"Wait, where are you going?" asked Fitz, looking up from the monitors.
"Seriously?" Max replied, eyebrows raised in frustration. "Where do you think I'm going? I'm going there. Why else do you think I asked you to track it?"
Fitz blinked. Then stepped into his path, clumsily but enough to block the exit.
"Yeah, sure, obviously... but how do you plan to get there?"
Max frowned. "What do you mean how? I walk out the door and—"
"Uh-huh. Yeah. Walk out the door," Fitz repeated, raising a finger with unintentional sarcasm. "In the middle of a level 3 emergency protocol. With forty agents scanning every entry and exit, thermal sensors, facial scanners, and... well, a couple of turrets too. You planning to just stroll out? Or maybe call an Uber?"
Max clenched his jaw. "I don't have time for this, Fitz."
"And I don't have a clone who magically appears with a brilliant plan while you crash into the highest security wall on the damn continent," Fitz countered, the sarcasm leaking out without permission. "You asked me for help! Well, this is what it means."
"I can't sit still! Not now!" Max's voice rose. His breathing was ragged, fists clenched as if impatience weighed down his arms.
Fitz didn't budge. "And I'm not letting you walk into a trap because you can't wait ten minutes," he said, awkward but sincere. "Ten. Minutes. Let me think. Find something real."
Max glared at him but didn't advance. His body wanted to move, his instinct screamed he was wasting time. But something in Fitz's face—maybe the fear disguised as logic, maybe the stubbornness soaked in nerves—stopped him.
"Ten minutes. And if you've got nothing, I'm leaving anyway," he finally growled.
Fitz swallowed and turned back to the console. "Great. Perfect. Emotional pressure on a timer. Just what I always dreamed of."
His fingers flew over the keyboard. Max said nothing. He just stood there, tense as a spring. Fitz, meanwhile, muttered under his breath, opening terminals, sliding schematics, typing at full speed.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the lab were Fitz's frantic keystrokes and the background hum of the servers. Max paced like a caged animal.
"Still nothing?" he growled.
"You know what's harder than sneaking out of a base on high alert?" Fitz muttered, still typing. "Doing it without someone blaming me for helping."
"You want me to sit here while they take her away?"
"No," Fitz answered without hesitation. "I want you to go... and come back. Preferably without new holes in your body."
He slid another window open and pulled up a map of the hangar. His eyes lit up as he located what he needed. "Okay... this might work."
Max stopped cold. "What?"
Fitz turned the screen toward him, pointing at a secondary hangar labeled Zeta-9.
"There are some prototype Quinjets in testing. One in particular—" he zoomed in with a quick flick, "—the VX-AVRIL. It's... well, it's a stealth model. Theoretically stealth."
"Theoretically?" Max echoed, skeptical.
Fitz nodded—too fast. "Yeah. Active camo, reflective panels, low heat signature. On paper, it should fly unseen. Or at least untracked. But it's still in testing... no guarantees. It's part of a bigger project that... doesn't matter right now."
"Is it armed?" Max asked, unmoving.
"Armed?" Fitz let out a nervous laugh. "No, no. It's built to disappear, not shoot. No weapons, no armor, and—" he lowered his voice, "—no autopilot."
Max shot him a look. "And how exactly am I supposed to fly it if I don't know how?"
Fitz shrugged, uncomfortable, like the truth weighed too much. "I just... had the idea. I can walk you through the basics. Power-up, alignment, stabilization... I think. But flying it... no clue."
Max clenched his jaw.
"Great."
A metallic clang echoed overhead. Both looked up at once.
Fitz frowned toward the duct. "Was... was that normal? Because it didn't sound normal."
Max narrowed his eyes. "I came in through there a while ago..."
The grate in the darkest corner of the lab gave way with a metallic crash and hit the floor.
A foot came out first. Then a hand.
"Ha! Told you it was this way, Jackson," said Maverick, crawling out of the duct with the smug tone of someone always convinced he's right.
Jackson emerged behind him, dusty and visibly annoyed. "Excuse me? You said to go the other way. We almost ended up in Fury's office."
Maverick shrugged, dusting himself off. "Details. Point is, we made it."
And finally, Eagle dropped from the duct. Landed with perfect balance, without a single wasted sound. "No incidents," he said simply, looking at Max. "We're ready."
Max stared like they'd appeared out of nowhere.
"How the hell did you get here?" he asked, voice thick with disbelief.
Maverick flashed a relaxed grin while brushing off his shoulders. "We waited a few minutes. But when we saw you weren't disabling the cameras... we improvised."
Jackson crossed his arms, still flecked with soot. "Wasn't hard. After studying your moves and the camera positions, we mapped a route."
Maverick nodded, proud. "We paid attention. Counted the sweeps, analyzed the blind spots. And, well... if you did it, we figured we could too."
Eagle cut in, blunt as always. "Better to move than sit. We've already lost enough time."
Fitz looked at them like his brain had just been reset. "Who the hell analyzes an entire surveillance system in ten minutes? You don't even have schematics! Or system access! How... how did you do that?"
Maverick raised a brow. "Veterans. Or at least people who weren't raised by cables."
Jackson muttered, "And we didn't get lost during the last security inspection, if that helps."
Max rubbed his face, processing everything. "You're completely insane."
"And you were going to take on a whole criminal gang solo," Maverick countered, eyebrow raised. "So who's the crazy one now?"
Jackson feigned surprise. "Wow! Finally something we agree on."
Eagle, as always, cut straight to it: "So... what's the plan?"
Fitz turned to them, patting the side of the console.
"Okay, listen. Hangar Zeta-9 is in an isolated section of the complex. That's where they keep the VX-AVRIL—the prototype I mentioned to Max. A.V.R.I.L., for 'Aerial Vehicle for Radar-Invisible Logistics.' Active camo, reduced thermal signature... all that. But no weapons, no autopilot. Invisible to radar, but you've gotta fly it manually."
Jackson let out a dry laugh. "And Max planned to fly it? Does he even know how?"
Max looked away. "I was improvising."
"With a jet," Maverick deadpanned, shaking his head like it was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard... though clearly amused.
Max scowled, arms crossed. "So... does anyone know how to fly it?"
Maverick raised his hand, completely casual. "Present. They don't call me Maverick for nothing."
Jackson glanced sideways. "You asked us to call you that. Literally begged."
Maverick smiled. "Details... The point is, now it'll come in handy."
Eagle ignored him and turned to Fitz. "So how do we reach Hangar Zeta-9 without tripping any alarms?"
Fitz stepped to the main monitor, sliding panels until the full base layout appeared. His fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard.
"Okay... here's what I think I can do," he began, speaking faster than he sounded confident. "I'll alter a couple of readings in the west wing sensors. Minor stuff: pressure, temp, airflow. Just enough to make things seem off without triggering alarms."
He paused, biting his lip. "And while that happens, I can... I can loop an old security feed in the hangar. Only for a couple minutes. With luck, they won't notice the cut if nothing weird happens."
Deep breath. Like rebooting his brain.
"The hatch... that's the delicate part. I can only override it for ten seconds without setting off alerts. Maybe less if the system's faster than I think. After that... we're done."
He checked the screen clock. "It's 23:23. If this works, you'll have a movement window between 23:25 and 23:28. But the hatch will open only between 23:26:10 and 23:26:20. Ten seconds. That's it."
Eagle nodded silently.
Jackson exhaled dryly. "And if it doesn't work?"
Fitz blinked at him. "Then you get spotted, the auto-turrets turn you into Swiss cheese, the intercept drones follow us into the bathroom, and we probably end up in a windowless cell."
A brief silence.
Max moved first.
"Do it."
Fitz nodded. His fingers danced over the keyboard with a speed that didn't match his breathing. Finally, he hit Enter with a theatrical click.
"Ghost protocol initiated... now."
Pause.
"Phew. Always wanted to say that... though they don't sweat this much in the movies."
On the monitors, several points in the west wing blinked yellow. A dull alarm—visible only to him—activated in the internal systems.
"Done," he said, with a mix of pride and imploding nerves. "They just sent two techs to check the sensors. Once they reach the checkpoint, the system will redirect surveillance."
He checked the countdown.
"Five..."
The group was already lined up at the door.
"Four..."
"Manual or electronic doors?" asked Eagle without turning.
"Automatic, locally controlled. I've got it," said Fitz, back at the keys.
"Three..."
Maverick rolled his neck. It cracked.
"Time to break things that barely work."
"Two..."
"Please work," Fitz muttered to himself.
"One... now!"
The door slid open with a soft electric whisper.
Max moved first.
Maverick followed without hesitation, with Jackson and Eagle covering the rear.
Fitz was left alone in the lab, watching the countdown like it was a heartbeat.
Sweat slid down his neck. He tried to laugh. Nothing came out.
"Don't get anyone killed, please..." he whispered, equal parts plea and resignation.
The door sealed. Silence returned to the lab.
And the clock started ticking.
---
North Hallway. Minute 23:24:23.
The footsteps were fast, silent. Coordinated.
Max led the group, brow furrowed, scanning every corner like he could predict where the cameras would turn. Jackson followed behind, covering their flank with a gaze more nervous than he wanted to admit.
"You sure this isn't triggering silent alarms?" he murmured.
"Shut up and run," Maverick snapped, checking each door with a flair that was almost theatrical. "You're killing my heroic focus."
Eagle said nothing. He just moved forward, with a precision that bordered on inhuman. When they reached a junction, he raised a hand. Everyone stopped.
Two guards up ahead. Walking slowly, chatting. They hadn't seen them yet.
"Left side, maintenance duct," Eagle whispered. "Thirty seconds."
Max hesitated. Glanced at the empty hallway, then at the narrow duct. Time tightened around his neck like a noose.
"Let's go," he said, already moving.
"Ducts again?" Jackson groaned as he crouched. "I just got the dust off from last time."
Maverick grinned. "It's either this... or the one with patrols, cameras, and a cozy little cell at the end."
The duct was narrow and reeked of old metal. They crawled forward blindly, one after the other, until Eagle came to an abrupt stop. With one precise movement, he pushed the front grate.
Minute 23:25:47.
The grate gave with a soft creak.
Eagle slid through first. Landed soundlessly, like a shadow. Max followed instantly, rolling on the concrete and rising swiftly. Then Maverick—louder—and finally Jackson, dragging his legs with a restrained grunt.
The hangar stretched out like a buried cathedral. Tall reinforced columns held up a metallic vault that vanished into darkness. The floor spread wide, filled with experimental machinery: hydraulic arms, fuselage segments, dormant generators. Everything looked half-assembled, like the place was waiting for an order that never came.
Industrial lights hung from the highest supports. Some flickered. Others swayed slightly, like they sensed someone didn't belong there.
The air smelled of old kerosene, fatigued metal, and a static tension impossible to ignore.
An elevated platform stood out in the back. Beyond the debris and half-finished mounts, right in the center, a black tarp covered something blade-shaped.
"That's gotta be the test unit," said Max. He pointed without hesitation.
Maverick was already moving. He climbed the metal stairs two at a time. Didn't ask for permission. Grabbed the tarp like he already knew what was underneath.
"Come on, baby... show us your face," he murmured.
The tarp slid off.
Underneath, the VX-AVRIL gleamed in silence. Compact and elegant, with reflective panels curved like dormant scales. No visible markings. Everything about it seemed designed to go unseen.
Maverick stood still for a second. Barely breathing.
"So... you're Avril."
Jackson raised an eyebrow.
"You talking to it?"
"Why not?" Maverick whispered, like he didn't want to wake her. "She's beautiful."
Max said nothing, but the clock in his head kept ticking.
Maverick placed a hand on the fuselage.
"Let's go, girl. Don't let us down."
He stepped onto the landing gear and climbed into the cockpit with ease. The interior was narrow but efficient, seats aligned like vertebrae, controls still dormant. Max climbed in behind him, Eagle and Jackson on his heels.
"You even know how to turn it on?" Max asked, dropping into his seat.
Maverick settled into the pilot's chair. "More or less. The controls are familiar... but there's stuff I don't recognize."
The front panel lit up all at once. Unlabeled indicators. Screens with unreadable text. One by one, the systems hummed to life, as if the craft were waking from a long sleep.
"What language is that?" Jackson muttered, strapping in.
"No idea. But I think it's Russian," Maverick replied with a crooked smile. His fingers moved carefully, activating auxiliary thrusters and releasing magnetic locks.
A subtle shudder ran through the hull. The rear stabilizers deployed with a metallic snap.
Max looked ahead. "How much time do we have?"
"We're late. It's 23:26:09," Eagle said, sharp. "If Fitz diverted the sensors, they're probably resetting now."
Maverick exhaled. "Then no time for a test run."
He turned the main lever. The ship responded. A restrained roar filled the hangar.
"All aboard!" he shouted, already aligning it with the ascent tunnel.
Jackson gripped the harness tight.
"And what if it doesn't take off?"
"Then at least we die in style," Maverick shot back—and slammed the throttle.
The VX-AVRIL launched into the tunnel.
The engines roared with suppressed fury. They shot past dormant cranes, hanging pipes, emergency lights flickering like they wanted to scream a warning. The ramp swallowed them. The ship climbed, shrouded in shadows.
And just as the upper hatch began to open... they were already crossing it.
A split second.
And the sky welcomed them.
Avril vanished into low clouds, leaving behind only a faint echo.
And down below, far below, the hangar fell silent once again.
---
Back in the lab, Fitz dropped into the chair, watching the last dot on the radar disappear like a magic trick. He blinked once. Twice. Then let out a breath like he'd just defused a bomb using panic and caffeine alone.
"Okay..." he murmured, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "So far, still... survivable. More or less."
The system chimed softly. A notification blinked in the corner of the screen:
"HANGAR ZETA-9: UNAUTHORIZED ACTIVITY – LOGGING INCIDENT."
Fitz swallowed.
"Still survivable... maybe with a minor sentence and some paperwork."
A light flashed on the console. Incoming transmission.
Simmons.
Fitz didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes, fingers hovering over the accept button like it was a laser tripwire.
The audio kicked in.
"Fitz."
The voice was so calm it hurt.
"Please tell me... you didn't just lose an experimental prototype during a level 3 alert."
Fitz swallowed again.
"...Define lose."
"What did you do?"
He stared at the ceiling, like hoping for a miracle.
"Let's say I helped save a life. And in the process... maybe... a stealth jet slipped away."
Pause.
Then, in the tone of someone sharpening a scalpel:
"See you in five. And... bring your will."
The transmission cut.
Fitz stared at the monitor for a few more seconds. Then muttered, resigned:
"Well. At least it lasted longer than my desk plant."
---
Shameless Note from a Shameless Author 😎
Okay okay okay... I know what you're thinking—"Did this man just drop a chapter out of nowhere?" Yes. Yes, I did. 😌Truth is, the previous chapter had been written for a while—I just didn't upload it earlier because it needed some polishing (yes, I do that sometimes). This one, though? Fresh off the keyboard. So you're getting a bonus chapter today. 🎁
I'll see you again tomorrow—YES, TOMORROW—I'm trying to post a bit more often since we're nearing the end of this arc 👀. And YES, I PROMISE Max's Solo Leveling system is finally about to make its entrance.
Sorry for the delay, and seriously, thanks for sticking around. You're the real ones 💛If you wanna show some love, a comment, review, feedback, or even a power stone 💎 would help more than you know. Let's keep this story moving.
Final stretch of the arc incoming—let's make it epic. 🚀🔥