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I'll Be The Red Ranger - Chapter 198: The Purple One
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 23:20:01 +0000 UTC[Oliver PoV]
“Which one else?” Midas-1 replied, gesturing toward a flash drive resting in the center of the table like a relic in a shrine.
Oliver’s gaze settled on the sliver of metal and polymer, its tiny status light ticking in a steady pulse. He remembered the day he got it, back when it was all much simpler. He hadn’t known then that the data it contained would become his lifeline. Back then, Hector had been little more than a passing acquaintance helping during his mission. The gift had been a thank-you for a surprise investment. The shares encoded on that drive, millions in Atlas stock, had jump-started Oliver’s second life.
“We have three assets inside Atlas,” Midas-1 continued, voice clean and precise behind the mask marked with an M. “We’ll push the disclosure through their internal channels, make it look like it started from their analytics division. At the same moment, our shell companies will start a buying frenzy, snapping up exclusive exploration rights around Aquarius. That should box out the Empire and the Great Houses from contesting our claims.”
“It won’t stop them from attacking,” Midas-2 cut in, their mask tilted as if to measure Oliver’s reaction. “Especially if the Senate fails to broker a peace."
Oliver nodded once. “We’re counting on that. The claims are in place to help us negotiate with Houses that choose neutrality. Territory claims are leverage; we need enough of it to make the conversation worth their time.”
Hector’s generosity had been more than charity; it was a foundation stone. Oliver felt the weight of debt settle against his shoulders.
“Will that put targets on their backs?” he asked, the words edged in caution. He had owed Hector too much to use him as a pawn, or worse, to endanger him.
“No,” Midas-1 said without hesitation. “Atlas is known for producing mining mechas. They have a lot of contracts in the borderlands. Every few cycles, we 'help' them surface data from new territories. This will look like more of the same. No added heat on them.”
“Good.” Oliver’s verdict was clipped but final. He turned to Talos. “Alright. Science Center first, then Command.”
The five Midas operatives took the dismissal with a murmur of acknowledgment, peeling back to their stations. Fingers danced over cracked keys and touchless interfaces, coaxing old terminals to life. On the screens, legalese bloomed like invasive vines. There was something about purchase orders, shipping manifests, exploration bids, subsidies, and indemnities.
Talos lingered a heartbeat longer, watching the masked financiers as they descended into their familiar storm of overlapping arguments. Brilliant minds snapping and snarling over decimal points and jurisdictional loopholes like gladiators in a pit. For an android whose logic trees ran cool and clean, the ferocity of their collaboration still managed to surprise him.
“This technology… It’s so old,” Talos said, the words edged with a mechanical kind of distaste as he eyed the stack of aging terminals. Their fans wheezed, and their casings had yellowed with time.
“All of it is,” Oliver replied. Around them, ancient monitors ticked and clattered. “Anything tied to the NET, anything powered by Crystal-based systems, doesn’t get to touch our data.”
Talos cocked his head. “Even so. Imagine the ground we could’ve covered with modern gear.”
“We would be miles ahead,” Oliver conceded. “But it was hard enough to take this entire base off the network. We can’t isolate every device and swear there won’t be leaks.” He noticed Talos glance down at his forearm.
“You know there are ways to reach them,” Talos said, voice low. “We could try another way to avoid using the Gauntlet.”
Oliver exhaled. “If there’s even a one percent chance our comms get figured out, it could mean the end, for them and us. For now, they believe I’m dead, and the Children of the Past are gone. We use that. We are playing against a blind enemy.”
Talos’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug that carried both resignation and trust. They slipped into the current of masked workers flowing through the corridor, then stepped into the main elevator. Oliver thumbed the control for sublevel one. The cabin hummed, descending into the guts of the base.
The doors parted on a hangar the size of a cathedral, all open plan and organized chaos. No walls, no offices. It was islands of invention. There were long tables, rolling carts, mobile tool racks, coils of cable, crates of parts, and racks of prototypes. The Tech Center didn’t build rooms; it built momentum. When a project ended, the people and their gear were re-sorted like cards and dealt into a new hand.
“Governor!” A figure in a white lab coat broke away from a nearby cluster. A blank mask hid their face; a designation ran below the eyes. “D-15.”
“Deadalus-15,” Oliver acknowledged with a nod. “I need to speak with One.”
“He’s at Project Zeus.” The scientist pointed to the other side of the floor.
Oliver set off, Talos pacing beside him. They threaded between workstations where electric arcs snaked in controlled bursts, welding torches hissed, and sparks fell like blue snow. At one table, an array of oscilloscopes mapped signals in jagged neon waves; at another, a pair of researchers discussed equations written across a whiteboard.
Ahead, the Project Zeus sector loomed. It was cordoned by modular blast shields and high scaffolds laced with cables. The warning placards were hand-lettered, stark and simple: High Voltage. High Energy Flux. Step Back.
He and Talos wound their way through the industrial thicket of Project Zeus. There, flanked by scaffolds and crash barriers, a hulking mecha hunched like a crouched titan. Only two scientists tended it. One elbow-deep in the machine’s back, the other bent over a battered console bristling with switches and holographic displays.
“Test One-Four-Seven, bringing systems online at ten percent,” the console tech called, jabbing a red toggle. Somewhere deep within the mecha, a turbine whined to life. The deck thrummed. Indicator needles climbed.
“Live signal,” the second scientist shouted from inside the open carapace. “Reading stable. Bump it to twenty.”
“Increasing to twenty,” came the reply, voice raised over the rising vibration. The air warmed; the smell of hot metal and oil crept across the bay.
“She’s heating—hold—cut—” the tech in the mecha started to scream.
A sharp sound cracked the air like a rifle shot. Black smoke belched from the mecha’s rear end, rolling in a greasy plume toward the ceiling vents. The console scientist was already scribbling on a slate. “Okay. New upper limit: twenty percent,” he announced, as Oliver and Talos approached the workbench.
The console tech turned, revealing a white mask stenciled with a simple D-1. “Boss. Didn’t expect you down here,” he said, tone equal parts surprise and satisfaction.
“I’m dropping off the Green Crystal.” Oliver lifted his Gauntlet, the armored bracer unfolding with a soft hiss to reveal a crystal socket holding a faceted gem as dull as river stone.
“Got it. Taking another?” D-1 asked. Behind him, the second scientist got himself out from the mecha’s spine and wafted smoke away with a gloved hand, coughing once into their sleeve.
“I want the one we took from Darius,” Oliver said.
D-1’s head tilted, a frown implied by the angle of the mask. “It’s still a bit savage. You’re sure?” He was already moving toward a line of recessed safes connected to the wall. At the nearest unit, he tapped a code into a flickering hologram. Heavy bolts thunked back, and the door swung open.
“It’s the most powerful we’ve got,” Oliver answered. “Short of the Green.”
“Ah. You’re heading out now?” D-1 asked over his shoulder, surrounded by neat rows of padded alcoves, each cradling a crystal.
“That’s the idea,” Oliver said. “It's going to start any minute.”
D-1 returned with a gem cradled in his hands, its heart beating a faint purple pulse. “Here. I’ll put the Green on charge,” he said, and passed the purple crystal to Oliver.
“No problem,” Oliver murmured, weighing it. It felt alive, resentful. He sighed.
“Is it going to hurt?” Talos asked, his voice mild curiosity overlaid with a note of concern.
“Plenty. This one hates me,” Oliver said. He braced, breath steadying. “Three, two, one—”
He seated the crystal into the Gauntlet’s socket. Contacts locked with a click. The world went white at the edges as a shock tore through him. Lightning stitched through nerves, a metallic taste flooding his mouth. It wasn’t as savage as the first time he’d wrestled the Green Crystal, but it was close.
“Son of a—” He caught himself on a worktable, sweat standing cold on his skin. “That bastard,” he hissed through his teeth as he forced the tremor out of his hands.
D-1 and Talos watched in silence while the Gauntlet’s seals glowed, then dimmed. Oliver straightened, nodded once. “Thanks, D-1.”
He hesitated, gaze dropping to the concrete as if the question were a physical weight. D-1 knew it before he spoke; he’d known it the last hundred times Oliver had asked him.
“Any luck?” Oliver asked, pointing at the Gauntlet.
“On the communicator? Not yet,” D-1 said, and though the mask hid his expression, the pity ran soft in his voice. “I haven’t had the time. Zeus is almost there.”
“Appreciate it, Deadalus,” Oliver said, recovering his composure. He turned toward the aisle.
“Command Center?” Talos prompted.
“Ye—”
The word died as a translucent overlay blinked across Oliver’s vision.
[They’re beginning]
[We need to talk]
