/x/ - Paranormal

After an enjoyable summer day trip that took them from their small but cosmopolitan eastern Pennsylvania town to the middle-of-nowhere, somewhere in the western half of the state, they arrived at the job site; a trailer parked in a clearing in the woods, just off a little-traveled back road. It featured three satellites on the roof, one of which they later learned was simply to provide a television signal for the workers who might inhabit it. It even had an air conditioner.

Neither Tim nor Tom had any serious experience setting up the satellite communications mentioned in the classifieds, but fortunately for them, the connection had already been set up for them. They would spend the next three months driving the company pickup truck to the nearest store for grocery runs, performing calibration tests for the company, and familiarizing themselves with the ins and outs of a number of software platforms Boeing wanted them to master. They checked in with Steve about once per week over the phone and received most of their tasks via email. During the first three months, it felt like a do-nothing job. There was never more than a couple of hours of tasks to complete each day, which forced the pair to find other ways to occupy their time. They visited the local dive bars, took joyrides in the company truck, and whatever else they could do to pass the time. They kept reminding themselves that they’d soon be working somewhere closer to home with some real-world experience under their belt… not to mention, plenty of cold, hard cash.

Steve promised them they would be reassigned closer to home in the middle of September, once testing had been completed on a new UAV system Boeing needed to perfect. Tim and Tom’s job was to make sure that the unmanned aerial vehicles were responsive to inputs from their control system and to identify any bugs they encountered along the way. Strangely, there were very few. It was almost as though most of the bugs had already been worked out by others, which wasn’t very surprising since the new system was supposed to be built upon work done by others. The difference with this UAV, dubbed the Next Generation Very Large (NGVL)-UAV, however, was that it was significantly larger than any UAV previously tested. Part of their job was to test the maneuverability of a very large UAV in a busy environment i.e. avoiding both airborne and ground-based obstacles.

Three months later, in early September, Steve’s visits to the job site were becoming increasingly frequent. Sometimes he would stop by to drop off spare joysticks for the UAV testing, other times simply to see how the pair were doing. One Friday evening at the end of the first week of September, however, Steve arrived in more casual attire than usual and caught the pair off-guard with an invitation to dinner. “The company has decided that you deserve to have a good time and I’m here to show it to you. Do you like steak?” The pair practically leapt from their swivel chairs and bolted for the door of the trailer. Steve led the way in his car to the nearest steak joint to the job site, a good 45 minute drive. Once in the restaurant, Steve began to expound upon the special kinship he felt he had with them.. He said he felt responsible for them. Before the pair could finish their first beer, Steve was nearly finished with his third.

“You probably already suspected this, but you do understand that the work you’re doing is has national security implications, don’t you? The work you’re doing will eventually save American lives.” The pair nodded cautiously, feeling more confused than flattered. “In a way, I envy you.” Steve told them. He then began to stare off into space. The pair thought he might remain fixed in this catatonic state forever, but before long, the steaks arrived and the three began to dig in. By the end of dinner, Steve was thoroughly soused and the pair asked him if he was sure he was okay to drive. He seemed to have his wits about him, so they trusted him to drive himself back to his hotel just a block away. The pair had a long drive ahead of them and so they wasted no time getting out the door and back on the road.

Back at the job site, which doubled as the pair’s sleeping quarters, Tom commented on the strangeness of Steve’s behavior, “That was the most bizarre business dinner I’ve ever had.” “Agreed,” Tim responded, “I hope everything’s okay with him.” They turned off the lights and went to sleep.

The software interface was sometimes less than intuitive, and seemed, at least on the surface, to be unsophisticated, like an old flight simulator from the early 90s. Frequently, the obstacles were represented by basic wireframes and not detailed images. The pair spent the weekend after their steak dinner flying a virtual UAV along various flight paths above a virtual version of New York City. Steve guided them through their simulated flights by speakerphone. “Keep below the rooftops to avoid air defenses! Watch those corners! If you come within 10 feet of the sides of the buildings the system will treat it as an impact and you fail the mission!” Steve explained that in the real world, the UAV would be supersonic, terrain-following and over a city in the Middle East such as Baghdad or Tehran. He said that Boeing did not have access to detailed 3-D maps of those cities and so an American city was used for practice.

The simulations felt significantly less difficult than a typical video game as the flight plans only called for gentle turns. It required about as much skill as guiding an automobile around a curve. The simulations quickly became repetitive and boring. Steve wanted the pair to be able to run the mission 10x in a row without a single failure before allowing them a break. Successful missions were referred to as “hitting the keyhole.” After 10 consecutive successful runs, they got an attaboy.

“Good work, gentlemen. I’m giving you Monday off but we need you ready to go on Tuesday, early in the morning. Set your alarms for 6am and be ready to start working as soon as you’ve finished breakfast. If you sleep in, we’re going to take back all of your pay from the last 3 months.”

“Was he being serious?” Tom asked.

“Do you want to chance twelve grand?” Was the retort.

“Haha, guess not. You up for one more night on the town? We have the money.”

“Sure, why not. We have tomorrow as a hangover day.”

“You only live once.”

The night flew by. Drinks were had, pool was played, stories were shared. About halfway through the evening, something happened that had never happened before. A woman began to hit on them. Though if you ask me, she was hitting more on Tom than Tim. I can only surmise that this was the case because he was sitting closer to her, but who knows. The pair weren’t really looking for love, especially not in that hole of a bar. The woman made good conversation, wasn’t bad looking, and certainly made the evening interesting. However, the pair knew their responsibilities came first and declined her very tempting offer. The woman, her name was Linda, (or was it Lea-Ann?) seemed genuinely disappointed that they didn’t accept her offer, and even in that disappointment kept her cool and left her phone number with Tom. The other odd thing about the conversation was that she told the pair that if they were looking for different work, her brother worked for a fiber-optic company and could guarantee each of them positions. They said that wouldn’t be necessary; that they enjoyed their jobs. The woman left, never to be seen again. Soon thereafter, the pair also left to head back to the job site, which felt more like home than a job site by this point.

The pair slept until 11am that Monday morning and spent much of the remainder of the day watching trashy TV and a few DVDs with the new player that Tom had picked up from a local department store. Both resented having to wake up early, but tomorrow was the first operational test of the NGVL-UAV. For the first time in their lives, they would be in piloting a real aircraft. Steve made it clear that any

mistakes would be punished harshly. Regardless, both were excited. There would be two test runs identical to the ones they practiced on Saturday and Sunday, followed by a real-world flight. They were told to be prepared to take control of a real UAV already in flight, and that they would not be responsible for takeoffs or landings. Tom would serve as pilot since his reflexes and manual dexterity were determined to be superior. Tim’s job was to provide technical support and assure that the diesel generator behind the trailer had plenty of fuel to keep all of the equipment going.

Now, it was Tuesday morning. Before testing even began, there was a problem. “Steve, my screen just turned black here, what’s going on?”

“Relax Tom, our techs at home base are updating your software, you’ll have control back in a few minutes.”

“Very well.”

Tom and Tim twiddled their thumbs and waited for the action to begin. The software update lasted for over 20 minutes, at which time Steve notified them there would be time for only one practice run and that it would be at 7am.

The practice ran smoothly, the simulated drone cutting skillfully past the Empire State Building toward the keyhole, and upon reaching it, the simulation halted and the words, “Flight Complete” appeared in plain, blue text. “I guess we’re ready.” Tom said.

“Alright then. The real show starts in 30 minutes. Be there or be square,” Steve said over the speakerphone, “You guys earned a piss break, but make it quick.”

John Ogonowski was a seasoned pilot with American Airlines and was looking forward to flying that day. The skies were crystal clear, the temperature at takeoff was in the mid-60s. A good day to fly. After a slight delay, at 7:59am, American Airlines Flight 11 took off from Boston with a full tank of fuel, headed to Los Angeles. Flying over Massachusetts at 8:14am, John and his co-pilot, Thomas McGuinness heard a strange noise come from their radio. They looked down at the radio, located between their seats, and noticed that it was turned off. “Did you turn that radio off?” The captain asked with a cutting accusatory tone. “No way.” Was the response. “Whoa, we’re banking John, are you doing that? What the fuck?” Panic began creeping into his voice. “Our course now shows as northwest, we were heading due west until that happened.” “Autopilot off.” The Captain narrated his own action. “The manual controls are not responding. See if you can get that radio working.”

In a trailer in Shanksville, Somerset County, Pennsylvania, Timothy Wilson and Thomas Sanders are flying. “Looking good.” Steve says over the speaker. “In a minute we want you to practice a 90-degree left turn. Don’t worry about being gentle, we want to see what the maximum maneuvering capabilities of this thing are. Execute the turn as abruptly as possible, like it was a fighter jet.”

“Roger that.”

Flight 11 banked left and executed an abrupt turn exceeding 90 degrees. Passengers were thrown from their seats. “This is American Airlines Flight 11 declaring an emergency, our aircraft is not responding to our inputs and seems to have a life of its own. Please advise. Are there any reports of electromagnetic interference that may be causing this? I say again, please advise…” John Ogonowski didn’t know it yet, but someone else was flying his plane.

How could it be happening? In the early 1990s, a series of upgrades to Air Force One included an “Autoland” feature that would enable the plane to land itself upon receiving a command from a ground

station or satellite. It was designed to safeguard effectively against a hijacking. The system worked so well that by the late 90s, the President ordered the system secretly placed on all new Boeing jets. The public didn’t know and the pilots didn’t know. What was supposed to be a feature to guard against hijackings was now being used by a certain faction within the government to accomplish exactly that.

Back in Shanksville, Tim with little to do, put on his oldies music. It was 8:45am and one of his favorites came on, “Sunny” by Bobby Hebb. The two listened to the song as Flight 11 approached New York City. It was still playing when the “NGVL-UAV” reached its final destination. Their mission wasn’t yet complete, however. The instant the first “UAV” reached its target, Tom found himself in control of yet another UAV, rather than seeing the standard, “Flight Complete” message. Steve got on the phone to explain. “Alright, surprise! We are actually flying multiple UAVs and now we’re going to test how jumping between the different UAVs works, and from the look of it, it works fine. Your mission with this one is same as before, guide the aircraft toward the target area hitting the waypoints provided, and don’t forget to drop down below building level as you get closer or we could be risking a mid-air collision. Plus, we want the world to see our new aircraft. There will be people watching on the ground, so don’t screw up.”

“Roger that.”

United Airlines Flight 175 was piloted by Captain Victor Saracini and First Officer, Michael Horrocks. Flying over New Jersey, at the precise moment that Tower 1 was hit 8:46:40am, Captain Saracini’s radio clicked off. Soon thereafter, his aircraft began to bank left. Three separate course changes, much more gentle than those experienced by Flight 11, ultimately put him on a course heading directly for New York City. Just like Flight 11, it failed to send or receive any radio signals subsequent to its hijacking, and just like flight 11, with frightening inevitability, Flight 175 was guided by satellite signal directly into the World Trade Center at 9:03:00am.

Unbeknownst to Tim, Tom and the public at large, two F-16 Fighting Falcon aircraft had taken off from Langley AFB in Virginia. These aircraft were not under the command of the U.S. Air Force, NORAD, or the NMCC. The second of these aircraft was circling the Pittsburgh area while awaiting tasking. The first, however, was loitering near Washington, D.C. When given the “go” order, the first F-16 accelerated to top speed and released an AGM-154 JSOW 80 miles from the Pentagon. A few minutes later, at 9:37:46am, a violent explosion hit the Pentagon, where several witnesses said they saw a white streak moving at extremely high velocity a moment before the flash of the explosion. One such witness was subsequently visited in her hospital room and told repeatedly to say that an airplane hit the building, and to simply, “Shut up and take the [victim’s compensation] money.”

Back in Shanksville, Steve congratulated the duo on a job well done. He told the pair they’d be coming home soon, but that the trailer is Boeing property and needed to be guarded until it could be picked up. He told them to pack their things, but to wait inside the trailer for 2 hours, at which time someone would be there with a truck to take the trailer away. Tom acknowledged this and ended the phone call at about 9:15am.

It was right around the time when the Pentagon was hit that Thomas Sanders’ cell phone rang. It was his mother. She told him to turn on the news. It was then that the pair learned that two aircraft had been flown into the World Trade Center. The phone call was cut short due to all of the people trying to make phone calls that day, but at least he was able to speak to his mother briefly. Before what had happened could even begin to sink in, it hit him like a ton of bricks: In the simulation he had been running, the Twin Towers were absent from New York City. The flight path of both of the planes took him precisely through the exact void areas where the towers should have been. “I KNEW THERE

WAS SOMETHING WEIRD ABOUT THAT MAP, HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN SO STUPID?” He began screaming and pacing back and forth. Tim asked him to explain calmly. “The sim, even when we did it for real, we were flying a plane through New York City, right?” “Right.” Tim replied. “The Twin Towers are in New York City, right?” “Good so far.” “So if they weren’t on that map, and we flew two REAL planes into that area, then…” “WE did that.” Tim interjected. “Someone is trying to set us up. Did that guy even really work for Boeing? What have we done?”

The pair take 10 minutes to settle on a plan, the long and the short of which was to run away. The fact that Steve told them explicitly not to leave the trailer only spooked them further. After grabbing a few items and relieving themselves (that amount of adrenaline gets the bowels moving, doesn’t it?) they bolt out the door. They never see the footage of the first tower collapsing. They loaded their things into the company truck; the only one at their disposal… and they began to drive.

At 9:59am, the North Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed into its own footprint with many of the characteristics of a controlled demolition. Somewhere in Langley, Virginia, a man watching a television picked up a phone. He dialed a number. When the other end picked up, he said, simply, “It is done. Begin the cleanup operation.” Moments later, the recipient of that order picked up a radio.

“Exalta 2, this is Exalta actual, do you copy?” “Affirmative” was the response.

“You are go for weapons release on target Alpha 1, authorization Tango, 7, X-Ray, 4, 9-er, Echo.” “Authorization confirmed. Preparing for weapons release.”

“Godspeed.”

At an altitude of 46,000 feet and a speed of 950 MPH, Exalta 2 confirmed weapons away. Shanksville was located exactly 80 miles southeast of Pittsburgh, the exact maximum range of the AGM-154. At that range, it takes 4 ½ minutes for the winged bombs to glide to Earth. At 10:03:11, the trailer that had been both home and workplace to Timothy Wilson and Thomas Sanders was instantly incinerated, leaving behind nothing larger than a BB and no trace of a trailer, satellite dishes, a diesel generator, or Tom’s DVD player, which he had forgotten to take with him.

“Confirmed, target is eliminated. Returning to base.” was the call over the radio. “Roger that, see you at home.”

Moments later, a voice breaks in over the radio, “Exalta 2, CORRIGENDUM. I repeat, CORRIGENDUM. Remain on station and await further instructions.”

“Roger that, holding on station.”

The lo-jack in the truck was broadcasting the exact position of Tim and Tom back to Steve, if that was his real name. Steve knew he was dead if all of the loose ends weren’t cleaned up. He knew that before long, the pair would ditch their phones and maybe even their IDs and switch to a different vehicle that they couldn’t track. That wouldn’t do at all, would it?

“Exalta 2, this is Exalta actual, come in.” “Go for Exalta 2. Be advised that I am approaching bingo fuel.” “Roger that, Exalta 2. Prepare to receive new tasking. Your target is mobile, but is lo-jacked. Confirm receipt of target data, over.” “Receipt is confirmed. Inbound to target, time on target 15 seconds.”

Tim and Tom had the radio tuned the news station and had heard that one of the towers had collapsed. Tom continued to try to reach his mother…someone…anyone… to tell them everything that had

ranspired, but wasn’t able to get through because Steve had turned it off. Tim was driving. “Tim, I think it would be a good idea if we switched to a different car, what if they lo-”

An explosion forceful enough to create an overpressure wave more dense than a diamond originated 3 inches above the roof of the vehicle, cut through it, and smacked into the skulls of the pair of engineers from Swarthmore College at a speed in excess of 12,000MPH. The physics of the explosion obviated any possibility of a painful death. It was swift and merciful, Steve knew. Their disappearance was noted by their families, but overshadowed by the events that day. Their families were later approached by men wearing suits and told that their sons were never working in Somerset County, but were instead passengers on Flight 93, and that they should accept the compensation money. Their families accepted the money. The parents of both men were made to sign a sworn statement that their son was traveling on Flight 93. They knew it wasn’t true. Yet, one day, they hoped, their sons’ stories could be told.

Source?

Probably true tbh

2 days after this was originally posted, 8ch went down.

These are the lengths they will go to cover up what happened on 9/11.

The good news is, they failed.

>>53366

I know Emplemon did a joke about the 9/11 newspaper