June 7, 2045 - 10:25 AM

Margo's legs quivered like a flagpole in a turbulent storm as she marched alongside her colleagues through the building's front entrance. Her throat was so dry, she felt like she could tear it piece by piece like a paper sack. Simple way out. Someone else would've had to clean up the mess. She, however, would be somewhere different, a plane of existence superior to that of the human body, where pain and regret were nothing more than tall tales.

But her nightmare that day was very real. The pain was genuine. The possibility that her career, her sanity, and her life could come crashing down like broken glass? Closer than ever before. The thoughts coming and going through her head kept reminding her.

Her colleagues strolled alongside her, four feet away. Jack to her right, three Assault Fatemakers trained on his back. Andrade and Kusanagi to her left, calm as can be, ready to venture deep into the Rabbit Hole as if it were nothing more than a cave expedition, meticulously mapped out for them with their safety ninety-five percent guaranteed. Her Fatemaker shuffled around in her right pocket. Not the up-to-date kind with the orange and green lights and slick design, but the original. Essentially a lump of coal—it was really carbon fiber—molded into the shape of a handgun, no unique, futuristic design to it like the one she typically armed herself with. There were two pea-sized, silver buttons on the back of the weapon where a hammer of a conventional handgun would've been. If she tapped the one on the right, she'd get Execute Mode in its early stages when it merely comprised of energy-based ammunition equivalent to the power of an average bullet. Tap the left and Incapacitate Mode would come into play. All that mattered to the officers, however, was the older gun's covertness. Undetected by metal detectors and trackers, along with the additional benefit of its generic presentation. Anyone who wasn't a part of Psychwatch or some deeply devoted firearm enthusiast wouldn't be able to distinguish it from any other typical handgun.

But Margo still did not feel safe. She and Jack approached the doors to their van. It was as if she were a ghost approaching her own open casket, unaware of her gruesome demise and only moments away from having the image of her corpse burned into her memory for as long as she roamed the earth.

"First Contact Squad!" Mason barked through their ThoughtControl pieces, ordinary ones rather than their conspicuous Psychwatch-issued pieces. "You in position?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Andrade and Kusanagi replied.

"Sandoval! Holloway! Check in!"

Margo coughed. "I'm here, Commissioner."

Jack nodded his head, gazing off into whatever world he imagined laid behind the van doors before him. Every day that passed, his eyes only grew more lifeless every time Margo got a glimpse of them, as if marbles took their places instead. She only grew more terrified imagining what the process was behind the sensory implants in his face.

The less he felt, the more Psychwatch could feel instead.

"He's there, Commissioner," Holden replied through their pieces. "Vitals are still going strong."

"Good," Mason replied, and she cleared her throat. "Alright, let's review the plan, ladies and gentlemen! First Contact Squad, you will enter the Rabbit Hole first. Sandoval and Holloway followed by Andrade and Kusanagi. Find Slater, locate the EMP device, and set that thing off as soon as you've found a secure position. Once the power is down, we ransack the place, rescue Cohen, and apprehend the masked men and Slater."

"Sounds too damn easy," Jack mumbled, his raspy voice as discomforting as nails on a chalkboard. He didn't even attempt to hide behind his charismatic facade this time.

"As long as you keep the suit and mask on," Mason replied, "it should be."

"Excuse me, Commissioner," Margo said, hoping the words emerged as a query rather than a whimper. "Does the suit erase pain?"

The dryness returned to her throat when she heard the muffled sounds of laughter. Staring at the vehicle before her was her only method of defense. If she couldn't see them, they couldn't see her. Supposedly, anyway.

"Well, Miss Sandoval," Mason said, "I'm afraid that's something you should've considered before taking this job."

"So that's a yes."

Mason let out a small laugh. "Not that much. Suit takes it in like a sponge. And I'm sure those three have your back."

"Yeah, Sandoval," Andrade chimed in, her words laced with sarcasm. "Nothing to fear."

Fuck you.

Margo gasped. She didn't think her opinion of her would've come to that. Her colleague meant nothing to her. She could vanish forever in the Rabbit Hole, violated over and over again. Filled with drugs. Filled with booze. Filled with...

She couldn't even say the other. Regret quickly sent an icy shiver down her spine as if she were sinking in water. Maybe if I drowned, the world would be a better place.

Why am I thinking these thoughts? Everything will be okay in the end...

No. No, they really won't...

The world came back to her when Jack shoved her to the side.

"Wake the fuck up," he muttered, and he pointed to the open doors of the van before them.

She heard her colleagues laugh again.

"Just keep the suit on, Sandoval," Mason insisted. "Focus on your job and don't let anyone touch you. It'll be over quickly."

Whatever words that would've left Mason's tongue next would've undoubtedly knocked Margo out cold, she thought. Her body worked hard to go against her in that moment. The oxygen vanished, her tongue was dry, and she had no mouth to scream with. The way she stumbled into the vehicle as if she were on stilts only reinforced the joke she was. The way she bolted in. The sound of her feet annihilating the steps beneath her. Everything screamed, "I wasn't meant to be here! Somebody put me out of my misery!"

Once she was inside, she slid across the seat until she was right beside the wall on the opposite end of the van, a blank holographic screen awaiting her and Jack. She could still hear another series of disparaging laughter coming from her so-called officers. Since she couldn't see them from her position in the vehicle, however, she'd just assumed they weren't really there. The strategy hadn't failed her yet.

Jack took the seat across from her, and the two of them looked back to see Mason at the doors. Margo could've sworn a smirk had crossed her face.

"Remember," she said. "You'll be dropped off three blocks away from Stephenson. Once you've reached it, look for the van and then put on your masks."

Neither Margo nor Jack uttered a word. They only nodded.

Mason still had that stupid look on her face. "Good luck," she declared, and she stepped away from the van, receding behind the closing doors.

The van was a coffin. Dark, solitary, especially with the company of that soulless automaton in human skin named Jack Holloway. The screen on the wall beside Margo was like that one ray of sunlight breaking through a split in the coffin's lid, painting blue hues across her face and Jack's. But the sight of him still prevented her from feeling safe. She couldn't stop thinking about the lifelessness in his eyes.

Is that even possible? she thought.

With a quick jitter and a groan of the motor, the van made its way out of the parking lot. And Margo was alone.

* * *

Twenty minutes had passed by the time the van reached the point. Three blocks away from Stephenson, just like Mason said. Although, Margo didn't care where they were as long as she could find a trashcan, and when she did, she let out as much as she could.

"Still?" Mason said through her piece. "Are you sure you're not sick, Sandoval?"

With her face still leaning over the garbage, she raised a single thumb up to a concerned commissioner nowhere in sight. However, the gesture wasn't for nothing, as her superior watched over her through Jack's eyes.

"Thumbs up, huh?" Mason chuckled. "Alright, just make sure you're feeling better by the time you get the mask on."

"Why are you being nicer today?" Margo rasped, lifting her head up above the garbage.

"Probably because she knows you're gonna be the first to die today," Jack replied.

Margo spat into the trash. She could sense more junk clogging up her throat, but she couldn't tell if she could handle anymore humiliation that day. Of all the days she had to be a spineless pawn.

"The van is approaching the apartment complex, guys," Holden chimed in.

"Hurry the fuck up," Jack barked at Margo.

Margo said nothing as she hoisted herself up. She wiped the gunk off her face with her sleeve and concentrated on the street before her. It surprised her how silent the world was around her. Rows upon rows of dilapidated buildings, piles of detritus stacking up along the street, yet not even the sound of birds chirping broke through.

Not until the growl of the van approaching the Herbert Hills apartments resounded like a thunderclap.

Jack started running his mouth again, and she could've sworn her other colleagues were, too, on the other side of her ThoughtControl piece, but it was all white noise. For the first time since she'd stepped out of the van, she had feeling in her legs, and she was aware of where they were taking her. Herbert Hills was where she was meant to be.

It might even be the death of her, she thought.

She didn't immediately notice she had convinced herself to jog, the smack of her feet against the sidewalk and the crackle of the dust and litter beneath her shoes retrieving her from another daze. The sun was out, clouds in the sky scattered throughout the blue like ships at sea. As she raced to Herbert Hills, with her heart pounding, her lungs bolstering, and her barely human colleague unleashing an array of profanities upon her, she slid her hand down into her left pocket. The curved edge of the folded mask in her pocket pricked her finger, not enough to draw blood luckily enough, but the sudden sensation stopped her dead in her tracks. When she looked up, she stood at a three-way intersection, a pothole-ridden trail of asphalt coming between her and the van.

"Jesus Christ," Jack panted, approaching from behind her. "You're really set on getting yourself killed today, huh?"

"Is that supposed to be funny?" Mason said. "Where was the effort in that?"

Margo ignored the two of them, something especially difficult considering one of them was blabbering directly into her ear. She made her way across the street. The dry sensation remained in her throat, and her mind ran rampant with gruesome predictions she hoped would never come true, but she had a job to fulfill. She was a cog in a machine.

And thoughts like that were the reason she doubted her role in the world.

A man emerged from the driver's seat. Everything article of clothing from his head down to his feet was plain white. His cap, his shirt, his pants. From the look of his uniform, he appeared to be posing as a technician of some kind, but Margo fought the urge to snicker at how blatantly questionable their strategy for blending in was. There wasn't a single logo anywhere on his clothes, and the van itself was just a shiny white hunk of metal that almost appeared brand new.

The man himself, however, was the most unnerving to look at. The way he stepped out of the vehicle was awkwardly mechanical, as if it were his personal mission to avoid bumping his elbows against any surface around him. His limbs jerked around far too abruptly. Anyone within two feet of him would've had their teeth knocked out. But the height of his uncanny semblance was his eyes. They were lifeless and unblinking, even more so than Jack, capable of evoking a dire feeling of endangerment the longer one studied them. Peering into them nearly made Margo gag. If Jack and half of Psychwatch weren't looking over her shoulder, she would've bolted off into the city, hoping to find another face to replace the image of the imposter before her.

The man smiled at her, an expression so forced, it seemed to bring him pain. "Good morning, ma'am," he said, blinking twice. "Such a nice day out. Can I help—"

Silence. The machine went mute at the sight of the piece of metal Margo retrieved from her pocket, waiting patiently as it unfolded and bent itself into a bright silver, origami-like rabbit mask. The ears flopped around as she pressed her face into the mask, hugging her ears, cheeks, and chin. The portion covering her mouth was especially constricting, but it reassured her of the effectiveness of its gas mask, which was so small, it fit perfectly around her mouth. Not a single thing came in, not even the smallest dust particle, yet she could breathe as if nothing but clean, unmodified nature surrounded her. The lenses guarding her eyes only further enforced this sense of protection she never thought she'd experience in her line of work.

However, the sight of the pupils in the man's spurious eyes expanding and shrinking like camera lenses removed her from her safe place once again. And through clenched teeth and a thumbs-up, he said, "Get in the back."

Margo's eyes shifted back and forth. First toward Jack as he sported his own mask, one that was as dark and angular as polished obsidian, and then toward their Sentient chauffeur as he climbed into his vehicle with the asymmetry of an insect. Passing by his window as they made their way to the back, she could see another Sentient in the passenger's seat sporting that same unholy grin. Unwelcoming and false. Ferrymen to the Underworld. That's what Margo thought of them.

Boarding the vehicle now, she messaged through her ThoughtControl piece.

"Damn, already?" Andrade said. "Kusanagi and I have been waiting here on Bradbury for a while now."

"Good luck, Sandoval," Mason said. "We'll see you in there soon."

"Pfft," Jack spat. "I doubt th—"

"Jack," Margo said, one foot already in the van, "shut the hell up."

Even the sounds of victorious laughter emanating from her ThoughtControl piece weren't enough to take her mind off her mission as she entered the van. Nor was the imminent threat of Jack snapping her neck.

Fortunately, his body language was all they needed to predict his next moves and intentions. Just by curling his fingers into a fist, he'd caught Mason's attention. "Don't get any bright ideas, Holloway," she hissed. "We will know."

Margo planted herself down on a seat, only inches away from the wall, like she was in her previous ride with Psychwatch. Jack followed suit. Margo knew his eyes were on her, and there would've been no point in pondering whether it was to ensure the higher-ups of her safety or to satisfy whatever thought came into his head at the moment. The latter scenario disgusted her the most considering it would've just been the two of them traveling around in a stranger's vehicle for some time, and even Psychwatch's supervision over his impulses hardly reassured her of her safety.

Considering the impromptu execution of Geoffrey Coggins and Carl's absence, Margo realized Jack could've been Mason's new tool for controlled chaos. Maybe she would've permitted Jack to knock her rookie colleague around if it meant she'd learn a new lesson about respect or power or Psychwatch being able to do whatever the fuck they wanted.

Suddenly, Margo was weak again. The pitch-blackness of the vehicle as the doors sealed shut only made it worse. The world around her was just another coffin on wheels.

"The two of you are gonna have a hell of a time," said a muffled voice through the wall of the van. The realization that the statement came from the driver only added to Margo's anxiety.

A single light flickered to life on the ceiling, dousing the two officers in a ghostly gleam. The van shook and rattled as it made its way through the streets, and nausea boiled in Margo's stomach once again. Her back bumped against the wall with each turn, and her fingers ached as she gripped the seat with all her might, worried she'd go flying off at any second. She resumed her strategy of focusing on the wall in front of her, hoping Jack or the drivers or whatever other psychopath she'd come across would leave her alone if she stayed put. Any further movement of her body felt like it would conclude with her vomiting all over the walls.

So silence was the best option.

Six minutes later, Jack thought otherwise. "Sandoval," he said, "I just want you to know I'm not kidding when I say you won't last long today."

"Good for you," Margo mumbled.

"I'm serious, babe. You—"

"Don't call me that."

"You haven't seen how people get when they have nothing left to lose. Nothing but the high of their drugs. Once that high is gone, they'll do anything to get it back."

"If you're implying I'll give into peer pressure and partake in substance abuse while we're there, I'm afraid you're wrong. And if you're referring to yourself, I should remind you of the consequences you'll face upon returning to HQ."

"Shut the fuck up. For one fucking second. Please." There was a pause. "I'll admit: you might actually make it out of this place with a scratch or two. Considering the strength of these BufferSuits, you might not even get injured at all, in fact. But what you're going to see today is gonna be burned into your brain for the rest of your fucking life. You may think you know what addiction and hedonism does to people, but everything you've read and heard doesn't mean shit compared to the real thing."

"Mason," Margo said, sounding bored, "why is Jack trying to scare me?"

No one responded.

"Mason?"

Jack forced himself to chuckle. "It's never a good sign," he said, "when she doesn't say anything. Not good for you anyway. That's how she lets you know someone has something worth saying. So believe me, little lady: you're gonna try your hardest to repress the memories of today."

"I hope one of them includes this conversation."

"Who knows? Maybe you're already repressing things. Maybe Psychwatch repressed them for you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Finally got your attention, huh? Well, ever notice how often people have been talking about this Erase-and-Replace thing around you?"

"Yeah, so what?" Margo tried to maintain her newfound stoicism, but curiosity really was killing her, teaming up with her fear of their next mission to render her nothing more than the empty shell of a fallen doctor-cop.

Silence followed again. This time, neither of them had the comfort of hiding from each other in the dark.

"Jack?" she asked, and she gathered the courage to glance over at him.

She regretted it immediately.

Her colleague slammed his back and his head repeatedly against the van, the crashing sound of the impact making her flinch with every hit. He was trying his hardest to speak, but something appeared to be lodged in his throat, killing him from the inside. He clawed at his throat, but the suit and gloves prevented him from leaving a mark. Even reaching for the zipper became a risk in and of itself. His hands became as heavy as cinderblocks, and they plunged down into the seat beside his legs. Only a single finger in his right hand managed anymore movement, a brief pathetic twitch.

It was the implants.

"Mason!" Margo shouted into her piece. "What are you doing to Jack?"

"Letting him know when to shut up," she replied.

"Are you keeping