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

Epilogue- Miles

'All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things.' -Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus

So this is it.

The life that I once knew is gone forever. Not that I had much of a life to begin with. Writing article after article that not even my own family reads is hardly what anyone would consider worth living.

I thought when I first started, my writing would leave an impact on society, because I was a kid with an ego and a big heart. People would read it, and see this guy using his voice against his oppressors. Taking a stand and being outspoken and passionate is why I write in the first place. It's what made Jesse fall in love with me, at least that's what he said. Maybe he was lying to save face.

Now I can't do what I love anymore. I can't speak out or make myself known, or become that famous reporter I always wanted to be ever since I was a kid. Because I'm connected to a machine that was created to kill thousands, millions probably. It feels like insects crawling on my body as I tread through acid even when I'm not physically connected to them. They're always around me. Telling me what to do, where to look for food, when I can sleep. I try to ignore them, but it's become increasingly difficult.

I haven't told anyone this, not that they could be much help. No one even knew I was heading to Mount Massive for this story. So they might as well believe I'm dead. It would be a better fate than...whatever I am.

I've been told this was what I was meant to do. I was destined to become this monster.

But I don't want that to be who I am. I can't let it control and take over what little humanity I have left. I don't care how strong the Walrider is. I have to be stronger. I have to fight back. Even if I don't know what's next for me, or them.

Investigative journalist on the run with a killing machine. Let's see them write a story about that.

Journal Entry by Miles Upshur, date unknown

Miles put his pen and notepad away in the jeep's compartment, while grabbing a pack of tic-tacs. Popping the mints in his mouth, he leaned back and tried to relax in his car, tucked away in an abandoned lot, away from people. He made sure of that, and frankly it was just the way he liked it.

He had spent so much time moving around, it was hard to find one space where he could relax. Days (or was it weeks now?) he drove around the country, avoiding anything and anyone. They could all be linked to Murkoff, and he didn't want to risk shit.

Now they were back near Leadville, only a few miles away.

When he wasn't driving, he was finding various food places on the road. On off days he would even hunt for meat. Never human, of course he wouldn't stoop that low, but he discovered he found the taste of deer to be quite filling. if a bit bony.

He didn't sleep much either. He had briefly returned to DC to collect some things from his apartment---including blankets and pillows, but found himself using them very rarely. During the times when he was supposed to be asleep if he were human, he trained. He learned how to fly without losing his balance, how to stay hidden, how to hunt, all sorts of things that helped him stay alive.

Flying at night was the best feeling, and it was one of the reasons he didn't mind being the new Host sometimes. While ignoring the Walrider coaching behind him, he would spread his arms out like wings, laugh as the wind hit his face as he reached out to touch the sparkling dots in the midnight sky. As if the stars would twinkle in his hands if he reached hard enough. Best of all, he didn't need to worry about Murkoff when he was flying.