“Don’t worry, child, a well-meaning warning isn’t a crime, even if it’s wrong. We don’t curse others with malice, nor do we let the good suffer because of it,” a white-haired, white-bearded old man reassured Bella, sitting beside her.
The old man handed her a business card.
John Grey, Professor of History at Bard College in New York.
Bella didn’t have a business card, so she introduced herself: “Isabella Swan, Professor, you can call me Bella.”
“Hello, Bella, you seem very uneasy. Are you worried about government reprimand? I still know a few friends; you don’t have to be afraid.”
At this moment, Bella indeed felt very guilty. After the impulse to save others had passed, all that remained was fear, and she knew better than anyone what she was about to face—something that beauty, wealth, and status could not combat.
“Do you believe my ramblings?” she asked cautiously.
Many passengers were skeptical, or rather, preferred to believe rather than doubt, with very few unequivocally supporting her and accepting without question.
The old man’s gaze drifted into the distance, his expression gloomy.
“You’re in high school, right? Have you studied American history?”
American history? Bella internally scorned the so-called history of America, only recalling George Washington wielding the Cherry Blossom Axe and Abraham Lincoln, the Vampire Hunter.
She hadn’t received much memory from her previous life, having only been in this world for three days—no time to read books.
Unaware of what the history classes here had taught, she vaguely answered, “I know a bit.”
“Our history is tainted with original sin. This land does not belong to us; this sky resents us. In 1821, in Idaho, everyone in a small town of miners died suddenly—five hundred people, with no wounds, no signs. There were many similar cases. The government thought it was an organized massacre by the Native Americans, but I believe it was nature’s retribution.”
Bella felt the old man’s explanation was very close to the truth. No one could say precisely what Grim Reaper was in the movies.
“I think—” Bella’s words were cut off as a massive, distinctly visible fireball exploded in the distant sky.
Two seconds later, the shockwave from the intense explosion hit the glass of the waiting area, “boom,” sending several passengers standing by the window flying. Newspapers, cups, and hats inside the terminal were blown everywhere.
The drizzle outside was whipped into the waiting area by the fierce wind, coating the visibly bright ground with mud. Perhaps it was an illusion, but Bella thought she could smell a faint scent of blood.
The indoor temperature dropped by three or four degrees instantly, but at that moment, no one had the leisure to think about the glass and the ground. Everyone, including Bella, stared out the window, watching the fireball burn fiercely in the sky and crash towards the ground.
Several men abandoned their decorum, covering their heads in disbelief, while women clutched their children, trying to impart some courage to their offspring, though they were terrified.
“Oh! God!”
“Mommy! I’m scared!”
“Child, don’t be afraid. Mommy is here! Mommy is here!”
The survivors inside the terminal were engulfed in inexplicable panic.
Some kissed their crosses, others sat blankly in their seats, and couples clung to each other, thankful to have escaped the disaster.
A female teacher, still apologizing to the airport manager and hoping her students could board as planned, suddenly turned pale. Filled with relief but mostly regret, she wished she could have stopped everyone if given another chance.
“Didn’t you say the plane was fine?! This is murder! Do you understand, murder! You fool! You’re all murderers!” The frail female teacher grabbed the airport manager by the tie. She believed him when he confidently assured her there was nothing wrong with the plane. And now?
Does this look like everything’s okay? How was she supposed to explain this to the families of the deceased students?
The airport manager was also terrified. It was the pilot who had assured them the plane was fine, and now he was likely dead.
The law can’t touch the dead; it’s the living who must suffer.
“I saw it! I saw the whole scene exactly as I remember it. The plane’s left engine caught fire, and the explosion sent flames into the cabin. I saw you, and you, and you—you all died! Everyone died!”
The frail male student kept insisting on the vision he had foreseen. Bella found his ability quite miraculous, like having experienced a process and then rewinding the individual’s time to tell it convincingly, feeling very real and utterly different from the death omens Bella herself experienced.
Her sense seemed to be some sort of mental perception, while the frail male student was more like a sudden cheat code activation.
Since someone was willing to draw fire, she wouldn’t stand out.
Over a hundred people perished, many of whom Bella still vaguely saw before her eyes, like the female student who mocked her fashion sense and the corporate executive who called her insane. Now, all was lost.
At 9:25 AM, the plane took off and then exploded. Despite the airport deploying search and rescue teams in the heavy rain, everyone was pessimistic about the outcomes, as the chances of survival were slim.
Global Airlines, already under pressure from poor management, faced another severe blow with the Flight 180 disaster. Whether it was a mechanical failure or fuel combustion, nothing could prevent the airline, established in 1925, from plummeting into the abyss.
Police, firefighters, FBI agents, and waves of journalists began questioning the survivors with a barrage of queries.
From religious beliefs to human rights, political affiliations, and favored sports teams.
Among them, the focus of inquiries were Bella, the frail male student Alex, the dark-haired young man Sam, and the brunette female student Claire.
A middle-aged man in a long wool coat showed his credentials to the group. He was a C1 level field director from the FBI’s Phoenix division, with a somewhat cliché or possibly pseudonymous name, introducing himself as Henry.
The least suspicious, brunette female student, Claire Redfield, was the first to be questioned.
“Miss Redfield, I didn’t see any interaction between you and Miss Swan previously. Can you explain why you support her views?”
“It was a vague suspicion that if I boarded, I would die. It’s that simple.”
“A premonition? Is that all? Do you mind if I record this accurately?”
“Of course.”
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