The morning at Armstrong Air Force Base greeted her with blue skies and the liberty to see them.

Nicole had finally been granted the freedom to move about the base- within her curfew, anyways, and always accompanied by the CIF guard. He was friendly enough, but she could never get comfortable with the feeling of being watched; especially when the watchman in question, however kind, looked like he could break her in half with his bare hands. He didn't say much, though, and for that she was glad. It made it slightly easier to pretend that there wasn't a fully loaded rifle within six feet of her at all times.

As she pushed open the door, she took in the atmosphere of the recreation room. She had been told to be there, at the pool table, at 0900 that morning by the Major, and BASH was not someone Nicole particularly wanted to disappoint. At least she didn't want to kill me.

Five pilots stared up at her, gathered around the pool table- which at the moment was covered up by a collapsible ping-pong table. They were the same five from the hangar after the skirmish, but three of them didn't talk to her there. One of them, a black-haired girl who was slightly shorter than her, was the first to break the silence.

"Hey, FNG."

Fuckin' New Guy.

She was back at square one- if even. Half the people in this squadron think I'm gonna stab them. She sighed. "Yeah?"

The girl, whose flight suit read DAGGER, slid a can across the ping-pong table. "We're outta coffee. Drink up."

Nicole grabbed the can off the table as one of the other squad members, a dirty blond guy with the scruffy beginnings of a beard, dropped her flight helmet in front of her. She was too busy inspecting the can to notice. "Uh, guys?" She looked at the other pilots, who all had their helmet and an identical can out on the ping-pong table. "You all… read… the label on this thing, right? It's got a warning on it. Wasn't Wired recalled? Unsafe for human consumption?"

"Yeah," the dirty blond, JACKAL, replied. "We know. It definitely causes cancer. But it's all we got. Unless… You didn't stash any coffee in your plane before ya defected, did you?"

Nicole sighed, popping open the can. Fuck it. I'll probably take a Sidewinder to the face before the cancer gets me, anyways. The carcinogen-laden energy drink- No, she thought, Energy Beverage Product,'s packaging was abhorrently cheerful for something that was going to take at least ten years off her life. WIRED!® CITRUS SHOCK™, the can declared. TIRED? GET WIRED!® Well, she mused. I am tired.

"So…" Nicole took swigs from the can, a foul-tasting concoction that felt like battery acid going down. "Real chatty today, everybody."

Scott crossed his arms in protest, refusing to look her in the eyes.

"Well," the Major said, brushing a strand of red hair aside. "You've been the topic of some… heated discussion."

"That's an understatement," Burn mumbled. BASH stared at him disapprovingly. "Can it, Lieutenant Bernitz. You were the source of half of it."

"Yes ma'am." Scott huffed, before taking a spiteful swig of the heavily caffeinated liquid poison.

"Look," the last member of the squadron she hadn't met, a pilot with the callsign ZIP on his flight suit, put his hand down on the table to get her attention. "You're… in the squad. But you've got a history, to say the least, and half of us still think you're a spy."

"So you called me here to… tell me you don't trust me?" Nicole raised an eyebrow.

"Me? Quite frankly I don't give a shit." Zip shrugged. "Not everyone shares my apathy, though." As if on cue, Zip and Jackal stared at Burn and Dagger. Jackal broke his glare and turned to Nicole. "Well, FNG, you deserve at least to know what you're doing here. This is your naming ceremony."

She pointed to the label on the front of her flight helmet. "I… already have a callsign."

BASH and the rest of the squadron started to laugh. "You have a Feddie callsign. From Feddie pilots. That shit doesn't fly here," she told Nicole. "You need a CIF callsign."

Nicole rubbed her eyes, black bags saddled beneath them. I'm not awake enough for this shit. She took a swig of the Energy Beverage Product. Why the fuck is it called that, anyways? Could they not, like, legally call it a drink or something? She started to feel a buzz behind her eyeballs, and turned over the can to realize the drink contained 160 milligrams of caffeine and far too much taurine. Well… I guess it works?

"So… what are you thinking?" She was running on three hours of sleep, but Wired!® was doing its best work to keep her awake. The other pilots stared uncomfortably. Who's gonna say it? They seemed to be screaming silently at each other. Finally, Burn decided to break the silence.

"We decided on Spook. Because I'm pretty sure you're a spy."

The other pilots stared at him. "What?" He shrugged. "I was just being honest."

Nicole gave him a blank look. "You know I killed six Feds the other day, right? Actually… Well, fuck, it was more like ten, 'cuz four of 'em were two-seaters. You still think I'm a spy, huh?"

It looked like he was about to spit. "I think you're a damn good spy."

BASH grabbed Burn by the shoulder. "Cut it out, Lieutenant. She's part of the squadron, whether we like it or not."

"Lay off," Jackal said. "You don't even know if it was her. There were eight people-"

"Does it matter?" Dagger interrupted him, banging a fist on the table. "She's a fucking Fed."

"I'll take my chances." Burn snarled, snapping his arm back from the Major.

"Look," Zip sighed. "As the squadron's executive officer, if you're not gonna say it, Major, I might as well. I don't care if you two play nice on the ground, because that's where this shit's staying, you got me? You get in your plane and you two are wingmen, not enemies. Or else both of you are gonna eat an AMRAAM. You don't have to like it. You just gotta live with it."

Nicole nodded. Scott groaned. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Zip replied. "We've got a mission briefing at 1300. Spook," He held out a piece of duct tape, the word SPOOK hastily marked in permanent ink on the grey side. "That's for your helmet."

She slapped the makeshift sticker over her old callsign. Spook, huh? She couldn't help but feel a little jaded about it all, having mustered up the courage to abandon her comrades for the warm welcome of a kick in the face. Well, she thought. Don't like it. But Zip's right. I'm gonna have to live with it.