The workshop, usually Kovacs’s sanctuary, felt suffocating as the alarms blared across Prescott. The walls, which once enclosed a haven of creativity and control, seemed to close in on him. The news of the second enemy ship had spread like wildfire, its arrival a blow to the colony’s already fragile morale. The Iron Tide wasn’t regrouping—they were escalating. Fresh troops and combat units had been dropped planet-side in a coordinated assault that left no doubt about their intent. They wanted Prescott broken.

Kovacs stood in the middle of the chaos, staring at the newly activated interface panel glowing faintly in the dim light of the workshop. The Integrated Command Nexus—or ICN—was unlike anything else he had built. While most mech interfaces were designed for pilots and battlefield tacticians, the ICN had been tailored specifically for him—a designer, an engineer, someone who understood the machines inside and out but had never intended to step into the cockpit himself.

The ICN was a marvel, bridging the gap between his intimate understanding of mechs and the realities of combat. It could process real-time data streams, integrate with multiple mechs simultaneously, and provide strategic overlays with a clarity that bordered on prescient. But the feature that made it unique was its seamless interface with Kovacs’s neural patterns. It was designed to anticipate his thought processes, turning his instinctual grasp of mech dynamics into battlefield commands.

Yet, as he stood there, the weight of its activation bore down on him. His fingers hovered over the controls, hesitation coiling in his chest like a vice. He hadn’t built this system for himself. He hadn’t imagined ever needing to leave the safety of his workshop to fight.

“I didn’t build this for me,” he muttered to himself, the words heavy with resignation. His voice was barely audible over the hum of machinery and the distant roar of explosions outside. The ICN’s screen reflected in his glasses, its sharp, clean lines contrasting with the chaos brewing in his mind.

But circumstances had changed. The arrival of the second ship wasn’t just a threat—it was a declaration of war. The Iron Tide wasn’t content with disrupting Prescott; they were here to destroy it. Kovacs knew that if the colony were to survive, he couldn’t remain behind the scenes any longer.

I’m not a soldier, he thought, the voice in his head as bitter as the taste in his mouth. I’m not trained for this. I’ve spent my life building things, not destroying them. The weight of what was coming pressed on his shoulders, heavy and unyielding.

His eyes drifted to the row of Gremlins standing on their platforms, their sleek frames poised and ready. They were his creations, a testament to his ingenuity and the hope of a colony fighting for its future. But for the first time, he felt the true weight of what he had made. These weren’t just machines—they were tools of war. Tools that he would now have to wield himself.

A sharp beep from the ICN pulled his attention back. The screen displayed a live feed of the battle at Sector 5. Smoke and fire choked the air as the Goblins and Shermans struggled to hold the line. Enemy units, bolstered by reinforcements, advanced with relentless precision.

He clenched his jaw. If I don’t do this, people will die. If I fail… He didn’t finish the thought. His mind flashed to Jackie, to the other pilots who had trusted his machines to keep them alive. The thought of them being overwhelmed, their Goblins and Shermans falling under the Iron Tide’s assault, was unbearable.

Kovacs let out a slow, shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about me anymore,” he said aloud, as if speaking the words would make them true. His voice was steadier this time. He turned toward the ICN and placed his hands on the controls, his grip firm despite the tremor in his fingers.

His team of engineers had paused their frantic work to glance at him. Mira, his lead technician, approached cautiously. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, her voice low but tinged with concern. “The ICN’s neural integration hasn’t been fully tested in live combat scenarios. If something goes wrong—”

Kovacs cut her off, his voice firm. “There’s no time for tests. The system is sound. If there’s a problem, I’ll handle it. Right now, Prescott needs every advantage we can give it.”

Mira hesitated, then nodded, stepping back to resume her work. The rest of the crew followed her lead, their movements more purposeful now, galvanized by Kovacs’s resolve.

As he calibrated the ICN, his mind churned. Every variable, every contingency—this system has to work. The pilots are depending on it. If I’m not in control… He tightened his grip on the controls, pushing the thought aside. No. It will work. It has to.

Another notification blinked on the screen. The mechs in his squad—two Goblins and three Gremlins—were ready for deployment. The system displayed their status: power levels green, weapons online, neural links primed. He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of every decision he was about to make.

The doors to the workshop slid open, and Captain Voss stepped inside, his expression grim. “Kovacs,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Sector 5 is collapsing. We’re out of options. The Shermans are holding for now, but they won’t last. We need you in the field.”

Kovacs didn’t flinch. “I’ll take the squad,” he said. “But I’m using the ICN.”

Voss’s gaze flicked to the interface panel, then back to Kovacs. “You’ve got two minutes to finish prep,” he said. “After that, we’re deploying.”

As Voss left, Kovacs stood for a moment, staring at the machines around him. He didn’t feel like a commander, or even a designer, anymore. He felt like someone being pushed into a role he wasn’t ready for. But the battle wouldn’t wait for him to be ready.

He activated the ICN, and the world around him shifted. Tactical overlays and data streams filled his vision, immersing him in a blend of raw information and battlefield clarity. For the first time, he wasn’t just a designer watching from the sidelines—he was part of the fight.

“Alright,” he muttered, steadying himself. “Let’s see if this works.”

***

The sharp hiss of the workshop doors opening pulled Kovacs from his thoughts. Captain Voss entered, his expression grim but focused, his boots clanking against the metal floor as he strode toward Kovacs.

“Kovacs,” Voss began without preamble, his voice heavy with urgency, “we’re out of options. The Shermans are holding the line, but reinforcements from the second drop are hitting Sector five hard. We need someone who understands these machines better than anyone to lead a squad of Goblins and Gremlins into battle.”

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Kovacs froze, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “Me? I’m not a soldier.”

“No,” Voss replied, his gaze steady. “But you’re the reason those mechs are even in the fight. Right now, we need someone who knows what they can do—and what they can’t. You’ve trained the pilots. They trust you. That’s more than half the battle.”

Kovacs ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts racing. He’d spent years perfecting these machines, designing them to protect the colony. But sending others into combat with them had always been a distant, almost academic responsibility. Now, there would be no distance. If he stepped into this role, he’d be there in the chaos, watching his creations succeed—or fail—in real time.

For a moment, he hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Then, with a deep breath, he straightened and met Voss’s eyes. “Alright,” he said, his voice firmer than he felt. “I’ll do it. But I’m taking the ICN.”

Voss’s brow furrowed as he glanced toward the glowing interface panel. “The ICN? What’s that?”

Kovacs turned toward the sleek, integrated console and gestured for Voss to follow. “It’s the Integrated Command Nexus,” he explained, his tone shifting into the measured cadence he used when presenting a project. “It’s something I’ve been developing as a last resort. The ICN allows a single operator to monitor, coordinate, and control multiple mechs simultaneously—think of it as a tactical command suite fused with direct neural integration.”

Voss’s expression remained skeptical but intrigued. “Direct neural integration? Are you telling me this thing is linked to your brain?”

“Exactly,” Kovacs replied, his hands moving over the controls. “The ICN doesn’t just provide a tactical overview—it learns how I think. It anticipates my commands based on my understanding of the machines and the battlefield. It’s like having a dozen more pilots in the field, only they’re all reacting with the precision of someone who built the mechs from scratch.”

Voss crossed his arms, leaning closer to inspect the display. “And this works?”

Kovacs hesitated, his fingers pausing over the console. “It works in simulations. Live combat… is another story.”

Voss raised an eyebrow. “So, it’s untested.”

“It’s either this or we stick to standard command systems, which aren’t fast enough for the situation we’re facing,” Kovacs said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone. “The ICN can process data from the Goblins and Gremlins in real time, predict enemy movements, and adjust tactics on the fly. No delays, no bottlenecks.”

“Sounds impressive,” Voss admitted, his skepticism giving way to cautious approval. “But why you? Why not one of the tacticians?”

Kovacs exhaled slowly. “Because the ICN is tied to me,” he said, his voice quieter. “It’s calibrated to my neural patterns, my instincts. It was designed as a tool for a builder, not a soldier. But right now, I’m the best option we have.”

Voss nodded slowly, the pieces clicking into place. “What’s the unit load-out?”

Kovacs tapped the console, and a schematic appeared, highlighting the squad configuration. “I’ll have two Goblins and three Gremlins under my command. The Goblins will provide cover and harassment while the Gremlins execute precision strikes. The ICN lets me keep them coordinated, adjusting tactics in real time based on how the battle evolves.”

Voss rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So, you’re turning a squad of mechs into a scalpel instead of a hammer.”

“Exactly,” Kovacs said. “And right now, we need precision more than brute force.”

Voss straightened, his expression hardening with resolve. “Good. Get suited up—we move in ten. And Kovacs,” he added, his tone softening slightly, “don’t get yourself killed. We still need you to build the next generation of these machines.”

Kovacs managed a faint smile, though his stomach churned at the thought of what was coming. “I’ll try,” he said. “But no promises.”

As Voss exited the workshop, Kovacs turned back to the ICN, his fingers brushing over the glowing interface. This wasn’t how he’d imagined using it—not in the chaos of battle, not with lives hanging in the balance. But there was no turning back now.

“All right, ICN,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see if you’re everything I said you’d be.”

***

Kovacs climbed into the cockpit of a Gremlin, his hands steady as they activated the ICN. The interface lit up around him, immersing him in a hybrid view of the battlefield: tactical overlays, real-time telemetry from the mechs in his squad, and environmental data streamed seamlessly into his HUD.

“Alright, team,” he said, his voice broadcasting to the pilots under his command. “This is Kovacs. I know you weren’t expecting me here, but I designed these machines, and I trust them—and you. Stick to your training, and we’ll get through this.”

The squad responded with affirmations, their voices calm despite the tension crackling in the air.

Jackie’s voice broke through the comms next, her Goblin already moving into position ahead of them. “Glad to have you out here, Kovacs. Let’s see what that brain of yours can do under pressure.”

“Just try to keep up, Stewart,” he replied with a faint smile, despite the knot tightening in his chest.

The battlefield at Sector 5 was a nightmare of smoke and fire. Enemy mechs advanced in disciplined waves, supported by aerial drones that peppered Prescott’s defenses with suppressive fire. Kovacs’s squad moved into position, the Goblins forming a defensive perimeter while the Gremlins darted ahead, using their speed to draw fire and disrupt the enemy’s lines.

“Focus fire on their support units,” Kovacs ordered, his HUD highlighting a cluster of lighter mechs protecting the enemy’s flanks. “If we take them out, we’ll force their heavies to spread thin.”

Jackie’s voice came through immediately. “Copy that. Quinn, Rina—let’s cut their legs out from under them.”

The Goblins opened fire, coordinated volleys of laser and missile strikes tearing through the enemy’s lighter units. Meanwhile, the Gremlins weaved between the heavier mechs, their advanced engines allowing them to deliver pinpoint strikes before darting out of range.

Kovacs’s ICN buzzed with warnings as the enemy shifted tactics, sending aerial drones to flank his squad. He quickly marked their positions and redirected two Gremlins to intercept.

“Jace, take the east ridge and handle those drones! You’ve got the range for it.”

“On it!” Jace replied, his Gremlin bounding up the rocky terrain before unleashing a barrage of laser fire that took out three drones in rapid succession.

***

Despite their successes, the weight of the battle pressed heavily on Kovacs. Every hit his squad took, every Goblin or Gremlin that faltered under fire, felt personal. These weren’t just machines—they were extensions of his ideas, his choices. And the people inside them were counting on him to make the right calls.

An explosion to his left jolted him back to the present. One of the Goblins had taken a direct hit, its leg crumpling as it collapsed behind a rocky outcrop. Kovacs’s heart clenched as the pilot’s voice came over the comms.

“Goblin 3 is down but intact. I’m still operational—just stuck.”

“Stay put,” Kovacs said quickly. “We’ll cover you.”

Jackie’s Goblin surged forward, firing a precise burst that forced the nearest enemy mech to retreat. “We’ve got this, Kovacs,” she said. “You keep calling the shots.”

The confidence in her voice steadied him. He took a deep breath, focusing on the larger picture. “Alright, team. Push forward. Jackie, lead the flank. Gremlins, hit their heavies while they’re exposed.”

As his squad executed his orders, the tide of the battle began to shift. The Iron Tide’s disciplined waves faltered as their flanks collapsed, and Kovacs’s squad pressed the advantage, driving them back.

By the time the dust settled, the enemy was in full retreat, leaving behind the wreckage of their mechs and drones. Kovacs’s squad regrouped, battered but intact, their machines scarred but still standing.

Kovacs climbed out of his Gremlin, his legs shaky as he stepped onto solid ground. Jackie approached, her Goblin towering behind her like a guardian.

“Not bad for your first time in the field,” she said, offering him a grin. “You held up.”

“Barely,” Kovacs replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”

Jackie’s grin softened into something more genuine. “You build the machines that keep us alive, Kovacs. You’re part of this fight, whether you’re in the cockpit or not.”

He nodded, the weight of her words settling over him. The battle was won, but the war was far from over. And for the first time, he understood the true cost—and value—of what he’d created.