CHAPTER ELEVEN: SHADOWS ON THE SURFACE

The Narrows never truly slept. Even in the dead of night, the faint hum of activity echoed through its winding alleys. Conversations murmured through cracked windows, distant arguments rose and fell, footsteps darted through shadows, and garbage fires burned in rusted barrels. For Taylor, these sounds were as much a part of the city as the cold wind that bit at her cheeks.

Over the past week, the gang war had begun to seep into the Narrows like poison. The once-isolated skirmishes between Penguin and Black Mask were no longer confined to Gotham’s more affluent districts or abandoned warehouses. The fights had escalated, spilling into the margins where people like Marla and Evan struggled just to survive.

Taylor’s patrols had become more frequent, and she had taken to carrying a steel baton she had scavenged—crude but effective—and wore a cheap mask that covered the lower half of her face, protecting her identity even though she didn’t have much of one here. The Narrows didn’t need a hero; it needed someone who could help them fight back. Taylor wasn’t even sure if she wanted to be a hero again. She sometimes wondered if she did more good as the villian Skitter of Brockton Bay than the hero Weaver of the Chicago Wards. Even if she didn’t fully know how to define herself in this city yet, Taylor was determined to be that someone.

But tonight, something felt different. She tightened her grip on the baton, tucked inside her jacket pocket (a gift from one of the women she had helped) her eyes scanning the streets and alleys for anything out of place.

She didn’t have to look far.

Crouching on a rooftop, her jacket pulled tight against the chill, Taylor watched a group of the Penguin’s enforcers shake down a terrified shop owner below. They wore dark coats over what looked like military-grade body armour. One of them brandished a sleek weapon that looked like a taser crossed with a small rifle. It crackled menacingly, and Taylor could feel the static charge in the air even from her perch above.

Where are they getting this?

The shop owner handed over a wad of cash, his hands trembling as the enforcers counted the bills.

“That’s right, old man. Gotta pay your taxes on time.”

With mocking laughter, they turned to leave, their voices carrying in the empty street. Taylor debated whether to intervene. She had seen enough to know how these encounters ended. The money wouldn’t be enough to buy peace. Not for long.

Not yet, she told herself, forcing her grip to relax.

It wasn’t just about needing more information, more pieces to fit into the growing puzzle. She doubted her ability to handle the situation without taking serious damage. Even with her new body’s enhanced healing, she knew better than to rely on it. Healing faster wouldn’t do any good if she was dead.

Her eyes followed the enforcers as they disappeared around the corner, their coats blending into the night. How was a mundane crime boss like the Penguin able to arm his enforcers with the equivalent of Tinkertech weapons? And why? These were not highly trained mercenaries like Coil had used; they were more the level of E88 street thugs. Where did he get weapons like this?

Taylor turned her attention back to the shopkeeper, who slumped against the doorframe, his face pale and drawn. She hated the helplessness she saw in his posture, but stepping in wouldn’t have help him—not with their latest additions.

For now, she could only watch. And plan.

. . . . .

Later that night, Taylor paused her patrol at the edge of an alley as voices drifted from a nearby loading dock. Pressing herself against the wall, she inched closer, peeking around the corner, just out of their line of sight. Her heart pounded, muscles coiled and ready to move if she was spotted.

Two men stood near a stack of crates, wearing the hastily patched-together look and intimidating masks that screamed Black Mask’s gang.

Their tones were low but carried easily in the quiet night air.

“…telling you, it’s gotta be the tech guy,” one of the voices said, agitated.

“You don’t know that,” the other argued, his tone almost snappish. “Could be someone else Black Mask’s working with.”

“No way. The Penguin’s crew has the same stuff. You think they’d share suppliers? It’s him. It’s gotta be.”

Her mind raced as she processed what she had overheard, the information forming a picture that was just clear enough to make her stomach churn. Whoever this “tech guy” was, he was supplying both sides of the conflict: pitting Penguin and Black Mask against each other while flooding Gotham’s streets with advanced tech—all without ever stepping into the light.

She leaned forward slightly, straining to hear more.

“You ever met him?” the first man asked.

“Hell no. Nobody has. Guy’s a ghost,” the second replied, his voice dropping lower. “They call him the Calculator. That’s all I know.”

The first man snorted. “What kind of name is that?”

“A smart one,” the second said with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter, though. He’s making bank off this war. And we’re just his pawns.”

Taylor’s breath caught. The Calculator.

She committed the name to memory. It wasn’t much—this was the first she had heard of the cape—but the way they said it confirmed what Taylor had suspected since the first time she saw those arms on the street. This was someone operating on a far larger scale. Someone who's actions would inevitably cause ripples in the world beyond the Narrows. Maybe big enough ripples to give her a lead to his identity, if she searched in the right places.

As the men’s conversation shifted complaints about their boss and gripes about the cold,Taylor slipped away unnoticed.

. . . . .

Back in the small room that had become a home of sorts, Taylor leaned against the wall, staring out the window as her thoughts raced.

She was no stranger to manipulators, to people pulling strings from the shadows. Cauldron had done it on Earth Bet, using powers as currency in their grand plans. And now, it seemed Gotham had its own version—someone seemingly just as ruthless and scheming, using the city as their chessboard.

The Narrows had held its own so far, but it wouldn’t last if the gang war escalated further. The weapons she had seen tonight were only a glimpse of what was out there, and if the Calculator’s plan was as calculated as it seemed, things were only going to get worse.

But Taylor wasn’t one to back down. Not in Brockton Bay, and not here. She didn’t have powers, but she had her mind, her training, and the community she had started to protect.

Her fingers curled into fists, her jaw tightening. If the Calculator thought he could continue to operate in secrecy, he was wrong. She would find him. And she would stop him, one piece of this puzzle at a time.