January 15th, 2011 - Saturday
Afternoon
"Alright, then. Webweaver, was it?" Taylor asked, while scanning the warehouse with both her eyes and powers. She saw no people, but a plenty of insects of various kinds, all of them dangerous.
"Yes. I must admit, things got interesting even faster than I expected. Brockton Bay's reputation is very well-deserved," Webweaver answered, a hint of a chuckle in her voice.
"You've mentioned looking for local talent before. Where did you come from?"
"I'd advise against asking capes questions so closely tied to their secret identities. A lot of them won't appreciate it." Taylor sensed a brief flash of irritation from the woman, but it faded almost as quickly as it was noticed. "Though seeing as doing my research on you was made far easier by you not having one, I'll even the scales a bit. I'm from Chicago, the rest of my team will decide whether to tell you about themselves on their own. Should you join up, of course."
"Doing your research?" Taylor asked suspiciously. Just where did this woman poke around?
"Oh, don't look at me like that. Why would I not learn as much as I could about the locals before moving in? Particularly ones I'm looking to recruit?" She sounded almost... incredulous? But Taylor noticed something more important.
"Then you don't all come from the same place? How does it work that you're a team, then?"
"While none of us are new, we haven't worked together before. We're a new cell, a couple of us aren't even in town yet."
Cell. Part of a greater whole.
"So you work for somebody else, then? Who's in charge?" Taylor asked. Even if she considered joining what she was increasingly sure was a group of villains, she would not trust some distant, shadowy boss.
"We don't work for somebody else, we are a part of the Elite. I suspect you've heard of us," Webweaver deadpanned. While mildly offended, Taylor had to admit the largest villain organization in the States would be known to anyone not living under a rock. Web continued talking. "Which does bring me to the point of this meeting - you're one of two locals that I'd like to have on board. The offer is simple - money, shelter, protection. In return, you help us remove the other gangs from the city, help fight heroes, and should the worst happen, rescue any of us that are captured. We will not ask you to kill, nor do we intend to escalate that far against heroes ourselves - however, I won't pretend it cannot become necessary when dealing with the other gangs. We do intend for our presence to be an improvement for this city."
"Improve the city? Hardly a believable goal for a villain group." Taylor just knew something about this was too good to be true.
"You're skeptical, but ask yourself - what's the long-term business in a city where cape fights happen every week and the common people struggle to get by? This is an investment, and we will expect returns."
Taylor considered this for a moment, but decided not to take someone who didn't even pause at being called a villain at her word.
"And if I refuse the offer?"
"Then we go our separate ways. We do nothing to you - unless you act against us or spread what I've told you around. Don't expect us to do you any favors again, however. I'll take it you're not interested, then?"
"No." Taylor's voice was firm. She would not become a villain. Webweaver sighed, irritated.
"Very well then. When you change your mind, get in touch," she said, while fireflies carried a card to Taylor. On it was a phone number. She put it in her jacket's inner pocket, then turned to leave, eyes and ears peeled for any suspicious actions by the bugs. She walked out into the daylight unmolested. A motion in the corner of her eye drew her attention, and she saw the blue-clad man who had distracted Stormtiger. He was casually walking down from a nearby rooftop - on thin air. He raised a hand in a wave, she shook her head. He shrugged and reached the ground, turning towards the warehouse. Taylor went off in search of a new place to set up in. She'd have to go somewhere away from both the Empire and Webweaver - being evicted from what she thought of as a safe place once was bad enough, and Weaver had already shown she's perfectly comfortable spying on her.
~o~o~o~
Taylor quickly eliminated the Boat Graveyard as a possibility. Both the gangs and the PRT kept an eye on it due to the tendency of new capes to test their powers on shipwrecks (and new Tinkers to come looking for salvage), which combined with the squatter problem meant she'd get found faster than the last time. She'd stand out a bit too much in ABB territory, and Empire territory was out for obvious reasons. She hadn't pissed off the Merchants yet - probably - but drawing attention to herself when some junkies got ideas and she had to fend them off seemed inevitable.
She supposed she could try to find another abandoned warehouse, but even in Brockton Bay there were only so many of those that were truly abandoned. Lost in thought, she snapped out of it when she found herself walking down a familiar street. The Dockworker's Association was visible in the distance, seemingly lifeless on a Saturday afternoon. Her breath hitched at the reminder of her dad. Was he working himself to death again until his colleagues dragged him out of the building, like he did after Mom? Or was the Ferry no longer enough of a distraction from all he had to deal with?
Wait a second. The Ferry!
The old ferry station had been abandoned for years, and despite her Dad's best efforts, it was unlikely that anyone would be using it any time soon. New destination in mind, Taylor took off.
~o~o~o~
Taylor hopped the fence and the "KEEP OUT" signs with ease. They weren't nearly as high as the jump she'd had to clear to get into her warehouse, more there for legal reasons than to keep out anyone seriously trying to get in. The missing windows were the most direct access point possible. A solid kick got her into the manager's office easily, the wood rotten after years unattended in humid air, and she sat down to think about the day's events and finish her interrupted meal. The card Webveawer gave her was a leaden weight in her pocket.