He couldn't move. Not an inch, not a millimeter, unless someone counted his breathing as motion. But, that too, was uneven. His chest shuddered with every breath, pain becoming a corset along his back and ribs, squeezing tight. Dust and splinters filled his mouth, arms crushed and that IV surely having been dislocated from his arm. He was going to die.

Trager let his eyes open but it was pointless, darkness filling his vision. Was he blind and he couldn't feel? Was this his new hell for all of his patients and him too? Ah, no…there were sounds, screaming, yes, but there was also the groan of wood and the faint sound of dripping water. He moaned and spat out the dust and such, surely having no saliva left in his body to even comprehend he had something in his mouth. But there was one thing he didn't understand.

What had made Miles Upsher stretch out his hand? What motivated him to try and save the man who had tried to murder him numerous times? …Huh. It was a mystery the man couldn't solve as he continued to try and look around, something licking at his cheek. Eh, water, most likely.

"Holy shit!" Trager moaned and let his eyes open a bit wider, catching no glimpse of light nor the voice. But it repeated itself. "Do you mind?" he mumbled. "I'm trying to die here." However, someone was scrambling down amongst the rubble, having not heard his words, no doubt. More and more voices echoed, some too sweet that they dripped with malice and others so rough they drilled into his numbed brain. God, was he going to kill some of these sons of bitches later on.

A hand put itself under one large part of the rubble and heaved it up. Feeling that pain break apart and fly away was both agonizing and such relief that the male gave a howl, feeling all of his broken bones rattle under his skin. He didn't hear the other flurry of feet running along the upper floor and the floor he was on.

"Well, well…crippled, he is," a gruff voice murmured, surely being one of the brothers. People who followed Father Martin. Blindly, the doctor spat to the side with what saliva he had left. Instead of it landing on someone, he heard it plip to the ground.

"Let's get him out. I think 'e might have a connection with the little boy."

"Get the fuck away from me," the doctor rasped, now snapping his eyes open widely at the darkness around him. Silence followed right after…and it made him uncomfortable. Him? Uncomfortable? Pah!

A weight was lifted right off of his broken chest and throat, causing his howls and cries of pain to increase as those broken bones, surely chipped and fragmented were pushed and moving. He couldn't lift his arms to rip them out of his body, his arms surely having turned to dust.

"Y'know, doc, 'e's the only one 'ho can free us."

"Like hell he will…" the madman hissed, his vision gradually coming back. "He disappeared, didn't even try to help. …How much time has passed?" To be asking the lowly ones what time it was. God fucking—

"It's been two days."

"TWO!?" Trager roared, suddenly sitting upright so fast he gave a scream. "Where the fuck is that little shit!?" Nervous they suddenly all were and not just because of the doctor's mad yelling. There was something off and some were even a bit nervous to speak. A brother, as naked as a jay-bird, spoke, frowning.

"Don't you know? The Walrider has him." That couldn't have pissed Trager off even more as he leaped to his broken legs and stumbled into one of them. Disfigured, but able, the subject caught the man, keeping him up.

"That fucker knows better than to take my things! My people! My subjects!" Like a two-legged spider, the crippled man crawled up past the rubble as fast as he could and paused, able to see the doorway. A perfect, well, almost, stair-step of sorts led up there, making it easier for him. Hanging on a rusted nail was the reporter's camera, no longer on and probably dead. Trager reached out to grab it and paused.

His fingers were horribly twisted and broken, some of them having even cut off and it looked as if a fly had visited the bone marrow. Or two. Scooping the eggs out with his nails of his better hand, which only had three missing fingers, he grabbed the camera and picked it up.

"…Miles Upsher. Just what kind of man are you? A hero, or a coward?" Halfway crawling along the cold, marble flooring, the doctor knew exactly where to go. His hunch with where the Walrider was, wasn't anything knew. All the doctor cared about was getting to that damned ghostly man and wringing his neck. Or whatever he had.

…But what suddenly made him curious after what felt like an hour of walking was something he hadn't thought of before. Richard could know see through his rage and pondered something that made him pause. Why was he going to help Miles? The boy was nothing but a pet peeve…

But he had saved Trager's life. Twice, if the first spine-opening incident was true. Licking his lips slowly, or, mainly his teeth as his mask was gone, he continued on. Miles had attempted to save him…had attempted to pull him up…but the bandages had been too loose. Too dirtied, too soiled. And Miles really was the only sane mind left here, now possessed by the spirit that had made this whole asylum turn upside down, with the help of Wernicke. Miles was the only who could get them out…and into freedom.

Unable to feel his legs at all anymore, the male dragged himself along the walls, blood smearing along the bland paper. He needed to get down there and now. Richard ran a hand over his face and paused. Something felt odd. Slowly, his useful fingers dragged along his face. Now he realized as to why he hurt so much, why he couldn't see so well. Not only were his glasses and monocle gone, but his right eye was now merely hanging by the nerves as his legs were torn nearly apart. The bone merely kept them together as huge chunks of rotting meat hung low.

"…Huh," he croaked, clawing at the walls to keep his legs moving and his body up. "I guess I now resemble a monster." Richard gave a crooked, broken grin and continued on, leaving a trail in his wake.

Hour after hour passed by as he stumbled down stairs, around the air vents and through hanging doors, the hanging eye swinging back and forth as that camera now sat on his left broken wrist. He was close. So close. The cold chill of the place of before hung in the air without any remorse, feasting on his bones and open wounds. Ugh, and the breeze wasn't along.

BzzzZZzzz~

"Oh, get away, you filthy fly!" Swinging an arm around, he hit the hungry fly with surprising accuracy and continued on, limping, shivering and gasping. The fly buzzed around his head now but only did it when Trager was letting off steam by cursing under his breath.

"So, you've finally decided to meet up with me, hm?" A hollow, dark voice echoed in Trager's ears, making him stop along the icy path. His feet could no longer feel the cold and his fingers were becoming the same way.

"Look who finally decided to gain some balls," the doctor mumbled and seemed to be lucky that the other decided not to plant Miles's shoe in his face. Ah, poor Miles. The boy's face was contorted in pain, eyes as black as night and his tongue smothered by the nanomachines that embraced his innards.

"You know, I should get rid of you. You're nothing but a nuisance to me."

"Oh yeah? Tch, speak for yourself." Richard snorted once and then spat at the male, blood narrowly missing his face. That expression never changed on Miles's face as a wicked grin sprawled across his features. Even Trager managed a contorted shudder but didn't move. Now that the machine had a body, it was two-times more lethal because it could walk in the very skin of mankind.

"You're the one who's…oh, dying to get the boy back. Grown fond of him, haven't you, Doctor?" Trager snarled.

"Excuse me!? I don't want anything to do with the runt!"

"Then why not leave him be? To suffer for all he's done, for causing you so much pain and physical torment? Hm? Tell me…why save the life of a man who has been a walking corpse this whole time?"

"'Cause you're fucking there, now mov—" Trager couldn't finish as a force knocked him into the nearest wall, causing it to split open and crumble just behind him.

"You're really trying my patience. Either leave or fight me with whatever body you have left. Which is, close to none."

Trager laid there for quite some time, having lost all strength to stand by this point. It hurt. A lot. And yet it didn't. Gears slowly turned in his mind and he felt his fingers and wrists crack back into place. Arching his back, the doctor slowly sat upright and then snapped his neck to one side and then to the next. Walrider frowned and took a step back as the doctor, somehow, stood.

Bones cracked, muscles shifted and squished and tissue ripped at the horrible pressure. The male was blind and yet he wasn't, and there was one thing that was broken by this point and it would scare any man. His mind had finally broke and a loud cackle of insanity sprawled forth from his grinning mouth.

"Ahaha! You wanna fuckin' go? You wanna piece of me? Then bring it." Torn hands suddenly ripped at one of the pipes from the wall, causing cold water to splatter along his form. He didn't feel it. Couldn't feel a thing except the lust and desire of ripping this nanomachine apart. But he had to be careful as Miles was still here.

With a heavy swing of the pipe, Trager hit first, the Walrider swift and ducking to the side to find a weapon of his own. The doctor left no time in his swing for the other to pick himself back into a run as he threw it this time, allowing it smack into the back of his knees. With a stumble and an inhuman snarl, he crumpled to the ground. Richard grabbed the pipe once again and swiped it into the air and over his head, hoping to land severe blows to his skull.

Walrider rolled to the side, watching the pipe shatter ice in a single blow where his head once been. It was a wonder as to what his skull would've looked like from that. "Don't fucking run away from me!" Trager swiveled to one side, avoiding a massive cart of god knows what.

Left, right, duck, left, stand, further left… A pattern was nowhere to be seen as the male danced around, throwing the pipe again and watching it sail through the thrown bags…and land smack into the other's stomach, throwing him back. With a clatter and a soft clink, the familiar item appeared on the floor by Trager's feet and it was all he needed. Scooping up the tiny thing, he bolted with insanity and adrenaline pulsing through his open veins, knowing that his opponent was following.

Trager slid into a room and buried himself in a locker, his heart slamming into his fragmented ribcage and chest cavity. It was hard to breathe, being barely alive, but it was enough as he heard those footsteps echo. He didn't wait.

Spinning on his heel as he peeled the door open carefully, the doctor darted down the opposite hallway. But, no! What if he stalked the male? What if he raised the threat level~? Yet no. He was almost dead and here he was, wasting time away for a man he both hated and found comfort in. Slight comfort…

Slipping from room to room, it took him a while to find what exactly he wanted. The darkness was hard to see through and it left him to squint with his one good eye, his hands feeling along the wall. Crack here, creak here…

"Aha!" With a bump of his tangled foot, he felt the canister of gasoline shift slightly. The satisfying slosh of gas in the red can made him grin before he slowly picked it up and poured it all over the room.

The smell of the old fuel made him wrinkle his nose a bit. Honestly, Trager much more preferred the rancid smell of vomit and blood. …More blood than the first part but, nevertheless, the fuel was soon washing the whole room of its original, musty scent.

Camera hanging around his neck, bone shears gone and his left hand behind his back, he knew what he had to do. And all it was was to call the Walrider to a battle of the fittest and he knew his dying body would not hold out.

But that didn't mean he would be the first to die.