(SHATTERPOINT) THE FINAL STRAW

Hannah, or Miss Militia now that she was back in costume, was suspicious. And as terrible as it sounded, she was more suspicious of her fellow hero than the man they were here to interrogate.

“Battery.”

The name came out level, but Hannah’s eyes narrowed behind the scarf. Something was wrong. This wasn’t how Battery acted, or at least never had Hannah seen her act like this ever. Battery prided herself on her composure. Even when things got bad, when Brockton Bay’s streets demanded split-second decisions and stomach-turning compromises, she had the kind of control that made her invaluable in the field. Hannah had trusted Battery more than most to have her back.

But here, now, that composure was fraying. It wasn't in some obvious, dramatic way, but in the little betrayals Hannah had trained herself to notice: the twitch of a hand she normally kept perfectly still, the bobbing of her throat, and the stance that screamed ‘cornered’ even when she wasn’t.

Why?

Hannah’s first conclusion, ridiculous as it seemed, was that maybe there was history between them. Some torrid entanglement she hadn’t known about, the kind of messy personal past that could strip away her teammate’s armor of professionalism. But no. Battery wasn’t giving off embarrassment, or anger, or even resentment. What Hannah saw looked more like… fear.

And that didn’t make sense.

Anakin Skywalker wasn’t doing anything. He wasn’t posturing, wasn’t threatening, and wasn’t even armed as far as she could tell. From the moment Hannah had laid eyes on him, he had been calm. And sure, men like that were dangerous in their own way, but they weren’t what made seasoned heroes twitch like rookies.

Battery, though? Battery was volatile. The air around her seemed stretched taut, like she was one wrong word away from doing something she couldn’t take back.

Which left Hannah with a problem. She trusted Battery. Or rather, she had trusted her, right up until the moment she realized that trust didn’t feel quite as solid as she’d thought. Something was really wrong, and it wasn’t Skywalker.

That was the part that unsettled her most.

Because Hannah knew Brockton Bay. She knew how fragile peace really was in the city. She knew how often it only took one tiny fracture in trust, one lapse in composure, for the whole damn thing to come crashing down. And if Battery, of all people, was the crack in this situation?

That could be disastrous. 

“Greg’s gone,” Hannah said as she came to a stop a pace away, her tone deceptively light to hide the scrutiny in her gaze. “Told him he’d get his autographs later. He looked ready to camp here until dawn otherwise.”

Skywalker inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging the information without really caring. Battery, though, flinched. Barely a twitch, but Hannah caught it.

She didn’t like it.

“Everything under control?” Hannah asked again, softer this time, but there was a warning beneath her words.

“Yes,” Battery said quickly. A little too quickly. “Questioning in progress.”

Hannah let the silence hang just long enough to make it clear she wasn’t convinced. Then she nodded. “Good.”

She adjusted her stance, and the green-and-black blur of energy shifted across her chest in an intentionally noticeable movement, casual on the surface but positioned just so. A reminder—to Battery, to Skywalker, and maybe to herself—that she was ready if things went sideways.

“Then maybe you can catch me up,” Hannah continued, turning her gaze toward Skywalker. 

As always, his presence struck her as… odd. The man presumably had no powers, yet he carried himself with the weight of someone who didn’t need powers to command a room. Most capes worked years to project that kind of gravity. He did it without trying. 

“What exactly were you talking about before I arrived?” she asked. 

Battery stiffened, but Skywalker’s expression remained unchanged.

And Hannah knew then, without a doubt, that whatever answer came next could decide whether this hallway stayed calm or became a battlefield. So she did what she always did, what she had sworn to do as a hero. She braced herself to step between them, no matter which side struck first.

. . . . .

Anakin smiled, just enough to be seen. And though unapologetically mocking, it carried the same inevitability as every one of his actions. Then he turned to Miss Militia and opened his mouth, knowing full well the words would damn Battery.

“We were discussing Cauldron.”

Miss Militia froze, only for an instant. The scarf covered most of her face, but Anakin caught the hint of confusion in the tightening around her eyes. “Cauldron?”

Battery’s throat bobbed, but no sound came, not even a denial or a protest. And before she could gather herself and muster either one, before she could do anything but stand frozen in place, Anakin pressed on. His tone was almost conversational, though undoubtedly amused. 

“Yes. Cauldron is a secret organization responsible for a great deal behind the scenes.” He spoke with the confidence of someone reciting fact, though in truth, everything he said was stitched together from Greg’s ramblings and his own conjectures. “And it seems our dear hero, Battery, works for them.”

Was he certain? Not entirely.

Did he care? Not at all.

Certainty wasn’t the weapon here. Pressure was. And pressure, when applied at just the right angle and moment, especially from someone you trusted to always (without fail) have your back, could break even the strongest foundation.

Miss Militia’s gaze flicked between them. “That’s a heavy accusation,” she said at last, voice even, but there was no mistaking the subtle edge beneath it. “Are you sure?”

Of course she didn’t buy it outright. He was a nobody in the city’s eyes, a stranger with no credibility, while Battery was her teammate, a woman she had fought beside and surely trusted. But even so, suspicion had taken root. He heard it in the faintest pause in her tone, and saw it in the fractional tightening of her hand as her power shimmered around it, a weapon half-manifested before vanishing again. 

That was all Anakin needed.

He leaned back, intentionally projecting a casual confidence, but his weight was balanced, one foot braced against the wall. An easy stance, yet ready for violence if it came. Then, he played his final card. “If you don’t believe me,” he said smoothly, “ask her.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any shout, suffocating too, and it was leveled entirely on Battery. Miss Militia slowly turned toward her teammate. And under that dual scrutiny, one suspicious and the other merciless, whatever was left of Battery’s composure finally shattered all at once. 

The lines on her costume glowed a brilliant electric blue-white, and with a scream that was half fury, half panic—ignoring Miss Militia’s desperate, commanding plea, “Battery, wait!”—she launched herself at Anakin. 

His smile widened.