Malcolm's mattress had never been particularly soft, but now it felt welcomingly fluffy, like he was floating on a pool of cotton. Then we woke up in earnest and all that comfort was ruthlessly replaced by a hefty coat of soreness.

Just lying on his bed hurt. Opening his eyes hurt, somehow, so he closed them again, and that hurt also. Before even trying to move, Malcolm exhaled in a long, low groan. More of a whine, really. This was just such a hassle.

Okay. Ten more seconds. Nine, eight, seven...

When he hit one, Malcolm forced himself onto his side and opened his eyes again. Blank white walls. Dull light seeping in from a shuttered window. No posters or paintings or even a mirror, but a low bookshelf filled to the brim, atop which sat even more books. Finance and programming stuff, mostly. Home sweet home.

Malcolm remembered getting there the night before. Or rather, Red carrying him back, as even after getting patched up by the local healer he had a hard time walking. Red had dropped him on the bed, called his room lame as hell, then nabbed a pillow and left to crash on a couch downstairs without even asking for it.

Talk about gratitude. Malcolm had only agreed to let Red stay the night since it would've been rude to kick out the guy who'd just saved his life.

He tried to stretch his arms overhead, flinched as they protested every inch, then grit his teeth and forced them up anyway. The healer had done good work. Nothing broken anymore, and anything else was something that would get better on its own. The memory of his snapping bones would just be something he'd have to deal with for the next few days.

Slowly, he stood, made the bed, put on the backup glasses he kept on his bedside cabinet, and headed out the door. The hallway on his right was narrow and flanked by more doors, two of them next to Malcolm's and two more on the opposite wall.

Behind one he heard the muffled sound of shower rain and singing. Beautiful voice, though he couldn't quite make out the words. Great, he thought. Looked like she was here.

Malcolm shook his head and came to the end of the hallway. He thought about taking the fireman's pole down, felt his tired muscles again, and instead went for the row of creaky stairs right next to it.

The second floor common area had a short row of leather couches circling the TV by the wall, and a blue rocking chair sitting by the open window. On that rocking chair, lit by the yellow outdoor light, sat a thin woman with round glasses, graying hair tied in a bun atop her head, pale face carved lightly with wrinkles. She wore a rumpled button-up with an open collar and slacks that ended on a pair of slippers, like she'd planned to dress formal but then gave up halfway through.

When she sucked on her cigarette, turned to breathe the smoke out the window. A considerate enough act, though Malcolm could still smell it from the other end of the room so it wasn't really making much of a difference.

The woman's expression, already curled into a sort of calm distaste, didn't change one bit upon seeing him. "You should still be in bed."

"Hey, Baba," Malcolm said.

He was about to ask where Red was, then turned to the kitchen and saw the boy sitting there at the table. Next to him sat Stretch, a dude in his early 20s with long sandy hair, a goatee, droopy eyes, a tank top—basically as close to stereotypically surfer as you could get without an actual board. He and Red both leaned forward, munching on respective slices of pizza, and upon seeing Malcolm, both raised their slices and hummed hello with full and chewing cheeks.

Malcolm sighed. "Guys, seriously, it's like nine in the morning. Eat some real breakfast."

Stretch swallowed, thumped his chest to ease it down. "It's yesterday's leftovers," he said by way of excuse, then took another bite.

Red shrugged. "A bowl of cereal is basically just sugar soup. How's this a less normal breakfast than that?"

Malcolm tried thinking of a counter argument, failed, and wordlessly set about making himself some eggs. He opened the old fridge and rolled his eyes at the sink piled with dirty dishes. No doubt he'd be the one to clean up that mess.

"So, how're you feeling, Mal?" Stretch asked in between chews. "Pretty close call yesterday."

Red nodded, wiping crumbs from his tattoo stripes. "Actually yeah, I figured you'd still need some crutches or something."

Look who's talking, Malcolm thought. His Spirit had worked hard all night just to let him walk by morning, meanwhile Red didn’t even look sore despite getting dealt ten times the punishment. "I'm fine," he said, turning on the stove. "Mostly."

Soon the air smelled of frying eggs, and Red finished his slice, reaching for another. "The fire pole's cool, but I thought things would be more office-like."

Malcolm grunted. "What, you expect a desk, some file cabinets?"

"Sorta? You said you worked here."

"We do have a computer in the other room," Stretch said, pointing a thumb over to a door across the room. "Gotta save our paperwork somewhere, I guess, but it's still Mal's house at the end of the day. I don't actually live here, for the record. I'm technically on the clock."

"Huh. What about that lady over there?"

"She does live here, and she's our Archivist."

"Woah. I thought she was, like, your grandma." A cigarette smacked Red in the face. "Hey!" he said, turning to the woman, rubbing off the ash. "The hell?"

"I'm not that old," Baba said. At that moment, the espresso stovetop in the kitchen gave a sharp whistle, fuming in a wave of steam. "Lawrence, be a dear, would you?"

Nodding, Stretch casually reached out right there from his seat and lengthened his arm like rubber straight across the room. It rummaged through the kitchen cabinets like a roaming noodle, opening and closing them fluidly, setting up a tray of small cups atop small plates beside a little bowl of sugar.

"Want some coffee?" he asked Red.

Said boy watched the process with muted surprise. "Stretch is a little on the nose, dude."

"Ha. That's what I said."

"Lawrence is too silly for his own good," Baba said.

Arm slurping back into itself, Stretch set down the tray on the table in front of them, all cups full and steamy. Baba held out her hand, and Stretch dropped two spoonfuls of sugar into a cup, stirred it, and handed it over. Then, he took one for himself. They both sipped, filling the room with sighs of satisfaction.

Red watched them. "And... you get paid for this?"

Stretch smirked into his cup, but Malcolm supposed he could understand. Ranger work was unusual even in the way it was organized, and though that was something they'd all gotten used to it was no surprise someone on the outside would get confused. He set his plate down on the table, carved into his omelet, and pointed with his fork over at a red landline on the wall. "If there's a job, we get called. If there isn't one, there's not much to do but wait."

"So... basically like Powerpuff Girls?"

Malcolm said "No" even as Stretch nodded yes. "You're clearly not normal," Malcolm went on, "I mean, you have to know something about Rangers."

Red scratched his chin. "Wild Force?"

"What? No. Stop referencing cartoons."

"Wild Force isn't a cartoon," Stretch offered.

Malcolm scowled at the both of them. "Dude, like park rangers, but, y'know, special ones. That's what we do. Some things out there are too much for regular people to handle, so we take care of it for them. Keep the normal world safe from the Mystic one, like with that golem yesterday."

Red snapped his fingers, suddenly way too enthusiastic. "So it is like Powerpuff Girls! Superhero stuff, right?"

"Stop it!" Malcolm said. Then, settling down, he took another bite of eggs. "Where did you even come from anyway? Someone like you couldn't just stay under the radar."

"How would you know if I've even been under the radar?"

In the living room, Baba set her cup down, now empty. "Didn't find anything on the RC records," she said, leaning back, pulling another cigarette out of the box she'd left on the windowsill. "Nothing on the federal records either. No ID, no social, not even a birth certificate. Anywhere." Lighting the cig, she breathed in, turned to the window, blew out, turned to Red with narrowed eyes. "As far as I can tell you're either a criminal yourself or some other criminal's dirty little secret."

Red ate the last of his pizza and started licking his fingers clean. "You looked through that much stuff already?"

Stretch shook his head with a chuckle. "That's our Archivist, alright. No one can research quite like Baba."

"So, what? This the part where you send me to some government lab or something?"

"I think we'd all belong there if we did."

"The RC will want a full profile," Baba said.

"Ah." Red wiped his hands on his hoodie, which was still dotted with dried blood. "I guess you're not allowed to just let me go no strings attached?"

"We're just being cautious," Malcolm clarified. "Rangers handle what normal people can't. Sometimes that means monsters like that golem, and other times it means people with powers like us who... well, who seem shady, like you do. No offense."

Red seemed strangely unconcerned by it all, looking around and talking casually like the whole thing was just a play happening around him even though he'd just been told he was effectively detained. Probably he thinks if things go south for him he can just punch his way out, Malcolm thought, and probably he's right. Meaning right now he's just... humoring us?

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

That was sort of a terrifying realization. Before Malcolm could properly freak out about it, the patter of rain which had buzzed in the background abruptly stopped, and a door clicked open upstairs.

Some footsteps followed, then the creaking of wood, and soon enough a woman came into the room, one around Stretch's age if not a little older. A loose shirt clung lightly to her still-damp skin, and she worked to wrap a mop of gold hair within a towel cocoon even as she came near. Her eyes—a cold blue—passed contemptuously over Red, Stretch, Malcolm, Baba, and finally scowled at the coffee on the table, like somehow this was the most irritating moment of her day and it was all their fault.

"Ugh, you should've waited for me," she said. "It could've gotten cold."

Baba puffed smoke. "You take too long.”

"Being me takes time. Now, give it." She reached out a hand as Stretch plucked her cup and reached over to give it to her from across the room. She sniffed it, wrinkled her perfect button nose, then took a sip. "So, who's this random kid?"

Red met her scorn boredly. "A real life mean girl, huh? How are you already the lamest person I've ever met?"

"Oh, a backbone! Adorable."

Now Stretch stepped in, calm and amiable, gesturing welcome between the two. "Red, Zelda. Zelda, Red. He's Mal's new friend."

Zelda raised a perfectly-trimmed brow. "Mal made a friend?"

"It's an interesting development."

"I'm literally right here," Malcolm said, and Zelda responded by drinking her coffee. Figures. He stood up to do the dishes, cursing them all in his head.

"When's Jay getting here?" Zelda asked, looking at him.

"I dunno. Haven't heard from him in a couple days."

"Well he better make it quick."

From the corner of his eye Malcolm saw Red whisper to Stretch, asking who Jay was, but the question got waved away.

"By the way, nerd," Zelda said, scowling. "Next time, can you not set a whole park on fire? Our collateral is crazy enough already. Just a giant hole in my wallet."

"Sorry," Malcolm mumbled

"Zelly, take it easy," Stretch said, looking over at her with a lazy smile. "Not like that wallet's ever gonna run out anyway."

"I might close it if you're not careful," Zelda said. Hands coming up to her toweled head, she turned back towards the stairs. "Whatever. I'm gonna go dry my hair."

"We got pizza," Stretch said. "Want me to save you a slice?"

"Gross."

She disappeared with a rising creak of wood. Red watched her go as Stretch chuckled beside him.

"She's gonna want a slice," Stretch said.

Red sniffed. "She kinda sucks."

"Eh, she's not bad." Red stared at him. "Okay, she's not that bad."

"So what's the deal, then?" Red said, crossing his arms. "You can't stop me from leaving, so you guys gonna just follow me around or what?"

"No, we just need to get you in the RC's database," Malcolm said. "Think of it like... gym class. Just gotta see what you're capable of."

"I've never been to gym class," Red mused, looking around at the room. "I guess I can see if I like it. We doing this here?"

"Absolutely not," Baba said.

Grinning, Stretch licked his fingers and stood up. "I've got just the place. Let's go on a quick road trip."

- - - — MKII — - - -

The van, old and beat up, rose as if on a piston. Holding it up, Red breathed in, bent his knees, and threw it with a grunt, flipping it over. It jumped a good ten feet, twirling once in the air before landing on its head with a crunch of metal and shattering glass.

Sweating, Red combed back the brown curls sticking to his forehead and wiped it with his hoodie sleeve. "That one was kinda hard," he said loudly. "Maybe a bit bigger than that?"

Standing a few yards away, Baba nodded and dutifully wrote on her notepad. Next to her, Malcolm and Stretch looked on, still impressed even after a good half-hour of watching Red do his thing.

"That's like, what, three thousand pounds? Maybe four?" Malcolm said.

Stretch scratched his goatee. "Threw it too."

"I'll just round it up to five tons or we'll be here all day," Baba said through her cigarette. "Can always update it later."

Red allowed himself to feel pleased by their awe, though it seemed far more clinical than the kind of reaction he'd gotten used to. The first time he'd shown off his strength, the people around him had mostly refused to believe it, thinking it some kind of expertly executed magic trick. Now Malcolm and the others barely even blinked, more concerned with the details than with the fact of its reality.

He'd already run a few hundred-meter dashes for them—as it turned out, he could go about 90mph if he really legged it. He'd even let them run him over with Stretch's old 1969 Dodge Charger, which slammed into him hard enough to toss him up in the air. Landing in a heap, Red had stood up, brushed off some dust, and laughed awkwardly when he saw the dent on the hood. He ended up doing more to the car than it had done to him, and he hadn't even been trying. Stretch, to his credit, had laughed too. The Charger was apparently a sort of pet project, and having something new to fix about it was always welcome.

It was interesting. Red had never bothered to really narrow down on what exactly he could do, mostly because he'd never cared, but it wasn't a bad way to pass the time. "What's next?"

Sitting on the hood of Stretch's car, Malcolm leaned over to look at Baba's notepad. "Covered strength, speed, durability... Maybe we can do a live combat test."

"Oooh, that's more like it," Red said, stretching his fingers.

"I already saw you fight yesterday," Malcolm said. Then in a mutter to Baba, "He's pretty agile. Good balance. Kind of straightforward." She scribbled as he spoke.

"I could go a round or two," Stretch offered, stepping forward.

Malcolm thought, shrugged his shoulders. "I guess it's you or no one. I'm still sore."

Red watched Stretch come, already grinning. Kind of a Mr. Fantastic type, he reminded himself, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie. "You want me to take it easy on you?" he asked, because it wasn't like he really wanted to hurt the guy.

If Stretch took it as an insult, he didn't show it. "Trying not to kill each other would be nice."

Then, without warning, he sent a punch, arm shooting from his shoulder in a long whip. Dodging it, Red ran in, trying to close the distance, but Stretch punched out with his other arm and forced the boy back.

Watching from the sidelines, Malcolm cringed when the sweep of a lengthened leg caught Red on the side. "Range is gonna be a problem for him."

Baba was already writing it down. "I'm surprised there wasn't more friction here," she said through a puff of smoke.

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"You'd think an independent like him wouldn't much appreciate getting profiled like this, but he hasn't even asked what we'll be doing with all this information. I can't tell if he's that confident or just that stupid."

Malcolm mulled over her words, and thought about how Red hadn't even questioned the golem despite seemingly having no prior knowledge of the Mystic World. Even when he'd learned about Rangers he'd taken things calmly, more like a fun fact rather than the completely reality upending shock Malcolm would expect in any normal person. Surely Red had already seen some supernatural things before, even if he hadn’t had any way of explaining them. With his power, he'd likely even draw them in. Weirdness often abhorred a vacuum.

So was he just lying to them about his inexperience? It was possible, though looking at Red now, eating a blow to the face and laughing it off, Malcolm couldn't get himself to believe it. What would be the point?

"You too," Baba said, watching him from the corner of her eye. "For all you know, he really is some kind of criminal, but you still brought him home like a stray dog. Could've killed you in your sleep."

This felt a little too much like an intervention. "He helped me get back home, so I owed him one," Malcolm said, annoyed. "And it's not exactly the first time one of us did something like that."

"Believe me, I know very well." Baba shook her head. "You boys trust too easily."

"I was talking about you. We were strays too, remember?"

Baba didn't respond, dragging on her cigarette, and Malcolm couldn't tell if he'd won that little argument or if she had just considered it too much effort to continue. He didn't feel any need to explain himself. Just as well; by then Stretch had decided to end things, wrapping himself around Red's head like a tight plastic bag.

"Tap out, man," Stretch said, his head sticking out from the tight and rubbery mass of his body. "No shame in it. I've been doing this for a while, y'know."

But Red wouldn't tap out. He pulled at Stretch, trying to make space to breathe, but the body wrapped around his face only spread like uncooked flour before snapping back into place.

Malcolm figured it was over. He was about to shout for Red to give up before he ended up suffocating, but just as he opened his mouth the other boy dropped to his knees, gripped the dirt, pulled his head back, and rammed it into the earth with enough force to crack the ground. Stretch, neck still out like an antenna, warbled in pain, remaining in place until Red pulled back and slammed his head on the ground again, this time sinking it like an ostrich with an upturn of dirt and rubble.

At that point it really was too much. Stretch melted off and settled on the earth like a human puddle, slowly shifting back to normal and groaning all the way. Meanwhile Red sputtered for breath, hand on his chest. Frazzled, he looked down at his downed opponent.

"Okay, you almost had me there," he said, heaving.

Stretch, himself out of breath and holding a thoroughly bruised back, stared up at the boy, making no effort to get up. "Dang... You're pretty hardcore, man. Didn't that hurt?"

"I have a hard head."

"No kidding. Here, help me up."

Red took his hand and pulled Stretch onto his feet with little effort. Together they walked to Malcolm and Baba, who'd watched them with equal levels of perturbation and amazement. "What?" Red asked, noting their silence.

"... That was the stupidest win I've ever seen," Malcolm said.

Red grinned. "Still a win."

That was true enough. Malcolm had thought Red a total bonehead—apparently he couldn't even read—but it seemed the guy was creative enough, even if that creativity lacked any sense of self-preservation.

Stretch slowly made his way to the car. "Baba, can you drive? I need a break..."

In short order they joined him inside the Charger, Malcolm and Red piling into the back seat. Baba got behind the wheel and started up the engine, her window thankfully open to filter out smoke, and they drove onto the half-empty road. It was now midday, not hot but sunny, and instinctively they all briefly closed their eyes, enjoying the wind.

"So, what now?" Red asked. "You guys have everything you need?"

"Yup," Malcolm said, reclining on his seat. "Congratulations, you're a free man."

"I was already free."

"Sure, but at least now it's official."

Red stared out the window at the cars whizzing by. "So… What do you have to do to get into this Ranger business?"

Malcolm wasn't exactly surprised, though he was curious. "Why? Interested?"

"Uh, duh, you guys get to literally kick ass for a living. That's as up my alley as you can get." Red looked over at him. "Plus, I kinda need a job. And you guys are alright, even granny here."

Baba grunted. "Watch it, kid."

For his part, Malcolm couldn't help digging into that frankness. Baba's work, instilling doubt earlier. Things really had gone too smoothly. Still, Red seemed too straightforward to be dishonest, and he'd been right about one thing: regardless of what they said, he had been technically free to ignore their need for his profile. He was strong enough to make enforcement a toss up, and it wasn't like they would've gone through the effort anyway if it had seemed too dangerous.

So Malcolm mulled on his words, and eventually came to the conclusion that Red might have just been telling the full and simple truth, surreal as it was, and he'd let them do all this due to the simple fact that he enjoyed spending time with them.

"Alright, so what do I gotta do?" Red asked. "I, uh, don't have a resume."

"... It's fine, we just got a pretty good idea of what you can do," Malcolm said.

Baba grunted again, seeming to have just accepted things, but Stretch met Malcolm's eyes through the rearview mirror, a silent question. Malcolm shrugged, nodded, Why not. With an easy smile, Stretch turned carefully to them in the back seat.

"Check it," he said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. There he fished for a card and showed it to Red. "It's a Ranger License. Without one of these you're not really allowed to use your powers in public. Being unlicensed isn't illegal, but screw around too much and you'll get labeled a Rogue Magician."

By now Red had taken the license and held it up to his face, staring hard at the plastic surface. He couldn't read the words, but he saw the emblem clearly enough: all blue, it showed a pair of wings layered over a netted circle, like looking down on a birdcage. "Cool…" He scrunched his nose. "Don't tell me I have to take a test..."

"Lucky for you, the RC's pretty lax with this sorta thing."

They talked on the whole drive home. Baba chipped in a bit in her own dry way, and Malcolm joined in too, though mostly he sat back and let himself rest. He thought about all the homework he had left to do. Maybe now he'd actually have time for it.

As he thought that, two people met in a dingy room several miles away. One gave the other a pile of papers, asking for help on a job. Atop that pile was a photo—the same one Malcolm had on his Ranger license, smile strained, looking at the camera with buried impatience, on his way for grander things.

Money was exchanged, orders were given, and from then on Malcolm would have to spend his time wisely indeed. His life—along with the lives of many others—would literally depend on it.