Lieutenant Amy "Mustang" Stetson storms into TOPGUN like she's got a score to settle with gravity itself. She's hauling more emotional baggage than a 747, all tied up with a bow of "I've got something to prove." Enter Lieutenant Jake "Hangman" Seres...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The heavy metal door clanged shut behind Jake as he was shoved back into his cell. He stumbled, catching himself on the cold concrete wall. Every movement sent waves of pain through his battered body. This session had been worse than the last, his interrogators growing increasingly frustrated with his resilience.
Across the corridor, Amy was being led back to her own cell. Their eyes met briefly, a silent exchange of determination and concern. Jake's heart clenched at the sight of her bruised face, but he forced himself to maintain a neutral expression. They couldn't show weakness, not here.
As the guards' footsteps faded, Jake began his routine. He paced the small cell, counting steps, noting the placement of the single bare bulb, the tiny window near the ceiling. He cataloged every detail, no matter how small. Information was power, and right now, it was all they had.
In her cell, Amy followed a similar pattern. She observed the guards' rotations, listening for any changes in their routine. She noted which ones seemed more alert, which ones were prone to distraction. Every piece of data was mental ammunition, waiting to be used.
Days blurred together, marked only by the harsh interrogations and meager meals. Jake and Amy clung to their training, giving nothing away but their names and ranks. The frustration of their captors was palpable, often manifesting in increased brutality.
During a meal delivery, Jake caught Amy's eye. He tapped his fingers against his tray in a seemingly random pattern. To anyone else, it might have looked like nervous fidgeting. But Amy recognized it instantly – Morse code.
‘Stay strong. Plan forming.'
Amy's response was subtle – a series of blinks that Jake deciphered easily.
'Understood. Be careful.'
This became their lifeline, these fleeting moments of communication. During guard changes, meal times, or the rare instances when they were moved, they exchanged information. Bit by bit, a plan began to take shape.
One particularly brutal session left Jake barely able to stand. As he was dragged back to his cell, he caught a glimpse of a map on a desk. It was only for a second, but his trained eye absorbed every detail.
That night, as silence fell over the compound, Jake whispered into the darkness, hoping his voice would carry to Amy's cell.
"Stetson? You awake?"
A moment passed before Amy's hushed reply came. "Yeah. You okay, Seresin?"
Jake bit back a groan as he shifted position. "Been better. Listen, I saw something today. A map. I think I know where we are."
He described what he'd seen in low, measured tones. Amy listened intently, committing every word to memory.
"If we can get out of the compound," Jake continued, "there's a road about two miles east. Might be our best shot."
