Kovacs returned to the routine of classes. Despite the tumultuous past few days, he found a strange comfort in the predictable rhythm of lectures and assignments. First was Mechatronics, where he handed in the backlog of assignments he had missed before being thrust into this accelerated program. The professor accepted them without much comment, focusing on the day’s lesson.

But it was in his Materials Science class that Kovacs felt a lingering unease. Professor Thornton, an imposing figure with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, was notorious for his exacting standards. Kovacs walked in and immediately felt the weight of those eyes on him.

“Mr. Kovacs,” Thornton called out as he entered, “I see you’ve finally decided to grace us with your work.”

“Yes, sir,” Kovacs replied, handing over the assignments. “I’m caught up now.”

Thornton gave a curt nod, flipping through the papers with a practiced eye. “Good. But catching up isn’t the same as staying ahead. I trust you won’t fall behind again?”

“I won’t,” Kovacs assured, though his mind was already on why he’d wanted to speak with the professor today.

Kovacs found it hard to focus on the lecture as the class progressed. His thoughts drifted back to the armor formulation he’d been working on, a potential breakthrough that could give the Fusilier mecha he was tasked with rebuilding a critical edge in battle.

When the class ended, Kovacs approached Thornton at his desk. “Professor, may I speak with you about a potential experiment I’d like to run?”

Thornton looked up from his notes, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “An experiment? You’ve piqued my interest, Mr. Kovacs. What exactly are you proposing?”

Kovacs hesitated, knowing that this conversation could be pivotal. “I’ve been studying the compressed armor formulations you showed us. I believe I’ve developed a variation that could improve both durability and efficiency, especially in light mecha designs.”

Thornton’s eyebrow arched, his interest deepening. “Go on.”

“Well,” Kovacs continued, gaining more confidence, “my formulation uses a blend of common materials. However, it alters the ratio slightly to enhance the reflective properties and compressibility without increasing the overall weight. The idea is to create an armor that takes up less space and offers superior heat dissipation, which could be crucial in prolonged engagements.”

Thornton nodded thoughtfully, though there was a calculating glint in his eyes. “And you believe this formulation will outperform the existing ones?”

“Maybe, at least, that is my hope, sir,” Kovacs replied. “But I need to run some tests to confirm it. I hoped to use the lab to conduct a few simulations and material stress tests.”

Thornton leaned back in his chair, tapping a finger against his chin. “Interesting, very interesting. However, I’ll need to see your formulation before I can approve any tests. I must verify its viability before we allocate any resources.”

Kovacs hesitated, feeling a twinge of doubt. He had put a lot of work into this formulation, and while he needed the professor’s approval to proceed, Thornton’s demeanor made him wary. But he didn’t have much choice; he needed the lab access.

“Of course,” Kovacs finally said, “I’ll send you the details as soon as I’ve finalized them.”

“Excellent,” Thornton replied with a tight smile. “I’ll review it personally. We'll continue the experiment if it’s as promising as you say.”

As Kovacs walked out of the classroom, a knot of unease settled in his stomach. Thornton’s interest had seemed a bit too eager, but he pushed the thought aside. He had a lot on his plate, and he needed to focus on getting through the day right now. There would be time to worry about the professor’s intentions later.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

***

Kovacs collapsed onto his bed, the familiar, gnawing pain in his hip making it nearly impossible to find a comfortable position. He let out a long sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on him. His mind, however, refused to settle. The specifications of the mecha he’d been assigned to rebuild swirled in his thoughts, each detail demanding attention.

He mentally ticked through what needed to be done. What was the least he could eliminate to improve the mecha to a more modern standard? The armor was outdated and too thin—replacing it with something more current, like his compressed armor, could make a significant difference without adding too much weight. The weapons, too, were a relic of a bygone era. Upgrading the guns, perhaps swapping out the missile systems for more reliable laser assemblies, would extend their battlefield effectiveness.

He rolled over, grimacing as a sharp pain shot through his hip. Sensors and targeting systems, he thought. They were vital, especially for the lighter mecha like the Fusilier. Improved sensors could enhance the pilot’s situational awareness, making the difference between life and death in a chaotic battle. Upgrading the targeting systems would ensure that each shot counted, maximizing efficiency.

Kovacs stared at the ceiling, his mind running through potential timelines. He’d need to set a realistic schedule for the manufacturing process, accounting for the inevitable delays and setbacks. The design work would have to be done meticulously, and there was no room for error, not with the stakes involved. Once the designs were solid, the actual construction could begin—though even that was a monumental task, considering the state of the old mecha.

A thought nagged at him, pulling his focus. He mused that I should look at reports of the mecha’s actual performance in war or battle. Theoretical upgrades were one thing, but understanding how these machines had fared in combat would provide crucial insights. It would help him identify the weaknesses that needed addressing and ensure that his planned upgrades were practical, not just on paper but in the heat of battle.

His eyes drifted closed as he started to piece together the puzzle, the pain in his hip fading into the background as his mind busied itself with the intricacies of design and strategy. Tomorrow, he would dive into the reports and start laying the groundwork for what must be done. But for now, he allowed himself a brief rest, knowing the magnitude of the task ahead.

With a weary sigh, Kovacs shifted on his bed, trying to find a comfortable position despite the persistent ache in his hip. His eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand—still early enough, he thought, to put in a little more time. The day’s thoughts swirled in his mind, but instead of succumbing to exhaustion, he decided to dive back into his work.

The virtual workshop. It had become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where the physical pain faded into the background and his mind could fully engage with the intricate puzzles of mecha design. Kovacs reached for his headset, feeling the familiar weight as he pulled it over his eyes and settled it into place. A slight hum filled his ears as the virtual world booted up, the real world slowly dissolving into the digital ether.

Within moments, he found himself standing in his virtual workshop. In this vast, open space, the tools and components of his designs floated around him, waiting to be shaped into something extraordinary. In the center of the room, suspended in the air like a predator poised to strike, was the sleek outline of the Mantis—the Devis Mantis, his creation in the making.

Kovacs approached the hovering schematic, his hands moving instinctively as he brought up the latest iteration of the design. The Mantis was intended to be fast, deadly, and efficient, a perfect blend of agility and firepower. It was a machine born from old technologies but reimagined through his vision—a scout killer that could outmaneuver and outgun anything in its weight class.

He began tweaking the layout, adjusting the flamethrowers and machine guns' positioning, and refining the armor plate's angles to optimize deflection. The virtual interface responded fluidly to his commands, each change instantly rendering on the model before him. The more he worked, the more the pain in his hip receded into the background, replaced by the focus and drive that always came when he immersed himself in design.

The Mantis was far from complete, but he inched closer to bringing it to life every time he entered the virtual workshop. Tonight was no different. Kovacs knew that the real work would begin soon enough—constructing the machine, testing it, refining it in the real world—but for now, he was content to shape it here, in this space where his ideas could take form unencumbered by the limitations of reality.

He lost track of time as he worked, his mind entirely absorbed. Hours passed unnoticed, each adjustment bringing the Mantis closer to his vision. Finally, when the clock on his HUD signaled it was well past midnight, Kovacs reluctantly pulled himself away from the project. He saved his progress, the Mantis disappearing into the digital ether until the next session.

With another sigh, this one mixed with satisfaction, Kovacs removed the headset and set it aside. The pain in his hip returned, a dull throb that reminded him of his physical limitations, but he ignored it. His mind was still buzzing with ideas, possibilities for the Mantis and the other mecha he had to rebuild.

As he closed his eyes, he thought the real work would begin tomorrow.