More Than The Suit

        "Dex, did you actually get your son a Power Rangers costume on his tenth birthday?" Chase is flabbergasted, humored, and impressed by how on-the-nose his best friend has gotten. First was the action figures five years ago, and y'know what? That's fine. He's heard of Power Rangers themselves giving their offspring toys and cakes pertaining to their supposed-to-be secret order. Media catching wind of it has been quite the mistake, and his best friend is only serving to prove that point even more.

        "A costume's fine, Chase," Dexter answers back, presenting his gift that only pushes the line of nonchalant even further. Because it's his son's costume alright, but he's wrapped it in a gift wrapper with the logo of their local Power Ranger: The Silver Wolf. He chuckles at Chase's eye-roll, and fuming exhales of warm air through his nose. He waves it aside, as well as his doubts. "C'mon, it's Halloween. No one's going to bat an eye. The last two years we've seen a lot of kids dressing up as Power Rangers, and we made fun of them. I'm sure Miles is no different either."

        "I know that but I thought you, most of all, wanted your son to stay away from that." Chase reminds him, and this time around it has struck a nerve on the Alpha Wolf of their pack. But he doesn't do it out of scorn though– he cares for young Miles as much as he does. Ever since the young cub has lost his mother during his birth, and he's become another parental figure to him too, he's as responsible for his well-being. And he's heard Dexter lament on it over and over again, and he finds himself preaching that same idea to other recruits too.

        Dexter distincts the heat of the sunlight creasing against the back of his neck from the library's tall window, to the guilt of having his own words served against him. His role is far more than pleasantries and titles– he has to be the embodiment of it. Power Rangers fight evil and protect the innocent, but he's told himself countless times that encouraging his son's interest is not breaching that idea. But to have Chase, especially, tell him otherwise hits different than his inner-monologue's counter arguments. However, he does find a nugget of wisdom that he wants to put into practice: "Chase.."

        The panther's ears retract, feeling he's gone too far with this protest. He stutters, stymying the apology for having insulted him. Instead lets out a sigh, and finds the words only for Dexter to speak first.

        "You're right." Dexter says, perking Chase's ears. He is. But it's an old belief. "And we have followed this way for decades, as did our predecessors centuries prior; times have changed though. Because of our counterparts down south." The whole Wild Force fiasco, and having to intervene to assist them in their fight against Master Org only for it to be televised. "The world's changing, and I feel I should take the initiative of our order to welcome it, not reject it. Respectfully, I know how you feel about it." Like how he himself has touted the safety of the innocent, Chase is one to constantly ramble about seeing himself on camera in his uniform. Hypocritically speaking, though, he's one to partake in photo-ops in their civilian lives. "But if it means letting others know who we are, we might end up getting more help so we can help them better in return."

        "That goes both ways though, Dex." Chase calms himself down, shushing his voice more. Even though Dexter's library is specifically made for discussing sensitive matters, being outside of their cave still carries a risk. Even the open window, even with the tall maple tree blocking view of the street, doesn't feel discrete enough. And he states his point, "Governments, very aggressive theorists. Especially the latter, have you seen the report of how many people have nearly wandered in our territory in the last month? Seven. They're trying to find us."

        "Which is why we have to let the general public know where we are." Dexter says, but he also knows the implications. For a while he didn't have the answer to bad guys going for their doorstep, or governments hunting them down or using them for their own benefit, or risking their personal lives more. In fact, his statement has scared Chase the most that he's ever seen, but one thing that he's not realized, nor he himself for a while is that they have power. "I know what you're thinking Chase, but you have to think back on our duties. 'To fight evil and protect the innocent'."

        Chase is at the brink of exploding, and even expressing his untethered doubts for the Alpha Wolf until he said their creed. He'll hear him out, glaring at Dexter because he definitely needs to be careful with his words. If his standing fur and his baring fangs aren't already blatant indications of his frustration, the fact that his body is arching towards him, with his tail raised means he is ready to lash out.

        "If the country's governments stand in our way– it helps evil-doers does it not?" Dexter says it simply.

        "Oh. You have a point there." His frustration dips, and he likes the logic behind it. And it all connects– any form of hindrance to their cause is a clause for hostility. But Dexter adds more to it.

        "And we are given the power to do it– Chase, we fight in big robots for the Moon's sake. We can't be contested, nor can we afford to be corruptible. We've prepared for situations like that," he gestures to himself. "I thought I've gone the stray path too until we realize that we don't have to defend humanity from the shadows. We can let them know that there is light in this world, and we can give them more hope. That way Miles," Dexter puts up his gift to prove his point further. "Doesn't have to become one anymore. That way this world can finally heal themselves by themselves." He sighs, exhausted by the morning argument. Checks his watch and it's only 9AM, his son downstairs watching an animated series of their endeavors in America told loosely to be more action-packed and explosive.

        Chase knows how sound it is, using his quick-thinking to calculate all possible outcomes. His thoughts lay it out eventually for reflection but the current answer will suffice, sighing too. "That's why you're the Alpha, Dex." He resigns from the discussion, holding his hand forward to shake away any hard feelings.

        Of which there are none, Dexter pulls him into a brotherly hug. "Discourse is always good, and this is why you're my second." He's made the right call many full moons, many years ago. Their teamwork is based on the fundamentals of growing off of each other, rather than the old and obsolete mentor-mentee idea. Despite the initial controversy that he has selected his near peer as a mentee, he does so with the idea of retiring from this work so that he can spend more time with his son. "And I want the next Alpha to be better than me, after all."

        "Your teachings will surely inspire me."

        "Not just my teachings, but the world's too. Our creed guides us moreso than simply teach us."

        "You've made more than one good point, how about we save it after your birthday." He steps back from the hug, gesturing towards the gift. "That aside, how much does that go for?"

        "Cheap enough that anyone can be a Power Ranger." Dex snickers and takes it with him as he walks towards the door, Chase being there first to open it for him. "Our alibi's that the gift is good at hiding."

        "Your son's never going to believe that," Chase whispers as the door cracks open.

        "He'll be distracted by the gift to even think about it. And it's his birthday, he'll be more focused on himself." Dexter still thinks about the miracle that is raising his child while saving Canada. The kind of feat he's only seen in shows and movies that he only catches glimpses of. Living a sort of fantasy for people who only think about how good life is if you don't have duties to fulfill.

        But he at least has boons of normalcy to benefit from. This home is situated where his organization calls a 'safe zone', with amicable lodging and comforts that ensures a healthy lifestyle for his son, and during his off-days whenever he gets to relax with him, being a father. With the backdrop of being a very busy businessman too, excuses that allow him to perform his duties without raising any more questions. He's used the excuses of 'business talk' or his son being 'too young to understand'. And he can't forget the one time he's done research for the sole purpose of explaining it to him over dinner– the bored look on his face, eyes rolling, as he talks about statistics, percentages, and accounting. Grinning at the thought of that memory as they descend the varnished stairs, the sound of toy commercials escaping into the foyer. It's not about Power Rangers this time, thankfully. If it was, his son will be begging him to go to the mall to buy one, using the rite of birth as an excuse. Instead, it's about Burning Rubber, a sort of racecar thing that he doesn't follow all that much.

        Chase sidesteps into the room, his son too fixated on the TV to notice him enter. Especially now as Power Rangers is back after the commercials. He scoffs whenever he sees it, cringes too if Miles isn't around. He's not one to break the young one's heart, especially with his fixation on it too. And he can partially blame Dex for it, but it can't be helped. He's not one to tell his friend's son, nor make him tell him what he can and can't do. And he's not one to leave rude remarks to a ten-year-old; he already does it to his father.

        The show is very loud, and has a cheap feel to it. Their suits are nylon and serve no other function other than to easily identify the members, and the headgear are well-painted motorcycle helmets. Dexter, inadvertently watching the show with his son, notices that the props they use, primarily their choice of weapon, are the same toy merchandise he's seen on store shelves. Almost as if this is all part of a franchise campaign. He remembers the background check he conducted on the actors playing as Power Rangers, pretending to be his associates in the US. They're not affiliated, and are simply given lines to read. Corny lines, very Hollywood– he personally doesn't like the catchphrases. But there is a silver lining to all this, allowing him to laugh now and then: the villains are also given the same kind of disrespect if not worse.

        A knock-off Master Org shows up this episode, and Dexter immediately nudges at Chase as they laugh in silence at how their archnemesis has been reduced to a rough, dawdling buffoon. It's not their first appearance, whereas the costume portrays this big prop-like mascot who always says something dumb– the real one never talks. The portrayal is sluggish and weak, whereas the real one is nimble and weaker than the Power Rangers. He's become a triviality that Dexter wishes this is the Master Org they'd be fighting instead. That jackass would be broadcasting his moves, talk in a nasal-y voice, and explode whenever he's defeated. Oh how one dreams.

        But enough dilly-dally, Dexter clears his throat to make his presence known. His son, laying down on his stomach, in his Power-Ranger pajamas and beside him a plate of breakfast poutine, turns to his father with excited glee. The last thing his father tells him was going upstairs to get his gift, and he fixates on the wrapper that matches his clothes and the show he's watching. His tail wags so fast, it's as if it propels him to stand up and immediately hug his father.

        Dexter stands firm against his son's tackle and arm wrap-around. He returns it in kind first, putting the gift behind him as they cherish their father and son moment. But he can't help and think that his son's speed qualifies him to be a Power Ranger and chuckles. "Happy Birthday, sonny," his tone now relaxed, gruffed to make himself seem older and calmer. His own tail wags too. This is the reason he fights, after all.

        Chase, who is good at recon and surveillance, takes a candid photo that startles both Fennixes with the flash of a digital camera. "Happy Birthday, kiddo." He tells Miles as he takes another photo, this time both of them looking at the lenses. Their red eyes glowing unnaturally bright, a typical occurrence with these civilian-grade cameras.

        Young Miles, basking in his self-centered youth, asks him, "What did you get me for my birthday?" As he moves over to hug his earned-title of uncle, when, semantically, he's a godfather.

        "Your favorite cake," Chase crouches down to hug him too. He does enjoy seeing his nephew become ecstatic, almost bouncing.

        "Cookies and cream?!" Miles eyes widen at the idea, now hopping as he holds onto his uncle's shoulder.

        Chase only nods to then hear him shout close to his ear. The loud noises he's accustomed to, but thankfully it's from him and not from creatures of the night. But he does envy his excitement; he's never found the time to truly indulge in confectionaries like this. He'll use this occasion to do so. Dexter smirks behind him, offering the gift forward. He tells the young wolf, "Why don't you check what your dad's got you while I go set up lunch, okay?"

        Miles turns around and pounces on his gift, hugging it tightly. Dexter releases it the moment he's caught it, and both he and Chase laugh it out. The latter takes more photos as Miles kneels down and tears the gift wrapping with great disregard. It's wrapped in two layers to make it seem larger, though the second is more of the actual bag it comes in. The young wolf then sees what his father got him, lifting it up against the peering sunlight– a spandex suit of the Silver Wolf, just like in the show. Even comes with the same colors of silver, as the name suggests, with dark blue to contrast it on his right arm and sides, and strips of gold accent that shade too. It comes with a sash that has the logo of a snarling wolf that locks in place. There's no helmet for this outfit, and its pair of boots and gloves are printed on to what looks like a onesie. But for convenience's sake, the former already acts like socks, and the latter has buttons that can be removed to show hands. Given that it's mostly children who wear this, it will save a lot of costs on cleaning at the very least. Plus it's washing machine friendly.

        By how that silver shines, Dexter notes, his son's white fur may compliment it. That's one of the two worries he's had. He's only had his imagination to consider, and worries that it might be too dark for him. But it shines so much with a sliver of light when he was wrapping it in the library under a fluorescent light bulb. The other is the size– the people in the store say it fits all for people in his age range and stature. This one will be the moment of truth, "Son, why don't you go upstairs and put it on." He says to him, with his son's response an even louder shout than the cake.

        "Okay!" He answers, running into the foyer and up the stairs, shreddings of the gift and the wrapping package tattering off of his suit.

        Chase goes to the kitchen as the loud footsteps have reached upstairs, patting Dexter's shoulder. "I think you're onto something." He whispers to him.

        "Thanks," Dexter takes it in stride, proud of what he's started. Except for the fact that he has to clean up after his son today while Chase goes to the kitchen to prepare their lunch. With his son donning his costume, he knows he'll wear it over the next few days. Five years ago, when he got him pajamas, his son refused to wear anything else but it for a month straight. To the point that he had to buy spares on the second day. As hectic as it was, it's a fond memory to live. He continues picking up the shreds of paper that led halfway up the stairs, and throws the scraps he's gathered on a waste bin just before his personal study.

        He goes back downstairs to help Chase set the table. And as he places the plates, the spoons and forks atop of it, glasses on the side– he can't help but imagine this being their normal life. When evil is not truly vanquished but they're not the ones fighting it anymore. Dexter sees it in Chase's eyes too, glancing at the way the cutleries are set up, and the herbal scent of their roast just about done in the oven. They have poutine and burgers too, but they're takeouts from Miles' favorite restaurant: the Jacob Missile.

        Their cake is still in its box, cold and wrapped. Its ribbons are stiff, and Chase lets it thaw so by the time they're done with lunch, they can try this new fad that's been sweeping the region. Ice cream and cake. Back in their days, it's either or, or served with each other. But some genius decided to make a cake out of ice cream. "So what do you think, Chase?"

        "What?" He says while wiping down the glasses before placing them on the table one by one.

        "When will we get ice cream made of cake?" Dexter giggles to himself, content with his joke. The perks of being a father.

        "At the rate our wards are progressing? I'd give it a decade." He counters, pointing a finger gun at him. But the silence after falls upon them, noticing something amiss. "Where's your son?" Chase tilts his head out into the living room, and looks over to the foyer. His ears can pick up a lot of thumping from Miles' bedroom.

        Dexter pats his back, "The Power Rangers in his show does a lot of posing. So I think he's doing those too." He grins ear to ear. "What if we start posing too? And saying cheesy catchphrases?"

        "No," Chase pinches his side, Dexter jerking to it and laughing it off. He then goes to the fridge to get a pitcher of water, and a bottle of soda.

        Dexter only notices now the plate Miles left, brings it to the kitchen, and he's hearing rapid thumps heading downstairs as he's finished cleaning it up. Given his son took a while, and his theory of him posing, it means the suit fits. And he sees the sprinting Silver Wolf wannabe enter the room, pointing his finger out to him. Never in his life will he ever do something as goofy or immature as that pose, but it does feel him with glee to see his son smile as wide as he did. Reminds him of his initiation as a Power Ranger, after the five years of training under the ways of the Moon. His own form of teenhood, and he doesn't want to think about it but it's surely robbed from him.

        "There's a Power Ranger," Dexter remarks, clapping his hand. Chase is in shock but he mellows it down to enthusiasm upon realizing the joke, clapping along. Only the other true Power Ranger noticed the quick facade.

        "Go-go, Power Rangers!" Miles points and looks to the sky, then he mimics the sound of explosions with his mouth. Several ka-pows here, and a few ka-booms there. Chase takes a camera, while Dexter joins his side to go play with the joke, pointing out over yonder, particularly towards their backyard door to the right. While his son points to the left, towards the kitchen counter. Chase takes more photos, shaking his head in their silliness. Bemused but hopes Dexter doesn't consider doing this charade in actual missions.

        Miles takes a lap around their table first, showing-off his not-so-fast super-speed. Ducking and weaving far slower than the Power Ranger standards. He unsheathes a fake sword from a different franchise altogether. Dexter can't remember which movie it was but it's from a medieval setting. There have been times he's tried to influence his son's interests away from Power Rangers; robots, cowboys, knights– all times he's been willing to buy expensive toys for them. But when he saw the Silver Wolf, there was no going back.

        All he can do now is play along, chasing after him, laughing and relishing as Chase switches to video of this moment. And when he finally catches up to him, he scoops him up and kisses the top of his head as he carries him over to the side of the table, next to the middle where he sits himself, and Chase just opposite of his son. It feels like family now. But he still does miss Alexa and even she's never heard about the real thing. Even then, that's still a part of the past he's not willing to talk about in detail. He looks at his son, reminding him of her. But seeing him smile because of his birthday lunch gives him solace. Celebrating life in more ways than one. And they say a quick prayer before finding themselves feasting on a simple meal.

        All of them, even Chase, wolf down on their meals. It's a mix of consuming like wild animals with the sophistication of using utensils to do so. Their roasted chicken gets torn bone by bone, the burgers are all but gone, and Miles helps himself to about 80% of the saturated poutine. Dexter also keeps watch so Miles doesn't soil his new gift and costume, and he can always spray the smell away with alcohol. But he's proud to have raised his son so well that, despite a few missteps like that plate, he does take care after himself and heeds his words. May only be your average kid in school, but what he lacks in Einstein-levels of intellect, he's made up for in army levels of discipline.

        Dexter then asks his son an obvious question simply to hear his response. "What do you want to be for Halloween?" He wants to be the kind of parent who gauges conversations with his kid. Help build his vocabulary, sociability, and overall bond. Making up for lost time because of all his 'business trips'. And while Chase can babysit for him, his son needs the real father figure.

        Miles, still chewing on a forkful of fries, gravy, and curds, acknowledges the question. Stops chewing while thinking, and continues until he swallows to then give an answer. With a big smile, "I want to be a Power Ranger! Go go Power Rangers!" He repeats their catchphrase with its sing-song tone, raising his fist to the air almost in proclamation.

        Dexter applauds his enthusiasm. If only his son realizes the scope of their work. He'll take it as a form of inadvertent praise, which makes the job that much more rewarding. And he's applauded long enough for Chase to join in for a brief moment, as he too relishes at the remark. "But we'll have to get your proper shoes for trick or treating, okay Miles?"

        Miles leans back and looks down at his spandex suit and its printed on boots. "Power Ranger boots?" He smiles a toothy grin speckled with today's lunch, and his tail behind him wagging fast.

        "If we can find some, okay?" Dexter finishes a bite of his burger, and follows up with a good heap of fizzy soda. "But if not, we'll get you dark blue sneakers, alright?"

        "Okay!" Miles raises his hands in joy, and helps himself to all that's left of the poutine and effectively cleaning his plate save for the sauce. After he's licked his lips clean of the gravy, and drinking a sip of the soda, his eyes turn towards the cake.

        Dexter notions to Chase, "I think now's a good time to get it out before it melts." He smiles at him, happy.

        "On it," Chase takes a bite off the chicken leg, and stands up to serve the cake. The thin cardboard paper-like box has warmed to room temperature, but the slight cold still escapes the crevices of its folds. He stacks three saucers atop of it, and three forks on top of that, and brings it to the table. And he places a plate at each of their spots before unboxing the cake. It got both Fennexes to stand up what a full ice cream cake would look like since they've only had slices before.

        Both wolves stare at it with want as this cake looks like something out of a utopia. It is a massive cylinder of ice cream, almost like cake batter, resting on top of crumbling cookie pastry. Garnished with cuts of small ice cream sandwiches resting on thick whipped cream, and drizzled with hardened chocolate syrup. The ice cream itself is the titular cookies and cream, with bits of chocolate cookie buried in cold sweet vanilla. It's so precious that Dexter and Miles had to stop Chase from cutting it, reminding him to take photos of it first, which the panther does. They dare not tarnish it with a candle though, fearing it'll melt. Even the frosty mist is still there, emanating from it, along with the smell of hard chocolate and cream.

        "I think this will be my favorite cake too," Dexter says. He's got a joke to tell Chase tonight, that he'll be fighting Master Org to protect his son and the ice cream cakes. There's this sudden pit in his stomach that is empty, yearning for dessert. Tantalizing having to wait so long to appreciate it, but it's just beautiful. Kidding aside though, he nods to Chase to give themselves large portions of it. Essentially half the cake today, and another half for another time.

        "How much was this, Dex?" Chase plunges the knife down the middle, leaving the first slice that cuts through cream and cookie alike.

        "Twenty five CAD," Dex crosses his arms to impress them both as he himself was in disbelief when he saw the prices.

"That's a steal." He picks off a mini ice cream cookie sandwich and gives it to Miles who unbuttons the sleeves around his wrists that allows him to grab it with his hands, then to Dex, and then himself after. He raises it, Dex following suit, and Miles grabbing another having eaten the one that was given to him. "So to whom do we owe the honors?"

"To good health and growth for all of us. Happy Birthday, Miles." He says, glancing over to his son already eyeing the cookie yet again.

"Happy Birthday, Miles," Chase repeats.

"Happy Birthday, me," Miles finally says, and they eat the mini-cookies altogether before Chase continues cutting them into big portions. The young wolf knows better than to eat half the cake, or any cake for that matter. He knows he's going to indulge in a plethora of candy all kept inside a fake carved pumpkin head in a matter of days.

Dexter, on the other hand, feels today is as good as any for a cheat day. Him and Chase to be fair. And they will fully indulge whatever it is they can get their hands on as a form of reward, and to peer into decadent normalcy. The first slice goes to Miles who immediately eats it with a spoon rather than a fork. Chase comes after, and this will be his first time trying too.

And he inspects it closer, sniffing its cold and sweetness. It's like a mix of ice cold milk and cookies, Christmas-like although it's in late October. He prods it with his fork, and it's still cold enough to be thick, applying a bit of force to cut a small piece with its side. All the way down so he can get a bit of everything. And it's like ice cream once he takes a bite of it. But different. Not the processed garbage one finds at the grocer from some generic brand. He understands why Dexter and Miles like this. This is close to being artisanal.

Dexter snickers to himself as he watches the wide-eyed panther eat with much fascination and delight when he first had it too. He helps himself to a larger slice than what is served in the restaurant, and the amount he gets hits the right spot of want. It's plenty enough to enjoy it longer than normal, but not too much that he'll get bored of it. He can say, with great confidence, that this is one of the other moments that makes being a Power Ranger worthwhile. And he puts the cake away despite Chase's protest, followed by his son's, promising them they'll have it on Halloween itself. In the back of his mind, he knows well enough to act upon his target tonight. Promising is one thing but he doesn't want to miss his son's Halloween debut with the costume. Little does his son or Chase know that he has a fake Power Ranger suit as well that he bought alongside Miles'. And that he too intends to buy the same pair of sneakers that will accommodate its color. It's a part of his dream of the future where he gets to put on his actual uniform and play pretend with his son, where he's no longer hiding as a Power Ranger.

Later that night…

        Tonight, unfortunately, is not a night of pretend. Dex's heart is ever so stoic yet cold as he wears the mythical Silver Wolf wristwatch. Whenever he feels it tighten, its cold metal seeps into his muscles to interlink– his heart lies onto his duty first and anything else follows. But always his mind fights hard for the thought of his wife and son.

        Once the platform sinks itself back into the table, the hard wood folding in itself to hide the thick alloys underneath, he looks at his watch with a deadpan face. Time is closer to midnight, and his target is closer to home than he realizes. And his veins pump with red hot blood. It's not for him, at least, but it is to scope out his turf. Master Org is trying to find weaknesses outside of the US but the reach of the Power Rangers covers the entirety of the Americas. He lets out a prideful smirk under the dimming light of his lamp.

        In the darkness his red eyes glow. An establishment of myth to ward off the citizens from exploring the forests at night, but alas myth is being debunked. The works of his ancestors are being undone. And he ventures through the shadows, able to see with a faint white hue in absolute black. Exits the study and locks it behind him but with more than a key this time. His watch links with it, enclosing its door with hidden locks around its frames. Little does Hollywood know about all the finesse and security a Power Ranger really has.

        Walking through the corridor, faint moonlight peering through the ground floor windows on his wall and door. The lingering scent of their dinner, basically a repeat of their lunch but without the cake. None of them are picky eaters, makes them resourceful. Nothing out of place, but he doesn't plan to exit through the backyard. His eyes turn to his son's door, his hand with the wristwatch gripping its knob to unlock its primal lock first. And he steps into his son's room; toys littered about after having played so much pretend that it almost fills Dexter with envy. Seeing these discarded toy weapons, action figures where the Power Ranger one is standing, and a clay putty of Master Org is tilted over to signify his defeat.

        A quiet sigh escapes his lips and that stoic nature is challenged by a sense of warmth. It's almost a matter of fate, as if his son has fully known that he is a Power Ranger, and he's re-enacting one of his many battles. But he's seen it on the show, albeit extremely summarized and the fact that it's not truly over. That he truly does envy– they get to have a happy ending. To see his son portray it is a form of respite. The door behind him locks in the same manner of his study, but can be unlocked with a similar DNA if ever. He walks over the toys, the current impossibilities.

        Miles lays soundly on the bed, still in his Power Rangers costume and draped under the same franchise's blanket. Though his costume is of the Silver Wolf, it's the entire American squad on the blanket with the Silver Wolf too. For the amount of portrayal his attuned Power Ranger gets, he only ever interacted with them once during a joint stakeout that turned to a battle.

        Dexter glances at his son, worried and remorseful. Apologizing each time he passes by him. An unheard whisper and an unshed tear, except one glistens down his cheek tonight. He draws the curtains outward, the shadow behind him showing his wolf-shaped helmet with its glaring red visors disappearing into the darkness. The Lunar light shines against his body covered in the real deal. A heavily synthesized fabric that covers him from neck to toe, belt, gloves, and boots meshed into it. He chuckles to himself, his heart winning once in this full moon; Dexter strikes a pose from the show, choreographed over and over from all the photos he's done with Miles. His legs hold a defensive stance, arms forward with open palms at an angle between his son and the window to signify his defense against the approaching evil, and enough for his sleeping son to feel a good angle in which he is loved. No harm will fall upon his boy, ever.

        And with a thought, he vanishes as the rest of him steps into the moonlight, the window opening and closing moments from each other. Its curtains are drawn in to hide his son in the darkness, where evil often does not look.

        The route from here is the same, the helmet UI highlighting the path ahead. This one goal is to protect this world from evil. It's a commitment of the mind and heart but the latter has shared its space with his family; his son and his longtime brother Chase. The latter takes point in the sewers, while he explores overhead. It's all technical in his mind now.

        "Clearing the southern quadrant of the sewers. No sign of the scouting party," Chase says, cold, calculative. Not a hint of enthusiasm at the start of their mission.

        "Approaching northern quadrant of the town. No material tracings matching putty. No one outside apart from late night citizens." Dexter responds, just as sharp. He jumps from building to building, while Chase is underneath going through the labyrinth. And they can discern the scent from late night alcoholics and sewage, to the manufactured and chemical scent that is still not there.

        But deep down, his heart is beating calmly for his son. Even as they found the evidence, and as they fight a squad of twenty goons in the outskirts of the forest where no person, nor fauna even, can find the rubble of these manufactured foes. As the sun dawns, he sheathes his Silverblade, and it vanishes into light that his watch then reabsorbs. And he knows he will do this again in a matter of days. All for the sake of beating this evil. All for the sake of defending his son, and the life he himself will never have.

        And yet for all the good Dexter has done; all the missions, the beaten foes, the times his son has grown up without him– the sacrifices. The Moon has plans for the boy who will grow up to be a man, who becomes a Power Ranger like his father. A twist of fate, only for him to realize that it is exactly what he has envisioned.