CHAPTER ELEVEN - TAYLOR

The streets of Brockton Bay were quieter than usual, though that didn’t make them safe.

Taylor Hebert—Skitter, for now—walked through the dimly lit streets, her swarm a faint hum in the background. The city was healing, piece by piece, and Taylor was trying to do the same. She wasn’t sure what she was anymore: a hero, a villain, or something in between. But tonight, as she patrolled the remnants of her old territory, she decided it didn’t matter. She’d act, and she’d figure out what that made her later.

The sound of raised voices caught her attention. Her swarm extended instinctively, spilling into the alleyways and corners where her eyes couldn’t see.

Three men, armed and wearing tattered jackets, had cornered someone. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a poorly fitted suit that gave him a strangely earnest, awkward appearance. The man’s hands were raised, palms out, as he spoke in a nervous, almost apologetic tone.

“Look, I don’t have much cash,” he said, almost dropping a notebook as he fumbled with his wallet. “But you’re welcome to it! Really. No need to—uh—get violent.”

One of the men shoved him against the brick wall, snarling. “Shut up and hand it over, or I’ll see what else you’ve got, big guy.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes. A quick mental command sent a wave of insects surging into the alley. Flies buzzed into the robbers’ ears, beetles crawled up their sleeves, and wasps hovered menacingly around their faces. The sudden invasion of bugs startled them, and they swatted uselessly, their weapons momentarily forgotten.

“What the—?” one of them shouted, spinning around.

Taylor stepped into the alley, her silhouette backlit by the streetlamp. Her swarm surrounded her, forming an ever-shifting mass that made her look larger, more imposing.

“Walk away,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. “Now.”

The robbers hesitated, caught between fear of the bugs and the sight of her. They weren’t from Brockton Bay, she realized; locals would have recognized her and run immediately.

The tallest of the group sneered, trying to recover his bravado. “You think bugs are gonna scare us? Get lost, lady, before you get hurt.”

Taylor didn’t bother responding. She sent a command, and the wasps dove at him, stingers aiming for his exposed skin. He yelped, stumbling backward, and dropped his knife. His companions didn’t wait for their turn; they bolted, tripping over each other in their rush to escape.

Satisfied, Taylor turned her attention to the man they’d been robbing. He was brushing a beetle off his shoulder with a sheepish expression, looking far less rattled than she’d expected.

“Uh, thanks for that,” he said, his voice warm and friendly despite the circumstances. “You’ve got a real knack for the dramatic entrance, huh?”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. Most people she rescued weren’t so… casual. “You’re welcome. You okay?”

“Yeah, just a little embarrassed,” he admitted, adjusting his glasses. “I probably should’ve done something, but, uh, I’m not exactly great in these situations.”

She studied him for a moment. He looked so out of place in Brockton Bay, like he’d wandered in from a completely different world. His voice, his demeanor, even his posture radiated an unassuming sincerity that felt almost alien here.

“You’re not from around here,” she said, half a question, half a statement.

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Is it that obvious? I’m Clark. Clark Kent. A freelance report trying to find a job in town.”

That explained a lot. “Well, Clark, you’ve got to be more careful. Brockton Bay isn’t exactly the friendliest place for… out-of-towners. Especially now.”

“I’m starting to notice that,” he said with a rueful smile. “But I’ll admit, I’m glad you showed up. Those guys didn’t seem like the negotiation type.”

Taylor couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips behind her mask. “No, they’re not. Maybe stick to the main streets next time.”

“Noted,” Clark said, holding up his notebook as if to take her advice down. His grin was infectious, and Taylor found herself relaxing, the tension of the night easing slightly.

“…Skitter,” she said finally, offering her name—or what was left of it.

“Skitter,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Thanks again, Skitter. I’ll make sure this doesn’t go unnoticed. People should know there are still heroes out here.”

Hero. 

The word lingered in her mind as he walked away, disappearing into the night. 

. . . . .

Taylor perched on the rooftop, her legs dangling over the edge as she stared out at Brockton Bay. The remnants of her swarm buzzed lazily around her, a comforting hum in the silence of her thoughts. From up here, Brockton Bay looked deceptively peaceful. The shattered streets and looming scars left by Endbringers and parahumans alike softened under the dim glow of streetlights.

Her muscles ached from the search and rescue, and the bruises on her arms and legs were a patchwork of pain she tried not to think about. She flexed her fingers absently, the distant hum of her swarm filling her thoughts. It wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been during the battle, where every bug she controlled had been another tool for survival, for distraction, for defense.

Now, they were just… quiet company.

The wind caught her hair, pulling a few strands loose from her braid. She brushed them aside absently, tilting her head back and exhaling. The events of the past days ran through her mind in an endless loop. The fear. The exhaustion. The way she’d pushed herself to the brink to help people who barely knew her, let alone trusted her. And yet, despite all that, despite being there in the thick of it, she felt like a footnote in everyone’s memory.

Even the reporter she’d helped tonight—Clark Kent.

The thought made her frown. He’d been grateful, sure, but his words—calling her a hero—felt out of place. She wasn’t sure if she could claim that title. She wasn’t like Armsmaster, striding confidently into battle, or like Legend, radiating a kind of innate goodness that Taylor could only admire from afar. She wasn’t even like the Undersiders, who’d carved out their place in the city through cunning and fear.

No, she was just… trying.

She looked down at her gloved hands, flexing them against the chill of the night. Her costume, pieced together from what she’d had at hand, was serviceable but plain. Functional, like her abilities. It had been enough against the thieves tonight, enough to protect Kent. But would it be enough the next time?

Would she be enough?

The thought of Leviathan’s towering form crashing through the city filled her mind again. The sheer scale of destruction. The lives lost. The heroes who had fallen. She’d been there, right in the middle of it, and still she wasn’t sure if she’d done enough.

Her grip on the rooftop tightened as she pushed the thought away. She wasn’t going to figure it all out tonight. For now, she needed to keep moving, keep doing what she could, even if it didn’t feel like much.

Below, a siren wailed in the distance, the city calling out once more for help. Taylor pushed herself to her feet, pulling her mask back into place.

One step at a time.