A/N: Thank you so much for you reviews and support! I hope my story will continue to please you!

I welcome new and old readers! Please enjoy!

(Young-ja)

When I finally woke up, it was to dead silence and a piercing headache.

As I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the pain to numb away, everything slowly came back to me. Seeing the Walrider in the Courtyard, the buzzing static, and confronting the creature in that shed where it started screaming and we were torn back, and then….darkness.

'I let myself crumble into a sobbing mess and got knocked out as a result.' I mentally groaned. 'How careless of me.'

Slowly, the pain faded away and I opened my eyes to see Miles and Waylon ogling each other with serious expressions. Their glares weren't covered with the usual animosity, but with misery and….understanding?

'Just what happened while I was asleep?'

"Guys.." I whispered and both of them immediately whipped their heads down in my direction.

"Young-ja!" Miles gasped, brushing my hair back and kissing my forehead with a feather like touch. "Are you alright? You've been out for a while."

"I'm…sorry." I hummed, letting Miles help me sit up as the world was still spinning a bit. "Where…are…we?"

"We are in a closet inside the Female Ward." Waylon replied, his hand covering his cheek. "After you got knocked out, Miles carried you across the Courtyard until we wound up here. Father Martin greeted us from the second floor and told us to follow him, but we decided to hide in here and dry off for a bit first."

"W-wait.." I stuttered, my brain still trying to catch up with being conscious. "Are you saying Miles," I pointed to my husband. "that Miles…carried me in the pouring rain?"

"No, cara mia." Miles said, taking my hand in his. "I dragged you through the mud-Of course I carried you! What kind of husband would I be if I didn't?!"

"Thank you then." I sighed before glancing back over at Waylon. "Were we..attacked?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your…cheek is bleeding."

"O-oh…well, I.." Waylon stuttered, like he was trying to come up with an excuse before finally sighing and lowering his hand. "I did something stupid. That is all."

The blood had smeared across his cheek and dried, but even so, I could tell whatever hurt Waylon cut him deep enough to leave a scar. I also noticed Miles' left knuckle was freshly cut up too. After observing Miles and Waylon's uncomfortable gazes, I decided to let it go.

For now.

"Well, I..think it is best..if we push forward now." I stated, scooting out of Miles' lap. "I'm…so fucking tired..of this place."

"Agreed." They said in unison, and we all stood up.

"Hey, Short Stack. Stay still." Miles requested before taking the blanket we were using and wrapping it around my shoulders and tying it together, making a make-shift poncho. "There. This should keep you warm until we can catch up with Father Martin."

I gave him a grateful smile and watched as the two men grabbed their camcorders and Miles slipped his jacket back on.

'I can't be afraid anymore. I can't let the asylum get to me. Not when freedom was within our grasp. Just a little longer, Young-ja. Just a little longer….'

As our odd trio stepped back out into the dark hallway, it felt like the warm bed covers had been ripped off of us and we were once again exposed to the cold world.

"The old bastard said to meet him upstairs, so there should be a staircase nearby." Miles muttered under his breath. "Picles, are you familiar with the outline of the Female Ward?"

"Okay, one, no. The Female Ward has been closed for decades. Two, did you just call me a pickle in Portuguese? I thought we were on good terms now."

"We are. I only give nicknames to people I like."

"Then shouldn't my nickname be breakfast related like Young-ja's, your daughter's, and your dog's?"

"Don't rush our relationship, Picles. You'll get a breakfast nickname once you've earned it."

Waylon opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it and just sighed in annoyance.

Although their banter wasn't all that different from before, there was a sense of amusement and familiarity laced in their tones and I once again found myself wondering that happened while I was asleep.

We ventured down the dark hallway, the paint peeling off the walls and the floorboards nearly rotten to the core. Miles and Waylon were walking on both sides of me, scanning the hallway with their camcorders. At the end of the hallway, there was a boarded up door and I halted to a stop when I realized someone was watching us from the other side. The guys immediately took notice and followed my line of sight.

The mysterious figure stared at us a moment longer before racing off to the side.

"For fuck's sake, please don't tell me we are being hunted again." Miles cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sick of being chased by machete wielding guys with their dicks hanging out."

"We should just stick to well-lit areas then." Waylon offered, staring at the end of the hallway with an uneasy gaze.

So we carried on, now with more caution in our step. The sounds of machines churning their gears echoed down the hallway, and I thought it was the infernal static emerging once more until Miles spoke up.

"I know that sound.." He whispered, hoping over a cracked windowsill while Waylon and I followed suit. We stood in a small laundry room and found the source of the churning. An old fashion wringer washing machine, the type you see in those 1930s cartoons, was vibrating as something fumbled about inside it. I didn't need to investigate closer to see what was inside—the smell of blood mixed with bleach informed me perfectly.

"Why am I not surprised?" Waylon sighed, filming the washer's contents while Miles stumbled off to the side, his hand over his eyes. I went to his side and placed my hand on his cheek, silently asking him if something was wrong. His face was pinched up like he was in horrible pain and sweat was dripping down his brow as his breath became labored.

"I'm fine, Young-ja." Miles groaned, removing my hand from his face and stepping away from the wall he was leaning against. "I just have a minor headache. It must be the fumes or something."

I didn't buy that for a minute but I never got a chance to confront him because a figure raced by the cracked window and nearly scared the three of us to death.

'Perhaps we were being hunted again.'

We hurried into the next room, finding it to be full of laundry baskets and moldy towels. There was door that led out to the main hallway, but we made sure to look both ways before running out.

"Alright, I think they may be a stairwell at the end of this hal-."

Suddenly, the lights above us began to flicker as someone stomped around on the upper floor before they went out completely, leaving us in total darkness.

"What? Are they playing extreme tag in here?" Miles glared at the ceiling before flicking the camcorder's night vision on and leading the way down the hallway.

As it turns out, Waylon was correct and there was indeed a stairwell at the end of the hallway.

A stairwell missing its stairs.

"Nice going, Picles."

"Please shut up, Miles."

There were several boxes stacked up behind the stairway, so we raided them in hopes of finding something useful but all there was were files and documents. I picked up one of them and Waylon shined his light on it as he read it aloud:

"Brief introduction to WALRIDER mythology for M.R.D. Support Staff

The Murkoff Corp.

NOTE - this is for support/notational purposes only, engage in NO direct contact with patients during or after therapy.

The WALRIDER, also known as an "Alp," or "Mara," or "Schrat," is a demonic creature of German origin that torments sleepers. They crouch on a sleeper's chest and crush the breath from him. The sleeper wakes terrified, paralyzed, and asphyxiating. The name "Mara" gives us the word "nightmare." Sexual assaults by the demon are rare, but it has been known to drink the milk from breasts of sleeping women, and blood from the nipples of sleeping men."

"What kind of gross shit is that?" Miles spat out in disgust. "It drinks blood from peoples' nipples?!"

"And breast milk too.." I added on, covering my chest with my arm involuntarily. "Why would…Murkoff..want to create…something like that? I know it is for profit but…what profit is there…in a literal nightmare?"

Miles and I both looked at Waylon expectedly.

"I just work here, guys!" He threw his hands in the air. "I'm not the Murkoff Wikipedia! I just clocked in, did my job, and that's it!"

"Explains why it took you forever to bring this to my attention."

"Please shut up, Miles."

We continued to shuffle through the boxes, finding most of the documents to be blacked out or scribbled over. However, the few that were still intact appeared to be MKULTRA documents from days when the CIA was doing research on human behavior at Mount Massive. I don't know much about MKULTRA, just what Miles' told me while he was researching Mount Massive and Murkoff. The main goal of the CIA's experiments was to learn about human behavioral patterns through hypnotic and sleep techniques and apply their findings to war and agency matters. The revival of Mount Massive by Murkoff and their Walrider project was probably an attempt to pick up where the CIA left off. Murkoff even got hands on Wernicke's research to make matters worse.

Wernicke…..

Is Billy still keeping him prisoner in that glass box? If we escape here, what will become of him? Will he rot in that room with Billy as his eternal protector before dying along with his inhumane creations and research? Perhaps it would be better that way. Let the man die here and let Murkoff and the Walrider die with him.

"Why are all these documents here anyways?" Waylon asked aloud. "I heard they were destroyed back in the 70s after the MKULTRA scandal."

"A majority of the documents were." Miles replied, flipping through a folder of blacked out files. "Richard Helms, CIA director at the time, ordered all of them to be destroyed. Perhaps to hide their wrongdoings or perhaps to make sure no one got their hands on their findings. Yet, it seems some of the MKLUTRA scientists kept some of their research, maybe in hopes of reviving it someday. You said so yourself that the Female Ward has been closed for decades. It is a perfect hiding place."

"But so many of these files and documents are ruined. How did they plan on continuing their research if they destroyed their ideas?"

"Ideas are bulletproof. Even though the CIA's project was shut down and Wernicke died, the Walrider Project lives on through the bastards like Murkoff who have the same selfish desires as their predecessors."

Waylon's eyes widened in mix of admiration and understanding, but I was frozen in place at Miles' words.

'What do you mean Wernicke is dead? He is in the base—Oh!... I forgot Wernicke's death was faked, and no one except Murkoff knows! I better tell them!'

I opened my mouth but was quickly cut off by Waylon bellowing, "Hey! Look at this!".

Miles immediately went to Waylon's side, and I tried to speak up again but was interrupted by Miles reading the document aloud:

"Date: 12 October 1968

B.L.U.E.B.I.R.D. PROJECT LOG

Filed by: Dr. Marshall Mathers

Patient 092 showed promising results today. After some tweaks to the hypothalamus and hippocampus and some trial and error, Patient 092's emotional and memory fluctuations were optimal. After enough 'gentle' prodding, we were able to override the anger threshold and Patient 092 successfully slaughter Patient 112 by jamming crochet needles through his eyes and ripping out his sternocleidomastoid muscle with her teeth. After sedating Patient 092 and putting on the proper restraints, she woke up without any memory of her attack. Very favorable results indeed. Perhaps we can apply Wernicke's formula to Patient 092. However, it appears that only male patients respond well to the treatment, while female patients seem to reject it. That should be another aspect to take note of. Also, in my observations, I have noticed this…Walrider differs from the German legends in a few ways. It is not that the Walrider deviates from the legends, but it appears to have a mixture of other folklore. This may be a simple error in the data, but it appears that the Walrider has the ability to shapeshift and…create or absorb objects from another. This morning while I was doing my rounds near the experimental chambers, I noticed the apple on one of the desks was missing. As I turned toward the containment chamber, I could make out a small black orb being tossed around. It is intriguing really. These characteristics are like dokkabeis, creatures from Korean folklore. A dokkabei can take the appearance of impish trolls to demonic figures and are said to steal from their victims. Perhaps I am looking too much into this. This occurrence only happened once and may be a result of, like I said, an error in the data. But I can't help but think the Walrider may be….mutating due to our interference, and or…the abilities of the Walrider may depend on the host."

The three of us said nothing as Miles read the last sentence of Dr. Mathers' report.

'Is it true that the Walrider has that many abilities? And possibly more than even Murkoff knows of? The Walrider is already running rampant through the asylum, so what damage could Billy do if he had access to the outside world?"

"Young-ja, let's go." Miles' voice snapped me out of my daze and I let him help me to my feet. He folded the few legible documents and slipped them into his jacket. "I wonder if this is part of Father Martin's revelation. But what does this all mean?"

"Miles?"

"We need to hurry. I have a feeling things are going to start coming together soon."

And with that, the three of us scampered down the hallway and continued our search for Father Martin.

(Outskirts of Denver)

(Ms. Johnson)

Like Mr. and Mrs. Upshur did a few hours earlier, Mr. and Mrs. Park tore down my door and demanded to know what happened to their daughter. I wondered how they got to the States so quickly, but I figured they must've charted a Concorde or something. The Upshurs tried to explain what little they knew, that Miles had gone to investigate a case regarding the Murkoff Corporation after receiving an email and Young-ja had gone after him. Mr. Upshur tried to decode the e-mail and find the sender's location, but to no avail. All the lawyers and detectives they tried to contact immediately declined or hung up the minute Murkoff was mention. Even the police officer I contacted earlier this morning called back and said this case was out of their control.

Was the Murkoff Corporation that powerful?

Evening was gradually closing in and all trails had run dry.

Without an answers and stricken with worry, the two pairs of parents…started to fight.

"This is why we were against our daughter marrying that boy of yours!" Mr. Park shouted, pointing a wrinkly finger in the Upshurs' faces. "I told her that boy would bring her nothing but trouble! And I was right! That boy is too wild, just like his parents!"

"Don't you dare blame Miles or anyone else for this!" Mrs. Upshur retorted, shooting up to her feet and push Mr. Park back. "My son has helped so many people and has made your daughter the happiest woman on Earth! You two were the horrible parents, not us! You're the one that pushed your own daughter away!"

Back and forth both couple shouted, blaming each other for the unknown fate of their children. And while they screamed their lungs out, Ae-cha sat on the stairway with Annie on her lap, watching her grandparents tear each other apart. In her tiny hand, I could see her clutching her father's rings with all her might, like if she wished hard enough her parents would appear in the living room and stop the fighting.

But Miles and Young-ja did not appear.

So the fighting continued on and the grandparents continued to bawl at each other, paying no mind to the little girl absorbing it all six feet away.

A/N: I mentioned before that my Waylon is mixed, so I thought I should touch on his mother's Brazilian heritage by Miles' giving him a nickname in Portuguese. So this chapter goes a little more into the Walrider's abilities and origins. And dokkaebis are like little goblins in Korea. There are some good ones and some bad ones. Usually they steals things, but give to the good and take from the bad. They look a little like the moblins from Zelda, and if you want to get technical, Totoro is kinda like a dokkaebi too. Yet, I am going with the characteristics of a bad dokkaebi. Haha. And if anyone can guess why Miles' decided to call Waylon a pickle, you will win at life. And~! If anyone can guess where the name Marshall Mathers comes from, you will win at life again.

Please look forward to the next chapter!