Finster’s Secret Hobby

Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

The metallic gloom of Finster's workshop was a world away from the chaos of Lord Zedd's throne room. Here, away from the crackling energy of Zedd's magic and Goldar's endless boasting, Finster could work undisturbed. His hands, still as deft as they had been under Rita's reign, carefully shaped the clay before him. The form was humanoid now, its features fine and delicate, a stark contrast to the hulking brutes Zedd preferred.

The dim lighting cast long shadows over his workspace, and the shelves lining the walls were crammed with half-finished figures. Some were crude, still waiting for detail. Others were complete, their eerily lifelike faces frozen in expressions that could fool even the most discerning of human eyes. He had sent many to Earth already, and not one had been exposed.

Finster worked slowly, carefully carving the last touches into his latest creation. This one would be a teacher. A man of intellect and quiet authority. Someone the humans would respect, listen to. A man with influence.

He set down his sculpting tool and surveyed his work with satisfaction. A few more finishing touches, then he would place it in the Monster-Matic to bring it to life. Once animated, the clay would harden into something indistinguishable from human flesh. It would breathe, speak, walk among the humans, living their lives, learning their ways. And when the time came…

A slow smile crossed Finster's lips. That was the beauty of it. There *was* no time limit. No reckless orders to charge into battle. No grand declarations of conquest. Lord Zedd had no patience, no subtlety. His creatures were forged in anger, sent to Earth with a singular, violent purpose. They attacked, they fought, they were destroyed. And then Zedd would rage, blaming his minions for his failures.

Finster's creations were different. They did not fight, not yet. They had been given something far more powerful than any monstrous strength. They had time.

Zedd had not noticed. That in itself was a victory. Oh, he tolerated Finster's presence, allowed him to remain in his old workshop, but only as a reminder of his superiority. Finster knew his master considered him a relic of Rita's failures, a useless craftsman of outdated designs.

Let him think that.

Finster glanced towards the far end of the chamber, where a small group of figures stood in silence, watching. The human-formed Putties. His proudest achievement. Unlike Zedd's clumsy creations, these did not stumble about, mindlessly waiting for orders. These could blend in. Work. Live. A shopkeeper, a delivery driver, a security guard.

A neighbour.

They had been on Earth for weeks now. Some for months.

The thought brought a rare flicker of amusement to Finster's expression. They had already become part of human life, unnoticed, unchallenged. He had no intention of calling them back. Let them continue as they were. Let them burrow deeper into their stolen existences.

Perhaps they would even begin to *enjoy* their human roles.

His gaze drifted towards the farthest shelves in the room, where the dust had begun to gather on a collection of designs he had once considered presenting to Lord Zedd. Back when he had still hoped—foolishly—that Zedd might see the value in his craftsmanship.

They were good designs, among his finest work.

A monstrous conductor whose music could manipulate human emotions. A shadowy figure who could step between reflections like a ghost in a mirror. A being of living ink that could rewrite the memories of those who read its words.

Zedd would have dismissed them outright.

Too subtle. Too intricate. Too… *Rita*.

Finster exhaled, brushing his fingers against the parchment before turning away. He had stopped making monsters for Zedd long ago. Instead, he had begun adding his own designs to his secret army, slipping them into his quiet invasion one by one. Unlike Zedd's creations, they did not wait to be summoned into battle. They lived, adapted, found their own ways to influence the world around them.

One day, they would awaken fully.

For now, Finster turned back to his work. The teacher was ready. Carefully, he lifted the figure, carrying it over to the Monster-Matic. Once placed inside, the machine would work its magic, breathing false life into the clay, sealing its disguise, ensuring that no one—not the Power Rangers, not even Zedd—would suspect the truth.

As the machine powered up, Finster stepped back, watching as his latest creation was pulled into existence. A moment later, the doors hissed open, and the figure stepped forward.

The man before him blinked, stretching his fingers as though testing them for the first time. He turned his gaze on Finster, his expression neutral, his voice measured.

"What would you have me do?"

Finster smiled, though there was no urgency in his response.

"Go to Earth," he said. "Live."

The figure nodded, understanding his purpose without further instruction. He would find a school. A place to belong. He would teach, guide, observe.

And when the time came…

Finster waved a hand in dismissal, already turning back to his work. The man who had not existed mere moments ago walked calmly to the teleportation pad, vanishing in a shimmer of dark light.

Alone once more, Finster allowed himself a small sigh of satisfaction. He had always taken pride in his work, even when it went unnoticed.

Perhaps, when all was said and done, he wouldn't even need to give the order.

Perhaps they would decide for themselves.

End