OnAHiatus

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: CASINO FIREFIGHT

The casino was a cacophony of flashing lights, synthetic jingles, and the hypnotic clatter of coins spilling into trays. Normally, crowds shuffled from machine to machine, chasing dopamine and luck in equal measure. But tonight, the floor was silent—abandoned. Security guards lay crumpled near doors and hallways, unconscious or groaning faintly.

Taylor moved like a ghost through the building.

She wore a dark hoodie reinforced with scrap padding, gloves to keep her prints off any...

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: OUT AND ABOUT

The city smelled like rust and sea rot. Harry stepped through the secure PRT checkpoint, squinting as sunlight hit his face for the first ti

The city smelled like rust and sea rot.

Harry stepped through the secure PRT checkpoint, squinting as sunlight hit his face for the first time in days. It wasn’t his sun—not quite—but it was close enough. The air outside carried a bite, sharper than the smog-choked London he remembered, with the faint electric tang of something...

INTERLUDE: STRENGTHENING FOUNDATIONS

The next sessions were grueling.

They were meant to be.

Taylor didn’t complain—at least, not out loud. Every morning she woke with sore shoulders and deep bruises hidden beneath the collar of her borrowed Gotham U hoodie. Every night she returned to Wayne Manor exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat drying on her skin, her limbs aching in that satisfying, punishing way that meant she'd pushed herself past her limits

That part she didn’t mind. Pain meant progress.

But t...

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: A LONG WAY

In her first sparring session, she faced Damian Wayne. 

The mats in the manor's lower training wing smelled like sweat and old leather. It was a scent Taylor knew well by now—comforting in a strange, almost grim way.

But this was different.

This was one of the Batfamily's training rooms.

Here, pain was a teacher. And every mistake had an audience.

She rolled her shoulders, sweat beading at her brow, muscles tight from the last round of drills.

Across...

CHAPTER TWELVE: AN OLIVE BRANCH

Miss Militia led him to a second testing room. This one was larger, reinforced, and significantly more intimidating. The walls gleamed with tech-integrated

Miss Militia led him to a second testing room. This one was larger, reinforced, and significantly more intimidating. The walls gleamed with tech-integrated plating, and there were embedded turrets along the ceiling rails. Observation windows ran the length of one wall, armored glass several inches thick.

Harry stepped inside. ...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND ENGAGEMENT

The breakfast rush had tapered off, leaving the diner in a warm lull of clinking dishes and low chatter. Sunlight filtered through the wide windows, painting golden stripes across the checkered floor. The smell of coffee and fried eggs lingered in the air, clinging to the vinyl booths and the edges of memory.

Fortuna wiped down the counter with meticulous precision. She still refused to wear the full uniform—no matter how many times Maggie teased her about the pink apron—but the wor...

ANNOUNCEMENT

I apologise for not updating The Brave And The Bug on Monday. The current chapter I'm writing requires a lot of focus because it is meant to show how far Taylor has come. Hopefully, after my exam today, I’ll be able to finish it up and post both updates. Thank you for understanding.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: CONFESSION

The sun was just beginning to rise when Taylor knocked on the back door of the gym.

Her hoodie clung to her skin, damp with sweat from the run—more adrenaline than cardio, really. She hadn’t even planned on coming here. But somewhere between the blood-soaked motel sheets and the pounding repetition of Hookwolf’s voice in her skull, her feet had started moving on their own.

She didn’t even know if Keith would be here this early. Didn’t know if, after her father’s visit,...

CHAPTER ELEVEN: OBSERVATION

Harry hated hospitals. Too clean. Too white. Too quiet. The room they’d given him wasn’t locked, not officially, but he could feel the eyes

Harry hated hospitals. He hated this one especially. 

The room they’d given him wasn’t locked, though it was kept closed always for ‘privacy reasons’, yet he could feel the eyes on him all the same. Cameras blinked down from the corners, and a discreet microphone embedded in the ceiling had caught every rustle, and every breat...

CHAPTER FIVE

Velocity hated awkward assignments.

This one reeked of it.

The city was still cleaning up from the latest Bakuda incident, and the site told its own story. There hadn’t been a conventional detonation—no scattered shrapnel, no outward blast. Instead, there was a crater. A perfect, unnatural hollow in the rooftop, with metal twisted inward like it had all been sucked through a gaping hole. 

Bakuda was gone. Not arrested. Not recovered. Just gone—like someone had era...

CHAPTER TEN: THE SELF-PROCLAIMED WIZARD

The meeting room felt colder than usual, though that might’ve been the tension in the air rather than the air conditioning. A wall-length mo

The meeting room felt colder than usual, though that might’ve been the tension in the air rather than the air conditioning working on full blast.

A wall-length monitor displayed a still frame from the hospital’s security feed: a grainy shot of the young man sat in bed, eating the last of his meal. Beneath the image, the overlay read: 2025-04-14 11:24:17 +0000 UTC View Post

CHAPTER FOUR

The day had no business being as beautiful as it was.

The sky above Brockton Bay was painfully blue. The kind of blue that made people forget. The kind that didn’t belong over a city still recovering from a bombing spree. A breeze drifted in from the bay, carrying the mingled scent of saltwater, lingering smoke, and urban decay. Somewhere in the distance, a building demarcated with police tapes groaned as its structure finally gave way. Sirens warbled. And yet—for the first time in ...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND OPENING UP II

Maggie sat cross-legged on the bed, a lukewarm cup of tea in her hands, doomscrolling with mild disinterest. Contessa stood by the window with the curtains parted slightly aside, staring out at the city lights. She hadn’t spoken in nearly an hour.

Maggie didn’t press. She’d learned not to.

Then, finally, Contessa said—quietly, without turning,

“My name isn’t Contessa.”

Maggie blinked and looked up from her phone. “Okay.”

“It’s what I was cal...

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE - SUPERMAN

Superman blinked as the world resolved around him: a corridor, pristine and endless, stretched before them. White tile underfoot, white walls to either side, and an equally white-tinted ceiling of seamless glass filtered fluorescent light across the hall. Everything glowed, yet nothing cast a shadow. And the air felt clean, chemically filtered, as if it had never been touched by anything living.

“Welcome to Cauldron,” Alexandria said, her voice echoing slightly despite her soft tone...

CHAPTER NINE: CONVERSATION

A day passed. Maybe two. Harry wasn’t sure. Time felt strange here—passing too quickly amidst the rhythmic beeping of machines and the dista

A day passed, maybe two. Harry wasn’t sure. Time felt strange here, passing too quickly amidst the rhythmic beeping of machines and the distant chatter of hospital staff.

No one had tried to interrogate him yet. The most interaction he had came from the nurses, who slipped in and out of the room quietly; they checked his vitals, jotted ...

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: REFLECTION

The motel room smelled like rust and sweat.

Taylor sat on the edge of the bed, her spine hunched, clothes soaked in blood. Her hands trembled as she pressed a wad of torn fabric against the gash in her side. The adrenaline was fading fast, and with it came pain—sharp, nauseating pain that made her head swim and her stomach lurch with every minute movement.

She didn’t know how deep the cut was—only that it hadn’t stopped bleeding.

She needed a hospital.

But the ...

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: UNDER OBSERVATION

A PRT trooper—tactical armor pristine, visor reflective, no personal nameplate or insignia; just a faceless cog in the machine—waited when Greg

A PRT trooper—tactical armor pristine, visor reflective, no personal nameplate or insignia; just a faceless cog in the machine—waited when Greg forced himself off the training mat, still winded, with sweat sticking his shirt to bruised ribs. The trooper didn't speak. Just jerked his chin toward the door.

Greg followed, every step ...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND OPENING UP

Maggie was reading on the couch when Contessa got home. The apartment smelled of citrus cleaner and the faint remnants of microwave popcorn. Maggie didn’t look up at first—just stretched beneath her blanket, thumb still tucked between pages, and said, “Hey, you. How’d therapy go?”

Contessa stood near the door longer than usual. Then, carefully, she crossed the room and sat beside Maggie, not touching, but close.

“It was… uneventful,” she said.

Maggie peeked o...

CHAPTER THREE

Gojo found him in a rust-streaked alley behind what used to be a bodega, halfway between the docks and a neighborhood that reeked of bad decisions and burning plastic—the kind of place people disappeared into, or out of. 

The man was trying very hard not to look like he was running. Which, of course, made him stand out immediately.

Gray hoodie. Obvious bulge under the jacket—gun, most likely. Blood on the knuckles, dried and flaking. The kind of adrenaline-soaked gait tha...

CHAPTER EIGHT: ASHES AND SALT

The world returned with the slow clarity of a sunrise—warm, sterile light bleeding through his eyelids. Harry stirred. Aches pulsed deep in

The world returned with the slow clarity of a sunrise, its warm, sterile light bleeding through his eyelids. Harry stirred. Aches pulsed deep in his bones, but they were dull, distant things, like echoes of pain rather than the feeling itself. And his body felt like it had been put back together from memory, almost right, but not quite.

He o...

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: OLD HABITS

By day, Gotham wore a mask of order.

Students hurried between lectures with earbuds in and heads down, professionals disappeared into concrete towers with coffee in one hand and a device or stack of papers in the other, and traffic pulsed like a lifeline—horns blaring, signals blinking in an obedient cacophony. On the surface, it looked functional. Structured.

But Taylor knew better.  

She’d lived in Gotham long enough. 

This was a city where things ...

CHAPTER SEVEN: WHITE NOISE

It was the quiet that he noticed first. Not the absence of sound—but that specific quiet, the kind that hummed under your skin and made ever

It was the quiet that he noticed first. Not the absence of sound, but that specific quiet: the kind that hummed under your skin and made everything feel dreamlike and distant.

Harry blinked.

King’s Cross again.

A white mist coiled around the edges of the grand station, obscuring where the tracks should have been. The architect...

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ESCALATION

The alley was narrow, dark, and slick with rain. Trash bins lined the walls like silent sentries, water pooling around their rusted bases. Taylor’s mask clung damp to her face, the soaked cloth molding to her skin as she twisted the mugger’s wrist behind his back and forced him down. 

“Don’t follow anyone else into a dark alley,” she said, the fabric of the mask muffling the words into something more like a sentence than a warning.

She didn’t spare him a second gl...

CHAPTER TWO

Gojo Satoru liked to walk.

Not because he had to—between teleportation, flight, and generally ignoring the laws of physics, walking was rarely the fastest option. But there was something meditative about it. Letting the world move at its own clumsy pace while he drifted through it like a needle through silk.

This place, though?

It didn’t feel like silk. More like burlap dipped in blood and bad decisions.

The city was ugly. Not in a charming, rough-around-the-edges ...

CHAPTER ONE

The street had been cleared of life—whether by design or collateral consequence, it was hard to tell. Asphalt buckled from earlier blasts. The wrecks of cars sat in crumpled silhouettes, their skeletons still smoldering. Smoke rose in slow spirals, curling like question marks into a sky gone sick with chemical haze.

Gojo stood in the middle of it all, brushing at ash that never touched him, more out of habit than necessity—like the idea of being dirty offended him, even if the reali...

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: THE WEIGHT OF A NAME II

She didn’t have a room. Not really.

Dick had gestured toward the side wings of the Manor and told her to choose whichever room she wanted. No guidance. No preference. Just choice, a luxury that felt more like a burden as there were too many options: rooms too big, too ornate, with beds that looked like they’d never been slept in.

Eventually, she picked the smallest one. The room with the fewest windows, the least furniture. The one that felt the most like a space she could ret...

CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND ROOM SERVICE II

The breakfast cart arrived with the clink of ceramic and silverware. A server wheeled it in, lifted the tray onto the table with ease, and offered a cheerful “Enjoy your morning!” before vanishing like a ghost.

Maggie pounced the moment the door clicked shut, throwing back the silver domes with exaggerated reverence.

“Behold,” she intoned, “the most important meal of the day.”

Contessa approached with the caution of someone examining a live grenade. Maggie, alrea...

CHAPTER SIX: THE BATTLE

The world exploded into chaos. Noelle surged forward, her monstrous body swallowing the light with every crashing step.  Instinct had scream

The world exploded into chaos.

Noelle surged forward, her monstrous body swallowing the light with every crashing step. Instinct had screamed at him before when he first met her—don’t let her touch you—but now, it was overwhelming in its intensity. 

And it was also right. 

He’d seen what happened to...

CHAPTER FIVE: PATRONUS

The world came back in flashes of pain and dust-choked air. Harry coughed, his ribs screaming as he pushed himself up from the rubble. Dinah

The world came back in flashes of pain and dust-choked air.

Harry coughed, his ribs screaming as he pushed himself up from the rubble. Dinah lay beside him, unconscious but breathing, her small frame shielded by his body when the ceiling had caved in. Around them, Coil’s base was a tomb of twisted metal and shattered concrete, the air thick...

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A FATHER’S ANGUISH

The gym was quiet that afternoon. Even the usual clatter of weights and the rhythmic thuds of the punching bags being worked had faded into the background, muffled like the building itself was holding its breath. 

The damp air was thick with the scent of old sweat and cleaning chemicals as Taylor, heart hammering against her ribs, crouched in the narrow maintenance hallway behind the locker area. She didn’t know why she’d slipped back here—instinct, maybe. Or paranoia. A surv...