Chapter 355
At the Aethelgard Airlines ground control center, the room was bathed in stark, clinical light, yet the atmosphere was heavy with impending doom. On the massive digital display, the icon representing their flight flickered erratically, dipping and swaying like a severed kite caught in a hurricane.
Commander Arthur Reed gripped the microphone, his knuckles bone-white.
How could this happen? Both the captain and the co-pilot incapacitated simultaneously? It was unprecedented.
All they could do was scream at the pilots over the radio, begging them to stay awake, even if it meant inflicting pain on themselves. The lives of hundreds of passengers, and a multi-million dollar aircraft, rested squarely on their failing shoulders.
If that plane went down, careers would end, families would be destroyed, and the airline’s reputation would be incinerated in the wreckage. The financial and emotional fallout would be apocalyptic.
Arthur stared at the screen, oblivious to the sweat pouring down his face. Every line on his face was etched with terror. “Maintain altitude. Execute emergency protocols,” he ordered, his voice trembling.
But the radio only fed back the deafening roar of the plane’s engines, accompanied by the captain’s increasingly breathless, incoherent responses.
Arthur’s heart hammered in his throat. Around him, the control room was a symphony of chaos-blinking red alarms, frantic keystrokes, and panicked shouts.
A young intelligence officer pounded his keyboard, his eyes glued to the plummeting telemetry data. The veins in his forehead throbbed with every refresh of the screen. “Pull up, pull up, damn it,” he chanted under his breath.
Suddenly, the radio crackled with the captain’s weak voice. “Passenger… is a pilot… taking over p>
“Do it! Give him the controls immediately Arthur roared. The horrific images of a fiery crash vanished from his mind, replaced by a desperate, frantic hope. Thank God. If this passenger lands this plane, I’ll owe him my life, Arthur thought.
Up in the air, Owen’s steady hands reigned in the chaotic pitch of the aircraft. The violent shaking smoothed out, and the plane gradually leveled, realigning with its designated flight path.
In the cabin, the screams faded into
gasps of disbelief, then wept-out
sighs of relief. Back at ground control, the entire room exhaled collective, shuddering breath. The crisis had been averted, but the mystery remained terrifying. Adual incapacitation on a three-hour flight was a statistical impossibility.
Inside the cockpit, Mira scoured every inch of the space but found no traces of a
toxin. Neither she nor Owen felt any adverse effects.
She deduced the pilots had been
exposed to a volatile neuro-sedative. The source had to be on their
persons. When the cockpit door had first opened, she caught a fleeting, sweet scent. Benzoin
Neuro-Sedative. While standard
benzoin was just a fragrant resin a
weaponized refined version
possessed devastating paralytic properties. Inhaling it plunged the
victim into a state of unnatural, comatose sleep.
But Mira couldn’t verify her theory now. Owen needed absolute focus, and repeatedly opening the reinforced cockpit door was a massive security risk.
She settled back in her seat. The truth would have to wait until they were safely on the ground in Melvion City.