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(ITB) ISSUE #11: EPILOGUE
🕑 Added 2025-05-31 05:31:17 +0000 UTCTaylor didn’t write in her journal anymore.
Not since then.
Not since the locker—the dark, fetid tomb of rotting garbage, mold, and diseases. Not since Emma’s betrayal and the day something inside her broke and never quite fit the same way again.
She used to pour herself into those pages. Thoughts, sketches, dreams. Before the world turned sour. Before the fear and exhaustion sank into her bones like a second skin.
But tonight, for reasons she couldn’t fully name, Taylor sat cross-legged on her narrow bed, a pen trembling between her fingers. The small, battered notebook rested on her lap, its worn yet smooth leather cover nearly coming apart at the spine. The pages were old, some yellowed and curling at the corners, others smudged with faint ink or warped with old water damage.
A single black dot formed where she’d touched the pen to the page, then another, as if she couldn’t quite commit.
Then, with a small, decisive motion, the pen began to move.
I’m not who I was.
I’m not sure who I’m becoming.
But I think I’m okay with that.
Outside, Brockton Bay breathed its usual stormy breath: sirens in the distance, dogs barking nearby, the wind catching in half-closed windows.
Once, every alley felt like a trap. Every siren, a warning meant for her. The dark, ruined corners of the city pressed in like jaws, waiting for her to misstep. In those early nights, she walked quickly, never daring to stop moving, her bugs barely out of sight. Not because she felt powerful—but because being surrounded by something, anything, made her feel less alone.
Fear had been her constant companion. Not just of the people—the gangs, the capes, the casual cruelty even the average civilian perpetuated or overlooked—but of what the city did to people. What it did to her. It chewed up the good. Spit out the broken. Turned victims into monsters and hope into something you were punished for holding onto.
But something had changed.
Not the city. The city was still broken and cruel and full of teeth. But her. She’d changed. It wasn’t just about being stronger, or smarter, or learning how to survive. It was that she wasn’t surviving alone anymore.
And that made all the difference.
So now, even on the rare occasion she was patrolling alone at night—when faced with the worst Brockton Bay had to offer—her heartbeat stayed steady. And she didn't hesitate to do the right thing.
She wasn’t unafraid. But fear didn’t rule her now.
Not entirely.
“You don’t wait to be ready,” Miles had told her before they faced Lung. “You jump. That’s what a leap of faith is.”
Speaking of which…
Miles hadn’t found a way back home. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He said it used to scare him—that feeling of being stuck, of losing everything and everyone he knew. But lately, something had changed in his voice when he talked about the city. About them. The longer he stayed, the less it felt like being trapped… and the more it felt like belonging.
Together, they’d built something here. Not a team in the formal sense. Not even a movement—just… hope. Quiet, defiant hope.
They stopped muggings and break-ins. Interrupted drug deals. Pulled people from burning buildings. Helped kids, the elderly, the forgotten. They didn’t do it for fame. They didn’t do it because it was easy. And they didn’t always win.
But they cared. Even when it hurt.
Even when it felt like no one else did.
But they never stopped.
Not after Lung. Not after the gangs that came after them in retaliation. Not after anything.
Because someone had to.
And because, somehow, impossibly… they still believed it mattered.
So they did.
They became the heroes of the everyman.
The Friendly Neighborhood Spider-people.
The final entry in her journal was short and simple.
Miles and Taylor. Side by side.
Hopefully forever ❤️
. . . . .
They stood now on a rooftop overlooking the docks, the city sprawled beneath them in lights and smoke and distant haze.
Miles’ suit gleamed under the moonlight, his mask half-lifted. Taylor stood beside him, the new suit snug in all the right places, the spider emblem stitched in brilliant gold across her chest shining in the low light. Her mask, like his, was lifted, though hers also exposed her long mane of hair.
The name had stuck.
Arachne.
It was strange, slipping into a new name after weeks of answering to Skitter. That one had always sounded like something straight out from a horror story, creepy and obviously insectile. Fitting, maybe. But not right. It felt like a reflection of how she’d seen herself back then: unwanted and unsettling. A name born from disgust, shaped by powers people found gross, and by a girl who thought she deserved to be seen that way.
But this new name—Arachne—was different. Still rooted in what she was, yes, but less of a warning and more like a promise.
It sounded like a second chance to be the hero she knew she could be.
“Do you think we’re making a difference?” she asked, the wind tugging at her hair.
Miles glanced at her, his answer soft, certain:
“We already did.”
He turned fully toward her, his smile tired around the edges but no less warm and sincere.
“We found each other.”
And in the dark city beneath them, the two symbols stood against the night—drawn in spandex and armor and stubborn, stubborn hope.
Not the most powerful of heroes.
Some might even call them naive and their actions futile.
But maybe, just maybe… that was exactly what the city needed.
Comments
OnAHiatus
Yes. I'm glad you liked it
Dragonin
Short, but very sweet
OnAHiatus
And with that, we are done with this story😭 I had so much fun writing it, and I hope you enjoyed it. Professor Uzumaki will take its spot on the schedule
