The day had been hot, a real scorcher… but as evening descended on the city temperaturs started to drop. Especially up on the 86th floor of the Empire state building. It was almost chilly.

Or, maybe she was feeling that due to the sheen of sweat covering pretty much every square inch of her.

Megan had started climbing earlier in the day, and four hours later she’d finally made up high enough to reach one of the more famous observation decks. Her arms and legs were still burning, fingers bleeding in some areas from scraping against the side of the building so often. Even with the help of her mutation, she wasn’t entirely sure how she had made it up so high at all. She’d kinda figured her body would give out half way and leave her plummeting to a quick, violent end.

Instead, now she was here. Perched high above the city, exhausted and sweat soaked. The sun was just starting to set on the horizon, half buried behind other buildings. The sky was painted in a dozen shades of orange, red, and yellow on one side, and the deep blue and purple hues of night on the other.

She probably should have been ecstatic at the climb. Any other daredevil would be soaking it in, documenting it, taking selfies for all of their viewtube followers. It was a task not many had ever attempted, and probably very illegal.

Why didn’t she feel anything then? Behind the physical pain and fatigue there was… nothing. She watched the distant city life go on without her below, the various lights from cars blurring into pretty ribbons of color.

Was there even anyone down there who realized she was gone?

Her interactions with people nowadays were short and to the point. She needed something, she got it, she moved on. Most of the people she knew were gone… dead or disappeared. Half of them didn’t like her anyway. One man in particular who always floated around in her subconscious toed the line between needing her sometimes and not wanting anything to do with her the rest.

And there were others who she kept away from for their own good.

Lifting a hand, she stared at the blisters that bled and scuffed skin. She could feel it still, but she’d learned not to mind the pain. When had she become such a trope? A living cliche who went around beating herself up just to feel things again?

Roach was dead. There was no coming back for him this time around. She would never hear that jovial British accent again. Never hear the growl in his words when he was angry. Never witness him do something completely off the wall and nonsensical. As much as she hated to admit it, killing him had torn her heart out. His last words would stick with her forever, branded across her skin like ink.

“So sorry…. For me.”

Her eyes slipped closed. The city replaced with calm, empty darkness. She could still hears the sounds from below. Humans in all their glory laughing and crying, screaming in anger while flipping the bird, and pressing down on car horns like it would make traffic go any faster.

… What if she just tipped forward a little… Just slipped off the edge and fell? Would that be so bad?

She had come so far as a person, but it was never enough. From a selfish, indulged brat who’d skipped town to avoid the married life… one who loved expensive things, makeup, and getting her way, to… this.

She had some morals. She would never intentionally hurt a child, and she more or less left innocent people alone. She tried to be a good person… even if she fell off the wagon from time to time. She tried to be that girl from the dream, who helped people and tried to stop the bad guy, and fell in love….

But that girl had died. She’d been too soft in the end. She had failed.

Megan had not.

Maybe she had given up the ability to become that woman when she put the bullet in Roaches brain and ended him for good. She hadn’t hesitated…. Even though it had hurt.

She gently touched the still healing wound on her left shoulder. It would certainly scar, and always act as a reminder for her. Of what… well, she hadn’t figured that out yet.

Maybe guilt. Because maybe if she had stayed with Roach all those years ago, before he’d completely lost his mind, maybe… maybe he would have come back to her. Maybe she would have been able to calm him down.

Maybe they could have been happy.

Megan wasn’t able to have children. Something about her body prevented her from being able to incubate an infant to full term. As such, any and all attempts ended in tragedy. She had tried many times after the first failure, with random men in spur of the moment fashion. Each time, Failure. She gave up on the idea of ever having a family from her own blood.

She eventually gave up on the idea of ever having a family period when she decided to take Roach down. Too many people knew her face now. Any child she tried to raise would certainly be put in danger.

Never mind the fact that she was missing a good deal of her identity, so how would she even raise a child? And with who?

All of her relationships were dead ends. Maybe she was bad at choosing partners. It was funny, really… a hopeless romantic trapped in the body of someone who actively pushed people away any way she could.

The spider mutant scooted a little closer to the edge, propping her bare feet against the side and gripping the ledge with her hands as she looked down. The updraft blew stringy, sweaty strands of black hair away from her face.

She hadn’t thought about religion in a long time. Not since she had had conversations of death dogs and spider web stars many years ago.

Where would Roach go? He was evil, yes… but also bat@#$% insane. Wasn’t there something about an insanity clause and your entry to heaven?

She chuckled dryly. With her luck she’d die and end up in hell, while the big bug was up above plucking away at a harp and eating his own halo.

What did she have left?

A lucrative under-the-table silk business, a decent amount of money to do whatever she wanted with, and... that was it. Sure, there were still bad guys out there to beat up, but she couldn't do that forever. The only partner she ever had was soon to be married and with a kid on the way.

She could continue tracking down ne'er-do-wells until one of them inevitably got the upper hand and killed her, or the police finally figured out who she was and she went to prison for the rest of her life. (She really had to thank that face changing mutant for giving her a hand up on avoiding that)

... Neither really seemed all that interesting or spectacular, if she were being honest.

She could continue just...living. Going out at night to see what kind of interesting things she could drum up, but even the charm from that only lasted so long.

In short, she had no goals. Nothing she wanted to achieve. Not a single thing to look forward to or dream of.

She opened her eyes again. The sky was dark, all the color gone.

Every day that passed had her feeling like she was searching for reasons to keep on going on.

And then, on top of everything, there was her out of control power. 

As time went on she was starting to feel like she was losing her own mind, much like Roach had lost his. Particularly, the urge to taste living things had popped up as a particularly troubling side effect. That in combination with a stint of sleepwalking a few years back had left her wondering if she had or hadn't jumped in on the cannibalistic tendencies of both her previous roommates. 

Almost like clockwork the thoughts would creep up. Didn't matter if she was eating dinner, petting a cat, or kissing someone. The slight urge to just take a little nibble was always there. She had often wondered back when it started happening if it had been related to the sudden nutritional need for her to eat her food raw. Or at least the meat, that is. Meat that was too cooked had started to affect her the same way processed foods did. She'd get sick if she ate too much of it. 

She often wondered what the next stage would be, if one popped up. Would she lose her mind completely? 

Would someone have to step up and put her down?

That would be quite fitting, wouldn't it?