Oceanic Flight 815 Novels & Stories

"Plus, it’s bite-proof! I am not getting eaten by a cannibal!" "You look like a Ninja Turtle that let itself go," Marcus observed. "Jealousy is an ugly color on you, Marcus," Ben retorted, trying to cross his arms but failing because the suit was too stiff. "Load up!" the pilot shouted over the roar of the engines. They boarded the Osprey. The ramp closed. The aircraft lifted off, transitioning to forward flight and punching out of the Leviathan's internal dock. The flight was turbulent. The Osprey skimmed the waves, staying low to avoid radar, then climbed sharply as the dark green coastline of South America appeared on the horizon.

Jormo was behind an old 19th century desk, Hana was standing by the unlit fireplace and Brennan was looking incredibly petulant in an overstuffed chair near his father. "What's he doing here?" Brennan snorted. He didn't warrant a reply. "Mr. Nyilas, an hour ago one of my personal jets went down off the Virginia/North Carolina coast. From what I've been told, they apparently suffered a catastrophic loss of cabin pressure at 25,000 feet, lost control of the aircraft and slammed into the Atlantic at over 500 miles per hour," Jormo looked at me. "Mr. Keyes, his fiancé, a business associate and the pilot were on board. The search for survivors has only now begun. Do you have anything to say?"

She could not help but worry that something would happen to Jeremy. Madeline spent the entire night sitting on the couch. In a daze, she heard the news report from the television. Slowly opening her eyes, she realized that she had fallen asleep sometime during the night and it was already seven o’clock the following morning. Madeline felt her head pound. She had not even gotten a hold of her own emotions when she suddenly heard the female anchor report regretfully, “As of 9 PM last night, a flight to Glendale airport fell into F Country’s waters due to an unknown issue ten minutes after take-off. Of the 112 flight attendants, pilots, and passengers, 111 have been confirmed dead while one is

​The transition from the ink stained floor of 5th Street to the plush, silent interior of Damian’s Gulfstream G650 was so jarring it felt like a form of decompression sickness. One moment I was scrubbing hydraulic fluid from my cuticles; the next, I was wrapped in a cashmere throw, watching the Atlantic Ocean turn into a vast, shimmering sheet of hammered silver thirty thousand feet below.

My voice drops to a deadly, gravelly whisper. “You check that screen right now, or I will have this entire hangar burning before your shift ends. It will be the last flight you ever track.” The woman gasps, her face going pale as she looks between my brutal expression and Zli’s desperate, burning eyes. Whatever she sees convinces her we are the end of the world, because she quickly turns to her computer and starts typing with trembling fingers. “Lydia Moretti,” she murmurs, scanning the logs. “Tail number N-8055. It’s on the taxiway now, departing for Zurich. But you’re not allowed out on the—”

Before Camila could respond, Jamie returned with a flight game console in hand. “Ladies, I’ve secured us the holy grail of flying fun—Sky Trivia!” he announced, brandishing the small tablet. “Who’s ready to get schooled?” They spent the next hour playing trivia, laughing through questions like “Which country consumes the most chocolate per capita?” and “What’s the only food that never spoils?” Jamie shouted “Wine!” to the latter and was heartbroken to discover the correct answer was honey. Later, the pilot announced over the intercom, “We’re currently flying over the Indian Ocean. Estimated time to landing in Seychelles is 3 hours and 47 minutes. Weather conditions are clear, and the tempera

"I love you too, little dove." 6 weeks later: "Landing gear position lights," Ophelia asked looking at the clipboard in her hand. "Checked," First-officer Miller responded while she ticked away on the clipboard in hand. And they went on, "Seat belts/shoulder harnesses?" "Fastened," "Trim?" "Set," She nodded and returned the clipboard to its proper place and reviewed the final weather report. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Rightwing Flight 86A with service from Dubai to Paris..." The preflight announcement began, and after performing a final check on everything they wait for clearance.

The Gulfstream G650 cut through the night sky like a blade, engines humming a low, steady growl that vibrated through the cream leather seats. We were somewhere over the Atlantic, six hours into the eight-hour flight to London, and the cabin lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow. Most of the crew was asleep in the rear compartment. Just me, Kai, and the endless black outside the windows.

Elaine naturally agreed to it and smiled as she said, “You can ask her, then. My flight number is CX845, and I have to fly to Hong Kong first for a connecting flight.” Lucy kept tapping her fingertips and said, “Okay, I’ll help you ask. If you’re on the same flight, you can go together with her. She will be going back to Dothmain, so there’s a high probability that she will also be flying to Hong Kong first for a connecting flight.” Soon, Lucy handed her cell phone over to Elaine and smiled as she said, “Oh, look! She’s also on this flight!” Elaine took a closer look and found that in this chat, the other party had indeed replied to Lucy with the letters ‘CX845’ written in the message.