os_prfan
03-20-2009, 04:15 PM
Author's Note: Ugh. Okay, I'm getting tired of breaking my own self-imposed deadlines, and I'm at a bit of a stall right now. I haven't had much time to work on this in the last few weeks, as I have an upcoming audition that I'm busting my ass preparing for. I'm really anxious to get some thoughts on what I've been doing, and I'm hoping that some of you commenting might give me some enthusiasm to get work done when I can, so I'm posting the first 10 pages of the first volume. As I stated in the Pre-Story thread, this iteration will be split up into five volumes, but I'm getting ahead of myself right now. Comments are very welcome, and encouraged. Criticism is as well, but if they aren't presented calmly and with at least a decent amount of articulation, don't expect me to take you seriously. Enjoy.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Power Rangers, nor any pre-existing story elements/characters that come from that series, they belong to whomever owns the rights at present. No disrespect is intended, this is for purely entertainment and non-financial purposes only. Any original characters, as well as the story itself, belong to me, and cannot be reproduced nor posted anywhere else without my permission. This fic is rated 14A for violence and some language. This rating will likely be bumped up to an R later on when the subject matter demands it.
Volume I: The Dragon's Return
Part One
The dry, wind-swept plain painted a barren landscape portrait beneath the bright blue of the mid-morning sky. There was little in the way of breeze to soften the humid air, and even less shade to take refuge beneath. This was of little consequence to the cloaked figure traversing the plain. Extreme temperatures didn't concern him; the training he underwent on his homeworld and its outlying moons saw to it. He was the latest in a long line of mercenaries, and had earned his surname, Nirril, in the same manner those of his race had for generations: taken from his father's dying breath. Patricide was more than a rite of passage for the son, it was the final gift a father could give to his son. The gift of a name.
Nirril's mission was one of retrieval, and as such didn't warrant much in the way of supplies, so he was traveling far lighter than he would under normal circumstances. Brown, loose-fitting pants covered his lower body from waist to the top of his dark boots, while a tanned animal-hide vest adorned his pale-skinned torso, with a cloak dangling freely down his back. A large claymore hung from a sheath on his left hip, within a moment's grasp. A handheld scanner, the only equipment provided to him by his employer, rested in his palm, emitting an occasional high-pitched beep as he moved.
How dare he reduce me to such menial work, he grumbled to himself. Surely my reputation is known. I have the highest percentage of successfully completed contracts of any bounty hunter in the surrounding systems. I deserve better treatment. His musings were interrupted by the scanner, which had begun to beep with increased frequency. Holding it up closer to his face, he tapped a few controls.
He was getting closer.
It took a few more minutes of walking before he reached the coordinates the scanner was feeding him. Closing it, he tucked the device safely in his belt. He could feel the sweat pooling in the ridges lining the back of his cranium, the clothes sticking in bunches to his skin. Sweeping his eyes across the sand, Nirril held out a hand, focusing energy across his outstretched palm. After a few moments, he released the energy, shooting up a vertical geyser of sand where the energy exploded with the ground.
When the dust settled, he was left standing before an empty trench where there had been sand scant moments before. It stretched three or four feet in front of him, and a couple feet deep. The force of his blast had created a steeply-sloped ramp leading down into the trench, which he walked down without any noticeable effort.
The item he had been sent to retrieve was in the wall of sand directly front of him; all that was visible was a corner jutting out the firmly packed wall of sand. Striding up to it, he gripped the corner firmly and gave a sharp tug. The box broke free of its sandy restraint easily, accompanied by a soft rumbling as the opening was swiftly consumed by the collapsing ground.
Coloured a rich burgundy, the box bore no visible hinge or seal, indicating a magical locking mechanism of some sort, as opposed to technological. The only distinguishing feature was a golden lightning bolt emblazoned in the center of what must logically be its lid. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and raised his wrist to his mouth, activating his communications unit.
“Mission accomplished.”
A moment after the link closed, he was engulfed in the glimmering light of a teleportation beam, and was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The students were getting antsy.
There were only five minutes left in the class and their teacher was still going as if the class had just started. The irony was not lost on Doctor Tommy Oliver, the teacher in question. It didn't seem that long ago that he had been sitting where his students were, actively trying to keep himself awake while waiting anxiously for the bell to sound his freedom. A small smile touched the corner of his mouth as the though flitted through his mind, coinciding with the three short bleats ringing out over the intercom speaker, indicating the end of the period.
As his class awakened from their stupor, Tommy spoke: “Am I the only one here who actually remembers a time when the school bell was actually a bell?” His words were met with a smattering of laughter, prompting a soft chuckle to escape from his mouth in response. “I guess that means that's it for today, everyone. Be sure to finish reading over the chapter on carbon dating in your textbooks. We'll go over it on Monday so you're ready for your test next week.” The students filed out of the room, offering a nod of the head or a 'have a good weekend, Doctor O' as they passed. When the crowd cleared, three students remained, slinging their bags over their shoulders as they approached his desk.
Conner McKnight. Kira Ford. Ethan James. Power Rangers.
Tommy took a few steps to the door, closing it firmly. They would only have a few minutes to talk before the next period began; Tommy had the room to himself for class preparation, but the teens weren't so lucky, having classes to make it to. Irrespective of not expecting any visitors, when discussing ranger-related matters, Tommy always found it to be prudent to be wary of eavesdroppers. It was a high school, after all.
“Any rumblings out of Mesogog lately?” Conner asked, fiddling with the shoulder strap of his backpack. It had taken a few weeks, but he finally seemed to be taking his duties as the group's leader seriously, much to Tommy's relief. Both Kira and Ethan had taken to their new responsibilities almost immediately, while Conner had voiced some issues, mostly soccer-related, with his new “job” from the outset. While it had worried Tommy a little initially, it had hardly come as a surprise; doubts came with the territory. They were part of the growing pains of being chosen to be a ranger. He'd seen it with his former comrades, and in himself, which was why he had made an effort to not push the teens too hard, too fast.
“Not really,” Tommy replied to the young red ranger, scratching his temple, “but that doesn't give us an excuse to slack off. He could strike at any moment, and you have to be ready when he does.” The teens nodded in unison as their mentor reached over to his bag. As his fingers made contact with the smooth leather of his bag's outside flap, his body seized, sending him convulsing to the floor.
The teens, driven momentarily to inaction at the sigh of their teacher writing on the floor, rushed forward when their faculties returned, holding him down in an effort to restrain his wildly flailing limbs. The intense burning pain made it difficult for Tommy to fathom what was happening to him, let alone who might be the cause, but he still forced himself to try and set the pain, however unbearable it may be, taking deep breaths as slowly as he could manage. After a half dozen breaths slowed his heart down somewhat, the fog of pain clinging to the forefront of his consciousness abated slightly, offering him a small window of opportunity to regain control of his thrashing limbs. He didn't waste it. While it was true that he had endured remarkable instances of pain at times during his tenure as a ranger, they had generally been concentrated in singular areas of his body: a broken arm, fractured tibia, cracked ribs, and the like. Similar, to a certain degree, but those injuries didn't quite compare to the feeling of his body being set afire.
Aside from restraining their teacher, and recognizing the gradual reduction in ferocity of his thrashing, the teens were at a complete loss for what to do. It wasn't every day someone suddenly went into convulsions in front of a teenager; not to mention the occasional flash of pale green that seemed to tinge Tommy's skin every few seconds, which could hardly be rationalized at this point.
And then it stopped.
Tommy's body ceased its flailing, returning control to him seemingly without reason. He opened his eyes slowly, as if he risked losing control again if his eyelids rose any quicker. He found himself staring into the eyes of his students, their eyes showing equal of amounts of concern and relief.
“Well, that was a hell of a wake-up call,” he said with a groan, shaking his head as he tried to push himself off the ground. With the help of the teens, he managed to rise to his feet and prop himself up against his desk, albeit a little more unsteadily than he would have liked.
“Could Mesogog have done this?” Kira asked uncertainly. Placing his weight on the arm he propping him up, Tommy shook his head.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “He's made it clear he wants to kill me himself. He wouldn't try something so...impersonal. This has to be something else.”
“I've got a bad feeling about this, Doctor O,” Conner said, crossing his arms across his chest. Tommy smiled weakly.
“Trust me, you aren't the only one.” The bell rang again, denoting the start of the new period. “You guys had better get to class. I'll be fine.” The teens hesitated, exchanging glances with each other. “Well? Go on,” Tommy re-iterated. “Who's going to protect the city if the three of you are stuck here in detention? I'm a little too old to do it myself.” The teens laughed and nodded their compliance, moving for the door.
“See you later, Doctor O,” Ethan said, opening the door and leading the other two through it. Tommy nodded his goodbye, slumping onto the edge of his desk as the door closed behind them. Physically, he was fine. When the pain left him, it had gone completely, seemingly leaving no trace in its wake. Mentally, however, he was ragged from the exertion of trying to regain control. He let out a sigh, massaging his forehead gently.
Man, and I thought fighting in the old days had been exhausting, he thought to himself. His thought process was interrupted by a soft wailing sound coming from his briefcase. His ears perked up immediately; it was a sound he had hoped he'd never hear.
A sound he wouldn't be hearing unless something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Reaching into his bag, he withdrew his cell phone, the source of the sound. On the surface, it appeared to be an ordinary one-piece cell phone; roughly the dimensions of your average MP3 player, albeit thicker. Holding it firmly, one hand gripping front and the other back, he pulled the two halves apart, encountering no resistance from the device. Lightly flipping the front half over, he placed both halves down on his desk. Sliding his hand into the case again, he withdrew a rectangular base the same thickness as one of the halves, with a pair of power connectors spaced evenly on its top. Placing it on the desk just below the two halves of his phone, he brought the three disparate pieces of technology together, aligning the twin connectors to the associated port in the bottom of each half of the phone that quite obviously wasn't just a phone. When fully assembled, the newly whole touchscreen LCD display burst to life, almost immediately showing Tommy a full diagnostic readout of his lab's power systems, as well as the status of the teens' armor, weapons and vehicles.
In the upper left-hand corner of the display, a small stylized lightning bolt was flashing red, causing Tommy's heart to leap into his throat. That's impossible. I didn't discuss where I hid it with anyone but Zordon. A chill crept down his spine as the next logical thought entered his mind. Someone's going after the armor. He tried to ignore the growing sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he tapped a control on the screen, bringing up an audio/video link module.
Using the on-screen keypad, he swiftly inputted the longitude, latitude and communications frequency of his intended target. It took a few moments for the handset to connect to the high school's wifi network, and another minute afterward to initiate the cross-country connection. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have risked using a non-secure network to have such an important conversation, but as easy as they were to crack, the threat beginning to brew didn't offer him much in the way of choice. When the link was finally established, Tommy was left staring at a balding, stern-looking gentleman in a white collared shirt.
“How did you get this frequency?” the man asked, his eyes just barely peeking out through the narrow slit his eyelids allowed.
“It doesn't matter. Put me through to the head of the Strategic Defense Bureau's training program,” he said quickly.
“I'm afraid communications on this frequency are restricted to government personnel only.”
Tommy sighed impatiently, massaging his temple. I really don't have time to put up with a mindless bureaucrat. Instead of saying that aloud, he said, “Security code Zeo-Five-One-Two-Eight-Zero.” the man on the other end of the link seemed taken aback by Tommy's sudden declaration of security clearance, attempting to mask it with condescension.
“Sir, attempting to provide me a false security clearance code is a federal--”
“I do not have time for your bullshit right now,” Tommy interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Either do as I ask or I'll take it up with your superior. Input the god damn code.” Irritation flashed through the man's gaze -- this was not a man who was used to being interrupted by someone who appeared to be a civilian, let alone being ordered by one – but the mention of his superior spurred him into action.
“One moment please,” he stated stiffly. He entered the code into his terminal, watching a small blue progress bar as the system strove to compare it with those found in the Bureau's central database, not expecting a match to present itself.
After 10 seconds of searching, his monitor flashed with the words “MATCH FOUND”, followed by a digital copy of tommy's dossier and credentials. The top of the screen was bordered with the words “FULL CLEARANCE”. Swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat, his eyes drifted back to Tommy, who wasn't enjoying being kept waiting. The man's mouth dropped open, but no words escaped. He was suddenly a child in the principal's office again.
“I-I'm sorr--” the man stammered. Tommy groaned and raised his hand, indicating the man should stop before he started.
“That's quite enough,” he said. “You didn't know. Just put me through like I asked, please.” The man nodded quickly, lending him the appearance of a bobblehead for a brief moment.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Tommy rolled his eyes as the screen went dark, indicating he was being connected. Yeah, now he decides to be helpful.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The office Tommy's call was transferred to was sparsely furnished, even by government standards. The only furnishings were a heavy oak desk, leather desk chair, desktop PC and desk lamp. A dark grey safe, roughly a square foot in surface area, stuck out of the wall behind the desk, in stark contrast to the almost clinical-looking walls and tiled floor. Its occupant was seated in the chair, sifting through a veritable mountain of paperwork. New applications, efficiency reports, evaluation results...the mounds of paper were never-ending. For every pile finished, another was always waiting to take its place, yet it didn't seem to bother him. In his mind, it was a necessary evil when compared to what he was trying to accomplish.
He was mildly startled when his PC monitor informed him of an incoming transmission; he hadn't been expecting any more until the following day, and didn't have another budget meeting until the following week. Putting his pen down, he ran a hand through his closely cropped black hair, scratching the nape of his neck thoughtfully. With his free hand, he moved his mouse to accept the teleconference. He was greeted by a face from the past.
“Tommy?” he asked uncertainly. On the other end of the window, Tommy nodded in greeting.
“Hey.”
“Uh, hi,” the office's occupant replied. “Do you mind telling me how you managed to not only track me down, but communicate with me on a classified government channel?” Tommy chuckled softly.
“Come on, bro. Who do you think recommended you for that job?” he asked.
“I should have known,” came the reply. “From the start, this job reeked of one of your schemes.”
“You complaining?”
“Of course not, I'm actually enjoying what I'm doing, but now it makes sense how they were able to track me down. You pointed them in my direction.”
“That's right,” Tommy replied with a nod.
“So to what do I owe the privilege of your ugly mug on my computer screen?”
“Now's not the time to be joking around, Jason. We've got problems.” Tommy's words immediately drove the humour from the former red ranger's voice.
“How big?” Jason asked.
“Big,” Tommy replied simply.
“You're going to have to be a little less vague.”
“Alright, then. The destruction of everything. Everywhere. Is that specific enough for you?” Tommy asked. Jason nodded in the affirmative.
“Same old, same old. That's good enough for me. Have you told the others?”
“No,” Tommy replied, shaking his head. “I need you to do that.”
“What?”
“On second thought, I'm going to need you to do me one better. Go get them all and bring them to Angel Grove.”
“I still don't get it. What's stopping you from telling them, and all of them coming on their own?”
“I have a few errands to run beforehand.”
“What could you possibly have that's more pressing than this? Last-minute grocery shopping and a drink at the pub?”
“I thought we agreed that it's not a time for jokes, man,” Tommy retorted, unable to keep the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “Besides, you have resources that I don't.”
“Such as?” Jason asked quizzically.
“Well, the influence to commandeer a military transport aircraft, for one.”
“So I'm a glorified taxi now, am I?” Jason asked, his voice light with amusement.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Tommy replied, chuckling.
“Alright. I'll gather the troops. Where do you want to hook up?”
“Let's say the old high school, at 7 o'clock local time.” Jason glanced down at his watch.
“10 hours. That should be enough time, but that's cutting it awfully close, bro.”
“We can't afford to wait any longer.”
“Good point,” Jason replied with a nod. “See you in 10 hours.”
“Godspeed.” The communication link terminated, leaving Jason staring at a blank screen in grim silence. Pushing himself quickly to his feet, he turned to the safe behind him and began to punch a code into the keypad. He heard the door to his office creak open as he inputted the seventh digit of the nine digit code, the first of three locking mechanisms.
“Prepare for thumb print and retinal identification,” a computerized voice stated, as a square of wall to the safe's immediate right flipped back on itself, revealing a panel bearing a combination retinal/fingerprint scanner.
“Somehow I don't recall that being here when I gave you this office, Jason,” the newcomer said. He was roughly an inch taller than Jason, with long scraggly blond hair and a sharply pointed chin. The simple suit belied his true position. Placing his thumb on the scanner, Jason leaned forward into the retinal camera.
“I had it installed special,” he replied without turning around. He found he always had to fight the urge to flinch and blink while the laser did its work. When it finished, he straightened and turned around. “I'm actually glad you stopped by, Austin. I'm taking a leave of absence, effective immediately.” Austin's mouth opened slightly in surprise at the statement, at the same time that the computerized voice said, “Voice print required.”
“Jason Lee Scott.”
“Voice print confirmed. Access granted.”
“Do you mind telling me where you'll be going?” Austin asked, watching the door to the safe swing open behind his subordinate. Jason turned to the safe, reaching inside.
“To save the world.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It usually is,” Jason replied, pulling a shiny chrome buckle from the safe and slipping it into his back pocket. Reaching in once more, he felt his hand close around a smaller, rectangular metallic object.
“Anything the SDB can do to help?” Austin asked half-seriously, his hands firmly planted on his hips. Jason turned to face him, clipping his red and gold streaked communicator to his left wrist.
“Yeah. I need a plane.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The chamber was bathed in darkness when Nirril entered, carrying the chest securely under one arm. It had taken him longer than he'd originally anticipated to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the command ship after he'd returned from the planet's surface; it didn't sit well with him. He had been told to find his employer, whom he had never met, instead of being told where to go. It seemed like a test to judge his competency, and a skewed one, considering he had not even been given a basic schematic of the ship's interior to work with. It was borderline insulting.
“Lights,” he said aloud, attempting to illuminate the situation. His command went unheeded. Grumbling to himself, he turned to leave when a voice cut through the darkness.
“You have what I sent you for?”
“Draeph?” Nirril asked uncertainly. He heard movement somewhere in front of him, but even with his eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness he couldn't be sure. His hand moved instinctively to the pommel of his sword.
“Repetition of my name does not answer my question, Nirril.” The voice wasn't particularly loud, yet it carried with it an air of power and authority that caused Nirril to flinch unconsciously. “Nor does you reaching for your weapon. Remove your hand or lose it.” Nirril's hand immediately jerked backward as he swallowed hard.
“I have the chest in my hand,” he replied, his composure taking unbearably long to return.
“Good. Place it on the floor before you and retire to the chamber adjacent this one. You'll be paid, and, should you choose to remain, briefed on a further assignment within the hour. If not, you know where the teleport pad is.”
Unable to think of anything to utter in response, Nirril placed the chest gingerly on the floor in front of him and slowly backed out of the chamber. There was silence in the room until the door slid shut behind the mercenary, before the disembodied voice said, “Light.”
Long staggered strips of light flashed to light in the walls and ceiling, revealing the owner of the voice standing next to the spot where Nirril had deposited the box prior to his hasty departure. His skin had the appearance of rough stone, chipped and cracked in ways that seemed natural, and richly onyx in colour. He was an imposing sight, standing a full head taller than Nirril and bearing a strong athletic build. The stone comprising the back of his head jutted out thricely, in diametrically opposing directions. His eyes, a rich amber, shone brightly from the reflected light in unlidded sockets. At present, he was sporting nothing but a pair of slim-fitting training breeches, forming snuggly to rocky skin that could grow no hair.
He held his hand out, palm up, as he levitated the chest off the floor to rest there. It wasn't hard to detect the energy coming from the chest; it emanated strongly enough that probing was unnecessary.
“Lord Draeph,” a voice came in over the communications system.
“Yes, Baraci?” he asked, not bothering to remove his gaze from the chest.
“The surveillance team has intercepted a planet-based communication, sir.”
“Then it appears my precautions were well-founded. Tommy Oliver has discovered the chest's removal.”
“How shall me proceed, my lord?”
“Send a cadre of virebots to his current position. I do not expect them to pose much of a threat to him, but it should provide me ehough time to complete my preparations.”
“Understood.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Look, I know that this is extremely short notice, Principal Randall, but this is an emergency.” A pause. “I still have 45 minutes left in my prep period. That should be enough time to find someone to fill in for the rest of the day.” The sound of air whistling, out of place as it was, caused Tommy to turn around, leaving him face to face with a half-dozen black-clad foot soldiers, their only distinguishing feature being a blue-tinted pentagram in the center of each soldier's chest. They carried an assortment of bladed weapons, all of which gave off a barely-audible hum and faint glow, indicating the weapons were enchanted.
“Just get it done, please. I have things to do,” he said before swiftly hanging up the phone. “Like not getting shish-kabobbed.” The virebots began to creep in, spread out more or less evenly across the width of the room, moving between the desks carefully.
Reaching behind him, Tommy grabbed the metrestick from the metal ledge lining the base of the blackboard. Taking it quickly in both hands, he brought it down hard on his knees, shattering it roughly in two. Slivers of the glossy wood seemed to float briefly in mid-air before falling to the floor at gravity's behest with a clatter. Kind of short, but they'll do, he thought, returning his attention to the virebots just as a word came whistling towards his head. He sidestepped to his right, instinct kicking in as he brought one of his newly formed weapons up to deflect the blow. The wooden weapon rushed up to meet the enchanted blade and was promptly severed, leaving Tommy holding a smoking shard of burnt wood in his hand.
...or not, he grumbled, tossing the useless fragments aside as he moved to avoid the incoming slashes. He leaped forward, cartwheeling between a pair of virebots and just barely avoiding the swipes of their weapons. Coming out of the cartwheel, he flipped forward, aiming to land atop one of the desks as the virebots moved to cut him off. As his feet inched closer to the surface, and his momentum caused him to rotate quicker than he had anticipated, Tommy realized his mistake. This is probably going to hurt, he thought as the soles of his shoes caught the edge of the desk, proving his misjudgment to be accurate. With no real surface to regain his balance on, his equilibrium was non-existent. Instead of landing upright and on his feet the way he had planned, Tommy's forward momentum caused the desk to shoot out from under him, cannoning explosively behind him to smash into an unsuspecting virebot as he landed flat on his stomach.
The pain that shot through his chest and forearms when he crashed heavily to the tiled floor was sharp but brief. It only took him a couple seconds to blink past the stars enough to see the sword whistling through the air hurtling towards his exposed back. He rolled into a front bridge as the sword struck the ground where he had been lying, cracking the tiles adjacent with the impact. Putting his weight onto his hands, Tommy pushed his lower body off the ground and gave the virebot who had just attempted to impale him a kick to the back of the kneecaps. The blow sent it reeling, giving Tommy enough time to push his way to his feet. He didn't waste the opportunity.
He dashed to his desk, sending virebots stumbling to the side with well-placed punches. He swept his cell phone into his case, brushing the leather flap closed and taking the case in-hand in the same motion. Taking the few steps to the door, he gripped the doorknob and shot a look back over his shoulder as the virebots rushed towards him.
“I hate to cut and run, but I have an appointment to keep.” Flinging open the door, he ducked out into the hallway, but after a couple frantic steps, he skidded to a halt, nearly tumbling to the highly-shined hallway floor in the process, upon seeing the dozen virebots creeping towards him with the tall double doors, his only avenue of escape, standing closed behind them. He let out an exasperated sigh.
“Oh, come on,” he seethed, smacking his briefcase against his leg in time with the final stressed syllable for emphasis. “Any chance we can talk about this?” He was answered by the lead virebot hurling a dagger at Tommy's head, which he was instinctively, albeit barely, able to dodge.
“Guess not,” he said as he heard the weapon clatter to the floor behind him. Resigned to his inability to escape, he let his briefcase fall to the floor and was a moment or two from rushing forward to meet the group head-on when a flash of red streaked by him. He ducked down immediately, managing to clap his hands over his ears before the deafeningly high-pitched shriek rippled past him; the shockwave rattled the lockers in their housings on its way to its intended targets. Tommy rose to his feet in time to see Conner standing amidst a bevy of fallen virebots, a cheeky grin plastered across his face; Kira and Ethan stepped forward on either side of Tommy, the former clutching his discarded briefcase in her hands, while the latter turning the discarded dagger over thoughtfully between his fingers.
“Are you okay, Doctor O?” Kira asked, offering the briefcase to her teacher. Tommy accepted it with a smile.
“I'm fine, Kira, thanks.” He turned his gaze to Conner, who was trotting over to them. “You guys handled that quickly and efficiently. Well done.” He stole a glance at his watch; luckily, the encounter hadn't eaten up as much time as he had feared. There was still time enough for his pit stop before heading to Angel Grove. Nodding once to himself, he returned his gaze to his students. “You three need to get back to class, and get rid of that thing,” he said, gesturing at the dagger in Ethan's hands. “You'll be in for some uncomfortable questions if you're caught with that on you.” The teens nodded in unison. “Head to Cyberspace after school and wait for me to contact you. It's important.”
Without waiting for them to answer, Tommy turned and jogged down the hallway, which was now cleared of corpses, the virebots having been reduced to dust upon their demise, towards the exit, leaving the teens exchanging worried looks.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Power Rangers, nor any pre-existing story elements/characters that come from that series, they belong to whomever owns the rights at present. No disrespect is intended, this is for purely entertainment and non-financial purposes only. Any original characters, as well as the story itself, belong to me, and cannot be reproduced nor posted anywhere else without my permission. This fic is rated 14A for violence and some language. This rating will likely be bumped up to an R later on when the subject matter demands it.
Volume I: The Dragon's Return
Part One
The dry, wind-swept plain painted a barren landscape portrait beneath the bright blue of the mid-morning sky. There was little in the way of breeze to soften the humid air, and even less shade to take refuge beneath. This was of little consequence to the cloaked figure traversing the plain. Extreme temperatures didn't concern him; the training he underwent on his homeworld and its outlying moons saw to it. He was the latest in a long line of mercenaries, and had earned his surname, Nirril, in the same manner those of his race had for generations: taken from his father's dying breath. Patricide was more than a rite of passage for the son, it was the final gift a father could give to his son. The gift of a name.
Nirril's mission was one of retrieval, and as such didn't warrant much in the way of supplies, so he was traveling far lighter than he would under normal circumstances. Brown, loose-fitting pants covered his lower body from waist to the top of his dark boots, while a tanned animal-hide vest adorned his pale-skinned torso, with a cloak dangling freely down his back. A large claymore hung from a sheath on his left hip, within a moment's grasp. A handheld scanner, the only equipment provided to him by his employer, rested in his palm, emitting an occasional high-pitched beep as he moved.
How dare he reduce me to such menial work, he grumbled to himself. Surely my reputation is known. I have the highest percentage of successfully completed contracts of any bounty hunter in the surrounding systems. I deserve better treatment. His musings were interrupted by the scanner, which had begun to beep with increased frequency. Holding it up closer to his face, he tapped a few controls.
He was getting closer.
It took a few more minutes of walking before he reached the coordinates the scanner was feeding him. Closing it, he tucked the device safely in his belt. He could feel the sweat pooling in the ridges lining the back of his cranium, the clothes sticking in bunches to his skin. Sweeping his eyes across the sand, Nirril held out a hand, focusing energy across his outstretched palm. After a few moments, he released the energy, shooting up a vertical geyser of sand where the energy exploded with the ground.
When the dust settled, he was left standing before an empty trench where there had been sand scant moments before. It stretched three or four feet in front of him, and a couple feet deep. The force of his blast had created a steeply-sloped ramp leading down into the trench, which he walked down without any noticeable effort.
The item he had been sent to retrieve was in the wall of sand directly front of him; all that was visible was a corner jutting out the firmly packed wall of sand. Striding up to it, he gripped the corner firmly and gave a sharp tug. The box broke free of its sandy restraint easily, accompanied by a soft rumbling as the opening was swiftly consumed by the collapsing ground.
Coloured a rich burgundy, the box bore no visible hinge or seal, indicating a magical locking mechanism of some sort, as opposed to technological. The only distinguishing feature was a golden lightning bolt emblazoned in the center of what must logically be its lid. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and raised his wrist to his mouth, activating his communications unit.
“Mission accomplished.”
A moment after the link closed, he was engulfed in the glimmering light of a teleportation beam, and was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The students were getting antsy.
There were only five minutes left in the class and their teacher was still going as if the class had just started. The irony was not lost on Doctor Tommy Oliver, the teacher in question. It didn't seem that long ago that he had been sitting where his students were, actively trying to keep himself awake while waiting anxiously for the bell to sound his freedom. A small smile touched the corner of his mouth as the though flitted through his mind, coinciding with the three short bleats ringing out over the intercom speaker, indicating the end of the period.
As his class awakened from their stupor, Tommy spoke: “Am I the only one here who actually remembers a time when the school bell was actually a bell?” His words were met with a smattering of laughter, prompting a soft chuckle to escape from his mouth in response. “I guess that means that's it for today, everyone. Be sure to finish reading over the chapter on carbon dating in your textbooks. We'll go over it on Monday so you're ready for your test next week.” The students filed out of the room, offering a nod of the head or a 'have a good weekend, Doctor O' as they passed. When the crowd cleared, three students remained, slinging their bags over their shoulders as they approached his desk.
Conner McKnight. Kira Ford. Ethan James. Power Rangers.
Tommy took a few steps to the door, closing it firmly. They would only have a few minutes to talk before the next period began; Tommy had the room to himself for class preparation, but the teens weren't so lucky, having classes to make it to. Irrespective of not expecting any visitors, when discussing ranger-related matters, Tommy always found it to be prudent to be wary of eavesdroppers. It was a high school, after all.
“Any rumblings out of Mesogog lately?” Conner asked, fiddling with the shoulder strap of his backpack. It had taken a few weeks, but he finally seemed to be taking his duties as the group's leader seriously, much to Tommy's relief. Both Kira and Ethan had taken to their new responsibilities almost immediately, while Conner had voiced some issues, mostly soccer-related, with his new “job” from the outset. While it had worried Tommy a little initially, it had hardly come as a surprise; doubts came with the territory. They were part of the growing pains of being chosen to be a ranger. He'd seen it with his former comrades, and in himself, which was why he had made an effort to not push the teens too hard, too fast.
“Not really,” Tommy replied to the young red ranger, scratching his temple, “but that doesn't give us an excuse to slack off. He could strike at any moment, and you have to be ready when he does.” The teens nodded in unison as their mentor reached over to his bag. As his fingers made contact with the smooth leather of his bag's outside flap, his body seized, sending him convulsing to the floor.
The teens, driven momentarily to inaction at the sigh of their teacher writing on the floor, rushed forward when their faculties returned, holding him down in an effort to restrain his wildly flailing limbs. The intense burning pain made it difficult for Tommy to fathom what was happening to him, let alone who might be the cause, but he still forced himself to try and set the pain, however unbearable it may be, taking deep breaths as slowly as he could manage. After a half dozen breaths slowed his heart down somewhat, the fog of pain clinging to the forefront of his consciousness abated slightly, offering him a small window of opportunity to regain control of his thrashing limbs. He didn't waste it. While it was true that he had endured remarkable instances of pain at times during his tenure as a ranger, they had generally been concentrated in singular areas of his body: a broken arm, fractured tibia, cracked ribs, and the like. Similar, to a certain degree, but those injuries didn't quite compare to the feeling of his body being set afire.
Aside from restraining their teacher, and recognizing the gradual reduction in ferocity of his thrashing, the teens were at a complete loss for what to do. It wasn't every day someone suddenly went into convulsions in front of a teenager; not to mention the occasional flash of pale green that seemed to tinge Tommy's skin every few seconds, which could hardly be rationalized at this point.
And then it stopped.
Tommy's body ceased its flailing, returning control to him seemingly without reason. He opened his eyes slowly, as if he risked losing control again if his eyelids rose any quicker. He found himself staring into the eyes of his students, their eyes showing equal of amounts of concern and relief.
“Well, that was a hell of a wake-up call,” he said with a groan, shaking his head as he tried to push himself off the ground. With the help of the teens, he managed to rise to his feet and prop himself up against his desk, albeit a little more unsteadily than he would have liked.
“Could Mesogog have done this?” Kira asked uncertainly. Placing his weight on the arm he propping him up, Tommy shook his head.
“I doubt it,” he replied. “He's made it clear he wants to kill me himself. He wouldn't try something so...impersonal. This has to be something else.”
“I've got a bad feeling about this, Doctor O,” Conner said, crossing his arms across his chest. Tommy smiled weakly.
“Trust me, you aren't the only one.” The bell rang again, denoting the start of the new period. “You guys had better get to class. I'll be fine.” The teens hesitated, exchanging glances with each other. “Well? Go on,” Tommy re-iterated. “Who's going to protect the city if the three of you are stuck here in detention? I'm a little too old to do it myself.” The teens laughed and nodded their compliance, moving for the door.
“See you later, Doctor O,” Ethan said, opening the door and leading the other two through it. Tommy nodded his goodbye, slumping onto the edge of his desk as the door closed behind them. Physically, he was fine. When the pain left him, it had gone completely, seemingly leaving no trace in its wake. Mentally, however, he was ragged from the exertion of trying to regain control. He let out a sigh, massaging his forehead gently.
Man, and I thought fighting in the old days had been exhausting, he thought to himself. His thought process was interrupted by a soft wailing sound coming from his briefcase. His ears perked up immediately; it was a sound he had hoped he'd never hear.
A sound he wouldn't be hearing unless something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Reaching into his bag, he withdrew his cell phone, the source of the sound. On the surface, it appeared to be an ordinary one-piece cell phone; roughly the dimensions of your average MP3 player, albeit thicker. Holding it firmly, one hand gripping front and the other back, he pulled the two halves apart, encountering no resistance from the device. Lightly flipping the front half over, he placed both halves down on his desk. Sliding his hand into the case again, he withdrew a rectangular base the same thickness as one of the halves, with a pair of power connectors spaced evenly on its top. Placing it on the desk just below the two halves of his phone, he brought the three disparate pieces of technology together, aligning the twin connectors to the associated port in the bottom of each half of the phone that quite obviously wasn't just a phone. When fully assembled, the newly whole touchscreen LCD display burst to life, almost immediately showing Tommy a full diagnostic readout of his lab's power systems, as well as the status of the teens' armor, weapons and vehicles.
In the upper left-hand corner of the display, a small stylized lightning bolt was flashing red, causing Tommy's heart to leap into his throat. That's impossible. I didn't discuss where I hid it with anyone but Zordon. A chill crept down his spine as the next logical thought entered his mind. Someone's going after the armor. He tried to ignore the growing sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he tapped a control on the screen, bringing up an audio/video link module.
Using the on-screen keypad, he swiftly inputted the longitude, latitude and communications frequency of his intended target. It took a few moments for the handset to connect to the high school's wifi network, and another minute afterward to initiate the cross-country connection. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have risked using a non-secure network to have such an important conversation, but as easy as they were to crack, the threat beginning to brew didn't offer him much in the way of choice. When the link was finally established, Tommy was left staring at a balding, stern-looking gentleman in a white collared shirt.
“How did you get this frequency?” the man asked, his eyes just barely peeking out through the narrow slit his eyelids allowed.
“It doesn't matter. Put me through to the head of the Strategic Defense Bureau's training program,” he said quickly.
“I'm afraid communications on this frequency are restricted to government personnel only.”
Tommy sighed impatiently, massaging his temple. I really don't have time to put up with a mindless bureaucrat. Instead of saying that aloud, he said, “Security code Zeo-Five-One-Two-Eight-Zero.” the man on the other end of the link seemed taken aback by Tommy's sudden declaration of security clearance, attempting to mask it with condescension.
“Sir, attempting to provide me a false security clearance code is a federal--”
“I do not have time for your bullshit right now,” Tommy interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Either do as I ask or I'll take it up with your superior. Input the god damn code.” Irritation flashed through the man's gaze -- this was not a man who was used to being interrupted by someone who appeared to be a civilian, let alone being ordered by one – but the mention of his superior spurred him into action.
“One moment please,” he stated stiffly. He entered the code into his terminal, watching a small blue progress bar as the system strove to compare it with those found in the Bureau's central database, not expecting a match to present itself.
After 10 seconds of searching, his monitor flashed with the words “MATCH FOUND”, followed by a digital copy of tommy's dossier and credentials. The top of the screen was bordered with the words “FULL CLEARANCE”. Swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat, his eyes drifted back to Tommy, who wasn't enjoying being kept waiting. The man's mouth dropped open, but no words escaped. He was suddenly a child in the principal's office again.
“I-I'm sorr--” the man stammered. Tommy groaned and raised his hand, indicating the man should stop before he started.
“That's quite enough,” he said. “You didn't know. Just put me through like I asked, please.” The man nodded quickly, lending him the appearance of a bobblehead for a brief moment.
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Tommy rolled his eyes as the screen went dark, indicating he was being connected. Yeah, now he decides to be helpful.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The office Tommy's call was transferred to was sparsely furnished, even by government standards. The only furnishings were a heavy oak desk, leather desk chair, desktop PC and desk lamp. A dark grey safe, roughly a square foot in surface area, stuck out of the wall behind the desk, in stark contrast to the almost clinical-looking walls and tiled floor. Its occupant was seated in the chair, sifting through a veritable mountain of paperwork. New applications, efficiency reports, evaluation results...the mounds of paper were never-ending. For every pile finished, another was always waiting to take its place, yet it didn't seem to bother him. In his mind, it was a necessary evil when compared to what he was trying to accomplish.
He was mildly startled when his PC monitor informed him of an incoming transmission; he hadn't been expecting any more until the following day, and didn't have another budget meeting until the following week. Putting his pen down, he ran a hand through his closely cropped black hair, scratching the nape of his neck thoughtfully. With his free hand, he moved his mouse to accept the teleconference. He was greeted by a face from the past.
“Tommy?” he asked uncertainly. On the other end of the window, Tommy nodded in greeting.
“Hey.”
“Uh, hi,” the office's occupant replied. “Do you mind telling me how you managed to not only track me down, but communicate with me on a classified government channel?” Tommy chuckled softly.
“Come on, bro. Who do you think recommended you for that job?” he asked.
“I should have known,” came the reply. “From the start, this job reeked of one of your schemes.”
“You complaining?”
“Of course not, I'm actually enjoying what I'm doing, but now it makes sense how they were able to track me down. You pointed them in my direction.”
“That's right,” Tommy replied with a nod.
“So to what do I owe the privilege of your ugly mug on my computer screen?”
“Now's not the time to be joking around, Jason. We've got problems.” Tommy's words immediately drove the humour from the former red ranger's voice.
“How big?” Jason asked.
“Big,” Tommy replied simply.
“You're going to have to be a little less vague.”
“Alright, then. The destruction of everything. Everywhere. Is that specific enough for you?” Tommy asked. Jason nodded in the affirmative.
“Same old, same old. That's good enough for me. Have you told the others?”
“No,” Tommy replied, shaking his head. “I need you to do that.”
“What?”
“On second thought, I'm going to need you to do me one better. Go get them all and bring them to Angel Grove.”
“I still don't get it. What's stopping you from telling them, and all of them coming on their own?”
“I have a few errands to run beforehand.”
“What could you possibly have that's more pressing than this? Last-minute grocery shopping and a drink at the pub?”
“I thought we agreed that it's not a time for jokes, man,” Tommy retorted, unable to keep the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. “Besides, you have resources that I don't.”
“Such as?” Jason asked quizzically.
“Well, the influence to commandeer a military transport aircraft, for one.”
“So I'm a glorified taxi now, am I?” Jason asked, his voice light with amusement.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Tommy replied, chuckling.
“Alright. I'll gather the troops. Where do you want to hook up?”
“Let's say the old high school, at 7 o'clock local time.” Jason glanced down at his watch.
“10 hours. That should be enough time, but that's cutting it awfully close, bro.”
“We can't afford to wait any longer.”
“Good point,” Jason replied with a nod. “See you in 10 hours.”
“Godspeed.” The communication link terminated, leaving Jason staring at a blank screen in grim silence. Pushing himself quickly to his feet, he turned to the safe behind him and began to punch a code into the keypad. He heard the door to his office creak open as he inputted the seventh digit of the nine digit code, the first of three locking mechanisms.
“Prepare for thumb print and retinal identification,” a computerized voice stated, as a square of wall to the safe's immediate right flipped back on itself, revealing a panel bearing a combination retinal/fingerprint scanner.
“Somehow I don't recall that being here when I gave you this office, Jason,” the newcomer said. He was roughly an inch taller than Jason, with long scraggly blond hair and a sharply pointed chin. The simple suit belied his true position. Placing his thumb on the scanner, Jason leaned forward into the retinal camera.
“I had it installed special,” he replied without turning around. He found he always had to fight the urge to flinch and blink while the laser did its work. When it finished, he straightened and turned around. “I'm actually glad you stopped by, Austin. I'm taking a leave of absence, effective immediately.” Austin's mouth opened slightly in surprise at the statement, at the same time that the computerized voice said, “Voice print required.”
“Jason Lee Scott.”
“Voice print confirmed. Access granted.”
“Do you mind telling me where you'll be going?” Austin asked, watching the door to the safe swing open behind his subordinate. Jason turned to the safe, reaching inside.
“To save the world.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It usually is,” Jason replied, pulling a shiny chrome buckle from the safe and slipping it into his back pocket. Reaching in once more, he felt his hand close around a smaller, rectangular metallic object.
“Anything the SDB can do to help?” Austin asked half-seriously, his hands firmly planted on his hips. Jason turned to face him, clipping his red and gold streaked communicator to his left wrist.
“Yeah. I need a plane.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The chamber was bathed in darkness when Nirril entered, carrying the chest securely under one arm. It had taken him longer than he'd originally anticipated to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the command ship after he'd returned from the planet's surface; it didn't sit well with him. He had been told to find his employer, whom he had never met, instead of being told where to go. It seemed like a test to judge his competency, and a skewed one, considering he had not even been given a basic schematic of the ship's interior to work with. It was borderline insulting.
“Lights,” he said aloud, attempting to illuminate the situation. His command went unheeded. Grumbling to himself, he turned to leave when a voice cut through the darkness.
“You have what I sent you for?”
“Draeph?” Nirril asked uncertainly. He heard movement somewhere in front of him, but even with his eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness he couldn't be sure. His hand moved instinctively to the pommel of his sword.
“Repetition of my name does not answer my question, Nirril.” The voice wasn't particularly loud, yet it carried with it an air of power and authority that caused Nirril to flinch unconsciously. “Nor does you reaching for your weapon. Remove your hand or lose it.” Nirril's hand immediately jerked backward as he swallowed hard.
“I have the chest in my hand,” he replied, his composure taking unbearably long to return.
“Good. Place it on the floor before you and retire to the chamber adjacent this one. You'll be paid, and, should you choose to remain, briefed on a further assignment within the hour. If not, you know where the teleport pad is.”
Unable to think of anything to utter in response, Nirril placed the chest gingerly on the floor in front of him and slowly backed out of the chamber. There was silence in the room until the door slid shut behind the mercenary, before the disembodied voice said, “Light.”
Long staggered strips of light flashed to light in the walls and ceiling, revealing the owner of the voice standing next to the spot where Nirril had deposited the box prior to his hasty departure. His skin had the appearance of rough stone, chipped and cracked in ways that seemed natural, and richly onyx in colour. He was an imposing sight, standing a full head taller than Nirril and bearing a strong athletic build. The stone comprising the back of his head jutted out thricely, in diametrically opposing directions. His eyes, a rich amber, shone brightly from the reflected light in unlidded sockets. At present, he was sporting nothing but a pair of slim-fitting training breeches, forming snuggly to rocky skin that could grow no hair.
He held his hand out, palm up, as he levitated the chest off the floor to rest there. It wasn't hard to detect the energy coming from the chest; it emanated strongly enough that probing was unnecessary.
“Lord Draeph,” a voice came in over the communications system.
“Yes, Baraci?” he asked, not bothering to remove his gaze from the chest.
“The surveillance team has intercepted a planet-based communication, sir.”
“Then it appears my precautions were well-founded. Tommy Oliver has discovered the chest's removal.”
“How shall me proceed, my lord?”
“Send a cadre of virebots to his current position. I do not expect them to pose much of a threat to him, but it should provide me ehough time to complete my preparations.”
“Understood.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Look, I know that this is extremely short notice, Principal Randall, but this is an emergency.” A pause. “I still have 45 minutes left in my prep period. That should be enough time to find someone to fill in for the rest of the day.” The sound of air whistling, out of place as it was, caused Tommy to turn around, leaving him face to face with a half-dozen black-clad foot soldiers, their only distinguishing feature being a blue-tinted pentagram in the center of each soldier's chest. They carried an assortment of bladed weapons, all of which gave off a barely-audible hum and faint glow, indicating the weapons were enchanted.
“Just get it done, please. I have things to do,” he said before swiftly hanging up the phone. “Like not getting shish-kabobbed.” The virebots began to creep in, spread out more or less evenly across the width of the room, moving between the desks carefully.
Reaching behind him, Tommy grabbed the metrestick from the metal ledge lining the base of the blackboard. Taking it quickly in both hands, he brought it down hard on his knees, shattering it roughly in two. Slivers of the glossy wood seemed to float briefly in mid-air before falling to the floor at gravity's behest with a clatter. Kind of short, but they'll do, he thought, returning his attention to the virebots just as a word came whistling towards his head. He sidestepped to his right, instinct kicking in as he brought one of his newly formed weapons up to deflect the blow. The wooden weapon rushed up to meet the enchanted blade and was promptly severed, leaving Tommy holding a smoking shard of burnt wood in his hand.
...or not, he grumbled, tossing the useless fragments aside as he moved to avoid the incoming slashes. He leaped forward, cartwheeling between a pair of virebots and just barely avoiding the swipes of their weapons. Coming out of the cartwheel, he flipped forward, aiming to land atop one of the desks as the virebots moved to cut him off. As his feet inched closer to the surface, and his momentum caused him to rotate quicker than he had anticipated, Tommy realized his mistake. This is probably going to hurt, he thought as the soles of his shoes caught the edge of the desk, proving his misjudgment to be accurate. With no real surface to regain his balance on, his equilibrium was non-existent. Instead of landing upright and on his feet the way he had planned, Tommy's forward momentum caused the desk to shoot out from under him, cannoning explosively behind him to smash into an unsuspecting virebot as he landed flat on his stomach.
The pain that shot through his chest and forearms when he crashed heavily to the tiled floor was sharp but brief. It only took him a couple seconds to blink past the stars enough to see the sword whistling through the air hurtling towards his exposed back. He rolled into a front bridge as the sword struck the ground where he had been lying, cracking the tiles adjacent with the impact. Putting his weight onto his hands, Tommy pushed his lower body off the ground and gave the virebot who had just attempted to impale him a kick to the back of the kneecaps. The blow sent it reeling, giving Tommy enough time to push his way to his feet. He didn't waste the opportunity.
He dashed to his desk, sending virebots stumbling to the side with well-placed punches. He swept his cell phone into his case, brushing the leather flap closed and taking the case in-hand in the same motion. Taking the few steps to the door, he gripped the doorknob and shot a look back over his shoulder as the virebots rushed towards him.
“I hate to cut and run, but I have an appointment to keep.” Flinging open the door, he ducked out into the hallway, but after a couple frantic steps, he skidded to a halt, nearly tumbling to the highly-shined hallway floor in the process, upon seeing the dozen virebots creeping towards him with the tall double doors, his only avenue of escape, standing closed behind them. He let out an exasperated sigh.
“Oh, come on,” he seethed, smacking his briefcase against his leg in time with the final stressed syllable for emphasis. “Any chance we can talk about this?” He was answered by the lead virebot hurling a dagger at Tommy's head, which he was instinctively, albeit barely, able to dodge.
“Guess not,” he said as he heard the weapon clatter to the floor behind him. Resigned to his inability to escape, he let his briefcase fall to the floor and was a moment or two from rushing forward to meet the group head-on when a flash of red streaked by him. He ducked down immediately, managing to clap his hands over his ears before the deafeningly high-pitched shriek rippled past him; the shockwave rattled the lockers in their housings on its way to its intended targets. Tommy rose to his feet in time to see Conner standing amidst a bevy of fallen virebots, a cheeky grin plastered across his face; Kira and Ethan stepped forward on either side of Tommy, the former clutching his discarded briefcase in her hands, while the latter turning the discarded dagger over thoughtfully between his fingers.
“Are you okay, Doctor O?” Kira asked, offering the briefcase to her teacher. Tommy accepted it with a smile.
“I'm fine, Kira, thanks.” He turned his gaze to Conner, who was trotting over to them. “You guys handled that quickly and efficiently. Well done.” He stole a glance at his watch; luckily, the encounter hadn't eaten up as much time as he had feared. There was still time enough for his pit stop before heading to Angel Grove. Nodding once to himself, he returned his gaze to his students. “You three need to get back to class, and get rid of that thing,” he said, gesturing at the dagger in Ethan's hands. “You'll be in for some uncomfortable questions if you're caught with that on you.” The teens nodded in unison. “Head to Cyberspace after school and wait for me to contact you. It's important.”
Without waiting for them to answer, Tommy turned and jogged down the hallway, which was now cleared of corpses, the virebots having been reduced to dust upon their demise, towards the exit, leaving the teens exchanging worried looks.