The FAWS workshop was quiet in the dead of night. Most technicians had long since retired to their bunks, but Sirius Blake still stood over his workbench, sleeves rolled up, eyes bloodshot but alive with excitement.
Scattered across the table were the final prototypes of his first Major Mission: the Micro-Mag Expansion System. Small, sleek casings glowed faintly under the light of diagnostic screens. Reinforced alloy shells, optimized feed coils, tighter bullet stacks—all of it designed to cram more firepower into a smaller package.
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, grinning despite his exhaustion. "There you are, my little miracle-workers. You're gonna keep the boys alive out there."
> "Mission status: 100% complete," ARI announced calmly in his head.
"Micro-Mag Expansion finalized. Reinforcement stable. Ammunition capacity increased by 30%. Reload efficiency increased by 46%."
Sirius let out a triumphant laugh and snatched one of the prototype magazines. "Hear that, ARI? That's victory in my hand. The grunts are gonna worship these babies."
He picked up a standard-issue pulse rifle, clicked the safety off, and lined up the mag with the chamber. His hands were steady despite the adrenaline.
And then—
Clunk.
The mag stopped halfway, refusing to slot in.
"…Huh?" Sirius blinked, pushing harder. "Don't be shy. It's your new home."
He twisted the rifle, squinting at the angle, tried again. The mag scraped, resisted, and jammed completely.
"Wait, what the—" Sirius muttered. He picked up another rifle, another mag. Tried again. Clunk. Same result.
The grin faded.
> "Observation: incompatibility detected," ARI said matter-of-factly. "Current infantry rifles are not designed to chamber micro-mags. Ammunition feed dimensions misaligned by 3.2 millimeters. Casings too small for current receivers."
Sirius froze, staring at the useless mag stuck halfway in the rifle. The workshop suddenly felt colder.
"…You're telling me," he said slowly, "that I just spent two weeks building the perfect miracle mag—" he yanked it out and slammed it onto the bench— "and it doesn't even fit?!"
> "Correct," ARI replied.
Sirius threw his hands in the air. "Oh, beautiful. Just beautiful. All this time, all the soldering, all the late nights, the endless calculations—and I reinvented the world's most efficient paperweight!"
He paced, muttering to himself, half furious and half hysterical.
"I didn't think this through. I made the mag smaller for more capacity, but the rifles weren't designed for it. I should've—no, I could've built an adapter. Maybe a dual-size feed system. Or—or—" He groaned, pulling at his hair.
Across the room, one of the night-shift FAWS techs glanced up from her own bench, raising an eyebrow. "Blake? You okay over there?"
Sirius waved her off, still muttering. "Fine, fine, just arguing with physics. Don't worry about it."
The tech shrugged and returned to her own work. They were used to his eccentric rants by now.
Inside his mind, ARI's voice remained steady.
> "Mission complete. Objective parameters were fulfilled. Reinforced micro-mag casings created. Ammunition capacity increased. Reload efficiency improved. However, current weapon compatibility was not included in mission scope."
Sirius stopped pacing and glared at nothing in particular. "So you're telling me I just checked every box… except the one that makes them actually usable?"
> "Affirmative."
He slammed his forehead onto the bench with a groan. "I'm a genius. A mad, useless genius."
After a long silence, Sirius sat up, rubbing his temple. "Alright, ARI. If the mags don't fit the weapons, then what's next? We scrap it? Start over?"
The holographic interface in his vision pulsed faintly.
> "Next mission available. Priority: Major Mission.
Designation: Micro-Slug Evolution."
Sirius blinked. "Micro-Slug?"
> "Objective: Redesign and standardize infantry small arms to accommodate micro-mag systems. Develop micro-slug ammunition compatible with reinforced casings. Expand compatibility across all weapons except heavy ordnance. Sub-objectives include improving ballistic stability, penetration efficiency, and integration with existing infantry loadouts."
Sirius leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, then burst out laughing. "Of course. Of course! I built the mag before the bullet. Classic Renegade Blake move."
He pointed at the rifle still lying on his bench. "So we're not just making the mag anymore—we're making the slug to match, and then redesigning the guns to feed it. That's the play?"
> "Correct. Micro-Mag Mission complete. Micro-Slug Mission initiated. Integration required for field viability."
Sirius rubbed his hands together, grinning again despite the sting of failure. "Well then… guess we're making history twice."
While Sirius wrestled with his prototypes, the upper command continued their silent council.
On the monitors, the stranded squad from earlier had barely survived, saved only by a last-minute drone strike that cut through the Hivebugs swarming their position. The officers had seen every second of their reload struggles, their desperate scrambles for ammunition.
"This is unsustainable," one colonel muttered. "Every squad is bleeding dry because their magazines can't keep up."
The analyst tapped another screen. "Preliminary reports from FAWS show one technician—Blake—experimenting with expanded mag capacity. Rumor has it he's close to a breakthrough."
"Renegade Blake," another officer said with a trace of amusement. "The one who turned scrap metal into working turrets during the ambush?"
"Yes, sir."
The colonel's expression tightened. "If he succeeds, good. If not… we'll make sure his reputation doesn't get out of hand."
None of them knew that Sirius was already past success—and barreling into the next challenge.
Across Vetra-9, Sirius' friends felt the same frustration that had driven him to this mission.
Jinx Alvarez cursed when his pistols ran dry mid-charge. "Reloading—again?! I barely got three bursts out!" His squad covered him while he fumbled with mags, Hivebugs clawing closer.
Stone Varga ducked behind a barricade, calmly reloading his heavy rifle. Even he muttered, "Too slow… this reload will kill me one day."
Bear Ivanov, inside his armored suit, listened to infantry shouting over comms: "I'm empty! Need another mag!" His massive fists clenched around his rig's controls.
Whisper Kade knelt over a bleeding soldier who gasped, "Out of ammo…" She gritted her teeth, furious at the helplessness in his voice.
Sparks Novik cursed at a turret console. "These feeds jam too damn fast. If Blake were here, this wouldn't be happening."
Shade, perched on high ground, counted his last rounds. His whisper into comms was calm, but grim. "One mag left. Then it's blades."
All of them, scattered across the warfront, were living the problem Sirius was trying to solve.
By dawn, the FAWS workshop looked like a storm had passed through. Spent casings, broken prototypes, half-burned notes—all littered Sirius' bench. He sat amid the wreckage, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The first Major Mission was technically complete. The Micro-Mag existed. More capacity, faster reloads—on paper, it was perfect. In reality, it was a misfit, incompatible with the very weapons it was meant to save.
But failure didn't feel like failure. Not to Sirius. It felt like the first step.
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming, whispering to himself as ARI displayed the glowing schematics of the new mission.
"Micro-Slugs. New rounds for new mags. A whole new system for the frontlines."
His grin widened into something fierce. "Alright, ARI. Let's make the bullets fit the fight."
And with that, Sirius Blake—Renegade Blake—plunged headfirst into his next Major Mission.