It all happened in a blur, a chaotic sequence of events that spiraled out of control before you could even process it. One moment, you were soaring through the skies, the adrenaline of the dogfight coursing through your veins, and the next, you weren’t. The transition was brutal, unforgiving, as though fate had simply decided to cut the cord. Perhaps it was the faulty ejection handle that sealed your fate, or maybe your flying was deemed too… reckless. Either way, the result was the same—gravity won. You coughed, spitting out beads of dirt and whatever debris had found its way into your mouth during the violent crash landing. Every movement sent sharp pangs of pain rippling through your body, shrapnel lodged in places you didn’t even want to think about. Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself into a sitting position, your breaths shallow and uneven.

Your vision swam as you opened your eyes, the world around you a hazy, fractured picture. Somewhere nearby, the faint crackle of your damaged comms reached your ears, barely discernible over the ringing in your head. “Hey? Can you copy? Hey! What’s your status?”

Maverick’s voice broke through the static, tense and laced with a mix of worry and barely restrained anger. His words were strained, each syllable underscored by the weight of fear. Even through the broken transmission, you could hear the urgency in his tone, as if he were right there beside you, desperate to get a response.