The command room was a maze of monitors, data feeds, and blinking indicators. Senior officers and analysts hovered over holographic displays showing the latest reports from the frontlines. The room smelled faintly of recycled air and burning circuits, a reminder that even far from the battlefield, the war pressed in.
One screen in particular caught every eye: a small infantry squad pinned down behind jagged terrain, their weapons spitting fire at Hivebugs that seemed to anticipate every movement.
"Reload times are too slow," a colonel muttered, frowning at the readout. "They've got one clip each left. If they waste another second, we'll lose them."
"Extraction impossible," an analyst replied quietly, tapping the console to replay the drone feed. The squad's last stand unfolded in near-silence, save for bursts of gunfire and the distant screeches of the Hivebugs. Each soldier's struggle was magnified—the long, slow reloads, the desperate attempts to empty clips before switching weapons.
Another officer leaned in. "Sergeant Rylen just burned his last mag. Private Moreno has two clips. Corporal Shin has one. That's all."
The colonel's jaw tightened. "Three soldiers, twenty Hivebugs closing fast, and each reload costs them ten seconds they don't have."
"What do we do about this?" he asked, though the answer was already known.
"Observation and analysis," another officer said flatly. "We can't intervene without risking even more lives. But we'll log this. Every reload, every clip. The data may save others later."
The room went quiet. No one liked that answer, but it was the only one available.
---
On Vetra-9, back when the HQ was still recovering from the Hivebug ambush, Sirius Blake had noticed something that nagged at him more than the bugs themselves.
He had watched infantrymen practice, seen them fight through skirmishes, even helped rearm squads when turrets and rifles needed recalibration. And he saw it over and over again: weapons running dry mid-fire, soldiers fumbling reloads while Hivebugs closed in, men and women squeezing triggers long after their mags had emptied.
"Some of them shoot faster than the rest. Some don't even realize they're out until it's too late…" Sirius muttered one night, wiping sweat from his brow after another sixteen-hour shift in FAWS. He leaned against his workbench, grease-stained hands still holding a half-disassembled rifle.
The problem was clear. Reloads weren't just slowing soldiers down—they were killing them.
He ran his hand over the weapon's casing, whispering as though the rifle could hear him. "What if I could make you hold more? Make you reload faster? Give them a fighting chance…"
That was when ARI spoke. Her voice chimed like crystal in his head.
> "Observation valid. Solution available. Initiating Major Mission protocol."
Sirius blinked, straightening. "Wait. Major Mission? Already?"
> "Confirmed. Mission designation: Micro-Mag Expansion."
The holographic interface shimmered before his eyes, invisible to everyone else in the workshop. ARI's projection unfolded with elegant precision, each objective outlined in faint blue light.
---
> Major Mission: Micro-Mag Expansion
Scope: All small and medium firearms. Exclusion: heavy one-use launchers and ordnance (e.g., RPGs, anti-armor).
Objectives:
1. Reinforce micro-mag casings for stability.
2. Optimize ammunition feed for continuous fire.
3. Standardize micro-mag compatibility across all infantry weapons.
Projected Outcome:
Reload efficiency increased by 46%. Average magazine capacity increased by 30%. Estimated survival rates in skirmishes improved significantly.
"Micro-Mags," Sirius whispered, staring at the floating schematic. "Smaller bullets, tighter pack. More rounds per clip. Faster reloads… Soldiers won't run dry in the middle of a fight."
> "Correct," ARI confirmed. "Projected casualty reduction: 42% on Vetra-9 alone."
A grin spread across Sirius' tired face. "Now that's a mission."
---
The workshop hummed with its usual rhythm—technicians muttering, sparks flying, diagnostic screens glowing. But Sirius' bench had become a storm of motion. He dismantled rifle after rifle, sketching adjustments in grease-pencil on metal scraps, then diving back into circuit housings.
Other FAWS techs glanced over, half-curious, half-exasperated.
"Blake's on another one of his streaks," one muttered.
"Again? What's he even building this time?" another asked.
"No clue," the first replied, shaking his head. "But last time he did this, we ended up with automated turrets guarding the calibration bay. So… maybe just let him cook."
They laughed lightly, though some part of them took comfort in knowing Sirius' eccentric tinkering usually paid off.
Inside his head, ARI was less forgiving.
> "Focus, Sirius. Adjust the feed mechanism first. Casings must withstand 30% higher stress without warping."
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," he murmured, hands moving with calm precision. "Trust me, ARI. I know these babies better than anyone."
> "Reminder: your colleagues already suspect your eccentricity. Speaking aloud to yourself may reinforce this perception."
Sirius smirked. "Good. Let 'em think I'm crazy. Makes it easier when the miracle shows up at the end."
---
Far above, in the observation room, the officers replayed the drone feed again. The stranded squad's ammo counters blinked dangerously red. Every delay in reload was a countdown to death.
"Even with automated turret support, infantry are far too vulnerable when their mags run dry," one officer said grimly.
"Agreed," another replied. "If FAWS can improve reload efficiency, even by a small margin, survival rates could double in certain skirmishes."
The colonel crossed his arms. "So. Who in FAWS is even capable of something like that?"
The analyst hesitated, then answered. "Blake. Junior technician. Recently promoted. Reputation has… grown."
A murmur spread across the room. The colonel raised an eyebrow. "Blake? That's the one the infantry are calling Renegade?"
"Yes, sir. His actions during the ambush at HQ, and later the turret fortifications… rumors spread quickly. He's become somewhat of a folk name among the lower ranks."
The colonel's expression darkened. "Folk heroes outside the chain of command are dangerous. Still—if he can deliver results…" He let the thought hang.
"Sir," another officer interjected carefully, "his record shows consistent, if unorthodox, success. If this 'Renegade Blake' is working on something now, it may be exactly what the infantry needs."
The colonel gave a short nod. "Then we watch him. Closely. If he succeeds, we'll know. And if he fails—" He cut himself off, leaving the rest unsaid.
---
While Sirius worked, his old squadmates lived out their own battles across Vetra-9.
Jinx Alvarez, reckless as ever in the Rapid Assault Unit, cursed loudly when his rifle clicked dry mid-charge. "Damn it! Out already?!" His sergeant barked at him to fall back, but Jinx only thought: Wish Blake was here to fix this junk.
Stone Varga, holding the line with Heavy Infantry, calmly swapped clips under fire, but even he muttered, "Too slow. Too damn slow…" as Hivebugs pressed harder.
Bear Ivanov, strapped inside a heavy armor rig, overheard chatter from infantry outside. "Running low! Need reload cover!" His massive fists tightened around his controls.
Whisper Kade, rushing between the wounded, watched a soldier bleed out while fumbling with an empty rifle. She clenched her jaw. "If only their weapons could keep up with them…"
Sparks Novik, her weapons console flickering, slammed her fist when an automated turret faltered. "If Blake were here, this wouldn't happen," she hissed.
Shade, silent and steady on a ridge, counted his rounds carefully. When he reached the last, he whispered into comms: "This isn't sustainable."
None of them knew it, but Sirius was already building the answer to their frustrations.
---
Late into the night, Sirius leaned back from his bench, wiping sweat and grease from his face. The beginnings of the Micro-Mag system lay scattered before him: reinforced casings, adjusted feed coils, early prototypes glowing faintly under diagnostic scans.
> "Progress: 37%," ARI reported. "Projected time to completion: 12 days with continuous work."
Sirius exhaled, rolling his stiff shoulders. "Twelve days, huh? That's twelve days too long for the people out there…"
> "Patience is required for stability."
He shook his head, determination burning in his eyes. "No. Patience gets people killed. We'll make it faster. Stronger. Ready before the next Hivebug wave."
The war outside raged on. Soldiers bled and died. But in the quiet heart of FAWS, Sirius Blake—Renegade Blake—had just begun his first Major Mission.
And when he finished, no soldier on Vetra-9 would ever face the Hivebugs with empty chambers again.