"No way in hell."

Richard wasn't surprised as he knitted his fingers together in front of his stomach, those slender digits faintly tapping along his skeletal hands. "Let me guess, is it because the one who sold your fingers is the one who's asking~?"

"No," Miles repeated, his eyes narrowing quickly at the male. "It's because I'm leaving now. And I mean now."

"Pfft." The doctor made a noise with his lips, or, what was left of them. "C'mon, Miles~. Be a man and take it like one too. Y'know, up the ass." The look Miles gave him was simply priceless, clearly provoking a laugh from the insane man. "Fine, fine~. I get it. But, then, you're just staying here with me then."

That was exactly how he was going to be. The asshole that wouldn't let his cute little captive go lest he wished to do the big favor. Judging by the disgusted look on the male's face, the doctor shrugged and slowly pulled away from the male, figuring he was right.

"What~? Don't give me that look. I'll only let you go if you actually think about it."

"To hell I will. This is an insane asylum and I almost died. TWICE!"

"Or more."

"Exactly. So why should I stay?"

Slowly, the doctor answered, walking around casually around the table of the bare-skinned reporter. "You know...there are other things to help than yourself," he murmured, so low that Miles strained to hear them. "We may be mad, mad, murderer's Miles Upsher. But that doesn't mean we love it here." His nails dragged along the male's open thigh and the reporter flinched. "We don't want to roll in our own filth. And yet, we don't know what blood is. What death is... And you're the only one to get out alive and let us go with you."

Miles seemed to think now, surprised but soon flinched away at the sudden approach of the male, who now loomed over him, those hands curling against the leather straps that held him still. "You and you alone, Miles~. What do you say, buddy? Do we have a deal~?"

"You said it was this way."

"No, not that way. That way."

"Will be more specific if you're telling me where to go."

"Well, if you get your head out of your journal and the clouds, we might get somewhere."

"You're the one who's capable of walking around here!"

"Doesn't mean I'm the only capable of attention."

"I've been running away from certain people, Trager!"

"Hey, what'd I ever do to you?"

Miles thrusted his hands up to the male's face, one of them holding up the camera the doctor had confiscated temporarily somewhere in an old filing cabinet. Those hands were bandaged but, even so, they still made the doctor smirk.

"Oh, that~? You're still miffed about that~?" At the ending drawl, the doctor wiggled his fingers along the back of the male's neck. Miles felt all goosebumps lay out on his skin before he danced out of the way, throwing his journal in his face.

"Don't do that!"

"What?"

"THAT!"

The doctor cackled, unable to help himself as he leaned against a wall, holding his chest. Miles sniffed irritably and received the journal from the ground before walking off briskly in one direction. He didn't care anymore if he ran into anything. This man was the biggest annoyance he had ever come across in his lifetime.

"Hey, hey~, don't leave without me buddy~." The doctor snaked an arm around Miles's neck, proving the height difference between them. Miles thrashed around but soon quit, figuring it would only satisfy the male.

"You seem perfectly capable on your own," the male retorted, sneering rather confidently. A pair of shears snipped loudly in front of his face and he recoiled immediately back into the other. As much as he didn't want to.

"And you're not. Now stop being a god damn baby about this and continue on. Like a good boy. Actually, I should keep you on a leash." The male prodded the other's cheek with the sharp shears and Miles had to close his eyes to make sure the damn blades didn't just suddenly jab into his eye. He didn't answer and the doctor pulled away...only to viciously ruffle his hair.

"Hey-!"

"Thought you would like a new make-over," the doctor explained quickly, beginning to walk off with a confident pounce to his walk. Miles stared at the male's bare back. "Oh, you foul, foul, asshole."

The madman only chuckled and continued on, the corridors endless, the people staring and the halls filled with blood. Maybe it was his own? Licking his lips, Miles continued on with the doctor in front and he made sure not to stare at him. ...His backside was right there. God. Did these people know nothing of decency?

Oh. Wait.

The more the two walked, the more memories Miles seemed to get back. Chris Walker chasing him, the other madmen trying to strangle him and maybe even beat him to death... Glancing to the side, he suddenly gained a sense of nausea, his entire body beginning to cave forward. "Whoa!" An arm was winding around his shoulders, keeping him just inches from smacking into the ground. "Huh, guess I should've gotten you something from the cafeteria for eating purposes. Oh well, too late now. I got you your clothes back. So we're fine."

Miles groaned faintly as he was being slung over the doctor's shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe I can just remove your stomach and you won't have to eat. Much less take a shit or worry about half of what your body does. Oh, wait, nutrition. That's a tricky one. Ah, well." He shrugged.

"Put me...down...you sack of shit."

"Nope~." Miles groaned but didn't struggle against the other. Not when he was healing and that he could see the same shears that cut off his very fingers. The arm around his waist was strong and kept him still against the doctor's broad shoulder. No point in moving.

Once again, the doctor walked with that same cat-like sway to his hips-oh god damnit he was looking right down the male's bare back. "Do you even try clothes? It might do you some good to have some decency." The doctor snorted loudly, walking further into the blood-stained and eerily silent hallways. "Clothes? What's the point of having those around here?"

Miles didn't answer. God damn this man-Oh. This place was familiar. Way too familiar. He glanced around the room, noticing the two open lockers from when Chris had opened it and when he had opened his own to escape. And those cameras... Father Martin, the psycho priest, was no where on the screens. He was glad for that. "What are we here for again?" he asked, as the male plopped him down in a chair.

"Looking for your favorite friend~," the male purred, typing in a few keys along the keyboard slowly. "And we're also here to see the rest of the place that needs to be worked on and removed to let us get out of here."

"Can't we just blow a hole in wall?"

"Think Wernicke or Walrider would like that idea? Y'know, to see a big-ass, gaping hole leading outside, what do you think might happen?"

"You all are no better."

The look the madman gave him was incredibly vicious, to the point Miles nearly bit his tongue off as he flinched back. Those eyes, even behind the two monocles, were horribly narrowed at him, as if daring for him to even breathe. He didn't do such. "And what of you, Miles Upsher?"

The reporter blinked but had no time to answer as those shears came close to his neck. Ah, he responded this time, kicking out and into the doctor's stomach. Air escaped out of the male's lungs immediately as Miles moved to get up and run away from the wrath of the madman. Those blades sliced right into his thigh and through the cushioned chair. A cry of pain ripped from his throat before he was backhanded. His cry was cut off mid-way.

Pain branched up his thigh and into his pelvic bone, his cheek throbbing from the heavy hit. "You are no better than those that spit insults, that struggle to get out of here, to find the life source. And you...YOU have the sense and lack of knowledge to try and put us in our own category!" The doctor leaned close, clamping his hand firmly around Miles' jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. He tried to pull back but this man, despite his skeletal figure, he was incredibly strong.

"You sane people are the worst type of swine. And if you decide to say one insult towards me, I'll give you torture that would be worse than the tormenting of the Walrider. Am. I. Clear?"

His heart racing, the reporter couldn't even nod his head in the iron clamp around his jaw but he feared to speak. "Well!?" He flinched and parted his lips. "Y...Yes." The doctor stared at him, scrutinizing him entirely before letting go slowly. Now there was a horrible ache in Miles's jaw but he was quick to forget about it as the shears were ripped from his thigh. A broken gasped escaped his mouth and he clutched his leg, despite his bandaged hands. The doctor didn't seem to care and began to type once more.

One by one, the security cameras, those that worked, flipped on and provided static pictures. Some flickered, some winked and others were completely fine. Both of them looked through the pictures, searching for several beings that could cause trouble. But Miles didn't stay focused for long, bent over his bleeding leg.

It stung like all hell, but he swallowed every hiss and gasp that attempted to bubble past his lips. He almost jumped out of his skin at the doctor's exclaimed, "Ooh!" He followed the suddenly pointing finger towards one of the screens. "There!" Miles looked up and felt cold fear clutch his throat.

That black, familiar mass was floating around in the entrance hall, lurking, watching and... Wait. Entrance Hall?! Miles could've fainted, had it not been for the hands that were suddenly shoving him into one of the lockers. Cramped. So cramped.

He decided it was best not to say anything as he watched the doctor work with shutting down the computer in quick fluid motions of his fingers on the keyboard. In seconds, he jumped in with Miles and shut the door. Way too cramped. And it didn't help that the doctor was now helping him stay off his newly injured leg by keeping him up against the wall. That's why he joined.

Miles felt a hand clamp over his mouth before he could protest and he held back a gagging noise. The male wreaked of blood and smelled of rotten corpses. "Shh~, I know you don't like this but he's coming. Looking for you, I'm sure." But the hand didn't move, which Miles detested.

The doctor forced his own back against the opposite side of the locker as his eyes stared over Miles's shoulder. The reporter risked it and glanced out of the small slits in the locker and looked away immediately. He was already passing by, causing his heart to race in his chest. He remembered its face, that looming, skeletal frame and face that soon stabbed itself into his body. He shuddered.

They stayed in there for the longest time, Miles having completely forgotten about the smell that made his stomach twist. "We're good. He's gone." Those fingers removed themselves from his lips, allowing him to faintly breathe once again and leave first thing.

Trager chuckled and walked out slowly with that same cat-like sway to his steps. "What? Can't handle a little bit of me, Upsher?" The reporter merely held up his middle finger behind him and regretted it quick when the doctor neatly but damn near snapped it back. "Hmph. Still as stupid as ever. Should I go get him?"

"Get off of me," he hissed and his finger was pulled back more, agonizing pain filling his whole hand.

"No. Maybe I should just dissect you until you give into me and know that your beneath me. And that I'm not receiving orders from you. Next time, I'm going to shove you into him, and then you'll wonder as to why you didn't shut up."

Miles swallowed but said no more and ripped his hand away. "I've saved your life. Twice, one being now. If you're going to get out of here, then you've gotta shut up at some point and being a good boy. A deal...is a deal, Miles."

The reporter watched him skeptically but soon glanced away, grunting softly. "Fine." Trager nodded slowly and soon jutted a finger over to the cameras. "Let's get to know the place then again. You and I~"

First stop to gather madmen: Everywhere. But Miles now had a different plan. This deal would be broken. Starting when he left.