The Boeing 787 Dreamliner hummed with anticipation, its sleek fuselage stretching nearly 63 meters through the Bratislava night. Inside, over 300 passengers shifted restlessly in their seats, the tension growing heavier since their sudden diversion from Vienna. Despite its size and state-of-the-art design, Reed knew that inside, chaos was only a heartbeat away.
As Reed’s eyes scanned the packed cabin. Every seat seemed occupied. Families, businesspeople, and solo travelers crammed into the vast, yet somehow claustrophobic space. Getting off this plane safely was paramount. Panic and the unknown would be on his side, but he needed to ignite that spark.
A distraction was necessary—no, it had to be more than mere distraction. It needed to be an event that would dominate attention, creating the smokescreen necessary to provide deliverance.
Reed’s mind flashed back to the familiar pre-flight safety script. Every passenger had heard it at least a dozen times: “If you have any lithium batteries, e-cigarettes, or other prohibited items…” The warnings had become white noise to most, but Reed wasn’t like most. Digital cameras ran on lithium batteries, powerful and volatile in the right conditions. And in his camera bag, he carried a dozen spares. Sacrificing two for his survival was an easy trade.
The aircraft shuddered as it taxied to a slow stop, the lights of Bratislava airport casting a cold glow through the oval windows. He kept his gaze steady, stealing glances toward the flight attendant standing by the galley.
He could not place his trust in 16B—not yet. The passenger’s cryptic nature was too thin a lifeline to gamble on. No, Reed’s only true ally was the training he’d received at the Private Protection Initiative, or PPI. To the outside world, PPI was an elite organization offering resources, training, and networking for top-tier photographers—professionals who needed access to the far corners of the globe. But beneath that facade, it was something far more shadowy. PPI agents were masters of surveillance, extraction, and intelligence. They moved like phantoms, blending seamlessly into crowds, slipping unnoticed across borders, using their photographic cover to penetrate the highest levels of security.
Reed had been one of their finest, recruited not just for his skill behind the lens but for his sharp instincts and adaptability. The mission that had brought him here was no ordinary assignment; it was a culmination of every shadowed lesson, every coded message, every moment of silent observation. And now, he’d need to call on all of it.
The overhead chime sounded, and the fasten seatbelt sign blinked off. The cabin erupted with movement, passengers jostling to unbuckle themselves, reaching for bags, impatient to escape the confines of the plane. This was it—Reed’s moment to act.
His fingers dipped into his camera bag, feeling the cold parts of the lithium batteries.
Reed's fingers worked swiftly with the batteries, paper clips, and gaffer's tape. The improvisation reminded him of his early days as the 'MacGyver Photographer'—always finding solutions in unlikely places. But this was no artistic challenge. This was survival. His movements were methodical, honed from years of working on the fly with whatever tools he had at hand. He arched the paper clips to bridge the positive and negative terminals of the batteries and secured them tightly with the gaffer’s tape to prevent the clips from slipping. He knew he only had a few minutes before the makeshift device would react, sparking a burst of fire and smoke intense enough to send the cabin into chaos.
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Reed watched, muscles coiled, eyes tracking every movement of the flight attendant. The plane’s door finally opened, letting in a stream of cold, metallic-tinted air and the faint scent of jet fuel from the tarmac. The murmur of impatient passengers waiting to disembark filled the air, each voice another layer of sound masking his plan. This was the moment. He slid one battery forward, letting it roll under the seats ahead, and one backward into the narrow space behind his row. The paper clip bridges were holding—sparks were imminent.
The seconds ticked by, each heartbeat louder than the last. Then, with a hiss and a burst, the forward battery erupted into a sizzling pop. A small, bright plume of smoke curled into the aisle, spreading tendrils of acrid gray that stung the eyes and nose. Passengers gasped and recoiled as the second battery cracked with a deeper, muffled thud, releasing a sharp, metallic scent and dark smoke that quickly billowed into the cabin.
“FIRE!” Reed shouted, injecting the right mix of urgency and panic into his voice. He leapt to his feet, pointing wildly to add direction to the chaos. “GUN, HE’S GOT A GUN!” he bellowed, eyes darting purposefully to the flight attendant who stiffened, caught in the sudden pandemonium. Passengers screamed, abandoning their seats, some trampling over armrests and each other in their desperation to flee the imagined danger.
Pandemonium ensued. Luggage toppled from overhead bins, adding clatter and confusion. Feet pounded, elbows jostled, and voices shrieked, blending into a cacophony of terror. Smoke thickened in swirling, stifling clouds that blinded and choked. The flight attendant, eyes wide with panic and one hand instinctively reaching for his pocket, was swept back by the human tide, unable to maintain composure or control.
Reed didn’t wait. He slipped into the surging mass, angling his way toward the door with practiced stealth. The crowd was a perfect cover, each terrified push and shout aiding his escape. He kept moving, shouting, “RUN, RUN!” to encourage the stampede and keep focus off himself. The fire alarms wailed, the shrill noise drilling into the chaos, signaling to everyone that the only option was to get out and get out fast.
He slid past the shouting flight crew and down the exit ramp, the smoke and chaos concealing his escape. Behind him, pandemonium still reigned. Ahead lay uncertainty—but at least it was on his terms.
Reed had slipped free, but freedom was temporary. The key was to keep moving. Whoever orchestrated this operation was exceptionally skilled. They had managed to place 16B on the flight and disguise a faux flight attendant who passed just enough scrutiny to blend in. The level of detail and coordination pointed to someone high up in PPI, a puppet master pulling the strings with access and power.
The diversion from Vienna was strategic. Someone knew about Reed's signature weapon cache system—loaded guns hidden in mundane spots throughout major airports worldwide. His reputation at PPI had been built on such innovations. In Vienna's Terminal 3, behind Jamie's Italian restaurant, a gun waited in the tissue compartment of the men’s room. But now the diversion had cut him off from his own failsafe, leaving him vulnerable. Whoever orchestrated this knew his playbook intimately.
With his mind trying to stitch together the fragmented pieces of the puzzle. He wondered just how deep did the deception run. If PPI were willing to go to these lengths, Reed knew he wasn’t facing just a mission gone awry—this had the feeling of something far more sinister.
He needed answers, and he needed them fast. The chaos and smoke behind him were fading into the crisp chill of the airport air. Reed adjusted his grip on the camera bag and drew a steadying breath. The next steps had to be flawless; one miscalculation, and he’d find himself back in a game where the rules were made by someone else.