March 13, 2037 - 4:40 PM

Five o'clock, no later. Five o'clock, no later...

Fifteen-year-old Margo Sandoval stood alone at a crosswalk. Alone, yet fenced in by a crowd of twelve other classmates, each one of them awaiting the bus, awaiting spring break. Ever since the bell rang, such a wondrous escape remained in progress for forty minutes and counting. Only eight days, twenty-three hours, and twenty minutes to go before she could proceed with her escape.

Away from school, from the vigilant eyes and attentive ears of her teachers and counselor, not her ideal break.

Her chestnut brown hair was long back then, hiding her left eye, draping over her ears, caressing her shoulders and the nape of her neck. She didn't have the muscle that got her through Psychwatch's training. She was meeker, capable of disappearing. Some days she wondered if people thought she was some kind of spirit haunting the school, with a tragedy-stricken backstory and an aura evoking dread more than sympathy. They'd see her, maybe even speak of her, but they'd walk on by as if she were all in their heads, a presence so engrained in their lives, it'd be too late to confront her and question why she'd haunt them, of all people, of all the schools in Philadelphia.

Like many ghosts, fifteen-year-old Margo Sandoval wanted someone to hear her, hear everything she had to say without having to open her mouth to speak.

Five o'clock, no later. Five o'clock, no later...

The bus approached the crosswalk, the familiar growl of its motor replaced by the deafening screech of its brakes as it came to a halt. The doors parted open, and the kids climbed inside, all but Margo.

"Wait, I thought you take the city bus," one girl said. "Why are you here?"

"Sorry," Margo said, too low to hear. "Just...just..."

"Just what? Fucking say something."

"Just...forgot."

The girl forced out a condescending laugh. "See you after spring break, freak."

Margo scurried away, fingers clenching the hems of her sleeves as her classmate vanished up the steps of the bus. Eyes squinting at the sidewalk beneath her, she refused to look up until the yellow lines marking the edge of the bus stop came into view, only catching glimpses of the holographic ads promoting Psychwatch's goods.

WE WILL KNOW WHEN YOU'RE HURT, read one ad in bright silver letters. WE WILL FIX YOU UP IN NO TIME.

"Five o'clock," Margo whispered. "No later."

The holographic ads hovering beside her mesmerized her. Such simple declarations, yet so promising. WE CARE ABOUT YOU. WE WILL FIGHT YOUR BATTLES. YOU WILL NEVER BE ALONE AGAIN. NEUTRALIZE, EMPATHIZE, STABILIZE. She'd seen Psychwatch officers before, delivering speeches to her and her classmates, saving them from the drudgery of first period. Installing SanityScans on street corners, walking around with small holographic lenses floating before a singular eye like a monocle. A growing presence, and in her eyes, a welcome one.

The city bus halted at a stoplight one block away. Two more minutes, and she'd be on her way home. Two more minutes, and the course of her life would alter forever.

The light flashed green, and the bus propelled across the street, impeding to a halt before the yellow line between Margo and the street. The doors pulled away for her to enter, and she climbed up the steps.

"Welcome," greeted the bus's AI, and Margo flashed a glance at the lone steering wheel. Rather than a driver's seat, a SanityScan rested atop a metal podium by the steering wheel, swiveling from side to side.

Maybe it'll notice me, Margo thought, studying its teal, stainless surface. Can it even hear me think?

Putting those thoughts to rest out of caution, Margo studied the bus's interior. Not a single seat available for her, and no one appeared to be feeling altruistic that day.

With one exception.

"Here you go, honey," said one man as he rose from his seat and clutched his hand around a pole. Margo nodded her head, doing her best to form a smile, as brief as it'd be. She knew it didn't hold a candle to the welcoming grin plastering that man's face.

She crossed her arms as she took her seat, and the bus groaned back into motion, its passengers tossing and wavering with each bump and rough turn. The man who'd offered his seat remained close, Margo realized, and she flashed quick glances at him to study the motives behind such an act of kindness.

The man wore a Psychwatch uniform, a navy blue jacket with silver lights dotting the sleeves, a Fatemaker hoisted in a MagniSheath by his side. The psi logo reflected off the window behind him, obscuring the rest of the world beyond the glass. His green eyes trailed off toward the wall before him, and a bright blue light emanated from a ring on his finger.

The officer took notice of the curious youth beside him and smiled. "How are you doing today?" he said.

Margo shrugged, glancing at his name tag shimmering above his heart in ghostly gray letters. C. MASLOW, it read.

"Yeah, we all have those days," laughed Officer Maslow. "But at least you have spring break to look forward to, right?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't hear you there."

Margo cleared her throat. "Sorry. I said yeah."

"No worries! I just couldn't hear you over the bus."

The bus slowed to a halt, and the doors parted ways. Virtually every other passenger departed the vehicle, leaving behind only the two of them.

"What, uh," Margo said, "what time is it, sir?"

"Oh!" the officer said, and he retrieved his phone. "Ten 'til five, ma'am."

Five o'clock, no later.

"The name's Carl, by the way," the officer said, extending his hand. "Officer Carl Maslow."

"Hello," Margo coughed, offering a quick, frightful shake of his hand. "I'm Margo."

"Pleasure to meet you, Margo."

Tell him about Dad, she thought. Or maybe not.

"I'm sorry if this is just a misunderstanding on my part," Carl said, "but are you feeling alright? A little warm out for such a large hoodie, don't you think? Or at least that's just me. I get warm very easily, guilty as charged."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm...fine," Margo said. "It gets really cold during my last period, and my teacher never turns off the air conditioner, even after school."

"Oh, you just left your school not too long ago?"

"Yeah. I, uh...I had a club meeting."

"Dang, right before spring break? I didn't even think clubs could meet up on the last day before a break. Guess times are changing."

"Plus, my mom works late," Margo said. "My dad does, too. That's why I stay after school."

"Ah! I understand. What do they do for a living? If you don't mind me asking."

"My mom's a nurse. My dad's...uh..."

"Hmmm?" Carl asked.

"He's...looking for a job right now."

Carl nodded. "Well, I hope he finds something good."

"Yeah."

Silence fell between the two of them. Silence and the groan of the bus and the ticking of a clock in Margo's head.

"What time is it now?" she asked.

"4:53," Carl said. "Somewhere you need to be?"

"Home."

"Oh, of course."

"Yeah, my parents worry about me."

Carl nodded, and with a breath, he said, "Are they part of the P3S?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Like if your parents were in trouble or undergoing some sort of emotional or mental distress, would Psychwatch be able to find them and help them?"

Margo shook her head.

"Alright." Carl paused. "I only ask because I can see that you don't have any P3S data, either. Since parents under Psychwatch's supervision are required to upload their child's data as well."

"W-W-What time is..."

She trailed off as Carl raised his brow. "Are you sure you're alright, Margo?"

"I just can't be late. Can you tell me the time?"

"It's barely 4:55. What do you need to be home on time for?"

"I just do."

"They shouldn't be too mad if you're home late by a minute or two. Right?"

Silence.

"Right, Margo?"

The bus slowed to a stop.

"This is my stop," Margo said quickly as she lunged from the seat, but Carl grabbed her arm. She cried out in pain, a sensation like needles piercing her skin beneath her hoodie.

"Margo?" Carl said, loosening his grip on her arm.

The young girl looked him in the eye. Desperation. Pale face. A quivering lip.

"Margo, what's going on?" he said.

"Please let go of my arm," she whimpered. "It really hurts."

Both of them knew he wasn't squeezing that hard. But he let go.

"You're injured, aren't you?" Carl said.

The doors closed, and the bus was back in motion. The vehicle's movement sent Margo stumbling to the side as she and the Psychwatch officer met eyes. No words. Only silence. Silence and understanding.

But the poor girl closed her eyes and took the hem of her right sleeve, dragging it back to the crease of her elbow. She winced as the cotton brushed against the bruises splotched across her arm.

"Dear God," Carl said. "And your other arm?"

Margo nodded with weary eyes, pulling her sleeve back down.

Carl took a deep breath. "Well...everything will be alright. It's a good thing you missed your stop. We'll be at Psychwatch soon, so we can—"

"That wasn't really my stop," Margo said.

"Excuse me?"

"It's coming up. And if I don't make it home on time—"

"You're not going home alone, Margo. I'm coming with you."

"You can't!"

Carl took another deep breath, and Margo saw his eyes dilate, as if vanishing from his physical body.

"S-S-Sir?" she said.

The dazed officer blinked three times and shook his head. "Sorry," he said.

"It's...alright." Margo paused. "But you can't follow me home."

"Margo, are your parents hurting you?"

"No."

"Is it just one of them? Like just your mom or your dad?"

Following a pause, Margo said, "No."

"Were those bruises self-inflicted?"

"I'm not supposed to be telling you about any of this."

"Yes, you are, Margo. That's the only way I can help you out of this. So please tell me what's going on. I can have backup sent to your home before you even get there. We'll get everyone out of the house and—"

The bus halted once again, and the two of them swung about to remain standing. They glanced out the windshield to see red lights engulfing the horizon.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but you're not going back home."

"But my mom..."

Carl's mouth dropped open. "So your mom has been doing this?"

"No, she..."

"She what?"

"She...doesn't like being alone," she replied, "with my dad."

Carl raised her brow. "But I thought you said she works late."

"Well, yeah, but I...I don't fucking know what I'm saying half the time, I-I-I'm sorry."

The lights turned green, and the bus resumed its journey.

"It's okay," Carl said. "You can trust me. I work for Psychwatch."

"I know. I'm sorry," she replied. "I just hope you guys care about us more than the cops do."

"So you've reported to them before?"

Margo nodded her head. "They don't care. And the main one on patrol around my neighborhood acts really creepy around me."

"Goddamn them. How long has this been going on?"

"A long time."

"I promise we'll have you and your mom in a safer location in no time."

Margo closed her eyes. "Thanks."

The bus came to a stop for the last time. When the doors creaked open, Margo and Carl quietly stepped outside.

The sky was the color of candlelight, and cars whooshed through the streets. Dilapidated projects and buildings rose above Margo and Carl like the walls of an ominous corridor, greeting them with shattered windows, exteriors vandalized with graffiti, and front yards where nature ran wild and untamed.

"This is where you live, Margo?" she heard Carl say.

"No," she said. "It's just another block away."

"I...I'm sorry about all of this."

"Don't be. It's just where I was raised. Never my choice."

"No, I understand," Carl said, "but are the people here nice at least?"

"I don't know. I haven't met any of my neighbors."

Margo studied the surrounding buildings, wondering if she even had neighbors to begin with.

"Tell me more about yourself, Margo," Carl said. "I need to understand your situation better."

"I'm fifteen years old. I'm an only child. I've lived in Philadelphia all my life. And despite what he does to me and my mom, my dad actually took my mom's last name when they got married. Wanted to look progressive, I guess."

"Oh wow. What happened to him then?"

She shrugged. "We don't know. He just...acted worse and worse with every passing year. Less and less happy."

"Does he have a history of mental illness?"

"My mom says he's been battling depression, and his dad also had schizophrenia." Margo froze, taking a deep breath. "Is that supposed to excuse the things he's done?"

"No," Carl said, voice cracking. "Absolutely not. I'm incredibly sorry if it came off that way."

Margo nodded her head. "We're here."

The two of them gazed upon a complex of two-story brick buildings dulled a fainter coat of red by the sun. Far more appealing than the structures that came before them, but only a luxury in the eyes of someone whose only other choice was the desolate street.

Margo turned to look at Carl. "What time is it?" she asked in a shaky tone.

"It'll be alright, Margo," he said. "I've got your back."

The two of them ascended the stairs. Feet aching. Heart beating. Lungs squeezed like empty soda cans. All of it nothing compared to the potential punishments for arriving late, Margo thought.

It didn't take long to reach the faded blue door to Margo's home. Apartment 213. Carl brandished his Fatemaker as Margo reached for the key in her backpack. Armed and ready, the two entered.

The apartment was pitch-black.

The blinds were draped over every window, only the smallest crack of sunlight glimpsing through the slits at the bottom. Closing the door behind them, Margo could hardly see her feet connect with the floor as she stepped inside. All that was lit were the lights on Carl's uniform and gun.

To her right, the kitchen. Nothing extravagant but a refrigerator, a sink, some closed shelves, and a wooden block holding a dozen knives. Before her, the living room submerged in shadow, the ticking of a clock greeting them like a cricket's chirp. To her left lay the hall to the bedrooms, her parents' room the closest to the apartment's entrance, the door left ajar.

Margo felt as if freezing water drenched her body. Her legs grew wobbly. Her head, faint.

"H-H-Hello?" she called out, her voice cracking. "Anyone else home?"

"Get behind me," Carl said, and he carefully nudged her behind him so she'd be closest to the door.

"Mom? Are you home?"

"Is your apartment normally this dark?" Carl asked.

"N-N-No. I don't know why it's like this."

"Alright, stay as close to me as you can." The two of them took a few steps toward the bedroom. "Hello?" Carl called. "Mrs. Sandoval, are you alright? I'm a Psychwatch officer, and I'm here to help you and your daughter."

Margo heard footsteps in the kitchen. She spun around.

"Anyone else here?" Carl said.

More footsteps. Margo moved closer to the officer, nausea boiling in her stomach.

"Whoa, you okay, Margo?" Carl said.

One. Two. Three footsteps across the kitchen floor. Too dark to see. Too clear to ignore.

"Someone's over there," Margo hissed, so frightened, her voice became a shrill whisper. She squeezed between Carl and the wall to get to safety, moments away from vomiting.

Carl trained his gun on the darkness beyond the kitchen entryway. "I don't mean anyone any harm," he said. "Please show yourself, so we can settle this calmly."

The green haze of the Fatemaker on Incapacitate mode did nothing to cut through the veil, only illuminating specks of dust floating in the space between them and their intruder.

"Margo," Carl said, "hide in your room and lock the door."

"What?!" Margo whispered.

"Hide in your room. Lock the door, turn off the lights, and call 911. I'll take care of this."

"But...but..."

"And find something to protect yourself. It'll be ok—"

SMASH!

Carl clutched his face with one hand, grunting in pain. Shards of glass pelted the floor, and a figure bolted out of the dark. A flash of green light flooded the room, revealing the figure to be Margo's father, charging at Carl with a monstrous rage in his eyes.

"RUN, MARGO!" Carl screamed, blood smearing his forehead, and he and Ted Sandoval plunged toward the floor into the glass. Margo ran into her parents' room and slammed the door, trying to force out a scream, to no avail.

She locked the door, backing away as she winced with the booming smacks and grunts of every punch. She clutched her stomach, the pain so overwhelming, the urge to drop to the floor and vomit subdued every other thought. The bedpost caught her by surprise, jabbing into her back as she cowered away from the door. Rotating in place, she saw her parents' bed.

Upon the bed lay her mother, her neck and shoulders bruised, a pillow smothering her face.

"Mom!" Margo screamed, but before she could rush to her bedside, she paused, realizing all had gone silent beyond the door.

Then the door shook with each impact of her father's fists.

"Open the door, Margo," he said, and the doorknob twisted around. "Come on, open it."

Margo could already feel callused hands around her neck, crushing her trachea. As the doorknob continued to rattle, she rushed to the light switch and flicked it off, engulfing her in darkness. She ran back to the bed and yanked the pillow away, freeing her mother.

There was more knocking.

"Goddamn it, Margo! Open the door!"

Margo grew dizzy. She wanted to be anywhere else. Even if it meant by her mother's bedside in a hospital.

Her legs were weak, her eyelids droopy. She backed as far into the wall as she could, taking her mother's hand, feeling her wrist with the tip of her thumb.

"Please be okay," she whispered, eyes watering.

Louder knocks. The door's surface cracked.

"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"

"Mom?" Margo said, and the tears made their way out.

"OPEN THE DOOR, YOU BITCH!"

"Mom..."

Silence again.

Waiting in the dark. Not even shadows from the light creeping underneath the door. Four bodies. Two still standing. The other two laying motionless.

There was one footstep. Then another. And a third. Each one more distant than the last, more careful. After the eight, the silence returned. Margo's dad was away from the door, standing in the kitchen.

Margo slid to the floor, taking a deep breath. She squeezed her mom's hand.

Her screams were heard a block away as her father charged through the bedroom door.

* * *

Carl blinked his eyes three times, his head resting on the floor amidst a pool of blood and glass. He felt a sensation like needles pricking his face, and he flinched as he wiped blood off his forehead with his sleeve, detecting a cut. Multiple cuts, in fact.

Orange light bathed the living room, pouring out of the bedroom nearby. Carl craned his neck to look inside and saw three silhouettes. One rested on