The four teenagers were back in human form. Busby was surprised to find the front door of the comic shop unlocked. He led the others inside, and the lady owner of the couple popped her head from behind the counter with a large blunt between her lips. She looked confused momentarily, but quickly recognized most of the kids who’d just walked in.
“Buzz, what the fuck, bro? Things got pretty gnarly out there, man. There’s a curfew in effect.”
Busby asked her where her husband was, “Thomas went to the farm. I didn’t feel that, so here I am.” She gestured around to the comic shop about them all.
Gemma walked over and said, “Hey, gimme a hit off that.”
The lady owner, Kimberlee, happily passed the fat brown smoldering object to the younger girl.
“Which one are you?” Kimberlee asked.
“Gemma,” was all Gemma said.
Kimberlee asked her what her last name was, and between puffs of pot smoke, she answered, “Deeznuts.”
The lady owner had suggested they all head to the basement so no cops would see them getting stoned through the windows and interrupt them. She clicked on the light, and the teens were amazed by the sheer volume of old awesome shit down there. She sat down on an old brown floral print sofa in front of a fully-assembled Masters-of-the-Universe Eternia Playset and about a hundred action figures.
Gemma offered the pipe to Andreaus, who hit it like a bitch and coughed. At least she hit it. Sadler refused. Busby took a hit but didn’t inhale. Gemma could tell. She made him hit it again, this time instructing him how. He took in a huge hit the second time, but exhaled only about half of what he’d taken in.
“You swallowed all that smoke, dude,” she told him.
Kimberlee and Andreaus talked about how creepy and off-putting her husband was.
Gemma dedicated herself to getting Sadler high, while Busby, who was very high by this point, plopped himself down and began playing with He-Man toys.
Gemma offered the blunt to Sadler again, “Come on, dude. All the cool kids are doing it.”
Sadler had always assumed he’d just never smoke pot. But here he was suffering under peer pressure just like in the ‘D.A.R.E. 2.0’ program. He knew to just say ‘no.’ But everybody else looked so happy. He wondered what his father would think, and that led him to remember the trouble he was already in, having stolen the truck and whatnot. He finally gave in.
“Fuck it,” said Sadler, and took the weed. He listened to the instructions given to Busby, but unlike his friend, did it right.
Sadler and Busby sat playing in Eternia together, Kimberlee kept changing out vinyl records for the teens to hear specific old songs.
Andreaus finally said, “Are we going to talk about today?”
Gemma replied, “That shit was intense. Feels like I’ve been mad all day.”
“Felt like I just went insane with…bloodlust. I’ve never wanted to kill anything before until today.”
Kimberlee, taking on an adulting role, said, “Today was a stressful day for our whole world guys. It is only natural to feel rage and a sense of rebellion at, like, change.”
This made the younger women laugh.
“Have your bodies been experiencing a change?”
“You could say that,” said Andraeus.
“What do you guys think happened in town?” Asked Kimberlee, after some time had passed of them all just chatting about bullshit.
Busby said, “Oh, aliens attacked.” He was super high.
Gemma corrected him, “They were angels.”
“Alien angels?” Asked Kimberlee.
“Angels aren’t aliens,” said Sadler.
“Why?” Asked Andreaus.
Busby said, “because everybody knows.”
Andreus argued that aliens and angels were fundamentally the same thing just viewed through two entirely different lenses. Apparently being stoned made her the professor power ranger.
They sat down there for hours, talking and smoking weed, until the sun finally started to go down.
Gemma had been thinking about how if they hadn’t all gotten high, the trauma of the day might have been enough to make them go nuts. Once you transformed, you were a different creature, not yourself. It felt to her like it had all been a dream. That it was not real. She pushed down the neckline of her shirt and looked at the keyhole-shaped scar left behind on her body after she’d stabbed herself that morning.
All of the injuries she’d incurred were gone, as were all the others’. Her clothes were repaired, as well. She thought about how perfect everything was. Gemma thought about what Doctor Faust had said. About how her Soul was going to Hell. About how she was going to be a keybearer for life. None of the others knew what she did. Such a threat might seem easily dismissable by others, but once you had the superpowers actually on the table, the premise of one actually having a soul seemed far less ridiculous.
What they were all experiencing was living life responsibility-free, but for the one single responsibility of one day eventually dying.
She spotted a regulation size Ping Pong table nearby. She walked over to it and called out, “Hey everybody. Whose game?”
The call for a Ping Pong game sparked an unexpected burst of energy among the group. The room, filled with the nostalgic relics of the original '80s and '90s, transformed into an impromptu game arena. Busby, still recovering from his cannabis-induced haze, eagerly joined Gemma at the table.
Andreaus, who had been lost in thought, contemplating the strange events of the day, decided to give it a shot. Sadler, with his newfound sense of freedom and defiance, shrugged and agreed to play. The four Rangers gathered around the table, each wielding a Ping Pong paddle with a mix of determination and amusement.
Kimberlee, taking on the role of the referee, handed out the rules with a stoner's twist. "Okay, my dudes, here are the rules. If the ball lands in the 'no-weed zone,' that's an automatic point for the other team. Also, whoever scores a point gets to take a rip off the bong. And remember, don't take it too seriously; it's just a game, man."
The game commenced, and the ping-pong ball bounced back and forth with surprising intensity. Gemma, fueled by her competitive spirit, showcased her agility and quick reflexes. Andreaus, with her D&D character precision, managed to surprise everyone with her calculated shots. Busby, still in a blissful daze, swung his paddle with wild enthusiasm. Sadler, trying to shake off the day's heaviness, found solace in the simple joy of the game.
As the game progressed, laughter echoed through the basement, mixing with the vinyl records spinning in the background. The group found solace in the lighthearted distraction, temporarily putting aside the weight of their Ranger responsibilities. The room filled with the sounds of friendly banter, cheers, and the rhythmic thuds of the Ping Pong ball.
For a moment, the strange events of the day seemed to fade away. The basement, once a sanctuary for comic book enthusiasts, transformed into a haven for a group of teenagers navigating the complexities of newfound powers and responsibilities. The camaraderie they shared in that moment was a testament to the resilience of youth and the ability to find joy in the midst of chaos.
As the game continued, the boundaries between Red, Blue, Black, and Yellow Rangers blurred, and they were just teenagers enjoying a game of Ping Pong in a comic shop basement. The basement, a microcosm of their shared experiences and the peculiar challenges they faced, became a space where they could be themselves, even if just for a little while.
Little did they know, this moment of camaraderie would become a cherished memory in the days to come, a beacon of normalcy in the extraordinarily short lives they were destined to lead.
After an intense game of Ping Pong and a haze of laughter, the four Rangers decided it was time to face the reality waiting beyond the comic shop's basement. The clock on the wall indicated it was nearing 10 pm, well past the curfew imposed on the city.
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Despite the lingering effects of their impromptu smoke session, the Rangers gathered their belongings and stumbled into the night, their senses heightened by a mix of adrenaline and THC. The familiar streets, now cast in the dim glow of streetlights, felt both surreal and strangely comforting. At least the fog had finally cleared out.
Gemma, the Red Ranger, led the way with a mischievous grin, navigating the sidewalks with a swagger that came from both the victory at Ping Pong and the effects of the joint she was smoking. Andreaus, the Blue Ranger, walked with a newfound confidence, her mind still processing the day's events. Busby, the Yellow Ranger, staggered slightly, his carefree demeanor intact despite the intoxication. Sadler, the Black Ranger, followed with a mix of amusement and contemplation.
As they meandered through the quiet streets, their laughter echoed in the night, blending with the distant hum of the city. Breaking curfew became a rebellious act, a small act of defiance against the unseen forces that sought to control their lives. The city, bathed in the soft glow of night, seemed to embrace their youthful rebellion, turning ordinary streets into avenues of freedom and camaraderie.
Gemma navigated the darkened streets with a practiced stealth, avoiding the occasional passing cars as she made her way back to the trailer park. The night air was cool, and the moons cast a faint glow over the worn-out gravel road. Gemma's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—anger, frustration, and the lingering effects of the weed heightened her senses.
Arriving at the trailer park, Gemma carefully approached her home, surveying the surroundings to ensure no one noticed her return. She slipped through the shadows, reaching her trailer without drawing any unwanted attention. The flickering light from the TV inside indicated her stepdad, Carl, was probably already well into his nightly drinking routine.
As Gemma entered the trailer, the familiar sounds of Carl's incoherent mutterings reached her ears. She sighed, mentally preparing for the potential confrontation that awaited her–if he fucked with her he’d regret that shit. Moving stealthily through the dimly lit interior, she made her way to her room. At this point she was being courteous to another human being, not fearful of awakening him.
Once inside, Gemma's eyes fell on the hole in the roof that had been bothering her for weeks. Tonight felt like the right time to fix it. She retrieved some tools from a small box tucked under her bed and set to work–it was too bad that her good toolbox was still at work. The rhythmic sounds of hammering echoed through the trailer, disturbing the quietude of the night.
The noise did not go unnoticed by Carl. Stirring from his drunken stupor, he stumbled into Gemma's room, bleary-eyed and irritable.
“What the hell, Gemma? You’re gonna wake up your mother.”
“No, I won’t. She conks out. You know that.”
“You could have a little familial courtesy to not wake me up, either. Even though you hate me.”
“I don’t hate anyone, Carl. I hate everyone. And speaking of courtesy, maybe you could turn off the fucking television to save on electricity. And why don’t you stop drinking, too. That shit is like throwing money down a well. You an author? Didn’t think so. Why you drinking?”
The confrontation escalated quickly, fueled by alcohol-induced rage and Gemma's pent-up frustration. More harsh words were exchanged, and Gemma felt the anger bubbling within her. However, recalling the consequences of transforming in the presence of others, especially in the confines of her small trailer, Gemma hesitated to use her key.
Carl got right up in her face screaming. She pushed him back. He thumped his chest and said, “what’s up?”
Gemma said, “fuck this shit you loser. Prepare to fucking die.” She stabbed herself with the Red Key.
In an instant, Gemma stood in her Ranger suit, the demonic armor a stark contrast to the mundane surroundings of her room. The sudden transformation startled Carl, who took a step back, momentarily forgetting his rage.
She started to swing on him, but he flinched. The look on his pathetic face was one of absolute terror. She saw that he’d pissed his pants. And shit. He was so scared of her now, that the fight was over without a blow thrown.
Gemma leaped through the roof, the trailer collapsing in a cloud of debris behind her, burying her bedroom. The night air rushed around her, and she soared into the darkness, leaving the suffocating environment of her troubled home far below.
Andreaus bid farewell to Gemma, her fellow ranger, as they reached the diverging paths of the trailer park. Making her way home, Andreaus was welcomed by the warmth of her parents' joy upon her arrival. Her father shared news of the canceled game, a detail that seemed trivial compared to the extraordinary events that unfolded throughout the day. When questioned about Busby and Sadler, Andreaus reassured her parents of their well-being, concealing the newfound reality of their ranger identities. Glancing into the mirror, she caught a glimpse of the permanent scar on her forehead, a keyhole-shaped mark left by the transformative process. Grateful that her parents hadn't yet noticed the peculiar mark, Andreaus contemplated the challenges and secrets that lay beneath the surface of her seemingly ordinary life.
It took hours for Sadler to walk home. It was morning by the time he came off the walking trails near to his house, and crossed their side yard. Sadler's return home was met with a locked door, a physical barrier symbolic of the emotional distance that had grown within his family. As he stood outside, he observed his family sharing a meal, an ordinary scene that felt like an alien landscape to him. Approaching the back patio, he longed for connection, but his father's command to ignore him cut deeper than any physical door.
Feeling the weight of isolation, Sadler wandered off into the night, seeking solace in the transformative power of the key. With a determined resolve, he stabbed himself once more, triggering the metamorphosis into the enigmatic Ranger. The cloak of anonymity granted by the suit allowed him to navigate the world unseen, and the night held the promise of undiscovered paths and hidden destinies.
Busby, grappling with a tumultuous mix of emotions and uncertainties, found himself drawn once more to the familiar surroundings outside Misty's house. The night air carried a sense of both familiarity and estrangement, mirroring the complexities of his feelings. Standing in the shadows, he pondered the events that had unfolded and the newfound responsibilities thrust upon him. The key in his possession felt both like a burden and a source of untapped power. As he lingered in the darkness, contemplating his next move, the subtle rustle of leaves overhead seemed to whisper secrets only the night could comprehend.
Within the celestial sanctum of the Powers Angel, suspended above Mars like a harbinger of divine wrath, the atmosphere was somber and ominous. The celestial courtroom was a cavernous chamber, adorned with esoteric symbols that seemed to pulsate with an eerie glow. The luminescent pool at the center emitted a cold, otherworldly radiance, casting elongated shadows that danced on the walls.
In the center of the chamber, Doctor Faust, shackled by chains of energy, stood defiant. The interrogators, beings of shadowed luminosity, circled him with an air of sinister deliberation. At the forefront, Seraphel, the Archangel of Judgment, emerged with an aura of malevolence – clad in armor that seemed forged from the very heavens itself. Dark wings unfurled, eclipsing the feeble celestial lights, and Seraphel's eyes glowed with a malevolent intensity.
"Faust, once a keeper of cosmic balance, now a wretched apostate," Seraphel intoned with a voice that resonated like distant thunder. The celestial symbols on the walls seemed to writhe in response, creating an unsettling tableau. "You dare defy the celestial order. Speak, for your reckoning approaches."
The interrogators, shrouded in veils of nebulous darkness, posed their inquiries in a dissonant chorus. Seraphel's gaze penetrated Faust's soul, extracting the wickedness that lingered within. "Why betray the divine design? What compelled you to consort with the infernal forces?"
Faust, his voice a venomous whisper, responded, "I reject your feeble order, and my allegiance lies with the true master—Satan. The celestial hierarchy is but a facade, a mockery of cosmic truth. My rebellion serves a purpose beyond your feeble comprehension."
Accusations of terror and the unleashing of the Fuingers were met with a sinister amusement. Faust reveled in the cosmic discord he had sown, relishing the chaos that echoed through both realms. His laughter’s echo filled the grand hall. The shadows in the chamber seemed to writhe in response to Faust's malevolent pride.
However, as the interrogation plunged deeper into the factrs, a revelation unfolded that sent a shiver through the very fabric of celestial existence. Another interrogator, a spectral entity with hollow eyes, cried out in a haunting wail, "His keys, they are not here!"
The revelation cast a pall over the celestial sanctum, and the ethereal chains that bound Faust seemed to tighten with a spectral grip that resonated with the archangel’s own fury. Seraphel's countenance darkened, and with a voice laden with ominous foreboding, the archangel declared, "Faust, your transgressions have unleashed an unforeseen darkness. What have you set into motion with those infernal keys?"
Misty's mother opened the door, her expression a mix of concern and wariness. Busby stood there, looking disheveled and stoned, with his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He managed to utter a nervous greeting, "Hey, Mrs. Evans, is Misty okay?"
Busby burped up a vast cloud of pot smoke.
Concern etched on her face, Mrs. Evans eyed Busby suspiciously, but the sincerity in his voice prompted her to invite him inside. "Come in, Busby, but you better explain yourself. The curfew's in effect, and it's not safe out there."
Busby entered the living room, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. Misty's mom motioned for him to take a seat, and as he settled in, she added, "I'll call your parents, let them know you're here."
Misty, intrigued by the unexpected visit, appeared in the doorway, eyeing Busby with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "What's up, Buzz? You look really stoned right now."
Busby, feeling the effects of the high intensify, blurted out, "Misty, you won't believe what happened today. Angels, keys, and superpowers. We're like superheroes, and Gemma, Andreaus, and Sadler—they've got these keys too."
Misty exchanged a puzzled glance with her mother before leaning in closer to Busby. "Superheroes? Seriously? Are you messing with me?" Misty nodded to her mother that things were going to be okay, and the woman left the room to go make the phone call.
Busby and Misty had shared a childhood inseparable as best friends, exploring the wonders of their small town and navigating the challenges of adolescence together. However, as the duo transitioned into their teenage years, an unspoken tension began to weave through their friendship. Busby, grappling with emotions he struggled to articulate, confessed that his feelings for Misty had evolved beyond friendship into something deeper, something akin to love. Misty, raised in a household where the nuances of such emotions were seldom discussed, found herself caught in an emotional labyrinth. The once carefree days of their childhood became tinged with an unspoken complexity, leaving their friendship teetering on the edge of something more profound. The secrets they harbored and the unsaid words lingered in the air, altering the dynamics of their connection in ways neither of them fully comprehended.
Busby, in his elevated state, decided to prove his bizarre tale. He fumbled in his pocket, producing a distinctive blue key. Misty examined it skeptically, her eyes narrowing in disbelief.
“This does what, now?”
“It turns you into a superhero. At least it did for me.”
"You want more proof?" Busby chuckled, the absurdity of the situation hitting him. He pulled out a second key, this one tinted in a soft pink sheen. "Check this out, Misty."
Misty's skepticism gave way to a mix of laughter and fascination. She took the keys in her hands, turning them over, and studied the intricate designs. "Okay, Buzz, you win the award for the craziest story. But these keys are cool."