Disclaimer:

This work is a piece of fanfiction, created purely for the enjoyment of the fans and not for any monetary benefit.

Rebirth 1.3

A dull, constant hum filled the air as the bus rumbled beneath me, the engine's growl a distant lullaby in the backdrop of my swirling thoughts. As my gaze floated out the window, I watched the city lights slide by in a blur of neon, thinking back to the day's events.

Excluding the initial confrontation with the terrible three, I had a pretty uneventful day. Greg kept trying to talk to me, but he got the hint when I kept ignoring him. For over 15 solid minutes of his voice droning on about some sort of new Armsmaster toy. Even that didn't ruin my mood though, nothing excluding an endbringer attack would have dampened my mood after my success today.

You finally did it, Taylor, I mused, allowing a slight smile to touch my lips. You stood your ground. The recollection sent a surge of strength through me, tingling like static in my veins.

Emma, Sophia, Madison—names that once sent chills down my spine were now nothing more than faded echoes. I stood up to them today, and not just in a quiet, keep-my-head-down kind of way. I looked them in the eye, my voice steady, my resolve unwavering. Their cruel words, their snide looks, meant nothing to me anymore. They couldn't touch me.

Not anymore.

I leaned my forehead against the cool window, feeling the tremors of the moving bus seep into my skin. Outside, the world was still, save for the rushing wind that picked up every now and then. Wind. My element. My secret weapon.

Just think about what you can do with your power, Taylor. I thought back to the way I'd manipulated the air currents today, a feat so extraordinary, so beyond the ordinary, it should have terrified me. But it didn't. I felt...elated. Powerful.

Don't get me wrong. I wasn't looking to be a bully, not like them. I'd always believed that powers didn't inherently make someone better or worse, they just...were. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel a little superior to them now.

They might have their biting words, their social power, but I could control the very air they breathed. It wasn't a fair fight anymore. The playing field had been completely changed.

Does that make me a bad person? I asked myself, my eyebrows knitting together. I shook my head, pushing the thought away. I wasn't like them. I didn't use my power to hurt, to belittle, to make others feel insignificant. No, I was using my power to protect, to rise above their petty games.

The bus turned a corner, and my house came into view. It felt like an era had ended, and a new one was just beginning. The fearful, submissive Taylor was receding, replaced by someone...stronger.

I was uplifted, hopeful. Excited for the future. After all, I wasn't the same old Taylor anymore.

The bus rumbled to a halt at my stop, the doors hissing open to welcome the cool night air. I stood, my heart pounding a steady rhythm of anticipation as I stepped onto the sidewalk and stared at my house. It looked the same, yet everything felt so different.

I suppose it could be because everything WAS different. I was a cape, and with what I think my power could do. I was a pretty darn powerful cape. I mean control over air is just so incredibly versatile. It's almost like having a form of telekinesis. I can push things, pull things.

Applying just that, the ability to pull and push air, I could theoretically do so many different things. I could bend air to my will, I had so much opportunity. Heck I could probably fly.

Fly. The word alone sent a thrill through me. The thought of myself, soaring above the rooftops, carried on gusts of wind under my control, was both daunting and exhilarating. I could do more than just levitate, I could send powerful blasts of air, strong enough to launch a person, if I wanted. I could probably even sense vague movements too, like an extra sense, a radar that alerted me of big changes in the air around me.

But what will you do with this power, Taylor? The question hung in the air, as present and looming as the falling sun above. Yes, standing up to my bullies had been an incredible feat, but it also felt somewhat...insignificant compared to the potential I held.

Suddenly, the idea of superhero patrols didn't seem so far-fetched. I remembered seeing the news reports, the costumed heroes with their flashy powers intervening in crises, stopping criminals, saving lives. Could I be one of them? The thought sent a strange chill down my spine, a mix of fear and excitement.

I could see it, images playing out in my mind like a movie trailer—Taylor, the elementalist, patrolling the dark streets, shielding the innocent with walls of air, stopping crime with blasts of wind, dousing fires with summoned cyclones, and soaring through the air. It seemed surreal, fantastical even, yet...possible.

Why not? The question was more of a challenge than a doubt. Yes, the thought of stepping into danger, of making enemies, was terrifying. But so was the idea of having this power, this potential, and doing nothing with it. What was the point of having the ability to help, to make a difference, if all I was going to do was gloat over my victory over some schoolyard bullies?

I felt a spark ignite within me, a sense of purpose blooming. I had these powers, and I had a choice. I could hide away, live an ordinary life and be content with small victories. Or, I could use my powers for something bigger, something greater.

It was time to stop reacting to the world and start acting upon it. It was time to be the hero I always dreamt I could be.

And as I stood there, looking up at my house, a symbol of my old life, I felt the resolve harden within me. Tonight, things will change. Tonight, I will start making a difference.

It was time to show the world what I could do.

"Taylor…You gonna come in?"

My dad's voice broke me out of my fantasizing.

"Dad," I acknowledged, trying to keep my voice steady. His figure was silhouetted in the open door, the soft glow from inside casting a warm light that contrasted sharply with the cold, blue hue of the moonlight. He looked tired, worn down, and that sight alone momentarily deflated my newfound determination.

The fight we'd had was still fresh in my memory, the harsh words exchanged, the frustration, the inability to truly communicate what I felt. And now, with the knowledge of my powers, the secret I was hiding, the gap between us felt even wider.

"You need to tell me, Taylor."

His words from our argument echoed in my mind. But how could I tell him about my powers, about what I could do, when I wasn't even sure how I felt about them myself?

Taking a deep breath, I decided to cross that bridge when I got to it. For now, I needed to maintain the status quo.

"Sorry, got lost in thought," I mumbled, brushing past him and into the warm embrace of our home. It felt different, in the way that a favourite childhood playground feels different when you return as a teenager.

We moved through the familiar, awkward dance of our evening routine. Dad tried to initiate conversation, asking me about school, about my day, all while avoiding the subject we'd fought about. I gave him short, evasive answers, burying myself in my dinner.

But my mind was elsewhere. Every sound was a gust of wind, every movement a swirl of air currents. I could feel it, the power humming in my veins, begging to be used. The mashed potatoes on my plate might as well have been a hill waiting to be reshaped by a gust of wind, the fork a tool begging to be manipulated by my newfound abilities.

"Think of the possibilities, Taylor."

They were endless, and yet, I had to keep them hidden. Not just from the world, but from the one person I should have been able to confide in.

Dad sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken words and secrets. I wished I could reach out, break the tension, and tell him everything. But I couldn't. Not yet.

I know that I really shouldn't be keeping something as massive as being a parahuman from my Dad. But I can already see the panic on his face as he realises what sort of life that means for me. That being a short and often violently ended one.

He'd definitely sign me into the wards without any sort of fair discussion with me, and while the wards weren't necessarily bad. I still wanted to be able to go to them with some sort of street cred, so they know that I'm useful. I had to prove myself.

Plus I can already imagine my Dad attempting to negotiate less patrols, or less action for me as a requirement to my joining. I was not going to be sidelined after I finally found a purpose for myself.

"I'm going to bed, Dad," I announced abruptly, pushing back from the table and retreating to the sanctuary of my I heard him say something in response, probably a goodnight, but I didn't catch it. My mind was already elsewhere.

Upstairs, my room offered a familiar and comforting embrace. It was my oasis, my respite from the oppressive silence that pervaded downstairs. It was time to dive in.

First things first: I needed a disguise, something that could mask my identity, provide a measure of protection, and, if possible, inspire a bit of fear.

I surveyed my room, gauging what was available. The remnants of old curtains, a roll of duct tape, a bandana, safety goggles... Admittedly, not the ideal supplies for a professional costume designer, but they'd have to suffice.

Settling at my desk, I sketched out initial concepts, my pencil seeming to take on a life of its own. A mask, perhaps. Something to shield my face...

The bandana was the clear choice. Its black color was perfect for anonymity, and its size allowed for versatile coverage. The safety goggles, too, would be beneficial, not only concealing my identity but also offering protection from debris.

I manipulated the bandana, folding and tweaking until it roughly resembled a mask. After securing it snugly, but not uncomfortably, I slid the goggles over my eyes. The rubber strap pressed slightly into the skin at the back of my head.

Examining myself in the mirror, I hardly recognized the figure staring back. The mask and goggles lent an air of mystery, and a somewhat intimidating aura…

Who am I fooling? I look like a child playing make-believe.

It was a start, but it wasn't enough.

Next up: protection. My gaze landed on the roll of duct tape, pondering its potential. It couldn't create a bulletproof vest, but maybe it could fashion a rudimentary form of armor...

Carefully, I unrolled long strips of duct tape, adhering them to the curtain's fabric. Layer by layer, I built up a durable material. It was crude, imperfect, but likely more resilient than bare skin. Hopefully it would offer some resistance against anything sharp.

I fitted the fabric around my torso, trimming and adjusting until it resembled a makeshift chest plate. Its duct tape structure allowed a degree of flexibility, molding to my body while maintaining its shape.

Hours later, I scrutinized my creation. A pair of black jeans and a robust t-shirt from my wardrobe served to complete the look. In the mirror, I was met with the reflection of a stranger - one radiating strength, confidence. I wasn't Taylor Hebert, the timid high schooler, but a nascent hero preparing to take on Brockton Bay's injustices.

This is real. I'm actually doing this.

I glanced at the clock. Half-past nine. Late enough that Dad would be half-asleep in front of the TV, and suspiciously late for me to be asleep with a closed door.

I threw on an all black sweater and pulled the hood up. Practical, understated, ideal for merging with the darkness, and hopefully it will help prevent anyone from recognizing me. I was ready.

Okay, Taylor, it's your debut as a superhero. The thought sparked a blend of exhilaration and fear within me. I shook my head, attempting to dispel the sudden anxiety. You can control air, you've faced the locker, you can handle this.

The window swung open at my touch, the night air rushing in, bearing the distant murmur of the city. I paused, feeling the eddies swirl around me, brushing over my skin. It was invigorating, sparking an unexpected laugh. Who would've thought being a superhero could feel so... freeing?

That initial elation quickly faded as my first steps as a caped crusader were, well...less than exciting. I stuck to the shadows, walking rather than jogging — didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention.

After a half-hour of aimless wandering, I couldn't help but laugh. The city was quiet, serene even, with no sign of any criminal activity. Figures, the one night I decide to become a superhero, everyone decides it's a great day to be law abiding citizens

"Guess even criminals need a break sometimes," I murmured to myself, my voice muffled by the mask.

That was okay, though. It was my first night out. No need to rush things. This was about more than just stopping crime. It was about baby steps, testing the waters before I dive in.

After what felt like hours, the quiet was shattered by the sound of loud, crude laughter and the low murmur of voices. I paused, my heart hammering in my chest as I listened, straining my ears for any hint of what was happening.

I zeroed in on the noise, tracking the air currents and the subtle vibrations carried by them. A group of what must be people moving quickly, their words punctuated with sharp laughter that set my teeth on edge. There was something else too, the faint echo of someone young yelling, intermingling with the rougher tones. A girl, if I had to guess, and the unmistakable sound of fear in her curses sent a wave of cold anger coursing through me.

Okay, Taylor. Calm down. Think.

I crouched low, slipping into the darkness between the buildings. Cautiously, I moved closer, taking advantage of my environment to keep myself hidden. As I crept forward, the group came into view, and I felt my heart clench.

They were members of the Empire Eighty-Eight, their clothes branded with the unmistakable E88 and swastikas. They were surrounding a young black girl, no older than me, taunting her with their laughter and cruel words. She was yelling back despite the obvious fear in her voice.

This isn't right. I can't just stand by and let this happen.

There was a real risk here. The E88 were known to be violent, unpredictable, and they were armed. I saw a glint of metal from one of them, probably a switchblade, and I swallowed hard.

If you step in, there's no going back. This is real. This could turn ugly, fast.

But the thought of walking away, of leaving the girl to their mercy, it was unthinkable. I'd been given these powers for a reason, right? And if not to help people, then what for? I came out here tonight for a reason.

I took a deep breath, feeling the air around me pulsate with my nervousness.

This is it, Taylor. Your first real hero moment.

I rose from my hiding spot, my body seemingly moving on its own, driven by a determination I didn't know I possessed. I focused on my powers, feeling the wind begin to swirl around me, my heart pounding with adrenaline.

"Hey!" I echoed into the icy night, my declaration cutting through the sinister silence. Every face in the group swung abruptly towards me, eyes bulging with surprise at my sudden intrusion.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out with my arm, invoking my power. The wind heeded my command, twisting more intensely, growing more formidable. It grew into a potent gust, barreling toward the thugs, precisely aimed at the switchblade gripped by the nearest one.

The gangster yelped in surprise as the wind's force wrested the knife from his grip. The blade spun haphazardly in the air before it clattered on the distant pavement, disappearing into the enveloping darkness.

Yet the fight was just beginning. Chaos exploded, a whirlwind of hollers, curses, and frantic gestures.

I won't give them a moment to react. Flexing my power, I loosed another gust of wind, a tempestuous force that sent two gangsters sprawling to the ground. The remaining members struggled for balance, their feet skidding across the pavement as they wrestled against the wind's strength.

Seizing their disarray, I honed in on the air currents, manipulating them into a swift torrent that whipped their shirts up and over their faces.

Finishing the blind and failing thugs off, I blasted four bursts of air in rapid succession making them as condense as I could.

One by one, the members of Empire Eighty-Eight fell to the concrete, or slammed back down against the concrete after trying to get up. They writhed and swore, but stayed down. Moving to lay on their stomachs in surrender.

I've done it. Exhausted and panting, I stood erect, my eyes fastened on the captive gang members. Relief washed over me despite the lingering fatigue. The fight was over, and I had prevailed.

In the ensuing chaos, the young girl had seized her chance to flee. I watched her figure recede down the street, disappearing into the night.

"Ya ya run off, sweet cheeks," sneered one particularly vile gangster, the swastika tattoo marring his face making him even more repugnant.

He really thinks he can taunt her right in front of me? With a flick of my wrist, an unseen force slammed into his face, nudging his head into the concrete. "Maybe don't get mouthy when you've just been taken down."

"Whatever, bitch," he spat. "You gonna call the BPD or we gonna stay here all night?"

Right. The police. "Y-yes. The police." My resolve hardened. It was time to let the law handle the cleanup.

Author's Note:

Thank you all for reading this chapter! Let me know if you're enjoying the story so far, and feel free to ask any questions. Would love to hear any thoughts or ideas as well!

I'm not sure if I'm ending the chapters at bad moments or not, I'm entirely rather new to this so please let me know! Also don't know if I should be adding more details into the scene :(

Q/A

Spectrum Search- Yea lmao, I've read Omake's before without realizing what they were sooo many times. Couple time's I've had to reread something multiple times before I realize what's going on.

Draco0905-Noted, thanks for the constructive criticism!