Chapter 1: The Murkoff Incident
Author's Note:
Welcome to this bad decision. Two years after I put DT down and here I am...on my shit again.
So some house keeping.
It's been a long time and my thoughts and feelings towards these characters and their relationships have changed a fair bit.
The tone of this story will be different to DT and I'm more open to the more indulgent side of things this time around. So if you're frustrated with how Sinclair and Blaire dealt with things in DT, it's about to get better and worse.
I'd like to take a hot second to thank the people that left comments or reached out to me personally just for a chat or to share fan art. That is the only reason I felt able to start writing this sequel. Let me know if you want to shout out your fan art here as well!
I'll be writing this between other projects, so please be gentle with my update schedule.
With that, enjoy.
The Murkoff Incident. Those words had become a term that could no longer be defined as one singular event.
Soon, there were subheadings added to each event placed under the umbrella term.
The Mount Massive Asylum Incident, Parasol Pharmaceutical, The Temple Gate Incident, Tower of A.I.'s Melt Down, The Guardianship Program, St. Neander Hospital-
The list just went on and on. A rabbit hole deep enough you couldn't climb back out of once tripping inside. If it even had a bottom to it, you'd only break your legs when you hit.
It seemed like Murkoff had their hands in everything. From psychological torture, weapons development, mind control and biological warfare. No unsavoury stone left unturned in their grabs for monetary gain.
With every incident name that cropped up, Murkoff's remains were dismantled further. Every time it seemed to be over there was a new name, a new scheme, some new nightmare that no single person had the imagination to make upon their own.
There was just too many moving parts to keep track of and now that things had come to a grinding halt - there was time to pick through the remains. So that was exactly what they did.
And with every new atrocity that got added to the list, eyes inevitably turned back towards those that had escaped the sinking ship.
But even Murkoff's favourite former fixer couldn't know everything that had been happening inside of the beast.
"Little Lights?" Jeremy Blaire's voice was tight.
His tone was filled with a quiet kind of anger that caused the other two seated at the breakfast table with him that morning to tense. One settled rather quickly with a weary sigh while the second remained stiff out of habit. Preparing for a barrage he knew to be coming from that tone alone.
"What," Blaire began, fingers white as he clutched a shiny new tablet tightly before him, "the fuck is that?"
Blaire stressed the curse viciously, finding it was the only way to stop form from shouting it. Knowing if he was too loud the children in the house would catch wind of his 'potty mouth' in record time. Not wanting to get beaten to within an inch of life by their madwoman of a mother - Blaire kept his curses quiet.
Waylon Park, the still tense party at the breakfast table with Jeremy that morning, ventured nervously, "You didn't know about it?"
Despite his questioning tone, there was little doubt that he had believed from the get go that Blaire was truly oblivious to what he was reading now. Regardless, the confirmation must have settled his mind somewhat.
After all, in this case, Ignorance was innocence.
"What? You're surprised I didn't know that Murkoff was in the business of child snatching as well? Yeah, no shit, Park!" Blaire bit back sharply, dumping the tablet down in front of him on the table.
Wincing when the rather delicate bit of technology made a resounding thud. He should be more careful with his things. He couldn't so easily replace things nowadays and even when he'd been in a position to piss money away - he didn't like to break his own things.
But anger often got the better of him and nothing made him angrier than Murkoff's legacy now days. The stench of the company's decay clung to him unrelentingly no matter how many times he tried to scrub it clean of his flesh.
Sitting back in his seat, Blaire pinched the bridge of his nose as he processed the new information. He was used to Murkoff's lingering nightmares, but not quite so used to be taken off guard by them. It was an extra layer of insult to know that even he didn't know every little dirty secret Murkoff had.
"Drink your coffee." Lisa Park spoke up, voice steady as she kept her focus on the breakfast she was preparing at the kitchen counter.
Their two boys would be up for school soon - begrudgingly at that. Breakfast was something of a peace offering to keep their complaints to a minimum. A valiant effort, but more often than not, one taken in vain.
Irritably, Blaire tossed the woman a look. But with her back to both he and Waylon, Blaire gave up and took a sip of the scalding drink. Cringing, Blaire was at least able to down the drink they stocked now days. He'd worn them down with his protesting over the previous brands they'd bought. It was a marked improvement but Blaire still planned to go out and buy coffee himself later.
With the cup in his hand, Blaire was momentarily forced to be silent and keep his building gripes to himself for a time. Allowing Waylon to get a word in between bites of his own breakfast.
"Can't say I'm surprised." Waylon muttered, expression twisted and grim. A look he only brought out when Murkoff was the topic. "But still, all those poor kids. Just feels like...I don't know. Like there are limits to these things?"
Helplessly Waylon looking to Blaire like that was any place to look for confirmation that some crimes were above even Murkoff.
He got little more than a derisive snort and Blaire didn't even put his coffee cup down.
Sighing Waylon's shoulders slumped and he miserably fiddled with his cutlery for a while. The news of Murkoff's newest crime had hit them all hard that morning. "At least they're all safe now." Waylon suggested though it was a hollow sentiment.
"I heard they're setting up a place for them. A rehabilitation hospital." Lisa chimed in, not willing to get too deep into the discussion but ready to supply some kind of consolation. To perhaps end the conversation - though she wasn't holding her breath either.
"A hospital?" Blaire repeated, tone glacial. Accusations dancing on his tongue, though he tried to bite them back down.
Not every hospital or charity had men like him at its helm. It was difficult to remember that at times.
Blaire was more likely to kick a beggar than to hand them a nickel only a few years back. Now he'd probably sill kick them out of a misplaced reflexive defence mechanism.
The real difference was that he might apologise after the fact now. But only if he was being watched.
"Yes," Lisa replied sternly, "a hospital. Finish reading before you decide to go off." she advised with a tone that promised some kind of repercussions if Blaire started spouting off this early in the morning.
Her patience was split between both he and Waylon, as well as the boys on school days and to say that patience was drawn thin was an understatement. Blaire's self preservation kept him silent.
Reluctantly Blaire tipped the tablet back up on the table with one hand and held his cup in the other. Letting the newest report light up on his screen again.
Little Lights - an appropriately cheery name for Murkoff's newest string of bullshit.
While the name itself had not registered as any known plan in Blaire's memory, he recognised the project a bit by the description of it. Murkoff had dressed up torture and inhuman experimentation as charitable insane asylums, so it was not a stretch to learn that they'd pulled a similar trick elsewhere. Orphanages were not that far of a stretch.
What Murkoff had been planning to do with the children was never quite clear in the few times the topic had come up between he and other executives.
It likely had not been implemented until late in the game and by then Blaire had already been stationed at Mount Massive Asylum. All his efforts and focus placed there rather than the other branches of the company.
Still, knowing Murkoff, Blaire could comfortably assume the end result was intended to be control. Control had always been a thread in their games. It just seemed like it was also the one thing they never got right. The monster made at the asylum and the disaster of Temple Gate proved as much.
Murkoff's monsters always turned on them in the end.
Flicking back through the illuminated text, Blaire's mind gradually narrowed its focus, all but forgetting the cup in his hand as he looked over the reports. New information mixed among things he already knew.
The report in his hands had not yet been brought to the public. A perk of being in their position meant new Murkoff information came to them first. Sometimes just a formality, other times the reports were seeking some input of clarity from the few remaining survivors. Then there were often questions.
Questions just for him included.
Blaire smirked faintly as he read over the typed lines of the email that just barely hid a tone of accusation.
Fair enough, Blaire was hardly the most forthcoming type but he'd have thought that after handing over information about Murkoff so freely for so long, that he'd be treated with just a little bit less contempt from their in between guy.
Taking note of Blaire's smug amusement, Lisa chimed in.
"Is Simon still being short with you?" she asked, her voice holding a note of mockery that got a soft, amused snort from Blaire.
"I'd be insulted if he weren't." Blaire confirmed and then sighed, feeling a wave of fatigue roll over him unpleasantly.
His exhaustion did not go unnoticed and he could feel Lisa's eyes on him again. Sizing him up in the way only Lisa Park could. She knew damn well that he still wasn't sleeping at night. Blaire, not wanting to get into it for the hundredth time and still bitter that he was dealing with sleepless nights to begin with when it wasn't his job, spoke up again in order to derail from that possible conversation path.
"If Mr. Peacock wants to pick my brain a little longer, fine by me. If he wants to dance on Murkoffs grave just a bit more then I'll help him out. But he had better start paying for my time."
The soft laughter Lisa offered him was a truce in a sense. The topic dropped. Leaving Blaire with his thoughts and an email to type up to Simon today, Lisa went about bundling up Jackie and Noel's lunches.
Taking note of her efforts, Blaire could not help but point out the obvious. "You're not going to get the time to shovel that breakfast down their throats." he mused, not looking up from his typing because if he caught Lisa scowling at him, he'd surely lose his nerve.
"Then they can starve." Lisa replied flatly, even as she transferred the would be breakfast into Noel's lunch box which she latched shut and slipped it into his backpack. Blaire huffed quietly and let the conversation fizzle out into a comfortable silence.
For a time there was only the sound of Lisa stuffing the boys bags and doing some basic clean up in the kitchen. After a few minutes she was taking both the boys bags in hand and walking for the front door. Pausing briefly by Blaire's chair, hand resting on the back. She may as well have been placing it on his shoulder for how familiar and friendly it felt.
"Keep out of trouble." she instructed but there was no edge to the words.
"Always do." he replied reflexively and they both shared a little scoff at that.
Blaire offered Lisa a lazy little wave as she went, calling to Waylon as she reached the hallway, just within earshot of Blaire.
"Waylon," she called, "can you get the boys up? I'll meet them out at the car. If I start rolling it now maybe when they jump in we'll be on time."
Unlikely.
Left to his own devices for a while, Blaire read over the report a few more times. Consciously deciding to drag it out. Let the words sink in properly so he would be less likely to forget key details.
Simon had once called the Asylum Incident a pebble in a pond. At the time those words hadn't been as accurate as they stood to be now.
Mount Massive had fallen and the ripple effect had every single one of Murkoff's other hidden crimes falling one by one after it. No matter how many new incidents were added to the list - Mount Massive Asylum remained at the head of it all.
Simon discredited it in the past. Believing that the truth would have come out one way or another. Mount Massive was just the one that broke first. But Blaire thought he knew better. Without those riots and that fire - Murkoff would probably still be functioning and pumping out profit without any issues. And he'd probably still be on that payroll.
However, the Asylum Incident had happened and here they were now. With only the faintest threads of the company remained and Blaire taking a great deal of delight in cutting any that they found still loosely dangling around.
He was not alone in this hobby, although admittedly, the man he shared it with was less vindictive and more obsessive.
Which was precisely why Blaire wasn't surprised to feel his phone vibrating like mad in his pocket a few minutes after his third read through of the report.
Right on schedule. Blaire thought dryly as he tapped the answer incoming call prompt on the tablet. Letting it remain on voice only. He didn't need a visual to further confirm his suspicions that the man on the other side of the screen was a wreck.
"Ah, Mr. Upshur." he greeted before the caller got the chance to begin going off. "Bit early in the day for you, isn't it?" Blaire asked, voice little more than a sneer as he answered the call. Rolling his eyes as he took another drink, noting the coffee was cooling too rapidly.
"Did you see?" Upshur's strained voice came across the call. Blaire noted disinterestedly that he did indeed sound a touch manic. Like he had been up all night staring at his red spider web wall again.
Miles began to speak again but Blaire cut him off. "I can't work with you when you're like this, Upshur."
Part of his dismissive tone was put in place simple because he knew how it got under the reporter's skin. That tone of disinterest over something Murkoff related had been known to send Miles off the deep end from time to time. Hence why Blaire used it over the safety of the phone.
"Blaire. Did you read it?" Miles grit out his name like it was a curse and Blaire found himself idly smiling in satisfaction.
"Yeah. I got it right here."
"And?" Miles asked, voice returning to that hasty tone. "What do you think about it?"
"I think it's been taken care of."
Blaire addressed Miles in a similar tone to the one Lisa had taken with him earlier. Cautionary, stern. More or less just telling Miles to stand down. The battle was long over, Miles was just chomping at the bit to fight with ghosts.
"Those brats are going to get carted off to a hospital for repair and that'll be the last of it."
Up above his head, Blaire could hear two pairs of tiny feet rushing downstairs. Noel and Jackie finally out of bed and being rounded up by Waylon. He adjusted his vocabulary accordingly.
"No!"
Miles's voice broke back through the call and Blaire turned the volume down just a little. Last thing he needed was for the kids to pick up on Miles's mannerisms before his own. In this case, and perhaps no other, he was genuinely the lesser of two evils when put up against Miles's mouth.
"No, you can't just- This...this is important! There could be more here, Blaire. There could- we could-"
Right. Blaire thought. Enough of that.
"Upshur. It has been taken care of." he repeated more slowly. Each word bitten out lowly. To try and truly hammer it through the maniac's thick skull. Not wanting to get sucked back into the madness himself. "Stop bothering me over every little thing."
But Miles was unrelenting. Already Blaire could feel the early formings of a headache as the freelance reporter nagged at him.
"Last time you said the same shit too." Miles accused furiously. "Back with-...fuck. That test facility. You know the one- Shit, what was it called-?"
On the other end of the phone, Blaire could hear Miles rifling through papers. He probably had them strewn all about, he painted a rather cliche picture. Blaire wondered if Miles saw the world in monochromatic noir film tones.
As Miles went looking for whatever evidence he wanted to throw at him, as though any of it would change his mind, Blaire noticed that Lisa had moved on to the waiting stage of the morning routine. Calling for Jackie and Noel from the foot of the stairs.
From down the hall, Blaire could hear as the boys came bounding down the stairs. Stumbling to get their shoes on at the same time as their backpacks and no doubt about to be late again regardless. Lisa did try her best, but the boys always seemed to find new and creative ways to cause them to be late.
"Bye, uncle Jeremy!" Jackie shouted back through the house and Blaire offered him a dismissive wave.
It was unlikely the boy was even looking his way. He had gotten used to that 'uncle' title, though he liked to think if the boys ever mistakenly thought he was related by blood, that he'd be from Lisa's side of the family.
With the boys out the front door and Miles finding whatever paper he'd been looking for, Blaire was free to be a bit more honest in what he had to say.
"Listen. Miles." Blaire spoke slowly, feeling as though they'd have this conversation ten times over before the man would relent. "Whatever is left of Murkoff is the problem of the international government and conspiracy theorists. Now. I understand that you may be the latter, but I am fucking not."
Knowing this would not be enough to get the little bastard off his back, Blaire went on to rather casually, too casually, mention one other key piece to all this. "Does the mountain man know you're calling me right now?"
Ah. Silence. Now didn't that sound just lovely on Miles?
"That's what I thought. It's been nice talking, Mr. Upshur, but some of us have lives to live outside of our doomsday bunkers."
And with that Blaire ended the call. Only frustrated that he couldn't throw a phone down onto a handle or flick it shut with a snap like phones long passed. Oh well. Seeing Miles's icon blip off his screen was almost as satisfying. Fortunately, being able to mute him was a considerable pick-me-up.
The blissful quiet lasted all of ten seconds before the phone he'd just hung up binged again. Miles again but mercifully only a text message.
'Come talk 2 me about it. Just 1 more time, that'll be it.
I swear.
Come on you ducking prick.
fucking*
I'll buy you a whisky?'
- Miles
Terrible typing habits aside, he'd hand it to the reporter, he knew how to bargain. It wasn't much of an offering, but Blaire wasn't allowed to do much drinking under this roof and he didn't fancy his chances trying to sneak much part Lisa. Still, a couple of free drinks wasn't worth what Miles wanted to waste his time talking about.
The hobby he and Miles shared was an unhealthy one, but Blaire couldn't deny that it was one that still had its hooks in him. Despite knowing he ought to stick to harsh words and tell Miles he was done with all this running around once and for all, it was difficult to ignore the newest of Murkoff's ghosts.
The further away from Murkoff he could be, both in mind and body, the better it was for them all. But his gaze was lingering on the report again.
Little Lights.
With an irritated sigh, Blaire began to write up a short and sweet response to Miles.
'One whisky.'
- Blaire
And with that he turned the phone off entirely. Not wanting to talk about the where and when with Miles just yet. He didn't have the strength that early in the morning. He hadn't had enough sleep to wake up in anything other than a foul mood and Blaire was acutely aware that even at his best, he was not much of a sunny morning person. Or a sunny person in general.
Which was precisely why he was currently drinking out of a mug with the word 'NO' printed in big bold letters across its surface.
This mug was one of the friendliest of the many he'd accumulated. It had become something of a hobby for the boys to find new novelty mugs that they could gift to Blaire at any given opportunity. A pass time that it seemed Lisa had also picked up from them at some point, leading to the few cruder ones in his collection. He had a sinking feeling that were he under the house's roof when christmas rolled around, he'd be getting boxes of different novelty mugs. The corner of the cupboard that had been dedicated to these mugs was getting pretty tight as it was.
Between, 'This is probably whiskey', 'If I am full, you are silent' and numerous others, the one Blaire was currently drinking from was the simplest and, to be frank, Blaire's it was an accurate representation of how he felt a good eighty percent of the time.
Not because it was the first one he'd been given by an excited Jackie some three months earlier.
Definitely not because of that.
However, the cup was getting dangerously low and while Blaire didn't feel sufficiently fuelled up, this at least meant he'd be able to go out and buy the coffee this time around. Giving him free reign to choose whichever brand he found to be the least offensive. Had he not been so conscious of how much money could be wasted on buying coffee from cafes, he'd never have fully made the transition to store bought stuff. Amazing what financial incentive could convince him to do.
Granted, that did mean he still had to struggle with the coffee machine day in and out. He knew how to work it just fine, but for some unfathomable reason it never seemed to want to cooperate with him. It jammed, it leaked, it burned and it sputtered every time Blaire tried to use it even if it had just worked perfectly for Lisa before him. He was going to replace the fucking thing any day now.
The front door opened back up, Waylon returning from the nightmare that was getting the boys in the car for school. Blaire glanced up as he stumbled back into the kitchen, looking exhausted from that endeavour and sitting in a huff. Downing the rest of his coffee quickly. Likely about to go for a second soon.
Oh, sure, Waylon drank coffee day in and out, and yet, Blaire was the one lacking sleep. That seemed fair.
All but inhaling the hot drink, Waylon let out a hefty sigh before complaining breathlessly, "Those boys are going to be the death of me."
"They'll have to get in line." Blaire replied flatly. "Currently I got the number one ticket."
"Because that has worked out so well for you in the past."
The quip was a welcome relief if Blaire were to be honest. Waylon didn't have the strongest backbone, but he managed to joke and remark about the past more easily nowadays.
They'd gained so much distance from the asylum that at times that actually successfully managed to get through a day without thinking about it.
Which was why it felt so wrong to let Miles drag him back into Murkoff witch hunts so consistently. Waylon must have known that was exactly what had happened, because he was looking at Blaire in that quizzical, nervous way of his.
"You were talking to Miles?" Waylon asked. He must have heard Blaire on the phone. "How is he?"
"Manic, as usual."
Sighing Blaire set down his favoured mug and looked tiredly at Waylon. "If those boys don't put us in the ground first, then Upshur is going to do it."
"You don't have to let him get to you like that. You could just ignore it." Waylon reminded with a soft frown.
"Don't give me that, Park. If Lisa wouldn't have your head on a platter, you'd probably be right out there with Upshur on that shitty farm right now."
Revenge was one hell of a motivator, and more importantly, an obsession breeder. Blaire tried to keep it at arm's length nowadays, but Miles seemed ready to dive back into it head first at the mere mention of Murkoff. Admittedly, Miles had been made a ghost by them in a more literal sense than any of them were comfortable with.
Still, he didn't fancy going to Miles's little rundown farm. The place reeked of the outdoors and hard labour, neither of which Blaire was massively fond of. Even worse, if he stepped foot on that property he was likely to get met with the wrong end of a shotgun. Miles's keeper was not his greatest fan and messing with Riley's temper for fun wasn't worth it the bullet he might eat.
Waylon continued to give him that woefully concerned look at Blaire groaned in disgust. "Look, if it'll wipe that kicked puppy look off your face, I'll try to put some sense into that lunatic's head when I see him. I don't fancy chasing Murkoff's ghost over every hill. I think it's just…" Blaire paused, gaze flicking over the report one more time. "...probably has to do with the child factor in this one. Miles didn't get as worked up over 'The Anet Initiative' incident last time."
Children in abusive hands did tend to strike a chord with people. The Anet Initiative had spiraled more into a cult like situation akin to what happened at Temple Gate on a lesser scale. Left to fly wildly out of control with Murkoff's iron grip on the situation vanishing seemingly overnight.
Fortunately, the body count left behind that one was minimal and while the deaths had been rather...extravagant in nature, it did not hold a candle to what variants did to one another. All in all, it had paled in comparison to something like the Mount Massive Incident. But it was still fifty more names to add to Murkoff's long list of bodies.
There'd been talk of opening up a cemetery purely for the victims discovered through Murkoff. In part because so many of them could not be identified and had no family to claim them. Murkoff had always been good at weeding out the more vulnerable people.
A cemetery to match the hospital that had apparently been opened up for them.
Lisa told him to finish the report before going off but it was hard to do so when right towards the end Simon had commented, rather offhandedly, that a rehabilitation facility one city over had opened up its doors to Murkoff victims.
The hospital had been undergoing renovations for months and only just completed the work, supplying it with hundreds of rooms available to be filled. They'd wasted no time sending out offers to other facilities and hospitals that had been burdened with the influx of patients with every new Murkoff grave unearthed. Many of them were insane before Murkoff got their claws in them and those that hadn't been came out on the other side just as broken. Their symptoms and behaviour were not naturally made psychosis in many cases and it was no secret that former Murkoff patients and victims were extremely difficult to handle.
Having a hospital open its doors with offers of a facility dedicated to these people? It must have been a great source of relief to the medical community at large. Murkoff left few survivors in every incident - but there were just so many that the numbers added up. They'd hand over the victims readily to this new hospital and those vacant rooms would fill quickly.
Blaire didn't fucking trust it for a moment.
Especially when the email from Simon had, in no uncertain terms, stated that both he and Waylon had a free ticket in should they feel like they needed it. Blaire was convinced that Simon included that purely to get under his skin.
"What do you think about this whole hospital business?" he asked Waylon eventually. "You read this nonsense before me, so what do you think?"
There was no real hesitation from Waylon. "I think that I will feel better here with Lisa and the boys than with doctors. Besides, I'm not really their focus."
"They'd still take you." Blaire pointed out and Waylon winced.
"Yeah, I don't want to be in an asylum again. Even if they aren't calling it that."
Blaire could empathise with that. He would have tossed his own 'invitation' into a fire if it weren't attached to his tablet. He really wished Simon had mailed it in a letter. Maybe he would print the email out just to burn it. For therapeutic reasons. Who needed a shrink when he could just burn things?
"Maybe they'll take Upshur off our hands." Blaire mused with a grim smirk. He wouldn't mind terribly if Miles got committed.
"Not funny, Blaire." Waylon shot back sharply.
"It's hysterical." he replied matter of factly. Scanning over their little invite once more.
Waylon also made a good point. While they had a free ticket to the care this facility was advertising, they weren't their focus clearly. Their focus would be on the truly damaged lot Murkoff left behind. Those that were still trying to eat their own faces or other's. Blaire had absolutely no desire to surround himself with variants of any kind again. Even if they were getting real help this time around.
None of them needed that sort of care anymore. Maybe they might book a therapist somewhere down the line to talk to once a month or some shit. But certainly not a live in hospital stay.
"Well." Blaire announced standing up and leaving the report behind on the table. "It's not our problem anymore. Might as well forget all about it."
And to truly hammer home how ready Blaire was to move on entirely, he decided to make a show of civility. "You want that second coffee, Park?"
"You're only going to poison it." Waylon mumbled, even while handing the mug over to Blaire who leered back at him.
"The last one didn't work, maybe this one will do it."
Time to fight the coffee machine again. Blaire took both mugs back to the blasted thing. Normally he'd wait a little longer before having another coffee, but that morning he felt more than deserving of a second cup early. The caffeine would push his mind away from the talk with Miles to come and if that failed, he'd just pour what little whiskey he had stashed away into the drink while Lisa was out.
Then he would see about printing out that email.