The workshop hummed with the sound of machines;challenge was obvious the air tinged with the faint metallic tang of solder and coolant. Kovacs stood before his design terminal, staring at the skeletal framework of his latest creation. The challenge was clear: create a 60-ton heavy assault mech that would outperform the competition in the upcoming trials. This wasn’t just another design—it was a statement of his growing mastery, a chance to prove himself not only to Ilara but to the larger galaxy.

Kovacs keyed in adjustments, his mind racing through possibilities. The cornerstone of the design was the reactor—a modified version of the Rawlins 300. Thanks to the rare elements discovered on Prescott, he’d managed to strip two-thirds of the reactor’s weight without sacrificing power output. This breakthrough was revolutionary; it freed up precious tons for heavier weapons, thicker armor, and advanced mobility systems.

“It’s still got to be balanced,” he muttered to himself. “Too heavy, and it’s just a walking target. Too light, and it won’t survive on the field.”

The reactor’s compact size allowed him to envision something unprecedented: a heavy assault mech with jump thrusters. The idea was almost laughable—a 60-ton behemoth capable of leaping across the battlefield. Yet, with the weight savings and power output from the Prescott-enhanced reactor, it was possible. Not only possible, but practical.

Kovacs began laying out the mech’s core components.

Reactor: The heart of the Wyvern was the Prescott-enhanced Rawlins 300. Compact and efficient, it powered the entire mech while maintaining a low weight profile.

Armor: He selected layered ceramite plating reinforced with advanced composites. It offered exceptional protection without compromising mobility, ensuring the Wyvern could take punishment and keep moving.

Weapons: The saved weight allowed him to mount a devastating arsenal. He mounted twin gauss cannons on the arms, providing long-range precision firepower, and a rotary auto-cannon on the shoulder for sustained suppressive fire. The torso housed missile pods, giving it the ability to deliver punishing salvos at mid-range.

Mobility: The jump thrusters were the crown jewel of the design. Integrated into the lower legs and back, they allowed the Wyvern to make controlled leaps, enabling it to bypass obstacles, evade enemy fire, or reposition for a better angle of attack. With a top speed of 40 mph, cruising speed of 25 mph, and reverse speed of 40 mph, the Wyvern was shockingly agile for its class.

Modularity: Kovacs made the design adaptable, allowing for quick swaps of weapons and systems in the field. Whether the Wyvern needed to serve as a fire support platform, a frontline brawler, or an urban combat specialist, it could be reconfigured to fit the mission.

Hours turned into days as Kovacs worked tirelessly, refining every detail. He simulated countless scenarios, testing the Wyvern’s loadouts and systems against theoretical opponents. Kovacs met each failure with adjustments and improvements, evolving the design into something both brutal and elegant.

Ilara stood in the doorway, watching him with her usual sharp gaze. “You’ve outdone yourself,” she said, stepping into the room. “But you realize what this means, don’t you?”

Kovacs didn’t look up from the terminal. “That I’m getting better?”

“No.” Her voice was cold, almost scolding. “That you’re creating something that could be used to kill thousands."

He froze, her words hitting him harder than he expected. Turning to face her, he frowned. “That’s not my intention. This is for defense, for protection.”

“And do you think the corporations care about your intentions?” Ilara stepped closer, her voice lowering. “They’ll see a weapon, Kovacs. A weapon they’ll want to mass-produce, sell to the highest bidder, and deploy wherever they see profit.”

He hesitated, the weight of her words settling over him. “So what do I do? Stop designing? Pretend I don’t know how to make things better?”

Ilara shook her head. “No. You learn to take responsibility. Every choice you make, every design you create—it has consequences. If you can’t live with that, you shouldn’t be doing this.”

Kovacs nodded slowly, her words leaving a heavy mark. But even as doubt gnawed at him, he knew he couldn’t stop. The Wyvern wasn’t just a machine; it was a culmination of his skills, a symbol of his growth. He’d just have to ensure it was used for the right reasons.

***

Kovacs sighed as he looked over the final statistics and layout of the mecha;

Wyvern

General Information:

Tonnage: 60 tons

Role: Modular Heavy Assault

Speed:

Walking: 40 mph

Running: 64 mph

Jumping: 40 mph

Internal Structure and Armor:

Internal Structure: Compressed Alumina

Armor Type: Prescott 4012

Weapons and Equipment Configuration:

Main Weaponry (Fixed):

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Durandal Gauss Rifle: Mounted in the right arm.

Ammo: 16 shots (2 tons, stored in the right torso).

Erlicher Lasers (x2): Mounted in the left arm.

Missile Systems (Modular):

Dahlgren 15 (Long-Range Missiles): Mounted in the right torso.

Ammo: 16 shots (2 tons).

Sams0n M-6 (Short-Range Missiles): Mounted in the left torso.

Ammo: 15 shots (1 ton).

Other Equipment:

Jump Jets (x5): Mounted in legs and torso.

16 Bianci Cold spot heat circulators; 16 (10 internal, 6 additional) for heat management.

Modular Hard points: Unused hard points in the torsos for additional equipment or mission-specific gear (e.g., ECM, additional ammo, or energy weapons).

Heat Management:

Heat Sinks (Double): 16 (32 total dissipation).

Modularity:

The Wyvern features modular hard points in the torso and legs, allowing for mission-specific configurations. Users can swap in and out missile systems, additional energy weapons, or electronic warfare equipment as required.

Rare-Earth Reactor:

The Prescott-enhanced Rawlins 300 reactor reduces the mech’s weight by 2/3 compared to standard reactors, enabling the additional equipment and modularity while maintaining balance and survivability.

Battlefield Role:

The Wyvern is a versatile heavy assault platform, excelling in both direct engagement and support roles. Its combination of long-range firepower (Gauss Rifle and LRM-15) and close-range brawling capabilities ( Large Lasers and short range missiles) makes it effective in any battlefield scenario. The jump jets provide mobility rarely seen in heavy mechs, allowing the Wyvern to exploit terrain and evade enemy fire.

Kovacs’s final touches on the design emphasized flexibility without sacrificing durability or firepower, cementing the Wyvern as a contender for the top spot in the contest.The safe house sat on the outskirts of Prescott City, a nondescript building among derelict warehouses and overgrown lots.

***

The safe house was tucked into the outskirts of the City, a nondescript building surrounded by derelict warehouses and overgrown lots. Inside, the walls were lined with outdated technology and improvised security systems, but it was secure enough to suit their needs. Alphonse paced near the main console, his presence as commanding as ever, while Stewart leaned against the doorframe, her rifle slung but ready. Kovacs stood at the center of the room, the glow of the holo-projector casting pale light on his face.

“This is what we’re dealing with,” Kovacs began, projecting a map of the sector onto the wall. The web of connections, trade routes, and corporate logos that sprawled across it was dizzying. “It’s not just about Prescott. The corporations are staging conflicts across multiple colonies—small enough to seem incidental, but coordinated enough to spark something bigger.”

Stewart’s voice cut through the quiet tension. “Define ‘bigger.’”

“War,” Kovacs said bluntly. “A sector-wide conflict. They’re manipulating trade routes, fueling local disputes, and even planting false-flag attacks to escalate tensions. The goal is to create demand—demand for their weapons, their technology, their solutions. And they’re playing both sides to maximize profit.”

Alphonse stopped pacing, his sharp eyes narrowing. “And you’re sure about this?”

Kovacs nodded. “The data we pulled from the raid, combined with what Ilara shared, paints a clear picture. These skirmishes aren’t random. They’re tests—field trials for new tech and tactics. Prescott is just one of many proving grounds.”

Stewart crossed her arms. “And the corporations? They’re coordinating this?”

Kovacs switched the projection to a corporate hierarchy, showing layers of subsidiaries and shell companies. “Indirectly. They’re using intermediaries to avoid direct involvement, but the links are there. If we can get to someone high enough in the chain, we can expose them.”

“That’s a big if,” Alphonse muttered, rubbing his chin. “We’re small fish compared to these guys. If we overplay our hand, they’ll squash us before we can blink.”

“Which is why we need someone on the inside,” Kovacs said. “Someone with access to their operations, their plans.”

Alphonse’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “Funny you should mention that. We’ve got a lead. Local fixer named Jast. He’s connected to the corporations, handles logistics for their operations here. Word is, he’s paranoid but greedy—a combination we can work with.”

“And the plan?” Stewart asked.

Alphonse leaned against the table, his grin turning sharp. “We lure him in with a fake deal—intel on a rival faction, something juicy enough to get him to show. Then, we make him talk.”

Stewart frowned. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s never easy,” Alphonse admitted. “But that’s why I’ve got you as backup. And our friends…” He gestured to a room down the hall, where a handful of hired thugs waited, all eager to earn their pay.

Kovacs glanced toward the room, unease flickering in his chest. “Those guys don’t even know what they’re getting into, do they?”

“They don’t need to,” Alphonse replied coolly. “Their job is muscle, nothing more. We handle the rest.”

***

The safe house buzzed with anticipation as night fell. Jast’s arrival was expected within the hour, and everyone was on edge. The hired muscle loitered in the main room, checking their weapons and exchanging nervous banter. Stewart sat near the window, keeping an eye on the street below.

Alphonse ran through the plan one last time. “Jast shows up. We play nice until he hands over the intel. Then we grab him, nice and quiet. No mess, no noise.”

“And if it goes south?” Stewart asked.

“It won’t,” Alphonse said, his confidence unwavering. “But if it does, we handle it. Fast and clean.”

The hum of a hovercar broke the silence. Alphonse straightened, signaling everyone to get into position. Stewart moved to the shadows, her rifle at the ready. The hired thugs shuffled nervously, their lack of discipline palpable.

Jast’s car glided to a halt outside, its sleek frame reflecting the dim streetlights. The fixer stepped out, flanked by two bodyguards who moved with professional precision. Alphonse stepped outside to meet them, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp.

“Mr. Jast,” Alphonse said smoothly, spreading his hands. “Welcome. Glad you could make it.”

Jast glanced around, his expression wary. “You’ve got my payment?”

Alphonse gestured to a case on the table behind him. “Right there. Untraceable credits, as agreed. You’ve got the intel?”

Jast held up a small data chip. “Right here. But if this is a setup—”

“No setups,” Alphonse interrupted with a grin. “Just business.”

Jast stepped forward cautiously, his bodyguards staying close. He opened the case, inspecting the credits before nodding. “Pleasure doing business.”

“And we’re not done yet,” Alphonse said, his tone turning steely.

Before Jast could react, Stewart stepped out of the shadows, her rifle trained on him. “Hands up. Now.”

The fixer froze, his bodyguards reaching for their weapons—only to find themselves staring down the barrels of the hired muscle. The room filled with tense silence, broken only by Jast’s bitter laugh.

“You think this will get you what you want?” he sneered. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

Alphonse stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “Then enlighten me. Talk, or we’ll find someone else who will.”

Jast’s bravado crumbled under Alphonse’s interrogation, the fixer spilling details about corporate operations in exchange for a promise of safe passage. The intel he provided confirmed Kovacs’s fears—plans for escalating tensions across multiple colonies, coordinated through a network of proxies and intermediaries.

As the team regrouped inside, Alphonse handed the data chip to Kovacs. “Here. This is your specialty. Find out what we’re up against.”

Kovacs took the chip, his jaw tight. “I’ll start now.”

Stewart looked at Alphonse. “And Jast?”

Alphonse shrugged. “We let him go. For now. He’s more useful alive.”

Kovacs plugged the chip into the console, the screen lighting up with streams of data. “This changes everything,” he said quietly.

“Good,” Alphonse replied, his tone grim. “Because this is only the beginning.”