The rhythmic thrum of rotor blades sliced through the midnight air, growing louder as the sleek silhouette of Arthur's private helicopter descended toward the isolated warehouse compound.
This was no ordinary aircraft; it was a marvel of engineering, a palace with wings.
Its streamlined body gleamed obsidian under the faint glow of security floodlights, while polished chrome edges reflected the night like shards of glass.
The nose tapered with predatory grace, and the cabin stretched wide and elongated.
Landing skids fitted with shock-absorbing alloys softened even the roughest ground into something like velvet.
Inside, luxury disguised itself as transport. Mahogany panels lined the walls, inlaid with delicate streaks of gold leaf.
Deep leather seats,rich wine in color,curved elegantly around a central glass table where a bottle of aged Bordeaux rested in its holder.
