Late at night, in the basement office of the North City Psychiatric Hospital.
Number Two sat at his desk sorting through documents, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Every so often, he got up and paced back and forth.
There was no other reason. The few people who had gone out of the city on a mission had all gone silent.
By rights, they should have made the Mist Tide happen and already taken action. Even if they had failed, they shouldn't have been wiped out to a man.
Number Four had strong survival skills, and Number Eight was good at escaping. Even the newcomer had an ability ideally suited to moving through the Mist...
As long as they didn't develop ulterior motives, the Suppressor wouldn't trigger its behavioral correction.
Number Four and Number Eight were both old patients. They definitely wouldn't try anything funny.
It was just the new Number Six. Though she had taken the Suppressor, she hadn't even been here for a day. Who knew what other thoughts she might have had deep down?
Although mental suggestion did work when the forced effect wasn't triggered, it also depended on the Aberrant's own mental state.
Number Two only had permission to assign missions. The only person who could directly monitor this was Number One, stationed in the director's office.
Should I... go ask?
Number Two felt an inexplicable reluctance.
Number One had founded the 144th Base City branch of the Mutual Aid Society. She had been sent down from above; she wasn't a local.
When Number Two first arrived, Number One had certainly seemed like a good person. But ever since everyone had drunk the new Suppressor, they had all changed...
He could still hold on to himself, but he could only go along with the crowd. Otherwise,