A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and support! I truly hope my story continues to please you!

I welcome old and new readers!

Please enjoy!

Answer to pickle question: Waylon's nickname comes from the phrase "We are in a bit of a pickle" and since it was Waylon that brought Miles to the asylum, and Waylon sending the e-mail that got him caught by Blaire, Miles is calling him the "pickle" a.k.a. "the problem".

Answer to Marshall Mathers question: Yes, it is an Eminem reference. Why? I asked my brother to give me the first name that popped into his head, and that is what he said. BUT it is also a Markiplier reference. During his playthrough of Outlast, Markiplier kept forgetting Miles' name, so Marshall Mathers was one of his nicknames for Miles. Lol.

If you got any of these right, you win at life. Congratulations. If not, thank you and you rock anyways! Love you guys!

Song of the Day: "Déjà Vu" by The Real Tuesday Weld

(Young-ja)

I still wasn't sure what to make of this new information, but I had to push my thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand.

'I just hope Billy doesn't try to suddenly experiment with his abilities while we are still here.'

"Another locked door." Waylon groaned, jiggling the knob of the third door we've come across. "How the hell does Father Martin expect us to find him if everything is locked?"

"It is all part of the bastard's game." Miles replied, that pained look in his eyes reappearing. "He said revelation is at hand, so maybe he wants me to prove my worth or find something out as a rite of passage."

"And you are actually going along with it?"

"Hey, I don't want anything to do with this guy, but Father Martin is the only obstacle keeping us from the outside world, so I have no choice but to play along."

Miles' words struck a chord with me because I faintly recall saying something similar to that when Father Martin sent me to the basement to obtain revelation.

I just pray Miles' won't get his arm torn off like I did.

"Not my babies." A raspy, high pitched voice suddenly cried out from behind us, causing us to whip around and plaster ourselves to the metal door in fright.

A variant with a partially burned face leered at us with a metal pole in hand. He was breathing rapidly, and his one good eye was completely blood shot.

"Oh God," The Variant whimpered, raising the metal pole high into the air. "I don't wanna die! Leave me be! Leave. Me. BE!"

"Get behind me." Miles hissed under his breath, and Waylon and I immediately complied.

Then, slowly and without taking our eyes off the Variant, we held our breath and tip toed down the hallway until we could see a light coming from one of the doors at the end.

"Alright," Miles whispered. "On the count of three, we turn around and run into that room. Got it?"

One.

Two.

Three!

In complete sync, the three of us twirled around on our heels and sped towards the light with all our might, not stopping until the Variant was out of sight.

"Think that was our mysterious stalker?" Waylon asked, panting against the wall and clutching his chest.

"Possibly." I answered, my heart still pounding in my ears as I surveyed the room we were in.

It appeared to be a foyer, like the one back in the Administration Block and Male Ward. As typical of the rest, body parts were scattered about, blood smeared against the walls, and all the windows and doors were boarded up. A single light shone in the room, hovering above a fallen wheelchair like it was giving off some kind of omen.

"Hot damn." Miles bent down and picked up two batteries from one of the guard's hands like it was nothing and tossed one at Waylon. "There is a passageway over there. I guess that is where we need to go next."

The rotting archway lead down to the basement where there were several Variants huddled into the corners and crying their eyes out. They didn't appear to be hostile, so we were able to pass without any difficulty. Water from the busted pipes was slowly flooding the cement floor, but I didn't notice it until Waylon pointed it out. In fact, I had stopped feeling anything under my feet since I woke up in the linen closet. Perhaps all the nerves in my feet are dead now, considering what we have walked through and such.

But, I couldn't find it in me to care. I just figured it to be another piece of the puzzle at this point.

As we reached the other side of the basement and trudged up the rickety stairway, the blood smeared across the wall began to take the shape of arrows, and that was a good sign taking into account who we were following.

"Ah, the blood arrows," Miles sighed, patting the wall. "Hello again, my old friend."

"I think your husband is starting to go off the deep end." Waylon whispered to me.

"We are all…going off..the deep end, Waylon." I replied, hobbling after Miles' brisk pace.

I shortly proved my point moments later when we approach another stairwell, finding the middle section had collapsed and we would have to jump to the other side.

Suddenly my mind went blank and without thinking, I just jumped, completely miscalculating the distance between the ledges. I was also cruelly reminded that my ribs were fractured because when my torso slammed against the end of the opposing ledge, blood spewed out of my mouth and my breath was knocked out of my lungs. Regaining my senses, I clawed at the rotting wood with my one hand, slipping further and further off the edge and closer to the dark ravine below.

But, just as I was about to fall, Miles and Waylon threw themselves onto the other side and quickly hoisted me back up.

"Are you fucking nuts?!" Miles screamed, grasping me firmly by the shoulders as I continued to cough up blood. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?! Huh?!"

I couldn't respond as I was too busy hacking up sputum and trying to hide the bleeding around my chest from soaking through the poncho and giving Miles another reason to panic over me. I felt around my chest and mentally sighed in relief that the bleeding was just old wounds re-opening, and not my ribs piercing through my chest. And, even if I could speak, I had no explanation.

Something just….told me to jump, so I did.

"Can you get up?" Waylon asked, bending down next to me and offering his hand.

I nodded, wincing as I tried to brace myself against the wall and stand up but every time I moved, more cuts just opened up.

"Don't be stupid!" Miles shot up to his feet and swept me up in his arms. "Christ, you are giving me white hairs. Waylon, let's keep going before she decides to take flight again."

My breathing, though labored, had returned and I tried to tell him not to worry, but then thought better of it. It wasn't like he was going to listen to me anyways when he is in worry mode.

As the two of them hurried up the rest of the stairs, I could hear the familiar echo of whispers bouncing off the walls and I knew who the real culprit was.

'Billy,' I closed my eyes and gingerly touched my stump, "you really want to kill your mother, don't you?'

Another blood arrow awaited us, pointing to the adjacent stairway door, but of course, it was locked.

"Damn it." Waylon kicked the door in frustration. "Do we have to find the key now?"

"That would be my guess, Sherlock." Miles scanned the room before doing a double take towards the hallway to our right. "Is that….?"

I slowly craned my head back and spotted someone waving a light in our direction.

Considering our circumstances, it wasn't a huge surprise to discover it was Father Martin.

"You are nearly here!" He called out to us from behind a gate, but he was mainly addressing Miles. "You can cross from the upper floors!"

Then the 'priest' scurried off once again, leaving us in total darkness once more. Miles didn't even bother to call out to him; he just gritted his teeth and shifted me in his arms.

"He calls me his apostle, yet I felt more like his errand boy."

"At least your name makes sense." Waylon grunted, gesturing towards a caved-in part of the wall not far away, and they walked towards it. "I don't know why I'm a 'shepherd'. And Young-ja is an angel, why is that?"

"Well," I racked my brain to recall the exact reason. "I'm…the only woman..in the asylum. And…Father Martin is..aware Miles' is my husband, so…he said…I was Miles' solar angel and that I'm..supposed to help him obtain..revelation so I can be…free. Stupid reason…really."

"And how are you supposed to help me obtain that?"

"Honestly" I closed my eyes and let out a weak sigh. "…I have no idea. My revelation…ended up…with me losing my arm."

Miles' boots screeched against the floor as he suddenly halted and stared down at me.

"Come again? Father Martin is the reason you lost your arm?!"

I stared back at him, considering my options. While it was Billy who did it, it was Father Martin who sent me down there so…..

"….Yes. He is the reason." I mentally chuckled at Miles' infuriated expression and figured watching him tear the priest in half would be fun entertainment. Strange, isn't it? I find torture to be entertaining now.

'But if Father Martin did die right in front of my eyes, I don't think I'd give a shit.'

Truly. I wouldn't.

(Miles)

We eventually located the key to the next floor. However, the kicker was that a corpse had it….a corpse stuck in the laundry chute…a laundry chute that need three fuses to operate.

And I bet the rest of my fingers that Father Martin hid them so we could go on his John Kramer scavenger hunt. The strikes against this guy are starting to add up into the quadruple digits, and the detriment towards Young-ja just turned it into a googol. She had gotten lighter and smaller, if possible, since the last time I carried her. In fact, I could hold her completely fine in one arm while holding the camcorder in the other. That is what scared me most of all. I really wanted to beat Father Martin into the next millennium, but, he seemed to be the only thing keeping us from escaping, so what other choice did I have but to humor the senile bastard?

The laundry chute room had two adjacent hallways and a gaping hole in the wall, all which were possible locations of the fuses, so I did a mental 'Eeny Meeny Miny Moe' and the left hallway was our first route to investigate.

The first thing to greet our eyes was a tiny shrine with five candles, a shattered picture of Alan Turning, and a piece of cardboard with the words "Pray for Revelation" painted on it in blood.

"Another note from your fan." The pickle pointed out, and I resisted the urge to kick the candles over because I've come too fucking far to die in a simple fire.

There was a door a little ways over, and upon opening it, we were greeted with a Variant about to sacrifice another Variant with a machete. The 'sacrifice' was chained to the ground and surrounded by candles. Another "Pray for Revelation" sigh was nailed into the ground behind him, and I quickly realized these were probably Father Martin's followers.

Which is just fucking great.

However, finding this room was not completely for naught because I spotted a fuse pod nestled next to the chained Variant's feet. Since I was carrying Young-ja and there was no way in Hell I was putting her down after that ravine stunt, that meant Waylon was left to do the deed.

"Go get it, Picles." I whispered, nudging him forward with my foot. "Be a hero."

"Be..careful." Young-ja added, biting her blood encrusted nails in anticipation. "And be..quick."

Waylon audibly gulped but crept into the room as silently as a mouse, keeping his eyes on the machete Variant the entire time.

Then, just as he was in range of the fuse pod, the floorboard creaked under his weight and the machete Variant shot his head up and leered at Waylon with a murderous gleam in his eye.

"Oh fuck."

Waylon was frozen in place, his outstretched hand hovering above the fuse pod and his eyes wide as saucers.

"Waylon," Young-ja whimpered. "Run."

As fast as lighting, Waylon snatched the fuse pod up and we tore cheek out of there, just as the chained Variant started to scream and the machete Variant raised his weapon into the air.

"You're getting the next one!" Waylon hissed at me as we scampered down the hallway at a breakneck pace.

Just as I was about to answer him, the door at the far end of the hallway opened and I could make out a silhouette standing in the door way.

Without missing a beat, I wrapped my left arm around Waylon's waist and barrel rolled to the side.

"What th-?!"

"Shh!" I slammed my palm over his mouth and plastered the three of us against the wall, just as a Variant with a steel pipe bolted by.

"You're welcome." I mumbled, not moving an inch until I was completely sure he was out of ear shot.

"Good eyes, Miles." Young-ja gazed up at me, and I knew it wasn't an appropriate time to feel smug at her praise….but I felt it anyways.

Inching back into the main hallway, we hurried into the room that Variant came from and found the second fuse pod in the mouth of a dead Variant. That and another sign brandishing the words "Invite the Walrider".

Guess that is the violent equivalent of "Accept Jesus into your Heart".

Back in the hallway, I spotted the Variant making his way in our direction and performed the same maneuver in the same spot, except Waylon had the sense to keep quiet this time.

Once he was gone, we scurried back to the laundry chute room and crawled into the hole in the wall, figuring this was where the last fuse was. The hole led into yet another dark hallway with peeling wallpaper and yet another note awaited me.

"Drive in the nails".

'Does the nutcase expect me to crucify someone?'

And, of fucking course, not a second after the thought crossed my mind, we entered at room where a Variant had been crucified upside down on a cross.

"The…notes are…getting more extreme." Young-ja pointed out, her eyes glued to the gruesome sight. "Are these…the work of…Father Martin or…his followers?"

My mind flashed back to the machete Variant, and I felt my stomach churn at the thought of rogue, excommunicated Variants roaming the premises.

Luckily, we didn't have to stay in the room long because Waylon found the last fuse…..wedged between a stigmata engraved in the poor guys' sternum.

"Jesus Christ. Father Martin needs to re-evaluate his gospel." I winced as Waylon reached into the guy's chest and fished out the fuse pod.

On the flip side, the sounds of the pipe Variant making his way towards the room echoed down the hallway, and we had to hide under one of the beds. I could feel Young-ja's heart racing against mine, and I had to remind myself to be gentle with her torso.

Right on cue, the Variant waltzed in and began investigating the room, whispering "Slippery. So slippery. Little sisters and little whispers. So…close…"

While he ogled the crucified Variant, Young-ja tugged at my collar and pointed at the roaring fire burning away in the fireplace behind the cross.

I immediately knew what she was getting at and silently crawled out from under the bed, gesturing for Waylon to follow suit. Then I crept up behind the pole Variant and kicked him square in the back, sending him into the flames "Steadfast Tin Solider" style.

As his bloodcurdling screams filled the room, we flew past the threshold, slammed the door behind us, and hurried back to the laundry chute.

Waylon jammed the pods into the circuit board and pushed the 'On' switch, and we waited with baited breath for the chute to open.

But, because the world hates us, the laundry chute dropped the guard's corpse to the bottom floor, meaning we had to go back down and get the damn thing.

Of. Fucking. Course.

After racing back down the stairs, hopping over the Grand Canyon, and running into the Squeaky Variant who just called us "stupid" over and over, we found the guard's body and retrieved the key to the 3rd floor.

Now, I would like to say we got back up the stairs safely, but it seems Squeaky Variant brought a friend who proceeded to chase us with a bat. But what got me was that he said we were "one of Wernicke's".

'Wernicke has been dead for years. How do they know about him anyways?'

Eventually, we lost him and we quickly unlocked the 3rd floor gate.

However yet another ravine awaited us, bigger than the last one in fact. So Waylon hopped across first, barely making it but he did. Then, after he promised a million times to catch her, I tossed Young-ja over and once I was sure she was safe, I leapt towards the opposing edge, grunting when my abdomen slammed against the wood before climbing to my feet and taking her from him.

"I'm…not a..sack of potatoes." She said, glaring up at me.

"Well how else was I going to get you across? Build a ski lift from the blood of the fallen?"

She just glared at me for a moment longer before facing away, her brow still furrowed.

At the top of the stairway, another message greeted us: "Follow the Blood"

'How familiar.' I thought back to the same message back in the Prison Ward.

The blood arrows lead us down several hallways, each with more bodies and candles than the last. Didn't know the reckoning was happening so soon.

Then, we soon came to a part of the hallway where the floor was missing completely and we had to strafe across the wall using what little wood was jutting from it. We had to jump to the next room, which made me feel like one of the Mario Bros. at this point. About 75% of the floor was missing here too, so Waylon and I definitely had to watch our step.

But, suddenly, that infuriating buzzing sound flooded my brain once again and I could faintly see the outline of the Walrider rise from the ground before rushing towards Young-ja and I and pushing us roughly through the hole below.

"SHIT!" I gasped as my back made contact with the hard ground and Young-ja tumbled against me.

"Oh God, are you guys alright?!" Waylon called down to us before the hole in the room, looking like he was about to burst into tears.

"We…are fine, Waylon." Young-ja answered, rubbing her forehead before facing me. "Are you..alright?"

"I'm fine, Honey." I gave her a tiny smile and caressed her bruised cheek. "You know I'm made of titanium."

She didn't look entirely convinced, but she let it go to focus on the situation at hand.

"How are we…going to get back?"

On the far side of the room, I could make out a stack of metal bed posts stacked up and leading to another hole in the roof.

"We should be able to get back up climbing that." I held her close before standing back up. "Better hurry though. I think the Walrider has got it in for us."

Young-ja's grip on my jacket tightened and she breathed out the words, "It's not you he wants dead."

I didn't answer that ominous phrase, just kissed her forehead and said, "I promise. We'll get out of here alive and well….together."

And I wasn't entirely sure if I was trying to reassure her or myself.

Once we were back on the 3rd floor and Waylon wiped his freaking Bambi eyes, we pressed on. Even with half of the floor missing in every room, the amount of shit piled up everywhere already made walking ten times as tedious. The blood arrows started to show their faces again, and they led us to a room full of Murkoff and CIA documents, all scribbled over with the words "LIES" on them in blood. The facts. The records. They were all 'lies' in Father Martin's disillusioned eyes.

The longer we stayed in the room, the louder the buzzing became, so I suggested we pressed forward.

That was a huge mistake since the next room we checked was where the Twins were. A part of me wanted to smile and say "Hey, friends! How ya doin?" but I just settled for running for my life with Waylon in tow. We cramped ourselves into a tiny locker and waited for the naked duo to pass by.

A lovely reunion, I must say.

Once they were gone, we scurried back to the room and locked it behind us.

Another red arrow pointed to an archway on the right side of the room, so that is where we went next.

And this room was fucking great because 95% of the floor was missing!

Does Father Martin think we can fly? Can he fly?! Apparently, since he is leaving me all these clues in strange places and leaving without a trace!

It was like a morbid version of hopscotch as we moved from plank to plank, especially since I could hear whispers from the darkness below.

Finally, we reached the final platform separating us from the door, but I could tell if we weren't quick about it, the old planks would collapse underneath us. So, I ordered Waylon to go first, then followed by Young-ja and I. Waylon, at Young-ja's strong request, took a running start and landed on the other side, a few shards of wood crumbling to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I backed up and got into running position.

"Hold on tight to me," I whispered to Young-ja before I leapt off the edge.

As my foot made contact with the edge, I could feel the wood shattered beneath me and I immediately threw Young-ja at Waylon's waiting arms and grabbed onto a board just before I plummeted to certain doom.

But, as I pulled my torso up on the ledge, I saw it: my camcorder tumbling down the cracking boards and hurdling towards the darkness below.

'No!'

I blindly reached out for it, and just as my fingers grazed it, someone grabbed my hand and saved me from falling to my death.

It was Waylon.

I turned and saw my precious camcorder plummet through a hole in the ground and vanish out of sight.

"The camcorder!" I wiggled around in his iron grip. "I need to get it!"

"It's not worth your life, you idiot!" Waylon screamed, hauling me up onto the remaining planks where Young-ja flew into my arms and called me a damn fool several times.

"That camcorder has all my footage on it." I mumbled, peering down at the hole below. "We can't move on without it."

"You're not saying…" Waylon gaped at me, pointing down with an incredulous expression.

"Yes, we need to go after it."

A/N: Time for a trip to go get the camcorder back! And the "at Young-ja's strong request" is a reference to the last time Young-ja and Waylon hopped across a fatal drop and they ended up getting separated because he didn't take a running start.

Look forward to the next chapter!