Cognitive Deviance

68. Surrender

June 23, 2045 - 2:00 PM

MEMORY RETRIEVAL COMPLETE. CAREFULLY REMOVE DEVICE WHEN YOU'RE READY. PLEASE COME BACK IF YOU EXPERIENCE NEGATIVE SIDE EFFECTS, SUCH AS MIGRAINES, TEMPORARY BLINDNESS, OR HALLUCINATIONS OF ANY FORM.

Margo wasn't ready. She dove into the ocean from a high place and failed to assume the proper form, shattering every bone in her body. Crashing through the icy surface, she sank into the murky waters, bleeding from every orifice, counting down every passing second until everything went dark for good.

But she couldn't go out yet. Not after everything from her past came rushing back like the water she'd imagined herself breaking through. She gazed into the charcoal-colored visor shielding her eyes, wondering which memory to interpret first, which one bared the true face of her father.

Everything was far too clear. Margo felt lightheaded, her throat ripped to shreds by her screams. She knew if she opened her mouth, all anyone would hear was a grating rasp like rusted metal. Another reason to turn away from her, she thought. Another reason to look down on her, another pathetic Psychwatch newbie.

I'm still not sure if I even know who I really am.

Beyond the plastic barrier between her ears and the room that harbored the tools to her self-destruction, Margo heard fists beating against the doors, feet shuffling about, hands rustling through bags and holsters. A horde of Psychwatch officers shouted her name. Some fueled by rage, some laced with concern, others howling just to avoid looking out of place, not knowing who the name Margo Sandoval belonged to. Knowing the history behind it all.

No, Margo thought. They knew it all along.

She rose from the floor as the doors slid open, and Carl and a dozen other officers raced toward her. The visor blurred them like faint silhouettes, and Margo felt as if sinister apparitions took the likenesses of her coworkers. Somehow, they were actually less frightening that way. Could've all been her imagination, pure and unfiltered, no schizophrenia adding or taking away from it.

A hand tugged at her shoulder, yet she wasn't afraid. She felt nothing. Every emotion, all at once, reduced to ash by friction. Nothing left to feel.

"Margo!" Carl said, still clutching her shoulder. "Are you okay? How does your head feel?"

She said nothing. Half because she needed to breathe. Half because she knew the sound of her voice would pierce the eardrums of her colleagues like arrowheads.

"Margo?"

She stuck her hand out, gesturing, Give me a moment.

"Yeah, of course," Carl said, and he let go of her shoulder as he and the rest of the officers crowding the room stepped back. All of them except for Mason.

"Sandoval!" she barked. "Remove the helmet immediately."

Margo stumbled back into the wall, the helmet feeling a hundred pounds heavier. Twist the wrong way, and the weight of the helmet could've shattered every bone in her neck, she thought. Twist a different way, and she could've tumbled to the floor and smashed the helmet open, burying shrapnel in her brain.

"Sandoval."

"Maybe we should give her another few minutes, Commissioner," said Royce, and the officers turned to study their colleague out of uniform.

"What the hell are you doing here, Royce?" Mason said. "Did you bring her down here?"

Margo and Royce met eyes, ultimately an exchange between two porcelain dolls. She knew he couldn't see her eyes behind the visor, but they'd made perfect contact. Glassy, frigid, vulnerable. Who was going to break the news first, mold the narrative into a one-sided argument that saves one individual and leaves the other at the mercy of Psychwatch?