(ACCIDENTAL VILLAINY) AN UNWELCOMED WELCOME II

Taylor’s breath came in uneven bursts as she ducked behind a rusted ventilation unit, pressing a hand against the worse wound and feeling the warmth seep through her gloves. Her fingers came away slick with blood. She didn’t want to look, but the pain refused to be ignored—the metallic tang filled her nose, nauseating—and for a brief, dizzying moment, all she could do was stare.

Her mind felt slow, and under that haze was the slowly rising dread within her. It wasn't just because of the blood loss or even Shadow Stalker’s ambush. No, it was the simple, damning realization that she was paralyzed. She could feel every bug in the area, could command them, but the thought of doing so—of letting them swarm, sting, and bite—made her stomach twist.

She couldn’t. 

The memory of Lung’s death came unbidden, his pain-filled roars, his desperate thrashing, and the air thick with smoke and heat as her swarm drowned him alive. They had been everywhere that night, flooding through every crack and pore, a living tide of death, until the sounds stopped. She’d told herself she hadn’t meant to kill him, that she hadn’t even known it was possible. But intent didn’t erase the image from her mind, or the truth that he was dead because of her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the memory back.

That was then. This was now.

But still, her body refused to move.

“Come on,” she hissed under her breath, trembling slightly. “Do something. Anything.”

She knew, on some level, how deeply Lung’s death had scarred her. The nightmares were only the surface of it, and the real damage ran deeper, revealed in the way her body defied her every attempt to command her insects. 

It was why she’d gone out of her way to buy something non-lethal, a small can of pepper spray that now felt like a talisman of false comfort. A promise to herself that she wasn't a murderer. She’d even searched for more options like it, anything to keep her from ever crossing that line again.

But now, it was useless. The pepper spray was buried somewhere in her backpack, completely out of reach. And even if she could grab it, she didn’t trust herself to focus long enough to use it. Her pulse was too loud, her thoughts too scattered, and pain was eating at the edges of her control.

And maybe, it wasn’t just panic. Maybe it was that same hesitation that had haunted her since Lung: the one that said if she did fight back, she wouldn’t be able to stop until her attacker was lying still at her feet.

Her mind whispered the same phrase it had since that night.

Would I kill them too?

The scrape of boots on gravel snapped her back to the present. Stalker’s silhouette was outlined against the sky, crossbow still raised, and stance relaxed. 

“Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to show your face,” she called out, her voice distorted slightly by the mask, but still obviously smug. “But I won't say I'm shocked.”

Taylor didn’t respond. Instead, she backed away slowly, trying to keep her movements silent. But the world tilted for a moment, and she realized she was losing blood faster than she thought.

A tiny, rational part of her knew that she could end this fight before it even began. A single command and the swarm around her would obey, thousands of tiny bodies converging, stingers and mandibles ready to sink into exposed flesh.

All she had to do was let go, and yet… 

Would I kill her too? 

Her stomach lurched. She gagged behind her mask, pressing a hand against it as the air seemed to grow heavier. She tried to breathe, but each inhale felt thinner than the last.

“You should’ve stayed in the shadows, bug girl.”

A bolt whizzed past overhead, impacting the rooftop in front of her. Taylor flinched.

Why? Why is she doing this?

Shadow Stalker was supposed to be a hero. Shielder had vouched for her visit and had told her the PRT would listen, so this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Unless…

Her pulse quickened. Was this planned? A setup to catch her before she could even reach the building? She shook the thought away as soon as it formed. No. Shielder wasn’t like that. He had his flaws—and she hadn’t forgotten the way he’d attacked her on the rooftop—but he’d seemed genuine when they’d talked. Honest, even. He wouldn’t lure her into a trap, not after everything they’d said to each other.

No, this had to be Shadow Stalker acting on her own. 

From what Taylor had gathered during her research into the Wards, Shadow Stalker wasn’t exactly known for her restraint. She’d read forum posts, complaints buried in old PHO threads, and even leaked PRT reports that painted a clear picture: a hero who preferred violence over diplomacy, who didn’t ask permission before taking the shot. A vigilante in all but name.

And now, facing her, Taylor realized those rumors hadn’t even scratched the surface.

But would anyone else see it like that?

“Nothing to say?” Shadow Stalker taunted, the mocking undertone oddly familiar. “Guess you’re not as scary as they say.”

Taylor was afraid, but not of her attacker, and not like she had been with Lung or even Shielder.

Lung’s kind of fear had been primal, the kind that clawed at her chest and screamed to run. There had been no reasoning with him, and no room for mercy, only fire, fury, and the certainty that he wanted her erased from existence. Shielder, on the other hand, had been different. His kind of danger was one she could talk to, one that came with hesitation, and with the possibility of understanding.

But this? This wasn’t about surviving someone unstoppable, or convincing someone decent. This was fear of something else entirely, about the fragility of the chance she’d finally found. Of the possibility that, because of this reckless Ward, everything she’d worked toward—every painful, tentative step toward proving she wasn’t a villain—might be destroyed before it even began.