(AV) MISSTEPS

On the personal front, things weren’t going great.

Her dad was really worried. He didn’t say it outright—communication was still a difficult thing for both of them—but Taylor could read it in every little thing he did. The way he lingered at the dinner table after meals, staring at nothing in particular as his coffee went cold. The way looked up from the newspaper just a little too often when she excused herself early. 

Danny Hebert had always been a quiet man, but lately that quiet was heavy, weighed down with all the concern he didn’t know how to voice. Maybe because of their earlier talk, he knew something was wrong. Taylor could almost feel the words stuck in his throat, pressing for release. 

And on the cape front? Nothing was working.

Patrol after patrol, and not a single alley dealer, purse-snatcher, or even a dumb thug menacing anyone. For a city that had such a deep reputation for crime, Brockton Bay had turned into a ghost town the second she decided she wanted to make a difference.

Taylor scowled behind her mask as she sat on the edge of a rooftop, knees pulled up to her chest, and chin resting on her arms. Step three: first good deed. She’d managed to stay alive her first time out. She’d managed not to cross any unforgivable lines in her later attempts (though that could be chalked up to the lack of any opportunity to do otherwise). But the whole point of this—the entire reason she donned the mask—was to help someone. And here she was, two weeks later, feeling like she was circling the drain and no closer to her goal.

“Not like Lung’s going to respawn and come after kids every weekend,” she muttered, the words snatched by the wind.

But quitting wasn't an option. She had promised herself she wouldn’t just wait around anymore, hoping to stumble on a crime like some clueless civilian. Villains weren’t gone and crime didn’t stop; they went underground. Which meant if she wanted to prove herself, she’d have to start looking for them. 

That was when she saw the glow.

A figure in white cut across the night sky, blue light trailing from him like a comet’s tail. Her heart leapt before her brain caught up. Another hero, finally.

And even better, it was Shielder. Eric Pelham.

For half a second, she let herself believe this could work. After all, she had spoken to him before, though it was as Taylor, not as the bug parahuman. It had been a casual conversation, though a bit awkward, with him maybe too earnest, and her guarded in their response. But he had been nice, and he appeared as someone who wanted to help, even if it doubled as a way to step out of his family’s shadow.

Maybe she could explain herself, that this was all a misunderstanding, and maybe he would listen. Maybe he could even help her convince the PRT.

Then reality sank in like a stone.

Eric had been nice to Taylor Hebert, the civilian. But to him, the girl standing on the rooftop now wasn’t a civilian. She was the bug parahuman. A villain with a reputation for smothering people alive in stinging insects, the same one the PRT had painted as a villain to the public. A bona fide threat. 

Her chest tightened. She couldn’t run; he was much faster than her in the air. She couldn’t fight, not without her bugs, and not without proving every word the PRT said about her. And she sure as hell couldn’t tell him her identity; New Wave had chosen their unmasked life, but that didn’t mean she owed him hers.

That left one option: stand her ground. She would try to talk to him.

Taylor straightened quickly, though she raised her hands slowly, palms open, hoping he would see she wasn’t preparing an attack. “Wait! I’m not—”

The punch snapped her head sideways.

Pain flared hot across her jaw. Her teeth clacked together hard enough she tasted blood, and her knees buckled before she caught herself. 

Her vision swarmed, and her heart was left hammering.

So much for talking.

She staggered away from him instinctively as the truth hit her: she might not survive this. Not without her swarm, the one weapon she had sworn she wouldn’t use until there was no other choice.

Shielder advanced, bright blue shields appearing mid air around his body, and hard light forming around his fists, the glow painting his lower face in harsh shadows. When he finally spoke, his voice was stripped of anything she’d heard in their brief conversation as civilians.

“I’ve finally found you, villain.”

Taylor’s breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to regain her composure. He hadn't used a blast, and he thankfully didn't have enhanced strength like his dad or cousin, but even a normal punch had left her reeling like this. It, more or less, told her that her dream of proving herself a hero might end here, not with some noble deed, but with her left beaten on a rooftop—before being detained—and remembered only as the cape who killed Lung then lost to New Wave.

Her fingers twitched against her side. She could already feel the swarm stirring in the back of her mind, restless, as if eager to commit violence.

It was almost telling her, in words she couldn't begin to explain, that it was the only weapon she would ever need in her life.