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

Chapter 7- Waylon

"For a long time I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased, and I turned away with disgust and loathing." - Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus"

"Let me get this straight," Waylon started, replaying everything that Miles had just told him upon exiting the chapel. "That screaming I heard was Father Martin burning on a cross for some sort of ritual?"

"Yep."

"But he gave you the key to the elevator in exchange for you filming his death?"

"Yep." Miles lightly dangled the key in front of Waylon for emphasis.

He ran his hand through his sandy hair and exhaled tiredly. "I don't think I have enough money to afford a therapist. Let alone one willing to deal with this shit."

When Miles did not react at all, he looked over cautiously, "Are you, um, okay?" And immediately once he said this, he wanted to smack himself for being so stupid. Not to mention he felt like they had both asked that question way too many times in the past few hours.

No, of course he isn't okay. Neither of us are okay. We will never be okay after this.

Miles' glassy eyes were out of focus and a little bit wild, as though his wandering thoughts were drifting away. "We're getting out of this place. Of course I'm okay. Better than okay."

"Well yeah... but you...you... just saw a man die."

"As opposed to all the other men I've seen die tonight?" Miles chuckled. He had a point there. "I'm fine. I've seen it all. More than you would ever believe."

Still, he persisted. "Miles, if you need to-"

"I said I'm fine." He repeated, although he didn't raise his voice, there was some tension behind his words. "Sorry. I'm just...still processing. I guess I'm just used to it by now which is why I'm not having a breakdown."

Waylon bit his lip, trying not to acknowledge that subtle jab at his own panic attack earlier. "Don't worry about it. Like you said, we're almost out. We can finally leave this damned place."

They made their way out of the chapel and towards another hallway. According to the Twins, if they climbed through the next vent, the elevator would be right there.

All Waylon could think about was Miles even as they silently scrambled through the vent. How the man didn't even seem phased by watching Father Martin die in such a horrific way, being immolated and acting so casual about it. It was unnerving. Then he thought for a moment. When Eddie was killed, Waylon was numb shortly after the initial shock. Perhaps Miles was the same. Was he so traumatized that at this point, he didn't feel the need to dwell on what happened? Then again, Miles was impossible to read, and proudly brought up that he had laughed at the corpse belonging to the man who tortured him.

Miles had trauma too, that was clear from the way he acted, and it was beyond physical wounds. Not only had been running through the same hell as Waylon, but he seemed to be suffering far longer from past experiences that he refused to elaborate on. He seemed to be masking it with a tough exterior.

By now, they both had witnessed so many murders, dead bodies, necrophilia, cannibalism- the list goes on, that it was impossible to feel pity or sympathy for anyone anymore.

Yet, even with that in mind, Waylon knew he had people to fall back on. Most notably Lisa----though he didn't like the idea of burdening her. Miles, meanwhile, didn't seem to have anyone to talk to.