Finding My Sister

The roar of the airplane engines was like a dire omen, relentlessly detonating in my ears. I gripped tightly the makeshift device fashioned from a drink bottle and wires, my knuckles whitening from the effort. The cabin lights flickered erratically, illuminating faces etched with sheer terror. "Don't anyone move." My voice was dry and harsh, like sandpaper scraping wood—so much so that even I barely recognized it. "No one tries any tricks." The flight attendants, trained to the core, attempted to approach, their faces wearing professional smiles that failed to mask the fear lurking in their eyes. I lifted the "bomb" in my hand, metal wires glinting coldly in the dim light. "Stop." I warned them, watching as they froze instantly, feeling no triumph—only a void of icy desolation within me. Today marks the twenty-fourth hour since Felicity's disappearance. After I called the police, they merely took routine notes, saying a case can't be opened until forty-eight hours have passed. Their dismissive attitude stabbed at my heart like sharp needles. I knew I could no longer wait. When I saw the flight bound for Country T, a desperate idea began to form in my mind. I have a premonition—Felicity is on this airplane. "Go tell the pilot." I said to the flight attendant nearest to me, "Have him contact the ground. I want to speak to the police, and I want all the media present." Eileen Chow's lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she only nodded and turned toward the cockpit. The cabin was deathly silent; the only sound was the monotonous roar of the airplane engine. I could feel every pair of eyes fixed on me, filled with fear, anger, and confusion. But I don't care. I only care about my sister. The little girl who always trails behind me, sweetly calling me "sister." Felicity, who just yesterday smiled at me, saying she was going to travel to Country T and would bring me back souvenirs. "You... what do you want?" A trembling voice came from the back seat. It belonged to a middle-aged man in a suit, though his tie was askew and his hair was messy. I turned my head, staring at him coldly: "I want my sister." "Your sister?" The man paused for a moment. "Where is she? We can help you find her..." "She is on this airplane." I cut him off, my voice laced with unwavering certainty, "One hundred and twenty-eight people, including crew members." I deliberately stressed the last few words. I had counted the number on the boarding pass; that number was seared into my mind like a brand. Eileen Chow returned, her face as pale as paper: "The pilot said... the ground has already received the notice, the police will contact us soon." I nodded and found a window seat, but the bomb in my hand never left my grasp. Outside the window lay a thick blanket of clouds, fluffy like cotton candy, yet I knew just how much filth and darkness lurked beneath. Suddenly, the broadcast crackled to life, and a steady, calm male voice came through — it must be the negotiation expert from the ground command center. "Archer Geller, this is Officer Dawson of the Municipal Public Security Bureau." The voice attempted to sound gentle. "We have received your demands. Please calm down, release the hostages, and let's discuss this matter properly."