Miles didn't want to waste time by just standing around, so he ran down the hall at the same time on of the Variants started bashing down a door.
"You can't hide!" The Variant screamed as Miles burst into a room, slamming the door shut behind him. Miles spotted a dumbwaiter being lowered and quickly rushed over to it.
"Who's down there? You're not one of them, are you?" The male voice asked urgently. Miles let out a pathetic wheeze and shook his head.
"Quick! Get in the dumbwaiter if you want to live! C'mon, man, get in! I've seen what they're capable of!" The voice continued as if Miles hadn't made a sound. Miles climbed in and was taken up just as the door was broken down.
"Oh, thank the good Lord," Miles gasped as he caught his breath. The dumbwaiter stopped, and Miles stared at the man in front of him in shock.
He was withered and boney, his skin stretched tight across his body, and he had numerous scars. A blood-stained apron was tied around the front part of his waist, and he wore a tattered surgeon's mask. Miles could see the left side of his lower lip had been torn off at some point. On the bridge of his nose sat steampunkesque glasses with a shattered right lens and a patient drip wrapped around his left arm, and Miles guessed that the needle punctured his vein.
"You made the right choice here, buddy," the Variant said, and Miles saw his arm fly at him twice.
Miles fell out of the dumbwaiter in a daze and onto the floor as his vision blurred in pain. As he struggled to regain his senses, Miles realized that the Variant's attack had caught him off guard. The intense throbbing in his head made it clear that this encounter was far from over. The Variant cocked his head to the side and studied him for a moment. The Varient's intense look made Miles feel a sense of unease, as if he were being dissected mentally.
"Hey, you're that little shit priest's guy, aren't you?" The Variant asked in realization, then rolled his eyes in annoyance, an equally annoyed sigh leaving him.
"His…witness, or whatever. You must be exhausted. Let's take a break, huh, buddy? The old two martini lunch, have a little confab," the Variant suggested and picked Miles up with ease and placed him in a wheelchair, strapping down his wrists so he wouldn't be able to escape.
"…heavier than you look. A little cardio wouldn't kill you. Okay. Here we go. Arms and legs inside the ride at all times," the Variant said, and Miles blinked rapidly, clearing his vision.
The Variant wheeled Miles down a hallway before stopping in front of the elevator so Miles could see the open door and kneeling down next to him.
"I love the mountain air up here at night. You want to head out and take a stroll? Go ahead; I'll wait here. Go on, run free. I'm in no hurry," the Variant attempted to joke, gesturing toward the open exit door where Miles could see a storm raging outside, and Miles clenched his jaw, not saying a word.
That is not funny, you sick bastard, Miles thought murderously.
Miles's anger towards the Variant grew as he resisted the urge to engage with him. The thought of escaping and leaving this nightmare behind consumed his mind, but he knew he had to bide his time and wait for the right moment.
"No? Alright. Nose to the grindstone; I like that. Okay then. Right this way," The Variant said, chuckling darkly, and backed Miles up until he was in the elevator.
The gate shut, the elevator started going up, and the Variant didn't say a word the entire time. Once the elevator stopped, the Variant started pushing Miles down a hallway.
"Shhh, shh. You weren't putting that tongue to any use anyway. Truth be told, I was just tired of licking my own stamps," the Variant said as he pushed Miles past a few screaming patients and entered a dark, empty room.
"Here we are, then," the Variant said pleasantly, and the chair stopped at the center of the room, the lights flickering on, and Miles looked around. Miles noticed that it was a dirty men's bathroom, covered in blood and other types of bodily fluids. The stench was overwhelming, making Miles feel nauseous, and he resisted the urge to gag. The walls and toilets were smeared with an unsettling mix of crimson and filth, hinting at the horrors that had unfolded within their confines.
The sink was cracked and stained, and the mirror was shattered into a thousand reflective shards. Miles could see his own terrified reflection in the broken pieces, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Thanks so much for stopping by. We'll begin your consultation in a moment; I'll just need a second to wash up and…" The Variant said and grabbed the camcorder, flipping it open, much to Miles' irritation.
"Oh…home movies!…It'll give us a chance to talk," the Variant said as he set the camcorder on the sinks behind him, aiming at Miles, his tone still pleasant. The Variant turned on the sink to wash his hands, then turned his back to Miles, who made a face of disgust at the sight. The Variant in front of him was naked!
I am so glad I didn't see anything else! Miles thought helplessly as he looked down and struggled against his restraints, but looked back up as the sink turned off and the Variant turned around to face Miles. Miles felt a surge of fear and anticipation as he locked eyes with the Variant, unsure of what was about to happen next. The Variant's expression remained unreadable, devoid of any emotion, adding to Miles' growing unease.
"You know, I'm a bit worried about how much time you've been spending with Father Martin. I know…" The Variant said as he gestured lazily with his hand and walked to the side, Miles followed his movements with wary eyes and looked at the surgical instruments that he had sitting on a small table, his hand hovering over each of them indecisively.
"I hope you haven't been letting him confuse you with all his…holier-than-thou bible thumping," The Variant continued calmly as he picked up what looked like an old-fashioned razor blade and walked back over to Miles.
"No offense to the man, but I sometimes worry that he might just be a little bit…crazy," the Variant said, holding the blade at Miles' throat. Miles inhaled shakily as he tilted his head as far away from the blade as he possibly could. Miles could feel the blade pressing against his skin, its sharp edge sending a chilling sensation down his spine. The blade was quickly removed from his neck, and the Variant walked away from Miles, set the blade back on the table, and considered the other ones he had.
"It's understandable; people get scared; they're as like to turn to God as anything else. God died with the gold standard. We're on to more concrete faiths now," the Variant said as he walked back over and grabbed Miles' fingers, inspecting them.
"You have to rob Paul to pay Peter; there is no other way. Murder in its simplest form, but what happens when all the money is gone?" The Variant asked rhetorically, dropped Miles' hand, and walked off again.
"Well, money has become a matter of faith," the Variant said as he grabbed a large pair of bone scissors out of one of the toilets, walked back over to Miles, and grabbed his hand firmly.
"And that's what I'm here for. To make you…believe," the Variant growled sadistically. The grip on his hand tightened, and Miles heard a slicing noise before he felt searing pain shoot up his arm, and his vision blurred once again. Miles screamed in agony, desperate to get away, but was held fast by the restraints on his wrists.
"You paying attention?" The Variant yelled, and Miles felt stinging pain in his cheek as his head suddenly snapped to the left. The bastard slapped me, Miles thought angrily through the pain.
"Don't pass out on me; there's still a lot for you to absorb," the Variant added as he walked over to the other side of Miles. Miles screamed in pain again as he felt another one of his fingers being cut off, and this time his vision darkened.
"There. Better, right?" The Variant asked, and Miles focused on his hands, almost throwing up at the sight of his hands. He was now missing his right index finger and his left ring finger, and his hands were covered in blood.
His blood.
"Do you understand what we achieved here? We made the consumer into the means of production. This thing is going to sell itself!" The Variant said, sounding extremely happy as he set the bone scissors onto the table, grabbed said table, and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.
Miles looked back at his hands and groaned in severe pain. Miles gathered his strength, started tugging, and managed to free both his hands and legs. Miles stumbled his way over to the sink; everything he had seen in the asylum up to this point hit him, and he promptly threw up the contents in his stomach, the need to throw up currently overriding the pain in his hands. Miles then grabbed his camcorder and left the room.
"Who's there? Is somebody there? Come closer," a voice called out, and Miles noticed a man tied to a bed with his head forcefully held up.
"I'm not a patient. I'm an executive. Just like him. Like Trager," the Variant wheezed, and Miles cocked his head in confusion once he walked up to the patient. Trager? The guy who cut off my fingers? Miles thought angrily.
"But he got the treatment. He's too alive. Filled with Wernicke's nightmares. It worked too well. They couldn't control it…" the Variant gasped widly, then raised his voice to a loud shout.
"…and you can't control it. Nobody. Nobody! NOBODY!" The Variant yelled viciously, his body jerking wildly.
"He'll find you! He'll kill you! He's coming now! TRAAAGER! TRAAAGER!" The Variant yelled, the doors burst open, and Miles jerked his head up, then immediately crouched down and scuttled back into a corner encased in shadows, thankful that the Variant didn't see him as the said Variant walked up to the screaming man strapped down, and Miles swallowed heavily, trying to breathe as lightly as he could so he didn't give away his position.
"I see what's happening here. You're bored. You want a little attention. Perfectly understandable. Well, I'm here for you. I'll give you very special attention," the Variant spoke and stabbed the screaming Variant with the same bone scissors he used to cut off Miles' fingers.
TRAGER. Sick fucker cut my fingers off. Has tortured and mangled dozens of patients, I watch him murder another one; there is nothing I can do about it. Talks like a white collar business school douchebag and probably has a set of golf clubs in the trunk of his Audi. I'd bet the rest of my fingers he was Murkoff brass before whatever's infected this place changed him. I want out of this place. I want my fucking fingers back. I want to see Trager die, Miles thought viciously as the Variant left, and entered the room Miles had escaped from, letting out an enraged shout a second later.
"Fuck! Fuck, really?! You're gonna walk on me?! If there is one thing I cannot goddamn stand…it's a quitter! Come on!" Trager yelled furiously, and rentered the room, calm again.
"All right. You can figure this out. Let's solve some problems," Trager said, and he started searching for Miles.
After not finding him, Trager finally left the room, and Miles immediately stood up, and ran back down the hallway Trager first took him through and ran into the elevator.
"Somebody has to win and somebody has to lose here; I don't make the rules," Trager yelled as Miles groaned when he saw that it needed a key to start said elevator. Miles started searching the halls in hopes of finding what he needed.
"Aw, buddy. What are you trying to do? I gave you a chance, didn't I? Didn't old Rick try to give you a hand? Well. I can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. You're fired," Trager said, his voice echoing the halls, and Miles shivered, determined to keep moving. A minute later, Miles reached a dead end and was forced to hide in a corner. A few seconds later, Trager ran in and started searching for him. Miles bit his lip, trying to breathe quietly. Trager's footsteps echoed loudly in the room as he methodically approached each hiding spot.
Miles could feel his heart pounding in his chest, fearing that even the slightest noise would give away his location. The tension in the air was palpable as Trager paused, his eyes scanning the room.
"Oh, goddamnit, how did you get out? We're gonna have to do something about those hamstrings," Trager muttered, and gave up, leaving the room, making Miles sigh in relief and continue searching for the elevator key. A few seconds later, Miles was forced to hide again as Trager searched the room for him. Miles pressed himself against his hiding spot, his breath shallow and his heart racing.
He prayed that Trager wouldn't find him this time, knowing that his only chance of escape relied on remaining undetected.
"I should have cut his feet first. Amateur move," Trager muttered to himself, giving up again and leaving, allowing Miles to continue his search. After a small eternity and him almost dying a couple of times, Miles found what he needed and raced back to the elevator as quickly as he could. Miles froze when he heard footsteps and quickly hid, just in time to see Trager appear a few feet away, obviously searching for him.
"All these bureaucrats with their corporate luncheons and golden parachutes. Where are the survivors? Where are the sharks? I've been chumming the water long enough," Trager muttered and left. Miles sighed with relief, left his hiding spot, raced to the elevator, and quickly activated it. As the elevator started going down, Miles sagged against the wall in pure relief.
"Never…doing that…ever again," Miles panted heavily.
Just as he was about to pass a floor, Trager appeared, forcing the gate open with his bone scissors.
"I'm not giving up on you, buddy!" Trager growled as he finally got inside. Trager angrily swiped at him with the scissors, but Miles grabbed his arms and started forcing him out. Trager pushed back, but Miles got close enough so he could shove Trager out of the elevator.
Once doing so, Miles quickly backed up and tucked himself into the corner, just as Trager tried to reenter the elevator. He only partially succeeded and started slashing wildly at Miles. The elevator was low enough for the upper half of Trager's body to fit inside, but it didn't stop moving. Trager started shrieking in pain and wiggled around, but his movements didn't last for long. Sure enough, Trager's grip on his weapon loosened and dropped from his hand; his body went limp, and the elevator stopped.
"Is he dead? Is he, like, actually dead or what?" Miles asked out loud, then crumpled to the ground in relief.
After a moment of catching his breath, Miles stood up, opened the gate to the elevator shaft, climbed out, and stared at the lower half of Trager's body for a moment.
"How to make Trager juice. Step one: squeeze," Miles muttered and made his way away from the elevator, now ignoring the lower half of Trager's body as he did so, and made his way down some hallways until he came into a large, open area.
"God, this place is a maze," Miles muttered as he looked around, then stopped as he saw Father Martin looking at him through a window.
Confused, Miles ran towards him and stopped a few feet in front of him.
"Thank God, you survived," Farther Martin said, apparently looking relieved to see him, which Miles didn't believe for a second.
"I feared that secular maniac would carve you up like the others. Meet me outside; we're close now," Father Martin added urgently and ran off.
"Are you being serious right now? What am I supposed to do with that information?" Miles yelled and threw his hands up, then winced as he realized that yelling loudly was something he shouldn't do if he wanted to avoid trouble. Miles began looking for a way outside, but when he entered a bathroom, he frowned in confusion when he spotted a few body parts in a sink on fire. Miles left the bathroom, went down the hall, and entered a locker room, thinking of a way to get outside.