(SHATTERPOINT) THE BATTERY’S DEAD, ETHAN!

Emily Piggot had known, long before anyone else was willing to say it out loud, that there was no clean solution to the Battery problem.

There were only compromises, and every single one of them came with consequences she did not like.

With the all-hands meeting finally over, the resulting file sat open on her desk: performance reviews, mission reports, commendations, all arranged in a neat order, and at the very end, a growing stack of addenda marked sensitive. Emily did not need to read them again. She already knew what they contained.

A Protectorate hero with ties to a secret organization that sold powers did not merely undermine internal trust. It turned Battery into a symbol. Proof, in the eyes of every naysayer, that the system itself was compromised.

From a purely strategic standpoint, the solution was obvious. 

Battery remaining an active hero in Brockton Bay was no longer viable. 

Transfer her, suspend her, encourage retirement, dress it up however they wanted. Remove her with as little spectacle as possible and reduce the pressure before the situation escalated into something that could no longer be managed, so they could focus their attention on the real problem. 

And yet.

The numbers did not support the decision.

Criminal activity of the mundane kind was up, patrol coverage was down, and half her roster was already stretched across double shifts and emergency deployments to help law enforcement. Losing any competent hero was a risk at this point, but losing one of Battery’s caliber created gaps that could not be easily filled.

She had been reliable, disciplined, and effective in ways that were rare even among the senior members of the Protectorate. Removing her meant leaving gaps in patrol coverage, having slower response times, and losing more opportunities for the city’s criminal element to exploit.

Yes, she was a liability.

But she was also indispensable.

That contradiction was why Emily had waited.

Supporters and critics alike had been pushing her to make a decision. Some argued that keeping Battery on the roster was a betrayal of institutional integrity, a sign that the PRT was willing to tolerate unacceptable risks to protect its own. Others insisted that suspending her would only validate the worst fears about Cauldron’s influence.

Emily had ignored both camps.

Once she made a move, there would be no undoing it. And in a situation this volatile, haste was not merely risky. It was potentially catastrophic.

Which was why the news struck her like a physical blow.

The PRT officer assigned to Battery’s monitoring detail appeared in her doorway after a brief knock.

“Director,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere just to the side of her desk. “We’ve got a situation.”

Emily glanced up. One realization of his hesitancy and her irritation vanished.

“Explain.”

“It’s Battery, ma’am. She’s… she’s been found unresponsive.”

For several seconds, Emily was certain she had misheard him.

Unresponsive was the word you used for people who collapsed during training, for capes who overused their powers, and for situations that ended with medics, paperwork, and mild disciplinary reports.

It was not denial so much as disbelief. Battery was under observation in a secured medical wing, surrounded by trained personnel and monitoring systems. Even if something had gone wrong, even if she had tried to escape or been targeted, there should have been alarms, witnesses, and emergency calls flooding in from every direction.

There had been none.

Apparently, there had been no alerts, no emergency calls, and no indication that anything at all had occurred until the body had been found.

Emily went on high alert immediately.

The officers assigned to Battery were detained for questioning, and Internal Affairs was mobilized within minutes. Less than half an hour later, Emily found herself in the underground corridor leading to the holding cells that had been cordoned off.

Forensic scientists moved through the space, already in the process of documenting and reconstructing the scene, and at the center of it all—between the equipment carts lining the walls and evidence cases being sealed—under a thin white sheet, lay Battery’s dead body. 

She issued an immediate information blackout, locking the incident down under the restricted classification while investigators tore through logs, schedules, and surveillance data. She did everything in her power to prevent the news from leaking before the appropriate personnel understood what had actually happened, up to and including flagging every person who had been within the vicinity.

It still was not enough.

Assault’s ensuing rampage ensured that containment failed before it could even begin. And by the time Piggot was briefed on his behavior, the story was already spreading through unofficial channels.

But she couldn't spare him any thought—hoping his fellow heroes would stop him before he did something stupid—because the first real lead came from the cyber defense team.

“At approximately the estimated time of death,” the lead digital forensic analyst had reported, “there was a routine maintenance cycle on the surveillance system.”

It was the kind of automated process no one ever paid attention to, a temporary interruption that caused the cameras in that area to go offline for a handful of seconds before resuming normal operation.

It was standard procedure.

It was also the only gap in the entire recording.

Five to eight seconds.

That was all.

Which meant that whoever or whatever had killed Battery had done so in a window of time so small it bordered on impossible.

Emily felt something cold settle in her gut.

Battery had not been an easy target. Even without her power, she was trained, experienced, and dangerous in close quarters. With her power active, she was one of the PRT’s most reliable combat assets.

Killing her in seconds was not just impressive.

It was unheard of.

Emily leaned back in her chair later that evening, pressing her fingers together as she tried to piece together what little she had. 

There were no signs of forced entry, no evidence of a struggle, no witnesses who had seen anyone approach her, and no injuries beyond a single gunshot wound to the back of her head. The entire event had unfolded in a blind spot so precise it felt planned.

And then, unbidden, a memory of Battery’s last words surfaced:

Please, tell Ethan I love him.

At the time, Emily had dismissed it as emotional dramatics. A stressed hero facing suspension, grappling with the possibility that her career was over, saying something heartfelt and final because that was what people did in moments like that.

Now, sitting alone with the evidence laid out in front of her, that explanation felt insufficient.

Battery had not been dramatic.

She had been afraid, but not of the PRT, or of suspension, or even of public backlash.

She had been afraid of something else.

Something she had believed would kill her.

Emily closed her eyes slowly, the image of the security timestamp frozen in her mind with grim clarity.

Battery had known.

She had known she was going to die.

And if that was true, then there was only one organization with the motive, the reach, and the assumed capability to eliminate a compromised asset. 

But without leaving a trace?

Cauldron might be more dangerous than anyone had ever thought.