Warm Welcome

What a letdown of a movie... I wave my hand over the holographic screen, dismissing the credits. So much build-up for such a mild unnecessary twist, how typical. I sink into my seat, staring into the vast plains of the desert. The distant horizon only breaking for the few boulders and sandy hills, miles in separation between. From the frozen tundra to blazing wastelands of the vast deserts, what a shift. Base Yurei should be appearing soon, I should give an update.

Jax: "Release cloak, match comms CO, Phantom Spirit nearing base."

CO: "Affirmative Jax, your guest is waiting for you in the hangers."

Who would come all the way out here to meet me? What could he want? Only one way to find out I guess. I pull back on the throttle allowing my engines a break after the several-hour trip. They let off a mellow whine as thanks. Off in the distance, large structures begin appearing. Distinguishing themselves from the flat greyish orange sands below.

Jax: "Stage one."

As the base approaches timidly, details begin to emerge through the wavering hot air. eight hangers, each capable of fitting at very least a Boeing 747, scatter down the right portion of the base. Accompanying it, a single runway spanning, at absolute most, two miles down the length of the base. The runway sits slightly to the left of the perpendicular outlooking hangers. Nearing the end of the row of hangers, a tower lied, peering over the entirety of the base. Standing hundreds of feet above, the tower monitors the base below. Behind the tower, furthest from the hangers, two, three-story buildings stood. Taking up the remaining hundred or so feet alongside the runway. The two buildings stood conjoined together by a small sky bridge on the second floors. Surrounding the base was a concrete wall, scaling in my estimation, fifty feet high. The wall being spaced a few hundred feet from the runway for coming and going aircraft. Each of the corners has a guard tower molded into the walls connected to it, barely peeking over the walls themselves. Sand fills in the remaining parts of the airfield excluding the runway, buildings, and pathing between each. On the far side of the base, a sharp cliff lines the walls. Reaching into the hundreds of feet below the cliff, a field of boulders and rocks. Sometimes I question if this was a prison and not a high-tech secret base off in the middle of nowhere.

Jax: "Base insight, beginning landing sequence three. Gotta impress my guest don't I?"

CO: "Landing sequence three permitted. He's in hanger one, give him a hell of a show."

Perfect, front row seats to my grand entrance. Let's make this flashy yea? I spot a man in a full black suit and... Is that a fedora!? I must admit it takes balls to dress in what looks to be a full black suit, deep in the scorching desert. Matched with a fedora to completing the look. If only he had the standard pimp cane to go with the suit, that'd be something. Noticing my approach, he roams further away from the hanger. Standing on the sand between the hanger and airfield, he awaits my landing. Alright! I push the stick down, plunging Spirt towards the sands below. Pulling up only 300 feet above the sands. I invert Spirit, exposing me to the harsh rising and falling of the orange sandy dunes.

Jax: "Begin landing sequence three."

A small hiss whines from the canopy as it splits into 4 horizontal sections. Each falling back into the section behind before collapsing into one section above my head, sliding behind me out of view. Right before flying directly over the base. My harness begins to loosen, plunging me out of Sprit. Gliding on the speed I mustered before falling out of Spirit. I clear the wall with just over 20 feet spare. I tuck and roll, angling my body semi-parallel to the runway before crashing into the sands beside it. Sliding on my feet and one hand, I Leave the one freehand soaring in the air for balance. I Glide over the powdery scorching sand, sliding between the narrow passage of the runway and hangers taxiway concrete. As I begin to slow to a stop, I thrust my hand into the mellow sand, propelling me to my feet. Stopping myself with a few feet to spare from my guest, the disturbed sand flutters past me. I look to the sky, seeing the double delta wings of Spirit in the apex of her loop. She begins to loop back down behind me, aligning herself for a low pass flyby. I slide an arm behind my back. A small grin emerging from my cheeks. Leaving my other hand in a fist, I extend my pointer and middle finger. Bringing the feature to my face in salute just as Spirit roars over. Flying barely 30 feet over our heads, the ground trembles and vibrates from the roar of her engines. Our clothes dance as wind and sand rush by, giving chase to Spirit. The man holds down his fedora, raising his head to meet mine.

Jax: "Welcome! I hear you've been wanting to see me?"

I slide my other hand behind my back, holding onto my grin. I look for a bewildered expression on his face, finding none. My expression begins to fade not finding the reaction I was searching for. Spirit begins a horizontal loop. This time intending to align herself with the runway for landing.

"I'm not here for party tricks. I'm here to receive a report of what happened on today's mission, b o y."

That's quite the extreme party trick if I do say so myself. I don't think average people drop out of exotic fighter jets a couple hundred feet off the ground. Use sand as their brake pads, Just for any party. Also, who's this guy? Asking for confidential information. How does he even know about today's mission?

Jax: "One, who are you? And two, that's classified information. I won't just be handing it out to anyone who asks of it."

"Names Price. I have clearance to that information... You can call in and check."

He states this as if mocking me, a smirk arrives on his pale wrinkled face. What's with this guy? He comes out of nowhere, demands classified information, then openly mocks me? Is he trying to pick a fight!? A squeak emerges from the runway alerting me of Spirits landing. She bounces lightly a few more times before floating down the remainder of the runway. A parachute springs out from behind her, further slowing her landing roll. I raise my right wrist towards my face, speaking into my watch.

Jax: "CO, there's a guy down here under the name of Price. He's asking for details of my mission. Does he have clearance to that information?

CO: "Confirming clearance, give me a minute."

Waiting for the answer to arrive, I glance over Price's shoulder. Noticing Spirit's parachute flutter off before Spirit taxi's off the runway. Turning off towards the hanger taxiway, she rolls down the taxiway towards us before entering into her own personal hanger right beside us.

CO: "Clearance granted."

Price's smug face begins to light up even brighter hearing CO's confirmation. This guy is beginning to annoy me. My neutral face shifting slightly towards hostility and annoyance. I glance to the right, watching Spirit's actions in her hanger. She whips her nose around 180 degrees. Facing outwards directly towards us. Her engines let out one final high-pitched whine before slowly descending into silence. With the high-pitched cries of Spirit's engines silenced. The quiet white noise of the blowing wind in the plains of the desert becomes apparent. I guess he does have clearance to the information might as well brief him. I let out a defeated sigh before returning my gaze towards the man. I explain the fine details of what occurred in the mission. From the first engagement, to the failed attempt of the second F22s last-ditch effort. Resulting in him losing his jet and most likely his capture.

Price: "YOU FOOL! Do you not understand the value of that F22!? Or more precisely what's inside of it!?"

Surprised by his sudden outrage, I stagger back a step. His face begins to morph into a crooked frown as the color of his face slowly begins to turn shades of pink.

Jax: "What's the issue? I already explained the plane is mostly intact. Luckily enough it wasn't engulfed in flames either."

Price: "That jet had micro-machines inside of it. Giving it the capability to repair and even alter his airframe or wing shape on the fly! Any damage to that jet risks losing valuable machinery! I SPECIFICALLY stated one of the two F22s CANNOT be destroyed!"

That explains how he managed those maneuvers, dangerous tech.

Jax: "Destroyed, but not damaged. I completed the mission as instructed. The F22 although damaged to a great extent, is very much repairable back at base."

I whisper under my breath, "I think..." as I temporarily avert my gaze.

Price: "You insolent BOY do you not know who you're speaking to!?"

He begins to raise his right hand, preparing for an attack. I slide into a defensive posture prepared to evade. A thunderous buzz hummed through the silent blue sky. Unleashing a trail of red tracer fire feet above Price's head. Narrowly missing his fist. We both avert our gaze towards the hanger, were sitting patiently, Spirit remains unwavering. The cover of her cannon slides back into place shielding it from the world. We revert our gazes to each other. He lowers his fist, face displaying his rage without disregard. Price mutters underneath his breath, trying to suppress his voice.

Price: "I can't believe this disrespect. You're just damn nobody's. Bidding off to the highest paying job. Don't expect my subscriptions in the future!"

He turns his back, stomping off as if he were a toddler not receiving the toy he wanted. Who the hell let that bastard onto the base? For a guy who looked so well-mannered and high-classed, he acts as if he were a spoiled 10-year-old. I shake my head subtly disregarding the man stomping off. "Looks can be deceiving", a quote showed at its brightest there. I turn towards Spirit walking over to her with light steps.

Jax: "Thanks for watching out for me."

I stop and pat her long, lance-like nose cone. I walk under her left wing. Trailing my fingers along her wing as I walk out the hanger, beginning my trek to the tower.

I'll give her a nice wash down later on, she deserves it.