Higher, Further, Faster.

Callsigns were a funny thing in the world of aviation.

The movies Vi had grown up watching had given all the fighter pilots cool nicknames, like Viper or Shadow or War Machine or whatever. In reality, callsigns were bestowed upon you whenever you did something stupid or someone noticed you were different to the rest. And anyone who had a nickname that seemed remotely interesting or like it came straight out of a video game, definitely didn’t have it handed to them for a good reason.

It was an honour to receive a callsign, an ancient ritual passed down from generations and generations of pilots. After mingling with the Piltover pilots more, Vi realised it wasn’t just a Zaun thing, either. Oh, no. Everyone had a story to back up their ridiculous nickname; a tradition that stemmed internationally.

Vi once knew a pilot during flight school that was called Jaws. Cool enough, until he revealed it was because he accidentally let it slip one night that he still had to wear retainers to bed.

At first, Vi didn’t really care about who anyone else’s callsign was in their class; she didn’t really for finding out anything about any of them, for that matter. Outside of the Top Gun program? Absolutely, she’d sit down with any of the other pilots or weapons operators and hear all their stories and pick them apart. Besides, quite a few of the other trainees were people she already knew and had grown quite close with.

But within these walls, within the classroom, they weren’t her friends. They were names she had to surpass on a leaderboard. Metaphorically, they were all on the same side, but Vi knew what she wanted. And she wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way of that.

She wanted the top seat. Top of the class, name engraved on that plaque they were shown on their first day. It had called out to her and Vi had followed obediently, entranced like a moth to a flame.

The entire Top Gun class had gathered outside on the flight deck for their first proper session as requested by Captain Kiramman. Their rows of fighter jets, pre-manoeuvred and ready for taxiing down the runway, loomed menacingly over the gaggle of aviators that stood before them. Vi spotted the gunmetal grey, sharp-edged bodies of the Zaun Navy’s F22 Raptors instantly. They loomed over their aeronautical cousins, the Royal Piltovian Air Force’s fleet of F35 Lightnings, but looks were deceiving – size didn’t matter. The F22s were still much lighter, much more fluid in their manoeuvres, creating a mind-to-steel connection between man and machine that no other aircraft had been able to replicate.

Vi would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a pang of jealousy whenever she saw the RPAF roll in in their F35s, however. She’d sell her left kidney just to even see the cockpit of one.

She’d had been half-listening to the conversations between the other aviators, picking up snippets here and there, as they swapped stories of how they landed their unfortunate nicknames.

She’d learnt that Loris was also known as Ballbuster - not because of his breathtaking offensive tactics, or intimidatingly large figure, but because he walked straight into the barrel of an unloaded Gatling gun and it hit him straight in the - well, the name speaks for itself.

Maddie was called Carrot. Vi was surprised to learn it wasn’t because of her bright orange hair. She once got too drunk on a squadron night out and threw up, displaying the contents of the night’s chow hall dish of choice: stew. You’ll never guess the main vegetable content of the meal.

But as the group were circling around to Mel, the rushed, thundering footsteps of their instructor approached and the crowd fell silent in an instance.

And of course, the only exception to the shitty callsign rule was none other than Captain Caitlyn “Killshot” Kiramman.

Their instructor stood in front of the group and the pilots formed a semi-circle around her. “I will take Medarda and Talis up into the air first.” The captain jumped straight to the chase. Raw and uncut. Just like her flying style, Vi would soon come to learn. “The rest of you will wait here for your turn. Tomorrow you will all be briefed as a group and individually on your performance.”

Boots scuffing to the ground, Mel and Jayce shuffled forward awkwardly. Their heads hung low as if they were students being scolded by their teacher.

Caitlyn cocked an eyebrow in confusion, looking between them both. “What are you waiting for? Get in the air and I’ll meet you up there.”

***

In the space of a few hours, Captain Kiramman had handed everyone’s asses to them. A real tail-between-legs, heads hung low, gaze avoidant whooping.

Vi caught snippets of dialogue between the pilots as they returned from their flights. Shoulders hunched, deep scowls on their faces, evident that all they were doing was replaying the simulated dogfight over and over again in their heads wondering what they could have and should have done different.

“She came outta fuckin’ nowhere, man.”

“Did you see how fast she rounded on us? It’s like she’s not human.”

“There’s got to be something in the water here.”

Ekko and Vi’s flight would be the last of the day. Whether it was pure coincidence or saving the best (or worst) until last, Vi’s nerves were kicking into overdrive, intensity ramping with each begrudged face that trudged back to the flight deck.

The captain hadn’t come down from the air once. Not to refuel, not to stretch her legs, not to grab lunch, not once. Which scared Vi, because anyone who could fly an eight-hour day and still be at the best of their ability was very, very dangerous.

After Steb and Nolen slunk back to the tarmac, Vi and Ekko saw this as their sign to start getting loaded up. They hadn’t even got into their seats in the cockpit yet when a tinny voice crackled over their helmet-mounted speakers.

“Lanes and Vanderson, the skies are yours. I’ll be waiting.”

With one last unsteady inhale, and an equally as disgruntled sigh from her wingman, Vi slid into the pilot’s seat and kickstarted the ignition.

***

“Head on a swivel, Little Man. You’re my eyes and ears out here.”

Vi’s voice just about carried over the unruly scream of their jet’s engine as they streaked through the sky, dipping between mountains and valleys alike as they awaited the inevitable.

The only time Vi had felt nerves like this during a flight was the first time she ever went up into the air. Her anxiety around this one mission was uncalled for; it was just a stupid training exercise. They were here to learn, not to be the best on the first day.

So why did she care so much this time around?

“I haven’t got anything, Vi,” Ekko’s voice rippled over the radio. “No Radar, no visual, nothing.”

Vi checked their altitude. 5,000 feet. Cruising comfortably. She huffed.

Their jet rounded another dip in the canyon wall, and that’s when their target came into view.

The indistinguishable solid V of an F35 barrelling towards them at mach speeds, head-on.

“You see her?” Ekko asked.

“Yeah, I see her,” Vi grumbled, still not changing course.

Under any other circumstance she would have given a sarcastic answer. But not then. Not now. Now, she had something to prove.

Vi waited until the last-minute to barrel-roll out of the range of Caitlyn’s F35, rearing the jet around and heading straight back towards they came from.

And Caitlyn vanished. The jet disappeared, their visual gone, no sign of the other pilot anywhere.

“Take us into the gorge, it’ll throw off her lock-on,” Ekko instructed.

Vi grabbed her control column and shoved forward, sending the jet screaming straight back into the rocky terrain they’d just burst out of. “Yeah, yeah, quit backseat driving,” she half-joked.

Walls of boulders zipped past them as Vi raced them through the gorge with ease, the F22 jerking violently side-to-side. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead and settled just below her chin.

Before they could react, just as Vi rounded the last corner of the canyon and was ready to take them out into the open, a blaring beeping ripped through the cockpit, and Ekko swore loudly down the microphone.

“Vi! Shit- Vi, she’s all over us! 6 o’clock, on our tail!”

The pilot didn’t need to turn around to look. The unmistakable ringing of their missile-lock alert system told her everything she needed to know. The noise disappeared briefly when they emerged from the canyon, only to start right back up again when Caitlyn followed suit.

She was giving chase now, unrelentless. Vi only had a few seconds to think of what to do. The open stretch of land was in front of them now, giving her a perfect length of space to conjure up a move for an evasive manoeuvre in the little time they had.

But if there was one thing Vi had learnt as a fighter pilot, it was that you never think. You just do.

Caitlyn was seconds away from firing range now. Vi had to time this right down to the millisecond. Ekko was raving frantically in the backseat now, but she silenced him in her mind, finding the right moment to-

She pulled the control column up sharp and fast. Her wingman yelped. They were climbing vertically for a moment, almost going weightless in their seats, before Vi slammed the control stick forward again just as Caitlyn’s F35 zipped beneath their afterburner.

It was a textbook cobra move. Simple but effective.

Vi lined their F22 up with the rear of the captain’s jet, the great ball of fire trailing from behind well within firing distance.

Clickclickclick.

“Hit, hit, hit!” Ekko whooped with victory, shaking the cockpit as he pumped his fists into the air.

Vi cheered along with him, beaming ear-to-ear. “Who’s the janitor now, huh, Kiramman?” she roared to no-one in particular.

As they steered off back to base, still high off of the adrenaline of their first win, neither Vi nor Ekko had noticed that their altitude had dropped to 3,800 feet.

***

All of the aircrew had retreated to the locker room by the time Vi and Ekko landed. The atmosphere was thick with tension, defeat hanging heavy over all of their heads.

As they stepped in, every pair of eyes settled on them, the slightest glimmer of hope flickering.

“How did it go?” Loris asked timidly.

Vi hung her head in feigned defeat. Then, she broke into a shit-eating grin. “Got her ass,” she boasted.

The air of loss dissipated instantly, replaced instead with the thunderous cheers of their fellow pilots congratulating them. Countless hands reached out to ruffle Vi’s hair as she wandered to her locker, the smile not wiping from her face once.

She reached up to enter her number onto the combination lock and swung the door open.

The locker door slammed shut right in Vi’s face. Its frame rattled. “What the Hell were you thinking out there, Vanderson?” a voice bellowed.

The pilot’s eyes followed from the finger-splayed hand in front of her up a long arm. Her gaze met Caitlyn Kiramman’s, who had a face like thunder, eyebrows drawn together and teeth gritted together like she was ready to slam Vi’s face into the locker next.

Vi stared back. A small frown of disgust spilled onto her lips. “We beat you,” she said simply.

“You dropped below the hard deck,” the captain snapped, flames of fury not dissipating from her eyes once. “Do you know why we keep a hard deck, Vanderson?”

Vi scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’m some kind of-“

“The hard deck simulates the ground. And if it were real ground out there, well done, you would have got both yourself and your wingman killed.”

Suddenly, Caitlyn dropped her tone, leaning in to speak so that only her and Vi could hear. Her words dripped with venom. “I read your files, Lieutenant. I know why you’re here. Keep your head down or I’ll have it on a platter.”

With one more smack of her palm against metal, the instructor stormed out of the changing room, every pair of eyes following in her wake.

Vi was staring at the blank spot of the door where Caitlyn had disappeared when the locker room filled with taunting whoops and oooooohs from the other pilots. Her gaze didn’t divert; she just stood there like a stunned mullet, unsure of what to make of the captain’s sudden outburst.

“What crawled up her ass and died?” Ekko said to the right of her as he stripped off his flight suit.

The other pilot just sighed, peeling off her sweat-stained undershirt. “Us, apparently,” she gruffed, shoving her clothes into the locker.

There was a huffed chuckle from behind her. “Should’ve stayed above the hard deck, Vanderson,” Jayce teased, his voice non-confrontational.

“Fuck off, Talis,” Vi spat. Her shoulders tensed as she turned around slowly. “You told them all why they call you Pretty Boy yet?”

Jayce opened his mouth to speak, his eyes softening as if he were going to give an apology, but Vi interjected. “You’re a showboater. You don’t give a shit about what it means to wear the uniform; you just like looking good in it.”

The rest of the room fell silent. Defeat and the slightest hint of hurt trickled into Jayce's eyes.

It was her first proper day there.

Her first day.

And she’d already managed to piss off their only half-decent instructor.

There were only four things Vi wanted in that moment: she wanted a hot shower, she wanted a beer, she wanted her bed, and she wanted to know what the Hell was going on with Captain Caitlyn Kiramman.