Oh, he was pissed. Oh, he was pissed. But not just that, he was the calm sort of pissed, the silent anger that boiled over with the raise of the voice. And he was so ready to tear the man apart, be it teeth, hands or the bone shears that had taken his fingers. This time, Trager would have his head.

Bare feet raced across the wooden flooring, trained to softly pad across the area without slowing down. The lighter was clasped tightly in his free hand, so tightly that he probably sent a beautiful crack winding down its side.

And that same crack would soon be the top of Miles's head and every other god damn bone in his already bleeding body. He shouldn't have cared for him in the first place. Shouldn't have used up his unused bandages. The only clean ones he fucking had and he had even cleaned off all of his tools! Did the fool have any idea how long it had taken him to clean off a fucking needle!?

"Oh Miles~!" he called, voice penetrating through the walls of sanity that were still left standing. "Come out, come out, wherever you are~! I won't hurt you~." Miles couldn't have agreed any less by this point.

The reporter glued himself to the wall, cradling his momentarily numbed hand and the camera strap being place in his teeth. The lens faced his left, allowing the camera to take in everything on the same side. Would it help him? No. But it allowed him to search through any other rooms and shut the damn door behind him.

He could hear Trager walking around now, bare feet trying to stick to the ground from the oils of his skin. Or what was left of it. Trager was close, way too close already. Even the doctor knew that much as he searched around.

"I can hear you breathing. And I know what you're up to." He continued to prowl around, opening doors and slipping in here and there. Miles shut his eyes tight, teeth clasping viciously on the strap of the camera. In seconds, being very wary that he didn't knock his feet along the wood. Trager busted down that same door, like a policeman after a world class criminal. But, oh, did he take his time, scoping about the place like a fox for the rabbit. "I can smell you, Miles. I taste your fear on the tip of my tongue."

His hands brushed the papers and the old wood of the desk he was under, causing him to flinch and curl up more effectively against it. He needed something, a weapon—no, no, that would get the doctor agitated. But what could he use? His hands? Pfft, no.

Trager's feet were now appearing at the corner of the desk. Miles froze up like a rabbit on the spot. No! What could he do? What could he do!? Nothing but squeeze his eyes shut and turn away, a shiver running down his body.

"Oh what the hell do you want? I'm busy, Walrider." Trager, swearing he had been onto something, turned around and snarled at the mass of nanomachines, which floated before him. Walrider merely watched him and then beckoned him forward with a wispy hand. The doctor swore.

"I'm. Fucking. Busy—AGH!" Miles flinched as the doctors body toppled into the desk. With a gasp from the both of them, it easily turned over and crushed Miles as the doctors body was tossed into the wall. Trager stood quick as more pain slapped Miles upside the head, the furniture digging into his back and keeping him immobile and unable to properly breathe.

No one moved but the Walrider. Slowly, did it drift forward and kneel down in front of Miles. The male slammed his face into his arms and buried them there, shoulders hunching upward to also hide his ears. He didn't want the male to get into his body. Not in a million years.

"He's mine, Walrider. We agreed to this." Miles couldn't help but glance to the sputtering madman who glared daggers at both him and the cloud of darkness. "And he's mine to severely punish." Miles, feeling regret pool in his stomach, opened his mouth to speak.

"Trager, I wasn't—mmph!" The Walrider wasn't having his own plans foiled, not from the mouth of a reporter. Nanomachines filled Miles mouth and smothered his lips, causing him to be unable to speak. If things couldn't get any more worse! In a fit of sudden anger, he thrashed about and spat out those tiny cells to the best of his ability. "He was behind-!"

"I don't care about him, you little rat!" The madman snarled, spinning on his heel to glare at the wounded man. "I care about murdering you. I care about seeing you writhe beneath me and shrieking in agony! What I care about is seeing you bleeding in my own hands and maybe I'll even get the chance to freeze your testicals off! …Heheh." A low chuckle sounded from the madman, deep and coarse from his yelling spree. "Oh, that would be like an award, wouldn't it? To kill the pride of the reporter who tried to kill me in general~."

Miles recoiled but spoke again, getting angry and merely increasing the tension of hell in the room, squirming beneath the desk as he did so. "He was going to kill you! You stupid son of a bitch! Will you fucking listen to me or is everyone fucking deaf!?"

"We made a deal, so he can't kill me, dumbass," the doctor hissed.

"Oh yeah, then explain to me as to why he was behind you when I shoved the crowbar up your fucking spine!?" In his ticked off state, the male had soon thrown off the desk from his weak and wounded body, adrenaline slipping through his veins like melted butter. The doctor barely dodged out of the way, forcing himself to roll as he did so.

The reporter stood, unable to run anymore, and leaned against a wall, feeling the soulless eyes of the Walrider drifting over his body. Miles, practically cross-eyed, soon opened his eyes to look over the room and caught a glint of something by his feet.

The cracked camera blinked weakly at him, showing that a button had been pressed to be ready to take a picture. Shaking his head, he soon managed a sigh and picked it up slowly as the doctor snarled. In seconds Miles was scooping up the camera and some other object. Probably glass because it was so cold, but he didn't. He was out of there. Not anymore.

Trager's hand slammed into the back of Miles's neck, pinning him to the wall and his keeping his tired arms immobile, camera pressed into his chest so hard he thought his sternum would snap in two. "I don't fucking believe you."

"Well you might as well, doctor, because you forget I'm the only one with a sane mind!" Trager merely increased his grip, pressing the two of them closer onto to make it harder for the reporter to breathe.

"I don't care anymore. You're not getting out of here alive, not after what you did. Accident or not." The Walrider shuddered suddenly behind the two and emitted a low chuckle. A scratchy, mechanical laugh that was neither robotic nor human. Trager turned to look at him, narrowed his eyes.

Hunched over and putting that dark hand on his non-existent sternum, the Walrider was sounding off this static-like chuckle, as if he were amused by the fact Trager wasn't getting what he wanted. The doctor seemed to find this the opposite of amusing and turned around slowly, an arm now wrapped around Miles's shoulders, keeping his wrists pinned to his chest tightly. "What? What's so funny?"

The ghostly framed slowly looked up from the floor and merely let his eyeless sockets drift over the both of them. Without a word, he merely disappeared into the floor which creaked and groaned as he did so.

"…" Miles watched that spot for a long moment, immediately flinching away as Trager's torn mask settled on the shell of his ear. "Don't try anything. If you do…" He trailed off, allowing his free hand to tightly grasp Miles's chin to tilt his head towards him with a nasty crack of his neck. "I'll cut out that tongue of yours."

The reporter opened his mouth but Richard increased his horrible grip, causing him to stay still as he flinched. "Not a word either. I prefer to listen to you screaming than whining in my ear."

"Itwasn'tme," Miles mustered out, beginning to struggle with a few pained gasps. The doctor didn't increase his grip and seemed to be watching. Ah, even now his back still burned horribly from that damned crowbar and yet the male before him was completely truthful. He could tell by the eyes, wide and honest in those dirty orbs.

"…No. It was you but you were aiming to attack the Walrider. Is that right?" A drawl came into his voice, lazy and rather irritable. Miles frowned and nodded once, moving to speak again around that vise but paused. Both of them did as they heard a sudden creak of the floor. A snap. A groan.
Trager blinked, eyes widening slowly.

"Oh…"

"Shit…" As soon as the last word left the reporter's mouth, the floor opened up suddenly beneath their feet, boards snapping upward like teeth in hopes of devouring them. For the first time Miles's let out something close to a cry of absolute fear with the doctor but he wasn't going to fall. Oh no.

Writhing out of the madman's grip, the male leaped forward and right on the ledge did he land on, the boards finally not giving away from where he was. Trager was unlucky, clinging to a very loose pipe from the wall as floor after floor opened up. Miles turned and looked back at him, beginning to scramble up to heave himself out the door and yet…yet he couldn't leave the doctor there.

The doctor dug his jagged nails into the pipe as much as he could, feeling the iron rod wiggle and slowly peel away from the rotten boards. Trager jerked his head up to the reporter, surprised that they made eye contact. It meant that he was looking at him…and even though it was just a glance over his shoulder… With a hiss, he clung tighter to the pipe as it dropped an inch or so. The dark abyss below…was definitely related to a no man's land and he was about to take a detour.

"God damnit," the wounded reporter hissed, suddenly snapping his bandaged hand out, barely kneeling on the dipping ledge of the collapsing room.

"Grab it, Trager!"

Said man watched the reporter for the longest of times, soon frowning in confusion. This man was actually…attempting to save him? Yet, they had tried to murder one another, practically molest too…

Knng!

"Fuck!" Trager felt the pipe break away from the wood now and his hands clawed at the air, in hopes of finding another safehold. Miles screamed as the weight of the doctor snapped his shoulder out of socket, that burning pain engulfing his arm like a warm mouth.

Gritting his teeth and feeling sweat beading along his forehead, he glanced down to the dangling doctor, who was now looking down into the maw and through the stomach of the asylum basement.

"Pull me up you moron! The wood is breaking!" Miles blinked and glanced down to his small platform, the wood cracking slowly beneath the weight of the two. With all of his might, he began to pull the other up, grunting in pain and biting his tongue as he did so as he used both hands. However, the impossible seemed to happen as those dirtied bandages became loose…and slipped off.

Trager felt only the gauze bandages in his hand and immediately attempted to claw at Miles's other hand but missed…and fell.

"Shit, Trager! TRAGER!" The darkness swallowed the doctor up into the unknown as Miles peered down, his eyes wide and his stomach twisting. "Shit… shit, I've gotta—" Standing up abruptly, he moved to spin on his heel and head out of the room, hoping to find stairs towards the basement.

The reporter got nowhere as he met up with the one that made the floor collapse, his vision going as dark as the nanomachines that surged through his veins. Trager would be in for a wonderful surprise.