Needless to say, I didn't sleep well that night. Or the night after that. Or the next. Haunted nonstop by nightmares and the ghosts of my past day and night, I didn't even notice as a week had already passed me by. Most of that time I wasn't spending tending to my own needs (demons can go hungry, who knew?) or working my ass off for my new landlords, I would be cooped up in my 'room' staring blankly at the walls, or bored out of my mind while I sat in the living room and pretended to watch TV.
Adam did make good on his promise, over that entire week I got my fair share of cleaning toilets, mopping floors, washing dishes, watering weed and coca plants like they were common house ornaments and working as Sherrel's assistant in her own little workshop downstairs. Most of it was heavy work, annoying and unpleasant, but it kept me distracted, and so I didn't mind it all that much.
But overall, the both of them had been surprisingly accommodating of me so far. I always had food, clothes and a place to crash for the night. I was never reprimanded for being lazy, tardy or just generally morose. Adam even paid me a daily wage, despite what he'd said earlier about my debt. I found it all oddly… infuriating for some reason. The only thing I wasn't allowed to do was stay idle. Every morning I was dragged out of bed in time for breakfast, only to then be deposited in the living room to marinate until it was time for dinner, or they needed me for something.
Adam was out most days, which led to me and Sherrel spending a lot of time together. Despite our rocky start, she warmed up to me pretty quickly. I didn't know why that was, maybe she liked having someone else around when Adam wasn't home, or maybe she just appreciated the four helping hands I added to the equation.
As we worked, she liked talking to me (talk at me, more like), sometimes for hours on end. The idle chit-chat wasn't something I was ever in the mood for, not even before coming here, and I didn't find the conversations terribly engaging anyways. In the end, what did I care some asshole named Vox had released a brand-new line of phones? Or that vigilante groups were currently on the rise and running rampant all over Pentagram City?
I knew what they were doing. I wasn't blind, and they were very obvious about it too. Sometimes I'd catch them, staring at me from across the room or as we passed each other in the hallways. Their eyes so full of awkward sympathy and pity, they'd shake their heads and say something seemingly profound to themselves, roughly along the lines of 'newbies having it rough' before they left. They were trying to keep me active and mentally engaged, stimulated enough I wouldn't retract on myself and slowly waste away in my 'room'.
Maybe I should have felt appreciative of their efforts, but often I just felt annoyed and overburdened by the attention. I wasn't some depressed zoo animal they had to keep entertained, and I didn't like being treated like one. Their constant hovering was grating, and worse, their consideration rang false to me. Like a performance they put on for the benefit of a moron they'd suckered into doing their maid work.
I felt…stuck. Not in a literal way, thought the fact I was literally stuck inside since Adam considered me a flight risk did play a part, but mentally. I was being crushed under the titanic weight of my sins. All the guilt and shame, all the regrets and the people I'd lost. I was having troubles with… caring. About anything, really. What I ate, what I wore, the thoughts I had, the things I did, all of it was such a chore.
That first night I'd promised myself I would get my sh*t together, make some plans, start my search, and then I just… bummed about for a week straight. I was restless because of it, antsy and frustrated, which only further compounded on the problem, chipping at my willpower and motivation until all I wanted to do was curl up in a corner and wait for the mold to take hold. I was lost, adrift, unmoored. No way back and no way forward. If this was anything at all like how Dad felt after Mom died, then no wonder he'd been such a mess…
I forcefully broke myself out of my reverie and looked down at my plate of food. Today was bacon and eggs, greasy goodness just hot off the stove. Now, if the bacon didn't look like shriveled purple alien meat jerky and the egg yolks weren't all bloody, I'd consider this a very nice meal indeed. Despite the quality of the ingredients, Adam had proved himself an able and overall decent cook… if not a particularly imaginative one. This was the third time this week we ate bacon and eggs, though I couldn't complain much since it was homemade. I mean, when was the last I had fresh homemade food to eat?
Before Gold Morning hit, my only regular meal routines would have been back with the Wards in Chicago, and the PHQ cafeteria wasn't exactly my idea of quality cuisine. Most of their food was cheaply bought and cooked in bulk, at least the times they didn't just sell prepackaged microwave meals. Nobody commuting from home or with any disposable income ever ate there by choice or for very long. I might have been their only regular, now I thought about it. In my defense, I didn't exactly have free access to my own funds, being in probation and all. My handler took care of it for me and I was content to let it happen, no need to waste our time arguing over something as mundane as food allowances.
Fork in hand I poked at the frowny devil face Adam had made on my plate, with its small horn nubs and fangs made out of bacon strips. The image was so patently absurd to me I couldn't help but snort, a small smile tugging at my lips without my notice. From the side I saw Adam looking at me slyly, giving me a cheeky grin, and the amusem*nt evaporated instantly.
Why?! Why did they have to be so… so… so normal?! Here were two drug addicts living in a dilapidated warehouse, some of the most infamous villain gangb*ngers of the Bay, acting out their afterlife like they were an old married couple with a small business. Every day here felt so…mundane, it was maddening! My whole world was falling apart around my ears and these two assholes over there were acting like it was just another Tuesday. Ugh!
But it wasn't their fault. I never said anything, so of course they wouldn't know about Gold Morning, that the entire world above had gone to sh*t, that I was a cape (had been a cape) or what I was even going through. Instead, they believed I just had a mild case of something they called 'arrival blues', whatever that meant. I was taking out my frustrations out on them because it was convenient for me, because I just couldn't reconcile the image I had of them in my head with reality…
My darkened thoughts had inadvertently brought the mood of the whole room down. We ate in silence. Adam broke it by burping. Very classy. "Wooo, that hit the spot!" he tapped at his stomach. "Ok T-bone, let's get to work".
"What exactly are we doing today?" I asked this time, for a change. Grunts had been my preferred method of communication lately and maybe it was time to change that.
"Excited, are we? Nothing amazing, today we're doing a little customer run. The ushe, but this time you're coming with". He pulled out a small bundle from underneath his shirt. "It's been about a week since you joined us and overall you've been well-behaved, so I think I can trust you with this". He peeled the crumpled wrap-paper off the bundle to reveal a small firearm inside. He pushed it my way.
"Now, this is a great power I'm bestowing upon you, young lady, and you know what they say: 'With great power comes great responsibility'" He quipped, putting on a faux-air of solemn formality. Really? A quote from Spiderman? And the Aleph version, no less.
"You're not funny" I grumbled.
Adam guffawed at my response "I'm hilarious and you know it, bitch!" Out the corner of my eye I could see Sherrel was also quietly chuckling to herself. Honestly, these idiots. "No, but really. Normally I wouldn't take you, but Sherrel is gonna be busy talking to the vending machine rep today and I need the help".
"Wait, people sell drugs in vending machines?" I asked, confused.
"Oh yeah" Sherrel answered. "They sell just about eeeverything in vending machines these days. Even bought some spare panties one time. Had to wash them first, but they got me out of a sticky situation, if you know what I mean". My brow scrunched itself in discomfort at her comment. TMI.
"Must be nice drugs are legal here" I commented. Adam made a so-so gesture before he continued.
"It's not so much about them being legal and more that people just don't f*cking care. Overlords are law in Hell, and most of the time they're too busy screwing each other up to really care about policing. Nowadays, only vigilante groups even try. Raider pieces of sh*t" He muttered that last part low enough I almost didn't hear. "But we're getting off-track. Uuhh, where were we?"
I grabbed the pistol from the table, taking my time to carefully inspect it. The design was blocky, unwieldy and made out of cheap plastic. Honestly, it looked more like a kid's first attempt at drawing a gun than anything else. Small caliber, 9mm, which meant Adam probably chose it because it was supposed to be easy to conceal. It wouldn't have a lot of punch, and since apparently every demon in Hell had a Brute rating, I might as well be holding a pea-shooter.
I pulled the slide back to check if it would jam. I grabbed the mag out, counting the ammo, then stuck it back inside. The grip was clunky on my hand, and the plastic burrs kept cutting in my palm and fingers if I held it too tight. In conclusion? It was awful, a cheap knock-off probably too dangerous to even hold. For baby's first gun though? It would have to do. Having a gun was better than no gun, in my opinion.
I didn't have a holder or an oversized shirt to tuck the pistol in, so I just dropped it back on the table. Gently. "You were telling me about your clients". I said, redirecting the conversation.
"Eh, nothing out of the ordinary" Adam shrugged. "Just some peeps trying to get off the harder stuff, and then the last one's someone trying to spite their boss. I could do it myself, I just don't want to get jumped by some sh*thead all by my lonesome, ya feel me?"
"Yeah, I get it. Are you sure you want to trust me with a gun, though?" I asked with a dubious tilt of my head.
"I don't see why not. You seem to know your way around them, and you'd be useless to me without one anyways" Adam spread his arms wide in a gesture that said 'what else can ya do?' "Of course, it's also a sign of trust. I give you some iron, you still wanna split? Then who am I to stop you, I'll just wish you good luck and hope you get f*cked".
Simple and to the point, I supposed. Not like I was planning to leave them any time soon. "Ok, anything else?"
"Oh yeah, almost forgot. Put this on". He passed me a small blue bandanna. "Gotta represent!" After that, both of them got up and wandered out of the dining room, leaving me all alone. I gripped the blue piece of cloth tightly before going upstairs to change.
I hadn't been entirely truthful earlier, when I said I'd spent my entire days here in complete idleness. During those restless nights when sleep would not take me, or Sherrel and Adam got a little too… loud at night, those were the moments when I decided my time was better used doing something useful, like familiarizing myself with my new…anatomy.
My new body felt uncomfortable sometimes. There wasn't something specific I could point to and say 'that's the problem', it was more a collection of tiny little things which kept adding up. I was taller and thinner than before; I'd always been self-conscious about it and finding myself now a literal walking insect wasn't helping my self-esteem.
The tiny tarsal claws I had for feet left me feeling like I was walking on stilts, awkwardly struggling for balance every time I took a step. My lower arms seemed to have a mind of their own sometimes, fiddling and fidgeting without my input whenever I felt anxious or restless. The wings were weighty and got in the way often, the antennae were extremely sensitive and hurt like a bitch if they got pulled too hard…
Where I was going with this is I was having a terrible time adjusting, but it wouldn't be fair to say demon physiology didn't have its own set of perks. I was stronger and sturdier, for starters. My senses of sight and smell were also much better, I was no longer a blind bat struggling to see 5 feet in front of me without my glasses. The antennae were a poor man's replacement for my powers, it wasn't near-omniscient bug sense or anything like it, but moths were well-known for their prodigious sense of smell, and now so would I.
It needed further experimentation, but so far I'd figured out I could trace every single smell in a room from the other side of the warehouse. It was hard to single out specific smells, or figure out which belonged to what, but with some practice… imagine being able to tell how many people were in a room and what emotional states they had just from a whiff of their sweat? Gross, but cool all the same.
Spitting silk was another matter entirely, one I was having a lot more trouble parsing. It was entirely passive, every few hours I'd get this annoying lump in my throat, one I'd have no choice but to then spit out, basically vomiting out globs of sticky silk. The first time it happened I panicked so hard I thought I'd been poisoned!
With enough concentration I could spin it into threads, or spit the globs out like loogies, even produce it on demand, though the effort always left me feeling hungry. The material came out wet and sticky but dried quickly, leaving me with a strong and durable fabric. I didn't have the knowledge or instincts necessary to weave anything useful out of it yet, but I could always learn. Biologically it made no sense, only the larvae were able to produce silk, but who was I to question how things worked with demons?
Last, but not least, was the magic. 'But Taylor' I hear you ask 'Magic isn't supposed to be real', and to that my answer would be: neither are demons. But I did have proof, I saw it one night, having nothing else better to do other than stare out the window.
A sex worker was walking down the street when she tucked into the alleyway I was looking from. She was wearing a very flamboyant fur-collared dress of vivid blues, greens and reds. She pulled a mirror out of thin air to appreciate herself when suddenly. Poof! The dress was gone, the woman stood naked in the alley and draped behind her back extended these gorgeous multicolor butterfly wings.
I felt too embarrassed to continue watching after that, but when I asked Adam the next day he confirmed to me what I saw was indeed magic, and a very common use of it at that: transmogrification. It made sense; demons were always depicted in mythology as trickster creatures versed in magic of all kinds. Mephistopheles from Doctor Faust came to mind, as well as all those cultural references to tempting succubuses, deal-making devils and the like.
The trouble was figuring out how it worked. Skidmark had managed to cobble together a crude version of his own powers, but when I asked he only told me it came to him easier because apparently his old powers 'felt about the same'. My only guess here was that Shakers and Blasters probably had it easier somehow.
It took me a couple days to puzzle it out, all thanks to copious amounts of mental exercises and my previous experience… controlling other powers. It was a frustrating, unintuitive and mentally taxing process, but more than worth it once I learned how to do things like this!
Flexing my wings to wrap themselves around me, they snapped with a flash of light and suddenly I was standing in front of the mirror with a light grey poncho over my chest. I cracked a smile. Poof! A jacket. Poof! A blouse. Poof! A dress. Suck it Myrddin! I have the magic now! Granted, I only knew how to turn my wings into stuff, and only into upper body clothing, but still!
Now, what to bring for today? Morphing my wings, I turned them into a greyish white tactical vest made out of silk, closely resembling the paneled blues and blacks of my old Weaver costume, just modified to accommodate the extra set of arms. For some reason I didn't understand yet, the conjured pieces of clothing always merged with the fur in my chest, creating this thick mantle around my neck. Sometimes it looked stupid, but I had to admit it looked pretty good right now.
I wrapped the bandanna Adam gave me to cover my face. No point in advertising it to other people. The vest had a pocket holster for my gun, so I strapped it there before going downstairs. Adam was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs to the loft. "Well, don't you look snappy, all private enforcer-like" he said, looking me up and down. "Anyways, let's get down to the van, Sherrel's waiting and we need to load it up first".
Sherrel took the wheel as we headed out. The sights and sounds of Pentagram city passed me by as I pressed my head against the window. The landscape consisted mostly of ruined buildings and depressing looking ghettos, places left under construction or repair, and every once in a while, districts that reminded me an awful lot of the Boardwalk back in Brockton Bay, filled with shops and clubs, chock-full of signs, adverts and fluorescent lights.
The rich people areas were sometimes walled off, sometimes not, but always swarming with private security. The more affluent places had hired professionals, just like the Boardwalk had their own enforcers, while the seedier looking areas just had gang members providing security.
I hadn't been able to appreciate Sherrel's driving skills before, and I had to say she didn't disappoint. She was a madwoman. Vehicles zipped past us at insane speeds, I could hear crashes happening all around me and the screeching of tires as Sherrel rounded corners and sped down the freeways. Three times in as many minutes we'd almost hit a pedestrian, and I wasn't even counting the near-collisions with other cars. I was in the unenviable position of riding shotgun, trying to imprint my fingers on the grab handle as I held on for dear life.
"So, what do you think of Hell, Taylor?" Skidmark asked me from the back. Somehow he was able to stay standing without bracing himself, despite all the twists and turns the van was making.
"It's… hectic". Around the city I could pick out the distant sounds of gunshots in alleyways and the deep bassy thrum of an explosion in the distance. It reminded me of the Bay back when it was besieged by Bakuda, or when the E88 went on a rampage after their identities got leaked.
"Damn right it is. You don't know because you were cooped up with us, but it's been like this all week. Everyone's on a damn hair trigger, with all the newbies around making a fuss". He looked contemplative for a moment. "Lots of weirdos. Capes especially, still trying to act like they got powers. Got funny ideas about the way things should be. Buncha bull if you ask me".
"Why's that?" I asked as we passed a skirmish near a crossroad. Bystanders stood on the sidelines, cellphones in hand as they recorded the fight, with no regard for their own safety. Civilians were the f*cking same no matter where I went.
Sherrel piped in to answer. "Peace down here is delicate, hun. Gangs are well-established already, but when a bunch of assholes come down, think they got the chops and kick up the hornet's nest? Next thing you know gang wars are flaring up everywhere and suddenly your neighborhood is on f*cking fire. I just hope none of those bastards mess with any of the water or electricity".
"I betcha some dipsh*t does, probably tries to hold it ransom, then some Goetia noble comes out the woodwork and tears them a new one".
"How bad would that be?" I asked. Knowing who not to piss in this city sounded like a good idea, just as well as knowing what to expect just in case you managed to.
Skidmark scratched his head in idle thought before he replied "Nobles are a prissy bunch, mostly keep to themselves, but they're powerful and they have resources. Not all got the money or brains to actually get their own power grid and waterworks, mind, so when some dingus tries messing with the city's supply, they get pissed. Depending which one, you might get entire city blocks levelled to f*cking rubble. Not as bad as pissing off an Overlord tho".
We turned down a highway onto one of the wealthier districts. As we slowed down from highway speed, I got a good glance at the security detail, all sharply dressed in 3-piece suits and wearing heart shaped sashes tied around their arms.
"Will there be any trouble?" I turned to Skidmark a little apprehensively.
"Ya don't look like a ho, so no. Plus, you're with us. Them Valentino boys in suits don't like to start up fights so close to the clubs. Disturbs the shows their boss' got going on if people start shooting up the place". His words were meant to be reassuring, but willingly going into gang territory like this didn't sit well with me. Maybe I was just overreacting, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.
The van pulled up to the curb by one of the apartments next to a club and Sherrel shot off a text with her phone. As me and Skidmark stepped out, she shouted. "Anything happens, send a text!"
"Will do!" he answered back.
As we walked to the apartment's entrance, I felt compelled to ask. "Skidmark, how did you two get phones? You're not exactly… affluent".
"A-flu-what?"
"Wealthy".
"Oh, this sh*t?" He pulled his phone out of his jean pocket. "Standard phone contract, they have it back up on Earth. How do you not know?" That was a little embarrassing. Was it common? I never really dealt with cellphones. Normally I just grabbed the burner phones Lisa gave me, and once I joined the Wards, the only one I used was the one from work.
"…My family never really liked cell phones".
"A teen without a phone. I've seen everything now" Skidmark looked up at the sky with a long-suffering look on his face, as if he was asking the heavens for help. Ass. Then he shook his head and turned my way. "Tell you what, after the month's up if you still wanna stay, we take ya to a phone store. Me and Squeals get ya all set up, even make sure you don't get f*cked by the contract".
"Oh… thanks". I didn't know what else to say to that.
"No probs, Tay". Skidmark reached out and put an awkward hand on my shoulder. We entered the building. I noticed a group of demons sitting around in a circle, lounging in the foyer. One was staring at us intently, a wolf-like demon, as we walked past the group. I kept him in my periphery without turning to look at him directly. His stare didn't let up though. Was he an addict looking to buy? Would make sense if Skidmark came around here often.
I decided to stare him down, hand on my holster. The demon glanced away. Satisfied, I followed Skidmark up to the first floor. Skidmark approached the first door to the left and knocked. We waited a full minute before the door swung open. Rather than some random squatter as I was expecting however, I was met with a very tall demon, primly dressed in a suit of searingly bright white and pink. From below a bowtie, their chest bulged out with fur, in a way that would suggest breasts of some kind. My eyes traveled upwards until I was left looking at the androgynous face of a spider, sharp teeth crooked into a smile.
"Skidster! How the hell ya been?!" The demon shouted, and gave Skidmark a hug. "And ya brought a friend! So, who's the bad bitch here?"
"Pretty good, pretty good. This here's Taylor. She's just doin' me a solid today". I nodded my head in acknowledgment.
"Not much for words this one, eh?"
"She's a newbie. Leave her be". Skidmark said, oddly snappish in his tone.
"Oh, so another stray you caught. I'll wish you luck then, moth girl". What did he mean by that? "Anyways, come inside, we don't wanna disturb the neighbors". The spider demon walked out the doorway, letting us inside a very messy living room filled to the brim with stuff. Hoodies, dresses, shirts and pantyhoses lazily draped over the plush couches and lounge chairs, half-open makeup kits laid on a coffee table along with old food wrappers, take-out boxes, empty beer cans and... was that a strip of condoms?
"What, you finally got that sound proofing in?" Skidmark pointed out as he settled himself on a couch, not a care in the world.
"Just a couple days ago. Now not even the old hag downstairs can hear when I bring a friend or two over".
"Would have been useful last night" I muttered to myself. Sherrel and Adam weren't exactly quiet in their…nightly activities. I knew the name 'Squealer' was meant to be a demeaning play at words, but boy did the woman have lungs. I wasn't angry about it. Annoyed, but it allowed me to experiment with magic, so it almost balanced out. I looked up from my musings, noticing my remarks hadn't been as quiet as I hoped.
"Hahaha, you beast! I see Squeals' still letting you plow her every night, eh? You're lucky she hasn't wised up and ditched you for a bigger f*ck".
"Shut your bitch ass up! She stays around because I have a great personality" Skidmark defended, puffing up his chest and shoulders in mock-defiance.
"Yeah, I guess your dick's gotta have a 'great' personality" I coughed into my hand, trying to call attention to me and bring them back from whatever this conversation was turning into.
"Excuse me, Mr.~?" I trailed off.
Skidmark's eyes widened in realization before giving me a sheepish look. "Oh sh*t, sorry. Forgot to introduce this guy here".
"Pfft, some salesman you are". The demon quipped.
"This here is Angel Dust. Cracker's been dead longer than both of us combined".
"Ya know it nigg*". Angel Dust as he made finger guns aimed at us.
"Angel Dust, as in... the drug?" I asked. The name sounded almost like a cape name.
"Yeah! That sh*t was my jam back in the 40's. Still is. Hey Skids, got my package?"
"Got it right here, you got my money?"
"You know I'm always good for it ya co*ck-roach. Same place as always".
"Alright, I'll go get it. Here!" Skidmark tossed Angel Dust a small baggie of his patented 'Merchant Powder' before walking off to the adjacent kitchen. Angel on the other hand walked over to a couch and slumped on it.
He gestured to the seat opposite him. "Come on, take a seat". I looked apprehensively at the chair he'd pointed out, with a pair of red panties hanging off the armholder. I daintily grabbed the offending piece of clothing before I threw it to the floor. I sat down while Angel opened the bag and took a sniff.
"Oooo yeah, that's the stuff. Anywho, must be pretty green to not even have a name yet, right?"
"Huh?" I asked dumbly, not knowing what he referred to.
"Your name? Sinner 101s, has the numbskull over there taught you nothing?" I shrugged non-committally. Angel Dust massaged the ridge where his nose was supposed to be. "Ok, here's how it goes toots. Not everyone does it, but most people when they come down, they wanna reinvent themselves, y'know? They pick out a new name to go by, something that makes them happy or really represent them. It's almost like a rite of passage for newbies: away with the old, in with the new. Plus, it's good for throwing off whatever trail you had before if people come lookin'".
A new name, huh? That was... something. Should I? I mean, Taylor was a perfectly good name, I didn't hate it at all but...did it really represent who I was anymore? And what did it even mean? Who was Taylor, really? The little chatterbox of a girl, who's whole world revolved around her happy family and her best friend? She died along with her mom in that accident. And then got double-tapped by Emma for good measure.
The creepy loner kid that prowled the halls of Winslow, trying to get away from her tormentors? That one died trapped in a locker full of rotten tampons and insects, screaming for someone, anyone to save her.
Then what about the nameless Master cape, cowering away from the light in fear of being found out, but who wanted to do good anyways? That one didn't die a quick death, no, her world shattered into a million pieces as heroes became monsters and villains became saviors, before drowning in a mountain of corpses.
Taylor was just... too much right now. The one who made the stupid choices, the one who abandoned her friends, the one who failed to fix her relationship with her Dad, the one who killed a f*cking baby... the one who turned into a monster, and in the end failed to even save herself. The loser with lonely regrets.
But what did that leave me with? I was spoiled for choices here, I've had many names before, basically one for every step in my career. Maybe I could pick one of those? Weaver had been my earnest attempt at rehabilitation, at reconciliating the part of me that desired to do good with the realities of all the damage I'd done. it was an option. But my time with the Wards was awful, and Weaver was a sterile image curated by a PR team, it just wasn't me. Whatever name Contessa had called me by in the end was also out...No, just. No.
That left me two choices. Invent a new one...or pick Skitter. My career as a villain cape had been mostly defined by my brief and eventful stint as warlord of Brockton Bay. My crowning achievements in life, before Panacea turned me into a mini-Endbringer so I could fight God, were done as Skitter. Fighting Lung, twice. Going toe to toe with Leviathan, killing Coil, surviving Echidna and the S9. Killing Alexandria.
Most of those were also my stupidest moments. Skitter was me at my worst, savage and impulsive, cold, calculating, uncaring... it was kinda fitting actually, for a demon. It was a horrible name, one I didn't even pick for myself, just slapped on to another villain cape because it seemed fitting and was demeaning enough... but it was also the identity I molded with my friends at my side.
Angel Dust said to pick whatever made you happy and... the happiest moment of my life had been when Mom was still alive, but that time was gone and buried. My second then would be with my team, with the Undersiders. This mask would be the most helpful to help my friends, to find my Dad, to carve my own piece of heaven, down here in Hell.
"Skitter" I said in a soft voice. "My name... is Skitter".
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