The newly rebuilt command center gleamed with polished metal and cutting-edge technology, a stark contrast to the ruins that had once occupied this space. Red stood in the briefing room on the upper level, its design reminiscent of a conference room. A room-wide window—or perhaps it was a forcefield—stretched across the wall, offering an uninterrupted view of the rugged mountainous and desert landscape outside. The sharp peaks and sandy plains rolled out beyond the glass, the landscape's natural beauty clashing with the sterile, high-tech atmosphere of the room.
The command center hadn't been in use since Countdown—those cataclysmic days when everything changed. It had remained abandoned, a ghost of its former self, until sometime after the Ceres mission. When exactly it had been rebuilt, Red couldn't say; her years away had blurred the timelines in her mind, leaving unanswered questions. She remembered arriving at the ruins of the original building, its walls cracked and broken, barely holding onto its identity. Deep below, in the shadowed sub-basements, she had found the morphers—artifacts of a time when the command center had still been a beacon of hope.
Now, the command center had transformed into something new, modern, and unyielding. But even with the upgrades, the shadow of what had come before lingered in Red's mind, a reminder of the history buried beneath the steel and glass. She couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how many layers of technology and security were added, there were pieces of the past still hidden beneath it all—memories that refused to be fully buried.
Red's eyes traced the lines of the briefing room, from the polished edges of the conference table to the holo-screens that flickered with system readouts. She could hear the faint hum of the building's advanced systems, a near-constant presence that buzzed at the edge of her awareness. It was the sound of precision, of control—qualities that defined the new command center. And yet, to Red, it all felt like a veneer, an attempt to cover up the scars that still ran deep beneath the surface.
Red shifted her stance slightly, feeling the cool air from the ventilation system brush against her skin. She turned away from the sweeping view beyond the window and focused on the room's interior. Her gaze fell on the sleek conference table, its surface reflecting the dim glow of the overhead lights. Rows of embedded holo-screens lined the center, ready to display strategic data, maps, and mission plans.
The seats around the table were arranged with military precision, each one facing the head of the room where a larger display panel hung on the wall, currently dark. Red took in the arrangement, noting the subtle shift from the more collaborative design of the old command center to a layout that emphasized control and hierarchy. It felt less like a place for a team to gather and more like a setting where orders would be handed down from on high.
Her mind wandered back to those first days in the ruins, picking through the debris of what had once been their sanctuary. She remembered the scent of dust and age, the way light had filtered through cracks in the broken walls. Those days had been filled with uncertainty—wondering if anything of value could still be found among the wreckage. Finding the morphers deep in the sub-basements had felt like a miracle, a connection to the power that had defined her and her team.
But those memories seemed almost unreal now, standing in a room that bore no trace of what had come before. The new command center had a coldness to it, a clinical precision that left little room for sentiment. As she settled into one of the chairs, she felt a tension in her shoulders, a reminder that this place, for all its familiarity, wasn't truly home. It was a command center designed for a new era—one where trust was a rare commodity and the past was something to be dissected, not revered.
Red's thoughts turned to the meeting ahead. The summons had been abrupt, with little explanation beyond the time and place. A part of her had expected the usual interrogations, but something about this felt different. This room, with its polished surfaces and unspoken rules, suggested a shift—a step away from the relentless questioning and toward something else. Orders, perhaps. Or a demand for explanations she still didn't have.
She allowed her gaze to drift back to the window, to the open expanse of desert beyond. The view was stark, but there was a freedom in it, a reminder that the world outside this place still existed, even if it had changed in her absence. Red inhaled slowly, centering herself. Whatever came next, she would face it head-on, just as she always had.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed softly in the corridor beyond, pulling Red from her thoughts. She straightened in her seat, her body adopting a more formal posture, though her eyes remained distant, fixed on the desert landscape outside. The door to the briefing room slid open with a quiet hiss, and the air seemed to shift with the arrival of new figures.
General Kassens entered first, his presence as solid and unyielding as the metal walls around him. He wore his uniform like a suit of armor, every crease in place, the medals on his chest gleaming under the artificial lights. His sharp gaze swept across the room, taking in every detail as if he were assessing a battlefield. He met Red's eyes briefly, but his expression remained impassive, revealing nothing of his thoughts.
Behind him followed the Imperator, her robes a stark contrast to the military uniform beside her. She moved with a fluid grace, her expression carefully composed, but there was a distance in her gaze, a sense that she occupied a space slightly removed from the immediate tension of the room. Red knew enough about the politics between the military and the Imperium to understand that this arrangement wasn't a partnership of equals. Kassens led the charge, and the Imperator's role was to observe—and to approve, if necessary.
Red's attention shifted to the final figure entering the room—Overseer Mĕi Líng. Unlike the others, Mĕi Líng did not project the same rigid sense of authority. Her presence was quieter, more calculating, but there was a weight to it, as if she carried a hidden influence that the others lacked. She moved to a seat on the opposite side of the table, her expression neutral, her gaze lingering on Red for a moment longer than necessary.
Red knew little about Mĕi Líng beyond what she had pieced together during the interrogations. It seemed that Mĕi Líng's primary assignment had been to keep an eye on Blue while he was spiraling—tasked with babysitting him and, if possible, keeping him alive. It was a job that Red suspected Mĕi Líng despised, a duty handed down with little room for personal choice. The disdain had been evident in the clipped comments she'd made during their brief interactions, her frustration barely masked beneath a veneer of professionalism.
Now, Mĕi Líng watched her with that same unreadable expression, her hands resting lightly on the polished surface of the conference table. There was a subtle tension in the way she held herself, as if she resented being here as much as Red did. Yet beneath that irritation, Red sensed a curiosity—an interest in what might unfold in this room that wasn't entirely professional.
The door slid shut behind them, sealing the room in silence. Red felt the atmosphere shift again, the weight of authority settling over the space like a tangible force. It wasn't the first time she'd been in a room like this, surrounded by figures who wielded power with a casual ease. But today, there was an edge to the silence, a tension that seemed to crackle just beneath the surface.
General Kassens broke the silence first, his voice carrying the clipped precision of a man who was used to being obeyed. "Red. I trust you understand why you've been called here."
"I have some guesses, General," she replied, her voice even. "But I wouldn't want to assume."
Kassens' mouth tightened into a thin line, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes. He inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging the deflection but refusing to be deterred by it. "We're past the point of games, Red. This is about transparency, cooperation. If we're going to move forward, we need clarity."
Red turned her attention back to Kassens, who was clearly waiting for her response. "Clarity," she repeated, her tone neutral. "Is that what this is about? Or are we here to revisit the same questions we've been through for days on end?"
Kassens' expression remained steely, but there was a flicker of frustration in his eyes. He wasn't used to being challenged like this. "I want answers, Red. The alliance is facing more questions than ever, and your return has only raised more."
Mĕi Líng leaned forward slightly, her voice cutting into the exchange with a measured tone. "This isn't just about the alliance's concerns, Red. It's about ensuring stability, avoiding... missteps. You and your team's actions since your return have already shown a degree of unpredictability."
Red felt a flash of irritation at Mĕi Líng's words. Unpredictability—she could hear the condescension in the tone, as if everything about their experiences could be boiled down to mere behavioral patterns. She locked eyes with Mĕi Líng, searching for any crack in her composed facade, but found none. To Red, it felt like Mĕi Líng thought she could impose control where there was none to be had—especially not over things they had faced out there in the darkness.
"You mean the unpredictability that comes with surviving where we were, or the unpredictability that comes from having to prove ourselves all over again?" Red's voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. "You think stability is just something you can impose? I've seen what happens when you try to box people in like that."
"You mean the unpredictability that comes with surviving where we were, or the unpredictability that comes from having to prove ourselves all over again?" Red's voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it. Memories flashed through her mind—of that tense standoff in the jungle, the oppressive silence pressing down as they deployed energy barricades, surrounding Blue and waiting for the unknown to strike . The situation had spiraled out of control then, and they had been left with no choice but to adapt, to push through the chaos and uncertainty. Red held Mĕi Líng's gaze for a moment longer before turning back to Kassens.
"Now," she continued, her tone sharpening as she faced him. "So have you."
Kassens' eyes narrowed at her words, the tension between them thickening as if the room itself held its breath. He glanced briefly at the Imperator, who remained impassive, then at Mĕi Líng, who kept her expression carefully neutral. Red could see that her words had struck a nerve, though Kassens wouldn't show it. He had always been good at maintaining control, a trait she had learned to recognize in people like him—men who saw the world in terms of strategies and risks, who thought unpredictability was a problem to be managed, rather than a reality to be accepted.
A faint hum emanated from the holo-screens, the star map glowing softly on the table. Kassens' hand hovered over one of the highlighted regions, his focus shifting back to the map. His voice, when he spoke again, carried a renewed edge of authority. "We don't have the luxury of losing control, Red. Not when we're facing unknown variables." He tapped the map, the image expanding to show a cluster of anomalies. "This is what we're up against—regions of the Grid that have shown irregularities since your return."
Red's eyes followed the lines and markers, her mind pulling her back to memories she'd tried to bury. The coordinates meant more than just places on a map—they were a record of battles, losses, and victories, each one etched into her memory. Some of the locations stood out immediately: zones where the fighting had been fierce, where they had barely made it out alive. She could almost feel the heat of those moments, the adrenaline coursing through her as she called out orders amidst chaos.
Her gaze lingered on one of the markers—an outpost near the edge of the outer rim, where they had been outnumbered and surrounded. The air had been thick with the smell of burning metal, the sky filled with streaks of energy fire. It had been a grueling battle, one that left its mark on her and the team. Red's chest tightened as she remembered how they had fought to the last, barely escaping with their lives. Aegis would remember it better than I do, she thought, the AI's methodical way of analyzing their every move coming to mind. He'd have cataloged the number of rounds fired, the tactical maneuvers that worked, and those that didn't.
But not all of the memories carried that same weight. Red's focus shifted to another marker, one that brought back a different kind of memory—a quick, decisive strike against an enemy force that had barely known what hit them. It had been one of their few clean victories, executed with precision, the kind that had once given her hope that the war could be won. She could almost hear the echoes of her team's voices, the rare sense of satisfaction that followed when everything went according to plan. But that feeling seemed distant now, overshadowed by everything that had come after.
She forced herself to look at the rest of the map, the places that stirred memories both sharp and dull. The glow of the anomalies cast shadows across the table, making the boundaries between past and present feel blurred. Each point on the map was a reminder of the years they had spent out there, fighting battles that had left scars on both the Grid and their souls.
She wondered, not for the first time, how much Aegis had kept locked away in his memory banks—things she had forced herself to forget in order to keep moving forward. He'd know the specifics, she thought, the data behind every hard-won fight and every retreat. But now, those details seemed more than just fragments of the past. They felt like pieces of a puzzle she hadn't realized she'd been trying to solve.
Kassens' voice broke into her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. "We think these disruptions are tied to you," he said, his tone blunt. "We think that whatever happened out there—to you, to the Grid—it's all connected."
Red didn't respond immediately, her mind still grappling with the weight of her memories. But Kassens didn't wait for her answer; he continued, his tone sharpening, each word laced with urgency. "And there's something else—something we can't ignore. Since you've returned, the variance in the Elvanurus pocket dimension is increasing. The lock is starting to rip itself apart."
Red's expression tightened, the significance of his words cutting through the fog of memory. The Elvanurus pocket dimension had been a barrier, a seal that held back the enemies they'd once faced. A lock that was never meant to break. If it was destabilizing now, it meant that time was running out faster than they'd anticipated.
Kassens leaned over the holo-screens, tapping on a new display. A holographic model of the Elvanurus dimension flickered into view—its once stable structure now warped, twisted by forces that seemed to be tearing at its edges. "They'll be back soon," he said, his voice low, almost as if speaking the words gave them power. "And this time, it won't be expeditionary fleets. It'll be their entire armada. And a planet."
Red's eyes narrowed as she absorbed the gravity of his statement. "A planet?" she echoed, disbelief and a cold dread creeping into her voice. She leaned closer to the projection, taking in the jagged lines that represented the rift in the dimension. "You mean they're moving an entire world through the rift?"
Kassens nodded grimly. "Yes. And it seems to have kept a solar alignment with the Sol system. The Triforians identified this world as Nibiru."
Red frowned, the name tugging at some half-remembered myth from her childhood. But this wasn't mythology—this was real, and far more dangerous. "Nibiru," she repeated, tasting the unfamiliar word. "It fits into our solar system?"
"It's more than that," Kassens replied. "Nibiru has a perpendicular rotation to the rest of the planets in our system, like an aberration. It shouldn't be able to hold that alignment, but somehow, it has. And whatever is maintaining that alignment is tied to the instability we're seeing in the Elvanurus dimension."
Red's mind raced as she tried to piece together what this meant. Nibiru wasn't just a new threat; it was a harbinger, a sign that whatever was coming would dwarf the challenges they had faced before. The thought of an entire world, aligned with Earth's solar system yet operating under different physical laws, made her skin crawl. And if the Elvanurus lock was breaking, it meant that the enemies they had barely held back once were poised to strike again—this time, with greater force.
She glanced at Mĕi Líng, wondering if the Overseer knew more about this than she was letting on. But Mĕi Líng's expression remained as controlled as ever, giving away nothing of what she might have known. Red turned back to Kassens, her voice edged with the weight of new uncertainties. "And you think we're somehow responsible for this? That our return triggered the break?"
Kassens met her gaze, his expression unyielding. "I think your return coincides with events we can't afford to ignore. Whether you triggered it or not, we need to understand the connection. Because if we don't, Nibiru won't be the only thing that threatens this world."
The room felt colder, the hum of the holo-screens merging with the beat of Red's pulse. She stared at the holographic projection, the fractured image of the Elvanurus pocket dimension merging with her memories of battle. It was like a punch to the gut, the implications crashing into her with the force of a shockwave. Her thoughts spun, struggling to find a foothold amid the chaos. An entire world, an armada—coming for Earth again.
Her hands clenched against the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as she fought to steady herself. Her mind leaped ahead, running through every scenario, every contingency. Her voice emerged, raw and urgent. "How are the mobilization efforts going? Have the fleets been refitted for deep space combat? What about supplies—are they stockpiling essentials? And fallback locations? Fortresses, strongholds, automated defense platforms—are they being reinforced?"
Her questions came rapid-fire, a desperate attempt to find some sense of readiness in the face of this new threat. But before she could continue, the Imperator cut in smoothly, her tone cool, as if the enormity of the situation hadn't registered. "The mobilization has not yet begun, Red."
Red's breath hitched, and she turned to face the Imperator, disbelief flashing across her features. "What do you mean, 'not yet'? How—" She struggled for words, trying to grasp how they could be this unprepared, even now.
The Imperator's gaze remained calm, her expression almost detached as she folded her hands in front of her. "The information hasn't been made public yet. The variance in the Elvanurus pocket dimension has been small, manageable. General Kassens and I agreed that it was relevant only to those who needed to know. For now, it is contained."
Red could barely believe what she was hearing. She glanced at Kassens, looking for any sign that he disagreed, but his expression was as hard as ever, his resolve matching the Imperator's calm. The room seemed to close in around her, the air growing thick with the weight of their decision.
"We plan on informing the public at the appropriate time," the Imperator continued, her voice as measured as before. "Once the press conference announces your team's return, we will consider releasing the details of the variance and its implications."
Red's mouth went dry, a cold anger taking root beneath the initial wave of disbelief. The Post-Countdown protocol rang through her mind—a doctrine forged in the aftermath of those darkest days, a doctrine that demanded transparency in the face of new threats. It wasn't just a guideline; it was law. And withholding this information now, when the evidence was clear, was a direct violation.
"You're committing a crime against humanity," Red said, her voice low and fierce, cutting through the Imperator's calm. Her eyes flashed with a dangerous intensity as she leaned forward in her chair, her presence seeming to loom over the holographic display between them. "The Post-Countdown protocol is clear—threats must be disclosed to the public the moment they're identified. You hold that back, and you're not just breaking alliance law. You're betraying the entire foundation of our survival."
The Imperator's expression remained composed, but her gaze sharpened, a warning in the cold depths of her eyes. "Red, you need to consider the consequences—"
"No." The word tore out of her, harsh and unyielding. Red shoved herself upright, the chair scraping against the floor as she moved, her body tense like a coiled spring. Her fists were tight, her pulse pounding in her ears, a rush of anger so fierce it threatened to choke her. "You need to consider the consequences. If you don't release this information soon, I'll assume command of the alliance myself. I'll take your heads—personally—and I'll stream it live through every channel across the alliance."
The room seemed to spin around her, a cold sweat breaking out along her spine. She could still remember those desperate years leading up to Ceres—how they had faced an enemy that seemed endless, unrelenting, even with just a fraction of their strength. Every battle had felt like standing on the edge of a knife, one wrong step away from being swallowed whole. The thought of facing them again, unprepared, without knowing what was coming, twisted her insides with a fear she could barely contain.
She could almost hear the screams, the echoes of their last stand, the terrible knowledge that every victory had been a matter of inches and seconds. She forced herself to keep breathing, to stay focused, but it felt like she was teetering on the edge of a chasm, staring down into the darkness that had nearly swallowed them before. Her hands clenched tighter, the tremor in them betraying the raw terror she fought to keep hidden.
The Imperator's calm expression only made it worse, that serene detachment like a knife twisting in her gut. But Red held onto the anger—it kept her focused, kept her from dwelling too long on how exposed she felt without her powers, without Aegis's voice in her mind.
Kassens' face darkened, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he studied Red, trying to measure the depths of her resolve. The air between them felt like it might shatter under the weight of her threat. She knew he could see it—how close she was to making good on her words, how little she had left to lose. It was the kind of danger that came from knowing you'd survived the worst and could survive it again.
Red let out a bitter laugh, but it was strained, almost breaking under the weight of her own fear. Her voice was a ragged edge as she spoke, pushing through the terror that gnawed at her insides. "Dangerous is what's coming, Imperator. You think you can control the message? That you can keep the alliance in the dark? I've seen what they're capable of, even with a fraction of their power. All the while, you hid behind the shields in Sangara – safe.
The weight of the earlier exchange still pressed heavily on Red's mind when the doors to the briefing room slid open with a mechanical hiss. Three figures entered, flanked by armored MPs—Black, Pink, and Yellow. The MPs' faces were stern beneath their helmets, their black body armor polished and precise, a show of Command's authority. Red noted their presence with a twinge of irritation; it was overkill, but typical of Command's approach to dealing with anything they couldn't fully control.
The Rangers crossed the threshold, the air shifting with their arrival as the MPs kept a tight formation around them. Even unarmed, the Rangers carried a latent energy, the kind that made everyone around them uneasy. Red could see it in the way the MPs gripped their sidearms, trying to mask their nerves beneath rigid professionalism.
Black moved with his usual steady stride, his 6'4" frame cutting an imposing silhouette. He had always been lean, but years of strength training had filled out his build, adding a surprising amount of muscle. Red took comfort in the familiar sight, but she could see the way his dark eyes swept the room—always watching, always alert. Despite his seemingly casual demeanor, she knew he was assessing every potential threat, noting the positioning of the MPs, the exits, and the subtle tensions in the room. He gave her a small nod, acknowledging their shared awareness of the situation.
Yellow followed, her slight 5'2" frame moving with a fluid grace that seemed at odds with the armored escorts beside her. Her Aquitarian features stood out, skin shifting subtly like a deep-sea creature adjusting to new surroundings. Red had always marveled at how easily Yellow adapted, her presence blending seamlessly with any environment. But even here, in the sterile light of the Command Center, she could see the unease in Yellow's eyes, the way she tracked the movements of the MPs, her gaze darting towards the heavy doors as if measuring the distance.
Pink was last, walking with an exaggerated air of boredom, her expression sharp as she took in the room. At 5'5" with the build of a gymnast, she moved with a restlessness that made her hard to pin down. Her hair, vibrant and unrestrained, framed her face in loose waves, a stark contrast to the disciplined rigidity of the MPs around her. She cast a glance at Red, her lips curving into a familiar, irreverent smirk. "Seriously, Red? You couldn't convince them to let us teleport in?" she quipped, letting out a theatrical sigh. "You know how bored I was on that ride? I swear, I almost died of it."
Red couldn't help the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth, though the tension of the earlier conversation still thrummed beneath her skin. "Not my call," she replied, keeping her tone dry. "Besides, you've survived worse."
Pink rolled her eyes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, making a point of ignoring the MPs at her sides. "Yeah, but at least in those situations, things were happening. Not stuck in the back of a transport while the scenery just drags by. Seriously, they could have at least put on some decent music."
Red's gaze swept over the MPs one last time, taking in the tension in their stance, the way their hands hovered near their weapons despite their orders not to engage. She knew they were there as a show of force, but the reality was clear—they wouldn't be able to stop the Rangers for much longer.
But before the Rangers could get comfortable, she fixed her gaze on Pink, her expression hardening. "Sit down, Pink. We need to talk."
Pink raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk, but she slid into the seat across from Red. She leaned back, the picture of casual insolence, but there was a sharpness in her eyes, a tension that Red could read easily. "Sure, Red. What's on your mind? The latest in Command's playlist of hits?"
Red's voice was like steel, cutting through Pink's flippancy. "We're going to talk about that little stunt you pulled when you slipped out of your interrogation room. What did you do, pick the lock?"
Pink's smirk widened into a grin, a glint of something dangerous sparking in her gaze. She tilted her head, letting a loose strand of hair fall over her face. "Picked a lock, Red? Come on, don't be ridiculous. I'm not a nerd." She let out a short, humorless laugh. "I just used the tab to take a few hostages and cut a few throats. People are really agreeable when they think you're gonna let them go."
The words were delivered like a joke, tossed out casually, but the impact was immediate. Red felt the shift in the room, the way every pair of eyes locked onto Pink, the sharp intake of breath from one of the MPs at the door. Even Kassens, the Imperator, and Mĕi Líng held their silence, but the tension rippling through the room spoke volumes. They wouldn't intervene, but they were watching—waiting to see how Red would handle this.
Red's expression didn't change, though she felt a cold anger coil tighter in her chest. "Twelve dead, Pink. Twelve. And you want to laugh about it? You think it's funny?"
Pink's grin didn't falter. "I think it's funny that they thought I'd just sit there. They should have known better, Red. Besides," she said, with a shrug that was almost careless, "it's not my fault they underestimated me."
"They called you the Pink Demon on the news," Red snapped back, her voice lowering, dangerous. "The restless soul of the dead come back to torment the living. Is that how you want the world to see you?"
Pink leaned back further in her chair, tapping her fingers against the armrest as if considering the title. "Catchy, isn't it? 'Pink Demon.' Has a nice ring to it. Better than being Command Prisoner 0421-7." Her tone was flippant, but there was an edge beneath it, a challenge in her eyes that dared anyone in the room to respond.
Red kept her expression stern, refusing to rise to the bait. "So, you escaped. They tried to put you back in the room, and then what? You went out on the town?"
Pink's grin turned sharp, a glint of amusement flashing in her eyes. "Yeah, something like that. They tried to shove me back into detention, but I'm not exactly built for solitary. So I decided to find myself some entertainment." She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping into a mock whisper, as if she were letting Red in on a secret. "Ended up at Skullovich's, you know, that little tattoo and makeup shop on the East-End of nowhere? Seemed like the perfect spot to get my nails done—hot pink, naturally." She lifted her hand, showing off the brightly painted nails with a smirk. "Figured it'd match the whole 'Pink Demon' vibe they were talking about."
Red's lips tightened, but she couldn't fully suppress the incredulous smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. Only Pink, she thought. It was absurd, but it was also deadly serious. "You ended up causing a city-wide alert, Pink. The whole block was shaking from the music blasting out of that place, and you were just sitting there, flipping through a tattoo art book like it was just another day."
Pink shrugged, her smile turning wicked as she leaned back in her chair. "What can I say? It's been ten years since I had a good manicure. Gotta treat yourself sometimes, right?" She let out a laugh, a low, mocking sound. "But of course, the MPs didn't see the humor. They tried to drag me out like I was some delinquent shoplifter."
Red's eyes narrowed, trying to hold back her frustration. "And that's when you decided to turn it into a media spectacle? Give them a soundbite they couldn't ignore?"
Pink's grin widened again, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Oh, you heard that part? Yeah, cameras were rolling, so I gave them a little something. 'It's been ten years since I've had my nails done.' Figured if they were going to make a scene, I might as well give the people a show."
Red caught the flicker in Pink's eyes, the momentary shift from flippant defiance to something more serious. But Pink's grin quickly returned, sharp as ever. "What can I say, Red? I'm a people person," she replied with a shrug, though there was an edge beneath the humor.
Red shook her head, letting out a slow breath. "Yeah, I know you, Pink. But right now, I need you to focus. No more distractions. No more games. If you pull something like that again, I'll be the one dealing with you. Do you understand?"
For a moment, the air in the room seemed to hold its breath, the tension between them thick. Pink held Red's gaze, the smirk slipping just slightly as she took in the gravity of Red's words. But then she inclined her head, the sharpness in her eyes softening for just a heartbeat. "Yeah, Red. I get it."
Red sat back, letting a trace of weariness seep into her expression. Pink is Pink, she reminded herself. But even knowing that didn't make the stakes any lower. The silence settled in again, but the question that had been lurking at the back of her mind refused to be quieted.
Before the silence could stretch any further, Black cleared his throat. His deep voice cut through the tension, carrying a weight of its own. "Not her fault, Red," he said, his tone even, almost casual. He met Red's gaze directly, his expression steady. "If fully trained MPs and local law enforcement can't take down a Ranger without a morpher or an AI... maybe they shouldn't be approaching in the first place. It's as stupid as surrounding us in the jungle."
He shrugged, as if the entire situation were just another tactical blunder he'd seen too many times before. Red could hear the faint trace of amusement in his voice, but there was an edge beneath it, a reminder of just how little Black cared about Command's attempts to corral them. He knew they'd need the Rangers going forward, that all the bluster about control wouldn't change that reality.
"They should've known better. You don't lock up a hurricane and expect it to stay calm." He glanced at Pink, a faint glimmer of something like amusement in his eyes, though his tone remained serious. "But you did make a mess of things, Pink."
Yellow spoke up, her voice calm but firm, cutting through the lingering edge between her teammates. "This isn't the point of this meeting, and you know it," she said, her Aquitarian accent lending a fluid cadence to her words. Her gaze shifted from Black to Red, then briefly to Pink, before settling back on the star map glowing on the holo-screen. "We were called here for a reason. Whatever happened with Pink... it's not why we're all standing here right now."
She gestured toward the holographic display, where the anomalies flickered like warnings. Her expression softened, but there was a note of urgency beneath it. "We can't afford to get caught up in what's already happened. Surely, We have bigger problems to focus on."