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I never did go forward to the cockpit. I just went back to my seat and apologized to… well, ok, to everyone. I apologized to Jessica the Flight Attendant, and to the lady who dropped her cocktail, and to the Air Marshal (I apologized to him a lot, he was very scary), and to Mr. Haddad, my seat-mate, who had to put up with me smelling slightly like vomit for another two hours, and just in general, to everyone.

A lot.

I'm Canadian. It is in my nature.

>you are here because you never went into the cockpit, you cant remember something that never happened. meaning either you've gone full dream mode, or this is somebody else's memory.

Someone from the future maybe? But no, this place doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel dead like the Factory did, just not real.

This is certainly a lot better than some of the other possibilities, like being in a crashing plane.


>Well this looks nice.

It does…

Which makes me suspicious!

Something horrible is definitely going to jump out at me.

> Oh shit. It's her, isn't it? Oh shit.

It better not be! 'Cause I am in nose-punch first, apologize later kind of mood right now. It wasn't a very good time in my life that I was just remembering and I am NOT IN THE MOOD for shenanigans.

The wind smells clean, and bright. No exhaust, but a hint of something… baking of some kind. Shortbread?

Hmmm… the table is tempting, but - what exactly IS that?

It's clearly part of the construction, but it seems out of place. A six or seven meter high wall projecting right out of the deck. Almost featureless.

Not exactly aerodynamic.

From behind the strange wall comes a bright pocking sound, then another almost immediately afterwards.

Pock, pock!

There is a short pause, and then the sound repeats again.

Pock, pock!

A pair. Or is it a trio?

Pock, p-pock!

A school-yard sound.

Old memories.