AN: Short note this time. First off, thank you Hana-chan98 and EcoSeeker247 for reviewing (reader feedback means alot to me as a writer) and secondly, the next chapter will be up on Monday. Please enjoy this in the meantime.

***Waylon***
Dear god, there was no way I could explain this to Lisa. And Miles, oh he terrified me. No, I shouldn't be shivering like I am, he seemed to be not too horrible. But maybe that's just what the Walrider wants me to think. No, I shouldn't be thinking like that, I'd just make me too paranoid to do any good. But I still can't help but wonder how much of the past Miles is talking and how much is… new.

Glancing back over I saw that he'd drifted back into unconsciousness. In some ways it made me feel safer, in others, not so much.

I had gotten to the suburb in which I lived. The house was less than five minutes away, I was starting to get light headed from the blood loss and I couldn't imagine how I was going to explain this to Lisa. Pulling into the neighborhood I decided that I'd just have to show her the film, no matter how terrible it was. Sighing at the thought I grabbed the nearly dead cell and dialed home again.

The phone was picked up quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lisa, I'm nearly home, I just turned onto 6th street"

"Oh, good. I'll see you soon" there was an odd quality to her voice, she sounded too stiff.

"Are you ok? I'll be home soon" I had only that to say as a meager offering.

"I am fine, see you soon"

"…right. See you soon. I love yo-"

Halfway between the word the phone cut off, there was a ultra-familiar sinking feeling in my gut, as if all my innards had turned to mud and were trying to escape from the bottoms of my feet.

I pulled into the driveway of our three bed two bath home, complete with a reasonable kitchen and a backyard occupied by a half built tree house.

"Hey Miles…"

It was nearly unsettling the way he woke up, simply opening his eyes without any other movement, almost like a computer screen flashing to life an instant before the fans started whirring.

"We're here"

"Oh, ok" at this point he was blinking himself awake while I unbuckled and stepped from the driver's seat.

The outside of the house looked picturesque, like it was cut out of homes and gardens, Lisa had worked long hours to make it get the look just right. It was right before I was about to take a step that I heard a very distinct: "ow! Mother fucker!" from the side of the car. Walking there I realized that Miles was trying to stand, unable to put weight on his twisted leg.

"A little help here?" Miles looked up at me.

I didn't really want to touch him, partly because of the blood, of the grime and the gore, but mostly because of the Walrider.

Despite that, I answered "sure" and limped over.

We used each other as stands, each of us using our good legs to move at a snail's pace.

"I hope you don't have nosy neighbors" Miles sounded like he was trying and failing to crack a joke.

"No, mostly just retirees."

We limped on, when we got to the door I found it unlocked. Lisa didn't leave the door unlocked. Swallowing my apprehension I swung the door open.

"Lisa?"

"Didn't tell me you had a lady friend." Miles muttered from my side

I was too busy to reply. The living room was dark. That couldn't be right, she had just been here, had to be. She answered the phone. There was a low pitched hum. The phone sat knocked off the receiver.

"Lisa?" I called a little louder.

There was a thump and a shuffle from the hallway.

"Lisa!" I took a step, inadvertently pulling Miles off balance.

I could hear rustling and thumping, the sounds of a struggle. Completely forgetting Miles I hobbled to the hallway.

Halfway there there was a softer thud, someone muttering "shit", and then silence. Before I reached the corridor a shadow stepped from around the corner.

Things became too surreal for me. There Lisa hung limp in the arm of a man in a polo shirt and shorts. Face swollen and bruising she stood like a slumped over rag doll.

"Oh, well this embarrassing." The fucker in the polo shirt was too casual.

"Put her down!" running of my ripped leg I flailed at the man.

"Sure" he let his arm slack and Lisa slid to the ground.

I had never punched a man and I'm not a very good fighter. But this man deserved the worst that I could give him. With all the strength left in my body I swung at him. He grabbed my arm mid-movement, next thing I knew my back slammed against the wall, my breath flying far away from me.

"Hmm. I was only supposed to rough her up so she'd get off Murkoffs back, but something tells me that you aren't supposed to be here."

Butting at the man I felt my knee come into contact with something soft. Just over his shoulder I saw Lisa in a quivering lump. I wasn't dying here, not after fighting so hard to come home!

"Little fucker, that hurt!" he slammed a fist into my face and crushed my throat with a brutish arm. Wriggling my legs and trying to escape my panic only increased. White sigils, faint now, painted my vision. With shaking hands I clawed at the arm. I needed to scream, to vomit maybe. White sigils, dark tendrils, and screeching.

Could the man not hear it? Again I kneed his gut, again my face was crushed. For a moment the man loosened his grip on my throat. My eyes grew wide with fear.

"Damn pansy," the man went on "I hit you a couple of times and you forget how to talk?"

He shook me

"C'mon, say something!"

Any words I might have stayed in my throat, afraid to come out.

Behind him the darkness congealed into a figure. It seemed different, slower, more deliberate than before. The burning images clouded my vision but they did not shield me from what happened next.

The Walrider reached for the man, snaking around his shoulders to pull him off me and into its withering mass.

I did not get released. For his very life the man held on. I don't know if he knew about the project, either way his terror was real.

I did not get released. The Walrider pulled at the man's flesh but it did not shred and rip its victim. No this was much worse. His skin flaked away like it was blown by a sand blaster in slow motion. Layers of muscle and bone greeted my shaded living room. I was only released by virtue of the man's hands becoming vapor. Slumping to the ground I crawled to Lisa. Trying in vain to shield her I couldn't look away from the grisly spectacle.

The arms drifted into a lazy haze. Shrieks escaped from the man's lips. I could see him trying to escape, with each layer of his doomed body drifting away I could see muscles staining for freedom. I almost wished for the shower of gore that I had seen before, at least that was over quickly.
The Walrider didn't even move, instead it stood like deaths own shadow and ripped -no, disintegrated- the man. Any shuddering slivers of bone and tears of flesh were gone from view before the man's final screams had died.

Now laying on top of Lisa I locked gazed with the still form of the Walrider. It was different, less twitchy, more solid. It seemed to solid, too deep in color, only in the back of my head did I realize that this was because it still held rain-like droplets of the man's blood.

It took a step forward.

Pushing Lisa back I felt the despair of the day crash down on me. I had brought this thing into my house I had sent Miles to the asylum in the first place, this was all my fault, I should have-

"Hey!" a ragged broken whisper of a voice yelled. "Ya, You!"

The Walrider's blank face looked over a shoulder

"ya, that's right, over here."

What the hell was he doing?

The solid shadow turned fully away from Lisa and me despite having us in a corner. Miles in the meantime lay on the ground, leaking blood and god knows what else on my carpet.

"You heard me" a cough carrying bile and saliva interrupted the labored speech "get back here or I'll kick the bucket, then you're screwed too"

To my amazement and horror it drifted back to a vapor form. Seeming more red than I remembered it being, the mist gathered around Miles. The haze formed ribbons, all of them sliding through holes and gashes in Miles's body. He grunted and strained in pain, at any other point in my life I would have looked away, but now my gaze was locked in place.

The fiasco was over in seconds. In the quiet stillness I was treated to the sight of a blob made up of powdered bone and putrid flesh that was the man in a polo shirt. No furniture had been overturned, save for the one grisly pile the house looked undisturbed, which only made it worse. I felt Lisa quivering behind me.

"Lisa! Lisa its ok!"

As I reached out to hold her she slapped me. Hard. Across the face.

"ow! what was that-"

Then she latched onto me for dear life. I held her in return. The minutes passed with us together, until my grip loosened. She looked up and into my eyes

"Waylon," she saw the bruise already forming on my face "What… you need ice for that."

She stood, her eyes focused on nothing in particular.

"Lisa, wait" grabbing her hand I couldn't stop a tremor from the pain that permeated my body.

"Lisa, are you ok?"

She took in a shuddering breath. I knew she didn't want to cry, I could see her holding it back, "What just happened?"

I took a second to steady myself, "You might want to sit down for this…"