Deviation from the course, terminal error, malfunction, but the specific jargon doesn't really matter right now, does it? It has you feeling treasonous, and understandably so. You're a hypocrite. You avoid any semblance of sentimentality like the plague, and let your chameleonic doppelgänger take control. Adjust pitch by 31° and cynicism by 19.2%. There is no God until the rapidly dropping altimeter demands his existence. You'd think the miles of open sky would encourage introspection; they do nothing but speed your realization. You could die without a single metaphorical ripple; the world would hardly blink. You've heard of the butterfly effect, but you're a moth trying to change reality with each furious flap of your dusty wings.
When the smoke clears, you're not any more real than the wispy billows and ephemeral horizons that surround you.