Chapter 9

"It's not your fault, Colin." the voice reverberated in his helmet. A lie, of course, but well- intentioned all the same.

"Thank you Dragon." he replied quietly. For, what else could he say?

A Ward died on his watch. Fifteen years old, shot in the back and left to bleed out in a rotten warehouse, filled with drugs and brutalized Nazis. It was not an unusual death, as far as parahumans went. The majority of solo heroes would fall in a similar manner, struck down by surprise, or overconfidence, or just plain bad luck. Just another statistic.

But Shadow Stalker, Sophia Hess, was a Ward. Such a simple change, a few hours of paperwork, some oversight, and a few restrictions, but it made all the difference.

Wards did not die like this.

They had died in the past, certainly. Shadow Stalker would not be the first casualty, the first victim of this constant war against crime. The S-Class threats, the Endbringers, the Nine, Wards had fallen to monsters. Good deaths, Colin thought, with the knowledge that they were making a difference. When Wards died, it was because they were the only heroes left standing, the last line of defense between certain death and a crowd of civilians.

Wards did not die to gangsters. Gangsters should know better.

Well, they certainly would now. The Empire would fall by weeks end. The Brockton Bay Protectorate was no longer accepting the status quo. They lost one of their own, retaliation was inevitable. It didn't matter that Shadow Stalker was far from a model Ward, or that she was clearly breaking her probation at the time of her death. It was the message that was important.

Kill a Ward, and face the fury of the Protectorate.

What use was the Wards program, after all, if it could not serve its most basic purpose of protection? Even now, the Youth Guard was screaming for blood, Colin's blood, Armsmaster's blood. He could not blame them, nor would he blame the Director when she threw him to the wolves.

The Wards were his responsibility, no matter how often he foisted the burden onto Hannah. Were being the operative word. He had utterly neglected his duties, it was no surprise he lost his leadership position. The only reason he was not suspended was the sheer need for manpower to deal with the Empire.

With over a dozen capes, over twice as many as the local Protectorate, the Empire would not go quietly. New Wave would help, of course, the Dallon and Pelham families rallying to the side of justice as always. With their help the numbers would be roughly even.

Colin, Armsmaster, would be needed in the days to come.

He fought down his pride at the thought that, even now, he was necessary. It was a lie, a cultivated falsehood, a crafted narrative fed to the masses. Armsmaster was a hero, well-known and widely respected, a model soldier. These were the words told to the press, the excuses given for his incompetence. They would shield the Protectorate from some of the backlash, and his spotless record would do the rest. Nobody could have seen this coming, they would say. An accident, a terrible accident. Look at his past, how hard he works, his singular adherence to the life of a hero. They would praise him, attempt to drown the outrage with a deluge of past glories.

The words were even true, once. Now, though, he was a pariah, forsaken by nearly every teammate, as if his skills had somehow deteriorated overnight, as if his devotion was a question rather than a fact. All his successes, every hard-won victory, forgotten, in the face of one catastrophic failure.

He would be allowed to participate in the coming fights, a farewell gift, a consolation prize, to give him the chance to end his career on a high note. A last chance to make his mark, before he was shuffled off to a small town somewhere, where nobody would know him or miss him. Where he could be forgotten.

Was this to be the sum total of Colin Wallis? Resign in shame, abandon his duties, hide himself away from the world?

No.

He did not possess the ability to quit. This was his life, his duty, his purpose. He would fix what mistakes he could, learn from those he could not. He would remake himself into a better hero, a better man, become the symbol the Protectorate once marketed him as.

"You need to take a break, Colin. You've been awake for over thirty hours." Dragon's voice interrupted his musing.

Had it really been that long? So much effort, with so very little to show for it. He still had so much left to do. His nanothorns, for starters, would help him greatly against Hookwolf, once completed. His predictive program would theoretically work on Kaiser, allow Colin to dodge steel blades with impunity. He needed-

"Colin, you will get some rest. The raids start in five hours, and you cannot go out to fight on no sleep." Dragon insisted, her voice stern, commanding.

Perhaps she was right.

He struggled to his feet, unsteadily shuffling to his lab's exit. It opened with a hiss, and he began the long, slow walk to his quarters.

Dragon was right, he concluded lethargically, he needed sleep. Five hours was plenty of time to regain his peak, to clear his mind before the coming battle. It was a sensible recommendation, and he made a note to thank her when he was less groggy.

He passed the mess hall, dimly recalling he had not eaten today, and stepped inside. Aegis, Carlos, Colin stubbornly reminded himself, sat, alone, morosely poking at his food. The young man was a competent leader, hard-working, loyal, traits Colin found admirable. It was clear the boy blamed himself for Shadow Stalker's actions. A foolish notion. He had reported Sophia's problems many times, but Colin saw fit to ignore them. She was more useful as she was, aggressive, driven, angry even. Colin saw a small part of himself in her, beneath her antagonistic nature. He assumed she would grow out of her problems, grow as a person, and someday realize her full potential. The mistake was his alone, his to bear, to own, guilt and all.

"Aegis." Colin spoke without thinking, seeking only to help, to fix the problem.

The boy looked towards him, and Colin found he had no words. I'm sorry for your loss battled with this was my fault, but how could such meaningless pleasantries help? How could words mend an injury, soothe the ache of a lost teammate.

Actions then.

"I've finished the new tracker. It will be ready for implantation within the next day or two, just as soon as the Director has time to approve it. Every Ward will get one. This won't happen again."

Aegis stared at him stiffly, his face twitching through emotions Colin could not decipher. Finally, he nodded, a simple, "Yes sir. Thank you, sir." putting an end to their conversation.

He heard a soft sigh in his ear, a sign that Dragon was still watching, that he, yet again, made some mistake that he could not comprehend.

He would simply have to try harder.

Colin found his quarters, spartan as they were, a bed, a blanket, a dusty television. He stripped off his armor, leaving on his skin tight undersuit, carefully arranging the pieces to minimize assembly time. He could be up and fully armored in twenty-four seconds if sufficiently motivated. A knock interrupted him, as he removed his helmet.

"It's me Colin." the soft voice, muffled by the door, gave him some small measure of relief. Miss Millitia, Hannah, was his only teammate still speaking to him. The woman was clearly frustrated with his decisions, angry at his inattention, but she did not question his motives, his desires.

She still saw Colin as a hero, and, somehow, that made a world of difference to him.

He slid the door open, forcing his facial muscles into a facade of a smile. Hannah's grim face answered him. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, a barely repressed snarl. At her side, her power shifted through forms faster than Colin's eyes could follow.

"You need to turn on the news," she said with barely controlled rage.

"Miss Militia, I don't think that's a good idea," Dragon's voice broke in through the speakers on Colin's helmet, "Colin has not slept in two days, he needs to rest before-"

"What happened?" Colin interrupted. Hannah frowned at him, her eyes darting between his bed and his helmet. "I'm fine, I can handle it." Colin insisted.

Hannah opened her mouth, hesitating, "Maybe Dragon is right. You should get some sleep, and I'll fill you in once you're up."

Colin grunted in irritation, and strode over to his television, a luxury he kept around specifically for this kind of situation. He flipped it on, having already set it to the most prolific Brockton Bay news channel.

"Colin, you really shouldn't..." Dragon's voice stalled out as the television crackled to life.

It was a news report, about a video that was just put on the internet. A man in elaborate metal armor, adorned with a crown of blades, sat at a large desk and spoke into a camera. The video was clearly a recording, and Kaiser spoke eloquently and with conviction, "-are lying to you, brothers and sisters, lying to protect the actions of a violent vigilante! This sadistic sociopath was killed in self-defense, while she tortured a man! The Protectorate have tried to cover up these actions, tried to mask the truth from you, good citizens. They use lies and slander to tarnish the name of the Empire, to accuse us of crimes we did not commit! To them, I say this. You cannot hide from the truth!" with a cry of exaggerated rage, an armored hand slammed down onto the desk, revealing a bloody crossbow bolt. "The man who shot Shadow Stalker is named Jeffrey Randall. He has willingly confessed, asking only for a fair trial. His actions, while violent, were absolutely justified by law. He has the protection of the Empire, until the PRT give their word, that Mr. Randall will be allowed to defend himself in a court of law! Tell me, men and women of Brockton Bay, should you not be allowed to defend yourself? When the Protectorate decides it is you who they want to frame, to brutalize, what-" Colin turned off the television, his hand shaking in rage, his face set in stone. He took a moment to compose himself, before reassembling his armor.

"I'm going back to my lab."

"Colin, please, you need to sleep!" Dragon pleaded, but he barely heard her.

He stomped out of his quarters, Armsmaster once again, ignoring Hannah's attempts to calm him.

There was still work to be done.