Ranger Danger: The Sentai Stupidity of Kevin Cwan

The sidewalk felt like a treadmill to nowhere. Kevin Cwan adjusted his necktie—a polyester strip of misery—and let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his entire bank account. His latest job interview had ended not with a handshake, but with a look of profound pity from a woman half his age.

“Seriously?” Kevin muttered to the empty street. “Must be comfortable with dynamic environments? That’s just corporate-speak for ‘We’re going to set you on fire and hope you don't complain about the smoke.’”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, dodging a puddle that looked suspiciously like it contained primordial ooze. He was twenty-four, single, and his most successful long-term relationship was with a specific brand of instant noodles.

Suddenly, the sky didn't look right. It wasn't the usual smog-grey of the city; it was an angry, neon violet.

“Is it supposed to look like Grape Gatorade up there?” he asked a stray cat.

The cat didn't answer. It bolted.

A beam of light, no thicker than a pencil but brighter than a thousand high-beams, lanced down from the stratosphere. It struck Kevin dead-center in the forehead. He didn't feel pain. Instead, he felt like he was being slurped up through a celestial straw.

“Wait! I still have my security deposit!” he yelled, his voice stretching like taffy as the ground vanished.

With a sound like a wet towel hitting a tile floor, Kevin crashed into a metallic surface. He lay there for a moment, smelling ozone and old lemon-scented cleaning supplies.

“I’m dead. Great. I hope heaven has better Wi-Fi than my apartment,” he groaned, rubbing his lower back.

“Get up, Green. You’re late for orientation.”

Kevin blinked his eyes open. He wasn't in heaven. He was in what looked like a cross between a high-tech server room and a basement woodshop. Before him stood a woman clad in an intimidatingly tight yellow tactical suit, her helmet tucked under one arm. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail so tight it looked painful.

“Excuse me?” Kevin scrambled to his feet. “Who are you? Where am I? And why is my forehead humming?”

“I’m Yellow Shin, your team lead,” she said, her voice like a gravel-filled blender. “You’re in the subterranean bunker of the Vanguard Aegis. And your forehead is humming because you’ve been tagged by the cosmic spark.”

Kevin stared at her. Then he looked around the room. In the corner sat an elderly man in a moth-eaten lab coat, holding a wrench and a half-eaten sandwich.

“Uh, lady, I think there’s been a mistake,” Kevin said, holding up his hands. “I’m just an unemployed accountant. Well, partially employed. I do freelance spreadsheets. I am very much not a ‘Green’ anything.”

The old man looked up, squinting through goggles thick enough to be used as aquarium glass. “Ah! Green! You’ve grown taller. Or did you get shorter? No matter. Vandolf’s latest suit iteration is ready for testing!”

“I'm Kevin,” Kevin said firmly. “And I’m leaving. Where’s the exit? Is it that sliding door? I’m going to assume it’s that sliding door.”

Yellow Shin stepped into his path, her boots clanking ominously. “You aren't going anywhere. We’ve lost three Greens this month. The universe didn't pick you for your spreadsheet skills; it picked you because your DNA was the only match within a ten-mile radius that wasn't a pigeon.”

“Three? You lost three?” Kevin’s voice hit a new octave. “What happened to them? Do they get severance packages? What are the benefits here?”

“Death is your severance,” Shin stated flatly. “Now, put on the suit.”

She tossed a bundle of emerald spandex at his chest. Kevin caught it, his nose crinkling at the faint scent of lycra and mothballs.

“You’re joking,” Kevin said. “This is skin-tight. I have zero muscle definition. I look like a stalk of slightly bruised celery in this. I demand to see HR.”

“Look at him, Shin,” Vandolf chuckled, waving his sandwich. “He’s got that look. That look of someone who is about to be recycled into biomass for the generator.”

Kevin froze. “Recycled? I'm sorry, what was that second option?”

“Vandolf gets cranky when we don't have a full team,” Shin explained, her eyes narrowing. “If you don't put the suit on, he’ll toss you into the converter. It’s green energy. Very eco-friendly. You’ll be powering our toaster for the next three weeks.”

“I’ll suit up,” Kevin said immediately. “Is there a changing room? Or am I just... doing this here?”

“Privacy is a luxury for those who don't have a planetary crisis at their doorstep,” Shin said, crossing her arms. “Turn around if you’re shy. I’ve seen enough Green recruits to know the anatomy of a coward.”

Kevin sighed, frantically hopping on one foot as he tried to jam his leg into the suit. “This is a hostile work environment. I'm noting this down. If I survive this, I’m calling the Better Business Bureau.”

“Keep zipping,” Shin commanded.

“It’s stuck!” Kevin hissed, struggling with the zipper near his lower back. “Seriously, who designs these? Why is there no thumb-loop? This is a logistical nightmare!”

“Stop whining,” Vandolf shouted. “In my day, the suits were made of actual chainmail! We had to oil ourselves just to get inside!”

“That sounds like a personal hobby, not a military standard!” Kevin snapped back. Finally, the suit clicked into place, squeezing him so tightly he felt his ribs apologize to his lungs. “There. I look ridiculous. Can I go home now?”

Before Shin could answer, the entire bunker shuddered. A red light began to spin on the ceiling, accompanied by a sound like a dying goose through a megaphone.

“Target confirmed!” Vandolf shouted, surprisingly spry as he ran to a computer console that looked like it ran on Windows 95. “Central district! It’s a Type-2 Domestic Hazard!”

“What’s a Type-2?” Kevin asked, his heart hammering against the spandex.

“It means downtown is being leveled by a giant kitchen appliance,” Shin said, snapping her helmet on. Her voice now echoed with a metallic filter. “Move out, Green!”

“A what? Wait, I haven't had training! I don't know the protocols! Is there a manual?”

Kevin followed her as she marched toward a massive metal platform. He looked down and saw a bottomless pit beneath them.

“There’s no manual for not dying,” Shin said. “Just hit things until they stop moving.”

“Shin, wait!” Vandolf yelled. “Wait! Green hasn't been calibrated!”

“No time!” Shin growled.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Kevin screamed as the platform began to tilt. “Calibrated for what? What am I missing?”

“The transformation sequence!” Vandolf called out, his voice fading as the wind began to howl. “Just remember to scream the keyword!”

“WHAT KEYWORD?” Kevin bellowed.

Yellow Shin didn't answer. Instead, she swung her leg back and delivered a Spartan-style kick directly into Kevin’s chest.

“GO!”

“AURGH—!” Kevin flew backward, clearing the edge of the platform.

The sensation of weightlessness was immediate and terrifying. He wasn't falling inside the bunker anymore. A hidden hatch had opened, and he was currently three thousand feet in the air, plummeting toward the city skyline.

Below him, a giant, multi-legged toaster with angry glowing red slots was currently firing charred pieces of toast—the size of small cars—into the side of a skyscraper.

“Oh god! Oh god!” Kevin screamed, his flailing limbs doing nothing to slow his descent. “The suit! The keyword! What was the keyword? Was it 'Apples'? 'Justice'? 'Health Insurance'?”

The wind whistled past his ears. He looked down at his wrists, looking for a button, a switch, a hidden lever—anything.

“Think, Kevin! Think!” he shouted at himself. “What do sentai heroes say? It’s usually something cheesy! 'Go-Go Green'? 'Green Power'? 'Emerald Wind'?”

Nothing happened. He remained a very fast, very terrified man in a green onesie.

“Vandolf! You senile old—!”

He hit a cloud, momentarily blinding him. When he emerged, the toaster-monster was significantly larger. He could see the bread-crumbs falling off it like lethal boulders.

“I’M GOING TO DIE!” he screamed.

Suddenly, his helmet—which he hadn't realized was forming around his neck—started to beep rhythmically.

[BIOMETRIC AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED] a pleasant, robotic voice whispered in his ear. [PLEASE SAY TRANSFORMATION PHRASE.]

“I DON'T KNOW IT!” Kevin yelled at the interface. “SYSTEM OVERRIDE! USER IS IN DISTRESS! ADMIN PASSWORD: 1-2-3-4-5!”

[PASSWORD INCORRECT. REMAINING DISTANCE TO IMPACT: 500 METERS. HAVE A NICE DAY.]

Kevin looked at the approaching pavement, then at the giant monster, and then at his own trembling hands.

“Shin! I’m going to kill you before the monster does!” he vowed, though the sentiment was somewhat lost as he flipped upside down in mid-air.

He had four seconds to figure out how to turn into a superhero, or he was going to become the world’s most pathetic green pancake.