May 27, 2045 - 8:00 AM

"Happy Birthday to me," Carl sang quietly to himself as he sat as his table. A cupcake rested in front of him, a single candle emanating an orange glow in the middle of his shrouded apartment. He nervously adjusted the sleeves on his jacket, offering an additional glance at the LED ring that would forever remind him of things he couldn't escape.

"Can't believe it's been fifty years!" Catalina spoke through him, his voice heightening in pitch. "Look how far you've come, Carl!"

"No, Catty," he replied in his regular voice. "Look how far we have come. You, me, Vince, and anyone else still in here."

"It's a shame you couldn't bring the Sandovals or your family over this year. Psychwatch can be so rude sometimes."

"It's for the best. Margo always calls me a little later to wish me a happy birthday anyway."

"I just hope this goes well. Psychwatch has been so good to us all these years. I'd hate to see them suddenly declare us their enemy."

Carl always had that faint grin on him, a self-reminder that life could always get better, no matter what obstacles got in his way. But the thought of what Catalina had said made it vanish like mist.

He nearly leaped out of his chair when he heard a booming knock at his door.

"Showtime," he whispered, and he blew out his candle and marched over to his door.

He was greeted by Mason, Andrade, and three other Psychwatch officers whose faces remained hidden behind opaque helmets. The unknown officers carried large metal suitcases lined with silver lights, while Andrade stood with her Fatemaker clutched in both hands.

"Buenos días, Maslow," Andrade greeted. "Are you ready?"

"Come on in," Carl replied, and he moved over to the side, letting his fellow officers pass. The final doctor-cop entering the room glanced at him longer than usual, whatever thoughts they had protected by the black wall of plastic hiding their face.

"Why don't you turn some lights on, Maslow?" Andrade asked. "It's too damn dark in here. Not good for your eyes."

"I just like to keep my curtains open during the morning," Carl replied, following his fellow officers through his kitchen. "Natural light is healthier than all this fluorescent stuff around town, y'know."

He swallowed back fear when his apartment suddenly grew silent. When he marched out of his kitchen, he found the officers standing around his dining room table for three, positioned against the wall like a restaurant booth. Another shiver went down his spine once he realized they were all staring at him. The cowardly ones wouldn't even need to take off their helmets to show Carl their piercing gazes. He already knew what they were doing.

"A little early for sweets, isn't it?" Andrade asked, her robotic hand positioned beside the cupcake.

"It's my birthday," Carl replied as sheepish as a child. "Just...celebrating on my own."

"Well, Happy Birthday, Maslow." And the masked officers repeated the same.

Mason, however, remained silent, taking a seat at the table. "Take your jacket off," she ordered.

Carl nervously looked down. He wore his iconic Psychwatch jacket ordained with silver lights and emblazoned with the Greek letter psi on his back. As he took it off, he could feel some of his confidence withering away like a rotting corpse. He hung it from a chair at the dining room table before taking a seat in front of Mason.

He glanced down at his cupcake, but Mason ordered, "Save it for later." He nudged it to the side of the table. "Where's your ThoughtControl piece?" she continued.

"Nightstand in my bedroom."

Mason snapped her fingers, and two of the masked officers marched down the hall to begin their search. "Don't mind them," she said. "They're just gonna review POV footage and statistics on your mental state from yesterday."

"But Psychwatch officers can't investigate other officers' data without either overriding the System or downgrading to patient status."

Mason raised an eyebrow, confirming the latter. Before Carl could express his disbelief, she added, "It was the only way we could get this done, Maslow. And if this goes well, it'll only be temporary."

Carl nodded his head quietly. He glanced over at the unknown officers setting up the PACER devices, the suitcases beeping as the lights surrounding them flashed. One suitcase cracked open, revealing two helmets for the psychiatrist and the patient. Another case opened up, and a projector slowly emerged with a mechanical whir. With a flash of white light, three holographic screens flickered to life a foot above the case.

Andrade approached the table holding the two helmets. Mason and Carl waited patiently as their colleague carefully lowered the devices onto their heads.

"Usually Nikki and Holden are here to help with this," Carl forcefully chuckled as Andrade adjusted the settings on the helmet, squeezing his skull. "I hope those kids are safe and sound, especially after yesterday."

"They're safe," Andrade replied bluntly. "Emotionally distraught, but otherwise safe."

"You don't seem to be very close with your nephew, Maslow," Mason added, and a beeping noise indicated her helmet was ready to initiate the PACER program.

Carl frowned once again, his helmet beeping as well. "I'd like to be close with him," he replied. "I'd like to be close with a lot of people actually."

"What's stopping you?"

"You'll see soon enough."

"Running PACER in three..." Andrade declared, "two...one..."

The world went black. Darkness swirled around Carl as if he were sinking into the deepest parts of the ocean. Not even his ring could illuminate what awaited before him.

"Maslow," Mason bellowed, her voice echoing through the infinite darkness, "I want you to know this should not be treated as an interrogation. This is a therapy session."

"Of course," Maslow replied, though he didn't believe her.

The darkness faded away, and the two doctor-cops found themselves in the same place they were before the PACER activated: sitting at the table in Carl's kitchen beside a window. One half of the room was shrouded in the pitch-black void the two of them had just emerged from while the other half was made visible by the glow of the window, which was just a bright white block of energy. All the two of them could see was the table in front of them and each other.

Now that he was in the light, Carl could see he was wearing a navy blue T-shirt and green cargo pants. The ring on his hand was gone, as well as the scars on his arms that only a small selection of people would ever have the opportunity of seeing.

"Have you created an inner world for your alters, Maslow?" Mason asked.

"I've never had the chance. Catalina has been trying to make one for years, but it always fell apart since she and Vince are the only alters who've stayed around the longest. So the best we could do was a recreation of my apartment complex."

Mason looked around at their limited space. "This doesn't seem like the whole complex."

"Still under construction. If we explore what you currently see around us, you're not gonna like it very much."

"Why won't I like it?"

"Unpleasant memories."

"They bring back unpleasant memories?"

"No, they're physically constructed out of unpleasant memories."

Mason raised her brow. "Why would you construct a supposed safe haven out of your worst memories?"

"I already told you, Mason. The others made this place, not me. I can ask them why."

Carl rose from his seat, but Mason stopped him with a quick gesture of her hand. "Stay in your seat please," she ordered.

Carl lowered his head, his eyes focused on the silver surface of the table. "Yes, Commissioner."

"Good." Mason clapped her hands together. She took a deep breath and continued. "So, Maslow...it's obvious you and I have a long history together. We worked with the Philly PD long before Psychwatch was even formed. I know you had the hardest time making it in because of your condition—"

"Commissioner," Carl interjected, "with all due respect, I'd prefer if you didn't refer to my alters as a condition."

Before Mason could make her next retort, Carl added, "And please refer to them as people, parts, or alters. Nothing more."

"My apologies." She cleared her throat. "How many of these alters are housed here?"

Carl shrugged. "Lost count years ago. They come and go as if my mind were a cheap motel. Catalina and Vince have been here the longest."

"They've seen everything, haven't they?"

A shiver went down Carl's spine as he heard the screams of his younger self echo through the dark. He could hear his mother shouting endless streams of profanity in the midst of the beatings. The shattering of glass and porcelain against the walls, his sister scurrying to a safer corner of the room, his father threatening his mother to stop or else he'll kill her, only to be put in his place shortly after. He didn't know if Mason could hear it, too, but at least she'd sense how uncomfortable he was.

He hoped.

"Maslow?" she asked.

Carl let out a long exhale, his fingernails scratching against the table. "I don't know, Commissioner," he replied. "A part of me feels like they've always been here, waiting to appear at the right time like some Fairy Godmother."

"When did you realize they were here?"

The sound of sirens approaching grew louder and louder beyond the window, and the outside world finally became visible. Through the window, Carl and Maslow could see an ambulance and two police cars waiting at the entrance to the apartment building, sirens blaring out like agonizing shrieks. A group of police surrounded the premises, some bolting into the building and others waiting by the entrance, attempting to interview tenants. The moment of truth occurred when paramedics wheeled a young boy out on a gurney to the ambulance. His left eye was swollen shut, and his arms were bright red and bent in grotesque positions. He lay motionless as his father and younger sister, her arm in a sling as well, followed him into the ambulance.

As soon as the two officers pulled away from the window, the imagery faded into a white blur, and the two of them looked back at each other. "So that's where those scars came from," Mason concluded as she glared at Carl's bare arms, suddenly smoother without the physical reminders the real world left behind.

"Yes, ma'am," Carl replied somberly. "I was fourteen years old. Finally tired of dealing with my mom. I blacked out and woke up in a hospital room with two broken arms, multiple contusions all over my body, several broken ribs, and a black eye. They told me she threw me down the stairs."

Mason paused, taking a moment to comprehend everything. "What happened to your mother?"

Carl was breathing heavily, something rendered unnecessary by the fact they were in a simulation. But the two of them knew this was just a sign of overwhelming emotions, something no simulation would ever be able to hide.

"Maslow?"

"Vince killed her," Carl muttered. "I didn't realize it was him at first, but he did it. Took her down the stairs with us and broke her neck. The cops probably wouldn't have ruled it out as an accident if they knew about him."

"It was self-defense and you were critically injured, so they wouldn't have pressed charges anyway. Besides, you said you weren't diagnosed until you were sixteen years old, correct?"

"Yes." Carl paused again. "That was when me and Melanie met our stepmom, Becky. Then Catalina came into my mind and my life."

"Glad you remembered me, payaso."

Carl and Mason turned their heads toward the darkness, and a young woman in a bright green dress appeared beside the table. The two officers jumped back into their seats at her sudden appearance, but Carl quickly recovered from his shock and leaped out of his seat to hug her. Mason hadn't seen her colleague act that way with anyone else except for Margo. Not even with Holden.

"Feliz cumpleaños, mi precioso," Catalina whispered, hugging Carl tighter.

"Thanks, Catty," Carl replied with a huge smile, and the two of them parted.

Catalina turned to Mason. "Hola, Commissioner. It's been a while."

Mason leaned in to get a better glimpse of this person in front of her. Even after all those years, it was hard finding people diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder. She considered herself lucky running into Carl, especially because of how hard it was for people like him to join the police force back then. But seeing an alter stand before her like one of her own patients absolutely mesmerized her, especially since Catalina matched Carl's descriptions of her perfectly. Same clothes, same hair, and same skin color, and it was almost impossible to determine her age. At a glance, she seemed as young as Margo, but upon a second look, she appeared to be the same age as Carl.

"Hello, Catalina," Mason replied. "You look lovely."

Carl moved away from the table. "Here, have a seat," he said, offering his chair.

"Gracias," Catty chirped with a smile as she lowered herself into the seat. Now Mason had two people to inquire.

"Mason, what the hell is going on?" Andrade hissed through her earpiece.

"It's part of the plan," Mason muttered before clearing her throat. "So, Catty, Carl and I were just discussing the moment you and the others were created. What can you tell us about you and the other alters?"

"What for, if I may ask?" Catalina asked, her smile unmoving.

Mason, however, was not amused. "I'll be asking the questions, sweetie. What do you believe made you?"

"God, of course!"

Mason's patience began wearing away like a forgotten landscape. The look in her eyes sent a shiver down Catalina's spine, and Carl leaned in to tell her the truth. "Sorry, Catty, but the commissioner is an atheist," he whispered. "She still respects your beliefs, and so do I. But she wanted to know about Becky and the, uh...dormant ones..."

"Speak up please," Mason spoke sternly.

Carl and Catalina moved away from each other, and Catalina began to speak. "When I came into existence, Carl had five other parts. Vince, Zack, Andrea, Michael, and Loki. Zack and Michael were only children, designed to relive a childhood the host never experienced. Andrea and Loki were the ones who got him through high school since they were teenagers just like him, but Andrea was incredibly shy and repeatedly taken advantage of. Loki and Vince were there to protect her and Carl, but sometimes they caused more problems than they solved, especially Loki."

"So this alter, Loki, chose this name for himself?" Mason asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Carl replied, taking Catalina's hand. "And he definitely lived up to his name. He was mischievous, sarcastic, and pretty much the main reason I got in so much trouble back then."

"Where is he now?"

Carl paused. "Well, sometimes, when an alter proves to be too troublesome for the rest of the system, they're either put in their place, reabsorbed into another, or somehow...forced to disappear."

"And Loki?"

"Vince said he'd deal with him. But we still don't know what he did."

"And the others?"

Carl looked over at Catalina, her grip on his hand tightening. She looked sorrowful, as if in mourning.

"Catty?" Mason asked. "Do you have something to say? I heard you two mention a woman named Becky."

"Rebecca Oliveras," Catalina barked as if saying that seemed to hurt her. "Carl called her Becky. She's his stepmother. He was twenty-two years old when his father started dating her, although Carl and Melanie knew her long before that as a custodian at their high school. She was their first link to therapy."

"And him meeting Miss Becky was what created you?" Mason added.

"Si. As well as his love of helping out at the local children's homes. I was a mother figure to both Carl and anyone else who needed me."

"Then what about these so-called "child" alters?"

An agitated look crossed Catalina's face, visibly offended. Carl took the helm of their conversation. "Uh, Commissioner, that's kind of a sensitive topic, but...we don't really know what happened to them. Catty absorbed Andrea after our first suicide attempt and—"

Carl paused, glancing back at Catalina as she squeezed his hand with all her might. The two of them exchanged worrisome looks, but Carl nodded his head, reassuring her that everything would remain in their control.

"Continue please," Mason declared impatiently.

"Yeah, anyway," Carl continued, clearing his throat, "we believe Andrea's reabsorption scared them away, and we haven't seen them since. So we think they've gone dormant. We've tried asking Vince, but he won't say anything."

Mason could see the fear in Carl's eyes. She knew he was smart enough to see through her lie that this was just a mere therapy session. Sure, she needed him to pour out his past like running water, but she was the one who had something to gain from this. She also noticed the frustration in Catalina's eyes and her heavy breathing, something she underestimated since she always remained hidden behind her shield of flesh that was Carl's body. But not this time.

"Then how about you bring Vince here?" Mason growled. "I really need to speak to him."

"I don't think that's a good idea—"

Mason jumped from her seat, the legs of the chair screeching against the floor. With a grimace that could kill, she marched into the dark half of the apartment and vanished.

"MASON!" Carl shrieked, and he and Catalina followed suit. But as soon as the two of them leaped into the darkness, a cold blast of air overcame them, and they were separated.

"Catty! Mason!" Carl shouted as he floated around alone in the darkness once again.

"Carl! Carl, ¡ayúdame!" Catalina called out, her voice echoing for what felt like an eternity.

"Catty, where the hell are—"

Carl rotated in place, his body weighed down by the darkness around him, as if he were swirling around in water. He suddenly found himself standing in a hospital room, an older kind from the early 2010s. He saw his younger self lying in a bed. His arms were wrapped in casts, and his face was a bloody, irritated mess. He called out for a mother who would never love him, one he had killed the day before.

"Vince!" bellowed Mason's voice from the darkness once more. "Show yourself!"

The sound of her thunderous demand cracked the glass in the windows of Carl's memory, and the walls crumbled around him like an earthquake. The hospital room door cracked off its hinges and slammed into the floor before him with a boom, revealing another pitch-black void into the rest of his psyche.

Following Mason's and Catalina's screams, Carl ran in.

With another flash of cold air and darkness, Carl found himself in another memory. He stood in a high school locker room, one he soon realized was a girls' locker room as the horrified shrieks of teenage girls pierced his ears like arrowheads. But the screams were dim and distant, once again evoking the feeling of sinking underwater, and the lights in the room flickered with a repetitive click.

It wasn't until he moved away from the lockers that he saw the main event. A group of cheerleaders stood in a circle by the exit, each of them emitting some of the most inhuman noises he'd ever heard. Through a gap between one of them, Carl saw his younger self once again. Makeup was smeared lazily all over his face, and dozens of pills were scattered across the floor around him. The final touch was the empty pill bottle resting between his hands like a bouquet.

It took him several seconds to realize the girls were screaming, "Andrea!"

He felt someone take his hand, and there Catalina stood once again.

"Catty!" Carl exclaimed, nearly on the verge of tears. "Why do I remember this? Andrea did this to our body, not me! So shouldn't this be her memory?"

"She dissociated right before the pills could take hold," Catty replied. "She knew you were the host, so she switched out with you at the last second. She tried to kill us, Carl! That's why I had to get rid of her." A determined look crossed her face. "And now we have to get rid of the commissioner."

"Wait, what?"

Catalina slammed her foot against the floor as hard as she could, and the ground beneath them dissolved into dust. They sunk through the new hole like quicksand and descended into another void. The weight of the darkness pressed down on Carl once again, and for the first time in a long time, he was terrified of his own mind.

"I know where she is, Carl!" Catalina exclaimed. "I can find her in this mess!"

"Catty, why are you going after Mason?" Carl shouted though he struggled to get the words out. He felt as if his chest was being crushed under a steamroller.

"She's using us, mi precioso. She thinks Vince is the bad guy. And she hurt Margo! All of them hurt Margo! Remember when she came to us in the middle of a blizzard?"

Carl's eyes widened. He could feel his trust in Psychwatch crumbling away.

Suddenly, they were in a new memory.

Carl and Catalina stood in a bus. The sun was setting outside, and Psychwatch's holographic billboards hovered hundreds of feet above them. Every seat was taken that day, Carl remembered, and he saw his forty-two-year-old self sitting beneath the window, clad in his Psychwatch uniform.

They didn't realize that Mason had finally joined them in witnessing that memory.

"You two!" she barked, pointing at Carl and Catalina. "Bring Vince here right now, or—"

Mason was cut short by Catalina, who bolted toward her like a jet. The simulated oxygen burst from her lungs as Catalina slammed her into the wall of the bus, cracking the glass on the windows around them. Not a single person even bothered to look at them, nor did the vehicle shift its course as a result of the impact.

"Tell me what you're doing here!" Catalina screamed, pinning Mason against the wall. "Or else I make this mindscape your burial ground!"

"You do that," Mason hissed, "and very horrible things will happen to you and your host."

Carl approached his commissioner, too fearful to look her in the eye. "Commissioner," he spoke carefully, "I understand why you're here, but why do you think I was partially responsible for the Red Riot?"

"Maslow, look at you! Do you really think I would trust someone who doesn't even have physical control of his own body half the time?"

"I didn't ask for any of this! You think I like being trapped like this?"

Upon uttering those words, Carl met face to face with an incredibly heartbroken Catalina, her eyes watering and devoid of her characteristic hope and joy. She slowly lowered Mason down from the new dent in the wall and backed away, tears finally streaming down her face.

"Catty, I..." Carl croaked, "I didn't mean that. You know you mean the world to me..."

Catalina faced away from Carl as she slowly vanished from his presence like a ghost.

All the sadness in Carl's system was replaced with a rage he hoped he could've kept under control forever. But fires do have a bad habit of growing.

"WHY ME?" he shrieked at his superior, tears streaming down his cheeks. "WHY NOT ROYCE OR HOLLOWAY? I WASN'T ALONE IN THIS!"

"They're recovering from immense physical and psychological trauma as a result of their injuries in the Red Riot," Mason replied in a calm, cold manner. "Anything we gather from them would be deemed unreliable as a result of their current mental states."

"WELL SO AM I!" Carl paused in an attempt to compose himself, but all he could do was weep. "But unlike them, I don't take it out on other people! Because of shit that wasn't even my fault, my own mind takes it out on me!"

"What a shame, Maslow. I thought you were better than this. But instead, you're giving in to your Shadow."

Carl tried again to calm down, wiping the tears off his face, but anger still burned in his heart. "Mason, this isn't Jungian psychology we're talking about," he growled. "I'm not biased towards anyone, I don't have any taboo desires, and aside from today, I always do my best to show you and the rest of the Psychwatch officials my utmost respect. So with all due respect, Commissioner, my Shadow has nothing to do with this!"

The doors to the bus opened up, and a teenage girl stepped in. She had long, smooth brown hair that flowed down to her shoulders and wore an oversized sweater that clearly wasn't her own. A part of her hair covered her left eye, and her head hung low as she made her way toward a free seat, only to find none.

"Here you go, honey," said the Past Carl as he rose from his seat, offering her a welcoming smile. The young girl quietly nodded her head and took the seat, and the rest was history.

Carl looked back at Mason, finally making a connection. "So that's why you told her she was keeping secrets from herself," he whispered. "You were referring to her Shadow that night."

"I think we both know this involves more than just her Shadow," Mason replied darkly. "She led us to Dottie Forrester's body the other day. And that led us to the discovery of Wendell Asch's body shortly after. She may just be our lucky charm. Lucky for everyone but herself, that is."

"Mason, I swear to God, if you—"

"End the simulation."

"MASON, NO!"

* * *

When Carl snapped out of the PACER, he had the dullest expression on his face. His eyes were glassy, and he stared for miles in search of something he'd never find. He even remained unmoved as Andrade lifted the helmet off his head.

"Maslow, are you okay?" Andrade asked as she placed the helmet back in its case. "What about you, Mason? You okay?"

"I'm fine," Mason replied, her eyes set on Carl's catatonic body.

Carl's blank slate of an expression transformed into a scowl, his eyes still as lifeless as a doll's. He didn't move or even breathe. He reached his ring with one hand and clicked it so it turned green, his movements as mechanical as a robot.

Once they realized who had taken the helm, the room went silent. All except for Mason. "Hello, Vince," she greeted. "I've been looking for you."

He remained silent. He looked around at the apartment, studying the destruction around him. The furniture was overturned and every drawer was wide open. Utensils and scratch paper were scattered across the floor like the aftermath of a strong gust.

"What the hell happened here?" he grumbled.

"While I was running the PACER program, my colleagues here were raiding his apartment for further evidence of his involvement in yesterday's incident. Or rather one of his alters, such as yourself. Frankly, this all could've been avoided if you had just come forward earlier."

"What makes you think it was us?"

"The man who led the attack emphasized having multiple identities, and your host went offline alongside two other officers, one with a criminal record and another who's knowledgeable in Psychwatch surveillance technology. When we tried making contact with any of you three, we got no response."

"That's because I switched out with Carl in order to defend him and Holloway from the masked men attacking us. We were escorting weaponry to our fellow officers, but we were ambushed along the way."

"It's true, Commissioner, " Andrade chimed in. "There's footage of him fighting back against the masked men in his ThoughtControl piece. And the Psych Expressors recreated the same footage. Plus, vocal recognition technology confirmed the attacker's voice wasn't Vince's."

"Besides," Vince added, his tone unchanging, "I'm a protector. I don't attack people unless they threaten to harm Carl or Psychwatch."

That may have marked the first time anyone had ever seen Mason laugh, especially as hard as she did. "See?" she cackled, although it did nothing to hide her frustration. "Look how fucking easy that was!"

"Yes, ma'am," Vince muttered

"And make sure Carl knows I said that. He won't be coming in for a while."

"Yes, ma'am."

The officers finished packing up the tools and wires needed for the PACER. Andrade placed Carl's ThoughtControl piece beside Vince on the table and followed Mason and her colleagues to the door, leaving the mess behind as a reminder of their anger.

"Two more questions," Mason said, not even looking back at Vince as she approached the door. "Why isn't Maslow close with his sister and nephew?"

"He reminds them too much of their childhood," Vince replied bluntly.

"And how would you describe his relationship with Margo Sandoval?"

"Nothing taboo if that's what you're wondering. He would, however, die for her."

Mason closed the door.