Getting Riley and Waylon on board was perhaps the easiest part of this little suicidal endevour he'd embarked on.

Granted both men were in no position to refute him. Riley had been securely under his thumb until the asylum devolved into a mess of screaming lunatics and bodies. This was something of an upgrade and while there was still hesitation behind his every stare, that look that said he was just waiting for the punch line to come, he was more than willing to do what he was told on the slim chance that his brother would be returned to him.

Waylon was in a far more stressful position. Riley's fear had already been realised, everything from here on became damage control for him, but for Waylon his family was still very much on the line.

But what would Blaire have to gain from lying? That was the argument that kept them all going even when there were ten thousand questions burning in their minds.

He'd answer them all later, maybe. Honestly Jeremy did not feel any great need to explain himself, saw his truth as something of an obstacle they could completely bypass. They'd only be more skeptical if he told them about coffee therapy meet ups and how he now knew the inner workings of a dishwasher due to Waylon's carelessness. It was a complication they didn't need to deal with, all they needed to know was that they were fucked if Blaire didn't help them – and for whatever reason he kept to himself, he was helping.

Having primed Lisa to work outside of the asylum as best she could and get into contract with Upshur before he could get himself killed, Jeremy was left to manage things inside of the asylum.

Their first piece was being moved into place with a knight at its side. "You sure about this?" Riley asked, it was the closest he'd gotten to vocalizing his uncertainty since they began. His nervousness reared its head only now, when Waylon was adorning the patient uniform and they'd be heading down. "What if we get stopped?"

"Unlikely." Jeremy was barely paying attention to his own answer, more focused on the final email he was typing up. He distantly wondered if Waylon had typed his message to Upshur like this – disconnected and accepting. Unlikely, he probably trembled through every letter. "Even if any of them had the spine to ask what we are doing," Extraordinarily unlikely already given how the workers shied away from his very presence. "They'll be expecting Park at the engine and I highly doubt they'll find you being there all that strange. It's your job to do what I demand of you after all and I've made something a hobby seeing pests like him dealt with."

There was a noticeable drop in the mood. Jeremy could all but feel Riley's scowl settling on his back and he didn't particularly blame him. It might have been a relic of the past, but Jeremy found himself unable to resist probing at Riley's open wounds. "You know people tend to ramble a lot down there." He should have stopped there. "I hear your brother likes pretzels an ungodly amount."

"You fucking bastard-!"

Riley reached out, fully intent of strangling Blaire right then and there only for Waylon to quickly get between them. "Riley, calm down!" He flinched violently away from Riley, a instinctual reaction after having experienced first hand how painful a punch from the man could be, but still Waylon kept the peace as best he could. The sight of Waylon cringing away from him fear was sobering and even though his anger continued to boil and seethe inside of his gut, Riley relented.

"I…I don't like it either." Waylon began shakily and there was a genuine note of disbelief in his voice. He was protecting Jeremy – flipping- Blaire for god's sake. Hell had surely frozen over. "But we can't fight right now…punch him when this is over."

"Charming, Park." Blaire drawled with a roll of his eyes just before the final click of his mouse signaled the end of his work on the computer.

Jeremy had barely paid any attention to the scuffle behind him. Had Riley hit him Jeremy would not have been all that put out, after all he'd felt a slight pang of regret after he'd spoken. But of course he refused to let the other two men know that. Instead he turned to glance at them again, sizing up Waylon's patient attire. Now there was a memory he'd once held close to his person. "It's passable." He decided approaching Waylon with a scrutinizing stare. "Could rough you up a little more to really sell it but…well I guess playing around isn't the highest priority right now."

He was genuinely confused when Waylon looked scared. That's right, his threats still held water here. Jeremy never thought he was miss that tolerant look Waylon would have given him had he said the same thing in the world he remembered.

Biting back the swell of disappointment, Jeremy instead turned his attention to the job at hand. "As I am in fact a regular down in that wretched place I won't be with you two for long. Riley, you'll take Waylon to Andrew's more than capable hands. Once he's been dropped off you'll have a small window of opportunity…locate Billy Hope. Kill him or drag him out of his chamber, I don't care. Just remove him from any opportunity to connect with Walrider. Unfortunately Waylon, you'll be dead weight until Riley comes back for you. Just grit your teeth and deal with whatever happens until he gets back. Once you're both clear I want you to get Hope out of the building. If Upshur is half as competent as you seem to think Waylon he'll be there to collect you."

It was not a difficult role to play and Jeremy was positive Riley would get the results they needed. But even so…this was one hell of a long shot. Optimism was never his strong suit and Jeremy was eighty percent sure they were all about to die, but what he lacked in optimism he more than made up for in spite fueled persistence.

And Murkoff inspired an unparalleled level of spite in him.

"Oh and," Jeremy stopped at the door to glance back at Waylon with one last parting word of advice. ",try not to go insane." Was Blaire's stunning piece of encouragement as Waylon was lead off by Riley. Looking a little too pale for comfort. Although if he passed out it was really no great loss to them, might make a better actor unconscious.

The walk to the holding cells was a silent one.

Blaire walked like a man on a power trip with a trophy to hang on his wall, an act that was surprisingly easy to fall into. At his heels Waylon was practically radiating his nervousness – fortunate fo them all it perfectly fit his position right now. Fear was an acceptable emotion to be feeling while in his shoes. Riley was perhaps the most difficult to pass off, but he was stoic as always. The mask he put in place to hide his fear was no different to the mask he wore to hide how hard the weight of his own betrayal hit him. No one that knew Riley's position was Blaire's personal pincushion would so much as bat an eye.

Once they reached what would become Waylon's temporary home, it was time to part ways. Only then did Riley break the silence. "You're going to get us killed." He hissed under his breath as Waylon's transfer to Murkoff's 'care' was being processed and Jeremy's smile only widened – yeah. He probably was. "But if you come back without my brother, I will kill you."

"Promises, promises, Riles." Blaire positively purred, getting a sharp glare from the man at his side. Then after a moment passed he added. "If I come back without your brother, I'll give you my gun to do it." Jeremy didn't get to see Riley's reaction to that as he turned away and walked towards the old holding cells he'd frequented in the past.

His first stop would be one he had never come to see in person and it held what would likely be the central piece to this little game.

And they'd probably kill him on sight.

The Warden did not look nearly as miserable as they ought to. Having been shot with a tranquilizer dart should have left them groggy and uncoordinated for quite some time. But rather than being unkempt and frantic, the Warden was still as a statue and looked about as cold as one. Despite himself Jeremy felt a rush of fear at seeing them again, even with the glass between them.

They must have known he was there, the Warden was a freak in ways the other patients couldn't begin to imagine. Jeremy didn't doubt for a second that they were aware of his existence, but he wasn't sure if they were ignoring him or simply sizing up the best way to pay him back for his transgression. After all it had been his finger that pulled the trigger.

"Warden."

His voice betrayed him. Nearly breaking on the single word, his mouth was dry and Jeremy found himself clenching and unclenching his fists. There was no answer, barely even a twitch from the figure in the cell. But he had to keep speaking, had to push through his fear on the slim chance that this would work.

They didn't have the luxury to waste the time it would take for him to gather his nerves. "Warden I—we need your help." This time there was a response. So minute that Jeremy was almost sure he'd imagined the slight shift in the silent figure's shoulders. "You're the one the patients listen to, you know them…they trust you. Even that monster Gluskin doesn't cross you…we need you the manage them. Otherwise the whole place is going to go to shit the moment the doors open."

"We." The Warden's voice sent a second icy shill down Jeremy's spine. They did not sound tired, or sore, they barely even sounded interested. Just cold, angry. "You expect me to help you and Murkoff?"

"No." Jeremy denied flatly. "Not Murkoff. You give a damn about these people. I don't, I'd happily leave them to burn when Murkoff's clean up crew comes running but they'd be one more piece to bring Murkoff to the ground. "Murkoff is going to go into lock down the moment they realise things are not as they should be. If they think it's too far out of their control they'll burn this place to the ground with everyone inside. But if all the patients are released, it'll become a slaughter. It's all about balance…and we don't exactly have a lot of time to find it."

"You're lying."

"Oh for heaven's sake, I don't have the time to convince you-!"

"You're lying about your reason for thinking of the patients."

There was an dispute forming on Jeremy's tongue but it died there, realising how futile it was to argue the point. The Warden was a freak sure as shit, but they were uncanny in the way they could just know these things. Finally Jeremy relented and rather than make some flimsy argument he simply said. "My reason doesn't matter. You want to help them, I can help you do that. I don't think you need much more incentive than that."

He must have been the stupidest man on the planet, because for as much as he did not care for the patients – he knew someone who did.

Only then did the Warden properly move. Rising to their full height off the shoddy bed that sat at the back of the cell. Even standing straight as a board, the Warden was a good head shorter than Jeremy, and yet they still easily loomed. Something about the way they carried themselves made it seem as though they were larger than life. There was something too similar to the Walrider in how the Warden unsettled Jeremy. Jeremy had to make a conscious effort not to shrink away even with the glass between them.

Turning to face him the Warden's face was unreadable, just as it always was. Impassive to the very end. "And what makes you think I will not kill you the moment the glass between us in removed?"

"You might." Jeremy replied, able to feel his hands shaking. He feared death just like anyone else – but he feared failure far more. "However if you do fixing this dumpster fire becomes your problem. I can only give you so many of the access codes verbally but I'm sure you'll find a way around that."

They were staring at him now. The Warden's gaze was impenetrable, keeping Jeremy frozen in place as they sized him up. He felt fairly sure that the Warden would kill him, but he was also fairly sure they'd do all they could to save the patients. That included those few that Jeremy was attempting to help and so he could not be all that dissatisfied with that end to this.

"I don't recognize you." Warden said quietly. "You're not the Blaire I know."

And despite everything turning to shit around them, Jeremy couldn't help but laugh upon hearing that. The Warden expression did not change as he laughed and when Jeremy looked back at them, a nasty smirk plastered on his face they still did not so much as blink. "Well would you look at that, finally we have something in common."

With that Jeremy bit the proverbial bullet and swiped his access key over the keypad at the Warden's door. The mechanical whirl of the door being unlocked hissed and groaned as the glass slid back, almost as though it was protesting this breech in protocol.

As the Warden stepped out of the now useless cell, Jeremy tensed. Waiting for the moment he would find his heart being torn from his chest and suddenly although he'd come to terms with dying right then and there should it play out that way, all he could think about was running. Taking their time the Warden looked around, straightened out their clothes and then finally laid eyed on Blaire again.

The silence was oppressive and Jeremy dared not even breath.

Then they spoke. "Many of the patients are in no condition to be released." The Warden said flatly. "They'll tear one another apart if they're all released at once."

He wasn't going to die.

He wasn't going to die.

Relieved Jeremy let out a shuddering breath he had been holding and then flew into a somewhat nervous explanation. He told them about Riley's job, Waylon's position, his own jobs one of which he'd successfully carried out now that the Warden was free and then finally what they needed them to do.

"Walker?" The Warden murmured thoughtfully. "I suppose…." They seemed a little skeptical but Jeremy had expected as much.

"Walker is a powerhouse and he listens to you." Jeremy replied sharply, but he didn't have enough time to stop and argue the point. The Warden would do whatever they saw fit, he could only hope they'd take what he'd said in and use it accordingly. "Wernicke is going to be a problem. This little project is his life's work and he'll happily end all of ours to keep it." The delusional old bastard thought there was something of worth here. Murkoff believed it too, but they thought they could simply bump off the old man – the man that the Walrider's host thought was his father. The fools had damned them all the first time around, and Jeremy did not plan to make the same mistake by attacking Wernicke.

But as soon as those few they needed to get clear were out – Jeremy was more than happy to let the rest of the asylum turn red with blood again. He knew every name. Every face. Anyone that was worth anything, anyone that was even the slightest bit like Waylon or Sinclair or even idiots like Riley – they would be spared so long as they did this right.

And the rest? Well the media needed something gory to record now didn't they?

Hey Jeremy thought he was saintly compared to what he used to be. He'd not lose a wink of sleep over the rest of them.

"Wernicke is a manageable problem." The Warden said simply and there was a finality to their tone that Jeremy did not dare question. One less thing for him to think about.

"Good. Once you're done there should be cars around the back of the asylum, just beyond the trees." He trusted Lisa to get the transport to them, he did not trust Upshur to not do something stupid and get them all killed.

The cost of this plan was knowing that people would die. Jeremy did not dare think they'd be able to save everyone. Some of the patients were truly too far gone and many of them would have to stay in their cells or they'd put everyone else at risk. The Warden was no bleeding heart, they'd know who best to free and who ought to stay put…at least for the time being.

"I'll leave you to it." Jeremy muttered, more than ready to be away form the Warden, their existence still set his every nerve on edge. The fear would never truly leave him but he didn't have to stay close to them and make it worse.

He got all of three steps before the Warden' spoke again. "Dr. Trager has been moved." He announced, stopping Blaire dead. "You mean to find him don't you? His cell will be empty. If you want him, you'll find him in the screening rooms."

"Shit." That was in the opposite direction of the only other cell he needed to visit. In fact if he'd only known that earlier he could have added Trager to Riley's list of things to do.

Cursing again, louder Jeremy began to pace. Trying to rework the plan to fit in this slight time shift. He caught the Warden's eye and for the first time since meeting them he could actually read the question in their eyes. "I am supposed to get to Sinclair first and-"

"The therapist?"

"Yes the bleeding therapist!" He should not have snapped at the Warden. Should have had more self preservation instinct than that, but Jeremy was beginning to panic. He'd already accounted for so much, stretched the timeframe as thinly as he could. This felt like the final straw, he was sure that if he tried to do both they'd be properly out of time and they'd run the risk of losing everything.

And part of him was beginning to blame Sinclair for it.

"Oh sure he can clear the asylum in an hour just looking for me but he can't-" Jeremy stopped. Backtracked, repeated what he'd just said and then had the most horribly wonderful idea. Suicidal surely but also a time saver – well that seemed like a fair trade off.

"I need you to release Sinclair. Knowing him he'll probably be thrilled it's you at his cell door rather than me. He would like someone like you, god damn bleeding heart that he is." Jeremy said quickly. Already turning back towards the path that would lead him to the screening rooms and Trager. The path that would lead him away from Sinclair's cell. That was fine, it would be a head start.

"He'll come looking for you."

"Exactly what I'm counting on."


It seemed only half the screening rooms were in operation that day. Primarily because they'd been putting so much weight on Billy's progress. Why prepare more vessels when they were so close to having one that was perfected? Only the newly admitted patients seemed to be in them today and Jeremy spared a thought for Waylon – likely he'd be experiencing it for the first time himself.

It was fine. Riley would come back for him. Jeremy believed that.

Finding Trager was a disturbingly easy task. Just follow the screaming.

Once upon a time Jeremy had lingered outside of this same room and listened to the screams of a man he destroyed. He'd stood there and listened without ever once thinking perhaps he could put a stop to it. Why would he even entertain such a thought when all that mattered was the progress of the project. When all that mattered was Murkoff's security.

But he'd stayed all the same. Stood there and listened as piece-by-piece the man he'd known was picked apart and the thing left in his place was the shell of what he had been. Twice he'd done this and neither the calls of help me or I'm sorry stirred him. But just once he'd hesitated. When Trager had shouted his name, the last time he heard the man speak it.

He'd hesitated. But only for a moment and then he left the man he's called friend behind.

But today he did not stand outside the screening room, with his back pressed to the wall– never bold enough to look but always cold enough to listen. Today he did not take that position and instead his feet carried him inside the room, passing the threshold he'd never been brave enough to cross in the past.

The doctor in attendance was standing in front of the body strapped into place, a camera facing them both so it could capture each and every scream. Surprised by their unexpected third party, the doctor glanced up from his work fastening the straps. A question forming on his lips, but Jeremy did not allow it to pass.

There was no time to scream. The doctor might have registered what was happening as Blaire slipped his gun from his jacket and pressed it to the man's temple, but he didn't have time to say so much as 'please' before the trigger was pulled. The bullet exploded out of the barrel of the gun and a moment later the doctor's body was limp, his blood painting the opposite wall.

As their body crumpled to the ground Jeremy knew he'd likely gone too far. There was no way the sound of his gun firing would not draw attention, but he'd been unwilling to let the man live any longer. He knew all their names. All their faces. That was Jeremy Blaire's job. This one would not be missed and Jeremy felt a little better seeing him dead on the ground after having witnessed him tightening those straps on Trager's wrists.

The echo of the gun firing was dying away and only now did the unwilling patient begin to stir. Having been so far gone into whatever nightmare those moving pixel caused to notice what was going on until the sound of the bullet flying free of the gun broke him from his stupor.

Jeremy cringed when he saw how badly the engine program had disfigured Rick. He'd never exactly been a vain man, but even he had to find this withered state disheartening. "Grindstone… golden p-parachutes…stop…s-s-survive." He was muttering incoherencies and Jeremy's heart tightened painfully in his chest.

Rick's favourite thing about himself was his mind. If that went he'd rather be dead, at least that was what he had claimed to Jeremy when the topic of old age came into play.

Setting the gun aside Jeremy rushed to Rick's side, looking over the restraints and snarling in frustration when he saw they'd rubbed Trager's wrists raw, breaking the skin and blistering over months of abuse. "Hey…Hey, Trager. You see me? Come on." He murmured, trying to find some kind of spark of recognition behind his friend's glazed stare. One of his eyes had rotted, looked as though someone had tried to tear it right from his head but Blaire was no longer squeamish. He'd watched his own body be patched back together, he knew it inside and out and this was not the first time he'd stared directly into a dead, unseeing eye. This too could be considered his doing.

"All the money is gone… h-help-highly eviscerated…"

He tried to spark something inside of Trager. Tried to get him to see what was right in front of him but still he stared into the empty space, blind to the real world. "Trager, please." Jeremy pleaded quietly. Nothing seemed to be getting through to him, he didn't even seem to know anyone was there with him or if he did he thought them just another of his tormentors.

When he laid his hand against Rick's sunken skin the man reacted with a violent jerk as though Jeremy had pressed hot coals into him. Trager screeched, something high and hysterical. They might have been words but he was babbling so rapidly that Jeremy couldn't make heads of tails of most of it. Not until he began to scream vehement curses with the occasional word of mercy thrown in. Begging for them to just leave him alone and stop. Learned his lesson. Wouldn't do it again. Would work harder.

Jeremy couldn't stand it.

"I…shit, it's me Rick!" The screaming stopped for just a second and Jeremy kept speaking, praying he was being heard this time. "You see me, Rick? Yeah? It's me, it's Jer. I'm going to get you out of here. You still with me, Rick?"

And for just a second he was.

There was something intelligent behind Trager's one good eye for a second and he actually saw Jeremy. Confusion played across the man's face as he stared at Jeremy and then finally…finally.

"…buddy?"

Jeremy didn't think he'd every smiled so wide in all of his life. It was a near miracle he didn't end up throwing his arms around Trager in some ill-fated attempt at a hug. No time for that. Had to focus on getting him out here. "Yeah Rick, it's me. It's your buddy." He muttered as his hands began to try and get the straps off of Rick's ankles. "Going to get you out of this shithole, just wait."

"You're…actually here. You're real. Not a bad trip… Why?" Trager asked, and Jeremy cannot quiet place his tone. The first of the restraints came away, followed quickly by the second soon he'd have Trager free even if the ones looped around his wrists were tighter than those at his legs.

All the while Trager was still peering at him, that puzzled expression slapped on his dazed face. Jeremy pauses for just a moment to offer up what he hopes to be a satisfactory explanation. "Sentimental attachments." Something in Trager's gaze clicks and Jeremy hopes to god is understanding.

"Have you been watering Jeffery?" Trager asks, words slurring so horribly that for a second Jeremy has no idea what he's trying to say and then when he pieces the garble together as English he's no closer to understanding.

"What?" He's trying to get the latches undone and Rick's swaying is not helping the process along.

"Jeffery." Trager insists again, talking as though his mouth is stuffed full of cotton. Although it does nothing to discourage him from speaking. "Have you been watering Jeffery?"

"What?" Blaire barks, looking back at Rick ludicrously. "No, what no! Of course I haven't been watering your fucking plant. Seriously Rick? Why the hell would I water your house plant-"

"Jeffery!" Trager corrects and Jeremy groans in disbelief. He wishes he could bring himself to be surprised that this conversation is actually happening but he just isn't. Of all the inane…

"-I didn't water you fucking plant, Rick."

"You're dead to me." Trager huffs, tossing his head off to the side only to regret the action a moment later when his whole world went spinning out of balance. He had to grip the arms of his chair just to stop from toppling out of it. The dramatics would need to be kept to minimum for a while.

All the while Jeremy could only roll his eyes in an attempt to fight back the smile that threatened to squirm its way free. It had been so long… "You wouldn't know the half of it." He muttered under his breath, a grim reminder of how literal that sentiment could become for either of them if he didn't hurry. "I'm sure…Jeffery is fine." He gives up arguing the point and instead hoists Trager up onto his chicken legs, hooking the man's arm over his shoulder to half walk, half drag him towards the door.

Only to hear Rick mumble under his breathe. "You monster. You're a bad papa to Jeffery. Bad influence you are."

Despite himself Jeremy chuckles. "Just wait till you meet Jackie and Noel." Rick seems barely conscious but when he is aware enough to attempt it, he tries to help Jeremy with the slow shuffle out of the screening room.

It hits Jeremy properly for the first time. Trager is here. He's right there next to him, mumbling near unintelligible rubbish about a houseplant, and alive. Jeremy knows there's no time to stop and really soak that in after all this time, but the weight of what he's achieved is nearly overwhelming. "Hey, Rick?" He begins quietly, sure that Trager doesn't actually know what he's saying when he hums in acknowledgment. "I missed you, buddy."

And Trager's queasy smile suddenly made all this shit seem worth it. "Always wanted to hear you say that, Jer."

"Yeah, I know. You're never hearing it again." He grouses, absolutely no heat behind the words. Jeremy is even smiling a little bit. "But for now lets get you the hell out of here."

"And when we're out…?"

Jeremy only needs to think about his answer for about a second. "We kill every last fucker inside."

"Ha…sounds like my kind of plan, buddy."

Getting Trager out of the asylum became one of the more difficult tasks of the day when the Warden's lunatics began to swarm the asylum.

Jeremy carefully kept the pair of them away from the worst of it. Tried to work off what he remembered from the first time around. The kneejerk reaction of the staff was to contain the problem, for security to run towards what seemed like a simple riot rather than away. How fortunate for them that for the time being it was a much smaller scale disaster than it had been for Blaire the first time.

Likely they did not feel so fortunate when Walker came onto the scene. "Time to make ourselves scarce." Jeremy muttered, pulling Trager away from the open hallways, soon they'd need to avoid not only Murkoff personnel but also the raving patients. They'd hold no love for either of them.

Already he could hear screaming. Distant, not close enough to be cause for alarm, but distinctly shrieks of terror as some of the doctors met with a rather grisly end. Gruesome perhaps, but equally justified.

While Trager was in no condition to be fending for himself, he was rapidly coming back to his senses. Jeremy noticed when less and less of the weight on his shoulder was dead and when Trager began to get the hang of walking again.

He had quite good timing because the asylum was beginning to truly fly into a panic. Those few that knew about the situation, those very precious few that Blaire had taken the time to contact during the small window of opportunity he'd had in his office had either made themselves scarce already or fled at the first sign of truth to Blaire's words.

Those that didn't get out in time would hardly be his concern. His conscience was clean – he'd tried after all. Their lives were their own problem now.

"Just a bit more." He muttered to Rick quietly, eyes fixed on the exit they'd agreed to meet at. Fortunately with the elevator key in his possession it would be difficult for many of the other inhabitants of the asylum to make their way up here from the lower levels. Not by any stretch of the imagination impossible, but time consuming and for now that was a blessing in of itself.

Riley should have been ahead of him, should have already been waiting but there wasn't a trace of the man or Waylon. Frustrated and beginning to worry that soon the panic would escalate to true carnage Jeremy had to decide what to do. "Going to get you outside Rick, got a few friends there waiting. They'll look after you."

"Friends…" Rick mumbled as though the word was a completely alien one to him. "…since when?"

Ten different snarky answers jumped to his mind at once. Two of which included, 'the future you won't see' and 'a alternate reality' none of those answer got past his lips and instead Blaire opted not to answer at all. Too focused on peering around the corner towards their escape to take notice of Trager's scrutinizing gaze. Even had he seen that look Jeremy wouldn't have been particularly concerned – it seemed they all looked at him like that since he woke up. Like someone they'd never met before.

Then just as his nerves were beginning to get the best of him, there was movement at the door. A moment later it was being pried open and Jeremy let out a quiet breath of relief upon seeing Waylon standing on the other side. Shaken but alive and more importantly on time. Well, within reason. At his side was Riley, holding a gun at the ready – likely guarding Waylon's back.

With one last quick glance down the corridors Blaire began to pull Trager out from around the corner towards the escape. This time Rick was using his own two feet but still leant against Blaire's shoulder for support.

"Is…is that Trager?"

The horror in Riley's voice is palpable and Jeremy might have told him this was an improvement to what could be have been had Trager not decided to be lucid enough to take offense. "Still a far cry prettier than you, Riles." He remarked, mustering up a nasty smirk for the young security officer.

"Yeah. That's Trager." He muttered with a heavy sigh.

Ignoring Trager's quiet chuckle Riley turned quickly to Blaire, eyes narrowing sharply when he noticed a distinct lack of the one person he was truly waiting on. "My brother?" He hissed and Jeremy was genuinely surprised he hadn't already tried to shoot him.

"Coming." He answered flatly, having no time to explain to Riley just how…persistent Sinclair could be.

Wouldn't be long now he was sure.

Rather than waste time on that front Jeremy took stock of Riley's condition. He's garnered a bloody nose since they last met, Waylon was shaking like a leaf at his side and there was blood on his knuckles. "How's the rest coming along?"

Then as though he'd been kicked back into autopilot – Riley gave his status report. "One dead doctor. No luck with the signal jammer. The short wave radio in the prison should work a charm but…"

"Forget the radio." Jeremy snipped, somehow still able to remember the last time he'd seen the damn thing – broken it to a hundred pieces with his baton at the time. "What about Hope?"

At this Riley shifted uneasily, turning his gun over in his hands as though he might find some fault in the design. "He's…he's out but…" Taking a deep breath Riley forced himself to level out his voice and continue. "He's in about a good a state as Trager there. Asking after Wernicke…and there's this stuff. Black, gooey – he's leaking it."

Behind Riley's horror there was an unspoken judgment – what have you monsters done to him?

I'd be more worried about what he'll do to us. Jeremy thought coldly, imagining the Walrider sitting just underneath Billy's flesh, clawing its way out as the host became more distressed.

So long as Billy believed Wernicke to be safe they too would be safe from that thing.

It protected the host and Billy's desire to guard his perceived father influenced its actions. Jeremy supposed it leeched something like personality from the hosts it infected. But the Walrider was not an extension of its host. Not really. The Walrider was a creature all its own, and it had a habit of latching onto people like a child would to a new pet.

With that thought Jeremy turned his gaze onto Waylon who recoiled under his stare. "You mind Billy." He announced finally and Waylon balked.

"Me?"

Perhaps Waylon had a point. "You and Riley. Stay with Hope. Keep his attention on you, reassure him, do whatever you have to just to keep that thing calm and under his skin. "Give it Upshur if you think it'll help." The Walrider had liked him enough in the past to crawl inside of his body, perhaps that affection would carry over to this scenario. "Last thing we need is the Walrider coming out and-"

"It's real?" Riley asked, as skeptical as he was horrified by the idea. "You lunatics actually made that thing?"

He did not have the time to sit them down and give a crash course on Walrider wrangling.

Fortunately they were all given a little bit of incentive to get moving when something not too far away from them exploded.

The force of the explosion shook the ground and when Jeremy looked back he could jus see the glow of flames beginning to spread. Murkoff Tactical would be on them in no time if they were not already on their way. "Lets get out of here." Waylon suggested urgently.

Survival instinct pushed all their questions aside for the time being and Riley stepped forward to help him with Trager.

Clocking Blaire's surprised look, Riley only scowled at him. "I can move him faster." He explained shortly. Calculated, logical – and hating every moment he had to do it.

"Not sure I trust you not to kill me, Riles." Trager muttered and if the look of disgust Riley shot him was anything to go by – he was considering the benefits of doing just that. Blaire might have argued, demanded he continue to assist Trager, but instead he let the man go without a fuss.

Uttering a small warning to Riley as he did. "Best you tie him up the first chance you get." To Riley's credit he only looked surprised for a split second but then seemed to console himself by thinking 'well it is Trager' he just did not know that Trager at his best right now was his worst while sane.

Unless they all wanted to start losing body parts once he properly returned to lucidity – they'd be keeping his hands bound up tight. Jeremy did not fancy that conversation when it came around. Rick might just be glad to see him now but once the memory of betrayal returned…well that would be tomorrows problem.

With that little order given he let Rick be taken from him and moved aside. He wouldn't be following them to the tree line and the waiting safety just yet.

Waylon was still holding the exit open for them and as Riley pulled Trager out into the rain Jeremy just heard the exhausted man making comment on the mountain air. "You're not going on a stroll, Trager." Riley muttered as he dragged him on off, leaving Waylon and Jeremy behind.

"What's that you got there?" Blaire asked, noticing Waylon was holding a weapon. As though he could actually match the threats of the asylum – he was no fighter.

"O-Oh this? Riley gave me this. To protect myself." He muttered, raising the bat he was carrying. Perfect.

"Well give it here." Jeremy demanded striding up to Waylon to snatch the baton away from him. "You'd be useless at using it. Besides you won't be needing it. Stick close to your guard dogs and you'll be fine." He continued, testing out the weight and durability of the baton. Just how he remembered it.

"Wait, where are you going? You're not coming with us?"

Waylon, despite still holding a healthy hatred and fear of Blaire, somehow still had it in him to sound concerned. Damn moron was still so soft, Jeremy supposed that was fine he didn't feel the need to break him anymore.

"We're missing one." He explained with a practice swing of the stick. "I'm going to wait for our straggler."

Too strong, he'd forgotten how good his swinging arm had been before the Walrider tore him apart. Adjusting accordingly he tried again, gentler this time – enough to bruise but no threat of killing someone if he struck them on the head. This was supposed to serve as deterrence for when his stalker finally caught up with him after all.

Satisfied he slung the baton over his shoulder and slipped his other hand into his pocket, feeling the cold surface of his gun. There were no spare bullets so this was very much a last resort measure and not at all meant for their latecomer. Deterrence and execution tools in place he glanced back at Waylon. "That brute would kill me if I came out empty handed after all."

"You…you're waiting for Seb?" Waylon sounded mystified. Fair enough, only yesterday Blaire would have gladly watched Sinclair burn just for a chuckle. "You?" He asked again and this time Jeremy snickered, crazy as it might have been he rather liked knowing things Waylon couldn't begin to imagine.

"Long story, Park." One he wasn't going to share. "None of your business anyway, get going or I'll have your keeper to answer to when this is all over." He wasn't sure which he was more wary of. Lisa or Riley. Both would see him dead should he fail to return their loved ones to them. Might just kill him anyway for good measure – he wouldn't blame them for that.

"Um, Blaire…?" He stopped on Waylon's tiny voice. Frowning he looked back at the man who had curled a little bit against the door, wearing an expression that even a kicked pup wouldn't put on. "…don't die?" He mumbled what sounded like a plea and for a second Jeremy swore it was the Waylon he remembered from those days spent living in his guest room.

He supposed that would never happen now. They were never going to be friends in any capacity.

That seemed like a fine trade off for everything else they gained. Unconsciously Jeremy's gaze slipped down to Waylon's leg. Completely human, all flesh and bone rather than creaky wood. Yeah, this was an acceptable trade off.

"Get going." Jeremy replied stiffly as he turned away from Park. "We shouldn't be long."

He'd barely gotten three steps before the moron was speaking to him again. "I'm serious!" Waylon called but this time he wasn't given an answer, Blaire didn't even look at him. "I don't know what the fuck is going on, I don't even know why you're doing this or if you're seriously tying to do something good…but look," He began, shifting weight off one leg and onto the other. "After all that…the shit that went down in the asylum – you and Murkoff probably deserve to rot. But…shit I don't even know what to think. Just…promise me you won't die in here."

Jeremy could have told Waylon what he was thinking. It was so painfully transparent that Jeremy somehow managed to find some affection for the idiot despite how grim it all seemed. Waylon hated him of course, to so suddenly not be hated in return by the man made it his business to see Waylon's life was hell – well it was jarring.

He knew from experience how confusing that sudden lack of loathing could be. Waylon had once done that to him.

If he did survive this experience maybe he'd explain it to Park one day. But for now he walked away, not uttering another word to Waylon. He wasn't going to make any more promises.

"Can't keep all my promises, Park." Jeremy muttered under his breath, not stopping to look back at the man he left behind.

Already the asylum was beginning to fall apart. He could hear it, what had once been almost calm attempts to quell the riots were becoming panicked attempts to escape. Walker would keep them from leaving this place, the Warden would see to it that those left inside perished and it was his job to make sure that the only ones left inside deserved as much.

It was his job to see to it that he was the final nail in Murkoff's coffin. Because once upon a time Waylon had looked at him with a look so cold he was sure he'd never see them and said to him. "I want you to end Murkoff."

"But I suppose I can keep just this one."

With Trager clear Jeremy was free to focus on his own safety. Lisa would mind those they had gotten out and despite his personal distaste for the Warden he held out faith they would take care of the loose ends lingering inside the asylum. Although he thought he might have had to go and deal with Wernicke himself.

The man prided himself in his science, in being able to understanding the unexplainable. Faith and mysticism were lost on him, even if Jeremy had approached him with some kind of warning as to what his carelessness and Murkoff's greed would cause – he wouldn't be believed. Not unless he had some proof and honestly Jeremy did not fancy spending his time winning over some ancient nazi scientist. Murkoff planned to eliminate him and were it not for Billy's affection of the man, Blaire would have happily gone through the with idea.

But for now he lived and Jeremy left their fate up to the Warden, deeming them to be more than capable of handling the elderly bastard. Besides, they seemed better suited to dealing with monsters than Blaire was. He made them, handling them was never exactly his forte.

As such he did begin to wonder how he planned to deal with his monster as he awaited the stalker to finally catch up with him.

It was taking too long.

"Come on, Sinclair… Where the hell are you?" Jeremy muttered under his breath, the weight of the baton passing back and forth between his hands. A nervous energy rise up under his skin, causing his muscles to coil tightly in anticipation of a sudden burst of movement. "Come on."

Hesitant to travel too far from the exit but incapable of remaining stationary Blaire had reluctantly returned deeper into the asylum on the thin hope that maybe if the distance became smaller the wait would follow suit. However every tiny step he took in the other direction was another he'd have to take back, further chewing through their limited time. The longer he delayed, the more detrimental this place became to his health. Before long the carnage would reach him and he'd either have to turn tail and flee empty handed or be forced to relieve the nightmare a second time around.

His only solace was knowing that the rest of them had their marching orders, even if he failed to return Lisa would take care of everything from there. He'd put it all into place and as the board became messier and messier with every second – Jeremy had set up his pieces to the best of his ability and now there was only the matter of putting Murkoff into checkmate.

Blaire's piece was not strictly required for that and so the game was put above him. It all came down to what mattered to him, his part in the game or the win. Well Jeremy had never been the sort to throw away an easy victory.

He was just beginning to consider venturing down into the male ward through the elevator, safety be damned, when the rattle of a door being pried open startled Jeremy back a few steps. Perhaps his time was up and the riots would catch up with him, this to be the first of many more complications he'd wager. Except when the door opened he found himself looking directly as the monster he'd been waiting on. Warped, less burned but alight with a kind of vicious glee that had no right sitting on his face – Sinclair.

"There you are, Mr. Blaire! I'm so relieved I found you!"

The familiar joyful tone shot a cold chill up Jeremy's spine but in the same breath he caught himself whispering. "Finally." Then immediately took a further four steps away from the door and Sinclair.

Quickly his gaze dropped from the man's face to see for his hands, or not see them. The moment Jeremy saw Sinclair's hand angled behind his back he knew what to expect the man was hiding from his view.

His quick retreat sparked something behind Sinclair's eyes. Something cold, calculating – predatory and despite having known what to expect. Despite having lived it and learned how to see past it – Jeremy could feel his blood running like ice through his veins. Dread beginning to seep its way into every available space in his mind, causing his fingers to tighten around the baton until they began to cramp and ache.

He had not faced Sinclair like this outside of his sleep in such a long time he almost forgot what it felt like to be real. For the nightmare to be flesh and blood again.

For it to not be Sebastian standing in front of him.

He was afraid and Sinclair must have seen it in his face. "Where are you going?" The blonde asked, tone catching between a mocking purr and genuine anger. As though he simply could not fathom why Blaire would put space between them.

"Nowhere! I'm going…nowhere." Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jeremy forced the hand holding the baton to lower slightly as the other hand came up. Palm up in what he hoped to god was a pacifying action. Sinclair looked puzzled. "I'm not going anywhere, see? You found me. Just…put down those scissors, Sinclair."

This time it was undeniably irritation that shone in Sinclair's eyes. "Now how did you guess that?" His little toy ruined before he even got the chance to surprise Jeremy with it.

With the game taken away from him Sinclair's arm dropped from behind his back and sure enough clenched in his fist was the scissors Jeremy remembered.

They were clean. For now.

"Now Mr. Blaire…about your session." Oh christ not this again…

Jeremy barely had the chance to get clear when Sinclair lunged for him, swinging the scissors down for him in what would have been a decidedly lethal blow. Experience was on his side, but skill was not. Jeremy's hasty stumbled dodge was a result of expectation and familiarity with Sinclair but he was no fighter. He fought using others as his weapons and if there was no one to fight for him then battles were won with words.

Words were all he had left when everything else was stripped from him and so Jeremy fell back onto them now even as he held the baton up at the ready. Not sure how useful it would be in action but hoping it would give Sinclair reason to hesitate before getting any closer.

Snarling angrily and looking a little surprised by just how ready Blaire had been for the attack, Sinclair jerked back up to his full height, teetering back on his heels as he carelessly threw his weight around – what little of it he maintained after the engine was done with him.

"Really now Mr. Blaire how am I expected to help you if you don't hold still."

The glint of the scissors being raised for Jeremy to go for the first of his words. "Your brother is waiting for you!"

Jerking to a halt, confusion flickered across Sinclair's face. That's right, his mind had betrayed him considerably during the slaughter, wiping all thoughts that were not of revenge from his head. But he could be made to remember easily enough. "Riley is waiting for you outside." Jeremy continued urgently, eyes staying fixed on the scissors; just waiting for the moment they would come flying at him again. "Everyone is outside, I got Trager right after letting the Warden out. Riley and Waylon are out there, hell I bet that lunatic Gluskin even got clear in time."

Gradually there was recognition returning to Sebastian's face, the confusion never fully faded but he could see the man processing what he was hearing. The scissors remained at his side for a while longer. "You got Dr. Trager out?" He was not a blasted doctor! Jeremy inwardly groaned knowing that was going to be a problem for later.

Still Sinclair sounded puzzled. "You…went back for him?"

"Sinclair, listen to me." Jeremy tried; using the precious few nonviolent seconds he held the man's attention for. "We can get out of here, the exit is not far away. It's time to leave. We have to go."

He had not yet been attacked again. Sinclair hadn't taken so much as another step. Jeremy took this as a good sign and pressed just a little harder.

"Come with me."

And when Jeremy's hand turned to face his palm upwards, Sinclair actually took a step away. The scissors held close to his chest, now an item of defense instead of the weapon they were intended to be. "What…?" He began, the façade of a calm pleasant man breaking slowly. "What are you doing? This…This isn't right. Y-you got what you wanted, you won. This isn't what you… You smiled!"

With every word Sinclair became more agitated until he was screaming at Blaire. "I saw you, I know you did! You smiled when you killed me!"

"You're not dead, Sebastian."

This time when Jeremy took a step forward, Sebastian took three rapid steps of his own back. Pressing against the door he'd moments ago opened. "You're not dead." He repeated sharply, taking one more step, the last he dared to take for the time being but his hand stayed out, waiting for either the blade or Sebastian's to take it. "Not yet but if you don't get out of here you just might get us both killed."

And then because he knew that if the words weren't said something would feel undone, Jeremy murmured. "I haven't given you permission to die."

"The Warden said…but I-I didn't believe… How could I? They were only dreams. J-Just Wernicke's nightmares, blood dreams, nothing else. O-Oh god I'm not all there. I'm not all here."

"I'm not going to hit you." Jeremy's words might as well have been a physical strike as Sinclair went ridged against the door he was firmly pressed again.

"You're not…you can't be." With every second, every word, the mask broke a little more and outpoured everything else. Out came the anger; out came the hatred and the pain. All of that truth bubbling over into words as he stared at Blaire and saw nothing familiar to him. "Who the hell are you?!"

So many times Jeremy had come to terms with dying. Too many times he'd waited for his dragged in breath thinking the next would be his last. It was a horrible feeling, all fear and panic - very rarely the numb acceptance he'd heard of. But as he dropped the baton and took those last few steps between himself and Sebastian – Jeremy finally felt none of the terror for what might be the last breath he took.

If Sinclair's scissors buried themselves into his back now, he knew it would only hurt for a short time and then there'd be nothing. Not even regret. So when his arms wrapped around Sebastian's shoulders, holding the young man close, Jeremy was able to speak without any fear.

"Sebastian." He said quietly, the words almost so hushed that even with this closeness Sebastian might not hear them. "I'm sorry."

A sharp tremor wracked through the slender body cradled in his embrace and Jeremy waited for that shiver to result in violence. Tensing instinctively as he awaited the punishment he justly deserved only to be met with the sound of metal clattering to the ground and for the body under his arms to surge against his chest. Trembling arms wrapping around his torso as tightly as they could muster as all the strength was sapped straight out of their owner.

Shivering and beginning to sob, Sebastian broke down right then and there and Jeremy wondered if the result would have been the same had he simply said those words to him the first time they met after the asylum had burned. Likely not, Sinclair was balancing on the edge of something in this slaughter, tipping off it when given the slightest push by him in the past. Sebastian's fragile mind had not yet set and all it took this time was a little bit of gentle urging to pull him back from that edge rather than topple him off it.

Choices and timing he supposed.

"You took everything from me." Sebastian sobbed, fingers buried deeply in Jeremy's jacket, clutching him as tightly as he could manage. "I don't want to go back there, I-I want this to be real. Don't…oh god, don't take this away from me too."

He was taking more thing from Sebastian. Some he might have missed, coffee dates with Waylon and mornings spent tossing quips back and forth over the breakfast table.

But it was the things he didn't need to know, didn't need to dirty his hands with that Jeremy was happy to take form him. There'd be no lives on his conscience, no blood on his hands, no regrets or broken legs. Just a head full of nightmares and a path that lead to a different life.

But this?

He wasn't taking this away from Sebastian.

"All yours." Jeremy murmured gently, giving the crying man a few more seconds where he could simply cling to him. But he knew that they were on thin ice and he could spare no more time when what had once been the distant sounds of people shouting got closer. They didn't sound crazed which likely meant it was Murkoff's back up finally come to clean up this mess. Without Walrider there to rip them to shreds the balance had tipped into Murkoff's favour once again.

Fine. The damage was done.

"Time to go." He whispered to Sebastian upon hearing the heavy thud of boots closing in on them from down the hall.

Following Jeremy's gaze Sebastian's eyes hardened slightly insane he might be but Sebastian was able to put two and two together easily enough. "Murkoff…"

"Hold onto that anger." Blaire advised, stepping away from Sebastian before thinking better of it and grabbing the man by the hand. "But save it for later."

It looked as though Sinclair would have rather stayed and tried his luck killing off some of the men Murkoff had sent. A suicidal urge that Jeremy was having no part in, so he tugged at Sebastian's hand urging him to leave that murderous desire behind. Once his mind settled again, he'd regret those kinds of thoughts anyway. Better to keep his hands pristine. "Later." He hissed again, giving Sebastian another tug and this time the man began to follow after him.

His footfalls damn near silent in comparison to Jeremy's. He was practically built to sneak up on people and admitted the idea of having him get the jump on the tactical team was not wholly unappealing but living was far more enticing. Their revenge would go through the courts, not through blood.

A door some distance behind them burst open and Jeremy hear the crack of a gun. Too close. Quickening his pace they had to sacrifice some of their discreetness in exchange for a quicker escape. Not too difficult seeing as there were so few up here and any that were lingering had the issue of also fleeing from Murkoff's death squad.

More bullets were being fired, and the screams that had once been a distant carnage were now filling the same air as them. Anxiously Jeremy lead Sebastian for the exit, stopping their mad dash for escape one corner away from the door. The run to the forest was likely going to be just as draining, best to take this final moment to catch his breath.

By his side Sebastian looked just as out of breath and Jeremy found that deeply satisfying. At least it wasn't just a matter of his stamina failing him.

When they stopped Sebastian risked another look at him, those eyes still searching his face for something. The truth or the sign of a lie maybe. Hell, maybe he was just looking to see if Jeremy was real or not. However when Blaire attempted to turn and round the corner, Sebastian's hand anchored him for a moment. Confused when the blonde's hand jerked him back, not pulling but rather acting as some immovable force for just a second, Jeremy frowned at the silent man and once again found him searching his expression for something.

In an effort to reassure him Jeremy pressed the hand not curled around Sebastian's against the man's cheek. He cringed as though expecting to be hit but then melted into the contact. Just as starved for affection as always, perhaps made worse by the horrors of the walrider program.

"Still with me?" He checked in, getting a mute nod from Sebastian. Good enough. "Just a bit further and we're home free."

One final leap, one last nail.

Tomorrow in sight.