Cognitive Deviance

62. Comprehension

"You seem to be emotionally distressed," the AI said, "and undergoing a psychotic episode characteristic of your recent diagnosis, according to the Psychwatch Societal Stability System. Is there anything I can do to make your ride more comfortable?"

"It's alright. I just need my medication."

"Strap in your seatbelt for the ride to begin."

Margo fumbled around in her attempts to make the belt click as the illusory entity she once called her sister refused to let her look elsewhere. But that wasn't true. Margo had complete freedom. Something told her looking away would bring harm to her. Maybe another voice. Her gut. Instincts. She didn't know. The sun could go down, and she'd see no distinction between the night sky and the lid of a coffin. Neither provided her with the comfort of stars, somewhere to look when darkness prevailed.

She lurched back into her seat as the car jerked out of its braked position, trudging out of the parking spot. She didn't look away from Ellie, only waited until her windows faced away from her and Psychwatch's headquarters. And once the illusion vanished from her line of sight, she glanced forward, studying the car's front seats as they rotated in place to face her. She squeezed the pillbox even tighter, hoping her mind wouldn't fill those empty seats with freakish new characters. Or even old ones with bizarre modifications she probably wouldn't even notice.

I've heard too much from too many people, Margo thought. How much of it was all a lie?

She wanted to think harder on the subject. All the people she'd talked to from that day to the months before. She'd talked to Ellie for far longer than she should have. How crazy did that make her look? It used to take six months before they could make a schizophrenia diagnosis, but Psychwatch's technology brought it down to three. Required two symptoms minimum. Ellie was the symptom, the most blatant one, obvious as the sun to everyone who couldn't see or hear through the body of Margo Sandoval. But the other symptoms? Probably there, she thought, hiding, anticipating exposure by someone else.

At the end of the day, it takes another person to make you ponder the real you, Margo thought. All the privileges. All the flaws. What brings people closer, what sends them away.

She held the pillbox in both hands, grasped only with her thumbs and forefingers. On the lid of the box, beneath her company's logo, the words PLEASE REGISTER THUMBPRINT ID blinked in and out of existence. Two curved corners of the box illuminated a soft white light, and Margo curled her pointer fingers around them as if holding a camera. The lights turned green, and the screen on the lid gleamed sky blue, her P3S data flashing line by line.

Name: Margo Olivia Sandoval

Age: 23

Sex: Female

Status: Diagnosed (Paranoid schizophrenia)

Threat Level 3 (Psychotic episode in progress. Auditory and visual hallucinations imminent. Nonviolent, but undergoing strong emotional distress despite indifferent expressions or body language)

As she concluded the declaration of her Threat Level, the information vanished, replaced by a message stating PLEASE REAPPLY FINGERPRINT ID TO ACCESS MEDICATION. Affixing her pointer fingers to the same spots as before, the lights turned green, and the lid popped open, presenting her with a dozen silver-colored pills. Ghostly silver, Psychwatch's motif. She grasped one by the tip of her fingers and placed it on her tongue, foolishly expecting the immediate nullification of her delusions as it trailed down her esophagus.

Margo tensed up in her seat as the wails of police sirens swept beside her vehicle, blue and white lights blinding her. Psychwatch's vehicles trailed right behind them, their distinct, marauding growl somehow more thunderous now that she was outside of them. She knew they were heading for the Rabbit Hole, or what remained of it. Probably running diagnoses. Setting up crime scenes and forensics. Putting down any Threat Level 5's who'd miraculously survived the siege she took part in.