Entry 41

Our forge is up and running. The first of its kind. This is momentous for us. For the Black Armory.

I should be thrilled. "Should" being the key word here.

But I didn't ask to build a mobile weapon factory. I didn't come up with the idea. Helga and Yuki did. Suffice it to say, lately we haven't been agreeing on things as much as we used to.

With the "anomaly," they believe now more than ever that we need our work out there. Easily accessible in the moment, they said. In much greater number, they said.

We're growing fast. Too fast. Which means mass production. Which in turn means less control over our work. How it's distributed, who it's distributed to, etc. It means more weapons to defend ourselves, yes, but not in every single person's hands. That was not my vision. Power without control leads to chaos. It's a give and take.

And nothing says less control quite like placing portable weapon printers all around the world. Hell, they're even discussing putting them on other planets.

I guess I always thought this operation would stay more intimate, more focused.

I know that Helga and Yuki are just looking out for the Armory's best interests. Helga's always reminding us—obnoxiously might I add—that until the little green aliens invade, this is as much a business as a cause.

So I signed off on it.

Helga can keep being the semi-cruel one around here. I'll just work harder to preserve our heart.