Fight
Aaron Waters
And so you fell into the danger
And you're all alone tonight
Well, you're surrounded by the hurting type
And you just don't care for the sight
We will come running to your side
We will protect you from your fright
All of us are on your side
We'll take them
We'll take them down
Fight!
You know you must be strong and hold your own
'Cause the power's on your side
The enemy will try to give you fear
But you never run or hide
We will come running to your side
We will protect you from your fright
All of us are on your side
We'll take them
We'll take them down
Fight!
Mighty Morphin Power Rangers
Toshiro
Phase One: The Power Ranger
The battered old station wagon rumbled down the deserted highway, engine sputtering and clunking in protest as the driver, a middle-aged man with balding red hair, steered the aging vehicle along the desolate roads of the Arizona desert. The man's wife, plump from bearing three children and from the subsequent years of laziness that followed, sat beside him in the reclined passenger's seat, sleeping soundly. The children, two boys and a girl, slept just as soundly in the backseat, each leaning against another for support.
The father was beginning to tire as well, his eyelids drooping. His head bobbed, but he quickly snapped awake again, tightening his grip on the wheel. There had to be a motel somewhere nearby, but whether he would reach it before he fell asleep and killed his entire family was the only thought frightening enough to keep him awake.
Suddenly he became aware of a light source ahead of him. It seemed to be coming toward him. At first he thought it was another car, some other weary traveler returning home. Then a motorcycle, as there was only one beam. The nearer he drew, however, the more shocked he became.
A young man, not more than twenty years of age, was walking slowly down the desert road. The youth had short, glossy black hair and olive skin, and was surrounded by a corona of light. He wore a blue silk button-down Superman shirt over a plain white tank top, and baggy black parachute pants adorned with several cargo pockets. His hair and unbuttoned overshirt billowed wildly even though there was no wind on this arid night. The light that enveloped him was generated by a small glowing ball that levitated above his upturned palm. His dark eyes had a wild glint in them, and his thin lips seemed to be perpetually frowning in anger.
The man and his family had done nothing to harm him, but this young man seemed intent upon visiting grievous harm upon them. Still, the older man was not about to kill, even involuntarily, and as the car bore down upon the youth, he slammed heavily on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, the noise loud enough to wake all four of his passengers.
The car was only a few feet away when the stranger suddenly crouched, waiting a split-second before his powerful legs catapulted him high in the air. He flipped over the car and floated toward the ground. The little ball of light stayed near his hand the whole time, and as he floated he turned and pointed that hand at the car. He screamed something into the night air, though the screams of the people in the car drowned out the words. The ball of light swooped into his palm and began to grow, until it became an intense beam of searing white heat that engulfed the entire station wagon, vaporizing the car and the people in it.
The young man alighted noiselessly on the pavement and glanced at the steaming patch of rubber where the station wagon had been. He chuckled to himself, shook his head, and continued on his way.
An hour later, a few wisps of smoke still rose from that spot. A glossy black scorpion skittered across the road and vanished into the night, the only passerby to be traveling in the area at all at this time of night. The unending darkness of the desert was broken by a bright white light, and two humanoid figures materialized on the road. For a moment they were merely white silouhettes, but they quickly began to take more recognizable shapes.
One was dressed in silver-and-blue robes of a material that looked like silk, long white hair flowing out from beneath a yarmulke-like cap that covered most of his scalp. He held a staff in his hands that was as long as he was tall, and though it looked like wood it also seemed to be made of a material that was not of this earth.
The other was dressed in the brown robes of a monk, complete with a white rope sash, which was immaculate in its cleanliness. He had no hair except for a long black braided ponytail that began in the exact center of his head, and fell to about the middle of his back. He appeared to be much younger than the wizard, and was about two feet shorter.
The younger man knelt by the patch of burnt rubber and touched his fingers to it, a faint glow coming to his fingertips. With a nod he looked up at the wizard.
"He was here, Zordon," the young monk said, "But too long ago. The trail has begun to grow cold."
The wizard Zordon pressed his lips tightly together and acknowledged the monk's comment with a nod of his own. "Yes, I had suspected as much. At least we got the right planet. Come, Alpha Five, we must find a safe place to summon the Chosen before he strikes again."