Jack analyzes all the buttons linked to the cockpit without touching them, before grabbing the small manual stored in a compartment beside him. He spends several hours reading, seated in the cockpit.
Yumiel wakes up in the back, getting up slowly and stumbling slightly. She looks around to see Alan asleep not far away, and Jack in the cockpit.
She walks to the bathroom, which is more like a toilet with a sink. She splashes water on her face and then looks at herself in the mirror.
Yumiel still has her long hair falling down to her waist. Her eyes have stopped shifting between gray and red, settling into a vivid red. Her face hasn't really changed—she still looks like a little kitten; her skin is white but hasn't turned pale.
Leaving the bathroom, wanting to join Jack, she notices the minibar. Yumiel stares at it like a baby seeing its mother's breast for the first time, looking at the bottles before taking two of them and heading over to Jack.
His nose buried in his book, she sits down beside him. He lowers his book to see Yumiel handing him a bottle of whisky. He takes it, opens it, and takes a sip.
« Slept well? »
Yumiel opens her bottle of rum and takes a sip.
« I didn't really sleep, I was more in some kind of coma due to my limits being crossed and then exceeded, which put me in that state. I'll admit that right now I wouldn't say no to a bit of blood, but luckily this wonderful bottle will keep me company. »
« By the way, it's rare to see someone your age drink like that, isn't it? »
« Yeah, when I was little I always stole bottles from my father and drank them in secret. Hmpf, I wanted to pretend I was an adult. »
The two take a drink.
« So, have you been an alcoholic since you were a kid? »
« I'm not an alcoholic, idiot, I just like drinking. When my father found out I was hiding bottles, he scolded me before giving me a bottle of gin for my thirteenth birthday. Saying, I quote: "My daughter Genie can go wherever she wants and do whatever she wants." »
Jack holds out the whisky bottle to Yumiel as if to suggest swapping; she accepts.
« Your father must've been an alcoholic to give his thirteen-year-old daughter a bottle of gin. »
« Hmpf, alcoholic, no—but addicted to coffee, yes. Anyway, it's thanks to him that I enjoy alcohol today, and especially strong alcohols. »
They clink bottles before finishing theirs in one go.
« Looks like we'll have to go get some more. »
« Looks like it, yeah. »
As Jack stands up, limping slightly because of his broken limb, he sees Alan coming toward them with a bottle in hand.
« No guys, you already finished your bottles? I didn't even have time to join you. »
Jack throws the bottles into the trash before grabbing two more.
« Be careful, Alan—you're our pilot, and you're only human. »
Jack goes back to Yumiel, Alan following him, and sits down on the jump seat. Yumiel looks at him and notices the bottle in his hand.
« I'm not in favor of our pilot drinking. »
« It's fine, just one bottle. »
Yumiel takes the bottle Jack hands her, a cognac, then looks at Alan's bottle and sees the label: eau-de-vie.
« Ahahah, eau-de-vie. Our pilot is completely crazy, my God. Be careful, Alan, you're only human. »
« Your colleague told me the same thing—are you passing the word around? Anyway, thanks for worrying about me, but if you're that scared, give me a bit of your monstrosity. »
At Alan's words, Yumiel and Jack burst out laughing.
« Puaaahahah. »
Yumiel takes a sip while Jack speaks to her.
« It's funny, but for a while now I've only been running into completely unhinged humans. »
« From my point of view, you're the strange ones—most monsters would have killed me. »
Yumiel stops sipping her bottle and looks Alan straight in the eyes.
« You intrigue me. Tell me your story, old man, and I'll let you drink in peace. »
« Ahahaha, old man—I'm barely 45, but alright, I'll tell you what I've lived through. »
He opens his bottle, takes a sip, and begins. Yumiel and Jack listen attentively.
« I joined the army very young. At 27, I was deployed to Africa, more precisely to Somalia. They called it a humanitarian mission. On paper only. »
He pauses briefly before continuing; the air around him seems to grow heavier.
« Somalia was pure chaos. No front lines, no clear uniforms. Just militias, hunger, and fear. Starving crowds flooding the zones as soon as the wheels touched the ground. Armed men appearing out of nowhere. Gunfire sometimes without logic. We took off fast, hearts pounding, leaving behind screams I've never forgotten. Every landing felt like a gamble. »
He takes a sip.
« In 1994, it was Rwanda. They didn't even call it a war anymore. It was something else. A total collapse. The day the presidential plane went down, everything changed. We were sent to evacuate, to transport, to observe without acting. From the sky, I saw columns of refugees, dead cities, roads covered in bodies. On the ground, the runways were saturated with desperate civilians. They begged us with their eyes. We took some on board. The others stayed behind. Orders were clear. The consequences weren't. »
He takes another sip.
« The final hell was Sierra Leone. May 2000. There were no illusions left. The rebels were approaching Lungi Airport. If it fell, everything stopped. No more evacuations. No more reinforcements. Nothing. We flew at night, under constant pressure. Every approach was tense. Every second counted. I knew that behind us, thousands of lives depended on that runway. Rumors spoke of child soldiers, mutilations, villages wiped off the map—but they weren't rumors… they were true. »
Jack and Yumiel drink quietly, slightly shaken by Alan's story.
« What I took away from all that is that human beings are ready for anything—absolutely anything—even the worst atrocities imaginable. So let me reassure you: being a monster isn't so bad. Because you, at least, don't need to justify yourselves—it's in your nature. »
Yumiel finishes her bottle of cognac, then replies to Alan.