Fifty minutes before Margo received the call, trouble was brewing at a public restroom out in the Psycho Slums. The neighborhood was lined with dilapidated houses and stores rising toward the gray morning sky. A playground stood a few dozen feet away from the bathroom where everything would go down, the vacant swings swaying in the wind. Time was not kind to the rest of the playground as plastic dangled off the slides and sets like jungle vines. Even the sidewalk trailing around the park could've been in a better state, with many of the slabs jutting crookedly out of the ground. Only another block away rested the abandoned zoo, where the vagrants taking shelter in its dark, lonesome interior began to take on the feral traits of its original inhabitants. Aside from a nearby high school, there wasn't a single SanityScan in sight.

Whitey was in a war zone.

His boss, sister, and the rest of the psychos who usually accompanied him waited in one of the many derelict brownstones lining the street as he silently trudged on the sidewalk. There were five boys around his age awaiting him at the public restroom between the skatepark and the playground. One of them offered a particularly weird request to the Multi Man, one the Man cared nothing for. They were aware that the boy who requested it was a little unhinged, but they were also aware how hypocritical it would be for them to point that out.

Whitey approached the door to the men's restroom and nudged it open. Four teenagers were leaned patiently against the wall while another leaned against the sink. None of them looked particularly approachable, and one kept taking pills from a little canister, glowing bright blue like fluorescent lights. Apaths, without a doubt. Pain-killing medication with a reputation for being sold recreationally.

"Snowy," the pill-popping kid greeted.

"It's Whitey," Whitey croaked. "W-w-what are you doing here?"

"W-w-well," the pill-popper stuttered mockingly, resulting in a few laughs from his friends, "I was hoping that masked friend of yours did what I asked him to."

"Y-Y-You've got a bruise on your cheek."

The pill-popper took one more pill as he angrily tossed the canister into the sink, scattering what was left of the meds across the counter. The boy leaning against the sink jumped away out of shock and waited with the rest of his buddies as the pill-popper approached Whitey.

"Glad you noticed," he growled. "Hope that answers your question."

"He doesn't think it's worth it."

"Of course my dad's not worth it. Why do you think I want him fucking dead?"

"He prefers taking the lives of people who've done good for others. He says it breaks more spirits, gives him more targets."

Still breathing heavily to keep his growing rage in place, the pill-popper placed his hand on Whitey's shoulder before smoothing it up to his cheek. "All I asked you to do was kill him," he whispered. "You had one fucking job."

"Get your hand off me," Whitey said.

The pill-popper moved his hand away from Whitey's cheek and instead slowly proceeded to move down toward his crotch. Whitey swiped his hand away in disgust but was unable to protect himself from the other boy's incoming fist.

The side of Whitey's mouth began to bleed. The pill-popper shoved him against the sink and slammed his head into the mirror twice, cracking the glass. Whitey endured more punches to his face, grunting with every hit. The world around him was nothing but haze, and the other boys joined in.

"HE DID THIS TO ME!" the pill-popper shrieked as he slammed his fist against Whitey's lips once more. "BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"Fuck you," Whitey spat, a spray of red mist dousing his attackers. And with that he was greeted with a punch to the stomach, and the air vanished from his lungs like a light.

One of the boys shoved him into a stall. He tripped to the ground and struck the edge of the toilet seat with his back. His heart was pounding out of his chest, and his suddenly rapid breathing was depleting him of what little oxygen he had left.

Two of the other boys proceeded to drag Whitey back out of the stall. He clawed at the floor like a wild animal in captivity, his nails carving into its surface. He winced as a foot made contact with his ribs and did nothing as the kicks kept coming, except wait on the floor contemplating what horrible fates would await these boys.

"Get his fucking clothes off," the pill-popper hissed.

Before that, Whitey took on the hits as if he were waiting out a storm. The implications of what came next completely destroyed his remaining composure.

Two of the boys pinned him down in an attempt to remove his clothes. His animalistic shriek filled the room, a sound that no one would ever believe could come from a human. He reached into his pocket as the pill-popper fought to take off his pants and pulled out a dirty hunting knife.

And with it, he sealed the fates of all four boys in that room.

* * *

The Multi Man, Crimson, and a few more of their cronies waited patiently outside the bathroom. All they could hear was someone screaming in agony following the huge racket that occurred a few seconds ago. They couldn't tell what went on in there except for the sound of glass shattering and the shrill screams of the boys inside.

"Should we help him, sir?" Dawson asked, his hand gripped on the axe strapped to his back.

"I wouldn't," Crimson replied. "He might mistake you for one of the bad guys and rip your guts out."

"But that kid with the pills seemed a little unstable."

"He might be unstable, but he's not my brother."

Whitey stepped through the door, the shrieks of the dying boy he left behind wafting through. He had a few bruises around his eye and arms, but they were hard to see underneath all the red he was drenched in. His knife was caked with blood, and everyone around him except for his sister and the Multi Man carefully backed away.

"I'm guessing that could've gone better," the Multi Man deadpanned.

Whitey slouched his head in disappointment. He took another glance at the blood griming his weapon.

"How many are left?"

"One," Whitey replied quietly.

"I see." The Man then gestured toward Dawson to hand him the axe. "Well, you did your job. Take a moment to clean up as I do mine."

The Multi Man patted Whitey on the shoulder as he opened the door back into the bathroom. Dawson shivered as the pill-popper's dying screams greeted him through the open door, and he tried not to gag as he got a quick glimpse of the boy lying on the floor beside his own intestines.

"W-W-What are you doing?" the boy sobbed, his voice muffled by the closed door.

"Setting you free," the Multi Man replied. The bathroom went silent aside from the repeating thumps of the axe making impact every few seconds.

Meanwhile, Crimson pulled her brother aside and wiped the blood off his face with her hand. He winced as she accidentally touched one of the cuts on his lips, but she only smirked and continued cleaning the blood off, her hands glowing bright red by the time she finished.

"So," she said, "what did they do?"

Whitey looked like he was only seconds away from breaking down in tears. "The fag wouldn't take no for an answer," he croaked.

"What do you mean he wouldn't take..."

Tears made their way down Whitey's cheeks, smudging what was left of the bloodstains on his face. He threw his arms around Crimson and dropped his knife on the pavement beside them.

Still watching the twins recover, Dawson jumped as he heard the sound of a toilet flushing. However, the noise immediately became discomforting, sounding more like a log being shoved into a wood chipper. He jumped again when the Multi Man shoved through the door holding a bloody axe.

"Well then," he said in his raspy voice. "Glad we got that over with."

He paused to look at Whitey and Crimson, still caught in a tearful embrace. Crimson remained emotionless aside from another quick smirk she flashed at her boss.

"Self-defense, kiddo," the Man told Whitey. "That's all it was. Nothing wrong with having a little fun with it." He looked down at the blood-soaked dagger and picked it up. "Let's get out of here."

An hour had passed before Psychwatch's arrival at the scene of the massacre.