CHAPTER ONE: INTO THE CITY

Taylor emerged from the cavern into the faint glow of early morning, the air hitting her like a slap—bitter, frigid, and tainted with the acrid bite of gasoline and decay. The dim light stung her eyes after the oppressive darkness of the past hours, and she squinted against it as she stumbled forward, one arm raised reflexively to shield her face.

Where am I?

The jagged rock walls behind her gave way to cracked pavement and patches of overgrown weeds, a forgotten corner of a city that stretched endlessly beyond her view. She reached out for balance as her legs wobbled on uneven ground, her fingers brushing against the cold, rusted surface of a chain-link fence.

She took in the skyline ahead, crumbling brick buildings standing in the shadows of tall, jagged, and reflective skyscrapers, their facades marred with grime and graffiti. Neon lights flickered erratically, illuminating graffiti-covered alleyways and narrow streets strewn with garbage and broken glass. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed, their sound mingling with the hum of traffic and the faint murmur of countless voices.

It was alive, yet suffocating.

Taylor shivered as the cold seeped into her skin. She glanced down, her breath hitching as she realized she was completely exposed. No clothes, no armor, nothing to shield her from the elements or from the eyes of the people who might find her. Her arms instinctively wrapped around herself, panic and self-reproach bubbling up as her eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—to cover herself.

How didn’t I notice sooner?

A rusted dumpster nearby caught her eye, its lid half-open offering a shred of salvation. She hesitated, her pride bristling at the thought of scavenging, but desperation left her no choice. She approached cautiously, her bare feet aching against the rough pavement, and began rummaging through its contents with shaking hands.

The stench was overpowering, but after a few agonizing minutes, she found what she needed: an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of ill-fitting sweatpants. Both were filthy, reeking of mildew and rot, but they were enough to cover her. She slipped them on—the fabric rough against her skin—tying the frayed drawstrings tightly around her waist, and stepped back into the street.

It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing and gave her a shred of dignity.

With some of her immediate needs addressed, Taylor allowed herself a moment to breathe. As she walked further into the city, a stray cat darted past, its sleek black body disappearing into the shadows, and she envied its ease.

She couldn’t help but notice how off her body felt. Her steps felt stiff, and her balance off-kilter, like her body wasn’t responding the way it should. She clenched her fists experimentally, only to notice the lack of fluidity, the muscle memory she had once relied on gone and replaced by a clumsiness she couldn’t shake off—like she was wearing her own body wrong.

Did the loss of my power affect me this much, or is this something else?

As she wandered, keeping to the shadows, she found herself noticing that the city was both familiar and foreign. It had the same sense of decay she remembered from Brockton Bay, but it was grander, more imposing. Everything here was tightly packed and deeply shadowed, as if the city itself were trying to consume her.

The smell of food drifted faintly on the wind, making her stomach twist painfully—an unwelcome reminder that she’d gone too long without food. She grimaced, clutching the sweatshirt tighter around herself, but she pushed it aside, focusing on her surroundings instead.

What struck her at first, though, were the signs of disparity. A sleek, black car roared past her (with designs unlike anything she’d seen), its tinted windows glinting under the light of an enormous neon billboard advertising names and brands that felt familiar but wrong. Moments later, a man shuffled by, wearing layers of tattered clothing, his hollow eyes avoiding hers as he muttered to himself.

The city was a living contradiction. Wealth and decay intertwined, one feeding off the other in an endless loop.

The technology was also different—not more advanced, but sleeker, more polished, almost futuristic compared to the clunky tech she remembered—and the city felt darker, harsher, more cynical. Even the way people moved was different, their tension palpable as they moved in hurried clusters, heads down and shoulders hunched, guarded in a way that reminded her of post-Leviathan Brockton Bay.

Taylor couldn’t decide if the oppressiveness was constant and they were used to it or simply resigned to it.

She passed a storefront with a flickering screen in the window. The images on it caught her attention—scenes of a darkly clad figure swooping through the air, reports of a recent gang war escalating in the East End. The word Gotham scrolled across the bottom of the screen in bold letters.

Gotham?

Her gaze drifted to the news ticker at the bottom of the screen, where the names of public figures scrolled by: Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, Oliver Queen. Names she’d never heard before, yet their prominence suggested they mattered here.

The clues were small but impossible to miss. A passing advertisement for a mayoral candidate flashed a face she’d never seen, paired with slogans that felt foreign in tone. The architecture, the technology, the advertisements, even the subtle differences in how people spoke—it all added up to a single, undeniable truth.

This isn’t Earth Bet.

She wasn’t just in a different city. She was in a different world.

Her unease twisted into desperation as the day wore on, pushing her forward. She needed shelter. Food. Shelter. Anything to ground herself in this strange new place.

By nightfall, as the city emptied, Taylor had pieced together enough of the city to know she was in trouble. This city wasn’t just harsh; it was predatory. The few people she had tried to approach for help had either ignored her or turned hostile—the occasional glance she drew earlier replaced by a more menacing awareness. Her worn-out, dirt-streaked appearance made her a target, and the cold glares she received made it clear she was unwelcome.

Her search eventually brought her to an open market in a rundown district, where vendors sold produce and secondhand goods from rickety stalls. The scent of fresh bread and roasting meat filled the air, making her mouth water.

Taylor didn't have any money, no way to barter, but she had been a lot of terrible things before, and for less justifiable reasons than hunger. So, she waited until a vendor turned his back away, then quickly snatched a loaf of bread from the edge of the stall.

She ducked into an alley before anyone could notice, her heart racing as she sank down to the ground and tore into the bread. It was stale and hard, but it filled the aching emptiness in her stomach. It was the first thing she’d eaten since… Since when?

As she ate, she pressed her back against the wall and hugged her knees to her chest, leg aching from walking aimlessly all day. Her mind still reeled from everything—the loss of her powers and the strangeness of this new world.

She was alone. Truly, utterly alone.

Taylor wrapped her arms tighter around herself, her skin prickling from both the cold and the growing sense of vulnerability.

Survive, adapt, she reminded herself. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.

But the words felt hollow.

As the city buzzed and hummed around her, Taylor stared down at the cracked pavement beneath her feet. She forced herself to straighten, wipe crumbs from her face, and take slow, steady breaths. Her powers were gone, but that didn’t mean she was helpless. She still had her mind, her determination, and the lessons she had learned in Brockton Bay.

And besides, she had survived worse. She had led a gang, fought monsters, and brought down an enemy stronger than anything she could have imagined. Yes, she didn't know what had brought her here, or why, but she couldn’t let herself fall apart. She could survive this too.