First rule of engineering: If a problem persists, throw more money at it. If that doesn’t work, pray to whatever deity you believe in because you’re about to witness a catastrophe. Right now, Kernel’s problem is the impending nuclear storms, and the money is being flung at domes like confetti at a wedding.
I swipe through my View, scrolling past updates on the engineers laboring over the dome’s infrastructure. We’re close...
The storms have been gaining intensity, and this dome is the only thing between Kernel and a very sudden desertification process. They say it should hold. I say they better be right because I enjoy living, even if it means stress-drinking coffee like it’s the last thing keeping me alive.
Speaking of things that keep me alive—
I flick my View away and glance at the Argov Armor I’ve been fine-tuning for months. Next to me, General Stonewall—probably not his real name, but the man radiates enough discipline to make concrete nervous—watches the suit from behind the glass with his arms crossed. The thing is a beast. Chunky as hell, towering, every inch lined with Argov energy converters that could empower the wearer with kinetic, thermal, or even potential energy upon command. The goal? Make the soldier unstoppable. The issue? We’re still figuring out how to stop them afterward.
Enter Fred, our lucky test candidate. Poor guy’s been promised a suit of his own if he passes the trials, which is funny because I haven’t actually finished working out the kinks yet.
He squares up to the test wall—a solid block of reinforced brick. The AI in his suit, a soothing voice designed to counteract the sheer terror of piloting an untested death machine, instructs him.
“Engage kinetic redistribution. Charge time: three seconds.”
Fred, in his infinite wisdom, charges for ten.
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He throws the punch. The brick wall ceases to exist. Unfortunately, so does Fred’s ability to remain grounded. He blasts backward, slamming through another wall and into what I can only describe as the worst place possible: the communal showers. There’s a scream, a crash, and an unfortunate glimpse of things no one should see at work.
General Stonewall turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing at me.
I take a sip of my coffee, words bubbling out. “It worked too well.”
He grunts. I force a smile.
I leave the testing chamber, trying to drown my existential dread in caffeine. The big day—the final test—isn’t for a while. But not as long as it should be. These suits are no joke.
As I navigate the halls of the military HQ, I spot a woman with fiery orange hair—June. Hard to forget a face like that, even if I wanted to.
She’s deep in conversation with Klaus, our favorite terrifying drill instructor.
“You should lead the squad,” she insists.
Klaus exhales through his nose like a damn war horse. “Then don’t regret my methods.”
“I won’t.”
She notices me, nods at Klaus, and starts walking my way. My brain promptly short-circuits. Keep it together, Jrake. She’s just a person. An attractive, intimidating, possibly insane person, but a person nonetheless.
She stops in front of me, confident, all smiles. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“I, uh, already know you,” I say, then instantly regret how that sounds. “I mean, not in a creepy way. Just in a totally normal, database-recorded, absolutely non-stalkerish way.”
She raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Good to know.”
Great. I’m smooth as a sandpaper handshake.
“Then you shouldn’t be surprised I know you too.” She mutters, “Jrake, the brilliant engineer from Mecanet. And, of course, Ortol’s brother.”
I freeze. No one remembers the engineer. I’m just the guy who makes things work. But she does.
There’s a dramatic speech forming in my head about how, in the moments that matter, the most important people know your name. I say none of it. Just stare at her like a fish.
She chuckles. “Want to walk while we talk?”
I nod, still malfunctioning.
As we stroll, she suddenly asks, “Have you ever tried so hard at something that, if it fails, you’d probably just kill yourself?”
I choke on my coffee. “Uh. The suits. Definitely the suits.”
She laughs. I actually made her laugh. This is a moment.
“What about you?” I ask, still coughing.
“I’m gonna start training the snipers. They’re done with most of the basic training now, so I need to make sure they’re ready.”
I pause. “Wait. You’re fighting?”
She gives me a look, like I just asked if water is wet. “Of course. What did you expect?”
I expected to keep feeling okay about this war. Apparently, that’s not happening.
She glances at the time. “We should talk again sometime. Maybe when we’re both not drowning in work.”
I nod. “Yeah. That’d be—yeah.”
She gives a sharp salute before turning and walking away. I watch her leave, then groan into my coffee.
I should feel reassured. People like her—the strong ones, the ones who don’t hesitate—win wars. But wars don’t care who they take in the process.
Or maybe I’m just not thinking with my head. And I really hope that’s not the case.
What’s the next “unexpected” problem with the Argov Armor?
