Darkness. There was nothing but darkness. The asylum's walls were closing in on him, making everything seem tighter than it had ever looked before. Had he already run through this hallway? He couldn't tell, everything looked the same. Bloody. Battered. Bruised. Floors coated in meaty organs that his bare feet squished into, and God knows what else. He manages to catch himself from falling thanks to the walls painted in blood. All of them written with one word. Walrider.
Running seemed pointless. He would never be able to outrun any of the Variants even without his injured leg. Especially not the extremely psychotic ones. He might as well give up now. Even if he did escape them, there was no hope in facing the Walrider, the true cause of the patients'-and his own distress.
Waylon's eyes clamped shut wet with tears. He wheezed and trembled as he fell to the ground. The haunting melody of Eddie Gluskin's song was drawing nearer. He clambered up and continued to run.
"I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad. She was a pearl and the only girl that Daddy ever had..."
He froze, slamming into the nearest door clumsily, yet he didn't have time to register the impact, let alone the nonexistent pain. He scrambled for the handle, pulling at it, ignoring his sweat soaked hands. It wouldn't budge. He tried again, harder this time. It was stuck. His heart pounding with anxiety, he tried pushing his entire body against it.
"No! Please! Someone help! Someone help me!"
"A good old fashioned girl with heart so true. One who loves nobody else but you. I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad."
"Sheesh, you'd think he would get sick of singing that same old tune all the damn time."
His blood ran cold.
"Who said that?" Waylon demanded, although deep down he could recognize that crass voice anywhere. He grinned, hopeful. "Miles?"
"Sup?" Miles opened the doors with a shit eating grin. "Missed me?"
Waylon laughed in relief. "Thank god it's you. It's you-wait." He stared back at the man in confusion. "How are you still alive? I saw you literally die right in front of me."
"About that..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's hard to explain. Although technically, this is all a dream so I should probably tell you before you wake up."
"This is a dream?" Waylon tilted his head. "But it feels so real." He blinked, and in a flash, the setting seemingly dissolved from the asylum walls and into the underground lab. "If this is a dream then... you are dead. I'm dreaming you."
"Me? Oh no, I'm still alive. Sorry to disappoint." He teased, flashing him another smirk. He jumped in alarm when Waylon's arms wrapped around him. "Woah, hey! We're hugging now. Okay."
"I thought I lost you." He admitted. "What the hell happened?"
"Like I said, kinda hard to explain. I think it's better that I show you. Just...don't freak out. Promise me you won't be weird and freak out."
"Okay...I won't."
Waylon found himself backing away, holding his breath as he watched Miles step closer to him.
"Cool, hang tight."
He didn't have time to protest or question any further. Inky tendrils swirled around Miles' eyes, making them pure black, save for the silver slits in his pupils.
"What are you..." But he couldn't finish his sentence. His voice caught in his throat.
What was once Miles, was now a wispy cloud made into a human shaped silhouette. Not just any cloud, but a cloud of microscopic nanomachines. He had seen it so many times before. When he was forced to stare at a screen with specks of it appearing in his vision while strapped to the Morphogenic Therapy Program. Watching it murder dozens of men. Back in the Underground Lab. And it had possessed his friend.
He screamed.
"Hey, woah, stop that!" The Walrider growled, its voice a combination of Miles, but deeper, and some metallic vibrations. "I told you not to freak out."
He continued to scream until his voice broke. When it did, he hugged his knees.
"Park! You promised you wouldn't freak out!" the Walrider (Miles?) didn't sound threatening. In fact, it sounded more irritating than anything.
"Yeah, that was before you started turning into whatever this is!" He shouted back. "I remember now. You were attacked and - and I saw it take your form. God..."
"Please don't faint again."
"Unless this is all a dream still." He muttered to himself.
There was a scoff. "Ha, you wish." Miles' regular form floated above him, gradually transforming. It was strange seeing him like this-in between a human and a monster. Tall and tanned, messy brown hair, dimpled cheeks and a wicked grin. Even his clothes were the same. The only difference was his eyes. They flickered from a pleasant hazel to a void of darkness.
"What are you?"
"Your... worst nightmare..." The growl in the man's throat made Waylon shiver and yelp. "Oh my God, you should see the look on your face right now!" Miles burst out laughing. "Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist."
"You're a dick." Waylon replied with a scowl.
"Yeah, I know. So here's the thing that I need you to understand," Miles stopped floating and dropped to the ground. "The whole deal with Father Martin saying I'm the apostle, the one who will save us all? Or I guess the inmates here. He wasn't bullshitting."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means when the Walrider attacked me, which you saw, it didn't kill me. It never was supposed to kill me. It just became me."
"It...became you?"
"Long story short, I'm fused with the Walrider now. Surprise." Miles folded his arms and huffed.
Waylon stared at him. "You're the Walrider?" His voice sounded skeptical, but at the same time didn't find it hard to believe. Unless this dream version of Miles was truly fucking with him.
"Correction, the Walrider is a separate being from me. I'm still trying to figure out how to get along with them, they're kinda annoying."
"It is an adjustment for Us too."
"Wh- Who said that?" Waylon nearly squeaked. He didn't see anyone besides Miles.
"Don't worry about that, that was just the Walrider." He explained. "So, do you feel better?"
"Absolutely not!" Waylon snapped. "What, I'm just supposed to accept that you were possessed by a monster now? The same monster that we've seen kill people? Fucking, what is happening right now? I need to lie down."
"In my defense, I've only killed one person while possessed by the Walrider."
"You WHAT?"
Realizing he may have said that too casually, he added, "I know that sounds bad but-"
"Fuck yeah it sounds bad! Have you lost your mind?" Waylon waved his arms madly, horrified, but intrigued. "How can you say that so casually?"
"It was your shitty boss, I didn't think anything of value was lost."
"You killed Jeremy Blaire?" Waylon asked for clarification. Why didn't he remember that?
"Yeah he stabbed you, so I did what I had to do."
"On one hand, I want to thank you, on the other hand I want to run away from you."
Miles scowled. "I had to rescue you, it was the only other option." His frown faded into a concerned look. "Please, I know it's hard to understand, hell, I don't understand it, let alone like it. If this wasn't a dream, I would be freaking out way more too. I'm not trying to be casual about it."
Waylon stayed quiet. Then, he moved closer to him. Miles was taken aback by the gesture, and continued.
"I know, I said this is a dream, but me being connected to the Walrider isn't."
"I wish it was a dream." Waylon said softly. "Don't you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "What does it matter what I want?"
"Do you, uh, feel any different? Since you became the Walrider I mean."
"No." But something about how Miles said that so quickly made Waylon believe he wasn't telling the full truth. "Don't worry about me. I dropped you off at the hospital, so you should be good to go." There was a slight ripple, blurring his appearance even further. "I think you're about to wake up though. Keep calm, sit tight, and I'll see you soon. Hopefully."
"No, no, wait I need to-" His pleas were cut off.
A bright burst of white light awoke Waylon from his vivid dreams. He blinked. Miles was gone. The Walrider had disappeared. He was in some room. A hospital room, with extremely bright lights hitting him. This wasn't the same hospital from the labs in Murkoff however. It was cleaner, there wasn't any blood or hideous gore in sight. The only issue was the dust and mold on the ceilings. Other than that, it was just some average room. It even had a bathroom linked to it.
Drowsy and disoriented, he tried to move from his position, only to find himself unable to. He was lying down in the hospital bed, stripped from his jumpsuit into some fresh, but plain clothes and strapped together by several IVs. There were tubes linked to his arms, his stomach and his nose. To his displeasure, there was also a urinary one. He must have been asleep for a while.
He must have shifted a bit, because he heard a soft feminine gasp at the edge of his bed. "Oh!"
Waylon found himself staring at a very alarmed nurse currently unwrapping the bandages on his leg. She had wide, big blue eyes that looked ready to pop out of her head. "You're awake!" Her dark curls bounced as she spoke. "That's fantastic! Let me finish changing your bandages, check your vitals, sir, and then I'll notify the doctor right away."
He couldn't find his voice. "Where...?"
"Leadville Hospital." She explained. "Do you need anything? Water?" He nodded vigorously. "I'll be right back."
When she returned with the glass (which he greedily gulped down), she continued. "You were found in quite a shape, I'll tell ya that." The nurse finished unwrapping and tied fresh bandages around his leg. Judging by his confused expression, she elaborated. "Do you not remember?"
He shook his head. She pursed her lips and wrote something down in a nearby notepad. "Almost done..." After his vitals were taken care of, she stood up abruptly and took her leave. "The doctor will be here soon."
As he waited, he could hear a scramble of voices bouncing off the halls, none that he could understand. He lay back, head resting against the pillow.
The door creaked open. "Hi there." A woman in a lab coat stepped inside with a clipboard. "Glad to see you're awake. I'm Doctor Jacobs, one of the doctors assigned during your surgery."
"Surgery?" He echoed. "Jesus, how bad am I?"
"You had a stab wound in the abdomen which tore into some tissue." She motioned towards her ribs and below her stomach to point out where exactly it was. "Luckily, whatever weapon you were attacked with didn't hit any vital organs or major arteries. We...honestly didn't think you would make it." She checked and rechecked her notes.
"As for your fractured leg, the bones have been shattered and there seemed to have been a piercing in that as well. Normally we recommend physical therapy but we need to clarify that it is highly unlikely you will walk again without the use of a cane or some other mobility aid."
He winced. He had always thrived on being independent. How on Earth would he be able to do that with a cane or some mobility aid? What would his boys say? God, what would Lisa say?
He was still young. He didn't need it, he didn't-
No. That doesn't matter. Not yet anyway.
"How long was I asleep?" His dream felt like only a few minutes.
"You were in and out of a comatose state for about 67 hours. Nearly 3 days."
"Wh- three days?" He sat up straight. "Are you sure?"
Her grave expression answered his question.
"I, along with several other professionals, were monitoring you the entire time." Doctor Jacobs said firmly, but her eyes were genuine enough. "I understand this might be a lot to take in, so if you need me to slow down, please let me know."
Waylon fiddled with the blankets, unsure of what to say.
"The adjustment period will be hard." She added sympathetically. "There's just a few things I have to ask..."
"Wait." He glanced wearily at the empty glass of water, the ticking clock, and then the adjacent bathroom. "Am I allowed to use the shower?"
Jacobs seemed surprised at the answer, and maybe a little agitated. "Of course. I'll have some nurses help you get ready."
Waylon ended up having not one, not two, but [three] nurses help him get into the shower. They had to unhook him from every single IV, then drag him around until they managed to find the shower stalls. Shame and humiliation didn't even begin to describe how he felt. He felt pathetic.
This is how I'm going to be for the rest of my life. Relying on other people. Relying on a cane. I can already feel the crushing weight on my leg, it hurts even at the slightest movement. How weak can I possibly be?
Still, they gave him his privacy and the shower itself was pretty nice. Extremely hot, just how he liked it. And it had been a long while since he had one too. The shampoo and soap were cheap, but they did the job, and he finished with a clearer head, and feeling overall more fresh. All of the dirt, grime, gore, and blood had washed off. He almost felt normal. Like everything that had happened was all a terrible nightmare. But it wasn't.
He knew eventually the doctors would interrogate him about it. He just didn't expect it to happen so soon. After he had eaten through his feeding tube, Doctor Jacobs had returned.
"Hello." She greeted, letting herself inside. "Just checking in."
'You and literally everyone else.' He thought bitterly. The last thing he wanted to do was another vitals scan. He just wanted to sleep.
"I'm not here for any testing this time." Jacobs assured him, as though she had read his mind. "I'm here to ask a few questions. Is that alright with you?"
Waylon frowned. He didn't like where this was going. "I...I guess?"
"They would stay private of course. Patient confidential rules and all that. It's just imperative that we know who you are. May I ask your name? First and last please."
He had feared she would ask that. Confidential rules aside, he didn't know how far away he was from Mount Massive. He didn't want to take any risks by sharing anything that could be traced back to him, or worse, his family. He swallowed, staring at her blankly. "My...name?"
"Do you not remember?"
"No...no...I do, I just." He exhaled. "Are you sure this will stay between us?"
"Yes, of course." Her eyebrows furrowed, lowering her volume. "Sir, do you believe you might still be in danger?"
Last time he checked, Jeremy Blaire was dead, alongside his former accomplice Richard Trager. But there were plenty of Murkoff workers still alive, lurking around. And they were even more powerful.
"Y- Yes. Maybe? I don't know."
Jacobs hummed, taking a brief look at her clipboard. "I would like to help you as best as I can. Do you think it would be best if I contact the police if you still believe you are in danger?"
"No!" He nearly shouted. "I mean, uh, no. No that won't be necessary. I just...I need to be positive that this will stay private. I'm terrified my family might be in danger as well as myself."
Though her expression was neutral, she did look concerned. "It will stay confidential, make my words Mr..."
"Park. Waylon Park."
"Thank you, Mr. Park." She smiled thinly and took a deep breath. "Let me just say everything straight. Several staff members found you unconscious, alone, and bleeding out in our parking lot. There was nobody else in sight that would have helped us narrow down as to what happened."
"I hardly know what happened myself. I don't know how I ended up there."
Which was true. He truly didn't know how he ended up lying in a parking lot. The last thing he could recall was seeing the scowl belonging to Jeremy Blaire.
"I want to be sure there was no suspicious activity, er, foul play involved. With the state you were in, one of our nurses assumed you were-"
"A criminal?" He supplied.
"...in need of assistance." She finished. "But yes, your attire did raise some questions."
His eyes darted away. "I'm not a criminal."
"I didn't say you were."
"Please, Doctor, I need you to listen to what I have to say," Waylon's hands were trembling, knuckles white with fear. "I was wrongfully committed for trying to expose the truth. That's what I looked like that."
"The truth about what?"
Fuck. I already said too much.
"The heinous, inhumane acts of the Mu-" He stopped himself. "Of the company I was working for."
"Was this company involved in the injuries you sustained?"
"I can't answer that." He responded. "Not until I know that my family is safe. Um. Is it okay if we stop with the questions for now? I'm really tired."
Doctor Jacobs dipped her head. "I'll have a nurse check on your vitals one more time before you fall asleep, alright? Goodnight, Mr. Park."
Waylon lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling as the hours ticked by. He couldn't sleep. How could he? Even without the nagging part of his brain telling him how much he fucked up, the IVs forced into his body made it impossible to find a comfortable spot. He couldn't even toss and turn.
He had fucked up badly. Jacobs was sure to contact the police after their discussion. The detectives would find out which company Waylon was working for, and it would trace back to him. To his family.
How could he have been so stupid? He should have played dumb, or faked a memory loss from trauma. But no, instead he had to run his mouth. And once he started talking, he couldn't stop. It was why he tried to expose Murkoff in the first place. He could never stay quiet.
He had put a target on his back. Worse, he put a target on everyone associated with him's back. They were all doomed, because of him.
He could almost hear Jeremy Blaire's taunts. "How about if you don't delete that footage, I'll have Murkoff come after your loved ones. Say...for example, your fiery wife. What was her name? Lisa?"
His heart was racing. He didn't know what to do, other than call Miles and explain what he did, warn him ahead of time. The issue was he didn't even know if Miles even survived. The only proof he had was some dream, and that wasn't reliable enough.
It would explain how I managed to get to the hospital. Perhaps Miles- no. No, I saw him die. I need another plan. I need to warn...
'Lisa!' His eyes snapped open, wide awake even in the pitch black darkness. He couldn't believe he didn't think of her sooner. If he warned Lisa about everything, then she could have a head start to escape with the boys.
It was worth a shot.
Waylon couldn't see anything in the dark, but luckily there was a shitty dial up telephone hanging next to his bed. With his hands shaking, he typed in the numbers.
There was a ring. Then another. Then another. Then some rustling. A loud yawn.
"Whatthewha...y'ello?"
His heart leapt in his chest at the familiar voice. He hadn't heard her in weeks. And there she was, hours away, sounding irritated and half asleep. "Lisa?"
Silence. "Waylon?" More rustling. "Oh my God, is that really you?"
He melted at the sound of her soothing voice again. "Yeah, it's me."
"What the fuck, what the fuck!" Lisa's gasps turned into bright, relieved laughter. "It really is you! What happened? Where have you been? Oh my God, this is crazy! Your asshole boss Blaine or whatever his name is wouldn't tell me anything. Only that you were in 'good hands' under Murkoff's control and that you wouldn't be coming back. I told him if he didn't tell me where you were I'd stick my heel up his-"
"Lisa! Hold on a second!" Waylon interjected, still grinning.
"Sorry, sorry I'm just, I almost drove all the way there to save you myself. You know I would have." Her voice softened. "He said something about mental health problems but wouldn't even elaborate."
"Whatever Blaire said, it was all lies. Every bit of it."
"I knew it was bullshit." Lisa growled. "I knew you wouldn't leave us without saying something. What really happened?"
"Murkoff is an evil corporation, Lisa. I tried to expose the inhumane things they were doing and-they didn't like that much. They captured me and had me registered as a patient. Terrible things happened there that I can't even say. But I managed to escape with some help."
"Holy shit." She swore. "Where did you escape to?"
"Leadville Hospital." He continued even after he heard her gasp. "I'm fine, but that's why I called you. I did something really stupid and told the doctors too much information. I have a feeling they'll narrow what I said down, and Murkoff will come find us."
"Let them try." Lisa said. "What do you need me to do?"
"Lay low for now. I'll be coming home soon, hopefully, and we can figure out a proper game plan."
"Okay...okay..." She sighed. Her voice drifted out of frame slightly. Waylon thought he heard a small voice chime in. "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'll tuck you in again." She returned to the call. "Sorry, that was Nicky, he woke up. I think he must have heard your voice."
The mention of their oldest son made him feel an indescribable pain. Nicky was only three, yet he must be so confused and scared.
"He misses you. He asks about you every day. Oliver is still too young to understand but-" Her voice choked. "Please, I need you to be safe, baby."
"I'm coming home soon." He vowed. "I swear."
"I love you, Way."
"Love you too."
The call ended far too soon.