Yellow stepped off the elevator onto the simulator level, the air cooler and sharper here, tinged with the metallic tang of sterilized equipment. The hum of the massive simulation generators thrummed in the distance, deep and rhythmic, resonating like the heartbeat of the Command Center itself. This was where theoretical analysis yielded to practical experience, where Rangers honed their craft through trial and failure. Yet today, it felt less like preparation and more like stepping into the jaws of an unknown trial.
Ahead, the wide doors of the primary simulator chamber loomed, their reinforced alloy exuding a sterile gleam under the harsh overhead lights. A terminal to the side displayed the program's status: Simulation Compiling… 94%. Faint vibrations emanated through the floor, a subtle but constant reminder of the immense power surging into the recreation of one of the Rangers' most harrowing missions.
Yellow hesitated at the threshold, her hand resting lightly on her morpher. The familiar, reassuring weight of the device pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips, but its solidity now felt heavier—an anchor tethering her to the enormity of what she was about to face. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, steadying her breath as Echo's voice gently intruded into her thoughts.
"Your heart rate is spiking," Echo noted, its typically calm tone now tinged with concern. "Breathe, Yellow. Your adrenaline levels are climbing prematurely."
Yellow's grip on her morpher tightened. "It's not just about facing this," she murmured. "It's about understanding… truly understanding."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she tapped the morpher. The action was deliberate yet tentative, as though she were committing herself to an uncertain plunge. Almost instantly, a surge of golden light enveloped her, cascading over her frame in a flawless symphony of energy. Her armor materialized with precision, locking into place with a series of mechanical hisses as her HUD activated. Streams of data scrolled rapidly across her visor, the Morphing Grid syncing seamlessly with her physiology. The weight in her chest dissipated slightly, replaced by the practiced confidence her armor afforded her.
As her helmet's glow illuminated the chamber, the heavy doors groaned and slid apart, revealing the simulator chamber beyond. It was vast, larger than she had remembered, with faintly glowing gridlines crisscrossing the walls and floor. The air inside felt dense, thickened by the hum of the machinery that filled the space. The potential energy within the room coiled like a spring, ready to snap.
Yellow stepped forward, her boots clicking against the polished floor. The doors sealed behind her with a soft hiss, and the gridlines brightened, their rhythmic pulsations harmonizing with the thrumming generators. A mechanical voice rang out, calm and detached: Simulation loading: Operation Riftseel - Ceres Assault. Standby.
Her breath steadied as the gridlines dissolved, and the sterile chamber pixelated into jagged rock and alien architecture. The air pressure within her suit remained constant, its systems ensuring an uninterrupted oxygen supply as her helmet filtered and stabilized her internal environment. The ground beneath her boots was uneven, vibrating subtly with the distant hum of machinery embedded within the simulated asteroid.
The transformation stabilized, and Yellow blinked as the environment around her solidified. She was deep inside the facility now, where dimly lit corridors stretched endlessly in every direction. The walls were a blend of rough-hewn rock and seamless alien metal, glowing faintly with the pulse of energy conduits embedded within their surface. Shadows danced across the irregular structures with each flicker of light, creating an oppressive atmosphere that pressed against her mind. Beneath her boots, the vibrations of the reactor thrummed faintly but incessantly, like the heartbeat of a monstrous, slumbering beast.
Yellow's breath caught. This was no mere simulation. The level of detail, the oppressive atmosphere—it felt more like a memory captured and reanimated than a training exercise.
"Yellow, this is…" Echo's voice hesitated, an unusual pause that carried a thread of admiration. "Extraordinary. Nova and Blue have achieved perfection here. Every detail… it's like stepping into the past itself."
Yellow remained silent. Her focus was drawn ahead, where the simulated environment pulsed with malevolent energy. The air seemed to grow heavier with each step she took. Then, abruptly, her armor shifted. The familiar weight of her morpher disappeared, replaced by something heavier, denser. She looked down and froze. Her suit's gold hue had been replaced with crimson; the morpher on her wrist pulsed faintly, radiating a foreign energy. Her HUD adjusted, displaying configurations unfamiliar to her.
"Echo…" Her voice was quiet, tight with unease. "What just happened?"
"You're Red," Echo replied sharply. "The simulator has reskinned you, adapting your suit settings to align with Red's known preferences. This isn't standard simulator behavior, but if you were going to jump into another Ranger's role, I would have assumed Blue would have started with his portion of the mission."
Yellow's heart raced as disorientation set in. The weight of the suit felt wrong, every movement subtly stiffer, every joint misaligned with her instincts. The HUD flashed information in configurations she didn't recognize, and commands she relied upon didn't respond as expected. It was like navigating a foreign body—her actions clumsy, her awareness fragmented. Her hands clenched instinctively, but even that felt alien. She was a fish out of water.
Through the disarray, the comms exploded to life, a cacophony of overlapping voices flooding her senses.
"Medical wing is overrun! I need backup immediately!" the voice of Red—her voice now—rang out in reply with urgency, leaving Yellow momentarily disoriented. The words felt like punches to her gut. Before she could process, Pink's voice crackled over the link, laced with macabre humor. "Let's see how pretty you look without that helmet, sweetheart," she snarled, punctuated by the sharp crack of a sniper rifle. "Ah, there it is—red on rock. Gorgeous. I could paint with this." Her words turned darker, dripping with innuendo. "So wet. You're just pouring it out for me, aren't you? Mmm, messy. Just the way I like it."
Yellow flinched at the grotesque undertone, her stomach twisting. It was too much—too fast. Black's voice boomed above the chaos, alive with exhilaration. "Hold the line! That's it! Send them running! Push 'em back, boys!" The laughter in his tone was unmistakable, like someone thriving in their element. "Oh, you think you're regrouping? Not on my watch! Let's dance!" His jubilation burned through the comms, an unrelenting mix of purpose and adrenaline as explosions underscored his words.
The feed crackled again as Aegis interjected. "Critical updates: Eastern flank collapsing. Southern barricades breached. West team requesting reinforcements. Status of Blue remains unverified but within mission duration parameters," the AI reported in its clipped, efficient tone.
Yellow's HUD lit up with alerts, a chaotic web of flashing markers and status updates. Lines representing enemy movements converged on fragile points of defense. Messages streamed in rapid bursts from support personnel—engineers begging for clearance, medics requesting supplies, and marines crying for backup. Her hands hovered uselessly as she struggled to process the deluge of information. Her voice cracked under the strain. "I… I can't…"
"Focus!" Echo snapped, its tone cutting through the noise. "You're in command. Act like it!"
Yellow tried to center herself, but the weight of the moment bore down on her like an avalanche. A shrill voice cut through the chaos—a young support officer stationed in the South wing. "They've breached the secondary bay! We're out of barricades!" The sound of gunfire and desperate screams followed, stabbing through the comm link like daggers.
"Reinforce the line!" someone else shouted, but the line went dead before the order could finish.
In the West wing, Black's voice, once jubilant, now cracked with genuine concern, underscored by the thunderous roar of explosions. "They're throwing everything at us! We're losing ground fast! I can't hold this much longer—we're running out of men!" The desperation in his tone was palpable, a sharp contrast to the earlier confidence that now felt like a distant memory.
Meanwhile, Pink's taunts continued, chillingly juxtaposed with her precise sniper shots. "Oops! There goes another one. Did you trip, darling? Or did I just make you a little too top-heavy?" Her voice was darkly amused, even sensual in its tone, as if the carnage itself thrilled her. "Snipers, fall back," she commanded, her voice unwavering. "Mama's got this covered." Each crack of her rifle punctuated her words, her laughter carrying a twisted edge. "Oh, don't run now—you're all mine, sweetheart. Let me paint this battlefield with your colors."
"This isn't going to hold," Echo warned, the urgency in its voice rising. "You have to make decisions now, Yellow. Coordinate the teams!"
But Yellow couldn't. Paralysis gripped her as the weight of responsibility pressed down. Every voice demanded her attention, each one clawing for a piece of her dwindling resolve. The medical wing collapsed first; the cries of the team echoed through the link before dissolving into static. Her hands shook as the map before her showed enemy markers swarming unchecked through the South. Pink's line cut off mid-sentence, her final words drowned in fury: "Oh no you don't—"
Then… silence.
"Yellow, they're losing ground!" Echo's voice rang out sharply, but it was too late. Yellow's indecision had tipped the scales. The simulation unfolded with ruthless precision, forcing her to confront a harsh reality: she wasn't ready. She wasn't Red.
Blood Plague's Assault
Around her, the central chamber flickered with simulated energy—the main staging area that should have been Red's domain. Engineers and support personnel scrambled as the barricades buckled under pressure, their panicked voices barely audible over the deafening rumble of explosions. Before Yellow could process it all, Black's voice cut through the comms, but this time it wasn't gritted—it was panicked, raw with desperation. "They're breaking through! I've got multiple breaches! Elvanurus are pouring in! Central chamber is lost—we need—" His words dissolved into static as an explosion tore through the audio feed.
Yellow's HUD flared crimson, indicating breach points converging on her position, and then, just as she tried to locate Black's signal, his marker blinked and went dark. A second later, Bastion's link severed as well, sending a physical recoil through her mental connection with them. Yellow gasped, clutching her helmet as an overwhelming emptiness filled her mind where their presence had been. The void left in their wake felt like a death knell.
"Black! Bastion!" she cried, her voice breaking. But the link stayed quiet, and the simulation continued to collapse around her, the weight of their silence hitting her like a physical blow. The sense of loss left her paralyzed as chaos erupted in every direction, drowning her in its relentless tide.
A chilling roar echoed from the corridor as a figure emerged—Blood Plague. His massive, crimson-plated form moved with terrifying speed, his axe gleaming under the flickering light. Yellow's breath hitched as the barricades gave way completely, Elvanurus soldiers in full combat gear surging forward.
Blood Plague leapt, his massive axe arcing through the air with terrifying precision. The deliberate movement was a taunt, a promise of finality. As he closed the distance, Yellow felt another shock to her mental link—a void opening where Pink and Prism's presence had been. Their markers blinked out, and a nauseating sense of emptiness hit her like a punch to the chest. The sharp recoil rattled her mind, leaving her gasping for breath.
For a split second, she was certain they were gone, the silence deafening. Blood Plague's form grew larger in her vision, his axe gleaming with murderous intent. Yellow's scream ripped through the chamber: "Pause the simulation! Now!"
"Pause command received," Echo began, but its voice cracked, frenzied with panic. "No—it's not working! There's a delay—wait! WAIT! I can't stop it yet! Yellow, MOVE!"
Yellow's instincts took over. She dove to the side in a desperate attempt to evade the blow, but she was too slow. The massive axe slammed into her shoulder, its weight and force sending her hurtling across the chamber. She crashed into the wall with a sickening crack, her armor's integrity alarms screaming in unison with her own voice.
Agony exploded through her body. Her HUD flickered with critical alerts: Armor compromised. Severe suit damage detected. The pain was catastrophic, radiating in waves from her shoulder as if her very bones had been shattered. Yellow struggled to breathe, the air thick with the taste of iron, her vision swimming as Blood Plague loomed once more.
Blood Plague's massive frame seemed to swell with satisfaction. His crimson armor gleamed under the flickering light, and his axe hung loosely at his side, as if savoring its victory. He took slow, deliberate steps forward, the sound of his boots crunching against debris echoing through the chamber. His movements were languid, taunting, as he tilted his head to observe her broken form.
"Pathetic," his deep, guttural voice rumbled, laced with cruel amusement. He raised his axe again, the deliberate arc of the weapon promising finality. Each step toward her seemed to stretch time, the impending strike hanging over her like a dark shadow. Blood Plague stopped just above her, his silhouette eclipsing the faint light.
As the axe rose high over his head, the simulation's oppressive atmosphere seemed to close in around her, the air thick and heavy. Yellow's ragged breath quickened, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. Panic consumed her, and her scream tore through the chamber once more: "Pause the simulation!"
Blood Plague's axe descended, the massive blade cutting through the air, its trajectory unerring. Yellow threw her hands up instinctively, her body too battered to move, bracing for the final blow. Just as the blade was about to connect, the chamber froze.
The simulation's eerie hum ceased, the oppressive weight of the moment lingering even as Blood Plague's form remained suspended mid-swing. Yellow lay trembling, her mind reeling from the pain and the narrow escape. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her suit alarms blaring faintly in her ears as the cold, artificial silence of the paused simulation settled around her.