May 26, 2045 - 6:57 PM

The harsh, acidic sensations ravaging Margo's new wounds plagued her for nearly two hours before she could finally feel safe again. She and the rest of the city of Philadelphia, and she was very sure she'd be one of countless numbers of people missing out on the luxury of sleep that evening.

She lay on a bed in the middle of a high school gymnasium. Her only source of privacy was a wall of green draperies surrounding her, isolating her from the rest of the other victims. She could see lights blinking through her little green refuge like distant flashes of lightning, and the sounds were agonizing to listen to. The entire gym was just one large chamber of suffering. She could hear people of all ages making their pain known to the rest of the world, screaming, crying, and whimpering as they struggled through the pain to see the next day. The patient on the other side of the curtain to her right was a man slightly older than her; she could tell only by his voice. He cried like a child as his loved ones sat by his bedside, hoping his wounds wouldn't get the best of him. To her left, Margo could see the silhouette of a young boy sitting up in his bed with his legs hanging off the edge. His cries were just as haunting as the man's, and Margo quickly looked away once she realized a doctor was removing pieces of shrapnel from his legs. She covered her ears as his screams grew louder, nothing but pain and terror coming from all directions.

She didn't regret accepting the mask the medics offered her when she entered the building. She knew some of the patients wouldn't survive the attempts to save them, and a horrid stench would fill the air soon enough as a result. It was like her guilt in physical form, too painful to confront but too difficult to escape.

With her hands still clasped over her ears, Margo studied her little resting space, rolling her eyes at the sight of herself in a hospital gown. Only at home would she ever be comfortable not wearing pants, she thought. The ThoughtControl glasses she wore at the rally sat on a small end table beside her bed, the crack on the right lens taunting her. Bloody bandages were swathed around her left arm, both of her thighs, and her right shoulder. She didn't look forward to seeing the scars left behind as consequences of the dreaded shrapnel gun she miraculously survived as well as the shot from a modified firearm that only managed to graze her arm. The only thing that relieved her was the news that her wounds weren't infected, which meant she didn't suffer the feeling of antiseptics being poured onto her mangled flesh for nothing.

Once she was done reliving the past few hours in her head, she returned her sight to the holographic TV screen hovering above the bed. "Recovery attempts are still being made to investigate ay additional threats around Independence Hall," the reporter announced. "Authorities have reported that the number of casualties has now reached 393, and the incident has already been declared a terrorist attack. An estimated three thousand people have been injured during the attacks, and four local hospitals have declared themselves full, with hundreds of injured citizens sent to medical centers outside the city limits. Due to the usage of illegal firearms as well as bladed weaponry, many locals have been deeming the event another Red Riot..."

Margo could hear her mother approaching, frantically giving orders to other nurses. She burst through the curtains like a guest on a show and rushed over to her daughter, the two of them embracing. Even though her injuries stung thanks to the physical pressure of her body pressed up against her mother's, Margo fought against it. The only thing she believed could be more painful than the gashes across her limbs was the thought of her mother being caught in the attack. Her heart sunk even lower when she realized her mom wasn't the only one she could've risked losing that day.

There was also Carl, Holden, Nikki, and maybe Ellie, if she was still even in Philadelphia. She would've kept Mason, Andrade, Jack, and Royce on that list, but she preferred to focus on the ones who looked like they'd show genuine empathy. Maybe I should take Ellie off that list, Margo thought to herself.

Karen let go of her daughter. "You scared me half to death," she murmured, on the verge of tears.

"Just part of my job," Margo chuckled sheepishly.

"Honey, scaring people is the one thing you're not supposed to do while working."

"That's Empath Margo's job. Sadly, Neutralizer Margo is the one who's been in control the most lately. But after today, I'm not sure which one I'll have to be next." Margo hung her head low. "I wish I could've saved more people."

"You saved Holden and Nikki, Margo," her mother reassured her, taking her hand. "Those kids have a lot of potential in life, and you just saved them. You're a hero in my eyes, sweetie."

"But we could've saved more."

Karen closed her eyes for a moment as she squeezed her daughter's hand tightly. "I'm not entirely sure if this will make you feel better," she spoke carefully, "but Carl told me every single person at the rally would've been killed if Psychwatch hadn't stopped some of those vans from trespassing. Think about it. Things could've been a whole lot worse, but you and the rest of Psychwatch still managed to save so many people."

"But we could've prevented this whole thing from happening!" Margo hissed. Karen jerked away from her daughter, pulling her hand back as if she'd made the mistake of petting a wild animal.

"Then..." Karen continued, her voice soft with caution, "use this tragedy as proof that we need Psychwatch. You make the world better, and I'm talking about you specifically, Margo. I hope you know that." She turned toward the open curtains. "I'm gonna go check on the others. I love you so much, dear, and I'm glad nothing bad happened to you. Let me know if you need anything."

"Love you, too, Mom, " Margo replied, her heart sinking. And her mother disappeared into the curtains, on her way to comfort a patient who was less lucky yet somehow more grateful than her own daughter would ever be.

With eyes clenched in frustration, Margo sank back into the bed with a dramatic exhale. She raised her left hand to her head to brush through her hair, and she was rewarded with another stinging sensation traveling deep into her arm. She jerked her arm away from her head to get another glimpse of her gauntlet of bright red gauze hiding a long incision. She knew the scars would show up someday. As much as they tried to tell her that life as a Psychwatch officer wouldn't always be an action film, she knew there'd be a day where the world would leave its mark on her, a ravenous beast scratching and biting at her in her attempts to tame it.

Margo lowered her wounded arm down to her side as her ears perked at the sound of footsteps approaching the curtains. She tilted to the side to get a glimpse of her visitor, but she groaned in pain as the feeling of a needle piercing deep into her skin resonated through the wound in her shoulder like electricity, and she sunk back into her pillow with another frustrated exhale. The draperies were shoved away to reveal Nikki, who was now wearing a clean pair of leggings as well as her black and silver Psychwatch jacket.

"Hello, Nikki," Margo greeted. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Nikki replied in her typical tone akin to a whisper. "Just waiting for my parents to come pick me up."

"I thought you came to work in a self-driving car."

"Not on school days," she replied as she took a seat beside Margo. She spent a minute doing nothing but studying the hardwood floor lying beneath her. "Today was supposed to be my last day of high school. Five of my friends died in the attack today, and two more are being treated here."

Margo's jaw dropped. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"N-N-No, it's fine, Margo. I, uh...I wasn't v-v-very close with them anyway."

"Nikki, you can talk to me, honey. I know this hurts."

"But y-y-you're the one who was hit with the shrapnel gun." Nikki paused as her gaze remained fixed on the bandages wrapped around Margo's forearm.

Margo sat up in the bed, ignoring the feeling of firecrackers searing in her shoulder. She smoothed her free hand against the bandages on her thighs and looked up at Nikki once again. The poor girl appeared to be on the verge of another panic attack.

"I would take a hundred shots from that shrapnel gun," Margo explained, "if it means getting the chance to save more people. I'm just glad Andrade and I managed to get you and Holden to safety. However, I know we both wish she would've at least been nicer to him and Carl." She paused. "Where is Carl anyway?"

"Carl's been placed under house arrest until his interrogation is conducted tomorrow. Andrade thinks he or his alters may have played a part in what happened today. Holloway and Royce are under the same restrictions as well, although they've been given extra leeway since they're currently in the hospital for potentially life-threatening injuries."

Agitation clouded Margo's thoughts, and she felt as if she were seconds away from storming out of the gym back to headquarters. "What the hell happened?" she barked. "She wasn't serious when she said she believed Carl was a part of that, was she?"

"Very serious," Nikki replied, her eyes still glued to the floor. "He was sent back home without his Fatemaker as soon as we were loaded onto the van heading here. Meanwhile, Holloway had a fifth of his spinal column destroyed by a single shot from a modified firearm, and Royce lost a quarter of his ribs to another shot from the same weapon. The medics say they'll be lucky if they live to see tomorrow."

The monotonous way those words left her tongue discomforted Margo. She found it uncanny how such a young and inexperienced girl could go from cowering in a corner and wetting her pants to delivering the probability of her own colleagues' deaths with such a cold, matter-of-factly expression. It was like watching Mason during her more apathetic moments take control of a body that didn't belong to her.

But then again, Margo thought, this is Jack we're talking about. And after my last talk with Royce, I'm not sure how to feel. I'd still prefer it if he healed before Jack.

"I don't know why they're trying to scare us like that, " Nikki continued. "Mason agreed to pay for their treatment, so they should be fine in two weeks. As long as the interrogations go well, of course."

"Nikki," Margo chimed back in, "where's Holden?"

Nikki nervously cleared her throat. "He w-w-went home with his parents earlier. He was really upset that Andrade did that to his uncle. That, and the fact some of his friends died in the attack as well, including that girl from Omniluv."

Margo went silent again, glancing at the TV screen hovering above her bed. Frustration continued to boil in her head like a volcano. This wasn't supposed to be the daily routine of a Psychwatch officer. Or maybe it was? She struggled to remember her initial emotions the day she became a Neutralizer. She wanted to gag at the realization she had shown excitement at the thought of becoming one. Not just excitement; blind, childlike eagerness! How many people has she even been helping as a glorified soldier, killing one civilian while failing to save another?

Who was benefitting from each pull of her trigger?

"Margo," Nikki croaked, finally looking away from the floor, "a-a-are you alright?"

Margo blinked twice before speaking again. "No," she muttered. "Honestly, Nikki, I'm far from okay. But...it doesn't really matter how I feel. Right now, this city should be my top priority. I'll come with you to wait for your parents by the entrance."

Margo hung her legs over the edge of the bed as she proceeded to slide off onto her feet, wincing at the pain in her thighs. Nikki leaped out of her seat, inching closer and closer toward the open curtains. "I-I-It's okay, " she said. "They should be here soon anyway."

"I know, but I want to start being a good Empath again." Margo stood beside the bed, shivering as her bare feet made contact with the cold floor. "And I can start being one again by helping you with your grief, Nikki. You and Holden."

"T-T-Trust me," Nikki stuttered, her hand reaching for the green draperies behind her. "I'm fine. Just get some rest."

"I don't need rest. The medics say I'll get these stitches removed in two weeks, and then I'll be back to normal. In fact, once I've ensured your ride comes for you, I'm heading back to work! Empathize, neutralize, stabilize, right?" She snapped her hands, hyper as a child. "Oh shit! I gotta let my sister know I'm okay! Do you want to meet her, Nicole?"

"Margo, why are you acting like this?" Nikki muttered so quickly, only she could understand.

Margo stuck the pair of ThoughtControl glasses in front of her eyes, tapping against them with the restless speed of her own heartbeat. "Ellie!" she chirped. "Ellie, I'm doing alright! Me and Mom are fine! We just—hello? Hello?" She took the glasses back off with a groan. "Damn it. Hung up on me. I forgot she only ever talks to me when she's the one who needs something. Sorry about that, Nikki."

Margo looked back. The curtains were wide open, swaying side to side. "Nikki?" she called again.

She'd run off, probably thinking Margo would cause the next Red Riot any second now.

What the hell is wrong with me? Margo thought, leaning over the bed as heart sunk into a cold abyss of regret. You scared off Mom. You scared off Ellie. And now Nikki. You idiot. You wannabe doctor-cop. No wonder Mason and Andrade would've left you to die in the snow. Without Carl, you would've ended up being nothing.

She placed the broken glasses back down on the end table and sat on the edge of the bed, proceeding to slide her socks onto her feet. Her only plans next were to get dressed, apologize to her mother, march out of the building, and attempt to make a difference without anyone else getting hurt.

As she retrieved her clothes from the nearby closet, she couldn't help but laugh. Something amusing had taken up her thoughts, something she knew should've never made her crack a smile. On any other day, the thought would've repulsed and offended her, but the unfortunate timing of it—the utter nonsense of it—was just too perfect not to laugh at.

What if I caused this?