"So Jake and you found this… magic scarab compass, on a flea market for antiques…" Samson summarized, turning a page in his notes full of incredible happenstances. "You traveled to Nepal to destroy it by throwing it into a volcano because the god of the moon told you that was the only way to do it. But on your way there the plane you were on got hijacked by cultists following the goddess Ammit, the crocodile-headed deity in charge of consuming the souls of the dead. They wanted to have the scarab because it pointed at Ammit's tomb, which doubles as her prison. So destroying the scarab was the only way to ensure that cult couldn't free Ammit."

Steven nodded, satisfied. "Yes, because if the cult had managed to free her, she would've judged people unfairly just because she was hungry and killed a lot of innocents. So we had to stop her."

Samson put down his notes, still not sure what to make of it all. Sure, he'd seen a Norwegian god fly over New York a few times but he'd never heard of the Egyptian pantheon being real and Steven Grant had yet to show him any proof of his supposed superpowers. He was starting to fear that this was all a joke.

"Is this what you have nightmares about?" he asked carefully. "About Ammit rising to consume innocent souls?"

"What? Oh. Oh, no, we defeated the cult and Ammit never rose and never will. That was the easy part", Steven said. "I didn't even have to do anything. I mean, yes, it was a bumpy first mission and I did have to save Layla. That was scary, almost loosing her before I even got to truly know her. But it also felt kinda good, you know? I'd never saved a life before."

"Right", Samson made slowly. "Because Layla got injured when one of the cultists shot her." He put his notes down, wondering how to word his next question without outright accusing Steven of lying. "Still, it wasn't just Layla getting injured. You said the cult had infiltrated the airline staff. Holding everyone at gunpoint. How did you make it out of there? Without loosing the scarab? Even if you or Jake had managed to disarm them, at the very latest, wasn't it confiscated by airport security when you landed? Weren't you held as witnesses? Your god must've grown so impatient."

"Err", Steven made nervously and wrung his hands. "Well, we didn't… strictly speaking… land that plane...

XxX

Chapter 7 - When you're traveling by plane, don't shot the pilot!

Jake came to with a jolt, his head spinning as his senses returned all at once. He was lying on his back, the cold, hard floor of the airplane pressing into his spine, a sharp ache radiating through his body. Above him, the airplane ceiling hummed in the strange, eerie quiet that followed chaos.

"Uh…you can have the body now," Steven's voice came through, sounding sheepish, almost apologetic.

Jake blinked, forcing himself to focus as the haze of disorientation cleared, and instinct kicked in. He rolled to his feet in one fluid movement, feeling Khonshu's suit envelop him—a familiar, comforting weight that steadied his breathing and sharpened his focus. The white cape unfurled, flowing behind him like wings, black bandages wrapping tightly around his limbs. Steven must've summoned the suit in desperation before ceding control, because Jake could feel the bullets already being expelled from his flesh, clattering to the ground as his wounds knitted together seamlessly.

He didn't hesitate. A bone-white handgun, etched with a delicate golden crescent on the handle, materialized in his grip, cold and solid. His gaze zeroed in on the stewardess in front of him, wide-eyed but still clutching her weapon in defiance. He raised the gun, his movements calm and precise, and aimed right at the red dot between her eyes.

Bang. Her head snapped back, her expression frozen in shock as she crumpled to the floor, a fine mist of red splattering against the seats behind her.

Her partner in the corridor shouted, his own gun raised in a trembling hand. Jake's instincts flared, and he fired without missing a beat. The shot tore through the man's midsection, blood spraying across the rows of seats as the man fell, gasping and clutching his stomach. In a heartbeat, Jake was on him, kicking his gun out of reach and silencing him with a hard boot to the side of the head.

Three sharp cracks split the air as bullets slammed into Jake's back. He felt the impact like a punch, his cape absorbing some of the blow but not enough to fully shield him. Pain flared, but it only fueled his focus. Snarling, he twisted around, his aim finding the next attacker without effort. He fired, the bullet tearing through the man's knee, dropping him with a strangled cry. Jake followed it with a brutal kick to the temple, silencing him.

The cockpit door flew open, another man in a uniform bursting out, gun aimed. Jake ducked low, feeling the bullet zip just an inch above his hood. Rising smoothly, he aimed, his gaze never leaving the red dot on the man's forehead.

Bang. Another perfect headshot, and the man crumpled in the doorway, collapsing in a heap.

The echo of gunfire faded, leaving only the hum of the plane's engines and the terrified, muffled gasps of the passengers. Jake stood among the fallen, steadying his breath, his senses still honed, his grip firm on the white-and-gold gun. He scanned the cabin and spotted Layla slumped still in her seat, her face pale, but her eyes open and alert. Relief flooded him—she wasn't dead, though her torso was bound in white bandages, no blood visible on her at all.

As the silence settled, Jake felt Steven still in the back of his mind, shocked but slowly growing frantic beneath the surface.

"Oh my days", Steven made. "Did you… did you just kill them?"

Jake scowled, his gun still raised. His voice was cold and unyielding. "They were going to kill us, Steven. They almost killed Layla. I wasn't taking chances."

Layla shifted, drawing Jake's attention. She nodded weakly toward the fallen attackers.

"They're all branded," she muttered, motioning to their arms. Jake followed her gaze, his attention snapping to a strange tattoo on each body—a pair of scales etched in black ink.

Jake narrowed his eyes. "Scales… Great. I guess we found the cult Khonshu was worried about."

Steven's voice jolted through his mind, more panicked than ever. "Jake, did you… did you just kill the entire flight staff? I mean, who's flying the bloody plane right now?"

Jake froze as cold dread settled in his stomach. Aww, fuck. He turned and sprinted down the aisle, ripping the cockpit door open. It was empty, the autopilot engaged, but no one at the controls. Cursing under his breath, Jake glanced over the controls, his mind calculating their situation as best as he could without formal training. He'd been in enough tight spots, but nothing quite like this.

Behind him, Layla moved from body to body until she found what she was looking for. The scarab gleamed in her hand, covered in fresh blood. She shot Jake a meaningful look as she tucked it safely into her jacket.

Jake's eyes flickered over the controls, and he let out a slow, tense breath. Layla joined him, looking over his shoulder, her own worry barely hidden beneath her calm exterior.

"We're in deep trouble, aren't we?" she asked, her voice low.

Jake gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Yeah. We're screwed. Anyone any ideas?"

Layla frowned before heading over to the intercom panel. She pressed the microphone button, her voice coming over the cabin speakers, steady but with an unmistakable urgency.

"Attention, everyone. I know you're all scared, and that's perfectly normal, but I need you to stay calm. The criminals who attacked us have been neutralized. You're safe now, and there's no longer any threat to you or anyone else on board."

She paused, letting the reassurance settle in before continuing. "There's still one pilot here, but we'd appreciate a co-pilot to help with a safe landing. If anyone has experience flying, please let us know. Don't worry; everything's under control."

She waited a moment, hoping someone would respond, but silence stretched over the cabin. She bit her lip, but her voice stayed firm as she added, "In the meantime, if we have any volunteers to help us keep an eye on the remaining criminals, please come forward."

A few brave passengers shuffled out of their seats, offering their assistance. Layla thanked them, gave a few instructions on how to monitor the injured men, and then slipped back into the cockpit.

When she returned, Jake was leaning over the control panel, his head down, his expression tense. But his eyes were unfocused, clearly not entirely in the moment. He snapped back to attention when she approached him though.

"Do we actually have a pilot here? Because I sure as hell don't know how to fly", he said dryly.

Layla shook her head grimly. "No, I just didn't want them to panic."

Steven's voice was shaky but determined as he addressed Jake. "Look, I know you had to do what you did, but we need help landing this plane, yeah? Maybe… maybe I can heal one of those guys still alive, get them up enough to help us fly. Khonshu helped me heal Layla too."

Jake glanced at Steven's reflection in the front window, considering, then nodded. Only two of the cultists had received lethal wounds. "If you think you can pull it off, go ahead."

With Jake's permission, Steven took control, feeling the suit shift around him. The hood shrunk back until it was wrapped so tight around their skull it felt more like a ski mask. The cape grew heavy and stiff, settling around them, forming a long, white coat. Black bandages around his arms and legs unraveled, replaced by the stiff fabric of a modern day suit. Jake caught sight of the full outfit from where he was now stuck in the window reflection and raised an eyebrow – Steven seemed to take the suit bit quite literally. Except with the long white coat, he looked a bit… like a doctor.

Steven left the cockpit to kneel beside the wounded, unconscious man, pressing his hands gently over the bloodied abdomen.

"Lord Khonshu," he murmured, voice steady but pleading, "I'm sure you're listening – I need to heal this man. We need him to get everyone out of here safely. Please, let me help him."

There was a pause, the stillness almost tangible. And then, in a harsh whisper, Khonshu's voice echoed in his mind. "No. This man's soul is tainted. He sought to kill my avatar. He deserves his punishment."

Steven's blinked, disbelief flashing across his face. "You're… you're saying no? We need him alive! We are your avatar, we bloody well forgive him for trying to kill us – if we can't land this plane he will have succeeded!""

"You will not undo my sentence. Find another way to reach the ground," Khonshu's voice said coldly. And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, leaving Steven's hands empty and his heart sinking.

Steven's eyes were wide and pleading as he looked up at Layla. "He won't do it. He won't help," he said softly, his voice cracking, barely holding together. "I tried, Layla, but… we're on our own."

Jake took a slow breath, tapping Steven lightly, a quiet signal to let him take control. Steven, with a defeated sigh, receded.

Back in the cockpit, Jake looked at Layla, who was clutching the scarab, her expression a raw blend of fear and determination. The soft, golden gleam of the artifact seemed to mock him.

"Jake… are we going to die?" Steven's voice was small, filled with the kind of fear that he, too, was trying to keep buried.

Jake's jaw clenched, pushing the thought down, hard. "Not today," he muttered, though his own doubt clawed at him.

Layla's gaze flicked from him to the scarab in her hand, her face set with grim resolution. "If… if this plane goes down, you need to take it." Her voice cracked as she tore the scarab from its chain and held it toward him. "With the suit, you can—"

"No!" Jake's hand shot out, pushing her hand and the scarab back as he realized what she was talking about. Anger flared, sudden and hot, forcing his voice to a low growl. "Are you kidding? I'm not leaving you, Layla. There are over a hundred people on this plane, all in danger because of us—because of this stupid mission."

Layla flinched, shocked at the intensity of his outburst, but she kept her grip on the scarab, her knuckles white. "Jake, we have to destroy the scarab," she insisted, though her voice wavered. "If we don't, a lot more people might-"

"I don't give a damn about the scarab!" he snapped. His anger began to crack under the weight of something deeper, something rawer, and his expression softened for a split second, vulnerability flashing across his face before he buried it. "I'm not letting anyone die on my watch."

"Jake…" Steven's voice trembled with desperation, nearly choking on the words. "Please, we have to save Layla. There has to be a way. We just have to find it. It's... It's like a riddle. Khonshu wouldn't have refused to help if there wasn't another way."

Layla glanced over her shoulder toward the cabin, where passengers had begun to murmur, some peeking nervously into the cockpit. She took a steadying breath and met Jake's eyes, her gaze softening. "What do we do, Jake? We don't have a pilot."

The frustration boiled over, and Jake raked a hand through his hair, gripping it as if it could keep him grounded. He cursed Khonshu under his breath, a fierce bitterness clawing up. Damn you, he thought, his anger fueled by the brutal truth that Khonshu, their so-called patron god, would abandon them now.

He knew exactly why the moon god wasn't helping them.

He knew what he had to to to save these people.

Jake looked at Layla, the rising desperation changing into something like resolve. "Marc," he said, voice gravelly and raw. "Marc can fly. He had some basic training in the military. Took some lessons from this Frenchman too. Maybe enough to get us down in one piece."

Steven's voice returned, faintly hopeful but tinged with worry. "Marc? But he hasn't shown himself this whole time, Jake. How do we… how do we get him back?"

Jake swallowed thickly. "I have an idea," he muttered, teeth gritted. "But he's going to hate me for this."

"Jake, please, if it can save us, try." Layla's voice held a fierce urgency that cut through the dread gnawing at him. "Marc's the only one who can get us out of this."

"Fine!" he shouted, spinning around to face her. The force of his motion left his suit unraveling, falling away like mist to reveal his torn, blood-streaked shirt, stained from the night's chaos and littered with bullet holes. With two steps he was in front of her, cupping Layla's face in his rough hands. His expression softened as he took her in, her determined gaze, the tense line of her jaw. He drank in every detail, committing her face to memory. Who knew when he was going to see it again, if ever.

"Kiss me," he said, his voice low, urgent.

Layla blinked, taken aback. "W-What?"

"WHAT!?" Steven's startled shout echoed in his mind.

Jake smirked, almost mischievously. "If his wife kissing another guy won't wake the bastardo up, you really do have to get that divorce," he joked, his voice shaking just a bit. "It's either that, or…" His smirk vanished, replaced by a chilling calm. "Or I hurt you. Steven was strong when he held onto the wheel to keep you safe… but if I'm the one to cause you pain, Marc won't be able to ignore that. He'll rip control from me to stop it. Your choice."

Layla stared at him, her face a picture of defiance and frustration, and yet… there was something in her eyes, something that softened. "You're terrible, you know that?" she muttered. And then, with a determination that left Jake breathless, she yanked him forward, her fingers gripping the back of his neck as she crushed her lips to his.

It wasn't the first kiss he'd ever had, not by a long shot, but it was definitely the most passionate one. Layla was fierce, literally kissing him as if her life depended on it and it felt as if the very heat of her presence was pouring into him. He could feel her nails dig into his neck as her other hand wrapped around his back, pulling him closer. When her lips parted slightly, he fought the urge to close his eyes, holding her gaze as he deepened the kiss, letting the fierce intensity pour through him, through every inch of his body, until he was almost dizzy.

Steven's voice drifted into his consciousness, faint, breathless, "Oh my days…" Jake knew his alter could feel exactly what Layla did to them, her body almost wrapped around theirs, the weight of it pressed against his, her heartbeat racing in time with his own.

Then she nipped at his bottom lip, sending a possessive growl rumbling through him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, his other hand tangling in her hair, pulling her against him. The world around them faded into nothing. Her breath was hot against his skin, mingling with his own, and for one electrifying moment, everything outside their embrace was a distant echo as he lost himself in her taste.

But then a terrible headache built behind his temple, sharp and insistent, like a heavy fist pressing into his skull. An iron-clad force yanked him backward.

Finally.

With a smirk, one hand on Layla's waist, another bloodied hand cupping her cheek, leaving his own mark, Jake relinquished control. Everything around him went dark.

XxX

AN: Heho, did you like the fight? It was short, I know but the fallout is all the more significant for it. Boy, Marc will be upset when he comes too. He's in a plane about to crash, there's bodies everywhere that died from his hands, making him look like the terrorist, Layla's there, she's got bandages around her torso from her injury, a bloody hand print on her face AND someone other than Marc has been snogging her.

Making a good first impression looks different, Jake.

This looks about as bad as it possibly could for Marc, who has zero knowledge of the context. Poor guy's not even recovered yet and promptly gets re-traumatized. I honestly couldn't think up a worse image for him to see when he first woke up - I know because I tried, harhar. Tell me if you liked it, my fellow dear sadists!

Next week: We've got to get this plane down and there's more Layla bonding moments.