Kovacs stood in the vast, cavernous mecha shop; his eyes fixated on the towering frame of the Roundhead before him. The machine loomed large, stripped of its outer armor, skeletal in appearance, revealing the intricate network of wiring and mechanical joints that gave it life. At forty-five tons, the Roundhead was one of the heavier mecha in the light class—more heavily armored than the Fusiliers but still agile enough to outmaneuver medium-class models. Right now, though, it looked like a shadow of its former self, stripped bare, waiting for the upgrades that would soon make it combat-ready once more.

Kovacs crossed his arms, leaning slightly on his left leg, trying to take some pressure off his aching hip. He winced as a sharp pang shot through him, but his gaze didn’t waver from the mecha. He’d spent hours working on this redesign, pouring over every system, every diagram, and now it was all coming together in front of him. He oversaw the team as they carefully installed the new internal components—state-of-the-art targeting systems, upgraded power cells, improved heat sinks, and enhanced hydraulic actuators. This Roundhead was about to become something far more efficient than the aging machine it had been.

Pitt, the gruff old technician he had been assigned to work with, stood beside him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, a scowl plastered on her face. She hadn’t been shy about sharing her thoughts; today was no different. “This is a damn waste of time, kid,” she grumbled, her voice carrying the gravelly tone of someone who had been around Mecha far longer than Kovacs had been alive. “These old systems don’t need replacing, just a good refurbishment. Inspect, clean, repair—slap on some fresh armor, and she’s ready. But here we are, tearing out the guts for fancy upgrades that no one’s asked for.”

Kovacs didn’t respond immediately; his eyes still trained on the mechanics as they worked. He could feel the frustration building in Pitt’s voice, but he also knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. This level of overhaul was time-consuming, and for the crime lord who had contracted him, it was likely overkill. But Kovacs had a vision for these machines and wasn’t about to cut corners.

“This isn’t just about getting them operational,” he said, his tone even. “These mecha must be reliable, not just patched up for the next fight. If they fail in the field, that’s on us. A refurbishment wouldn’t cut it. The Roundhead’s systems are outdated. The targeting systems alone are a joke by today’s standards.”

Pitt huffed, shaking her head, clearly unimpressed. “You kids always think you know better. You want to slap on all this new tech and make them shiny and new, but you don’t understand these old birds. You don’t know how to make do with what you’ve got. Sometimes a good ol’ fix-up is better than tearing everything apart.”

Kovacs glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight smirk. “Maybe. But this isn’t just about making do. These mecha are going to be fielded against modern opponents. We’re not dealing with some backwater skirmish here. If they’re going to survive, they need to be better than they were. Faster. More efficient. And they need to hit harder.”

Pitt grunted, her face scrunched in thought as she chewed on his words. “Fast, sure,” she muttered. “But I’ll tell you one thing, kid. All the fancy tech in the world won’t save you if the frame can’t hold up. You start messing with too much, and the integrity of the mecha’s structure might not be what you think it is. You’ve been staring at schematics, but these machines? They’ve got personality, they’ve been through the ringer. Gotta respect that.”

Kovacs couldn’t help but nod slightly at her point. He knew the risks of overhauling so much at once but also believed in the upgrades he was installing. These machines would be better for it, even if Pitt wasn’t convinced.

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“I get it,” he said after a moment. “But trust me on this. When they hit the battlefield, they’ll hold up. They’ll be better than they were and get the job done.”

Pitt let out a long sigh, clearly unconvinced but at least willing to let him take the lead. “Your call, kid. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you if something goes wrong.”

Kovacs smiled faintly, more to himself than to her. “If something goes wrong, I’ll be the first to take responsibility.”

Pitt gave him a sidelong glance before returning her attention to the Roundhead. “You better be. Let’s get back to work before I start thinking you’re too soft to handle this job.”

Kovacs chuckled softly under his breath. “Deal.”

Unbeknown to either Kovacs or Pitt, a pair of sharp eyes had been quietly observing their conversation from the shadows of the upper offices. Alphonse, a figure rarely seen on the shop floor but always present when it mattered, stood behind the tinted glass of the overlooking office. His demeanor was calm, collected, and watchful. He listened intently, his fingers drumming softly on the arm of his chair as the young designer and the seasoned technician exchanged words below.

Kovacs was proving to be something more than a simple pawn. He had a vision and more than that; he showed a commitment that impressed Alphonse. But it was Pitt’s words, her warnings about Kovacs pushing too hard, too fast, that made him lean in, his mind ticking over with possibilities.

Alphonse had seen many young upstarts come and go, but Kovacs was different. He wasn’t just trying to survive this world of crime, politics, and mecha engineering—he was aiming to reshape it, whether he realized it or not. And that made him dangerous but also valuable.

After a moment’s pause, Alphonse reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, untraceable phone. He stared at it briefly, considering his next move. There was potential here. The kind of potential that could tie Kovacs deeper into the business and his plans. He could feel the threads beginning to weave together, a web that Kovacs was unknowingly stepping into.

The line buzzed twice before a gruff voice answered. "Yeah?"

“It’s Alphonse,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving the scene below. “I need you to look into something for me. A kid named Kowal Kovacs.”

There was a brief pause. “The mecha designer?”

Alphonse smirked. “That’s the one. He’s more than just a designer, though. I’ve been watching him. He’s got ambition—and ambition like his can be useful if managed right.”

“What are you thinking?” the voice on the other end asked, now more curious than before.

“I want you to start laying the groundwork. Tie him into the new business we’re setting up. Slowly. He doesn’t need to know the full extent, but make sure he feels the pull. He’s already working with us on the mecha rebuilds, but I want him to be more deeply involved. Something bigger. Something that binds him to us.”

The voice hesitated for a moment. “You sure he’s ready? He’s still green.”

Alphonse’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Kovacs give another set of instructions to the mechanics on the floor. “He’ll be ready. He doesn’t know it yet. Besides, Pitt’s already giving him pushback, and I want to see how he handles it. He’s going to be valuable. We have to ensure we’re holding the leash when the time comes.”

There was a pause on the line. “Alright, I’ll start making moves. How do you want me to approach him?”

Alphonse’s smirk grew darker. “Let him think it’s his idea. We’ll offer him resources, opportunities, and maybe even some protection if needed. But don’t rush it. He needs to feel like he’s climbing the ladder on his terms. That way, when we reel him in, he’ll already be too deep to get out.”

The voice chuckled softly on the other end. “You always know how to play the long game, Alphonse.”

“I’ve had plenty of practice,” Alphonse replied, his tone smooth but cold. “Keep me updated. And remember, no mistakes. Kovacs is sharp. We'll lose him if he gets wind of this too early.”

“Understood.”

The line went dead, and Alphonse pocketed the phone again, returning his full attention to the floor below. Kovacs was still deep in conversation with Pitt, unaware of the eyes watching his every move and the threads already weaving tighter around him.

Alphonse leaned back in his chair, a satisfied gleam in his eye. Kovacs was ambitious, yes. But ambition had a price. Soon enough, Kovacs realized just how costly his rise in this world would become.