and then we'll build the world again (Outlast)

Chapter 1- Waylon

WARNING: This fanfiction is not intended for readers under the age of 18. This story contains content that may be potentially triggering for some, including but not limited to: graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, broken bones, misogynistic slurs, ableist language, psychological trauma, panic attacks, cannibalism, murder, attempted murder and everything in between.

Viewer discretion is advised.  Please enjoy!

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Waylon would be the first to admit that he was not athletic in the slightest---- let alone any sort of runner. Lisa had been the star of the track team back when they were in Berkley, and at some point encouraged him to join too. He denied, insisting his hands were too full with work and classes to focus on running.

"You could one day be chased by a guy wielding an ax, and then you'll wish you had listened to me," She teased, nudging his elbow playfully.

Oh, how right she was. He really should have taken her up on that offer.

Still, even with his bum leg giving him a hard time-- practically screaming at every agonizing opportunity, begging him to stop before all the bones shattered, he still managed to clumsily vault over desks haphazardly scattered in the hallways and run with as much power as he could. The adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going.

The haunting vocals echoed through the halls, sending a chill down Waylon's spine:

"When I was a boy my mother often said to me: Get married, son, and see how happy you will be."

Ah yes. That too. He jolted forward, praying he could avoid the murderous man long enough to make it out alive. Although knowing Eddie Gluskin (which wasn't that long to begin with, but still), he knew it was highly unlikely. The variant was beyond any other inmate he had encountered thus far. He was far worse.

He had seen the horrors in Eddie's basement, beside the usual gore, there was something that he had caught a glimpse of that completely changed the narrative. A male corpse that was crudely stitched with other grotesque body parts to his chest to mimic, or rather mock, the implication of breasts on his chest. His genitals had been ripped and removed, most likely with a saw judging from tips of the blades still visible underneath the remaining foreskin. The man's legs had been seized apart, spread wide with another man's detached head sticking out through the man-made 'birth canal'.

Waylon nearly met a similar fate to that man. After he fell from a fucking elevator shaft and inadvertedly lodged a sharp piece of metal into his thigh---hence his current hobbling situation. He was then kidnapped and stuffed into a locker, watching each second pass before being strapped to some operating table, waiting for the saw to reach his naked body. He had only managed to narrowly escape having his balls torn off by sheer luck. If he hadn't...well, he would have become the Groom's unwilling bride.

All in all, it was a pretty shitty night. And it wasn't even over yet. No, it was only the beginning.

"Darling, why are you running away from me? We could be beautiful if you would give me a chance!"

Fuck. Eddie's voice was getting close now. Too close for comfort. With his camcorder's night vision being his only source of light, it was nearly impossible to know where exactly he had to run.

He slammed the door shut behind him. That at the very least would slow the fucker down. He didn't have time to catch his breath before realizing he led himself into his own doom. Aside from mattresses and a spine coiled up in a ball beside his shoes- the room was empty. A dead end. His leg throbbed, and he collapsed to the ground.

No. No. No. No this can't be happening! What do I do? What the fuck do I do? Wait for him to barge in and kill me?

"Ungrateful slut, you're just like the rest of those filthy, vulgar whores! Whore!"