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The new rangers had completed a few training exercises together, but they soon realized that they had some problems. Hank was a perfectionist, who wanted everything to go according to his plan and tried his best to lead the group to more safer options. He often clashed with Eunice and Fredrick, who were more spontaneous and reckless. Eunice and Frederick enjoyed teaming up sometimes but are normally at odds with each other, just for fun they'll get on the nerves of others especially the dear leader. Albert was calculative and cynical, who doubted the effectiveness of their actions for the fun of it and typically complained. He often annoyed Hank and the fun loving Alice, who thought he was a coward and a nerd. Alice was the peacemaker, who tried to make everyone calm down and work together. She often felt overwhelmed by the tension and the pressure, naturally also being silenced during their little arguments.

The new rangers were assigned to stop a group of bandits who had been raiding supply trucks in the outskirts of Yethur. They tracked them down to an abandoned warehouse and the mission was to monitor then report back to base, where they planned to ambush them and recover the stolen goods. A set of restrictions was placed on this mission, they weren't allowed to use their vehicles and their animal companions were not too in sync with them yet. So combat will be very risky.

Hank had devised a careful strategy for the mission, which involved splitting the team into two groups: one to infiltrate the warehouse and disable the bandits' vehicles, and the other to provide a distraction outside and escape. He assigned himself, Alice, and Albert to the first group, and Eunice and Fredrick to the second group. He also gave them specific instructions on how to communicate, coordinate, and retreat.

Eunice and Fredrick, however, did not like Hank's plan. They thought it was too complicated and restrictive, and they preferred to improvise and have some fun. They decided to ignore Hank's orders and do things their own way.

As the first group approached the warehouse stealthily, the second group opened fire recklessly, alerting the bandits to their presence. Eunice and Fredrick charged into the fray, using their weapons to slash and lash at their enemies.

The first group heard the commotion and realized that their cover was blown. Hank was furious and contacted the duo through their comms, demanding an explanation. Eunice and Fredrick shrugged him off, saying that they were having fun and that they did not need his bossy attitude. Albert was worried and suggested that they abort the mission and regroup. Alice was conflicted and tried to calm everyone down.
The first group decided to press on and reach the warehouse, hoping to salvage the mission.They managed to sneak inside and hack into the bandits' vehicle system, disabling their engines and locking their doors. They also located the stash of stolen goods and prepared to load them into their truck

However, they soon realized that they had a bigger problem: the second group was in trouble. Eunice and Fredrick had bitten off more than they could chew, and they were surrounded by angry bandits. The bandits were on their way to the warehouse, ready to kill them all. The first group had to make a choice: either escape with the goods and leave the second group behind, or stay and fight to rescue them. Hank wanted to escape, saying that it was their fault for disobeying his orders and that they had to face the consequences. Albert agreed, saying that it was the logical thing to do and that they had to complete the mission. Alice disagreed, saying that they were a team and that they had to help their friends.

The first group argued for a while, until they heard the bandits breaking into the warehouse. They had to act fast, or they would all die. Alice decided to take matters into her own hands, and grabbed the keys to their truck. She ran towards the exit, hoping to reach the second group and save them. Hank and Albert tried to stop her, but she was too quick for them. She left them behind, with the goods and the bandits. Alice managed to reach the second group and fought her way to them. She helped Eunice and Fredrick fend off the bandits. Before she left Hank and Albert started placing explosives around the warehouse, meanwhile Alice yells at Eunice and Fredrick who were surprised and grateful she fought her way into the encirclement breaking the bandit's encirclement.
Alice ran out of arrows and resorted to using her fists and feet. She was wounded several times, but she did not give up. She hoped that the others would make it to safety, and their distraction would create enough time for Hank and Albert's rescue attempt. Meanwhile, Hank and Albert were also in a dire situation. The explosives have been set but they're too many bad guys for them to make a clean escape, through luck or desperation Albert is able to create a large payload of energy vaporizing a few bandits and almost triggering the explosives. Luckily it doesn't go off but he loses his strength making his suit dissipate, Hank carries him into a truck and they drive out while the bandits are still confused. The explosives go off and the first team picks up the second team, the rangers make a hasty retreat as Hank is simply fumming behind the wheels.

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The team rushed into the secret HQ, carrying Alice, who was still badly injured. They took her to the ER, where a doctor and a nurse started to operate on her. Johndoe Harrison, their mentor and former ranger, followed them, looking worried and angry.

Johndoe Harrison paced the room in disappointment, his fury radiating like the desert sun at high noon. "You disobeyed a direct order, Hank! This ain't some dojo kata, this is protecting Yethur! That warehouse contained important shit the citizens needed and what did you do?!"

Hank, redder than his suit at that moment, clenched his fists. "Master, we wouldn't be in this mess if Eunice and Fred hadn't gone rogue! The mission was compromised, they forced our hand!"

Johndoe barked a humorless laugh. "So, what, you're blameless? You couldn't control your team? Looks like the mantle's too heavy for your shoulders, boy!" With that, Johnny stormed out, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed in the tense silence.

The remaining rangers stood frozen, the air thick with accusation and blame. Hank's fury exploded. "This is all your fault! If you two hadn't played cowboys, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Eunice, ever the viper, flicked her hair. "Oh, please, leader boy. We saved your butts back there. You're welcome."

Fredrick, with a sneer worthy of a villain, added, "Yeah, your plan sucked anyway. Too slow, too safe. We brought some excitement to the party!"

Albert, ever the logic bomb, chimed in, "Excitement nearly got us all killed. And what about Alice? She risked her neck for you two clowns!"

Hank slammed his fist onto the table, the metal groaning under the impact. "This is on you, Eunice! You had one job, create a diversion, not turn it into a demolition derby!"

Eunice, leaning against the wall with a defiant smirk, met his gaze. "Oh, honey, let's not pretend your by-the-book plan wouldn't have landed us all flat on our butts in the back of a bandit truck. We improvised, made it exciting!"

Fredrick, with a feral grin splitting his face, chimed in, "Eunice's right. We added some spice to the mission! You wanna play heroes, Hank? Go stand in the corner and recite ancient ranger proverbs. We'll handle the real action out there."

Albert, running a hand through his disheveled hair, snorted. "Real action? You call nearly getting us all vaporized by your reckless antics 'real action'? You just proved why impulsive brute force gets people killed!"

Eunice spun on him, eyes flashing. "Oh, so suddenly Mr. Predictable can talk about getting killed? Where were you when we were taking hits out there, Einstein? Hiding behind your energy shields, calculating the odds of survival?"

Fredrick cackled, clapping his hands. "That's right! While you were busy playing with your equations, we were kicking bandit butt! You may be smart, Albert, but you're about as useful as a broken joystick in a mech brawl!"

The room crackled with tension, each word a spark in the tinderbox of their anger. Hank, his face contorted with frustration, snarled, "This is exactly what I'm talking about! A bunch of undisciplined, self-serving recruits who care more about glory than following orders! You call yourselves a team? You're just a mess of egos and broken chainsaws!"

The accusation landed a blow. Eunice's smirk faltered, a flicker of hurt crossing her eyes. Fredrick's laughter died in his throat, replaced by a glower. Even Albert seemed cowed for a moment.

But the silence didn't last. Eunice straightened her shoulders, her voice hard as nails. "Newsflash, red ranger: we don't take orders from you. You may have the fancy suit and the legacy, but you got nothing on leadership without trust. And you sure haven't earned ours."

Fredrick snorted, then turned towards Hank, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Yeah, your high and mighty attitude might work in your daddy's dojo, but out here, it just gets people hurt. Maybe it's time you took a walk back to the sidelines and let the real rangers handle things."

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The room pulsed with animosity, the air thick enough to choke on. It was then, from the shadows where she'd been tending to her wounds, that Alice emerged. Her voice, normally bright and cheerful, was barely a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a laser.

"Please, enough!" she cried, her voice ragged with despair. "We need to work together, not tear each other apart."
Alice, emerging from the shadows, her normally vibrant face pale under bandages, held up a hand. "Please, stop! We need to work together, not tear each other apart."

Her plea hung in the air, a fragile butterfly in a hurricane of anger. Hank, still fuming, spat, "We can't work with reckless idiots who think blowing things up is fun! This team is a joke!"

Eunice crossed her arms, eyes glittering. "And whose fault is that? You with your stick-up-your-butt leadership? No wonder everyone looks down on you blondy locks!"

The room enters a frenzy of accusations, each word a barbed arrow leaving its mark. Hank roared about incompetence, Albert seethed about logic ignored, Fredrick egging on Eunice and poor little Alice, tears threatening to spill, pleaded for unity. But their pleas were drowned out by the storm of their own making.

One by one, they stormed out, leaving Alice alone in the wreckage of their shattered camaraderie. The silence of the room was heavier than the weight of their failure. She sank to the floor, tears finally rolling down her cheeks, the taste of bitterness mixed with the hope that somehow, they could rise above this, find a way to be better heroes that Yethur needed. But for now, the poor lass cleans the tears off her eyes and smiles proclaiming out loud “Rangers never die, we'll be fine...I hope"

Change POV, which ranger do you want to control for chapter 1

>Red
>Blue
>Yellow
>Black

>>5882299
>Red

>>5882299
>Blue
quest seems interesting so I'm giving it a try

>>5882299
>Yellow

>>5882299
>Black

>>5882303
>>5882623
>>5882650
>>5882652
Next vote is the tie breaker, we gotta get this plot rolling. Also the final voter can decide where the ranger walks off to

>Mfw an anon chooses pink ranger

>>5882299
Yellow.

>>5882678
Can go to Gym and/or training yard.

Chapter 1

Eunice stormed out of the medical bay, the echoes of their argument ringing in her ears like the clang of a broken bell. Each accusation, each barb hurled by Hank and Albert, felt like a fresh bruise on her already battered soul. Her fists clenched so tight the leather gloves creaked in protest, knuckles white against the gold trim.

Ignoring the sympathetic glances from passing nurses, she made her way out of the base, the cool night air a slap against her burning cheeks. Fredrick, ever the shadow, materialized beside her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"So," he drawled, a playful smirk stretching his lips, "where to, boss? Party's still going on in my room if you fancy some payback."

Eunice shook her head, the mere offer twisting the knife in her gut. "Nah, Power. Tonight, I just need... silence."

His grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of something akin to understanding. "Right," he murmured, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "Gym then?"

She considered it for a moment, the familiar sanctuary of the training room tugging at her. Punching had always been her therapy, the rhythmic thwack of fists against leather a calming counterpoint to the chaos in her head.

"Yeah," she managed, forcing a smile. "Just a few rounds to sweat out the frustration."

Fredrick, perceptive as ever, saw through the bravado. He squeezed her shoulder, a silent gesture of support, before offering a curt nod and melting back into the shadows.

Alone, Eunice walked the familiar route to the gym, the cityscape blurring around her like a watercolor painting washed clean by tears. Reaching the steel doors, she pushed them open and stepped into the dimly lit haven. The scent of sweat and leather hung heavy in the air, a comforting aroma that spoke of effort and release.

Pulling on a pair of worn boxing gloves, she approached the heavy bag, its canvas surface taut and inviting. With a sharp exhale, she unleashed the first blow, a vicious right hook that sent the bag swinging with a guttural groan. For a moment, the anger flowed unfettered, each punch a searing indictment of Hank, of his arrogance, his patronizing tone.

But as the rhythm settled, the anger morphed into something else, a bitter cocktail of hurt and longing. Eunice's inner monologue, usually a snarling beast, whimpered instead.

"He called you reckless," it whispered, the memory of Hank's voice stinging. "Called you a liability."

She slammed a fist into the bag, the force nearly knocking her off balance. "Yeah, well, so what?" she spat back, defiance flaring briefly before collapsing in on itself.

Deep down, she knew he was right. Her impulsiveness was a double-edged sword, saving them one minute and nearly getting them all killed the next. And then there was the unspoken truth, the one she kept buried under layers of bravado – she cared what Hank thought. A lot.

His harsh words had ripped the scabs off a wound she'd been nursing for weeks, ever since they first donned their ranger suits.

Something about Hank, his unwavering determination, his quiet leadership, had snagged her heart with an unexpected barb.

But she was Eunice Reyes, the whip-wielding queen of chaos, not some lovesick puppy. Apologizing was a sign of weakness, and weakness was a luxury she couldn't afford. Besides, what would he even say?

"Thanks for almost getting us all killed, Eunice? Great job proving you're nothing but a reckless mess?"

The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her, turning her face crimson. Maybe silence was the better option, the safer one. She could lick her wounds in solitude, nurture her pride back to health, and face him again as the Yellow Ranger, head held high.

Except, the image of his face, etched with disappointment and anger, refused to leave her mind. It haunted her as she punched, each blow landing not just on the bag, but on the fragile bridge she'd built between them.

By the time she finally slumped against the ropes, sweat dripping down her brow, Eunice was no closer to a decision. The anger had ebbed, replaced by a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Should she swallow her pride and risk further rejection? Or stand her ground, even if it meant pushing him further away?

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the silence of the gym echoed the void within her. She realizes the gym is pretty empty, which is perfect for her. Eunice takes a sit and has a flashback
She slunk onto the padded bench, the scent of leather and exhaustion clinging to her skin. The rhythmic thump of the bag had faded, leaving a void echoing in the cavernous gym. Closing her eyes, she allowed the silence to wash over her, and with it, a flood of memories.

It wasn't always chaos and leather whips. There was a time before Yethur knew her as the rebellious Yellow Ranger, a time when survival danced with desperation on the knife's edge. Orphaned and burdened with a sick brother, her loyalty belonged to the streets, to a pack of misfits who navigated the city's underbelly with nimble fingers and steely grins. But even in that grimy world, a flicker of light found its way to her, embodied in the stoic form of Hank. Their encounter was a whirlwind of adrenaline and surging energy. He was the earnest protégé of the retired Red Ranger, she, a straggler slipping through the cracks of a criminal underworld. Their paths crossed in a storm of fists and fury, the fate of a stolen stash house hanging in the balance. Hank this naive greenhorn, unlike the callous thugs she knew and worked with, fought with a flicker of compassion in his eyes and honor. He saw not just a thief, but a girl teetering on the edge, desperately clinging to survival. He spoke to her not with judgment, but with understanding, his words a balm on her fractured psyche. They ended the night bruised but victorious, sharing stolen breaths and quiet hopes beneath the moonlit sky.

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That night, a seed of change took root within Eunice. Hank, with his unwavering determination and unyielding kindness, became her anchor in a storm. He offered her a way out, a chance to trade the shadowed alleyways for the sunlit dojo. The years that followed were a blur of sweat-soaked training sessions, shared laughter, and quiet moments stolen between lessons. Eunice, slowly, shed the skin of the street rat, blooming into a warrior with a whip cracking like thunder and a heart yearning for something more.

Then, Alice arrived. A burst of sunshine and optimism, she seamlessly navigated Hank's world, leaving Eunice feeling like a clumsy intruder. Jealousy, a venomous serpent, coiled around her heart, its whispers turning her impulsiveness into a weapon she wielded against all, against him most of all. The gym floor seemed to tilt beneath her as the weight of her regret settled in. Years of unspoken feelings, festering beneath her bravado, threatened to burst forth. But what now

Eunice sat and thought to herself, "maybe it's time...I.. well is it...how would it play out. "

>Confess!: fiery resolve rises in Eunice's eyes. She slams a fist against the ropes, the steel groaning under the force. This isn't over. She'll march right up to Hank, tear down the walls she's built, and confess her heart, consequences be damned!

>Patience then pounce: Her fingers trace the lines of her whip, a cold comfort against her burning skin. Eunice knows a frontal assault is foolish. Instead, she'll play her hand subtly, leaving him breadcrumbs of affection, cryptic messages hinting at what lies beneath her gruff exterior.

>Maybe I'm not good enough: Biting her lip, Eunice stares at the flickering fluorescent lights above. Maybe some battles are best left unfought. She'll bury her feelings deeper, channel her turmoil into training, and become the best damn Yellow Ranger Yethur has ever seen..

>>5882719
>Confess!: fiery resolve rises in Eunice's eyes. She slams a fist against the ropes, the steel groaning under the force. This isn't over. She'll march right up to Hank, tear down the walls she's built, and confess her heart, consequences be damned!

>>5882735
Anon doesn't want peace fr

>>5882719
>Maybe I'm not good enough: Biting her lip, Eunice stares at the flickering fluorescent lights above. Maybe some battles are best left unfought. She'll bury her feelings deeper, channel her turmoil into training, and become the best damn Yellow Ranger Yethur has ever seen..

Safe option, doesn't mean we can't try again later

>>5882719
>Patience then pounce: Her fingers trace the lines of her whip, a cold comfort against her burning skin. Eunice knows a frontal assault is foolish. Instead, she'll play her hand subtly, leaving him breadcrumbs of affection, cryptic messages hinting at what lies beneath her gruff exterior.

>>5882811
>>5882743
>>5882735

Once again at the crossroads next vote is the tiebreaker and they can decide how Eunice approaches Hank

>>5882719
>Confess!

You may be a street rat shedding the streets, but the best chains are forged in the hottest fires. The fire of conflict and passion!

She may be a street rat shedding the streets, Eunice, but the fire of her heart could forge a supernova. No whimpers tonight, just sheer tenacity and determination burns in her eyes. Hank's voicemail mocks you with its robotic emptiness, echoing the hollowness that gnawed at your soul. Hours melted into one hungry hunt, the city morphing from playground to obstacle course, every neon sign a taunting reminder of his silence.

Armed with only her raw, simmering truth, she marches into the night, leaving the gym a crucible of discarded gloves and unspoken apologies. Meanwhile Alice, wounded and pensive, drifts in a medicated slumber, her thoughts flickering like a leaf in a hurricane, Albert is busy waging a war of logic against a recalcitrant robotic assistant, his lab lit by the blue glow of schematics and the sputtering protests of Gimbly his little toaster munchkin of a bot. In the neon ocean of Yethur's night cityscape, Fredrick, a blitzing figure of black metal and leather, zips across the streets, chased by the wind and phantom echoes of the day's defeat. Eunice attempts to find Hank which this took an hour to accomplish, it'll be tough as it's night time and he isn't picking up his phone.

Then, crimson ripped through the night, an alley lit by the harsh glare of a patrol car. There he stood, Red Ranger in the flesh, grappling with a half-melted nightmare – man and monster locked in a gruesome tango. Beside him, a vision in leather and obsidian eyes, Detective Hinata Barnes, radiating an aura of lethal cool.

Jealousy coiled in your gut, a poisonous viper poised to strike. Confession dissolved in the acid of your anger, replaced by a torrent of barbs aimed at both Hank and the detective. "Playing hero again, Red? Trading punches (digits) with some dame while the city bleeds?" Your voice was a sudden storm, cracking at the stoic mask he wore.

Hank parried with practiced ease, but a flicker of hurt lurked in his eyes. "This is bigger than bruised egos, Eunice. We're facing something bigger, this is Detective Barnes."
Hinata, amusement dancing in her gaze, added,
"Nothing is wrong with teamwork, sweetheart. Or are you content playing lone wolf against a pack of flesh-eaters?"

Hank, caught mid-grapple with a half-man, half-beast monstrosity, barely spared a glance at her. "Look closer, Yellow. This ain't a friendly hangout, it's an arrest. Detective Hinata Barnes here's tracking a nest of these things, and guess who just stumbled into it?
His jaw was tight, eyes flickering between the writhing creature and the newcomer. Hank's voice, raspy with exhaustion, pierced through your maelstrom. "Put aside the drama, Yellow. We need you to be focused, not being a loose cannon." The half-man, half-beast howled, a grotesque chorus to his plea.

Hinata offered a sardonic smile. "Listen to the Red Ranger, sweetheart. He ain't always a block of ice, you know. Just melt him a bit – with kindness, not tantrums."

Eunice, suspended between the flames of your own making and the flickering ember of cooperation, felt the scales of choice teetering. "And you expect me to swallow that garbage, Red?"
Eunice spat, venom lacing her tone. "You're just playing another hero, hiding behind skirts this time. Another distraction from your big-shot act.”

Hank's grip on the creature tightened, his voice turning icy. "This is bigger than us, Eunice. There's an infestation spreading, innocent people at risk. Forget about what happened earlier, get your head in the game. With you here we can rendezvous with the others and-.” He is cut short by your sudden outburst.
"Teamwork!?" she spat out in mocking hysterics, eyes narrowing at the detective.

"Convenient, isn't it, Red? You so happen to be here at this time…totally ignoring the fact you cussed me and power out earlier.”

Hinata chuckled, a cool, tinkling sound like ice against steel. "Jealousy is unbecoming, sweetheart. And trust me, Red's charm wears thin after the third round of alien slugs."

Hank's gaze, however, remained guarded. "What's gotten into you, Eunice? You've been a walking tempest ever since..." He trailed off, leaving the unspoken accusation hanging heavy in the air.

Eunice felt the ground shift beneath her, the carefully constructed dam of her emotions threatening to crack. "Oh, nothing," she hissed, "Just tired of being left in the dust, of watching you parade around with your new trophy while I fight tooth and nail to get where I am. Daddy's boy gets it on a golden platter” Hank's calm disposition falters for a second and he looks away in disappointment, Eunice said the one thing he's been throwing to avoid hearing. That he's a coat rider in the eyes of many and being the red ranger is just his “birthright", Eunice realizes what she said and the alleyway goes quiet.

Hinata, the viper in leather, saw the vulnerability flicker and pounced. " Oh so this is what it's about. What, Yellow? Feeling ignored by your precious Red? Maybe he just prefers women who aren't batshit crazy and a bit-.” The final straw. Eunice saw red, pure rage blinding her to the situation and it's consequence, to the half-creature struggling in Hank's grip. Her fist shot out, knuckles aimed for the detective's smug smirk.

Hank, faster than lightning, intercepted the blow, his forearm slamming against her wrist. They locked eyes, a surge slowly brewing in each.

"Eunice!" His voice boomed, a shockwave of raw power that echoed through the alley. The air flared up between them, charged with unspoken questions and burning accusations.

"Why are you even here? Why must you be so damn infuriating" Hank rasped, his own emotions warring behind his stoic mask. Eunice responds in kind with the same reaction

“Maybe I'm just sick of a dick head like yourself, you've done nothing but bring me pain”

Hank shoved Eunice back, a flash of anger replacing his stoicism. "And that's why you came out tonight? To yell at me? To remind me I'm a failure and my life is nothing more than a handout?"

You stare at Hank in fury, the shove was a little bit rough and there's nothing productive going through your head at the moment


>Punch him in his stupid face
>Tell him how you feel (no you just continue cussing him out and leave(
>Tear up and confess then walk away

>>5882937
Commit to the bit. You came this far.
>Tear up, confess and Walk.

>>5882937
>Punch him in his stupid face

>>5882937
>Tear up and confess then walk away
it's now or never, and we're already flooding with emotions

>>5882937
>Tear up and confess then walk away

Teenage drama!

>>5882937
Bit tired to drop images rn

>Tear up and confess then walk away

The tears came in a sudden downpour, washing away the city's neon glitter and leaving Eunice raw, exposed beneath the harsh streetlights. The confession, her heart laid bare like a tattered flag, hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the city's relentless thrum.

Hank, thrown off balance by this sudden wave of emotion, stared at her, his own anger melting into a puddle of regret. The shove, born of frustration, now burned in his gut like a swallowed cinder. He reached for her, a hesitant hand hovering like a moth drawn to flame, then retreated like a startled fawn.

Across the alley, Detective Hinata's smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of something unfamiliar – a shard of empathy glinting in her obsidian eyes. For once, the viper in leather seemed less predator, more witness to a vulnerability neither Ranger had anticipated.

Eunice's voice, a broken melody lost in the urban din, cut through the silence.

"I know I shouldn't have come here..,"
she rasped, each syllable a tear that traced hot tracks through the soot that painted her face.
"I thought... maybe you wanted me here, that… that we could be more than just teammates."

The words, heavy with longing and doubt, hung between them, a palpable bridge over a chasm of unspoken truths. Hank, the stoic Red Ranger, stumbled for words, the truth burning on his tongue like an unsaid oath. He hadn't called or even interacted with Eunice like they used to for months, hadn't sought her out or even cared how she's doing, because of the very emotions she now confessed. The fear of rejection, of shattering her heart further, had kept him silent, building a wall of distance he himself couldn't breach.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken apologies and simmering confessions. Then, Eunice spoke again, her voice raspy but resolute.

"I thought we were partners, Hank. Not just in the field, but in the storm too. I thought maybe you saw the lightning in my eyes, the fire in my soul, and maybe felt some of it kindling on your.

A cough is heard across the grimy alley, Detective Hinata, a vixen perfect for a noir flick, watched the situation and could no longer stay a third party in this love triangle situation.

"Red," she rasped, her voice devoid of its usual bite
, "all this Shakespearean screenplay can wait. We've got a hot lead and the city is still in danger.”

Eunice, raw and wounded, turned to Hinata, her voice dropping to a bitter whisper.

"Maybe you're right…,"
she said, the lone Detective being the only one to witness this side of her

"Maybe Shakespeare can wait. But tonight, Red, I'm done playing your supporting act.”

The words, sharp as broken glass, sliced through the air. Hank, his heart mirroring her pain, opened his mouth to speak, but no apology, no explanation could bridge the chasm that had opened between them.

>>5883015
Silence, as Eunice walked away into the darkness of the night trying to avoid more interactions with Hank.

Hank, the image of stoicism shattering, stared at her, his own pain mirroring hers. "Eunice I…" he began, the words dying on his tongue. His silence, a deafening echo of his past neglect, spoke louder than any apology.

The guttural growl of the creature stirring in the shadows suddenly, the world exploded into chaos. Tendrils, razor-tipped and dripping with an oily sheen, lashed out, targeting Eunice. Her back to the danger, she was a butterfly caught in a spider's web.

But in that instant, a crimson flash split the darkness. Hank, with the grace of a custodian and the fury of a wounded animal, intercepted the attack. His blade, a blur of molten anger, met the tendrils, deflecting, parrying, weaving a dance of steel and flashes.

Eunice, her heart a hummingbird trapped in her chest, watched as Hank fought, his back to her, a beacon of hope that is totally unattainable. Her tears, unshed, blurred the neon into a kaleidoscope of pain and regret. She knew she should stay, fight alongside him, but the words she had spoken, the chasm they revealed, felt insurmountable.

She stumbled away, her legs numb, her vision blurred. The city lights, once mocking, now offered no solace.The adrenaline once in overdrive has now subsided, fatigue slowly creeping in as she walks the streets.

Neon lights dripped down the alley like garish paint, splattering against Eunice's tear-streaked cheeks. The city thrummed around her, a chaotic symphony she barely registered. Then, from the symphony's discordant notes, emerged a discordant chorus of their own.

She notices in one alleyway three figures, reeking of stale smoke and dubious morals, shuffled into the alley's grimy embrace. Slick Billy, hair like a greasy comb-over defying gravity, whistled through missing teeth.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't the Ghost of Grime Street herself! Eunice Reyes, back from the dead and lookin' as chipper as a moldy pickle."

Scritch, all bony elbows and twitchy nerves, cackled like a rusty hinge. "Thought the fuzz got you for good, Yellow Canary. Turns out, even you have a talent for disappearing acts."

Thunder, a mountain of a man with fists like overripe melons, grunted,
"Didn't even recognize you for a sec, Eun. You traded in the soot for mascara? Fancy."

Eunice, still raw from the emotional battlefield she'd just escaped, barely flickered a response.
"Go home, boys. Wrong alley."

Scritch cackled, his bony frame shaking like a wind-blown scarecrow.
"And that time you charmed that laser turret by serenading it with that off-key rendition of 'Eye of the Tiger?' Classic you, Eun."

The banter, rough and familiar, scraped against the raw wound of her recent fight. Laughter bubbled up, choked, replaced by a weary sigh.
"Yeah, those were the days," she muttered, the neon lights reflecting in her damp eyes.

>>5883022
Thunder, surprisingly perceptive for a being with the emotional range of a burnt toaster, noticed her downcast demeanor. "Hey, what's got your tail feathers ruffled, Canary? Someone steal your thunder?"

Eunice's smile turned brittle. "No one stole my thunder," she said, her voice hardening. "Just… remembering some stuff. Stuff I'd rather forget."

There's a bit of silence as Slick Billy breaks the awkwardness but sneezing and laying a casual question
"So, what now?" Slick Billy asked, his voice surprisingly gentler.

"You gonna disappear into the shadows again, or are you sticking around for the fireworks?”

Eunice wiped her tears, the neon lights reflecting in her eyes like fallen stars. "Fireworks?" she echoed, a hint of mischief creeping into her voice.


Slick Billy smiles as he has her back where he needs her

“You know the drill, in and out. Hit fast, cut the cheese and make a sandwich"

Eunice frowns and contemplates her choices, she is very worn out mentally and physically but this could be very therapeutic perhaps might make her forget about the night. She beckons Slick Billy to continue which he promptly agrees

“It's a small gig for old times sake, we'll just sneak into an industrial plant and steal some schematics. No biggie canary"

The rest of the gang nods in agreement and plead for Eunice to join them for nostalgia.

She is not quite sure what the best course of action is.

>YOLO: Join them
>It's in the past: Tell them that's not you anymore
>Outsmart: Use them to get deeper into the criminal underworld and show Hank you're useful.

>>5883026
>YOLO: Join them

>>5883026
>Outsmart: Use them to get deeper into the criminal underworld and show Hank you're useful.

>>5883026
>Outsmart.

There is no FUNCTIONAL difference between A and C. Simply explainations of what we are about to do.

>>5883038
One being we still want Hank, the other being getting over him.

>>5883039
Then I maintain my course. Dont choke out the drama before it has time to explode.

The thread is the fall of the city. I think a good love triangle can serve as its fall and a glue to keep its defenders together at the end.

>>5883026
>Outsmart: Use them to get deeper into the criminal underworld and show Hank you're useful.
pnvvd

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>>5883026
>Outsmart: Use them to get deeper into the criminal underworld and show Hank you're useful

She is not quite sure what the best course of action is. Eunice, a storm trapped in the body of a love sick woman, weighed the options. Joining them offered a twisted kind of therapy, a chance to bury her pain in the familiar dirt of old crimes. It could also be a gamble, a tightrope walk over a chasm of betrayal, but with a potential reward of proving her worth to Hank.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, a cold fire glinting in her eyes. "Let's get this sandwich started," she muttered, the name of the operation leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. This infiltration was textbook Slick Billy - slick, indeed and probably not as dangerous as the last group she was part of before joining up with these guys.

The industrial behemoth loomed before them, a tangled web of pipes and smokestacks against the bruised sky. Thunder, ever the impatient one, cracked his knuckles and grinned,

"Let's do this, Canary!." But Eunice, her mind a battlefield of conflicting loyalties, hesitated. Slick Billy, sensing her trepidation, nudged her with his elbow. "Come on, canary. Think of it as a little reunion tour. Remember the good old days, eh?”

Eunice swallowed, the bitter taste of doubt heavy on her tongue. Was this truly the path she wanted to redeem herself? Or was she simply clinging to a phantom of a past she couldn't reclaim?

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. "Alright," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her heart, "Let's do it.” she fist bumps Thunder.

As previously stated the infiltration was textbook. Slick Billy's nimble fingers bypassed security with practiced ease, while Scritch, ever the silhouette, slipped through the cracks unseen. Thunder, ever the bull in a china shop, grumbled his way through, his presence masked by the rhythmic thrumming of the factory itself.
Eunice, however, felt her senses prickle. The air hummed with a strange energy, a disquiet that crawled beneath her skin. Then, a rumble of thunder, louder than any natural storm, echoed through the steel canyons. It was Thunder, the big oaf's impatience got the better of him, accidentally setting off a security alarm.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. A man, clad in lederhosen and a flowing black cape, his face etched with a thousand wrinkles, his eyes glinting with a feral gleam. He raised a gnarled hand, and the air crackled with an unseen force.
He was unlike anything she'd ever seen, glowing with an unnatural purple light. As he yodeled a chilling tune, the shadows around him writhed and coalesced, taking the shape of monstrous beasts.
From the darkness sprang a pack of wild boars, their eyes glowing red, their tusks bared. But these were no ordinary beasts. They were hulking, bipedal creatures, their bodies rippling with unnatural muscle, their snorts laced with a disturbing intelligence.

>>5883079
Scritch, ever the opportunist, cackled and launched himself at the nearest boar, his claws glinting in the harsh light. But the beast sidestepped with surprising agility, its tusk tearing through Scritch's chest in a spray of crimson. The old man cackled again, his yodel twisting into a cruel taunt,

"Yōkoso!" (Welcome!)

The old man, Franz Schmidt, let out a guttural laugh, his voice raspy with age and malice.
"Kuroi karasu no musure yo, kono fukaku na zaibatsu e shinnyu suru towa naokotoki da!" (Flock of black crows, you dare trespass on this sacred complex!).
His wiry frame, clad in the incongruous mix of lederhosen and a billowing black cape, seemed to crackle with dark energy. His yodel, once playful, now twisted into a chilling war cry.

Eunice's blood ran cold. She didn't understand Japanese say for some anime phrases, but the ferocity in Franz's eyes and the way his words whipped at the air like icy blades spoke volumes. Slick Billy, ever the opportunist, stepped forward, a greasy smile plastered on his face.

"Whoa, whoa, Franz, no need to get your lederhosen in a twist! It's all just a big misunderstanding," he said, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. "This little lady here," he gestured towards Eunice, "she just got lost. Took a wrong turn at the pickled octopus, you know how it is."

Franz's gaze, sharp as a hawk's, landed on Eunice. His weathered face, etched with the cruel lines of a life lived on the edge, contorted in disgust. "Uso de wa dame da," (Lies won't work) he spat, his voice a low growl. "Watashi wa shinju no nioi wo kanjiru." (I smell your true nature).

Thunder, unable to contain his temper any longer, unleashed a bolt of lightning that crackled towards Franz. The old man barely flinched. He raised his hand, his yodel morphing into a guttural chant, and the shadows around him writhed and twisted. From the darkness emerged a monstrous creature, unlike anything either Eunice or Slick Billy had ever seen.

It was a giant chicken, but not your average farmyard fowl. This behemoth stood on its hind legs, its feathers gleaming like obsidian, its eyes glowing with an unholy red light. Its beak, sharp as a scimitar, dripped with a viscous, bioluminescent liquid. In a flash, the creature transformed, its body rippling with unnatural muscle, its claws extending into razor-sharp blades. It was a humanoid ninja-chicken, a nightmare given form.

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>>5883082
"Hajime!" (Begin!) Franz snarled, his yodel a chilling command. The chicken-beast lunged, its talons aimed at Thunder. The young lad barely had time to raise his fists in a defensive stance before the creature slammed into him with the force of a freight train that ended with decapitation. Thunder was sent flying through the air, his body crashing into a stack of metal crates with a sickening thud and his head rolling to Slick Billy's feet.

Slick Billy yelped and scrambled back, his bravado replaced by naked terror. The chicken-beast turned its attention to him, its eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. It swiped a wing, sending Slick Billy sprawling, his arm gashing open on a jagged piece of metal.

Eunice watched in horror as her teammates fell one by one. The old man, Franz, cackled, his laughter echoing through the cavernous industrial plant. His yodel wove a dark song of victory, driving a spike of icy fear through Eunice's heart.

Her body thrummed with the raw energy of the Yellow Ranger, the urge to transform, to unleash her power, overwhelming. But something held her back. A flicker of doubt


>Transform: Consequences be damned, it's time to unleash the panther

>Nigerundayo: He's just too much for your non-powered self

>Surrender: Well it was fun while it lasted, hopefully he realizes that you're a hero.

>>5883085
>Transform: Consequences be damned, it's time to unleash the panther

>>5883085
Transformation is a failure. But our keys into the underworld are dismembered. . . So

>Transform, Try to keep Billy alive.
We found this villains hideout. We have a smoothtalking way inside. We've achieved something tonight! Haven't we?

>>5883085
>Nigerundayo: He's just too much for your non-powered self

>>5883085
>Transform: Consequences be damned, it's time to unleash the panther

>>5883085
>>Transform: Consequences be damned, it's time to unleash the panther

>>5883085
The air crackled with the raw energy of Eunice's fury, her every breath thrumming with the primal power of the yellow panther. Golden light erupted from her, engulfing her battered form, swirling tendrils of electricity morphing into the sleek contours of the Yellow Ranger suit. A golden mask sculpted to resemble a snarling panther materialized over her face, her eyes glowing with an electric emerald fire.
Slick Billy, who had been whimpering on the ground, gaped up at her in jaw-dropping awe. "Whoa, Canary, since when did you have a day job saving the world?" he sputtered, a mix of shock and grudging respect coloring his voice.

Franz and his monstrous chicken-ninja stared, momentarily paralyzed by the sudden shift in power. But their surprise was short-lived. Franz's face twisted into a sneer, his yodel morphing into a guttural snarl. "So, a hero in cahoots with thieves? You defile the very essence of nature, girl!" he boomed, his words resonating like thunder claps in the echoing hall.

"Don't play righteous with me, old man," Eunice growled, her voice amplified by the panther mask. "You control animals to do your dirty work, you're hardly Mother Nature's darling."

"Silence, serpent!" Franz roared, unleashing a wave of his dark yodel. From the shadows, rats, bats, and even stray cats coalesced, their eyes glowing with the same unnatural red aura as the chicken-ninja. They surged towards Eunice, a tide of snarling teeth and claws.
Eunice, quick as a panther, whipped her electrified lasso, sending arcs of lightning that scattered the smaller creatures. She somersaulted over the chicken-ninja's razor-sharp talons, her whip wrapping around its leg with a crackle of energy. With a mighty heave, she flung the monstrosity backwards, sending it crashing into a stack of crates. Franz screamed in rage, his yodel twisting into a chilling melody. He raised his hand, and a towering bear materialized from the shadows, its eyes burning with a malevolent fire. "Feel the wrath of the forest, hero!" he bellowed.
Eunice knew brute force wouldn't work against the bear. She needed to outsmart Franz, exploit his reliance on controlling animals.

Focusing her energy, she unleashed a pulse of electric fury from her whip, disrupting the bear's connection to Franz's yodel. The creature faltered, its form flickering, its eyes dimming.

With a swift lunge, Eunice closed the distance, her panther instincts guiding her every move. Her electrified fists slammed into Franz's chest, sending him reeling back. He snarled, struggling to regain his balance, his yodel sputtering out in a distorted gasp.

>>5883282
"You see, old man," Eunice hissed, her voice a low growl, "nature isn't just about brute strength. It's about adaptation, about understanding your prey."
Taking advantage of his stumble, she unleashed a final kick, a blur of gold and lightning that sent Franz flying through the air. He landed with a thud at the foot of a towering storage container, his body limp and unmoving.
Eunice, her chest heaving, her panther suit crackling with residual energy, turned towards Slick Billy, who was watching the scene with wide, terrified eyes. "Stay here," she rasped, her voice strained. "I need to grab what we came for."
She limped towards the storage container, her gaze sweeping the shadows for any remaining threats. The silence was thick, broken only by the groans of the injured chicken-ninja and the ragged breaths of Slick Billy.
Reaching the container, she retrieved the stolen schematics, tucking them safely into her belt. Turning back to Slick Billy, whose arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, she saw the question burning in his eyes.
"Since when?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
Eunice met his gaze, her emerald eyes flashing in the dim light. "A couple of weeks," she answered, her voice firm.
"So, are you one of them or one of us?" he croaked, his face a mask of pain and confusion.
Eunice stared at him, the weight of her decision pressing down on her like a physical force. For a moment, the temptation to lie, to play the part of the criminal to get closer to their secrets, was overwhelming. But the memory of Alice's unwavering faith, of Hank's worried gaze, flickered in her mind.
With a grit of her teeth, she chose the truth.
"I'm playing you both... because I don't know where I belong.."

You...don't know where you belong?" Slick Billy croaked, his voice laced with disbelief. The question, simple yet profound, hung in the air like a judgment, piercing through the layers of bravado she had donned for this night's escapade.

Eunice looked at him, her blue eyes dull with the weariness that seeped into her bones. The hero's mask, stripped away, had exposed the vulnerability beneath. "No," she admitted, the single word falling heavy in the silence. "I don't"

The confession, echoing in the cavernous hall, seemed to resonate with Slick Billy. He, too, was a man caught between worlds, teetering on the precipice of loyalty and self-preservation. Their shared uncertainty, laid bare in the aftermath of the fight, hung between them like a fragile truce.
As the dust settled, the question loomed: where did Eunice go from here? Had her gamble, her choice to play the villain and become a hero work?, has it been a step towards redemption or a descent into deeper darkness? Only time, and the choices she yet to make, would tell.

>>5883288

Three days later, a crumpled phone was discovered by the side of a deserted road. It belonged to Eunice, with forty-two missed calls staring back at the indifferent sky. Twenty-six of them were from Hank, his concern echoing in the silent airwaves.

The phone, like Eunice herself, had vanished, leaving behind only an enigmatic silence and the chilling whisper of a question: which side was she truly on all along?


Chapter 1 End
>City's stability 92%

Chapter 2

Which ranger will you like to follow

>Red
>Blue
>Pink

>>5883290
>Blue

>>5883290
>Pink

>>5883290
>Blue, would've gone red but seems everyone hates his guts kek. Power Rangers + Actual teenage hormones = popcorn

>>5883376
So far I'm enjoying this quest, probably could use some work on the pacing tho

>>5883290
>Pink

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>>5883305
>>5883312
>>5883376
>>5883385

Dammit another draw, why does this keep happening

>>5883376
>Support blue

I am the tie breaker.

>Chapter 2 Feeling Blue?
Albert McConnell surfaced from a chemical haze, eyelids gritty with the residue of late-night protein folding simulations. His phone, usually glued to his palm like a digital IV drip, buzzed a frantic disco tune against the sterile white countertop. Ignoring it was a reflex honed through years of lab silence and acute laziness, but tonight, even the hum of the centrifuge couldn't drown out the insistent tremor.
He reached for the phone, a sigh escaping his lips as the screen flared to life. A sea of red notifications pulsed like an alarm clock set to chaos. Hesitantly, he unlocked the device, expecting the usual onslaught of Yethur Yawners subreddit memes and shitposting gallore.
But what greeted him was not a digital echo chamber of his online life. Instead, the screen blazed with breaking news, the stark red banner screaming of a city in turmoil. The abandoned industrial plant, a rusted monument to failed dreams, loomed against the night sky, bathed in the harsh glare of police strobes. And then, the gut punch.
Franz Schmidt, the animal-wielding yodeling master, lay comatose on a hospital bed. Two unidentified bodies, draped in white sheets, hinted at a violent dance of madness within the city's criminal underbelly. And amidst it all, a deafening absence – Eunice, the Yellow Ranger, his teammate, has pulled off a vanishing act and her armor pieces scattered across the crime scene.
Rage, hot and potent as an exothermic reaction, flared in Albert's chest. The Canary, as he sometimes called her, a name as mercurial as her moods, had dragged him into this mess, then blinked out of existence like a deleted subroutine. And here he was, stuck in the sterile cage of the lab, pipetting boredom while the city crackled with unspoken secrets.
He slammed his fist on the countertop, the stainless steel groaning like a captive beast. Dr. Henderson, his permanently startled boss, materialized beside him, eyes wide as a petri dish under a microscope. "McConnell! Was that a centrifuge malfunction? We don't tolerate temper tantrums here, especially near the genetically modified salamanders!"

>>5883467
Albert winced, guilt gnawing at him as Dr. Henderson scuttled away like a nervous salamander. The last thing he wanted was to upset Bertha the Brine Shrimp, or Dr. Henderson for that matter. "Sorry again, Doc," he muttered, feeling like a rogue plasma disrupting the lab's carefully calibrated ecosystem.
His large screen in the lab buzzed again, demanding attention showcasing an incoming call from an old friend . Cen Ten, a walking explosion of monstrous transformations and puns, appeared on the screen, mid-battle with a gaggle of bumbling bank robbers. Albert chuckled, the tension easing. Cen Ten, with his arsenal of ten different monster forms and enough playful jabs to bankrupt a thesaurus, was the antidote to Albert's existential angst.
"Yo, Bluestreak!" Cen Ten bellowed, morphing into a hulking, blue ogre with three glowing eyes. "Heard you had a spicy newsfeed this morning! Need some tentacular backup?"
Albert grinned. "Spicy indeed, bro. Our loose cannon went MIA, Franz is folded on a hospital bed, and the city's got more drama than a telenovela marathon."
Cen Ten, now resembling a lizard man, swatted aside a would-be getaway driver with a playful flick of his tail. "Sounds like a Tuesday for me! But hold your horses, Bluestreak. Lemme handle these crustacean clowns, then we'll crack your Spitfire conundrum."
With that, Cen Ten danced through the robbers, a whirlwind of slashes and playful quips. Albert watched, a smile tugging at his lips. Even with the city simmering in chaos, Cen Ten's infectious cheer was a welcome distraction.
The fight concluded with a comical surrender from the disheveled robbers. Cen Ten reverted to his usual lanky self, perched precariously on a lamppost. "So," he drawled, picking his teeth with a laser toothpick, "what's the Spitfire's vanishing act all about? Did she join a silent disco cult or get abducted by flying squirrels?"
Albert sighed. "Wish it were squirrels, man. More likely she's playing her own game, one we haven't cracked yet."
Cen Ten tapped his chin, a thoughtful wrinkle appearing on his youthful face. "Maybe your Spitfire's singing off-key, but the melody's the same. Franz got messed up, bad guys bit the dust, sounds like someone else in the criminal orchestra got spooked."
"You think the Spitfire scared them straight?" Albert scoffed. "That's like trying to cure hiccups with a kazoo."
Cen Ten shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Hey, stranger things have happened, right? Maybe she found some blackmail on Franz, a secret so juicy it turned the whole underworld upside down. Or maybe she's gone rogue, playing both sides like a cosmic dice game."

The thought left a bitter taste in Albert's mouth. Eunice, the girl who could crack jokes while breaking necks, the one who made fighting for justice feel like a Saturday night action flick, could she be playing them all?

>>5883468

"Nah, man," Albert muttered, more to himself than Cen Ten. "Eunice may be a whirlwind, but she's not a hurricane. Just... lost in her own storm."

Cen Ten nodded, a hint of understanding in his eyes. "Then find her eye of the storm, Bluestreak. Dig through the wreckage, follow the whispers in the shadows. Remember, even the sneakiest of cats leave behind trails."

The line clicked dead, leaving Albert alone with the echo of Cen Ten's words and the unsettling symphony of the city's secrets. The hunt for Yellow Spitfire, and the truth, had just begun.


He excused himself from Dr. Henderson, promising to meticulously document the “Lost Kitten" later. Back in his sterile lab, he punched in Cen Ten's number. "Yo, Ten! Got intel overload here. Any chance you're done juggling bad guys and could use a teammate?"
A moment later, Cen Ten's holographic face split into a grin. "Sure thing, Bluestreak! Crime-fighting's always better with a friend. Meet me at the neon diner on Elm Street. I'll bring the witty repartee, you bring the brainpower. We'll crack this missing honey case open together, one pun at a time."

With a surge of renewed purpose, Albert grabbed his coat and slipped out of the lab. The streets beckoned, every corner promising secrets, and tonight, he wouldn't just be the Blue Ranger chasing a phantom teammate.

Before leaving you stare at your phone again, maybe having another person will be beneficial

>Call in Hank

>Call in a favor with the police

>Check up on Alice

>>5883470
>Check on Alice

>>5883470
>Check up on Alice

>>5883470
>Call in a favor with the police

>Check up on Alice

Location: Yethur Paranormal Laboratory
Time 10:45 AM
The sterile hum of the lab felt oppressive around Albert as he scrubbed up, anxiety gnawing at his gut. Franz Schmidt, a well known hero, lay in a coma, and Eunice, the Yellow Spitfire, vanished like smoke. It was all too reminiscent of Alice, the Pink Ranger, sidelined in the hospital after that brutal mission. His fingers hovered over the phone icon, drawn to Alice's name like a moth to a flame. Since her injury, they'd only interacted in sterile hospital calls, her vibrant energy dulled by medication. Today, the need to hear her voice felt like a physical ache.
He pressed the call button, the ring tone echoing in the echoing lab. Each unanswered beat gnawed at him, amplifying the silence. Then, on the third ring, a voice materialized - but it wasn't Alice but something more monotonous in nature.
“Hello, yes?"
The robotic monotone chilled him. Alice the fun loving heart of the group, sounding this out of it? He swallowed, his voice tight.
"Alice, it's Albert. Just checking in. Eunice…" He hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. Eunice is missing, and everyone's…" He trailed off, unsure how much to reveal.
A sigh, indistinguishable from a dial tone, filled the silence. It wasn't a bad sign, exactly, but it wasn't Alice's usual burst of concern or playful retort. He ended the call, a heavy weight settling in his chest. Albert was worried as throughout the course of the conversation she was just quiet and repeating yes or no, he chucked it up to the medication.
We cut to:
Location: Elm Street Diner
Time: 11:13 AM
The neon sign of the diner was a welcome heraldry compared to the oppressive silence of the lab. Albert slid into the booth opposite Cen Ten, a steaming mug of coffee pushed towards him. The city buzzed outside, an unsettling counterpoint to their hushed conversation.
"Crimson Comet," Cen Ten muttered, eyes glued to the window overlooking the unfolding chaos across the street. A hero, clad in emerald and silver, was facing off against a mob of no-faced statues, sparks flying and limbs flailing.
"Newbie," Cen Ten continued, a grudging respect in his voice.
"Not bad with the energy blasts, but he still needs to work on dodging. Man thinks he is invincible."
The fight ended as swiftly as it began, Crimson Comet soaring off with a wave and a cheesy one-liner. Cen Ten shook his head, a playful grin splitting his face. "Showboat." They turned back to their coffee, the conversation flowing like the bitter brew. The raided factory, the dead bodies, Franz Schmidt's coma – all pieces of a twisted puzzle. Then, Albert hit the key point.
"Eunice," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "It all ties back to her. Why attack Franz? Was it a set up? Was it calculated"

>>5883644


Cen Ten's brow furrowed. "Maybe. But why disappear right after? She was last seen in the gym, then nothing. Phone left behind, that doesn't make sense."
A cynical pang echoed in Albert's gut. "Maybe she staged it, Ten. Played everyone, including us."
The duo sets out after the small brainstorming session and head over to the factory.

Location: Abandoned Factory
Time: 12:01 PM
The yellow police tape fluttered in the wind, a macabre banner marking the scene of chaos. Cen Ten and Albert, disguised as construction workers, slipped through the gap, eyes sharp and senses tingling.
Detective Hinata Barnes, a woman sculpted from granite and sharp edges, met them with a stony stare.
"You shouldn't be here," she rasped, voice like gravel.

Cen Ten flashed a disarming grin. "Just curious citizens, ma'am. Heard there was a… kerfuffle."

Barnes's gaze flickered, a hint of something unreadable in her eyes. "Chemicals gone missing, warehouse trashed. Big mess."

As she spoke, Cen Ten's eyes darted around, picking up details. A scuff mark on the floor, traces of an energy signature, a faint scent of Jasmine tiger - Eunice's favorite perfume. All pieces adding to the puzzle.

Then, Barnes mentioned seeing "a flash of gold" on the night of the raid. No words about apprehending or pursuing, just a subtle observation that Albert caught with a jolt.

He thanked Barnes, the cogs in his mind turning. Eunice was here, that much was clear. But whether she was a victim, a perpetrator, or a pawn in someone else's game, remained the most baffling mystery of all. But then the detective said something strange

“Who would've thought the crazy bitch was planning something this crazy, guess the love conversation didn't sit well with her" Albert archs his brow and an awkward silence is observed for a short while, Cen Ten breaking it by proclaiming
“Sounds like you have something you haven't told the cops Lady”
Hinata Barnes laughs it off and proceeds to end the conversation early by demanding you both leave the premises, but Albert, a little bit gutsy, thinks about the circumstances and makes his choice.

> Press her: Demand answers
>Pretender: Pretend to leave but snoop around
>Change of Scenery: Head out to another location [we can decide where to go if it's chosen]

>>5883648
>Press her
We can do it subtle but even if we leave, thats already a clue that this is emotionally motivated.

>>5883648
>Press her: Demand answers

>>5883648
>Press her: Demand answers

>Press her

The acrid smell of burnt chemicals hung heavy in the air, mirroring the tension simmering between Albert and Detective Barnes. He was a pressure cooker on the verge of erupting, his blue eyes flashing like laser beams as he bore down on her cryptic pronouncements.

"Love conversation?" he spat, each word sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't play coy, Barnes. Spill the damn beans about what Eunice, Hank, and you discussed before she went rogue."

Barnes, accustomed to interrogation rooms, scoffed. "Calm your jets, Blue Ranger. What? You thought your lame disguise could hide your insufferable snide personality? Anyway, It was a girl talk session, jealousy, heartbreak, the usual tropes all in one. Hank and Eunice had a tiff, she's got a fragile ego."

Albert's nostrils flared. "Fragile ego? She just leveled a warehouse, wounded a hero then and vanished!"
He poked holes in her flimsy narrative, dissecting each deflection with surgical precision. The missing days, the stolen schematics, the convenient "love triangle" excuse trying to down play the situation– he saw through it all.

Barnes, cornered and flustered, finally relented.
"Fine," she growled, frustration simmering beneath her icy exterior. "Eunice caught Hank and I with a monster we successfully pinned down after much stress, and saw something she didn't like. Words were exchanged, harsh ones like shit wasn't just a normal telenovela romance lines, it was brutal and personal it seemed. The Yellow ranger felt rejected, declaring she was done chasing after him."

Barnes shrugged, her voice dripping with disdain. "Typical teenage drama, except with superpowers. Cute, but
ultimately a waste of time."
Cen Ten, a silent observer until now, whistled sharply. "So, that's what sparked this whole mess? A spurned crush? Hank was cheating on her? Something been going on since highschool?"

Albert felt a pit form in his stomach. The team, the new beacon of hope, crumbling over a high school romance tier plot gone wrong? It was unthinkable.

"Where's Hank?" he rasped, the question a desperate plea.

Barnes shook her head, her face grim. "Gone. Vanished like your Yellow Ranger friend. Haven't heard from him in a day, I am more worried about him because after that night he changed."

The weight of the situation crashed down on Albert. Alice incommunicado, Eunice is missing, and now Hank is gone too, the Red Ranger the ‘’leader’, is missing. The team was fracturing, ripped apart by secrets and lies.

He clenched his fists, a surge of raw anger coursing through him.
"This isn't a telenovela, Barnes," he hissed. "It's our lives, our city. And someone, someone out there, is playing us like cheap violins. This can't be a coincidence, it's too organized, it's too perfect of an opportunity…"

>>5883843
The city's afternoon shade beyond the factory's broken windows painted a cool summer picture, oblivious to the storm brewing within. Albert knew in his gut that the answers they sought lay not in petty rivalries or lovers spat, but in the deep chasms this city was built on, something big is going on and this is just the calm before the storm.
He turned to Detective Barnes, his voice hard as steel. "Let's find Hank," he said, the command echoing in the desolate warehouse. "Together."

The detective declines as she still has some things to handle before her lunch break, Cen ten comments on how covering more ground will be beneficial for the search. You disagree but you don't have time to start arguing with the only reliable hero at your side, it's time to find Hank!

[Mini game find Hank!]

Anons will write where they think Hank is and roll a 1d10, DC 6. If their reasoning for where he is at the moment is good (narratively awesome) I'll grant a +3 bonus :P

>>5883846
Oh and highest roll wins if anything after all the considerations + bonuses

Rolled 2 (1d10)

>>5883846
From the little we know about him, let's go to where he first met yellow then.

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>5883846
>The red ranger, He's an heir to a mantle. The mantle's heavy, his father's shadow is heavier. He won't abandon the city he's dedicated to clawing his way out of the shadow, so he's still here somewhere. Eustice has probably fled the city since she shed her armour and the phone is north in the desert, Hank is defined by his tenacity so he'll be searching the gangs Eustice used to associate with, either the same locations and working outwards or if those gangs exist then their most recent incarnations and working from the names he gets there, starting with the largest to serve both the purpose of maintaining civil order and serving his goal.

I think that's the best analysis I can give in blue rangers head. A to B to C referencing character traits.

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>5883846
Being "comforted" by Hinata at her house.

>>5883872
>>5883885
>>5883900
All fake suggestions, I'm heading out for the night so I'll write up once I'm awake. Thank care anons ^_^

>P.S: This would dictate future chapters so anyone else can introduce more story elements

>>5883885

Location: Downtown Porridge Street

Time: 1:01 PM


Sweat beaded on Albert's brow as he navigated the grimy underbelly of Porridge Street. The stench of stale beer and burnt grease clung to the air, a palpable manifestation of the city's hidden rot. He was looking for answers, for any trace of Hank, the Red Ranger lost in the labyrinthine depths of the Yethur mob's territory.

He approached a group of rough-looking individuals, their eyes filled with suspicion and defiance. These were the Yethur's foot soldiers, cogs in a machine fuelled by violence and fear.

"You seen a guy walk through here?" Albert asked, his voice laced with steel. "Tall, blonde, blue eyes like ice? Walks like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders."

The men scoffed, exchanging wary glances. One, a hulking figure with scars crisscrossing his tattooed arms, spat on the cobblestone. "Never heard of him, kid. We don't deal with superheroes here and yes he looks the part, but I have no idea didn't see him"

"He ain't no superhero," Albert growled, frustration gnawing at him.
"He's just a guy who got some trouble. He might've come looking for some more, might've found it and I'm here to make sure it doesn't escalate"

One of the men, younger and with a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, spoke up. "Heard tell of a crazy blonde who went down to the HQ an hour ago. Looked like he hadn't slept in days, muttering to himself, eyes wild."

Hope flickered in Albert's chest. An hour ago? That could be Hank, driven by his dogged determination, plunging into the Yethur's belly like a lone wolf. But it could also be a trap, a clever lure to pull him in.
He thanked the men, their suspicion lingering in the air like a noxious odor. The decision hung heavy in his gut: follow Hank into the darkness, or retreat and regroup with Cen Ten and Detective Barnes? Albert rushed to the scene before coming to a choice.

Location: Uptown, Calico Building

Time: 1:22 PM

The screech of sirens and the flashing of red and blue lights shattered the afternoon calm. News travels fast in this city, and word of a civilian storming the Yethur headquarters had spread like wildfire. Albert, drawn by the chaos, found himself amidst a swarm of police officers, their faces grim and eyes scanning the imposing facade of the Calico Building. Albert arrives in his blue ranger suit, witnessing the scene of chaos.

>>5884505

A young officer, barely out of her academy days, recognized him. "Blue Ranger, sir. We have a hostage situation. Civilian male stormed the building, demanding to see the Yethur's crime boss. Says he wants information about a Eunny? I have no idea what that even means"
Panic clawed at Albert's throat. Civilian? Information about Eunice? This had mad Hank written all over it, his impulsive streak coupled with his burning need to know, a deadly cocktail in this powder keg of a situation.
Then, a loud explosion ripped through the building, glass showering the street like glittering rain. The officer's face blanched. “Power activation detected, class A confirmed. The mob or the target has initiated combat ."
Albert hesitated, torn between caution and the desperate need to save Hank. This was insane, a one-man suicide mission, but Hank leader, never had a history of reckless heroics.
He made his choice. With a guttural roar, he pushed past the startled officer and sprinted towards the building, the deafening clang of the breaking door masking his pounding heart.

He was going in. And he prayed with every fiber of his being that he wouldn't be too late.

The threads, once separate, had converged in a chaotic knot. Albert, drawn by whispers and desperation, found himself at the precipice of a new nightmare. The Yethur mob headquarters, a tomb of secrets and danger, awaited him. And inside, his friend, his bro, stood on the brink of annihilation!

>Leroy Jenkins!: there's no time to falter, red might be getting clapped as we speak

>Call for backup: Call Cen ten for back up, or the Black ranger *shudders*

>Let him cook: See how it plays out

>>5884506
>Call for backup: Call Cen ten for back up, or the Black ranger *shudders*

>>5884506
>>Leroy Jenkins!: there's no time to falter, red might be getting clapped as we speak

>>5883965
I'm just realizing I said fake instead of great kek, lack of sleep hits different

>>5884506
>Leroy Jenkins!

If we can call as we move, do so. but they should already know. We can't wait for backup, power rangers stick together!
At least, they are meant too.

>>5884506
>Leroy Jenkins!: there's no time to falter, red might be getting clapped as we speak

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>>5884543
Welcome to the thread friend

>LEROOOOOY JENKINS!

Location: Inside the Calico Building
Time: 1:25 pm

The lobby was a bombed-out cathedral of chaos. Concrete rained from the ceiling, each crater spewing smoke like a dragon's maw. Stunned Yethur mob goons sprawled amongst the debris, twitching limbs punctuating the acrid symphony of burning rubber and singed flesh. Albert swallowed the bile rising in his throat, adrenaline masking the tremor in his legs.
He sprinted towards the elevator, a mechanical monstrosity spitting sparks from its mangled doors. Inside, he punched the button for the top floor, the metallic cage juddering skyward like a condemned man on a gallows. He fought the urge to glance at his phone, the incessant buzzing a maddening counterpoint to the building's death throes.
Then, the jolt. The elevator shuddered, metal screaming against metal, and came to an abrupt halt. Doors clanged open, revealing a gaggle of grinning mobsters, their weapons leveled like accusatory fingers.

Albert's shield materialized instinctively, a shimmering blue bubble deflecting the hail of bullets that erupted from the muzzles. Cynicism, his constant companion, whispered in his ear:

"Welcome to your own funeral, Blue Boy."

He spun, parrying a crowbar with his gauntlet, the clang echoing through the smoke-filled corridor. Bullets whizzed past him, whispering death threats on the wind. His own blaster spat blue plasma, carving temporary furrows into the chaos.
He wasn't a soldier, wasn't built for this gritty ballet of violence. But desperation was a potent choreographer, pushing him through the pirouettes and death leaps. His movements were calculated, precise, each strike a desperate plea for survival.

Then, a figure emerged from the smoke, flames dancing around him like macabre courtiers. Tall and gaunt, with eyes like burning embers, this maestro of fire held power that sent chills down Albert's spine. His palms crackled, and a fireball roared towards him, a miniature sun seeking vengeance.

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>>5884573

He dove, rolling through the inferno, the heat blistering his back. The phone, forgotten in the madness, bounced away, its frantic buzzing silenced by the roar of the flames. Panic, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. This wasn't a strategy, this was a desperate scramble for oxygen in a firestorm.

He spotted a fire escape, a rickety bridge to uncertain salvation. He lunged, adrenaline propelling him past outstretched claws of fire. The stairs groaned under his weight, their rusty railings singing a song of imminent collapse.

The mage pursued, flames licking at his heels. Albert felt the searing heat, tasted it in his singed beard. His lungs burned, each breath a shard of glass in his chest.
Desperation sparked a plan, a gamble born of fear and fury. He sprinted towards the sprinklers, a metal spiderweb suspended above the staircase. With a mental yell, he unleashed a blast of energy, the blue beam shattering the pipes.
Water cascaded down, a shimmering curtain extinguishing the fire's dance. The mage screamed, a chorus of hisses merging with the hiss of steam. Albert seized the moment, his gauntlet spitting blue plasma that caught the mage square in the chest.
The fire mage crumbled, a smoldering puppet cut from its strings. Gasping, Albert stumbled past the smoldering corpse, his body a canvas of singed flesh and raw nerves.

He climbed the remaining stairs, each step a testament to his battered will. Above, the sounds of battle echoed, a desperate symphony in the cacophony of chaos. And he, the reluctant hero, the genius prince turned pawn, pressed on, driven by a sliver of hope and a gnawing dread that the nightmare had just begun. Just again Albert's phone rings but he hears Hank shout

>Pick up the call
>Rush towards Hank's voice

>>5884575
>Hanks shout

>>5884575
>Pick up the call

>>5884575
>Rush towards Hank's voice

>>5884521
>I'm just realizing I said fake instead of great kek, lack of sleep hits different
alright, now it makes sense.
>>5884575
>Rush towards Hank's voice

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>>5884914
I do be silly like that :3

Hearing Hank’s groans, Albert charges inside and proceeds to dodge as a stray projectile strikes the initial spot he was in. Iron clawed against steel, the screech of the clash echoing like a banshee's wail in the opulent carnage of the Imperial Suit.

Hank, the avatar of fury, hammered away at a foe who resembled your archetype but he was different. A metallic suit of armor, a belt that had an orb in it and the mastery of different states as he changed colors.

Albert realizes this is the fabled Carmen rider line of the Morpher class, but he is surprised that such an opponent is working with the villains?

Each blow a defiant roar against the storm of crimson blades swirling around him. Hank's own crimson armor, once gleaming, was now a tapestry of gore, cracks spider webbing across the surface like promises of finality.

"You're a disgrace to the Morpher class!"
Hank roared, his voice raw with exertion, sweat and blood painting his face in a grotesque mask.

"A rusted cog in a machine you'll never understand!"

The Carmen Rider, a chrome colossus, laughed at the sound like gears grinding gravel.

"Morpher? I shed that shackles, friend. Now, I dance to a different tune, one fueled by the city's sweet, sweet agony! I believe I've attained the upgraded version of that class"

Each parry was a bone-jarring collision, each riposte a desperate gamble. Hank, his muscles screaming in protest, pushed himself harder, his fury a double-edged blade that dulled his senses as it sharpened his resolve. He landed a glancing blow, the Carmen Rider's helmet sparking as if struck by lightning.

"You fight with conviction, Red Ranger," the Rider sneered, his voice distorted by the helmet's modulator.

"But such is a brittle weapon, easily shattered and you cannot hope to leave here alive do you? After all, you just stormed a business and injured many of it's employees."


The Rider raises his arm, slowly his armor color begins changing. Albert, his shields flickering in a dying defiance, braced himself. His hand, shaking with the weight of their collective fate, pulsates with bluish energy.

This, he knew, was their last stand. And the line between hero and villain had never been so blurry, so stained with the vermilion scene of this brutal dance.

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>>5884962
Then, a crack. A crimson turret of blaze Hank's signature attack, misfired, arcing off the Rider's shield and detonating against a gilded chandelier. Crystal shards rained down like bloody tears, the room momentarily plunged into a hellish supernova

That moment, that flare was Albert's cue. He tore through the wreckage, a blue blur of righteous fury, his gauntlets spitting sapphire plasma that chewed at the Rider's edges. The chrome figure snarled, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught.

Hank, seizing the opportunity, lunged. His blade, a serrated maw of gray steel, carved a bloody furrow across the Rider's chest, metal groaning under the strain. The Rider stumbled back, crimson blooming like a macabre flower on its armor.

But the respite was all too fleeting. The Rider, with a roar that shook the very foundations of the building, unleashed a torrent of crimson energy. The wave, a hungry beast, engulfed Hank, throwing him against the wall like a ragdoll.


His armor groaned, then cracked, revealing a crimson stain blooming beneath.
Albert, his shields flickering under the onslaught, saw the despair in Hank's eyes. His own anger, white-hot and searing, threatened to consume him. He knew, with a cold certainty that chilled his blood, that if he faltered, if he hesitated, this battle would be their last.

His eyes, burning blue, locked with the Carmen rider's. A silent challenge, a promise of vengeance etched in every line of his face. The Rider laughed, a cruel, grating sound that echoed in the death throes of the opulent room.

"You're too late, Blue Ranger," he hissed, the c
energy swirling around him like a shroud.

"This folly it ends now, I'll not entertain such disgrace no longer"

Hank stands side by side with you, and offers a few short words that made your mind race even more.

" I'm sorry, I shouldn't called you first. You're always cleaning up our messes."

These words sounded like a goodbye but you can't allow it to end this way

[Mini game: Defeat the Carmen Rider]

Carmen rider
>HP 20

Red Ranger
>HP 7

Blue Ranger
>HP 10

>Each anon will write a attack sequence for both rangers and roll a 1d5 for damage, the next anon can then write another attack sequence. You'll get a +3 to your attack roll (later added by me) for clever tactics.

> If the attack sequence chain up properly a combo effect occurs which gives the next roll a +3.

>A combo occurs when you @ another anon and clearly build up from his attack. After 3 posts the Carmen rider will attack.

Note: You'll lose a ranger if things go south. So good luck :)

Rolled 3 (1d5)

>>5884980
I'm up first!

The red ranger is a swordsman, and a damn good one.
Blue ranger is a stratergist but also has plasma attacks in his move list. So Lets start.

>Blue Ranger takes the lead, Attacking low and striking at the Carmen rider's legs, throwing in a few high kicks and ending off the opening with a blast to disrupt his balance.

>Red Ranger will flank blue ranger and parry or go high, serving as both shield and sword to his ally waiting for an opening.

Okay anon's, I've set us up. You guys do what you can.

Rolled 2 (1d5)

>>5884980
alright, let's see...
>>5885040
>Blue Ranger capitalizes on Red taking Rider's attention to attack his gut.
>Red Ranger goes for his head.

>>5885070
Red ranger throws some items lying around at the rider, while the Blue ranger shoots off a plasma burst.

>>5885351
roll as well my dude

Rolled 3 (1d5)

>>5885351
I forgot. Phoneposting.

>>5885070
COMBO!

Which means
>>5885363
+3 = 6

>>5885040
Tactics bonus
3 + 3 = 6

Final damage for first round = 14 damage

The air crackled with a potent mixture of ozone and fury as the battle ballet intensified. Blue Ranger, a sapphire storm, launched the offensive, his gauntlets buzzing with latent energy. He feinted low, the metal edge of his gauntlet whistling past the Rider's armored shin, then whipped his foot up in a spinning crescent kick aimed at the helmet's visor.

The Rider, a crimson whirlwind himself, spun on a crimson dime, the tendrils around him lashing out like malevolent vines. They snagged Blue Ranger's ankle, dragging him off balance. But before he could be thrown, Red Ranger, a crimson blur, materialized beside him. His own blade, serrated and hungry, met the tendrils head-on, severing them with a spray of sparks.

He swept his leg through Blue Ranger's support, launching him into a somersault that ended with a plasma blast erupting from his gauntlets. The blast, a miniature sun, caught the Rider in the chest, staggering him but not breaking his stride.

"Clever, Blue ranger!" bellowed Red Ranger, his voice gravelly with exertion. He parried a blow aimed at his shoulder, deflecting the crimson blade towards Blue Ranger, who caught it midair with a flourish.

Blue Ranger, seizing the opening, danced closer, the glint of the Rider's helmet reflected in his steely eyes. He struck low, a viper-quick jab towards the Rider's abdomen. The blade, finding purchase, tore through the crimson fabric, revealing a flash of metallic underlay.

The Rider roared, a feral sound that seemed to shake the very foundation of the opulent suite. He lashed out with his elbow, catching Blue Ranger across the ribs, sending him crashing into a gilded console. Red Ranger, his eyes blazing with crimson fire, lunged. His blade, aimed for the Rider's helm, sang through the air like a hungry banshee.

But the Rider, faster than he appeared, blocked the blow with a clang that echoed like a death knell. Red Ranger, his attack parried, stumbled back, his vision momentarily swimming with stars. Then, a shower of debris rained down on them, courtesy of Red Ranger's improvised attack. A porcelain urn, catapulted by his kick, shattered against the Rider's shoulder, spraying him with bone-white shards.

Blue Ranger, seizing this moment of chaos, unleashed a plasma burst, the sapphire beam carving a furrow across the Rider's chest. The Rider, his armor smoking and sparking, snarled but pressed on. He raised his blade, a crimson crescent hungry for blood, and aimed for Red Ranger's exposed throat.
Time seemed to stretch, every tick of the clock a deafening gong announcing the city's doom.
.


>Carmen Rider next attack

Rolled 6, 1 = 7 (2d6)

>>5885396

As the crimson blade arced towards Hank's throat, a sapphire blur slammed into the path. Albert, with a desperate roar, interposed his shield, the flickering energy barrier absorbing the blow with a deafening clang.

The impact sent shockwaves through Albert, his knees buckling from the force. But even as he stumbled back, vision momentarily swimming, he knew his gamble had bought Hank precious seconds. The Red Ranger, eyes wide with gratitude, scrambled away, rolling behind a toppled marble statue for cover.

The Rider, however, had anticipated this move. He let out a chilling laugh, the sound twisting in the opulent confines of the suite. With a flash of crimson, his armor shifted, his form rippling with raw, brute strength. He lunged at Albert, the crimson blade a brutal blur, each blow aimed at shattering the flickering blue shield.

Albert, his teeth gritted against the pounding agony in his side, held his ground. He parried, he spun, he deflected, the shield an extension of his will, the flickering energy barrier the last bastion against the crimson tide. But the Rider, his strength amplified by the red transformation, was relentless. Each blow chipped away at Albert's defenses, the energy barrier sputtering precariously.

Suddenly, a chandelier, cracked and teetering from Hank's earlier attack, plummeted with a deafening crash. Shards of crystal rained down, momentarily obscuring the battle. As the dust settled, a horrifying sight met Albert's eyes.

The Rider, towering over him, his armor now glowing a menacing green, aimed a fist the size of a melon at Albert's head. With a monstrous roar, he unleashed the blow, the air itself screaming in protest.

The world erupted in a blinding flash of emerald light. Albert's shield shattered, the force of the blow sending him flying through the air like a ragdoll. He slammed into a gilded console, wood splintering beneath him, pain exploding in every nerve ending. His vision swam, darkness creeping at the edges, his consciousness teetering on the brink.

Through the haze, he saw Hank rise from behind the statue, crimson blade flashing as he launched a desperate attack. But the Rider, his every movement precise and deadly, effortlessly parried each blow, sending Hank crashing back against the shattered remains of the chandelier.

The battle hung in the balance, the air thick with anticipation and the metallic tang of blood. Albert, his body a symphony of agony, knew their only hope lay with Hank. Could the Red Ranger find a way to exploit the Rider's momentary lapse in focus? Would Albert's flickering resolve reignite, offering the strength for a final desperate stand?


>First result: Red ranger damage taken
>Second result: Blue ranger damage taken

>>5885400

Round 2


Carmen rider
>HP 6

Red Ranger
>HP 1

Blue Ranger
>HP 9

Hmm spicy, after 3 action rolls I'll roll again for the Carmen rider.

>>5885400
kinda funny how in the text blue got the worst of it bu the dices fucked red kek
>>5885402
same deal as last time then ?

Rolled 2 (1d5)

>>5885400
alright, seeing that we need to finish this now, let's gamble.
>Seeing that the rider's armor has a lot of cracks, Blue will focus on it's weakpoints after their tag attack.
>meanwhile Red throws a faint for a weakpoint and attacks the rider's sword arm.

>>5885409

Rng the ultimate narrative antagonist

Rolled 4 (1d5)

>>5885413
>After opening the cracks a bit, Red ranger recognises the opening and slams his sword into the widest crack on the chest, burying the sword deep enough to not fall out.

>Blue takes advantage, and with a butterly kick slams the handle of the sword with a full force to lever the heated cracks wider and expose Rider to an unprotected plasma balst to the chest

>>5885413
>>5885421
Power of friendship BITCH!

Albert's vision swam, the world a mosaic of shattered crystal and crimson fury. The Rider's emerald fist had been a comet, his own shield a flimsy napkin against its force. He tasted blood and dust, his body a symphony of broken chords. Yet, amidst the pain, a flicker of hope ignited.

He saw Hank, a whirlwind of steel, dancing around the Rider's towering green form. The Red Ranger's blade, a hungry dragon, darted for the cracks spiderwebbing across the Rider's armor, each blow chipping away at the crimson facade.

Albert, drawing strength from the sight, willed himself up. His sapphire armor hummed, the flickering energy shield reforming with a crackle. He stumbled to his feet, the floor groaning under his battered form. His gaze, sharpened by desperation, scanned the Rider for vulnerabilities.

The emerald glow, a beacon of monstrous power, pulsed brightest around the Rider's core, a stark contrast to the spiderweb cracks on its chestplate. Albert knew that was their target, the key to unlocking the tide of this brutal ballet.

With a guttural roar, he launched himself at the Rider's side, his sapphire blitz a streak of blue. The Rider, its green eyes narrowed, met his attack with a brutal backhand. The force sent Albert sprawling, his blade skittering across the marble floor.

But he wasn't finished. He rolled, using the momentum to propel himself back to his feet, the sapphire shield crackling back to life. With a shout, he slammed it into the Rider's chest, the energy barrier searing against the cracked metal.

The Rider staggered, its emerald glow flickering momentarily. Hank, seizing the opening, lunged, his blade a crimson streak aimed at the Rider's exposed sword arm. The clang echoed through the shattered suite as the Rider parried, but the blow left a fresh gash, crimson blossoming against the emerald.

It was enough. Albert saw it, the widest crack on the Rider's chestplate, glowing like a malevolent wound. He yelled, a primal cry of desperation, and charged. He met Hank in a mid-air collision, their combined momentum propelling them towards the Rider.

Hank, with a desperate grin, slammed his sword into the widest crack, burying the blade deep enough to stand firm. Albert, his vision blurring with pain, landed a perfect butterfly kick on the sword handle, his full weight driving the blade even deeper.

A groan ripped through the air, a sound of metal tortured and armor fractured. The emerald carapace shattered, the cracks on the Rider's body widening into gaping wounds. With a final, agonizing roar, the Rider crumpled, its crimson tide fading into a chilling stillness.

>>5885427

>GAME!

Winners: Red and Blue ranger

Albert fell beside Hank, his body a wreck, his breaths shallow gasps. He looked at his friend, his vision swimming, and saw the crimson bloom staining Hank's chest. The Red Ranger's face was pale, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Hank!" Albert's voice was a cracked whisper. He reached out, his hand trembling, and pressed it against Hank's chest, the warmth seeping through the crimson stain.

"Stay with me, buddy. We did it."

Hank smiled weakly, a ghost of red against his pale lips. "We sure did, Blue," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "You…saved us."

Then, his eyes fluttered shut, his breaths slowing. Panic clawed at Albert's throat. He pressed harder against Hank's chest, his sapphire armor humming, willing its energy to mend the wound, to stop the crimson tide from claiming his friend.

He held Hank close, the warmth of his friend's body a chilling contrast to the growing coldness in his eyes. Tears streamed down Albert's face, a sapphire rain mixing with the crimson staining the marble floor.

Then, the silence of the suite shattered. The slam of a door, the rush of heavy footsteps. Armed figures poured in, their faces grim, their guns aimed at the two Rangers, the heroes stained with victory's bitter cost.

"Hold it right there!" barked a voice, sharp and cold. "Don't move, or you'll be fired upon!"

Albert looked up, his vision blurred by tears and exhaustion. He saw the faces of the police officers, their eyes filled with suspicion and fear. He saw the guns pointed at him, the cold steel glinting in the dim light.

Albert looked back at Hank, slowly stabilizing and his condition improving due to the energy being absorbed. Albert didn't know he had innate healing abilities was quite shocked, he turned to the cops about to spurt out some nerd shit

“You won't believe it, I can actually-"

Before he finishes his sentence, Albert gets a rifle to the face knocking him out cold.

Who should we follow next

>Black ranger
>Yellow ranger
>Kenny Blake

>>5885430
Forgot to add

Chapter 2 done

>City stability 79%

>>5885430
>Black ranger

Lets spinnnn

>>5885430
>Pink girl

>>5885430
>Black ranger

>>5885430
>Black ranger
bruh, it must be the cops bought by the underworld

We go back to earlier today

Location: Downtown

Time: 10:25 am

Frederick “Power" De Boer hadn't been awake five minutes and already chaos threatened to drown his neighbors, loud heavy metal music playing. His alarm, a repurposed car horn salvaged from a junkyard brawl, went off with a shriek that could curdle milk. He swatted it off, sending the rickety contraption clattering across the room to join the tangled heap of wires and half-finished gadgets that constituted his "decoration."

He stumbled out of bed, his obsidian hair sticking up like quills from a particularly rowdy porcupine. He hadn't bothered with sheets last night, opting instead for the questionable warmth of a discarded lab coat – courtesy of a "borrowed" experiment from the university. Breakfast was whatever could be scavenged from the fridge – yesterday's pizza crust, a dubious green goo bubbling in a beaker (don't ask), and a fistful of granola snatched from the cereal box still stuck to the ceiling from his last invention's "minor malfunction."

News flickered to life on the salvaged monitor perched precariously on a stack of dusty textbooks. The normally cheery anchor had traded his smile for a grim frown, the cityscape behind him replaced by flashing emergency lights and a plume of black smoke rising from the Yethur factory district.

Power stopped mid-shovel of green goo, the spoon hovering near his open mouth like a forgotten spear. "Eunice?" he spat, the goo clinging to his chin like a radioactive beard.
"That crazy broad got herself in trouble? The fuck happened when I slept, dammit I don't get any fun"

The news feed exploded with footage of flames engulfing the Yethur factory, workers fleeing in terror, and a figure in yellow spandex hovering amidst the chaos. Eunice, the Yellow Ranger, always struck him as more suited to beating up a few punks for extra change than catching a body. Though, knowing her pent up rage maybe a factory explosion wasn't entirely unexpected.
He scoffed, taking a large bite of the pizza crust, sending crumbs showering across the keyboard of his half-assembled pistol.
"Probably the bitch had some crazy weed and decided to run it with anyone, caught two bodies in there and knocked a mf out. I ain't even mad, that hoe has good K/D"
he grumbled, eyes glued to the screen.
But as the report unfolded, detailing a mysterious detail in the news, his amusement faded. His gut, honed by years of street brawls and back-alley escapades, twisted with unease. This wasn't some she whooped ass news, it was more of a she is missing news. This was something else, something darker.
He finished his goo-breakfast with a grimace, the news report echoing in his ears. Eunice might be a glorified gangster but there's no way she'll skip town like this, or even get captured. Something is up and Power felt it in his joints.

>>5885717

With a growl and a muttered curse, he slammed his coffee mug down, the chipped ceramic nearly shattering. No time for tinkering today. It was time for Power to put on his obsidian claws and remind whoever was playing with the rangers, that it's him they should be afraid of.

Fredrick hops on his bike and rides to the the medical bay to see Alice before meeting up with the others

Frederick, adrenaline thrumming like a faulty power line, snatched his dented helmet adorned with salvaged gears and blinking LEDs. He jammed it onto his messy head, obsidian armor prickling beneath his grimy t-shirt. Tinkering could wait. Yethur was calling, and even “Power" De Boer answered when his city, his people, needed him.

He roared to life his custom-built motorcycle, a welded-together monstrosity of salvaged engines and scrap metal that wheezed like a dragon with a head cold.
It spat black smoke and grumbled its disapproval as he peeled out of his cluttered apartment, leaving a trail of bewildered pigeons and curious alley cats in his wake.

His destination wasn't the epicenter of the chaos, not yet. First, there was Alice. She can't be left unattended for much longer, Alice was the Pink Ranger and if his memory is right she doesn't need so long to be healed.
But right now, after news of Eunice's fiery ordeal, he figures he'll discharge her and take her back home for security reasons.

Location: Southsea Medbay

Time: 10:45 AM

The hospital, a sterile monument to order in a city teeming with chaos, felt alien to him. He parked his groaning beast of a bike with a clatter that drew panicked stares from nurses, and strode through the polished hallways with the grace of a rampaging bull in a china shop. The faint scent of disinfectant mixed with the sterile hum of machinery couldn't quite drown out the echo of sirens wailing in his head.
Power notices something is wrong with the hospital, slowly walking inside he notices an unnatural silence hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of sirens and ambulance wails. A prickling unease crept down his spine, the metallic scent of blood stinging his nostrils. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He dismounted, his obsidian armor creaking like a whisper in the oppressive quiet. Each step on the cracked asphalt echoed like a gunshot in the deserted street. He approached the hospital entrance, his every nerve screaming caution. The once-gleaming glass doors lay shattered, shards glittering like malevolent eyes.

Through the gaping maw, a tide of crimson flesh pulsed under the harsh glare of emergency lights. Grotesque parodies of humans, pulsating mounds of muscle and viscera, shambled through the sterile hallways. Fredrick, a veteran of back-alley brawls and monster massacres, had seen his fair share of horrors, but this... this was a nightmare given flesh.

"Fuck it all man, I got the horror flick card"

>>5885729

>MUSCLE TIME: Rush in and air this bitch out

>I am shadow: Blend into the shadows using your black suit

> Contact Alice: Have to know she's doing well before I go in there.

>>5885730
>I am shadow: Blend into the shadows using your black suit
3rd option sounds like those scenes where someone is hiding and the phone gives then away

>>5885730
>I am shadow

If we know where she is kept, we can skip floors via outside window or fire escape.

He crept through the med bay, his claws whispering against the pulsating walls. Every gurney was overturned, every monitor dark, the place reeking of metallic blood and something distinctly more putrid.
"Yethur wouldn't let heroes meet this fate..since when has this shit been going on,"
he grumbled, shoving aside a fleshy tube that twitched like a offended worm.

He found a maintenance hatch, a slivered opening offering a glimpse into the hospital's skeletal underbelly. "Shortcut time, sunshine and rainbows," he muttered, squeezing through the narrow gap like a greased bolt. He landed in a maze of pipes and wires, bioluminescent goo dripping from the makeshift ceiling. It smelled like a sewer had a bar brawl with a gym sock, but at least it was quiet.

He navigated the claustrophobic tunnels, his obsidian armor whispering secrets to the shadows. He passed ventilation shafts filled with squirming tendrils, dodged puddles of glowing goo that hissed like angry cats, and once, swore he saw a pair of glowing eyes watching him from behind a pulsating wall. "Probably just my imagination," he scoffed, though the hairs on his neck prickled like they were trying to escape.

Finally, he found another hatch, this one leading back to the med bay. He emerged near a nurses' station, a twisted parody of its former function. Flesh molds shambled through the halls, their vacant eyes and gnashing teeth a disturbing ballet of mindless hunger.

And then, he saw her. Alice's room, door ajar, the sterile white glow spilling out like a beacon in the crimson swamp. But guarding it, like a grotesque statue carved from raw muscle, stood a figure unlike any he'd seen.

Seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, he possessed a twisted semblance of human form. But unlike the mindless flesh molds, his eyes burned with intelligence, a predatory glint that sent shivers down Frederick's spine. He was scarred, this guy isn't someone you can mess with solo or without bringing in major fire power

>Hat trick: Try and distract the monster from the door

>Secret tunnel: Find another way in

>Relocate: Check another area [of your choosing]

File: _61a6654f-a84e-4f8c-8b5e-(...).jpg (480 KB, 814x1024)

480 KB JPG

>>5886140
Thought I added the image

>>5886140
>Hat trick: Try and distract the monster from the door

>>5886140
>Hat trick: Try and distract the monster from the door

>>5886140
>Hat trick

For the third time, trying to post this damned shit, THROW. A SCALPEL. AT SOME GLASS!

>>5886254
Good idea

>Hat trick!

Frederick, ever the resourceful thug, saw the glimmer of a scalpel glinting on a nearby instrument tray. With a flick of his wrist, the blade zipped through the air, singing a high-pitched song as it embedded itself in a glass display case across the hall. The shriek of shattered glass cut through the guttural symphony of the flesh molds, and the hulking figure guarding Alice's room whirled its head like a monstrous sunflower seeking the sun.

It moved with unnatural fluidity, muscles rippling beneath its scarred skin as it lumbered towards the source of the clatter. Frederick, seizing the distraction, slipped into the doorway of Alice's room like a shadow reclaiming its form.

The scene within was a nightmare draped in sterile white. Alice, the vibrant Pink Ranger, lay on the hospital bed, her usually radiant pink hair matted and dull, clinging to her skin like strands of seaweed. An unnatural sheen covered her body, and crimson, pulsing lumps dotted her arm like macabre tumours.

Her eyes, once sparkling with kindness and warmth, were glazed over, staring into the void as she spoke into a phone held limply in her hand. "Yes... no... understand..." Her voice, devoid of its usual spark, echoed in the room like a broken music box.

His gut twisted into a knot. Alice, his friend, his comrade, was infected, controlled by something unseen. He had to get her out of there, now.

"Alice! Snap out of it!" he roared, his voice cracking through the fog of her trance. But her eyes remained vacant, staring through him as if he were a ghost.

He gritted his teeth, adrenaline searing through his veins. There was no time for gentle coaxing. He scooped her up in his arms, her limp form feather-light despite the strange growths. He glanced around the room, desperate for an escape route.

Three options loomed before him, each a gamble against the encroaching darkness. The air vent, a claustrophobic tunnel promising a quick but risky journey. The laundry shoot, a dizzying drop shrouded in uncertainty. And the door, the obvious choice, but the one the hulking monster would likely guard upon its return.

The clock ticked in his head, its rhythm echoing the thundering fear in his chest. Which path would lead them to safety? Which path would lead them deeper into the crimson nightmare?

>Go through the air vents

>Go through the laundry shoots

>BLACK RANGER AIN'T NO BITCH: Use the door

>>5886319
>Go through the laundry shoots
The vents ain’t no option since pink can’t move on her own and the monster is risky.

>>5886319
>Go through the air vents

>>5886319
>Laundry.

We can outrun or outfight the monsters. We cant fuck with the big bastard.

The sterile scent of disinfectant gave way to a musty hum of machinery as Frederick plunged into the laundry chute. Alice, limp in his arms, felt like a porcelain doll under his calloused grip. He held her close, both shielding her from the rough metal walls and seeking a flicker of recognition in her vacant eyes.

Location: Medbay Sub level
Time: 10:47 am
The darkness swallowed them whole. The only light came from the narrow metal grate above, a pale disc that seemed to mock their descent. He twisted and turned, his obsidian armor scraping against the rusted chute, cursing beneath his breath. Each thud against the metal walls made his stomach churn, fearing he was shattering more than just Alice's fragile form.
The descent felt endless, a metal tunnel spiraling into the bowels of the hospital. Time blurred, measured only by the echoing groans of the chute and the frantic beat of his own heart. Just when he thought his lungs would scream for air, a sliver of light appeared below.

He braced himself, kicking out against the chute walls to slow their fall. They crashed through the opening, landing in a heap of tangled bedsheets and discarded linens. Groaning, Alice stirred in his arms, her glazed eyes finally flickering with a spark of awareness.

"Fred?" she rasped, her voice a dry whisper. "What... what happened?"

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave. She wasn't gone. Not yet. But the room they landed in was no haven. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through a barred window, revealing a cluttered linen closet crammed with shelves and cleaning supplies.

Outside, the shuffling moans of flesh molds echoed through the hospital corridors. They'd need to move fast, find another way out before their pursuers followed the trail of clattering metal and discarded fabric.
His eyes scanned the room, landing on a small, rickety door hidden behind a pile of towels. It looked old and rusty, leading who knows where, but it offered a chance, a glimmer of hope in the choking darkness.
He turned to Alice, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Alice, we need to go," he said, his voice low and urgent. "There's no time to explain. Trust me."
Dust motes whirled in the sliver of light squeezing through the barred window, pirouetting in a slow, macabre ballet. The air hung heavy with the stale scent of forgotten laundry and something cloying, vaguely metallic. Cobwebs draped the shelves like ghostly tapestries, casting grotesque shadows on the overflowing bins of bleach and detergent. Every gurgle of a pipe, every groan of the building seemed to whisper of secrets best left buried.
Alice blinked, a tremor running through her hand as she clutched Frederick's. Her head throbbed like a drum solo gone rogue, memories flickering like broken film - the crimson tide in the factory, the searing agony in her arm, a voice, cold and cruel, whispering promises of… of what? Her voice, when it emerged, was a frail echo of its usual vibrancy: "Where… where are we?"

>>5886447

Frederick, eyes scanning the claustrophobic chamber, squeezed her hand reassuringly. "No time for that, Pink. Trust me, okay? We gotta get out of here, now." His gaze darted to the creaking door, the shadows beyond like a silent abyss beckoning.

Taking a deep breath, he shouldered the door open, the rusty hinges groaning their disapproval. Beyond, the narrow passage yawned open, darkness swallowing the meager light escaping the linen closet. It was a leap of faith, a step into the unknown, but the flesh molds' guttural chorus echoed closer, leaving them with no other choice.

"Together, we got to leave this crummy place" Frederick muttered, his voice laced with a grim determination. He carried Alice into the next room, seeing how she's handicapping him. Fighting isn't the best option


Which way would you go

>Sub level command room: Monitor the hospital and contact the outside world

>Sub level safe room: Let Alice catch her breath here

>Sub level armory: Honestly Fredrick is about to run here anyway

>>5886450
>Sub level command room: Monitor the hospital and contact the outside world
man wtf is going on here.

>>5886450
>Command room

The world must be informed.
Nothing we do here can stop the cities fall. We just need to preserve

>>5886447
>Sub level command room: Monitor the hospital and contact the outside world

>>5886450
>>Sub level armory: Honestly Fredrick is about to run here anyway

The air in the command room hummed with a different kind of tension. Gone were the sterile beeps and sterile pronouncements, replaced by the rhythmic gurgle of biotubes and the faint, fleshy pulse that seemed to emanate from the very walls. Frederick edged in, careful as a cat stalking a cornered bird, Alice still limp in his arms.

Here, amidst the blinking consoles and emergency override buttons, he wasn't in a safe haven. This was the brain of the beast, the control center from which Yethur puppeteered his crimson nightmare. But it was also strategically invaluable. From here, he could access security feeds, broadcast a distress signal, maybe even trigger the hospital's self-destruct. If there was a chance, it lived here.

He eased Alice into a swivel chair, her porcelain stillness a stark contrast to the pulsating red glow creeping across the monitors. His mind drifted back, a rewind to the start of this bloody symphony. It was just past 10 pm yesterday, a routine security shift, when chaos first ripped through the sterile halls. His eyes narrowed as the memory replayed: a lone flesh creature, a grotesque parody of a security guard, its flesh erupting in a shower of pulsating eggs.

Each egg, he knew, a parasitic grenade, primed to explode into another mindless horror. Alice gasped, a choked sob escaping her lips. Her eyes, finally awake, widened in horror as the memory flickered across the screen. Her infection, then, hadn't been a bite. No, hers was born of the air, a silent infiltration by spores she must have inhaled in the chaos.

A cold fury settled in his gut. The city bled outside, and Alice, his friend, his comrade, was caught in the crossfire. But despair was a luxury he couldn't afford. There was still hope, flickering like a distant ember in the suffocating darkness. He rewound the feeds, searching for pockets of green amidst the crimson tide, his obsidian claws drumming a nervous rhythm on the console.

Finally, a beacon: the maternity ward, untouched, bathed in the sterilizing glow of UV lights. A haven, a spark in the darkness. A surge of adrenaline shot through him. He grabbed the microphone, his voice rasping in the silence.

"This is Black Ranger. Calling any survivors, this is Black Ranger. Do you copy?"

The silence stretched and indeed it was a stupid idea but as you can see desperation becomes intelligence, a pregnant void that threatened to swallow his hope whole. Then, a crackle, a whisper amidst the static.

"Black Ranger… yeah, this is Dr. Chen. We read you. What's the situation?"

Relief washed over him, a wave cresting against the shore of despair. He was not alone. The fight, the hope, wasn't over yet. With Alice secured and a lifeline established, the game had just begun. The Black Ranger, obsidian claws glinting in the crimson glow, was ready to dance with the shadows.

"This is probably more than you bargained for, Doc my man,"

>>5886998

he rasped, his voice laced with grim determination.

"But we'll talk later. Right now, I need medical supplies, weapons, and a damn good escape route. You ready for a show, Doc?"

The answer came through the crackling static, a beacon of defiance in the encroaching darkness.

“Front row seats Ranger. We're ready."

Power turns to Alice and she nods to him, she seems to be slowly recovering but still too weak to assist him. Frederick sighs and uses the comms again to contact the outside world, a lone frequency is picked up. It was a guttural low growl

“Yes?" It sounded so inhuman Frederick was stunned and feared the worst

“This is the Southsea Medbay…requesting the presence of the authorities “

A few moments and static, then a slick noise and low pitch scraping laughter

" Southsea Medbay…is not compromised, thank you for your time"

The connection is ended and Fredrick puts back his helmet still wondering how the hell this day turned out like this.

Mini game: Escape from Southsea

Dr Chen death: 6 searches
Alice's death: 12 searches

>Each anon suggests a place to search

>Depending on their roll a 1d4 searches is done

>Searches that are long give more items to survive this chapter but run down your allies survival rate

>You can directly go to their location once you've had enough.

>>5887002
We can risk if my roll is 2. If my roll is 4, its best if we just dont.

>I suggest we search the test labs/Pharmacy, where they keep the chemicals. If there arent any, a janitors closet is doubt to have bleach and amonia.

Rolled 1 (1d4)

>>5887068
Damnit.

Rolled 4 (1d4)

>>5887002
>Search the medical equipment room
perhaps we can grab anything useful there and with >>5887069 roll, I can afford getting a 4.

>>5887323
zam, right on the mark

Rolled 1 (1d4)

>>5887002
Garage, for an escape route?

>>5887331
Dude, are you serious ? We already hit 5 searches and you had to roll one more to kill the doc ?

>>5887331
KEK! AHAHAHA ANON I CAN'T BREATHE. Well it's fine, though saving more civilians would've been great.

Well I'll get typing, the doc's group has seen better days but at least Alice is alive for now

>Dr Chen: KIA
>Alice: 6 searches

Gimme a minute let me type out your escapades from the searches

>>5887331
Man, really? Not even hitting 7, 6 for fuck.

>MkMad
Yes kaptcha, I am mad.

Rolled 1 (1d4)

Since anon there killed the doc already, I’ll do 1 more roll since it’s 6 to kill the next one and it’ll be safe.
>Search the medic changing room

>>5887068
>>5887069
>>5887323
>>5887331
>>5887389


>Visted Pharmacy
>Visted Garage

Frederick, adrenaline buzzing in his veins, left the command room like a shadow fueled by drugs. Alice, still worried about the situation, decided to stay put in the command room. Fredrick had a plan, a flicker of hope against the darkness, and that plan hinged on securing supplies, fast.

His first stop, the pharmacy. He burst through the double doors, expecting rows of gleaming vials and neatly stacked boxes. Instead, he found only chaos. Shattered glass glittered on the floor, shelves lay ransacked, and the air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood. A 1, huh? Looks like some freaks had already paid this place a visit.

Frustration gnawed at his gut, but time was a luxury he couldn't afford. He pushed on, adrenaline propelling him towards the medical equipment room. This, this had to be his jackpot. And he wasn't wrong. As he threw open the doors, a treasure trove of surgical tools, defibrillators, and even a gleaming laser scalpel caught his eye. But the real prize, tucked away in a corner cabinet, was pure brilliance: a crate of experimental flamethrowers, prototypes deemed too dangerous for regular use. A mistake, some called it. Fredrick, cradling the crate like a newborn god, called it salvation.

He could almost hear Dr. Chen's dry wit crackling over the comms,

"Dammit..hey kid I don't mean to alert you but there is a real piece of work out here ."

A grin, grim and predatory, stretched across Frederick's face. It was time to turn up the heat on Yethur's little infestation.


Before leaving the pharmacy he grabbed a handful of flamethrowers and charged towards the garage. A quick scout, it yielded little - a dusty pickup truck, its engine wheezing like a consumptive frog. Not ideal, but enough to get them out of this hellhole.

Just as he checks the engines and how secure it's frame is. Dr. Chen's voice, now frantic, crackled through the comms.

“Kid! They're everywhere! We're overrun! Mother of God! HELP US…I'VE NEVER SEEN SOMETHING SO LARGE!"

Static cuts him short, Alice was trying to contact you and manages at the end

" Fred! Help them they're going to die! Oh God! Oh God!” Alice was incredibly distressed.

Dr. Chen was dead, his voice replaced by guttural roars and the sickening squelch of flesh on flesh. The nightmare was advancing, fast.

Frederick cursed under his breath, the familiar rage boiling over. But this time, it was laced with something new, a cold, steely resolve. He had tasted hope, held it in his hands, and he wouldn't let these monsters snatch it away.

He hefted a flamethrower, its nozzle spitting a hungry tongue of blue fire. An escape route has been made and he knows how to cut through these horrid vile creatures, although one problem. Something else was stalking Fredrick within the sublevel of the Southsea Medbay


>Alice death: 6 searches
>Ambush: 3 searches


>>5887418

I'll attend to you in a bit

>>5887418
After this post

>Alice death: 5 searches
>Ambush: 2 searches

I gotta go do some things, you anons can discuss how you want to progress.

>>5887427
Well okay.

Fuck further preperations.
We need a way out, and then we leave. There are no people to save but Alice, we have flamethrowers and a çar. Lets move.

>>5887422
>ambush
yup, let's get away from here asap
btw I'm really interested in what was the big brain idea of the anon who saw we got 5 points total and decided to kill the doc anyway

Alright it's time to leave then


The pickup roared through the hospital's bowels, a wheezing beast possessed by the will to flee. Flames roared from the back, courtesy of Frederick's newfound arsenal, painting the sterile walls in macabre murals of crimson and soot. He slammed through corridors, the engine screaming its protest, adrenaline his only fuel.

He hadn't planned to leave her. Leaving Alice in the command room had been a calculated gamble, a desperate bid for time for him to scavenge items. But every tortured scream echoing through the comms, every flicker of movement on the monitors, gnawed at his gut with the teeth of guilt.

When the comms sputtered out, replaced by a chorus of guttural roars, his resolve snapped. He slammed the pickup into reverse, tires squealing like tortured geese. His plan? Simple and insane: dive back into the hellfire, snatch Alice, and pray the flames held back the tide of flesh monsters long enough for them to escape.

He burst through the command room doors, a whirlwind of blue fire and obsidian claws. Alice was there, slumped against the console, the crimson tendrils on her arm pulsing in time with the chaos outside. But something was different. Her eyes, once haunted by whispers of oblivion, now burned with a fire he hadn't seen in weeks. It was desperation, yes, but it was also… determination.

"No time for staring, Pink!"
he roared, scooping her up like a porcelain doll. "Flamethrower?"

She fumbled in her lap, checking out one of the prototypes, its sleek form cold against her clammy palms.

“We really are in a zombie movie," she rasped, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and excitement.

While driving in the truck both rangers became a two-person orchestra of destruction. Alice, despite her weakness, held her own, the blue fire licking at the encroaching tendrils with a hungry hiss. Frederick, a demon wielding the power of the song, carved a path through the flesh monsters, their grotesque forms dissolving into shrieks and smoke. It was a gamble to quickly drive through the sublevel and blast every walking corpse who attempted to stop them, although they didn't account for one of them to be present..

>>5887884
It was a ballet of death, a tango with instincts, each step a gamble against the overwhelming odds. Adrenaline coursed through Frederick's veins, masking the throbbing pain of a scratch on his arm. He ignored it, focused only on getting them out, on protecting Alice, the flicker of her newfound fire his beacon in the crimson storm.

Finally, they reached the emergency exit, its steel doors a portal to salvation. He slowly pulls Alice away from the window and closer to him which prompts an awkward moment she shares alone, snarling shadow guarding the gate surged. A tide of claws and teeth, but he met them with a wall of blue fire and a truck! Their screams a macabre counterpoint to the engine's roar.

He held Alice firmly just as a fleshy arm smashed against the glass. With a final roar, he threw the truck into gear, peeling out of the hospital's smoking maw as dawn's first light stained the sky with a blood-red promise.

They stumbled out of the pickup, lungs burning, bodies screaming. Alice leaned against him, her pale face bathed in the pale glow of dawn. The crimson tendrils on her arm pulsed weakly, a fading echo of the nightmare.

"We made it," she whispered, her voice brittle but laced with awe. "

"We actually made it Fred! "

Frederick looked at her, his gaze lingering on the firelight dancing in her eyes.

“Of course we ducking made it, who the hell do you think I am pinky. I'm Power the god damn badass. Put some respect on my name,"

he rasped, they both share a giggle and slowly get up

They stood there, survivors of the crimson tide, however one by one. They notice the monsters are still coming after them, now released to the outside world . Fredrick hears large thuds slowly approaching from the sublevel which is getting louder and louder, a monstrous roar is heard as well.
Fredrick looked left and right repeating

"SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT"

>Come get some: Stand your ground

>Tactical retreat isn't cowardly: Run

>Ninja; Hide with Alice in the parking lot

>>5887885
>Tactical retreat.

Ring up our mentors. Ring Albert, Ring Hank. Somebody has to know.

>>5887885
>Tactical retreat isn't cowardly: Run

>>5887889
>>5888251

Sorry gents power in the neighborhood was down and my connection was ass

Location: Southsea Medbay Entrnace


Time: 1:25 am


>Tactical retreat
Frederick, his instincts screaming at him to fight, knew staying was gambling with their fragile existence and that was totally a badass way to go out however. Alice, barely clinging to consciousness, relied on him to be the storm she couldn't be. With a final growl, he hoisted her over his shoulder like a prized warrior's spoils and sprinted out of the parking lot.


The gigantic crimson figure which lumbered 7ft was in pursuit, it's guttural roars echoing through the empty streets. Fredrick weaved through the deserted streets, past an eerily quiet section of town that is supposed to be lively

Reaching for his comm, he barked into the device, "This is Black Ranger! Any survivors out there? We need extraction, ASAP!"

Silence. Static. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. Hank's number, dialed in a fever, went straight to voicemail, another chilling echo of the growing chaos. He tried Albert, a shred of hope clinging to his team mate's loyalty.

The phone rang, then rang again, and again, unanswered. His gut twisted. Was Albert caught in the thick of it as well? Unknown to him Carmen Rider and Albert were about to lock into mortal combat.

John Doe, a long shot at best, picked up with a garbled shout.

“Fredrick? Can't… hear you… too much… noise!"

The line cut out, swallowed by the cacophony of screams and crashes.
Despair threatened to engulf him, but Alice stirred, her voice a frail whisper against the chaos.

“Fred… don't stop… keep running."
He gritted his teeth, her words a tether pulling him back from the precipice. He was the Black Ranger, a custodian against the encroaching darkness slowly emanating from the city.

No fear, no despair, could break his oath.
He burst through a deserted cafeteria, slamming through the back doors onto a service walkway. Below, the city sprawled, a mosaic of broken glass and smoke.


A police helicopter droned overhead, a lone beacon of hope against the crimson tide. He waved frantically, hoping, praying they saw him.

Suddenly, a guttural roar split the air. The hulking figure, its flesh oozing like molten lava, blocked their path.

>>5888849
Frederick snarled, the obsidian claws on his gauntlet glinting in the morning sun. It was time to buy them time, to carve a path through the nightmare.


With a roar that echoed off the concrete canyons, he charged. The fight was a blur of claws and fire, of the primal dance of survival. Alice, perched on a precarious ledge, watched, her eyes wide with both fear and a dawning admiration. Every blow he landed, every scream he silenced, was a testament to the oath he carried, a flickering ember of defiance against the encroaching darkness.
He didn't know if they'd make it. The odds were stacked against them, the city itself bleeding from a thousand wounds. But in that moment, with Alice's eyes burning into his, with the flames of his rage and his flamethrower painting the dawn a macabre red, Frederick, the Black Ranger, refused to surrender. He would buy them time, even if it cost him everything.
The helicopter, finally alerted by the firefight, dipped towards them, its blade whipping the air.


He saw a rope ladder dangling, a lifeline thrown into the abyss. With a final roar, he pushed Alice towards it, her fingers slipping around the rungs just as the hulking figure slammed into him.


He felt the sickening crunch of bone, the searing agony of teeth tearing into his flesh. But he held on, a snarling anchor, buying precious seconds as Alice clambered to safety.


The helicopter pilot yelled something down, his words lost in the wind. With a final flicker of defiance, Frederick shoved the monster back, buying the chopper enough time to pull Alice above the fray.
As she ascended, her face etched with a mixture of fear and gratitude, he saw a single tear trace a path down her cheek. It was a spark, a beacon of hope that refused to be extinguished.


Even in the heart of the nightmare, amidst the screams and the blood, hope had found a foothold.
Frederick grinned, a bloody mask against the rising sun. The helicopter soared away a little bit, taking up higher altitude. One of the pilots annonces to Frederick

“this part of the city is quarantined, you best escape while you can friend” He points South

" There's a border there, navigate out of this area and make it to the other side. Godspeed Black ranger ‘’

Knowing what must be done, Power looks around and chooses a vehicle he can ride with


>Bike (Speed 5 Coverage 1)

>Car (Speed 3, Coverage 3)

>Lorry (Speed 2, Coverage 5)

>>5888851

Speed: self explanatory

Coverage: how much defense the vehicle gives.

Basically next mini game is a gauntlet

>>5888851
>Car (Speed 3, Coverage 3)
coverage of 1 seems risky

>>5888851
>Car.

We need speed but are already in issue of health.

>>5888893
>>5888864


Frederick, his body a throbbing tapestry of fresh scrapes and old scars, tore through the deserted streets like a wraith possessed.

The city, once a tapestry of steel and glass, was now a canvas slashed with crimson, smoke plumes rising like morbid fingers to the bruised sky. He dodged overturned vans, weaving through abandoned cars like a needle threading through a tattered fabric.

His obsidian claws, ripped through barbed wire barricades, the metallic tang of blood heavy in his nostrils. The comms crackled in his ear, Alice's voice a lifeline pulling him towards sanctuary.

“Fred, I'll be your eyes in the sky. I'll let you know what's going on ahead before you attempt another suicide charge"

He grinned and slammed the pedal to the metal, the engine of the commandeered sports car screaming its agony. Sirens wailed in the distance, a macabre orchestra accompanying the city's dying song. Flesh creatures, drawn by the noise, lumbered out of abandoned buildings, their guttural roars a chilling chorus.

He swerved, tires screeching a song of defiance against the crimson tide. He rammed a flesh creature head-on, sending it sprawling with a guttural cry. The impact left his vision tinged with red, but the adrenaline propelled him onward. He was a storm in the darkness, carving a path through the encroaching nightmare.

Alice informs him ahead of a roadblock ahead, twisted metal and burning cars forming a grotesque wall.

1. **Ram it.** Charge through the burning debris, a fiery chariot defying the darkness. But could the car hold up? [-2 Coverage]

2. **Flank it.** Take a side alley, a labyrinth of shadows offering a hidden path. But time was of the essence, and getting lost meant leaving Alice waiting in the storm. [-1 Speed]

3. **Taunt time** Try and use the scraps as a launchpad to the next street, granted this might backfire. [Roll 1d10 DC 7, Success = +2 Speed, Failure, -1 Coverage & Speed]

>>5889059

Dammit forgot to green text

> **Ram it.** Charge through the burning debris, a fiery chariot defying the darkness. But could the car hold up? [-2 Coverage]

> **Flank it.** Take a side alley, a labyrinth of shadows offering a hidden path. But time was of the essence, and getting lost meant leaving Alice waiting in the storm. [-1 Speed]

> **Taunt time** Try and use the scraps as a launchpad to the next street, granted this might backfire. [Roll 1d10 DC 7, Success = +2 Speed, Failure, -1 Coverage & Speed]

>>5889063
Is the -1 speed for the next doot only or it’s permanent ?

>>5889059
>Taunt time

I'll assume this is best of three. But even without. we stand to gain as much as we'd lose by taking a less safe path.

>>5889159
Permanently decreases speed home fry

>>5889063
>**Taunt time**
alright, betting time

>>5889063
Let's see how it goes

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>5889253

Was expecting a roll oops. I'll need a good minute before I can pump out more narration

>>5889257
zam, by 1

Yeah RNG isn't happy today

Car
>Coverage 2
>Speed 2
Frederick felt the engine scream in protest as he slammed the car towards the concrete. Metal shrieked against metal, sparks erupting like miniature novas in the fading daylight. The car, valiant but battered, pushed through the debris, shedding shards of its own chrome skin in the process. His speed, thankfully, hadn't suffered too much - just enough to make him curse under his breath, a bitter reminder of his reckless gamble.

But the adrenaline still coursed through him, a potent cocktail of defiance and desperation. He navigated the smoking gauntlet of overturned cars with a practiced hand, relying on the helicopter's buzzing beacon overhead to guide him through the maze of rubble. Each twist and turn, each screeching corner, was a game of dice with fate, the crimson shadows lurking at the periphery, eager to claim another lost soul.

And then, just as he thought he might breach the other side, a guttural roar shattered the air. The hulking brute, the bane of his hospital escape, emerged from the wreckage, its molten flesh pulsating like a grotesque heartbeat. It lumbered towards him, a mountain of nightmares with hungry eyes fixed on the metallic prey.

Panic slammed into Frederick, a viper coiling around his heart. He slammed the pedal to the metal, but the car, weakened by its earlier assault, coughed and sputtered, refusing to go faster. He was trapped, a rat in a cage with a ravenous lion.

His mind raced, searching for a loophole in the crimson tapestry of his predicament. The alleys were out - too slow, too easy for the brute to corner him. The remaining barricade? A dead end. Despair threatened to engulf him, the taste of failure metallic on his tongue.

He swerved, his tires screaming their protest, aiming straight for the barricade shard. Time seemed to slow, the world morphing into a kaleidoscope of twisted metal and hungry flesh. Alice's voice, an anchor in the storm, crackled through the comms:
"Fredrick, what's happening? We see trouble! Somethings approaching and fast! “
The giant creature, fueled by rage and hunger, was relentless. It smashed through parked cars, its guttural roars echoing through the canyons of concrete. Frederick, adrenaline coursing through his veins, dodged and weaved, his obsidian claws clenched around the steering wheel.
He squeezed through a narrow alley, the car scraping against crumbling walls. The stench of decay and desperation hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the city's fate. He emerged on the other side, the open street a temporary reprieve.
He knew he couldn't outrun it, not for long. His mind raced, searching for a desperate escape route. The quarantine border, a shimmering wall of light, loomed in the distance, a beacon of hope. But reaching it felt like a sprint towards oblivion.

>>5889356

But the giant was close enough now, its fetid breath washing over the car. Its massive fist, a club of bone and muscle, slammed down, shattering the windshield. Glass rained down on Frederick, stinging his face. He ducked, the car swerving violently. Then, with a sickening crunch, the car collided, the metal groaning under the impact. The car lurched, lifted, and for a glorious, terrifying moment, it sailed through the air but landed safely in the street below momentarily losing the hulking mass but it's back on his tail.

>Ram through a building and save time reaching the border [-1 Coverage]

>Bait big ugly by staying still near a wall then accelerating last second to ankle break him [-1 speed]

>Ask Alice for a clear path that isn't obstructed [-1 speed but +1 coverage]

>>5889360
>Ram through the building

Not much reason to trade our speed. The only point of cover that matters is the last one. Our speed is needed to get out.

>>5889360
>Ram through a building and save time reaching the border [-1 Coverage]

>>5889379
>>5889365

The giant loomed, a fleshy Everest casting its grotesque shadow over the ravaged street. Its fetid breath washed over the mangled car, carrying the cloying scent of decay and impending doom. Alice's voice, a lifeline amidst the chaos, crackled through the comms: "Fred! Border's closing! You won't make it!"

Frederick, his vision tinged red with broken glass and the city's bleeding wounds, knew she was right. The quarantine wall, shimmering like a mirage in the distance, seemed as unreachable as the moon. But surrender wasn't in his vocabulary. He was the Black Ranger, a storm in the crimson tide, and he wouldn't be swallowed by the darkness without a fight.
Gripping the wheel, knuckles white with a warrior's resolve, he made his choice. No alleys, no desperate gambles. He would carve his own path, a fiery chariot charging through the gates of hell itself. With a guttural roar that echoed through the canyons of concrete, he slammed the accelerator, the engine screaming its final symphony.
The car, battered and wheezing, lurched towards a derelict apartment building, its vacant windows gaping like black eyes in the dying light. He aimed for the base, an open garage promising a shortcut, a desperate gamble against the closing jaws of time.
The giant saw his plan, its eyes burning with a monstrous fury. It roared, a sound that shook the very bones of the earth, and lunged, its massive fist aimed at the car's fragile hood. Frederick flinched, his heart twisting in his chest, but his foot held firm on the pedal.
The impact was a symphony of screeching metal and shattering glass. The car, launched like a projectile, ripped through the garage door, splintering wood and concrete in its wake. Dust and debris rained down as the car soared through the air, a fleeting silhouette against the crimson sky.
For a heart-stopping moment, time itself seemed to suspend. The world blurred, a kaleidoscope of shattered brick and twisted metal. Then, with a bone-jarring thud, the car landed on the other side, the roof caving in like a crushed skull.

Frederick groaned, his head moving like a drum solo gone rogue. He coughed, tasting blood and dust, but dragged himself from the wreckage, his body a broken puppet held together by sheer willpower. The car, its engine almost dead, smoked like a wounded dragon, one last stretch. Victory was within sight, the highway towards the quarantine zone was free and suitable for a daring drive but the beast was still on him, like an athlete stretching for the tape at the finish line so was Fredrick pushing the gas pedal as a hail of bullets rained from many sides trying to slow down the monster.

> Murder the pedal: Keep driving haphazardly till it can't move anymore [-2 Speed, car dies ]

>Ram the monster into a wall and try to make it mincemeat [-2 coverage, you'll get hurt from this]

>Attempt a final gamble and set the flamethrower behind on maximum volume to serve as a propellent [Roll a 1d10 + 4, DC 8]

>>5889408
>Attempt a final gamble.

60% chance.
And if it fails? So be it. We'll go out with a blaze.

>>5889408
>Attempt a final gamble and set the flamethrower behind on maximum volume to serve as a propellent [Roll a 1d10 + 4, DC 8]
let's fucking gooooooooooooo

Rolled 2 + 4 (1d10 + 4)

>>5889531
>>5889412

Just got up, praying to the god of RNG

>>5889808

Fuck my shit up senpai

The world blurred, adrenaline and pain an unholy cocktail in Frederick's veins. He'd gambled his escape on a fiery chariot ride, strapped the final reserves of the flamethrower to the rear of the mangled car, and roared towards the shimmering wall. But fate, fickle mistress that she was, had other plans.

With a backfire that sounded like a dragon's death throes, the car bucked, throwing him like a ragdoll. He landed hard, his body screaming in protest, the ground tasting like dust and regret. The quarantine wall pulsed tantalizingly close, a shimmering mirage just out of reach.

Around him, the world erupted in crimson chaos. The hulking monstrosity, enraged by the failed maneuver, lumbered towards him, its fleshy mass obscuring the sun. Smaller figures, grotesque parodies of humanity, scuttled out of the wreckage, drawn by the scent of his desperation.
He lay there, stunned, the taste of ash and defeat heavy on his tongue. The shimmering barricades of the safe zone, a mere arm's length away, mocked him with its unattainable promise. .
He coughed, blood trickling down his chin, and tasted the bitter tang of defeat. But within the inferno of pain, a spark of defiance flickered. He was the Black Ranger, a storm in the crimson tide. The rain of bullets, previously a distant threat, intensified, stitching the air around him with deadly intent. Unseen creatures, their motives shrouded in the primal hunger, emerged from the shadows, their eyes glinting with bloodlust.
Frederick, a lone warrior in a sea of nightmares, knew surrender wasn't an option. He was the Black Ranger, a hero forged in the depths of shithousery and tenacity. He wouldn't go down without a fight, not while a flicker of hope remained!

Three options, sharp and deadly, carved themselves into his mind:

>Embrace the inferno: Though injured, he could climb through burning wreckage to escape

>Embrace the madness: They say the black ranger draws his strength from homicidal instincts

>Embrace the unknown: End this chapter on a cliffhanger

>>5889812
>Embrace the Inferno

I will have closure.

>>5889812
>Embrace the inferno: Though injured, he could climb through burning wreckage to escape
bruh fuck this dice

>>5889848
>>5889839


The air crackled with the mad laughter of the inferno. Frederick, a tattered warrior amidst the pyre he'd created, stood bathed in flames, his obsidian claws dripping molten defiance. The monsters, their flesh recoiling from the searing heat, retreated like shadows from the sun. This was his final symphony, a blaze of glory that would paint the city's dying breaths with the colors of his sacrifice.

He roared, a guttural challenge against the encroaching darkness, and charged. Claws bared, he carved a path through the writhing flesh creatures, their screams swallowed by the inferno's hungry roar. He was a hurricane of fire, a phoenix rising from the ashes of his own pain.

But even a storm has its limits. The flames, though consuming his enemies, licked at his own flesh, leaving second-degree kisses of pain on his skin. His mortal wounds, old and new, throbbed a maddening rhythm. He was a warrior dancing on the precipice of oblivion, his every step a gamble against the encroaching darkness.

Then, a voice, a lifeline amidst the flames. Alice, her face etched with despair, her voice a knife twisting in his gut. "Fred! No!"

He stumbled, the weight of her grief a physical blow. But in her eyes, before the tears blurred them, he saw a flicker of something else. Not just despair, but… hope. A belief that even in the ashes of his sacrifice, a spark might remain.

With a final, defiant roar, he channeled the last embers of his strength. He reached the barricade, a twisted wall of metal and concrete, and with a surge of adrenaline that burned brighter than the fire, he scaled it, his claws tearing through the rust like a beast possessed.

He collapsed on the other side, his ravaged body a testament to his ordeal. His Black Ranger suit, once a symbol of hope, was now a tattered shroud draped over his broken form. He was wounded, scarred, but alive. He had danced with the shadows and emerged, battered but unbroken.

The helicopter lands safely and Alice her face a mask of relief and disbelief, scrambled over to the barricade being surrounded with guards checking Fredrick's condition. Her arms wrap around him in a desperate embrace. He coughed, tasting smoke and blood, but smiled, a flickering ember against the encroaching darkness.

“I did it man, I'm the best. Whose the best? Yeah it's me, it's power!" he rasped while coughing
his voice barely a whisper.
"We're alive…damn I'm hungry, what does a guy have to do to get a meal"

And in that moment, as the sun bled across the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of crimson and gold, they knew it was true. They had survived the dance with the shadows, their love a beacon of defiance in the city's dying breaths. The Black Ranger might be out of commission, his armor singed and his body wracked with pain, but the fire within him still burned.

>>5889871
Well shit.

We survived, even if we put another ranger in the hospital.
Wounds can heal. Dead do not.

>>5889872
Factual

>>5889871

Meanwhile, in a hidden lair bathed in the cold green glow of multiple screens, a figure cladded in white robes comes to view, the puppet master of this crimson ballet, observed with cruel amusement. On one screen, Albert and Hank languished in their prison cell, their bravado replaced by a grim resignation.
Another screen displayed Alice and Frederick in a security convoy, their embrace a symbol of defiance that the puppet master swore to shatter. And on the third, John Doe, unaware of the machinations at play, laughed over a shared meal with a woman, a fragile normalcy threatened by the encroaching darkness.

The figure lays back in his armchair, a predatory smile playing on his lips
. "Well, that was eventful," he purred, his voice dripping with venom.
"The Rangers are weaker than they've ever been. Now is the time to strike."

A shadowy figure clad in a straw hat, one of his lieutenants, stepped forward. "Master," he rasped, voice edged with a hungry malice,
"won't it be better to use our new asset to weaken them even further?"

The villain smile widened, his eyes glinting like chips of obsidian.

"Ah, yes," he chuckled, turning to a young woman standing in the corner, bathed in the artificial green light. Her ginger hair, once her stand out trait has been dyed black, now held a chilling glint, her eyes mirroring the malice of her new master.
"Yellow Ranger" he crooned, his voice a serpent's whisper,

"are you ready to play your part?"

Eunice, stepped forward, her smile mirroring Koga's in its cruelty.

"Yes, Master Koga," she hissed, her voice a venomous echo in the cavernous lair.
"I'm ready to end it all."


Chapter 3 End

>City stability
64%

Filler arcs available

>A boy named Cen Ten

>Flashback arc (Hank x Eunice, Alice's POV, Character introduction to Kenny Blake)

>Johndoe the rizzler

[The main story will be on hold]

Also gonna take some time off but I'll be back this evening, let me know how you're enjoying the story :D

>>5889875
>Flashback arc

Et tu, Eustice?

The story so far has been engaging. Each ranger has their own distinct voice, though refrains are used quite frequently.

Taken with the context that I dislike stories about how systems fail and fall apart, I look forward to the final fall of the city with the hope that we get to put it back together with future threads.

I do feel that the first fight with Franz was an underhanded deception, with Eustice not having ever met or heard of "a well known hero" whos stick is monster if the week control and the hostile tone that suffused his every description. But hey maybe he was a guy who hid his evil side.

Villains haven't been retarded, the circumstances have all been believable, the plots as they are spinning currently seem to line up very well.
Eustice is either playing double agent or prime opportunity to win someone back from the brink, looking forward to facing off against her.

Good job QM

>>5889904
Thanks man I'll wait for more votes before pushing on :)

>>5889871
holy moly, we balled it https://youtu.be/Xro4b_r9wNI
>>5889875
>Flashback arc (Hank x Eunice, Alice's POV, Character introduction to Kenny Blake)
let's see this new guy
Liking the story so far, pace seems nice and each character has a distinct personality. btw how do you make those pixel arts ?

>>5890208

Bing image generator, can't really pump out many these days and yes anons. I'm sorry I use AI art but it's going to be tough to find the time to make these, or commission high detailed pixel art for every post.

>Chapter 3.5

Days of peace


The scent of sweat and polished wood hung heavy in the air of Master Hideo Suzaku's dojo. Hank Hideo, muscles straining under the worn fabric of his gi, launched a fierce roundhouse kick that whistled past Eunice Reyes' ear. She danced back, a playful grin on her lips, her ginger braid whipping like a pendulum.

“Easy there, tiger," she taunted, dodging his next jab with a pirouette that defied gravity.
"My grandma moves faster than you."

Hank scowled, a blush creeping up his neck. Eunice always had that effect on him – a tangle of frustration and something else, warmer, that he couldn't quite name. They'd been rivals since they were younger, scrapping over every fist bump and stolen glance.
But somewhere along the way, the sparring sessions had become laced with something else, a silent language of shared smiles and lingering touches.

Eunice would catch him staring at her during water breaks, her eyes twinkling with a secret only she knew. She'd leave cryptic notes tucked into his training gloves, poems about sunrise that mirrored the blush on her cheeks.
Hank, dense as a bamboo log, would miss the subtlest hints, attributing her kindness to friendly rivalry and taunts. One day she wrote a note calling Hank her hero, naturally one would see this as a lovely gesture but Hank saw it as sarcasm and accepted to pay her back in kind in sparring!

One scorching afternoon, as they lay sprawled on the dojo floor, sweat clinging to their limbs like a second skin, Eunice gathered her courage.
"Hank," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rhythmic thrum of cicadas, "do you ever feel like… there's something more than this?"

He stared at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "More than… training and honor?"

Eunice's shoulders slumped. Of course. Training. Always training.
"Don't you ever…" she paused, her voice husky,
"don't you ever feel like there's more to life than sparring all that?"

Hank sat up, a slow grin spreading across his face.
“Sounds like someone is chickening out of training, aww did I whoop your ass that badly Eunice?"

Eunice's grin faltered. Sister. It was all he could see. The rest, the unspoken whispers of her heart, were lost in the echo of clashing bamboo and victorious shouts. She tucked the hurt behind a playful facade,
"Well, keep trying, tiger. Maybe one day I might just admit defeat."

She winks at him and walks away Hank continues training not thinking much about this

Later in the following weeks an announcement was made in the dojo, the air thick with sweat and the sharp tang of pine incense. Master Suzaku, his weathered face etched with years of battles fought and lives honed, surveyed his students with a hooded gaze. His announcement hung heavy in the air:

"This dojo, a bastion of honor and steel, seeks its next heir. A man or woman of substance, no not just someone who can punch harder or kick faster. An individual who is deadly, precise, patient and efficient”

A collective gasp, then whispers like wind through reeds. To inherit Master Suzaku's legacy, his mantle of martial mastery, was a prize beyond comparison as he was just the retired Red ranger at that time. Amongst the students, eyes met - envy, ambition, and a flicker of something deeper.

Hank Hideo, his dark eyes smoldering with a newfound intensity, stood apart. Where others reveled in the announcement, he saw a path, a challenge to carve his name into the dojo's legend.
Each beat of his heart, a drumbeat of determination. The playful banter with Eunice, the gentle sparring that used to spark laughter, became mere formality over the following weeks, a fleeting distraction from the fire consuming him.

Eunice, sensing the shift in him, reached out one day while he was busy pummeling the bag.
"Hank," her voice softer than the rustle of silk,
"Remember when we sparred and trained just for the joy of it?"

He met her gaze, a fleeting flicker of his old self struggling against the stoic mask he'd donned.
"Training," he rasped, the word sharp like a blade,
"is not for joy, it's for purpose.. ambition and progress. It is to battle with one's self as man is cursed to be both sculpture and statue, thus we must strive to become stronger no matter what"

>>5890322

Eunice's brow furrowed, a shadow of concern flitting across her face. This wasn't just the competitive streak she knew - this was something else, something colder, harder. The playful tiger she'd sparred with had become a dragon, eyes fixed on a distant prey.

"But what purpose, Hank?" she pressed, her voice laced with worry.
"Is the heir's mantle worth going over the top?"

Hank's jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck a corded map of tension.
"You wouldn't understand," he spat, the words harsh like gravel.
"This dojo, it's more than just wood and bamboo. It's the only home I had, Master Suzaku took me in when everything was taken from me… it's legacy, responsibility and well-being is my burden to bear no one else. To be a Killing strike practitioner is about being the best, never faltering, never doubting and always being lethal. I cannot leave it in the hands of others"

His words hung heavy, a chasm opening between them. Eunice saw the change in him, a slow, inexorable hardening, and a knot of fear bloomed in her stomach. This wasn't just about the tournament, it was about Hank losing himself to the pursuit of shadows.

The scent of pine lingered in the air, a poignant reminder of the life they used to share - the laughter, the shared dreams, the quiet moments of friendship forged in sweat and trust. Now, as Master Suzaku's words echoed in the dojo, only the scent remained, a bittersweet echo of a friendship consumed by the flames of ambition.

The tournament loomed, casting a long shadow on their bond. And Hank Hideo, his eyes burning with a cold fire, had already begun his descent into the shadows, oblivious to the girl who watched him go, her heart heavy with a love unspoken and a fear for the man he was becoming.

Dawn bleeds into the dojo, painting the polished wood with the warm hues of victory. The scent of jasmine incense mingles with the tang of sweat and anticipation. After weeks of brutal sparring and sleepless nights, the day of reckoning has arrived – the Kill Strike Tournament. Hank Hideo, his muscles coiled and ready, stands at the precipice of his ambition. The mantle of heir, a legacy whispered in legends, burns in his gaze.

But victory's path is strewn with thorns. Three challengers rise, each a formidable obstacle honed in the crucible of the dojo. They represent not just skill, but different paths Hank could choose to walk.

Choose your first match and describe how you want Hank to handle this

>Kyo, the Silent Blade: His movements are whispers in the wind, his attacks lightning strikes from the shadows. He fights with precision and grace, a deadly counterpoint to Hank's raw power.

Jupiter Lee, the monster hunter: Jupiter the monster hunter, Her laughter booms like thunder, her strikes mountains in motion. She fights with an unyielding strength, a living battering ram that shatters defenses.

Okga, the front hearted: His eyes burn with an inner fire, his movements fluid and unpredictable.

>>5890334
Text limit

>Kyo, the Silent Blade: His movements are whispers in the wind, his attacks lightning strikes from the shadows. He fights with precision and grace, a deadly counterpoint to Hank's raw power. Attacks appear and vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving only the sting of steel and the echo of a mocking laugh. Every parry is a desperate gamble, every step a dance on the edge of a razor. Facing Kyo is like wrestling with a wisp of smoke, a test of reflexes honed to their absolute limit.

>Jupiter Lee, the monster hunter: Jupiter the monster hunter, Her laughter booms like thunder, her strikes mountains in motion. She fights with an unyielding strength, a living battering ram that shatters defenses. With every blow, the air cracks with ozone, and the stench of burnt iron fills the air. Against Jupiter, defense is a fool's game, survival lies in weathering the storm and striking with the fury of a hurricane.
>Okga, the front hearted: His eyes burn with an inner fire, his movements fluid and unpredictable. Facing Okga is not just a battle of physical prowess, it's a mind-bending labyrinth. He paints the world with deceit, whispers doubts into your mind through warped echoes of your own voice. Can you trust your senses?

>>5890341
>Kyo, the Silent Blade: His movements are whispers in the wind, his attacks lightning strikes from the shadows. He fights with precision and grace, a deadly counterpoint to Hank's raw power. Attacks appear and vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving only the sting of steel and the echo of a mocking laugh. Every parry is a desperate gamble, every step a dance on the edge of a razor. Facing Kyo is like wrestling with a wisp of smoke, a test of reflexes honed to their absolute limit.
Hank uses faints to make Kyo hit what isn't there and get openings while using his reflexes to buy time.

>>5890341
>Kyo, the silent blade.

When facing a foe who is perfectly precise and deadly, the answer then is to change the battlefield.
Take incense from the edge of the dojo, make a cloud so you can track his movements and attacks. Feint to create openings, make his attacks be blocked by enviroments. If a quick and speedy bastard gets stuck, then you PUNISH the slip up by attacking limbs to slow them.

>>5890420
>>5890407

Guess you're all I got now lol

## The Dance of Shadows: Hank vs. Kyo

The dojo floor reverberated with the rhythmic slap of bare feet on wood. Hank, muscles tight as coiled springs, stood across from Kyo, the Silent Blade. Kyo, a wraith woven from moonlight and whispers, moved with an unnerving stillness, his eyes reflecting the flickering lantern flame like twin malevolent stars.

Hank knew Kyo's reputation. Precision incarnate, his attacks struck with the inevitability of fate. To meet him head-on was to court disaster. So, Hank played a different game. Feints danced like fireflies through the air, aimed not at Kyo himself, but at the empty spaces around him. The air hissed as Kyo's blade lashed out, meeting only shadows and the lingering sting of anticipation.

With each strike, Kyo grew frustrated, his stillness beginning to flicker. Hank saw it as an opening. He snatched a burning incense stick from the edge of the dojo, plunging the arena into a swirling cloud of fragrant smoke. His vision blurred, but Kyo’s movements, once ghosts in the air, became fleeting shadows against the haze.

Hank danced through the swirling smoke, a whisper amidst the chaos. He feinted left, then spun right, catching Kyo’s momentum against him. Kyo’s blade, expecting to meet empty air, collided with a bamboo training pole tossed carelessly aside. The impact, amplified by the smoky silence, resonated through the dojo like a thunderclap.

Seizing the moment, Hank unleashed a flurry of blows, aiming not for Kyo’s lethal center, but at his limbs. A kick to the knee sent Kyo stumbling, a punch to the shoulder jarred his blade aside. Kyo, his rhythm broken, his perfect stillness shattered, became a flurry of desperate parries and wild swings.

Hank, in his element, pressed the advantage. He weaved through Kyo’s erratic attacks, his own strikes precise and brutal. A final, perfectly timed roundhouse kick to Kyo’s wrist sent his blade singing across the floor, clattering to a stop at Eunice’s feet.

A hush fell over the dojo. Kyo, the Silent Blade, stood disarmed, chest heaving, his eyes ablaze with a newfound respect. Hank, panting, sweat dripping from his brow, offered a curt nod. In the swirling haze of incense smoke, the tiger had bested the wraith.

Master Suzaku yells

"Stop! Winner Hank"

Across the dojo, Eunice watched, her own victory painting a bright smile on her face. They had both reached the semifinals, each facing a new challenge on their path to the mantle of heir. The journey was far from over, but in that moment, bathed in the dim glow of the dojo lanterns, there was a shared flicker of pride, a silent promise to face whatever came next, together.

In the semi finals saw Hank facing 3, opponents from overseas that haven't been present in the dojo. 3 supposed masters of a derivative art under the dojo

> Suiji the craven

> Sensei Gruntz

>Gabo the strongest man alive

>>5891180
>Sensi gruntz

Face the best. Never fear the rest

>>5891180
>Sensei Gruntz
Where are the others ?

> Sensei Gruntz

The scent of sweat and singed wood hung heavy in the air as Hank surveyed his opponent. Sensei Gruntz, a mountain of a man carved from granite and seasoned with scars, stood across the dojo. His eyes, like hot coals, smoldered with the fires of a thousand sparring sessions. Gruntz wasn't known for finesse, he was a wall of muscle and bone, an unstoppable battering ram of martial skill.
Hank squared his shoulders, muscles humming with adrenaline. He knew Gruntz's reputation. One strike from those meaty fists could shatter ribs, one sweep of his leg could send you flying like a ragdoll. He needed speed, precision, anything to avoid a direct confrontation.
The gong echoed, shattering the tense silence. Hank danced around Gruntz like a wasp buzzing around a hornet, darting in and out, peppering him with lightning-fast jabs and kicks. Gruntz, lumbering but surprisingly agile, weathered the storm, his grunts punctuating the rhythm of the clashing bamboo.
Hank fought with the desperation of a cornered animal. He landed glancing blows, used Gruntz's own momentum against him, even managed to send the burly sensei stumbling with a well-placed kick to the ankle. But Gruntz, fueled by sheer willpower, kept coming. His relentless attacks chipped away at Hank's defenses, each blow leaving its mark - a bruise blooming on his cheek, a grimace twisting his lips.
Exhaustion clawed at Hank's limbs, his vision blurring at the edges. Gruntz, though battered and breathing heavily, remained a granite monolith. With a final, earth-shattering roar, he unleashed a roundhouse kick aimed at Hank's chest. Time seemed to slow, the wind singing in his ears, the dojo floor rushing up to meet him.
Master Suzaku stares in disappointment and shakes his head feeling second hand embarrassment, Hank gets up slowly staring Sensei Gruntz in the eyes.

> Accept defeat

> Fight dirty

> Go back to the basics

>>5891300
Others?

>>5891779
>Go back to the basics
>>5891781
meant to say the other voters, guys seemed to disappear

Bruh where are the anons ?

>>5891919

No idea, probably busy. Chilling in the mean time while we wait for the filler arc to finish lol

>>5891936
>Chilling in the mean time while we wait for the filler arc to finish lol
good reason, but zam

>>5891779
>Back to basics.

>>5891967
>>5891797

Alright then....we move

>Back to the basics


The dojo floor vibrated with the rhythmic thud of Gruntz's heavy steps. Hank, his body a symphony of aches and bruises, tasted blood and sweat. Gruntz, the Iron Wall, loomed before him, a living testament to raw power and relentless assault. Yet, amidst the cacophony of exertion, a flicker of clarity sparked within Hank.

He remembered his early lessons, Master Suzaku's voice echoing in the mind's eye: "Strength lies not just in muscle, but in control, in finding the rhythm of your opponent." Gruntz, for all his power, was a predictable force, a battering ram driven by brute momentum. Hank, the tiger, would need to be the willow, flexible and yielding.

He abandoned his flurry of desperate attacks, stepping back into a calm, centered stance. Gruntz, bewildered by the sudden stillness, lumbered forward, his fist a blur aimed at Hank's head. But Hank, with a fluid motion, dipped low, the blow whistling harmlessly over his head. He followed the momentum, his leg sweeping outwards, catching Gruntz's knee in a perfect counter.

The sensei stumbled, his roar of surprise echoing through the dojo. Hank, seizing the opportunity, danced around him, not with the frantic energy of a cornered animal, but with the grace of a predator stalking its prey. Each movement was deliberate, economical, a whisper against Gruntz's thunderous bellow.

He used Gruntz's own weight against him, redirecting his attacks with subtle shifts and parries. He struck not with brute force, but with precise jabs and kicks aimed at pressure points, tendons, and vulnerable joints. Gruntz, his rage simmering, grew frustrated, his attacks becoming wilder, more predictable.

And then, the opening. Gruntz, in his fury, lunged forward, leaving himself exposed. Hank, with a delayed reaction, stepped into the empty space, his fist connecting with Gruntz's jaw with a sickening crunch. The sensei's eyes rolled back, his body crumpling to the floor like a felled oak.

Silence descended upon the dojo, heavy and stunned. Hank stood there, panting, sweat dripping from his brow, his bruised and battered body a testament to the struggle. He had not won through brute force, but through cunning, through a return to the simple principles that had formed him as a warrior.

As the crowd erupted in cheers, Hank looked across the dojo to see Eunice watching, her eyes filled with admiration and pride. In that moment, he knew victory was not just about the mantle of heir, but about rediscovering the essence of the tiger - the power of stillness within the storm, the precision within chaos, the victory born not of brute force, but of a mind sharpened as keen as his claws.

>>5891989

Cutting to the other semi final match, Eunice was up against Jupiter Lee.
The dojo floor vibrated with the rhythmic boom of fists meeting flesh. Eunice, a panther trapped in a thunderstorm, danced a desperate ballet with Jupiter Lee, the Thunderfist. Each clash of their gloves resonated like thunder echoing through bone. Eunice, swift and cunning, weaved through Jupiter's onslaught, her every dodge a whisper against the woman's booming laughter.

But Jupiter was a tempest, relentless and powerful. Her muscles, sculpted from granite and adrenaline, rained down blows that would shatter lesser opponents. A crimson bloom blossomed on Eunice's cheek, her ribs sang a discordant melody of pain. Yet, she fought on, a lone flame defying the brewing storm.

With a feint as delicate as a hummingbird's wing, Eunice lured Jupiter into a reckless charge. In a blur of lightning-fast reflexes, she spun, her knee connecting with Jupiter's chin with a sickening crack. The woman stumbled, roars replaced by whimpers, but the blow wasn't enough. Anger, raw and primal, flared in Jupiter's eyes, transforming her into a cornered wolf.

Eunice knew they were locked in a deadly waltz. Every missed attack chipped away at her stamina, every parry left her aching. Her vision blurred with exertion, sweat stinging her eyes like tears. In the suffocating silence between rounds, she glimpsed across the dojo, her gaze locking with Hank's. His eyes, dark and stormy, mirrored the turmoil within her.

Their shared history whispered in the air - stolen glances exchanged across the training floor, laughter echoing in moonlit sparring sessions, the unspoken promise of a bond forged in sweat and steel. Now, that promise hung heavy in the air, mingled with the acrid tang of blood and ozone.

The final round began. Eunice poured every ounce of her being into each strike, a flurry of desperate hope against the approaching storm. But Jupiter, fueled by fury and adrenaline, pushed back. A brutal fist met Eunice's cheek, sending her reeling, a wave of nausea threatening to drown her.

Then, in that hazy space between consciousness and oblivion, a flicker of inspiration. In their early sparring sessions, Jupiter had mocked her reliance on agility, preaching the power of unwavering momentum. Now, Eunice channeled that mockery, that shared history, into a desperate gambit.

Dodging a bone-shattering right hook, she stepped right into Jupiter's path, absorbing the blow against her braced shoulder. The momentum carried them both, a runaway train on a collision course. With a final, desperate surge, Eunice used Jupiter's own force against her, throwing her off balance and into the unforgiving wood of the dojo floor.

Silence descended, broken only by the ragged gasps of both women. Eunice rose, a warrior bathed in sweat and pain, but standing nonetheless. Jupiter lay groaning, unconscious. Yet, victory felt like ashes in Eunice's mouth.

>>5891992

The final began and the gong echoed, not a call to battle, but a knell of uncertainty. Hank stood across from Eunice, his usual opponent turned rival, and saw not fire in her eyes, but a flickering ember struggling against the wind. Her victory over Jupiter Lee hung heavy in the air, a bittersweet triumph etched on her bruised cheek and the tremor in her stance.
His gaze met hers, a silent conversation crackling between them. He saw the unspoken plea for understanding, the echo of their shared history - stolen glances across the training floor, laughter echoing in moonlit spars, the promise of a bondforged in sweat and steel. But he also saw the ghost of pain lingering in her movements, the limp in her step, the way her breath hitched with each blow.

The first exchange of blows was tentative, a hesitant waltz beneath the watchful eyes of Master Suzaku. Hank held back, his strikes pulling punches, shadows of their former fierceness. Eunice, the tigress reduced to a weary kitten, met his attacks with a forced vigor, her smile brittle as spun glass.
With each feint, each blocked strike, the weight of choice pressed down on Hank.


>Strike first, strike haed no mercy (hidden character relationship unlocks)

>Hesitate even more (hidden character relationship unlocks)

>Forfeit

>>5891994
SO they sink into Obsession or they don't. I can't in good conscience make them go all out.

>Hesitate even more.
They probably won't get the title now, because they are each each holding too much back. But that's okay.

>>5891994
>Strike first, strike haed no mercy (hidden character relationship unlocks)
Eunice wouldn't forgive us for not given our very best, we gotta respect her.

>>5892073
>>5892258

> Me waiting for a random anon to help me progress the plot.jpg

>>5891994
>>Forfeit

>>5892258
>supporting

Let's move this show on the road

>No mercy

In the center of the dojo, Hank and Eunice, once comrades, now stood as rivals bathed in the harsh glare of the noon sun. The playful tiger and the dancing warrior had morphed into snarling predators, fueled by ambition and the ghosts of unspoken emotions.

Hank, eyes ablaze with a cold fire, saw not his friend, but an obstacle to his destiny. He struck first, a flurry of fists raining down on Eunice's ribs, each blow like a hammer carving his own name into the mantle of heir. Eunice, battered and reeling, gasped for air, the familiar grace of her movements replaced by a desperate scramble for survival.

He grabbed her, hauling her up in a brutal one-armed lift, ready to send her crashing down in a thunderous power bomb. But Eunice, fueled by a flicker of defiance, twisted with the agility of a cornered cat, rolling away mere inches from the unforgiving floor.

Hank landed with a thud, frustration twisting his features. He charged again, a whirlwind of knees and elbows aimed at Eunice's vulnerable core. She blocked, parried, her movements becoming shadows flickering against the onslaught. But the relentless pounding took its toll. With a cry, she stumbled back, dazed and disoriented, the world tilting on its axis.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, a silken ribbon unfolded from her sleeve, transforming into a vicious whip. The glint of metal at its tip spoke of her desperation, a secret weapon reserved for dire straits. Hank faltered, a flicker of surprise cracking his mask of fury. He had never seen this side of Eunice, this hidden ferocity honed in the shadows.

But hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford. He lunged, a hurricane of fists aiming to disarm her before she could unleash the whip's deadly secrets. Their movements blurred, a dance of shadows and steel, the air singing with the hiss of silk and the thud of flesh against flesh.

Just as Eunice coiled the whip for a strike that could cripple, a booming voice shattered the dojo's silence. Master Suzaku, his weathered face etched with fury, stood between them, blocking their attacks with the ease of a seasoned warrior.

"Enough!" he roared, his voice echoing through the stunned silence.

"This is not a battle to the death, boy! Remember the spirit of the dojo!"

He then raised his hand, silencing the whispers of the gathering crowd. "Hank Hideo," he declared, his voice resonating through the dojo, "you have proven your skill, your determination. You are hereby named the next grandmaster of the Killing Strike Dojo."

>>5893063

Across the dojo, Eunice watched, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. Her gaze held remnants of fear, hurt, but also a flicker of understanding. In that moment, Hank knew he had not just won the tournament, but lost something far more precious – the friendship, the trust, the bond forged in sweat and laughter that had once made the dojo a place of joy, not a battlefield for ambition. The air becomes hazy and Hank wakes up in a jail cell, he remembers being scooped up by the police and beside him saw Albert snoozing. Hank wipes a tear off and gets comfortable in the cold musky cell, while he reviews his memories.

>Alice's POV


My Birkenstocks were dancing a happy flamenco on the cafeteria's linoleum tile, their rhythmic slapstick announcing my arrival to the usual gang: Hank, the stoic mountain of a boy with eyes as blue as a forget-me-not and a frown that could curdle milk; Albert, the resident grump, whose sarcastic barbs were as sharp as his wit and often just as unpredictable; Eunice, the fiery tigress with a glare that could melt glaciers and a smile that, when it happened, bloomed like sunshine on dandelions; and Frederick, the walking whirlwind of chaos, whose laugh was a contagious explosion of pure joy. Me? I was like a fluffy rainbow cloud drifting into their storm-cloud gathering, a city girl in tie-dye and glitter invading their flannel and dirt kingdom.

My first day, they were a grumpy orchestra tuning up for a dirge. Hank's silence was a pregnant pause before thunder, Albert's mutterings a discordant bassline, Eunice's glare a high-pitched screech of a violin out of tune. Frederick, though, was like a wild xylophone solo, bouncing around and adding a touch of manic merriment to the somber scene.

But I'm Alice, the melody whisperer, the confetti thrower, the sunshine spreader. My smile, brighter than a sunflower on a sugar high, bloomed in their direction. "Hey everyone!" I chirped, dropping my tray of mystery meat (because, honestly, mystery was the only flavor it had) beside theirs. "Did the cafeteria finally discover unicorn meat today?"

Hank's eyebrow twitched like a caterpillar inching for escape. Albert snorted, a sound like a grumpy hippopotamus clearing its throat. Eunice rolled her eyes, her glare momentarily losing its focus as if distracted by a particularly sparkly sequin on my backpack. Frederick, bless his chaotic heart, just cackled, confetti cannons firing from his eyes. I'd hit a note alright, just not the one I meant to.

>>5893069

Undeterred, I launched into a whirlwind of sunshine-colored topics: the new bookstore with a cat cafe upstairs, the rumor of a meteor shower coming soon, the possibility of building a giant fort out of cafeteria trays (sponsored by, you guessed it, Frederick). Slowly, cautiously, like sunbeams peeking through storm clouds, they engaged. Hank grunted in approval of the cat cafe (probably because cats were practically miniature mountain lions, after all). Albert made a sarcastic dig about the meteor shower being a good time to escape Earth (which secretly I agreed with, space always seemed awfully sparkly). Eunice, to my utter shock, cracked a smile and suggested we watch the shower from her rooftop (rooftops were pretty darn near space, right?). Frederick, naturally, declared his intention to catch the meteors and make them into friendship bracelets (because what wouldn't Frederick try to turn into a friendship bracelet?).

We bantered, we bickered, we even (gasp!) agreed on something (the superiority of rainbow goldfish over boring brown ones, obviously). By the time the bell rang, I was part of their odd symphony, a whimsical flute weaving in and out of their bass clarinet grumbles and violin glares.
Fast forward a year, graduation looming like a fluffy cotton candy cloud on the horizon. The cafeteria buzzed with bittersweet excitement, the air thick with nostalgic giggles and goodbye hugs. Hank, still stoic, but his fist bumped mine in a gruff hello. Albert, still grumpy, but his complaint about the graduation gown's scratchiness was laced with a hint of sadness. Eunice, still fiery, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as we reminisced about rooftop stargazing. Frederick, still chaotic, but he spun me around in a celebratory dance, confetti erupting from his pockets like miniature fireworks.
We huddled together, a mismatched family bound by shared laughter, secrets whispered under starry skies, and the occasional near-death experience courtesy of Frederick's latest "brilliant" idea. After the celebration the gang asks if I I'm free this evening, OMG YAS!

> Go have fun

>Bring someone along

>Play it cool and make them beg a bit :P

We'll make it back to page 1...one day T^T

>>5893071
>Bring someone along

We are the social weaver.
Also goddamnit, Mildly annoyed at that last tie break

>>5893094
Sucks to suck anon

>>5893071
>Play it cool

I'm still shocked abt Alice sounds exactly how I imagine her

>>5893071
>Bring someone along
>>5893094
>Also goddamnit, Mildly annoyed at that last tie break
I'm surprised there was only 2 votes for nearly a day

>>5893649
>>5893094

Interestingly enough, I guess we've had about 4 voters at most at any given time since we started .

My Birkenstocks clicked happily against the moonlit gravel, leading me and Chloe, my fluffy Pomeranian co-pilot, towards the quarry's shadowy embrace. Graduation was officially a footnote, buried beneath the crackling bonfire and the cacophony of our mismatched crew. Hank, the stoic mountain, was surprisingly jovial after a few too many brews, tossing them back like confetti. Albert, the resident grump, had traded his usual barbs for an off-key serenade of Sweet Caroline, aimed (with questionable accuracy) at Eunice, who seemed more annoyed than impressed. Frederick, the walking whirlwind, was painting the night with glow sticks like a Jackson Pollock gone neon, his laughter echoing off the sheer rock walls.

Chloe, a ball of sunshine and fur nestled in my backpack, barked a tiny agreement at the cacophony. Life for her was one big adventure, her stubby legs a blur as she explored the quarry's nooks and crannies, a furry ambassador of peace amongst our ragtag kingdom.

But the party's upbeat melody hit a sour note when a guttural bellow ripped through the air. Not quite a scream, but a raw, animalistic sound that sent shivers down my spine. Eunice, usually as steady as a granite boulder, stood at the quarry's rim, her jaw clenched, eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting prey. We followed her gaze to the pit's depths, where a shadowy figure clambered out, silhouetted against the moon. Black clothes swallowed its form, a glint of steel catching the flickering flames.

Pandemonium erupted. Hank, beer bottle transformed into a makeshift spear, roared like a startled bear and charged. Albert, keys clutched like brass knuckles, stumbled after him with the grace of a penguin on roller skates. Frederick, abandoning his glow stick symphony, launched himself at the figure in a tangle of limbs and forgotten glow sticks.

Chloe, sensing the threat, let out a yelp that could rival a foghorn and leaped from my backpack, a fur torpedo aimed at the attacker's ankles. The figure stumbled, momentarily off balance, giving Hank the time he needed to land a solid blow with his makeshift weapon.

The air crackled with adrenaline and the smell of burnt marshmallows. We circled the fallen figure, wary but victorious. Chloe, chest heaving, sat back on her haunches, a miniature guard dog surveying her conquered territory.

>>5893865

From the pit's inky depths, more figures emerged, shadows writhing into nightmarish reality. Panic turned the laughter into choked yelps. Hank, a boulder in motion, smashed through them, his brawny arms sending goons flying like ragdolls. Albert, a pinball of fury, ricocheted off rock walls, launching surprise kicks and headbutts with the agility of a cornered weasel. Eunice, eyes steely, ripped a loose pole from the quarry's edge, wielding it like a seasoned warrior queen, her every swing a blur of controlled savagery. Frederick, unleashed, was a whirlwind of flailing limbs and glowing sticks, a chaotic dance of mayhem and strangely effective crowd control I might just start calling him power. Anyway I throw in a few hi-yahs and the baddies clearly are beefed up, no way they can deflect these super saiyan level attacks easily. Well they seem to be coming in droves now like desk jockers towards the last cup of coffee..we need some strategy


>Ask Hank for a retreat or something

>Tell everyone to climb on something and hold the height advantage

>Become a cheerleader since you aren't made for combat

>>5893871
>Tell everyone to climb on something and hold the height advantage
is this before we became rangers ?

>>5893878
Yeah about a year before so at the moment only Hank and Eunice are skilled fighters

>>5893956
Wait, wasn’t power a muscle guy who also got into fights ? Even if he’s not trained like those 2 he has the experience

>>5893963

I mean not to get into semantics but he isn't trained to be lethal like them, but yeah he stronk and unpredictable so y'know what guess you could say it's at least a bit experienced. Well more than our resident pointdexter and barbie girl

>>5893871
>become a cheerleader and look out

AHHHHH I NEED A HERO! I NEED A HERO ON THIS THURSDAY, THEY HAVE TO BE STRONG, THEY HAVE TO BE FAST AND THEY HAVE TO BREAK THE TIE TONIGHT! I NEED A HEROOOOOOOOO!

>>5894764
you can always roll the dice

>>5893878
>+1
I'll help you this time, but next you can roll the dice for ties specially after a day

>>5894776
>>5894792
You're a lifesaver anon, my goodness why didn't I think of that

My lungs burned like bonfires, mirroring the flames that flickered around us. Shadowy goons swarmed like gnats around a forgotten picnic, and our mismatched band was reduced to a ragged chorus of grunts and curses.

"Up! Everyone up! Get to the chopper, I mean TAKE THE HIGH GROUND"

I screamed, my voice raw but desperate.

Hank, understanding instantly, roared like a wounded bison and hoisted himself onto a precariously stacked pile of cinder blocks, his broad frame a makeshift watchtower. Albert, with the agility of a cornered ferret, clambered like a spider onto a rusty Intermodal container that groaned in protest. Eunice, eyes like storm clouds, snatched a length of fallen rope from the ground while dropping the polearm and, with a flick of her wrist, lassoed a towering beam, securing her like a queen spider weaving her web.

I scanned the scene, heart hammering against my ribs.

Frederick oh Fredrick, a whirling dervish of neon and fury, was surrounded by three goons, his glow sticks flashing like frantic fireflies.

"Fred, climb!" I yelled, pointing to a rickety wooden ramp leaning against the quarry wall. He, bless his chaotic heart, understood the unspoken pact. With a Tarzan-esque yell, he launched himself towards the ramp, using a stray goon as a springboard, and scrambled up like a squirrel on Red Bull.

Now, perched on our makeshift fortresses, we surveyed the battlefield. Below, the goons milled around, frustration flickering in their eyes. From our vantage point, their numbers seemed less daunting, their movements predictable.

Hank, impressed and relieved, used his height to unleash bone-crushing kicks that sent goons flying like deflated beach balls. Albert, transformed into a human slingshot, launched rocks and anything throwable with surprising accuracy, each impact a satisfying crunch. Eunice, a spider in her web, whipped the rope with deadly precision, tripping and tangling the attackers, her eyes a cold blue fire.

Frederick, perched precariously at the top of the ramp, became a human fireworks display. With a whoop, he flung his remaining glow sticks, blinding the goons with a disco shower of neon. Then, with a triumphant cry, he launched himself into the air, landing in the middle of the remaining attackers like a glittering meteor.

In the ensuing chaos, we rallied, fueled by the thrill of the fight and the camaraderie forged in fire and went down too while not me though but the rest did. We were a band of misfits, yes, but on this night, we were also a symphony of unlikely heroes, our laughter replacing the screams, our chaos a shield against the shadows.

The fight ended as abruptly as it began. Sirens wailed in the distance, heralding the arrival of our cavalry. The goons, demoralized and bruised, scattered like cockroaches into the night. We descended from our strongholds, weary but triumphant, a battered but unbowed unit.

>>5894975

Later, as we sat huddled around the dying embers of the bonfire, the night's adrenaline replaced by a quiet ache, I looked at my friends, their faces etched with the thrill of survival. Hank seemed more relaxed, Albert was nerdishly giddy and cozying up with Fredrick who was the most beaten up out of all of us, Eunice was trying to get a bit of short eye but the music from her speakers made this into an epilogue of a great adventure.

It was a fun night...but I had to return home...

I scrubbed at the pink dye staining my hair, the harsh chemicals stinging my eyes like a slap back to reality. The bonfire's echo clung to me, a sweet scent of marshmallow and adrenaline turning sour in the stark light of my bathroom mirror. Beneath the smeared glitter, the painted smile, was a canvas of shadows. My reflection, a stranger with the same hazel eyes, stared back, lips twisted in a sneer I barely recognized.

Huddled by the fire, they were a gallery of laughter and camaraderie. Hank, the gruff mountain, had finally shed his armor, an almost content smile cracking his stoic facade. Albert, that know it all, had metamorphosed into a less annoying frog, flitting around Frederick, who nursed his bruises with the air of a dead rat. Eunice, that bitch killed my ears with God awful music.


The blade of the makeup remover felt like a scalpel, carving away the sunshine, exposing the jagged edges of my true self.

My void stared back at me, beckoning, the siren song of the damnation I knew all too well. The ache from the fight paled in comparison to the hollow gnawing in my bones, those fools couldn't even protect sweet ol'me.

But the world needed sunshine, didn't it? A glimmer of hope to distract from the crawling darkness. With a sigh, I dipped my brush into the rainbow palette, painting back the vibrant mask.
Laughter bubbled up, forced, a fizzy soda to drown the bitter aftertaste of despair.

"Just taking a walk!" I chirped, grabbing the blood-stained hoodie, the metallic tang of steel brushing against my thigh as I slipped the knife into its hidden pocket.

"Night air is good for the soul," I sang, the mirror reflecting a blindingly craven smile.

Yes it's girls night out, and I'm going to enjoy myself :)

Sorry got a bit sidetracked

>The man, the myth, the Introduction to Kenny Blake

Rain lashed against the Detective Bureau window, blurring the neon symphony of Angel Grove outside. Inside, two weathered detectives hunched over a case file, its worn cover bearing the stark initials: ALPN.

Character intro: Kenny Blake

Subject case: ALPN
Height: 180 cm
Hair color: Jet Blake
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Build: Average

"Kenny Blake," one detective muttered, tracing the file photo with a calloused finger. "Jet-black hair, average build… isn't that Majin's kid?"

His partner slammed his hand down on the photo, eyes wide.

"Don't say that, Lou. Every Majin was wiped out in the Hero raid. Didn't spare anyone, not even the kids."

A heavy silence followed, punctuated only by the rhythmic drumming of rain. The Hero raid, a grim chapter in Angel Grove's history, still cast a long shadow. The brutal dismantling of the notorious Majin crime syndicate had left families shattered, secrets buried.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the whispers in the Bureau, Kenny Blake hummed to himself in the cavernous warehouse.Boxes loomed like silent sentinels, sheltering dust and unspoken truths. He stacked them with practiced ease, a rhythm born of years spent in the shadows, a couple of his co-workers he calls "bros" swing by and he attempts to socialize

"Wazzup peeps, hey nice rave we had last week Daniel thanks for hosting! "


The two co-workers stare in disbelief and then at each other and then back to Kenny trying to fit in

"Ehhh Blake, you do know that " rave" wasn't a rave and just a social get together. You're were so weird man overdoing it with the booze"

They both laughed mockingly at him and began talking about his drunken exploits.

Last week's "rave" (more like Monthly employees get together night gone rogue) had ended in drunken humiliation, Blake did a lot of things he probably won't be proud of if he remembered. Their mocking laughter echoed in his ears as he worked, a bitter reminder of his outsider status. The duo roast him for the final time and end their shift going to enjoy the night in town.

Suddenly, the warehouse lights flickered and died, plunging the space into an unsettling twilight. A low, menacing scratching emanated from the depths, sending shivers down Kenny's spine. Memories, fragmented and murky, surfaced from the well of his troubled past – flickering flames, echoing screams. Was it just his overactive imagination, or was something malevolent stirring in the darkness?

>Check it out

>I'll pretend like I didn't hear anything

>Start singing out loud obnoxiously so what ever is lurking would be alerted.