AN: Hey guys here's chapter 22, please enjoy. Once again thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, and everyone who's been keeping up with the story in general. Also, there is a chunk of gore in this chapter, you have been warned.

***Miles***

Waylon had been gone with Chealsy for less than ten minutes before I realized that this was the first time I'd been alone in over a week.

"wow" I said outloud to myself, only to hear the words echo back at me.

Its nice to have some alone time

"Oh great, you're still here" I didn't care so much about not talking aloud to the Walrider at the moment, it wasn't like there was anyone around to give me strange looks.

But of course. After all, we are one.

"ya, ya whatever. Don't suppose you can make yourself useful at all."

... by doing what? it sounded pretty annoyed, guess I wasn't giving the homicidal AI enough respect.

Oh well.

"I don't know. be a second pair of eyes or something. Read some papers, go see what's on Waylons camera. Anything."

There was a vexed buzzing noise in my ears as a thin stream of gray came out from under my left sleeve. A patch of my skin was set crawling as the haze gathered into a cloud that streamed towards Waylons camera.

Satisfied that that would keep the Wallrider busy for at least a while I went back to reading some old articles I had printed out. So far I'd found a few mentioning one Helen Granant. She was apparently some company bigwig, opened all sorts of "charity" foundations. Worked for Murkoff R&D, not Psychiatric Systems.

As long as nothing had changed in the month it'd been since I'd checked Murkoff was an umbrella corporation that had three branches, one for Research and Development, Psychiatric Systems, and one for Pharmaceuticals. Each had a "charity" that did horrible, horrible things. Psychiatric systems had Mount Massive and a few similar overseas operations. Murkoff Pharmaceuticals gave out free vaccinations, which I was ninety percent sure were just saline laced with exotic diseases; when the people inevitably got sick Murkoff would offer health care, but would really just study the effects of the diseases and use the infected people as guinea pigs for new treatments. That particular operation was done exclusively overseas, but if my sources were right they were setting up shop in south america too. Murkoff R&D's brand of terrible was a bit harder to pin down; they usually set up summer camps with a focus on biology and other sciences. It was harder to see where they were headed with that one, but I had found a disturbing trend; the older kids who did well in the program and some of the more devoted volunteer staff had a habit of disappearing without a trace. While I couldn't find any hard evidence I was almost convinced that the missing people were being used as cheap labor. Hopefully.

Of course the company as a whole involved itself in money laundering, and apparently had hit-men on the payroll if Drayer and Figueroa meant anything, so there was that.

Staring at a news article from a few years ago about Mount Massives reopening I became aware of the Wallrider. I also learned what Waylon had seen in the asylum. Struggling to repress a shudder I fought to filter out the horrors from his camera to find any useful information. There had been a few documents recorded on Waylons camera, two stuck out. Both from near the end of the film. One was written by Granant, telling from her memo she lacked a soul or conscience just like the rest of Murkoff. The other told of "three blind dreamers". Apparently they were moved to the Zeichner facility, the way the memo was written they were just as dangerous as the Walrider. I got an ugly feeling that there was going to be a Mount Massive Part Two.

"Shit"

You shouldn't shudder like that every time I tell you something new. People will think something is wrong with us.

What? oh right, I had the shakes after seeing all the shit on Waylons camera

"If you've got a problem you could just make me not shake. So don't pretend that it bothers you that much"

Testy today, aren't we?

"I just don't like being sassed by a homicidal AI"

What is an AI?

"Artificial intelligence. I'm surprised, I would have expected a nanobot monster to know what it was made of"

I'm no artificial intelligence.

"Could have fooled me. But then again I had about ten different papers saying different things and about half a dozen inmates blathering on. I'm just going off of what Warnicke said because he seemed to be the least crazy thing in the whole damn asylum."

I assure you I've been around far longer than Warnicke.

"Ok, that doesn't tell me much about what the hell you are."

What I am is neither here nor there but I am not some lowly machine

"Fine, guess I'll just start calling you 'ye olden ghost monster'"

You're so clever.

"Sounds like someones grown a sense of sarcasm"

Suppose I have.

The thing was starting to piss me off "you sure have lost your edge. What happened to you're 'burn the world' speeches. You sound like a bitter has been."

You've rubbed off on me, what can I say. Besides, I think we have the same ideas about what to do to people standing in our way.

I was done talking to this thing "why don't you go haunt the building you damn spook, I'm doing work."

Hmph, so rude.

"Out"

There was no reply, though the lights around the room flickered a few times.

Before they burned out completely.

"You think you're so damn funny, don't you!"

There was no reply. Swallowing down a mountains worth of angry retorts I stumbled through the dark until I bumped into the wall of boxes. After pulling the few that severed as a hidden door I tugged at the garage door, only to find it locked.

Great.

Retreating back into the darkened locker I left the boxes splayed out and shuffled back to where I knew the couch should be. I plopped down and waited. The longer I sat the worse my mood got.

I could be doing research, putting a plan together, but no. The Walrider just had to throw a bitch fit and kill the lights. And Chealsy was probably out doing god knows what, with my luck she and Waylon probably got arrested or some nonsense. Come to think of it, it'd been nearly a day without anything going horribly wrong, Murkoff was probably breaking into the building at this very moment.

If you care to compromise I can fix the light situation.

"Fuck off" my mood had been spoiled already.

Well if you're going to be like that...

I already regretted what I was about to say "Fine, just fix the lights"

Without a verbal response a pressure, not unlike a migraine, started forming. Suddenly thankful that I was sitting on the couch, I found that my balance was all over the map. Even sitting up was a challenge. If I didn't know better I'd say I'd been drugged. Feeling nauseous I closed my eyes and let my head rest against a shoulder. I might have lost consciousness for a minute or two. I'd have to remember never to ask the Walrider to fix something ever again.

I opened my eyes to find the room in a dim haze, like it was covered in fog.

"Waylon, Chealsy?" had they gotten back and turned on a light?

No, just us. And you're welcome.

The hell was it going on about now?

Regaining some of my balance I stood from the couch. Deciding just to shake off my disorientation I walked back over to the table. I knew the light hadn't been turned back on, and that the Walrider must of done something weird to my eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to care at the moment. I could read my papers, how wasn't really that important.

I'm not sure for how much longer I read and reread the documents, of how many notes I wrote down. I always found myself getting lost in information like this. If I'd had fridge and a six pack I could have fooled myself into thinking I was back at my apartment.

At some point I heard a noise that barely registered from outside the storedge-unit, the lock on the door was being undone, half a minute later the garage door went up.

A shaft of light that seemed too bright to be real came blazing into the room. Despite that there was silence after the roar of the opening door

"Miles?" that was Waylon

"What?" I shielded my eyes from the light. From what I could hear someone was walking into the still dimmed room.

"Damn it's dark in here" that was Chealsy "what happened to the lights?"

"uhh... they burned out?" I said from under my hand-shielded face

"uh-huh, and why exactly did they do that?"

"Good question" they knew why "don't suppose you have some sunglasses on you, do you?"

"Sorry, looks like you're going to have to deal with the big bad lights" Chealsy had that grinning tone to her voice.

At this point I had at least moved my hands away from my face, but I kept my eyes closed. The brightness stung through my eyelids.

"Oh ya, we brought back dinner" I heard the squeaking of styrofoam on the desk

"I'm not hungry."

"When's the last time you ate?"

"..." I wasn't too sure

"That's what I thought, now eat your damn dinner"

"Fine" I picked up the warm box and followed the wall to the other side of the room, which wasn't lit.

I might have been acting like a whiny teenager, but my mood was low enough for me not to care.

Opening up the box I saw that inside was an enchilada with some rice and beans. It smelled great, but I couldn't bring myself to eat anything.

My eyes were slowly adjusting to the brightness, Waylon and Chealsy were still little more than silhouettes in the light, but I didn't feel like tiny daggers were digging into my retinas. So yay. Chealsy seemed to be rummaging around through a pack of some sort, only to pull out a flashlight and click it on. The light swiveled across the room, nearly blinding me, again.

"Here you go Waylon" she handed the flashlight off "I've got things to do, and you're probably exhausted, there are sleeping bags on the rack, and the couch folds out. Nighty night" she was back out the door before she stopped speaking.

The garage door slammed shut and left Waylon and me standing in the dark. Waylon fidgeted with the flashlight and walked over to one of the wire shelves where he pulled out a sleeping bag. I stood up and walked back to the desk.

Waylon moved to the couch, clinging to the flashlight all the way "you should probably go to sleep" he said while folding the couch out into a bed.

"I'm not tired" I thought I could hear an annoyed sigh

"Ok, see you in the morning" the light clicked off, leaving the room in the same gray haze it had been in before he got back.

That was odd, no passive aggressive comments, no paranoiac second guessing. Chealsy must have gotten to him.

Deciding that I didn't want to start a before bed debate I went back to rereading my papers. It must have been hours before there was any movement in the room. Waylon started mumbling something, he must have been dreaming. Poor bastard.

I'm board.

"Fucking shit, not now" I kept my voice low.

Lets go see what's going on.

I remembered what Waylon had been dreaming about back in the hospital, I didn't want to see it again.

"No"

But it will be fun.

"Not for me it wont"

Right, because these papers are so interesting.

My last nerve had been worn away a long time ago "ok, fine, fuck it. Go, do whatever. Don't scramble Waylons brain up to badly. See you in the morning."

Finally.

As the word drifted from my mind the room cut out to darkness.

Way to go miles, now you can't see shit.

The room slowly came back into focus, only for me to realize that I wasn't in Kansas any more. The storage locker had become a small apartment, Waylon was standing over a mound of papers, Lisa was there as well, whatever they were talking about, it wasn't good

"Now it's just a matter of enjoying the show"

The fact that the Walrider sounded like it was actually talking instead of just making noise in my head caught me off guard. Looking around I found that nothing was there other than what I assumed to be Waylons dream. I already didn't like this.

Without having anything to do besides just waiting this out I walked over to Waylon and Lisa. As I got closer their words started to get less jumbled.

"We just can't keep up..." Waylons head rested in his hands.

"We can find way" Lisa told him with a pat to the back.

On the table I saw that all of the papers were bills, most of them over due.

"Hey!" I said "Waylon, wake up!" there was no response from him.

Great. Looks like I'm stuck here.

Before I had too long to complain the lights shifted, it must be him remembering a different day. The bills had vanished off the table, Lisa sat with the kids, doing I'm not sure what. Waylon came in with the mail.

"Lisa, our problems are over" there was a smile plastered across his face, this was probably the happiest I'd ever seen him, "I got a job offer"

She seemed as surprised as ever, "Really? That's great"

I had a sinking feeling about the 'job'

"He never saw it coming" A chuckle came with the comment.

"Not now" damn, Waylon looked happy. If only he could have known...

I suddenly found myself in the back of the same silver mini-van I had seen over a week ago. The trunk was taken up by me and a mound of suitcases. The sun had begun to set in the distance, the car itself was filled with sound. Actually the whole family was singing along to something on the radio.

The happy was going to come to a screeching halt, I knew it.

Barely a minute later the car seemed to disappear from around me only to be replaced by a dimly lit office space. Waylon was hunched over a glowing computer screen and obsessively looking over his shoulder. Unable to resist the urge I read what he was typing.

'Don't know you, have to make this quick. They might be monitoring...'

Wait a second. That sounded familiar...

'... terrible things happening here. Don't understand it. Don't believe half the things I saw...'

Shit! that was from the email i had sent to me. Did Waylon write it? That was a stupid question, of course he did! Why the hell didn't he tell me?

I was too distracted- scratch that, too pissed off- to notice the change of scenery.

He's the one who blew the whistle and gave me an excuse to get my marry ass over there and end up in a night of hell. He didn't even have the decency to tell me! I mean, what the hell, that seems like an introduction thing: what, was saying 'hey, I might be the reason you went to Mount Massive in the first place' too awkward for him?

Half way through my rant I realized that I was standing over an imprisoned Waylon. He'd been changed into grimy prisoner cloths and some creepy ass doctor was licking his face.

Serves him right for nearly killing me.

"Well, it seems like I've rubbed off on you too"

"The fuck are you talking about now ghost?"

"Oh nothing, I just think it's funny that you're the one who's skulking around and getting needlessly angry. After all, aren't you usually scolding me for doing that?"

"Telling me I'm being hypocritical is the last thing you should be doing."

"I'm not. I'm just pointing out the fact that the more you try to act like we're not one in the same the more you prove that we are."

"You're not making any damn sense" I wasn't like the Walrider.

"No? Then why are you ready to bash Waylons head in for something that wasn't his fault? that's something I would have done back when I worked with William."

"I'm not going to hurt Waylon," I wasn't? "And if you're saying that you've rubbed off on me, then it looks like I've declawed you. It's been a whole 24 hours sense you've said anything about destroying something. Sounds like you've lost your edge" there, we'll see how the damn thing handled a dose of its own medicine.

"Oh, you've shaped me all right. For the better. Wonton destruction is great, but it's so much more rewarding when it's done slowly. Calculated."

My insult backfired horribly. Not wanting to carry on the conversation I focused on the feeling of my skin crawling instead.

In an effort to ignore the Walrider I gazed at my new surroundings. They consisted of a grimy wood shop. It was dim, like the rest of the damned asylum, but I could see clear enough. Waylon was out of view, it took a few seconds of inspection for me to notice that he was half conscious and trapped in a locker.

Before I had too long to wonder why, the sound of a struggle broke out to my left. I pivoted to get a clearer view. Instantly I regretted it. On a table less than two feet away from me was a man, or what was left of one at least.

A mutilated torso drenched in it's own rotting fluids occupied the long stained table. What had to have been a head lay there carved in half, a burst eye dripped gelatinous fluids into a bloody hole that could have once been a mouth, graying brain tissue gushed over splintered skull and carpeted what remained of a roughly shaven scalp. As I looked down the body it became infinitely worse, a deep angry gash separated the torso into warring halves. Congealed blood crusted itself on the skin of the man; whatever was still fluid flowed into branching cuts running from the long canyon to less deep, but more deliberate slashes, below the pectoral muscle, curved as if they were outlining a feminine breast.

Looking further it became painfully clear that the body was nude. As my eyes reached below the waist I suddenly wished I hadn't looked at all. Mangled ribbons of muscle and skin hung loosely to the bloodied body, as if the flesh that should be there had been chopped away in a frantic rage.

Using all my willpower to peel my eyes from the grisly spectacle I looked back to the locker and at the half conscious man inside.

Damn me for saying it, but the Walrider was right. Waylon was dealing with his own hell, he didn't need me being an ass to him too. Besides, it didn't matter who gave me a reason to go the asylum, I would have found one on my own eventually.

"That's awfully big for someone who was considering murder a few minutes ago"

"shut up, damn it. Besides, you have yourself to thank for that one. If you'd kept quiet I would have made a stupid move, but you talked me down by accident and kept me from sliding down your little slippery slope. Nice job fixing it villain."

There was a noise of contempt "It doesn't matter if you stop yourself from acting now. because you will act eventually, just like before. Each time it will get easier and easier, until I don't have to say a word. It doesn't matter how awair you are, you'll still slip up..."

"your hannibal lecture isn't getting you anywhere" it's little speech was ruining my sense of accomplishment.

"...and when you do it will just bring us that much closer, until there's barely a difference between us…"

"Knock it off" I had come so close to ending on a high note.

"... just wait. It will be us against the world"