Miles had escaped.

He had escaped from the hell hole of the century. Mount Massive Asylum. A place that was for the mentally incapacitated and what-not, but it was also an abyss and oblivion of blood, sweat, tears and rotting corpses.

Miles currently stared into the licking and reaching fire of his fireplace, a cup of warm coffee in his bandaged hands. Those flames reminded him of the man that had tried to bring the whole building down and now he wondered why he hadn't just let it all go down. Oh, right. He was a reporter. Information and inside scoop was his business. The more the merrier. God, what he had been thinking?

A shudder ran over his body before he sipped at his coffee slowly, enjoying the taste of it. It was all over, the entire place surely left to its own diabolic ideas and tormentors. The Walrider was gone, Wernicke wasn't any of his business and now he could finally relax, hand-in-hand with his nightmares.

Rain softly pecked at the windows of his one-story home, and he didn't mind. If only it didn't remind him of whenever he first walked out of the asylum, fingers missing from his body from Trager.

Miles Upsher sighed heavily and set the empty coffee mug to the side and on his nightstand, the warm light nearby allowing him to see the old Cardinals logo on the side. It was from a yard sale, why not? He wasn't much into sports as he didn't report for them. Mystery was his favorite. Or had been.

He glanced to the dream catcher that hung above his head and gently stroked the feathers that dangled towards his face. He supposed he would leave the fake flames and the lamp on for the night. It would provide him comfort and besides, it wasn't like he was going to be sleeping at any point in time. He just had coffee for hell's sake.

Flipping a book into his hands, Miles decided to go ahead and calm his still uneven nerves, making sure the curtains were closed. After an hour, the male was asleep, the book falling from his bandaged hands and onto the carpeted floor with a thump.

The reporter slept heavily, peacefully, since he also had no work for a week, thanks to his boss feeling sorry for his missing fingers. He had claimed it to be an accident in losing his fingers. Because he felt that if he had spoke about the asylum, more than Walrider would be after him.

Roughly around three in the morning, Miles woke up slowly. He glanced to the red clock to the side, blinking. The hell? Why'd he wake up at this time? He sat upright, running a hand through his hair slowly and soon abruptly stopped. The lights were out.

Oh shit. Storm. Definitely because of the storm. Or was it from something else?

A hand suddenly slammed over his mouth, furthermore pinning him to the bed. He attempted to practically scream past the hand as he struggled, his available fingers attempting to claw off this new hand. He was scared. Scared to death, really, as he kicked viciously. Those cold fingers stayed wrapped around his mouth as a voice spoke in his ear, causing him to lay still.

"Good morning, Miles~. Miss me?" That looming, cold and sly voice echoed in his head and his breath stroked his neck.

Trager... A muffled series of noises left the male's covered lips as something glinted in the light. Those curtains peeled back, he realized how this man got in. Breaking and entering. With those damned bone shears.

He struggled once again but the doctor held him still, now sitting on his waist with unbelievable strength. "Well, now that I've found you...let's continue our earlier procedure, yes~?"

God, please, no!

Those shears clamped over his throat and-