Just a shout out and thanks to Xcom-anders and Samoacookie for the reviews. And the favs and the happy that's going on. Glad ya'll are enjoying the read and hope to continue to entertain. Just wish there was more Outlast love out there *sad faces*
Criminally Sane
The ache in my arms forced me to action, either I'd learn where the twins had hidden themselves or I'd fall to my death. If I could locate them from a distance away, I'd have the time to between us to run. I pretended to believe this, I couldn't dangle here any longer.
I pulled my body over the frame as much as I could, then edged my knee up and pushed myself in. I let my body recover from the exertion, while keeping attention on the empty hall. The sound of burnt sparks and hitching caught my attention, but I wanted to make certain the room they had been standing beside previously wasn't occupied. I couldn't recall if the window near me was shattered, though I never picked up the distinct sound of a forced entry. I even doubted if they could break the plexi windows.
It felt safe, and was empty aside from another body slumped in a chair seated at the terminal. Another security room offering much of the same, but no lockers to hide in should my fan club return. I wouldn't get the chance anyway, I was cornered here.
I looked over some of the filing cabinets checking for patient files, what I did find dealt primarily with diagnosis and progress reports, little of interest. Some of the drawers were locked, and probably these held more files on Murkoff's work and Project Walrider. There were a few desks at the back of the room near the locked Security door, in them were personal items and memos to the staff. One had a battery, a find much more worthwhile than a wallet filled with twenties.
I might've taken them anyway.
A view window separated the room from a decontamination chamber, before it sat the terminal and computers. The monitors had slipped to screensaver mode displaying relaxing ripples, and liquid bubbles. Among the mess of papers was another file, though it was enlightening if not building on the confusion that choked my thoughts.
MURKOFF CORP. P.G. MAINTENANCE MEMO
Proper Purge Gate maintenance is crucial to PROJECT WLARIDER security. Please refer to Murkoff Corp. Maintenance Manual MMPSMM180286 or seek guidance from a supervisor with the proper security clearance.
This struck me as odd. Purge gates, installed specifically for Project Walrider? All along I had this delusion it was to keep microbes and other pathogens from contaminating other patients involved with the experimentations. These were unique to Murkoff's research, this I knew. But what was Murkoff's intent on purging? And was it contagious? The doctors and staff didn't seem concerned with that, I had seen no micro protective suits anywhere.
I checked the hall before climbing from the ruined window, it felt like the solid walls around me vibrated from some force unknown to me and echoed with an ancient power. Or was it my nerves picking up a looming threat? The broken catch was coming from further down the corridor, a purge unit that was malfunctioning. Beyond it a short hall that led to door with a plate beside that read Showers. Beneath the door, the red stains had been brushed on the floor guiding me on the path I needed to follow.
Call me crazy.
The door was locked and needed another key card. Well, fuck. It would be some sort of fucking catastrophe if it was around here, wouldn't it? The world would just fucking end if I didn't go hunt it down.
I proceeded along the darkened hall to find another of the doctors, bloody and beaten till his uniform was black and tinged with puss. It looked like he had tried to reach something on the other side of the gate, maybe a key. Or someone had snagged him and tried to tear him through the tiny bars.
I returned to the malfunctioning doors as my best lead and inched through, activating the night feed to make sure I didn't trip on a body or something. The echo of panicked shrieks clattered around the caged corridor. I actually hurried my steps around the corner to find their origin, hardcore reporter instincts right there. Someone was pleading below, and I just passed by metal gates in time to see a large shape I was not pleased to find here.
He was holding a man, and literally ripped his body OFF of his head. Not the other way around, I mean, he pulled this man's torso out from under his head! I stood shocked, listening to him mutter to himself as he wandered away completely abandoning the other patients darting about.
"We have to contain it."
I waited, expecting the big fucker to grab me from behind and tear my body in two. What had he said?
"I can't shake Chris Walker, the big ugly fucker who likes ripping off peoples' heads. I hear him muttering about security protocols, containment. What if he's not the problem? What if he's trying to fix it?"
I wrote down the time from my camera and sat in the light escaping through the bars. Patients were still screaming below in the prison block, one of them was running around trying to climb out of that place. I didn't blame him.
"He'll kill us all for being sick." Did he mean their mental deficiencies? Or what Murkoff had done to them? It was becoming obscure between where they had been committed, and where Murkoff took over. Chris wasn't exactly a daisy himself. But the containment chambers, Murkoff had been quartering something off. Project Walrider? Was that what had happened to this place?
My facts were scattered. Whatever Murkoff had been trying to do, it got out of hand and killed everyone here. Chris was a threat, but…I was afraid to admit this - he wasn't the enemy I should be running from.
I put my notepad away and made the remainder of the trip to the end of the corridor, but it was a dead end. But it wasn't a waste, a guard had fallen in the corner with a magnet card pinned to his breast pocket.
As I passed by the bars on my return, a patient dove down from a hole in the floor above. "See the egress…get flushed with the rest of us shits." He hoped off out of sight, following a path opposite of the blood stains I was directed on by my 'benefactor.'
I stopped to strain and see where it was he had gone, looked like stairs going down. Was that the one I hadn't shut the door on? How'd he get over there? By the bloody marks, it seemed soon my path would lead to that side regardless.
This meant the patients had alternate ways of getting around, and some had access to the segregation gates. Of course, who took over the jail when all the wardens had been murdered? The meek would inherit the world.
Maybe it was better I was not on the exact same route, I did not want to run into these people at every corner. To cross paths was inevitable, but any shred of opportunity to avoid a meeting I would snatch up. Too many close calls already, eventually I would foul up. Death stained the walls and it was following me. Or I was following it.
I hastened through the broken doors, not feeling better that this brief obstacle was overcome. Progress was progress at this point, gradual and frustrating, but as long as I was on my feet (and clothed) I shouldn't be complaining.
The magnet door gave me some trouble, because it was the path I was directed on and that's the only reason I could see for it to malfunction at this one point in time. I gave the panel a smack with my fist, and regretted that, but it seemed to knock the reader into functioning order. See, I could fight back.
As I stepped into the black room, a loud crack filled the air causing me to jump backwards. I took a breath and stretched a bit to loosen the knots in my muscles. Just thunder, that storm I had beaten to this place had finally arrived. Wouldn't help matters, couldn't hurt them either. I took a deep breath and coughed at the smell, I was getting used to it by this point, though I didn't want to admit that. I couldn't remember what the fresh outside air smelled like.
My camera had fallen to a fourth of its battery life, but it'd hold. As long as the recording functions and everything were going, I was good.
Lockers and boxes. Not lockers I could camp in, just small cubbies to store the stuff mentally unstable people should not have access to. Like small pieces that could be easily swallowed.
I was caged in by wire mesh that extended up a distance I was certain I could climb with ease, however, the main concern was the other side. The fence ended at a sheer drop, some distance above a tiled floor. Shrieking was coming from that lower area, what looked like a filthy shower covered in gravel or dirt, I couldn't discern through the camera, it didn't matter either way. More patients hurrying to a hole torn out in the concrete floor.
This was where the 'Father' wanted me to go, I think. How the hell would I get over there? And why were the patients in such a frantic state to reach it as well? From their voices they sounded panicked, as though a great urgency had arrived to escape through that hole. Was someone chasing them? I had twenties stacked on the big fucker.
At any rate we were all herded in the same direction, by Father Martin. No mystery they believed what he was on about. Didn't mean I was, I needed a way out of here that didn't involve the sweet release of death.
Damn it, I wouldn't die after coming this far.
There was no safe way down there over the mesh, no footholds or wrecked openings that I could make out. Just a drop that would leave at least one leg broken or sprained, the point being I didn't need to risk it if there was a way around. The patients had a way to get down there, I couldn't make out from where exactly, just a hall that led out of the shadows. I must have been on the right track, though it felt far out of the way and redundant. At least I was alone.
Lightening flashed, and I thought I saw something. Something that frightened me. I eased around the fence corner and listened, but heard nothing. Maybe my nerves were frayed, there was a curtain blowing in the breeze, some windows along this level had been shattered but I doubted that I would survive a fall from this height.
I remained wary and stepped out, creeping along the shadowed side of the fence. Night vision, that would settle things. I looked through the visor and saw a large, sinew shape stalking towards me.
Just before I could turn and flee his path, the soft pads of bare feet caught me before the roar of thunder clattered, and light filled the hall. I didn't dare drop my eyes from the black veil that retook the open space, if I turned to acknowledge the figure at my back that would be the moment death ripped through me. My worst fears were realized, as though all this time they had mingled among my restive thoughts. I was cornered.
It felt like time had ground still at that precise moment, the droplets running down windows ran up backwards. I might die here in this instant, my corpse gutted and I would turn into another nameless sap. Another victim to this morbid hospital. Devoured alive by nightmares tearing into reality.
I threw myself out the open window.
"My god, he vanished."
"Vanished without a trace." The other sounded lazy or amused.
I clung by one hand, the cold winter rain seeped through the fibers of my coat and streams of water from the wall slipped down my sleeve. My other hand clutched the camera to my chest as I trembled against a sharp gale of wind. I would not let it go, I refused to lose that camera! Quickly I shoved it into the pack and made sure it was secure and covered by my coat before slapping my hand up to the soaked ledge, and inched to the right. Don't slip, for gods sake don't lose your grip Miles.
"I detect sarcasm."
"It was," he paused, probably to smirk, "my intention."
"He thinks we're assholes." Yep.
"Or stupid." Nope. Truthfully, nope. Just assholes.
"Let's pull him in and slit his belly open." Holy shit move, I gotta get out of here!
"Wait. Just a moment."
I shuffled along the ledge, my legs dangling in open air and soaked. When I awoke in Martin's cell my pants had nearly completely dried, and now I was fully soaked on this little detour. Not the highlight of my concerns for the moment – focus, focus, focus.
The ledge ended at some distance, but an open window was available if I could get enough leverage to pull myself up. I scrapped my toes into the slick brick and hauled my soggy body up, until I was over the sill enough to see the hall. In the dark I couldn't make out where the twins had gone, but I heard nothing over the drum of rain on glass. Without a second thought I heaved into the safety of shadows and kept low, hurrying into my original route. I slicked my hands dry against the lining of my coat and brought up the camera in my damp fingers, only checking through the visor when the light was abandoned. It was total black, my gaze lost on the floor in my haste to get away. I happened upon a door and flung it open, not nearly thankful enough that it wasn't locked. I shut it softly and spun around, about ready to fall as my body quivered in the cold and my waterlogged shoes met the gritty tile.
Halls. Just halls. Janitorial bucket, a mop (poor sort of weapon). No indication of where to go from here, no sound of life, a minimal amount of safety by first appearance. I didn't feel like I was missing much.
The hall to my right was dark, but my battery was still holding out on power. On the other hand, it looked like the lamps still worked if I continued forward to the next corner.
I decided to check the dark hall, given circumstances I was safer sitting in a shadow than in the open light fully exposed to potential dangers. The path led through a gate, I crossed the wide stretch to check and confirm another gate was locked on one end, before I turned to address a light source that had been on my left. It was more or less what I expected.
Some sort of disciplinary room, I gauged, not sure though. I took as much from the chair to the side, a makeshift toilet and electric chair though there were no visible cords hooked to it, only the restraints for the neck and wrists. It could've been used for shock therapy, though that was outlawed forever ago. Trust Murkoff to bring back the classics.
More decay, on the other side of the chair an assortment of limbs had been abandoned, blue and black, the skin and muscle barely clinging to the bones and flies swarming. I buried my nose in my wet sleeve and turned my sight toward one of the holding cells, where a guard lay folded in half. Backwards. Looked like someone tried to drag him into the edge of the floor.
On the desk at the other side was another privy folder, which I was glad to open and go through. I read through it three times until my mind had focused and I was picking up the actual words on the file, rather the flashes and burn of fetid flesh clawing at my back.
Please find attached a copy of the DEATH CERTIFICATE for RUDOLF G. WERNICKE, Murkoff Psychiatric Systems subcontractor no. 148616.
No surviving family.
STATE OF COLORADO hold to light to view watermark
File No. 8732
Place: Colorado
Town or City: Mount Massive Preserve
Full Name: Rudolf Gustav Wernicke
Length of residence in city or town where death occurred: 0 Years, 7 months
How long in U.S., if of foreign birth: 55 years
Sex: Male
Color or Race: White
Single, Married, Widowed, or Divorced (write the word): Single.
Date of Birth: October 20, 1918
Birthplace: Germany
Date of Death: February 28, 2009
I hereby certify: that I attended deceased from June 4, 2003 to February 28, 2009 that I saw him alive on February 27, 2009, that death occurred on the date stated above at 4:11 AM.
The principal cause of death and related causes of importance were as follows:
"Heart failure due to advanced age."
THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT THIS IS A TRUE AND CORRECT COPY OF THE OFFICIAL RECORD
The file included some images of him prior to death, and some earlier in his life, but most of it was medical data and some interviews a week before he had passed. No images of his body post death were included.
Rudolf Wernicke was one of few men apart of Project Paperclip, and he had been contracted by Murkoff for his mathematical and scientific advancements, but he had never made it to that day. What a shame. But there were contradictions to this file, and certain facts. I knew it before reading this. One file stated he had overseen experiments done on Chris Walker, and I recall reading an article two years prior glorifying his research. A stupid sick document of how he was one of the greatest minds of his era, and how the world of science missed his contributions. And in this particular report it stated that he had died around three years ago.
The inaccuracies involved with all the information relevant to Dr. Rudolf Wernicke was atrocious. What was going on here? He had no surviving family.
I shut the file and slipped it under a box before leaving that room and shutting the door behind me. The distant howl of a sick soul reached my ears and I paused to dwell on it, as I did the files I had compiled thus far. I toggled through the functions of my camera as easily as one might clench their fist, I read through the file tacking down that it was authentic. I was putting off the inevitable.
No other option but the lit hall. I returned, poking around the corner and listening for footfalls, muttering, anything that screamed death. Aside from a distant shriek, it was calm. My attention was drawn to the left where dark hand prints streaked up and down a wall, beside the doors of a purge chamber. By the looks of it the door had no power. For now I let it go and walked along the wall and glanced out the dark windows to my right, I couldn't see but I didn't bother to bring up the NV either. Looked like another cell block but the glass was filthy with dirt and steam, it could have as easily been an outdoor courtyard. I was too fucking lost to come up with anything more creative.
I began to wonder what it was like for the doctors to work in this place, once Murkoff Corp had taken over. Some voiced concerns for the conditions of their patients and probably were genuinely unaware of Murkoff's true intentions, or they didn't want to know. They had to realize something was wrong, I couldn't believe these people spent hours with their patients and never saw a change in their behavior. Given, Murkoff was using hypnosis to alter their ideals and memories, maybe the patients themselves had no idea what was going on, despite how shattered their minds were to begin with. But someone was aware. They contacted me.
I had my doubts that the whistleblower made it out of this, even before things went bad. Murkoff either didn't care that someone was contacted, or they were too busy dying.
I passed through another segregation gate, and continued all the way to the end of the hall and discovered the most creative death by far. The poor fool had gotten his head stuck in a purge chamber, and presumably his head was still on the other side.
A chilling thought came to me. What if he intended to die this way?
I turned away and noted those familiar shoe prints leading from the doctors body, towards a Security room. I half expected the door to be locked and another diversion to follow where I would need to locate a key on a dead guard, or perhaps a boss fight with some mutant monster. It was almost disappointing.
The room was lightly furnished, in disarray from the shit storm, but the furniture was still in order. A tall shelf with boxes filled with files stood in my path, a few filing cabinets, desks and computers lined the walls. And what purge station wouldn't be complete, without a bloody guard slumped over the terminal? I pulled his chair back and examined the guy.
Murkoff security. What sort of work was he doing before he was caught up in this mess? Was he unemployed? Perhaps he was a good guy, sending money to his family. It was more likely he was in some form of trouble, and Murkoff might've used its influence to clear his record. Lot of good it did him.
There was a button in the center of the terminal, it looked like he had been reaching for it before his sudden death. The man was covered in blood, his skin torn outwards, but no footprints.
What had killed him?
I checked the monitors, revealing areas I had already explored, nothing interesting aside from the few patients that invaded these areas and wallowed about lost and sick. I reevaluated the room, there was a door at the wall that hadn't been opened, but outside was the hall I had just come through. This place was disorientating. I shut it and returned to the terminal.
Activate this, follow the blood. What was I doing with my life?
I gave the dial a pat, reactivating the chamber beyond the glass. The doors open with their sharp rasp and I froze.
Chris Walker slipped his large girth into the chamber. When he saw me, he immediately swung around and began smashing against the plexiglass. Twice, the glass cracked in large stars under the blow, the chains wrapped over his wrists amplified his ferocity. My vision flickered as I felt my heart race. He couldn't get through. That glass was shatter proof!
But I had already spun away.
When Chris began wrecking the view window, the emergency system locked down the room and the chamber. He couldn't get out of there, so he would come into here. I couldn't get out of here so….
The fuckin doors were locked tight. I feared the only one that could get them open at this point was the big fucker, but he wasn't doing me favors. I darted around the desk by the tall shelf as he crashed into the room, snorting and huffing, his gaze dead on me.
Dead. Oh god, I was so dead. I had no way out, in no time he'd catch me, I couldn't run around this room forever. It was hopeless.
No! Not here! There had to be a way out. I had to make a way out, but how? I shuffled around the desk scanning the floors and wall, a sliver of my attention locked on the big fucker as he huffed and mirrored my movements. I imagined a clock in the back of my thoughts as the room filled with smoke, ticking down the seconds I had left to live. There was a way out, just a little more time. Please.
The clock ticked down the seconds to an image of a skull.
He shoved aside the desk separating us, nearly smashing me had I not leapt aside, away from the only thing standing between him and I. "I just wanna help." The desk hit the wall with such force the vent in the ceiling tore off of its screws. In its place was my liberation.
But the big fucker still stood in the way, blocking me with arms outstretched and his murky eyes puncturing my soul. He took a step, then another, gradually picking up speed as I staggered backwards into the terminal. One chance. One stupid, flimsy, irrational chance to take if I wanted to escape with my skin still on my bones.
At the last instant I stooped down scrambling on my feet and hands as he swung out, trying to take my head off. I was up and dashing to the book case, scrambling up the dusty shelves. "We're not done here." My hands slipped and I sprang up catching the vent with my fingers. I was too focused clawing my way in I didn't see Chris approach from below. He snared my ankle, but I kicked throwing his grip off and tore the pants leg as I pulled myself the rest of the way into the vent.
Safe. For the moment. I crashed and bumped through the flue, before I brought out the camera to see exactly where I was headed. Those doors would hold him for no more than a minute, already I could feel the vibrations as he went to work.
I kicked out the vent above the hall and dropped down, the sounds were too close, just around the corner. As I twisted away the door cracked off the frame and skid into the wall. I ran.
Due to my habit of shutting doors behind me, the metal grate in the hall was left shut. I glanced back as I dragged the door open and saw Chris right behind me, I tried to slam it between us but my hand slipped and I just kept going. I could feel his breath at my neck as I ran….
Towards a wall of fire.
I nearly staggered to a halt when I saw the flames, if I moved fast enough I could get through it. Wasn't that where the purge gate was? It didn't matter, I was safer in the fire.
I pulled my collar up to protect my eyes and tucked the camera against my chest. The fire might dissuade Chris, but nothing so far had been able to slow him down.
A sudden explosion and I was screaming as I flew. The gas in the purge chamber, I don't know…I was falling. Again. I saw the orange wisps contrasted against the black surroundings before I hit, I was mostly coherent, a thunderous ringing pulsed in my head as dots flashed along my peripheral. Above, the suspended light swung illuminating the cold gray walls, and bars of another cell block. Oh, it was another cell block. For a moment I was too stunned to move, I watched small shapes contrasted by the fierce light whirl overhead. Buzzing. Insects?
I couldn't get a gasp in as I waited to evaluate whether the fall had shattered my bones or not. Sudden panic streaked through me. Was I paralyzed? Had that done it? But already I was pulling myself up and taking a tight breath, my landing hadn't been as painful as I thought it would be.
And I soon found why.
The smell hit me before the realization. Bodies. Ravaged and in pieces, guts spewing out of backsides, spinal cords ripped out of chests, a pool of dark blood soaking into the concrete. Flies swarmed everywhere, some crawling on my forehead and neck. I gagged and whimpered, picking up my hands from the miasma of rotten swill, my palms black with blood. It looked awful, almost painful. Groaning, I managed to get on my feet as my shoes sunk in the rotted mess, quickly I backed away staring at the mass nearly as high as my thighs.
My camera!
Hesitantly, I moved forward and lifted it off of what looked like liver, or something else decayed into black mush. I quickly backed away, breathing out of my mouth in gasps and tasting the sweet pungent meat. That had hurt, I needed to sit down, I needed…I needed just a moment.
The light flickered and went out. The safety of the dark enveloped me, but my senses still penetrated, still warned me of the dangers. I was nearly fooled that the decomposing bodies were no longer there, but the flies bombarded my face in their search for their kitchen. I backed away pulling up the night vision, and moved to the opposite side of the cell block near a bloodied bed. It was odd, but my nerves were so badly frayed I was seeing odd shadows. A shape above, behind the gate, there and gone when I blinked. I'm sure it was 'Father' Martin, but the explanation felt like a lie that made my flesh crawl.
I just about collapsed over the hard bed, resting one arm on the side for support. I'm not sure if I rested my elbow in the blood or not, I couldn't feel it. I closed my eyes and sat there trying to think, to remember what I was doing. Everything was out of control, was I still on the same mission when I first arrived here?
Nothing had changed, I reminded. Nothing. I needed to survive, I had to get out of here. Someone had to expose this hell. I would find a way to make Murkoff pay for all of this, they went too fucking far. Had to keep my sanity intact.
It felt like inch by inch I was losing focus. Losing control over my life. The longer I stayed, the more unhinged I became. I would either die here, or wish I was dead.
Crackling filled the dark, and I felt the floor quake. Turning my camera up I viewed the NV feed to confirm what I already knew.
Chris Walker was here.
This is a disclaimer that means no profits are squelched from this artistic fictions stuffs. If they did come out with a legit Outlast novel, I would fuckin read that. Excuse my potty mouth