I’ll be the Red Ranger

- Oliver -

“Welcome to the Children of the Past”

Oliver stared at the metallic card. The words seemed to etch themselves into his mind. His fingers trembled as he gripped the card tighter, knuckles whitening. The world around him blurred, and a sudden weakness overtook him. His legs buckled, unable to support himself, he sank slowly to the dusty floor.

Silence enveloped him. The subterranean chamber was empty save for the sounds of the street above. No voices, footsteps, or signs of the examiners or anyone else. Just Oliver, the card, and the omnipresent dust.

He ran his hands through his tousled hair, fingers brushing against his scalp as if seeking solace. Questions swirled in his mind. What is real? What is false? The line between reality and fabrication had become perilously thin. Images of the PODs flooded his thoughts. Were all the Nameless created in factories? Only some? The possibility that his own memories might be fake gnawed at him, an insidious doubt that eroded the foundation of his identity.

Oliver's heart pounded in his chest. The magnitude of uncertainty threatened to consume him. Yet, amid the whirlwind of confusion, one question emerged, stark and immediate:

"What is my expiration date?" he whispered into the void.

If the Nameless were engineered with predetermined lifespans, then what did that mean for him? If he had originated from such a place, how much time did he have left? His boon wasn’t weak. Though not focused on combat, it was undeniably powerful. Did that mean his expiration date was sooner rather than later?

‘I'm sixteen years old,’ he thought. ‘Do I have only four more years? Ten? Or perhaps more?’

Every second suddenly felt immeasurably precious, each tick of an unseen clock drawing him closer to an uncertain end. His breaths came faster, shallow and ragged. The weight of mortality pressed upon him, a suffocating presence that clung to his soul.

Gathering his waning strength, Oliver willed himself to stand. With some effort, he pushed himself upward, rising from the cold floor.

He made his way toward the exit of the underground chamber.

The city of New San Francisco sprawled before him, a tapestry of lights and structures that stretched toward the horizon.

This place had been his home after leaving the VAT. Or perhaps it had always been my home, he mused, the distinction blurring in his mind. Yet now, the familiarity offered little comfort. An emptiness settled within him, a hollow ache that echoed the vast gulf of unanswered questions.

Oliver wandered aimlessly through the bustling streets, the sounds of city life surrounding him yet failing to penetrate his introspection. Neon signs flashed vibrant colors, pedestrians moved with determined strides, and the distant roar of vehicles filled the air. But to Oliver, it was all a backdrop.

Hours passed as he meandered along sidewalks and across intersections, his path dictated by nothing more than the whims of his instincts.

Eventually, he found himself at the pier. The scent of salt air mingled with the faint aroma of smoke and seaweed. Waves lapped gently against the support beams. Seagulls circled overhead.

From a distance, Oliver watched as ships glided in and out of the harbor. Cargo cranes moved with mechanical precision, loading and unloading containers whose contents remained a mystery to most. But Oliver knew better.

‘Which of these ships is carrying more Nameless?’ he pondered, his gaze fixed on a massive freighter slowly departing the dock. ‘Why do they want more of us?’

He sighed deeply. Seeking solace, Oliver sat down at the pier's edge, letting his legs dangle over the side. He extended his boots just enough for the tips to skim the water's surface. The ocean's chill seeped through the soles, grounding him in the moment.

Despite feeling adrift in a sea of confusion, he knew what he had to do next. Duty called, even if his heart yearned for another path. If he didn't return to the NEA to report on his mission, he would be branded a deserter who abandoned his post. The empire and the Rangers would pursue him relentlessly, leaving no corner of the world safe.

Yet, with every fiber of his being, Oliver longed to escape that reality. The thought of returning felt like walking back into a cage, the bars of obligation trapping him once more. He closed his eyes, letting the harbor sounds wash over him.

Time became an abstract concept as he sat there, lost in his thoughts.

A subtle vibration pulled him back to the present. Reaching into his pocket, Oliver retrieved the metallic card that had become both a guide and a tormentor. Though his interest in the Children of the Past had waned, he couldn't deny that they held answers to the questions that plagued him.

He glanced at the new message displayed on the card's surface.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

[Final Mission: Bye Bye Children – 47:49]

"Two days," Oliver whispered, the realization settling in. "That's not much time."

The countdown had begun, and with it, a sense of urgency stirred within him. Rising from the pier, he stretched his limbs, the stiffness from prolonged stillness fading as he moved. The water droplets on his boots left faint impressions on the wooden planks as he turned away from the tranquil expanse of the harbor.

Activating his gauntlet, he accessed the city’s network grid. A translucent map hovered above his wrist, pinpointing his current location and highlighting points of interest. Scanning for NEA support bases, he identified one of the sub-headquarters situated near the city center.

"Guess it's time to report in," he muttered, steeling himself for what lay ahead.

The streets bustled with nocturnal life as he made his way downtown.

Oliver weaved through the crowd, his pace brisk yet unhurried. Street vendors called out to passersby, the aroma of food momentarily distracting him from his purpose. But the countdown loomed ever-present in his mind, urging him forward.

Reaching the NEA sub-headquarters, he paused outside the imposing structure. A discreet emblem near the entrance was the only indication of its affiliation. Taking a deep breath, Oliver stepped through the sliding doors.

Inside, the atmosphere was subdued. The late hour meant minimal staff; only a few attendants occupied the front desk area, their expressions weary from the long shift. The soft glow of displays illuminated their faces.

A young woman looked up as he approached, stifling a yawn. "How can I assist you?" she asked politely, her voice tinged with fatigue.

"I need a secure line," Oliver replied, his tone measured.

Instantly, her demeanor shifted. The fog of drowsiness lifted, replaced by alertness. "Your code?" she inquired, her gaze sharpening as she assessed him more carefully.

"Oliver, Blue Ranger. Code ZX7429," he stated, maintaining eye contact.

"Proceed to the logistics floor. In the communications room, you'll find several communicators within individual booths. Select one of them," the attendant instructed, her voice crisp and efficient.

Being the only person seeking assistance at this late hour, Oliver swiftly passed through the security checks and entered the inner hall of the headquarters. He ascended a flight of stairs to the logistics floor, the hum of machinery and distant murmurs of personnel echoing faintly around him.

The communications room was easy to locate; a large sign bearing the NEA insignia marked its entrance. Inside, a series of booths lined the walls, each housing a single communicator terminal. The booths were outfitted with soundproofing and secure, hardwired connections to prevent unauthorized transmissions. Heavy doors slid shut with a reassuring thunk, sealing occupants in private cocoons where they could speak freely.

Oliver stepped into one of the vacant booths. The door closed behind him, and the ambient noise of the facility fell away, replaced by a hushed silence. Taking a deep breath, he approached the communicator. The interface glowed softly, awaiting input.

A disembodied voice emanated from the console speaker. "Whom shall we connect you to?"

"The Sixth Division," Oliver replied, his tone steady despite the turmoil within.

"Initiating connection," the voice confirmed mechanically.

Moments later, the communicator crackled to life. "Sixth Division, standing by," an officer's voice resonated, clipped and formal.

"Oliver, reporting the outcome of the operation," he began. "I gained access to the Children of the Past. There will be a mission in forty-eight hours. From what they've indicated, it will be their final mission."

"Understood," the officer acknowledged. "Other Rangers have reported similar intel. Do you have details on the mission's target?"

"Not yet," Oliver admitted. "I only received the countdown."

There was a brief pause. "How was your test?" the officer inquired.

Oliver hesitated, memories of the harrowing experience flooding back. He chose his words carefully. "I was teleported over ten kilometers. I'm not sure how it's possible. I ended up inside an NEA base and had to escape. After a few hours, I was brought back to New San Francisco."

He omitted the most disturbing details, the things he'd seen. Partially out of a sense of unease, partially out of fear of repercussions.

"Understood," the officer replied, his tone revealing nothing. "Is your report complete?"

"Complete," Oliver confirmed.

"Very well. Maintain readiness. Sixth Division out."

The line went silent, the communicator emitting a soft beep before dimming. Oliver exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders. He placed the communicator back onto its cradle and exited the booth.

As he made his way to the exit, his thoughts churned relentlessly. ‘I need a place to sleep,’ he realized, fatigue beginning to weigh on him.

Accessing one of the apps on his gauntlet, he booked a room at a hotel in New San Francisco.

"Absurd prices," he muttered, shaking his head at the exorbitant cost. But anonymity and comfort were worth the expense tonight.

The journey to the hotel was a blur.

Oliver walked almost on autopilot, his mind revisiting the same tormenting questions over and over again.

The shadows seemed deeper tonight, the alleys darker. The bustling city around him offered no solace, only serving to amplify his isolation. He felt like a ghost drifting through a world he no longer recognized.

Reaching the hotel, he stepped into the opulent lobby without really taking it in. The elevator doors slid open silently, and he entered, pressing the button for his floor.

As the elevator ascended, he gazed at his reflection in the mirrored walls. The face staring back appeared unfamiliar.

Then, amidst the tumult of his thoughts, a memory surfaced. He recalled Nico, who had been like a mentor and father figure to him. Nico had stood by his side during the toughest times at the Academy, offering guidance when Oliver felt lost. He'd shared insights about the Divisions, laughed with him during moments of levity, and provided unwavering support.

‘Nico is a Nameless’, Oliver remembered. ‘At least he was a Nameless. ’

A surge of urgency coursed through him.

‘I need to warn him,’ Oliver thought.