The FAWS workshop was quieter than usual. Not silent, never silent—the hiss of welders, the click of tools, the occasional whine of a diagnostics rig filled the space like background music. But something else lingered in the air tonight, something heavier. The tension from earlier that day still hadn't left.
Sirius Blake sat at his corner bench, hunched over like a predator over prey. His Carbine X lay disassembled across the table: barrel stripped, wiring exposed, receiver cracked open like a chest cavity. Around it were scattered datapads, scraps of paper, chalk markings smeared across the steel surface. He scratched equations and feed ratios, muttered about cycle delays, then erased them with a ragged swipe of his sleeve only to start again.
The boy's eyes gleamed too brightly under the work lights. Every so often, he would stop scribbling, look up, and let his gaze sweep across the room. It wasn't friendly. It wasn't hostile either. It was… appraising. Measuring. Like he was cataloguing every person, every hand, every skill.
That look made people uncomfortable.
A junior tech whispered to his partner as they loaded calibration logs into a console.
"Why's he staring at us like that?"
"Don't ask me," the other muttered back. "Feels like he's building something in his head and we're the spare parts."
They tried to laugh it off, but their chuckles were brittle, nervous.
Across the room, Sparks Novik slammed her spanner onto the table. "Oi! Quit whispering like schoolgirls. That's just Blake thinking. You know how he gets."
One of the juniors leaned in, voice hushed. "Thinking? Or plotting?"
Sparks scowled. "Does it matter? Last time he 'plotted,' we got the auto-eject mags. Saved a few hundred lives already."
"Yeah," the junior said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But he laughed the same way before he made the Shatterstorm. I still have nightmares about that thing's first test run."
Sparks opened her mouth to retort but stopped when she caught sight of Sirius. He wasn't working anymore—just sitting very still, stylus hovering over his datapad, grinning. That grin crawled up her spine like cold water.
"…alright," she muttered, turning back to her scope assembly. "Maybe you've got a point."
---
Hours passed. Techs trickled out, muttering excuses, until only a skeleton crew remained. Sirius didn't notice. His world had narrowed to the datapad glowing in front of him.
He scrawled faster now, notes turning to diagrams, diagrams to schematics. Barrel harmonics plotted against recoil compensation. Firing cycle graphs stacked over ammo-type switching relays. A web of circuits sprawled across the screen, connecting into something that looked less like a rifle system and more like the nervous system of a beast.
"Burst limiter…" he muttered, tapping the pad. "Three, five rounds… adaptable. No more spray-and-pray. Control the storm."
He dragged another line across the pad. "Ammo switcher. Normal to AP, AP to normal. One flick. One breath. No pauses. Clean."
His hand shook as he wrote, but not from fatigue. From exhilaration.
The room's silence shattered as he slammed his palm on the bench and let out a wild bark of laughter.
"HAHAHA! YES!"
Every remaining tech in the workshop jumped. Tools clattered. Someone dropped a coil of wire that hit the ground with a sharp clang.
Sirius stood, datapad in hand, holding it aloft like it was the Holy Grail. His grin split his face, wild and unrestrained. "IT'S DONE! The schematics—oh, you beautiful bastard—it's all here! Burst limiter, ammo switcher, recoil control. My baby's gonna sing!"
His laughter filled the chamber, echoing off steel walls, manic and triumphant.
---
From the catwalk above, Chief Loras stopped mid-step, hand tightening on the railing. He had heard Sirius laugh before—after victories, after breakthroughs, after too many sleepless nights. But this was different. This was raw, unfiltered madness.
He watched as Sirius kissed the datapad like it was alive, then cradled it to his chest.
Loras exhaled slowly. "…Renegade Blake. Every time you laugh like that, part of me wants to chain you to the bench before you burn the whole building down."
---
Whispers spread faster than smoke. By the next morning, the entire department knew.
"He finished something last night."
"Schematics. Carbine X upgrade, they say."
"He laughed again. The scary laugh."
"You mean the Shatterstorm laugh?"
"Exactly that one."
In the mess hall, tables clustered with huddled voices.
"Mark my words, something's coming. Saw the glint in his eye."
"Don't look at him directly. That grin's cursed."
"Cursed? That grin's why you're still breathing, dumbass."
Even outside the workshop, the rumors grew. Soldiers passing through FAWS for gear maintenance caught wind of it.
"Renegade's cooking again."
"Good. Bugs hit my squad last month. I'll take all the crazy weapons he can dream up."
"Yeah, but what if this one backfires?"
"Doesn't matter. The last three didn't. If the Renegade's laughing, we're winning."
---
Back at his bench, Sirius was oblivious—or maybe not. He heard the whispers, saw the stares. And he leaned into them.
He deliberately looked up from his datapad mid-sketch, scanning the workshop with a sly grin, eyes lingering on each tech until they twitched under his gaze. He chuckled softly, almost to himself, and returned to his work.
Whispers surged again.
"Why's he looking at us like that?"
"Like we're already part of his project."
"Maybe we are."
Someone shuddered audibly.
---
That night, Sirius scribbled the final touches on the datapad, circuits glowing in neat blue lines. He slumped back, exhausted but exhilarated.
"Schematics complete," he whispered. His grin softened into something almost gentle. He traced a finger along the design, voice low and reverent. "You're gonna be perfect. Better than perfect. You'll save them all."
He laughed again—quieter this time, but no less unnerving.
From the shadows, one of the night-shift techs muttered under his breath. "Lost cause. He's gone."
But another, older tech shook his head. "Lost cause? No. That's the look of someone about to change the war."
They both watched as Sirius hunched over again, scribbling notes for assembly. His shoulders shook with quiet chuckles.
The schematics were finished. And the whispers would only grow louder.