Private Alejandro Rodriguez of the GCS- Grand City Soldier- Corps walked to the airfield, the familiar hum of helicopter blades filling his ears.
Today was the day every soldier dreaded- Extraction Day, always occurring every Wednesday. It was terrifying, nerve-wracking, and paranoia-inducing because nobody knew if they would come back alive, if they would manage to do their job and save their people.
And this day, Alejandro had been selected as one of the Extractionists- the soldiers that were airlifted to buildings to clear, secure, and extract survivors.
He knew he should be proud- he was finally going to save some people, his people, but all he felt was fear.
Every step he took, he could feel his body tremble, every breath he breathed, he could swear that it would be his last.
He did not want to face those beasts, those creatures that they called 'Darks'. He did not want to see their faces, the twisted and wounded bodies of what should be dead.
His hand moved to his necklace- a simple gold chain with a cross on it- and his fingers wrapped around the cool metal, squeezing tight.
Each step he took brought him closer to a waiting helicopter, to his near-certain doom, but as he held the cross, he forced himself to calm down.
He wasn't alone. He had his fellow soldiers, he had God, he had Jesus watching him from above.
That was what he told himself, and he tried to bring himself to believe it.
He forced his feet to move, to step into the helicopter, and he finally sat down in a seat.
His green armor was a stark contrast to the dark gray interior of the Black Hawk helicopter, and as he looked around, he saw several other men in the same attire as himself, and three people in black armor and gas masks.
GCHRF is what they were, Grand City Hazard Removal Force. Most people just called them Gerfs.
But these were elites, trained specifically for extractions, clearings, and securements. And from the way they held themselves, not with arrogance or fake confidence, but with slouched and depressed forms, Alejandro could tell that they had seen more than one or two battles, and that they had watched at least one of their comrades fall to the black tide.
The emotional atmosphere inside the Black Hawk was rather dark and... one could say lost or broken.
Evidently, everyone here was either terrified, simply depressed and awaiting death, or trying to exude fake confidence to make themselves appear fearless.
One guy had chosen the third option; the Gerfs were more than obviously sticking with the second.
The guy boasted, hitting his chest with his hand as he arrogantly grinned,
"I bet I can kill more than 15 Darks in hand-to-hand. Ain't nothing to fear when Azamodo's here!"
Azamodo Wellington, an inexperienced recruit who had never seen a Dark, much less fought one.
The Gerfs stayed silent, like they knew that people like Azamodo couldn't be swayed from their state of mind unless they saw, first-hand, the chaos and danger that a single Dark could cause.
Finally, Alejandro felt the helicopter start vibrating as the sound of whirring blades grew even louder, and then he looked out a window, and they were rising.
No turning back now; they were already in the air and Alejandro wasn't going to jump out to trade one miserable death for another.
Azamodo let out a whoop while Alejandro could practically see a tired and depressed expression on one of the Gerfs, even though their face was hidden behind a gas mask.
Having nothing better to do and wanting to try and distract himself from what could very possibly be his impending doom, Alejandro stared intensely at the Gerf, noting every little detail.
Black camouflage fatigues... He thought, his eyes scanning over the soldier, and black armor. More suitable for night missions or stealth rather than rescue or area clearing...
The gas mask certainly added a slightly eerie touch, although Alejandro could tell from this Gerf's pose that they were patiently awaiting death- but that they would not go down without a fight.
Alejandro looked out the window again, and he could see maybe 10 other Black Hawks out there, each probably carrying 12 soldiers.
And then he looked down, and there they were.
The Seven Hopes- seven large bridges connecting downtown Grand City, also known as the Black Zone, to uptown Grand City.
Alejandro could just barely make out tiny figures on the bridges; there were dozens of them, and he knew that most of them were GCS units.
He wished he could be down there instead of up here, flying towards certain doom.
Because he looked up, and he looked to where the helicopter was flying.
A massive gray wall, well over 70 feet tall, stood right where the bridges connected to downtown.
The only physical barrier keeping the Darks from just flooding the Hopes, from flooding into uptown like an unstoppable tsunami.
There were numerous helicopters flitting around the wall; their job was to make sure no Dark horde was climbing up, and if there was, to shoot them down.
Alejandro had always thought that those pilots had the cushy jobs. Being in an armored vehicle flying however many meters above the Darks, untouchable...
But seeing it now, with his own two eyes, he could tell that this was no "Sit in one spot and watch that shit" job.
The helicopters were constantly flitting about, one spot to the next, and he could see ropes coming from certain Black Hawks with people on them, inspecting the wall for any damage.
Now he understood how precarious it was.
These people were out here, all day, every day, only coming back every 4 and a half hours for refueling.
Must be painful work.
Then the helicopter he was in was over the wall, over that massive gray barrier.
Now, he was in the single most dangerous place in the world.
The Black Zone.