Taylor's Apartment

by muishiki

Post Gold Morning, Taylor struggles to get her life back in order. She gets a little bit of unexpected help from some of New York's most common residents. Complete

So, if you've not read Worm by Wildbow yet, stop reading this and go. Now. One of the best web serials I've read, period. If you've never seen Joe's Apartment, you're probably better off for it. Anyway, on with the show.

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Taylor's Apartment

"I don't know Taylor. Looks kind of dingy."

Master of understatement, my dad was.

It was true that the place had seen better days. Hell, to be frank, there were apartments at ground zero of Leviathan's attack on Brockton Bay that had seen better days. The plaster on the walls and ceiling was cracked. In some places, the plaster had fallen off, exposing the lathing underneath. The debris from the crumbling walls hadn't really been cleaned up, either, just pushed into the corners or allowed to sit where it fell. The wiring was ancient, and the few circuits that did work were faulty. It was only a matter of time before an electrical fire started. The plaster dust covered hardwood flooring was warped and smelled strongly of cat urine.

That wasn't the worst part. Every flat surface was covered in garbage, and the surfaces that weren't flat and covered in garbage were covered other types of filth. Moldy towels hung from the wall of the bathroom, almost indistinguishable from the mold on the walls. Mildew was everywhere. Honestly, it would be a hazard to live here if it weren't cleaned up. The true icing on the cake was that the neighborhood was in wasn't much better shape than the apartment; the crime situation was terrible and the environs ugly.

It was, in short, a hell hole.

So why was I even contemplating living here? It was cheap. Really cheap. As in, worth risking Legionnaires' disease cheap. And better yet, it was available with no questions asked. It was close enough to a bust stop that would take me into mid or uptown New York without changing lines, so I could commute in to my university classes without much trouble. The neighborhood didn't bother me too much, and my dad knew I could take care of myself, even with only one arm.

My dad shook his head as he peered through the door into the kitchen. Ancient linoleum, originally probably a cheery avocado color, had faded and was stained so badly that it most closely resembled the mold that covered the various rotting foodstuffs on the counters and floors.

"I mean, I know that money's tight, but I'm sure there's got to be something better than this," my dad said.

I sighed. "I wish there was, but there really isn't. At least, there isn't anything in our price range that isn't a crack den." My dad opened his mouth to say something, but cut him off before he could object. "Dad, I looked really, really hard. Trust me on this. The only reason we can afford this is because it's the last rent-controlled apartment in this area and the former tenant died. As long as the rent checks keep coming, the landlord won't realize or care that I'm not Mrs. Grotowski. This is the best option we can hope for."

I'd learned about the apartment when I'd found a man lying in the street in a pool of what I presumed to be blood and I rushed to administer first aide. Dad was with me at the time, but he stood rooted to the spot upon seeing the body. Turned out the "body" was an artist by the name of Walter Shit. I asked him if he was alright, and his reply as that of course he wasn't - he as an artist. He'd been lying in a pool of fake blood for over two days, just to see if anybody would call the cops or see if he was alright. He said it was to demonstrate the cold, unfeeling nature of the city.

I think he succeeded.

He'd pegged the two of as an out-of-towner immediately ("You bothered to check if I was alright,") and took us to a local diner for some food. Dad ended up treating him. I explained why I was in the city, and what my price point was. He (and the rest of the diner) laughed at my expectation at finding an apartment in the East Village for anything near what apartments in similar neighborhoods in Brockton Bay might have gone for.

He ended up showing my dad and me around the neighborhood in the East Village. As luck would have it, as we were passing a burnt out lot in the middle of the neighborhood, an old lady wearing a shawl over her head came out her front door - and promptly croaked. Her keys flew through the air, and out of instinct I grabbed them. I stood there at a loss as to what I should do in this instance, when Walter took the decision out of my hands. He immediately cradled the dead woman (Mrs. Grotowski) in his arms and lamented publicly the passing of my dad's mother. A crowd formed instantly, consoling the two of us.

And so, I had an apartment. Dad was less than thrilled about the circumstances by which I had come into possession of the apartment, but he understood. Money had been hard to come by since they had arrived on this world. We didn't exist – at least, not officially. We had been registered as refugees, just like few others who managed to flee Gold Morning from Earth Bet. But refugee status was problematic. It meant you were tracked constantly, and the few meager benefits the status entitled you too weren't worth that level of scrutiny.

My dad was no longer Danny Herbert, union organizer for Brockton Bay's dock workers, and I was almost unemployable because I hadn't finished high school. Our refugee status didn't help us with cash, either. My dad found a job, but starting over from scratch was expensive. Plus, I was nervous about being linked to Gold Morning, so I lived under the radar, taking only odd jobs that paid cash. Restaurants were good work, as they always needed help in the kitchen. Because I only had one functional arm, there was a limit to the jobs I could do. Dish washing was one of them. It was hot and sweaty work, but it kept me out of sight of the customers. It had the added benefit nobody asked questions as long as I didn't break the plates.

But if when you did a good job, management would start asking for identification so they could get you on the books and stop paying under the table. When that happened, I would quietly move to the next job. It was easier that way, rather than trying to explain my status and raise suspicions. Maybe I was being paranoid. But my experience taught me you could never be too careful.

I'd had been the one that had fixed the problem. With my background as a villain, and subsequently as a hero, I was quickly able to figure out how to establish identities for ourselves. My dad was happy being who he was. He took his refugee id and used it to get legitimate docs. I, however, wanted to break that association, so I first started with a library card, then a savings account at a local grocery chain. Those feeder documents had been enough for us to find an apartment in a flophouse, and start establishing some history through paying electricity bills.

It wasn't that I was trying to scam the system. I just didn't want my record of my arrival from Bet to be connected with my new life here. My dad couldn't avoid registering when we first arrived, but like the swan tattoos of my old world, the status as a Bet survivor carried a stigma. I wanted to be able to disappear. Having my status be known would never allow me to do that.

Dad had objected at first, but eventually caved and got us both cheap pay as you go cell phones. We didn't have any landlines, so we needed a way to communicate. Tech here was still at least a decade behind Bet, so computer searches were not as sophisticated. The phones helped establish some credit history and electronic history of our current IDs. With the phones and other documents, we were able to open bank accounts and start saving. We needed to get driver's' licenses eventually, but I wasn't interested in driving anytime soon, with one arm and all.

Not wanting to drive was one of the reasons I ended up choosing a university in New York. It was a big, anonymous city. Even though we were living day to day, I'd managed to squirrel away some cash from the various jobs I'd worked. I hoped to go to college, and start being something other than a refugee. I wanted out of Brockton Bay, and my dad didn't blame me in the least. Even though it was good to see Annette, she wasn't my mom, and there were enough similarities between Earth Aleph and my Brockton Bay that I couldn't stay.

While universally horrific and personally the most traumatizing experience I'd had in my life, Gold Morning was convenient in some ways. I had no school records on file. I blamed that on Scion, picking some place that got hit hard enough by him on this world that it just might have been plausible that no records of me remained. I took an online GED, and I'd gotten accepted to NYU based on my GED scores and some made up sob story about overcoming adversity and learning to write with my left hand after losing my arm during Gold Morning.

I caught my dad glancing over at me. I smiled. "It will be fine, dad. Really. And I really, really want to go to school."

He still seemed hesitant. "If you're sure…"

"I am. What I could use some help with is cleaning up some of this mess…" I gestured at the piles of garbage.

"Right. Can't be much worse than cleaning up Brockton Bay, right?" he asked.

"Look on the bright side. I dealt with the Slaughter House Nine, so I can guarantee they aren't going to show up to an apartment cleaning."

"That's a relief."

We both kind of looked around at the apartment helplessly.

"What do you want to tackle first?" my dad asked.

"The kitchen?" I said.

Dad grimaced. I didn't blame him. The kitchen was particularly vile. We walked gingerly through the area, trying to avoid stepping on any rotting food or other piles of unknown filth. The first step would be trash bags. I doubted any would be found, given the state of this place, but I opened the cabinets under the sink to check.

Like a cork holding back a hole in a damn, the moment I opened the cabinet doors a flood of roaches poured out, spilling over my feet and scurrying out of the way. I didn't flinch or move - I'd long since lost any sort of squeamishness about bugs. My dad, however, was less blasé.

"OH GROSS!" He immediately reared back and moved to stomp on those nearest him.

"Don't!" I flung my arm out, which just happened to be my prosthetic. The sudden movement caused it to come out of the harness and fall to the ground like a dead fish, where it was promptly swarmed by roaches.

I bent over and picked up the limb by the hook, and gently shook the roaches off it. I even checked inside the socket to make sure there were no bugs in there before wedging it back in place with my good arm.

My prosthetic sucked. I wished I could afford a better one, but they were costly. In the end, it didn't really matter. College, the prosthesis, all of my problems were simply distractions. They existed as goals only to give me something to work towards so that I stayed occupied. My powers were gone; the only thing I had left were two little dimples in my forehead, an arm made out of plastic, and a lifetime's worth of guilt to work through. My talks with my "mom" hadn't really done much to help me on that front.

At least my dad hadn't stomped on any of the bugs.

Strangely enough, the cockroaches hadn't all disappeared into the walls. A few clusters remained behind, almost as if they were watching. They scattered when I focused my attention on them, though.

I looked under the sink, but didn't find anything remotely resembling a trash bag. I had to brush a few more cockroaches out of some of the box labels to confirm, but it was a bust.

I shut the door and straightened up to wash my hands in the sink. While roaches weren't vectors, they were covered in bacteria. Just because I didn't mind them anymore didn't mean I wanted to treat them like pets.

"Let's go shopping." I said. "We can pick up some cleaning supplies while we're at it."

"And some bug spray?" My dad asked,

"We'll see. You know how I feel about bugs."

"I'll never understand. I mean, roaches are just gross," my dad said.

"But they are very useful," I relied.

Strangely enough, I imagined I heard a chorus of approval from inside the apartment. I shook my head. I must have imagined it.

We left the apartment and headed to the nearest grocery store to buy some supplies. We caught a bus outside of the apartment. It was a fifteen minute ride, but at least the store was on the route. When I got off the bus, I use my good arm to steady myself while stepping off. The action caused my arm to slip out of socket again. I fixed it without much thought - it was second nature by now, and perhaps a small price to pay for the guilt I was working through.

Shopping went quickly, though my dad argued strongly for at least one can of bug spray. He didn't win. The ride back was spent planning our avenue of attack concerning the apartment. We decided to start in the kitchen first, simply because it would require the most work. Getting it into something resembling livable condition would allow me to make some tea, which would be a huge step towards making this place feel like home.

I opened a trash bag, taking care not to rip it with my hook. "One ten-thousandth…" I muttered.

We were mostly silent as we cleaned up, asking for supplies and help with particularly nasty spots. I was lost in the work - it felt good to be doing something so mundane. My dad was silent because he was trying his best not to breathe too deeply. Plus, I think the bugs got to him.

Every time we moved something, a roach would scurry away. My dad eventually stopped flinching when it happened, but it was clear he was not enjoying the process. It took us several hours just to bag up most of the garbage in the kitchen. He was more than happy to take the bags to the dumpster, as it gave him an opportunity to get out of the apartment.

After we finished taking the trash out of the kitchen, we started on the other rooms. Removing the junk helped make the apartment seem cleaner. I'd have to tackle the mold soon, as it wouldn't be safe to stay in the apartment long with that kind of health hazard. By the end of the evening we were both completely bushed. There was a couch and a filthy mattress in the house, but neither of us wanted to risk sleeping on one of those, and we were too tired to try and carry them out of the apartment right now. Besides, I'd not be much help, since I really didn't have the strength to help carry the couch down with only one functional arm.

The bathroom was still gross, but at least the water was working and the toilet flushed. I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, which consisted of spreading out a blanket on a cleanish patch for floor and trying to make myself comfortable, which involved unbuckling the harnesses that kept my arm more or less (mostly less) in place. My dad staked out a claim for some floor space as well, and started to settle in for the night. It didn't take long before I heard my dad's rhythmic breathing, indicating he'd fallen asleep. I myself was pretty close to nodding off, but then I started hearing voices.

"I can't believe it, Ralph! Another stupid human, ruining our glorious apartment! She… she… cleaned! Sanitized! Threw out the leftover lo mein! I. Will. Not. Stand. For. It!"

"Rodney, buddy, you've got ta calm down."

"I won't! I can't! This is our home! If we won't make a stand now, when will we ever?"

"She's not so bad. She stopped her dad from squishing Charlie."

"Fair enough, but Charlie would have been a martyr to us all…"

"And she ain't even touched the bug spray. I say we give 'er the benefit of da doubt. Live and let live, and all that."

"And then what?"

"If things ain't working out, or she starts squishing us, then we fight back. I mean, we outnumber her 50,000 to one."

I must have fallen asleep at that point, because the next thing I heard was a multi-part choral arrangement of "Let It Be," though I'm pretty sure the lyrics to that song never involved leaving piles of rotting trash alone in the darkness so that roaches may feed.

I groaned when I woke up. The floor was hard, and I'd fallen asleep in a weird position. My good arm was numb from the way I'd slept on it, so it took a few minutes to get enough circulation restored to work on putting my harness on for my arm.

My dad must have gotten up a bit earlier, as his spot on the floor was vacant. He wasn't in the apartment either, so I assumed he must have gone out to get some food for breakfast. I wanted a shower, but the bathroom wasn't really in a usable condition yet. Bleach is a wonderful thing, particularly when put in a spray bottle. I tossed out as much of the dirty stuff as I could, then sprayed every surface I could reach liberally with bleach.

I left it to sit while I went to the kitchen to wash my hand. My dad came back a bit later, pastries and coffee in hand.

"Thank god!" I said.

It took the better part of a week to get the apartment in livable shape. We couldn't do much about the state of the plaster, but we cleaned and disinfected every surface we could reach. I even painted the interior of the apartment. A mold killing primer and a solid color helped cover up many of the worst stains. We salvaged what little furniture there was, but some pieces, like the couch and the mattress, had to go.

We solved the problem of getting those out of the apartment in an unorthodox way. The mattress we rolled up and pushed out a window and into a nearby dumpster - only possible because it had long since lost any internal structures designed to provide support. The couch was so old and battered that it fell apart (with some vigorous encouragement from my father and a hammer). That too, went into a dumpster.

Every night as I fell asleep, I could hear the imaginary voices of Ralph and Rodney and the sounds of choral music. My dad confessed to hearing nothing. I chalked it up to exhaustion, and tried not to think about it too much.

Around the time we had finished cleaning the apartment when there was a knock at the door, followed by a call of "landlord." Dad answered it, and frowned at two people who stood outside the threshold. One was white, and one was black. Both had gold capped teeth, tribal ink on arms, mesh muscle shirts and conspicuous gold chains (or silver, in the white guy's case.) In addition, they had matching Van Dyke beards and shaved heads. Having spent so long dealing with violent gangs in our old world, we recognized the type immediately. Hired muscle, and dumb muscle at that, since they openly flaunted what they did for a living.

"Who the hell are you?" The white guy asked.

Neither my dad nor I were intimidated, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. We didn't know why they were here, so until we did, it cost us nothing to be polite.

"May I ask who's inquiring?" My dad gave them both a careful examination, eyes lingering on the various piercings adorning the white man's right eyebrow and the black man's left ear. While polite, his tone was no nonsense. It was the sort of tone you picked up when you had to deal with the potential for violence, but wanted to inform the other party involved that you weren't an easy target.

The pair sneered. It was comical - they were almost caricatures of the kind of thugs that used to control Brockton Bay. Just to be safe, I surreptitiously fished some pepper spray out of my pocket with my good hand and primed it. Once that was done, I slowly walk to stand beside by dad, but kept my body turned slightly to the side to hide the fact I was palming the spray.

"Vladimir Bianco," said the black guy. "My cousin Jesus." He nodded at his partner.

Dad nodded politely. "Nice to meet you both. May I ask what business brings you here?"

The pair attempted to muscle their way into the apartment, but my Dad stood firm. I raised my canister of pepper spray and pointed it at the eyes of Vlad. Both backed off, but not before giving us both the stink eye.

My dad and I shot them matching glares. "Did I invite you gentlemen in?"

They remained silent.

"You have ten seconds to state your business, or my daughter will pepper spray you both and I will throw you down the stairs. I will not stand for someone trying to intimidate me in my own apartment." My dad's tone was level, but I could detect the fiery anger just beneath the surface.

God, I loved my dad.

Vladimir and Jesus both held their hands up, and took a step back. "Look," Vladimir said, "I knew your old lady, and she never talked you up once."

My dad shrugged. "That's between me and my deceased mother. Now, if there's nothing else?"

"Rent's due. Fifty dollars cash." Vlad said.

Jesus chimed in. "Due now."

My dad simply stared at the two of them. "What is the date?"

The two blinked and looked at each other. Some silent communication passed between them, and then they both shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care," said Jesus.

"Well I do know, and I do care. It's the 22nd of August. Rent is never due on the twenty-second. So you gentleman," dad's tone made it apparent what he really thought of them, "can kindly remove yourselves from the premises. I will leave cash in an envelope outside my door on the first of the month. You can collect your rent then." With that, my dad slammed the door in their face. I darted in and locked the lower lock immediately, while he did the deadbolt up top.

I stayed by the door to listen. Eventually, I heard the pair tromp down the stairs.

Dad rubbed his forehead. "You'll need to be careful of those two."

"I know," I said. "I've handled worse, though."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I wish that weren't the case, but I guess you have."

I gave my dad a hug. Hugging with only one functional arm isn't the same, but it still felt good. "You okay?"

My dad nodded. "Come on. Let's keep cleaning up."

My dad needed to catch a bus back to Brockton Bay the next day. He was taking unpaid leave from his job to help me out with the move, but there was a limit to how much time he could be away.

I took my dad to the bus station the morning he left. I came back to the empty apartment and stood in the doorway for a bit, just staring. Since Gold Morning, I found myself constantly reviewing all the decisions I'd made that resulted in me being here. I recognized that subconsciously, I viewed coming to New York and starting school to be the first step towards a new future, one in which I could start letting go of my baggage and start being just Taylor. There was still a lot of work to be done in the apartment, but I found myself looking forward to having something to do. It was better to stay busy cleaning, reading the university's course catalogue to figure out what courses I wanted to take, and hitting up thrift shops for items to purchase for my new apartment than to sit and mope about the past.

The nightly arguments between Ralph and Rodney continued. Ralph wasn't thrilled with the changes in the apartment. At some point I started to chime in, speaking out loud to the empty air. When Ralph complained about the new cleanliness of the place, I pointed out that I'd made no effort to prevent entry into the apartment. Rodney didn't care about the state of the apartment as much, but he was very upset about the lack of Chinese takeout.

On a lark, I left out an open box of cheap lo mein that had been my dinner in the sink. It was greasy and borderline inedible, but cheap. I didn't hear Rodney complaining about the lack Chinese takeout after that, but he bitched that I ate the whole fortune cookie.

"Tough," I said. "I like fortune cookies." A raucous chorus of laughter followed my comment. I looked around for where the voices could be coming from, but I saw nothing but a couple of roaches disappearing into the cracks between the floor and the baseboard.

The music continued as well. It like there was a chorus living in the walls, constantly singing about the mundane. Maybe I was going crazy, but I kind of liked the music. My life had a soundtrack; every action seemed to generate some sort of musical response. Tossing a banana peel into the trash generated a heart-felt blues number. There was a sad lament on the night I ate the fortune cookie, which made me smile. Lo mein left out generated a raucous, upbeat celebratory number. Even if I was going crazy, at least I felt good about it.

School started the day after my dad left town. I had two ways I could get to campus - bus, or train. Taking the train required that I walk a number of blocks, since there wasn't a subway stop near my apartment. However, it took me right to the center of campus, which was fine, since the school was in a better part of Manhattan, and generally safer than my neighborhood. Taking the bus from my place was more convenient, since the stop was right on my corner. Unfortunately, my corner was an abandoned lot where drug dealers and crack heads loitered. I didn't want to take the bus in the morning, just to avoid tempting fate. However, if I caught the bus from school back to my neighborhood, it let me off on a different corner and was as fast as the train, depending on the time of day.

The first week of school I spent shopping classes. It felt... great to be back in school. For all the hell I went through in high school, I missed academics. I hadn't the time to focus on it as Weaver, since I was so focused on preventing the end of the world, for all the good that had done. But that chapter of my life was over, and I was looking forward to just being a student for once. No powers, no bullies, and nothing to worry about beyond my studies.

I went to nearly two dozen potential courses I had flagged in the course catalogue, read through the syllabi, and listened to the first lecture to get an idea of how the professor would be. There were few duds - the drivel I heard the professor spout in the parahuman philosophy class made me so angry left fifteen minutes into the first lecture. I ended up deciding to take an English literature course in memory of my mom, a biology course because I was interested in maybe majoring in science (or maybe management?), an econ course (in order to fulfil my freshman math requirement), and psychology course. I debated signing up for a foreign language, but decided I didn't want to take on too much, too soon. My handicap was going to impact how fast I could do my homework.

Every night before going to bed, I called my dad and just chatted with him about how the day went. I missed my dad. He'd helped me recover after Gold Morning, and the process of revealing everything I went through to him had brought us closer together. At least he had a cell phone now, so it was much easier to keep in touch. After our conversation, I drifted off to sleep accompanied by a lullaby.

In a high rise near Columbia circle, a distinguished older man in a smartly tailored navy suit sat on the ledge of his office window, gazing absently at the Empire State Building. His desk and office were all in dark wood, and his name plaque on the desktop proudly proclaimed this was the work space of Senator Dougherty. The Senator had a strong chin and fine gray hair, neatly parted and combed back. He wore a red polka-dotted bow tie to contrast the dark tones of his suit. Absentmindedly, he undid one of the buttons of his dress shirt and slid his hand into the space created, running his fingers over the woman's red lace teddy he wore underneath his suit.

The door opened behind him, and he hurriedly buttoned up his shirt and turned smoothly to address the newcomers.

"Ah! Mr. Bianco!"

"Please, Senator. Call me Alberto."

Alberto hurried across the office to shake the Senator's hand, flanked by his nephews, Vladimir and Jesus. Alberto wore a cheap grey double-breasted suit, a black button down, and white and black striped tie that evoked zebra imagery. He was short and of indeterminate origin; he could pass for Asiatic as easily as Hispanic. The two goons following him wore loud gray suits; Jesus had black stripes on the sleeves and lapels, whereas Vlad's suit had white stripes in a mirror image of Jesus' suit. The suits were a crime against fashion, and neither bothered to take of the chains they wore.

"Have you brought me good news, Alberto?" Senator Dougherty said.

"My second to last tenant has just… taken flight, Senator." Alberto said.

"Yeah. We two saw her off personally," said Vladimir. He bumped fists with Jesus, and then used his partner's fingers to snap.

"Wonderful! I'm sure she'll love the Florida condo you bought her!" said Senator Dougherty. "And your last tenant?"

"We've made her final arrangements," said Alberto. "Soon, the building will be yours."

The Senator shared a laugh with Alberto as he threw an arm around him, walking him over to a table where a model of the East Village neighborhood stood. Taylor's apartment building stood forlornly in the middle of a large vacant lot, the last building on the city block.

"The U.S. government will have acquired the last bit of property we need to build the brand new Manhattan Maximum Security Federal Penitentiary, the biggest prison in the world." As he spoke, the Senator pressed a button on the side of the display, prompting the model's surface to open. From the center of the table, a large high rise-like building arose until it towered over the model landscape, dominating the neighborhood. "Ah… whatever happened to the lower East Side? How did it decay so badly, that the only thing that will sprout in its soil is a jail?"

"We can't take all the credit for that, Senator." Vladimir said.

Jesus slapped his cousin on the back of the head.

Alberto quickly spoke up, "We're glad we could help."

In the corner, a roach slipped out of the room unseen.

Monday brought the first real week of classes. My literature class was Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays at nine in the morning, and my biology class was on the same days in the afternoon at two, though the Friday afternoon slot was actually a lab. Econ met on Tuesdays and Thursdays at nine, and my psychology course was from eleven to twelve-thirty. My schedule was pretty easy. That didn't stop the voices, though.

"If she wanted to major in biology, why did she clean the place up? There was Nobel worthy cultures in some of 'dose take out boxes!"

"She's human, Ralph. She don't appreciate none of the finer things in life, like the fine flavor that develops in food that's been allowed to congeal in a cardboard container at room temperature."

I gagged. "That's vile."

The response was "Pfftt… Humans."

My classes were all pretty much large lecture courses aimed at freshmen. The smallest class still had seventy-five students in it, and the largest class had nearly two-fifty. I was just another body in the sea of humanity, and that anonymity made me feel good. With my bad eyesight, I ended up sitting near the front of each lecture class. This was complicated by the fact that I had to write with my left hand, so I also had to take the end of a row, either near the aisle or walls to ensure that I had a surface I could write on.

I could never write as fast (or as legibly) as require to take notes in class, so I made it a point to meet each professor during the shopping period and requested permission to record the lectures for later playback. I had a small digital voice recorder that took solid state memory cards and used it to record the lectures. It wasn't perfect, as the recorders picked up almost as much background noise almost as much as the lecture, but it allowed me to focus on writing down equations or trying to copy diagrams.

I quickly developed a routine. I would take the train to uptown Manhattan in the morning, and spend an hour reading before my first class. After class, I'd head to the library again to study until lunch. After lunch, I'd went to my afternoon class, and then to the school's gym. I'd not really had a chance to run since Gold Morning, and my neighborhood just wasn't safe. Running on treadmill sucked, but at least using the gym gave me a place to store my books and my arm. Afterwards, I used the school's towels and showers to save on money.

My endurance was pretty much shot. My stride as also much different, since I no longer had two arms to counterbalance me. It took a lot more work to run now that I was missing my arm. Even still, it felt wonderful to get back to physical activity, even if I hated running on the treadmill. Running in the gym often drew stares, given that I was an amputee. No one ever said anything, though.

There was one advantage to the gym. Eye candy. The facility I used as also the one used by the student athletes. They tended to work out in the afternoons, which made the hour or so I spent in the gym trying to recover some of my former athleticism well worth it.

After working out, I'd swing by one of the dining facilities close by my bus stop and grab a sandwich and some fruit. The policy was that you weren't supposed to take food out of the area to eat it, but nobody enforced it and the cashiers were all bored students. I'd stuff the food in my bag, and catch the bus back to my neighborhood.

At home, I'd eat, study, and sleep. I spent my extra time doing what I could to repair the apartment. The voices complained about the lack of variety in my habits and called me boring.

I didn't mind. I'd had enough excitement in my life. If I was going to be normal, then dammit, I was going to be so normal I could be used as a freaking benchmark. On the first of the month, I left an envelope with the rent money outside my door when I left for school.

One Sunday night, a couple of weeks after I'd moved in, I was sitting in the kitchen reading for my biology course. I'd just put a kettle on the stove to heat water for tea, when I heard, "Yo Taylor! Look out! Goons incoming!"

I spun around wondering who said that. I didn't have much more time to think about it, though, because my thoughts were derailed by a resounding thud against the door to my apartment. The walls shook, and plaster fell down in the spots where it was cracked.

I froze. There was a second impact. I heard the door frame crack, and then I voices bickering in the hall. I looked quickly around the kitchen for something, anything that I could use as a weapon. I'd left my pepper spray in my backpack, which was in my bedroom. The nearest thing I could find was the hot tea kettle that I had scalding hot water in. I grabbed it with my good hand, and rushed to the door, putting my back against the wall next to the lock near the door jam.

The door gave with the next kick. The door swung into the apartment and banged against the wall behind the hinges, knocking yet more plaster loose.

I heard a voice cry out, "Oh shit! Looks like da landlord wants ta change Taylor's lease!"

"Dey ain't doin' no paint job!"

I didn't let that stop me, though. Before the attacker could clear the door and see me, I swung the kettle as hard as I could for where I estimated the person's head would be. I was rewarded with a satisfying clang and a yell as the hot kettle met a face and the water scalded him. He was bald and white, and he collapsed in the doorway screaming, rolling back and forth with his hands to his face. He was still screaming when his partner, a bald black man with a goatee, pushed him aside, trying to clear the doorway.

The first guy had dropped a crowbar. I dropped to the ground and grabbed it as I rolled away from the door. His partner had just finished climbing over his fallen compatriot and wasn't paying attention to me as much as he should have been. I popped up and spun, using the momentum of my motion to hit him as hard as I could in the head with the crowbar. That wasn't very hard, granted, but it was enough.

He dropped with barely a whimper.

It was only then I noticed they were the "landlords." Both were armed. I was surprised that I wasn't shaking. The one I had burned, Jesus, was armed with a pistol tucked into his belt, whereas Vladimir had an MP5 slung across his back. I pulled the MP5 off him first and put it on the kitchen counter. I'd lost my fake arm in the roll, and it was hanging uselessly by its harness at my side. Using my good arm, I pulled the pistol out of Jesus' belt. He was still busy clutching his face, which was turning bright red where the water had hit him. Good. He'd probably blister. I put the crowbar down on the counter and then I picked up my phone to call the cops.

Except I didn't. If I called them, I'd have to lie about who I was, why I was in this apartment, and how I'd taken out two fully grown thugs while missing an arm. I fixed my fake arm, and tried to figure out what to do.

That's when the imaginary voices started up again.

"Holy shit, Ralph! Did you see that? She squished 'em like… like… well, like bugs!"

That was Rodney. Even if the voices were imaginary, it was helpful to have someone, or something, to talk to right now.

"That was pretty freakin' bad ass, I must admit," said Ralph. "She might not be a slob, but she's not bad as humans go."

"I vote we keep 'er!"

A chorus of yeahs went up around the room. I looked around, and beyond seeing the few perpetually present cockroaches, saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"We'll just have to break her in, all!"

Simultaneously annoyed and pleased, I spoke out to the empty room.

"I'm so glad you all approve and I get to stay in my own apartment." I blew a strand of hair out of my face. It must have come out of my ponytail when I rolled. "Rather than stand around and chatter, I'd appreciate some advice on how I can get them creeps out of here without involving the cops," I said.

"If we let these guys walk, they'll come back and burn us out."

"Let's not kid ourselves, Ralph. If Taylor gets greased, we're next. I ain't gonna stand for it. Let's teach those toe heads some respect."

"You're right. We don't usually get involved with you humans, but we'll make an exception this time. This is our home, and we ain't gonna stand for no two bit thugs puttin' pressure on our friend!"

Again, a chorus of cheers went up around the room. I looked, and the presence of cockroaches had swollen from two to two thousand.

"Yo, Taylor - just be cool. We're gonna take care of the trash, but don't bug out on us, okay?"

"Um… sure?"

Vlad regained consciousness after that. He glared at me as best he could through his unfocused eyes, but he kept a close a close eye on the pistol in my left hand. His partner was content to simply clutch his face and whimper. Both had a number of eyebrow rings and matching sun burst tattoos on the top of their heads.

What happened next surprised me. The roaches swarmed forward, covering me from head to toe. I was surprised, but at the same time I was so used to the feeling I barely reacted, though I was less than pleased at the bugs on my face, since I wasn't wearing a mask.

Predictably, the two thugs freaked out. Both started stammering and backing away from me. I followed them, used to taking advantage of the psychological effect of a swarm.

"Yo Taylor! Tell these goons that their momma's cooking sucks so much, even the roaches won't touch it!"

I did as asked.

"And tell them don't come back, 'Cause if they do, they're gonna get a roach in every freakin' meal they ever have for the rest of their miserable freakin' lives."

I relayed the message. The cockroaches on me buzzed violently as I did so, echoing my words.

The voice said. "We know where you live. We live where you live." I repeated it.

That was the final straw. The goons bolted for the stairs. I raised the pistol and fired two shots, clipping the one in back in the calf and causing him to trip into his companion, sending both tumbling down the four flights of stairs. They landed with a crash on the ground floor in a jumbled heap of limbs.

I ended up keeping the guns I'd liberated from the goons. The MP5 wasn't really of much use for me, given that you really need two arms to be accurate with it. The pistol was much more useful for me, as it was a Glock. I was familiar with it, and even left handed I was able to at least hit a target at 10 feet.

While I was busy examining the two guns, the roaches receded from my clothes, disappearing into the walls again. All except for two, who hopped on my kitchen table and gave each other a high five, or so it appeared to me.

"You was great, Taylor! What a couple of pansies!"

I looked closely at the bugs. "You guys talk?"

"Of course we talk!"

"Umm… I've got lots of experience with insects. I've never, ever heard a bug talk before."

"You humans just don't know how to listen."

"Yeah! You tend to squish first and ask questions later."

"That's what we like about you - no squishing, more listening."

"Yeah!"

"Okay… I guess." I pointed to the roach on the left. "Ralph?"

"Yeah! How'd you guess?"

"And that would make you Rodney, right?" I asked.

"Got it on one, sista!"

"Thanks for the help tonight. I appreciate it." I said.

"Sure! What are friends for?"

"Friends?" I asked.

"Sure! While we don't like all of the changes that have happened around here, we like the way you treat us. We wanted to keep you around."

"Ah." I said, intelligently. "Um… Look - I know what kind of environment you and your kin prefer, but I'm unwilling to live like that. I can, however, provide you guy an organized terrarium for use if you want space to breed and call your own. I'm happy to share the space, but I like to be organized and clean. No offense, but roaches are anything but those two things."

"Awww… That's sweet of you, babe." Rodney said. "But this big ol' apartment building's empty except for you. We'll take over the other floors, and you can have this one."

"That's… very kind of you, actually. You want me to do anything to make the other apartments more friendly for you guys?"

"More lo mein!"

"Yeah!"

"More lo mein. I can do that." I nodded. "Earlier you said these guys were looking to change the lease?"

"Yeah." A bug I'd not seen before popped out from between the floor and the baseboards. "I was uptown visitin' a mate when I hoiyd one of them greasy elected officials talkin' 'bout puttin' a prison on dis site."

The roaches around cheered, commenting on how awesome a prison would be.

"Where would I live?" I asked.

That stopped the cheering. I was met by some shrugs, but beyond that, nothing.

"We like you 'n all, but we'll be here long after you're nothing but roach food," said Rodney.

"Yeah! Sorry Taylor." A chorus of cheers met this statement.

"Gee, thanks." I replied.

"Why worry?" asked Ralph. "We don't mind if this place gets trashed."

"I do." I said. "I'm not a roach, Ralph. I need a place to live, and this is the only place I can afford."

"We'll work something out. In the meantime, we want some Chinese!" Ralph said.

A chorus of cheers went up in response to his announcement.

That's how I learned that I could talk to bugs. I didn't know how it was possible; I'd not had any inkling of any sort of parahuman ability since Contessa had performed her .38 caliber lobotomy. My only theory was maybe a small vestige of my Corona Pollentia had survived the process, and that remaining fragment had healed enough time for a small part of my old power to resurface.

Whatever it was, it didn't give me the ability to control anything, only to understand the communication between creatures possessing simple nervous systems. I was very conflicted about having parahuman abilities, even if extremely limited ones, resurface. That delicate balance that I'd worked for years to achieve was now shattered. I was still processing what this meant.

Passengers were designed to promote conflict, and I'd experience more conflict than most capes. I might not have been at peace with losing my powers, but I had resigned myself to a life as a normal person.

I didn't even have that anymore. Worse, I'd have to tell my dad. Ugh.

The conversation that night with my dad was hard. I told him about the attempted break-in by Vlad and Jesus and the actions I took, as well as the landlord's plans for the place. He approved, but did ask me get the door replace and to consider some way of getting them off my back.

Then I told him I could hear bugs.

The line went silent for a good thirty seconds. Finally, I spoke up.

"Dad? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, Taylor. I'm still here. I'm just… still processing, I guess."

"Me too."

"Any indication your other… abilities are coming back?"

"No. I mean, I could just be going crazy here."

That elicited a laugh from my dad. "Not likely, given your luck."

I laughed at that, too. Then, I couldn't stop laughing, and before I knew it I was sobbing on the phone. It took some time for me to calm down.

My dad hadn't interrupted during my cry. Once I was a bit calmer, though, he asked "Would it be alright if I visited this weekend?"

Tears welled up in my eyes again. "I'd love that, Dad."

"I'll take the bus first thing Friday night. I should be there before bedtime."

"That's great dad. I can't wait to see you again."

"Hang in there, Taylor."

The city suddenly became a very different place for me. Bugs were everywhere. It was always a busy, noisy place, but now it was constantly filled with the sound of chatter. This was different than my previous awareness, as I had no control over these creatures, and no way to push my thoughts or consciousness into them.

There was no sense of being part of a swarm. I had none of the advantages of my previous swarm sense. No spatial recognition, no awareness of my surroundings, no additional senses. There was just ever present mundane communication between bugs, which amounted to little more than noise, for the most part.

Bugs were not great conversationalists. A noisy city suddenly became overwhelming, as I there was conversation around me twenty-four seven, and most of it boring. It felt similar to when I first triggered; I suddenly had this new sense that I had to learn to selectively filter out so as to function normally.

To top it off, classes began, and my new "friends" wanted nothing more than to keep me company. I tried to convince them not to come. I didn't want to give anyone a single reason to connect who I was with Skitter or Weaver. But short of stepping on a few of the roaches in my apartment, there was no way to keep them away.

During my first biology class after the attack by Vladimir and Jesus, I found myself struggling to pay attention. It wasn't that I didn't like the material. I loved, it, in fact. But my friends, on the other hand…

"Oh man, Ralph. Did you see that piece o' tail in the subway? I'd love to crawl into a roach motel with her!"

"Yeah, I'd make her pupate so hard…"

I made a face. "Don't be gross, Rodney."

The roach crawled out of my bag and shrugged. "I'm a roach. I can't help it."

"Yeah! He's the greasiest, doitiest bug I've ever seen, and that's saying somethin'!" Ralph said, as he climbed out of my bag to join Rodney on the desktop. I subtly moved my books to shield them from view from the other students.

"Fair enough. You both are pretty disgusting bugs." I said.

"I think she's sweet on me, Ralph." Rodney nudged his partner. "Too bad I don't go for none of dat interspecies stuff."

"Yeah, color me glad about that one. Can you tone it down a bit around me, though? I don't like every conversation to devolve into crude jokes." I said.

"Geesh. Relax, Taylor. I mean, come on. She was fine." Rodney paused, scratching his mandibles as if thinking about something. "You know, I think I know what the problem is. You needs ta get laid!" Rodney and Ralph both accompanied this with rude hip thrusting motions.

The very sight of that nearly made me want to gag. "Seriously! Will you two cut it out?" I hissed. "I'm trying to pay attention here!"

"Sorry Taylor," the pair said in tandem.

"I still think she needs to get laid."

"Ralph!" I whispered fiercely.

"When was the last time you got any, huh? Can't be doing you no good to be all alone in our apartment with only us roaches as company," Ralph persisted.

I refused to answer as I continued to take notes with my left hand. My penmanship left lots to be desired. Thankfully, my ability to multitask seemed be returning slightly. It was nothing when compared to my full glory - if Khepri could have ever been considered glorious – but it was very helpful for just this type of situation.

"Pfffff. Typical human. You know, if y'all simply were more honest with yourselves, you'd be happier," Ralph said.

"You're probably right, but I don't want to argue. I want to concentrate." I continued to scribble with my left hand. "And right now, what would really help is if you two could be quiet."

"Sure Taylor."

"Whatever you say, Taylor."

They listened for all of two minutes.

"BOOOORING," the roaches said in unison.

"Will you two be quiet? Seriously," I hissed.

"Yo, Ralph! Let's blow this joint. I can smell hot dogs cookin' down the hall."

"Done!"

I smiled. "Be careful, you two, and don't get squished. If you want to hitch a ride with me on the way back, you need to be ready to leave in about four hours. I'll be by the bus stop where we arrived."

"Don't worry about us. See ya back at the apartment, Taylor!"

I watched in bemusement at the two scrambled down my pant leg and scurried off towards the back of the classroom. I settled in to my chair to take notes. While I did so, my mind wandered back to something Ralph had said. He was right in that we'd be happier as a species if we could just be honest with ourselves.

Unfortunately, that was as difficult as asking humans to cooperate with one another. I knew firsthand how difficult that could be. Ralph was also right in that it had been a long time since I'd last had a boyfriend. However, I didn't think I'd be fixing that anytime soon. My arm wasn't the only problem in the way - the scarring, the holes in my forehead, my general appearance… not to mention the fact I was too wary of people learning my secrets to even consider it at this point.

I went straight back to the apartment after finishing classes, having no desire to linger around campus. The bus ride back was spent in quiet contemplation, thinking about the past.

Ralph and Rodney beat me home. They (and the other 49,998 roaches in my apartment) all said "hi" when I walked in the door.

"Hey guys. Did you enjoy the hot dogs?" I asked. I locked the door behind me, locked an anti-break-in doorstop in place in addition to the deadbolt plate I'd used to fix the damage from Vlad and Jesus. Once the door was secure, I took off my book bag and prosthetic, hanging them both on a hook beside the door.

"The hot dogs was great!" Rodney proceeded to burp. "My compliments to the manufacturer."

Ralph agreed. "Nothing like processed meat to hit the spot."

"I'm glad. Hey, just so you know, my dad's coming this weekend. Do me a favor and try not to be too visible when he comes? Unlike me, he's not really a fan of bugs."

Gear stowed, I made my way into the kitchen to start prepping dinner.

Ralph gave the equivalent of a shrug, if cockroaches were capable of such a thing. "Sure thing, toots. Which reminds me – why are so you okay with bugs, anyway? We're curious!"

I paused as I thought about how to answer. I'd not told anyone on this world about myself beyond my dad. He was entitled to know, given everything he'd gone through. But roaches? I wasn't sure why I should tell them, except… who could they tell?

Maybe it would be therapeutic to talk about.

"Yo, earth to Taylor! You're spacing out on us here!"

"Yeah!"

"Oh, sorry guys.' I said. "I was just thinking about it. I'm… not a normal person."

"Well, no shit." Said Ralph. "You're a one-armed ass kicker."

I laughed. "Thanks. No, what I meant was I am a parahuman. Or, more accurately, I was, I guess."

A chorus of oooohs went up around the room. A cacophony of voices started yelling at me for details. I held up my hand, and the voices slowly died down.

"Look, I appreciate that you all are interested, but you have to understand that I'm still not comfortable talking about my past. It's… still a very difficult topic for me."

"All right." Said Rodney. "But you'll tell us, right? I mean, we're friends!"

"Yeah." I said. "I'll tell you. Maybe this weekend, once my dad gets here."

I spent the rest of the week going to classes and studying. The commute back and forth between the apartment and school was great, which made me appreciate the location even more. It was pretty much ideal, as far as urban commuting went. It left me with lots of time to study in the evening, which, frankly, I needed. Being forced to do everything with my off hand slowed me down considerably. I did have a secondhand laptop with voice dictation software that I used for writing, but it was clunky and a pain to use. Still, it beat having to peck out homework assignments on the keyboard.

The only problems with my commute were that it kept me away from campus social activity (not that I minded) and that the daily cost cut into my already limited funds (which I did mind). Most of the social scene seemed to involve fake ids and dive bars, and honestly, I wasn't that interested. However, since I wasn't living in the dorms, I didn't hear about the low-key sort and spur of the moment parties that I'd prefer going to. There was the added factor that I was older than most of the students in my freshman class by several years. I was almost twenty-one now; I'd be legal before my second semester as a freshman. I think that, combined with the fact I only had one arm, made me very intimidating for my younger (and less traumatized) classmates.

On Thursday night, I took the bus back to my apartment without a dinner in my backpack from the dining facility. When I got home, I sighed as I opened the cabinet for dinner and reached once again for a packet of instant ramen.

"Ramen again?"

A roach peer out of the cabinet from behind the stacks of instant ramen.

"Oh, hey Slow Mo. How are you?" I replied.

I let Slow Mo hop on the back of my hand before I closed the cabinet door, depositing the roach on the back splash behind the sink. One of the rules I had set for the roaches were strict no go areas. Roaches were dirty, and their dietary habits were gross. They weren't allowed on any surface used to prepare or eat food, my linens, or any surface that might come in contact with my mouth. I might not mind the bugs, but that didn't mean I wanted them crawling all over everything, since they served as vectors for all sorts of pathogens. I quickly got into the habit of washing my hands and sanitizing surfaces regularly.

"Sick of ramen. Even us 'roaches need some variety," Slow Mo said.

Since I'd touched a roach I washed my hand before filling up the kettle with water to boil. My kettle hadn't whistled properly since I'd smashed it against the face of the goon that broke into the apartment, but it was still functional. The Vlad and Jesus hadn't been back yet, but I was sure it was only a matter of time. In fact, I'd been preparing for it. I'd told the roaches what I had in mind, and they'd loved it.

I shrugged. "I can't afford variety, particularly when I've got 50,000 hungry mouths to feed."

Slow Mo rubbed his antennae with a forelimb. "You broke? Why didn't you say something earlier? We thought you just had no taste in food."

I laughed. "Trust me - I'd eat better if I could. If you know a way of getting a hold of cash without people asking too many difficult questions, I'm all ears."

I didn't expect much to come of that off-hand comment. But the roaches had other ideas. The next morning, I woke up and found stacks of cash, coins, gold rings, and other pieces of jewelry in a pile on the floor in the living room. And by pile, I meant a mound nearly waist high.

I simply stared at the pile. It was hard to tell how much money was piled up there, as it didn't appear to be sorted in any particular way. But my experience with stacks of cash from my villain days gave me a sense of the value there. This was a lot of money, and that didn't even take into account the value of the jewelry and other stuff piled up.

"What… is this?" I asked.

A flood of roaches popped up from the pile. "You said you was broke! So, we called in some favors. We did a little dumpster diving and found cash and stuff lost in the dumpsters, sewers, alleys, and abandoned buildings. We figured you could use it to buy us something other than ramen!"

I was at a loss for words. I sat down and stared at the pile. "I… Thank you."

I didn't have class until my lab in the afternoon, so I spent most of the morning sorting and counting the money. Much of it was dirty, a testament to where it was found. I ended up washing my hand a lot, and discarding some currency that was just too vile to handle. At some point, I ended up running to a bank to get a bunch of coin wrappers and currency wrappers. The roaches helped me sort the coins into piles, and then rolled the appropriate coins into the rolls. They were pretty good at helping me with that task, which freed me to sort, count, and stack bills.

By the time lunch rolled around, I'd gotten through only a small portion of the total cash in my living room. The pile of coins seemed hardly to have been diminished by all the sorting. I needed to shower in order to make my afternoon classes, so I left the money where it was, though I did grab a fat stack of bills to stuff in my bag. It was clear that I'd need a cash counter to figure out how much money was here. I'd quickly lost count after the first fifty-thousand, and that barely made a dent in the stack of bills my insect friends had found.

After my lab, I took the subway down to Chinatown and bought a coin and cash counter. It set me back nearly eight hundred dollars, but that was the least of my worries at this moment. I spent most of the evening counting and bundling the cash.

That's when my dad arrived. He stopped short when he saw the pile of money, and then looked at me. The question on his face was clear.

"I didn't do it." I said.

My dad stepped into the apartment and gave me a big hug. "Only you, Taylor."

My dad and I spend most of the night counting as we talked, explaining what had happened. It was extremely helpful to have an extra set of hands. He gave a half exasperated, half amused sighed when I finished telling him about my story. It felt good to tell him, but he didn't have any solutions for me.

It was surprising to me how much of the lost bills were in the higher denominations. All told, I the roaches found nearly $8.5 million in cash, and that didn't even take into account the value of the jewelry they'd found. This was a huge problem. No bank would take this kind of cash, and having it around only invited trouble.

To be honest, it was a good problem to have.

To celebrate, I bought takeout Chinese and greasy pizza for the whole apartment. The roaches loved it.

The money was a constant source of worry for both me and my Dad. There was no way I could move the cash into a bank without getting involved with criminals, and I wanted no part of that world this time around. I wished briefly for access to the Number Man, but squashed that thought. I had no way to really spend the money, either, as large cash purchases raised eyebrows and brought unwanted attention from the authorities.

I talked to my dad about my seemingly new abilities. It was great to have him around for moral support, as I felt much better talking about what was happening to me. Of course, I had to spend nearly as much time explaining my history to the roaches, since they pestered me constantly with questions. In the end, I told the roaches my whole story, from beginning to end, including the fact that I'd been responsible for defeating Scion, and how I'd done it.

The bugs, of course, thought it was awesome. My dad had heard the story before, and was able to verify some parts of the story when asked. I think it was hard for him to listen to the story again, as the bugs pressed for details I had carefully edited out last time. He confessed that he heard nothing when the roaches spoke to me, which confirmed my suspicions that this had something to do with my old powers. The roaches simply chalked it up to an inability to listen. I ended up serving as the translator for any questions the bugs had for my dad, though, since I seemed only I could hear them.

When I spoke to the roaches, on the other hand, my Dad said I sounded normal. It made sense, since they seemed to understand my dad perfectly fine. This meant that if I talked with them in public, I'd look like a crazy person talking to myself. I kept that in mind, since being seen as the crazy, one-armed chick was going to draw lots of unwanted attention to myself. When my dad left on Sunday evening, he left with a stack of cash for his own use. He was grateful for the extra liquidity, but that didn't get us any closer to a solution on what to do with the pile of loot on my floor.

I was stuck. Worse, the roaches kept finding money. It wasn't a huge pile like the first time, but every day I'd come home from school and found a pile of bills and coins on the floor. Sometimes it was only twenty dollars in coins and singles, and other days it was in the hundreds. The roaches had started calling it the "day's take," and were making a game of seeing how much money could be scrounged from the forgotten recesses of the city.

The slowly growing pile of money made me nervous. It was only a matter of time till Vladimir and Jesus showed up again, and if they saw that pile of cash, I was as good as dead.

Luckily, my roach friends were keeping a close eye on the two goons and their employer, and reporting back to me on their plans.

If there was one advantage to my current power, is that I wasn't limited in range, as I wasn't controlling the bugs. I could ask Rodney to go clear across town to do something, and each bug could be an independent actor. However, I had to rely on them reporting to me, which didn't always happen. Roaches were industrious only when it came to mating and food, and they were easily distracted by things like discarded pizza crusts.

When I left my apartment to go to school one beautiful September day, I noticed that a group of people were toiling around in the lot behind my building cleaning up debris and planting bushes and flowers. A huge pile of debris stood to one side, and people were adding more with each trip from the lot. Many of the people were individuals I recognized from the neighborhood, though one person stood out. She was tall, blond, and very beautiful, and definitely not from the area.

She seemed to be directing people in their activities and answering questions.

I walked over to see what was going on. People were digging and planting with purpose, and I caught snippets of conversation as I walked through the site that gave me a sense people were genuinely thrilled about having something to do.

I approached, but before she noticed me she was interrupted by a fairly attractive blond man in a bright yellow jumpsuit and matching hat. He held a bunch of fairly distinct and pretty looking purple flowers in his hand, which she was very enthusiastically examining.

I felt a roach land on my right shoulder. "Hubba hubba!" said Ralph. "Does Taylor like what she sees?" He made a rude thrusting motion with his abdomen. Annoyed, I flicked him off my shoulder with my good hand.

"Hey!" Rodney righted himself in the air, and came back around. This time, though, he landed on my left shoulder so that it would be harder for me to reach him.

"What did I tell you about being rude?" I said in reply.

"I'm a roach!" he protested.

"And I'm a human. Let's agree to disagree on this one and stay friends."

"Fair 'nuff." Rodney said. "But you didn't answer my question."

I gave the guy a good examination. He was good looking, but it was pretty clear he had a thing for the blond lady. Frankly, I didn't blame him. Even covered in dirt, she was gorgeous and sexy, which made me feel even plainer in comparison.

"He's easy enough on the eyes, I guess." I shrugged. "But he's clearly got a thing for Ms. Perfect over there."

Eventually the guy she was chatting with left, but not before he dumped a whole lot of pink items on the ground from his backpack. He left the flowers as well, but not before transferring them to a pot that the woman provided.

I did a double take. "Are those… urinal cakes?" I asked Rodney.

"Looks like it." Rodney said.

"Who walks around with those in a backpack?" I asked rhetorically. "That's just gross."

"I knew that guy was some'in' special! Uh oh! Got to go!" With that exclamation, Rodney disappeared down the back of my shirt before flying off. I was so wrapped up in trying to figure out what was going on I was startled when Ms. Perfect herself walked up to me and stuck out her hand.

"Hi!" She said, pulling off a soiled glove from her right hand and thrusting it out to shake, balancing the flower pot on her left hip. "I'm Lily!"

"I'm Taylor. Sorry." I held up my hook to demonstrate why I wasn't shaking her hand.

Lily blushed and apologized. "Oh, I didn't realize!" The conversation sort of died, as it tends to do when my injury makes itself known. To cover the awkward silence, I asked what she did for work. When she told me she worked at the complaints department for the city's government.

"Do you live in the neighborhood?" I asked.

She laughed. "No, I live on the Upper East Side, but my office is down here."

"So, if you don't live here, why are you doing… this?" I used my good hand to point at the ongoing work.

"Oh, I thought that the neighborhood could use some green space, you know? Children need a place to play, and I just can't stand the thought of this area remaining a dumping ground for dirty needles and trash." As she spoke, she seemed to light up, as her enthusiasm for the project came through.

I almost felt sorry for her that she was able to make it to adulthood and remain so optimistic. She must have had a pretty cushy life so far. Rather than comment on it, however, I simply said, "Nice flowers."

"I know, right?" Lily held the pot out in front of herself. "I have no idea where Joe got these, but these are a rare varietal that only grows in the moist, rotting conditions found in elephant habitats in Sri Lanka. It's a terrific planting for the garden."

"Joe? Does he live in the neighborhood as well?" I asked.

Lily frowned. "You know, I don't know. I really don't know him that well, but he says he's a banker. And a drummer." She giggled. "He's very sweet."

"Right." I choose to move to a new topic. "So, what can I do to help?"

"Do you live here?" she asked.

"Yes, I do. I'm on the top floor of that building over there." I looked around at the lot. Just the simple action of cleaning up the debris and planting a few flowers had transformed the lot into something resembling a park.

"That's great!" Lily said. "Not to be insensitive, but we've got lots of able bodies… What we really need are supplies, and a way to get that stuff into bags and out of here," she said, pointing to the growing mound of refuse that was being piled up by other volunteers.

I opened my mouth to say no, when an idea came to me. "Actually… yeah, I can do that."

Lily beamed. "Really? That would be awesome! Any help you could provide would be wonderful!"

"What do you need?" I asked.

Lily proceeded to give me a list oral. It was quite extensive; I blinked as she kept going, and then decided to pull out my voice recorder. "I'm sorry," I interrupted, "but maybe you can go over that again?"

She blushed, and then repeated the list. Fertilizer, sod, piping and drip irrigation systems, paving stones, gravel, mulch… the list of items was going to give some garden center huge business. And that was before she even got into the plants she wanted. She was passionate, though, and that enthusiasm was infectious.

"Wow. That's quite a list." I paused. "Let me start figuring out how much this is going to cost, and I'll figure out some way to set up a mechanism for accepting donations…" I smiled. "This could be fun." I stayed and chatted a bit more, but class was calling, though this idea remained firmly planted in my head.

Lily was beaming when I left. I caught the bus for my first class, thinking about how I could make this work. I didn't even really pay attention in my classes that day, relying instead on my recording to catch up later.

Buying the supplies wasn't really all that much of a challenge. I went first to my apartment to grab some cash and hopped in a cab across the river to the nearest home supply store in New Jersey. I gave Lily's list to the staff manning the contractor desk with a request for it to be loaded on a delivery truck in the next few hours. They didn't even blink when I paid for the bill in cash (it ran nearly 10K), and even less when I asked about purchasing some manpower and a discrete disposal service. The clerk passed me a phone number with a reminder that it didn't come from him. I thanked him and went to make a phone call. The store didn't care if I was doing the work with a permit or not; they just wanted the sale.

While they were loading up the truck, I went out to the parking lot and made a call to the disposal service. I told them what I needed, he quoted a price. I said I wanted to pay cash and needed it done today. The price doubled. I told them I could pay an extra fifty percent on top of that if they deliver the dumpster in the next 2 hours. They asked for my phone number and a location, with the admonition to have the cash on hand or the driver would bail. I asked for the number of the truck and the name of the driver, and phone number to reach him if there was one.

I hastily took notes on the back of the receipt from the home store once we had an agreement. That done, I went out into the parking lot and found half a dozen illegal migrants loitering around near a taco stand.

It took a little while to figure out the going rate for day labor, but my roach friends were able to give me a bit of the inside scoop on what the average wage usually was. I overpaid, but by doing so I had a crew of men ready to help me offload the supplies and do some labor by the time the store finished loading the goods on the truck I rented. I bought everyone a lunch, and with that set out to drive back to my neighborhood.

By the time I got through the tunnel and managed to figure out how to get to my place, it was late afternoon. Lily was still there, though many of the volunteers had gone home by that point. She waved when she figured out who it was, then was speechless when the men came out of the truck carrying the equipment she asked for.

"How… what… I don't understand!" she finally managed after a few minutes. She watched with wide eyes as the crew unloaded the goods.

I shrugged. "I used to be a… community organizer, of sorts," I said. It wasn't really a lie, from a certain point of view. Just then, my phone rang. "One second! Sorry, I need to take this." I stepped away from her, to take the call, and it was the disposal company. I confirmed I was on location, and that I had the cash. A few minutes later, a flatbed with a front end loading roll off container pulled up.

I ran over.

The driver was a burly man in a wife beater who hadn't shaved in a few days. He was chomping on an unlit cigar. "You Taylor?" he said.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Got the cash?"

I tossed a rolled up wad of bills into the cab. He caught them with a grunt, and I heard the sound of money being counted quickly.

"This ain't but half." He said.

I held up another bundle of equal size. "You'll get the rest when you pick up. I've got six guys working here, so I expect we can fill that thing before dinner."

The driver grunted. "Where you want it?"

I pointed to the trash pile. "As close to that as you can get it."

"Right," he said. "Stay out of the way."

With that, he pulled the truck forward, and then backed it up over the curb. He backed the dumpster up as close as he could get to the growing mound of refuse, and then raised the truck bed to roll the dumpster off and onto the ground. Once it was off the truck bed, he hopped out of the cab, unhooked some chains from the front end of the dumpster, and then activated a winch to roll the chains back into their housing.

"I'll be back at six to pick up, full or not. I expect the rest o' da dough then." With that, the driver hopped back in the car and pulled away, diesel engines roaring.

I walked back over to Lily. "Sorry about that! Now, we've got this dumpster for just a couple of hours. I recommend you get everyone working on filling it up, since we might not have another opportunity to clear out this much trash in one fell swoop again for some time."

With that, I went over to instruct my hired help to start throwing trash in the dumpster. I helped too, and made small talk with some of the other volunteers who pitched in, but I was limited in what I could carry and still shy around strangers. By the time the truck rolled around at half past six to pick up, we'd filled the dumpster to capacity, which cleared almost all of the major debris in the field. I gave the driver the second bundle of cash, and he pulled away, no questions asked.

I generally don't condone corruption, but sometimes things just needed to get done.

When the truck pulled away, I waylaid by surprise hug from Lily, who in her enthusiasm to thank me accidentally pulled my artificial arm out of socket. She apologized profusely, of course, but couldn't stop gushing about how thankful she was for my support.

I left the lot feeling emotionally exhausted. She was just too chipper. I couldn't deal with it. We exchanged phone numbers. She promised to call the next day, since she'd be back to do more planting and help direct to volunteers. I told her that I wouldn't be available till the evening, since I was still in school.

The next day, I spent a lot of time in one of the campus libraries using a computer there, since I didn't have internet at home unless I tethered my laptop to my mobile. I spent a great deal of time looking at the non-profit laws in New York and all about the different statuses that were available.

I was pretty apparent I was going to need a lawyer. I briefly wished I had Quinn Calle on speed dial again, but dismissed the idea. When I got home, I slung my backpack on the kitchen table. I opened the fridge and grabbed a piece of fruit.

"Ralph! Rodney! I've got a question!" I called out.

Ralph came crawling out of a box of greasy Chinese food I'd left in the sink for that purpose. "What's up, toots?"

I moved the take out box to the side and turned on the tap, washing the apple I'd grabbed. As I washed it, I asked, "Who's the greasiest, slimiest, most effective lawyer in the city? I need someone who's Teflon-coated."

"Why do you want a lawyer when you got roaches for friends? We can help you!" Ralph said.

I sat down at the table and took a bite of the apple. I spit out the chunk and put it on the designated roach space, which was simply a plastic plate in the middle of the table. Ralph flew over from the sink and immediately attacked it, chowing down greedily.

"You know guys know legal code?" I asked.

"Know it?" Ralph laughed. "Are you kidding? Think 'bout what lawyers do. Living in the seedy underbelly of society, sucking dry the lifeblood of clients, freakin' impossible to exterminate… We love 'em! They's 'bout as close as humans can come to bein' roaches, present company excepted."

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

"So waddya need?" Ralph asked.

I took a bite of the apple and chewed it. "I want to protect this building and the lot around it, so that we have a place to live." I gestured at the pile of cash in the corner. "I can't take this money to the bank, or they'll start asking questions about where it came from that I can't or don't want to answer, given my history." I took another bite, and chewed it.

"So, first things first, I need to set up some sort of organization that accepts donations, so I have some legitimate way of getting this money out of here. Second, I want to be the sole executor of the cash, so that I can spend it as needed without violating any sort of laws or regulations. Basically, I need some sort of legitimate shelter for this cash, and tax free would be a nice bonus."

"Pfft..." Ralph said, spraying bits of apple over the plate, "dhat's eashy shtuff." He finished his piece of apple, and gestured for more. I obliged, biting off another small chunk and handing it over. Rodney flew over as well, joining the discussion.

Since Ralph was busy chewing on another piece of apple, Rodney chimed in. "First, you's gotta get established as a 501(c)(3) organization with the IRS, which requires an application."

"The IRS? An application? Fuck." I sighed.

"Fuck is right." Rodney nodded. "The IRS is another group of bloodsucking lowlifes."

"Great guys, dem." Ralph chimed in.

"Yeah!" Rodney said. "Dey know how to squeeze blood from a stone, and askin' for non-profit status is like throwin' chum in da water before swimmin' with sharks. It takes forever to get nonprofit status."

"Damn it," I swore. "I'm trying to avoid scrutiny, here, not invite it. Plus, I probably won't be able to do this before the landlord gets rid of us, either."

"Ya could just form a choich," Ralph said.

"A what?" I said.

"A choich," Ralph repeated. "Tax free, non-profit, donation accepting… They're havens for scumbags, pedophiles, and sanctimonious asshats. Plus, they are impossible to eradicate. Like roaches!"

Ralph and Rodney gave each other the roach equivalent of a high-five.

"A… Choich? You mean a church?" I asked.

"Dat's what I said. A choich. The Feds is scared to go after choiches, 'cause nothing fires up the right wing nut jobs like perceived attacks on religious freedoms! It'd be perfect."

"And… how does one… start a church?" I asked.

"Easy! You don't even have ta file any of that IRC section 501(c)(3) paperwork," Ralph said. "Beauty of it is, ya see, is that choiches is automatically exempt. Sure, the blood suckers over at the IRS recommend you file da paperwork, but that's just because they like fuckin' with ya."

Rodney chimed in. "Yeah – as long as the stuff ya do is directed exclusively toward charitable, educational, religious, or other exempt purposes, they ain't gonna come after you. Don't soyve the private interests of any individual or organization, and yous is golden. So, buying Chinese food for da congregation counts!"

The bugs in my apartment started chanting, "What do we want? Fortune cookies! When do we want 'em? NOW!"

I let them chant for a while, before holding up my good arm to silence the swarm. "Okay, more fortune cookies, then. Anything else I need to know?"

"Yeah! The beneficiaries of an organization's activities must be recognized objects of charity. Ya, know, like the poor and distressed." Rodney said.

"And we're so distressed and poor." With that statement, the bugs all broke out into raucous laughter.

"Distressing, maybe." I said.

"Oh Taylor, you wound me!" Ralph clutched his thorax dramatically, and fell over on the dish, twitching as if he'd been hit with a roach bomb.

I smiled at his antics. What did it say about me that my best friends were currently roaches? I probably needed to see a psychiatrist sometime soon. "So, I start a church, and suddenly all this money is tax free and legal?" I asked.

Rodney helped Ralph to stand back up. "Yeah, providing you're spending the money on the community at large, or for the conduct of religious services or the promotion of religion."

"But I don't have a religion. I'm not even sure what I'd promote." I replied.

"How about the Church of the Holy Feeler?" Rodney ventured.

"The… Church of the Holy Feeler?" I shuddered. "That sounds vaguely sexual and really gross."

The bugs cheered.

"Right," I muttered to myself. Note to self – cockroaches are not good judges of appropriateness. "The IRS… they just accept this? No questions asked?"

"Oh hell no." Rodney asked. "The IRS acts like a bedbug in heat. They'll stab you in the abdomen and use the hole to impregnate ya', but as long as ya's careful about inurement to insiders, they can't nail shit on ya. That don't mean yous can't accrue private benefit. Private benefit can be substantial before jeopardizin' that tax exempt status. It's awesome."

"That's… a really gross but entirely too descriptive analogy. Thanks. How did you guys ever learn all this stuff?"

"It's instinctual." Rodney said. "Only thing more difficult to eradicate than us roaches is bad laws."

"Will you guys help if I decide to form a church?"

"Absolutely!" "Sure thing, toots!"

"We're not calling it the Church of the Holy Feeler."

"Awwww…."

Before I could actually start depositing money, I had to figure out what I was going to call the church. Even though churches were technically exempt, I still wanted to make sure that I had a water-tight case to prevent them from coming after me, and that meant filing the appropriate applications. Almost every single name the bugs suggested was completely inappropriate. In the end, we went with a generic sounding name – the Church of the Survivor. I wasn't happy with it, but the bugs accepted it, and in the end I decided I could live with it as well.

We decided to use the address of the building I was in as the "church's" headquarters. I skipped classes on Monday so that I could go down to the nearest IRS office and city hall and grab some of the application forms. With the help of the roaches, I filled them out, made copies, and mailed them off. The city's forms I took down to the city hall and filed with the with the city's registrar. The City of New York's official fee was $25 bucks. I paid in cash, of course.

Rodney and the rest then went to work. While I slept that night, they infiltrated the offices of the IRS and the New York City government, filed the appropriate forms, typed up the approval letter, stamped, signed, and sealed the necessary documents, and brought copies back to the apartment.

And just like that, I was "official." The best part was, no one had ever really looked at the documents, so no one was ever really going to notice that I was associated with the church. I thanked them by buying breakfast of donuts and waffles, delivered.

That afternoon, with a copy of the IRS approval letter in hand, I went to a print shop and had them design and print a generic donation receipt form (in bulk) with my new church's name, and a bunch of flyers to post up in random areas. I didn't want to post anything, but the roaches insisted that I had to do it at least once or twice a year to show that I was actively engaging in "religious" activities. In total, it cost me about seventy-five bucks, but after I had a legitimate receipt, I was able to start "accepting" donations.

This was the most tedious part. It would have taken forever if not for the fact I had 50,000 willing helpers. The bugs helped me sort cash into random stacks of various amounts, labeled by day, amount, and time, going back about six years. That "donation" was then entered into a piece of accounting software, and the relevant details were added to make a record of the transaction. Once logged, the "donation" was wrapped in a rubber band with a deposit slip.

It took all night, since we had to create over 2,100 records. Plus, we had to be careful to show growth in donations over time. The first donation "receipts" were for small amounts, though the donations on the Saturday "church service" days grew larger over time. In the end, some of the "services" took in over $10,000.

I found that hard to believe. The bugs assured me it was pretty normal for a small church with a large congregation. Given that nearly every bug in the city qualified as part of the faithful, it was safe to say that the adherents of my small church were large in number.

The next obstacle was trying to figure out how to get the cash to a bank. I wanted it out of the house. I ended up buying several thousand plastic deposit bags from a bank supply store, and with the help of the roaches, stuffing each "donation" into a bag, labeling it, and then stacking them in a corner of the apartment.

I went over the plan with the bugs to make sure I wasn't making a mistake, because as soon as I went public with this I'd be inviting some serious scrutiny. We discussed it at length, and I only followed through because the bugs assured me that my case was air-tight. Sure, I'd be subjected to a great deal of scrutiny at first, and the Feds would probably try and make things uncomfortable for me, but I could deal with that.

Even though I didn't want their attention, I'd rather have them keeping tabs on me if that kept me and the money safe. As an added bonus, the landlord and his thugs were less likely to move against me if there was a strong interest in my affairs from the law enforcement types.

Then I contacted a bank recommended by Rodney. According to him, they had the most lax regulations regarding charitable accounts and the best interest rates. After I called the bank to ascertain they would, in fact, accept large cash deposits, I called an armored car service.

The armored car service came two hours later. Several armed guards came into the building, and they stopped and stared at the pile of money in the middle of what was a shithole of a building. But, they were professionals, so they loaded up the cash (under my watchful eye.) It didn't hurt that I had my handgun visible on the kitchen table while watching them load the bag.

Once the truck was loaded and the cash locked in the back, I followed the truck in a taxi as we made our way to the bank.

The truck parked outside the bank's loading zone as I went in to arrange for a deposit. The teller was dubious when I asked to open an account for a charity, and really, I couldn't blame her. I looked more like a charity case than the manager of a charity - I was wearing shabby clothes and holding a shabby backpack, with a poorly fitting prosthetic. She called an account manager, and they whisked me away into an office.

Once in the office, the manager asked me some questions about the organization, as he typed some information into a computer. I provided him copies of the documents the roaches had secured for me. The process went pretty smoothly until I got to the question about how much money I would be depositing to open the account.

"Eight million, four hundred eighty-six thousand, five hundred ninety-two dollars and sixty three cents." I said.

The account manager stopped typing. "Excuse me? What was that again?"

I took a breath and repeated the number. "Eight million, four hundred eighty-six thousand, five hundred ninety-two dollars and sixty three cents."

"Eight million dollars?" the account manager asked, staring at me blankly.

"Eight million, four hundred eighty-six thousand, five hundred ninety-two dollars." I added.

"Oh." The account said.

"and sixty-three cents," I clarified.

Needless to say, that figure meant that senior bank officials got involved. A man in a pinstriped power suit with slicked back hair quickly came to the office and explained that, due to the large amount of cash I was depositing, they were obliged to notify the government about the transaction and file a currency transaction report. He asked a few questions about the source of the money, to which I explained the fact that they were donations to the organization I was leading. I pulled out print out of the ledger I'd created, showing the donations going back over time gave. After answering his questions, he asked me to show him the deposit.

I took him outside to the armored vehicle. I tapped on the driver's side window, and the driver verified my identity before hopping out. Together, we opened the back door of the armored truck just enough for the bank manager to peek in and see the deposit.

"It's in there. Do can we use the loading zone to get it into a secure location for acceptance?" I said.

The suit (I later learned he was the senior manager) assured me that it would happen. He directed the driver to shut the door back into the loading dock. Once that was done, the bank employees opened the door and helped unload the truck. I was watching the process and chatting with pinstripes about the process, when I felt something land on my hair. Before I could check what it was, Rodney whispered in my ear, "Heads up, toots. Feds incoming."

I looked up, and saw an older, square-faced man with a pot belly and a shaved head approaching. He wore an ill-fitting suit, noticeable in contrast to the bank employee's well-tailored pinstripes. I whispered, "What agency?"

"Treasury. IRS, more specifically." Rodney said.

I swore softly under my breath.

"No worries, Taylor. We got this." I felt Rodney burrow into my hair to hide his presence, but still audible. "Trust me!"

The bank manager left my side to intercept the Fed before he could approach me. I fretted a bit while the bank manager and the IRS agent consulted briefly. The balding man approached in the manner all officers of the law did – with a swagger, a posture that assumed you were guilty, and if you were later proven innocent, it was simply because you managed to hide the evidence before they found it.

I was reminded of the first time I met Armsmaster. I instantly didn't like him.

He introduced himself in the way that was common to salesmen and bullies – he extended his hand directly into my personal space. It was a trap, of course - if I shook it, he'd have pulled me close to him and towered over me. If I refused, I just looked petty.

I'd never really been grateful for my arm, but I was now. I extended the hook to him to shake. He paused awkwardly, thrown off his normal game. But he still bit. When he grabbed my hook, I hitched my shoulder in such a way to cause the arm to slip out of socket, leaving him holding my hand by the hook as it fell out of my sleeve.

The Fed flushed as I acted as if I was mortified. The bank manager came rushing over, clearly embarrassed and unsure what to do.

I hid my grin behind my hand. It probably looked as if I was trying not to cry. It was perfect. Thrown off his game, I used the awkwardness to keep the IRS agent off-balance.

"Umm… can I please have my arm back?" I asked.

The agent thrust it towards me. The motion only accentuated the fact he was holding my prosthetic, as it flopped uselessly in his arm. Using my left hand, I attempted to put it back in my sleeve so I could attach it to the brace but failed, as I didn't have the free hand necessary to open the cuff and slide the arm in. I flailed in effectually, causing both the agent and the bank manager further embarrassment.

"Umm… could you… help, please?" I nodded towards my sleeve. I didn't think it was possible, but the two flushed even more and practically tripped over themselves to help. There was much awkwardness as the two struggled to get the end of my prosthesis back into my shirt sleeve and then thread it up the fabric till it reached my stump.

Rodney cackled madly in my ear the whole time, which made it difficult for me not to smile. Eventually, I managed to get my arm back into the socket.

The IRS agent, unable to use his normal tactics, simply decided to charge forward through his discomfort. "Right… Ms.?"

"Hebert." I supplied.

"Right. Ms. Herbert."

"Hebert," I supplied again. " T."

"Ah… right." He flushed again. I almost felt bad for him.

"I'm Agent Decair, with the Department of Treasury. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

Before I could speak, Rodney whispered in my ear. "Yeah, tell him ya do mind. Tell him you're all bent out of sorts, what with he just pulled your arm off and stuff. Tell him to submit the questions in writin' 'cause you ain't in da frame o' mind ta answer no questions no how."

"Actually, I'm so embarrassed right now that I just don't think I could." I even managed to stutter. "I'd be happy to answer your questions if you submit them in writing to my organization."

He didn't like my answer, judging by the look on his face. But he was forced to acquiesce, particularly after the dirty look the bank manager shot him.

It took a bit of time to get the armored truck completely unloaded and the money accounted for. Agent Decair had enough time for his embarrassment to turn to anger. He sat in the room watching the money get counted, shooting me nasty looks. I ignored him.

Unsurprisingly, the count found some counterfeit bills. Those that were found were pulled out and set aside. The manager didn't make an issue of it, stating they found similar patterns in any large donation. Given that most of the bills were small denominations, the rate was lower than the 1 in 10,000 bills benchmark.

Even with the bank's capacity to count money, it still took some time to verify that the amount I filled out on the deposit slip was accurate. They subtracted the amount of the counterfeit (about one percent of the total), and gave me a certified deposit receipt.

The funds would take a few days at least to clear, but this was one problem I felt like I'd solved. I still had a couple of thousand in cash on hand to hold me over until the money was accessible. Feeling generous, I suggested to Rodney that he fly on ahead and tell the rest of the roaches that we were having a party tonight.

I caught a bus home. I allowed the motion of the bus to relax me as the driver made his way across town, feeling almost giddy about having gotten the money safely into a bank. I watched the city blocks roll by, barely paying attention to anything.

The next day, as I went to class, the bugs helped me with the second part of my plan. All the land surrounding my apartment building was vacant, so they set out to track down who owned it. It turned out most of the lots had been just sitting there, accruing back taxes. The owners were not able to be found, since they owed taxes on the properties and didn't want to pay. The federal government was simply going to seize the land through eminent domain.

It was easy to see how the deal was being put together by Senator Dougherty. The lynchpin was the apartment building I shared with the roaches, though, as it was the last occupied property. Once I was gone, the government would swoop in. The vacant lots would be seized, and since the owners didn't want to show to pay taxes, nobody would protest the seizure. If no one came forward, no compensation would be paid, and they'd get a chunk of prime real estate in the middle of Manhattan for a song. If anyone sought compensation, they'd have to face the Department of Justice. Your average landlord wanted none of that.

Once the bank notified me that the money in the account had cleared, I contacted the city administration to figure out how to purchase the properties. It would take thirty days to complete, but they were happy to collect transfer the titles to someone willing to pay the taxes owed.

The next few days were spent filling out paperwork. My "church" was going to be the landholder, for personal protection. By the end of the week, I'd filed all the appropriate applications and now simply had to wait. Even if the feds ended up seizing it anyway, at least I'd get some sort of compensation.

I was exhausted when I fell asleep that night. I was abruptly awakened from my slumber by a number of roaches landing on my face, and Ralph's voice shouting. "Yo, Taylor! We got a problem!"

Frowning, I sat up straighter and whispered, "What's up?"

"Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum have decided to have a barbeque. Our pad's on the menu."

"What, really?"

"Yeah," Ralph said. "And when I say dey's cookin' with gas, I mean it. I can already smell the smoke!"

I swore. Ralph was right. The smoke was already starting to accumulate in my apartment. I already had a go bag ready from force of habit. I shoved a few extra sets of clothes clothes, my laptop, and my records and climbed out the fire escape as quick as I could. I could already hear the sirens in the distance. When I reached the ground, my heart sank as I saw a giant plume of black smoke reaching skyward. In a matter of minutes, my apartment was little more than a flaming tower of stone. The police had arrived, and they were busy keeping people away by setting up a cordon. I spoke to them briefly, and told them that the building had been set on fire and gave the description of Vladimir and Jesus. The Fire Department, meanwhile, was moving with a sense of practiced efficiency but not any urgency, and frankly, I didn't blame them.

Flames roared out of almost every window in the building. Bricks hissed and cracked in the heat. They weren't putting out this blaze. The building was free standing, so they only had to make sure it didn't jump to anything nearby. They had hoses hooked up to nearby hydrants, and were concentrating on wetting down the buildings next to the blaze. Where water hit the walls of my apartment building, bricks exploded from the dramatic temperature shift.

It took surprisingly little time for the building to burn so completely that it collapsed. Once the building's structure was compromised, the Fire Department went to work to quench the blaze.

I stood watching the cleanup efforts the whole day, long after the rubberneckers and the neighbors had left. The pile of debris that used to be my apartment still gave off heat even after the sun set. The firemen were busy wrapping up their hoses and throwing debris onto the pile.

"Man, they sure trashed the place," Rodney said. "I have ta say, it's never looked better!"

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry right now," I said. "I mean, it not like it was the only apartment in New York, but… where am I going to find something nearly as good?"

"Taylor, Taylor, Taylor," Rodney said, waving a foreleg at me. "I'm surprised at you! It sounds like you're giving up! Give up ain't in our vocabulary! You're a survivor, like us roaches."

As Rodney spoke, a bunch of roaches crawled out of the woodwork to surround us.

"You know how come us roaches have been able to outlast the dinosaurs?" Rodney asked. "How do we survive poison and persecution? How do we keep on crawling, in the face of overwhelming odds?"

The roaches surrounding me asked in unison, "How?"

Rodney climbed to the top of the heap and waved his antennae. "I'll tell you how: because WE NEVER GIVE UP! A true cockroach never gives up."

The roaches cheered.

"They can stomp us, they can pop us, but they'll never, ever stop us," Rodney said. "Someday the great H-bomb is gonna drop, and we'll have the whole planet to ourselves."

Rodney flew to my shoulder. "I don't care if we gotta call in favors from every roach, rat, and pigeon in New York City. WE AIN'T GIVING UP ON YOU!

Rodney's speech did lift my spirits a bit. "Thank, Rodney," I said. "I appreciate it. Really. You are the best bunch of friends I could have asked for."

"So, what do ya wanna do?" he asked.

"The motherfuckers burnt me out of house and home. I don't take kindly to attacks on my person. I want to hit them where it hurts - I want to own those scumbags. Any suggestions?"

"Taylor," Rodney said, "It's too bad you's a human, 'cause right now, you got me so hot n' bothered I'm emittin' pheromones." Rodney spread his wings and waggled his abdomen lewdly in my direction.

"Eww, gross."

"Hey, don't knock it till ya tried it."

"No thanks." I said.

The roaches called a war council. We sat on a bench in the park in the shadow of the ruins of our old home and decided what we were going to do.

"First things first," I said, "is that I want to bring the pain. Do we know where these guys live?"

There was a murmur of voices as the roaches conferred. The roaches didn't know, but they promised to track them down. A group of bugs flew off into the night while we talked. While they looked, I talked with the rest of the roaches, outlining our plans for the night.

It didn't take too long for some of the roaches to return.

"We found 'em, Taylor."

I stood up. "Good. Can you show me?"

I found them in a dive bar, drinking cheap beers and laughing. The place was empty besides the bartender, who was a middle-aged, swarthy looking man with a spare tire and a dirty apron. He'd probably had never traveled outside of New York in his entire life. I noted the name of the bar, and then went to find a payphone.

There was no phonebook in the booth, so I had to call the operator and if they could connect me with the bar. I fed some quarters into the phone when instructed to do so, and waited impatiently for the phone to ring. The barkeep picked up on the fourth ring.

"Whaddyawant?" he said.

His accent was as thick a Brooklyn accent as I imagined it would be. "You've got two guys in your bar. One white, one black, with mirror image tattoos on the top of their heads. They did me wrong. How much would it cost to get a few moments of privacy with them so I could repay the favor?" I asked.

There was a long pause. "I don't want no police trouble."

"Neither do I. I just want to send a message."

"I don't want nothing broken. No guns." He grunted. There was a pause. "You pay for anything you break."

"Fair enough." I said. "So how much for 10 minutes of your time?"

"Two hundred." He paused. "Each."

"Done," I said. "Meet me outside the door in five minutes. I'd appreciate it if you could get some liquor in them."

"Right. This ain't gonna come back on me, you hear?"

"Absolutely." I hung up the phone. Meanwhile, the roaches found a nice piece of inch thick rebar about 15 inches long for me to use. It held it in place with my armpit while using my left hand to wrap some cloth around the handle for additional grip. The bartender found came out as I was doing it, and just eyed me but said nothing.

"You got da cash?"

I handed him five hundred in cash. He counted it quickly, and just nodded. "Gimme about 15 minutes to get some more booze into them."

Some of the roaches with me agreed to eavesdrop on the pair to make sure they weren't getting tipped off. The bartender was good as his word, and plied the two with a couple of free shots of cheap liquor in addition to the beers they were drinking. The roaches kept streaming in and out, giving me updates about what was being said.

Turning to the roaches, I said, "Are you all ready?"

The whole neighborhood's roach population turned out for this. It reminded me of my swarms back in the day – there was a physical mass of roaches thick enough to carpet the entire sidewalk and façade of the building in bug. To be honest, I kind of missed it.

I opened the door to the bar. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were oblivious to my entry, but the look on the bartender's face when he saw the roaches stream in after me clued them in that something wasn't right. Vladimir was the closest to the door, so I lashed out at him first. I smashed the rebar into side of his head hard enough to take him out. He crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, falling into Jesus, causing the thug to spill his beer.

"What the…" He didn't get to finish the thought, as I hit him across the face next with the bar. He went down like a sack of potatoes, clutching his face and gurgling through the blood pouring into his mouth.

Then the roaches swarmed. They covered both of them completely, only leaving the eyes exposed.

Vladimir wasn't very responsive, so I went to work on Jesus. I smashed the bar on each shin, and then on his forearms. I doubt I broke any bones, but I know for a fact it hurt. Each hit made him scream, and when he screamed roaches shoved themselves bodily into his mouth and down his throat, causing him to spasm and thrash on the floor.

Worse, the roaches forced their way back up, exiting through his nasal cavities.

I crouched next to Jesus on the floor. "I thought I told you punks not to fuck with me last time." I raised the bar, and smashed it against his thigh. He gasped, and earned a mouthful of bugs for it. He desperately tried to spit them out, only to gag as some made their way down his esophagus. He thrashed violently.

"What did you do? You burnt my friends' house down. Now, I'm pissed." I hit him again, this time on the other leg. The roaches he'd just swallowed came back up, making him vomit from the sensation. "But I'm a nice person. I'm not going to kill you." I smiled. "I'm going to let you live. But if you stay in this city, I'm going to know about it. I'm going to know where you are, what you're doing, and who you're working for. Since I'm a nice person, I'm not going to target you. Instead, I'm going to target them. They're going to get to experience this every day for the rest of their lives." I hit him again. "Or, you can go turn yourselves into the police. When you leave here, go to the nearest police station and admit you burned down this house. If you don't, I promise that I'll know. And then I'll have to stop being nice."

I hit him once more. "You won't like me once I stop being nice."

I stood up, and kicked Jesus in the kidneys. Vladimir chose that moment to groan. I turned to him. He was much less lucid, but he got the same treatment as Jesus. If anything, it probably made it worse for him, as he had no ability to fight back.

I finished a few minutes later. The bugs receded and crawled out the front door, leaving just the two thugs groaning on the floor. I nodded to the bartender, who stared at me in abject terror. I left without a word.

Ralph landed on my shoulder as I closed the door behind me. "My god, Taylor. I wanna have your nymphs. You were magnificent."

I walked toward my next destination, rebar still firmly in hand. "Thanks. It's been awhile since I've had to do something like that. I appreciate everyone's help. No one got hurt?"

Ralph gave the equivalent of a shrug. "A few of dem didn't make it, but their sacrifice will be remembered. Besides, I can't wait to see da looks on der faces when they shit roach bits."

"Yeah, that will work." I gave a grim smile at the image. I chucked the piece of rebar into a back alley as I walked.

It took a bit of time to get back to the ruins of my old building. I'd stashed my stuff here before going to visit the two goons, and now I wanted to grab it so that I could check into a hotel and call my dad. To my surprise, Lily was standing there crying over the garden while the piece of eye candy, Joe, stood next to her awkwardly patting her back.

"Oh, Taylor! You're alright! Thank god." She rushed over and gave me an unsolicited hug.

"Um… Hi?"

Lily blushed. "Sorry, I was just so worried. Are you okay?"

"I'm… okay, actually." I looked over the ruined lot. The collapse of the building had ruined most of the gardening work Lily had overseen just the weekend before. "Sorry about the garden," I said.

She wiped her eyes. "It's okay. I'm just glad no one was hurt. Do you need any help?"

Before I could answer, a limousine pulled up to the curb. The back door opened, allowing Senator Dougherty to exit.

"Daddy!" Lily ran over to him and gave him a hug.

"Hi pumpkin." He straightened from the hug and looked over the burnt out wreck. "Who are your friends?"

"Dad, this is my friend Joe" the two shook hands "and Taylor. She's the community organizer I told you about."

The senator turned to me. Unlike most, he noticed my arm, so rather than reach out to shake my hand, he gently grabbed my left hand with his right and bowed over it, as if he were kissing my knuckles. He let go and straightened up. I have to admit, it was the classiest manner I'd ever seen anyone deal with my injury.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Taylor. Lily was simply gushing about how much you helped her with this park." He turned to look at the burnt out ruin it had become. "I'm so sorry that this happened."

I shrugged. "It's okay. It's just a building. The park can be fixed pretty easily. The most important thing is that nobody was hurt by the arsonists."

"Well said!" the Senator exclaimed. "Wait – arsonists?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah. I witnessed the landlord's nephews burning down the building. I've already filed a report with the police. I mean, I was in the building when they tried to burn it down. If I hadn't gotten out when I did..." I trailed off. "I hope they'll catch them soon."

The Senator's face grew ashen. At that moment, the landlord arrived in his Cadillac. He was all smiles as he got out of the car. "Senator."

The Senator shook Alberto's hand, but released it after only a quick pump or two. "Mr. Bianco. What a tragedy this is. This young lady was just telling me that was possibly a case of arson. I hope that's not the case, but I'll be waiting for the police report."

With a nod, he quickly stepped past Alberto and towards his limo. "Lily, darling, do you want to come with? What about your friend Joe?"

"Sure." Lily grabbed Joe's hand and pulled him towards the car. "Oh, I almost forgot!" She let go of Joe and ran back to me. "Do you need a place to stay?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No, I'm okay. I would like to talk to Mr. Bianco, though." After some additional assurances from me that I didn't need help, she finally got into the limo with Joe.

That left me alone with Alberto. Or, maybe it was more accurate to say that left Alberto alone with me and my friends.

The manhole cover behind Alberto slid open silently, and a biblically apportioned swarm of roaches poured forth. It wasn't a silent process. Alberto watched in horror as the roaches piled on top of each other until the created mounds of insects nearly as high as I was tall, creating a semi-circle behind the landlord and effectively trapping him in with me.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Bianco. We've never met, but my dad has told me all about you - he called you his mom's helpful landlord Alberto." I said.

Alberto said nothing; he simply alternated between looking at me and looking at the roaches surrounding him.

"Your nephews did something very stupid today." I said simply.

Alberto seemed to have recovered somewhat now that he realized that the bugs weren't going to get any closer.

"Yeah, and what was that?" he asked.

"They set fire to this building you owned. Unfortunately for them, there were lots of witnesses." I said. I didn't have to tell him that the witnesses were all roaches, but I figured I'd let him sweat it out. "The police already determined it was arson. Given the burn pattern and how quickly the building collapsed, they were able to guess right away that an accelerant was used." Or they would, anyway. The roaches assured me that they'd change the reports to make sure that was the case.

"Why do you care?" he asked.

"I care because your nephews burnt down my friends' house. Those two have idiots have neither the brain power nor the motivation to act in this way without orders. Ergo, you told them to." I said.

"So?" He said. "It's my building."

"True. But you're never getting insurance to pay for a new one, and arson is a felony. Given that there was still someone in the building when they lit it up, all three of you are facing serious prison time. Which means you won't be around to enjoy the proceeds of selling the land the building rests on."

"You can't prove it," Alberto said.

"I don't have to. You saw how quickly the Senator tried to leave when you showed up. The whiff of scandal's going to be enough to keep Senator Dougherty's plan from happening. In the end, you'll be sitting on steaming pile of nothing, for which you're going to owe taxes every year. You've got a problem."

"And I suppose you have a solution?" Alberto sneered.

"Yes. You are going to sell me the land." I said.

He laughed.

I stepped closer, getting into his personal space. I was much taller than him, forcing him to look up. "That wasn't a request." The insects in the room all started to buzz. "You can either do it peacefully, or you'll find a cockroach in every bite of food you ever take for the rest of your life. Your life will literally become a bug infested hell. Ask your nephews about it when you see them."

"You'll be getting a letter from an organization that represents my interests tomorrow. It is the best offer you're going to receive. I suggest you take it." With that, I turned and left, grabbing my bag of stuff. I walked towards 5th Avenue to catch a cab. The bugs all dispersed, crawling into the sewers or flying away.

"You think he'll sell?" I asked Rodney.

"It don't matter one way or another. We own his ass," Rodney said.

Epilogue

I hummed as I tacked the meeting flyer up onto the bulletin board in front of my apartment building.

The flyers were an inside joke, as they looked like an impressionist painting of my "church" done in shades of red and brown. Only I knew it was simply a picture of the roaches making shapes.

I smiled at the picture. It never failed to amuse me. Notice posted, I went back inside and posted a copy on the inside board.

The building was substantially different from everything else in the neighborhood, as the ground floor was glass, steel, and wood. It wasn't intimidating like many modern structures - the glass let in light, while the steel beams had been used to create a vaulted catherdralesque interior, two stories high. The third story was my apartment, and it was clad in brick and wood, with steel and concrete elements. It was done by a high-priced architect, and the chief criteria be that it fit into neighborhood but be clearly evident that it was a center of civic activity.

It looked like an open air pavilion with a rooftop garden. The press loved it; the New Yorker did an extensive profile of the building. There was a hidden feature that didn't make it into the gushing reviews - the basement was essentially a gigantic terrarium for all my six legged friends.

It had cost a freaking fortune. I was lucky that my "friends" continued to "find" donations every day.

The last five years had been… good. Surprisingly good. That wasn't to say that it had been easy. I busted my ass and graduated with a near perfect grade point average with a double major in biology (with a focus on entomology, naturally) and chemistry. Many of my original roach friends had died, but their progeny lived on. Even well cared for, a roach just didn't live more than a couple of years. On top of that, the responsibilities of my "church" had taken on an increasing level of importance. What had started as a means to shelter money had actually taken on a life of its own. I mean, there wasn't really a theology to speak of beyond cooperation, consideration, and peaceful coexistence. But it was becoming a fixture in the lower east side, as it was a safe space for conversation and mediation.

The criminals learned pretty quickly to keep out of my hood. Having spies everywhere to let me know when illegitimate dealings were happening made it pretty hard to function effectively as a criminal. Dealers and pimps in my neighborhood found more often than not that they contributed their funds as donations to my organization, and that money was used in turn to create an environment where they couldn't operate.

The community supported me, too. It didn't hurt that I was pretty much the richest person in the neighborhood now. But, beyond funding the construction of my apartment, most of my money was channeled into giving grants to local nonprofits focused on improving the lives of the neighborhood's occupants. Money was a sure way to make friends.

It was amazing how easy it was to administer and monitor grants when you could just ask the bugs in the area if anyone was skimming off the top. Word got out pretty quickly that you didn't try and cheat on your grants or the money would get yanked.

As a result, only real applications showed up. Most were for small things - window boxes and cosmetic work to buildings to beautify buildings. Sidewalk repairs. But small changes prompted larger ones. The part next to my rebuilt apartment now had a playground, and it was used by kids all across the city. I managed to purchase a few blocks of derelict buildings and converted them into green space. The neighborhood was changing. People wanted to live here now.

It also helped that Senator Dougherty loved what I was doing. He also loved the campaign contributions. Thinking about the Senator made me smile. His fetish for women's undergarments aside, he was a valuable ally and his daughter Lily had become a good friend. She really was the driving force behind many of the community initiatives. I just supported her financially.

She was still with Joe. He was nice, and totally devoted to Lily. He wasn't the best conversationalist, but he was loyal and hardworking, and had carved out a niche for himself as supplier of pork products to high end city restaurants using his connections back in Iowa. He was making a living and they were both happy. Lily had invited me to the wedding, and I was looking forward to serving as her maid of honor for her upcoming nuptials.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I was startled by a strong pair of arms wrap around my waist and and a light kiss was planted on the back of my neck.

"A penny for your thoughts?" A deep voice rumbled softly in my ear. The owner of the voice planted a light kiss behind my ear.

"Mmm…" I leaned back into his body. "More of that, please."

He obliged, sending shivers down my spine. Robert and I had met about six months ago at a fundraising dinner hosted by the Senator. We'd been seated next to each other. I immediately noticed him as he was exactly my type - tall, built, and immaculately dressed. It didn't hurt that he was extremely handsome and had a smooth, mocha-colored complexion.

Unfortunately, he was there with another date. She spent much of the evening glaring at me, as Robert and I spent most of the evening engrossed in each other. We spent the whole night talking. In a city full of rich investment bankers, he'd made his money by inventing computer programs that let them automate trades. It turned out we'd both gone to the same school, though he'd graduated when I was a freshman. I almost felt bad for his date, because she had a playboy bunny body and a killer face, but her personality was simply… lacking. They weren't really an item - this just wasn't the kind of event someone went stag to.

She was intent on latching on, though. Unfortunately, he only had eyes for me. The feeling was mutual.

When his date left in a huff, he apologized and made to leave. I didn't let him. We left together that evening in a cab.

He only realized I had a prosthetic once he'd gotten my shirt off, and beyond a brief shrug, he didn't pause. Not that a lot of guys really had made it this far, but the few that did had reacted badly to seeing my arm, even my current version, which was a was a top of the line life-like model with cybernetics that hooked directly into the bone. Needless to say, if I hadn't been ready to sleep with him before, I was at that point.

Then my roach friends crashed the party. The little fuckers followed us to his apartment, and in their eagerness to make sure I was happy and protected, they accidentally fell out of his light fixture where they had been spying on us and into the bed.

By into the bed, I mean, we got a cockroach shower just as I had gotten him completely naked and he was about to pull of my last remaining piece of clothing.

I was pissed, of course. I yelled at them, and they promptly vanished before they could get squished. Sitting on his bed in only my bikini bottoms as I apologized to him and explained I could talk to insects still ranks right up there as one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.

To my surprise, he didn't ask me to leave. He did asked if I wanted a shower.

I said yes.

He asked if he could join me.

I said yes many times that night.

I later learned that Lily had set us up. It was just one more reason I was glad she was my friend. Beyond the physical attraction and compatibility, Robert and I just clicked. I'd opened up to him pretty quickly, and I'd told him all about my past. He was no angel, either. Doing business in a city like New York meant you had to compromise sometimes. But he was a good man, and I loved him. I had introduced him to my dad a couple of months ago, and last night Robert and I had discussed the future in a way that made it pretty clear a marriage proposal was forthcoming. I fully intended to say yes.

"Ohhhh! Taylor's gonna get some!"

I pulled my attention away from the wonderful things happening to the back of my neck. "Ralph Jr., so help me god if any single one of you interrupt me for the next…" I glanced back at Robert, eyebrow raised.

"Two hours." he said, then went back to nuzzling my neck.

I smiled, and picked up my rant where I left off. "... two hours, there are going to be a lot fewer bugs in this apartment. Got it?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twists Sheesh!" I heard a bunch of bugs laugh.

"Oh, I won't. I don't plan on wearing any." I turned in Robert's embrace and whispered to him, "Now, where were we?"

I ended up having to chase Ralph Jr. and the rest away again, as we ended up needing more time. That was okay, though. As Robert gently ran his hands through my hair, I could feel him gently trace the two dimples on my skull from Contessa's shots.

I smiled, and snuggled in close. I might hate the bitch, but if I ever saw her again, I'd say thanks. After I put two bullets in her skull, of course.