?"

Aininien Operations Centre
Tourres, Isle-Royale

---

Igor's shift was over, and his colleague Marie had taken over. Even with a potentially missing airplane, she seemed even less worried than Igor. Whereas he played Solitaire on one monitor while monitoring flight data on a second, she had flat-out turned off one of the two screens and was using the other one to watch videos online. Fullscreen, of course, so that all the boring work stuff wouldn't get in the way.

As the sun rose over Huimont, her supervisor walked into the office. "Anything happen overnight?" he asked her with the full expectation of receiving a negative answer, like he had for the past five months.

"Actually, yes," she shouted back as she quickly minimized the browser window with the videos before her supervisor got to her cubicle. "A flight to Daecon lost its radio and transponder over the North Pole."

"Oh?" the supervisor asked, intrigued. This was not normal.

"It's still on its normal flight path, Igor thinks that there's been some malfunction with a power unit."

Reassured, he walked over to the coffee machine and began brewing a cup of joe. "Well have you tried reaching out to them with ACARS?"

"No reply, we think that all cockpit comms have been disabled by a malfunction."

"Guess someone at the company shop's been sleeping on the job again," the manager nonchalantly quipped in reference to the airline's much-maligned, union-shielded maintenance staff. If only he knew.

[Qianrong]

OoC: From here on out, I'll be using the following colors for the following languages:

#6399AB for Lec
#002FAB for Nevan
#007F0E for French
#9C0E0E for Aucurian
#0064B6 for Senrian
#845A2D for Luziycan

Several hours later
Approaching the Lanosian coast | FIR Abermore

---

Apart from the murder at the start of the episode, the transoceanic flight had been fairly tranquil. Shortly after the Lecs' takeover of the plane was complete, Caroline and her co-pilot took over flying duties from Hugo and Marc, who promptly dozed off in the cockpit jump seats, under the watchful eye of their assailants. A seasoned pilot, Maria took very little time to catch on as to why the autopilot was still on a westbound course after the terrorists had ordered the plane diverted to Nevanmaa. She played along.

Now, as the aircraft began approaching the coast of Lanos, the difficult part began. The plane, which had already been contactless for hours, was about to re-enter a region with radar coverage, meaning that every deviation in its flight path would be closely watched by ground controllers. To make things worse, the terrorists were still under the impression that the plane was about to arrive over Nevanmaa, and Lord only knows what they would do if they found out the truth.

Her stomach began to violently growl. With the terrorists interrupting meal service, most of the plane hadn't eaten in virtually an entire day. While her co-pilot continued to monitor the instruments, she turned towards the two men in the cockpit, knowing that they were probably starved as well.

"Excuse me," she said in an atypically feminine voice, judging that they would be more pliable if she feigned the archetype of the weak woman. "We're going to be over land in half an hour, but I think that everyone onboard the plane is starving. Sir, would you please let us start the next meal service?"

Szczypir- who did not speak French- looked at Rzeski with mild confusion. "What did she say?" he asked quizzically. "She wants to serve the next meal," he replied. Turning to Maria, Rzeski calmly said "one second" before leaning into the cabin and calling out Olszewski's name.

Olszewski walked into the cockpit. "What is it?" he asked. "We're going to allow the flight attendants to give the next meal service," Rzeski explained. "I need you to tell the others so that they know nothing is up. Stay near the flight attendants and make sure nobody attempts anything." Olszewski nodded dutifully before heading back into the cabin.

"We'll allow you to serve the next meal," Rzeski said, turning towards Maria. "But we will be making sure that nobody attempts anything. So long as the rules are followed, this should go smoothly."

---

Jerzy Zëdewski idly stuck his knife into the unfortunate armrest of a nearby chair to entertain himself as the time dragged by. For a high-stakes operation in which hundreds of lives could be lost, the past several hours of the hijacking had been rather boring. A few seats behind him, he could see Tomôszki patrolling the aisle, glaring sternly at the captive passengers.

"Um- Mister Zëdewski, sir, I have a message,", came a voice from in front of him. Turning around, Zëdewski saw Aleksander Młodski standing in front of him nervously. "Shouldn't you be in first class?" Zëdewski asked. "O-oh! Well, yes, but Mister Olszewski-" "Kid, you don't have to call us 'mister'," Zëdewski broke in. "That's kind of unnecessary."

"Um, anyways, we'll be allowing the flight crew to do some meal service," Młodski said. "Olszewski told me to say that when they come back here, just keep an eye on them and make sure everything's alright." "Thanks for the info, kid," Zëdewski replied. "You can head back up to first class now." Młodski nodded quickly and ran back up the aisle.

Zëdewski watched him run back to the front of the plane, and found memories drifting to the forefront of his consciousness. Three faces, one older than him, two younger; a thudding on the door at night, men in uniforms with black bags; a body coming back on an airplane; a girl, standing over a woman in a bed; the sound of engines and explosions overhead; a hospital, burning down, and a desperate attempt to get inside...

He shook his head to clear the memories away. It's okay, he told himself. I'll get revenge on those reindeer-fuckers soon enough. They'll pay for what they did. And I'll be free.

Trying to turn his thoughts back to the present, Zëdewski turned towards Tomôszki. "Władësłôw!" he called out, getting Tomôszki's attention. "They'll apparently be doing meal service soon. I don't think those carts are meant to roll over human corpses, so you'll probably have to move the body of whoever it was you killed earlier."

"Well why the fuck do I have to move him? And where am I going to put him?" Tomôszki called back. "You're closer than I am, and you killed him. As for where to put him," Zëdewski replied, "just leave him by the lavatories or something. You did spend a solid thirty minutes calling him a sack of shit."

Zëdewski smiled slightly as he heard Tomôszki cursing under his breath in rapid-fire Lec, then slowly began to drag Myagkov's bloated corpse towards the back of the plane.

[Katranjiev]

As he saw the meal carts roll by, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God," Prince Andrei muttered in Katranjian. "I hope that the meal still tastes as good as the airline staff promised us."

"Agreed," Vang remarked. "The meal should've been here hours ago."

"To be fair," Andrei replied, "some hijackers took control of the plane. Can you really expect a flight to operate normally when someone hijacks the helm? I don't think so."

Anna Vang nodded in agreement. She glanced at the sleeping baby.

"Only a matter of time before he wakes up and starts crying," she muttered.

[Tuthina]

Despite everything, Yolande maintained her rather calm posture, as if nothing had happened to the flight at all. Indeed, unlike many others who had surrendered their communication devices on the aisle as ordered, the location beside her seat remained empty.

"Thank you for the meal." Yolande offered the flight attendant a smile and a nod as she began serving the meal she had ordered before. Without minding the hijackers, she soon began enjoying her meal, demonstrating proficiency in foreign tableware that did not exactly match the xenophobic stereotype of her countrymen.

[Gibberan]

Elsbridge Air Traffic Control, Oceanic
Brunswick, Ambrose
5:32 PM

"Hey, it's Joonatan Käsmä here, CIC for Nevanlinna Oceanic. Just to let you know, Aininien 303, an Azimut 81 that's due to arrive in your airspace is experiencing some problems with their radio and transponder. Both of them seem to be broken, so we have no comms with them. Right now they're cleared for flight level one one four and their flight plan shows that they intend to fly via ZEBRA, TARSI, CALEM, NIKKI, RAMEN, MALGAF and MASON. Be aware."

Jeremiah Breckenridge swiveled around in his chair, a half-eaten smoked salmon sandwich in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. Swallowing his early dinner, the Commander in Control of Elsbridge Oceanic ATC held the telephone between his ear and his shoulder as he turned back to the dimly lit framed portrait of President General John Frederick Cleburne, and more importantly, his unfinished game of solitaire.

Breckenridge, annoyed at being interrupted while doing nothing in particular, curtly responded. "Nevanlinna Oceanic, acknowledged; we'll try to reach them regardless." A picture of his wife flashed in his head, and he politely added, "Appreciate the notice," in his broken French before hanging up.

"What was that, sir?" asked the young controller leaning over his desk.

"Some Aininien flight's not responding to comms or ACARS; electrical issues probably, since apparently they're still on their intended flight path. Get the others to warn nearby craft about an uncommunicative plane." He recited the flight path to the young man, and after receiving a quizzical look, sighed, reached for a pen, and slowly scrawled the flight path details on a notepad. The boy had nearly doubled back all the way to his station when Jeremiah called out. "Also, see if you can reach them on the regular frequencies, just so we can get the standard nonsense out of the way."

The boy stopped and turned around, almost as if he were confused. "...didn't you say they aren't responding to any comms?"

Jeremiah shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe they're receiving but can't radio back for whatever reason."

"But if that was the case, wouldn't they be-"

Jeremiah held up his hand. He didn't care much for this job, but when he did it, he tried to do it right. What kind of a tragedy might happen if they chose to skip procedure just because of some abnormal events? Perhaps, in some extraordinary circumstance, the standard check-in would be the difference between life or death for some poor soul on that plane.

Or maybe he just didn't want to fill out a report on any irregularities later on.

"Just...try them regardless."

The controller made his way back to his station across the large room filled with controllers overseeing flight all across the Northern Sea and the eastern Váli. After working magic with his fingers over the dials and buttons on his desk, Jeremiah watched the boy's face as he switched on the frequency, not able to hear him over the noise of the room but reading his lips as he spoke into the mic.

"Aininian 303, Elsbridge Oceanic. Cleared for crossing via track ZEBRA, flight level one one four at Mach point eight five."

No facial reaction.

"...Aininien 303, Elsbridge Oceanic...how do you hear?"

Across the room, the boy turned and shrugged at him. No response, as expected. Jeremiah shrugged and went back to his sandwich.

Well, it was an effort. At least it didn't make matters worse.

[Qianrong]

Elsbridge Air Traffic Control, Oceanic
Brunswick, Ambrose
5:32 PM

"Hey, it's Joonatan Käsmä here, CIC for Nevanlinna Oceanic. Just to let you know, Aininien 303, an Azimut 81 that's due to arrive in your airspace is experiencing some problems with their radio and transponder. Both of them seem to be broken, so we have no comms with them. Right now they're cleared for flight level one one four and their flight plan shows that they intend to fly via ZEBRA, TARSI, CALEM, NIKKI, RAMEN, MALGAF and MASON. Be aware."

Jeremiah Breckenridge swiveled around in his chair, a half-eaten smoked salmon sandwich in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other. Swallowing his early dinner, the Commander in Control of Elsbridge Oceanic ATC held the telephone between his ear and his shoulder as he turned back to the dimly lit framed portrait of President General John Frederick Cleburne, and more importantly, his unfinished game of solitaire.

Breckenridge, annoyed at being interrupted while doing nothing in particular, curtly responded. "Nevanlinna Oceanic, acknowledged; we'll try to reach them regardless." A picture of his wife flashed in his head, and he politely added, "Appreciate the notice," in his broken French before hanging up.

"What was that, sir?" asked the young controller leaning over his desk.

"Some Aininien flight's not responding to comms or ACARS; electrical issues probably, since apparently they're still on their intended flight path. Get the others to warn nearby craft about an uncommunicative plane." He recited the flight path to the young man, and after receiving a quizzical look, sighed, reached for a pen, and slowly scrawled the flight path details on a notepad. The boy had nearly doubled back all the way to his station when Jeremiah called out. "Also, see if you can reach them on the regular frequencies, just so we can get the standard nonsense out of the way."

The boy stopped and turned around, almost as if he were confused. "...didn't you say they aren't responding to any comms?"

Jeremiah shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe they're receiving but can't radio back for whatever reason."

"But if that was the case, wouldn't they be-"

Jeremiah held up his hand. He didn't care much for this job, but when he did it, he tried to do it right. What kind of a tragedy might happen if they chose to skip procedure just because of some abnormal events? Perhaps, in some extraordinary circumstance, the standard check-in would be the difference between life or death for some poor soul on that plane.

Or maybe he just didn't want to fill out a report on any irregularities later on.

"Just...try them regardless."

The controller made his way back to his station across the large room filled with controllers overseeing flight all across the Northern Sea and the eastern Váli. After working magic with his fingers over the dials and buttons on his desk, Jeremiah watched the boy's face as he switched on the frequency, not able to hear him over the noise of the room but reading his lips as he spoke into the mic.

"Aininian 303, Elsbridge Oceanic. Cleared for crossing via track ZEBRA, flight level one one four at Mach point eight five."

No facial reaction.

"...Aininien 303, Elsbridge Oceanic...how do you hear?"

Across the room, the boy turned and shrugged at him. No response, as expected. Jeremiah shrugged and went back to his sandwich.

Well, it was an effort. At least it didn't make matters worse.

Onboard the plane, the terrorists had ordered the pilots to turn the radio on so they could inform Nevanlinna that the plane had been hijacked, and that the hijackers would have demands for them once they landed. In the moment that they turned the radio on, however, a message came through. "Aininian 303, Elsbridge Oceanic. Cleared for crossing via track ZEBRA, flight level one one four at Mach point eight five... Aininien 303, Elsbridge Oceanic...how do you hear?"

Rzeski had been a thoroughly unexceptional student in school, but nevertheless he knew enough about geography to recognize the word "Elsbridge" in the communication coming over the radio, and to know that Elsbridge was nowhere near Nevanmaa. In fact, it was rather closer to Daecon than it was to the country the pilots had said they were flying to.

So you think you can trick us? he thought to himself. Well, I suppose I'll need to make it clear that I was not lying when I said infractions would be punished. Rzeski pulled out his knife, then thrust it down as hard as he could into Marc's leg before violently ripping it out, leaving a bleeding gash in his thigh. Rzeski would have preferred to kill him, but they had to keep as many hostages alive as possible; after all, a living person was worth far more in hostage negotiations, and in international diplomacy, than a dead one.

"Maybe I was not clear enough earlier," Rzeski said, turning on the pilots and brandishing the bloody dagger. "You will turn the radio back off and direct this plane to Nevanlinna, immediately, or there will be severe repercussions. Take your colleague's pain as a warning; any future attempts to deceive us will be punished more harshly."