THE OUTPOST

Taylor trailed the scavengers at a careful distance—the last thing she wanted was to alert them—keeping her gelatinous body low to the ground and blending with the underbrush. Their pace was slow, burdened by the weight of their meager haul—though their eyes darted nervously toward every sound in the forest. They were afraid, not just of wild beasts, but of something else.

The Nine’s influence still lingers, Taylor thought grimly. Even after everything, even after they were supposedly gone, the terror they had sown remained.

And the scavengers spoke little, their silence broken only by brief complaints about the harshness of the wilderness and the scarcity of resources.

Their familiarity with the forest was evident in the way they avoided noisy branches and well-worn animal trails, and if it wasn't for her swarm maintaining a perimeter around them, relaying every sound and movement, their quiet exchanges would have gone unheard.

“Outpost’s just ahead,” the man said, his voice low. “Keep your eyes open. Never know what might be lurking.”

The bow-woman nodded, scanning the shadows. “Or who.”

The tarp-dragging woman muttered something inaudible, her shoulders slumping under the weight of their haul. Taylor felt a pang of guilt as she watched them. These people were worn down, barely holding on.

After another hour of cautious travel, the trees thinned, giving way to open ground. In the distance, partially hidden by the underbrush, Taylor saw the barely recognizable husk her old home had become.

Buildings that had once stood tall were now skeletal remnants, their frames warped and broken. The familiar skyline was gone, replaced by jagged silhouettes of half-collapsed structures. Ash and debris littered the landscape, blending with patches of overgrown grass and wild plants quickly reclaiming the land.

Near the edge of the city, nestled against the ruins, was a small outpost—a collection of makeshift shelters built from salvaged materials: corrugated metal, tarps, and broken bricks. A crude barricade of scrap metal and wooden planks encircled the camp, reinforced with barbed wire and sharpened stakes.

“This place is barely holding together,” Taylor observed. “But they’re trying.”

She slid closer, staying out of sight, and extended her swarm into the camp. The insects spread out, perching on walls and tents, giving her a clearer picture of the outpost. It wasn’t large—perhaps thirty or forty people in total—but it was clearly a hub for survivors, some working to maintain the defenses, sort supplies, or simply rest in the shade.

Interspersed among them were the presence of armed guards. They weren’t wearing uniforms—just a mismatched assortment of armor pieced together from scavenged gear. Their weapons were equally varied: a mix of firearms, crowbars, and improvised spears.

Eavesdropping on the conversations around the camp, Taylor began to piece together what had happened since her last memories of Brockton Bay.

“The Nine left the city in shambles,” one of the scavengers said, crouching near a fire. “Half the districts are still uninhabitable, and most of the gangs tore each other apart fighting over what was left.”

“Yeah, but it’s not all bad,” another scavenger added. “Heard from some folks near the docks that the Undersiders are keeping things in check. They’re trying to rebuild, keep people safe.”

Taylor’s form rippled slightly at the mention of her old team. They’re still alive… and they’re helping people.

A mix of emotions welled up in her. Relief, pride, and something sharper—guilt. She had left them behind, not by choice, but the result was the same. While she had been lost in this strange new existence, they had stayed to pick up the pieces.

“They’re doing what I couldn’t,” she thought bitterly. “They’re rebuilding the city I failed to protect.”

Another voice caught her attention—a guard standing near one of the barricades. “Don’t get too comfortable. Hookwolf’s gang is still out there, and I heard rumors about something worse prowling the ruins. People have been disappearing again.”

Disappearing. Taylor knew what that likely meant. Traps, ambushes, or remnants of the Nine’s horrors still lurking in the shadows.

The scavengers continued talking, but Taylor withdrew her attention, sinking deeper into thought.