The Return of Raymond West.

The airport sat in an eerie stillness.

Riverdale International Airport, normally alive with the constant hum of engines and the steady flow of thousands of travelers, had gone completely silent.

The massive terminal stretched out like a hollow shell. Not a single person moved through the gleaming halls. Every shop had pulled down its metal shutters, locked the transparent glass door The departure boards froze mid-update. Even the usual announcements over the intercom had stopped.

Outside on the tarmac, rows of military vehicles lined the runway. Soldiers stood at attention in perfect formation, their uniforms crisp under the harsh floodlights. Among them were the highest-ranking generals in the entire nation, men whose names alone commanded respect and fear. They stood with their backs straight, hands clasped behind them, eyes fixed on the empty sky.

They were waiting.

The Supreme Lord had announced his arrival.

No one had seen him before. No one knew his face. For years, he had been nothing more than a name whispered in secured briefings and classified reports. A legend. A ghost. The man who had crushed enemy nations, dismantled terrorist networks, and brought entire military powers to their knees without ever stepping into the light.

And now, he was coming home.

The problem was simple. His arrival had been sudden. The announcement came barely two hours ago, and the airport had been in chaos ever since. Flights were grounded. Passengers were rerouted. Security protocols were rewritten on the spot. The only plane allowed to land was the last commercial flight already in the air when the order came through. They couldn't turn it back. So they let it land, cleared the terminal, and locked down every inch of the airport.

The plane touched down.

The landing was smooth, almost unnaturally so. The engines whined as the aircraft rolled to a stop near the gate. The passenger bridge extended with a mechanical groan. Minutes passed. Then the doors opened.

People began to trickle out.

They moved quickly, nervously, sensing something was wrong. Security officers in black uniforms stood at every corner, scanning every face. Armed soldiers watched from elevated positions. The travelers kept their heads down and hurried toward the checkpoint.

Then Raymond stepped off the plane.

He didn't rush. He didn't look around. He just walked.

The first thing people noticed was his size. He was massive. Tall enough that he had to duck slightly through the doorway, broad enough that his shoulders nearly filled the width of the aisle. His black shirt clung to his chest and arms, the fabric stretched tight over muscles that looked like they had been carved from stone. Over it, he wore a long black coat that hung open, swaying slightly as he moved.

His face was hard. Handsome, but in a way that made people uncomfortable. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones high, his eyes cold and unreadable. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just looked straight ahead, expression blank, like he was walking through a dream he had no interest in.

The crowd parted.

No one said anything. No one stepped in his way. They just moved aside, instinctively, as if their bodies understood something their minds hadn't caught up to yet. A woman clutched her purse tighter. A man pulled his child closer. Another traveler glanced at Raymond, then quickly looked away.

Raymond didn't acknowledge any of them. He kept walking, his boots hitting the polished floor with steady, deliberate thuds.

By the time he reached the security checkpoint, the entire terminal felt like it was holding its breath.

A female police officer stepped forward.

She was young, maybe late twenties, with sharp eyes and a serious face. Her black uniform fit well, her badge gleaming under the fluorescent lights. She raised one hand.

“Stop right there.”

Immediately Raymond stopped.

She studied him for a moment, her gaze sweeping over his coat, his build, his face.

“Name.”

“Raymond.”

“Full name.”

“That's it.”

She frowned. “I need to see your ID.”

Raymond reached into his coat and pulled out a worn passport. He handed it over without a word. She flipped it open, scanned the page, then looked back up at him.

“We're conducting enhanced security checks today. Protocol. I need you to step over here and submit to a full scan.”

Raymond didn't argue. He didn't ask why. He just nodded once and moved to where she pointed.

Two other officers stepped closer, hands resting on their holstered weapons. The woman pulled out a handheld scanner and gestured for Raymond to spread his arms.

He did.

His coat fell open. His arms stretched wide, and for a moment, the sheer size of him was even more obvious. His chest was enormous. His arms were thick, veins running down the surface like cables under his skin. The woman blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sheer mass of muscle in front of her.

She brought the scanner closer.

The device beeped softly as she passed it over his torso. Nothing. She moved it down his arms. Nothing. Then she brought it back up toward his shoulders.

The scanner started blinking.

Red lights flashed across the screen. The beeping got louder, faster, more insistent. The device began to vibrate in her hand.

At that moment she froze.

The scanner was reading a threat level of ten.

Ten.

The highest she had ever seen was five, and that was a man carrying five handguns and over five hundred rounds of ammunition. Five was the kind of threat that got entire teams mobilized. Five was the kind of threat that shut down entire terminals.

This was ten, the alarm in the airport went off.