Margo's entire body went against her as she took her seat at the table before her sister. The dryness in her throat persisted far after the Rabbit Hole mission, and she couldn't utter a single comprehensible syllable. Every muscle in her body was stiff as welded iron, her body maneuvering crookedly even when lowering herself into her seat. Even as she felt herself blink nearly six times every two seconds, she couldn't keep her eyes off Ellie, afraid to make any sudden moves.

A growing sense of danger only intensified within her as she watched Ellie take her seat with the grace, confidence, and comfort she could only dream of possessing. Those facets were distant memories to her, lost treasures she once knew very well. And the way her sister smiled? Beautiful, almost angelic. Margo had a smile like that once. She could hardly remember the last time she'd flaunted it, even for a momentary laugh at a joke.

"You alright, honey?" Ellie said. "You look scared."

"No," Margo croaked, her voice gargled and harsh.

"You want me to grab you a water or something?"

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you so scared?"

Margo coughed, half-expecting blood to spray from her mouth thanks to that missing tooth of hers. She tasted its familiar copper tang, resisting the urge to find a trashcan and spit into it. But she forced herself to swallow it and confronted her sister.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she said, still discomforted by her gravelly voice. "This is the first time I've seen you in forever. As far as I know, we're probably just two strangers meeting for the first time."

"Relax," Ellie groaned. "You're getting paranoid before I've even told you the things that will really make you freak out. You want me to prove we're related? Ask me anything!"

Another series of coughs made their way out of Margo's system, some of her anxiety departing with it. She did her best to invoke the mind of the ideal Psychwatch officer: calm, collected, vigilant, and curious. But frustration continued to eat away at her patience.

"Alright then," she said. "What's Mom's full name?"

"Karen Mavis Sandoval," Ellie replied. "She's also fifty-one years old, a nurse, and loves to volunteer at soup kitchens and fundraisers for mentally ill children and the homeless."

Margo raised her brow. "What's my middle name?"

"Olivia. Margo Olivia Sandoval."

"Damn, I didn't think I ever even told you it."

Ellie shot her hands up, offended. "You're my sister. That's something I'd know, dummy."

"How old am I?" Margo asked, finding some satisfaction in the rising frustration in her sister's expressions.

"Twenty-three," Ellie said. "I don't get it. Why are you questioning me now and not over the phone all those other times?"

"I don't know, Ellie. This job is breaking me physically and mentally. So either shut up or just answer my questions. Or get to that whole 'Psychwatch nonsense' thing you mentioned when I came in here."

A smirk crossed Ellie's face. "You sure?" she said. "I feel like what I'd say will really change your opinion of this place, especially since it's the reason I came after all."

Margo forced herself to chuckle. "What are you, a health inspector or something?"

"No, I'm just here to tell you that all of this is bullshit."

Another forced chuckle. "Wow," Margo said. "That's very original of you. You hate the way we operate, you can probably file a complaint somewhere."

"No, Margo, I mean this whole place around you? It's bullshit. None of it is real. You have any idea where the fuck you really are?"

Margo squinted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Those walls in the hallway? Just wallpaper. Go ahead. Walk out there and tear it off."

"Why? What's underneath it?"

"I don't know, but that's why I came here. To help you get out of this place."

Margo took a deep breath. "What's wrong with you, Ellie? I haven't slept in God-knows-how-many days. I've watched hundreds of people die in less than three weeks. Do you really think you're being funny? Just popping back into me and Mom's lives to screw with us?"

"First off," Ellie said, "I'm not making any of this up. See? If you look really, really close, you can see some of the wallpaper dangling off. And second, I don't want to see Mom again. She'll lose her shit even more than you are right now. Now will you just shut the fuck up and peel the wallpaper off so we can go home?"

"Why are you so adamant on me tearing—"

Margo went silent as Ellie struck the table with both of her fists. Her expression darkened. No smile. Just a flat, unbreakable scowl. Eyes peered toward her with no desire to direct themselves anywhere else.

"Goddamn it, fine," Margo muttered, and she rose from her seat. "In the unlikely chance that you're right, then what?"

"In the 'not only likely but certain' chance that I'm right," Ellie said, "you have full permission to break down and question everything you've ever said, done, and believed."

"Just tell me what's going on. Are you doing this to get back at me for something? Are you mad at me because Mom didn't kick me out?"

"Mom didn't kick me out. I ran away because I was fucking tired of her shit."

"What shit? She doesn't even talk to us that often."

"Ever wonder why?"

It was a simple question yet so broad, hundreds of answers could've worked. Their mother rarely had her phone or personal earpiece on hand. Poor wi-fi connections. Maybe she purposefully ignored her daughters to teach them to fend for themselves. Countless answers! But what was the correct one?

"What did you do to her?" Margo growled.

"I already told you, I ran away!" Ellie said. "Didn't tell her where. For obvious fucking reasons. What's your excuse?"

Margo studied the floor, heart pounding through her chest as she struggled to convince herself of just one of the hypothetical solutions.

"Just peel the fucking wall off," Ellie snapped.

Margo lurched away from her, exiting the SafeSpace, the lights fading out until the room went pitch-black. She took one look to her right and another to her left as she stood in the hallway, though she couldn't determine why. To scan how many of her colleagues she'd embarrass herself in front of? To find the exits? Simple question, too many answers. The best thing to do was pretend like she knew what she was doing, pretend everything she did was merely her mind harmlessly at work.

Harmlessly, Margo thought. Harmlessly.

She took three steps toward the corridor wall before her. It was solid concrete, a murky gray like the surface of the moon, pinstripes of silver light tracing along the edges in serpentine patterns. She studied it long and hard. There wasn't a single part of it that looked like it could break off with ease. In fact, there was no sign of wallpaper anywhere.

"Ellie," she said, "you're not funny. You're a joke, but you're not a funny."

Some of her colleagues down the hall flashed a confused glance at her.

Ellie approached from behind her. "Words hurt," she said. "But you know what else hurts? Facing the truth when it has you cornered."

"The truth? Oh! Don't worry, I can accept the fact you're a dumbass. In fact, I already have. Just now."

Ellie rapped a single knuckle against the wall, and a deep, hollow thud greeted the two of them.

"What the hell?" Margo said.

"I was wrong," Ellie said, releasing her fist by her side. "You'll have to punch through the wall."

"Give me a good fucking reason why I should."

"I already told you. Everything will just make more sense! Would you like to just stick around and wait for Psychwatch to fuck your face up again?"

"Psychwatch didn't do this." Margo gestured to her facial wounds. "I did."

She saw Mason step into the hallway from another room, followed by Nikki and the other officers. Her superior glared at her, mildly bemused. "Are you alright, Sandoval?" she asked, no genuine concern, only indifferent wariness.

But Margo ignored her, placing her eyes back on her sister. Without another word, she clenched her fist and pummeled the wall. No hollow sound. Just the resounding thud of a weak punch against solid concrete. Although the Apaths she'd taken moments ago prevented her from knowing the extensive damage her already-wounded fists would endure.

"Hey Margo!" called Carl, his voice higher and scratchier. It was Loki. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Keep punching. I can see a crack forming," Ellie said, a smirk stretching across her face.

Margo did just that. She continued punching, the hits thundering like the sounds of church bells. A crowd gathered. She didn't look back at them, but she could feel their gazes. Their perplexed expressions. Hear them questioning internally how someone like her could make it into their ranks.

By the time she started punching with both fists, she still couldn't hear the hollow thud.

"Sandoval!" Mason said. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Looks like someone's popular," Ellie laughed. "So tell me about your friends, sis."

Margo didn't respond. Her fists continued to meet the walls. The fingers in her right hand felt dislocated, only a quick bite away from popping off her body forever. But it didn't hurt. Not yet. But when the pain would return, it would draw her down to the floor, shrieking until her voice faded out like a last breath.

"Sandoval," Andrade said, clutching an icepack to her face. Even after enduring a single punch to her face, she appeared even weaker than her colleague before her.

"You're almost there!" Ellie said. "Keep going! I can hear it coming up!"

"Margo, what are you doing?" Loki shouted.

"Her diagnosis," Mason whispered.

Margo stopped hitting the wall. Blood oozed out of the fresh lacerations on her right fist. She felt the coldness of the blood as it trickled down her hand to the floor. She was still. Every muscle tense.

What the hell did you just say, Mason?

"Margo?" Ellie said. "Why'd you stop? You're almost—"

The officers stumbled back as Margo trained her Fatemaker on her sister, only to stare down the barrels of a dozen other Fatemakers encircling her and her sister like a coliseum.

"Sandoval, drop your weapon!" bellowed Mason, gun at the ready.

The gun trembled in Margo's hands. The pain. She could feel it coming back.

"I said drop your weapon, Sandoval! That's an order!"

Ellie didn't move. She looked bored. Unimpressed. But she rose her hands to the air just to amuse her sister.

"Ellie, tell me what's behind these walls!" Margo hissed.

"Who is she talking to?" she heard a colleague murmur. And similar whispers followed suit.

"Ellie, come on! Tell me what's behind those walls!"

"Sandoval, who are you talking to?"

The gun trembled faster. The wounds stung deeper.

"I told you, Margo," Ellie said. "It's all bullshit."

"What bullshit?" Margo shrieked. "What the hell are you even doing here?"

"Is she talking to me?" Loki asked, but Mason shoved him back into the crowd.

"Sandoval!" Mason declared. "Who are you talking to?"

Margo said nothing. Not to her. Never. She turned back to her sister and cried, "What are you even doing here?"

"None of these people are real, Margo," Ellie said. "That Fatemaker? It's a toy. These officers? I don't even know. They're probably just people who kidnapped and drugged you."

"Sandoval, hand over your piece!" Mason declared.

Margo finally acknowledged her. "I'm not talking to anyone on my piece, Commissioner!"

"Then who the hell are you talking to?"

"What are you, fucking blind? Look, it's my sister! She's right in front of me! Does no one else fucking see her?!"

Mason and the other officers took quick glances at the empty spot three inches in front of Margo, and confusion and anger filled the room like smoke. Margo could sense it, the coldness of it.

"Margo, I don't know who you're talking to," Ellie said, "but whoever they are, they don't exist! They're not Psychwatch officers. They're probably not even people! Listen to me!"

"Sandoval," Mason spoke carefully, "who or what do you see?"

"What do I see?" Margo rasped, no longer a scream but a frightened whisper. "I see my...my sister. You can't see her? None of you can see..."

"You don't have to prove anything to them, Margo!" Ellie said. "None of them are real. Just keep breaking through the wall so we can get out of here."

"Sandoval, did she tell you something else? I can see it in your eyes. She's still here, isn't she?"

Margo nodded her head, Fatemaker trembling in her hands. Her finger moved over the trigger.

"Drop your weapon, Sandoval. Then we can talk to you about your diagnosis."

"Don't!" Ellie hissed. "She'll fucking shoot you. Look at her! Don't you remember what they did to the people in the Rabbit Hole? You're fucking dead if you put your gun down."

"But I'll be dead if I don't," Margo whimpered.

"Then let's go out in a blaze."

Her finger curled around the trigger. The clicking of guns filled her ears.

"Sandoval, what are you doing?" Andrade said.

"Andrade, shut the fuck up or you're fired!" Mason barked, and she glared at her fellow officers. The guns lowered, but not all of them. Hers remained stationary.

"What are you waiting for?" Ellie said. "Shoot them! Let's get the fuck out of here!"

"Commissioner," Margo said, voice too low to hear, "what's my diagnosis?"

"What?" Mason asked.

"What's my diagnosis?"

Taking a deep breath, Mason said, "Threat Level 3. Paranoid schizophrenia."

And the world came crumbling down.

The Fatemaker slid from Margo's grip like rocks from a cliff ledge, crashing to the floor with a clatter. She leaned against the wall, head spinning, growing lighter. She was cold. Goosebumps rippled across her skin underneath her BufferSuit. Legs weak. There was nowhere else to turn to but what stood before her. And what stood before her was a sign of damage long neglected.

She slid to the floor. Soft breaths. Those were all she knew she could do without question.

The guns lowered around her. Andrade approached, kneeling down to her level. "I'm very sorry, Sandoval," she said, and she walked away.

Margo looked back at up. Ellie stood there, no expression. Just dead eyes and a victorious smirk. She might've had her own thoughts. Or maybe those thoughts belonged to Margo all along. Maybe everything about Ellie was really just Margo all along. The young doctor-cop gazed at her sister's feet, looking for a shadow, reality's way of reaching for her through the haze.

No shadow. Not even from her fellow officers.

"Mason," she said. "How much of what I've said and believed...how much of it was all in my head?"

Mason approached her, remaining above her. "I don't know, Sandoval," she said. "But I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Margo nodded her head. She felt colder. Pain. A black hole birthed deep within her chest, consuming whatever was left.

"Does my mom know?"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you, Sandoval," Mason said.

"Does my mom know about this?"

"Of course not. As a Psychwatch officer, this information should remain confidential unless permitted for disclosure by the officer."

Margo fell forward, her quivery arms holding her above the floor. "But everyone else knew?"

"No, just me, Sandoval. I'm afraid the revelation of your diagnosis was accidental. Everyone else, dismissed!"

The officers parted ways. Only Carl and Holden remained.

"Margo!" Carl gasped. It was him. In the flesh.

"Welcome back, Officer Maslow," Mason said. "Officer Sanger, I believe you are needed elsewhere."

"But what about Margo?" he asked. "Will she be okay?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see. Have a good day, Mr. Sanger."

"Fuck," he whispered, and he walked away.

"Goddamn it, Mason," Carl said.

"I told her she was keeping secrets from herself. Everything in the dark comes into the light, eventually. Although, I really didn't expect this. I only discovered it during our session when she returned to work after the rally."

"What are you going to do to her now?"

"Nothing she doesn't want me to do."

Margo jerked back up, tears welling up in her eyes, her sister no longer in sight. "What do I do?" she said. "I'm nothing without this job."

"I understand that, Sandoval. We can have you begin therapy as soon as you'd like. You'll have access to only the best medications Psychwatch can offer."

"Can...can I still work?"

"Margo," Carl said, his heart sinking. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I can't go back home," Margo whimpered, the tears making their way out.

"Of course you can still work here," Mason said. "After all, you're our lucky charm."

"I am?"

"You may not know it now, but you are."

"Goddamn it, Mason," Carl whispered, but he changed expressions when she looked at him.

Margo laughed, remaining on the floor. But the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. She laughed, but all she felt was sadness. A stinging, inescapable sorrow, as if mourning a loss. Today is the day I break, she thought. But she couldn't figure out if it was her thought or someone else's.

"Take care of her, Maslow," Mason told Carl. "She's off duty for the rest of today."

And she disappeared. And Carl wished he could do the same as he watched his young colleague curl into a fetal position on the floor beneath him.

"I'm sorry, Margo," he said, clenching his knuckles. "This is all my fault."