Meteor Soldiers - Episode 1-7

As the non-blinding light poured from the stone, Corey shielded his face. It wasn’t even light so much as an aura of whiteness, but it obscured his vision nonetheless. Accompanying this anomaly was a whistling rush; not the sound he’d associate with unfastened energy, but rather a whimsical wail. And what was this new weight encrusting his limbs? Was he being fast-fossilized?

            First the sound faded, followed by the light. Within seconds they’d both vanished. Corey jumped backwards in shock.

            Holy three-ball salad! Where am I? he wondered as his breath raced.

            No, the room hadn’t changed. But the four beings before him were complete strangers, garbed in a range of inhuman colours. Were they the other four who had touched the meteorite? To his right, Tokusatsu grinned like a man who was at long last complete.

            “Hope has returned,” he said. “Just as the skies promised.”

            Examining his own arm, Corey found it was coated in a lime fabric. Looking down his front he realised his entire get-up had become green, save his wooden shoes. The person clad in red had the physique of Burt, and the violet-wrapped figure had Gina’s womanly shape. So these aliens were his friends. Except they each possessed an accessory that he didn’t; masks resembling simple grey semi-spheres with stretched V shapes sitting above eyes that were too low. Though mostly identical, each set of eyes was the prime colour of the wearer’s costumes.

            Why aren’t I wearing a mask? he thought, although there was a slight weight on his nose. He frantically felt his face with his now-gloved hands. These masks... are completely transparent! Instead of looking through eyeholes, he was looking through the mask like a one-way mirror. Coupled with the half-helmet’s lightness, it was as if no mask sat on his face. Hehehe, he thought, “sat on my face”.

            “Behold your awakened powers,” said Tokusatsu triumphantly. “Devil’s Maw will surely fear you, for you are the promised five. Many meteor riddles have mentioned these five warriors. One day you’ll recognise your celebrity status, realising many worshipped you even before your birth. Corey, Gina, Chester, Burton, and Penta. History will cement you as Warriors of the Sunken Brow - the Meteor Soldiers.”

            “I’m already over this,” said Burt, his words not muffled by the mask. The young giant was clad in a dark red robe, maintained by a brown belt with a golden ‘M’ buckle. His legs and neck were a lighter red fabric, while leather boots and gloves adorned his feet and hands. However, his costume’s most flamboyant feature was the egg-shaped Viking helmet fitted over his mask, complete with two masculine horns.

            “You are the Maroon Viking,” announced Tokusatsu. “Legend has it that when he swung his axe, a shockwave of fear would rumble through dark armies. Be proud, Burt.”

            “You’re Burt?” said Gina. “Oh. I saw your breasts and thought you were me.” The female idiot, however, was not maroon but purple; purple soldier helmet, dark purple boots, purple-spotted army uniform, capped off with tight pink fabric around the face.

            “Only you are you,” said Tokusatsu. “And you, visibly, are the Purple Private.”

            Hehehe, Corey thought, “Purple Private”.

            She examined herself disgustedly. “Ugh, these dark purple boots totally clash with my slightly-less-dark purple gloves.”

            “I’ll let you in on man’s greatest secret,” said Burt irritably: “Nothing clashes with anything. The very concept that two items of clothing can contradict each other is a conspiracy to get Joan Rivers into award ceremonies so she can steal priceless gemstones.”

            “Yo, quiz of the day: Why am I C3P0?” said Chess the Golden Statue. Though he once wore drab apparel, he now was coated in a sleek shell of yellow-brown brilliance. 24-carat abs, arms, legs, shoulder plates, and a kilt of gold scales; the only other colours were the grey of his mask and the red brush protruding up from his helmet.

            “Behold the Yellow Spartan,” said Tokusatsu theatrically. “Nothing can penetrate your shiny hide. When you thrust your spear into a foe’s meat, the slit will bleed. Jab your pointy staff into their tight flesh! Go hard on and watch their throbbing bones crumble!”

            Hehehe, Corey thought, “crumble”.

            “Yellow Spartan? Maroon Viking?” said Chess. “Are we warriors or energy drinks?”

          “Don’t take your powers for granted,” said Penta. “They’re our greatest hope.” Corey took the moment to study her; tight blue fabric from face to foot, with darker gloves and shoes, and grey bands constricting her shins and wrists. A leathery ‘seatbelt’ crisscrossed over her chest, holstering a flat ruby.

            Girl in tight blue spandex, he thought anxiously. Don’t get wood, don’t get wood, don’t get.... Damn. Okay Corey, bend down like you’re adjusting your shoelaces, tuck it between your legs with your elbow, and slowly stand up.

            “Blue Ninja! Blue Ninja!” squawked Reif the parrot from Tokusatsu’s shoulder. Corey had forgotten about him once this bizarre costume party had begun. “Quick to kill. Sneaks past unseen, like racism in cartoon. Brawk!”

            What am I for that matter? Corey wondered. He could see he had a lime vest, held intact with a wide belt. His spinach pants were comically puffy, and a bleached white cravat flowed from his neck like an ancient beard. Something besides a mask capped his head, though it was hard to palpably identify through gloved hands. Maybe a bandana... So I must be...

            A flutter of wings supported his theory as Reif landed on his shoulder. Ugh! Corey didn’t mind birds, except for their talons and beaks - both of which were right by his face. Feathers and wings were fine, but talons and beaks somehow seemed insect-like. Especially up close. Shivers of unease ran through his spine.

            Mr. Tokusatsu chuckled dryly. “You truly are the Green Pirate. Fierce, frightening, and a tad drunk.”

            “The Pirate, the Soldier, the Viking, the Ninja, and the Spartan,” said Gina. “We’re almost like the Village People.”

            “Except gayer,” Chess added.

            “Maybe just you, fancy pants,” said Burt.

            “Whatever, Stay Puft.”

            “Take it as a compliment, Magnamon. You’re damn fine in a mini-skirt.” Chess just snorted.

            “Your suits should be somewhat resistant to damage, but you’ll need weapons. If the legend is accurate, you’ll retrieve them by saying ‘Meteor weapon engage’. Well, go on.”

            The five fighters each said it at their own pace, some basically muttering it. Nothing happened.

            “Say it with confidence!” he ordered.

            “Meteor weapon engage.” Still nothing.

            “Scream it!”

            Corey grasped whatever courage lay within, brought it to surface, and yelled “Meteor weapon engage!”

            And the next instant, he was miraculously clasping onto a fistful of not a damn thing.

            “Maybe it was ‘activate’,” said Tokusatsu. “Yeah, say ‘Meteor weapon activate’.”

            “Meteor weapon activate,” they each said, unenthusiastic once more.

            VWOOMP!

            Something grew in Corey’s hand, too quickly to comprehend. But his hand instinctively wrapped around the sabre’s wooden handle. Despite the silver blade’s breadth, the weapon was deceptively light. Before he could even study it, he noticed Burt’s battle axe, Gina’s assault rifle, Chess’ polearm, and Penta’s katana. This arcane magic was gravely unfamiliar to him, and thus scary. Yet it was on their side; a potent firearm against morbid beings like Kolanyde and the Hellmarchers. Maybe this was a fear that he could wield.

            “Darkness comes!” Reif screeched suddenly, another reason Corey didn’t fancy having him on his shoulder. “Evil come hither. Large armies seek you. Pineapptarians and Pizzapisces are romantically incompatible!” His violent fluttering sent feathers everywhere. Corey practically flicked him off with his backhand.

            “He may be right,” said Tokusatsu as Reif returned to his pedestal in the corner. The man was studying his handheld remote-laptop-device-thingy. “We’ve posted electronic sensors around the swamp’s perimeter, and they’re detecting movement. Devil’s Maw don’t know where our base it, but they’ve doubtlessly followed my van into the swamp. Luckily this swamp is vast, and if we intercept them from a misleading angle, they shouldn’t be able to pinpoint this place’s whereabouts.”

            “Intercept them?” said Corey.

            “Yes. You’re still reluctant to fight, no?”

            “Well... actually, no.” Something had changed in the last few minutes. Following the advent of these ‘powers’, he suddenly saw how this onslaught of zaniness and galactic responsibility might be manageable. Not that he was now fearless; he could paint a wall brown. But the fear had morphed into an anxious dread - like that of a job interview attendee, or a Mac evangelist when talking to girls.

            Tokusatsu turned to Penta: “Be sure to watch them closely in their first battle.”

            “Understood.”

            “What, right now?” said Gina. “We’re not used to these powers yet!”

            “At this point, the enemy won’t have sent anything that Penta alone couldn’t handle. Tonight’s battle is simply to let them know that an old prophecy has come to pass, and that some exist who are willing to oppose them. Penta: they’re heading south-west from Grid Eight of the swamp. Attack from the east. I’ll beam their location into your neural interface once you’re out there. To the rest of you...” He grinned once more, as though he still couldn’t believe their good luck. “Fight for your planet and others.”

---

Twisted trees loomed. Sickly mud bubbled within its own lake. The tang of rotted earth was actually visible, taking the form of white smog. If the kids had headed any further into this swamp, they couldn’t have survived. But Kolanyde, Scorch, and General Tard were tasked with finding the van, so onwards they strode. A squadron of Hellmarchers - twenty-six to the count - brought up the rear, led by General Tard’s chants of “Hut, two, three, four”. Scorch considered the sheer number of drones to be overkill, especially since he could resolve any threat with his own weapon. And Kolanyde... That cloth-covered monstrosity would die before letting a target survive.

            “Remember,” said General Tard, “form a tight circle around them to avoid another escape.” He grinned savagely, adding “Make their deaths painful. I want to hear bones snap. I want cascades of blood to pour from their mouths as they scream for a quick end.”

            “Hold on,” Kolanyde rasped. “I have to, uh, adjust my shoelaces.”

---

Gloom was much riper in the air when rushing through the swamp on foot, as opposed to watching frames of it flick past from the van, like some black-and-white monster film on an archaic projector. Tokusatsu had driven the gang to this point and left them to run the last kilometre. Penta didn’t run, but rather jumped from tree to tree like a web-weaving spider. She’d truly been a ninja even before touching the meteorite. With their masks, the enemy couldn’t identify the kids and go after their families. So practically, the only thing to fear was dying from a claw through the chest. Corey bleakly considered this as they raced between the plant skeletons.

            They reached a field of dirt at the bog’s edge, where a large void of trees to the right revealed the road to the army camp. And surely, dreadfully enough, three figures at the opposite end were striding into the swamp. They turned towards the kids. Once more Corey was presented with logical fear, although this time it wasn’t a terror but a burdening doubt. Kolanyde stood on the left; still hooded, still hunched like a four-legged creature on hind legs. In the centre was Scorch, as Corey believed he was called. Some twisted metal structure coated the Sergeant’s right arm, like an oversized spanner housing a faint red orb. His army jacket was casually unzipped, showcasing a plain white singlet. To his right was a stouter man, still in perfectly presentable army attire as if he himself believed the ruse that he was a General.

            The good guys mustn’t have looked as menacing in their rainbow uniforms. Corey stood with Chess and Gina in the middle of the formation, Burt obscured behind them. Penta was ahead, side-on to the villains so as to face both them and her co-workers.

            This was it. The confrontation.