The evening chill bit at Taylor through the thin layer of spider silk that was her undersuit. Despite it, she stayed still as a statue, sitting with her knees pulled to her chest on the fire escape that stretched down into the alley below her. It was dark, cold, and didn't smell nearly as rancid as most alleys did, so it was perfect for Taylor to hide in. The last two days had been beyond miserable; Oni Lee's death was weighing heavily on her. Taylor had opted to miss her college classes in favor of hiding in the city's various forgotten nooks and crannies.

She felt comfortable—as comfortable as she could—in these dark, dingy places. They were, typically, teeming with bugs, so Taylor would reach out with her power; she'd use them to keep herself occupied while she sat with her thoughts. At present, she had a handful of spiders making what she thought was a very pretty doily. It was the seventh one today, but the idle task and the atmosphere of her hiding spot were bringing her some comfort.

Taylor wasn't going to find this same comfort anywhere else. She wasn't in a headspace to see her dad—to talk to him like she wasn't a murderer. She was afraid that if she tried to, she'd break down, and she couldn't explain to her dad that she'd killed a man. Taylor had spent too much time already imagining all the ways he'd be disgusted with her. Not to mention Armsmaster; if he found out about what Taylor had done...

Taylor pulled her knees closer to her chest. She didn't know what to do. Armsmaster would be pissed with her; she knew that much for sure. She could try and lie, but she didn't want to; it might sound stupid, but she'd spent a lot of her energy trying to work with Armsmaster, and she didn't want that to all go to waste. A fresh wave of emotion washed over her, and Taylor did her best to push the feelings down—to push any thoughts about Armsmaster from her mind.

It wasn't meant to be, though; the communicator that he'd given her insistently vibrated in her utility pack. Her control over the bugs in the alley quickly faded as she diverted her attention to the communicator. Taylor fetched it and held it gingerly in her palm. She was hesitant to answer—reasonably so, she thought. Taylor wasn't sure who would be on the other end—Armsmaster or Dragon—and she wasn't sure she wanted to speak to either of them so soon.

She'd have to, though, eventually. The longer she put it off, the worse it'd be when she was inevitably confronted with what she'd done. She may as well do it on her terms; so, Taylor tried to take a deep breath—succeeded only at a sniffle and a shaky exhale—and took off her mask to put the communicator in her ear. Taylor tentatively tapped the earpiece, and Dragon's accented voice echoing through the earpiece.

"Hey, Skitter. How're you holding up?"

Taylor knew that Dragon had no way of knowing she'd been involved with the mess that happened at the storage units—at least, she thought so—so Taylor tried to sound as put together as she could, as unconvincing as it was.

"I'm fine."

"Is everything okay?"

Taylor couldn't bring herself to lie to Dragon when she couldn't even keep her own voice from cracking. Fresh tears stung her eyes as all the emotions she was trying to ignore boiled over. She felt so pathetic, crying alone in the dark at the slightest provocation, and she couldn't help her choked answer.

"No."

"Whoa—hey." Dragon rushed to comfort Taylor. "Skitter, honey, what's going on?"

Taylor tried to speak, but her words died in her throat as she fell into quiet, choked sobs. She wanted to tell Dragon what she'd done—she really did—but she was just so overwhelmed by the feelings she'd been neglecting since she'd killed Oni Lee that it was all she could do to hold herself together in that moment.

"Skitter, you've got to talk to me, okay? It'll be okay, I promise."

"I'm sorry." Taylor whimpered, feeling like she needed to apologize not only for what she'd done but for not cooperating with Dragon more readily; it was just so hard to think clearly, let alone speak with everything that was going on. She felt like a child; she'd messed up, and now she was begging for forgiveness, hoping that she wouldn't be punished too harshly. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. I'm sending Armsmaster your way—he's not far."

Taylor tried to speak up—her kneejerk reaction was to cry "no"—but she choked on her tears and fell into a brief coughing fit.

"Skitter, it's okay. Trust me, it'll be okay. Can you take some deep breaths for me?"

"I—" Taylor started, "I killed him."

"What?"

"I killed Oni Lee."

The following silence almost broke Taylor. She could imagine Dragon thinking less of her for what she'd just admitted to; no doubt Dragon was shocked to hear that Taylor had killed someone. Taylor was still relatively new to this whole thing, and she'd already irreparably fucked it all up.

"Christ, Skitter, I'm sorry… Armsmaster will be there shortly, okay? It's going to be okay."

Taylor nodded absentmindedly before realizing Dragon couldn't hear a nod.

"Yeah. Okay."

The waiting was worse than anything; Taylor dreaded what Armsmaster would have to say about what she'd done. Dragon kept trying to comfort Taylor over the communicator, assuring her that it wasn't her fault and she wasn't going to be in any trouble, and, as much as Taylor hated to admit it, it was comforting. Dragon was talking to her like Taylor was a small child, and it was doing wonders to help her calm down.

Taylor sniffled at the sound of Armsmaster's motorcycle braking as it came to a stop, blocking the mouth of the alley. She went quiet, instinctively trying to hide as best she could as his footfalls echoed down the alley—despite knowing he knew she was there.

"Skitter." Armsmaster called, standing at the ladder below her. "I—Can you come down?"

Taylor didn't answer; instead, she opted to curl tighter into the fetal position, hiding her face between her knees. She could hear Armsmaster sigh quietly and mutter under his breath.

"I'm trying Dragon. Skitter," He raised his voice when he called for her again: "I understand that this must be a really bad time for you, but I need you to cooperate with me."

When he got no answer—again—Armsmaster took to climbing the ladder to the first balcony of the fire escape. Taylor listened intently to the ring of ladder rungs as he climbed up to meet her. When the sounds stopped, Taylor raised her head to see Armsmaster towering over her; his helmet was tucked under his arm, and he wasn't carrying his iconic polearm. His expression was focused but not necessarily stern; he looked almost confused, like he wasn't sure what to do at the moment.

Armsmaster sat heavily next to Taylor, shifting his helmet to his hands.

"I'm not mad."

"You're not?" Taylor asked, the words escaping her before she could think about what she was saying.

"No. You wouldn't be as cut up about this if you didn't regret what you did, and I want you to know that what you did wasn't your fault. Sometimes bad things happen—we make mistakes that we can't take back, but that doesn't make us bad people." Armsmaster inspected his reflection in the visor of his helmet, chewing his lip as he mulled his next words over in his head. "It's my fault you were in that position to begin with. I'm… sorry."

Taylor didn't know what to say; a heartfelt apology was among the last things she expected from Armsmaster. Granted, she did like him, but she'd gotten the impression that he was a sort of hardass. To hear him admit to fault was almost alien to the image of an infallible, confident hero she'd built in her head.

"What do I—What are we going to do?"

Armsmaster threw an arm over her shoulder and gave her a light shake.

"If you're up for it, I can take you to the PRT Headquarters. I need to explain the situation to Piggot so that you don't get pinned with murder."

"He's right, Skitter. We need you to put your best foot forward here; everything will be okay, I promise. Me and Armsmaster will back you up." Dragon added.

Taylor was hesitant; she hadn't wanted to get involved with the PRT or New Wave because she wasn't comfortable feeling like someone was controlling her. Once upon a time, she might've used avoiding drama as an excuse, but that felt like small potatoes after she'd killed a man. Truth be told, though, she had grown to trust Armsmaster, and Dragon's assuring words were helping Taylor warm up to the idea. Taylor took a shaky breath, steeling her resolve.

"Okay."