Interaction [Dreamnotfound]

12 | Glider

George had reached the airport.

This is so stupid.

Those were the only thoughts running through his head as he gazed at the many Gliders spread out before him.

He was in the bushes, and it was nearly pitch-black outside, being the middle of the night. His plan? To somehow grab a Glider and leave. Not the most concrete idea, but it was something.

Taking a deep breath, George stood up firmly, trying his best to act like he knew what he was doing. Securing his bag on his shoulders, he marched towards the large, marble building in front of him.

The glass windows shone his reflection back at him as George swiftly walked past them, to the first entrance, and pushed open the door.

Two guards turned to him almost instantly.

George's blood froze, and he stopped moving, breathing, they surely knew who he was by now-

But the first gave a stiff nod, and both turned back to their previous jobs. Making interactions with unknown people was too risky to do whenever they wanted, and George wasn't the most suspicious looking figure.

George started breathing again, wondering how on earth they hadn't known it was him. Didn't everyone know by now?
Shaking off the though, George strode through the building, pushing open the sliding glass door at the other side and entering the airport, Gliders towering all around him. His heart began to pound as he looked around hesitantly, and then in one swift motion pulled himself up and into one of the Gliders.

The Glider was essentially a large metal oval, hollow inside, with metal wings, that somehow managed to fly. George exhaled, dropping his bag over his shoulder on the first seat and sitting in the second. He tapped the clear glass screen embedded in the Glider, bringing it to life.

The Glider's message appeared. Good afternoon. What may I call you?

Panicking, George typed in "Darryl", but the message No account by that name popped up. Frantic, George typed name after name until the word "Nick" finally worked. With a soft hiss, the engines started up and the Glider was brought to life.

There was a shout, and looking out the window, George could see the first worker, running out and waving his arms desperately. George slammed the door shut, turning to the screen once more and issuing the command "hover 1". The Glider rose one foot in the air and stilled.

A bang sounded. A gunshot. Adrenaline shot through George's lungs, and his fingers flew across the screen. "Forward 100". "Speed 10".

The Glider hesitated, and then shot forwards with enough force that George's back slammed against his chair. He couldn't breath. A panicked scream fought its way out of his mouth as he struggled to operate the machine.

The Glider stilled once more, and George took a breath, gasping, but it didn't last long. The Glider drew back and slammed into the concrete wall.

George yelled as the impact threw him backwards, out of his seat. The sound of scraping metal resounded loudly through the Glider, followed by a horribly loud screech as the Glider broke free of the airport room. It flew forwards, towards the forest, still a single foot above the ground, at a breakneck pace.

Clawing his way up from the floor, George managed to type "Up 10". The glider rose shakily and kept flying, now a rather large distance from the airport.

Twisting with difficulty, George managed to glimpse the airport building. The workers stood, about 5 of them in total, waving their arms frantically. They made no attempt to stop him, however, so George clambered into his seat and began typing furiously.

"Speed 75". "Up 10". "Left 5." With strangely accurate commands, George carefully piloted the Glider towards the left of the airport. He could do this. You can do this, George.

As they flew, George slowly relaxed. He had no idea where he was going, but the flight was smooth, calm, even. Technology certainly was advanced these days.

A thought crossed his mind. How had that been so easy? They hadn't even known who he was - he had just walked right in and taken the Glider. Heck, there were only two guards by the entrance, and they hadn't done a thing to stop him!

Strange...

George shook off the thought, focusing on his flight. It was still pitch black outside, and he was flying fairly low to the ground. Maybe I should go higher? Or-

His thoughts were cut off abruptly as a large, flying animal swooped down, its dark wings spread wide, a small hiss heard as it pulled up short in front of the Glider and ascended into the sky.

George leapt backwards, gasping in shock. What the hell was that? A bat? A phantom?

A bat, for sure.

A phantom?

What was that?
Where was that from?

Frowning, George tried to remember. Phantoms, came out at night...

It was a good thing the Glider could run itself, because George sat there for a good 10 minutes, thinking hard.

A large crackling startled him out of his thoughts, and then a voice riddled with static. George sat, frozen, listening.

Bring back the Glider. Surrender and you will not die. We are tracking you. Surrender now.

What followed was a series of beeps and clicks George didn't understand in the slightest, but the static cut off and the Glider was silent once more.

The fact that they were tracking him didn't even matter to him, not at the moment. George sat still for another moment.

It slowly hit him.

He had a friend.

Or a coworker, maybe. Someone he had interacted with on a regular basis, before interactions were banned.

He couldn't remember the name.

But they had played... A game? Together?

No, not played, worked on. They had made it?
A game with things called Phantoms?
George shook his head, frustrated. His hands worked their way into his pockets, and without him realizing, he took out his phone, typing in the password and finally getting it right.

His hands took him straight to the phone commander, even though he knew he couldn't use it. Even though it was dangerous.

But he was already being tracked... would it really hurt to just use the app?
This is a bad idea, his head warned.

But George didn't listen.

His fingers flew across the keypad, and as if by magic, a phone number appeared. His memory did the work for him, and a few seconds later, the phone was by his ear.

He waited breathlessly as the phone rang.

Then:
"Status, citizen, Number, uh- wait, I have it here somewhere-"
A familiar voice.

One he knew too well. So well, he could hear it in his head.

The name came to him.

"Clay?"