Goddamn twin engines…

Flying over top the Atlantic ocean, headed straight for London UK. It’s nature to be nervous on flights as a spec op soldier who’s re-taken their fair share of flights back from random terrorists of all Eastern kind. Spanish, Afghan, even some German. All with the similar characteristics of dumb as shit, dumber than shit, and all 20. Most often than not they don’t understand how planes work.

But these ones obviously are doing this after seeing a movie. Also, they’re incredibly unlucky. Three miles in the sky, sitting in first class. John Clark, Domingo Chavez, and Alistair Stanley. Your new three best friends.

Clark and Chavez are both with their wives, Chavez with a baby boy in his wife’s stomach. Your sitting in your seat listening to music, Barretta in your bag at your feet. Then you, Alistair, Ding, and John immediately get that feeling of shit’s about to happen as three Spaniards with jackets on stand up. They drop their jackets and…

Guns.