The Law of Averages

Interlude — The Broken Shield

Then

Bastion watched from the street, as the man he admired most calmly stepped in front of a police station, arms held high. Champion had debated this moment long and hard with the People’s inner circle, but his mind was set. He entered in full regalia, both to speed up the process of arrest and as a small measure of protection for his friends and family. Unmasking was rarely done in public, though that was more a representation of how few heroes and villains ever submitted themselves to capture. Still, Champion had earned enough good will from the CPD that they should treat him kindly. It was what would come later that worried Bastion.

He watched the faces of the present officers, meticulously cataloguing the worryingly broad reactions. He saw fear, anger, confusion. He saw sadness and understanding. What he did not see was gratitude, and that fact burned at him. Did they not understand what he was doing? What Champion was giving up? Were they so blind to the consequences had he chosen to fight? None of them, not a one, understood what Champion was saving them from.

Some still called for violence, Echo loudest among them. It was an absurd thought that was becoming less so by the day. But the targets were all wrong. Echo wanted to target businesses that peddled in upgrades. He had argued that their existence was an existential threat to both Naturals and humanity itself. Champion had not cared for that line of thinking. The People were meant to protect. How could they turn on those they sheltered?

He watched those same sheltered people gather up on the street, openly gawping at Champion as the man was placed into cuffs and lead away. He watched their faces, seeing more sympathy than in the officers, yet still no understanding, nor gratitude. Some jeered and some cheered, some voiced support while others screamed insults. The crowd was split. How quickly people forgot those that saved them. How quickly opinions could turn with a few cleverly chosen words and the right story.

Champion did not believe in such things. Honesty was his brand and he was unyielding in its portrayal. No bending, no misleading, no spin to speak of. He presented himself as who he was, and let that image settle as it may. It was a naïve way of operating, even Bastion saw that. Echo had said it best, what good was a reputation if it was never used? What good was a symbol if it were never displayed? But Champion would malign neither ally nor enemy. He stated facts in a straightforward manner, and trusted that people would see the truth.

The truth was simple: The People had protected this city for years. They’d fought villain after villain, incarnated gangsters and madmen all lusting for power. The People had put them down, one by one, while the police stood by, helpless and afraid. Bastion had expected so much more from his fellow citizens. He’d thought they’d fight for their protectors, as the People had done for them time and again. In his wildest imaginings, he’d expected this ploy to fail from the outset; for the CPD to acknowledge Champion’s role in keeping the city safe, and refuse to arrest him at all. He’d expected passerby to leap to the defense of their Champion, for public outcry to be furious and united.

Instead, Bastion watched a restless crowd uselessly shuffle about on the sidewalk while their hero was taken to prison. He watched as journalists arrived with their flashing bulbs and notepads, shouting questions that couldn’t be answered. He watched the police close their doors and bar them shut, refusing to take a side, to take a stand, to make a statement. He watched the crowd disperse, one by one, until only bare pavement remained. He watched for longer than that, until the sun set and darkness draped itself over the Windy City like a cold blanket. He watched until there was no more to see.

“We cannot fight,” Kyoma declared in his stoic baritone. “It would destroy any chance of Champion’s plan working.”

The silver giant stood at the head of the table, arms crossed and glaring at Echo. The younger, smaller man spread his arms wide in a gesture of helplessness.

“It is out of our hands,” Echo said. “Our sister teams lack patience. They will strike with my word or without.”

“With your word, I should think,” Bastion said, drumming his fingertips against the table. He slouched in his chair, elbow on the table and propping up his head with his fist. He features were tired and angry, and he did not hold back his accusation. “You’ve been stirring the pot, Echo. Don’t bother denying it.”

“I deny nothing,” Echo replied, glancing to Kyoma. “I’ve always done what I thought is right. Years now I’ve warned you this was coming. Years. Now our leader rots in prison and we debate our own helplessness.”

“The country is against us,” Kyoma replied sternly. “We live in a democracy, and the citizens have spoken. We are criminals, until Champion has his day in court. We will not shame this organization further by becoming that which we’ve fought against.”

“The citizens have said nothing!” Echo growled. “This was politics plain and simple. The powerful fear us, rightfully so. They fear what a society of Naturals means for their own positions. How could they ever hope to hold on to power when every citizen has power of their own?”

“This organization does not exist to further your paranoid delusions,” Kyoma said. “Upgrades exist. The technology cannot be undone. This is a fact.”

“They are trying to control us,” Echo hissed. “They want to limit our own growth, our individual potential! We must strike before these abominations become entrenched in our society!”

“This was always going to happen,” Bastion interrupted wearily. Anger burned aimlessly within him. At Champion, at Echo, and the People and the citizens around him. He wanted nothing more than a target at which to vent, but willpower and faith kept him steady. “Uncontrolled incarnation would tear this country apart. The first few years after White Sands more than proved it. Upgrades are a necessity, you know this.”

“People will adapt, it is what they do,” Echo argued passionately. “Given time, things would have stabilized! We could have moved forward as a species, and harnessed the vast possibilities now open to us! But no, we are being purposefully limited, while Naturals like us are corralled or hunted!”

“You are being dramatic,” Kyoma stated. “There are many Naturals within the government, and upgrades merely bestow order upon an inherently disorderly process.”

“Whose order?” Echo demanded.

Kyoma remained silent, arms crossed.

Echo’s gaze turned to Bastion.

“And what say you? Will you not fight for Champion? For the People?”

Bastion stared back without flinching. “Champion ordered us not to fight.”

“Champion is a great man,” Echo said, “but his faith in some people is misplaced. It is up to us to help him when his kindness blinds him to the truth of things.”

Bastion wavered, anger still prickling at him, but he mastered himself once more.

“I will follow the path Champion has set out for us,” he decided. “My trust remains with him.”

Echo scoffed. “Champion will not see the year’s end. They will never let him set foot in a courtroom. He will be quietly disposed of before he ever has a chance to make his case. I can only hope to break him out before then.”

Kyoma stilled, his silver skin slowly shifting and bubbling.

“You will do no such thing,” he said slowly. “You would ruin everything he is trying to accomplish.”

“He will accomplish nothing with this madness,” Echo replied. “He was dead the moment he placed himself at the government’s mercy.”

“I do not believe that,” Kyoma said, eyes narrowed. “And you certainly cannot know it.”

Echo shrugged. “It’s what I would do. And it’s what Anastasia would recommend.”

Kyoma bristled at that. “Anastasia Summers is our ally. She fought for us; she warned us.”

Echo openly laughed at that. “Believe what you will. I am done here. I can see there is no reaching you.” He stood up, turning to leave. “Do what you must, and I shall do the same.”

“Be warned, Echo,” Kyoma rumbled at his back, “should you act against Champion’s orders, the People of Chicago will not stand beside you.”

“You are one of many,” Echo replied with a wave. “The People will stand where the truth places them. Goodbye Bastion, Kyoma. I hope we meet again under happier circumstances.”

Now

Echo was right in the end, Bastion reflected as he walked the streets of this strange city in this strange time. He wore simple prosthetics to disguise himself, changing his features with latex and rubber cement like a cinema actor. His step faltered and he grimaced, correcting himself: Like an actor from his time. He supposed they did things differently, now. That seemed to be the case everywhere. What a foreign world he’d woken up to.

The People had always faced a government ambivalent to their existence at best, and openly hostile at worst. Yet in Champion’s day the issue of Naturals was not yet decided. The populace was split, some seeing heroes for what they were, and others hating them for the change they represented. The police and military were similarly split, many among them Naturals themselves, grappling with their own nature. Not so, anymore. Their kind was ostracized, cast out of positions of power. Those few Naturals who sat high on the totem pole did not deem to look down at their suffering kin.

Like traitorous Anastasia.

Bastion was tired. He’d been tired for decades, even while sleeping in that frozen Hell. He’d been tired before that, hiding from the law and his own failures. He was Champion’s shield. He should have been there to protect the man. Too late now, always too late. Echo had the right of things, even if his motivations had been twisted by fanaticism. They should have fought. They should have acted. Too late again.

The People needed time to recover. It was difficult for Bastion to even stand for more than a few minutes in the first few days after his release. Every person rescued from the Fridge was the same, save dread Cannibal. What strange allies he’d made, willing to fight alongside a monster against monsters. But Bastion knew not what else to do. He was a follower, he’d always been such. He followed Champion at first, and Kyoma after that. Now he followed Echo, who wanted to overturn the world.

At what point had Bastion’s goals changed? At what point had revenge become the motive? Was it before the ice, or after? He genuinely could not remember. All he felt these days was anger and weariness. It was all he knew and all that drove him. Yet the citizens supported the People more now than ever. How strange, that. All it took was exposing a few lies, here and there, and hiding their own truths. Well crafted words from the mouth of a dead man, and a few moving pictures. It had bought them precious time.

The city continued to riot, Champion’s message having reached these civilians the strongest. They’d seen their oppressors for what they were, and fought back in their own small ways. But the soldiers were many, and they were loyal to their cause. Few flinched from their duty as they put down the unruly crowds. Loyalty was a trait Bastion would have otherwise admired had it not been pointed in so abominable a direction. There would be no redemption for these men.

It was nearly time. His body was still weak, but he could stand, and his power was strong. The others had come along as well, and Echo’s little army had more or less recovered. They needed to act soon, before their initiative was lost. Society had a short memory, Bastion understood this more than ever. The People could not fight an entire country. More needed to be swayed to their side.

Contingencies were in place. Failure had been accounted for. Rendezvous points had been created, and were guarded appropriately. The Safemaker was an invaluable asset to the People, though Echo feared his power had been compromised at some point in the last year. Bastion could scarcely imagine how, but the world had moved forward. Anything seemed possible, now. They simply had to prepare for the worst, while hoping for the best.

Bastion held no illusions. This was no longer about protecting people or fighting criminals. They had become what they once vowed to destroy. The citizens of Austin would be used as shields to further their own ambitions. Echo had his own motivations, cloaked in fancy words and vague morals, but Bastion would not hide behind such self-deceit. He wanted vengeance, swift and terrible. Vengeance for a life stolen from him, vengeance for his fallen leader, vengeance against a society that had deemed him unfit to exist within it.

Anger and weariness. That was what he had become, what he had been reduced to. It was all he felt, and all he would feel, from now until the end of his days.