FRAGMENTS OF THE PAST

The forest stretched endlessly in every direction, its canopy filtering sunlight into dappled patches on the ground. Her swarm scouted ahead, a vanguard of buzzing eyes and wings, while she slid silently across the terrain. But despite her newly-found purpose and growing comfort in this wild environment, a part of her mind remained restless.

Memories of Brockton Bay tugged at her, a persistent reminder of the life she’d left behind—or been ripped away from.

Thankfully, as she ventured deeper into the forest, something caught her attention: an unnatural shape jutting out of the greenery.

It was a chunk of concrete, weathered and cracked, half-buried in the earth. At first, she thought it was just another piece of debris—a remnant of some long-forgotten structure. But as she examined it more closely, she noticed something unmistakable.

Graffiti.

The words were faint, worn down by time and the elements, but still legible: a crude, stylized symbol of Empire Eighty-Eight, accompanied by a hateful slogan.

Taylor recoiled instinctively, a mix of anger and disgust welling up within her. “This is from Brockton Bay,” she thought, her body trembling faintly. “It has to be.”

The Empire Eighty-Eight—one of the most infamous gangs in Brockton Bay, its racist ideology woven into the city’s underbelly. Taylor had encountered them countless times as Skitter, and seeing their mark now felt like a ghost from a life she wasn’t sure she still belonged to.

The realization hit her like a blow. This graffiti was proof that she wasn’t wasn’t in some random forest. She wasn't as lost as she’d feared.

Her mind raced. How far was she from the city? Was it still standing? What had happened since she… died? The questions clawed at her, a mixture of hope and dread swelling in her chest—or what she imagined was her chest.

She turned her attention to her swarm, summoning a cluster of insects back to her. Their simple minds buzzed with loyalty, awaiting her command.

Scout. Find more like this.

The swarm dispersed, fanning out in a coordinated search. Taylor followed, moving at a brisk pace. Every now and then, one of her bees would return with a signal, leading her to more fragments of concrete, rusted metal, and other debris.

The pieces grew larger and more frequent, forming a trail that led her to a clearing.

There, she found it: the skeletal remains of a collapsed building. Twisted rebar jutted out at odd angles, and the ground was littered with shards of broken glass and crumbling bricks. The air smelled faintly of rust and mildew, a far cry from the fresh, earthy scent of the forest.

Taylor’s gaze—or what passed for her gaze—fell on another piece of graffiti, this one more detailed. It was a mural of a snarling wolf, its eyes painted an ominous red. Beneath it, scrawled in jagged letters, were the words: “No man’s land. Property of Hookwolf.”

She recoiled slightly. Hookwolf—one of the Empire’s most violent capes. She remembered trying to distract and disorient him, remembering how his whirring mass of metal blades made him extremely resistant to her bugs.

A wave of nostalgia surged through her, mingled with a pang of longing. She thought of her father, of the Undersiders, of the people she had fought for and with. Were they still alive? Would they recognize her if they saw what she had become?

Her body rippled as the emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

“I have to know,” she thought, steadying herself. “I have to see the city. Even if it’s not the same.”

Resolving to press on, Taylor began formulating a plan. She couldn’t simply march into Brockton Bay—not like this. The sight of a sentient slime leading a swarm of insects was likely to draw attention, and not the good kind.

But she had advantages. She was nearly indestructible, her bug control was stronger than ever, and her senses could give her an edge.

First, I’ll scout. I’ll find the outskirts and observe.

She turned to her swarm, sending out instructions. The insects flew ahead, forming a perimeter around her as she moved. The forest was dense, but the traces of human presence in the distance grew more frequent—old trails, remnants of garbage, even the faint scent of smoke carried on the wind.

Each step brought her closer to the city, but also closer to the unknown.

Would Brockton Bay welcome her back, or had it already moved on?

Taylor pushed the thought and doubt aside. There was no point in worrying until she knew what awaited her.

She was going home.