“Doctor Ricard, the parts you needed came in with the last supply ship. Do you want me to-”

“Start putting 35C together, yep. Sooner we can get that prototype finished the sooner we can field test this bitch and get the design out before the contract deadline. And how many times do I have to tell you, Jacob? Cut the ‘doctor’ shit. It’s Coin.”

“Yes, of course, Dr- uh, Coin.” The intern scrambled about the cramped lab, presumably looking for 35C’s design specs. Coin shook her head. Jacob Delin was smart for a 19 year old intern, but the kid’s nerves got the best of him far too often for him to make it very far. Well, Coin figured, he was still young, and a bit naïve. Hopefully he’d outgrow his flaws and actually put that talent of his to work.

Coin reverted her attention back to the holographic display at her desk. The screen was a mess; a list of unread messages in the top left corner, a calendar filled with tasks that needed to be completed with impossible deadlines in the top right, images of potential designs and modifications taking up most of the bottom half of the screen, and an article about Earth’s latest fashion trends filling up whatever space was left. And somehow, Coin’s attention was divided between all of it.

“Coin, this barrel doesn’t fit. It’s not to spec,” Jacob’s voice resounded from the back corner of the lab.

Coin chuckled. “Flip it around, Jacob.”

A pause. Then, “Oh. That… makes a lot of sense.”

“You’re damn right it does. That’s the magic of using your head, bud. You’ll get there eventually,” Coin teased. She hit a button on her desk, closing the display. With the 35C finally assembled, there was nothing more important than her newest baby.

The 35C - or M45.35C, as the contract officially termed it - was by no means a revolutionary design; it was simply Coin’s response to a planetary militia-level market that was crying for an assault rifle that spoke to their needs rather than those of a trained military. Low maintenance, easy to handle, and packed full of punch. It was a simple weapon for the simple man. Coin smirked. That wasn’t a bad tagline. She’d have to remember to suggest that if the weapon actually got picked up to be marketed.

Coin’s train of thought was broken as Jacob tripped over a pile of scrap that was lying around. She winced; she’d have to clean up her lab soon. Looking around, the place was a mess. You’d pretty much have to climb over a mountain of crap to get from one side of the lab to the other. Coin manoeuvered her way to Jacob; thankfully he hadn’t yet loaded the weapon, or it might’ve gone off and actually caused some serious damage. She took the rifle from Jacob in one hand and helped him up with the other.

“I know it’s a mess in here, Jacob, but you’ve been my intern for as long as I’ve been stationed on this ship. You know better than anyone what kind of a mess this place has gotten into since I moved in,” Coin reminded him as he moved the mess he had made to a spot where it wouldn’t be so dangerous.

Jacob almost flinched. He never handled any kind of reprimand well, no matter how light it was. “I know, ma’am, I’m sorry… I just got a little carried away,” Jacob mumbled. He motioned to the rifle. “35C’s all done. Just like you said, less than five minutes to put together. Easy.”

Coin smiled. It was mean of her to think so, but if Jacob could assemble a weapon that quickly, a militiaman could do it even better. “Sick. I’ll take it down to the range as soon as I can book some time with the quartermaster. Good work.” Coin took a moment to examine the rifle closely. She threw the sling over her shoulder, aimed down its sight, and swung it around to test the weight balance. Everything was in order. A single shot, medium-ranged powerhouse for the everyman. Hey, that was a pretty good tagline, too. Coin set the rifle down on her desk and sat down in her chair. It was a swivel chair; a classic, and Coin’s favorite toy behind really big guns.

“So with the 35C all done, do you want me to get working on that targeting computer the marines on board were asking for?” Coin heard Jacob ask from the back of the room again. He loved that corner; it probably had to do with the feeling of security he got from the mountain of scrap that separated him from Coin.

Coin toyed with that task in her head. Recently the marines on the ship had been complaining that their scopes weren’t cutting it any more. They just couldn’t take down targets at the firing range like they used to. Coin scoffed; those scopes were years old. Nobody complained before. Then six months ago she gets assigned to the ship and hey, what do you know, the scopes aren’t worth shit, and Coin is tasked with integrating a targeting computer into each of their scopes to “promote more accurate fire under all circumstances.” Any statistics student will tell you straight away that correlation does not imply causation, but that was a coincidence that’s too convenient for Coin.

“Nah, let it hang for a few more days. Or a few more months, hell, I don’t really care. I know when I’m being fucked with, and you should too,” Coin called back flatly. She kicked her feet up onto her desk, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s just take a break for now. We’ve been prepping for 35C’s arrival all morning and we could use the time off. Go grab lunch or something.” She stared at the ceiling in peace as Jacob climbed his way out of the lab.

When she was sure she was alone, Coin brought up her computer display again. She studied her list of tasks for the month; there was nothing pressing, besides that damn targeting computer. Coin played with the the idea of giving the marines a copy of the targeting computer she used on her own rifle. She spun around in her chair, turning to face her own rifle and sidearm that was waiting in a display case on her wall. Damn, what she’d give to have a reason to use those again. It’d been way too long.

Léonard, as usual, at woken up much too early that morning. And, as usual... he found himself running late.

He tapped his foot against the floor of the carriage impatiently as the horse pulled trotted at (what seemed to him) the speed of a snail. I'd better not be late, he thought, but then hesitated and shook his head. No, you are not going to think about it. Léonard stuck his head out the window to check on the horse. ...Godamned thing needs to lose some weight. No wonder I'm probably going to be la-

He smacked himself on the head. No, he was not going to think about it. No. No.

Eventually, after a few more minutes uncomfortable minutes of fidgeting in the carriage, he decided to get off early. Léonard got the driver to stop the carriage and hopped out. He didn't bother exchanging any polite words as he just shoved the money into his hand and hurried off. There were numerous reasons why he'd gotten off a few blocks away (as inconvenient as that was for him and his low stamina), but the main cause was most definitely paranoia. Léonard was immediately on his guard just thinking about it. I swear they're all watching. They'd all sell whatever information they have on you, no doubt.

A while later, a slightly panting Léonard found himself back on track, nearing the blocked off street. He slowed down as he approached the group, briefly stopping to catch his breath.

He regained some composure, Léonard, you idiot, you're late now, aren't you? The rather gangly male, in his mid twenties, could've easily been mistaken for someone much younger, with his relatively short stature and stunted growth. (Not that he hadn't tried to grow taller, but that'd all just been in vain.) He was currently wearing relatively plain clothes, more suited for laborious work than for impressions, and was made of, unfortunately, burlap. Léonard adjusted the collar of the shirt uncomfortably. [/i]

He narrowed his eyes as his gaze darted from one member of the group to the next. Wait - why were there so little people here? [i]Ha, they must've run out of funds, he thought , But... "Am I... early?" he asked incredulously, nearly choking up laughing at the thought. .

Léonard smacked himself on the head for second time that day.

Super duper secret test