A/N: I had this idea, had to write it, ran out of steam. But this is a snip collection, and its still a fairly decent set-up imo.

XXXXX

I didn't like throwing up. Never have, never will. Luckily, I had been throwing up a lot less lately. Only about a hundred times in the past two months.

My swarm was building itself up without my adding to it.

I had been home from the Psych ward for about a day when I threw up the first scarab.

Let me run that by you again with a bit more of an explanation.

I threw up a super advanced mechanical bug shaped drone that I decided to call a scarab. The first of which I named 'Joey.' I stopped naming them after the fifth. A despite having over a thousand at this point, I didn't have to puke nine hundred five into existence, I still knew where Joey, Tasha, Robert, Annette, and Daniel were.

The instant the scarab hit the bottom of the bowl in a surge of black liquid from my mouth, I knew it was different from its brothers and sisters. The previous ones were builders and maintainers. The first time I walked into the basement to see a power generator I almost went right back to the psych ward. Or to the PRT.

But given that authority had never helped me before, I decided to wait and see what I could do. Or rather what my swarm could do.

The black metal and the orange lights were very pretty. Even if I didn't fully understand what was happening.

Back to Rambo, the newest scarab's name, he was sleeker, and I got this impression of... soldier from him. Hence his name. And since he was different he got a name. He flittered into 'life' and flew off into the 'tomb' as I had taken calling it. Likely to add his design to the forges that now built the scarabs.

My (formerly much smaller basement, the scarabs dug out and down a bunch, leaving current infrastructure in place) basement looked like what I imagined ancient Egyptian tombs looked like. Except black and orange.

If my dad walked down here, he'd probably have a heart-attack, before he survived and called the PRT.

I wondered where all the metal had come from, until Dad came home supremely chipper one evening a week and a half ago. The Boat Graveyard had been stripped of three of its bodies. Obviously, my swarm was using that metal to fuel its being.

"So..." I murmed to my swarm, they all stopped and I felt like I had all one thousand one hundred seven 'minds' paying attention to me, even the ones miles away, "Can you make me some stuff, so I can go be a cape?"

The scarabs seemed... happy? Like they were glad to have an actual goal, instead of just doing whatever busy work they had been doing.

"And you should continue to make more of yourselves, including more like Rambo. I'm going to need attack scarabs... And I need to know what you're all capable of and what the capabilities of what you're building me are."

A week later, when they had finished building the computer terminal I was capable of using, I almost regretted my choice of not going to the PRT. Almost.

XXXXX

The full capabilities of the technology spawned by the Scarabs was amazing. There was science so advanced it might as well be magic. And I was the one who wielded it. The ability to shatter worlds came as easily as did ending world hunger. I may have been a god for all the power I would come to wield through my swarm.

One capable of killing as easily as I could heal.

I could even pull my mind out of my frail fleshy body and place it in a nigh immortal black and orange one. Something I was currently a bit skeptical about doing.

I looked for suitable names, and double checked them on PHO.

Next week, Serket would walk the streets of Brockton Bay, looking to pull out the poison of the gangs, healing the city.

XXXXX

And then, I died. Or rather, I came very close to dying. And it wasn't even a villain or a gang banger that killed me. Or even something as mundane as getting hit by a car.

Miss Militia destroyed a good chunk of my body with her sometimes rocket launcher. I was blindsided by running into an early morning Protectorate-Empire fight that had come out into the streets. Hookwolf bounded in front of me, coming out from an alley, and I can only surmise the 'professional' hero didn't bother to look, because he lept away and I ate a rocket to the face.

Well, my lower body. My legs were blown off. And to further add to the indignity of it, she ran right by me, crawling to find my legs in my delirious state, without even a glance. It seemed like forever, but upon reviewing the logs later, it was close to a minute before my swarm descended on me, saving me, bringing me back to the sarcophagus I unknowingly had.

How many others had died because of heroes? How many casulties of the Protectorate had been blamed on the villains and the gangs?

I accepted the bio-transferrance, my flesh and blood were not going to survive, and prepared to sleep for another week, waiting on my new body.

XXXXX

I awoke to the internal klaxons going off. I had been discovered, my swarm had my tomb had been found. My flesh-father had grown worried when he could not find me and stumbled across my resting place, and, good citizen that he is, called the PRT.

I flexed my digital muscles and brought the terminal near the entrance to life, splashing an approximation of my new face on it, startling Armsmaster.

"Hello. What brings you to my tomb?"

Armsmaster frowned.

"Your tomb?"

"I believe, filth, that it is considered polite that guests should introduce themselves and it is also considered polite to answer a question when asked."

He really didn't like that. I didn't care. I was now a queen, a goddess, and he less than an insect as far as I was concerned.

"I am Armsmaster of the Protectorate ENE," he ground out though clenched teeth, "And we are conducting an official investigation into the presence of tinker-tech in the house of a missing person. What did you mean by 'your tomb?'"

"Does the Protectorate always do 'missing person' investigations for the people they've killed? This wouldn't be my tomb if Miss Militia had looked before blowing my frail and fleshy body. Or did that not even make the report?"

I waited a moment and pinged off my scarab that was jacked into the Protectorate and PRT computers and looked over the report, all before he could answer. I hadn't realized the reach my scarabs had until that moment.

"No, it didn't. Shame."

Armsmaster paled, what little of his face I could see, but the biometric readings did wonders for knowing how he felt. Like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar, not ashamed of doing wrong, but at being caught.

"Who are you?"

"Serket, who was formerly Taylor Hebert. Number thirty-six of Miss Militia's now confirmed body count. I submited the confirmation for her. I'm sure Hannah will be pleased to have her tally increased. It isn't half as impressive as your seventy-eight confirmed kills. It is certainly impressive compared to Hookwolf's measly dozen."

With a cry of rage, Armsmaster drove his beloved halberd into the console. It didn't even scratch the black metal. Necrodermis. Skin of the Dead. It was fitting.

"Oh, you go to new heights of rudeness! Fear not, for I am a benevolent queen, and I shall have my swarm escort you from the premises."

My scarabs poured out from the deeper sections of the tomb, pushing and herding Armsmaster and the PRT agents out from my house. Leaving them stripped naked in the street. Including Armsmaster. All of his precious tech, gone.

The swarm subsided and marched back into the house, save one. It fluttered and then a holographic projection left its back.

"Brockton Bay is my kingdom. It is no longer a part of the United States and will not accept Protectorate or PRT involvment. You have failed in your task of protecting the people here, and so I shall claim it. This is the first city of the Kingdom of the Pharaoh Serket. You have one day, one full rotation of this planet, to leave, or else I will force you out."

XXXXX

My swarm billowed out my house and descended on the Boat Graveyard, stripping it bare in a matter of hours, even while the Protectorate and PRT bickered and fought amongst themselves.

In the depths of my tomb, I saw now the lengths the Scarabs had been going to. Wraiths, Spiders, even more Scarabs, and a single Monolith woke, all connected to me in a quantum network of awareness. They exploded into action as the monolith in the bay rose above the water and began floating over to my tomb.

Priority was placed on constructing my new vessel.

Then I used my scarabs to hijack every channel on every news station and every civilian radio signal. My avatar appeared on every screen, full of zeal.

"Greetings to you, citizens of Brockton Bay. Do not be alarmed, for I bring news. I have died. Taylor Hebert is dead. Slain by not one of the gangers that pollute this once fair city, but by the true poison. I was slain by the Protectorate."

I could 'feel' someone trying to hack into my signals and shut me down. Dragon most likely. Her algorithms were primitive compared to those of the Dead who Walked.

"I was blown to pieces by Miss Militia, and not given a second thought. I was not even mentioned in her report. She did not even notice my presence, or the smear of blood I left on the ground.

She has killed over thirty people. Thirty six, including myself, that have been confirmed. How many more has she slain that there are no records of? How many has she destroyed and then blamed on Kaiser, Oni Lee, or others? I do not rightly know. But even she is an amateur compared to Armsmaster, Seventy-eight kills confirmed; Legend, One hundred eight; Alexandria, three hundred twenty four; or even Eidolon's mighty six hundred nintey seven. And those are confirmed kills. The records I am now accessing make no mention of even apologizing to the families of innocents slain.

Why would there be? Of course, every single one of these kills are 'master-controlled' or 'gang affiliated.' I assure you, I have never been affilated with any gang. Nor have I ever been in even proximity of any known masters. All I did was go running one morning and end up in the middle of a fight between the Protectorate and the Empire as it suddenly spilled out into the street.

Now you may be asking, how, if I am dead, am I speaking to you? I triggered as cape some months ago when the Ward, Shadow Stalker, also known as Sophia Hess, and her cronies, my former friend Emma Barnes and Madison Clements shoved me into a locker full of used feminie hygene products. I triggered as a tinker. And through my tinkering, my mind survived. By any legal definition, I am dead. But through death I have transcended flesh. I am reborn as Serket, and I now rule Brockton Bay. Where the gangs struck at you, I shall strike at them, no more will their presence be tolerated.

Where the Protectorate has failed, I shall succeed. I shall hold myself accountable for any deaths of any innocents. I shall not act as a legal gang, but as your benevolent queen!

I offer technology so far beyond what any tinker can produce, all maintained by my canoptek scarabs and wraiths. I offer an end to hunger, to wanting. All shall be provided. Medicine that can cure any ailment. Even more, I offer immortality!

Unlike my other offers, immortality alone comes with a price. Swear to serve me for all time, and you shall have all time to serve. Ascend beyond the wants and needs of frail flesh! Wear the Necrodermis! Die that you may live forever!"

My avatar settled down.

"My forces are now even working through the city, fixing utilities, setting up power generators, matter constructors. Do not fear them, for they are here to help. Likewise, do not interfere, again, they are helping. Any capes who interfere, any capes who have sworn themselves to me, will be met with lethal force. Any riots will not be tolerated, but will be dispersed non-lethally.

I thank you for your patience and understanding. Your Queen Serket is watching, and hopes that you will live up to her expectations."

I withdrew myself from everything but the local news station. They could use an interview. It would help calm the fleshy masses.

XXXXX

A/N: Had some trouble with inspiration this week. Not anyone's fault, but I still wanted to put something out. Just a sort of 'hey, haven't forgotten.' And I did find a way to incorporate 'police' brutality and bio-transference. I'm trying to cook something up for Nurgle, spent a long while just staring at Typhus. Also Dark Eldar keep calling to me, since I didn't do so well with the initial Wych Blurb. Might go full Lelith instead of just Wych.

Also had this idea of Biker Tinker Taylor with White Scars flavouring. So many very basic ideas and not a lot to keep going with them. Calliope is not kind to me.