Return by Death: The Girl Who Rewrites Brockton Bay(リターン・バイ・デス：世界を塗り替える少女)

[Nephthys8079]

The door chimed behind him.

> "Thank you for shopping with us!"



The clerk's voice had that tired, over-rehearsed brightness that said I want to go home too, man.

Plastic bag swinging from one hand, Subaru stepped into the night air, humming a half-remembered anime opening under his breath.
The streets were quiet, the hum of vending machines and streetlights forming a background chorus of late-night Japan.

Everything was as normal as it could be—
until it wasn't.

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

On the third blink, the world didn't come back.


---

――

"...Huh?"

A gull screamed overhead.
Salt. Oil. Rot.

The smell punched him in the face before his brain caught up.
He stumbled, blinking at the cracked asphalt beneath him. Rusted pipes. Graffiti-smeared walls. A dumpster leaking something definitely not soda.

It wasn't Japan.
It wasn't anywhere he recognized.
And it sure as hell wasn't the cozy fantasy world every isekai anime had promised him.

"Okay, calm down, Subaru. Maybe you fell asleep watching something weird again…"

He turned in place, trying to get his bearings. The alley was narrow, damp, and echoing with distant sirens. Somewhere far off, someone shouted—angry, desperate, real.

Subaru pinched his cheek.

"Ow."

He pinched again, harder.

"Still ow. So, not a dream. Great."

He took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and promptly noticed something off.
His balance was weird.
Center of gravity too far back.
Weight distributed wrong.
And his hips—were they always that—?

He froze.

"...Wait."

The voice that came out wasn't his.
It was higher. Softer. A little breathy.

"...No. No, no, no, no."

He looked down. The tracksuit was gone—replaced by an oversized jacket slipping off one shoulder, and jeans that clung in ways jeans should not.

"Why do these feel so—tight—why is my center of gravity there—"

He spun, stumbled, and slammed into the wall.

"Ow! Okay, fine! Definitely not a dream!"

Hands trembling, he checked.
Then double-checked.
Then stopped moving entirely.

"...Oh no."

A long, quiet pause.

"...I've been gender-swapped, haven't I?"

The words echoed softly against the brick.
A rat squeaked, as if to confirm it.

Natsuki Subaru—now Natsumi Schwarz—sank to a crouch, burying her face in her hands.

"Out of all the isekai tropes to pick… why this one?"

She laughed weakly. It came out lighter than she expected—almost cute. Which made it worse.


---

Minutes passed. The humor drained out of her with the warmth from her fingers.

The city stretched beyond the alley—rows of sagging buildings, storefronts with iron bars, streets that looked perpetually damp. The air smelled of rust and the ocean.

This wasn't a world of magic or dragons.
This was a world that looked painfully real.

"...So much for the hero's welcome."

She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders and stepped into the street.
A passing car roared by, music blaring.
No one stopped to stare. No one called her name.

Natsumi took a slow breath.

"Okay, new plan: find out where the hell I am, and—"

Something distant howled.
Something wrong.

Her words died in her throat.

The night, for just a heartbeat, felt alive. Watching.

Then the feeling faded, leaving only the stench of the docks and the quiet beat of her pulse.

"...Right," she muttered. "Not creepy at all."

She forced a smile, pretending she didn't feel the world tilt slightly under her feet.

Whatever this place was, it wasn't a fantasy.
And she was no hero.

---

Natsumi had walked maybe ten minutes before the awful truth set in:
she had absolutely no idea where she was going.

The streets all looked the same — long stretches of cracked concrete and flickering streetlights, every shadow whispering something unpleasant.
There were no glowing crystals. No castle on the horizon. No cute elf girl waiting with a fruit basket.

Just trash, puddles, and an unsettling number of boarded-up windows.

"Yup," she muttered. "If this is an isekai, it's the budget version."

Her sneakers—no, someone else's sneakers—squelched in a puddle. She grimaced, tightening the oversized jacket around herself.
Every passing sound—an engine, a shout, a door slam—made her flinch a little.

It wasn't fear, exactly. It was awareness.
This place was alive, but not in the good way.

It breathed crime and tension. The way it moved, the smell of it, even the silence between sirens—it all said don't belong here.

"Okay, Subaru. Step one: find civilization. Step two: find someone sane enough to explain what's going on. Step three: wake up back home. Easy."

She smiled to herself. It lasted about three seconds.

Because three seconds later, a voice from behind her called out,

> "Yo, sweetheart. You lost or somethin'?"



Natsumi froze.

Slowly, she turned.

Three guys were standing at the mouth of the alley she'd just passed. Hoodies. Baggy jeans. The kind of confidence that came from never hearing the word no often enough.

She forced a nervous laugh. "Uh—hi? I'm just, you know… sightseeing?"

The tallest one grinned. His teeth looked like they'd started a war with dental hygiene and lost.

> "Sightseeing? In the Dockyards? Girl, you got balls."



"Not… anymore, technically," she muttered under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing! I said nothing!"

They stepped closer. Her heart hammered. She glanced around—no pedestrians, no stores open, no escape that didn't involve sprinting.

> "C'mon," one of them said, "we'll show you a better view."



Ah, great, she thought, first ten minutes in a new world and I'm already a random encounter.

Her brain raced. No magic. No skills. No save points. Probably.
She had nothing. Not even a phone that worked—she'd checked.

"Listen, I really appreciate the hospitality," she said, raising both hands, "but I've got somewhere to be. So how about we just pretend this awkward conversation never happened—"

The nearest guy reached out to grab her arm.

She reacted on instinct.

Before she even processed it, her fist connected with his face.

Crack.

He went down with a surprised grunt, clutching his nose.

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then—

> "You little bitch!"



Natsumi blinked. "Okay, that worked out better in my head—"

The second guy lunged. She dodged sideways, adrenaline making her body move faster than her mind. He slammed into the wall. She grabbed the first thing she could reach—a loose bottle—and swung it.

It shattered with a satisfying smash.

"Gah!"

Both men stumbled back, swearing and bleeding.

The third hesitated. He looked between her and his friends, then spat.

> "You're crazy, lady."



"Thank you!" she said, breathless. "I try my best!"

They bolted.

Silence fell again, broken only by the sound of her panting.

Natsumi stood there, surrounded by glass and adrenaline, trying to calm down. Her heart was pounding like a drum.

Then the pain hit.

"—Ow ow ow ow ow!" She clutched her hand. "That's… yeah, that's probably broken."

She stared at the blood dripping from a cut across her palm.

"Yup. Still human. No protagonist buffs."

Despite the sting, she laughed.
It wasn't brave laughter, not really. More like the exhausted kind that keeps you from crying.

Then, faintly, from the corner of her eye—
a silhouette.

Someone watching her from the mouth of another alley.

Dark hair. Thin frame. Sharp eyes behind a curtain of bangs.

A girl in a worn hoodie, hugging her arms close like she didn't trust the world either.

For a moment, their gazes met.

Natsumi blinked.

The girl turned and disappeared into the maze of streets.

"...Huh."

Natsumi tilted her head. "Cute, in a terrifying kind of way."

She sighed, flexing her sore hand.

"Okay, world. Point taken. I'll play nice."

She picked a direction—hopefully toward civilization—and started walking again.

Unaware that the girl she'd just seen…
was Taylor Hebert.

---

(Taylor's POV)

Taylor Hebert wasn't sure what she'd just seen.

She'd been walking home from the Boardwalk, keeping to the back streets, like usual. Avoid the crowds, avoid the stares, avoid people, period. That was the plan. Always the plan.

Then she'd heard shouting.

Angry voices. The kind that made her flinch before her brain even processed the words. She'd almost kept walking—almost—until she heard glass breaking.

She'd peeked around the corner.

And there she was.

A girl.

Not one of the ABB or Merchants—no colors, no tattoos.
She looked… normal. Kind of. Maybe a little too normal for this part of town. Long black hair that refused to stay neat, dark clothes that didn't fit quite right, and a jacket hanging off one shoulder.

And she was fighting.

Three guys, all bigger than her, and somehow she'd sent them running.

Taylor had frozen, half in shock, half in disbelief.

Girls didn't win fights like that here. Not in the Docks.
Not in Brockton Bay.

The girl had stood there panting, shaking, hand bleeding, but—
she was laughing.

Laughing like she'd survived the punchline of a joke only she understood.

Taylor had felt something strange then. Not admiration. Not exactly. Something quieter, heavier.

Jealousy, maybe.

The kind of jealousy you feel when you see someone doing the thing you always wanted to do—stand up, swing back, exist without apologizing.

Then the girl turned her head.

Their eyes met.

For one heartbeat, Taylor couldn't breathe.

Her first thought: She's beautiful.
Her second: She's terrified too.

Then Taylor stepped back.
And she ran.


---

By the time she reached the end of the block, her lungs burned. She slowed down, tugging her hood lower.

"What the hell was that…" she whispered.

The docks were quiet again, except for the distant churn of waves and the occasional car horn.
Normal sounds. Familiar.
And yet, the world felt just slightly different now—like someone had shifted the angle of everything she'd known.

There was a girl out there who didn't belong.

Taylor didn't know her name. Didn't know her story.
But somehow…
she had a feeling this wouldn't be the last time they met.

---

(Natsumi's POV)

"...Cute, terrifying, mysterious—definitely a local," Natsumi muttered, flexing her sore hand. "I should ask for directions next time instead of punching people first."

The street opened wider now, revealing a sprawl of warehouses and low-slung buildings half-drowned in shadow. Sodium lights burned dim orange overhead, painting everything in rust and loneliness.

She walked for what felt like hours.
The more she moved, the more it sank in—there was nothing here that felt like her world. No signage she recognized, no language barrier either, which somehow made it creepier.

It was like the universe had gone through the trouble of rebuilding reality… just without the magic.

Her stomach growled.
The grocery bag she'd been carrying earlier—gone. Vanished somewhere between universes.

"Figures. Can't even bring the snacks," she sighed. "If I ever find God, I'm billing Him for emotional damages."

She paused at a corner where a flickering streetlight struggled to stay alive.
The sign read:

> Lord Street — Dockside District



"...Lord Street. Yeah, that's a totally trustworthy name."

She turned down it anyway.

The sound hit her first—low rumble of voices, overlapping laughter, the clink of glass. A group of people loitered near a shuttered store, shadows moving under a broken awning.

Her instincts screamed: Don't.

But hunger and exhaustion overruled everything else.
Maybe one of them knew where she could find a payphone. Or a police station.

She stepped closer.

"Uh—hey, sorry to bother you—"

Every head turned.
Seven of them. Maybe eight.

The laughter stopped.

For a second, nobody said anything. Then one of them—a woman with buzzed hair and a cigarette—snorted.

> "You lost, sweetheart?"



Natsumi blinked. Déjà vu. "...Did the universe just copy-paste that line?"

"Cute." The woman flicked the cigarette aside and stepped forward. "You don't look like you belong here."

"I don't!" Natsumi said, hands raised. "That's… actually the problem!"

The group closed in.
Her pulse spiked. She took a step back, tripped over a loose brick, and nearly fell.

"Hey, easy! I don't want trouble, okay? Just need directions, maybe a map—"

A hand grabbed her collar.

The world tilted. Her back hit the wall hard.

> "You talk too much."



Another voice, deeper. A man this time.
He pulled something shiny from his pocket.

A knife.

Natsumi froze. The sight hit her brain like static—sharp, unreal, wrong.

"W-wait, wait, come on," she stammered. "You don't seriously—this is just—"

The blade flashed.

She screamed.

Pain exploded across her ribs, white and hot and consuming.
Her body jerked, legs giving out. The pavement rushed up to meet her.

Somewhere above, someone was laughing again.
It sounded warped, far away.

She tried to breathe. Nothing came.
Her vision flickered.

The last thing she saw was the streetlight blinking out, one final time.

Then—

---

There was no tunnel.
No light.
No sound.

Just a void that felt like it went on forever.

And inside it—her heartbeat.
Faint. Uneven.

> Thump.
Thump.
Thump.



Then, a voice.
Not from outside. From within.

> "Not yet."



A gasp tore itself from her throat.


---

The door chimed behind her.

> "Thank you for shopping with us!"



The clerk's voice was the same tired cheer as before.

Natsumi blinked.
The plastic bag swung from her hand.
The hum of the streetlights.
The night air.

Exactly the same.

Her breath caught.

She turned—saw the same street, the same vending machine, the same everything.

"...No way."

The world was ordinary again—until it wasn't.

The hum of the lights faltered, the night blurred—
and in the space between one blink and the next—

Salt. Oil. Rot.

The alley.

Again.

She dropped the bag.
Her hands were trembling.

"...No. No no no no—"

She backed into the wall, eyes wide, breath coming fast.

It was all the same. Down to the cigarette butts, the graffiti, the faint screech of a gull.

Everything had reset.

She whispered the only word that fit.

> "What… the hell…?"

 

[Erik_The_Nut_Brain]

Damn, I gotta lurk more outside NSFW stuff, this is interesting!

 

[Nephthys8079]

Darkness.

Cold and absolute.

Then—

A breath.

> "—gh!"



Natsumi's lungs convulsed as air flooded in like knives. She staggered, clutching her chest.
The night smelled the same — salt, oil, rot — but her heart hammered with a rhythm that shouldn't have existed anymore.

"...N-no… no, no, no, no…"

Her hands trembled. They were clean. Unbroken.
No blood. No screaming.
The world had ended — she remembered that.
The metal flash, the impossible pain, the instant where everything unwound.

Then… this.

The same cracked pavement beneath her knees. The same buzzing streetlight. The same cold wind cutting through that same too-large jacket.

"...This… this isn't happening again…"

She pressed her palms to her head. Her vision blurred. The static behind her eyes screamed like a broken television.

Her knees hit the ground.

"Why— why am I back here?!"

The words tore out raw and ragged, scattering into the alley's silence.
No answer came — just the faint drip of leaking water, the hum of distant engines, the hollow ache inside her chest.

"...A dream. It's a dream."
She laughed. Then gasped. Then laughed harder.

Each sound came out sharper, thinner, until it was all she could do to keep breathing between them.
It wasn't the laughter of someone amused — it was the laughter of someone breaking in slow motion.

She tilted her head back and stared at the gray-black sky.
The world stared back.
Unchanged. Uncaring.

> "I died," she whispered. "I know I died."



The words hung there like a confession to no one.

Her breath caught. Her voice trembled.
Then, soft and helpless—

> "...What kind of world makes you start over?"



Her laugh returned, quieter this time. Almost tender.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, glinting under the flickering light.


---

――

Taylor Hebert had seen a lot of weird things in Brockton Bay.
But this one? This one was new.

A girl — maybe her age, maybe younger — was crouched in the alley behind Lord Street's 7-Eleven, laughing and crying at the same time.
The sound didn't fit the city's usual noise — it wasn't angry, or drunk, or high. It was hollow.

Taylor stopped at the corner, half-hidden behind her hood. Her pulse quickened.
It was late. Too late to play hero.
Dad would kill her if she wandered off again.

But something about that sound rooted her in place.
That laugh — like someone had just watched the world end and didn't know whether to cry or thank it.

She swallowed hard, debating.

Walk away.
That was the smart move.
But her feet didn't listen.

Taylor took one hesitant step into the alley. The girl's laughter died instantly.
Two wide, tear-reddened eyes snapped toward her — dark gray, maybe blue, too bright in the shadows.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then the stranger's voice — small, shaky, with a weirdly soft accent — broke the silence.

> "...You're real, right?"



Taylor blinked. "Um… I think so?"

The girl exhaled like that was the best news she'd ever heard. Then she slumped sideways, half-laughing, half-sobbing again.

Taylor flinched. "Hey— are you okay? You're— you're bleeding or something?"

"No, I'm—" She stopped, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "—I'm not fine, but… I'm here. I think."

Her voice wavered between hysteria and relief. Taylor had no idea what to say to that.

"Okay… uh… you live around here?"

The girl shook her head. "Not anymore."

Taylor frowned. "You homeless?"

"...No. I just… don't think I exist here yet."

Taylor stared. "You… what?"

But the other girl was already curling in on herself again, muttering something that sounded like it's fine, I'll wake up soon.
Her hands were shaking. Her lips were pale.

She looked terrified.

Taylor knelt, keeping a careful distance. "Hey. You don't look good. I can call someone—"

> "No!"



The shout cracked through the air. Taylor froze.

> "Don't— don't call anyone. Please."



There was desperation in those words — the kind that came from something deeper than fear of authority.
Taylor didn't know why, but she believed her.

"Okay," she said softly. "No one. Got it."

The stranger's shoulders relaxed a little. She gave a trembling smile that didn't reach her eyes.

> "...Thanks. I just need a minute to pretend this is normal."



Taylor looked at her — really looked — and realized she had no idea what kind of "normal" this girl meant.
But somehow, she didn't walk away.


---

――

The two of them stayed there a long while, saying nothing.

The city carried on around them — the hiss of passing cars, the pulse of distant sirens, the sea wind slapping against brick.
Taylor kept her arms around her knees. The stranger — Natsumi, though Taylor wouldn't know that name for a while yet — stared at her hands as if afraid they'd disappear.

And in that silence, between one breath and the next, something subtle shifted.

The world didn't reset this time.

Not yet.

But it was watching.

Waiting.

---

The silence between them stretched thin.

Taylor shifted awkwardly, pulling her hood tighter. The other girl — Natsumi, she'd managed to mumble when asked — was clearly not all there.
Her eyes kept flicking from the brick wall to her hands, like she was seeing two different realities and couldn't decide which one was true.

Taylor finally exhaled. "You're really not from around here, huh."

Natsumi blinked at her. "Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of. People here don't… uh, sit in alleys having breakdowns alone."

That earned a short, watery laugh. "Good to know there are standards in this place."

Taylor hesitated. "What place do you think this is?"

"Somewhere I wasn't supposed to wake up in." Natsumi's eyes went distant again. "I keep waiting for someone to show up with a sword, or a guild quest, or—"
Her voice cracked. "—something that makes sense."

Taylor frowned. "Guilds? What, like… an RPG?"

Natsumi paused, then groaned softly. "Oh my god. It's Earth. Isn't it?"

Taylor squinted. "Yeah… Brockton Bay, actually."

"Great." Natsumi slumped forward, face in her hands. "I got isekai'd into America. That's like losing the cosmic lottery."

Taylor had no idea what that meant, but the despair sounded genuine.
"Okay," she said carefully, "you're clearly freaked out. You wanna get off the street? I can walk you somewhere."

Natsumi peeked at her through her fingers. "You're… offering to help a random woman in an alley. That's either brave or stupid."

"Probably both," Taylor admitted. "But you look like you'll freeze out here."

"...I might already be dead."

Taylor sighed. "Well, then you can haunt me later."

That got a snort of laughter — the first honest sound Natsumi had made. "Fine. Lead the way, random cryptid-rescuer."


---

They emerged from the alley into the wider night. The streetlamps painted everything a dull sodium yellow, their glow cutting through mist from the harbor.
Taylor walked half a step ahead, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure Natsumi wasn't about to vanish into thin air.

She didn't.

But she walked strangely — like every step was a negotiation with her own body.
The oversized jacket she clutched around herself barely hid the way her hips moved, or how she seemed constantly aware of the fact that they did move like that now.

Taylor noticed but said nothing.
Natsumi noticed Taylor noticing — and said everything.

"Oh my god, don't look at me like that. I'm not used to this— this—" She gestured vaguely downward, face red. "—body physics!"

Taylor blinked. "Body physics?"

"Yes! The way it all moves! I feel like someone installed new software without asking permission!"

Taylor's face did something between a wince and a laugh. "You're seriously weird, you know that?"

"You're seriously calm about a crying woman claiming to be dead in your alley," Natsumi shot back.

They both paused.
Then, unexpectedly, both laughed — awkward, breathless, but real.


---

By the time they reached the main road, the city noise had softened.
A neon sign flickered half-dead above a boarded-up laundromat. Farther ahead, the faint rumble of the Docks whispered through the fog.

Taylor pointed left. "My place isn't far."

"You sure this is okay?" Natsumi asked quietly. "You don't even know me."

Taylor hesitated, then shrugged. "You looked like you needed someone to."

That simple.

Natsumi blinked at her — something like guilt flickering through her expression. "You're too nice for this city."

"Yeah, people keep saying that," Taylor muttered. "Usually right before things explode."

"Explosions," Natsumi murmured, "I can handle. It's the part before them that's weird."

Taylor gave her a sideways glance. "You talk like someone who's done this before."

"...Maybe I have."
The tone in Natsumi's voice changed — quieter, heavier.
She looked up at the sky. "It's strange. Every time I think I've found the bottom, the world digs deeper."

Taylor didn't know how to answer that. She just walked.


---

They turned another corner.

And then the sound came.

A scream — sharp, sudden, close.

Taylor froze. "That came from—"

"—there!" Natsumi was already moving. Her instincts kicked in faster than thought. She sprinted toward the noise — alley to the right, narrow and dark.

Taylor's breath caught. "Wait, what are you—?!"

But Natsumi was gone into the dark.


---

The alley stank of rust and fear.
Three shapes loomed — two men, one girl cornered against a dumpster, barely older than Taylor.

"Leave her alone!" Natsumi shouted before she'd even processed what she was doing.

The men turned, startled — then smirked.

"Oh, look," one said. "Fresh meat."

Natsumi's heart pounded. No weapons. No plan. No clue what she could do.

Her body moved before her brain did — a clumsy swing, an elbow, a desperate shove. One of them staggered; the other caught her wrist and twisted. Pain shot up her arm.

> "Let go!"



He didn't.

Something flashed. A knife. Too close.
The world lurched.

Taylor arrived just in time to see Natsumi shove the victim away — and take the blade herself.


---

Everything stopped.

The man cursed, yanking his arm back. The girl screamed and bolted past Taylor into the street.

Natsumi stumbled, pressing a hand to her side. Blood — warm, unreal — spread beneath her fingers.

Taylor's mind went white.

> "No— no, no, stay with me—!"



Natsumi smiled faintly. "Guess I still can't save anyone…"

Then she collapsed.


---

And the world blinked.

A heartbeat.
A whisper.
The smell of salt, oil, rot.


---

> "...Huh?"



A gull screamed overhead.

Natsumi was kneeling in the same alley as before — unhurt, unstained, trembling.

She looked down at her hands.

Clean.

> "...No."



She looked up — same walls, same flickering light, same sound of sirens.

> "No. Not again. Not again!"



She screamed into the night, voice cracking with terror and fury.

The city didn't answer.

But somewhere, something was listening.
And smiling.

---

Her footsteps echoed too loud.
Every sound came back doubled, like the city was mocking her.

Step. Step. Step.
The same rhythm as her heart.
The same heart that had stopped.

She wrapped her arms around herself.
The street was empty, but she could feel the world staring. The air had weight now — pressing down, pressing in — and every shadow seemed to breathe when she wasn't looking.

> "I'm not crazy," she whispered. "I'm not."



A lie she wanted to believe.
The kind of lie you said to keep the pieces of yourself from scattering.

She remembered the pain — every detail of it — the sound of her ribs cracking, the pressure in her chest, the fading light. She remembered dying.
She remembered the moment after dying.
And she remembered coming back.

She squeezed her eyes shut.
If she thought too long, she could still feel fingers ghosting around her heart. Cold and loving. Crushing and kind.

> "No— no no no no no—" she bit down on her lip until the taste of iron filled her mouth. "Stop. Stop thinking about it."



Her voice wavered.
The city gave no reply.

Far ahead, the streetlights flickered once. Twice.
She flinched, eyes darting toward the nearest shadow — but it was only an alley cat. Just a cat. It stared at her, yellow eyes too bright, and then vanished behind a dumpster.
Gone, like nothing had ever been there.

Her breath shook out in short bursts.
She kept walking.

Every window she passed showed her reflection — sometimes delayed by half a second, sometimes smiling when she wasn't.
She stopped looking.

> "I died," she said again. The words had no weight now. "I died, and I came back."



She tried to laugh, but it broke halfway out. The sound was a jagged thing, small and sharp, like glass caught in her throat.

> "So what does that make me?"



A ghost?
A mistake?
A joke someone wrote too late and forgot to erase?

The rain started again, thin and hesitant.
She let it fall, watching it smear the grime down the walls. Her clothes stuck to her skin. Her hair clung to her face. Her fingers trembled.

Her mind kept circling back — over and over — to that unseen touch. The one that had crushed her heart when she tried to speak.
The one that had let her live afterward.

A shiver crawled up her spine.

> "You're there, aren't you…" she said to the darkness. "Watching."



The city hummed.
No answer.
But she felt it.
Like the air itself was smiling.

Her chest tightened, not in fear — in something worse.
Recognition.

> "...Why me?"



No response. Just the low, endless groan of Brockton Bay's breathing — distant sirens, the wind through the gaps of broken windows, the hum of something electric deep underground.

She kept walking.
No destination.
Just forward.
Because stopping meant thinking.
And thinking meant remembering.
And remembering—

Her knees almost gave out. She caught herself on a lamppost, shaking. The metal was cold and wet. The light above her buzzed, sputtered, died.
Darkness swallowed her again.

> "If I can't talk about it," she whispered, voice breaking, "then I'll just… live with it. Until I can't."



Her breath fogged white in the air. She smiled faintly.
It looked wrong on her face.

> "I'll live until I die again."



And somewhere — faint, far, close — she thought she heard someone laugh.
Not cruelly. Not kindly.
Just… amused.
Like the city itself found her confession funny.

So she laughed too.
Because if she didn't, she'd scream.

---

The laughter echoed off wet concrete — sharp, brittle, breaking apart into nothing.
The sound didn't belong here.
Neither did she.

Her voice faded, and in its absence, the city whispered.
Wind through the alley. The hiss of a streetlamp dying. A bottle rolling somewhere unseen.

Then—
Footsteps.

Soft. Careful.
Not like the ones she'd been hearing in her head.
Real.

Natsumi froze mid-breath, eyes wide.
Every nerve screamed run, but her legs didn't listen.
They'd forgotten how.

> "...Hello?"



The voice came from the fog. Young. Uneasy.
Human.

For a heartbeat, Natsumi didn't move.
Then, slowly, she turned.

A figure took shape through the mist — dark hoodie, long hair plastered to her cheeks from the drizzle, a flashlight trembling faintly in her grip.
A girl, maybe her age. Maybe a little older.
She looked like she'd been dragged through the same hell — just quieter about it.

Their eyes met.

For an instant, the world held its breath.
The rain stopped sounding like rain.

Taylor Hebert blinked, her brow creasing.

> "You're— you're bleeding," she said softly. "You okay?"



Natsumi looked down.
Her knuckles were split open. Her palms raw. Her reflection — dim and twisted in a puddle — didn't look like someone who could be okay.

> "I…" She swallowed. "I don't know."



Taylor hesitated at that. The kind of pause that said she knew exactly what that felt like. Then she stepped closer, slow enough not to startle.

> "You shouldn't be out here this late," Taylor said. "It's not safe. The docks at night are—"



> "Dangerous," Natsumi finished. "Yeah. I noticed."



Something like a laugh left her, strangled halfway.
Taylor didn't smile, but her eyes softened just a little.

They stood there — two broken silhouettes in the fog, pretending to be steady.

The light from Taylor's flashlight caught Natsumi's face, and for a heartbeat, Taylor's breath hitched.
There was something off in those eyes — too much knowing, too much loss for a stranger's face.
But she said nothing.

> "Come on," Taylor said quietly. "You're shaking. My place isn't far. You can… warm up or something."



Natsumi blinked.
Kindness.
It felt alien. Sharp-edged. Like being offered glass when you were already bleeding.

> "Why?" she asked, voice thin. "Why would you—"



Taylor shrugged.

> "Because you look like you need it."



Natsumi wanted to laugh again.
She wanted to cry instead.

But instead, she just nodded.

The flashlight beam swayed between them as they began to walk — two shadows in a world that had already ended once, and might again at any moment.

Natsumi followed half a step behind, eyes on the ground.
She didn't notice the faint, wrong shimmer that followed in her wake — a ripple across the puddles, like something unseen was smiling just beneath the surface.

---

The streets bled light.

Every lamppost they passed hummed like a dying machine — a low, electrical groan that made Natsumi's teeth ache.
The mist hadn't lifted, only thickened, curling around their ankles like something alive.

Taylor walked a few steps ahead, her flashlight bobbing.
Natsumi followed, her hands buried in her jacket pockets, afraid that if she looked too long at anything, it might disappear again.

> "So…" Taylor's voice broke the silence, tentative. "You got a name?"



It took a few seconds for Natsumi to realize she was supposed to answer.

> "...Natsumi," she said finally. "Schwartz."



Taylor glanced back, brow raised. "That's… kinda cool, actually. Not local, though?"

> "No," Natsumi murmured. "Not even close."



Her voice cracked at the edges — not because she was lying, but because she was telling the truth in a way that didn't make sense.

Taylor didn't push. She just nodded, like she understood more than she should.

The sound of their footsteps filled the space between them — one steady, one uneven.
For Natsumi, each step felt like testing the rules of a world she no longer trusted.
Would the pavement still hold her weight? Would the air still fill her lungs?
Would this version of the world let her live?

She didn't know.

And that terrified her more than dying had.


---

Taylor's house came into view — a narrow, two-story thing slouching between its neighbors, porch light buzzing.
The kind of home that looked tired from trying too hard to be normal in a city like this.

> "Here," Taylor said, unlocking the door. "My dad's asleep. Try not to freak him out."



Natsumi hesitated at the threshold.
Something about stepping inside felt… wrong. Like the air didn't want her crossing that line.

But Taylor was already holding the door open, waiting.

> "You coming?"



> "...Yeah."



She stepped through.


---

The warmth hit her first — not real warmth, but the idea of it.
Old wood. Laundry detergent. Dust.
A lived-in kind of smell that pressed against her chest until she almost couldn't breathe.

Taylor flicked on a dim light. "You can sit there," she said, nodding at the couch. "I'll grab a towel or something."

Natsumi sat.

Her reflection shimmered faintly in the black TV screen — a pale face, hollow eyes, a smear of dirt on her cheek.
Alive.

She touched her side. No wound. No blood.
No proof.

Just memory.
Memory and the echo of a knife that should have ended her.

> "...What is this?" she whispered. "What am I in?"



The words didn't make sense even to her.
Her heart pounded like a clock that didn't want to keep time anymore.


---

Taylor returned with a towel and a mug of something steaming. "It's just tea. Sorry, no sugar."

Natsumi took it carefully, hands trembling so hard the liquid rippled.

> "Thanks."



Taylor sat across from her, studying her with that awkward, quiet concern only someone who's been hurt learns to show.

> "You don't have to talk about it," Taylor said. "Whatever happened."



> "If I did," Natsumi murmured, "you'd think I was insane."



Taylor tilted her head. "Try me."

Natsumi looked up — and for a heartbeat, she almost did.
The words clawed at her throat, desperate to be spoken.

I died.

I died and came back.

But something invisible coiled in her chest, cold and cruel.
Her breath hitched.

The air thickened.

And somewhere deep inside, a whisper pressed against her heart — a voice without sound, soft as static.

> [Don't.]



Pain stabbed through her ribs.
Her fingers clenched around the mug, knuckles white.

Taylor noticed. "Hey— you okay?"

Natsumi forced a smile that looked like a wound. "Yeah… yeah. Just tired."

The pressure eased — but the message lingered.

Don't speak. Don't tell.

She swallowed hard, looking away.

> "It's been… a long night."



Taylor nodded slowly. "You can crash here. I'll grab a blanket."

> "You're sure?"



> "Yeah. Just— don't run off before breakfast, okay? I'll start thinking you're a ghost."



Natsumi almost laughed. If only you knew.


---

Later, when the house was quiet and the city's hum had softened to a heartbeat, Natsumi lay awake on the couch.
The ceiling above her flickered with shadows from passing cars.

Her fingers brushed her chest — the place the blade had gone in.
She could still feel it. Phantom pain, heavy and real.

And under it, faint as breath —
that same wrongness, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

She turned her head toward the window, where the fog pressed against the glass.

> "...Please," she whispered, voice cracking. "Don't make me go through it again."



The fog didn't answer.

But somewhere in the dark, it smiled.

---

(Taylor's POV)

The world always felt heavy at night in Brockton Bay.
Not because of the fog, or the cold, or even the smell of rust that clung to everything — but because the city itself seemed to be holding its breath.

Taylor had grown used to that weight.
You stopped noticing it after a while, the same way you stopped noticing bruises when you'd run out of skin to hide them under.

So when she cut through the side streets that evening — the shortcut she promised herself she'd stop taking — she wasn't expecting to see someone else carrying it too.

There, under the flickering streetlight by the old convenience store, a girl was kneeling in the street.

She wasn't just crying. She was shaking — like her body couldn't decide whether to scream or collapse. Her breath came in short, tearing bursts, her hands clutching her head like she was holding it together by force.

For a moment, Taylor thought it was another addict. That was the simplest explanation.

But then the girl lifted her head.

Pale face. Black, uneven hair. Eyes that looked like they'd seen something so wrong that the rest of the world no longer made sense.

Taylor froze.
The wind brushed past, pushing a strand of hair across her eyes, but she didn't blink.

Because that look — that hollow, breaking look — she'd seen it before.
In the mirror.

She hesitated, one foot half turned to run.
But the girl made a sound then. Not a word — just a noise. A dry, broken laugh that shattered in the middle.

That sound pinned Taylor to the ground.

She knew that laugh.
It was what came out when everything hurt so much you couldn't cry anymore.

Taylor swallowed hard. "…Hey."

The girl twitched like she'd been struck. Slowly, too slowly, her head turned toward Taylor.

Her voice came out small, cracked.

> "You're… real, right?"



Taylor blinked, unsure if she'd heard that right. "Uh… last time I checked?"

The girl exhaled — a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh — and folded in on herself again. "Good. That's… good."

Taylor took a cautious step closer. "You hurt? You need—"

> "Don't."



The girl's voice snapped sharper this time, desperate. Her eyes went wide. "Please… don't call anyone."

Taylor stopped dead. "Okay. Okay, no one."

They stood there in silence. The city hummed distantly — faraway engines, gulls crying over the docks.

Then, softer:

> "I just… need a minute to pretend this isn't real."



Taylor hesitated, then crouched a few feet away, resting her arms on her knees. "You, uh… picked a weird spot for that."

That earned her the faintest smile. "Guess I'm bad at picking places to fall apart."

"Yeah," Taylor muttered. "Join the club."


---

Minutes passed — or maybe longer. Time blurred in the chill.

Taylor didn't know why she stayed. Something about the girl — about the way she whispered to herself under her breath, as if she was afraid the world would notice she existed — made her stomach twist.

Finally, she said, "What's your name?"

A pause. Then:

> "Natsumi."



Taylor nodded slowly. "Okay, Natsumi. I'm Taylor."

Natsumi looked at her for a long time, as if weighing whether the name was safe to say back.
"…Taylor," she repeated, like it was fragile.

"You live around here?"

A hollow laugh. "Not really. Not anywhere, actually."

Taylor frowned. "That's… not a good answer."

"Yeah. I'm full of those."

Taylor sighed, pushing herself up. "Come on. My place isn't far. You can… sit, or something."

Natsumi blinked. "You're inviting a stranger home?"

"Yep."

"That's either brave or really dumb."

Taylor managed a small smile. "Story of my life."


---

The walk back was quiet, broken only by Natsumi's uneven steps and the scrape of her shoes against the wet concrete.

Taylor caught herself glancing over every few seconds, half expecting the girl to vanish like fog. She didn't.
She just walked like someone who wasn't sure if the ground would still be there when she took the next step.

By the time they reached the Hebert house, Taylor's nerves had settled into something almost calm.

She unlocked the door quietly, peeking inside. Dad wasn't home — the lights were off, the air still. She gestured Natsumi in.

Natsumi hesitated at the threshold, looking like the idea of stepping into someone else's world might break her.

Taylor nudged her gently. "It's just a couch, not a death trap."

That got another shaky laugh. "Thanks. I'm… sorry for being weird."

"Trust me," Taylor said, "you'd have to try really hard to out-weird Brockton Bay."

Natsumi nodded faintly and stepped inside.


---

Later, after she'd fetched a blanket and a glass of water, Taylor sat at the edge of the couch.

Natsumi had curled up like a frightened cat, her eyes half-lidded but alert, as if she didn't quite believe she was safe.

Taylor handed her the water. "You can stay the night, okay? Just… one night. Then we'll figure something out."

Natsumi blinked up at her. "…You don't even know who I am."

"Yeah," Taylor said softly. "But you looked like you needed someone to pretend they did."

For a moment, Natsumi just stared at her — eyes wet, lips trembling.

Then she whispered,

> "Thank you."



Taylor didn't know what to say to that. She just nodded and turned off the light.

The room fell quiet except for the wind rattling the window.

Taylor lay awake a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the girl breathing softly on the couch.

Somewhere deep down, she had the strangest feeling — like the world had just shifted slightly, and she hadn't noticed which way it turned.

---

(Natsumi's POV)

She woke to the sound of rain.

Thin drops pattered against the window, soft and steady — the kind of rain that blurred the world instead of cleansing it.
For a moment, she didn't move.
The couch beneath her was rough, its old fabric scratchy against her skin. A thin blanket lay twisted around her legs.

She could smell detergent. Soap. Dust.
And faintly, under it all — the ghost of salt from the bay.

Her mind clawed for meaning, but the memories came in pieces.
The alley. The blood. The screaming.
The way her chest had stopped.
The way it had started again.

Natsumi pressed a hand against her ribs, half-expecting to feel bruises. There were none.
Only the echo of phantom pain, like her body remembered dying but refused to admit it.

She sat up slowly. The room swayed once before settling.
A living room — small, worn, lived in. A coat draped over a chair, a few papers stacked neatly by a lamp, a faint hum from the old refrigerator.
Too normal to feel real.

Taylor wasn't there, but she could hear movement in the kitchen. A drawer opening. A pan scraping faintly.

The normal sounds of morning.

Natsumi stared at her trembling hands for a long time.
It almost felt cruel — that the world could sound so ordinary after what she'd seen.

"...Morning," Taylor's voice came from the kitchen. She didn't sound surprised Natsumi was awake.

Natsumi swallowed before answering. "Morning."

"Bathroom's down the hall," Taylor said, stepping into view. "There's a towel on the sink. Figured you'd want to wash up before anything else."

"...Thanks."

Taylor nodded once, like she didn't want to push.
She looked tired — not the kind of tired that sleep fixes, but the kind carved deep into the edges of a person's posture.

Natsumi pushed the blanket aside and stood. The room tilted again, like gravity hadn't quite decided what direction to pull her.

"Take it slow," Taylor said quietly.

Natsumi nodded, but her eyes drifted to the window.
The city beyond the glass was gray and wet — streets slick with puddles, a few distant sirens, someone shouting somewhere too far to matter.

Alive.
Still here.
Still in this world.

The thought should've comforted her. It didn't.
It just reminded her that she had nowhere else to go.


---

The bathroom mirror showed a stranger — pale skin, dark circles under her eyes, hair tangled and uneven.
She splashed cold water on her face and waited for the reflection to change.
It didn't.

She whispered, barely audible even to herself,

> "I'm… still here."



Her heart skipped once, as if testing the words.
No invisible hand. No pressure.
Just silence.
For now.

When she came back to the living room, Taylor was sitting at the table with a notebook open, pen tapping absently against the margin.
A plate of toast sat between them — not fancy, not pity, just something to fill the space.

"I don't usually have company," Taylor said without looking up. "But you can stay until you figure things out."

Natsumi blinked.
The words landed softly — too softly, like something fragile she wasn't sure she was allowed to touch.

"Why?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Taylor's pen stilled. She looked up then, eyes distant, thoughtful.
"Because I've been in that alley before," she said. "Different night. Same look."

Natsumi didn't know what to say to that. So she didn't.
She just sat.
And for a moment — one fragile, borrowed moment — she let herself breathe.

Outside, the rain kept falling.
And somewhere beneath the floorboards of reality, something unseen leaned closer — unseen fingers tracing the rhythm of her heart.
Not to stop it this time.
Just to remind her who it belonged to.

 

[Jon0510$]

I feel you got a good handle on Subaru voice

I also wonder what point in time the story is

 

[kinja427]

Definitely pre-locker. If I had to guess, probably after the flute got destroyed. So late fall/early winter 2010?
Evidence: No sign of bugs, no mention of bugs. If Taylor had powers, I doubt they would've never popped up.
Taylor is beaten down, so it's definitely high school, probably a decent amount of time in too. So it's unlikely to be 2009 (The year the bullying started). However, given how broken she is, to the point she knows it, it's probably been a long time, at least the next school year. So Fall-Winter 2010. With the flute being the "big" event during this time, and most worm fics using stations of canon, it would make sense as a starting point.
So certainly Late 2009-2010, likely Summer to Winter of 2010.

 

[SalUsol]

I hope that when TT wants to investigate Natsuki's power, TT's heart explodes

 

[Nephthys8079]

I hope that when TT wants to investigate Natsuki's power, TT's heart explodes

Click to shrink...

I didn't think that far ahead but is most likely not gonna happen...she might go insane tho since I got 0 idea if I wanna go the normal no one knows route or the rui route where TT sees all the deaths lol