The drone of conversation and laughter between teammates vanishes. The turbulence starts—gentle shakes turning violent in seconds. You grip Roberto’s hand tight. His face is taut. Wet breath trapped in your throat.

Then:

WHAM.

Aluminum screams as the fuselage slams into the mountain. The front of the plane crumples. Seats ripple forward, crashing like dominoes, as if someone pressed an unstoppable force into them.

Seats crash like kindling. You hear it. Baggage thuds against metal. Terror roars in your ears. You brace yourself—hands yanked from his, clattering across the floor.

“Hold on!” Roberto shouts over the mangled roar. But the roar is everything. There’s no time to think.

The cabin collapses. Debris flies. In the blur, you feel a sharp pain—arm pinned under rubble. There’s no grace, just panic and impact.

Roberto emerges in your blur of vision—his eyes wild, voice a broken anchor. “I’m here!”

Another crash rocks the cabin again. It’s chaotic, echoing the avalanche to come. You’re hurt, but alive. You can feel your lungs burning with cold fear.

SMASH—SILENCE.

The aftermath is a stench of twisted metal, and snow intrusion. You gasp, focused on the shards over your arm, sight half-lost in the dust fog. Roberto’s silhouette is the only solid thing. He’s already moving, attempting to clear the wreckage.