The woman above him shifted in her seat, her hands gripping the armrest tightly. Her shiny lips parted as she whispered, her voice trembling with fear. "Oh my God, what are you doing?" Her pale skin glistened under the dim cabin light as she pressed herself further back into the seat, her slim legs tucked tightly against her body.
"Just stay still," Lucas muttered, his voice low but firm, as he wedged himself deeper into the space. The carpet beneath him scratched against his palms, and the seat supports dug uncomfortably into his back.
A passenger in the row behind him whispered frantically, their voice muffled but filled with panic. "What's going on? What's he doing?"
Lucas adjusted his grip on the gun, the cold metal pressing against his damp palm. The gun trembled slightly, but his eyes remained sharp and focused. The sound of his heavy breathing filled the small space, mingling with the faint creaks of the seats as passengers shifted nervously.
The blonde woman above him seemed frozen, her breathing fast and uneven. Her chest moved rapidly with each panicked breath, her slim figure tense as she leaned closer to the seat in front of her. "Please, don't get us killed," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos around them.
Lucas ignored her, pressing himself tighter against the floor and trying to shift into a better position so the other hijackers couldn't get a clear shot at him.
"HE KILLED HIM!" the woman hijacker yelled, her voice trembling with fury.
"Take him out!" barked the bearded hijacker, his tone sharp, though Lucas could hear the anger—and a trace of fear—beneath it.
The sharp crack of gunfire filled the air as bullets ripped into the seats around him. Fabric and padding burst apart, debris scattering. Passengers screamed, crying out in terror.
A bullet tore through the seat in front of Lucas, ripping into the back of the head of a middle-aged man seated there. The man, dressed in a simple white shirt, didn't even have time to react. His head jerked forward violently, and a spray of dark red blood splattered onto the seatback, tray table, and the carpet below. His glasses flew off his face, landing crookedly on the tray table, now smeared with crimson streaks.
Nearby passengers froze in shock, their screams piercing the air moments later. A woman sitting beside the man, wearing a light pink blouse and with short brown hair, shrieked loudly, her voice cracking as her wide eyes stared at the lifeless body slumped forward. "Oh my God! He's dead!" she cried, her trembling hands gripping the armrest as her face turned pale.
The man on the other side of the victim, an older man with gray hair and a thin frame, gasped audibly, leaning back into his seat. His breathing became shallow, his hands shaking as he held them in front of his chest. "What just happened? Oh God, what just happened?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Blood had sprayed far beyond the immediate area, some of it landing on Lucas. He felt the warm, sticky droplets splatter onto his face and jacket. He didn't flinch, wiping the blood off his cheek with his sleeve in a calm, almost mechanical motion. So this is what it looks like up close, he thought, his mind detached from the chaos around him.
The blonde woman in the row beside Lucas gasped and pressed herself against the window, trying to get as far away from the gruesome scene as possible. Her glossy lips quivered, and her slim body shook as she whispered frantically, "No, no, no, no..."
Passengers across the aisle were no better. A young man in a green hoodie looked on, frozen in shock, his face pale as he stared at the blood pooling on the carpet. A teenager a row ahead peeked over their seat, only to recoil quickly, covering their face with trembling hands.
The screams, gasps, and panicked whispers blended into a cacophony of fear, but Lucas stayed focused. He crouched lower behind the row of seats, adjusting his position as best as he could. He ignored the chaos and the blood staining his clothes.
One less person alive, but it doesn't matter, he thought coldly, gripping the gun tighter. This isn't over yet.
Lucas wiped the warm blood off his face with his sleeve, his expression blank. He didn't feel anything for the man who'd just died—only the awareness that the gunfire was getting closer.
The bearded hijacker fired two or three more shots in Lucas's direction, the sharp cracks echoing through the cabin as bullets tore into seats and walls.
"Stop shooting, you idiot!" the female hijacker shouted suddenly, her voice sharp and laced with frustration. "You're wasting bullets!"
The gunfire stopped abruptly, leaving only the sound of sobbing and panicked murmurs from the passengers.
The woman hijacker pointed her gun in Lucas's direction, her sharp voice cutting through the chaos. "That bastard! He's armed now!"
Her face twisted with anger, her long dark braid swinging as she gestured to the bearded man. "We have to kill him as fast as possible!"
They started moving toward Lucas, their weapons moved in his direction. Lucas, still crouched low behind the row of seats, adjusted his position, trying to make himself a smaller target. The tight space pressed uncomfortably against his back, but he ignored the discomfort.
Passengers were trembling, their eyes wide with fear. The earlier gunfight had already cost a man his life, and the sight of blood-soaked seats and a lifeless body left them paralyzed with terror. Whispers of panic filled the cabin, and many crouched low, shielding their heads with their arms.
Lucas took a deep breath, gripping the gun tightly. He shifted his weight, moving carefully into a better position, crouching on one knee to steady himself. The tight space under the seat made it difficult, but he adjusted his stance, making sure he could react quickly if needed. Then, in a loud, firm voice, he addressed the passengers:
"Listen to me! I've taken one of the terrorists down. We have a chance to fight back and stop them!"
The passengers turned toward him, their fearful eyes filled with uncertainty.
"They won't spare us," Lucas continued, his voice steady despite the tension. "We all know how this works—terrorists kill people to prove a point. They'll kill at least half of us to show the government they mean business. If we don't act now, more of us will die."
Some passengers exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to do.
Lucas's voice grew sharper. "It's better to lose two or three people fighting back than to lose half the plane waiting for them to pick us off. If you don't help, I'll still fight them to the death. But if I'm alone, six or eight of you might die in the crossfire."
His words hung heavily in the air. The passengers looked at each other, their fear clashing with a small sense of hope.