Chapter 2: Elastic Strength (2)
The bell rang, signaling the end of another agonizing class. Taylor Hebert gathered her books quickly, her movements sharp and deliberate, as if speed could shield her from the inevitable. She didn't look up as she stuffed her notebook into her bag, her eyes fixed on the floor. She didn't need to look up to know Emma was there. She could feel her presence like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, heavy and suffocating.
Emma's laughter cut through the chatter of the classroom, sharp and mocking. Taylor's stomach twisted, a familiar knot of dread tightening in her gut. She didn't have to look to know Emma was laughing at her. She could feel the weight of her gaze, the way it lingered just long enough to make her skin crawl.
Taylor slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried out of the classroom, her head down. She didn't look back. She didn't want to see Emma's smirk, the way her lips curled in that cruel, knowing way. She didn't want to see Madison giggling beside her, or Sophia leaning against the lockers, her arms crossed and her expression bored. She didn't want to see any of them.
But she could still hear them.
"Did you see her face?" Emma's voice carried down the hallway, bright and mocking. "She looks like she's about to cry. Again."
Madison's laughter followed, high-pitched and grating. "Maybe she's finally realizing how pathetic she is."
Taylor's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She quickened her pace, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to get away. Away from the laughter, away from the stares, away from the suffocating weight of their cruelty.
She pushed open the door to the girls' bathroom and slipped inside, the heavy metal door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud. The room was empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Taylor leaned against the sink, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, her face pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
"Do I really think I can be a hero?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What a joke."
The words hung in the air, heavy and bitter. Taylor turned on the faucet, the sound of running water filling the silence. She splashed cold water on her face, the shock of it grounding her, if only for a moment. She stared at her reflection again, water dripping from her chin, her hair clinging to her forehead.
She looked… small. Fragile. Nothing like the heroes she admired, the ones who stood tall and unshakable in the face of danger. She wasn't strong like Alexandria, or fearless like Legend. She wasn't even particularly clever. She was just… Taylor. A girl who couldn't even stand up to a trio of bullies. A girl who hid in bathrooms to escape their laughter.
"What am I even doing?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't even handle high school. How am I supposed to handle… anything else?"
Her powers didn't change that. Sure, she could stretch her body, twist and contort herself in ways that defied logic. But what good was that if she couldn't even face Emma without wanting to run and hide? What good was that if she couldn't stop the constant ache in her chest, the one that told her she wasn't good enough, that she never would be?
Taylor gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles turning white. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to do something. But the anger was fleeting, quickly swallowed by the familiar tide of helplessness. She couldn't fight back. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
The door creaked open, and Taylor froze. She didn't look up, didn't move. She just stared at her reflection, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Taylor?" a voice called, soft and hesitant.
Taylor's breath caught in her throat. She recognized that voice. It wasn't Emma, or Madison, or Sophia. It was… someone else.
A girl she once thought she could be friends with, back when she was naive enough to believe people could be kind without ulterior motives. A girl who had smiled at her, laughed with her, and then—when Taylor had let her guard down—handed her over to the wolves. She had been the bait, the softening touch before the punchline. The locker.
Taylor's stomach churned at the memory. The stench, the filth, the claustrophobic darkness. But the worst part wasn't the experience itself. It was the realization that someone could spend months planning something like that. Months of pretending to care, of weaving a web of false friendship, just to make the betrayal hurt more. And for what? A laugh? A moment of cruel satisfaction?
The girl—Taylor couldn't even bring herself to think her name—stood in the doorway, her presence like a ghost from a past Taylor wanted to forget. She didn't say anything at first, just hovered there, awkward and uncertain. Taylor didn't turn around. She kept her eyes fixed on the sink, her hands gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Taylor…" the girl began, her voice soft and hesitant, like she was tiptoeing around a landmine.
Taylor's jaw tightened. "Don't even have the decency to not bother me anymore?" she snapped, her voice low and bitter. She still didn't look at her. She couldn't. If she did, she might scream. Or cry. Or both.
The girl flinched, her footsteps faltering. "I guess it means nothing," she said after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I'm sorry."
Taylor didn't answer. She didn't move. She just stood there, staring at her reflection in the mirror, her face pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The apology hung in the air, hollow and meaningless. Sorry didn't undo the locker. Sorry didn't erase the months of torment. Sorry didn't fix anything.
The girl hesitated for a moment longer, then slipped into one of the stalls, the door clicking shut behind her. Taylor waited until she heard the lock slide into place before she finally moved. She grabbed her bag and bolted for the door, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't stay here. Not in this school. Not in this bathroom. Not with her.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, the noise of the school washing over her like a wave. Students milled about, laughing and talking, oblivious to the storm raging inside her. Taylor kept her head down, her hood pulled low over her face, and made her way to the nearest exit. She didn't care about the consequences. She didn't care about the attendance policy. She just needed to get out.
The cold air hit her like a slap as she stepped outside, the wind tugging at her hair and clothes. She took a deep breath, the crispness of it grounding her, if only for a moment. She started walking, her footsteps quick and purposeful, her mind racing.
"I really want to punch someone," she muttered under her breath, her hands clenched into fists. The anger was a living thing inside her, coiled and ready to strike. But who could she punch? Emma? Madison? Sophia? The girl in the bathroom? It wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't even make her feel better. Not for long.
She paused, her steps slowing as she stared down at her hands. They looked normal, but she knew what they could do now. She could stretch them, twist them, reshape them into something stronger. Something capable of more than just lashing out.
"At least with these powers," she said aloud, her voice quiet but firm, "I can take it in a productive direction."
Besides, Taylor knew herself well enough to admit that if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. So it was better to not think about how easy getting payback would be.
Safer.
—
The suit was easy to wear under her regular clothes. Taylor had designed it that way, layering stretchy, durable fabric over a base of spandex and neoprene. It hugged her body snugly, flexible enough to move with her powers without tearing. The mask, though, was harder to hide. She waited until she was alone in an alley to pull it on, adjusting the fit until it felt secure. It wasn't perfect—the edges dug into her cheeks a little, and the eyeholes were slightly too narrow—but it would do. For now, it would do.
Where had she hidden the mask?
The truth was that she had made the absolutely stupid decision to carry it inside her backpack. That's why she hadn't needed to go back home. She couldn't even justify it to herself. It had made her feel safer, more important, just knowing it was there, feeling its weight, but that wasn't an excuse. It wasn't the first time the usual suspects had messed with her backpack or her school supplies. If they had gotten the idea today, if she hadn't been able to stop them, then the whole secret identity thing would have gone to hell in record time.
But it hadn't happened, and she wouldn't make that mistake again. She would be smarter.
There was no point in beating herself up over something she couldn't change, something that was in the past.
Besides, she had more important things to focus on.
She could help people. Save people, stop the bad guys.
Wasn't that more important than her time at school? Time she was wasting anyway. Her grades weren't exactly stellar.
Taylor took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she stretched her arms and legs, testing the suit's limits. It held. Good. She crouched low, then launched herself upward, her body elongating as she grabbed the edge of a nearby rooftop. With a fluid motion, she pulled herself up and onto the roof, her movements smooth and practiced. She'd spent hours training in the abandoned warehouse, learning how to control her powers, how to move with them. Now, it was time to put that training to use.
She moved across the rooftops, her body stretching and contorting to leap gaps and scale walls with ease. The freedom was exhilarating, but she kept her focus sharp, her eyes scanning the streets below for trouble. It didn't take long to find it.
A convenience store came into view, its flickering neon sign casting a sickly glow over the sidewalk. Through the glass, Taylor saw two men inside. One was behind the counter, shoving cash into a duffel bag while the other stood guard, a gun in his hand. The cashier was behind the counter, his hands raised in surrender. Taylor couldn't hear what was being said, but the situation was clear enough.
She hesitated, her stomach churning with nerves. This wasn't a training exercise or a hypothetical scenario. This was real. Two armed thugs. A hostage. And her, in a homemade suit, with powers she was still learning to control.
"This is smaller," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "I can do it. It will be fine."
But that man's life depends on me, she thought. On me.
She took a deep breath, her resolve hardening. This was why she'd made the suit. This was why she'd trained. She couldn't just stand by and do nothing.
Taylor dropped down from the rooftop, landing silently behind the thugs. Her body moved almost on its own, her arm stretching out to deliver a precise blow to the back of one thug's head. He crumpled to the ground without a sound, the duffel bag slipping from his grasp.
The second thug spun around, his eyes widening in shock. "What the fuck?" he shouted, raising his gun.
Taylor didn't have time to think. She twisted her body, her torso bending unnaturally to the side as the gun went off. The bullet whizzed past her, embedding itself in the wall behind her. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't afford to panic now.
"What the actual fuck?" the thug yelled, his voice rising in panic. He swung the gun toward the cashier, aiming it directly at him. "Lay off, or this guy gets it!"
Taylor froze, her mind racing. She couldn't let him hurt the cashier, but she wasn't sure how to stop him without risking innocent lives. She raised her hands, trying to de-escalate. "Enough! Just drop the gun."
The thug's finger tightened on the trigger. Taylor acted on instinct, her body expanding like a shield between the thug and the cashier. The gun fired, the bullet ricocheting off her stretched form and flying back toward the thug. It hit him square in the groin.
"My fucking balls!" he screamed, dropping the gun and doubling over in pain.
Taylor stared at him, her chest heaving. That was a lot of blood. More blood than she had ever seen in person. Holy fucking shit. "I didn't mean to…" she started, but the cashier cut her off.
"Just go before the police get here," he said, his voice shaky but firm. "Thanks for the help… whoever you are."
Taylor nodded, her mind still reeling from what had just happened. She didn't need to be told twice. She turned and bolted out of the store, her body stretching and twisting as she launched herself back onto the rooftops. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, her heart pounding in her chest.
She didn't stop until she was several blocks away, crouched on the edge of a roof and staring out at the city skyline. Her hands were trembling, but she couldn't tell if it was from fear or excitement. She'd done it. She'd actually stopped a crime. It hadn't gone perfectly, but she'd done it.
Again.
And better than the situation with Uber and Leet. The poor cashier had almost died, of course. She felt bad about that, even regretted the fact that she had been the one to respond to the emergency, because everything could have gone wrong. But the point was, it hadn't.
She had done her job, she had controlled the situation, and she had even looked professional doing it.
For the first time in a long time, she felt proud of herself.
—
Taylor lay in bed, her phone glowing in the dim light of her room. She scrolled through her social media feed, her stomach sinking with every swipe. The video was everywhere. Grainy, shaky footage of her stopping the convenience store robbery had gone viral, and not for the reasons she'd hoped.
The clip showed her stretching her body like a human shield, the bullet ricocheting off her and hitting the thug in the groin. It should have been a moment of triumph, proof that she could use her powers to protect people. Instead, the internet had latched onto one thing: the way she'd waddled afterward, her body still partially expanded, her arms flailing slightly as she tried to regain her balance.
The caption under the most popular post read: "Elastic Penguin Saves the Day (and Destroys a Man's Future Children)."
Taylor groaned, burying her face in her pillow. "I feel all heroic and clever, thinking of that at the last second," she muttered to herself. "But I just looked like an idiot penguin waddling."
The comments were worse. People had turned her into a meme. There were gifs of her awkward movements, captioned with things like "When you stub your toe but still have to act tough" and "Me trying to walk in heels after three margaritas." One user with too much time to waste had edited her into a penguin suit, complete with flippers and a bowtie.
"Just my luck," Taylor said, tossing her phone onto the bed. She stared up at the ceiling, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be a hero, someone people looked up to, not… whatever this was. Sure, some heroes like Weld or Armsmaster had memes, but they were designed to kiss their ass, not turn them into the punchline of the joke.
Her phone buzzed, and she reluctantly picked it up. It was a notification from a cape forum. Someone had posted a thread titled "New Independent Hero in Brockton Bay?" She clicked on it, bracing herself for more ridicule.
The comments were mixed. Some people were impressed by her quick thinking and the way she'd stopped the robbery without anyone getting hurt. Others… not so much.
"She saved that cashier's life, but why does she move like a drunk flamingo?" one comment read.
"I mean, it worked, right? Who cares if she looked a little silly?" another replied.
"Silly? She looked like a rubber band having a seizure."
Taylor sighed, closing the app and setting her phone aside. She'd wanted to make a difference, to prove that she could be more than just a victim. But now, all she could think about was how ridiculous she'd looked. Was this what being a hero was like? Putting yourself out there, only to have the entire internet mock you?
She rolled over, pulling the blanket over her head. Maybe she could just stay in bed forever. It was tempting. But deep down, she knew she couldn't. She'd come too far to give up now, meme or no meme.
"Well, could be worse," she muttered, trying to find the silver lining. "Could have been mistaken for a villain or something, I guess."