Here he was, hunting the damned reporter down like a hunting dog on a criminal. Why in hell's name couldn't he just slip on something and make it easier for him? He sighed but called out all the same, voice laced with aggravation. "I can smell your fear, boy," he hissed, listening to the ranting and raving of the man behind him.
With the blunt end of the damned shears, he slammed them into the voice box of the male, who was quick to gasp and strangle for air and words. "That," he said with satisfaction, "should keep you quiet for a while." He smirked and soon allowing himself to slowly turn.
Miles stayed beneath the bed, honestly feeling incredibly exposed. He clenched his aching hands as best as he could without feeling tears sting his eyes. The male's bare feet passed right by his face, causing him to completely hold onto his breath. "Where are you~? Come out, come out, wherever you are~."
The male, almost having a skeletal shape, soon walked out the nearest doors and Miles decided to slip out from under the bed and quickly dart for the nearest room, leaping over the desks and other furniture that stood in his way. Where was the key? He needed the key!? Shaking his head rapidly, he soon dove into a nearby room, swearing he heard the damned voice that he had lost only seconds ago.
For minutes, every second agonizing as he listened, his heart beating in his ears as it thudded hard against his rib cage. And as he turned his head, the key was right. There. Relief flooded through him so quick he felt dizzy before he snatched up the key and practically kissed it.
The shears suddenly stabbed through the door, nearly marking at his skull as Trager obviously appeared to be on the other side. He gasped and immediately darted towards the nearest door and shut it loudly behind him. Run. Run, run, run!
Slipping along the marble surfaces of this damned asylum, his adrenaline kept him moving faster than the doctor as he was finally making his way into the elevator. Slamming the key into the correct slot, he twisted his hand and waited for it to rise or lower. Either way, he wanted to be away from the male. Letting his back rest against the back of the elevator, he breathed heavily, uncaring of the pain in his hands as he continued to carry the camera.
"You're not getting away that easily, boy!" Miles almost started to practically screech as the male slammed the open shears right around his neck, trapping him entirely unless he wanted to cut his neck open. "You move in the slightest, I promise you'll drown in your own blood," the doctor whispered, breathing heavily with Miles.
Oh God, Miles thought, having gone more pale than he ever had been. The male smirked and let a hand grasp Miles' hair, mainly to agonize the male even further. The hiss of pain satisfied him. "Looks like you're stuck with me. For a very long time, I'm afraid." Despair gripped the reporter's heart as he realized one thing.
Miles Upsher wasn't leaving. Alive.