Contributing Author: Miles English

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Trey felt... surprisingly normal. The entire day so far had felt like a strange, lucid dream where unimaginable creatures moved his body around, pulling on him like the strings of a marionette. A lot of it had been fun, some of it had been pure ecstasy. But none of it had been him.

Actually, he should have a talk with Flamagan about the ecstasy part. He hadn’t spent his entire life being a complete square to now get addicted to some kind of weird alien bug juice. Never mind the fact that he really wanted some more alien bug juice.

Being back to normal wasn’t bad per se. It was boring and… comfortable, that was the word. Also frightening. The aphids seemed to think they'd be tagging along in his brain for the foreseeable future. What did it mean that he was suddenly alone again? Unless he wasn't alone.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" he asked.

No one answered, not even the thugs on the ground. Right, the thugs Doug had beat up were still there, proving that this all hadn’t been a dream.

He looked at his hands, opened and closed his fist, and it felt normal. The day was sunny, but not too hot. He took a deep breath, in and out. Nothing abnormal.

Trey took a step forward, then started walking. Doug had been pretty insistent that they go this way, so he saw no reason not to keep going. He was some kind of hero now, wasn’t he?

He walked to the end of the alley and predictably met another street. It was crowded, packed with blue collar workers and people trying to get by, each of them with frowns on their faces and bags under their eyes. Funny how they were completely oblivious to the fact that they were in the presence of a guy with alien bugs in his brain.

Two blocks ahead, the pipes and smokestacks of the petroleum plant loomed above the dilapidated apartment buildings. The cool kind of dilapidated apartment buildings though, the ones with smoke shops, barbers, and tattoo parlors on the bottom floor.

He had no better ideas, so he started walking towards the petroleum plant.

Ok, I can do this.

“Who said that?” asked Trey. He’d heard a voice, and, of course, none of the people on the sidewalk answered his question. If anything, they ignored him even harder, the way he did to random crazy people.

He felt something sharp pull on his leg, and he tumbled to the ground.

Oops! I can fix this, just let me…

Trey launched into a building, landing face first on the glass window of a tattoo parlor. A really cool one.

“Cut that out!” Trey shouted. “You’re embarrassing me!”

A woman holding the hand of a nine-year-old child up ahead abruptly left the sidewalk to cross the street, drawing honks from a taxi driver who had to slam on his brakes.

Sorry! Let me try again!

“No! No trying again. Who are you?”

Trey heard the sound of a sniffle. I’m so sorry. I’m just terrible at this sort of thing. I wasn’t supposed to be picked. I didn’t even mean to enter the root-pull! It’s okay, though. I can learn to walk. How hard can it be?

“Hold up! Why not let me handle the walking part? That would free you up to focus on… helping some other way,” said Trey.

He heard a gasp. That’s such a good idea! Yeah, let’s do that. Gosh, you’re a lot smarter than the others are saying. My name is Æn, by the way.

“Ane? Enn? Why is this so hard to say?”

You know what, why not call me by my last name. Ryzm.

“Nice to meet you Ryzm,” said Trey. “Now, do you know what we’re supposed to be doing?”

Oh, yes, of course. Remember the Quest you got about getting fuel?

“Yeah.”

Ignore that. Your new quest is to stay alive until my turn is over and someone better can take over. Can you handle that?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Absolutely,” said Trey. “I’ve been staying alive in New City for years now. It’s practically my specialty!”

Great. And I can give you… minor super speed. Like three times faster. And I’ll increase your toughness by 30%.”

“That sounds cool,” said Trey. “When does it start?”

Starting now.

As much as he knew he should just keep his head down and act normal for a bit, Trey really found himself wanting to try out that super speed.

“Can I test it out a little?” asked Trey.

Oh. Um. I don’t know. I guess so?

“Sweet.”

Trey ran. He figured he’d start with a jog, then work up to a sprint and gradually get used to it, but from his first step he was moving blindingly fast. It was thrilling.

He leaned into it, running faster, and immediately he was careening down the sidewalk at forty miles an hour.

Scratch that. This is more like five times faster. Or six? How fast can you usually run?

Trey had to dodge to the side to miss ramming straight through an old lady, and found himself keeping pace with the cars. The car in front of him slammed its brakes, and Trey ran straight over it, stepping up its hood and crossing the roof of the car in two steps to sprint past the other side. He split the lanes next, and ran through backed-up traffic without a care in the world.

Wind flew through his air. Bugs luckily avoided his eyes, and even the smell of exhaust fumes couldn’t ruin his fun. This was it. This was what having superpowers felt like.

He ran the two city blocks, nearing the refinery, and then took to the sidewalk again. People were staring at him; even the reticent New Citizens couldn’t help but watch someone running at the speed of a car.

He gave them a shy wave, trying to think of what to say, when something exploded on the street.

It was disorienting at first; things didn’t explode in Trey’s life, so it took a second for him to process what he was seeing. A loud bang. Smoke everywhere. There was a car on its side.

People screamed, and he couldn’t see what had happened at first through the sudden haze of smoke.

Ooh! I know this one. Let me do your eyes.

“Th– thanks Ryzm. You’re the best,” Trey said shakily. He could suddenly see the world again, his vision piercing the smoke. A figure stood in a crater. He rubbed his eyes, but it didn’t change anything.

A man straight out of that old tv show he used to love as a kid stood in the wreckage. There was no mistaking the armor or the helmet, it was a real life Action Ranger. Only, he looked a little different. He was dirty, and instead of a bright primary color, his armor was a dirty gray.

He stepped out of the crater, then walked directly towards Trey.

Well. We’re screwed. That’s one of the Frugal Five. You’re dead. Hopefully our next host is luckier than you.

“There’s really no chance? What about this super speed you gave me? Surely we could–”

The ranger casually kicked a car out of his way. It flew through the air to crash into the fifth story of the apartment building behind Trey. The ranger kept walking forward.

“How long until you switch with someone better?” asked Trey.

I don’t know! Soon, hopefully! Maybe you can stall? If I remember, these guys have a really intense code of honor. He won’t kill you without introducing himself first.

The ranger continued its approach until it was about ten feet in front of Trey, then stopped. Trey flinched at a flash of sudden movement, but it was just the ranger going into a karate pose.

“Frugal Five! First member! The Food Ranger!” He shifted from karate pose to karate pose as he talked, just like the Action Rangers would do on that old show. “We eat, but there’s no nutrition. Painted tomatoes. Meatless ground beef. We buy sustenance, and receive poison and drugs.”

He stopped his karate poses and stood up straight, then pointed at Trey. “I’m going to kick your butt, evil-doer! You paid twenty dollars for street tacos! You could have made them at home for less than four!”

We’re screwed. We’re dead. Oh, it’s over.

“Maybe not…” said Trey, gazing at the Food Ranger. There was a clue in the name, the Frugal Five.

He might actually be able to do this. Because if there was one superpower that Trey had all on his own, it was being super middle-class. And the middle-class knew how to budget.

“What was that?” asked Food.

Trey breathed in and out, limbered up, and then struck a karate pose of his own. "I said maybe, maybe not!” He shifted from pose to pose, just like Food had done. “Making tacos for that amount would mean using inferior ingredients! And what’s so bad about treating myself once in a while? Frugality isn’t the same thing as abstinence. It’s ok to treat yourself as long as you don’t make a habit of it!”

Food stumbled backwards as if physically struck, but he quickly recovered, busting out a splits-punch.

“Treating yourself with food you make at home is still a treat! Buying food from a food cart is wasteful!”

Not wanting to offend the Ranger’s honor, Trey gasped and stumbled backwards, even further than the Ranger had done. He rallied, and hammed up the effort it took to get back into a karate pose.

“That’s only if you assume my time isn’t valuable. Multiply the amount I make with the time it would take to make my own tacos and shop for ingredients at the prices you wanted. NOW WHO’S BEING WASTEFUL??” Trey finished it off with a dramatic uppercut to the air.

Food cried out in pain, jumped into the air, and landed on his back. For a moment, he lay there, writhing around on the shattered concrete as if he’d been electrocuted. Then, slowly, painfully, he stood back up, one hand clutching his side.

“You may have defeated me, but there’s one thing you didn’t count on. The power of friendship! Frugal Five! Assemble!”

The Action Ranger withdrew a strange, almost ethereal rock. He held it reverently, and it began to light up with a bright, emerald light. It seemed to thrum with power, and Trey knew that he should interrupt Food’s power-up moment, but he stood, transfixed, caught in the moment.

Then, the light exploded outward. The already-broken ground erupted with an incredible force, and Trey was blasted off his feet and thrown into the remnants of a flipped-over truck.

“That’s not going to be good, is it?” Trey grunted, thankful for Ryzm’s durability boost.

It’s not. They’re all here. The Frugal Five. But–oh! Oh oh oh! Thank the Fabulous Fount of Flora! My turn is up. Hoo boy, you’re going to like the next one. It was nice meeting you, Trey!