The Wall

The dimly lit chamber was heavy with anticipation as SABER-1 stood near the iron door leading to the surface. His towering figure, still streaked with grime and Extractant ichor, loomed over the gathered crowd. Civilians huddled together, their eyes darting nervously between him and the nuns.

Sister Marianne stood a few feet away, her composure steady despite the tension radiating from the group. She clasped her hands tightly, the faint tremor in her fingers betraying her otherwise calm exterior.

SABER-1 turned his visor toward her, the faint glow casting her face in an unsettling light. His voice broke the silence, deep and direct, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere like a blade.

"Do you have your sixty people chosen?" he asked. "They need to be ready to move when the time comes."

Sister Marianne hesitated for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. The question wasn't unexpected, but hearing it spoken aloud made the gravity of their situation all too real. She glanced toward the crowd, the faces of frightened men, women, and children staring back at her.

"We've… started the process," she replied, her voice measured but soft. "There's still some discussion. Many are willing to step aside for the children and the elderly."

SABER-1's visor tilted slightly, his silence urging her to continue.

"We've made progress," she assured him, her tone firming. "But it's not final. It's not an easy choice—"

"It's not a choice," he interrupted, his voice unyielding. "It's survival. Sixty people. Ready. When I give the word."

The bluntness of his words caused a ripple of murmurs among the civilians. Sister Marianne raised her hands, motioning for quiet, then turned back to him.

"I understand," she said carefully. "But please, understand this is a community. These decisions weigh heavily on them, on all of us. They're terrified, and they need time to—"

"They don't have time," SABER-1 said, cutting her off again. His voice carried no anger, just an unshakable finality. "Neither do I. The longer we delay, the slimmer the chances of anyone leaving alive."

Sister Marianne swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of her habit. She glanced back at the crowd, their fearful eyes fixed on her. The weight of their lives pressed heavily on her shoulders.

"I'll make sure they're ready," she said finally, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside her.

SABER-1 gave a single, slow nod. He turned his gaze back toward the iron door, the faint sound of Extractant movement above barely audible through the thick steel.

"When I call for the move," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, "there will be no hesitation. I'll get you out, but only if everyone does exactly as I say."

He paused, his visor tilting toward her again. "Understood?"

"Understood," Sister Marianne replied, her resolve firming as she met his glowing visor.

Satisfied, SABER-1 stepped away from her, moving toward the stairs with the deliberate, unyielding stride of someone who bore the weight of countless lives on his shoulders—and had no intention of letting that weight crush him.

Behind him, Sister Marianne turned to face the crowd, her voice rising above the anxious murmurs.

"We have our orders. Sixty people. Ready to move at a moment's notice. Please, if you haven't stepped forward yet, do so now. This isn't about fairness—it's about survival."

As she spoke, SABER-1 disappeared into the shadows of the stairwell, his hulking frame vanishing like a ghost. But his presence lingered, a heavy reminder of the stakes they all faced.

The iron door loomed behind SABER-1, its battered surface a silent witness to the chaos above. He stood motionless, a sentinel in the dimly lit stairwell, his armor battered and streaked with the viscous ichor of the Extractants he had slaughtered. The glow from his visor cut through the darkness, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

His hands rested on his MK99, which hung loosely at his side, its barrel scorched from continuous fire. His stance was relaxed, but there was an unmistakable readiness in his stillness—a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Through the comms, the control room crackled faintly with background chatter. The analysts and officers whispered nervously, the tension of the operation hanging thick in the air.

"Any word from Icarus?" came the Colonel's gruff voice, cutting through the noise.

"Not yet, sir," replied one of the analysts. "But we're monitoring her approach. She should be signaling soon."

As the feed from the overhead drone shifted, one of the analysts paused, their fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Wait… zoom out. Something's… something's not right."

The drone's camera pulled back, its lens widening to reveal the battlefield surrounding the Cathedral. At first, it was chaos as expected—debris, flames, and the twisted remains of Extractants littered the ground. But as the drone zoomed out further, the scene took on a grotesque and sickening order.

"Oh… my God," someone whispered, their voice trembling.

The control room fell into a stunned silence as the full picture came into view.

Walls.

SABER-1 hadn't just fought off the endless waves of Extractants. He had repurposed their corpses into makeshift barriers. Twisted limbs and carapaces had been stacked with horrifying precision, forming grotesque barricades that funneled any advancing Extractants into narrow kill zones. The bodies were intertwined, their grotesque forms locked together in death. Some still twitched faintly, a grim reminder of their recent demise.

The walls stretched in a jagged path, leading directly to the iron door. They were uneven and crude, but they served their purpose.

"It's… a pathway," the analyst stammered, their face pale as they struggled to process the sight.

The camera zoomed in on one particularly horrific section. A large Extractant, its bloated body half-destroyed, was wedged at the base of the wall, its mouth frozen in a silent scream. Smaller creatures dangled from its spines, their bodies limp but their jaws still snapping reflexively.

The Colonel, a man who had seen more horrors than most, raised a hand to his mouth, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screen. "That's… sickening."

"It's brilliant," someone murmured, though their voice carried no admiration—only a horrified acknowledgment of SABER-1's tactical ingenuity.

The feed shifted back to SABER-1, who stood unmoving before the iron door, completely unaffected by the macabre scene he had created. To him, it was a means to an end, nothing more.

The crackle of comms broke the tense silence surrounding SABER-1 as he stood before the iron door, the muted hum of Extractants still audible above. The familiar voice of Icarus came through, tinged with a controlled urgency.

"Eight minutes out, Elfy. Prep for dust-off," she said, her tone professional but carrying a faint warmth that only he could detect.

SABER-1 tilted his helmet slightly, his visor glowing faintly in the dim stairwell. "Acknowledged," he replied curtly, his voice calm and steady.

Without missing a beat, his fingers moved across the control panel on his forearm, inputting commands.

"Authorization: SABER-1. Deploy pods six, seven, and eight to coordinates Alpha-Tango-3, Delta-November-5, and Sierra-Charlie-2," he said into the comms.

The control room back in Nautica was momentarily thrown off. Analysts scrambled to pinpoint the coordinates, their screens lighting up with new trajectories.

"Sir, those pods don't contain ammo," one analyst remarked, confusion evident in their voice.

The Colonel raised a hand to quiet the murmurs. "Wait. Let's see."

The drone feed shifted, locking onto the first pod as it streaked through the air. Its trajectory was precise, cutting through the smoky battlefield like a fiery arrow.

Alpha-Tango-3: The pod slammed into a crumbling high-rise, its impact sending a shockwave that splintered windows and cracked walls. For a moment, the structure groaned but remained standing. Then the incendiary device activated, a fiery explosion blooming outward like a deadly flower. The building collapsed inward, the flames spreading through its skeleton, reducing it to a smoldering heap of rubble.

Delta-November-5: The second pod struck a derelict industrial plant, its towering smokestacks already leaning precariously. The explosion ignited old fuel reserves, sending a fireball shooting into the sky. The ground trembled as the plant crumbled, its rusted framework collapsing into a fiery inferno that consumed everything around it.

Sierra-Charlie-2: The final pod smashed into a massive Extractant nest nestled inside a sprawling shopping complex. The structure shuddered under the impact, and moments later, flames erupted from every window as the incendiary charge detonated. Extractants that had been massing there screeched as they were incinerated, the firelight painting the smoke-blackened sky in hues of orange and red.

The control room erupted into murmurs.

"None of those pods had ammunition," one analyst said, wide-eyed. "They were—he's clearing the path."

"Damn right he is," the Colonel muttered, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Just as the flames from the last explosion reached their peak, SABER-1's voice came through the comms again, this time directed at the people in the underground chamber.

"Move."

The iron door groaned as he swung it open with one powerful motion, revealing his massive form to the civilians huddled below. Gasps filled the chamber as he pointed toward the now-cleared path, his glowing visor fixed on the crowd.

"Follow the path. Do not stop. Head toward the clearing," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

Sister Marianne quickly rallied the people, her voice steady as she repeated his instructions. The civilians began to move, their steps hurried but careful as they made their way up the stairs and into the smoky battlefield above.

Outside, Icarus's Thunderbird roared into view, its sleek, battle-worn frame swiveling expertly as it hovered over the extraction point. The newly reinforced armor gleamed in the firelight, the ship's engines kicking up dust and debris as it prepared to land.

Inside the cockpit, Icarus's hands flew over the controls, her voice steady as she hailed SABER-1 again.

"Landing now, Elfy. Get your people ready to board," she said, her voice a mix of determination and anticipation.

After the sixtieth person made their way out he closed the door.

SABER-1 stood near the Cathedral's iron door, his armored bulk towering like an immovable sentinel. He raised his hand to his forearm-mounted console, opening a channel to the remaining units. His voice cut through the static, calm and steady despite the tension pressing in from all sides.

"56th, 140th, 9th. Status update. New ETA?"

The silence that followed was heavier than the rumble of distant explosions. The control roomwent quiet, all eyes fixed on the comm feed as the seconds stretched into what felt like minutes.

Finally, the voice of Captain Marek from the 56th Tank Battalion broke through, his tone grim and heavy with regret.

"56th reporting. Extraction efforts delayed further. Estimated… one and half hours, minimum."

SABER-1 didn't flinch. His visor remained fixed on the horizon, scanning the far-off Extractant horde.

"140th, 9th," he prompted, his tone as even as ever.

A strained voice—Commander Harlow of the 9th Infantry Division—answered next, her words barely audible over the sound of distant gunfire.

"This is the 9th… I don't think we're going to make it, SABER-1. Heavy resistance. Estimated time… three hours, if we make it at all."

Another beat of silence, and then Major Lutz of the 140th came through, his voice low, as though he hated what he was about to say.

"140th confirming same. three hours… maybe more. The Mammoth's are slow and protecting them is taking more effort than initially thought."

The control room personnel exchanged horrified glances, their expressions reflecting the stark reality of the situation.

SABER-1's response, however, betrayed nothing. His voice remained as calm as it had been when he first hailed them.

"Understood."

He closed the channel without another word and turned his gaze back toward the path of fire and destruction he had created. For him, there was no time to dwell on the bleakness of their answer. He still had a job to do, and there were lives depending on him to do it.

Behind him, the first of the civilians began climbing aboard Icarus's Thunderbird, their fear temporarily replaced by the glimmer of hope as they looked up at the towering soldier who had made their escape possible.