Flashing lights, winking in the distance like shy stars. The huge metal sphere with its stray spots of light reminded Miles of some rudimentary planetarium projecting constellations onto the walls. The many cables running to and from the contraption ruined the illusion, reminding him that this was more like an evil, alien brain than anything as mystifying as the heavens. This machine was definitely from Hell.

Miles moved closer to the nightmare contraption and noticed a large supercomputer at the base. Projectors played that damned black and white imagery. Large spheres were somehow connected to the machine, but Miles could not determine their exact purpose-if any. He had to get closer. He had to find Billy.

Waylon was immediately distracted by the large amount of computer consoles on the raised level above the Engine room's floor. His fingers were working at the speed of sound and Miles briefly wondered how he would ever type again. "I have to find Billy. He's got to be around here somewhere," said Miles, though Waylon did not even turn away from the computer screen.

"You go and look for Billy. I am going to see what I can find out here, then come down to find you," said Waylon, clicking away with the mouse.

"If you hear anyone coming down that hallway, or if you see the Walrider, run down to find me—scream. Don't try to talk to anyone—don't approach the swarm. I want to think it wouldn't kill you, but I have no real way of knowing that."

"Stay away from scary ghost demon that disintegrates people," said Waylon, his tone flat as his eyes darted across the screen. "Don't need to tell me twice."

Miles quickly descended a short set of metal stairs to reach the Morphogenic Engine. He was careful to keep his eyes from focusing on the strange images for too long. He remembered how he had lost an afternoon within the shifting shapes. Even without focusing on the screen, his peripheral vision seemed to pick up images that made him want to turn and stare. A car upside down. A sink filled with blood. A burning man. None of the images were as bad as what he saw next.

Miles' body threatened to collapse, as though the weariness of the past days finally hit him all in one wave. The glass spheres were connected to the Engine. Most were empty, but one was filled with a clear liquid. A man was suspended from tubes with his limbs restrained behind him forcing him into an unnatural position in the strange sphere. Miles did not recognize him until he looked much closer.

Where were his glasses? The murky water in the sphere turned his dark, ocean blue eyes cloudy and pale. He stared away, unblinking. Why had they shaved off his gorgeous black hair with its silvery highlights? He was only twenty one, but he suddenly looked like a man three decades older. Was the water causing his skin to wrinkle and crease, or was that some other side effect of the Engine? And then there were the tubes. The scars that Miles had seen, touched. Kissed. They were reopened with large tubes shoved deep into Billy's torso. The clear tubing ran red with blood.

Miles pressed his face to the glass sphere and slapped his palm against the cool surface. There was no change from the lifeless face floating in the sphere, large tubes forced down his throat and up his nose. Miles grimaced and attempted to claw at the glass, his bloody hands squeaking as they left a smear on the surface. Why? How? Miles thoughts ran a thousand miles an hour as he attempted to make sense of the situation, and keep his emotions in check.

Billy had put himself in that terrible position in an effort to protect him. Miles had no idea how Murkoff had even managed to get Billy into the seamless sphere, nor how the Walrider was free, roaming the asylum grounds. Miles sniffed and wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket, leaving a smear of blood than tears. Crying? That solved nothing. Miles set his jaw and stormed back toward the raised area where Waylon was working. The only thing that mattered was getting Billy out of the nightmare machine, and back into his arms.

Miles stomped up the stairs and stalked to where Waylon was sitting, no longer typing, just reading. His expression was frightened when he saw Miles.

"I found Billy," said Miles, struggling to keep his voice calm. "He's trapped in the Engine—as I suspected. We have to get him out."

"Okay, but Miles, I need you to understand something…"

"He's in that sphere. Right there," said Miles, pointing with his shortened right index finger. "We found him. Now, we just need to get him out."

"Miles, please, you don't understand…"

"Forget this computer, come down and help me…"

"Miles. Listen. I found some protocols, some instructions on how to shutdown the Engine, there are…fail-safes, upon fail-safes, to ensure nothing can disrupt the Engine. It'll take some manual overriding. I know I can do it—I know I can shut it off. But Miles…" The pained look on Waylon's blood covered face told Miles all he needed to know.

"Say it."

"I…" Waylon's voice cracked and he took a moment to find it again. "I don't know how to get him out of there…alive."

Miles walked away from where Waylon was sitting. He approached a row of computers and other tech, raised his foot up to chest height and kicked straight into the machinery. The sounds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment breaking on the hard ground still did not manage to quell his rage. Miles ran his arm across the surface, knocking the rest of the equipment down as well. He put his palms flat on the table and took a few deep breaths. Losing it wouldn't help anyone. "Look again," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"I'm still looking, but…"

"The patients that were in the Engine before, they're out and walking around, I know it's possible…"

"Yeah, it probably is, but all of the people that knew how to do that are splattered against the walls out there. We haven't seen a single living person on this level, Gil was murdered, do you think any of the other patients were even cognizant enough to know how they got in and out of the machine?" Waylon frowned and Miles did not answer, though they both knew it was the truth. "I can figure out the tech, I can release him from the machine, but once he's out…"

Miles walked back over to where Waylon was sitting. His friend cowered slightly in his chair, tensing up. Miles immediately paused in his movements and placed a gentle hand on Waylon's shoulder. "I'm upset, but I would never hurt you."

None of the tension left Waylon's body. He had likely heard that before. Probably seconds before a strike. Miles brushed a tacky strand of blood soaked hair back behind Waylon's ear. "I promise. Never."

After Waylon gave a slight nod, Miles looked at the computer screen. There were several windows open and most were code Miles had no hope of deciphering, but there were others partially concealed. Miles leaned down and grabbed the mouse, clicking on one of the pictures. It was a close up of Billy's face. Miles realized it was a video and pressed play. He watched as a sluggish, probably drugged, Billy tossed his head with large tubes shoved down his throat. He flailed and fought for a few moments before finally sinking into a coma state, his eyes staring open—the same way Miles had encountered him in the nearby sphere.

There was another video open behind it. Miles clicked on it, not knowing why. He was sure he would not like any of the files. He found himself staring at a close circuit recording of a small room. Billy was standing there along with armed guards, Jeremy Blaire, and one conspicuous puddle of guts. It was the day Billy surrendered himself to Murkoff—Miles could tell by the clothes he wore. Billy looked so handsome, even in the grainy video. Miles leaned closer to the screen, glued to the recording.

"You were right," said Waylon quietly from his seat as he watched along with Miles. "He's hot."

"Approaching the door," came a crackled voice, originating from the handheld radio in Jeremy's hand. "Alright Billy," said Jeremy in the video. He was not holding up the radio, but it was still on. Miles knew because he remembered the words that were spoken next. "Submit, or Mr. Upshur's about to become a stain…"

Billy looked calmly at Jeremy Blaire and held his hand out. Jeremy paused for a brief moment before shrugging and offering the radio to Billy. He held it up to his mouth and said the words Miles heard over and over again in his mind. "Drive away, Miles. Goodbye. I love you."

No sooner were the words spoken than the guards converged on Billy, one stabbing his neck with a large needle, similar to the horrendous device Father Martin had obtained, and the other restraining his arms behind his back. The radio clattered to the floor. There was some static disturbance over the film. The Walrider was likely fighting back. The video was suddenly obscured for several seconds as strange, green gas flooded the room. When the cloud finally cleared, Billy was hanging, unconscious, between the two guards.

Jeremy picked up the radio. "If you come back, I will kill him—and you. If you release a report about my company, I will kill him. He was willing to gamble his life on you. Are you going to throw his away?" Jeremy smirked at the radio in his hand before switching it off and discarding it. "Alright, get him out of here," he said, directing the two guards. "The gas and injection worked, but we have to get him into the Engine—immediately."

"That will take a considerable amount of time, won't it…" questioned one of the guards.

"Tell them to make it happen—no delay. This kid has a killer robot locked inside of him, and unless we get him locked safely in the Engine, we have no control over him."

"The Engine…the Engine will be able to control it?" questioned the other guard.

"That's the idea. It didn't work before, but we've perfected it. He will be quite malleable," said Jeremy.

"What about the reporter, though? Don't you think he'll just go to the press, or the authorities?"

"No," said Jeremy, smirking in the grainy video. "I know Mr. Upshur. He'll be back. He thinks he can outsmart us. He overestimates his abilities." Miles sneered at the screen. He wasn't sure if he was more upset that Jeremy was trash talking him—or that he had been right.

"So, what do we do if he does come back?" asked a guard.

"Tell all the guards—shoot on sight. We have a restraining order, and a documented history of his aggression toward our employees. There won't be any questions asked."

Miles exited the video and scowled at the machine. He continued to look in the folder that Waylon had accessed and saw several dates from the recent past on different video files. "Not sure 'perfected' was the right word to use there, Jer," said Miles, to the computer. "There has to be a way to get Billy out. Maybe the Walrider can get him out?"

"Don't you think if the Walrider could free Billy, it would have already?" asked Waylon.

"Maybe. Unless it's more sentient than people give it credit. Maybe it likes running free without having to listen to its host," said Miles. He clicked on one of the random files in the folder and a video came up showing Billy outside of his home. "Surveillance. That's how they knew. Shit, probably followed me as soon as I left Denver."

"Why would you go and visit Blaire anyways?" asked Waylon.

"I always thought if I had the upper hand on him, he would bow down, rather than risk an information leak that could destroy his company. I knew if I was right…if Murkoff was abusing patients, then there were other victims, but…I didn't care about them. Only Chris. If I had Jeremy nervous, I could use the leverage to get Chris transferred. Sent somewhere better. I thought just the mention of Project Walrider might be the key, but it wasn't. He just stared me down with those…dead eyes. Hate that bastard. I hope one of the blood splatters out in the hallway was him."

Miles clicked on a few other random videos, scrolling down. He saw Billy tending his cows. Hauling feed with his unnatural strength. Wernicke had thought they were being careful, but Billy was not discreet at all. The file at the bottom of the list caught his eye because it had been renamed from a generic date to say "Watchme." No sooner had Miles opened the file than he wished he hadn't. He attempted to exit out but Waylon pushed his shoulder in front of Miles, blocking him from the mouse.

"Hmm. What's going on there?" asked Waylon. The video played on, showing Billy backed up against a hay bale, and Miles on his knees.

"I, uh, dropped something," said Miles.

"Yeah, Billy's pants," said Waylon, snorting. "Look at you, making another sex tape without me."

"Hey, this one was against my will," said Miles. At least the disgusting blood coating his skin hid his blush. He stared at the video and felt a profound sadness. "We have to get him out. We have to try. Keep looking around. Maybe there's some instructions we could follow. It's a long shot, but we have to try. I owe him that."

Waylon hunched back over the keys and began working quickly, searching for files that could be useful. Miles paced uselessly, or stared down at Billy's sphere. "I wish there was a way to summon the Walrider."

"Hmm, should have asked Father Martin," said Waylon without looking up.

"You can drop the title, I'm pretty sure that guy wasn't really a priest," said Miles. He stalked around, looking at notes and documents, but none of them were helpful. Only a couple of minutes had passed when they heard a noise echoing from the hallway. "Keep looking," said Miles. He rushed over to the double doors and pushed his way out into the pitch black hallway.

Using his night vision, Miles navigated to the edge of the blackness, staying hidden while zooming in as far as possible to see who had entered the hallway. He hoped to see a scientist, rushing down into the lab—someone that could help Billy. He suspected he would see a patient that had stumbled upon the lab in their attempt to escape the slaughter—or in search of prey to continue it. He was not expecting two heavily armed men in riot gear brandishing semi-automatic weapons.

Finally, help had arrived. Were they the police? The national guard? They would get the situation under control and find someone who could save Billy.

"We have blood. No sign of life," said one one of the men. They appeared identical in their body armor and full-coverage helmets.

"Be advised, the swarm is most active near the Engine. It's necessary to shut it down to end the swarm," came an authoritative voice over the radio.

"Hey," shouted Miles, immediately drawing the men's' attention and having two weapons honed in on his location. He ducked, even though he was in the darkness. Maybe those masks had heat vision for all he knew. "I'm unarmed! I'm not a patient! I want to help you. We need to shut down the Engine. It's this way."

The response was a barrage of bullets that Miles could hear striking into barrels and ricocheting off of the rough stone walls. He dropped to the ground and immediately wished he had not because he was face down in someone's remains. Better to land in the mess than add to it, he decided.

"Shots fired. No visual," said one of the men.

Then there was a sound, like the buzzing of an angry hornet's nest. Miles knew what that meant and he jumped to his feet. "Wait, stop, they can help! They are here to help with the machine."

More bullets. "Visual on the swarm, I repeat, visual on the swarm," said the first man before he was picked up by his feet and slammed into the wall hard enough that his helmet flew off, taking his head with it, and leaving behind a bleeding stump.

"Back up! We need back up! Rogers is down, I repeat, Rogers…" the report was cut short when the man began screaming at the top of his lungs. The sound stopped after the Walrider turned him into a puddle of bio-waste.

Miles stood up and started jogging toward the Walrider. "Hey," he shouted at the swarm. It hovered in the air, its shape constantly in flux between a humanoid figure and an amorphous cloud of mist. "Hey. I know you can hear me. Help Billy. He needs you help, you need to help Billy." The swarm started to move toward Miles before halting and disappearing into a vent. "Come back!"

Miles stared blankly into the empty hallway where the Walrider had hovered. He could not begin to divine what motivated the swarm.

"Miles! Are you okay?! MILES!"

He quickly jogged back to the Morphogenic Engine room. Waylon met him at the door, wringing his hands with worry. "What was that? What happened?"

"Change of plan, we have to get Billy out—now," said Miles.

"Okay well, I know how to shut down the life support…"

"Wernicke said something about overriding the system. He said it was the only way to get Billy out, if he was already locked in an operational instance of the Morphogenic Engine."

"Exactly," said Waylon, pushing a hand through his hair, causing it to stand almost straight up due to the blood making it tacky. "I can do it, but I don't know what will happen. I don't know how to get Billy out. If the sphere opens, I don't know how to disconnect him, I don't…"

"Well there's armed men coming down here, and the Walrider isn't reliable. I have no idea who, or what, is controlling it, if anything, and it destroyed two armed men out there, but they called for backup, and the swarm vanished, so we're operating alone down here. They're on their way to shut down the Engine. If they do, they won't bother to save Billy. He told me once he would rather be dead than suffer this again. We have to try," said Miles. He took a deep breath and reached down to squeeze Waylon's hand, ignoring the sticky feeling of blood. "It has to be us. And it has to be now."

Waylon nodded and quickly pushed up on his toes to kiss Miles. It caught Miles off guard and he blinked a couple of times to refocus on the task at hand. "Sorry," said Waylon. "I just know you're about to get your boyfriend back, and he probably wouldn't want me doing that once he's awake." Waylon pulled his hand free from Miles and walked away, managing to hobble down the stairs and around the corner, out of sight.

Miles wandered back over to the sphere and pressed his forehead to the glass. He kept one ear strained toward the hallway, expecting the sound of loud footsteps approaching at any moment. Before long, something moved in the reflection on the sphere. Miles turned around to see a blood covered Waylon jogging with a limp. He was breathing heavy when he stopped beside Miles.

"Is that Billy?" asked Waylon between his panting.

"Yeah," said Miles. A sad smile turned up one corner of his mouth as he wiped his eyes. "That's him. He had really great hair. Thick, wavy, nice to hold onto. Stuck out of his cowboy hat."

"Cowboy hat? Please tell me he's not a stripper," said Waylon. Miles shook with silent laughter as he put up one hand to the surface of the glass orb, caressing it like it was a warm cheek.

"No, I guess he is an actual cowboy. He takes care of cows," said Miles, staring through the glass where Billy's cloudy eyes were rolled back in his head. "He took care of his grandfather. He ran a ranch, even though he was so young. No matter how many times I corrected him, he kept calling me mister. Even when we were getting hot."

"I'm sure you hated that," said Waylon with a flat stare.

"He's too good for me. Everyone I love suffers some horrible fate, each one getting more horrendous than the last. I'm some kind of walking curse," said Miles, his voice going soft as he felt as though his chest were squeezing in on itself. "I'd do anything to take his place."

"Everything's ready, there's just the button there," said Waylon. Miles turned around and saw him pointing at a blinking outline of a hand.

"Wonder if mine will even work," muttered Miles, frowning at his new stumps. "What will happen?"

"I don't know," said Waylon. Miles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A sound like thunder suddenly sounded in the hallway. "I can try to barricade off the doors…"

"No, stay back, we have to try to get Billy out," said Miles as he dashed to the Engine. He held his hand over the button and hovered for a few moments, gathering his courage, before… "I'm getting you out, Billy."

Sirens. Beeping. Chaos.

Miles turned and stared in horror as Billy's body began to thrash inside of the orb. "Oh, God, Billy! No!" Miles pressed himself against the glass. How could he open it? He desperately wiped away tears only to have new ones take their place. He had to be there for Billy.

The cords and tubes became tangled and tied as Billy thrashed, fighting even though his arms were suspended behind his back. His cloudy eyes seemed to be darting around, unable to focus. "I'm sorry, Billy," said Miles, his voice catching in his throat when he noticed that one of the large cords had finally pulled free and the bulb was quickly filling up with dark, red blood. "No! Shit, no," he screamed, hammering his fist against the glass with little thought for his wounded hands.

Suddenly, Miles was pulled away, violently. The Walrider hovered before him in its humanoid form. It grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted him into the air. "Where were you asshole?! Why don't you do something? Why can't you save him?" The swarm dropped Miles, leaving him to land with a dull thud and a loud groan. "You liked it, didn't you?" The question came out as a groan as Miles struggled to lift his head from the stone floor. "You liked having your host in there, unable to make his own decisions, unable to fight anything. Were you able to hear his cries for help? Follow his commands? Or are you completely on you own, now?"

There was no answer, and Miles had not expected one. He felt his foot pulled and his body dragged easily across the floor before he was thrown against the glass sphere, now murky with Billy's blood. Miles could just make out the shadow of a human form that would be Billy. "He's dying in there! Do something!"

The Walrider cocked its humanoid head for a moment before reaching forward with its hand. The hazy appendage seemed to phase through Miles' skin and directly into his body. There was a pain like a stabbing, internal injury. The type of pain he had known after the terrible accident that had claimed both of his parents. Miles attempted to double over from the pain, but the Walrider was still holding him upright. He watched in horror as the swarm shifted and became less solid and continued to pour into his body. It reminded Miles of someone exhaling a long drag from a cigarette, only in reverse.

Miles screamed and it came out as a sound like a metallic howl. He clutched his middle, feeling a new weight settle inside. There was a taste like licking a battery, and a sound like the hum of an electrical transformer powering a giant city. The noise filled his senses until he was vibrating, his vision blurry.

"Miles?" came a voice through the static. Miles opened his eyes, but it took great effort, as though he were fighting his body's desire to keep his eyes squeezed shut. If he couldn't see, it wasn't real. "Oh, God…what's happening? Miles! Are you okay?"

Miles attempted to answer, but when he opened his mouth he immediately choked on a stream of tar-like vomit leaking out, causing him to gag violently. His heartbeat in his ears sounded unreal, too loud—too strong. His vision was blurring and when he wiped his eye he discovered more of the same sticky, black substance running from the corners of his eyes. More dripped from his nose. Miles suspected it dripped from all of his orifices, but he did not wish to test that theory. Instead, he tested another. Miles balled up one fist and slammed it into the ground.

"Fuck! How are you doing that," squealed Waylon, scrambling away from the impact. "Are you…are you the Walrider now?!"

The pain was severe. Miles howled, a tinny, echoic noise, and he clutched his likely broken hand to his chest. But the concrete ground was broken in a circulate shape that reached out from his impact point like the threads in a spider's web. Miles looked at the crimson orb and directed another blow.

It took several tries, even with his new immense strength, to finally crack the glass orb enough that it began to leak thick fluid mixed with dark blood. The final blow caused half of the orb to shatter like a broken egg, and it left Miles seeing white from the blinding pain. The sphere burst open, a twisted womb, spewing afterbirth all over the laboratory floor. The disgusting mixture of liquid coated Miles' body and clung to his clothes and skin.

Miles ignored the pain and stumbled over to where Billy hung, still attached by all of the wires. His body was white and limp, completely bled out. Waylon was by Miles' side in an instant, attempting to untangle the cords and wires until they had lowered Billy to the blood soaked floor.

"The hallway. Whoever is coming there's a lot of them. I can hear them, it's echoing, they could get inside any minute…"

"Keep yourself out of sight. They know there's one person here, that's all," said Miles. He pulled the limp body into his lap. He pressed his hands uselessly to the gaping wound directly below Billy's still heart. He wanted to cry, but his body hardly felt like his own at that moment. Wernicke was right. The Walrider had wanted to keep Miles near because it had calculated the possibility of needing an alternative host. The Walrider had finally come to claim all of him. Miles hardly cared in that moment. He stared down at Billy, his body shaking with quiet sobs. Waylon's hand on his shoulder pulled him to the present.

"He's…he can't be…why," Miles croaked out, his voice sounding like his vocal cords had been shredded by a million nanites—and possibly they had. "He's dying."

"You're not," grunted Waylon. "Billy knew there were risks when he took your place. He didn't want you to die, Miles, you did everything you could. Look what you fought through just to get here and end his suffering…"

Miles made no indication that he had heard Waylon. He merely dropped his chin back to stare at Billy's chest making the last few weak attempts to move, though whether from any remaining life or some random spasms, Miles could not know. "Heal him," whispered Miles, staring at the wet, pale remains of the boy he had known. "Heal him. You healed that, goddamn, old, disgusting man for decades past his expiration date. So now you can heal Billy! He's young, healthy—he's a good host! He could be the new backup plan. Please."

Inadvisable. Healing required nanites and, at that moment, they could spare none. Between healing the considerable damage the new host had done to its body, and the danger approaching from the corridor, exerting any additional resources towards healing a fallen host was a poor allocation of assets. There was an appropriate time to move on from a host, namely when maintaining the host became more costly than moving to a new host. It was a complicated procedure, but necessary for continued existence. There was no logical reason to heal the broken host when there was a perfect new host on hand, and even another backup.

Thoughts. Thoughts that were not his own, but they were his own-they came from his own brain. "Fuck you," said Miles, to himself. "If we're in this together, we make decisions together, and I say we heal Billy…"

Miles glanced up and saw Waylon, watching in horror as he conversed with himself. "Miles…" he squeaked, pulling into a tighter ball. Voice elevated. Pulse rapid. Not like it took machine level observation to know Waylon was afraid.

"Don't be afraid," said Miles, his voice hoarse. He erupted into a fit of coughs, holding his hand against his face and coming away with more of the black gunk. "Hide behind the sphere."

"Not without you," said Waylon, shaking his head.

Fool backup. A tendril flew out and encircled Waylon's ankle, dragging him behind an unused sphere. Miles reached down and picked up Billy's form, naked save for the soaked shorts the scientists had allotted him. His body was cool and it easily slid into his arms. Miles cradled him close to his body, as he moved him out of the line of sight from the door. Billy's eyes were half open, staring. "You protected me. I just wish I could do the same for you." And though he did not understand it, and Billy did not move, Miles knew he approved. There was something of himself left there, and Miles set him down gently. He placed a light kiss to Billy's shaved head, ignoring the clinging slime. "I'm going to get you out of here. Just hold on."

Miles stood tall and slowly ascended the stairs as the double doors flew open and the sound of heavy stomping filled the cavernous room. The men were dressed identical to the armored men Miles had observed in the hallway before, except there were at least a dozen of them. The first into the room knelt down and aimed at Miles, followed by a second row that hovered over their heads and aimed as well. The men in the middle parted slightly to make room for a suited figure.

"Mr. Upshur. Or is it still Ferguson?"

"Call me whatever you want, Satan."

Jeremy squinted his eyes as he stared as he stared at the room. "Manual override. Surprised a man with your pitiful observational skills managed to figure that out."

"I'm full of surprises."

"Ah, looks like young Billy didn't survive the process," said Jeremy, staring over where the broken sphere was located. Billy's body was safely hidden out of the group's line of sight. "Pity. So much time and research, lost because you had a boner," said Jeremy, making a tsk noise with his tongue. "At least you won't have to miss him long." Miles seethed and his anger manifested in a black aura, visibly extending from his person.

Behind their masks, the men were shaking, eyes darting in all directions, blood pressure spiking. It was only natural to be afraid of a man standing in front of you, so saturated with blood that it dripping audibly onto the floor where he stood. Miles smiled—basking in the new wave of unsettled nerves that emanated from the crowd like heat waves off asphalt in the summer.

"You know Jer, We're going to enjoy killing you the most," said Miles.

Jeremy laughed, and it was as hollow and soulless as the rest of him. "Fire," he said.

The bullets were deafening. There was so many. They tore through every part of Miles' body, the impact causing him to flinch and stumble backwards. Large caliber, tearing out chunks of flesh. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Waylon screaming his name. But soon, it was all background noise. The bullets, Waylon, the hum of the machinery in the room, the buzz of the fluorescent lights and computer fans, Billy's last strangled breaths, all of it. Miles could hear everything, until it was all drowned out by one cacophonous sound. The roar of a rushing tidal wave, followed by desperate screams and the wet sound of flesh being torn apart.

A/N: The next chapter is an epilogue to this adventure that neatly ties up what happened to our protagonists. Thanks for reading and reviewing!