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apn8000 · 5 months ago

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Breathe. — A Ben Vi Oneshot.

The first thing Geist's mother taught him was how to breathe.

He remembered it well enough. It was about five Earth years after his birth, and Mother was finally letting him start actual combat, which made his chest swell up with elation every time he thought about it. Sure, being able to fight for the Pelagic Empire was all fine and good, but what really excited Gei was the thought of finally being able to see the surface. There were going to be so many new adventures up there! He could just imagine exploring the lands for hours, finding new treasures, and land-swimming for the first time. Oh, that was going to be great!

Also, this would be the first time he and Mother were going to spend time together one-on-one, and he wondered if she would "love" him as Pluto once said her mother did.

He couldn't wait for the day, so much so that he decided to…skip ahead.

It started ordinarily enough. Gei was swimming on the outskirts of rebel territory, his body slicing through the ocean waters with a speed that made him feel invincible. The currents wrapped around him like a second skin, and for a moment, he imagined that this—this freedom, this thrill—was what the surface would feel like. Gei wanted to be ready for it. He wanted to show Mother that he was strong, that he could fight for the empire and breathe the surface air just as quickly as he did the ocean's depths.

"Hey, where are we going?"

Gei whipped around and came face to face with his plant clone, Gen, looking as disheveled and lost as ever. Gei had almost forgotten about him. Gen was always always watching with those wide, dark eyes that seemed to drink in everything but understand nothing. It was annoying, but Gei didn't mind it much—not today, at least.

"We're training," Gei said with a sharp grin, his gills flaring slightly with excitement. "I'm going to the surface."

Gen's face twisted with confusion. "But Mother—Emperor Bahamut—" he corrected himself, "…said we weren't ready yet. That we'd—"

"I don't care," Gei said, cutting him off. "I'm ready." He turned, swimming upward with renewed determination. "You can stay here if you want, but I'm going."

Gei barely heard Gen calling after him. The thrill of anticipation thrummed through his veins as he sliced upward, the ocean growing lighter, thinner. The surface was so close. He could feel it.

And with one more push, he was in the world above. And the world above rejected him.

The second he landed on the rocky beach shore, his lungs convulsed as if he had swallowed fire, his body seizing under the crushing weight of gravity. He tried to pull in air, but it burned—it burned worse than any wound he had ever received in training. His limbs spasmed, panic clawing up his throat. He'd lost all control of his legs, unable to gather the strength to land-swim back to the water. His vision blurred. The sky, the land, the vastness of it all—it pressed in on him like an unrelenting force. He was drowning.

Mother found him like that.

Her shadow blocked out the burning sky as she loomed over him. She did not soothe, did not comfort. She only watched, waiting for him to adapt. When he did not, when his body threatened to shut down, only then did she intervene.

"Stop thrashing around," Mother commanded, her voice a storm. She yanked Gei by the jaw, her cold, clammy hands causing him even more discomfort. Then she squeezed. It wasn't even that tight, but the pain that shot through his body was immeasurable. Every part of him wanted to scream, but he had no breath left.

"You are my son. You will not die such an easy death."

Gei choked, his limbs jerking. His body fought itself. It was all wrong. He should be underwater. He shouldn't be here.

Then she yanked him closer, forcing him to stare directly into the murky abyss that was the stare of the Pelagic Emperor, Punisher of the Seas, Bahamut. "Your lungs work fine," she stated, unbothered. "Your mind is weak. Overcome it."

He gasped, wheezing, his body trying to obey, but the air felt sharp, too dry, too thin. His chest convulsed again.

Mother sighed. "Enough." And then she did something he would never forget—she shoved him back underwater.

The relief was instant. Water rushed into his lungs, cooling his insides. But before he could fully adjust, she yanked him up again.

"Breathe."

He choked, fighting, but she didn't let go. Down again. Then up.

"Breathe."

Again.

"Breathe."

Over and over until his instincts gave in until the panic drained from his limbs and his lungs opened. The air no longer burned—it filled. Only then did Mother release him. She did not praise him or offer warmth.

"You will never choke again," she said simply. "Next time, do not let weakness control you."

Then she left him there, gasping but alive.

Gei learned. He never choked again.

The first thing his mother taught him was how to breathe.

Before the rest of his memories returned to him, it was the first thing the guy could recall. He'd forgotten everything, including how to breathe, not that the guy noticed. His attention was firmly captured by Masked Drifter, the box television's soft glow painting shadows across the cracked pavement where he lay. The show was loud, colorful, pulsing with life. He liked it, though he was unsure why. Maybe it was because of the action or the messages. The Drifter seemed so confident, so sure of himself like he belonged everywhere.

Gei wanted to belong, too.

Then the screen flickered. The power cut out. The noise died. And so did he.

Silence rushed in like a vacuum, swallowing the remnants of comfort the TV had provided. His chest tightened, a vice squeezing tighter with every second. He wouldn't have to worry about it for too long, though. Just as quickly, every noise came rushing back—too loud, too sharp. The constant honking of car horns, the clatter of dishes, the chatter of voices he couldn't understand, all of it stabbed into his skull simultaneously. It hurt.

His breath hitched—no, not breath. The guy wasn't breathing, and he didn't know how. His vision tunneled, with dark spots dancing at the edges. His fingers clawed at the cracked pavement as if he could anchor himself to the ground, but nothing worked. Death was coming, and she was not wasting a second of her time.

And then there were hands. Warm hands, pressing gently against his shoulders, grounding him. A voice, soft but firm.

"Hey. Hey, kid, you're okay."

He wasn't, not when Mother was hunting him down.

"Look at me."

His gaze flickered, unfocused, until it found the woman in the apron. She smelled like food, her face etched with concern, and her eyes dark and soft like the night sky before a storm. She knelt, bringing herself to his level.

She wasn't like Mother.

"Listen to me. You're having a panic attack," the woman said calmly, as if that explained anything. "You can't breathe because your brain thinks you're in danger, but you're not. I've got you."

He didn't understand. He was always in danger. His chest burned. He gasped, but it wasn't working.

"Okay, okay. We'll do this together. Copy me, alright?"

She held up her hands, drawing a square in the air with her finger.

"In," she instructed softly, inhaling through her nose for four slow counts. "Hold." She paused, fingers tracing the top of the square. "Out." She exhaled, slow and steady, for another count of four. "Hold."

He couldn't. His lungs refused.

"Try. Just try."

His chest convulsed, but he mimicked her—In—ragged. Hold—barely. Out—more like a sob than a breath. Hold—impossible.

"That's okay. You're doing great. Again."

They repeated it. Over and over. His breath hitched, caught, broke—but it started to flow. Not perfectly, but enough. The burning dulled. The tightness eased. And it was then he realized he was on the surface, just like he wanted.

The world grew quieter and softer until it was just him and the woman sitting in the shadow of her little food stand. The smell of sizzling broth surrounded them, and the sound of static buzzing in their ears from the blackened TV firmly on the counter.

When it was over, she didn't let go right away. She stayed, her hand light on the guy's back, steady as an anchor.

"See?" she whispered. "You're okay. You just forgot how to breathe."

The boy wrapped his arms around the woman's waist, pressing his forehead against her apron. He didn't know why he did it. He wanted to be held. He wanted to feel loved. But she didn't push him away. Instead, she sighed, gently ruffling his hair.

"Well, kid," she murmured, her voice tinged with something the guy couldn't name. You must've been through hell to forget something like that."

The guy didn't know what to say. He didn't know who he was, where he was from, or why the mere act of breathing felt like an impossible battle. But he knew this—he liked the warmth of her hand. He liked the way she spoke to him; he was a person, not just a thing waiting to be used.

He wanted to stay.

And it seems like she wanted that, too. With a flick of a button, she turned the TV back on, comfort returning to the guy's body as Masked Drifter replayed over and over. He nestled closer into her apron, nuzzling against her side like a cat, observing the flashing lights and bombastic explosions with an uncontrolled curiosity until his eyes closed.

Later on, the guy learned the woman's name was Linh, though she invited him to call her "Mom." When she asked for his name, he found he couldn't remember. So she gave him one.

Geist.

Ben.

The first thing Ben's mother taught him was how to breathe.

It had been forty-five minutes since he and his mom's friend, Dr. Walker, or whatever her name was, had got back from the supermarket, where Ben went all Flash on some nasty dude named Genesis. And for thirty-eight of those minutes, Ben was getting his butt kicked.

As he pulled himself up from the ground for the umpteenth time in a row, he spit out blades of grass that had taken up residence in his teeth. It's not like he didn't understand why he was currently dining in grass country. Every good superhero needed a training arc! After all, how many episodes of Masked Drifter were just Kyoko learning how to be a hero? Over sixty. But why, oh, why did they have to be so painful?

"Come at me again," said the good doctor, holding her cane as if to say, "Ha! You're about to get wrecked, kid." She stood across from him with the ease of someone who had already won, her posture almost lazy, like she wasn't even trying.

Ben hated it. He hated that she was toying with him, that no matter how fast he moved or how hard he hit, she was always three steps ahead. His pride was still licking its wounds from the last time she knocked him flat on his butt.

Ben clenched his fists, forcing himself up into a fighting stance. His body ached, his muscles burned, but he wasn't about to back down. He had something to prove.

"Again," Dr. Walker repeated, tapping the ground with her cane.

Ben didn't need to be told thrice. He lunged, the strange tingling feeling spreading all over his body as it was coated in red lightning. Geist Speed Zone, baby! For a second, all he could feel was the rush of running faster than the speed of sound, the world blurring around him as he zigged and zagged to find an opening. And as he threw the first punch, lightning crackling at his fingertips, something just felt right. It was like he was made to do this, like every part of his being was screaming for the fight, for the movement, for the thrill.

And then Dr. Walker dodged. Effortlessly.

Ben didn't even see her move. One second, she was in front of him; the next, she was behind him, and—

WHAM!

Pain exploded in his side as the cane struck his ribs. His feet left the ground. His vision blurred, and before he could even register what had happened, he was down again, lying on his back, staring up at the sky.

Ben groaned, rolling onto his back, frustration bubbling up in his chest. "I don't get it!" he spat. "I'm moving faster than a seagull flocking to a sandwich. How are you still faster than me?!"

Dr. Walker crouched beside him, her sharp green eyes scanning him like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Do you ever wonder why you keep losing?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Because you keep cheating?" Ben grumbled.

She smirked. "Cute. But no." She tapped her cane against his chest, right where his heart hammered against his ribs. "You're not breathing, kid."

Ben blinked. "Uh, yes, I am. I'd be dead if I weren't."

"You're gasping, not breathing," she corrected. "You keep holding your breath every time you move. You can't fight like that. Your body is locking up before you even throw a punch."

Ben opened his mouth to argue—but then he thought about it. He thought about the way his chest tightened whenever he attacked, the way his lungs burned whenever he dodged. He hadn't noticed before, but she was right.

"Your lungs are like an engine," Dr. Walker continued. "If you're not breathing right, you'll get slower instead of faster. Watch."

She took a slow, deliberate breath through her nose. "Breathe in when you move." She exhaled sharply through her mouth, a controlled release. "Breathe out when you strike. In when you recover. Out when you counter." She tapped her cane against his chest. "It's rhythm, kid. It's a song your body needs to learn."

Ben swallowed, nodding slowly. He thought about the way she fought—every move was smooth, every strike effortless. He thought about Masked Drifter, how Kyoko was always taking those deep gasps before she began monologuing, and started to realize that what he'd been emulating might have just been TV magic. Speaking of magic, he reminded himself to ask his mom to take him to Magic Micah's Mystical Mystery Show at noon tomorrow. Oh, but before that, they needed to get some chili cheese fries. Mmmmmm. Chili fries. What was he thinking about again?

Right. Breathing.

Ben shook his head, shaking off the mental detour. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath in through his nose, and let it out slowly through his mouth. It felt weird, like trying to relearn how to walk after running his whole life. But something in his muscles relaxed, something in his mind cleared.

Dr. Walker smirked. "Good. Now get up."

Ben groaned but obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. His ribs ached, his pride was in shambles, and his legs felt like noodles, but he wasn't done yet. Not even close. Heroes never gave up! He squared his shoulders, rolling them out as he settled back into his stance.

Dr. Walker twirled her cane once, a glimmer of approval in her sharp green eyes. "Again."

Ben charged.

This time, he breathed. In when he moved. Out when he struck. In when he dodged. Out when he countered.

Dr. Walker blocked him effortlessly, but for the first time, he didn't stumble. His footing was firm. His body moved the way he wanted it to.

Dr. Walker smirked. "Better."

Ben grinned, rolling his shoulders. He felt lighter. Stronger. For the first time, he felt like he wasn't just reacting—he was fighting.

"Wow, nice work, kid," came a new voice. Ben whipped his head around and came face to face with his mom, smiling like she had just seen him take his first steps all over again. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes bright with something soft—something proud.

"Mom!" Ben's face perked up immediately, stopping whatever he was doing to bound over and tackle the older woman in a hug, his excitement radiating off him in waves. "Did you see that?! I actually landed a hit this time! Well, almost, but still!"

His mom chuckled, ruffling his already messy hair. "I saw, sweetheart. You're getting better."

Ben beamed, standing just a little taller. "Dr. Walker says it's all about breathing. Who knew, right? It's, like, the most basic thing ever, but I was totally messing it up."

Dr. Walker snorted. "Most people do it when they panic." She leaned on her cane, regarding him with something like amusement. "But you? You're learning fast."

"Well, I think that's grounds for celebration," his mom said, patting him on the head, "How are you feeling about ice cream at Jane's?"

Ben's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Ice cream?!" He gasped as if his mother had just handed him the key to the universe. "Mom, you are the best. Can we get the triple scoop this time? Oh! And can we invite Dr. Mom, too?"

Dr. Walker, who had been taking a sip from her water bottle, choked mid-gulp. "Dr. what?"

Ben blinked. "Dr. Mom."

The doctor coughed violently, thumping her chest. His mother bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. Ben, completely oblivious, continued, "Y'know, 'cause you're all like, 'Breathe in, breathe out, listen to my lecture, Ben!' and you totally just taught me how to fight without falling on my face. And you also drive me to school sometimes. And you totally yelled at that cashier when they overcharged me for gum. That's totally a mom move."

Dr. Walker pinched the bridge of her nose. "Kid, I am not—"

"Dr. Mom," Ben repeated with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew he had won. "C'mon. Just roll with it."

Dr. Walker stared at him for a long moment. Then, with the world's most exhausted sigh, she muttered, "Fine."

Ben fist-pumped. "Yesss."

His mother shook her head, laughing softly. "Alright, Dr. Mom, let's all get ice cream. My treat."

Dr. Walker groaned but didn't argue. Ben had the feeling she secretly liked it.

And as they headed down the street, the golden glow of sunset painting the city skyline, Ben took in a deep breath—one that didn't burn, didn't choke, didn't falter.

The first thing Ben's moms taught him was how to breathe, and now that it was over, they had their whole lives ahead of them to do something new.

#Rising Forces #original character #original story #Power Rangers inspired #superhero #Ben Vi

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apn8000 · 10 months ago

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Where's the Planet. || An Epsilon Squadron Oneshot

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Space Patrol Delta's Epsilon Command Ship, also known as the Defiant Striker, was a technological marvel. Sure, on the outside, it was the shape of a silver croissant, but on the inside, it housed a marvel of engineering. Beneath its sleek, crescent-shaped exterior, the Defiant Striker boasted an array of advanced systems designed to push the boundaries of technology. Its core was a fusion reactor, compact yet powerful, capable of generating immense energy with minimal emissions. The ship's hull was composed of a state-of-the-art alloy, both incredibly durable and lightweight, allowing it to withstand extreme conditions while maintaining exceptional maneuverability.

It also housed one very ticked-off Power Ranger, whose patience ran thinner and thinner with every second.

Li Na Song paced back and forth in the briefing room, her footsteps echoing sharply against the polished metal floor. Her current expression was like if you combined an Old English Bulldog with the worst uncanny-valley Mr. Beast-style YouTube video thumbnail in the universe. The Epsilon Squadron Mobile Unit Blue Ranger activated the communication function of her sleek rectangular Morpher for what seemed like the hundredth time that hour, and she gritted her teeth when it played the familiar voicemail.

Hey, it's J.J. If you're hearing this, I'm about to die, or I'm ignoring you. Byeeeeee.

"Crash," she muttered. Her left eye twitched as she tried everything in her power not to scream and shout. "Please get me an aspirin and a megaphone."

Crash Masronk stood near the back of the room, his grasshopper-like skin beading with sweat. He couldn't afford to lose focus, not when the championship title was on the line. The Silver Ranger's beady bug eyes observed the field, his three-fingered hands gripping a cold metal bar. In a single circular motion, he flicked his wrist.

The foosball man kicked the plastic ball into the wooden goal, scoring Crash's ninth point and winning him the game.

"Noooooooo!" cried out Crash's opponent, Sora Harlbeng, falling to the floor as she slumped in dramatic defeat. Sora's bright pink hair splayed out on the ground, and she groaned in disbelief. "How did you even get that last shot? This game is rigged!"

Crash, barely containing his glee, gave a triumphant chirp. "It's all in the wrist, Sora. All in the wrist."

"Crash. Megaphone. Now." Li Na commanded, about to pop a fuse.

"I'll get it!" Sora leaped to her feet, her earlier defeat forgotten. The Gold Ranger extended her right arm, and when it couldn't reach quite the length she was hoping for, she simply extended it even further, her Tractellurian physiology allowing for her "Super Rubberiness," as Crash had called it once. Her arm reached a nearby supply closet, where her blue hand rummaged through the cluttered shelves, tossing aside various gadgets and tools before finally emerging with a sleek, black megaphone. She retracted her arm back to her usual, comfortable length before tossing the megaphone to Li Na, who snatched it up with a barely contained snarl.

Li Na took a deep breath, then flicked the megaphone on. The resulting feedback squeal made everyone wince, and Crash's antennae flattened against his head.

"Jason Jarvis Oliver!" Li Na's voice echoed through the ship's corridor, magnified and amplified by the megaphone. "If you don't get your butt here in the next five seconds, I will personally fly this ship into the nearest star and blame it on a rogue asteroid!"

Crash, sensing the tension in the room, tried to lighten the mood. "Come on, Li Na, maybe he's just caught up with something important."

Before Li Na could retort, the door to the briefing room slid open with a hiss, and in strolled J.J. Oliver, looking completely unbothered. He adjusted his uniform, a pep in his step and a half-eaten strawberry donut in his left hand.

"Hey, what's up?" J.J. took a leisurely bite of his donut, crumbs falling onto his already wrinkled jacket.

Li Na's eyes narrowed into slits. "Where. Were. You?"

J.J. took another bite of his donut, thoughtfully chewing as if considering whether or not to bother answering. "I was, uh, making sure our systems were calibrated properly. You know, standard protocol stuff." J.J. quickly stuffed his copy of "Top 20 Vehicles You'll Never Be Able to Afford" Magazine into his back pocket, away from Li Na's view.

"Calibrating the systems?" Li Na's voice was dangerously low, her grip on the megaphone tightening. "For two hours?"

"Well, I had to make sure everything was running smoothly," J.J. said, shrugging as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He grabbed a chair and plopped down while nibbling his donut. "So, who are we going after?" He asked, kicking his feet up on the briefing table.

"Precisely," chirped Crash.

Li Na glared at J.J. with the intensity of a thousand dying stars. "Who we're going after, J.J., is not the point. The point is that you've been wasting time while the rest of us have been preparing for a mission that's critical to the safety of the entire galaxy!"

J.J. raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. "Right, right, but if we don't know who we're going after, how can we be ready? So, seriously, who is it?"

Li Na's eye twitched again. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

"So tell me already," J.J. said, his tone light and teasing. "Who are we chasing?"

"Yes!" Li Na said, frustrated. "That's what I'm trying to explain!"

"No, no, no." J.J. leaned forward, wiping his fingers on his uniform. "You're supposed to tell me who we're after. Not just agree with me!"

Crash, sensing another misunderstanding brewing, decided to jump in. "J.J., listen. We're chasing Who. He's the criminal we're after."

"That's what I'm asking!" J.J. threw his hands up in exasperation. "Who's the criminal?"

"Yes!" Sora chimed in, bouncing up and down with excitement. "We're going after Who!"

J.J. blinked at them, trying to process what they were saying. "So…we know the name of the criminal?"

Li Na pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to maintain her composure. "Yes, we do."

"Good!" J.J. nodded, pleased with the progress. "So who is it?"

"Precisely!" Crash chirped, antennae flicking.

"Precisely, okay…" J.J. remarked, his head spinning. He paused briefly before speaking again, choosing his following words carefully. "So, we find Precisely—"

"No, we find Who!" Li Na yelled.

"Precisely!" J.J. responded.

"Then say it that way!"

"That's what I'm saying!"

"No, you're not!"

J.J. threw up his hands in frustration, "Then who's Precisely?!"

Li Na placed the megaphone on the table, "No. Who is Who."

"Who is Who?" J.J. repeated, puzzled. "Is this some sort of existential crisis thing? Because I'm not mentally equipped to deal with that right now. Who am I?"

Sora giggled, "No, silly!" She tapped J.J. on the shoulder, and when he was looking in the other direction, she extended an arm to snatch the remnants of his donut for herself. She booped his nose. "Who's Who. I'm Me, and You're You!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Crash interjected, "But I'm Me, too!"

"No, no, you're you." Sora insisted.

Crash nodded as if this made a ton of sense until a thought crossed his mind. "Wait, but if you're me, and I'm you, then who's he?" Crash pointed accusingly at J.J..

"Can we please just get back on topic?" Li Na held her head in her hands, rapidly losing her sense of sanity.

"Oh, I get it, now," Crash whispered to Sora, who was enjoying the donut she stole from J.J. far too much for her own good, "I'm me. You're you, and she's a buzzkill."

"I CAN HEAR YOU!"

J.J. took a deep breath, trying to regain control of the situation, "Okay, so whoever we're chasing—"

"You don't have to add 'ever' after his name, J.J. It's just Who!" Sora clapped her hands together, almost dropping her stolen donut before Crash caught it for her.

J.J. simply chose to ignore that comment. "Where is he?"

"Precisely!" Crash piped up, antennae flicking with excitement.

"No, no, don't start this again," J.J. said, pointing at Crash. "I just want to know where he is."

Li Na rubbed her temples, feeling a headache brewing. "He's on Where."

J.J. stared at her blankly. "Where?"

"Yes," Li Na replied, a strained smile on her face.

J.J. scratched his head, visibly confused. "Who's on Where?"

"The planet? Yes," Li Na continued.

"Where's the planet?!" J.J. yelled.

"Precisely," Crash said for the sixth time in this conversation.

"Wait, I thought that was the name of the criminal."

"No," Li Na uttered. "The criminal's name is Who."

"Precisely!" J.J. yelled.

"Then say it that way!"

"I'm saying it the way you're saying it!"

"Hey, Crash. Why do you keep saying that word, anyway?" Sora whispered, trying to law low. J.J. and Li Na looked like they were going to kill each other, getting very close to Crash to use an Orthropterrier shield just in case.

"Oh, no reason," Crash replied, his smile beaming with pure contentedness. No one had to know that if you tried to flip to the word, Precisely, in the Epsilon dictionary, the paper was mysteriously shredded with teeth marks. No one.

J.J. groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why is this so difficult? Just tell me where!"

"We just did," Crash said helpfully.

"Where?"

"Precisely."

J.J. threw his arms up in despair. "No! Where is Who?"

"Ohhhhhh," Sora realized, her eyes lighting up. She laughed to herself, briefly facepalming before rolling her chair to the other side of the table. She tapped Li Na's shoulder, catching the Blue Ranger's attention before she absolutely fried her brain.

"I think J.J. is asking where the planet is, y'know, geographically," Sora explained, her voice slightly hesitant as if she was trying to navigate a minefield carefully. "Like, in the star system. He wants to know where Where is."

"Exactly!" J.J. exclaimed, seizing onto Sora's explanation like a lifeline. "Thank you, Sora! Someone here understands!"

Li Na blinked, her fingers twitching as she resisted the urge to hurl the megaphone across the room. "Okay, fine. It's in the I Don't Know cluster."

J.J. tilted his head, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. "Wait a minute…you don't know where the planet is? You're supposed to be the one who's briefing us!"

Li Na sighed deeply, her patience now wholly evaporated. "No, J.J., I know where the planet is. It's in the I Don't Know Cluster."

J.J. stared at her, then at Crash, then back at Li Na. "So you're saying we're heading to a cluster that you don't know about?"

"Yes—no!" Li Na caught herself. "I know about it, but it's called the I Don't Know Cluster."

J.J. raised an eyebrow. "So, where are we going?"

"I just told you!"

"No, you told me you don't know where we're going."

Li Na took a deep, steadying breath. "Listen very carefully, J.J. We are going to the I Don't Know Cluster. It's a star cluster. The name of the star cluster is I Don't Know."

J.J. rubbed his temples, trying to suppress the growing headache. "Okay, okay. Let me get this straight. We're chasing Who, who's on the planet Where, and that planet is in the I Don't Know Cluster."

"Precisely!" Crash and J.J. yelled at the same time. "Haha, you can't get me this time, buddy!" J.J. said, looking as if he was on the verge of either breaking into hysterical laughter or committing space homicide.

"And I thought this mission was going to be simple…" J.J. muttered to himself. "Okay, I get it. Now, what are we after?"

"What?" Li Na asked, confused.

"The artifact!" J.J. threw his hands up. "What's the artifact that Who is trying to steal?"

"I'm going to get a slushie," Sora announced to no one in particular, hopping out of her seat. The door opened as she made her way to the snack bar, her footsteps drowned out by confusion.

"What," Li Na said again, with a straight face.

"Yes! What is it?"

"Precisely!"

J.J. leaped over to Crash's table and grabbed his Epsilon Max Blaster, pointing the barrel directly into the Silver Ranger's mandibles. "I hope you value your mouth because unless Li Na tells me what the artifact that low-life criminal is trying to get his grubby paws on."

Li Na rubbed her forehead. "The artifact is What."

J.J. blinked, staring at Li Na as if she'd just spoken in an alien language. "The artifact is…What?"

"Yes," Li Na replied, her voice almost robotic from exhaustion.

"So, let me get this straight," J.J. said, his tone cautious as he pieced it together. "I don't know where we're going, who we're chasing, and what they're after."

"Precisely."

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

J.J. grabbed Crash by his thorax and hoisted him off the ground. The Silver Ranger's legs flailed helplessly, his antennae twitching in sheer panic. The two quickly became a pile of pure violence, kicking, punching, and shouting at each other, with J.J. threatening to dismantle every joint in Crash's exoskeleton. At the same time, Crash squealed and buzzed in protest, his wings flapping frantically.

Amidst the chaos, Li Na just stood there, her patience fully depleted, staring at the two of them with a mix of disbelief and resignation. She stared into the proverbial camera, looking directly at you, yes, you, the viewer, with a deadpan expression, simply raising an eyebrow before leaping off the table and joining in the violence.

The door to the briefing room slid open with a hiss and some air, revealing the Gold Ranger holding a blue raspberry slushie. Sora stood in the doorway for a minute, utterly oblivious to the chaos unraveling right in front of her because of the deliciousness of her slushie. The sounds of slurping exceeded those of the violence. When she finally did look up, she blinked twice, slurped her slushie some more, turned around, and then walked in the other direction, humming a merry tune.

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Sometime Later:

The Planet Where was primarily made up of hot desert terrain, orange plains, and plateaus as far as the eye could see. Cacti sprung from the ground, and not a day went by without a local complaining about the blistering heat from the many stars in the I Don't Know cluster that shone even in the daytime. This climate was particularly fitting, as the Wherereans' culture mainly followed something akin to Earth's Wild West: small villages with saloons, horseback riding being the main form of transportation, though the horses here had 14 legs, heck, they even had cowboys!

On this particular day, a mole-like creature maniacally laughed as he held up a red crystal in glory. The Epsilon Squadron Power Rangers surrounding him reached for their weapons, ready to fire at any moment.

"Oh, I wouldn't be too hasty," taunted the notorious Wherean criminal, Who Dunnit. He grabbed his pistol from his back, his fingers laced around the trigger as he reveled in the jewel's radiating glory. "You Rangers underestimate the power of What. With it, I'll be able to rule the whole galaxy, and then everyone will know the name of Who!"

"Wait…" Crash paused, "Who?" "PRECISELY!"

J.J. charged up his two Epsilon Max Blasters; one pointed at Crash and the other at Who. "I'm going to give you both a five-second headstart."

#Power Rangers #Power Rangers oc #Power Rangers fanfic #Fanfic #Comedy #Who's On First #J.J. Oliver #Sora Harlbeng #Li Na Song #Crash Masronk #Power Rangers Spd #Power Rangers SPD - The Epsilon Files

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