Well, I decided to start fresh and type it in microsoft word beforehand to reduce spelling errors or grammatical mistakes. Also, this is going to be more serious. Enjoy.

----CHAPTER ONE----

It is the year 3844 and the three factions have fought bitterly for a thousand years over the remains of the old Earth Empire. It was named the “Infinite War”. The war was a horrible, ugly monster, consuming billions of lives every day, every second. The only way to slay the monster was to become friends with it. To have peace was the only available option. Fighting the monster would only result in more casualties. Although peace seemed light years away, it lay vivid in the minds of those who fought, overshadowing the hatred that was always with them. What has humanity turned itself into? Or was it and has it been our goal? If humanity got ourselves into this mess, why can’t it get us out?

Dean Bellchime looked out at the black, murky waters slating against the carrier. The darkness consumed everyone’s mind, leaving him or her in a constant state of fear. The stern rocked gently, for now. The fighter’s engine emphatically roared as it was catapulted out into the night, it’s thrusters leaving an emanating light in the blackness ahead. Another fighter screamed off. Dean strolled over to his interceptor. He popped open the hatch and swung in. He then strapped himself in and pulled the oxygen mask over his face. The monitors and dials lit up. Turning, he spotted his wingman, Trey Gomer slip into the cockpit behind him. The deck below him ascended. Cyclone purred as it rolled to the end of the catapult mechanism. Dean punched the “Ready” button and gripped the control stick tightly. The wingman’s acknowledgement light winked at him.

The aircraft rumbled and then burst forward, Dean’s head flying back into the cockpit seat. The carrier was a blur as the Cyclone rocketed ahead. Smoke trailed from the flaming thrusters. Dean pulled the stick down and the plane’s nose tilted up, revealing a lone star gazing at him. The radio crackled to life.
“This is AWWACS. You’re first jobs as newly graduated fighter pilots is to head 20 kilometers north. Upon reaching your destination, you must intercept incoming bandits and protect the UEF bombers from getting blown out of the sky. Any questions?”
The radio remained silent fro a few seconds. The intense growl of the engines was all that was heard.
“Okay. Now, good luck and we’ll see you once the mission is completed,” Said the automated male voice.

All of the fighter pilots had ways of coping with the war. Some dealt with it in silence while others belted out fight songs and played rock music. Turning the volume down on the radio, Dean pulled out his pocket Bible and flipped it to a familiar psalm. Most original works of literature have been kept in museums as an artifact. In the year, 3844, citizens of the United Earth Federation stored literature on their mini pocket computers. He preferred the old way. Trey’s voice came from behind, “Hey, are you nervous?”
“Everyone is, of course.” Dean said.
“Well, I’m really nervous” Trey mumbled, emphasizing the “really.”
“It’ll be okay once we start flying around and downing enemy bogies,” assured Dean and then turned back to his Bible, uttering the psalm.

-45 MINUTES LATER-

Dean glanced up at the windshield and spotted a formation of enemy planes, Prowlers. Faint green boxes outlined each aircraft, displaying the type of plane and distance. Dean pulled on the control stick and dove. The Cyclone whistled into the low clouds, making Dean’s stomach lift up. Then, he jerked the stick back and started climbing. The G’s squished Dean’s body as the G-suit inflated and pressed down on the stomach, thighs and arms. The plane flew back up and appeared behind the enemy formation, which was busy flying around and chasing friendly Cyclones. Dean increased the speed and thundered towards a Prowler. It was cruising horizontally, probably looking for a target. Dean banked left, into the Prowler and adjusted the nose so the pipper appeared over the fuselage. Dean squeezed the trigger and bellowed, “Firing!”

Tracers zinged at the enemy aircraft, arcing due to the ballistic drop. The bullets finally landed on its target. The projectiles slammed into the fuselage as fire spewed out, creating a trail of thick smoke. The Prowler dove down in an uncontrollable spiral. The tailpipe blew off and hurtled into the sky. The Cyclone’s machine guns opened up as tracers flew into the dying Prowler. More explosions tore into it, reducing the plane to smoldering wreckage. It was Dean and Trey’s first kill.

----END OF CHAPTER ONE----

Reply and tell me what you think.

How come humans are flying the planes? In SupCom everyone but the ACU and SCU are robots.

your right but then wheres the mucho important human drama?

It adds more depth into the story. With robots, I might as well write the whole thing in binary. Humans are better, more flexible characters since you can add love, hate, pain, pitty and happiness into the story with humans wheres robots cannot. I hope that clears it up.

short chapter.

----CHAPTER TWO----

Dean maneuvered the plane upward. Bullets flashed by the cockpit, the clattering of machinegun fire intensifying. The Cyclone lurched left; the Prowler banked the opposite side and turned towards Dean and Trey, incoming fast with the nose flashing yellow. Dean dove the plane 20 degrees and passed under the stream of lead. The Cyclone turned again and faced the opponent. They whistled passed each other again, frantically dodging each other’s hail of bullets. It was a technique called the rolling scissors. Each plane kept passing each other, attempting to get on the other bogie’s 6 o’clock. If Dean over flew, the Cyclone could be shattered and sent hurtling thousands of feet downward. After 4 passes, the plane was slowing a little bit. “We’re losing speed.” Trey reported.

Dean nodded and instead of turning back again for another pass, kept flying and went into a screaming dive. “He’s chasing us!” came Trey’s frantic voice. More tracers whizzed past the cockpit, disappearing the dark clouds ahead. Dean made a futile attempt to dash into cloud cover. The plane rattled. Alarms blared, bathing the cockpit a flashing in red light.

“We are losing PC1” Trey shouted over the alarm. PC1 was the wing hydraulics, which enabled maneuvering. With them gone, the plane went inverted and started to dive. More bullets slammed into the crippled aircraft, landing with loud crashes and pounding holes into the wings and thrusters. An explosion ripped the left wing off. The Cyclone dove violently left and plunged into the low clouds and finally tore out the back of the puffy mass. Gray ocean filled the cockpit vision. The altimeter rapidly decreased and flashed, 1200, 900, 500, 200. Dean slammed the eject button and tucked himself in a ball. The window popped open as the hising rockets started up under Dean's seat.


A deafening splash roared as the plane was tossed asunder the swirling torrent of frantic waters. A column of water shot up and then showered back down, splashing onto the sea. Plane parts floated and bobbed up and down with the rolling waves.

----END OF CHAPTER TWO----

Any criticism/ comments?

Then why do the planes have cockpits? Why is a human pilot seen piloting an aircraft in the Cybran Introductory movie?

Anyway, as usual, great story Crusty, this stuff is really great

The plot twists once again.

----CHAPTER THREE----

-SETON-
--1823 HOURS-

Ken Bellchime watched the darkening skies above, the sun peaking through the overcast clouds and starting to sink into the horizon. He heard footsteps by the doorway of his barrack room. Turning, he came face to face with his best buddy, Tim Alders. Ken flashed him a smile and said, ”What’s up?”
“Bad news.” murmured Tim, staring uncomfortably at the floor.
Ken’s smile turned into a shocked expression, “What happened?” asked Ken, his voice sinking.
“Something came in the mail. It’s the KIA report. Take a look at this,” said Tim, thrusting the note into Ken’s hand.

Horrible thoughts raced through his mind. Who could it be? Was it my other friend, Dominick Wilcomb? What about my dad, Dean Bellchime?
Ken eagerly scanned the paper, searching for a last name that started with a W. To his relief, there wasn’t a Wilcomb. Then, his stomach lurched. Ken nervously looked at the top where the Bs were printed. There it was, Belchime. Killed In Action over in Minerva in an escort mission. He was shot down by the Cybran’s leading ace, Korun Findil.

Ken gloomily looked up at Tim’s face, also filled with sorrow. Tim had been a great friend with Ken’s dad as well. They both enjoyed talking about World War II and physics. Ken usually enjoyed talking about mathematics, which no one was terribly interested in. Discarding the list, Ken shook his head and covered his face with his hands. Tim’s footsteps grew quieter as he exited the room. Tears streamed down his face. Ken clenched his hand and punched the wall, grunting with both pain and anger. Why did it have to be like this? He then changed his clothes and rolled in his bottom bunk. Ken reached over and then set the alarm, sobbing quietly. The door swung open while Dominick waltzed in, smiling and laughing about something his wingman had said. Just as he saw Ken, the smile disappeared off of his face, leaving a serious expression. Ken refused to turn and greet him, too sad and furious to want to do anything more then sleeping. A few minutes later the top bunk creaked as Dominick sat on it.
“I heard what had happened.” He said softly.
“I’m alright,” Ken croaked.
“No you’re not,” he said with a nervous chuckling, “And it’s okay. I lost my dad when I was thirteen. I still think about him but at least he’s in my heart. The first night is always the hardest but soon you’ll cope with it and move on. It’s part of life.” Assured Dominick.
All Ken could do was nod and rest his tired head on the tear-soaked pillow, wondering what to do with himself.

Ken didn’t get a wink of sleep. His thoughts were all jumbled up. Ken couldn’t calm down. Every time he tried to think of something else, it reminded him of his dad. Staring at the model airplane on the bureau, he remembered the first time his dad had to leave to join the UEF Airforce and the time he and his dad had built a model airplane. Ken tossed the other way, facing the wall.

-0650 HOURS-

Ken swung his arm around and tapped the off button on the alarm clock, which was buzzing away. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and drowsily staggered to the showers.

After the shower and getting dressed in his flight suit, he reported to Hangar 3B. 23 planes were lined up in there. Through the semi circular windows on the top of the hangar door, early morning sunrays glinted off of the newly polished metal of the Cyclones. Ken and his fellow aviators stood attentively as the flight instructor barked directions. It was going to be an accuracy test. You were to fly at a target balloon and blast it with your cannon. If a hit was confirmed you continued on to the next one. However, if you missed, you had to do it over again. There were eight balloons in all. The pilot with the fastest time got a break while the others strained against the g forces.

The pilots jogged to their airplanes and climbed in via stairway. Once everyone’s ready light was blinking, the hangar doors lifted. Sunlight spilled into the hangar. The engines on the fighter planes growled as they rolled out of the hangar.

Once everyone took to the skies, it was practice time. The planes grounded and then when the green light flashed from the control tower, the Cyclones launched forward. Overlapping machine gun fire reverberated throughout the sky. Balloons collapsed and floated onto the ground. Crews of retrieval squads dragged the broken balloon back inside.

Ken gritted his teeth and slammed the trigger. The balloon swayed in the wind. Bullets streamed around the moving target, which was now getting bigger and bigger. Finally, the balloon hissed loudly and shrunk, the Cyclone thundering past. The Cyclone closed in on the second balloon, which was shredded from long range by a storm of lead. A grin spread across Ken’s face but then turned into a frown, remembering what had happened to Dean.

----END OF CHAPTER THREE----

Hope you enjoyed.[/i]

I am enjoying it very much. This is, in fact, the only "fan-fiction" I've ever bothered to read in its entirety. Easily the best one I've seen, this is not riddled with the clumsy errors, inane plots, and awkward phrasings which invariably plague "fan-fictions."

I did catch a few mistakes. I recommend not relying on Macrocruft Werd to catch them. Rather, use humans to proof-read it. I'm volunteering to do that, if you're interested. Again, very good quality stuff. Are you considering writing professionally?

Well, you can proof-read it if you want. That would be great. Thanks for the heads up. And also, thanks for replying.

I might consider writing professionally but not now as I'm only in 6th grade going into 7th.

If you notice in the Cybran intro, the Cybran commander is flying a plane before he gets into his ACU.

Hokie has already mentioned that.

Snooooooore.

Hate to be so blunt, since I'm a writer myself, but this is not a strong opening. Your first fanfic had an outstanding opening. It got my attention, would not let go, and had a frightening outcome. It was action-packed. This one's got me hitting the back button.

Your other fic was off to a great start. No warming of the engines was done, you just kicked it into overdrive and floored it. This one's not even at the speed limit yet, and thanks to my short attention span, I have lost interest.

The first few words are the most crucial part, and they need to convey a big, active conflict. I'm not seeing conflict here, I'm seeing reflection on an ongoing war we already know about, wordy prose, and talking about the color of the water. The first bits of action didn't happen until the END.

Don't describe the scenery unless it's really that important and furthers the action. Nobody cares what color the water is.

and what about this:



Ballistic Drop? Get that physics lesson out of the action!



Too many passive verbs. It's a good concept, but its delivery needs more punch. Something like this:



Hope you don't mind the thorough critique. I really liked your other story, and even though this one is off to a rocky start, it could definitely be awesome! Fighter pilot stories are some of the best kinds. I hope you continue.

The cockpit could contain optical sencors as there less likely to be damaged then if they were out side. They might also have a seat in the cockpit for rescue missions.


Planes would still be used for transport and last time I checked the pilot was not doing barrel rolls and stuff trying to escape from attackers or a battle.

I strongly disagree, Vid-szhite. Frequent use of descripive words is called "imagery," and is used to very good effect by first class authors such as Poe and Lawhead. It paints a picture and sets the mood. When I read about the "black, murky water" here in this story, I was instantly transported there. I could see the dark stuff slapping against the prow. Here's an example of more effective imagery from Poe's Fall of the House of Usher.

"During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country ... I reined my horse to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down—but with a shudder more thrilling than before—upon the remodelled and inverted images of the grey sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the vacant and eye-like windows."

Krusty, I say leave the story as it is. I only found two or three minor errors which I will send to you in a message now. Well, perhaps Vid-szhite is right about the "ballistic drop" bit; that did feel a bit out-of-place. I especially disagree with Vid-szhite's rewrite of the final paragraph; for one thing, it's clearly another author with a completely different style. For another, I find it to be over-dramatic.

Well it wasn't in a combat situation, so we don't really know if he could pilot it or not. I would assume so, seeing as the craft is totally capable of it, and pilot training wouldn't be too hard. You could have a back up manual system in case the AI failed and the pilot was forced to take over.

Either way, this is still plausible, and many people are enjoying it regardless.

More action I guess.

----CHAPTER FOUR----

Later that day, it was the final test. Those who passed became official pilots for the UEF airforce. “Just the perfect day for my dad to die.” complained Ken, kicking a pebble.
“Just try and forget about it. You need to do well or you won’t pass.” said Dominick.
“Right…” muttered Ken.

The pilots took to the skies. It was a clear evening. The sky was painted orange except for a few smoke trails. Ken popped the hatch and lifted himself inside. Trying to regain his composure, he took a deep breath and tapped the ready button. The test was simple; survive and you will be awarded an aviator’s diploma.

None of the airmen knew what to expect. They all shifted uncomfortably in their cockpit seats. Ken gripped the control stick and readied himself. Nothing about these “tests” appeared what they would be. Just as Ken was about to pull the oxygen mask over his face, something crashed through the hangar ceiling, fire spewing out of the gaping hole as an earth-shaking boom rattled his teeth. The hangar doors scurried away and revealed a formation of bombers escorted by interceptors. Ground forces also rolled towards the airbase. “Crap.” Ken murmured and then launched the plane out of the hangar. Another crash echoed in the hangar, showering a group of planes in a storm of flaming debris. The Cyclone lifted off of the ground and charged into the oncoming swarm.

Ken gritted his teeth and spat out a stream of bullets at a bomber. A Zeus to be exact. The enemy plane wobbled and then plunged into the chaos below, a billowing fire pouring out of the fuselage. Ken banked the Cyclone left and fired on another bomber, the tracers arced into the other bomber and clipped both of the wings, sending the plane hurtling downward. Then, Ken barrel rolled as tracers flashed by his cockpit, each turn bringing a new wave of nausea. Ken abruptly looped and rocketed on the enemies six o’clock. He unleashed a hail of lead, which exploded on the plane’s fuel tank. Hellish tendrils of death reached up towards the merciless heavens. That was three kills so far.

“Help!!” came the desperate voice of Dominick Wilcomb.
Ken whirled his head around and spotted Dominick’s aircraft. Number 253. He swung around and made a mad dash for the interceptor on his friend’s tail. Ken squeezed the trigger. Tracers streamed next to the enemy, who was juking and jiving left and right, making for an impossible target. Ken frantically attempted to follow the enemy fighter. Then, he fired another hot stream of bullets. They missed the enemy airplane but hit something different.

The bullets smashed into a friendly plane, smoke billowing out of it. “Ahh! I’ve been hit! I need assis-” screamed Dominick but then his petrified voice was engulfed in a wave of static. The enemy plane had fired another burst and annihilated Dominick’s Cyclone.

Ken thundered after the enemy plane, the afterburners propelling the airplane at supersonic speeds. His machine gun stuttered and then the airplane’s wings sheared off followed by the tail. The Prowler screamed into a spiral, thick smoke leaving a trail that reeked of death. Ken, however didn’t feel happy at all. He darted for another Prowler and reduced it to a piece of flaming wreckage by the push of a trigger. The Cyclone pulled up and then shook as Ken’s head shot violently back into his seat. Heat warnings blared as the seat began to warm up. Ken made a futile attempt to regain control just as another crash rattled his brain. Ken dove the plane downward to hopefully gain speed. No more bullets clanged against the Cyclone’s titanium hull. The plane pulled up as Ken spotted an enemy plane chasing down another Cyclone. The Prowler started heading in front of Ken. He slammed the trigger as the Prowler thundered in front of him. It caught the deadly hail of bullets and plunged into the low clouds. Ken was about to celebrate again when the plane went into a steep, uncontrollable dive. His stomach lurched while the g-suit strained against his body.

----END OF CHAPTER FOUR----

once again great stuff

Seriously that is some of the best action I've read, and I read quite a few war books

You're really on your way to writing great stories. I love this stuff

I would love to help out in any way possible if I could. So if you need anything just let me know

A+ for effort

B- for writing

criticism... ?

You have a very good grasp of descriptive words, but try more variation. I try to never use the exact same word twice within a paragraph or two, but rather synonyms. For example, you use the words "fire" and "billowed" repeatedly; I recommend replacing some of them with "flame" and "poured" or something. Again, good stuff.

I'm wondering why they are piloting Cyclones and not... the T3 air craft what ever its name is.

You mean the Wasp? And these pilots aren't even out of training school yet, the UEF wouldn't just give away Wasps like that.

Yeah. But thats pretty much saying "Come join the UEF and you get to fly around it crap planes!"

Anyway if they did have humans flying plane they would have specialy made ones of humans. Not the robot ones.

If they were in training school they would probably use simulators or control the planes remotely using a simulator.

It's rant time.

Who gives a flying fudgsicle if the pilots are humans? Too freakin bad. If you don't like that tiny, unimportant aspect then go make your own or leave. It's way too late to change that so it isn't exactly criticism if that's your "argument". So far only 2 people gave constructive criticism. What's up with that? (By the way, I thank those people very much.) Just stop arguing over stupid crap like that.

I don't even have to donate my time into this. I could just say screw it and whip up something half-assed and call it a day or even not do anything at all. Well, I don't because I care. If you don't, then leave. If you do, then you'd be more than welcome to stay. I even cared enough to proof read this rant. (How ironic.) I started this so I can have something to do and practice my writing ability and feel sort of grown up for forty rfive minutes. (If you'd call it an ability.) I think it's fun and healthier brain-wise than melting braincells in front of a television set. Your brain is a muscle. Use it or lose it. Which quite frankly is just what I'm about to do; lose it.

So what if it has some errors. The last fan fic I made had a whole truckload of them. Nobody smart-assedly pointed that out. I also understand if you either proof read or are just trying to help so don't feel like Im hatin on you. What aggravates me is that people will post something just to feel superior. Maybe you feel insecure that a twelve-year old can write better than you. I don't know for sure 'cuz its teh internets.

Oh my god! I added imagery and detail! So what? Once again, "An airplane shot 132 bullets at the other plane. The other plane went boom and blew up. The first airplane won the war. FIN" Is that what you want? I can type that up in a few minutes and then maybe I won't even bother if anyone cares or not. At least I didn't add imagry even though every published novel explains the backdrop every time the character enters a new setting at least a little bit.

Of course it is completely your choice if you want to post in here. That's fine by me, but please contribute to the thread. I hope I cleared all of that bellyaching about non-sensical bits. Also, if you helped the story and thread out but pointed out errors and some of things I outlined in this rant, I'm not targeting you. Let's just PLEASE enjoy the story I have slaved over for hours. I felt this rant was necassary so more kittens aren't killed by anymore stupid posts and petty arguments. (Kidding about the kitten part.)

/end rant/

*sigh* Time for the chapter that I almost didn't even post.

----CHAPTER FIVE----

Ken slammed the eject button and braced himself. He then hurled out of the airplane, the cool air whipping against his oxygen mask. The sound was deafening. A cacophony of explosions rang out followed by the constant rattle of gunfire. Ashes rained from the sky, now orange with embers. Planes thundered by, leaving a jet of smoke in it’s wake. The parachutes activated when he was falling at 500 feet as his chair righted itself and then began to slowly descend. Ken pondered about his dad and Korun Findil. He decided the only way to make things right was to avenge his father’s death. Nothing would stop him. He had nothing to lose, anyway. An opponent with nothing to lose is the most worthy adversary there is. Not even death could stop Ken.

Upon reaching the ground, Ken radioed AWWACS to pick him up. Out of nowhere, an airplane screamed towards the hard dirt and erupted in a fiery explosion, hurtling molten plane parts in all directions. It happened only 30 feet away. Shaken, Ken drew his pistol and aimed it at the wreckage but re-holstered it. It’s not like someone was going to crawl out of it and rip his throat out.

After a few minutes, an armored vehicle rumbled near him, a cloud of dust following it’s bulky, blue frame. Ken waved his arms as the vehicle careened towards him and skidded to a halt, choking Ken with a lungful of sand. He climbed in, hacking and coughing. Thanking the driver, Ken’s vehicle sped away. Once, he arrived at the base, he noticed a wave of silence overshadow the battlefield. It made him uncomfortable. Ken was rushed to the emergency room and checked for injuries. The doctor kept asking questions like, “Did you feel any pain at all when you where floating down?”
Ken simply said either yes or no. After being written off as fit to fight, Ken was sent to the hangar and given another plane, immediately shoving him back into hell.

Ken half-heartedly climbed into another Cyclone, disappointed. He hit the ready button, grumbling and pulled the oxygen mask over his face. The skies seemed clear except for a few dogfights and one swirling fur pile of Prowlers and Cyclones, machine gun tracers flying out and narrowly missing. He decided to dive into a smaller dogfight and help his brother from another mother out. As Ken approached the enemy plane, the identification box around it read, “Korun Findil.”
Ken rubbed nervously his hands together and clutched the control stick with his sweaty palms. The Cyclone banked into the Prowler and unleashed a shower of lead, one bullet rattled the plane a tiny bit but didn’t do much damage. Ken was too shaky to aim correctly but kept trying to remind himself what he had to lose: nothing at all.
Korun rocketed ahead and looped back, spraying bullets at the Cyclone and rapidly closing the distance. Tracers sliced through the evening skies as a burst cut the tip of the left wing. Luckily it didn’t do too much damage as Ken barely missed a fatal head-on-head collision. He whirled around and roared towards Korun, guns ablazing. The salvo only lasted a split second as the Prowler flashed out of view. Ken zipped after him, trying to target the fuselage. The pipper quickly moved over the fuselage but then targeted nothing but sky. “He’s too damn fast,” muttered Ken as he went inverted and dived after the enemy bogy.

The machine gun rattled over the thunder of the engine as bullets zipped towards Korun, all missing by a long shot as he expertly weaved back and forth and then just as fast as the barrage tore through the sky near him, he disappeared. Ken slammed his cramped fist next to the mini computer. “How is it even marginally possible to catch this bastard?!” complained Ken through the headset.
“He is the Cybran’s leading ace; what do you expect?” replied a ground operator.
“I know but what are his usual strategies?” asked Ken.
A pause followed as Ken frantically dodged another stream of tracers from the Prowler His right wing was clipped a little bit by a lucky shot, sparks spouted from the pockmark.
“We don’t know. Nobody has ever survived a fight with him so not many people know his fighting style.” came the calm answer.
“Oh right, very helpful. ‘Nobody has ever survived a fight with him.’ Really encouraging,” snapped Ken, rolling his eyes.
“Sorry. Just giving the facts.”
He shook his head and killed the radio transmition. That wasn’t very helpful.

Ken gunned the throttle and zoomed towards Korun who was banking right. A stream of bullets followed the aircraft and shattered the cockpit. Flames poured out of the body, sending tattered plane pieces hurtling at the ground. Whatever was left of the Korun steeply spiraled downward.

A faint transmition came from the enemy pilot, “Hey, Ken. I wanted you to know something. My real name is Dan. Dan Bellchime. Goodbye, Ken. I hope you become very successful, just like your father, I love you,” came his weak voice. The transmition ended as the airplane dived into a layer of clouds. A final explosion echoed throughout the heavens and smashed Ken’s soul in one fell blow.

----END OF CHAPTER FIVE----

EDIT* *smacks forhead a thousand times*

First, I changed it from Dan to Dean, then I swiched it back, formulating a whole new storyline twist. Sorry! His official name is DAN
I also made a post saying "oops it's dean" and then deleted it.
Sorry for the confusion.

The plot thickens!!! Can't wait to find out who the mysterious Dan Bellchime is...and how he relates to Ken.