I do not own worm, its extremely talented author is Wildbow. If I did own worm, it would be a lot more lighthearted.
Taylor Hebert regarded herself in the bathroom mirror. Her gaunt form glared with barely contained fury back at her. Rivulets of juice and soda ran out of her hair, down her face, and off of her nose and chin in a steady drip… drip… drip.
She was close. So very horribly close, to snapping. To crossing a line she swore she would never let herself cross.
It wasn't that her brand new bag from the thrift store was ruined, stained by grape juice.
It wasn't that her text books, which were costly replace, where blotched beyond any state of repair.
It wasn't her auburn hair, matted and messy. Her blurred glasses that would need cleaning. Or the clothes that wouldn't be rid of the new stains.
It was the notebook.
The inconspicuous black notebook that she had hidden under the rest of her belongings, to prevent its theft.
A hiding spot where all of the liquids poured maliciously on her had now accumulated.
She didn't have to look, it was a foregone conclusion that it was beyond salvaging.
A spur of the moment prank that had utterly ruined her day.
Every name she had pondered. Every use of her power that she had painstakingly recorded. Every costume sketch. Every note on the local cape scene she had managed to piece together. It was all gone now.
Fat load of good the double encryption she had written it all in had been.
That was the worst part of it all, really. The terrible trio hadn't even been aware of it, yet they had managed to destroy it all the same.
And just for a second, Taylor saw red.
With an infuriated shriek that barely captured the burning frustration she felt, she grabbed her bag with one hand, and threw it bodily away from her. As it smacked into the wall, Taylor stilled in horror, as the impact produced an audible crunch.
Her art project.
The one that counted as a midterm assignment, and that she had forgot was there.
The project due in less than an hour, and was now also undoubtedly being salvaging.
Her ensuring screams slowly devolved into muttered swears as she pranced about the room, barely keeping from punching the mirror for the momentary pleasure of seeing something break.
Eventually, her prancing ground to a halt. She leaned on the counter of the sink and began to slow her breathing. In, out. In, out. Calming herself to the point where she wouldn't attack the next person who walked in.
Again, she looked at the mirror.
Doing so, she picked up on all of the flaws that the trio loved to heckle. Her bony limbs, connected by awkward joints. Her pale complexion, marred with freckles. Her cheap clothing, her worn sneakers, her nerdy wide-rim glasses, her washboard chest.
The only feature she considered in any way attractive was her hair. Curly, long, full-bodied, and a beautiful shade of brown.
Sophia had made sure to hit it with most of her drink.
So, for the foreseeable future, she was the ungainly dweeb they loved to tear her down as.
It was probably fitting in some twisted and demented way to them. Whatever she had that made her feel happy, they had the ability to take away.
Her grades, through the constant framings and sabotages. A two for one deal, as it ruined any chance she had of getting into Arcadia, and away from them.
They took away any hopes she had of making friends by setting her up as their favorite target. With the kids who wanted to be a part of the 'in crowd' participating to raise their status, and rest avoiding her at the threat of the unholy trinity's ire.
The unholy trinity, that was a good name for them. She'd have to remember that one.
A trinity of hell-spawn who were dead set on destroying her future.
Who had destroyed what little peace she had at school.
Who had destroyed her mother's flute. A beautiful instrument that she had left in her locker for a single day. One of the few things she had left of her mother. A memento that they had never bothered to return.
Whatever they wanted her to lose, she eventually lost.
In the damned locker, they had even managed to drive her mad, if only temporarily.
But ironically, by doing so, they had given her one of the greatest gifts she had ever received.
Taylor closed her eyes, and when she opened them, there was nothing but bugs.
They crawled and writhed over every accessible inch of the bathroom, scrabbling in through nooks and crannies. There were thousands of them, perhaps even tens of thousands, with more flying in through the window with each passing second.
It's a well-established fact that insects are everywhere. What that implies isn't shocking until you can flood a room in seconds just by asking them to move in your direction.
Sure she didn't have her mother's flute any more, or her grades, or friends, but she had power.
It would be so very easy to just go Carrie on the school with her minions. So easy to swarm the trio with wasps and poisonous spiders.
Taylor sighed, and slumped noticeably.
But she wouldn't. She was better than that, better than them.
She wanted to be a hero, to save lives and bring hope to Brockton. And if she used her powers in so malicious a way, it would destroy her father. It would make her happy, if briefly, to drown her tormenters in insects. But then the real heroes would come after her. Armsmaster, Miss Militia, hell, maybe even Dragon, if she didn't stop with the three. They'd bring her in for misusing her abilities, and bundle her off to the bird cage. Being imprisoned with the likes of Glastig Uaine and String Theory would undoubtedly break her father.
She was all he had left after the car crash that had claimed her mother's life.
If he lost her as well, he might give up entirely.
She couldn't let something like that happen. Not if she had the strength to prevent it.
With that she straightened up, picked up her battered bag, and dismissed the horde.
Her thoughts returned to the notebook. She could remake it, but perhaps, its purpose was only delaying the inevitable.
She needed to go out, needed to be the hero that she needed herself to be.
No more stalling, no more pointless preparation.
She was going to go out be a hero.
She shouldered the bag, and pushed through the door. She had had enough of school for the day, and was now intent on getting home.
"Interesting trick with the bugs." Remarked a quiet voice to her right.
Taylor froze as still as a statue. Then, almost mechanically, rotated to regard the speaker.
In front of her, a male student was leaning against a locker. He looked to be about the same age as her, with a clean shaven face, unruly black hair, and piercing blue eyes. His complexion was bland, with a small nose and a mouth drawn into a tight line. He was neither smiling nor frowning, merely regarding her without emotion.
He was someone that she did not know or recognize, and he was aware of her power.
But, how? The door had been closed when she summoned her insects, and they hadn't made a sound when they were in the room.
Her expression, a mixture of bafflement and horror, elicited a response.
"You're wondering how I noticed." He enunciated it more as a fact, not a question.
She nodded mutely.
He uncrossed his right arm, holding it out to his side with the palm facing the ceiling.
"Watch." He voiced, maintaining his monotone.
Above the hand, the air began to waver, eventually coiling around the appendage in a spiral pattern. Slowly, the pattern condensed, creating a small sphere of water that hovered an inch from his skin.
Taylor's face showed what little horror it had not yet expressed.
"You're a parahuman as well." She whispered.
"Yes."
"The… water?"
"Hydro-kinesis," He explained. "I manipulate water, and sense it at a short range."
His mouth dipped in a slight frown.
"Imagine my surprise when all of the insects I could feel began to move towards the girl's restroom."
This was beyond bad. He knew her identity. But what was he going to do with it? Best case scenario, he was a rogue or hero. Worst case, a gang member. And there were an awful lot of gang members at Winslow.
With a flick of his wrist he dispelled the sphere, and stared at her with a newfound intensity.
"You need to be more careful with your ability. You got lucky this time, but it could have gone a lot worse. What if Barnes and her cronies had decided to pay you a second visit?"
There was an audible pause.
"They usually don't." She protested feebly.
He merely stared.
"Hero?" He eventually asked, in a considerate tone. "Or Villain?"
"H-Hero." Taylor stuttered.
He nodded at this.
"My name, my name's Taylor Hebert." She offered, rubbing her left arm nervously.
He remained still.
Taylor sagged a little.
"Levi." He replied. "Levi Thompson."
With that, he lurched from his position against the wall.
He walked past, looking at nothing, before pausing a little ways behind her.
"I'll see you out there." He stated, and turned his head to look back.
His bland expression dropped, and a beaming smile graced his lips.
"Good luck." He offered cheerily.
And then he walked away.
It was a minute later that Taylor noticed him leaving the school, exiting her range.
Outside of the school, Levi ambled slowly along, humming an odd little tune to himself.
And then suddenly he stopped, and replied to something only he had heard.
…
"It's her."
…
"I checked in person. She matched the description perfectly, and, you know, who else can summon a swarm of bugs?"
…
"You don't need to answer rhetorical questions."
…
"Yeah, it was that scene."
…
"Are you insane? Of course I didn't step in, it needed to happen."
…
"First of all, the notebook needed to be destroyed. It's what gets her off her ass and out into the cape scene. Second, Hess was there, and I didn't want her to remember me being…"
…
"She's a complete and utter psychopath, that's why. We need some solid evidence before we take her down, or we'll have the entire PRT after us."
…
"I agree completely, but it's for Taylor's sake that we're staying out of it."
…
"Why? Because she won't survive a bullet to the head like we can. That's why."
…
"I agree that it sucks, but bear with me. At least until we can safely nail her to the wall."
…
"I know, patience is critical. Where was I again?"
…
"Right. Thank you. Lastly, I lack the control that you've managed to achieve. I don't trust myself to throw a punch and not liquefy whoever I hit."
…
"I agree that it's an appealing image, but again we don't need the PRT on our case."
…
"I am not making it look like an accident Sarah."
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"I know, but we'll need to stay out of that one as well. We want to be the alternative that she can turn to when Armsmaster shows what a dick he is."
…
"On one side will be a team of villains with a thinker potentially capable of instantly deducing her intent, while on the other will be a job prick for a boss and limited application of her potential."
…
"Oh just after he leaves, I imagine, it'll be a good time to show up."
…
"No, we're not leaving them out of the plan either."
…
"There are three of us, possibly four. We're going to need a lot more help."
…
"I'll have Bentley chat with them, or more specifically, with Lisa, if he can get her alone."
…
"No matter what happens, the robbery cannot go through, both for Sierra's sake, and Panacea's."
…
"Oh, no. We are totally bringing them in on this. In fact I want you to have a chat with Panacea when you can."
…
"I'll grab Dinah when you grab Amy, Coil is not getting his hands on her."
…
"I'll try. But I don't think that I'll be able to save them."
…
"Right, relay the plan to Bentley, we have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it."
…
"Good hunting Sarah."
And with that, Levi continued his slow amble, once more seemingly oblivious to the world around him.