"Twenty minutes. We will reach the outskirts of the New Jersey residential areas in twenty minutes." Ranger's voice, calm and modulated through the car's internal speakers, sliced through the man's exhausted haze. He'd drifted off, lulled by the impossible, silent speed of the Turbofied GT-R, the sheer unreality of it all a strange sort of sedative. He jolted awake, stretching cramped muscles, his hand brushing against the cool, unfamiliar material of the car's transformed hood.
His eyes tried to focus on the world rushing past outside the reinforced windows. It was a blur, a dizzying stream of colors and shapes that flashed by too quickly for his mind to process. The sheer velocity was disorienting, a nauseating sensation that made his stomach churn. He quickly looked away, focusing instead on the glowing blue and white readouts of the alien dashboard.
His phone, resting on the passenger seat beside him, suddenly hummed, its familiar caller tone a sharp, urgent sound in the high-tech cocoon. Someone was calling. He shot a questioning glance at Ranger, who, despite piloting a vehicle at speeds that defied physics, seemed utterly relaxed, giving a slight, almost imperceptible nod. The man snatched up the phone, his heart hammering.
"Hello?"
"It's me! Are you in New Jersey?" The voice was frantic, female.
"Clara! Yes, it's me! I'm… I'm on my way. Close. What's happening?" His voice was a rasp, thick with sleep and anxiety.
"Oh, thank God!" Her voice was tight with fear, but a note of profound relief broke through. "If you're close, you need to hurry to our location. There are… goons. Men with guns, military-grade stuff. They've taken over the next neighborhood over, a whole block."
"Clara, Clara, slow down, take a deep breath." he urged, his own anxiety spiking, but forcing a calm he didn't feel into his voice. "I'll be there. Half an hour, maybe less." He risked another glance at Ranger. "Now, tell me exactly what's happening. From the beginning."
"It started after the speech from the president." Clara rushed on, her voice gaining a bit more coherence. "Explosions, gunfire… the sheriff said it was some supervillain's henchmen, taking advantage of the… the national situation. The police are here, the National Guard too, but… they're fighting them, and it sounds like they're outnumbered, being pushed back. It's chaos."
"Are you secure? Where are you?"
"We're in the basement. The police and the Guard set up a perimeter, but it keeps shifting. They're saying… they're saying they need everyone in our town to evacuate. They're worried the fighting will spill over. Please, you have to hurry."
His grip tightened on the phone. "I'm coming, Clara. I promise, I'm coming as fast as I can. But the kids… Clara, what about the kids?" The question was a raw ache in his throat. "Are they okay? Are they scared? Did they hear the fighting?"
"They… are asleep." Clara said, a small, exhausted sigh of solace in her voice. "Right before all this started. I… I had your voicemail. As soon as the cell towers came back online, even for this minute, I called you."
"You did the right thing, Clara." He spoke more, his voice a soothing balm, asking about their preparedness, if they had a go-bag, if the basement was secure, his words a desperate attempt to project control, to calm her. He listened to her assurances, her fears, offering what little comfort he could across the failing, static-laced connection.
And then, nothing. Just a harsh, crackling static.
"Clara?" he yelled. "Clara, are you there?! Speak to me! Speak! Damn it, Clara, speak!" But the line was dead.
He slammed the phone down, a choked sob escaping him. He took a moment, fists clenched, to wrestle his panic back. Then, he turned to Ranger.
"How fast?" he demanded, his voice raw. "How fast can this thing really go?"
A flicker beneath Ranger's visor. Then, a grin, audible in the modulated voice. "Five minutes to your designated coordinates. But you'll need to contain your vomit. I have a strict 'no redecoration' policy for my newly acquired vehicle."
The man nodded, bracing himself. Ranger acted. The Turbofied GT-R unleashed. The world outside vanished into a violent smear of light. G-forces slammed him back, stealing his breath, his stomach lurching. He closed his eyes, clenching his teeth, focusing on his children's faces. He held it in. For them. He forgot to breathe, the acceleration threatening blackness, but the image of his kids pulled him back.
He didn't know how much time had passed when the car door hissed open and he was nudged out. He stumbled onto crumbling asphalt and immediately retched. It took a full minute for the world to stop spinning. Another few for his legs to stop wobbling. A few more before he could think past the ringing in his ears.
When his head finally cleared, the sounds of combat – gunfire, explosions, the roar of something inhuman – were terrifyingly close. He reached into the backseat of the GT-R, which was already retracting its Turbo modifications. He grabbed his duffel bag, pulling out the assault rifle and spare magazines, strapping the handgun to his thigh, and tucking the two military-grade knives into his boots. He didn't know who the man in the blue and white armor was, but he had delivered him. Now, it was up to him, the father to defend his family.
He moved forward, low and fast, darting between burning car wrecks. Ranger, he saw, was already engaged, a whirlwind of blue and white energy, dismantling the supervillain's lair and decimating his henchmen. Explosions blossomed around the armored figure.
A sigh of relief escaped the man. A superhero. The thought gave him hope, but didn't lessen his resolve.
He advanced, using the chaos as cover. The air was thick with smoke and screams. A massive chunk of concrete arced towards him. He rolled, the rubble crashing down where he'd been, showering him with debris. He moved half-crouched, his rifle sweeping, every shadow a threat.
Ahead, he could see Ranger, a dazzling ballet of motion. The blue and white suit, in its sleek Flight configuration, dodged bullets and energy blasts, his arm cannons returning fire with devastating precision. Each pulse of blue energy vaporized a henchman.
The man spotted a lone henchman, partially concealed, taking aim at Ranger's exposed back. This was his chance. Silent as a wraith, he flanked him, one hand clamping over the mercenary's mouth, stifling his surprised cry, the other drawing his combat knife across the exposed throat in a single, brutal, efficient motion. He lowered the corpse gently, retrieved his knife, wiped it, and melted back into the shadows.
He had taken down a few more henchmen as silently as he could when he saw most of the remaining ones now huddled together, or were with their boss.
The boss was now clearly visible, a monstrous figure dominating the ruined streetscape: Rhino. He was a brute of a man, already immense in his natural build, but further augmented by a massive, slate-grey mechanized battlesuit. The suit was a grotesque yet brutally effective mimicry of its namesake, thick plates of reinforced armor overlapping to form a rhinoceros-like carapace. A single, wickedly sharp horn, forged from some dark, gleaming metal, jutted from the front of his helmet, and immense hydraulic pistons at his shoulders and legs hissed and vented steam with every powerful movement. Exhaust ports along its back belched black, acrid smoke, and his heavily armored fists looked capable of pulverizing concrete into dust. He wasn't just wearing a suit; he was the Rhino, a terrifying fusion of man and machine, built for unstoppable destruction.
The man watched as Ranger, still in his sleek Flight mode, continued his aerial assault. Suddenly, Rhino, with a guttural roar that shook the very air, ripped a massive section of a nearby demolished building's wall – a jagged slab of concrete and twisted rebar easily the size of a truck – and hurled it with terrifying force directly at the airborne hero.
Ranger, reacting with preternatural speed, juked sharply to the side. The colossal projectile missed him by inches, continuing its trajectory to smash into another building with a deafening crash. Ranger didn't just dodge; with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he fired a concentrated blast from his arm cannon at the trailing edge of the rubble mid-flight, shattering it into a shower of smaller, less threatening debris that rained down harmlessly. The man knew then, with certainty, that whoever helped him was a superhero of the highest tier, a true heavy hitter.
It was then, perhaps deciding a change in tactics was needed against such brute force, that the words, clear even amidst the gunfire and explosions, echoed: "Go Turbo: Strength."
The man watched, fascinated, as Ranger's sleek, flight-oriented armor underwent a dramatic metamorphosis. Plates thickened and expanded, interlocking with audible, heavy clunks and the hiss of pneumatics. The streamlined silhouette bulked out, shoulders broadening, limbs encased in layers of reinforced, cobalt-blue and brilliant-white plating that seemed to draw power from the very air. Hydraulics, previously hidden, now became prominent, gleaming at the joints, and servos whined with immense, contained power. The overall form became more bestial, more imposing, clearly built for raw power and devastating impact.
Ranger, now a much larger, more heavily armored figure, allowed himself to freefall from a short hover, aiming directly for the clustered goons and the heavily armored Rhino below.
The Strength mode armor executed a devastating double-knee dive, slamming into Rhino with the force of a meteor. The impact was colossal. The ground buckled, a crater instantly forming, sending out shockwaves that vibrated through the man's boots, even from his concealed position. A dense cloud of dust, concrete powder, and smoke erupted outwards, obscuring the immediate aftermath.
The man dodged the onrushing dust cloud, ducking behind a shattered concrete pillar, hastily pulling a piece of cloth he'd taken from one of his kills over his nose and mouth. He checked his rifle, the magazine secure, then peered into the swirling, choking dust storm. He couldn't see clearly, but he could hear the muffled thuds of impact and the enraged bellows of Rhino. He fired a short burst in the direction of panicked shouts from henchmen caught in the periphery, a grunt of pain his only confirmation of a hit. Fire returned, wild and inaccurate, stitched across the pillar he was behind.
He rolled to another, sturdier-looking pillar. Then he felt it again – another bone-jarring vibration through the ground, followed by a fresh shockwave of dust and debris that momentarily blinded him.
His guns would do nothing to the super villain he knew. But they were more than enough for his henchmen. He reloaded his gun and aimed in the thick of the smoke. He waited till he saw the spark lit when guns fired and then aimed and shot in that direction. A man fell from a height. He had taken another henchmen down.
He rolled to another pillar. His tracks covered with vibration and the dust cloud. He could see outline of two men in the distance. He took a knife from his boots. He stilled himself as he threw the knife in the distance striking the henchmen straight in his neck. The other henchmen looked around as he searched from where the knife came only to get shot in the head. Then he hid behind the pillar.
When the dust began to settle, his first shot took out another henchman trying to find a new firing position. Through the thinning haze, he could see a bulky, metallic white and blue gleam – Ranger in his Strength mode – locked in brutal, close-quarters combat, relentlessly punching the supervillain Rhino, each blow landing with the sound of crumpling steel and a sickening thud that echoed through the ruined street.