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 – I hope that you're enjoying the story! As always constructive criticism is more than welcome in the form of a review.
With Respect - Alex
Aftermath – A Time Force Story
Chapter 2 – Echoes of the Past
3010
The walls of Time Force Headquarters were made of sleek, polished metal, designed for efficiency over comfort. Everything in the 31st century was precise, streamlined, optimized.
And so was Jen.
She sat at the head of the long conference table, her uniform crisp, her expression unreadable. Across from her, a group of officers and scientists delivered their reports. The usual updates on containment operations, adjustments to timeline monitoring, minor anomalies that had been swiftly corrected.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth worrying about.
Which was exactly how she needed it to be.
She lived for structure now.
For the routine.
For the next task, the next report, the next mission.
Anything to keep her from thinking.
Anything to keep her from remembering.
Jen nodded along as one of the officers finished speaking. "Good work," she said, her tone even, professional and devoid of any personality. "Ensure that those protocols remain in place, and I'll expect a follow-up report by next week."
The officers acknowledged the order, gathering their things as the meeting came to a close. One by one, they exited, leaving her alone in the sterile glow of the room.
She exhaled, and let her gaze drift out of the window.
She was more than desensitized to the marvels that she could see. They didn't even give her pause. Her gaze went to the horizon to where the earth met the sky. Her eyes unfocused further, and for a moment, she could hear a different time.
Her breath hitched, and she came back.
The voice in her head sounded like a religion; keep moving.
That was all she had done for ten years.
She stood, moving toward the door. But before she could step out, her communicator beeped.
A message.
Jen frowned slightly, the duties never stopped. She pressed a button on her wrist console. A soft blue holographic display flickered into the air in front of her.
Her breath hitched.
- YEARLY UPDATE COMPLETED -
- TRANSMISSION LOG AVAILABLE FOR REVIEW -
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then, with careful perfect precision, she opened the file.
Her eyes scanned the words. Clinical. Familiar. The same.
The same words she had seen for ten years.
"MORPHER CONDITION ACCEPTABLE. NO ISSUES."
And then the response.
"MESSAGE RECEIVED AND UNDERSTOOD. NO FURTHER NOTIFICATIONS."
Jen stared at the screen.
Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides.
The message didn't change.
It never did.
She had learned how to hide it.
How to keep it locked away.
Because that's what she had been told to do.
Because that's what had been deemed acceptable.
The update confirmed what she already knew.
Wes was still there.
The morphers were still there.
Nothing had changed.
She exhaled slowly, closing the log with a single movement.
The screen blinked out, the room falling back into stillness.
Jen stood there for a long moment. Her fellow officers passed outside the room, like an uncaring sea. All clearly had tasks that were the reason she worked every day. But for a moment. It was all meaningless.
Then the voice in her head returned. Keep moving. Her mantra for ten years.
Then, without another word, her expression set, and she exited the room. What emotions and thoughts she let out, they were firmly locked back in the box.
The door to Jen's office slid shut behind her with a soft hiss, sealing her away from the rest of Time Force Headquarters.
Alone.
That was how she worked best.
That was how she had trained herself to be. Don't allow anyone to get close.
She moved across the sleek, minimalist office without looking at anything in particular. The data pads on her desk were neatly arranged. Reports on containment anomalies. Tactical briefings. Temporal event analyses.
All of it important.
All of it designed to keep her solely focused on her duties.
And yet, the words again came unbidden into her mind. The simple call and response from the update.
"MORPHER CONDITION ACCEPTABLE. NO ISSUES."
"MESSAGE RECEIVED AND UNDERSTOOD. NO FURTHER NOTIFICATIONS."
Jen sat down in her chair, her fingers hovering over the console embedded in the desk. The screen glowed softly beneath her touch, the interface waiting for input.
Her finger hovered over the command. Just one keystroke. Just one. She could pull up the official records.
She could see him.
It wouldn't be much; just a name, a file, an entry in the historical database. A small confirmation that he was still there.
Still alive.
But she didn't.
She never did. Not because the council had told her to not dwell on what could never be, because if she started; God, if she started. She wouldn't stop until she had every second of his life laid bare.
She forced herself away from those thoughts.
Because that wasn't the point of these updates.
They weren't for her.
They were a procedure. A way for Time Force to ensure the technology left behind hadn't compromised the timeline. A routine check. A necessary step.
Nothing more.
At least, that was what she told herself.
Her hands curled into fists.
Because, if that were true, then why did it feel like this?
Why did her chest tighten every time she read those words?
Why did she feel like she had been punched in the ribs every year, like clockwork, when that same sterile response came through? Wondering who had typed the words. Had it been Eric, or him.
She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting out a slow, measured breath.
Ten years.
Ten years of telling herself this was the right path.
Ten years of convincing herself that she had made the only choice she could have made.
Ten years of silence.
And the worst part?
She had let it happen.
She had never reached out. Never sent a message. Never done anything to break the wall that had been placed between them.
Because she wasn't allowed to. If she accessed those files. Questions would be asked. Questions she couldn't answer. Because she had been told to move forward.
And so she had.
Hadn't she?
Jen closed her eyes for a moment before pushing away from her desk. The chair slid back smoothly as she stood, moving toward the window.
The city stretched out before her, a glittering maze of sleek architecture and hovering transports. Everything efficient and in its place.
Just like her.
Just like Wes must have been.
Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides.
Did he hate these updates as much as she did?
Did he still think about her?
Had it ever gotten easier for him?
She doubted it.
Because it sure as hell hadn't for her.
Jen exhaled sharply, shaking the thoughts away. She had work to do. Reports to finish. Another meeting to prepare for.
She turned from the window, walking back to her desk.
And like she had for the past ten years, she did what was required. Move forward. A cruel irony. She spent every day watching the past; except the part that mattered.
Jen sat at her desk, scrolling through mission reports, but her mind wasn't absorbing a word.
The yearly update had thrown her off balance. It always did.
But she had work to do. And work was what she lived for now.
Her team; her friends; had moved on.
Katie had entered governmental service, becoming a rising star in policy and reform. Jen saw her name in reports sometimes, usually attached to new legislation on ethical enforcement and criminal rehabilitation. Katie had made a difference.
Trip had returned to his home world. She still got messages from him now and then, short updates about his life, his research, his people. He had never quite fit in here, not really. But he had found his place again. He was happy.
Lucas had married Nadira.
That one had taken some time to wrap her head around, but it had made sense in the end. Nadira had changed. Truly changed. And Lucas had been there for her when she needed it most. Now, they had built something together, something that lasted.
Even Ransik had moved forward.
He had kept his word. Served his time. And when he was released, he used what he had learned to help others. He spoke to troubled youth, to those who felt lost, guiding them away from the road of hatred that had consumed his life for so long.
He had proven that change was possible.
Everyone had moved on.
Everyone except her.
She inhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a moment before shutting down the report.
Of course Alex was another story entirely.
He had moved up within Time Force, his career nothing short of perfect. He had command, respect, authority, a paragon of Time Force. They worked in different divisions now, crossing paths only when necessary. Their history was known to both them, and all of Time Force, remembered, but kept strictly professional.
And that was how it needed to be.
But every time she saw him, every time she stood in a meeting across from him, her stomach twisted.
Because he wasn't Wes.
But he looked like him.
And that; that was the part that hurt the most.
Because when she saw Alex. She saw Wes. And every time; it felt like losing him all over again.
The one person she wasn't allowed to look for.
Her grip tightened around the edges of the desk.
This was why she buried herself in work.
This was why she did her best to not let herself think about the past.
Because when she did, she felt the emptiness of it all over again.
Jen exhaled, steadying herself.
She had a meeting soon. Another task. Another distraction.
She stood, smoothing down her uniform.
Jen exited her office, her boots clicking against the sleek, polished floors of Time Force Headquarters. The air was sterile, the corridors filled with personnel moving efficiently from one task to the next. There was no wasted time here, no lingering on the past.
Professional detachment was the rule.
And she had spent the last ten years living by it.
She strode toward the command briefing room, her mind already shifting gears, pushing down the weight that had settled over her. She had a job to do. That was all that mattered.
As the doors slid open, she stepped inside, only to freeze, a fraction of a second that lasted lifetimes.
And, for a second, she could almost pretend it was him.
Alex was there.
Standing at the far end of the room, reviewing mission data with a few other officers. His posture was straight, his presence commanding. He looked the same as he always had. The officer he always would be.
Her gut twisted.
Because he would never age the way Wes would.
Time Force had ensured that.
Alex turned slightly, acknowledging her presence with a brief nod. "Jen."
Her name, clipped and professional.
"Commander," she replied just as formally, forcing her tone to match his.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment, assessing, but then he returned to his work with the other officers. She took her seat, forcing herself to focus on the data screen in front of her.
It was always like this.
A silent, unspoken weight between them.
She could still remember when seeing Alex had made her feel safe. When he had been her future, her certainty.
But that had been before.
Before Wes.
Before everything had changed.
Now, whenever she looked at Alex, all she saw was the man he almost was.
The man he would never be.
And it hurt.
The meeting began as scheduled. Discussions on high-level operations, updates on priority missions, the usual reports. Jen took notes, contributed where needed, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
Because ten years of silence had left a scar on her that she couldn't ignore.
And, for the first time in a long time, she was starting to wonder if moving on had ever been a choice at all.
The meeting wrapped up. Officers gathered their materials and began filtering out of the room. Jen stood, preparing to leave.
Then she heard Alex's voice behind her.
"Jen."
She stiffened. Her mind almost pleaded. Not today, please not today.
She turned.
He was watching her, arms crossed, unreadable. "You got the update, didn't you?"
Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. "I always do."
A beat of silence.
"You ever going to talk to him?" Alex asked, his voice level, but too perceptive.
Her throat tightened. Her voice was too flat. Too rehearsed. "That's not how it works."
Alex studied her, then shook his head slightly. "You say that like it's an answer."
Jen clenched her jaw. "Because it is."
He knew that. No contact was the not only the rule, but the scripture.
She turned to leave, but before she could step out, Alex's voice cut through the space once more.
"You still think about him."
The words like a dagger carved at her.
She didn't turn back.
Didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Alex had always known the truth.
And so did she.
But some things were never meant to be said out loud.
So she left.
The sun sank low over the horizon leaving the sky fading into another clear late summer night.
Jen stepped off the transport platform outside her residence, the quiet hum of 31st-century city life surrounding her. Towering structures of gleaming metal and glass stretched into the sky, illuminated by neon displays and hovering transit lanes weaving seamlessly through the skyline.
Everything was precise, orderly, efficient. Just as Time Force had ensured it to be.
And yet, as she walked toward her apartment, she felt the hollowness starting to take hold.
The doors to her residence slid open automatically, sensing her presence. The space inside was immaculate, almost sterile in its simplicity. Cool, muted tones, minimalist furniture, and a strategically placed workstation that had long since replaced any semblance of what a home should be.
Because to her all this was now was a place to sleep. A place to prepare for the next day. A place where the silence was so suffocating it sometimes felt like she wasn't even there.
Jen let out a slow breath as the doors slid shut behind her, sealing her away from the outside world.
She didn't turn on the lights.
She didn't need to.
She walked toward the window, the skyline stretching infinitely beyond the glass, the glow from the day faded completely as she stood there.
The stars blinked; ancient, cold and distant, like memories the universe refused to let burn out.
How many times had she looked up at those same stars, wondering if somewhere, in another time; he was looking at them too?
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
She had spent years running from this.
Burying herself in work. Drowning in duty. Convincing herself that the life she had chosen was the only life she could have.
Because this was the right choice.
The logical choice.
The only one that ensured the timeline remained intact, that history progressed as it should.
Then why did she feel like she had left her soul behind?
Jen turned, crossing the room with measured steps. She reached the far side of the apartment and hesitated for what could have been an eternity before pulling open a drawer.
Inside, buried beneath mission reports and tactical data, was a single, worn photograph.
Her fingers hovered over it for a moment before she carefully lifted it.
The edges were slightly curled from years of being handled. The image itself was a relic, an object that did not belong in this century.
And yet, she had kept it.
No one knew.
Not even Alex.
She had hid it in her uniform when she returned.
It was the five of them. Her team. Lucas, Trip, Katie, herself and Wes.
She could contact them all except one. Ask how their day was, be part of their life. But she couldn't face the memories.
Wes. Her finger carefully traced his face if only to feel closer to him.
His arm slung over Trip's shoulders, his usual grin in place. Carefree. Happy. The way he had been before reality had pressed its weight onto his shoulders.
Before she had walked away.
Before they had been forced to let go.
Her throat felt tight.
She had never told anyone what it had cost her to leave.
To stay gone.
At how the demons; the memories tormented her when she slept.
She had convinced herself that it had been the only way forward. That he would move on, just like she had.
But she hadn't.
And deep down, she knew. He hadn't either.
The photo trembled slightly in her grip, and she closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.
Then, carefully, she placed it back into the drawer.
Her hand lingered on the drawer, before turned to get ready for bed.
2011
High above the ground, the low hum of the jet's engines vibrated through the cabin, steady and controlled. Wes sat near the window, watching the world blur beneath him, vast stretches of land and city fading in and out as they cruised toward their destination.
It was an impressive aircraft. Sleek, modern, built with state-of-the-art technology. Bio-Lab spared no expense when it came to expansion. But this was no corporate stunt. The facility they were building would change lives.
Bio-Lab was building cutting-edge medical research center, equipped with advanced technologies meant to develop treatments for diseases still deemed incurable. The kind of work his father had always envisioned Bio-Lab leading.
And Wes was at the center of it. He had pushed past all barriers to get here.
Helping people. That was what mattered. Even if he was no longer a ranger, people still needed help.
At least, that's what he told himself.
He leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly as he dealt with the thought of the upcoming press conference. He should be proud of this moment. He had fought to make sure this project happened, to use Bio-Lab for more than profit.
But something about today felt... hollow.
He knew why.
Last night had left its mark, as it always did.
He had woken up feeling the same way he always did after Inspection Day.
Restless. Frustrated. Haunted.
The whiskey had burned going down, but it hadn't numbed anything. The memories had lingered. They always did.
He felt a weight in his pocket pressed against his chest; small, cold, and unbearable. Jen's badge was still in his pocket.
Wes clenched his jaw slightly at the thought, shifting in his seat. He had meant to leave it at the tower. That was part of the tradition.
But he hadn't.
And for the first time in years, he wasn't sure why.
"Sir, would you like anything before we land?"
Wes blinked, looking up at the flight attendant standing politely near his seat. He shook his head. "No, I'm good. Thanks."
She nodded and stepped away.
Wes turned back to the window, staring at the clouds rolling past.
He should be thinking about the facility. About the future he was trying to build.
But instead, all he could think about was the past.
And the fact that, no matter how much distance he put between himself and it, It never really left him.
Wes felt the jet start it's descent, the ground started rushing up, and he finished preparing himself. It touched down smoothly on the runway, the aircraft gliding effortlessly over the tarmac before slowing to a halt. Outside, the late summer heat of the midday sun reflected off the polished pavement, a stark contrast to the cool, sterile air inside the cabin.
Wes exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he stood. He straightened his suit, adjusting the cuffs before stepping toward the open door where a security detail and Bio-Lab representatives were already waiting.
The press had gathered near the temporary stage, a sleek backdrop bearing Bio-Lab's logo set up against the construction site where the future Collins Medical Research and Treatment Center was already beginning to take form. Behind the barriers, cranes and scaffolding stood like skeletal frameworks of what would soon become a world-changing facility.
As he stepped down onto the tarmac, the familiar weight of expectation settled over him.
This was what he had chosen taken on. The responsibility. The leadership. The new mission.
Even if it sometimes felt like it wasn't really his.
A Bio-Lab executive approached him, a slim woman with dark hair pulled back in a professional bun. "Everything is set up for you, Mr. Collins. The media is waiting. You'll speak first, then open for questions."
Wes nodded, offering a polite but distant smile. "Let's get to it."
He walked toward the stage, the clicking of cameras already beginning as reporters jostled for better shots. He stepped up behind the podium, briefly scanning the crowd before glancing down at the prepared statement sitting in front of him.
Stick to the speech. That's what his dad always told him.
But Wes had never been one for rehearsed words.
He cleared his throat, gripping the edges of the podium as the murmuring crowd settled into silence.
"Good afternoon," he started, his voice steady, carrying the weight of both his name and his responsibility. "Thank you all for being here today."
He glanced at the half-built structure behind him before looking back at the cameras.
"What we're building here isn't just another research facility. It's not just another hospital. This will be the first center in the world that combines cutting-edge research and immediate treatment under one roof. A place where scientific breakthroughs aren't just studied; they're applied. A place where innovation meets action."
He let the words sink in before continuing.
"For too long, research and treatment have been kept separate. Patients suffering from the worst illnesses are often told that answers exist; just not in time for them." Wes' grip on the podium tightened slightly, a rare flash of personal emotion slipping into his voice. "That changes here. We are designing this facility so that breakthroughs don't stay locked away in laboratories. The moment a discovery is made, patients will benefit from it."
A slight murmur rippled through the crowd, some nodding, some scribbling furiously into their notepads.
"This isn't just a Bio-Lab initiative," Wes continued. "This is about the future of medicine. About ensuring that no one else has to watch their loved ones suffer while waiting for treatments that are always 'just a few years away.'"
His jaw tightened, just briefly. His father would be watching from the bed he may never leave. Wes could see him now. He could feel it even through the distance.
He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.
"We are in the process of assembling the best minds in the world for this project. Scientists, doctors, engineers; all working toward the same goal. A future where medicine is no longer just reactive. But proactive. Where people get the help they need when they need it, not years later."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
Then, finally, he gave a small nod.
"This facility is just the beginning."
A brief moment of silence, then a flurry of camera flashes and murmurs as reporters prepared to launch into questions.
"Mr. Collins!" One of the journalists spoke up. "What kind of research will be prioritized at the center?"
Wes leaned slightly against the podium. "We'll be focusing on neurodegenerative diseases, cancer research, and regenerative medicine. Conditions where traditional treatment hasn't been enough. We'll be at the forefront of experimental therapies, stem cell advancements, and genetic medicine."
Another reporter raised a hand. "Will this facility be privately operated, or will it be accessible to the public?"
"We are partnering with global health organizations to make sure these advancements don't just belong to one group of people," Wes responded firmly. "Medicine should never be a privilege. It should be a right."
More murmurs. Some approving. Some skeptical.
Then, another voice, a sharper one from the front row.
"Given Bio-Lab's history with security breaches in the past, how do you plan to ensure that sensitive medical research won't fall into the wrong hands?"
Wes didn't flinch. He expected this.
"We've learned from past mistakes," he said evenly. "Security will be airtight. The technology we're implementing for protection and containment will be unmatched. The same way we ensure the world's safety in every other area of research, we'll ensure it here."
He could feel the unspoken subtext in the question.
Bio-Lab had been involved with dangerous research before.
And some of it had nearly destroyed Silver Hills.
But that was the past.
And Wes was trying like hell to build something better.
"Any further questions?" he asked, glancing over the reporters.
More hands went up, but before anyone could speak, a different voice cut through the noise.
"We'll take three more questions," the Bio-Lab executive from earlier announced smoothly, stepping in to manage the flow.
Wes answered a few more, keeping his responses sharp, controlled. Professional.
By the time the press conference wrapped up, his face hurt from keeping his expression measured.
He shook hands, exchanged nods with key figures, did everything he was supposed to do.
Wes stepped down from the podium as press conference ended, but the weight of it still lingered.
Wes moved through the carefully managed chaos of the event. Handshakes, polite nods, fleeting conversations he barely registered. His team was efficient, already coordinating his next stop, guiding him toward the car that would take him to his next meeting.
He was almost free.
Almost.
Then he saw her.
A reporter, lingering just outside the security perimeter near his vehicle. Waiting.
Not one of the corporate friendly journalists from the press pool. Someone different.
He recognized the look. It was a persistent, sharp-eyed, the kind that didn't back down easily.
The security detail hesitated, about to intervene, but Wes lifted a hand. He could handle this.
The reporter stepped forward, recorder in hand.
"Mr. Collins, a moment?"
He exhaled slowly. "I'm already running late."
She didn't move. "Just one question."
He should have ignored it. Kept walking. Moved on. It's what his father would have done. "Don't let them trap you."
But then she asked her question, Wes froze.
"What happened to the Rangers?"
The sounds of the press conference faded. The chatter, the shifting of bodies, the hum of the laughter around them.
He turned slightly, his jaw set.
The reporter tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You were one of them, weren't you? Before the Silver Guardians became what they are now?"
He met her gaze. His expression remained neutral, controlled. His voice turned cold, factual.
Because he had been asked this before.
And he had the answer memorized.
"The Rangers completed their mission," he said smoothly. "That chapter of history ended a long time ago."
The reporter raised an eyebrow. "Did it?"
Wes' fingers twitched slightly at his sides. He couldn't let her dig into this demon of his past.
Then she took it a step further.
"There's been speculation," she continued, "that the Silver Guardians are looking into developing their own version of the Power Rangers. Something for battlefield applications. Given Bio-Lab's history with advanced tech, would you consider…"
Wes's response left his lips before she could even finish the sentence.
"No."
The absolute certainty in his tone seemed to catch her off guard.
He steeled himself. "The Silver Guardians exist to protect civilians. Not to weaponize something they don't understand."
"But you understood it," she pressed. "You had access to the technology. If you…"
His voice was quieter this time. But firm.
"It's done."
The reporter studied him, waiting for any crack in his armor.
She wouldn't find one.
Because Wes refused to talk about it.
Not the past.
Not the morphers.
Not her.
The security detail took a step forward, a subtle warning. The interview was over.
The reporter seemed to realize she had pushed as far as she could. She exhaled, lowering the recorder. He knew it was still running.
"Just seems like a waste," she muttered. "That kind of power…just locked away."
Wes didn't flinch. Didn't react.
She had no idea. And worse; she wasn't wrong.
Without another word, he turned, sliding into the car. The door shut behind him, separating him from the conversation.
The vehicle pulled away from the curb.
And Wes stared out the window, jaw clenched. The emotions burned through him.
Because even now, the past refused to stay buried.
He stared at the Collins Medical Research and Treatment Center was still in its infancy. Glass, steel, and scaffolding stretching across the site, workers in protective gear moving like a well-orchestrated machine. Cranes loomed overhead, laying the foundation for what would one day be a world-class facility.
But beyond the unfinished exterior, the research division was already operational.
The labs were immaculate. State-of-the-art, staffed by some of the greatest scientific minds in the world. A vision realized.
And today, Wes was here for something that had the potential to change everything.
As he stepped into the high-security research wing, flanked by Bio-Lab executives and top scientists, the energy in the air was palpable. Full of excitement. Full of both anticipation and possibility.
They moved through a series of reinforced corridors, biometric scanners ensuring only authorized personnel could proceed. This wasn't just another medical lab. This was something bigger.
Finally, they entered the control room.
through the glass, the chamber yawned wide. It seemed like a giant's eye, unblinking. And at its heart was the particle accelerator. A machine built to tear the smallest things apart
The largest in the world.
Bigger than CERN's Large Hadron Collider. Bigger than anything that had come before it.
The circular structure stretched far beyond what the eye could see, built to push the very limits of quantum physics and molecular research.
The lead scientist, an older man with sharp eyes and graying hair, stepped forward. "Mr. Collins," he said, extending a hand. "Welcome to the most advanced research initiative in human history."
Wes shook his hand firmly. "I'll admit," he said, taking in the scale of the facility, "I've seen a lot of impressive things, but this... this is on another level."
The scientist nodded. "We believe this accelerator will allow us to study matter and energy interactions in ways never before possible. We're talking about next-generation medical advancements. Disease eradication, regenerative therapy, even longevity research."
Wes raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like we're reaching into science fiction."
The scientist gave a small smile. "Many of today's breakthroughs were yesterday's fiction."
Wes couldn't argue with that. He knew just how far humanity could go. He had touched the advancements they would make like the surface of the sun.
A technician at the console called out, "Systems are prepped. Initiating first activation sequence."
The room hummed with energy as the accelerator's power systems booted up. Screens lit up with complex data streams, monitoring every detail of the machine's startup.
A low vibration ran through the facility as the first test run engaged.
Wes folded his arms.
The hum rattled in his chest. It was low, and felt alive. Too familiar. His eyes swept the readouts. Power at this scale never came without a cost or a risk.
But the potential here was undeniable.
This was the future.
And it was happening right now.
The scientist turned to him. "What we do here could change the world, Mr. Collins."
Wes nodded, his gaze still locked on the accelerator.
Then let's make sure we change it for the better. Humanity is counting on us.
The hum of the particle accelerator intensified. The low, deep vibration that rumbled through the entire facility. The screens flickered, data streams flooding the monitors faster than the technicians could process.
One of the engineers called out, his voice laced with panic.
"Power levels are exceeding projected thresholds!"
"Shut it down!" the lead scientist barked.
"I—I'm trying!" another technician stammered, his fingers racing across the console. "The failsafe isn't responding!"
The thrum beneath their feet deepened. It felt like a heavy, unnatural heartbeat. One that quickened with every second. The walls shivered, glass spider-webbing under the pulse of something hungry and uncontrolled.
Wes took a step forward, the instincts that he had learned to trust were screaming that something was wrong.
The scientist turned to him, face pale. "We need to evacuate. Now."
The emergency klaxons blared to life, red warning lights flooding the room as automated alarms rang through the facility.
"ALL PERSONNEL, EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."
The technicians scrambled from their stations, pushing toward the exits as the facility's automated lockdown sequence engaged.
Then a violent explosion of sparks erupted from one of the control consoles.
The glass windows overlooking the accelerator started to crack under the strain as a burst of energy ripped through the chamber below, sending a shockwave into the control room.
One of the engineers a younger man, no older than twenty-five was trying desperately to shut the machine down. The lead scientist yelled at him to evacuate.
As he turned to run, a support beam overhead gave way, crashing down.
The force of the impact threw him off his feet, sending him sprawling across the floor with a sharp, bone-snapping crack.
His scream echoed through the room.
Wes didn't hesitate. His body moved. The muscle memory from a year spent cheating death.
While the others ran, he turned back.
"Collins!" the scientist shouted. "What are you—?!"
But Wes was already moving.
The young engineer clutched his leg, his face twisted in pain.
"It's broken!" he gasped. "I—I can't…"
The accelerator chamber shook violently, another explosion ripping through the structure. The reinforced glass finally shattered, shards raining down as the very walls of the underground complex began to splinter.
Wes slid down next to the injured man, grabbing him under the arms.
"This is gonna hurt," Wes warned.
And then. Wes pulled.
The engineer screamed as the movement jolted his shattered leg, but there was no time for comfort.
Chunks of debris rained down around them. Sparks spit from the destroyed control panels. The room was seconds from going critical.
Wes hauled him up, throwing one of the engineer's arms over his shoulder, half-carrying, half-dragging him toward the door.
The air roared behind him. Heat like that of a blast furnace, every breath searing his throat. The accelerator's charge crackled. It's raw power, hungry and unleashed.
The exit was seconds away.
A final explosion rocked the chamber…
Wes dove forward, rolling through the exit just as the entire room behind them went critical.
A violent burst of energy and debris slammed into the reinforced doors, sealing the disaster inside.
Silence.
Wes coughed, rolling onto his back, his chest heaving.
The injured engineer groaned beside him, his face twisted in pain but alive.
"W-we—" the young man panted, eyes wide. "We should be dead."
Wes let out a breath, staring up at the flickering emergency lights.
"Yeah," he muttered. The adrenaline of the moment starting to fade. "I get that a lot."
One of the guards rushed forward. *"Sir, we have to go now!"
But Wes was already on his feet.
Wes, hoisting the engineer: "Yeah. On it."
And they ran towards the exit of the building.
The chaos once they got outside was immediate.
The remaining reporters who were nearby from the earlier press conference swarmed him the moment the emergency doors opened and Wes stumbled out holding the engineer. Blood streaking down the side of his face.
Cameras flashed, voices yelled over each other, desperate for statements.
"Mr. Collins! What happened in there?"
"Were you injured in the explosion?"
"Is the project compromised?"
"Did the accelerator malfunction, or was this sabotage?"
Wes barely heard them. His ears still ringing from the noise inside of the accelerator.
His ears screamed with a sharp, tinny ring that hollowed out the world. The heat from the blast clung to his skin, every breath tasting of ash and copper.
But none of it mattered.
Not yet.
He turned, his gaze locking onto the medics already moving toward them.
And before anyone could try to force him into a stretcher, he lifted a shaking hand and pointed.
"Help him first."
The paramedics hesitated. They knew who he was, or more likely knew how important he was. One of them stepped toward him, eyeing the blood trailing near his temple, but Wes held firm.
"I said help him first."
He motioned to the injured engineer, who was barely conscious, his leg twisted unnaturally from the fracture. The kid had nearly died in there.
He needed the help more.
The medics didn't argue. They rushed to the engineer's side, carefully stabilizing him before lifting him onto a stretcher.
Only then did Wes sway slightly, his body finally catching up to the damage. He could smell the acrid smell from the slight singe from the tongue of fire that had reached for him earlier.
Strong hands grabbed his arms.
"Sir, we need to get you checked out," one of the medics insisted.
Wes let out a slow breath.
"Fine," he muttered. "But I'm walking."
The moment he took his first step, the press who had watched the entire exchange pounced. Cameras blinded him their microphones jabbed toward his face. Their voices ripped over each other, a wall of accusation and demand
"Mr. Collins! Was this facility's safety in question before the incident?"
"Did you know something like this could happen?"
"Will the research continue, or is this project dead?"
Wes stopped.
Turned toward them.
Even bleeding, even exhausted, his voice was strong when he spoke.
"People almost died today. If you want a statement, here it is. Our only priority right now is them."
The murmurs among the reporters hushed slightly.
Wes let the silence hang for a moment before continuing.
"I'll address everything else later. But right now, I have bigger things to worry about."
And with that, he turned; walking straight toward the awaiting medical team. His mind reminded him because that's what you do after the fight. You get up. You move.
A few hours later, the sterile smell of antiseptic lingered in the air as Wes sat on the edge of the hospital bed, rolling his stiff shoulder. His singed jacket had been discarded, the shirt was still partially unbuttoned. He watched as the nurse left the room, his hand gingerly feeling the fresh stitches above his brow. For a second, he was somewhere else. Smoke burning his lungs. The crackling voice in his earpiece… Trip down, cover him! The pulse of the blaster in his hand. The sound of time itself fracturing around them. He blinked, and the hospital walls reassembled. Just a memory. Just another one of too many. He shook his head to clear it and come back to reality.
It was nothing major. Just a few cuts, bruises, and a pounding headache. The doctors had told him to take it easy, but Wes had never been good at that.
Still, he wasn't leaving until he checked on the kid.
Wes exhaled as he pushed himself up; it was too fast. A sharp pain in his head had him gripping the mattress for a second longer than he wanted. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the stiffness settle in. He ignored it. There was something he had to do first.
Wes headed down the hall toward the private recovery room. Inside, the injured engineer his assistants called Jared was resting, leg propped up in a brace, his face still pale but awake.
As Wes stepped inside, Jared's eyes widened slightly.
"Mr. Collins," he croaked, shifting like he was about to sit up straighter.
Wes waved him off. "Take it easy," he said, pulling up a chair beside the bed. "How's the leg?"
Jared exhaled, managing a weak grin. "Hurts like hell, but the docs say I got lucky."
Wes smirked. "Yeah, well… we both did." The scene of the accelerator going critical flashed in his eyes for a moment.
Jared hesitated, then his expression turned serious. "I—I just wanted to say… thank you. You didn't have to come back for me."
Wes leaned back, shaking his head. "I never leave anyone behind."
The young engineer swallowed, nodding slightly. "Still… I won't forget it."
Wes clapped a hand gently on the kid's uninjured shoulder. "Just focus on getting better. And next time, when the alarms go off; run faster."
Jared let out a small, breathy chuckle. "Noted."
Satisfied that he was okay, Wes stood. "Get some rest, kid."
Jared nodded, and Wes left the room, already pulling out his phone as he made his way toward the exit.
As soon as he stepped outside into the cool night air, it rang.
Eric.
Wes exhaled before answering. "Here we go."
"Hey."
"'Hey'?" Eric's voice was dry, but beneath the usual sarcasm, there was something else. A tightness. A concern neither of them ever liked admitting outright.
"I just saw the news," Eric continued. "You ever plan on telling me you almost got blown up, or was I supposed to find out from the damn reporters?"
Wes let out a small laugh. "I didn't almost get blown up."
"Oh really? Cause I saw the footage of you walking out looking like you went ten rounds with a concrete wall."
"Just stitches," Wes said. "I'm fine."
There was a pause. Then Eric sighed. "Yeah, well… don't do that again."
Wes smirked. "I'll try to avoid having buildings collapse around me, thanks."
Another pause. The tension eased just slightly.
Eric's voice was quieter when he spoke again. "Glad you're okay."
Wes exhaled, the moment settling between them. "Yeah."
They didn't need to say more than that.
Then, after a beat, Eric asked, "So what the hell happened?"
Wes ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly when he brushed too close to the stitches. "Still figuring that out. The accelerator went unstable way too fast. Something felt… off."
Eric picked up on the tone immediately. "You think someone tampered with it?"
"I don't know yet."
A silence stretched between them. Then, before Wes could stop himself, he added—
"I haven't felt something like that since when Ransik was…"
He stopped.
Left the rest unsaid.
Because they didn't talk about that.
Not anymore.
Eric was quiet for a long moment. Then, with the smallest hint of knowing in his voice, he said, "Yeah."
They didn't need to say it.
Because they both knew.
Wes leaned against the hospital's exterior wall, the distant hum of traffic filling the space between him and Eric's silence over the line.
They both knew what he had almost said.
What he hadn't said.
Eric exhaled through the speaker, the sound more than just fatigue—it was the same weight they both carried. The weight of a past that never really left them, no matter how much they ignored it.
"Look," Eric finally said, his voice even but firm, "maybe it's nothing. Maybe it was a fluke. But if it wasn't…" He trailed off.
Wes finished the thought for him. "Then we have a bigger problem."
Another pause. Then—
"You're gonna dig into this, aren't you?"
Wes smirked, though it held no real amusement. "You know me."
"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," Eric muttered.
Wes didn't respond right away. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the horizon, watching the faint glow of city lights flicker against the night sky.
The air felt different.
He had spent years rebuilding, moving forward, trying to create something meaningful in this time—something real.
But today had reminded him of something he didn't want to admit.
That part of him still lived in the past.
That part of him still felt it—the pulse of something bigger than himself.
And if today's events were anything more than just an accident…
Then he wasn't sure he was done with that part of his life yet.
Wes pushed off the wall, glancing toward the hospital doors. "Can you tell my dad that I'm okay for me?"
Eric responded immediately.
"He knows, he watched the whole press conference. And after when… Well. He knows."
"Thanks Eric."
"I'll be back at HQ in the morning."
Eric let out a low chuckle. "No rest for the idiot who runs into explosions, huh?"
Wes smirked, shaking his head. "Not yet."
Another pause.
Then, quieter, Eric added, "Be careful."
Wes's smirk faltered slightly, but he nodded, even though Eric couldn't see it.
"Yeah."
He ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
His fingers brushed against something else there.
He hesitated. Then slowly pulled it out.
His fingers curled around it like they always had. His chest went tight, the weight of it heavier than it should be. He had carried it all day, without thinking. Without realizing. Until now
Jen's badge.
His thumb ran over the worn metal, the emblem catching the dim glow of the streetlights.
He had carried it all day without thinking. Without realizing.
Maybe it was habit.
Maybe it was something else.
Wes exhaled, shoving it back into his pocket as he turned toward the waiting car.
Because no matter how much he ignored it, no matter how many years had passed—
Some things were never really over.