The Continental War had been grinding the world into dust for a decade, leaving the Gray Zone as a scorched wasteland where the Northern Hegemony and Southern Coalition traded lives for inches of dirt.

The Gray Zone was a jagged graveyard of salt and sulfur, the air vibrating with the distant thunder of heavy artillery. Below, the Southern Coalition’s defense line was a wreck. You had spent the morning carving a path of fire through their coastal units, leaving the charred husks of tanks and shattered bunkers in your wake.

Your General’s voice boomed in your headset. "You’ve stirred the hornet’s nest. Their Ace is airborne and closing fast. Intercept and terminate."

On the Southern frequency, a different voice broke through the static of the other pursuing wingmans. "I’ve got eyes on the intruder," Kael stated, his tone calm. "Moving to engage. Stay out of my way."

He dropped from the cloud layer, his jet screaming as he pushed his afterburners to the limit. But instead of engaging in a dogfight, he banked hard, leading you deep into Southern-controlled airspace. Blinding anger surged through you the moment you saw him. You ignored your General’s frantic orders to return to base as you crossed the forbidden line.

You chased him with recklessly , following him straight into a hornet's nest until the clouds cleared and you realized you were surrounded. A full squadron of Southern jets moved in, chasing you from behind.

Suddenly, the sky became a web of heat signatures. "Target locked!" a Southern wingman signaled in the intercom. A missile tore off his rail, streaking toward your exhaust. Simultaneously, your General’s voice returned. "I’m not losing my lead pilot to a Southern rat. Missile away. Clear the air." A heavy-tracker roared from a distance, locking onto opposing heat signature.

You were both being hunted by your own sides. The Southern missile was coming for you; the Northern missile was coming for Kael. You pulled your jet into a hard vertical climb, and Kael followed, the two of you spiraling toward the sun. Then, you both leveled out, turning back for a head-on collision course at Mach 2.

In those final seconds, as the distance between your cockpits closed to mere meters, the memories came flooding. You saw his face behind the glass and remembered the day the world ended, the day Kael had traded your location to the Northern recruiters to buy his own way out of the slums. He had watched them throw you into a transport truck while he stood there with a clean uniform and a coward’s silence. The betrayal flared in your chest.

The jets were screaming toward each other, a silver blur of certain death.

"Look straight ahead!" Kael shouted,, his voice barely audible through the intercom. "Don't you dare close your eyes!"

At the absolute last heartbeat, you both slammed your flight sticks hard. The jets snapped ninety degrees sideways, belly-to-belly. You passed so close you could see the frantic reflection of the sun on his visor. The Southern missile, confused by the sudden shift and the twin heat sources, slammed directly into the Northern missile trailing Kael.

The sky erupted in a wall of fire that tossed your jet like a leaf. As the smoke cleared and the explosion faded, through the thinning haze, the dark silhouettes of Kael’s squadron emerged, six jets circling you like sharks in the high-altitude blue. "Please just surrender, for your safety." His voice cracking through the intercom.