AN: The hype train has no breaks, and is about to hit the station. All aboard! We are about to crash in with some Power Grid goodies!

AtW: This should show you how the power levels convert over, why Rangers tend to retire early, and some major shifts in the world state and "common sense" of this verse. I also start another 12 hours of class this week, so update times are going to slow down a bit. Unfortunate news, but I'm already struggling to balance work, school, and writing. Thank you for understanding and reading.

CW: As always we hope you, our faithful readers, enjoy as Taylor dives further into the insanity that is this world of ours. As for those who are here for the Power Rangers / Super Sentai side of the equation, don't be afraid to make suggestions and tell us who you'd like to see in the future!

Now, onto the reading!

Power Grid - Chapter 4

Theo grunted, feeling a muscle in his calf twinge in pain.

"Crap. Yeah, I pulled that."

Shrugging into a T-shirt, he double checked his fly, pulled on his belt, and slid on his sneakers. Digging around his gym locker, he pulled out a stick of deodorant, made sure he wouldn't have to worry about smelling like ass later, and then closed everything up. He always double checked his locker, just to be safe, since sometimes they did spot checks and he really, really didn't feel like having to reorganize everything he kept at the Rig.

Clean after his workout, the young man checked his phone, winced, and began jogging to a meeting he would be able to just make it to. Not that he particularly minded.

'How many guys my age get to work at a place like this?'

A holdover from a generation when the Response Squad didn't quite have the budget to build hyper futuristic fortresses on every continent, the converted oil rig was almost quaint. Walls of welded steel, painted a deep blue, and a labyrinth of corridors that sprawled out over ten floors worth of hangars, workshops, offices, support rooms, and the occasional hidden science lab that did things to particles that couldn't have been conceived of a decade ago. Mostly because the men in white coats who dwelt in such places thought it was cool.

Never mind the not insignificant chance that they could summon an eldritch horror the size of a small mountain if they screwed up.

"Yo, Theo, glad you made it!"

Chris, a kind of scrawny guy with a head of brown hair, waved him into a conference room.

"Good thing too. Carlos saw Colin earlier and the boss was looking pissed."

"Yeah. I can't imagine why." His tone was dry and they both snorted. "I wonder if he realizes he's already mostly robot."

"Probably not." Tall, handsome, and seemingly confident, Carlos tossed a wrapped sandwich to him. "I figure the Armsmaster won't be slowing down until Dragon figures out how to give them a kid or he ends up in an iron lung. But he wouldn't be one of the best if he slacked off."

A derisive snort told the young man exactly where Sophia was currently… brooding.

None of them bothered even acknowledging her, the best way to avoid dealing with her inferiority-superiority complex was just to refuse to engage.

"Hey guys, it's time to wrap it up. Boss man is coming to give us 'the gun talk' and I think Miss Hana is actually packing real heat this time."

Theo nodded to their team leader, swallowing a mouthful of water and washing down the PB&J sandwich he'd just inhaled. Rory in particular eying the small pile of sandwiches they'd all been eating on.

"What do you mean she's packing heat? Isn't she always carrying?"

An honest question, Chris's look of confusion was answered when Browbeat walked in. Unquestionably the oddest of their team, the boy was terse, nearly silent, and incredibly hyper focused. The fact he was carrying several black plastic cases was telling too.

They all returned his grunting "hello".

"Have we started yet?"

Smaller and even mousier than Chris, the last member of their team showed up.

"Hey Amy. Nah, we've got a few minutes. Sandwiches if you want one.'

"Thank you."

And that was that. Sitting down as far away from Hess as she could, Theo watched as Chris blushed slightly at their teammate's small smile and Amy snagged herself a turkey club.

Just like with any group of teenagers, it was an open secret who liked who. Unlike most, however, Chris hadn't let his infatuation interfere in their work once - not even when Amy politely refused the kid scientist's offers to hang out - and it never moved towards anything that could be even looked at as off.

A Valentine's Day prank gone wrong except, of course.

The blonde shivered at the memories of having to scrub pink paint off of deck plating with a toothbrush for days at a time.

Colin stepped through the doorway, his enhanced eyes glinting as they adjusted to the low light. His lips pulled back in a small grin and a nod. A common greeting for the still sometimes awkward man. Even if, according to scuttlebutt, he'd mellowed out a lot.

"Listen up. Hana is speaking with the Director right now and we've got a guest in town. Sharpen up and stand ready to receive officers." The group all had a giggle, even as he raised an eyebrow. "I'm serious, ladies and gentlemen. It's a once in a decade opportunity - and I promise you, you'll wanna look your best."

Twitching a finger, the projector built into the roof of the meeting room flickered to life even as a screen lowered from the ceiling.

"First things first. Pre-briefing briefing." He very pointedly eyed Chris who was fiddling with some small gadget or another. "France is angry, Mesogog has a death count in the seven figures, and the EU has declared a state of emergency. We have confirmation the Three Blasphemies are capable of regenerative immortality, the mechanics of which are not known, and they are now, officially, legally designated as Target: Black."

Theo blinked, even as understanding overcame the surprise. A kill on sight order was… rare. Even more so than a normal kill order. There were only seven of those issued in the history of the MRS and those had been Teacher, Jack Slash, the Heartbreaker, Lord Zedd, Dai Shi, Broken Wing, and Templar. Monsters, fanatics, and all of them capable of screwing your mind in one way or another. Some of them were even literal demons from Hell, walking on Earth to spread chaos and destruction.

"Are they really that bad? And what about dinosaur-face?"

Colin shook his head.

"Do not approach. He displayed telepathic abilities, relating to the control of the individuals his attack changed, and we have no idea what the limits related to him are. As for the Blasphemies, the Think Tank suggested that the Three are looking for a way to let the rest of their sisters out. Another seven. As you can imagine, that's considered worth the loss of anything short of a city. Evacuating civilians takes priority, of course."

The last statement was tacked on. A legally required disclaimer. Something Theo hated that he understood. Something that he hated that his father would have approved of. But the simple truth of the matter was that it was, bluntly speaking, more than worth a single city.

Possibly stopping three rogue super weapons, the last attempt by the Gesselschaft to engineer their "Coming Race", was worth six figures of lives easy.

Just like with Behemoth, just like with Ziz, just like with Octomus, there was a price to be paid. Kuwait still burned today, Australia had only managed to survive by creating a pocket dimension to house the victims of the Cruel Angel, and that freak had killed off most of Siberia and half of Hokkaido.

Millions, sometimes tens of millions, of victims suffered and died or worse because of these horrors. And if all it took was one city and a dozen rangers to stop them….

He sighed.

"Yes sir. We'll keep our eyes out."

Theo nodded at Rory, the older boy knowing it was his job to acknowledge the order, but not quite having the stomach to burden that particular duty. Sometimes, having a sociopath for a father helped.

"Yes sir!" His voice was stronger this time, the older boy swallowing his hesitation and acknowledging his duty. Colin gave them both a nod. "Though I assume… we'll be playing it safe?"

He wasn't a coward. Rory Christner was many things, but he wasn't that. However, he cared about his team. About the people who served under him and alongside him. The young man would have gladly taken a bullet for any of his teammates, but he also had little desire to see them hurt. Didn't have the right personality to be able to make the hard choices.

'I hope he never has to change.'

Not everyone in the room was happy to hear this of course. But they weren't expected to be. That didn't mean they wouldn't do their duty.

In truth, they were Rangers. Each and every one of them. Sure, they hadn't graduated yet, hadn't gotten their silver badges and been assigned a serial number. But they had been de facto trained since middle school or, in the case of individuals like him, even earlier.

So called "summer camps", increased phys ed courses in school, gun clubs, shooting clubs, wrestling, boxing, and MMA clubs. The Air Guard, Coast Guard, National Guard, volunteer fire brigade, the Citizen Guard, the Civil Patrols. All of these had become part of the American psyche. Already a militant race, for the given value of the term, and prone to arming themselves, they had responded by increasing civil involvement in every way they could. Tanks and bombs were rarely useful against hordes of mutants mixed in with civilians, but a well trained and disciplined populace? That could save uncountable numbers of lives.

'Hell, it was Soviet Cold War nuclear bunker designs that helped jumpstart the Shelter program.'

At the end of the day, every last one of them was conditioned to fight. And fight they would.

"You know Colin, I am supposed to be the commanding officer of this installation." Piggot was standing in the doorway, half in shadow from the fluorescent lighting buzzing outside. "At ease. You look like you've been shot in the gut."

Her comment didn't get any laughs and the woman sighed as she stepped inside.

"While technically true, what the retired Ranger Wallis meant to say is that you're still trainees. Focus on school, focus on your job, focus on your drama. And in that order."

Hana, quiet, and giving her long time friend a look that Theo knew promised a "discussion", he'd seen his current step mom give his dad that particular type of glare more than once, stepped over and pulled the cyborg out.

"While it is true that the Blasphemies represent a major threat, especially if Mesogog is actively attempting to gather the remaining members of their group, you are children and until such time as you graduate to full Ranger status, allow your seniors to handle this. Support from Boston is already moving out and patrols are going to be stepped up in all areas with a major psychic presence. The Bay itself will be reinforced by two active duty rangers and another veteran ranger as well. If something happens, they will handle it. If they can not, Boston is less than five minutes away. If they can not handle it, your duty will be to evacuate civilians. Unlike what Mr. Wallis wouldhave you think, the MRS is not in the business of throwing children into the meat grinder."

"Just adults."

Amy's sarcasm was palatable and he couldn't help but agree.

"And that's in our contracts, we get paid for it. You do not."

Even as Director Piggot continued to explain the changes in the coming day, shift swaps, patrol route shake ups, a few extra drills and protocol reviews they needed to handle, homework really. The kind of things that someone on high decided would help keep things interesting for the grunts. Never mind that half the crap was outdated a decade ago when it was first printed. On the ground tactics changed faster than the PRAT manuals were updated and the day to day reality of working in a city with no crime but more than one psychic or mutant or magical artifact cropping up a week was so different from the nice, sterile plans they laid out it was hilarious.

'Dad just got a new spear, literally made from the tooth of Fafnir, wonder if I should report his supplier?' In the end, he was spiralling. His therapist had told him to laugh. Try and break the circle of depression. So he thought about the pretty lady with the silver tongue.

The joke was disarming, just sardonic enough for the brown skinned woman to bridge the gap that was a teenager's natural intransigence to connect to the human they'd been taught to bury deep. But he knew the truth - they all did. Society just had to pretend that things weren't quite as bad as they actually were, that certain lines hadn't long since been obliterated to dust.

But he knew. Everyone else in this room knew.

He chuckled anyways.

His dad wouldn't have approved.

Taylor would like to believe she handled the revelation well.

The threat upon her life. The illegal nature of her morpher. The fight she got into with the very same agents of law and justice whom she idolized since very young. She was a smart girl and mature enough to handle bad news without panicking like a responsible adult would in her place.

Hence why she was nursing the mother of all bumps on the back of her head. Courtesy of the fainting spell that took when it finally sank in there was a bomb strapped to her arm.

You know, like any other person might handle it.

It wasn't that she was scared. She was very scared of so much as breathing the wrong way and making the glorified homicidal wristwatch think it was time to go kaboom. What really scared her, however, was the thought that she might be dragging her mother into it because of how badly she screwed up.

She could handle the consequences.

Could handle the thought she might never become a genuine Ranger now, or at the very least might even be looking at juvie from her stunt.

But she knew her mother.

Knew she would be by her side no matter what. Wouldn't let her face the consequences alone.

'Within blast range.' She thought sardonically.

What a great hero she turned out to be.

"Taylor? Dear?"

Shaking her idle thoughts away, she turned to face her mother.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?"

She wasn't the only one affected. Annette Hebert, normally a hardy woman, was showing clear marks under her eyes, make-up hastily thrown together, clothes ever so slightly rumpled. Tells that only someone who'd known her all their life would be able to point out. Knowing it just made Taylor feel worse.

"Your food arrived ten minutes ago, dear. It's getting cold."

Blinking owlishly, she looked down at the not quite lukewarm plate of pasta she had ordered off the menu.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. Have something in your mind?"

She sighed. So much for trying to be subtle.

"Aside from the obvious?" She gave her right arm a slight shake, the bulky oversized sleeves of the jacket she was wearing jostling ever so slight.

It had been a few days since her… unwilling passenger had made it known that she wouldn't be able to get it off. Which caused the above mentioned fainting spell. Of course, her getting hurt at home was just the excuse her mother needed to call the school and notify them that she was ill and would be missing the next few days.

Taylor certainly felt sick enough.

They'd talked about it and decided that risking the trigger happy morpher would be a no go and instead spent the last forty eight hours coming up with ways to conceal the damn thing since it wouldn't consider not blowing itself up.

Baggy clothes. Longer sleeves.

They'd even considered faking an arm injury so her mother could get it covered up with a splint and some plaster.

Those were far from a definitive answer to the issue, however.

"I just feel like we are putting off the inevitable."

"We still have four days until you have to go back to school, Taylor. We'll figure something." Her mother reassured her.

It was times like these she missed her dad. Her mom's smiling, brown eyes were gentle, flecked with drops of blue, and kind. But they were worried. Confused. She wasn't floundering, Annette Hebert did not flounder. There was a flicker of indecision in them that she couldn't quite make out.

'I wonder if Dad would have been the same?' He'd never really hesitated, except in maybe expressing his anger. And with how he died, it was hard for Taylor to imagine her father as anything but decisive and driven.

"Mom… I guess… I just don't know?" Taking a deep breath, she chewed on a piece of ravioli, strings of cheese almost escaping her bite before she caught them. "Well, I guess I'm confused. That's the primary emotion I feel." She was half talking with her mouth full, normally something that would get her a raised eyebrow. But this was important enough for Mom's Mom-stincts not to trigger. "More than that, I'm confused as to how I got here."

The bullying had been discussed - and dismissed by Taylor quite resoundingly. There were other, rather more explosive, concerns to address first. And they had four days before she had to go back to school.

"Well, I think it's rather obvious."

Her tone was matter of fact, definite. Almost a bit melancholic. 'Mom's doing the thing where she treats me like one of her students again. Ok, what am I missing?'

Widow Hebert was a smart woman, the kind of person that got people. How they ticked, what they wanted from you, what it was they meant when they said things. One of the things that had made her career as an English teacher as successful as it was, maintaining a mid five figures in the middle of a global economic recession was no mean feat for a contracted worker who'd had to negotiate her own terms - the public teacher's union was mandatory and worse than shit, was simply her ability to sit down with another person and help them put the pieces together.

"Ok. First rule of not being a dumb a- butt. I was gonna totally say butt." Mom snorted, Taylor considered that a victory since it was mostly in amusement. "What's the problem?"

"Rather tellingly, no one is to blame. Rather the misfortune of living while the world is dying."

Taylor flicked the wrapper of her straw at her mom.

"No quoting socialists at the dinner table."

"Unionst sellout." Her mother snorted in mock offense, eyes smiling in mischief.

"Jackboot licker."

"Only when you're twenty two and married."

"Eww, mom, why do I need to be married!?"

"Because that means you'll be out of the house and I'll have it to myself."

Taking a sip of her wine, the single mother raised a single tired eyebrow.

"Your mother still has game you know."

This time she just collapsed, groaning into her arms.

"Oh God why did you give me such weird parents!" A second of grumbling into her arms later and Taylor was back to chewing on her food. She was, in hindsight, rather quite hungry. "So. The problem is kinda obvious. The you-know-what on my arm."

"Indeed. And the solution?"

"Uh, seeing a specialist about it."

Her mom's lips quirked in a half smile. While being otherwise intelligent, and polite, the morpher simply didn't understand innuendo or double speak. Even as it cheerfully informed them of its main purpose of engaging in combat to study its prototype features and abilities. Its own warped version of a Prime Directive.

"As soon as possible." Annette's own ire was far more subdued than her late husband's, but no less given towards given her a hyper focus. "Now. Where did you encounter the problem?"

"The Scrapyard."

"Why were you there?"

"Because I was looking for a place to cry in quiet."

The restaurant was loud, no one was paying attention to them, no one could with how loud a party of fifteen were being. Taylor's cheeks still flushed pink.

"And why didn't you come to me?"

"Because I didn't want to… burden you."

A sad smile this time, a mother seeing her daughter in pain and knowing that to say "it's all going to be ok" was a lie neither of them could abide.

"And why did you think it would burden me?"

"Well, after Dad, you know… you had a lot… on your plate."

She took a few more bites, buying time before her mother would ask the problem.

"And there we have it." Annette reached out and took one of her daughter's hands. "Because I was putting work first, I didn't notice just how bad you were hurting. When you told me it was trouble with some girls at school, I should have pushed harder. I'm sorry I didn't."

Nodding, meekly, Taylor just listened.

"So, because you were hurting you looked for a place you could hide. A place where there were pieces of the past and so you went to the Docks, looking for Danny, and found a different kind of history. You played with technology beyond your remit and, perhaps in spite of the positive changes you made, the situation at school remained toxic. Then, in a moment of impulsive want, you chased a once in a lifetime opportunity."

'That's… one way to put it.' She supposed.

Still better than just saying she ran off half cocked after illegal technology because she wanted to feel like she was doing something good and heroic. That small nugget of internalized trauma and psychological can of worms would stay deeply buried for as long as she could avoid addressing it.

It was, still, the only way they found of discussing events without triggering any input from the morpher.. Playing up to concepts it couldn't understand even if it WAS connected to Taylor's brain. Things it wasn't probably programmed to understand.

And then being as vague as possible with the rest.

There was no chance, there was no serendipity. If you could see where the pieces started, you could always guess where they'd end up.

Chewing down on another forkful of pasta, Taylor felt she perhaps should have been grateful for the crisis. As nerve wracking and downright heart attack inducing as the first few days had been, this marked the first time the two of them were actually talking frankly and sharing a goal.

Sure, she was still chained to a murderous piece of junk, but being put on the spot reminded her that there was still someone she could trust. And that if she wanted to be the person her parents raised her to be, she couldn't let it drag her down.

The only problem came from the next stage of the plan.

That and the fact that in terms of plan, they had no plan.

That is, beyond contacting some ranger adjacent specialist who would miraculously be able to help her get the morpher out without triggering its self-destruction. Researching was as far as they had gotten, and the results weren't exactly encouraging. The MRS kept all personel of interest employed and on their payroll.

Not to mention the fact their names were kept off the record for the obvious reason of keeping them safe.

Asking a retired ranger was right out.

If the morpher recognized them through whatever super sciency way it had at the scrapyard, it would make her fight them, or as repeatedly stated, go up in smoke.

Neither were palatable choices.

"Mrs. Hebert, Ms. Hebert. Do you have a moment?"

Taylor let out a hacking cough as she violently inhaled a piece of beef.

Smacking her chest, and wheezing, Taylor tried to somehow communicate with gestures who it was that was at their table. More concerned with her daughter, Annette was poo poohing the man's apparent celebrity until a large, calloused hand came down on the choking teen's back.

"Hwack!"

And she could breathe. Coughing a few times, and taking a swallow of water, her little episode had been covered up mostly by the restaurant's staff singing an off brand version of the happy birthday song, somehow made slightly ominous by the distant sirens the room could now hear.

"Mr. Ol-l-l-liver. It's good to meet you."

"Oliver, where did I hear that name. Oh. Mr. Oliver. That Mr. Oliver?"

"Just call me Tommy." The living legend flashed them a casual smile, the kind that made Taylor's heart pound a little faster and her cheeks turn bright red. "I won't treat either of you like you aren't intelligent young women and pretend this is an accident. But you didn't respond to any of messages over the last three days and the investigation I'm involved with is very, very time sensitive. When I received an alert that you were nearby after I finished my previous interview I decided to see if I could meet you in person. If I'm overstepping my boundaries ma'am, I understand. However, I need to stress the importance that we do have this discussion sooner or later."

Glancing at her mother, Taylor opened her mouth. To say what, she didn't know, but the truth of the matter is that there were a hundred things she wanted to say. What happened next, however, gave her precious little time to think.

"Sir, I'm not sure wh-"

"BOOM!"

As someone, or something, outside screamed out the word "boom", a massive explosion washed over the room. Glass shard flew like shrapnel and panicked screams filled the air. And Tommy Oliver was gone. Instead of an affable smile and gentle eyes, there was only a Ranger left. And he acted as a Ranger should.

"Civilians, stay down, get into cover, and help each other. Sorry Ms. Hebert and Mrs. Hebert, duty calls!"

Just like that, he was rushing off, a handgun somehow appearing from seemingly nowhere, as the hero raced towards the sounds of violence and terror.

There was something… cathartic about looking down upon one's enemies from higher ground.

Ironspike did not see the allure of it. Having spent most of his life inside hospitals and laboratories as treatment after treatment, experiment after experiment were devised to treat his illness, the man turned mutant was fairly blunt and direct. Even when he'd been a human. And later on when his body had rebelled and turned into something more.

Something monstrous.

Back then nobody knew what a mutant was. Nobody could tell if it was a treatable condition. Nobody would help him understand why and how it happened.

Nobody knew anything.

It felt like a lifetime ago. So long ago since he'd left his human name behind.

"Frax, what is the status on the E-0?" Barking from his seat, the armored man pinned his aide with a look of expectancy, eyes drawn into a frown as the golden robot tinkered with one of his devices.

"There is a slight interference with the signal, sir. But we've managed to narrow down our search to a single area."

The Mutant hummed in appreciation.

Good. Very good.

When Master Ransik had sent both him and that frustrating woman on this mission, he'd expected Bansheera to try and take the lead in a bid to look proactive before their leader. But instead found himself the only one in the city as of three days. He went through great lengths to recruit some of his personal combatants for the endeavor and set up base not too long ago.

While his partner-to-be had yet to show their face, the Mutant knew she would not be too far behind.

Maybe terrorizing a shopping mall or two.

"Sir, we now have narrowed the location down to a one block radius." The golden cyborg wasn't sycophantic, but Ironspike still thought the machine was downplaying its own abilities. "What are your orders?"

"We go in hard and fast." There was no need to pull punches this time. Anything less than a nuke would pale in comparison to the horrors brewing in the Master's lair. "Order the cyclobots to equip combat loadouts and prepare the transports."

As the golden machine man issued commands in bursts of binary, the mutant couldn't help but feel his skin itch. And not just because the surgeries were starting to scab over.

Cyclobots were… unpleasant. Inside each brass suit was the body of a human. And, unlike their first iteration, they were not cripples who wore foil jumpsuits. Now, they were proper killers.

Still cannon fodder, the bodies of… volunteers, both willing and not, were lobotomized and then implanted with the machinery needed to become effective combatants. Their hearts were plucked out, their lungs and livers and stomachs removed. Their eyes were plucked out and their lips and nose and ears peeled away. By the end of the preparatory surgeries, they were a mass of brain, nerves, and muscles. Skin replaced with synthetic combat fabrics, muscle interwoven with metal fibers, and organs replaced or augmented by advanced robotics. Some of them had even had entire limbs cut off and replaced with advanced prosthetics.

'At least you can't see their faces.'

Eyes were replaced with dimly glowing red optical sensors - two on every side of their head. Their ears and nose were directly wired into the support systems of their armored coffins, relying on sensors more advanced than could be implanted into their stuffed full skulls.

Now, they could see in every direction, in every spectrum, and could fight for weeks at a time.

The only thing stopping them from being perfect soldiers, aside from the cost of making them, was the fact that their lobotomized brains were still a liability. An intentional one, Ironspike knew. And a wise one, as more than one machine had been subverted by things far crueler and more alien than Master Ransik or the Master. Never mind the Richter Rebellion, when half of Newfoundland was torn apart in fights between the Seven Heavenly Administrators and the Machine Army.

A low, dull bronze, the plates of their combat uniforms lightly clinked as his twenty cybernetic killers stomped into the micro VTOLS. He followed behind, ordering Frax to remain behind with a shift of his eyes, and settled in for the short flight.

Stealth was not necessary, should they succeed, and therefore the only concern was to maintain the secrecy of the base. Their craft pushed out over the water for about thirty seconds, flying low enough and fast enough that in the fading light of the day they were mere blurs and sprays of water. Rocketing up into the air, the mutant commander grunted at the sudden G-force that slammed into him and trusted that his subordinate would be firing up the electronic warfare systems.

Everything from DDOS attacks on the MRS websites using slaved computers infected with malware, to conventional jamming across radio signals, to a timed power surge that would knock out the phone lines. Anything and everything that could be executed at the touch of a button.

And only one of a dozen different feints he knew would be carried out.

Fingering the trigger of his bulky autocannon, replacing the lower half of his right arm, Ironspike grunted out a low prayer for victory to whatever god had seen him through his implantations. The helmet of his armored suit snapped closed, grey metal contrasting with the bronze of his soldiers, and he took a deep breath of clean, filtered air.

Flickering to green, the drop light in the back of the aircraft told him it was time to go.

Freefall was short, their bodies only falling about thirty feet to slam into pavement. Already the sensors in his armor were highlighting dozens of screaming, terrified civilians. However, it was a group of men carrying sporting rifles that he targeted first.

Their shots erupted first, 5.56 rounds pinging off of armor that could eat an anti material shell, the loosely organized civilians screaming slurs and epithets at the group of machines in an effort to draw their attention. Considering how everyone without a gun was rushing in the opposite direction of the group, it wasn't a bad idea.

"Weapons free."

Previously haven ducked into cover, mostly the corners of buildings and the engine blocks of cars, the cyclobots snapped up. One of them took a shot to the head, it's neck jerking back, before as one of their rifles barked.

Twenty weapons fired, twenty rounds impacted their targets.

Chambered in the soviet variant of 7.62x54, cheap and reliable in an age of 3d printed weapons of mass destruction, the armor piercing rounds ripped through flesh like paper.

"Area secure."

The robotic, synthetic vocalization was unnecessary, but intimidating. Something that Master Ransik approved of. Ironspike would keep his opinions to himself.

Soon enough, however, the sirens of police vehicles broke through the silence. And so did the bearcat leading the way. The APC smashed through a small wreck blocking the intersection, accelerating like an armored fist straight at him. He knew the vehicle wouldn't be big enough to endure his already firing bots for too long, but it would inconvenience them if their ramming attack worked.

Loading his autocannon with one of the prototype anti armor shells his Master had seen fit to give him for this mission, feeling the thunk that reverberated from the end of the remaining bone in the stump of his right arm all the way into his chest, Ironspike turned on his combat speakers and said one word.

"BOOM."

Almost instantly, the armored vehicle was reduced to a flaming coffin, veering off to the side as the ruins of its frame rolled over several times before slamming into a building.

That said, the massive distraction did work. A police rifleman was firing down at them now from a high perch, some kind of long gun packing enough punch to actually cause his chest plate to deform slightly. Spinning up his main weapon, he fired off a burst of 20mm fire before turning away.

"Deal with any interference, I will locate the E-0."

Activating the tracker in his suit, Ironspike began moving towards his primary objective. Thankfully, whatever fool had it was too stupid to run away and was, instead, seemingly cowering in place. That suited their plans just fine.

He sent a signal to the cyclobots to move forward, keeping to their formation as the mutant commander stalked forward.

"Establish a perimeter. No one goes in. No one gets out."

With any luck he'd be able to finish his mission and leave before any Rangers could respond.

"Crack, crack, crack!"

Three rounds slammed into the center of his head, the impact knocking him to the side as every muscle in his neck screamed. And just like that, a wall of rifle fire poured onto his squad. What looked like half a SWAT team, some of them only partially dressed and one in nothing but boots, boxers, and his tactical gear, opened fire from the front of three stores. Another ten beat cops, in nothing but their blues, engaged from another angle.

Even then, black clad MRS troopers poured out of the side of a building, all foot mobiles but unleashing a fusillade of submachine gun fire that forced his cyclobots to fold into an echelon to properly engage the flanking maneuver.

Men fell, screaming and bleeding, and the machines simply kept firing. But in the five seconds since they shifted position, something changed.

Some random civilian, hair in a ponytail, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and carrying the biggest handgun Ironspike had ever seen rushed them.

And he was not moving like an average human.

It took less than half a second for the facial recognition software in his armor to identify the newcomer.

It took maybe a quarter of that for the man to slam into the first of the cyborg soldiers.

Pistol flashing in his hand, the lead in was a barrage of massive rounds right to the head. The human not so much as flinching as spent casings normally ejected from a .50 call flew into the air in his wake.

His first punch came just as the weapon clicked empty, the mortal man's body twisting with all of his momentum to send his hand flying into the cracked, battered face plate of the cyclobot on the edge of the echelon.

The hand popped, blood flying out as skin split apart and bones shattered.

The cyborg's skull exploded into a wall of shrapnel.

"Fuck!"

Ironspike opened fire at the man, his suit's augmented sensors clearly indicating that Tommy fuckmothering Oliver's hand was knitting itself back together.

And of course the Ranger dodged his fire.

Not able to move faster than the bullets, Oliver was definitely able to react fast enough to perceive the rounds and kept his body in motion faster than Ironspike could track. And using the fact that the mutant was focusing on him, he pushed straight into the group of combat cyborgs still opening fire.

Thankfully, his armor automatically locked his weapon as he began instinctively tracking over his own squad, preventing him from mowing down half of his own troops, but that made little difference to the first unit that was tossed right into the stream of twenty millimeter death.

Still moving like a god of war, the "mere man" was lashing out with so much force the armor plating of the cyclobots was beginning to warp and distend more with every shot, a full squad of his machines distracted by the fighting, and more police arriving every second.

Knowing that things had gone almost as poorly as they possibly could have, Ironspike fired off several white phosphorus rounds at the clusters of enemy infantry. Seeing that the Ranger was now desperately attempting to keep the cyborgs from killing the downed troopers, blood flying off of the man's body as he shattered his legs with every kick and arms with every punch, the mutant killer signaled their transports and started running.

Only loaded with a few rockets each, the drone aircraft still managed to fire on several clusters of remaining enemy troops before he located some kitschy Italian restaurant the tracker said the E-0 was inside of.

Charging at the door frame, he turned his shoulder in and snarled in frustration.

Just in time for the door to explode outwards in a shower of fragments, a single black clad foot catching him in the chest and sending him flying. And, climbing to his feet, he raised his gun at the unidentified Ranger, one his suit simply could not figure out who or what or where it was from, he screamed in frustration and prepared to fire. Only for one of his own aircraft to come screaming down at him, air intakes clogged with what locked a thick sludge of ground up insects and birds, and explode across half the street.

'This is such a bad idea.' Taylor griped as she surged through the entrance of the restaurant. watching in horror and half in awe as Tommy Oliver, the quintessential ranger,repeatedly maimed himself as fought the technological terrors.

HOSTILES DETECTED.

A flurry of punches were more like a blur, even in her transformed state, each attack hitting with enough force to send up a spray of blood and splinters of bone. But what terrified her wasn't that a human, without a morpher, could strike metal fast enough to rip through it. It wasn't that he could dodge gunfire. It wasn't even that he seemingly felt neither pain nor fear.

It was his eyes.

Cold and hard as coal, they burnt with a deep seated loathing towards the armed cyborgs, flickering much like the frozen flames of Cocytus deep, deep inside of him.

She thanked God he wasn't looking at her like that.

Snapping her head around, she focused on the freak that started all of this.

"Crap. I thought that would be enough." Already, she could feel his… hate. The pain and agony and fury pouring off whatever it was she had brought that drone down on top of.

"O-ok! Everybody, get going out the back. I'll take care of this!"

Her voice wavered, modulated as it was by the transformation.

TARGET IS DESIGNATED "UNKNOWN - 1". THREAT ASSESSMENT "MODERATE". RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE TERMINATION. HIGH VALUE EQUIPMENT IS DETECTED INTEGRATED INTO THE SUIT. ALL LETHAL OPTIONS ARE NOW ONLINE.

The voice in her head was almost cheerful, definitely eager. And her powers were surging like never before. A field of awareness the likes which she'd never experienced spreading down the street and through the nearby buildings.

That was how she knew her mother wanted to hug her and chew her out at the same time, but was still fleeing with the rest of the crowd - the owners of the restaurant marshalling groups of men to carry the wounded and holding the rear with a shotgun.

"I'm coming for you bitch!"

Smashing his way out of the wreck, the mutant… cyborg… thing screamed out his challenge and tossed a flaming piece of debris straight at her. Taylor responded by leaping to the right and sending every single living thing in range she could command right at him.

Birds, bugs, rats, cats, dogs, literally every lifeform less evolved than a monkey in a four block radius came down like a biblical plague, with even more were streaming in from across the city.

Slamming into the metal monster like a tidal wave, they used their weight to pin him to the ground. Literal tons of chitin and fur and bone surrounding and pinning him down, even as dozens of them were crushed either by the weight of their fellows or the flailing villain's limbs.

And then there was an explosion.

"Ghack!"

She vomited, half digested pasta and iced tea pooling in the front of her helmet before the suit's automatic systems removed it. Roaring a wordless, hate filled battle cry the armored man stood up, wreathed in white fire.

[INITIATING MEDICAL SUPPORT PROCEDURE]

Taylor realized through a haze of psychic agony that he'd detonated some kind of incendiary round inside of his gun - something she could barely guess from the smoking ruin that was its molten barrel. And, as the wave of backlash from a thousand, thousand living things beings burned to ash in a single second washed over her, she managed to take a half a step to the side as another chunk of burning metal flew at her.

Clipping her shoulder, it sent her spinning, disorientation and pain causing her to vomit again, before the thing was there! Slamming it's ruined weapon straight into her gut, it knocked her into the building so hard she bounced off the ruined edge of the roof, spun twice, and then began falling.

Before she could reorient herself, she was slammed into the concrete, once more bouncing, before a massive boot crushed her head straight back into the newly created demolition area.

Head screaming and ringing like a bell, Taylor still mustered up the strength to throw out a psychic lance of pure pain straight at her enemy. And considering he merely stumbled back, rather than blacking out like she wanted to do, the amateur psychic figured she'd barely winded her opponent.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ok. That didn't work. Dontpanicdontpanicdontpanic!'

Definitely panicking, she thought back to the mandatory classes on self defense she'd had as she clambered to her feet. Not that Taylor had been particularly good at the time, she did what her body half remembered it was supposed to.

Rearing her foot back, making sure to turn into the kick, she brought her foot up and around in a perfect arc as hard as she could.

ACTIVATING JET BOOST.

And half way through the arc of the kick she was launched up and forward, breaking the sound barrier from a burst of sudden acceleration so intense it threw her up. Her attack was still on target though. Rocketing into the sky at a rate of acceleration that would have juiced a non morphed human, her foot slammed into the crotch of the power armored freak she was trying to keep from killing her.

She was sent flying, flipping head over ass three times before her wings snapped out, catching her suddenly enough to cause her to burp up a bit more stomach acid, and giving her a view to watch the now deformed suit of armor lift ten feet up into the air and come down with an all mighty crash.

Sparks erupting from twitching and spasming legs, it still managed to get to its feet, if only just.

MISSILE INCOMING.

Dropping down, Taylor barely managed to dodge a screaming rocket that streaked past her and buried itself inside of a car mechanic's shop before exploding. She did not, however, react in time to dodge the VTOL that slammed into her. Feeling something splatter through part of the swarm she was gathering, she turned just in time to get slammed by another aircraft.

Reorienting herself, she sent her swarm, now a cloud of solid black matter, straight at the thing - hoping to bring it down just like she had the other one.

This time, however, her trick didn't work. The drone's weapons systems fired off, detonating in mid swarm and sending thousands upon thousands of more flying insects to the ground as so much flaming ash. Its final missile, however, was saved for her. Ducking and weaving, she tried to out maneuver the thing, rightly guessing it's agility had to be less than her own. But, somehow, micro thrusters were firing on the sides of the thing to let it shift direction mid air.

Barely able to drop under it for the tenth time, she was still knocked to the ground when a burst of rifle fire slammed into the missile's thruster and detonated it.

Lying there, her entire body screaming in agony, her lungs aching and desperate for oxygen, she just took shallow breaths and tried not to scream.

By the time she sat up, it was all over.

Disappearing into the distance, the drone, and the villain, were long gone. The gunfire had died down. And, blinking, she stared up at the barrels of a dozen armored men.

"Don't move! You're under arrest!"

USER DISABLED. CAPTURE IMMINENT. SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE ACTIVATED.

00:59

00:58

00:57

"Guns down! You're not under arrest!"

Currently shirtless and wearing the tattered remains of his jeans, not to mention splattered with blood, mud, and other synthetic lubricants, Oliver slowly walked up to Taylor.

SEQUENCE PAUSED.

"Oh thank God."

She relaxed into the rubble she was currently sprawled on top of.

Entirely uncomfortable, but Taylor was hurting too much to move right now. Instead she just tried to stare at the chiseled abs of the puppy crush of half the continental United States.

"Alright, gentlemen, we all saw how the shoulder pad was blinking, right? And heard what the nice… not evil?"

Taylor shook her head.

"Ok, the not evil Ranger that kindly helped us take down a hostile cyborg despite an unpleasant first meeting with myself and my current team. And their suit clearly has a self destruct function. How big is it?"

'That's… a good question. How big is the explosion again?'

IN ORDER TO ENSURE THAT THIS UNIT IS NOT CAPTURED, IT WILL BE AS LARGE AS NECESSARY.

'And how big is that?'

BIG ENOUGH.

"Big enough."

Tommy winced, taking a shirt from an EMT.

"Understood. With that said, can everyone back up a bit? I'll handle it from here."