Captive

Kaihi

The floor beneath me is cold and unyielding.

My eyes flicker open to gloom. Grey walls. No window. A hard cot.

A jail cell.

So… they weren’t exactly thrilled with my arrival.

Still - I'm alive. That’s something. And surprisingly, I’m not injured.

Then it hits me. A hollow ache wells in my chest.
They’ve taken my earpieces.

They’ve taken Fiya.

I sit up, heart thudding, panic blooming deep in my ribs.
What will they do to her?

A sharp metallic click cuts through the silence-
Keys.
The cell door swings open with a heavy clang.

Light pours in, blinding me. I raise a hand instinctively, eyes watering. A figure fills the doorway Broad-shouldered. Still.

“Kaihi Lahav. Stand and follow me. Don’t try anything funny.”

The silhouette steps back.

I hesitate. Then slowly rise, my joints stiff. As I step into the corridor, my eyes adjust.

The man is older - seasoned. His khaki uniform is crisp, medals aligned in perfect rows. His face is weathered, cold, with eyes that could freeze fire.

A commander.

On either side of me: two armed guards. Clean-cut, sharp-eyed, rifles at the ready. The weapons aren’t Allied.

Axis design.

I shiver.

The commander doesn’t wait. He turns and begins down the corridor, footsteps echoing. I follow, careful not to fall behind. One wrong move could cost me more than just bruises.

We move through a maze of sterile hallways-
Sharp corners. Steel doors. Everything painted in the same oppressive grey.

At last we stop at a white door, set in a darker wall. The commander opens it.

Inside, a room with a single table. Three chairs. No windows. Dim light.

An interrogation room.

My stomach tightens.

If the stories are true, this room isn’t just for questions.
It’s for answers.
By any means necessary.

The commander motions for me to sit - furthest seat from the door.

I obey, trying not to look as pale as I feel.

He stays in the doorway, flanked by the guards.

“Wait here. You’ll be questioned shortly.”

The door swings shut.
Click.
The lock turns.

Boots echo down the hall - sharp, methodical, retreating.
One set remains.
A single guard.

The silence that follows presses in like a weight.
I can feel my composure slipping, breath by breath.

What are they going to ask me?
What happens if I don’t give them what they want?
What happens if I do?

My thoughts spiral.
My vision tunnels.
My breathing shortens.

I clamp my hands around the table’s edges, grounding myself.
Hold it together.

I don’t know how long I sit like that.
Five minutes?
Thirty?
An hour?

Then:

Boots.
Keys.
Voices.

The door unlocks with a squeal and floods the room with harsh light.
I blink furiously, momentarily blind.

Three men enter.
One stands guard near the wall.
The others sit across from me.

The light dims. My vision sharpens.

The commander again. And with him, someone new.
Another officer - high-ranking, by the look of him.
Neat uniform, medals, a bundle of papers in hand.

I force myself to stay still. To not tremble.

They don’t speak.

They study me.
Their expressions: unreadable.
The guard beside them stares straight ahead - motionless, detached.

Just as I feel the pressure mounting to unbearable levels, the second man lifts the papers. His voice is cool, measured.

“Kaihi Lahav. Callsign Arkar. Fighter pilot, Allied Air Force. Born in Aymar. Nineteen years old.”

My stomach knots.
He knows my age?

He glances over the paper, eyebrows raised.

“Young, ain’t you?”

But he doesn’t wait for a reply.

He keeps reading. Effortless. Unrelenting.

“No living family. No known relations. No listed home. Enlisted at sixteen. Completed advanced courses in engineering, mechanics, and piloting - all at the top of your class. Entered active service on your eighteenth birthday. Started as a mechanic. Transferred to fighters three months ago. In that time, twelve missions. Twenty-three enemy aircraft downed.”

He lowers the papers.
Meets my eyes.

I’m stunned.

Who is this guy?
And how does he know so much?

“Do you know what that means?”

I shake my head slowly.

Him and the commander exchange a glance. Something silent passes between them.

Then the man flips through the papers again.
Stops.
Sets them down, face-first, on the table.

He sighs.

“Kaihi… this may come as a surprise to you,
but we aren’t your enemy.”

Classic interrogation tactic.
Pretend you're the good guys. Pretend you’re on the same side.

I don’t respond.
Don’t blink.
Don’t move.

He sighs again. Then stands.

“Alright. Looks like we’re gonna have to do this the hard way.”

A chill ripples through me. My skin prickles.
Goosebumps crawl up my arms.
Bile rises in my throat.

He reaches into his pocket.
I brace.
Knife?
Gun?

But instead...
He pulls out a headset.
Yellow. Mine.

He holds it out.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

I stare.
Suspicious.
Expecting a trap.

When he doesn’t move, I slowly take it from his hand. It's light. Familiar.

Still feels like a trick.

I look up at him, confused.

He gestures to his ears.

“Go on. We’re not going to hurt you.”

I slip the earpieces in.

“Arkar! Oh my goodness. I was so worried! I’m glad you’re OK!”

Fiya.
My heart lurches.

They didn’t alter her voice. Didn’t replace her with some cold AI. She’s still her.

I almost respond-
Then remember where I am.

I clamp my mouth shut.
Glance between the men across the table.

The commander leans forward. The second man returns to his seat.

“Kaihi, we’re well aware of your skill inside the cockpit. We have use for you.”

What?
They’re trying to recruit me now?

I must look stunned.
The commander exhales softly, then folds his hands.

“Alright. I’ll start from the beginning. Our country, Karikoga, is in secret talks with the Allied forces. We don’t want a war. But we have trade obligations with the Axis.”

He lowers his voice, like what he’s about to say is dangerous.

“We have a mission. One our own people refuse to take. A dangerous one.”

A pause.

“The best pilots in our forces - aces - every single one of them turned it down. Even when offered full retirement and a house by the sea.”

His eyes find mine.

“We won’t force you either. But…”

He narrows his gaze.

“It’s the only way you’ll return to your homeland.”

Silence.
The weight of his words crushes the air from the room.

I don’t answer.
Can’t.

It’s all happening so fast. And I still don’t know what they want.

He picks up the papers again.

“I suppose you’d like to know what kind of mission even war-hardened veterans wouldn’t touch.”

Yes.
Yes, I would.

He sets the stack down again and folds his hands. His voice lowers.

“The mission is simple. Carry a small cargo. Travel across hostile territory in a fast fighter. Make it to Allied land.”

That’s it?
That’s what they’re all afraid of?

My confusion must show.

He nods, confirming my reaction.

“Yup. That’s all it is.”

A short pause.

“Unfortunately, the Axis has deployed a new generation of ground-to-air missiles. Advanced. Aggressive. And they're everywhere.”

Ah.
So that’s what hit me.

But still-

“Couldn’t you just fly high? Out of range? I know it’s a long journey, but-”

He cuts me off with a grin.

“Glad to see you can talk! I was starting to think you were a mute.”

He and his partner chuckle briefly.
But the moment passes. Their faces return to shadow.

“No. You can’t fly high. The cargo isn’t ordinary.”

A long pause.
He stares into me, as if trying to see through to the back of my skull.

And then:

“The cargo is… a passenger.”

A passenger?

That’s… unique. But it doesn’t answer my altitude question, and it brings up a dozen more. I sit straighter, a little more alert, even as unease simmers beneath my skin.

The commander’s voice is steady, measured.

“The passenger can’t fly at altitude. You see, they’re the child of a very important politician in this country. But they’re very sick. Critically. Our medical facilities… they aren’t enough. The only place with the equipment to save them is Aymar.”

Aymar. Home.

I blink. My thoughts are moving faster than I can speak.

“Does this sickness prevent flying at altitude?”

He nods.

“Yes. The pressure difference would collapse their lungs. And even if it didn’t… the cold, the reduced oxygen, the shift in air composition - any of it could kill them.”

I frown.

“But couldn’t you use a pressurised cabin with an oxygen system? Even basic transport aircraft have those.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head.

“No. It’s not just the air. Apparently, it’s also to do with solar radiation - something in the upper atmosphere the lower layers filter out. Their condition makes them especially vulnerable. The doctors here barely understand it. But it’s real.”

Okay… that answers that, I suppose. But other pieces still don’t fit.

“Then why use a fighter?” I ask. “If it’s low-altitude, you could just - send them in a fast transport, right? Something stable. And if you’re not enemies with the Axis-”

He cuts me off with a look of quiet gravity.

“That’s the problem. We’re not enemies… yet. But we’re not allies, either. We’re tolerated. A neutral convenience. The moment we stop being useful, they’ll sweep us aside. Any aircraft that leaves Karikoga without Axis markings is flagged. The ones that don’t obey their intercept commands…”

He trails off. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

I swallow hard.

“So you need someone who can fly fast, low, and invisible - slip past them before they even have time to react.”

He nods, grim.

“Exactly. And more than that… someone who can survive the new threats.”

I frown, unconvinced. “But surely the missiles can’t be that bad. They’re new, right? Experimental. Even the best Allied systems are flawed. This can’t be worse than that.”

The commander doesn’t argue. Instead, he slides a set of blurry, grainy photos across the table.

Missiles.

Dozens of them. Each one slightly different - sleek body shapes, different exhaust trails. The only consistency is their ground-launched nature.

Then he hands me a printed sheet - dense with figures, annotations, arrows and warning signs.

I stare at it. My breath catches in my throat.

“What… what is this? Twenty-G turn limits? That’s impossible. That’s inhuman! And afterburners…? The Allies don’t even have working prototypes yet - what the hell are these?”

The commander’s partner speaks this time, his tone low.

“Unfortunately, it’s real. The specs were pulled from classified Axis documentation. Left behind by a careless politician at a hotel. We didn’t believe them at first either. Thought it was misinformation.”

He sighs, folding his arms.

“But then we saw them in action. And… they might be better than this report suggests.”

A chill trickles down my spine.

No wonder their best pilots turned this down. No wonder nobody accepted - not even for luxury, safety, or prestige.

This is suicide.

But…

If I say yes… if I make it through…

I could go home.

I could be free.