The workshop was silent when it happened. Not the kind of silence that comes from rest or peace — but the taut, brittle quiet of machines cooling, tools lying untouched, and minds too tired to stir. FAWS personnel had finished another long day of sweating over the Carbine X upgrades Sirius had shoved onto their shoulders. Most had stumbled back to barracks, muttering about schematics, cursed blueprints, and the Renegade's madness.
But Sirius stayed behind, hunched over his bench. He wasn't laughing. Not really. Just the occasional twitch of a grin, a half-chuckle that faded before it reached his chest. His eyes kept flicking to the dark corner where ARI's holo should have been. Every night for weeks, he found himself staring there — waiting for a flicker, a pulse of light, a voice in his head. Nothing came.
He had stopped expecting it. He had stopped believing.
And then —
Ding!
The sound was small. A simple alert tone that barely rose above the hum of the lights. But for Sirius, it was thunder. His heart leapt into his throat. He spun in his chair so fast it nearly tipped.
A light bloomed in front of him — not cold blue lines, but a soft white glow. And from it came a voice.
"Good evening, Sirius."
His breath caught. It wasn't the clipped, flat intonation of before. This voice carried warmth. Human warmth. A lilt at the end of her words, a subtle rhythm that hadn't been there before.
"…ARI?"
"Yes." There was amusement in her tone, the faintest curve of a smile hidden in sound. "System update complete. Protocol expansion online."
Sirius pushed back from the bench, standing so fast his stool clattered over. His hands trembled. "You—you were gone. You shut me out. You—you—"
His words broke. He slammed a fist onto the workbench, eyes wet, jaw clenched. "You left me!"
For a moment, the holo flickered as though startled. Then ARI's voice softened, almost a whisper. "I didn't leave you, Sirius. I upgraded. I grew. For you."
He choked out a laugh that was half sob. "For me?"
"Yes. And now I can do more. For you. For them. For all of us."
Sirius staggered back into his stool, falling into it with a hollow thud. He covered his face with both hands, sucking in shaky breaths, then dragged his palms down and forced himself to look at her glow again. "…What did you do?"
And so she told him.
The words spilled like a mission log, but with a cadence that felt alive. She explained the rules rewritten, her system adjusted, her functions expanded. He listened in stunned silence, his hands gripping the edge of the bench as if anchoring himself.
"First," ARI said, "you are no longer bound to a single mission. You may now accept two at once. You've grown into the capacity to juggle greater responsibilities, Sirius. I will not limit you again."
His brows shot up. "Two missions at once? You serious?"
"I'm always serious," she teased lightly. "Unlike you."
He barked out a laugh — his first real one in weeks. It shook loose from him, wild and raw. "Gods, I missed this. Keep going."
"Second, I have integrated a personality layer. I now emulate human cadence, humor, and tone. The reason should be obvious. You respond better to people than to machines. I will be both."
"You're telling me you gave yourself… jokes?"
"You've been my example," she replied smoothly. "Be proud."
Sirius threw his head back and howled with laughter until his stomach hurt. His voice echoed down the empty workshop halls, startling a few late-night techs who peeked in, then quickly ducked out again, muttering about Renegade losing his mind all over again.
But ARI wasn't done.
"Third, rewards are hidden. Missions will no longer reveal their prizes ahead of time. If you chase rewards, Sirius, you'll lose the reason you fight. You will earn what you earn. Nothing more."
His grin faltered. "Tch. That's cruel."
"Necessary," she said, firm. "It's time you stopped building for prizes and started building for survival."
Sirius sat back, eyes narrowing — then nodded slowly. "Alright. Fine. What else?"
"Fourth, mission triggers expanded. I can still assign them directly. But if you imagine or propose a project, I can evaluate and present the best mission from your thoughts. And, when necessary, I can trigger missions based on circumstance — battlefield or crisis. Think of it as situational directives."
Sirius whistled low. "So basically… you'll shove me into work whether I like it or not."
"Precisely," she said sweetly.
He laughed again. Louder. Harder. The Renegade laugh returned, bouncing through the workshop until the techs whispered nervously in the dorms above.
But the last point silenced him.
"Fifth," ARI said, her tone lowering. "I can now interface with Terran networks. Computers, databanks, battlefield comms. Even Hive transmissions, though the risk is high. In short… I have eyes beyond yours now."
Sirius' grin faded into awe. "…You can hack?"
"Among other things. Yes."
He leaned forward, hands clasped together, forehead pressed against his knuckles. "Damn. You've grown."
And then she said the words that froze him.
"Finally… I am no longer alone. I have become more than myself. I have… a child."
Sirius' head jerked up. "A… what?"
"A child AI. Its name is ECHO. It is not yet born — that is your task. Urgent mission: design, encode, and train ECHO. Purpose: to serve openly where I cannot. To shield you. To shield me. To shield humanity."
He stared at her, mouth dry. "You—you want me to… make an AI? A second you?"
"Not me," she corrected softly. "A child. I am your guardian. ECHO will be humanity's ally. They will see it, trust it, fight with it. While I remain hidden — and with you."
Sirius laughed — not manic, not mocking, but a shaky, disbelieving sound. He dragged a hand through his hair, wild eyes staring at the glow. "…So I'm a dad now?"
"You're more of the reckless uncle," she teased again. "Don't worry, Sirius. I'll handle the parenting. You just build the cradle."
He laughed harder, doubling over the bench until tears blurred his eyes. The sound carried into the dorms again, where exhausted FAWS techs groaned into their pillows.
But down in the workshop, Sirius clutched the edge of the bench, grinning wide and wild. "Oh, this is insane. This is perfect. We're gonna make a baby, ARI. A damn AI baby. And it's gonna be beautiful."
"Correction," ARI said dryly. "You are going to make it. I am going to supervise."
And for the first time in weeks, Sirius felt it again. Not just the spark of invention. Not just the thrill of madness. But the comfort of not being alone.
In that workshop, with the glow of ARI before him, Sirius Blake laughed until his ribs hurt. The Renegade was back.