I’ll be the Red Ranger

- Oliver -

‘What is this place?’ he thought, a profound sense of dread settling into his bones.

"Tim, do you copy?" Martin spoke, pressing the communicator attached to his collar.

"Loud and clear," Tim's voice crackled through the device.

"I'm taking the newbie to the loading and unloading area. There's some product scheduled to depart shortly. It's good for him to see how it all works. Who knows, maybe the military will finally start paying attention to this," Martin said, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Highly doubt it. But it's a good idea for him to see how we ship it. Just don't spend too much time there—I need you back to investigate the issue with the generator," Tim replied.

"No problem. I'll just drop him off and head right back," Martin assured before ending the transmission.

As their conversation concluded, an autonomous shuttle approached them. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, inviting them aboard. Martin and Oliver stepped inside.

Oliver remained silent, his gaze drifting upwards to the ceiling of the colossal building. The expanse above was dotted with countless green lights. He couldn't shake the haunting realization that each light represented a person confined within a pale, coffin-like pod. ‘How many lives are suspended here?’ he wondered. Lives that might never see the sun, destined either for unknown purposes or to be incinerated as defective products.

The shuttle moved smoothly along its route, and the soft hum of its motor was the only sound in the quiet.

"We've arrived," Martin announced as the shuttle slowed to a halt.

They disembarked into a corridor that led away from the main expanse of the facility. Despite still being underground, the atmosphere here felt different—more industrial, if that were possible. Ahead loomed an imposing wall with a narrower passageway set into it, reminiscent of the corridors leading to the elevators they'd used earlier.

Martin gestured forward. "When a batch is ready, it's moved here," he explained. "This is where it's lowered, and the transport team removes the units from the PODs. They stack them to be taken to their final destinations."

"Stacked?" Oliver echoed, confusion lacing his words.

"Yes," Martin confirmed as they walked. "It's the most efficient way to handle large quantities."

The corridor opened into an expansive chamber, and Oliver found himself engulfed by its sheer scale. Towering stacks of containers filled the space, reaching up toward the distant ceiling. There were hundreds—no, thousands—of them, arranged in precise rows that seemed to stretch into infinity. Automated cranes moved gracefully overhead, their mechanical arms effortlessly lifting and repositioning containers. On the ground level, a combination of robots and human workers maneuvered among the stacks, guiding and monitoring the flow of operations.

At first glance, the figures being moved appeared to be mannequins. But as Oliver observed more closely, a chilling realization settled in.

They moved the people as if they were mere slabs of meat, stacking them into containers en masse. The sight was both horrifying and surreal—a grotesque assembly line where human beings were treated no differently than cargo.

"Just like that," Martin pointed out, indicating the systematic process. "Once removed from the POD, the product remains unconscious for several weeks until their vital signs reach the awakening threshold. During this period, they consume minimal oxygen and require no sustenance. That's why we can stack them until they reach their destination."

As the two conversed, workers donned in yellow uniforms hustled around them, efficiently packaging the "product" with mechanical precision.

An older man with a long white beard approached, his eyes sharp beneath bushy eyebrows. "Martin? What brings you here?" he asked, his voice gravelly yet commanding.

"A newbie," Martin replied, nodding toward Oliver. "I'm showing him around. Newbie, this is our logistics chief, Mr. Smith. Smith, could you continue his orientation? I need to get back to check on the issue with the generators."

"Hmm, I suppose I can," Mr. Smith grumbled, scrutinizing Oliver with a cursory glance. "I'm a bit pressed for time, but I can give you a quick rundown." Without waiting for a response, he began walking among the towering stacks of containers.

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Martin gave a brief wave before turning on his heel and heading back the way they had come.

Oliver nodded, hastening to keep up with Mr. Smith's brisk pace.

"We're responsible for receiving each batch, packing them up, and transporting them to their destinations," Mr. Smith explained as they weaved through the organized chaos. "The military provides us with directives on where to distribute the product. Typically, those with an expiration date of twenty years are sent to the eastern coast of Area 1. The ones with a thirty-year lifespan go to the western coast of Area 1. Those with expiration dates of forty to sixty years are distributed throughout the empire."

"Expiration date?" Oliver echoed, a knot forming in his stomach. "What do you mean by that?"

Mr. Smith stopped briefly, turning to face him with an incredulous look. "The engineers didn't mention it? Each product comes implanted with specific protocols in their memories and a predetermined lifespan. The longer the expiration date, the weaker the Boon we implant. Once they surpass that date, they start to develop all sorts of diseases until they're discarded."

Oliver's mind raced. Boon? Implantation? The implications were staggering. "But why would you—"

Before he could finish, Mr. Smith was on the move again. "We have to balance functionality with control," he continued. "A shorter lifespan allows for stronger abilities but ensures they don't outlive their purpose."

They reached the end of the corridor, where five massive elevators loomed before them, their doors reinforced and large enough to accommodate heavy machinery. They dwarfed the ones Oliver had used earlier, emphasizing the scale of operations at this level.

"Once we're done packing, they're loaded onto trucks and taken to their final destinations," Mr. Smith said, gesturing toward a bay where vehicles were being loaded. Rows of trucks idled, their engines emitting a low rumble, while automated loaders transferred containers into their holds with impeccable efficiency. "For example, that shipment over there is headed to Area 44."

Oliver watched as the containers were secured, the reality of the situation settling heavily upon him.

"That's basically it," Mr. Smith concluded, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. "You can use this elevator along with that truck. It'll take you back to the base topside."

"Ah, th-thank you," Oliver stammered, still reeling from the revelations he'd uncovered. The vast underground facility, the treatment of the "products," and the chilling efficiency of the operation left him disoriented.

"No problem," Smith replied with a curt nod. "If I had more time, I'd answer your questions. But we've got a large batch to deliver today." He turned away, his footsteps echoing against the cold metal floor as he rejoined the bustling activity.

Left alone, Oliver pressed the button to summon the elevator, the illuminated panel reflecting off his troubled eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a truck preparing to enter one of the massive freight elevators nearby. It was laden with containers, identical to those he'd seen filled with the unconscious bodies.

‘Maybe this is my chance to get out of here safely,’ he thought urgently. Scanning his surroundings to ensure no one was watching, he moved swiftly toward the truck. Using the shadows as cover, he climbed onto one of the containers. He crouched low against the metal surface, his heart pounding, then slid between the adjacent containers, wedging himself into a narrow gap.

It was cramped and stifling, the confined space filled with the scent of cold steel and the faint chemical odor of preservatives. The containers pressed against him, and the hard edges dug into his back, but he remained still. In this position, he was virtually invisible—just another shadow amidst the cargo.

Minutes ticked by as he steadied his breathing, listening intently to the sounds around him. The hiss of hydraulic systems signaled the opening of the gigantic freight elevator doors. The truck's engine rumbled to life, and with a jolt, it began to move forward.

As the truck settled into the elevator, Oliver felt a slight upward shift. The elevator began its ascent, the heavy machinery groaning under the weight. He sensed the change in atmosphere; the oppressive heat of the underground complex gradually gave way to cooler air as they rose.

Fifteen minutes passed, each second stretching out as he remained hidden among the cargo. Finally, the elevator shuddered to a halt. The truck's brakes released with a hiss, and it rolled forward, exiting the elevator and moving through the surface-level facility.

Oliver stayed perfectly still, acutely aware that any movement or noise could give him away. He concentrated on suppressing his Energy. If they had scanners or detection devices, they might mistake him for one of the inert bodies among the cargo.

Voices drifted back from the cab of the truck, muffled but discernible. Straining to listen, he caught fragments of their conversation.

"Where are these Nameless headed?" one voice asked, gruff and skeptical.

"London, I think. Area 44 in general," another replied. "Only God knows where they'll end up being dumped."

"All right. Leave the cargo near the ships that just docked; they'll take them from there."

‘Nameless? They are Nameless?’ The term sent a chill down Oliver's spine. He recalled the lifeless expressions of the "products" he'd seen.

After a while, the vehicle slowed and came to a stop. The engine idled, vibrating through the metal frame. Oliver decided it was time to make his move. Carefully, he shifted his weight and peered around the edge of a container. The truck was parked in a loading area, adjacent to a sprawling dock.

He was about to slip out when he felt a subtle vibration emanating from his pocket. Freezing momentarily, he reached in to retrieve the metallic card.

The card's surface shimmered with a new text forming.

"Welcome to the Children of the Past."