The workshop smelled of oil and solder, a place Sirius once called home. For weeks he'd haunted it like a ghost, eyes hollow, muttering at blueprints but never laughing. Now he stood in its center with his Carbine X slung across his back, a datapad clutched in one hand.
FAWS personnel had gathered reluctantly. Some leaned against benches with crossed arms, others sat stiffly on stools. Their whispers rippled through the room like uneasy static.
"Why's he here again?"
"Didn't think he cared anymore."
"Renegade Blake, huh? More like vanished Blake…"
Even Sparks kept her distance, fiddling with a calibration tool as if it were a shield.
Chief Loras stood on the catwalk above, arms folded. His gaze lingered on Sirius, not unkind but wary. He'd seen the boy's breakdown, heard the rumors, watched morale dip. Now he waited to see what would come next.
Sirius looked at them all, every familiar face. For the first time in weeks, he didn't smirk or cackle. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, steadying his voice.
"I owe you all something."
The whispers stilled. Sirius' voice was clear, not booming, not mocking—just steady.
"I owe you an apology. For the last month, I've been… wrong. I shut myself off. I laughed when I shouldn't, and I stopped laughing when I needed to. I made you all carry my weight when I should've been carrying with you."
A silence settled over the room, heavy and expectant. Sirius continued, his grip tightening on the datapad.
"I lost someone important. My father. And… my guardian. It felt like everything I've built, everything I am, wasn't really mine. For a while, I didn't know if I mattered, or if I was just their echo. So I… disappeared. Even when I was standing right here, I was gone."
The words cut raw, but Sirius forced them out. His chest felt tight, but lighter with every syllable.
"I'm sorry. To all of you. To Loras. To the people who depended on me. I let the Renegade vanish when this war still needed him."
For a long moment, no one moved. The weight of his words hung in the air, fragile.
Then Sparks finally lowered her tool, exhaling. "About damn time you said it."
A few chuckles rose around the room—soft, cautious, but real.
Sirius allowed himself a faint grin. "Don't get too excited. I'm not turning into some saint. I'm still Renegade Blake." He lifted the datapad, flicking it alive. Schematics burst across the workshop display wall in blue light. "And Renegade Blake has work for you."
---
The display lit with the Carbine X upgrade plans: diagrams of burst-limiters, ammo-type switches, recoil dampener modules. Technical notes scrawled across every margin.
Gasps rippled through the room. Some stepped closer instinctively, their curiosity overriding their unease.
"You've been working on this?" Sparks asked, voice caught between awe and accusation.
"Every damn night," Sirius said with a chuckle. "You think I could really stop? Not a chance. But this time—" His grin widened. "—this time, I'm not doing it alone."
Loras straightened on the catwalk, frowning. "What are you saying, Blake?"
Sirius spread his arms dramatically. "I'm saying you're all my baby-makers now."
A ripple of laughter broke across the room—half groans, half chuckles, but laughter nonetheless.
"Gods, he's back…" one tech muttered, shaking his head.
"Renegade, you're insane," another snorted.
"Yeah," Sirius shot back, wagging a finger. "And you're all insane with me."
The tension cracked. Shoulders loosened. Whispers turned to chuckles. The workshop didn't feel haunted anymore.
Sirius slammed the datapad onto the nearest bench, leaning over the schematic like a conductor readying an orchestra. "Here's the deal. I've drafted every part of the upgrade. But schematics aren't weapons. They're just pretty pictures until you people breathe life into them. I'll give pointers, correct your rookie mistakes, maybe scream in your ear if you're dumb enough to weld a limiter backward—"
"Hey, that was one time!" a voice protested from the back, earning a wave of laughter.
Sirius smirked. "Exactly my point. So. You build. I guide. Together, we make the Carbine X better than ever. And when the next swarm comes, it'll be your hands that kept our soldiers alive."
---
For the next hour, Sirius walked them through the schematics. He projected diagrams on the wall, tracing circuits with his finger, cracking jokes when someone's eyes glazed over.
"Limiter firmware's simple—if you don't screw it up. Think of it like teaching your rifle not to scream all at once. Three to five round bursts, no more. That way you're not wasting half a mag on a single bug's kneecap."
"Ammo-switch system," he continued, flicking to the next diagram. "Normal slugs for drones, AP for tanks. Flip it in combat with a thumb switch here—" He pointed to the side of the rifle. "—and you'll feel like a magician pulling fire out of thin air."
The room hummed with murmurs, excitement replacing doubt.
Then Sirius pulled up the last schematic, his grin wicked. "And this little beauty? Recoil dampener. ARI-assisted, but don't worry about the AI magic. Just think of it as shock absorbers for your shoulder. Fewer bruises, more bullets on target."
Gasps rose again. Someone whistled low.
"Renegade, you're insane," Sparks repeated, though this time it was admiration, not critique.
"Damn right I am," Sirius shot back. "But it's the kind of insane that wins wars."
---
After the session, the workshop buzzed like it hadn't in months. Techs clustered in groups, arguing over which subsystem to start with first. Sparks was already scribbling notes, dragging two others into a heated debate about heat dissipation.
Loras finally descended from the catwalk, arms still crossed but his face softer. He stopped in front of Sirius.
"You did good today."
Sirius tilted his head. "That sounded dangerously like a compliment."
"Don't let it go to your head," Loras said gruffly. Then, quieter: "Apology accepted."
For a moment, Sirius didn't laugh. He just nodded. "Thanks, Chief."
---
That night, the workshop lights burned late. Teams labored over parts, sparks flying, voices raised in debate and laughter. Sirius drifted between them, offering advice, correcting mistakes, cracking jokes that drew groans and chuckles.
But when he finally leaned against his bench alone, watching the others work, his grin faded into something gentler. He thought of Whisper's words. Of Stone, Bear, Shade. Of his father.
For the first time since he'd lost ARI's voice, Sirius didn't feel alone.
He felt part of something bigger.
And as the workshop thrummed with life, one thought burned in his mind:
The Renegade is back. But this time… stronger.