Disclaimer - The author of this story does not own, nor have they ever owned the rights to this franchise. The characters and settings are used without permission. This story is for entertainment only and will not be used for any monetary gain of any type.
To The Reader – Please know that this story has been about ten years in the making for me. The story of Jen and Wes has stuck with since the show aired over twenty years ago now, and I have truly wondered about what they could truly look like as not just rangers, but human beings. What is the true cost of duty? Do they ever reflect back on their decisions? How did those choices shape them after the show ended? I challenged myself to truly think about it, and I finally believe that I have a truly thought out and compelling continuation of the show. This story will be 26 chapters long, and it has been completely written from start to finish. I will upload regularly to ensure that I revise anything that needs to be polished before uploading. From the bottom of my heart, I hope this story connects with you, and that you enjoy it. I would love for you to leave a review, and as always constructive criticism is more than welcome.
With Respect - Alex
Aftermath – A Time Force Story
Chapter 0 – Ashes of Time
June, 2855
The sky was painted in warm hues, the sun beginning its slow descent beyond the hills, casting an amber glow over the fields of tall grass. A gentle breeze swayed through the trees, carrying with it the distant hum of city life. But here, in this small, secluded sanctuary, the world felt untouched by the chaos beyond.
Laughter echoed from a modest home nestled among the trees. The sound was pure—joyful—like the music of a life well-lived.
Inside, Mykas stood at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up and his hands dusted with flour. His voice was soft, warm; a man who had found his peace. "You're adding too much, little one," he teased playfully, watching the small hands of his daughter sprinkle sugar over the freshly kneaded dough. "We're making bread, not candy."
His daughter, Aelira, giggled, her eyes wide and mischievous. "But it needs to be sweet!" she declared, her voice full of the innocence only a child can possess.
From behind them, a melodic chuckle joined their shared amusement. Seren, Mykas's wife, leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed and a smile of endless affection on her face. "She has a point, you know," she teased, her eyes sparkling. "Your bread could use a little sweetness."
Mykas sighed in mock defeat, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Betrayed by my own family," he said with exaggerated sorrow, but his grin betrayed his heart. "Alright, alright. A little more sugar, but only because I trust my two favorite bakers."
Aelira beamed, and Mykas scooped her up into his arms, spinning her around as she squealed with delight. Seren walked over, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek as their daughter nestled between them.
"This," Mykas murmured, his voice soft with wonder, "this is everything."
Seren brushed a strand of hair from his face. "You always say that," she whispered lovingly.
He met her eyes, his own shimmering with devotion. "Because it's true. I could spend a thousand lifetimes searching, and nothing would ever mean more than this moment. You. Her. Us."
The roar of aircraft engines tore through their quiet bliss. Mykas's expression flickered, a shadow passing over his serene features. He set Aelira down gently.
"Stay with Mama," he said softly, his tone protective but calm.
Mykas stepped slowly outside, wiping his hands on his apron. That same warm sky was now tainted by the dark shapes of military aircraft, sleek and ominous. Their rhythmic thrum of engines screaming overhead.
He gripped the edge of the quaint house's porch, his mind dreading what he saw.
Mykas turned to look back into the room, his wife Seren stood just inside, her expression was one of both confusion and sorrow.
The world beyond their sanctuary was starting to break. He had known about it for months. Nations had begun to fracture, their leaders grasping for power as consumable resources dwindled. There was talk about wars if the nations could not agree on a compromise.
But none of that had ever touched his family. Their home far on the outskirts of the city was meant to be a haven, one to allow them to raise their little one.
Suddenly, there was a rush of air around him. Cool and quick the wind grew stronger and stronger. Then he saw it. Out front in the street the a glowing blue ball of energy started to expand, it seemed to bend the light around it. A strange electric crackle like reality itself was unraveling. The bubble building in size until in a brilliant burst of blue light the orb vanished, and from where it was, a figure stumbled forth.
A man in a sleek white and black uniform that he had never seen before.
The man looked wrong. He was wounded, clutching his side, his breathing labored.
His uniform, bearing a symbol unfamiliar to Mykas, was tore, revealing blood trickling down his shoulder. The air buzzed around him, a faint aftershock from whatever had brought him here.
Mykas's instincts flared, but not with fear. With compassion.
"Hey!" he called out, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. "You're hurt. I can help you."
The soldier's head snapped toward him, his eyes wild, pupils dilated with panic. He glanced around in clear confusion. His hands tightened on the weapon he was holding.
Mykas his eyes drawn to it saw how sleek it seemed. Metallic with a glowing energy core that pulsed faintly.
"No… stay back!" the soldier barked, his voice tense, trembling. "Don't come any closer!"
"I don't want to hurt you," Mykas said firmly but calmly, taking a careful step forward. "My home is right there. I can get you help."
But the soldier's eyes were wide with something more than pain. It looked like fear.
Then, from behind Mykas
A soft voice, small and curious called out.
"Papa?"
Mykas's heart stopped. He turned his head just slightly panic forming in his chest.
It was his daughter. Aelira, peeking from the doorway, her little hand clutching the frame.
The soldier, startled, reacted on panic fueled instinct.
A flash of light from the metallic weapon.
The blast fired.
The glowing beam missed Mykas flying inches from him, but struck the home.
The air ignited with a deafening roar. Fire and splinters of wood swallowing his world whole.
He could hear Aelira's scream high, terrified, raw; cut through the thunder of the blast.
"AELIRA!" Mykas's voice ripped from his throat, his body already moving.
But the explosion hit him like a hand from a cruel god, the force flinging him backward. His spine slammed against the earth, agony splitting through his ribs.
But he didn't care.
His body was broken, but he dragged himself forward. His fingers clawed into burning earth, pulling, pulling to get closer.
His palms seared on molten glass, his lungs choked with smoke, his knees shredded on splintered wood.
But he crawled closer to the house.
Through fire. Through pain. Through the screams of his own body.
"AELIRA!" The name ripped from his lungs of its own accord. It's desperation and agony fused into one.
Then— the scream stopped.
And in that sudden, hollow silence, his heart shattered.
Fire burst from within consuming the front of the house. In that moment, his mind tormented him.
The faintest trace of lavender—
The soap she always used—his favorite—that would cling to his skin long after she hugged him goodnight.
It was there, even though the smoke.
And then—it wasn't.
The soldier's face was horrified. He saw too late as he fired the woman; the small child.
He lowered his weapon hands trembling. He dropped to his knee, activating his communicator. His voice was urgent, panicked:
"This is Officer Delta-17—I—I've made contact but—" his voice broke— "there's been—an accident."
A voice from the other side, cold and authoritative.
"Time Force cannot risk a fracture. Erase it."
The soldier's breath hitched. "But—they—they're civilians—"
"Erase it. Now."
With shaking hands, the officer raised a small device and activated it. A glowing blue sphere of crackling energy engulfed the house.
The air rippled—and then—
The house disappeared.
The screams—erased.
The lives—forgotten.
The earth smoothed over as if the home had never existed.
But Mykas—Mykas remembered.
Because he was still there, half-dead, outside the temporal field's reach. His eyes seared the picture of soldier's white and black uniform, his mind burned the name into his soul—
Time Force.
The world around Mykas was pain. Every breath felt like knives in his ribs. His vision flickered, his body broken and bleeding against the scorched earth. Smoke curled into the sky from where his home was. From where his life had once stood. But now. There was nothing. No walls, no windows—no trace of the love that had filled those rooms.
But he remembered. He remembered their laughter. Their warmth. He remembered Aelira's voice, and the silence that swallowed it. His heart, shattered and raw, beat with a single, primal purpose. Get up.
He heard footsteps. Booted and precise, crunching through the ash. The soldier; the man who had destroyed everything. He was standing a few feet away, his back turned, his trembling hand pressed to the communicator on his wrist.
Mykas's bloodied fingers dug into the dirt, and he tried to rise. But agony pinned him to the ground. His body refused.
But his rage.
His grief; it burned hotter than the fire around him.
The voice from the communicator crackled through the smoke. It was cold. Clinical. "Erasure complete. Return to your anchor point. Confirm no temporal anomalies remain."
The soldier's voice, raw with guilt, broke. "I—I can't. There's—" His gaze flicked to Mykas—still alive. "There's a survivor."
A pause. Then the response—final and merciless:
"No witnesses. Secure the timeline."
The soldier turned. His eyes were haunted, desperate. They met Mykas's gaze. His weapon hummed again, its deadly core gathering energy. Mykas felt the heat. The air vibrated. This was it.
Aelira. Seren. I'm coming.
But then; A pulse.
The air shifted. A strange oscillation—like the universe itself took a breath.
And the soldier stumbled. His body froze, locked in place mid-motion, as if time itself had glitched. His form fragmented, splitting into afterimages—each one a flicker of a different choice. Shoot. Stop. Flee. Hesitate.
Mykas—through shattered eyes—saw it.
Threads.
A thousand threads. Unseen lines connecting every possibility, every potential outcome.
And somehow Mykas understood.
The ruptured temporal energy that erased his family had touched him; but it did not destroy him. It had broken something within him and rewired him.
Now, he saw the possibilities.
The threads of cause and effect.
The weave of the timeline.
Not as theory.
But as reality.
And he saw a thread leading from the soldier back through time. Through a vortex of cause and consequence. And he followed it. Mykas's consciousness slipping into the stream.
For a fraction of eternity, Mykas was everywhere.
He saw the Council Chambers of Time Force they were cold and imposing, from where seven figures decided who lived and who died.
He saw the erasure of countless families, countless stories. Casualties of "necessary corrections."
He saw the future. Time Force growing stronger, its grip on history tightening, erasing imperfections, rewriting the past into a prison.
And he saw a woman.
Jennifer Scotts.
A variable. One that Time Force feared but could never control.
And he saw a man.
Wesley Collins.
A choice that fractured the timeline but could never be undone.
The soldier's weapon discharged; the blast seemed to miss. It didn't.
Mykas's held his hand before him to shield himself from the shot. Somehow his palm outstretched caught the temporal energy it's energy dissolved into his skin.
The soldier froze, his eyes wide with impossible horror. "What—" he gasped, his voice shaking.
Mykas rose. The bones broken, his body bleeding, but his eyes ablaze.
Lit with the knowledge of every thread he had seen.
"You," he spoke, his voice raw, "serve them."
The soldier backed away, panicked. "Stay—stay back!"
"You erased them." Mykas's voice cracked, his grief bleeding through every word. "You took them from time itself."
"I—I was following—orders!" the soldier stammered, terror rising.
"I saw." Mykas stepped forward, and the ground trembled with his fury. "The Council. Your masters. You are nothing but their weapon."
The soldier's communicator blared, "Delta-17—abort! Return to anchor!"
But Mykas reached out to the soldier and with his newfound sight, he saw what the soldier would do. He grasped the soldier as he activated his portal.
The possibility of the soldier's escape.
And he severed it.
The soldier vanished.
Not erased.
But lost.
Falling into the unwritten folds of unmade time.
The battlefield that his home had become fell silent.
Mykas was alone, his body broken, his heart shattered. The earth where his home and family had stood as if it had never been there. No grave. No ashes. Not even a memory.
But Mykas remembered.
The threads of every choice, every outcome, every path.
He saw them.
He held them.
And he swore—
"They took my family's life. They took time itself from them."
A tremor ran through his blood, and the temporal energy; his curse and now his gift—burned within him.
"I will take it back."
His eyes were like fractured glass, reflecting the infinite threads.
"They will pay."
The world was a ruin around him. The smoke from what was once his home clung to the air, thick and acrid. The sky, once golden with the warmth of a peaceful sunset, had turned to a cold, steel gray as if the universe itself mourned the atrocity. The military aircraft continued flying overhead with no care. None of it mattered to Mykas now. He knew how it would end. Mykas knew how the war would end. The only sounds were the faint crackle of dying embers and the rhythmic, shallow breaths from Mykas's battered chest.
His body screamed for rest, his bones fractured, his flesh torn. But the agony that tore through his soul burned hotter than any mortal wound. His eyes, though bloodshot and heavy, remained unblinking as they stared at the ground where his family had been; where time itself had erased them from existence.
But he could still see them.
The threads, the remnants of possibility lingered, faint echoes of what had been. He saw Aelira's laughter, golden and soft, now a thread severed violently from the weave. He saw Seren's hand reaching, so close, but so far away from him. They were forever lost in the void of undone time.
And he saw a thread of something more.
A thread leading forward.
The energy that had saturated him from the blast was raw, and chaotic. Temporal power unleashed and untamed. It coursed through his veins, and in his shattered state, it began to transform him. He felt his body wrench and repair. His bones resetting with excruciating slowness, tissues weaving back together thread by agonizing thread. He was not healed by nature, but by time itself, uncertain and fractured.
Every nerve burned, every fiber screamed.
But he did not beg.
He did not plead.
He only endured it.
As the power surged, his mind expanded.
It exploded. His reality shattered.
And through that fracture in his mind, he saw it again.
The timeline wasn't a straight line.
It was infinite threads.
Spinning, branching, converging.
Every choice, every possibility.
Every consequence.
In that timeless moment, his sight pierced the veil. He followed the thread that had brought the soldier to his home. It led him backwards through time's endless current.
And he saw The Time Force Council.
Cold. Calculating.
Judges not of justice, but of control.
He saw the lives they had erased. Families like his. Stories unwritten. Histories unmade.
His family was not the first.
They were merely another calculation.
Another acceptable loss.
For the sanctity of their perfect timeline.
And then, he saw forward.
He saw a future.
One where Time Force tightened its grip, where history became not a river but a cage, where lives were rewritten or erased in the pursuit of order.
A future where no choice was free, but where the Council decided who was worthy to exist.
And he saw a battle.
Not fought by armies but by choices.
By people.
And at the center he saw a woman.
Jennifer Scotts.
Her life. It was a fracture Time Force could not control.
Her heart; a variable that could unravel their dominion.
Her choices causing unstoppable ripples.
And beside her, a man.
Wesley Collins.
A choice that Time Force could never erase.
They would break the pattern.
If they survived.
His broken lips curled, and his voice, raw and cracked, rose from the ashes:
"They erase lives like pages from a book."
"They play god with time itself."
"They stole everything from me."
"My family."
"My history."
"But they made one mistake."
His eyes, once gentle, burned with a cold, infinite rage.
They had left him alive.
"Time is their weapon."
"But it will be their undoing."
His body, still broken, began to rise. The ground beneath him cracked and the air around him rippled with temporal aftershocks. His hand, still trembling from the shot, clenched into a fist. And in that moment, he severed his own thread. Not from life, but from fate.
Time could not hold him.
The Council could not erase him.
Because he would become something—
Outside their order.
A ghost between the threads.
A revenant of their sins.
His body fell again, too shattered to continue, but his mind remained awake.
In the days that followed, he would drag himself back to his ruined laboratory.
A place once dedicated to understanding time. Now it was a forge for his vengeance.
There he would build.
Not a weapon but a key.
He created a device that he channeled his power that now coursed through his body into.
A Micro Time Core.
A creation outside Time Force's laws.
Outside their control.
The man he was—Mykas, the husband, the father—
Would die in those ashes.
And from the fracture, something else would emerge.
Something cold.
Something relentless.
Something unbound by time itself.
"You erased my past."
"So, I will erase your future."
Through the threads, he would search for cracks, for variables.
For the inevitable moment where Time Force would break.
And he would find it.
Not in their order.
But in their failures.
In her.
The woman Time Force feared.
Jennifer Scotts.
The man they could never erase.
Wesley Collins.
And when that moment came, he would be there.
To burn their perfect timeline.
To shatter their control.
To avenge every erased soul.
And he would show Time Force that they had created him.
And that he would end them.
No matter the cost.