I really hope people aren't using this story as some sort of guide for navigating Mount Massive Asylum. I have completely changed up locations from the game. (The asylum's setup is confusing, yo!) So, just suspend your belief and ignore any inconsistencies with the game.
I do not own Mount Massive Asylum or Doctor Trager. They belong to Red Barrels. I do, however, own Simon Poleski, Ivan, and Watcher. Enjoy!
Within fifteen minutes, the two men arrived at the Prison Ward.
Prison Block D, nicknamed "The Pit", was a very large containment area—the largest of the Prison Blocks in Mount Massive Asylum. The room consisted of three floors of nothing but holding cells. Columns of them lined the perimeter of the room, and the only way to access the upper cells was to take the elevator or stairs to the asylum's third and fourth floors. Apparently, some inmates found this task too tedious, for now there were beds stacked up to allow someone to climb up to the next floor. Concrete catwalks also lined the perimeter of the room to allow orderlies to cart in wheelchairs and supplies to the inmates.
In the middle of the room was a wide open area with cement flooring, which was now littered with the gory remains of guards and inmates. This is where most of the public fights took place; The Pit served as an arena of sorts, and its inhabitants were the spectators. Few of the cells were empty, and those that still held their captives were left locked, for those contained the more dangerous inmates. Some willingly remained locked up for their own personal comfort and protection. Others just hid under their cots in fear of what awaited them outside their cell doors.
Doctor Trager and Simon made their way over to Cell 247. If anyone had any questions involving the whereabouts of another patient, or wanted any information in general, they went to this cell to speak to a man who went by the alias "Watcher".
Watcher was currently pressed against his cell door, hands gripping the metal bars, and smiling cynically as the two figures approached.
"Well well, if it isn't the great Doctor Trager. Or is it 'Doctor Death'? You go by many different titles nowadays, Rick," smirked the red-haired man from behind the cell door.
"Yes, and they all begin with 'doctor', so I'd appreciate it if you would kindly refer to me as such," countered Trager. The doctor looked down and checked his invisible wristwatch and sighed, "Spare the pleasantries, Watcher. I and my assistant are here on important business."
Watcher pressed his face closer to the bars and raised an eyebrow. "Ooh, do tell? No, wait! On second thought, don't. You're lookin' for a shakedown, I assume? Am I right? Ooh, please tell me I got it right. It'd be a great disappointment if I didn't live up to my reputation for being M.M.'s most notorious informant."
Trager scoffed, but otherwise did not respond. Watcher took his eyes off of the doctor and directed his attention to the small nervous-looking man standing behind him.
"Oh, looky who it is. Simple Simon. I see you're still shadowing this lunatic, eh? Must be nice not having to worry about people screwing with ya. Being the doc's little lapdog and all," mocked Watcher, grinning.
Trager rolled his eyes and slipped the tip of his shears between the bars of Watcher's cell, poking the man's chest. "Just tell me where the hell he is and we'll be on our merry way," Trager said darkly. His patience was wearing thin, and he was not in the mood for any of the little weasel's games.
Watcher looked down at his chest, but didn't back away from the bars. "Ah, where who is, exactly? I'm sure there are lots of guys on your to-do list," said Watcher.
"You're Mount Massive's 'most notorious informant.' You tell me. Or are you not as good at your job as you claim you are . . ?" Trager jabbed, smirking from behind his surgeon's mask. He could see the red-headed man's fingers snake around the bars tighter. Questioning Watcher's capabilities was one sure-fire way to provoke the man, and Trager was taking full advantage of it.
Watcher pressed his face against the bars, not minding that by doing so he was also pressing into the tips of Trager's shears. "Don't patronize me, Trager! I assure you my skills are not in question!" he hissed. After inhaling and exhaling, he moved away from the bars. "You're looking for that big guy. Ivan," he said more calmly. "The lummox was yapping about you a few days ago. Something about a bet." Watcher looked at Trager, waiting for the doctor to approve of his answer.
The doctor was still put-off over the man's arrogance and just stood there, staring amusedly at the red-haired man. Another way to get a rise from Watcher was to completely disregard him. From what Trager could tell from the man's face and body language, it was working.
"Aw, c'mon Trager, you're no fun," whined Watcher, his lips forming an exaggerated frown.
"Tut. Funny you should say that. I'm actually throwing a little party back at my place when my business here is over with. And no, you weren't invited," Trager hisssed teasingly.
Watcher raised a bemused eyebrow and his eyes shifted to Simon's placid features, then back to the doctor.
"Hmm, that's fine by me. Your 'parties' tend to get a little too messy for my tastes. I get enough blood n' guts where I'm at now." Watcher shrugged nonchalantly, even as the tips of the bone shears pressed deeper into his chest.
"Enough small talk, and yes, you were right in your assumption. I'm looking for Ivan. See him around?" asked Trager.
Watcher sneered, ecstatic that he was correct. He was always correct. In his mind, he could never be wrong. "You're seriously wasting your time with that lunatic? Heh, can't believe that lug-head managed to tear you away from your 'work.'"
The doctor only continued to glower at him impatiently. Watcher let out a bored sigh.
"He's in the locker room, over there," he said, nodding to his right. "Found himself some food. You might not wanna disturb him—he takes his meals seriously, you know?" Watcher said with a slanted smile.
Trager smirked, and removed the shears from between the bars and headed towards the locker room with Simon following closely behind. As Simon passed by, Watcher whistled and did his best immitation of a panting dog. Simon narrowed his eyes, but ignored the immature taunt.
"Ey, Trager!" Watcher called from behind the bars of his cell door.
Both men stopped and turned back.
"We should really chat more often. I could use a lil' civilized interaction. Of course, when the missus isn't around . . ."
Trager disregarded his comment and continued on. Simon gave Watcher a death glare, much to the amusement of the caged informant, and went back to following his boss.
The doctor led them through a wrought-iron door and down a hallway. A sign on the wall read Locker Room, with an arrow pointing right. As they neared the locker room, grunts and heavy breathing could be heard. Simon stilled, not wanting to go any further. Why did he have to accompany Trager? This was his fight, after all. With each step towards the locker room, Simon grew more and more uneasy, which was quite a feat. Simon was always uneasy in this god-awful place.
Suddenly, a bony hand gripped his shoulder and pushed him forward.
"You're the assistant. Assist me in surveying the area," snapped the doctor, pointing with his shears to the door in front of them.
Simon gulped and stupidly did as he was instructed. He slowly stepped through the threshold and peered into the dimly lit locker room. A set of grey lockers obscured his vision, but he could tell that someone was definitely in there; the grunts and animalistic snarls had grown louder. Simon stood stone-still, torn between running and facing his boss's wrath, and stepping further into the room. His decision was made for him as a foot shoved into his back, propelling him into the room.
Son of a—!
". . . the fuck are you?" came a croaky voice. Simon quickly turned in the direction of the voice, and all but died as he stared at the monstrous sight before him. A rather large man was crouched over a body in the corner, holding a broken and bloodied mirror shard in his right hand. He was breathing hard as he glared over his shoulder at Simon.
"Uh, I'm‒um . . . Doctor T-Trager's assistant?" Simon said, his voice now an octave higher.
The crouched man's shoulders raised and lowered as he snarled. The man, Ivan, stood, towering well over six feet and spoke in a husky, guttural voice. "Can't you see I'm busy? Get out of here, NOW!" he roared at Simon.
With pleasure! thought Simon, who immediately made a dash for the door, only to be stopped by the lethal end of rusty shears. Simon back-pedaled back into the room as the doctor walked forward.
"Oh no, we're not leaving, bud. Not until you pay up from our little wager," Trager sneered.
Ivan eyed the newcomer. "I ain't payin' shit for nobody. Now get the fuck outta here before I make a mess of ya!" threatened the big man. He approached the doctor and was now towering a good foot over him. Simon was grateful that he was no longer the main focus of the man's wrath.
"I'm getting pretty hungry . . . That last guy didn't fill me up. But I think I have enough of an appetite for your little boyfriend here," said the giant, pushing past Trager and walking over to Simon.
Aw damnit! Now that he was once again the target, Simon began to back away from the gargantuan coming for him. Ivan was growling at him through a set of gnarled pointed teeth. Like a shark, Simon observed despairingly. He had been backing away so fast that the back of his head smacked against the cement wall behind him. He had allowed himself to be cornered.
Ivan brought the mirror shard up to his mouth and began picking at his grotesque, pointed teeth. He was looking down at the trembling man in front of him with hungry, lust-filled eyes. It was always fun playing with his meals before chopping them up and devouring their entrails.
"I'm gonna enjoy tearing you apart, little man," he growled at Simon.
Simon was in a cold sweat now and breathing heavily. He looked like he was about to pass out, and he probably would have, had he not caught sight of his reflection in the mirror shard Ivan was currently using as a toothpick. Simon's terrified expression morphed into an expression of harsh scrutiny. His wide eyes narrowed at the object in Ivan's hand and his heart pounded loudly in his ears, not from fear, but from the insurmountable anger manifesting inside of him. Ivan noticed the drastic change and quit picking his teeth and narrowed his beady eyes.
"What's this? You gettin' angry, little man? That's fucking cute!" Ivan chortled. "Real good time to grow a pair, worm." Ivan snorted and added, "No . . . It wouldn't be fair for a worm to be compared to something as pitiful as the disgusting piece of filth cowering before me." Ivan's foul hot breath battered Simon's twisted face, making the smaller man even more irate.
Simon's fists were clenched at his sides and his teeth were grit. "Shut . . . the fuck . . . up," growled Simon, in a voice of authority surprising even him.
Ivan poked a thick finger at the smaller man's chest. "You gonna make me, you little piece of shit? I'd like to see that!"
Trager was watching the two with mild interest. He had never seen the timid man behave in this manner; it was all very surreal. But, his patience was wearing thin. Normally, he would jump at any chance to degrade his assistant, but not when matters as important as fifty bucks were on the line. Ivan was going to bleed for making him the fool. He started to walk over, bringing the scissors up threateningly.
"Okay girls, I've had just about en—"
With a furious shout, Simon pile-drived into Ivan's massive stomach, catching the big man off guard and sending them both to the floor. Ivan lost his grip on the mirror shard and it was sent clattering to the ground next to them. Simon was shrieking furiously at the man underneath him as he wrapped his shaking hands around Ivan's wide neck in an attempt to throttle the life out of him. Ivan was still winded from the heavy shot to his diaphragm and the blow to the back of his head.
From his perch atop Ivan, Simon caught the gleam of the mirror shard not one foot away. Seeing an opportunity, Simon snatched the shard up in his left hand and raised his arm, preparing to bury it into Ivan's neck.
Ivan, seeing what the small man was planning to do, brought his meaty arm up, causing Simon to instead sink the shard deep into Ivan's muscled right shoulder. The big man cried out and shoved the still-screaming Simon off of him and scrambled to his feet. Grunting, he tore the shard from his flesh before running at the fallen Simon, delivering a crushing blow to the downed man's ribs. The blow had completely knocked the breath out of Simon's body and he collapsed to the ground, his blind fury replaced with nothing but anguish. The gargantuan delivered another kick, and Simon cried out as he heard his ribs crack under the pressure.
Ivan bent and gripped Simon roughly by his neck, pulling him completely off of the floor. Simon hissed as he felt his ribs shift painfully from underneath his flesh. The back of his head collided with metal as Ivan shoved him into a set of lockers. Simon felt himself being tugged roughly forward and slammed back against the lockers again.
At this point, Simon was everything but unconscious; his vision was fading and his whole being was screaming in agonizing pain. He was done. There was no way he would get out of this. Damn this infernal beast, who was still holding him up by his neck in a vice-like grip. Damn that Trager for causing him to be in this situation. The environment around him was disintegrating, and the only thing he heard was the muffled growls coming from the beast who was stealing the life from his battered body. Simon didn't even notice that the bloody tip of the mirror shard was now digging into his stomach.
"Say goodbye to your little lapdog, Trager," Ivan said through gritted teeth. He turned his head to where Trager had been standing, but no one was there. Before the confused Ivan even had time to scan the room for the missing doctor, something exploded from his chest.
The doctor, now standing directly behind the giant, was holding on tightly to the handle of the large bone shears that were now plunged deep into Ivan's back.
Ivan's body seized as he struggled to breathe. Blood sputtered from his lips, dotting Simon's face and shirt. He shakily tilted his head down, and his bulging eyes gaped at the crimson-coated metal protruding from his chest. His body began convulsing and he released his hold on Simon, who dropped to the floor like a ragdoll. He staggered away, only getting a few steps before he fell to his knees and collapsed. He coughed once—twice, splattering blood onto the tiled floor, and fell silent.
Trager lifted his mask and spat a large brown glob on the dead man's back. Replacing his mask, he pressed his right foot onto the small of Ivan's back and ripped the shears from the thick flesh. After fastening the bloody shears to his apron, he turned and pulled Simon up from the floor.
"C'mon, buddy. Walk it off," prodded the doctor, draping his assistant's arm over his shoulders to help him stand.
Simon only replied with a grunt as he held his broken ribs. Slowly but surely, both men made it back to the Pit, and were immediately met by the loud clanking of iron bars and the shouts of praise from the inmates. Trager looked all around as he half-carried Simon over to Watcher's cell. The lean man looked surprised to see them.
"Damn. You did it. Lucky bastards, you actually did it," said Watcher, his usual grin plastered on his face. Trager tilted his head.
"I'm guessing this was your doing." Trager gestured to the livid inmates. Watcher shrugged innocently.
"What can I say? I do so love to gossip . . ." Watcher pressed himself up to the bars again. "So, did you really kill him? Or are you just bullshitting again?" In response to his question, Trager glared at him and moved so that Simon's broken body was in full view. Watcher let out a wolf-whistle.
"God damn. Think he'll make it?" Watcher gave the doctor a sly, knowing look. Trager shrugged.
"Hell if I know. Hey buddy, you gonna be okay?" he asked, jostling Simon's limp body. His assistant lifted his head slowly and gave him the dirtiest look he could muster.
"Eh, I think he's fine," Trager shrugged. "Let's go back home. You know . . . you should be thanking me. I saved your ass and now I'm gonna fix ya up, good as new," said the doctor.
Simon's eyes shot open and he wriggled out of the doctor's grasp.
Struggling to stand erect, he blurted out, "No!—I-I mean, I don't think that will be necessary. I'm feeling much better! Much, much better," he assured the other man, clenching his teeth together. The mad doctor gave him an incredulous look.
"You sure, buddy? You took quite a beating back there. C'mon, I'll fix you up when we get back. Free of charge! I've even figured out this nifty little trick for fixing broken bones, and hey! If that doesn't work I could always just get rid of them . . ."
"NO!" Simon choked out. Then, he took off as fast as his injured body could go, out the door and down the hall.
Trager crossed his arms and shook his head, chuckling to himself.
"What a trooper!Always so eager to get back to work. I must be better at this 'boss' business than I had previously thought."
Watcher pressed his right cheek to the bars of his containment cell, chuckling darkly to himself as he watched the madman walk after his retreating assistant.
Oh little Simple Simon, he mused. What trouble you are in for when the good doctor catches up to you.
Whew, longest chapter thus far! About 3,150 words. Also, I will be posting the next couple of chapters every Monday. After that, I will try to stick with the schedule, but it all depends. In other news, a DLC for the game is being made, called Whistleblower. This DLC is supposed to be played from the P.O.V. of the informant who tipped off Miles Upshur. It takes place before and during the break-out. I am extremely excited for its release (reportedly in Quarter 1 of this year!). I'm sure this DLC will rip whatever little legitimacy my story has to shreds. Oh well. Carry on with your day, sirs and madams. :)