Our TG Captionpage 11
written by... radel
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The morning sun filtered through the glass windows of the bustling airport, so different from the steel and sand-colored walls of the base you had once called home. Your reflection in the terminal window still startled you sometimes—long hair tied neatly back, smooth skin, a flight attendant’s crisp navy-blue uniform hugging your figure just right. It was a far cry from the flight suit and helmet you had worn only days ago.
Your name badge gleamed: Clara Richards. You had chosen a new identity, one that would let you step away from the burden of the cockpit, the weight of orders, and the guilt of what happened with Richard’s plane.
“First day?” asked a fellow attendant, a tall brunette with a warm smile. She adjusted her scarf and handed you a clipboard with the passenger manifest.
“Yeah,” you said softly, still trying to get used to the sound of your own voice—higher, smoother, undeniably feminine.
The boarding gate came alive with the hum of passengers. Businessmen checking their watches, families wrangling children, young couples leaning against each other with sleepy smiles. It was strange being on this side of things. Instead of escorting weapons of war, you were helping people reach their loved ones, their homes, their new beginnings.
As you guided the first passenger down the aisle, your thoughts drifted briefly to the black dress folded neatly in your locker. It had brought you here—changed you. Maybe it was punishment, maybe it was fate. But standing there, greeting civilians with a practiced smile, you felt something you hadn’t in years of service.
Peace.
When the intercom clicked and the captain asked you to prepare for takeoff, you found yourself instinctively glancing at the cockpit. Your hands twitched, missing the controls, the roar of the engines, the sky itself.
You weren’t sure if this new life would satisfy that itch, or if someday you’d find yourself back behind the stick. But for now, as the engines thundered and the plane rolled forward, you smiled to yourself.
The Wave had taken your old life.
But maybe—just maybe—it had given you a chance to live a better one.
Your name badge gleamed: Clara Richards. You had chosen a new identity, one that would let you step away from the burden of the cockpit, the weight of orders, and the guilt of what happened with Richard’s plane.
“First day?” asked a fellow attendant, a tall brunette with a warm smile. She adjusted her scarf and handed you a clipboard with the passenger manifest.
“Yeah,” you said softly, still trying to get used to the sound of your own voice—higher, smoother, undeniably feminine.
The boarding gate came alive with the hum of passengers. Businessmen checking their watches, families wrangling children, young couples leaning against each other with sleepy smiles. It was strange being on this side of things. Instead of escorting weapons of war, you were helping people reach their loved ones, their homes, their new beginnings.
As you guided the first passenger down the aisle, your thoughts drifted briefly to the black dress folded neatly in your locker. It had brought you here—changed you. Maybe it was punishment, maybe it was fate. But standing there, greeting civilians with a practiced smile, you felt something you hadn’t in years of service.
Peace.
When the intercom clicked and the captain asked you to prepare for takeoff, you found yourself instinctively glancing at the cockpit. Your hands twitched, missing the controls, the roar of the engines, the sky itself.
You weren’t sure if this new life would satisfy that itch, or if someday you’d find yourself back behind the stick. But for now, as the engines thundered and the plane rolled forward, you smiled to yourself.
The Wave had taken your old life.
But maybe—just maybe—it had given you a chance to live a better one.
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