Carl fetched two sparkling waters from the vending machine, one for him and one for Holden. The two of them sat across from Margo on a bench, all three of them on a quick break.

"I'd still say it went well," Carl said, taking a sip of his drink. "Patients like Miss Proctor do make our jobs difficult, but there's almost always a hope spot of some kind."

"I know she's better than she was when the session started," Margo replied, "but I still hate that I had to lie to make her feel like I understood her."

Holden took a sip from his drink, his gaze unmoving from portrait of Psychwatch's founders hovering above the three of them in a holographic display. On the right was Cyrus Lynch, a brilliant psychologist and sociologist who funded the organization and designed most ThoughtControl technology. On the left was Tetsuo Fujioka, the Japanese-American co-founder who led the organization's deviation from the standard police force and, with the help of his wife, designed the Fatemakers and Blur used by Psychwatch officers to this day. It was heartbreaking to hear of the disappearances of two of the smartest minds of the generation.

"People always just wanna be fucking understood," Holden muttered, still staring at the pictures. "Everyone at school, all they ever complain about, being understood. Like, bitch, I just told you I'm here for you. Why don't you just quit giving me fucking hints and tell me? I work for Psychwatch, for crying out loud. I'm practically licensed to—"

"Keep talking, Margo," Carl said as Holden continued rambling, his speech almost too fast to understand.

Margo was concerned about Holden's sudden excitement but continued anyway. "I wasn't lying about what happened to my dad, but I don't really miss him. You told me he wasn't dead, so doesn't that mean he's missing?"

"Well," Carl replied carefully, "when I got to the scene, all we could conclude was that he ran off. You guys weren't anywhere near the Psycho Slums, so there's no way he could've been abducted. Plus, we were mostly concerned about getting you and your mother to a hospital."

"And that's where I met you."

Carl cracked a small smile before taking another sip of his drink.

"Do you find yourself having to lie often, Carl?" Margo asked.

Before a suddenly nervous Carl could reply back, the two of them looked at Holden, who seemed to be growing angrier the more he spoke. His can of sparkling water was crushed in his hand, and his pillbox was beeping loudly in his pocket.

"—people just act fucking normal for once. I know I'm just a hypocrite for saying that. I'm the dumb piece of shit diagnosed with—"

"Holden," Carl barked. "I think you should take your medication."

"Uncle Carl," Holden choked, refusing to look him in the eye. "I-I-I honestly feel fine. Just needed someone to snap me out of it."

"Buddy, we both know taking those meds is the best thing for you. And you know how mad your mother gets when you skip out on it."

"B-B-But I feel like a stiff when I take them."

"Holden."

Unable to argue, Holden nodded his head before pulling out his pillbox. He placed his finger on the fingerprint ID scan, and the box popped open like a soda can. He took a bright green pill and placed in his mouth before sending it down with a gulp of his drink. He let his head drop, his gaze returning to the floor.

Carl patted his nephew on the shoulder. "It's for the best, buddy," he reassured. He then turned back to Margo. "And to answer your question, Margo, I do my best not to make lying a habit. As much as I like telling people what they want to hear, it's part of the job to tell them what they need to hear."

"What if the truth only worsens their condition?" Margo asked. She looked up at the picture of Lynch and Fujioka. "What if it's best not hearing it?"

Carl hesitated before slowly adding, "Well, you can never tell how something is gonna go unless you try. And if it goes wrong, then...you just gotta make sure it doesn't get the best of you. You can either break through the suffering or let the suffering break you."

Margo quietly nodded her head before finishing up her drink. Her ThoughtControl beeped three times, and its lens flashed in front of her eye. She had received an alert of a new session she was tasked with leading in half an hour.

"Sorry, guys," Margo said, rising from her seat. "Holding a session in a bit. We Empaths gotta do our job, right?"

Carl chuckled. "Yep. Can't do much without you guys. Good luck."

Holden didn't say a word. He just stayed in his somber position, gazing at the floor as if it were a TV screen. He looked like he was seconds away from crying.

Tossing her empty drink into a nearby trash can, she returned to her office, hoping whoever awaited her would take her words a little better than Sandra Proctor. Both for the patient's sake as well as her own. Even though she knew she couldn't save everyone, it still hurt enduring the moments that reminded her the most of that.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Margo was in her office. She sat at her desk, fiddling around with a stylus meant for the computer screen built into her desk. She glanced around the room, watching as the pictures vanished out of their rooms before being replaced with new ones. All of them were photographed by Psychwatch employees at some point in recent memory, each with a story of their own. Some were tales of victory, stars radiating in the seemingly infinite cluster of darkness that was the world she lived in. Others were darker and twisted, ranging from bittersweet conclusions to the bleakest, most hopeless endings one could ever conceive.

"I'm telling you, Ellie," Margo spoke with her ThoughtControl. "I never understand why photographers think getting the right shot is more important than preventing the horrors around them from happening in the first place."

"I mean, I'm just guessing," Ellie replied, her remark loaded up like a bullet, "but I'm pretty sure it's because they don't want to die. Aren't you ever concerned about how often you're putting your life at risk?"

"I definitely hesitate sometimes, but I know what will happen if I don't do something about it. Whereas these photographers know exactly what horrible things are going on in front of them, yet they don't step in and do anything about it."

"Sis, did you not hear me about the whole 'not wanting to die' thing? You suicidal piece of—"

Two knocks occurred at the door. It opened up to reveal Brian Royce, the colleague hardly any of them had seen in some time. Five days wasn't a long time, but his out-of-character clothing choices made it seem as if he had returned from a long journey around the world. His glasses were the only things that remained unchanged. Instead of his Psychwatch uniform, he wore an orange polo shirt and jeans, as if he'd arrived from a golf course.

"Royce?" Margo asked. "Surprised to see you here."

"Yeah, turns out us doctor-cops have our own issues," Royce replied as he took a seat in front of Margo. "Feel free to scan me. Since I'm off-duty right now, the P3S isn't keeping my information anonymous from the rest of you. At least not until I get back to work."

Having received his word, Margo activated the SanityScans around the room and took a quick dive into her colleague's mind.

"Acute stress disorder," she repeated as the lens faded out of existence. "I'm actually quite surprised. You strike me so much as a man who's seen enough to be unfazed. Aside from the germophobia anyway."

Royce let out a quick chuckle. "I'm old, but I still witness things I've never seen before. And they always boil down to the same thing: hurt people hurting other people."

"Could you elaborate a little more on that? And feel free to delve into greater detail. This session ends when you feel ready to move on."

Royce scooted up into his chair. "You're a smart young lady. You're aware of the differences between acute stress disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder, right?"

"Yes, sir. Both stem from traumatic experiences that include being involved in or witnessing a life-threatening situation, but ASD is different from PTSD through its inclusion of dissociative symptoms such as numbness, detachment, and depersonalization. How long has this been going on?"

"Comes and goes. I get treated frequently enough so it doesn't evolve into PTSD. The meds work for the most part. I haven't been daydreaming as much and I've been able to display my emotions a little better. Although, my perception still betrays me sometimes. I'll forget if I'm in my car or suddenly feel like the car I'm in doesn't even belong to me. And yet when I try my hardest to remember what events triggered these feelings, the details are hardly ever the same."

Margo saved that line to her ThoughtControl to support Royce's treatment in the future. "What was the last event you can remember that triggered those kinds of emotions?"

Royce nervously nudged his glasses over his nose. "Well, first off—and this is going to sound ironic considering my job—I absolutely hate the sight of blood. I hate touching it, smelling it, tasting it. If any of those ever happen, I'll end up either queasy at best or catatonic at worst. Like witnessing the corpses of John and...Phillip? Those were the names of the men we arrested six days ago, right?"

"James and Finn, actually," Margo corrected. "But continue."

"I didn't just find their bodies. I saw them being killed." He paused to gulp back his fear. Margo could immediately tell he wasn't comfortable at all. "I think I was on guard duty that evening, but I failed. I could hear the screams all the way from the opposite side of the building where I was. When I ran to their cells, I saw someone killing Finn. Slowly chopping off his limbs, stabbing into his chest. There was...so much blood..."

A beeping noise emanated from Royce's pocket. He pulled out a pillbox exactly like Holden's and opened it up using his fingerprint ID. He took a bright orange pill and placed it in his mouth. "Can we please change the subject?" he asked sheepishly.

"I should've asked you to take your meds before this discussion," Margo said. "My apologies."

"I'm not even sure if all of what I said was true," Royce whimpered. "After that, I...I really didn't want to show my face here anytime soon."

Cracking a small but welcoming smile, Margo leaned forward. "Well I'm glad you did," she assured him. "You said so yourself. Never let anyone control you. Thats's why you're part of us, Royce."

Royce cracked a smile himself, but his otherwise unconfident demeanor remained. "Thanks, Sandoval," he replied.

"Just call me Margo. Anyone who's a friend of Carl is a friend of mine."

"Yeah, he's a great guy," Royce added. "In fact, he and Holden were probably my biggest motivations to coming back here after everything. Next to you, of course."

Margo couldn't help but blush at that.

"I know some of Holden's mania episodes sometimes get the best of him," Royce continued, "but he's a smart kid. He knows what to do. And Carl...holy shit, life could've been kinder to him."

Margo briefly glanced down at her desk, saddened by the stories she remembered Carl telling her of his life. Even after everything he went through, losing control over his body to both wicked people and the alters who'd eventually find solace in his mind, he had never hurt a single innocent person in his life. There were assholes out there who'd assume he was a ticking time bomb, a typical maniac needing just one bad day to justify the atrocities he'd commit.

"And just like him, we gotta stay strong," Margo said, still as amicable as ever. "And, of course, feel free to return for another session if you ever need to talk again."

Royce smiled again. "Thanks, Margo. I'll see you around."

He rose from his seat and made his way toward the door, Margo waving to him as he made his departure. However, with one hand on the doorknob, he turned back to his colleague. "Surprised you didn't ask what I was doing these last few days," he said.

"I felt like that would've been private information," Margo replied. "But go ahead and tell me if you'd like."

"Well luckily, I didn't just sit around and mope. I mean...I did mope a little, but I made myself useful. I asked Commissioner Mason to send some patrols out into the offline neighborhoods to avoid our last mistake. And if we get enough support, we'll finally be able to start installing SanityScans."

"That's great!"

"Now if you excuse me, I have to return home to my Sofia."

An intrigued smirk formed across Margo's face. "Who's Sofia?"

"She's...special to me." And he closed the door behind him.