AlteredTundra

Going Viral: A Digimon RP

Oh yeaaaaah! Let's get it!

The Spirits Within/Aeon

<Snipped quote by metanoia>

nerdsssss

@nodogs

Do you you have my rent yet?

The Spirits Within/Aeon

@metanoia
Hey! Sure. Wait a second, something looks similar between you and @Archangel89.

@Prisk

Oh shit! You're right! I wonder what it could be?

The Spirits Within/Aeon

@Prisk If you don't mind one more hopping aboard, I'd like to take a stab at it.

Eye wants to write // Craving Digimon

idk if anything will come from this but bump! <3

Sum up your week in roleplaying in just 3 words

Been too lazy

Edenridge

_{Early Monday morning between 5-6AM
(before the new batch of letters was sent out)
@metanoia & @BrutalBx}

________________________________________________________________________________

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There were some nights where Mikhail Zima could sleep through the night without fail. These nights were almost always including some type of company in his bed or if he had South Park playing in the background. He had a rather weird fascination with South Park and it always made him feel relaxed. Maybe it was the childhood nostalgia. Maybe it was the crude humor, or maybe it was Kenny always dying. That was his favorite running gag.

But that wasn’t on this night. He had stayed awake. He kept dreaming about the same thing on and off for the past month. It was the day of the shooting. Not so much the shooting itself. That day, Mika had fortunately walked away with nothing but trauma. Trauma because he basically lost two brothers that day: Danny Boaz and Boa, who left on that day. But it wasn’t about the heartbreak from that day that persisted in his dreams, but rather what happened shortly after the immediate threat of Charlie Decker was laid to rest and the aftermath of it was felt. It was when his mother came back to her hometown that Mika’s entire world came crashing down.

It was the moment that John O’Hara found out that Mika was his nephew and not just some kid who had the coincidence of reminding him of David. It was those sequence of events playing themselves on an infinite loop that kept him up all night. Occasionally he would get a few winks, but not today. The sun was barely out and he just couldn’t fall asleep.

It had been nearly two years since he spoke to his Uncle John. Two years of avoiding him.

Not anymore.”

Before he mentally clicked the decision he just made, Mika’s body moved. His legs moved him past the bowl where he kept his keys, out of his apartment, into his Toyota Tacoma, and he was driving down Carlisle Ave., over the tracks into the Northside, and driving to a place he absolutely knew where he had to go.

There was something almost hilarious about how his brain was working. He hasn’t been anywhere close to his old stomping grounds except for that one time last month he passed the school. The night that Boa returned. The night that he, instead of being part of that group of people who heard what happened to Charlie Decker, he disturbed Cece and Niles on their date, yet as he parked near the gym, Mika wasn’t going to avoid it this time around.

And yet he sat in his truck. It had shut off, so no light shined on him except the subtle rays that came from the almost-risen sun. In the back of his mind, he pondered about whether or not this was the right thing to do. Or maybe if he could even go through with it. He could turn back, drive to the diner down the road, and nobody had to know he was even here. But how much of a man would that make him? Running away from his past? Running away from something that deep in his heart, the heart he felt was closed to certain people he felt he had betrayed, that he knew he needed to do this.

As he met his reflection in the mirror, he looked at himself. Bags under his eyes, the signs of sleep deprivation in those blue eyes of his, and what seemed like his own soul telling him what he needed to do, he sighed at himself. “Sometimes, I really hate you. You know that, right?”

With that decided, he exited his truck and walked into the gym. Not to his surprise, it wasn’t locked. That’s because he knew a certain someone was here. And as he entered, he heard the echoes of a basketball reverberate through the empty building. He saw a man run up and down the court. Mika hesitated going further. He hadn’t noticed him, but he came this far. No point in giving up now. “I knew I’d find you here, Uncle John.” Those last two words, he hadn’t spoken them to John O’Hara since before senior year and them having the same meaning as it did right now.

John stopped mid dribble and bounced the ball back up into his ready guarded hands. The sweat was glistening on his slowly withering skin and his breathing was heavy. He had been up for several hours already, not unusual for the Coach. He hadn’t slept properly since that humid hot summer of 1974. Every time he closed his eyes, there was always a flash, or a whisper, some kind of memory that as he had grown older he had managed to force away before it affected him too much. Yet when he was asleep, that was when he couldn’t control his mind, that was when he could feel the Hangman’s noose tightening around his neck, the ground beneath his feet giving away as he was dragged back into the woods, staring at the light from the camp mess hall and trying to scream for help. Sleep was a portal to the past and John did not want to go back in time.

Then there was a more recent past that also haunted him, more so in his waking hours that he had tried to forget. It was right there in that gym, on the home side of the court where he did what he could to temper the rage of a lost soul, only to be met by a shotgun blast to his stomach. That wasn’t the worst of it. Not by far. John’s worst memory of that day was watching the Callahan boy be shot before his eyes and feeling the child’s wait crash on top of him. Roddy was trying to help him and it cost him dearly. The one blessing if any was that Jamie and David were not there. David…

The boy that now stood to his right reminded him so much of his first born son. The way he carried himself, the mannerisms, he really should’ve seen the signs sooner. Shame on him. John had tried religion; it didn’t work for him but he did believe in a higher power, he did believe that they worked in mysterious ways. Still, sometimes he wondered. He had so many questions. One of which was Mikail Zima. This boy, now a man, he was an O’Hara. Mary’s boy. Yet he didn’t know. They didn’t tell him. There was frustration when he first found out, of course there was. Secrets and lies were a currency in Edenridge that John wanted no part of.

“Mika, you’re out and about early. It’s a family trait” Coach corrected his posture and turned to face his nephew. “What can I do for you, son?”

He stood firm at the center of the court, eyes meeting his uncle's. In the back of his mind, there still was that part of Mika that told him being here was a bad idea. There was no way John would hear him out. It could be two more years or five and he still wouldn't forgive you. The shame you brought to him was too much. The heartbreak of your secret was too much.

And yet, ever the stubborn son his mother raised, for better or worse, Mika didn't move an inch. He wasn't advancing but he wasn't retreating. "Couldn't sleep. Tried for hours and still nothing, so I thought I might come back to the place where I shined my brightest. Back to the place where you pushed me to my absolute limit… Coach…" His voice trailed off into silence as the two O'Hara men met each other in a locked gaze. He felt a subtle increase in that funny feeling that he hadn’t felt in a few years. That air of warmth that Coach O’Hara always managed to instill in him in his times of need.

“You were a hell of a player” Coach bounced the basketball off of the hardwood several times. He looked at Mika with a sense of empathy. He had spent so much time worrying about the past. Life had been hard for him. Between nearly dying multiple times, the loss of his son, the issues with his sister and his daughter’s own anguish. The one constant in John’s life has always been the game and Mika really was one hell of a player. He could tell the boy was here for more than a sleep deprived reminisce; he was reaching out for something, someone to hold on to.

John had held on to a grudge from years gone by and he had let young Mikhail suffer for it. Mary was his little sister, he loved her and he always would but she chose her path. It took the Coach a very long time to come to terms with that and then to be blindsided with the bombshell that one of his stars, one of his beloved Celtics, was actually her son; it was a lot to deal with at a very bad time in his life. “Let me ask you something, when you played for me, do you think had I known who you were, it would’ve been any different?”

He let the silence linger as he pondered on Coach’s question. Would things between them be different if Mika was honest with him in the beginning? He didn’t know how to answer that because he didn’t know. He kept that secret from him because Mika thought he had to or else those he loved would get caught in the crossfire. Keeping secrets was Ivan’s favorite habit and he had made sure Mika carried on that specific family legacy. But he was also afraid of the rejection. Maybe the real reason wasn’t so complicated. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to be treated any different. He wanted to be accepted by Coach for nothing but his hard work that he put into the team.

As he stepped forward, even going as far as to tighten the distance between them, Mika never lost the gaze with his uncle. “I’m not sure how to answer that, Coach..” He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the pressure and the gravity of the question itself. “For those two years, you were one of two people who felt like a real father to me. You made me want to believe in myself for more than just the short-term fame and glory winning the game could give me. I..wasn’t given the benefit of having a father who believed in me like you believed in me and the other guys.” That subtle feeling from before had deepend and Mika felt like he had to say what he was feeling now or he wouldn’t ever get it out. “I don’t know if things would be different. If you knew, I don’t know if that would’ve changed things. What I do know, Uncle John, is that not telling you on my terms is one of the things I most regret about that year. You deserved so much more than that from me.” For the first time since arriving, Mika’s gaze left Coach’s and he was looking down at the court. Shame piled high on him.

“I remember when you first asked to join the team. You were a little shorter than the other guys but you had this fire, you had the heart and you had the arrogance. You reminded me so much of someone I used to know…your mother” Coach looked towards the bleachers and in memory he could see his little sister, sitting with their parents cheering him on when he was a player. A vision in gold. ”I should’ve seen it then but I didn’t. I don’t blame you, Mika. I’m not even mad at you. You’re just a kid in a strange situation and you handled it in whatever way you could” John bounced the ball again before tossing it to Mika.

“What’s past is past. You and me, we can build a bridge kiddo but it might take some time. Some effort. You want to put in the work? Then I will too” The Coach moved off of centre court and stood off to the sidelines where he always did when he was in charge of a game. “We do work in this gym. We go hard and we go better than anybody else. You know that. I want you to meet me here, every morning and we will go through this together. But before we do, we’re gonna do a little test”

Hearing Coach make the comparison between Mika and his mother was…unexpected, but welcomed. He cracked his first smile since coming here (albeit small). When Coach tossed the ball to him, Mika caught it. His time under the lights as an Edenridge Celtic may have been long past him, but Mika never stopped playing the game. Southside ball was different, but he still ruled the court. But all he could think about as he stared down at the ball.

And then he looked up when Coach said the words he never thought he’d say: build a bridge. His eyes were, for the first time (especially when he thought about his uncle), clear. Of course he would put the work in. There was no question about it. Mika never wanted anything more than to just…be someone that John O’Hara could be proud of again. “Yes, Coach.”

Cracking a wider smile, almost grin-line, Mika bounced the ball a few times on the hardwood floor. “When have you ever known me to turn down a challenge?” He bounced it once more and held it in both hands. “What’cha got on your mind?”

John placed his hands on his hips and assumed his Coach position. It was game time at Edenridge High. “Clear eyes. Full Hearts. No luck but what we make. That ain’t just a catchy slogan so the soccer Mom’s can sell some mugs on Etsy whatever the hell that is. Those are words your grandpappy lived by. He was a hard man. A decent man. A man you want to aspire to be. Those words mean everything to me. They are what it means to be an O’Hara”

John glanced up at a wall, the framed jerseys of retired numbers staring back at him. His number was up there, Francis, Clay, Garrett, Russell, all of them. Save one. Save 23. Save David.

“You want to be an O’Hara kiddo, this is how you do it. You make this first shot, you sink three points, then we will set up a meeting between me and your mother and we will try and sort our issues out.You miss? Then it’ll just be me and you, understand? Earn your name, Mika”

That old slogan was etched into Mika’s memory even though there was a part of him that tried to push it back and out of his life since that day. No luck but what you make. It defined Mika’s sophomore and junior year. It defined those two blissful years of being under Coach’s watchful eye. Being one of the star players under Danny Belmonte’s lead. Being a Celtic until tragedy brought too much shame to face anyone. In those two years, regardless of what was happening, whatever happened inside the Edenridge High Gymnasium and the locker room and any time Coach gave his speeches, that one line was something that carried Mika through everything.

And now, as he held the ball in both hands, looking at Coach O’Hara -- his uncle, his mother’s older brother -- stand in front of him in the same way he always did back in better days, he couldn’t help but feel like whatever was (and is) happening outside these walls, it didn’t matter. In his heart, in his soul, Mikhail Zima had a familiar feeling that stemmed from the desire that he always had.

To be an O’Hara.

He walked up to the 3-point goal line, bouncing the ball a few times right on the line. His gaze was focused and stern. His back was straight. Posture was straight and his arms bent slightly as he had the ball in his hand. Mika held it up close to his face, looking down at it once more. “One shot is all it will take.” He whispered, gazing at Coach O’Hara. The man hadn’t budged an inch in the minute he laid out his challenge.

In that moment, he couldn’t help but think of his mother, Mary-Anne. Her sadness and even grief about her family. Sometimes he would catch her in a moment and he'd ask and she would tell him about her brother and his son. Nothing in great detail, but thinking back, it was an intense grief and regret. He understood what she was lamenting about when was younger -- around 12, 13 years old. He understood because Mika himself was experiencing similar feelings. Like mother, like son, after all.

Here I go. With a deep breath, Mika took the position: legs bent, the ball positioned in his dominant, left hand and his right one on the side. He eyed the net, knowing if he made this there was hope for both him and his mother to finally have that peace of mind that he longed for and what he suspected she longed for.

And he took the shot, the ball flying through the air.

All of his hopes of being an O’Hara was on this one shot.

No luck but what you make it.

Word association Game!

Military

𝘿𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 ⌜ᴀ ɢᴏᴅ ʀᴏʟᴇᴘʟᴀʏ⌟

_{location || Olympic Club
mentions || Hera, Zeus
Interactions || Artemis @smarty0114, Captain Woods & Salvatore (NPCs)}

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There are few pleasures in this world -- divine or not -- that bring Athena pleasure. Eating the fruits of her labor that typically take the form of birria tacos that she often gets from a food truck that’s almost exclusively parked down the street of her adequate Seattle apartment. Watching her favorite guilty pleasure of Riverdale (don’t judge her). Something about how over-the-top it can get on a weekly basis is, at the very least, dumb entertainment for the Goddess of Wisdom. But above all else, she enjoys sleeping in. She knew going to bed last night that there would be a luncheon hosted by her father’s on-again-off-again partner, Hera, so she set her alarm and made sure that nobody would come between her and grabbing some tacos before heading to that luncheon.

And yet, at five in the morning, she was rudely awoken from a deep slumber. If this had happened during a time when she was still a divine being, hell that made the Trojan War feel like a walk in the part compared to what she might be capable of and what she might do to the person who woke her up. But sadly, she wasn’t.

At five in the morning, Athena got a call from her captain.

Groaning, she answered the ringing phone. She let it ring for a few additional rings. “You do know what time it is, right Captain Woods?”

George Woods, a Seattle-born cop who rose through the ranks. Athena had great respect for him. “My apologies, Sophia. I know it’s your day off. I would have loved to call anyone else, but since you’re closest to Belltown, we need your eyes.”

George was one of the better captains in the collective SPD force. He was unlike most who respected the unspoken rule of don’t call your best detective when she asks for a day off a week ahead of time, yet it was what it was.

In the back of her mind, she thought for a minute about what her father would do. Zeus, as she had always known him, lacked certain standards for the call of duty. Well, unless it involved fornicating with anyone and everyone. That unfortunate mental image aside, she thought about how he might worm his way out of this. She knew Zeus wouldn’t have answered the call in the first place and gone back to sleep, but Athena wasn’t wired like that. In fact, she answered it because she knew the captain only called her because he needed her.

“I’m on my way, captain,” she spoke up after about thirty seconds of thoughtful silence.

---

About thirty minutes later, Detective Sophia Pallas was on the scene as the sound of her 1970 Dodge Charger came to a stylistic stop. The local PD were already surveying the scene, CSI was just starting to process it. Sophia walked past the crowd gathering and flashed her badge at an officer who was likely a rookie and didn’t recognize her. When he let her through and she walked around the scene, she couldn’t help but do a double and triple take around. Crates were smashed, and scratches along the cargo containers, As she looked to her left, there were a few men who were being treated by EMT and they seemed to have a myriad of bruises and scrapes all over their bodies but none of them were lethal. They got their asses kicked, that much was obvious, but they were alive.

“Interesting,” she noted as Captain Woods waved at her.

Walking up to him, she looked back at the men with EMTs for a short moment before letting her eyes return to her captain. “Hell of a scene, Captain.”

“You’re telling me,” George Woods groaned, clearly exhausted.

“So who were those guys? The ones being treated?”

Captain Woods looked back and sighed. “Low level punks. Not sure who they work for, but they seem to run in a small gang and harass small businesses in the area.”

So they were thugs. In the back of her mind, Athena had a thought (more like an opinion) that they got what was coming to them. She didn’t believe in getting revenge and it wasn’t clear if that was what they were looking at here. It was still too early into the investigation, but given what the captain knew and what she had suspected based off of that, it was an easy guess that those five harassed the wrong person. But who did it was the question everyone wanted to know, especially Athena.

“Was it their bodies the only thing found on the scene?” Sophia asked.

Captain Woods shook his head. “A pile of coke was under one of the guys and we found a SUV about three blocks out that had a few bags of the same product. Whatever these men were here for, it wasn’t to take in the sights. Yeah, I’ve no doubt they were meant to meet up with a buyer and instead got an ass-kicking they’ll never forget.” The Captain laughed.

The only question was who met them instead?

Sophia looked around and she couldn’t help but center on one of the men getting treated. Out of the five that were separated, arms behind their back and cuffed, he was the one that caught Athena’s attention the most. Exusing herself, she walked over just as one of the EMTs was finished patching him up. “Detective Pallas, I need to question the suspect.”

“That should be okay,” The EMT said, standing up and the guy he was just treating just glared at him. “But not for too long. We will need to get him and the other injured to the hospital for treatment.”

“Understood. It won’t take long,” Athena promised, smiling as she took the seat the EMT previously had. When he was out of sight, her friendly disposition was replaced with a much more serious one. “So, why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Eat me!” He spat at Athena.

She kept a nonreactive expression on her face. “Appreciate the offer, but I have good tastes.” A second after she said that, Athena stomped hard on his foot and closed his mouth. “Wanna try this again? Nod if you understand?”

He nodded.

Athena uncovered his mouth and removed her foot from his. “Now, tell me your name, sir.”

“My friends call me Sal. Salvatore Esposito.”

“Salvator Esposito, it’s nice to meet you. Now, I’m only going to ask you this once and, trust me when I say this: you don’t want to find out what will happen if I have to ask you a second time. You and your friends were here, allegedly trying to make some kind of drug deal--”

“Wait, that’s not exactly--”

Athena glared at him. “I wasn’t finished. You were allegedly here to make a drug deal, but it didn’t happen. In fact, judging from the scene--” Athena glanced around, even letting Salvatore look around (which he did), “--That didn’t happen. I can only come to two conclusions. You five either had a disagreement with your buyer and found out the hard way they weren’t someone to be messed with. In which case, this is a waste of my time and my captain’s time.”

“And the second?” He asked, feeling anxious in knowing the answer.

Athena smiled, leaning close so only he could hear what she was about to say. “The second is that you found yourself on the other end of someone you never dreamed you would. Someone who not only beat you up physically but somehow struck so much fear into your eyes -- the same fear I see right now -- that no officers nor detectives know who, right? Nod if I’m right.”

As he nodded, the EMT from before returned from before. “Detective Pallas, we need to take them to the hospital now. I apologize.”

Sophia Pallas stood up. “No need. I am done questioning the suspect for the time being.” She looked down at Salvatore, smiling as he was hauled away on a stretcher. She had a suspicion who did this. Not their identity, but rumors have it there was someone in seattle helping those who couldn’t help themselves. A sort of boogyman for men like Salvatore Esposito. Athena didn’t necessarily disagree with their methods, but those stories were becoming way too frequent lately.

But that was a matter for another day. Athena returned to her captain, telling her some half-truths of what she found out. There were some things about this that didn’t make any sense but at the same time, as she left the scene and drove down the road, Athena thought about a lot of things. In her mind, she was trying to decide if the captain needed to know or whether or not she should keep the fact that the person responsible for the attack on the pier was the ever-elusive Blue Crusader.

---

As the Goddess of Wisdom walked through the entrance of the Olympic Club, she had several thoughts running through her mind, none of which were positive. She had scanned for her father but only met disappointment. Having Zeus’ company would have, in Athena’s personal and seldom humble opinion, made this luncheon bearable. Hera wasn’t someone Athena particularly got along with. Actually, maybe it would be accurate to say that she loathed her father’s on-again-off-again wife. She had come here with the small hope that her father would finally show his face to these yearly gatherings that the Pantheons gathered at. But alas, this wasn’t the case.

As she grabbed a glass of champagne and lamented that she had to give credit where it was due. For as much as she loathed Hera, the fact of the matter was the Queen of Olympus had a certain talent when it came to finding the finest champagne that reminded her of the smooth taste of liquid ambrosia. She took small sips of it and made her way around the room, observing everyone who she greeted in passing. There were a few gods and goddesses she avoided as much as she could and others she didn’t mind having small conversations with. Yet, as she made her way towards an isolated point of the club, there was someone who she was wanting to talk to. The only person at the club currently who understood her feelings about being here.

“Love the outfit, Artemis. Green and pink aren’t my colors, but you always had a habit of making things work for you.” Athena approached one of the few people in all the pantheons that, to be quite frankly, Athena had an unbiased adoration for. “So enlighten me: who do you think will be the source of most of our future headaches in the immediate future?” She asked, leaning against a table that Artemis was standing by.

Rangers

LOCATION — Food Truck Station, Angel Grove
INTERACTIONS — Everyone including new hot chick _{@OGSG @Hey Im Jordan @Hey Im Jordan @Akayaofthemoon @Fabricant451}

---

"What should we do here guys?"

"That's a good question."

Jackson struggled to get up. The freak that had gut-lanced him in his stomach stood a few feet away and they seemed to be enjoying seeing poor Jackson. Would have been poorer if he had paid for those damn quesadillas, which probably weren't important in the grander scheme of things but Jackson was still pretty bummed. He gladly accepted Dre's help to...well help him to his feet. To be honest, Jackson wasn't sure what they could do. They tried to stop and all three of them got their asses beat.

Jackson hated losing and he hated it even more because deep down, he actually tried to do something that wasn't to his benefit (at least not fully). People were afraid and running for their lives and these...things with the lances...javelins -- honestly, he didn't know. Jackson didn't study anything close to freakyweaponology. He was just taking classes that might point him towards something involving cars and engines. And now he was thinking about all of the things he never did and how it was likely he, Su, Dre, and those other two girls were about to meet their maker.

...Not that Jackson was super religious or anything, but it was a figure of speech.

"Damn and I was hoping to have some food before I died." Yeah, he's still stuck on food. He never thought he'd get six feet under on an empty stomach.

As Jackson started to ponder if he should pray, there was something coming from the smoke. Five bright lights that were strangely colored almost all colors of the rainbow and they went fucking ham on the group of freaks that literally gave him, Dre, and Su the hardest time of their lives to just hold their ground, yet floating crystals were not able to strike them down but cause a damn explosion? "What's up with that!?" He exclaimed, shielding his eyes from the brightness of the blast that the floating crystals caused.

And now they were in front of the five of them.

"What the hell?" Jackson looked around. "You guys seeing this? These things are floating. How is this even possible!?" He saw Su and Dre had one in front of them. Dre had a yellow one and Su had blue. Meanwhile, Jackson's was red. "This is so fucking wild! I don't even know what to say..."

"The Power Crystals have chosen you five--"

"Right..Power Crystals. Wait what!?"

He was in such a daze cause of the floating thing that Jackson hadn't realized a super hot babe had shown up. Leaning closer to Dre, Jackson whispered, "yo she's fucking hot, bro. You think I have a shot?" He asked Dre, now wondering if he did, in fact, have a shot with that totally smoking chick. He could definitely romance the fuck out of her.

As he watched Dre completely ignore him (how rude!) and grab his yellow thingy, Jackson shrugged and figured he'd do the same. When he did, he felt a weird sensation through his left arm. It was all tingly. Like someone had put one of them vibrating things for chairs all over his entire body. It felt nice, but then the crystal phased through his entire arm. HIS ENTIRE ARM! it went through it like Kitty Pryde did through walls and went inside him, through his heart. For a moment, Jackson felt nothing. There were no adverse effects of him consuming that weird stone. "That's it? Thought it would be more than that--"

And then he felt it. Something so numbing and rejuvenating at the same time that Jackson couldn't think straight. Everything in him from thoughts to physical reactions to the hairs all over his body -- everything was electrified and not in the The Rock kind of way. He wasn't the most electrifying man in sports entertainment today, but rather, as the surge of whatever he was experiencing subsided, Jackson felt different. The pain in his gut was no longer there and he realized something else. He couldn't explain it because what literally just happened to was too surreal to process right now, but he was feeling...stronger. Faster. It was like this extra something was added to his already impressive physical capabilities.

And then on his wrist, some odd wristwatch appeared. On his left wrist. "Whoa, is this the new smartwatch? It looks so cool!"

"That... is your Power Morpher. It allows you to access the Morphin Grid to transform into a Power Ranger,"

Jackson made an "ah" sound and nodded his head. "Yeah, that's what I thought it was." After a few seconds of nodding like he actually understood what that hot chick meant, he had a delayed reaction and his eyes widened. First, he was staring at the watch, then to hot chick, then back to the watch, and then at hot chick again. "Wait, Power Morpher? And what's this about a Morphin Grid? And what the hell is a power ranger? Is that like a Park Ranger - but better?" So many questions coursed through his brain. Jackson hadn't been this full of questions since the ending of Shutter Island. Truly some intense mind-boggling stuff.