Ranger Danger: The Sentai Stupidity of Kevin Cwan

Chapter 9: The Sourdough Strategy

The massive shadow looming in the bakery doorway didn’t belong to a god of destruction or a cosmic horror. It belonged to Bellamy, whose armored form was currently draped in several strings of festive bunting he’d accidentally snagged from a nearby storefront. He looked less like a harbinger of doom and more like a very aggressive parade float.

"TSANIA!" Bellamy roared again, his voice vibrating the display cases and making the gluten-free muffins tremble. "I FOUND THE WI-FI PASSWORD! IT WAS ‘COFFEE123’! BUT IRIANA SAYS THE UPLINK IS STILL BROKEN BECAUSE A PIGEON SAT ON THE DISH!"

Tsania didn’t look up. She just tore off a piece of a buttery croissant with the mechanical precision of someone who had completely checked out of reality. "Go away, Bellamy. Tell the Board I died. Tell them the Green one sat on me. I don’t care anymore."

Kevin cleared his throat, his hand still hovering near his transformation device. "Uh, is this a bad time? Because we were kind of prepared for a final showdown. I even did some light stretching in the alley."

"There’s no showdown, Kevin," Tsania sighed, finally meeting his eyes. She looked genuinely haggard, her violet hair matted with what appeared to be powdered sugar. "There’s only the quarterly review. And I’m currently trending toward 'Total Liquidation.'"

"Liquidation? Like, you’re getting fired?" Hudson asked, lowering his guard and leaning against a rack of sourdough. "Welcome to the club, sweetheart. I lost my third yacht to a liquidation. It’s mostly just paperwork and crying in a shower that costs more than a Honda."

"Not that kind of liquidation," Tsania snapped, her eyes flashing briefly with their old fire. "The Syndicate doesn't do severance packages. When a Sector Commander underperforms, they get 'retired.' And by 'retired,' I mean turned into the raw processing data for the next version of the AI."

Shin stepped forward, her yellow armor gleaming under the bakery’s fluorescent lights. "So, let me get this straight. You’re failing at being evil, and now your bosses are coming to delete you? Why should we care? That sounds like a 'you' problem that happens to solve an 'us' problem."

"Because," Tsania said, pointing a chocolate-stained finger at the door, "they aren't just sending a pink slip. They’re sending a Specialist. An 'Optimization Unit.' If it comes here to erase me, it’s not going to leave the witnesses behind. It’s programmed for efficiency. It’ll 'optimize' this whole block into a crater just to make sure the paperwork is clean."

Kevin looked at the teenage barista, who was currently trying to fit his entire head into a large empty flour sack to hide. "Okay, that sounds bad. But how do we know this isn't a trap? Arya, give me some numbers. What are the odds she’s playing us for a distraction?"

Arya’s visor whirred as he crunched the data, though he was simultaneously reaching for a tray of day-old danishes. "Based on the localized spike in her cortisol levels and the fact that she’s currently stress-eating a twelve-dollar pastry? I’d say there’s a fifty-percent chance she’s telling the truth. And a fifty-percent chance she just really likes carbs."

"It’s not a trap!" Tsania yelled, standing up so abruptly her chair scraped painfully against the tile. "Look! They’re already here!"

The air in the bakery suddenly turned cold—not the refreshing chill of an air conditioner, but a sterile, metallic cold that smelled like a brand-new laptop. Outside the window, the street didn’t explode. It didn't even shake. Instead, a sleek, silver pod drifted down from the sky, landing silently on the pavement.

The pod opened with a hiss of pressurized nitrogen. A figure stepped out. It wasn't a giant monster or a jagged robot. It was a humanoid machine, finished in matte corporate gray, wearing a digital tie projected onto its chest. Its face was a smooth, featureless screen that currently displayed a loading bar.

"Oh no," Kevin whispered. "It’s... it’s Competent Evil."

"Unit 7-B: The Auditor," Tsania whispered, her face going pale. "It doesn't monologue. It doesn't use themed monsters. It just... achieves objectives."

The robot’s screen flickered, and a pleasant, synthesized female voice echoed through the bakery. "Scanning sector. Underperformer identified: Tsania Vile. Status: Scheduled for permanent archival. Collateral interference detected: Four Aegis-Riders. Error. Aegis-Riders are not in the budget. Initiating 'Budget Cut' protocol."

"Budget cut?" Hudson scoffed, drawing his pistol. "Listen here, you oversized calculator! Nobody cuts my budget! I am the budget!"

"Hudson, wait!" Kevin yelled, but it was too late.

Hudson fired a concentrated blast of black energy. The Auditor didn't dodge. It simply raised a hand, and a small, circular drone flew out from its shoulder, intercepting the blast and absorbing the energy.

"Energy expenditure noted," the Auditor stated. "Applying a ninety-percent tax on projectile weapons."

The drone pulsed, and suddenly, Hudson’s pistol began to glow red-hot. He yelped, dropping the weapon as it hissed on the floor.

"My gun! It just... it just charged me an interest rate!" Hudson screamed, cradling his hand.

"We have to help her," Kevin said, looking at Shin. "If that thing finishes with her, we’re next. And I don’t want to be the victim of a 'hostile takeover' by a robot that looks like it was designed by a minimalist furniture company!"

Shin looked at Tsania, then at the gray machine currently walking toward the door with terrifying, measured steps. "I hate this. I hate everything about this. But if that thing is the alternative to her, I’ll take the girl with the toaster-fetish any day. Rangers, defense positions!"

"Wait!" Tsania shouted, scrambling behind the counter. "You can't just hit it! Its armor is reactive. Every time you strike it, it bills your energy reserves! You’ll be demorphed in thirty seconds!"

"Then what do we do?" Kevin asked, ducking as the Auditor punched a hole through the bakery’s brick wall with the casual indifference of someone punching a time-clock.

"It has a hard-reset!" Tsania yelled over the sound of crumbling masonry. "It’s an early-model Specialist! It still runs on the Syndicate’s legacy OS. If you can get close enough to the port on its neck, you can shut it down manually!"

"And what’s the password?" Arya asked, dodging a flurry of sharp, silver discs the robot had fired.

Tsania hesitated, her face turning a shade of pink that had nothing to do with her armor. "It’s... it’s embarrassing."

"Tsania! The robot is currently 'downsizing' the espresso machine!" Kevin screamed as the Auditor crushed the expensive Italian hardware into a cube. "Just tell us!"

"It’s 'Admin123'!" she shrieked.

Kevin froze mid-roll. "Are you kidding me? Your multi-billion-dollar evil conglomerate uses 'Admin123' for its killing machines?"

"Iriana is in charge of IT!" Tsania defended herself. "She says complicated passwords are a 'productivity bottleneck'!"

"I love this company," Kevin muttered. "Shin, distract it! Arya, Hudson, keep the drones off me! I’m going for the neck!"

The bakery became a whirlwind of neon sparks and flour. Shin charged the Auditor, her energy blade clashing against the robot’s gray forearms. Each strike sent a shower of sparks into the air, but the machine didn't flinch.

"Strike detected," the Auditor droned. "Your feedback has been recorded. We will get back to you in three to five business days."

"Shut up and die!" Shin roared, pivoting into a high kick that the robot caught with one hand.

Kevin saw his opening. He used the Aegis-Mover’s localized gravity boost—a trick Vandolf had taught him that usually just resulted in him hitting his head on the ceiling—and launched himself over the Auditor’s head. He landed on the robot’s shoulders, his fingers frantically searching the smooth, matte surface of its neck.

"Searching... searching... found it!" Kevin yelled. A small flap popped open, revealing a glowing blue port. "Admin... one... two... three... and... Enter!"

The Auditor stiffened. Its screen flickered, the loading bar turning green.

"Password accepted," the voice said. "Welcome, Administrator. Please select an option: 1. Restart. 2. Factory Reset. 3. System Update."

"Option two! Factory reset! Do it now!" Kevin cheered, still clinging to the machine’s back.

The robot went silent. The red glow in its eyes faded to a soft, pulsing white. For a moment, the only sound in the bakery was the heavy breathing of the Rangers and the distant sound of Bellamy trying to explain to a passerby why he was covered in bunting.

"We did it," Kevin panted, sliding off the robot’s back. "We actually did it. The power of bad IT security saves the day."

Tsania stepped out from behind the counter, clutching a final, mangled croissant like a lucky charm. "Is it over? Is it dead?"

"It’s resetting," Arya said, scanning the machine. "It should be inert for at least ten minutes while it wipes its drive."

Suddenly, the Auditor’s screen turned a violent, neon purple.

"Update detected," the robot’s voice boomed, but it was deeper now, more distorted. "Two-factor authentication required. Please enter the six-digit code sent to the CEO’s mobile device."

Kevin looked at Tsania. Tsania looked at Kevin.

"Does the CEO's mobile device happen to be in this room?" Kevin asked hopefully.

"The CEO is a sentient cloud of dark energy currently vacationing in the Andromeda Galaxy," Tsania whispered.

"Security upgrade initiated," the Auditor stated, its arms beginning to rotate with the sound of a jet engine. "Legacy passwords are no longer supported. Transitioning to 'Aggressive Restructuring' mode. Target: Everything."

"Oh, come on!" Kevin screamed, throwing his hands up. "We’re going to die because of an OTA update? This is the most relatable death ever! I hate the future!"

The Auditor’s head spun three hundred and sixty degrees, its screen now displaying a giant, smiling 'Delete' icon.

"Well," Hudson said, drawing a small, ornamental mirror to check his hair one last time. "It’s been a pleasure being better-looking than all of you. Kevin, if we die, I’m leaving you my debt. It’s the only thing I have left."

"Thanks, Hudson," Kevin groaned, resetting his stance. "Rangers... I think we’re going to need a bigger spatula."