The Line

The control room was silent, the earlier chaos and tension swallowed whole by a collective state of shock. All eyes were glued to the central screen, where the feed from a newly-arrived recon drone flickered into clarity.

At first, the image was obscured by smoke and debris, the battlefield around SABER-1 a hellscape of twisted bodies and scorched earth. Then, the drone's camera adjusted, zooming in on the epicenter of the carnage.

There he was.

SABER-1.

He stood motionless, his massive frame towering before an imposing iron door. His armor, olive-green but stained dark with blood, ichor, and grime, reflected the faint glow of fires burning around him. He looked less like a man and more like a sentry, immovable and unyielding, a guardian holding his ground against the tide of hell.

The drone's feed panned downward, and a collective gasp rippled through the room. Around him was a semi-circle of Extractant bodies, piled high like a grotesque barrier of flesh and bone. Their twisted forms lay haphazardly, legs buckling under them as if they had been struck down mid-charge. The pile wasn't just gruesome—it was unnatural, a testament to the precision with which SABER-1 had dispatched them.

And the bodies were still piling.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sharp, rhythmic shots of his MK99 echoed through the feed, each one accompanied by the mechanical hiss of his weapon reloading. Every pull of the trigger was deliberate, his aim unfaltering as Extractants lunged toward him.

Each shot hit its mark.

A creature leaped forward, its grotesque limbs outstretched—and crumpled mid-air, collapsing into the pile with a sickening thud. Another surged from the left, its claws scraping the ground in a desperate sprint—only to drop as a round slammed through its skull. One after another, they fell.

"He's… not moving," someone whispered, breaking the stunned silence.

The Colonel's gaze remained fixed on the screen, his expression unreadable. "He doesn't need to," he said quietly.

"Look at the pile," another voice added, trembling. "It's… it's as if he's building a wall out of them."

The drone's camera zoomed out slightly, capturing the full scope of the battlefield. The Extractants came in waves, dozens at a time, yet none could breach the semi-circle of death surrounding SABER-1. His stance didn't waver, his shots precise and methodical, as if he were a machine designed solely for this purpose.

"It's like he's waiting for something," one analyst muttered.

"Or protecting something," another added, their voice heavy with awe.

The Colonel's gaze remained fixed on the screen, his expression unreadable. The room around him, however, was alive with murmurs of disbelief and shock.

"How many is that?"

"Hundreds… no, thousands by now. Look at that pile. It's—God, it's taller than him!"

"How can he still be standing? How is this even possible?"

Icarus sat frozen in her chair, her fists clenched tightly on the armrests. Her eyes burned as they stayed locked on the screen, a storm of emotions swirling within her. Pride. Fear. Frustration. The sight before her was a reminder of why he was humanity's beacon of hope —and why she hated how much he embodied it.

The feed flickered slightly as the drone adjusted its angle, revealing the sheer scale of the carnage. The semi-circle of Extractant bodies stretched outward like a grim monument, their lifeless forms piled so high that the fresh waves of attackers had to clamber over their own dead to reach him. Yet still, they couldn't touch him.

"He's not even flinching," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's like… it's like nothing can touch him."

On the feed, another wave of Extractants surged forward, their guttural screeches filling the air. SABER-1 didn't move.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Three more fell.

SABER-1 stood firm, his shots ringing out with unyielding consistency, each one a death sentence. He was a sentinel guarding the door, the last line of defense between the Extractants and whatever lay behind that iron barrier. The pile of bodies grew higher, teetering as if it might collapse under its own weight, yet the Extractants kept coming, and SABER-1 kept firing.

The room was heavy with silence, the earlier doubts and debates replaced by a collective sense of awe—and something darker.

"What is he doing?" someone finally asked, their voice barely above a whisper.

The Colonel straightened, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. "Exactly what we expected him to do," he said, his tone grim. "Holding the line."

But even he couldn't deny the chilling weight of what they were witnessing.

SABER-1 wasn't just holding the line. He was the line. 

They all watched, transfixed, as SABER-1 continued his methodical slaughter. His movements never faltered, never quickened. Every Extractant that fell added to the grotesque wall of bodies, the pile threatening to block out the sky itself.

And still, he stood. Silent. Unyielding. Unstoppable.

The control room buzzed with hushed whispers and nervous anticipation as the live feed from the drone captured SABER-1 raising a hand to his comm device. His deep, metallic voice cut through the static, the clarity of his words sending chills through the personnel watching.

"Resupply pod. Coordinates locked. Authorization: Priority One. Package Beta-7."

The request was chilling in its simplicity, yet those who knew what "Package Beta-7" entailed felt their stomachs drop. The feed showed him standing firm, motionless, as if daring the horde of Extractants to reach him before reinforcements arrived. The camera panned slightly upward, catching the streak of light in the distant sky—the incoming resupply pod.

"It's an incendiary bomb," an analyst whispered, leaning toward their console. "That's what Beta-7 is. It's designed to clear an area of all hostile presence upon impact."

A nervous silence spread across the room. They all understood the destructive force of the incendiary payload. It was not just fire; it was a concentrated inferno, meant to incinerate everything in its radius.

"Will he move?" someone asked, breaking the tension.

The Colonel didn't answer. His eyes remained locked on the screen.

The pod descended faster, its trail of fire a stark contrast against the smoke and ash-choked sky. As it neared the ground, the Extractants seemed to sense the impending danger. They scattered briefly, their guttural screeches echoing across the battlefield.

And yet, SABER-1 didn't move.

He simply turned away, his back to the incoming pod, his massive form casting a long shadow over the carnage at his feet. The control room collectively held its breath.

The pod hit the ground.

For a split second, there was silence.

Then the world erupted.

The pod detonated on impact, releasing a massive incendiary burst that rolled outward in a blistering wave of flame and heat. The fire roared with terrifying intensity, consuming the Extractants caught within its radius. Their shrieks turned into haunting gurgles as they were incinerated, their twisted forms reduced to ash in seconds.

From the control room, the scene was apocalyptic. The camera feed distorted briefly from the sheer brightness of the explosion, the screen flashing white before stabilizing. When the image returned, flames still licked at the edges of the battlefield, casting everything in an eerie orange glow.

But the most unnerving sight was SABER-1.

He stood at the epicenter of the blast, his armor glowing faintly from the heat, tendrils of flame clinging to its surface before sputtering out. He hadn't dodged. He hadn't flinched. He had simply endured.

Gasps filled the room as they watched him turn, the orange and gold reflections of the fire dancing across his visor. For a moment, he was still, an unmovable silhouette amidst the destruction.

And then he moved.

Walking through the smoldering remains of the battlefield, he approached the now-open resupply pod. Inside, fresh ammunition, grenades, and additional equipment gleamed under the harsh light of the flames. His movements were methodical as he reloaded his MK99, slotting fresh magazines into place with precision born of endless repetition.

As if on cue, the Extractants returned.

The drone's feed captured their renewed assault—twisted, scorched bodies charging forward with reckless abandon, their numbers replenished almost as quickly as they had been decimated.

And SABER-1, without hesitation, resumed.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The rhythmic roar of his weapon echoed once more, each shot carving through the chaos with brutal efficiency. It was as if nothing had changed, as if the inferno that had just consumed the battlefield was a mere inconvenience.

In the control room, the tension was palpable. The scene on the screen defied reason, defied logic.

"How… how does he just walk through that?" someone finally asked, their voice barely above a whisper.

Icarus, seated near the edge of the room, didn't answer. Her hands trembled slightly as she watched the man she knew—the man she thought she knew—stand alone, unyielding, in the face of annihilation.

And as the Extractants surged forward again, meeting the same unrelenting fate at the hands of SABER-1, one thought echoed through the minds of everyone in the room:

What kind of being can endure this?

The underground chamber was filled with an uneasy tension, the murmurs of fear and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. The nuns moved among the crowd, their soft voices and calming hands doing their best to reassure the terrified civilians.

"Stay strong," Sister Marianne said gently, placing a hand on the shoulder of an older man clutching a makeshift cane. "We don't know who it is, but someone is up there, fighting for us. Rescue will come. We'll be leaving soon."

"But you've been saying that for hours!" a younger man snapped, his voice cracking with a mix of fear and desperation. "What if they never come? What if—"

"They will come," another nun interrupted, her voice firm yet compassionate. "Whoever it is up there has held the monsters at bay this long. That means something. It means hope."

"Hope doesn't feed my children!" a woman cried, clutching two small, trembling boys to her chest. "What if they break through those doors? What then?"

The nuns exchanged weary glances but kept their composure. Their roles demanded strength, even when they felt it slipping away themselves.

Sister Lydia, still shaken from her brief encounter above, knelt near a cluster of frightened families. "Whoever it is," she said, her voice quieter but filled with conviction, "they're not just holding the line—they're protecting us. You didn't see what I saw… but I'm telling you, they're not human. They're something more."

Her words silenced the immediate murmurs, a strange calm settling over the group. For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed like her confidence had taken root. The chamber was still, the civilians breathing shallow but steady as they clung to the hope offered by the nuns.

Then, the world shifted.

At first, it was faint—a rumble that barely registered, like distant thunder. But it grew steadily, the ground trembling beneath their feet. The iron doors at the top of the staircase groaned in protest, the vibrations traveling through the stone walls.

"What's happening?" someone cried, clutching a loved one.

Before anyone could answer, a muffled boom reverberated above them. The sound was deep, resonant, and strangely unnatural, a force that seemed to press against their very souls.

Screams filled the air as chunks of stone dislodged and fell to the ground, the iron doors rattling violently on their hinges. The nuns did their best to shield the civilians, pulling them into protective huddles and whispering frantic prayers.

Then came the heat.

Even through the thick stone walls, the temperature in the chamber spiked. A faint but acrid scent seeped through the cracks in the doors, a mixture of scorched earth and something metallic. The civilians covered their mouths and noses, their panic threatening to surge again.

The nuns rushed to calm them, their words of reassurance trembling on their lips. But none of them could ignore what they felt deep in their bones: this was no ordinary explosion.

The ground rocked again, harder this time, sending some people stumbling to their knees. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, and a low, almost otherworldly roar echoed through the chamber.

"It's… it's like the heavens just fell," an elderly woman whispered, clutching her rosary.

The nuns exchanged fearful glances. They had calmed the group as best they could, but even their faith wavered in the face of the unknown fury above them.