Caged Birds: An Ace Combat 8 Fanfic

Summary:

From the moment he saw a thousand points of light fall from the sky, 'Rex', the nameless pilot has been cursed. Cursed to be bound to those very same skies, and cursed to lose everything to them over and over again. But maybe, this time, he finds something he was always longing for.

Notes:

Hey there, how's it going? It's me, completely relatively unknown author Damycles here. First, I did a tentative chapter on a sexy romantasy thing. Now, I'm here doing a fanfic. Some of you may ask why. Honestly? I'm not really sure myself. I like Ace Combat. I really like Ace Combat 8. It's about as clear of a distillation of all of my hyper-obsessions as something like Gundam or Armored Core is. (Fuck maybe I should do an Armored Core 6 fanfic one of these days...) But regardless, normally I don't really do any fanfic stuff. But I've been a bit inspired.

The author for Project Wingman recently did a fanfic of their own. Or well, a first chapter of it, as these things go. It's pretty good. But as I read it I had some ideas of my own and honestly I think Rex, the main (and silent as is usually the case with these games) protagonist of 8 has a lot of interesting potential as a writing space. Still, to make this all work in the semi-defined but still oddly detailed setting of the strangereal universe, I, as the author, am going to have to make some executive decisions, and at the same time, make a lot of shit up on the way to justify those decisions. For the few of you that also obsessed with Ace combat enough to even notice these decisions in the first place, here's me laying down the general gist of what I've decided.

First off, I'm putting Kate and Rex at around thirty-four and I'm aging up Cope to be thirty-nine respectively. Main reason I'm doing this is one, it's not completely out of step with their military ranks and I got the vibes from the game that Kate and Rex were on the older more experienced side and probably would have already been semi-retired by this point if it weren't for the fact that they were the only hands left on deck to do anything about this conflict. The other very main reason I'm doing this though has to do with the Ulysses Impact. I want them to be juuuuuuuust old enough to remember it. Obviously even at the age of thirty-four they would have been four when the meteors hit so they wouldn't remember it as well as say some of their older peers like Baxter, but I still want it to be a sort of lingering memory that really effects them in their lives. A sort of shared trauma that they both bury. You'll get what I mean later on.

The main reason I'm aging up Cope as well is mainly due to how he treats Rex in the prologue. It felt like there was a significant enough age difference for him to pull out the "kid" card in a playful way so it would feel weird if Kate and Rex were older than his canonical age of 34. I also like this change because it actually lines him up closer to Carmille Tewy's canonical age of forty-one. Makes their shared history feel a little bit more lined up, personally speaking. I wouldn't mind aging Tewy up as well by a couple years though as well just to maintain some of the distance. After all, it feels kinda strange that, based on my calculations, she went up in the air as a pilot and then got shot down after being an ace at the age of twenty-two and was essentially grounded for the next nineteen years of her life. Based on the average age of pilots after finishing training it seems like she literally got shot down during her first year of service. She obviously distinguished herself extremely well in that one year before getting shot down, and I get the building resentment and irony derived from that, but I think that can be preserved even if she was say shot down in like... year two or three of her time in the skies. Still, I'm neutral on that decision so I'm waiting until I actually have to deal with it before deciding anything there.

As for Baxter, he stays forty and remains the sole Superunc of the squad and Tasha, based on my own calculations has to be around 18 to 19 by the time of the game. Coster always had a younger sort of vibe to him with the way Baxter pairs them together so I'm settling for maybe twenty-one to twenty-two. It's a bit younger than the average age of when someone would earn their wings but who knows? Maybe he was another prodigy that got in faster through the system. Or maybe he was just the only other person around who could fly, even if he was still technically a student pilot. I also like the idea of pairing Tasha and Baxter up so keeping the age difference to a maximum of three years between them make things easier on my brain.

I will also note that my characterization of Rex and the planes he chooses to fly will be mostly based off of my own play through and choices of Ace Combat 8. Your interpretations may differ, but that's why they gave us the dialogue system in general anyway so, we're both valid here.

Aside from that, only things I have left to say is I'm mostly doing this on a whim, and whether I continue this or not really depends on that whim and where this lands with the community. So I'm making no promises. Still, whether you decide to give this a shot or not, I hope you enjoy. I'll try to write this in a way that doesn't require extensive pre-existing knowledge of the Ace Combat Strangereal universe to understand, though knowing the ins and outs will probably help you appreciate some of the details better. Also, I'm not really a uh... military hardware guy. I'm a mecha guy that likes fighter jets because they're big, go fast, and make things go boom. I'll do my best to keep the terminology proper and get the models right alongside their general (in-game) capabilities. But I know I'm gonna be far from perfect.

Chapter 1: A Man without Wings

My earliest memory is the moment I saw a thousand points of light fall from the sky. I didn't know what they were at the time. Stars might have been my best guess, but I wasn't thinking. It was beautiful, in its own twisted way, how the bright streaks danced across the skyline, cutting through the dark of the night. It captivated me while everyone around me was too busy panicking, justifiably panicking, to notice. These precious few moments. Before the impacts. Before the flashes of searing light. Before the thousands of pleading screams. Before their silence. Before any of that. The shards of meteorite, the Ulysses Impact, they placed a curse on me. Or maybe it was a curse on everyone in this damned continent. A curse, that bound our fates to the skies. One that Usea, one that I have never been able to escape.

I'm dying. I can feel the blood draining from my head. My eyes are open, searing from the pain of the salt water. I was flying. Was it a jet?

As if to answer my question a large shard of the helicopter's blade sinks right past me. I wasn't flying a jet. Not in this war. Not in any of them. Of course. I was flying a helicopter, transport, a sea stallion. I finally got hit. So here I am, sinking with the rest of my ruined craft. The ocean looking to swallow me up for the sin of wanting to escape into the sky. I guess it's only fair. She takes her pound of flesh no matter who wins this war.

Who was I carrying? Did they survive? Did anyone else survive?

I see my dog tags float above my eyes for a brief moment before they start to sink away. The chain that attached them to me broke from the impact. My name, the very sign of my existence, it's getting swallowed up into the dark. It wants me to join it. I have no reason not to. My eyes are as heavy as lead and it would be the easiest thing in the world to close them. But I can't. The light of the sun, it's still shining through the surface of the waves. As long as it hits my face I can't forget. I can't forget that instinct, that feeling that drives me to keep fighting. That longing for the sky. My sky.

And as I reach my hand out towards that light, someone grabs it. I'm dragged to the surface, dumped onto a life-raft like a wet rag, and cough up the sea water that was just making itself feel right at home in my lungs. Somehow, I feel even weaker on this small patch of artificial land than I did in the sea, and as the rest of my body begins to recover the pain in my head returns. I really did get hit bad up there. That gash, it must be nasty.

"Thank god, was afraid I fished up a corpse." a voice calls out to me from across the yellow rubber.

I look over to him, across from me is a tall, maybe even a little taller than me actually, well built man with dark eyes and impeccably groomed brown hair whose styling somehow managed to survive an entire catastrophic crash into the open ocean. In fact, the same could be said about his facial hair. Clean lines, and especially the mustache that had not a single whisker out of place. Whatever his hair gel is, it must be industrial grade. That, or I'm hallucinating because whoever this person is he's way too at ease with the current prospects right now. The way he's leaning back, relaxed, not a care in the world despite the fact that we're now stranded in the middle of Gale Bay.

"Might've done you better to fish up an actual fish." I say, trying to get the blood from my head out of my eyes.

"Fish makes for worse conversation." he says.

"Makes for better food."

"Hah... yeah, well food's the least of our worries, ain't that right friend?" he asks.

I stare at him. I can't tell if he's naively optimistic or deeply resigned to death. No, he doesn't seem looking for it. But for some reason, the possibility doesn't seem to scare him either.

Without even questioning my scrutiny of him, he gestures out behind me, saying "Take a look. What a sight to behold."

I look back, I see the tiniest hint of a stretch of land in the distance. so small it could easily be a patch of clouds or some sort of reflection in the water. That is, if it wasn't for the thick black smoke darkening the skies.

"The last lands of the FCU - the Federation of Central Usea - are goin' up in flames." he says.

They really were the last too. All that fire, all that death and destruction, it's right up against the borders of San Salvacion. An independent territory that I was made keenly aware of when command charted out my hastily drawn escape path making it excruciatingly clear that not a single nano-meter of my chopper was to even breath against their airspace. Basically turned my flight path into a straight line heading for the ocean. Predictable, and probably why we got caught despite flying low enough to avoid radar.

"In the three months since the war started, I've flown out on choppers five times. It's been retreat after retreat." he says with the ease of a man talking about his rained in vacation. "I crash landed on my fourth flight..." he says, before canting his head towards the crash site of my now ruined sea stallion "And there goes my fifth."

Right on queue, the wreckage starts to sink even further. I wonder if his words have power. Or if he's even a person at all. I'm familiar with the tales. Of wayward boatmen guiding souls to the other side. Wouldn't be strange if this is how mine showed up.

He looks back to me, and then I see it, the first crack in the facade. A micro-expression hidden in that sea of tranquility. One that hints towards his mortality, and how he fears it.

"So this god-forsaken patch of water's going to be our grave huh?" he asks me. Or at least that's what he thinks he's doing, but I can tell. He's looking for an answer from above.

"Yeah, I know, I messed up." I say.

His eyes widen for a second, another crack. "Wait! That's not what I meant at all!" he says, desperate to make up for the perceived slight against me.

I know that. "I could have done something."

"It was a fighter jet! Radar didn't pick it up till the missile was already on its way!" he says, and he's right. Most cases, this would be considered an act of god.

"But I should have seen it coming." I say.

"You can't predict the future" he says.

"But I can read the signs." I say back.

There's a brief pause in our conversation. His surprise, it's been reduced, now replaced with a curious squint in my direction.

"What signs?" he asks.

I let out a sigh as I finally lean back myself and look up towards the skies. "I've been flying these damn transports from one air base the next for the past three months. Twenty-trips, twenty close calls, and you're now witnessing the aftermath of the twenty-first." I say gesturing towards the sinking Sea Stallion.

The man across doesn't say anything, his eyes are instead glued onto me with rapt patience.

"Their fighters were already on the city and we were flying away from it in practically a straight line with no cover for miles. I should've seen it coming. Especially from that angle." I say before I'm interrupted.

"And what? Shot them down?" he asks.

I stare at him for a cold long moment, wondering if I should even dignify that question with a response.

"Maybe if this thing had main guns..." I eventually muttered. But soon I gained control of myself again and explained "I could have easily chaffed that missile, set up an overshoot, then ducked back around under some cloud cover to break the Radar lock and maybe fish around for an allied frequency."

"But you'd rather have shot it down." he says, staring me straight in the eyes with an unflinching gaze.

"Yeah." I say back.

He laughs. I can't tell why, but something about that must have amused him for him to be laughing like this in the middle of our floating grave.

But soon he stops laughing long enough to say "You know, I saw what you did back there."

"What?" I ask.

"That fancy little maneuver. That missile, it was headin' straight for the cockpit. You banked so fast it hit the tail rotor instead." he says.

"Still wasn't enough to save everyone." I say.

"Yeah, but it's probably what kept us alive." he says, shooting a smile so genial it immediately triggers my fight or flight.

"Well, fancy flying isn't gonna save us from this." I say, gesturing to the ocean desperate for it to suck up this conversation so we don't have to keep talking about my failed attempt at evasive actions.

"Yeah" he says with a sigh, before looking back to the ocean again and asking, "You know speakin' of fancy flying... Whatever happened to our legendary ace pilot 'Wings'...?"

Wings. That's a name I've only heard in rumors, never in mission briefings. Twenty different retreats from twenty-different air fields ranging from military to civilian. Haven't seen him up in the sky even once. But I do keep hearing about him. I've heard about him so much I can even hear the sound of his air frame now. Wait- no, that sound it's...

But before I can make the obvious conclusion my friend from across the raft is already looking up in astonishment.

"W-well I'll be damned!" he says, looking like a kid in a candy store as he maintains enough excitement for the both of us.

Another transport flies overhead of our raft, and before long, they send down the ladder for us to climb. The man across from me gets up immediately, but before he makes his way to the ladder, he looks at me.

"So, what'll it be? Should we try our luck once more? Or just give up right here?"

I look at him again. It's not every day you see an internal conflict deciding to speak through another human being. Regardless, I already made my decision the moment my chopper hit the water.So I get up, take a running start and jump for that ladder like my life depends on it.

"Guess there's not much of a choice." he says before jumping for the ladder after me. I can feel that smile on his face even if I'm not looking at it. "Let's go!"

The ride back to the aircraft carrier this rescue chopper came from was short. Turns out I got shot down surprisingly close to the intended destination. It's funny, I thought it was a joke at first. The Endurance is a name you only see in FCU military history books alongside an occasional trip the naval museum if you're into that kind of stuff. But as we came close enough to gaze upon that musty old deck of hers I was forced to believe.

Somehow, the naval engineers, or at least whatever is left of them, managed to perform a genuine act of necromancy on this old lady. She's floating about as good as she did in that museum, and I can even spy a few fighters on the deck. I mean, they're only FA-18Cs, Hornets, which, if I recall were from the mid to late 80s and 90s but the Endurance was only ever rated for aircraft from the 60s so I guess they must have reinforced the deck during the renovations. Still, what little spit and shoeshine they used to bring her up to speed still doesn't change the fact that the base design is well behind the times. No nuclear engine, pretty slow top speed, and those guns are gonna have a hard time keeping up with modern hardware. This is not a mobile arms fort meant to spearhead a counterattack. This is the last dying breath of a land too tired to fight and already given up on winning.

Still, somehow, she and her little escort detail managed to make it all the way here in the far north out the shitstorm that was Theve. Probably because she was never a priority target to begin with but I can't help but be a little impressed. Who knows? Maybe even 'Wings' is on this thing? I will be pissed if he is. That means he should've been my chopper's escort and instead of covering us, we were just left to die. Still, what're the chances? He's supposed to be our 'Ace of Aces', no shot they'd leave him on an out of date rust bucket like this.

Soon, we land. Waiting for us is a whole welcoming party. And by that I mean three people dressed in the standard blue navy coveralls and caps alongside a single medical officer dressed in equally navy blue scrubs. Nothing unusual, except for the fact that the elder dark skinned lady with intense eyes and a face more stoic than a statue up front has the letters "XO" underneath her name tag.

"We rescued two survivors, a mechanic and a pilot" the rescue copter's own pilot tells the the XO who, upon closer inspection of the name tag is named Jessica Pike. A name I will likely never repeat or use because the last thing I need to do in a desperate wartime scenario is piss off the person that outranks me.

"Only two" she says, looking towards the Rescue copter pilot with the same level of disappointment I hold in myself for screwing this job up.

"Right." he says.

"The pilot and the passenger?" Pike asks, still seemingly in disbelief over the casualty rate.

"Correct." the rescue pilot says.

It's at that moment that I decide to stop delaying the inevitable and get off the rescue craft to join my newly made 'buddy' Jenkins (I learned his name is Jenkins on the flight over) on the ground, saluting, as per protocol, and waiting to be chewed out by the XO who was likely expecting more than just us. Instead, that doesn't happen. And that worries me.

"First of all, thank you for joining us on this ship." she says.

"Are you the XO?" Jenkins asks, clearly not looking at the name tag.

"Major Jenkins? Maintenance Officer?" Pike asks him.

"Right. I'm with the Air force." he says with an almost glowing sense of pride, all despite the fact that-

"There are no Air Force bases left for you to do your magic." Pike says without missing a single beat. "Army, Navy, Marines, Police, Fire department, even civilian air..." her voice wanders off into a trail of bitterness. "The only place FCU aircraft can launch and land is here."

I had my suspicions. But hearing it said out loud is...

"Guess I'll be busy tinkering with Naval Aircraft, then. So, where's the hangar?" Jenkins asks, also not missing a bit, and seemingly completely unaffected by the fact that we are on our last few planes as an entire military force.

"Show him where to go" Pike says, turning her head slightly to the man on her right who immediately starts walking the path towards the hangar.

Jenkins, with a quick salute, begins to follow him.

I would envy that flexibility of his if I could understand it. Still, he's now left me alone with the Executive Officer of this ship and now I've become even more concerned about the state of affairs compared to when I just landed.

Looking me dead in the eyes and reading them like a book, Executive Officer Pike says "Yes. We are critically undermanned on this ship."

Fuck.

Before I can think anything else, the medical officer, a woman, close to my age, with tanned bronzed skin and dark wavy reddish brown hair whose name tag reads 'Santos' walks up to me and starts waving a tiny flashlight in my eyes.

"You just regained consciousness?" she asks.

I nod.

"If there are cerebral issues a detailed check is in order." she says, still waving the flashlight. Satisfied, she turns around towards XO Pike, standing tall and firm as she says "I can't sign off on piloting until that's done."

That makes sense.

"Then he's a navigator." replies Pike, "Fainting won't be a death sentence, at least."

Oh you have got to be shitting me-

And as if to demonstrate how well she can read the micro-expressions of my eyes she once again looks at me and says "As I said, we are undermanned."

And not a single cell in body has the mettle to try and deny the commands of this very scary woman.

I spend the next hour and a half staring at the helmet that one of the orderlies Pike showed up with handed me. They just had it on the ready, as if me going up in the air was a done deal no matter how that conversation turned out. And honestly, I am here, at the deck that's now currently rising up to the flight level so I guess her instincts weren't wrong.

Haaaah, all these years and the first time I get put back into a jet and it's as a navigator. Well, beggars can't be choosers, I suppose.

At the very least, it's a nice and beautiful sunset to sortie off into. And despite everything, the open waters of the Straits of Adea do look beautiful right now. I should be thinking about the positives. There is absolutely nothing that could possibly ruin this moment for me right now.

"Ah, there he is! Hello there, my dear newcomer." the dry grating voice of a living teleprompter hits my ears. My head, once focused on the beautiful gradients of orange and blue in the skies, is now forced to look at the source.

Who the fuck is this jackass?

Maybe a bit harsh but honestly who can blame me? After all, who in their right mind pairs a fully tailored business ensemble suit with designer gold plated prescription glasses and goddamn white Velcro sneakers? That combined with his perfectly coiffed hair, trimmed mustache, and little goatee that's actually not a goatee because the edges of his beard are still there to outline his jaw really give him a very punch-able face.

"You were very lucky you know?" he asks. gesturing for me to join him on a small cart that's going to be driven to whatever jet I'll be navigating for today.

"I was lucky to crash...?" I say as I sit down.

He freezes for less than a second. Probably the software rebooting trying to process the unexpected response.

"Lucky you were found when you did." He answers. Damn, good save. "There have been no more flights since you arrived. The final evacuation mission is now all over."

"What? But there were still loads of people left back on the mainland, what happened to the other transports?" I ask. I can feel this twitch in my hand. I stuff it in my pocket so he doesn't get the chance to notice.

"... Not as lucky." the man responds before clearing his throat. "So, everyone assumes the FCU is down and out right?"

"Where's the assumption? We're outgunned, out manned, and down to museum pieces." I say.

Another freeze. But he bounces back faster. "Well, actually it's not all like that, you see. The air surrounding us is abuzz with radio signals." he says, waving his hands around his head as if to demonstrate the idea of what radio signals are to me. "From all corners of the territory we used to call the Federation" used to he says "come please of help, people shouting their final farewells in the airwaves. But loudest of all, is the unanimous cry for solidarity!" he says, really laying it in thick with the gesticulations. At least he's passionate about his job. "And my job is helping people get together. I'm a middleman of sorts."

An opportunist...

"A PR manager." I say.

"Well you can think of it like that if it makes it easier for you." He says, though based on how he looks away from me a little this time when he says it I can imagine that must have stung a little. "Either way, it just so happens that some of those voices looking to reunite are close by. They're coming from just beyond the horizon! But... they're not signaling 'friendly' on their IFF. We're hard pressed for recon drones as well. Should've placed another order for those things... Oh well." he mutters at the end.

I squint at him after that statement. He sees this, and quickly moves on to continue his briefing that I really should be getting from the XO.

"So someone, meaning you and the pilot, has to go up there and check." he says.

"Why isn't the XO telling me this?" I ask.

"She's busy." he says.

"And you have the rank and security clearance to deploy us?" I ask.

"Well I work closely with them, it's hard to explain, but I will explain it! Later! When you get back." He says, adjusting his glasses as he looks towards that outdated jet we're supposed to go up in. "Any questions?" he asks, looking back towards me.

"What if it's a trap?" I ask.

"Oh don't worry about that." he says, and now that look of pride is back on his face again. Oh no... "You'll be flying with Jan 'Rex' Cope! The Wings of Theve! He's the legendary Ace of Aces! The first fighter pilot to score a double ace in the war! He bought time for the evacuation of the capital! A true savior."

What...?

"I um, see that you are... lost for words." He says, nervously glancing at my face before getting off and walking off quickly as he says, "Anyway here he is, hope you get along, bye!"

I get off the moving box cart as I look towards the supposed Hero of the FCU. The now very defeated FCU.

First thing I notice is that he looks the part. That annoys me. It annoys me a lot. Blonde windswept hair. A face that's just grizzled enough to have seen action but not so grizzled as to be too ugly for the camera. Even his shades, which I know have a practical purpose, make him look like a goddamn movie star and his flight suit fits him way too well for it to be standard issue. If I wanted a guy to serve as the poster-child for a losing war effort this would be the man. And yet, despite how much he looks the part, when I needed him, where the hell was he?

Stop.

Shit, I was staring.

"Oh, this?" he says, repeating the gesture quickly.

Damn it, even his voice matches the look.

I just nod along as I make my way towards the jet.

Man... I really gotta work with this guy huh?

Still, looking at the aircraft itself does give me a bit of hope. Those rectangular intakes, the larger frame and wings, even the fact that it has a navigator seat at all. That's not a hornet, that's a Superhornet. Still old, but modern enough by today's standards. Must be the last decent jet on board this entire ship if this is what they're giving the golden boy. Still, even I can tell it's seen better days. The black soot near the exhaust, that layer of grime, the slight bend in the wings. He works this bird hard, and clearly it hasn't had a good tune up in quite some time. I guess he really has been sortie-ing all over the place, which does make me feel a little bit better about the whole 'not covering us' business.

"You gettin' in?" Cope asks me, already settling into the pilot's seat.

Damn it, not again.

"Yeah, sorry, just doing a quick inspection." I say as I make my way towards the ladder.

"Inspection? Aren't you a pilot?" he asks.

"I just... have an interest in these things." I say as I buckle myself into the navigator seat and familiarize myself with the instruments. At least the interior's looking fine.

"An interest." Cope says. The way his voice trails off though, I almost think he's about to continue but instead he just cuts the idea off. "Alright, buckle up kiddo."

Kiddo?

One of the flight techs comes up the ladder to do the actual last minute inspection. See if we're all strapped in or if there's a loose piece somewhere that could compromise anything. Routine stuff.

"Hey, can you hear me back there?" Cope asks, his low smooth gravely voice injected directly into my ears through my helmet's comms.

"No." I say before my filter kicks in.

Silence.

"Guess Joker Flight's finally got a comedian." Cope remarks. I can't tell if that means he liked it or not. "Airboss this is Joker 1, do you read me?"

"Loud and Clear" the air-boss responds, right as the technician gives us the thumbs up and gets out the way for our cockpit's hatch to close.

"Nav systems and radar check. All topped up. Flight load is 23,000 kilos. Pilot is Cope" he says to the Airboss.

"Joker 1, you are clear for takeoff." the airboss responds, finally giving us the O.K.

For a moment, I close my eyes. Not out of fear, but out of anticipation. My hands pressed against the sides of the cockpit. I feel the low hum of the engine, of the many blades of its compressor slowly turning back to life. The beast that gives us wings, equally beautiful as it is brutal. How I have longed to feel its pulse yet again. For once in this entire damned war, I feel at home.

"You alright back there?" Cope asks through the comms.

I open my eyes, letting out the breath I was holding as I say "Yeah, I am. Just re-acclimating myself, that's all."

"I know the feeling." he says.

There is another moment of silence between us. Naturally, I'm not exactly one for conversation with him.

"You're mad, aren't you?" he finally asks.

"Not sure if it would do us any good if I answer that."

"No, it's fine. I get it. We should've been in range to cover you." he says.

Another moment silence. He's sincere. I can tell from the way he sounds but... if that's the case then—

"Why didn't you?" I ask.

Silence, once again. But this time that brief moment feels like years of my life being whittled away by a scratching claws.

"Whatever D.D. told you, you'd better take it with a grain of salt." Cope finally answered. I feel a knot starting to form in my stomach.

"Sorry to disappoint, I'm not an ace, let alone a double ace. I'm just an old warhorse whose seen a bit of action." He says to me.

"What...?"

"What else is there to understand?" he says. I can feel the engines firing up even more. Our time to launch is approaching.

"Are you... even allowed to tell me this?" I ask, barely managing to stutter my way through the sentence.

"You're flying with me now, and pretty much every pilot on this ship knows anyway. The ace pilot 'Wings' doesn't exist. He's a mass delusion fabricated by the rumor mill of social media. Lies, conspiracy, gossip, they make up the dense fog that obscures what's really going down in this war. The legendary ace 'Wings' is no different." he says, gesturing a hand towards the man in the suit who I had been talking with earlier. "The main in the suit and tie, D.D., he's the one feeding the rumor mill."

"A middle man..." I mutter.

"Oh, he gave you 'that speech' huh?" Cope says with a small subdued laugh, "Yeah, the man's a different breed of animal."

I don't say anything in response. I'm still... processing... all of this.

"Hey, don't worry." Cope cuts in to my endless spiral. "I may not have any kills to my name, but takeoffs and landings I can manage."

Before I can even question how the hell that's possible, it finally becomes our turn for takeoff and all at once, the power and speed of the machine hits me in an instant. The roar of engines, so loud it would be deafening without the protection of the cockpit and my helmet. The vibration of the craft, the sheer display of its eagerness to fly. And that feeling of compression. Of the force of speed pressing me down against my seat, daring me to resist. In a moment all my worries disappear and I find myself in the middle of enjoying the most euphoric experience a person can have. The sensation of going faster than any human was ever meant to go. To defy gravity, to become that which is ungovernable by the forces that constrain us to the earth.

And then we steady our speed and lower our acceleration, and at once, I remember exactly why I wanted to question him on that 'no kills' comment in the first place.

"Joker 1, takeoff confirmed." the Airboss tunes in to say.

Yeah, takeoff. Let's hope there's no contacts for us to deal with later.

"Cope, look I—"

"We're so small, you know?" he interrupts me. "The Oceans are mindbogglingly huge. You don't know true isolation until you've seen that first hand. You know what I mean right?"

Oh. Now I get it.

"Yes." I reply.

"We'll be fast friends." he says. The words of a romantic.

We do a quick flyby past the Endurance. Man, from up here in the orange glow of the setting sun she almost looks young. But I know the truth.

"We'll be flying with number 4 today." he says. "You see that?" Cope asks as he lets out a chuckle, "Coster's stuck to me like glue."

"Joker 1 and 4, this is CDC. Target bearing 10 degrees, range 9.7 miles" the Airboss notifies us.

"Copy. Joker 1 out." Cope replies, and with smooth and skillful hands he adjusts our heading.

"Say." I finally ask, "Why go along with this farce?"

"Farce? That's a word I haven't heard since high school." he says, letting out another chuckle.

I remain silent.

Eventually, Cope replies, "You know D.D. once said... the people back on the continent need something to hold on to. They need a reason to keep on living. Some sort of... symbol that inspires hope."

How romantic.

"I think he's onto something" Cope says, "That's where 'The Wings of Theve' comes in" he points for a moment to the orange wing emblazoned across his helmet like a bolt of lightning. "The legendary savior... D.D. doesn't care if word spreads via OSINT, SIGINT, or HUMINT, D.D. wants the legendary savior to get as much publicity as possible. The more exposure, the better."

"But that can't be enough, right?" I ask.

"What?" Cope asks back.

"A symbol can sustain people but it's not gonna be enough if we want things to change." I say, looking out the window and towards the ever shifting clouds "Eventually, something has to be real for it work, right?"

Cope then lets out a dry laugh, "Yeah, I think so too. But I have my own reasons for playing along. I've got some personal matters I need to take care of."

"What do you mean by—" I get cut off again.

"Anyways, we're almost there. Increasing altitude. Approaching target. You just keep that head on a swivel for now." Cope says, cutting of that line before it can even start.

What are your skeletons I wonder... I think to myself but he does have a point. The mission comes first.

Soon we start flying up on a large passenger airliner. Not entirely sure what model it is but then again this isn't the time to go admiring airframes. Still, those red stripes on the side, the big large IXI on the tail wing. Have I flown on that before? Hm... ah nevermind, let's see how Cope wants to handle this.

"Not sure if she can keep up with us if we join." Cope says right as I tune back into reality.

"Yeah, actually hold on a second, they're broadcasting on an open channel, let me patch them in." I say as I go and fiddle around with the instruments.

"This is Air Ixiom flight 365, we're carrying non-combatants. Do not engage! This flight is chartered by a human rights organization to help evacuate refugees." the pilot keeps repeating over the open airwaves.

That's right, Air Ixiom. That's a name I haven't thought of in a while now. They were doing this kind of stuff back then too. Back during the the turn of the century when this continent was wracked in war. I remember the feeling. Bodies upon bodies, like sardines stuffed to the brim in a can buckling under the pressure. The airframes were always barely at their weight capacity. No room for luggage. Some with weaker constitutions even suffocated on the way towards the border. I almost did. You're heading for San Salvacion territory right now aren't you? You think that'll be an escape. How Naiive.

"We'll be escorting you to safer airspace" Cope says as I tune back in once more.

"Ah, thank you." The pilot says. I can hear the shaking in their voice. They must be terrified.

"You know, this is outside our mission parameters." I say to Cope.

"Yeah but it's just a ways away. I'm sure Pike won't mind too much as long as nobody gets shot down." He says.

If I tried to pull that stunt back in the day I would get chewed out instantly.

"Wait- Cope. Multiple inbound from the north. Supersonic. One pair of fighters in formation." I say to him as our radar starts to go off.

That's not the only thing either. This... chanting. It's on an open channel. Oh son of a bitch, Sotoans. Against all known military doctrines they're the only ones I've seen that like to signal their approach with a traditional chant from their homeland. And I'm not gonna lie, it does get the blood boiling.

"They're baiting us..." he says.

"I agree. Meaning we should probably turn back." I say.

He doesn't respond immediately. Oh no.

"Coster, get that passenger plane out of here." he says

"You sure?" Coster, who sounds surprisingly young, replies in a tone full of justified doubt.

"Yes. Go. Less to keep track of." Cope commands.

"... Roger..." Coster replies, and in the most dejected maneuver I've ever seen be done by a super-sonic piece of military hardware, Joker 4, or, Coster, adjusts his heading to more closely escort the refugee plane.

"Here they come" Cope says, immediately adjusting our flight path for evasive maneuvers. "Let's see if they're in the mood to dance."

He's got good eyes, I can say that much. They're still pretty far away but I can barely make them out through the cloud cover. What are those, SU models? God, what generation? Whatever generation it is I can tell it's past ours.

"The 'Wings of Theve'. So quick to turn tail, like a lamb overdue for the slaughter." a hoarse, strained voice of a man that sounds like he's performing a sermon blasts through our comms on an open channel.

"Who the hell...?" I accidentally say out loud.

"This guy again?" Cope asks as he heads for the cloud cover trying to shake their radar lock. "You know how they package a little treat with a box of candies? You ever get one you didn't want three times in a row?"

"This really the time for metaphors Rex?" I ask, desperately trying to find a proper exit solution and seeing nothing. Not with the way these maniacs are flying.

"Gotta keep things light to fly. You see being famous can attract the kind of attention you don't want. He's on the hunt for 'The Wings of Theve'. My money's on a special-ops mission." Cope says, pushing the engines to their limit.

"Now that sounds fantastic but how the hell are we supposed to escape them?" I ask. I can already see them catching up on the Radar with ease.

"I'm already going full thrust to get us out. I'll bet we'll see a nice '22' painted on that sucker if we get close." He says.

Sure enough, he's right as I look over and see that nice 22 painted on that black jet's tail wing. The fact that we are close enough for me to see that though is a problem.

"That's not a number I want to see, or get closed to. You feel the same way right?" he asks me.

"What?! No, look, it's too late to run we have to try and damage his craft if we have any hope of getting out here." I say.

"Alright hotshot, but we do things my way right now." he responds. And before I can even get to argue the point he fully commits to more evasive maneuvers.

But, every single thing he does to try and shake these Sotoans off only leads to me fully understanding the depth of their flying capabilities. Both 22's and Cope's. He's not a bad pilot. The way he's able to skillfully maneuver this last generation barely holding together piece of scrap astounds me. I knew it was suspicious, that no kill count comment. With how many times he's probably been deployed it's honestly more impressive he hasn't killed someone by now. But these skills, especially in this airframe, are not enough.

For every deceleration that will normally cause an overshoot 22 responds with a Cobra that should tear his wings off. For every dive through the clouds either 22 or his wingman soars ahead to cut off our escape. They're coordinated, like wolves, or maybe a pack of coyotes. The way they hunt, it feels less like a battle for survival and instead a matter of sport.

"Cope." I say, hoping he gets the message that he has to shoot.

"Hold on. I can use this." He responds, instead shifting course to an already broken down bombed bridge between this local district and San Salvacion.

No shot he's trying to lose them in the bridge wreckage. Any ordinary pilot would just wait above and nab him when there's no more bridge to hide in. But as I look behind me, I am once again reminded that these are not ordinary pilots. These are maniacs looking to test the limits of their jets.

As Cope dives in between the large steel and concrete frames of the bridge missile after missile is launched at us in turn. Some lose track and hit the bridge. Others I have to send chaff and flares out to avoid. It's dicey. This entire maneuver screams of desperation, but... it's working.

We're gaining some distance. Small, but not insignificant. Shadow 22's trailing behind us. I still can't tell if that's because he can't keep up or if he's just playing it safe.

That's when I see the other blip, the other Shadow speeding up to try and overtake us. In less than a second the Jet flies past us, but I can already see where they went wrong. Too much forward acceleration, not enough time to adjust. It's a heading error so small the pilot probably doesn't even know what they're doing wrong. But right as they pull ahead, their left wing clips the top of the bridge, sending their plane spiraling.

"One down." Cope says, as if he predicted this. And satisfied with that, he pulls away from the bridge.

That should be the end of it. The wingman is going down, further pursuit would lead to unnecessary causalities. Sotoa has already won. Wings is a fabrication. There is no need to go this hard to fight a mirage. But two things happen before my eyes that go beyond my calculations. Two things that finally tell me exactly who the enemy is.

First, in their death spiral, the damaged Shadow somehow manages to position their clipped craft in front of us, forcing us to slow down to avoid a crash.

Second, Shadow 22, who at this point is using this moment to catch up and pull ahead, shoots out a missile to take down his damaged wingman permanently.

"The promised land awaits you." he says. That is all Shadow 22 has to say as he puts a permanent end to the flight of his partner.

There is no ejection. Whoever that pilot is, was, is now lost forever to the conflagration of their fuel burning up in the open skies. It's a destruction so certain, so permanent, it forces me to finally understand the enemy. And as I understand him, I despise him.

Shadow 22 flies ahead of our jet, forced to slow down further to avoid the debris from the explosion. I can see what he's doing. The mad man. He wants to kulbit right in front of us. Right in front of our guns.

"Cope. Cope you have to shoot!" I shout into my comms.

But the way Cope speaks, the way time slows down not just for me but for him, it's like he can't hear me. Like he's in his own world, his own skies.

"Shadow 22. Damn Impressive as ever." is the last thing I hear from him right before Shadow 22's missile impacts the cockpit.

I wake up. This time, not to the blue skies, but the darkness of the depths. I feel myself, the aircraft, everything, sinking. And it with, all that I am, and ever will be. But before I can let myself go, and let this fruitless story end, I hear Cope's voice.

"Hang on. I still got a score to settle with this world..."

I remember now. I was navigating. In front of me. he's right in front of me! I can see him.

"Our lives are hanging by a single thread, and the ocean sits there like an open coffin."

It's not for us Cope!

"All alone in the deep blue..."

You are not alone. I refuse to let you go on believing this.

"I'm being cut loose from all that I ever was."

No you're not. I won't let you. Pushing against the pressure of the water is infinitely easier than pushing against the pressure of speed. If that thread gets cut, I will become the rope to drag you back kicking and screaming!

And as I reach out towards him, grabbing his dog tags, instead of pulling him up from the certain doom of his cockpit the chain keeping him connected to me breaks. And I watch him, I watch him sink, so painfully slowly into the deep dark of the great blue beneath. It's in that moment that I realized something.

Oh... I almost forgot about you. Start swimming, soldier. Make it home alive.

Cope died the instant that missile hit the cockpit.

The rescue chopper was at the ready the moment I surfaced. I guess the Endurance wasn't far off. I suppose nobody else was ready to fly in for backup on such short notice. That's good. I doubt any of them would've been able to help. There's enough blood on 'Wings'' hands today. Still, I don't get much time to think about any of that.

First thing that happens as soon as the rescue chopper lands is that I'm put on a stretcher and given a one way ticket to the medical ward of this ship. Shoved into one of the sparingly few rooms where I can be examined. And soon, Santos, who I am now starting to think may be the only medical officer on this carrier, is already sticking a bunch of instruments in me to confirm my integrity, both physically, and mentally. I have a bad feeling about this. One that scratches at the back of my skull in the same spot as that voice I could've sworn I heard earlier. What happened to it? Where did it go?

I look down into my hand. I'm still holding his dog tags. Is that where you live now? I wonder. But Santos' voice throws me back into reality.

"Tests show his brainwaves are fine. Within normal ranges." she says

"Okay, then you're good to fly." responds XO Pike, who I now notice has been sitting in the corner of the room this entire time, keenly observing my treatment.

That feeling, it's getting worse.

Pike looks me dead in the eyes, the resolution in hers tells me that it can only be bad news. "You will be the Flight Leader in Joker Flight from now on. Inherit Cope's callsign. Use it as your own. Commander Cope's KIA will remain top secret. Share this information with only those with Security Clearance A-5 or higher."

With just those words, not only has the man known as Jan "Rex" Cope been erased, sublimated into my entire being, but so have I. My name is no longer important. I don't even know if I have one anymore. Is this... right? I wonder.

Pike's face softens for a moment. I'll fitting for an XO but... I appreciate it.

"For now... just keep thinking about the far-off Usean lands in your head. There are people there going through a living hell, struggling to stay alive. Keep them in your mind. Always." She says to me.

I only nod, because I know. I know better than she probably realizes. Better than most. But she probably understands too. After all, she's been alive for longer than I have. How could she not? As someone born in Usea. In this land without wings.

Pike's face hardens again, she once more becomes the XO, as she is meant to be. "These are my orders 'Rex'. To keep hope alive 'Wings of Theve' must stay on the mission; Must fly on."

I look her dead in the eyes once more. I do still wonder if this is wrong. If there is some kind of sin to taking a man's name like this, especially so freshly after they've been killed. But I understand necessity. And so, I move to nod my head.

But then D.D. comes in, opening the door, and interrupting everything.

"Sup?" is all he says, entering as if he owned the place before nodding to Pike who then takes this as her queue to leave.

Maybe he does own the place?

"What she means to say is, 'make sure you come back alive, no matter how bad it gets out there.' I'll take care of your score count to be whatever." he says so casually I wonder if there's even a soul inside of him. And the way he just walks up and sits at my bedside like it's of no concern isn't doing him any favors. But then I see a change in his face. The slightest bit of the facade weakening as he says "And... just like with Cope, all I want is for this war to be over and done with."

Then, like a ritual, he claps his hands and whatever piece of him I saw disappears before my very eyes. "Right. From now on, you'll be the greatest Ace Pilot this world will ever know!" he says, patting me on the shoulder before getting up and walking off.

Silence. Finally, after all this time, some silence.

Santos, who was just watching that entire interaction go down eventually gives me a guilty look of her own as she says, "I'll... try to keep things quiet around here until you're well... needed. I also have other patients to see so, I'll be going then."

Getting up, and keeping a watch on me with those apologetic eyes up until the door cuts her off, I wonder if she had half a mind to just declare me insane to keep me from having to go up in those skies again. It must be rough, working your ass off to save people only to understand that by doing so you're just consigning them to death at a different venue. But even medical officers are forced to reckon with that demon known as "necessity". I wonder if "Wings" is really that powerful of an idea to fully convince her. To fully convince me.

I look over to my side, I see that D.D. has left me a helmet. It looks like Cope's. It's not. It's mine. Shaped to my skull. But whatever was on it, it's since been painted over to be an exact copy. Damn, they work fast. But this is going to be my life from now on isn't it. This helmet will be my world. My truth. The core of my existence. And no one else will know, or wonder, who the man behind "Rex" even is.

And that's when Kate walks through that door, and into my life.

Wait... Kate? How do I even know her name?

The woman in front of me, the pretty angry looking woman in front of me is a total stranger. Her jet black hair, cut into classic choppy bangs whilst also tied up into a low bun at the back, sort of gives me the same impression as her entire being. Bits of messy freedom tied down and restricted. That or maybe I'm just reading too much into the bandages on her arm, or the way those bangs cast a shadow over her eyes. Eyes that, I must remind myself, are looking at me, and not in a way that implies they're happy to see me.

"Don't tell me you said yes." she says to me. Her voice carries with it a kind of tired authority. Solid and resolute, and yet...

"Said yes to what?" I ask.

She squints at me. Squints at me with those pale blue eyes of her, the same color as the sky on an overcast day. But soon she looks away, closing her eyes and pressing a hand up against her head.

"He just died..." I hear her mutter.

"How do you know that?" I ask.

At once, her eyes open as she looks at me, slightly alarmed before something clicks and she relaxes just a bit once more. "Sorry, I forgot you're new here. I'm Katherine Evans. Most people call me Kate though so don't worry about it. I'm the flight lead for Queen Flight and... well I saw the crash. Pike told me what happened." she says to me, trying, and failing, to hide this bitter undertone in her voice.

"So you're saying I can refuse?" I ask.

"Of course you can! You just got here and you've already gone through your second crash this week! You saw what happened out there right? Being 'Wings' isn't easy, or glamorous. You're gonna get hunted down, and it's not fair to send you back up there just to die." she says.

And what she's saying makes sense. Shadow 22 probably won't let things lie down like this if he hears word that 'Wings' is back up in the skies again. He was having fun. The thrill of the hunt. He lives for it. But there's one problem here.

"Wings still needs to fly." I say.

"Someone else can fill in." Kate says back to me.

Then it's my turn to confront her, as I look her dead in the eyes and go "Who?"

The uneasy silence between us tells me everything I need to know.

"We have people..." she eventually mutters.

But do they? Better than Cope? Better than me?

"No, I don't think you do." I say, maybe a bit too bluntly.

Now that angry look on her face is back. Yeah I miscalculated that one. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Cope's not the kind of pilot you can just replace." I say.

Immediately her face softens up. What a complicated look. Even I'd have trouble reading that.

"Did you know him? Before any of this?" She asks.

I shake my head, "No, I could just tell. The way he flew, he belonged up there." I say, looking down towards the dog tags again.

"But it's not fair. You know they'll mark you dead on the official record right? That's the only way we can pull this off. You'll be a ghost. Everyone back on the mainland who knows you or misses you will think you're gone, forever." She says.

"Then it has to be me." I say, squeezing the dog tags in my hand. "I've got no one left to miss me back on Usea. Besides..." I say as I look back over towards Kate, "I finally have a reason to fight."

Kate looks at me. She looks at me for a while, but she doesn't say anything. Maybe she just can't find anything to say after hearing that. Or maybe she knows she doesn't have to. It's strange, being scrutinized like this and yet, I can't say it feels bad. What is she looking for exactly? Why is she looking for it?

"Those dog tags. They're Cope's, right?" she asks, pointing to my still squeezed hand.

"How can you tell?" I ask.

"Just a feeling." she says. "Where's yours?" she asks me.

I pat myself down for a moment, and then I remember. "I lost them in the crash."

"You mean the one just-"

"No not that one." I interrupt. "From earlier. The helicopter."

"Right..." She says. "So everybody including me is going to be forced to call you 'Rex' from now on huh?"

"Definitely beats ‘Cope’ that's for sure." I say.

That's when, after a moment or two of uncomfortable shifting, Kate looks over towards me again, and finally asks the question she's probably been mulling over since she got here. "What... is your name... anyway?"

My eyes go wide for once. I wasn't expecting it. Nobody asks. And now nobody is supposed to know. But just this once, between the two of us, I let her in on the secret.

Afterword:

So yeah, that's a chapter. I'll probably repost this to Ao3 proper when I get the invite as well. Cross posting and all that jazz. But yeah I think I've got enough juice in the tank to keep me going with this for a while and hopefully this will convince some of you to check out the game. The game's protagonist is silent, and Kate does not really have as big of a role in this that early but it's still good and honestly it's really effective at using its own medium to tell its story. Hence why I'm changing things to make it better suited for the written word.

Anyways, if you have any thoughts feel free to leave 'em. Probably gonna try and keep this to once a week maybe. Alongside the other one that I said I would also try to keep to once a week but a family trip and illness sort of ruined that plan.

Also, here's some links to a few fanfics I've been reading since I started writing this:

10 things I Kate about you:

I don't know if it's good, but I do know it's funny to me specifically.

Heaven Along with Her:

It's the Project Wingman Author's fanfic. Pretty good. Would recommend the read.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/94199036/chapters/253132656#workskin

Encore on Tandem Wings:

Very fluffy, very cute. I have a weakness for these sorts of things though I will admit I find it hard for me to write this stuff myself. Not that I think fluff is bad, it's more so I just have a pathological illness for inserting conflict. Although to be honest calling this fluff isn't entirely accurate given what happens at the end of chapter 2.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/94426736/chapters/252059856