Men in Shadows

This cell block was small, possibly for the more deranged or criminally insane. With this place it was hard to tell, unless there was a sign saying

Criminally Insane

Please Do NOT Feed

I couldn't tell. At this point it didn't matter, the patients were everywhere. The only detail that would make my current location relevant was whether there was a way out of this area. From the pile of corpses I couldn't discern what was once patient, or if they were what remained of the staff. The idea sickened me that they were left stacked like this, I tried to avoid looking at them as I moved around. I didn't want to be here longer than necessary.

This choice wasn't mine. As soon as I spotted the big fucker, I had dashed to the nearest door that would open and ducked inside.

Miraculously the room was clean, aside from the grotesque stench of rot and human waste. I didn't hesitate to huddle under the bed and listen for the telltale sound of snuffling and mutters about protocol. What was it the reports said, his retardation to former military security protocol? For some reason I fell within this parameter.

"I'll make the pain go away." I pushed myself under the bed a little more, until my back was to the wall, and stared at the door.

Worst position I had been in yet. These doors couldn't be unlocked from the inside. If he, for whatever reason decided to shut it, I was doomed. If he found me locked inside, oh god.

The minutes seemed to drag by as I listened. He muttered to himself, sometimes going to his security protocols, the dangers of contamination, then would swing back to the current task. His mind was damaged, but he still revisited the present and his current mission to locate and kill me.

He knew I was here, that was the only reason he remained patrolling the cell block. It seemed the other patients beyond their fixations could lose interest or forget what they were on about, but the big ugly fucker kept on his task until it was done. Scary as hell.

I was using my NV to track his movements, figure out his pattern. For a short span he became enraged and began throwing things, shoving what sounded like solid metal pieces around. Beds, I think. I saw a few frames discarded outside before I hid. I had to get out of here before the door was flung shut.

The battery needed to be changed first, and better right here should the cameras cheerful peep alert him to my position. I made double sure he was nowhere near the door before I slid out from the bed, on my knees and elbows I crawled out listening. His chains rattled beyond the cell as he calmed his rampage, but resumed a casual stroll.

"I'm coming…."

I pressed myself against the doorframe and stared, and listened. He was on the other side of the room beginning to move in my direction, eyes blazing with a fury that could not possibly be attributed by the cameras night vision.

MOVE Miles! Get going!

I kept low and sprint alongside upturned bed frames. I could make out his heavy foot falls, his labored breath as he shortened the distance. My leg bumped an upturned wheelchair arched over a decapitated body. I froze and waited as Chris seemed to pause. When nothing happened for a long, silent, painful moment, I began up the long row of grated stairs. My steps were nearly nonexistent, but I was certain he could imagine my progress. He wasn't fooled.

High overhead the light filtered out through the murky windows hitting the dull wall, but not low enough to compromise my stealth. There was one door to the left where I had envisioned 'Father' Martin's form, but of course it was locked. I gave the handle a gentle rattle before I abandoned it. The big fucker's movement seemed to be getting louder, and his murmurs were more based on how he was going to find me. Restraining my panic, I kept my progress discreet and slow. He was still on the lower floor, he had to find me first. The trick was, not to get caught.

"Little pig, little pig."

What the fuck was with him? Seriously.

Doors and a few crushed wheelchairs had been jammed into the walkway, which shifted and gave some sound as I pole-vaulted over them on my hands. The walkway was lined with that thick chicken wire, along the wall more patient rooms dotted the walls, nothing to bother with. I didn't need to encourage myself to hide at this point. All that would manage would be me getting locked in a room.

There must be a way out. If I pretended that I left, maybe the big fucker would resume his search and smash down another door. I'm sure HE could break these metal gates down.

"Come here, little pig."

I slipped over another bed frame and knelt down, taking pause to try and locate exactly where he was. I couldn't find him on the lower floor, but he might've ducked into one of the open cells. Even if I trapped him in one, he would still smash out. I just needed to stay far from him and everything would be fine.

A segregation point awaited in my path, the door ripped off. One of the two inside might be open, I doubted it though. With the grace of a specter I tried the door before me, then the one to my left. Both were locked, which left the broken opening to my right. I had gone in a big loop around the room with very little to show for it, but I had not seen the end of this path yet.

I still couldn't find where the big fucker was, but it sounded like he was closing in. Where was he? Had he found a way that I had missed? Unless he smashed down a door, this would be impossible without a sound! There was nothing, nothing I could see.

"Little ghost…." That was right next to me.

I turned the camera, and on the other side of a steel gate stood the big fucker. Shocked, I stumbled back as he began smashing at the door. Maybe he couldn't break them down?

But as I watched the metal warped inward, around the latch.

Stupidly, I shot forward just by where the door was folding in, torn from its steel hinges. Chris was calling me to come back. I ran, taking the first open route on my left. Could've been a dead end, I didn't give a damn. I needed that distance behind me.

Ahead was another blockade piled high with beds and furniture, somewhere in the collision I'm sure I spied what looked like a gate. I didn't slow before I shoved my shoulder against the metal frame grunting as I pushed, wedging between broken beds and metal tables. I smashed the side of my brow on the leg of something, but refused to pause as Chris Walker charged up grabbing at the calamity.

Meanwhile, I toppled out the other side falling onto a puddle of filthy water. That was the least of my concerns as I turned back, Chris fought with the metal crammed against the bars of the gate. The more he thrashed and tore at the obstruction, the more it twisted into a cage against the small opening. I dragged myself backwards, not realizing I had dropped the camera as I watched the grinning face with morbid fascination. I dared him, I fuckin dared him to tear down that wall and come after me. I would run again.

"Fuck!" With his anger rebuffed by junk, he pivoted and marched off. Presumably to locate another path to me, or perhaps find someone else that had missed their daily decapitation.

I dropped to my back beside the foul smelling water and panted, dark blots pulsed in my vision and my ribs ached like sharp ice. I had an odd feeling before long, I'd see him again. The sooner I accepted that, the better off I'd be.

I didn't bother to wait and let myself settle, there was no safe place in Mount Massive and I couldn't afford to let my guard down at this point. I took up my camera and gave it a look over as I sat up. The red blotches along its side were still there, along with a few new scratches it received somewhere when I was bumbling about. Probably when I fell, which was between cell Block B and Block…wherever the hell I was now. I tried to spit on my damp sleeve and get some of the blood coating its side off, but I was dehydrated. I had been since I awoke in this nightmare, but hadn't had the chance to pause for a drink. Hell, I doubted any of the water lines still worked with the basement flooded as it was.

The puddle of discolored water?

No way. Rotten blood was ten times cleaner than whatever that was.

I gave up on my coat. I had no idea what it looked like on the backside, I didn't want to think about it. The inmates might identify me as one of their own the way I was looking now, I just didn't give a flying fuck anymore.

The path ahead looked 'favorable,' that term was used lightly. Another fallen, but the door across from me and the one on my left were both locked. I might've recognized the door to my left as being one of the gates I had tried while the big fucker was hunting me on the other side, but I was conserving my batteries for the time being and barely noticed the shades beyond the bars. I returned to the previous darkened hall I had passed by, where bed frames and tables had been stacked precariously against a gate resembling an odd fort. I went ahead and crouched on my knees and hand to crawl through the small space left open.

A silhouette jutted out in my face, and I tried to shove myself backwards only to succeed in hitting my shoulder on the table wedged between the walls. I moaned in pain, my bruised arm not taking the action well. Before I progressed the camera was raised, and I glared at the face. He retreated around the side of the bed, and I slunk forward wary of the obvious dangers. I began to doubt that.

Another man curled in on himself, trembling in the dark like a child hiding from the monster. His hand looked mangled, and an assortment of scars decorated his arms and chest. Even as I moved away from his line of sight, he stared forward at nothing but the cold wall. I left him where he was.

The door at the end of the hall looked locked, I bet money it was locked. I won that bet, and returned to a cell door open part way that led into one of the many nightmares buried in the Asylum.

This was where I learned my fate if I was unable to escape. This area by appearance seemed as general as the Asylum went, but that same forbidding that crawled through my veins when first I set eyes on this place had returned. I knew now not to disregard my instincts.

Crumpled on the floor was the security guard, alive earlier this day, dead now. I had seen the tail end of his life as it was ripped clean out from under him. His head, who the hell knew where it went? Some toilet, a shelf, who cares? Blood had pooled around the stump of his shoulders, he no longer had a neck. It went with his head. I glanced at my camera, before I raised it and filmed. I took in the fallen security operative, then zoomed out on the cell blocks in an uproar with activity.

Most still had people in them.

"Are you my friend?"

I jerked away from the bundled up patient as he approached. Once my initial shock wore off I stood and watched as he came closer and stopped, I checked my visor to make certain my shot of him was clear.

I'm not certain how he saw me, his face was wrapped tightly with gauze, maybe he sensed me. I was beginning to believe anything I came up with. I doubted there was much to fear from him, his arms were tangled tightly in his straightjacket. It looked like his most violent action would be to kick the tar out of my shins, but as it was he only stood at arm length and mumbled through his gag/muzzle.

"Silky. You look so silky. Let me just…" I moved away when he tried to approach, and ignored him as I commenced scouting this place. From the looks of it, the other patients I had seen frantically searching for a way out of here had succeeded, I wondered how the big fucker had gotten out with the fort built in the hall. Some of them might have assembled it when he left. That man trembling, had he been one of the ones seeking a way out and given up? I couldn't remember, it was dark and I was suffering from shock.

"I need to tell you a secret."

I didn't know what to make of this Block D. It was by far the largest, with long thick pillars holding up the high walkways and rooms. The lights still worked gleaming off jagged cement cut like teeth, emphasizing on a sort of ancient rot like being trapped within the ribs of some ancient derelict of a monster slain by science. Shadows were near extinct in this area which unsettled me. The room was a symphony of chatter as patients rattled their bars and yapped for help, or screamed nonsensical phrases of lives left behind. I kept my distance as I searched for an alternative way out, somewhere to climb up or crawl through.

Unlike Block B, the cells in Block D were actual jail cells. Thick bars designed to withstand time and abuse, the patients fought their cage but I couldn't decide what few had achieved freedom between those that had been freed. The way the floors above had degraded it was no wonder they were trapped inside. Many of the cells on the ground floor were open, I explored a few doubting the capacity of locating a clue to my whereabouts. They were too foul to linger around and many had been stripped of furniture.

"You! Hey!" I didn't jump back in time, the man had shoved his arm between the bars and caught my coat. "You, you have to let us out of here. These bars, they won't stop the Walrider." I shook my arm, but he held tight. "It'll come for us one by one until we're all gone." A final jerk and he lost his grip, I stumbled away and caught myself by one of the pillars. "Please. For the love of god!" He was still reaching for me shrieking.

Another man in his cell paced back and forth mumbling dates and facts. "What did we bring home? What did we use it for!?"

I ran to the other side where, I couldn't tell exactly, someone was sobbing about the therapy he was forced into. "My family needed money, they said had debts, things to pay…."

My pant leg was ripped up the back of my calf. I leaned down to examine it pretending I couldn't hear the man confessing. The very bottom of my jeans always wore away at the base, where they met the floor. The material on my leg was still intact, it was only noticeable if I pulled at the denim. My main concern was how well it would protect me, my own blood had seeped through the fabric from shallow scraps I hadn't noted in my earlier panic. The stain was nearly impossible to distinguish from the dark smears of—

Back to task. I needed to get out of here. There was a way out the patients used, I wasn't thinking critically enough. How did the lunatics escape? How did they work this out?

Someone, or a few of them, had set up a small collision of beds that were stable enough to climb on. I took it as my best option and crawled up.

"…and there was only one thing I had worth any money."

Briefly I paused glancing over at the doomed soul, before I climbed up.

A foul reek of fecal waste hit me, forcing me to turn away. "Nurse! Nurse! I'm going to need some help getting clean." His voice was heavily suggestive, as he ended with cackles. "Nurse."

Fuck you.

Another locked door, but I checked anyway, couldn't leave no stone unturned. I raised my camera to check my path, there was a lot of debris from the upper floor on the walkway. The next cell I heard sounds that confused me at first, but I reasoned it was better off not knowing. The door was locked, everything was good. I hurried back to the other path.

I just hated this place. It needed to be nuked from orbit, it was the only way to be sure. Just, god damn these people, and the people that assisted in making them more fucked up than they were in the first place. Was that even possible? I don't give a shit, blame Murkoff, blame them for everything, including me stumbling into this nightmare! It was all their fault. End of story.

I wasn't going to note that. Just film whatever and get out with everything I could. My body, my sanity, and most important, my love for living.

But damn!

I turned the corner, another patient rattling his bars and a man in a chair. I paused to examine him, recalling what happens with people in chairs. He wasn't in a wheelchair though.

"One day. I'll be free." I held my breath as he stood and swayed. I should probably not be in his way, let alone be anywhere near him. "You too will see!" He lunged grabbing me by the neck, I held my ground but staggered back with a low gurgle. I couldn't get his grip off, I felt my neck being crushed as a soft bubbling filled my ears.

I released his arms and took his throat in my hands, my vision distorted as I squeezed with everything in me. I envisioned myself wringing a wet rag, trying to get every little drop of water out. Tighter and tighter digging my fingernails in to reinforce my grip and twist all the moisture free. I felt my lips draw back as I grit my teeth tight enough it felt like my skull would shatter.

His grip loosened a little, allowing my mind to clear. I stepped back, my heel hit the bars of the cell behind me and inside the man muttered about sheep and followers. I braced my shoe between the bars and pushed with my fading strength.

The man toppled backwards hitting the rail and plummeted. I collapsed near the path staring over the edge, but I couldn't see where he had fallen. I pulled myself forward and managed to get on my feet, a little wobbly but I'd walk it off. Below, I could see where he had fallen.

"Do you itch? You look like you have an itch."

I didn't have the heart to tell straightjacket, his new friend was dead.

I pressed my forehead down on my cold hands curled over the rail and zoned out, not staring at anything in particular. I let the noises of the patients fade, let everything swarming my head turn gray. I had a sudden attack of nausea but I didn't feel like moving to settle myself, I felt rotten about what I had done. As if this should have some sort of impact on my life and I was letting it roll on by, like water off a ducks back. Incredible, the guy tries to kill me, and I felt bad about throwing him to his death. It was an accident anyway.

I took a deep breath through my mouth and let it out. Just keep moving, don't overthink what I see. Filter. Filter. Healthy thoughts. Sane thoughts.

Was it insane I had to keep reminding myself of this?

Ahead, the path ended but what was left along the wall seemed stable enough. It was a portion of the floor that looped around the block, cracked and fallen due to whatever happened to this place. It looked recent, I wasn't quite certain myself anymore. Murkoff reported one thing, the patients recollected another. I had taken note that there was fewer of Murkoff staff in this area, aside from the guard that might have been hiding here or searching for a way out. Murkoff must have stored the patients in this area and abandoned them before the disaster.

That didn't matter at this point, speculations and theories was my fuel and I was running low. My only concern at this time was the set of bars on that path, and the creature patrolling behind them. Just…don't dawdle, he might not even notice me.

I edged onto the footpath and slinked along, gripping the bars behind me whenever I felt my shoes slip. The gap ahead of me didn't seem too far, a straight jump. I had jumped further in my youth, with more at stake. But the rebar along the side looked cruel, if I hit it with my weight I wouldn't be worried about the many ways I could die.

I braced myself against the bars and leapt—

Missing!

I fell to my feet and tumbled, barely avoiding the shock that traveled through my body. I leaned over trying to work out the pain in my ribs, and rose to my feet.

I went all the way back to that damn ledge, this time pulling my camera out and making sure I knew where I was going. I couldn't hesitate, had to get this done and keep going.

"What's the experiment the dead would perform on the living?" He yelled behind me. "I'll give you a hint. It's still happening. The experiment is still happening!"

I hit the ledge and gripped for dear life, my camera still held in my right hand. I unhooked it and pushed it away before I tried to drag myself up. No stopping, not here.

The fingernail on my left hand had snapped, just below the skin line. It hurt whenever I touched it, or when it brushed something, and deemed a mild nuisance as I traveled. I bit it between my teeth and tore it off, taking a bit of skin in the process. It bled some, and I didn't want to imagine the possible infections I could get roaming the vile surfaces, but survival came first. I wiped it on the inside of my coat where it was mostly clean. After this I was going to get a whole new wardrobe, sentimental value on my coat aside. And shots. Lots antibiotics or whatever.

Once this little crisis was dealt with, I picked up the camera and checked the first set of bars I came upon on my left. Inside was light along with the very helpful phrase Witness written in blood, and a large crimson puddle drying on the floor. It looked fresh, but I didn't care to confirm this. A man was curled up in the blood, quaking under the bed frame. On the wall across from me was the very cryptic message written, it what might have been authentic black Temper paint, He did not Kill his Enemies. I'm not sure what to make of that, I'm pretty sure all these people were not doing much of anything else

It was against my dear wishes to enter his room, but on the desk there was a file that might shed some insight on this mockery of a hospital. More about the Project Walrider? It seemed whenever I flipped through the pages, more questions arose between the blank lines than what were answered among the staffs reports.

OBITUARY FROM

www. /obituaries /obituary .aspx ?pa ge=lifestory&pd=17827364905

Rudolf G. Wernicke

Dr. Rudolf G. Wernicke, age 90, passed away doing the work he loved on February 28th, 2009. He was born in 1918 in Munich, Germany, and achieved fame in the mathematic and scientific communities for a paper written with early computing pioneer Alan Turing. After a cloudy history with the German war effort, he emigrated to the United States in 1949 with a visa from the State Department. Several decades of government research in Los Almos led to New Mexico, where Dr. Wernicke retired to pursue landscape photography and care for his cats. He came to Colorado shortly after the turn of the millennium to pursue charitable work for the Murkoff Corporation. A statement from the company calls Dr. Wernicke "a true humanitarian with a generous spirit." He leaves no survivors.

I'm sure his history with Germany was cloudy. They couldn't have their "true humanitarian" looking bad before he fractured the minds of a couple dozen mentally disturbed people, and a delusional finger painting 'priest' guy. What a loud of shit.

"We have faith in all the wrong things. And it will destroy us."

I looked from the man beneath the bed, and turned with the file to the foul toilet.

That wouldn't have been very professional, so against my best wishes I left the file on the desk. It would have made me feel better to dump it in that sludge, but if ever there came a day that they might find that file, it had a better chance of being illegible if not soaking up filth.

With a sigh I left the cell, not bothering to shut the door. There was a purge gate a short distance ahead through another segregation gate, but of course it was locked. Might've been the one that doctors head was in, I'll never know. Metal steps from here led to the upper floor, and more aggravated patients hammering at the bars with whatever they could lift.

"It'll stretch until you snap."

And fuck you very much, too. I reeled around the nearest corner and found a dead path, broken completely. Unless I wanted to risk climbing the bars, but there was no guarantee there was any way open on that side. I didn't want to test my bruised arms unless absolutely necessary.

I breezed past the patient, only satisfied he'd probably rot and die in there, but I had nothing to do with that. Camera, night vision, and the comfort that I could see mostly where I was putting my feet. The floor was clear, most of the wreckage had occurred on this floor which would impede my progress. I'd manage though.

Showers. I was supposed to escape through the showers. Or, I was promised there was a way out through the showers. How did I get there from here? They were on the other side, that was my presumption. I needed to find a way through this block, back to them. It felt like I was far off course, I needed to know where I was and where I was going.

As I was passing a set of cells, the patient within opened his door right in front of me. I had to back away or get knocked over the side, this seemed his intention as he stalked towards me, a whirlwind of insanity building in his eyes.

"Don't you look at me like that. Don't you fucking think you're fit to judge me, doctor!"

What the fuck! He swung at me, and I put my arms up protecting my face, and the camera. I shoved it in its pack as I tried to get around him, but he clubbed me in the mouth anyway as I ducked down. "The well was always here, always poisoned."

I dropped to my knee, but managed to stagger by as he tried to kick me. Was there a way out over here?

Just another ledge that looked too short for my feet, but I took it anyway stuffing my heels back between the bars. "Everyone, over here!"

Fuck him. I scooted along the ledge, using my hands more to hold me steady when I repositioned my heels. I fought with my horrible curiosity to look down and imagine what would happen, as my shoes slid against the loose cement. It was all right, I wouldn't let go, just had to keep a firm grip on the bars.

A set of arms thrust over my shoulders, grabbing me around the torso. I gagged and grabbed them, shaking until I had bashed the side of his elbow against the bars. I was free, but falling. Twisting, I managed to snag the bars with a hand and swing about to face my attacker. He punched out, and I was forced to twist away again, this time placing my back to a solid, safe wall.

There was very little left of the wall, and it permitted me into the remains of a room with a desk and bed, and toilet. Not much to film, but it was dark and I found myself relying more and more on my camera. Regardless, it was all evidence to use.

I hadn't really given thought to a lawsuit against Murkoff, even if it were possible. After everything I had seen, everything I had endured, what were they going to give me? Money? Pfft.

There was a small hole knocked into the lower side of the wall, joining it to the next room, but not the one with the psycho that tried to strangle me. I crouched down and peeked inside seeing only a bed and a body under it. I was startled when it cringed away and spoke.

"The doctor told me once, that if you showed a caveman our technology, he would think it was magic. And that if you showed a modern man magic, he would think it was technology."

Another controversy of the reports, and the recollections of the patience. They had to be talking about Dr. Wernicke, but many believed he was still among them. Performing his experiments?

Dates and details of the Obituary and Death certificate conflicted as well. But why? Why cover up his time of death?

Or did he mean another doctor? That was the higher possibility. But so far, I doubted this.

There was no way out of this room, but for a cell door. By the good grace of god it was unlocked, and I shuffled around the broken floor into an open walkway and solid ground. The cells along this level looked as though their doors had been torn off, but there was no one here. I soon saw why.

One room had a light that still worked, I lowered my camera to peer inside along a red streak that had been painted. For me, for them, for us. It didn't matter what I thought anymore. This was some sort of calling, a message to gather. The options were follow and see, or remain and rot.

It looked like a body had been dragged here, and pulled down the hole chiseled out in the floor. I couldn't imagine what had done this work, didn't want to either. I dropped down the hole into a familiar chamber. Tile walls, and grungy cement floor with a red streak indicating my route.

The egress, I think he called it. Down the drain, follow the blood. I turned the camera up toward my path and paused, I wasn't sure but it looked like a shape had moved on the wall beneath the steps.

That one other guy had gone the other way, he might still be down here. Just to be certain I took the camera and fiddled with the options and played back to before the end.

The night vision had caught what looked like a shape, something I had seen before. But I couldn't be sure, it was too obscure and resembled your typical shadow. I exited out and returned it to its regular functions.

I stepped down the steps listening for any sounds, the rumble of thunder came through causing me to pause and wait as the lights dimmed. There was safety in the dark but I needed batteries to implement it fully. At the base of the steps I saw only a crimson pool awaiting on the cracked tile. Smelt like soured water and mildewed gym socks, and bad meat. When I reached the bottom I saw in full the horror left to me. Entrails and a spinal cord ripped apart, looked like somebody mopped the floor with innards. All over the lockers and walls were written the words

Walrider

On one side was a symbol, vaguely reminding me of the atom. Perhaps it meant a similar form, a poison or contamination. Murkoff had called it 'Environment contamination.' I made certain to film everything, the bloody footprints, the God the 'Father' praised, and what he believed was its work.

"The word "Walrider" is all over this place. Murkoff was running an experiment here called PROJECT WALRIDER, but the patients talk about the Walrider like it's a physical presence. A spirit or demon. Something they found in the mountain. I'd chalk it up to schizophrenic delusion, but I just saw something. Maybe. Maybe it was a glitch in the camera. Or maybe this place is getting to me."

Yeah, just maybe my coat was beige and had a big blood stain on the back. It was starting to dry, and it smelled almost as bad as this room.

I tried to rationalize what I had seen, it hadn't been clear in the first place. Just a shadow, the egress guy might've been hanging around, or anyone else. Patients were everywhere, they had a habit of showing up where they could do the most harm. Thunder, the lights dimmed from the storm. There was an explanation that I would feel comfortable with, it just needed to sound like more a valid scientific fact rather than coddling bullcrap.

This place was just getting to me.

The showers looked more like a death camp gas chamber. Spouts hung off crooked pipes from the ceiling, and more lockers had been placed at the far end of the dark room. With blood. I saw no handles to turn, water would have been sweet nectar, to clear the taste of blood in my mouth, and a little to clean the camera a bit, but it was not to be.

There was another battery that had fallen from a locker, which I took. I couldn't have too many in this place.

I stood beside the egress staring down into the chiseled cement, attempting to fathom in my scarce knowledge how these people might have managed this. Where would it lead me? Down the drain, it was the only way out. Why? To what purpose? Why the elaborate detour through hell?

To find whatever it was the Father wished me to see? This Walrider? I doubted it. But a part of me felt that this was his Calling for me. Ever since he discovered me in the main lobby, he had orchestrated this all out. My path, the patients, the messages. I was here to see something, and I was seeing too much of it.