I looked around and tried to ignore my searing rib and pack pain. Where the hell was security control? They're went any directions or nothing, just mutilated bodies, glass and a lot of blood. I was smack right in the main office reception area, probably where the boss of this place worked, but who knows what happened to him. The carpet looked like vomit, and the smell was insufferable. There wasn't much here but dark rooms, corridors and different desks, but I didn't have the time to explore them otherwise I'd end up like these lot.
The doors were a pair of massive, reinforced doors with a huge arch shape. The main entrance, and exit. I knew the door see locked shut, but I tried the doors nonetheless.
No. Nothing. I had to go to Security Control. Damn. I didn't know what the fuck awaited me there, but I just needed to hurry up. I looked at the upper floor's glassed-in windows, where that big fucker tossed me through. Rotating my head, I looked around at the upper floors. There was no sign of him now. Beyond the ceiling fan was words scrawled in blood.
'Proclaim the Gospel'.
Did the priest guy write that? How the fuck did he get up there? When did he write that, and was it for me? I walked into a dark room full of computer monitors giving a limited amount of light. There looked like there was a bright room up ahead. The wooden door was wide open, and the floor boards creaked making me cringe at every footstep. The room was filled with shelves stacked with white boxes that might have something important in them. I checked but there was nothing much there. In a darkened part of the room I noticed another bright blue document sitting on it's own on the shelves, so I grabbed it and read the files in there, stepping into the bright side of the room and leaning the files on one of the shelves so I could read it with ease. I recorded the pages as I wrote.
MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS
PROJECT WALRIDER
Mount Massive CO
Case Number: 136
Patient Initials: CLW, "Walker"
Consultation Dated: 2013.05.28
Initial Date of Patient Consult: 2011.01.28
Patient Age: 32
Gender: Male
Observing Physician: Dr. Rudolf Wernicke
(notation by Dr. Walsh)
THERAPY STATUS:
Morphogenic Engine activity plateaued at roughly 2000 ppm. Unsafe to progress beyond stage 3 hormone schedule.
DIAGNOSTICS:
Spirometry revealed light-to-medium bronchial accumulation. MRI scans consistent with patient's reported dreams.
INTERVIEW NOTES:
Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraint has had to be altered to accommodate his enormous size.
Extensive dermal eruptions as consistent with failed Morphogenic Engine cellular activity. He claims the skin ripped from his forehead a allows for a truer way of seeing, seems to have some boyhood experience with Tuatara Lizards and their parietal eyes. He has expressed anxiety about his flesh, specifically around his lips and nose. Attending orderlies should be advised to watch for further self-mutilation.
The mental traumas he sustained while serving in Afghanistan seems to be retarding progression of the M.E Process. His predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. A continuation of both chemical and physical restraints is highly recommended.
So...
This was that big fucker that threw me out a window, isn't it? Everything here describes him, his ripped off forehead skin, his strength and size. So his real name is Chris Walker, and he served in Afghanistan? I tried my best to feel sorry for him as he was just a poor veteran serving his country to be stuck in here. But that's hard when that guy went crazy from the ongoing war and likes to throw people out of windows and call them little pigs.
I sighed and rolled up his folder and placed it in my second inside coat pocket, the other had the two batteries in it. I had recorded his document for everyone that sees this to read, but I doubt many would as it's quite disturbing. (Again, that's why I'm writing this story.) If I was going to include him in my article, the government would then have a hard time recruiting soldiers if they see what they might become like. Good. I would rather they all got sent home anyway, to their families and whatnot.
I sighed and continued on. It was nine minutes past nine, according to the clock above a deserted computer. I wasn't unconscious for that brief amount of time, if the gospel message was for me. Maybe all the clocks were broken.
The door to the corridor ahead was completely sawed off. I decided to peek my head around the corner. It was just a few knocked-down potted plants, blood, broken items. There was some sort of guy in a wheelchair and a dark gate with exit in big red letters,
but I needed to go out the front. I got my camera out and zoomed in on the 'poor' fellow in the wheelchair. I got out into the corridor and hurried towards other the gate with 'EXIT' above it. I could see a hallway, paintings, an empty wheelchair covered in blood, the ceiling fan and an empty gate-hole that had the gate completely replaced. It was locked and it made a loud rattle when I shook it. I looked quickly at the wheelchair guy, he didn't move a muscle apart from the odd twitch.
I went down the corridor, creeping past the wheelchair person and filmed him. He was emaciated beyond belief. One room had the door wide open, it was room A115. I moved past the radiator and odd stain on the floor and peeked into the room nervously. It was some sort of lounge, with some knocked over shelves and sofas. But the interesting part was that there were two men staring vacantly and something. One of the men was slightly normal. He scratched his face, sitting on the coffee table, looking deep in thought. The other was covered with burn scars on his face. I went into the room and discovered there was another man, brutally mutilated and with his head in his knees. I cleared my throat and stupidly asked what happened here, I filmed it and hoped for some interesting information from their point of view for my story. But they were all, (apart from the head-in-knees guy) staring and the static-filled television with a fresh blood stain splattered on it. I wrote this in my notepad:
'A crowd of broken men watching a dead channel. They look like patients. They survived whatever happened here but nobody's home.'
I sighed and crept through the room, keeping an eye on the patients in case one, or, even worse; all of them snapped at me. An exit to the room was just behind the sofa, an empty doorframe with wooden boards nailed on. I ducked under there and lifted myself up.
I looked around a little bit. I tried that gate that had 'EXIT' on it. It was dark but I found the handle. It was locked to and I hissed through my nose in frustration.
I opened a door that was left ajar and saw a blood-drenched dead guard slumped in a chair.
The room was dark so I turned on the NV and crept inside. I approached him to investigate. It was a good thing I did to, as he had the Security Control badge pinned on his chest.
I couldn't believe my luck. I picked it up carefully, I didn't want to touch his corpse. I went back out into the corridor where the guy in the wheelchair was. He jumped up, startling me slightly. That motherfucker! He grabbed me by the throat. I don't know if he was trying to strangle me or what. I tried to fight him off but even for his state of health he was surprisingly strong.
"Get them out! Please! The doctor is dead! Rip them clean!"
His voice sounded like a withered, weak old man. I gritted my teeth and grabbed both of his wrists. "You have to help me!" Then I pushed him away whacking my head on the floor. He scrambled on his hands and knees away from me and curled up into a ball as soon as I got back up onto my feet.
"You can't make me."
You attacked me first, bitch! I glared at him. I didn't feel sorry for him, I up just kept on walking back the way I came.
...
I was back at main reception. I looked around and noticed the massive hole in the window where I'm presuming 'Chris' had thrown me through. Where was this fucking room? Another dead guard was sitting flopped onto a chair. I approached the desk to see what it was like and held my nose at the smell. There was another folder. I got it out and read it before rolling it up into a thin tube like the big fucker's file and putting it in my inside coat pocket next to it.
THE MURKOFF CORP. United States Office
WARRANT FOR SEIZURE CASE NUMBER: 29475104
In the Matter of the Seizure of:
MOUNT MASSIVE PSYCHIATRIC CENTER:
MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS
Mount Massive Wilderness Area
Country Road 112
Affidavit(s) having been made for the BOARD OF DIRECTORS by MURKOFF HARDLINE SECURTIY (M.H.S) who has reason to believe: CATASTROPHIC SECURITY FAILURE OF PSYCHIATRIC CENTER WITH IMMINENT DANGER OF ENVIRONMENTAL CONTAMINATION
We are satisfied that the affidavit(s) and testimony establish sufficient evidence to require urgent action on the part of M.H.S and grounds for the issuance for this warrant.
You are hereby required to grant M.H.S full access to all facilities and surrender complete authority to it's agents. By acceptance of this document you (and any surviving relatives) surrender all claims of litigation against the Murkoff Corp. or it's subsidiaries for the actions of M.H.S or the circumstances which required their action, regardless of responsibility.
The 'responsibility' was the only thing on the second page. Paper could be put to a better use than that. Did they really have to say 'ENVIRONMENTAL CONTAMINATION'? That was a bit much, but that Chris could probably kill a lot of people. Did he manage to take out a whole squad of M.H.S? How? He was ex-military, and was probably trained how to disarm soldiers when you had no weapons. But still. The gore in that room was just too...how?!
I went through the lobby and noticed I was on the other side of the 'EXIT' gate, and was in the area with the bloodied wheelchair, ceiling fan, and the paintings. I notice it was also an elevator with stairs leading up to the upper floors. I gave it a rattle and it was locked. At least the huge guy couldn't come down here. It looked like the person in the now-empty wheelchair over here had been pushed down the stairs. Honestly. It was the basement, there was no point in me going down there. A huge light burned brightly on the ceiling. I moved into the corridor ahead by going through the empty gate-frame because I saw some dark arrows pointing towards Security Control. Yes! Almost as I did so, I saw...was that a patient?
He ducked out of one room and looked me straight in the eye. He punched the door at the far-end of the corridor consistently and desperately. Was he scared of me? Pall the people here were insane, so probably. Not that I was a threat to him.
I noticed an open bathroom and explored. I opened the middle stall and found a blood covered toilet and a guard dumped on there. The word 'WITNESS' was written in big letters in blood. Was that the priest?
I gulped and started writing in my notepad.
'I'm already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, couple cracked ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, looks like somebody tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall, knocks me unconscious.
I wake up and find a doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for.
There are words in blood everywhere. I'm getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the "Priest" is writing them, and for my benefit.'
I walked out of the bathroom wide-eyed in my shock and made my way towards Security Control. But I wanted to see where the man that ducked into the room went. The room was locked and muffled sobs came from the other side of the door.
"We didn't choose this. Why should we have to pay for it? Why do we have to die? Walker will kill us just for being sick. We're still people. We didn't choose this!"
It was a mixture of anger, fear and sadness. I tapped on the door quietly and spoke in a weak voice.
"Hello?"
"Go away." The man(en) replied. "He'll hear you. He's coming you know. He'll get you. He coming for us one by one. We'll all be dead."
I walked nervously to Security Control. It was a grey, dirty door with 'SECURITY' written on it in black capital letters. I tapped the sensor with my key are and cringed at the noise. I was worried now after what that patient(s) told me.
I walked in and decided to shut the door. There was a dead guard. How did he die? Me and him were practically the first ones in here. That was what worried me. Even when you were isolated you couldn't be safe. The word 'THEY LIE' was written on the wall in blood.
I sat down cautiously and typed up the code on the computer's keyboard (294751104) once it had turned on, from the latest document I collected. I held my palm into my fist and payed it would work. A banner came up and a bar filled up with white and blue. It read: 'ACCESSING SECURITY SYSTEM'.
I was ecstatic to leave. But I wish it would hurry up as I was getting more and more worried Chris would show up as the man told me he was coming to this area. Turning my head to one of the monitors I saw the priest and lifted my eyebrows. It was a black and white surveillance camera in some room, presumably the basement. He looked dead at the camera and pulled a lever. Then it all went black.
The emergency lights switched on and I immediately checked the door. It was locked. Fuck! He trapped me in here! Then I heard an angry, muffled voice with heavy breathing added into the mix.
"We have to contain it."
Oh no. Please no. Not him. Not Chris. Not now. Please. That was all I needed. The only place I could hide were two lockers, I didn't have much choice. I opened the locker on the left-hand side of the room with a creak and locked it shut. I peered through the small bars.
His huge shadow appeared across the room and his massive body walked past the blurred window. I hoped to God he would keep going. Then the door gave a thud. Will it hold?
THUD!
Please hold.
THUD!
PLEASE HOLD!
CRASH!
It didn't hold. He burled down his shoulders and growled. When he realised nothing was in here, he calmed down and stood where he was. Did he see me? More than luckily he stomped over to the computers and breathed heavily some more.
"You were here, weren't you? Little pig. I'll find all you whores."
What the fuck?! So he was hunting me down now? Shit, I had to be wary of him. If he even saw me, I was dead.
He opened the fucking locker?! Oh fuck, I was dead, too dead. Wait, I wasn't! He waltzed over to the empty doorframe and looked back. Was he going to check this one?
"It fine. Strict security protocol in this area is never overlooked once."
Oh. He marched down the corridor and I heard him mumbling.
"Patience. Cornerstones of enhanced interrogation, the endurance of the man, asking questions, not the subject. We will have truth."
...
I waited a solid twenty minutes in that locker frozen. Eventually I got the courage to write in my notepad.
'The big fucker is stalking me. Found a patient file for a CHRIS WALKER, ex-military police., several tours of Afghanistan. A lot of the blood in this place I son his hands. But not all of it.'
I walked down the corridor into the room the inmate before hiding from Walker was originally in. A dead guard posed on the sofa. I found another document and read it, folding it up and putting it up in my inside coat pocket. It was official. I now had one pocket for batteries and one for folders/documents.
From: Helen Granat
To: group8416
Subject: Project Walrider On Site Inspection
Dear Sirs,
The full report pending, no immediate action is required on the part of The Murkoff Corp. The profit potential of PROJECT WALRIDER remains staggeringly high.
The four fatalities contain enough ambiguous data to make any litigation, if evidence is correctly managed, impossible. PROJECT WALRIDER remains a dangerous initiative, and there will almost certainly be further casualties. As with the others, however, family and government interest in the patients is so low as to make any chance of any legal actions vanishingly unlikely. Violence among patients is increasing s the Morphogenic Engine Therapy gets a loser to producing working models, but a combination of physical and chemical restraints have proven sufficiently effective to assure continued control and profit.
Respectfully,
Helen Granat
Murkoff Legal Mitigation Dept.
Well, I saw here now Murkoff. Fuck you. Guess who turned up to dpbring you down, you shits.
I sprinted down the corridor into where the blood-drenched stairs and wheelchair was, the elevator area. I slowed when I neared the wooden steps and walked down. Water gushed out of a broken pipe. I opened the basement door and found a locked gate, but I just squeezed though a crack in the brick wall. In a dark corner of the room was yet another folder. I sloshed my way through the water and read it, rolling it up.
"MKULTRA program, CIA document no. 190691, p. 1,
excerpt
To: File
Subject: Hypnotic Experimentation and Research,
Febuary 10, 1954
On Wednesday, 10 February, 1954, hypnotic
experimentation and research work was continued
in Building 13 of the Mount Massive Preserve in
Colorado using the following subjects.
material abridged
1. A posthypnotic of the night before (pointed
finger, you will sleep) was enacted. Misses
Jackson and Pierce immediately progressed to a
deep hypnotic state with no further suggestion.
Miss Pierce was the instructed (having
previously expressed a fear of firearms in any
fashion) that she would use every method at her
disposal to awaken miss Jackson (now in a deep
hypnotic sleep), and failing this, she would
pick up a nearby pistol and fire it at Miss
Jackson. She was instructed that her rage would
be so great that she would not hesitate to
"kill" Jackson for failing to awaken.
2. Miss Pierce carried out these suggestions to
the letter including firing the (unloaded
pneumatic pistol) gun at Jackson and then
proceeding to fall into a deep sleep. After
proper suggestions were made, both were
awakened and expressed complete amnesia for the
entire sequence. Miss Pierce was again handed
the gun, which she refused (in an awakened
state) to pick up or accept from the operator.
She expressed absolute denial that
the foregoing sequence had happened."
What the balls were they on about? Wasn't MKULTRA something the C.I.A illegally led? And what was all of this? It didn't make sense. I waddled through the water uncomfortably through the sort of corridor, I jumped over a barrier and turned on the NV. I heard a meek voice.
"Who's there? Who's ... who's there? I'll hurt you. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid of anything. Not anymore."
Fuck all of this. I need to do what I must, and get out of here. I was nearly done in this horrible place.