Lord Drakton stood on the cracked steps of Angel Grove's old city hall, his green armor catching the gray morning light. Smoke drifted from fires still burning in the west district. He'd torn down the Power Rangers three weeks ago, and now the city belonged to him. People scattered when they saw him patrol the streets. He smiled at their fear. This was just the beginning. Angel Grove would be his forever, no matter how much chaos he'd unleashed to claim it. He needed more than fear though. He needed followers who believed in his rule. His eyes tracked up to the massive mushroom cloud frozen in the sky above the city, its churning core still glowing orange from the blast he'd triggered. The cloud towered over every building, a reminder of his power. Perfect. He climbed higher on the city hall steps and turned to face the empty square. Soon he'd gather the survivors here. They would stand below while he spoke from these steps, the atomic cloud looming behind him like a crown. They would see what he'd done and understand: he was their only choice now. Angel Grove was his wasteland, and he would rule it supreme. He descended the steps and walked through the broken doors into city hall. Inside, he found what he'd been searching for. A sleek device sat on a desk, its surface covered in buttons and switches. Flashing lights blinked across its face, and a speaker grid promised volume. An alert system. He pressed the power button and a high-pitched tone filled the air. His message would reach every corner of the city now. He lifted the microphone and spoke his command: all survivors were to gather in the square at noon. Those who came would eat. Those who didn't would starve. He clicked off the device and smiled. The device would bring them to him, and the mushroom cloud would keep them there. His rule was just beginning. But he needed more than a temporary throne on city hall steps. He needed a place that matched his power, somewhere that would survive anything. A building that would show everyone he was here to stay. He left city hall and walked through the ruined streets, his black cape dragging through ash and debris. Then he saw it. A doorway that shouldn't exist, built from fractured glass panels that glowed with blue light. The panels shimmered as he approached, casting strange reflections. A portal. He stepped through and found himself in a massive chamber with walls of the same glowing glass. This would be his headquarters. From here, he would control everything. Angel Grove had a new master, and Lord Drakton would reign supreme over the fallout he'd created.

Lord Drakton stood in the glowing chamber, blue light washing over his armor. He needed to understand this place first. His fingers traced the glass walls, feeling their smooth surface pulse with energy. A control panel flickered to life at his touch. Symbols appeared on the screen, showing a map of Angel Grove. He pressed another button. The chamber rumbled, and a section of the glass wall slid open. Beyond it lay a platform with tools and metal beams stacked in neat rows. This place wasn't just a headquarters. It was a workshop. He could build anything from here. He needed eyes on the streets below. The survivors would try to hide from him, and he couldn't rule what he couldn't see. Lord Drakton dragged the metal beams onto the platform and studied the construction plans that appeared on the control panel. A tower. He would build a watch tower on the city's edge, tall enough to see every district. The design showed camouflaged paint and sheltered positions at the top for his guards. He selected the plan and pressed execute. The chamber shook as machinery deep below roared to life. Outside the glass walls, he watched metal rise from the ground in the distance. The tower climbed higher, its frame locking into place piece by piece. Within minutes, it stood complete against the gray sky. From up there, nothing in Angel Grove would escape his notice. His rule was becoming permanent. But the portal demanded attention. Lord Drakton moved back to the control panel and pulled up new schematics. The glass walls flickered, their blue light pulsing faster. The portal needed power to stay open, or the chamber would collapse and trap him inside. He found what he needed in the plans. A network of channels that would pull energy from the wasteland itself and feed it directly to the portal. He started the construction sequence. Outside, the ground cracked open. Glowing blue veins emerged and spread across the terrain like rivers of light. They pulsed with energy as they connected to the portal's base. The chamber steadied. The walls stopped flickering. His headquarters was secure. One problem remained. The portal could tear reality apart if left unchecked. He'd seen the warnings flash across the control panel. Dimensional rifts could spread from this site and swallow entire city blocks. Lord Drakton accessed the final construction menu and found the solution. A device that would anchor reality itself, keeping the portal's chaos contained. He executed the build. Metal twisted into shape outside the chamber, forming a tall sculpture that shimmered in the gray light. It locked into position beside the portal entrance. The chamber went silent. The walls glowed steady and calm. His headquarters was complete. Angel Grove was his to command, and now he had the tools to keep it that way.

Lord Drakton stepped out of his glass chamber and into Angel Grove's dead streets. His tower stood tall in the distance, watching over the ruins. The wasteland stretched before him, gray and broken. He needed more than just walls and machines to keep this city under his control. He needed places where his followers could gather supplies, where they'd depend on him for survival. His boots crunched through ash as he walked toward the old market district. Burned storefronts lined the road, their windows shattered and shelves empty. This would be his distribution center. He'd fill these stores with food and water, but only his loyal followers would get access. The rest would starve or bend the knee. His dream of supreme rule needed hungry people who saw him as their only hope. Angel Grove would worship him or die trying. But loyalty required more than just food handouts. He needed a place where his most trusted followers could meet without the city watching. Lord Drakton turned away from the market district and walked toward the old subway entrance. The stairs descended into darkness, concrete crumbling under his boots. At the bottom, he found a tunnel system that stretched beneath the entire city. The walls were thick and silent. No one above would hear what happened down here. He moved deeper until he found a large chamber with rusted pipes running across the ceiling. This abandoned underground lair would serve him well. His informants could gather here to report on the survivors. His recruits could train in secret. Anyone who wanted power in Angel Grove would have to find their way down here and prove their worth to him. The city belonged to Lord Drakton now, and his rule extended from the streets above to the forgotten darkness below. Now he needed symbols. Fear worked best when people could see it everywhere they looked. Lord Drakton climbed back to the surface and headed to the town center. The old plaza still had its central platform intact. He accessed his control panel and pulled up the construction menu. A statue of himself would stand here, towering over the broken fountain. His armor would be carved in perfect detail, his cape frozen mid-sweep. Every survivor who passed through would see his face and remember who ruled them. He pressed execute. The ground shook as machinery assembled the monument piece by piece. Metal and stone rose from the platform, forming his likeness. The statue locked into place, its eyes staring down at the empty plaza. His presence would never leave this city now. One more piece remained. Lord Drakton walked to his watch tower on the city's edge. His guards would patrol from up there, but the survivors needed to see whose authority they served. He found fabric in the abandoned buildings nearby, dark material with red threading. He cut and shaped it himself, forming a banner with jagged patterns that marked his rule. The design was simple but striking. Anyone who saw it would know this territory belonged to him. He climbed the tower and fixed the banner to its highest point. The fabric caught the wind and snapped outward, visible across multiple districts. His network was complete. The market district would feed his followers. The underground lair would hide his operations. His statue would remind them of his power. And his banner would mark every border he controlled. Angel Grove was his wasteland, and nothing would change that.