[color=D6FFFF][b]Baolei Clinic[/b][/color]
[color=D6FFFF][b]Reclaim Zone, South City Sprawl[/b][/color]
[color=D6FFFF][b]April 2, 2065[/b][/color]

Hypocrisy. 

Was it just part of human nature? Howland watched the crowd through an electric-blue haze of tropical-fruit vapor as he considered the question. Around him, hundreds- no, by now, thousands of hypocrites jammed the streets, desperately seeking the relief promised at the Baolei clinic.

Their need for relief, of course, was entirely self-inflicted. It was their own deprivation of their humanity that led to their symptoms. The relief they sought was inevitably temporary, just a means to allow them to make themselves even less human going forward. They sought to avoid the costs of their choices only to continue making the choice, like a debtor using one credit card to pay off another. They were hypocrites, all of them. Maybe trying to stop them from destroying themselves was [color=green]𝔽𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕖[/color]-

Howland shook his head, inhaling a rush of fruity extracts and exhaling a neon cloud after it. The electronic cigarette gave a slight hum as it vaporized part of its liquid contents. No, it wasn’t hopeless. Men may be hypocritical, but they were also capable of reason and judgment. No man could be made a slave unwillingly, not even slave to their own desires. Men may be inclined towards hypocrisy, but Howland wasn’t going to surrender to nebulous absolutes like fate. If man weren’t capable of better, then they’d be no better than insects - a biological machine which executes its natural function and ultimately nothing more.

[i]What about you?[/i] Howland thought, directing the question to the shimmering haze around him. An e-cigarette was an ultimate display of hypocrisy, after all. It was a product whose sole and exclusive function was the delivery of veiled self-harm. Every puff of vapor was a portion of one’s precious life floating away. Ultimately, it was a product no sane individual would ever seek. It was a bestseller.

No, he decided. Disguise was a utilitarian function. The glowing vapor matched the powdered dye in his hair and reflected strangely off the makeup on his face, changing the angles and lines of his features. In this state, he could carry on a full conversation with Sarah and Theresa together and neither of them would recognize him. Leo, too, though the boy so rarely pulled his head out of his video games that Howland might not need the disguise to pull that one off. David would figure it out, though, he mused - the boy was canny like that. 

Every great philosopher worth reading has, at some point, pondered their own sanity. Howland was no philosopher himself, but it was his duty as a rational and thinking being to question himself. A doctor who kills people. A medical professional standing in a warzone smoking. It would be easy to mis-cast him as a hypocrite, but, no. He wasn’t like the crowd here, desperately seeking relief from their own self-imposed pains while steadfastly refusing to admit their real cause. The liquid in his e-cig was just harmless glycerin and natural flavors, no addictive substances. A disguise, after all, was more than just a change of hair and clothing. Nobody would quickly connect his disguise to who he really was. A medical doctor, smoking? Preposterous. That would make him a…

No, in a sea of hypocrites, Howland remained sane.

Towards the entrance, a reporter spoke to a small swarm of camera drones. [color=FFDAB9][b][i]“This is S’venia once again coming to you live, currently at the Baolei clinic.”[/i][/b][/color]

Howland frowned. That reporter had been there, yesterday, during that curious altercation between Ms. Ramana and the poorly-dressed hacker, whom she definitely knew. His disguise was probably sufficient - they’d only spoken briefly, after all - but Howland wasn’t going to bet his work - bet the fate of humanity - on [i]probably[/i]. He’d introduced himself yesterday, and if she somehow recognized him here, he’d be hard-pressed to explain the disguise. He’d hoped to tour the facility himself, one way or another, but he wasn’t going to risk accidentally running into a reporter with a cloud of cameras orbiting around her having spoken to him just last night.

The clinic, Howland decided, was a poor target for attack, despite its misguided efforts. An explosion or a murder would only draw sympathy for them. No, an action here would need to highlight the hypocrisy of the masses at their door, not justify it. He’d hoped to investigate the clinic’s methods and sources of support for SPECS victims. Perhaps this reporter on her tour could uncover something of use? 

They would, doubtless, only tour her past what they [i]wanted[/i] her to see. But it was already evident this lady and her drones knew a disreputable hacker, and it was plain what interest a journalist would have in such a person. Maybe, just maybe, she’d be resourceful enough to come up with something of use anyway. For now, it was the best lead Howland had to go on.

Howland withdrew, melting into the crowd. He’d need to come up with a new approach for this problem.