**A Jet’s Legacy**

Prompt: Overwatch fanfiction tracer speaks to raf higher ups about the discontinuation of the harrier jump jet saying it was the jet she first flew when she joined the raf and the one she’s flown ever since

“In the blink of an eye, what’s gone is gone, and you’re left with memories.” That’s what Tracer often thought as she sat in the conference room of the Royal Air Force headquarters, staring down the brass and high-ranking officers who held the fate of her beloved Harrier jump jet in their hands. The walls seemed to echo the past—filled with honor, bravery, and the bittersweet aroma of nostalgia. Yet, the flickering lights and sterile design leaked a dullness she wished she could invigorate with her signature energy. The decision had already been made to transition away from the Harrier in favor of more modern aircraft. Still, she had fought her way into this meeting because she couldn’t let go of the jet that had cradled her through her first leaps into the world of aerial combat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Tracer began, her voice steady but laced with an unusual strain of vulnerability. “I know you’ve all made the decision to retire the Harrier jump jets, and I respect your experience, but I’d like to share why this matters—not just to me, but to all those who trained in them, who fought alongside them.” She took a breath and met their eyes, one by one. In the back of her mind, she felt the fluttering warmth of her signature ability as she considered her own start in the RAF. The Harrier had been her first assignment, the aircraft that had transformed her from a spirited recruit into a confident pilot. “I was one of the newest pilots, terrified yet exhilarated with my feet dangling over the slick cockpit. The Harrier was not just my aircraft; it was my partner in the air. Every maneuver I learned, every formation drill we completed—it was all aboard that majestic machine.” Several of the officers exchanged glances. The familiar faces of the commanding officers gradually softened as Tracer continued. “I flew that jet in training, I flew that jet in air shows to inspire future recruits… and I flew it when my heart was pounding and the stakes were high in combat situations. The way it danced in the air… the way it responded to every twitch of my fingers on the controls! It was like an extension of myself.” General Harris, a stoic officer with time-weathered features, leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her intently. “And we appreciate your passion, Tracer. But the nature of warfare is changing. We need to invest in technology that will give us an edge in tomorrow’s battles.” Tracer nodded, understanding the logic but feeling her heart sink. “But the Harrier’s legacy isn’t just about being technologically advanced. It’s about the camaraderie it created, the pilots it has inspired for generations. It carries our traditions. Each jet is etched with stories of sacrifice and honor, and it is our duty to preserve that heritage.” A rustle of papers disrupted the tension in the room as another officer, Colonel Beasley, chimed in, “You’re speaking about sentiment, Tracer. We need to be practical. The Harrier was a great jet. It served its purpose. But it’s time to move on—or lose our competitive edge.” “Surely we can’t throw away our history like that!” Tracer replied, her voice rising. “What about the pilots who learned through the Harrier? What about the lessons we learned during its glorious years? They matter! We’re not just puppets flying around; we’re artists, storytellers!” “What do you propose, then?” General Harris countered, not dismissively, but skeptically. She had anticipated questions but felt the resolve harden within her. “There must be a way to keep the Harrier in some capacity! Perhaps an exhibit? A dedicated squadron, even in a ceremonial role? We could use these jets to inspire the next generation of pilots, to show them what it means to fly with heart! It could be part of our training curriculum, instilling values of loyalty and determination.” The room fell silent, and she could feel their initial resistance shimmering away like heat vapor in an empty desert. “Imagine young pilots standing in front of one of these marvels, hearing its stories, seeing veterans demonstrate how it was handled in all terrains, and perhaps even flying it in an aeronautical display.” General Harris rubbed his chin contemplatively, his brow furrowing in thought while others murmured amongst themselves. “And it would allow former Harrier pilots to continue contributing to the RAF in a different capacity…” he mused, eyes glinting with newfound inspiration. “Yes! Exactly!” Tracer beamed, the energy pulsating through her as she saw cracks in their granite facades. “This could totally be a win-win! Reviving our history while promoting the next generation of aviation leaders.” Colonel Beasley seemed contemplative, leaning forward. “We’d need a plan, a strategy to maintain these. The budget is tight, you know.” Tracer’s mind raced. “We could involve the community! Set up events, aerial displays, allow students and recruits to meet with veterans who flew them. Crowdfund restoration efforts. Just imagine the engagement! Media coverage, community support! We could breathe new life into the spirit of the Harrier!” General Harris and Colonel Beasley shared a glance, then nodded almost imperceptibly. “Alright, Tracer. We’ll take your ideas into consideration,” the General said. “This is a crucial time for us; we can’t overlook the heart of our history.” As she left the conference room, Tracer allowed herself a moment of celebration. Perhaps they hadn’t reached an immediate decision, but the door had opened just a crack. And sometimes that was all it took to succeed—to ensure that a beloved passion continued to soar, even within the engines of change.