Bad day. Good day. (Patreon)

Well, vacation has turned hectic as we have discovered mold in our house (which is half underground, so...) and has needed to deal with that. And the rain just keeps pouring down, in addition to both me and my partner catching a cold. Fun. Still, here comes this month's lore post from Lady Argent's perspective! Hope you enjoy a rare look inside her head. Apologies for being little on discord right now, just need to deal with real life first!

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A gray and blue meeting room inside the Rangers' Headquarters, tinted windows overlooking the Los Diablos skyline. Marshal Steel, in uniform, is gesturing at a frozen television still of the latest villain to surface. Retribution. Charge is out of uniform, lounged in a chair like a shipwreck held together by wire and will, cables connecting him to the wall. Herald is out of uniform as well, hovering comfortably instead of being seated in a chair, one leg awkwardly outstretched. Lady Argent is sitting straight and attentive, untouched, in uniform, staring unseeing past the Marshal. A nearly imperceptible twitch goes through her hand, tick, tick, tick. But her nails remain still and don't echo the tune on the surface of the table.

The meeting drags on, the ticking of the clock running raw over my nerves. Analogue. Untouchable. For now. Wei keeps talking, his words not interesting enough to drown out the ticking. Can't speed it up. Did they find out? No. Must be because of Ortega. Loss of control. Sloppy. Blew it for both of us. Analogue. Immutable. No longer shaving minutes from long meetings, oh sorry, I don't know why this clock keeps speeding up. Crap. Maybe that's it. Maybe I was the one that blew it.

"What do you think, Argent?" Wei turns to look at me, and I turn, teeth turning blunt and domesticated before I open my mouth to answer.

"I think this is a waste of time," I admit, softening my voice to make my words less biting. "This is all speculation. You didn't even fight Retribution; all this is second-hand information."

"That's why I'm asking you," he says, the faraway look of patience on his face too familiar. "You did."

"There's footage," I say, shrugging as I fight to keep my nails polite. "You've shown enough of it at this meeting alone."

"Not from the sewers." Oh, there it is, a twitch in his facade, a question he doesn't ask.

"They're fast." I meet his eyes, safe in the knowledge that mine won't reveal anything but his own annoyed expression. "Had too much of a headstart once I got down there. Tracked them to a manhole, but there was probably a car parked there. No idea where they went."

"I'd think you'd be more upset about that." Wei glances over at Ortega, still bruised and stewing in defeat.

"She's plenty pissed, alright." Ortega laughs, still the one that gets you. That your smile is nothing but a placeholder. "But right now, I think she might be more pissed at you than Retribution."

"That's not helpful." Wei sighs.

"Neither is this." I stand up, shaking back my hair. Heavy. I can feel the weight on my scalp, a thousand ants crawling and I force myself statue-still as I stare the Marshal down.

"Maybe we should call it a day," Daniel suggests, always too quick to pick up on my moods. Make excuses for me. "We're all losing our tempers here. Let's sleep on it." He keeps hold of Wei's gaze until the Marshal relents with a curt nod.

"Fine. Meeting adjourned." Wei looks over at Ortega. They'll likely continue just the two of them. Theorizing. Like the old days.

"I'm off for the rest of the day," I say, heading for the door.

"Can I walk you out?" Daniel floats after me, injuries not a hindrance to a flier.

"Sure," I say, not slowing down to wait. Not that he needs it. Like an angel on one shoulder, an unneeded guardian dog.

"Please don't fight Retribution on your own," he says once we are clear of the others' ears. "You're planning to, aren't you?"

"So?" I feel the systems in the walls hum with our passing, gentle attention, nothing more.

"We're supposed to be a team. That's how they beat us the last time. One by one. We can't let that happen again."

"Daniel." I force myself to stop, looking up at where he is hovering an inch above the ground. For a moment I wait for the hunger to hit, and when it doesn't I reach out to touch his chest. "I know what I'm doing."

"We were both vigilantes before we joined, I get the need to act independently. But Retribution wiped the floor with us. Please be careful," he pleads, placing his bare hand, bare skin on top of my hand despite all the times I told him not to. And yet, there is no surge of heat, no temptation. Huh. I let him hold it there, investigating my own response.

"You were a corporate hero," I say, only half focusing on him. What is this? What is this sense of... caution? I can feel my skin clenching tighter, latching together, unwilling to reach out, denying even hunger in the face of... what? Caution?

"Not always." Daniel sighs and removes his hand as if he suddenly remembered he's not supposed to do that when you're ungloved. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I say, turning to walk away. "And I'll take your advice under consideration." I flex my hand, open, close; no sense of lingering skin cells, no thwarted hunger, just a deep dread and a need to hide. "I'm going home. I need a bath."

He let me walk away without trying to stop me, in that, he was always the wisest of the team.

...

Lady Argent's apartment, an interior room, no windows. No outside ventilation, the door hermetically sealed, the air refreshed by air scrubbers, the negative pressure a guarantee against leaks. The pool. A final refuge.

"Increase nitrous oxide content," I mumble, half-submerged in warm amniotic fluids. The machinery obeys, saturating the air. I breathe deeply, letting my boundaries melt away. Around me, the water swirls silver and red as my little friends feed, leaving my body like a shoal of piranhas, devouring the meat I brought into the pool with me. Not all at once, they know me well enough not to leave me without their support but had anybody been alive to witness, they would have seen my body thin, hands and feet melt away, the bumpy lump of flesh that is my core covered by the thinnest sheen of silver. I don't look. I'm past that point by now.

I know I'm a monster.

Expanding my self, I feel the hunger as the pool boils with activity, like a vat of acid melting meat, leaving me the lone dumpling still floating. My hair remains intact and heavy, inert remains woven from stacked corpses and molecular bonds. My greatest creation.

I can feel myself sinking, so I instruct the system to increase the salt content of the fluid that supports me until I bob comfortably near the surface once more. No need to move. Better not to. The thin layer of nanovores is not enough to dampen anything, even the movement of water grates against exposed nerves. Breathe. Let the nitrous oxide do its job. Ignore the remaining pain. It won't last forever. Focus on something else.

They feel safe here. The swarm is comfortable, soon to be sated, their depleted brethren replaced. Red meat. Been on that diet since the fight. I close their eyes and replay it once more.

Every step. Every blow. So quick, the cape swirling, expertly masking movements. Pain radiating like explosions, there, then not, drowned by adrenaline and joy. Joy? Yes. I remember that clearly, despite the grossness of the sewers and the frustration of an impending loss.

It was a long time since I had felt that alive.

The amniotic fluid closes over my head, and I open my eyes to a reformed body, solid and heavy. The water still has traces of red, my little friends haven't finished their meal. That is strange. That is new. I flex my newformed hands, standing up in the pool. The water ripples around my shoulders, and I try to coax them out into their feeding cloud, but they hesitate.

Afraid?

The feeling hits me strangely, filtered through my own experiences, falling into the water, reflexively holding my breath as my skin burned. Saved my life. Didn't save my soul. I look down at the dirty water, -ordering- them to clean it up. They obey, to my relief, once more satisfied that they are safe. Protected. Hidden.

What are they afraid of?

I remember fighting Retribution, my reflections in their helmet, their reflections in my skin, brutal, no-holds-barred destruction as nobody was there to see. Is that it? I've lost before, but... once I did, there was nobody around to tell the tale. I half expected an empty suit of armor once I woke up. Did I feel relief that it wasn't there? At the time, I assumed it had been hermetically sealed, safe against my little friends, but now I wonder. Did they stay fused? No swarm?

Yes. I feel the answer is yes. Stay safe. Stay hidden. Stay protected.

I hug myself hard; of course, I will protect them, just like they protect me, a devil's bargain of monsters and hunger for the greater good. To be used against other monsters.

Control.

When I look around, the amniotic fluid is clean once more and all organics are absorbed. I step out of the pool, Aphrodite reborn, wrapping myself in my robe. I feel nothing. A breath, a fine-tuning instruction, and I can feel the approximation of weight against not-my-skin, a slippery sensation of what might be silk. I need to eat too, and rest. Then I can call Owl.

There's someone I need to find.

...

Bright Los Diablos sun sends glittering reflections from Lady Argent's skin as she leaps down from the rooftop, the shadowy cloak of Retribution swirling as they turn to face her. Silver and Shadow.

Joy.

I smile, teeth turning sharp as my legs absorb the impact, the ground feeling rubbery and then hard once more. Suddenly everything is clear as crystal, my friends and me in perfect fusion. I feel them, focused, sharp, terror and hunger wrapped in one, clinging close to my frame, cradling my ruined flesh in their protective embrace. They feel me, confident and strong, holding them tight to purpose and duty. At times like this, we are one, no conflict, something more than the broken parts, remnants of what we were forged into something new.

"You. Again." Retribution's voice, as fake as mine, runs through metallic filters, the helmet somehow as expressive as my face. Not annoyance. Not all annoyance anyway. "We need to stop meeting like this." They move with restless energy, brief bursts of servo-engines reacting with inhuman speed as they avoid and retaliate.

"You need to stop robbing banks," I say, careless of what they really are doing. It's not important. This is. We are.

"It's not a bank," they say, cloak hiding the punch but at this point I'm wise to that trick and cartwheels back unharmed.

"You're still breaking the law." I close the gap once more, claws extending as my sweep misses, as does their jab. I jump back, marveling at the smoothness of their armor. It's a delightful barrage against my senses, shining brightly with intent, a cryptic puzzle box protected against my seductive whispers as if it has a will of its own. As if it is as bound to its wearer as my friends are to me. I sense no direct neural interface I can use. This is different. This is NEW.

"Maybe the law needs to be broken," they retort, more careful now, our fight becoming a dance of attacks, seeking patterns and opportunities rather than damage. "Ever thought of that?"

"Maybe I have," I admit, feet extending, toes thickening to hooves. Lengthening to use that third joint for extra speed. "Ever thought of that?"

"Oh, I've thought of everything," they laugh, gesturing as part of the wall suddenly collapses in my direction.

I don't move; that would give them an opening. Instead, I stand firm and let the concrete and glass break against my head like waves against a pier. Unmoving. In the cloud of dust I smile, their reflection finally erased from my skin. "Good try," I say, closing my mouth before the dust makes me cough and ruin the impression.

"Shit," they swear, backing up with hands raised in mock surrender. "Guess I am all out of tricks now."

"Cute." I tilt my head, which suddenly feels heavy and filled with ants. There it is again, the feeling from the museum, but this time my friends are prepared. My eyes shift into their perspective, my human brain seeing things that are not there while they see the truth. Retribution isn't standing still but moving. Running. "There," I hiss, mostly to remind myself to breathe. I keep forgetting around them.

"Shit," they repeat as I catch up, and this time the word is spat with frustration. They still manage to dodge, my claws tearing nothing but cloth.

"Slippery little rabbit." I smile as I plead to the light of their armor to slow down and dance to my tune instead of theirs. I can feel the beating power core heart of it, but my fingers keep slipping, another will there blocking me. Keeping me out. Not artificial intelligence, something strange, something— "Ooof!" Two fights prove to be one too much, and Retribution hits me with a blow hard enough to make me skid back; pain diffused into nothing as my friends do their job.

Blood in my mouth immediately digested. I brace for the surge of hunger, but it's not there. I don't have to extend control over them; they leash themselves. No swarming. Instead, they cling ever closer and I laugh. This is. This is GREAT.

"That wasn't meant to be funny," Retribution says, fists up, cautiously on guard. "It was meant to hurt. Just in case you didn't know, feel free to collapse in pain at any moment."

"Thank you for the heads up." I flex my hands in perfect sync. Have we ever been this close? No struggle for dominance. They NEED me. They need my protection. "I'll take it under consideration." In the distance, sirens are blaring. The LDPD. Spoilsports.

"I hear them too." They don't turn to look, focused on me, every inch the predator. Neither of us prey. I like that. "Raincheck?"

"Are you running away again? I'm disappointed." And to my surprise, I am. I want to continue this, whatever this is, this fight, this feeling.

"No use sticking around." They gesture to the scene of destruction around you. "I already have what I came for." The pleased chuckle comes through the vocal distorted garbled, but the message is clear.

While we were fighting, some of Retribution's accomplices escaped with the loot. I wasn't paying attention. I was enjoying myself too much. Wei Chen will have a field day with this.

"Guess I have to settle with you then." I don't let disappointment stop me. Instead, I leap at them, knowing I will only catch smoke and shadows. This fight is for any witnesses; we both know my heart isn't in it now that company is coming.

Retribution will escape.

I will let Retribution escape.

We both know the truth as the smoke explodes around me, and the last image I see is a salute, half mocking, half respectful, as Retribution disappears into an alley.

We both know I will follow.

We both know I will find nothing there but ghosts.

And I am fine with that.

"Until next time," I whisper to the shadows.