The workshop was alive with the rhythm of creation. Sparks flew as welding torches cut through steel frames. The hum of servos and the clack of ratchets echoed across the cavernous hall, harmonizing with the murmur of technicians. For once, Sirius Blake wasn't off in the corner cackling like a madman. He moved calmly through the rows of benches, datapad tucked under his arm, stopping only to peer over a shoulder or adjust a line of code.
The Carbine X upgrades were finally moving beyond paper. FAWS techs, emboldened by his confidence, were assembling prototypes with steady hands. Sirius pointed to a burst limiter schematic glowing on a screen. "Three-round pull. Discipline, not waste. Make the code smart—adaptive if the trigger gets held too long. It should never eat more than it has to."
The technician nodded, brow furrowed in focus. Another worker called for Sirius across the room, asking about the ammo-type switch system. Sirius strode over, gaze sharp but steady. "Normal for swarmers, AP for armor. Keep it smooth—soldiers don't have the time to wrestle with switches in the middle of a charge. A thumb flick should do it."
There was laughter from the corner, some nervous, some genuine. The rumors about his maniacal stares and whispered plotting still lingered, but they were fading. This Sirius wasn't laughing at shadows—he was directing, controlling, and commanding in his own way. He wasn't the storm tearing through FAWS anymore; he was the current guiding it.
At the same time, above the clamor of hammers and whirring drills, Loras had left the workshop behind. He walked the reinforced corridors of High Command, datapad in hand, his expression grim.
The council chamber loomed before him, a half-circle of armored glass overlooking the city below. Eight senior officers sat waiting, their uniforms crisp, their faces severe. When Loras entered, the murmurs stilled.
"Chief Engineer Loras," General Kaelen spoke first, his voice deep and edged with suspicion. "You called for this meeting. What urgent matter requires the council's full attention?"
Loras set the datapad on the central table. Its screen lit up, displaying Sirius Blake's meticulous schematics for the Carbine X Upgrade. "Gentlemen. Ladies. I bring you results from FAWS. Renegade Blake has advanced the Carbine X project into its next phase—Fire Discipline and Adaptation. Burst-limiter firmware, ammo-type switching, and recoil dampening. All schematics complete. Prototypes under assembly as we speak."
The council leaned forward. Numbers and diagrams floated into holographic projection above the table: precision shots per burst, comparative survival statistics, efficiency graphs.
General Kaelen raised a brow. "And you've verified these designs?"
"They are solid," Loras replied firmly. "If implemented, we will see reduced ammunition waste, higher precision, and an increase in squad survival. It is… unconventional, yes. But so was the original Carbine X. And you've all seen what that did for our troops."
A murmur ran through the chamber. One councilor, a stern woman named Admiral Soren, finally nodded. "Then we approve. Begin production once trials confirm stability."
Loras inclined his head. One battle was won. But he wasn't finished.
With a flick of his fingers, the datapad shifted display. A new set of diagrams filled the air. This one was bolder, more ambitious.
"Project: ECHO."
The room stilled.
"This," Loras continued, "is a military-grade artificial intelligence designed for integration across all systems—HUDs, turrets, comms, jamming, psi-resistance layering. Its purpose is simple: to unify the battlefield into a single reactive network. To protect Terran soldiers from psychic disruption. To shield our communications, our weapons, even our minds."
The projection glowed brighter, showing outlines of helmets linked to turrets, medics receiving live vitals from squads, drones reacting to commands with no delay.
But where the Carbine X had earned nods, ECHO drew frowns.
General Kaelen's jaw tightened. "An AI. A battlefield brain controlling everything we hold. Do you realize what you're proposing, Loras? A machine with that much reach could be more dangerous than the Hive itself."
"It is not about control," Loras countered, voice even. "It is about survival. We've seen what psychic blasts can do—entire lines collapsing, soldiers fighting blind, comms severed. ECHO would shield us against that. It would give us a chance to fight without fear of being silenced."
Admiral Soren folded her arms. "Or it would turn on us when we're weakest. Who built this?"
Loras hesitated only briefly. "Renegade Blake."
The council erupted. Voices rose, some incredulous, some scornful. "That boy again?" "The lunatic who laughs in workshops?" "You'd put the fate of humanity in the hands of a half-grown renegade?"
Loras weathered the storm, hands clasped behind his back. "You called him a lunatic when he built the Shatterstorm. When he built the Optic Helmets. When he built the first Carbine X. And each time, he proved you wrong. He is unorthodox. Reckless. But his results speak louder than his reputation."
The chamber fell to uneasy silence.
Finally, General Kaelen spoke again, slower this time. "We approve the Carbine X Upgrade. Begin full testing. But Project: ECHO…" His gaze swept the room. Councilors shook their heads, some firm, some hesitant.
"…remains under review. We cannot decide this now. The risk is too great without further proof."
Loras exhaled, masking his frustration. "Understood."
He bowed his head slightly, gathered the datapad, and left the chamber.
---
Back in the workshop, Sirius was bent over a rifle frame, tightening the casing with careful precision. Sparks leaned over from the next bench. "Heard Loras went to the council. You think they'll greenlight it?"
Sirius smirked faintly, though his eyes stayed on his work. "Carbine X? They'd be fools not to. ECHO? That one'll rattle their cages."
"You don't sound worried," Whisper remarked from across the table.
"I'm not." Sirius tapped the rifle's receiver, straightening. His voice was calm, grounded—the voice of someone who had walked through fire and come out the other side. "Because sooner or later, they'll need it. And when they do, I'll be ready."
He looked around the workshop at the FAWS personnel—laughing softly, calmly this time, without mania. "Until then, my babies still have plenty of growing to do."
The FAWS crew shook their heads, some chuckling, some shivering at his words. Rumors of the Renegade's gaze still lingered, but now it carried less fear and more inevitability. Sirius wasn't a storm anymore—he was the tide.
And tides always returned.