As the Flying Palace's transponder showed it descending over the Pacific, the noise at the airport rose like a physical thing. Anchors yelled updates to their cameras; spotters screamed at each other to adjust their lenses.

ATC chatter leaked online via scanner apps, and thousands listened as controllers coordinated the special arrival:

"Imperium Heavy, cleared visual approach Runway 25R. Traffic has been rerouted for you."

"That's affirm, LAX Tower. Imperium Heavy on visual for 25R."

Hearing that call sign — "Imperium Heavy" — live on air sent chills down the feeds.

When the black A380 finally broke through the haze, its wings glinting in the late sunlight, the crowd roared like it was a rock concert. Phones tilted skyward, drones tracked every angle, and even the news anchors nearly lost their composure.

It descended slowly and majestically. The sheer size of it dwarfed every other plane on the field. Even a taxiing 777 nearby looked like a toy beside it.

It touched down with a hiss of tires and a puff of smoke. The entire terminal vibrated as its wheels kissed asphalt. Cheers erupted and someone in the crowd yelled, "It's real!"

Passengers at the gates pressed so hard against the glass that security feared it might crack.

Twitter exploded with conversations:

"THE FLYING PALACE JUST LANDED"

"WHO IS ONBOARD??"

"THIS IS HISTORY"

***

As the A380 taxied toward the Imperial Terminal, the convoy of news vans and private cars shifted like a migrating herd, trying to follow it along the perimeter roads. Helicopter news crews hovered just outside the airport's restricted airspace, cameras zoomed in tight.

The Flying Palace disappeared into the private hangar, swallowed by steel and shadow. The massive doors sealed shut, muting the roar of engines, cutting off the sea of cameras and drones still swarming the perimeter.

Outside, chaos reigned. Reporters shoved microphones into the faces of bewildered ground crew. Security officers struggled to keep crowds back. Live helicopter shots circled the hangar like vultures.

"Viewers, what you're seeing here is unprecedented," one anchor declared breathlessly. "The aircraft has now taxied into the Imperial Terminal. No word yet on who — or what — disembarked."

But inside the hangar, it was calm. Too calm. The aircraft's hydraulic stairway folded out of the fuselage and Liam walked down with hands in his pockets, and an unbothered expression on his face.

Daniel followed a step behind, still reeling from everything, his mind already calculating the tidal waves about to break over them. Mason and Nick were not far behind, and they were not any better than his.

They all walked back to the Vision Mercedes-Maybach 6 Cabriolet Imperium. Nick got into driver seat, while Mason opened the backseat door for Liam, who also got in, then he got into the passenger seat. Daniel got into the backseat.

***

Homeland Security – National Operations Center, Washington D.C.

The chair of Homeland Security stood at the head of the operations table, his jaw set tight. Wall-length monitors glowed with radar tracks and satellite feeds.

He snapped her fingers at a technician and ordered, "Get me live visuals inside Hangar 14, Imperial Terminal, LAX."

The technician froze, then spoke in a solemn voice, "Sir… Hangar 14's cameras are leased to private operators. They aren't integrated into our feeds."

"Then integrate them. Now," the Chief snapped, his voice crackling like a whip.

A murmur spread across the room.

"With respect, Sir, that's a private security system. It requires a subpoena—" the FAA deputy said, shifting uneasily.

The chair's eyes burned into him. "We don't have the luxury of subpoenas. We have a half-billion-dollar black aircraft that just taxied out of Los Angeles under a teenager's name and just taxied back in. I don't care if I have to violate every privacy statute on the books. Get me those cameras. Now."

Immediately, the technician's hands flew across his keyboard, with beads of sweat forming on his brow. It took multiple lines of codes, systems probing and bypassing permissions, but a minute later, the wall monitors flickered — static, then black-and-white images resolved.

The inside of Hangar 14.

The jet dominated the frame, its fuselage a mirror of obsidian swallowing the light. Ground crew moved like ants beneath it. And then the camera zoomed in on Liam, who looked calm, with hands in his pockets, as he descended the lift.

The room went silent.

The chair leaned forward, knuckles pressed against the table. "Freeze frame. Zoom on him."

The image sharpened, revealing the face of a young man, who looked barely eighteen, dressed in a simple fashion and

"That's him?" one of the Treasury analysts whispered, almost to himself.

The chair's voice dropped to a low growl. "That's him. And he's not alone. I want facial recognition on everyone that gets out of the aircraft with him. I also want a file with every single bit of information on each of them. Even the crew."

"Yes, sir," everyone said and got to work.

"Freeze frame and zoom in on that car," the Chief said.

"Sir, that's the Vision Mercedes-Maybach 6 Cabriolet. It was the car that caused the momentary gridlock today with it's appearance. It's a concept car but he has a roadworthy version," one of the technician replied, also pulling up available information on the car.

"That car is his?" The Homeland chair asked flatly, as he leaned forward, his knuckles pressing into the table

"Yes, sir. California registration confirms it. Vision Mercedes-Maybach Cabriolet concept. One of one," replied the FAA deputy.

An NSA analyst muttered, "That car was supposed to be one-off. Stuttgart kept it locked down. If he bought it outright… then the paperwork probably never passed through customs."

The CIA officer leaned back, his lips pressed thin. "He's not just flaunting wealth. He's sending a message. He wants us to see this. He wants the world to see this."

The FBI chief slammed his fist down, his expression hardening, as he spoke in a low voice, "We should impound it. Arrest him for questioning at the perimeter. You can't just let a teenager roll out of LAX in a concept Maybach after flying a private A380. It makes us look powerless."

Immediately, the chair's voice cut through like steel. "You lay a hand on him without cause, and you'll hand him martyrdom on a silver plate. Every camera in Los Angeles is on that car right now. He's bulletproof unless we have lawful grounds."

Silence followed. On the big screen, Liam and his group walked to the car.

The Homeland chair exhaled as spoke softly, "Track him. Record everything. Feed me live updates. Until we have something concrete, we do not touch him."

"Now, the problem is the circus outside. If he leaves that hangar unescorted, he'll be swarmed. Last thing we need is a riot at LAX."

He turned sharply to the DHS liaison officer standing at the edge of the room. "Get him a shadow escort. Two SUVs and an airport patrol unit, immediately."

The officer blinked. "Sir, you want us to protect him?"

"Not protect," the chair snapped. "Observe. Stay close enough to keep the crowd off his car, but I want eyes on him the whole way. That vehicle leaves LAX, it doesn't do it alone. I don't care if he's headed to Beverly Hills or Timbuktu — we track him in real time. Quietly."

The liaison nodded, already speaking into his comms. "Copy. Two Suburbans from DHS motor pool on standby near Imperial Terminal. I'll have airport police provide the lead unit for cover."

"Good. Because whatever this kid is… he's not just another passenger. And until we know what game he's playing, he doesn't take a step in this country without us watching," the Chief said.

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