Kovacs hesitated for a moment before picking up his comm device. The last thing he wanted was another conversation with Boss Johnson, but he needed answers. The list of mecha he had to rebuild was daunting, and he couldn’t afford to waste time or resources. He dialed the number and waited as the connection was made.

"Johnson," came the smooth, almost bored voice on the other end.

Kovacs cleared his throat. "Mr. Johnson, it’s Kovacs. I’ve been looking over the specs of the mecha, and I need to know a few things before I get started."

There was a pause, followed by a faint sigh. "Go on."

"I need to know what resources I’ll have access to," Kovacs began, trying to keep his tone professional. "Parts, materials, any existing licenses for the components, and whether there will be any technicians to assist me. I also need to know where I’ll be doing the work."

There was a moment of silence, and Kovacs could almost hear the gears turning in Johnson’s mind. "I see. Those are reasonable questions."

Kovacs waited, feeling a bead of sweat form on his brow. He couldn’t tell if Johnson was annoyed, amused, or indifferent. The crime boss’s demeanor was always a challenge to read.

"I’ll have my people contact you with the details," Johnson finally said, his tone dismissive. "You’ll get what you need."

Before Kovacs could respond, the line went dead. He stared at the comm device, a mixture of frustration and anxiety bubbling up. This wasn’t the kind of work he could afford to be left in the dark.

Just as he was about to place the device back on his desk, there was a knock at his door. The sound was sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet of his small apartment.

Kovacs froze for a moment, then quickly walked over to the door. He hesitated again, hand hovering over the doorknob. Johnson’s words echoed in his mind: You’ll get what you need.

He opened the door cautiously, unsure of what—or who—to expect on the other side.

The youth followed the man silently, his mind racing as they drove out of town. The car's engine hummed, a low, persistent sound that did nothing to calm his nerves. He was acutely aware of the silence in the vehicle, the man beside him offering no conversation or explanation. Kovacs had expected this—the secrecy and tension—but it still set his teeth on edge.

The small estate they arrived at was unassuming, nestled away from prying eyes. The central warehouse dominated the landscape, its metal walls gleaming in the late afternoon sun. A private landing field stretched out beside it, empty now, but it spoke of resources and connections far beyond what Kovacs had initially imagined.

As they entered the warehouse, the air was cool, and the faint smell of oil and metal lingered. The space was vast, but the four empty gantries immediately drew Kovacs’ attention. He could almost see the mechas that would eventually fill them and almost feel the weight of the task ahead. His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, commanding voice.

"Is this him?" barked an older woman, her voice rough. She was dressed in a technician’s jumpsuit; her expression barely contained irritation. She looked him up and down critically, assessing whether he was worth her time.

"Yeah, this is him," the man who had driven Kovacs replied, his tone dismissive. He turned to Kovacs. "You’re in her hands now. She’ll show you around."

Kovacs nodded, suppressing the urge to ask the dozen burning questions. Instead, he focused on the woman before him, realizing she might hold the needed answers.

"I’m Kovacs," he offered, trying to break through her gruff exterior with a bit of politeness.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Don’t care what your name is," she snapped back, crossing her arms. "I care about whether you can do the job."

Kovacs blinked, taken aback but undeterred. "I can do the job," he said firmly. "But I need to know what resources I have. Tools, parts, licenses, technicians—what’s available?"

The woman eyed him for a moment longer, then sighed as if she had expected nothing less. "Follow me," she said, turning on her heel and marching further into the warehouse.

As they walked, she began to rattle off what was available. "We’ve got basic tools, nothing fancy. Parts are hit or miss, depending on what’s come in. Licenses... well, those are a bit of a gray area. You’ll have to be creative. As for technicians, you’re looking at the team," she said, gesturing to herself. "And a couple of greenhorns who barely know a wrench from a spanner."

Kovacs absorbed the information and tried to determine how he would make this work. It was a far cry from the well-equipped labs at the academy, but he had to make do. He had no other choice.

"Alright," he said slowly, nodding as he formulated a plan. "I’ll need to start by going through the parts inventory. And I’ll need to know your licenses, even if they’re expired. I might be able to work with them."

The woman stopped and turned to face him, her expression softening. "You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that," she muttered. "Fine. We’ll start with the inventory. But don’t get your hopes up, kid. This isn’t going to be easy."

Kovacs met her gaze, his resolve hardening. "Nothing ever is."

Kovacs noted the tension in the air as he scanned the empty gantries. The warehouse had the bones of a proper workshop, but without the mecha, it was like a stage set for a play that hadn’t yet begun. The space echoed with anticipation, a silence that felt heavy with expectation.

"When do the mecha arrive?" Kovacs asked, gauging how much time he had to get his bearings.

His handler shifted uncomfortably, clearly caught off guard by the question. Before he could respond, the technician cut in with a grunt that was half frustration, half resignation. "Next week..." she muttered, her voice as gravelly as the floor beneath their feet.

Kovacs took a moment to absorb that. A week. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He could use the time to finalize his plans, gather resources, and maybe even get Pitt to warm up to the task ahead.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," he ventured, turning to the technician, hoping to soften her rough edges with politeness.

"I didn't give it," she shot back, her tone as blunt as her demeanor. There was a pause, then a slight, reluctant shift in her posture. "Just call me Pitt."

Kovacs nodded, deciding not to push his luck. "Alright, Pitt. Let's get ready for what's coming."

There was a lot to do, but now, at least, he knew who he'd be working with and that he had a small window to get things in order before the real work began.

***

Kovacs eased into the desk chair before the large CAD machine, the five expansive screens ready to hold the myriad schematics he needed to reference. This setup, far more advanced than anything he’d used before, was intimidating yet exhilarating. The screens flickered to life, displaying a vast array of available systems. He scanned the options: missile systems, both long and short-range, from Veridian Dynamics, various laser assemblies, and even a large-caliber rifle.

He leaned forward, his fingers poised over the controls, and began to pull up the details on each system. The Veridian Dynamics missiles were newer than the ones originally equipped on the Fusilier, a potential upgrade that could give the mecha a much-needed edge in combat. The laser assemblies were versatile, offering configurations that could be adapted for the mecha’s arms or mounted on the shoulders, depending on each unit's role.

Kovacs found himself intrigued by the large-caliber rifle. It wasn’t something he’d typically associate with a light or medium mecha, but outfitting one of the Round Heads with such a weapon sparked his imagination. The rifle’s specs showed promise, particularly in long-range engagements where precision could be the difference between victory and defeat.

As he continued to sift through the data, Kovacs’ mind buzzed with possibilities. The options before him were like puzzle pieces, and his job was to fit them into a coherent, practical design. The fact that he had these resources at his disposal was both a blessing and a challenge; he would need to be strategic, ensuring each choice served the larger goal of revitalizing these old mecha for modern warfare.

Despite the overwhelming task ahead, Kovacs felt a growing sense of purpose. Here, in this workshop, with these tools at his disposal, he had the chance to prove himself—to take these outdated machines and turn them into something formidable. But he knew he couldn’t rush it. There were decisions to be made, testing to be done, and the looming presence of Boss Johnson’s expectations.

He opened a new file, labeled it "Fusilier Revamp," and began sketching ideas. He would start with the missile systems, analyzing how the newer Veridian Dynamics models could be integrated with the existing hardware. Next, he’d look at the laser assemblies, deciding where they could be most effective without overloading the mecha’s power systems.

Kovacs knew he was just getting started, and countless variables still exist. But for now, he focused on the task at hand, channeling his anxiety into the meticulous work of a designer determined to save his own life. “I should probably come up with options just in case.” He muttered.