Welcome Back

The streets were eerily quiet, the stillness broken only by the sound of SABER-1's heavy boots crunching against the rubble-strewn pavement. His MK99 was raised, the barrel scanning left and right with methodical precision. Shadows shifted unnaturally in the half-light, Extractants skittering just out of sight, but he was unmoved.

A guttural snarl erupted from his left. Without hesitation, he pivoted and fired, the 50-caliber round slamming into an Extractant that had lunged from the shadows. The creature crumpled mid-air, its body crashing to the ground with a wet thud. A second shot followed, ensuring it stayed down. His weapon hissed faintly as the chamber cycled another round, and without missing a beat, SABER-1 turned back to his path.

Ahead, a shattered skyline loomed over the city. His HUD blinked, the southeastern quadrant's manor with a landing strip marked as his target. He moved with purpose, every step carrying him closer to his destination.

"Fifteen minutes out, Elfy."

The familiar crackle of Icarus's voice brought a slight shift in his demeanor. He didn't pause, but his helmet tilted slightly, acknowledging the comms.

"Understood," he replied, his tone steady. "I'm five away myself."

Her voice came through again, this time with a hint of playfulness. "Don't start the party without me."

"No promises," he said, his reply carrying a rare edge of dry humor.

A faint chuckle echoed in the comms, but he was already focused again. As he advanced, his HUD flickered with minor alerts—motion detected ahead. He raised his weapon slightly, slowing his pace as he scanned the area.

A low growl rumbled from the shadows ahead. From behind a burned-out vehicle, an Extractant emerged, its form twisted and gnarled, its eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The creature crouched, muscles coiling like springs as it prepared to lunge.

SABER-1 didn't give it the chance.

BOOM. BOOM.

Two rounds fired in quick succession, the impacts sending the creature sprawling backward, its limbs twitching briefly before going still. He stepped over its motionless body, his boots leaving deep impressions in the dust and grime of the street.

The manor was now in sight, its gates mangled and overrun by creeping vegetation. The landing strip stretched out behind it.

The control room was a hive of activity, screens flickering with live feeds of the ongoing operation. Maps displayed troop movements, extraction zones, and battle analytics, but all eyes turned toward the center screen as SABER-1's voice cracked through the comms.

"I'm pulling out," he said, his tone calm and resolute.

The words hung in the air like a hammer waiting to drop. The murmurs started almost immediately, low whispers rippling through the room like a rising tide.

"Did he just say he's pulling out?" one analyst muttered, disbelief etched on his face.

"He's not requesting," another whispered. "He's telling us."

The murmurs intensified as someone brought up a live tactical map showing SABER-1's path. A trail of decimated hive nests and corpses stretched across the entire city, from the ravaged Northwestern quadrant to the Southeastern airfield. Red markers, representing hostile Extractants, had diminished significantly along his route.

"He started in the Northwestern slums," someone said in awe. "That's where the concentration was the worst. And he fought through—by himself—all the way to the Southeastern quadrant."

"He didn't just fight," another analyst interjected, gesturing to the screen. "He neutralized. Entire nests wiped out, entire streets cleared. And over 700 civilians rescued."

One officer scoffed, shaking her head. "Seven hundred. That's more than any of our combined battalions managed. Hell, more than we thought were still alive."

The Colonel's voice cut through the room, quiet but firm. "He did more than our entire attack force combined."

Everyone fell silent at the statement. There was nothing to refute. SABER-1 had turned what was supposed to be a drawn-out battle into a swift and decisive operation. The man wasn't just a soldier—he was a force of nature.

Back on the Thunderbird's feed, the airstrip stretched endlessly ahead, desolate but oddly serene. As the ship swiveled in preparation for its landing, the camera feed zoomed in on the lone figure standing at the edge of the airstrip. The sunlight glinted off his scarred, olive-green armor, the metallic sheen dulled by the layers of blood, ichor, and soot coating it.

The whispers in the control room gave way to stunned silence as the feed focused on him. The massive MK99 rested in his right hand, its barrel pointed downward, smoke faintly rising from its vents. His left arm hung loosely at his side, fingers twitching occasionally as if still gripping an invisible weapon. Despite the grime and damage on his armor, his stance radiated an unshakable sense of purpose.

The Thunderbird hovered lower, its thrusters kicking up clouds of dust and debris as it descended. The camera showed SABER-1 looking up briefly, his helmet tilting as he tracked the ship's movement. He began walking forward, his pace deliberate and unwavering, each step resounding with quiet authority.

As the Thunderbird's ramp hissed open and touched the ground, Icarus's voice came over the comms, tinged with a mixture of relief and weariness. "Touchdown complete. Come aboard, Elfy."

He didn't respond. He simply continued his approach, the dot on the camera feed growing larger until the full bulk of his imposing form filled the screen. Behind him, the airstrip seemed to stretch on forever, framed by the smoldering remnants of a city he had saved—alone.

In the control room, someone whispered, almost reverently, "He's a monster... "

No one dared disagree.

The cockpit was quiet except for the soft hum of the Thunderbird's systems. Icarus leaned back in her chair, the weight of exhaustion tugging at her. Her fingers danced over the controls, activating autopilot. The ship adjusted itself, stabilizing in the air, freeing her from the need to micromanage the controls for a few moments.

Swiveling around in her seat, she froze mid-motion as Eilifr appeared in the doorway, his massive form filling the space. Her heart raced. His presence was commanding as always, but this time, there was something else—something different.

"Elfy!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a passion that surprised even her. She pushed herself out of the chair, standing with a mix of relief and excitement. "I missed you so much. I'm so glad you're alright."

He stepped forward, his imposing frame casting a long shadow in the dimly lit cockpit. His gauntleted hand twitched slightly, and for a moment, it rose. She thought—no, she felt—that he was going to reach for her, maybe touch her face or pat her head in his usual, distant way. But then, almost imperceptibly, his hand faltered, retracting before completing the gesture.

She noticed, just barely, or maybe it was her imagination, but it looked like he was ashamed. Her eyes darted to his gauntlets—scarred, cracked, and coated with dried blood, ichor, and grime. They told the story of the battles he had fought, the violence he had endured. They were horrid, yes, but they were his, and she didn't care.

All she saw—all her mind captured—was affection in that single hesitant motion, and she wanted it. No, she needed it.

Without hesitation, she removed her helmet and stepped toward him. Her movements were deliberate, almost defiant, as if daring him to pull away. She reached out, taking his massive, battle-worn hand in both of hers. His gauntlet dwarfed her hands, but she didn't care. She brought it up to her face, gently pressing the side of her head against his palm.

A warm smile spread across her face as she looked up at him. "Welcome back... Thank you for returning safely," she said softly, her voice trembling with unspoken emotions.

For a moment, he didn't reply, but then he finally spoke. "Thank you for being there," he said, and her heart nearly stopped. There was a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his tone—emotion.

Her smile widened, her chest tightening as if she could barely contain the joy bubbling inside her. "Of course. Anytime, my Elfy," she replied, her voice playful but firm, making it clear that she had claimed him in her own way, whether he accepted it or not.

For a moment, the cockpit seemed to shrink, the air between them thick with an unspoken connection. She knew he wasn't one for grand displays or declarations, but this—this moment—was enough. It was everything she needed.

The soft hum of the Thunderbird's engines filled the cockpit as the ship raced across the sky, its autopilot maintaining a steady trajectory. Icarus leaned back in her seat, feet propped up on the edge of the console. She glanced sideways at Eilifr, who stood near the doorway, his massive frame dominating the small space. He had chosen to remain standing, his presence both reassuring and slightly overwhelming in the confined cockpit.

"You know, Elfy," she began, her voice laced with a mischievous edge, "I didn't think you had it in you to let me see that softer side of yours back there."

He didn't turn to face her but gave a faint hmm in response, a sound that was somehow equal parts acknowledgment and dismissal.

She smirked, tilting her head toward him. "Oh, come on. You can't even deny it this time. I mean, the great SABER-1, thanking someone? I should've recorded it for the archives."

"You would," he replied dryly, his voice carrying a faint trace of humor.

Her grin widened. "Damn right I would. And you know what? I'd loop it. Play it every time I walked into a room. 'Thank you for being there,'" she mimicked, pitching her voice lower in an exaggerated attempt to sound like him.

His helmet turned slightly toward her, and she swore she could feel the weight of his gaze through the visor. "If that happens, I'll disable every speaker on this ship."

"Oh, touchy!" she shot back, laughing. "But you wouldn't. You know you'd miss my charming voice."

"Doubtful," he said flatly, but she caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his tone.

She shifted in her seat, turning to face him more fully. "Admit it, Elfy. You've missed me. I mean, how else do you explain keeping me on comms all the time? Who else would put up with you?"

"Few would," he conceded. "And fewer still should."

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard. That almost sounded like a compliment—or at least the closest thing she'd get from him. Recovering quickly, she leaned back and clasped her hands behind her head. "See? You do have a heart under all that armor. Somewhere."

"I wouldn't count on it," he replied, but his voice had softened ever so slightly.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, the steady hum of the Thunderbird's systems filling the void. Icarus watched the sky through the cockpit's window, the horizon painted in hues of deep orange and purple as the sun dipped lower. Her gaze drifted back to Eilifr.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "you should sit down for once. Take a load off. You're making my cockpit look smaller just by standing there."

"I'm fine," he replied curtly.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you are. But it's not about you being fine—it's about you being human for once."

He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that could've been curiosity or skepticism. "I'm not sure I follow."

She gave him a playful smirk. "Oh, you do. Come on, Elfy. Sit down. Relax. Pretend, just for a second, that you're not humanity's indestructible shield."

He hesitated for a moment, then, to her surprise, lowered himself into the co-pilot's seat. The chair groaned under his weight, but it held.

"There," she said, a satisfied grin on her face. "Doesn't that feel better?"

"No," he said plainly, but she caught the faintest flicker of something in his tone—amusement?

"Well, it feels better for me," she quipped, leaning forward to adjust a few settings on the console. "You know, for morale and all that."

"Morale," he repeated, as if testing the word.

"Exactly," she said, leaning back and crossing her arms. "Morale. You being human for once boosts mine through the roof. But, seriously, I don't care what anyway says, your the most human person on this planet."

"Hmph," was all he said, but she swore she caught the faintest tilt of his helmet—like he might've been shaking his head, or suppressing a chuckle.

They sat in silence again, the cockpit filled with the steady rhythm of the Thunderbird's engines. For Icarus, it was enough. These moments—these fleeting exchanges of banter—were the reminders she needed. He might be humanity's weight of hope, but here, in this cockpit, he was Elfy and she would destroy anything or anyone who tried to hurt him.