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Pilot Nason, Call Sign: Stormavik
Nason grew up fascinated with flying. He made models, folded countless paper airplanes, and as soon as he turned 12 he joined the Civil Air Patrol as a cadet. He loved being in the air and responded to every call that came in whether a ground search and rescue operation or by air he was there. Upon turning 18 he joined the Air Force with the hopes of becoming a pilot. He was well on his way, receiving numerous medals and awards for his service.
It was while on a weekend leave that Nason saw his dreams crash and burn.
After a night of drinking Nason was a passenger in a car that hit and killed a pedestrian. When the police arrived the driver claimed it was Nason who had been behind the wheel. The actual driver received a plea deal to testify against Nason. He was charged and convicted of vehicular manslaughter and sentenced to 5 years in prison. He was dishonorably discharged from the Air Force and spent his time in a Medium Security Prison. Nason found firsthand that the movies and television do little to portray the reality of time in prison.
Upon serving 4 of his 5 year sentence Nason found himself unable to find a job and even worse unable to fly. He found what little solace he could at the bottom of a pint glass.
A seedy dive bar somewhere in New Jersey:
“Hey there.” Her smile lights lifts the fog of Bud that’s been following me all night.
“Hey.” I swallow another mouthful of the stale warm suds hoping to bring the fog back.
“You come here often?” She’s still smiling.
-Humph- “You can’t even try anything original?” My demeanor says leave me alone. She won’t.
“Okay, look I’ve seen you around here a few times, you look like you could use some company.” Her smile never falters, something in the pit of stomach twists.
“I don’t want no company. I want another beer.” I slam my empty pint on the bar waving over at Jocko, he wastes no time topping off my glass with foaming gold. “You still here?” I raise the glass hoping she’ll be gone by the time I put it down.
“You know you really shouldn’t drink if you want to pilot a plane.”
I stop before it touches my lips. “What the hell you talking’ about lady. I can’t fly.”
“Not for the Air Force. Not for any private airline… except ours.” Her smile falters, becomes a smirk.
That was then. This is now. I’ve been with Cobra for 5 years. They’ve put me behind the stick of everything they have to offer, fixed wing and rotary. I’ve flown inches above the ocean and miles above the Earth. Despite all that I found myself stuck in some jungle listening post flying around a damn Trouble Bubble, something so simple a day one Blue Shirt could fly it. Until he found us.
Agent X-99. When he showed up everything changed. My gear received an upgrade, a major one at that. And my ride, well the Trouble Bubble is gone and the sky’s the limit.
"O, woe be the day the enemy descends, mourn we will, for the sake of all that's holy in this universe....
... 'cause the Alley Viper Corps is gonna fuck it ALL up!" - NFC
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