CHAPTER EIGHT

Taylor crouched low on the rooftop, hidden behind a rusted HVAC unit, her bugs sweeping the city block.

ABB foot soldiers below—six of them, armed, jumpy. Not part of the main conflict, or maybe a splinter group, maybe. The kind that slipped through the cracks when the real fight started. Too twitchy to be disciplined, but still willing to show their worth.

Merchants too, by the looks of it. A quick, sloppy gun trade in neutral territory, probably to shore up resources after Squealer’s arrest. But sloppy was good. Sloppy meant exploitable.

She listened in through a fly perched on the edge of a car window. Nervous laughter. Shaky voices. One of them adjusting his grip on a gun he didn’t know how to use.

Good, she thought. Let them be nervous. Nervous people make mistakes.

Then off to the side, in the alley, the feedback from the insects she’d looped through it stopped making sense.

She still felt them—they didn't die; they just stopped being useful—but it was like trying to see through fog with your eyes closed. 

Everything was muted. Off.

Wrong.

Taylor frowned.

She risked a glance across the street, eyes scanning the rooftops.

There.

A figure, standing on the edge of a building. White hair, dark coat, blindfold across his eyes. Relaxed posture. Hands in his pockets.

Taylor stopped cold.

She knew that silhouette.

Not ABB. Not Empire. Not Merchants. Not Protectorate.

But not unknown.

Tattletale had been talking about him for weeks now. A powerful cape in a blindfold who walked through Bakuda’s bombs and came out clean, then took her out. Handed Squealer over to the PRT. The kind of cape the gangs were starting to whisper about in that uneasy, reverent way. Not quite fear. Not quite awe. Like the city didn’t know what to make of him yet.

Taylor had tried not to let it get to her. Brockton Bay had enough nightmares already.

But now she was staring at one.

And he was just standing there.

Not patrolling. Not posturing. Just… watching.

She tensed.

Because if the stories were even half true…

She was looking at the most dangerous person in Brockton Bay.

And he hadn’t noticed her yet.

Or maybe—worse—he had.

She sent more bugs. Stick insects, Moths. Insects with well-developed tactile senses.

Same result. They reached the space around him and stopped feeding her data. Not pain. Not impact. Just… null.

Forcefield? Anti-bug tech? Tinker-grade gear, maybe. But there were no visible indicators—no humming coils, no control gauntlets, no glowing nodes.

Just a man standing still. 

She was curious.

Taylor tapped her mic off. Not worth pulling in the others until she knew more. 

She moved. Slid down the fire escape, cut through an alley, and climbed two rooftops over. She came up behind a stairwell vent and stepped into view, hair shadowing her masked face.

“Enjoying the show?” she asked.

He didn’t turn.

“Not really,” he said. “Kind of a mess down there.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes behind the lenses.

“Gang war’s not a circus.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, finally turning his head, though just slightly. “You the ringleader?”

“No.”

“Oh, right. You’re the bug girl.” A lazy grin crept into his face. “Skitter, right?”

Her heart rate ticked up. He knows who I am?

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Gojo Satoru,” he said. “Not from around here.”

“Clearly.”

She tried again. Overtly, though behind him. She wanted to feel how the barrier reacted.

Nothing. Same dead zone. They hung in the air like they’d forgotten gravity.

She didn’t let her unease show. “Tinker? Defensive specialty?”

He chuckled.

“Nope.”

She waited.

He didn’t elaborate.

“Then what are you?”

He turned fully now. His blindfold was still in place, but she felt the weight behind it anyway.

“Stronger,” he said simply.

“You’ve caused a stir. Doesn’t mean you’ve earned the attitude.”

“I’ve done plenty,” Gojo said, stepping closer. She braced, but he stopped just shy of her swarm’s perimeter. The bugs hovered around him—sensing, circling, failing.

“I just don’t see the point in interfering,” he added. “Not when everyone’s so eager to destroy themselves without help.”

Taylor gritted her teeth. “I’m trying to stop that.”

Gojo tilted his head, expression unreadable behind the blindfold. “Really?”

He took another slow step forward, just enough to test her nerves. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve hitched your wagon to a dumpster fire. Herding chaos, not ending it.”

She didn't flinch, and kept her voice even. “Better than standing on rooftops throwing opinions at it.”

He smiled. “Touché, tiny general.”

Despite herself, she moved closer. “What do you see when you look at me? I want to know .”

He studied her over. Not lecherously, analytically. Measuring her like a puzzle he hadn’t decided was worth solving.

“It is a bit similar to the one on the flying one,” he said. “The blonde. Glory Girl?”

“What?”

He gestured around her vaguely. “There’s a thing clinging to you. Big. Structured. Feels like… control layered on control. Like a queen in a hive, pulling strings.”

She stayed quiet.

“Yours is deeper than the other girl’s,” he said, almost to himself. “Built to command. It’s not just giving you control—it’s listening. Waiting for instructions.”

Taylor’s stomach turned just slightly. She didn’t like how he said it—like the thing was alive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” Gojo said. “Neither did she.”

He turned away, giving a lazy wave.

“Relax. I’m not here to squish you.”

Then, over his shoulder, grin audible in his voice:

“But if your bugs try to touch me again, I just might squish them. Accidentally, of course.”

He clasped his hand. 

And then—

He was gone.

Not in a flash. Not in a streak of light. Just… not there anymore.

Taylor stood alone on the rooftop, bugs circling the empty space where Gojo had been.

As expected, the trade below had collapsed. ABB scattered. Merchants left bleeding in the street.

No one noticed the ghost that had stood above them.

But she had.

And she hated not knowing what she’d just spoken to. Or how he knew all these things despite not being from Earth Bet.