The young admiral and director headed to the fighter, having already asked Oghmios to put on the electronic music record, his mother's favourite. It was a custom, a ritual, a way of focusing and letting himself be carried away by the frenetic rhythms of the beats, synthesizers, and that pounding bass that announced the climax where in any discotheque people would be about to go crazy.
He calmly settled into the cockpit and took control, changing from degree to degree of control with fluidity. The new Razorblade fighter was his gift, his work of art, he had designed it in person thinking of everything he would have wanted his fighter to be able to do in his other life.
All the technology developed during the war, all his combat experience in the Uroboros had given rise to this small work of art. But those seconds were also used to finish making calculations and preparing the strategy.
