Margo and Royce silently strolled down the hall toward Commissioner Mason's office. The two of them could hardly look at each other, but not out of some secret hatred. Royce's dismissal of her plea for help the other night eradicated nearly every bit of trust she had in him, but she still felt like there wasn't any reason to wish harm upon him. And Royce was too occupied with his own thoughts. His melancholy expressions seemed to express guilt or regret. Maybe he really did feel remorse for that evening.

That was it, Margo decided. He was genuinely hurt from doing that.

The two of them approached the door to Mason's office and waited as the SanityScan above it scanned them to permit access into the room. Margo noticed once again that Royce looked afraid, and a part of her hoped the Scan would say something to cheer him up. She'd send something herself but only citizens were allowed to receive those kinds of messages from officers.

"Identities confirmed," the door declared. "Welcome, Officer Sandoval and Officer Royce."

The opaque screens parted ways, and the two officers entered the room. Commissioner Mason sat at her desk, facing away from her colleagues as she stared out through a massive window, the Philadelphia skyline rising above them beyond the glass. Carl sat silently on a couch on the left side of the room, glancing up from the floor to flash a friendly smile at Margo.

Before the doors to the office closed, a portable holo-projector flew into the room, a whirring noise accompanying it. It hovered around the room for a moment before pausing near the corner of the room. A blue light blinked at the tip of the device as a holographic projection of Jack Holloway materialized before their very eyes. Margo and Royce backed away from the ghostly image of their colleague, both of them resting their fingers on the grips of their guns, even as they remained holstered.

Mason rotated in her seat to face her fellow officers. She glanced over at Jack's holo-projection as his body twitched and shimmered in the lights. He wasn't hiding his thoughts behind a generic smirk like he usually did. Empathy Test, Mason thought to herself. Glad it seems to be working.

Margo and Jack glanced at each other, both of them exchanging a cold, piercing look, unsure of why the other wasn't breaking. Or rather what had already broken them. She was distracted by the distant, almost hopeless look in his eyes, something she didn't think was possible in such a callous man. And he was secretly amused by her sudden lack of enthusiasm. He'd seen through her before. Her doubts were like the sun on a cloudy day: hidden but not invisible.

The two of them eventually stopped trying to read each other once Mason got their attention. "All right, listen closely, ladies and gentlemen," Mason declared. "I'm sure you aware of the chaos going on at our building's entrance. And if not, see for yourself."

With a snap of her fingers, three holographic screens flashed above her desk. Inspector Andrade and several other Psychwatch officers were holding off a large crowd of protesters approaching the building's entrance. The crowds were a sea of posters, signs, and crudely-made masks, some familiar to Margo and others less so. A line of riot shields barricaded the front steps into the building like a string of bright blue banners, the only thing separating the doctor-cops from their patients at the moment. PATIENTS, NOT PRISONERS, they chanted over and over again.

"Well, we've definitely gotten more popular," Royce quipped with a nervous chuckle.

"Glad you noticed," Mason muttered unenthusiastically. She cleared her throat and continued. "You're all aware of the upcoming Mental Health Awareness rally this Friday, correct?"

All of the officers nodded their heads.

"Well, apparently, we're not invited. At least not according to the parasite groups protesting at our doorstep." Mason rose from her seat, the three screens vanishing. "MindLock, Omniluv, the Nice Guys, the Bod-Modders, you all know. They may not have power, but they definitely have the money to pay for everything, along with the support of a few politicians and celebrities."

"They can't banish us from the premises," Carl scoffed. "Psychwatch shares its mandated areas of service with the Philadelphia Police Department, even beyond that. And aside from the Psycho Slums, ninety-two percent of this city is within our range. They'd never be able to get rid of us!"

"Yes, that's what a rational person would think. But that's exactly what they begged City Hall for while acquiring their permit to hold their rally in front of Independence Hall."

"So what?" Jack mumbled in a bored tone. "Are they gonna keep us out or what?"

"Of course not. They'd never be able to keep us out even if they wanted to. We're legally obligated to monitor any events such as this one to ensure everything remains under control."

"Then if the rules are set in stone, what the hell are we doing in here?"

Mason looked away from Jack and glanced at Margo, the two of them trapped in each others' eyes. While Mason displayed a look of boredom, as if the looming threat of a possible riot at their front door was just a regular Monday, Margo returned a look of anger, almost hateful. She couldn't admit to herself that she hated her commanding officer. It would be incredibly unprofessional of her. But her rage stemmed from her fear of whatever dehumanizing thing Mason had to say next about the people of this city. How else would she confirm that there was no difference between Psychwatch's patients and Psychwatch's enemies?

Time didn't operate the same way between the two of them. What felt like an hour's worth of vengeful staring to Margo only lasted two seconds in Mason's eyes, and she quickly returned her sight to the other officers. "Someone has claimed to offer an ultimatum," she replied. "He believes he can convince us to avoid the rally. That it's all for the greater good."

"Who?" Margo croaked.

A beep sounded at the door, and the officers looked back to see their guest appearing on the screen. Margo didn't want to believe Royce was right about Arthur Cohen getting in the way, but the proof was standing right there in front of her.

"Welcome, Mr. Cohen," the AI greeted as the doors opened up. "Commissioner Mason will see you now."

Margo's jaw nearly dropped to the floor once she got a look at Arthur Cohen. She expected a snobby, overly-dressed man with a superiority complex considering how he'd been painting Psychwatch in a more negative image the last times he'd mentioned them. Instead, all she saw was a scrawny man in messy, dirty clothes holding a small holo-computer in his hand. If she had run into him on the streets, she would've assumed he was homeless.

At least he might know where Dottie is, she thought. Although, considering his current appearance, she was hesitant to find out where she could've ended up.

"Damn," Carl uttered in slight disgust. "Been having a rough day, huh?"

He and Margo activated the lens on their ThoughtControl piece to see if this man could be saved. They knew there was something up with him as soon as he yelped at the sight of their little blue, holographic screens popping up in front of their eye.

"No, please!" he shouted. "I have no diagnosis. I'm fine!"

"You don't sound fine," Royce replied. "Besides, you're never too old for a diagnosis."

"Trust me, I'm fine." Arthur slowly turned to Margo, the two of them exchanging somber looks. "Whatever is wrong with me has nothing to do with my mental state," he added calmly.

"So what happened?" Margo asked, gesturing her hand toward their visitor's evident lack of concern for his hygiene.

"I've been having the worst days of my entire life for I don't know how many goddamn weeks already. First, I..." He cut himself off as he noticed Jack's hologram nonchalantly leaning against the wall. "I just saw you on the streets two months ago during that incident with James DeShawn. Why the hell aren't you here with the rest of the doctor-cops?"

"I have a bad habit of scratching and biting," Jack replied. "Or more accurately, a habit of shooting, punching, beating, bone-breaking—"

"Continue, Mr. Cohen," Mason interjected.

"Okay, so first!" Arthur exclaimed before clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, "nearly everyone in my goddamn company lost their...jobs. I'm one of the only journalists left at the Perceiver, but I've been writing almost everything on my own since then. And we can't afford to pay the bills for my company anymore, so now we've lost most of our electricity and our SanityScans are no longer connected to the P3S."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr. Cohen," Mason replied.

Sure, you are, Margo thought. All this probably means he's one less person for you to watch over.

"And now that I've been out of range for the last few weeks, I've encountered some very dangerous people in these Psycho Slums as everyone calls them. They thrive in those lawless neighborhoods and wish to make the rest of this city just like them. And from what I've heard, they plan on disconnecting the entire Center City district from your Scans, starting with Independence Hall."

"Who are these people?" Mason inquired with a raised brow.

Arthur's mouth was gaping open, but nothing came out. He nervously glanced around at the other officers in the room. All that proceeded to leave his tongue were a series of incoherent blabbers. As the world closed in on him, his sight continued alternating between Margo, Carl, and Royce.

"He's a deer in the headlights," Jack chuckled. "Should I get him a glass of water or something?"

"You can't even shake his hand, let alone do that," Margo retorted.

"Breathe, buddy," Carl spoke. "None of those crooks are here. You're safe."

Arthur did as Carl commanded and took small, soothing breaths. Eventually, he regained his composure and maintained his stance, now meeting Mason eye-to-eye.

"Thank you, Maslow," Mason told Carl. "So, Mr. Cohen, please describe to us who these individuals are."

"I...I can't."

"Son of a bitch," Jack muttered. His holographic image briefly distorted with a crackle, phasing him in and out of existence, and he winced in pain. Margo realized his implant had been activated when he started rubbing his neck as his projection returned to normal.

"Why not?" Carl asked.

"Bad things will happen to me if I tell you," Arthur asserted tensely. "And even worse things will happen to you and the rest of this city if you attend that rally."

"Mr. Cohen," Mason continued, "I can assure you: nothing that poses an imminent threat to human lives ever makes it within the ranges of the Scans. We are alerted immediately when someone reaches Threat Level 4 or 5 or is currently in possession of illegal substances or weapons. As long as you remain within our range, you'll be safe, no matter what your opinion of this organization is."

"But I can't! My home is in an offline neighborhood. They'll come for all of us!"

"We can direct you to a hotel within Center City or even a homeless shelter if you'd like."

No! Margo screamed in her head. I don't want him putting Mom in danger!

"I don't feel safe anywhere I go. He has ways of getting through the System. And he has an army of his own. You've seen plenty of them before."

"You mean those masked crazies from that incident with the Sentients?" Jack asked. "They're harmless, buckaroo. Just a bunch of angsty teenagers trying too hard to be edgy."

"You mean like you?" Margo deadpanned.

Jack flashed another sinister look. "If I was harmless, do you really think I'd be talking to you through a fucking holo—"

Jack screamed in pain as his hologram disintegrated, his screams garbling as if he were being forced underwater. Mason shook her head and watched in disdain as the device flew out. "Some people make it very difficult to want to do what's good for them," she grumbled to herself.

"If you feel like you can't describe them well enough, Mr. Cohen," Carl chimed in, "we can activate a Psych Expressor to directly visualize the physical appearances of these individuals based on your memories of them."

"No, you can't! If you even get a glimpse of him, you're dead!"

"Cohen, you just said we've seen his followers before," Mason replied bluntly, putting a rest to her more sympathetic side she displayed seconds ago. "And considering everything you've been saying, I presume you're referring to the masked men who held Dottie Forrester and Penelope Parker hostage weeks ago."

Arthur said nothing, trapped in Mason's paralyzing gaze once more. Then Carl's. And Margo's. And finally Royce, who looked as frightened as Arthur did. Maybe even more.

"Yep," Mason concluded. "It's them."

"Just please swear to me you won't show up at the fucking rally!" Arthur shrieked.

"Maybe he's right, Commissioner," Royce added sheepishly. "Maybe we should just let the Philly PD handle—"

Without any emotion or remorse whatsoever, Mason coldly declared, "No."

The three other officers glared at their superior in shock. They knew it would be impossible to restrict them from monitoring the rally, but the sheer apathy of the response their commissioner barked threw them off their focus, disorienting them like a concussion.

Regular police are becoming outdated, Margo remembered her saying. So I guess that was real, too.

"The Philly PD is powerless compared to us," Mason continued with blatant frustration. "Unlike them, we've been able to predict the unpredictable. The mayor himself expressed a lack of faith in the city's police department now that we're here. Said we were the next step in the evolution of law enforcement and that these outdated cops were better off going extinct. The world needs us, Cohen, whether they like it or not. And furthermore, I can see through your facade."

Margo, Carl, and Royce slowly turned toward their visitor, looks of concern plastered on their faces like masks.

"You think I'm just pretending to be in immense pain?" Arthur asked angrily. "Just pretending to grieve all of my dead coworkers?" He gasped as that brief glimpse of the truth cracked through like a light in the dark.

Mason sat back into her desk. "I knew it," she said. "Y'know, I heard that many of your coworkers hadn't shown up at your workplace in nearly two months. And I also know you only care about a very small number of them. Your so-called 'grief' was so...forced. It's not normal for someone who's truly empathetic to witness so much violence without eventually feeling betrayed by their own mind."

Arthur clenched his fists angrily.

"So, Mr. Cohen," Mason continued slowly, "I'm afraid we cannot refuse to attend the rally this Friday. However, if you comply, we can search for the bodies of your deceased coworkers and bring justice to them and their families."

Arthur didn't say another word. He just remained standing in the middle of the room, his face turning bright red. He stuffed his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a spark rose. The petals were wrinkled, and its glow was incredibly dim.

"What's that for?" Carl asked.

"The more of these flowers you see at the rally," Arthur growled, trapping Royce in his death glare, "the more people will die."

Arthur turned around to leave, but Margo grabbed hold of his arm. "Where is Dottie Forrester?" she demanded.

"She'll be there. I can assure you."

And he stormed out of the room with a Threat Level 2.