Callsign: Talon (Fueled By Fury #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

I stand in the center of the hangar at dawn, admiring the mech frame I spent so many nights wrangling into existence. Raven One. That’s her name. Although she’s barely functional, all skeletal limbs and exposed wiring, I feel like I’ve carved something extraordinary from mountains of scrap. My breath hitches at the idea. After countless hours of sweat and cursing, I’m looking at my future.

Tabitha pipes up in my earpiece. “You sure you don’t want me to run a celebratory jingle? If you can call that thing in front of us ‘complete.’”

I snort. “Don’t you start. This is a milestone, Tabi.”

Her voice softens. “I know. I’m proud of you, David. Really.”

Her sincerity tugs a smile from me, but I swallow the emotion before it spreads too far. When I set out to build Raven One, it was a leap into the dark. Now, I can see the shape of what I’ve dreamed about for months. A smaller mech designed for speed and skill, not brute force.

The angled skeleton stands about eight feet tall, overshadowing me, but it feels more personable than other mechs I’ve worked on. The servo joints reflect the watery light, gleaming a faint silver. On the far side of the hangar, a mess of half-empty coffee cups and stale protein bar wrappers testifies to my recent living conditions. I can’t even remember the last time I slept properly.

I step closer to the open cockpit hatch, only a metal shell hinged where the chest plating will be. The interior is half-wired. Loose cables dangle like metallic vines, waiting for the day I can afford better insulation and a formal power distributor. Yet, even in this incomplete state, I get a jolt of pride. I created a mech from the ground up. She’s not ready for the big leagues, but she’s mine.

Tabitha hums. “So, shall we talk about the short list of, oh, a hundred or so issues we still need to tackle before this baby walks?”

“Yeah, fine.” I sigh, raking a hand through my messy hair. “Give me the highlights.”

“First problem.” Her tone reverts to an efficient, almost motherly cadence. “We’re missing a stable power core. Without a solid micro-fission drive or at least robust industrial cells, Raven One will only be able to waddle around for about ten minutes before running out of juice. Also, we risk a meltdown if we push the railgun too hard. Our cheap power cells can’t handle back-to-back uses.”

I frown. “I could reinforce the cells with thicker insulation,” I offer, pacing around the mech. “But that’d add weight and reduce movement during flight maneuvers. Plus, money’s tight.”

Tabitha’s next statement holds a resigned edge. “You need to find funds for higher-grade parts, David, or you’ll have a very impressive doorstop.”

I chuckle. “Doorstop, huh? You’re so encouraging. Must be my new pep talk subroutine at work.”

She fires back in a mock-haughty tone, “I’m simply here to keep you grounded, oh fearless mech builder.”

I stoop to check the servo mount on Raven One’s right “knee,” which is more like a flexible pivot joint. I installed it last night, wrestling with a balky torque wrench until my knuckles bled. Still, I loved every minute of it. The clang of metal, the puzzle of alignment.

Now, I see the bracket is slightly askew. I hiss in annoyance. If that servo’s misaligned, it’ll break the first time I try turning at high speed. With a grunt, I fetch my toolkit, scattered across a lopsided crate, and wrestle a spanner and a small power driver from the bottom. Great. More rework.

“Tabitha,” I mutter. “Pull up the blueprint for the servo alignment. Let’s check the tension real quick.”

Her confirmation arrives instantly, and a faint projection from my visor overlays glowing lines onto the mech’s joint. “Yep, you’re off by about two degrees. If you don’t fix that, Raven One’s leg might twist itself into a pretzel next time you lean into a pivot.”

My shoulders tense. “Wonderful,” I reply drily, propping the spanner against the servo’s anchor. Though I’ve tested the coordinate system in theory, real-world friction and differences in scrap-metal quality cause a cascade of micro-imperfections. That usually means I have to stay up late and fix it. Today’s no different.

As I torque the bracket, I let my mind wander through the next-phase challenges. A specialized micro-fission core is my top priority, but those are strictly regulated. I might have to reach out to a black-market trader or a salvage yard with questionable ethics to snag a unit. The money alone would be more than I’ve ever earned in my life.

Then, there’s advanced AI integration, which Tabitha jokes about because she’s already halfway to being more than a standard pilot-assist system. However, we still need an actual dedicated subroutine for ballistic management, target tracking, and full-blown flight algorithms.

That means more memory modules, more specialized data chips, so we can handle the real-time calculations without meltdown. War-grade ballistic integration also demands complicated recoil dampeners or my beloved Raven would crumple after two shots.

I blow out a breath. “Tabitha, how many credits do I have left?”

She’s silent for a second, probably scanning my meager finances. “Roughly half of your inheritance. Enough to buy groceries for a few weeks, maybe replace a servo or two if you’re thrifty.” Her next words carry a hint of guilt. “Definitely not enough for the micro-fission core.”

I tug a simulation cable from the bracket and tuck it aside. “Guess I’ll have to get creative.”

A pause. “Tell me you’re not planning an unlicensed job again.”

I laugh. “No comment.”

Tabitha’s tone shifts, laced with protective exasperation. “David, you remember how risky back-alley deals can get.”

I do. My arm still twinges from the time I hopped an industrial fence chasing some scavenged thruster boosters. But if I want to be more than a nobody, if I want Raven One to truly function, I’ll take the risk. People keep telling me I’m too naive, like Staff Sergeant Korr. My jaw clenches. He told me I’d never handle a mech, like my arms are too puny to hold up a flight harness.

After the servo bracket is properly aligned, I step back and wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. The overhead vents rattle, pushing stale air around the hangar. I notice a patch of sunlight creeping through a hole in the decaying roof, beckoning me closer. The hour must be later than I realized. My stomach growls in protest. Coffee alone can’t sustain me forever.

Still, I can’t tear my eyes away from Raven One. Sunlight bathes the steel frame in a gentle gold, accentuating the mech’s lean angles and the promise glimmering in every newly-welded joint.

Briefly, I let myself imagine the future. I see Raven One bounding across a dusty field, outrunning heavier war mechs that rely on brute force. Maybe I’ll even catch the attention of certain big shots, show them a scrawny kid can do more with brains than they do with entire armories.

Tabitha’s voice cuts in. “You daydreaming about humiliating some cocky Wolverine pilot? Or something else?”

I smirk. She knows me too well. “That obvious?”

Her laugh is soft. “You’re basically drooling on the console, David.”

“Hey,” I protest. “It’s called ambition. Stop reading me like an open data file.”

She makes a pleased noise. “Never. It’s my number one hobby.”

I roll my eyes fondly. Then, I realize how numb my legs feel from hours of standing. My mind’s craving a break from the hangar gloom. “All right.” I slide the spanner into my belt. “Let’s refuel my poor body. Tag along?”

Tabitha’s chuckle crackles across my earpiece. “Always. Can’t let you get lost on your way to pick up cheap noodles.”

I snort. “Actually, yeah. Noodles might be the only option right now.” Not that this district of Valis brims with culinary variety. But I can handle simple if it means I keep building savings for Raven One’s next part.

I exit the hangar and quickly secure the lock with a code latch. Makeshift, but better than nothing. The streets greet me with a stale haze. Industrial smog swims overhead, blotting out what should be a pale blue sky. My nostrils flare at the stench of molten metal and machine coolant. On the plus side, the sun is warming my hoodie, and my mood lifts as I imagine how far I’ve come in only five days of focused, borderline-insane design marathons.

“I’m scanning local foot traffic,” Tabitha mutters. “Minimal presence. You’ll be fine unless you plan to pick a fight with a forklift.”

“That’s not on my to-do list,” I answer wryly. As I cross a broken sidewalk, stepping over cracks wide enough to swallow a small animal, I vow not to let the district’s bleakness overshadow my excitement. If I can make it through these conditions while building a custom mech, I’ve truly earned that victory.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, an incoming message from Quinn “Patch” Reyes. My landlord. My mood sours. I flick the screen with my thumb and read the few lines. Rent due by Friday, plus an unsubtle reminder that my arrangement includes covering any electrical upgrades. In short, money. More money I don’t have.

“Patch wants to be paid,” I inform Tabitha. “Figures.”

She sighs. “Lovely timing. Might have to hustle for some side gigs. I’ll keep an ear out for paying leads that won’t get you shot.”

I consider the possibilities. Short-term, borderline-legal repair jobs, or maybe customizing older mechs for local scrap jockeys. The pay would be meager, but it might keep me afloat. Because letting the hangar go is not an option. Not with Raven One so close to viability.

I head down a side street, where broken neon signs point to half-shuttered shops. A faint rattle of footsteps in a nearby alley makes me tense, but nobody emerges. Probably a junkie or a scammer, or a stray cat. My boots splash a puddle of stale water, and I wrinkle my nose at the ammonia stench. “This place never changes,” I mutter.

Tabitha pipes up sympathetically. “We’ll get out of here someday, David. We’ll have a real workshop, maybe even an R&D lab.”

“And a roof that doesn’t leak,” I add. “That’d be nice for a start.”

She laughs. “Dare to dream.”

Saeng’s Rolling Noodle Cart comes into view, its battered sign swinging precariously on a single chain. The last time I ate here, I was delirious from exhaustion. Now, I’m only moderately drained.

Saeng, the petite older woman who runs the place, stands behind the cart with a bored expression. When she sees me, she lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. She ladles broth into a bowl, tosses in noodles, herbs, and a few scraps of meat from some questionable container, then hands it over without a word.

“Thanks,” I murmur, exchanging a few credits. She nods curtly, turning away to wipe the counter with a stained cloth. At least the gingery, pungent smell laced with chili is tempting. I squat on a rickety bench, blowing on my noodles, letting the steam warm my face. The taste is rough, but after living on protein bars, my palate appreciates the difference.

As I eat, Tabitha remains quiet. I sense her scanning local signals and rummaging for the day’s job listings. The soup’s not half bad, though a bit salty. My mind drifts to Raven One’s skeleton back in the hangar. Naming her was such a rush. Maybe I got carried away, but “Raven” felt right. She’s sleek, quick, an underdog with a cunning streak. That’s the plan, anyway.

She’s far from done, but if I run a simple test tomorrow, I might get the servo arms to move in tandem. The idea makes me grin into my noodles.

“Grease for your thoughts?” Tabitha teases.

I snort. “Just anticipating the day Raven One stands up to real mechs.”

She hums in approval. “That day’s closer than you think.”

I finish my meal and toss the disposable bowl into an overflowing trash bin. I wave a brief goodbye to Saeng, who barely acknowledges me, then retrace my path toward the hangar.

Along the way, two tall figures pass on the opposite sidewalk, eyeing me. Probably local toughs. I try not to stare, but my heartbeat ramps up in case they consider me an easy target. They simply walk on, and I exhale in relief.

“This place always puts me on edge,” I mutter to Tabitha, stepping around a rotted crate that probably houses rats the size of housecats. “But it’s cheap enough to keep my overhead low.”

“That’s the trouble with a dreamer’s budget,” she remarks wryly. “Next time, aim for a cozy penthouse lab.”

“In my next life,” I shoot back.

We reach the hangar, and I enter the code-latch. The door creaks open, letting me slip inside. My eyes adjust to the dim overhead glow. Raven One stands exactly where I left her, looking no less impressive. The skeletal torso is still missing half the plating, so it’s basically a ribcage of metal beams, but each weld marks a tangible step forward in this crusade.

“You gonna keep fussing over that servo bracket?” Tabitha asks.

“Probably.” I cross the concrete floor and run a gloved hand over Raven One’s chest frame. The surface is cool to the touch, a puzzle box waiting for the final pieces. “Let’s do one more scan,” I announce. “I want to see if I can at least power the main console without frying the lines.”

Tabitha’s interest spikes. “You sure? We haven’t integrated any protection against voltage surges yet. If you cause a short, you might blow out half the wiring, and we can’t afford replacements.”

I flex my fingers, lips tugging in a half-smile at her concern. “Yes, I’m sure. Time to push a little. We’ll keep it to minimal wattage. No servo movement, only a systems check. It’ll be safe enough.”

She sighs theatrically. “All right, Mr. Daredevil. Let me reroute the emergency overrides. Stand by.” A faint beep in my earpiece indicates she’s patching into the incomplete AI scaffolding that will form the mech’s basic operating system. By tethering her subroutines to this partial framework, she ensures we have some measure of control. The console panel along the mech’s left flank sparks, then glows faintly amber.

My pulse skitters with excitement. It’s a baby step, but Raven One’s system is waking up. I press a button near the cockpit’s open hatch, feeding a trickle of power from a worn generator in the corner. The overhead lines hum. I hold my breath, bracing for a burst of smoke. Instead, the small console flickers, stabilizes, and displays a string of code lines. Static crackles like a clearing throat.

My grin widens. “Yes!” I hiss, careful to speak softly so I don’t miss any error beeps. “Seeing anything on your end, Tabi?”

Her voice quivers with curiosity. “I’m reading a stable connection. No meltdown so far. Holy crap, David, you might actually do this without incinerating yourself.”

“That’s the dream.” I exhale a relieved laugh. My prior attempts at hooking up partial power ended with arcs of electricity and me flailing to yank the fuse. But now, no dramatic sparks, no sizzling cables. The console remains lit, patiently waiting for an input. “Let’s run a quick status readout,” I suggest.

“On it.” Keystrokes fill my ear as Tabitha scours the new OS. The console’s screen floods with text, servo calibrations, thruster placeholders, and partial ballistic modules flagged as “not present.” Then, it cycles to a new page labeled RAVEN ONE: SYSTEM 0.1.

My heart leaps. This name is more than vanity. It’s ownership.

Tabitha whistles. “Look at that. We have a rudimentary mech OS, folks. If I had arms, I’d give you a big round of applause.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling triumph surge. All my life, I’ve been told I can’t handle real machines. But here I am, powering a custom mech. I scroll the lines of code with a worn stylus, verifying none of the power draws exceed safe thresholds. The battery gauge is a measly eight percent, courtesy of my underpowered cell. But I only need a sliver of life to confirm the architecture is stable.

“We still have a mountain to climb,” I whisper, though excitement crackles in my voice. “This is proof of concept, though.”

Tabitha’s tone registers subdued pride. “David, you’re unstoppable when you set your mind to it.”

“Thanks.” A wave of exhaustion seeps into my muscles. Part of me wants to stay awake another fifty hours, finishing every bracket. But I need at least a short rest if I don’t want to risk messing up something crucial. “We can’t do servo tests yet,” I mutter. “Not until I fix the battery constraints and finish hooking the thruster lines.”

“Then I suggest you get some rest,” Tabitha insists. “Let me idle these circuits before we fry them. We can refine the OS subroutines in your next coding marathon if you want. Or pick up more parts from your favorite shady dealer.”

I click my tongue, turning off the main switch. The console flickers out, plunging the hangar back to its usual dim gloom. However, that fleeting moment of light and functionality has my pulse galloping. “Yeah, I’ll rest a bit,” I agree. I can’t blow this now. Not when we’re so close to a test run.

As I yank off my gloves, I realize my fingers are trembling with adrenaline. “I didn’t think we’d get this far so soon,” I admit.

Tabitha laughs. “Believe it or not, your puny arms and I make a good team.”

I sink onto a crate and rub my weary eyes. “True,” I concede. “Thanks for sticking with me.”

“David, I was born to stick with you.”

A wave of warmth fills my chest. I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, exhaustion mingling with gratitude. “Let’s call this session done,” I announce, half-laughing. “Before I get sappy enough to ruin my mechanic cred.”

“Too late,” Tabitha teases. “Powering down subroutines in three, two…”

The soft hush of electronics slips into standby. The stillness is oddly comforting. For the first time in days, I sense Raven One is real, not only a dream. I sleepily imagine what tomorrow might bring. Maybe a partial servo lift test or hooking up a spare coolant system. Step by step, my mech will come alive, like I hoped when I first turned a wrench in this run-down hangar.

I lean back, letting my eyelids droop. The last thought that crosses my mind is Staff Sergeant Korr’s smug face. I’m not done proving you wrong, Sergeant. My lips twitch in a tired smile. Even in this freezing concrete box, with rusted walls and chemical-stained floor, I’ve given birth to something unstoppable. And nobody’s laughter or condescension can take that away from me.

Exhaustion claims me. My head tilts, chin nearly bumping my chest. Tabitha doesn’t scold me this time. She lets me collapse onto the crate. My last waking awareness is gratitude—for the mech, for the AI that shares my every frustration and triumph, for the raw chance to keep believing in bigger things.

Tomorrow, I’ll tackle the next challenge. Micro-fission power, or a side hustle to pay off Patch. For now, I carry the faint, comforting knowledge that Raven One’s skeleton stands proud a few paces away, as real as the ache in my muscles. It’s enough to lull me into the first decent sleep I’ve had in ages.