Blue's smirk faded as the seriousness of their situation crept back in. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, his expression growing more focused. "Well, let's focus on keeping this interesting—like what actually happened at Ceres." His voice dropped into a lower register, and the light banter evaporated, replaced by the cold edge of reality.
Pink let out an exaggerated groan, her head tilting back as if the weight of the question itself was a physical burden. "Do we have to?" she whined, her tone bordering on theatrical. "Can't we just skip to the part where you let me out?" She shifted in her seat again, trying to maintain her air of flippancy, but there was a tension creeping into her posture that betrayed the gravity of the topic she was trying to avoid.
Blue leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his voice dropping into a tone that cut through Pink's theatrics like a blade. "Pink... we're not just here to reminisce. You know something's off, and we need to figure out what."
For a moment, she held his gaze, her eyes searching his as if trying to gauge just how serious he was. The familiar banter faded between them, replaced by the unspoken weight of everything that had gone wrong. With a dramatic sigh, Pink sat up straight, the light in her eyes dimming as her expression turned more somber. "Fine. Let's talk." Her voice was flatter now, missing the playful lilt it carried just moments before.
As soon as the words left her mouth, a faint hum filled the room, and Nova materialized in a flash of blue light. The AI's holographic form hovered between them, her presence shifting the air in the room, adding a layer of gravity. She was small, her figure more like a digital avatar than a full-sized projection, but the sharp lines and glowing edges of her form made her impossible to ignore. The air around them dimmed as the lights adjusted, casting the room into a cool, shadowed blue.
The space above the table shimmered, and then the helmet cam footage from Ceres flickered into existence. A projection stretched across the table, displaying a chaotic scene of swirling smoke, plasma bursts, and the jagged outlines of half-destroyed buildings. The harsh sounds of battle echoed faintly through the room, distorted and distant, like ghosts replaying their final moments. The sterile, metallic chill of the interrogation room suddenly felt colder, like a breath from the past had seeped into the present.
Pink's entire demeanor shifted in an instant, as if a switch had flipped inside her. The casual, almost lazy attitude she had worn like a mask fell away, revealing the sharp focus beneath. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as they tracked the footage, every muscle in her body going taut with concentration. This wasn't the playful Pink who had bantered with him moments ago—this was the warrior, the sniper, the cold-blooded operator who had once been his teammate. Her eyes locked onto every movement, every frame, dissecting the scene with an intensity that made the air around her seem to hum.
With a flick of her fingers, Pink manipulated the projection with a practiced ease, pulling the timeline back and forth as if the interface was an extension of her own mind. Her movements were precise, her fingers dancing over the holographic controls like she was conducting a symphony of violence. The playback sped up, rewound, and zoomed in with each subtle gesture she made. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, a hard focus in them that sent a chill down Blue's spine—a reminder of just how formidable she could be when she was in her element.
She zoomed in on a section of the footage—a moment where she had lined up a shot across the battlefield, her form barely visible through the chaos and debris. The reticule flickered on the screen, zeroing in on a distant target, and she adjusted the view until the frame froze on a precise, lethal shot. Her lips curled into a smile, a dark satisfaction flickering in her expression, and Blue felt a shiver of déjà vu.
"There it is!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking through the tension with an almost childlike glee. Her finger jabbed at the projection, highlighting the frozen frame where her shot found its mark. "Boom! One for the highlight reel." Her laugh was sharp, a little unhinged, the kind of laugh that made most people uneasy—like she had found something beautiful in the act of killing. But to Blue, it was a familiar sound, one he had heard countless times before, echoing through their battles and close calls.
He couldn't help but chuckle, despite the gravity of the situation. There was something undeniably infectious about her enthusiasm, even if it had always carried an edge of darkness. He had seen her take those shots in real-time, watched as she turned the tide of fights with nothing but a sniper rifle and that manic, unshakable focus. This, right here, was Pink at her finest—dangerous, confident, and utterly unapologetic about what she was capable of.
"You've still got it," Blue remarked, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, though the sound was tinged with something darker, a familiarity that he couldn't quite shake. It felt like slipping back into an old rhythm, watching Pink like this—sharp, deadly, and completely in her element.
Pink's grin spread wider, baring a flash of teeth. "Damn right I do," she shot back, her voice carrying a note of pride that cut through the sterile air of the interrogation room. But her eyes never left the projection, locked onto the details as she scrolled through the battle. Her fingers danced over the controls, guiding the footage with a casual elegance, each movement precise and deliberate. It was as if she was piecing together a puzzle only she could see, rewinding and fast-forwarding, pausing on key moments with the quick flick of her wrist.
She leaned closer to the projection, and then, as if forgetting where she was, she muttered under her breath, "Prism, you remember this one, don't you? Oh, you were singing to me that day. Perfect sync, not a single hitch." Her grin widened, almost manic, as if she could hear Prism's silent response. Her eyes gleamed with a dangerous nostalgia, her fingers twitching over the controls. "You see that headshot? That was art. Right through the visor—left a perfect little starburst. You always loved those, didn't you?"
Blue watched her carefully, the smile slipping from his face as he realized she had drifted, her mind slipping back to another time. But he didn't interrupt; he'd seen this before, the way Pink could slip into her own world, speaking to someone who wasn't there.
Pink's voice took on a brighter, almost conversational tone, as if she was bragging to a friend about a good day's work. "Remember the cryo rounds, Prism? Those were fun. Turned that one guy into a goddamn ice sculpture. And then, when the sonic rounds hit—well, I think you described it best: like a meat piñata." She let out a low chuckle, the sound rough with delight. "Always appreciated your taste for the finer things."
Her fingers slid over the replay controls again, rewinding to a sequence where a burst of incendiary rounds lit up the screen, flames rippling through a line of Elvanurus troops. She nodded to herself, her expression practically glowing. "There, there, look at that spread! Those incendiary rounds burned so hot, they lit up like lanterns. You should've seen the look on their faces—well, until their faces melted, anyway." She laughed, the sound a sharp, unsettling contrast to the flickering carnage on the projection.
Blue's mouth tightened, a knot forming in his chest as he watched her. He knew she wasn't really here with him anymore—she was back in the thick of it, back when Prism had been linked with her, when they had moved as one. It was eerie, seeing her talk like that, like Prism could hear every word. And for a moment, he found himself wondering if she could.
Pink continued her commentary, oblivious to his unease, flipping through the footage with a kind of gleeful energy. "And oh, Prism, you would've loved the plasma rounds I got my hands on. Left a hole the size of a cantaloupe in that guy's chest. Just poof—gone, like magic. You always said I had a way of making things disappear, didn't you? Like a magician."
She leaned back, crossing her arms, looking almost smug as the footage replayed the moment of impact in slow motion, the target crumpling as the plasma shot tore through him. "That one's going in the scrapbook, don't you think?" Her eyes flicked to where she seemed to imagine Prism would be, a twisted sort of satisfaction in her gaze. "You always loved it when I got creative."
The room felt colder, more hollow, as Pink's one-sided conversation continued. Her voice was a low murmur, half to herself, half to the absent AI she still seemed to sense by her side. She rewound the footage to another part, where a cryo round shattered against a shielded enemy, freezing their limbs mid-motion before splintering into jagged shards. Pink tilted her head, admiring the effect like a painter scrutinizing a new piece. "See that, Prism? Classic. Look how the ice cracks along the joints before the whole thing shatters. Poetic, right? You always had an eye for that."
She clicked her tongue, rewinding again to a scene where a sonic round rippled through a cluster of enemies, the force of the vibrations rupturing eardrums and sending them reeling. "Sonic waves, straight through the brain stem. Quick, clean, and messy all at once. You were humming along when we took that shot, weren't you, Prism? Said it was like a symphony of shattering glass." Her lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. "You always appreciated the music in a good kill."
Blue's expression tightened, his gaze shifting between the footage and Pink's face, which seemed to glow with an almost childlike excitement. But there was something else there too—something more unsettling in the way she spoke to an AI who wasn't present, like she couldn't quite accept that Prism was gone. He recognized that look. It was the same one he saw in his own reflection sometimes, a face haunted by voices that had gone silent long ago.
Pink seemed oblivious to his unease, her fingers flying over the controls as she found another scene, zooming in on the aftermath of a barrage of incendiary rounds. Bodies crumpled, flames licking at the edges of fractured armor, smoke curling into the sky. She tilted her head, a smirk playing at her lips. "Look at that, Prism. A real fireworks show. Reminds me of New Year's Eve in the old world, back when people still celebrated things. But honestly, I think we do it better." She let out a short, dark laugh. "Our fireworks have a little more... bang to them, don't you think?"
Blue leaned in slightly, his voice cutting through her monologue, trying to ground her back in the present. "Pink, focus. We're not just watching for fun. You said something was off—what do you see that's different?"
Pink blinked, her eyes flicking back to him like she'd forgotten he was there. For a moment, the manic energy in her expression faltered, replaced by a flicker of confusion. She glanced at the footage again, her brow furrowing as if trying to bridge the gap between the memories she was reliving and the reality in front of her.
But then, her expression hardened again, and she shook her head, muttering to herself. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but you see it too, don't you, Prism? It's like the angles are all wrong. Like the shadows aren't where they should be." Her gaze darted over the footage, fast and restless, and her voice dropped into a near whisper, as if she were sharing a secret only she and her absent AI could understand. "They changed it, I swear. It's not how I remember. It's like they're trying to rewrite us, make us forget how damn good we were together."
Blue exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as he watched her struggle with the dissonance between what she was seeing and what she believed. His chest tightened with a mix of empathy and frustration, knowing that whatever truth lay buried in the footage, Pink's mind was tangled up in echoes of the past.
She rewound to a sequence of explosive rounds, a cluster of Elvanurus scattering like puppets with their strings cut. Pink's voice brightened again, her grin resurfacing as she turned to the spot beside her, where she imagined Prism might be. "Now that's a good one! See how they flew apart, Prism? Like paper in the wind. I told you those new rounds were worth the trade. Bet you're kicking yourself for doubting me now, huh?" She chuckled, the sound low and edged with a strange kind of satisfaction.
Blue's fingers drummed against the table, his patience wearing thin as Pink continued to wander through her recollections. He knew that under the surface of her bragging and nostalgia, there was something she was trying to avoid—something that gnawed at the edges of her mind like a splinter she couldn't quite pull free.
Finally, he leaned forward again, his voice sharper, trying to cut through her reverie. "Pink, enough. Focus on the footage. What's wrong with it? Tell me what you're seeing."
Pink's head snapped back toward him, her eyes narrowing as if she were just now remembering that he was in the room. She took a breath, steadying herself, and her hand hovered over the projection controls. The joking smile faded from her lips, leaving behind a flat, grim line. "Alright, alright. But I'm telling you, something's not right. Just... watch with me, Blue. Look closer."
She replayed the footage again, slower this time, her fingers pausing on frames where the light caught an odd angle, or where the movements of the enemies seemed a split-second off. The bravado slipped away, replaced by the hardened focus that had made her one of the deadliest operators on their team.
And as she worked, the strange, half-crazy energy that had filled the room with her banter began to fade, leaving only the cold, clinical dissection of a moment that had haunted them both for too long.
As the footage reached its end, Pink leaned back in her chair, the intensity in her eyes giving way to a cold, simmering anger. Her hands clenched into fists on the table, her knuckles whitening as she stared at the projection. "What the hell is going on here?" she muttered, but her voice rose as the frustration crept in, each word sharp enough to cut. "None of this lines up."
The way she said it, with a mix of disbelief and barely controlled rage, sent a shiver down Blue's spine. He knew that when Pink's confidence wavered, when the pieces didn't fit together the way she needed them to, she could unravel quickly, like a tightly wound spring suddenly snapping. But he held back, letting her vent the edge of her frustration into the empty room, hoping she'd find her way through the confusion.
The projection flickered, but Nova's holographic form remained steady, unperturbed by the rising tension in the room. Her digital eyes focused on Pink, a cool blue glow cutting through the dimness. "So what did happen, Pink?" she asked, her voice calm, each word delivered with precision. "What happened to you 10 years ago?"
Pink's head snapped toward Nova's tiny projection, her jaw clenching as if she were about to bite back with a sarcastic retort. But the fight seemed to drain out of her, leaving her shoulders sagging as she slumped back in her seat. She closed her eyes, taking a slow, measured breath, and for a moment, all the bravado, all the sharp-edged humor that she wore like armor, fell away.
When she spoke, her voice was lower, rough around the edges, and each word seemed to carry the weight of ten years' worth of buried memories. "We pulled back from the choke point," she began, as if the words were being dragged out of her against her will. "My snipers were being overrun. I sent them ahead of me. Prism and I deployed our holo decoys—but you, Blue, you used your combat profiling."
Her lips curled into a faint, unsettling smile as she continued, a dark edge creeping back into her tone. "Eight of me, shooting in unison. Their heads went pop, Blue. I don't know if they believe in god(s), but... I sent so many to meet them, with a smile on my face. Every shot, nothing but recoil." Her eyes flickered open briefly, glinting with something both predatory and euphoric. "And Prism… well, she must have been on cloud nine, because the link between us felt as warm as Christmas morning."
Blue listened in silence, his mind racing to piece together the fragments of her story with the memories he had, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the pieces were from different puzzles entirely. There was something off about the way she spoke—like she was describing a dream she'd had a thousand times, and yet still couldn't remember all the details.
Pink's voice grew softer, almost distant, as if she were slipping further back into that moment, reliving it in her mind. "Then I saw Black go flying," she continued, her tone flat but tinged with something bitter. "The crimson one with the perfect hair and teeth—the one that's a little too pretty, you know? Too bad he's a bad guy, bet he'd make good-looking children." She let out a short, dark laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Well, until I got his head to go pop."
Her laughter faded quickly, swallowed by a cold silence, and she leaned forward, her elbows digging into the edge of the table. Her eyes became distant, as if she were watching the memory play out in front of her. "Black… Black was down. His suit was flickering, sparks everywhere. Blood, everywhere. You and Red went to get him." She paused, her fingers tapping lightly on the table, as if each tap was a bullet marking time. "Red overloaded her Grid Boundary to give my decoys extra juice. You two threw him into the portal… and then..."
She faltered, her voice trailing off into the silence between them, her brow furrowing as if the next words were caught in her throat. The memory seemed to slip away from her, slipping through her fingers like water, leaving her with only fragments she couldn't quite put together.
Her voice trailed off, the memory slipping away from her, and for a second she seemed lost, drifting between the present and a past that didn't quite fit together. She took a shaky breath, her hands trembling slightly as she pressed them flat against the table, as if trying to anchor herself to something real. "The crimson one… he got you two. I remember. Yellow was already dead by then—I felt the morphers scanning for new users, and the neuro link... I felt it go dead." Her words came out flat, almost mechanical, but her eyes shone with a haunted light, the weight of the memory dragging her back under.
She leaned back, her head tilting toward the ceiling, her eyes fluttering closed as she let the memory wash over her. She spoke in a low, almost detached murmur, as if recounting a dream she had tried and failed to wake up from. "And then… I was chasing you through the forest with everyone. I figured you or Red—one of you guys—did something. One of you always saves the day."
Her brow furrowed slightly, and a flicker of annoyance crossed her face, like a child denied their favorite treat at the last moment. "But you... you were fast. Like, annoyingly fast. Like a bunny hopped up on energy drinks," she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration that felt out of place amidst the grim recounting. She shifted restlessly, her foot tapping against the sterile floor with impatience, a rhythm that mirrored the building tension in her chest. "I couldn't land a shot on you no matter how hard I tried. It was like you weren't even playing with me."
Blue observed her with a cautious curiosity. Her frustration wasn't just a complaint—it was a crack in the façade, a glimpse of how deeply the missed shots bothered her. To her, this wasn't just a tactical misstep; it was a personal slight. He could almost see her replaying each missed opportunity in her mind, turning over the angles, the speed, the precision—trying to understand where she had gone wrong.
Pink's hands curled into fists, the tension in her body palpable as she continued. "I lined up every shot perfectly, even calculated the ricochets, the potential barriers. I should have nailed you right between the eyes—over and over again. But you kept slipping away, like a ghost."
She pressed forward in her chair, eyes narrowing with an almost childish pout, like she couldn't accept how the game had turned against her. Her tone shifted, becoming more petulant, like a child demanding answers from a parent who wouldn't play fair. "Why didn't you just let me win, Blue? Just once?" Her voice wavered with a frustration that sounded almost... hurt.
Blue remained silent, knowing better than to interject when she was in this state. He remembered those moments—her fury bubbling over, turning the battlefield into a playground of chaos. But she wasn't just angry because she missed. No, it was deeper—this was about control, about the unyielding expectation that she could always be the best.
Pink's breaths came faster, her voice rising in pitch. She gestured wildly with her hands, as if physically wrestling with the memory. "Do you know how annoying it was? I kept shooting, and you kept dodging, and every time I got close—bam!—you were already gone. I even switched to homing rounds, and you still made me look like an idiot. And then—oh, then you had the nerve to not even taunt back. It's like you didn't even care about my game. You didn't care about me!"
Her frustration finally peaked as she kicked the leg of the chair she was sitting on, the sharp clank of metal on metal echoing through the interrogation room. The outburst was followed by a seething quiet, the kind that always came after Pink had expended her initial surge of anger. She glared at Blue, her chest heaving with the remnants of her frustration.
Blue watched her, a mixture of amusement and pity in his gaze. He knew this side of Pink all too well—this desperate need for validation through confrontation. He let out a slow breath, knowing that, behind all that bravado, she just wanted to understand why things hadn't gone her way for once.
Nova's voice chimed in quietly but firmly, cutting through the lingering tension in the room. "Blue, we need to go. The interrogator's badge was just scanned. They're on their way back."
Blue straightened, his expression tightening as he registered the urgency in Nova's tone. He glanced toward the door, then back to Pink, whose smirk hadn't wavered. Her dark eyes glinted with a playful challenge, as if daring him to make a decision. He let out a slow breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm sorry, Pink," he said, pushing himself up from his chair. "But you've got to stay until they release you. I'll get you out, but not until I've spoken to Red."
Pink's lips curled into an exaggerated pout, her shoulders slumping dramatically as she leaned back in her chair. "Aww, you're just gonna leave me here? Go play with Red instead?" she teased, her voice slipping back into its sing-song tone. She tilted her head, a mock hurt expression on her face, but there was a sharpness in her gaze, like she was watching his every move. "But hey, I love you for wanting to see me first."
Blue couldn't help the ghost of a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, the familiarity of her antics almost comforting. But before he could think of a reply, the air between them shifted, the lightness draining from the room like a candle snuffed out. Pink's expression turned deadly serious in an instant, her playful demeanor vanishing, replaced by a chilling stillness that made the room feel colder.
Her eyes went cold, the edges hardening with a dangerous clarity as she leaned forward, her voice lowering to a soft, almost casual tone that made the threat all the more unsettling. "Hey, Blue," she said, each word dropping like a stone in the silence between them. "I'm out of here in exactly 24 hours. I was bored until now, and I figured Red would've had me out two hours ago, which means they must be dicking her over, too."
She leaned forward, the intensity in her gaze sharpening like a blade, her fingers drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm on the table. Her tone darkened, the words curling through the air like smoke from a freshly drawn pistol. "I'm warning you... I'll kill everyone here to get out. I don't like leaving Prism unsupervised for too long, and besides..." Her lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the expression more like a baring of teeth. "I get antsy when I haven't adjusted my sights or cleaned my rifle."
Blue met her gaze, letting the tension hang in the air for a beat longer before he reached across the table, gently taking hold of her wrist. Pink stiffened at the unexpected touch, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn't pull away. Blue's fingers brushed against the familiar metal of her bracelet, a simple band she'd worn for as long as he could remember. With a careful twist, he rotated part of the bracelet, revealing the trio of engraved lucky sevens hidden beneath. The sight of those numbers made something flicker in Pink's expression—just for a moment, her hardened mask slipping.
He couldn't help but think back to the day he had given it to her, back when the world had seemed filled with possibilities. The day the Pink Morpher had chosen her—above all others, above all the hardened fighters and experienced candidates. It had been a moment of triumph, one that set her apart in a way that no one could deny. Blue had felt proud—proud of her, proud of their team, and hopeful for what they might achieve together. He'd gone out of his way to find something that could mark the occasion, something that she might hold onto even in the midst of the chaos that had followed.
He remembered standing beside her, watching her laugh as he handed her the bracelet, her fingers tracing the small engraved sevens with a smirk. She'd teased him about his sentimentality, the way he'd always tried to attach meaning to small things. "Lucky sevens, huh? What, you think I need extra luck?" she'd joked, but she'd slipped it on her wrist without hesitation, and it had stayed there ever since.
He held her hand firmly but gently, his thumb brushing over the worn metal, his voice dropping to a quieter, more earnest tone. "Are you sure you'll wait 24 hours?" he asked, his gaze locked onto hers. The question lingered between them, a reminder of all the times they'd made promises they couldn't keep, of the thin line they both walked between trust and survival.
Pink stared down at the sevens, her jaw clenching as the memories tangled with the present. She met his eyes again, and for just a heartbeat, something softer glimmered in her gaze—something like the connection they'd had before everything had fractured. But then, just as quickly, the sharpness returned, and she pulled her hand back, slipping her wrist free from his grasp with a shrug.
"Guess you'll have to find out, won't you?" she said, her voice regaining its usual mocking edge, though the challenge in her tone felt less certain now, as if his gesture had thrown her off balance. She covered the lucky sevens again with a twist of her fingers, tucking the memory back into place, hidden beneath the metal band.