The man's heavy footsteps echoed faintly as he moved closer to the front of the plane, the gun in his hand reflecting the overhead lights. Lucas glanced at the weapon, its black metal body looking cold and deadly. It could end lives in an instant—his life included.
Understood. Here's the revised version without complex words:
Would that be so bad? The question lingered in his mind. Lucas had never been particularly attached to the idea of living. To him, the world was just the same boring cycle every day. He didn't want to kill himself—he knew he didn't have the courage, or maybe he was just waiting until he was too bored to care. But now, this moment gave him a unique opportunity. A chance to die and finally find peace—no more thoughts, no more same thing, just nothing. Lucas believed that after death, there was only nothingness, and to him, that sounded perfect.
Still, another thought lingered: If I take down one of them, the others will definitely kill me.
The hijacker moved further ahead, his back completely exposed. Lucas's fingers twitched against the armrest, his throat dry. This was his chance. A rare opportunity to die—and to take someone with me, he thought grimly.
He clenched his jaw. If I die, I die. If I live... this boring life ends here, one way or another.
The hijacker's focus remained on the cockpit, his posture confident and steps firm. Lucas decided.
With a sharp, deliberate motion, he unbuckled his seatbelt, the faint click barely audible over the cabin's hum. Then, with no hesitation, he lunged forward. His hands gripped the man's arm, yanking him back with all the strength he could muster.
The hijacker let out a guttural shout, stumbling. "What the hell—?"
Lucas's body moved faster than his thoughts. His left hand clamped down on the wrist holding the gun, his fingers digging in with desperate force. The man twisted, trying to break free, but Lucas drove his shoulder into him, throwing him off balance.
The gun hit the floor with a loud metallic clang, skidding slightly before coming to a stop near the base of a seat.
The hijacker snarled, "Get off me!" His voice was filled with rage as he twisted, trying to grab Lucas with his free hand.
Lucas didn't give him the chance. He shoved the man hard to create distance, then lunged toward the fallen weapon. His chest heaved as his fingers stretched out, brushing against the cold metal.
The gun felt heavier than he expected as he wrapped his hand around it. The texture of the grip was rough, unfamiliar, and his palms were damp with sweat. Lucas gritted his teeth, his heart hammering in his chest as he turned back toward the hijacker.
The man was already recovering, his eyes blazing with fury as he stepped forward. "You think you—"
Lucas didn't let him finish. He raised the gun with both hands, the barrel trembling slightly but still aimed directly at the hijacker's chest. His finger pressed down on the trigger.
The deafening crack of the gunshot tore through the cabin. The recoil jolted up Lucas's arms, sharp and unexpected, but he didn't flinch.
The hijacker staggered back, his body jerking as the bullet struck him square in the chest. A burst of dark red spread across his shirt, soaking the fabric as he gasped in shock. His eyes widened, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out.
He crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, landing on his back. Blood seeped from the wound, pooling beneath him and staining the carpet. His chest rose once a weak, jerking motion before falling still. His wide, lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
Lucas held the gun steady for a moment longer, his breathing sharp and uneven. He didn't look away from the body, his face calm, as though he had expected this outcome all along. The sharp smell of gunpowder mixed with the metallic tang of blood, filling the air around him.
The hijacker was dead.
"Holy shit!" someone cried out from behind Lucas.
Passengers gasped and screamed. The cabin erupted into chaos.
Lucas moved quickly, lowering himself toward the cramped space beneath the row of seats. The gun shook slightly in his hands as he ducked, trying to slide into the narrow leg space of the passengers seated there.
"Move!" he hissed urgently, his voice low but tense, glancing at the people in his way.
The woman in the aisle seat gasped, her chest rising sharply with the sound. She looked to be in her late thirties, with shoulder-length blonde hair that had soft waves. Her slim figure was accentuated by a fitted dark red blouse that clung tightly around her waist and chest, where her breasts were medium-sized and noticeable under the fabric. Her lips were painted a glossy pink, trembling slightly as she stared at Lucas in shock.
"What are you doing?" she stammered, pulling her legs backward in a hurried, panicked motion. Her knees bumped against the seat in front of her with a dull thud.
Next to her was a man in his early forties, wearing a plain blue shirt and beige trousers. He had short, thinning brown hair and a tired face that looked like he'd just come from a long day of work. He swore under his breath, jerking his feet up. "What the hell? Watch it!" he snapped, his voice shaking as he pressed himself further into the chair.
Lucas dove into the space, his shoulder scraping the edge of the metal seat frame. A sharp metallic clang sounded as he hit it with a grunt. "Damn it," he muttered, wincing but pushing forward. His back bent awkwardly as he tried to fit his body into the tight area.
The sound of his back hitting the underside of the seat came next—a hollow, muffled thud. "Ugh," he exhaled sharply, twisting slightly to avoid the seat supports pressing into his ribs.