Author's Notes: This is an idea that came to me in the midst of working on 'S.P.D. Premonitions'. While I purposely focused on keeping that fic to the show's actual storyline (as far as all the events that occurred during the series, at any rate), this story is highly AU. I'm taking much of what you know about S.P.D. and throwing it right out the window. All the faces are the same, but there are a lot of changes that may surprise you. I'm not going to totally re-create anyone's personality, but I will say that there will be a few changes here and there.

This story is still in-progress and as of this moment, remains un-betaed. I believe that I caught all the spelling and grammar errors; if you spot one, shoot me a line.

One very important thing of note; I'm rating this story as M. I'll be covering some very dark subjects throughout this fic and it may not be for everyone. I'll give you the warning right now; if you can't handle scenes depicting physical abuse, then don't read any further.

I've gone back over the story and what I've written so far, and I've given it some extra details and a bit more 'polish' if you will. I've discovered that while in the midst of working on smaller scale ficlets that I have a tendency to skimp somewhat on the longer stories; I guess its because I'm so focused on the overall storyline, that the smaller things end up falling to the wayside. Let me know what you think of the changes.

I've also re-titled it to 'Nothing Is Skin Deep'; but I kept the 'A World Turned Upside Down' in the title section so that it could be easily spotted by those of you who have already been following this story. I chose this title because I'll be exploring all the characters a lot more in depth than what the series did – thus going beyond what we see at the surface level. (Plus, I really felt that the previous title was more apt for a bad, cheesy soap opera. Which I'm hoping this story is not

Oh, and as usual; I don't own Power Rangers or the characters, you know the drill.

"We could try to send him to an institution somewhere," a man's voice quietly spoke, almost at a near whisper.

"How would that help at all?" a woman asked in response.

"I didn't say that it would help him; but at least it would keep him locked up where he couldn't hurt any one else."

Sunlight streamed in through the large picture window as the teenage boy stood in the adjacent room; leaning against a wall. About 5'5" with a short mass of unruly brown hair, he didn't have to strain to overhear the conversation. He could hear their thoughts quite clearly.

"But he's never done anything to hurt us…" the woman tried to argue unsuccessfully.

"That we know of," the man's voice cut her off, "How do we know that he hasn't been playing around in our heads; altering our thoughts? No; I think it's for the best this way."

He strode out of the cramped kitchen and into the living room where he spied his son leaning against the far wall. Narrowing his gaze, he glared at the teenager. "And how long have you been there spying on us?"

The young man shook his head slightly. "I don't have to be anywhere in order to spy on other people, at least according to what you think."

An angry, strangled noise came from the older man's throat as he turned towards the woman. "You see? Even now, he's reading our thoughts," he turned back towards the boy, "And you're probably trying to change the way we feel too, I'll bet."

The teenager eased himself away from the wall, taking a step towards the larger form of his father. Standing at 6'2", he was broad-shouldered and fairly well-muscled for a man his age; certainly he was an intimidating figure for a young, scrawny teenager to try to stand up to.

"If I was able to do that, don't you think I'd have you think better of me than what you do now?" he cried out, "Don't you think that instead of having thoughts of sending me away and how much you hate me that I'd try to make you love me instead?"

The boy didn't get any further in his accusations as his father moved forward, rapidly closing the distance between them. As soon as he was in reach, he grabbed the boy by both arms, digging his fingers into the soft flesh as he dragged his son forward.

The teenager winced slightly at the pain emanating from his arms, but looked up defiantly at the older man's face. "Even now, I know that you hate me. I can't help what I am, why can't you just accept that?"

His father growled angrily and briefly let go of his son. Just long enough to backhand him hard enough that he fell heavily against the wall, sliding down along it to land on the floor.

"No!" the woman cried out from behind them both. She quickly raced around the form of her husband and knelt down at the side of her son, starting to reach a hand out towards him.

"No; don't," the boy stated as he swept her hand away with his arm. Even that brief contact told him what she really felt. "I don't want your fake pity," he stared hard at her, "You're just as bad as he is in your own way. I don't know what's worse; having a father who hates you outright or having a mother that acts like she doesn't." With that, he jerked himself away from both of them and ran up the stairs to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Flinging himself onto his bed, he just lay there for a few moments. Though he had buried his head in his arms, it didn't shut out the thoughts that floated up to him from below.

"I told you. He's a danger to everyone around him. He has to go," his father spoke.

The young man didn't need to hear anymore. Getting up, he grabbed the nearest bag he could find and emptied the contents of his schoolwork from his backpack onto the middle of the bed. He glanced briefly at the report card that stared up at him from the top of the pile. Straight A's looked back at him from the stark white piece of paper.

Not that those have ever done me any good, he thought sullenly. Turning towards his dresser, he glanced briefly at his reflection in the large mirror. Already he could see a darkening purple bruise on his right cheek. No more, he thought angrily, they want me gone, then fine; I'll leave on my own. Digging through the drawers, he began to stuff as much clothing as he could into the bag.

When it was near to bursting, he glanced back at the room and the rest of his belongings. Several trophies lined the top of a shelf along one wall; each one touting his accomplishment in science and mechanics. Instead of making him feel proud, they were more like an ugly reminder, another sticking point between him and his parents. Gazing around, he took in the rest of the cramped, but bright room.

There's nothing else here I really want, he thought to himself, I'm not sure any of this was ever mine, anyway. He looked back into his closet, grabbed the light grey and green jacket that hung there and slipped it on. As he stuck his hands in the pockets, he briefly felt that there was something in there and pulled out the contents.

It was a pair of thin leather gloves. A pair that his father had bought for him a few years ago, when he had first begun to learn how to ride a dirt bike. Back when his father used to be proud of him; cared for him. Back before his strange powers had appeared, turning his father's love into fear and hate.

Nearly throwing them back into the closet, he stopped short when he had a sudden idea. Slipping them onto his hands, he closed his eyes and stood quietly for a moment; listening for any stray thoughts.

They were still there, but they were muffled. It was as if he was hearing a conversation through a thick wall. You could hear the voices; but you couldn't make out the words.

He sighed and re-opened his eyes, glancing down at his gloved hands. "I wish I would have thought of that a long time ago," he mumbled to himself.

Collecting the bag, he slung it across his back then strode over to the window to peer down at the rooftop that extended outward along the back porch from beneath his bedroom window. Climbing out, he eased the window back down behind him once he was through. Scurrying across the roof, careful not to make any noise, he slid down the pipe that ran from the edge of the rooftop to the ground below. Walking quickly and quietly through the yard, he hopped over the fence and began to run as fast as his legs could carry him; headed towards the center of the city. He never once looked back.