The training grounds were quieter that night. Most soldiers had already finished their rotations and returned to their bunks, but Sirius Blake lingered. The range smelled of burnt cordite and hot metal, faint smoke still rising from the targets. The air was heavy with the ghosts of shots fired, as if every echo still clung to the dirt walls. He flexed his hands, bruised from recoil, sore from repetition, yet he wasn't ready to stop.
"Again," he muttered, slamming a fresh mag into the rifle. The weapon barked, the counter ticked down, and the target's chest was shredded. But the head, the joints—untouched. His rounds carved ugly holes through the reinforced chest plate, but it meant nothing. A Hivebug would have kept coming.
ARI's voice hummed softly in his mind.
> "Accuracy to designated weak points: 41%. Ammo efficiency remains suboptimal."
Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "That's still terrible. Damn it, I can build the smartest weapons in the system, but when it comes to pulling the trigger…" He fired again, too fast, scattering rounds across the wrong zones. The counter hit zero. The mag ejected, clattering onto the steel floor.
"Useless."
He crouched, picking up the hot mag, frustration chewing at his chest. He could almost feel his father's voice in the back of his mind, whispering warnings about pushing too far, about chasing perfection with bloody hands. But Sirius shoved the thought away.
That's when he heard footsteps behind him.
"Still beating yourself up, Blake?" Sparks Novik's voice carried a sharp amusement. She leaned against the range divider, her short hair mussed from drills, her own rifle slung over her shoulder. The faint glow from the ammo counter flickered across her grin, painting her features in shifting blue light.
"You should be sleeping, Sparks," Sirius muttered, not looking at her.
"So should you. But I guess geniuses don't sleep, huh? Too busy yelling at bullets."
He shot her a look, lips twitching despite himself. "And you came out here to heckle me, I take it?"
Sparks shook her head and stepped forward, her tone softening. "No. To watch. And maybe to remind you you're not alone."
The words made him falter. Sirius' hands tightened on the rifle. He wanted to laugh it off, to joke, but her words dug in. He lowered the weapon slightly. "I'm behind. Stone, Jinx, Bear… even Shade. They're soldiers. I'm just a tinkerer playing soldier."
Sparks frowned, her sharp grin fading. "Bullshit. You're the reason any of us are alive. You made Carbine X, the auto-eject, the ammo counters. You—"
"I know," Sirius interrupted, louder than he intended. The sound cracked against the silence. He caught himself, shoulders slumping as he exhaled. "But what happens if I get separated from FAWS? What if I have to fight alone? What if…" His voice faltered. His father's face flashed in memory—eyes tired, jaw clenched as soldiers dragged him away, branded a traitor. Sirius clenched his jaw, the scar of it still raw. "…what if I can't protect the people I care about?"
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Sparks studied him carefully, her smirk gone. "Then you train. You keep shooting until your hands bleed, and you learn. Just like the rest of us did. You don't get to give up, Renegade."
He almost laughed at the way she spat his nickname like a challenge. "Renegade, huh? You too?"
"Everyone's saying it," she shrugged, adjusting the strap of her rifle. "Might as well own it."
ARI's voice hummed again.
> "Observation: Sparks Novik demonstrates increased morale-support effectiveness. Cooperative synergy probable."
"Shut it, ARI," Sirius muttered under his breath, though the corner of his mouth curved into a small grin.
Sparks nudged his shoulder with the butt of her rifle. "Come on. Show me what you've got left."
He sighed, exhausted, but lifted the rifle again. Sparks stood beside him, her stance steady, her eyes sharp. As he aimed, she pointed with quick barks of direction.
"Left joint! Elbow! Head! Good—don't just spray, Sirius. Feel the shot. Make it count."
Her voice cut through his frustration, snapping his focus into place. His rounds began to land truer, the counter ticking lower but not wastefully. The target's limbs snapped, its head shredded, its core weakened. Each hit felt less like chance and more like choice.
The mag clicked empty and ejected. Sirius was breathing hard, sweat running down his face, arms trembling from the strain. But the readout lit up higher than before, glowing in faint green.
ARI's calm voice followed.
> "Accuracy to weak points: 63%. Improvement of 22% in one session."
Sirius blinked, lowering the rifle. His chest heaved with exhaustion, but there was something new in his eyes—hope. "Huh. That's… actually better."
Sparks smirked, folding her arms. "Told you. Now imagine what you'll do when you stop whining."
He gave her a side-eye glare, then broke into laughter—raw, tired, but genuine. The sound echoed in the empty range like a spark in the dark. "Guess I needed someone to yell at me after all."
She chuckled, shaking her head as she turned toward the barracks. "Don't let it get to your head, Renegade. You're still playing catch-up. But… you're getting there."
Sirius lingered after she left, staring at the shredded targets. The smell of powder still hung in the air, sharp and acrid, but he felt steadier. He raised the rifle once more, whispering softly to himself, "Every bullet counts."
ARI responded in her measured tone.
> "Mission objective: gradual improvement. Probability of combat survivability increasing."
Sirius smiled faintly, lowering the rifle at last. "One step closer, huh? Yeah… we'll get there."
As the range lights dimmed and the night deepened, Sirius walked back toward FAWS, rifle slung over his shoulder. For the first time, the weight of it felt right—not just as a weapon, but as something he could grow into.
He wasn't just the Renegade tinkerer anymore. He was becoming something more.
A soldier in truth.