This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/personalbubbleof90ft on 2025-11-28 15:54:28+00:00.
Four months ago, I achieved something every entomologist dreams of: I discovered a new type of insect. Not just a new species, but an entirely new family of hymenoptera. I’m not writing this to brag. This is not a dissertation, or some grand scientific paper. I’ve been assured local officials have been informed, so you can read all about the biology of these things whenever their experts publish something. I will not be taking part in those studies. Just typing now, remembering them, is making me sweat and shake. But I have to get this down. If only to prove to myself that it’s real.
A few months back, my team received a grant for a field study. An invasive species of locusts had been wreaking havoc on a corporate farm, and we were tasked with finding a means of halting their spread. General pesticides had proven ineffective, so the goal had become to slow their reproduction. The dispatched group consisted of myself, my husband Ian, and our junior researcher, Muhammed.
We were transferred from the airport to their facility via helicopter. A picturesque sunset washed over the endless plains with an orange glow. A soft breeze rustled through the tall grass, appearing as a sea of grain. It was Muhammed’s first time riding in a chopper, and his excitement was contagious.
“CAN YOU BELIEVE WE GET PAID TO DO THIS?!”
I flinched at his shouting as it erupted through my headset.
“You don’t have to yell, Med, the mic works perfectly fine.”
“Sorry, Becca. It’s weird to get used to.” He didn’t even glance in my direction, the scenery proving too captivating to look away from.
“Don’t blame him for getting excited,” Ian chirped, nudging at me. “How could you not when we’re in a HELICOPTER!”
I recoiled at the volume again, as did Muhammed.
“Oh shit,” he mumbled. “Is that what I sound like?”
Ian’s boisterous laugh came through the headset, a mix of elation and mischief.
“No,” I retorted. “You’re much less annoying.”
That brief interaction should have been savored for what it was. We had no way of knowing it would be the last normal conversation we would ever share. But it vanished as quickly as it took Muhammed to look back out of the window.
“Wait,” he said. “Was it always doing that?”
He pointed to the top of the glass. Small bursts of smoke shot into view before dissipating in the wind. We shared a look of concern before the pilot’s voice rang over our channel.
“THE ROTOR IS MALFUNCTIONING! BUCKLE UP BACK THERE! IT’S ABOUT TO GET BUMPY!”
We were already strapped into our seatbelts, but Muhammed grabbed tight onto any railing he could wrap our fingers around. Ian and I grabbed each other. The cabin began shaking, lightly at first, but quickly grew to a nauseating rhythm. It felt like each vibration knocked another screw loose. More smoke flooded the window, and I felt my stomach seize as the helicopter began to lose altitude.
“WE’RE GOING DOWN!”
The pilot was screaming over the mic. He sounded as panicked as we were. I’m not ashamed to say I was crying. Muhammed was yelling louder with every inch of descent. Ian, the beautiful, perfect man he was, stroked my hair. I heard him shout “I love y-” before the crunch of impact, and I lost consciousness.
When I came to, I was still strapped in the chair. I felt warm, metallic liquid, and hands smearing it across my face. The inside of my head both sounded and felt like a church bell. I smelled the industrial rot of burning metal, and my eyes shot open as my brain caught up to my body. The neon red emergency lights blended with the soft glow of dusk through a haze of mechanical smoke. I was freed from shock by the two hands on my face. They pulled my attention forward, and made me focus on Ian’s face.
“Beck! You’re okay baby! Tell me you’re ok!” My head leaned forward into his palms and shot back up as the adrenaline stabbed my senses to full alert. I felt the blood on my face as clearly as I tasted it. My neck felt tight, like the vertebrae were trying to escape, but I was alive, and so was he.
“Ian? Where…what happe-”
I heard the deepest sigh of relief escape his lips. Only matched by the one I’d heard when I told him I loved him back.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby. You’re okay, we’re okay.”
“I’m okay too, asshole.”
Muhammed was slumped on the door of the cabin, a makeshift sling tying his left arm into place. His unwavering grin was gone, replaced by a mixture of anguish and fear. I tried to stand up against the harness, and ripped what was left of it out of its fastenings. I listed for a moment but caught myself before I could fall.
“What…what about the pilot?”
“We h-haven’t checked yet,” Ian stammered through difficult breaths. “You were only out for a minute.”
I grasped the handles of the door and yanked, but scrap metal and burnt wires were sealing us inside. I didn’t see any fire, but I felt the temperature climbing. I looked over to Ian, who had helped Muhammed to his feet.
“Ian, the door!” I shouted.
He leaned Med onto the seat next to them, and wrapped his hands under mine. We pried it open with several ear grinding scrapes.
I was too eager to get out of the cabin. Overestimating my physical state, I hopped to the ground. My legs felt nonexistent, and they buckled beneath me. I hit the dirt. Hard.
“FUCK!” I hollered.
“Becca! You alright?”
“Fine.” I croaked. “The ground wasn’t where I thought it’d be.”
Armed with the knowledge of my idiocy, he climbed slowly down the side. He took my hands in his and asked if I could stand. I told him I could, and he hoisted me up faster than I expected, somehow making the ringing in my ears worse.
Muhammed was next. We both guided his body down as he struggled with one arm, grunting with every step he took. When his boots hit the ground, we each took a few steps back and finally saw the complete state of our would-be chariot, as well as its pilot.
It was impossible to tell if the impact had killed him, the fire, or the glass shards embedded into his body. The windshield was entirely blasted away. Soot had caked itself across the exterior, and stones of all sizes were buried into the metal. It was a sight I couldn’t stomach. I fell to my knees and threw up. It splashed my hands, and caked smoldering earth across my skin. Muhammed didn’t feint, but the view had taken his legs as it had taken mine, and he fell back on his ass with a pained groan.
Ian joined the two of us on the ground. Once my stomach was finished turning itself inside out, I sat back, and fully took in the wreckage. It was a heaping, smoking thing that barely resembled what had taken off. Flames encased the cockpit and spat from the top. The blades had been completely torn off, and it was mangled all the way to the tail, which had snapped off and planted itself a few dozen yards ahead of the impact. I realized we were sitting in the long crater it had plowed into the earth, thirty-something feet long and deep enough that I couldn’t see out from my hunched state. At the time I remember wishing I could thank the pilot for whatever emergency landing he had used to save our lives. But now, knowing what surviving would cost us, I wish I could’ve killed him myself.
I shook my legs to make sure they would work this time, and got them underneath me to check out where we landed. The sun had fully set about a half hour before, but through the dimming purples and oranges in the sky, I could see a faint light illuminating the direction we had been flying in.
“That way.” I pointed. “The farms we were headed to are massive. If we can just get to the outskirts, we can probably find somebody to help us.”
“We were still about a half hour out.” Ian chimed. “That’s a couple of hours of walking, and it’ll be too dark to see soon. We have to find some kind of shelter until-”
he stopped mid sentence when he saw my face again.
“Baby, I’m so sorry, I forgot you were bleeding.” He had also forgotten the blood tricking down his own leg.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
He put his hands on my shoulders, and I could tell he was starting to work himself into a panic.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt? Where does it hurt?”
“I’m fine, Ian. I think the blood’s stopped, at least from my head.”
“I remember seeing a medical kit next to my seat. I’ll be right-”
I firmly grabbed his shoulder.
“The helicopter is on fire Ian. I’m not letting you fry yourself to treat a scrape. You, however,” I gestured to his leg. “You definitely need something. Start with pressure, I’ll see if I can get a piece of fabric ripped off.”
I heard a “heads up” whistle from behind me, and turned just in time to catch the backpack Muhammed tossed from the ground.
“I always bring bandages, Becca. It’s literally in my job description.” Muhammed was beaming, clearly happy to be helpful.
“You’re getting a raise, Med.” I said over my shoulder, wasting no time in wrapping the cut on Ian’s leg.
“And it’s not even my birthday,” he chuckled under his breath.
Muhammed had made it to his feet and trudged his way out of the trench. He took a moment surveying the land before he looked back at me.
“Becca, what would it take to get yet another raise?”
“Maybe if you have a jeep somewhere in this pack.”
“What about some promising shelter?”
I gave one final tug to tighten Ian’s bandages, and stood up at the word. I didn’t respond, instead climbing to reach his level. Sure enough, a smooth mound of rocks was peaking over the surrounding brush, a wide mouth carving a promising entrance. I put my arm a...
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