AN: Hello there! You guys weren't expecting this, now, were you? Being honest neither were we expecting such a big reaction from you people when it came to the original Power Grid oneshot. Think of this as a reward for flattering us so much~
AtW: Glad you enjoyed it. Hope you continue to do so.
Wyvern: Who knows, maybe we'll end up posting more of these down the line.
Power Grid - Two Shot
Metal dug into her hands, fingers bleeding from countless tiny nicks and cuts. None of that mattered. Not the gash down the side of her leg, not the ever insistent chittering at the edge of her hearing, not even the blood slowly filling her mouth from where she bit her lip. Because she was so close, so painfully, spitefully close, that she could feel the smooth polymers and bleeding edge technology sitting in her palm.
"Thump"
Something other than the sound of metal striking metal caught her attention. Turning to the part of the pile she had been digging through, Taylor leaned against the flattest part of sheet metal she could find and pushed.
Driving all of her meager body weight down, the panicked teenager was rewarded by a grinding squeal and the collapse of the pile of debris.
Ignoring the sparks and chemical smell, she pressed ahead, driven by a manic need to see.
An old, molding case, perhaps once brown leather, was half lodged under what looked like a collapsed support beam. Digging underneath her prize, she was able to dislodge enough mud and soft, gravelly soil to get at the case from underneath.
Pulling, fingers locked around the molding handle, she worked it a few inches free before the clasp snapped.
Tossing the broken pieces aside, she hooked her fingers inside the briefcase, blinking in confusion for a moment when she realized the handles were set nearly four inches into the case, and began working the case free.
Now, Taylor didn't claim to be an expert on casings and the like, but she knew that it had been nearly a decade ago that the scrapyard had been commissioned, and what she was holding was likely to be even older than that. So there was plenty of wear and tear that should have allowed her to dig into the case for the goods.
Keyword being should.
The case, while definitely discolored and scratched up in places, was mostly intact. Which was insane. All the salt and humidity should have rusted most if not all of it.
Only it hadn't.
The case was sturdy and still sealed off for the most part.
Fortunately, there was a large gash on the back. As if a massive spike had been driven into it and dragged from one side to the other, leaving a massive cut which exposed its insides. Or well at least part of them.
'Okay, Taylor! Think!'
Part of her wanted to forget about it and just turn in the briefcase, and the morpher inside, to the M.R.S. It would have given her plenty of brownie points with them, if not a light scolding for technically trespassing onto government owned land. She would smile, nod along, and maybe get to see one of the local Rangers.
A perfect way to end her afternoon.
Yet there was another side of her.
The hungry, craven side of herself that wanted to get its hands on it. After all, who wouldn't want to touch a morpher? It was the childhood dream of every boy and girl. And the only thing between herself and that was a nigh unbreakable metal box.
'Well, challenge accepted!'
Picking up a long metal pipe from one of the nearby piles of scrap, she tentatively worked the rod into the opening before planting the case onto the ground with her foot. Hands gripping the pipe, Taylor pushed her weight against the improvised lever, keeping the metal box pinned onto the floor as she forced it open.
The metal, whatever it was, bent and creaked under the pressure.
Slowly but surely giving away.
Then the pipe broke, and her face met the loving embrace of the floor.
"Just great."
She blow a bloody wad of snot out of her nose.
"Ok Taylor. You've got this!"
Working the edge of the largest chunk back in, she worked it at the join until there was a crunch. And within, she found treasure. Or at least a smaller container, this one a half disintegrated brown cardboard package. Flicking the chunks away she picked through soft wrappings made of what felt like synthetic fibers and gasped at what she finally found within.
Far from the sleek designs she'd seen pics of online, this one was more lar a huge bracelet of thick smooth grey metal and a large dial like button setting atop the center, where the wrist would meet the forearm.
And by huge she meant it would cover a good deal of her forearm along with the wrist.
Was it some sort of prototype?
She had seen some of the really old morphers in museums. The second generation morphers were palm sized and worn like belt buckles. The first generation were two pieces of equipment that had to be pieced together, like a key in a lock. This was nowhere nearly close to those designs.
But it was too big to be a modern design, not to mention it had been buried here on the scrapyard for years now.
There was also the caveat of Taylor, a well known Ranger Fangirl, not being able to identify which squad the morpher belonged to. Which was heresy of the highest order! She knew most of the design trends like the back of her hand. Even most of the foreign ones.
Her fingertip ghosted over the dial piece, tracing the flawless metal as if admiring a work of art.
All those years.
And not a scratch on it.
"Beep"
The morpher made a strange choir and flashed.
"Wait what!?"
Splitting at the seams, it leapt at her, the smooth, cool material splitting open and wrapping around her arm. There was a sharp pinprick in several spots along her arm and then… the sounds of the world exploded.
Taylor was a psychic.
More accurately, she was a parahuman.
Now, you might be thinking. Wasn't that better than having a fancy watch that gave you spandex and plate armor? Super powers would be cooler, right?
Well, not really.
Parahumans had always existed in some way, shape, or form. However, it was only a few decades ago, after a villain called Ransik rampaged through the country with an army of genetically enhanced underlings he referred to as Mutants, that they actually become commonish.
Though the group was eventually stopped, it did not stop many of their victims from developing strange powers.
Mutant powers had been all the rage in the 80's.
And then the hype died down when people realized all they could do with those was bend spoons or run really fast.
Taylor was one of three that went to Winslow and one of a dozen known mutants in Brockton Bay alone. Unusual, of course, in the sheer number and concentration of powers. But that was one reason they had their own Junior Ranger team - the sheer strength and diversity of special abilities found here.
But she wasn't a strong one.
Not even close!
The most she could manage was to talk to the neighborhood pets, get the dogs to let her scratch their ears and the cats to let her rub their bellies. Sometimes, she was able to get mosquitoes to leave her alone or maybe convince spiders to do little tricks, but that was the exception and not the norm.
Right now, the slamming, grinding, explosive pressure behind her eyes felt like her skull was going to explode from the sheer pressure building within her as countless millions of lifeforms suddenly filled her mind.
Insects, birds, other humans, even the worms in the dirt and fish in the seas.
She could hear them all. See them all. Taylor was them all.
And then it was silent.
Deafening, almost, with the sheer magnitude of emptiness she felt. As if someone had reached inside of her and scooped out everything that made up Taylor Hebert.
Slowly, eventually, piece by piece she came back together - a distant thrum as the city around her pulsed with life. Blessedly, her very, very low level awareness returned. Just enough that she could feel the life near her, and not just the background noise, but when she looked around, she noticed something that made her squeak.
'OHMYGODITSTOMMYOLIVER!'
What came out was not the awestruck, high pitched exclamation of a fangirl. Instead, it was a twisted, warped, loud warble. It, quite simply, sounded like the wail of some horrific animal.
HOST ACQUIRED.
SEARCHING TARGETS.
TARGET IDENTIFIED
THOMAS OLIVER - WHITE RANGER
COMMENCING EXTERMINATION PROCEDURE.
Wait a second….
'Extermination?!' Taylor squawked in surprise as the dial on top of her forearm flashed a deep golden amber, before exploding in light.
It was as if she had been dunked into thick, lukewarm water, the sensation of power traveling down her fingers and up her shoulder like an electric current as it spread through her body. The morpher seemed to shift and expand, threads of gleaming metal manifesting from it and covering her body in a makeshift cocoon.
Of more pressing concern was the swarm of tens of thousands of insects she felt react to the spike of adrenaline in her body and converge on the veteran ranger.
MUTANT POTENTIAL IDENTIFIED
OPENING BROADCAST CHANNEL
EXTENDING RANGE
IMMEDIATE ATTACK RESPONSE : ACTIVATED
Thankfully, Taylor just wasn't strong enough to command that many bugs. Meaning that, instead of swarming the three very, very squishy people with enough insects to choke them to death, she "only" threw one or two thousand at them.
It still left her with a splitting headache pounding against her skull - intense enough to cause tears to prick at her eyes.
What happened next she would remember for years to come.
Like a spirit of war, Tommy burst through the cloud of insects. Taylor could see where they'd bitten him, tried to attack his eyes and nose and mouth and ears. Even where parts of his face were swollen and bleeding from a literal wave of insects. But none of that mattered. Not the blood or the pain or even the utterly alien sensations of wriggling, teeming masses of living creatures trying to burrow into his skin.
No, his fist struck out like a lance.
Knuckles cracking against the armored carapace with a gut wrenching crunch.
Blood flying from his hands, he snapped his foot around, steel toed boot catching her in the jaw and snapping Taylor's head to the side. Another low sweep took her legs out from under her. And, slamming into the ground, her chest plate barely stopping the breath being knocked out of her, head reeling from the pain in her jaw, he brought his foot up and down in an axe kick so powerful the air seemed to crack and split in its wake.
For the first time in her life, Taylor's psychic powers were actually explicitly useful.
The infinitesimal microsecond of warning she received was enough to snap her head to the side, barely jerking out of the way, as the veteran Ranger planted his foot into the ground with enough force to knock her into the air.
She screamed then.
To her, it was high pitched and more of a squeal. A kind of noise made by a small furry animal when a massive, hungry carnivore looks at them.
"I've got your back Tommy!"
The rib breaking double fist punch she took from the similarly bleeding and insect laden Colin Wallis didn't seem to help things. Eyes wide open, and glowing an electric blue, he ground his teeth together, spitting out a wad of crushed insects, and took a boxing stance.
Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he struck out.
In a sort of forward bunny hop, he cleared the scant few feet Taylor had managed to get, driving his foot into her instep, pulling his fist in tight, and driving it straight into the same spot on her ribs he'd struck before. Apparently, even as his arms groaned in sheer stress from the power of the blow, the cyborg ignored any risks to his mechanical limbs.
He struck again and again and again.
Each hit was predictable, easy to see coming even, but impossible to stop. Like a machine his punches came in a steady, unending rhythm - each one just a little bit faster than the last. And each blow came in with enough impossibly precise fury and speed and raw, blistering strength than the teenaged girl could even imagine. Indeed, in that moment, she was relatively sure that if it wasn't for the armor she was wearing her organs would have been pulped.
Maybe it was her fear, maybe it was the morpher taking damage, maybe it was just sheer dumb luck. But in that Hell of unending blue fists something clicked.
"STOP!"
A single word that sent a surge through the man, but not the machine. Colin's punch skittered off target, scraping against her armor but not driving through the crack it had been steadily building. Every muscle in his body seized and it was almost like the man reset.
Not that the machine cared, no, his legs leapt back, arms coming up to protect his chest and face, and the Ranger seemed to struggle to breathe for a moment before shaking off the psychic command.
'Oh God, what did I just do!?'
Taylor wasn't strong enough to affect people. In fact, there were only two psychics in the world that could meaningfully affect higher mammals at all. At least, ones that weren't a Ranger or the Ziz.
PROTECTIVE LAYER: 45%
DAMAGE: INTERMEDIATE
THREAT LEVEL: SIGNIFICANT
WOULD YOU LIKE TO DEPLOY INSTANT KILL OPTIONS?
Taylor reeled at the thought. Instant kill? Just what sort of morpher had she gotten saddled with?!
'What? No! I need to get out of here!'
ACKNOWLEDGED. ACTIVATING FLIGHT MODE.
"Ahhhhh!"
A pair of massive wings snapped out from her back, buzzing as it dragged her up into the sky. Twisting, spinning, and almost totally out of control getting hit in the back by Hana, now sporting an American flag bandana, was almost a relief.
The sudden sharp pains in her side as the woman rapidly emptied the magazine of a handgun into her wings, each bullet tearing through the translucent, insectoid wings with a bloody abandon.
She screamed again, from pain and fear, and barely managed to bounce and roll as she slammed into the ground.
"You are under arrest!"
Considering she was an unarmored woman with no sleeves, the road rash covering one of Hana's arms was to be expected. Taylor still flinched when she saw the blood and sand and speckles of metal in her arm.
FLIGHT SYSTEMS: DAMAGED
'Yes, I know!' She almost screamed in frustration.
Staring down the barrel of a gun wasn't exactly doing Taylor's nerves any good. She was breathing heavily, chest pounding as she tried and failed to come with a way to get out of that situation.
Should she just turn herself in?
She didn't mean to take the morpher, and didn't know it would go crazy like it did.
The Rangers were genuine heroes, right? They would understand she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and take this crazy morpher off of her hands.
INITIATING DEFENSE PROTOCOLS
Apparently that was the wrong thing to think.
LAUNCHING PSYCHIC PROBES
If the previous headache had felt like nails on a chalkboard inside her brain. This felt like someone had driven a screwdriver right into the back of Taylor's head, tearing out a scream of pain from the teenager as the three adults flinched back, the older woman collapsing backwards as if physically struck.
MASTER PROTOCOL: INITIATED
DEFENSE FORMATION
And just like that the insects surged back in a wave of black chitin, swarming the three heroes before they could recover from the mental assault.
Taylor was barely aware herself. Her head throbbed and flared with constant flashes of pain, so much so it was all she could do to stay awake while the Rangers were attacked yet again by the bugs. She couldn't stay here. The morpher was just gonna keep trying to attack them and she could barely think.
She needed to get away.
And now!
REQUEST: ACKNOWLEDGED
INITIATING FLIGHT SYSTEM
Her back shuddered, a few flickers of dull throbbing as her wings patched themselves.
Just like last time, she had no control as she was dragged into the sky by her own body. Blessedly, however, the former green ranger was unable to bring her side arm to bear. Nothing stopped her as she was carried out of the junkyard and far, far away from the fight. Eventually, once her panic had faded ever so slightly, she was able to push against whatever was controlling her.
'Let me go!'
REQUEST: ACKNOWLEDGED
Taylor groaned as she was dropped to the ground, the armor responding immediately and letting her plummet twenty feet to faceplant in the ground. Blessedly, the armor, once again, absorbed the shock. And frankly, compared to being punched by a cyborg, it was like flopping onto a bed.
It still rattled her brain though.
But it was the better alternative to getting beat up by one of her idols and two other rangers, one of whom she was still relatively sure she had licensed underwear of, that's for sure.
Dragging herself out of the pile of crap she landed on, Taylor stumbled to her feet, head pounding with an acute pain the likes which she had never felt before. It was like something hot and cold and squishy were trying to leak out of her skull.
Was this what being hungover felt like?
STATUS REPORT…
ESCAPE: SUCCESSFUL
LAYER DEFENSE: 33%
FUEL CELL: 5%
RECHARGE MODE ENGAGED
'Recharge what now?'
And just like that, the dark chitin armor which had been covering her body unraveled itself in a familiar flash of amber light, the slow beeping of the morpher as its main light flashed lazily before going dark.
Taylor waited all of three seconds before dashing off.
There was no way they weren't combing the city top to bottom after that stunt. Not when she had used a deceptively blood thirsty morpher to assault and run away from M.R.S. authorities like a saturday morning cartoon villain. All she was missing was an evil cackle and the cliche 'I will be back' promise of revenge.
It was then that it occurred to her.
She had attacked three retired Rangers.
No, scratch that! She had attacked Tommy Oliver!
'Well, there goes that autograph.' Huffing in exhaustion, she turned a corner and ran down an alleyway, eager to get home as fast as possible - her last thoughts on how much less she was hurting now than just a few minutes before. Even if she was still in more trouble than she could imagine.
Of all MRS bases placed alongside the west coast, Brockton Bay was seen more as a tourist spot than a strategic outpost. The truth being that the city hadn't seen any relevant action in over a decade, meaning that funding had been pulled off and personnel relocated to areas that had more need of them.
As such, those present at the base were wholly unprepared for the sight of three veteran rangers walking into the building as if they had just gotten attacked.
Bruises, minor cuts, and the odd sparking sound from Colin's cybernetic limbs caught the attention of every agent present, eyes going wide at the implications of what they saw.
The Director, however, barely quirked an eyebrow.
"I take it your mission didn't go as planned." She sized them up, taking stock of the injuries.
Nothing requiring immediate attention, though the ability to harm a Ranger, even retired ones, required a substantial amount of power. Which of course meant that the trio had found themselves facing off against an enemy during their mission to investigate the odd signal coming from the scrapyard.
"Report." She commanded casually, unaffected by the sight.
Oliver, the oldest of the trio stepped forward.
"As per your request, Director, we investigated the Scrapyard after the transmission and discovered it came from the wreckage of an old Era 2 zord. We found its location when it sent out an encrypted message, which we were lucky to trace back to the source."
Emily felt a small migraine building up.
Because of course something like that would come up right under her nose.
The previous administration saw no need to micromanage something as vital as disposal of sensitive materials. Why would they when the city has been using the same spot since the time of All Father? Obviously, something had slipped by them and ended up amongst the heaps of scrap.
"And have you managed to decipher this message?"
Oliver nodded.
"It was a warning regarding a breach in containment. Apparently the zord had been carrying a restricted package for delivery. Which was lost amidst the fighting. The alarm was set in such a way that if the package was ever breached, a warning would be sent."
The Director didn't like where this was going.
But chose to bite the bullet.
"And the package? Did you manage to retrieve it?"
"No, it became apparent that someone had been searching the area before we arrived and found it before we could. By the time we had arrived at the designated location, a second party had already taken possession of it."
Colin stepped forward this time.
"The package was an unsanctioned Morpher of an unknown model. It is very likely that it was secured for transportation, though the archives do not list any such item on any reports. Considering what that implies, I'm personally quite surprised that only a single individual was sent to recover it."
That comment actually caused a bit of a stir.
"One person managed to fight all three of you? How?"
"It was simple." Hana stepped forward, dabbing at her cuts with a cotton ball soaked in iodine. "They used the morpher."
Now Piggot reacted.
"So. We have a rogue ranger loose in the city? And you didn't think to lead with that! Rennick, recall the training team! Get them here now. Simmons, get in contact with BBPD. We need them on high alert and we need to start searching the city."
There was a flurry of activity, men and women rushing about as a wave of controlled chaos washed through the command room.
Being a large space, perhaps fifty or so meters across, it was set in the heart of the downtown MRS building. Buried behind walls of steel reinforced concrete, shielded inside a Faraday cage, accessible only through a network of fiber optic cables or a hardened checkpoint, and itself hardened against a CBRN attack. Filled with two dozen men and women, scattered across as many workstations, patched into a hundred different information feeds - this was in many ways the front lines of the fight for human survival.
In a world where angry gods could descend from the heavens, the difference a few seconds of early warning could make was incalculable.
Tightening the collar of her navy blue uniform, standing up as tall as her petite frame would permit, Emily Piggot glared at the parahumans that were, nominally, under her command.
"Now stop bleeding in my command center. And when you're patched up, report to the armory. If this rogue thinks they can finish what All Father started, they have another thing coming."
Shrugging, Tommy turned to the other two rangers and tilted his head. Falling in behind him, the trio checked out of the command center, Hana receiving her sidearm from a trooper in full kit, and the group remained silent until they were back in Colin's lab.
"We're clear."
A flash of blue light washed over the room.
"Dragon designed that to disable any listening devices."
"Thanks." Oliver relaxed. "Where's your medkit?"
The dusky skinned kurdish woman tossed the karate instructor a red case with a wink.
"Way ahead of you pretty boy. You need any help with those knuckles? Looks like you hurt yourself pretty bad."
Smirking, Tommy fired right back.
"Don't worry, they heal on their own nowadays."
Using his good hand, he snapped one of the wayward joints back into place. The bone made a crunching sound as fragments of shredded knuckle ground against one another. With another crack the swelling began to die down in that area. Oliver just smirked at his new friend's flinch.
"So, you needed to speak with us?"
There was a vaguely disapproving frown on Colin's face as he settled into what looked like a large pod, tossing his shirt to the side. A small cable snapped out and attached to the base of his spine, the machine giving a whir as dozens of small tools began to poke and prod at the damaged areas of his body. And, overcome by a sudden urge to watch another man's flesh knit together instead of his own, the former ranger could only stare in utter fascination as flashes of light began to stitch flesh and steel back together.
"Yeah. I, uh, I guess what I wanted to ask is that did the fight feel off to you guys?"
Colin quirked an eyebrow.
It was an absurd enough look, as the tiny machine whizzed about his head, that Tommy wanted to snort in laughter. Instead, he turned to Hana who was herself in thought.
"I suppose." She tapped her pistol. "I shredded the perp's wings - and it definitely hurt them - so why didn't they try to fight back?"
"Perhaps the pain debilitated them? Or left them desiring only to flee?"
She shook her head.
"I don't think so. They used some kind of attack to stall me, remember? It was just a moment, and I honestly have no idea what it was, it just didn't last long enough for me to get a good idea, but they managed to stop me from doing anything. And they did the same thing to you too. Your implants had to restart your heart, right?"
The cyborg grunted.
"Indeed."
Chewing his words, the metal man, eventually, conceded the point.
"It was clumsy. Sloppy even. And when I was attacking them, despite their ability to take my blows, they did not strike back. They were totally on the defensive. Outside of the cloud of bugs at least."
"Exactly!" Now on his feet, the former green ranger was pacing. "And when I was whaling on them they just took it. Sometimes they, or I guess it, just tried to dodge my attacks. I guess what I'm getting at is that this isn't the behavior of some veteran operative. That was the behavior of someone who just wanted to get out of there."
"And if that explosion of energy was the morpher reacting to them…."
Colin sat up, inspecting the repairs to his arms, and grunted as he finished.
"Then we may have just assaulted someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Hana grimaced.
"It's happened before. Not just with you either Tommy. I think three or four rangers got their powers totally by accident. Even one whole team. And it's not like no one goes into the Scrapyard. Perhaps they were even responsible for that signal being sent out? Them finding the case caused it to react?"
Nodding, the cyborg agreed.
It was a very common set up used by criminal teams and syndicates throughout MRS history. Involving bystanders by exposing them to whatever reagent or transformation inducer they had in hand in order to create diversions and replaceable troops.
If the Morpher was indeed illegal, and programmed with that plan in mind then…
"That's certainly possible. If the battery had any power left in it then it's possible the case sent out that encrypted data burst trying to request a recovery team. Still, this is supposition. And totally unsubstantiated. What do you intend to do with this information Oliver?"
Running a hand through his hair, the man sat down.
"I honestly don't know. My gut is telling me that letting Piggot be the one to find this person is a bad idea - whether they were a bystander or not. I think… I think we need to find them first. If only to make sure that they aren't in trouble."
Sharing a silent conversation, Hana and Colin came to a decision after a minute of debate.
"Alright." The cyborg powered up his now repaired limbs fully. "We'll help you. Your experience is second to none and if your instincts are telling you we need to follow up on this, we have your back."
"But if things get too dangerous, we will call in backup." Hana stepped forward. "We're veteran rangers now. Supposedly wiser and more experienced. Fair?"
Tommy offered the two a grateful smile.
It felt nostalgic really. Bringing him back to all those years ago when he and his first team defended Angel Grove, the excitement and uncertainty of taking each day as it came without the massive responsibilities and limited resources.
He would be lying if the rebel inside him hadn't played some role in his decision to keep his suspicions quiet.
There was something about this situation that stuck out to him.
Something he felt he needed to do about it.
He just didn't know what it was, yet. But he would in time.
For now, however, there was one thing he was sure of.
'It's good to be back in the field.'
"Fair. Now, let's start with the obvious. What are the odds that the strange attack was psychic? Since it affected you both but didn't damage Colin's cybernetics."
"Well, this is Brockton Bay. We have at least a dozen of them. Not that we let that little number get out. But we have more mutants, parahumans, and non standard citizens than anywhere else on the East Coast. In the U.S. only LA has us beat, if I remember correctly."
Hana grunted.
"And that's not counting the ones who don't register their parahuman status. They would have to be a very powerful psychic to do all those maneuvers." Psychics tended to have very well established limits, after all, and anyone with that kind of power backing them up would be either very easy to find, or impossible depending on whether they were even in the database.
"Even if we don't find anything on that front, its not like they can hide for long." Colin argued. "The Director has the city on lockdown and will be watching the Grid for any spikes. If they use the morpher, we will be able to trace them."
There exist five stages of grief.
'I didn't do that. God, this is just a nightmare!'
Denial.
"It's all this fucking trinket's fault! Why did I think it was a good idea!"
Anger.
'Maybe if I turn myself in they will just sweep this under the rug. I was always planning on handing it over so they aren't gonna punish me too badly.'
Bargaining.
'I'm so screwed. They are going to arrest me and ban me from taking the tests and give me a record. My life is gonna be ruined and I will never get that autograph from Tommy.'
Depression.
And finally acceptance.
Unfortunately for one Taylor Hebert, she was a teenager, being renowned throughout the world as the one capable of absorbing and internalizing the greatest amount of drama - but also completely deficient at letting those emotions filter through them.
A phenomenon known to the scientific community as Angsting.
To put it bluntly, Taylor was a master at angsting.
Which left her locked in a perpetual cycle of grief as she jogged towards her home, metallic armband tucked firmly underneath a jacket. Not that the flimsy cloth would do anything to hide the device from whatever advanced tech the MRS was going to employ in order to find her.
But at least it would stop anyone from literally seeing her carrying around a piece of unspeakably illegal technology. And that seemed like it was the least bad thing she could hope for.
Turning down a corner, Taylor's heart seemed to lift as she saw a familiar building grow nearer.
Her home was in one word, worn. It was an old two story house with peeling paint and a rusting fence around it. Well cared for, perhaps, but it would need some tending to soon enough. The windows were pristine, if slightly dusty, while the front yard was riddled with small weeds here and there.
It wasn't much. But it was home.
The lack of a car parked in front was, for once, a welcome sight. Taylor didn't know how she would explain the scuff marks riddling her body, not to mention the very much illegal morpher attached to her arm. Which was grounds for eternal grounding.
So yes, she was already a fugitive of the law. No need to make her situation any worse.
With a click and swish, Taylor closed the door behind her.
'Alright, the coast is clear.'
SEARCHING FOR TARGETS…
She stiffened. Not this again.
"Stop. I mean, cancel search!" She shouted at the device.
Its light seemed to glow ominously, small clicking sounds thundering in the teenager's ears as she watched the device like a hawk. Though blessedly it didn't transform her this time. Or explode….
REQUEST: ACKNOWLEDGED
Taylor let out a sigh of relief.
Just what the hell was wrong with this thing?
"There's just no way this is happening to me. I mean, finding the Zord head was just crazy. Well, I guess its understandable with how many fights used to happen here, but that was years ago. Shouldn't something like this have been found? Or at least looked for? But even then it's not like the Scrapyard is open to the public - or even strictly safe to enter. However this is a morpher! Probably the single most powerful and expensive piece of technology on the planet. Aside from the giant robots. And who just leaves a severed head lying around like that!?"
Logically, she understood she was panicking. Taylor still barely managed to not hyperventilate. Walking over to the kitchen sink, she turned the handle to the right and let cool water start to trickle out. Once it was as chilly as it would get, she washed her face, letting the sudden cold shock her a bit.
Blinking water out of her eyes, she took a deep breath, wiping the moisture away with a hand towel.
Small, rote actions, ones that she'd done a hundred times, were familiar. Safe. Calming in their familiarity. And perhaps in their banality too. Picking up her glasses, she fiddled with the arms for a moment, letting them flex in their hinges.
"So what am I gonna do?"
Sighing, she turned to the fridge and dug around in. Pulling out some leftover tikka masala and aloo tikki. Chicken in potatoes, but in spicy form. Exotic comfort food for the win.
Spooning them onto her favorite plate, a slight chip in the edge from where she once dropped a pound of frozen fish onto it, she added an extra helping of rice and popped it into the microwave.
A minute later and she was sitting at her kitchen table, spoon in hand, and everything was normal.
Sane.
Logical.
Except for the alien device strapped to her arm that let her transform.
There was also the fact she could definitely hear more… everything around her. Mosquitoes and house flies, the neighbor's dogs, even people were there. Slight patches of static instead of unintelligible whirring they usually were.
"At least the food is still good."
She would have to go visit that restaurant again.
"If I'm not in prison."
Half an hour later, stepping out of the shower, Taylor felt better. Scrubbed clean, she took a moment to inspect her body.
"That's gonna be hard to explain."
There were huge purple and yellow welts on her chest in the shape of a fist. A very meaty, angry fist. And her left leg had a series of welts up her calf, across the meat of her thigh, and even on her hip. Most strangely, as if to mimic the injuries she'd suffered earlier, there were a series of dime sized red-purple bruises across her back.
Ones that would have been in the exact spot where her wings had been shot.
Dapping at her injuries as best she could, because she had zero intention of asking for help with them, even when the morpher inevitably came up, she dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Comfort clothes to go with comfort food.
Eventually, after almost wearing a hole in her socks with all the pacing she was doing, Taylor decided to wait in the living room. Better to not put off Doomsday and it had a TV in it too.
Stopping in the hallway, she took a moment to smile at her favorite picture.
It was her and her dad, both of them eating ice cream. She had an almost manic smile from the sugar high she was on and he was a bit sunburned, skin starting to turn red. But neither of them cared. They were having a great time, even eating overpriced county fair ice cream like they were.
She smiled sadly.
Those had been happier times.
Before they had found out she was special, before Emma and her had grown apart, before her family had been torn apart. Taylor's chest ached.
What she would give to go back to those days.
"Taylor I'm home!"
Melancholy heavy in her chest, she nodded.
"Ok. I'm coming!"
She said goodbye to her dad and started walking up front.
"Hey mom. Sorry to do this right when you get home, but we need to talk."