Outlast Novelization

by Aalt-Jackal

People were being hurt, and Murkoff was making money. Miles Upshur had plans to gather the evidence that would finally break those bastards, but what he finds waiting for him in Mount Massive is more than he bargained for. Armed with only a camera and his tenacity, would he be able to survive the nightmares fabricated by the minds of broken men?

13. Chapter 13

To See

There was only black and I began to wonder if this was death. Was this the great beyond scholars and science speculated when the brain finally died, when the soul departed the body? Penetrating and encompassing black? Was this eternity?

Then I coughed, and felt the dull ache in my side. Everything in me ached. I was hurt, but I wasn't dead. My senses trickled in little by little, I could pick up the stagnant veil of this place, the cold digging into my skin - though my arms felt warm crushed and numb under me. Couldn't feel my hands, didn't care about that. I tried opening my eyes and saw only black. Typical. And I was laying on top of that camera again.

It was a requisite. Car keys, a cell phone, a nice pocket knife, you nod of with one of them in your pocket, it will dig into your side. Damn camera was bigger than those, I was going to wreck the NV sooner or later. I could cart it through sewers, keep lunatics with clubs from smashing it, but sleep on it and it's all over.

I feel asleep? How?

I didn't bother to figure this out, or try and get of the cold vent. It was quiet and I needed a few seconds to get my bearings, and make certain that I was awake this time. The nightmare had shaken me, I still felt those shears in my chest and the blood spilling from the wound. How unsettling to dream about my own death in this place. Made everything feel ten times more dangerous than it already was, if I touched the walls they'd scorch my hands. Same thing happens whenever I see a rattlesnake, suddenly every bush and every rock has one.

Grunting, I turn over getting off my poor camera and let the cold work its way into my coat, the thin metal buckled as my weight was redistributed. I felt a little better, more so than that crappy fifteen minute break before I stumbled into the basement. I pulled my camera up onto my chest and stopped the recording, in order to wind it back to where I stopped. I guess when I was crawling to the edge of the vent toward the light I just passed out. Probably needed it, I'm just damn thankful I didn't keel over while I was still at the opening or when Trager was….

That damn psycho. I had nearly forgotten him. Couldn't outrun him in my nightmares.

I couldn't bear to view the footage. The way the hoister was designed would still allow the cameras eye to record, idea for when security got involved and ordered me to put it away. The picture was not always the best, but it'd catch the more obvious actions and conversations. I put my hand over the speaker feed as my voice came through, panicked and pitiful. Sounded like a different man.

An hour and fifteen minutes. Felt longer in the dream, felt like I had dreamed something else after it. Something worse than death, either of which I didn't care to remember. While I was MIA Trager could have lost interest in me and found someone else to cut up. Maybe Father Martin. Now that was praying to god.

Getting out of the vent was tricky, after my muscles had relaxed in the cramped space. I lowered myself carefully over the edge, bracing with one arm to relieve some of the pressure in my sore hands before I dropped, then limped off the resulting shock. I staggered into the nearby lavatory and gave the area a hasty scan. No sounds to suggest Trager was near, or anyone for that matter. Just the soft patter of rain on glass.

What an odd sense of Deja'vu.

At least the walls weren't covered in blood, and there was no bucket full of severed head. It had all seemed so real, so vivid. No surprise, I had great source material. This place could still fuck itself though.

I checked the stalls before I gave pause, nothing was contained in them, not even severed limbs. The janitorial closet did have a small table cart with files spilling over it, the pages covered in a fine silt made apparent as I shuffled them around. I pulled out a few to view and shut the main door to the room, before settling near the shattered mirrors.

Male ward. Check. I didn't think I would be using the bathroom for a while, fuck you very much psycho doctor. Sinks lined one wall and they did work. Carefully, I washed the blood from my hands and around the ragged digits, but I didn't mess with the injured area too much. I would be going through hell to keep the scabs, let alone the surface from getting more ripped up than it already was. I poked a bit more at the index finger where the bone was exposed, a little amazed at how the minimal pressure didn't bother too much. A translucent skin still coated the bone's surface and I could make out….uh veins….

The granola was still in my coat. I don't know if it was safe to eat, but it was still sealed. I fished it out of the breast pocket and inspected it, there was a bit of blood and some dirt smudged on it, from whenever I dug around for the notepad. The label didn't do its contents justice, promoting high fiber in a balanced diet. I needed sugar in my blood and this little thing was better than some overpriced dinner.

I rinsed it and shook most the water off, then gingerly took the edge of the package in the thumb and middle finger of my right hand, as I pinched it normally with the left. It was easier than I anticipated to pull the wrapper apart, but the bar was a little melted and impossible to get out whole. I ate what I could and drank some water, a lot of water. Then got up, moved around a bit, jumping and springing back and forth, and prepared myself for what may come.

I went ahead and recorded some of the files I had picked up, nothing relevant to the Project Walrider, but there was an interesting Request notice.

From: David Annapurna

To:

Subject: Request for Reassignment

To Whom it May Concern,

This is my third asking for reassignment after two months without an answer. I don't want to work at Mount Massive any more. I have been an orderly my entire adult life, but have never experience such a consistent level of secrecy and disrespect. I even have suspicions that some of the patients may be being abused. I know personally two of them who have been moved to the basement ward and never returned. If I don't get an answer to this email, I will be forced to resign, and my very well consider contacting the press. Thanks for your time.

David Annapurna

I said the name aloud then looked through the files for anymore emails or reports that related to this. David Annapurna. I couldn't say I ever heard the name before, but he mentioned the press. Was this my contact? Why the fuck didn't he warn me about this place?!

Well, he wasn't high clearance. That was a pissy excuse. He could've at least alerted me to the nature of some of these people? Don't note, "They have massive anger issues," when the fucker throws people out of windows! Put down, "He's fuckin scary and he'll eat children! Hope you have a pilot's license."

Have you also met or local physician in practice? He likes to cut off fingers, and tongues, and peoples balls off! By the end of this, you'll no longer have grievances for cold water.

Good god, I needed to get out of here.

The door gave me some trouble, the knob stuck and my palms had fresh lines of blood. I managed to force it with little sound and stepped into the connecting hall. Still no sign of Trager, and anything living for that matter. I was running on borrowed time, sooner or later I'd get a nasty surprise. The next door gave no trouble, and the room beyond looked deserted. Beds had been left at the back near the barred windows, I almost expected to see patients chained to them but they were void of life. The room felt colder than those that held the doomed people, but I attributed that with the lack of electricity.

Even the light at the front of the room felt cold.

I walked around the beds but found nothing that stood out from the usual, some files to record but nothing noteworthy. The ominous doors loomed at the end of the room, and I stood before them studying the dry kindling that comprised their matter, the gray tone adopted after years of neglect. I inhaled slowly and slipped one open, as always listening for the danger. The hall beyond was short and didn't extended into the dark depths as I thought it might, bed frames had been crammed between the walls at the left. In the other direction was another set of duo doors, blocked with boards.

I stared into the small office across from me, the dial tone of a phone hummed on the floor somewhere. This seemed more than coincidental, this looked exactly like it did in my dream. Except…there was a key hanging on the wall now. I slipped over the counter and crossed to it, the label above read Elevator. Well, now I had it.

I took the key and dropped it into my pocket. The door was jammed but with my weight braced to, the frame snapped. I tumbled out catching the wall against my hands, the pain stretching through my knuckles nearly overshadowed the menacing scraping noise of those scissors as Trager stepped in from the next hall.

"Hey buddy, where you been?"

I slammed the door in his face, completely forgetting it was already busted. He still had to swing it open in the meantime, while I had already sprint over the counter and lunged into the other room. I flung the next door shut and retreated to the middle of the room, where the shadows were not diminished by the outside light. As I slid under a bed, the grating chatter announced Trager's entrance. I buried my face in my shoulder to muffle my heavy breathing.

"You're overreacting." He snipped the shears and scanned the room. "How can I set you to ease? I swear, you're not gonna get a better deal elsewhere."

Seriously, I didn't understand what the fuck he was talking about. Made me hate him even more. I tensed when it sounded like he was directly beside me, but he was nearer to the wall clinking as he dropped down to check under a bed. He wasn't facing me.

I crawled out from my hiding spot and slinked across the room, ducking down again and faced the wrong way as he stood up snipping the shears. For a minute Trager stood in total silence gazing over the room, the odd monocle glinting in what light slipped in through the barred window. Where did that light brave from, through the storm? I could almost see him clearly, the sharp textures accenting his skeletal skin. I slipped the camera into its pack and watched him unmoving. Waiting. Waiting for someone to blink, someone to give in. The rain drummed gently on the glass and I heard something thudding hard, like the desperate rap on a door.

My heartbeat.

Trager fixed his eyes on something in the distance to the side, and I waited for my opportunity to move. When he turns his back, when he averts his gaze, that will be my chance. Thunder crackled right outside the window and a sudden blaze of light lit up the room, his face snapped to where I lay.

"Hey!" He dashed over to me and reached under the bed, as I rolled away and leapt over his back, the door in my sights. He thrust his elbow up catching my knee in midflight, and I flopped against one of the pillars. He spun around as I recovered, "Come on now, don't be difficult." He swept the shears out as I twisted away, they slapped my shoulder and I dropped hard to my knee.

A bed was right beside me, I had enough time to crawl under as Trager brought his weapon down through the thin mattress. I yowled when the shears pierced my backside, he grunted as he attempted to force the blades down but the metal frame prevented that. I jerked out from under them, and rolled away as he tore the shears free. As he vaulted over the next bed, I crawled under the last and shoved myself upright and sprint for the open door. I didn't bother to shut it as I went, I needed to reach that elevator.

I exited into the original corridor, with the two rooms and the patients. The elevator was just down at the end.

Everything was as I left it, the shelf shoved aside and the door left wide open and welcoming my dubious return. I zipped through into the cheerfully lit elevator, with the foreboding blood splatter right at its entrance. I paid it no heed as I dug the key from my pocket and being as gentle as broad panic would allow, inserted it into the slot. I hit the down button and stood back, breathing a sigh of relief when the gate jerked shut. The grumpy machine gave a stubborn lurch before it began to descend. Once I was stationary I began to notice the painful throbbing in my hands and recalling the wounds, checked to see fresh blood spilling. This didn't surprise me. In my desperation to escape, I had dug my fingertips into whatever was within reach. Just had to ignore it, and for a while I'd forget.

I was slipping down to sit when I heard the gate of the elevator rattle below, and all at once I forgot.

"I'm not giving up on you, buddy," Trager grunted, accompanied by sharp metal clinks and snaps.

I backed up into the furthest corner and watched him force the shears between the lock on the elevator, the mechanism snapped and the gate came loose. He shouldered his way through and raised the shears over his head.

No.

I lunged forward snaring his elbow in one hand and used the other to shove him backwards. Trager looked stunned by this retaliation, and slapped at my face as I bullied him out the opening. The shears spun wild in his grip grazing my hair, I tucked my face down and glared with the edge of my eye. He snagged my coat sleeve as I pressed him out, the elevator was still going down throughout this and I was losing leverage as he leaned onto me. I grabbed the metal frame on my right, rammed him in the chest with my elbow and threw him back out.

Just DIE!

Trager recovered and lunged, thrusting the metal blades at my face. I pulled myself UP out of the lift to snag them at the base, and felt them breeze by my forehead. We were suddenly fighting face to face, I was teetering on the edge while Trager struggled to wrench the scissors from my grip. If he had another chance to lunge, I didn't think I could stop him.

Something happened in that instant. I turned my face up to his and looked into his murky eye. I swear I saw something there, something fleeting in his expression. And it scared me. That 'look' in his face scared me more than 'Doctor' Rick Trager himself.

"Wha—?" he stammered.

Just fucking die.

My foot slipped and I latched onto his shoulder, jerking him with me. He yelped as he toppled forward, his fist gave me a good smack as he fell halfway into the elevator. I winced from the sudden impact and snapped my arm up, when he swung the shears for my head. He cut a long slice up my sleeve instead. I stooped lower as they snapped once more in empty air, but it probably wasn't necessary. He took one more swipe at me, even as the lift lowered over his torso.

The mad doctor gave a sharp squeal as the machine compressed his organs, I heard bones crunch and skin splint as the metal frame nearly cut him in half. I stepped back as he gave a small whimper, his hand finally releasing the shears - they fell between the connecting floors and thereafter lost to the depths of hell. With the unyielding obstruction, the elevator ground to a despairing halt. It was almost worth it.

For a while I stood, back pressed against the wall as I gazed at Trager, wondering if this were true. Was he…dead? Was it possible to kill him?

I pulled out the camera and filmed. A little bit of blood was dripping from his lips, his oily hair had settled over the top of his bald head in clumps, and he finally shut up. He must've been dead, regardless, he was no longer a threat.

"How To Make Trager Juice

Step 1: squeeze."

I tucked the notepad away, wincing as my exposed bone got caught on a loose thread. It cut at the remaining skin, but didn't hurt the bone. I snapped the troublemaker free and zipped the pocket shut, then turned to locate a way out. There was an escape panel in the roof. I secured the camera in its hoister and unlatched the panel. I gave the now deceased Trager a final glare, before I climbed up. A hot pain made itself known in my backside. Where he stabbed me.

The elevator hadn't gone down very far, I still needed to reach the ground floor. I paused under the light that greeted me, but saw a stronger source down a hall where some filing cabinets had fallen over. An open gate was there as well, a good place to start in my search for the exit.

I stood by the cabinet and turned as far as I could to view the damage. There was a tear in my coat, revealing my shirt and red had spilled all the way down, soaking the back of my pants almost to the back of my knee. The wound felt soggy and it hurt when I applied pressure through the coat, but nothing else was broken. Nothing serious.

I had to take a moment to look at my hands. Yeah, anything short of decapitation and I'll feel insulted.

This definitely was an older section of the asylum. The stairs looked ancient, the wood railing worn with the slick polish of a thousand hands, everything was wood and each step creaked as I took it gently. I couldn't shake it, but I thought I could smell something burning. Maybe just the stale air of the hall playing tricks with my mind, it was hard to think fire with the storm outside and the soft rain splattering the windows. I walked down the steps relying on the nightvision, despite how low I was on batteries. The current charge was still good, a little less than half remained.

The gate at the steps bottom was locked effectively blocking my progress, but in a small corridor on the left was a partially rotted wall. I crept around the railing and peered into the break, where someone had torn away the plaster surface. The wood was loose enough that I could get some of the panels out, allowing me to lean down and squeeze through. On the other side was a small office setup and a phone with its typical complaint. I picked it up and set it on the receiver as I looked over the room.

The desk with its neglected monitor seemed out of place in this museum. Billboards hung on the walls, pinned with notices, a few filing cabinets lined the walls. A shattered chair lay on the other side of the room, I flipped through the shelves loaded with medical books and boxes of files, but nothing held my interest. On the wall hung a Team Work plaque. I scoffed at it and searched the desk. A few batteries had made home in a CD player.

CD player? They still made those things?

I crossed to the door and paused listening before trying the handle. I winced when my finger brushed against the rough wood. Careful, I didn't need to be leaving little blood trails all over the place. I'd seen enough of that.

On the other side was a larger office with only a small desk situated near an outdated furnace. Heating must have been terrible in this place. Not far from this set up, a crushed door was pinned in its frame. The door didn't matter, there was a massive hole blown out of the wall a few feet away. I wondered if someone came in here, or if they tossed the filing cabinet through the wall. It didn't look like it had been previously tossed. Glass crinkled underfoot as I stepped through, and lowered the camera to view the new area.

The exit was near the kitchen, that's where Trager caught me. Bad memories, all of it behind me now.

It was on this floor, I'm sure. Just needed to find a way over there. I wasn't certain where I was. Some large open hall with overturned desks and files scattered everywhere, chairs lined the walls between the large decorative and ornate pillars embedded with the plaster. The air was musty, everything used and worn out then forgotten. This place resembled an atrium or waiting room, but with less grandeur. Had I gone back in time? Everything was beginning to look ancient.

I had to keep in mind the Asylum was shut down in the seventies, it wasn't exactly the medieval times but it had been built long before the more modern conveniences. Most likely when Murkoff took over, the outdated facilities were condemned for public appearance, then they built the newer areas for their precious staff and left everything else – old drafty building and prison blocks - to the patients. Grade A bastards right there.

Then, did this mean the patients had not been in the newer section of Mount Massive when everything began? It was clear now they traveled between the two sections via their own means, but Murkoff never bunked them with their people? It did make sense. If you viewed it from Murkoff's perspective, whom barely credited their victims with a shred of humanity. I'm sure they didn't want the scientists awoken in the dead of night to the shrieking, when god knows what was being done.

I walked along filming the walls, taking in details. This area looked much tamer than the other section of the asylum, a lot less death and gore. No one had been on this side at the time when the shit storm hit, probably never made it here with the front doors on lockdown. There were no mechanical doors on this side, I had seen that first hand. That exit was wide open and waiting for me

Movement behind the windowed in office startled me, and I had jumped back several feet before a light shown through at me. I let out an exasperated sigh as I resumed my path to the dark figure. I didn't get too close though, despite the wall between us. Who knew what He was up to?

"Thank God, you survived," Martin gushed. I sighed and lowered the camera to my side. "I feared that secular maniac would carve you up like the others." He glanced around, as though he expected someone other than me to be listening or nearby. "Meet me outside, we're close now." With that vouch of encouragement he turned and jogged off.

Close to what? He took the exit, but that's as far as I could tell. This just made matters worse. I had no idea what this 'Father' was getting at, he kept leading me around the Asylum and the idea he could locate me easily never settled well. Not after he jumped me in the Security room.

The door was nailed tight, and the glass was that shatter proof junk. Unless the big fucker just appeared on the other side, I wasn't getting through. It might've been easier do tear the rotten wood beneath the windows, but the interior wood was either too thick or reinforced in some manner asylums included in their layout of inconvenience.

On the left was a large archway that led into more dark halls, for a change of pace. This place was a maze of halls, and I was the mouse. The mouse that smelled burning feathers. I'm sure something was burning, it was a blistering and out of place scent among these frigid walls. It had that bad plastic stink from a microwave, or when an idiot burnt the popcorn. Piercing and lingering after each exhale.

The hall took a right, but beyond that at distance trailed the thin line of light beneath a door. I pushed aside a small cart that was in the path and paused, listening as the oppressive silence wound around. Something was hissing, a pipe in the wall, the sound was soft and inconsistent. The light danced in its little slice of heaven and a thick vapor did not go unnoticed as it crept between the thick slats of shadow. I gave the door a light push and tilt around the frame to see inside, the NV wasn't necessary in the restroom due to the light wavering in the sink. I gaged at the foul air that stung my throat and pressed my arm over my mouth. Ugh.

An arm and leg roasted away, the skin hissed and bubbled, most of it scorched with dark smoke billowing off the cooked pieces. For some reason they were on fire. I didn't understand why, or what sort of logic could be behind this. Did someone light them or was someone playing with a lighter? This did not bode well. The smog began to dissipate immediately with the door open, but not enough to clear the air or make it any more breathable. Fucking hell, this didn't even surprise me anymore. I wish it did, I really do, but I think it's expected by now.

The fumes were making me nauseous, prompting me to shut the door and move on. It wouldn't be worth it to risk checking the stalls if the pyromaniac was still there, more unstable than usual due to smoke inhalation. I didn't doubt there was a fire here somewhere, and I'd stumble upon it too soon. How it came to be was a mystery, but I should either do something about it if I could or try a little harder to find that exit. Now.

Let this place burn to the ground, but not before I'm outside to watch.

I returned to the foremost corridor, passing by pictures of the Asylum's founders, and an abandoned wheelchair. Somewhere a patient or another of Murkoff's surviving personnel shrieked, I barely paused before trying the unobstructed door at the end of the hall. Tile walls met the NV, and as I entered the distant echo of crashing came. I waited in the doorframe staring up and blinking, the sound of my steady breathing seemed thunderous in the small space. The noise eventually settled into a less threatening fumbling, I tried to figure out its origins as I shut the door and slipped down the small hall. Could it be people in the walls?

It was a short walk then a left, and I stopped to peer around the corner and listen for the natural symphony of the Asylum. Most old buildings creaked and settled, this place murdered and screamed.

I shut off the NV and scanned around. A large shower room for the male ward, rectangular in shape with a wall built through the center. Showers lined one wall with lockers on the other, benches to sit at and laundry baskets scattered near the lockers. A couple of the doors looked to have been torn open, I envisioned someone was searching for the guard that lay bloody and beaten on the floor.

I stepped by the man and checked the backside of the room where it ended via uprooted lockers. A box of files had been dumped here, the contents ruined by a lot of blood and water leaking from a cracked shower head. I flipped through some of the salvable pages and found a note that was pertinent.

From:

To: .com

Subject: Annapurna, employee no. 531920

Mr. Walsh,

Please accept the immediate resignation of Orderly 531920, David Annapurna, and process him as a patient of Mount Massive to treat his prosecutorial delusions. Treatment should continue until the time of his death. Thanks, buddy.

Rick Trager

Murkoff R&D

This couldn't possibly be the same Rick Trager that liked to tie people down and cut them up. Not by a long shot.

I noted the guard as I walked by, his wounds appear fresh and the puddle of blood still crept along the tile's cracks. Which only meant his killer was nearby, which didn't mean a whole lot. Every other persons killer was nearby, it would be weird if I ran into a none psychotic, lucid patient. I pause and note a trail of bare feet prints leading around the next corner, and the only path currently open to me. The shower room had excellent acoustics, but I carried on with caution when slipping around the corner.

Urinals lined the wall on the other side, no lockers of alcoves for a person to crawl into. The end of the room had no light leaving the NV as my only visibility. The smell of smoke was getting stronger and the air was unbearably stuffy and thick, I was coughing before I opened the door and stepped into a wall of heat. My left was blocked by tables and cabinets, I was forced to the right where the visibility was obstructed by the thick hazy. I lingered in the next hall and checked my corners before stepping out.

High above, windows wavered with orange and yellow streaks. I walked along the wall determined to find a way around rather than through, I didn't care how many magnet key cards I needed to pull off dead security. The hall on the left ended in what looked like a blockade, with tables crammed at a door just to discourage the trip.

The only door into the room, cafeteria the plate said, was stacked with more tables and containers, setting me a bit to ease. I didn't need to fight the door yet, and no one could break it down. I navigated around discarded furniture, a broken desk and a wheelchair, toward a shattered door frame beckoning at the other end. There had to be a way around, there had to be an alternate route to the cafeteria.

The fire crackled on the other side, and the smoke seeped through a high open window. I breathed a little easier upon stepping into the next hall, across the way another door nailed shut. I ventured left listening to the wood crackle behind the walls, sweat gathered on my brow to slip down around my eyes. The halls end was obstructed by all manner of useless crap, but a door had been left ajar on the right. I was beginning to surrender to the concept of just climbing through that window.

Behind the door was a small utility closet. Fuck.

There was only the open window into the heart of hell. Fuck. I retraced my steps and found bloody handprints on the edge of the window. Fuck. I climbed up, getting a face full of heat as I pulled myself over into the room. Everything was on fire. Even the fire was on fire.

I hate this place.

Upturned lunch tables, long table carts, everything piled and jammed in every direction as though orchestrated to utilize the mother of bonfires. The wooden tables were a wild blaze and at first glance it looked like there was no way through without roasting, but the floor ahead was plenty clear enough. If I didn't fall sideways. The metal wasn't on fire, only the walls and most of the ceiling. I noted to myself to use caution with the camera, the heat could damage the memory drive and that would just wreck this entire ordeal.

No matter what, I would get out of here with all my evidence, everything. That had always been my goal in the beginning, and it has been what kept me going. It might seem petty, but someone had to remember what happened here, and that everyone had been killed by something – the former victims, Chris Walker, a lunatic with a fancy for taking people apart. And people were not done dying.

The heat had swelled within its small confines until the room had all but burst, I coughed against the smoke and kept low out of the heavy fumes. I stepped around the small pieces of kindling that had already fallen from the ceiling, scanning the bright yellow fingers for the safest path. My face was beginning to feel parched as my sweat dried, and my fingers ached against the brutal onslaught. I ducked to the side as some of the timber from above crashed down, sending a swirl of red embers across the tile. Needed to get out of here before it collapsed.

Some tables were stacked over each other, but I could see no other way around. I pulled my collar up around my neck and ears before I knelt low and crawled underneath. A couple dozen trays had been scattered across the floor, which I kept away from as I stood up and stopped. A patient sat on the table beside my current path, his feet had red coloration but that could have been the orange flames mingling with my vision. I coughed a bit at the smoke as I stepped closer to him.

"I had to burn it. All of it." Subtly, I raised the camera from the pack to film him.

"Murkoff took so much from us. Used us." He held up his hands, indicating the mutilation. If he turned his head to my left, he looked almost normal. "Turned us into these things because nobody cares about a few forgotten lunatics." He dropped his hands over his lap and slumped forward.

"So let it burn. Burn the whole god damned thing down. Get out." He indicated me with a thumb. "If you still want to live. You can get out through the kitchen."

Good to know. But the kitchen was on fire too.

"I'm not the only victim here, not by a long shot. I watch a man wait to burn to death, the most painful death imaginable, rather than stay in this place."

I put the notepad away, and wrinkled my nose at the stench of burning meat. A Murkoff or someone was pinned under a table, rotten and on fire, a horrible combination. There were not many areas open to me, most the tables were engulfed with flames or getting there, I crawled over a shelving cart left sideways. A piece of timber from above hit my back, and I swatted it away before damage could be done. I picked up the pace, before the whole roof could crash down, or worse.

I snapped the camera into its hoister and pulled my coat up over my head more, as I navigated the furnace. A table in my path was catching fire, but not enough yet to deter me. On the other side more of the staff lay slain, dried blood stuck to their cloths and fire chewing on their skin. I was able to get under a shelf into a side of the cafeteria that hadn't been overwhelmed by flames. I exited through an open door to the other side, and shut it behind me. To keep the fire from following. I fixed my coat and fanned some of the heat from its surface. Felt good to be dry and warm for once, it was difficult to recall what being cold and damp felt like. The cool threads digging into the fibers of my coat reminded me that we'd be reacquainted here very shortly.

The hall went two ways, the right had nothing but a dead end and boarded up double doors. To suffice my curiosity I made sure those nails were tight, then wove my way around broken wheelchairs and a crushed shelf to the other side. Cabinets and industrial shelves had been stuffed into the hall, my only path would be the dark corridor that was open opposite of the way to the inferno. Things were looking up.

An archway straight ahead would have led to another room, if not for the stacks of shelves and whatnot packed into it. Continuing to the right was another set of double doors, one open and accessible. The churning roll of the flames had died down once I turned the corners into this corridor, and the creeping chill enveloped my skin. How despairing the decrepit and harmless walls around me were less unfavorable, than that of the inferno.

When I entered the office wing, I shut the door and exchanged out the battery. I examined the room over extensively seeking a way out, an alternative path much better than charging through a kitchen that was on fire. There was little to this room, it was large but most of that were the segregation walls and an area to the side encircled by a counter, inside, the walls had a few bookcases loaded with files and books. A receptionist's desk? I glanced over a few but it looked like outdated pages before Murkoff.

Through an open doorway on the left side was another member of Murkoff slumped over his desk and blood staining the carpet under him. His wrists were black, but that was the most of his injuries. He might've committed suicide, but why? Had he received word of what was happening in the Asylum and given up hope for escape? What had been so horrible?

The other side of the room had another desk, and a dead employee slumped beside the base, soaked with blood and multiple wounds wrecked his body. An obvious contrast between him and his colleague. A few files had been left on the desk, I flipped through finding one that made me uneasy

IF YOU'RE SEEING THINGS, SAY SOMETHING. There's no shame in Psychopathologist Proximity Stress Disorder (PPSD). Talk to your supervisor to get help from a Murkoff Success Counselor.

Well, sure! We want you to further the Murkoff Charity Association, also known as BULLSHIT. And you too can further OUR research with your mangled corpse, or highjack your brain and make you see some scary shit!

Trager had also mentioned cutting employee pensions, wonder if this was part of his scheme to collect more bodies for the fucked up carnival ride Murkoff was running. None of this surprised me, this was Murkoff after all. Every underhanded and malicious tactic seemed to have been employed by the cooperation in this Project Walrider, and now they reaped what they had sewn. Death, chaos, religion, and me at the center of it all.

Burning was too good for it.

There was little else in the remaining section of the room, just a box of pamphlets warning about sanitization work areas, nothing to note. Nowhere to go. The double doors on the other side were nailed tight, unless I really wanted to fight them. I still had no idea what would be on the other side. Nothing?

I returned to the previous hall and looked over the shelving that was stacked there, and found a few carts and things that I could dislodge. Easy, just drag them out and push the rest through. I squeezed through, then stopped on the other side to check my back. The fabric was stiff but that meant the bleeding had stopped. I'd need a mild procedure later to fix that, the wound will have set long before stitches and I was certain it needed stitches.

More dark, more failed security. Another door on my left, barricaded shut from the other side with shelves and a table. Might be one of the doors I'd viewed from the cafeterias hall, I'm certain I did come from that direction. I stepped along murky windows hearing…a curios tapping, almost like the rattle of pellets, but I couldn't find the source. It faded as I continued and I decided that was a plus. Whenever I heard that sound….

A plaque on the wall indicated Baths and Laundry ahead, and the Cafeteria was indicated the former hall I'd come from. From where I stood, the faint outline of a medical table was visible, laying parallel to the wall. Beyond that a door bolted up from inside the room and therefore not worth wasting my battery. The NV was also giving me a mild ache, the monotone green haze dug into my concentration.

I could see through some of windows on the wall, within was a room with large vats, tile floors, but I had no way of accessing it. At the moment it didn't seem important, unless it provided an immediate means of escape. There was no visible door that I could make out.

The hall took a left and at the end light scared away the dark, but there was a door at the wall just before the corner. Above the frame a plate labeled the room Emergency Sprinklers. That seemed useful, if not better than nothing at all. Though this section of the Asylum was out of date, it would still have the barest of fire prevention. Either it was shut off along with the lockdown, or the basement was now a pool.

I entered the dim room and found a pressure gauge, surrounded by its large pipes and a tank to the side. The gauge was not as helpful as I had thought and read zero pressure for the water. There had to be a way to get water back into the system. I had no idea where to start, no map was available to indicate where additional tanks would be located.

Sounded like someone in the floor above was having a wrestling match. I stepped out of the room staring up, wondering if whatever was up there would tumble down here. Or were people trying to escape the blaze that was catching. Maybe both.

At the halls end, where the light began, was another plate reminding where the Baths and Laundry Room were, and the cafeteria that was currently on fire. This hall would lead back to it if it wasn't blocked by the shelves and cabinets I had viewed from the opposite side. It might've been easier to climb over, if it looked stable at all. I sighed and pivoted to the lit hall unexplored.

There had to be a way to redirect water into the emergency tanks. The bath would be a good place to start, I'd have to check and get out of there fast. Or find a bucket for water, that would be better than nothing. I wasn't asking much.

The only light source was a lone lamp. Beyond, the next room was dead with electricity, but on the opposing side was another light. From my position I could make out silhouettes, the shapes obscured by the window frame on my side. I moved towards the open doorway, where the door was I didn't care, it wasn't on its hinges and therefore could NOT be locked. I jerked in my tracks catching the flutter of a shadow on the far wall. I saw that! I saw that!

Then the big fucker marched into view, and I receded to the dark hall I had stepped from. I knelt down and checked the corners edge to see if he was coming, I don't think he saw me. Chris stepped through the shadows towards the doorframe and paused, examining the area over. In my new position, with the camera aimed and zoomed I could easily identify the body of Murkoff's own, suspended by a cord fixed to his throat. Another suicide?

No matter what, I was getting out of this place. Whatever it took.

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A big thank you to people waiting patiently for the updates. I am not always there... If you see something in my hasty editing that could do with a change, feel free to send a note or a smoke signal and I'll look into it. I does not have a beta