242302.19 | Disco Rangers

Posted on Mon Mar 6th, 2023 @ 4:32am by Lieutenant Yivrin Pexil

1,350 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Genesis
Location: The Ruins of Perpetual Decay - Ortenemjus IV

=/.= IN HOT PURSUIT!
=/.= The Ruins of Perpetual Decay - Ortenemjus IV

The battle in the atmosphere of the ruined city had been fierce. Ferocious. Ruthless. Merciless.

Beginning in orbit of a world left in ruin by a forgotten species who prioritized victory over survival, a handful of fighters engaged an overwhelming force and the grand majority of the pilots of those fighters survived.

They’d gotten so low that they were trading fire between skyscrapers that seemed to be in a state of perpetual avalanche. These ancient buildings, abandoned for at least 1000 years (according to the computer) stretched up into a dense fog that oppressed the entirety of the horizon—if not the entirety of the planet.

Ortenemjus was a miserable, cursed, and haunted world; every observable detail of this planet felt like a lackluster memorial to some terrible tragedy that occurred centuries past. There was no water anywhere, yet in the city—one had to assume it must’ve been a city—it was always dark and felt like it might start raining. Go too far past the what forensic anthropologists migtht’ve classified as suburbs and one would find an endless, sunburnt desert full of starving creatures and even more sparse pockets of ruins full of entirely different dangers.

The fact of the matter was: while Pexil and his team had sacrificed every ship in their squadron the enemy most certainly had not. By they time they rendezvoused within the confines of a collapsing building--which once might’ve resembled a church--they numbered 5. Everyone had made it.

“Alright guys,” Pexil began, making eye contact with each individual crouched in the circle. “I…” he paused, uncertain of what to say. Was this leadership? Trying to figure out how to inspire those around you when it was plainly obvious that the situation was for all intents and purposes completely hopeless?

Yes. Apparently, today, it was. “I have no idea how we’re gonna get out of here,” he confessed. “Our fighters are scattered across this hellscape and as it stands our options seem limited.” They nodded slowly, some nursing severe wounds. He continued: “But we came down here on a mission. A mission of hope. A mission of justice!”

Dejected as they’d appeared only moments ago, he could almost feel his team coming out of their lethargic despair, reminded once again of their primary goal.

“The President is right behind those doors!” he exclaimed. Using a everything he had left in him, he grunted through the pain of standing, and stabilized himself using a piece of discarded pipe as a cane. He’d been injured in the crash. “Her people asked for our help, and we said we’d help ‘em. Let’s pull it together, do what we do best, and save the fuc--”

“NOT SO FAST!!!” an unexpected voice exclaimed. Startled, they all turned as one to face their uninvited guest, Yivrin having already recognized the nasaly sound of the voice of his most archest of rivals. Despite their exhaustion and injuries, each of his comrades rose and tried to muster a defensive stance.

There, standing on a conveniently located and dramatically elevated pile of conveniently located rubble stood … You. With the nerve to wear the shoes that the two of them had fought over at a sale on Cressellia Prime at last year’s shore-leave, they stood with a ringed fist on one hip, and spinning a knife playfully in their opposing hand.

They were surrounded by two dozen of their footsoldiers. Best known as the Karaokamazombies, these pseudo-inteligent lifeforms moved in a way that defied both logic and rhythm—but their fatal vocal attacks had turned the tide in many previous engagements; their lack of self-preservatory instincts had also contributed to said victories.

“You…” Yivrin hissed as he narrowed his eyes upon the cursed face of his nemesis.

“Who? Me?” You replied with a sinister playfulness.

“Release the President,” Pexil commanded in a commanding tone. “Return us to our vessel and let us go in peace.”

“Hahahahahahahahahah” You cackled. Then, just as a well-timed burst of lightning struck their expression changed from sinister delight to murderous solemnity: “Kill them!” they exclaimed.

And then: at that very moment, amid the constantly falling rubble, inexplicable rain, persistent thunder, and manufactured drama… It was then that the Karaokamazombies attacked Pexil and his team en masse. From a distance it looked as if 5 small islands were being consumed in a sea of fake hair, cheap makeup, and utter tone-deafness personified. As they were beset upon an EXPLOSION occurred in the center of the vortex, and the encroaching hordes of mindless footsolders were hurled in every direction.

You had to shield their eyes, and brace themselves from the massive shockwave that immediately followed. They were almost thrown to the ground, save for one of their Karaokamazombies breaking their less-than-graceful fall.

As the smoke began to clear across the now-barren blast radius five figures could be seen standing in statuesque poses.

At first glance one would have thought that their flight suits had somehow been restored, helmets and all—yet color-coordinated, and redecorated for some reason. But no, while reminiscent of the general Starfleet aesthetic what stood before us was something quite different indeed.

“What!?” You lamented, dumbstruck by what they now faced. “What is this?! How is this possible!?”

“STARFLEET RANGERS: DISCO SQUADRON!” Pexil and his team exclaimed in unison as they performed a series of obviously choreographed movements. Another explosion occurred, then they leapt into action, each dashing forward to take on their own cluster of the remaining assailants.

They introduced themselves as follows:
Regaining her footing from kicking someone in the face, the first of Yivrin’s teammates exclaimed: “Ensign Boogie Shoes! Disco Squadron: Pink Ranger!”
“Chief Carwash! Disco Squadron: Yellow Ranger!” their deck chief declared, knocking an opponent back as he turned to smash his gloved fist into the face of another
A half-dozen of the Karaokamazombies fell in a flurry of phaser fire. “Ensign Le Freak! Disco Squadron: Green Ranger!” announced a young man wielding a pair of phasers.
A throng of enemies was knocked back in a flurry of baton-assisted attacks. “Lieutenant JG Dancing Queen! Disco Squadron: Blue Ranger!”

While the rest of his team had been battling the amassed mob of nameless, tone-deaf henchmen, Yivrin had been dueling one-on-one with You. It was at that well-timed moment that You was caught at a disadvanage, falling on their back as their weapon clattered away.

“Which just leaves me,” the costumed Cardassian stated as he leveled his sword at his adversaries face. “Lieutenant Last Dance! Disco Squadron: Red Ranger!”

Inexplicably, the five members of Starfleet Disco Power Rangers withdrew from combat in a series of backflips that defied gravity, logic, and physics. The five of them landed adjacent to each other, with Yivrin standing at the center of his team. “BURN BABY, BURN!!!” they exclaimed, triggering their penultimate attack: the Disco Inferno. The explosion that followed was not only visually thematic, but was also responsible for a significant number of casualties on the side of You’s forces.

Somehow, during the pyrotechnics display and subsequent massacre You had gotten away—but they hadn’t gotten far! Yivrin ‘Last Dance’ Pexil spotted them, dragging the bound-and-gagged President down a sinister, darkened alleyway. Limping, in their other hand they were manipulating some kind of remote control device, and though their voice could be heard, what exactly they were saying was difficult to understand.

They didn’t have too much time to worry about it though because--

“Commander Cray to Lieutenant Pexil: I need to see you in my office. Now.”

The collective groan was as synchronized as the rest of the Squad’s holographic performance had been, but they all shared a laugh as You—aka: Lieutenant Funkytown—ended the program. Their costumes dissolved into standard duty uniforms and they all began moving toward the exit.

“Good luck up there, buddy,” Yivrin’s best friend and soon-to-be-former Squad Leader said. “We’re all rootin’ for ya.”


=/.= Lieutenant JG Yivrin ‘Last Dance’ Pexil
XO/Ops Officer, Disco Squadron – USS Vindicator

 

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