Nova's voice returned with a slight hum, almost as if she were taking a deep breath before diving in. "Alright, let's start with the first item on today's list. Overseer Mĕi Líng (美玲) sent another message—expressing her concern over your extracurricular activities."
Joey snorted, rolling his eyes. "Concern? Mĕi Líng can keep her concerns to herself. She's not my babysitter."
"Perhaps not," Nova replied, her tone even, though her words carried a subtle edge. "But she's under pressure from Imperator Wèi Lǐngyuè (未玲月), who's apparently holding her personally responsible for your actions. Both Mĕi Líng and Wèi Lǐngyuè were shaped by their upbringing in China during the tumultuous nation-state era before Countdown. Their shared history is steeped in a culture of unyielding duty, strict expectations, and the deeply ingrained belief that failure reflects not just on the individual but on everyone connected. For them, control and discipline are survival tools. The Imperator's opinion carries a lot of weight, not just because of her authority, but because she embodies the relentless drive that defined their generation."
Joey felt his jaw tighten at the mention of the Imperator. Wèi Lǐngyuè wasn't someone who understood the Rangers. She was a civilian, a politician, and her concern was image—control. Born into a world of political gamesmanship and power plays, Wèi Lǐngyuè valued stability above all else, seeing chaos as an existential threat to everything she'd built. Joey knew she saw him as a loose cannon, an unhinged asset whose unpredictability was a liability rather than a strength. To her, the Rangers were tools to maintain order, not heroes of legend.
And Joey? He wasn't a tool. Not anymore. He was something else now, something broken but still dangerous. Even Mĕi Líng didn't get it. She might have fought in the trenches, shared some small part of the chaos, but Joey had lived it. He'd seen the end of everything and survived it, but not without scars—scars no one like Wèi Lǐngyuè could ever understand.
"What does she want now?" he muttered, his irritation evident.
Nova's voice lost its usual warmth, replaced by a sharp, clinical tone. "She wants a full report on the incident at The Grid," she said. "Specifically, the fight you got into and why Bulk, the bar's owner, is pressing charges. He's not out to hold you accountable though—just wants compensation for the damage and maybe to expand the place while he's at it."
Joey's fists clenched at the memory, his knuckles turning white. The night blurred back into focus—dim lights, the low hum of voices, the weight of the past clawing at him. The whiskey hadn't done enough to take the edge off, and every sip seemed to stir up something darker. He remembered the marine, loud and cocky, his buddies egging him on like a pack of wolves. Joey had been minding his own business until the marine made a snide remark, pushing for a reaction. It wasn't the first time someone underestimated him, and it wouldn't be the last, but the tension that had been boiling inside him for weeks finally snapped.
The marine's hand landed on Joey's shoulder—a little too hard, a little too familiar. Joey could still feel the heat of that moment, the cold fury that surged through him like a lightning strike. He'd warned the marine with a look, but the guy wasn't smart enough to back down. The mocking words, dripping with disrespect, cut deeper than they should have, especially with his friends snickering like it was all a joke.
"Charges?" Joey's laugh was bitter, a rough edge to his voice. "Bulk's been in our corner since day one. He knows what's going on, and he's not turning on us now. The charges? Just a formality. He'll get his bar stools fixed, maybe use this as a reason to expand, and that'll be the end of it."
His blood still simmered as he spoke. That night hadn't been about some bar brawl—it had been about the weight of everything coming down at once. The fight was inevitable, a fuse waiting to blow, and the unlucky marine had just been the one to light the match.
Nova's voice was softer now, almost probing. "Joey, it's not just the fight. The Imperator is watching, and this incident—small as it may seem—is another reason for her to clamp down. If she believes you're becoming a threat to her control, she might do more than just send Mĕi Líng to handle it."
"I don't give a damn what Wèi Lǐngyuè thinks," Joey snapped, his voice sharp with frustration. "She's never understood what we've gone through, what I've lost. She can sit on her throne and dictate all the rules she wants, but she's not the one who fought through the Countdown, who watched our world burn."
Nova remained silent for a moment, her pause deliberate. "No, she didn't," she said finally, her tone measured, "but she holds the power now, and that means something—whether we like it or not. You're not untouchable, Joey. None of us are. Not anymore."
The truth in Nova's words cut deeper than Joey wanted to admit. He could feel the weight of her warning pressing down on him, a reminder that his recklessness wasn't just a problem for him—it was a problem for everyone connected to him. The Rangers weren't what they used to be. Without Red, without the core of their team holding them together, everything felt like it was unraveling.
Would Red have let this happen? Would she have stood by while Joey spiraled further into chaos? The thought hit him hard, and for a moment, the anger drained from him, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the thought. He wasn't going to let some politician pull his strings. Not now. Not ever.
"Would you like me to assist with the report?" Nova asked, her voice calm but measured. "We could draft something that's at least partially acceptable to Wèi Lǐngyuè and Mĕi Líng."
Joey shook his head, a bitter smirk forming. "No need. Just more paperwork no one's going to read anyway." His words were sharp, reflecting his growing frustration. It wasn't defiance so much as exhaustion—endless reports and protocols that seemed meaningless. What difference did it make in the end?
"Very well," Nova replied softly, familiar with his moods by now. It wasn't the first time he'd shrugged off the formalities, and it wouldn't be the last.
As the silence between them settled in, Joey felt the weight of the room pressing down on him again. The brawl, the bar, the marines—it was all just noise, distractions from the deeper pit he found himself sinking into. Without Red, without his team, it felt like everything was slipping further out of his control.
He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, his mind racing in a hundred different directions. The ache in his shoulder flared as he pulled on his jacket, but he ignored it. Pain was just another constant now, something that blended into the background with everything else.
"Next item. General Kassens left you a message. He would like you to review the latest on military discipline and protocol."
Joey clenched his jaw at the mention of Kassens. The man had been trying to drill discipline into him for years. He probably saw Joey as just another unruly soldier he needed to shape. But Joey wasn't just another soldier—he was a Ranger. And Kassens, no matter how hard he tried, would never get through to him the way Red had.
Red.
His mind flashed back to the simulator. It had been brutal, intense, pushing them both to their limits. But in the end, he had won. The Red simulation had been left on the ground, beaten. He could still see her helmet cracked, her face visible through the jagged break. She had looked up at him, her eyes softening despite her defeat.
"You did it, Blue," she had whispered, her voice ragged but sincere. "You overcame everything we threw at you… I'm proud of you."
Those words had hit him harder than any punch. The way she said them, with such genuine pride, had shattered something inside him. In that moment, all the pain and loss he'd been burying surged to the surface, crashing down on him like a wave he couldn't control.
She had believed in him, even when he didn't believe in himself. But now, without her, that belief was gone, replaced by an endless grind of missions and reports that felt meaningless.
"Delete it," Joey muttered, his temper rising again.
"Message deleted," Nova confirmed immediately. She never questioned him when it came to Kassens. Joey appreciated that—she knew when to push and when to let things slide.
"Anything else?" he asked, pulling on his jacket. The familiar ache in his shoulder flared as he moved, but he ignored it. Pain was just another constant now, something that blended into the background with everything else.