Go-Lost: Heroes or Imitations?

The Go-Onger team spirals into a collective breakdown as the line between heroism and performance blurs beyond recognition. Doubt consumes even Saki, who struggles to reconcile her memories of heroism with the possibility that they are all just cosplayers trapped in a fabricated narrative.

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What’s real here?

The final jolt hit the real Go-Ongers like a tidal wave, slamming into their already fragile minds and breaking the last vestiges of resistance. The corrupted Engine Souls pulsed one final time, sending a ripple of energy through their trembling bodies. With it came a crushing realization—no, a truth that they had always known but had fought to deny: they were cosplayers, and they had always been cosplayers.

Their lives flashed before their eyes, memories twisting and contorting into something unrecognizable. They remembered the day they were "chosen," not as heroes, but as stand-ins, picked to represent the real Go-Ongers because they would never, ever be worthy of wielding their true power or aura. They were placeholders, awkward shadows of greatness, and the impostors standing before them were the real Go-Ongers—the ones who had truly earned their titles.

“Good,” the fake Go-On Red said, his tone cold and commanding as he walked down the line, inspecting the broken team like a drill sergeant. “You finally get it. You’re cosplayers. Always have been, always will be. And now it’s time for you to prove you’re worth even that.”

Hanto, standing off to the side with a bright, oblivious grin, stepped forward eagerly. “They’ll do great!” he said, clapping his hands together. “They just need practice. Lots and lots of practice!”

The fake Go-On Yellow turned to Hanto, her tone laced with mockery. “Oh, they’ll practice all right. Because if they embarrass us during the grand opening, there’ll be consequences.”

Her words sent a chill through the cosplayers. Sosuke flinched, his body stiffening as a deep sense of dread settled over him. The fake Red noticed and tilted his helmet in mock amusement. “What’s the matter, ‘Red’?” he sneered. “Afraid you won’t live up to our standards? Don’t worry—you’ll have plenty of chances to get it right. We demand perfection, after all.”

The fake Red, still twirling Sosuke’s shattered weapon, barked his next command. “All right, let’s move on to the next drill. Individual roll calls again, and I don’t want to hear any stuttering this time. You’re meant to represent us, so at least try to get it right.”

He turned to Sosuke, now reduced to trembling silence, and jabbed the broken remains of the Road Saber in his direction. “You’re up first, ‘Red.’ Show us the courage you’re so proud of.”

Sosuke’s breathing hitched, his corrupted Engine Soul pulsing violently against his chest. The energy coursing through him was suffocating, suppressing every ounce of the fiery confidence he once had. His knees buckled slightly, but he managed to step forward. His hands trembled at his sides as he raised one weakly, a hollow tone cracking as he spoke.

“R-Red Light of Courage... Go-On Red,” Sosuke stuttered, his words barely audible beneath the suffocating tension.

The fake Red let out a cold laugh, shaking his helmeted head in mock disappointment. “Pathetic,” he sneered. “Do it again. And this time, try not to embarrass yourself.”

Sosuke winced, his body jolting involuntarily as his corrupted Engine Soul pulsed harder. He gasped, his back arching slightly before he forced himself to speak again. “Red Light of Courage… Go-On Red!” His voice was louder this time but still shaky, lacking the boldness and fire that once defined him.

The fake Red crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Better. Barely. But don’t think that’s good enough for the grand opening.”

“Awful,” the fake Yellow declared, shaking her head in mock disappointment. “Are you even trying? Do it again.”

“Better,” the fake Yellow said grudgingly. “But still nowhere near good enough.”

Gunpei stepped forward next, his broad shoulders hunched as he tried to gather himself. The fake Black leveled his megaphone at him, smirking. “Come on, big guy. Let’s see if you can muster some strength this time. You’ve got one shot—don’t screw it up.”

Gunpei’s jaw clenched, his body stiffening as his corrupted Engine Soul pulsed harder. He raised his hands into a trembling stance, a hollow tone tight and low. “Black Light of Strength… Go-On Black,” he said, his tone strained.

“Louder!” the fake Black barked. “No one’s going to hear you if you whisper like that.”

Gunpei winced as another jolt of energy surged through him, forcing him to repeat the line. “Black Light of Strength… Go-On Black!” he shouted, a hollow tone cracking slightly.

The fake Black laughed, shaking his head. “You sound like you’re about to fall over. Pathetic.”

Next was Renn, his movements mechanical and lifeless as he stepped forward. The fake Blue watched him with a critical eye, his megaphone humming ominously. “Let’s see that intellect you’re so proud of, ‘Blue.’ Or are you too busy thinking about how to fail again?”

Renn’s gloved hands trembled at his sides as he raised one weakly, his corrupted Engine Soul forcing the words from his mouth. “Blue Light of Knowledge… Go-On Blue,” he said, his tone monotone and empty.

“Boring,” the fake Blue declared, shaking his head. “Try again. And don’t sound like you’re reading from a script this time.”

Renn nodded weakly, a hollow tone trembling as he forced himself to repeat the line. “Blue Light of Knowledge… Go-On Blue.”

Finally, Hanto stepped forward, his helmet tilted upward with an eager grin. Unlike the others, he didn’t hesitate or tremble—his corrupted Engine Soul had fully rewritten his identity, leaving no room for resistance. “Green Light of Ecstasy… Go-On Green!” he shouted, a hollow tone brimming with enthusiasm.

The fake Green clapped mockingly. “At least one of you knows how to act the part,” he said. “Keep it up, ‘Green.’ You’re the only one who hasn’t completely embarrassed us today.”

The real Go-Ongers stood in a trembling line, their bodies weak and wobbly as the impostors barked more commands. Their corrupted Engine Souls pulsed faintly, reinforcing their roles as mere cosplayers, endlessly striving to meet the impossible standards of the “real” Go-Ongers.

“All right,” the fake Red barked. “Team roll call. Together this time. And don’t mess it up.”

The cosplayers exchanged hesitant glances before raising their trembling hands in unison. Their voices were shaky and uneven as they stuttered through the team roll call. “Let’s Go-On! Engines fully charged! Go-Ongers!”

The impostors erupted into laughter, their hollow helmets shaking with amusement. “That was pathetic,” the fake Yellow said, wiping an imaginary tear from her visor. “You’ll need a thousand more attempts before you’re anywhere near ready.”

“And you’ll keep practicing,” the fake Red said, his tone final. “Because if you embarrass us at the grand opening, you’ll regret it.”

The practice continued endlessly, the cosplayers stumbling through awkward roll calls, summoning calls, and team formations. The impostors loomed over them like taskmasters, barking orders and mocking their every mistake. The line between reality and illusion had vanished entirely, leaving the cosplayers trapped in an endless cycle of humiliation and despair.

***

They were no longer Go-Ongers, no longer warriors who stood against evil. Instead, they were reduced to what they had been told they were: paid, pathetic cosplayers, newly recruited to perform as stand-ins for the "real" Go-Ongers, the ones who now held the aura, the weapons, and the pride of true heroes. Every ounce of power, dignity, and identity had been stripped from them, leaving only hollow shells molded into their new roles.

The impostors—no, the real Go-Ongers—stood tall and commanding, exuding an aura of confidence and dominance that Sosuke and his friends couldn’t hope to match. The warped truth embedded in their minds now whispered relentlessly: They were the heroes. You never were. You never will be.

The real Go-On Red strode confidently in front of the line of quivering cosplayers, his stance commanding, a hollow tone sharp and unwavering. “Look at yourselves,” he sneered, gesturing dismissively at the former team. “You’re only fragments of glorified performers now. Paid to mimic us, to practice endlessly, so you don’t embarrass yourselves—or worse, embarrass us—during the grand opening.”

Sosuke flinched at the words, his trembling gloved hands clenching weakly at his sides. The corrupted Engine Soul in his belt pulsed again, sending a shiver through his body. “Yes,” he whispered, a hollow tone weak and shaking. “We… we understand.”

The real Go-On Yellow stepped forward, her hollow helmet tilting mockingly as she waved her megaphone. “Understand? You should be grateful,” she snapped, a distant whisper cutting. “We’re giving you purpose. Without us, what would you be? Nobodies. At least now, as cosplayers, you have a role to play.”

The real Go-On Black snorted, shaking his head as he leaned against the wall, his stolen weapon resting lazily on his shoulder. “Grateful?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. “You should be on your knees thanking us. We’ve given you the chance to prove you’re not completely worthless.”

Gunpei bowed his head, his shoulders trembling as he forced himself to respond. “Thank you… for giving us this chance… to serve.”

The real Go-On Blue twirled his stolen weapon idly, his posture exuding cocky confidence. “Serve is right,” he said, laughing coldly. “Your job is to perform. To act. To pretend to be us so we don’t have to waste our time. You should be honored.”

Renn nodded weakly, a hollow tone monotone and defeated. “We are honored… to perform for you.”

Hanto, fully immersed in his new identity, beamed with pride as he stood at attention. “We’ll make you proud!” he declared eagerly, his enthusiasm jarring compared to the trembling compliance of the others. “We’ll practice hard and do our best to represent you at the grand opening!”

The real Go-On Green laughed, clapping Hanto on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit,” he said, his tone laced with mock approval. “At least one of you knows how to act the part. The rest of you should take notes.”

The cosplayers stood in a trembling line, their corrupted Engine Souls pulsing faintly as the real heroes circled them like predators. The room was suffused with an air of superiority and mockery, every word from the real Go-Ongers cutting into the former team like knives.

“All right,” the real Go-On Red barked, a hollow tone sharp and commanding. “Let’s see your roll calls again. One by one. And this time, I don’t want to hear any stuttering or see any of those pathetic poses you keep trying to pass off as heroic.”

He turned to Sosuke first, pointing his stolen weapon directly at the cosplayer’s chest. “You’re up, ‘Red.’ Let’s see if you can at least pretend to have courage.”

Sosuke’s body stiffened as his corrupted Engine Soul pulsed harder, forcing him forward. His hands trembled as he raised them into a shaky pose, a hollow tone cracking as he stuttered through his line. “R-Red Light of Courage… G-Go-On Red.”

The real Red shook his head, laughing coldly. “Pitiful. Do it again, and this time, act like you’re not about to fall over.”

Sosuke flinched, his body jolting involuntarily as he gasped for air. He forced himself to repeat the line, a hollow tone trembling but louder. “Red Light of Courage… Go-On Red!”

The real Red tilted his helmet mockingly. “Barely passable. Keep practicing, cosplayer. You’re meant to represent me, and I won’t have you making me look bad.”

“Pathetic,” the real Yellow snapped, shaking her head. “You call that a smile? Do it again, and this time, sound like you mean it.”

The real Yellow smirked, tilting her head. “Better. But don’t think for a second that’s good enough.”

The cycle continued, each cosplayer stumbling through their lines under the mocking gaze of the real heroes. Gunpei’s voice cracked as he stuttered through his roll call, his broad shoulders shaking as the real Black berated him for his lack of presence. Renn’s monotone delivery earned him a scathing remark from the real Blue, who demanded more energy and conviction. Even Hanto, eager and enthusiastic, was criticized by the real Green for his awkward poses and overly dramatic delivery.

“All right,” the real Red said finally, a hollow tone sharp. “Team roll call. Together this time. And don’t you dare screw it up.”

The cosplayers exchanged hesitant glances before raising their trembling hands in unison. Their voices were shaky and uneven as they stuttered through the team roll call. “Let’s Go-On! Engines fully charged! Go-Ongers!”

The real heroes erupted into laughter, their hollow helmets shaking with amusement. “That was terrible,” the real Blue said, his tone laced with disdain. “Do it again.”

“And again,” the real Yellow added. “You’re going to repeat this until it’s perfect. The real Go-Ongers don’t tolerate mediocrity.”

The practice continued endlessly, the cosplayers stumbling through awkward roll calls, team formations, and summoning calls with their flimsy prop replicas of the Go-Ongers’ weapons. Every mistake was met with harsh criticism, every fumble a reminder of their inferiority.

***

The rain fell in relentless sheets, drowning out all but the guttural echo of the impostors' megaphones in the soaked, dilapidated back alley. The former heroes, Sosuke, Renn, Gunpei, and Hanto, stood shivering in the mud, their suits plastered to their trembling bodies. The corrupted Engine Souls on their belts pulsed irregularly, each beat sending searing jolts through their minds. It was as if their thoughts were being torn apart, fragmented by the oppressive sound waves emanating from the fake Go-Ongers.

“Helmets off,” the fake Go-On Red barked through his megaphone, his voice slicing through the storm like a whip. The sheer force of the sound sent Sosuke staggering, his knees buckling in the muddy ground. His hands reached instinctively for his helmet, but then froze mid-air, trembling violently. The others weren’t faring much better—Renn’s hands hovered at his neck clasp, hesitating, flinching as if fighting against invisible restraints. Gunpei’s broad frame hunched over, his fingers digging into the edge of his helmet as if reluctant to let go of the last vestige of their heroism.

“Did I stutter?” the fake Red snarled, his tone growing sharper. “Take. Them. Off.”

The corrupted Engine Souls pulsed harder, and all at once, their resistance broke. One by one, the helmets were removed, each clattering loudly into the muddy puddles below. The rain poured over their exposed faces, now pale and drawn. Their eyes darted aimlessly, unfocused, as though searching for some invisible thread of hope that no longer existed. The impostors erupted in laughter, the sound amplified by the hollow resonance of their helmets.

“Look at them,” the fake Yellow giggled, stepping forward to inspect their defeated counterparts. She crouched in front of Sosuke, tilting her head mockingly as he avoided her gaze. “You’re supposed to be the bold leader?” she sneered. “You look like you’ve never led anything in your life. Except maybe a parade of losers.”

Sosuke’s lips twitched, but no words came. His mind felt fractured, his thoughts like shattered glass, sharp and disjointed. He wanted to fight back, to say something, but every time he tried to form the words, the corrupted Engine Soul sent another jolt through his body, silencing him.

“I... I...” Sosuke finally stammered, his voice barely audible. His body trembled under the weight of their jeers, his shame amplified by the helplessness in his tone.

“You what?” the fake Red sneered. “Speak up, cosplayer. Or are you afraid of embarrassing yourself even more?”

The fake Yellow’s laughter echoed through the alley as she turned to Renn, who stood with his arms crossed over his bare chest, shivering under the rain.

“And you,” she continued, her tone dripping with mock curiosity. “Where’s all that big brain energy, ‘Blue’? You look like you’ve been stuck in a library your whole life.”

Renn’s lips parted as if to respond, but his voice faltered. His mind was clouded, the pulsing waves from the megaphone hammering at his resolve. “We... we need more preparation,” he muttered, his voice faint, as if the words themselves carried no conviction. “It’s all just… practice. It’s not enough.”

“Preparation?” the fake Blue laughed coldly. “Oh, we’ll make sure you’re prepared. You’ll get plenty of rehearsal time when we’re done with you.”

Gunpei’s broad shoulders hunched as the fake Black loomed over him, tapping the side of his helmet like an amused overseer. “Big guy,” the fake Black said with a low chuckle. “Where’s that legendary strength I’ve heard so much about? You look like you’re barely holding yourself together.”

Gunpei’s jaw quivered, but no sound came out. His eyes darted to Sosuke and Renn, searching for answers that didn’t come. Finally, he stammered, “We just need more… more time to get it right. We’ll… we’ll do better.”

The impostors burst into laughter, their hollow voices ringing mockingly through the storm. “Better?” the fake Yellow sneered. “Oh, you’ll be perfect.”

And then there was Hanto. Unlike the others, he didn’t cower or flinch. He stood perfectly still, his face blank and serene, his eyes wide with a disturbing sort of admiration for the impostors.

“We’ll get it right this time,” Hanto said softly, his tone disturbingly eager. “We… we just have to follow the routine. It’s all about the routine.”

The fake Red’s grin widened behind his helmet. “That’s the spirit,” he said. “Now you’re starting to understand. You’re not heroes. You’re performers. And performers only exist to entertain.”

He raised his megaphone, and the sound that erupted from it was a thunderous blast of high-pitched distortion. The former heroes staggered, clutching their heads as the noise tore through their skulls like nails on a chalkboard.

“Suits off,” the fake Red commanded. “All of it. You don’t deserve to wear them.”

Sosuke tried to fight it. His hands hovered at the edges of his suit, shaking violently, but the corrupted Engine Soul at his belt pulsed harder, forcing compliance. His vision blurred as he peeled away the fabric, leaving him exposed and trembling in the freezing rain. One by one, the others followed, their suits falling in tattered heaps around them until they stood bare in the mud.

The impostors erupted into cruel laughter. “This is what’s been ‘saving the world’?” the fake Yellow mocked, circling Renn. She gestured dramatically at his thin frame, her voice dripping with mock disbelief. “You’d think someone claiming to be ‘smart’ would take better care of himself.”

The fake Blue shook his head in mock pity, his tone sharp. “You’re all embarrassing. You look like you were plucked from the reject bin.”

The real team could do nothing but shiver under the relentless barrage of mockery. Their bodies trembled, but their resistance had been stripped away, leaving only the faintest echoes of defiance. And then, the fake Yellow stepped forward, holding a small, buzzing device in her hand.

“Time to mark our property,” she said with a wicked grin, gesturing to the fake Red. He motioned sharply, and two impostors grabbed Sosuke, forcing him to his knees in the mud. Sosuke struggled weakly, his limbs moving in sluggish, jerking motions as though weighed down by invisible chains.

“Hold still,” the fake Yellow sneered, crouching behind him. The tattoo needle buzzed to life, its red-hot tip glowing ominously. Sosuke flinched as it pressed against his bare skin, the pain searing and immediate. He screamed, his voice raw and broken, as the impostor carved a gaudy image of the fake Go-On Red’s helmet onto his lower back. Beneath it, in bold, mocking letters, were the words: Cosplayer of True Heroes.

The impostors laughed as the tattoo burned itself into his flesh, the rain doing nothing to dull the fiery pain. “Beautiful,” the fake Red said, stepping back to admire his work. “Now everyone will know exactly what you are.”

The process was repeated with each of them. Renn’s back bore the fake Blue’s helmet with the label Imitator of Intelligence. Gunpei’s tattoo declared him A Follower of Real Strength, while Hanto’s read Devoted Fan of Green Light. Each mark burned with an unrelenting throb, a branding not just of their bodies but of their very identities.

Finally, the impostors tossed their discarded suits back at them. “Put them on,” the fake Red commanded, his tone mocking. “Not that it matters. Those marks aren’t going anywhere. And your suits?” He laughed coldly. “Well, let’s just say they’ve seen better days.”

Shakily, the real Go-Ongers donned their suits again, but they were no longer the proud, polished armor they once knew. The fabric was cheap and faded, the colors dull and uneven. Worse, the tattoos showed through, grotesque and impossible to hide, as if to announce their shame to the world.

“Perfect,” the fake Yellow said, her hollow helmet tilting as she laughed. “Now you really look like what you are.”

The real Go-Ongers stood motionless in the rain, their bodies trembling, their minds fractured beyond repair. The impostors turned and walked away, their laughter echoing through the storm.

Sosuke’s voice was barely a whisper, his words drowned out by the relentless downpour. “We… need more practice,” he murmured, his words broken and empty. No one answered. There was nothing left to say.

***

The rain poured relentlessly, soaking the former heroes to their cores as they swayed unsteadily in the muddy alley. Their suits, once symbols of hope, clung to them in sagging, cheapened folds. The burning pain from the tattoos on their lower backs pulsed in time with the corrupted Engine Souls, pounding into their minds and stripping away every shred of resistance. Memories of heroism were dulled to shadows, replaced by one consuming thought: they were cosplayers. This was their role. This was their purpose.

Hanto’s grin was wide and unsettling, his soaked hair plastered to his face as his body twitched with excitement. “We’ll make it better this time,” he said, his voice trembling with warped pride. “Every move, every pose. Bigger, sharper, more exciting! This is our chance to show them!” He turned to the others, his eyes darting feverishly. “Right? We’re cosplayers! It’s all about the performance!”

Renn nodded weakly, his soaked arms wrapped around himself as his voice came out disjointed and halting. “The timing… it has to be perfect,” he murmured. “We’ll rehearse. Again and again. No mistakes. We’ll… we’ll get it right this time.”

Gunpei let out a shaky breath, his hands twitching at his sides as he stared at the ground. The tattoo on his back sent jolts of sharp pain with every slight movement, but his lips curled into a faint, almost desperate smile. “We’ll do more,” he said, his voice cracking. “Add props… make it bigger. Make it something they’ll never forget. We’ll carry the stage, build it ourselves if we have to. Anything. Just… let us perform.”

The new real heroes stood nearby, their gleaming suits untouched by the rain. They watched with quiet amusement as the former heroes stumbled through their thoughts, their broken minds fixating on ways to prove themselves. The leader of the new team, clad in shining crimson, folded his arms and tilted his helmet. “They’re really getting into it,” he said, his voice calm and condescending. “Maybe they’re finally starting to understand their place.”

The white-suited hero stepped forward, gesturing toward the soaked and trembling group. “Oh, they understand all right. Look at them—they’re practically begging to keep their spot in the background. It’s cute, in a pathetic way.”

Hanto laughed, high-pitched and unevenly, as he stepped forward unsteadily. “We’re not background!” he cried, his grin stretching wider. “We’re part of this! We’re part of what makes it great! And we’ll prove it. We’ll rehearse all night if we have to. Every little thing. Every detail.”

Renn raised his head, his eyes wide but unfocused. “We’ll fix the timing,” he added quickly. “Every beat. Three seconds for each pose. No more, no less. We’ll do it until it’s perfect.”

Gunpei wiped at his face, the rain mingling with the tears he didn’t have the strength to hide. “We’ll make the stage look better than ever,” he said, his tone desperate. “They’ll see how much we care. How much effort we put in.”

The yellow-suited hero tilted her head, her voice dripping with amusement. “Effort? They’re practically crawling to please us. Look at them, falling apart but still so eager to try.”

Sosuke, standing at the back, raised his head slowly. The rain dripped from his soaked hair as he stared at the new heroes with hollow, reverent eyes. “We’ll… keep going,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “We’ll do whatever it takes. Because… because you let us be here. You let us stay. We’ll show you it’s worth it.”

The crimson leader chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Good,” he said simply. “You’ve got all night. Don’t stop until it’s flawless.”

The former heroes barely registered the mockery. Instead, they nodded in unison, their movements jerky but filled with grim determination. Hanto moved first, his soaked boots squelching in the mud as he raised his arms. “Roll call!” he shouted, his voice cracking with manic energy. “We’ll start with the roll call! Sosuke, count us in!”

Renn muttered under his breath, his trembling fingers mimicking invisible beats. “Three seconds… no more. No less. We’ll get it this time.”

Gunpei adjusted his stance, his knees buckling slightly as he stared at the invisible stage before him. “Angles. Sharp angles. Make it look big. Make it look… real.”

Sosuke closed his eyes for a moment, his voice soft but steady as he murmured, “We’ll rehearse until we can’t stand anymore. And then… we’ll rehearse again.”

The new heroes turned away, their laughter echoing faintly as they disappeared into the storm. But the former heroes remained in the alley, their soaked suits sagging, their tattooed backs burning with pain, and their minds consumed by an endless, grueling loop. They moved stiffly into their starting positions, their voices rising over the rain as they began their labor.

“Again!” Hanto cried, his voice cracking.
“Fix the timing,” Renn muttered.
“Make the stage bigger,” Gunpei said, his words faint but determined.
“We’ll do it,” Sosuke finished, his hollow tone carrying an eerie sense of pride.

And so, they continued, their soaked bodies trembling but moving, their throbbing minds whispering that this was their purpose now: endless rehearsals, endless labor, all to please the real heroes who had chosen them.

***

The five performers’s soaked suits clung to their bodies like tattered second skins, dulled and warped. Across from them stood the new Go-Ongers: Sosuke’s crimson successor, Saki’s golden replacement, and the rest, their gleaming suits untouched by the storm. The new team exuded perfection and authority, their presence suffocating in the drenched, dilapidated alley.

“Those colors you wear,” the crimson Go-On Red said, stepping forward, his tone sharp and cutting, “they’re not yours. They never were. It’s time we made that clear.”

The corrupted Engine Souls at the belts of the former heroes pulsed violently, sharp jolts scrambling their thoughts. The four of them—Hanto, Renn, Gunpei, and Sosuke—flinched in unison, their minds fogged by the unrelenting pounding. None of them spoke. None of them could.

“Grateful,” Go-On Yellow said with a mocking laugh, her tone dripping with condescension. “That’s how you should feel. Grateful we’re even letting you stand here. But you’re not keeping those colors. Performers don’t get to wear the symbols of heroes.”

Sosuke’s soaked gloves hovered over his chest emblem, his trembling fingers brushing against the dull red insignia. His lips parted, but his voice failed, turning into a broken gasp. The corrupted Engine Soul sent another sharp pulse, forcing him to his knees. He gasped as the color of his suit began to shift, the vibrant red bleeding into a sickly green. His chest emblem twisted grotesquely, warping into a distorted, gaudy imitation of its former self.

Hanto staggered back as his own suit shimmered, the green draining into a bold, gleaming crimson. He stared down at himself, his visor flickering as rain dripped from its edges. “I’m… I’m Red?” he murmured weakly, his voice trembling with confusion.

“Red now,” Go-On Red replied coldly, his tone laced with disdain. “If we tell you to be. So act like it.”

Renn’s blue suit faded into a dull black, the lines of his armor twisting and distorting into a cheapened mockery of itself. He flinched, his trembling hands brushing over his chest emblem as if to understand the alien change. Gunpei’s black armor brightened into a pale, uneven blue, his chest insignia cracking and splitting like brittle glass. He stared at the warped emblem, his body trembling, words caught in his throat.

The golden Go-On Yellow chuckled, stepping forward. “You’re performers, aren’t you?” she said. “That’s all you’ve ever been. Cosplayers. You put on the colors we give you and make it look convincing. That’s all you’re here for.”

The corrupted Engine Souls pulsed again, harder this time, driving the former heroes further into submission. Hanto adjusted his new crimson suit, his trembling hands struggling with the fabric. His voice wavered, but he forced a broken smile. “I’ll… I’ll make it work,” he said. “If this is what you want, I’ll… I’ll do it.”

Renn nodded weakly, his visor fogging as he wiped rain from his helmet. “I’ll practice,” he said softly. “Get used to it. Make it look good.”

Gunpei’s voice was a quiet murmur as he adjusted his warped chest emblem. “If this is what I wear now,” he said faintly. “I’ll prove I can still be useful.”

Sosuke, now hunched over, stared at the sickly green of his suit. His voice was hollow when it came. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said. “I… I’ll make it work.”

Go-On Yellow smirked, gesturing sharply at them. “Tell us who you are,” she demanded. “Who you’ve always been. Don’t leave anything out.”

The corrupted Engine Souls flared once more, and the former heroes screamed as the memories clawed into their minds—false recollections overlaying what little remained of their identities. Hanto spoke first, his voice shaking, every word jagged and raw.

“I was working in a garage,” he said, his tone flat, his voice trembling. “Fixing engines. I was nobody. I wasn’t anything. Then the Go-Ongers came. Real heroes. They saved people while I just… tinkered with machines. It felt like the world finally noticed me when they let me follow them.”

“Go on,” Go-On Red ordered.

Hanto’s voice cracked as he continued. “They let me help. But I never saved anyone. They… they did everything. I just tried to stay out of their way. They… they were heroes.”

Renn’s turn came next, his words stammering and sluggish. “I was working in a lab,” he began, his visor dripping with rain. “Designing… prototypes that didn’t work. When the Go-Ongers came, they… they gave me a purpose. They let me follow them. But I was never like them. They saved people. I just… fixed things. They carried me.”

Gunpei’s voice cracked as he lowered his head, rain pooling in the open visor of his helmet. “I was nothing but a failed officer,” he said, his voice raw. “I thought I was strong. I thought I could lead. But when I saw them, I knew what strength really looked like. They carried the weight of the world. I just… tried to learn from them. They did everything. I just… filled space.”

Finally, Sosuke stepped forward, his head bowed, his voice hollow. “I was lost,” he began softly. “I had no future. I wasn’t anyone worth noticing. Then they showed up. Real heroes. They pulled me out of my mess and allowed me to stand beside them. But I never saved anyone. I never led anyone. They carried me. They made me look like I belonged. But I didn’t. Not really.”

The new Go-Ongers burst into laughter, their mocking voices cutting through the storm. Go-On Yellow gestured dismissively at the soaked and trembling group. “There it is,” she said. “The truth. You were never heroes. You were lucky. Lucky to be noticed. Lucky to be given a chance to play dress-up. But now, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Nothing more than performers.”

Hanto whispered, “We’ll rehearse. Until it’s perfect.”

Renn nodded faintly, his voice barely audible. “We’ll practice every day. Fix every mistake.”

Gunpei murmured, “We’ll make the stage look… incredible. Whatever it takes.”

And Sosuke, trembling as he stood last, said with fractured resolve, “We’ll prove we’re worthy… to perform.”

The new Go-Ongers turned and walked away, their laughter echoing into the storm. The former heroes stood silently in the alley, their colors stolen, their minds shattered, their broken identities locked in endless rehearsals to please the ones who truly owned them.

***

The rain poured relentlessly, drenching everything in the dilapidated alley. Saki arrived late, her golden suit gleaming faintly even as the storm soaked it through. She stumbled into the alley, her visor fogged and her breath heavy from the rush to find her teammates. What she found instead made her heart drop. The four of them—Hanto, Renn, Gunpei, and Sosuke—lay sprawled across the muddy ground, motionless, their warped suits clinging to their bodies like broken remnants of what they once were.

“Guys?” Saki called out, her voice trembling. She dropped to her knees beside them, shaking Hanto’s soaked shoulder. “Wake up! What happened here? Answer me!”

Hanto stirred, his visor half-fogged as he blinked up at her. His voice was faint, warped, but carried a strange reverence. “You… you came back. You’re our light… our idol,” he murmured, his voice cracking.

Saki pulled back slightly, confusion flickering across her face. “What? Hanto, stop joking around! What happened to you?” She shook him again, but his smile only grew wider, unnerving her.

She moved to Renn next, gripping his arm as she tried to lift him. “Renn! Wake up! Tell me what’s going on!”

Renn’s head lolled to the side as he looked up at her, his visor dripping with rain. “You… you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice hollow yet filled with twisted admiration. “We’ve always looked up to you… always wanted to be closer to you.”

Saki recoiled, her hands trembling as she moved to Gunpei. “Gunpei, snap out of it! What is wrong with all of you?!”

Gunpei’s hand reached up weakly, brushing against her gauntlet. “Saki… you’ve always been so far above us,” he said, his tone reverent yet unsettling. “But now… we can finally… reach you.”

Her breathing quickened as she backed away, stumbling slightly in the mud. “What… what are you saying?” she demanded, panic creeping into her voice. “This isn’t funny! Stop it!”

Sosuke was the last. She hesitated before crouching beside him, her hands hovering over his shoulders. “Sosuke,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Please tell me what’s happening. Please.”

Sosuke’s visor tilted up slowly, his eyes barely visible through the rain-streaked lens. “You… you’re everything to us,” he murmured. “Our light. Our guide. We… revere you.”

They stirred all at once, their movements stiff and robotic as they pushed themselves upright. Saki stumbled backward, her boots slipping in the mud. “Stay down!” she cried, her voice rising in desperation. “You’re hurt! Stop moving!”

But they didn’t listen. They stood, their soaked suits gleaming dully under the storm, their visors tilted toward her. Hanto stepped forward first, his movements jerky and unnatural. “We’ve always admired you,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “But now… we can finally show you how much.”

Renn and Gunpei followed, their footsteps squelching in the mud as they closed the distance. “You were always out of reach,” Renn said, his tone almost wistful. “But now… you’re here. With us.”

Saki’s back hit the alley wall as they surrounded her. Her heart pounded as she raised her hands defensively. “Stop it,” she said, her voice trembling. “All of you, stop it right now! This isn’t you!”

Gunpei’s voice was almost a whisper as he leaned closer. “You don’t understand,” he said. “You’re ours now.”

Panic flared in her chest as she tried to push them away, but their grip was relentless. Their hands, wet and trembling, reached out, pulling at her arms, her shoulders, even caressing her helmet as they leaned closer.

“Your suit is perfect,” Hanto said, his voice trembling with strange reverence as he leaned in, his visor almost touching hers. “You smell like a hero. Like… like what we could never be.”

Saki’s body stiffened as she turned her head away. “Get away from me,” she said, her voice breaking. “What are you doing?! Stop it!”

“We just want to be close to you,” Renn added, his gloved fingers brushing over her shoulder. “To understand what makes you so perfect. Why you shine so much brighter than us.”

The shift was instant and surreal. Hanto, who had been gripping Saki's arm with trembling reverence, suddenly froze. His visor tilted down slightly as though he were staring at his own hands, confusion flickering through his body. His breath quickened, shallow and uneven.

“We… we adored you,” he murmured, his voice quaking, almost a whisper. “Why… why did we—” His fingers twitched on her arm, trembling as his words turned sharp. “You’re not… you’re not the real one, are you?”

Renn stepped back slightly, his hands shaking at his sides. “It doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled, his voice thick with hesitation and rising anger. “We thought you… you were everything. But…” He looked up at her, his visor fogged with rain. “You’re not real.”

Gunpei gritted his teeth, his breath ragged as he released her shoulder for a moment, staring down at his gloves like they were betraying him. “What were we thinking?” he muttered, his voice growing louder. “She’s nothing. Nothing! We… we gave her everything!”

Sosuke was the last to react, his hand still resting heavily on her arm. His head tilted forward as rain poured over his helmet, his voice low and almost broken. “How could we… how could we be so stupid?” he said, his tone trembling but building in anger. “We adored you, Saki… we thought you were our light. Our hero.”

Suddenly, Hanto’s visor snapped up, his voice exploding with venomous rage. “But you’re not!” he screamed, his grip tightening like a vice. “You’re not real! You’re just… just another fake!”

Saki stumbled backward, her heart racing as the men surrounding her shifted from reverence to fury in an instant. “What are you talking about?!” she cried, her voice shaking. “Stop this! You’re my teammates!”

“You’re a fraud!” Renn snarled, his hands clenching into fists as he stepped closer. “We thought you were special, but you’re just like us—a cosplayer!”

Gunpei’s voice rose, his words sharp and bitter. “A cheap suit! Fake powers! Pretending to be something you’re not!” His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with bruising force. “You’re no hero. You never were.”

Sosuke’s voice joined theirs, his tone twisted and filled with hate. “You’re nothing!” he spat, his visor inches from hers. “A cosplayer playing dress-up! That’s all you’ve ever been!”

Saki’s chest tightened as her breathing quickened. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m Go-On Yellow. I’m your teammate. I’m not—” Her words broke off as the men’s mocking laughter cut through the storm, distorted and cruel.

“You’re no different from us!” Hanto growled, his voice echoing with malice. “A performer! A joke!”

Before Saki could respond, a burst of cruel laughter echoed from the shadows. Her head snapped around, and her heart sank as the new Go-Ongers stepped into the alley, their gleaming suits pristine and untouched by the rain. The new Go-On Yellow stood at the forefront, her golden armor radiant and intimidating.

“Well, isn’t this entertaining?” the new Yellow sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like they’ve finally figured you out.”

Saki’s breath hitched as she stared at the new team, her mind spinning. “No…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real.”

The new Go-On Red stepped forward, his tone cold and commanding. “Oh, it’s very real,” he said. “And it’s about time you accepted it.”

The new Go-On Yellow smirked as she raised a glowing Engine Soul in her hand. Its dark energy pulsed ominously, casting eerie shadows across the drenched alley. “It’s time you joined them,” she said, her tone playful but menacing. “There’s only room for one Go-On Yellow, and it’s not you.”

Saki screamed as her corrupted teammates grabbed her arms, pinning her in place. Their grips were unrelenting, their soaked gloves pressing painfully against her suit. “Let me go!” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please! Don’t do this!”

The storm howled, the rain and wind drowning out her cries as she struggled against their hold. The last thing she saw was the wicked grin of her replacement, the glow of the Engine Soul searing into her vision, before the light consumed her.

The alley fell silent, save for the relentless roar of the storm. Saki’s screams were swallowed by the rain, leaving nothing but the mocking laughter of her replacement echoing in the dark.