The medical bay was oppressively quiet, a sterile silence broken only by the hum of diagnostic machines and the faint pulse of life-support monitors. The stark white walls and the unyielding fluorescent lights amplified every sound, every breath, every restless twitch of Pink's fingers as she sat cross-legged on the cold tile floor. Her sniper rifle lay disassembled before her on a medical tray, its components gleaming with meticulous care. The familiar motions of cleaning and assembly had become her anchor, a ritual she clung to as if her very existence depended on it. Because, in a way, it did.
Each pass of the cloth along the barrel—a stroke precise and deliberate—felt like a lifeline, a reminder that some things could still be controlled, even when everything else was spiraling. She'd been to hell and back, and if the only thing standing between her and oblivion was a well-oiled barrel, so be it. Her hands moved with practiced ease, their rhythm steady despite the tremor of her thoughts. The faint smell of gun oil mixed with antiseptic hung in the air, grounding her as she worked.
"You know, if you polish that rifle any more, it's going to start looking at you funny," Prism's voice echoed in her mind, teasing and sharp. "But hey, I guess even a murder machine deserves to be pampered."
Pink didn't look up. Her lips curved into the faintest of smirks, her focus never leaving the rifle. "If this thing could talk, Prism, it'd probably tell me to stop undressing it with my eyes. Too bad for both of us I'm not that kind of girl."
Prism's laugh rippled with static amusement. "You're relentless, you know that? It's part of your charm. Honestly, if that rifle were a person, it'd be halfway to the altar by now. Lucky for you, inanimate objects can't sign prenups." Her tone shifted, sharp and sardonic. "But I'm starting to think you like obsessing over this thing. Or maybe you're trying to scrub away the ghosts."
Pink froze, her hand tightening around the barrel for a fraction of a second before resuming its methodical cleaning. "You're not funny."
"Not funny," Prism echoed, a note of smug satisfaction in her voice. "But I'm not wrong, am I? Admit it—you'd marry that rifle if the law wasn't so uptight about it."
The tension in Pink's shoulders eased slightly, and she sighed, placing the barrel down with a careful precision. "What's Nova doing?" she asked, her tone dripping with mock innocence. "Still trying to get a rise out of Yellow? Or has she finally decided to start her world domination plan with spreadsheets and sarcasm?"
Prism's tone brightened, seizing the shift. "She's been shadowing Yellow—something about a top-secret mission that probably involves cryptic maps and too much coffee. And guess who's playing double agent? Black, of course." There was a conspiratorial pause. "Don't tell me you can picture Black in anything but a trench coat and a scowl."
Pink chuckled softly, the sound dry and brief. "Oh, please. Black's not a spy. He's just stomping around and breaking things while looking broody. And Yellow? She's probably still holed up in her simulator, pretending the world doesn't exist."
Prism hummed in agreement. "Can you blame her? The last time you two crossed paths, let's just say it wasn't a Kodak moment."
Pink's movements stilled. The memory surged, unbidden and unwelcome: Yellow backing away, her form flickering with lavender and gray, trembling under the weight of Pink's fury. A small, vengeful smile curled on Pink's lips as she remembered the way Yellow had crumbled. If Yellow ever tried that nonsense again, Pink wouldn't hesitate to remind her who held the upper hand. Yet, the thought of Yellow immersed in her simulator—actually doing something productive for once—softened her edge. Let her hide in her tech and feel useful. Pink could respect that, as long as she stayed out of the line of fire.
Her hands resumed their work, quicker now, assembling the rifle piece by piece. The snap of components locking into place echoed in the stillness, filling the space between her and Prism's words.
"You're not okay, are you?" Prism's voice softened, though there was still a faint undercurrent of teasing. "All this brooding isn't just about Blue. You're mad he got ten years of screwing things up without you."
Pink hesitated, her fingers hovering over the trigger assembly. Her gaze flicked to Blue, motionless on the cot, his face unnervingly peaceful. "No," she admitted, her voice low, raw. "I'm not."
The confession hung in the air, heavy and electric. Pink exhaled sharply, her hands moving again with renewed determination. "He's been out there, Prism. Ten years ahead of us. Ten years of fighting, losing, surviving… without me. And here I am, stuck. Still the same."
Prism's reply came carefully. "You're not the same, Pink. We've been through this together. Every thought, every fear you've had, I've felt it too. And yet, we came back."
"I've what?" Pink snapped, slamming the bolt into place with a resounding click. "Snapped at everyone? Sure, maybe. But I'm here. Do you know what it's like to blink and lose ten years? To feel that every step you take is haunted by questions we can't answer? To feel like the world moved on without you? At least I'm dragging myself forward. What's Yellow doing? Meditating her problems away?" I'm not going to sit here and let another ten years slip by. I need to catch up."
Prism's tone shifted, curiosity edging into her words. "And how exactly do you plan on catching up, Pink? Ten years is a long time, and the way things are, we're barely holding on together. So what's your move?"
Pink's grip tightened on the rifle as she rose to her feet, her gaze hardening. "I need a neural port. Like his. I need to understand him, Prism. If I can connect to him directly, input to input, maybe I can see what he's been through, feel what he's felt. The Grid? That's just the background noise. The training and the speed? That's just a bonus."
The silence that followed was palpable, charged with Prism's unspoken hesitation. When she finally spoke, her voice carried an edge of reluctant approval. "You realize what you're asking for, don't you? This isn't just an upgrade. It's a commitment. You'll feel his pain, his guilt. Everything."
Pink's gaze didn't waver. "Good," she said simply. "If it brings me closer to him, I'll take all of it—the pain, the guilt, whatever it takes."
Prism's silence spoke volumes, but when she replied, her tone was tinged with excitement and a hint of mischief. "Alright, then. Let's make it happen. This isn't just about Blue—it's a whole new world for us. But don't think for a second I'm letting you do this alone. Someone has to make sure we don't end up stepping on Nova's turf—or downloading anything too awkward along the way."
Pink allowed herself a faint smile, the determination in her eyes unwavering. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As she moved to store her rifle, sliding it into its case with deliberate care, she felt the pieces falling into place—not just of the weapon, but of her resolve. She didn't know where she'd been or how she had come back, but she wasn't going to let that uncertainty hold her hostage. Blue had spent ten years fighting and surviving, while for her, the gap felt like only days. It was maddening. It wasn't just catching up—she needed to understand, to uncover the truth of where she'd been and why it had cost her so much time.
"You know," Prism's voice cut through the determined silence in Pink's mind, tinged with a gleam of anticipation, "this medical bay is more than just a graveyard for broken Rangers. It's equipped with every piece of surgical and fabrication equipment we'd need to install a neural port. Fully customizable, too."
Pink paused mid-stride, her head tilting slightly as curiosity took hold. "Customizable?" she echoed.
"Oh, absolutely," Prism continued, her tone practically smug. "We're talking materials, design, functionality… even aesthetics. You want pink chrome with an engraving of a flaming phoenix? Done. You want it to look like it came straight out of a sci-fi blockbuster? Easy."
Pink smirked, the mental image already forming. "Under my ear, just along the neck. Chrome pink, like you said. And the engraving… make it a phoenix, but with barbed wings and chains breaking away from its talons. Make it fierce."
Prism's voice buzzed with approval. "Now we're talking. The surgical procedure itself? Easy peasy. But removing one? Oh, darling, that's where the fun begins. Picture this: your brain thinks it's being evicted, nerves screaming like they're on fire, and emotional whiplash that feels like skydiving into lava. It's a mess, really. But hey, the phoenix isn't about going backward, right?"
Pink rolled her eyes, suppressing a laugh. "So what you're saying is… don't plan on taking it out."
"Exactly," Prism quipped. "But don't worry, darling. With me in the mix, you'll never want to. I'll make sure it works seamlessly, no awkward lag, no weird neural hiccups. Nova might throw a fit, but she'll just have to deal."
The floor beneath her shifted, a soft hum resonating as nanites swarmed together, forming a sleek surgical chair that emerged from the ground like a blooming flower. Its design was both minimalist and futuristic, the surface smooth and gleaming under the harsh medical lights. Prism's projection flickered into view, her translucent form gesturing with exaggerated flair.
"Behold! Your chariot awaits," Prism said with a mock bow. "Fully equipped with every modern convenience, including stirrups. Not that you'll need them, but hey, it's all about the drama, right?"
Pink snorted, rolling her eyes as she approached the chair. "You're impossible, Prism."
"And yet you'd miss me if I weren't," Prism shot back, her tone teasing as the armrest adjusted itself to fit Pink's frame perfectly. "Alright, lie back. Let's get this show on the road."
Pink settled into the chair, her fingers brushing against the cool surface as she reclined. A faint hiss sounded as restraints gently wrapped around her arms and legs, holding her in place without discomfort. Overhead, a series of delicate robotic arms descended, each one tipped with precision tools that glinted ominously in the light.
Prism's voice grew more focused, though her playful edge remained. "The nanites will handle the engraving and structural fabrication first. I'll guide the neural connections—think of it like stitching your brain into a symphony. It might tickle."
"Tickle?" Pink asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Or feel like a swarm of bees," Prism admitted cheerfully. "Either way, it'll be over before you can say 'chromatic rebirth.'"
The process began, a soft vibration pulsing through the chair as the nanites went to work. Pink closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing as the faint warmth of the engraving etched itself into the skin under her ear. In her mind, Prism narrated every step with a mix of clinical precision and irreverent commentary.
"And now," Prism intoned dramatically, "we add the pièce de résistance: the phoenix. Barbed wings, broken chains, the whole edgy motif. If Nova sees this, she's going to think you've joined a metal band."
"Let her think what she wants," Pink murmured, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension. "This is mine."
"Damn right it is," Prism agreed. The final connection hummed into place, and the robotic arms withdrew with a quiet whirr. The restraints released, and Pink sat up, her hand instinctively reaching to touch the port.
The smooth, metallic surface felt cool against her fingertips, the engraving subtle but unmistakable. It was perfect. Her reflection in the nearby panel caught her eye, and for the first time in weeks, Pink felt like she was taking a step toward reclaiming herself.
"How's it feel?" Prism asked, her voice softer now, almost reverent.
Pink tilted her head, testing the range of motion. "Feels... like me." Her grin returned, sharper this time. "Let's see if Blue can keep up."
Without hesitation, Pink spun on her heel and bolted toward the cot, her excitement bubbling over as her long hair trailed behind her like a banner. Her heart pounded with exhilaration, each step fueled by the thrill of what she was about to do. Reaching the edge of the cot, she leapt, landing atop Blue with a soft thud, her legs straddling his still form as a playful grin spread across her face.She savored the moment, the faint hum of her newly installed neural port buzzing in her ear like an eager whisper. A slow, sultry grin spread across her lips as she leaned forward, letting her breath brush against his ear. Her tone was low, dripping with seduction and power. "You better not wake up and ruin this for me. Or do," she whispered, her voice dark and teasing, "because watching you try to resist would be delicious."
Her fingers brushed the sleek surface of her port, and as if responding to her giddy anticipation, the nanites in the medical bay sprang to life. A shimmering, cable-like link materialized in her hand, fluid and pliant like liquid metal. Pink's grin deepened as she ran the link along the curve of her own neck, letting it trace down her chest and down her body, savoring the cool sensation against her skin. With deliberate slowness, she drew the link back up, guiding it across Blue's abdomen, up to his chest, and along the line of his jaw, the gesture both teasing and possessive. Prism's voice crackled in her mind, practically dripping with sass and excitement.
The neural link surged, and Pink's body reacted instantly, her breath hitching as the first wave of sensation rippled through her. The faint click of the connection was more than just sound—it was a spark, igniting a flood of heat that traveled from the base of her spine outward. She gasped, her fingers curling against Blue's chest, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath her hands. Though his body lay still, the sync brought him alive in a way that sent fire coursing through her veins.
Her thighs pressed firmly against his hips, and she shifted, her body responding to the faint, involuntary tremors she felt through him. A shudder passed through her as his muscles tensed faintly beneath her weight, the unconscious reaction feeding her excitement. Her cheeks flushed, her lips parting in a trembling sigh as the heat in her core coiled tighter.
"Oh, Pink," Prism teased, her voice sharp and electric in the background of Pink's mind. "You're feeling it, aren't you? The way his body reacts to every touch, every movement—you're practically devouring him."
Pink tilted her head back, her hair spilling over her shoulders in a wild cascade, her lips curving into a slow, wicked smile. "I'm not devouring him," she murmured, her voice low and heavy with satisfaction. Her hips rolled against his in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the sync amplifying the sensation until it was all-encompassing. "I'm letting him in."
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, down the hard planes of his chest, lingering at the taut muscles of his abdomen. With every movement, his body reacted—subtle twitches, a tightening of his shoulders, the faint flush of warmth spreading across his skin. It was enough to send a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through her, her thighs tightening as her breath hitched sharply.
She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear as her body arched into his. "He's inside me," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and desire. "I can feel him."
Prism's laughter rang out, bright and unapologetic. "And oh, darling, he feels you. Even unconscious, his body knows you. Every nerve is lit up, responding to everything you're giving him. You're in control, Pink. Take it."
Pink's lips quivered as she let the sensations take her fully. Her hips pressed down against him, her body trembling as the sync deepened. The line between them blurred—her nerves intertwined with his, every pulse of connection magnifying the heat building low in her belly. Her lips parted in a soft moan, her face flushing deeper as she surrendered to the merging.
Her breath came faster, her chest heaving as her fingers gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt. Each movement felt electric, as if her body and his were no longer separate but one, driven by the rhythm of the link. She arched instinctively, the coiled tension in her core tightening until it was unbearable, her voice breaking as she gasped, "Prism… this is perfect."
Prism's tone softened, threading with rare sincerity. "It's not just a sync, Pink. You're threading yourself into him, letting him fill you completely. It's more than just connection—it's transformation."
Pink's body shuddered as the final surge of the sync pulled her deeper, her lips brushing against Blue's temple as her hips moved with deliberate pressure against his. Her hands slid lower, exploring the lines of his body as her own arched into him, driven by the overwhelming heat coursing through her. She tilted her head, her hair framing her flushed face as her lips curved into a trembling smile.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice raw and breathless. "Let it change him. Let it change us."
Blue's body responded again—a faint, unconscious tremor that sent shockwaves through the sync, magnified in her body until the pleasure was all-consuming. Her lips parted in a trembling cry as her body arched, her thighs pressing tighter against him. Her face softened, her expression a perfect mix of release and hunger as she let herself fall completely into the merging.
There was no Pink. No Blue. Only the link, raw and unfiltered, consuming them both in a perfect, unbroken rhythm.