CONTACT

The forest was changing, Taylor realised as she moved steadily toward what she hoped was the edge of Brockton Bay. At first, it was subtle. The undergrowth had become less wild, trampled in places, as if something—or someone—had passed through often.

And then she saw it: a faint trail winding through the forest. Broken branches and disturbed patches of dirt marked the way. It wasn’t made by animals—this was deliberate, a path created by human hands.

Taylor paused, her form quivering slightly as uncertainty crept in. Her instinct was to rush forward, to find whoever had left the trail and demand answers. But a lifetime of experience—of hard-learned lessons in trust and survival—held her back.

“Humans…” she thought, her mind racing. “What will they do if they see me?”

The last time she had been around people, she’d looked like them. Now, she was a gelatinous, semi-transparent mass with no clear form and no voice, only a strange ability to communicate mentally. How would they react to something that barely resembled a person?

Taylor didn’t trust that reaction would be kind.

. . . . .

She followed the trail at a distance, sending her swarm ahead to scout. It wasn’t long before they returned, carrying the scent of smoke and metal. Her swarm’s simple minds buzzed with impressions of movement—humans, several of them, gathered in a clearing.

Taylor approached cautiously, hiding herself behind a large tree at the edge of the clearing.

Peering through the foliage, she saw them: a group of scavengers. There were five of them, all clad in ragged clothing, dirt and grime covering their skin. They huddled around a small fire, the flickering flames casting long shadows across their weary faces.

Nearby, a makeshift camp had been set up. Tents patched with scraps of fabric, a few salvaged tools scattered around, and a pile of gathered supplies—most of it junk, broken electronics, and scrap metal. It was a pitiful sight, and yet, it sent a pang of familiarity through Taylor.

These are people from Brockton Bay, she realized. The way they dressed, the way they moved, even the expressions on their faces—wary, hardened by hardship—reminded her of the city’s survivors.

Her gaze lingered on their tools—rusted knives, a crowbar, a battered flashlight. Nothing here was new. Everything they carried was old, worn, scavenged from the ruins of a city that had crumbled.

“They’re struggling,” Taylor thought. “Just trying to survive.”

She wanted to approach, to ask them what had happened to the city. But fear held her back. What if they saw her as a threat? What if they attacked out of fear or desperation? Or worse, in a misguided attempt for food.

. . . . .

Taylor flattened herself against the ground, blending into the moss and dirt, and over time, she picked up bits of their conversation.

“…food’s running low. We’ll need to head back toward the city soon, like it or not.”

“And get torn apart by whatever’s left of the Nine? No thanks. I’d rather take my chances out here.”

Taylor’s mind raced. The thought of Brockton Bay stirred a storm of emotions—guilt, longing, and a faint flicker of hope. If these scavengers were any indication, there were still survivors in the city. Maybe even her father.

But their words also reinforced her fear. The Slaughterhouse Nine. Taylor’s memories of that final battle were hazy after all this time, but the mention of the Nine stirred something in her—and she knew she wasn’t ready to face them again. Not yet.

As night fell, the trio retreated to their tents, leaving the fire burning low. Taylor remained where she was, watching the embers flicker in the darkness.

Her gelatinous form shifted slightly as she considered her next move. A part of her wanted to help, to reveal herself and offer what little aid she could. But another part, the cautious part, warned her against it. She wasn’t human anymore. Whatever these people had endured, whatever losses they had suffered, she couldn’t assume they would welcome something as strange as her.

Not yet, she decided. I need to understand more before I take that risk.

. . . . .

As the scavengers continued talking, Taylor pieced together a rough picture of what had happened since her death—or whatever it had been. The Slaughterhouse Nine’s rampage had left Brockton Bay in ruins. Gangs like the Empire Eighty-Eight and remnants of the ABB had fought over the scraps, while ordinary people struggled to survive in the chaos.

No mention of the Undersiders, though.

Taylor’s form sagged slightly, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her. She had hoped to hear something—anything—about the people she cared about. But if these scavengers knew, they weren’t saying.

“I need to find out more,” she thought. “I need to get closer to the city.”

But first, she had to decide what to do about these people. She couldn’t leave them entirely unprotected. They were vulnerable out here, scavenging in a forest filled with dangerous creatures.

Summoning her swarm, Taylor gave a silent command. The insects fanned out, forming a perimeter around the camp. If anything hostile approached, her swarm would detect it and try to discourage any attack. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I’ll help them from the shadows,” she thought. “For now.”

With one last glance at the scavengers, Taylor turned and slipped back into the forest. She had a direction now, a goal. Brockton Bay was close, and she was going to find it.