My name is Taylor Hebert.
I go to Winslow High. That alone explains a lot.
Every day, my former best friend Emma makes my life miserable. She's always with Sophia and Madison always laughing, always watching me like I'm something stuck to the bottom of their shoes. I don't talk to them anymore. I don't even look at them if I can help it. But they always find me anyway.
You might be wondering why I'm telling you this.
You might also be wondering why I'm standing in a dirty alley in Brockton Bay, staring at what looks like a near-homicide.
Because right now, Glory Girl one of New Wave's younger heroes has just slammed a trash can into a man hard enough to crumple it like thin metal. The sound rang through the narrow alley, sharp and ugly. He's lying on the ground, barely moving. Blood spreads beneath him, dark and wet against the cracked pavement.
And next to him is Panacea.
She's kneeling beside him, hands pressed to his skin, healing him, undoing injuries that should have killed him. Her face is tight with focus, jaw clenched, like she's holding her breath and afraid to let it go.
And I'm just… standing here.
Not screaming. Not running. Not calling for help.
Just staring.
I know I should be panicking. I know I should be scared. But everything feels distant, like I'm watching this through glass instead of standing here myself.
Why am I here? Why am I frozen while a superhero nearly kills a man five feet away from me?
Everything that led up to this started about ten days ago.
No.
No no no no no not ten days ago. That's too far back. Too painful. Too much I don't want to think about.
It started a day ago.
(FLASH BACKKK)
I was walking to school like always.
Same hoodie. Same stained jeans. Same backpack that never seems to sit right on my shoulders. The straps dig into my skin, but I don't adjust them. I never do. It's like I've forgotten how to care about small discomforts or maybe I just don't see the point anymore.
The morning air was cold, sharp against my cheeks. The sky was a flat, dull gray that matched the sidewalks and the buildings, all of them looking like they'd given up trying to look decent years ago. Brockton Bay always looks bad…
No. Not bad exactly.
On second thought, it looks more sad.
My sneakers slapped softly against the pavement as I walked. I kept my head down, eyes on the ground, counting cracks in the sidewalk without really thinking about it. It's easier that way. If I don't look up, I don't have to see anyone staring at me. Or whispering. Or laughing.
Just get to school. Get through the day. Go home. Repeat.
That's my life now.
As Winslow High came into view, my chest tightened. My stomach twisted the same way it always does when I see the building tall, gray, and ugly, like a prison pretending to be a school.
Please let today be quiet. Please let them ignore me. Just for once. Let it be easy.
The doors loomed ahead, glass smudged with fingerprints, metal frames chipped and scratched. Students poured in around me, laughing, talking, bumping into each other without apology. Their voices were loud, confident, alive.
I felt like a ghost walking through them.
Inside, the hallway smelled like cleaning chemicals and old paper. Lockers lined the walls, dented and rusted, some scratched with names and symbols. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering like they might give up at any moment.
I moved through the crowd carefully, keeping close to the walls, slipping past people before they could notice me.
Just get to class. Just sit down. Don't draw attention.
But sometimes, things don't always go your way, that's why, just then I heard a voice I didn't want to hear today.
"Taaaaylor."
My shoulders stiffened instantly.
I knew that tone. Light. Sweet. Fake.
I didn't turn around. I pretended I hadn't heard.
But footsteps came closer, shoes scraping softly against the tile.
"Hey, Taylor," Emma said again, louder this time.
My heart started pounding. Heat crept up my neck, my face burning even though I still hadn't turned.
Don't react. Don't give her what she wants. And for the love of God, don't change your expression.
"Did you hear me?" she asked, mock concern dripping from her voice. "Or are you too busy being… whatever it is you are?"
Sophia snorted. Madison giggled.
I finally turned.
Emma stood a few feet away, perfectly put together as always. Her hair was smooth. Her clothes were neat. Her posture confident like she believed the world had been built for her.
Sophia leaned against a locker, arms crossed, eyes sharp and cold. Madison stood beside Emma, smiling in that tight, mean way that never reached her eyes.
"What do you want?" I asked quietly, doing my best to stay expressionless.
Emma tilted her head, pretending to think. "Nothing. I just wanted to say hi."
Her eyes flicked over my hoodie, my jeans, my shoes cataloging every flaw.
"Wow," she added. "Still wearing that? Do you even own anything that doesn't look like it came out of a dumpster?"
Then she tilted her head slightly and added, "And what's with that expression? What, you're gonna cry for a week straight again?"
My chest tightened.
Ignore her. Don't respond. Don't change your expression.
She was talking about my mom's death. About the week I cried and couldn't stop. About the way I broke.
I remembered how she'd cried with me back then. Not for as long but she had been there. Sitting beside me. Holding my hand.
Now she drags it out whenever she wants to hurt me.
The first time she did it, I reacted. Just a little. A twitch. A breath. A crack.
Now?
Now I feel… numb.
Not because it doesn't hurt.
But because it's hurt so many times in the same place that it barely bleeds anymore.
I tried to turn away, about to walk off.
Sophia stepped into my path.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.
My throat went dry. My hands curled into fists inside my sleeves, fabric pressing into my palms.
"I have class," I said, my voice flat and tired.
Madison laughed softly. "So do we. Weird, right?"
Emma stepped closer.
Too close.
So close, in fact, that I could smell her perfume.
It was something floral. I remembered, back when we were younger, telling her it smelled good. The truth was, it was too strong, and most people probably wouldn't like it but I said yes anyway, just to make her feel better.
Now she still wore it.
At that thought, a smile almost appeared on my face.
Almost.
I crushed it before it could show.
"You know," she said, her voice low, "you used to be fun. Now you're just… sad."
I didn't say anything. I didn't want to. My thoughts were a mess anger, hurt, pride all tangled together.
Why don't they just leave me alone?
The bell rang, loud and shrill, cutting through the hallway noise.
Students began moving again, shoving past us, backpacks brushing my arms, shoes scuffing against the tile.
Emma stepped back, smiling sweetly. "See you later, Taylor."
Sophia moved aside. Madison waved mockingly.
They walked away without looking back.
As I watched their retreating figures, I felt something strange not relief, not anger, not even sadness.
Just… emptiness.
Outwardly, I didn't change at all.
My face stayed neutral. Expressionless.
As if none of their words had affected me.
In truth, they did. In a small, small way.
But they've done this so many times, in so many ways, that over time I've grown numb to it.
I'm not going to go into how they locked me in a locker filled with biohazard waste. I'm not going to talk about how Emma keeps pushing further and further, or all the other things they've done.
The only thing you need to know is that I've gotten used to it.
Not in a healthy way. Not in a strong way.
In a tired way.
At first, it really did get under my skin. It wasn't just embarrassing it hurt. Deeply. It followed me home. It sat in my chest when I tried to sleep, heavy and tight, like something was pressing down on my lungs. Some days, it felt almost unbearable, like I was carrying a weight no one else could see.
I used to react.
My face would change. My voice would shake. I'd cry.
Now?
Now I don't.
Not because it doesn't hurt anymore.
But because it's hurt so many times in the same place that there's nothing left there to tear.
And that's not the only reason I can bear this bullying without showing emotional fluctuations.
Because I know something they don't.
Something very important.
Something that everybody wants to have in this world.
And that other reason is…
I have powers.
At that thought, a smirk almost appeared on my face, but I quickly stamped it down, then I looked slightly to the side not turning my head, just shifting my eyes and I saw it.
An invisible, intangible panel floating in the air beside me.
It didn't cast a shadow. It didn't reflect the light. It just… existed. Silent. Unreal. The background was pure black, smooth like polished glass, with thin gold lettering etched across it. Small decorative lines framed the text, clean and precise. The writing was elegant, almost regal, and it was filled with information.
My information.
__________
Name: Taylor Hebert
Age: 15
Gender: Female
Titles: Locker Girl, Bug Girl, Skitter, Warlord of the Bay, Weaver, Khepri, Best Host
Traits
Heaven's hatred
Effect: Everywhere you go, ruin follows. Every goal you try to achieve is met with disaster. Endless predicaments surround you, as if the world itself hates you, wants to destroy you, or wants you to suffer as much as possible. To be Taylor Hebert is to suffer.
I stared at the words in anger longer than I should have.
"..."
"..."
Demonic Nature
Effect: Anything you do that you would normally consider bad can be internally justified. This allows you to commit heinous acts while still believing you are a good person.
My stomach tightened slightly.
That one always scares me.
Endless Perseverance
Effect: You can endure endlessly despite disasters and hardship. No matter what happens, you will continue forward. As long as you have an end goal, you will never stop.
Powers:
– Queen Administrator System
– Extraordinary Body Control
– Color Alteration by Touch
Main Quest:
Gain control over your life
Side Quests:
– 100 push-ups Complete
– 100 sit-ups Complete
– 100 squats Complete
– 10 km run 50% Complete
– Stay expressionless for the whole day Active