The 787 Dreamliner buzzed with anticipation as it taxied through the Bratislava night, its 63-meter-long fuselage pressed against the tarmac. Over 300 passengers shifted in their seats, the tension building since their diversion from Vienna. Despite its size and fancy design, Reed knew chaos was only a heartbeat away.

  As Reed scanned the packed cabin. Every seat was full. Families, businesspeople, solo travelers crammed into the big yet somehow cramped space. Getting off this plane alive was priority one. Panic and the unknown would be on his side but he needed to spark that.

  A distraction was needed—no, it had to be more than a distraction. It had to be an event that would command attention, create the smokescreen to get him out.

  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 background noise to most but Reed wasn’t most. Digital cameras ran on lithium batteries, powerful and volatile in the right conditions. And in his camera bag he had a dozen spares. Sacrificing two for his survival was an easy trade.

  The plane jolted to a stop, the lights of the airport casting a cold glow through the oval windows. He kept his eyes steady, sneaking glances at the flight attendant by the galley.

  He couldn’t put his trust in 16B—not yet. The passenger’s cryptic message was too thin a lifeline to bet 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 fa?ade it was something far more sinister. PPI agents were masters of surveillance, extraction and intelligence. They moved like ghosts, blending into crowds, slipping across borders, using their photographic cover to penetrate the highest levels of security. Reed had been one of their best, recruited not just for his skills behind the lens but for his instincts and adaptability. This mission was no ordinary assignment; it was the culmination of every shadowed lesson, every coded message, every silent observation. And now he’d have to use it all.

  The overhead chime sounded and the fasten seatbelt sign went off. The cabin erupted into movement as passengers unbuckled themselves, grabbed their bags and waited to get out 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 moved quickly 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 unexpected 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 bent the paper clips to bridge the positive and negative terminals of the batteries and secured them with the gaffer’s tape to prevent the clips from slipping. He knew he had only a few minutes before the makeshift device would react, sparking a burst of fire and smoke intense enough to create chaos in the cabin.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Reed watched, muscles coiled, eyes on the flight attendant. The plane’s door finally opened, letting in a stream of cold, metallic-tinted air and the smell of jet fuel from the tarmac. The murmurs of passengers waiting to disembark filled the air, each voice another layer of sound to hide his plan. This was it. He slid one battery forward, let it roll under the seats ahead and one back 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 pop, the forward battery spat out a small burst of smoke. A grey plume curled into the aisle, tendrils of acrid smoke stinging the eyes and nose. Passengers gasped and recoiled as the second battery cracked with a deeper, muffled thud, releasing a sharp, metallic smell and dark smoke that quickly filled the cabin. “FIRE!” Reed shouted, putting just the right amount of panic in his voice. He leapt to his feet, waving his arms wildly to add to the chaos. “GUN, HE’S GOT A GUN!” he bellowed, eyes locked on the flight attendant who froze, caught in the sudden mayhem. Passengers screamed, abandoning their seats, some kicking over armrests and each other in their panic to get out of the perceived danger.

  Pandemonium broke out. Luggage fell from the overhead bins, adding to the noise and confusion. Feet stamped, elbows jostled and voices screamed, blending into a din of terror. Smoke swirled in thick, choking clouds that blinded and suffocated. The flight attendant’s eyes went wide with panic and one hand instinctively went for his pocket, but he was swept back by the human tide, unable to maintain composure or control.

  Reed didn’t wait. He slipped into the surge, angling his way towards the door with practiced stealth. The crowd was perfect cover, each panicked thrust and shout helping him escape. He kept moving, shouting “RUN, RUN!” to nudge the stampede and keep attention away from himself. The fire alarms wailed, the shrill noise piercing the chaos, telling everyone to get out, get out fast.

  He slid past the shouting flight crew and down the exit ramp, the smoke and chaos hiding his escape. Behind him the pandemonium continued. Ahead was uncertainty—but at least it was on his terms.

  Reed was out, but freedom was temporary. The key was to keep moving. Whoever had planned this had been very good. They had managed to get 16B on the flight and a fake flight attendant past enough scrutiny to blend in. The level of detail and coordination pointed to someone high up in PPI, a puppet master with access and power.

  The diversion from Vienna was strategic. Someone knew about Reed’s signature weapon cache system—loaded guns hidden in everyday objects in major airports worldwide. His reputation at PPI was built on such innovations. In Vienna’s Terminal 3, behind Jamie’s Italian restaurant, a gun was waiting in the tissue compartment of the men’s room. But now the diversion had cut him off from his own failsafe, leaving him exposed. Whoever had planned this knew his playbook inside out. His mind racing to put the pieces together. How deep did this go? If PPI were willing to do this, Reed knew he wasn’t dealing with a simple mission gone wrong—this was something much darker.

  He needed answers, and he needed them now. The smoke and chaos behind him were clearing into the cold airport air. Reed tightened his grip on the camera bag and took a deep breath. The next steps had to be perfect; one misstep and he’d be back in someone else’s game.