CHAPTER FIVE - INCREASING POPULARITY

The warehouse incident had rippled far beyond what Taylor anticipated. She heard it in snippets of conversation at work, caught in the murmurs of passersby on the street—even the hushed tones of the news hinted at the fallout. The Penguin was livid. The weapons shipment had been crucial to solidifying his grip on the Narrows, and now it was compromised.

Taylor knew it was only a matter of time before he started looking for her. She’d been too sloppy in her escape, leaving behind too many signs—a trail that someone with the right resources could follow. And if there was one thing Gotham’s crime lords had, it was resources.

She tried to maintain her routine, going to work and keeping her head down, but the tension clawed at her. Every stranger who walked into the shop felt like a threat. Every shadow in the evening seemed to be alive with intent.

When the sun set, Taylor returned to her tiny apartment and focused on what she could control. She sat cross-legged on the worn carpet, her windows shut tight against the noise of the city. The flickering light of a cheap desk lamp cast long shadows across the room as she extended her awareness, reaching for the swarm.

It was still a struggle, but she refused to give up. Night after night, she pushed herself further, forcing her power to respond with the precision she once took for granted.

A cockroach skittered across the floor toward her, followed by a fly buzzing erratically in the air. Taylor concentrated, trying to sync their movements, to make them respond as a single unit. The effort left her head pounding, her breath growing shallow with each failed attempt.

She gritted her teeth and pressed on. Weakness wasn't an option—not here.

The anger that simmered beneath her exhaustion fueled her. She thought of the warehouse, of the men who had laughed and joked about the weapons meant for the Narrows. She thought of the desperation etched on the faces of the people who lived there, trapped in a system that crushed them underfoot.

And she thought of the Penguin.

By the time midnight rolled around, Taylor’s body was trembling with fatigue, her power a dull thrum in the back of her mind. She lay back on the floor, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Her control was still weak, but it was improving. Slowly, painfully, but surely.

She would get there.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in Gotham, the Penguin’s men were on the move. Orders had been given. The mysterious figure who had disrupted their operation needed to be found, and quickly. Word spread through the underworld—someone had crossed the line, and the Penguin didn’t forgive or forget.

The city, as always, was watching.

. . . . .

Taylor walked home through the Narrows after another long night of work, her hoodie pulled low and her baton tucked discreetly into her bag. The streets were quieter than usual, though “quiet” in Gotham was always relative. Distant shouts echoed from blocks away, punctuated by the occasional clatter of something breaking, but she kept her pace steady, her senses stretched out for any sign of danger.

It was then that she heard it—a muffled cry from a nearby alley. She froze, her mind whirring. She could walk away, pretend she hadn’t heard it. Intervening meant risk, and she was still shaky after the warehouse incident.

But the cry came again, more desperate this time.

Taylor tightened her grip on her bag and moved toward the sound, slipping into the shadows of the alley. The dim light of a flickering streetlamp barely illuminated the narrow space, but her eyes quickly adjusted. A young woman was cornered against a wall, her back pressed to the brick as two men loomed over her. One held a knife, the blade glinting in the faint light.

Taylor’s heart pounded, adrenaline surging through her veins. She reached for her baton, flicking it open with a snap, and stepped forward.

“Hey!” Her voice cut through the tense air.

The men turned toward her, their expressions shifting from surprise to annoyance.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the one with the knife growled, taking a step forward.

Taylor didn’t reply. Instead, she raised her baton and called out to her swarm. It wasn’t much—just a scattering of nearby insects—but it was enough to create confusion. The insects buzzed and skittered, crawling over the men’s faces and hands.

“What the hell—?!” one of them shouted, swatting at the insects.

The distraction gave Taylor the opening she needed. She darted forward, swinging her baton into the wrist of the knife-wielding man. He yelped, dropping the weapon as he stumbled back.

The second man lunged at her, but Taylor sidestepped him, her baton striking the side of his knee. He crumpled with a grunt of pain, clutching his leg.

“Leave,” Taylor said, her voice low.

The men didn’t need to be told twice. They scrambled to their feet and out of the alley, cursing under their breath as their panicked footsteps echoed against the walls. The swarm followed them for a moment, a parting warning, before dispersing into the shadows.

Taylor turned to the young woman, who was still pressed against the wall, her eyes wide with fear. “Are you okay?” Taylor asked, her voice softer now.

The woman nodded shakily, her lips trembling as she tried to speak. “Yeah. I—thank you,” she managed to whisper.

“Go home,” Taylor said, stepping back to give her space. “And stick to the main streets.”

The woman hesitated for a moment before nodding again and hurrying out of the alley, glancing back once before disappearing into the night.

Taylor exhaled slowly—tucking her baton back into her bag and adjusting her hoodie—preparing to leave, when a familiar unpleasant sensation made itself known to her, appearing as hotness on the back of her neck.

She just had the strangest feeling that something—no, someone—was watching her.

Her swarm was too limited to give her a clear picture, but her instincts prickled with unease. She glanced around the alley, her eyes scanning the rooftops and the shadows. Nothing moved, but the feeling persisted—a weight pressing against her senses.

Breathing deeply to regain her composure, she called out. “Who’s there?”

Silence.

And immediately, she knew she wasn’t dealing with an amateur.

She waited a moment longer before shaking her head and turning to leave, her steps quickening as she moved toward the brighter streets. Professional or not, the person—whoever they were—was a coward. And if she paid attention to their actions, she would only encourage such stupidity. Whenever they were brave enough to meet her face-to-face, then she would entertain them.

What she didn’t see was the figure crouched on a rooftop above, watching her with keen interest. Their silhouette melted into the shadows, disappearing as silently as it had appeared.