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Miles was so, so tired. So fucking tired, that he just slumped against the nearest wall without checking if someone is behind the corner. But to be honest he didn’t care anymore. He just needed a rest after he’s been chased by yet another lunatic with a machete, who was trying to gut him out. Like every second person in this godforsaken place. He will make sure it got burnt to the ground after he gets out. That is, if he will manage to get out.
He will be lucky if he gets out with all his limbs still attached to his body. Before, he hoped he could get out with all of his fingers intact. But after running into that sick motherfucker, Trager, this goal was now impossible to accomplish. That son of a bitch cut off his right index finger and left ring finger. Miles kind of wished Trager would get more severe punishment for crippling so many people. Fucker got away easy. Got crushed by an elevator. Relatively swift. But Miles would be a liar if he said he had guts to accurately punish Trager. This place has seen enough cruelty already. Right now, he just wanted to get out.
But as he sat there, he started to think. How big was a chance that he would get out? And how big was a chance that a fate worse than death awaited him here? The chance of getting out was stupidly small. Considering how stupidly tough and strong were people in this fucked up asylum.
Yes, people. They were still people, even though they have lost their minds. Who is he to judge them? If he was in their position, he would turn out the same. It’s not their fault anyways. It’s all Murkoff’s fault.
It’s all Murkoff. Once he gets out he will make sure those bastards will pay for what they did. And he will make sure nothing like this happens ever again. Hell, who knows if they haven’t got multiple facilities like this one? If they do, Miles is gonna burn it down and shoot the whole fucking company full of those sick motherfuckers who call themselves ‘scientists’ to pieces.
If he gets out that is. Maybe he won’t. Maybe he will lose his mind like the rest of these people. Maybe he will get killed by some random dude with a machete. Maybe Chris Walker will fucking rip off his head. Maybe his corpse will end up mutilated and he will get raped after getting killed. Just like that dead guy he saw. But at least he’ll be dead at that point. He didn’t doubt there were people in here who would do that to him while he was still alive. And maybe he will run into someone like Trager again and get the rest of his fingers cut off. Even that would be considered mild in this hell. According to the writing on the wall, Trager had so much more in storage for Miles.
Fingers first. Then balls. Then tongue.
Miles shivered at the thought. Luckily, he escaped before Trager could carry on with the torture. The first step alone made Miles wish he could die at that moment. No wonder one of the patients that Trager mutilated was just repeating words ‘Kill me…kill me…’ again and again. The other one was just screaming. His tongue nowhere to be seen.
And maybe he’ll run into someone even worse than Trager. He couldn’t imagine even worse situation, but if this place has taught him anything, it is that it always can get worse. So much worse. And his luck probably won’t save him this time. And he will die slow, painful, drawn out death. Someone will beat up, tear and torture him just to make Miles beg to be killed.
Fuck this. Fuck this place. Fuck those doctors. Fuck Trager. Fuck Mount Massive. Fuck Murkoff in particular. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Miles felt the desperation and hopelessness starting to take over. He ran his fingers (at least, those he had left) through his hair, down to his neck and tried to fight back tears that were threatening to spill out. He needed to calm down. Crying was a sign of weakness. If someone around here notices even a hint of weakness they will take immediate advantage of it. And that will bring him even more problems than he already had. He didn’t mind releasing a few tears after encounter with Trager. That was because he was in pain. Real, physical pain. Now he was just being pathetic.
‘You were crying because you were hurt.’
A familiar voice in the back of his head appeared. His younger brother. It was a conversation they had a long time ago. Miles had been 15 or 16 back then. So, his brother must’ve been 13 or 14. A conversation about how long they haven’t cried. That’s a laugh. They were already teenagers and couldn’t help but notice how everyone else is visibly little more sensitive than them. His brother made an achievement out of it. Miles wasn’t sure it was a good thing. They asked each other when was the last time they have cried. Miles’s last time was when his brother accidentally smacked him with a wooden sword on the index finger, that was now missing. He had been around 14 at that moment. His brother claimed that didn’t count, because it was caused by physical pain. Other than that, he didn’t remember. Nor did his brother.
‘I wonder how he is though.’ Thought Miles.
They haven’t seen each other in years. It’s not like his brother wanted to see him anyway. Not since Miles was cast out by his family. His brother wholeheartedly agreed with their parents’ decision. Said that Miles was just a dreamer. A black sheep. A disappointment. So, they cast him out. Just like that. They went no-contact on both sides. Well, Miles would lie if he said he didn’t saw it coming. His parents were…well, a difficult type of people. Confusing. Yes, they hugged. Yes, they kissed. Yes, they were going on a trips together. Yes, they were living in a nice big house and never had an empty stomach or had no money for a new clothes. But God save you if you had a different opinion or different thinking process. Or accidentally did something stupid when they had a bad day. His brother said their parents weren’t like that. That they were people worth of admiration, even. But he wasn’t the eldest, like Miles was. He wasn’t the ‘testing child’. He didn’t get smacked for someone else pouring out a whole bottle of water just because he was the closest being to dad’s hand at that moment. He didn’t get called numerous names and insults by dad when he accidentally scraped strangers car in the parking lot at the age of 9. He didn’t get locked out in the rain by mum for not wanting to eat her bean soup. It’s not that he didn’t want to, it was something about the food itself that his throat didn’t allow him to swallow. And his brother obviously forgot how he accidentally turned over a dose full of bread and Miles was the one to get his hair pulled and smacked on a head for it. Again, because he was the closest thing to dad’s hand. And he wasn’t called an idiot and lunatic by dad because he dared to not agree with his opinion or think for himself for once. Not like Miles was.
On the one hand, they tell you you’re their most prized, cherished being in the world and on the other they would shame and threaten you for the slightest inconvenience. Hypocrisy at its finest. That’s how Miles learned to not trust anyone or to not show any weakness at a young age. If he did, people would take advantage of it. This was a common human trait. Something he was sure even insane people had.
But because of it, he had nobody he could be close with. At work, there were people he would call ‘friends’. People he would occasionally chat with. But ever since he got fired, they haven’t spoken to him. Not once. He was all alone.
‘Why am I even alive?’
The thought crossed his mind. It was a small thought, but made a huge impact. So what if he dies? It’s not like somebody was expecting for him to return. Nobody was waiting for him at home. No family, no children, no friends. No one to fill ‘missing person’ report. Nobody to cry at his grave. Nobody would miss him. Just. Nobody.
He was all alone.
‘Why don’t I just give up?’
Miles thought about it for a moment. Thought about the pain that was throbbing through every inch of his body to stop. It was appealing. And then got angry at himself.
‘Shit! What is going on with me?! Why would I even consider doing something like that?! That’s not like me at all!’
He knew nobody would miss him and that’s why he cannot die today. If he is going to die, he wanted to have at least one person that would miss him. If he didn’t that would just be life wasted. And he’s certainly not gonna let his life end like that. Not if he has a power to change that.
He stood up, grabbed his camera and carried on his path.
‘Gotta get out of here. This place is driving me crazy.’
Ain’t no way he’s gonna give everyone who wished him death the satisfaction by just giving up. Not happening. Not today. He needs to find at least one person who he could be at least friends with. And that’s best done while you’re alive. Giving up now would be just irrational, stupid even. Besides, he still had a work to do and one hell of a story to tell. Who is going to take down Murkoff if not him? Someone has to get the job done. He will finish what the Whistleblower started.
He promised to himself: after he gets out, he will turn his life around and make something valuable out of it.
‘Out of my way, fuckers.’