Exodus on Fire
After examining his surroundings thoroughly, Chris turned and walked out of sight. I wasn't certain where he had gone, or what the area was like that he was now in. I watched, waited and listened, but at this distance the sounds of his chains were rebuked by the doorframe and the walls. It frustrated me to no end but I was unwilling to proceed until I had some feeble hint to his whereabouts.
That area looked dark enough, if I could get to the shadows he might not notice me. Or at least get around him, if I could slip under his field of vision. It was either the big fucker or the fire, and while I was safer in the flames, it was easier to shake him.
I reached the doorframe and listened, he could be on the other side admiring a wall, and I wouldn't know it. Or he might've found some other room to wander into, a way out less dangerous than playing in fire.
Sweat trickled down my hairline, the air was dry and warm but an odd draft glanced my brow as I was crouched and waiting. I was on a tense countdown, the brittle timber of the Asylum was going up like matchsticks with every second I wasted. Rush out and get snared by the big fucker, I wouldn't be worried about burning up with two face. I scooted closer to the doors edge, carefully touched the frame with my left hand and tilt my head near the wood. I strained to hear, to imagine if I could where the big fucker would be.
A crack and crunch echoed from the other side, his trademark symphony of demolition. The reverberations had distance on them, not clear cut noises near my position, which elicited a sigh of relief. I peered around the corner and raised the camera, no eyes, no movement. Crouched low I scampered into the shadows and paused, scanning the room. Chris had headed to the right so that's where I focused my attention. It looked like another office station or watch room, sandwiched between the two corridors that boxed it in. For employees protection, when the doors were present and variants had not gotten loose all over the god damn place. The wood floor ended at broken tile, a few pieces clinked as I stepped on them but the bad spots were easily avoided.
I knelt down and waited, the door abuse would have covered up the miniscule sound but it had ceased when I had moved. I strained to pick out movement at the limit of the cameras zoom, but nothing presented itself. The surrounding hall was still and silent, aside from a faint plip-blip. Across from where I knelt, bodies had been situated around a table as though invited to a tea party. Overhead, the leg of one was tangled in a lamp cord and his jagged neck stump dripped blood into the bucket set in the tables center below. Something glittered in the lap of a man on the right side, and I focused the camera to make out the outlines of a head, probably the former property of the man suspended above the gathering.
I would chalk this up to one of the more disturbing displays of mutilation, though there was no limit to the overabundance of insanity.
At the far end of the room was larger entrance, shocker, it wasn't crammed with crap so I could run through if I needed. Seemed redundant, but little things like that needed to be noted in the event I rushed through and got lost in my panic. That was an often enough occurrence. I didn't want to dwell on that scenario, couldn't afford to lose time. The smoky scent was oddly reminiscent of a campfire, if not for that underlying bite of plastic. As I headed through the broken frame into the next corridor, the hazy vapor swirled in the blinding light lying on its side.
The lamp was that model that could be mounted or moved, a second lay a few feet from its twin. Looked like their clamps had been snapped off and they were abandoned on the bare wood floor. A bad spot if I needed to sneak by, but I was momentarily distracted by another plate mounted on the wall labeling directions. Baths were indicated to the left, along with the Cafeteria.
A few carts loaded with supplies were in the way, they creaked as I pushed through toward what looked like another blockade of shelves and some desks. I tested the sturdiness of the desk and found I could wedge my body between it and a shelf. It was better than going back.
I grunted and struggled against the furniture threatening to pin my body, and paused only once when the sharp pain crept up my side. Just my ribs wanting attention, by far the worst injury I've received here. Worse than the traumatizing loss of my fingers, which were not yet a life threatening matter. If I wasn't careful a good swat from any of the variants would snap them, and what would follow would be a painful exercise of survival without puncturing my lungs and drowning in my own blood.
The corridor must have continued to the cafeteria, but the path was lost for whatever reason. I observed a large and evident archway on the other side of the blockade, boarded up tightly with planks of wood. This activity must have been undertaken somewhere during Mount Missives operation, the wood was aged and I couldn't see the survivors of Murkoff going to this much trouble to fit the boards so tightly together if they were in a panic. A simple but crude barricade, evidence that even before Murkoff's influence, Mount Massive was shady and cruel in its own methods.
The baths were in the next room on the right, as indicated by the plate beside the open door. I peered around the corner to view rows of tubs for patients, several had decaying slings attached to a weighted arm mechanism beside them. For lobotomized patients? The thought caused my stomach to lurch, I'm sure there were a few even before Murkoff took over.
A few tubs in I spotted one of the patients doing… something, I'm not sure I wanted to know what. He looked distracted enough, I just needed to get by without agitating him.
The storm had calmed to some degree, allowing light to seep through the muggy glass from nearby rooms, and perhaps the outside lamps. I'm not entirely sure where from, didn't care too much either if it meant saving my batteries. I secured the camera long before I reached the man, but he raised his head and gave me some brief attention while he did… whatever he was doing. It appeared he was bathing a corpse.
"Hushaby, you'll have your turn." He sounded feminine, I guess. Or he wanted to? I decided not to record this. This was right on that list of most bizarre and/or disturbing things I have witnessed yet in this place.
The corpse was in what might've been water at some point, but it was dark crimson and bloated with blood clots. The patient gently rubbed his shoulders and scooped 'water' over his chest. "There you go. We clean your belly, clean your arms. Every little crevice until we find that key." I fought not to make any sudden movements, hasten my pace or stutter as I passed him. "I know one of you babies has it. There you go, shh, shhh."
He was preoccupied, and he was clothed. That was good enough.
The tubs along the wall were filled with blood, body parts. Others appeared to have been out of commission, with an oily black tarp laid over the sides to prevent use. A body lay in one, black blood dried along the sides and a twisted expression of agony in his eyes. His mouth was wide open and his tongue swollen black and his remaining teeth cut into the parched flesh. Someone that didn't want a bath? I was utterly shocked by what was in the last tub I passed. Actual water. I couldn't explain why, but the very sight of it filled me with horror.
Maybe I was becoming so desensitized to the carnage, something so remedial reminded me of the earlier hours of my day. Holding intelligent conversations with semi-conscious human beings, or the recollection that there would be - WOULD BE - a life after this. Once I was out, I could resume a normal lifestyle. Put a fuck lot of distance between my remaining psyche and Colorado, retire, and live on the earnings of my story.
But the nights. And the dark. I shuddered.
I knew without a doubt I'd wake up in the middle of the night shrieking, horrified by the shadows running up the walls. My heart racing in my chest and the memories of this place - hiding in the corners and wondering if the creature stalking through the black shadows would find me. Would I be fast enough to keep away from it? And when I woke up, was I truly awake, or was I dreaming I had awoken safe in bed? Then feel the same raw terror as Chris suddenly appeared beside me, face cut back in a cruel grin with eyes dead and murky gleaming with malice. The repugnance in that sneer as those skeletal fingers reached for my throat.
I'm an investigative reporter, always, ALWAYS willing to risk my neck getting the stories no one in their right mind would dare touch. I'd done some pretty reckless and dangerous stunts in my career, interviewed people that wouldn't think twice to gut me on the spot to save face. Goaded suspects without a care what they might do if witnesses were not present. The thrill excited me, I needed the challenge, I couldn't accept a job that wouldn't reciprocate the kind of work I was willing to put into the means of acquiring the evidence.
Political corruption, corporate wrongdoing, Christ, I even interviewed a sick monster of a man that had described his sadistic cult brutally raping women before cutting them into pieces and burning the bodies to conceal the evidence – in their mind, if it no longer existed you couldn't prove a fuckin thing.
All of these stories I had collected and sold, them and dozens more. All for my rent, car payments, bills. Months of data retrieval, sifted into a feasible document that could be distributed to the masses, so they could read and feel and learn what terrible things the world had hidden. The horrible things happening behind their backs when they weren't looking, what they willingly ignored so they could lead an honest life. Then turn around and pity the people that had endured this shit, and in the same conversation forget them altogether and return to their lives, to their reality. While multitudes of people still suffered to the corporate hog that profited off their blood and sweat. Profited from their voice unheard.
Then. Here I am in one of the worst fuckin places in the world, fighting to get out of this little hellhole that Murkoff had burned into the planet. And I was feeling it. I was experiencing the horrors our little side of paradise could muster, the unspoken cruelty hitched to people forgotten to the world. People brutalized, mutilated, and experimented on for the curiosity of a man already long dead. And I was cracking under the strain of it all.
Lightening flashed outside, bring me back to this place, back to here. I looked at the tub of water, dirty with grime but it was still water. I took a slow breath and turned to the room, lit with the soft glow of a light. Just a light somewhere above, I didn't see.
The room was a disappointment. A plate by the frame read Sprinkler Valve, and inside was a large pump that must have controlled the distribution of water in this section. I didn't bother shutting the door as I met the valve and twisted it, the sharp hiss of air being forced from the pipes. It gave a low rattle and I waited dully for whatever may happen, but the noise passed and a low burble vibrated from within the walls.
I backed away towards the door, instead bumped into the wall beside the frame and dropped to my seat. I drew my knees up, my body began to quiver and I took in a small breath as I felt tears spill down my face. I hated this place. I hated this fuckin place so much. I pressed a palm against my eyes trying to calm down, but everything was so messed up right now. Had to get out. That's all I needed to do. Get out with everything I have, and bury these bastards far in the hell they devised.
How long had that been my sole mission? Too long, I recalled. A new wave of helplessness surged through me and I choked a bit as I took another sharp breath. The moisture stung the sensitive remains of my ring finger, and I cowered down under the crushing blow of humiliation.
Miles. I won't die here. I can't die here. I took a deep breath and focused on that odd tickle in my side. I refuse to die.
The fire still consumed the Asylum, I had to keep moving. There was no argument in the matter, I was not going to wallow and let death take me at its leisure. I rubbed my collar at my face and got up off my ass. As I hurried through the baths I kept on the furthest side of the tile wall.
"No complaining now, we have to wash every little part." I picked up the pace. "Who's a clean baby? Who's a clean baby? You are…."
There was no sign of the big fucker on the other side of the barrier. He was probably just in the other room, doing his stalking thing. If I darted past there he would see me and give chase, and I had no idea where I would go after that. Most the barricades were set up to keep him out, I could always come back to this side. Not a good plan B, he'd know I was right here with no other option but to eventually crawl back out. In the meantime the fire swarmed on.
Just had to find a fool proof plan A. I slipped out and crouched low crawling on the floor to the doorway I had come through. Through the NV I couldn't see him in the hall across where the light didn't reach, didn't hear him wandering nearby either. I peered around the doorframe, he wasn't there.
He had to be somewhere, the big fucker wouldn't just take off. Unless he knew I had left this area, he would hunt around until he found me. Somehow he knows where I am, suspects where I've gone but he doesn't know for certain. My only edge was his doubt.
I finally realized the light I was standing beside cast a huge shadow on the wall behind me, so if Chris were somewhere it wasn't in that room. I kept low as I snuck by the cracked frame, to an open doorway at the other end.
It was a set of double doors, one door was crushed into the room. I tried the handle of the other out of curiosity to confirm, previously these doors were locked. I entered into another office area, separated into smaller cubicle sections. The walls crossing the room fashioned after the same glassed in design prominent in this section of the Asylum. Long wooden counters boxed in the right side of the room where I entered from, shelves lining the walls within had been stuffed with moth eaten files and books. At least one desk was set up in each cube, the drab glean of the still functioning monitors barely cut into the dark room.
I toggled between the nightvision, and whatever light was coming through the windows on the left hand side of the room. I didn't want to get stuck someplace without batteries again if I could help it. I did manage to stumble when a box of files caught my foot, completely missed as I scanned over the cracked office windows. I passed through a doorway into the other half of the room, finding more of the same, nothing useful aside from some lockers and empty boxes and files lost on the floor. I scattered a few with my foot, but didn't go through them. At the worst possible time, the big fucker would find me. I needed to pay attention.
Though I did stop as I passed by a desk and found a blood blotched body curled up beneath, a camera in his hand. I knelt and slipped the device free of the stiff grip and checked for batteries. There were two, but I pondered the camera a moment. What was he hanging onto this for? Evidence? It was broken, I couldn't find out what happened in his last moments. But a dial on the top I could just make out, it had the usual features and one I was accustomed to using. The nightvision.
This seemed pretty straight forward, so I left the body to resume my own survival.
There was still no sign of the big fucker as I wandered to the hall on my left, to a light source that looked promising. I kept checking the office on the other side, where the bodies sat idly around a bucket of blood. I reached the corner of the first hall I entered from, and glanced around the side just as the big fucker stepped out from a doorway. I took a quick step back and lowered my camera, hoping he'd not see me.
"Little ghost…." He hummed, as he entered the corridor after me.
I hastened to back away, until he flew into a sudden dash. I pivoted and retreated to the office area, a draft glanced across my back as I picked up speed. I was barely an arm's length out of his reach and the grating sounds of his breath were too close, much too close. I brought up my camera and shot around the corner, nearly flying into the locked door in the hall. Chris hollered out as he smashed into the door at full force, it felt like the whole building shook with the collision. I nearly lost my footing as result but that could have been the shock.
The counter was on my direct right, I hoisted over and spun about as I retreated a few steps. Chris entered the room and cast his eyes around, it didn't take long for him to locate me just standing there staring back. He heaved his girth over the top, simultaneously I sprang over the opposite side and took a route through the back half of the office through the white light cutting through the windows.
"It'll hurt just for a second…." The feeble wood quaked under his heavy boots as he cut the distance. I weaved around desks glancing over my shoulder, the chains caught about his wrists glint oddly in the soft glow of the screens we passed. His fingers twitched as he raised his arms, briefly reminding me of the pain they inflicted when he struck me in the sewers.
As I took a sharp turn around the edge of a door, I caught the frame in my left hand and let myself twist about nearly falling to my side. Chris kept going, trying to pivot about just as fast and slipped on his bloodied boots. Some furniture crashed as he slid into it and a flash blinded me momentarily, from a broken monitor knocked off the desk. As he struggled to get up after me, I pulled myself through the door and retraced my steps out of the room. A sharp pain pulsed up my forearm, I didn't know if I pulled something or tore it. Didn't have time to give a damn.
I didn't know where to go, he knew I was here and would be hunting my location. There were scarce few spaces I could hide in unless I huddle in the shadows, praying his patrolling sweeps didn't stumble upon me. I could outrun him, but that wasn't a solid plan. More desperation than calculation, it nearly cost my life once. A few seconds, I had a few seconds before he honed in on my direction. I needed more time to figure out what should be done next. I really didn't have a clue.
I found myself back beside the room he had emerged from. This might throw him off, this might buy a few precious seconds. It was a high risk gamble, but I wanted to take it for no other reason than to satisfy some sick yearning I had to shirk him.
I slammed the door behind me and sprint to the back of the room, where the lockers were concealed by dark shadows. On either side of the wall sat tables and laundry baskets, abandoned with patients uniforms still inside. Rather trap myself in a locker, I ducked under a table at the side as the door buckled, splintered, and crashed open. I froze up immediately, though still out of breath from the running and the panic. I carefully lowered the camera to my knuckles and stuffed my face against my stiff collar. The strong scent of blood hit me and I realized my shoulder had been bleeding bad since Trager hit me with the shears.
In all the anxiety, I had totally missed it until now.
My eyes locked on Chris as he wandered into the room, he paused near the middle and made the soft sniffling sounds as he tried to track me. I can't understand how this was possible, he didn't have a nose. I swallowed and fought with my desire to lower down just a little, I was poised on my hands and knees stock still and felt all for the world exposed. If I shifted, breathed, if I blinked he'd hear and be on me before the realization could process. I was cornered, unless he was flabbergasted momentarily by my audacious concealment attempt.
But he diverted into the next room, and searched that area thoroughly before he returned to reevaluate this room. Without a doubt I was here, he just hadn't found me yet. My breath hitched as he turned to the lockers and made his way towards me. Try not to cough, try not to breathe, don't even think. I shut my eyes and listened as his heavy steps moved right next to me and stopped. Was he facing me, or was he still staring at the lockers? Don't tense, don't move. I squeezed my eyes tighter and clenched my jaw. His labored breath was amplified beside my ear.
A locker door flung open and after a pause shut gently. I waited, holding my breath till my sides ached and my eyes watered. Just a little longer. Hang in there Miles. He'll leave. He'll leave.
The other locker snapped open and after a moment, shut as softly as the first. A tense moment passed as the silence held, was he scanning over the walls now? What was he thinking? He knew I was here, he just didn't know where. From the position he stood, was I visible under the table? Just leave damn it. Go stalk somewhere else. I promise you, I'm not here.
Finally, his boots scraped over the broken tile as he turned. I choked back a thin whine.
"Fuck." His steps grew distant and the rattle of chains departed my senses. Soon the room was silent and calm.
I took a deep breath through my collar and winced, terrified he'd charge back in after hearing that subtle gasp. My hand shifted on the floor, and I realized I had it in a puddle of something. I was afraid to look, but I wanted to make sure it wasn't what I thought it was.
It was. The remains of my ring finger had torn back when I caught the door frame, and blood collected on the floor under me. I wrapped my arms around me as the quivers began through my body without restraint. As I was pulling myself out from under the table, the adrenalin poisoning caught up to me and I buckled forward vomiting onto the floor. So much for the granola bar.
It took a few minutes to get myself under control. I spat out the taste and staggered forward, catching myself on some washer vats before I could fall to heaving again. Focus Miles, focus. Where was I? Laundry room. No way out but the broken door. Was there anything I could use in here?
I took the door on the right, where Chris had searched for me. Shelves piled with sheets, some tools and boxes. The only light above didn't reach the other side of the room, which was a black shadow that looped around the center shelf. The connecting closet had more to offer, a water line with a valve to turn. If there was enough water pressure in the system at this point, I could activate the sprinkles and put out the kitchen. I'd rather let this place turn to cinder, I'm sure that patient would too, but I needed to get out first.
I turned the valve, then spun away to leave the room. I paused briefly and peeked around the doorframe, meeting eyes with Chris on his return search. He gave a snarl and lunged, I nearly backpedaled away before I recalled the room was a small water closet. I dove forward on my initial path, he trudged into the room swiping out as I ducked down into the shelving space. I snatched a nearby laundry basket to pull between us, and tumbled backwards when my heel caught my foot. He tried to kick it aside, but the linen sides absorbed the shock and the basket tipped over rather comically. Outraged he hauled it up and threw it my way, as I pulled myself up and wound around the shelf. The basket cracked against the wall and dropped to the floor. It would have been silly, if that ugly bastard wasn't crushing it underfoot in his frenzy to reach me.
I dashed around the shelf and out the door, moving smoothly through the next room as Chris took up the chase. I was still shaken from the last encounter, but it felt like my feet were flying across the floor, I felt so light headed. Which way was it to the cafeteria?
A plate on the wall clarified my direction, I was on the wrong side of the hall with the fallen lamps. I twisted and lunged through the watch room, barely raising my camera to see as I was clearing the shadows of the lite corridor. A left here, into the sprinkler room, or whatever it was.
Chris was right behind me.
I cleared the doorframe and spun about, throwing the flimsy door against the approaching behemoth. When it cracked shut in the frame I threw myself against the wood, with some insane notion I could hold off the wall of rage and muscle about to tear through. Chris collided with the door at full force, throwing me off backwards. I stared up as the frame cracked, jammed in place. But it wouldn't hold for long. I cradled the camera to my chest and stood examining the closet over.
Tiny space, two fuckin lockers. Bad. Bad. Fuckin bad! I was trapped in here with that big fucker, while he clawed through the only exit. Hide in a locker? He wouldn't fall for that twice.
The door whined in its hinges, for a splint second his eyes were visible through the cracks.
Now. I had to do something, maybe stupid, it couldn't wait. Time was against me. I punched the button, relieved that the sprinklers did come on and that I had achieved something after all of this. The door splint inward, and Chris howled in frustration. It made my blood run cold, or that was the cold water soaking my coat and face.
Think Miles. There was a way out of this, there had to be a way. I was over thinking the situation, but it was impossible to focus with the door giving under each shattering blow delivered without remorse. The big fucker wouldn't spare a moment to consider my death when he ripped my head off. He wouldn't even pause. Had to move, had to run, had to rely on my instincts. That alone was all I had in this room. I crouched low by the door and tucked the camera under my coat. I would need it soon.
The door crumpled inward, Chris burst in, and I ducked right out. Right by the back of his bloodied legs, he hadn't noticed my absence yet. The gushing shower cloaked most of my heavy breathing, the water so thick I was inhaling it. I sped around the next corner and found light illuminating the gap I first entered though. The cafeteria was not far from here.
The scent of sodden wood hit me, and black smoke rolled out from the upper frame of the open door. I remember leaving it closed, but this could mean the patient had left. He was the only surviving person in that room. The scorched Murkoff staff met my gaze as I turned the camera through the gloom. I tried to cover it with my other hand as the water fell in torrents, the cold drops aggravated the freshly ripped tissue but I pressed on. It must've been the earliest design for emergency sprinklers, or the heads themselves were damaged from years of neglect. Probably a little of both. The flow was beginning to lessen as I navigated the dark room.
Thick gray smog filled the ceiling and the room was thick with steam, the violent clash of frigid water and the inferno. Some of the wood persisted to smolder angrily with embers, refusing to douse despite the thick river washing over its surface. I tucked my face into my collar and made my way around the tables and under a shelf, keeping my gaze locked on the soft gleam of the kitchen. My goal. The place where Trager had picked me up.
Best event of the day, watching that fucker die. Could almost be better than getting out, considering I wouldn't have good memories tied to this place. Aside from Trager's death.
I gave the entrance a scan before entering fully. The same countertops and pots were visible, the shelves, all of it was here. I barely remembered this place, but I did recognize the shapes. Shelves for stacking trays, I mused. That made sense. And there was the dumbwaiter I naively crawled into to escape the variants. It hurt to recall these events and I was reminded that on my camera, the entire sequence had been captured. At the moment it saved my life, I didn't want to admit it but…I would've died in that room. No doubt. One thing always led to—
Two face lunged out at me with a shriek, grabbing me by the NECK! I couldn't shake his arms off without risking my camera, so I just slapped him with my bloody hand. It took a few jabs until I finally just struck him with my palm, causing him to stagger backwards. I shoved him away and drew back, freezing in the same instant as he leapt at me with another caterwaul. He knocked me flat on my back before skipping over my face and out of sight.
Fourth Rule. Maybe that should have been the first rule.
He slammed the doors after him. At least he didn't hit me with something painful, but my heart was still pounding in my chest. God damnit, putting out that fire must've really pissed him off.
The danger had passed for the moment, needed to keep moving and put this place behind me. The kitchen looked normal enough, for a horror movie. Long metal countertops were situated at the rooms center, stoves lined the surrounding walls, and pans dangled off racks hung from the ceiling. And a patients body chopped into sections, on one of the island countertops.
I was tempted by the provided arsenal to begin tearing through the drawers and cabinets, hunting for a large knife or selecting one of the numerous skillets dangling from the racks. But I remembered the MHSs' dying words to me, as though he were haunting me this very moment. …can't fight them…have to hide… It would help me in no way to threaten mentally disturbed people, they probably wouldn't even realize I've caved their skull in with a pot while they carved a knife through my chest. Guns did no good, what hope did I have with a knife? I'd survived so far, that was more than the tactical cops could say for themselves.
Tempting, terribly temping, but more harm would come of it. I walked around the table, towards a door on the other side of the wall. I opened it slowly and peered inside. Looked like a small preparation lounge for the staff, I deduced they didn't do a lot of cooking. A few microwaves had been stationed on the counter. And a bloody bowl.
I sighed as I approached the bar and raised my camera.
"I've said it before, but fuck this place. I've still got those fingers left."
Small blessings. I didn't bother to date the note, just put it away and shut the door. Not a lot to say about this room, no valves or levers or buttons. Just some overturned shelves crammed in the doorway at the back, a few boxes of canned goods scattered on the floor. A small closet on the right had shelves stacked with more cans, stuff you get at your local grocer.
I pulled out a few marked cocktail fruits and another of green beans, peas, things with pop tops. I drained a bit of the fluid out of each and dumped the contents into my mouth. I wasn't big on canned stuff, Alzheimer's caused by the lead in cans and that sort of thing, but fuck that, I'm hungry.
The echo of a shriek came from the other side of the door. I paused to listen, then picked up the camera and crept back into the pantry. I had one last can of chunky soup before I pushed the door open and paused at the kitchen, straining to pick out any other hostile noises on the other side. It might've been my imagination, or the floor above. There was no other sound beyond the door, so I opened it a crack and scanned the room over. The main doors were still shut. That didn't set me to ease like it should, but that was about the limit of reassurance I was going to get.
I gave the bowl of fingers one last look, before shutting the door and searching for the way to the elevator.
It was easy to find, just had to turn left from the dumbwaiter and retrace the steps Trager had taken. I found the boarded up door, and yes, it was locked. The carpet wasn't carpet, it was ugly wood floorboards that were older than the tomb of Ramesses. My memory was a little fuzzy, I didn't remember passing through a doorframe to get out of the hall, but the elevator was right there.
I went over and looked up at the lift, where it was stuck. In the end, it had been worth it to see that sick fucker die.
I turned away and there, straight ahead, was the exit. In big, bold, red letters.
Father Martin was waiting for me out there. I was in no hurry to stroll on out head first, and stumble into worse nightmares than what the Asylum offered. I took my time reaching the gaping doorway trying to see past the rain and gloom, trying to find shapes that might be waiting.
And as I brought up my camera, I did see a shape huddled up in the branches. I backpedaled from the mist and sprang through the nearest doorway. What the fuck was that? It sounded like something hissed at me, or yowled, something between the two sounds. I wasn't sure what to make of it, only that it frightened me. Was that a shadow in the blaze of lightening?
I was just being an idiot. There was nothing out there but a crazy 'Priest' guy, and that was scary on its own. It could have been him, I just imagined the sound with the rain and thunder. I was terrified enough to imagine those sort of things, the Asylum was always emitting horrifying sounds that were not a figment of my imagination, I was just accustomed to being jumpy at every little creak.
I tried to calm myself and glanced over the office I had hidden in. At the end more files had been scattered under a cheerful lamp, one read Confidential. I passed by some spazzed out monitors to reach the lone desk, and flipped through the pages.
MKULTRA program, CIA MORI doc no. 140401, pp. 1, 5, 9, excerpts
To: File
Subject: Special Research, Bluebird
I. General Problem
For the past several months Bluebird has been endeavoring to ascertain by research, study, instruction and some practice what value (if any) can be derived from SI (Sleep Instruction) and H (Hypnotic) techniques when applied to war and specific Agency problems.
3. Can we create by post-H control an action contrary to an individual's basic moral principles?
7. Can we guarantee total amnesia under any and all conditions?
8. Can we "alter" a person's personality? How long will it hold?
17. What are full details on a "sleep-inducing machine.
This was the hypnotic sleep system they were trying on those two patients. Hijacking peoples brains to make them perform functions they wouldn't normally undertake in a lucid state of mind. This was scary stuff, if you thought about it. The military finding ways to reprogram people to perform certain functions, or find out how far they could go with completely reformatting a person's mind, and inducing amnesia in their subjects.
Which brings to light one of my original questions. Had Murkoff been trying to 'cure' the patients for further experimentation? It didn't make sense to perform all this 'dream' therapy on mentally disturbed people. That would be the equivalent of experimenting without a control group. What had they been trying to achieve here? Had the patients been a more suitable candidate than those with a solidly fixed and sane state of mind?
A starting ground, perhaps? Make mentally unstable people believe God exists, make them feel he exists and see where that goes. It's been the oldest belief of mankind, to the beginning of history man had a deep rooted desire to believe a higher entity was true and responsible for mortal man's fate, and bring others to share the dream. Through fear and devotion, belief could drive a man to do anything, even kill his own son.
If so, it might've worked too well. One question that dismantles this theory entirely though. In the security room, what did I witness kill the tactical cops?
I think Miles gets a little confused with his conspiracy theories...