man learning to navigate through the chaos, embracing his vulnerabilities, and, ultimately, finding his way home—both in the sky and on the ground. The turbulence of his life is real, but so is his capacity for love, change, and healing. ### Chapter 1: Pilot’s First Flight Pilot’s earliest memory isn’t a picture-perfect childhood moment. It isn’t a birthday party or a day at the zoo. It’s the sound of screeching tires, the slap of asphalt on skin, and the sharp smell of gasoline. He can still remember the rush of wind against his face, the sensation of being weightless—then the impact. He was only four years old, but the moment has never left him. He’d fallen out of a moving car. It wasn’t a dramatic accident, at least not in the way movies dramatize car crashes. But in that moment, as he was tossed out onto the pavement like a rag doll, Pilot felt the fragility of life in his bones. His body skidded and tumbled across the road, skin tearing and blood spilling, but his heart beat with the rhythm of a survivor. His mother had been screaming, her voice frantic, but Pilot remembers only a deep sense of quiet detachment. He wasn’t hurt badly, physically. But emotionally, the event marked the first of many moments that would shape his perception of the world—how fast it can turn, how easily control can slip away. This first moment of chaos seemed to set the tone for Pilot’s early years. He grew up in a household full of contradictions. His father, a transient figure who showed up like an apparition, would sometimes take him on trips to nearby towns, leaving him with a strange sense of longing and abandonment. His mother, though constant, was herself a storm—distraught and lost in her own emotional turbulence, always trying to make ends meet. Pilot quickly learned that the world was not a safe place. He developed a heightened sense of awareness, one that allowed him to feel the emotions of others deeply, even when they weren’t spoken. This sensitivity often made him the target of bullies—like John O’Connor, a boy from the neighborhood who had a knack for making others feel small. Their first fight had been something out of a dream. Pilot, dressed in a too-large Batman costume, had tried to stand his ground, but the choking incident had been a turning point. He remembered how he had been surrounded by the older kids, all laughing at him as he struggled to breathe, his throat constricting under the tight fabric of the costume. His mother had been in the house, unaware of what was happening. She couldn’t always be there for him, and at that moment, Pilot learned that his survival wasn’t guaranteed by the people around him but by something deeper inside. It was in that moment that he knew: he would need to fight, not just for himself but for those who couldn’t protect themselves. The experience with John O’Connor didn’t end the way one might expect. Sure, there were bruises, but something else came from it—an understanding that the world was harsh, but also a place where empathy could create connection. He learned how to fight, how to stand up for himself and others, but he also learned the quiet power of listening, of feeling what others felt, even when they didn’t speak it. Pilot’s story, thus, began with the sound of tires screeching against the pavement and a small body lying bruised and broken on the side of the road. It was the first of many tumbles. But it wouldn’t be the last. With Dream Machine AI