Personal Project WASP

Stripped of its imperial markings and reborn in scorched metal, it was retrofitted with a devastating laser cannon. a weapon precise enough to carve through fortress walls without waking the dead. It flies not for conquest, but for rescue: extraction missions behind enemy lines, lightning raids on military compounds, and the silent, sudden fury that leaves only ashes and confusion.

The city's occupiers tremble at the sound of its engines. Defense systems falter when it appears, for it was reprogrammed by a ghost, a rebel engineer who knew every crack in the regime's armor. It can pierce any shield, slip through any grid, and strike where fear is thickest.

But the ship is alive with rage, and rage is hard to control.

It devours fuel like a starving beast. Its systems hum with barely contained power. One wrong move, one second of hesitation, and the engine overloads, turning the pilot into a falling star. To fly it is to dance with death. It demands a pilot with ice in their veins and fire in their heart, someone who can read the sky like a map, feel the enemy's traps before they spring, and bring the ship home on fumes and instinct.