Almost four months. Maybe a little longer on the inside, or so it felt. The slightest of improvements still treated like astounding scientific progress. The Empaths believed even the smallest of victories deserved a celebration, though they had an unconventional way of showing their excitement. Not that anything else Psychwatch did could be described as conventional.

What was done to Margo Sandoval, done to save her from herself, few would understand. Few would approve. But it was all for the best, argued the higher-ups. She could hurt herself. She did hurt herself. It could happen again. It would. Wait until a year has passed and then leave her to her own devices.

Maybe not a year. Not that it mattered. Her cell felt like a gap in time and space, a waiting room before a door. Beyond that door, everything aged forward. But as long as it stayed closed, she'd stay young, with smooth skin and beautiful hair. No new scars.

On October 20, 2045, at an unknown time of the day, stepping out of the shower, Margo discovered scars on her back. Or more accurately, rediscovered.

They were small but plentiful, far from the crudest remnants of injury she'd come across, but she couldn't recall the last time she'd caught sight of them. The memory of her reflection remained as blurry as every surface she'd come across in search of it, as if her mind itself fought to keep her from seeing what she'd become. From the way the scars scattered across her back like twigs, Margo presumed shards of glass or shrapnel maimed her long ago.

The car crash.

Most of the scars disappeared behind the back of her bra as she dressed herself. She slid on sky blue pajama pants and a gray T-shirt emblazoned with the Psychwatch logo above her heart before fitting her feet into a pair of slippers.

The car crash, she thought again. There never was a goddamn car crash. Dad did this to me. Or maybe I did this. We're both good at hurting me.

Margo stepped out into the rest of her cell, and the bathroom disappeared behind a cluster of moving panels, closing off as if disintegrating out of existence. A resonant clap accompanied every step she took, and she recalled how the sounds made her flinch during her first week.

Or maybe they didn't. Once her head hit the pillow, all that mattered was that she'd wake up again the very next day. There was no such thing as yesterday. Or the day before. Or the prior week. Not until she wanted them to exist again.

The panels on the floor turned green, flashing with the sound of a rhythmic beep. Margo took a step back, and the panels retracted into paper-thin slots, allowing a black leather couch and a glass coffee table to ascend from repositories in the floor below.

Sitting on the sofa were two familiar entities, Ellie and the Multi Man, the two of them drenched in blood. No amount of blinking could erase them from her sights.

"Margo," called Kusanagi's voice through a speaker, but she remained still.

The two of you are going to try to kill me again, she thought. Is that what's going on?

Ellie and the Multi Man nodded far too carefully, more machine than man. Though Margo refused to believe they'd counted as either.

"Margo," Kusanagi said again. "Nod your head if you see something that shouldn't be there."

Margo nodded, and the Multi Man rose from his seat.

"Atkinson, activate the Tracer. Mason, should we give her the medication now?"

"In a minute," Margo heard her superior say.

The Man slid his hand into his pocket and returned with a dagger, its blade ragged like the teeth of a reptile.

A loud, swift scrape resounded around the ceiling, and a metal orb extruded from a slot in the wall. The orb resembled a smaller, charcoal-colored SanityScan, with a camera lens in the middle of the sphere aiming down at Margo.

"Alright," Kusanagi said. "As usual, look up into the camera and pause for three seconds."

The Multi Man took a step forward as Margo directed her eyes toward the camera.

"And...done. Nice work. We'll have your medication momentarily. Better dosage this time."

The dagger met her neck and stayed there. The Man and his weapon were nothing more than phantoms, but she still felt its rough edge.

Go ahead, Margo thought. When you're ready.

The lens on the orb-shaped camera above emitted a soft green glow, bathing the Multi Man and Ellie in a ghostly haze.

"Of course," Kusanagi said.

* * *

Located elsewhere in the building, Margo had vultures watching over her in her cell. Those vultures were Mason, Kusanagi, Carl, Nikki, and four other colleagues she'd never learned the names of, nor would she ever. Regret over such a missed opportunity didn't gnaw at the back of her head.

Four holographic screens, four different angles of Margo amid a psychotic episode. Because of the miniature SanityScan-like device, known to Psychwatch officers as a Psychosis Tracer, the doctor-cops could see the hallucinatory Multi Man and Ellie stare into Margo's soul as she did the same to them. They were bright green and translucent, swarms of dust and lint assuming humanoid formations.

"Atkinson," said Kusanagi, "how is she doing?"

Nikki cleared her throat. "Heart rate's increasing, but she's not as scared as she used to be. Reserved expression, little movement."

Kusanagi nodded his head, gazing into the screen closest to him. He watched the Multi Man move his hand and knife away from Margo's neck, positioning it by his side. The Man stepped around the coffee table, still facing their patient.

"He's gonna kill the sister," Mason said.

"We should ask her to describe what she's seeing and hearing," Carl said. "It'll help her."

"We can already see what she sees, Maslow."

"Still. We need to let her know we're here, too."

"She already knows."

Carl clenched his knuckles. "Then how can we help her?"

Back on the screen, the Multi Man stepped around the sofa, resting his right hand on Ellie's face. As he caressed her, he smeared blood on her cheek until it blended into her skin in a bright red hue.

"Well? Commissioner?" Carl said. "How can we help her?"

"She's doing fine, Maslow. And if you can't wrap your mind around that fact, I suggest you leave the room."

"I just want to talk to her. Catalina wants to talk to her, too. And her mother...It's been months. Please, just—"

"Maslow."

All eyes were on Carl. All but Nikki's, who fastened her eyes to the keyboard before her.

"This is a conflict of interest," Mason said, and she muttered, "I never should've let you into this room."

"Commissioner," said Kusanagi, "look at this."

Carl and Mason approached Kusanagi from behind, glaring at the screens before them. The Multi Man had the dagger against Ellie's throat, and Margo remained still, eyes blinking like the beat of a hummingbird's wings. No ounce of emotion on any of their faces. If they stood any stiller, they'd be a museum attraction.

"Atkinson, look inside her head," Mason said, and Nikki rapped her fingers against the keys of her keyboard.

Another screen appeared, displaying a silver horizontal line. The line quivered and warped like a loose rope, and out of the screen blared Margo's thoughts.

Go ahead. This won't bother me.

She's not real. Neither are you. Nothing's gonna drench the floor. It's all fake.

"Mason," Carl said, "let me give Margo her meds, and then I'll leave the room. I swear."

This won't disgust me. I've seen you do it before.

"Mason."

This doesn't scare me. Hurry up and—

The doctor-cops lurched back as the illusory Multi Man dragged his knife across Ellie's throat. Margo took four steps back, legs shaking. Blood spewed from the gaping laceration in Ellie's throat, all while a fit of gurgles and coughs escaped her.

Oh God, whispered Margo's thoughts. Ellie...

The geyser of blood gushing from Ellie's wound ceased, and her eyes rolled back into her head, exposing lifeless white pools to Margo and the other doctor-cops. She slumped into her seat, arms crooked and blood seeping out of her lips down her chin.

I killed you...

I made him kill you...

"No," said the Multi Man, "it was my choice. The opportunity was there, and I took it."

You killed Ellie.

"You weren't doing it. You couldn't. But I've always had the ability."

"Mason, somebody!" Carl said. "Somebody hand me her meds, so I can take them to her and—"

"Hey!" the Multi Man shouted, and Carl returned his sights to the screen. "I killed your sister, Margo. The opportunity arose, so I took it. I'll kill your mother. I'll kill your father. Maybe I've done it already. I don't let these opportunities pass me by."

"Can't someone tell her to focus on something else?" Carl said. "We'll be doing her a favor."

"I'm sorry, Maslow," Kusanagi said, "but she's already aware those are hallucinations. All she has to do is take her medication and wait out this episode. She's done well every time."

"But she needs to know someone still cares. Genuinely cares, not just being paid to stare at her from the other side of a screen, hoping she doesn't kill herself. Look at her! She feels alone in there."

The room went silent save for the sounds of empty threats toward Margo by an individual with no physical effect on the world around him. If only that's all he was, nothing more than the mark of a corrupted mind. If only the rally and the Rabbit Hole and Dottie Forrester were just horrible nightmares.

"Tell me, Margo," the Multi Man said on the screen, "how long do you think I've had a place in your life? How long do you think I was there all this time? Watching you grow. Studying your wounds as they healed."

"Let me in there," Carl said. "Somebody, please."

He heard something cut through the air, and when he looked down, he saw a pillbox clutched in Mason's fingers. In her other hand was a Fatemaker trained on him.

"Either you or your other alters get out of hand," she said, "and I won't hesitate to drag you out of that cell."

* * *

"Well?" said the Multi Man's phantom. "How long do you think I've been here?"

Margo wedged her fingers between the panels of the wall behind her. Her throat went dry, and her heart felt as if it dropped into her stomach, simmering in the acid. She'd hallucinated him before. Countless times, in fact. She declared it to herself over and over: "This isn't real. He isn't real."

But he felt more real than anything else, more real than the shifting panels in walls and floor of her cell. More real than the Psychosis Tracer allowing her colleagues to glimpse the hidden world of psychosis like spirits in a haunted house. The blood that splashed the furniture and the floor, belonging to an invisible entity she'd declared to be her sister, was absolute. If she rubbed her fingertips across the surface of her coffee table, she'd feel the blood's viscous texture as it seeped under her nails, wince as its copper scent reached her nostrils. She could use her clean hand to close her sister's vacant eyes and wait for the Man to reunite them in death.

This is a hallucination. He's not fucking real. Stop thinking for one second.

"I agree," the Multi Man said, smoothing his hand across Ellie's hair. "Sometimes, it's good to put your thoughts on hold. It'll do you some good, especially. But then again, some people weren't meant to turn off their thoughts."

The panels in the center of the furthest wall illuminated bright green, and an AI demanded with a metallic groan, "Stand back. An authorized Psychwatch personnel is entering the room. Stand back." The message repeated one more time before the panels separated, and Carl entered the room.

He's not real either, Margo thought.

"You're right," the Man said. "I killed him a long time ago. Him and all the other little bugs in his head."

"Margo!" Carl said, raising his hands. In his right hand rested the pillbox, and in the other, a glass of water. "Don't worry, I'm real. See? I'm not glowing green. The Tracer isn't making me visible to the other doctor-cops. I'm real, kid!"

"You're really gonna believe this freak?" the Multi Man said. "The guy who erased your memories in the first place? Who killed your father and traumatized your mother?"

Nothing you're saying means anything. And my father deserved to die.

"Margo," Carl urged. "I'm real. I have your meds right here. It's a better dose, too. Only takes two minutes to work instead of fifteen, and it lasts twenty-four hours."

"Don't take that pill, Margo. You'll be put to sleep and never wake up."

Carl took notice of his junior colleague glancing away from him, and he turned to see her hallucination of the Multi Man shimmering in the Tracer's light. "I see what you're looking at," he said, "but not the way you do. And I don't hear it either. Do the opposite. Let's focus on what we both see and hear, okay?"

"Look at him, trying so hard to understand you," the Multi Man said. "But he never will. No one will. You'll always be in here with me."

Take the pill.

With a rush of movement, Margo snatched the pill from Carl's hand and popped it into her mouth, swallowing it whole. Carl handed her the glass of water, and she downed it in five gulps, spilling some of it on her shirt, drops trailing down her face to her neck.

"You stupid bitch," the Multi Man growled. "What have you done to yourself?"

I'm getting rid of you.

"You're getting rid of us. You don't know what was in that pill, but I do."

"Margo, look at me," Carl said, taking the empty glass from her. "You don't need to look me in the eye, but just look at me. It only takes two minutes. Focus on the countdown. That pill? It's real. It's going to help you, not hurt you."

"'Help,'" the Multi Man repeated with a chuckle. "Possibly the most overused word these days. Everyone needs it, but no one wants to offer it. Makes sense. These people said they want to help you, and look what they did. They stuck you in a cell with cameras and a one-way mirror. They're scared of you!"

How long has it been? Twenty seconds now?

"Don't ignore me. Don't even think about ignoring me, goddamn it. I'll be back in twenty-four hours once the meds have worn off. You understand? And when I do, you'll feel my knife brushing against your neck. You'll feel blood on your hands and on your face, and you won't even know who it belongs to."

Thirty seconds. Just a minute and a half left.

"Alright, you're doing good, Margo," Carl said, a small smile cropping up at the corner of his mouth, but his breathing was heavy. "Remember, ground yourself in reality. What do you see? What do you hear?"

Margo wanted to speak, but her tongue went numb. She couldn't speak. Some part of her told her not to, or else she'd find herself planted on the couch by her sister, marred with lacerations far worse than hers.

But he's not real, she thought.

"No!" the Multi Man screamed, causing her to jump. "But neither are you, Margo. You've never been real. You never existed! And you never will."

How much time has passed now? I've lost count. Fifty seconds, I think? Maybe a minute?

Margo tried looking Carl in the eye, but it stung. She darted her eyes away, closing them. Everything all around her wanted to hurt her, she thought. Everything wanted to hear her talk, but why? What would happen if they heard her voice again? Would they steal it from her? Reach down into her throat and rip her vocal cords out? Psychwatch or the Multi Man, who would bring an end to her?

"I can tell you don't want to talk," Carl said, "but it's okay. Instead, you can listen. Or at least try your best to do so. If you can't, I understand. I just wanted to say how proud I am of you. You're strong, and you're making progress. I wish we could've talked more over the last few months, but so much has been happening. But I've been checking in on you."

Margo saw that Carl's hands extended out toward her, as if he wanted her to take them. She saw his ring glowing with its distinct sky blue tint. Not that the other alters were required to change the color, she thought. The light was more for other people's benefit than his own. Could she even trust him anymore?

Yes, she thought. You can. You should. Right?

"No," the Multi Man said. "He killed your father. He erased your memories. Who knows what else he erased? He might've been the one abusing you all those years and erased your memories to get away with it."

Shut up.

"Ever thought that was the reason he creeped back into your life after erasing your memories? You'd think he would've vowed never to see you again so he doesn't reawaken anything, but he's still here. And what do you think he's been doing to your mother all this time? When was the last time you spoke to her?"

Margo froze. Her mind went blank. For once, she couldn't retort.

"Oh, right," the Man said. "She doesn't want to see you. She wants nothing to do with you."

I've heard you say that every single day for the last four months. Do you really think that's still going to work on me?

"I can see your hands shaking."

Margo clenched them shut.

"They're still shaking."

A few more seconds, and you won't bother me anymore.

"Enjoy that time while it lasts, sweetheart. Cherish it."

Margo gasped as the cold, keen edge of a dagger met her neck once again. It rested there, far too still, the Multi Man's hand not shaking one bit.

"A few more seconds, Margo," Carl said, visibly shaking as well.

"I'll keep coming back," the Multi Man growled, his voice gravelly and shrill, as if drowning in his own blood. "If you're lucky, I'll be in a better mood by then. But you..."

Silence. Margo no longer felt a knife against her neck. Her sister's body disappeared, as did the blood she'd left on the floors and furniture. The green light tracing her hallucination vanished, and the device from where it illuminated returned to its hiding place in the wall. Carl exhaled, and Margo closed her eyes.

"Great job," he whispered, still fighting for oxygen. "You did amazing, Margo. Better than others I've seen."

"Thanks," she said, and she gasped again, as if reemerging from water.

Carl chuckled. "It's great getting to hear your voice in person again. You don't know how...Margo?"

His young friend marched over to the couch where her demons awaited her moments ago. When she turned around to sit down, Carl saw her face. It was pale, her eyes lusterless and distant. Yet there was no single expression that could describe her apart from exhausted.

"Alright, you've given her the meds," Mason told Carl through his ThoughtControl piece. "You can leave now."

Hold on, Carl sent back. What did her hallucinations tell her this time?

"Why does it matter? You're supposed to be grounding her in reality."

That's what I'm trying to do. I want to take whatever they told her and twist it around, reduce it to nothing.

"You're just seeking her forgiveness. I know you, Maslow. You've always made yourself guilty over things beyond your control."

This is in my control, Commissioner! Just tell me—

"Watch your tone. You don't want to end up like Royce, do you?"

And with that warning, Carl groaned, putting his thoughts to rest as he looked back at Margo. Her blank slate of a visage remained unmoved.

I won't beg for her forgiveness, he thought. I won't let anyone else take control. But I just want to make sure she's okay before I leave this room.

She's not your daughter, Maslow, Mason sent to him again. She's not a niece or nephew like Holden or your sister like Melanie. How about you do yourself a favor and see how they're doing? See what you can do for them. Margo Sandoval is fighting her own battle.

Carl clenched his fists, still glancing at Margo, hoping she'd look up at him, say another word. But the panels on the wall held her undivided attention like a TV screen. Her eyes didn't flutter anymore, like when the hallucinations were present. She didn't move a single muscle. Even with the voices and the vile images gone, she still appeared to be overtaken with paranoia.

"Margo," he said. "Talk to me."

Margo took a deep breath, her eyes still trained on the wall. "No," she said. "Not right now."

"You handled that episode well. You're doing a great job!"

"Just because I'm handling it doesn't mean I'm enjoying it, Carl."

Carl gulped. "No, I understand that. Believe me, kid. But I hope you know that you're making progress. It takes time, but you're making the most of it."

A pause came between them until Margo said, "Where's my mom?"

"She's okay," Carl said. "She's attending therapy and trying to establish a healthier life for herself."

"Is that the reason she doesn't talk to me anymore?"

"Don't say that, Margo. She's just like anyone else. Just taking as long as she needs to comprehend everything."

"She's never had her memories erased. Has she?"

Carl glanced up at the one-way mirror close to the ceiling, where his colleagues studied him and their patient. Even as a man who feared injustice over insubordination, he'd felt as if he'd crossed a line, one that neither he nor Margo could survive trekking past.

Open the doors, he sent to Mason. I'm ready to leave the room.

"I thought so," Margo muttered. "Maybe someday I'll be convinced that she made the right choice by not doing that."

Carl nodded his head, sorrow weighing him down. "I'm sure she did," he said, "but the two of you will have time to talk it over. And I promise she loves you and misses you more than anything else."

"Did you know she used to tell me how much she wanted to die?" Margo snapped, and she clawed her fingers into her own hair. "Before and after we met you, she'd talked about suicide. And she left me alone so many fucking times."

"When did she—"

"ASK HER YOURSELF!"

Trembling and believing himself on the verge of dissociating, Carl departed from the room.