Disclaimer: New York City, JFK airport, Tokyo, and any other locations/brand names I may mention within the text do not belong to me (last I checked). Anyone you've never heard of is someone I've made up. All characters from BSSM are the intellectual property of one Naoko Takeuchi, and then a bunch of other companies and bigwigs, whom I am not in association with. Hey, that almost sounded official.
Rating for language.
***Love and Time***
***Second Impact***
It was three minutes past eleven o'clock in the morning the following Monday. TV journalist Andrew Baker was boarding a last-minute flight to Tokyo, Japan. As he dashed through the terminal of JFK airport in New York City, he noticed that nothing appeared out of the ordinary. People bustled about the airport, as was the norm. Some moved quickly, as he did, albeit they weren't coming fresh off of a broadcast.
They weren't concerned. They didn't have any reason to be. There had been no alarming broadcasts concerning Japan as of late.
Which was precisely why Baker was on the plane.
There hadn't been any broadcasts at all.
The plane was oddly empty, Baker noted, storing his bag in the overhead compartment. An elderly couple in the back row. Another couple in the front, obviously newlyweds. the woman was proudly pulling a t-shirt out of her carry-on and showing it to her husband. Sailormoon, the words read under the picture of a teenage girl.
Two rows behind him was a teenage boy, hair spiked, listening to a portable CD player quite loudly. Baker ignored the annoying pounding sound behind him and instead gazed intently out the window.
Half an hour into the flight, the plane experienced an unexpected jostle. Baker looked up sharply, as a flight attendant bustled by to the cockpit and an announcement came on: "Ladies and gentleman, this is your pilot John Rockefeller...we're experiencing a bit of turbulence here. Please remain seated, thank you."
Baker wasn't alarmed by this. The last three flights he'd been on had suffered a little turbulence, and he was still alive.
The plane shook a second time, and took a severe dive to the left. The two flight attendants on board scrambled out of the cockpit and fastened themselves into a couple of the many empty seats.
Again the intercom came on, and Rockefeller spoke in the calmest, most soothing of tones. "Just relax, folks, we seem to be moving into a storm.' The intercom did not give the tell-tale click after the message, and Baker realized that it was still in fact on.
"Storm? What the hell are you talking about?" one of the pilots demanded.
"Well, what else could it be?" the second said, his hysterical tone a far cry from the gentle words spoken to the passengers just moments ago.
"Take a look around you!" the first pilot barked. "The sky is clear, John!"
There was silence on the plane as the passengers took all of this in. Again the plane dipped.
The intercom crackled a bit, still on, and a message came through: "Holy shit."
"What? Steve?"
"Holy shit," the pilot said again, followed by the sound of someone buckling a seat belt. "Hold on tight, John..." He sounded fearful.
"Steve?" Rockefeller said again.
"We're gonna DIE!" the second pilot wailed, and Baker unbuckled his seat belt. He got up and started running to the right side of the plane, but it dipped again and he went crashing painfully into a pair of empty seats.
"Sir, are you okay? Sir, please sit down. Sir..."
Baker ignored the flight attendant and the throbbing pain in his leg, and scrambled across a few seats, pressing his face up against the window. "Oh, fuck," he muttered.
At last he saw what was troubling the pilots so. The intercom had gone dead with a sizzle after the last broadcast. In fact, the whole plane was heating up. But Baker did not remove his jacket or loosen his tie. Nor did he put on a seatbelt.
Coming towards them, at an amazing speed, was an enormous meteor. One the length of at least four of this 747. It was a massive rock, Baker noted, and must have been absolutely awesome to still be this big after going through the atmosphere. It was going impossibly fast, flames dancing on its wide surface.
Baker sank into a seat, buried his head in his hands, and muttered a prayer. He had a wife and two kids. A beautiful wife he was absolutely in love with and two handsome young boys, the oldest just starting the third grade this year.
Worse yet, he wasn't sure what would happen after the meteor hit the plane. It was so big that they couldn't possibly get out of its way in time. even if they did, they would burn up trying. It was probably just going to hit them and keep moving. Like a bug smacking into the windshield of a car. Except this time, they were the bug.
Then, as the panic subsided, Baker came to the realization that this was his own fault. He just *had* to get on that flight, didn't he. He just *had* to go to Japan, didn't he.
"Huh," he muttered, not bothering to wipe the sweat dripping down his face. "Curiosity did kill the cat, after all."
The plane dipped once more, and the newlyweds' t-shirt came sliding into his foot. Baker reached and picked it up, staring at the blond Sailormoon displayed on the front. In the deepest recesses of his mind, Andre Baker prayed for this blond girl, prayed that she might live where he died and might never know this horror.
He was not alive to witness the second impact, at six minutes past one that afternoon.
Rating for language.
***Love and Time***
***Second Impact***
It was three minutes past eleven o'clock in the morning the following Monday. TV journalist Andrew Baker was boarding a last-minute flight to Tokyo, Japan. As he dashed through the terminal of JFK airport in New York City, he noticed that nothing appeared out of the ordinary. People bustled about the airport, as was the norm. Some moved quickly, as he did, albeit they weren't coming fresh off of a broadcast.
They weren't concerned. They didn't have any reason to be. There had been no alarming broadcasts concerning Japan as of late.
Which was precisely why Baker was on the plane.
There hadn't been any broadcasts at all.
The plane was oddly empty, Baker noted, storing his bag in the overhead compartment. An elderly couple in the back row. Another couple in the front, obviously newlyweds. the woman was proudly pulling a t-shirt out of her carry-on and showing it to her husband. Sailormoon, the words read under the picture of a teenage girl.
Two rows behind him was a teenage boy, hair spiked, listening to a portable CD player quite loudly. Baker ignored the annoying pounding sound behind him and instead gazed intently out the window.
Half an hour into the flight, the plane experienced an unexpected jostle. Baker looked up sharply, as a flight attendant bustled by to the cockpit and an announcement came on: "Ladies and gentleman, this is your pilot John Rockefeller...we're experiencing a bit of turbulence here. Please remain seated, thank you."
Baker wasn't alarmed by this. The last three flights he'd been on had suffered a little turbulence, and he was still alive.
The plane shook a second time, and took a severe dive to the left. The two flight attendants on board scrambled out of the cockpit and fastened themselves into a couple of the many empty seats.
Again the intercom came on, and Rockefeller spoke in the calmest, most soothing of tones. "Just relax, folks, we seem to be moving into a storm.' The intercom did not give the tell-tale click after the message, and Baker realized that it was still in fact on.
"Storm? What the hell are you talking about?" one of the pilots demanded.
"Well, what else could it be?" the second said, his hysterical tone a far cry from the gentle words spoken to the passengers just moments ago.
"Take a look around you!" the first pilot barked. "The sky is clear, John!"
There was silence on the plane as the passengers took all of this in. Again the plane dipped.
The intercom crackled a bit, still on, and a message came through: "Holy shit."
"What? Steve?"
"Holy shit," the pilot said again, followed by the sound of someone buckling a seat belt. "Hold on tight, John..." He sounded fearful.
"Steve?" Rockefeller said again.
"We're gonna DIE!" the second pilot wailed, and Baker unbuckled his seat belt. He got up and started running to the right side of the plane, but it dipped again and he went crashing painfully into a pair of empty seats.
"Sir, are you okay? Sir, please sit down. Sir..."
Baker ignored the flight attendant and the throbbing pain in his leg, and scrambled across a few seats, pressing his face up against the window. "Oh, fuck," he muttered.
At last he saw what was troubling the pilots so. The intercom had gone dead with a sizzle after the last broadcast. In fact, the whole plane was heating up. But Baker did not remove his jacket or loosen his tie. Nor did he put on a seatbelt.
Coming towards them, at an amazing speed, was an enormous meteor. One the length of at least four of this 747. It was a massive rock, Baker noted, and must have been absolutely awesome to still be this big after going through the atmosphere. It was going impossibly fast, flames dancing on its wide surface.
Baker sank into a seat, buried his head in his hands, and muttered a prayer. He had a wife and two kids. A beautiful wife he was absolutely in love with and two handsome young boys, the oldest just starting the third grade this year.
Worse yet, he wasn't sure what would happen after the meteor hit the plane. It was so big that they couldn't possibly get out of its way in time. even if they did, they would burn up trying. It was probably just going to hit them and keep moving. Like a bug smacking into the windshield of a car. Except this time, they were the bug.
Then, as the panic subsided, Baker came to the realization that this was his own fault. He just *had* to get on that flight, didn't he. He just *had* to go to Japan, didn't he.
"Huh," he muttered, not bothering to wipe the sweat dripping down his face. "Curiosity did kill the cat, after all."
The plane dipped once more, and the newlyweds' t-shirt came sliding into his foot. Baker reached and picked it up, staring at the blond Sailormoon displayed on the front. In the deepest recesses of his mind, Andre Baker prayed for this blond girl, prayed that she might live where he died and might never know this horror.
He was not alive to witness the second impact, at six minutes past one that afternoon.
