The Vane-01 Alpha's twin turbojet engines roared like an ancient beast just injected with a high dose of adrenaline. Its sound wasn't smooth like the low hum of modern jet engines; it was a rough roar, a symphony of old metal forced to work beyond the limits of sanity. The vibrations traveled from the plane's floor, up through the soles of Mateo Rossi's military boots, to his spine. At thirty thousand feet, the old jet's cabin creaked, every titanium joint seemingly protesting a speed almost reaching Mach 1.5.
Mateo gripped the manual control stick, its surface already scuffed and rusted. In front of him, the night sky over the Chinese mainland looked like an expanse of black velvet torn by the silhouettes of mountains in the distance. Cold sweat streamed down his temples, tracing a fresh
