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

Chapter 6- Miles

Miles Upshur had seen the Walrider in real life.

For real this time. It hadn't been a dream. It hadn't been a hallucination or a glitch in his camera. It certainly wasn't the patients being delusional for once.

He did not count the time he was forced to watch security footage of it in action, since that could have been faked. Nor did he count the incoherent ramblings of patients hollering the experiment's name or reading it drawn in blood over the walls. Had he only looked closer, he would have realized they were all warning him. Now, he knew it was real. He had video proof, even if it was only visible through night vision.

He wasn't sure how to feel once he finally saw it. At first, he was positively terrified, ready to shit himself upon seeing it up close. Something about how it resembled a human, but not quite, and how it floated like a ghost was enough to send shivers down his spine. Not to mention how strong it was. He had seen through the footage that Father Martin had shown him that it was a dangerous foe.

Having gained some new knowledge from Waylon, who had more experience with it than he did, he felt less scared and more confident. If there was a way they could stop it, destroy it maybe, then there might be hope after all. If they remained optimistic.

Optimism and confidence could only go so far though. They had trouble even evading Variants. How on Earth were they supposed to handle a weapon purposely designed to destroy and kill humans? He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer. He was just a reporter, Waylon was just some tech guy. They were helpless. Dumb luck saved them from everything else. It would be the same here.

The biggest plot twist was Waylon agreeing to look for Father Martin.

He winced, the blood stumps of his fingers were starting to clot. He wanted to ignore the dull pain long enough until they met with Father Martin, but now it was starting to become unbearable. He hoped the next building would have bandages at least. He didn't want to have to Google how long it would take to die from blood loss. Amputated fingers mixed with the squelching squish of pus and dirt swimming inside was probably never a good sign.

Waylon paused, giving Miles' hand a wary look, before quickly looking away. "Those look really bad."

"Thanks, I noticed." He huffed, shooting him a glare.

"No, I didn't mean to be condescending. I- um- '' Waylon stumbled over his words, flustered as he reached in his pocket for something. After some nervous fumbling, he finally pulled out some cloth gauze. "I found them in the shed we were hiding in. I know you said you were fine, but I figured...it couldn't hurt, right? No pun intended."

Miles hadn't expected that. He honestly thought the timid man would be more concerned about escaping than Miles' health. Not that Waylon was selfish, clearly from the way he spoke of his wife and children, he cared a lot. Or rather, he cared a lot for people that were not like Miles.

He was wrong in that assumption. And he couldn't help but smile at the charming awkwardness of it all. He really was trying to be sweet, and was succeeding. "Yeah...that would be great. Thanks Park."

Waylon took his time to carefully wrap both Miles' hands with a generous amount of bandages. "Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?" He hissed when he felt a particularly sharp pain in his ring finger as Waylon tightened the cloth. At least it would ease the throbbing.

"You always call me Park instead of my first name."

"Oh...that." He took a long pause to think about it. "I guess that's a thing I do when I don't know someone that well."