Noon, Midtown High School, New York
The afternoon sun filtered through the oak leaves, casting dappled light onto the picnic blanket.
Damian was eating fried rice when a sudden commotion near the school gate caught his attention.
More than twenty first-year students swarmed around two yellow buses like a flock of restless sparrows.
"Hurry up, Alex! Pack that damn game console already!"
"Has anyone seen my lip balm? I thought we were going on a forest hike!"
"Todd! Get that—"
Several boys wrestled oversized duffels into an overstuffed luggage compartment, while girls clustered around a Polaroid camera, jostling for position in the frame—only to start bickering seconds later.
A bald, middle-aged teacher shouted names from a roll call list at the top of his lungs, but his voice vanished beneath the students' laughter and chatter.
"I think they could've spoken a little quieter," Damian muttered, squinting. "There's probably someone unconscious twelve kilometers away who still can't hear them over this racket."
Gwen Stacy followed his gaze, her blond hair catching the sunlight, and explained:
"Those are the first-years heading to winter camp. It was supposed to leave last week, but got postponed because of all those… weird incidents around the city."
After all, winter camp meant adventure—of course they were excited.
Jessica Campbell set down her juice carton and said in a low, conspiratorial tone:
"I really envy them~ I heard their destination this year is Tongass National Forest in Alaska."
"That's amazing! You can hike, fish, kayak, spot wildlife, and camp under the northern lights!"
But given the remote location, anxious parents had demanded extra security—and even insisted the school bring along a formally ordained priest for "spiritual oversight."
Damian stroked his chin, then asked with theatrical bewilderment:
"Hmm… why do those parents think it's safer to send their kids into the Alaskan wilderness with a priest and a handful of strangers?"
He paused, eyes wide. "Especially priests—or the parents who requested it? If this were medieval Europe, they'd be handing out heresy quotas by household."
"…" ×3
Gwen covered her face with a pained groan. "Now that you've said that… I can't unsee it."
Peter Parker wore an expression that screamed, "I'm a goldfish in the Mariana Trench," and added, bewildered:
"If that's the case, how is the school even guaranteeing their safety? They're going into the Alaskan backcountry—they can't just wing it with zero real security."
Damian waved a hand dismissively. "Easy. Replace all the chaperones with Japanese forest rangers and Native Alaskan guides."
"If Japanese staff supervise the boys, they'll be too professional to care about anything but protocol. If priests watch the girls… well, let's just say their only romantic interest is probably Jesus."
"Then tell the kids: 'Misbehave, and the Native guides will handle your 'discipline.''"
He grinned. "Perfect system, right?"
Peter stared at him, deadpan. "…You must be a demon."
"Flattering," Damian replied, "but I'm really not that evil."
"…" ×3
---
Evening, Queens, New York
LaGuardia Airport glowed in the orange-red light of sunset as Midtown High students disembarked from buses, dragging suitcases and shouting over one another.
Five security personnel patrolled the perimeter. Teachers struggled to herd the group. At the rear walked a solemn priest, quietly reminding students to "mind their speech and conduct."
Alex Browning led the pack, gripping his backpack straps, eyes darting across the terminal.
The waiting hall buzzed—announcements, suitcase wheels, overlapping voices—but beneath it, Alex felt a gnawing unease, as if unseen eyes watched him from the shadows, and the air itself grew heavier.
"Hey, Alex."
His friend Todd clapped him on the shoulder with an easy grin. "Don't look like you're heading to your own funeral, man! It's Alaska—adventure time! Lighten up!"
Alex forced a weak smile—just as a cold gust swept through the hall.
Fzzzt…
The flight information screen flickered, then dissolved into static.
Seconds later, it rebooted—but every flight now read "CANCELLED."
Except one: Walley Airways Flight 180 – DEPARTED ON TIME.
"Todd! Look!"
Alex's voice cracked. His hand trembled as he pointed.
Todd glanced up. The screen glitched again, then stabilized.
He shrugged. "Just a glitch, dude. Chill. Plane crashes are crazy rare—like, less than a 0.1% chance. And over half are due to severe weather. Look outside—it's clear skies and golden hour!"
CRACK—!!
As if summoned, thunder split the sky. Dark clouds rolled in. Rain lashed the windows in seconds.
Alex didn't flinch. He just turned and locked eyes with a certain calamity-level Word Spirit standing nearby, his expression screaming: "This world deserves to burn. And so do you."
But before he could exhale, his gaze snagged on new details:
—A puddle of hydraulic fluid seeping from the jet bridge.
—A maintenance worker flinching as the gangway screeched like metal tearing.
—On the wing of Walley Airways Flight 180, a panel visibly loose, fluttering in the wind.
Ah, Alex thought grimly. Nothing says "safe travel" like lax inspections, faulty equipment, and divine omens of doom.
Just then, a crisp voice echoed
through the terminal:
"Walley Airways Flight 180 is now boarding. All passengers, please proceed to Gate B12."
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