May, 20X9. An Abandoned Air Force Boneyard of the Mondstadt Air Force.

Albedo strides down the cracked, weather-beaten taxiway with Sucrose following closely behind. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the forgotten aircraft and rusted hangars of the desolate boneyard. A quiet hum of wind is the only sound, mixing with the distant calls of birds. His boots crunch against the gravel as they walk towards their destination—an old, yet newly restored, Grumman F-14A. It stands there like a beast, covered in layers of history and mechanical beauty. The twin-engine, variable-sweeping-wing fighter jet gleams under the fading light, its sharp edges and curves hinting at the raw power it once commanded. A legendary fourth-generation fighter, it looks as though it's just waiting to be unleashed once more.

"You think she'll fly?" Albedo's voice breaks the stillness, eyes trained on the aircraft as he comes to a stop.

Sucrose glances at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read his intent. "Of course, she'll fly," she replies, her tone confident but laced with a hint of concern. "But it's too risky to fly it right now, Albedo. If anyone catches you—if anyone hears this thing roar to life—you'll be thrown into a goddamn cell for violating wartime aviation laws."

Albedo lets out a low chuckle, his lips curling into a half-smile. "Wartime aviation laws be damned. We're in the middle of nowhere, Sucrose. An abandoned field. No one's around for miles, and this place? It's been used for test flights more times than I can count. We're fine." He gives her a reassuring wink, though a glimmer of thrill dances in his eyes.

Sucrose shakes her head but doesn't argue. Instead, she looks up at him with a concerned frown. "Alright, but please... be careful. I don't want anything happening to you."

Albedo smiles softly, his voice warm yet unwavering. "Don't worry, Sucrose. I've got this." He pats her on the shoulder gently before turning toward the cockpit.

Without wasting another second, he clambers up the ladder, the metal rungs cold beneath his hands. His fingers grip the edges of the cockpit as he slides into the seat, the familiar scent of old leather and engine oil filling his nostrils. The cockpit hums to life as he powers up the aircraft's electronics, the glowing dials and switches flickering into existence. The F-14A is ready. All it needs now are the engines.

Albedo leans out of the cockpit, giving Sucrose a thumbs-up. She nods in return, her expression serious as she steps toward the air supply panel. She reaches up, pushing the button to supply the aircraft with air, and Albedo's hand moves to the start switch beside him. He flicks it to the right. The engine begins to spool up, its deep rumble filling the air as it stabilizes at 20% RPM.

He grins. "Let's see if you're still as hungry as you used to be."

With a smooth motion, he pushes the throttle cutoff to 'run.' The right engine roars to life, its turbines spinning up with a burst of power. He repeats the process for the left engine, and just like that, both engines are roaring in full force. The F-14A's twin engines hum with raw power, ready to slice through the sky.

Albedo leans out once more, signaling for Sucrose to disconnect the air supply and ground power. She moves swiftly beneath the aircraft, dodging the engine inlets and outlets with practiced ease. Her hands move quickly as she unlocks the air supply hose, pulls it free, and locks the hatch. She does the same for the ground power, ensuring every connection is safely removed before returning to the front of the aircraft. Her face is a mixture of worry and admiration as she gives him two thumbs-up.

Albedo nods, his gaze steady. He takes a deep breath, feeling the rush of anticipation in his chest. He lowers the canopy and secures it with a satisfying click, his hands already moving to his radio. With a flick of a switch, the communication system comes online. He adjusts the frequency and checks the settings, making sure everything is in working order.

Next, he moves to the wing sweep lever. He pushes it forward, and the F-14's wings extend with a mechanical hiss, locking into position. He presses the reset button, and the protective cover snaps shut. Albedo glances down at the controls in front of him. Everything is in place. The cockpit is a familiar sanctuary, a place where he can feel in control—where he can feel alive.

He secures his helmet with one swift motion, then pulls the oxygen mask over his face, sealing it with a hiss. His hands rest on the throttle and control stick, fingers flexing in preparation. The quiet hum of the engines is like a heartbeat in his ears.

With a final look at Sucrose, who gives him a brief but encouraging wave, Albedo slams the throttle to the firewall. The aircraft lurches forward, its massive engines roaring to life as it rips down the gravel runway. The afterburners ignite, flaring with an explosive burst of power that sends the F-14 surging ahead, the ground beneath it disappearing in a blur.

The aircraft's nose begins to rise as it accelerates. Albedo pulls gently on the stick, guiding the plane into a smooth climb. The wheels retract, the sound of hydraulics a distant memory as the aircraft soars higher. The vertical speed indicator climbs steadily as the plane pushes upwards, leaving the ground far behind.

As the altitude increases, the blue of the sky darkens, and a feeling of weightlessness settles over Albedo. The cold, crisp air of high altitude presses against him, and before he knows it, the aircraft's engines scream louder. He grips the control stick with more force, his heart pounding in his chest as the F-14 surges faster.

Suddenly, the shockwave hits. The F-14's engines roar as they breach the sound barrier. The world around Albedo seems to shift, the air thickening as the jet punches through the thick wall of sound. For a split second, the world is nothing but noise and force—then, all at once, it becomes calm. The rush of speed and power fills Albedo's veins with adrenaline.

He smiles beneath his mask, the thrill of flight coursing through him as he continues to climb higher, faster, with no sign of slowing down. The open sky ahead of him beckons, and Albedo answers the call.

Minutes passed as Albedo settled into a comfortable cruise at 50,000 feet, the world below reduced to nothing more than a patchwork of greens, browns, and grays. The F-14's engines hummed steadily, and the aircraft seemed to glide through the thin air with ease. Albedo relaxed into the rhythm of flight, his hands lightly gripping the controls. He glanced to his right, where the horizon stretched endlessly in every direction, but then something caught his eye.

A grey combat drone streaked across the sky, pursued by two fighter jets—the distinctive shapes of an F/A-18 and an F-35 Phantom hot on its tail. The drone seemed to be evading them with expert precision, banking hard and jinking in unpredictable directions. The fighters, however, were relentless. Albedo squinted, narrowing his gaze as he tried to make sense of the scene. The two jets weaved and dove, executing high-G turns that made the condensation on their wings shimmer in the cold air.

"What are they chasing?" Albedo muttered under his breath, instinctively adjusting his altitude to keep his distance from the action.

He watched as the fighters locked into a dance with the drone. The jets' pilots were making every attempt to shake the drone, pulling hard right and left, pushing their machines to the limit in high-speed maneuvers. Albedo could almost feel the pressure building inside the cockpits as the jets fought for position.

"I've never seen a combat exercise up close like this..." Albedo mumbled to himself, intrigued by the chaotic ballet unfolding before him.

But before he could fully process what was happening, the F/A-18 broke off its pursuit of the drone, its engines screaming as it banked hard towards Albedo's position. Albedo's heart skipped a beat.

"What the hell?!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. The sudden turn of events caught him completely off guard.

Without wasting another moment, he yanked hard on the control stick, veering sharply to the right to try to shake the F/A-18. His mind raced. "Damnit, I should've installed an IFF system... maybe even modified it to turn at higher speeds too," he thought, frustration building. But it was too late for second-guessing.

The F/A-18 wasn't giving up. The jet was on him, closing the gap rapidly. Albedo's hands gripped the controls tighter, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. The fighter's jet-like speed was incredible, and the distance between them was closing fast. Albedo flicked his gaze to his instruments, trying to make a quick decision.

Suddenly, the F/A-18 opened fire. The sound of its Gatling gun roaring to life was drowned out by the deafening crack of rounds tearing through the air. A burst of fire erupted from the F/A-18's gun, and before Albedo could react, the rounds found their target—his engines.

The explosion was deafening. The force of the impact threw Albedo forward in his seat as the aircraft rocked violently. Flames licked up from the engines, turning the sky into a fiery inferno as smoke billowed from the back of the F-14. Albedo's eyes widened in panic.

"Shit!" he yelled, his heart racing. His hands moved instinctively, reaching for the fire extinguisher handles, pulling them with desperate force. The foam and chemicals spewed out, dousing the flames for a moment, but the damage was done. The aircraft's systems flickered and groaned in protest, the once-pristine fighter now crippled.

Without hesitation, Albedo yanked the control stick back, initiating a steep emergency descent. The F-14 dropped like a stone, falling rapidly through the sky as Albedo worked to stabilize it. The wind howled past the cockpit as the jet plummeted, his altitude dropping faster than he could track.

The ground rushed up at him, and before he knew it, he was flying dangerously low, the earth zooming beneath him. He gritted his teeth, sweat now pouring down his face as he tried to pull the aircraft out of its freefall. But the damage was too severe, and his options were limited.

He glanced frantically at his instruments. The abandoned boneyard was nowhere in sight. In fact, Albedo realized with growing dread, he was far from the desolate field they had planned to use for the test. Unbeknownst to him, he had veered dangerously close to an active Mondstadt Air Base. He could see buildings in the distance, military personnel scurrying across the tarmac, but it was too late.

With no other choice, Albedo braced himself for the crash. He reached for the throttle, trying to slow the descent, but the aircraft's wings couldn't generate enough lift. The F-14's wheels hit the ground hard, skidding across the grass of a large field as it came to a violent halt. The impact jerked Albedo forward, and his helmet slammed against the instrument panel with a sickening crack.

For a moment, everything was still. The engine's roar faded, and all Albedo could hear was the deafening silence in the cockpit. His chest heaved as he struggled to process what had just happened. The aircraft he had poured his blood, sweat, and years of hard work into—gone. Destroyed in an instant.

Albedo slowly tilted his head up, his vision blurry from the impact. He groaned, disoriented, before reaching up to remove his helmet. His hand shook as he fumbled with the clasp, pulling the helmet off and tossing it aside. His breath was shallow, his body aching, but he managed to find the remaining power in the plane's systems to open the canopy. The hydraulic system let out a final whimper as the canopy slowly slid back.

Just as Albedo attempted to climb out, the unmistakable sound of boots crunching on the gravel reached his ears. A sharp voice rang out from behind him.

"Slowly now. Hands up," a soldier barked, his assault rifle trained squarely on Albedo.

Albedo sighed, his mind still reeling from the crash. "Yeah, yeah... I get it," he muttered under his breath as he slowly raised his hands in surrender. His body felt numb, the adrenaline slowly wearing off as reality set in.

More personnel quickly arrived, surrounding the wreckage of the F-14 and moving to assist Albedo. They helped him out of the mangled cockpit, their movements brisk and efficient. As they guided him away from the wreck, the bitter taste of defeat lingered in his mouth. He hadn't just lost the plane—he had lost everything he had worked for.

They rushed him to a nearby hospital, and it wasn't long before Albedo found himself in a sterile white room, hooked up to machines and surrounded by doctors. The pain was intense, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

It took a full week for Albedo to recover from his injuries. But when he was finally strong enough to sit up, he was greeted not by the comfort of his surroundings but by the cold reality of the situation. He had been arrested for breaking wartime aviation laws—laws he hadn't even realized were in place. A war? Between which nations? Who started it? Why?