December 24th, 1987.

(Near a fireplace, in a house somewhere in Virginia.)

The night was cold, but there was no snow. Cheering could be heard from the nearby houses, people happily celebrating Christmas one more year. Laughter spread like wildfire across the city, warm food filled the tables, families spent time with each other as they watched TV as they awaited the hour that a present would manifest itself under the decorated tree that could be found somewhere on the house.

Lukewarm lights, pleasant melodies. An atmosphere soft and tender like a dandelion, everybody wanted to be enveloped by the cocoon that was the Christmas spirit. Where they could forget there was supposed to be a war, where they could simply ignore that just a few miles away in a refugee camp a lone child was merely getting half a cup of warm synth cocoa for the night as others shivered uncontrollably under the thin excuse of a sheet they were given. In some other places, where it was snowing, some people were not going to make it to dawn.

Within the Fuge residence, Micheal couldn't muster the strength to even fake amicability. He had fought with his neighbors when they joked about how he should join in the festivities. Barbed wires melting into a trench, slicing the soil of his heart apart, continued to torment the engineer all these days. Ashes and embers flying about in his eyes, he couldn't wipe the frown he now wore everyday, every hour.

Failure was not his only regret. If it was merely losing an important project, he wouldn't feel like this, he wouldn't have new two bottles of whiskey emptied on his table already. He had made enough money to retire if he wanted to. He was set for life, so long as he wasn't irresponsible with his money and invested some of it wisely. The man in his late forties was all alone in his home, gazing at a picture above the fireplace.

His wife had departed before him a few years back, when a drunk son of an eldritch bitch thought it was a good idea to run a street race in the middle of the city at early morning. Smashed against a lightpost, her face was unrecognizable. They didn't have children, so he simply resigned himself to be alone.

Until one day his older brother called him, to tell him of the birth of his nephew.

Micheal had found solace in looking over the energetic kid who, despite not having his uncle's brains, was also eager to do something for his nation. Little Jonathan always had wanted a sibling, yet that wish could never be granted to him, so he cherished the visits of his uncle a lot. The Fuge family was of humble origins, and Micheal's older brother had decided to stay in the town they were born with their parents. In Jonny's eyes, his uncle was someone impressive who made the whole family proud and always looked up to him. Micheal made an effort to always call him whenever he was done with the work of the day, and hearing of him and his brother was part of what kept him going forward despite all the backstabbing and dealings that he had to deal on a daily basis.

Jonathan was fascinated with his uncle's work, more so because he simply couldn't understand how such complex machines worked and his father also couldn't explain much of it himself. As he sometimes visited his uncle in his office whenever the brothers met, he grew more and more curious about his work. Eventually, Micheal's passion and wonderment towards the F-4 Phantom made Jonathan decide to join the US Army, trying to also get out of the town to do something for the rest of the people. He had supported Jonny in his decision despite his brother's initial complains, it brought him pride to see his nephew try to do something for the common good at such a young age.

Jonathan joined the training programs, however he wasn't deemed worthy of piloting a TSF. On the contrary, his performance with an A-6 was better than average and so he was trained as a TSA pilot instead. Usually falling into the shadows of the Tactical Surface Fighters, Tactical Surface Attackers were a key piece in the war efforts. Both the amphibious A-6 as the landshark A-10 were able to turn the aliens into pincushions in mere seconds. Their survival rate was lower than that of TSFs due to being assigned the role of either the first wave of attack or the last rear support as the rest of the forces retreat.

Both Micheal and his brother were obviously worried for his nephew, however the war situation seemed to have reached a plain. The establishment of the Oder-Neisse Absolute Defense Line following the Fall of Poland and the coup in East Germany had brought a measure of peace to the Eurofront. The Nordic region was under assault, but they were using their mountains to great effect to repel the invasion. A whole year passed without the BETA managing to form another hive, some measure of hope seemed to be forming in the Eurofront.

…Until East Germany decided to implode. Political unrest caused vital troops to leave the Final Defense Line as the aliens closed in, in numbers never before seen. The aliens were repelled by the aid of the squads from West Germany and a few US troops that were loaned to the UN. However, the damage was already done. East Germany had its troops murder each other, losing valuable craft and personnel that was vital to the defense of its last bastion.

America quickly dispatched an expeditionary force as the news of the unrest that was brewing in East Germany at the possibility of the fall of their defense lines reached them, and to also not be absent as the talks of unification were held. However, the fleeting joy that came with the crumbling of the concrete that separated Berlin in two was oh so easily banished, nothing but a mirage in a desert. And in nothing but two months the hope that was built in those two arduous years of enduring the alien's attacks was crushed.

2nd Lt Jonathan Fuge was sent in this expeditionary force, as part of one of the better Thunderbolt II squadrons in the USAF.

Day and night, the sky was covered in deep gray clouds of scattered heavy metals. Hamburg was about to fall, and the UN had to leave the battlefield to arrange the evacuation efforts. The allies and the US tried to form a defense line however they could, rotating their squadrons while keeping a tight schedule on the ships that had to leave with the people in them. The ill blood that had brewed against the East Germans, blamed for the Fall of Germany, had worsened the mood of the people. Many were the lynchings that took place, many were the riots that occurred, many where those who wanted to leave all the citizens of the east side to their luck, lost in despair at having the threat of BETA breathing down their necks.

Jonathan and his comrades had decided to watch over the civvies, both to make sure to stop any fights and to give the people some peace of mind. Seeing a Thunderbolt up close was surely reassuring to those people that had lost everything, and were fearing losing what small beats remained within their hearts. They had broken protocol by not docking in their base, but it was worth it to keep the people calm. Many other cities were going to fall because they couldn't keep a small semblance of order.

Due to the harshness of the situation that Germany as a whole was made to endure, many people were wary of foreigners. Despite that, the performance of the Thunderbolts had made some of them admire the pilots that were right there by their side, protecting them from the aliens. Some thought they were going to be abandoned, others held onto the hope that they, or their children, would have the time to board the boats and planes that would take them to safety.

On his last days in Hamburg, Jonny and his squad spent time with the little children in the dock, trying to keep them busy and entertained. All he wanted was to save those kids, no matter what. As the food began to run out, he kept smiling to the children.

As electricity became a rarity, he still found time to chat with the children, to play with them by the feet of his colossus.

As the people began to fight each other for a ticket into the next round of the evacuation, as women began to sell themselves to the soldiers in hopes of being granted a place in a ship, no matter where, as the men began to sabotage other camps on the hopes of getting a ticket for their children faster, Jonathan kept the kids company along his squad.

As the sewage system was overloaded and broke down, as every hour was filled with screams, gun shots or wailing, the members of the Pit Master squadron managed to keep the docks safe from that madness, none of that ever reached the children of the crumbling nation of Germany.

In one last act of selflessness, before having to depart to battle while the evacuation was far from complete, Jonny promised the children he had played with that he wasn't going to leave until they also were safe. He swore so on his father's and uncle's names.

The BETA struck at nightfall, and the US forces held out until dawnbreak. Spreading gore into the air with their cannon shots, making red pincushions with their chain guns, the Pit Master squadron disobeyed orders and remained behind holding the line, until every ship left the dock.

A few TSAs' were left on automatic as their pilots saw their impending death, others decided to take a gamble and use what little mobility the machine had to move into the herd and self-destruct closer to the aliens. 50% of the US Expeditionary Force was KIA during that night, and that act of bravery forever engraved a deep-seated feeling of gratitude towards the A-10 pilots in the hearts of the Germans, western and eastern alike.

However, for all the joy they managed to create in the hearts of the refugees, an equal sorrow was made when the news reached the families of the pilots. 2nd Lt Fuge was one of the heroes of the night, laying down his life to fulfill the promise he made to the orphaned children he spent but a week together within the grimy dock of a fallen Hamburg.

The news ruined his father and mother's health, and dealt a severe hit to his grandparents as well. Micheal was the last one to hear the news due to his position in the HI-MAERF Project. Making matters worse, he wasn't told by his family or friends. It was on one of his off days, going out for dinner to the city, that he ran into one of Jonny's surviving squadmates. Recognizing the patch of a man that was drinking his soul away, he couldn't not approach him. And it was then that 2nd Lt. Clarke, someone who had even gone to basic with Jonny, told him of their last days together in between his drunken wails, of his nephew's last choice to charge into the herd to deplete all his ammo and blow up his TSA, to ensure the remaining members were able to escape the battlefield.

…

To say that Micheal was utterly wrecked was an understatement. Saying so would equal to say that kicking a brick with your bare feet and splintering the nail of your thumb in half is the same as getting crushed onto the floor by falling from a skyscraper.

He felt responsible in part, thinking that, perhaps, if he had kept his distance Jonny would never had joined the army. From that day of 1983 he devoted himself to better the XGs, to make his project a reality so that no more soldiers have to lay down their lives in such manner, to make the prototypes of the Rapier a reality.

The news of the 'new bombs' only invigorated his desire to create a better machine, to prevent an untested weapon from being detonated and causing who knows how much damage.

And yet, after so many sleepless nights, after oceans of coffee and reports, after navigating through wordings and unexpected setbacks… He had failed.

He was bested by the G-Bombs, he couldn't finish his own promise. Knowing, or at least having an educated guess, at the destructive potential those bombs have Micheal couldn't bring himself to smile this Christmas, couldn't bring himself to answer the phone. Some days even getting out of the bed was hard, and he happened to catch himself in the middle of the afternoon recalling he didn't brush his teeth or pick up the laundry. He wasn't particularly busy, either. He was free for the time being, and his house had become a prison.

Looking at the picture atop the fireplace, where he, his brother, and a Jonathan fresh out of the training program were smiling, his vision became distorted, his cheeks soon found rivers going down them.

"I'm sorry, Jonny… I couldn't make them fly."

Many years afterwards.

(An office in the R&D sector of a research facility.)

Glistering silver walls were everywhere on this floor, sounds of quiet typing on keyboards was one of the few things that could be heard. Micheal was stubbornly drawing his diagrams by hand on a table, he was an individual that, no matter how many others insisted, preferred analog to digital. He drew a sigh, dejected at the turn of events.

"It's like I'm cursed to repeat the same actions over and over," he mused within himself as he rubbed his forehead.

Chief Fuge was put in charge of the F-35 that was to be delivered to the Navy, and progress had been slow. He no longer was involved directly in the assembly, but he had regained some of the passion he used to have before he lost the Hi-MAERF Project. Yet, more setbacks piled on the Lightning II due to the different specifications required of the machine. Collaboration between branches wasn't exactly butter smooth nowadays.

As much as he tried to forget, he simply couldn't keep away from the floor. Micheal decided that the only thing he could do to honor Jonny's life was to keep doing what he did best: Make weapons to utterly annihilate the BETA. While on the following years he was driven by grief, nowadays he had become much calmer and patient. But he still fumed much about the constant delays his projects always faced, for some reason.

"…Um, Chief?" a soft voice calls. One of his young aides came up to him, strangely unable to hold his gaze.

"What is it, Wright? Tell me it's not another setback."

"No, it's not that, sir. You have a… call."

"Huh? Just that? What now? Upper brass wants another date to be delayed?" he joked about, chuckling.

"No, um…" The young man sighed and left his mouth barely open, scratching the back of his head. "It's from the UN, sir."

"…The UN? Who on earth from there wants to talk with me?" he inquired, raising a brow skeptically. The talks with the UN weren't exactly pleasant as of a late. What with the complains of the Brits about the F-35's delivery and all, which only invigorated the short fuse Fuge had at this late an age.

The young man narrowed his brows and gulped, hard enough to be audible. He took a few steps, slow steps towards Micheal and, after looking around, he put a hand over his mouth as he whispered his answer.

"…Yokohama, sir."

…

"Transfer the call to my office," he replied in equal silence, features tightening. The young man nodded and went his way in quite the haste. "Cole! You're in charge until I come back!" Micheal shouted at his second-in-command and didn't wait for the woman to even process her order as he stormed off towards his office, to her frustrated yells that came after him shortly afterwards.

Chief Micheal knew, being a veteran in the force's R&D, what lured in Yokohama. And that was what spurred his rusting knees to such impulse, despite their concerned wailing.

"Hell, I know I was involved in helping out with the diagrams that we sent to the UN to help them build the base after all, specifically their radars and defense systems," Micheal fumed, as he knew that Yokohama, and the underground facility that lured just a bit away from it, were nigh impenetrable. And that any calls coming from over there meant trouble.

He never received another call after he got his thanks for his help back in the end of the first year of the new millennium. As far as he was concerned, he had no business with the Empire of Japan anymore. With G-Bomb production on the rise and what he had heard of the Empire in recent times, Micheal didn't know what to think of this call.

"But it came from Yokohama. No one would be stupid enough to lie regarding something of the sort in a call to this floor," he somberly concluded while licking the desert off his lips, jogging the remaining distance.

Blasting the door open, he then closed his office with lock and all, took a moment to quickly take sip from a bottle of whiskey he had on a stand nearby and then sat down, crushed onto his seat. Running a hand over his forehead and then into his head, ruffling what little hair remained up above, he licked his lips and, mustering some valor, picked up the receiver.

"Hello, Chief Micheal Fuge speaking."

"…Hello, Chief. Good afternoon, I believe?" the voice of a woman reached his ears, speaking in perfect English but with a clear accent. And slow yet lurking edge behind the veil.

"Yes, good afternoon. To who do I have the pleasure to be speaking with?"

"…Vice Commander Kouzuki from Yokohama Base. I believe you must know who I am?"

For a moment, he could feel his heartbeat in his neck, so he ran a hand over his forehead, "…Indeed, I do. So then, to what do I owe this call?" Maybe some work is required on the base's defenses, he thought that was the case.

"I'll cut to the case, since I am short on time. I'd like you to help me in transferring the XF-108 prototypes to the UN."

"…Excuse me?"

"As I said, I want the Rapier prototypes be transferred to UN Command," the woman repeated, with a stronger tone, in such a weary tone.

"I am not someone who can be bribed. If you thought I would sell my work by a mere 'order' then you've-"

"Allow me to tell you the XG has already been placed under our command," she countered, sharp and fast, an immediate riposte.

"W-What?! The XG… has left the underground hangars?" he simply couldn't believe what he heard.

"I am sure you can confirm it from your position," the scientist complained, beginning to fume as a kettle near a boiling point.

Chief Fuge took a moment to check his laptop. Ever since the project was taken from them, he had taken a responsibility to help in the maintenance of both the Valkyries and the Rapiers. In the last time, due to his bones giving him quite some trouble, he couldn't go much to the hangars. He already wasn't able to help much, but he still liked to simply go there and see them as they were being serviced and repaired. Simply allowing himself to daydream about how it would be to see them fly. So, no time was wasted in his contact to the man in charge of the hangar, on the inquiry about the machines.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you. Last week an emergency order came here and-"

"The XGs were transferred to the UN, right?"

"Oh, damn it, Boss! I thought I could surprise you for once. But yeah, your beloved XGs are gone. Now with just the Rapiers here the hangar feels so lonely."

"I see… Did you receive any orders for the Rapiers?"

"Hm? No, sir. I got my hopes up too, but so far no one wants a piece of these sleek beauties."

"Alright. Thanks for the intel, and for keeping watch over them as always," Fuge said his goodbyes and hung up, then hastily picked up the other receiver he left on the other side of the table. "So it seems you were telling the truth."

"…Sigh, yes, I was. Now, time is of essence and I would like to have that Rapier in my base before next Christmas, if at all possible," the voice lowered, almost as if embracing the static on purpose, turning imposing. "There should have been a report sent to the US Branch, Yokohama gave them enough to allow the transfer."

"…Then, why are you talking with me?"

"Because people are being stubborn, just as they were with the YF-23. I believe there's one part of the report I sent that should aid you in your… setbacks with the F-35."

Chief Fuge had heard stories, more than he'd have liked, about Kouzuki, about the genius of the Empire, yet the woman now seemed… Too frontal, and too serious. Rushed, imposing, and slightly reckless. After all, she was calling herself, with the risks that had.

"Considering what's at stake… and how little time she would have…" he reflected within, taking in a sharp breath.

Thus, he inquired on his doubt, "Surely you know what this entails for me? I stand to lose much if I get in a fight with the wrong people."

Which only spurred an instant reply, singing all possible reservations regarding her resolve. "I assure you, your back is covered. I already sent a petition myself, all I ask is that you… inquire on the matter, to hasten the times. I believe you held similar wishes respecting these machines and the way forward?"

"…I've no comments regarding that," he could hear a deep groan from the other side of the line. "However, is this all true? The report for the F-35, your request for the Rapier…" It seemed surreal, almost dreamlike to his ears.

"…I wouldn't be wasting our time if I wasn't being serious. So, I would welcome a small push in the right direction. Feel free to confirm the reports of what Yokohama has given the US first, however. I can wait a day or two."

"I see… Vice Commander, if I may ask… What do you want them for? Are they-"

"They'll fly."

"…Are you being serious?" Something tickled his sides, something made him smile like a dumb, drunken sailor.

"If I wanted test beds, I could get many others with ease. I wouldn't be risking myself by making this call otherwise," she remarked, sounding exhausted, bored almost while spinning on her chair. "As a fellow researcher, I am sure you would prefer to see the XG being escorted by its rightful partner when the time for it to fly comes," the words, the impulse of their stride ignited Micheal's daydreams once more. The days when he worked late into the night just to see one little mistake be addressed, only for three more to appear by dawn. Days of questions and answers, of shouts and high fives. Old days, figments of them at the least, which were now what but a precious treasure, you'd understand.

"But…" he was still hesitant, as if unwilling to place a bet, to let the heartbeats flare up to life, "from what I gather here, G-Bombs are the future. How could you get any approval to-"

"The future isn't set in stone," she replied so slowly, so firmly, "there is another solution to our dilemma, and the XG and the Rapiers are vital in the solution I envision," the woman had spoken with the same vigor he used during that meeting, that last meeting where everything had ended for him.

"So… You haven't given up yet?"

"Never. My fight is far from over."

"…I see," he chuckled, her answer, the absolute lack of hesitation had reminded him of how his wife always used to push him forward when he doubted, when the desert he once more licked off his lips threatened with solidifying within. "I'll see what I can do, XO. I suppose you already sent a request for the transfer to my department's HQ?"

"Yes. I only ask you to… convince the right people to send me at least one Rapier."

"Alright. I'm sure I can at least manage that little. Sigh… So they'll finally fly, huh?"

"…I am short on time, so I'll have to end the call here," the woman said, again in a low but fast tone. "I'll be expecting the news. Until next time," thus she hung up without waiting for an answer, Micheal chuckled as it was reminiscent, almost a perfect reflection of how he used to be when he was younger.

His seat welcoming his back as it sank right in, he began to smile lazily. Releasing a huge sigh, he then began to chuckle, feeling butterflies in his stomach. A few tears ran down, his laughter turned into hoarse coughing and hacking, yet he couldn't stop trying to laugh as he clutched his stomach.

"So they'll finally get a chance to fly, after all. Maybe all that work… wasn't in vain after all."

Chief Fuge wiped his face clean and thought who he would have to contact, who he could send along the Rapiers. After a moment of pondering, he left his office. Quickly passing through the hallways, he barely could speed down to not collide with the others that also were walking about.

It's as if it were about to rain, when that strong umbrella-crushing gale creeps up from behind you. Micheal couldn't stop walking, but unlike those times of rain he felt completely invigorated, scorching with the excitement he thought he had lost so many decades ago.

Chief Fuge would not live to see neither the XG-70 nor the XF-108 fly as he always dreamed. Yet, thanks to his insistence, a single Rapier was allowed to be sent to the UN, specifically to Yokohama, under the guise of being put to use for the Alternative Program. Chief Fuge knew a lone Rapier wouldn't truly be of much use for the Alt. Program, yet knowing his creations would fly and save someone, anyone, was enough to grant him the wish he had thought for so long would remain forever sealed in the underground hangar of a secret research facility of the US.

And, without knowing it, he had managed to actually save many, many people. More than he ever thought possible with a single unit. For that lone XF-108, renamed Kusanagi once it hit Japanese soil, would turn out to be a key piece in the struggles that would come for humanity in the future. And, just as his nephew did so many years ago, the pilot that would ride the Kusanagi is going to fulfill Micheal's primordial wish for his machines:

To have them save as many people as humanly possible.