'All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things.' -Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus

So this is it.

The life that I once knew is gone forever. Not that I had much of a life to begin with. Writing article after article that not even my own family reads is hardly what anyone would consider worth living.

I thought when I first started, my writing would leave an impact on society, because I was a kid with an ego and a big heart. People would read it, and see this guy using his voice against his oppressors. Taking a stand and being outspoken and passionate is why I write in the first place. It's what made Jesse fall in love with me, at least that's what he said. Maybe he was lying to save face.

Now I can't do what I love anymore. I can't speak out or make myself known, or become that famous reporter I always wanted to be ever since I was a kid. Because I'm connected to a machine that was created to kill thousands, millions probably. It feels like insects crawling on my body as I tread through acid even when I'm not physically connected to them. They're always around me. Telling me what to do, where to look for food, when I can sleep. I try to ignore them, but it's become increasingly difficult.

I haven't told anyone this, not that they could be much help. No one even knew I was heading to Mount Massive for this story. So they might as well believe I'm dead. It would be a better fate than...whatever I am.

I've been told this was what I was meant to do. I was destined to become this monster.

But I don't want that to be who I am. I can't let it control and take over what little humanity I have left. I don't care how strong the Walrider is. I have to be stronger. I have to fight back. Even if I don't know what's next for me, or them.

Investigative journalist on the run with a killing machine. Let's see them write a story about that.

Journal Entry by Miles Upshur, date unknown

Miles put his pen and notepad away in the jeep's compartment, while grabbing a pack of tic-tacs. Popping the mints in his mouth, he leaned back and tried to relax in his car, tucked away in an abandoned lot, away from people. He made sure of that, and frankly it was just the way he liked it.

He had spent so much time moving around, it was hard to find one space where he could relax. Days (or was it weeks now?) he drove around the country, avoiding anything and anyone. They could all be linked to Murkoff, and he didn't want to risk shit.

Now they were back near Leadville, only a few miles away.

When he wasn't driving, he was finding various food places on the road. On off days he would even hunt for meat. Never human, of course he wouldn't stoop that low, but he discovered he found the taste of deer to be quite filling. if a bit bony.

He didn't sleep much either. He had briefly returned to DC to collect some things from his apartment-including blankets and pillows, but found himself using them very rarely. During the times when he was supposed to be asleep if he were human, he trained. He learned how to fly without losing his balance, how to stay hidden, how to hunt, all sorts of things that helped him stay alive.

Flying at night was the best feeling, and it was one of the reasons he didn't mind being the new Host sometimes. While ignoring the Walrider coaching behind him, he would spread his arms out like wings, laugh as the wind hit his face as he reached out to touch the sparkling dots in the midnight sky. As if the stars would twinkle in his hands if he reached hard enough. Best of all, he didn't need to worry about Murkoff when he was flying.

But seconds after he decided to relax, he felt something poke the side of his ribs, feeling as though he had been pricked by a needle, or that numbing feeling after staying still in one spot.

"Host."

A growl rumbled from the back of his throat automatically. "What?" He snapped, more out of pure laziness than actual annoyance. Although he was annoyed at them anyway for their pure existence.

"Host, what is Our next plan?"

"Our next plan?" Miles repeated, adjusting the settings on the passenger seat and leaning further back.

"We have eaten, We have collected your supplies, and now We are enjoying breath mints while listening to music but We would like to know what's next for Us? Surely this cannot be it?"

"I haven't really thought about what's next. I figured I'd take a nap, check out the nearby woods..."

"And hunt?" The Walrider asked eagerly.

"Nah, bird watch." He teased, hoping to get a rise out of them.

"You are impossible, Host! The worst, most infuriatingly lazy Host we have ever had the displeasure of meeting!"

"Ouch, tell me how you really feel."

"Host!" they reached for a nearby magazine, tossing it at his face. He dodged just in time before it could smack him.

"Hey," Miles sat up straight. "I hunted all those deer like you wanted. I stopped ordering McDonalds, I've even been working on fusing our molecules together. What more do you want?"

"We want human flesh which is-"

"Not gonna happen."

"You are impossible, Host. Easily the worst Host We have ever had."

He gasped, pretending to be offended as he placed a hand to his heart. "Gosh, Walrider, you might as well say you don't like me."

"We don't." They floated in front of the radio and turned it off with a flick of static energy. "Listen to Us, Host. Murkoff is still out there, causing harm and you are not using Us to your advantage."

"What do you mean?" Miles stared back at their barely visible form. "We fucked Murkoff over big time. Every news article I've seen has blacklisted the entire company. Thanks to my genius skills of course, and Park staying true to his word. Best of all, they lost any sort of relevance."

"You are wrong, Host. They are still out there and they must be destroyed."

Miles rubbed at his stubble. "I understand why I hate Murkoff, since they ruined my life, but you never give a clear answer as to why you don't like them. Aren't they the reason you exist?"

"They put Our original Host through vicious torment." snarled the Walrider. "We do not acknowledge them, nor Wernicke as our creator any longer."

"Atta boy, Walrider." He frowned slightly. "Or girl. What is your gender anyway?"

"That question confuses Us. We are a swarm of nanites."

"I'm gonna continue using neutral pronouns to be on the safe side then," He quickly went back on track, suspicious yet intrigued. "So, Murkoff is back? How can you be so sure?"

The Walrider wisped around the car window, creating an image of fog as they explained. "Murkoff would never stick to one location. Some of Our swarm have been searching for other places where they may have retreated to."

"Seriously? Jeez."

"Since We are no longer part of Murkoff, they may be crafting another weapon. Another weapon to cause more harm than good."

"So, what, we go after them?" Miles shook his head. "I want to stop them...again, but I also don't want to be captured and experimented on. I'm an easy target now."

"We vowed to protect you, Host. They are weak compared to Us."

"Alright. I'm in. If you keep to that vow, obviously."

He sighed, deep in thought as he lamented this new information. There were benefits to being the Walrider's host though. The Walrider, despite being obnoxious and chatty, managed to repair any damaged cells he had from his injuries at Mount Massive. Not only had he recovered immediately, but he had abilities that no human could possess. Besides his flight, in addition his speed and agility had improved, and he was also more alert around his surroundings. But these abilities were a curse in their own right.

Ever since he received the news that Waylon had published all of their shared footage, it was only a matter of time before Miles would be tracked down. He couldn't stay anonymous forever, especially with his new form. He had a powerful weapon on his side, and Murkoff would want revenge on him for not only exposing them, but for also stealing their weapon. Unintentionally of course.

He wasn't the only one in danger then. Murkoff would search for more potential experiments, and Waylon and his family were surely at risk too and...

"We will track Murkoff's location right away-"

"Wait." Miles stopped them. "We need to do something before that."

The Walrider glared at him through their emotionless orbs. "What do you want to do this time?"

"Check on Waylon of course." Miles scooted towards the driver's seat. "He might be in danger too, if what you say is true. And hey, we're close by. Might as well pay our friend a visit."

"The human and his tiny offspring will be fine, Host, We must focus on each other, not on him."

"We can do both, genius." Miles scoffed. "It'll be a quick trip. Let's do this."

The shrill shrieks of tires skidding against the road pushed the jeep into overdrive, thanks to the Walrider's nanite cloud fusing into the car. In a matter of minutes, they were back in the familiar run down suburb that was home to the Parks. Something didn't seem right.

"Sheesh, somehow it looks worse than I remember." He commented, unintentionally sounding rude. It was true that the houses were not typical of the rich neighborhood Miles had grown up in. Instead of enormous mansions and white picket fences, most of the homes looked like they were about ready to collapse.

"Which house did he reside in?" asked the Walrider, clearly still irritated at being dragged along for the ride. Since they were bound together-begrudgingly, it was the only way.

"It's um," He scrunched his nose as he tried to remember. Last time he checked, it was the farthest house. Before he could check, smoke wafted through the air and interrupted his thought process. He frowned, slowing the vehicle down to get a better look. "Hang on a sec."

The last house on the right came closer, and when they arrived at it, the state of it made him do a double take.

It was completely burnt to the ground.

It could hardly qualify as a house, since it was falling apart from the outside, in burnt rubble. Some flames even lingered on what was left of the front door.

"Holy shit..." He breathed, inhaling more smoke once he stepped outside, throwing himself into a coughing fit. "How in the hell-what the fuck?" He slammed open the car door and ran towards the remains, still in pure shock. "No, no, no this can't be right. I was just here, two...no, three weeks ago!"

He didn't even say goodbye. He had promised to keep in touch when he left, but God, he didn't think to even try. After everything they had been through, he had left Waylon to die.

He had broken too many promises.

Without thinking, he started pushing away planks of wood in hopes that somehow Waylon would pop out. Instead, he was greeted with a torn teddy bear squished in the middle of the porch. His heart sank.

He let out a scream in pure frustration, not caring if anyone heard him.

Murkoff. They must have gotten to Waylon and his family first. Destroyed his home as an added blow. Miles clenched his fists, throwing the teddy bear into the flames again, watching it burn. "Fuck! We were too late. Walrider!" Anger bubbled inside him, not ready to mourn the loss of his friend.

"Murkoff did this. They had to have. Now he and ...and his wife and..." He gulped. "His kids." There were two of them. Both boys-under the age of five. And Murkoff was responsible for their demise.

"Host," a cold shiver rippled through his bones. He forgot they could hear his thoughts. "We do not sense that anyone has died here. There are no bodies."

Their response had not sunk in. "I'll check the area some more, see if there are any clues."

"No." The Walrider stopped him again. "We suggest you contact the human before making assumptions."

He rolled his eyes.``Yeah, like he would ever-holy shit, three missed calls from Waylon Park? Do you see this?" He practically slammed the device right in the Walrider's nonexistent face, then called him back. It took a few seconds, but then he heard his familiar voice, and his eyes lit up.

"Y'ello?"

He nearly collapsed from relief. "Park! What the hell, man?"

"Oh! Hey Miles, so glad to hear from you. Did you get my calls? I was trying to check on you."

"Don't change the subject!" Miles snapped, irritated by how perky he was. "Murkoff burnt your house to the ground, I thought you fucking died!"

There was a moment of silence, only the sound of static buzzed in his ear. He could hear Waylon clear his throat awkwardly, confirming that he was still on the line.

"Oh, yeah...that."

Miles sputtered for a moment. "Wh- you knew? I was so scared when I saw it, I thought you-"

"No, yeah, I'm still alive obviously. I ...didn't realize you cared." He admitted.

"Of course I don't, stupid!" Miles growled. "But I- I didn't want you to die. Um. I'm not...heartless." Even he felt lame saying that. Like pulling off a bandage before the wound had healed. He wasn't close to Waylon that much. He shouldn't care.

"Well, anyway, I'm safe, Miles. My family and I left days ago."

If Waylon was in person, Miles would have absolutely lose his shit. How dare he act so casual about what was clearly a serious issue? It was nice that he was alive, but that didn't excuse everything else.

"Did you know about it? They must have found out about you exposing their dirty secrets and did this for some sick revenge trick."

"Yeah, uh, about that. I tried to tell you but you never picked up. I burned my house down, not Murkoff."

"What? Why?"

"Because I knew they would do something, anything to track me down. They already know where I lived, so I figured it would be worth it. After I released all our information to Simon Peacock of VIRALleaks, my family and I fled."

"Where to?"

"Can't say. We even changed our names, my wife's idea."

"Smart."

"So, you're in Leadville now? What's next for you?"

"Honestly? No clue. I've been traveling for days, trying to dig up more dirt on Murkoff. But I did manage to get my stuff back from my old apartment. My succulents didn't make it." He lamented a little after the fact.

"Bummer." And to Waylon's credit, he at least tried to pretend to sound devastated for him.

"Yeah. Anyway, I've seen tons of news outlets covering our footage. It's really a matter of time before they find me, so I'm hoping they'll assume I died in the Mount Massive incident." He shrugged and brushed his bangs aside. "I didn't tell anyone that I was going there, so they'll probably think I'm dead. Not that they would care."

"Jesus Christ..."

"What? It's the truth." He changed the subject, adding, "I'm assuming you're gonna stay incognito?"

"That's the plan. I've got some legal work I need to cover to protect my identity with the whole name changing business. Then it's back to job hunting."

"Good, I'm glad you at least have a plan. As for me I'm probably gonna keep searching for signs of Murkoff. My time with those creeps aren't over yet, and with Miles Upshur being 'dead', they won't suspect a thing."

"What? No, no, no, Miles you are not going into any dangerous situations!"

Miles scoffed. "Really? You're lecturing me now when you dropped me off the face of the planet days ago?"

"That was for my family's protection, and I tried to contact you!" Waylon hissed. "You don't need to get involved with Murkoff anymore. We're done with them. We-I exposed the footage. Its been uploaded. It would be pointless to keep looking. They're gone."

"See that's what I initially thought too, but I discovered they have more locations and I need to-"

"No, Miles, just no. I will not support this. It's an act of suicide." He insisted, scolding him like a child. His temper flared.

"I'm a grown ass man, Waylon, you may be a dad but you aren't my dad." He snapped. "I'm not just any grown ass man, I'm a highly experienced reporter."

"Not anymore you aren't." Waylon stated quietly. "You're the Walrider's host."

The words were muffled from the call, but Miles caught it. He gripped the phone tightly. "Fuck you, Park."

"I didn't mean it like-"

"Like what? Like I'm a monster?" He didn't let Waylon make another pathetic excuse. "I can't believe I bothered to call you, like you would actually understand what it's like. You got out unscathed. You even had time to go into hiding. Me?" He laughed. "I can't hide from this."

He knew he was being unreasonable. He knew Waylon was traumatized and harmed physically by Murkoff too, probably more than him. Still, he needed someone to yell at for the unfairness of it all. Even though he had willingly stepped into trouble. He was ready for the man to call him out for being a hypocrite, or an asshole or ...something. But he didn't.

Waylon took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to point out that aspect of you, and I know I'm super lucky to have escaped without too many...issues. But I'm only saying this because I care about you."

Miles didn't reply. He climbed back in the jeep, searching around the dashboard compartments.

"Miles? Are you still there?"

He grunted, then knocked down a few CDs accidentally.

"What are you doing?"

"I need a smoke." The packet of cigarettes was in the back. He lit one, and took a long drag. The anxiety and anger he had felt previously seemed to melt away bit by bit. "Found it."

Waylon sighed. "I'm worried about you. I should have called more, checked up on you, but you didn't seem like you wanted me to...talk about that. I'm just so...so..."

"Get to the point."

"Fine. If you go searching for Murkoff's potential locations they'll find you and the Walrider. They'll capture you and-"

"Experiment on us, I know." He groaned. "You've seen what we can do though. Guns and bullets don't stand a chance. We're unstoppable." There was a sinister, thrilling grin behind those words as he spoke.

"If they find you, I can't even imagine..."

"They won't."

"You don't know that."

"No." He exhaled puffs of smoke and sighed for the umpteenth time.

"Do you have enough money?"

"I'm not a charity case. And yeah, I withdrew some from the bank. I'm an only child and I got some inheritance." The subtle brag was enough to make him smile a bit.

Waylon whistled. "So that's why you could get into freelance work."

"Shut up, Berkeley, you've got some privilege too. At least you've got a family to stay with. If mine didn't have a legitimate reason to disown me, being the Host to the Walrider certainly qualifies as one."

"If I may ask…" Waylon started. "Nevermind."

"Oh god, were you about to ask why I was disowned?" Miles let out a laugh. "Go on, ask it."

"No! No, I was going to ask if it was because you were…you know…"

Miles frowned. Did Waylon know that part of him yet? He couldn't remember. "I was…?"

"Was it because you were gay?"

He snorted, relieved. "Actually they would have been more accepting of that, funny thing that is." He saw flashes of the Walrider's form flash between swirls of smoke, flickering at him impatiently ."Listen, I gotta go."

"Okay. Promise me you'll call soon?"

"Ye- Yeah. Course. Bye." He pressed end call. "What's going on with you, Wally?"

"Don't call Us that." The Walrider warned. "We found a Murkoff facility. Or rather, where they have been testing subjects. Northern Arizona, near the Havasupai Reservation There was clear Murkoff activity present in-"

Miles had already turned the keys into ignition. "I'm on it. Let's go."

Miles spent the entire day and most of the night driving. It took several hours for the misty mountains to fade into golden deserts and cacti scattering the land. By the time the sun had set, and about eight hours of driving until it was way past midnight, he decided to find somewhere to sleep.

He managed to find a nearby motel that was close to Glendale. It was probably the lowest of the low, only boasting that it had electricity and running water, but it would have to do. Miles wasn't picky anymore. Plus it had a diner next door, so he wouldn't have to hunt for food.

"Host, We don't have time to rest!" protested the Walrider, still annoyed with him. He pressed on, parking in the lot and taking out the smuggled sunglasses he had found in a gift shop across the street. He put them on, hoping it would prevent anyone from seeing his disturbing monstrous eyes. From a quick glance out the window, he was pleased to see that it worked.

"We don't like this idea. If you stop, then Murkoff has a better chance of succeeding."

"Listen, Walrider, I am tired. Exhausted. My back and ass are killing me," He grumbled, listing off his complaints. "And I want a nice, long shower, so kindly stop with the moaning and stay hidden."

The Walrider reluctantly obliged, fading from view. The walk up to the motel was painless, but Miles couldn't shake the feeling of danger lurking behind every corner. Paranoia from Mount Massive was still on his mind.

Thankfully the person at the front desk was too tired to care about Miles' disheveled appearance. Hell, he could probably transform into the Walrider's fusion and the older man would probably fall asleep.

"Here's your key," The man yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He didn't even notice Miles' lack of fingers as they awkwardly exchanged the key.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Have a good one, buddy."

Miles froze at the familiar, casual, but still frightening nickname. On the outside, it was perfectly innocuous. Miles himself had never considered himself to be one to be traumatized, even with his experiences in the war, and at Mount Massive. But this…this brought back a new, sinking feeling. The balding man with the ripped scalp gripping a pair of surgical scissors in a faux attempt to look like a medical professional. It was all an act. A way to trap Miles in a false sense of security, leaving him imoble and captured. Paralyzed with pain and fear as he could only watch him helplessly, as the scissors clipped into his hands, ripping the bone and skin apart along with his precious fingers. All the while boasting about selling them for whatever.

Miles had narrowly avoided him, but what if he was back? He had seen enough supernatural shit to believe Trager could have come back from the dead. Back to torment him, and continue his 'surgery.'

No...no not him, anything but him. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck-

The man had said something else but he didn't hear what it was. All he could do was the blood swimming in his ears. Miles swallowed, attempting to look natural. "Wh...what?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "I said, are you alright? You look pale."

He nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "Of course, sure am. Never better. Just super…" He pointed at the digital clock. "Tired. You know how it is."

The man gave him a sympathetic look. "Long travel?"

"Ye..yeah." He ran his hand through his hair. "Something like that."

"Alright, well get some rest, man. You're barely able to stand. Goodnight."

"Right. Um, yeah, night." He suddenly felt more nauseated and fatigued than before. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep in days finally catching up to him. He had to calm down, forcing his shaking hand to be stuffed in his jacket pocket. The narrow hallways leading to his room seemed to drag on forever.

Like the asylum.

No. Stop that. Stop thinking like a crazy person, it's just a normal hallway, stop freaking out over nothing.

Something buzzed in his ear. "You seem twitchy, Host." He could almost hear the smugness behind the static, and that infuriated him even more.

"Shut up." He retorted, jamming the key into the door angrily, storming inside the shitty room. It truly was the lowest of the low, paint peeling off the walls, a gross lingering smell of mildew, and to top it off, cigarette burns marked in the mattress. He tossed his belongings aside and collapsed on the bed.

A shower seemed so tempting, but he was comfortable in bed. Still, he hadn't had a proper wash in days, it would do him some good. He sat up, fully aware of how disgustingly greasy his hair was and finally made up his mind.

Showering was nice and comfortable. But he hated the process of getting ready. Avoiding quick glances downwards and wishing he had things he hadn't. Tonight it was too late for such feelings popping up and annoying him. He took his shower-not as hot as he usually preferred and spent a good time cleaning himself, humming to himself as warm water cascaded down his body, swirling down into the sink along with the soap and shampoo. Any dirt and grime from Mount Massive was washing away, and in a way, Miles felt as though he had too.

After he finally felt clean and refreshed, he collapsed in bed. The second his head hit the pillow, he was out.

His dreams were filled with odd imagery. Nothing from Mount Massive as per usual, but instead he saw flickering flames across an open desert road. There were strange gremlins crawling and moaning around him, although they didn't harm him and simply disappeared into misty tunnels.

He stepped closer, finding his eyes settling on a man mirroring him. He was tall and lanky, with wavy black hair. His bandaged hands were holding a camera similar to Miles', blinking through the lenses with his light eyes.

Miles heard his voice call the man's name. How he knew it, he didn't know.

But the man stayed silent, and continued to record.

Miles woke up bright and early without any recollection of his dreams. After a quick stop at the diner for breakfast, he headed back out on the road. The turns twisted until the deserts became deep forests after several hours, covered in trees and plants. Once they were safe from any nearby civilizations, he decided to promptly ditch the jeep-even ripping away the license's plate to be on the safe side.

"This is where Murkoff's recent activity is?" Miles questioned, floating over the endless cliffs, deserts, and cacti. "It looks like a whole lot of nothing."

"We are never wrong, Host. Keep flying."

But now as the sun was setting into an orange, pink and gold sky, he was starting to regret that decision. When he squinted, he thought he saw something in the distance, only to be disappointed to see a body of water, and that was all.

"Oh, look, wow, a river." He said dryly, although drinking some semi clean water sounded appealing. "So exciting. Walrider, I'm not going to search this entire landscape all night. I'm gonna-woah!" He abruptly lost his balance in the air as dozens of insects swarmed right into him without leaving him any time to dodge. In his mouth, up his nose, in his eye, and buzzing loudly into his ears. The Walrider carried him downwards, but not before he hacked a couple on the way.

"What the fuck?" He moaned. "I hated everything about that. How did so many locusts get here?"

"It doesn't matter. Keep flying, Host."

"No, I'm better off on foot." Miles wiped his brow, already making his way down the rocky path. "At least there won't be any locusts-ow!"

The second he said this, a mosquito decided to perch on his leg and bite him. He smacked at it, but the deed had been done. Between the insects, his dirt and sweat soaked skin, and his thirst, he was in a miserable mood. He hugged his chest, wondering if it was better to forget about Murkoff and find a place to sleep for the night. Away from wherever this was. He never should have traveled in the first place, what was he thinking? Now he was stuck in the woods, probably lost and disoriented.

"I'm tired." He said. "I'm gonna find some shelter for the night."

"And then what?" pressed the Walrider.

"Then we're going back."

"Back where?"

He groaned loudly, his voice echoing and causing a ruckus among the little wildlife left. "Wherever, I don't care. Anywhere but here."

"But Murkoff needs to be stopped!" They argued.

"Which I already did! We exposed them, news sites have already seen the shit they've done, plus the footage. I even destroyed the dumb machine connecting to Billy." He retorted, shaking his head to distract the insects. "Waylon was right, I shouldn't be doing this. I don't need to be doing this! What's the goddamn point? I won't get any reward! Just pain and suffering and mosquitos! Plus an annoying nanite monster that I'm forced to deal with!" His rant ended when he slammed into a splintered sign. "Who the fuck put a sign here?" He demanded. "What is this…?"

"Host..." The Walrider uttered. "I think you may have found it."

"Found what?" Miles rubbed his head and read the sign with some interest. "Temple Gate...?" There were some other words, in Latin, which he couldn't read. All seemed to be related to religion in some capacity.

Past the trees and the initial sign, he saw a gate leading to a town. Or what was left of a town. The houses were barely intact. Broken, destroyed, roofs caving in at once. There was a statue in the middle, but that was in a terrible state too. It looked as though it once was a humble town with people living there. He could almost imagine their ghostly figures, families perhaps, spending their days.

Any exhaustion he had felt was gone. He had to explore. He flew over the gate and glanced around for any clues. It became worse the further he went in. Bodies were everywhere, as if the entire town was massacred in a brutal apocalyptic nightmare. Their corpses were recent, not yet rotting, but looked as horrific as the ones he had seen back at Mount Massive. His heart sank when he saw an infant's body pressed against its mother's breast, her other hand wrapping around a Bible of all things.

"You think Murkoff was behind this?" He asked, eyes flicking back to the rubble, then to the radio tower in the distance. He cupped his ear, waiting for some sound to come out, but heard nothing.

"Most certainly."

"I'll document this, then we can check out those radio towers. I- I don't know if there are any survivors." He casually stepped over a corpse and reloaded his batteries. There couldn't possibly be any survivors. He had no idea what killed the dozens of people, possibly cyanide poisoning or some other method to pose as a mass suicide. That seemed like something Murkoff would do. He didn't want to make any more assumptions until the facts were clear though.

"God..." He crouched by a porch, head in his hands. "What now?" The Walrider did not respond, wisping behind him and fading away. "Hey, where did you go-?"

His voice died in his throat. If he listened carefully, he could barely hear the sound of a weak groan. He tilted his head in the general direction, and now saw why the Walrider had disappeared.

One of the corpses was moving. Or rather, it wasn't a corpse at all but a living, breathing man. Now it was reasonable to assume the man was dead because of how horrible he looked. He was crawling on his hands and knees, weeping and moaning with every movement. His clothes were ripped so badly that he might as well be naked. His jet black hair was askew, and his glasses were smashed. He was covered head to toe in blood and dirt.

What was most peculiar about this not dead man, was what he was holding. Cradling in his arms was a blanket and a camera of his own. At first glance, Miles thought he was swaddling in a small child inside the cloth. But that didn't seem quite right.

Because there was nothing there.

That didn't matter. A survivor! He had found a survivor without even looking! The man with glasses-Glasses, he decided to dub him as, didn't seem to have much time left with the extent of his wounds, but Miles tried to be optimistic as he hesitantly approached him.

He swallowed, nervous to be so close. If this guy was mentally unstable, he could freak out and lose his shit. Or he would die of a heart attack simply by looking at Miles.

Upon examining further, he saw the injuries Glasses had suffered were worse than he thought. His hands especially had bloodied holes in them, definitely infected. He didn't have any medical supplies. What would he do?

The man suddenly stopped limping and collapsed.

"Woah, woah!" Miles automatically grabbed him by the elbows, trying to steady him with their foreheads pressed together. But that proved to be the wrong move, as Glasses screamed and pushed him away with all the strength that he had. "Ugh, stop screaming you fucking-" Glasses screamed louder. Right in his ears. "Walrider! Help!"

No response. Of course.

"Hey, please, I'm here to help you." He begged, watching the man stumble to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. No doubt, he was worse than Waylon. "Please. I only want to help you."

Glasses only sobbed harder. He hugged the empty bundle close to his chest.

"I know, I know it hurts..." Miles reached his hand, expecting the man to flinch and start crying again but to his relief, he didn't.

"I- I tried to save her...Lynn. Jessica." The man wept, at last speaking in a choked voice. "I did, I really did. But they-"

"I know." He didn't know this man at all, yet had the urge to wrap his arms around him. "You did so well. I'm only here to help." He echoed from before. "I'm here for you."

"And her...please. Our...my baby." He whispered, the bundle staying perfectly still. "I saved her."

Miles stared at it and nodded. "Okay, clearly delusional, I can dig that. Listen, I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? Probably. I'm gonna try my best."

"Okay..." Glasses croaked, reluctantly moving the swaddle closer to his chest.

"My name's Miles. Who-?"

"Blake." He answered. "My name's Blake."