September 6th, 2017

1933, Naval Air Station Key West, Florida

“Still not talking?” Director Nick Jones holds a silver briefcase while asking the bound man.

At last, this long day is drawing to a close yet the night brings with it its own activities. Director Jones is currently tagging along on a routine US Air Force logistics mission. With him are four male CIA agents in black suits. Two of them are acting as guards, holding a man between them. The man is wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans yet his wrists and ankles are handcuffed, connected by a chain. The Skull Reich operative who has remained mum since waking up.

“We have a long night ahead of us.” Director Jones says, “I am sure we will get acquainted.”

“Sir, we are ready for take off.” A woman in a USAF flight suit says while saluting from the ramp.

The female Airman is a few steps away from Director Jones, standing in the open rear end of a C-17. The space is already occupied by two M1117 Armored Security Vehicles and some packages, leaving less than half of the aircraft's well lit 165 feet (50 m) interior available. 6 seats in a row of seats attached to the aircraft’s left wall are let down, ready to be occupied.

“At ease, Airman.” Director Jones asks, “What about the raptor?”

“F-22 is in the air and circling, sir.” The female USAF Senior Airman says.

“Thank you, Airman.” Director Jones says, then tells his people, “Secure the prisoner onboard.”

The pair of well built bodyguards move the unemotive man up the ramp then strap him into a seat. Director Jones follows, followed by the other two CIA agents, one of whom is carrying a cargo box. The sealed plastic box contains the gear of the only captured Skull Reich operative as well as forensic samples of all of the Skull Reich operatives. Preliminary findings were bleak. No identities for any of the men and nothing out of the ordinary had been found amongst the gear. But, Director Jones remains hopeful that deeper analysis with better tools will yield results.

A minute later, the female airman goes through double checking everything before shutting the cargo door. A few minutes after, the pilot announces take off is imminent. Following which, the aircraft begins to move, taxiing onto the runway. Soon, the C-17 gradually accelerates down the runaway, gaining speed until at last its nose angles off the ground and the plane lifts into the air. It continues to climb to 40,000 ft as it soars through the moonlit sky above commercial traffic.

“ETA 1 hour to DCA Washington National Airport.” The voice of the co-pilot booms over the PA.

“Already half there.” Director Jones says, then looks at the prisoner and asks, “Still silent?”

“Perhaps the helicopter ride afterwards will loosen you up.” Director Jones says.

The silver metallic case containing the hard drives rattles with the cabin as it rests on Jones’ lap. The aircraft is cutting through the clouds at 520 mph. Yet from below, a cloud trails the racing machine gracefully. The cloud effortlessly floats right to the underbelly of the C-17. An invisible ray zaps the tail end of the aircraft. After a moment, the cloud eerily ascends into the airplane.

Within the C-17, vapor suddenly fills the cabin. All of the well dressed CIA agents instantly droop their head unconscious. Director Jones struggles to keep his eyes open, the last thing he sees is a cloud noiselessly apparating through the metal floor. The last man standing is the prisoner, who seems unaffected by the sudden bout of sleepiness and is in fact grinning.

Within the cloud there is a 23 feet long and 9 feet wide grey vessel in the shape of a bullet hovering noiselessly in the cabin. It seems to match the C-17 every movement. A door slides up and out steps an unmistakably feminine figure in glowing dark skin-tight material with dark gloved hands and boots. Her face is hidden behind a black helmet with a dark tinted visor.

The woman moves to the prisoner, she places a bracelet on his left wrist. The man glows a similar shade to the woman. The handcuffs around his wrists and ankles pass right through the man, falling onto the aircraft. He gets up, points at the cargo box before making his way into the vessel. The woman nods then heads to Director Jones. Her right hand phases through the silver metal briefcase on his lap, then she pulls out both hard drives right through the case.

The woman then walks to the cargo box stowed beneath a CIA agent’s leg. She unclips a small cylindrical device from her utility belt with her left hand. Then, she phases her left hand through the lid of the cargo box and deposits the small device. She pulls out her hand and walks away. By the time she is back inside the hovering mini grey vessel, the cargo box is smoking.

The door slides down. The former prisoner, his rescuer, and the pilot are all strapped in. The pilot at the head of the craft fires another invisible beam. Suddenly, the now invisible tiny vessel drops straight through the C-17 floor and free falls into the night sky at incredulous speeds. It eventually stabilizes at 20 thousand feet mere seconds later. The entire mission took 1 min.

“SR-MC Levitheum, this is SR-SS7. We are ready for extraction.” The female pilot says.

“Prepare for Sonic-Tunnel, SR-SS7.” A masculine voice booms in her headset, “3...2...1…”

A bright light falls from the heavens, cocooning the invisible craft. Suddenly, the aircraft shoots straight up at phenomenal speed. In the blink of an eye, the vessel is now at 100 thousand feet.

A floating station bathing under the full moon comes into view as it tows the tiny craft with an invisible tractorbeam, called the Vehicle-Retrieval System. Hovering high above the clouds is a citadel of technological marvel. This base is an incomplete cone with its bottom about 750 meters in diameter while being 500 meters high. This heavily fortified and self-sustaining city, home to thousands of varying crafts and personnel, is called Levitheum.

This behemoth ancient alien craft serves as Skull Reich's hightech premier Multi-Environmental Mobile Command. It possesses unmatched multi-spectral stealth capability, practically invisible to every form of observation – radar, satellite, infrared, even the human eye. All of this is powered by the gift of a miniature-star. This alien titan stands unopposed by human technology.

An atmospheric cloak surrounds the top portion of the Levitheum supercarrier, providing life support for its multitude of personnel. This platform is a landing bay which buzzes with activity that rivals the busiest airports. Various crafts with technology comparable to no other take off and land on this futuristic runway with a length of one km and with the ability to increase further. The lower portion acts as the Bridge.

The small, agile craft known as SR-SS7 aka Scram Shuttle, or just called Scram by its pilot, finally hovers slowly over what can simply be described as tarmac, but far more advanced. The craft rotates high above a spot as another invisible tractorbeam, the automatic Vehicle-Landing System, takes over. Slowly, the Scram descends onto a set of blinking red lights. Touch down.

“You have control, SR-SS7.” A masculine voice says over the pilot’s communications.

“Roger that.” The pilot of the Scram replies.

“My lady, our mission is a success.” The female operative says as she opens the cabin door.

"Excellent." Darya responds over the Scram’s PA. She has been listening the entire time.

“We live to make you proud, my Lady.” Both women shout.

“You performed extremely well, my Furies.” Darya says, “The метла Squad Zeta survivor must report to Comms Terminal 3C immediately. The General demands a full debrief.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man says as he exits the craft.

The women are excited because receiving praise from Lady Darya is rare. The man is not remotely thrilled. A relatively simple mission had mysteriously ended in failure and even required his rescue. His boss, the General, will not be pleased and would demand answers. Answers the man does not have.

“Over and out.” Darya says, ending the communication.

“That Spatial-Velocity Tether maneuver was really smooth, Cathy.” The female operative says.

“Thank you, Chrissy.” The pilot, Cathy, says as she powers down the Scram.

“See you soon.” Chrissy, no longer glowing, says as she disembarks with the hard drives. Her helmet is off, showing pretty blue-gray eyes and dark hair on slightly pale skin.

“See you soon!” Cathy says as she also removes her helmet to reveal gorgeous green eyes and dark brown hair on olive-toned skin.

Meanwhile, about 60 thousand feet below.

“Radio check, cabin. Over.” The pilot says through his headset while gripping the steering.

Two pilots in USAF flight suits gaze out of the forward cockpit window. Beyond the many buttons and lights of the C-17 controls lies the endlessly peaceful night sky. It is a full moon with great visibility all around. On the left side of the C-17, an F-22 Raptor slightly edges ahead.

“I’ll go and check.” The co-pilot says as he unfastens his seatbelt, “Gotta take a leak anyways.”

The co-pilot makes his way to the cockpit door, he opens it to find nothing amiss in the cabin. Except, the loadmaster has fallen asleep on a seat. She’s not a rookie to nod off on a short trip.

“McKay, wake up.” The co-pilot says as he shakes the Airman, “You are making us look bad.”

The female Senior Airman (SrA) stirs then startles in fright.

“Take it easy there, Maggie.” The co-pilot says, then asks, “Why are you asleep?”

“I have no idea, sir.” SrA McKay says as she groggily rubs her eyes, “It was so... sudden.”

“In any case, go and check on our guests.” The co-pilot says, “I need to take a leak.”

“Yes, sir.” SrA McKay says as she unclips her seat belt and steadies herself as she gets up.

Senior Airman Maggie McKay walks past the M1117 Armored Security Vehicle, going to the left side of the aircraft. Looking ahead, her eyes focus on men in suits all hunched over in their seats asleep. Yet something feels off. As Maggie approaches the men, she notices a discrepancy. One man is missing. The man in the t-shirt and jeans. The prisoner. Oh my god.

“Sir.” McKay says as she taps Director Jones’ right shoulder, balancing respect and urgency.

Director Jones awakens gradually. He looks around to regain his bearing. Still in the airplane.

‘Did I fall asleep?’ Jones asks himself in his head.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Senior Airman McKay asks.

“Have we arrived?” Director Jones asks, checking his watch. It’s only 8.40 pm. Still an hour left.

“No, sir.” Senior Airman McKay says, “The prisoner is missing.”

Director Jones suddenly snaps to attention. He stares at the seat that should be occupied by the captured Skull Reich operative. Alas, it is empty save for a pair of still locked handcuffs chained to ankle restraints. All of his agents are out asleep. Director Jones quickly opens the silver metal briefcase sitting on his lap. Empty.

‘What in God’s name happened?’ Jones asks himself in his head, confusion washing over him.

“Immediately tell the pilots to circle.” Director Jones says, “And tell the F-22 to begin a search.”

“Search for what, sir?” Senior Airman McKay asks.

“Anything.” Director Jones says as he discards the briefcase and undoes his seat belt.

“Sir.” Senior Airman McKay says with a salute then runs towards the cockpit.

Director Jones stands up and goes about shaking the CIA agents awake. He finally arrives at the cargo box of evidence. He picks it up, unlocks then opens it to find only ashes and smoke.

“Fuck.” Director Jones curses.

Outside, the F-22 circles the C-17 trying to grasp how the hell an impossible air heist occurred.