Note: Tried a new style when writing this. I'd written for Angst Day quite a while ago, but transferring here from my Tumblr. Link in my profile.
Trigger warning: violence, injury, scars, manipulation, self harm mention, downward spiral, body horror, angst. Gen fic.

The Red Huntress's Suit

—

-Her new suit isn't like her old one. The difference is worlds apart.

-She summons it with a thought. Usually, the desire to hunt ghosts. It wraps around her like a glove and shimmers into existence. Weapons materialize and de-materialize on her slightest whim.

-Valerie has a little trouble activating it, at first. Back in Axiom Labs, the suit had just… regenerated, spontaneously, unexpectedly. She'd been too focused back then on Phantom to ask how or why; she just dove into space after him. Now she has to do trial-and-error to figure out what activates the suit and what doesn't.

-Once Val gets the hang of it, she's pleased—she'll no longer have to do the Amity Park equivalent of quick-changes-in-telephone-booths anymore.

-The suit seems to vanish when she's not using it. Valerie sometimes wonders where it goes. Nano-technology, she thinks. It's melded into her flesh—it's part of her now. She cannot take it off.

-Emotions seem to charge it. Once, she activates it when she stubs her toe.

-(She might need to learn to control her anger. Or at least stop yelling Fight Me! at frustrating inanimate objects.)

-There's a voice in her head now, or maybe an instinct inside that lets her feel the data her suit puts out.

-She finds, delightfully, that she can tune into radio stations. They play in her head. She can listen to police scanners, or to music while she's out on patrol.

-Her old fashion-forward habits make her wonder if she can change the suit's appearance. Maybe she doesn't feel like wearing red every day, you know?

-She can. The suit will mold itself into whatever color or shape she desires. The changes revert every time she summons it, though. In the end she lets it go; it's too much work, and the suit looks fine as it is—the red and black design makes her feel powerful, deadly. She focuses less on appearance, more on hunting, instead.

-The suit is a marvel. Super Strength. Amplified reflexes. A weapon's vault that would put the National Guard's to shame. She can now take on ghosts that can destroy streets, topple buildings. Ghosts that can tear a person in two. Her foes are formidable, but she is always the victor.

-Her prowess is rewarding. Her victories, her triumphs—they feel so much more real than the D's and F's that litter her report card.

-Hunting takes up so much of her time. She considers dropping out of school.

-Her father gets mad at her when she doesn't come home some nights. He can't take the suit away from her anymore, and instead argues with her. She argues back. "Ghost hunting is part of who I am, Dad!" she says. "I'm not going to stop!"

-She's the best hunter in Amity Park, by a mile. She could do it in her sleep.

-She punches harder. Tires less. Val, already in tip-top shape, becomes capable of feats that are almost superhuman.

-In fights, she can feel the suit's powers coursing through her veins. She likes it.

-Whenever a ghost is near, the she can sense its presence. The datavoice in her head pulses, pushes her towards her target, urging her to fight.

-The weapons self-repair. The suit, when gashed, grows back in time.

-When she gets injured, she finds the suit self-repairs her, too. The wounds heal overnight, the skin grows back pink and shiny and just-so-slightly… off. The skin feels rubbery, almost synthetic, and—

-…She doesn't like it, she doesn't like—

-Valerie lies awake in the dark, unable to sleep. There's an itch beneath her skin, and she thinks she can feel the nanites and the ectoplasm in her blood, like insects crawling, there.

-She doesn't sleep for a few days.

-She thinks back to when she got the suit. The second ghost (Technus? Is that right? She can't recall its name) gave it to her so she would distract Phantom for him. That much is clear. She wonders again why the ghost would arm her, she wonders if she's being used, but—she discards the thought. Doesn't like where it's taking her.

-It doesn't matter where this gift came from, or what it's capable of. Valerie is going to use it to hunt ghosts, to rid the world of evil, and that's the end of that.

-She throws herself back into hunting.

-Her head is clear when she fights. She doesn't have to think about the past, or her future—only the here and now. She fights through the night, every night, for a week.

-"Maybe you should take a break," her father suggests, quietly, on one of the few evenings they're both at home. He should know better than to bring the subject up. She leaves without a word.

-One particularly nasty ghost fight breaks half her gear. When she summons it in the next fight, it's still damaged. She tries not to panic, but inside, she cannot stop. She hadn't realized her suit had limits. She doesn't realize she has limits, too.

-Days after, the pink scars peel off like a sunburn, leaving unmarred brown skin beneath. The itching sensation fades.

-Finally, her gear repairs itself. Her gear had never been unfixable, she realizes. There had just been so much to fix. That night, she hesitates before plunging into battle, but when she dives in, adrenaline takes over, and her mind goes clear.

-There are more ghosts now. Stronger ghosts. Some days, even Phantom can't keep up.

-She has more scars now. Pink ones, all down her back. She can't feel a thing.

-She crashes one night, falls headfirst into bed. Sleeps a full 24 hours straight. She needed it badly, too.

-She's still tired when she wakes up. She's still tired.

-Valerie tries to take her father's advice. A break. She goes to a party rather than out on patrol. The crowd is thick and the lights are dim. She tries to dance to the beat. All she can hear is a pounding in her head, urging her to fight; Level 5 ghost, 2.4 miles NE—Level 5 ghost, 2.4 miles NE…

-She wakes up in an alleyway. She doesn't remember fighting, but her ghost containment thermos is full up to the brim.

-Her suit, Valerie realizes, recharges her. Whether it injects her with adrenaline or steroids or some unearthly ghost power, she doesn't know. She can fight for hours, weary to the bone, and it won't let her fall. Her rage and the suit keeps her going. She cannot stop now.

-She cannot stop ever.

-Valerie doesn't work at the Nasty Burger anymore. When she needs money, she does Mr. Masters a favor or two. She isn't saving for college anymore. She doesn't know when her future fell by the wayside. Hunting is her full-time job.

-"Do enough favors," Vlad says, "And I'll work some magic to get your father out of the slums."

-Her father always knew what was best for her, even when Valerie didn't. He was right about the ghost hunting, even. She's in too deep to stop now. But maybe she can give him what he deserves.

-The paper and the tabloids write articles, and she's on the front page. They compare her skill to others; they think she is on par with Phantom. As they should.

-Her dad sees her more in the news than he does face-to-face. It saddens her, but only a little.

-She'll get him a mansion someday. Or at least a house of his own.

-Amity Park is encased in vines. An unexpected attack. While she struggles to break through the town's perimeter, Phantom, out of nowhere, makes ice.

-Phantom, Valerie realizes with a start, is powerful enough to take the town if he wanted. Phantom hasn't been on her hit list, lately. She's let that fall by the wayside, too. How could this happen?

-Valerie begins to study Phantom's movements once more.

-Sometimes, she misses school. In a nostalgic way. She misses the halls, her books, her friends. She's long since dropped out.

-Now, though—when she swings by on her jetsled, the track field is covered in banners and ribbons. Her nose crinkles in disgust. A beauty pageant. On reflection, school is a waste of time, and she's glad to be rid of it.

-That night on patrol, a ghost claw catches her face, raking across her eye. Pink scars greet her in the mirror the next morning. They'll be gone soon.

-She's still tired.

-When Nocturne's goons drag her under, she hasn't slept in days. While others are trapped in fantasies, Valerie sleeps a dreamless sleep.

-When she wakes, she wakes up angry. Her anger propels her on.

-(Or maybe it isn't her anger. Maybe it's adrenaline. Maybe it's just the suit? Is it part of her, anymore?)

-A week later, she returns home, sights and sounds blurring together in an uncohesive mess. Her body still clings to her fight reflex, and when she feels a hand on her shoulder—her dad's, warm and comforting—she nearly decks him.

-In private hours, Valerie wonders, is this really me? My instinct? My willpower? Or am I just a puppet controlled by something, or someone else? Because this isn't me. I would never do this. Never.

-She tries to unequip the suit. It vanishes, just like always. She cannot take it off.

-Level 8 ghost, 14 miles SE—Level 8 ghost, 14 miles SE—Lev—

-Trapped in a crazed, sleepless fit, she tries to dig a knife under her skin, tries to find where that itching is coming from. All she earns for her trouble are more pink scars.

-Some days, she wonders if the suit is in control. Other days, she knows.

-She doesn't know where the suit ends and Valerie begins. It's been a part of her so long, she's somehow erased the line. Hunting brings her pride, sure. But she cannot disengage. She's become more obsessed with Hunting than even the ghosts she fights.

-Ghost hunting is part of her, now.

-She cannot take it off.