Minutes stretched into hours, drifting by while Elliot tried to lose himself in another world.  His morose mood affected his focus, preventing him from doing particularly well, but it wasn't the only reason why in the end he saved his game, shut the system off, and lay on his bed to stare at the ceiling.  The matter of Collin weighed too heavily on his mind to allow any sort of relaxation and alleviation.  Even the absolute confidence that the horrific injury had not been his fault failed to set him at ease.  There was nothing he could have done, after all, to prevent the fearsome interloper from appearing when he did, executing his brutality on the Ward, and then vanishing.  With pronounced clarity he remember the feeling of his submachine gun appearing in his hand as he readied it fast as he could, but he was physically unable to intervene.  Perhaps one of his teammates could with one of their powers, but Elliot mused that if they could, they would have.  None of them could be rightfully blamed.  If it had happened to him, Elliot reasoned, his teammates would have been just as blameless.  All these thoughts filtered through his head, but Elliot felt no better.

Elliot did not relish seeing his teammates again, but anything would do to distract him from the nothingness in his room that threatened to smother him.  When the time to meet with them drew near, he considered it a mercy, and picked himself up to leave.  He left his usual overcoat behind, though he knew that without it he looked ordinary beyond measure, and took leave of his usual bravado to boot.  He did not feel as if he could muster the energy to assume his usual persona, and in addition, doing so would be sure to provoke the remaining Wards.  Hands in his pockets, Elliot traipsed through the halls to the meeting room.