The workshop was quieter than usual, though only because most of the technicians were too exhausted to banter. The battle against the Hive Queen fragment had left everyone drained—physically, mentally, spiritually. But Sirius Blake had no time for rest.
His bench was buried in sketches, burnt-out circuit boards, helmet frames cracked open like skulls, and a dozen glowing data-sheets spread in messy layers. His Carbine X leaned against the wall, scarred from the last battle but still humming faintly, like it wanted to fight again.
Sirius paced back and forth, muttering to himself, his grin flickering in and out. He stopped occasionally to scribble a line, then tore the paper away, then laughed too loudly before groaning.
The FAWS techs gave him a wide berth. More than one whispered, "He's in one of his moods again."
But Sirius wasn't just ranting. He was wrestling with a problem larger than himself: too many projects, too many problems, not enough time.
He slammed a hand on the table and shouted, "We need everything! All of it, right now!"
His own words echoed back at him. He sighed, then grabbed a grease-stained sheet and began listing.
---
CARBINE X UPGRADE — Fire Discipline & Adaptation
Burst-limiter firmware (3–5 round pull).
Ammo-type switching (normal ↔ AP slugs).
Recoil dampener module.
He tapped his pen against the paper. "Carbine X… my first baby. Soldiers are burning mags too fast, spraying instead of cutting. We fix discipline with firmware, give 'em ammo-type switching so they stop wasting rounds on tanks, and dampen the kick so even rookies can keep aim."
He smirked. "But that's just one problem."
He flipped to another sheet.
SHATTERSTORM Mk II — Reliability Overhaul
Coolant-gel pack system.
Tripod auto-mode for defense.
Smart-feed sensors for drums.
Sirius ran a hand down his face. "Stone almost lost his hands to that jam. Bear nearly cooked his mech core just trying to keep the barrels spinning. The Mk II's gotta be more than thunder—it's gotta be reliable thunder."
Another sheet.
AUTO-TURRET PSY-RESISTANCE
Helmet-linked manual override.
Shielded targeting chips.
Psychic-pulse calibration tests.
He stopped pacing, eyes narrowing. "Queen fried half my babies in seconds. Turrets went blind. Unacceptable. Next time they'll have manual overrides tied to helmets, psi-shielded guts, and if needed—we'll train them to scream back at the bugs."
His laugh cracked, sharp and manic.
More scribbles.
OPTIC HELMET Mk II — Psi-Shield & Panic Mode
Psi-shielding firmware.
Dual comms & backup overlays.
Panic Mode: audio/visual dampeners, neural isolation.
Simulation field tests.
He held the helmet frame up, staring at the cracked visor. "HUDs failed. Soldiers froze. Never again. Mk II will take the scream and eat it, then lock the soldier into fight-mode even if their brain wants to curl up."
He dropped the helmet with a clatter and yanked another paper forward.
PSI-JAMMER DEPLOYMENT
Portable squad jammers.
Neural stabilizer patches.
Helmet-linked feedback mesh.
Sirius' grin widened. "We block the Queen, we block the Hive. Jammers on squads, patches on elites, helmets singing in sync. We make their hive-mind choke on static."
The grin faltered into a frown as he scrawled the last category.
AUTO-MED — Field & Combat First Aid
Auto-injectors for stabilizing vitals.
Nanogel wound sprayers.
Medic HUD overlays.
He rubbed his temple, whispering. "Whisper's medics… they can't take another flood. Too many bodies. Too many dying in their arms. We give soldiers a chance to patch themselves before it's too late."
---
When he finished, the desk was covered in sheets. Seven projects. Each urgent. Each screaming at him louder than the last.
Sirius stared at them, then burst into laughter that made the nearby techs flinch.
"HAHA! Oh, brilliant! Too many fires, and only one matchstick to burn them out!"
He paced faster. "Carbine X makes every grunt lethal. Shatterstorm saves the heavies. Turrets save the bases. Helmets save the minds. Jammers silence the Queen. Auto-Med saves the medics. Which one do I pick?"
His laughter died into a low growl. He slammed his fists against the desk, scattering the papers.
"If I choose wrong, soldiers die. That's the truth. That's the weight."
---
The door hissed open. Chief Loras stepped in, his usual stern frown softened with exhaustion. He looked at the mess of papers, at Sirius' wild eyes, and sighed.
"You're drowning yourself, Blake."
Sirius snapped his head up, grin flickering back. "Not drowning, swimming. Just… don't know which way the current's pulling."
Loras walked closer, picking up one of the sheets. "Carbine X upgrades. Good. Infantry swear by it now." Another sheet. "Shatterstorm. Stone told me he still hears the barrels roaring in his dreams."
He looked Sirius dead in the eye. "You can't build them all at once. Pick one. Focus. Deliver."
Sirius barked a laugh. "Pick one? That's like asking me which organ I'd rather save: the heart, the lungs, or the brain!"
"Then decide which failure kills us first," Loras shot back.
The workshop went silent. Even the techs stopped pretending not to listen.
---
Sirius slumped onto his stool, face buried in his hands. He muttered, half to himself, half to the room.
"They're all screaming at me. Carbine's whispering. Shatterstorm's roaring. The helmet's begging. The medics' eyes… gods, I saw them."
He looked up suddenly, his grin sharp again. "Maybe I'll let fate decide. Toss a mag, see which side it lands on."
The techs exchanged worried glances. Loras pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."
"Renegade," Sirius corrected with a wink.
Loras almost smiled despite himself. "Renegade or not, get me a priority list by tomorrow. The higher-ups want to know what's next. And Blake—" He paused at the door. "You're only one man. Don't forget that."
Sirius' grin faltered, just for a second.
When the door closed, he looked back at the scattered sheets. His fingers traced each title like they were names on a gravestone.
He whispered to the empty workshop:
"Which one of you saves the most lives?"
No answer came. Only the quiet hum of the Carbine X leaning against the wall.
Sirius leaned back, threw his head, and laughed again—loud, manic, defiant.
"Fine! Then we'll make all of you! Just watch me!"
The FAWS techs sighed in unison.
"Lost cause," one muttered.
"Yeah," another said, shaking his head. "But he's our lost cause."