A\N: Didn't anyone ever wonder how Trent managed to live with Mesegog in his house? This is my explanation.
Heroes were made, not born.
Trent had not been born a hero. Sure, there was the rare exception, like Oliver or Ghandi, but most heroes were just...
Warped.
Trent smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom. The last sacred place on Earth, it felt like sometimes, but the lock on the door was enough to keep Mesegog out.
At least, after last time.
Heroes were the ones who couldn't have normal relationships. Trent was a classic hero; his parents had died, Anton had fallen away from him ever since they'd moved to Reefside, and now Mesegog had taken over his father. And his teammates were the same people he had once attempted to murder.
But then again, Trent mused as he pulled the gun out from his desk, heroes were the ones who got up and did something about it.
It had started when he'd stolen this gun from his father. He'd been afraid that Mesegog would come after him, and sure enough, the lizard had shown up.
Trent had shot him in the shoulder.
It had awoken a cold, numb darkness within him. Heroisim wasn't courage or bravery, it was just doing what you had to do. So that's what Trent did.
He'd gathered weapons, a whole arsenal. He'd trained like a demon. He'd stopped eating anything but healthy food, watching Oliver at every opportunity. Well, okay, that last one had been a dud. Oliver was more a Hollywood hero than anything else, a knight in shining armor.
Trent was...darker.
More real.
Trent slipped his gun into his belt and looked around. No, this mission wouldn't require anything more than the gun. It was just to maintain.
Dr. Thomas Oliver was a good Ranger. He was also an idiot. He thought that Mesegog followed the rules of the War of Power.
Mesegog followed Trent's rules.
Tonight he would remind them of that.
Trent walked out of his room, not bothering to lock the door behind him. Subtlety wasn't Mesegog's strong point, and anyway, he could smell the dinner his father was cooking downstairs. No one would find his weapons.
The portal in his father's office was open.
Trent went through.
When in Mesegog's lab, Trent was not a Power Ranger. Power Rangers had morals, rules. Trent had none. He was on enemy territory, he remembered it, and he kept himself safe at all costs. If it meant taking a hostage or shooting someone, so be it.
But since Oliver couldn't see him, it didn't matter.
Trent smiled to himself. Oliver, Kira, Conner, Ethan, Haley...people he'd come to consider a family.
Why else would he do this, if not for them?
Zeltrax was working on a new plan when he felt the gun in his back.
"White Ranger." Zeltrax ground out.
"I told you to leave Kira alone." Trent said without preamble.
"Dr. Oliver," Zeltrax said slowly, "Sees her as a daughter. She is his liability."
"Now, it seems to me," Trent said, moving away and sitting on the table next to Zeltrax, a dark smile on his face, "That we've had this conversation before. Haven't we?"
His gun came up.
"Leave Kira alone. If you want to fight Dr. O, fine. But not the others."
Zeltrax stared at the gun. It was the reason his left arm was entirely robotic now. "Someday," Zeltrax growled, "You will pay for this."
Trent jumped down.
"I'm sure I will."
Then he walked away.
Heroes are made, not born. Trent knew that.
Trent was probably not anyone's definition of a hero.
He used logic and weapons, not fists. There was no witty banter, very rarely did Kira or Haley come up in it, and he was usually holding someone at the wrong end of a weapon. Not to mention that everyone in Trent's life left him at some point.
Someday, the Rangers would leave him too.
But Trent still fought.
Were his mother alive, she would have called that heroism. Trent was starting to agree. He fought valiantly to protect people who were innocent, and who were in all likelihood going to screw even further with his head.
But he kind of liked being a hero.