A World With No Boundaries Reborn

A Harrowing Irony

February 10th, 2022

Luna pushed through the ready room doors like a gust of cold flight-deck air. The low hum of pilots talking and technicians moving equipment dipped for a moment as she stepped inside. Black leggings tucked into scuffed combat boots, her familiar bomber jacket hanging open over a plain tank top, she looked more like she stepped off a street in Gran Rugido than onto a mercenary airbase. Slung casually under one arm was a bright contrast: her glossy pink ZSh-7 flight helmet, decorated with the Espada team insignia on the back.

Erik blinked as he took in her attire. "No g-suit?" he asked, brows lifting.

Luna flashed a playful, confident smirk, just the faintest hint of defiance. "It makes it harder for me to pull precise maneuvers," she replied, tapping the helmet against her hip. "Sustained Gs are more difficult, sí, but I've been flying since I was very young. Aerobatics, air shows... I learned to feel the aircraft, not wrestle with it."

Erik shook his head, somewhere between impressed and concerned. "You're impossible, you know that? One blackout and you're a crater in the ground."

She shrugged, dark curls shifting over her shoulder. "Then I guess I'd better not black out, papi."

There was confidence there, but also a glimmer of vulnerability beneath the bravado. She moved to the equipment rack, checking her flight gloves. Her fingers paused for a moment, her eyes distant as though she were remembering another cockpit... another sky.

Then she inhaled, sharp and steady, and the mask of professionalism slid back into place. "Don't worry, Erik," she added, softer. "I know what I'm doing. I have to."

The duo settled into their seats as the lights dimmed, the projector screen casting cold blue light across the ready room. The atmosphere was tight, the kind of tension that came from living in a world forever shaped by Belkan victory.

Since the end of the Belkan War in 1995, Belka retained most of its original territories, ruling with a strength that demanded recognition and even respect. Though Ustio, Gebet, and Recta remained independent, their sovereignty felt fragile, granted by proximity to a giant that no longer knew defeat, but perhaps it was a better alternative to Osean imperialism. 

Regardless, Belka's dominance didn't eliminate threats. In its shadow, a familiar ideology still festered.

A World With No Boundaries, the zealots who believed nations themselves were the enemy. They sought a world free of borders, of flags, of differing voices... unified only under military might. Though scattered, their conviction had sharpened into something even more dangerous.

A map sprang onto the screen: Glatisant...a medieval Belkan city nestled at the peak of Mount Ivrea. The once ancient city had once been used as an anti-air fortress by the Belkans, and AWNNB sought to use it once more against its former owners.

"Satellite reconnaissance confirms AWNNB forces have seized Glatisant and reinforced the site with modern anti-air systems," the officer announced, his tone clipped and hard. "As long as the fortress remains active, the airspace here becomes a chokehold."

A bold red circle appeared, swallowing major supply routes and civilian flight paths alike. "No resupply. No humanitarian transport. Civilian traffic becomes a target the moment it's within range."

He paused, letting the silence deliver the weight of what came next. "They claim they want a world without borders. But first, they'll isolate and destroy everything that stands in the way."

"Miura, you will assist the 2nd and 3rd Air Divisions in providing top cover for the 303rd Attack Squadron as they perform the landing and provide close air support for the air cavalry. The airborne regiment's mission will be to retake Glatisant. Should you need to refuel, there will be a return line to the South. Dismissed."