"You're him. Yes. I'm supposed to tell you—the key to the house of God is in the theater. Behind the light. In the theater, behind the light. You have to see the movie. So that's where he left the card. Okay?" The Variant asked urgently, his hand gripping the metal door, and Miles nodded vigorously.
The second the Variant finished speaking, Father Martin's voice floated down the staircase behind the Variant, who stiffened when he heard Martin's voice.
"Friends! Children! I need your help; where are you?" Father Martin called, and the Variant glanced over his shoulder.
"Yes. Coming. I'm coming," the Variant called, and ran up the stairs without saying another word.
"In the theater, behind the light. Sure. Easy," Miles muttered sarcastically and started his search.
After a moment, Miles heard piano music and followed it until he stood in front of a door. The second Miles stopped, the Variant stopped playing the piano, stood up, walked over to the door, stared at Miles for a moment, shook his head in what seemed to be a slight disappointment, and walked away.
"Weird, but okay," Miles said in mild confusion as he made his way into the theater. The projector flared to life, making Miles gasp in fright, and he whirled around to face the movie screen. I should probably record this, Miles thought, and he opened up his camcorder, facing it towards the screen, and sat down to watch.
"…exit interview recorded December 27th, 1985, in Los Alamos, New Mexico. Clearance Sierra Alpha. Subject: Dr. Rudolf Wernicke. 14866," the interviewer said, beginning the interview.
"The films are real," a German man said, making Miles guess that this was Dr. Wernicke.
"There was no alteration to the footage at all? No trickery?" The interviewer asked curiously.
"None," Dr. Wernicke confirmed softly.
"In June of 1943, you recorded three instances of spontaneous bleeding. A half dozen test subjects began to develop brain tumors," the interviewer prompted slowly.
"Yes. The autopsies revealed that the tumors were pure lead," Dr. Wernicke explained bluntly.
"It killed them? Can you explain why the results could not be reproduced in the United States?" The interviewer asked calmly, yet curiously.
"I have my theories. My…homeland, in those years. It's impossible to understand the things we felt. What we believed. The overwhelming rage and…English words are insufficient. More than hope. A human mind in that environment is capable of extraordinary things," Dr. Wernicke said blandly.
"You're saying the experiment needed…" the interviewer began slowly.
"A proximity to death. To overwhelming madness. Only a test subject who had witnessed enough horror was capable of activating the engine," Dr. Wernicke rasped darkly.
"Do you believe your test subjects achieved something supernatural?" The interviewer asked curiously.
"No," Dr. Wernicke denied immediately.
"Do you think they contacted something supernatural?" The interviewer asked plainly.
"Nothing is supernatural," Dr. Wernicke insisted shortly.
"Then what was it? You said PROJECT WALRIDER was a gateway. A gateway to what?" The interviewer asked, and Dr. Wernicke didn't answer, making Miles assume the interview had ended. Miles hummed thoughtfully.
"A gateway to hell," Miles joked, shutting his camcorder, and carefully made his way to the projector room.
The man sounds like Dr. Strangelove's anemic brother. It's a twenty-five year old recording, an interview with this Dr. Wernicke. Los Alamos means government work. Wernicke talks about spontaneous bleeding, tumors, and psychosomatic reactions in sufficiently disturbed people. Seems to walk a line between science and Nazi mysticism. "Only a test subject who has witnessed enough horror was capable of activating the engine." The Morphogenic Engine. The Engine. The movie they're projecting. It gets in my head like a song you can't stop humming. I blink, and I see Rorschach tests that look like swarming insects and infected surgery wounds. The patients talk about using the Engine to conjure the Walrider. It's the buzzing I hear in my bones, Miles thought, and once there, he opened the door, only to have the door slammed in his face by a patient, so he quickly found another way in by making across a ledge and jumping into the room.
Miles quickly grabbed the key and left the room, only to stiffen up when he heard someone banging on the door. It's the Twins. It's gotta be, Miles thought as he sneakily made his way past the first Twin, out of the room and back to the place where the Variant gave him directions, opened the door, ignoring the other Twin standing there calmly, ran up the stairs, and started looking for Father Martin.
Searching room after room, eyeing kneeling patients praying to a god that doesn't exist. The static again. Patients kneeled in prayer. Maybe they bought Father Martin's line of bullshit. Maybe they hear what I hear, but more clearly. Maybe it's their way out of this place. The Priest called it the Gospel of Sand, Miles thought as he shimmied across a ledge to a different section, finally following blood-marked hallways to a chapel, the doors guarded by the Twins.
Miles slowly entered the chapel, and stared at Farther Martin hanging on a cross, firewood at his feet, a patient standing next to him, holding a lit candle, and more patients, who were kneeling and praying. Miles approached, and Father Martin finally noticed him.
"My Job. You alone shall escape to tell them. This is your penultimate act of witness. The promise of the prophets was always freedom from death. And here it is. You will watch and record my death, my resurrection. And together, we will be free. You are no longer in any danger. I've fixed the elevator. It will take you to freedom. We will all of us be free," Father Martin said, and Miles raised his open camcorder, ready to record, and grabbed the elevator key. Father Martin turned to the patient, who was holding the lit candle weakly.
"Now, my son," Father Martin said, and the patient bent down and lit the firewood. The fire spread quickly, and Father Martin screamed in agony. Miles stood there a moment before backing away until he was out of the chapel completely and putting away his camcorder.
"I can't believe Father Martin one-upped Jesus Christ in shitty ways to die. And I don't believe that I'm going to miss him," Miles said, snorting at the humor of his statement.
A way out. If he's telling the truth, now I've got a way out. And a story to tell. He wants me to spread his gospel. I'll tell the whole fucking world, Miles thought giddly before running down the hallway and crawling through a vent towards the elevator, excitement thrumming in his veins.
He finally has a way out of this hellhole.
Once he dropped out of the vent he crawled through, a growl rang out, and Miles didn't need to be told twice, so he ran. After a few close calls, Miles got away from Walker, entered the elevator, and started it. The elevator descended, paused at the main entrance, and then descended again. Miles' eyes widened as he realized Father Martin had tricked him.
"Martin, you son of a bitch," Miles swore angrily as the elevator finally stopped and the gates opened. Miles got out, fuming, and began searching for another way out. Opening the door that was a few feet in front of him, Miles stopped and stared at the sight before him. It was obviously some sort of entrance to an underground lab.
"Well, now I have to find another way out. Fuck you, Father Martin. You know what? I bet I can't. I bet I don't get to find a-What?" Miles asked in utter confusion as he opened a door and stared at the underground, ice-colored walls. Miles walked forward through another door and recognized the area as the room where he saw the Walrider kill the soldiers on the camera Father Martin showed him.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Whoever finds my corpse—trust one one and tell everyone. I am not crazy. I know, I know, only crazy people say that. But I am as sane as the world allows, with a camera full of evidence. Don't call it gospel. Call it a mockery of reason; let the world know it is Murkoff's fault. Bury these bastards with my mutilated dead body, Miles thought desperately, and he ended up beginning to search for a way out for what seemed like the longest time.