Carl smoothed his hands through his hair. The Psych Expressors illustrating the sketches of Whitey and Crimson rested on the silver table before him. Any minute now, an individual more machine than man would take the seat before him and determine whether he'd see his dear old friend Margo Sandoval again. The individual, one Jack Holloway, was more of a utility than a colleague, Carl realized. They kept him around, but why? Of all the choices that went nowhere, why allow him a further directionless pursuit?

Mason doesn't even believe you, Vince said. What makes you think she'll believe Holloway when he says he's seen them?

"I don't know, Vince," Carl said. "You seem to spend more time with him than anyone else in here. How about you tell me?"

I take over because I know you're not as strong as you used to be, and I say that as your friend and protector.

"Yeah, well, neither is he. The poor bastard had cameras jammed into his eyeballs, only to have them removed again. He doesn't even try to be funny anymore, not that he ever was."

That doesn't imply weakness. That only implies he's probably angrier than he's ever been.

"You're talking more than usual. What's going on here?"

There was silence in his head, yet it told him everything he needed to hear.

"Maybe I should be asking you if you've seen these twins. You were down in the Rabbit Hole for a while, after all. I hardly saw a thing. What are you not telling me?"

Nothing you don't need to know.

"Well, I might not need to know. But Mason needs to know. That overrides everything else, pal. So are you gonna tell me what you saw or what?"

Silence again. Carl felt as if his skull were a vacant auditorium, his voice bouncing off the walls, missing every set of ears but his own because he was the only one willing to listen. He did a lot of talking, but longer than he could remember, he'd been the only one listening.

"Carl," Nikki said through their pieces. "Are you ready for him?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. Send him in."

Carl flinched as metal banged against metal, and as he gazed above, he saw a panel sliding away on the ceiling. A holo-projector floated down from the slot before suspending itself three feet above the table. The device rotated with the caution of a mother reaching for her child, and once its lens faced away from Carl, the holographic likeness of Jack came into view out of a smoky, silver haze.

"Holloway," said Carl. "Long time no see. Hope Psychwatch is still finding new uses for you."

The young officer's hair was trimmed down to a buzz cut, a faded layer of hair daubing his scalp. Rendered monochrome by the holo-projector, he appeared far more lifeless and mechanical. The blue in his eyes was black, like a sheet of ice above the world's deepest lake, barricading curious explorers from a treacherous abyss. A cybernetic eye inhabited the spot where an organic eye once rested, blown open by Slater with a stunner months ago in the Rabbit Hole. The pupil dilated flinchingly, like a a defective camera lens, gazing off into worlds beyond even Psychwatch's reach.

"Jesus," Carl said. "What have they done to you?"

"Still trying to make me more human, I guess," Jack replied, his voice low and gravelly. "Doesn't look like they've been doing a good job, does it?"

"I...well..."

"Right. Another Psychwatch officer is the last person I should ask that."

"Yeah, well," Carl said, "I'm sure this is just part of the redemption therapy."

"Let's be real, Maslow. Let's be the only ones in this place that are real. That shit ended a long fucking time ago."

Carl nodded his head. "I need your help with something. Have you seen these two individuals before? Brother and sister, both albino, I'd say about sixteen or seventeen."

He propped up the canvases on the table, and Jack's eyes darted between the two of them. No shock, no smirk, just curiosity in the officer's demeanor.

"Yeah, I've seen them," Jack said.

"Really? Where?"

"The rally. The Rabbit Hole. Whenever I close my eyes, really. I've mainly seen the girl."

"Is that so?" Carl rested the sketch of Whitey flat on the table's surface, keeping Crimson's picture elevated.

Jack nodded his head. "I don't know if it was real or not, but...I think I fucked her. Down in the Rabbit Hole."

Carl dug his nails into the side of the canvas. "Holloway," he said, "did you not hear me say how old she was?"

"I've seen girls younger than her get away with a lot more. Especially down there. But if I'll be honest with you, Maslow..." Jack shifted in his seat. "I'm pretty sure it was all in my head. Especially after they gave me that Wonderland shit."

"I thought you were in agony when that happened."

"Yeah, I thought so, too, at first. But you know what was worse than being on Wonderland?"

"What?"

"Being without it."

Get out of there, Vince told Carl. Before he brings you down to his level. And now that he's admitted to being drugged out, his information is unreliable now.

"It felt so much like the real thing, Maslow," Jack said, a tiny smirk creeping up at the far edge of his lip. "Anything you do while on that shit feels like the greatest sex you'll have in your life. All those people I tore up before you stunned me? Never suspected a thing. In my mind, I was...I was in Heaven."

"Holloway."

"And after they stunned me, that's when it started hurting. I knew my eye was gone, and it hurt like a bitch. Hurt more than anything else I'd felt in years. But the things I did to Sandoval and Andrade and that girl in the painting and God-knows-how-many other girls while I was out...that really got me through. That made up for the eye."

"Holloway."

The smirk had completed its trek across Jack's face, as if slit across his flesh with a scalpel. "How is she, Maslow?" he asked. "How is Sandoval?"

"That's enough," Carl said, his voice too shaky for a doctor-cop. He clenched his eyes shut, knowing fully well he'd made his vulnerabilities known to the worst possible person.

"She one of your new triggers now? Is that what this is all about?"

"Nevermind that! Just tell me more about these kids you saw. Preferably before you had Wonderland in your system."

"Right." Jack cleared his throat. "The girl was passing around spark roses at the rally. I tried following her, but she'd vanished. And as for the boy, I could've sworn he was picking off some of the rally-goers. Quiet kid, but I saw myself in him."

"Well, that's not good," Carl muttered.

"Wait." Jack leaned forward again. "These are the guys who destroyed my spine. Holy shit."

"I thought that was Wendell Asch."

"He was just the finger on the trigger. But these kids? They're the rest of the hand holding the gun."

Carl lowered Crimson's sketch down, glaring at Jack as if he truly were a ghostly visitor to the living world. He had backup, he thought. Unreliable backup, but the more people witness the same hallucination at once, the less likely the thing grabbing their attention is a hallucination at all. He'd seen their faces, their clothes, their white hair, their eyes.

But he was still Jack Holloway.

How do you know he's not lying to you? said Vince.

"You think these kids are the masterminds who orchestrated the attack on the rally?" Carl said.

"Mastermind?" Jack repeated. "The fuck do you mean 'mastermind'? Do either of those kids look like masterminds to you?"

"Absolutely not, but you just referred to them—"

"Asch was the finger. These albino freaks are the hand. And the guy who said he was 'multiple people' and shit is the rest of the body, the one in control."

Carl nodded, taking a deep breath to soothe his nerves. "Well, have you seen this guy, too?"

Jack shrugged. "He was probably in the van."

"Probably?"

Jack nodded.

Nikki, Carl sent to her piece. You reviewing any of the memories he's recalled?

"I'm t-t-trying," she replied. "B-B-But it's so hazy. It's like he can hardly remember them. Or he's trying to force himself to forget them."

Well, whatever you find of these individuals, record it, etch it down with a Psych Expressor, whatever. Just make sure you save it somewhere.

"Y-Y-Yes, Carl."

"You good, Maslow?" said Jack. "Or am I still even talking to Maslow?"

Carl shook his head. "Yeah, everything's alright." He rose from his seat, clutching the canvases by his side. "Thanks again for your help, Holloway. Take care of yourself."

"Maslow."

"What is it?"

"Sandoval is not your daughter."

Carl felt as if one foot remained bolted to the floor while the other tugged him toward the exit, eventually pulling him in half. "So?" he said.

"I just think it's something you should know."

"Why?"

"It'll make things easier."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Carl stood before the door back into the interrogation room, same as before. Nikki and Holden sat outside before a wall of holographic screens, their fingers tapping away on their keyboards.

"Uncle Carl," Holden said, "he's ready for you."

"Good," Carl said, holding the two canvases under his left arm by his side.

"I'm sorry you have to talk to him. I know how much of an asshole he is."

"I've known Slater a long time, buddy. I got used to it years ago."

"Still, if he goes too far, definitely let us know. Either we'll send someone in or we'll shut him off. Right, Nikki?"

Nikki nodded her head.

Carl smiled. "Thanks, you two. But I'll be alright."

The door slid open, and Carl marched inside, approaching the same table where he sat with Jack. He took the seat and laid the canvases down, taking another deep breath.

"Vince," he said. "It's not too late to say something. You can help me out."

I'd help you more by saying nothing at all, replied his enigmatic alter.

"Well, that explains a lot. But I got Holloway's information down. Just need Slater and Arthur Cohen, and we'll be in the clear."

How long have you been working for Psychwatch again? Fifteen years? You still think there's such a thing as "in the clear" for you? For us?

Carl clenched his fist. "I'm in the clear, Vince. I can't speak for you. So either you tell me whatever you're hiding from us, or—"

The slot in the ceiling revealed itself once more, and a holo-projector floated into position with a whir. Ten seconds later, Malcolm Slater's likeness materialized before the table, the man sporting that familiar delusive smirk.

"Been a while," he said. "Feels like only yesterday we were culling the Rabbit Hole. Y'know, I'll still never get over the fact you were Mr. W that entire time. Like, how the fuck did that happen?"

"I have my ways," Carl replied, sitting up in his seat.

"Well, one of you has your ways," Slater laughed. "In fact, that wasn't Carl Maslow I was working with down there. Can I talk to that guy again? Whatever the fuck his name is. He was great. Not much of a talker, but a hell of a doer."

"You can try, but you won't get a word out of him. I've been trying for years now."

"Well, anything in particular you're hoping to get out of him?"

Carl rested his hands on the canvases, edging them closer to Slater. "I came to ask if you've seen these two before. Brother and sister duo. Albino. I'd say no older than eighteen."

The former doctor-cop had a smile stretching from ear to ear. Then the uproarious laughter began.

"What?" Carl said, watching Slater bend into his seat, the chair harmlessly penetrating through his holographic chest.

"Yeah, I've seen these kids!" he exclaimed. "I love these two freaks! I don't know what made them the way they are, but it must've been fucking horrendous. But then again, who knows? Maybe they just fell into a vat of chemicals or some shit and came out that way. I even told your girl, Margo, that a lot of things have unexpected origins."

Carl's fingertips went numb. But he clenched his fists shut until his knuckles cracked before resuming the interrogation.

"How do you know these two?" Carl said, leaning forward.

"Well, I don't exactly 'know' these kids. I've only ever spoken to the girl once or twice. She mainly just told me to stay out of her way and how her boss would kill me if I interfered and all this other shit I'd heard before. And the brother didn't talk at all. He did a lot of stabbing and maiming and swearing, but other than that, not much of a conversationalist."

Carl nodded. "Yeah, he was quiet when I saw them, too."

"How the hell did you run into them?"

"I was on patrol with Andrade and ended up by Wayne Junction. There were these kids hanging around the train station having a smoke, so I just stepped outside and told them all to head home. Then I ran into these two."

"So that's why it's part of the System now, huh? Because of you." Slater chuckled again.

"What's so funny about all of this?" Carl said. "I found one of the boys I saw that night dead in his home yesterday. What the fuck is so funny about that, Slater?"

"Alright, I'm sorry." The former doctor-cop laughed a few seconds longer before composing himself. "I know you're frustrated, so I'll let you in on a little something, alright? This is what I'm laughing about. You remember how Jack Holloway was high on Wonderland and tearing people to shreds until you guys finally put him down?"

"I remember you were the one who injected him with it."

"Yeah, exactly. But here's the thing: after I gave him that shit, I gave him up to the albino girl here while he was still unconscious. I thought either she could have her way with him, he could have his way with her if he woke up, or I dunno. I just knew something exciting was coming."

"Holloway killed sixteen people when he woke up. With your LaserShank! What is so amusing about this, Slater?"

"Y'know, maybe this is why I liked the other guy, Mr. W. Sure, he nearly choked me to death down there, but I felt like I could talk to him like a grown-ass adult. But you? You still can't wrap your mind around the fact some shit happens for no justifiable reason whatsoever."

Carl slammed his fist down on the table, nearly smashing the canvases. "You had a reason, Slater! I know you!"

Slater shrugged. "I mean, I guess I had a reason, but even if I told you, you probably wouldn't accept it the way it is. I was bored, and I knew I'd never see the Rabbit Hole again. Hell, I knew it would be my last day outside a goddamn psych ward. So I wanted some action. There, happy?"

"That day," growled Carl, "I watched dozens of people die. I know some of them had it coming, and many of them were just using the club as an excuse to hurt other people, but some of them were just kids! Just stupid kids who didn't know any better! And then I find Margo knocked unconscious down in a narcotics lab, only for her to wake up several hours later and learn she'd been exhibiting symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia all this time. I've known her since she was fifteen years old, and yet even I couldn't pick up on that. And the worst part was that I knew that wasn't the last big secret kept from her! Yet you, Slater, you just stand by and watch us suffer because it amuses you! It fucking amuses you! Why?"

A smirk remained on Slater's face, one harder to sustain. In his eyes, Carl saw the slightest glimpse of concern. Very little, but it was there, showcasing itself distinctly from anyone else.

"Carl," he said, sitting up in his seat with a sigh, "with all due respect, this job is wearing you down. In an alternate reality where you weren't diagnosed with DID, this might've been perfect for you. But it's not. It's destroying you."

Carl didn't say a word.

"No wonder you care about this Sandoval girl," Slater said. "You two are so alike. But I think I can speak for everyone when I say that neither of you are cut out for this job. At least not with how everything has turned out. You're both empathetic, I get it. That's refreshing. But it's obvious neither of you give a shit about yourselves. You'll go out of your way to make other people feel safe and secure, but why does that matter when you don't even think that way about yourself? For fuck's sake, if the cogs in a clock tower suddenly stopped because they were too rusty, I can see the two of you squeezing into the cogs, letting yourselves get all crushed up into paste, so your blood and insides can lube up the clockwork and get the damn thing working again."

Silence again from the doctor-cop.

"And no offense again, Maslow, but a guy with your condition doesn't belong in a place like this. After what you've been through. You're strong for getting through it all, but we all have our limits."

"You don't know mine," Carl muttered.

"You really think so? Nearly fifteen years working together, and you really think I don't know your limits?"

Carl nodded his head, aware of what he was inviting.

"Fair enough." Slater paused. "Did anything I say today help in the slightest? I'm genuinely asking."

"Yeah," Carl said. "Just the fact you've actually seen these two helps my case."

"What, does Janice think you hallucinated them or some shit? Half the officers here probably saw them when we were down in the Rabbit Hole. What is she thinking?"

"I don't know what she thinks, and if I comment any further, I'll probably lose my job. Or worse."

Slater nodded. "You need a break from this place, Maslow. Seriously. Before this place breaks you."

"Maybe I do."

"Y'know, if I were back out there, I could've hooked you up with some Xanax. That usually does the trick."

"If you were back out there, we never would've found the Rabbit Hole. Or not for a while. People would still be getting hurt."

"People are always gonna hurt, Maslow. You gotta look out for yourself sometimes. Well, you and the eight other people taking your body for a spin."

"Goodbye, Slater."

Carl rose from his seat, taking the canvases between his arms. He looked everywhere at every other thing but his former colleague, hoping he'd stumble upon the door out of the room by chance.

"One more thing, Maslow," Slater said. "You seriously think I don't know your limits?"

Carl didn't utter a thing. He stood still, weighing the words in his head and in his hands.

"It's not a good thing," Slater continued, "when everyone else knows your limits better than you do. And right now, you're surrounded by triggers."

This job made me, Carl thought. I guess it'll kill me, too. It'll kill every single one of us. That makes it fair.

"Stay safe, Maslow. Let's hope you make it out mostly unscathed."

* * *

"Uncle Carl, are you alright?" asked Holden, munching on potato chips. "You're not eating your sandwich."

Carl, Holden, and Nikki sat at a table in Psychwatch's cafeteria, each one working on a sandwich and chips. Lettuce and bread crunched between Carl's fingers as he crushed it. He had no appetite. How could any Psychwatch officer have an appetite? Looking around, he saw the cafeteria housed only the three of them, their only other residents being sanitation bots cruising the spaces between the tables.

"Uncle Carl," Holden said, and he glanced at the light on his uncle's ring, blue like the sky once years ago.

"Sorry," Carl said, resting his sandwich on the table. "I'm here."