Midtown High School
The final bell rang sharp and loud, its metallic cry slicing through the classrooms and spilling students into the hallways like a flood breaking through a dam.
Voices rose instantly, overlapping in laughter, gossip, complaints about homework, and plans for after school, while sneakers squeaked across polished floors and locker doors slammed shut in uneven percussion.
Groups formed naturally, friends gravitating toward friends, athletes toward teammates, couples toward each other, until the corridors became rivers of conversation and motion.
Yet moving through that current was one figure who belonged to none of it, someone who walked alone not because he had to, but because he chose to.
Jace Wilder kept his hands in the pocket of his black hoodie as he walked, shoulders relaxed, posture easy, gaze forward.
At sixteen he already stood six foot two, tall enough that people noticed him without meaning to, and it didn't help that he looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine cover.
His hair was black as coal, slightly messy in a way that somehow worked, and his eyes were a strange gray that darkened in certain lighting until they looked almost pitch black, like twin slivers of night sky trapped behind glass.
People glanced at him as he passed, some curious, some impressed, some intimidated, but none stopped him, and he preferred it that way.
"It's been two months since I woke up in this messed-up Marvel world with absolutely nothing." he thought, irritation simmering beneath his calm expression. "No powers. No cheats. No hidden system. Nothing. When you wake up in a fictional universe where blond toddlers can create realities if they get bored or throw tantrums, you kind of hope for at least one advantage. But nope. Just me."
He exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing the tension out of his shoulders as he walked past clusters of students talking about quizzes and cafeteria food like those things mattered. "Still…" he continued internally, "I adjusted. I adapted. I made a perfect plan. Graduate high school… and get the hell out of New York."
His eyes drifted across the hallway, and there they were the people he used to see only in panels and movie scenes before fate decided to drop him straight into their universe like a glitch in reality. Near a bank of lockers stood Peter Parker laughing with Harry Osborn, their conversation animated and easy, probably about science or some inside joke only they understood.
A few steps away, Flash Thompson was talking loudly while Liz Allen listened with a polite smile, and across the hall Mary Jane Watson leaned casually against a locker chatting with cheerleaders like she owned the building.
One face was missing, though, and he already knew where she'd show up from and right on cue, he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.
He looked down and saw Gwen Stacy standing beside him, fingers lightly pinching the fabric of his hoodie. Her blonde hair framed her face in soft waves, and her blue eyes carried that hopeful brightness he had come to recognize far too well over the past two months. Inside, he sighed.
"She won't leave me alone. Just because I helped her once doesn't mean we have to talk every day. And just because we both showed up at this school at the same time definitely doesn't mean we should stick together."
"Hey, Jace," Gwen said, her voice warm but slightly nervous, like she'd rehearsed the line in her head before saying it. "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out today?"
A faint blush colored her cheeks, subtle but obvious to anyone paying attention. Unfortunately for her, Jace was dense enough in that department to rival the Earth's core, and emotional subtext tended to bounce off him without leaving a dent.
He didn't notice the blush, didn't notice the hopeful tone, didn't notice the way she held her breath waiting for his answer. All he heard was a question that threatened to complicate his carefully controlled life.
"Can't," he said flatly. "I already have plans."
The shift in her expression was small but unmistakable, like sunlight slipping behind a cloud. "Oh… okay. Maybe next time. See you tomorrow, Jace." She released his sleeve and walked away, trying to sound casual even though disappointment lingered at the edges of her voice. Jace watched her go for a second before turning toward the exit again, his thoughts already distancing themselves.
"She's nice." he admitted internally. "Which is exactly why I'm staying away. Especially since she and Peter are already becoming friends. Canon matters, and getting involved where I shouldn't is how people end up dead."
The walk home took fifteen minutes, weaving through busy sidewalks and crosswalks while the city roared around him in restless motion. New York never really stopped moving, not even for a second, and the constant hum of engines, chatter, and distant sirens filled the air like background music. By the time Jace reached his building which was a narrow brick structure squeezed between a laundromat and a pawn shop.
The sun had dipped low enough to paint the street in warm gold light. He climbed the stairs to his floor, pulled his key from his pocket, and then paused when he saw something sitting on the floor in front of his door.
A package.
It wasn't large, maybe shoebox-sized, wrapped in plain brown paper with a small note taped neatly to the top. Jace crouched, picked it up, and read the message printed across the paper.
From a Good Friend.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he noticed another slip tucked beneath the string. He pulled it free and read:
My bad. Forgot to give you your gift in this new life of yours. From yours truly, R.O.B.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, unlocking his door.
Inside, his apartment was as small as always, barely furnished and dimly lit, the kind of place that existed for practicality rather than comfort. He set the package on the table, peeled back the wrapping, and opened the box. Nestled inside were three objects resting in dark foam, each radiating a faint, almost electric presence that made the air feel subtly charged.
The first thing he lifted out was a circular red disk, smooth and cool against his fingers, divided into glowing sections etched with shadowy figures frozen mid-pose like warriors caught in time.
He studied it briefly before setting it down with careful precision and reaching for the second item, which felt heavier the moment it settled into his palm. It was a compact hexagonal device colored deep black and crimson, its textured surface catching slightly against his skin, and on its face was a bold red symbol, sharp and jagged like an ancient crest carved by someone who believed symbols could hold power.
The last object rested in the box as if it had been waiting specifically for him. When he picked it up, a faint vibration hummed through it, subtle but alive. Sleek and metallic, it resembled a futuristic scanner or controller, its silver frame lined with dark panels and tiny buttons, and when he opens it a small screen flickered to life the instant his fingers wrapped around it, illuminating the same red emblem displayed on the hexagonal device. Jace stared at all three items spread across the table, confusion knitting his brows as realization slowly crept in.
"What are these?" he murmured, eyes lingering on the symbol. Then recognition struck him like lightning, and his eyes widened so fast it almost hurt. "I'M A FREAKING POWER RANGER!"
Excitement surged through him as he grabbed the device, adrenaline flooding his veins now that he understood what he was holding. "This is the morpher," he said under his breath, awe creeping into his voice. "Okay… okay… but how do I transform?" He stood there thinking hard, trying to remember scenes and phrases from a show he'd watched years ago, until he noticed another folded note inside the box. He picked it up and read aloud, "Just press 145 and draw the symbol that's on the Zord, dumbass. From R.O.B."
Jace snorted. "Dick."
He pressed the numbers, traced the symbol in the air exactly as instructed, and instantly a blinding flash of white light erupted around him, swallowing his entire apartment in brilliance.
The air hummed, energy rushing over his skin like static electricity multiplied a thousand times, and for a heartbeat he felt weightless, suspended in something that wasn't quite space and wasn't quite reality. Then the light faded as suddenly as it had come, leaving him standing there breathing hard.
He turned toward the mirror and a red armored warrior stared back at him.
The suit gleamed under the dim apartment light, flawless and sharp, a gold-trimmed belt resting at his waist while a dark diagonal strap crossed his chest like a warrior's sash. The helmet enclosing his head reflected the room in glossy curves, its angular visor glowing faintly as hidden systems awakened with a soft digital chime that sounded almost alive. Jace flexed his fingers slowly, watching the armored gloves move with perfect responsiveness, and a grin spread across his face that he didn't bother trying to hide.
Before he could speak, a flicker of light appeared beside him, resolving into the holographic form of a teenage boy with brown hair and calm eyes. Jace recognized him immediately as Jayden Shiba, and his surprise only lasted a second before curiosity took over.
"Uh… why are you here?" Jace asked.
"I'm here to train you and act as your partner," Jayden replied evenly, his holographic form steady and composed.
Jace tilted his head slightly, studying him. "So are you actually Jayden or just an AI?"
"I am both," Jayden explained. "I'm a digital construct, but I carry the memories and personality of the original."
Jace nodded slowly, absorbing that. "So I just have your Zord and disk?"
"Yes. That's all you get," Jayden said, then added calmly, "Your suit has also been upgraded. This world is significantly stronger and more dangerous than mine, so your armor compensates accordingly."
That made sense, and Jace accepted it without argument because he knew exactly how terrifying this universe could be. After a moment he asked, "So you can only talk to me when I'm transformed?"
"No. As long as you have the morpher on you, I can communicate."
Jace nodded once, satisfied, and rolled his shoulders as he adjusted to the weightless balance of the armor. Jayden crossed his arms and regarded him with a teacher's patience before saying, "Let's begin training. Show me your sword stance."
Jace pulled his blade from his belt and raised it, shifting his feet into what he thought looked cool and battle-ready, but the awkward angle of his posture and the uneven grip on the hilt made it obvious he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.
Jayden watched him for a long second, then exhaled slowly and said with calm certainty that carried the promise of many exhausting lessons ahead, "We have a great deal of work to do."
6 Months Later
Dust drifted lazily through the air of the abandoned warehouse the place smelled faintly of rust, old concrete, and time itself, like a building that had been forgotten so long ago it had stopped expecting to be remembered.
Jace stood in the center of the open floor, sword in hand, shoulders steady, breathing slow and controlled. Six months ago he would have been fidgeting, shifting his stance, gripping the hilt too tight, or glancing around nervously, but now he looked composed like someone who understood that stillness could be more threatening than motion.
Across from him stood Jayden Shiba, blade angled downward in a relaxed guard that somehow still radiated authority. Even without armor, even without the weight of command or battlefield stakes, Jayden carried himself like a warrior who had fought real battles and survived them.
For a long moment neither of them moved. The silence stretched thin as wire, tension coiling in the air between them, until Jace stepped forward and struck.
His blade came down in a fast overhead slash, cutting cleanly through the air with a sharp whistle that echoed faintly through the warehouse. The attack was powerful, precise, and far more controlled than anything he could have managed half a year ago, but Jayden reacted as if he had seen it coming before Jace even decided to swing.
Steel met steel with a ringing clang as Jayden lifted his weapon and blocked, the impact sending a brief shudder up both their arms. Before Jace could pull back, Jayden pivoted smoothly on his heel and snapped his leg upward in a sharp kick aimed straight for Jace's ribs.
Jace twisted aside just in time, the strike brushing past his hoodie instead of landing solidly, and the motion carried him into a quick counter. He stepped in and drove his blade forward in a thrust meant to end the exchange decisively, the tip aiming for Jayden's centerline with surprising speed.
For a fraction of a second it looked like he might actually land it, but the attack had one flaw that he committed too much weight behind it. The moment his arm extended fully, his balance shifted forward a hair too far, and Jayden saw the opening instantly.
Jayden's foot hooked behind Jace's ankle in a swift, practiced sweep and Jace's footing vanished.
The world tilted as his legs were knocked out from under him, and he hit the ground with a dull thud that sent dust puffing up around his shoulders.
Before he could even process the fall, cold metal hovered at his throat. Jayden stood over him, sword steady, expression calm, posture perfectly balanced like a statue carved from discipline itself.
"Yield?" Jayden asked, voice even.
Jace exhaled sharply, staring up at the blade for a second before nodding once. "I yield."
Jayden lowered the weapon immediately and offered his hand. Jace grabbed it and let himself be pulled back to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes while catching his breath.
Sweat dampened his hairline and his chest rose and fell faster than he wanted to admit, but there was no frustration in his eyes only determination and a faint spark of pride.
"So," Jace said between breaths, "if I hadn't asked… were you ever gonna tell me you could be tangible?"
Jayden's mouth curved into the faintest smirk, the kind that answered the question without actually answering it.
Jace muttered under his breath, "Asshole."
Jayden ignored the comment completely, as if it had never been spoken, and instead shifted the conversation with the calm authority of a teacher evaluating a student. "You've improved a great deal over the last six months. When we started, you couldn't last two minutes. Now you can hold your own for fifteen."
Jace rolled his shoulders, stretching out the lingering tension from the match, and shrugged like it didn't matter. "I don't see the big difference. You still beat me easily."
"I still win," Jayden agreed, "but it requires more effort now."
That made Jace pause, because Jayden wasn't the type to exaggerate or hand out empty praise. If he said something took effort, it meant it actually did. Jace tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his expression as he asked, "How good are you, actually?"
Jayden considered that for a moment, eyes thoughtful. "Based on what I've seen in your memories of this world, in pure hand-to-hand combat without my suit, I could defeat most non-powered fighters. The ones who would beat me would be Shang-Chi, Black Panther, and Captain America but I'll say in the same tier as Punisher and Daredevil."
Jace's eyes widened immediately because those names weren't casual comparisons they were legends. "That means in pure combat you're basically one of the top tier."
Jayden gave a small shrug, modest as ever. "Perhaps. Though it's unlikely anyone else will find out. I'm technically still just a projection. Only you can interact with me physically."
Jace nodded slowly, accepting that reality the way he had accepted everything else about this strange second life of his. The warehouse fell quiet again for a moment, the echoes of clashing steel fading into the rafters as dust continued drifting lazily through beams of sunlight. Somewhere outside, a distant car horn sounded, faint and ordinary, a reminder that the rest of the world kept moving even while they trained in this forgotten corner of it.
Jace glanced at the cracked screen of his phone and blinked. "Oh crap."
Jayden didn't need to ask. "You're going to be late for school."
Jace bent to grab his bag, sheathing his practice blade while talking. "What are you, my dad?"
Jayden's smirk returned, subtle but unmistakable. "Someone has to look after you. You can't even cook."
"That was one time," Jace shot back, slinging the bag over his shoulder.
"You burned boxed macaroni and cheese," Jayden replied calmly.
Jace raised a hand and flipped him off without turning around. "It was defective pasta."
Jayden actually chuckled at that, the sound soft and rare, and as Jace headed toward the warehouse exit the holographic warrior began to fade, his form dissolving into faint light like mist caught in sunrise.
Author Note: Hope y'all enjoyed and I know people are gonna be upset at where I scale Jayden well deal with it because I'm gonna be glazing Jayden because he is the best red ranger. Now for the love interest he will have multiple partner. Who I don't know yet but for his final love interest I don't yet either so give me ideas but not peopel who are overused like Black Cat or Wanda or Rogue or Black Widow. Now give me ideas for villians that are not in marvel for Jace to face.