My father used to say: When you're losing, don't play better. Change the game.

He didn't live to see what that looks like.

Seven continents, seven peace pacts. But the war started the way all wars start: with someone convinced they were losing.

The Republic was no different.

The Republic was losing.

So it decided to cheat.

In an open-air venue framed by a twilight sky, rows of men in suits and medals sat together, surrounded by a perimeter of unblinking guards, all bathed in the last golden glow of the setting sun.

A nervous officer's throat tightened, his eyes fixed on something hidden under a white blanket, a barrel-shaped mass, angled south, where a woman in sharp heels and crimson lipstick stepped to the center stage. She offered a cool smile.

A man with a blue tie leaned toward another. “That’s the Elara I was talking about.”

“Shhhhhhh.”

👠 “Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for being here. Let’s hear it from General Stryk himself. Please, fasten your seat belt.”

A man in the crowd glanced down at his chair, patted the armrests, then gestured with open palm to Elara. A few nervous laughs rippled through the crowd.

Elara's smile widened. She turned and strode to the side of the stage, the breeze catching her hair.

Stryk rose and stepped forward. He approached the mic. Silence fell over the crowd.

⎈ “Ladies and gentlemen. It is an honor.

“Unifying this continent hasn’t been easy. We have faced setbacks and endured losses. But we have always, always risen.

“And that resilience brings to mind a story I want to share.”

Elara tightened her dress and sat down.

⎈ “Before I took the helm of the Air Force,”—he nodded toward a grey-haired man—“my thanks, Mr. Hartman. Your guidance was invaluable.

“Before the helm, I was a jet fighter pilot. I vividly recall one mission.” His gaze drifted to the sky, watching a phantom man fly a jet. “A patrol heading east with my crew. But mid-flight we were ambushed. Enemy fighters opened fire without hesitation. The only warning was alarms screaming in the cockpit. My hands were shaking on the controls. As fire rained on my jet, I said, 'Fuck it,' and braced myself to perform anyway.

“That day, I lost my wing-man. I lost a brother. Pfft. We played poker the night before. He owed me two beers and a pack. He owed his wife comfort and his daughter fatherhood.” He glanced at a young woman in a flower dress.

“The pain of losing a brother cut deeper than the joy of any victory.

“From that day on, I dreamed of peace and prayed for safe returns. We needed speed. We craved POWER.”

He glanced at the grey-haired man.

“The only way to secure peace is to make war seem hopeless.”

Hartman nodded. A yellow-haired man exhaled.

Stryk looked at him. “Mr. President, today, we tip the scales in our favor.”

A low rumble rolled through the ground beneath their feet as a massive circular hatch opened on their left, releasing a blast of high-pressure smoke that churned with the breeze.

The President rose to his feet, and the crowd followed, watching a vortex of dust churning around the hatch.

From the depths and smoke, a silver aircraft ascended, its hull catching the sun in shifting ribbons of metallic violet and gold. It began a slow rotation midair, like a predator scanning its surroundings.

Then its engine growled. The sound deepened, layered into a roar, sharpened into a scream as the exhaust ports flared from red to white-hot. Then it released. A ring of shockwave slammed into the crowd. The President stumbled back. Women gasped. Elara’s dress flattened. Men gripped their armrests as hats and hair whipped backward into the air. A guard threw up his palm as a shield.

A photographer's glasses knocked sideways on his face. “Holy shit.”

He straightened them, goosebumps creeping across his arms.

Stryk watched their stunned faces, their instinctive step backwards. He smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the RX-01: the future of aviation.”

The President clapped. The audience followed with thunderous applause as the RX-01 ascended higher, turning gracefully.

On the right side of the crowd, a mean officer in military uniform pulled the white blanket off a cannon. The nervous one took position behind it.

Kripp kip kip...kip. He aimed it at RX.

“Fire!”

A shell surged toward the RX. The aircraft tilted left, let it pass, then pivoted and opened fire. The shell exploded in a fireball mid-air.

The crowd cheered. The RX turned, facing the cannon, the sheen of its skin turning into a molten spectrum, heat vapor surfacing.

“Fire!”

PANG. A second shell launched. The RX dodged, then… Thoom. Its exhaust erupted as it punched after the shell. It closed the gap, slipped underneath it as it lost momentum, and nudged it skyward. The shell bounced off its hull once. Twice. The RX kept it airborne, tossing it up, catching it.

The crowd laughed. Then cheered.

Then the RX leveled out and let the shell rest on its back.

“Fire!”

A third shell launched. RX dodged it, the second still balanced on its back. It turned toward the crowd, coming straight at them, low and slow, the shell balanced above it.

“Fire!”

RX axis-rolled and threw the second shell up with its wing, dodged the fourth shell, and caught the second again. A few people shifted, heads up, eyes narrowing. Some stepped back. The officer angled the cannon.

The RX passed over the crowd, arcing toward the cannon. It tilted and dropped the shell.

“Move! Move! Move!” The officers scrambled back. One tripped, stumbling over the white blanket.

The shell fell on the muzzle; the impact flipped the cannon.

The crowd erupted, some laughing, others clapping.

A quiet man in flip-flops and socks approached the stage and handed the smiling General a matte tablet. With a flick of his finger, Stryk cast the data onto a giant monitor behind him: 3D model, numbers, classifications.

 He stepped aside, leaving the stage.

A man in an aircraft engineer's uniform, Dr Evans stamped on his chest pocket, stepped forward, a compact microphone clipped near his collar. “This aircraft doesn't just break records; it erases them.”

“It doesn't shake.

“It doesn't flinch.

“It simply executes.”

As the engineer spoke, the RX-01's sensors tracked Stryk from above: a figure walking through the crowd, smiling, shaking hands. Then... Thoom, it surged upward.

► “Hybrid and nuclear-powered, this AI aircraft requires no refueling...”

Stryk shook a woman’s gloved hand with a proud smile. RX sped up, skin glowing red.

► “And thanks to Arkeedryum, the most self-healing alloy in our arsenal...”

Stryk patted the shoulder of the husband. He patted Stryk’s shoulder back. RX pierced through the cloud. ► “It can breach the atmosphere.” RX exited it. “Reach the edge of space.” RX stopped at the sight of a satellite. “And return to tell the story.” RX scanned the UCA flag on it, lingered on the vast space as its skin cooled down to a deep silver, then dove.

Elara glanced at Stryk from her seat and crossed her legs. Then she looked at the engineer.

“It needs no pilot, but we designed the cockpit for one. Because we bring our soldiers home, to their family.

“That,” he raised a finger, “is not a feature. That's a promise.”

The crowd erupted in applause, people rising to their feet. An overwhelmed veteran fumbled his cane. The RX-01 hovered over them, gleaming under the fading sun.

The General approached the yellow-haired man. “Thank you for coming, Mr. President.”

The President's eyes remained on the ascending aircraft, rolling the shell in his hands. “The pleasure is mine, General. Amazing machine.” He finally turned to Stryk, handed him the shell.

“Thank you, sir.”

He glanced at the cameras, then back at Stryk to spread his arms. “It's always a privilege to meet the backbone of this continent. We all sleep soundly because you don't.”

“That means a lot to me, sir.”

The President gave him a solid handshake. “Keep up the good work.” He turned and found his wife's smile, seamlessly joining her as she posed for the flashing cameras.

Clip clip clip. The general looked at them for a second. Then his gaze fell on a kid standing in front of him, watching the shell, wide-eyed. He gave it to him. The kid strained to hold it. Stryk patted his head and turned.

As he navigated the crowd, his gaze caught Elara Voss, waving to another woman. A smile spread across his face.«»

“This isn't a beauty contest, Ms. Elara.”

👠 “I left that behind, Stryk.” She accepted a brief hug. “I'm a Mrs. now.”

“Too bad, I was thinking of celebrating that.”

👠 “We have something to celebrate. Thank you for the RX.”

“Thank you for your opening.” He stepped aside to shake hands with his colleagues.

►♀ “Wait. Max, where did you find that? Don’t move. This is not a toy. Don’t drop it!”

Elara Voss stood there, surrounded by officials and CEOs… She was silent, eyes half-lidded, the world slowly moving around her, pinning her at the center of the weighty chatter.

“Their job is to feel. Not to ask.”

“We have to keep this one private.”

“I need a drink.”

“The people who truly sleep are the ones who don't know what's protecting them.

“Maybe ten years later they can find out.”

“By the way, how’s the stock going?”

“Be patient, Enward, we’re still in development.”

“There is no value in patience, pal. I need numbers. Stacks.”

“Hahahaha.” A rich laugh rolled through the group.

An assistant discreetly offered glasses of scotch and whiskey within her sight. She took one and began to walk, smiling briefly at gluttonous eyes watching her.

Her eyes fell on a man with noodle locs, two gone yellow at his temple, talking to a woman in high heels and a flower dress. They stood slightly apart from the crowd, champagne in hand, two faces smiling at each other. Their laughter pulled a smile from her.

👠 “Look at you two... already look like a couple,” she teased as she approached.

♪ “I'll take that as a compliment. But you can still hope for an invitation.”

Flower Woman shook her head, amused but slightly puzzled.

👠 “You made a great choice. She's a brilliant woman.”

❀ “Tell him that more often.”

👠 “She helps us in ways you can't imagine.”

♪ “I know.” His grin softened to something genuine.

👠 “I'm glad she found someone with the same spirit.”

♪ “Not quite the same.” He touched her forehead. “She’s got more room for it.”

Elara grinned. Flower Woman touched him back. “You need that to be Insider, not noodles.”

👠 “I know what you really need.” She looked at them.
“Another mission. Together.”

♪ “Hah! I'm retired! Give them all to Violet.”

❀ “And I can take them all.”

Elara's gaze settled on Violet, her voice lowering. “Vee, don't let him go too far. Even if he's not an Insider.” She looked at him. “We might need him again.”

♪ “I hope not.”

👠 She looked at his noodle locs, her flower dress. “Have a good evening.”

❀♪ “You too,” they replied in unison as she turned away.

Loc watched her walk away. Her hair, the heels. “I bet half the men here wish they'd come alone.”

Violet nudged him. “Only you would think that. You just can't help it.”

His eyes tracked Elara in the crowd. “Look, the man with the blue tie on her left—he's about to make his move.”

As they watched, the man fixed his cuff and approached Elara.

Violet narrowed her eyes into focus, watching them talk. She blinked. “They're probably discussing power.”

Blue tie man kissed Elara on both cheeks.

♪ “Yes, power of kisses.” They shared a quiet laugh.

Gaze distant, his genuine grin faded to just a shape of one as he kept looking at them like he was hearing their conversation.

Elara adjusted the man’s tie as he spoke. “I've watched a lot of people work a room. They all want something, a contact, a favor, a photo. But you just want to share a laugh. That's everything I find remarkable about you. I'm just here to share that laugh... and find out if you'd like to have dinner with me sometime.”

“You notice a lot. And as you can see, I have a lot on my hands these days.”

He took her hand. “Then let me take something off your hands. Even if it's just one evening.”

“Hey!” Violet nudged Loc. “I’m here.”

The crowd buzzed with energy as the RX-01 hovered; its reflective alloy gleaming like liquid mercury.

Below, some officers had gathered around the veteran.

“I fought for freedom. Not paperwork.”

“Then we should thank you for your service, sir.”

“Don't thank me, son. Thank this continent.
I spent four years unsupervised in the south…
with a beautiful Latina calling me papito, papito.”

Laughter erupted, and he fumbled his cane. The sound of easy camaraderie filled the air.

Nearby, a photographer leaned over the open hatch, his lens aimed down into the hole. His viewfinder framed a sprawling underground complex where technicians in specialized suits moved purposefully; some tapped rapidly on tablets, while others fine-tuned control panels. Clip. A strong hand nudged him toward the hole. His glasses fell into the hole as he startled back from the edge.

“No pictures here, sir,” said a large man in black with a toothpick in his mouth. He didn't wait for a reply. He walked away, leaving the photographer with a racing heart. He looked around, then at his blurry picture.

Off to the side, Loc and Violet stood near a tactical truck, casually watching the unfolding scene.

She glanced at Loc, catching his eyes locked on the aircraft.

“You're impressed, huh?”

“Impressed? I just watched a spaceship take off from a hole in the desert.”

❀ “With this new toy, you might become obsolete.”

♪ “Only if I stop being sexy.”

She laughed softly, looking at his noodle locs.

He sipped from his small champagne flutes. Then threw the rest aside. “You think they'll deploy it soon?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. “They didn't build it to sit.”

He glanced toward the crowd. “You already know something, don't you?”

❀ “Just enjoy the moment. You'll find out soon.” She sipped her drink.

“There's nothing to find out. This thing will either win a war or start the next one.”

She grabbed his hand. “Let’s hope we stand together on the winning side.”

He turned her hand, glancing at her polished nails. “There is no winning side when a war machine can decide for itself.” As he spoke, RX was scanning people’s faces below, collecting data. “Everyone is a potential target.”

Violet looked at him for a moment, then her expression softened. “That's why I don't like cold, man-made toys. They don't think.” He looked away.

❀ “I prefer a man with a manual.”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “Agreed. Totally on your side.” He looked around. “Let's get out of here.” His gaze traveled down her dress. “I think it's time to turn some pages.”

They exchanged knowing smiles.

The cheers still echoed faintly in the distance. Cool music was playing, and people were chatting. Dr Evans stood with the quiet one and another man holding an eagle, the three of them in quiet conversation. The quiet one took the eagle, gauntlet and all, caressing it, studying its feathers playfully.

“I bet this eagle can fly higher than your little project,” the man said to Evans.

“Maybe you weren’t listening; RX can go to space.”

“Alright, can it see a strand of hair on the ground? My eagle can.”

Dr Evans smiled.

“If I let it fly, will it come back?” the quiet one asked.

“He always comes back,” the man replied. He took it and threw it in the air.

The eagle flew. The three of them shifted to look at it slowly gaining altitude. Its wings moved gracefully. Its long feathers made a dark contrast against the sky. High in the sky, it fully stretched its wings and began circling, gliding, reveling...

Brrrr— RX shot it.

The man’s mouth dropped. Another man in the crowd tilted his head, watching the eagle falling, feathers scattering as the music switched to slow piano notes.

Dr Evans looked at the man and rested his hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I forgot to teach it animals aren’t threats.”

The quiet one looked at the gauntlet on his hand. He gave it back to the man.

Nervous, Evans looked at Stryk and quickly waved his fingers beside his neck like a slicing gesture. Stryk held his gaze, then turned around toward the officials.

Seeing the frozen faces of those who watched, with a hand gesture, Dr Evans guided the RX-01 through a slow backflip 360. The aircraft then lowered into its subterranean chamber, leaving behind a shimmering vapor trail that caught the fading orange hues of the sky.

The hatch began to close slowly as the notes kept filling the air, traveling softly toward the twinkling city lights on the horizon. Down on the deserted road, a blue car was already in motion, trailing the dusk behind it, a four-door speeding through the harsh terrain with its windows up. Violet's face approached the passenger window.

Behind her, Loc drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, the slow music playing through his hidden speakers.

Violet shifted and rested her head lightly against the window, eyes tracing the horizon. The glowing city lay ahead like a blurred dream. A feather slid across the windshield, paused, then carried away by the wind.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a modern home, bathed in soft yellow lighting.

He cut the engine.

Silence.

He pulled out his phone.

“The photographer sent our photos.”

Violet leaned in, took the phone, and began to swipe through the pictures. Swipe, swipe, swipe. “They’re beautiful.” She stopped on one where Loc was embracing her from behind. “We really do look like a couple.” She paused on another image, smiling. “I need that in wallpaper size. Tell him.”

He was just looking at her the whole time. Her gaze found his.

❀ “What?”

“Nothing, I mean, yeah, this would be cool on a wall-size paper.”

“Pfft.” She glanced at his lips then at the house. “The desert makes your lips a bit… dry. Want a drink?”

“Depends.” He sucked his lips. “What's in the fridge?”

She turned fully toward him. “Whatever I have to offer.”

He smiled. “What if I say no?”

“I would consider it treason when we were just smiling like that.” She gave him the phone.

He looked at himself in the picture. “Yeah. This is the smile of a thirsty man.” He slid the phone into his chest pocket.

He stepped out, walked around the car, and opened the passenger door.

Violet stepped out, her heels echoing up the stone path.

She stopped in front of the entrance. “It's me.” An Axzen AI analyzed her voice, and the door unlocked.

As she reached the door's handle, Loc's hand fell on hers.

She looked at his hand, then her eyes drifted to his, her voice lowered. “That’s my door. I can open it.”

“I know, but I want to.”

She slid her hand away. Loc pushed the handle, and the door opened.

He scanned the outside, then followed her inside.