The wind whipped through the empty streets of Brockton Bay, carrying the scent of the sea and the faint echoes of distant sirens that had seemingly become normal for Brockton Bay. The sky was a dismal gray, heavy with the threat of rain, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. Taylor Hebert walked alone, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her worn-out jacket, her head bowed against the wind. School had been hell, as usual. Emma's mocking laughter still echoed in her ears, and she could feel the phantom sting of the juice that Sophia had dumped over her head.
"Hey, Hebert! Thought you might be thirsty!" Sophia had sneered, her voice dripping with venom.
Taylor hadn't said a word. She never did anymore. Silence was safer. It was easier to just let them do what they wanted, to avoid escalating things further. But it didn't make it any less painful. She was so tired—tired of the bullying, tired of the isolation, tired of feeling powerless. When the bullying first started two years ago after Taylor's return from summer camp, she had dreamed of someone like Miss Militia or even better, Armsmaster, coming to save her. But now she just dreamt of someone, anyone, finally noticing what was happening and helping her.
Taylor couldn't help but feel bitter about the cards life had dealt her. Born in Brockton Bay, the cape and Nazi capital of America, with an actual fire-breathing dragon running around. When she looked back at her life, being born in Brockton Bay was definitely the start of life throwing shitty cards her way. The next and probably the biggest shit card life threw her way had to be the passing of her mother. That single event felt like the beginning of the end for Taylor. Before that, she was just your typical girl with typical teenage problems who had just happened to be born in one of the most dangerous cities in America. But none of that meant anything to her because she had two loving, attentive, and happy parents and a best friend who was practically like a sister to her.
With their parents already being friends, she and Emma knew each other since birth, and growing up, they were absolutely inseparable. Taylor couldn't help but cast her mind back to what were better days. She remembered sleepovers, family BBQs with Dad and Uncle Alan arguing about who the better grill master was, as her mom and Emma's sat by the pool watching and keeping an eye on her and Emma as they ran around playing cape and robbers. Hell, growing up, Emma's parents were 'Uncle Alan' and 'Auntie Zoe.' Even now, despite the sting of Emma's betrayal, they were still 'Uncle Alan' and 'Auntie Zoe' to her.
The untimely death of her mother had changed everything, though. Gone were those pleasant moments that now felt like a summer's dream. Months went by, and Dad sank into a deep depression, finding his comfort at the bottom of bottles. It took Uncle Alan intervening and a shouting match between them for Dad to finally snap out of it. This led to Taylor staying with the Barnes for a week before going to summer camp for two weeks to give Dad time to get himself back together.
Which was why when Taylor returned from summer camp and went to visit Emma, she was surprised to get the door slammed in her face. She was confused, thinking Emma was angry at her for not being able to come to summer camp with her. Taylor thought it would quickly blow over by the time they started Winslow together in two weeks. Never did she know that that would be the start of Emma's two-year mission of making her life a personal hell with her new friend Sophia. Sophia was a beautiful, athletic black girl with an aura of effortless confidence that made her instantly popular, and instantly dangerous.
As she trudged through the city, Taylor found herself drawn to the Boardwalk, a place she often went to clear her mind. The ocean had a way of calming her, of making her problems seem a little smaller in the grand scheme of things. But today, even the sight of the waves crashing against the shore did little to soothe her.
She reached the edge of the pier and leaned against the railing, staring out at the churning water. Her mind was a whirlpool of dark thoughts, dragging her down into a familiar pit of despair. She didn't notice the figure watching her from the shadows, two glinting eyes observing her every move.
The first raindrops began to fall, tapping against the wood of the pier. Taylor sighed and turned to leave, but she froze mid-step. Perched on the railing in front of her was a large, black raven, its feathers glossy and sleek despite the rain.
"Where did you come from?" Taylor murmured, frowning at the bird as the raven tilted its head, regarding her with an almost unnervingly intelligent gaze.
Taylor's unease grew. In Brockton Bay, strange sightings—like a bird that had eyes far too intelligent and didn't seem bothered by the heavy downpour—were often signs of cape activity. And in Brockton Bay, capes were synonymous with trouble for non-parahumans like herself. The last thing she needed was to get caught up in some cape conflict.
She decided to get out of there as quickly as she could before things got even weirder.
But as Taylor made to leave, the raven opened its beak, and instead of the harsh caw she expected, a low, melodic croak filled the air. The sound was strangely comforting, like an old lullaby she couldn't quite remember.
Taylor blinked. There was something off about this bird, something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was more than just a raven. She could feel it, deep in her bones—a presence, ancient and powerful, watching her through the bird's eyes.
"Who are you?" she whispered, more to herself than to the bird.
The raven croaked again, then spread its wings and took off, soaring into the sky. Taylor watched it fly away, the feeling of unease she had felt growing in the pit of her stomach dissipating as she watched the raven turn into a speck in the sky before eventually disappearing.
Taylor couldn't help but let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, followed by a little laugh. She couldn't help but reflect on just how fucked up the Bay was that she was scared of a raven and took it as a sign of cape activity. She was glad this happened away from Winslow. She could already picture the jabs her tormentors would throw at her about this, not that they needed any more ammo when it came to her.
As Taylor began to head away from the Boardwalk and towards the bus stop, she couldn't shake the raven from her mind. Its unnaturally intelligent eyes and the feeling that there was more to it than met the eye kept gnawing at her thoughts.
---
The ride home was uneventful. Taylor sat near the back of the bus, staring out the window as the city blurred past. The streets of Brockton Bay were as grim as ever, and the rain had turned the gutters into rivers of muddy water. She tried to push the raven out of her mind, but it lingered, a shadow in the back of her thoughts.
The rise of parahumans had dramatically reshaped the economy of Brockton Bay. With the emergence of capes, businesses that once thrived on the bustling docks found themselves struggling to adapt to the chaotic new landscape. Superhero battles often erupted near the waterfront, leading to extensive damage and a pervasive fear among shipping companies. The docks that once symbolized prosperity now represented uncertainty, causing many vessels to be abandoned or repurposed for safety. Some ships became collateral damage in the ongoing conflicts between heroes and villains, their hulks serving as grim reminders of a safer time.
The appearance of Endbringers like Leviathan further devastated the shipping industry. Leviathan's infamous attacks on coastal cities not only destroyed ships but also made companies hesitant to send their cargo over the sea. Insurance rates skyrocketed, and many shipping routes were closed altogether. The once-bustling docks of Brockton Bay became a ghost town, as businesses that depended on the steady flow of goods faced crippling losses and were forced to close their doors for good.
The fall of the docks marked the beginning of the end for Brockton Bay. Once the beating heart of the city, the docks had been its largest economic driver, supporting countless restaurants, shops, and service industries. These establishments thrived on the vibrant trade that flowed through the piers, but now empty containers and abandoned warehouses lined the waterfront, stark reminders of better days.
As the bus rolled on, Taylor caught a brief glimpse of rusting hulls and upturned boats. The Boat Graveyard had become a staging ground for irate dockworkers after the local industry collapsed. Shipping companies trapped other boats in the harbor as a form of protest, ensuring they weren't walking away empty-handed. Though police made arrests, moving the ships out of the way proved nearly impossible. Sailors rallied together, mobilizing enough to make clearing the upper docks a daunting task. Tensions escalated, culminating in fights, gunfire, and even the deliberate sinking of a container ship by protesters. What had once been a thriving hub of activity was now a graveyard of rusting hulls, half-submerged in the murky waters, their paint peeling under the relentless assault of the elements.
Old fishing trawlers lay stranded, their nets tangled and useless, while derelict cargo ships—once symbols of prosperity—now stood like ghostly sentinels, their decks overtaken by weeds and salt. The air was thick with the scent of decay and abandonment, echoing the pervasive sense of loss that permeated the city.
When she finally arrived home, she found her father sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of papers. Taylor was surprised to find him home; usually, he worked late, trying to return the docks to their former glory before the rise of parahumans affected the economy.
Danny Hebert was the head of hiring, personnel, and culture at the Docks Workers Association. Since her mother's death, he had made it his personal mission to revive the docks, believing that restoring them would bring back Brockton Bay's days of glory when it was one of the economic powerhouses of America, only behind cities like Las Vegas or New York. Taylor wasn't so sure about his dreams; she felt that the time of the docks was long gone.
Even if he were able to revitalize the industry, the threat of the Endbringer Leviathan would always make shipping and travel by ferry not a smart idea for anyone not born a daredevil. Even they would be hard-pressed to argue that the adrenaline rush was worth the imminent threat to their lives. These days, the Docks Workers Association was a source of cheap labor for the city, with Danny constantly working to get better deals and more jobs for his boys down at the union.
He looked up as she entered, giving her a tired smile. "Hey, kiddo," he said, his voice warm despite the exhaustion that tinged it.
"Hey, Dad," Taylor replied, forcing a smile onto her face. "Busy day?"
"Just the usual," Danny sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "City's got me tied up in knots with all the new regulations. How was school?"
Taylor hesitated, not wanting to worry him. "It was… fine," she lied, knowing he would see through it but hoping he wouldn't press.
Danny's eyes softened with concern, but he didn't push her. "You know, if you ever want to talk about anything—"
"I know, Dad," Taylor cut in gently. "I'm okay. Really."
He nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced. "Alright. I'm here if you need me."
"Thanks," Taylor murmured, giving him a quick hug before heading upstairs to her room.
Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. Her room was her sanctuary, the one place where she could escape everything, even if only for a little while. It was a small, cluttered space that reflected her personality. Piles of books covered every surface—some half-read, others dog-eared and cherished. Posters of her favorite superheroes plastered the walls, remnants of a time when she dared to dream of a different life. Her desk was cluttered with school supplies, a laptop, and an old lamp that flickered intermittently.
The window was framed with faded curtains that did little to block out the sounds of the city, and a collection of action figures lined the windowsill, standing guard over her tiny kingdom. A worn-out rug covered the hardwood floor, its fibers fraying in places. Above her bed, a bulletin board was filled with snapshots of happier memories—photos of her and Emma at the beach, birthday celebrations, and family outings, all reminders of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else now.
The atmosphere in her room was a comforting contrast to the chaos outside, a small haven where she could retreat from the world. Taylor smiled as she tossed her bag onto the bed and walked over to the window, staring out at the rain-soaked street below.
That's when she saw it.
Perched on the power line just outside her window was the raven, its dark eyes locked onto hers. Taylor's heart skipped a beat. She had seen the bird leave, had watched it disappear into the sky. But here it was again, as if it had been waiting for her.
The raven cocked its head, its eyes gleaming with that same unnerving intelligence.
"What do you want?" Taylor whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
The raven didn't answer, of course. But something about the way it stared at her made Taylor feel as though it understood her, as if it was trying to tell her something.
She stood there, frozen, for what felt like an eternity before the raven finally spread its wings and flew off into the night. Taylor watched it go, her mind racing with a thousand questions and no answers.
Whatever this raven was, it wasn't just a bird. And whatever it wanted with her, Taylor had the sinking feeling that she was about to find out.