Callan Pierce
"Warning: Power levels at 92% capacity. Recommend reducing output to conserve energy."
SERA's mechanical monotone grated against my already frayed nerves. I slammed Valkyrie harder into the next jump, the strain registering through every nerve ending where my body connected to the machine.
"Override conservation protocols," I growled, muscles burning against the neural harness. "And shut the fuck up about it."
"Override accepted. Be advised: continued operation at current levels will result in reactor strain. Estimated time to mandatory cooldown: seventeen minutes."
Seventeen minutes. The base was at least fifteen minutes away at standard speed. I'd have to push harder, redline the systems if necessary. The last thing I needed was for Valkyrie to lock into mandatory cooldown with me and an injured civilian stranded in hostile territory. I'd seen what happened to pilots caught outside when their Aegis units shut down. The memory alone made my stomach clench.
I launched Valkyrie across what used to be the Massachusetts countryside. Nothing remained of the world before the fractures; that was what everyone believed. The landscape below was a wasteland of twisted metal and concrete, nature reclaiming civilization in disturbing ways. A world away from the vibrant green sometimes still present behind my eyelids, a place untouched by this decay.
Mutated vegetation with bioluminescent qualities had begun sprouting near dimensional tear points, creating eerie blue-green patches amid the devastation. In the distance, the pulsing crimson glow of an active fracture illuminated the horizon, a perpetual wound in reality that never healed.
I landed hard on a ridge, the impact jolting through my spine. A spike of pain flared at the base of my skull, where the neural tether linked in. Six years of piloting, and it never got easier. The neural feedback was always the worst during emergency maneuvers.
Sweat trickled down my temple as I tried to maintain focus. Nothing about this mission had gone according to plan. Dome City 8 was supposed to be completely evacuated, confirmed clear of civilians hours ago by command. Yet there he was, standing on that balcony while a Titan-class Nephilim tore through the sector. What kind of person stays behind to watch their own death coming?
The ones who remain are usually those who've given up. I've seen them before, people hollowed out by this war, who can't bear another day in the half-life we call survival. Sometimes, in the darkest moments after a mission, I understand that impulse more than I'd admit to the psych evaluators.
I thought about standing on the edge of these cliffs after a patrol, how easy it would be to step forward and let gravity do what the Nephilim hasn't managed yet. The silence would be… complete. No more neural feedback, no more screaming civilians, no more watching people give up. Just quiet.
But something in his face as the building began to collapse, that moment when he closed his eyes and accepted his fate… I couldn't let it happen. Not this time.
"Fuck!" I spat as warning lights flashed across my visual display. I halted Valkyrie's forward momentum, the massive machine trembling around me. The Synaptic Enhanced Response Assistant, or SERA as we called it, was the Resistance Nations military's idea of a copilot.
The AI system monitored everything from battlefield conditions to my own neural patterns, keeping me informed while managing Valkyrie's complex systems. Most days, I appreciated the extra support. Today, the constant alerts were pushing me over the edge.
"Run vitals scan on civilian passenger."
"Scanning," SERA responded. "Last comprehensive scan performed fifty-eight seconds ago. Passenger maintains stable vital signs. Unconscious but no critical injuries detected. Blood pressure: slightly elevated. Heart rate: 76 BPM. Oxygen saturation: 97%. External injuries consist of minor lacerations and contusions. Recommendation: full medical evaluation at earliest opportunity."
As I studied the readout, SERA's monitoring system pinged.
"Notice: Detecting fluctuation in pilot neural patterns," SERA stated. "Deviation from standard operational baseline."
I rubbed the back of my neck where the Synaptic Bridge connected. "Just the degradation acting up. How bad?"
"Insufficient data to classify. Pattern does not match previous degradation episodes."
"Log it with Medical," I said, dismissing the alert.
Valkyrie had held the Nephilim's weight long enough for me to pull him out. I'm proud of what this machine can do, but the damage she sustained would earn me an earful from maintenance. Not that they'd care about that. They'd be too busy questioning why the perfect poster boy, humanity's greatest pilot and soldier of a generation, was bringing a random civilian to base.
Our protocols are clear: kill the Nephilim, get back to base. Nowhere does it say "save as many as you can," because that's never been part of their nasty plans. We fight monsters while bureaucrats count energy credits and decide who deserves to live.
Some days, I pretend I've forgotten what we're even trying to save.
I haven't.
While humans in the domes wait to be saved like lab rats in cages, we in the Resistance Nations bases have advanced defensive systems, reliable power, and actual food that doesn't come from recycled proteins. But it's a polished bunker, not freedom.
Another cage with better locks, I thought. That's what my father would have said.
I guess he knew what the consequences would be when I left, because survivors know the base exists even though they can't imagine what it's like to live here. But my father knew, not because of him, but because of my grandfather.
Survivors know the base exists. It's where the five remaining Aegis units are stationed. What they don't know is its location, kept secret by transporting recruits and workers blindfolded after thorough security screenings to check for tracking devices.
The base's defensive perimeter includes a force field that destroys any unidentified object that approaches. Not even drones can get close without proper clearance codes. Command keeps it that way on purpose. They can't have everyone expecting rescue when there's only room for the chosen few. It's a bitter truth nobody talks about: we're not trying to save everyone. But enough to keep the species going.