A/N: This is a piece of fiction dedicated to the day where mass quantities of people lost their lives due to a bunch of douchebags who think suicide is cool as long as you take a shitload of innocents with you via commercial airplanes. Though there were four planes, what if only one of the terrorist attacks could have been stopped and lives could have been saved?

September 11th, 2001- 4:00 AM:

Damijin Spade, better known as the Snypa, sat in the kitchen of his Boston hideout, drinking a cup of black coffee and looking at the obiturary section of the newspaper. He was taking a look at the new number of kills he racked up. Impressive- this would make the crime bosses come after him. And when they did, it would be a whole new ball game. Spade continued to read the morning newspaper as a taxi honked outside for him. That's when he picked up his bag and headed downstairs to the outside and into the cab to catch his flight back home to his jurisdiction- United Airlines, Flight 2401 to Los Angeles.

The Airport-

Spade only had one bag as he walked into the airport. He showed his ID to the front and went to the boarding gates to get to his flight. Once on the plane, Spade took his seat next to a medium-sized Arabic man who seemed kind of twitchy as if he was nervous being on a plane for the first time. The vigilante thought nothing of it. If something bad were to happen on the plane such as a hijacking attempt, he was more than enough for pussy terrorist stupid enough to do it in the presence of the Snypa.

The Airplane-

The plane was in the sky as Spade was reading a magazine on illegal weapons. He was wondering where he could get some at, besides killing thugs and taking them. Those weapons would help greatly in his war. Just when Spade was getting up to go to the lavatory, that's when they made their move...