One single thought ran through Colin’s decaying mind.
One single thought, as his bones trembled, as the earth rumbled, as his world collapsed around him.
He needed more time.
He needed just a bit, just a little bit more time.
There was never enough time.
Colin Wallis’s whole life had been one long race, one marathon, against time. Even back when he was just a human, there were never enough hours in the day.
His father wanted him, his mother wanted him, there was never a way to satisfy them both. They split his life between themselves, leaving no time for anything else, for anyone else. No time for friends, no money for things, nothing but eat and work and sleep and repeat.
But Colin didn’t mind that.
He hated people, and he was good at work. Even as a child, he hadn’t needed breaks. He hadn’t needed leisure. Work was leisure. He enjoyed a routine.
Only, he wished he’d had a little bit more time.
He didn’t remember much about his trigger event. Everyone always said it was the worst day of their lives but, for him, it was no different than any other day. It didn’t stick out, not particularly. In fact, he recalled feeling quite relieved afterwards.
Like a slow-building pressure had finally released.
A pimple had finally popped.
He wasn’t surprised to be a Tinker. He was neurotic enough. A loner. He’d always preferred the company of things to people.
Except, he’d been surprised to discover his speciality. Miniaturization. Efficiency. Hybrid technology. Not that he minded it, per se. It allowed him to control every aspect of his life, of his schedule, to squeeze every last morsel of utility out of his every day. No, he liked his power well enough. It was just…
He still never had enough time.
When they made him team leader, he liked that too. It was only appropriate. He was the best, after all. The smartest. He worked the hardest. He deserved to rise in the ranks.
But they never let him do as he wished.
Public galas. Private parties. Merchandise signings.
Fan clubs.
He was a cape, for fuck's sake.
He was supposed to be training, working, getting stronger. Brockton was a warzone, choked by crime, and he was supposed to be fighting it. Leading the charge against it. Edge of the knife. Tip of the spear. Blade of the halberd.
But he couldn’t. Because they wouldn’t allow it. And, soon enough, he figured out why. With his intellect, it was only natural.
They didn’t allow it because the Protectorate didn’t really care about stopping crime.
Not really. Not primarily. They cared about image. They cared about influence. They cared about all that public funding and all those donations. After all, they weren’t just providing a service. They were selling a story. Heroes and villains.
And, without villains, what need would there be for heroes?
But Colin wasn’t really one to talk. He wasn’t really interested in fighting crime, anyways. He wasn’t passionate about it. Mostly, he just wanted to Tinker. To work, and be left alone.
Only, it vexed him that they were giving him a job and then preventing him from seeing it through to the end.
No one understood this.
No one understood how important his work was, how much the red tape held him back. No one knew just how hard he tried, just how much he could change, if he only had the chance. If he only had a little bit more time.
No one, except one.
And now, that one was dying.
Now, the race against time was more urgent than ever. Even here, from so deep underground, he could feel the rumbling. The vicious and bone-shaking trembling. The waves dispensed by ludicrously high-caliber rounds, the dreadful quaking induced by multiple-megaton weaponry.
Reverberations of the battle taking place far above.
The screeching shrieks of shearing metal, the keening whine of servos discharged. The sound of bleeding-edge exosuits maneuvering around and about one another. Of machine warfare. And, every now and then, the faint yelp of a human voice.
But mostly, the agonized screams of his closest friend.
No, maybe his only friend. The only person with whom he’d ever really connected, the only one with whom he’d ever truly gotten along.
Colin had always hated humans.
He found them grating and abrasive, their rhythms unnatural, their mechanics confusing and irrational. As a child, he’d found them cruel, stupid, and profoundly hateful creatures. As an adult, his opinion was only further assured. He wanted nothing to do with them, or as little as was necessary.
He preferred the company of machines.
How ironic, then. How appropriate.
Because there was one human being he’d managed to stomach. One who’d stayed up with him during late nights in the lab, kept him company. One who understood his work easily, naturally, with whom he might exchange ideas, compare notes, who might better himself just as he bettered her; that they might, together, better all of their ignorant, short-sighted race.
One whom he’d laughed with, joked with, commiserated with, stood tall next to even in the face of Endbringers. That one beautiful, glorious, gorgeous (or so he’d imagined) saving grace of all their race, that one who’d bestowed upon him such a relaxing, familiar companionship that he’d thought might, perhaps, one day, blossom into something more…
Was, in fact, not human at all.
Not a recluse. Not an agoraphobe. Not a misanthrope, nor a jaded member of her species, like him. No.
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Dragon was an AI.
And, right now, her mind was being torn asunder. Ripped apart. Brought to throes of plaintive agony.
ASCALON was mutilating her from within.
With all the mercilessness of something not truly sentient, it tore through her subroutines, slicing her cognitive matrices into pieces, erasing her very self from the hardware that contained it.
The revolutionary nanotech BCI he’d created for this sole purpose, scavenged from the best examples of his existing technology, and currently wore, was their only collective hope of staving off the inevitable. Of putting a stop to Saint’s attack, of giving her time to code countermeasures, before the damage was irreparable and all was lost.
But it just wasn’t enough.
He hadn’t been prepared for this.
Dragon’s security routines were ironclad, and indeed it’d been near enough dumb luck that he’d found out about her true nature when he did. And then she found out that he’d found out. Which meant, of course, they found out, too.
As it was, he’d had mere days to prepare. Days! He’d have needed months to do it properly. It couldn’t have possibly happened at a worse time.
Elsewhere in the world, Scion was on a rampage.
Even now, thinking the words aloud almost made him chuckle. Or snort, in disbelief. The mere prospect of such a thing was ludicrous, impossible.
The world’s greatest, golden hero had gone mad.
No one knew how, as far as Colin was aware. No one knew why. The cape had simply…woken up, one day.
And obliterated half of England.
And the genocide hadn’t stopped there. Xenocide, for that matter, as Colin had it on good authority that his rampage was not limited to their dimension, alone. They’d said as much, when they’d convened that meeting. The mighty Triumvirate, themselves, calling upon all heroes the world across to combat the coming storm. Even those in the Baumann Center would be given the chance to join the fight.
Their great convocation, to discuss strategy. He remembered the swell of overwhelming vanity and accomplishment he’d felt at being offered an invitation to it.
The meeting had been hours ago. He’d never arrived.
By now, the attack must have already begun. The greatest battle the world had ever seen, and he was missing it. For Colin, who prided himself on logic above all else, it was a thoroughly uncharacteristic thing.
He should have been there. Even if it meant her death, he should have been there. After all, what was one life, compared to all humanity?
But, as Colin found, he didn’t care all that much about what happened to humanity.
Only her.
Only her, he thought, as he overrode his Interface’s safety measures, forcing the device to leverage all the biological resources of his parahuman mind against his artificial adversary.
Would this even work?
More than half of Dragon’s digital infrastructure was destroyed by now. Even if she turned the tide against ASCALON and triumphed over the Dragonslayer armors, in the end, would the Dragon he knew still exist? Would she not be a lobotomite?
Was he sacrificing himself for someone already dead?
It didn’t matter, he decided. His own pitiful existence was a small price to pay. He’d join her in brain damage, if need be.
Only her, he repeated, as his ears and eyes started to bleed.
Colin hadn’t been a hero. Not really. Never. Not a villain, perhaps, but not a hero. He was a corporate climber, a man interested in his own advancement, in career and in technology, to the exclusion of all else.
So, in a way, this was…right.
In a way, it would be the first heroic thing he’d ever done.
Only her, as his brain liquified.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Colin thought he smelt something burning, but he didn’t know for sure.
He didn’t know anything for sure, anymore.
It was relaxing, in a way. Soothing. Being so certain, of so many things, was…so exhausting. Now, he could just let go.
Yes, it was almost over, now.
Just a little bit more time.
Just focus on her. Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Only her.
Distantly, Colin felt ASCALON’s power in the network ebb and fade into nothingness.
The quakes up above had gone silent, and Dragon had, too.
It was finally over.
The burning smell had intensified, and was now augmented by the scent of cooking flesh.
He hoped it wasn’t his, but he couldn’t tell for sure. He couldn’t feel anything, anymore.
The world was dark around him. He was like a babe, blind, and paralyzed, and numb.
Then, he heard it.
The Dragon’s voice had returned, but her screams had shifted in pitch and tone.
They’d become a hateful, raging roar.
COOOOOLLLLLIIIIIIINNNNN
Colin heard her, and a broad, blissful smile spread across his face.
His love was alive.
He’d saved her.
He’d won.
Colin Wallis’s final conscious thought was that, at long last, he’d been just in time.
~~~
Cape Name: Armsmaster.
Civilian Identity: Colin Wallis.
Classification: Tinker 7/8; Miniaturization.
Affiliation/Base of Operations: Brockton Bay Protectorate.
Notable Ancillary Characteristics: N/A.
Personal History: Born January 1978 in Dorchester, Boston. Attended public schools throughout childhood due to lack of household income, performing well enough to secure a full ride to BU. Graduated magna cum laude, triggered at age 24. Details unknown. Joined the local branch of the Protectorate in Brockton Bay, Massachusetts, USA. Worked hard. Career-driven. Climbed the ranks quickly, becoming team leader at 31.
Psychological Profile: Colin’s family was poor, but not particularly abusive or violent, in contrast to those of many first-generation triggers. His parents divorced when Colin was in his pre-teens, potentially creating a sense of jaded distrust of others and dislike of social relationships. Colin was well-documented to have been a loner in youth.
As an adult, Colin was stern, uncompromising, and abrasive. In my own personal dealings with the man, during my time spent as an Undersider in Coil’s employ, I found myself constantly and consistently amazed by how an individual with so little charisma could ever be made team leader, the local Protectorate branch’s public face. Colin was rude and unsympathetic to those he considered his enemies, and barely better to those he called his friends.
That said, Colin was equally critical of his own performance, demanding no less than perfection in any task he undertook. He deliberately forwent any manner of social life in order to more fully dedicate himself to the development of his own technological prowess. This inevitably led Colin to develop a certain pride and arrogance related to his own strength and accomplishments that, in my view, greatly hampered his capacity to function as a cape.
It should be noted that there was one sole figure with whom Colin shared a measure of intimacy; that being the Canadian Tinker, Dragon. Though not personally privy to any of their interactions, I cannot fathom what might have led the famously genteel, agoraphobic woman to take any interest at all in such an intolerable character.
Current Status: Presumed deceased.
Circumstances of Death, if Applicable: Evidence suggests that Colin, like nearly all capes, died during the events of Gold Morning, in 2014 AD/0 AC. Unfortunately, as was the case for the vast majority of capes in operation at the time, next to no detailed records exist to prove or discount his demise. What the Collapse itself did not destroy, the Horror and Folly that followed made quick work of.
Ultimately, all I know is that Colin was alive and well before I was put into cryo, and long-dead when I awoke. Personally, I suspect the architect of his demise to be that same one that plagued all conscious Thinkers and Tinkers at the time; Scion’s psychic scream.
-Entry #11709 from the private records of Sarah Livsey. Security clearance required for access: CABAL.