- Oliver -

  "The staircases open at 0600 hours sharp," Darius expined. "All training sessions start at 0800. If you don't reach the first floor before csses begin, they consider you unfit to train."

  As Darius finished expining, he quickened his pace, taking the stairs two at a time. Oliver hurried to keep up, their footsteps echoing against the metallic steps of the colossal spiral staircase. At first, they remained close, matching each other's strides, but with each new floor they ascended, the gap between them widened.

  By the time Darius reached the fifteenth floor, Oliver was still struggling on the tenth. The augmented gravity was taking its toll. Although the gravitational increase was only 40%, the constant upward climb amplified the strain. This was different from sprinting across ft terrain; every step meant lifting his entire body weight repeatedly, his muscles protesting under the relentless demand.

  Pausing to catch his breath, Oliver gripped one of the handrails and gnced downward. The view was dizzying—a metal spiral descending into the depths of the fortress. The sheer scale of the Silo became oppressively clear. Below, he could see other trainees struggling in the climb—some mere children, perhaps half his age, valiantly attempting to ascend just one more floor. Their small figures were weighed down not just by gravity but by the monumental challenge ahead.

  ‘If I hadn't evolved multiple times, I don't know if I'd be able to climb all this without a Ranger Armor,’ Oliver thought, wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘Even an artificial one would help reduce the burden.’

  Turning his gaze upward, he surveyed the winding staircase above. His fellow ‘colleagues’ were scattered along the ascent, each grappling with the same arduous conditions. Kyle was about five floors ahead, his movements slow and bored. Damian was slightly further, his silhouette barely visible. But it was the two girls he hadn't yet met who caught his attention—they were the furthest ahead, ascending with a determination that intrigued him.

  A few steps ahead of Damian climbed the girl from the Yellow Division. Her attire matched the standard uniform, save for a distinctive yellow brooch pinned over her heart. Despite the fatigue evident in her posture—the subtle droop of her shoulders, the measured breaths—her eyes remained fixed and resolute. Every movement was deliberate, each step seemingly calcuted. There was a fluidity to her climb, a rhythm that belied the increasing gravitational pull.

  Her bck hair was tied back in a tight braid, though Oliver recalled seeing it cascade freely during their initial assembly. Her skin bore a warm, sun-kissed hue, and her almond-shaped eyes conveyed both focus and depth. There was something else—an air of otherness. Perhaps it was her features or the confident way she moved, but she didn't quite fit the mold.

  Further ahead, nearly three flights above the Yellow Ranger was the other girl. Her face was completely drenched in sweat, and her breaths came in ragged gasps. Unlike everyone else there, her eyes bzed with fury, as if she wanted to demolish the very staircase beneath her feet. Her features were delicate, marred only by a few small scars that seemed resistant to healing.

  She appeared to channel every ounce of strength into pulling her legs up to the next step, climbing step after relentless step.

  As Oliver finished observing the immense challenge each of them was facing, he turned his attention back to his own predicament. ‘I need to speed up if I don't want to fall behind,’ he thought, steeling himself.

  With each passing floor, the difficulty intensified. It was upon reaching the twentieth level that the ascent became almost insurmountable. "T-This is more than double my weight," Oliver muttered to himself, his legs quivering under the strain. "But it feels like so much more because of the exhaustion." He tried to rally his spirit, coaxing himself to take the next step.

  The gap between him and his rivals had narrowed even further; now, there was barely a floor's difference between each of them, except for the Pink Ranger, who had already reached the thirtieth floor.

  It took nearly another half hour for all the Rangers to finally reach the top floor. None of them arrived te. Yet, as Oliver stepped onto the final ptform, he didn't feel any pride in overcoming this trial. On the contrary, he felt weak. Before him stood dozens of others, younger or seemingly less robust, who had reached the summit more quickly.

  ‘I have a lot of training ahead of me!’ Oliver vowed internally. But for now, his mission was different. Unlike the other cadets of the Sixth Division, he and the other five Rangers were headed for specialized training meant exclusively for them.

  One of the first rooms on the thirtieth floor was an unassuming cssroom. Rows of chairs were arranged in a semi-circle facing a modest, raised ptform at the center. The sterile walls were devoid of decoration.

  Standing on the ptform was an officer cd in the crisp, dark uniform of the Sixth Division. His posture was rexed yet authoritative; hands csped loosely behind his back as he awaited their arrival. Oliver recognized him immediately—it was the same officer who had guided him through the byrinthine corridors of the fortress the day before.

  Exhausted from the grueling ascent up the Silo's spiral staircase, Oliver pulled out one of the nearest chairs and colpsed into it, barely controlling his descent. His muscles ached, and beads of sweat traced rivulets down his face, dripping onto his uniform. His breath came in heavy gulps, heart still pounding from the exertion.

  "Welcome, everyone," the instructor began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the room. "I am Ranger Dante. I am responsible for infiltration missions within the Sixth Division and will be your instructor."

  He paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over the assembled Rangers. "My role is to train you in surveilnce and counter-surveilnce. Any questions?"

  Silence hung in the air. The Rangers exchanged brief gnces but offered no immediate response.

  "Very well," Dante continued. "Our mornings will be dedicated to theoretical studies. We'll begin with surveilnce methods—mobile, fixed, and electronic. It's imperative that you acquire the skills to gather all possible information once you've infiltrated your target environments."

  He began to pace slowly across the ptform, hands csped behind his back. "In the afternoons, we'll shift to practical exercises in counter-surveilnce. This will be a primary focus. Being discovered is often worse than failing to obtain information. You'll learn techniques to evade detection, employ disguises, and identify when you're being watched."

  As Dante spoke, Oliver felt his earlier fatigue begin to fade, repced by a growing interest in the curriculum. The room remained quiet until a hand was raised from a few seats over. Oliver turned to see Damian lowering his arm after catching the instructor's attention.

  "Sir," Damian spoke up, his tone respectful but tinged with concern. "I have a question. How are we supposed to infiltrate if some of us are already well-known figures?"

  Oliver's curiosity was piqued. It was a valid point. Both he and Damian had notable profiles—Damian as a member of the Great House Nemo, and Oliver as the recent recipient of an imperial medal. Their faces were hardly anonymous.

  "An excellent question," Dante replied, a faint smile crossing his features. "This topic we'll cover extensively when we delve into infiltration techniques and constructing your disguises. But to give you a glimpse..."

  He stepped down from the ptform and approached the front row of chairs. Raising his right hand, he touched just beneath his chin. Instantly, his face shimmered, the features distorting as if viewed through a heat haze. The transformation was seamless yet surreal, like watching a hologram recalibrate.

  The man who now stood before them bore little resembnce to the one from moments before. Gone were the commonpce features—dark hair, stubbled beard, and a crooked nose hinting at past fractures. In their pce was a face with a fair complexion, fiery red hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. His cheekbones were higher, his chin more recessed, and his eyes a vivid shade of green. He looked distinctly Celtic, perhaps hailing from one of the Outer Colonies known for their Irish heritage.

  "You will possess a thousand faces by the time you complete your training," Dante expined, his voice unchanged despite the altered appearance. "With the skills and technology we'll provide, none of your opponents—and perhaps not even your allies—will recognize you."

  A ripple of murmurs swept through the room. The demonstration was impressive, and the implications were profound. Oliver raised his hand, prompted by both curiosity and a nagging skepticism.

  "Sir," he began when Dante acknowledged him, "if you're capable of altering your appearance so completely and clearly have more experience than us, why aren't you the one going on this mission?"

  GCLopes

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