Chapter 18: Run

There was a break in the sound of rattling chains and labored breathing. The large figure paused in the hallway, a black silhouette back-lit by the red glow of an exit sign. A loud, growling sound caused Waylon to clutch Miles' wrist and tug, insistently.

"We need to go," whispered Waylon, his fingers painfully tight around Miles' wrist. A questioning grunt came from down the hallway. "Now!"

"That's gotta be Chris. Would you just calm down?" said Miles, trying in vain to shake off Waylon's tight grip.

"Who's there?" asked Chris, his voice low and rumbling, like thunder, as he resumed his steady walk down the hallway. Each heavy footstep was followed by the clink of chains.

"Chris," said Miles, standing his ground as the figure grew closer, individual features still hidden in the darkness. "It's me. It's Miles," he said, his voice breaking as he declared his name. Waylon began to tug more urgently, but Miles continued to pull back, moving toward Chris.

"Little pig?" It was a low, grumbling question from the hulking figure.

"Yeah," said Miles, laughing at the familiar nickname. He could not prevent a smile breaking out on his face. "It's me. I never thought I'd see you again, after the last time, I didn't know if you could recognize…"

Chris finally stepped close enough that the emergency lighting behind Miles and Waylon illuminated the front half of his body. Waylon's fingers sliced painful half-moon cuts into Miles' wrist with the force of his grip. Miles had to swallow to keep himself standing still.

Chris had changed since their last meeting. His face was a bleeding mess. Miles immediately flashed back to the day in their apartment when Chris had first mutilated himself in the grip of an anxiety triggered delusion. His forehead was a weeping wound, and his mouth no longer had visible lips. Some type of metal contraption was nailed into his jaw to keep his mouth in a constant snarl. Then, there was his size. Chris had always been extremely tall, nearing seven feet. He had been a soldier with a large, meaty frame, but there was much more mass that day. His shirtless, blood-splattered chest was covered with scars that were familiar to Miles. They matched the scars on Billy's body.

"Oh babe, we are going to get you out of here," said Miles, holding out a hand toward Chris. "Come on, we will find someone that can really help you. Finally, get you the help you need…"

Chris's slow advance continued until he was within arm's reach. Chris extended his hands, and Miles realized, too late, his fingers had been somehow sharpened into long, bloody claws. They wrapped around his throat with unnatural strength, and raised Miles onto his toes. Miles struggled, trying to talk, but his airway was closed off. His attempts to pry Chris' claws away with his own mangled hands proved futile.

"No!" howled Waylon, but he was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming further down the hall. It was followed closely by the sound of several running footsteps, and screaming from the other end of the hallway. Whoever was running, they were bolting toward the doorway Miles and Waylon had used to enter the asylum. Chris' cloudy eyes narrowed as he tossed Miles against the wall with such ease that Miles might have been a straw doll. He hit with a sickening thud and collapsed onto the thin carpet, struggling to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. Chris tore off down the hallway they had just come through, causing several screams to echo eerily off the walls.

"We have to contain it…no escape," said Chris, grunting and talking to himself as he moved further away.

"Miles, get up, we need to get out of here!" said Waylon. "We need to get back to the car. We need to call the police."

Miles' throat was sore, and his breath came in strangled gasps. He had to force himself to relax, to calm down, and then slowly the air returned. He brought a hand up to rub at his bruised throat. "I'm not leaving without Chris…" he rasped.

A high pitched scream from down the hall demanded their immediate attention In the emergency lighting, Waylon and Miles watched as Chris held up a struggling man in a patient's uniform. Chris' hand was around the man's throat, exactly as he had held Miles moments before. With a sickening crunch and squelch, the man's head was removed, ending the high pitched screaming. A dull thud announced that the body had been tossed aside, one head shorter. Gil's rambling the previous day suddenly seemed perfectly sane. Miles and Waylon were both staring in horror when Chris turned back to face them. He began to charge toward the pair.

"Run," said Miles, having a sudden change of heart. Miles struggled to his feet and grabbed Waylon's hand. The pair began to run down the hall. Waylon's hand squeezing his injured fingers made Miles hiss in pain. "Ouch! Hurry up!"

"I can't jackass," said Waylon, obviously struggling in the boot he was required to wear to protect his fractured ankle.

"Shit," muttered Miles. He saw an open doorway in the dark and ran through it, dragging Waylon behind him. The pair went to the back of the room, seeing that it was a dead end storage space. Chris' footsteps and the grating of metal chains announced his arrival. Miles knelt down and pulled Waylon with him, using his injured hand to clamp over Waylon's mouth and stop any protests. The pair crouched in the dark, huddled together, struggling to keep their breathing quiet.

"Little pig?" came Chris' low, gravely voice from the doorway. The sound of doors opening in the hallway echoed inside their hiding spot. "You don't have to run from me." Waylon tried to make some retort, but Miles redoubled the pressure on his mouth. When Chris stood in the doorway of their hiding place, all light was momentarily blocked by his huge frame. Miles could hear Chris grunting as he scanned the area. Miles was afraid to move; afraid to breath. He willed his heart to stop beating for a moment, in case the monster in his ex-boyfriend's skin could detect the blood throbbing in his veins. Chris finally walked away down the hall, the metallic clink growing softer and softer. Miles deflated as he released Waylon's mouth and collapsed into a seated position on the storage room floor.

"Your ex-boyfriend seems really nice," hissed Waylon in the darkness.

"Shut up. That's not Chris," said Miles, the statement coming out harsher than intended. Miles wrapped his arms around his middle and doubled over where he was sitting on the ground. "I tried…I tried, I tried, you saw me, you know, but it…" His mangled hands were quaking. No matter how hard he pressed them against his body, the shaking continued.

"Shhh, are you seriously losing it right now?! Dammit, Miles…"

"I need a drink."

"You need to calm down. We're never going to make it out of here if you don't keep it together!"

"This is all my fault," said Miles, and it was followed by a rather frightening bark of laughter.

"Keep it down, you don't want to bring that thing back over here…"

"That thing? You mean, my ex-boyfriend? You mean Chris? The first person that ever loved me, who I promised I would fight for him, and stay with him. The person who started everything that led me here, to Colorado, to Mount Massive, to you, to Billy, to this shit situation right now that's threatening to kill every single person I care about in this world?"

"Okay, breathe…" said Waylon, fumbling in the dark to reach for Miles and put his arms around his shoulders. "You're shaking. You can't blame yourself, this wasn't on you. You care about people, more than you care about yourself. That's not the worst flaw a person can have." Waylon pressed his face into the back of Miles neck, holding him. Miles pushed his chin into his knees, trying to curl into a tighter ball, wishing he could disappear.

"What kind of cursed person do I have to be that everyone who's ever cared about me ends up suffering terribly," asked Miles, quietly.

"Now you're being dramatic," said Waylon, and Miles could feel his lips curl into a smile where they pressed against the back of his neck. "We can fix this. We can get Billy, and get the police, and make all of this right. I believe in you."

"You shouldn't."

"Stop," said Waylon, pressing soft lips to Miles' skin. "At least you're not shaking anymore. Can you pull it together, you think, just until we get to an elevator?" Miles took a very deep breath and slowly released it before nodding. "Are you nodding? It's dark in here…"

"Yes, okay…"

"Why does he call you little pig, anyways?" asked Waylon. Miles entire body shook with his effort to keep his laughter under control and avoid giving away their location.

"When we were together, the first time we finally hooked up, we were surrounded by bunks and had to be quiet, but I couldn't keep quiet once he was inside," said Miles, grinning into the dark. "Apparently, the noise I made was akin to a stuck pig. I never heard the end of it until I went back to the States. Of course, Chris continued to call me his little pig. I thought maybe he recognized me when he said that. But maybe it's just, random synapse firing in his brain, a stray memory. Maybe he thinks he's back on the base patrolling, fighting enemies, and looking for his little pig." Miles gave a long sigh. He felt Waylon pull away in the dark. "It's a goddamn travesty. He's a victim."

Waylon carefully stood up and walked to the door. Miles watched him take a deep breath before taking the smallest peek outside of the door. He quickly hopped back over to the dark corner. "He's patrolling the way back to the main entrance. He's not going to let us pass."

"Then we find another way. If we can't use the elevator in the main entrance, then we have to find another," said Miles.

"It's pitch black. We can't see a damn thing. We can wait until he's distracted, we can run out the front door behind him, we can…"

"I'm getting Billy. But you're right—it's too dangerous, now. You stay here, I'll get you after I'm done," said Miles.

"Are you fucking insane?! I'm not splitting up from you. And I know that you're having a rough time with all this, but you should realize that Billy…I'm sorry Miles, but he's likely dead, or in the middle of this riot, running for his life. How do you think you can help him?"

"Listen," said Miles, taking a deep breath, "throw out your judgment for a minute, and just listen. Billy…he's likely the cause of this." There was no movement, no comment, only silence as Waylon knelt beside him in their pitch black hiding place. "I found him on a tip about a project that was supposedly scrapped for being a failure, and for questionable, unethical practices in achieving the research. I unearthed it while trying to figure out what was going wrong with Chris, why he was getting worse and worse. I wanted to bring down Murkoff. A simple address I followed up on led me to Billy. His grandfather, the one that adopted him, he was actually the scientist in charge of the project. They were in hiding from Murkoff. Because the project was not a failure, it was a success, and Billy was the proof."

"What the fuck kind of project are we talking about that makes people turn into monsters?!"

"Project Walrider. It changes your body, your cells, to produce tiny microscopic robotics that are able to be controlled if the person meets the right criteria, and has been exposed to a certain conditioning which gives them the ability to host the nanites," said Miles.

"This makes no fucking sense, can you just explain it in simple terms…"

"Billy's the host of the Walrider. The nanites, acting together, under Billy's control, are insanely powerful, and they can kill someone in a matter of seconds, tear them apart from the inside, even," said Miles.

"Okay, so we are definitely leaving them. Fuck that, I'm not getting turned inside out and exploding all over the walls of this…"

"Billy controls it. He wouldn't kill me. He sacrificed himself to get me away from here. He's likely fighting his way out. That's why there's all the chaos, and people running and fighting. All we have to do is get down to the Engine, underground. We can find an elevator. We can get there, and we can escape with him. Nothing in this place, not even Chris, can match Billy."

"No. Let's leave. Please Miles, if he can take care of himself, then we can get out of here, we can go back to town and wait for him," said Waylon.

"Murkoff is able to hold him. They were able to contain him, to make the switch for me. He's likely trapped somewhere. Perhaps he's separated from the Walrider and controlling it remotely. I don't know. But if he is trapped, he can't get out without assistance. But once he's free, he could carry us both out of here on his shoulders, and rip apart anyone in the way at the same time."

"This sounds fucking insane you realize that, right?"

"You can wait here…"

"I'm coming," said Waylon, standing up from their dark hiding place. When he continued, his voice sounded on the edge of tears, "but I don't know how far we are going to get in the darkness of this place. Someone cut the power…"

"Lucky for you, I came prepared," said Miles, smirking though no one could see in the dark. He retrieved his camera and flipped a button, activating the night vision. He trained the camera on Waylon's face. In the strange green lighting of the camera, he could see his friend, clear marks from tears and snot running down his face. "Oh, Park. Keeping me from falling apart, while you're barely keeping it together yourself…" Miles reached out his free hand to gently swipe away the moisture from Waylon's cheeks.

"I'm scared," admitted Waylon, sniffling.

"Me too," said Miles. He leaned forward to wrap an arm around Waylon, pulling him in for a tight hug. "I am too. I'm so sorry that I got you mixed up in this mess."

"No more blaming yourself. You had no way of knowing," said Waylon, his words muffled against Miles' shoulder as he nuzzled his forehead against his jacket. "Let's just get away from your ex-boyfriend."

"Hey, another thing we have in common now," said Miles, standing up and helping Waylon to his feet.

"What's that?"

"We were both physically assaulted by our ex-boyfriends!"

"Eddie's not my ex…"

"Yes he is," said Miles, walking quickly to the door, before Waylon could offer a counter argument. He flipped on the night vision and used it to navigate through the hallways. He tried to remember the visiting areas he had frequented when visiting Chris. He attempted to envision the route he had taken to the elevator when he had arrived looking for Billy. He could never hope to recall the way to the holding cells for the non-violent patients—he had been barely conscious after losing one fifth of his fingers. The pair pressed close together, and walked slowly through the pitch black corridors.

There were patients milling about in the darkness. Most of them were hiding. Some were wandering, patrolling, or carrying make-shift weapons. Waylon and Miles made sure to avoid anyone that looked dangerous.

"Hey…hey I know you," came a familiar voice as Miles and Waylon pressed close to the wall, avoiding a large open room that may have been a theater at one time. A projector somewhere was broadcasting a silent, black and white picture that Miles remembered from Wernicke's files. He quickly diverted his eyes.

"Gil," said Miles, giving a sigh of relief. He never thought he would be so happy to see that bulging eye and Gils' face, ravaged by cancerous growth and amateur surgery. "Hey, can you point me to an elevator? I have some business I need to do. Once we are done, we will get you guys out of here. We can get help for everyone."

"But there is no need for additional help. Our Lord, the Walrider, he is here, raining his Judgment and Justice down on the nonbelievers! There is no escape, except through Him."

"Exactly," said Miles, "the Walrider. I know him—well, it. I am here to rescue the host, and free the Walrider. They've got him down below, he's trapped. He could be in the Engine. I need to get down there, immediately, and…"

"If you truly know the Walrider, you must meet with Father Martin! He would want to hear everything you know. You can share His words, His teachings, with the rest of us. Proclaim the Gospel like his chosen Apostle! I have not been lucky enough to glimpse the Walrider, but others have seen Him roaming the grounds and halls. It is speculated that our Lord is looking for something."

"A way out, no doubt," said Miles. Waylon's insistent tugging on his jacket caused him to turn around.

"Is this guy talking about Billy?" whispered Waylon, not looking at Miles as he spoke. His eyes were glued to the dangerous projected images.

"Uh, kinda, yeah, the thing inside of Billy, the Walrider," said Miles.

"Then why is he acting like it's some kind of god?" asked Waylon, still glassy eyed.

"People see something they don't understand, they choose an explanation. When you see it—if you see the Walrider—you'll know what I mean. Cloud of nanites won't be the first thing your brain supplies to describe it, trust me."

"What would my brain provide!? You said Billy was hot!" said Waylon, finally managing to tear his eyes away from the screen and stare back at Miles.

"He is, but the Walrider…well…this guy's calling it a god, but most people would call it a monster," said Miles. Gil had been standing by, his one lidless eye twitching and his cancerous face unreadable as the friends conversed. "Listen," he said, addressing Gil, "I am very close to the Walrider, and the host. Very close. Intimately acquainted. Show me the way to an elevator."

"There is one just ahead in the Male Ward, but I fear there is a secular maniac running the area right now. He does not believe in the grace and mystery of our Lord…"

"That's fine, just point the way," said Miles.

"But, Father Martin…" said Gil, holding out his hands in supplication.

"Give the Father my regards, but the quicker we get down to the Engine, the quicker we can get everyone help. This is the Will of the Walrider. He speaks his Will through me." The last bit earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs from Waylon.

"At the end of the hall, turn right. You can find the elevator on the other side of the ward, in the back corner," said Gil. "Though I do wish you would reconsider. There is an elevator close to the chapel as well! It is a further walk, but Father Martin…"

"Will have to wait. Thanks!" said Miles as he put a hand on Waylon's back, and pushed him in the direction Gil had indicated, causing him to start walking.

"Yes, our Lord, his Will, the Chosen One, the Apostle…" Gil continued to mutter to himself as he stumbled over his feet in his rush to get down a different hallway. It was the opposite direction of the Male Ward he had indicated. Waylon tripped over his medical boot, trying to watch Gil disappear.

"What the fuck happened to that guy," said Waylon, his voice a hissing whisper. "I mean, his face, and his hand, and I mean…just…that eye…"

"This place is a nightmare factory," said Miles. "Now, quiet."

They did not encounter any other patients as they crept through the halls. Eventually, they came to a plaque on a wall denoting the entrance to the Male Ward. Miles opened the door, and almost heaved a sigh of relief, until the smell hit his nose. The entire area smelled of shit and rotting meat. Miles stopped Waylon with a hand motion. There were several different curtains sectioning off the large room into smaller areas. It was quiet, except for an ominous dripping noise echoing off the tiled walls of the cavernous room. Miles held his camera up and used it crane around the first curtain. He saw a hospital bed, saturated with blood and decorated with a collection of organs Miles could not identify. The slow drip came from the excess blood dropping to the floor, creating a large puddle. Miles swallowed and turned back to Waylon who was staring expectantly with large eyes. Miles just shook his head. Waylon pushed his head around to look, and almost fell as he jumped back and bumped into Miles.

"Fuck…this is Billy's work?!"

"No," said Miles. "No way. Something else is going on here. Something…you know, Gil told me, when we were in the cell together, that the patients that don't make it in the Morphogenic Engine, they are given surgery to attempt to get them ready for a second go, but no one's really expecting them to survive it. Gil seemed to think dying on the surgery table was preferable to another trip to the Engine."

"You are talking Greek again…" said Waylon. He followed close as Miles began to walk slowly through the room. He swiveled his camera around, his pale face turning a sickly shade of green.

"Let's just get to that elevator—fast," said Miles.

The other curtains held a similar tableau of horrors. Waylon's breathing was fast and shallow in Miles ear as he clung to his back while they walked. Some curtains hid patients, strapped down to beds, in different states of decay. They almost tripped on a slippery string of entrails originating from one table. Several of the bodies seemed to have matching blood stains in their groins, their tongues were ripped out, and then there were their hands. Miles stopped and stared hard at one of the corpses.

"Okay, so then, a doctor is doing this? This work is sanctioned by the asylum?! What on earth is the purpose of cutting off tongues and fingers," asked Waylon.

"I think I know who's doing this," said Miles, a shiver, like having cold water poured down his back, wracked his body. "He's sick. He took my fingers, just to spare having to crack the code to my phone. That was his excuse at least, I think he just likes watching people bleed."

"Murkoff pays him to do this?" asked Waylon.

"I have no idea," said Miles, pushing a hand through his hair. "The elevator has to be here somewhere. It has to be close. Let's just get out of here."

Waylon nodded and the pair began to walk another a gurney with a bleeding patient, but this time the bed immediately began to rock violently, and the patient began to fight against his restraints. The noise he made was a mixture between a gargle and a scream. Miles slowly pieced together that the strange clicking noise in the back of his throat was because someone had removed his tongue. A door at the far end of the hallway opened. Three figures were momentarily outlined in the light, wielding a collection of crude, blunt weapons. Miles pushed Waylon in the opposite direction. "Run."

Author's Note: I promise this is not going to be a complete walk through of the game, though it hits some familiar points. Also, please be advised, after playing the game, watching Let's Plays, and researching the asylum maps available online...I have no fucking idea how this place is set up, so I just made it all kinda one connected building, sorry if it's confusing. Writing about the actual asylum is very daunting to me, I don't want to mess it up.