In the near future, the real world is dying.

Every geek’s fantasy is coming true. Superheroes, dragons, spaceships, giant robots, zombies, scantily clad French maids…they have all become real. It is miraculous that civilization has not plunged into total chaos.

Struggling to adapt to their new bodies, Dirk, Mike, and Steve soon find themselves forced to use their supernatural powers to defend against horrifying monstrosities that belongeth not in the world of light...

No, I'm not talking about Comic-Con attendees.

BEMUSED

“Power up. What, you don’t know what a transformation sequence is?” Chip rubbed his forehead. “Hoo, boy. We animal mascots have it tough.”

“You’re not an animal, you freaky fat-…” Steve began.

“Pink sugar stardust SURPRISE!” Dirk interrupted. “Twinkie power rainbow MAGIC!”

Mike and Steve cast baffled glances at him. “What are you doing?” Steve said, aghast.

“I’m trying to figure out what our power-up phrase is. Lovely heart dream MAKE-UP! Wonderful lyrical strawberry…”

Make it stop. Mike mentally pleaded. Make it stop. Soon, something was rising in his throat. At first he thought it was bile, but the truth was far more disturbing.

“Super Sentori…SUNRISE!” Mike exclaimed.

A hyperactive J-pop song immediately filled the air. White light enveloped everything below Mike’s neck, and with a series of blinding flashes, parts of the light coalesced into pieces of his costume. Pop. A pair of pink boots laced themselves around his feet. Pop. Long white gloves slid onto his hands. Pop. A sailor-uniform materialized on his torso. Pop. A cap blinked into existence on his head. As the song reached a crescendo, a magical staff appeared in his hands. With a fanciful musical flourish, he found himself lifting the wand into the air, crying, “Asa Sentori! FIGHT ON!”

His cry was echoed by Dirk and Steve, who had undergone similar costume changes.

“Shougo Sentori! FIGHT ON!” Dirk bellowed.

“Yuu Sentori! FIGHT ON!” Steve hollered.

After the henshin sequence released its grip on the trio’s nervous systems, they sighed in relief.

“’Super Sentori,’ eh?” Chip said. “I like it…although that theme music is probably going to get annoying real fast.”

Steve blinked, struggling to avoid having a seizure. “Mike, could you please never do that again?” he said, glancing down at his uniform. It resembled a navy blue blazer with a red tartan skirt, both of which were unnecessarily revealing. He was reminded why he hated anime; it always put boobs before brains. “Besides, I don’t exactly see how this will help me in combat.”

“Well, you are the only Sentori old enough for fanservice.” Chip said. “Makes sense to me.”

Before Steve could respond, Dirk made a series of menacing gestures at no one in particular, saying: “Your cruel transgressions fill the stars with dismay! We, the Super Sentori, will fight to save the day!”

Chip winced. “Either my translator is on the fritz, or you really suck at battle cries.”

Dirk shrugged. “It’s a work in progress. So, are there any bad guys around?”

“Funny you should say that. Here, let me bring you to the next part of the training course.”

The trio hesitantly followed Chip as he led them out of the room and down a sterile white hall. They passed by a multitude of doors with signs like “Chibi Cryo-Storage” and “Unicorn Electro-Castration Laboratory”, all with peculiar noises emanating from within. At last, Chip stopped in front of a door labeled

He suddenly looked uneasy. “This is where things will start to get hairy. I’m not allowed to tell you what you’ll be up against, but just stay cool, and you’ll probably be okay.”

“But we don’t know how to defend ourselves yet!” Steve protested. “What are we supposed to do, annoy them to death with transformation sequences?”

Chip sighed. “Look, I’ve worked with magical girls before. For some reason, they never can practice their attacks first. They always have to stumble around comically before they use their abilities for the first time.”

“That’s stupid.” Mike said.

He shrugged. “Hey. On the bright side, the only ‘injuries’ you usually sustain are minor cuts and small rips in your gloves. Now then, are you ready for this?”

“Heck yeah!” Dirk cried, throwing the door open and charging in. “LEEEEROOOOYYY…”

“…Jenk…ins.” Dirk murmured. The room was empty, save for a row of large steel shutters mounted on the far wall. Thus reassured that their training apparently didn’t require actual training, his two companions followed.

“Right, then!” Steve said. “You’ve shown us how to face our fears, Chip the Wise. Now can we leave?”

The door slammed shut behind them, locking on its own.

“Like I said, stay cool,” Chip said.

Shunk, shunk! The metal shutters slid open, but nothing was behind them except for inky blackness.

Inky blackness…with a side order of three zombies. “Unngghh,” one of them declared, and they began shuffling towards the girls at a truly zombitious pace. Steve and Mike began to back off. Dirk, however, nervously waited until he could feel their rotten breath on his face.

“Uh…TOASTER PASTRY SUPER-PUNCH!” he shouted as he swung at a zombie. His fist landed squarely in its gut, but it bounced off harmlessly. “Ah, crap.”

“Ungh?” The zombie inquired. It seemed to ponder the situation for several seconds before grabbing at Dirk, who narrowly ducked out of the way and fell on his ass.

“This makes no goddamn sense!” Steve cried as he dodged a lunging ghoul. “Not that it used to make goddamn sense.”

“Uh, Chip? Help, please?” Mike said.

“Nyaaah!” Chip suddenly screamed. “Nyaaah! Nyaaah!” He darted up to one of the zombies and began scratching frantically at its face. “Yowl, hiss!”

Mike blinked. “Wait–what?”

“I’m making cat noises,” Chip explained. “I’m your animal mascot, remember?” He returned to clawing at the zombie. “Nyaaah! Nyaaah!”

The zombie disgustedly slapped him away before heading for Mike, who backed into a corner and held up his tiny hands. “Please! Couldn’t we talk this over?”

If the zombie heard him, it didn’t show it. It continued limping towards him in a manner that was somewhat comical if one thought about it.

To Mike’s shock, a new phrase grabbed hold of his throat. “MORNING MIST!” he shouted, accompanied by a hopeful-sounding musical flourish.

The gem on the tip of his staff glowed. Suddenly, the room was filled with a knee-high pink fog. “What the heck did that do?” he said to himself.

He got his answer when he noticed what had happened to the zombies. Their speed had been reduced to a crippled snail’s pace. When he took an astonished step backward, he almost fell over: his feet moved through the mist like jet-engine roller skates. It took a few tries to figure out how to compensate for his new agility, but soon he was zipping around the room, laughing as a zombie face-planted trying to grab him. Said zombie quickly vanished afterward, presumably to seek jaw surgery.

Dirk watched this spectacle with simmering jealousy. Why did Mike always figure these things out first? It wasn’t like he was the one memorizing all the lines from Lyrical Nanoha. He glared at a nearby hapless zombie. If only he could take his anger out on--

“NOON HEATWAVE!” he blurted out, pointing his fist at the zombie. A sphere of yellowish-white energy burst out of it and crashed into the ghoul, throwing it across the room. It moaned in pain, then flickered out of existence.

“EVENING BREEZE!” Steve yelled at a zombie struggling to reach him. Purplish ribbons of energy shot from his fingertips. The attack traveled slowly, but thanks to the immobilizing pink mist, the zombie was unable to evade it. The energy bolts struck the zombie (un)dead-on, reducing it to a heap of purple dust.

Silence filled the room as the three magical heroines took in their first victory. Steve cast a worried glance at Chip, who hadn’t moved since being knocked over.

A few tense seconds later, Chip groaned and slowly got to his feet.

“I knew you guys could do this.” he grinned, dusting himself off. “Anyone want some Gatorade? We’ve got plenty more training to do, but I think you’ve earned yourselves a break.”

Meanwhile, in the Minato Ward…

Although he had only been in Tokyo for three months, he knew how to get where he wanted. His wrist-mounted GPS was an invaluable guide, but it only showed him the legal, safe routes. Sidewalks were for people with time to spare. He, however, often ended up squeezing through alleyways, vaulting over fences, and leaping across rooftops.

Amishiro Park was nearby. Resistance was likely; intel suggested as many as six hostile entities were present. When he emerged from the final alley, the sounds of chaos and destruction were abound. The park’s trees shuddered violently from the unseen struggle.

He gritted his teeth as he drew his side-handle batons out of their holsters. “If only you could see me now, Asami.” he muttered under his ragged breath.