The medical bay hummed with an unrelenting sterility, its white lights casting sharp, clinical reflections on every polished surface. The sound of the machines monitoring Blue's vitals was steady, a monotonous reassurance that he was alive—barely. Pink's boots struck the floor in deliberate, methodical steps as she paced around his bed, her hands clenched at her sides. She'd been pacing for what felt like hours, circling him like a predator guarding its claim, but her agitation only grew.
Her gaze fixed on his face, pale and unmoving. His features, so familiar, seemed alien in this state—calm, serene, passive. The slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin medical gown was the only sign of life. She hated the sight of him like this, hated how wrong it felt. Blue wasn't fragile. Blue didn't need saving. But now, as he lay there unconscious, stripped of his armor, he looked heartbreakingly vulnerable.
Her fingers tightened into fists as her thoughts turned bitter. "They just left you here," she muttered, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Red stomping off to sulk. Black breaking himself in the gym. Yellow…" Her jaw clenched as the name left her lips, a sour taste in her mouth. "Calling you a traitor like she has any right."
The words felt sharp in her throat, stoking a fire that threatened to consume her. They didn't understand. None of them did. She had seen him in that vault, had felt the weight of his broken body as she carried him out. They hadn't been there. They hadn't seen what those bastards had done to him. And now, they had the audacity to leave him here like this—as if his survival was an afterthought.
"They don't deserve you," she murmured, stepping closer to the bed. Her arms wrapped around her middle, a poor attempt to hold herself together. Her eyes roved over him, taking in every detail: the faint stubble on his jaw, the scars visible through the sheer fabric of the gown, the quiet strength he still radiated even in unconsciousness.
A folded medical gown lay neatly on a nearby tray, its stark white fabric catching her eye. The thought struck her suddenly, unbidden: she wanted to wear it. To match him. To strip away the barriers between them and reclaim what had always been hers.
The idea rooted itself in her mind, fierce and immovable. She reached for the gown, her fingers brushing over its surface as a sense of purpose settled over her. "You're mine," she said softly, her voice trembling but resolute. "You've always been mine."
The words felt like a vow, echoing in the sterile quiet of the room. Without hesitation, she began unfastening her boots, the sharp clatter as they hit the floor reverberating through the space. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, as she stripped away each layer of her clothing. Her skirt fell to the floor in a soft heap, followed by her top, leaving her bare beneath the cold, clinical light.
The medical bay's chill brushed against her skin, but she didn't shiver. Her focus was singular as she slipped the gown over her head, the fabric cool and light against her body. She tied it loosely at the back, smoothing the material over her hips before turning her attention back to Blue.
The bed seemed impossibly narrow as she climbed onto it, but she moved carefully, her movements slow and fluid, each gesture imbued with purpose. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight, and she paused, watching his face for any sign of movement. He remained still, his breaths steady but shallow.
Gingerly, she stretched out beside him, her body aligning with his as she draped one leg over his. The thin fabric of their gowns did little to separate them, and the warmth of his body seeped into hers, chasing away the sterile chill of the room. The contact was grounding, intimate in a way that felt achingly familiar.
Her hand hovered over his chest for a moment before she let it rest there, her palm pressing lightly against his ribs. The slow, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat was hypnotic, a steady reassurance that he was still here, still alive. She closed her eyes, exhaling softly as the tension in her body began to ease.
The room's clinical sterility seemed to melt away as she pressed closer, trapping his leg firmly against the curve of her hips with a possessive, unyielding hold. Her thigh pressed against him, claiming his space with an intimate, unspoken demand. The heat of her body seeped through the thin fabric, a tangible connection that ignited a quiet ache within her. It wasn't enough. She shifted, her movements fluid and deliberate, brushing her cheek against his shoulder as her breath warmed the sensitive skin of his neck, lingering like a whisper of need.
Her fingers began to move, tracing light, aimless patterns over his chest. The scars beneath her touch were familiar, their jagged lines a map of his survival. She lingered on one near his collarbone, her thumb skimming its edge as a quiet ache settled in her chest. She had teased him about that scar once, calling him reckless and stupid. Now, the memory felt hollow, a painful reminder of everything he had endured.
Her free hand slid beneath the sheet, brushing against the curve of his waist. The warmth of his skin was electric, a sharp contrast to the cool air of the room. She let her hand rest there, her fingers curling slightly as if to anchor herself.
"You've always been mine," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Even if no one else sees it. Even if you don't see it."
The words felt heavy, a truth she had never dared to speak aloud. But here, in the quiet of the medical bay, with no one to hear her, she let them spill out.
Her leg tightened around his, her body pressing closer as she shifted slightly, adjusting her position to fit more fully against him. The narrow bed left little room for movement, but she didn't mind. The warmth of his body against hers, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, was all she needed.
Her hand moved again, sliding upward to rest against the curve of his shoulder. She pressed her forehead against his, her eyes fluttering closed as she let herself relax into him. The sterile hum of the machines faded into the background, replaced by the quiet intimacy of their shared warmth.
For the first time since stepping into the room, she felt calm.
Pink rested her cheek against Blue's shoulder, her leg firmly entwined with his, while her fingers meticulously traced the faint scars that crisscrossed his chest. The warmth of his body was a stabilizing force, even as her mind churned with unresolved memories. Her movements were deliberate, each touch lingering on the ridges and grooves that silently recounted his survival.
The sterile hum of the medical bay's machines receded into the periphery as her voice broke the quiet. "They destroyed everything," she whispered, her tone heavy with the weight of her thoughts. "Everything that mattered. We didn't even have a warning."
At the foot of the bed, Prism materialized in a flicker of light, her holographic form exuding casual indifference as she leaned against a nearby cart. Arms crossed, her expression was tinged with sharp curiosity. "Countdown?" she asked, her voice carrying its usual acerbic edge.
Pink nodded, her lips pressing into a taut line. "It wasn't just an invasion—it was annihilation. One moment, the world was calm, and the next, the sky was filled with alien fighters. It wasn't concentrated, it wasn't strategic. They were everywhere—cities, rural areas, military bases. Anywhere you looked, something was on fire. The coordination was flawless, but it didn't feel tactical—it felt primal, like they wanted to watch the world burn all at once."
Her hand paused on his chest as her gaze shifted to his face, pale and unnervingly still. The contrast between his usual vitality and his current fragility was jarring. "And Rome…" Her voice wavered before steadying. "Rome was the epicenter of it all. Every major head of state, every organization of global importance—they were all gathered in one place. It was supposed to mark the beginning of a new era, a step toward global unity. Instead, they didn't even have the chance to respond. By dawn, they were all dead."
Prism's head tilted, her holographic projection glimmering faintly as she probed further. "How did they know where to strike?"
Pink's fingers curled slightly, her voice sharpening with the bitterness of recollection. "No one knows. There was no infiltrator, no insider tipping them off. They didn't need one. Somehow, they just knew. It wasn't a calculated strategy—it was sheer omnipresence. Schools, hospitals, fallout shelters—they obliterated them all. Even the places we thought were safe. No one had time to react. Most places didn't even have evacuation plans. It was chaos incarnate."
Her hand resumed its journey, this time slipping beneath the thin fabric of his gown. Her fingertips sought the warmth of his skin, tracing the firm, scarred expanse of his torso. The muscles beneath her touch told a story of resilience, each scar an indelible reminder of battles fought and survived. She lingered, reverently tracing the lines of his abdomen, each touch imbued with unspoken meaning.
"And it all led back to them," she continued, her voice quieter now, the bitterness giving way to a weary sadness. "The only reason the world leaders were even in one place was because of his parents. His dad, the archaeologist, and his mom, the cultural anthropologist. They found something—something important enough to draw every head of state, every military leader into one room. But that wasn't why the aliens came. That was just a coincidence. His parents weren't targets—they were collateral damage."
Prism's voice softened, her holographic presence shifting as if to mirror the gravity of the moment. "And Blue's parents?"
Pink stilled, her hand resting on his chest as her forehead came to rest against his shoulder. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, the vulnerability in her tone stark against the sterile backdrop of the room. "They didn't stand a chance. He told me they made it to the street. Him, his mom, and his dad. That's all he ever says. I don't know if he doesn't remember, or if he just won't let himself. I know when he's lying to me, but when he lies to himself…" She trailed off, shaking her head as her leg tightened instinctively over his. "That's harder."
Her fingers resumed their exploration, now beneath his gown, her touch slow and deliberate as it traced the taut lines of his abdomen. The fabric of her own gown shifted higher as she adjusted, the cool air brushing against her exposed skin. Yet, the room's chill was insignificant compared to the warmth radiating from him. She absorbed every sensation, every scar and contour, grounding herself in the reality of his presence. Each movement carried an unspoken weight, a vow that she wouldn't let him drift away.
Her fingers resumed their deliberate tracing, moving along the scars etched into his ribs with a precision born of familiarity. "Whatever he saw out there, it left its mark on him. He used to wake up screaming, terrified of the dark, of enclosed spaces. It took years for those fears to fade. Nova helped him back then, but now..."
She hesitated, her voice quivering as her gaze lingered on his motionless face. "I don't know if it's all coming back. The isolation might have reopened old wounds. Or maybe I'm imagining things. But the thought terrifies me. I don't know if I have the strength to keep it from consuming him again."
Prism's holographic projection flickered into view at the foot of the bed, leaning against a nearby cart with uncharacteristic stillness. Her usual sardonic edge was absent as she regarded Pink with unfeigned seriousness. "And you?" she asked softly, the question weighted with deliberate intent to steer the focus away from Blue and toward the woman before her.
Pink exhaled sharply, the shift in tone jarring her from her reverie. "Hawaii," she began, her voice edged with a mix of bitterness and vulnerability. "I don't know what happened to my parents. There wasn't time for plans or promises. One moment, I was training with my gymnastics team, and the next, the world was ending. Soldiers found us—me and the other girls—and shoved us into a transport bound for a bunker. After that, everything blurred into chaos."
Her tone hardened, growing colder as she spoke. "For a week, we were constantly moved, never staying anywhere for long. Panic was useless—the fighting outside was relentless, the ground trembling with the force of artillery strikes. The aliens weren't just winning; they were dismantling us. The world's combined military might couldn't slow them down. No retreat, no fallback plans, no reinforcements. Just destruction, everywhere you looked."
Her breath caught, and her voice dropped to a trembling whisper. "When the aliens fell in that final light—when everything finally stopped—I let myself believe I might find them. Maybe they'd be in one of those tent cities, the sprawling camps that sprang up after the attacks. I clung to that hope, telling myself they'd made it. But even after communications were restored, there was nothing. No names, no traces, no sign of them. By the end of the week, I couldn't lie to myself anymore. Deep down, I knew they were gone."
Her hand curled protectively against Blue's chest, as if shielding him from the weight of her memories. "Then the soldiers came for us—the children who were left. They rounded us up like cattle, sorted us, and sent us to Alphabet. It was supposed to be better—a compound owned by some aristocrat the aliens had overlooked. But it wasn't home. Nothing ever was."
Her voice lowered, bitter and sharp. "They didn't know what to do with us. The doctors at Alphabet tried everything to break us. Manipulation, isolation, every psychological trick in their arsenal. But Blue and I had something they couldn't touch—a bond so deep, so absolute, that it defied them. Every time they tried to condition us, to sever that connection, we resisted. It wasn't just defiance; it was survival. They couldn't fracture what held us together, and it left them baffled."
Prism's head tilted, her curiosity piqued. "Alphabet?" she asked, her tone careful, as though prying open a sealed wound.
Pink nodded, a faint, humorless smirk playing at her lips. "They tried everything. Isolation, manipulation, and every carefully crafted game in their book. They wanted us compliant, malleable, but they didn't understand what we had. Blue and I weren't like the others—our connection was our armor. Every time they tried to wedge themselves between us, we found our way back to each other. They didn't just fail; we infuriated them. It drove them mad trying to figure out why their methods didn't work."
Prism leaned forward slightly, her holographic form glimmering faintly. "So, what happened?"
Pink's fingers stilled briefly, curling against Blue's chest as she spoke. "After a few months, they gave up. Called it a 'strategic reassignment.' Claimed it was time for us to 'grow independently.' But really, they just didn't know what to do with us anymore. In their eyes, we were a failure. So, they threw us back into the world."
Her gaze softened as it fell on Blue's face, her voice quiet and tinged with sadness. "He was sent to Sangara, to live at the Imperator's compound. She took him in, unofficially, but he was never hers. And me? They shoved me into a box in CoralVault and had the audacity to call it a home."
Prism's brow furrowed. "The Imperator adopted him? Why?"
Pink hesitated, her fingers resuming their slow movements along Blue's ribs. "Her son didn't survive Countdown," she said softly, her voice weighted with the gravity of the memory. "They were in Rome when it happened. Her husband was supposed to take over after their supreme leader was killed. He was next in line. But when the aliens struck, they got separated. Her son and his security detail didn't make it. She did."
Pink's hand stilled briefly as her voice wavered. "Her husband… he shut down after that. Turned inward. Stopped speaking, stopped leading. She was left to step up, a civilian suddenly tasked with holding a shattered military together. She traded soldiers, buildings, weapons—anything to save lives. It wasn't about fighting back for her; it was about survival. And Blue..." Her gaze softened as she continued. "I think she saw her son in him. She never said it outright, but I could tell. She gave him a place to be. A chance to heal."
Prism tilted her head, her expression questioning but tinged with understanding. "And CoralVault?"
Pink's lips pressed into a thin line. "CoralVault wasn't home. It was a cage. Hawaii was gone, and that place? It was nothing but a poor substitute. But even there, we found ways to see each other. Or maybe he found me. It didn't matter where we were—Sangara, CoralVault, the arcades—we always found a way."
Her voice softened as her fingers brushed lightly over Blue's ribs, her movements filled with nostalgia. "We'd meet at arcades. Played DDR for hours. Somehow, those machines survived Countdown—guess the aliens knew a good time when they saw one. Or we'd sneak into each other's quarters. He hated CoralVault, said it felt like Alphabet without the screaming. And Sangara?" Her lips curved into a faint smile. "That was the Imperator's domain. Her compound. It felt like a real home. Bigger, quieter, safer."
Prism arched an eyebrow, her tone lightening. "So, what did you two do there? Cause trouble?"
Pink huffed a soft laugh. "Not exactly. We'd sit in his room, play board games or watch movies. He always took the games too seriously, like he was planning a battle strategy. I used to mess with him, knock his pieces over when he wasn't looking, just to see him lose his mind."
Her smile faded slightly, her hand stilling on his chest as her voice turned somber. "But it wasn't just about the games. It was about feeling normal. For a little while, we weren't orphans or survivors. We were just… us."
Her voice dropped, trembling slightly. "He was my anchor. Even then. And I was his. That's why we kept breaking the rules, sneaking out, meeting up. We needed each other. The world was already broken. We couldn't let it take us too."
Her hand, trembling with a mix of memory and raw emotion, drifted further downward. Sliding past his abdomen, her touch became intimate, seeking not only connection but solace. It was as if holding him now bridged the gap between their shared trauma and her present fears. The gesture felt like grounding herself, a sigh escaping her lips as her forehead pressed softly against his shoulder.
Her voice softened further as she added, almost to herself, "The entire time, he had his morpher—not that he could use it. He told me I could be a Ranger too, and that we'd share it once he figured out how it worked. It was stupid. But he said it like he meant it, and I believed him."
Pink stared at Blue's still face, her grip tight around Blue. The warmth beneath her touch seemed to amplify the thoughts swirling in her head, a cacophony of guilt and fear that refused to relent. The weight of it bore down on her chest, tight and unyielding. For a moment, it was all too much.
Her breath hitched, and she pulled her hand back quickly as she realized it had strayed somewhere forbidden. A nervous laugh escaped her lips, brittle and sharp, the sound almost startling her in the sterile quiet of the room. Her cheeks flushed as the realization hit her with unrelenting clarity.
"Listen to me," she muttered, shaking her head and biting her lip to stave off the sting of tears. "Acting like some stupid girl over a boy. Over you." The absurdity of it all made her laugh again, softer this time, a sound more like a sigh.
Her voice dropped, quiet and trembling, as though the weight of her words might shatter the fragile stillness. "I'm losing it, Prism. Seriously losing it. He's not even awake, and here I am, acting like he can hear me. Like any of this matters to him right now."
Drawing her hand back to his side, she inhaled deeply, forcing herself to steady the tremor in her chest. The tightness lingered, but she shoved it aside, willing herself to focus on the here and now.
"You're going to wake up," she whispered, the words tinged with desperation she couldn't quite hide. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and when they opened, she looked at him with a mixture of determination and fear. "You're going to wake up, and I'm going to stop being this... mess."
Prism arched a brow, her holographic form flickering faintly as she leaned closer. "So, tell me again—how did you end up with the morpher?" she asked, her tone light yet tinged with genuine curiosity.
Pink exhaled, a faint smirk playing on her lips as she settled back, though the weight of the memory softened her expression. "You've heard this before," she started, her voice a mix of amusement and melancholy. "But fine. Since you're asking..."
"Red found them first," she began, her gaze turning distant as if she were reliving the moment. "She was stationed in Cincarion at the time, part of the squad that dug through the ruins of what used to be this building. Back then, it was just rubble. They unearthed the morphers buried in the sublevels, and one bonded to her on the spot."
Pink paused, her fingers fidgeting as her tone shifted. "That caused a lot of concern. People were afraid. Having Rangers on Earth again... they thought it would draw something worse. Something we couldn't fight. The brass made the call to lock the rest of the morphers away, thinking it was safer to keep them out of reach."
Her voice softened as she continued, "But then they brought them to Sangara. It was supposed to be secure—locked down, controlled. Instead, something happened. It was late at night, and somehow, the scanning protocol activated."
She glanced at Prism, a flicker of incredulity in her eyes. "It was the Mid-Autumn Festival. People everywhere were celebrating. After everything we'd been through—the Countdown, the rebuilding—this was supposed to be a moment of joy. Lanterns lit up the streets, the air was filled with music and the smell of festival food. Blue and I snuck out of the compound that night."
Pink let out a small laugh, her voice lightening as the memory washed over her. "We wanted mooncakes—not the fancy ones from the compound kitchens, but the kind you get from street vendors. Fresh, warm, flaky... it was silly, but we wanted to feel normal, just for a little while."
Her tone grew more reverent. "We were standing in the middle of the city, surrounded by the glow of lanterns and the hum of celebration, when the sky lit up. Small drones launched into the air, their beams scanning the crowd. And then, suddenly, the pink light cut through everything—brighter than the lanterns, brighter than the moon—and it found me."
Her voice trembled slightly as she continued. "Blue grabbed my hand, held it tight. Because of that, I wasn't afraid. The light didn't just choose me; it wrapped around me, like it was pulling me into something bigger. It felt... inevitable, like the universe had been waiting for that moment. Everything else faded—the crowd, the music, even my breath."
Pink's smirk returned, bittersweet. "And then I looked down, and there it was—the morpher. It was on my wrist, like it had always been there. It felt heavy, but not in a bad way. More like it carried a purpose I couldn't ignore."
Her gaze shifted back to Prism, her expression growing serious. "The crowd went wild. The older brass? They panicked. Red was already enough to unsettle them, and now me? It was chaos. But it wasn't over."
Her voice steadied as she continued, "The black light came next. It moved through the festival crowd, slow and deliberate, until it found Black. He was standing there with a plate of food in his hand, and then suddenly, the light wrapped around him. It was as if it had always known where to go."
She leaned back slightly, her gaze distant. "And then the golden light. It shone brighter than anything else, illuminating the entire square. When it settled on Yellow, it was like watching something divine unfold. We were all there, right in Sangara, standing in the middle of the festival. The morphers knew exactly who they were looking for."
Pink's voice softened, filled with quiet awe. "It wasn't random. It couldn't have been. The lights weren't just picking people—they were making a statement. Amid the laughter, the music, the swaying lanterns, and the smells of festival food, they chose us. And for a moment, everything else disappeared. The lights knew. They waited for the perfect time, the perfect place. And in Sangara, during the festival, they found us."
The hum of the medical bay still lingered faintly in the background, but Pink barely noticed it as she shifted her position. She had been lying by Blue's side, her hand resting lightly on his arm, but the storm of her thoughts refused to quiet. Slowly, as though pulled by an unseen force, she rose to a seated position, her movements deliberate yet trembling with hesitation. Her eyes stayed on him, and before she could stop herself, she swung her leg over and straddled his still form. Her bare thighs pressed against the edges of his hips, anchoring her as she hovered above him.
Her hands hovered uncertainly over his chest, trembling as though afraid to make contact. Slowly, she leaned forward, her face lowering until it was only inches from his. Her eyes locked onto his closed ones, as if sheer willpower might coax them open. Strands of her hair fell forward, framing her face and creating a fragile curtain that shut out everything but this aching moment between them.
"I didn't check on him," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. A single tear slid down her cheek, dripping onto Blue's. Her lips trembled as she lowered her head further, her forehead nearly brushing his. "I didn't even think to."
Prism's holographic form flickered into view beside her, the usual sharpness of her gaze replaced with an uncharacteristic softness. "Pink—"
"No," Pink cut her off sharply, shaking her head but not lifting her gaze from Blue's face. "I didn't. I just assumed he was fine. I mean, why wouldn't I? He's Blue. He has a plan for everything, right? No matter what we've been through, he's always known what to do. Always."
Her voice faltered, and she pressed her hands more firmly against his chest, feeling the ridges of his scars under her palms. She let out a trembling sigh, her fingers curling slightly. "That's the problem, though, isn't it? I relied on that. I relied on him being untouchable. I trusted him to take care of himself, and I didn't worry. I just… let it go."
Her thighs tightened instinctively against his hips, grounding her as she exhaled sharply, the bitterness in her tone cutting through the air like a blade. "God, how arrogant can I be? He didn't show up, and I didn't even think twice. I just told myself he was fine. That he'd probably gotten distracted by some puzzle or mystery and lost track of time."
Her head dipped lower, her hair brushing against his still face as she whispered, "I told myself it wasn't my job to make sure he was okay. That he didn't need me." Her lips trembled, and another tear slipped free, landing just below his temple. "I should have known better."
Prism stepped closer, her form flickering slightly, her tone firm yet gentle. "Pink, you can't blame yourself—"
"Can't I?" Pink snapped, her voice rising sharply as she finally turned to glare at Prism. Her expression was raw, her pain etched into every line of her face. "He needed me, and I wasn't there. I didn't even think to be there. And now he's like this…"
Her voice broke entirely, and she lowered her head again, her hair falling forward to obscure her face. Her body trembled as she pressed her forehead against his, the contact grounding her even as it magnified her guilt. Her fingers splayed across his chest as she muttered, "Do you have any idea how stupid I feel? How selfish? I've been through enough with him to know better."
She let out a bitter laugh, one that carried no humor, her hands sliding down to rest on either side of his ribs. "All I had to do was check. Just once. Just one call. One thought outside of myself, and maybe none of this would've happened. But I didn't. And now…"
Her fingers tightened slightly, her voice softening as she spoke to him, as if he could hear her. "Now I don't even know if you're going to be okay. I don't know if you're going to come back from this." Her breath hitched. "And I can't stop thinking that if you don't, it's my fault."
Prism's voice softened, her form shimmering faintly as she stepped closer. "You gave him a chance to heal. That matters."
Pink shook her head, her lips trembling as she murmured, "Does it? Because it doesn't feel like enough. It feels like I let him down when he needed me most. And I don't know how to forgive myself for that."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of her shallow breaths and the faint hum of the machines. Her hands came to rest on either side of his face, her thumbs brushing over his temples. She leaned closer, her voice barely audible.
"It's not enough," she whispered, her tears falling onto his skin. "But it's all I have."
Prism flickered back into view, her grin stretching wide with a dangerous blend of sass and glee. She propped herself against the air, one leg crossed over the other like a queen surveying her court, her head tilted in a way that screamed mischief.
"You know," she began, her voice dripping with mock innocence, "I've been holding onto a little gem of information. Something juicy. Something I think you're going to absolutely love."
Pink's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. "Prism, what did you do?"
Prism gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest as if wounded. "Me? Do? Darling, please. I'm offended. This is all for you. Consider it... a gift. From me to you." Her grin widened, and she twirled on her heels with exaggerated flair. "They tried to hide it, you know. Dug it real deep. But seriously, who do they think they're dealing with? Who's your girl?"
Pink's lips thinned, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "Prism."
"Oh, don't you Prism me," she shot back, wagging a finger with mock admonishment. "You're going to thank me for this. Trust me."
Pink crossed her arms, her tone laced with warning. "I'm waiting."
Prism laughed, the sound light and edged with something almost sinister. "Patience, darling. I've got to set the stage. You don't just drop a bombshell like this without a little buildup. So, here's the deal: I found a name."
Pink froze, her breath catching. "A name?"
Prism's grin turned feral, her holographic eyes gleaming like a predator about to pounce. "That's right. A big one. They tried to scrub it clean, like it never existed. But come on, sweetie, they should've known better. I'm me." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "And here's the kicker: Zophram."
Pink's stomach twisted at the name, her hands clenching against Blue's chest. "Zophram?"
"Zophram," Prism confirmed, her tone sing-song and positively dripping with triumph. "Guess who was running the show when Blue was in detention? Guess who was in charge of his medical care? Go on, take a wild stab in the dark."
Pink's voice wavered. "You're lying."
"Oh, sweetie," Prism cooed, her grin widening even further. "When have I ever lied to you? Twisted the truth, bent it into pretzel shapes, sure. But lie? Never. They thought they could keep it buried, thought you'd never connect the dots. But here we are." She gestured dramatically. "Me, delivering the goods. You, looking like you're ready to burn down a city. This? This is friendship."
Pink's mind raced as the name ricocheted through her thoughts. Zophram. The name felt heavy, electric, igniting something raw and primal in her chest. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she exhaled sharply, her gaze dropping back to Blue's still face.
Prism's grin softened into something more intimate, almost conspiratorial. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "You know what this means, right? You've got a target now. Someone to hold accountable. Doesn't that just make your day?"
Pink's fingers curled into fists against Blue's sides, her voice low but steady. "It's a start."
Prism's hands clapped together in mock applause, her laughter ringing out like a melody of chaos. "That's my girl! And if you're going to embrace your inner vengeance goddess, you know I've got your back. Say the word, and I'll build you a throne of fire and fury. Lights, cameras, carnage."
Pink's lips curved slightly, her eyes hardening with resolve. "Prism," she said, her tone sharp but with a flicker of warmth breaking through, "thank you."
Prism straightened, flicking her hair with exaggerated flair. "Darling, anytime. Now, let's go raise some hell, shall we?"
Pink exhaled softly; She leaned forward, her cheek brushing against his as she whispered near his ear, her voice trembling but filled with unyielding resolve.
"When you're better," she murmured, her lips barely an inch away from his skin, "I'll find Zophram. And I'll make damn sure he never hurts anyone else. Ever."