There were a lot of lights, a lot of pitter-pattering feet and a whole wack load of random armed men looking around beneath us as we hid on the top of a roof. Like kicking a nest of hornets swarming around their hive after an attack, they came quickly, crawling over every surface they could reach before me or my walking pink death machine could leave, so we hid. Biding our time.

They were sloppy, sloppy and un-vigilant, but they could still notice her, no doubt.

I figured after a dozen minutes of waiting for a random head to poke out above us and give it all away that they weren’t looking for people. They were looking for the remains of what they had shot down.

They were ordinary people, and what kind of thing could cause this damage but some kind of voidcraft being shot down?

They were checking for a boat or low-altitude fighter, not two women and the remains of a monster beyond their comprehension hiding in the loft of an open-roof building.

It was a little funny; I would laugh if I wasn’t hiding. That and I had to spend all my time stopping Pinky.

Pinky was, apparently, not good at sitting still. Quite the surprise, given how she always enjoyed running around and only seemed to sit still while watching her old-world animations. Tack on a lack of impulse control and a suppression of all socialization, and Pinky was a menace that could curl me like a paperweight.

There were a few times when the soldiers, guards, or both, I couldn’t tell, came close enough that I needed to tell Pinky to stop moving, the simplest of movements scraping up the floor. Every ridge of her body was like a blade, able to scrape away anything beneath it.

Despite their flexible nature, even the clothes were more like hard armour.

I had only the faintest clue what it could be, something akin to carbon fibre, some strange yet flexible weave, but it was tougher stuff than that. It scuffed me up as I tried to get her to understand that I needed her to stay the hell down without talking out loud while the guards trounced around, tracing back across the scene of carnage we had left in our wake.

They thinned, I checked, but they didn’t leave.

I watched Pinky making weird animal noises at me. My ring warmed on my hand, and I could feel the slightest zip as the ring consumed more power than it normally did. Presumably, she was asking to please be allowed to leave.

I spotted what I was taking as the standard guard below: a good old lunatic lad, tall but skinny from growing up in a low-g, puke-coloured uniform with a helmeted head and a polearm. Guards used polearms; that was just the way of things, with the exception of tight space stations. Poles were near universal, and they didn’t even seem to have guns here.

There were also several that were dressed better, carrying a bulky long gun; many of them seemed to dress with a similar cut but different colours. They also had aids which seemed to carry bulky packs in easy reach full to the brim with what looked like barrels, which marked them as a kind of important unit, but also likely nobles if their swords were anything to go by. They were probably those snipers I had run into. One part weapon team, one part noble, the sons and daughters of the aristocracy were presumably carrying weapons that needed barrel changes.

That was interesting. I could file that away, work with it, put it in a pot, and let it cook before tasting it later. Cut off their backup, and the worst they could do at range is fire a few shots. I bet I could even figure out how many. Perhaps one or two? That fit, but I could check later.

Then there were captains, people like the red guy dressed like old Lunar Nights or those sam-rye guys that popped up in Pinky’s shows, just shy of a helmet or one of those hats.

Then there were people dressed similarly but dressed in uniform, army captains with squads of marines or something similar. They had rifles, each with a long bayonet and a hat, each dressed in a distinct blue under what remained of the lamplight that kept them distinct from the blue noble guys; they carried shorter swords as if they would lead a bayonet charge with a blade in hand. They also had a short gun, perhaps some manner of sub-gun, something that would spit out light in a repetitive but lighter spray.

And then, hard to spot, but still there, were a few people dressed in black.

They had no pack to march with, no commanding officers or underlings at their beck and call. The uniformed men seemed to move around them, as if they could feel their presence, like schools of fish ebbing out of the reach of an uninterested predator.

I turned on my radio, but I couldn’t pick out one feeling in particular; no proper voices, just gobbly gook on shortwave. I could, as I turned the dial beyond normal and to those frequencies that lay in the realm of alien horseshit, pinging from the black-clad figures, same from Pinky and even myself. Alien songs were sung out by each figure that carried some weapon beyond mortal make, singing like the spheres as they danced through the heavens.

I made sure to keep out of sight, listening to the desperate tunes and figuring out a kind of pace. I could tell that one was faster, one slightly slower but damn near the same, and a few varying differences beyond that.

It was like the closer they were, the faster the pace, a quick spin becoming a slow dance, down to a tune that was so slow it could have actually prescribed a rhythm of a planet, its venerable frame of reference so much slower than the dance of ants like us.

It was nearly impossible to tell the exact distance or angle so close, but that one was distinct. It was like the deafening blast of a bomb but distant; it had a kind of echo that drew my head toward the distance, toward a large structure I could see even tucked away as I was.

Luna, the Archangel, not the planet, and her great superstructure loomed organic in the distance, like roots peaking out of the ground, revealed by erosion.

I couldn’t even see her in the distance; she was beyond the horizon, but she had a kind of node here.

I stopped listening to her quickly; it made my everything itch like the boom of a bass, which Pinky picked up on and made me need to sit on her.

I stopped and listened and waited for the other songs to grow distant, took a peek, and hid again, judging the distance of some of the black coats with the pace of their alien song.

Tentatively, I whispered, “I think we're good to go. Can you see anything, Lilly?”

“Nothing in range,” she said quietly, mimicking my own voice.

Pinky made a noise that was a hair too loud for comfort, somewhere between a rumble and an animal noise, before she grabbed me around the waist and ran.

There were a few shouts, but due to the blur of our movement and the dim, atmospheric lighting, we couldn’t be very visible, just loud.

Pinky bundled me up and smashed her way across the roof, hoping through the air with my gut going queasy, both from the iron's firm grasp and the lack of care.

It didn’t help that Pinky was, very unfortunately, my type right now, which, combined with the lack of care, made my stupid gut flip-flop around in a very different way.

I didn’t really think about how Pinky seemed to fall into my type like this, or how upon even a modicum of reflection, Mei also seemed to fall into a growing bubble of her own the more she came to mind, or how I was widening my horizons in opposite ends of the spectrum. I didn’t even think about if it was just me being bricked up or if my recent changes were driving that.

I certainly didn’t think about all of that while Pinky carried me like luggage because that hit just the right neurons to make the monkey want to unga her bunga.

One day, I would bring the monkey out behind the shed. I swore it. Stupid, uncaring and inhuman kinks. Down. Sit.

It didn’t help. If anything, it was only worse now that I had turned on the Animus because now that the unga-bunga lever was something I was aware of, its constant pressure was highlighted.

“Ug, kill me,” I muttered while Pinky hopped into a building, slid across the roof, grabbed the ledge behind her, and used it to drop into the dark street.

“I would joke, but I can’t do that, even if I wanted to. If your vitals are anything to go by, I’m not going to put you out of your misery just because you're now dealing with the consequences of activating the part of you that’s responsible for being pent up. The best way to come to understand and control your throbbing lust is to take it by the balls.” She said, not unkindly, but in a way that emanated ‘I told you so’ energy.

“Telling me to man up aside, you did tell me. I get it; I ignored you; I pay the price.” I told her while Pinky tucked me in her arm like a cat as she moved through the less populated side streets.

“How long till Pinky can return to being able to talk, also check your hands Pink stuff.” I told her.

She playfully coped a quick feel with an “Ug,” before moving her hand lower. Definitely playful… At least, I hoped it was playful. It was hard to tell with no face to read, and with what it had brought out in me, I could imagine it being a possibility. Fun for fun’s sake was one thing, but I didn’t want to lead her on.

“It will take a bit longer. Pinky’s Oracle sites reserve depletion, so it will probably take another 20 minutes, even with her upgrades,” She said, confirming a delay but also complicating it.

“Reserve? Explain?” I poked.

“Well, you have your hole; it feeds a black hole light matter to get energy. That energy is immediately discharged into a reserve; it powers the periphery… You know, like the field that stops you from being sucked into said black hole or the one that keeps the quantum tunnel stable.” She said a matter of factly.

“That makes a little more sense than last time; sure, proceed.” I agreed.

“Well, normally that fills up, and then you get your full two energy a minute. Pinky has a simple generator upgrade so that's three for her, but that energy goes from reserve to the main battery, problem is, she also has a sneaky panic button.” She said leadingly.

“So, she bottomed out her normal capacity during the first fight, popped the panic button, and now the reserve is filling both up?” I finished not fully getting the hang-up but seeing the picture.

“Yes, but it was trying to refill both at three points of energy a minute. The reserve is supposed to cascade into your normal capacity, but when both were open, both got filled,” She told me.

That both did and didn’t make sense, I could understand it; I just couldn’t understand why such a simple fuckup was built in. The reserve was supposed to work like a big measuring cup with a little spout at the top; when it filled all the way to the top, instead of spilling over the rim, it naturally poured out through the channel and into a normal cup you could drink out of… In theory.

It was working more like a syphon. While the reserve wasn’t full, there was a limit on how much was removed so the reserve would always be full, a kind of idiot-proofing I could get behind, so long as it stopped me from being sucked into a black hole, and once it filled all the way, a sensor detected it, and released the limit, like the nob of a hose being thrown all the way open.

Pinky generated three a minute, so when it opened, it gave her a capacity of three a minute… And her other backup, oh fuck button reserve, got three a minute too.

She had instantly bottomed out one and then the other and probably continued to bottom them out, drawing more than she should have from each; the sensor detected it too late, and the reserve wasn’t full.

“And let me guess, the same smart ass that didn’t have the two tanks regulate their input while full made sure to limit them while the reserve wasn’t full?”

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“Bingo, she’s stuck in a refuelling cycle and averaging .75 energy a minute, split between both tanks. To be fair to the designers, there is a firmware update she could buy right now; she's just dragging her heels on it; it's only 75 contribution points, and she got that from you alone,” she said.

I let out a groan and gave Pinky a slap on the arm.

“Pinky! Get the damn firmware upgrade. I don’t want to be stuck hiding in a dark alley while you sit there because you're stingy.” I told her.

She shook her head above me, unmoved by the slap.

“I swear, if you make me sit in an alley for twenty minutes, I will rain on your parade for a week! I will! I’ll be an absolute wet towel! I’ll constantly go to the bathroom and make you pause!” I told her.

She shook her head again but also made a bestial noise of annoyance.

“I’ll sing the theme songs, including the transformation jingles, and sing them off-tone with non-sense lyrics, you know I’ll do it too!” I told her.

She hissed but seemed more taken aback as I had just told her I would pee on her carpet like a misbehaving cat. She held herself back from whacking me with anything, thankfully, but She was clearly annoyed.

“If I may,” Lilly suggested, “You could give her something she wants. That generally works better than a threat.”

“And what could I possibly give her?” I snorted, “Ther-”

“She’s just sent me a request,” Lilly said, cutting me off. “Her demands are… Small signs of affection, like a hug or patting her on the head, and finally accept her as your friend.”

You had to be shitting me, I thought.

“You have to be joking,” I said out loud on autopilot before intentionally adding, “I don’t do hugs, Pinky. It's not a you thing; it’s a me thing.”

She grumbled a noise that should not come from a person's mouth, and Lilly dutifully translated, “Pinky made a joke about what kind of friendship you think she is asking for, but also that her buying the upgrade is a ‘me thing.’ If you're not going to trade, she’ll just not buy it.”

I stared at the helmeted head of Pinky while she carried me like a cat down the alley, unable to see her eyes, if she even had eyes, and winged, “What is this? Are you trying to extort me for your own benefit?”

She shrugged because she could answer; she just couldn’t talk.

“Gahhh… You evil little thing. You… You! Just get the upgrade!” I told her.

It wasn’t like I was unwilling to get a hug or anything; I just didn’t like them. It was like putting a hat on a cat; they just shook them off.

“She’s demanding you call her your friend first… Soorry her best friend, the best part seems important,” Lilly told me.

“Unbelievable… Unbelievable! Your fucking with me.” I told her, mouth forming into a sour pucker.

Pinky slowed, her form unmoving as granite. The perfect manipulation of her form allows an eerie kind of stillness.

We stared at one another, playing a game of chicken. Her eyeless yet no doubt un-blinking, and me meeting her all the way.

“You think you can push me, big girl? Do you think you can extort me for my time and make me call you what you want me to call you? Show you physical affection? You think you can rehabilitate me? Huh? You think you can force me to do things because I want you not to make a dumb decision?” I asked her.

“Jacalyn… Stopping people you know from making dumb decisions is how you would treat a-” Lilly started.

“Not now, Lilly,” I murmured, cutting the poor girl off.

Couldn’t she see I had a stand-off here? Cutting in like that, being all reasonable?

Honestly, the nerve of it.

I waited for Pinky’s answer, her noble but passive statue-like uncanny nature screaming passive danger. Not looking away from me, she nodded ever so slightly.

I sucked in a breath in a hiss of displeasure, “You… You! Ugh. I don’t care if you're my best friend or not; I’m not going to give you a hug like this. If you want a hug, you need to transform back!”

Pinky, uncaring about my lack of consent on the matter, gave me a hug.

“Put me down. Down girl! I will piss on your leg!” I shouted, wacking her, my frail meat hands not enough to cause a disturbance on her skin. It was like I was struggling against a voidships hull plate.

Pinky didn’t seem to care that I was not receiving a hug, more so that I didn’t shoot her when she gave me one.

A short hug and an awkward shuffle of embarrassment on my part later, Pinky put me down and stood still for a moment… And then another.

After about twenty seconds of staring up at her after my little embarrassment jig I asked, “Is she like… In the middle of getting it or?” I asked.

Lilly, understanding I was asking her and unbothered by my earlier unwelcoming hiss, said, “Nah, she's just standing there. It only takes a fraction of a second to install a firmware update like that; it's just tweaking stuff. It's gone from 17 minutes to just shy of half of that.”

That was… Drastic.

“Remind me to get that upgrade if I get a second tank,” I told her.

“The firmware updates are often lumped in; the fact that they didn’t mean that she intentionally didn’t want to pay for them,” Lilly confided, whispering like Pinky could hear her and might defend such an action.

I gave Pinky a look as she stood there in the dark and tried to guess what the likelihood was that Pinky had simply not gotten them because she was cheap versus the possibility of her planning on this specific occasion.

It was incredibly unlikely, the kind of unlikely that scam mail and conmen used. It was like hearing your name on the radio after buying a lottery ticket. If I wasn’t who I was, I would probably not even entertain it, but I knew firsthand how unlikely my life was, and even cursed luck had its upsides.

That was to say, I didn’t care if that was a one-in-one-million chance; this was Pinky and me, and Pinky and I were rarer than one in one million as it was.

I was suspicious of the broad. She was too simple on the surface, too smart under that, and spent too long using an artifact-based around social and mental manipulation to now have a few weird niche tricks. I also didn’t say that because she was Pinky, and it was just as likely she had decided to spend that on making her Pinker or something.

Both were possible, and both were very her.

“Instead of sitting around here, thumbs up our asses, we should probably keep going,” I told Pinky, “We were spotted, even if it was by a mere handful of people and only for a few moments. We should continue on our way so we don’t get found sitting in a dark alleyway, even if it's by a random old lady.”

Pinky made to pick me up, and I stepped back, “No. No picking me up. I’m tired of being picked up. I’m not a doll. We can walk, and besides, we need to go back to the bar to pick up my stuff… Like my other gun… And the rest of my crud.”

Pinky didn’t seem to care about that, but she did pat me on the head again, and I reactively made a face so vile it should have stripped paint, though that too was ineffective against the adamant skin of Pinky’s war form.

I gave up on trying to wound her with my expression when she scratched the helmet of her head, and I decided not to even think about if the hat bit or the helmet bit were the top of her head.

We continued our waltz down the street and off into the dark while Pinky got her juice back.

***

We slipped our way back and into the edge of the redlight in time for Pinky to fill up. Hiding in the darkness of an alleyway, she flashed and transformed her clothes, the proper top ones, which included solving my problem for me. They seemed to phase out of reality in a mirage, with both the oversized armoured forms phasing out and her normal robe phasing in. It let me see, for a moment, a flash of armoured skin, with a close weave under her cloak, sheathes on her hips and a surprisingly masculine chest.

I had a more masculine build in Warform, but Pinky looked like a bodybuilder, jacked enough to take on an ape out of its mind on Howling Crystal. I had to admire the night and day difference.

Warforms seemed to universally have a kind of light clothing on top, but it was mostly utility and a piece of headwear, with the rest of the form just folded in. Pinky had nothing in the way of folding, and even the headwear was mostly non-existent. Pinky had a mantle that seemed to flow down into the scabbards at the hips, with enough room to hold what had to be nearly fifty to sixty vials. The entire upper section was like a shoulder holster and had tubing leading into very weirdly positioned side nipples, the vials fluorescing lightly in an ebbing way.

God only knew what the fuck half of them held, but none of them looked like her normal vials; the only thing that told me they were, were the strange fluids inside.

And then, in a flash of light, the holsters and black carapace and strangely erotic curve of muscles were gone, and their form snapped back to the soft and curvy form I could soundly not look at like the deviant I was.

Thank god for friend-shaped people.

Pinky seemed to puff up, face darkening in a flush as her hair waved back and forth, interior colour ebbing and flowing.

“Nice to have you back,” I told her, “you devious little snake.”

“Ugh… I hate warform.” She said, “Even if it is a rush, it always makes me feel sick to my stomach.”

“I can feel that,” I told her, “Though I don’t think it's for the same reason as you.”

“Yeah, I can guess at our difference. I can’t believe you spent all your points on unlocking your warform and didn’t take the shard specifically made to keep you stable,” she said, hands covering her face.

“It worked,” I told her, “if it works, it’s not dumb.”

“Perhaps, but it is spiritually taxing at the best of times, and going through that with you was harder than I thought it would be.” She said with a sigh.

“It was… Certainly something,” I told her, “Though I can’t understand the whole distaste on the form bit.”

I went for my pocket and retrieved a smoke, then lazily asked her, “You mind if I smoke? I know I smoked around you before, but I don’t think we breathe air the same like that.”

She sighed, mumbling, “Yeah… Fuck it.”

I lit up, taking a drag as she seemed to revel in misery, the silence lasting long enough to go past awkward and enter straight into a downer.

“Gah. I can’t believe you're going to make me do this,” I told her, pacing over to her and giving her a pat on the head.

She withdrew her hands from her face, turning to look up at me with a kind of distressed but tearless face, confused. She had a spiralling kind of look as she caught up with herself, memories replaying in her head like they had in mine.

“I don’t know why you so twisted up about your war form, and I’m not going to ask and go digging through your own personal misgivings, but the more important bit is that we lived, eh? Not so bad for a last-minute double cross; the last time I survived one of those, I died. So, let's get your mind off it. What would you say to going back to the bar and blowing off a little steam?” I asked her.

“You dummy,” she sniffed.

“Is that a yes?” I asked, “Or is this going to end up in waterworks.”

“What if it will? Is there something wrong with that?” She asked.

“No… I’m just awful with water work; I was never good with damsels crying,” I confessed.

“Hah,” she snorted in a kind of hiccupping laugh, “You called me a damsel. Listen to yourself. Pretending to be all mysterious.”

“Hey… I’m not saying… I’m… You know what, I don’t have to care. You’re a dame, and you’re not married… You’re not right? I’m surfing on your couch; it would be a bit awkward.” I told her.

“I’m not married, no; you don’t need to worry about a Paramore bursting in to find us together on the couch. That would be too funny. We're not thinking the same way about damsel. It has a helpless woman connotation,” she said before snorting and murmuring, “Hah, damsel.”

“Whew… It’s more of a woman in need of saving,” I told her, “and if you’re crying, you need saving of one kind or another.”

“Dame, this, dame that, why don’t you get some dame common sense and emotional comprehension,” she said.

“You know, I hear a lot of yapping, but I got your mind off of whatever it was that was making you all mopey… Now let's go get drunk; I could have some liquor… Or, I guess, beer,” I told her.

“You would have to be a real ass hole to get her to reach the top shelf… Wait a minute, you tricked me!” she said.

“Yeah… I guess I did. Damn, I didn’t even mean to do that. This peacekeeper form is no joke,” I told her, thinking about it before realizing that was exactly what I had done.

That shit was spooky. I hadn’t meant to try and manipulate her at all; I had just been talking and wanted her not to cry.

“Darn, you got me without even trying, you jerk,” she said with the first bit of cheer since we had gotten into this mess. It was small, but it was real, and that was good.

I hadn’t been lying about not being able to deal with women crying; that stuff messed me up, and it would be worse with Pinky. I was dense on a good day and even more when it came to the delicate hearts of the fairer sex, which left me stuck feeling bad that they were crying, inept enough to only make it worse, and with Pinky, there was the added guilt of her being the good sort.

I didn’t count; I was a crusty bitch, without any fairness.

I was starting to realize what Lilly was talking about when she said I was the man in the relationship.

“Yeah, I’m a real asshole if you didn’t somehow piece that together,” I told her.

“And you can’t stand watching women cry?” she asked.

“I’m a mercenary, Pink; I profiteer on the suffering of others… though usually the party I go after is causing the suffering. I’m morally dubious at best, but I have a bad history with crying women,” I told her.

“Yeah, I bet,” she said, “I bet you’re popular with the ladies.”

“Ehh, 50/50. I’ll tell you a pickup line if you stop standing in this alley like a rock addict and rejoin society,” I told her before taking a drag of my cigarette.

“I desire… the pickup line.” She said thoughtfully, “Also, a beer. I wouldn’t mind a beer… But only if we can watch stuff when we get back.”

“Sure, I have no problem with that,” I told her, “I don’t have a job… Well, I have personal stuff to do, but there are no set hours. Come on,” I encouraged her with a pat on the back.

Pinky muttered something I didn’t catch as I turned to leave the alley, one foot in the light, the other in the shade, and I turned. “Sorry, didn’t catch that. What did you say, Pinky?”

“Nothing, nothing. Let's go,” she said, mouth pulling into a small smile, catching up quickly, cloak swishing.

And like that, we entered the red light of the district and made our way to the bar.

***

“- You never finished explaining what the deal was with-” I said as Pinky opened the bar door.

“And I’m not going to; just because I was willing to explain the deal with Puf does not mean I’m going to explain Shadow Puf,” Pinky said, “Shadow Puf is spoiler territory. You have to experience Shadow Puf.”

“That makes no sense. Knowing and experiencing are different things. I can know and experience separately.”

“You say that, but you can’t-” Pinky started as we got into the bar only to stop.

We turned our heads, both of us in near unison.

We weren’t telepathing; there was simply an insistent tapping.

The hand that was taped was an unfamiliar firstborn woman sitting at the bar with the more familiar little one behind the counter and her large companion. The woman was also one of the big ones, built like she was made to predate on her pocket-sized kin behind the bar and ride a bike, not that the little Firstborn woman minded the giant woman.

“This going to be a problem?” I asked her quietly.

“Nah, Hi! How are you doing?” Pinky called out to the.

“Not great,” she said tersely, “The Dam would like to see you.”

“Oh? Can we have a drink first?” Pinky asked, “It’s been a night.”

“Yeah, sure. Just go grab a glass. You know, like the one you broke in the middle of girls' night? Get real. That wasn’t an ask.” She said, standing up languidly.

I carefully redirected my hand to casually lay next to my gun in a way most people wouldn’t pick up as hostile.

She was in the range where she could get to me before I could draw, but she wasn’t rushing me with a knife; she was being civil.

“You don’t need to be so serious,” Pinky told the woman.

“You’re not the one that gets to say what or what not is needed,” She said with a roll of her shoulders, a casual sign of intimidation.

She was used to pushing around people but not confronting people who could fight back. She also definitely didn’t know Pinky.

“Calm down, Bubbles, over there’s a friend… And besides, her arm candy isn’t vibing with what you’re doing right now. Check yourself, kitten, before she puts a hole in you,” the bouncer told her, though not without a bit of glee.

Leave it to cats to enjoy getting on over on each other. Also, it causes issues.

Cats, am I right?