CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - HANNAH

The docks were eerily silent. The Wards and Hannah—Miss Militia—stood in a loose circle, catching their breath as their eyes darted toward the empty space where Francis had stood moments ago, Superman’s word the only thing preventing her from stopping him. She stood rigid, her weapon lowered but her expression tense. 

“That’s it?” Clockblocker broke the silence, incredulous. “We’re just letting the guy go?”

Superman turned to face the Wards and Miss Militia. “I made a judgment call. He needed help. I’ll handle it.”

Vista crossed her arms, frowning. “And we’re just supposed to trust him? He’s a villain. What if this is some kind of setup?”

Miss Militia took a deep breath. “I don’t like it either, but if Superman believes him, we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. For now.”

Superman nodded. “Trickster mentioned someone named Noelle. It’s clear she’s important to him, and whatever is going on, it’s pushing him to take risks he normally wouldn’t. That tells me there’s more to this.”

Miss Militia stepped forward, collapsing her weapon back into energy. “We appreciate your intervention, but I need to brief you on something critical. The Slaughterhouse Nine are in Brockton Bay.” Her tone was grim.

The Wards stiffened at her words, the weight of the statement settling over the group like a shroud.

“They’ve already left their mark,” she continued. “Nine bodies. Three crime scenes. We’re still piecing it all together, but it’s clear they’re scouting for candidates. We don’t have time to waste.”

Superman’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “I’ve heard of them. If they’re here, this city’s in even more danger than I realized.”

“That’s why we need you at the meeting,” Miss Militia urged. “Tonight, the city’s capes are meeting on neutral ground to plan how we’re going to fight back. Your presence could make all the difference.”

Clockblocker raised a hand, his tone dry. “Uh, is this the part where we conveniently forget that Brockton Bay’s already a giant dumpster fire without adding the Nine to the mix?”

Vista shot him a look. “Not helping, Dennis.”

Superman glanced toward the direction Francis had gone, his brow furrowing in thought. “I’ll be there,” he finally said, his voice resolute. “But I’ll also look into Francis’ claims. If there’s a chance his situation ties into what the Nine are doing, we can’t ignore it.”

Miss Militia nodded, her gaze steady. “Agreed. But we’ll need to tread carefully. The Nine thrive on chaos, and we can’t give them the upper hand.”

Superman nodded, then turned back to Miss Militia. “Where and when?”

“Tonight. The old ferry terminal. It’s the most neutral ground we could secure.”

“I’ll be there,” Superman said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

As he took off into the night sky, Miss Militia turned to the Wards, her expression softening slightly. “Let’s regroup. We’ve got work to do before the meeting.”

Clockblocker, rubbing his shoulder where he’d been knocked around, muttered, “Great. Another fun-filled evening with Brockton Bay’s finest.”

Miss Militia gave him a pointed look, though she was understanding. The stress of the past weeks had been much, and she couldn’t fault him for venting, even if his humor sometimes came across as inappropriate. “Dennis,” she began, her tone a warning, but she stopped short.

Instead, she took a measured breath, her gaze softening as she glanced over the Wards. Vista stood a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the ground. They were all at their breaking point, holding themselves together with sheer willpower and the thin thread of routine.

Miss Militia knew better than most that humor was Clockblocker’s shield, his way of processing the fear that came with being a cape in a city like Brockton Bay. She didn’t like his flippant attitude sometimes, but she wasn’t about to strip away the one thing keeping him steady. So she let the comment slide.

“Let’s keep moving,” she said. 

“At least we have one less villain to worry about…” He gave a tired half-smile, his usual sarcasm creeping back in, though it lacked its usual edge. His exhaustion was evident. “Guess that’s a win, if you’re into small victories.”

Vista shot him a glare. “Do you always have to make jokes?”

“Yes,” Clockblocker replied without hesitation. “If I don’t, the weight of this whole thing might actually crush me. And I’m pretty sure that’s not covered under my health insurance.”

Despite herself, Vista’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile before she shook her head.

Miss Militia didn’t comment, but she noticed. She noticed the way Dennis’s humor, abrasive as it could be, cut through the tension. The way it drew Vista out of her shell, even if only for a moment. The way it kept them moving forward, step by step, even when it felt like the ground was crumbling beneath their feet.

She gave Clockblocker one last glance, her expression softening for a brief moment before she turned back toward the darkened streets. They were all tired. They were all scared. But they were still standing, and for now, that was enough.