Psychwatch spent years fighting back against the Psycho Slums, but it wasn't until that year that they finally felt like they had the advantage. A no-man's-land slowly becoming their land.

The following day, June 6, 2045, right after the agreement with Malcolm Slater to incapacitate the Rabbit Hole using an EMP device, Commissioner Mason and her fellow officers worked to take back the City of Brotherly Love. Neighborhoods that spent years at the mercy of the insane, individuals who could truly be defined as bloodthirsty monsters, came into the light of the day as SanityScans were installed at the corner of the most impoverished blocks they had ever laid eyes on. More and more folks became one with the System, their conditions finally recognized with a sympathy no ordinary policemen would've shown them.

But as always, even though the sympathy was there, not everyone took the offer. Many of the incoming patients higher in their Threat Levels put up a good fight against the officers, sometimes with their fists and other times with something louder or sharper. One man in particular quickly solidified his Threat Level 5 by opening fire on a Psychwatch crew as they minded their own business installing another SanityScan. Once he was put out of his misery, his home was raided, and his entire family was found dead in their kitchen.

Upon making their heinous discovery public, many neighborhoods were far more cooperative with the installments of the Scans. Dozens upon dozens of new patients made their way to Psychwatch without a word, only hoping for the best. And unfortunately for those with the highest Threat Levels, what was best for them wasn't the most peaceful of options. But the less they resisted, the more peaceful the outcome.

By 8:55 PM that evening, Psychwatch's range grew from ninety-two percent to ninety-six percent of the city. Far more than a handful of people were comfortable with the numbers, but the ones with the more critical thoughts went silent extraordinarily fast, a consequence of acquiring electronic access to every psyche within the city limits.

Mason, however, was a person who prioritized safety over comfort. Or at the very least ensured safety before pursuing comfort. At least in Margo's mind. But she also felt as if Mason never truly felt comfort outside of her work, outside of interrogating people on the verge of psychosis and supervising people too far over the line with utter condescension. Was it even condescension? Could it have just been confidence? Determination? Perhaps she was hiding something?

That was it. She was hiding things. Margo saw it days ago after returning to work during her evaluation. She scolded herself for turning down the opportunity to see the results. By doing that, she just gave the woman more power over her, more reason to be a condescending overlord watching as more lunatics were wheeled into the technologically advanced Bedlam House she called Psychwatch. The ones deemed worth saving, anyway. Who was playing God there, anyway?

It could've been Mason on her own. Or maybe it was Andrade. Maybe just the System itself. Maybe the ghosts of Tetsuo Fujioka and Cyrus Lynch had come back from the dead as vengeful, genocidal spirits wishing to erase their patients rather than guide them on a path toward healing. Or maybe the Multi Man was the System.

The thoughts made Margo feel like she was being lobotomized, a cold, filthy icepick stabbing through her eye all the way into her prefrontal cortex. But she wasn't misguided like the so-called doctors who carried out that procedure in a past era. She knew it was nothing more than brain damage. Something felt like it was missing. Something hurt her, and she didn't know what. Maybe it hurt because she didn't know what it was.

Or it might've just been the guilt of watching Andrade open fire on a Threat Level 4 man diagnosed with intermittent explosive disorder in front of his loved ones.

She could still hear the man's partner screaming his name out into the unexpectedly heatless evening as they crammed his bloodied corpse into a cadaver bag. Blood had sprayed across his lawn because of the skirmish, and a good splash of it stretched across his partner's face as she remained on her knees, shrieking like a banshee to the sky above her. While the rest of Margo's colleagues marched back to the van, she paused at the edge of the sidewalk, only a step away from the pavement itself.

Her head craned toward the screeching woman, and she peeked over at the shiny new SanityScan recently built into the corner of the apartment complex. Dust had gathered below it from its infiltration into the wall, but the Scan itself was polished and chrome, wavering from side to side like a worm out of the dirt. The installment of that single piece of augmented surveillance killed that man, she thought. If they skipped his part of town, he probably could've lived longer. He probably could've redeemed himself, gotten control of his disproportionate rage characteristic of his diagnosis.

Or maybe they stopped him from undertaking something irredeemable. Anger makes people commit unspeakable acts after all. At least that's what Margo told herself when her eyes returned to the woman. But it wasn't a comforting thought.

So she sent the woman one of her own.

I'm sorry, Miss Thompson, she declared in her mind, the message appearing in the woman's head like an internal monologue. The Empath division will always welcome you. Please forgive us.

"Get out of my fucking head!" she screamed, clenching her arms over her ears. "Fuck you, Psychwatch! Fuck you for taking him!"

Her words sent a shiver down Margo's spine as the van doors closed shut, and Margo's throat went dry. She thought it would've worked. Sending a thoughtful message to the woman. It should've soothed her, even a little.

Would invading her mind amid a storm put her at ease? Inviting her back to the headquarters of the organization that blasted her lover apart with lethal energy? Was that what it felt like to have your mind invaded? Voices that weren't even yours, yammering and quipping as if your head were nothing more than a stage for stand-up comedians?

Margo hated herself. Anger filled her head like smoke. It choked her, made her think crazy things. She wanted to punch herself in her eyes, blind herself from the mistake she made. Slam her head against the door to knock the memory out. Or at least black herself out until they got back to HQ. Or maybe even open fire on everyone in the van. She'd regret it immediately, of course, but not while the fury and sorrow filled her head.

Then, she thought, maybe instead she could unscrew her ear like a pipe and pour the anger out of her head. Like murky water. She wondered what it would've looked like as it flowed from her skull. Brown and muddy like a rainy day? Pitch black like tar? Or would she have just bled out? Her brains oozing from her head like meat out of a grinder? What was the right way to react to that?

"Sandoval!" Andrade barked, snapping her colleague out of her stupor.

"Yes, ma'am?" Margo asked, straightening her back and gawking at the panels in the van wall before her.

"What's with all the daydreaming? Was today not exciting enough for you?"

"I was—" She stopped. The words were cacophonous as they left her tongue, like two rough surfaces scratching against each other. She cleared her throat and continued. "The woman back there was distressed. I used the nearby Scan to send her a comforting thought."

"No shit, she was distressed. Living with a coke-snorting, heroin-shooting culero like him? She was probably crying tears of joy that I killed him."

"Weren't you a heroin addict, too, Andrade?"

And just like that, the van went quiet. Margo was in there with seven other people, including Andrade, but it was dead silent. Only the sounds of the rocks crackling beneath the tires and the motor of the van as it made its turns. Margo knew Andrade was staring at her now, one of the famous death glares that had might as well been a sniper rifle trained on her. She kept her sights on the wall before her, chasing the pinstripes of light streaming across the van's surface.

"Mind saying that louder?" Andrade growled, clenching her robotic fist.

"I'm sorry, Andrade, I..." Margo replied, "I didn't mean to sound condescending like that. I just—"

"Listen here, bitch. You know what the difference is between me and that man back there?"

Margo gulped. "You're still alive and...he's not?"

"Yes! He's fucking dead, Sandoval. And you know what? It might've been for the best that we got to him before anything else happened. I mean, think about it! He was living in the motherfucking Psycho Slums! He could've OD'd or abused that woman or even gotten both of them killed, eventually. What I did was a mercy kill, Sandoval. Mason would've wanted it that way."

"He was a Threat Level 4," Margo replied, her voice so monotone, one could've assumed she was a Sentient. "Mason could've taken him alive. Put him through redemption therapy like Jack or rehab like you."

Andrade scoffed. "You think you're better than me and him just because you have no diagnosis. Don't you?"

"I thought you would be better than that man back there by apprehending him instead of killing him. Shown him mercy like Psychwatch showed you."

Andrade hushed for a moment, taking time to look at all their other colleagues in the van as they sat by in restless silence. She nodded her head, and a contemptuous grin ran across her face. "I am better than him," she said. "I saw his future, Sandoval. And guess what? He didn't fucking have one. So I saved him the trouble of disappointment."

"The opportunity would've come," Margo replied, her tone still robotic. "You just didn't want to believe it."

"And how do you know it would've come, Sandoval?"

"Everyone gets opportunities. I did, Carl did, Jack, Royce, Holden, Nikki, Mason, and even you. Everyone else in this van as well."

Andrade's smug look didn't leave. "Well, let me ask you something," she chuckled. "Of all those people you mentioned, how many of them are handling this job well?"

For once, Margo didn't have an answer. She just shrugged.

"I thought so."

"But what happened two days ago?" Margo asked. "You said it was remarkable seeing people overcome their addictions. Why don't you give them the chance to do so? Psychwatch gave you a chance. Why don't you?"

Andrade's smirk finally disappeared, wearing away like sand on a beach.

"Does it hurt you," Margo continued, "seeing them be the way you were years ago? Or are you just scared they'll rise up the ranks and succeed you?"

"Damn," another officer whispered, and he and the others chuckled.

"Cállate," Andrade hissed at the officers, and they went silent. She shifted back to Margo and replied, "No. It doesn't. Very bold of you to assume all those things about me considering I'm your superior."

"You're my equal," Margo muttered. "We're all equals."

If it weren't for their arrival back at headquarters, Andrade surely would've opened fire in the van.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Margo stood in the locker room, stripping off her body armor. It felt easier to breathe once she deactivated her vest. The weight of her Assault Fatemaker was literally lifted from her shoulders, and she returned to her always-trustworthy handgun, watching it snap back into the MagniSheath on her belt. She was the last to leave the room, a willful decision as she worked hard to make sure she didn't end up alone with Andrade. She heard plenty of stories of people brutally injuring each other with cybernetics. Destroying all the bones in one's foot. Breaking someone's fingers before ripping them off. Crushing someone's windpipe like a can of soda.

When she finished, she stepped back outside, looking right and left as if crossing a street. The place was vacant, even after Mason strictly ordered them to stay to prepare for the Rabbit Hole infiltration the following day. Her stomach ached at the thought of how soon the day was coming. Only several hours left. They'd found the vans, studied their routes. Now that ninety-six percent of the city was within the Scan's ranges, they had the place cornered.

She departed for the computer lab, hoping that at least Holden and Nikki were there. And—she had a hard time admitting it—Mason and Jack. Wherever the hell those latter two were, anyway.

"Margo!" Ellie shouted into her ear through her ThoughtControl piece. "You ready for tomorrow?"

Margo froze, her feet screeching against the floor. "Tomorrow?" she repeated. "What have you got planned tomorrow?"

"I'm finally coming to Philadelphia!"

Margo felt the blood drain from her face down to her feet. "You're kidding."

"Nope! For the first time ever, nope! It's happening, baby."

"Ellie, what the hell? You can't come tomorrow! I'm busy all day."

"Well, what time do you get out of work? I'll see you then."

"I don't know what time I'll be out tomorrow. I don't even know if I'll live beyond tomorrow!"

"Jesus, what are you guys doing then?"

Margo looked around again, contemplating the risks of revealing the plans to an outsider. Once the coast was clear, as well as her head, she jogged over to the nearest seat and plopped herself down, shielding her ThoughtControl piece with her hand.

"Alright, here's the thing," she whispered. "I'm not sure if I can tell you this, so promise me you'll won't tell anyone else."

"Margo, honey," Ellie replied, "who the hell do you think I'd tell? You're the only one who even talks to me."

"Good point. Anyway, Psychwatch just uncovered the location of this place called the Rabbit Hole. Ever heard of it?"

Ellie paused. "What is that, a mini-golf course?"

"No, dummy. It's a neo-speakeasy."

"Oh shit, really? I go to those all the time! Is it any good?"

"Yeah, totally. If you consider drug manufacturing, rape, murder, and kidnapping a good time! What do you think?"

"I bet I've been to worse."

"And I bet that even you of all people have not. But what made it worse is that we've tracked down the guy responsible for the Mental Health rally attack two weeks ago. And he's holding someone hostage!"

Ellie paused. "Is this all just an excuse so you can go down there to get laid?"

"Ellie!" Margo screamed, leaping from the seat. She took a deep breath and muttered, "You're a bitch."

"Aww, come on, I was joking!" Ellie laughed. "It was funny, right?"

"You're the joke, Ellie."

"You too," Ellie laughed again, although it was obvious the remark troubled her. "Seriously, how much do you want to bet Mom didn't even plan on having us?"

Suddenly, the feeling of crushing her ThoughtControl piece in the palm of her hand came back to Margo. But she growled, "Goodbye, Ellie," into her piece and yanked it from her ear. Although she didn't do it fast enough, as she could still hear Ellie cheerfully conclude, "See you tomorrow!"

With another deep breath, she moved along, trudging down the hallway to the computer lab. The sounds of her echoing footsteps startled her, and the inaudible whisper of her other colleagues spread throughout the building. Yet not a single person was in her line of sight. She couldn't have felt more alone.

The feeling vanished a bit when she stood before the opaque windows of the computer labs, holographic computer screens on the other side of the glass distorting her view of the room. She could see two people sitting inside, one facing a computer screen and the other scrolling through their phone. Nikki and Holden, without a doubt.

Upon being granted access by the nearest SanityScan, she stepped inside, greeted by her two junior colleagues and the sound of smooth jazz emanating from Holden's phone.

"Hey, Margo," Nikki said in her usual quivering tone.

"Hey, you two," Margo replied, but Holden didn't respond. Squinting to see how his phone could've possibly been distracting him, she saw an endless series of unanswered text messages, each one sent to Carl.

"Uh, sorry, Margo," Holden said as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. "Didn't see you there."

"Any response from him?" Margo asked, frowning.

Holden's doleful slouch returned. "No," he muttered. "Nothing yet. Maybe you should text him. I know for sure he'll answer you back."

The next statement to leave her tongue felt like it got stuck, trapped somewhere in her throat, depriving her of oxygen. She thought everything was better between the two of them. But some people just didn't enjoy keeping the past behind them.

"I'm sorry, Holden," she whispered.

"Royce talked to us today, though," Holden continued, ignoring her. "He's been through some serious shit, let me tell you."

Margo's ears perked up like that of a wolf. "Really?" she asked.

"Yeah, he just wanted to wish us good luck for tomorrow and said he'd be returning next month. He was also saying some things to himself under his breath and kept bringing up his lack of sleep and how he felt like someone was stalking him in the hospital. But at least he's alive."

Poor guy, she thought. "Did you ask him about Carl?"

"Yeah. He didn't know where he went. Although, he says he came to him the other day to borrow his ThoughtControl to check in on us since Mason's been on his case lately. Didn't want her tracking him down."

"Huh," Margo replied. "Well, he's always loved his job, even when it's treated him horribly."

"Yeah."

Awkward silence took the stage for a moment as Margo searched for an empty seat, still bewildered by how empty the place felt. Eventually, she took the free one beside Nikki, and as she sat down, she took a glimpse of her computer screen.

"Nikki, what's that?" she asked.

"D-D-Drone footage over the streets S-Slater told us about," she replied, not even looking back at Margo. "Or one of them, anyway. We have the streets around Adonis' Deli within our range. My cousin works there; sh-sh-she had mixed feelings about that. But I, uh, noticed the van stopped...uh, stopped driving around. Haven't s-s-seen it since the Scan was installed earlier."

"Oh, really?" Margo leaned in closer to the screen. "What did it look like? Maybe we can find it."

"D-D-Dark blue with orange pin...uh, pinstripes on it. It didn't have any words or logos on it."

Margo snapped her fingers. "Mason's prediction was right then. Now that the neighborhood is within the Scan's ranges, they've discontinued that route. And you said Bradbury and Stephenson don't have any Scans, right?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, I'm sure we left them be so we could spy on the vans from a distance. Can you load me surveillance of those two streets, Nikki?"

With the patter of her fingers against the glass keyboard in front of her, the glowing white buttons beeping upon contact, the screen before Nikki and Margo switched views. A view of a dirty alleyway through a neighborhood engulfed in darkness appeared before them, only a single light shining down on the road. The area surrounding the street shone bright white, as if they were zooming in on a cluster of stars in the night sky above them. That was when Margo realized the white parts were the areas within the range of a SanityScan, whereas the darker parts were offline.

"This is Bradbury," Nikki murmured. "I h-h-haven't seen any vans around here yet either."

"How about Stephenson?"