PROJECT: CAYRO

Captain Edwards:

August 27, 2025

10:15 EST

The Death Reckoning

15,000 feet above Murfreesboro, NC.

I sat in my captain’s chair, overseeing the bridge while my newly assigned crew moved with a sense of purpose. The bridge wasn’t expansive, but the panoramic windows at the front, offering an unobstructed view of the horizon, made it feel as though we were commanding the skies. Beneath me, the land slid past as the ship silently glided over the United States, the terrain far below almost serene compared to the turmoil within.

Each station on the bridge seemed to hover above the large windows, connected by narrow grated walkways that led to the helm, weapons station, and my captain’s perch. Officers climbed into their stations, their feet resting on footrests that jutted from their chairs, giving the bridge a vertical, almost suspended quality. My chair, strategically placed above all, allowed me a commanding view of both my crew and the vast expanse beyond.

An hour had passed since we departed Langley Air Force Base when one of my displays pinged with an incoming message from the Langley Reconnaissance Wing. The message caught my attention immediately: the SAF’s Autumn was expected to land at the San Antonio Airstrip in Texas. I arched an eyebrow, quickly skimming the details. The SAF rarely, if ever, landed within U.S. borders. Texas, of all places, was a curious choice. The state, always a bit rebellious, was on the brink of seceding from the Union, flirting with the idea of becoming its own independent entity. But why San Antonio? Why now?

Switching to another display, I pulled up the SAF’s file. There it was—they were landing to pick up Dr. Zaraki. Texas was supposedly his home state, though the federal government had never managed to track him down. The man was a ghost, one of the key minds behind Project Cayro and the creation of the Autumn. His involvement raised more questions than it answered. Was there a problem with the SAF’s ship, or was he simply visiting family? Or, more concerning, was he rejoining the SAF to complete what he had started all those years ago?

The recent activity near Virginia nagged at me. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. Had they found something there that connected to this unexpected landing in Texas? The technology used in Project Cayro was decades ahead of its time, continually giving the SAF an edge over our military.

I pulled up the footage from the recent dogfight off the coast. One of our pilots had barely escaped with his life, ejecting just as the Autumn unleashed its devastating firepower. His debriefing was puzzling—he insisted that a kid on a skyboard had nearly outmaneuvered the jets before they were destroyed. But what stood out was his claim that the kid had been flying towards the Autumn, not away from it. Why would a civilian, much less a teenager, be heading towards a known SAF vessel in the middle of a combat zone? I made a mental note to investigate further but knew my immediate focus had to be on the SAF’s movements.

“Get ahold of Dyess Air Force Base Air Command!” I barked, my voice slicing through the low hum of the bridge.

“Yes, Sir,” my communications officer responded promptly. Within moments, she had the connection established. “Sir, I have the Dyess Wing Commander on the line.”

“Put it on the main screen,” I ordered.

A holographic projection flickered to life across the large windows, displaying the image of a confused Lieutenant Colonel. His expression was a mix of curiosity and concern.

“How may I help you, Captain Edwards?” the Lieutenant Colonel asked, his tone polite but guarded.

“Good morning, Sir. Apologies for the abrupt contact, but I need your assistance. The SAF is scheduled to land at the San Antonio Airport. Our mission is to extract one of their crew members, and I require aerial surveillance to track and monitor their movements. I’ve sent you our mission orders via SIPRNet. Please review them at your earliest convenience,” I explained, my fingers deftly tapping commands into my console.

The Colonel’s eyes flicked downward as he reviewed the documents. His brow furrowed, clearly troubled by what he was reading.

“Captain, you’re aware that Texas is on the verge of secession. I cannot authorize any military action that might escalate tensions, especially not against a group the state might be courting as allies,” he cautioned, his tone firm.

“Yes, Sir, I’m fully aware,” I replied, keeping my voice measured, though the frustration was simmering beneath the surface.

“I can authorize surveillance, but nothing more. We cannot engage while they’re under the protection of the Texas government. I’ll have two aircraft in the air within the hour. Is that sufficient?” he asked, carefully weighing his words.

“Thank you, Sir. That will be sufficient. The sooner we have eyes on them, the better,” I said, offering a salute.

“You’ll have it. Dyess out.” The Colonel returned the salute, and the hologram blinked out, leaving the bridge in a momentary stillness.

“Navigations, set a course for San Antonio, Texas. Helm, full speed,” I ordered, my voice carrying a renewed sense of urgency.

“Yes, Sir,” came the synchronized replies.

This mission was shaping up to be far more complex than I had anticipated. The SAF was a formidable adversary with too many international supporters, and we were playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. We were two days behind the Autumn, and every decision had to be calculated. They couldn’t know we were tracking them—at least, not until it was too late.

I exhaled slowly, trying to piece together the puzzle that was the SAF’s strategy. What were they planning in Texas, and how did it all connect back to Virginia? With each move they made, the stakes only grew higher.