Chereads / Power Rangers: Gridwalkers / Chapter 79 - Silent Infiltration

Chapter 79 - Silent Infiltration

Jackpot! Pink thought as she materialized from the teleportation pad, her nanoweave polymere suit hugging her body beneath the vibrant pink Ranger armor. Ranger teleportation was silent, but Pink liked to imagine a dramatic, electrically charged whoosh, like in the old TV shows before Countdown.

The room attendant was slumped back in his chair, snoozing, and Pink smirked under her helmet. No alarms, no rush—just an open playing field. Prism pinged the network instantly, her access slicing through human-designed protocols with ease. "Looks like we got lucky," Prism noted. "Black had a visit scheduled. Probably here to check on Blue. That's why the system didn't raise any alarms—it's not built to tell the difference between 'Pink' and 'Black.'"

"But," Prism added, her tone turning serious, "Black hasn't arrived yet. We'll need to pull his access codes or overwrite them. The system might be sloppy about distinguishing 'Blue' from 'Not Blue,' but it'll definitely flag two Rangers on-site if it picks up both of us."

Prism's tone turned amused. "The protocols are so sloppy. They never bothered keeping our tags updated over the past ten years. Honestly, it's like they assumed Blue was the only one worth tracking—or, more likely, they expected Blue and Nova to patch the code. Guess he never got around to it, what with being thrown in detention." Pink could almost hear the eye roll through their mental link. "We'll have to tease him about this later."

Pink's grin widened beneath her visor. "Well, thank you, Black—and Blue," she whispered. "Their laziness is our gain."

This is almost too easy, Pink thought, a smirk forming under her helmet. She imagined Granny—their ever-watchful Overseer—absolutely losing it if she knew Pink was pulling this off outside the confines of the simulator. Oh, she'd be having an aneurysm.

Prism's voice oozed through their mental link, rich with sultry mischief. "Can you imagine it? Granny clutching her clipboard, panting like she's caught in the middle of a scandalous romance novel. 'How dare they sneak around behind my back!' she'd cry, all breathless and flushed."

Pink bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "I'd pay to see it," she whispered, her voice laced with dark amusement. "She'd probably turn so red, she'd look ready to blow—like she needs more than meds to relieve all that... tension."

Prism purred, leaning into the joke. "Oh, definitely. Might need a whole squad of young, eager interns to... service her surveillance needs. 'Lock it all down,' she'd moan, 'No one gets out until I'm thoroughly... satisfied.'"

Pink almost choked on her laughter. "And after all that, she'd still be unsatisfied, ranting about 'undisciplined little degenerates' who make a fool of her." Her voice dropped into a mockingly seductive tone. "I bet she'd fantasize about installing cameras in the most intimate places. Really get in there."

"Right," Prism teased, "like she'd want every nook and cranny under surveillance. She'd want to watch us work every angle, soaking in all the dirty little details."

Pink's shoulders shook as she giggled. "Poor thing. If only she could enjoy the show properly—no wonder she's so frigid."

Smooth as silk, Pink thought as she stepped off the teleport pad. Immediately, Prism activated the stealth systems, the familiar energy rippling through Pink's body. Heat dampening engaged. Sound dampening on. Friction dampening active, Prism intoned, each system firing up in sequence. And... visibility cloak online. You're practically a ghost, babe.

Pink rolled her shoulders, feeling the cloak settle around her like a second skin, rendering her movements silent and invisible. She moved with confidence, gliding across the polished floor toward the security checkpoints. "I'd make the perfect ghost," she thought. "A real perverse spirit, haunting all the wrong places."

As she neared the first security camera, she couldn't resist the urge to have a little fun. Pink lifted a gloved hand and mimed a playful wave at the unseeing lens. "Oh, hi there, security team," she whispered with mock cheer, her voice dripping with mischievous glee. "Wish I could leave you a little love note... in bright pink crayon, of course. 'Hey Granny,'" she mimed writing in the air, "'Thanks for being so easy to fool. XOXO.'"

Prism snickered in her mind, the AI's laughter carrying that familiar seductive edge. "Bright pink crayon, huh? Make sure to leave it dripping with... affection. Granny would love that."

Pink bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud, her body vibrating with silent amusement. "She'd probably combust on the spot," she whispered. "Or file a formal complaint about 'lewd conduct in secure areas.'"

Prism's voice oozed with mock disapproval. "Please, she'd be panting for more, pretending she's horrified while secretly loving every word. You know she'd keep that note somewhere private to revisit later."

Pink's smirk lingered as she pressed on, her eyes darting around to take in her surroundings. "Alright, Prism," she whispered, "where are they keeping him? What level is the interrogation on, and how do we get there?"

Prism's voice, sweet with that ever-present undercurrent of dark humor, purred in her mind. "Basement level 13, darling. Bad luck central. We'll have to take a few stairwells, but remember, your cloak needs cooldown breaks. Wouldn't want to flash anyone prematurely."

Pink stifled a snicker. Basement level 13, she mused. How deliciously ominous. She ghosted through a long, sterile hallway lined with stark white walls and the occasional flickering emergency light. She passed lab techs in scrubs, soldiers in casual uniform, and doctors engrossed in tablets. One soldier leaned lazily against the wall, tapping a beat on his leg while chatting with a medic who had her hair pulled into a tight bun. Their conversation drifted toward dinner rations and the latest scuttlebutt from surface level, and Pink resisted the urge to give them a ghostly whisper just to see them jump.

"Too easy," she thought with a grin, slipping past them without a sound.

She dipped into a supply room when her heat dampeners began to strain, the air around her suit growing warm. Inside, the walls were lined with shelves of medical kits and oxygen canisters. Pink nestled between a rolling cart of sterilized equipment and a stack of biohazard disposal bins, taking a moment to catch her breath and let her suit's systems reset. The scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, sharp and sterile.

The door cracked open, and a surgeon stepped inside, oblivious to her presence. The man's scrubs were stained with the faintest smudge of blood, and he rubbed his gloved hands together as if trying to scrub away invisible worries. His jaw was clenched, and he muttered something under his breath about back-to-back procedures and command pushing them to the brink.

Pink bit back a grin, resisting the urge to spook him. "Poor guy," she thought, watching as he grabbed a fresh pair of gloves from the shelf. "If only he knew he was sharing this space with a real nightmare."

The surgeon let out a heavy sigh, tugging at the collar of his scrubs before stepping back into the hall, none the wiser. As the door swung shut, Pink's systems finished their reset, and she slipped out behind him like a shadow, completely unseen.

Moving deeper into the facility, she weaved through clusters of staff, ghosting between conversations and letting snippets of chatter drift to her ears. In one hallway, two doctors argued over patient triage protocols, their faces flushed with stress. A young engineer scurried past with an armful of data pads, nearly dropping them as she tried to dodge a group of soldiers laughing about a prank involving reprogrammed holo-screens.

Pink paused to mime a playful wave at a nearby security camera, knowing full well that her invisibility cloak held strong. "Wish I could leave a love note," she whispered, her grin wicked. "Something bright and embarrassing in pink crayon, just for Granny."

Prism giggled in her mind, her voice dripping with mischievous energy. "Make it a heart-shaped letter. 'Dear Granny, you missed me again! XOXO.'"

Pink had to press a hand against her mouth to stifle her laughter, her body shaking with silent mirth. "Stop, you're going to make me blow our cover." Her eyes sparkled behind her visor as she pushed forward, finding odd nooks and crannies to duck into whenever her systems needed to recharge.

She passed a group of medics huddled near an elevator, trading horror stories about trauma cases. One of them spoke in hushed tones about a patient who'd barely survived an off-world skirmish, and Pink couldn't help but lean in, curiosity piqued.

When the coast was clear, she slipped down another stairwell, the descent feeling more like a game than a mission. She'd crouch behind rolling carts or press herself into shadowy alcoves, her heartbeat thrumming with excitement. Each pause was a new opportunity to test just how invisible she could be, and she reveled in the thrill.

Pink's excitement bubbled up as she bounced from one window to the next, her visor nearly pressing against the cold, reinforced glass. The first room was empty, humming with the unsettling buzz of fluorescent lights. The vacant interrogation chair stood in stark isolation, and while the sight was frustrating, she pressed on with determination.

"Come on, Blue," she muttered, irritation building. "Hide and seek is over."

The corridor she moved through was dead still, unnervingly quiet. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered in a tired, irregular rhythm, casting fleeting shadows that slithered along the smooth, unbroken walls. The place felt devoid of life, haunted only by the memories of confrontations and broken souls that had once filled these rooms. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered heavily, like a ghost of harsh procedures past.

Prism's voice drifted into her mind, dripping with playful menace. "Creepy, isn't it? Like a set from one of those old horror sims. All you need is the sound of footsteps that aren't yours."

Pink managed a grin, but it felt forced, her unease growing. "Too bad there's no one here to scare. The whole floor's more dead than alive."

Prism laughed, her tone sultry and conspiratorial. "Oh, but think of all the ghosts. I bet they're watching, thrilled to have someone as lively as you around. Probably fantasizing about your little... escapades."

Pink bit her lip, resisting the urge to laugh. "Ghosts, huh? Creeps, the lot of them. Still, if they're into a girl who sneaks around, they should have better taste."

Her next stop revealed another empty room, and her patience started to fray. The corridor, flat and seemingly endless, stretched out before her like a sterile maze meant to disorient and exhaust. Each empty chamber mocked her, and the flickering lights made it feel as though shadows were clawing at her periphery.

"Damn it, Blue," she whispered, her tone laced with frustration. Her earlier thrill had twisted into irritation, and every silent, empty step felt more personal. "Stop hiding, or I swear I'll tear this whole place apart."

Prism's voice purred in response. "Maybe he's testing you, seeing how far you'll go to find him. After all, nothing gets your blood pumping like a good hunt, right?"

Pink clenched her fists, her movements still fluid but driven now by a simmering anger. "When I catch him, he won't get away so easily. This time, I'm keeping him right where I want him."

Prism chuckled, darkly amused. "Oh, I'd love to watch. You and him, alone, with nowhere to run..."

Pink forced a grin, trying to ignore the chill of the corridor. The oppressive quiet, the sterile emptiness—it was starting to grate on her. But she pressed on, determined to find Blue and end this twisted game.

Pink reached the last window, her anticipation now twisted into pure exasperation. She practically slammed her helmet against the cold glass, bracing for disappointment—and there it was. The room was empty. No Blue, no familiar brooding figure, just the same bleak interrogation chamber. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a low, frustrated growl.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, the excitement that had driven her so far now reduced to bitter annoyance. The sterile, oppressive atmosphere of the corridor seemed to close in on her, making her frustration feel almost suffocating. With a huff, she dropped into a crouch, resting her arms on her knees, her gloved fingers clenching in irritation. "This was such a bad idea," she whispered, the weight of disappointment settling heavily over her.

Prism's voice slipped into her mind, carrying a hint of reassurance but still infused with their usual playful charm. "Hey, don't give up yet. The system doesn't have any record of him being moved. If they'd relocated him, there'd be a log—and I would've found it."

Pink tilted her head back, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Great," she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. "So he's either hiding somewhere really clever, or the system is lying to us. Because this..."—she gestured to the empty room—"is not what I signed up for."

Prism hummed thoughtfully, trying to inject some optimism into the gloom. "Or maybe he's just deeper in. They've locked him away well, but not well enough to beat us. We'll find him."

Pink's brow furrowed as she stared down at the polished floor, trying to shake the feeling that she was just chasing shadows. "He better be worth it," she grumbled. But deep down, she knew that if it were Blue, he always was.

Through her peripheral vision, Pink caught a sudden flash of neon light. One of the monitors embedded in the wall, previously dormant, flickered to life in a burst of pixelated, 8-bit animation. Her head snapped toward it, curiosity flaring. Two blocky figures appeared on the screen: one clad in striking red and white armor, reminiscent of an old-school tokusatsu hero, and the other wrapped in ominous black and purple, bearing a distinctly villainous vibe. Both animated characters threw her an enthusiastic thumbs-up before the words Sub-Level 27 flashed across the screen in bold, glowing letters.

Pink's eyes widened, and she let out a loud, triumphant exclamation. "Wow! God rubbed one out for me today!" Her helmeted head tilted back, laughter bubbling up from her chest. She sprang to her feet, energy renewed.

Then, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, she clasped her hands in front of her and performed an exaggerated bow. "Dōmo arigatō!" she declared, her voice dripping with playful reverence.

Prism's laughter rang through her mind, a cascade of sultry, delighted giggles. "Japanese? Really?"

Pink shrugged, straightening up with a grin. "No idea. It just felt... appropriate." She threw a mischievous look at the screen, grateful for the unexpected stroke of luck, and prepared to follow the new lead.

The screen flashed again, displaying a pixelated map that outlined a route deeper into the facility, highlighted with a neon green path. Prism analyzed the layout in a flash, her voice slipping into Pink's mind with a blend of curiosity and concern. "I've got the path locked in," Prism said, "but there's something weird. Sub-Level 27 doesn't exist on the official schematics. It's like a ghost floor, hidden from the facility's blueprints. And there are no elevators that reach it—just stair access."

Pink's shoulders slumped, and she let out a dramatic groan. "Stairs? Why did it have to be stairs?" She threw her head back, as if appealing to the heavens—or maybe cursing them. "I swear, whoever designed this place must have been a sadist. All these advanced technologies, and we're still resorting to stairs?"

Prism chuckled, her tone oozing with mock sympathy. "Well, on the bright side, you'll get a great leg workout. Think of the gains."

Pink rolled her eyes behind her helmet, already dreading the trek. "Yeah, thanks. Just what I needed—more cardio." But despite the complaint, she was already moving, her body coiling with renewed energy and determination.

Pink took off down the hallway, moving swiftly as she left behind the disappointment of the interrogation floor—Sub-Level 13. As she progressed, her eyes were sharp, her senses on high alert, but it didn't take long for her to notice that something felt off about her surroundings. The further she ventured, the more the usual security measures seemed to vanish. Cameras, which had been an almost suffocating presence earlier, were becoming increasingly scarce, their blinking red lights absent from corners where they should have been.

Even more unsettling, the security guards were nowhere to be found. The typical checkpoints and patrol stations she'd passed on her way in were now conspicuously empty, as though the deeper she delved, the less the facility cared—or perhaps dared—to monitor this area. The once-dense presence of uniformed guards and automated security measures had dissipated, replaced by long, unnervingly silent corridors.

Her "pinky sense" began to tingle, an instinct honed from years of dealing with situations that turned sour fast. Pink slowed her pace, her fingers drifting near her weapons, tension rippling through her body like a silent alarm. "This doesn't feel right," she murmured, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the increasingly barren surroundings.

Prism's voice echoed in her mind, a hushed whisper. "Yeah, something's definitely off. It's like this whole section is designed to stay under the radar. Keep sharp, Pink. We might not be as alone as we think."

Pink's grin disappeared, replaced by a serious, focused expression beneath her helmet. "Copy that," she whispered, pressing forward with growing caution.

Pink slowed to a stop, pressing herself into a shadowed alcove just before reaching the stairwell that would take her to the final level. Her invisibility cloak had begun to warm, and the heat dampeners struggled to keep her concealed. With a heavy sigh, she leaned against the cool metal wall and whispered, "Alright, time for a cooldown. I swear, one of these days we'll get a better cloak that doesn't need a break every five minutes."

Prism hummed in her mind, sounding both apologetic and practical. "Hey, it's either this or light up like a neon sign. Besides, it gives me a chance to run a weapons check. Just in case."

Pink flexed her fingers, watching as a readout of her weapons inventory popped up in her helmet's HUD. Prism's voice guided her through each item. "Pulse charges, active. Stun disks, ready. Grappler line, operational. And the smart rounds... well, they're buzzing to be let loose."

Pink's grin returned, a mischievous edge to her excitement. "Oh, I've been dying to use those. Let's give them a test flight, yeah?"

With a flick of her wrist, she released a few smart rounds from her gauntlet. The tiny orbs unfolded in mid-air, their surfaces shimmering as they sprang to life. The smart rounds behaved almost like bees, buzzing lightly as they hovered in formation. Pink watched as they separated, some zipping off to land inconspicuously on the walls and sending live video feeds back to her helmet cam. Others drifted toward potential hiding spots, their compact forms ready to act as discreet trackers.

One particularly clever round zeroed in on a dangling maintenance jacket, slipping seamlessly into the folds of fabric and nestling in a way that made it nearly undetectable. Pink smirked at the display. "I love these little guys," she whispered. "Survey mode engaged. Let's see what secrets this place is hiding."

Prism's voice purred with approval. "Good call. They're ready to sting if we need to track anyone—or provide some eyes where cameras don't reach."

Pink's heart thudded with anticipation as she watched the smart rounds' feeds populate her HUD, each one offering a different angle of the dim, unsettling corridor ahead. "Alright," she said, her voice hushed but confident. "Let's take a peek before we crash the party."

Pink's breath caught as the surveillance drones fed live footage into her helmet HUD. Her eyes darted over every detail, and icy dread pooled in her gut. The room was enormous, filled with soldiers scattered in clusters—some playing cards, others glued to a massive wall-mounted TV, and a few hunched over controllers in a heated video game match. Despite the relaxed façade, every single one of them was armed to the teeth. Pulse rifles leaned within easy reach, high-capacity magazines strapped to their chests, and bioweave armor suits molded to their bodies like a second skin. The armor was sleek, lightweight, and clearly reverse-engineered from Ranger tech, built for combat efficiency.

Prism's voice cut into Pink's thoughts, low and laced with sharp concern. "That's... a hell of a lot of firepower for a bunch of people just hanging out. Bioweave suits, too. Those things are nearly impossible to regulate without Ranger AIs. Someone really pulled out all the stops."

Pink's hands curled into fists, her frustration and anger battling against the gnawing fear. "They don't just throw that kind of gear around for fun," she muttered, her voice tense. "They're not prepping for deployment. This is containment—overkill containment."

Prism's tone darkened as the realization hit. "They're guarding something. Or rather... someone. They're not worried about keeping people out—they're terrified of keeping someone in."

Pink's heart clenched, and rage sparked alongside the dread. "Blue," she whispered, her teeth gritted. "Even unarmed and detained, they see him as a threat big enough to warrant a fortress of soldiers in full combat gear."

Prism's usual humor had vanished, replaced with a cold, analytical edge. "He must've left quite the impression. Enough to scare them into stationing an army right on top of him."

Pink exhaled shakily, the weight of what she was seeing pressing down on her. "Let them be scared," she growled, her voice hardening with resolve. "We're getting him out. And when we do, they'll understand exactly why they should've been afraid."

Prism's voice softened, a note of caution returning. "We have to be smart, Pink. One misstep, and we're up against a wall of bioweave armor and advanced firepower. No room for mistakes."