(SHATTERPOINT) XXVOID_COWBOYXX

Anakin Skywalker leaned back in the booth of another 24-hour café, the blue-lit screen in front of him casting shifting shadows over his face. On the monitor, a cluttered browser window displayed the familiar logo of Parahumans Online.

He’d been here since evening scrolling through posts, and he’d come to recognize certain usernames who haunted the conspiracy boards until they were either banned or placed on probation. The worst ones were barely literate, full of wild speculation or so obviously fake it was almost insulting. But one name kept recurring in every meaningful, at least in comparison, thread: XxVoid_CowboyxX. 

Half the board dismissed him as a nutjob clinging to coincidence. The other, much smaller yet somehow louder, half argued endlessly that his threads were always the first to hint at things people didn’t want to admit were real. Sometimes, they said, he was just early. Other times, too early.

And Anakin… he was starting to believe that second group.

“Cauldron isn’t just real,” one of XxVoid_CowboyxX’s threads began, “they run everything. Why else do you think powers follow such weird rules? Why do trigger events only happen under stress? Why do some people get powers that make no sense for their personality or situation? It’s because Cauldron chooses who gets what, and they’ve been doing it for decades.”

Most of it sounded like tinfoil-hat nonsense, but not all of it.

Anakin didn’t care about the content as much as the logic of the patterns beneath it. The underlying belief that there had to be some kind of structure, some kind of source that shaped all of this.

In his galaxy, there had only ever been one source of true power: the Force. It was omnipresent, generated by life itself, and connected to all living things. And while its uses and manifestations varied—Jedi, Sith, Nightsisters, Seers—it was always the always the same truth in different hands.

Maybe this world had something like that.

Maybe Tinkers, Brutes, Strangers—whatever these classifications were—were all just different ways of tapping into that same source. And if that were true… then it stood to reason that someone out there had figured out how to manufacture the connection and force the bond artificially.

Cauldron.

Even if half of what XxVoid_CowboyxX said was true, Cauldron wasn’t just a player but a dealer. And maybe, just maybe, they had something that could replace what Anakin had lost, even if it paled in comparison. 

The challenge was in finding them.

Because if the rumors were even close to true, Cauldron didn’t want to be found. They found you instead. 

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking through thread after thread. He was narrowing things down, cross-referencing names, sightings, and snippets of overheard chatter on the street; people who had powers but didn’t like to talk about their trigger events, though most parahumans were usually tight-lipped about that in general; capes who appeared out of nowhere, but were unusually powerful, mentally stable, and aligned with larger factions or with no ties at all; mentions of people disappearing into doors that appeared out of nowhere; and the same symbol—a stylized "C" or the Greek letter Omega—popping up somewhere on the bodies of so-called Monsters (or the Branded), background footage, or on anonymous data dumps.

“They look for people with nothing to lose and too much to gain,” one post claimed. “Then they give you power—at a cost. And you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to pay it off.”

It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d had before.

He tapped the side of his cup and took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee. The few that were in the building this late in the night paid him no mind, and he’d made sure of that, going to a different café than last time, in a different jacket, and with a slightly different face thanks to his cosmetics. But he also gave them no attention either. 

There was one option left: 

Talk to the man himself.

XxVoid_CowboyxX had refused direct messages before, despite Anakin trying under different throwaway usernames. But he had recently posted something that stood out, a challenge, or maybe some kind of idiot filter to weed out those that weren't serious.

Either way, Anakin read it:

“ok so, a LOT of you have been sliding into my DMs lately asking “void cowboy how do i get powers?” “void cowboy is cauldron real?” “void cowboy why are you like this?”

FIRST OF ALL: yes

SECOND: I’m about to say something dangerous. Like, delete-my-browser-history-if-I-go-missing levels of dangerous. So screen cap this NOW before Big PHO censors me like they did with my last 7 posts (FREE THE VOID DOCS 🔓👁️)

“Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost.”

Yeah that’s right. I quoted Fullmetal Alchemist, you government-crafted NPCs.

You think that was just a cartoon? NO. That was a documentary. That’s Cauldron’s whole gig. Equivalent exchange. Except the exchange is your sanity, your past, and probably your left kidney.

You pay the toll. They give you the juice.

And for the record? I’m NOT saying I have a vial.

I’m also NOT NOT saying that.

Keep asking questions, sheep. Maybe someday I’ll let you in on the TRUTH™️. But until then, remember:

If someone offers you a vial in a dark alley and tells you not to ask questions?

Drink it and become a god or a crab. No way to know.

XxVoid_CowboyxX OUT”

The phrasing was theatrical and almost certainly plagiarized, but Anakin knew better than to dismiss it. Some of the deepest truths he’d ever uncovered had come buried beneath ego and riddles so pretentious that only the determined would pursue them further. 

Dooku had routinely misled, revealing partial truths, and presenting cryptic or lofty-sounding ‘wisdom’ to manipulate others. And Palpatine… Palpatine had made it an art. And now, on a message board filled with findings, mod threats, and conspiracy theorists trying to figure out the truth before each other, someone was doing it again.

Anakin leaned back in his chair and exhaled again. 

It could be a trap. Hell, it probably was a trap. But he was running out of leads, and even a trap could be sprung in the right direction if he was smart enough.

So he typed.

Skyguy (his PHO alias):

“I’ve read your post, and you’re not wrong. Equivalent exchange is the price of power and truth, and I’m willing to pay. 

Here’s my currency: I’m not from Earth Bet. I don’t know how I got here, but I know where I came from. And that is a galaxy far from here, one where powers come from a living field that connects all things. I still remember it all.

If your Cauldron is real, I need to find them.”

It seemed even in a new world with a second chance, some things hadn’t changed. He still favored directness over subtlety and confrontation over compromise. But he wouldn't scold himself; now wasn’t the time for careful words.

He hit send.

The thread blew up almost immediately as responses poured in, though mostly disbelief, mockery, and demands to ‘drop the fanfic tag.’ A few even asked if it was marketing for a new cape comic. Another asked if he needed meds.

But Anakin ignored all of them, because buried beneath the noise was the only message that mattered.

XxVoid_CowboyxX → Skyguy:

“👁️ we see u 👁️

pull up @ Fugly Bob’s this saturday, 11AM sharp. Don’t be late or ur cringe.

I wanna hear ur lore 👀

also if u tell anyone… the boogeyman’s gonna come for u 💀

lol jk

…unless???”

Anakin stared at the screen for a long moment. Then he shut the terminal, stood up, and stretched as far as he could in the cramped space. He paid in cash, pocketed the change, and left the café behind without looking back.

Midnight was four hours away.

And if the man behind the keyboard was who he thought he was, tomorrow might be the first real step toward something that could fill the void the Force left behind.