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

Chapter 11- Waylon

Darkness. There was nothing but darkness. The asylum's walls were closing in on him, making everything seem tighter than it had ever looked before. Had he already run through this hallway? He couldn't tell, everything looked the same. Bloody. Battered. Bruised. Floors coated in meaty organs that his bare feet squished into, and God knows what else. He manages to catch himself from falling thanks to the walls painted in blood. All of them written with one word. Walrider.

Running seemed pointless. He would never be able to outrun any of the Variants even without his injured leg. Especially not the extremely psychotic ones. He might as well give up now. Even if he did escape them, there was no hope in facing the Walrider, the true cause of the patients'---and his own distress.

Waylon's eyes clamped shut wet with tears. He wheezed and trembled as he fell to the ground. The haunting melody of Eddie Gluskin's song was drawing nearer. He clambered up and continued to run.

"I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad. She was a pearl and the only girl that Daddy ever had..."

He froze, slamming into the nearest door clumsily, yet he didn't have time to register the impact, let alone the nonexistent pain. He scrambled for the handle, pulling at it, ignoring his sweat soaked hands. It wouldn't budge. He tried again, harder this time. It was stuck. His heart pounding with anxiety, he tried pushing his entire body against it.

"No! Please! Someone help! Someone help me!"

"A good old fashioned girl with heart so true. One who loves nobody else but you. I want a girl, just like the girl that married dear old Dad."

"Sheesh, you'd think he would get sick of singing that same old tune all the damn time."

His blood ran cold.

"Who said that?" Waylon demanded, although deep down he could recognize that crass voice anywhere. He grinned, hopeful. "Miles?"

"Sup?" Miles opened the doors with a shit eating grin. "Missed me?"

Waylon laughed in relief. "Thank god it's you. It's you---wait." He stared back at the man in confusion. "How are you still alive? I saw you literally die right in front of me."

"About that..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's hard to explain. Although technically, this is all a dream so I should probably tell you before you wake up."

"This is a dream?" Waylon tilted his head. "But it feels so real." He blinked, and in a flash, the setting seemingly dissolved from the asylum walls and into the underground lab. "If this is a dream then... you are dead. I'm dreaming you."

"Me? Oh no, I'm still alive. Sorry to disappoint." He teased, flashing him another smirk. He jumped in alarm when Waylon's arms wrapped around him. "Woah, hey! We're hugging now. Okay."

"I thought I lost you." He admitted. "What the hell happened?"

"Like I said, kinda hard to explain. I think it's better that I show you. Just...don't freak out. Promise me you won't be weird and freak out."

"Okay...I won't."

Waylon found himself backing away, holding his breath as he watched Miles step closer to him.

"Cool, hang tight."

He didn't have time to protest or question any further. Inky tendrils swirled around Miles' eyes, making them pure black, save for the silver slits in his pupils.

"What are you..." But he couldn't finish his sentence. His voice caught in his throat.

What was once Miles, was now a wispy cloud made into a human shaped silhouette. Not just any cloud, but a cloud of microscopic nanomachines. He had seen it so many times before. When he was forced to stare at a screen with specks of it appearing in his vision while strapped to the Morphogenic Therapy Program. Watching it murder dozens of men. Back in the Underground Lab. And it had possessed his friend.