"There are things worse than death.
Worse than being forgotten.
Try being a possibility… that never got to exist."
— Cipher, First Whisper
The void between timelines wasn't black.
It was white.
Blinding. Still. Hollow.
A silence so loud it gnawed on the soul.
And in that space—where failed timelines were discarded like broken glass—something stirred.
It had no name. No memory. No purpose.
Only rejection.
From within this fractured null zone, fragments began to pulse—timelines that never formed, lives that never happened, Rangers that were never chosen.
And from that ocean of broken time, a hand emerged.
Slender. Pale. Glitching.
Then a second.
Then… a scream.
It wasn't human. It wasn't alive.
It was the sound of being erased—recorded in reverse.
From the white static of anti-reality, he was born.
A man with no identity, no power coin, no team.
A void stitched into a Ranger suit—silver lines carved over matte-black armor that flickered like TV static. His visor was a shattered X. His presence left cracks in the air.
Cipher.
"You all had timelines.
Teams.
Purpose.
I had nothing.
But from nothing, I will make everything mine."
Behind him, five other silhouettes formed—each twisted, silent, gliding through the white like broken thoughts.
Cipher stared ahead.
The Multiverse glimmered beyond the veil, whole and pulsing with light.
He whispered to his army:
"Let's ruin what they rebuilt."
_______