Gotta Own ’Em All: The Eternal Shift of Misery

Having surrendered to their new roles, the battered Jungle Fury Rangers endure an endless cycle of forced performances in the pizzeria, acting out cheap hero antics for mocking customers. Every gesture is a hollow pantomime of heroism, every day just another “shift” in an inescapable contract. The Krushers profit on their despair, draining any lingering spark of dignity by making them live only for the measly paycheck.

Are these Rangers truly employed warriors of justice, or are they caged creatures, ‘collected’ by cruel owners to labor forever behind diner counters?

Special thanks to my loyal and royal patron friends:

Aimi

Nikos

Oddone

Nate Piburn

Nicholas Athallah

Jakob Feurhuber

泽凯 张

vladimirpootis

Tribe

A

Bethany

kasa41

Violet Fentenstine

Tuck Lee

Matthew Thom

fumitsu

kasa41

俊介 星野

にとり 河城

Russell shuey

Bayu Pramana

clanna

park jong

Dominic Kohtz

George Hellerman

Flutterheart10480

brkfstinamerica

darkrai1986

시우 성

Nathaniel Grayson

's 쭌

John Barten

Eddie Hauck

Ken K

Ty smith

Robert Terwillger

snb

Daniel K

Mike020578

New batch of customers!

The garish neon lights of Krusher Karma Pizza became slightly dingy as the last drunken customer stumbled out, leaving the restaurant in smothering silence. The hum of the cursed machinery still echoed faintly, the air heavy with grease, sweat, and despair. RJ and Dominic, their corrupted visors gleaming coldly, stood by the front counter, overseeing the cleaning up. The Jungle Fury trio dragged themselves across the floor, collecting broken plates, discarded napkins, and half-eaten glowing pizzas, their bodies trembling with exhaustion.

When the cleanup was finally done, the Krusher woman stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her greasy fingers clutching their punch cards—her tone, dripping with mock kindness, cut through the silence. “Well, kiddos, you’ve all done such a great job today. Your training as professional waitstaff is coming along nicely.” She tapped the punch cards against her palm, grinning. “But there’s still a long way to go, ain’t there? And you’d better not slip up tomorrow. Wouldn’t want these little cards maxing out now, would we?”

Casey froze, his head tilting slightly as his chest heaved. His helmeted visor hid his tear-streaked face, but the trembling in his delivery betrayed him. “No, ma’am,” he whispered. “We’ll… we’ll do better…”

Lily and Theo stood behind him, their heads bowed, their bodies hunched like beaten animals. They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to. The fear in their posture said everything.

The Krusher woman grinned wider, motioning toward the kitchen. “That’s what I thought. Now, let’s get y’all tucked in for the night. Can’t have my precious workers running off now, can I?”

The kitchen cages were small, cold, and rusted, barely big enough for a person to sit in. The three Rangers were shoved inside, one by one, their knees pressed tightly against their chests as the iron bars locked around them. The cages were positioned so they faced each other, forcing them to see the defeat and despair etched into their teammates’ slumped forms. The glow of their weapons, encased in dirty globes hanging from the ceiling, cast eerie shadows on the walls.

“Get cozy,” Dominic sneered, his delivery cold and biting. He leaned down to Casey’s cage, tapping the top of it with his mace. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Don’t think for a second that you’re getting out of this.”

RJ stood beside him, his corrupted tone echoing hollowly. “You should be grateful. They gave you a job, something you’re actually good at. You’d be boondoggle without them.”

Casey flinched, his head sinking lower as his fists clenched against his knees. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

The Krusher woman sauntered into the kitchen, holding up the punch cards one last time. “Remember, kiddos,” she said, her tone dripping with saccharine menace. “If you even think about defyin’ us, these cards go all the way to max. And then… well, y’all know what happens then, don’t ya?”

The Rangers didn’t respond. They couldn’t even meet her gaze.

“Good,” she said, tucking the cards into her pocket. “Now, y’all get some rest. You’ve got another big day tomorrow.” She turned to leave, the Krushers’ mocking laughter trailing behind her as the kitchen door slammed shut, leaving the Rangers alone in the cold, suffocating silence.

For a long time, none of them spoke. The only sounds were their labored breaths and the faint hum of the machinery that drained their strength, even now. The glow from their weapons cast flickering light across their helmets, illuminating the tears streaking down their faces behind their visors.

Lily broke the silence first, her spirit crushed. “What are we doing?” she whispered, her words barely audible. “Why… why do we keep listening to them?”

Theo, his body trembling in his cage, shook his head weakly. “Because… because if we don’t, they’ll…” His spirit cracked, the words catching in his throat. “They’ll max the cards…”

Casey raised his head slightly, his visor reflecting the faint glow of their weapons. “And if we keep obeying… we’re never getting out of here,” he said, his soul hollow. “We’re never going to be Rangers again.”

The words hung heavy in the air, crushing what little hope remained in their hearts. Lily’s gloved hands tightened into fists as she pressed them against her helmet. “Is this it?” she whispered, her tone breaking. “Is this what we’ve been fighting for? To end up here? In cages?”

Theo leaned forward, his helmet pressing against the bars of his cage. “We trained… we fought… we helped people…” he muttered, howling. “And for what? To… to serve pizza? To… to be this?”

Casey let out a bitter, broken laugh, the sound cracking in his throat. “Maybe that’s all we ever were,” he said quietly. “Maybe… maybe this was always what we were meant to do. Help people. Serve people. Just… not the way we thought.”

Lily shook her head violently, her tone rising. “No! That’s not true! We’re Rangers! We’re supposed to—”

“To what?” Theo interrupted, his delivery sharp with frustration. “To fight? To protect people? We can’t even protect ourselves! Look at us, Lily! Look where we are!”

The words hit her like a blow, and she slumped back against the bars of her cage, her body trembling as tears streamed down her face. “I… I just… I don’t know anymore…” she whispered.

Casey stared at his friends, his heart breaking at the sight of their despair. But deep down, he couldn’t deny the truth. The lines between who they were and what they’d become were blurring, warping, melting into something unrecognizable. They had trained to help people. They had fought to make themselves worthy. And now… now they were just waiters, serving greasy, glowing pizza to drunken strangers.

And the worst part? A small, dark part of him felt… grateful. Grateful that the Krushers had given them a purpose, even if it was twisted and humiliating. He hated that feeling. It made him sick. It made him want to scream. But he couldn’t deny it.

“We’re not Rangers anymore,” Casey said finally, his tone hollow. “We’re… we’re just workers. That’s all we are now.”

Lily and Theo didn’t respond. They didn’t need to. The silence that followed said everything. They sat in their cages, their legs pressed tightly against their chests, their heads bowed in defeat. The glow of their weapons flickered faintly above them, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls.

As the machinery's hum continued to echo through the kitchen, the truth settled over them like a suffocating weight.

They were broken.

Owned.

And there was no escape.

***

The early morning buzz of Krusher Karma Pizza began even before the fluorescent lights fully flickered to life. The stifling heat of the kitchen filled the air, heavy with the oppressive hum of machinery. Casey, Lily, and Theo were dragged from their cramped cages, their legs stiff and cramping as they stumbled into the kitchen for the morning briefing. Their bodies trembled with exhaustion, their minds barely functioning after only thirty minutes of restless, agonizing "rest."

Their skintight suits clung to them uncomfortably, sticky with the sweat and grime of the previous day’s labor. The cursed glow of their encased weapons pulsed faintly from the machinery, constantly draining what little power they had left. Their breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as they lined up, their visors tilted downward, unable to meet the cruel stares of their captors.

Over their skintight suits, the humiliating latex aprons clung tightly to their forms, shining under the harsh lights. The aprons were strapped with bondage-like harnesses, digging uncomfortably into their shoulders and torsos, amplifying their discomfort with every movement. The squeak of the latex echoed with each shift, a humiliating reminder of their new roles.

The trio wasn’t alone in their misery. Even RJ and Dominic, their former allies and now corrupted managers, were not spared from the Krushers’ cruelty. Between barking orders and supervising the trio’s degrading labor, the two were summoned regularly to the Krusher masters’ corner booth, where they knelt on the sticky, food-smeared floor, their hands trembling as they massaged the filthy, sweat-slicked legs of their grotesque masters.

Dominic knelt before Big Daddy Krusher, his gloved hands working methodically over the rolls of flesh on the man’s greasy legs. The corrupted Rhino Ranger’s visor tilted downward, his tone a low murmur as he obeyed. “Yes, sir… I’ll make sure they don’t slip up again today. They’ll meet the quotas…”

Big Daddy laughed, a thick, wet sound that made Dominic’s hands flinch for a moment. “Good boy,” he sneered, reaching down to slap Dominic on the back of his helmet. “Maybe if you keep this up, I’ll let you have one of them leftovers from the kitchen scraps, huh?”

RJ, meanwhile, knelt beside one of the Krusher women, her body spilling over the edges of the booth. Her greasy orb rested in her lap as she leaned back, a satisfied grin on her face while RJ’s gloved hands massaged her ankles. Once calm and wise, the former Purple Ranger’s voice was hollow and mechanical as he responded. “Yes, ma’am… I’ll make sure the workers stay in line…”

She giggled, dragging her sweat-slicked foot up to press against RJ’s chest, smearing grime across his suit. “You better, darlin’. Or maybe you’ll be down here permanent, rubbin’ my feet for the rest of your days.”

Casey, Lily, and Theo moved mechanically through the dining room, their bodies drained and their spirits crushed. The latex aprons strapped tightly over their skintight Ranger suits had become more than just a uniform—they were starting to feel like part of them.

Each step they took, each squeak of the shiny, sticky material, reminded them of their new roles. The harness-like straps dug into their torsos, pinching painfully with every motion. The suffocating embrace of the aprons, once humiliating, now felt strangely familiar, almost necessary. Without the aprons clinging to them, they felt incomplete.

Casey carried another tray of glowing pizzas, his legs trembling as he approached table nine. The straps of his apron creaked softly as they dug into his shoulders, the latex clinging to his chest. The dough-mixing machine in the kitchen hummed faintly, its constant siphoning of his energy sending sharp jolts of pain through his body. He winced but kept moving, his breathing shallow.

“Move faster, Red Tiger!” RJ’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “If you don’t get that tray down in the next five seconds, you’ll regret it.”

Casey quickened his pace, the squeak of his apron growing louder as he stumbled toward the table. He shoved the tray down, the glowing pizzas sliding slightly on the plate. One of the customers sneered, leaning forward.

“Finally. What took you so long? You’re supposed to be superheroes, right? This isn’t exactly ‘super’ service.”

Casey’s visor dipped as he muttered, “I’m sorry… I’ll do better…”

As he turned to walk away, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a nearby window. The sight of the apron—tight, shiny, and restrictive—sent a strange pang through his chest. He paused momentarily, his gloved hand brushing over the latex surface. Without it, he realized, he didn’t feel like he belonged here. The thought made him feel sick, but it also made his knees weak.

“Hey, Red Tiger!” Dominic barked from across the room, snapping him out of his trance. “Quit daydreaming and get back to work. Or maybe you want us to strip you of that apron, huh? See how useless you are without it?”

Casey flinched, his hands clutching the straps of his apron protectively. “No… I’m going… I’ll get back to work…”

Nearby, Lily staggered under the weight of another tray of drinks. The tight latex of her apron squeaked as she moved, the harness straps pulling against her ribs. Her Jungle Bo Staff, still trapped in the cursed cheese grater, pulsed faintly in the kitchen, its glow dingy and fading. Each activation of the grater sent a fresh wave of pain through her body, leaving her gasping for breath.

“Table six, Yellow Cheetah!” RJ snapped, his expression sharp and cold. “They’ve been waiting too long! Do you want to max out your card?”

Lily quickened her pace, her breathing shallow as she approached the table. She set the drinks down, her gloved hands trembling as one of the customers glared at her.

“This glass is dirty,” the woman sneered, shoving the drink back toward her. “You call this service? What’s wrong with you?”

“I… I’ll clean it…” Lily murmured, her tone cracking as she grabbed the glass. As she turned to leave, her reflection caught her eye in the glass of the drink dispenser. The latex apron hugged her frame tightly, the straps crossing over her chest and shoulders. She stared at it for a moment, her breathing uneven.

Without it, she thought, she wouldn’t be… functional. The apron kept her grounded, kept her focused. The thought terrified her, but it was undeniable. She needed it now.

Theo, stationed at the counter, leaned heavily against the surface as the sprayer connected to his Jungle Fans hissed again. The glowing mist coated another pizza, the machinery pulling more energy from his failing body. His legs wobbled as he grabbed the tray, the straps of his apron pulling against his chest uncomfortably.

“Table ten, Blue Jaguar!” Dominic barked, his voice echoing through the room. “Move it, or you’ll lose that precious uniform you seem so attached to.”

Theo flinched, his hands clutching the edges of the tray tightly. The idea of losing the apron, of being stripped of it in front of everyone, made his stomach churn. As much as he hated it, the latex felt… stabilizing. Without it, he wouldn’t feel like he was fulfilling his role.

“I’m going,” he muttered, his expression aimless. He shuffled toward the table, his breathing shallow as the straps dug into his shoulders.

Hours later, as the shift dragged to a close, RJ and Dominic herded the trio back into the kitchen. The Krushers lounged in their corner booth, laughing and shouting orders for one last round of food before closing time.

The trio stood in a line, their bodies trembling, their latex aprons shining under the fluorescent lights. The Krusher woman grinned as she approached them, her greasy orb glowing faintly in her hand. “Y’all are really startin’ to look the part now,” she said, her delivery dripping with mock affection. “Those aprons suit you. Don’t they?”

Casey’s gloved hands brushed over the straps of his apron, his head dipping slightly. “Yes… ma’am…” he whispered, his tone hollow.

Lily flinched as the Krusher woman’s greasy fingers tapped her helmet. “And you, darlin’? Feels good, don’t it? Bein’ all shiny and useful?”

Lily’s visor tilted downward, her mind blank as she murmured, “Yes… ma’am…”

The days blurred together in an unending haze of servitude, pain, and humiliation. Morning after morning, Casey, Lily, and Theo stumbled from their cages into the oppressive glare of Krusher Karma Pizza, the latex aprons waiting for them like sacred relics. Over time, the aprons had become more than just uniforms. The tight, glossy material, the harness straps that bound them tightly to their bodies—it was all they had left.

The aprons now overshadowed their Ranger suits and helmets, once symbols of heroism and pride. The Rangers’ identities had become intertwined with their roles as waiters, and the aprons, as degrading as they were, felt like the only thing anchoring them to their pathetic new purpose.

The trio returned to the cages every night after grueling, endless shifts, barely able to stand by the time RJ and Dominic shoved them into the small, cramped spaces. Their knees pressed tightly against their chests, their backs against the cold metal bars. The aprons remained strapped tightly over their suits, their shiny surfaces smeared with grease, soda, and shame. They never took them off, not even in the cages.

Casey sat in his cage, his head bowed, his hands trembling as they clawed at the latex apron strapped across his chest. His gloved fingers brushed over the harness straps, tightening and loosening them as if testing their security. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his visor fogged from the inside. “Without it… I’m no-good,” he whispered to himself, the words faint. “Without this… I’m not even… a waiter…”

Across from him, Lily’s hands trembled as they ran over the surface of her own apron. Her bravery smothered as she muttered, “What’s a Ranger… without their purpose? Without their… uniform?” She tugged at the straps, her movements jerky and frantic. “We… we need them… don’t we?”

Theo slumped in his cage beside them, let out a shaky, bitter laugh. His gloved hands clawed weakly at the edges of his apron, his visor tilted downward. “We shouldn’t fight,” he muttered, his voice hollow. “We’re just… waiters. And waiters… wear aprons.”

Casey raised his head slightly, his visor reflecting the eerie glow of their trapped weapons hanging in globes above the kitchen machinery. “They don’t even call us Rangers now,” he said, his words pathetic. “They just say ‘Red Tiger,’ ‘Yellow Cheetah,’ ‘Blue Jaguar’… like we’re part of the restaurant. Like… like we’re owned.”

“We are owned,” Theo said bitterly, his hands tightening around the straps of his apron. “These… these aprons prove it. Without them, we’re… trash. Just bodies.”

Lily pressed her gloved hands against her visor, tears streaming down her face inside the helmet. “I hate them…” she whispered. “I hate these stupid aprons… I hate what they mean… but I can’t—” Her tone broke, and she tugged at the straps, her breathing uneven. “I can’t imagine not wearing it. I don’t feel… whole… without it.”

Casey flinched at her words, his hands gripping the harness of his apron tightly. “What does that make us?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “If we… need these? If we can’t even… be ourselves without them?”

Theo leaned back against the bars of his cage, his body trembling. “It makes us waiters,” he muttered. “Pathetic, greasy, broken waiters.”

The words hit them all like a physical blow, the truth settling over them like a suffocating weight. They were no longer heroes, protectors of justice, or defenders of the innocent. Day by day, shift by shift, they had become waiters, and the aprons were their new uniforms—symbols of their servitude.

The following day, the cycle began again. RJ and Dominic unlocked the cages, their tones cold and commanding as they herded the trio into the kitchen.

“Time to suit up,” RJ said sharply, motioning toward the aprons hanging on the wall. “Don’t keep the customers waiting.”

The trio hesitated, their bodies trembling with exhaustion, but the Krusher woman’s delivery cut through the air, dripping with mock sweetness. “What’s the hold-up, kiddos? Y’all don’t feel right without ’em, do ya? Go on now. Put your pretty little aprons on.”

Casey’s gloved hands shook as he reached for his apron, the glossy material gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He slipped it over his chest, the harness straps digging into his shoulders as he tightened them. A strange, unsettling calm washed over him as the apron settled into place. For all its humiliation, it made him feel… grounded. Purposeful.

Lily and Theo followed suit, their movements mechanical as they strapped their aprons on. The tightness of the harnesses and the latex squeak—it was all so familiar now, so necessary. Without the aprons, they felt exposed, incomplete.

“Look at ’em,” Dominic sneered, leaning against the counter with his Jungle Mace resting casually on his shoulder. “They don’t even fight it anymore. They’re grateful for those aprons.”

RJ nodded, his corrupted visor gleaming. “Because they know the truth. A Ranger without a purpose is boondoggle. And their purpose… is here.”

The Krusher woman clapped her hands together, her greasy orb glowing faintly. “Y’all look perfect, kiddos. Just like you’re meant to. Now get out there and make me proud. And remember—those aprons ain’t just uniforms. They’re who you are now.”

The days bled into each other in the grease-slicked prison of Krusher Karma Pizza, an endless cycle of humiliation and exhaustion. Morning after morning, Casey, Lily, and Theo stumbled from their cages, the shiny, sticky latex aprons hanging on the wall waiting for them like sacred garments. They hated the aprons, hated the way the straps bit into their suits and the material squeaked against their movements. But they couldn’t deny the truth that clawed at the edges of their minds: without the aprons, they felt… incomplete.

By night, they would be shoved back into their cramped kitchen cages, their bodies folded tightly, knees pressed to chests. The aprons stayed on, the harnesses digging into their torsos, their weight and constriction becoming almost comforting in the silence. Every so often, Casey’s gloved hands would move toward the apron, brushing over its glossy surface, fingers trembling as they clawed at the straps. His words would break the suffocating quiet, a whisper pathetic over the faint hum of the kitchen machinery.

“What’s a Ranger… without this?” he muttered, his head bowed, visor reflecting the eerie glow of their trapped weapons hanging above the machinery. “Without the apron… without the straps… we’re not even… anything…”

Across from him, Lily’s body trembled as she sat curled in her cage, her fingers gripping the edges of her own apron tightly. “We’re not Rangers anymore…” she murmured, her delivery raw and cracking. “But… Rangers are waiters, aren’t they? That’s… what she said…”

“She was right,” Theo said bitterly, leaning his helmeted head against the cold metal bars of his cage. His gloved hands clawed weakly at the straps of his apron, the shiny material creaking under his grip. “Rangers were always meant to serve. We… we help people, don’t we? That’s all we’ve ever done…”

Lily’s visor tilted upward slightly, her tear-streaked face hidden behind the reflective surface. “And we were trained for this,” she whispered. “Trained to follow orders… to make things better… to do what needs to be done…”

Casey’s hands tightened around the straps of his apron, his tone trembling. “If we weren’t born for this… why does it feel… right?” He let out a shaky, bitter laugh, the sound cracking in his throat. “I hate it. I hate how it feels. But I can’t… I can’t imagine not wearing it…”

Lily nodded slowly, her tone miserable. “It keeps us… together. Without it… we’re worthless.”

“We’re pathetic,” Theo muttered, his tone hollow. “We’re surely not heroes. We need the aprons to mean something.”

The following day, the shift began just like every other. RJ and Dominic unlocked the cages, their corrupted forms looming over the trio like shadows. “Get up,” RJ barked, his tone cold and commanding. “And suit up. You’ve got tables waiting.”

The trio stumbled to their feet, their legs stiff and aching as they shuffled toward the wall where their aprons hung. Casey’s gloved hands reached for his, trembling slightly as he slipped it over his chest. The straps pulled tight across his shoulders and torso, biting into his suit. He let out a slow, uneven breath as the latex settled into place, the faint squeak of the material filling the silent kitchen. For all its humiliation, it made him feel… grounded. Like he belonged.

Lily followed, her fingers fumbling with the harness as she secured her apron tightly over her suit. The straps pinched her ribs, and the sticky latex clung uncomfortably to her chest, but she didn’t complain. The weight of it was suffocating, but without it, she felt exposed. Vulnerable. She glanced toward Casey, her expression aimless as she whispered, “It’s… better like this. Isn’t it?”

Theo slipped his apron on last, his hands gripping the straps as he tightened them around his chest. The glossy material shone under the harsh fluorescent lights, every squeak a reminder of what they had become. “We… need them,” he muttered, his delivery low and defeated. “They’re… who we are now.”

The Krusher woman strolled into the kitchen, her greasy orb glowing faintly as she admired them. “Don’t y’all look just precious,” she cooed, clapping her hands together. “All suited up, ready to serve. Ain’t no denying it now, kiddos. This is what y’all were born for.”

Casey’s head dipped slightly, his gloved hands brushing over the edges of his apron. “We’re… Rangers,” he murmured, his tone weak.

“Rangers are waiters, sugar,” the Krusher woman replied, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Don’t go forgettin’ that. All that trainin’, all that work y’all put in—it was always leadin’ to this. To here. To servin’ folks with a smile.”

Lily flinched, her hands gripping the straps of her apron tightly. “We… we help people…” she said softly, her mind blank.

“That’s right, darlin’,” the Krusher woman said with a grin. “And ain’t no better way to help folks than servin’ ’em some nice, hot pizza, cleanin’ up after ’em, makin’ sure they’re happy. Y’all should be proud. This is what it means to be a Ranger.”

Theo’s visor tilted upward slightly, his breathing uneven. “We were meant for more…” he whispered, though his tone lacked conviction.

“More?” the Krusher woman sneered, leaning closer to him. “Ain’t nothin’ more important than what y’all are doin’ here. Rangers help people. Rangers serve people. This is your destiny.”

Casey’s fists tightened around the straps of his apron as her words echoed in his mind. Rangers serve people. This is your destiny. The thought twisted in his chest, filling him with a sickening mix of anger and despair. But beneath it all, there was something worse. A small, dark part of him believed her. And that part was growing stronger every day.

The trio shuffled out of the kitchen, their latex aprons squeaking with every step. They moved mechanically, their heads bowed, their minds racing with the same, unrelenting thought:

We’re Rangers. But Rangers are waiters. And waiters wear aprons.

It was humiliating. It was wrong. But the more they repeated it, the more it felt… true.