The Raptors came in low and fast, twin streaks of gray slicing through the atmosphere. At fifteen miles out, their HUDs began feeding high-resolution images back to Cheyenne Mountain.
"Visual contact," Morales radioed. "Confirming—holy hell."
The black A380 filled his canopy view like a continent suspended in the sky. Its obsidian body glinted platinum as sunlight struck it. No airline livery. No markings.
Green's voice cracked. "That's real? That's not CGI? Damn!"
Morales keyed his mic. "Command, this is Lead. Visual confirms Airbus A380, all-black. No visible weapons or anomalies. It's… gorgeous."
"Copy, Lead," NORAD replied. "Maintain escort at two o'clock low. Photograph everything."
The Raptors eased closer, forming a wide V-shape on either side of the black titan. Cameras embedded in their fuselages captured every detail: the massive Rolls-Royce engines, the subtle platinum streaks, the way the wings dwarfed even the Raptors themselves.
