- Oliver -

The grueling six months of relentless training had finally drawn to a close. Midnight was the appointed hour for them to embark on the final stage of their mission. The culmination of all their preparation and sacrifice.

Oliver stood at the base of the Silo, gazing upward at the spiraling staircase that wound its way up the towering structure. For the last time, he would make this ascent. Without the oppressive gravity amplifiers that had been part of his punishment, the climb felt almost effortless.

Reaching the top of the first floor, Oliver found a group of officers waiting. They stood rigidly in their crisp uniforms, faces impassive as they directed the arriving Rangers toward one of the briefing rooms. Among them was Dante, his instructor and the architect of much of their training. He stood flanked by other members of the Sixth Division. In front of them stood the Rangers standing at attention.

Dante stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group.

"Rest up," he began, his voice firm yet measured. "Tonight, you will begin the infiltration operation. Use everything that has been taught to you to earn the trust of your enemies."

Oliver observed Dante closely. After completing his punishment in the Silo, he'd noticed a change in the instructor's demeanor. Dante seemed less engaged, a shadow of discontent flickering behind his eyes. Though he continued to train them with the same intensity, there was a distance now, a lack of the passion he'd once exhibited.

"A few months ago," Dante continued, "we captured some members of the Children of the Past, and with them, we obtained a few recruitment cards. They remain active indefinitely, but their contents are constantly changing."

'Did you obtain them, or did they let you obtain them?' Oliver wondered silently, skepticism gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

"Each card contains an address and a time," Dante explained, holding up one of the sleek, metallic cards inscribed with black ink. "Based on previous infiltration attempts, these are invitations to their recruitment trials. Each selection is entirely different from the last. There's no way to anticipate exactly what you'll face. Your best preparation is the training you've undergone and the adaptability you've cultivated."

He surveyed them with a stern expression. "Stay vigilant. Trust your instincts and rely on your skills. Remember your objectives."

The six rangers nodded.

Dante handed each of them a card.

"If you are not accepted," Dante explained, "return to your bases. Your superiors will handle your next assignments." His gaze swept across the group, the intensity of his eyes conveying the importance of his words. "For those who manage to infiltrate, you will not be permitted to use your armors except in situations of life or death, or to ensure the security of the Empire. Do not compromise this mission in any other way."

He paused, his eyes locking onto Oliver with a piercing stare. There was an unspoken warning there, a seriousness that went beyond mere protocol.

"As explained during your training," Dante continued, "there are specific methods to contact us should you acquire critical information or require extraction. Follow our procedures meticulously." He emphasized each word, ensuring there was no room for misunderstanding. "Do not falter."

The instructor concluded his briefing and signaled to a technician who stepped forward carrying a case.

"Each of you will receive a Fake Face," Dante announced. "However, Oliver and Darius, you will infiltrate using your original identities. We want to test whether true Nameless individuals can penetrate their ranks."

'Even so, I can still identify them', Oliver thought, his mind racing through contingency plans. 'I could just use the [Prometheus] to see if they have any Crystals in their gauntlets. It's not perfect, but if someone tries to sabotage me, at least I'll be able to recognize them.'

"Yes, sir," the Rangers responded in unison.

"Proceed to transport," Dante ordered, pointing toward the exit of the room.

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One by one, the Rangers were guided down a narrow passage to an adjacent chamber where the teleportation unit resided.

Rangers Pink and Yellow stepped forward first. Their faces were set with determination, eyes forward as they approached the platform. With a nod from the supervising officer, they vanished in a burst of luminescent particles.

Oliver watched them disappear, his pulse quickening. The reality of the mission pressed upon him, a mix of urgency and uncertainty. He adjusted the strap of his gear, ensuring everything was secure.

"Your turn," the officer behind the teleportation console prompted, his face impassive beneath the sharp angles of his uniform cap.

Oliver stepped onto the platform, the surface humming softly beneath his boots.

"Ready?" the officer asked, his fingers hovering over the holographic controls that hovered in mid-air.

"Yes," Oliver replied, taking a steadying breath.

As soon as he responded, Oliver felt himself being pulled and pushed by the teleportation. When his feet touched the ground again, he was in the middle of a vast metropolis. The sounds of city life enveloped him instantly: the blaring horns of vehicles, the hum of buses gliding along their routes, and the distant whir of airborne transports zipping between towering skyscrapers.

'I wasn't sent to a station,' Oliver noted, realizing he had been teleported directly to specific coordinates yet again. His vision wavered slightly from the disorientation of the teleportation, but it quickly sharpened as he took in his surroundings. The street felt familiar, a nagging déjà vu tugging at his memory.

Turning around, he spotted an old, dilapidated building—a derelict AMC cinema that had clearly been abandoned for decades. Its once-grand marquee was now a skeleton of rusted metal, and faded posters clung stubbornly to cracked windows—only the most desperate sought shelter within its crumbling walls. Beneath the faded facade, hundreds of neon graffiti tags pulsed and shifted. The digital graffiti changed intermittently, flashing rebellious slogans and abstract designs that breathed a life into the decaying structure.

"New San Francisco," Oliver thought aloud. The realization settled in as he recognized the remnants of the city. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the metallic card entrusted to him by Dante.

| 17:55 - 3700 Geary Blvd - Underground

"Not far from here," he mused. The address was in one of the city's neglected quadrants, areas that had been ravaged by past bombardments and never fully restored. Despite being shielded by the Z Crystal's protective barrier, which enveloped the entire metropolis, the outskirts remained desolate. Most residents preferred to reside near the city center, where colossal mega-buildings pierced the sky.

Glancing at his gauntlet, the digital display read.

| 16:35

He had enough time. Without urgency, Oliver began walking along the worn pavement. The streets here were less crowded than those in the city's heart, though pockets of activity persisted. Many of the surrounding buildings stood silent and uninhabited, monuments to a bygone era of prosperity.

As he weaved through the maze of alleys and side streets, a prickling sensation crept up his neck. The unmistakable feeling of being watched. Oliver's instincts kicked in. He subtly altered his pace, occasionally pausing to glance at shop windows, using the reflections to scan behind him. Shadows flitted at the edges of his vision, but each time he turned, there was nothing but the ebb and flow of urban life.

'Someone's tracking me,' he thought, his senses on high alert. He couldn't shake the sensation, and any attempt to pinpoint his observer proved futile. To avoid drawing attention, he pulled up the hood of his civilian attire.

Minutes later, he arrived at his destination. The structure before him was a hulking edifice of aged stone and metal, devoid of any identifying marks. Time had worn its walls; cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, and the entire building seemed to lean ever so slightly, as if weary from years of neglect.

He consulted the metallic card again, confirming the address. There was no doubt, this was the place. But there were no obvious entrances, only shuttered windows and sealed doors.

'How do I get to the underground?' Oliver murmured. His eyes traced the facade, searching for any sign of access. Circumventing the building, he ventured down a narrow alley that led to the rear. There, partially concealed by heaps of discarded machinery and refuse, a ramp descended into darkness, an old access point to an underground parking facility.

Descending cautiously, he emerged into a subterranean space illuminated by flickering overhead lights. The air was thick with the scents of oil and damp concrete. Scattered around the area were small groups of people, each distinctly different from the next. Some bore the tattoos and attire of street gangs, neural ink that shimmered with embedded circuits, while others wore hardened expressions and bore the scars of war, their eyes reflecting a hardened resolve. Despite their disparate appearances, a shared undercurrent of defiance connected them all.

At the forefront stood two figures. One was a woman, slender to the point of appearing almost fragile. She wore a mask that obscured her features, a sleek design with mirrored lenses. Her attire was a patchwork of dark fabrics, concealing her form and adding to her enigmatic presence.

Beside her stood a tall man, his stature imposing. He was clad in a long coat adorned with an array of utility belts and pouches. His face was also concealed by a mask, this one marked with intricate patterns that shifted subtly, as if alive.

"Another candidate?" the woman remarked, her voice amplified slightly by a modulator, adding a synthetic edge to her words.

The man inclined his head, his gaze fixated on Oliver. "Welcome," he said with a confident timbre. "You're in the right place. Welcome to the Children of the Past."

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