My High-Society Father Dismissed My Supersonic Jet Warnings As Hysteria Until He Crashed The Simulator — Then The Defense Board Forced Me To Take His Place
The screens inside the simulator flared to life, the ‘Needle Thread’ canyon rushing towards me with terrifying speed. I felt a surge of adrenaline, not fear, but a focused intensity that honed every nerve. My fingers danced over the controls, making micro-adjustments that would have been impossible for anyone without intimate knowledge of the Specter’s deep-seated flaws.
“Mach 2.0,” the system engineer announced, his voice barely a whisper this time.
The jet hurtled forward, the canyon walls narrowing to a razor-thin gap. I could almost feel the wind sheer, the G-forces pressing down. I ignored the standard readouts, trusting the custom telemetry I had just integrated.
“Mach 2.3,” he continued, a tremor in his voice.
The familiar low thrum began, a precursor to the violent shudder that had doomed Arthur. But this time, I was ready. I initiated my custom algorithmic bypass, a series of rapid, almost imperceptible adjustments to the flight surfaces, actively dampening the developing harmonic resonance.
The cockpit vibrated, but it was a controlled tremor, not the violent shaking that had torn Arthur’s simulation apart. The green-lit display of my bespoke dampening sequence confirmed it was working, overriding the dangerous frequencies.
“Mach 2.4… Mach 2.5!” the engineer exclaimed, a note of disbelief in his tone.
The Specter sliced through the simulated air, my hands working in tandem with my mind. Every vector, every pitch, every roll was perfectly green-lighted on the primary display. I saw the finish line, a shimmering portal at the end of the canyon.
I pushed the throttle forward one last time, a surge of power carrying the jet cleanly through.
“Needle Thread maneuver complete,” the engineer announced, his voice cracking with awe. “Zero structural deviation. All parameters clear.”
The simulator powered down with a soft sigh. The screens faded to black, then displayed a single, triumphant green: SIMULATION SUCCESS.
The hydraulic doors hissed open, revealing the stunned faces of the military observers and the procurement board. A ripple of applause started, tentative at first, then swelled into a full, resonant ovation. General Kensington himself nodded, a rare, almost imperceptible smile touching the corners of his lips.
I unstrapped myself, my muscles humming with the afterglow of intense focus. As I stepped out into the bright hangar lights, I carried a sealed, heavy leather binder in my hand. It was filled with financial audits, legal records, and a court order I’d obtained just that morning. The simulator was just the beginning.
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