The mattress was cool against Jack's body. A dim silver glow bounced off the metal panels of the wall and floor, ridding the room of darkness. If it weren't for the fact he was in an advanced cell in the psych ward, he could've mistaken it for a fancy hotel room.

He groaned in annoyance once his alarm went off.

He turned himself over on his side to face the wall. The time 5:00 AM hovered above him in green holographic numbers before vanishing, and a row of white lights lit up along the ceiling at the edge of the room.

"Good morning, Jack," said the room's AI in a soothing voice. "Did you sleep well?"

Jack didn't respond. He sat up from his bed and hung his legs over the edge of the bed, scratching his eyes.

"You have two hours before we run an Empathy Test, so take the time to get ready."

"Run by an Empath or AI?"

"AI. I'll be responsible for your test. You're still restricted from making physical contact with your colleagues."

"And if I have so much time, why the fuck did you wake me up so early?"

"We've been calculating the amount of time it takes for you to exercise, shower, get dressed, and eat breakfast. On average, it takes you 103 minutes to complete your morning routine, with a significant amount of your time spent in the shower. Possibly due to your unhealthy habit of zoning out."

"See, this is why people are creeped out by you guys."

"What goes on in your mind, Jack?"

"I'll answer that question during the test. Just let me get ready."

"Of course. You've now got one hour and fifty-nine minutes left before the Empathy Test."

Jack rose from his bed and waited as it disappeared into a large slot in the wall, immediately sealed up by the panels. As he stood in the middle of his cell, the panels moved across the walls and beneath his feet like swarms of insects, and the room grew large enough to fit forty people in it. Despite the commotion around him, he remained perfectly still and unmoved.

He heard a beep at the edge of the room. "Cell expansion complete," the AI declared. "Your wardrobe, exercise equipment, and lavatory are now accessible. Would you like some music?"

"No thanks," he replied bluntly. "Turn on the TV."

"You have access to six channels. Which one would you like to watch?"

"Display all of them at once."

A portable, triangular projector like the kind that projected his holographic likeness wherever Psychwatch needed him emerged from another small slot in the ceiling. It hovered several feet above him and aimed at the wall. Following another beep, a screen appeared at the far-left corner of the wall.

"Following Saturday's rogue blizzard phenomenon," a beautiful weathergirl announced on the screen, "today's forecast will be mostly cloudy for the entire day and significantly warmer, with a high of seventy-three and—"

Another screen appeared beside it.

"Now armed with increasing resentment due to Psychwatch's recent discovery of a neo-speakeasy hosting Sentient prostitutes along with a skirmish between officers and protesters at City Hall, MindLock and many other anti-Psychwatch groups have begun opposing the organization's participation in Friday's upcoming—"

The rest of the screens rippled across the wall, filling his cell with the sounds of a crowd.

"Y'know, I've noticed they haven't been portraying gun violence in movies and TV shows as much as they used to anymore. And when they do nowadays, they make it more graphic and disturbingly realistic. But removing and discouraging guns isn't gonna do anything to keep people from killing each other, you sillies! There's a reason people get stabbed a lot in the UK—"

"Remember back then when there was hardly any internet and we didn't have to deal with so much stupidity and conflict all at once? And people would keep their weirdness to themselves? Jesus, people nowadays just don't know how to keep their (beep!)-ing mouths shut—"

"Following the discovery of the Philadelphia neo-speakeasy known as the House of Pleasure, Specter's VR Strip Clubs has been increasing promotion of their home AI, which offers a wide selection of both male and female Specter entertainers to accompany and even bond with lonely users within the privacy of their own homes, in order to protest human trafficking and discourage citizens from entering offline neighborhoods—"

"Hey kids! It's me, Psychwatch! I've killed more of you than the anti-vaxxers! Before they went extinct anyway. Are those voices in your head keeping you up at night? That's alright! If you take exactly one Psychwatch-prescribed laser blast to the head each day, you'll be cured instantly!"

The final screen vanished in a mess of static. "This channel is no longer available," the room AI said. "Please wait patiently as we find another station."

"Yeah, I think I'll just get started," Jack muttered.

He walked over to his wardrobe and stood in place as it picked out his workout clothes for him. A fresh set of clothes peeked out of another slot in the wall as a table stretched out toward him. He stripped off his sleepwear and put on the new clothes, waiting once again as the room disposed of his old clothes.

"Please wait patiently as we find another channel," the AI repeated, the sixth screen still engulfed in gray nothingness.

"Mute all the screens," Jack said. "It sounds like the inside of a schizo's head in here."

"But you asked to display all—"

"I said...mute the damn screens."

What sounded like a noisy party in his room vanished instantly, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts and his exercise equipment. His cell provided him with a treadmill, a punching bag, weights that adjusted to the user's physical capability, and a pull-up bar protruding from the wall. The fact Psychwatch was willing to trust him with dumbbells amused him considering he could bash someone's brains in with them if he wanted. Even his own.

He started off on the treadmill for forty minutes. He ran and ran until his heart felt like it would explode out of his chest, and sweat drenched his shirt. His only distraction from the burning sensation of his workout were the panels on the wall as they rippled around him like a drop of water.

Unfortunately for him, those couldn't stop the memories from crawling out of the darkest depths of his subconscious.

He was bolting for his life, the forest only a few few feet away from him. The wounds on his face were fresh, and the cold winter air blasting against his skin only worsened the sting. The glow of dozens of silver lights surrounded him like ghosts. The police cars were approaching closely behind him.

Stop, kid! they shouted. We can help you! We'll take you somewhere safe. You're a broken bird! You're...

Eventually, he slowed to a halt. He stepped off the treadmill and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat off his brow and prepared to take on the punching bag.

"You're a broken bird," he muttered mockingly as he strapped on some gloves.

Following one long inhale, he approached the punching bag, the glow from the holographic screens reflecting off its smooth, plastic surface. He took a fighting stance and let his fists fly. His shadow zoomed across the room with every punch he threw, like a predator striking its prey in the night.

The more he pounded against the plastic in front of him, the further his grin stretched across his face. His fists were aching, but the urge to laugh overtook him like a virus as another memory came back to him.

Holloway, someone called out.

Following a left swing against the punching bag, he felt like it was starting to resemble someone familiar. Someone he hadn't seen in a long time. Someone who made the mistake of upsetting him that day.

Holloway! HOLLOWAY! Fucking stop, man! He's lost enough blood already!

Jack realized he was punching the bag harder than ever before. He knew he'd see bruises the next time he'd look down at his fists once the gloves were off.

Broken ribs, broken nose, a fractured jaw, and pretty much all of his teeth missing, another voice said. You're only fifteen years old, kid. How the hell can you do so much damage?

You should see what I could've done if you left me there with him a little longer.

What is wrong with you?

What's wrong with me? It took two ODs and a guy getting the absolute shit beaten out of him for you guys to notice me, and you're asking what the fuck is wrong with me?

Holloway, calm down—

FUCK YOU!

Jack's fist collided with the bag for the last time that day. He thought he would've punched right through it. He expected sand to splatter across the floor like a dead man's innards. But instead he stumbled back against the wall, his hand feeling like nails had been driven into them. He clenched his teeth as he resisted the urge to scream in pain.

But all that came out of him was crazed laughter. Something even he didn't think he was capable of.

"You might want to stop exercising for today," the cell's AI chimed in.

"Y-Y-Yeah," Jack groaned, his laughter fading out. "You might be right."

A series of beeps echoed through the room. "There are no signs of fractures in your hands or fingers," the AI declared. "However, there are multiple contusions forming. I highly advise you apply an ice pack to your wounds immediately and refrain from anymore physical activity."

"How much time do I have left until the Empathy Test?"

"Fifty-eight minutes. Are you going to shower?"

"Yeah, I probably should." He painfully removed his gloves and walked over to the lavatory. He paused just before reaching the door of the shower chamber. "By the way, could you ask Mason if I can buy one of those Specter home AI's? I mean, nothing personal, but it gets kinda lonely in here and you don't have the kind of physical form that they do—"

"Just take your shower please."

Before stripping off his clothes to enter the shower, Jack took a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was fifteen years old, clad in a gray pullover hoodie and jeans. Blood oozed out of the fresh new cuts across his face courtesy of a broken glass bottle. He'd been bruised before hundreds of times, but they always faded away. The evidence of those cuts, however, was forever preserved as scars and the harbinger of his old world shattering around him, much like that bottle did against his skull that fateful day.

He entered the shower, knowing fully well the water would do nothing to wash away his wounds. And knowing he had that moment to remind him of the kind of person he had become since then.

* * *

Time passed over Jack like the frigid water in his shower. When he finally finished, his AI warned him that he spent nearly twenty-three minutes in the shower, over twice as much as the average person spent. But it was all white noise to him. If taking a shower meant a brief moment of freedom, he'd take advantage of it as best as he could.

He put on a new set of clothes, a gray T-shirt with the Psychwatch logo emblazoned on his heart and black warm-up pants. He walked over to the center of the room where the holographic screens continued to float. The sixth screen was still just a gray blur in search of a suitable channel. A sofa and a small table had taken the place of his bed, a warm bowl of oatmeal awaiting him.

"Jack," the AI said. "Since you've finished your mourning routine early, Mason has permitted me to initiate the Empathy Test as soon as you'd like."

"So it's my choice?" Jack asked with a mouthful of oatmeal. He swallowed the scoop and added, "In that case, no thanks. Just get me the hologram strippers like I asked and I'll be fine."

Before he could take in another scoop of oatmeal, he felt a painful sting in his neck. He froze in place, his muscles as hard as rocks. Nausea formed in his stomach for a moment before vanishing. Another wrong move, and he'd end up vomiting his breakfast all over the table thanks to that damn implant.

"You know we can't do that, Jack," the AI replied. "We know you don't have abhorrent, sexual fantasies like previous patients, but you haven't earned the privilege of choosing what applications can be further installed in your room. Why do you think you've only been able to complete your last few assignments via Holo-Cop mode for nearly two whole months?"

"Yeah, it's not the same wandering around a crime scene like that. I feel like a ghost floating around a graveyard."

"Then if you want to earn the privilege of interacting with the world beyond your cell, you need to learn how to change your ways for the best!" The AI paused. "Luckily for you, that's what this test is for. Shall we begin?"

Jack took three more scoops of his oatmeal before answering, "Yes."

A repetitive beep rung throughout the room, and dim silver lights flowed around him. "Good morning, Jack," the AI greeted in a much friendlier voice. "How are you doing today?"

Swallowing his oatmeal, Jack looked up at the ceiling as a forced grin stretched across his face. "I'm doing great!" he replied in an exaggerated voice. "Thanks for asking, bitch."

He flinched as his implant activated, the feeling reminiscent of a firecracker exploding on his neck. The lights in the room flashed blood red. "Hostile behavior detected," the AI said. "Please try to avoid repeating that mistake again."

"Whatever," Jack muttered as he rubbed his neck.

The lights quickly switched back to gray. "I'm doing great as well," the AI continued in its uncanny, amicable voice. "How is your family?"

Jack paused. He couldn't find an opportunity to give an irreverent reply that time. "They're fine," he grumbled. "Could probably be better, though."

A relaxing ding filled the room. "Progress recorded," the AI said.

"What progress?" Jack groaned.

"It took you 2.53 seconds to reply. In the past, the average time it took you to answer those questions was 0.04 seconds, and they were never sincere or thought out."

Jack rolled his eyes.

"Are you a compulsive liar, Jack? Or do you like being honest with people?"

"Whichever pisses off someone most at the time."

"Was that statement itself a lie?"

"Fuck do I know."

That same painful feeling sparked through his neck once again, and he collapsed onto the couch on his side. Nausea burned through him like poison.

"Rebellious behavior detected. Please try to avoid repeating that mistake again."

Jack remained on his side against the couch, trying to catch his breath and make sure his oatmeal remained in his stomach where it should be. A few seconds later, he sat back up.

"What are your thoughts on violence?" the AI continued.

"Violence?" Jack repeated. "I'll admit I resort to it more often than I should. Gets the blood flowing, y'know."

The ring sounded. "Progress recorded. Your past answers didn't hint at any remorse or concern whatsoever."

"You do realize I basically implied it makes me excited, right?"

"Yes, but the human body overloads on adrenaline in life-threatening situations such as this. Fight-or-flight response, as they say. Unlike previous tests, your response this time didn't hint at sadism or sadomasochism of any kind."

"Well, what if I do enjoy killing?"

"Your response implies you don't."

"Fuck you, I just said—"

The implant activated again. He grabbed the table and leaned forward as gags proceeded to cripple him, the nausea more painful than ever. A brief stream of vomit spurted out of his mouth onto the table. He felt like a baby carelessly spitting up on his unfortunate mother, and he wiped off his mouth as he glanced down at the mess in disgust.

The lights were blood red all around him once again, and the AI said, "False information detected. Please try to avoid repeating that mistake again." The lights reverted back to gray. "I normally don't like discussing violence, but I'd like to hear more about your opinions on it, Jack."

"What else do you want to know?" Jack coughed, worried more of his breakfast would end up coming back out.

"I know that since you work as a Neutralizer as part of your redemption therapy, you're permitted to handle a firearm. The Fatemaker, right? The first smart, energy-loaded gun in the United States, designed as a heavily modified version of the SIG Sauer P226."

"Yep. That's correct."

"You must have the upper hand very often in shootouts now, considering automatic firearms have been declared illegal in the United States aside from military and police usage."

"They've been made more valuable, is what happened. And given the amount of automatic firearms I've seen confiscated, I'm pretty sure criminals still don't follow laws, as surprising as that sounds."

The ring sounded again. "Progress recorded. Your response displays mild knowledge of gun laws and significant common sense."

Jack awkwardly cleared his throat. "I'm kind of offended."

"No, you are not. You are incapable of guilt, shame, remorse, or empathy, according to your diagnosis. All symptoms of antisocial personality disorder, according to the DSM-6."

"That's exactly what I am," Jack said with a smirk. "Couldn't be more proud of myself."

Red lights engulfed the room like hellfire, and Jack collapsed onto the floor, vomiting painfully in front of him. In the brief moment his implant activated, he felt like someone had attached jumper cables directly onto his spine. He lay on the floor beside the puddle that used to be his breakfast, his blood coursing through his veins with a burning sensation.

"Rebellious behavior detected," the cell's AI declared again, its uncanny voice feeling like glass digging into Jack's ears. "Please try to avoid repeating that mistake again."

Jack pulled himself away from the mess as small sanitation bots emerged from their hiding places to clean it up, the scent of chemicals filling his cell. He sat with his back against the edge of the couch as he waited for his body to regain control of itself. His hands and his neck twitched as a discomforting tingle ran down his spine like needles stabbing into his nerves.

"Why do you resist change, Jack?" the AI inquired in a concerned tone.

"I don't..." Jack choked, his throat burning with acid, "resist change. I just can't...see the point."

"So you resist seeing the point of changing?"

Jack coughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Why?"

"Because...society talks all about being yourself and not caring what others think. So I take that to heart." However, Jack uttered those words in an exaggerated, cheery voice.

"Of course, but people say that with the implications that harm won't be brought upon others while doing so."

"But that's what I'm best at. Hurting people. It took me several years of getting hurt myself to realize that, but I now know it's true. And I quite like it."

"Hurting people is wrong, Jack. You're smart enough to realize that. Both morally and legally, it is wrong."

"So what? If I hurt one person, that's not gonna affect the rest of the nine billion people on Earth. Once I'm gone, someone's gonna hurt someone else."

"So that's how you see yourself? Someone meant only to inflict pain?"

"Yep."