ABS FIESTA REDUX

[Operator¹]

"To cut it short, Captain Steele is dead and you're probably in charge."

[Ad Bot]

[Qwepir]

"To cut it short, Captain Steele is dead and you're probably in charge."

: ...Oh. Never mind me then I'll just get to work on your plane then.

[Juncoph]

Taken by surprise, I'm not sure how to react and I exhale more than I proclaim.

"forget!..."

I gradually stumble backwards into a conveniently placed bench and just sort of ragdoll, with an expression of sad surprise frozen on my face. Then it contorts into anger, but quickly into raw sadness. The voices are resuming as well.

I sit upright and manage to ask, "How did he die...?".

[Tayasaurus]

A hauling truck roars by and I see charred wreckage. They really cleaned that up fast...

"Did Steeles plan get superheated or something..."

[Mr. Hurricane]

"His aircraft… was hit by a laser. From a Huitz AWACS. It exploded immediately," I reply quietly, having turned and met my fellow pilots.

I continue to mess with the helmet fragment in my pocket.

[blockguy™]

I walk down the hallway. I notice Taylor and an angry-looking Kissinger standing in front of Steele's dorm. I wonder what happened. As I walk closer, I hear Kissinger finish his statement.

"His aircraft… was hit by a laser. From a Huitz AWACS. It exploded immediately,"

"Oh.. stuff.."

[Mr. Hurricane]

Kissinger is in the barracks.

[blockguy™]

Kissinger is in the barracks.

stuff i read all of that wrong for some reason
fixed now

[Juncoph]

I get up and briskly stagger to my room, shutting the door behind me. I enter my bathroom and look at myself in the mirror, trying to reconcile my thoughts. Gradually, panic settles, as the realization dawns on me just how forgeted we are in this war. I punch the mirror, smashing it and cutting my hand.

[Mr. Hurricane]

"Oh stuff? That's it. Just 'oh, stuff'. Mother forgeter, Steele is dead! This is all I found of him!" I yell.

I yank the piece of helmet out of my pocket, cutting my my hand in the process. I pay no mind. I hold it in front of me, for all to see.

"This is what I found of him." I say sternly.

Vibrant red blood starts to roll down my wrist, then down my forearm.

"He died over a loving cargo shipment. I walked to the crash site! There is nothing left of him to even show for this loving cargo!"

My eyes well up.

[blockguy™]

"I'm sorry! The loving Captain is dead! Oh stuff seems like the appropriate reaction to such a thing!"
I watch as his hand drips blood from the fragment of Steele's helmet.
"Well forget me!"
I storm off into the mess hall. My eyes are welling up as I sit down. I fold my arms on the table and put my head in them.
I cry.
I cry like a little bitch.

[Mr. Hurricane]

Helmet. Not head.

[blockguy™]

Helmet. Not head.

i could have sworn i typed helmet

[Tayasaurus]

I follow Painter* into the mess hall and watched him practically throw himself onto one of the tables and start the waterworks. I fought tooth and nail with my own conscience but my soft side had to have this one.

I'm new here of course, but that doesn't mean i can't sympathize with other soldiers in pain. I approach him and sit at an adjacent table. I wait until he runs out of tears.

[Mr. Hurricane]

Lefty storms off, angry. I look at the crimson blood on my arm. It's starting to dry. I take the fragment in hand and stagger to my room. I slam the door and lay the piece on the table. The blood on my arm has dried. The wound stings lightly. I grab some fresh clothes and wash up in the showers. The wound decides to bleed again. I wrap my hand in gauze on my own.

The idea comes to me that I need a new aircraft. I proceed to the HQ requisitions office and look through available aircraft. I'm angered further by the fact that there are no more Typhoons available, having trashed the one that was in our squadron. I request the only available multirole craft, the J-10.

I follow Kissinger into the mess hall and watched him practically throw himself onto one of the tables and start the waterworks. I fought tooth and nail with my own conscience but my soft side had to have this one.

I'm new here of course, but that doesn't mean i can't sympathize with other soldiers in pain. I approach him and sit at an adjacent table. I wait until he runs out of tears.

You have successfully mistaken Painter for Kissinger.

Load out updated.