Chapter Two:
Gordon Cherry
Gordon Cherry took a deep breath, crouching down at the starting line of a gravel track. A dozen more athletes crouched beside him, waiting for the gunshot as the stadium full of people around them waited and cheered in anticipation. Gordon closed his eyes, focusing only on an imaginary finish line directly ahead of him and blocking out all else.
A referee stepped forward, holding a gun in the air. With one single blast, the athletes took off across the track. Gordon's powerful legs pounded across the gravel, his muscular arms swinging backwards and forwards as sweat beaded across his olive skin and his breathing remained controlled and measured.
He raced around the first curve, quickly leaving behind most of his competitors. He dashed down the long stretch, bypassing one rival after another. As he reached the second curve, he came up on the current leader, a long-time rival of his who he had faced many times over his career. Said rival smirked at Gordon as he came up beside him.
"Think this will be my year, Cherry?" he asked.
Gordon didn't answer, his focus still on that finish line. Gordon lowered his head and put on that extra burst of speed he needed to pass him by completely.
Gordon kept running, faster and faster, making sure to pace himself to keep up his endurance and maintain his lead for the rest of the race. All around him, spectators cheered and cameras flashed, following him as he crossed the finish line and headed into the second lap. He kept running and running, hearing his rival's footsteps growing fainter and fainter. He rounded the first turn again with ease and sped down the long stretch. As he rounded the second turn, he could feel his muscles starting to burn. He was used to this, and was expecting it, and adjusted his pace accordingly.
The final stretch came up, and Gordon's imaginary finish line matched itself up with the real one. All he had to do was cross the final distance. He lowered his head and dashed for it, putting his all into finishing. He heard his rival's footsteps coming up behind him, growing louder as he was clearly putting in one last burst of effort. Gordon kept his focus forward, racing hard and fast.
He crossed half the distance, then three-fourths, then finally, the solid white line passed beneath his feet. A horn blew, the crowd erupted, and cameras flashed as Gordon slowed to a stop, breathing heavily.
"And just like that, folks," a voice announced over the nearby loudspeaker, "Gordon Cherry has won his tenth gold medal in this year's Olympics alone, giving him a total of twenty-five gold medals overall and a fighting chance at beating the all-time record."
Gordon grinned and straightened up. On a large screen nearby, he could see a list of all of his medals so far on display. Five for track and field, three for gymnastics, and one each for archery and judo. Not a bad haul, if he did say so himself.
His rival came up to him. "Good race, man," he said, holding up his hand as Gordon clasped it. "I'll get you next year."
"Keep performing like you did today and you just might, bud," Gordon said. "See you next year."
Both clapped each other on the shoulders and Gordon stumbled off the track to his spot on the sidelines. His girlfriend June raced out to meet him, carrying a fresh towel and a full water bottle.
"You did it!" she said, throwing herself on him and hugging him tightly. Gordon hugged her back and the pair kissed passionately. They pulled apart, Gordon looking over her face, taking in her long dark hair, the smattering of freckles across her pointed nose, and her warm brown eyes. He was about to move in for another kiss when an interviewer interrupted them.
"Excuse me, Mr. Cherry," he said. "If I might have a word?"
Gordon and June broke apart. "Of course," Gordon said. "Sorry about that. Guess I got a little excited there."
The interviewer smiled that fake, made-for-TV smile, the camera drone following him around hovering nearby. "Perfectly understandable," he said, as Gordon accepted his towel and draped it around his shoulders, taking a long swig from his water bottle. "You've just won your tenth gold medal for this year alone, making you tied with the current record holder. Are you hopeful that you'll be able to surpass that with your full-mile run two days from now."
Gordon put on a smug grin. "I can't say, Rico," he said. "I don't like to jinx things. I work hard, I train hard, and I hope for the best. It's all I've ever done, and it's all I can do."
"What do you plan to do tonight to celebrate?"
Gordon glanced at June, smirked, and put his arm around her. "What's it look like I plan to do?" he asked.
June put on a shocked face for the camera and smacked his chest playfully. Then she smiled to show it was all in good fun.
"Excuse me," Gordon said, moving past the interviewer now that he had given him his clip for the audiences at home. He sat down on the bench, holding up the damp towel around his neck and enjoying its cool.
"I'm so proud of you," June said, sitting down beside him.
"Well done," another voice said. Gordon and June turned to see another man emerging from the tunnel behind them. The man was a little heavyset, with a thick dark mustache and wearing a bright yellow blazer. Gordon recognized him instantly.
"Doctor Kuchar," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Cherry," the doctor said. "Nice to see you again."
Gordon cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable. "June," he said. "Can you give us a minute?"
June looked confused but nodded. "I'll just be over here talking to your manager," she said.
Once she had gone, Gordon turned to face the newcomer. He crossed his arms and stood guardedly. "What do you want?" he asked.
Doctor Kuchar took note of Gordon's body language and breathed heavily. "I wanted to know if you'd thought anymore about what we'd discussed the last time we met?"
Gordon remembered the meeting very well, a few months prior. Doctor Kuchar and a bunch of suits, presenting him with an offer to become the first in a new line of Power Rangers, except with one catch that Gordon simply could not accept.
"You mean the cyborg thing?" he asked.
Dr. Kuchar's mustache bristled. "Cybernetic enhancement, actually," he said. "But yes. That."
Gordon scowled. He adjusted his towel and took another swig of water. "Sorry, doc," he said. "But no can do. I value the body my parents gave me."
Doctor Kuchar looked annoyed. "But—"
"No," Gordon said simply. "I'm sorry." He nodded to his competitors around the stadium. You'd have better luck asking one of them. Good day."
Doctor Kuchar hung his head. "Of course," he said. "I understand."
Gordon walked away, rejoining June and his manager. Doctor Kuchar watched them talk and laugh before turning away back down the passage, opening up his phone.
"Hey, Cage," he said. "Yeah, I talked to him. No luck." Kuchar looked back down the passage. "I think we'd best move on and find a second pick."
"That's a shame," Joshua Cage said on the other end. "We could really use someone like him."
"I know," Doctor Kuchar said. "But I'd rather not force anyone."
"Neither would I." There was silence for just a moment, then Joshua said, "Let me try one more time. See if I can convince him. Then we can find someone else."
Outside the stadium, Gordon and June made their way out to the secured lot reserved only for the athletes and their families, entering the large trailer they'd been living in the last two weeks.
"So," June said, kissing Gordon passionately, unbuttoning his shirt and forcing him down onto the couch. "Want to tell me what that was all about?"
"What what was all about?"
June batted him playfully, sitting down beside him. "You know what," she said. "That guy with the mustache. He always seems to leave you agitated."
"Oh, him," Gordon said. He hesitated for a moment, knowing just how classified the project was. "Um, he's a sponsor trying to sign me on."
"A sponsor?" June said, raising an eyebrow as she pulled the sweaty towel from around Gordon's neck and got up to deposit it in their laundry. "Lots of money in it, I hope?"
Gordon shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "I just don't . . . agree with their ethics, is all."
"Their ethics?" June said, stepping back into the room. She shook her head. "That's what I love about you, Gordon Cherry." She straddled his knee and ran her hands through his dark hair. "You're always so honest and upstanding all the time. Even to your own detriment."
Gordon looked down, uncomfortably reminded of the fact he'd just told her a bald-faced lie. "Yeah, I guess," he said.
"So," June said, sitting up and unbuttoning her blouse. "I have half an hour before my meeting. Do you think you have enough stamina left to last that long?"
Gordon grinned, forgetting everything else. "I think I can work a little more up," he said. The pair wrapped their arms around each other and started making love. As they did so, Gordon's phone in his bag lit up with a text from an old friend.
Later that night, Gordon stepped into a local bar in town, per the text's instructions. He spotted his old soccer teammate from high school leaning against the bar, tall and muscular, with curly brown hair that he'd started to grow out from the buzz cut it used to be, and olive skin the same shade as Gordon's own.
Joshua Cage's face lit up in a wide smile. "Hey," he said, getting up and crossing the room with two bottles in hand. "There's my old captain."
Despite himself, Gordon smiled. He knew exactly why Joshua had texted him to meet up, but he still couldn't help but be happy to see his old friend. The pair embraced. "Hey, Josh."
Joshua broke away. "I saw the news," he said, gesturing to the TV mounted on the nearby wall, which was playing a repeat of Gordon's interview. "Ten golds in one year. Can't say I'm surprised. You always were running circles around the rest of us." He held up one of his bottles. "Here, I got you a drink to celebrate. You can drink right now, right?"
Gordon shook his head and accepted the bottle, joining Joshua at a table nearby. "So, I notice you and June are still going strong," he said, taking a swig as Gordon's televised counterpart put his hand around June's waist and made his dirty joke.
Gordon smirked. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Going on ten years now, ever since junior prom."
He glanced at the ring on Joshua's finger. "What about you?" he said. "I heard you're engaged now. How's the fiancée?"
Joshua looked down and blushed. "She's fine," he said, swirling his drink. "Katie's fine." He smiled a little to himself. "Her whole family's fine. It's been . . . nice to have a family again."
Gordon looked down. "I never did get a proper chance to say sorry about James," he said.
Joshua shrugged. "It's alright," he said. "It's been over three years now. Life feels mostly normal again."
The old friends sat in silence for a little while. Finally, Gordon voiced what was on both of their minds.
"I'm guessing you're not just here to hang out with an old friend."
Joshua looked a little guilty. "No," he said. "No, I'm not. You know I'm . . . working with Doctor Kuchar in that group."
Gordon nodded. "Yeah, I do."
"Well," he looked up at the television screen, which was no longer displaying coverage of the Olympics, and had switched over to a news bulletin about the string of recent attacks on EAGLE bases. He and Gordon watched as five brightly-colored figures zipped around, doing their best to stop a robot with a pair of drills for arms but failing miserably to make a dent in its solid metallic hull.
"We need new rangers," Joshua said quietly. "These things, whatever they are, our current equipment just doesn't cut it anymore. Doctor Kuchar has his formula ready, and the new suits equipped to work in tandem with his enhancements. We just need someone to wear the suit, and your body is the most capable of handling the strain put on it during the operation. You proved that today."
Gordon looked down at his drink, feeling uncertain.
"To be honest, Gordon," Joshua continued, "I'm afraid. We just got out of a terrible war that cost so many lives, and if we can't get a handle on this . . . thing, we might just be heading for a new one."
Gordon took another drink, his heart feeling heavy with guilt. He understood Joshua's reasons and concerns, but he just couldn't bring himself to be okay with it.
"What's it like?" he asked, nodding to the screen. "When you're . . . you know."
Joshua looked at him, then down at his own hand. "In some ways, it's amazing," he said. "I feel strong. I feel fast. I feel more powerful than I've ever felt in my entire life." He smirked at Gordon. "Sometimes, I wonder if that's how you feel every day, just doing regular things."
Gordon rolled his eyes and smirked back.
"But it's also a lot of responsibility," he said. "That's the trouble with being the world's best line of defense. If my team and I can't handle something, there is no one else who can."
Joshua took another drink and set the bottle down.
"That's why we're so adamant about getting this new team off the ground. So we do have someone who can handle it."
Gordon lowered his drink, the guilt just too much now. "I am sorry, Josh," he said. "And I do want to help. Truly, I do. But I just can't do it."
"Because of the body your parents gave you," Joshua said, repeating his earlier words to Doctor Kuchar.
"It's more than that," Gordon said. He clenched his fist. "I have spent my entire life working and training to be an athlete, to compete, to make it to the Olympics. This is my life. My whole career. And if I were to do this, to take on these enhancements and become a cyborg, I'd have to give all that up and never compete again."
Joshua looked up at him. "Because you'd have an unfair advantage."
Gordon nodded. "Exactly." He put down his drink. "And I just can't do that. I'm sorry."
Joshua sat in silence for a moment. "Alright," he said. "I understand."
"You do?"
Joshua nodded. "I chose the life of a soldier. You didn't. I can't expect you to give up your life for this. So," he said, holding up his beer. "We're done here. I'll tell Doctor Kuchar to move on to a second option."
"What about your robot problem?" Gordon asked.
"We'll figure it out. We always do. But thank you for taking the time to talk it through with me." He got to his feet and Gordon followed suit. The pair hugged and patted each other on the back. "I'll see you buddy."
"See you," Gordon said. "And don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."
"I should hope so."
"I am still getting an invitation to the wedding, right?"
"I wouldn't dream of leaving you out."
They clapped each other on the shoulder one more time, and Gordon headed out, finishing off his bottle and tossing it in the trash. Joshua sat back down, watching his old friend go. He pulled out his phone.
"Hey, Doctor Kuchar," he said. "It's me. Yeah, he's a no-go. We'll just have to move on to someone else. And if we can't find anyone willing . . . I volunteer myself for the operation. Yeah. Yeah. I'll call you soon—"
Joshua stopped as the screen on the nearby TV suddenly turned to static, before switching to an image he'd hoped he'd seen the last of: a large black cross with red markings like eyes. The symbol of the Black Cross.
An immediate panic swept through the room. People screamed and glasses shattered as Joshua got to his feet. The image changed again, and a number of masked figures appeared on the screen, a man in a red crescent-moon-shaped mask in the center.
"Dr. Kuchar, are you seeing this?" Joshua asked.
"Yes, I am," the doctor said on the other end. Joshua could hear faint clicking. "It's on every channel."
The Crescent Moon Mask raised his hands. "Please," he said in a deep voice. "Do not be afraid. We understand your fear of us, but we assure you we mean you no harm this day." He pressed his hand to his chest. "I am the new Fuhrer and leader of the Black Cross Army. We know that we have done wrong, and have taken many lives. We were led astray by an outsider, a liar who filled our ears with empty promises, but cared nothing for our goals except to further his own. But we still believe in our cause, and in restoring the borders of our world and returning our great nations back to their former glory. We have come today offering peace."
The screen changed again, this time showing footage from the rangers' recent battles with the machine monsters.
"We know that several recent attacks have taken place over the last few weeks," the Crescent Moon Mask continued. "And we know that the Power Rangers have struggled to overcome these new opponents. We believe that we can help. We believe that by combining our forces and resources, both ranger and Black Cross, we just might be able to get to the bottom of what is going on, and defeat this new threat to our peace once and for all."
A series of numbers flashed across the screen.
"These you are seeing now are coordinates," the Crescent Moon Mask said. "If you are willing to work with us, rangers, I will be waiting at that location tomorrow at fourteen hundred hours. And as a token of our good faith, we now henceforth forsake our masks, emblems of our former misdeeds."
He reached up and pulled off his mask, his comrades around him doing the same. One by one, they pulled them off and revealed their faces, revealing an assortment of old and young, male, female, and at least one non-binary, from an assortment of different races. At their center, casting his red mask away, stood a man nearly seven feet tall, with a serious face, curly black hair, and a thick beard.
Joshua heard a sharp intake of breath over the phone. "Commander," Doctor Kuchar said. "It's my old lab partner. The one who sold me out to the Black Cross when the war began. It's—"
The tall man bowed. "My name is Dr. Ivan Callahan," he said.
