AN: Hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Also if you're reading this, you have a nice week you're pretty awesome.
***9***
I'm not sure how long I was out, but I do know that from the second I opened my eyes I wished I was still unconscious. I didn't have to try to move to know that my everything ached and stung. I tried to blink myself into being fully awake before I moved. As I sat up each individual muscle in my back and shoulder screamed at me to stop. Once I was up I noticed how dry my throat was. After no small amount of pleading with my brain to move my legs I hobbled over to the bathroom sink.
Cupping my hands I strained to bring a hand full of water to my mouth. After drinking far too little I glanced up into the mirror.
My hair could have been mistaken for a birds nest, there were stained patches of dirt from where the thing had ripped at my face. Oh, right, and dried streaks of dark blood ran from under my eyes down to my chin, my right cheek was painted red from where I'd wiped at it before.
Add to that the shredded state of my jacked and grayed skin and anyone could have mistaken me for an extra from the walking dead.
I slumped back onto the toilet. People say that you can't use it as a seat, those people are wrong. While there I took stock of what had happened.
Aside from the hallucination there hadn't been that much of a physical struggle, or not that I was aware of. The fight at the end might have been real.
My muscles ached down to my bones.
Scratch that, the fight with the swarm at the end had to have been real.
Hey, what the hell happened? If I didn't know the Walrider had to. It had to know what that thing was at least.
Nothing. I don't want to talk about it. Something told me that it knew much more than it was letting on.
Really, you have nothing to say? Because I nearly got turned into hamburger meat.
Go back to sleep.
My tired legs threatened to move.
I held myself in check. Sense when I ever listen to what people tell me?
You're in no shape for this, rest more.
About that, I feel like my bones and muscle just went through a messy divorce, why is that?
…
More importantly, what the hell was that thing!
Nothing that I want to talk about.
Really, because it showed up and knocked my sorry ass out cold.
It's really nothing, let's find the CEO. Actually, we should find a different motel. Or we could go up to the newspaper's office. You wanted to do that, right?
I'm not about to move, now spill the beans
It's just another one of Murkoffs experiments, nothing to worry about. It will burn itself out.
Another experiment. This was just wonderful
It's nothing to worry about. Really. They'll die on their own.
It's been months and that thing was still more than strong enough to take you on.
Really, I swear...
No. You were terrified. You. The murder happy demon of the night. What the hell is that thing?
There was a pause long enough to make me think the Walrider had disappeared back into the depths of my mind.
Then, go back to the bed. You need to keep your back straight unless you want it to heal with a curve.
I want answers first.
...move, then I'll tell you.
That was good enough for me. The pain from any movement was still nearly more than I could bear, each movement felt more like someone was trying to string a harp with my tendons that actually steps. The bed seemed a mile away, but somehow I made it.
Laying face down I thought There. Now spill it.
I felt muscle and bone sliding into place in my back Murkoff started a second experiment at Mount Massive.
The bastards didn't learn the first time.
No, this happened before you or even Waylon ever got there.
Why the hell don't I know about it then
There was an impatient surge of static Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?
I sighed Go on
After Billy had been a successful host for me I began to test the limits, while the place was still relatively intact I was inspecting the halls. There was something… I'll just show you.
The sight of the sheets vanished from in front of me. I found that I was standing in a busy hall, it was Mount Massive, that was for sure, though the sight of living people in it might have been more unnerving that its usual decrepit state. The Walrider as I knew it had checked out, but I could see a thin shadow tracing around the halls that I knew had to be it. The scenery followed the shadow, and me with it. I could catch small slivers of conversation.
"Repressed childhood memories…"
"...tuatara lizards…"
They droned on, at the end of the hall I could see a guarded steel door, apparently leading into a restricted ward. the memory started to get fuzzy.
Odd, the walrider recorded everything spot on, with no flaw or variation. The light above me flickered, a couple of scientists walked through where I was standing, muttering about cheap lights. The next conversation I heard was louder than the others, apparently it was the point the Walrider was trying to show me.
"Billy Hope has become more stable over the past month, I believe that we need to increase the containment measures and the levels of inorganic stress in the area." a lady whose face I recognized but had never met before spoke.
"Nah, it's fine. Billy's not going anywhere" a fully dressed Trager spoke. At the sound of his voice my hands began to itch ever so slightly
"Sir, that's beside the point. I'm afraid that the Blind Dreamer Project might be viable, if there were cross contamination due to a facility breach-"
"But nothing, it's not happening" Trager took a step towards the guarded door "do me a favor, would ya?"
The woman stifled an angry sigh "yes sir?"
"Go ahead and round up a couple more subjects for the blind dreamer thing, I have a feeling it's gonna be huge."
The woman gave a stern nod, then disappeared down the hall and around a corner. The scenery wavered even more as Trager moved through the doors. It was like looking through flowing water, but I could just make out the shape of an emaciated body strapped to a gurney before the doors to the other hall swung shut. The scenery flowed away more and more until only a vague feeling of unease was left. I felt how the Walrider had, like a cornered dog readying to lunge.
The Walrider was a predator, not something that cowered easily, having the hair on my arms stand on end from its reaction to the memory frayed my nerves almost as much as my ordeal with the blind dreamer.
The last of the distorted vision dripped away from in front of me until I was greeted by the gray sheets of the bed.
My back still hurt like hell.
So, the Blind Dreamer project.
That's what they called it.
I remembered the files in my coat pocket. Why didn't you want me to look into it.
It's none of our business.
Bull shit it's not. I nearly died, that makes it my business.
No.
Bits of bone slid back into their sockets, skin merged back together, tight knots of flesh loosened and shifted back to where they belonged.
With your help or not, I'm finding the damn thing.
Don't do it.
I am. Also, what the hell did it do to you?
Nothing. A sliver of annoyed static started working its way into the conversation.
Really, because I seem to remember the swarm trying to pop me like a balloon.
It was nothing.
I wasn't getting any answers, I didn't care. I'll figure everything out eventually.
Good luck with that.
I was close enough to being in one piece to be able to sit up. Fishing through my pockets I grabbed the file I'd found in the courthouse. As I flipped through the pages I became more and more angry that the Walrider and tried to hide them from my by screwing with my memory.
I rustled the top page away. What right did the damn thing have? If I wanted to do something hopelessly dangerous, than why the hell should to try to stop me. Hell, my own bad decision making had been what led me to it in the first place. I carelessly read the first and second pages. There were three of the fucking things. The Walrider was being a damn coward about it. Why? I sure as hell wasn't, and I'm just a guy; it's literally immortal.
My blood boiled the more I read.
The blind dreamers had been transferred to the Zeichner facility. I'd been there too, had the Walrider been hiding this from me when I was there too? I skimmed the page. "forced hallucinations… delusional experiences causing brain death… deletion of existing personality..."
The damn things could apparently wreck a man's mind faster and more thoroughly than anything at Mount Massive. Why the hell did Murkoff keep doing this? Did they just think that making monsters was a good way to spend the weekend?
I let out half a strangled growl and allowed myself to fall backward onto the bed. There was still a hint of soreness left in my limbs.
Are you done pouting now?
Not now, goddamn it.
I pried myself up and walked to the duffle bag. Digging through the side pockets I found the little disposable camera I'd picked up at a gas station about a week ago. I laid out the documents on the bed. Carefully I took pictures of each before I tucked them away into their battered file folder. Then I emptied my duffle bag, laid the papers on the bottom, and replaced the cloths back over them.
The last of my aching was gone by the time I started changing into a clean shirt and new jacket. I gave my face a good rinsing and ran my hands through my hair until I didn't look like hell warmed over, then I walked outside.
Looks like someone's on a mission.
I'm not in the mood to talk.
Just indulge me for a moment, at least-
I'm going to drop of the pictures at the newspaper, find the CEO, kill him, then we're going after the blind dreamers.
...you're not going to be able to beat them.
The dead ladies blood streaked face flashed before me. I'd killed a lot of people recently, sure. But when I did it, it's because they had it coming.
We won't walk away from another fight alive.
Murkoffs experiments had made enough monsters.
I don't give a damn.