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You don't know me. Have to make this quick.
They might be monitoring.
I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF
Psychiatric Systems' facilities in Mount
Massive. All sorts of NDA's I am very much
breaking right now but seriously, fuck those
guys.
Terrible things happen there. Don't
understand it. Don't believe half the things I
saw. Doctors talking about dream therapy going
too deep, finding something that had been
waiting for them in the mountain. People are
being hurt and Murkoff is making money.
It needs to be exposed.
Waylon's fingers hovered over the keyboard, dancing over the 'enter' key as his mind raced with thoughts of how stupid he was being. He tapped his foot against the stone floor rapidly; a habit of anxiety that he'd developed since he began working at Mount Massive. He had never been a nervous person, but the constant secrecy and the strict security protocols that Mr. Blaire had him held under were enough to make even the most stoic of men feel uneasy. No, this was the right thing to do, he was sure of it. With a quick click, Waylon sent the email off to several investigative journalists, including leading investigator Miles Upshur, and he finally released a shuddering breath that he didn't even know he'd been holding in. The relief was short lived, however, as a sharp voice cut through the silence.
"Who's in here?"
Slamming the laptop screen shut, Waylon rushed to the door unsteadily. His heart was in his throat; he knew that what he had done was reckless, but he had to do it. Something wasn't quite right about how they worked in Murkoff, and Waylon wanted to expose them before they seriously hurt someone if they hadn't already.
"Park? They've paged for you three times already, there's something urgent at the engine." One of the other employees stood at the door, arms crossed and an air of smug nonchalance surrounding him. Great. He's probably going to get brownie points for finding me loitering in a server room when I should be working.
Waylon walked past the employee silently, keeping his gaze trained on the floor so as not to arouse suspicion, but then again, wasn't that suspicious enough? His heart pounded deafeningly as he passed more employees, each one glaring at him quizzically or asking why he hadn't answered his page. He muttered something about already being late, his mouth dry as he hurried into the morphogenic engine room. He had to work quick. Debug the software and get back to his laptop so that he could dispose of all traces of what he had done before he was caught. His gut twisted sickeningly at the thought. He couldn't get caught.
Fingers clicking away at the keyboard almost rhythmically, Waylon tried his best to focus on the task at hand and fix the system error efficiently, but his brain was in a haze. His fingers were trembling and he had to double check every string of code that he was typing in case he inadvertently caused more damage than they were already dealing with. The only thing he could think about was getting back to that damned server room and destroying the laptop. If he didn't, then chances were that he would end up just as fucked as their software.
"They're bringing him in. Hurry, Mr Park. We're still blind inside his brain."
Waylon was forcefully snapped out of his haze as a man was ushered into the room by several guards, all of whom were trying to contain the man, grabbing at his flailing limbs and trying to placate him. The man struggled desperately, lashing out and shouting, begging, for someone to help him. All Waylon could do was watch on in horror, unable to tear his gaze away from the poor man as he began screaming accusations that made the software engineer flinch. He had to get out of this place, and he most definitely had to expose every evil, inhumane thing that Murkoff had done on this mountain.
Stumbling backwards in fear, Waylon clutched at his aching chest as the man broke free of the guards and ran towards him. Up close, he could see the pure terror that was plastered over the man's face, each of his features distorted with fear. The patient hammered his hands against the glass that separated them, his wide eyes staring deep into Waylon's.
"Help me! Don't let them do this! Don't let them!" The man pleaded, pounding his fists against the glass in a frantic attempt to get to his one perceived source of freedom and safety. "You! I know you can stop this! You have to help me! You have to..." His voice cracked, broken and scratched from his screaming. The guards quickly grabbed hold of him, yanking him away as he reached out towards Waylon in desperation, his cries growing louder and more hysteric the further he was dragged away from his only glimmer of hope.
A stern hand came to rest on Waylon's shoulder and he visibly flinched, raising his hands to protect himself. It was just a security guard.
"Hey! Calm yourself. This is a high security-"
"It's all right, agent." Steve, one of the so called scientists cut across, fixing Waylon with a look that dared anyone to question him. "Mr. Park was just surprised. I'm sure he's still calm and eager to finish his work. Take your seat."
Every bone in Waylon's body was screaming at him to run as he was ushered back into his seat.
"Quickly, Mr. Park. A head will need to roll if perfusion monitoring is not active when they put him in the engine. Five seconds. Four. Three..."
Waylon grit his teeth and hurriedly entered the correct strings of code, his leg tapping and a thin layer of sweat building on his skin. Suddenly the monitor came to life, lighting up with a live video feed of the man's face. He couldn't look away; the patient (whose name he could now read was Eddie Gluskin) was restrained with a tangle of tubes forced down his throat, and his face was contorted in excruciating pain. A reddish colour began to spread on the patient's face, covering his pale skin in blotches and marks. His voice echoed in Waylon's head.
I know you can stop this!
You have to help me!
Eddie had believed that Waylon could help him. Something about him had given the terrified man hope, and he couldn't help but to feel guilty for standing there watching along with the emotionless scientists and guards as Eddie writhed in pain.
"You're finished, Mr. Waylon Park." Steve said, gripping onto his arm and making him leave the chair. "You can leave. Don't expect anything but honesty in my review of your performance."
He was likely going to be fired for his sloppy performance anyway. He had to act quickly.
Waylon slipped out of Steve's grasp, leaning over the keyboard and hastily punched in a line of code he knew would wreak havoc in their walrider software. The monitor went blank. Before he even had the chance to feel relief, Waylon was shoved away from the computer as all hell broke loose.
"What the fuck have you done, Park?" Steve mashed at the buttons on the keyboard furiously, desperately trying to restore the image on the screen. "You've already been in here too long, seen too much, but you have to fix whatever the fuck you've just done. Now,Mr. Park."
Waylon shook his head, slowly backing away from scientist who was glaring at him, seething. He took a deep breath and whirled around on his heel, but his attempt to bolt for the door was thwarted as the scientist was a lot more agile and strong than he thought. Steve caught his arm and yanked him backwards, hissing menacingly in his ear. "Fix this shit or I'll knock you out!"
"There's no need for such harsh words." A calm, authoritative tone silenced Steve. Waylon watched as his expression changed from afraid to something a little more sinister. There was only one person who could have caused such a shift.
"Mr. Blaire, I was only going to teach Mr. Park here how to do his job properly." Steve began, a sneer on his face. "He's fucked up the software and now we're blind inside Gluskin's head. He needs to repair it before we lose our window."
"Don't worry, I have another guy here who can do it." Jeremy Blaire gestured for the man behind him to head over to the computer, never taking his eyes off of Waylon. There was an almost sick amusement in his stare that made Waylon's insides squirm in unease, and he didn't know why until his gaze fell on the laptop that his boss held under his arm.
The world shattered beneath his feet.
"Sir, please, give me a chance to explain-"
"You don't have to explain anything to me, Mr. Park. It's all very clear." Jeremy turned on his heel and began walking out of the engine room. He called over his shoulder to Waylon, his words dripping with sarcasm. "If you would be so kind so as to follow me, we have things to discuss. Away from curious ears. You never know who might be working against you here, Park."
Waylon Park followed his boss silently; his heart was pounding so hard that it echoed in his ears, and every inch of his body tingled in apprehension. It felt as though each of his nerves had been set alight. He wanted nothing more than to just run and never look back, but a quick glance over his shoulder told him that was impossible. He was being flanked by two of Murkoff's burliest guards, and both of them carried guns on their shoulders. Being shot would probably be a blessing, an act of mercy. He wasn't going to receive mercy. Waylon blanched as he was led back into the server room where he had thrown his life away mere minutes earlier. He was going to get fired at the very least, that he knew, but when a man with as much power and influence as Jeremy Blaire was your boss you had to be prepared for the worst.
Before he could even mutter an excuse or apology, strong hands grabbed at him, twisting his arms behind his back and forcing him to his knees on the floor.
"You know, I can't decide whether what you did was brave or stupid." Jeremy Blaire mused, dropping the laptop on the floor and smirking as it cracked along with Waylon's resolve. He could see the tears welling up in the pathetic man's eyes. It was glorious. "I don't think 'stupid' even touches what you've done, Mr. Park. It was more than stupid, in fact, that was crazy."
All Waylon could do was watch on, his vision blurred by a veil of tears. He felt just as helpless as the patient had looked. He was a fly who was well and truly stuck in a spider's web, and the spider was ravenous.
"I'm afraid that we're going to have you commited. Mr. Park, will you willingly submit to forced confinement? Did you hear that, agent?" He turned to face one of the guards, trying to contain his smirk.
"He said "Yes", Mr. Blaire."
No. He couldn't even bring himself to shake his head, and his mouth was too dry to speak even one syllable. He didn't submit, he never would agree to something as inhumane as being confined in this disturbed excuse for an asylum. Asylums were supposed to be a place of escape and sanctuary from life's horrors, but not here, not at Mount Massive. Mount Massive Asylum was the closest place on Earth to Hell. Hell was a very strong word, a word used to threaten bad children to get them to behave, the word that when spoken sent shivers down someone's spine, and yet for the asylum the word didn't seem fierce enough.
"Great. Oh, and... Did I just hear Mr Waylon Park volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program?"
No... Waylon wanted to scream. Please don't do this to me... Please... I have a wife, and kids... Oh, god, Lisa... I'm so sorry...
"That's what I heard, Mr. Blaire." The security guard chimed in a painfully chipper tone.
Bastards.
"That was brave, indeed, Waylon." Jeremy crouched down in front of the software engineer, and Waylon felt bile rise in his throat when he heard his boss spit his first name so mockingly. He reached out and gave the blond's hair a patronising pet. "The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery and sacrifice. Let's hope that your replacement is quick to fix what you've fucked up. Wouldn't want to keep you waiting for what you've volunteered for now, would we?"
"Please..." Waylon's voice was barely audible. He gazed up at his boss through tear filled eyes, his skin ashen and his lip trembling. "Please, Sir... Don't... Lisa-"
"Hush. I'll take good care of Lisa for you, don't you worry about a thing. I'll treat her right, give her what she needs..." His words turned Waylon's stomach. Blaire turned to one of the guards, "Maybe you could administer Mr. Park here a light anaesthetic?"
"Gladly."
The pain was fleeting, and Waylon Park welcomed the emptiness of unconsciousness with open arms. He had done the right thing; anyone else with a conscience would have helped the patient. I hope that I did help him in some way, he thought before succumbing to the darkness. Mr. Upshur, you're his last hope at freedom, and now, you're my last hope too.