Cognitive Deviance

76. Bad Omen

October 31, 2045 - 5:30 PM

So much can happen in a single day.

Halloween of 2045 would go down in history. The citizens of Philadelphia, its witnesses and contributors. Margo Sandoval, one of many playthings for the cutting-edge deity known as Psychwatch, prepared for the night shift.

She took a cold shower. Twenty minutes later, she stepped out, dried herself off, gazed at her reflection in the mirror, counting the scars on her flesh. There were so many since she'd first joined Psychwatch, marking her arms, her shoulder, her back. When she forced herself to grin, she tongued the gap in her teeth where the right molar used to be.

"And that's just the physical scars," she sighed. She imagined the rest of her flaws carved into her skin, patched together with crude stitching. PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIA. DEPRESSION. WORKS FOR PSYCHWATCH. BEATEN AND NEARLY KILLED BY DAD. NEGLECTED AND HAD MEMORIES ERASED BY MOM. HALLUCINATED HAVING A NARCISSISTIC OLDER SISTER.

Stop it, she declared, and as she finished dressing into her work uniform, she grabbed her pillbox. 20 hours, 30 minutes, 57 seconds. No excuses for any strange thoughts that crossed her brain in that amount of time.

Minutes later, Margo stood beside her car, pausing to feel the breeze caress her face. A shiver traversed down her spine, and the scent of smoke laced the wind passing by her. Life, she thought. Someday it'll be in my control again.

Another twenty minutes later, Margo's car slowed to a careful pace, hoping to work its way through the enormous crowd encircling Psychwatch. 

Posters and picket signs nearly obscured the view of the building, each one plastered with something against her and her occupation. PATIENTS NOT PRISONERS, read one. NO ONE IS BORN A CRIMINAL, read another. Deja vu struck Margo like an empty soda can struck her car, freezing her in place yet allowing her the choice to react the way she wanted. Avoid repeating the massacre at the rally, she hoped. Be an officer, not a pawn.

"Disperse immediately!" ordered a Psychwatch officers, his voice familiar to Margo. She heard his voice far more clearly only a second later, metallic and resonant, courtesy of a nearby SanityScan. Margo, it's me, it's Joseph. Kusanagi. Welcome back, but please be careful.

Kusanagi! Where did all these people come from?

We don't know. It was just some kids from MindLock this morning. But then it turned into this.

Do you guys need help dispersing the crowd?

No. Stay inside headquarters. Should be safer in there.

Or we hope, anyway.

The last thing that resonated through Margo's head was Kusanagi's dispirited sigh as her car squeezed itself into a vacant parking spot. More protesters blocked the sidewalk circuiting the building, many of them donning masks of various designs and origins. More Jasons. More Michaels. Some Ghostfaces. Some Guy Fawkes'. Yet none with red Xs over the eyes.

Margo stepped out of her car, her muscles stiff, hoping her reflexes wouldn't betray her and paint her as a jumpy little rabbit flinching at the slightest of movements made by other people. None of the protesters stopped her from making her way toward the entrance. None of them even looked at her. And if they did, the lenses and visors of their masks kept them hidden. The young woman would've never learned without the help of a SanityScan tearing the masks off for her. She scooted her way through them almost without obstruction.

Almost. 

Until she came across a girl with a spark rose in her hair. Then another, a whole crown of them atop her head. And finally, the mask that'd haunt her dreams and cloud her vision once the meds wore off. White and ragged with red Xs across the eyeholes, like a treasure map.