The Carbine X leaned against Sirius' bench like a restless companion, its frame scarred with carbon scoring, its magazine well smudged with grease. To most, it was just a weapon. To Sirius, it was alive. His first child. His proof that the war could be bent—reshaped—by human hands.
But Sirius wasn't satisfied. Not anymore.
He tapped his fingers against the bench until ARI's pale-blue holo flickered into view, casting a ghostly light across his smirking face.
> "Mission initiated: CARBINE X UPGRADE — Fire Discipline & Adaptation (Normal Server)."
Objectives scrolled into place:
1. Develop burst-limiter firmware (3–5 round pull).
2. Integrate ammo-type switching system (normal ↔ AP slugs).
3. Install ARI-assisted recoil dampener module.
Sirius' eyes lit up. "Now that's a list worth bleeding for."
> "Do you accept?"
"Hell yes, I accept." He grinned, wild and sharp. "Can't keep my kids growing if I don't push them, right?"
The holo pulsed green. Mission accepted.
---
But Sirius leaned back, still restless, still scheming. "Question. If I just… make the schematics—beautiful, perfect schematics—and toss them to FAWS to handle the bolts and burns… does that count as mission complete?"
> "Clarification: mission completion requires prototype fabrication, bench testing, simulated combat trials, and field verification. Schematics contribute to progress, not completion. Rules remain unchanged."
Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Always the hard way. Of course."
He stared at the Carbine X, then leaned forward again. "Okay, but what if I oversee while they do the grunt work? I sketch, they sweat. Would that count?"
> "Delegation permissible for sub-steps. Core validation mandatory. Only one mission per cycle is acceptable. Rules absolute."
Silence stretched. Sirius' grin returned, thinner, more dangerous. His voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear. "One mission per cycle, huh? Fine. Then I'll just make… more friends."
He turned in his chair, slow as a predator. His gaze swept the workshop—lingering on Sparks with her lenses, on Whisper with her bandages, on nameless techs hunched over half-assembled rifles. His grin widened. His shoulders shook.
A chuckle slipped out. Then another. Until it built into something ragged and sharp.
"More friends," he muttered. "Yeah. I'll make more friends… and they'll do all the dirty work."
---
The room froze.
Technicians stiffened mid-task, tools hovering useless in their hands. Sparks looked up sharply, brow furrowed. Whisper stopped scolding a junior tech, her hand pausing mid-wrap. Even the rookies, too new to know Sirius' reputation, felt the chill that slid down their spines.
Someone whispered, "Why… why does he look at us like that?"
Another muttered, "Renegade's plotting again. I can feel it."
"Don't say that," someone else hissed. "Every time he laughs like that, something blows up. Or melts. Or both."
The whispers rippled outward, a tide of unease swelling through the room.
Even Loras, watching from the catwalk above, felt the shift. He had seen Sirius grin a hundred ways—cocky, smug, even triumphant—but this grin was different. Colder. Playful in a way that felt like danger waiting to be unleashed.
For the briefest moment, Loras wondered if Blake truly meant what he said—if the boy was about to turn his coworkers into components for some mad project.
---
By evening, the rumors had escaped the workshop and seeped into the mess hall.
"You saw his face. He's planning something."
"Yeah, planning how to use us as test subjects."
"Or test pilots."
"Or test corpses."
Some laughed nervously. Others didn't.
One junior tech swore he saw Sirius sketching schematics on a napkin in the cafeteria, grinning at no one. Another claimed Blake had whispered to the Carbine X like it could answer him. A third insisted he overheard him muttering about "making more friends," and that was enough to sour everyone's appetite.
Renegade Blake wasn't just a nickname anymore. It was becoming a legend—a whisper of a genius half-savior, half-madman, unpredictable as his inventions.
---
In his office, Loras rubbed his temple, listening to the echo of Sirius' laughter drifting faintly through the walls.
"Blake," he muttered, shaking his head. "I don't know if you're a savior or a curse. Maybe both."
Back in the workshop, Sirius scribbled firmware notes onto his datapad, humming softly. Every so often, he glanced at the empty benches around him and chuckled again, remembering the looks of unease.
"Oh, you'll help," he whispered to the Carbine X. "You just don't know it yet."
The rifle gleamed under the light, silent, but somehow complicit.
And across FAWS, the whispers only grew louder.