A Vulture's Hunger

[James Greed]

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The Colonel. A prestigious rank for many, an honorific title for others. Regardless, it is one that is bound to command some form of respect. Few would even consider the possibility that such a title could be given out of spite. No rank prestige or honour, but a brand seared into the psyche of a man who could have been much more.

Where one brother was destined to be the frontline fighter, the proverbial ace of fighter combat, another showed more of a knack towards leadership. Unwavering in his ideals to the point of naivety, Akio was to become a promising officer.
Sadly, a military career is usually intertwined with politics, especially one where authority is the key. Just like delicacies from the sea, there is such a thing as too much backbone. Akio would only tolerate the missteps of his superiors for so long; with every conflict he slid further down career ladder.

Through a set of coincidences during a lost patrol and well-placed agents, Akio found himself on the side of the order. His demeanour didn’t change at all, and the once tactful man became way too overbearing. Still, the Order could not afford to lose manpower, and with a right nudge here and a properly conducted manipulation there, Akio became a foot soldier. A mere pilot. The way he behaved also earned him a callsign: The Colonel.

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There was no grace in this fight. No honour to speak of, but tooth and nail. Shouts and slurs ringing through the intercoms while the cracking of plating added a unique flavour to the incoherent discourse. Across the hails of shots and the salvos of mines, one could clearly see which brother would be the winner.

The Bastet turned into a ball of flame after a particularly deadly pass. A final transmission echoed through the comms as The Colonel’s throat filled up with blood and shrapnel.


CURSE YOU, ZHAO!!!