Months slipped by like sand through worn fingers, and Sirius Blake was no longer the same boy who had stumbled into the sparring ring, ribs cracked and pride bruised. The endless drills, the bruises, the aching muscles, all became part of his daily rhythm. ARI tracked every heartbeat, every second shaved off his reflexes, every fraction of strength gained.
> "Endurance threshold: improved by 41%. Combat reflexes: within acceptable infantry standards. Muscle density: 1.3× previous baseline," ARI reported after one session.
Sirius, sweat dripping down his jaw, leaned against the training dummy, gasping. "You mean… I don't fight like a rusted turret anymore?"
> "Correct. Efficiency approaching combat-ready status. Though your tendency for reckless humor persists."
He barked out a laugh even as he nearly collapsed, clutching his sore ribs. "Some things you can't train out, ARI."
Every day he sparred with Jinx, who no longer held back. Every week Stone pushed him into heavier combat drills with shields and weighted packs. Whisper patched his knuckles more times than she could count. Even Bear offered advice, showing him how to move like a mech—solid, grounded, unshakable. Sirius was still smaller, still younger, but his body was no longer soft with hours of workshop work. It was lean, wiry, hardened by months of discipline.
The FAWS techs, once used to Sirius being the eccentric tinkerer, now watched with a mixture of awe and disbelief as he finished a drill, collapsed onto the bench, and popped right back up grinning.
"Renegade's gone mad," one whispered.
"No," another corrected, watching Sirius drive his fists into the training dummy until his knuckles bled. "Renegade's becoming one of them."
---
Word of his progress didn't stay contained to FAWS. Reports trickled upward, from Stone's squad logs to Bear's mech feedback and Jinx's blunt evaluations. High Command, once skeptical of Sirius as nothing more than a genius mechanic tucked safely in the rear, began to take notice.
At first, the officers chuckled at the idea. "Renegade Blake? The boy who laughs at weapons and cackles in the workshop? Training as infantry?"
But the reports kept coming. Endurance gains. Combat drills completed. Reflex timings rivaling trained soldiers. His minor mission logs—filed automatically by ARI into the FAWS server—read like the evolution of a soldier: hand-to-hand conditioning, live-fire reflex runs, shield endurance trials.
By the time the month turned to two, whispers in the command halls shifted.
"He's not just a rear-line genius anymore."
"If Blake keeps this up, he'll be field-ready."
"Renegade… damn, maybe that name fits after all."
---
The war itself was changing too. Terran forces had clawed back more ground in the last six months than they had in six years. Carbine X rifles and turret grids gave soldiers confidence, Shatterstorm deployments tore through Hivebug swarms, and Sirius' hidden ammo display quietly reduced waste where FAWS had leaked it into selected squads for testing.
For the first time in decades, the Hivebugs weren't just holding humanity back—they were being pushed.
With each forward gain came resources long buried under Hivebug control. Abandoned supply caches, refineries, even dormant mines that could be reactivated to feed the Terran war machine. Whole regions that had been written off as lost since the war's early days now appeared on maps again, glowing blue instead of red.
But with new ground came new problems. The Hivebugs never surrendered easily. Unknown terrain, buried burrows, dormant hives—all posed threats as soon as soldiers set foot in those reclaimed zones. Patrols became vital. Exploration missions into lands untouched by human boots in decades were now organized weekly.
One general put it bluntly in a briefing: "We've spent thirty years fighting just to survive. Now we fight to expand. Every inch of ground we take means more lives fed, more weapons built, more chance to end this war."
---
For Sirius, it meant opportunity. The higher-ups, watching his progress, began to debate where he belonged. Colonel Maren argued for keeping him in FAWS, to preserve the one mind that kept innovating. Others countered, pointing out that his training made him more than a workshop rat now.
"He's proven himself in body as well as mind," Maren admitted in a closed meeting. "But his battlefield instincts remain untested."
Loras leaned forward, voice grave. "Then test him. Send him on patrol. See if the Renegade's more than a legend whispered in barracks."
---
Sirius himself had no idea these discussions were taking place. He sat in the mess with Stone, Bear, Jinx, Whisper, Sparks, and Shade one evening, wolfing down his rations. His knuckles were still bandaged, his ribs sore from the latest drill, but his grin was unbroken.
"You're getting faster," Jinx admitted grudgingly. "Almost made me sweat today."
"Almost?" Sirius leaned back, smirking. "Guess I'll have to break a few more ribs before I impress you."
Whisper rolled her eyes. "Break another rib and I'll break your face."
The others chuckled, though Sparks pointed at Sirius with his fork. "Careful, Renegade. Rumor is, command's watching you. They don't just want your toys anymore."
Sirius blinked, surprised. "What, they want me too?"
Shade, ever quiet, muttered, "They want to see if you bleed like the rest of us."
The words hung heavy, but Sirius only grinned wider. "Guess I'll just have to laugh louder when I do."
---
That night, alone in his bunk, Sirius stared at the ceiling, ARI's soft glow shimmering at the edge of his vision.
"Frontline experience, huh?" he muttered.
> "Confirmation: probability of deployment for reconnaissance or patrol mission within 72 hours is 86%."
He exhaled slowly, heart pounding. "So… this is it. The next step."
> "Affirmative. Your combat progress has been recognized. Integration into field operations inevitable."
Sirius turned on his side, clutching his pillow. For all his bravado, the thought of stepping into the swarm as a soldier rather than a tinkerer made his stomach twist. But he smiled anyway. "Fine. Then we'll make sure the Renegade fights as hard as he laughs."
Outside, the war machine of Terra ground forward. Patrol routes were charted, soldiers armed, tanks fueled. Humanity wasn't retreating anymore. They were marching. And soon, Sirius Blake would march with them.