The first thing that hit Cameron’s nostrils as he stepped into Monty’s Mechs was tangy stench of oil and hydraulic fluid. The smell filled his nose, as the whir of pneumatic drills and buzz of welding torches hit his ears, creating a symphony of a mechanical masterpiece. Then the trio rounded a corner to enter the shop proper, and his eyes took in the full scope the space, understanding intimately why Logan wanted to come here.

“Woah…” he said under his breath, looking around in all directions, experiencing a visual overload.

The space was large, about the size of any of the port warehouses from back home, and practically filled to the broom with various machinery and A.R.M.S. parts. Crates were stacked neatly on both sides, markings burned onto their wooden exteriors with labels such as ENGINES, CHASSIS, FLARES, and other such things. In the middle, with an open floor that was double the size of the Fenris when stacked side by side, various tables and platforms sat spread out and littered with tubing, scrap-metal, and various mech parts being worked on by a platoon of automated worker drones that flew back and forth silently save for the high-pitched hum of their hover jets.

But the one thing that drew Cameron's attention above all others, was what could be seen at the far back wall. A massive conveyer belt that ran the width of the structure and beyond, slowly pulling in various A.R.M.S. units through to be displayed momentarily as they swung from the large metal hooks that suspended them.

“Like what ya see kid?” Logan asked, giving Cameron an elbow into his side to rouse him from his enamored gawking.

“Oh hell yeah,” He said, flashing Logan a smile, before taking a step out into the warehouse floor, looking around at the various projects being overseen by the army of drones currently working. He had made it about halfway, before a wet hacking cough caught his attention, followed in turn by the oily voice of a practiced salesman.

“Welcome to Monty’s young man!” The voice said, fake exuberance evident in the tone. Still, Cameron put on his practiced friendly, easy-going grin and turned to greet the man, having the fight hard to keep that expression as he laid eyes on him.

The only way to describe the guy was… wet. From the balding head dripping with sweat that the man dabbed with a rag that was more oil than cloth, to the various stains the stood prominent on his jumpsuit, either the guy was allergic to soap, or simply thought that “Mechanic” and “Hobo” were the same thing. He was short and stocky with a slight pudge, though Cameron figured it was most likely due from age, as his shoulders, chest, and arms looked like they were cut from granite.

“I take it your Monty?” Cameron asked, forcing his smile wider as he walked up to meet the man.

“Yep, that’s me!” The man said, guffawing with a with hoarse laughter as he took Cameron’s hand with an iron like grip and shook it profusely, “Mortimer McCrag, but my friends call me Morty, and you my good sir, I count as one of them.”

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“Save the speech Morty,” Logan’s voice rang out causing both Cameron and Morty to turn and watch as he and Aurora approached, “The kid’s with me.”

Morty’s smile drastically drew back from a wide toothy gleam, to a slight near-imperceptible smirk, “Logan… Last I heard, you’d ended up smeared across the pavement on some shithole in the Loriya System.”

“And you believed that?” Logan said, scoffing as he looked at him.

Monty shrugged, “Eh, you can’t blame a guy for hoping.”

The two then broke out into laughter from that, with Monty reaching out an arm for Logan to clasp.

“Eh, I’m just messing with ya rake. Good to see you’re still up and kicking. What can I do for you?”

“Wanted to take a look at those assault-variants you have in the back collecting dust. Especially the black one.”

Morty narrowed his eyes, his grin growing more wry and conspiratorial by the second, “And what makes you think I still have em?”

“Don’t bullshit me Morty, you and I both know they’re still back there. There’s not many people who can operate something with that much speed, and if they can, they don’t like having the protection of a wet paper bag.”

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on,” Morty said, waving his hand dismissively, before turning and walking past Cameron to make his way towards the back of the factory, while the trio fell into step behind them.

As they walked, Cameron felt a question beginning the form in the back of his head and couldn’t help himself from inquiring.

“So…” He began, worming his way between the space of Logan and Morty, “When you say ‘Assault-Variant’… is that different from say your Crusader?”

“Hm?” Logan said, looking up as Morty started to cackle, looking back over his shoulder at Cameron.

“Oh you’re new new ain’t ya kid?”

“I mean… Not that new,” Cameron said, feeling his ears heat up from embarrassment and regretting ever opening his mouth. Luckily, Logan was of the mind to actually answer his question instead of finding amusement from his ignorance.

“Yeah kid, there’s a difference,” He began, “My A.R.M.S. is a Crusader type, and a Heavy variant. Think of a type like a model and a variant like a classification. A type can be anything that a manufacturer will name a mech, but, special use cases aside, there’s only four variants; Defender, Support, Heavy, and Assault.”

“Alright,” Cameron said, nodding slowly, “I’m following ya. So what’s the difference.”

“Four things,” Logan said, holding up four fingers, “Speed, agility, output, and armor.”

“Two of those sound like the same thing,” Cameron said, highlighting the similarities between the first and third metric.

“You wanna keep interrupting or do you wanna shut up and listen?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“… The latter.” Cameron said sheepishly.