Chapter 162: Watching The World’s Reactions (2)
The Airbus A380, The Flying Palace cruised high above the endless Pacific, its four Rolls-Royce engines humming with quiet power.
At this altitude, the world stretched in all directions like an endless canvas of blue and white. The ocean glittered far below, flecked with scattered waves, while banks of cloud drifted lazily, their shadows sprawling across the water.
From the outside, the aircraft looked like something out of a dream — obsidian skin swallowing sunlight, platinum streaks glinting along the fuselage, its sheer size dwarfing the empty sky around it.
Most aircraft crossing this route were widebodies, but compared to The Flying Palace, they were ants beside a whale.
Inside, however, serenity reigned.
The main lounge glowed with warm ambient lighting. Liam sat reclined on one of the long leather sofas, a glass of water in hand, his posture calm. He might as well be on a casual evening flight aboard a friend’s jet rather than aboard a half-billion-dollar marvel that had turned the entire world upside down.
Daniel sat opposite him, though his composure was long gone, as he was going through post after post, news bulletin after news bulletin into his vision.
"Sir," Daniel said at last, his voice dry. "It’s everywhere. Every platform, every network. The footage of the takeoff hasn’t stopped looping for hours. CNN’s calling it The Flying Palace. BBC went with The Black Titan. Half of Reddit thinks it’s a DARPA project. Twitter..." He trailed off, exhaling. "Twitter’s eating itself alive."
"Good. Let them choke on their own noise," Liam smiled faintly, sipping his water.
Daniel’s eyes darted toward him, disbelief flickering across his face. "You don’t understand, sir. They’re not just curious. They’re digging deep. Governments, corporations, intelligence agencies — they’re all pulling every string they can find."
"Let them dig," Liam said calmly.
Lucy’s voice echoed in his head, as she informed him of what was going on.
"Confirmed. Satellite assets are actively shadowing us. They couldn’t see us when we got into the island’s airspace because of and unknown and yet-to-be identified interference around it, but now they can," she said and continued. "U.S. reconnaissance platforms KH-11 Crystal and Lacrosse-6 have shifted their orbits to track this aircraft. Chinese Yaogan satellites are observing from synchronous orbit. Russian Persona satellites have also begun shadow sweeps.
"Additionally, electronic listening arrays from Guam, Hawaii, and Japan are monitoring comms from this flight. At this moment, Master, you are the most observed civilian on Earth."
"So basically, every power in the world’s got their eyes glued on us right now?" Liam asked, though he already knew the answer to that.
"Correct," Lucy replied.
"Wow. Not bad, I would say," Liam said, leaning back into the sofa, completely unfazed.
Lucy spoke again, "Additionally, NORAD has scrambled interceptors. Two F-22 Raptors from Elmendorf have taken off. Another pair from Edwards AFB is on standby to meet us as we enter the U.S. Air Defense Identification Zone."
"We’re getting company, then," Liam said with a smile of amusement. "Well, they’re just escorts, not executioners. They’ll circle, make their reports, and let us through. No one is suicidal enough to shoot down a U.S.-registered A380. Not yet and not ever."
Liam looked outside the window, watching as the clouds roll away to reveal the boundless ocean beneath. He could feel the tension pulling taut across the globe. The world’s great powers had noticed him and they were circling, calculating, scheming. And everything’s all in an attempt to control him. But they won’t succeed. They won’t even come close.
***
Elmendorf AFB, Alaska – Alert Hangar
A red strobe spun silently over the alert hangar as klaxons sounded, echoing off the steel walls. Inside, two F-22 Raptors sat on standby, their stealth-gray skins glinting faintly under fluorescent lights. Pilots jogged toward them, already tugging on helmets and gloves.
A voice crackled over the PA: "Scramble, scramble, scramble. Target track 9-1-4-L-X. Unknown profile. Confirmed private registry. Visual intercept and escort only. Repeat, escort only."
Captain Morales, the flight lead, swung up the ladder into the cockpit of Raptor 108.
"Private A380?" he muttered to himself, strapping in. "What billionaire’s fever dream is this?"
His wingman, Lieutenant Green, keyed his radio. "We’ve got a tail number?"
Morales flipped his HUD live as ground crews disconnected hoses. "N914LX. They’re calling it ’The Flying Palace.’"
Green laughed in disbelief. "What, like an oil sheikh? That’s gotta be a typo."
"Focus," Morales said, though his own voice held a note of incredulity. "Our job is to form up, take photos, and report. No aggressive moves. Let’s see what the hell we’re dealing with."
Within minutes, the two Raptors roared down the runway, afterburners lighting the gray sky orange, claws of fire beneath their tails. They banked hard southward, climbing toward their intercept point over the Pacific.
***
NORAD Command – Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
In the cavernous operations center, giant digital maps glowed across wall-length screens. A bright track — a massive heat signature — cut westward across the Pacific. Four smaller blips vectored toward it from Elmendorf.
"Target is confirmed Airbus A380," a controller said. "No transponder anomalies. Filed flight plan matches what LAX received. Still... it’s big."
The shift supervisor rubbed his temples. "A private A380? We’re scrambling Raptors to escort a teenager’s flying hotel. This is absurd."
Another officer leaned over. "Sir, it’s not just absurd. FAA called — they’re locking down the registry. Washington’s in full panic mode. Everyone wants eyes on this bird."
The supervisor exhaled, "Then let’s give them eyes. Tag the F-22 HUD feeds for live relay."
On-screen, the two Raptors closed the distance, their altitude climbing to match the black titan cutting across the blue.
***
The Flying Palace – Cockpit
Captain Adler’s headset crackled as the voice of Oakland Center came through, clipped and professional:
"Imperium Heavy, this is Oakland Center. Be advised, two NORAD assets are intercepting for visual escort. Do not deviate from filed flight plan. Repeat: maintain heading and altitude. Raptors will form on your wings in approximately five minutes."
Adler’s brows lifted slightly. He thumbed the comms switch to the main cabin PA, his voice calm but carrying the weight of what was just said.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’ve just been informed that NORAD has scrambled two F-22 Raptors to intercept and escort us. This is standard procedure when an aircraft of unusual profile is in U.S. airspace. Please remain calm; there is no danger. They’ll simply fly alongside until we approach LAX."
The words rippled through the cabin like a chill.
Mason straightened immediately, hand drifting toward the concealed holster at his waist before he caught himself. His jaw tightened.
Nick muttered, "They scrambled Raptors? For us?" disbelief heavy in his tone.
Daniel froze for a heartbeat, then exhaled sharply, fingers steepled in front of his mouth.
Liam, meanwhile, barely reacted. He sat with one leg crossed casually over the other, eyes half-lidded, as if Adler had just announced mild turbulence.
But Daniel leaned forward, his voice low, edged with an experienced private banker’s cold logic. "This isn’t random. NORAD doesn’t scramble Raptors for sightseeing. They’re escorting us because your aircraft—" he gestured faintly upward, toward the massive decks surrounding them— "isn’t just unusual. It’s unprecedented. No one on earth has a private A380. That alone makes you a national security anomaly."
Mason frowned. "So they think he’s a threat?"
Daniel shook his head. "Not exactly. Think of it like this— the U.S. government just saw something impossible roll out of LAX. They can’t classify it yet, they don’t know who you really are, so they send fighters to keep an eye on you. Half deterrence, half reconnaissance. Their cameras will be feeding everything back to NORAD HQ right now. Paint scheme, registry, even trying to glimpse inside through the windows. They’re treating you like a moving question mark."
Nick muttered, "And if he’d was a threat?"
Daniel’s eyes were grim. "Then those Raptors wouldn’t just escort. They’d be loaded and locked. But clearly, Command told them to observe only. That means Washington still thinks you’re legitimate."
To buttress Daniel’s point, Lucy added, "Master, Daniel’s assessment is correct. NORAD has orders for escort and observation only. Rules of engagement: weapons hold unless provoked. The Raptors’ HUDs are streaming live to Cheyenne Mountain."
Liam simply smiled at this. It just keeps getting even more fun with each passing second.
But it wasn’t fun for everyone else, as the cabin fell into uneasy silence. Mason and Nick shifted in their seats, every muscle coiled. Daniel pressed his palms together, trying to keep his breathing steady.
"Relax," Liam said finally, glancing at them with that faint, amused smile. "They just want a closer look. Nothing more."
Moments later, the first distant contrails cut across the horizon. The Raptors were coming.