John "Skinny" Jacobs was well, skinny. He also fulfilled a need in the Bay, especially now. With Lung's brothels gone, and the cheap stock he got from Japan cut off, the field was open for enterprising pimps like Skinny to stake out their claims.

And so, Skinny was at the bus stop. There would be girls showing up. Some were here because they had nowhere else to go. Other's were here to try and link up with the PRT and bask in the glory of their heroes. At least once a week, someone showed up to try and convince Armsmaster to marry them. Once a week for the fresh-faced teens, that was. Older women were a lot more common.

Skinny regretted that. The girls that went down and tried to get Armsmaster were cute as hell, like one 15 year old with boobs and ass that wouldn't quit…

But they were off-limits. Even the ones who never saw Armsmaster had him check to make certain they got home or to a shelter.

His buddy, Hank, had tried to snatch one girl, and he'd learned that the hero's halberd had one hell of a taser. Skinny didn't know if it was because Armsmaster liked the little idiots or just protected his rep… or hell, maybe they were paying him with their bodies. The PRT could have a little party pad for the jerk, after all.

And there was the bus, and coming out of it…

And you just struck it rich. Two girls. One looked 13 and one looked a little older, maybe 15, sisters. Great bodies, and well, nobody checked age when you paid for a hooker. In fact, the younger ones generally were worth more. They blushed, more, gave the show… not like the old hands.

Guys liked the ones that blushed. They could pretend it was from arousal, not fear or shame. Skinny didn't care. It made him money. He just had to get them to come with him…

"Sandy, we don't have a lot of money—"

"Don't worry, Jessica, I can get a job—they say lots of places don't check you ID and then we can try to…"

"That's right, ladies!" Skinny said. "You can get any kind of job you want, but there are truant officers around here…"

"What?" the little girl said, her eyes going wide. "They—"

"Well, they'd probably just take you back to your family…" The younger girl pressed herself into the older girl.

Gotcha, you stupid bimbos… Probably someone was using the younger girl for a punching bag or squeeze toy and they didn't want to go back. Skinny didn't grin. So many of these families did his work for him. Probably told the kids that the cops would just return them.

"I—"

"Don't you worry, I can find you a place, give you a little loan and help you get a—"

"You don't need him." A short girl said. She looked like a recruiting poster for the Empire, all curly blond hair. Cute, but her eyes were hard. Next to her was a guy with the look of the ABB.

"I—"

"Guys like this," the girl jerked her head at him, "just want you to break you into working as prostitutes."

Oh, fuck you… "Why don't you… mind your own business," Skinny said. "Little girl. Or are you going to tell them you can help them?"

"Sure. After you leave."

"And what makes you—"

Before he could say anything, she whipped out her hand and ran a card over his clothes. "What the—"

"You're marked." She handed the card to him.

Skinny opened his mouth, then closed it when he saw the card. A playing card.

With the emblem of an Orb Weaver on it. He stepped back involuntarily.

"Fuck you… you're playing me," he said.

"Stick around and find out, then…" the girl said. Skinny looked around. The flies by the trash can… were there more of them? The…

"Fine, see how well you do with these two!" he spat and turned and started walking away.

"But, we can't go home!" he heard the younger girl wail.

"You won't. We'll take care of you, find out what kind of help you need," the guy said. "If you really can't go back, we can help you get a job, a place to stay…"

By the time Skinny got to his apartment, he was cursing. They were also pimps, and had just used the card as a gimmick. Orb Weaver was probably going after them right now—

He pulled the door open and screamed. A flood of flies just erupted from the room, buzzing around him and flying out into the evening air. In the room, the pizza he'd left out was writhing with maggots.

"Okay…" He could stay in the hotel tonight. He had enough money. Skinny locked the door, turned and—

"John Skinny Jacobs. You've been marked…" The flies rumbled back, swirled around and then formed a vaguely human form in front of him. Wasps flew where its eyes were, their yellow bodies seeming to peer at him.

"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" Skinny said, backing off. He had a knife but… "This is assault with a parahuman power!"

"We're simply chatting." The voice said. "I think you should confess your crimes. It'd go much easier."

"I ain't done nothing!"

"You supplied runaways to the gangs, took money for them. And because of that, you're in my web…" There was a pause. "Until tonight, Skinny. If you don't turn yourself in by twelve…" And then the bugs just flew away again.

Skinny took off. He ran until he got to the road, got on a bus.

She couldn't catch him—

"Jesus dude, wash a little and maybe the flies won't like you!"

Skinny opened his mouth to cuss the kid out, but then he noticed there were flies on him. Buzzing around his head, coming out from his coat… Some were coating the window by him. He turned and ran, hitting the emergency exit, ignoring the yell from the driver as he ran.

For the next hour, Skinny ran. But wherever he went, the bugs just seemed to follow. Finally, he grabbed some insect spray, went to a cheap hotel, closed the door to his room and sprayed until he was dizzy. But he was safe. He fell back on the cool bed, and closed his eyes, ignoring the smell of the spray.

"You've killed some of my friends, but never enough…" Skinny opened his eyes and screamed. The windows were open, the air conditioner running full blast and the room… The walls were covered in roaches, centipedes, other things he couldn't recognize. Right above his face, dozens of black widows were suspended by their webs, poised to drop onto him. "I have a city, Skinny. And more. I am not any one insect. I am all of them…"

Skinny whimpered as the widows lowered themselves a few more inches. He didn't dare move, the bed was covered in bugs, except where his body was. But they could… They could…

"People like you always end up in my web, Skinny. Tasty, tasty morsel that I can feast on… I wonder how would you taste? Or… You can go turn yourself in. Don't worry about the evidence, I've provided it…" Suddenly the bugs parted, the widows running back up, a path opening to the door. "But it's 11:45, so you'd better hurry. At twelve… Well, it's dinner time."

With that, Skinny screamed, and ran to the door. He ran down the stairs, not daring to try the elevator and kept running once he hit the street. There was a BBPD cruiser.

"Let me in, let me in!" he screamed.

"What is it?" The cop asked.

"I'm Skinny Jacobs and I wanna turn myself in for being a pimp—"

"Wasn't that the guy we got the notice on?" One cop asked.

His partner, one of the rare Asian cops on the force, grinned. "Yep. Well, Mr. Jacobs, I don't know, I mean, this could just be a cry for attention, so why don't we leave you out here—"

"Oh god, no!" Skinny pulled the door open and threw himself into the safety of the unit.

"Well, Mr. Jacobs, if you insist, we'll drive you down to the station and see if anything else has come in. But don't worry, our cells are bug-free."

"Oh thank God," Skinny whimpered as he lay in the seat. It had to be the city. No parahuman could have chased him so easily. He'd read that masters had a range limit… No, Orb Weaver really was the city… or maybe just all bugs, everywhere.

I enjoyed some green tea and congratulated myself. I didn't have city wide coverage, but even in the winter, I could arrange my various bee hives so that they did…and it was a simple matter to distribute pheromone impregnated cards to my watchers.

Not only did they attract insects, giving the impression that I was personally watching, the bees could fly back to me and communicate where they were, by the same method they used to direct their colonies. And if anyone was stupid enough to go after my people, all they had to do was swipe themselves with the card. All I had to do was show up once or twice to… make an impression.

My phone buzzed.

ORB WEAVER, JESSICA & SHEILA FRENCH, FROM LARADO. CLAIM ABUSE. I routed the order to send them to be checked by one of the private agencies I had an agreement with. If it checked out, I would contact some of the honest CPS people in the town, the ones that knew me as Orb Weaver, and see about taking care of them. If not, well, depending on the truth of the story, I'd probably just send them back home.

I took another sip of tea and got back to work on my homework. No wonder Dad and his friends always talked about working smarter, not just harder. You ended up getting a lot more done.