First, a congratulations to the winners!
Wandering: Matthias Yengko, Mackenzie "Mac" Grant, Orlando Doughtery
Good: Rush Spectrum, Hitomi Kuramaki, Angel Banderas, Brenna Moretti (originally Elena "Ellie" Costa), Val Ronan
Negative: Simon Graywolf, Moira De Lancie, Steven Schneider, Ophelia van Dyck, Proteus Ronan
There were others I liked, but the main thing that would make or break an OC was the Permission to Kill part of the registery because I intended most of these characters to die, so... yeah. The second category was weapons and the third was Zord.
Now, on with the story!
Power Rangers: Team Troubles
Through the Looking Glass, Part One
REAL WORLD: ÎLE DE LA CITÉ, PARIS, FRANCE
Angel woke up, his sheets soaked in sweat. He immediately snatched up his golden rosary, the metal cold in his hand.
"Sancte Michael Archangele," he began, closing his eyes, "Defende nos in proelio; contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur: tuque, Princeps militiae Caelestis, satanam aliosque spiritus malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute in infernum detrude. Amen."
Angel crossed himself and kissed the hand with the rosary in it. As the Spaniard opened his eyes, he looked over to his alarm clock. 0700 hours. Angel yawned and got out of bed, his feet hitting the cold, stone floor. He pulled out a black button-down shirt and pulled it on, along with some black pants and black shoes. He then took his rosary and slipped it into his pants pocket. After walking down the stone hallway of the building he stayed in, Angel opened the heavy wood door at the end and descended the stairs. At the bottom of the spiral was a monk, who nodded to Angel.
"Buenos dias, Pierre," Angel said to the monk, nodding back.
"Bonjour, Angel," the monk replied, continuing to the stairs.
The Spaniard walked out the door. The streets bustled with Parisians and tourists, each with their own destination. Angel looked around and sighed. He was the only one with black hair in the entire crowd. A few people stared, but he didn't mind.
The Spaniard turned left and walked into Notre Dame. He heard a ringing in his ears, but shook it off. Angel then took his fingers and dipped them into the Holy Water. But, before he could draw them out, he felt a strong tug on his hand and suddenly, he was drug into the water. There was small flash of light and the sound of a drop of water. Then nothing.
REAL WORLD: LAHAINA, MAUI, HAWAII
Matthias Yengko held his crying one-year-old son in his arms as he paced around his small apartment. It wasn't much: a bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. As the young child continued to weep, the Filipino American rocked him gently.
"Shh, Tyler, it's okay," Matthias whispered, trying to stop the tears.
After a few hours of pacing around the small living room floor and bouncing the child gently, Tyler stopped and yawned sleepily. The Filipino American smiled at his child as he began to sing softly and slightly off-key. As Matthias rocked his son in his arms, the Hawaiian native smiled as Tyler drifted into dreamland. Matthias stopped singing and put the one-year-old into his crib. The man then picked up the phone and dialed a number.
"Mom?" Matthias asked into the receiver, keeping his voice down.
"Hello, son," a woman's voice came from the other end, "Is the little one asleep?"
"Yeah, I just put him down for his nap," the Filipino American replied, looking over to his sleeping son.
"Your father is already on his way to the apartment," Matthias's mother replied. "He'll be there in a few minutes."
"Okay," the Filipino American said, "Bye."
Matthias hung up and gathered his towel and things. It was a few days until the competition and he hadn't been training. Sure, he had taken his son to the beach several times to play in the sand and the surf as well as the local pool. However, Matthias knew that he would be swimming for a good half hour and his parents would have to take Tyler home with them. And while Matthias's mom had a way with kids, Tyler didn't fall asleep unless his father was somewhere close.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. Matthias opened the door and let his father in, who nodded and sat on the couch. With a kind smile and a soft "Take care", the Filipino American shut the door quietly and tiptoed down the hall until he got to the stairs. With a quick descent, Matthias reached the ground floor and the exit door.
The Hawaiian native paused as he took in a breath of fresh air, sighing in content. Matthais then began to briskly walk down the street, glad the beach was only a few blocks away. A few others passed him going the other way; the Filipino American waved and offered a friendly "Hi". As Matthias passed a surf shop, he could hear a faint ringing, but he ignored it.
Suddenly, the Filipino tripped and dropped his towel. He fell forward, feeling something slimy wrapped around his waist. The Hawaiian native turned to see a blue-green tentacle stretching out of the surf shop's window. Frantically, Matthias tried to struggle out of its grip. He could feel it reeling him in, the suckers clinging to his skin.
With a scream, Matthias clawed at the ground to no avail. Slowly, but surely, the tentacle dragged the Filipino American man down the sidewalk and into the glass. Matthias screamed as his body was dragging into the window's portal, quickly drowned out as his head disappeared. Then, the area went into unnerving silence.
REAL WORLD: SURBITON, KINGSTON UPON THAMES, LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM
Moira De Lancie walked around her room in the Victorian style of Hillcroft College, the six o'clock sun blinding her. Why did her roommate have to be a morning person? Moira rubbed the sleep out of her dark green eyes. Oh, well. She could always be "taken care of" later. Moira smiled devilishly at the thought, twirling a strand of her curly, black hair with her finger. She certainly wouldn't miss the terrible singing that always woke her up. And it seemed that every time she sang, she stayed longer in the tub. Moira scoffed and rolled her eyes at the thought. There was absolutely no way she was skipping a bath, even if her roommate took an unrealistic amount of time.
The young woman stroked the side of her olive-skinned neck with her right hand as she walked over to the bathroom door, an extremely out-of-tune version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" growing louder with every step. She knocked on the door.
"Are you almost done?" Moira asked in an annoyed tone, examining her fingernails for a moment.
The singing immediately stopped and Moira heard a splashing sound. The heiress looked into the girl's shared mirror, unaware of the ominous ringing noise that started to sound. As she examined her self-acclaimed flawless beauty, a pink hand with two-inch long fingernails reached out and seized her arm. The Greek woman's eyes widened as the arm drug her to the mirror.
"How dare you grab me!" Moira yelled at the arm, pulling away to resist.
But the hand was strong and didn't let go. Moira yanked away, but the arm held on, still dragging her towards to the mirror.
"Release me at once!" the Greek woman shrieked, tired from trying to free herself.
Moira felt the hand pull her, a weird sensation felt throughout her body as she was pulled through the mirror. The door to the bathroom opened, revealing a Caucasian woman in a bathrobe with her hair in a towel. She looked to her left, then to her right.
"Moira?" she asked quietly. With a shrug, she walked back into the bathroom and closed the door.
REAL WORLD: MOUNT AYLIFF, EASTERN CAPE, SOUTH AFRICA
Val Ronan groaned as he sorted through the application papers that were scattered around an otherwise organized desk. Why did Proteus have to do this every time he left the room? Val took a deep breath and sighed contently as he finished, three neat stacks of papers. As he searched for his pencils, the younger brother walked into the room and let down his dreads from its ponytail.
"Did you like the surprise I left for you, brother?" Proteus asked in Afrikaans, a big grin on his face.
Val said nothing, making sure his pencils were in a straight line.
"You didn't like it?" Proteus assumed, his face becoming more solemn.
Val let out a groan of annoyance, taking an application from the middle pile and drawing a pencil from the right of the line. As the elder began to work, Proteus looked to the three piles and grin to himself mischievously. Sensing something was wrong, Val looked over to Proteus, and, seeing his expression, shook his head.
"Proteus..." Val began in a stern voice, but it did no good. Proteus grabbed the three piles of papers and threw them into the air.
Val gaped as his forms fluttered through the room, Proteus's impish grin transforming into a smirk as he took a swooping bow.
"My... my papers!" Val exclaimed, feeling his anger boil up.
"Or, in this case, confetti!" Proteus joked, letting out a hearty laugh.
Val slammed his hands on the desk. "Why you..."
Proteus looked at his older brother, his eyes comically wide. "I believe I must bid you a fond adieu, brother."
And with that, the younger brother high-tailed it out of there.
"Oh no, you don't!" Val shouted, running out of his room, kicking up his papers in the process.
The older brother looked down the corridor of the family's trailer, noticing Proteus wasn't there. However, it was the fact that Val could no longer hear his brother running through the mobile home that unnerved him. The older brother stopped at the entrance of the hallway next to a tall mirror and looked around. Something was wrong here.
Suddenly, Val heard a faint ringing accompanied by a noise like that of a hoof hitting the carpet. The young man looked over to see a coppery-brown donkey-like creature with two horns that didn't quite line up. Val noted the right one was rather pointy and jutted forward while the second looped back, much like a ram. Before the South African could say anything, the creature walked over and nudged Val into the mirror with its muzzle, walking in behind him.
REAL WORLD: FOREST HEATH, SUFFOLK, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM
Orlando Doughtery walked into the fancy restaurant, the faint chandelier light creating a romantic atmosphere when combined with the somber background music. The tanned man looked around for a brief moment before noticing the hostess, straightening his navy blue blazer and tie, and walking over. Though the hostess was a bit taller than him, Orlando knew that this would go off without a hitch. He straightened his short, brown hair and cleared his throat to catch the blond woman's attention.
"Can I help you?" the hostess asked, her Lancashire accent showing.
"Yes," Orlando replied in a Posh accent that covered his Suffolk accent, "I am with the Department of Health."
The short man pulled a card out of his blazer pocket, but before the hostess could get a good look at it, he pulled it away and returned it to its place.
"Please guide me to the kitchen," Orlando requested with a stern expression on his face.
The hostess nodded and motioned to a waitress, a brunette a little taller than her.
The brunette come over and said in a Yorkshire accent, "Yes?"
"Mister..." the hostess began and let out a scoff, "Pardon my rudeness, sir. I forgot to ask your name."
Orlando chuckled pleasantly as tried to think of a highly unrealistic name. "Oh, it's no trouble, no trouble at all. My name is Zid-Hear, Edward Zid-Hear. But you may call me 'Ed'."
The two women exchanged a skeptical look, but the shorter man knew how to sell the charade.
"My father was German," Orlando added with a smile.
The two women simultaneously let out a long "oh" as Orlando thought to himself, Are they really that stupid?
"Well, uh, Mister Ed Zid-Hear," the hostess started again, "Heather here will show you to the kitchen."
The waitress inclined her head upon her name being said and gave a warm smile. Orlando nodded and made a gesture that said "lead the way". Heather tittered nervously and began walking towards the kitchen. The short man straightened his blazer and tie and followed the waitress to the back. The kitchen, unlike the restaurant, was bustling with the noises of ovens opening and closing, oil bubbling, pans clanking, fire billowing out for a few moments and a few other things Orlando couldn't identify. The British man clapped his hands together and wrung them briefly before walking over to the metal door of a meat locker.
"So, tell me what you keep in here," Orlando said loudly as a chubby chef that was slightly taller than him approached.
"Ah, in there's where we keep the meat," the chef replied in a thick Liverpool accent.
"Perfect!" Orlando shouted, startling the restaurant employee.
The shorter man opened the door and wave of chilling fog drifting out. "Follow me please."
The chef obeyed and the two entered the meat locker. Orlando looked around, noting the big slabs of meat hanging from hooks. He pretend to examine each slab, an occasional "um-hm" coming from the shorter man. Orlando then saw a really big carcass and his brain hatched an idea for a prank. He looked at the meat, letting out a disapproving "um" every so often before clicking his tongue in disappointment.
"This," Orlando said, pointing at the meat, "Has got to go. I can not believe you would serve meat of that quality to your costumers!"
"Uh, right," the chef agreed with a cautious nod.
The chubby man reached up, unhooked the meat from the rack and held it in his arms. He began to leave, but Orlando stopped him quickly.
"If that was a sub-par piece of meat, there's bound to be more bad meat in here," the short man reasoned, pacing around and saw another huge chunk of meat.
Pointing to it, Orlando shouted, "Like that one!"
Eyes darting around, the short man eyed another and pointed to it as well. "And that one!"
Before long, the chef was weighed down with pieces of meat to the point where he could barely move. Orlando struggled with keeping a serious face for a few moments, took a few deep breaths, and walked towards the exit.
The chef let a strained "Help" before falling flat on his back with a thud. Two chef's assistants who had been taking a bathroom break rushed in to help their superior as Orlando walked up to a younger chef stirring a soup pot.
"May I?" Orlando asked, looking at the pot's exterior to make it look like he was checking for sanitary cooking habits.
The younger chef nodded, the back of his hair net bobbing a little. As he backed away, Orlando began to hear a faint ringing noise. The short man stopped and looked around the kitchen for a phone, but didn't find one. Orlando searched for a cellphone ringing among the workers by quickly walking around the kitchen, but couldn't locate the source of the ringing. Not even on the obvious choice, a scrappy teenage boy mopping the floor, was the culprit. Orlando looked down perplexed. Was he going insane? His fear intensified as he focused on the floor; in the water was a purple turtle-like monster staring at him. Orlando jumped back and let out a yelp of surprise. The younger chef that had been attending to the soup tapped the short man on the shoulder.
"Sir, are you okay?" he asked, his Wiltshire accent sticking out a little.
Orlando panted for a while, eyes wide. "Y-yes. Could you please direct me to the bathroom?"
A few of the kitchen staff pointed to an employee bathroom a few meters away from the shorter man. Without a second thought, Orlando barged into it, slammed the door shut, started to wash his face, and looked into the mirror. This didn't help at all; replacing his reflection was the purple turtle monster. A pair of webbed claws reached out and seize Orlando by the shoulders, pulling him into the mirror. As the silence grew in the empty bathroom, suddenly there was a knock on the door.
"Mr. Zid-Hear? Mr. Zid-Hear?"
REAL WORLD: OUTSKIRTS OF SWANTON, VERMONT
Simon Graywolf checked his watch, the glowing face illuminating his tan skin. 1:00 A.M. A perfect time for Simon to test his new night vision scope. The Native American pulled out his M1A rifle from its carrying case and attached the piece to the firearm. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, Simon pulled out the rifle ammunition and loaded the magazine. Placing the piece back into the gun, Simon leveled the gun and put his eye up to the scope.
Through it he eyed one of the cans he had set up for target practice. The Native American took off the safety and squeezed pulled the trigger. The shot brushed the left edge of the can, causing it to spin in place. Simon let out an exasperated sighed, adjusted the scope to the right just a bit. But, as Simon took aim, a police officer ran up. Seeing Simon with his gun, he pulled his pistol from its holster and leveled it at Simon.
"Hey!" the officer yelled authoritatively, "Put the gun down and put your hands up!"
Simon chuckled to himself, not looking down from his scope. "If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now."
The officer inched closer. "Sir, there was a noise complaint from a nearby residence. I suggest you put your gun down slowly so we can clear this up. Unless you're a minor, you won't get anything other than a ticket."
Simon swore to himself. He knew he should have brought a suppressor just in case his brothers were wrong. Oh well, there was always Plan B. The Native American lowered his weapon, then retrieved a detonator out of the officer's sight. Quickly, the Native American pressed the button, trigger an explosion a couple of yards to the northwest. The police craned his neck in that direction as Simon smirked and replaced the detonator.
The policeman turned back to Simon, whose face had already changed to shock, pulled the radio on his left shoulder down to his mouth, and started to report the explosion and request back-up. As the policeman twisted towards where the explosion came from, Simon slunk into the woods and, when he was out of the cops hearing range, he broke into a run.
The leaves underneath his feet gave off faint crunching sounds, alerting the policeman that the young man was no longer there. Not having a clear shot, the officer holstered his weapon and chased after the Native American, following a noise of the leaves. However, Simon had hidden behind a large tree near a stream and was chuckling as the police officer chased after a squirrel.
"What an idiot," the Native American said to himself, smiling snidely.
Removing the magazine from his gun, Simon started back towards his house, hearing a faint ringing sound before beginning to cross the creek. However, what was on the other side made him freeze in mid-step. In front of him was a black rabbit about the size of a Labrador Retriever. Around it was a silvery aura, similar to how movies would portray ghosts. Its reddish-pink nose twitched twice as its red eyes focused on Simon.
"Mateguas," the Native American whispered to himself as the rabbit approached the stream.
The creature touched its nose to the water, making the reflective surface of the water ripple. Simon looked at the creek and stepped in, sinking into the water. Mateguas blinked twice before entering the water itself.
MIRROR WORLD: MWSO HEADQUARTERS
Sedtya looked as a sixth screen along the middle row of a seven-by-five grid of televisions changed from red to green. The elf operative looked behind him to two areas with panels. At one panel was a dragon-like female with scarlet scales, green eyes, and ivory fangs, tapping on the keys with her charcoal talons. The other panel was manned by a faded cobalt blue robot with a domed head and a cylindrical body who was twisting controls with structures similar to R2D2's scomp link.
"Okay, we're halfway done," Sedtya informed the two, "Dragana, status report on whatever the Monster Clan are up to."
After a few taps, the dragon woman look down at the screen and replied in a Finnish accent, "Kaiser Monstrous has tightened the guards are the boundaries of the Terrortory. All undercover agents and inside have lost contact. We've got nothing on the Monster Clan."
Sedtya growled in frustration, fighting the urge to punch one of the pearl-colored walls. "We'll work on that once the humans get here. Petrolid, progress report on the inter-travel zones?"
The robot spun his attachments with a soft whir and replied monotonously, "Unfortunately, in order to keep the zones stable as well as attach our transport currents, it'll take quite a while for the humans to reach HQ. That is unless the next half are secured in a timely manner.
Sedtya nodded solemnly. "Ramp up security around the inter-travel zones. There's no telling what monster forces will try to rush us before we can close the inter-travel zones."
Trivia: This chapter was originally going to be much longer and introduce all of the rangers at once.
A few notes to those who were selected. If I didn't get a finisher from you, PM me. Also, I am scrapping the card idea and going for gemstone charms. I will PM you with the revised arsenal for your okay hopefully before the third chapter.
Also, if you wouldn't mind your character being used in a different role, feel free to PM me.