I got bored….

I don't own "Worm" that's Wildbow's Beauty

(I once had the thought process what happened if Shatterbird was actually Annette and that one small-series where Shatterbird and Skitter were book buddies.)

Somedays I hated my skin color. Now don't get me wrong, I loved my mother, who had the same skin color. But she disappeared one day without explanation. She met my father when she came to Brockton Bay from London, which was experiencing a parahuman threat. She made me with my father, took care of me until 2008 when she left our house out of nowhere. I cried for weeks as Emma took care of me until she used that seemed ordeal to insult me. To choke me. To petrify me.

During my high school life at Winslow High, I was bullied by the Trio, the vile cooperation between Emma, my ex-best friend, Sophia, the muscle and track star, and Madison, the popular girl. Together, they pranked, harassed, and bullied me into a coward.

My time as an Undersider was one of my best times. I was able to have friends, maybe some eye-candy, but friends firstmost. Lisa would always look so smug when I looked at her, maybe it was this thought process that betrayed me. Actually, it most likely was.

We were able to live through the PRT, Bakuda, Empire 88, Leviathon, Echidna, and Coil. So why is it that when we are able to relax, rumors start to crop up that the Slaughterhouse 9 decide to come knocking here at Brockton Bay?

We heard rumors, of course. But there was no evidence of the S9. So, the Undersiders and I consolidated our feudal states and stroll around our territory.

I saw a middle-eastern woman walking around my territory with a small book with my swarm. She seemed unperturbed by that, almost amused. So, I directed a small portion of my thrall to stalk her. However, she still had that damn infuriating smirk, as if Lisa was staring at me, knowing everything yet not revealing anything. But Tattletale is in her own part of the city.

So, shunting my nervousness to the swarm, I walked up to her with my hand on a book. "Through the Looking Glass" by Lewis Carroll. I wonder why I chose that. I slowly marched up to her as the woman looked up at me still placated looking at me in interest.

"There isn't a lot of people who walk around this city with only a book," She remarked condescendingly "Some baddies can stalk you and gut you while you're stuck in a book."

"Well, who are you then?" I snarked, agitation already flooding my swarm, she must know who I am, so she is powerful enough to disregard my parahuman ability.

"Oh, honey. Your costume is so grim and symmetrical." She drawled, my metaphorical haunches now jumping up. "I wish that I can just cut through that it into the soft, juicy bit of your weak body. "

My swarm immediately jumped to action, the book lying forgotten on the ground. Already diving in to drown her in mandibles and wings as I ran back. She started to laugh as glass started to shatter and rise around her, costuming her, while the city starting to break around her.

"Shatterbird." I hissed, crouched low, ready to run more while my bugs dealt with her, "Where are the rest of your murder-hobo gang?"

"Somewhere." She maliciously grinned, licking her lips.

Waves of glass and insects smashed into each other tearing and destroying each other with ferocity. The air soon grew choked with insect corpses and silicon too small for Shatterbird to control.

"You are like me." She suddenly said, smiling. "I think that you'll be my recruit for the Slaughterhouse."

"Fuck NO!" I roared as more insects bunched up to protect me from a spear of glass aimed directly towards my chest. Most of the bystanders watching were dying on the street with wounds or already dead. I took a swift glance to confirm it, when a group of glass shaved off my mask, somehow missing my face by the barest centimeters. We both froze as Shatterbird observed my face, her grin momentarily faltering before returning as an even bloodier apparition.

"Well, well, well. It appears that Skitter here is my daughter. Like mother, like daughter people would say." Shatterbird conversationally remarked as I stood there shaking at the statement.

"No no no no," I mentally cried, "She can't be my mother. My mother... My mother was kind to me. She cared for me. She-" I fainted as the pain of glass collectively scratching my skin overtook me.

I appreciate reviews that can help me with my writing styles. Have a nice weekend.

Tata!