Commissioner Mason stood above the rest of the city on the stage. A dozen of her fellow Psychwatch officers stood behind her in a horizontal line, their faces hidden underneath opaque helmets while their Assault Fatemakers remained on display. She was greeted with a cacophonous mixture of cheers and boos as she approached the podium, but she didn't fear a single one of them. Unlike many of her colleagues, she'd grown used to seeing those masks and those heart-shaped lenses and those gratuitous cybernetics. In the end, they were always the same: red blood, blue tears, clouded thoughts, and blind eyes. Someday they'd realize they were wrong, she thought. Someday.

One of the Nice Guys lobbed a glass bottle toward Mason from thirty feet away in the crowd. Mason only knew who it was because she could hear him shout, "Fuck you, Psychwatch!" at the top of his lungs, and she could sense his deadly glare from deep within the crowd. As the bottle shattered into a hundred pieces beside her, the drones flew toward the man responsible like vultures to a fresh carcass. Through the drones' footage, Mason could see his middle finger extended clearly along with the Threat Level 3 he'd earned for nearly assaulting an officer.

It took a few seconds longer than she anticipated, but the Scan's thought-transfer ability did its job. Mason caught a glimpse of the fear in that man's eyes before he turned around and made his way toward the exit, two drones pursuing him to ensure no further harm would occur.

Mason extended her hands out to silence the crowds before her. Before a word could leave her tongue, she took a brief moment to study the faces of her audience, specifically for those who were too loyal or fearful to betray her. She saw Margo in one corner of the park, who was nervously overseeing that Dottie was escorted out of the rally by two other officers while angry Omniluv members stood behind her. In another corner of the park stood an abandoned, four-story brownstone where Holden, Nikki, and several other officers secretly maintained the drones around the park as well as the SanityScans' connections. Jack and Royce were lost somewhere in the freak show beneath her, but she wasn't concerned. Royce—bless his heart—was as harmless as a mouse, and Jack's life was in Mason's hands.

She could've killed him if she wanted. God knows the thought has tempted her before. It's not like he's been making any progress. And he couldn't just refuse service and go home. He had nowhere else to go. It's either Psychwatch or a regular prison, and they didn't care nearly as much as Psychwatch did.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Mason greeted. "Thank you all so much for coming to this year's Mental Health Awareness rally. I'd like to thank our wonderful mayor for supporting our cause and spreading the word of the good we've done for this city and for this country. I'd like to thank the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services for having faith in our organization and providing us with the proper funds to aid us in our mission to better the future. And finally, I'd like to thank our founders, Cyrus Lynch and Tetsuo Fujioka. It hurts to know of their disappearance, but wherever they may be, I hope they know that they are the pioneers of the future of mental health and America. We wouldn't be where we are now if it wasn't for them."

Applause rippled through the crowds, but Mason and her fellow doctor-cops couldn't escape those lingering expressions of disapproval that followed after each round of praise like an aftershock. She looked back to see Carl and Andrade glancing at each other; even when hidden behind those helmets, she knew they were feeling uneasy. She also knew this wasn't their first rodeo, so they'd adapt easily to whatever behavior the crowds threw at them next.

She cleared her throat and continued. "I'm sure many of you have heard of the recent, atrocious acts committed within our own city streets. Four individuals killed in a drug deal gone wrong. Four more in a public restroom near the Philadelphia Zoo. And one in particular that absolutely disgusts me: the discovery of a neo-speakeasy with a role in the Sentient trafficking ring. Ladies and gentlemen, do you know what all of these horrible acts have in common?"

"You didn't stop them," someone interjected from the crowds, followed by a mixture of disgusted gasps, snickers, and another series of boos.

"You do realize the only reason we even found out about the House of Pleasure is because of Psychwatch, right?" another one replied. "If it weren't for them, those girls never would've been saved! They'd probably still be shipped around the country!"

"They didn't save all of them! Most of them were just Sentient copies!"

Tension boiled in the crowd like a volcano preparing to blow. Mason held her hand out, first to put her fellow officers at ease and again to keep her audience at bay. "Please calm down," she demanded. "Wait for all comments and questions until after I've made my point."

The crowd settled down after three minutes, shoving each other around less than before, but Mason knew it wouldn't be for long. "Each and every one of those acts was carried out in offline neighborhoods," she continued, "more commonly known as the Psycho Slums. Areas beyond the reach of the Psychwatch Societal Stability System, where citizens can sacrifice their safety for almost absolute freedom."

"Then put scanners in them, stupid," another heckler interjected, resulting in more laughter.

"Yeah, you'd think that'd be the obvious answer, right?" Mason replied through a forced chuckle. "And honestly, you're right, sir. If we had the resources and the full approval of the federal government, there would be SanityScans in all fifty states by now. And since our government is the kind that listens to its people, we're also awaiting the approval of another important individual: all of you."

Mason paused for effect. A series of murmurs rippled through the crowds, their whispers hanging in the air like spirits in a graveyard. Their masks did nothing to hide their inner conflict from Mason and her colleagues. Thanks to the drones, the scanners, and her own intuition, she knew she had made an impact. After all, that's what these people wanted: control. Who wouldn't want control in this day and age?

"You, ladies and gentlemen, this City of Brotherly Love," Mason asserted, "are the ones responsible for Psychwatch's expansion. We want to do what's best for our people, but we also just want you to be happy."

"Bullshit!" a woman screamed. "You guys imprison or kill everyone you come across in the Psycho Slums! You never give them a chance to prove themselves!"

"They don't need to give them a chance!" another rally-goer shouted. "If they're in the Slums, they're almost always doing something illegal anyway. Might as well put them out of their misery!"

"Sir, ma'am, please," Mason said, "you've both raised some valid points. The Psycho Slums are infamous for their rates of crime and violence, but we here at Psychwatch have admittedly made mistakes in the past before against citizens we realized too late were innocent. Paranoia is an unfortunate side effect of being part of an organization that thrives on vigilance and order, and it breaks our heart every time we've brought harm upon those we tried so hard to protect."

The park went silent except for the sound of a single man's riotous laughter, followed by some blatantly sardonic claps. Mason looked out into the crowds to see the rally-goers turning their heads back as that same heckler made his way through. She wanted to laugh at the fact his claps were somehow the loudest thing in a pack of twelve hundred ravenous wolves.

The man approached a platform only a fourth of the main stage's size, one littered by trash and protest signs, something the other Psychwatch officers found amusing. He made his way up the steps, revealing his physical appearance and the infamous reputation that came with him. He was a handsome, well-dressed man, sporting a gray blazer and tie along with a flashy pair of sunglasses that reflected the world in front of him off his lenses. He brushed a hand through his scruffy, dirty-blonde hair and adjusted the black and yellow, lock-shaped pin positioned above his heart.

Wendell Asch, the founder of MindLock.

"I apologize for that, " he said as he approached the edge of the platform. "I have an admittedly eccentric sense of humor. But then again, there's just some bullshit that's way too outlandish not to laugh at."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Asch, " Mason greeted, doing her best not to appear sour. "What did I say that you found amusing?"

"Just the way you casually admitted how Psychwatch does nothing to fix their problems. If it hurts so much, why do you keep repeating the same mistakes?"

"I didn't say we never fix our mistakes. I was just asking for forgiveness. And we've been doing our best to make up for our mistakes, Mr. Asch. We've expanded the range of our scanners so more people have access to our services. Schools have been improved to incorporate more therapeutic treatments for students who may not be able to afford them."

"But you still persecute people who aren't willing to join you."

Murmurs spread through the crowds like a plague. Mason wanted to believe she and Asch were the only ones left in the world; it would've been easier to put him in place. But the two of them had legions, one that would give them a voice and the other that would strive to silence them. It was up to them to determine whose legion would fall first.

"If we truly went against people who opposed us, " Mason spoke carefully, "we'd represent everything that Psychwatch stands against. And most of these people wouldn't be here."

Asch scoffed. "Your threats don't mean shit. You know you can't do anything to individuals who aren't part of your System."

"Not unless they're the threat."

"Last I checked, hurting your feelings isn't a liable reason to shoot someone, " Asch quipped, garnering a few laughs from his supporters. "I'm part of MindLock, Commissioner. Since I don't have to worry about you peering into my mind like a voyeur, I've had some time to gather up details. So if there's anyone who knows more about the harm you've done to our society, it's me."

"We've all hurt society!" someone from the crowds yelled. "That's how societies work. We're bringing it down together!"

Several rally-goers applauded the man. Mason saw a look of discomfort crossing Asch's face, and he turned toward the crowd and hissed, "Sir, please don't interrupt me." He cleared his throat and returned his sights to Mason. "I'm afraid there's been a misconception regarding what I said. The works of Psychwatch are an attack on individuality."

"That's not what you said before, " Mason replied.

"Let me finish, " Asch seethed, his patience dwindling. "You're eradicating distinctions within our people. You target citizens just because they've been thinking some aggressive thoughts after the end of a bad day. If someone doesn't take their meds, suddenly it's the end of the world for you. And thanks to your highly discriminative gender correction program, you've been undermining members of the LGBTQ+ community."

Several rally-goers shouted their approvals and disapprovals, including the one wearing a bloody trans flag as a cape. Mason glanced at them before returning to the conversation. "I'm afraid that statement is blatantly biased, Mr. Asch. Psychwatch is more than willing to work with patients who are part of the LGBT community, especially because of their significantly high rates of suicide and depression, and many of our own officers are also members as well. In fact, Cyrus Lynch himself was bisexual."

"Ha!" Asch forcefully chuckled. "Just the fact you didn't even add all the other letters proves my point. And you still didn't justify the creation of the gender correction program and all the known instances of doctor-cops misgendering patients."

"Those faggots misgendered themselves!" a masked individual barked, resulting in another uproar. "I took part in that program, and it was one of the best decisions I've ever made!"

"Sir, please don't use language like that out here, " Mason ordered, still doing her best not to shriek at the rally-goers to stay quiet. "But as you can see, Mr. Asch, unlike regular conversion therapy programs—which Psychwatch helped outlaw throughout the rest of the United States—all of our services are completely voluntary and humane unless an individual has surpassed an acceptable Threat Level."

"I'm talking about your goddamn Neutralizers!" Asch shouted, stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Jesus, how old is this guy?" Holden quipped through his ThoughtControl piece. "And why the fuck is he taking forever to clarify what he's talking about?"

"Your Empaths, Commissioner..." Asch continued slowly, "are more than adequate. You know why? Because they're just shrinks! They're nice, they speak only when spoken to, and they mind other people's privacy. But the Neutralizers...dear God, Fujioka wasn't thinking at all when he created them. See, we have cops, which protect people from each other, and we have psychiatrists, which protect people from themselves. Now, why the fuck would he think combining the two would be a great idea?"

"You think insulting a world-renowned scientist while he's nowhere to be found will help your argument against us?" Mason inquired coldly. "Think of his family, Mr. Asch."

"Oh, I'll tell you what I think, Commissioner. I think Mr. Fujioka is a pretentious, prejudiced man who hurt a schizophrenic man for something he had no control over."

Even if she wouldn't admit it, Mason was satisfied to hear the crowds booing Asch following his direct attack on their founder. Some of them even shouted at him to get off the stage, and it amused Mason to see that some of those same people were his fellow MindLock members.

"Mr. Asch, " Mason continued, "the man had killed Fujioka's parents because of his delusional belief that they were demons, and despite what the man did, Fujioka insisted he undergo psychological treatment during his time in prison. Also, we don't define him as 'schizophrenic'. The right thing to do is describe him as a man with—"

"That's another thing you've all been doing wrong!" Asch declared with another stomp of his foot. "You still think people care about doing the right thing. That doesn't matter anymore! We're all suffering, and the chances of finding cures are practically nonexistent. All that matters to us now is doing the most pleasurable thing, and I can assure you most of these people would prefer a quicker, temporary solution to their problems than blow money out of their ass on whatever Psychwatch has to offer them. And sure, narcotics usage is higher than ever as a result, but they're only harming themselves, y'know."

Mason looked back at her fellow officers standing, each of them doing their best not to raise their weapons. Andrade, especially, felt the sting of Asch's words most, as she knew better than any of them what horrible acts a person would commit just for a few minutes of temporary happiness. Even as professionals, their patience dwindled, and they awaited the day Asch would start thinking about his choice of words before they'd leave his tongue.

"Aren't you aware, Mr. Asch, " Mason muttered, "of the effects that drug addiction can have on the user's family? Especially if they have children?"

"Aren't you aware, Commissioner, " replied Asch, "that no one cares? Our top priority is ourselves. All that matters in this day and age is survival, with or without Psychwatch. And if you asked most of the people here, I bet they'd agree we were all safer without you."

The two of them went silent as they studied the rally-goers surrounding them. They both heard a mixture of agreements as well as dissension. In one group, the words "We don't need Psychwatch! They only made things worse!" were uttered with as little hesitation as a sneeze while in another corner of the rally, one could hear supporters timidly reply, "That's not true! They've prevented suicides, ended stigmas, and reduced crime. They've done plenty of good."

Mason just wanted to put everything to rest, bury all this animosity deep within the ground until someone else dug it back up someday. But there was one small thing that'd been bugging her since she took her position on the stage. "Mr. Asch, " she said, "were you the one who ordered that spark roses be passed around?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did, " Asch replied, adjusting his suit. "All those lovely little flowers represent the amount of people who've been wrongfully mistreated or ignored by Psychwatch. Notice how nearly everyone here has one. I told you we were all suffering."

"Where did you get them?"

A look of disgust formed on Asch's face. "Does it matter?" he sassed. "We got them from a reliable buyer, and we only did this to show people what you and the Neutralizers have done to us."

"A reliable buyer is one thing I'd never describe someone like..."

Mason trailed off once she spotted Arthur Cohen standing nervously in the crowd like a scarecrow overlooking a field. He held a light blue spark rose in his hands as if it were an offering, and beside him stood two albino teenagers wearing those same masks worn by the Nice Guys, black leather ones with inhuman grins outstretched across the front. But it wasn't until she noticed the red Xs painted over their eyes that she realized something terrible was coming.

Send drones over to Arthur Cohen's location, she ordered through her ThoughtControl as she jogged over to the steps. And identify the two teens beside him. They're at the edge of the park. Andrade, follow me.

"Look at her go, folks, " quipped Asch as Mason descended the steps. "Probably running back to her headquarters, ready to order the Neutralizers to finish us all off. But you see, ladies and gentlemen, in the end, this is how I win."

Andrade bolted down the steps to catch up to her superior, shoving through several masked rally-goers to reach Mason. She had her gun trained on the civilians around her, nudging several away as they tried to snatch the Fatemaker out of her hands. Some of the Bod-Modders growled at the sight of her cybernetic arm, but she kept moving. As long as nobody surpassed Threat Level 3, nothing distracted her from Mason and the three drones hovering above them as they shoved through the crowds like trees in a forest.

"S-S-Something's wrong, " Nikki stuttered through her earpiece. "The SanityScans are going out."

"What?" Mason said, continuing her pursuit of the drones, but their blue lights abruptly switched to yellow, and the drones flew off in separate directions like lost birds.

"Fuck!" Holden shouted. "We just lost control of the drones! Where are Margo and Royce?"

"What the hell is going on, Commissioner?" Andrade urged, pausing next to Mason in the middle of the crowd.

"Guys, where are you?" Carl asked. "My piece isn't picking up anything. I'm not getting P3S data for anyone."

"All of Center City's scanners are offline! This whole park is part of the Psycho Slums now!"

"Calm down, Holden. We've got this under control."