Cognitive Deviance

11. Feral

March 31, 2045 - 9:35 AM

Fifty minutes before Margo received the call, trouble was brewing at a public restroom out in the Psycho Slums. The neighborhood was lined with dilapidated houses and stores rising toward the gray morning sky. A playground stood a few dozen feet away from the bathroom where everything would go down, the vacant swings swaying in the wind. Time was not kind to the rest of the playground as plastic dangled off the slides and sets like jungle vines. Even the sidewalk trailing around the park could've been in a better state, with many of the slabs jutting crookedly out of the ground. Only another block away rested the abandoned zoo, where the vagrants taking shelter in its dark, lonesome interior began to take on the feral traits of its original inhabitants. Aside from a nearby high school, there wasn't a single SanityScan in sight.

Whitey was in a war zone.

His boss, sister, and the rest of the psychos who usually accompanied him waited in one of the many derelict brownstones lining the street as he silently trudged on the sidewalk. There were five boys around his age awaiting him at the public restroom between the skatepark and the playground. One of them offered a particularly weird request to the Multi Man, one the Man cared nothing for. They were aware that the boy who requested it was a little unhinged, but they were also aware how hypocritical it would be for them to point that out.

Whitey approached the door to the men's restroom and nudged it open. Four teenagers were leaned patiently against the wall while another leaned against the sink. None of them looked particularly approachable, and one kept taking pills from a little canister, glowing bright blue like fluorescent lights. Apaths, without a doubt. Pain-killing medication with a reputation for being sold recreationally.

"Snowy," the pill-popping kid greeted.

"It's Whitey," Whitey croaked. "W-w-what are you doing here?"

"W-w-well," the pill-popper stuttered mockingly, resulting in a few laughs from his friends, "I was hoping that masked friend of yours did what I asked him to."

"Y-Y-You've got a bruise on your cheek."

The pill-popper took one more pill as he angrily tossed the canister into the sink, scattering what was left of the meds across the counter. The boy leaning against the sink jumped away out of shock and waited with the rest of his buddies as the pill-popper approached Whitey.

"Glad you noticed," he growled. "Hope that answers your question."

"He doesn't think it's worth it."

"Of course my dad's not worth it. Why do you think I want him fucking dead?"

"He prefers taking the lives of people who've done good for others. He says it breaks more spirits, gives him more targets."

Still breathing heavily to keep his growing rage in place, the pill-popper placed his hand on Whitey's shoulder before smoothing it up to his cheek. "All I asked you to do was kill him," he whispered. "You had one fucking job."

"Get your hand off me," Whitey said.

The pill-popper moved his hand away from Whitey's cheek and instead slowly proceeded to move down toward his crotch. Whitey swiped his hand away in disgust but was unable to protect himself from the other boy's incoming fist.

The side of Whitey's mouth began to bleed. The pill-popper shoved him against the sink and slammed his head into the mirror twice, cracking the glass. Whitey endured more punches to his face, grunting with every hit. The world around him was nothing but haze, and the other boys joined in.

"HE DID THIS TO ME!" the pill-popper shrieked as he slammed his fist against Whitey's lips once more. "BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"Fuck you," Whitey spat, a spray of red mist dousing his attackers. And with that he was greeted with a punch to the stomach, and the air vanished from his lungs like a light.