LB-001 — Episode 1: “Deviation Authorized”

 LB-001 — Episode 1: “Deviation Authorized”

[SCENE — RUNWAY / ASCENT CORRIDOR / NIGHT LAUNCH]

Radio static sits low in the headset. Engines already half-wound, like something impatient trying not to scream.

ATC:

LB-001, you are cleared for takeoff. Maintain assigned vector after liftoff. Climb profile standard corridor seven.

A beat.

The engines spool harder.

LB-001 doesn’t answer immediately. She’s already watching the runway lights smear into a vibrating line through the canopy glass.

LB-001:

Copy. Taking the sky.

She pushes throttle forward like she’s personally offended by hesitation.

Wheels break contact.

The aircraft—laser-class experimental frame—lifts hard, almost aggressively, like it doesn’t believe in gentle physics.

ATC:

LB-001 confirm climb stability. Maintain heading zero-nine-two. Do not deviate.

LB-001 tilts the stick slightly left anyway.

Not a correction.

A preference.

LB-001:

Yeah… about that.

She watches a weather bloom form on her HUD—tight, violent, ugly structure building fast ahead of the assigned corridor.

LB-001 (continuing):

You’ve got a shear wall forming right in the middle of your “standard corridor seven.”

A pause on the line. Control doesn’t like being interrupted by reality.

ATC:

Negative. Weather cell is unconfirmed. Maintain vector.

LB-001 exhales through her nose, like the request itself is insulting.

Her gloved hand taps a secondary display. Wind data updates faster than ATC’s feed.

Storm’s real. Fast-growing. Sharp edges.

Not theoretical. Not “unconfirmed.” Just late.

LB-001:

Yeah, no.

She banks further left.

Not wild. Not sloppy.

Deliberate. Clean. Final.

ATC (sharpening):

LB-001, you are deviating from assigned flight path without authorization. Return immediately to vector.

LB-001 glances at the horizon line.

Sky ahead is breaking apart in layers—like glass pressure trying to decide whether it wants to exist.

She speaks like she’s bored of paperwork deciding whether she lives or dies.

LB-001:

Authorization doesn’t matter if I’m flying into a blender of ice and static.

Beat.

LB-001 (continuing):

I’m deviating for weather avoidance.

That’s the official version you can write down and feel better about.

A flicker of silence from ATC.

Then tighter control voice, clipped.

ATC:

Deviation not approved. You are off protocol.

LB-001’s hand tightens on the stick.

But her tone doesn’t change.

That’s the key thing about her—nothing outside gets to decide her volume.

LB-001:

Then update protocol.

She rolls harder left.

The aircraft responds like it’s been waiting for someone to stop asking permission.

HUD flashes: corridor boundary breach.

Warning tones begin building.

She ignores them completely.

ATC:

LB-001, you are entering restricted airspace boundary fringe. Confirm corrective action.

LB-001 looks straight into the storm line ahead.

The weather isn’t just clouds—it’s a vertical wall of pressure collapse, lightning crawling inside it like it owns the place.

LB-001:

Corrective action confirmed.

I’m not going through that.

A pause.

Then, softer—almost amused:

LB-001:

If you want me back in your nice clean vector, build me a sky that doesn’t try to eat pilots.

She commits to the deviation fully.

The aircraft cuts away from the assigned corridor into open instability—threading between storm layers instead of confronting them head-on.

ATC (controlled frustration):

LB-001, you are now noncompliant. You are outside mission parameters.

LB-001 finally smiles—small, sharp, unapologetic.

LB-001:

Yeah.

I noticed.

She levels out on a new path—unassigned, unapproved, but stable.

Storm line roars past on her right like something furious she just refused to respect.

LB-001 (final line):

Tell your map I said “try again.”

[END SCENE]