The Weapon He Needs To Be

BOOM, BOOM.

A thunderous roar echoes through the battlefield, the sound of orbital artillery landing mere meters ahead of SABER-1's position. Flashes of light paint the ruined cityscape in brief, hellish detail. SABER-1 charges forward, his MK99 barking as he cuts through the waves of Extractants, their bodies piling at his feet. The glow of his visor burns through the smoke, unyielding.

BOOM, BOOM.

A different battlefield. Snow now blankets the ground, stained red by the blood of fallen soldiers. SABER-1 stands atop a crumbling fortification, his chainsword roaring to life as he carves through a massive, armored Extractant, its death throes shaking the ground. In the distance, human tanks grind forward, inspired by the unrelenting figure at the front.

BOOM, BOOM.

A dense jungle, the thick canopy shattered by mortar fire. The flashes of explosions illuminate SABER-1 as he leads a squad of terrified rookies. He gestures silently, directing them toward a hidden evac point. When an Extractant leaps from the shadows, he raises his plasma pistol, the bolt searing through the beast's skull. His calm demeanor steadies the young soldiers as they press forward.

BOOM, BOOM.

A barren desert. Heatwaves ripple across the sands, and Extractants swarm from hidden burrows. SABER-1 slams a flare into the ground, its red light marking the location for an incoming airstrike. He turns and fires his MK99, the massive weapon spitting destruction as the Extractants close in. The earth shakes as the bombs drop, but he remains a statue amidst the chaos, unfazed.

BOOM, BOOM.

Night. A thick fog obscures the battlefield, the only illumination coming from the fiery glow of burning wreckage. SABER-1 moves through the smoke like a specter, his visor slicing through the haze. He pauses briefly to kneel beside a fallen soldier, retrieving the man's dog tags and tucking them into a pouch before rising to continue his grim work.

BOOM, BOOM.

An underground tunnel, the walls trembling with each detonation. SABER-1 leads a group of engineers tasked with detonating a hive deep beneath the surface. Extractants pour from every direction, but his chainsword and plasma pistol cut through them like scythes through wheat. The engineers barely keep pace, their breaths ragged as they scramble to lay charges.

BOOM, BOOM.

A devastated urban center. Buildings collapse under the weight of relentless bombardment. SABER-1 stands in the shadow of a skyscraper as Extractants climb its walls, their claws tearing into the structure. He signals to a nearby pilot, who unleashes a missile strike, sending the skyscraper crashing down. SABER-1 turns away from the destruction, already scanning for his next target.

BOOM, BOOM.

SABER-1 in a fortified base, surrounded by soldiers cheering his arrival. He doesn't acknowledge them, his focus locked on the holographic map displaying the next mission. He reconfigures his weapons, his gauntlets still caked in the grime of countless battles. The glow of his visor reflects the mission briefing, and with a single nod, he begins walking toward the exit.

The ramp of Icarus's Thunderbird lowers, steam hissing as SABER-1 steps aboard. The cockpit swivels as Icarus looks over her shoulder, her expression a mix of relief and weariness. "Another day, another impossible mission, huh, Elfy?" she says, trying to sound lighthearted. The door hisses shut behind him, the last sound drowned out as the Thunderbird lifts into the air, its engines roaring into the endless night.

The dim, steady hum of the Thunderbird's engines filled the air as Eilífr sat in the bay, the weight of his presence filling the space. In his massive, gauntleted hands, he held a small, hand-carved Saint, the intricate details illuminated by the soft glow of his visor. His armored thumb moved tenderly across the carved surface, tracing its edges with a care that belied his monstrous strength. The trinket was worn smooth in places, evidence of how often he had performed this ritual.

It was something he began after leaving Shirley Temple, when the nuns were no longer there to offer their prayers in person. Before every mission, he would select one of the trinkets they had given him, silently reflecting on the weight of their faith and the humanity they saw in him, even if he didn't see it himself.

Icarus was seated nearby, facing away from him in the cockpit. She had set the Thunderbird on autopilot, her legs swinging idly as she leaned back in her chair. "Elfy," she called out, breaking the silence, "I've been flying for hours, and my shoulders are killing me. Be a doll and give me a massage."

Eilífr paused, his fingers stilling on the Saint. He looked over at her, her request catching him slightly off guard, though her tone was casual. He gently placed the trinket back into its secure compartment in his chest piece, closing it with a faint hiss.

A soft chuckle rumbled from him as he rose to his feet, the sound low and brief but unmistakable. Icarus turned her head slightly, just enough to catch the sound, and a small smirk tugged at her lips. "Don't laugh at me," she said playfully, but there was a flicker of nervous energy in her voice.

Eilífr approached silently, his massive frame dwarfing her as he stopped behind her chair. She had asked him for massages before, often as a way to break the tension after long missions, but every time his hands settled on her shoulders, there was a moment—a flicker of fear. His hands were so large, so powerful, they could crush her with the slightest miscalculation. And yet, she never hesitated to ask.

Because she knew.

As his gauntlets lightly rested on her shoulders, completely covering them, she felt a tingle of apprehension. But it wasn't just fear. It was trust. Trust that he would never harm her, even if he had the ability to. Trust that, despite his stoic exterior, he understood the importance of this act—a small but profound way to connect, to show her he cared without words.

Eilifr's hands moved with surprising gentleness, the heavy plates of his armor somehow distributing the pressure just right. She let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing under his touch. "You know," she said, her voice softer now, "I've never doubted you. Not once."

He didn't respond immediately, his focus on her shoulders. The silence hung between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was familiar.

"I hear them," she continued after a moment, her voice quieter now. "The whispers. The things they say about you. They don't see what I see. They don't know you like I do."

Still, he said nothing, but his hands slowed slightly, almost as if he were acknowledging her words.

"I know what they think you are, Elfy," she said, her tone firmer now, "but I also know what you really are. You're the most human person I've ever met, even if you can't see it."

For a moment, he stilled, his hands lifting slightly as if unsure how to respond. Then, with a soft exhale, he returned to her shoulders, the movements deliberate and careful.

Icarus closed her eyes, smiling faintly. She didn't know if he would ever say the words out loud, but she felt his understanding in his actions. And in return, she made herself vulnerable, letting him see that she wasn't afraid—not of him, and not of what others thought of him.

As he finished, his hands rested briefly on her shoulders, the weight a quiet reassurance. "Thank you," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

Eilífr stepped back, his towering presence retreating as he returned to his seat. Though no words passed between them, the unspoken connection lingered, stronger than any reassurance that words could provide. The dim glow of the Thunderbird's standby lights cast long shadows across the bay. Icarus moved with exaggerated care, her bare feet padding silently across the cold metal floor. She had been waiting for this moment—Eilífr's armor powered down, his imposing figure seated in his usual corner, seemingly at rest.

She paused just a few feet away, hesitating as her gaze traveled over his massive form. The olive-green plates of his armor were marred with streaks of grime, scorch marks, and scratches—each one a testament to the battles he had fought. And yet, there was something hypnotic about the way the light reflected off its edges, the battle-worn exterior only enhancing its mystique.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest. "He's powered down," she whispered to herself, trying to suppress the nervous energy coursing through her. "It's fine. He won't even notice."

Reaching out, she let her fingers graze the edge of one of the shoulder plates. The metal was cool to the touch, the surface rough with wear. She traced the lines of the armor, marveling at its design—the intricate grooves, the reinforced joints, the seamless melding of technology and raw power.

"This is insane," she muttered, a mix of awe and disbelief in her voice. But she couldn't stop herself. She had always been curious about the man encased in the machine, the being who bore the weight of humanity's survival.

Her hands moved lower, skimming across the thick plating of his chest. She could feel the faintest vibrations beneath her fingertips, the dormant systems humming faintly like a sleeping beast. Her eyes flicked to the compartment on his chest where she knew he kept the trinkets from the nuns, a small reminder of the humanity he carried despite his monstrous reputation.

As her hands crept higher, toward the base of his helmet, she hesitated. This was the line, she knew—the boundary she wasn't supposed to cross. But the curiosity burned within her. What would it feel like? What would he feel like, beyond the unyielding facade of armor and duty?

Her fingers barely brushed the edge of his visor when, without warning, a gauntleted hand shot up and grasped her wrist.

She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat as her gaze snapped to his faceplate. The glowing lavender slits of his visor flickered to life, cutting through the shadows and locking onto her with a piercing intensity.

"Icarus," his voice rumbled, low and unyielding. The single word carried the weight of both admonishment and inquiry.

Her mouth opened, but no words came out, her mind racing for an explanation. "I… I was just…" she stammered, her cheeks flushing as she realized how absurd she must look.

His grip wasn't painful, but it was firm, a reminder of his strength. Slowly, he tilted his helmet to the side, studying her with a silence that felt more damning than any words.

She swallowed hard, her free hand fidgeting nervously at her side. "You were powered down," she said finally, her voice small. "I thought… I just wanted to see—"

"What?" he interrupted, his tone unreadable. "What were you hoping to find?"

Her eyes darted to the floor, then back to him. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ever since the crash and you're new suit... You're always so… untouchable. I miss you helmetless... I guess I just wanted to understand."

For a long moment, he didn't respond. The tension hung heavy in the air, his visor locked on her like a predator sizing up its prey. Then, slowly, his grip on her wrist loosened, though he didn't let go entirely.

"Curiosity," he said finally, his tone softening just enough to be noticeable. "It can be dangerous."

She gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. "Yeah, I'm starting to see that."

His hand released her, falling back to his side with a heavy clink of armor. She stepped back instinctively, but his gaze remained fixed on her, as if trying to read her intentions.

"I meant no disrespect," she added quickly, her words tumbling out. "I just… you're not just some machine to me, Elfy. I see you. And sometimes, I just… I want to be closer. To understand."

There was another long pause before he finally spoke. "If you wish to understand," he said quietly, "ask. Do not sneak."

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she nodded. "Got it," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "No more sneaking."

With that, he turned his head forward again, his visor dimming slightly as if signaling the end of the conversation.

Icarus exhaled shakily, retreating a few steps before glancing back at him. Despite the awkwardness of the encounter, there was a small, almost imperceptible shift in the air between them. And though his stoic demeanor remained intact, she couldn't help but feel that, somehow, she had glimpsed a part of him that few ever had.