A searing beam of ruby-red optic energy slammed into Ranger mid-flight, the unexpected force punching him from the sky. Warning shrieked in his HUD. His Turbo: Flight suit sparked violently along his back, the armor groaning under the impact. He could feel the intense, burning pain even through the advanced material. Turbo energy, a torrent of it, surged through his systems, primarily to his damaged thrusters, which flared with renewed intensity, pushing him through the continuous laser line, out of its deadly focus.
His eyes, or rather his suit's multi-spectrum optical sensors, snapped skyward, instantly pinpointing the origin. High above, cloaked against the azure canvas by a shimmering distortion field that bent light and radar, was a familiar silhouette. No mistaking it. A flying jet, utilizing a sophisticated blend of advanced human technology and undoubtedly mutant-derived stealth systems. The X-Men's Blackbird.
And peering from its cockpit, visor already glowing with murderous intent, was the self-righteous captain and, in Ranger's private estimation, perpetual crybaby of the mutant world: Scott Summers. Cyclops.
Ranger's suit, already nano-actively repairing the scorched plating on his back, pulsed as he fed more Turbo energy into its systems. His thrusters reignited with a vengeance, propelling him back into the aerial ballet as he dodged another precise, devastating optic blast from Cyclops. He attempted a rapid systems intrusion, a hack into the Blackbird's core programming, but was met with a digital wall of fire so intricate, so layered with alien algorithms and mutant-tech countermeasures, that even his advanced capabilities were stymied. It would take days, perhaps weeks, of focused effort to breach such a defense.
"Forge and Beast." Ranger hissed. No time for subtlety then. He fired a concentrated blast of blue Turbo energy from his arm cannon directly at the point where his sensors indicated the Blackbird's primary cloaking projector was housed. The beam struck true, and the stealth field around the X-Jet flickered, then collapsed with a shower of sparks, revealing the sleek, black, iconic aircraft to the naked eye. His internal sensors immediately picked up multiple mutant signatures within: the tell-tale ozone tang and crackling energy of Ororo Munroe – Storm. And there would be others. There always were.
Another optic blast seared past his head. Ranger dodged, his patience, a commodity he possessed in limited quantities when dealing with self-righteous aggressors, was wearing dangerously thin. He wasn't here for a protracted aerial duel. He didn't contemplate his next move; he acted.
"Go Turbo: Rocket!"
A blur of shifting plates and reconfiguring energy. His sleek Flight suit seemed to explode outwards, then contract, forming a more robust, missile-like silhouette. Massive, multi-stage rocket engines, glowing with intense blue Turbo fire, materialized along his back and legs, his limbs streamlining into control surfaces. He became a living projectile, a man-sized ICBM.
With a deafening roar that tore through the sky, he went supersonic in less than a millisecond, leaving the Blackbird and its startled occupants far behind. He ascended, not in a graceful arc, but in a brutal, direct line, punching through the atmosphere, reaching the edge of the space in five second.
Then, he pivoted, his form now aimed directly back at the distant, vulnerable X-Jet. He began a terrifying freefall, his descent not just powered by gravity, but accelerated by the full, unrestrained fury of his rocket thrusters.
He was plummeting towards the Blackbird. Storm reacted with the instinct born of countless battles. Dark, tempestuous clouds coalesced around him with unnatural speed, lightning lancing out, attempting to strike him from the sky. Simultaneously, he felt the crushing, invisible grip of powerful telekinesis trying to arrest his fall, to slow his descent. Jean Grey.
It didn't matter. He was too fast, his momentum too great. "Go Turbo: Cannon!" he roared, his voice a distorted, metallic bellow.
Mid-fall, his Rocket form underwent another, even more brutal transformation. The streamlined missile shape exploded outwards again, armor plating thickening, locking into place with a sound like colliding anvils. Limbs became massive, reinforced siege weapons, his entire torso a heavily armored, stabilized firing platform. He was no longer sleek; he was a bulky, terrifying engine of destruction, a forty-ton cannonball willed into existence. He poured more Turbo energy into this new form, converting it into pure, focused kinetic force, his descent accelerating even further. He struck the Blackbird.
There was no finesse, no targeted strike. It was an impact of cataclysmic force. Reinforced alloy crumpled like paper, advanced systems shattered into a million pieces, and the X-Jet simply… disintegrated around him. Ranger, still in his Cannon form, punched through the wreckage, continuing his hypersonic descent towards the earth below, a smoking, white-hot projectile.
He hit the ground with an impact that registered on seismographs for hundreds of miles, carving out a massive crater, the shockwave leveling trees and shaking the foundations of nearby, unsuspecting towns.
A lone car alarm blared miles away—an ominous echo in the rising dust.
But Ranger wasn't done. Far from it.
"Go Turbo: Flight!" Even as the dust and debris rained down, his Cannon form dissolved, reconfiguring back into the sleek, agile Flight suit. He erupted from the crater, a blur of obsidian and cobalt, effortlessly dodging the larger pieces of falling Blackbird wreckage. His sensors quickly located his primary targets: Jean Grey, her face a mask of strained concentration, was desperately trying to cushion the fall of her teammates with a shimmering pink telekinetic shield. Scott, Storm, a smirking Pyro, and a bewildered-looking Iceman were all tumbling through the air, disoriented and vulnerable.
Ranger didn't hesitate. He fired his arm cannons, not at the falling mutants, but directly at Jean Grey.
She reacted instantly, her telekinetic shield flaring as it absorbed the initial blasts. But Ranger didn't relent. A relentless barrage of focused Turbo energy hammered against her defenses, each impact a jarring psychic blow. The strain was immense. With a cry of effort, her shield buckled, and the other X-Men, their telekinetic safety net gone, plummeted the remaining distance to the ground.
The impact was brutal, knocking the air from their lungs. Storm, with a gasp, immediately summoned winds to soften her own landing and buff her teammates. Pyro and Iceman, regaining their senses, used their powers – a pillar of fire from Pyro, a rapidly forming ice slide from Bobby – to break their fall, albeit clumsily. Scott Summers, Cyclops, ever the tactician even in crisis, angled his body and fired a controlled optic blast at the ground, using the concussive force to slow his descent.
Ranger didn't let him.
He was on Cyclops in an instant, a streak of vengeful blue. Scott, seeing him approach, his eyes wide with a mixture of rage and dawning fear, unleashed a full-power optic blast directly at Ranger. Ranger, with a contemptuous, almost casual sidestep midair, dodged the ruby beam, which continued its trajectory to inadvertently strike Iceman, sending the ice-mutant sprawling with a yelp of pain and surprise.
As Ranger closed the distance on Cyclops, his voice, amplified and filled with cold fury, boomed across the battlefield, loud and clear for all the downed X-Men to hear: "Go Turbo: Cannon!" He transformed again, mid-flight, back into that bulky, unstoppable engine of destruction. Turbo energy, raw and incandescent, shot through his system as he coiled into a dense, armored ball, spinning, accelerating, rushing towards the terrified Cyclops. Scott, his face a mask of desperate defiance, fired another continuous optic blast, hoping against hope that its sheer power could somehow deflect or destroy this incoming harbinger of doom.
Ranger didn't care for the fear he saw in Cyclops's eyes, didn't care for the desperate, all-out assault of his optic energy. He simply rushed forward, his massively reinforced armor plates glowing cherry-red as they met Scott's continuous laser, absorbing and deflecting the incredible energy. Previously, he had been a cannonball aimed to strike. Now, he was a smoking hot, laser-superheated cannonball, an unstoppable force of kinetic and thermal fury.
Just before the inevitable, crushing impact, Cyclops vanished. A split-second bamf, and he reappeared on the ground several hundred feet away, supported by a familiar, reddish-pink, sulfur-smelling mutant.
"Nightcrawler." Ranger hissed, his momentum carrying him forward to slam into the ground where Cyclops had stood, the impact creating another, smaller crater.
Before he could reorient, lightning, summoned by a now-furious Storm, lanced down from the sky, striking him directly. The force was immense, his armor sparking, his systems momentarily overloaded. Another strike followed, then two more in rapid succession, each one a hammer blow, designed to keep him down, to fry his systems for good.
Ranger walked out of the smoking, lightning-scorched crater, his Cannon suit's bulky armor visibly melting in places, some sections long since vaporized or blasted away. His internal Turbo energy, however, coursed through his body, through his suit, nano-active repair systems already working at an incredible rate, sealing breaches, rerouting power, restoring functionality.
All the X-Men had now landed, regrouping, their expressions a volatile cocktail: Nightcrawler, pale and fearful; Scott, Pyro, and Storm, their faces masks of righteous, vengeful fury; Jean Grey, her expression complex, a mixture of horror, determination, and something akin to pained understanding; and Iceman, still nursing his side where Cyclops's blast had hit him, looking utterly bewildered and asking, "What the hell are you even doing, Scott? We were sent for peaceful talks."
"Looks like to me. The esteemed mutants of Krakoa have finally decided to come to personally escort me to my grave." Ranger spoke, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, devoid of any of its earlier playfulness. His gaze swept over them, cold and contemptuous.
"I should have made sure, the last time we had our little… disagreement… that the place you so arrogantly call home, that precious island of Krakoa, was permanently relocated to the bottom of the goddamn ocean. Perhaps I should have stayed to watch as the flames consumed your last, pathetic sanctuary, your final, failed attempt at a 'home'." His words were calculated, designed to incite, to wound, and they hit their mark, eliciting a fresh wave of anger.
Jean Grey stepped forward, her hands raised in a placating gesture, her voice strained but firm. "Ranger, stop! This isn't—"
But Cyclops, his visor glowing with an almost uncontrollable intensity, beat her to it. "We came for revenge, you murdering bastard!" he roared, his voice cracking with rage. "You killed those mutants clone! You attacked them! And now you have the gall to threaten our home, our people, again?!" His eyes flared, and another full-force optic blast erupted.
The ruby beam slammed into Ranger's still-damaged Cannon suit, pushing him back several feet, the ground churning beneath him. But he held. With a contemptuous sidestep, he dodged out of the beam's path, then his voice roared out: "Go Turbo: Speed!" His armor shimmered, contracting, becoming sleek and streamlined once more, a nimbus of blue Turbo energy now forming a visible, crackling shield around him. As Nightcrawler attempted another teleportation attack, to get in close, the shield flared, blasting the teleporter violently away before he could even fully materialize.
"Revenge?" Ranger taunted, his voice a silken, dangerous whisper as he effortlessly dodged another optic blast, his movements now a blur too fast for most of them to track. He predicted the crackle of ozone that heralded Storm's lightning before it even formed, sidestepping the incandescent bolt with casual ease. "It seems the Genosha massacre wasn't nearly enough to teach your kind a lasting lesson, was it? Not enough to instill a healthy understanding of who you should, and should not, trifle with."
"Sentinels weren't wrong—they just didn't finish the job." he continued, his voice dripping with mock contemplation, as he casually backhanded Nightcrawler – who had teleported in again, only to be met with a precisely aimed, super-speed strike – sending him tumbling into a jagged wall of ice spikes Iceman had thrown up. Ranger then slid under a torrent of fire from Pyro, the heat washing harmlessly over his Turbo shield.
He was among them now, a whirlwind of blue and white. He delivered a devastating punch to Pyro's gut, doubling the flame-thrower over, then effortlessly dodged a super-cold wind blast from Iceman that flash-froze the ground around them, his Turbo energy instantly melting the ice beneath his feet.
"I suppose." Ranger mused, his voice a chilling promise that reached every one of them, "I'll just have to build some Sentinels of my own. My own design, of course. Far more… effective. And send them to Krakoa."
Ranger slid knocking Scott to the ground. Scott, dazed but defiant, tried to push himself up, visor still sputtering with residual energy.
Ranger snarled, his boot coming down with sickening force on Cyclops's head, driving his face into the unforgiving earth.