The HQ still smelled of scorched metal and burnt circuitry. The Hivebug ambush had been repelled, but the frontlines remained volatile. Shattered plating lay across the floor like broken teeth, and black streaks of acid burns scarred the walls. The base's medical bay overflowed with wounded, and repair crews swarmed the corridors.
For Sirius Blake, there was no time to rest—the war never waited, and neither could he.
In the FAWS calibration bay, soldiers and technicians moved with frantic purpose, inspecting rifles, adjusting armor seals, and carrying crates of scorched ammunition. Yet amid the usual chaos, a different kind of current rippled through the room: whispers about Sirius.
A grizzled infantryman approached, helmet tucked under one arm. His voice was low but steady, laced with awe.
> "Blake… you didn't just save our weapons… you saved our lives."
Another soldier clapped him on the shoulder.
> "We couldn't have held the line without you."
> "You kept everyone alive… you're unbelievable."
Even one of the engineers, hands trembling as he carried a half-melted turret coil, chimed in.
> "Sir, Blake's genius saved all of us."
The room buzzed with quiet agreement. For once, eyes didn't look at Sirius with suspicion or curiosity—they looked at him with gratitude.
Sirius felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. He gave a sheepish nod, offered a half-grin, and bent back over a new shipment of rifles. Better to let the work speak than to bask in praise.
The doors hissed open. Silence rippled across the bay as Commander Varek strode inside, flanked by two officers. His presence cut through the chatter like a blade. Normally his face was carved from stone, but today there was a flicker of something softer—pride, or perhaps relief.
> "Blake," Varek called.
Sirius straightened immediately, tools dropping from his hands as he snapped into a crisp salute.
The commander approached, his voice carrying across the room.
> "I've heard the reports from the frontline. I've spoken to the infantry, the engineers, even the wounded. All of them said the same thing: you held this place together when the Hivebugs came through our walls. That's not luck. That's not duty. That's exceptional."
Sirius tried to keep his voice steady.
> "Thank you, sir. I only did what I could."
Varek shook his head slowly.
> "No. You went above and beyond. You armed every soldier under fire, you improvised defenses, and you kept casualties to a minimum. That matters."
He glanced at the officers at his side, then back to Sirius.
> "Effective immediately, you are promoted in rank. You've earned it."
A low murmur spread through the bay. Some clapped, others offered quiet nods of approval. Sparks, standing near a console with a scorched rifle in hand, raised her eyebrows and mouthed, show-off—but her smirk betrayed respect. Whisper gave the faintest nod, eyes calm as always. Shade lingered in the shadows near the entrance, silent and unreadable, but Sirius caught the flicker of acknowledgment in his gaze.
Sirius swallowed, then managed a steady reply.
> "Yes, sir. I will continue to serve to the best of my ability."
Varek studied him for a moment longer, his sternness returning.
> "Good. But remember, Blake—innovation saves lives, and it also creates danger. Don't let your ingenuity outrun discipline. The Corps values results, but it fears risks even more. Understood?"
Sirius held his gaze, nodding firmly.
> "Understood, sir."
The commander gave a final nod, then turned and strode from the bay.
As the doors closed behind Varek, the bay came alive again. Soldiers patted Sirius on the back. One shouted, "Drinks on you, Renegade!" Another joked, "Don't forget us when you're running the Corps someday."
Sirius forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't sure what to do with all the attention. For months he had been the odd recruit—the grinning tinkerer, the one instructors scolded for meddling, the one squadmates whispered about. Now, in the span of a few hours, the narrative had shifted.
For the first time, Sirius wasn't just tolerated. He was recognized.
Later that night, after the noise died down and most of the bay had emptied, Sirius stayed behind. Sparks had already left with a muttered, "Don't blow anything up while I'm gone." Whisper had drifted quietly to the med bay. Even Bear, Stone, and Jinx were off in their units, celebrating survival in their own ways. Shade had vanished without a word, as usual.
Sirius sat cross-legged on the floor, tools spread around him, and ARI's schematics hovering in his vision.
> "Sirius," ARI intoned, calm and measured. "I have calculated several innovations to reduce future casualties. Options include: rapid calibration drones for emergency adjustments, defensive turrets with autonomous targeting, and predictive diagnostic overlays to anticipate Hivebug interference before it impacts weapons."
Sirius grinned tiredly, soldering two circuits together.
> "I like the sound of all of them. Let's start with the drones. If the frontlines are going to keep breaking, then we need something that can fix them faster than I can run."
He worked methodically, building small prototypes from spare parts. Each click of metal, each hum of power, filled him with quiet satisfaction. Around him, the base was still battered, still scarred—but here in his corner, progress was already being made.
By dawn, Sirius had finished the first calibration drone prototype. It was crude, boxy, and sputtered occasionally, but when it zipped across the floor and performed a flawless barrel alignment on a training rifle, Sirius felt his chest swell.
He leaned back, grease streaked across his face, exhaustion tugging at his eyes. For once, he let himself exhale.
> "Not bad, huh, ARI?"
> "Performance efficiency: seventy-three percent. Reliability under combat stress: pending. Recommend further optimization," ARI replied.
Sirius chuckled. "Always a critic."
He set the drone aside and looked toward the bay doors, where soldiers would soon return with scorched weapons and battered armor. Beyond those doors, the Hivebugs were still evolving, still pressing the war harder every day. Humanity's survival teetered on the edge.
But Sirius felt something new—something he hadn't known since his father vanished from his life. He felt trusted. Respected. Needed.
That was worth every hour of sweat and every burn of solder.
As Sirius prepared to crawl into his bunk for a few hours of rest, ARI's voice softened in his mind.
> "Recognition achieved. Squad respect increased. Commander approval secured. However, note: recognition increases scrutiny. Recommend discretion in future actions. Exposure risk elevated."
Sirius froze, the faint grin fading.
He looked at the dark ceiling of the barracks, listening to the soft snoring of his squadmates nearby. For a moment, the applause, the gratitude, the commander's praise—all of it—felt fragile.
He whispered back, just for ARI:
> "Got it. We'll keep it quiet. Just you and me."
A pause, then ARI's reply, steady as ever:
> "Understood."
Sirius closed his eyes. The Hivebugs were relentless. The Corps was watching. His friends were counting on him.
And he, Renegade Blake, would be ready.