"Well? How does she look?" I stared straight ahead. I have been often rumored, rarely encountered. Perhaps the greatest protection is not to possess the power to become Legend, but to possess the anonymity to become myth. Unknown is precisely what I want to be. I learned from last time. I am not certain if I am supposed to remember---my Ghost will not tell me. But from what I recall, there was a lesson. A single, resounding and blinding lesson which inspired a grudge that I cannot let go. I stood still and quiet, and allowed them to inspect me. My new employers. My new benefactors. My new handlers. "Expensive kit. Real expensive." New Monarchy. Those who dream of uniting all that remains of Earth beneath one flag, one figure, and restoring humankind to glory. To greatness. I may have been flattered if I were that figure of their dreams. I would have declined, in the same silence I have to offer always. But I would have been flattered. To be their figurehead is not my place, though. Mine is to be a weapon. To be used for a task, to be admired, and to be feared. Nameless beneath my deeds. Faceless beneath my visor. "She's worth every credit. She's the real deal. And that equipment was beyond old. Her Ghost said that she'd refused to put on anything new, though. Until now." They love red. I find it garish. I find red an irritating color to look at. Most things irritate me. I cannot recall peace, and memory itself irritates me. I try not to remember, but forgetting irritates me. They love their red. Their symbols, their attempt to stand out and above while posturing to represent those below and within. A story I have seen before. Heard before. Lived before. My Ghost will not tell me why, but I know that I am angry. "She's shorter than I expected. And quieter. This isn't some joke, right? And how can you confirm that this is, truly, the Ang---" They spoke over one another. Even while pacing around me, peering but wise enough not to touch. I imagined his green eyes staring back at him through my silvered visor. I imagined knowing what he was thinking, his brimming hope that I am as promised and his distant disgust that the future belongs to creatures as powerful as I. I imagined vividly, and it made me angry. But the attempt to calm myself irritated me. And my Ghost, as always, whispered to me that I needn't know why. "---she isn't anymore. She was rogue. She was confused. She may be...damaged. Her Ghost may be as well, though it is far more vocal than she is. I presume that she was risen from a damage or dying Ghost. A shame, given her... obvious talents. She was confused. She was found nearly dormant, just outside of Old Philadelphia. The search team explained to her who we are, what we intend. Her Ghost spoke for her, and they came along. She has been cooperative ever since. But she IS---she WAS---who you inquire after." He sounded so proud of himself. I was proud too. I was proud of my new armor. It was white. Is white. I hope it will remain white for some time. Sometimes it is gray, and that annoys me---sometimes it is too bright, and makes me too easy a target, and being fired upon annoys me too. So it becomes gray. My Ghost helps. My armor was new. It is still new. I wear their red on my right hip. They leave me be if I wear their mark. I use their weapons, but only in my right hand. On my right hip. I do not let them touch my sword. I do not touch my sword. Being unable to use it makes me angry. The desire to use it makes me sad. "...and what's this? Did she come with this? Looks like... well it's some odd tech, can I take a---" I turned my head to look at him. Because he was reaching for my sword. It is mine, and everything about it makes me angry. That others want it makes me angry. That I must keep it, makes me angry. I did not act in anger. I looked at him. "Don't. It---we lost a member of the search party to that. Don't touch the sword. Bad idea." He backed away. He retreated, and that made me angry. I looked forward again. "Oh. Right. You don't say much, do you? Well that's alright. Everyone has too much to say. You're my type, Angel. Err. I know I'm supposed to call you something else but. I mean." He shrugged guiltily. Turned to the other. From the side, I could not see his green eyes. From the side, they were very different, and very similar. Tall, bronzed skin, green eyes, blonde hair. Short, stocky, dark skin and dark eyes. Wearing identical outfits though. Different animals stuffed into the same skin as best as they could be. Being so similar made them feel safe. At least, I imagined. And that made me angry. "...did anyone get a look? Under the armor, I mean. I'm just... I'm just curious." He wanted to know what I am. I know. I want to know the same. The wanting makes me angry. The wondering makes me sad. "Craziest thing." He smiled. It was news, it was exciting. I am exotic. A weapon, as a source of novelty. Oh, the anger. Anger that I know so well. A source of directed wrath, a new pair of bloody hands so that theirs---so intentionally red---may remain clean. I was interesting. Different from the other murderers, and more vibrant than the other dead. If only I could describe the anger without using my sword. "The techs got a look, obviously, when outfitting her with the new armor. And she is definitely a HER. She's, she's human. All the way human. Not an Exo. Not an Awoken. She's human. Golden hair, noon sky eyes. Freckles around her nose. She's human." These were things that I knew. That, at some point, did not make me angry. My Ghost will not tell me when that was. I could see these things by focusing on the very faint reflection staring back at me as emptily as I stared forward at the world. I am human. If only that told me what I am. I have seen the recordings. I know that is me. Or at least, that is what I have done. And I will see what will come, and I will know that it was me. A tool to build an empire. Not a legend. A myth. A vague aspect to something more. To exist so lucidly, and to be unknown all the same---that is what I am. A present mystery. So much like my sword, which I ache to hold again. I am not angry enough, yet. "A human. Really. Well---alright. You're going to have to deliver a demonstration. Crucible seems the place to do it. Shaxx will let any kind of carnage fly. Presuming she is who you say, we'll need to put her against something good. Got anyone in mind?" There was a short pause. I knew it was faked. I knew that he already knew. And it made me angry. "Vanguard's got some new lapdogs they're enjoying showing off. Vanguard Assault Lance. We'll match her against them, and watch the fireworks. It'll take them down a peg, and let everyone know we're wielding the hardware to return us to the Golden Age one way or another. If this doesn't tip the Consensus..." And then, I had a target. The Vanguard Assault Lance. Somewhere to unleash the anger, if only for a while. I could presume that my objective was to crush them. Obliterate them. Let the rage run wild, let the surge erupt, let the Arc flow and whisk them away unto nothingness again and again because I was given permission. And with it my destruction would build something. The place of a weapon. To destroy for the name of those who wish to build. A step closer to a time to use my sword, who I long for. I turned, and I left. I was not dismissed. They did not stop me.