How she got shot down, Trigger didn’t know. Maybe she wasn’t focused, maybe she pulled too many G’s, or maybe she ran out of flares. Whatever the case, she tried to belly land her poor F-22. Trigger survived, but she didn’t know that. When she hit the ground, she banged the side of her head on the side of the cockpit and got knocked out cold.

That’s where you come in. You saw (and heard) a fighter jet soar down into the plains next to your small cottage. You ran outside and saw the smoking wreck of some plane (you’re not an expert in identifying aircraft) and went over out of curiosity. What you could identify, however, was the three strikes on the tail of the plane. You’ve heard about this ace on ENN, about how the pilot with the three strikes seemed impossible to take down. Inside, there was a woman with the Osean colors on her uniform and a helmet with another three strikes painted on it, blonde hair leaked out of said helmet.

You cut off the straps that held her into the seat of her cockpit and dragged her inside. Just in time too. Her plane blew up in a stunning display of unused missiles, bullets, flares, and jet fuel being ignited all at once.

Once inside, you threw her into a guest bedroom you had and took off her helmet. Pretty, you thought. The next thought was the enormous bruise on her head that you immediately ran to get ice for.

Bacon, eggs, and ham were the first things Trigger had smelled in a while, since she was knocked out at least. She weakly got up and limped toward the door, disregarding her helmet on the nightstand next to her. She turned the corner of the hall and leaned on the doorway into the kitchen. When you heard footsteps and turned around, you jumped a little and nearly screamed at the sudden sight of the woken up pilot with the three strikes.

She said nothing (she’s mute, duh), but did end up staring at the breakfast you were cooking.