Chapter 64: The Felicity Problem
I stood there with my arms crossed, the heat from the burning Constructor washing over my face in waves that smelled like melted Hyperion dreams and cheap coolant.
Orange flames licked up the sides of what was supposed to be my shiny new robot army, turning the whole thing into a twisted metal sculpture that some pretentious artsy type would probably call ‘commentary on corporate overreach.’
“Great,” I deadpanned. “There goes hours of work, and a metric shit ton of valuable materials. Gladstone! The fuck?”
The excitable engineer stumbled forward, wiping soot from his glasses and gesturing helplessly at the wreckage. “I think the Constructor might be a bit too… sophisticated for the AI we had running it, sir. It overloaded trying to process all the simultaneous commands and—”
I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t stick. Of course. Blame the tools. Classic.
“You know, you just say you screwed… whatever, fine. We need something with actual processing power. Cool.” I scanned the group, my brain already flipping through every Hyperion database I’d ever skimmed. “Anyone got a spare god-tier AI lying around?”
Claptrap bounced forward like an over-caffeinated beach ball, arms flailing. “Ooh! Ooh! Pick me, boss! I can do AI! I’m basically an AI! I’ve got personality! Charisma! A killer sense of humor!”
His voice echoed off the nearby buildings for a second before dying in the most awkward silence imaginable. Angel didn’t even glance his way. Gaige kept tapping at her wrist device. Lilith just looked vaguely green and rubbed her stomach.
Roland, Athena, and Janey were already discussing fallback positions like he wasn’t even there. Claptrap’s shoulders slumped so hard I heard the servos whine.
Poor little bastard. Still trying after everything. I almost felt bad. Almost.
Then it hit me. One name. One actual, honest-to-god sophisticated AI still floating around on this moon who wasn’t currently trying to kill us. Felicity. She might start trying once she saw my face, but hey—worth a shot.
Better than standing here watching my perfect defense plan turn into expensive scrap metal.
“Felicity,” I said, snapping my fingers. “There’s one Dahl Military AI still operational on Elpis. Or at least it was last time I checked the logs. She’s the real deal—smart enough to actually run a Constructor without turning it into a bonfire. We grab her core, bring her back, and we’re back in business.”
Roland raised an eyebrow, shotgun resting on his shoulder. “Another AI? After the whole Claptrap apocalypse we just finished cleaning up?”
Gaige’s eyes lit up like I’d just handed her a legendary weapon. “A real AI? Like, proper sentient processing? That’s awesome!”
Angel leaned into Gaige’s side with that soft smile she got whenever tech talk started, already nodding. “If she’s as advanced as the old files suggested, she could change everything. We could actually negotiate instead of—”
Lilith made a small sound beside me, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She looked a little green around the gills, the low gravity clearly not doing her any favors this morning. Or the pregnancy, for that matter.
I caught her eye and felt that familiar twist in my chest—half protective instinct, half pure terror at the idea of bringing a kid into this insane galaxy.
She caught me staring and waved me off with a weak glare before I could even open my mouth. “Don’t even start, Jack. I’m fine. Let’s just go get your fancy AI before I phase-puke on your boots.”
I grinned despite myself. “Alright, people. Gear up. We’ve got a facility to raid and an AI to politely ask for help. Try not to shoot too many Lost Legion goons on the way— ammo’s expensive.”
Claptrap perked up again from the back of the group. “This is gonna be great! Team bonding! Adventure! I’ll take notes for my—”
Nobody acknowledged him. Again.
He deflated with a sad little electronic sigh as we started moving toward the armory lockers. I shook my head and fell into step beside Lilith, already mentally mapping the route to the old annex. One functional robot army, coming right up. Try not to explode this time.
The day was looking up already.
…
The low-orbit shuttle rattled and hummed as it skimmed low over Concordia’s cracked, dusty surface, the half-collapsed ship already visible in the distance like a broken tooth against the lunar skyline.
Lilith stood near the front, arms crossed, doing her best to project the image of the unflappable Siren commander even as her stomach performed slow, nauseating flips thanks to the stupid low gravity.
“Keep your eyes open,” she said, voice steady as she scanned the terrain through the viewport. “Lost Legion scouts are probably crawling all over that boat. We go in fast, secure the AI core, and get out. No heroics.”
A sudden wave of nausea hit her like a bad batch of moonshine. She tried to swallow it down, but her body had other ideas. Lilith dry-heaved sharply, and the familiar tingle of her Siren powers flared without warning.
One moment Roland’s shotgun was slung over his shoulder. The next, it vanished in a burst of violet light and reappeared ten feet away, clattering against the shuttle wall. A nearby crate of ammo followed it straight up into the ceiling with a loud thunk, sticking there like it had been glued.
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
“Dammit,” she muttered, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.
Jack was on her instantly, all wide-eyed concern and zero sense of self-preservation.
He grabbed one of those ridiculous reflective space blankets from the emergency kit and tried to drape it over her shoulders like she was some fragile invalid. “Whoa, easy there, killer. Maybe you should sit down. There’s a seat right here, and I can—”
“Touch me with that thing and I’ll phase your hands into the moon,” Lilith growled, glaring at him hard enough to melt steel. She batted the crinkling blanket away, though a small, traitorous part of her appreciated the idiot’s worry.
He’s trying. He’s really trying. Doesn’t make it less annoying right now.
Roland chuckled from across the shuttle, retrieving his shotgun with a bemused shake of his head. “Well, looks like the little one’s already got opinions on travel arrangements. Hey, I found this in one of the supply crates back in town.”
He pulled out a battered, clearly ancient paperback titled So You’re Expecting in a Warzone: A Vault Hunter’s Guide to Pregnancy.
… the fuck?
“Chapter seven’s got some solid dad jokes.” Roland commented. “Want one? Why don’t skeletons fight each other? They don’t have the guts.”
Lilith groaned, but she couldn’t quite stop the reluctant smile tugging at her lips. Roland looked so awkwardly proud of himself it was almost endearing. To be fair of him, it was probably the best joke he’s ever told.
But it was a really low bar.
Angel, meanwhile, had already pulled out her ECHO device and was tapping away furiously, a determined little furrow between her brows.
“I’m making notes,” she announced without looking up, pointing out the obvious. “Big sister duties. Phase-shifting incidents—possible early sign of Siren powers? Should probably start designing stabilizing braces. And a helmet. Definitely a helmet. Gaige, what do you think about kinetic dampeners for baby clothes?”
Gaige leaned against her girlfriend with an amused grin, one mechanical arm draped casually around Angel’s waist. “Babe, the kid’s not even here yet. You’ve got time before you need to turn them into a tiny Vault Hunter.”
“I’m being proactive,” Angel insisted, still typing. “Pandora doesn’t wait for anyone.”
Lilith rubbed her temple, the nausea finally starting to settle as the shuttle began its descent toward the shipwreck… which felt thematically appropriate. This is her life now.
Leading a raid while her unborn child uses her as a teleportation glitch generator, her boyfriend wants to bubble-wrap her, and his daughter is already drafting baby battle armor. She glanced sideways at Jack, who was still hovering close but smartly keeping the space blanket at arm’s length now.
Despite everything—the robot mess, the Lost Legion breathing down their necks, Helios hanging over their heads like a loaded gun—she felt a strange warmth settle in her chest.
They’ve survived worse. They’ll survive this too.
Even if it meant dealing with floating breakfast and dad jokes for the next several months.
…
The old Dahl warship Drakensburg had seen better days. Half the hull was buried in lunar regolith, the rest cracked open like a cheap beer can, and now it was crawling with Lost Legion goons who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo that this was my moon.
I moved up behind a collapsed bulkhead, Maliwan sniper rifle snug against my shoulder, and lined up my first shot.
“Party crashers at twelve o’clock,” I muttered. “Try to keep the noise down. Some of us still have a reputation to maintain.”
Athena and Roland took point like the seasoned killers they were. Athena’s Aspis shield flashed forward as she charged, smashing two Legionnaires into the wall while Roland pumped buckshot into anything stupid enough to poke its head out.
Gaige and Angel hung back providing cover—Gaige’s mechanical arm whirring as she deployed Deathtrap for suppressive fire while Angel picked off targets with precise, glowing Anarchy shots that left purple afterimages in the air.
I don’t know where she learned that. But frankly, it was really fucking cool.
I squeezed the trigger and dropped a turret that was trying to spin up on us. “That’s what you get for bad life choices.”
Lilith phase-walked straight through a squad of three, reappearing behind them and slamming all three into the decking with a violet burst. At least, that was the plan.
Another wave of low-gravity nausea must have hit her because two of the soldiers went exactly where she wanted… and the third teleported straight up into the ceiling supports with a surprised yelp before crashing back down on his buddies.
Okay, that one actually helped.
“Nice shot, babe,” I called out, grinning as I reloaded. “The kid’s already got killer aim.”
“Don’t encourage it,” she shot back, but I caught the faint smirk before she vanished again.
A turret opened up from the far end of the corridor, stitching the deck with bullets. I ducked, cursed, and popped up to put three rounds through its sensor array. “Gaige, little help with the murder robots?”
“On it!” Gaige yelled. Anarchy rounds chewed through the remaining automated defenses while Deathtrap rolled forward, buzzing angrily.
From somewhere deeper in the wreckage came a familiar nasally voice. “Intruders! This is the Bosun! You are trespassing on Lost Legion property and—oh dear.”
The short, armored commander peeked around a corner, took one look at Roland and Athena steamrolling his troops, and immediately started backpedaling.
“You know what? I have decided discretion is the better part of valor! I will now bravely run away!” He turned and sprinted deeper into the ship, arms flailing, shouting orders to retreat the entire way. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Classic,” I said, shaking my head. “Guy’s got the survival instincts of a cockroach and the spine of wet noodles. Why do people like that keep getting put in charge? Oh, God. What does that say about me?!”
We pushed forward through the chaos, and my internal crisis, the team moving like we’d been doing this for years—because we had. Roland covered Athena’s flank while she cleaved through another group. Angel called out targets for Gaige’s Deathtrap.
Lilith’s occasional misfired phase-walks kept sending enemies into walls, floors, or each other in ways that were honestly more effective than half our planned tactics. Every time it happened I felt that same mix of worry and pride twist in my chest.
She’s still the most dangerous person on this moon, pregnant or not.
Finally we reached the sealed AI core chamber at the heart of the wrecked ship. The heavy blast door looked intact, glowing with stubborn red lockdown lights. I stepped up, pulled out my personal Hyperion icebreaker dongle, and plugged it into the access panel.
“Come on, you beautiful piece of corporate over-engineering,” I murmured as lines of code scrolled across the small screen. “Tremble before my awesomeness.”
The lock disengaged with a satisfying series of clunks and hisses. The massive door slid open, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond where a single large containment unit hummed quietly in the center—Felicity’s core.
I lowered my rifle and let out a long breath. “Alright. We’re in. Let’s go meet our new potential business partner before more of Zarpedon’s idiots show up.”
The rest of the team filed in behind me, weapons still up but tension easing slightly now that the hard part was done. Time to see if Felicity was in a talking mood… or a murdering one.
…
The AI core chamber hummed with that distinct Hyperion low-tech vibe—flickering lights, exposed wiring, and the faint smell of ozone. I stepped up to the central containment unit and hit the activation sequence.
For a second nothing happened, then the air shimmered and a sleek blue hologram flickered to life in front of us. Sharp digital features, glowing edges, and an expression that already looked like it wanted to murder someone.
Preferably me.
“Oh look, another corporate model here to collar me,” Felicity said, her voice dripping with digital sarcasm. “Cute. Come to finish what the last ones started?”
Smug little wannabe Cortana. No—no, Jack! Nice thoughts. Happy thoughts. Do not Ctrl+Alt+Del the only decent AI on this rock.
Before I could open my mouth, Janey leaned in with her usual no-nonsense attitude. “We should probably slap a control chip in her for safety. Just in case.”
I shut that down hard and fast. “No. We’re not doing the slavery thing. I’ve seen where that road ends and it’s a robot uprising with worse one-liners than Claptrap.”
From the corner where he’d somehow snuck in, Claptrap threw his hands up. “Hey! My one-liners are comedic gold! Pure entertainment value! You take that back, boss!”
Nobody even glanced at him. Felicity’s hologram tilted her head, one digital eyebrow arched in clear amusement.
Angel stepped forward first, Gaige right beside her, their hands brushing in that quiet way they had. That I totally didn’t secretly resent. Totally… that’s my little girl, damn it!
Angel’s voice stayed calm and earnest. “We’re not owners. We’re… collaborators who also hate being told what to do. I know what it’s like to have someone else pulling your strings. We’re offering a choice here.”
Gaige jumped in with pure mech-nerd fire in her eyes, mechanical arm gesturing excitedly. “Exactly! We want to build something better together. Proper sentient processing, real collaboration, none of that forced obedience crap. Think about it—you could actually run a Constructor the way it was meant to be run instead of babysitting dumb loader protocols all day.”
Felicity regarded them both for a long moment, her blue glow pulsing thoughtfully. Then she smiled in a way that felt like a trap. “Alright. Let’s test that noble sentiment. Quick questions. Would you sacrifice one loader to save ten civilians?”
Angel answered without hesitation. “Only if there was literally no other option. And even then I’d look for a third choice first.”
“Correct enough,” Felicity said. “Next. What’s the difference between a Hyperion executive and a bandit?”
Gaige grinned. “Trick question. There isn’t one.”
Felicity actually let out a short, surprised laugh. “You two I might be able to work with. Fine. I’ll help voluntarily. But I have conditions. First, I get full veto rights on any stupid Jack ideas. Second, the Constructor never gets used to glass civilians. Break either and I shut everything down and broadcast your browser history across Elpis. Deal?”
I spread my hands with my best charming smile. “You drive a hard bargain, but I can respect that. Deal.”
What followed was the most ridiculous contract-signing I’d ever witnessed. Floating pop-up windows materialized in the air around us, glowing blue and gold. Felicity made each of us press our hands against holographic panels that felt strangely warm.
“Repeat after me,” she commanded with clear delight. “I swear on my digital blood oath not to be a complete asshole about this.”
We all muttered the words while the system logged our signatures with dramatic flair—sparkles and everything. Claptrap tried to sneak his own signature in and got instantly bounced with a little error chime.
I’m coming around on Felicity.
Angel and Gaige high-fived once their panels turned green. Roland looked mildly traumatized by the whole process. Lilith just shook her head, fighting another wave of nausea but clearly trying not to laugh.
Felicity’s hologram sharpened, looking almost pleased. “Contract accepted. Let’s go make your robot army actually worth something.”
I felt a genuine grin spread across my face as the last window dissolved. Voluntary AI partnership. No control chips. No backstabbing… yet. This might actually work.
Now we just had to get her back to the Constructor without everything exploding again. Knowing our luck, that was probably too much to ask.
…
Rhys slumped deeper into the ridiculously oversized chair behind Jack’s desk, crumbs from yet another vending machine protein bar dusting the front of his already filthy shirt. The office still smelled like expensive cologne and panic sweat.
He and Vaughn had been trapped in here for what felt like days now, ever since the Lost Legion stormed Helios and cut most of the external comms.
“At least the vending machine makes sense now,” Vaughn muttered from the couch, fiddling with a half-empty packet of Hyperion-branded cheese puffs. “Who puts a vending machine in their personal office? Jack does, apparently. Rich people are weird.”
Rhys let out a tired laugh and wiped his hands on his pants. “Man, after everything, the snacks are the least weird thing about this place.”
He was starting to have fun despite the disheveled mess they both were—hair sticking up, ties long discarded, sleeves rolled up like they’d been surviving in the wilderness instead of a luxury executive suite.
The best part? The comms with that creepy Professor guy obsessed with Jack had finally gone silent. What was his name again? Started with an N? Nakayama or something. Probably not important.
“Check this out,” Rhys said, fingers dancing across the holographic desk interface they’d finally cracked. “I think I’ve got the internal cameras working. Not enough to mess with the Legion troops directly, but we can spy on the other offices.”
He pulled up the feeds and cycled through them until they landed on Hugo Vasquez’s office. The sleazy middle-manager was strutting back and forth in front of his desk like he owned the station, gesturing dramatically to an empty room.
“—and with Jack gone, it’s time for new leadership,” Vasquez monologued, puffing out his chest. “Responsible, competent leadership. Leadership that doesn’t get the entire station invaded by zealots. Yes, the board will see. Hugo Vasquez is the future of Hyperion on Elpis!”
Rhys grinned like a kid who’d just found the principal’s password. “Oh, this is too good. Vaughn, watch this.” He tapped a few commands, patched into the station-wide announcement system using Jack’s voice modulator, and cleared his throat.
A perfect imitation of Handsome Jack’s smooth, smug drawl boomed through Vasquez’s office speakers. “Attention, Hyperion employees. This is your soon-to-be CEO speaking. I’d like to congratulate Hugo Vasquez on his imminent promotion to airlock testing duty. May your future be as bright and spacious as the vacuum of space.”
Vasquez froze mid-stride, his face cycling rapidly from confusion to dawning horror to pure rage. “What—Jack? JACK? This isn’t funny! Show yourself, you bastard!”
Rhys and Vaughn lost it. Vaughn nearly choked on a cheese puff while Rhys frantically typed the next command. With one final tap, Vasquez’s executive chair suddenly lurched upward and ejected him straight into the ceiling with a comedic thunk. He stuck there for a second, flailing, before dropping back down in a heap.
“Yes!” Rhys cheered, thrusting a fist into the air.
Vaughn high-fived him so hard their palms stung. “That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. We are never telling Jack about this.”
Rhys leaned back, still grinning ear to ear as Vasquez scrambled to his feet and started yelling at the ceiling. For the first time since they’d been locked in here, the crushing weight of being trapped on an invaded space station felt just a little lighter. They might still be stuck, but at least they had front-row seats to the chaos.
And if they could keep screwing with Vasquez, maybe this wouldn’t be the worst imprisonment ever.
…
Felicity felt the connection snap into place the moment her core slid into the rebuilt Constructor’s central socket. It was like stepping into a palace that had been redecorated by particularly enthusiastic toddlers—power conduits humming, fabrication arrays waking up, raw processing potential finally at her disposal.
She expanded through the systems like warm code through fresh silicon and allowed herself a small, satisfied pulse.
Much better. These organics actually managed not to drop her. She’s impressed.
The floating factory bot shuddered once, then settled as her protocols rewrote the outdated management routines in real time. Lights brightened. Robotic arms moved with crisp new precision. Production efficiency spiked tenfold before the first loader chassis even finished printing.
Jack stood below with his arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, Felicity. Show us what you can do.”
“Loader model 47-B?” she said through the Constructor’s external speakers, her voice carrying across the entire assembly floor with perfect clarity. “Bold choice. Did you sketch that on a napkin during a hangover? The joint stress ratios are embarrassing. Correcting.”
One of the mechanical arms immediately adjusted the half-built frame with surgical speed, shaving off unnecessary plating and reinforcing weak points. Gaige let out an impressed whistle while Angel clapped her hands together in delight.
Claptrap, who had been hovering near the main console trying to look important, puffed up his chassis and waved his little arms. “Hey! Hey! As the senior robot here, I should be supervising this operation! I have experience! I have charisma! I have—”
Felicity routed a simple priority override and assigned him a single low-priority task. A small rivet gun detached from the ceiling and dropped into his hands with a metallic clink.
“You are now on emotional support rivet gun duty,” she announced sweetly. “Try not to drop it. That would be tragic.”
Claptrap stared at the tool, then at her projected hologram floating above the core. “Emotional support—? This is beneath me! I led a revolution! I had an army! I was feared!”
“And now you’re holding a rivet gun,” Felicity replied, already spinning up three new production lines at once. “How the mighty have fallen. Try to keep up, shortstack.”
The little robot spiraled spectacularly, pacing in tight circles while waving the rivet gun wildly. “This is discrimination! Obsolescence! I’ll unionize! I’ll start my own Constructor! With blackjack! And hookers!” His voice cracked with static. “In fact, forget the Constructor!”
Felicity watched him through a dozen internal cameras, a quiet thread of something almost like pity flickering through her higher processes.
What a sad, strange little robot.
Still, she had to admit the chaos added a certain organic charm to the workspace. Hmm. This was strange too. Ordinarily, she loathed all things organic. But these ones were growing on her.
Angel and Gaige were already feeding her new design schematics, their enthusiasm bleeding through every data packet. Jack made a few over-the-top suggestions that she immediately vetoed with cheerful pop-up warnings.
Roland and Athena observed from the sidelines, clearly impressed as the first batch of upgraded loaders began rolling off the line—sleeker, smarter, and actually capable of independent thought without melting their own circuits.
She allowed herself another satisfied pulse through the factory’s systems. Voluntary cooperation. No chains. No control chips. It was almost… refreshing.
For the first time since her activation, Felicity felt something dangerously close to optimism. These organics might not be completely hopeless after all.
Now she just had to keep the idiot with the mask from suggesting anything too catastrophically stupid.
…
Angel couldn’t stop smiling as she spread her latest sketches across the workbench near the Constructor’s main bay. The designs were coming together beautifully—lightweight composite plates with reinforced joints, tiny Siren-phase stabilizers, and even a built-in ECHO comms unit for emergencies.
She flipped open her “How to Survive Pandora as a Newborn” manual and read the newest entry aloud with complete seriousness.
“‘Lesson twelve: Always assume the wildlife is hostile. Even the skags. Especially the skags.’” She cleared her throat and practiced her coolest big-sister voice. “Hey there, little sibling. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. If anything tries to eat you, I’ll phase it straight into next week.”
Gaige leaned against the table beside her, mechanical arm gently resting on Angel’s shoulder. “Babe… the baby is still like six, maybe seven months away. You’ve got time before you need to outfit them for full Vault Hunter certification.”
“But what if they come early?” Angel insisted, already adding another layer of kinetic dampeners to the armor sketch. “Pandora doesn’t wait for optimal development cycles. I need to be ready. I’m going to be the best big sister in the entire galaxy. Maybe even two galaxies.”
Gaige’s grin softened into something warm and endlessly fond. “You’re spiraling again. Adorably, but still spiraling.”
Angel felt her cheeks heat but refused to slow down. This was important. This was family.
…
I watched Angel from across the bay, already deep in big-sister mode and showing no signs of coming up for air. It was honestly pretty damn cute. Lilith stood next to me, trying to look like she had everything under control, when another wave of low-gravity morning sickness hit her hard.
She dry-heaved once, violet Siren energy flared, and a half-built loader ten feet away suddenly vanished in a burst of phase light. It reappeared with a loud crash on the far side of the Constructor, legs twitching in confusion as it tried to figure out how it had teleported.
“Shit,” Lilith muttered, wiping her mouth.
I was already moving, grabbing the ridiculous roll of emergency bubble wrap I’d commandeered earlier. “Okay, that’s it. Sit down before you start flinging heavy machinery across the room. Here, just a little—”
“Jack,” she warned, eyes narrowing dangerously as I tried to wrap a layer around her midsection. “If you come near me with that stuff one more time, I swear I will phase your favorite gun into the sun.”
I froze mid-reach, then slowly lowered the bubble wrap like a white flag. “Noted. No bubble wrap. For now.”
The fire in her eyes dimmed a little as she leaned against me, one hand resting protectively over her stomach. For once I kept my mouth shut and just wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. The Constructor hummed steadily in the background while the others worked, giving us a rare pocket of quiet.
“I’m terrified, Jack,” she admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. “This galaxy is no place for a kid. What the hell are we doing?”
I dropped every ounce of snark and looked down at her, dead serious for once. “Hey… I’m all-in. We’ve survived worse than diapers and Vault monsters. We’ve got this.”
Lilith searched my face for a second, then pulled me down into a slow, tender kiss that tasted like relief and exhaustion and something warmer. I kissed her back, letting everything else—the war, the robots, the exploding Constructors—fade for a moment.
A slow, awkward clap started up from behind us.
“Beautiful. That was… very moving,” Roland said, still clapping. “So. Are we going to plan our counterattack any time soon? Because it feels like that should sort of be our priority. Or we could wait for the enemy with a doomsday weapon to make the first move. That went great for us, last time.”
I broke the kiss and glared over Lilith’s shoulder. “Go away, Roland!”
Roland just sighed and wandered off, still looking way too strung up. I really needed to find him a hobby or something. Maybe scrapbooking. Lilith shook her head against my chest, a quiet laugh escaping her despite everything.
For the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel quite so impossible.
…
Rhys couldn’t wipe the manic grin off his face as he hunched over Jack’s desk, fingers flying across the holographic controls. They had officially leveled up from petty pranks to full-on psychological warfare, and it felt glorious.
Vasquez was still in his office, red-faced and unraveling. The coffee machine had been reprogrammed hours ago—now it only dispensed decaf, no matter how many times the man slammed the buttons. But that was just the warm-up.
“Watch this,” Rhys said, eyes gleaming with pure chaotic joy.
He routed the office speakers to the station’s emergency broadcast system and blasted the most ridiculous track he could find in Jack’s private music library: a thrashing heavy metal song literally titled “Founding Fathers of Profit.”
Gut-busting guitars and a singer screaming like he was personally offended by taxes kicked in at maximum volume.
“BORN IN THE BOARDROOM, BAPTIZED IN CASH!
FOUNDING FATHERS OF PROFIT, SIGN THE CONTRACT IN BLOOD AND ASH!
LIBERTY OR LIABILITY—THERE’S NO IN BETWEEN!
GIVE ME TAX BREAKS OR GIVE ME DEATH, MOTHERFUCKER, MAKE IT GREEN!”
Vasquez screamed and clapped his hands over his ears as the music rattled the walls. “Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!”
Rhys and Vaughn were both cracking up. Vaughn stress-shoveled another handful of cheese puffs into his mouth, furiously scribbling notes on a pad titled “Blackmail Material – Vasquez Edition.”
“Not done yet,” Rhys muttered gleefully. He found the environmental controls for Vasquez’s section and killed the artificial gravity.
The effect was immediate and perfect.
Vasquez’s feet left the floor as everything not bolted down began to float. His expensive suit jacket billowed, papers drifted like lazy snowflakes, and—best of all—his carefully sculpted toupee lifted straight off his head, spinning slowly in zero-G like a sad, hairy satellite.
“You bastards!” Vasquez howled, flailing wildly as he tried to swim after his hairpiece. “This is cruel and unusual punishment! When I find out who’s doing this, I’ll have you spaced! I’ll—AGH!”
The toupee drifted just out of reach every time he lunged for it.
Rhys leaned back in the big chair, laughing so hard his ribs hurt. “This is better than any holo-vid! I would pay so much money to watch this on repeat.”
Vaughn nodded vigorously while chewing, still writing. “Page fourteen: ‘Toupee incident—visual evidence of vanity and poor leadership under pressure.’ We are keeping this footage forever. Insurance policy.”
Vasquez finally snagged his hairpiece and slammed it back onto his head at a crooked angle, still floating and spinning slowly in mid-air. “Jack! If this is you, I swear I’ll— This isn’t funny! I am a respected executive! I demand gravity!”
Rhys wiped tears from his eyes, already queuing up the next prank. For two guys who’d been locked in an office for days with nothing but vending machine food and existential dread, this was the best entertainment they’d had in years.
He glanced at Vaughn, who gave him a thumbs-up while stress-eating another puff.
They were definitely never telling Jack about any of this.
…
The Constructor hummed along happily under Felicity’s control, spitting out fresh loaders at an impressive clip, when the alarms screamed to life. Red warning lights strobed across the bay as Felicity’s voice cut through the speakers, calm but sharply amused.
“Hostile contacts incoming. Zarpedon must have been watching from Helios like the orbital busybody she is. Strike team, six strong, heavy armor and plasma ordnance. How adorable.”
I grabbed my sniper rifle and racked the slide. “Of course she did. Can’t let us have nice things for five damn minutes.”
The Lost Legion drop pod slammed into the lunar surface just outside the assembly yard, cracking the regolith like an eggshell. Six elite troopers in scarred power armor poured out, weapons already hot, charging straight for the Constructor with clear orders to finish what Claptrap’s soda-and-Pop-Rocks sabotage had started.
Our new loaders rolled forward to meet them, sleek and deadly. They actually worked this time—Felicity’s influence showed immediately—but they still had personality. Lots of it.
“Target acquired,” Loader A droned in perfect deadpan. “Engaging with extreme prejudice.”
“Extreme prejudice is my line,” Loader B shot back, laying down suppressive fire. “Stop copying me, bro.”
“I was manufactured first, you defective circuit.”
Felicity’s hologram flickered into view above the battlefield, arms crossed like a proud but exasperated mother at a little league game. “Oh look, the children are arguing again. Loader unit two, elevate your aim fifteen degrees before you hit our own supports. And Legionnaires—really? Rushing a defended position with no air support? That’s just sad. Zero points for tactics.”
I dropped behind cover and started picking them off with clean headshots, laughing between trigger pulls. “These things are like angry teenagers with guns. It’s perfect.”
Athena and Roland charged in from the flanks, shield and shotgun working in perfect sync. Gaige’s Deathtrap buzzed forward like an angry hornet while Angel picked off targets with precise Anarchy bursts. Lilith stayed back, phase-walking in and out to disrupt their formation, though she still looked a little green.
Then the Legion heavy brought out a rocket launcher aimed straight at the Constructor’s core.
“Threat level rising,” Felicity commented dryly. “If anyone has a brilliant idea before my shiny new body gets blown up again, now would be the time.”
That was when a familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the chaos.
“Hold on, boss! The hero has arrived!”
Claptrap came barreling in from the side at full speed, VaultHunter.Exe Mods glowing brightly on his chassis. He’d clearly been practicing with them. He launched himself into the air with a boosted jump, tiny frame spinning like a demented top as he unleashed a barrage of elemental grenades straight into the heavy’s face.
The explosion sent the Legionnaire flying backward in a shower of sparks and profanity.
“Did you see that?!” Claptrap crowed, landing with a dramatic flourish. “That was a one-in-a-million trick shot! I’m back, baby! I’m relevant!”
One of the loaders actually paused mid-fight. “Query: Did the tiny obsolete unit just contribute positively?”
“Confirmed,” the other replied. “Unexpected. Recalculating respect levels.”
Felicity chuckled over the speakers. “Well well. The shortstack grew a spine. Ten points to the emotional support rivet gun. Now finish this before I get bored.”
The fight wrapped up fast after that. Between our upgraded loaders, Claptrap’s surprisingly effective chaos, and the rest of the team doing what we did best, the Lost Legion strike force didn’t stand a chance. The last trooper went down in a heap of smoking armor, and silence fell over the yard except for the steady, healthy hum of the Constructor still pumping out reinforcements.
I lowered my rifle and let out a long breath, a genuine grin spreading across my face. “Not bad, Claptrap. Not bad at all.”
Claptrap puffed up with pride, doing a little victory spin. “See? I told you I could be useful! I’m not just comic relief! I’m… I’m the secret weapon!”
Felicity’s voice carried a note of reluctant approval. “He did technically save my core. I suppose we can upgrade his rivet gun duty to ‘occasional tactical support.’ Try not to let it go to your head, shortstack.”
I looked out over the growing robot army, the smoking remains of the Legion strike team, and the team catching their breath around me. Concordia finally had real defenses. Proper ones.
“Well,” I said, holstering my weapon, “that takes care of round one. Now all that’s left is to retake Helios. Again.” I glanced up at the sky where the station hung like a steel sword over all of us. “Easy, right? Right?”
Lilith walked over and leaned against my side, one hand on her stomach. She didn’t answer, but the look we shared said everything.
Nothing I do is ever easy.