Not an hour had passed since the Multi Man subdued Jack and Royce, and he didn't have a second thought about them. All that mattered next was his little game with the captives.

He stood one story above the rest of his little arena, the open floor of one of many long-abandoned malls left to rot in the past. Thirty people stood in the middle like a crowd preparing for a rave. They screamed and cried for a way out, wondering what horrible things awaited them in the pitch darkness surrounding them. Any other person would've imagined themselves being in Dante's position, standing before the circles of Hell preparing to witness countless sights that would burn into his mind like the fires around him.

But to the Multi Man, this was just another regular day of violence and hysteria.

"Greetings, citizens of Philadelphia!" he declared, holding onto the pillar beside him as he stood only an inch away from the edge. "I'm sure your sudden departure from the Mental Health Rally was incredibly unpleasant, but I can assure you: you're all here for a reason."

"You fucking abducted us, man!" someone screamed. "Let us out!"

"You would've suffered a worse fate out there in the middle of the crossfire," the Multi Man replied. He turned to look at his four Horsemen of the Apocalypse standing behind him: Whitey, Crimson, Arthur Cohen, and Wendell Asch.

"Is it really any better in here?" Asch chuckled.

The Multi Man slowly turned back to the crowd standing below him. "You've all been brought here this evening to help me conduct a little experiment."

"That never ends well for anyone," Arthur muttered under his breath, prompting Crimson to punch him in the ribs.

"I'm sure you are all aware of the Red Riots," the Multi Man continued. "The series of bloody skirmishes that broke out in large cities across the United States in the early to late 2020s with no known purpose or origin. The same events that ultimately influenced American society to embrace the creation of Psychwatch. However, further research into the incidents reveals that many of the participants in these riots with the highest body counts hardly had a thing wrong with them on a pathological level. No diagnoses of any kind. Just mass hysteria equivalent to the kind the Puritans experienced during the Salem Witch Trials."

"Bullshit!" another man exclaimed, and the rest of the crowd erupted alongside him.

"You're actually correct, sir," Arthur added. "But how are you gonna convince them of that?"

"Same way I always do. I'll prove it in bright red." The Multi Man cleared his throat before bellowing, "Quiet! Now, tell me, how many of you are diagnosed with a mental illness?"

A series of murmurs rippled through his group of captives. "My apologies," he continued. "Allow me to lighten this place up a bit."

The Multi Man tilted his head to the left, where three masked girls stood by a power switch. With a nod of his head, the switch was activated. A dozen dim lights clicked to life around the mall floor. His captives came into view as they were engulfed by the hazy blue glow of the emergency lights, only nine people raising their hands in response to his question. Bladed weapons of all kinds were scattered across the floor, coated in rust as if they were just recently uncovered from the remains of an ancient armory. Some individuals hesitantly lowered themselves to the ground to choose a weapon while the rest carefully stepped around the items, wondering what bizarre sight awaited them next.

"I'm sure you're now all wondering about the objects surrounding you," the Multi Man said. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, those are the visual aids for my little lecture this evening. Because one of the most jarring aspects of the Red Riots was the creative ways seemingly healthy human beings were killing each other off. I mean, most of them happened before Congress went crazy with all the gun control laws, so you'd think they'd be reducing each other's organs to mincemeat with modified AK's and shotguns, right?"

"Pay attention, Artie," Crimson whispered, her hand on Arthur's shoulder. "This is why we prefer knives."

"That's only partially correct," the Man continued, clenching his fists. "When cops investigated the bodies, most of them were maimed, eviscerated, bruised, or bludgeoned beyond recognition. Bullets were as scarce as raindrops in the Sahara unless the cops got involved. The rest of the time? Knives. Clubs. Hammers. Whatever the hell they could get their hands on. Stone Age all over again."

"Get to the fucking point!" a woman shouted. "Or else I'll take one of these and kill you myself."

Whitey and Crimson growled like a pair of ravenous wolves, their hands wrapped around the handles of their own holstered blades. The Multi Man jolted his hand out to compose his two lackeys, silencing the pair without even taking a glance at them. This prompted a chuckle from Asch and a slew of unnerving thoughts clouding Arthur's head. On any other day, he would have overlooked whatever trouble those kids would brew next, but he pondered what actions were taken to merit such unbreaking loyalty from them.

At the same time, he knew he wouldn't be able to ever unsee or hear whatever it was that made them that way.

"So!" the Multi Man shouted with the clap of his hands, "I have a small order for you, ladies and gentlemen. Arm yourselves with those weapons. Find anyone amongst you with even the tiniest splotch of red on them, whether its the color of their shirt, the shade of their lipstick, or even a fresh drop of blood following the incident at the rally."

"Then what?"

The Multi Man paused for effect. "Kill them."

The crowd broke out into another series of shouts and arguments. Arthur was surprised by their lack of fear. They were bombarding a deadly serial killer with complaints as if he were nothing more than customer service. Even when trapped in the middle of the unknown, they reduced the danger before them into nothing more than a crazy man spouting bullshit.

"What makes you think we're just gonna do what you say?" another person exclaimed.

"How come they follow people like you so blindly," Arthur told Asch, "but not the guy with all the weapons and the creepy fucking mask?"

The lights vanished. Suddenly, the entire bottom floor of the building was engulfed in pitch black. Green lasers flashed across the cavernous room like spotlights, a team of masked snipers setting their sights on the captives. Arthur couldn't see them anymore, but he could tell the Multi Man was finally striking fear into their hearts.

"You refuse to do what I say one more time," he growled, "and I'll be scraping every one of you off the floors, walls, and ceiling."

An unnatural silence came down upon the crowd as if another word meant the end of the world itself. None of the floor lights revived, and the lasers remained trained on their targets like puppet strings. Arthur wondered if the crowd decided to go out quickly but messily.

Then he heard the scream. It was sharp and quick like the blade repeatedly tearing into the poor bastard's throat below him. Arthur could only tell from the nauseating gargling sounds following the scream, almost as if the victim was drowning. Only until the lights came back on could Arthur see the damage done. A former member of MindLock lay dead on the floor, a wide laceration stretching across his neck. A pool of blood poured out of his new wound, and his killer stood above him coated in dark crimson.

"Well would you look at that?" the Multi Man quipped. "You've got red on you."

The man wiped the blood off his face, his mouth gaping wide open with horror once he realized he'd marked himself for murder. He was unable to block his attacker as she plunged a rusty dagger deep into his heart. The man collapsed to the floor as the rest of the captives devolved into nothing more than bloodthirsty animals.

The same woman fell to the ground after receiving a bat to her skull, her face disfigured beyond recognition. A man's hand dangled grotesquely from his mutilated wrist after being hacked repeatedly with a machete. A member of Omniluv collapsed to the ground with a knife lodged in his eye, eventually relieved of his misery as other captives buried more and more blades into his flesh. A Nice Guy, finally stripped of his mask, crawled toward an exit with only a chunk of his leg remaining before collapsing to the floor dead.

Arthur tried to turn away to vomit, but Asch grabbed him by the collar. "You turn away, " he said, "and we'll all be thrown down there."

"We can handle it," Crimson sneered, leaning on her brother's shoulder. "But you two won't."

Arthur jerked his head back to the carnage on the bottom floor. Only a few captives remained alive, and many of them lay against the blood-soaked concrete spending their final moments on Earth shrieking in agony. He watched in disgust as one of the remaining contestants stomped on another's head until it was nothing more than pulp. The same man struggled to maintain his balance as a dagger remained wedged in his ribs, and a long gash stretched across his right arm, the bones in full view.

Once the sole of his shoe was caked with chunks of his victim's brain, he remained still, standing before the Grim Reaper himself in the form of the Multi Man.

"Congratulations!" the Multi Man declared with fake enthusiasm. "You survived the Red Riot! You are free now."

"Free from what?" the man croaked in a weak voice.

"You tell me."

The man crashed to the floor, never to rise again. The room thickened with the scent of blood, and Arthur fell to his knees to relieve his stomach of his lunch.

"What...was the fucking point?" he rasped before leaning over to vomit some more.

"The point?" Asch repeated. "Controlled chaos, you idiot. This man we're working for is a genius! He just proved to you that madness can come from anywhere, happen to anyone! I mean, I know some of those fuckers down there. MindLock would be nothing if it weren't for all those nut jobs who put their trust in me."

"Exactly," the Multi Man added as he helped Arthur to his feet. "Psychwatch is no different from a Red Riot. They're an overreaction. Just a consequence of paranoia boiling over. A cure deadlier than the disease."

"But by starting today's Red Riot, you just justified their existence."

Asch laughed. "You kidding me, Cohen? Are you this stupid? That's part of his plan! People have been tearing themselves apart for a long time now, and they're trying to take Psychwatch down with them. It's only a matter of time before Psychwatch goes to war with itself as well."

"But I still don't get it! Why would Psychwatch tear itself apart if they're the ones cleaning up after your mess?"

Arthur dropped to the floor as Asch punched him in the lip. The Multi Man grabbed Asch's collar before he could make another move. "Like I said before, Cohen," the Man continued, "paranoia. The more power they gain over the rest of the city, the harder it will be for them to maintain, and the easier it will be to take away. Controlled chaos."

Arthur wiped the blood off his lip, wincing as the new cut stung when his fingertips grazed his new wound. He stood from the floor, exchanging glances with the crooks around him.

"Why should he even bother explaining things to you?" Asch scoffed. "You're just a useless pawn. Maybe someday you'll realize that Psychwatch isn't as mighty as they seem. Among us, though, you're just a disposable little—"

CLANG!

Asch crashed to the floor as a crowbar made impact with his skull. His left eye swelled shut, and half of his face was now a bloody, purple mess. The Multi Man kept going, slamming the crowbar down over and over as the metallic clang and horrific crunching noises echoed through the empty mall.

Crimson stifled her laughter while Whitey watched with a look of utter boredom. Arthur felt no guilt in witnessing Asch's demise, but he grimaced at the sounds of the bastard's brain being reduced to mush with each swing of the crowbar. Just a series of loud, squishy thumps.

By the time the Multi Man had stopped, all that remained of Asch's head was a pile of mutilated flesh and brain matter, like a watermelon smashed by a mallet. Blood trailed across the floor, slick as oil. Fragments of his skull laid beside the rest of his corpse like shattered porcelain. The Multi Man stood above his newest kill as blood and pieces of brain matter dripped from his crowbar.

Throwing the metal tool to the floor with another loud clang, he looked back at Arthur and said, "This is what happens when a pawn tries to become a king. Learn from Asch's mistakes.

"How the fuck is this part of whatever so-called 'plans' you have?" Arthur gagged. "Like injecting a chip into my neck! What's the fucking point?"

"Cohen, " the Multi Man exhaled, and he took several steps forward. Arthur's heart proceeded to pound rapidly in his chest as if it were trying to escape it. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret."

Arthur stood still, the Devil himself only a few feet away from him. The Man leaned in and whispered in a gravely voice, "My plans are never set in stone. I have a goal in mind, but almost everything I do to work toward it is based solely on chance. As a result, I'm often pleasantly surprised or incredibly disappointed, especially when I realize something I own no longer serves a purpose."

"Wait a minute."

"You no longer serve a purpose to me. I am incredibly disappointed in you, Cohen."

All it took was a single headbutt to knock the poor journalist unconscious.

Arthur crashed to the floor, blood seeping out of his nose. The Multi Man hovered his foot over his puppet's skull.

The twins were the ones who ended up saving Arthur, and they did it with a bright blue tube of Wonderland Mist.

The Multi Man shifted from his position over Arthur and marched over to Whitey, clutching his wrist with a grip of steel as the boy held the paraphernalia in his hand. "Where did you get this?" he asked.

Whitey remained silent, nervously glancing at his sister.

"I told you before, Whitey," the Multi Man continued. "You wouldn't be able to handle the effects of this drug, especially considering the mental state I found you in all those years ago."

"Yes, sir," Whitey whispered.

"And I also told you before: you can't keep secrets from me." The Multi Man started twisting the boy's hand in a painful position. "There's only a certain amount of times a wrist can be broken before the hand is rendered useless by excessive nerve damage."

"Yes, sir," Whitey repeated again, quieter and more fearful as he clenched his eyes shut.

"Whitey, just tell him," Crimson groaned.

"Or if not, " the Multi Man continued, only seconds away from obliterating Whitey's wrist with another jerk of his own hand, "we might have to take you to the doctor."

A monstrous scream burst from Whitey's throat as he shoved his superior away, dropping the Blue Caterpillar on the floor. "Rabbit Hole!" he shrieked. "Rabbit Hole!"

"Excuse me?"

"He killed someone wearing a rabbit mask earlier, and I guess they dropped one of these," Crimson explained as she knelt to the floor to pick up the tube. "The Rabbit Hole is where they make this shit, and you can only get in there with one of those rabbit masks."

The Multi Man froze again, only moving to look between Arthur's unconscious body and the Blue Caterpillar in Crimson's hand. "I'm guessing there aren't any Scans around that area," he said.

Crimson laughed. "If there were, everyone in there would've been massacred by Psychwatch a long time ago."

The Multi Man paused again. He stared down at Arthur's body once more. The thought of tearing him apart or bashing his skull in tempted him like a desert mirage. It really did. But something in the back of his cold, merciless mind told him Arthur was not a liability yet. Maybe he could make good usage of this Rabbit Hole place and Arthur.

"Crimson," he concluded, "you're a genius."