《Psychwatch》


 PROLOGUE

    The stars in the sky hadn''t been visible in years. The bright blue glow of Downtown Philadelphia was the only light needed to eradicate the darkness of night. What was the point of looking up into the night sky to wish upon a star when you had hundreds of holographic billboards hovering along the city streets promising your wishes would come true? That everything wrong with you could be instantly cured with a few meds or therapy sessions or even a memory wipe?


    Well even in 2045, even after nearly thirty years of life-changing advancements in technology and science, there''s always something to remind you that Heaven and Earth are two completely different places. That the closest thing a man creates to perfection will always have that flawed human influence. And eventually someone will have to acknowledge the cracks in the foundation.


    Those were the thoughts filling the head of one particular man as he wandered the desolate streets of the outer city. This neighborhood was nothing like Downtown Philadelphia. The brightest lights one could find outside of the citizens'' homes were the dim orange streetlights. Downtown would''ve had hundreds of holographic screens letting people know they mattered in the world and that their conditions were not their fault. Hardly anyone was traversing along the sidewalk with this stranger. And the biggest difference was that there were no SanityScans to watch over the neighborhoods and alert Psychwatch of a person''s less-than-appropriate thoughts.


    In other words, this man was in the perfect place for a crime.


    Right down the alley between two dilapidated brick buildings, a little gathering of people were huddled around a fire. It was no surprise what they were doing. Arms or drug deal, it was always one of those two. The man made his way to them, still reassured his backup would be there any second.


    "Glad to see y''all made it here alive," one man said as he rummaged through a duffle bag. "Now, what was it you guys were in the mood for?"


    His clients didn''t say a word, instead remaining still in the orange glow of the flames. It took him a few seconds, but it finally clicked.


    "Got it," he said with a snap of his fingers. He pulled out a small box of a dozen glowing blue vials. On the edge of each vial was a small spout where the narcotic would exit, like an inhaler. Most people referred to these special inhalers as Blue Caterpillars. "This is what you''re really here for."


    All of the scumbags cackled in celebration. They were in the presence of a dozen tubes of Wonderland Mist, also known as ''Gasm Gas or Nympho depending on the area. Just one puff of that sky blue spray would bring all of your wet dreams to life. Erotic hallucinations, heightened libido, and enhanced sensitivity, even a sneeze could make you cream yourself. It''s not much of a surprise something so psychologically enrapturing would be illegal.


    "Hand it over," the leader ordered.


    "Pay up first," the dealer replied, taking out his eWallet. "Then you can do whatever the hell you want with it. Just keep your damn clothes on."


    The leader rolled his eyes as he pulled out his own eWallet. The two of them held their devices between them and waited patiently as two hundred and forty dollars transferred over to the dealer''s funds. Then the leader took the box and grabbed an inhaler before passing it on to his buddies.


    "Pleasure doing business," the dealer said with a grin.


    "Yeah, whatever," the leader replied, glancing down at the Blue Caterpillar. "Now get the hell out of here. I''ll call you when I need you."


    "Hey," one girl in the group chimed in. "Who''s that?"


    The group stared out toward the edge of the alley, watching as the stranger approached them. The alley light casted a creepy orange glow on his tuxedo and a plastic white mask wrapped all around his head, exposing only his messy brown hair. His eyes were marked with red Xs like a dead cartoon character and a devilish grin was permanently plastered on the mask. He strolled down the alley as if it were a peaceful walk in the park, carefully adjusting his gloves.


    "Who are you supposed to be, Michael Myers?" the leader chuckled.


    "I''ve made lots of mistakes in the past," the masked man replied in a raspy voice. "If I''ve hurt people, I''d rather they remember this lifeless facade instead of the poor shmuck hiding behind it."


    "Hey, don''t get too comfortable around us. I didn''t say you could start dumping your life story on us."


    "My past should mean nothing to you. On the contrary, I''ve come here to talk about the future." The masked man took a few glances at the Blue Caterpillars and the dealer''s eWallet. "Would you people consider yourself successful in your current positions?"Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "The hell are you talking about?" the leader replied.


    "I''m saying you have all these things to keep yourself entertained for a moment or two, but what''s the point? You''re gonna go back for more once you''re done."


    "What''s your problem? You suicidal or something? Get lost. We''re not doctor-cops if that''s what you''re hoping for."


    "I don''t need Psychwatch," the masked man replied. "All I need are your guns, your money, and your manpower. Just need some allies, I guess you could say."


    "Shut the hell up," the leader interrupted as he pulled out his gun.


    The masked man raised his hands. "Typical," he said. "Everyone always hesitates to pull the trigger. So many problems could be prevented if you don''t hesitate."


    "I''m not afraid to shoot. Just not looking forward to cleaning up the mess."


    The masked man slowly lowered his hands and approached the leader, still sporting a nonchalant attitude even as a gun was trained on him. He quietly chuckled to himself as he stood in front of that gun without a care in the world.


    "Why are you laughing?" the leader asked.


    "Because, buddy," the masked man replied as he slowly placed his hand on the other man''s shoulder, "I can sense the reluctance. You don''t like to get your hands dirty. Somehow, despite wasting your bucks on narcotics to heighten your libido, I can still tell you value life."


    "What''s wrong with that?"


    "I already told you, good sir. You hesitate. You give unimportant things value. You''re no risk-taker."


    The leader lowered his gun. "What is it you need exactly?" he asked.


    "I need your money and weaponry. I just don''t need..." the masked man paused to unsheathe a dagger from his suit. "You."


    A van crept out of the corner of the alley, catching the attention of the gang leader. Despite the fact the masked man was right in front of him, he still didn''t notice the dagger plunging between his ribs. The only thing more painful than the blade digging in was the blade ripping back out. And the masked man kept stabbing him over and over again until he collapsed to the pavement, splattering the street with blood.


    "What the fuck!" the dealer shouted as he gazed at his butchered former colleague.


    All of a sudden, another figure emerged from the shadows and crashed down on the dealer''s back. He could feel a dagger ripping through his neck over and over again, and he was being yanked toward his truck that was parked in the corner of the alley. His attacker leaped off his back and grabbed his hair. He couldn''t do anything as his attacker repeatedly slammed his head over and over again into the truck window. The glass was smeared darker red after every hit, but the young attacker continued hammering the dealer''s head against the window until a dent was left in his skull. The attacker let go of the dead dealer''s head and let him slump to the street motionlessly.


    "Shit!" another crook exclaimed as he pulled out a shotgun. He prepared to aim it at the masked man but was cut short by another attacker, one the same size and speed of the young man responsible for the dealer''s death, as she slammed a machete down on his wrist. She quickly yanked it out and ran the crook through, plunging the blade through his stomach.


    "Big mistake, sir," she giggled, her hands gripped tightly on the blade''s handle.


    Now with his wrist bloody and lacerated, he couldn''t hold his gun any longer. The masked man approached him and snatched the gun out of his hands. He then shoved it into the crook''s mouth and pulled the trigger, the shot like a crackle of thunder. The crook''s lifeless body crumpled to the floor with only a few chunks of his skull left behind.


    "Who are you?!" a female crook asked, backed up against the wall with a knife in her hand. She could only watch in horror as the rest of her colleagues bolted off into the darkness of night.


    "Who am I?" the masked man asked back. "I''m multiple people. I''ve got multiple names. Multiple motives. Multiple methods of ending lives."


    The van from earlier opened up, and a group of five other masked individuals stampeded out of the vehicle as if their lives depended on it. Three of them carried blunt objects, but the other two held knives. Their masks were lazier versions of this Multi Man before them, instead looking more like rags with holes for the eyes and crudely painted Xs that looked like they were done with spray paint.


    "But I can help you!" the female crook exclaimed.


    "I''m afraid I''ve changed my mind," the Multi Man replied.


    The female machete-wielding attacker slammed her blade into the final crook''s cranium, and she toppled to the pavement with a new laceration in her head. The attacker slid her knife back in her holster and started rummaging through the dead woman''s pockets, snatching her eWallet and a handgun hidden in her back pocket.


    "You read my mind, dear," the Multi Man said as he playfully smoothed his hand through her hair. He yanked his dagger out of a dead thug''s back and placed it back in his suit pocket.


    "What are we doing here?" one of the other masked men asked. "You seemed to have everything handled."


    "You''re right," the Multi Man replied. "I didn''t need any of your help uncovering the treasure. I just need your help loading it onto the boat. Why don''t you follow this young lady''s example and take anything that looks useful? Weapons, eWallets, as long as it will support us on our mission."


    The attacker with the small knives glanced at the Blue Caterpillars the dealer dropped on the floor. "Whitey," the Multi Man declared, "leave those alone."


    "Not even a whiff?" Whitey asked. One could see his red irises through the holes in his crudely-made mask.


    "Absolutely not. They''ve got fingerprints all over them. So don''t get involved." This Multi Man figure then turned to the other young attacker, the girl wielding the machete. "Crimson, rinse the blood off your weapon."


    "Don''t be silly, Mister," Crimson replied as she playfully twirled her blade around. "There aren''t any SanityScans out here. And it''s not like Psychwatch would care about a couple of dead junkies."


    "Of course not. They''ll care more about the origin of this situation, which leads back to us."


    "I thought that was what you wanted, sir," another masked youth replied, neither Whitey nor Crimson. He wore a hood over his head and carried a crowbar, and his face was hidden by a crude mask imitating that of the Multi Man. "You said them discovering us would set off that metaphorical spark you''re always talking about."


    "Exactly, Dawson. But we need the proper timing before we set off this spark. You people need to remember it only takes one spark to set this whole world on fire."

 CHAPTER 1

    March 23, 2045 - 8:55 AM


    Margo Sandoval stood patiently in the elevator as it ascended to the top floor of Psychwatch''s main precinct. A small grin formed across her face as she quietly compared this vertical ascension to her life. Starting off just like everyone else, stuck at ground level without any experience or knowledge of where she was going, all she could do was rise up the ranks until she found the right place for her.


    She knew what awaited her at the top of the building: a graduation ceremony on the roof, where she would join many other lucky graduates in completing their initiation into Psychwatch. She would officially become one of the most beloved people in the city as well as the most hated. She was fully aware of the controversies surrounding this organization, but she only embraced them.


    Still waiting for the elevator to complete its travel, Margo tapped her fingers against the side of her skirt and nervously tugged on her blazer. The entire time, besides fidgeting at her clothing, she recited to herself Psychwatch''s most valued motto: "Neutralize the threats, empathize with the victims, stabilize society. Neutralize, empathize, stabilize."


    "You''ve been repeating that same damn phrase since you got here," Ellie chimed in through Margo''s ThoughtControl earpiece, the same one Psychwatch had given her at the beginning of her initiation. "Hasn''t it been burned into your brain yet?"


    "It''s a stress relief method, sis," Margo replied. "You should try it more often. You''ll be less tense."


    "Why are you calling me tense? I''m not the one becoming a doctor-cop here. Plus, I can tell you''re scared out of your mind."


    Margo chuckled. "Are you following me around or something?"


    "Nah, I just got used to your forced confidence. Don''t get me wrong; I know you''re gonna do great, but I can still tell you''re trying a little harder than usual to hide the fear."


    "Ellie, this is Psychwatch we''re talking about. People don''t look up to fearful officers."


    "But fear makes you human. And people do appreciate an officer who''s not afraid to show she''s human. It makes you relatable."


    Margo shrugged. "I guess."


    "Jeez, how long does one elevator ride take?" Ellie asked.


    "How''d you know I was in¡ª"


    The ding of the elevator sounded as the doors slowly slid open, and she was greeted by a small path leading out onto the rooftop.


    "That''s why," Ellie replied. "That ding is an instant indicator. Good luck, by the way."


    "Thanks, sis. I''ll call you back when it''s done."


    Margo stepped out of the elevator and followed the path out of the hall onto the rooftop deck. Dozens of people sat down on foldable chairs positioned over the large patch of turf taking up the roof. SanityScans hung from the pillars positioned at the building''s corners, slowly swaying back and forth to ensure everyone''s safety both mentally and physically. The seats were divided into two sections, one for current Psychwatch officers along with the inductees and the other for the families and friends of the aforementioned inductees. In the middle of those two sections was the path leading up to the stage, where Commissioner Janice Mason stood at a pedestal, ready to welcome these future doctor-cops into the crazy lawless world that awaited them.


    In the front row of the section holding the new recruits remained an empty seat. Margo took it, taking a quick glimpse to wave at her mother and Officer Carl Maslow, the closest person she had to a father. She returned her view to Commissioner Mason.


    "We''re here today to congratulate our new recruits, a lucky few individuals worthy of having the honor of joining our ranks," she spoke. "Here at Psychwatch, we always prepare to face what we''re afraid of. And we can all agree that our greatest fear is unpredictability. A lack of control. The inability to prevent yourself from becoming a danger to other people." She paused. "And that''s exactly what world we live in. A world that cares for mental illness as well as it stigmatizes it. A world where it is embraced as much as it is feared. Our technology makes it easy to see what''s going on in someone''s head, but it''s quite the challenge to decipher what it means."


    "Haha!" Ellie chimed in through Margo''s earpiece. "Mind-reading, am I right?"


    "Shut up!" Margo whispered. "I told you I''ll call you later."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    "However, ladies and gentlemen," Mason continued, "these brave, intelligent men and women standing here before me have proven to be capable of comprehending the enigma that is the human mind. They have chosen to take the responsibility of protecting our future and saving us from our own inner demons. Because that is what Psychwatch was made to do. Neutralize the threats, empathize with the victims, stabilize society." She placed her hand on her chest. "Neutralize, empathize, stabilize. And we will continue to do so for years to come."


    A loud applause rippled through the audience, claps and cheers filling the air. Mason waited patiently for the noise to fade out before moving on. Next she would read off the list of new recruits, all of whom would walk to the stage, receive a badge, and wait patiently as the crowd went wild at the mention of their name.


    "Remember to smile, sis," Ellie chimed in once again. "Hope you brushed your teeth this time."


    Margo rolled her eyes, not even bothering to stifle a chuckle. "I didn''t ask for your opinions, Ellie. Now quit talking. You''re making me seem like a weirdo just talking to myself. I''m not even supposed to have my earpiece on right now."


    "Margo sweetie, you can turn the piece off, but you can''t shut me up. But since this is a pretty big deal, I''ll come back later then. Ciao!"


    The vibration of Margo''s earpiece vanished with Ellie. Margo clicked the button twice, a beep signaling the device''s power resting.


    She returned her view to the stage. She didn''t know how many names had been called up during her brief little discussion with her sister. Her only indicator was that half of her side of the audience consisted of empty chairs. Only three more people sat to her left, and then it would be her turn.


    As the third person to her left timidly stood from his chair to make his way to the stage, Margo could see her mother and Carl waiting patiently in the other section. Carl noticed her and flashed his famous Cheshire Cat-like grin along with a thumbs-up, both of which have been making her day ever since she was fifteen. She also caught a quick glimpse of his LED ring that flashes either red, blue, or green depending on which alter had control.


    The light was blue. Carl should be the one in control.


    "Margo Sandoval," Mason announced.


    A wide smile stretched across Margo''s face as she leaped from her chair and marched to the stage. Once again, she had to stifle her laughter as the audience applauded. Carl''s distinct whoop only made it harder not to laugh. Mason waited for her at the pedestal and shook her hand before handing her her official badge.


    "Congratulations, Margo," Mason said. "I look forward to working alongside you."


    "Thanks!" she replied, no sign of her smile disappearing anytime now. "Is now the right time to give you a hug?"


    Mason chuckled. "Maybe later."


    Margo obediently walked over to where the other recruits stood. She held up her badge for her mom and Carl like how she did during her high school graduation. The two of them clapped a little longer for her as Mason continued summoning the rest of the recruits. And once everyone was up, the audience applauded one more time, louder than before as they rose from their seats.


    Ten minutes later, the ceremony had concluded. The recruits had rejoined their families off the stage, exchanging hugs and handshakes. After getting that anticipated congratulatory hug from Mason, she reunited with her mom and Carl. Her mother threw her arms around her, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.


    "I knew you could do it, sweetheart!" she said, her arms still wrapped around her daughter. "I''m not sure whether I''m more terrified or more proud!"


    "Why not be both?" Margo replied. "Thanks for believing in me."


    They parted ways. Now it was Carl''s turn to hug her. First, he patted her on the shoulder. Then he pulled her in. "Why am I not surprised?" he said. "One of the hardest-working people I know, about to work one of the hardest jobs I''ve heard of. And with a smile on her face! Congratulations, Margo. As usual, I knew you could do it."


    "Thanks, Carl," Margo replied. As the two of them let go, she grabbed his hand and looked down at his ring, still glowing blue. "Unless...who''s out?"


    Carl grinned. "It''s Carl, I swear. Vince and Catalina told me they''d avoid dissociation for the next few hours. But we can''t trust Vince too much, can we?"


    "Only when you need to kick some ass."


    Carl chuckled. "That''s exactly what he would say. Or at least what he left behind in his audio log."


    "Excuse me?" Margo''s mother asked.


    "Don''t worry, Karen," Carl replied. "I''ve known Vince long enough. He''s weird, but he''s trustworthy. Plus, he knows if he gets himself hurt, he''s also getting me hurt."


    Carl''s earpiece buzzed three times, indicating an incoming message. Thanks to it being a ThoughtControl product, all he had to do was think about answering the message to respond. And once he had accepted the call, he was greeted by the voice of Inspector Daniela Andrade, the second most respected person in Psychwatch after Commissioner Mason.


    "Hey, Andrade," he greeted smoothly. "How''s it hanging?"


    "Maslow," Andrade replied in a more serious tone than Carl, "we have a situation."


    "When do we not have a situation?"


    "Quit being a smart-ass and head to my location. Royce and Holloway should meet you there as well."


    "Holloway? Why would we need a stiff like him right now?"


    "We found multiple bodies in an alley in a neighborhood beyond the range of the SanityScans. And whoever killed them clearly didn''t care about making a mess."


    Carl whistled with intrigue. "Out in the Psycho Slums, eh? Got it. I''ll be there in a few minutes."


    The call ended. Carl scratched the stubble on his chin before moving on to smooth his hand through his graying hair. He was only a year away from fifty, yet he sometimes felt like he was already getting too old for this.


    "What did Andrade want?" Margo asked.


    "Investigating a string of murders out in the Psycho Slums," Carl replied as he tapped his fingers against the grip of his Fatemaker gun. "She didn''t care much for descriptions, but knowing the Psycho Slums, I bet it wasn''t pretty."


    "How long will you be out?"


    "Shouldn''t be too long, honey. The three of us are still up for dinner at the Atmos Terrace, right?"


    "Yep. 7:30 tonight."


    "Great! Well," Carl paused to hug Margo and Karen again before marching toward the elevator, "I''ll see you two later then." He snapped his fingers. "By the way, Margo, Mason says you''ll be starting off on the Empathy team in two days, so get ready!"


    "Yeah, I figured," Margo shrugged.


    Carl gave one more glance before disappearing into the elevator.

 CHAPTER 2

    March 23, 2045 - 9:45 AM


    Carl sat in the police van alone. A holographic screen glowed on the wall on his opposite side playing the news. He had no interest in what the TV had to say, but given the fact he was in a self-driving van, he had no driver to talk to. So he spent the next few minutes studying his Fatemaker, the futuristic handgun every Psychwatch officer had the responsibility of owning.


    A streak of light flashed across the gun''s jet-black barrel, alternating between green and orange depending on its mode. Just one press of the button could activate its Incapacitate mode or Execute mode. All that was required to unleash the true potential of this weapon was his thumbprint on the ID scanner and a single thought: What mode is most appropriate for this situation?


    "You have arrived at your destination," the van''s robotic voice said as the vehicle slowed to a stop. "Your fellow officers await."


    "Thanks, generic lady voice," Carl replied. He held his Fatemaker against his MagniSheath until the magnetic claw clasped around his gun like cuffs. He rose from his seat and pushed through the van doors.


    He was greeted by the gray afternoon sky. Rows of dilapidated brick buildings lined the road from one end to the other, not a single SanityScan in sight. Out in the distance he could see the downtown Philadelphia skyline rising above the rest of the world like mountains. Even though he had been to the Psycho Slums hundreds of times, he still couldn''t get over how different it was from the rest of the city. Two different worlds: one that couldn''t live without Psychwatch and another that couldn''t care less about bonding with its life-changing developments.


    "Maslow!" Carl heard his colleague Royce call. "Over here!"


    Focus on your job, payaso, Catalina said from the depths of Carl''s mind.


    "Hey, what did I say about dissociating?" Carl told her. He didn''t wait for a response and instead joined his colleagues at the crime scene.


    A block away, his old buddy Brian Royce waited at the corner of another shabby-looking building. There he stood wearing his Psychwatch officer vest, not even bothering to conceal his Fatemaker. He did his usual routine of slightly nudging his glasses over his nose to keep them from slipping as he waited for Carl to join him and the others. His hands were covered by dark gloves as he twirled around his fingers out of boredom.


    "That''s a first," Carl said once he reached Royce''s position at the corner of the alley. "You haven''t puked yet. Guess the crime scene isn''t too bad."


    "Maslow, we''ve been over this," Royce replied. "It''s the smell, not the sight, that nauseates me."


    "What the hell happened here?"


    Carl glanced around the alley. Several of his colleagues were studying the area around them along with the little Crawl Patrol bots they had deployed to scan for more evidence. Blood was splattered against the walls of the alleyway. Four bodies remained from last night''s carnage, yet the Crawl Patrol bots creeped across the corpses like flies around roadkill. The constant beeping of the officers'' SanityScans as they studied the bodies without a care in the world only added to their unintentional apathy.


    Then Carl saw Inspector Andrade standing at the opposite corner of him. She brushed her lovely black hair to the side as she studied the holographic screen hovering in front of her. Hundreds of faces flashed across the screen, yet none of them resembled the dead. Carl could tell she was stressed. He could hear her mutter Spanish profanities under her breath.


    "There you are, Maslow," she said as she glanced up from the screen. "Make yourself useful and connect to the Crawl Patrol''s feed."


    "Nice to see you, too, Andrade," Carl replied. He activated his ThoughtControl piece, flashing a small, square holographic lens in front of his left eye. Now with his Scan ready, he connected to one of the Crawl Patrol''s wireless feeds and waited patiently as the data the bot had gathered transferred over. The flow of information never ceased to satisfy him, drifting into his Scan like a serene little creek.


    Four individuals. Ages ranging from 21 to 39. No known diagnoses. Cause of deaths: Class IV Hemorrhage, blunt force trauma. Possible narcotics usage: traces of phenethylamine found in...


    "More Wonderland users?" Carl asked, still studying the information in his Scan.


    "Yeah," Andrade replied. "Found a dozen inhalers full of that shit over there. Might''ve been a deal gone wrong."


    "This seems too violent to be done by simple dealers," Royce interjected. "Most of the failed deals I''ve investigated resulted in shootouts. Granted, it still got pretty messy, but not to the point you''d have enough spilled guts to map out the entire digestive system."


    "The only firearm we got here is this boring little shotgun," Carl said as he glared at an empty shotgun lying on the pavement.


    Royce chuckled. "You sound like Holloway. Only a felon like him would call a weapon boring."


    "Yeah, but he focuses on the weapon''s power. I focus on its design. This isn''t one of those sleek-looking smart firearms people only dream of getting. Just a lame, unmodifiable shotgun¡ª"


    "That was used to murder someone," Andrade chimed in bluntly. "Maybe instead of focusing on how it looks, why don''t you focus on who used it and why they did?"


    "That''s what we''ve been doing for the last three hours," Royce groaned. He turned back to Carl. "Speaking of which, Mason ordered Holloway to be brought in as part of his redemption therapy. Y''know, using a freak to catch other freaks."


    "That''s kinda rude, don''t you think?" Carl chuckled nervously. "I mean, not all the people we find are too far gone. If we''re lucky, a few therapy sessions should bring the perp back to reality."


    "I''m talking about Holloway. I know it''s his therapy, but it''s also technically his jail sentence. And the guy hardly looks like he''s made any progress at all! Remember that last incident at the high school?"


    Carl winced. "Well...in Holloway''s defense," he replied carefully, "that teen was guilty of sexual harassment and influencing the suicide of one of his classmates."Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Andrade flashed him a dirty look. However, he could sense she wasn''t as angry at him as she normally would''ve been. She, too, knew what happened was essentially the consequences taking place, as illegal as they were.


    "I definitely agree that the kid was a degenerate little shit," Royce whispered, his hand on Carl''s shoulder, "but Holloway didn''t beat the shit out of him because he deserved it. He did it because he saw it as the perfect opportunity to vent. Remember? It took ten minutes for anyone to intervene!"


    Carl nodded his head. He couldn''t look at Royce in the eye, ashamed of the fact it took so long for the officers to stop their violent colleague that day. What he regretted most, however, was the fact he didn''t want it to stop. The teen admitted to sexually harassing multiple female classmates, motivated one of them to take their own lives, and showed zero remorse for it. Seeing him getting beaten into the dirt felt like a long-awaited punishment.


    But it was still illegal. "Well hopefully," Carl continued slowly, "he''ll have a change of heart some day."


    "In the meantime," Royce replied as the two of them wandered around the alley, "he''ll be...attempting to assist us around here. His holo-projection should be appearing any second."


    A loud beeping noise startled the officers around the scene. Two triangular pieces of metal emerged from the Psychwatch van and floated over to the edge of the alleyway, swirling around each other like vultures swarming around their prey before freezing in midair. Blue lights flickered out of the lens in the devices as they aimed toward the street, a holographic projection of their infamous colleague generating any second now.


    "Here he comes," Andrade said.


    *


    Officer Jack Holloway stood in his cell in the psych ward. The tiny panels in the floor beneath him shifted back and forth, like tiny crabs traversing through the sand on a beach. Two triangular projectors hung from the wall in front of him, a single beep indicating a countdown.


    "Don''t screw this up," Commissioner Mason ordered into his ThoughtControl piece. "Evaluate the crime scene and nothing else."


    Fuck off, he wanted to tell her, but instead he replied with false enthusiasm, "Empathize, euthanize, stabilize. Right?"


    "It''s neutralize, Holloway."


    "Just a euphemism, Commissioner. Just a damn euphemism."


    Suddenly, Jack was engulfed in blue light, blinded by the devices in front of him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in an alleyway with his fellow officers at the crime scene, all eyes now on him. His skin twitched with brief distortion as he glanced down at his hands, and he looked up to see the projectors floating around him.


    Jack flashed a grin as he approached his colleagues, the floor panels shifting beneath him with every step he took to simulate the surface of the street. "How''s it going, Andrade?" he greeted. "You look lovely today."


    "Cabr¨®n," Andrade muttered, returning her view to her ThoughtControl''s lens.


    "Maslow, Royce, how are you gentlemen doing?" Jack asked as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, the lens on his own piece activating.


    "I''m guessing you haven''t noticed the mutilated corpses stranded around this alleyway?" Royce retorted as he nudged his glasses further up his nose.


    "Of course I have, buckaroo. Just not too interested in them."


    "Well, you kinda have to be. It''s part of your job."


    "Actually, Brian¡ªhope you don''t mind me calling you that¡ªit''s often best that you don''t get so attached to people. It''s harder to study a dead body when you remember that the person that body belonged to had done so much for you. I mean, you''ve seen autopsies before, haven''t you? Don''t you think it''d be heartbreakingly difficult to just glance up and down the body of someone who meant so much to you as if they were nothing more than a lab specimen?"


    "That...would be a conflict of interest," Royce uttered quietly and frightfully before going silent. To avoid further contact, he activated his earpiece and studied multiple holographic screens hovering in front of him.


    "You can be diagnosed with a lot of things, Holloway," Carl said, "but being an asshole is a choice. So why don''t you just shut up and do your job?"


    Jack cracked his knuckles and used his ThoughtControl piece to connect to the Crawl Patrol''s feed. In seconds, he received the same information everyone else had. Four dead bodies. All homicides. Wonderland addicts. None of it interested him in the slightest.


    "I have a conclusion," Jack declared. "A couple of disposable junkies. Nothing left to lose except for their lives and their stash. And clearly the former didn''t matter too much."


    "We didn''t bring you to judge them," Andrade replied.


    Jack paused to kneel down next to one corpse. "Have they been identified yet?"


    "The one you are kneeling next to is 27-year-old Wesley Reeds. The eldest is 32-year-old Trent Morales, whom we assume is the leader. However, we haven''t identified the last two victims yet, a male and female."


    "Is it an actual female or just some bastard in a wig and dress who only thinks he is?"


    Carl winced. "I wouldn''t say that in front of the Empaths back at headquarters."


    "Unfortunately for them," Jack continued, "I ain''t an Empath. I''m a sociopath. The Scan said so." He continued investigating the feed from his ThoughtControl piece.


    "You could do something about that, Holloway," Andrade muttered. But Jack ignored her like every other time.


    After spending an extra minute gathering the rest of the info from the Crawl Patrol into his ThoughtControl piece, Jack reviewed the info to himself one more time. Four victims. Three male, one female. Multiple stab wounds to the first victim, critical concussion to the second, shotgun wound through the brain on the third, and a massive incision into the skull of the fourth. The only weapon left behind was the gun used to kill the third victim. Yet there wasn''t a single fingerprint on the gun aside from the poor sap who lost his head to it.


    "I''d say there were thirteen people here last night," Jack hypothesized as he glared at the pavement, the holographic lens of his piece hovering in front of his left eye. "Most of them¡ªabout nine people¡ªmade it out alive. Tire tracks at the edge of the alleyway. Two of them were most likely teenagers."


    "What makes you say that, Holloway?" Carl asked.


    "According to the Crawl Patrol," Jack continued as he walked over to the parked truck, "there are footprints on the surface of the truck bed matching a size 10 shoe, which means the attacker is either young or of underwhelming size. Plus, the force of poor Mr. Morales''s cranium against the window wasn''t enough to crack the glass."


    "So the attacker wasn''t strong enough to break the glass but was strong enough to crack his head open?" Royce chimed in.


    "Better be careful not to exaggerate so much," Jack replied with a smug look on his face. "Aside from a rather impressive dent, his skull is completely intact. His brain, however, got scrambled up like a blender. Internal hemorrhage from the concussion."


    "So I guess that explains one for now," Carl said. "How do you explain the other attacker being a teenager?"


    "Step out of the way for a minute," Jack replied. Once Carl took a step to the side, Jack continued. "More size 10 footprints. From the way their prints are positioned, I''d say they were in a fighting stance. It''s a little uneven, so they were either amateur or simply not that confident in their ability. And if you also notice, only a couple of feet away from these prints is none other than Jane Doe over here. Nice clean cut into her skull."


    "Your enthusiastic descriptions disturb me," Andrade replied. "You''re at a crime scene, not a museum."


    "Of course. Only memorable people end up in museums."


    "I think you''re done here for today, Holloway. We can take the rest from here."


    Jack chuckled. "But who else around here is supposed to keep these things interesting? Besides the bastards responsible for this, of course."


    Suddenly, bits and pieces of his holographic projection began to crumble off, as if he were disintegrating into dust. The projectors hovering above him were flickering as his program was coming to a conclusion. Soon he''d be back in his dark cell in the psych ward. "I didn''t even get to tell you how the shotgun was used," he whined mockingly.


    "You have the right to remain silent," Andrade replied coldly. "We''ll let you know when you''re needed again."


    "I guess I''ll share my thoughts and notes with you guys later then."


    "I think we''ve had enough of you," Royce grumbled.


    "C''mon, Brian. I know you guys need me!"


    "Oh please. If anything, you need us. You''re alive because of us."


    Jack''s grin transformed into an intimidating snarl. "But did I ask for that?" he growled before his hologram disappeared. He found himself back in his cell, the floor and wall panels shifting back into their original positions along with the projectors.


    Suddenly, all the tension in each officer had disappeared. Even though Holloway was one of them, most of them agreed he was often more intimidating than their own targets. He was a ticking time bomb. He was fully aware that''s what they thought of him.


    And he couldn''t have been more proud.

 CHAPTER 3

    March 23, 2045 - 7: 55 PM


    Atmos Terrace: great food, slick neo-futurist design, and a rooftop patio with one of the best views of the city. Margo couldn''t have chosen a better place to celebrate. At least in her opinion. It had only been one of her all-time favorite restaurants since Carl took her and her high school friends there for her seventeenth birthday.


    Hundreds of feet above the rest of the neon and holograms glowing throughout the rest of Downtown Philadelphia, Margo and her mother awaited their meals at their table, occupying their time by playing a game of holo-chess. Taking another drink of her glass of water, she made her final move, trapping her mom''s king between her rook and her queen.


    "I''d call that a good game," Margo declared.


    "That''s usually what the winners tend to say," Karen groaned.


    "No hard feelings, Mom?"


    "Of course not. Chess was never really my thing. I just wish Carl was here to avenge me."


    Margo laughed. The waiter arrived at the table with their orders. The holographic chess pieces vanished back into the glass as Margo was greeted by a plate of steak and fries and a glass of wine. Once the waiter offered Karen her food, he flashed a quick grimace toward Margo before making his way back toward the kitchen.


    Margo realized she was still wearing her ThoughtControl piece.


    It wasn''t even the fact it was a ThoughtControl piece; in fact, anybody could buy one. Who wouldn''t want to be able to unlock doors, activate lights, and send messages to friends with just a single thought? That look of disdain was simply because he could tell it was from Psychwatch thanks to the blue Greek letter psi emblazoned on the little plastic device.


    "What was that all about?" Karen asked, aware of the waiter''s distasteful look.


    "Guess he isn''t too fond of doctor-cops," Margo replied. "Doesn''t matter. Let''s eat."


    While her daughter was busy taking bits and pieces off her plate, Karen didn''t seem too hungry. Every thirty seconds or so she''d grab another scoop of pasta and maybe another sip of wine, but it was clear something was bugging her. She took her phone out to check if Carl was still planning on joining them but quickly stuffed it back into her pocket once she noticed Margo staring at her.


    "Something wrong?" Margo asked.


    "Nothing," Karen replied. "The linguini isn''t as good as it usually is, that''s all."


    That''s when Margo realized it was the perfect time to take advantage of her ThoughtControl. With just a single thought, she activated her piece and connected to the nearest SanityScan, which hung from the corner of the restaurant''s exterior just above the entrance back into the building. A few seconds later, a small part of her mother''s mind flashed across the holographic lens hovering in front of her eye like an article in a newspaper.


    Psychwatch Societal Stability System (P3S) Data Results:


    Name: Karen Mavis Sandoval


    Age: 51


    Sex: Female


    Status: Undiagnosed


    Threat Level 0 (No signs of aggression or hostility. Currently undergoing feelings of mild distress. Can be restored through social engagement with friends and loved ones)


    Karen chuckled halfheartedly. "That''s what I get for having a daughter that works with Psychwatch. Now you''re really gonna keep an eye on me."


    "Is there something you wanna talk about, Mom?" Margo asked with a half-smile. "The Scan says a little talking could go a long way."


    Karen took another bite before wiping her mouth with her napkin and clearing her throat. "Even after all these years, I still can''t help but worry a little. I mean, your job requires predicting the unpredictable. You''ll be surrounded by people who could snap at any moment."


    "Nothing to worry about, Mom. There are Scans on almost every corner of the city. As long as I got those, reading minds won''t be a challenge at all. Besides, all those dangerous psychopaths with meticulous plans and philosophies are just Hollywood stereotypes. Carl told me most of the people they catch are either nonviolent or recover pretty fast anyway."Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "But what about the psychos who are a part of Psychwatch itself?"


    "Oh yeah. They''re usually a part of this new rehabilitation program called redemption therapy. If they prove they can reenter society and distinguish reality from whatever their condition shows them, they can start gaining some of their personal freedoms back. Too bad they''re permanently stuck at a Threat Level of 3."


    "Can''t they hurt their own squad mates?"


    "This is Psychwatch we''re talking about, Mom. If they even think about harming one of their own, extra therapy for them."


    "That''s good." Karen paused to drink her wine.


    "I don''t mean to sound rude, Mom," Margo continued. "But I feel like you''re slightly missing the point of Psychwatch. We''re not just ordinary cops looking for criminals to bust. We''re also here to remind people that they are not alone in this world. That whatever battle they are fighting within themselves, we''ll be here to back them up."


    A small smile formed on Karen''s face. "I haven''t forgotten that. If there''s anyone I know who''s destined to help people, it''s you, dear. Thank you so much for caring. I can see why Commissioner Mason assigned you to be an Empath."


    Margo shrugged nonchalantly, as if they weren''t talking about one of the most controversial jobs in the country. "Meh. It''s alright," she replied.


    Karen couldn''t help but laugh. "What do you mean?"


    "I mean, I''m definitely looking forward to being an Empath," Margo replied sheepishly. "But being a Neutralizer is more exhilarating. That''s where I can go around the city busting crooks and using my Fatemaker! Too bad that''s a role I have to work my way up to."


    "I mean," Karen added, "I''d prefer if you chose the less dangerous position."


    Margo''s face lit up with excitement. "I can alternate between the two when the time comes!"


    "Oh dear," Karen sighed. And once again, Margo couldn''t help but laugh.


    Just then, her piece started buzzing. Someone was calling her from work. As usual, a single thought was all it took for her to answer the call. "Officer Sandoval speaking," she greeted.


    "Margo, mi preciosa!" Carl replied. He spoke with a Mexican accent and a more effeminate tone of voice. His alter Catalina had taken over.


    "Oh hi, Catalina!" Margo said. Catalina had always been her favorite alter. Or rather "part", as Catalina preferred to be called since it made her feel more valuable. "Where are you and the others?"


    "Carl was feeling a little stressed out by all his work, so I convinced him to let me take over for a while."


    "Wouldn''t you help him a little more by just letting him work?"


    "S¨ª, that''s what he told me, but I threw him out anyway."


    Margo snickered. "Someone''s insistent."


    "Unfortunately, Carl wrote in his notes that this situation is urgent, so he''s afraid he won''t be able to make it tonight. But he also adds that he will make it up to you, especially because he knows what I will do if he doesn''t."


    Margo''s eyes widened. "I''d like to see what would happen, but at the same time I don''t."


    "I think it''d be best if you didn''t, mija." Catalina paused for a few seconds, but Margo noticed she had a very conspicuous stutter when she last spoke.


    "Are you alright, Catty?"


    "S¨ª, just...feeling a little lightheaded," Catalina croaked, though her voice was soft and weak as if she were in pain. "Pretty sure Carl wants to switch back. I should probably stop for now."


    "Okay then. Keep him safe for me please."


    "Of course, dear. Oh, and by the way, he also recommends watching the news if you want to see what''s keeping him occupied. Bye bye!"


    Catalina hung up with the sound of beep. Ellie chimed in as soon as their conversation ended. "Congratulations on becoming part of the most polarizing job in the country," she said.


    "Thanks, smart-ass," Margo replied. "Where are you?"


    "At this rate, I''m pretty much everywhere you''re not. I kinda like it, though. It''s like a world record for the longest game of Hide and Seek or something. I honestly wouldn''t be surprised if you forgot what I look like."


    "Not gonna lie. I really don''t. And it would help a lot more if you actually spent time with me and Mom instead of going out doing whatever the hell you do."


    "We may be sisters, but I prefer to keep most of my business a secret. Not even because it''s dangerous, but because it probably wouldn''t even interest you. Now...have a goodnight."


    Her presence vanished from Margo''s earpiece. Margo turned back to look at her mother, who was scrolling through the newsfeed on her phone to find Carl''s report.


    "This looks interesting," Karen said. "Four mutilated bodies were discovered in an offline neighborhood, most likely resulting from a drug deal gone wrong." She scoffed. "No, I don''t want to see pictures of the crime scene! I just ate, thank you very much!"


    "Offline" was considered a politically correct term for any neighborhood that was a part of the Psycho Slums. The Psycho Slums themselves were neighborhoods and sometimes entire city districts that remained unconnected to Psychwatch''s Societal Stability System. That meant no SanityScans, no fast-access diagnoses, and no medical health experts persuading them to get the help they needed. Without the P3S, humans still had the right to their unpredictable nature and thoughts as well as the freedom to do whatever they felt could fix or satisfy their conditions.


    "Catty told me Carl wouldn''t be able to make it tonight because of an important assignment," Margo replied. "He said he''d make it up to us somehow. Doesn''t matter though. I have to get ready. My first day on the job starts in two days."


    "Wait," Karen spouted as the holographic display of her phone''s screen blinked out, "don''t you want to enjoy the night a little more? We haven''t even had dessert yet."


    "I''d love to, but I have to practice my self-defense moves and review the Psychwatch codes of conduct a little longer. I could give you a ride home if you like."


    Karen smiled. "If you say so, honey."


    Half an hour later, Margo had taken her mom home and made her way back to her own apartment. The neon lights of the cityscape, especially those decorated with Psychwatch''s logo and slogans, illuminated brighter in her eyes that evening. Everything decorated with their iconic teal shade stood out like a flower in a wasteland. The SanityScans hanging at the corners of every building. The motivational holo-posters projected against the walls.


    And in just two days, she''d have complete access to the Psychwatch Societal Stability System''s data. She''d learn a citizen''s identity as well as whatever psychiatric disorder they were diagnosed with. It would be wise of her to avoid the mistake many Psychwatch officers have made by confusing the two.

 CHAPTER 4

    March 23, 2045 - 11: 50 PM


    A rather popular and controversial topic to debate was whether the Psycho Slums occurred unintentionally or voluntarily. It had only been eighteen years since Psychwatch was founded, yet most of the country still wasn''t ready to embrace them. Only a few states along the East Coast had permitted their services while the rest of the world remained offline, still wondering whether sympathy and proper mental health treatment were worth sacrificing their personal freedom of thought to the authorities.


    These Psycho Slums were the closest getaways one could find from the watchful eye of the doctor-cops. Even regular cops tended to avoid those neighborhoods like the plague. They saw them as places where citizens on the verge of cracking could break down in peace, where they couldn''t lay a hand on innocent people. Either they were unlucky enough to get caught by the authorities and had to deal with the legal consequences, or they had to endure the consequences of whatever choices and mistakes they made on their own. And if it ends in violence, the Psycho Slums would consume their corpse and make sure no one would ever learn of their significance.


    But deep within the shadow-engulfed neighborhoods lined with dilapidated brownstones and abandoned stores, one man was fully aware of what he could do and what he was going to do. He knew that the freedom provided to him by the dreaded reputation of the Psycho Slums meant anarchy could be started by any person. Nobody, including himself, knew the full extent of the horrific fantasies plagued his thoughts. All he knew was that people were going to suffer.


    The Multi Man sat alone in a chair, rinsing the blood off his dagger.


    The light of the moon shone down on him through the hole in the skylight above him. Shards of glass surrounded him like an army ready to strike. His blazer dangled off his chair beside him, the sleeves speckled with red marks. His clean dagger glistened in the moonlight as the blood dripped into the water in the bucket below him. He slung his blazer back over his shoulders, making sure the bandages wrapped around his arms remained adhered to his skin.


    No one, not even his own colleagues, knew what he looked like. His mask never came off nor did the bandages engulfing his arms. They won''t know what was done to me, he thought to himself. Only what I will do to them.


    The sound of footsteps grew louder as Dawson approached the entrance to the room. His sleeves were dowsed with red mist and in his left hand was a bloodied axe. "We got rid of the evidence," he said with exhaustion. "He never saw a thing coming."


    "There''s always someone who has to feel guilty at the last minute," the Multi Man groaned. "Joining me means never looking for a way out. He jumped into the pool, yet he refused to swim. So he drowned just like the other ones lacking loyalty."


    "Don''t you feel a little remorseful, sir? I mean, he said you were his last hope. Like you were the only person in this world who gave him a meaning."


    "Well if I do, I haven''t noticed."


    Dawson remained quiet. He slowly approached the bucket full of water and blood and nervously dipped the axehead into it. "I hope you don''t mind me asking, sir," he continued, "but why don''t you ever hesitate to resort to violence?"


    The only response he got was laughter. And it wasn''t even from his own boss. He looked behind to see Crimson leaning against the door frame, playfully waving her machete around like a baton. Her mask was off, her crudely scribbled grin replaced with a sadistic smirk. Her red eyes glowed dimly in the moonlight and her white hair smoothed beautifully down her head like snow on a mountain. Those who knew her well knew that was the closest to peaceful she''d ever be.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "What''s so funny?" Dawson asked.


    "You''re so adorable, Dawson," Crimson chuckled. "I know it can take a while for some newbies to get used to the lack of restraints on overkill, but how long have you been with us already?"


    "I''ll do the explaining, Crimson," the Multi Man replied as he rose from his chair. "Go check on your brother. Put him to sleep again the hard way if you have to."


    "But we both still have bruises from that."


    "You''re either getting your bruises from him, or you''re getting them from me. Your choice."


    Crimson''s irreverent leer vanished instantly. It was the first time Dawson had ever seen her show fear. Even when she stormed off, she did it in a manner as if her life were hanging by a thread. He didn''t know how long it would take for him to start falling for those little tricks, especially considering he''d never even seen the Man lay a hand on the twins.


    "Dawson," the Multi Man spoke in his typical cold demeanor. "Do you believe it''s possible for you to be hurt by another human being?"


    "Yes," he replied.


    "Do you also believe you are capable of inflicting the same thing in return?"


    "I''m pretty sure. But I don''t know why I''d want to."


    He tensed up at the sound of glass cracking against the floor. The room went silent. His superior waited in the shadows, his head hanging low as he glanced at the trashed floor. Not another sound was heard throughout the building. No wind. No cars passing by. Not even the footsteps of the others prowling the abandoned mall''s floors.


    It was as if he and this Multi Man were the only ones left on the planet.


    The glass cracked again as his superior walked closer and closer to him. Dawson looked down. The axehead was only a few feet away from him, still wading in the crimson-colored waters. He would never be able to reach it. Plus, who knew how many other weapons the Man was hiding?


    Dawson shut his eyes, glad he''d never once taken off his mask in front of these people.


    Much to his surprise, a hand lowered down onto his shoulder. His eyes proceeded to creep back open, and the first thing he saw was a dirty white glove gripping his shoulder. When he opened the other eye, he turned his view to the mask in front of him, the bright red X''s over the eyes seemingly gazing into him. Then there was that grin forever plastered on that mask, disguising whatever horrible thought the Multi Man had about the people around him.


    "It''s not about if you want to," the Man replied. "It''s all about if you have to."


    "What do you mean?" Dawson asked.


    "From your point of view, would you say that there''s no need to hurt someone if they never hurt you?"


    Dawson swallowed back fear. "Yes."


    "Then don''t you think that it''s alright to hurt them back as long as they made the first move?"


    "W-w-what do you believe, sir?"


    The Multi Man paused for a moment, letting go of his subordinate''s shoulder. "After a while," he spoke, "you start to realize that you don''t need Psychwatch to predict what people think or do anymore. You begin to figure out how people work and react. And if there''s one thing people like to do, it''s outdo each other."


    "Is that why you like violence so much, sir?" Dawson asked, taking a few steps back.


    "You make me sound like I can''t be controlled," the Multi Man replied. "Is that what you''re saying?"


    "Uh..."


    After a pause, the Man continued. "What I like to do is get a job done. And make sure it gets done perfectly so it will never have to be repeated or improved. What I like, Dawson, is making sure people never underestimate my threats."


    Dawson didn''t reply. Instead he adjusted his mask to make sure the end remained just over the tip of his chin.


    "And that''s where I go back to our bad habit of outdoing," the Man continued. "People always want to overpower each other. The first guy flings an insult. The second guy throws a punch. The first guy makes his move again by beating the living daylight out of the second. He might not even care if the bastard lives to learn the lesson. But if the second lives, he''ll either walk away with his lesson learned or he''ll cross the line. Nothing matters to him as long as he knows the first guy fears him with every fiber of his being."


    "But why would they go through all that just to make sure they fear each other?" Dawson asked.


    "Because, Dawson, to make a person lose their value, you don''t just tear their body apart. They can still find the will to live and convince themselves they''re worth putting back together. You tear their mind apart, and they''ll be nothing but an empty shell. Just a puppet cut from its strings. You can give them the whole world, but it won''t matter if they don''t find any meaning in it."


    Dawson paused. "Did someone hurt you, sir?" he asked.


    The Multi Man didn''t respond. He kicked the bucket of crimson water over, spilling its contents into a hole in the floor. He walked over to the door past Dawson but paused before he could take another step out the room. "Maybe," he replied. "Maybe not. I could just be trying to get in your head."


    "I hate to say it, sir, but I''d prefer if you didn''t do that."


    The Multi Man patted Dawson on his shoulder for the last time that evening before addressing him in his usual, cold demeanor. "It''s too late, kid. I''m already inside."