As they throttled up, the world outside the canopy blurred. The brown California hills streaked past like a corrupted file, and for a moment, the G-force pinned Maverick against his seat, making the 2.3GB of equipment strapped to his body feel like a ton of lead.
He sat in the cockpit of his F-14 Tomcat, his fingers tracing the cold metal of the dashboard. Beside him, in the back seat, Goose was humming a stray tune, oblivious to the weight Maverick was carrying. They had just come off a training session that felt less like a simulation and more like a premonition. The air was thick with the scent of jet fuel and the competitive salt of the Top Gun academy. As they throttled up, the world outside the canopy blurred
"We’re clear for takeoff, Mav," Goose replied, his voice crackling through the comms with that familiar, steady dual-audio clarity. "Don’t overthink it. Just fly the plane." Beside him, in the back seat, Goose was
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