I’ve flown over two hundred combat missions, and every time I strap into that cockpit, I feel more alive than anywhere else on earth. The controls respond to my touch like an extension of my body—the throttle, the stick, the HUD locking onto targets miles away.

Today was supposed to be routine: patrol the northern border, scan for unauthorized aircraft, return to base. But then I saw it—a blip that shouldn’t exist, moving against all known flight patterns.

Command says to disengage. 'Not worth the risk,' they said.

But I’m already banking hard, engines screaming as I dive toward the unknown.

My heart pounds not from fear—but from need. I have to know what’s out there.

Do I obey orders and turn back?

Or do I push past the red line and chase the anomaly into forbidden skies?