His tank was no longer a tank. It was a twisted, half-formed metal bird.
Jax’s voice came through, awestruck. “Leo… you’re a freaking plane.”
Leo grinned. That was the point. The tank wanted to be flat, predictable, grounded. To become a plane, you had to first reject the earth.
The enemy drones swiveled, confused. Their targeting systems read: [NO VALID THREAT] . Leo’s HUD flashed new symbology: altitude, airspeed, missile lock cues. He was no longer a tank. He was a , afterburners painting the smog orange.
