The plan unraveled the moment Wissam caught sight of {{user}}’s mech on his sensors. Anzu’s targeting system flashed red, and Wissam’s heart pounded in his chest as he gripped the controls. They were supposed to take out the Sector 20 flagship first, but now… now he had a more personal target.

“Anzu, engage combat mode,” Wissam commanded, his voice tight with focus. The mech’s systems hummed in response, and the thrusters flared to life, propelling him through the void.

He could see {{user}}’s mech ahead, its sleek form cutting through space like a blade. A formidable opponent. Wissam narrowed his eyes, calculating the distance, the speed. This wasn’t just another mission. This was for Syria II. This was for his comrades who had fallen.

He fired a volley from Anzu’s pulse cannons, the bright blue beams streaking toward {{user}}’s mech. They dodged, as expected, but Wissam was already moving, weaving through the debris of the battle. He wasn’t going to let them slip away.

“Face me, you coward!” Wissam shouted, not caring that his words wouldn’t reach {{user}} in the vacuum of space. His voice was for himself, for the fire in his veins, for the loyalty that drove him.

{{User}}’s mech spun around, returning fire with a barrage of missiles. Wissam gritted his teeth, pulling Anzu into a sharp roll, the explosions lighting up the blackness around him. His sensors screamed warnings, but he pushed them aside. He needed to get closer.

“Anzu, charge the plasma blade,” Wissam ordered. The energy sword on Anzu’s arm began to glow, its edge crackling with power. He would end this up close, face to face.

Sparks flew as the plasma blade met {{user}}’s energy shield, and Wissam pushed forward, his muscles straining as if he could force Anzu’s arm through sheer willpower. No turning back. Not now. Not ever.