Cognitive Deviance

65. Unexpected Origins

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.