December 2018
The park was quiet again.
Snow covered everything — the rides, the paths, even the signs.
Lucas stood at the window, coffee cold in his hand.
Below him, the plaza was empty.
No sound. No movement.
The dark ride stood finished at the edge of the park.
The temple looked real now.
Weeks ago, it had been steel and cables.
Now it looked like it had always been there.
He hadn't been out there in days.
There was no need.
Walter and the team had it under control.
He looked at the folder on his desk.
Sky Frontier.
The paper edges were bent from how often he'd opened it.
The valley.
The bridges.
The track twisting through stone and light.
It still didn't feel real.
He sat down and leaned forward, elbows on the table.
The heater clicked once and went silent.
It was so quiet he could hear the snow hitting the window.
He thought about what was coming.
The launches. The sound echoing through the park.
The crowd standing on the bridge, waiting for that first train to appear.
He smiled a little.
Not pride. Something quieter.
The kind of feeling that sits deep and stays there.
He turned off the light and stayed by the window.
The park was asleep.
But he knew it wouldn't stay that way for long.
Oktober 2018 Flashback
The memory still felt sharp.
Cold air, grey sky, and that smell of wet metal that always hangs inside a factory.
Lucas had driven to Vlodrop before sunrise. The parking lot was half empty, steam rising from vents on the roof. For a moment he'd just sat there in the car, watching the doors, knowing that what waited inside could change everything.
Thomas met him in the hall.
"Morning," he'd said. No handshake, just a nod. Both of them looked tired.
They didn't talk much on the way.
The corridor was long and narrow, lined with photos of coasters — old Vekoma classics, fading over time. Python 1981. Loup-Garou. Goudurix.
He'd grown up seeing some of them. It felt strange walking past history to ask for something they'd never built before.
The design room was warm.
Two monitors glowed in the corner, the air buzzing softly from computers.
And in the middle of the table stood the model.
A full valley, carved in resin, with a thin silver track looping through it.
Thomas watched his face.
"We followed your specs exactly," he said. "Three launches. Each independent. Top hat at forty-five."
Lucas stepped closer. "Show me."
The screen flickered on.
He remembered the sound first — that deep mechanical hum before power hits.
Then the train moved.
Launch one: clean, silent, smooth acceleration into the open.
The camera dived under a bridge, the track flowing low above the water.
A wide banked turn that felt natural, not forced.
Launch two: harder. The glow of tunnel lights, the scream of steel through echo.
Then the corkscrew through the tower, the stall over a plaza that caught sunlight like fire.
He pictured people standing there next year, phones up, waiting.
Launch three:
That was the one.
The buildup so low you barely heard it. Then that raw LSM roar — not just sound, but vibration through bone.
The train exploded forward, 130 through a tunnel of light, then up, higher, into open sky.
He could still see it. The drop, the turn, the roll above water.
No tricks. No chaos. Just flow.
When it stopped, nobody spoke.
He'd said only one thing.
"That's it. Keep it this way."
Thomas had smiled a little, relief in his face. "Then we're building it."
Lucas had stayed for another hour, talking through timing, supports, pacing. But most of it was already right. He could feel it in his gut — this was the ride that would change everything.
Outside, rain had turned to mist.
The factory lights glowed gold in the wet air.
He'd paused by the car, looking back once more before getting in.
He'd thought of the people who'd ride it.
How they'd feel that first launch, the speed, the sound.
How the world would finally notice this park.
He didn't smile.
He just started the engine, hands steady on the wheel.
He already knew it — the future had just been decided inside that building.
November 2018 – Schaan, Liechtenstein
It was cold that morning.
Thin air, quiet streets.
The Intamin building stood on a hill, glass and steel, with clouds low around the mountains.
Lucas parked near the entrance. He stayed in the car a few seconds.
This was the last meeting.
Either this worked, or it didn't.
Inside, everything smelled like coffee and machine oil.
Clean. Precise.
A man greeted him in the lobby. "You must be Mr. Vermeer."
He nodded. "Lucas."
They walked down a long hallway lined with framed photos of their rides. Expedition GeForce, Taiga, Maverick.
Names he knew. Legends.
For a moment, it felt unreal to stand there.
The meeting room was small, bright, and too quiet.
Two engineers, a designer, and Marco—the lead.
They had a scale model ready. A dark platform with curved steel lines across it.
Marco started the presentation.
"Based on your request, we've created a triple-launch design using our LSM system. 120 kilometers top speed, forty-five meters height. Compact but intense."
He turned the monitor.
The animation started.
Launch one.
Fast. Clean. Over a valley made of steel and light.
Launch two.
Through a tunnel. The sound heavy and low. A roll, a dive. Smooth but aggressive.
Launch three.
A long straight line, then the climb. The top hat broke through a cloud of mist.
It looked perfect on screen.
When the video ended, Marco looked up. "So, what do you think?"
Lucas didn't answer right away.
He studied the screen again. The ride was good.
But not right.
He leaned back. "You built what I asked for. But it's not what I see."
The room went quiet.
He didn't explain.
They wouldn't understand the feeling he was chasing—the flow, the weight, the world around it.
Marco nodded slowly. "We can refine it."
"Maybe," Lucas said. "Send me the files."
That was all.
They shook hands. No bad words. Just respect.
---
Two days later he came back.
Same room. Same people.
No presentation this time.
He sat down. "I've made my choice."
Marco looked at him. "Vekoma?"
Lucas nodded. "Yes. They'll build the main one."
It stayed quiet for a while.
Then Marco said, "I understand."
Lucas slid a folder across the table. "But there's something else. A second coaster. Family type. Twenty-meter lift, maybe five hundred meters of track. You'd fit it between bridges and gardens. Slower. Calmer. But same world."
Marco opened the folder, reading.
His expression changed a little. "You want contrast."
Lucas nodded once. "Something that makes the big one feel even bigger."
They talked for hours.
Lines. Turns. How it could pass under the bridges of the main coaster.
No sales pitch now. Just work.
When he left that night, the lights were still on.
He could see the team through the glass, standing around the model, already drawing.
He smiled for the first time that day.
It felt right.
Both rides would live in the same world.
Different voices. Same story.