Chapter Text
The gravel crunched beneath Logan’s feet, each step sending him stumbling over his own legs. The rain came down heavily, making it harder to see through the fog—which only reminded him of why he was out here in the first place. The labsfolk were close on his tail, armed with high-tech weapons. He had thought he’d successfully escaped—that maybe he could trust his old allies from the mafia. He was wrong. So terribly wrong.
A man in tactical gear cut him off at a corner, his arms wrapping around Logan tightly. Logan choked on a breath as he felt something sharp break through his skin on his neck. His fingers traced the object, and he tried his best to keep fighting—to kick and flail, hoping someone would come back for him. It would never happen, though. His eyes felt heavy, the murmurs around him drowning out until they finally shut.
Logan didn’t know what happened between the time he passed out and when he woke up, somehow redressed in his old dingy scrubs, sitting in front of the same man from before. A bright white light shone in his face. The man looked up from the clipboard in his hands.
“A bit of a fighter, aren’t we?”
Logan couldn’t recall where he was, but he believed these guys were strange enough to have an interrogation room somewhere in this loony bin.
“Go to hell.”
The man’s lips pursed into a thin line, his gaze becoming more stern. “Listen here, Logan.” He began, flicking the clear syringe in his other hand. “At this facility, we have a strict set of rules—rules that nuisances like you need to follow,” Logan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Or else, we have to use force.” For the second time that day, Logan was injected with a needle—except this time, it didn’t make him feel woozy. It made his arm tingly—numb, almost.
“What..was that for?” Logan breathed, the fluorescent lights suddenly became all too nauseating.
Silence.
Weird.
Logan spent half an hour cooped up in that enclosed room, giving up everything he knew—useless stuff he’d already explained dozens of times to the same people. He was escorted to his new room by an older lady, and to his surprise, it wasn’t much different from the one he had last time. A single bed in the corner, a wooden chair, and a desk propped against the wall. She left with a smile, and once again, he was left alone with his thoughts—the fact that he was so close—close to freedom. The small digital clock perched on the desk ticked away, seconds to midnight.
The shift was brisk, and with a sigh, Logan retrieved the keycard he had stuffed under the mattress, smuggled from an unsuspecting nurse—just like last time. He was glad they didn’t search the rooms or his person; because he would've been screwed.
Sliding the card into the slot and stepping into the cold air of the asylum hallway was always disorienting at first, but he adjusted quickly. His main objective was to find Taylor and figure out their next plan, since this one had clearly backfired.
He counted each room door he passed down the long and eerie hallway, stopping in front of a wide door with the number ‘15’ etched into the wood. He heard faint hums coming from inside.
He went through the same process again, sliding the card into the slot and opening the room door. Inside, Taylor sat on her carefully made bed with her legs crossed.
“...Logan.” She breathlessly uttered his name, rushing over to him and embracing him in a hug.
“I’m here, Tay,” he whispered into the crook of her neck, pulling back to trace her face for any injuries she might have sustained since they were separated. He didn’t find any—only the wet remnants of her tears that he brushed away with his thumb.
A sharp pain interrupted his movement, causing him to jerk his hand away. Logan looked down at his right arm—the one the man had stuck with that needle earlier. It was twitching uncontrollably, the veins protruding painfully from his skin.
“Whoa...” Taylor said, her hands clasping around his mutated arm. The skin warped and rippled beneath her touch.
“Oh god.” His face twisted in disgust, pulling away. Was he turning into a phantom?
Taylor shifted her feet, her hands dropping to her sides. “It... probably doesn’t mean anything, right?”
Logan didn’t respond.
“Well, we have about...” She glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. “...Five hours until we’re transported back. Better make the best of it!” She exclaimed, forcing a grin onto her face. Logan didn’t know how she stayed so optimistic, considering they’d done this three times before. “Right.”
———————————
He and Taylor went over numerous ways they could potentially escape and find the others, but they hit a dead end when they both realized they could be far away—possibly even on the other side of town. “What if... we just made a run for it?” Logan suggested, seeing as it was their only choice. “It won’t work,” Taylor said, her voice strained. Logan’s attention shifted to the throbbing arm on his right. He flexed his slender, claw-like fingers.
“We don’t know for sure, Taylor.” He looked into her gaze. “We did it once. We can do it again.” She looked at him like he was crazy. “There were six of us then!” Taylor’s voice rose, but then her eyes immediately softened. “Sorry. ...how do you expect this plan to work?” Logan’s eyes widened in realization. “My arm,” he said, shifting his position. His jet-black arm, now goopy and misshapen, faced Taylor. “Your... arm?” It took her a few seconds to catch on. “Your arm!” She gasped, taking the appendage in her hands again.
The doorknob rattled, snarls seeping through the cracks, then pounding—pounding from the phantoms. “Shit,” Taylor swore, reaching to her side and grabbing a rifle, one that she stowed away for emergencies. “Oh god,” Logan murmured, clenching his fists as the pounding got louder, and louder until it cracked down the middle and broke down, dozens of phantoms stationed outside. Waiting to pounce.
BANG!
She shot the lead phantom directly in the head, watching it fall limp almost immediately—already reloading the ammo. Logan stood behind her; he didn't have a gun, he didn't have a weapon of any sort—God! Why didn't he plan?
A phantom had snuck behind him. Logan flung his hand up out of instinct—gripping the neck of the phantom, feeling the sting of it clawing at his arms—a surge of blood rushing through his pulsing veins as he squeezed with all his might, watching it mutely shriek in pain until his grip severed the phantom's head.
It fell to the floor with a thud.
His hand.
Taylor kept unloading rounds on the intruding phantoms, not even aware of anything that was happening besides her remarkable shooting. “Holy cow,” Taylor peeked over her shoulder, staring directly at the corpse that was bleeding out on the ground—Logan examined in front of him, trying to ignore his friend's remarks.
Another phantom made a run for him, attempting to gash at Logan's side, only failing miserably and getting caught in a headlock—he took his repulsive hand and plunged the razor-sharp claws into the beady white eyes of the phantom, black blood spattering Logan's chest. It stumbled helplessly around—grasping at its empty eyesockets that in all honesty did make Logan feel a little bad.
.
.
Once Taylor got the door locked, she turned to Logan with a raised eyebrow, “Y’know this helps a ton, right?” She gestured to his..everything—the fact that his neck was increasing in black was a bit worrisome, specifically because he didn't want to end up like those things. He turned to look at the clock, 5:48 AM. “We..don't have much time.” Logan sighed.
“We’ll go with your plan,” Taylor said. “We’ll make a run for itz.” Her eyebrows drew together.
He nodded.
————
3:45 AM.
Logan woke up in a rush, he arose from the mattress, feet hitting the floor.
He felt a twinge of hope in his chest that maybe today would be their break free. He lifted the mattress, grabbed hold of the card and walked towards the door, creaking it open to the familiar chill air. His mutant-like arm was in fact gone, yet the feeling of it definitely remained.
The halls were completely dark, a faint red light blinking in the corner like usual. He did the same thing he did once the switch was made, walking down the same way until he got to Taylor's door, but only to find it was defended by a night guard—to his unfortunateness. Logan grasped his card, shoving it away in his pocket before walking up to the unsuspecting man.
His gaze landed on Logan, scowling. “What the hell do you want?” The grip on his baton strengthened, yet Logan stood there, stubborn. “Nothing,” Logan muttered, rowing back his fist—watching intently as it made contact with the other's cheekbone. “Fuck!” The guard exclaimed, barreling over with his cheek in hand. “You little shit!” He got a good hold on Logan's forearm, yanking him backwards before he could get any farther.
Logan felt immense control over his body, the same rush feeling returning in his veins. The lights overhead flickered once or twice, his pupils grew large and with all his force he rammed his knee backwards, then forwards, punting the man right in the crotch. Logan shouldn't have felt bad when he fell forward and mustered the strength to fumble for his radio. He rushed some words about backup to the others on the other end.
Logan slid the card in the slot and slammed the door to Taylor's room open, “We gotta go, Tay.” She rose from the bed and snatched her rifle, following Logan as he fled out the door and down the hall—luckily they knew their way around the whole facility. They turned corner after corner and were almost positive they were on the clear—until they ran face-first into another guard. “Put your hands up!” The woman shouted, aiming the barrel of her gun at both of them.
Logan complied, Taylor did not. She cocked her rifle and shot with another ear-piercing bang, the bullet piercing straight through the woman's abdomen, tearing flesh every which way. She choked on the crimson blood that flowed out of her mouth and clutched the gaping wound. Logan didn't know what was going on with Taylor lately, but her violent tendencies had gotten very common.
That wasn't like her.
They didn't have time to eyeball the revolting sight and pushed past the woman that laid on the ground and silently cried on the brink of death. He and Taylor ducked past the rest of the defences, sandals squeaking against the floor. Somehow they had made it outside without any more holdups, the sun was just now cresting the skies with an orange and pink shade, it was a bit suspicious how there was no one after them, not that they were complaining.
A Bentley had stowed away under a shady tree, one that Logan had recognized—it belonged to his parents, before they mysteriously disappeared anyway. “Follow me.” Logan pulled Taylor close to him, walking towards the car.
The horn set off and an older man peeked out the window, with a friendly smile on his face.
“Do you kids need a getaway car?” He chuckled, Logan's face brightened at the sight of his grandfather, “How did you..know?” Taylor spoke up, not seeming to trust the elder, especially after what she learned about their past.
“I have my ways,” James said. “Now, get in.” He unlocked the doors, letting the kids shuffle in before he slammed down on the gas pedal, not even giving them the time to buckle up which left them nearly falling out of their seats. “Hey,” James spoke, adjusting his mirror, to face the kids in the back, as he began driving pretty smoothly. “Where are the others?”
“We..don’t know.” Logan sighed. He was sure they would turn up soon enough, right?