Cognitive Deviance

Prologue

The stars in the sky hadn't been visible in years. The bright blue glow of Downtown Philadelphia was the only light needed to eradicate the darkness of night. What was the point of looking up into the night sky to wish upon a star when you had hundreds of holographic billboards hovering along the city streets promising your wishes would come true? That everything wrong with you could be instantly cured with a few meds or therapy sessions or even a memory wipe?

Well even in 2045, even after nearly thirty years of life-changing advancements in technology and science, there's always something to remind you that Heaven and Earth are two completely different places. That the closest thing a man creates to perfection will always have that flawed human influence. And eventually someone will have to acknowledge the cracks in the foundation.

Those were the thoughts filling the head of one particular man as he wandered the desolate streets of the outer city. This neighborhood was nothing like Downtown Philadelphia. The brightest lights one could find outside of the citizens' homes were the dim orange streetlights. Downtown would've had hundreds of holographic screens letting people know they mattered in the world and that their conditions were not their fault. Hardly anyone was traversing along the sidewalk with this stranger. And the biggest difference was that there were no SanityScans to watch over the neighborhoods and alert Psychwatch of a person's less-than-appropriate thoughts.

In other words, this man was in the perfect place for a crime.

Right down the alley between two dilapidated brick buildings, a little gathering of people were huddled around a fire. It was no surprise what they were doing. Arms or drug deal, it was always one of those two. The man made his way to them, still reassured his backup would be there any second.

"Glad to see y'all made it here alive," one man said as he rummaged through a duffle bag. "Now, what was it you guys were in the mood for?"

His clients didn't say a word, instead remaining still in the orange glow of the flames. It took him a few seconds, but it finally clicked.

"Got it," he said with a snap of his fingers. He pulled out a small box of a dozen glowing blue vials. On the edge of each vial was a small spout where the narcotic would exit, like an inhaler. Most people referred to these special inhalers as Blue Caterpillars. "This is what you're really here for."

All of the scumbags cackled in celebration. They were in the presence of a dozen tubes of Wonderland Mist, also known as 'Gasm Gas or Nympho depending on the area. Just one puff of that sky blue spray would bring all of your wet dreams to life. Erotic hallucinations, heightened libido, and enhanced sensitivity, even a sneeze could make you cream yourself. It's not much of a surprise something so psychologically enrapturing would be illegal.

"Hand it over," the leader ordered.

"Pay up first," the dealer replied, taking out his eWallet. "Then you can do whatever the hell you want with it. Just keep your damn clothes on."

The leader rolled his eyes as he pulled out his own eWallet. The two of them held their devices between them and waited patiently as two hundred and forty dollars transferred over to the dealer's funds. Then the leader took the box and grabbed an inhaler before passing it on to his buddies.

"Pleasure doing business," the dealer said with a grin.

"Yeah, whatever," the leader replied, glancing down at the Blue Caterpillar. "Now get the hell out of here. I'll call you when I need you."

"Hey," one girl in the group chimed in. "Who's that?"

The group stared out toward the edge of the alley, watching as the stranger approached them. The alley light casted a creepy orange glow on his tuxedo and a plastic white mask wrapped all around his head, exposing only his messy brown hair. His eyes were marked with red Xs like a dead cartoon character and a devilish grin was permanently plastered on the mask. He strolled down the alley as if it were a peaceful walk in the park, carefully adjusting his gloves.