The feeling of weightlessness, to sail along the crests of clouds on the wings of an iron angel, what a testament to mankind's ingenuity.

It had been well into the sixth hour since we had taken to the sky, although I cannot complain; this spacious historical marvel responds well to turbulence even at an altitude above the troposphere.

For the first half of our departure, I thought to mimic Slate’s sloth-like approach of passing the time by sleeping in one of the three cozy pockets resembling weaponized hamster wheels at the nose, tail and on the top near the rear. With the most exciting port-hole to the world already occupied at the front of the aircraft, I settled for the Radio Operator’s kiosk fixed behind Lotte who had been absorbed into her role as our pilot, despite our initial concerns.

“How are you holding up, Lotte?” I asked, kicking back in the depths of the sparingly padded chair with my boots propped on the Radio’s countertop while I mindlessly thumbed through the Lancaster Bomber’s flight manual. “If you need to take a break, I think I’ve read enough to handle flying in a straight line.”

“Nein… Bitte…” She spoke sharply, keeping her eyes fixated on the blue horizon; one of which I had only seen in my earliest memories from the safety of my Glass Bastion.

“Oh? Alright then… It does look like it might be a bit fun… Have you flown before? The way you got us off the ground was pretty amazing.”

“The book you are reading… It was given to me while you were both under trial by those Lost who called themselves ‘Shepherds.’”

“(More like Slate getting his ass beat.)”

Just then, a loud sneeze emanating from the nose turret foreshadowed the likeliness of Slate’s awakening, only for his snoring to resume over the persistent hum of the engines.

“Err-Anyways… I don’t see a map… and I’m pretty certain you don’t have a GPS implanted in your brain… not that mine works properly anyways with the obvious shortage of satellites, so I have to ask; by which method are you navigating?”

By pointing with her index finger, I spotted a slight glimmer in the distance.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: sʜᴇ ɪs ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴏʀᴛʜ-sᴛᴀʀ ᴀs ʜᴇʀ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ. ɪᴍᴘʀᴇssɪᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴇʏᴇs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴇɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴄᴇɪᴠᴇ ᴀ ғᴀɪɴᴛ ɢʟɪɴᴛ ɪɴ sᴜᴄʜ ʙʀɪʟʟɪᴀɴᴛ ᴅᴀʏʟɪɢʜᴛ.]

On a swath of parchment held between her fingers, an intricate set of instructions written in her native tongue acted as her guide towards our primary objective.

“If you’re okay, then I think I’ll check out the Astrodome or maybe take a snooze in the tail turret. I have to say I’m quite proud of you, Lotte.”

With her head tilted expectantly, I indulged Lotte’s crown with a few pats before turning to the slanted pillar of light gazing from the Astrodome a.k.a: the Dorsal Turret- or so I recently learned. From the glass blister, I could see near perfect 360 degree range with the exception of the two .303 machine guns poised staunchly ahead. As quickly as I was enamored with the ability and feeling that I was sticking my head outside the main body of the aircraft, I was hit with a wave of nausea, prompting me to sit down in one of many crew chairs lining the left interior wall.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴛᴜʀʀᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴄᴇʟʟᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ɪᴛ ɪs ʟɪᴋᴇʟʏ ʟᴏᴛᴛᴇ ᴡɪsʜᴇs ᴛᴏ sᴛᴀʏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ’s sᴇᴀᴛ ᴀs ɪᴛ ɪs ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛʟʏ ɪɴ ꜰʀᴏɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʙɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ.]

Upon querying my internal thermostat as I plopped inside the tail turret’s cradle, I was surprised at how low the temperature had dropped with a gradual increase in altitude; a finger-numbing 2* Celsius.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴍɪɴᴅ- ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ sᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀs ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴍʙɪᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ.]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ᴀsᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs.]

Out of nowhere, an audio recording played a line I immediately recognized.

[ᴀᴜᴅɪᴏᴄʟɪᴘ.ꜰʟᴀᴄ: “ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴀs ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ!”]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ɪ-ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛᴏ sᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴜɴᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ! ʜᴏɴᴇsᴛʟʏ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ɢʀᴀᴛᴇꜰᴜʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ. ɪᴛ ɪs ᴊᴜsᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ɪᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ… ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍʏ sᴜʙᴄᴏɴsᴄɪᴏᴜs… ʏᴏᴜ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ, ʀɪɢʜᴛ? ᴏʜ, ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ…! ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ…]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ...ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴇ?]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ɪꜰ ɪ ᴡᴀs, ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ? ᴡʜʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀsᴋ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ sᴏ …ᴏᴜᴛʟᴀɴᴅɪsʜ?]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴜᴅɪᴏ ꜰɪʟᴇ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇʟʏ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰʏ ᴋᴇʏ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛs ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴇxᴘʀᴇss ᴀ ꜰᴇᴀʀ-ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴsᴇ, ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴏʀ ʜᴏsᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ.]

“Yeah, well… wait a second; didn’t Slate say his Thermal Regulator didn’t work correctly?!”

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴛʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴠᴇ, ʜᴇ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀɢᴜᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏɪʟ ʙʟᴀɴᴋᴇᴛ.]

“That idiot!” I groaned.

There, in the front of the aircraft in his own cozy pocket detached from the world, I found Slate; a frozen popsicle whose fingers and lips had taken on the color of cobalt.

“Wake up, you dumbass! If you snuff out your Master Spark, I'm not going to be able to reboot you! GET UP!!”

In response to my agitated concern, Slate snorted as if to stir, only to turn over onto his side wholly enveloped in his dream-world.

Or so I thought.

“Slate, get up! I can see your eyes moving behind your eyelids! Get out of there before you freeze to death!”

“Ugh, then why don’t you make me!”

Fed up with his recourse, I latched onto his hair and forcefully removed him from the narrow passageway, past Lotte who merely glanced at the commotion and into the Aircraft's main body where Slate managed enough room to lash out.

“What is your problem, Slate!? Look at your hands for a second! You might not catch pneumonia, but if your Master Spark-... ”

As he clambered to his feet, I expected to witness a brief examination of his digits. Instead, I found the first tears he had ever shed before me.

“H-Hey, what gives? I didn’t seriously hurt you, did I?”

In rubbing his head, Slate eked out a “No.” before making a swift retreat towards the rear of the aircraft, but I would not allow him, firmly grasping his elbow with a leer demanding an answer to his brooding behavior.

“Look; I’m sorry for being rough, but I’m not going to let you hurt yourself. You still have a duty as our Captain to get us to our objective and back home.”

In response his eyes sharpened in anger.

“Does that even matter to you- does any of this even matter to you!?”

Hesitant, I knew both an immediate and untimely response would come off with uncertainty, playing into exactly what he expected of me.

Truth be told; I stood little to gain from a home that was not ‘my’ home and for people who I still hesitate to call my friends. I've been drifting through life as long as I could remember, so I rationalize to a degree Slate’s mistrust, minus the ‘why now’ and the tears he endeavored so brightly to conceal.

“If it didn’t matter to me, I wouldn’t be here. Stop deflecting and tell me what’s wrong. I don’t like seeing you like… this.” I gestured to his disheveled appearance, only to be met with a fury the likes I had never seen before.

Abruptly, I found myself pinned against the interior wall, wedged between Slate’s arms. His eyes, both sodden with tears that had yet to dry and twisted with a cruel and ferocious torment.

“How can you be so calm and collected- acting like everyone and everything is alright when we lost both of our Companies! Everyone died, except for Owen and us three! Lotte has an excuse to be calm, but you don't! Why am I the only one whose grieving?”

The short answer; “I don’t know.” In truth, the repetition of the grieving process has embittered me, as streamlining the process was the only way to survive.

In doing so, I have found that guilt and remorse are far more lethal than that of any bayonet or bullet. I’ve seen where this madness leads; the bottom of a bottle, a handful of pills... the silver glint of a razor's edge and the smoldering barrel of a gun.

Steeling my shortcomings and all my reserves that I may have held for the mongrel looming over me, I motioned to put my arms around him.

“Do you seriously think your fake pity is going to make me feel any better? Save it for someone who’d actually fall for it.”

In one swift motion, I removed my jacket and set it around Slate’s broad shoulders, catching him completely by surprise.

“Even if I'm not good at showing it, I still care. The only two things I can offer you are the warmth of my jacket or platitudes. I took the initiative on which you’d rather have.”

Brightly blushing, Slate turned away with a sniffle and murmured “Stupid friggen Bearcat.”

With the situation diffused for the meantime, the first roll of turbulence set us uneasy on our feet until we sought the refuge of our seat buckles. There, we found a rift of slumber until a series of flashing lights from radio stack caught my attention.

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ʟᴏɢɪᴄ, ᴀɴʏ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴛʜɪɴɢ?]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ, ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀsᴇ. ɪᴛ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀs sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀɪʟ ᴜs. ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴜsᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇʀ, ᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴀʀɢᴇ ᴋɴᴏʙ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ 27 ᴅᴇɢʀᴇᴇs.]

Erring on the side of caution to exposing my networking to the unknown, I slowly turned the radio’s tuner until a faint whisper of a ghost came through the headset dangling on its hook. With the microphone in hand, I fixated on the voice that seemed to fade against the never-ending drone of the engine.

And then… BOOM! An ear-piercing voice from the headset injected itself right in my highly sensitive ears.

“UNIDENTIFIED BOMBER, STATE YOUR INTENT! YOU ARE FLYING OVER RESTRICTED AIRSPACE BY THE ORDER OF THE ****STATIC****!!!”

Before I could even think of how to respond, Slate snatched the microphone.

“This is Captain Slate of the 101st Jünkers; we are unarmed and in-transit for medical supplies.” And then he turned to me. “For the most part… he’s going to notice those .303 turrets we got strapped all around this Bird, isn’t he?”

As I looked beyond the large glass canopy of the cockpit, pluming tendrils of orange mist raced by as the sun began to set.

“Lotte!” I shouted, stealing her attention from the grey skies forming on the horizon. “See if you can lower us just a little bit more in the clouds! Let’s see if we can either conceal our weapons or draw this guy near enough to find out where he’s hiding!”

With the weight of gravity shifting towards the front of the plane, I braced myself as I climbed into the tail in order to search for the aircraft which had hailed us.

“This has deceit written all over it.” Slate murmured as he popped his head into the Astrodome. “If we call all clear, Lotte, I want you to head straight towards our objective. This guy could be in a radio tower on the ground just waiting to spring a trap.”

In the distance, a shadow of a large Gull appeared to keep pace, but before I could be certain its existence, it disappeared.

Slowly, the minutes crept by without another sighting of this mystery sighting, and then Slate shouted; “He’s above us! It’s a Bi-Mech… A BF-109 I think, he’s in Flight-Mode, it’s hard to tell… and I don’t see any Providence Banner markings!”

“That’s because we’re below him, Slate!” I yelled, racing up towards the cockpit to instruct Lotte to send the aircraft into a sharp climb.

As we rose at an increasingly rapid rate, we caught the small single-engine aircraft off guard and for a moment, we were able to positively identify its tail and wing markings being that of the Providence Banner before it turned its wings vertical in a dive.

“Now where does he think he’s going?” Slate asked as the radio stack began to light up like a Christmas tree.

“YOUR ACTIONS WILL BE SEEN AS- ARRRRGGHHHHH!!! *CLICK*.”

Without warning, the radio fell silent leaving the man’s harrowing scream to be the last we would hear before a muffled explosion reverberated through the airframe.

“Okay, that definitely didn’t sound good.” Slate said as he turned to me. “Fragile, can you handle swapping between the tail and the Astrodome if I sit on the nose? I have a feeling we’re going to find out what happened to our little friend.”

And then our world shook and rattled as holes began to appear in the underside of the walkway.

“Alright, that’s our cue- someone’s shooting at us! Lotte, take us into a climb until we stall- then level out and let us freefall! Give Fragile a wide berth and clear field of view!”

“Understood, Captain.”

“Buckle-up and use your handholds, Fragile. I’m counting on you.” With a stern nod, Slate dove past Lotte and into the Nose turret, buckling himself in.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʜᴇ sᴜʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇs ʜɪs ᴛᴜɴᴇ ꜰᴀsᴛ.]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ʏᴇs, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪssɪᴏɴ. ʟᴇᴛ’s ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴀʏ.]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ-]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ʏᴇs, ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ. ɪ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴜx, ᴡʜᴏ's ᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴜᴘɪᴅ ᴍᴀʏᴏʀ ꜰᴏʀ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ʜᴏᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴏᴛᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sʟᴀᴛᴇ! ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅɴ’ᴛ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀsᴋ!]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ɪ ᴡᴀs ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀsᴋ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɴᴜᴀʟʟʏ sᴄᴀɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛs, ᴏʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇss ᴠɪᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴀʟɢᴏʀɪᴛʜᴍ.]

“Lock on to this one!” I sneered as the streak of a glowing afterburner raced by resulting in the glass blister cracking under the intense pressure wave.

Played back, it was a far more modern F-4 Phantom and by many of one’s terms: LostTech. We were undoubtedly outclassed, outgunned and outmaneuvered, and the Jet Pilot all too aware of our increasingly desperate situation.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴄʏʙᴇʀ-ᴡᴀʀꜰᴀʀᴇ sᴜɪᴛᴇ: ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ – ʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ. ᴛʜɪs ꜰᴏᴏʟ ʜᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴀ ᴄʟᴜᴇ ʜɪs ᴀɪʀsʜɪᴘ ʜᴀs ɴᴏ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀᴍᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇs ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴜs.]

Without firing a single bullet in return, the noise of the jet engines suddenly vanished as we leveled off before we could achieve a stall.

And then, without warning a weightless sensation overcame me. Like a bubble adrift in the vast azure wilderness, the buzzing of Bomber’s propellers began to grow quiet as an endless gale surged in its place.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪᴛ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀs ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɪʟ-sᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʀᴀꜰᴛ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴇᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ.]

“YOU THINK!?” I screamed, only for my mouth to flood with air.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs ʀᴀᴛᴇ, ᴡᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴀʟ ᴠᴇʟᴏᴄɪᴛʏ ʟᴏɴɢ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴡᴇ sᴛʀɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ… ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ ᴜs.]

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’s ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ, ᴡɪʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴋɪɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍᴏs ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜsᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ?]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴏꜰ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ ᴀʀᴇ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɴᴏɴᴇxɪsᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴀᴛ ᴍᴏsᴛ; ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇɴᴅᴜʀᴇ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ 30 ᴍᴇᴛᴇʀs ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ɪᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜᴍsᴛᴀɴᴄᴇs. ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏxɪᴍᴀᴛᴇʟʏ 7350ᴍ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴛᴍᴏsᴘʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴇsᴄᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ʀᴀᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ 60ᴍ/s.]

Then my only option, one I must take in great reserve; Blind Forging. The act of creation without a predetermined product or blueprint, a skill I had never fully grasped and loathed to master. The price of my shortcomings? A crudely enumerated enigma, often a blob of congealed metal with no value, monetary or otherwise. I can remember it so clearly, how often I tried in my youth to make that stupid porcelain angel to no avail.

And the cost for such great potential? Exhaustion, the inability to active my Core or my primary Subsystems, including the ability to Forge and possibly the loss of consciousness. One shot, one chance. I’ll have to focus on something simplistic and hope I get it right the first time.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴡᴀɪᴛ! ɢʀᴀʙ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ʜʏᴅʀᴀᴜʟɪᴄ ʟɪɴᴋᴀɢᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴄᴛʀɪᴄᴀʟ ᴡɪʀᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋ! ǫᴜɪᴄᴋʟʏ, ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟᴇɴɢᴛʜs ᴀɴᴅ ᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜɴᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜʟʟᴇᴛs ᴛᴏ ꜰᴏʀᴍ ᴀ ʙᴀsɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ!]

“That’s it!”

Clutching onto the nest of wires streaming out of the twisted metal and broken glass of the nose turret’s shell, I forged together the items in the most crude and simple manner. The fruit of my efforts; a 20cm long pipe filled with explosive powder, capped with a hook connected to a wire and threaded hosing.

“A grappling hook! I did it! Now- where to aim!?”

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: 45 ᴅᴇɢʀᴇᴇs ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ, ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴀʜᴇᴀᴅ! ᴍᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ’s ᴜᴘ ᴅɪsᴘʟᴀʏ--- ɴᴏᴡ! ɢᴏ!]

*PPPOOOOOOMWHZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!*

Despite singeing my fingers, the crude hook sailed off into the stratus, approaching a red holographic circle painted through my targeting computer.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʙʀᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟꜰ!! ᴜsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛᴜᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀᴍs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴡɪɴɢʟᴇᴛs ᴛᴏ ɢᴜɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ sʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀsᴄᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏᴡᴀʀᴅs ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ!]

Suddenly and with little warning, I felt the full force of whatever I had latched on to came into play.

*HURK* “W-What did we h-hook!” I choked as the wind invaded my airway.

Logic didn’t need to answer, for the F-4 in all its might tore through the clouds before sending us into an upward climb. Its target; not our olive green Lancaster Bomber, but a swarm of A6M-Zero fighters greeting us in a hail of gunfire.

[ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʀꜰ sɪɢɴᴀʟ: ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɪʟ-ᴡɪɴɢ, ʏᴀ ᴘsʏᴄʜᴏ!]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: sʏɴᴀᴘᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇꜰʀᴇsʜ ʀᴀᴛᴇ – ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʟɪᴍɪᴛs! ɪɴ ʟᴀʏᴍᴀɴ’s ᴛᴇʀᴍs, ɪ’ᴍ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴠᴇʀᴄʟᴏᴄᴋ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪs sʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍɪss ᴀ ʜᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏʟᴅ! ᴡᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ!]

Coming into a stall, the F-4 listed back harshly, leaving the forward inertia to carry me smack into the flat surface of the right wing. With the wind that had been shoved down my throat now wrenched from my lungs, the sharp impact nearly caused me to miss the opening of the wing’s airbrake foil with my fingertips.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɴᴏᴡ, sʜɪꜰᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘɪᴠᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜɪᴘ! ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ ɴᴏᴡ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ ʟᴀʏs ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀʙᴜʀɴᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴀsᴛ!]

“I… have… a better idea!!”

Calling upon my synthetic strength, I ripped the small airbrake from its housing in order to utilize its sharp edge like that of a climbing pick. Careful as to not lift my head into the stream of wind traveling over the upper portion of the wing, I inched my way towards the fuselage before I tapped on the glass canopy.

[ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʀꜰ sɪɢɴᴀʟ: ᴡᴀᴀᴀʜ!? sɪsᴛᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɪɴsᴀɴᴇ!! ɢᴇᴛ-ᴏꜰꜰ-ᴍʏ-ᴊᴇᴛ!!]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ʜᴇ’s ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏʟʟ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴛᴏ sʜᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪs ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɪʀʙʀᴀᴋᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇᴅ. ᴛɪᴍᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀs sᴏᴏɴ ᴀs ʜᴇ ʀᴏʟʟs ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀ 45-ᴅᴇɢʀᴇᴇ ᴍᴀʀᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ!]

With my left hand, I opened a hole in the glass canopy, taking in an interesting resource in the process; synthetic sapphire, just as the Jet rolled into perfect position for me to slip inside the co-pilot’s seat.

Jostled and spun upside down, I had no time to buckle myself into position let alone seal the hole I had made in the pressurized cabin. I merely had to make do with wrapping my arm in the seatbelt while the G-Force gradually began to increase in every turn.

On a moment’s notice, I wiped my hand over the air guzzling hole with a much thinner patch of the aeronautical synthetic sapphire, leaving just enough in reserve to form a shiv formed from the crystalline substance.

“*Ding* Cabin: Re-Pressuring, Complete. *Ding*" An automated voice chimed, giving me the cue to take off the Pilot’s helmet, just as a Zero fighter roared upwards from below.

“How-the-hell-did-you-manage-getting-in-here!” The Pilot squeaked as we wrestled for possession of the flight helmet.

“First you tell me why the hell were you shooting at us!”

*TINK-DINK-TAT-TAT-TAT!!! ZOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHHH!!!*

Outside, I could make out the sound of bullets striking the underside of the Jet’s fuselage, and in a split-second decision; I crammed on the secondary control stick sending the plane into a nosedive.

*SHK* The aircraft’s internal radio buzzed through the pilot’s helmet. “I was trying to tell you that I’m not your enemy! I’m with the Providence National Guard; I’m here to see you to your order of medical supplies!” *SHK*

“W-What!? Then who are these guys shooting at us!?”

“*SHK* Pirates! Cannibal Gear flavor! Religious Zealots! *SHK* They must have tracked you on their radar!*SHK* They’re horrifically good about doing that! *SHK*.”

“Then I must radio my Captain and let him know to peg in you as a Friendly! Take these guys out for us!”

“*SHK* You got one of those militarized prosthetic limbs, right? *SHK* Would you mind putting that shard of canopy back where you found it so we don’t have another blow-out? *SHK*!?”

As instructed, I melted the blade back into position as I opened a channel on my internal radio in direct connection to Slate.

[ɪsᴡʀ – ᴄʜ 2.7: ɪᴅ – ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: sʟᴀᴛᴇ, ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʟɪᴠᴇ- ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ!?]

Sixty seconds later, no answer. After another minute had passed, I was already beginning to fear the worst.

[ɪsᴡʀ – ᴄʜ 2.7: ɪᴅ – ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: sʟᴀᴛᴇ!? ʜᴇʏ, ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴍᴇ!? ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ sʜᴏᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇᴛ. ɪᴛ’s ᴏᴜʀ ᴇsᴄᴏʀᴛ! sʜᴏᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ꜰʟʏɪɴɢ ʀᴇʟɪᴄs!]

Still no answer.

“I can’t hail them! I don’t have the Bomber’s frequency queued into my radio!”

“*SHK* Then here; use mine! *SHK*.”

Over their shoulder, the pilot offered a palm-sized wired receiver that I couldn’t have taken more hastily.

[ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏᴜs!? sʟᴀᴛᴇ!? ᴀɴsᴡᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴍɴ ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ!! ᴀʀɢʜ!]

*PSSHSHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEWWWHHHHH!!!!*

The entire blue sky immediately became engulfed in fiery red light, but as quickly as it had happened, it began to recede.

*SHK* The pilot’s radio clicked. “What in the hell was THAT!?” *SHK*

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴅɪsᴄʜᴀʀɢᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀɴ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏɴ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴ. ᴀᴅᴠɪsᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴇᴠᴀsɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴇᴜᴠᴇʀs. ɪᴛ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀs sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀs ᴀᴄǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴍɪᴜᴍ ʟᴏsᴛ-ᴛᴇᴄʜ.]

Before I could open my mouth, I bore witness the spectacular refraction of heat just as the tip of our right wing disintegrated into crimson light.

“The shot came from our starboard side! Same elevation!” I advised.

And then I saw him…

No…

I then saw ‘It,’ standing upon the hull of the Lancaster. With one arm clasping a bundle of wires fluttering in the wind where the Astrodome had been seated, Slate braced himself against the wind shear. His other arm no longer resembled anything of this world.

It was black and tubular, riddled with capacitors as if it had been weaponized. And we were staring directly down the length of its barrel just as it was beginning to charge again.

Cramming down hard to the left on the control stick, we were only just able to escape certain death, and the sky was torn open once more.

From our rear, a flaming wreck of a Zero Fighter descended into the clouds below as I noticed that the Bomber’s right most engine had been coughing out spurts of black smoke.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰɪɴɪsʜᴇᴅ sʏɴᴄʜʀᴏɴɪᴢɪɴɢ ᴏᴜʀ sʏɴᴀᴘᴛɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍ's ғʟʏ-ʙʏ-ᴡɪʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ sʏsᴛᴇᴍ. ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀʀᴋ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴀs ɪꜰ ᴛʜɪs ᴀɪʀᴄʀᴀꜰᴛ ɪᴛ ɪs ᴀɴ ᴇxᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʙᴏᴅʏ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʜᴇᴇᴅ, ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴀɴᴇᴜᴠᴇʀɪɴɢ ɢ-ғᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴋɪʟʟ ᴛʜɪs ᴘɪʟᴏᴛ, sᴏ ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴀ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ's ᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏᴅɢᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴇᴀᴍ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴅᴇғᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ғɪɢʜᴛᴇʀs.]

*PSSHSHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEWWWHHHHH!!!!*

Rolling hard to the right, the chaotic energy stream screamed within inches overhead.

“Pilot, I need you to focus on your breathing!” I shouted as the jet’s engines began to roar.

“*PSH* What’s this now!? Can’t you see I’m a little busy here!? *PSH*.”

There was no time to explain. The time between Slate’s shots had quickly diminished, and the thinning of the much slower Zero Fighters meant that we would soon be the last target remaining.

[ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ: sᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ’s ᴡʜᴀᴛ sʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ… ᴡʜᴇɴ ʜᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɴ ᴀᴡᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇ sᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ… ᴛʜɪs.]

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴘʟᴀᴜsɪʙʟᴇ. ɢɪᴠᴇɴ ʜɪs ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ ʜɪs ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇs, ᴡᴇ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀ ᴍᴇᴀɴs ᴏꜰ ᴅɪsᴀʙʟɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴅᴇᴀʟᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏsᴛɪʟᴇ ᴀɪʀᴄʀᴀꜰᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪᴄɪɴɪᴛʏ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴜɴsᴇᴛᴛʟɪɴɢ.]

I swallowed hard as I took the control stick in both hands.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴄᴏʀᴇ ᴇ.ᴍ. sɪɢɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ; ʜᴇ ʜᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʜɪs ᴄᴏʀᴇ. ʙᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ᴍᴀʀɢɪɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇʀʀᴏʀ.]

On the exhale, I thumbed the ‘Flare’ switch and slammed the throttle into its maximum position. The result: a stream of burning phosphorus and the ignition of the afterburners.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʟᴀʀᴇ’s ʀᴇʟᴇᴀsᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠᴀʟ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀs ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ sʟᴀᴛᴇ’s ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴇ ᴀs ᴘᴏssɪʙʟᴇ. ᴀs sᴏᴏɴ ᴀs ᴀʟʟ 100 ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇʟᴇᴀsᴇᴅ, ᴡᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀɴ ᴇᴀsʏ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ.]

*BBVVVT!!* *BVVVVVVVVTTTTT!!* *BBBBBVVVVVTTTTTTTT!!!*

Smashing down on the trigger, the Jet’s Vulcan tore the first two Zero’s into pieces and then into flaming balls of fire. The third; a direct hit to the fuselage causing the craft to burst into fragments no more significant than grain blowing in the wind.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ꜰɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛs ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴ. ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ʙᴀʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇʟʏ! ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ, ʙᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ 65 ᴅᴇɢʀᴇᴇs! ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɢ-ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇ ᴇxᴄᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ 8ɢ’s!]

The sensation of slicing through the sky; incredible. Every nerve ending felt as if it had been draped over the controls of the F-4, allowing more than just total control. Fuel-Mixture, Turbine RPM, every little onboard computer was at my fingertips, all I need to do was will my momentum into existence.

Think of a way to defeat Slate without injuring him…

Think of the people back home depending on us.

Think of how to re-engage Flight-Mode, as I have just now come to the conclusion that this is no ordinary F-4 Fighter Jet. This is… a Bi-Mech!

Just then, a pungent smell of vomit emanated from the front of the aircraft.

“Ughgaahhhuuurk!” The pilot tore off its helmet. “C-Can you… ca- can… you?”

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴇᴠᴀᴅᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴠᴇʀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪᴠᴇ! ʟᴀᴜɴᴄʜɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴍᴀʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅᴀʀʏ sɪᴅᴇᴡɪɴᴅᴇʀ ᴍɪssɪʟᴇs! ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ ʟᴏᴄᴋ!]

Regrettably, I had forced the pilot to regurgitate their last meal as the forces of gravity at times had exceeded the uppermost limits of what the human body can endure.

In a steep dive, the positive G-Force sent the Pilot and I forward against our seat-belts as my vision ever so faintly distorted in an effect known as ‘Red-Out.’ To the less fortunate pilot, my body was built to withstand well over 20G’s, whereas a human would enter G-LOC at 10, a.k.a ‘Loss of Consciousness.’

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴅᴜᴍᴘ ᴛʜʀᴏᴛᴛʟᴇ, ᴘᴜʟʟ ᴠᴇʀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇ-ᴇɴɢᴀɢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀʙᴜʀɴᴇʀ! ʟᴀsᴛ ꜰʟᴀʀᴇ, ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ!]

Aligned for a strafing run on the cumbersome Bomber, I sent the F-16 into overdrive just as we came to look down Slate’s glowing barrel.

Slammed into the depths of our seats, the negative G’s threatened to send the Pilot’s rolling head into ‘Black-Out.’

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ꜰɪᴠᴇ… ꜰᴏᴜʀ… ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ…]

I held my breath, nearly closing my eyes with my finger on a switch wrapped in caution bands of black and yellow.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴛᴡᴏ…]

*Ding* The onboard computer chimed. “Flare Countermeasures - Depleted.” *Ding*

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴏɴᴇ…]

Slate… For all the grief he has caused me, for the many arguments he and I have shared… He has withstood my fire, the ambivalent kind I had no intention of sharing. I must find the meaning of why it is I with the one with fingers singed and burned.

[ʟᴏɢɪᴄ: ᴇɴɢᴀɢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪ-ᴍᴇᴄʜ's ᴛʀᴀɴsꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! ᴅᴇᴘʟᴏʏ - ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴅᴇ!]