Whomp-whomp-whomp.

Narration. I wasn't exactly the guy who'd be writing stories and such. In this helicopter, all I could hear was the sounds of propellers slashing above to keep me flying. It was kinda boring just patrolling, though I was always kept on the edge of my seat as at every corner of large trees or giant stone arches, there could be the threat of monsters and drones just waiting to latch onto your ship, ripping out the engines or tail clean off before leaving you to drop for what feels like forever. I know because I was in that situation a few times. Civilian duty isn't as dangerous as military duty though. But, in the end, this is for the name of Davis. Surely the Doctor son of a bitch wouldn't just get away with destroying half the world and committing countless acts of war crimes. Including destroying the orphanage where I grew up at. I won't say with the orphans were in it or not though - it's clearly too painful to remember.

As a pilot, I was ordered around to drop off troops and perform recon missions. So far, I've taken down two bogeys and escaped a lot more of those bastards. Sometimes, I'd also be called to perform air sweeps and aerial support against Mimigas. While it was true some of them were formerly humans, you couldn't take any chances if they were also in a helicopter and trying to shoot you down. Honestly, I preferred not to think about it and just continue my assignments.

Weeks passed, and all were were to do was to await for further deployment of troops and supplies to the island to launch an offensive. Meanwhile, down there in the real world, we'd continue hearing stories of both victory and losses, as well as tales of survival and even a few SOS signals. I wanted to just hijack my helicopter and help out below, but... my duty was to stay here and to avenge Davis.

Whomp-whomp-whomp.

Despite my boredom, I kept a constant eye out against the backdrop of the lush, yet deceiving and covering environment. Who knows if I'll be shot down, or even worse killed while in my seat. I took a few turns to dodge some rather tall and thick trees, as well as hover by rough and jagged cliffs to see if anyone was either trapped on them, or I needed to shoot something. Again, I was quite paranoid on my patrol run. Already two of my colleagues were either shot down or mauled not far from the base. So much for a sense of security.

My helicopter was rather stable, making loud noises as I leaned in tandem with my helicopter as it moved forwards. I could do a few tricks for the fun of it, but it would gather unwanted attention from both sides of this war. Nobody's interested in doing a barrel roll - you may as well do a combat roll in a gunfight, and everyone knows how dangerous and useless that is. We were somewhere in a region where clouds mysteriously drifted AROUND the island rather than through it, though occasionally some clouds would form here to provide rain and stop droughts. Overall, flight conditions were almost perfect for most of the year. Some days however are just downpours which stop any flight, let alone current offenses.

The rations we would get were probably beyond garbage. MREs were notoriously high in calories and almost tasteless, and if they did have a taste, it would be something on the lines of processed sand. Some of them did taste nice, though overall they were indigestible. I still had the taste of morning rations in my mouth, occasionally spitting out of my window to get 'baked beans' out of my mouth. I wiped saliva from my mouth, holding steady my joystick so I wouldn't exactly fall out my window. I was more used to the feeling of plastic rather than rubber in my hands, but I guess the extra grip of the joystick worked in terms of 'not slipping and hitting my head on the window.'

Eventually, I stopped spitting out my window, instead thinking of getting back to base and cleaning my mouth out. By the time I was nearing the Outer Wall however, I was unsure of what I was seeing - first off, the helicopter below was quickly flying away without even taking a glance at me or surroundings for any dangers. [i]That's how people die.[/i] I didn't think much longer, intent on lowering my altitude instead to see what was going on. Through the see-through corners of my cockpit, it was clear that there was not just a soldier heading into that tunnel, but also a damned Mimiga. I was prepared to fire my weapons into the broken ceiling of the tunnel, though of course I realised there was still a soldier inside. All I could do instead was fly around the tunnel, circling around it and trying to see what was going on. I tuned into my radio and adjusted my headset, speaking rather loudly to get over the noise of the helicopter. "Flight Command, there seems to be some activity around Site-3 just outside Long Dam. Requesting to engage, over."

"Flight command, response? Over." No response. Supposedly, this was probably one of those secret black ops missions. I heard tales of people not getting responses from their bases upon witnessing odd activity, but I never really believed it.

Getting annoyed and feeling cramps in my legs, I lowered my helicopter somewhere closer to the Outer Wall than the actual tunnel. I got out of my helicopter, probably breaking every rule of piloting as I pulled out my pistol. There were times in which bringing your own guns (or just buying them) were better than standard-issue firearms the military gave you. I carefully walked over to the tunnel, realising it was more of a corridor overgrown on the outside as I kept my aim steady. I wasn't really sure what I was doing, but at least my legs stopped hurting and I wasn't bored anymore.