The morning broke with the low hum of FAWS machinery and the familiar scent of scorched alloy clinging to the workshop. Sirius Blake was already awake, sleeves rolled up, eyes locked on the Carbine X prototype laid across his bench. The weapon had become a canvas for every ounce of his focus, each modification sketched into its frame like an artist etching lines into stone.
Heavy footsteps echoed from behind. Chief Loras entered, datapad clutched in one hand, his face carved into that same look of restrained irritation he always wore when bureaucracy slowed down reality.
"They've heard your proposal," Loras began without preamble. His tone carried both relief and fatigue. "Carbine X upgrades are approved. The Council recognizes the improvements as vital for infantry efficiency."
Sirius didn't look up. He slid a panel back into place, secured it with a deliberate click, and murmured, "Expected that much. Soldiers can't fight with junk."
Loras shifted his stance, eyes narrowing slightly. "But Echo…"
At that, Sirius paused. Not enough to show alarm, but enough for Loras to notice.
"The Council is divided," Loras continued. "Some say it's a leap forward. Others fear it's too dangerous—too close to autonomy we can't control. They want more time before deciding."
Sirius finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. He wiped grease across his sleeve, set the rifle upright, and said simply, "Time is something the bugs don't give."
"You're not arguing?" Loras asked, almost incredulous. He'd braced himself for defiance, for another manic grin followed by some wild declaration.
Instead, Sirius only shook his head. "Not today." He tapped the datapad resting on the bench, then returned to adjusting the rifle's stock. "Council can drag their feet. I'll keep building."
Loras lingered, unsettled. There was something different about Sirius now—less explosive, more deliberate. A weight hung behind every word. Finally, Loras sighed and left him to his work.
---
By afternoon, Sirius finally pulled himself from the benches. The mess hall buzzed with noise, soldiers and technicians shuffling between tables, the constant murmur of voices rising above the clatter of trays.
At a corner table, his squad was already gathered: Jinx leaning back with boots on the bench, Stone hunched over his tray like it owed him money, Bear's broad frame taking up half the table, Whisper seated neatly with her med-kit beside her, Sparks tapping a fork against her mug, and Shade in the corner, half-shadowed as always.
"Well, look who finally decided to crawl out of the workshop," Sparks teased as Sirius slid into the open spot.
Stone grunted, pointing at him with his fork. "You've been buried in those rifles so long, I thought you'd fused into one of them."
Bear's laugh was deep, carrying across the hall. "Wouldn't surprise me. Bet he dreams in schematics."
Sirius smirked, picking up the cup of weak stew that passed for a meal. He prodded it with his spoon, watching the liquid wobble. "Better than this sludge."
Jinx barked a laugh. "Fair. Even my gun oil smells better than that."
The group chuckled, but Whisper didn't join in. Her gaze stayed fixed on Sirius, sharp and steady. She had always been observant—trained to read faces, to catch the smallest signs of pain or panic in the middle of chaos. And what she saw in Sirius now wasn't the same manic spark that had once defined him. It was something quieter. He was still Renegade Blake—but the edges were sharper, the fire more controlled.
"You've changed," Whisper said suddenly.
The laughter stilled. All eyes turned toward her, then back to Sirius.
He arched an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "That so?"
Whisper nodded. "Less chaos. More weight. You carry yourself differently now."
The silence stretched, and for a moment, Sirius' smirk faltered. Then he shrugged, leaning back. "People change. War makes sure of it."
"No," Whisper pressed softly. "Not just war. You."
Stone leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "She's right. You're not… laughing the same. Less bark, more bite. You alright, Renegade?"
Sirius tapped his spoon against his cup, metal ringing in the air. He didn't answer immediately. Finally, he muttered, "Guess someone's got to."
The table went quiet again. Even Shade's usual muttering fell silent.
Then Jinx broke the tension with a wide grin. "Don't go getting too serious on us, Renegade. We like you insane."
The group erupted into chuckles again, easing the weight from the air. Sparks leaned over, wagging her fork. "Yeah, don't you dare turn normal on us. That'd be scarier than the bugs."
Sirius allowed himself a short, genuine laugh—one that surprised even him. "Normal's overrated anyway."
The squad relaxed, slipping back into their rhythm. But Whisper's eyes lingered, studying Sirius carefully, her worry unspoken.
---
Evening settled over FAWS like a shroud. The workshop emptied slowly, lights dimming one by one until only a few benches still glowed faintly. Sirius remained, alone once more, the Carbine X prototype gleaming under the lamplight.
The holo shimmered alive before him, ARI's familiar voice filling the silence. "You've been quiet since the report. Tell me, Sirius—what will you do now?"
He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the rafters. "What I always do. Build. If they won't approve Echo yet, I'll make it anyway. But to do that…" He paused, rubbing at his temple. "I'll need a supercomputer. Something beyond scraps and patched servers."
The holo pulsed once, steady and calm. "Recommendation: complete Mission 1 first. After validation, I will assign a mission to acquire or construct a supercomputer. Only then will Echo be possible."
Sirius exhaled slowly. "Always rules with you."
"Rules protect you from collapse," ARI replied, voice even.
He chuckled softly, tilting his head. "Fine. One step at a time. But listen—Echo isn't just another weapon. It's the spine of everything we'll need. The bugs are evolving. If we don't evolve faster, we're dead."
Silence hung for a long moment before ARI answered. "Then we proceed."
The holo dimmed again, leaving Sirius alone with the weapon on his bench. His hands itched to keep tinkering, to pour his restless energy back into the work. But instead, he sat there in the quiet, staring at the rifle, thinking of Echo—thinking of everything that still lay ahead.
For the first time in weeks, his thoughts weren't just about surviving the next battle. They were about building what came after.
And that thought, more than anything, kept the grin from fading.