Pink's Plan

"They tried to send me back to CoralVault," Pink scoffed, her black hair catching the breeze as she strode down the street. Loose waves bounced around her face, framing her fierce, determined features. "Can you believe that?" she continued, adjusting the strap of her studded leather jacket. Her knee-high combat boots clomped against the pavement, and her plaid skirt swished with every step. "Like I'd ever belong there."

Prism's voice buzzed playfully in her ear. "Really? CoralVault? Who thought that was a good idea?"

Pink let out a dry laugh, her hot pink nails drumming against the metal of her morpher. "Right? CoralVault's all pristine and polished, like a giant plastic bubble pretending to be paradise. It's nothing like Hawaii was." Her voice softened, the laughter fading as a wave of longing crossed her face. "I miss the real Hawaii. The street vendors, the music, the ocean. It had life, you know? CoralVault's just a cheap imitation, sterile and soulless. Not for me."

Prism hummed, conspiratorial as always. "Yeah, way too clean. And boring. Definitely not your style."

Pink's smirk returned, sharper this time. "Exactly. I'm not about to trade in my boots and leather for something soft and proper. I'd rather crash in my Zord cockpit or on a flat cot in a makeshift barrack than pretend to fit in."

Prism's voice buzzed with a teasing lilt. "Soft and proper, huh? Is that why your hormones go haywire whenever Blue asks you to dress up?"

Pink's cheeks flushed, and she rolled her eyes, though a mischievous grin crept onto her lips. "Shut up, Prism," she muttered, her voice playful but warm. "He just knows how to ask, that's all. Besides, a little dress-up never hurt anyone."

Prism let out a teasing hum, but then her tone shifted, more thoughtful. "You really lucked out with the Rangers, didn't you? The family you never expected."

Pink's grin softened, and she tilted her head slightly, memories flashing through her mind. "Yeah, I did." Her eyes glinted as she thought about each of them, her voice taking on a more serious note. "Black? He's the cool big brother, always letting me steal food off his tray, even when I don't need to. He acts like he doesn't notice, but he gives me that little smirk, like he's got the whole world figured out. He's steady. The kind of person who takes everything in stride, whether it's a fight or one of my pranks."

She paused, a fondness coloring her expression. "And he never complains about the weight he carries. Black's the one who shows up, even when things get messy. The type to protect everyone else, even if it costs him. I've seen him take hits that would knock most people out for good, and he just stands there, like a mountain."

Prism snickered. "Classic big brother. Always watching out for you but pretending he's too cool to care."

Pink's smile widened, but there was something fierce behind it now. "Yeah, that's him. Unshakeable, dependable, but with a heart too big for his own good. Sometimes, I think he'd carry the weight of the world if he could, just to keep the rest of us safe."

"Red?" Pink said, her voice softening as she walked. "She's the protective older sister I never knew I needed. Fiercely loyal, always stepping in when things went sideways and taking the heat so I didn't have to."

Prism hummed in her ear, teasing but curious. "Bet she didn't let you get away with it, though."

Pink laughed, the sound warm with fondness. "Oh, never. She'd fix me with that look—you know, the one that makes you feel like a total idiot—and then hit me with a 'You owe me for this.' But even then, I knew she had my back. She wasn't just covering for me; she wanted me to be better. To get my act together."

Prism buzzed with a hint of admiration. "She does have that whole 'quiet authority' thing down, huh?"

Pink nodded, her smile turning wistful. "Yeah. She makes everything feel more solid, like she's holding us together when the rest of the world's falling apart. But I know she feels it, too. She just never shows it. It's like... she cares so much it hurts, but she'd rather break than let us see her crack." Pink's grin sharpened. "Red's strong, but she loves fiercely. You can feel it in the way she fights for us, like she'd take every hit just to keep us safe."

Prism's voice turned softer, more thoughtful. "Sounds like you really look up to her."

Pink's eyes glinted with a mix of admiration and determination. "Yeah, but don't tell her. It'll go straight to her head."

"Yellow?" Pink huffed, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Meh. Yellow's just... Yellow. Always so calm, like she's permanently drifting through life in some serene underwater world. Probably off making friends with dolphins or consulting an ancient council of jellyfish while the rest of us struggle to keep our heads above water."

Prism snickered in her ear. "Think she's ever going to come up from the deep?"

Pink rolled her eyes. "Nah, she's too busy getting sage advice from a bunch of wise old octopuses. I swear, nothing ever ruffles her tentacles. She's all serenity and grace, probably meditating with kelp or pondering the meaning of life with a sea cucumber."

Prism giggled. "Maybe she's hiding suction cups under those gloves. It would explain a lot."

Pink snorted, waving her hand. "Yeah, maybe. Let her stay in her little undersea Zen garden, floating around all calm and composed. I'll stick to making waves and keeping things interesting up here on the surface."

Prism hummed, the tone playful but with a knowing edge. "You know, it's funny. You talked about everyone else first—Black, Red, even Yellow—but you saved Blue for last. Interesting, isn't it?"

Pink paused for half a beat, her smirk faltering ever so slightly. "Oh, don't start analyzing me now," she shot back, but the way her nails tapped rhythmically against her morpher gave her away.

Prism's laugh buzzed in her ear, both amused and smug. "I can tell it's different. You always get that look when you talk about him. Your heart speeds up, and don't think I don't notice."

Her nails tapped harder against the metal of her morpher as she thought back to her interrogation, to the things Blue had confessed to. He'd spoken in a detached, almost resigned voice, recounting missions that pushed him past any reasonable limits—storming enemy outposts alone, deliberately putting himself in danger to lure threats away from civilians, or taking down targets with a precision that made her shiver. The risks he embraced weren't just desperate; they were wild, reckless acts that no one expected him to survive.

It hurt, hearing about it. Seeing the haunted look in his eyes as he described the darkness he'd waded through, the choices that weighed on him. He wasn't the same Blue she remembered, the one who'd been cautious and careful, hesitant to step out of line. He'd changed, hardened in ways that made her chest ache. Yet, a part of her—a twisted, restless part she couldn't deny—found it thrilling. The idea of Blue stepping into the chaos, pushing boundaries, flirting with death... it set her pulse racing. She wished she could've been there to see it, to feel the adrenaline and match his madness with her own. Maybe she could've made it fun, turned those desperate missions into the kind of games they used to play together, back when surviving meant outsmarting everyone who tried to break them.

Pink's boots clomped against the cold pavement, each step deliberate, yet her mind was a thousand miles away, drifting back to a time she could never quite shake off. Her knee-high combat boots clicked rhythmically, the sound grounding her, while her mind tumbled backward, lost in the memory.

"Remember Alphabet?" she muttered absently, her fingers tapping lightly against the cold metal of her morpher. The words felt distant, as if she were recounting a story someone else told. She continued walking, her plaid skirt swishing with each step, the familiar hum of her boots on the pavement pulling her further into the past.

That's where it all started. Alphabet. A program disguised as a second chance. At first, it wasn't so bad. They promised healing, or at least something close to it. It sure as hell beat scavenging food from broken houses, though it wasn't island food. There were beds. Warm food. A roof. But the comfort came with a price.

They told everyone they were going to fix us. They said they'd have counselors, therapists—people who'd help us work through all the trauma. As if they could just wave it all away like some kind of magic spell. But I didn't buy it, and neither did Blue.

Her steps slowed as the memory settled deeper in her mind, her body moving on autopilot while her thoughts wandered. The more they "fixed" us, the more broken we became. They didn't want to heal us; they wanted to make us functional. Soldiers. Perfect little soldiers for the next war.

But Pink wasn't thinking about that when she first saw Blue. What drew her to him wasn't his morpher—it was his defiance. The way he refused to be "fixed" like everyone else. The doctors had their plans, their so-called rehabilitation. They promised they'd heal the trauma, make them better. But Blue? He wasn't buying it. She remembered how he'd say it, his voice low but steady, like he was imparting a secret only she was allowed to know. "Bellona saved me. And the people I was with at the coliseum. Not your doctors. Not your programs."

She could still feel the weight of his words, as if they carried the weight of everything she'd felt but couldn't articulate. While the others had fallen in line, trying to fit into the broken mold the doctors created, Blue refused. And it drew her in, in a way she couldn't fully understand at the time. He wasn't like the others. He wasn't pretending to be healed; he wasn't pretending to be fixed. He was real.

She glanced at the morpher in her hand, the faint glow from the device catching the light of the afternoon sun. It made her chest tighten, remembering the first time she saw a morpher.

The glow was almost unnatural, the way it pulsed and hummed, like it had a life of its own. At first, she didn't understand why it lit up like that, or why only Blue—and later, she—could see the glow. But the moment he told her what it could do, everything changed.

"It'll make you a Power Ranger," Blue had said, his eyes so serious it was hard to believe he was just a kid, like her.

Pink's pulse quickened at the thought. She'd always watched the Rangers on TV, those fearless heroes who fought the monsters, saving the day with a click of their morphers. She could remember the rush of watching them battle, thinking how they always made the world feel safe. Safe, like nothing could hurt them. But when the invasion came, when the world fell apart, they didn't come. The Rangers didn't show up to save Hawaii. They didn't come for any of them.

Her fingers tightened around the morpher. The idea of it—being a part of that world, being able to do what they did—had captivated her. She wanted to be one of them. She wanted to be a hero. But there was more to it. She wanted to be part of something bigger than just surviving. Something with meaning.

Blue looked at her like he knew exactly what she was thinking, that same quiet certainty behind his words. "I'm too young," he'd said, his voice low. "But Bellona told me that one day it'll work. If I keep pushing, if I keep fighting, it'll be mine when I'm ready."

The wind rustled through the trees, making the leaves stir as Pink walked, her boots tapping against the ground with a rhythm she almost didn't notice. The warmth of the sun on her skin, the crispness of the air—none of it registered as she thought about that moment.

The moment Blue told her about the morpher—the moment he explained what it could do—everything shifted. It wasn't just a cool piece of tech, some glowing gadget. It was power, a ticket to something bigger than the hell they were stuck in. A way out. She wanted it. She wanted to be part of whatever fight Blue was preparing for, whatever war he was going to fight. More than that, she wanted to be a part of his fight. The fight that wasn't about surviving, but about doing something that mattered. She wanted it all.

It gnawed at her, that feeling, until it became an obsession. Every time she saw that morpher in his hand—every time it flickered with that strange, irresistible glow—she couldn't look away. It was like it had its own pull, like it was calling her. The Rangers—what they stood for, what they did—was all she'd ever dreamed of. She wanted to be one of them. She wanted that power, that chance to be more than just another broken kid in a broken world.

And Blue? Blue had it. He was the one with the morpher. He carried it like it was his secret, like it was just for him, and that made her want it even more.

She started paying more attention to him when they were alone—when he thought no one was watching. She noticed the way he kept it close, how he wouldn't let anyone touch it, wouldn't let anyone get too close. But there were times when he'd take it out, just for a second, when the lights were low or when the others were distracted, and it would glow faintly in his hand.

Every time, Pink's heart would race. She'd be torn between wanting to ask him about it, wanting to know more about how it worked, but also knowing she couldn't. She couldn't just ask for it. She couldn't beg for it. But she didn't need to. She knew what she had to do.

One night, after a long day of training and failing to meet the standards they set for them, she saw it. He was sitting against the wall in the corner of their room, fiddling with the morpher absentmindedly as the others slept. He didn't notice her approach. He never did when he was in his own world, lost in thoughts too big for a kid to carry.

Her hands trembled with anticipation, but she wasn't afraid. This was the chance. She was quick, always quick, and she knew what she wanted. She slipped toward him, heart hammering in her chest. The morpher sat in his hand, glowing softly in the dim light. He was exhausted, his guard down. Without a second thought, she reached for it.

He flinched as her fingers brushed against it, but it was too late. In one swift motion, Pink snatched it from his hand, pulling it close to her chest, her pulse racing.

Blue shot up, his eyes wide with shock. "You don't steal from me," he growled, his voice low, but there was something in his eyes—a spark—that made her realize just how wrong it was to take it. And yet, the moment felt too electric to undo.

This was the moment everything changed.

Blue hit her.

It wasn't the punch she expected. It wasn't a slap, or some warning shove. This was real. A sharp, fast strike that sent her crashing to the ground, the impact leaving her breathless. For a moment, she couldn't process it—couldn't think beyond the sting of the hit. The shock rang through her body, her mind scrambling, her vision blurry from the force of it. She was on the floor before she even realized what had happened. Her heart raced, her skin hot with adrenaline and confusion.

The punch was hard, unexpected, and fast. It sent her sprawling to the ground, the impact of his fist knocking the breath out of her. For a moment, everything went still. She lay there, staring up at him in shock, her body stunned by the suddenness of it all. This wasn't some playful shove or a warning. It was real. And it was the first time she had ever seen him so... angry.

They hadn't been together long. Not enough time for her to know the depths of his temper, the sides of him that hadn't come out yet. The Blue she'd been joking with, teasing and laughing alongside just moments before, was gone. The kid she had seen as a partner in crime—always willing to dive headfirst into her chaos—was now standing above her, fists clenched, eyes burning with something darker.

She felt her chest tighten. There was pain, sure, but it wasn't the physical sting that rattled her—it was the overwhelming realization that she had pushed him too far. That the world had pushed him too far.

She didn't blame him. In fact, she couldn't help but understand it. This was what they needed. Not just submission, not just bending to survive. They needed the strength to fight back, to set boundaries. To push against a world that wanted them broken. Blue wasn't broken. He was fighting back. And that? That made sense to her, even if it made her feel small and vulnerable in this moment.

His fist hovered above her, ready to strike again, but something changed in her. Her breath hitched, and suddenly, she started laughing. It wasn't a happy laugh, more like something raw, desperate, and cracked, leaking out between the tears she hadn't even realized had started falling.

She laughed, and she cried, both at once, because in that moment, everything came rushing forward. She was overwhelmed. The world was overwhelming. But this? This feeling of anger, of standing your ground, of not letting anyone push you around... it was something she wanted. She needed this.

And then, before she could think, before she could stop herself, she sat up and pulled him toward her. She threw her arms around him, holding him as tight as she could, feeling the heat of his body against hers, the tension in his muscles.

"I'm sorry, Blue," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion, shaking slightly as she spoke. The laughter had died in her throat, replaced with a sudden, heavy ache that made her chest tight. "I shouldn't have stolen from you. I know I pushed you. I didn't mean to. You're... you're my best friend."

Her arms tightened around him, the desperation evident in her grip. She wasn't sure what she was asking for—maybe for him to understand, maybe for him to promise something to her, something that would make this moment feel right again.

"If you'll promise," she continued, her voice softer, almost pleading now, "we'll always be friends. No matter what happens, no matter what we do, we'll always be friends. Please promise me that."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and the air between them seemed to thicken, stretching the seconds into eternity. She held her breath, waiting for him to say something, anything that would make this moment feel like it wasn't just the end of a line but the beginning of something else. Something real.

But before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and the doctors stepped in. They had seen the punch, the outburst. They were coming to drag him off for another round of "treatment." Another chance for them to break him down, to strip away what little resistance remained.

But before they could get any closer, something happened that stopped her cold.

In one swift motion, Blue reached for the morpher still clutched tightly in her hand—the one she had taken from him—and, with an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist, he pressed it into her palm. She froze, eyes widening as the weight of his actions sank in. His expression was serious, calm even, but there was something raw in his eyes, something unspoken, but powerful.

"If we're best friends..." he said, his voice steady, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Keep this safe. Don't let anyone else touch it."

The words hit her like a wave. The morpher was heavier now, not just from the weight of its function, but from the weight of what it meant. He was entrusting it to her, and with it, he was trusting her to keep a piece of him safe. To protect what he couldn't, what the world couldn't take from him.

She could barely breathe. Her fingers curled around the morpher, unwilling to let go. But before she could say anything, the doctors were already on him, pulling him away. His eyes locked onto hers, a brief, intense moment shared between them, and then he was gone, dragged out of the room with no more than a grunt of resistance.

She stayed frozen for a moment, the morpher still warm in her hand, the weight of Blue's trust vibrating through her body. His words—the promise he'd placed in her hands—carried more than just the morpher's weight. They carried a burden. A connection that twisted inside her, demanding something from her that she wasn't sure she was ready to give.

Pink's fingers tightened around the morpher, feeling the cool metal begin to warm under her grip. The memories of him flooded in, washing over her with the intensity of the moment when Blue had slipped it into her palm. His trust. The way he had looked at her, as though this was a moment of quiet reckoning. "Keep this safe," he had said. "Don't let anyone else touch it."

Her heart raced as the weight of it all pressed down on her. It wasn't just the morpher—it was him. The betrayal. The regret. The longing. The need for him to understand, for him to know she hadn't meant to hurt him, but there was no undoing it. No taking back what had been done.

Her breath quickened, her hands trembling slightly as she thought of him in the present—locked away in detention... isolated, broken down, stripped of everything that made him him. Imprisoned by new white coats.

She couldn't stand it. She couldn't let him stay there. Her grip on the morpher tightening as the weight of her decision settled. She wasn't going to let Blue rot in their hands. She was going to do something about it. She was going to break him out.

Prism's voice sliced through her thoughts, smooth and teasing, as if she could read every twitch of Pink's reaction. "Oh, I see it now, Pink. Getting all hot and bothered thinking about him, huh?"

Pink's eyes rolled, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "Shut up, Prism," she muttered, her voice low and laced with something darker than usual. But she couldn't hide it anymore. Couldn't lie to herself. She did want him out. But more than that? She wanted to make him see her—see that she could save him, that she was the one who could break him free from all this.

"Come on, Pink," Prism purred, her voice thick with amusement. "It's obvious, isn't it? You're practically drenched in it. All that nostalgia, that hunger to fix him. You're getting off on this. You know it. Getting him out of detention, making him yours again. You're practically dripping with the idea."

Pink's chest tightened, her hand almost crushing the morpher as the flood of emotions threatened to spill over. She couldn't deny it anymore. "You're full of shit," she grinned, but the smirk didn't quite reach her eyes. There was something in her tone now—a mix of determination and something raw, unspoken. "I'm just... thinking about how fun it'll be. You know, making a game of it. Getting him out of detention. Making them sweat. The usual."

Prism wasn't having it. "Sure, Pink. Keep lying to yourself. But we both know it's more than fun. You want him back. You need him to see that you're the one who gets him. That you're the one who can pull him out of this hell, out of the hands of the white coats who've been breaking him down."

Pink's hands flexed around the morpher, the pressure building as her pulse quickened. She wasn't just trying to save him anymore. She was doing this for herself. For them. For the chaos they'd always thrived on. Her body moved on its own, leaning forward slightly, her posture tense with purpose.

"Yeah," Pink said, her voice sharpening, the edge of her resolve biting through the uncertainty. "I want to get him out. But it's not about some noble rescue. It's about me and him. It's about showing him that we don't need them. He doesn't need them. He needs me."

Prism's voice dropped lower, dripping with dark amusement. "I knew it. You're already on fire for this. You're going to break him out. You're going to tear down everything that's keeping him locked up, make them pay for ever thinking they could break him."

Pink's posture straightened, her chest rising and falling with the steady breath of determination. She wasn't just breaking him out; she was claiming him. Her eyes darkened with intent, as the full weight of what she was about to do crashed over her. She wasn't just going to save him; she was going to take him back.

"Hell yeah," she muttered, her words low and full of finality. "I'm not just saving him. I'm getting him back. I'm getting us back."

Prism's voice purred with satisfaction. "That's what I like to hear. Let's get to work, Pink. We've got a game to play. And they won't know what hit them."