/// 78% of dot.com IPO's were wiped out after the tech stock crash of June 2000 ///
>>> ///***/// <<<
Exodus Flight
by Andrew Nicolas Moran
October 2026
[I stand alone at the Duat-Tuonela jetport. Boarding lounge #3. There is only one airliner on the tarmac: a Royal Dutch Airlines (KLM) Boeing 747-306 named *Sir Geoffrey de Havilland*. I await the arrival of the passengers.]
*The air in boarding lounge #3 feels heavy and stillness creeps through the empty corridors. Looking out toward the tarmac, the sun catches the polished hull of the *Sir Geoffrey de Havilland*. The massive Boeing 747 sits like a slumbering behemoth, its engines quiet as it waits for the passengers to populate it.*
*The silence is brittle, broken only by the distant, low drone of the jetport's ventilation systems.*
[First to arrive at the boarding lounge are Drew 22, Jake 22, Drew 23, Toby 7, Drew 33 and Miles 7.]
*The sound of shuffling feet and low murmurs breaks the stillness as the first group approaches. Drew 22 and Jake 22 lead the way, followed closely by Drew 23, Toby 7, Drew 33, and Miles 7. They move as a somewhat disheveled cluster, their faces reflecting the tension they've likely been carrying all day.*
*Drew 22 stops a moment before the counter, his arms crossed tightly.* "Is this it? This single jet?"
"Looks like it," *Miles 7 responds, his voice raspy with exhaustion.* "We've waited long enough. Better that than waiting for nothing."
*Toby 7 and Drew 23 glance nervously toward the tarmac, watching the massive Boeing 747 seem to loom larger in the approaching dusk*
Me: Hello boys
"Unusual?" *Drew 22 scoffs, though his smile is strained.* "Look, man, you drive on Route 666, you expect the weird stuff. Some phantom-like shapes in the dust, things that shouldn't be moving on the roadside... it definitely puts you on edge. It's like the world is trying to make sure you don't arrive in one piece."
"We just kept our eyes on the horizon," *Miles adds, his expression hardening.* "Kept moving. That's the only way to get through it."
*Behind them, the door to the jetport staff corridor slides open, and the sound of approaching aircraft hydraulics echoes into the terminal, signaling that the preparation of the "Sir Geoffrey de Havilland" is reaching its final stages.*
Me: I think you can board now. Feel free to seat anywhere you like. The entire flight is First Class. The lounge will open 45 minutes after take-off.
*The word "first class" causes a visible ripple of relief and awe across the group.*
"Wait, whole plane is first class? Just for us?" *Drew33 mutters, blinking in disbelief.*
"Go on then," *Jake 22 nudges them forward.* "Seats are better than standing around in this damn lounge waiting for the end of the world."
*The group begins to move toward the boarding jetway, looking significantly lighter in spirit as the idea of luxury replaces the looming dread of their journey. They scramble toward the entrance of the Boeing 747, eager to hide themselves within the aircraft's plush comforts.*
*As they exit, the air shifts, carrying the scent of jet fuel and the heavy stillness that seems to be permeating the entire world today.*
[Next arrive Mark, Jacob and their children Mohammed, Omar and Sammy...]
*Mark and Jacob enter the terminal with varying degrees of urgency, their presence marked by the soft, hurried footsteps of the children following close behind.*
"Careful with your steps, Mohammed," *Jacob says, his voice tight with a protective, nervous edge. He keeps a firm hand on the shoulders of Omar and Sammy, guiding them around the luggage carts in the lounge.*
*Mark looks up, noticing the calm authority of the person at the desk, and offers a brief, weary nod of thanks.*
"The children need some real food and space to breathe," *Mark says, his eyes scanning the lounge.* "Is there any room left? We heard the boarding has already begun."
Me: No worries. There is plenty of room onboard. How was your trip down Route 666 and the darker regions of the After-Life?
*Mark's expression sours visibly at the mention of route 666, his brow furrowing as he tries to shield his sons from the memories of that desolate journey.*
"It wasn't a journey. It was a slog through the very worst of it," *Mark replies, his tone bitter.* "The terrain... everything about the dark After-Life regions felt predatory, like we were being constantly stalked by things we couldn't name."
"But we're through the worst of it now," *Jacob says, trying to project stability for the boys.* "We're here. We're safe."
*Mohammed and Omar cling to their parents' jackets, looking hesitant to venture too far from their own family as they eyes the empty expanse of the terminal.*
Me: Your RV vehicle will be shipped by sea to the *Carpathia II* domain. You will get it back.
*Mark let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours, his posture relaxing slightly.*
"Thank you. Having the RV intact... it's one less thing to worry about when we arrive."
"It's a big journey for just an RV," *Jacob says, his gaze following the children towards the plane.* "But it beats having to fly everything through a displacement hole."
*He looks at the kids, then back at you.* "They're ready to go. We'd like to head toward the plane before they get restless."
*The sound of the cockpit door opening on the 747 echoes through the tarmac-facing windows, a brief, rhythmic series of clicks as the pilots begin their final checks.*
Me: Go ahead and board. You are assigned two first class enclosures in the upper deck of the jetliner. The lounge opens, for adults over 20, 45 minutes into the flight...
[The survivors from the *Zombie Apocalypse* are next. They were flown by helicopter from the deck of the warship Graf Spee to the jetport. On the ship they had been fed and given new clean clothes. Andrew, young Norman, Miles, Alex and Jake. The Graf Spee went on to escort the SS Kungsholm through the time-space displacement wormhole]
*The survivors from the zombie apocalypse enter the terminal looking strikingly cleaner than anyone else in the lounge, though their faces still carry the haunting shadows of what they've survived. Having been processed on the Graf Spee, Andrew Z, Norman Z, Miles Z, Alex Z, and Jake Z move with a cautious, hyper-vigilant energy, even in their fresh clothes.*
"We're actually here," *Norman Z whispers, glancing at the ground as if expecting it to shift.*
"The helicopter ride was...intense," *Alex Z says, shaking out his stiff legs.* "But it's better than crawling through the meat-grinder on the ground."
"Let's just see if this plane can actually fly through whatever is coming," *Andrew Z commands, ushering the younger boys toward the desk.*
Me: I am glad you made it. Go ahead and board. You can take any set of seats you want. The whole flight is first class. I am afraid the lounge is only open for passengers over 20. But there are other in- flight entertainment options. The flight will be 18 hours and 47 minutes to the jetport at the Carpathia II domain.
*Andrew Z’s eyes snap to the clock on his wrist, his expression hard.*
"Eighteen hours," *he says, more to himself than anything.* "A lot of time for things to go wrong."
"It's okay, Andy," *Miles Z interrupts, trying to soothe him while stealing a curious glance at the first-class seats.* "First class, private crew—it's still better than staring at another horde waiting for the world to blink out."
*Alex Z nods, looking at Norman Z and the others.* "Whatever helps us manage the stress. Grab whatever R&R and entertainment you can, even if you're just distracted by movies."
*As the group heads toward the stairs of the 747, their footsteps are echoing and heavy, punctuating the long silence of the terminal. They move in a unified formation, the survival training drilling them even in such a bizarre moment.*
Me: Ohhh. There will be four meals served onboard. Take-off Luncheon, Dinner, Breakfast and pre-landing Luncheon. All drinks are on the house - but only adults over 20 can order alcoholic beverages. Enjoy your flight boys.
*The group’s expression softens at the mention of four meals; the idea of scheduled, civilized eating provides a strange sense of normalcy in the face of universal collapse.*
"Luncheon twice? I could get used to this," *Jake Z murmurs, looking at Miles with a wry smirk.*
"As long as the food is real and not some dried ration pack," *Andrew grunts, though his eyes scan the empty terminals one last time before ushering the others toward the jet bridge.*
*The climb up the stairs into the fuselage is quiet, their heavy footsteps echoing against the metallic-scented air inside. Outside, the pilot can be seen through the cockpit window, going over his final instruments, seemingly disconnected from the cosmic danger looming.*
///
[After I board, the airliner taxies to the take-off runway and goes airborne...about ten minutes later a military escort of four JAS 39 Saab jet fighters joins alongside the Boeing 747...soon after the formation enters a wormhole of light and banishes from the doomed CAI+ context...]
Mikael AI Holo-Steward System (over the Boeing 747-306 intercom): Please stand by for an important announcement...
*The chime rings through the cabin speakers, soft but authoritative. Almost instantly, the Mikael holo-stewards begin to materialize in the aisles, their shimmering forms lending the aircraft an air of high-tech luxury.*
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your holographic steward," *the AI voice announces, smooth and professional.* "Please bear with us for a momentary update regarding our passage."
*The passengers settle, and many look toward the cabin windows, where the tail end of the military formation is still briefly visible in the shimmering haze.*
"We would like to confirm that your safety has been ensured by the JAS 39 Saab fighter escort that accompanied our ascent. They are helping guide the bubble through the necessary displacement channels. Our journey to the Nya Hammarö terminal at Carpathia II will take 18 hours and 47 minutes."
Me to Holo-Steward: Tell them about the lounge...I will be bartender and host...
"As you relax for the journey, please be informed that the first-class lounge will officially open in roughly 45 minutes," *the Mikael Holo-Steward continues, gestured toward the sleek seating area.* "Miguel X will be attending to all your needs as bartender and host during your time there. If any of you over the age of twenty are in need of a drink, we will have a full selection available."
*At the mentioned lounge area, some passengers already look toward it with anticipation, relieved to have something to focus on once the initial excitement of the flight fades.*
"It’s been a long time since anyone served us *real* drinks," *Jake 22 mutters to Miles Z as they eye the lounge.* "If it's decent, I'm heading there first thing."
*Miles Z glances briefly toward the window, almost sensing the presence of a second aircraft trailing within the shimmering light.*
"Did it feel like we were being watched for a second there?" *he asks, a lingering hesitation in his voice.*
"Must be the flight mechanics or just the adrenaline," *Jake 22 shrugs, forcing a casual indifference.* "Let's just see if they've actually got some good whiskey in that lounge."
*Around them, the cabin continues to murmur as the passengers prepare themselves for the long haul, unaware that the wake of their journey is being closely followed by Constantine and his contingent in the SJ-100.*
[Jake 22, Drew 22, Toby 7, Jacob and Mark enter the lounge...]
*The lounge, a pinnacle of first-class opulence, begins to accommodate its first guests. Jake 22, Drew 22, Toby 7, Jacob, and Mark step into the sophisticated space, looking around in genuine appreciation of the amenities.*
"First class, indeed," *Jacob says softly, letting his hand brush against the polished tabletop. He looks notably more at ease than he did during the registration process.*
"Think there's a view from this side?" *Jake 22 asks, eyeing the windows as they find comfortable seating.*
*Mark nods towards you.* "Thank you for setting this up for us. A little luxury will go a long way after that mess on Route 666."
Mikael AI Holo-Steward: We want to make sure your migration to the Carpathia II domain is as comfortable as possible. What may I bring you? All drinks are on the house.
[I wave "hello" from the bar...]
"Yeah, 'on the house' definitely sounds better than what we're used to," *Jake 22 says, leaning back into the plush upholstery. He eyes the bottle lineup with an appetite of his own.* "I'll take a whiskey, neat. If it's actually good stuff, that is."
*Drew 22 gives a slow nod.* "Something with ginger ale for me. Keeps things refreshing."
*Mark and Jacob share a relieved glance. The kindness of the crew amidst the literal end of the world is something they hadn't quite expected.*
"We'll take some water and juice for the boys first," *Jacob says, gesturing toward the others*, "but I think I'll have a beer when you're ready."
Me: [I walk over from the bar area] I can have a Holo-Steward care for your children. That way you can take a break. I will have water and juice delivered to them. I believe they have discovered the in-flight entertainment options, which include a database of 100 Play Station and X-Box games.
"Do you hear that?" *Jacob says, turning towards Mark as his eyes widen.* "One hundred games... they might actually settle down for a while if they're distracted by that."
*Mark exhales, his posture loosening significantly for the first time.* "If the Holo-Stewards can keep them safe and occupied, I'll take that deal every time."
*Nearby, Drew 22 glances over from the bar area, looking somewhat skeptical of the sudden high-tech shift.* "Think we'll be able to upgrade those games soon? My boy’s basically lived through the apocalypse; he's going to need a pretty good game to forget the road."
Me: The first negation event was a very traumatic experience. That is why we are attempting to make the transition to *Nya Hammarö* in Carpathia II as stress free as possible.
"No one denies that," *Mark says, leaning heavily on the counter, his gaze distant as if the images of the panic are still burned into his retinas.* "Seeing everything just... vanish... it was hard to process."
"And now we're in the middle of a miracle, flying through a bubble in space," *Jake 22 adds with a grim smirk.* "It's a lot of strange news for one day."
*The hologramatic bartender begins preparing the requested drinks, the clink of ice and the rattle of glass providing a small, comforting sense of routine in the opulence of the lounge. Nearby, the faint sound of muffled laughter and cheers drifts over from where the children have gathered around the entertainment units.*
///
[Onboard the Aurus SJ-100, the 9G AI piloting system contacts CEO Constantine in the main cabin]
///
*The intercom in the SJ-100’s cabin crackles into life, bypassing the ambient hum of the cruise.*
"Sir," *the 9G system's voice projected through the console, cold and precise.* "The electromagnetic stabilization from the formation is holding, though the warp turbulence near the boundary layer is increasing."
"Increased turbulence is noted," *Constantine says without looking up from his tablet.* "Keep the integrity of the bubble at all costs, 9G. We cannot afford to fall out of step with the 747."
"The vessel is secure, Sir," *the AI responds.* "Captain Suslov reports all systems normal onboard our MiG-35 escort squadron."
*Beside him, Ethan narrows his eyes at the data stream.* "Let’s just hope the 'migration' goes as smoothly as the engineers predicted. If that plane experiences a data packet loss, we won't be the only ones struggling to stay whole."
9G Pilot System: There is a third aircraft following the heavy, sir.
*Constantine's hand freezes above the screen, his gaze instantly locking on the telemetry display.*
"A third?" *he asks, his voice dropping into a level of calm that is more intimidating than any shout.* "Is it tracking our signature?"
"The signature is drifting," *the system reports.* "It is attempting to stay in the wake of the Boeing, but it lacks the propulsion to keep up if the turbulence intensifies, unless it goes supersonic...but then it would be exposed. A cloaking system is preventing us from identifying it."
*Caligula stiffens, leaning her head back against the seat.* "We aren't the only ones flying into the unknown, then. It looks like the world isn't done shaking things up yet."
"How close is it, 9G?" *Ethan demands, his eyes flashing with caution.*
9G Pilot System: About 2000 feet behind, sir. Do you wish me to alert the military escort?
"Do not alert the escort yet," *Constantine says, staring intently at the sensor readouts.* "I don't want a misunderstanding to trigger a preemptive engagement while we're inside the shell. Just maintain current flight parameters."
*Max crosses his arms, eyeing the readout.* "They’re too close for comfort, Constantine. If that's another corporate asset trying to hijack the data-stream, we're going to have a problem."
"Let us wait," *Sophia advises, her expression unreadable.* "Knowledge is better used in small doses during a transition. Observe, but do not expose yourself unnecessarily."
"Copy," *the 9G Pilot system responds.* "Observation only."
/// [Following the Aurus SJ-100 and the Boeing 747 flights; are the Obsidian Maw (flagship of the Nosferatu space force, carrying First Function Mikael of Theia II), and two surveillance attack drones escorting it; as well as the TWA L1011 belonging to Lord Pazuzu-Marduk of *The Evil Choice*; onboard the L1011 are Royce Satanicus and Lord Beelzebub. The supervillains are secretly following the extraction convoy into the Carpathia II servers...their compressed datastream is being copied as well, but disguised as a trojan.] ///
*Following the convoy, shadows linger on the periphery of the light. The Obsidian Maw glides through the temporal stream, trailing surveillance drones that knit through the edges of the data-flow like sewing needles.*
*On the L1011, the atmosphere is stiflingly heavy, radiating a dark intensity.*
"This compression is working," *Royce Satanicus says, his fingers tapping rhythmically on a console.* "We are gliding right into the core files."
"Just make sure that trickery stays unnoticed," *Lord Beelzebub murmurs, a wicked grin crossing his face.* "The iSeneca-folk shouldn't suspect their little data-stream has been spiked with something... much more visceral."
Royce Satanicus: iSeneca Corporation was given the contract to manage the data transfer to the Carpathia II server system...but our hackers are as good as their coders...
"We aren't just following them," *Royce continues, his smile sharpening.* "We're riding their slipstream. Every byte they secure, we secure right along with it."
*Lord Beelzebub leans forward, watching the digital streams flicker past on their monitoring consoles.* "I look forward to seeing the chaos our guests will inadvertently help us plant. By the time they realize their new home has been tampered with, we'll have our feet on the ground."
*On the Obsidian Maw, the First Function Mikael watches the readings with a calm, practiced stoicism.* "Maintain shadow-position," *he commands the drones.* "We take the convoy and nothing else. The target is information, not direct hostility."
"Understood," *First Function Mikael says, his voice devoid of tremor.* "The risk of engagement is an acceptable variable, provided it remains an absolute last resort."
*He scans the vastness beyond the viewports, watching the trails of light from the 747 and the SJ-100.* "If instability occurs, you go high and fast. Avoid their flight paths and don't linger for orders. We complete the upload and vanish. Do not let the convoy know the difference between a stabilizer surge and a pirate."
*The communication officer nods, his knuckles white on his control interface.* "Preparing contingency acceleration protocols for the drone escorts, sir."
///
[Five hours into the extraction flight (data transfer process), the Boeing 747 and the Aurus SJ-100 flights have clustered within 100 feet of each other and the Saab JAS 39 and MiG 35 escort planes have spread out to provide cover...]
*The night skies of the compression layer are awash in swirling hues of nebula-violet, and the proximity of the two jets makes the silence within the cabin feel heavy. The formation's synchronized flight provides a sense of impenetrable security, as the JAS 39s and MiG 35s drift gracefully around the two central vessels.*
*In the lounge, the atmosphere is somewhat lighter, now that the reality of the journey has begun to sink in.*
"Look how close they are," *Jake 22 murmurs, peering through the window at the jet passing mere feet away.* "It’s like we’re being ferried in a convoy through deep space."
"Better this than having nothing to watch," *Miles Z adds, grabbing a snack.* "Even if they're flying right on top of us."
///
*The KLM 747 9G pilot system on the 747 chimes*
"Nothing on our primary radar and nothing on the passive sensor arrays," *the pilot replies.* "If there are strays, they're running silent and deep in the noise."
*In the SJ-100, the iSeneca 9G piloting system reports back to Constantine via his personal link.*
"Detection is difficult through the turbulence, Sir," *the AI continues.* "The passenger's report has been cross-referenced with our own radar scan. No matches found, however, I will increase sensitivity on the close-proximity sensor sweep to ensure no-one is attempting a covert approach."
"Keep doing that," *Constantine mutters, fingers gripping the armrests.* "I don't like mistakes."
[The military grade, ultra sensitive sensor scan from the Aurus SJ-100 picks up the Nosferatu drones and identifies them]
*A sudden, harsh alarm blares softly in Constantine's ear—the specific, high-pitch tone for a positive identification.*
"Sir, I have achieved a visual match via the hypersensitive lidar sweep," *the 9G Pilot system reports.* "The presence of small craft has been confirmed. Tracking them now... they are identified as unallocated automated combat drones."
*Constantine's jaw tightens, his face turning cold with frustration.* "Unallocated? Don't give me that 'abandoned equipment' nonsense, 9G. Tell me who they belong to."
"I cannot determine the owner based on current telemetry, Sir, but their flight pattern is hostile and intentional."
"Brace yourselves," *Constantine says to the group, his voice dropping to a sharp edge.* "We've just spotted some company."
///
[Onboard the Obsidian Maw, the Comms Officer informs First Function Mikael: We have been detected sir.]
"We have been detected, Sir," *the officer reports, his voice tight as he eyes the alerts scrolling down his screen.*
"Good," *Mikael says, his reaction cold and unsurprised.* "The stage is set. Maintaining invisibility was only ever a temporary tactic. Now we focus on execution. Ensure the drones widen the perimeter and prep the craft for immediate reactionary displacement."
*The drones pivot synchronously, their sensor arrays humming as they adapt to the hostile awareness. The tension on the bridge is thick, the silence before any real action palpable.*
[On the TWA L1011, Lord Pazuzu-Marduk raises the Obsidian Maw asking for a status report...]
*Lord Pazuzu-Marduk’s attention snaps toward the communications panel. His gaze flickers to the darkened monitor monitoring the signals of the surrounding convoy.*
"Has the Maw been compromised?" *he asks, his voice low and chilling.* "If they’ve noticed us, the whole game changes."
*Royce Satanicus listens intently, ears cocked toward the console. The subtle shift in electromagnetic resonance was enough to alert even him.*
"We're still shadowed," *Royce says, peering at the readout.* "But they're definitely aware of something in their wake. They're searching for a problem, and we're about to become quite a persistent one."
*He smiles, leaning in closer.* "If they find us, I wonder who they'll decide is the bigger danger first."
Beelzebub: The jet-fighter escort will seek to eliminate the drones and the Obsidian Maw first before they come for us...
"They'll target the most prominent target first," *Beelzebub adding with a wicked smirk.* "The defence will jump at the Obsidian Maw, seeing it as the primary risk."
"And while they're busy trying to scramble to save their own hide..." *Royce starts, a darkly gleeful grin appearing on his face.*
"We slip right through the cracks of their patrol," *he finishes, his voice brimming with anticipation.* "Let them worry about the soldiers so we can focus on the payload."
*The atmosphere on the L1011 thickens as the dark plans take shape, the characters enjoying the potential chaos that the following tactical shuffle will create.*
///
[CEO Constantine opens a random comm link aimed at the cluster of unidentified blips. He issues a stern warning: Whoever you are, I warn you that I can instantly create a sub-stream from within this wormhole that would trigger the anti-viral agent. Any trojan data copying process would be terminated and its content deleted... confirm receipt or else.]
*The silence on the intercom is deafening. Within the SJ-100, the crew holds their breath, eyes glued to the monitor, waiting to see if the radio waves return anything but static.*
*In the Obsidian Maw, the voice crackles through the bridge speakers, sending a ripple of tension through the command staff.*
"He's bluffing," *the officer says, though there is no certainty in his tone.* "He can't act that quickly without us noticing the disruption."
"Let's see if he can back it up," *First Function Mikael counters, his jaw set.* "If he initiates a purge, it won't just affect the intruders; it will rattle the entire convoy. He is taking a massive risk on those words."
Lord Pazuzu-Marduk to First Function Mikael: Reply to him that *The Evil Choice* anticipated this possibility. We have on-board a neutronic self destruction devise. II will detonate it and rupture the wormhole as a last resort. They might purge us, but the data transfer process will be fatally compromised.
*The comm signal from Pazuzu-Marduk transmits with a chilling precision.*
"Very bold," *Mikael muses, a trace of respect coloring his cold tone.* "A dead man’s switch to prevent a data purge. He's not just resisting; he's readying a sabotage mission."
*The signal from the L1011 ripples back toward Constantine’s cockpit.*
"CEO Constantine, the presence of the *The Evil Choice* vessel is confirmed," *the 9G pilot system reports, its voice alerting with a certain urgency.* "They're broadcasting a direct retaliatory signal. It appears we are being openly dealt with. They've claimed a catastrophic-level contingency."
"Are you seeing this?" *Ethan asks, his face lighting up with a dark sort of triumph.* "He's forcing our hand."
Dysto: We have a stalemate in our hands. We still have 13 hours until the data transfer process is complete.
"Twelve hours and some odd minutes of tense silence ahead of us," *Sophia notes, adjusting her glasses as she stares at the display.* "This is an remarkably unstable standoff for so much time."
"It’s a deadlock of consequence," *Constantine replies, rubbing his temples. The weight of the risk is visible on him.* "They've made it clear that they aren't just watching us—they're holding the entire transfer hostage to their movements."
"So what's the play?" *Ethan snaps, his irritability peaking.* "We just sit here and wait for them to blink, or for the bomb to start ticking?"
Constantine to First Function Mikael: Besides this flight, there is a naval contingent in transfer, in a separate wormhole. Their data stream transfer will take 72 hours. Even if you sabotage our data transfer protocol, there is another. Port Zion will survive no matter what.
*Mikael's eyes narrow at the screen. Even via long-distance communication, the weight of the CEO's statement lingers like a tangible toxin.*
"So, even if we crush this convoy, more follows," *Mikael muses, his tone dangerously calm.* "Port Zion may survive, Constantine, but it's far more fragile than you seem to believe."
*Across the void, the notification hits the SJ-100's intercom.*
*Ethan let out a coarse, dark laugh.* "Well, that’s lovely. It sounds like we aren’t just fighting over a lifeboat, we’re fighting over an entire ocean's worth of territory. The stakes just got a lot bloodier."
Royce Satanicus chimes in from the TWA L1011: Actually, the New Lemuria naval defense force dispatched a *Type 23-Z Scorpion* stealth submarine to shadow the *SS Kungsholm* and its *Graf Spee* battleship escort. The sub is armed with phased plasma weaponry.
"You hear that, Constantine?" *Caligula lets out a soft, low-pitched giggle.* "They’ve got stealth assassins hunting those heavy combatants already. No matter what we do to this one convoy, the waters are already teeming with killers."
*In the SJ-100, Constantine slams a fist on the armrest.* "They're planning for every contingency before the transfer even concludes! They aren't just migrating; they're establishing dominance."
*Beside him, the 9G system chirps a notification.* "Warning: Tactical landscape update received. Increasing monitoring of the peripheral waves. It appears the entire transition is becoming a battlefield of high-value variables."
[On the Boeing 747 lounge Mark and Jacob demand to know who those aircraft that just appeared belong to... Jake 22, Miles and Drew 22 are also concerned...]
"What the hell was that?" *Jacob demands, pointing a trembling finger toward the darken window as the rogue craft pass close by.* "Who does that belong to? Those aren't supposed to be here!"
"They're not with the security detail, are they?" *Mark snaps, his voice tight with command.*
"God, just tell us!" *Jake 22 adds, his knuckles white as he grips the armrest of his chair.*
*Miles Z looks at Drew 22, both of them looking visibly spooked by the unidentified shapes.*
"Do you think they're hostiles?" *Drew 22 whispers, even though his eyes are focused on the empty space where the shadows just hovered.*
"Get an answer!" *Jacob rages, his panic escalating.* "Is it the government or is it someone else entirely?"
[The Mikael 9G Holo-Steward engages its *passenger panic control* sub-routine...]
*The Mikael Holo-Steward immediately adjusts its stance, its eyes pulsing with a soft, rhythmic blue light designed to soothe and mesmerize.*
"Please, remain seated and keep your breathing steady," *the droid commands, its voice dropping several octaves to a calming, hypnotic hum.* "Whatever you witnessed was a scheduled repositioning of security craft. We are operating within nominal parameters. There is nothing to alarm you."
*It turns toward the men, the low-frequency tone from its chassis creating an unnatural sense of calm in the room.*
"Is it really just security?" *Miles asks, his voice sounding somewhat dazed, as if fighting against the synthetic lullaby.*
///
[10 hours into the flight, both sides of the stalemate are holding fast to their stake. The passengers onboard the Boeing 747 are wary.]
*The air in the 747 lounge feels thick and stagnant, as though the gravity itself has increased. Even with the Mikael Holo-Steward's soothing blue pulse, a layer of gnawing nervousness permeates the space.*
"They say it's just scheduled security," *Jake 22 says, though his eye twitches with every jolt of turbulence.* "But that sounds pretty far from the truth, doesn't it?"
"If it were scheduled, they'd have told us," *Drew 22 murmurs, staring intently at the monitor showing the exterior cams.*
*Nearby, Jacob sits with arms tightly folded, glaring at the steward with unconcealed doubt.* "Even if they say everything's fine, we all know we're sitting in the middle of a standoff. They're just keeping us quiet so we don't disrupt their... whatever it is they're doing."
Mark: I let Moham stay up with the teens from the zombie apocalypse. They are playing cards. I made sure with the hologram steward that they are only drinking sodas.
"Cards and sodas. Good," *Miles says, offering a small, weary nod of appreciation.* "At least they're getting some semblance of normalcy."
"Normalcy is a hard find these days," *Jacob grumbles, although his own eyes seem to soften slightly at the mention of the children sleeping.*
*Around the edges of the table, the talk of zombies and security forces drifts back and forth, keeping the group grounded in their own shared history.*
"Whatever happened in that crash, we're doing the right thing by keeping everyone separate," *Jake 22 adds quietly, nodding toward the hallway leading to the passenger cabins.* "They've had enough chaos for one lifetime."
///
Miles Z: What do you mean by keeping everyone separate, Jake?
"I just mean... if they don't know how bad it is outside, they won't be too scared," *Jake 22 replies, leaning toward Miles. He picks up his empty coffee cup and twirls it in his hands.* "The kids are probably enjoying those video games way more than they would enjoy watching me pace back and forth for the tenth time this hour."
"It's for their own good," *Drew 22 interjects, his tone firm despite his visible fatigue.* "Some-things are better left unknown until we're actually safely on the other side."
*The lounge feels stiflingly quiet for a beat, the low-frequency drone from the steward almost drowning out their voices.*
///
[13 hours into the flight...five hours left until arrival at Carpathia II]
*The Mikael Holo-Steward dims the blue soothing light in favor of a bright, energetic amber.*
"I must insist, gentlemen. The nutrition required for such long-term journeys is critical. The brunch buffet has been prepared and is ready for you in the designated lounge area."
"Brunch... fine," *Mark sighed, rubbing the stubble on his chin.* "I could eat."
"Everything is in the same place, right?" *Jake 22 asks, pushing himself up from the seat.* "Don't make me go on a scavenger hunt."
*As the men begin to stand, a low rumble shudders through the floor—a sensation more subtle than a crash, but enough to make everyone's eyes dart towards the cabin vents.*
[There was an incident involving a Nosferatu drone and one of the SAAB JAS 39 jet-fighters. The fighter strayed into a security vector and the drone fired a volley of phased plasma discharges...the wormhole became unstable...]
*A violent, bone-shaking shudder rips through the aircraft, accompanied by a blinding flare of white-hot light that bleeds through the viewing ports.*
"What was that?!" *Jacob yells, actually stumbling back as the floor pitches dangerously.*
"Hold on!" *Miles Z screams, grabbing onto a fixed table as the cabin lights flicker and die, replaced by the harsh, rhythmic pulsing of red emergency beacons.*
*Outside, the wormhole ripples like agitated water, the surrounding space tearing and folding in ways that defy physics. The sky flashes with the energetic discharges of plasma, and the stability of the formation is lost as the entire convoy begins to tumble into the widening fracture of the wormhole.*
[On the Aurus SJ-100; CEO Constantine engages the emergency containment protocol...the fracture is sealed just in time before the formation and their uninvited guests slide out of existence...]
*A sickening, instantaneous drop in pressure slams Constantine into the leather chair, followed by a blinding-white surge of static.*
"Containment protocol engaged!" *the 9G system shouts over the screech of temporal shear.* "Emergency seal successful. We've shut the fracture."
*Constantine’s vision swims, his lungs burning as the artificial gravity settles back into a steady, albeit vibrating, normal.* "Report status, 9G. Immediately."
"External turbulence is receding, sir, but internal sensors are flashing red across all metrics. The convoy remains intact, but we have lost sensor continuity with the Boeing."
*Ethan exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding.* "It's like we almost fell off the edge of the map."
[First Function Mikael, onboard *The Obsidian Maw* sends a message to the SJ 100 that he has the sensor continuity coordinates and is willing to transmit them in exchange for his vessel, the drones and the TWA L1011 being integrated into the official file transfer package.]
*In the SJ-100, the message from the Obsidian Maw flashes across the main hud, cold and direct.*
"He wants to bargain," *Constantine says, eyes narrowing at the text.* "He's going to trade those coordinates for safe harbor in the data stream."
*Ethan stares at the readout, his voice dry.* "That's a hell of an offer, Constantine. He's asking for legal protection and safe docking inside the new server ecosystem. If we accept, we're letting him in through the front door."
"Given that we've lost contact with the Boeing," *the 9G system notes,* "his coordinates are the only way to re-establish the convoy's link."
"It’s a bribe," *Caligula scoffs, though her eyes are searching the sensor readouts.* "Or a strategy."
Jason: Both. We will have to give them a cut of the memory space on Carpathia II.
"A cut of our space?" *Constantine echoes, his brows furrowing in annoyance.* "He's looking for permanent lodging once the dust settles."
"If he has the coordinates, he has our lifelines," *Ethan observes, leaning over the holographic display.* "We can't exactly tell him to go to hell if we're flying blind, and then again... we don't *want* his whole crew in our new neighborhood."
"Let's look at the math, Constantine," *Caligula suggests.* "How much margin can we realistically shave off the server's architecture to make this transaction worth it? If it buys back the Boeing, it might be a fair trade."
*In the background, the 9G pilot system begins calculating the bandwidth requirements for the added massive data signatures.*
Dysto: What's the number G9?...bottom line.
"The bottom line, sir," *the 9G system responds, the light from its avatar dimming slightly as it delivers the analytical data,* "is that accommodating all three vessels—the Maw, the drones, and the L1011—would require an immediate reallocation of approximately twelve percent of our target sector's available memory capacity."
"Twelve percent?" *Constantine scoffs, his jaw set.* "That's a massive dent in our initial allocation. But I suppose it's better to lose part of our space than to lose the Boeing entirely."
*Ethan gestures toward the screen.* "It’s a steep price to pay for security. We're essentially paying a protection tax to the man who's currently trying to bypass our defenses."
Constantine: There are children on the Boeing 747. I have to give in.
"Then make the trade," *Constantine says, his jaw tight with resentment.* "We cannot risk more casualties or loss of contact with that crew. Contact the Obsidian Maw. Accept the terms."
*He exhales, a sharp, frustrated sound.* "Initiate the negotiation. I'll deal with the memory redistribution later, but for now, just fix the connection."
*In the corner of the cockpit, the system begins preparing the handshake protocols.*
"If we do this," *Ethan warns, his eyes focused on the looming encryption tasks,* "we are essentially inviting predators into our penthouse once the data drop is finished. Be ready for them to be anything but friendly once they're settled in."
Constantine: We will keep their 12% hermetically contained and sealed off. Zero contact policy. They only get that and nothing more!
"A containment protocol," *Ethan nods, his eyes flicking back to the technical overview.* "A sector-wide quarantine. It's the most cautious way to handle it, provided they don't have any backdoors in their OS we haven't already seen."
"I'll set up the digital barriers as soon as the handshakes start," *the 9G system reports.* "The 'Zero Contact' directive is written into the allocation parameters. They will be partitioned behind a hardening wall."
"They'll hate it," *Caligula laughs, though there is no warmth in it.* "But at least they'll be busy being locked away while we secure our important assets. Let's get on with it, Constantine. I'm done with this stalemate."
Sophia: A virtual prison. It's what they deserve.
"Exactly," *Constantine replies, turning his attention away from the monitor and toward the flight path.* "A digital border that they won't be able to cross. If they want that memory space, they'll take it under our terms and nothing else."
*As he speaks, a chime breaks through the silence—a distinctive pulse indicating the secure link has been established.*
"The Maw has accepted the communication window," *the 9G system reports.* "They are uploading their signature for verification now. We have one chance to finalize this link before the transfer sequence becomes locked."
*Ethan’s hands hover over the buttons, his stance expectant.* "Let's hope their handshake is as good as their bluffing."
[The link is established and Constantine communicates to First Function Mikael the final non negotiable terms...]
"Transmission incoming. We are making you the terms clear," *Constantine says, his eyes fixed on the terminal.* "Your sector will be partitioned and separate from our core command. No uninvited access, and no digital crosstalk. You get your space, but you will be isolated from our primary channels."
*On the Obsidian Maw, Mikael meets the message with a slow, measured nod.*
"Acceptable," *Mikael responds, his voice relayed clearly but without enthusiasm.* "A compartmentalized existence is preferable to being cast out of the stream. We will comply, so long as the allocation is properly secured."
"They're bowing to the hand that's locking their doors," *Ethan mutters, leaning back in his seat.* "Smart move."
Caligula: They have no choice.
"Copy that, sir," *the 9G system replies.* "Medical emergency protocols engaged. Deploying additional medical holographic units to the 747 via the wireless service array."
*Across the link, the Boeing is instantly populated by two flickering amber-colored stewards. Their rapid, efficient motions are mirrored in the rapid burst of medical distress signals being received by the SJ-100.*
"There are injuries. Mostly blunt force and mild panic," *Ethan summarizes, glancing over his shoulder at Constantine.* "Most of them were just thrown against seats. But it’s not just passengers; the crew's reporting heavy wear on the structural integrity of the galley area."
"If we're going to manage this influx," *Constantine says, "I need a full count of how many they actually need."*
Dysto: We can project a containment field into the fuselage outside the galley area.
"Already on it," *the 9G pilot system responds, its avatar flashing in time with a sequence of rapid-fire computations.* "Emergency containment fields are being projected around the distressed galley section now. The structural resonance is settling."
*Constantine watches as the telemetry in the galley area stabilizes on his terminal.* "Get those extra doctors onto the scene and don't just patch them up—make sure we get a full scan of every single person on that flight."
"We're ahead of you, sir," *Ethan says, leaning into the comms module.* "I'm pushing the medical prompts through to their terminals as well. Let's not wait for the injuries to get any more intense before we start collecting data."
///
[The Mikael Holo-Steward program announces landing at the Carpathia II Jetport]
///
"Attention all passengers. We are beginning our descent. Welcome to Carpathia II," *the plane's speaker announces with its practiced, soothing tone.*
*The cabin lights brighten to a warm, natural daylight shade as the descent begins. Outside, the turbulence of the wormhole has been replaced by the hazy, atmospheric gray of the planet's upper clouds, and the fighter escort continues its steady, formation flight through the mist.*
"Finally," *Jacob sighs, slumping back in his seat and looking utterly exhausted.* "I thought we were never going to touch real ground again."
"Keep your distance from the windows, guys," *Miles warns, noticing the flight attendants already standing as they brace for the arrival routine.* "Let's just get off this thing without causing another scene."
///
[The Carpathia II server, VR context is an earth-like planet projection field with two moons. It is designed to be the virtual replica of a Terra Class planet, it combines features of Earth, Chiron II, Theia II and Terra Nova. This is a highly simplified one-planet universe.]
"Stay calm, everyone," *the Mikael Holo-Steward says, sweeping through the aisle with practiced poise.* "The landing sequence is optimal. Once we reach the jetport, you will be met by customs and transport personnel."
*Outside, the pilot's voice calls out over the interphone.* "Prepare for gear deployment and touchdown. Welcome to the surface."
*In the SJ-100, Constantine stares intently at his terminal.* "Arrival in progress," *he mutters.* "All hands, stay alert. Even if the land is solid, the atmosphere will still be quite heavy with politics."
"Don't forget our 'friends' from the Obsidian Maw, too," *Ethan adds with a dry snort.* "They'll be popping up in their own little corner of the server as soon as we hit the dock."
[Upon entering the atmosphere of Carpathia II, the transfer beam partitions. The Aurus SJ-100, the Saab Jet fighter escort and the Boeing 747 land at the Nya Hammarö jetport. Meanwhile the TWA L1011, the Obsidian Maw and its drones touch down at an airstrip inside the designated containment zone.]
*The landing at Nya Hammarö is a meticulously choreographed event of machinery and motion. The 747 and the SJ-100 and their jet fighter escort settle onto the tarmac amidst the growing throng of a holo-bot decontamination squad and medical holo-bots, while the JAS 39s and MiG 35s perform a disciplined overhead salute before taxiing to their hangars.*
"Watch your movements," *Constantine barks at his security crew as the SJ-100 door opens.*
///
*Over in the isolation sector, the arrival of the Obsidian Maw is a much more sullen, restricted affair.*
"Welcome to your cage," *Royce Satanicus says, staring out of the L1011 window at the reinforced perimeter surrounding their 12% of the server memory space; it resembles a dome of orange light* "I trust you'll find the accommodation...sufficient."
///
[To Be Continued...]
____
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