I’ll be the Red Ranger
Chapter 152 – See You Soon

- Oliver -

After a few minutes, Oliver could no longer contain his curiosity. He leaned forward, fixing his gaze on Alan. "Alright," he began, a playful challenge in his voice. "You mentioned a few things in your messages, but how the hell did you end up in the Mech Division?"

Alan scratched the back of his head sheepishly, a hint of embarrassment coloring his expression. "It wasn't that hard," he replied, his gaze shifting to the floor. "I just needed a little help here and there."

"How so?" Oliver pressed, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Ah! Now I got it—I had forgotten which House you're from," Isabela interjected, a spark of realization brightening her eyes. She was seated across from them, her dark hair cascading over the shoulders of her sleek uniform.

"That's right," Alan affirmed with a slight nod.

"Someone mind explaining? I'm still confused," Oliver admitted, glancing between them.

"Aquila," Katherine explained, stepping forward with a knowing smile. "They're responsible for the largest production of gravity generators in the Empire. Plus, the current patriarch is one of the pioneers in Mecha design."

"Oh! I see!" Oliver exclaimed, the pieces finally clicking into place. He felt a pang of mild embarrassment—since the Aquilas weren't a Great House, he hadn't delved into their record. "That explains why you know so much about the mech models."

"Exactly..." Alan sighed softly. "I don't usually talk to my father, but when I mentioned I wanted to join the Mech Division, he was surprisingly receptive." A trace of melancholy edged his voice. "Especially since he was working on a new design in collaboration with the NEA."

"Impressive," Oliver remarked, genuinely intrigued. "Everyone must have asked you this already, but how was it piloting a mech?"

"It was... overwhelming," Alan admitted, his eyes distant as if recalling distant memories. "I had only a few weeks of training. We were hundreds at the operation’s start; by the time the battle against the Titans ended, only a few dozen mechs were left." He spoke deliberately, each word heavy with the weight of what he'd experienced.

Isabela and Katherine exchanged brief glances, their attention fully captured.

"But in the end, Hank managed to keep me alive," Alan continued, clenching his hand into a tight fist.

"Have some pride," Isabela encouraged gently, her gaze steady. "You were important too—you survived and helped save a lot of people."

Alan shook his head slowly. "You don't understand. Piloting a mech, every decision is a matter of life and death. There's no second chance. What they do—what we do—is insane."

"You can't really call it insane if you're choosing to be part of it," Oliver pointed out with a wry grin.

Alan chuckled softly, a hint of self-deprecation in his smile. "Well, I never claimed to be entirely sane." He leaned back, letting out a breath. "But enough about me. You all are gaining firsthand experience as Rangers. What's it like being in a division?"

The three sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, each contemplating what to say next.

"To be honest, I still have almost no idea," Isabela finally admitted, breaking the quiet. She leaned back against the plush seating, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. "These past two months have flown by so quickly. In the Yellows, we have to train in a bit of everything to support any function within the divisions."

"Even mechs?" Oliver asked, his curiosity piqued. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

"Not yet," Isabela replied. "But I know several others who have started mech training. I've been focusing on intense physical conditioning and some basic piloting."

"Do you have any idea when you'll get your first mission?" Oliver inquired, eager to understand how other divisions operated.

"Not yet," she admitted. "Unlike other divisions, it takes us longer before we're deployed on field operations. Since our focus is support, we're committed to not jeopardizing missions with inexperience. We must be thoroughly prepared before we're entrusted with active duty."

"You're lucky," Oliver muttered under his breath, though loud enough for the others to catch.

"Not really," Isabela countered with a wry smile. "I'd prefer to be out in the field rather than running endless simulations and circuits around the training center." She turned to Katherine. "I imagine the Reds have already thrown you into the fray?"

"More or less," Katherine responded, her tone composed yet hinting at underlying tension. "It wasn't as immediate as Oliver's case, but we've had some incursions on distant planets to reduce Ork strongholds." She folded her arms, her gaze distant. Oliver noticed a subtle shift in her demeanor—a vulnerability peeking through the usually confident facade. It was as though she was lowering a mask that hid her true feelings.

"But... imagine being in a place where about eighty percent of the Rangers are descendants or heirs of some House," Katherine continued, her voice carrying a hint of anger. "Everyone is constantly training, not just to serve but to outdo one another, to prove they're superior. They embark on missions often life-or-death, and the competition is relentless."

Oliver scratched his head thoughtfully. "Doesn't sound like a very welcoming environment."

"Welcoming isn't exactly the word I'd use," Katherine agreed, a sardonic smile tugging at her lips. "It's more like a nest of vipers sitting atop a pile of gunpowder. Someone could strike a spark at any moment, and everything would explode."

"We've already witnessed two of those explosions," Alan interjected, his voice tinged with weariness and insight.

Isabela turned to him with a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"The Lot and the Children of the Past," Alan explained. "I'm not saying their actions were justified, but their emergence is undeniably a result of the system as it exists today."

The others nodded in solemn agreement. A heavy silence settled over the group as they pondered his words, the reality of their society's fractures laid bare.

"Mordred... he's strange," Katherine explained. "I had a different view of him before he declared independence. Especially since, to this day, we still owe him a 'marriage.' Yet, he hasn't pressured us anymore."

"He may be crazy, but he’s also undeniably strong," Alan remarked, resting his elbows on his knees. "He managed to face hundreds of mechs and still come out alive."

A contemplative silence settled over the trio. The gravity of their conversation weighed heavily, each lost in their own thoughts about alliances and the shifting tides of the empire.

Suddenly, Oliver's face lit up as a memory surfaced. "Oh! I had forgotten," he exclaimed, nearly causing the others to jump. "The one who came to rescue me on Olympus was Astrid!"

He launched into recounting his experience—the harrowing moments on Olympus, how Astrid had found him amidst the chaos, and how she had stayed by his side in the hospital until he recovered. Isabela listened with genuine delight, her eyes sparkling at the mention of their mutual friend.

But Oliver sensed something amiss. Throughout his narration, Katherine's expression remained guarded, her gaze hard. An unspoken tension tightened the air whenever Oliver mentioned Astrid's name.

It's just my imagination,’ Oliver thought, slightly shaking his head to clear away the unease.

"Even the Pinks are already going on missions!" Isabela interjected with a dramatic sigh. "I want to get off the base so bad."

The trio chuckled as of all the things Oliver spoke, Isabela's focus on field deployment was both endearing and expected.

Oliver also shared his experience from his first mission and mentioned that, after some training, he would soon head out on his second.

"This one is going to be a bit more tricky. I'll have more rigorous training for it, and it might be hard to keep in touch with you," Oliver admitted.

"No worries," Alan replied with an encouraging grin. "I think we'll all be pretty absorbed in our training as well."

They spent several more hours exchanging stories and laughter, a welcome respite from their demanding lives. As the artificial twilight of the tower shifted to emulate late evening, signaling the end of their gathering, they began to part ways.

Alan stood up, stretching his arms. "Time for me to head back to the Mech Division," he announced. "Teleportation waits for no one."

Isabela nodded, rising from her seat. "And Katherine and I need to return to our bases. More training awaits."

They shared farewells, embraces, and promises to reunite soon. One by one, they departed, leaving Oliver behind.

With a few days of leave remaining, Oliver decided to make the most of his downtime. Utilizing the York family's private teleportation network, he returned to Earth. The familiar sights of New San Francisco greeted him. Skyscrapers reached toward the heavens, their surfaces reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

Oliver spent the next few days resting, strolling through the city's familiar and chaotic districts while mentally preparing for his upcoming mission. The urban buzz was a stark contrast to the isolated training facilities and battlegrounds he frequented, and he relished the normalcy.

When Monday morning arrived, Oliver made his way to the Teleport Hub he'd used several times before. Despite the early hours, the station was abuzz with activity. Streams of travelers flowed through the grand hall, their footsteps merging into a rhythmic cadence against the metallic floors.

Navigating through the crowd was a challenge. The sheer number of people made it difficult to move without brushing against someone else. As Oliver maneuvered toward his teleportation gate, someone bumped sharply into his shoulder.

"Hey!" Oliver exclaimed, more out of surprise than irritation.

The stranger mumbled an apology and hurried past, disappearing into the sea of faces. Glancing down, Oliver noticed a wallet lying on the ground—a sleek, dark casing that gleamed subtly under the station's lights.

"Sir! Your wallet!" Oliver called out, but his voice was lost in the cacophony. Clutching the wallet, he swiftly weaved through the crowd, trying to catch up.

He ascended the grand staircase two steps at a time, emerging onto the street. Scanning the area, he searched for any sign of the man. Hundreds of people swarmed everywhere, but the one he sought was nowhere to be found.

‘Maybe there's some identification inside,’ Oliver thought.

However, when he looked at the wallet again, it was no longer in his hand. Instead, a sleek, metallic card with an hourglass marking and some words was in his palm.

"See you soon."

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