Power Rangers: Global Thunder
A Fanfiction By cappuccinokitten22
Disclaimer: I Do Not Own the Power Rangers.
This is my first time writing a fiction for this fandom, please take that into consideration when reviewing, first of all. Second, this is my take on what I think the Power Rangers could be if it was taken to a much darker, more adult sort of place and I hope you enjoy it.
Thank you. Please R&R :)
It was dark. The night air was biting and freezing. It felt as though it should have been winter, but it was actually the end of August. No light could be seen, not the even light offered by the moon or stars, which were barely even visible themselves. This was because of the sand storm that was taking place. The wind screamed as it moved a million grains of sand across the Sahara, creating a solid wall of black dust.
Exhausted and aching from the force of the sand constantly beating against every inch of his body, a five-foot long, black King Cobra burrowed into a nearby dune, hoping to gain some relief from the storm. He left only his eyes exposed just in case a morsel of food should happen by. None did.
Five hours later, the snake lay hungrily beneath the sand. Then as a final fork of lightning split across the sky, the storm came to an unexpected end. The screaming of the wind ceased and millions of grains of sand fell to the ground as the wall collapsed. Then there was a sound.
It was a slow, craggy, dragging sound that the snake had never heard before and, curiously, he raised his head up out of the sand to see what the source of the sound was. He watched, quietly dragging his forked tongue across his lips with a low hiss, as the earth before him split in two with a deafening CRACK, creating a miniscule canyon about a foot wide in , slowly, an ancient, cracked, crumbling and broken stone wall began to rise up out of the earth. When it was fully out of the canyon, the snake saw that it was covered in strange hieroglyphics the likes of which he had never seen before.
Then a hooded figure dressed in a thick, black cloak strode past the snake without even casting him a second glance. The snake hissed at the figure, revealing his fangs, but still they did not turn to face him. The snake narrowed his eyes angrily and watched silently as the figure reached out their hand, gripping what seemed to be a piece of black charcoal. They began to draw on the wall, tracing the hieroglyphics with which it was covered. In the very center of the wall, they drew an inverted pentagram. When they were finished, the wall began to glow with a pale white light. Soon the wall was engulfed in the light, which grew into a cylinder and shot into the sky.
As the light began to dissipate, the wall turned slowly sideways and it was then that the snake realized that what he had thought was a wall was not a wall at all. It was, in fact, a door. The snake watched silently as the door slowly swung open. Then he slithered forward and followed the cloaked figure through the doorway, but all that was on the other side was more sand.
Then the door closed behind him, and suddenly the desert was gone. They were now standing in wide, dark cave. Stalactites hung from the ceiling and the sound of water dripping could be heard from somewhere nearby. In the darkness of the cave, the snake could just barely make out the figure who stood in front of him now. He watched silently as the figure pulled something out of the pocket of the cloak. It appeared to be a white cigarette lighter. They lit the lighter silently with one hand, and then with the other, they reached out and held the flame in the palm of their hand. Then they threw the flame at the far wall of the cave. It shattered upon impact and the sparks fell to the ground only to reform as a roaring fire at the base of the wall.
The figure put the lighter back inside their pocket and approached the wall where the fire burned. When they got to it, they reached out and touched the wall with their hand, tracing a circle with their index finger. As they did so, the stone they traced began to move as they traced it and then a moment later, it vanished completely to reveal a large, circular chamber with a ceiling that seemed to have no end. Inside of the chamber, asleep on the stone floor, were three people – or rather one woman and two things. There was really no other word for them.
One of them appeared to be some sort of humanoid griffin with the lower body of a lion and the upper body of an eagle, but with the scarred, mangled face of a man who had faced a great battle. The other had skin that was colored a sickly shade of light green, four arms that ended in pincher-like hands, and a long, curving tail that ended in a nasty brown club. The woman on the other hand – she was tall and pale with long, curling brown hair that fell past her waist. She had a long, narrow nose and her features were sharp and angular. She wore a black, tattered ball gown with frayed lace sleeves and holes along the hemline.
Slowly, the figure stepped over the threshold of the circular room where the woman and monsters lay in slumber. As they did so, the snake hissed and slithered away into the darkest corner of the cave, searching for a way back to the desert.
Hala Nazari sat in her living room silently, watching as her mother, Amira, kindly shooed away the last of the uniformed moving men. Her father, Basir, sat on the couch beside her with his arm around her. As she sat there, it suddenly became apparent to her how very much she looked her parents. They all had brown skin the color of wet sand, brown eyes, brown hair the color of dark chocolate. Hala felt like the only thing that separated her from the rest of her family was the small, black mole just below her right eye, although she was certain someone in her family had one similar to it. Even her grandparents had looked just the same as her and her parents, from what she knew – she had only ever seen pictures of them, and those pictures now hung in perfect rows on the walls of their new home in Cedarwood Falls, California.
"Thank you so much for helping us," Amira said, pulling Hala out of her reverie. "The house, looks so beautiful."
Hala sighed quietly and pulled her black hair-tie off of her wrist and carefully pulled her long, dark hair up into half-up, half-down hairstyle. When she was finished, she looked up to see Basir frowning at her. She smiled apologetically and shrugged.
"It's no problem, ma'am," said a tall, smiling boy who appeared to be around Hala's age with messy blond hair and green eyes. "That's what we're paid for, and welcome to Cedarwood Falls."
"Thank you so much," Amira said again as the boy turned and left. She closed the door behind him. Then she turned slowly to face Hala, scowling. "You know I can hear you, right?"
"Well, I mean," Hala said, frowning. "Do you have to say the same thing to all the moving guys?"
"It's called being polite," Basir said, looking at her and pulling his arm away from her. "And it's something that you're not very good at."
"Dad," Hala said, turning to look at him. "This is the third time we've moved this year, and she's given the same speech to all the moving men every time."
"That's because I appreciate them helping us," Amira said, as she crossed the room and sat down in the off-white armchair in the corner of the room. "They help us with the moving more than you do."
"I busy helping put stuff away down here," Hala reminded her mother angrily, crossing her arms across her chest. "And besides, what girl wants to have to put her room back together again for the third time in a year - isn't that why you and Dad came here a little while ago to start doing it yourselves?"
Hala's parents were silent for a long moment as she sat and scowled at the blue and white oriental rug that covered the hardwood floors of her family's new living room. The rug was ancient and beautiful. It was an antique that Hala's mother had brought with her from Egypt when she moved to New York to get away from her parents and their stifling rules and traditions, although Hala knew it had been in her mother's family since before Amira had even been born.
Finally, Basir sighed and said, "I know that you never wanted to leave New York, but you have to understand that we had no choice -"
"I know, I know," Hala said, having already heard this speech a million times before. "The bills were piling up, Mom had a great job offer, and so we moved and everything turned out O, so well!" She looked from one parent to the other, smiling, her voice full of false sweetness.
"What happened in Chicago was not your mother's fault," Basir said, suddenly angry as Amira ran her hands through her hair, speaking quietly in Arabic as she often did when she was stressed.
"I know that, Dad," Hala said quickly, "but that doesn't change the fact that moving there ending up being a horrible idea."
"It was a less than ideal situation," Basir admitted, his voice faltering. "But it was no one's fault. Accidents happen."
Six months earlier, Hala's parents had uprooted her entire life and forced her to move to Chicago when her mother had gotten a job offer as an accountant for a very powerful law firm. Basir had barely been able to secure a steady teaching position at a local private school when Amira had suddenly been laid off from her accounting job a month later for accidentally misplacing some account founds. They had been forced to move three weeks later after it became horribly apparent that Basir's teaching job was not going to be enough to pay the bills.
"And Newcroft was ten times worse," Hala said, cupping her chin in her hand.
Amira sighed and pointed to the winding staircase on the other side of room. "Please, go to your room until you have something positive to say," she said in a tone that suggested that she was struggling not to lose her temper.
"What for?" Hala asked, looking up at her. "Did I say the wrong thing again?" She asked this, despite already knowing the answer.
"Just do it, please, Hala," Amira said simply.
Hala jumped to her feet and ran across the room and up the stairs, stomping her feet on her way up. She paused when she came to the first floor landing. It opened up into a narrow hallway with pale, yellow wallpaper, three doors, and several family portraits and school pictures hanging on the walls. Small piles of empty cardboard boxes littered the hall and were piled outside the doors on the hardwood floors, which had yet to be carpeted. She found it amazing that her parents had managed to accomplish as much as they had in just one day. The new house was almost completely unpacked and organized.
Hala walked down the hall to the second door on the right and paused in the open doorway. Two weeks ago, her parents had left her by herself at their old house in Newcroft, Mississippi for three and half days, so they could wallpaper and paint her room. Then today they had worked with the moving men to decorate it and put her to work, organizing the kitchen and living room. This was the first time she had seen her new room. The walls were lined with pink striped wallpaper and in the middle of the room stood a four poster canopy bed made of white-washed wood with beautiful, fluffy linens that matched the wallpaper. There were two doors in either corner of the room. A small vanity stand with a mirror and makeup stood outside the one nearest her. She crossed the room and pulled open the door, and gasped in disbelief when she saw what was inside:
An enormous walk-in closet with a built-in shoe rack and all of her clothes organized by shade and color. A long row of shelves and hooks had been embedded in the walls for her purses and belts, and two small dressers stood beside the doorway.
"This bedroom was a gift from your mother and I to apologize for everything that we've put you through this year."
Hala turned to see her father standing, leaning against the doorjamb. "How could you have possibly afforded all of this, though?" she asked in disbelief.
"Never mind how we paid for it," Basir said, smiling as he walked over to where she stood. "Just know that we love you, and you should apologize to your mother." He kissed her on the forehead, then he turned and walked away.
"Yes, Daddy," Hala said as she watched him walk away.
Once Basir was gone, Hala sank to the floor, feeling numb. She couldn't believe that her parents had done this for her, and she had been so rude to them. And not just earlier. Ever since she had found out that they were moving away from New York, she had been horrible and miserable to her parents. And as a present, they had given her a newly decorated room with a walk-in closet, new furniture, and presumably her own personal bathroom – there wasn't much else that could be behind that other door.
She was a horrible daughter.
A few minutes later, feeling sick to her stomach with guilt and disbelief, Hala pulled herself to feet and crossed the room to the beautiful, canopy princess bed she had been dreaming of since she was five. She threw herself on it and hugged a heart-shaped pillow to her chest silently. She pulled the pink comforter over her head and closed her eyes in a desperate effort to just forget.