Within minutes, shaking heads and confused faces give you the answer before their words do. Despite your success in surviving the trip, the final peril of traveling with him strikes you: Falling into a legal entrapment of holding a passport no longer recognized. “I hate you, Tom Hanks,” you grumble.

A line to leave the vehicle becomes a line to leave … the terminal. “Oh, my god,” you mutter. You look to television screens throughout the concourse. Grim headlines from your home nation: How could it be? A war—a revolution, even. Your eyes turn to the passport in your hand. Is it even valid, now?

You gather your belongings, Tom Hanks turns towards you, smiles, and gives a light wave as he exits ahead of you. As soon as his feet meet the floor outside, you feel it truly: Relief. You’ve survived! You’ve all survived! Others around you roll their eyes; they never understood the gravity of this.

You look at the world around your vehicle: Hope springs from within. The landscape, cityscape, whatever you see, it all looks familiar. You hold your breath, nonetheless: So long as this man is with you, you cannot be assured any measure of safety. Then, despite your fears, you arrive. In one piece.

To your chagrin, nobody else shares your dread. You mention the omen, but they scoff. “It’s just in the movies!” You know the truth, though. You’re burdened with the knowledge that your fellow passenger marks an ill end to seemingly every trip he’s taken. Perhaps another drink will ease your nerves.

You steel yourself as best as you can. Accidents in passenger travel, you remind yourself, are infrequent. But then you catch another glimpse of him. With him aboard, you know those incidents are far more frequent. He who most of the world sees as a treasured performer, you recognize as a liability.

The entire journey, you’re uncertain you’re going to make it. Every unexplained bump seems to foreshadow an impending apocalypse. The vessel you’re in banks a little more than you think is right, and it seems to spell impending doom. Everything is going okay, but not a second of it seems like it is.

The fact that the style name is “Antonette” …