The movie got me on a TF kick. Also, I have writer's block on my TMNT story. Usual disclaimer: I don't own anything but OCs, blah blah blah . . .
Miranda Neverlie stared out her window, watching the pouring rain and wishing she were anywhere but on the jet. You see, she was on her way to a funeral. Her best friend's, as a matter of fact. She hadn't seen Jyana Thompson for something along the lines of six months, but they had still been close, and emailed each other a minimum of four times a day. Most of the time it was closer to seven or eight.
That's how Randa'd first figured out something was wrong. Jya always wrote first thing in the morning, but noon had rolled around on that fateful day, and she still hadn't heard from Jya. Randa had panicked. Jya never slept later than nine, and was always on her computer tapping out an email by nine-thirty. A frantic Miranda had called her house seventeen times in half and hour, only to get the answering machine. The one time she got an actual reply (on her eighteenth try), it was from a total stranger, and that person hung up after hearing her name. So she gave up on calling, and prayed with all her might.
Jya's mother had left a very short message a week later. Jya had been at her factory summer job when and explosion went off. She'd been the only one in the building. Someone living near the factory had heard the explosion and called 911. Jya had been in critical condition for three days before she died. Her last words had been "Tell Randa thanks." The funeral was set for Saturday at 3.
Miranda had sat numbly trying to process the information for an hour. Then she'd cried long and hard, all through that night and into the next morning. Friday afternoon, her manager, Mercutio(who was normally a jerk of the first water), had dumped a suitcase on her bed and said, "Start packin' your essentials, sweetheart. We have a funeral to get to." Miranda had cried even harder and given him a big hug. Her blushing manager'd left the room post-haste.
A hard jolt shook Miranda out of her rather gloomy thoughts. She looked outside again, her jaw dropping open as her vain attempt at a scream ended up coming out as a squeak. There, through the smoke and driving rain, she could just make out the shape of an F-22. Right where the left wing should have been.
Barely recovered from the shock, she registered the hoarse cries of the pilot into the comm system, and Mercutio to the pilot. "Attack by rogue F-22 Raptor! Requesting military assistance and permission to land at--"
BOOM! Another missile tore the right wing from the plane. With no lift, the jet started plummeting toward the surface. Figuring she'd like to at least be able to see when she hit, Randa went back to the window. As she looked out, she gasped and emitted yet another failed scream. Whatever deities are out there, please, if I make it out of this alive, I'll start researching to figure out who you are and follow you for the rest of my life AS LONG AS WE DON'T HIT THAT CITY!
On the crowded highway below, a yellow Mustang and an ambulance wait for the bottlenecking traffic to clear. These, however, are not ordinary vehicles. They are alive. Bored, the Mustang looks up--and freezes. (Starscream!) The call for help goes out post-haste, along with a prayer similar to the one that Miranda is currently uttering, only including the safety of the jet's passengers.
Sorry the chapter's so short, but it was a good stopping point, and I need to leave now.