Events Leading to Chernarus - Business Trip - Narrative
Bishop sulked back into the leather cushioning of his economy-class seat, a dwindling ray of dusky light shone through the window to his left. The sigh of the chair compressing beneath him and the sigh that left his lips were almost indistinguishable. For a moment he closed his eyes, sedated by the relief that he had made it on board his Boeing 787 despite the struggles that come with an airport full of moaning and groaning hordes of dissatisfied and delayed travellers.
The moment soon escaped him however as the planes secondary engines spurred noisily to life. The titan traversed its way across the tarmac; aligning itself between the violent radiance of the runways crimson lighting - ever more prominent now the sun had begun to completely dip below the threshold of the surrounding landscape and almost all natural light had started to fade.
Bishop leaned up against the port-hole like window as his plane began to make its ascent. He rummaged about in his breast pocket, sliding out a worn leather wallet from within and unfolding it in his course hands. Staring longingly at a discolored family photo he began to frown. The distance he began to put between his wife and two year old daughter made his heart heavy. 'I'll be back before you know it', he heard himself say to his daughter at the airport before departure.
His attention soon turned to the darkness beyond his window. He made out the dim silhouette of a man on a distant runway, donning two glaring bright signal lights in his hands, wafting them up and down - directing an incoming plane on another runway. But to his amusement, and much to his confusion - the static runway lights skirting the side closest to the airport suddenly vanished into darkness, then the signal lights' being waved about in the centre of the tarmac, and soon after the lights skirting the opposite side. All consumed by an eerie blanket of sweeping darkness.
This sight troubled him, it almost seemed supernatural by nature. As if something as dense as a black sea itself had flooded about and engulfed the runway. He glanced about the cabin for anyone else who had just experienced what he had - but they seemed entirely naive and unaware. For the best part of an hour his mind raced trying to find an explanation for the phenomenon, until he gave in, taking enough triazolam to last the flight. Eventually a darkness of his own took control, and he drifted into a deep slumber.
Bishop awoke. An overpowering stench of smoke and the sound of metal bending and crashing were all about him. He was surrounded by plumes of fire dancing and crackling violently. Encased in the now warped metal walls once belonging to a Boeing 787. He began coughing sporadically - unaware of just how much smoke he had inhaled. Getting up, he stumbled for the exit. Skirting around seats in an intense state of panic that got worse with every unconscious and bloody passenger he saw in slumped in them. Once outside he tried to put as much distance between him and the wreckage as possible. Keeping an eye open for any signs of life that may have been illuminated in the otherwise barren field by the billowing flames behind him.
Arriving at a treeline he fell forward onto his knees. A desperate series of coughs and gasps for air erupted from his lungs as he heaved himself around and onto his back. He lay here for a while, gathering his breath and attempting to check his phone signal each minute - but to no avail. Eventually the ash-covered traveller got to his feet as the fires and lights from them began to dim down. Making his way back over to the wreckage in an attempt to help any survivors, he thought he had heard the wind moaning as it came through the field...