Beep. Beep. Beep.
"This is Scorch, incoming on me. Stay clear."
Scorch ignores the piercing beeps of the RWR. No point in worrying about it now, he figures, calmly noting the rapidly approaching flare of a HARM's exhaust.
His life flashes before his eyes. The slums, the Viertan Youth Corps, moving to Aesthia, university. Then, training, the beginning of the war, his assignment to Mjolnir. His wingmen, his friends. Crash, Tippy, Yui, Tempest, Walt, Faw, Bell, Ash, Lorens, Gaffe, and Ellie. The times he shared with them. The collapse of Mjolnir, his sheer terror, the taste of home he shared with Lorens. Saving the kid, killing Tempest, and becoming a propaganda piece for a nation he held little loyalty to. He thinks about the things he's never done, the things he's never going to get to do. How he's never going to see home again.
I tried to make it back alive, Ellie. I'm sorry.
An overwhelming sense of calm and clarity fills Scorch's mind. He realizes he has a decision to make, and fast.
A split second later, he makes his decision. He rapidly locks on to Musket 2-2 and Nectar-4 before firing two AAMs at each.
I'll try and make sure you all make it back instead.
"It was a pleasure, folks. See you on the other side."
He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and accepts his fate.