Ranger Danger: The Sentai Stupidity of Kevin Cwan

Chapter 10: System Reboot: Traitor Unmasked

The "Aggressive Restructuring" mode didn't involve a PowerPoint presentation or a firm handshake. Instead, it involved the Auditor’s arms spinning at three thousand RPMs, creating a localized vacuum that smelled intensely of ozone and corporate despair.

“Rangers! Evasive maneuvers!” Shin screamed, but she was a split second too late.

The Auditor didn't just punch. It optimized the space where the Rangers were currently standing so that they were no longer a part of the bakery's floor plan. A wave of kinetic force slammed into Kevin’s chest, sending him soaring through the front window, past the terrified barista, and across the street with the grace of a tossed sack of potatoes.

SPLASH.

Kevin sputtered, his vision swimming as he realized he was currently sitting in the center of the Memorial Park fountain. Beside him, Hudson was face-down in the water, his black armor slick and dripping, while Shin and Arya landed in a heap near the bronze statue of the city’s founder.

“Is the water supposed to be this cold?” Kevin wheezed, trying to stand up. “Or is my suit’s heating element also part of the budget cut?”

“Kevin, get up!” Shin yelled, coughing out a mouthful of fountain water. “It’s coming back for a second round!”

“I’m trying!” Kevin reached for his wrist-mounted Aegis-Morpher, intending to trigger his gravity-boost. “Come on, baby, give me some lift!”

Instead of a heroic green glow, Kevin’s wrist emitted a pathetic sputter. A thick, oily plume of black smoke began to pour out of the device, smelling remarkably like a plastic container melting in a microwave.

“Uh, guys?” Kevin’s voice went up an octave. “My morpher is doing the thing. The bad thing. It’s smoking. It’s definitely smoking.”

“It’s just a thermal spike!” Arya shouted, dodging a silver disc that sliced the head off a stone cherub behind him. “Reboot the core! Manually!”

“I am rebooting it!” Kevin hissed, frantically slapping the device against his thigh. “It’s not a spike, Arya! It’s making a sound like a dying cricket! And why is my arm starting to feel like it’s being poked by a hundred tiny needles?”

The Auditor stepped out of the bakery’s wreckage, its screen displaying a progress bar that was currently at ninety-eight percent. “Restructuring in progress. Error: Redundant assets detected. Commencing deletion.”

“Redundant assets? I have a mortgage!” Kevin screamed. He scrambled out of the fountain, his green spandex flickering in and out of existence like a faulty lightbulb. “Vandolf! Come in! The tech is failing! We’ve got a massive malfunction over here!”

Static. Pure, high-pitched static echoed in Kevin's ear.

“Vandolf? This isn't funny! If this is a training exercise about 'overcoming technical hurdles,' I give up! I fail! Just give me a C-minus and bring us home!”

“Kevin, shut up and move!” Shin lunged forward, her energy blade flickering weakly as she tried to parry the Auditor’s next strike.

The machine didn't even use its arms this time. A beam of violet light shot from its chest, hitting Shin squarely in the center of her yellow armor. She didn't fly back; she just... dimmed. The vibrant yellow of her suit turned a dull, sickly ochre, and she collapsed to her knees, gasping for air.

“What did you do to her?” Hudson roared, drawing his backup pistol.

“Energy acquisition complete,” the Auditor droned. “Thank you for your contribution to the Syndicate’s quarterly growth.”

“It’s eating our Hero Energy!” Arya realized, his visor flickering wildly. “Shin’s power-core is at five percent! Hudson, don't fire! It’ll just trace the energy back to your suit!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Hudson demanded, looking at his glowing weapon. “Throw rocks? I don’t do manual labor, Arya! It’s bad for my joints!”

Kevin fumbled with his comms again, his fingers shaking. “Vandolf! I’m serious! Shin is down! The robot is eating us! Pick up the phone!”

Suddenly, the static cleared. But it wasn't Vandolf’s voice that came through.

“Hello? You have reached the Obsidian Syndicate’s automated help desk,” a smooth, overly cheerful female voice chirped in Kevin’s ear. “If you are calling to report a planetary conquest, please press one. If you are an Aegis-Rider currently undergoing liquidation, please stay on the line. Your suffering is very important to us.”

Kevin froze. “What? No. No, this is a secure line. Vandolf? Is this a prank? Did you hack the line for a bit?”

“To ensure quality control, this execution may be recorded for training purposes,” the voice continued. “The current wait time for your total annihilation is: Zero minutes. Have a nice day!”

The line went dead.

Kevin looked at his morpher. The black smoke was thicker now, staining his green glove. He felt a cold pit form in his stomach—a sensation much worse than the time he accidentally deleted the dry cleaner’s tax returns.

“Arya,” Kevin whispered, backing away as the Auditor turned its featureless screen toward him. “Something is wrong. The comms... they didn't go to the bunker. They went to the Syndicate.”

“That’s impossible,” Arya said, though he was currently struggling to keep his own blue armor from de-materializing. “Vandolf’s encryption is triple-layered. It’s military-grade.”

“Then why did I just get put on hold by an evil secretary?” Kevin yelled.

The Auditor raised its hand, and a shimmering net of violet energy expanded across the park, trapping the four Rangers in a dome. Tsania, who had been watching from the sidelines with her mangled croissant, let out a small, horrified gasp.

“It’s the ‘Hero Harvest,’” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve only seen it in the brochures. It pulls the localized reality-warping energy directly out of your DNA. It’s... it’s very efficient.”

“I don’t want to be efficient!” Kevin sobbed, his legs giving way. “I want to be messy and alive!”

The violet light intensified. Kevin felt a tugging sensation in his chest, like his soul was being pulled through a very small straw. His green suit began to flake away in digital pixels, revealing his singed trench coat underneath.

“My power...” Shin moaned, her helmet dissolving into mist. “I can't... I can't hold the form.”

“Logic... failing...” Arya stammered, falling beside her.

Kevin grabbed his morpher, the heat from the device now blistering his skin. He didn't know why, but he felt an urge to see the damage. He jammed his thumb into the emergency release latch—a part of the gear they were told never to touch unless they were in a vacuum-sealed clean room.

The casing popped open.

Kevin stared at the internal components. He wasn't a tech genius like Arya, but he knew what an Aegis-Core was supposed to look like. It was supposed to be a glowing, emerald crystal pulsing with pure, heroic intent.

Instead, he saw three AA batteries taped together with a piece of masking tape. Written on the side of the batteries in thick, black permanent marker were the words: PROPERTY OF SYNDICATE LOGISTICS - DO NOT REUSE.

“No,” Kevin breathed, the world tilting on its axis. “No way.”

He looked over at Hudson, who was also demorphing. “Hudson! Open your morpher! The emergency latch!”

“What? Why? It’ll void the warranty!” Hudson protested, even as his armor turned into smoke.

“Just do it!”

Hudson yanked his casing open. He stared at the inside for three seconds before his jaw hit the pavement. “Are those... are those rechargeable batteries? They aren't even the name-brand ones! These are generic! These are the ones you buy at the gas station when you’re desperate!”

“Someone swapped them,” Kevin said, his voice cold and hollow. “Before we left the base. Before the vacuum-bot. Before everything.”

“Vandolf?” Shin asked, her voice a mere whisper as she lay on the grass. “But... why? He’s the one who recruited us. He’s the one who gave us the mission.”

“Maybe the mission was to be a snack,” Kevin said, looking up at the Auditor.

The robot’s screen was now a solid, vibrant purple. It had finished the harvest. The Rangers were just four people in dirty clothes sitting in a park, surrounded by a dying evil robot’s leftovers.

“Optimization complete,” the Auditor announced. Its voice was no longer a synthesized female; it had shifted into something deeper, more resonant. “Thank you for your service, Rangers. Your energy will be used to power the next generation of Syndicate enforcers. You have been... wonderful catalysts.”

The machine raised its right arm, which transformed into a sleek, silver cannon. A hum of power vibrated the very air, a sound so loud it made Kevin’s teeth ache.

“So this is it,” Hudson muttered, closing his eyes. “I’m dying in a park next to a fountain that smells like pigeons. My last meal was a sourdough roll that tasted like cardboard. This is a PR nightmare.”

“Shut up, Hudson,” Shin snapped, though she didn't have the strength to move.

Kevin stood up. He didn't have a weapon. He didn't have a suit. He just had a smoking piece of plastic and a deep, burning sense of professional betrayal.

“Hey!” Kevin yelled at the robot. “Is that it? You’re just going to delete us? What about the 'Final Acquisition'? What about the merger?”

The Auditor didn't answer. The glow in the cannon intensified to a blinding white.

“Wait!” Tsania suddenly screamed, running toward them. “Look! On the horizon!”

Everyone turned.

Coming down the main thoroughfare of the Downtown District was a sleek, black limousine. It moved with a silent, predatory grace, flanked by a dozen shadow-soldiers on hovering motorcycles. The car came to a smooth halt just outside the violet dome.

The back door opened.

A pair of polished leather shoes stepped onto the asphalt. Then, a man in a crisp, white lab coat emerged, adjusting his spectacles with a familiar, jerky motion. He was holding a tablet in one hand and a bag of pretzels in the other.

“Vandolf!” Kevin shouted, a surge of hope clashing with the dread in his gut. “Vandolf, you’re here! You’ve got the backup cores, right? Tell me you’ve got the real ones!”

Vandolf didn't look at Kevin. He didn't even acknowledge the Rangers. Instead, he turned toward the Auditor and gave a polite, deferential bow.

“Unit 7-B,” Vandolf said, his voice clear and utterly devoid of its usual eccentric shakiness. “Is the data collection finished? I’d like to get the report finalized before the weekend. I have a poker game, you see.”

The Auditor lowered its cannon. “Administrator Vandolf. Data acquisition is at one hundred percent. The test subjects provided an excellent yield of high-frequency hero-energy.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Vandolf murmured, tapping something into his tablet.

A second figure stepped out of the limousine. It was a tall, imposing man with hair like silver wire and eyes that seemed to be made of cold, hard glass. He wore a suit that probably cost more than the city’s entire education budget.

“You did well, Vandolf,” the man said, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates. “The Aegis Initiative was a stroke of genius. Who knew that giving the most desperate, unremarkable people a sense of purpose would create such high-quality energy?”

Kevin felt like he’d been punched in the soul. “Vandolf... what is this?”

Finally, Vandolf turned his head. He looked at Kevin through his spectacles, his expression one of mild, clinical interest—the way an entomologist looks at a particularly sturdy beetle before pinning it to a board.

“Oh, Kevin,” Vandolf sighed, popping a pretzel into his mouth. “Don’t look so hurt. You were an accountant. You understand the concept of a 'loss leader.' Sometimes you have to invest a little bit of hope to get a massive return on despair.”

“You used us,” Shin rasped, her eyes wide with fury. “You let us fight those things... you let us think we were saving people!”

“And you did!” Vandolf chirped. “You saved the city's infrastructure, you improved the hygiene rating, and you provided hours of entertainment for the livestream. But the 'saving' was just the seasoning, Shin. The main course was always your energy. And now? Now, the Syndicate is fully funded for the next three centuries.”

The man in the suit—the CEO—looked at the Rangers with a thin, cruel smile. “Audit them, 7-B. We don't need the leftovers.”

The Auditor raised its cannon once more, the white light reaching a crescendo.

Kevin looked at Vandolf, who was already turning back toward the car, chatting with the CEO about the price of obsidian-alloy.

“Vandolf!” Kevin yelled, his voice cracking. “I still have your receipt for the porta-potty cannons! I’m going to report it as a personal expense! You’ll never get the tax credit!”

Vandolf paused for a fraction of a second, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Goodbye, Kevin. Try not to make too much of a mess.”

The world turned white.