It's precisely 1823 hours on October 14, 1983. Six hours after the crash of Flight NA-989.

 

After hours of surveying the scene of the crash, we were able to retrieve only remnants of what remained—burnt clothing on the edge of the metal frames, fragments of the passenger plane scattered across the runway. According to the initial report, the left turbine suffered an internal leak, causing the plane to catch on fire.

 

The on-site team was able to recover a peculiar piece of evidence left by a passenger on this flight—written at the back of an in-flight magazine, coated in bold dark blue ink. The note was retrieved from the left-hand side of the plane behind seat 5B, which, according to the blueprints, belongs to first-class. 

 

What started off as simple and neat handwriting slowly rescinded into scribbles and frantically-written words. The magazine itself, however, sustained slight damage and burns, though some of the words remain legible.

 

As far as we can tell, whoever wrote this was listing bite-sized pieces of information from the other passengers. They were looking for something—or someone, rather. 

 

Whoever they were, they were smart enough to tuck the magazine deep into their leather bag, which minimized the damage. But, even as I write the report, I can’t reach any conclusions as of yet. 

 

However, the question still rings in my head: 

 

Did they find who they were looking for? 

“Sir, I’ll need you to take your seat and buckle up please,” a petite stewardess, seemingly no more than 5 foot 3 inches, stepped in to calm the passenger down, “we are landing soon.” With eyebrows crossed, the man frantically threw his hands at the stewardess, clumsily missing after tripping over himself. 

 

“Please sir, as per the captain’s—”

 

“Then tell your captain to stop flying like a lunatic! My head won't stop throbbing!” 

 

As if on cue, the passengers on the small passenger aircraft brought their hands to their noses. A mixture of malt and caramel reeked from the man’s mouth.

 

Sleazy man in a tracksuit: just drunk

 

The man in the well-ironed suit averted his gaze back toward the front of the plane. He also noticed that the turbulence was particularly bad today, as he rhythmically tapped the heel of his foot against the carpeted floor. They have to be somewhere on this flight, he thought.

 

He counted twelve passengers and four cabin crew on the flight as the petite stewardess strode down the aisle, entering the pantry at the end of the section. He quickly took note of her altered expression; scrunching her forehead, with furrowed eyebrows and a clenched jaw.

 

Stewardess with red lips: aggressively conversing with her co-stewardess. eyes, constantly rolling. dragging movements. Fatigue + rowdy passengers + rocky flight = not a good combination.

 

He had already crossed out the cabin crew and eight passengers from his list. A loud cry from the other side of the cabin garnered everyone’s attention as a flurry of complaints from the passengers pressured the single mother to calm her toddler down.

 

“Is there something you need, sir?”

 

The man hastily crumpled his paper before tilting his head upwards. 

 

“You called for me, sir.” The stewardess gestured her hand towards the overhead console where the call button was brightly lit.

 

The man didn’t recall pressing the button, though decided to use the opportunity to go to the bathroom. She escorted him towards the second restroom in the back of the plane, as the one in the front was occupied.

 

Upon entering the cramped cubicle, he fumbled between his pockets and straightened out the crumpled paper, his eyes scanning up and down the list. It disgusted him to even be on this airline. He knew it was part of the job, but he didn’t think the investigation would take him this far. They’re here, the company’s hitman is on this flight... but who? And who’s the target?

 

The man briefly freshened up before flushing the toilet. “Northern Airlines branded toilet paper, huh. At least we know this isn’t their first time dealing with shady sh—”

 

The toddler’s cry echoed throughout the cabin. Though time was running short, he remembered the reason he was hired to investigate them; because his intuition is second to none.

 

As the mother continuously apologized for causing a commotion, he made his way back to his seat, sensing a pair of eyes tracing his movement. The man unerringly placed his glasses on his lap, using the reflection to peer at the seats behind him. He saw one person of interest, a woman wearing a beige trenchcoat, blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, and a pair of dark sunglasses to match.

 

Woman in sunglasses: pretending to be asleep or just resting her head, bad aura to her. 

 

He could not deny that she was the most questionable person on his list. The man immediately noticed how hard she was trying not to stand out. Could it be? No, but the note I saw in their head office described a tall, well-built man in his late 20s… Something is off.

 

Suddenly, the whole cabin trembled with force as a deafening explosion erupted. It rapidly caused the aircraft to nosedive into the ground—quickly descending at full speed. 

 

The Crash of Flight NA-989 - Case Report

Written by Officer [REDACTED] (Badge Number: 376)

Filed: 10-13-1963

 

“Daydreaming again, Decker?”

 

“No no, I was just looking over some old reports,” I snapped out of my daze. “I thought it might help with the Northern Airlines case.”

 

Detective Brandon peeks over my shoulder, “Reports? You mean one of your grandfather’s 376 reports from a couple decades back? I mean by all means, but don’t take that stuff seriously, you hear? I tell you, it’s all crazy talk.”

 

Detective Brandon takes another sip from his half-empty cup of coffee before leaving the room. “Right,” I stare down at the torn page of the magazine. 

 

Target: Tall, well-built male, early 20s. Most likely wearing a suit.

 

Right, crazy talk.

 

This article is also published in The Benildean Volume 8 Issue No. 1: Redacted.