Backwater Assignment - Side:Alex

"Sounds like someone's popular, Popstar." Ballast stares me down with an angry scowl as the cameras leave. The fake smiles slowly fades from the faces of my squadmates as they look at me with a face of disgust and envy. Normally, as much as everyone looked down on me, I could generally count on them to stop Ballast's bullshit, but this time, no one is saying anything. Deep down inside, I know they all agree.
"The news is all over you. They're all talking about the great Alex, the child prodigy actor who heroically saved a princess, just like in the movies. And looks like sleeping beauty is out cold while he's the talk of the town." Ballast pauses. No one is saying anything. "Well, I hope you're glad with your 15 minutes of fame, because I doubt you'll be in the news for long." Well, would you look at that? Ballast's words are surprisingly mild today. I'm surprised.

The squadron stares at me with an expression of annoyance at best, and hatred at worst, but if there's one thing I can tell they all have in common, it's disgust. As Ballast ends his stupid little spiel, they start leaving the room, one by one.
"Ballast. Let's go. I don't want the doctors to chew us out for talking to a patient."
"It's alright," I say. "It's not that bad." A part of me almost wants to verbally spar with Ballast, despite another part of me wanting him gone.
"Hmph." The other wingman looks at me - what was their name again? - then turns around and leaves. The room is silent for a moment as Ballast lingers at the door, his body halfway out the door, but not quite inside.

"I bet you're happy this war started, aren't you?" A chill runs down my spine as Ballast says that. "You fucking psychopath."

It's true. I actually can't deny that. Despite knowing the death, the destruction, the carnage, and everything, a part of me is weirdly happy that this war started. I would have been a failure if this war didn't start. I wouldn't have become a hero if this war didn't start.

I wouldn't have found the angel whose memory has kept me from ending it all had this war not started.

"Ballast, don't you have anything better to be doing right now, like kicking puppies? Or is kicking kittens your expertise?"
"Funny. This is the last time we'll see each other, so I suppose we'll let that be even." There's a hint of defeat in his words, so I accept it.
"Really?" I say, curiously. I don't mind never seeing most of my squadmates ever again honestly. A fresh start would be nice.
"Yep. We're all getting split up anyways. There's not enough pilots to go around after they captured most of our country."
"Amazing. See you never."

Ballast slams the door shut, and in that moment, I'm almost wishing I could banter with him a little more. The room is empty. Too empty. And when it's empty, I'm usually left all alone with my thoughts, of which I always have too many of.

Maybe I am a psychopath.

***

Three weeks passed since I left the hospital. I've been stuck here doing clown work for the Elodian PR factory. Honestly, it's not that bad if not for the fact that I'm constantly hearing news of Elodian forces being pushed back here, us getting crushed over there...there's just way too many of them. And Mozaka, the primary target of the Novemian march, is also barely holding on. In other words, we're fucked and I'm just posing for the camera like a fool.

There's a little traffic jam at our runway today, because the Paladin 3, who is in front of me is taking his sweet ass time begging his viewers to donate to the war cause. Gee, I wonder what viral dance moves will help drive the Novemians out of Elodia?

I should be out there fighting. I should be doing my part. Ballast was right, everyone moved on from my story by the time I got out of the hospital. This job sucks. It's the sort of job everyone wants - no fighting, tons of flying, and getting to play around on social media all day, but the amount of secondhand embarrassment, plus having to interact with the numbskulls that inhabit this platform we're forced to use makes me almost ashamed to be here as I watch the other planes ahead of me begin to take off. To be fair, as long as you're living in the moment, I can't deny I have a lot of fun doing this kind of stuff. It's usually when you're reflecting on your own life in bed at 2AM that you realize how pathetic all this is.

At least the girls are cute, though a part of me keeps going back to her. Sophie. Oh man, she's a princess. And what am I? A washed out child star. Which is better than nothing, but I don't know about my chances with her. Sophie, Sophie, Sophie. A princess. And Alex, the...nothing anymore.

I'm good looking, I've got that going for me. I'm still credited as an actor for one of the world's largest movie franchises, so that's a thing. And I'm a pilot that rescued her from a burning plane. Like a real knight. Starknight or medieval knight, take your pick, I was awesome there.

The longer I wait as Paladin 3 continues to fuck around with his camera filters, the more irritating the voice of loathing becomes. Sophie. Sophie. Sophie. Sophie. Her blonde curls. Her beautiful eyes. Her innocent smile. Her uh, ample chest...fucking hell, what am I saying?

Alright, fine. I've been looking online to see if she's got any good swimsuit photos. But there's barely any photos of her to begin with. Heck, there are no cute wholesome images either. There's one photo where she looks really proper and professional and it's super blurry because it was taken by stalker paparazzi and our royal family is weirdly isolationist.

I wish I had enough active fame to have stalker paparazzi.

"Wohoo!" I can actually flip over to see the feeds of some of our fellow squadmates, and a girl - Paladin 5 - is behind me is making cute poses into the camera for her simps. I admit, she's kind of cute, unlike most of the mediocre randoms you see doing this sort of business, but her personality is no different from theirs. I do admit, as long as she keeps the money rolling, I guess I can't cringe too hard. She's our highest earner after all.

"Alright squad, is everyone airborne?"
"Aye-aye commander!" It's lovely if you take the time to look beyond the vomit inducing chat. I really hate this website, shame I can't stream on RecTube. Now that's more my jam.

"Alright team, we're intercepting some drones! Tell them Novemians they can't invade our territory!" I grin. 

There's a comment in my chat saying "Yo, Alex is about to lock in!" You're goddamn right, 'Backshot-Bill', I am about to lock in.

Honestly, having a chat makes it a bit difficult to take things seriously sometimes. I'm pretty sure it hampers my combat performance. 

"Drone spotted, three clicks out." I found something on my radar. It's time to hunt. "Medium sized, fixed wing, likely a recon type."
"EC confirmation. Paladin Squadron?" The station radios back.
"Grid code, G6-21. Heading, 35 degrees, altitude, 2 kilometers, 53 knots. It's trying to get away!"

"Looks like Alex got the first catch of the day." Someone radios from behind me.
"Look at his face, all serious suddenly." The girl giggles. "Talking serious too."

"Paladin squadron, we are tracking your target, 60 second to contact. You are clear to engage!"
"Copy that." I throttle up, as the small dot on my map slowly gets closer and closer, until my radar sensor locks onto the drone. The world goes tense as the drone starts to maneuver weird, presumably because the operator knows it's about to get blown out of the sky. It won't matter.

"This is Paladin Four. I have a radar lock."

I flip the plane safety off. Finally, some real fucking action.