Cwej: The Space Between Destinations by Aidan Mason

11/23/2025

THE Space Between Destinations
WRITTEN BY
AIDAN MASON

The screams echoed throughout the field and into the surrounding area. People covered their ears and tried to pretend it wasn't happening. Those who saw it, could scarcely describe what they saw.

Blue and gray. Bayonets against the enemy’s chest. Blood spilled on the very ground as each side attacked the other. A battle beyond the other, a battle on the soil of Northern Pennsylvania, where wound after wound was dealt, stab after stab… and yet not a single man died.

And then, after all was said and done, they left. The dead would come after, falling away from the grasp of life in hospitals.

But not in the field. Never in the field.

“Airport parking prices are a scam,” Sang Mi muttered as she and Chris Cwej walked away from their car towards the airport in the distance.

“It’s not that much better out in space either,” Chris replied.

Sang Mi merely nodded. She had far more pressing issues on her mind. Namely, her leg. She rubbed it, but the tension in her tendons was still there. An airport parking lot wasn’t the best place to get it stretched out, but apparently there wasn’t another good rest stop for a few miles.

“Any better?” Chris asked.

Sang Mi shook her head. “I’m gonna need to stretch it out more.”

A driver honked, startling the two. They raced to the side. Sang Mi gave a quick apology wave before continuing to walk. It was then that she noticed that the parking lot was full. Disturbingly full.

“Not gonna lie, there are better places to take a walk,” Chris said.

“Yeah,” Sang Mi replied.

“Airport?”

“Sounds good.”

Limping slightly, she continued to march with Cwej towards the airport. The automatic glass doors opened as they entered, only for Sang Mi to come close to faceplanting the back of an annoyed passenger. Chris barely managed to pull her back in time.

“This is inexcusable!” an old lady moaned, not noticing Chris and Sang Mi slowly walking away. “My luggage has been gone for thirty minutes!”

The two looked around and the lady wasn’t the only one that was having issues. The entire baggage claim area seemed crowded, people hovering around waiting for their luggage. If the cars were crowding the parking lot, this was even worse. It was obvious: there was no way that Sang Mi was gonna get her leg stretched out here.

“Deeper in?” Chris asked.

“Deeper in,” Sang Mi confirmed. With a grunt, they pushed forward.

ATTENTION. FLIGHT 904, HEADING FOR THE UNITED KINGDOM AT 8 A.M., HAS BEEN DELAYED. WE EXPECT THE DELAY TO LAST TWO HOURS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.

Harold Armstrong the Third groaned upon hearing the announcement. He leaned back in his seat in the waiting area, his pale British hands held firmly over his face. Scarlette Goldling was much more muted in her response, letting out a little sigh.

“I thought that being government employees meant that we would get the easy flights out,” Harold muttered. “We come all this way to help them with their school problem and we can’t even get a private jet home?”

“Well to be fair, we did fail to figure out whatever it was,” Scarlette said. “And given the current political environment, the fact that we’re here in the first place is a damn miracle.”

“Yeah, but we deal with the… unusual. I thought we'd get a pass because of that.”

“The real world overtakes all, it seems.” Scarlette put her face back into the book she was reading. She got about four or five words in before she sniffed. “Great,” she muttered. “Got a bit of a runny now.”

“Need a tissue, love?”

“That’d be nice,” Scarlette said, sniffing harder. “This one doesn’t feel like it’s going away.”

Harold rustled through his backpack. Nothing. He swore under his breath. He knew he should’ve gotten some tissues from the school before they left.

“I’ll get some paper towels for you,” he said, hurriedly standing up. “I was gonna take a moment to fix my hair anyway.”

“Don’t fall in!” Scarlette teased as he walked away towards the nearby bathroom. If only her nose wasn’t running. She cringed, knowing that she was going to have to deal with this on the flight back.

“Ow!”

Chris swore under his breath as he was slammed against the wall by the crushing force of the crowd, Sang Mi following along. A prick of pain shot into him as he could feel the scrape of his flesh against a stray nail in the wall. His fingertips danced across his side, until he came across a wet feeling. He brought his hand up to check his suspicion. Yep. Blood. He leaned up against a little plaque on the wall, taking a glance at it while he wiped his bloody fingers on his pants.

‘The Battle of the Northern Pennsylvania Range’ it read. That was odd, thought Chris. There weren’t any Civil War battles in Northern Pennsylvania, were there? The Confederacy hadn’t gotten any farther than Sporting Hill and that was in the South of the state. He wasn’t exactly a history aficionado, but time traveling had given him a bit more of a perspective than he’d had before.

“You, okay?” Sang Mi asked, throwing him out of his thoughts and into reality.

“Yeah, just a cut,” he replied, patting the wound once more. “Probably gonna need a bandaid. Or at least a towel.”

“Well, there’s a bathroom over…” She looked across the room and saw a line leading out of the door. “…Nevermind,” she groaned. “Now what?”

“Maybe the ticket lines will be better?” Chris suggested.

“Probably not,” a man walking by interjected. “Those lines have been long as all hell for hours. Might as well just wait here for all the good that’s gonna do ya…”

Sang Mi’s shoulders slumped. “So that’s out then. What now?”

Chris paused. He pressed his shirt up against the wound. Still bleeding. He looked over at Sang Mi and noticed a pained look on her face. Her leg wasn’t getting any better and this area couldn’t be any worse.

“We’ll have to go to the departure terminal,” he said. “There’s gonna be security, but I can handle it.”

“You sure?” Sang Mi asked worriedly.

“It’ll be fine,” Chris said. “As long as we look like we know what we’re doing and speak in a really authoritative voice, people let us by. At least most of the time…”

Sang Mi raised her eyebrow, but they didn’t really seem to have many other options, so forward they went. Pushing past people in suits, sunglasses, all waiting around, not moving or advancing.

The ticket lines were as they were told: long and arduous. Grumbles and complaints surrounded them as the mid-morning sun shone through the large windows behind them. Sang Mi grimaced; her leg still ached, tendons and muscles pulling at each other in ways that should’ve fixed themselves by now.

“Okay, here we come,” Chris said. “There will be a Transport Security checkpoint, but we… should be able to bluff our way through it.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“It’ll be okay! See there’s… huh.”

They rounded the corner, and both of their eyes widened as they saw the long line to the T.S.A. checkpoint. What surprised them was that there were no T.S.A. officers in sight. Their chairs were empty. Because of this, the line wasn’t moving an inch.

The two looked at each other. Chris’s blood started to drip on the floor. Sang Mi’s leg spasmed. It was a good enough reason for them to run—or hobble, in Sang Mi’s case—for it, moving through the sea of human bodies.

“Out of the way!” Chris shouted. “Official airport business!”

A few people grumbled, and one teenage girl shouted various expletives at them, but most noticed the blood dripping from Chris and didn’t challenge it.

Pushing through the last groups of people, the two made it into the airport lobby. The room contained everything you would expect from a lobby: benches, restaurants and best of all, there was room. Room to walk. Room to breath. Room to stretch.

Sang Mi let out a sigh of relief. Chris smiled, catching sight of a bathroom with no line. Perfect. He motioned over to Sang Mi.

“Gonna see if I can stop the bleeding,” he said.

She nodded. “See you in five?”

“See you in five.

Scarlette could barely breathe through her nose. Where was Harold with those tissues?
The bathroom door creaked and she hurriedly turned her head, but to her disappointment it was a blonde man going inside. With a sigh, she turned her head and saw a girl in a skirt limping over to a nearby bench. For some reason, the girl was grimacing.

She tried to return to her book, but couldn’t help but watch the girl. Sweat was dripping down her face. Whatever was wrong, it looked painful.

The girl looked relieved when she made it to the bench. Smiling, she put her leg up and leaned back. She stayed there for a few moments, as Scarlette turned to see what she was doing.

Then the girl’s smile fell. She put her leg down and knelt on the floor, holding it. And then she began to scream.

The bathroom smelled like absolute garbage, but Chris didn’t care. He made a beeline for the paper towel dispenser, yanking out as much as he could and pressing them against his side. The only person in there with him was standing over a sink, running his hands through his hair.

Chris held the paper towels hard and applied pressure. He counted down the seconds, making sure to regulate his breathing. Satisfied the bleeding had stopped, he removed the towels and held them up to see. Yep, pretty bloody, but at least it had stopped.

He started to feel lightheaded. He placed his hand back against his side. Blood. It was bleeding just the same as before.

“Goddamnit!” the man at the sink said. “How hard is it for my hair to look good?”

Chris turned around and caught a look at the man in the mirror, who yanked at the tips of his hair. He had been doing it since Chris had entered, which gave him pause for thought. Something was going on here, something that wasn’t entirely natural…

“Hey, do you need help?” Chris offered.

“Sure, yeah,” the man replied gratefully. From his accent, Chris noted he was British as well. Chris walked over and ran his hands through the man’s hair. He took a glance at the man’s nametag, noting the UK government credentials.

“Slicked back or more forward?” Chris asked.

“Slicked,” the man replied. “I’m Harold, by the way, Mr., er…”

“Cwej. Chris Cwej.”

Chris frowned as he felt the strands of hair in his fingers. This should’ve been easy, but for some reason, he couldn’t get it exactly right. He brushed them through again. Nothing. It was as though he hadn’t touched it at all, as if something was deliberately keeping it from being altered.

“Bloody hell mate, you’re bleeding,” Harold said, looking down to Chris’s abdomen.
“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Chris grunted. “It’s just a small cut.”

“Then why hasn’t it stopped bleeding?”

“One second,” said Chris said, trying again with Harold’s hair. At this point, sweat dripped down his cheeks. No matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to change.

“I’m so sorry,” Chris said. “It’s like…”

“Like you can’t truly solve the problem?” Harold said.

Chris nodded. “Yeah…”

Chris looked at the man, then at his cut, two things which refused to be changed. Whatever this was, it was affecting both of them.

“If you and I are suffering a similar affliction, that means we’re connected,” Chris said. “Come on, follow me.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on!” Harold protested. “What do you mean by that?”

Chris sighed. He really didn’t have time for this. “Look, I’m a time and space traveler from the future. Something alien or otherworldly is interfering here and I need to make sure that my companion is safe. So come on, let’s go.”

Harold opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a scream. It came from the lobby. Chris didn’t hesitate. He ran for the door, grabbing Harold’s hand and pulling him along behind him.

Agony. Sang Mi was in utter agony. Worse pain she’d ever felt in her life. Her leg kept spasming, the muscles and tendons inside twisting. It wasn’t going away. It wasn’t going away, no matter how hard she stretched.

A young woman was kneeling over her, desperately trying to calm her down. Sang Mi barely could pay attention to what the woman was saying though. Hell, all that Sang Mi could really make out through her tears was the woman’s ginger hair and nametag with the word ‘Scarlette’ on it.

“Honey, honey? You okay?” Scarlette asked.

“NO!” Sang Mi screamed. “It won’t stop! It won’t go back!”

“Sang Mi!” a male voice shouted. Scarlette turned to see Harold along with a tall blond man. Said blond man raced over to the girl, who Scarlette guessed was Sang Mi, who was hyperventilating.

“Who’s that?” Scarlette whispered.

“Calls himself Chris Cwej,” Harold muttered. “He knows about… our line of work too.”

“Hey, hey,” Chris said, holding onto Sang Mi. “Calm down, calm down. Tell me what happened.”

“It won’t stop,” Sang Mi cried. “My leg is still cramping.”

Chris frowned. The wheels turned in his head. It was all coming together. “You’re not alone in that,” he said.

“So is it… alien?” Scarlette interjected. She sniffled. Why wouldn’t her nose feel normal, damn it? She’d wiped it at least a dozen times.

“Maybe,” Chris said. He helped Sang Mi to her feet. She held her stomach and her legs shook slightly. “But what exactly, I don’t know.”

“Well should we go into the airport itself then?” Harold suggested. “See what we can find?”

“Yeah,” Chris distractedly replied. “Sang Mi, can you walk?”

“I think so.” Her legs were still shaking, but the tears stopped. She took a deep breath and started to walk towards the T.S.A. line, Chris holding her hand as Scarlette and Harold followed behind them.

So much delicious suffering. So much delicious food. It watched, devouring the misery with an insatiable appetite. So many people. So many sources. Especially those four. It kept a close eye on them. Their misery was so satisfying. The blond one though… he looked like trouble. Felt like trouble too. So did the girl. It would have to hide in the shadows as usual.

But those two, oh their misery was so filling, regardless of the trouble. So delicious…

The main concourse of the airport didn’t seem to reveal anything unusual. Crying babies, the angry voices in the T.S.A. line and loudspeaker announcements of cancelled flights. Including Scarlette and Harold’s once again.

ATTENTION. FLIGHT 904, HEADING FOR THE UNITED KINGDOM AT 10 A.M., HAS BEEN DELAYED. WE EXPECT THE DELAY TO LAST TWO HOURS. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE.

“Bloody hell,” Harold muttered. “Could this day get any worse?”

“Don’t jinx it, swee…snooort….sweetheart,” Scarlette said, blowing her nose yet again.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Harold mussed up his hair again. Damn it, why wouldn’t it stay the way he liked it?

“Yeah, it’s probably just allergies,” Scarlette replied.

“Or another part of what’s going on here,” Chris grunted. He started to sway. His vision grew spotty and he became light headed. A trail of blood trickled behind him.

“What do you mean by that?” Scarlette asked, nose dripping.

Chris didn’t respond right away. He turned around, facing the group, and looked them in the eyes.

“All of us have something going on that won’t stop,” he began. “Sang Mi’s leg is cramping, my cut won’t stop bleeding, Scarlette’s nose won’t stop dripping—”

“And I can’t get my hair right,” Harold finished.

“Precisely,” Chris said. “And no matter what we do, it won’t stop. That’s not natural. Something’s affecting us.”

“But what about everyone else?” Sang Mi asked. “They’re not like us. They’re acting normally…”

Chris racked his brain and spun in a circle to take in every inch of the airport: the screaming babies, people waiting in lines—everything that seemed normal. Just like it was when he’d entered.

“I’m not sure everything’s normal,” Chris said. “Take a look.”

“We did,” Scarlette said. “All typical airport bullshit.”

“Yes, and that’s the point,” Chris stood tall, spurned on by the discovery he’d made. “Come on, follow me.”

Harold and Scarlette marched on after him, Sang Mi limping along beside them. He stopped at the T.S.A. line that they’d run past only a few minutes before.

“Right here,” Chris said. “That’s the proof. What do you notice?”

Harold and Scarlette glanced at the scene: people waiting in line, the scanner beeping, the lack of a security guard in the chair…

“The guard isn’t there,” Scarlette answered.

“And because of that, they can’t move,” Chris said. “It’s all stopped. All the announcements, all the delays—nothing’s coming to a conclusion. All the most miserable parts of the airport experience, and they don’t seem to be ending anytime soon.”

“Like we’re frozen in time?” asked Harold.

“Maybe not time, but rather in state,” Chris said. “We’re in the space between destinations. Just like an airport.”

“So what are we gonna do now?” Sang Mi asked, fighting back her discomfort.

Chris frowned. He glanced at the plaque—the first red flag, that should have tipped him off from the very beginning.

“This whole airport is suspicious,” said Chris. “And if we’re in the space between destinations, then we need to choose a destination and leave.”

“How?” Harold asked. “Our plane’s delayed, and if you’re right, it’ll be delayed over and over again.”

“Hold on, let him cook,” said Scarlette. “You’re talking about leaving the airport, right?”

Chris nodded. “A destination doesn’t need to be forward. We can go backwards, and that means leaving.

It scowled. The shadows surrounded it, turning itself into something corporeal, leaking from behind the plaque. They couldn’t leave. Not the two at least. They were in so much pain, it was delightful.

But for the briefest of moments, it wondered if the ones sure to be trouble were worth keeping. After all, they were out of sync. One wrong move and it would lose more than a meal, but its life.

The hesitation, however, lasted merely a moment. After all, it consoled itself, hadn’t it done riskier things before? Every single combatant was out of sync on the battlefield which it had fed back in 1863. They could’ve killed it with so little effort, and yet it had been so clever, hiding in the shadows, in the weeds, watching as the two sides fought.

It could handle these two. All it needed to do was keep them in.

“There’s the exit!” Scarlette shouted.

The four started making their way towards the doors, the very doors through which Chris and Sang Mi had entered. Around them were blissfully unaware travelers, their only certainty being long lines and wait times.

“Can’t we warn them?” Sang Mi croaked, still leaning on Chris. Her eyes were nearly dry, all moisture having been expelled through her tears.

Chris shook his head. “It’s too risky. We don’t know what’s causing this, and if we disrupt it, who knows what could happen.”

“Look,” Sang Mi protested, “whatever’s causing this clearly doesn’t want the people here dead. If it went to all the work to even create a fake plaque—”

“Let’s just get out of here,” said Harold, “before we alert any—”

Too late. A black shadow-like figure emerged from the wall, rippling and changing nearly every second. Its body shifted, shape to shape, from humanoid to monstrous, never staying in one for too long.. Its only constant were dark tendrils that emerged from every orifice, thin and long, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The tendrils floated in front of the door, ripping Harold’s hand from the handle and knocking him back. The main body of the creature floated over to block the exit, glaring directly at the four as the rest of the airport ran in horror. A young boy tripped, falling into the luggage of a woman ahead of him. A man grabbed him, pulling him up into his arms as he ran, his bloodshot eyes looking back in terror.

To the confusion of those gathered, a crackly voice spoke over the chaos and screams, emitting from the shadow figure.

“For the record, there was a battle here,” the voice said. “Just not that battle. What happened here was more a heavenly conflict. Such a shame that humans are so fragile—they had to fill in their own war to make sense of it.”

Chris reached for his pocket, only to remember that he didn’t have his gun on him. Biting his lip, he turned to Scarlette and Harold, who shook their heads. Sang Mi, meanwhile, was kneeling on the floor, the pain of her leg unable to be released, stabbing deep into her soul.

“So,” he began, trying to sound intimidating. “What’s all this, huh?”

The dark figure laughed. “Really? Did you think that I was going to reveal what I was doing, give a big villain speech so you could ‘save the day’?”

“Maybe,” Chris admitted. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But I’ve fought in a war, darling, one where we didn’t even know our enemy’s name.”

“I know your war, where time itself stretched from end to end, wrapping around and around and around,” the creature said. “Oh what lovely days those were. Such a wonderful place, so many moments between life and death…”

“So that’s what you feed on, huh?” said Scarlette. “I think I get it now. The space between destinations, the misery of people stuck in the middle of two points.”

“And that’s why you’re in an airport,” Harold interjected. “Where else, but the place in-between all others?”

Sang Mi just groaned as she knelt on the floor.

“Very clever,” the creature hissed. “But sadly, clever doesn’t save you.”

Multiple tendrils flung out from the main mass and grasped onto Harold and Scarlette. Lifting up off the ground, Cwej thrust his hand out to grab them, but they were already out of reach. More tendrils surrounded him and Sang Mi, cutting the two off from each other.

“What is this?” Chris shouted.

“A warning,” the creature snarled. “You’re going exactly nowhere.”

Grunting, Chris balled his fists and swung them at the creature. To his surprise, the tendrils slicked back, revealing a small opening where he could see Sang Mi. She cried out as her body spasmed. The tendrils moved away from her as well, just outside her reach.

“Interesting,” Chris thought to himself. He stepped forward. The tendrils moved further back and the creature scowled and hissed.

“One more step and these two die,” it said, motioning to Scarlette and Harold.

“So you’re afraid of me,” Chris muttered. “And Sang Mi too.”

“I’m warning you!”

“Okay, okay,” Chris said. “So what do you want me to do?”

“You’ll stay here,” the creature growled. “Right here in this airport.”

“So you can feed on me even more?”

“Indeed,” the creature smiled. “Forever and ever.”

“And you’ll release these two?”

“When you’ve walked far away enough, yes.”

Chris took a second to respond. An idea was running through his head, potentially a good one, but he needed to be sure it was going to work. “And what do you think is gonna make me walk away?” He crossed his arms, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“Well,” the creature said. “You’re something special, all right. But you’re still humanoid. Very humanoid. If you bleed out, you’ll never be able to help anyone.”

“Fine,” said Chris. He gave a look at all three of his compatriots, desperately hoping that it would be enough to convey his intentions. With a sigh, he marched away.

And oh, did he march. He had no intention of staying away for that long. He brushed past the wreckage and abandoned wreckage that dotted the floor, each footstep faster than the last. With a grunt, Chris flexed his muscles, ignoring the blood dripping down his side. This was going to hurt, but it had to be done.

Grabbing the T.S.A. officer’s abandoned chair, he smashed it into the wall where the plaque was located. Over and over again. The wood crumpled and cracked. Splinters dug into his fingers, drawing even more blood. Black spots dug into his vision, but he didn’t care. As soon as there were enough holes in the wall, he tossed aside the remnants of the chair and dug his hands into the cracks. Screaming, he pulled out that entire section of the wall, the plaque along with it. The veins on his temples bulged as he lifted the section of drywall over his head and ferried it back down the halls.

Breadcrumb-trails of blood dotted the floor behind Chris as he walked. He tried his best to ignore it—his timing had to be perfect. Blood poured down his body, but he carried on. Step by step, he moved forwards.

Time was a blur. He was here now, at the edge of the hallway, vision so fuzzy he could barely see. The section of wall shook in his hands and he knew he would collapse any minute now. Except… maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe that creature’s little stunt meant that his muscles would never give out.

The creature was counting down. He could hear its slimy voice in the fringes of his perception.At least it seemed to be keeping his word. But that wasn’t good enough.

With a strained grunt, Chris heaved the drywall over his head and crashing down to the ground. The weakened structure exploded. A cloud of dust blew into the air, plaster and debris, flying in all directions. The plaque, severed from its mountings, ricocheted off the floor and spun in the air, right towards the creature. It hissed and ducked out of the way, dropping Harold and Scarlette in the process. Still spinning, the projectile smashed into the door behind it, embedding itself into the frame and shattering the glass in the process.

The creature turned towards Chris, but he was already in the air, diving towards the monster. With a smile, Chris slammed into the creature so hard that the two became one. Tendrils flailed as Chris clung tight.

“I know why you’re scared,” Chris snarled. “Sang Mi and I, we’re not traditional travelers. Our destinations are beyond the very boundaries of this universe. We’re beyond your space between destinations.”

Flesh melted, shadows folded. The two seemingly melded into each other. The creature’s body seemed to morph into memories, as Chris and it became intertwined.

Chris saw it: an unimaginable war, one he knew all too well, had been brought to a definitive conclusion by his own biodata. In that terrible conflict, the creature seemed to weave through it like a parasite, feeding off moments in time on the secondary fronts, trenches on the outskirts of the conflict.

When the battle came, Chris shivered at the sight. Whilst both sides sought death, the creature prevented any of it: a stalemate of perpetual injury. Not a single combatant would die. Not on that field in Northern Pennsylvania, where any native bystander would go mad at the sight.

But even that wasn’t enough. When the war ended, the creature remained, starving. As V-Time moved on, it began to die. That was until the airport was built, a space where little miseries were commonplace. Not enough to sustain its voracious appetite, but enough to keep it alive. A black echo, feeding on scraps until it was strong enough to emerge.

The creature howled in pain. Its body contorted as it in turn saw Chris’s memories: childhood, adolescence, meeting Roz, the Defector, the Superiors, W-Time, Larles and Kwol, rebellion. Change after change after change. And with each glimpse it saw, it began to shrink.

“You are just an echo,” said Chris, emerging from the mass. “One that’s long past its welcome.”

The creature let out a scream, as its writhing form continued to shrink. The sound grew quieter and quieter, its body smaller and smaller, until nothing remained.

Normality returned. Crowds of people rushed around them, desperate to catch their flights. A crackle and bleep of a radio sounded to their left, as airport security returned to their post. And above it all came a cry of relief from Sang Mi.

Chris raced over to her, no longer afflicted by the cut to his side.

“Is it over?” she asked.

Chris nodded. “It’s over.”

ATTENTION. FLIGHT 904, HEADING FOR THE UNITED KINGDOM, WILL DEPART IN 25 MINUTES.

“Guess I’m gonna have to go soon,” said Harold. “I don’t suppose there’s time for a debrief?”

Chris shook his head. “That’s probably for the best. No use letting that echo take up any more space in our heads. Time for it to fade away for good.”

Reluctantly, Harold nodded. “Are you and Sang Mi going to be alright?”

“We’ll be fine,” Chris said. “We’ve been through worse on this odyssey of ours.”

The car ride was silent. Sang Mi gazed out of the window as the airport passed out of sight, to be replaced with the trees and suburbs of Northern Pennsylvania. Golden edges of sunlight shone in their eyes. No one said anything. Not even the radio played. No echoes, just silence.

NEXT STOP:
STOP!
BY THETA MANDEL

Copyright © 2025 Arcbeatle Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Edited by James Wylder and James Hornby
Formatting and design by James Wylder & Aristide Twain
Cover by Leela Ross
Illustration by Plum Pudding
Logo design by Lucas Kovacs

Concepts Used with Permission:
Academy 27 © Arcbeatle Press
WARSONG, WARS TCG, Gongen, Takumi, and associated concepts © Decipher, Inc.
Chris Cwej and associated concepts © Andy Lane
Archons © Aristide Twain

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