At Cornerian Army HQ, a green‑and‑white fighter touched down in the hangar with a hiss of cooling thrusters, fresh from the mission where the bioweapon had finally been neutralized. The cockpit canopy popped open, and a Cornerian Bulldog vaulted out, boots hitting the deck with a solid thud. Bill Grey unclipped his helmet, letting out a long, relieved exhale.

“Hoooo… weee. Now that was a rush. Another day, another good work for Bulldog and Husky Squadron.”

A confident grin spread across his muzzle as he straightened up, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. With the swagger of someone who’d earned his downtime, Bill marched toward the automatic doors, ready to claim the rest he’d fought for.