76. Bad Omen

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October 31, 2045 - 5:30 PM

So much can happen in a single day.

Halloween of 2045 would go down in history. The citizens of Philadelphia, its witnesses and contributors. Margo Sandoval, one of many playthings for the cutting-edge deity known as Psychwatch, prepared for the night shift.

She took a cold shower. Twenty minutes later, she stepped out, dried herself off, gazed at her reflection in the mirror, counting the scars on her flesh. There were so many since she'd first joined Psychwatch, marking her arms, her shoulder, her back. When she forced herself to grin, she tongued the gap in her teeth where the right molar used to be.

"And that's just the physical scars," she sighed. She imagined the rest of her flaws carved into her skin, patched together with crude stitching. PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIA. DEPRESSION. WORKS FOR PSYCHWATCH. BEATEN AND NEARLY KILLED BY DAD. NEGLECTED AND HAD MEMORIES ERASED BY MOM. HALLUCINATED HAVING A NARCISSISTIC OLDER SISTER.

Stop it, she declared, and as she finished dressing into her work uniform, she grabbed her pillbox. 20 hours, 30 minutes, 57 seconds. No excuses for any strange thoughts that crossed her brain in that amount of time.

Minutes later, Margo stood beside her car, pausing to feel the breeze caress her face. A shiver traversed down her spine, and the scent of smoke laced the wind passing by her. Life, she thought. Someday it'll be in my control again.

Another twenty minutes later, Margo's car slowed to a careful pace, hoping to work its way through the enormous crowd encircling Psychwatch. 

Posters and picket signs nearly obscured the view of the building, each one plastered with something against her and her occupation. PATIENTS NOT PRISONERS, read one. NO ONE IS BORN A CRIMINAL, read another. Deja vu struck Margo like an empty soda can struck her car, freezing her in place yet allowing her the choice to react the way she wanted. Avoid repeating the massacre at the rally, she hoped. Be an officer, not a pawn.

"Disperse immediately!" ordered a Psychwatch officers, his voice familiar to Margo. She heard his voice far more clearly only a second later, metallic and resonant, courtesy of a nearby SanityScan. Margo, it's me, it's Joseph. Kusanagi. Welcome back, but please be careful.

Kusanagi! Where did all these people come from?

We don't know. It was just some kids from MindLock this morning. But then it turned into this.

Do you guys need help dispersing the crowd?

No. Stay inside headquarters. Should be safer in there.

Or we hope, anyway.

The last thing that resonated through Margo's head was Kusanagi's dispirited sigh as her car squeezed itself into a vacant parking spot. More protesters blocked the sidewalk circuiting the building, many of them donning masks of various designs and origins. More Jasons. More Michaels. Some Ghostfaces. Some Guy Fawkes'. Yet none with red Xs over the eyes.

Margo stepped out of her car, her muscles stiff, hoping her reflexes wouldn't betray her and paint her as a jumpy little rabbit flinching at the slightest of movements made by other people. None of the protesters stopped her from making her way toward the entrance. None of them even looked at her. And if they did, the lenses and visors of their masks kept them hidden. The young woman would've never learned without the help of a SanityScan tearing the masks off for her. She scooted her way through them almost without obstruction.

Almost. 

Until she came across a girl with a spark rose in her hair. Then another, a whole crown of them atop her head. And finally, the mask that'd haunt her dreams and cloud her vision once the meds wore off. White and ragged with red Xs across the eyeholes, like a treasure map.

"Why are you wearing that mask?" she said.

The wearer shrugged. "It's Halloween, lady. You doctor-cops don't know how to have fun or what?"

"Please take that off."

The young man scoffed. "Yeah, right after you take off that doctor-cop costume."

Margo grabbed him by his shoulders and yanked him closer. He tried pushing away, tried thrusting his hands about, but the young man felt like a rag doll in her hands. She grabbed the mask and yanked it off.

"What the fuck, lady? It's just a costume!" he shouted, and Margo shoved the mask into his chest, sending him tumbling back into some other protesters. He scrambled back up to his feet and said, "Learn to take a fucking joke!"

Margo didn't waste her time on him any longer. She approached the girls with the spark roses next. "Where did you get those?" she said.

"Do you like them?" said the girl with the crown of spark roses. "I can get you one if you want! What's your favorite color?"

"Where did you get them?"

"Oh, they've been handing them out all over town. Y'know, to honor all the people who died at the rally. My friend here got it for me, actually."

Margo glared at the other girl. "What did the person who gave you those look like?"

The friend didn't compose herself as well as the previous girl. Margo tensed up at the sight of genuine fear in the young girl's eyes. What terrified her? The source of the flowers? The authority figure standing before her?

"I'm sorry," Margo said, her voice low and shaky. She straightened her posture and continued. "I think you should get rid of those. Every time these things appear, people get hurt."

The flower crown girl gasped, standing before her increasingly fearful friend. "Oh, don't worry, miss," she said. "None of those masked guys gave them to us. The guy who did was really—"

"Throw them away," Margo said, her voice deeper than she thought possible. "And go home. Now. This is for your own good."

Sadness crept across the face of the flower crown girl, as if confronted with a brutal truth rather than a simple order, and she tore the spark roses from her hair and disappeared from Margo's sight, her trembling, teary-eyed friend following suit. A single rose fell to the pavement at Margo's feet, neither her nor the other protesters stepping on it.

How could something so beautiful be such a bad omen?

Margo took the flower and stuffed it into her pocket.

* * *

Five minutes later, Margo neared the commissioner's office. Her colleagues glared at her like she had a bomb hidden in her uniform, forcing her to stare at the floor instead, a far more inviting sight. The only thing that didn't judge her.

She looked back up again when she eventually came across a room crowded with her fellow officers, their backs turned toward her. A wall of holographic screens held their attention and refused to let go as they stood so still, they nearly passed for mannequins sporting Psychwatch uniforms. When Margo stepped in, the sole of her shoe clapping against the floor, only one of her fellow officers bothered to acknowledge her, and that was Andrade. Only for two seconds before returning her sights to the screens before her.

"Welcome back, Sandoval," she said.

"Andrade," Margo muttered. "What's everyone looking at?"

"The protest outside. The number of people grows the more we attempt dispersion."

"Look what I found outside."

Andrade turned back to Margo again, glancing down at the spark rose resting in the palm of her hand. She took it from her, pinching a single petal between the tips of her thumb and forefinger.

"Bad omen," she said. "Nowadays, anyway. Where did you find it?"

"Some girls were wearing them in their hair outside. They said people were handing them out around town."

"Did you just take one from their hair or what?"

"No, it just fell off and landed at my feet."

Andrade nodded again, handing the spark rose back to Margo. "Poor girls," she said.

"I told them to go home. Felt it was safer that way. Where's Mason?"

Andrade dropped her collected demeanor, her eyes widening and her mouth agape. She stepped back from Margo, muscles stiff.

"Andrade?" Margo said.

Her colleague cleared her throat. "Right. She's, uh, she's outside with the others."

Margo's brow raised. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She cleared her throat again. "If you're looking for Maslow, he's probably with Sanger and Atkinson as usual."

"Great. Thanks."

Margo's once-superior officer jerked back to the screens, as if ashamed to even speak to her. Someone had left an impression on her, Margo thought. She pondered whether she'd become Andrade's newest fear after the physical altercation they had the day she received the earth-shattering news of her diagnosis. Or perhaps Mason had found the right things to say to render her a submissive lapdog. 

Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Margo thought, and she left the room.

She stood in that old familiar hallway. Silver walls with blue pinstripes trailing across them like veins. Rows of seats positioned outside SafeSpaces, yet not a single patient in sight. Only a single room with its door opened, a familiar one even from her distance. Her suspicions were confirmed when Nikki and Holden stepped out.

"Hey, Margo!" said Holden, and he and Nikki awkwardly waved at her.

"Hey," Margo replied, making her way toward them. "What are you guys up to?"

"Psych ward cell surveillance with Carl. Keeping watch over Jack and that Slater guy, as usual."

"What are you up to, Margo?" said Nikki.

Margo shrugged. "No clue. Mason said the Empaths won't have much to do for a while until we get those masked psychos under control, and the protesters are blocking most of the exits. So I guess I'll just hang out with you guys."

Holden smiled. "Great! Come on in."

Margo stepped inside, and the door slid shut behind her. The surveillance room was murky, only the six holographic screens shimmering against the wall chasing away the dark. Margo found Carl planted in a seat before the screens, focused on them as if his life depended on it. She wondered if he was doing his best not to look at her.

"Hello, Carl," she said, waving despite being out of his line of sight.

Her nerves eased once Carl found the strength to look at her, even if she could still sense his disappointment. "Hey, kiddo," he said.

"Don't you guys want to turn on more light in here?" said Margo. "It's dark in here."

"It's easier to see the screens this way," Nikki said, pulling up a seat.

"You really think so?"

Nikki sighed. "N-N-No, I actually just prefer the dark. It...It honestly feels safer to me this way."

"Oh really?" Margo managed a small grin. "I used to be scared of the dark when I was younger. Still kinda am. What about it makes you feel safe?"

"W-W-Well—"

"Hey," said Carl, "could you guys maybe lower your voices for just a few seconds? Something's up with the patients again."

Margo glanced at the screens, four per individual just like last time. Four for Jack, four for Slater. Jack sat on a couch, glaring off at holographic television screens with a distant look in his eyes. There was no indication he needed or wanted anything other than his humanity back. Slater, however, peered right into the camera, flashing a clown-like grin and waving with the excitement of a small child.

"Why is he always so cheerful?" Margo said.

"Because he knows it annoys us," Holden said. "Me and Nikki joke that he's like that because he sneaks in Euphors up his—"

"Guys, I said quiet please," Carl said, and he lifted a finger to his ThoughtControl piece. "What do you want, Slater?"

"Just wanted to say Happy Halloween, that's all!" chuckled Slater. "I can't go out selling ecstasy to high schoolers anymore, so I gotta have fun on this holiday somehow."

"Slater, this is the third time you've wished us a happy Halloween. And the fifth time you've mentioned selling drugs to high schoolers. Quit messing around, or we'll have to start taking away cell privileges." Then Carl muttered under his breath, "Not that you deserve any of them."

"Hey, it gets lonely it here sometimes, and you're the best company anyone can have! You know why?"

Carl groaned. "Here it comes."

"Because you don't need a group of friends, Maslow. You are a group of friends!" And Slater fell back into his seat, laughing his ass off.

"You're one to talk," Margo snapped, finger on her ThoughtControl piece, startling every other person in the room, including Slater.

"Who the fuck was that?" Slater said.

"Yeah, it's nice to see you again, too, Slater," Margo continued despite Carl's shushing. "This is Margo Sandoval. Remember me?"

Slater didn't attempt to invoke his grating, clown-like enthusiasm and perkiness. He stared off at the wall of his cell, an expression of concern, possibly shock, crossing his face.

"Margo Sandoval," he repeated. "Are you the girl I talked to several months ago about Erase-and-Replace? The one who just totally fucking lost it?"

Margo nodded, clenching her fist until her fingers popped cracked. "Yep, that's me. The girl who fucking lost it."

"Margo, what are you doing?" Carl whispered.

"I'm just letting you know," she told Slater, "that I'm back with Psychwatch, and I will not let you or anyone else get in my head ever again! Do you understand?"

Slater said nothing. 

"You know why Carl talks to you? Why anyone talks to you? It's not because they care about you. It might be hard for you to believe, but people are smarter than they look. Some of them know when they're being played. They can spot a fake smile, detect a fake laugh. And you, Slater? Your smile is the fakest anyone has ever seen. That laugh? That charisma? It's a facade that everyone can see a mile away. It's not working anymore. And now you're here in this cell, where you'll die alone with no one else to take advantage of."

Margo's hands and body trembled. Sweat dampened her brow and her palms. "Why the hell aren't you saying anything?" she said, her voice fluttering.

"Margo," Carl said. "Please stop. We don't need to keep talking to him."

"You're right," Slater said. "I chose to be here. I could've slipped away if I wanted. I really could have."

"Well, why didn't you then?" Margo snapped.

Slater glanced into the camera, a small smirk crossing his face, the most sincere expression anyone had seen from him. "No one ever really dies alone, honey. Not in this line of work."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"Goodbye, Slater," said Carl, and his and Margo's connection broke off. He rotated in his seat to flash his daughter another defeated glare.

"Carl, what is he talking about?" she said.

"Why do you insist on talking to him? He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about anyone!"

Margo's expression grew sour. "So that's why he's the only one who hasn't lied to me."

"He is lying to you, Margo! He just wants to get in your head because he knows he made you paranoid about your memories last time. Slater doesn't want to help anybody. He just wants to see people drive themselves crazy for his amusement. Do you understand?"

Margo couldn't stop trembling. Her face burned bright red.

"I fucking hate that guy," Holden said. "Why do we still even keep him around?"

"I don't know, Holden," Carl groaned. "I wish anything made sense around here. But it never does."

"Slater told me Psychwatch doesn't like throwing away any of their own creations," said Margo. "Is that a lie, too?"

Carl shook his head, running his hands through his hair. He sighed, regretting every word that left his tongue and everything he did that'd convinced Margo to join Psychwatch.

"But you only lied because you care," Margo said. "I understand that."

"Margo," said Holden, "I think maybe we should...I dunno, change the subject or just...I dunno."

Margo nodded. And the officers waited in silence until Nikki leaped from her seat.

"The S-S-Scans are going out," she said.

Holden squinted. "Going out? Like powering off?"

"Y-Y-Yeah. Th-th-the outage is heading straight for us."

All four individuals flinched as Kusanagi's voice screamed through their pieces, "Intruders in the building! Incapacitate on sight!"

Beyond the door roared a train of footsteps down the hall, three or four individuals sprinting as fast as they could. The four doctor-cops heard their colleagues yell more warnings, only to open fire seconds later. Green light flashed through the small crevices around the door, followed by loud thuds outside.

"Someone in that room over there?"

"Should be. Let me check." Andrade's voice. She knocked on the door. Margo and Carl stepped back, guarding their younger colleagues. "Sanger? Atkinson? Anyone in there?"

"We're here, Andrade," Carl said. "What's going on out there?"

"Some of the protesters ran into the fucking building, but we got them. Although, more are still trying to get in. Are Sanger and Atkinson still in there?"

"Y-Y-Yes, ma'am," Nikki said.

"The two of you are going home. It isn't safe for you here."

Holden marched over to the door and opened it. "How the hell are we supposed to get past them?" he said.

"Yeah, how?" Margo said, hoping her doubt was obvious. "How is this gonna play out, Andrade?"

Andrade's jaw dropped again. She threw her hands up. "I don't know. But...we have everything under control."

"Don't lie to yourself."

Margo, Andrade, Carl, everyone turned to look down the hall. There stood Royce. What remained of Royce. Ragged clothes, pale face, thin as a pole. Something rested in his hands.

"Royce, what..." Margo said, "what are you doing here?"

"No one's in control," he said, his voice sullen and gravely. "We're all just puppets. Victims prolonging our suffering."

"Royce, what's that in your..." Carl said before it dawned on him. He drew his Fatemaker. "Turn that thing off, Royce! Or I will open fire!"

"We're victims. Always have been. It's too late to save us."

Andrade drew her Fatemaker. "Royce, drop the device!"

"You're not stopping anything! Don't you people get it? We've lost."

"You don't have to be a part of this," Carl stressed. "Just drop the device and—"

"This will be over soon."

Glass shattered in the distance. Deafening shouts erupted in the distance, growing louder and less human.

"Brian," Margo said. "Listen to me, you don't need to do this. You're stronger than this! You said not to let anyone else have this much power over you. So don't let that happen!"

Royce said nothing. He stood still, breathing heavily, the device trembling in his hands.

"Brian," Margo said again.

Royce whispered one more time. "It'll be over soon. I promise."

The EMP device went off. Several, all around the building. The officers found themselves in darkness, their Fatemakers now useless and scorching to the touch.

"ROYCE!" Carl said, him and his fellow officers standing in near-pitch darkness.

Crowds of people shrieked at the top of their lungs at the far end of the hall. The building shook like a palace sinking into the earth.

"What the fuck is going on?" Holden said. "What do we do?"

"Royce!" screamed Carl. "Royce! What have you done?"

Margo twisted and jerked around in the dark, hoping to find Carl's voice. "Forget about him! We need to get Holden and Nikki somewhere safe."

"And we also need guns," said Andrade "The armory has prototype Fatemakers. We should head there."

"But the kids, Andrade!"

Margo

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