No. 117

Assassins always trust their instincts.

As a killer, No.117 knows what death is, and how it feels like. What he experienced in that dream is real. There is no doubt about that.

No.117 surveyed his surroundings attentively.

9:25 pm. Altitude of 10972.8 meters. Temperature of negative 54.6 Celsius. The whir and vibrations of engine propellers.

The passengers on the plane did not seem to react to the danger he sensed. Most of them were occupied by inflight entertainment or their phones, while the few remainder were dozing off.

He is on a plane, flying from Sap-east city to Palican city. He was deployed for an assassination mission, but it seemed that he will have to delay it.

Training in grueling conditions since young, it is almost impossible for No.117 to fall asleep without his own consciousness's permission. So how did he fall asleep?

"It's not safe here." His intuition warned him. Sensing life-threatening danger from his dream, No.117 acknowledged that being on a plane was no longer a viable location to be in.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he stood up from his aisle seat and walked towards the cockpit.

"Hi Sir. The toilet is in that direction." A tall female flight attendant, who is clearing waste from the tray tables, pointed at the opposite direction. She lowered her head to let out her brightest smile to the little boy before her.

No.117 is not actually short. He is actually of average height, for a 13 year old who hasn't hit his growth spur yet.

"I am fully aware that the lavatory is back there, miss." No.117 grinned cheerfully. One of his eyes sparkled innocently at the flight attendant, while the other eye, concealed by his draping golden hair, exhibited coldness. "I wanna talk to the captain."

"My apologies but passengers aren't allowed at the cockpit." Surprised by No.117's usage of vocabulary, the female flight attendant frowned a little before ignoring him and returning to her duty.

A sharp, cold object made contact with her skin through her clothes

Pressing his dagger against the woman's delicate skin, No.117 motioned her to lead him to the cockpit. "Listen, I don't have anymore time to waste. Take me to the cockpit at once."

"Listen kid. I don't know how you managed to smuggle in a weapon…" She replied, almost unfazed. After all, No.117 had the appearance of an unassuming child and she believed she maintained the upper hand in terms of strength.

She placed her hands on No.117, trying to nudge him away. But her actions were futile. No.117's grip conveniently tightened on her wrist, revealing his unnatural physical strength.

"Listen woman. If you continue resisting or scream for help, I will rip your vocal cords out." No.117 said in a soft, joyful tone while unleashing a thread of murderous intent.

That instant, he exuded an oppressing pressure.

Drowning in the thread of No.117's murderous intent, she, an adult, shivered. She immediately complied.

The adults along the aisle only took a glance before turning their attention back onto their devices.

All those actions happened in an instance, and their conversations were barely audible.

Leading him to the cockpit with a knife pressing against her back, the crew members, too, didn't suspect a thing. No.117's grip on her wrist simply looked like an innocent child holding a flight attendants hands.

Maybe he wants to observe the cockpit and visit the pilots? It's pretty common for children to make this request. Most of the time, they'll gladly give permission.

By then, No. 117 has already arrived at the cockpit door.

"Richard, we have a visitor…" The "hostage" lady spoke into the intercom before the cockpit door. She stabilized her voice, avoiding trembles of fear.

"No problemo, we still have some time to spare."

Hearing a response, No. 117 ushered her to enter the cockpit with him as the door slid open.

Still unable to resist No. 117's brute strength, she complied, stepping into the cockpit. The door slid shut behind him.

Sitting in front of complicated controls were two men, the one on the left, mid 50s, was equipped with a pilot cap for a more professional look, while the one on the right seemed to be more relaxed, munching food from a Tupperware while his folds of chin toppled over one another.

"On the count of three, hands on the control." No. 117 swiftly scanned the room as he dragged the flight attendant closer to his height, holding the knife against her vulnerable throat.

The flight attendant was too afraid to even gulp, but her body was shivering, causing her throat to kiss the sharpness of the blade constantly.

"What the hell are you doing kid?!" The man in his 50s berated, shocked and angered upon the sight.

No. 117 sighed. He drew his dagger closer to her neck, leaving a thin red line on her throat. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"Okay kid… we'll follow your instructions. Just don't hurt her, please." Gently placing his Tupperware on the floor, the man on the right obeyed to prevent any escalation of the situation. He did not forgot about his dumbstruck colleague, guiding his hands onto the controls.

"Good." No. 117 answered, waving his dagger around the flight attendant's neck. "Where's the nearest land to us right now?"

"Estimated arrival at Palican City is 9:40…" A weak voice replied.

"Nearest. Land." No. 117 grunted, adding emphasis to the two words.

"Within 5 minutes distance, Kujil and Bagio island." The man on the right answered quickly for his colleague, his voice slightly concerned. "Kid, I know you are not a criminal. Tell me your problems, let me help you…"

"Click." The cock of a pistol silenced the man. This kid is the real deal.

Demonstrating his pistol to silence the pilots, No. 117 slid his firearm back into the heel of his boot.

"Initiate water landing immediately. Kujil sounds like an amazing place to travel to."

He withdrew his weapon, away from the flight attendant's throat and into sleeves. Escaping his grasp, the flight attendant immediately stumbled towards the pilot on the right as tears gushed down.

No. 117 noticed identical gold rings on both of their ring fingers. Maybe a couple, he supposes.

"Captain, you alright in there?" A knock on the door startled everyone in the cockpit, other than No. 117, who was crossing his arms while tapping his foot nonchalantly.

"Hey Lupin. Everything is perfectly fine. Something wrong?" Receiving affirmation to speak, the chubby man answered nervously.

"Um I just wanted to inform you. A passenger requested to speak with the captain."

The chubby man frowned, taking a small glance towards No. 117 before speaking. "Isn't it flight policy to speak into the intercom first? Did you forget Lupin?"

"But sir, I did use the intercom." The young voice wavered with slight anxiousness, as if frightened by his captain.

"Oh really? If that's the case, I apologize. Could you try speaking into it again?" The captain turned to No. 117, believing it might have been his work. But the kid simply shook his head, implying he wasn't the culprit.

No. 117 lifted his wrist to read the time on his watch. The hour hand pointed a little past 9, while the minute hand ticked past the number 6, suggesting it was now 9:31.

"Richard, you reckon it's radio interference?" The flight attendant suggested in a faint voice, obviously still visibly shaken by her near death experience.

"Radio inference? That's not good!" Hit with sudden realization, the captain gasped, turning back to the controls. The captain shouted something into radio system, but no one answered back. It wasn't working.

A bad feeling arose as No. 117 recalled his apocalyptic dream.

"Land the plane. Land it at Kujil Island. Now!" He drew out the pistol again, pointing it menacingly at the captain. Under the provision of a lethal weapon, the pilots immediately picked up their pace, flipping switches and clicking the dazzling buttons scattered across the control panel.

"This is your captain speaking. Cabin crew and passengers embrace for emergency landing."

In normal circumstances, a qualified captain like him should have reacted differently. Perhaps he should have stalled more time in terrorist related situations like this, but the inability to contact Air Traffic Control, while also having a loaded gun to his head, was too much of an overwhelming situation.

Blindly abiding to No. 117's orders, the plane began lowering altitude as it descended into the clouds.

"Bzz— Contact— Bzz—"

As the plane continued its descent through clouds, the radio system sprung back into life, crackling out inaudible words.

"Captain— Bzz— hear me?" The same young, nervous voice from before travelled into the cockpit. This time, from the intercom.

Finally escaping radio interference, the captain instinctively opened the cockpit door, failing to remember the threat behind him.

"Captain, I—" The words paused halfway. As the cockpit door slid open, the scene of a 13 year old child pointing a pistol towards his captain's head, unveiled before the young flight attendants eyes.

"Um am I interrupting—"

His words clogged his throat once again as his fearful eyes fixated on the silver barrel of a pistol, aimed directly at him.

Tension permeated as deafening silence immersed the cockpit.

The moment of stalemate only lasted for a few seconds before a commotion outside distracted them from the awkward tension.

"Hey sir, could you please kindly return to your seat."

"This emergency landing is delaying my meeting!"

"Please don't panic. Our captain has everything under control."

Outside, chaos and panic has already ensued. Some men and woman have already unbuckled themselves from their seats, clearly in denial, demanding for an explanation for this sudden emergency landing.

Though, most people were less brash, instead trembling in their seats, either praying to their respective gods or attempting to make farewell calls on their phones to their family or friends.

Amidst the confusion, a man of strong build slipped through the chaos, arriving in front of the cockpit door.

The man's eyes scanned quickly across the hectic scene within the cockpit before locking his eyes onto the foreign kid holding a lethal weapon.

It was odd, as if there was an invisible force discretely guiding him.

As the man and No. 117 secured gazes, a feeling of alignment sparked.

A faint… yet familiar connection formed between them.

They witness the reflection of the world through the surface of each other's eyes. But the lights reflected by their eyes, although real, felt like a facade.

And behind this facade, unravels an entirely different world, distinct from the world perceived on their eyeballs.

They both came from a common place. A place alien to this current world.