Naseria

Chapter 8

As they approached the final gate, they saw it was more than just a doorway—it was a sleek, modern boarding area with a large, metallic archway. Flanking the archway were two robots, their designs futuristic and streamlined, their surfaces gleaming with a metallic sheen.

The robots, with their humanoid forms and glowing eyes, moved with precise, mechanical grace. One of them addressed the group in a calm, synthesized voice. "Please present your boarding passes and identification for verification. The flight will commence shortly."

The group hesitated for a moment, their unease growing with the sight of the robotic attendants. Despite their hesitation, they shuffled forward, handing over their passports and boarding passes. The robots processed each one with efficient, mechanical movements, their glowing eyes scanning the documents.

"Verification complete," the robot said, its voice smooth and unfeeling. "You may proceed to the boarding area. Flight 0016 is now ready for departure."

As the group moved through the archway, the soft glow intensified, enveloping them in a warm, otherworldly light. The sensation was almost surreal, like stepping into another world.

They found themselves inside a new space—an elegant, high-tech aircraft, its interior sleek and polished. The seats were arranged in luxurious rows, and the atmosphere was eerily calm. There were no windows visible, only the faint hum of the aircraft as it prepared for takeoff.

"What the..." Izek's question was abruptly cut short as the captain's announcement crackled through the cabin speakers, the static distorting parts of the message:

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Flight 0016 with service from cracking sound to cracking sound. We are currently third in line for takeoff and are expected to be in the air in approximately 5 minutes. We ask that you please be seated at your arranged seats and fasten your seatbelts. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. Thank you for choosing cracking sound. Enjoy your flight."

The announcement left the group in stunned silence.

"What does he mean by arranged seat?" Daniel asked, his voice tinged with confusion as he approached the rows of seats. He noticed that each seat's belt was secured with a scanner, adding another layer of mystery to their situation.

Henric, examining the seat in front of him, tried using his passport to scan the belt's scanner. To his surprise, the scanner beeped, and the belt clicked open. "It seems like our passports are the key," he said, holding up his passport.

The realization hit the group hard. Their passports were not just identification—they were also essential for the flight's seating arrangement.

"This flight is on autopilot," Shen said as he emerged from the cockpit, his voice carrying an edge of calm authority. "Which means there's nobody else onboard except us. The door is already locked, and we're the only ones here."

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Shen's words sinking in. The fact that they were alone on an autopilot flight, with the doors locked, heightened their sense of isolation and uncertainty.

"So, we're stuck here, just the ten of us, with no way to control the flight or escape?" Izek asked, frustration creeping back into his voice.

"Looks like it," Shen replied, his expression unreadable. "We have to follow the procedures and see where this leads us. There's no turning back now."

The group settled into their seats, each person using their passport to unlock their seatbelt. The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the aircraft prepared for takeoff. The hum of the engines grew louder, and the soft vibrations beneath them signaled that they were moving.

As the aircraft began its ascent, the group could only speculate about what awaited them. The flight was clearly a significant part of whatever game or test they were being subjected to. Their seats were assigned, their passports were their keys, and their journey had officially begun.

The cabin lights had dimmed to a soft glow, casting a serene yet eerie ambiance over the sleeping passengers. Exhaustion had claimed everyone, and the gentle hum of the engines lulled them into a deep slumber. The aircraft was on its 17-hour journey, and the hours passed slowly as the flight continued.

Osborne, unable to sleep, found himself restless. The unease of their situation gnawed at him, preventing him from finding any comfort. As he shifted in his seat, his hand brushed against something unusual in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out a passport that had somehow slipped into his pocket, unnoticed during the chaos at the airport.

"13 May..." he murmured softly, the words barely escaping his lips as he examined the passport. Unlike the others, which contained photos, names, and dates of birth, this one was starkly different. It had no photo, no name—just a single date of birth: 13 May.

The passport seemed almost plain, its pages devoid of any additional information. Osborne's mind raced as he considered the implications of this discrepancy. Why was this passport so different from the others? What could the date possibly signify?

Osborne carefully tucked the passport back into his pocket, the weight of its secrecy pressing on him. He knew that this peculiar passport could be a crucial piece of the puzzle. For now, he had to wait for the right moment to reveal his discovery to the others, hoping it would provide some clarity in their otherwise perplexing situation.

...

Osborne tossed restlessly in his sleep, the peaceful hum of the aircraft doing little to soothe his troubled mind. The darkness of the cabin was punctuated by fleeting flashes of dreams and fragments of sound. Amidst this, a disembodied voice began to echo in his mind.

"Star... starosta..."

The voice was faint, almost ethereal, and it seemed to call out to him with a sense of urgency. It was both familiar and unfamiliar, like a memory just out of reach. Osborne's eyes fluttered beneath his closed lids as he tried to grasp the source of the voice. He reached out, mentally and physically, straining to follow the voice through the haze of his sleep.

As he reached out, the voice grew softer, slipping away into the darkness. The sense of connection was fleeting, like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. The darkness seemed to close in around him, leaving him alone and disoriented.

He awoke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The cabin was still dim and quiet, the steady hum of the engines the only sound. He glanced around, half-expecting to see someone or something that could explain the voice, but there was only the sight of his sleeping companions.

The dream, or whatever it was, left him unsettled. The name "Starosta" lingered in his mind, but its meaning remained elusive. He wondered if it was a clue, a message, or just a fragment of his imagination. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the remnants of the unsettling experience.