Chapter 7: Frangipani Part I


White Lies

Disclaimer: I do not own PRDT. The events in the story have been adapted from "The Missing Bone".

Author's Note: The story will be mostly Conner/Kira/Trent and will be written as a compilation of POVs.


Fossilador

From the upper storey loft overlooking the ground level, my female vessel stands silently as I gleefully watch the scene unfolding before my eyes. The security guard, my other vessel, prods Trent's back with the barrel of his pistol, urging Trent deeper into the massive hall. The revelation that my creator's son is the white ranger is laughable. White symbolises goodness and purity. If Trent is anything like Father, he would be anything but innocent.

There is a pounding in the female's head that seems to be growing louder.

Trent studies the burly man from the corner of his eye. His brows furrow.

"Fran- no, who are you?"

Frank's irises turn white and his pupils constrict, exposing my presence. In that instant, Trent knocks the pistol away and it skitters across the floor. Frank swings his meaty arms at Trent and hits him square in the gut. Air escapes the ranger's mouth. Soon, a bright light engulfs the room. Frank scrambles to retrieve the pistol. When the light disperses, Trent appears clothed in white spandex, his sharp dagger now pointing at the lumbering security guard.

"You're sharp indeed. I am Fossilador and I have a proposition for you."

"Not interested," the white ranger growls, edging the blade threateningly closer.

Frank smiles.

"Go ahead. He has served his purpose."

A devilish grin spreads across the white ranger's face.

NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T!

Trent drops his dagger and begins to clutch his head in agony.

"A little trouble with your vessel, eh?" I snort through Frank.

"Shut up!" yells the white ranger, apparently still wrestling with his inner turmoil. Frank uses the window of opportunity to knock the white ranger out. He crumbles to the ground. A dazzling white light bathes the room.


Trent rouses from his slumber. He finds himself locked down by tough metal braces and begins to struggle. He looks around and realises that he is in a laboratory similar to his father's designs. Across the room from where he sits, Trent notices Kira leaning against a counter, watching his every move.

"The dragon finally wakes," she croons. She moves over to Trent, placing a chair in front of him, with its back facing him, and straddles it.

"What do you want?" Trent spits.

"I want you to attack the city."

"Why?"

"I need a simple distraction."

"For?" Trent utters impatiently.

One corner of Kira's lip curls up a little but remains silent.

I take full control of the vessel.

Kira reaches for the white ranger's dagger left on the counter and waves it in front of him, then slowly turns the blade toward herself.

"You will do as I say without question or her blood will be on your hands."

"Fool. The yellow ranger means nothing to me."

"Not to you," I laugh, tapping my index finger on his chest.

No, please don't! No, pleaSE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T! NO, PLEASE DON'T!


TO BE CONTINUED...