Faw's wings rapidly disintegrate into showers of sparks as he buzzes towards the stunned Typhoon, his ruined wings turning the act of keeping the plane straight into a monumental struggle itself. He takes a glance to his right, makes a mental note of his currently deteriorating right wing, and then takes a glance to his left. He switches on his comms.
"Heh, welllllllllll."
His words gradually melt into nervous chuckling.
"I guess nobody has a spare seat, huh?"
He launches his remaining 3 AAMs, 2 at the Sol trailing him, and 1 at the Typhoon.