The unknown is something to learn, not to fear, rang Kusanagi's words through Margo's mind.

Her self-driving car halted in a parking spot by the entrance to Psychwatch's headquarters. The session wasn't until 1:45. There was no reason for her to be there so early, she thought. A part of her had forgotten she'd even set foot in the car. Maybe the car drove me, she thought. That doesn't make any damn sense.

She looked down at her pillbox, the screen reading 21 hours, 36 minutes, 3 seconds. She wished she'd taken them early in the morning when Ellie stood before her bed, hands behind her back, glassy eyes peering into her soul. It was a chore to wait for sleep to take over, what with the hallucination christening her with every curse in the English language. And by the time her eyes slid shut, the alarm went off ten minutes later. Maybe even less than that.

"Would you like to exit the car?" said her car's AI.

"Not yet," she rasped, and she reclined into her seat.

She pondered the last two sessions she had with Kusanagi, the sights she witnessed on the way to the SafeSpace. Royce planted in the same chair, sporting the same contrite look. Andrade in her work uniform, diverting her eyes away from Margo by studying her cybernetic arm, watching the fingers coil and uncoil. Other coworkers like Carl, Holden, and Nikki, watching from a distance but reluctant to approach her. She felt like Medusa, rendering innocents hollow and still just by glimpsing them. Did they fear her? Pity her? Some mixture of both? Something else?

Only focus on what rests upon the surface, Kusanagi told her. Don't let your mind wander toward negative thoughts.

They're looking at me, Margo thought when trekking down the halls those days, surveyed by the eyes of her coworkers. That's all there is to it. They're just looking. Why wouldn't they look? It's just an acknowledgment that I exist.

Margo stepped out of her car, her head feeling twenty pounds heavier.

Marching toward the entrance to Psychwatch, the soles of her shoes scraping against the parking lot pavement beneath her, Margo told herself she'd talk to someone other than Kusanagi or Royce before the meeting began. Anything to redirect the stares. But who to talk to first? Carl? Holden? Nikki? Or maybe even...Andrade or Mason?

Absolutely not, she thought, wincing. Not that I'd even have the choice of not talking to Mason or Andrade.

The doors parted ways for her, and she stepped inside. Psychwatch HQ. She cringed at the memory of the former days when she surged with excitement upon entering the building, thinking she'd make a difference in the world all with a smile on her face. Patients would bring her their pain, and she'd take it all away and eradicate it from existence. None of it would infect her. Nothing would scratch her or claw at her or resound through her very soul.

Looks like you were detached from the beginning, Margo thought.

And thus began the stares. They didn't remain as long as previous days, Margo thought. That day, it was just momentary glances, looks that read, "Oh, there she is. Right on cue. Glad she hasn't freaked out anymore. That was embarrassing."

Surface level. Stay on the goddamn surface level, you idiot!

Hmmmm, then...what do I see? I see the halls with the silver lights on them. The bathrooms. That vending machine with the sparkling waters Carl and Holden really like. The SanityScans positioned on the wall, about thirty steps between each other.

The SanityScans! Holy shit...they're always watching me...

Indeed, she could never look at them the same way without her ThoughtControl piece, without her uniform, deprived of that which garnered some respect from her higher-ups and elicited the fear of any other person she'd come across. She was a Threat Level 3 last she heard, yet she didn't hurt anyone too severely. But shrieking at the commissioner, pummeling the wall with her bare hands, brandishing a gun at nothing? That's what got her on the list, as it would've done for anyone else.

What do they want with me? she thought. What do they think of me?

We believe in you, Margo.

The young doctor-cop gasped, freezing, feet bolted to the floor. That was Carl's voice she'd just heard. Gentle, masculine. But where could he have been? And did he even mean what he said?

The two of them met eyes as Carl stood by the door to Mason's office, one hand on the knob and the other down by his side. They were distant reflections of each other. Slumped shoulders, sullen frowns, tired eyes, clenched fists, a sense of uncertainty. Both under the roof of an entity far more powerful than they'd ever be.

Carl was one of its better disciples, Margo thought, one of its few non-radicals. "I hope everything's been okay for you, kiddo," he sent to her again. "I'm sorry we haven't been able to talk much."

Gesturing to her ear, Margo mouthed, "I'm sorry, I don't have my piece on me."

"It's alright. I can hear what you're thinking, as creepy as that sounds. But you're alright. Keep doing what you're doing. You're on the right track, honey."

Margo nodded. Thank you, Carl.

"I've gotta go. Stay safe."

The doctor-cop nodded his head back at his younger colleague and friend before vanishing through the door. Margo sighed. Maybe I haven't driven everyone away just yet, she thought.

She studied the hallway once more, doors closed all around her. No one else around. Maybe the antipsychotics whisked them away, Margo thought. She groaned, ashamed that thought crossed her mind, one of a dozen identical fish swimming right on through.

"Sandoval."

Margo jerked her neck to the side to see Andrade marching out of one room, but she froze in place so her colleague would only graze the far right edge of her line of sight. Margo didn't respond, instead letting Andrade walk away, thinking forgiveness evaded her once more, hoping to see her cybernetic fingers curl into a fist.

When Andrade disappeared behind another door, shoulders slumped, no attempt at glancing back at her colleague to question why she went unacknowledged, Margo declared herself victorious. A feeling which fled her upon discovering the door to the previous room remained ajar, and Nikki sat inside, eyes glued to a dozen screens before her.

She entered.

"H-H-Hey Margo," Nikki said, backing into her seat. "I d-don't think you're supposed to be in here."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Margo said. "I just felt like saying hello."

"Oh, well...hello."

Margo nodded her head. "You've been here by yourself all this time?"

"N-N-Not the whole time. Uh, I usually switch out with Kusanagi or Andrade, and s-s-sometimes they'll be in here with me. Them or the c-c-commissioner, basically."

"How about Carl and Holden?"

"Carl's trying to work as an Empath again, and I don't really know where Holden is. He kinda goes all over the place."

Margo looked up at the screens. Twelve of them, four per individual. The individuals on display? Arthur, Jack, and Slater, each one of them finally powerless in the face of Psychwatch.

Arthur Cohen lay in a bed in a SafeSpace converted into sleeping quarters for patients who weren't necessarily a danger to other people. Eyes shut, arms resting by his sides over the sheets, medics and specialists surrounding his bed. Some watched him. Others took his hands, felt for his pulse, studied screens floating by his bedside.

"H-H-He's been in a coma since the day we found him," Nikki said. "Some of the doctors say he might've been in it longer than that. They're taking him to the hospital later today for detoxification."

"Why'd it take them that long?" Margo said.

"Mason wanted to review his memories while he was out, even though all the drugs forced into his system made the memories unreliable sources. So she also investigated his home."

"Even though he isn't in the System?"

Nikki didn't say a word. Only nodded her head.

"So I'm guessing they didn't even remove his blocker chip?" Margo muttered.

Her colleague whispered something under her breath, not out of spite, but out of fear.

"I'm sorry?" Margo said.

Clearing her throat, Nikki said, "That's the only thing they've removed from his body so far."

"Shit..."

Disgusted but unsurprised by such inhumanity displayed by her superior, Margo moved on to the next set of screens, the four designated for Jack Holloway. Her ruthless colleague sat upright in his cell in the psych ward, posture too perfect for any regular human being. There was no movement to be detected anywhere. His legs draped over the edge of his seat, his hands planted on his lap, his expression hollow yet focused. And his eyes?

Scarred. Hazy. More vacant than before. The left one wasn't even real. A full-fledged implant replacing his blinded, original eyeball. The blue of the iris was too bright to be human, radiating a synthetic sky blue rather than the natural, ice-cold hue of his remaining eye.

"What the hell," Margo said.

"B-B-Back in the Rabbit Hole," Nikki said, "Slater fired into Jack's left eye with a stun gun. Popped it open. S-S-So she gave him a cybernetic one and removed the surveillance implant from his remaining eye. He was blind for two days."

"How many implants does he even have now?"

Nikki brushed her hands through her hair, a chill running down her spine. "I...I really don't know."

"Did they detox him at least?"

"Y-Y-Yes. Now they're just testing his vision and whatever p-p-pain receptors he has left. B-B-But he rarely talks now." Nikki cleared her throat. "Th-Th-They also found a LaserShank in his possession. W-W-W-What he used it to do to some people down in..."

"Don't worry," Margo said. "You don't have to tell me."

"M-M-Mason has it now."

Not sure if that's any better , Margo thought. She set her eyes on the remaining screens, in which Malcolm Slater sat at the edge of his bed in a psych ward cell. Bruises blotted his face and eyes like a mask, and bandages stretched across the bridge of his nose, yet his mind seemed the most intact compared to his two fellow inmates. The man had a grin on his face and excitement in his eyes as he leaned forward in his position, soaking up whatever television shows were present on the screens before him.

"Why is he so happy?" Margo said.

"Because no one else is," Nikki said. "O-O-Or at least that's what Andrade told me. Mason's only keeping him around to break him somehow. Interrogation, PACER. But he's always smiling. Nothing seems to work."

"So she's only keeping him around...to torture him?"

Nikki turned to look at Margo and shrugged, returning to the screens before them.

"Can I talk to him?" Margo asked.

Nikki looked back at her again. "I'm...not s-s-sure if that's a good idea."

"Hold on, I'll close the door first."

"B-B-But Margo, uh—"

Margo shut the door, and Nikki found herself in a room alone with one of Psychwatch's newest rebels.

"Here," Margo said, extending her hand. "Can I borrow your ThoughtControl piece?"

"Margo, I...I really don't think this is—"

"It won't take that long. I'll just ask him some things he wouldn't tell Mason. He thinks I'm naïve and I won't be able to handle the truth or whatever."

"But..."

With a sigh, Nikki handed over her piece.

"Thank you so much, Nikki," Margo said, and she leaned forward, gazing into the screen with her finger on the piece. She awaited the beeps of her ThoughtControl as it connected to whatever piece of technology she desired.

BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!

"Malcolm Slater," she said, startling the man from his position. "We need to talk."

Slater clutched his chest, roaring with laughter. "You scared the shit out of me!" he said. "Almost thought you were the AI. Their sense of humor is getting better with each update. But anyway, who is this?"

"This is Margo Sandoval."

Slater rubbed his head. "Margo...Sandoval..."

"We worked together down in the Rabbit Hole."

"Oh! Margo!" Slater snapped his fingers. "I remember you now. How are you doing, sweetie? Heard people say you're fucking losing it out there, shrieking in hallways, seeing shit, picking fights with Janice and Daniela."

"Is it true what you did to Jack?"

"Blast him in the eye with a stunner? Get him high on Wonderland? Hand him over to the masked man behind everything? It's a possibility."

"But why? What could you have possibly gained from this?"

Slater shrugged. "Thought it would've been amusing seeing you guys subdue him like the way you did. In life, you gotta enjoy the little things."

"Slater, there is nothing enjoyable about taking advantage of an unstable person like Jack! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Hey, I said I'd turn myself in at the end of the mission. I just thought I'd have a little more fun before I have all my rights and freedom taken away by Psychwatch."

"Rights taken away? You have access to television in your cell!"

Slater shrugged again. "Seen it all before, though."

Margo clenched her fists, lungs burning.

"But I'm glad you're here, honey," Slater said. "TV is alright, but real life? You just can't beat it. We humans say and do the craziest shit, sometimes for no reason at all! Thanks for entertaining me like this."

"M-M-Margo," Nikki said, "maybe we should stop talking to him."

"I've got this," Margo barked. "Slater, please just tell me why you did what you did."

"I'm telling you, honey, I just thought it would be amusing. I mean, Psychwatch is one of the strongest organizations to come into existence in the last fifteen years. You'd have to be an idiot to think the Rabbit Hole would still be standing by the time you guys were done with it! So I just felt like making it a little more of a challenge."

"But why does this amuse you? What could've possibly turned you into this type of person who takes pleasure in watching other people get hurt?"

Slater sighed. "I like you, Margo, but you really need to accept reality. Not everything has an excuse or reason for occurring. Life happens, shit happens, assholes happen. And even then, the actual reasons things happen are usually so bizarre or unexpected, it's almost underwhelming to hear them. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Margo felt as if the rage in her body drained out of her through a spigot, befuddlement taking its place. A part of her wanted to tell Slater, "I can't accept reality. Especially not after what I've been through." But all she answered was, "No."

Slater chuckled. "Alright, here's an example. Specter's VR Strip Clubs. When they originally came out, there was all this controversy surrounding it, with people on social media calling it misogynistic and sexually objectifying. Then when it turned out the founder was actually a lesbian woman named Marlene Silva who went by the nickname 'Specter' online, that outrage turned into reverence, and people started calling it the definition of female empowerment for calling out men on their sexist standards for women and for being so perverted and bigoted as to prefer artificial projections over the real thing. But you know what happened when they asked Marlene Silva why she designed the whole thing?"

"No, what?" Margo muttered.

"She said, 'I just really like hot women.'" He paused. "That's right, not the feminist shit most people were hoping for. Doesn't sound much better than us straight guys, right?"

"What's the point of th—"

"Hold on, here's another one. A more appropriate one." Slater cleared his throat. "Did you know the Rabbit Hole started because of two young boys living in the Psycho Slums? Trevor McFarland and Lamar Nunez, both twelve years old at the time and living in poverty. Trevor was outgoing, charismatic, athletic. But Lamar? Scrawny, withdrawn, and on the autism spectrum, which meant socializing wasn't his strongest feature despite his intelligence. But they were best friends since childhood and eventually came across this abandoned basement in the early 2020s. Three whole levels all to themselves. Bet you can imagine where this basement is."

Margo clenched her fists again.

"Anyway," Slater continued, "it started getting lonely in this massive basement and sometimes scary, too. So once they began high school, Trevor got a little more popular and social with the kids at school and started inviting them down to the basement. He and Lamar aren't talking as much, but Lamar keeps going down there to practice his social skills. Their little hangout turns into a bigger hangout, which then evolved into parties with pretty big turnouts about once or twice a month. By the end of their freshman year, a third of their high school had gone down there at least once, and over the summer leading into their sophomore year, people from outside the school started getting in on the action. College kids. Up-and-coming musicians. Older folks. Homeless people. Drug dealers...criminals on the run...pedophiles..."

Trying her hardest to still her quivering voice, Margo said, "What happened to Trevor and Lamar?"

Slater winced, gritting his teeth. "You sure you wanna know?"

"Just fucking tell me."

"Well, not only were they the founders of the Rabbit Hole, they were also its first casualties. Lamar died of an epileptic attack thinking he could finally handle all the bright lights and loud noise. Trevor went out far less cleanly and quietly. After spending some time around the wrong crowd, he had a glass bottle smashed into his skull and was stabbed to death right in the middle of the atrium. Although, other things were done to his body after he died, but I won't go into detail aside from the fact that I'd hypothesize such acts made way for certain Rabbit Hole traditions."

"Jesus."

"But the point I'm trying to make is almost everything has unexpected origins, and people place such unnecessarily high expectations on hearing them revealed, always expecting something normal and black or white. I mean, look at Tetsuo Fujioka. Ever wonder why he and his wife were so adamant on creating the Neutralizer division? He didn't want to cure the people of this country. He wanted to cure the country of its people! If that makes any sense."

Margo slammed her hand down on the desk before her. "You really think Psychwatch will take your word for it?" she growled. "After what you did to Jack?"

"What I did to Jack Holloway did not highlight my dishonesty. Trust me, I am not a liar, especially not in this day and age. Lies make people feel safe and comfortable. But the truth? It tears people away from their comfort zone, forces them into the cold, into reality. And when a person can't cope with reality, they try to find ways to distort it into something easier to grasp, sometimes spending good money on putting efforts into that distortion." Slater smirked. "I'm a guy who made a good buck off of people putting money into the wrong coping mechanisms."

"Well, it looks like that's over," Margo said. "What excuse do you have for hurting people now?"