Two Peas

The battered remnants of the 158th Armored Walker Unit rumbled into the ravaged city square, their mechanical titans stomping through the ash and debris-strewn streets. Smoke curled into the air, faint embers glowing like distant stars. The sound of their hydraulics hissed and groaned, a stark contrast to the eerie silence left in SABER-1's wake.

There he stood, in the shadows of the ruined Central Bank, his massive frame a grim sentinel amidst the chaos. The once-pristine olive green of his armor was now scorched and battered, streaked with ichor, ash, and grime. His MK99 rested in his grip, its barrel still faintly glowing from the relentless onslaught it had delivered.

Behind him, the iron vault door stood open, and a group of roughly thirty civilians began cautiously filing out. Their faces bore the hollowed expressions of people who had been on the brink of despair, now blinking against the light as they tried to process their sudden reprieve. Children clung to their parents, and elderly individuals were supported by the younger ones as they shuffled forward.

The commander of the 158th, Captain Jorran Vayle, dismounted from his walker, his boots crunching against the rubble-strewn ground. He approached cautiously, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders. This wasn't just any soldier standing before him—it was SABER-1. A legend. A monster. A living nightmare to the Extractants.

"SABER-1," Vayle called out, his voice firm but respectful. "We didn't expect to find you here."

SABER-1 didn't turn immediately, his glowing visor fixed on the civilians as they were escorted toward the 158th's walkers for transport. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and unyielding, carrying an air of command that brooked no argument. "Your breach was fortunate. Extractants from the north diverted to protect their hives in the northwest. You punched through because they viewed me as the greater threat."

Vayle shifted uneasily, glancing at the scorched remains of Extractants littering the streets. "Looks like they weren't wrong," he muttered under his breath.

SABER-1 turned his helmeted head slightly, his imposing frame looming over Vayle. "The civilians are yours now. Get them out."

"Understood," Vayle replied, motioning to his men. The walkers crouched low, their transport bays opening to receive the survivors. Soldiers moved quickly, guiding the civilians to safety.

As the operation unfolded, Vayle turned back to SABER-1. "How long have you been holding this position?"

"Two days," came the curt reply. "Five orbital resupplies. No more will come. I've switched to fast-response Raptors for ammunition and supplies."

Vayle's face tightened as he processed the enormity of the situation. He had heard the whispers from the control room, the murmurings of disbelief at the sheer scale of SABER-1's relentless combat. And now, standing here in the aftermath, he understood why. This wasn't a soldier. This was a machine of war.

In the control room, the feeds flickered, showing live footage of SABER-1 moving through the ruins with a single-minded purpose. The air was heavy with tension as analysts, officers, and strategists stared at the screens in silence, their horror evident.

A young analyst broke the quiet, her voice trembling as she spoke. "He's… he's not human anymore, is he? Look at the way he moves. The way he fights. He's… something else."

The Colonel leaned against the console, his face grim. "He's what we needed. And what we'll never understand." To the others in the room, SABER-1 was a terrifying symbol of what humanity could become when pushed to its limits.

But to Icarus, who sat excitedly in her cockpit, her hands clenched tightly on the armrests of her chair, he was something else entirely.

She whispered to herself, not wanting him to her gushing, her heart racing as she watched the live feed of him dispatching another wave of Extractants with brutal efficiency. "What a FUCKING legend."

SABER-1 turned back toward the Captain. "Hold this position. Reinforce it if necessary. Secure the civilians. I'm moving north."

Vayle hesitated for a moment, then saluted. "Good hunting, SABER-1."

SABER-1 didn't respond, already turning toward the smoke-laden horizon, his MK99 resting against his shoulder. The hum of a Raptor roared overhead, dropping another box of supplies onto the ground. The impact kicked up a cloud of dust, and SABER-1 immediately began restocking.

As he disappeared into the ruins, the civilians were loaded into the walkers, and the sound of their transport engines rumbled to life. The 158th soldiers watched him go, awe and fear mingling in their expressions.

From her seat, Icarus leaned forward, her voice barely audible but filled with pride and excitement her hand reaching out and her fingers only grasping air. "Living up to the name. Always."

A week had passed, and the soft crackle of comms had become as familiar to SABER-1 as the hum of his own armor. The battlefield shifted daily, yet one constant remained: Icarus. Her voice, sometimes lighthearted, sometimes laced with worry, always accompanied him, a lifeline in the relentless storm of war.

As he reloaded his MK99, the soft clink of rounds sliding into the chamber broke the silence. He tilted his head slightly, speaking into the comms. "Icarus."

"Mm?" she replied, her tone chipper despite the exhaustion she must have been feeling. "What's up, Elfy?"

"How long do you intend to stay connected?" His voice was steady, yet there was an undertone of concern. "You've been running this link for seven days. Long-term exposure is unsustainable. You've got to be suffering."

Her laughter crackled through the comms, light and dismissive. "Suffering? Please. You act like this is my first rodeo." She paused for a moment, then added, "I've got nutrient packs for food and hydration, the Thunderbird's got a built-in toilet, and I can nap when you take your 'breaks,' not that you take many of those."

He didn't respond immediately, the faint sound of another magazine being loaded filling the gap. When he did speak, his tone was quieter, almost softer. "This isn't sustainable for you, Icarus."

She leaned back in her pilot's chair, gazing at the dimmed cockpit around her. "Elfy, I told you before—I'm not disconnecting. Not now. Not ever." Her voice carried a rare edge of emotion. "Someone has to watch your back, even if it's just from the sky. You think I can just sit here and turn my feed off while you're down there fighting?"

SABER-1 stopped mid-motion, his armored hand resting against the side of his helmet. "Icarus…"

"Nope," she interrupted, cutting him off before he could argue. "Not happening. You can shoot down entire hives of Extractants, but you're not getting rid of me. Deal with it."

The faintest sigh came from his end, but he didn't push further. Instead, he adjusted his grip on his weapon and started moving again, his heavy boots crunching against rubble. "You're stubborn."

"Damn right I am," she shot back, her grin evident even through the comms. "Besides, you'd miss me if I disconnected. Admit it."

He didn't answer, his silence carrying its own weight. Icarus chuckled, filling the quiet with her teasing voice. "Thought so. Face it, Elfy, you're stuck with me. And hey, when this mission's done, I'll even let you buy me a drink. You know, as thanks for all the emotional support."

"Noted," he replied, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

She settled back into her seat, watching the live feed of his helmet's HUD as he moved through the ruins. Her hand rested lightly on the console, her expression softening. "You're not alone out there, Elfy," she said quietly, more to herself than to him. "And as long as I'm here, you never will be."

For a moment, the battlefield seemed a little less cold.

The rhythmic crunch of SABER-1's boots echoed through the desolate streets, his HUD a whirlwind of activity as he scanned for threats. Amid the tactical overlays and heat signatures, a smaller set of data flickered persistently in the corner of his view—Icarus's vitals.

"Disconnect for three days," he said abruptly, his voice calm but laced with authority.

Her response was immediate, a scoff that crackled through the comms. "Yeah, right. Nice try, Elfy. I'm not falling for one of your tricks to ditch me."

A soft "Hmm" escaped him, barely audible, as he slowed his pace to study the feed. Her vitals told a concerning story. Her hydration levels, normally stable, were steadily declining. Her cognitive function, represented by a fluctuating neural activity line, showed irregular spikes—classic signs of exhaustion. And her nutrient levels, depicted as a color-coded bar, had dipped into the yellow, skirting dangerously close to red.

"I'm serious," he replied, his tone as unyielding as the armor he wore. "If you're not in your best shape, it could cause the next operation to fail."

The words hit her like a slap. "Cause a mission to fail?" she repeated, her voice a mixture of indignation and uncertainty. "You're just saying that to get me to log off."

He didn't respond immediately, letting the silence carry the weight of his statement. On her end, Icarus leaned forward, her helmet still snug as she stared at the shared HUD feed. Her vision blurred slightly, the fatigue she'd been stubbornly ignoring now impossible to brush off. Her thoughts struggled to form, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head.

"I'm fine," she said, though the sluggishness in her voice betrayed her. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Elfy."

He stopped walking, his massive frame silhouetted against the smoldering horizon. "If I thought you were fine, I wouldn't ask," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The words made her stomach churn. She hated the idea of letting him down, of being the weak link in the chain. But even as she clung to her pride, her body betrayed her. As she leaned forward to reach for the console, her balance wavered, and she nearly tumbled from her seat. Catching herself just in time, she let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fine," she muttered, her voice tinged with reluctant defeat. "I'll log off. But it's not because you told me to. It's because I decided it was time to rest up. Can't have your next mission falling apart without my A1-level piloting skills, after all."

Through the static of the comms, she could feel his amusement even if his tone didn't betray it. "That's a fact."

Despite herself, she grinned weakly. "Damn right it is," she said, her voice softening.

With a final glance at the HUD feed, she tapped the console to disconnect. The link severed, and the cockpit went silent. Slowly, she removed her helmet and wobbled to her feet, the world tilting slightly as exhaustion hit her full force. Gripping the edge of the console for support, she made her way toward the medical bay, her steps unsteady.

"I'll be back, Elfy," she muttered to herself as she walked. "And when I am, you'd better be ready."