The noise of gun fire sounded in the cabin.
Year of the Pig fired at his attacker
Year of the Pig’s foot exploded in agony.
Year of the Pig had been shot.
Year of the Pig fired back into the smoke.
Screams came out of the smoke.
Fists were hitting him.
Year of the Pig had his gun pulled out his hand.
The beating was all over his body. Smoke obscured everything.
Nine Hundred Days could feel broken glass in his hair. The sweet smell of alcohol formed a halo around him. He had gotten the stewardess who had broken the bottle over his head to back off. Screaming and waving his gun had done the trick. The blood pouring down his mask must have made him look more solemn and scary.
Sirius was yelling instructions to the passengers when the old man holding Year of the Pig’s machine pistol wandered out of the smoke. He began waving the gun and shouting
Out of the slug trail of existence I have wandered. Those glistening trails on the morning sidewalks to this moment to redeem an existence considered useless by the ways of the world. Look at me now.
A red faced man tackled him, pushing the old man to the ground.
Sirius flung a flash bang at the struggling pair.
Said Nine Hundred Days
Year of the Pig has been overpowered, Nine Hundred.
He didn’t have the will.
The will. What will?
The old man crawled out of the smoke to be pepper sprayed by Sirius.
Coughing and sneezing he kept coming, spitting out teeth.
Teeth. Every tooth marks my claim on history.
Sirius took the gun from his hand.
The four giant rotors began to whir.