Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was dark and cold.

Nothing was peaceful, to say the least.

Patients and people alike stalked the halls and rooms of the asylum, looking for someone, anyone.

Recording evidence, that’s what he did best.

The reporter, the journalist. Whatever you want to call him.

He lay dying, only being kept alive by the entity that kept him in this place.

The Walrider.

A thing made up of millions of little nanites, kept him breathing, kept him from dying, from bleeding out on the floor right then and there.

He wanted to get out, wanted to expose Murkoff, but he was sitting on the ground, at the entrance of the outside world.

He needed help, but from who, and from where?

He didn’t have anyone, and the cell reception was so far out on the mountain, but if he could radio someone, just anyone, without the company knowing he was still alive.

He moved his legs, using the wall as a guide to lift himself up.

He grunted, pain shooting through his body like fire in his chest.

The Walrider watched him, curious.

“Don’t…look at me…like that.”

He trudged back to the main room, where the morphogenic engine was. The rooms outside had telephones, computers, databases, anything.

He hurriedly sat in one chair, groaning as he did so.

He quickly typed out on it, looking for any closer locations that would give means for rescue.

A town, just down the mountain.

Lake County, Colorado.

He sighed, looking at the closest location possible.

A few houses, one farther out than intended than the rest.

He clicked on it, looking at the address, backing up the system to look for any possible means of contact.

A phone number, and an electronic device that had means for communication.

The signal was viable on the device, the phone number shot due to the cell service from the asylum.

He breathed shakily out his nose, clicking on the device, writing an email. He was sure to make sure not to have it traced back to his location, looking around for any measures while using a fake email.

He wasn’t super tech savvy, but when you’re missing a few fingers, it makes things a lot harder.

“Fuck you, Trager.”

He had spared him, leaving him behind when the elevator closed. Thank god he wasn’t an idiot to get crushed by the thing.

He clicked on the email presented from the device, a computer most likely.

[email protected]

He chuckled, laughing at the name.
“Must be a kid,” he said aloud.

The Walrider’s presence lingered over him, a million little voices echoing in his mind.

He hesitated as he wrote out a response.

“Do I really want to get a kid involved?”

He looked at the response he wrote, and pressed the backspace on all of it.

He wrote out a much simpler reply.

And hit send.

Chapter Text

Violet sat in her room, drawing as she had her laptop opened, looking at a reference picture.

She worked on her art much more than anyone else, perfecting and crafting her style and design. She had stayed up all night drawing, and then her mother went to work, leaving her alone in the house. A pop up notification broke her out of her concentration, looking up at her laptop.

It was an email from an unknown user.

She put her sketchbook down, sitting cross-legged as she brought the laptop closer to her.

She opened her email, seeing a simple one word response on it.

“Hi.”

She hesitated, looking at the email and then at the message.

She typed out a response on her keyboard, lookin over the message before hitting send.

“Hi! Do I know you?”

There was an immediate reply.

“No, but I need your help.”

She screwed her brow, confused. She typed out another response.

“What do you need help with?”

Another quick response.

“I need to get out of a place, known as Mt. Massive Asylum. My name is Miles Upshur.

Her eyes widened, recognizing the name from the papers.

“You were the reporter that documented the Afghanistan wars.”

“Yes, I was. But that’s not important, I need your help getting out of this place.”

“But why are you at Mount Massive Asylum? I thought that place was abandoned?”

“It was, before a company called Murkoff took it over. Look, that’s not important right now. I need your help. I’m injured, and I don’t know how much longer I have.”

“Why do you need my help? Can’t you call the police?”

“No cell service up here.”

Violet sighed through her nose, looking at the response.

“Is this a scam? Are you trying to get my information from these emails?”

“If I was, I would be asking more personal questions.”

She stopped typing, looking at her computer.

He was right, but that didn’t mean he already had the info from where he was already.

“You said you were at Mt. Massive Asylum. Why?”

“I was investigating a lead from a whistleblower, who told me to look into this place. I got more than what I bargained for, and I’m sitting here now trying not to bleed out.”

The hair on the back of her neck raised up.

“Can’t I call anyone for you?”

“No; it’s complicated. You’re the closest one to the location of the asylum.”

“If I do help you, where would I find you?”

“An underground level of the asylum, where Murkoff did their human testing and experiments.”

“Human testing?”

“It’s a long story, but I don’t want to bore you with the details. Remember, Mt. Massive Asylum, underground level. There’s an elevator with a key in it, to guide you down. You just have to get down here and find me, get me out of here.”

She hesitated, looking at the response.

She could help him, bring him to her mother; she was a nurse, she could help people.

“I’ll do it.”

“Good. I’ll see you then, kid.”

The messages ceased, and the emails disappeared completely.

“What the…”

She clicked on her trash tab, seeing it wasn’t there. Nor in the spam, or the draft folder. It was like it disappeared completely. She sighed, closing her laptop as she sat up, uncrossing her legs.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

She threw on a jacket, and a flashlight.

“Mom’s gonna kill me for this.”

~

Miles sighed, leaning back in the rolling chair.

The Walrider floated, looking at him.

“Don’t worry, as soon as I get out of this place, I’m getting rid of you. I don’t care if I die in the process,” he said.

A whirl of static grew, moaning out what sounded like a response.

“Oh don’t get pissy now. You…saved my life,” he said back slowly, realizing what the Walrider had done for him.

“Saved…me.”

He brushed his hands over his face, wondering the implications of what the creature had done for him.

He looked down at his shirt, riddled with bullet holes. No entry wounds or bullet holes were seen.

“If you can…heal me. What else can you do, I mean, besides kill full grown men in body armor and guns?” He asked.

There was a whirring noise, and the Walrider manipulated the computer screens.

It was the recorded feedback of patients in the morphogenic engine. It sped up forward, and then played backwards.

It played over and over, trying to send a message across to him.

“Reverse wounds? Is-Is that what you’re saying?”

The Walrider nodded its head, looking back at Miles.

“Anything else I should know about?”

It continued, pulling up documents of the patients, highlighted lines of conditions, mental illness, and severe disfigurement due to the Walrider. One in particular made the hair on his neck stand.

“Walker,” he murmured.

There were highlighted lines of documented PTSD, severe manic episodes, and delusions from being in the asylum.

“You’re saying you can…fix this? Take away the…mental illness?”

The entity stood still, waiting for his reply.

He scoffed.

“You can’t just take away that part. It lives with you, for life, once you’ve experienced it. It’s not that easy.”

The screens changed, shifting to that of a black screen, and little green letters highlighted on it.

“Take away the damage inflicted from the engine. Wipe memories.”

“The morphogenic engine, huh? Well, if you could do that, why didn’t you?”

“Not my primary directive . ”

“Then what is your primary directive? Your purpose?”

There was a pause.

“Well?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

He sighed.

“Go figure. I have a hivemind of nanites that doesn’t know its purpose anymore,” he said.

He then thought of an idea.

“If you can…take away the memories of this place, can you do it for all the people here?”

“Somewhat. Past altercations make it difficult.”

“But…you can heal, and take away the effects?”

“Yes.”

He sat, bouncing his knee as he continued thinking.

“I don’t know if I want to do that for these people here. They all have a reason for being here, Murkoff keeping quiet about it. But…if I can do it for a select few, then maybe they can get out, expose Murkoff from the inside.”

He mulled the thought over, the Walrider typing a response on screen.

“And of you?”

“What about me? I’ll die either way.”

“That includes me as well.”

“And?”

The Walrider continued manipulating the computers, pulling up the location and email of the person he had emailed.

A picture was brought up on screen, a photo of a young girl, smiling and happy.

The Walrider pointed at the picture, tapping its finger against the screen.

“What, what? What are you saying?”

It continued tapping on the screen.

“What? That you need a new host?”

It moved its hand away from the screen, answering Miles’s question.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “What’ve I done? Getting a kid involved, and now this?”

He put his head in his hands, mulling over the decision that he had made.

“Say you got a new host, what would you do then?”

“I don’t know, I’d follow my host’s new directive.”

“Jesus…That’s a kid. A child! Do you have any concept of what this place might do to a kid?”

The Walrider had no response, standing still as it continued looking at the girl’s picture.

“God, how could I be so stupid, trusting you? Trusting a literal kid to come to this place, all because I wanted to get out of here.”

He stood up, flinching at the pain on his body. He thought to himself.

“I have a plan. A really, really, stupid plan.”

Chapter Text

Violet had a driving permit, and it was late at night. She continued towards the direction of the mountain side, where the asylum was located.

She heard rumors that there were evil things going on, so much so that it didn’t allow female patients or staff. It sounded pretty sexist to her, but she didn’t know that the place was even bought up, or taken over by another corporation.

Her mother never talked about it, or mentioned it in the slightest, since they lived so close to it. She did, however, see the night before, military vehicles driving up towards the location.

She wondered if it was a siege on the place, or something bad had happened. She had turned her head away from the window, shutting the blinds closed. Now here she was, driving steadily up towards the location. She took a shaky breath as she accelerated on the gas, going uphill now.

She saw the sign.

She screwed her brow as she pulled up towards the front gate, stopping next to a red jeep pulled up front. She turned the car off, slowly getting out of the driver’s seat as she looked at the building.

It was tall, and imposing, and looked terribly old. Based on her recollection, it was built in the early 1900’s, but she wasn’t sure when it was built.

She walked past the gate, walking up to the fence.

There was an opening in the wire, stepping through carefully as she continued walking around the property.

It was a little chilly up in the mountains, so she wrapped herself tight in her jacket as she continued walking around, looking curiously or for any clues.

A bunch of the military vehicles which she had seen before were parked nearby, their drivers nowhere to be seen. The keys were still in the ignition, as if they expected to be in and out in no time at all. She walked up to the front doors, shaking the door to get it opened.

It was locked.

She walked around, looking through the windows to find a way in. Her eyes widened at the sight of blood and guts on the floor. She reeled back, taking a shaky breath as she looked around the other side of the building. There was an open window on the second floor. She climbed up, stepping carefully. There was an unfinished bridge, the wood had fallen to the ground. She took a running leap and jumped, stepping over the wood paneling to the open window.

Inside it was dark, and smelled like that of iron rich blood. With one flash of her light, she gasped in horror, putting her hand over her mouth.

Decapitated heads.

Everywhere.

They lined the shelves of the room, walking around to see the mangled faces, frozen in time in their last moments. By the look of them, they appeared to be ripped off by brute force .

“Who would do something like this?” She thought to herself as she exited the room, feeling queasy.

Out of the room, she spotted something moving.

Or someone.

She turned off her light, watching the individual walk into another room, shutting the door behind them. She gulped down the thick wad of saliva in her throat, as well as any bravery she had. She went in the opposite direction of the individual before, looking for any signs of a map, or anything. There was a closed opening, bookshelves and debris in the way, but there was a small opening she could slip through. She slipped into the opening, halfway through.

“Little pig!”

A guttural voice rang out.

Violet was immediately grabbed by her shirt, and then by her neck. She tried to let out a shriek, air becoming restricted as she looked down at the individual holding her up.

He was horrifying.

He had no face, his mouth bared in a snarl. Blood covered his face and parts of his body. He looked strong, far too strong for her to take on.

She kicked her legs, using the momentum to raise her leg, trying to hit him in the chest or high enough in the face. Instead, he took her by the neck, using his momentum to throw her out one of the glass windows on the second floor.

She panicked, shrieking before she hit the floor, blacking out. When she came to, she was greeted by the face of an older man.

“Wha…Who–”

“Hush, child. You are safe now,” he hushed, looking over her.

Her vision swam as she tried to look at him, placing her head back on the floor.

“Tell me, child. Why are you here?” He asked.

Violet furrowed, keeping her breathing even. She slipped in and out, hearing his voice echo.

“Trying…to find…someone,” she answered, closing her eyes.

“Find someone?”

She hummed her answer, keeping her eyes closed.

“I see. Perhaps…yes, yes, this is a sign, a true sign of our savior, sent by the Walrider.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake.

“Keep your wits about you child. There are many dangers ahead of you, but the Walrider will guide you on your journey to…find…this….pe–”

His voice slipped away as she finally succumbed to unconsciousness.

It felt like her mind was slipping in and out, replaying memories from her past, from when she was younger to when she was in middle school. Some painful, some more nostalgic. She woke up a moment later, blinking a few times before she sat up, taking a cautious step up as she looked around.

“What’s wrong with this place?”

She took a moment to look around, something red catching her eye up top, on the banister of the second floor.

Praise the Gospel

She turned her nose up at it, remembering the man from before.

He wore some sort of…priest’s outfit, although he didn’t even look like he was a priest at all.

She took a moment to walk, weary of her footsteps and the pain in her side. Walking past the main room, down the hall past her, where she saw a group of men–patients–sitting, watching a static TV screen. She walked in front of one of them, bending down to look at him fully.

He stared. Blank, unwavering, unmoving.

She waved her hand in front of him, but he didn’t do anything.

No response.

She stood back up, continuing forth on her journey.

Miles told her to find an elevator. But where?

She walked down the halls, until she reached a security room, the door slightly ajar. When she walked in, she looked at the cameras, watching other people on the camera in each one. There was one individual walking around, carrying a pair of giant shears. Another was a man in a suit, walking, almost looking for something, but the priest was nowhere to be found. Behind her, she heard the shackle of chains, perking immediately.

“Little pig…”

She looked around, finding a place to hide. A set of lockers were next to her, and she quickly hid in one.

He slammed the door open, and watched from the slits in the locker of his huge form walking through the room.

“I’ll find all you whores…” he muttered.

Violet put a hand over her mouth, watching as he made his way to the lockers. He opened the one next to her, closing it with a dissatisfied grunt. He then sniffed the air, looking up and then down.

“I know you were here…”

He then turned, walking away from the room.

Violet waited until she couldn’t hear the clanking of chains, then stepped out of the locker. She looked back at the cameras. She looked for any sign of an elevator, seeing an open door in a room. The camera was labeled as “camera fifteen” but the location was unknown.

“Shit…” she whispered.

She stood up, her objective now of finding the elevator.

She felt a sting in her neck, and an arm holding her.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t leave now,” she heard the priest’s voice say.

He was holding a syringe.

“There’s so much for you to witness, to know our anguish and pain. You just have to see for yourself,” he continued.

Her eyes rolled back as she hit the floor once more, losing consciousness.

When she woke up again, there was a blinding bright light in her face. She exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes for a moment before getting up. Her side was killing her, probably bruising at this point. Looking around the room, there were crosses littered on them. Hymns and bible verses scrawled in ink.

“Jesus, what a fanatic,” she thought as she walked to the door.

There was a sudden mangled face, flinching back as she saw it. There was a click, and the face was gone. The door opened, and out she went to a prison block of some kind. Shouting and voices were heard. Below there were people, one banging his head against one of the pillars. She circled around them, careful of her footing.

“Who do we have here?”

“Looks like the savior Father Martin promised us.”

Violet looked around quickly, before she saw two shrouded figures in darkness, blocked by a jail doorway.

“She looks scared.”

“I would like to kill her.”

“No, we shouldn't. Father Martin has put his faith in her.”

“Kill me?” Violet whispered.

“So he believes she is truly the savior?”

“Indeed. He instructed us not to harm the girl.”

“She doesn’t look like a threat. So what do we do?”

“We wait, and watch her.”

She walked closer to them, to see them better in the light. Luckily she still had her flashlight on her, bringing it out to shine it on them.

Unfortunately for her, they weren't clothed. They were naked.

“Oh…God,” she muttered, shielding her eyes as she brought the flashlight down.

“She seems disgusted.”

“It appears so.”

Violet reared back, pointing the flashlight up at their faces.

They looked…odd. Big ears, large foreheads, misshapen teeth. They glared against the light.

She brought it down quickly, trying to steel herself not to look down.

“Are you…patients here?” Violet asked warily.

They perked up, listening to her speak.

“We were.”

“Until the Walrider was freed.”

“The Walrider?”

She walked closer to them, peering at them through the bars.

“Information that will come later.”

“In the meantime, follow the trail of blood.”

One of them pointed opposite to them, on the other side of the prison block.

“Follow the blood?” She repeated, looking back at them.

One of them nodded, the bald one.

“Yes.”

“You will find all the answers there.”

“What answers? What kind of place is this?” Violet asked more urgently. She hadn’t noticed before, but both of them were holding machetes to their sides.

“All in due time, child.”

“All in due time.”

They both assured her.

Violet backed away, still looking at them. She set her flashlight away, walking away to the other side of the prison block. There was a ledge that she crossed, keeping her sight focused on her feet, and not the floor below her. Once she crossed, she made her way down to an open cell, where there was a hole in the floor.

Scrawled on the wall, in blood no less, were the words that read follow the blood .

She scooted down it, landing on her feet as she did.

“Find the elevator. All I have to do is find the elevator,” she thought, looking around down the hall of the new area now.

Down the hall, it led to a dark hallway, illuminated by an eerie green light. Once again, there were words scrawled on the wall.

God always provides a way. Follow the blood.

She walked into the little room, the door closing behind her as a fine mist started washing over her. She coughed, waiting for the door in front of her to open.

“I hope this was worth it, Miles.”

Chapter Text

Miles watched from the cameras, sighing as he watched the newcomer make her way through the asylum.

“This is taking forever,” he muttered.

First Walker, then Father Martin got to her before he could do anything, if he could’ve done anything at all.

The Walrider peered over his shoulder, whispering and ghostly.

“Make sure she gets through. I don’t want any accidents.”

The Walrider did as it was told, leaving Miles in a trail of mist.

Miles continued looking at the cameras, tracking the girl’s every move as she made her way deeper and deeper into the asylum.

~

Violet continued forth, having made her way through the prison block, past a set of stairs to A block, and back down a hallway again, where she met face to face with the twins.

“She’s very resourceful.”

“I can see that.”

She huffed as she walked up to them at the barred door.

“So are you two, like, my own personal bodyguards, or are you just watching me?” she asked.

They shifted, glancing at each other.

“Father Martin instructed us to only watch from afar.”

“Not attack you.”

The twin with hair approached, his face much closer.

“You look young.”

“Very young.”

Violet had to keep her gaze straight on his face so she wouldn’t look down at his exposed…form. She noticed an open window to her right, shifting her gaze between them and the window.

“I…gotta go,” she said to them, before she climbed out the window, and onto the ledge of the outside edge.

Once she made her way to the other side of the hall, she looked, seeing that the twins vanished. She stared, but continued forth anyways. Down a deep dark hall, past another decontamination room, voices and shouting could be heard.

She turned her flashlight off, looking down into another cell block area.

It was the big guy that had thrown her earlier in the night. He held someone up by their neck, muttering under his breath.

Violet peeked through the bars as she watched him. With wide eyes, she saw as she ripped the man’s head off with ease, muttering something.

“We have to contain it.”

Her hand went around her own neck, remembering how he had clutched it so tightly.

He stalked off, leaving behind the body of his victim.

She shook it off, trying not to think about what would happen if he caught her again.

Past the showers, she came upon a darker area, the illumination of the lights outside on a sign.

D Block - Showers

She sighed, but she didn’t want to bring her flashlight out, in case the big guy was still around. She made her way down the empty hall, rain beating down on the windows now. By the lightning, she could see anyways, before she came face to face with one of the twins again.

She gasped. Tripping over her feet and onto the floor.

“Are you surprised?” He asked, his face illuminated by the lightning outside.

Violet blinked a few times, registering the question.

“You caught me off guard. That’s all,” she answered.

She got up quickly, staring at him and his machete. He noticed this, and raised his weapon up to look at the light that glimmered off the blade.

“This place is dangerous. You never know when you need to protect yourself,” he merely said, looking at it.

She nodded, still looking at him.

He noticed this.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked.

“No!” She retorted, before she backpedaled. “Maybe.”

He scoffed, moving off to the side.

“You may pass through,” he said, gesturing with an arm out.

She slowly walked past him, never breaking eye contact with him, until she bumped into the second twin. He also moved to the side, looking down at her in the light of the lightning outside. She kept her footing, keeping an eye on them until they were out of view.

Down the hall, passing a door, she saw a security room, going in as it showed a decontamination room behind the glass. She saw the cameras on it, showing different parts of the asylum. All different parts of it, including the elevator she needed to go through.

The decontamination process began suddenly, and one of the doors opened, the big guy from earlier stepping through. Violet backed away, and he started pounding on the glass, breaking it.

“Shit!” She yelled, looking for a possible exit.

She saw an open vent, with a desk propped up under it. As he nearly broke through, she made a break for the vent. She heard glass breaking, and the large man snarling. She jumped up, climbing through. She felt a grip on her foot, causing her to slip. She looked back, and he was pulling her back down. With a swift kick from her other foot, she hit him in the face.

He reeled back, snarling as he held onto what was left of his face.

“Sorry!” she yelled before she climbed through the vent, making her way out onto the outside of the security room.

“I have to loop around him, to get to the other side.”

She opened the barred door, past the security door, and was making her way to the other side of the decontamination room. Until there was a fire, and an explosion that knocked her down, and out a window down below.

She shrieked, landing on something hard and wet. She recuperated quickly, despite her head swimming. She gasped, moving off of whatever it was that stopped her landing. A light flickered on, and she looked down in horror, breathing rapidly.

Body parts. So. Many. Bodies.

She felt sick to her stomach.

She moved back, looking as she saw the body of a decapitated security guard. The light above flickered and shut off, leaving her in complete darkness. There was a loud thud, and the clanking of chains.

“I’m coming, you won’t have to kill yourself.”

Violet took a shaky breath as she heard the voice, coming from the upstairs of the room. She crouched in the darkness, making a loop around him as he walked downstairs.

Chapter Text

“No. No, no, no, no, NO!”

Miles banged his fist on the desk in front of him. He leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“This is gonna take longer than I expected,” he muttered.

He watched the screens, watching the girl move from one location to the next, just as he had done when he first came. It was almost relatable, in a sort of trauma bond that he could relate to.

He had to sit and wait, before too long his plan would be put into action.

The Walrider appeared once more, unwavering and moving about slowly.

He looked down at the files he had collected throughout the asylum, of the patients, including ones that he never met before.

“Find these people, bring them here,” Miles merely said, pointing down to the files.

The Walrider vanished, a ghostly wail left behind.

Miles kept a keen eye on the girl, glued to the camera screens.

~

After making her past the big guy, past the showers, down into an underground pathway in a hole in the floor, past the sewers (and the big guy again), she made her way through what looked like a hospital ward, beds lined up, some with covers over them, groaning and moaning coming from them.

It felt like an eternity, trying to find one. Single. Person.

One person! Just one!

And he was here, somewhere, in this place of absolute rotten decay and death. She just had to be vigilant. Nerves on edge, she made her way through the hospital ward.

Running. Running now.

She ran and ran away from yelling men, in patient uniforms, yelling about meat or money. She had to climb through vents and push metal grate barriers out of the way to get through, huffing and hyperventilating as she did.

And finally, she halted to a stop to a bottomless pit, keeping her from the other side. She looked back, not seeing them, but hearing them grow closer. She took a shaky breath, backing up and steadying herself as she jumped.

“You slippery little whore!” She heard one of them yell.

She pulled herself up to the other side, quickly moving about to try and find an exit, or an elevator.

“There’s another door!”

She rolled her eyes as she continued running, a door to her side and a door in front of her. The front door was locked, so she quickly took the side door and shut it behind her, locking it. She caught her breath as she looked at it, watching them bang the door down.

“You down there! You’re not one of them, are you?”

She looked around for the source of the new voice, seeing a lowering dumb waiter.

“Quick! Get in the dumb waiter if you want to live!” The voice called.

She quickly got it before they coil bash the door down, lowering the cage door as they entered. It went up, and it felt like she could breathe.

Once the waiter went up, she was met with her savior.

Or so she thought.

“Oh my god, thank you so much,” she started as she breathed.

“You made the right choice here, buddy.”

“What?”

He punched her in the face. Once, twice. Her vision swam as she dropped to the floor in front of her.

“Kinda odd, you don’t look like you belong here,” The man said, looking down at her.

Violet groaned as she looked up at him, her vision swimming.

“Tell me, why’re you here in this dump of a place?” He asked, kneeling down over her.

She didn’t answer, but spit blood out of her mouth, looking up at him.

“Not a talker, huh?”

He continued to pick her up by her arms, setting her in a wheelchair.

“You could stand to lose a few pounds,” he said as he grunted.

He continued to strap her wrists and ankles down.

“Alright, arms and legs inside the ride, and here we…go,” he said as he strapped her in.

~

“NO!” Miles yelled.

He groaned in frustration, leaning back with his hands running over his face and through his hair.

“Dammit, Trager!”

~

He pushed her along through a different part of the asylum now. She slowly recuperated, watching as people writhed on hospital beds, yelling incoherently. She shifted her wrists and ankles, trying desperately to break free.

“Oh, you’re not getting out so easily, little lady.”

She huffed, tasting blood in her mouth.

He pushed her through an open room, and then into what looked like a bathroom turned makeshift surgery room. A small table held medical instruments; a saw, pliers, scalpel, etc.

She swallowed hard the iron she tasted, looking at them.

“Now, let’s get a good look at ya,” he said as he knelt down in front of her.

He looked old, far too wrinkly, and wore a broken pair of glasses, where one of his grey eyes looked at her. He had stitches on his scalp, and greasy grey hair on the sides, flowing down over his shoulders. He wore nothing but one single clothing garment over his waist.

“Quite a looker,” he commented, getting back up.

Violet furrowed her brow as he moved away, going over his array of tools.

“Now, I’m worried,” he started, picking up a pair of pliers, “you seem to have quite a reputation around here. Word travels fast, I suppose.”

Violet didn’t say anything, just watching him.

He set the pliers down as he sighed.

“All I see is a kid, sitting right in front me–scared, and alone, and confused.”

He turned around to face her, carrying a set of giant shears in one hand.

“The influence you carry here doesn’t seem to reflect what I’m seeing now. God’s little savior , as Father Martin calls you,” he said dramatically.

Violet raised her brow.

“Me? A savior?”

“You look surprised. Didn’t know you were such a big celebrity now, did we?”

Violet opened and closed her mouth, shaking her head in response.

“Well, I don’t believe it. A bunch of bullshit, if you ask me. Now, what it comes down to…is money. Buy and sell. The basic inner workings of the economy.”

He came closer with the shears, monologuing now.

“You have to rob Peter to pay Paul. That’s just how it works. That’s how all of this works,” he said. “And here you are, a prime example of that. Robbing Peter…to pay Paul.”

He got close in her face, holding the shears up close, snipping them. She swallowed, trying to keep her breathing steady.

“And I’m…going to make you…believe,” he finally said.

He then started to grab one of her hands, the right one, and brought the shears up close to her index finger.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” she muttered, repeatedly, shaking her head.

The force brought down on her finger was like a million fire ants that tore into her skin.

She screamed, yelling in pain as she felt blood rush down her hand. She felt a hand slap across her face as she gasped for air, grunting and yelling.

“Keep listening now,” he yelled.

He held her face in one hand, making him face her.

“You have so much to learn if you want to survive here,” he whispered.

Violet spat in his face.

He recoiled, scowling as he wiped his face from her bloody spit. He then chuckled, laughed even.

“Now that’s the spirit, kid! I’ll come back for you later, keep yourself comfortable while you wait,” he said as he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

She continued to hyperventilate, her hands shaking as she looked down at her missing finger.

She swallowed, trying to calm down.

“Violet…”

A whisper echoed around her, almost like something heard in the wind. More whispers continued, filling her head.

She tried to shake it off, but the more she heard, the more she could hear words made out.

“The savior…”

“The chosen lamb…”

“Savior…”

“...Walrider…”

“...Host…”

“No…no, no, no,” she muttered, holding back a choked sob.

She finally broke free from the restraints, one hand at least. She freed herself from the ones around her ankles and her other hand.

But once she got up, taking a step, she felt sick to her stomach. And she threw up, bile going out onto the floor as she heaved, hands on her knees.

“Fuck this place,” she thought as she heaved.

Once she was done, she coughed, spitting up the rest of what was left. She groaned, standing up. She needed to figure out how to get out of this situation, without getting herself killed.

Carefully she opened the door to the room, looking out into the hallway, and there, right before her, was an elevator door. It was like a bright shining light, her safe haven.

She quietly raced towards it, stepping inside to press the button, her hand hovered over it.

It felt like a miracle washed over her.

A key, locked into the mechanism, presented itself.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed.

She turned the key, quickly activating the elevator.

She breathed a sigh of relief, before she heard something that interrupted her peaceful victory.

“Hey! I’m not letting you get away that easy!” The crazed man’s voice called, his figure on the floor below her.

He continued to open the doors, swiping his shears at her. She backed away, holding at his arms as she turned him around.

“Fuck you!” She said, before kicking him in the groin.

He groaned, doubling over as he held his poor manhood.

She then set him up against the elevator wall, looking into his one eye. Lifting up her right hand, showing the missing finger, she looked back at him. She then curled her fist up, punching him once, twice, three times in the face, until blood poured from his nose, and he toppled over in the elevator car.

She huffed, looking down at him.

“That was for my finger,” she said.

~

Miles cheered as he saw the altercation on camera, clapping for the victory of the girl.

“Yes! Yes! Oh my god, yes! Did you see that?” He said, pointing at the screen.

The Walrider floated, unmoving, no expression.

Miles' face fell slightly.

“Tough crowd,” he muttered. “Let’s just see how farther she has to get through.”

Chapter Text

After the altercation, Violet left him in the elevator shaft, going to the next floor to look out, a small trail of blood in front of her.

“Follow the blood.”

She sighed, following it out into a long, blocked off hallway.

A flashlight shone, shutting off. She raced towards it, seeing the man from before; Father Martin.

“Thank God you’re alive. I thought that secular maniac would carve you like the rest,” he said to her.

She held up her hand missing a finger.

“Good lord,” he replied.

“Does that look okay to you?” She yelled in response.

“Well, no, but I had no idea,” he replied, slightly taken aback by her outburst.

“I came in here to find one–ONE–person. Please, please, just tell me how to get to the base floor of this place,” she said, pleading with her hands together for emphasis.

He looked around behind him, then back at her.

“In time, child. Meet me outside, you are so much closer now,” he said, and ran away.

“Hey! Hey, wait! Come back here! Closer to what?” She yelled, banging on the glass.

She sighed, but begrudgingly followed his directions.

Through long winding corridors and hallways, rooms that led to nowhere, was a window pane up high, bloody footprints leading to it. Jumping through, there was fire everywhere, burning just about everything in the room. And through it all, was one man, sitting on a bench amongst the flames.

Violet stood in front of him, where he was sitting, hands in his lap.

“I had to burn it all,” he said, looking up at her. “Murkoff took so much from us. This place …took so much from us. I just had to.”

Violet listened to him, taking in his appearance.

One side of his face was burned, scarred heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Violet said back. “I’m sorry this happened to you, and to everyone here.”

He shook his head.

“No, don’t be. It wasn’t your fault,” he replied. “This is just what happens now. It all goes up in flames.”

She nodded as she listened, looking amongst the fire.

“Get out while you still can,” he finally said.

She walked away, continuing her journey.

Getting through the courtyard was a pain in the ass. Rain, storming, thunder, lightning lighting up the place for an instant, making the whole area look like a haunted location.

Hell, it might as well be haunted, with how it was an asylum and everything. It just had to be abandoned to be considered so.

Violet brought out her flashlight in the pouring rain, looking around as she made her way through it all in the pouring rain. She was completely soaked through, all her clothes, her shoes, everything. She walked on a brick path as she waved her flashlight around, lightning making the shadows of the trees and scenery dance.

The wind whistled, almost like a whisper in her ears.

“Violet…”

She heard it again, sending a shiver down her spine. She looked around, pointing her flashlight around.

The whispers continued, until it felt like her head was pounding. She pushed through, catching glimpses of…something in the lightning flash. It looked like a moving cloud, but she shrugged it off, thinking it was just a cloud, or mist, or a pocket of cold air. But she heard buzzing in her ears, voices echoing around her.

She continued forth, a maintenance shed up ahead.

Once inside from the rain, she flashed her flashlight around, a door up ahead. She ran her hair out as dry as she could, but she realized the shed only connected to the outside again. She sighed, opening the door as she shone her flashlight down the corridor of it.

The whispering got louder, the buzzing got louder, and all at one there was a ghostly wail, a figure emerging from the darkness. Violet stood frozen to the spot, looking as the figure approached her.

She shone her flashlight on it, looking up at it as it seemed to look at her, faceless and expressionless. One of its hands curled, a finger lightly touching her face. She was shaking, making eye contact the entire time before the figure disappeared out of thin air.

She gasped, not realizing she was holding in her breath the entire time.

The whispering went away, the buzzing ceased. She breathed, in and out, as she recuperated.

“I’m hallucinating. I’m just hallucinating. This isn’t real, it’s not real, it’s not real,” she repeated to herself, running her fingers through her hair.

Regardless, she continued forward.

Out again, in the rain, she flashed her light around, putting it down when she spotted a light waving around in the darkness. She had to pass through on ledges and on top of patio walkways, on top of crates and over fences. Obstacles that caused her delay to her destination. Once she finally saw the overhead light to a staircase leading down, she had hope. But when she got closer, that hope went away.

The big guy was there waiting on the other side.

“Shit,” she muttered as she backpedaled from where she came.

She ran from him, her flashlight waving behind her, looking back to see him still chasing her. She had to make a loop around him, around a patio located in the courtyard, and then back towards the staircase, where it led to an opening in the cement. Out on the other side, there was another building, and an open window.

It was drier, but the rain continued on outside, thunder ringing out with the flash of lightning. And up ahead, on a second floor, was Father Martin, shining his light down like a beacon from heaven.

“You’ve seen the Walrider, haven’t you?” He yelled.

Violet shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” she yelled back.

“You’re beginning to understand, but not yet. Even Abraham had to cast his eyes to the ground.”

Violet lifted her arms up, gesturing to nothing.

“But what am I supposed to be doing? I just came here to help someone, not become some sort of messiah.”

“Soon, soon, child. Revelation is at hand,” he said, and his light disappeared.

“Revelation?” She thought, and grimaced.

Nevertheless, she continued on her journey.

Buzzing and whirring of a machine could be heard down one hall, passing through a crevice between shelves where she caught a glimpse of the big guy again, stalking the halls.

“Oh no.”

The buzzing got louder, and in one room there was…some sort of machine, like a washing machine, but smaller. She thought she saw a cloud inside of it, like from outside. Only smaller. The buzzing got louder, and when she closed her eyes, all she could see was static, but something else. Something dark and tingling behind her eyelids, like something was watching her.

“I’m slowly losing my mind in this place,” she thought to herself.

~

Miles was biding his time, breathing with a wheeze each time.

He watched from the cameras as the girl maneuvered her way around the expanse of the asylum. A sense of deja vu washed over him, remembering the events that had happened earlier that night. He chuckled to himself, the resemblance being uncanny.

He heard the scuffle of footsteps, and shouting could be heard.

The cloud-like form of the Walrider appeared, dragging in Trager, and another individual.

Eddie Gluskin.

They both were thrown into the room, the Walrider ever looming over them.

Miles turned around in his swivel seat, facing them both. Trager was the first to get up, looking around until he spotted Miles.

“You!” He shouted, and rushed towards him.

The Walrider stopped him, a haunting groan escaping as it stood between him and Trager.

“Nuh-uh, careful now, Trager. Wouldn’t want to lose a few fingers , now would we?” Miles taunted.

Trager took a step back, his mask now torn away, his face bloody.

“Got into a fight?” Miles asked, smiling cheekily.

“Shut up,” Trager replied.

“Why are we down here? Why have you taken us here?” Gluskin replied, steadying himself on his feet.

Miles tossed his head, looking at the bewildered man.

“Just…wanted to know how you feel. Just a temporary stay,” he replied.

He then turned his attention to the Walrider.

“Take them to the bay rooms, and keep the doors locked,” he commanded.

The Walrider did just that, a cloud dragging both Trager and Gluskin out of the room once more.

“This isn’t over! Trust me on this!” Trager yelled as he was dragged away.

“It’s already over,” Miles muttered, turning back to face the cameras.

Chapter Text

The time it took to maneuver to the third floor up to Father Martin felt impossible. First she had to make her way past crazy psychos with machetes and batons. Then she had to take running leaps over broken staircases up to the third floor. And then the floor collapsed in on itself.

Shitty work.

She had to climb back up, all while hearing the whispers and buzzing for a few instances, but nothing too overwhelming. And another instance of trying to navigate in the dark, with only a flashlight. It was more peaceful walking through the halls though, and in one door she came upon, it closed suddenly.

She hesitated, taking her hand on the knob before opening it.

“The savior makes her appearance once more.”

“Indeed.”

She breathed a sigh, wiping at her face.

“You look stressed.”

“And weary.”

She grew numb to them not wearing clothes, even though it was basically a crime to expose yourself to a kid. With everything she’d seen, this was the least of her worries.

“I’m tired,” she said half-heartedly.

“As does one on their journey.”

“A journey of enlightenment.”

She blinked slowly, registering their words.

One of them approached her, the one with hair.

“You have a mark on your face,” he said.

“And you smell like blood.”

She looked down at her hand, seeing the missing finger. In the dark, she could see their eyes reflected in the light of the flashlight, glancing at one another.

“Who did this?” The bald one asked.

“I don’t know, some crazy doctor guy; wears a mask and glasses,” Violet replied.

“Trager,” they both said at the same time.

“Trager?” she questioned.

“A patient.”

“He used to work for the company over this place.”

“And then he went mad.”

Violet sighed, shrugging her shoulders. She shook her head, feeling an overwhelming sense to cry in front of these two strange, naked men.

“I’m so tired. I’m so tired,” she said, her voice breaking.

She continued.

“I-I came here with the intent of helping someone, and I’m literally thrown out a window, I get my finger cut off, I have to do all these errands for Father Martin, and it feels so…overwhelming. So…So hurtful, and gross.”

She laughed.

“A-And now I’m seeing things. I’m hallucinating. I keep seeing this shadowy figure everywhere now. And all I hear are these whispers–voices! I hear voices in my head!”

They both just stared, unmoving. One of them furrowed his brow, before glancing at his twin.

“Am I going crazy? O-Or is it this place making me crazy?” She asked, her question falling in silence.

They paused, before one of them answered.

“No, you are not.”

“It’s the conditions of this place that could drive anyone mad.”

Violet opened and closed her mouth, unable to come up with a response. Instead, her lip curled over, and she choked back a sob.

“I just–I just want to go home ,” she said as her voice broke. “I just want to crawl into my bed and just…lay there.”

“You have overcome every obstacle.”

“And Father Martin believes in you.”

“Why me, though?” She recoiled.

“Because you were sent by the apostle.”

“And the apostle sent a savior.”

“I’m not a savior though! I’m fourteen! I’m just a kid, what could I possibly do to change anything?”

They both paused once more, glancing at each other before they answered.

“We don’t know.”

“That is for you to decide.”

She ran her hands over her face, the light from her flashlight casting shadows on the room.

“You two are probably the only people who don’t want to kill me,” she said, and sniffled. “Here I am, talking to two naked men, in an asylum full of crazy people who want to kill me, and you two are the most sane ones here.”

She laughed at that, genuinely laughed. It echoed off the walls, thunder rolling in from outside. And then she sobbed, holding her face in her hands.

Both the twins looked at each other, the older one shrugging as the younger one looked at him.

“You two are so nice to me,” she muttered through her crying. She wiped her eyes, sniffling as she did.

“Is that a compliment?” One of them asked.

She nodded, holding the flashlight off of them.

“How…”

“Thoughtful.”

They both finished each others’ sentences.

One of them put their hands on her shoulder, her flinching in response. He looked at her with surprise, an expression she hadn’t seen before.

“You should continue on your journey.”

“We will kill anyone who will get in the way.”

She nodded slowly in response, wiping at her eyes, and probably ruined makeup.

“Yeah, I-I should do that,” she answered softly.

One of them pointed at a doorway in the room.

“This door leads out of this part of the asylum.”

“You will have to jump when you go through.”

“From there you will meet Father Martin.”

“In the administration block.”

She nodded, wiping at what tears were left. She continued on, waving at them goodbye once more before she left. And she did as she was instructed, the doorway leading to a hazardous half-floor of the room. She jumped, once, twice, before scuffling on the edge of the wood, before making another jump. The wood gave way, and she quickly climbed up it, and into the doorway it led through. A sign up ahead, administration block, down a dark hallway.

The floor up ahead collapsed, the abyss of the floors below it swallowing the broken wood like a black hole. She took a deep breath, taking a few steps back before she took a running start, leaping down and over to the door ahead.

A patient, with a mangled face, stood.

“Only one way out. One way out,” he said in a hushed voice.

Violet walked past him, coming upon debris in the way, a small crevice open.

“How do you know you’re not a patient here?” She heard behind him, and her heart pounded in her ears.

Still, she ignored it, crawling through the open space and on the other side.

This area was much nicer, neat and tidy. Only a few bookshelves and chairs blocked part of the way–stepping through with ease. It was a long and dark hallway, her flashlight shining through the empty space. And once again, the big fucking guy showed up, spotting her.

She instantly ran, going into one room and shutting the door. A vent was open, the grate hanging down on its hinges. She climbed up the desk, going through before he basked the door in. She heard him growl, low and menacing, before yelling.

“Little pig!”

She ignored him, crawling through the vent until she saw light again. She dropped down, keeping her breathing steady as she looked around. An open door, leading to an upstairs and a downstairs, cages on every door. A bloody arrow pointed to the upstairs, candles lit on the ground and around the staircase banister.

“Follow the blood.”

She climbed up the stairs, looking around, shining her flashlight. She spotted a sign, or a logo.

Murkoff Corporation

She stared at it for a second, before continuing on. Through doors, dark rooms, passing by unsuspecting patients, past clutter that was in the way and through bedrooms. A whistle of wind and rain outside, catching her attention as she opened the door. An open window was there, blood on the sill. The curtains blew against the wind, rain pouring outside. She climbed through, making her way to a different part of the asylum.

Inside, patients prayed at their bedsides, candles lighting up the place. She turned off her flashlight, following the blood trail. Messages appeared on walls, all in different varieties.

God hates money

The Apostle has sent a Savior in his place

Savior

God hates sickness

Crosses scrawled on the walls.

She couldn’t make sense of it. She was never a religious person, even if her mother was. She couldn’t understand the bible or its verses, or whether or not she knew what she was doing was right or wrong. She knew some verses, but not by heart, or dedication. She had her own doubts, and chose not to believe.

She was believing now.

Not in a higher power, but that somehow, God was at play for this. All of this .

She walked down the hall, adorned in candle light, a patient holding a candle. She looked down at a set of open doors, both the twins standing off to the sides of them. She stood there, feeling every bone in her body hurt. Every muscle fiber of her being.

“The savior makes her appearance.”

“Once more.”

She didn’t say anything, but went through the doors, going in to see what Father Martin was doing. She saw as he was nailed to a giant cross, light coming down from above. Patients prayed and motioned upwards, like praying to the heavens above for an answer.

“Father Martin,” Violet began saying.

“You’ve come to witness,” he said, writhing on the cross.

“I have.”

She dropped to her knees, sighing as she looked up at him, pinned to a cross, writhing in pain.

“I did all of what you asked. Please, just tell me what I have to do,” she begged, holding her hands together.

“You did everything. My job here is done. You alone shall escape to tell them. This is your penultimate act of witness–as a savior.”

“If I am a savior, then let me help you. You can tell everyone what you witnessed here.”

He shook his head, grunting from the pain.

“No, I can’t.”

“Then Father, let me make one confession. This one time.”

He paused, looking down curiously.

“Then so be it. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

Violet sighed, folding her hands together.

She rocked back and forth, bracing herself.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been so long since my last confession,” she started, her voice breaking.

“I’m afraid I have no idea what I’m doing. No idea what I’m doing here. I’m afraid I’ve lost my mind, my sanity, my self-worth, because of this place. I’ve witnessed horrors beyond my comprehension, people who want to hurt me–kill me even. My patience is running thin, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I hear voices, a-and see things I can't believe. Voices who tell me I am the savior, sent by the Walrider.”

She let the tears roll down her face, mixed in with the smell of blood.

“How can I be a savior if I don’t know what it means? I wanted to save someone, but I feel like I can’t even do that.”

She looked back up at him, begging for an answer. He looked down, shadow casted over his face, his expression unreadable.

“My dear child, my savior in Christ above, you’ve done all you can do. You weep just as mother Mary had done when she lost her beloved son. This was your act as savior, to witness everything, and see our pain, our anguish, and set us free. I believe in your acting powers, and how you will set us all free from this place.”

He grunted, pausing his speech.

“The promise of the prophets was always freedom from death. And here it is.”

“So you are going to free yourself now? By dying?” She asked, sniffling.

“Yes, my child. You will watch my death, my resurrection. And together we will be free.”

“But what about the others? I’m still in danger for my life.”

He shook his head.

“You are no longer in any danger. The elevator is fixed. It will take you to freedom. We will–all of us–be free.”

He then turned to a patient–his disciple–holding a candle.

“Now, my son.”

The candle was lowered, and the wood around him lit in flames, engulfing him and his body.

Violet did a silent prayer, lowering her head as she heard the screams from Father Martin, and then hearing him cease all noise. She looked up, seeing him in flames, limp on the cross.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I could’ve helped you.”

Chapter Text

Miles looked on as he watched the scene play out.

“You crazy bastard,” he muttered, turning away from the cameras. “One upping Jesus Christ himself.”

While she wasn’t looking, he sent the Walrider to grab the twins, locking them in one of the bay rooms. Everyone he needed was there, all except Walker.

He was too big, too uncooperative. He needed to be contained, but he figured until he made his appearance at some point that the Walrider could take care of him.

He just had to hope he didn’t get to the girl.

He took a moment to look at all the files of the patients, including Walker. He also had a picture of Violet pulled up, seeing her happy face on screen.

Each patient had a photo, from before they were administered for project Walrider.

He looked at Walker’s picture, seeing his blank face staring at the camera. Mid-thirties, short blonde hair, skin fully intact from before his self-mutilation. Green eyes. He sighed, setting the photo down. He then looked at Violet, her happy face a stark difference to what he saw on the cameras.

She had light skin, hair dyed brown to hide the blonde, freckles, two moles, and green eyes.

“Wait a second–”

He picked up Walker’s picture again, pulling it up next to Violet’s picture. A little bit different, but not really, besides the hair.

“No fucking way,” he thought to himself as he leaned back in his chair.

“No fucking way.”

He scoffed.

They both had a round face, same colored eyes, even the same nose.

“Holy shit.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, guffawing.

“Walker, you bastard,” he murmured. “This guy has a fucking kid.”

~

Violet sniffled as she looked up at Father Martin’s burning body, his disciples crying and moaning around him.

“I’ll tell them. I’ll tell everybody,” she said, standing up. “The whole world will know your truth, and I’ll save you and everyone else that I can.”

She remembered his instructions, going to the elevator. He said that it would guarantee freedom; an exit out of this place. She just had to find it. The twins had vanished, leaving her behind.

She made her way through a vent, going down the hallways to find the elevator, once again dodging the big guy in the hall, whilst dodging him, and looping around him to get to the elevator. She stood in the elevator car, looking back on her journey through here.

Dodging crazy people, nearly strangled to death, her finger cut off by a crazy doctor wannabe. The list could go on and on, but she found solace in the few moments she had to herself.

Like the twins.

They were nice, cordial, albeit a bit odd and probably psychopaths by nature. And the fact that they didn’t wear clothes, she realized, was a better camouflage to sound as they stalked the halls. An element of surprise, even scaring her in the process.

She understood now.

Her role in this.

A savior in disguise.

Had the madness gone to her head, a sort of religious psychosis? Or was this her purpose?

Was it fate? Fate that Miles had sent that email? That she agreed to help him?

Or was it her own pure naivety and innocence?

She didn’t know.

The elevator continued down, stopping at the first floor where she came from. But the doors didn’t open. Instead, it lurched, continuing downward, past the first floor.

“Was this what Miles meant? About the base floor?” She thought as she tilted her head.

The wood paneling turned to cement and concrete, slowly shifting until it came upon an entrance, stopping entirely as the doors opened. She stepped out into white light, squinting her eyes to adjust to the brightness, versus the darkness from the asylum.

It looked like a hallway, the walls chiseled stone, like it was intentionally built this way.

And it was quiet, all for a slight buzzing she heard in her head. Her footsteps echoed off the walls. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

Still, she continued on, just like she did when she started. Just like in the other parts of the asylum, just like when she saw Father Martin die in front of her eyes.

In front of the doors, was a symbol on top of them. The same symbol she had seen scrawled on the walls in blood.

And inside, was a front desk, trails of blood leading in different directions. It all looked so nice, so professional. A white collar business, with a dump of a place placed on top of it, hiding its secrets from plain view. And once again, she saw that logo.

Murkoff Corporation

“What has this company been doing to cover up its operations down here?” She thought as she walked around.

A decontamination room was stuck, pulling out her flashlight to navigate in the dark. Until it became light up ahead. Moving down, there were pipes embedded into walls, crates covered in tarps, palettes strewn about on the floor. It was so odd to see such a stark difference to the interior and scenery from the asylum.

Another set of doors, and inside it was stained with the familiar odor she knew well.

Bodies.

They lined the floors, organs, innards, making it look like the people exploded from the inside. It was numbing, at this point.

“This place is like a fucking nightmare,” she said to herself.

Each room had a body, an explosion of blood in corners or places where someone once was. A window, looking out into a hangar, showed part of the outside. It was still dark out, but the rain and thunder had ceased, and was now eerily quiet. The sound of crickets chirping felt like a dream–an end to a nightmare.

Another set of doors, leading out into an empty hall. Containers and oil drums strewn in her way. Jumping over tarp-covered boxes or containers, walking down the hall in silence, up next to a decontamination door in front of her.

And then a light flashed, an alarm went off.

And appeared that dark cloud from before, materializing into the form of a humanoid figure.

“The Walrider.”

It started moving towards her, and she bolted back down the hall, past the obstacles from before, intent on escape, or until it gave up and stopped chasing her.

She looked back, seeing it was much closer now. She saw the doors in front of her, barreling towards them. She pushed the doors open, intent on passing through to escape the Walrider.

Instead she was surprised to see the larger man standing, front and center.

He grabbed her, throwing her back on the ground.

“Little pig, little pig. No more escape.”

Violet looked at him in horror.

He took a few steps forward, and was looking down at her.

“I’ll make the pain go away.”

“Wait, wait! Please! You don’t have to do this! I-I can help you!” She begged, scooting back on her feet across the floor.

“We have to contain it,” he growled, growing much closer to her.

There it was again, that whistling wind, and the sound of buzzing in her ears. She heard it pass her ears.

“Violet…”

Her eyes widened, feeling goosebumps on her skin.

He was suddenly thrown into the wall, once, twice, three times. He swayed, toppling over and hitting the floor–head first. She let out a gasp, breathing through her mouth and out her nose as she looked over at the larger man on the floor in front of her. She slowly got to her feet, creeping over to look at him.

Now that she got a closer look at him, he was robust, and large in appearance.

He had scarring on his face and forehead, as well as no evidence of his nose and lips, his mouth held open by restraints that put his face in a permanent grin.

“Creepy,” she thought.

“Violet…”

She heard a whisper, looking out into the open doors and down the empty hall. She walked past the big guy and past the open doors. It was calm, and she felt her heart beating in her ears. As she walked, she heard the buzzing getting louder and louder.

Passing through multiple doors, a cafeteria, doors that led to machinery and generators. A small crack in the infrastructure, leading to more doors. A decontamination room, spraying mist over her like she had an infection. And out into another hall, with bay rooms in it. And a giant set of doors.

She took a glance inside the rooms, an inhabitant taking notice of her.

It was Trager.

He raced up towards her, banging on the glass. Now that his mask was off, she could see part of his face ripped off, exposing his teeth and muscle.

“You! I’m gonna get you for this! You hear me, you brat? I’ll rip out that tongue of yours and make you eat it!” He yelled.

She just stared at him, blank, unmoving.

“Does he truly need to be saved?” She thought, looking over his features.

“Say something!” He yelled, banging his fist on the glass.

She stayed silent, just staring at him with sympathy.

She then moved on to the next rooms, seeing both the twins inside. She held her hand up to the glass, looking at them. They both noticed, walking up to greet her.

“The savior makes her appearance once more,” Violet said before they had the chance.

They both looked surprised, taken aback.

“You seem more calm.”

“More focused.”

She pulled a small smile, letting her hand slide over the glass as she walked to the next room.

And at the last door, there was someone new. Someone she had never seen before.

He walked up to the glass, a smile plastered on his face.

“My, what a lovely girl you are,” he said, his hands pressed on the glass.

He looked older, maybe in his forties, but it was hard to tell with the scarring on his face, blood vessels had popped in his eyes, giving his eyes a more stark appearance to the icy blue color.

“Who are you?” Violet asked, her voice coming off more tired than intended.

“Eddie; Eddie Gluskin. At your service.”

He gave a sort of bow in front of her, separated by the glass.

“And why are you here?” She asked.

He looked taken aback.

“Pardon?” He said with a nervous laugh.

“What happened to you to end up here?” She asked again.

His smile slowly went away, replaced by a sort of fear and hesitancy. And then anger.

“Why you little shit! I was being nice! How dare you question me and my place!” He yelled as he banged his fist on the glass.

She flinched, taking a step back.

“I should gut you like the rest of the others and mutilate you! You bitch!” He continued yelling.

Violet backed off, walking away.

“Wait! Wait! Come back, please! I beg of you! Please, I can make you so happy!” He called, but she didn’t listen, instead, walking up to the giant doors as they slowly opened.

There was a monitoring room, filled with computers and tech, a glass window separating her and what was on the other side. A machine, large and imposing, with large circular tanks that either held water, or blood. Against the exterior of it, there were TVs, lined around it as it played visual inkblot tests.

“So you came,” she heard echoing in the room.

Violet stopped, plastered to the spot. She turned towards the source of the voice.

A man, leaning back in a chair, cameras set out in front of him, monitoring everything from the safety of this room.

“Miles,” she whispered. “Miles Upshur.”

“About time. I was scared you weren’t gonna make it.”

“I went through a lot…to find you,” she replied.

“I watched you, on the cameras. So I know,” he said back.

As Violet got closer, she could see his clothes riddled with holes, and he was missing two fingers.

“Are you…injured?” She asked, walking closer to him.

She was standing a few feet from him now, looking at him closely. He looked her up and down, taking in her disheveled appearance.

“I could ask the same for you,” he replied, scoffing. “Yes, more or less.”

“How are you still alive?”

He chuckled, coughing suddenly. She instinctively went to him.

A black cloud-like humanoid stood next to him, appearing over his shoulder.

She stopped, taking a step back.

Miles continued to spit up blood.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” he said, getting up from his seat with a grunt.

He continued down a staircase, which led to the machine up front, about a hundred feet from the monitors in the other room. The buzzing became more apparent, and the whispers got louder and louder as she looked up at the machine. She flinched, turning her head away from it.

“Not a fan, huh?” He commented.

She shook her head.

“This right here is the Morphogenic Engine, the birthplace of the Walrider,” he explained. “Used in dream therapy and psychosomatic episodes, to pinpoint the consciousness of the human mind. To create the perfect conditions in order for the patient to achieve what they called lateral ascension.”

She looked up at it, seeing the TV screens play inkblots, over and over.

“How do you know all of this?” Violet asked.

“Because I learned all about it when I came in here, just like you,” he replied, looking back at her. “Although, I have all the files, so learning what they did here wasn’t that hard. Autopsies, dream therapy; all that bull.”

“And they did all of this? Right under the asylum?”

“Yep. Hidden from the world under the guise of a good charity,” he said.

He shifted his feet, taking a wheezy breath. Violet eyed him, seeing blood trail out of one side of his mouth.

“You’re dying,” she merely said.

He nodded, grunting.

“I am,” he replied with another wheezing cough.

“We can still make it. I can save you, Father Martin said so,” Violet replied.

He shook his head, spitting blood on the floor.

“No, you can’t. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”

"But I-"

He suddenly took her by the shoulders, now facing her directly.

"Violet, listen to me. Don't listen to any of what he said. Martin is dead. He was delusional and he suffered from dementia. He was just an old man who needed help. Do you understand?" He said, tilting his head down at her.

“Then why send me here if you know you’re dying?” She questioned.

“Because I need you for something else.”

Violet took a step back from him, wary of his intentions now.

“And what reason?” Her voice was low, but not threatening.

He swallowed.

“This is a lot, and I know you know that, but I need you for something. Something big, bigger than me, bigger than them, bigger than what was told to you.”

He took a breath, continuing.

“You’ve seen the Walrider. You’ve experienced pain, torture, saw countless dead bodies in here. Horrors that make Pandora's box look like a joke. You’ve had to go through so much…pain. Just like I did.”

Violet stared at him.

“What’re you getting at?”

He sighed.

“The Walrider thrives off the misery of people. Sometimes choosing a host based on the right conditions. An individual must be so traumatized by what they experienced that it makes them the perfect host to inhabit. Such as myself, for instance. I went through the same things that you did. Look, Trager even cut off my fingers.”

He held up his hands for emphasis, a finger missing from each hand.

She screwed her brow, taking another step back.

“What are you even saying?”

He took a step towards her, his eyes set on her.

“You are the next host for the Walrider.”

Chapter Text

It felt like her whole world came crashing down. Feeling her heartbeat in her ears, feeling like she was in a movie almost. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to deny what he had just said to her. Her eyes were glassy, her face hot, staring at Miles like he had grown a second head.

She started backing away, shaking her head.

“ No ,” she whispered.

“Violet, I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to listen. I don’t have much time left here,” he said with a cough, walking towards her.

“No! You’re lying! You’re a liar!” She retaliated.

“Violet! Violet, please,” he said as he grabbed her by the shoulders.

“You lied to me,” she whimpered out.

“I know I did. But I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he replied, hugging her. “I’m so sorry.”

She tried to retaliate, hitting her fists into him, until she gave up. She cried onto his shoulder, gripping his coat like a lifeline.

And then he slowly lowered himself to the ground, his body growing limp as he groaned and wheezed.

She kneeled down, carefully holding him up by his torso.

“Please don’t leave me,” she said as she cried.

His eyes fluttered, and he coughed up more blood.

“I’m not going anywhere, kid. I’ll be there, I just won’t be in your sights for very long,” he said, taking a shaky breath. “Hey, hey, look at me.”

Violet cried, tears dropping down and landing on Miles’s jacket as she did.

He looked pale, and tired. So, so tired.

“You know something?” He asked.

“What?”

“You look…just like your dad,” he replied, his voice growing distant now. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he lay limp in her arms.

“What? Wait, Miles! Miles? What does that mean? Miles!”

She continued to shake him, but it was no use. His eyes stared up blankly, blood trickling out of his mouth.

“Please, don’t leave me. Please…”

She buried her head in his chest, before looking up.

“Oh my god.”

She set his body on the ground, blood now pooling around him. She covered her mouth with her hand, crying to no one in particular. She doubled over, screaming into the ground, sobbing until it felt like she couldn't breathe.

“Little pig.”

Chills ran up her back, eyes wide as she turned, facing the large man once more.

He grabbed her, picking her up by the neck, squeezing around her throat.

“Please…” She wheezed, clawing at his arm.

He just stared, brow furrowed, face set in that horrific grin. Her eyes fluttered, and she heard that familiar buzzing.

“New…host…”

“So this is how I die,” she thought to herself as she struggled to breathe. “Strangled to death by a man with no face.”

She kicked her legs, but even then that was no use against him. Watching her die slowly at his hand. Her vision swam in and out, blacking out now. She stopped kicking, stopped clawing, watching everything go dark around her. She gasped for air, dropping down suddenly. Face planting with the cement.

Everything went black.

Her vision swam as she opened her eyes, looking around.

It was dark all around her, and she heard a familiar voice.

“Do you feel any different?” Miles’s voice asked her.

She looked up, spotting the man. She then looked around at the pitch black darkness around her, and then back at him.

“I just watched you die,” she said shakily. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“My consciousness lives in the Walrider,” he merely replied. “You just became the next host.”

“I was supposed to be the savior,” she whispered.

“Hey, I already told you don’t believe any of that bullshit Father Martin told you.”

He walked up to her. 

“So what does that mean for me? Being a host?” She asked.

“It means that creature lives with you now; it’s a part of you,” he merely replied.

“A part of me?”

“Yes.”

“So what, I’m stuck with it forever?”

“No, not unless you die, of course. Or it dies.”

She backed away from him, glaring at him.

“What is it that you want from me? I tried to help you, and you stabbed me in the back.”

“I did need your help. But I…I had a different plan, after we stopped talking in the emails.”

“What kind of plan?”

“To expose Murkoff, using you, and the other people in the asylum.”

“Using me?” She retorted. “But you died! Was that your big plan?”

He pulled a small smile from that.

“I know it sounds bad, but it wasn’t my…intention, per say.”

He continued.

“I gave the Walrider one last objective before I moved on from here, before I died. To take away the damage inflicted on the patients, on the people here. Only a few select people can make it out, and I think you can at least help those people.”

“Like who?”

“You know the big guy? Walker? Trager? The twins you saw? Even Gluskin?” He asked.

“He tried to kill me!”

Miles smiled. Like he knew something she didn’t.

"The Walrider can give, but it can also take away. They're made up of little machines, so they can make neurosurgery look easy, or even plastic surgery, for that matter. You'll thank me later," he said in response.

"What the hell does that mean?" She asked, brow screwed in confusion.

He continued on, ignoring her question.

“I left a camcorder in one of the computer rooms there. Find it, take it with you, and get in contact with anyone you can, to expose Murkoff.”

Violet blinked a few times.

She just…couldn't believe it. Nothing in this place made sense. It was nothing but bloodshed and murder. Plain and simple. But she thought, if all of this was orchestrated, and then covered up, what was this company that Miles spoke of? What were they willing to do to keep quiet about this?

“You said not to trust anyone,” Violet replied.

“True. But there’s a few people who can help. Waylon Park, Simon Peacock, and even Paul Marion. He’s…kinda iffy, but I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“What about the other people?”

“They'll be fine, but they need help. Which I'm sure you can do.”

“Those people tried to kill me.”

“The twins didn’t. They seem to like you.”

That was true. But if what Miles said was true, did that mean they wouldn’t try to kill her?

She needed to know, at least.

She nodded.

“What do I need to do?”

“Take the camcorder. Get as many people out as you can. Gluskin, Walker, Trager, the twins–anyone. And then get the hell out of here.”

Miles put a hand on her shoulder.

“Wake up.”

Wake up

Wake up

Scenes of pure agony, screaming, yelling played out in her head. Skin being ripped off, faces becoming bruised and flesh tearing away. Yelling, screaming, choking on tubes being put into someone’s mouth.

WAKE UP

Screaming, hoarse and guttural. Scenes of men in military grade uniforms being dragged and ripped apart by an unseen force; the Walrider.

WAKE UP

~

Chris L. Walker “The Soldier”

That’s what they called him, or ‘Strongfat’. Which he hated.

No here he was, trying to contain the Walrider. Prevent it from possessing a new host.

The girl.

It was odd to see a woman in the asylum, much less see one that looked so young. She was strange, but she had managed to get past him so many times. Not this time, though.

In his own lucidity he knew she was a potential host, far so much more susceptible to the Walrider's influence. Like a moth to a flame, and he was about to snuff it out.

She begged and begged, kicking, clawing at his arm, leaving behind scratches and even drew blood. She looked at him with those green eyes, now blood covering the sclera as the blood vessels popped. She wheezed, sobbing pathetically as he strangled her. Watching her slowly lose that light in her eyes as she stopped retaliating.

“Chris,” he heard behind him.

He blacked out, dropping the girl on the cement floor in the process.

“Must contain it,” he thought before he completely fell unconscious.

It felt like a dream, waking up, feeling every bone in his body hurt.

He took a shaky breath through his mouth, feeling drool slip out. He sat up on his hands, pulling the mouth restraints off from around his mouth. He groaned, hearing the skin peel slightly and the clank from the metal as he threw them off to the side.

He then coughed, looking around him.

Miles’ dead body. The girl laying on the ground, fidgeting in her sleep.

His mind didn’t feel clouded, he could breathe clearly.

He could breathe clearly.

He shakily touched a hand to his face, feeling his cheeks full, his nose and lips intact.

“What the hell,” he whispered to himself.

“Holy shit!” He heard behind him.

It was Trager, and three of the other patients.

Gluskin, the twins.

He looked up at them with wide eyes, seeing their unscarred and perfect complexions.

“You do have a face, after all,” Trager said with a scoff.

One of the twins made his way over to the girl, turning her over before he suddenly backed away. Walker tried sitting up, feeling his muscles and just how sore they were.

“What’s wrong with her?” Gluskin asked, walking over to peer down at the girl. “Good lord.”

Walker walked over to her, kneeling down to see.

He pulled her shoulder, turning her over to look.

Her eyes were wide open, clouded over as she just stared. Her fingers would fidget, as well as her legs. That buzzing sound was apparent, he knew that sound. He set his brow as he looked down at the girl and her features.

Bloody, dirty, bruises forming around her neck. Her eyes were red with blood. And down her face was a bloody tear. Her eyes blinked, and a black shroud went over her. He backed away, as well as the others.

They watched as it seemed she was possessed, her face shrouded over in darkness as her body contorted up, standing on her feet.

“You don’t think–”

“It is.”

Both the twins murmured.

“She’s the host,” Gluskin added.

She just stood there, a black cloud and tendrils going over her as she just stood. Blank, unmoving, no apparent features except for the whites of her eyes. Her head turned, looking at them.

Walker stood his ground, holding his fists tight as he was ready. And then the cloud dissipated, the girl dropping to the floor once more.

Both the twins seemed the most concerned, going over to set her up on her back.

“Geez, what good role models you two are,” Trager muttered.

“Like you can say anything better.”

“You cut off her finger.”

“What? No I didn’t! She’s got all ten, right there!” He retorted.

“Enough!” Walker shouted.

The silence was deafening.

He sighed, walking over and kneeling over the girl again. And then he glanced at the twins, only turning his head away from their naked appearance.

“Go find some clothes; take ‘em off the bodies in here,” Walker muttered. “All three of you.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Trager questioned.

“You’re indecent, that’s why,” he replied firmly. “And as for you two, it’s indecent for a kid.”

Both the twins were quiet, but did as they were told.

Which left Walker and Gluskin.

Walker looked over the girl, watching her eyes move under her lids. Her hands fidgeted, and her foot twitched. And low and behold, she did have all ten fingers.

Just like he had his face back. Somehow.

“So what do we do?” Gluskin asked, his voice barely audibly as he stepped to look down at her too.

“We need to leave,” Walker stated. “Get as far away from here as fast as possible.”

“What about the girl?”

“Take her with us. She has to have a home, at least. Her parents might be looking for her,” he said, and he started feeling for anything in her pockets.

A wallet–he pulled it out, looking at the driver’s license.

Violet Gonzalez

“She’s only fourteen,” Walker muttered, looking down at it.

There was an address, but it was closer to the asylum than he thought.

“But why did she even come here?” He asked himself.

The photo was strange. She was blonde in the picture, but she was a brunette lying in front of him.

“Piece of shitty ass clothes,” he heard Trager’s voice behind them.

All three were dressed, bloody clothes, but still dressed.

“How is she?” One of the twins asked.

Walker shook his head, slipping her wallet back in her back pocket.

“I don’t know. There’s no telling when she’ll wake up,” he replied, still kneeled over her.

“That’s unfortunate.”

“She was so…kind.”

“Kind? You call that kind? She fucking punched me in the face!” Trager complained.

“You also cut off her finger.”

“Did you not?”

“Walker?” Gluskin’s voice cut through the argument. “She’s waking up.”

He looked down at her, seeing her flinch and sigh as she writhed, turning her head as her eyes fluttered.

The others gathered around, watching.

And waiting.

Chapter Text

“Hey, kid, wake up! Are you still with us?” A familiar voice echoed.

Fingers snapped close to her face.

“Stop it, she’s already waking up,” A different voice said.

Her eyes fluttered open, looking up and around her, faces looking down at her. Trager’s, Gluskin, the twins, and someone unfamiliar.

Her breath hitched, and she shrieked, scrambling to get away from them.

“Woah, woah, hey, it’s okay–ow!”

She slapped the stranger in the face, holding her hands over her own as scooted back. She continued screaming, throwing his hands away in order to get away. And then her screaming continued into wailing, scooting back as far as she could.

“Get the fuck away from me! Get away, get away,” she screamed, scooting back on her heels. “Stay away from me!”

She cried, heaving as she bundled in on herself. She rocked herself, trying to calm herself down. Those images replayed over and over, hearing that buzzing and the whispers in her head. It felt like her head was going to explode, so much noise was going on.

“Just be quiet. Quiet, quiet,” she repeated, rocking back and forth.

“Kid seems more crazy than us,” Trager’s voice commented.

She continued to cry, rocking herself as she buried her head in her knees.

“Hey.”

A hand touched her shoulder. She flinched, looking up and scooting back.

It was an unfamiliar man.

Bald, scarred lightly around his mouth and nose, and his eyes were somewhat clouded over, but had some color to them. He looked at her with a hint of surprise, and concern. She tried to move away once more, hitting a wall.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, it’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you,” he said to ease her, showing his hands as recognition.

He had chains around his wrists, and his fingernails were long, sharp claws.

“Walker,” she whispered, staring at him.

“That’s right, my name is Chris. Do you…do you remember your name?” He asked, his gruff voice trying to be soft.

She nodded, her lip curling. She held herself as she sobbed.

“Violet,” she croaked.

“Okay, Violet. Are you okay? Can you walk?” He said, moving to try and get her up.

She flinched, curling in on herself as she buried her face.

“You tried to kill me,” she said as she cried. “You tried to kill me!”

Her hands went around her throat, holding the spot where he choked her. He winced, standing up and stepping back.

“A-And what about me? You remember me?” Trager asked, kneeling in front of her.

He wore a pair of pants now, and a half-buttoned shirt, covered in bloodstains.

“You cut off my finger,” she replied shakily, sniffling.

He grimaced, stepping back.

One of the twins came up to her, kneeling down by her side. His face was somewhat sympathetic. And he was also wearing clothes, bloodstained and a bit loose on him.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She sobbed, throwing her arms around him. He was taken aback, but slowly put his arms around her, holding her as she cried.

“I wanna go home, I wanna go home,” she repeated.

“Hey, hey, we can do that. We just have to get out of here, okay?” Walker reassured, kneeling down to look at her. “Okay?”

She sniffled, nodding her head.

“Okay,” she replied half-heartedly.

The first twin let go of her, and she rose to her feet. She swayed on her feet, the first twin holding her up. The voices continued, the buzzing continued, and she averted her gaze to the ground.

“Is something wrong?” Gluskin asked.

“No, no! I’m fine,” she replied quickly.

The others around her just looked at her. She glanced between them, hearing the voices much more clear.

“Liar.”

She swatted her hand close to her ear, trying to silence the voice.

“P-Perfectly fine,” she said once more.

They made faces, but turned back to walk towards the exit. She sighed, and followed them.

Up in the room with the monitors, she saw it. A camcorder, and folders with files inside of them. She glanced back at the others, who walked away without notice. She quickly grabbed them, carrying both items along as she ran up to catch up to them. By the time they made it to the elevator, everything was quiet. It descended up, and they all were quiet, not daring to make a sound. Violet looked down at the floor, and then down at her hands, making her eyes go wide.

She had her finger again.

She bent and flexed it, brushing over the files in her hands. She smiled to herself, seeing that whatever happened, or whatever the reason, the Walrider healed her. The elevator stopped at the first floor, to the entrance of the asylum.

“The door’s still locked,” Trager said, yanking on the handle with the padlock and chains on it.

“Move,” Walker commanded.

He walked up to the door, and in one swift kick, the door swung open, wood cracking and splintering out on the floor.

“He could’ve done that to me,” Violet thought as she trailed behind the others.

Outside, it was cold, but the rain was no more. She breathed in the cold air, a stark difference from the smell of blood.

“Where are your keys?” Walker asked her.

“Why?” She questioned, digging through her pockets.

“You’re in no condition to drive,” he merely said, taking the keys from her.

“Hey!”

She walked after him, up to her car.

“This is my car! I should be able to drive it!” She retorted.

“With what you went through?”

“It would be wise to let someone else drive.” Both the twins agreed, looking back at her.

“Enough arguing, just get in the damn car!” Trager added, chattering his teeth.

The doors were unlocked, and they all climbed inside. She set the camcorder and the paper files down on the dash.

"Let's see if I remember how to do this," she heard Walker mutter under his breath.

He put the car in reverse, a lurch in the car, and carefully turned around before he stepped on the gas, going down the mountainside.

It was still dark outside, the clock in the car reading 2:23 a.m. Everyone was quiet, probably tired from the events.

Walker sat in the driver’s seat, hunched over the steering wheel. The twins, Trager, and Eddie in the backseat. Violet took up the passenger side, looking out the window. Violet bounced her free leg, feeling uneasy in the silence.

“So…” Violet started, “have you ever been outside of the asylum?”

“No.”

“Never.”

“Not a single step out.”

“No, never.”

The responses followed. Walker was still quiet. She glanced at him, seeing him look out the windshield.

“What year is it?” He asked, his voice gruff.

“2013,” Violet’s small voice answered.

He sighed.

“I haven’t stepped out in four years,” he responded.

She breathed steady as he sped down the mountain, looking for the familiar dirt driveway.

“Turn here,” she said, pointing at the dirt road to the left.

Once he pulled in, he stopped the car, leaning back in the car seat. He turned the lights and the car off, pulled out her keys and handed them to her. But she just sat there, as well as the others.

“Is this your home?” She heard from the backseat, Eddie peering over her shoulder.

“Yeah, this is it.”

“Looks well-off,” Walker commented.

Violet grabbed the papers and camcorder, stepping out of the car. She pulled out her house key, unlocking the door to let the others inside. Trager looked around, dazed.

“You really went through the trouble of going into that place? For what reason?” He asked.

She opened the door, the others filing in one by one. She paused before she answered.

“It’s what I was told by…Miles.”

Trager scoffed.

He was the last to walk inside, Violet taking a good look around before shutting the door behind her, locking it. Inside, the lights were bright. She set her car keys on the counter, setting the camcorder and papers down.

“Take your shoes off please,” she said nonchalantly.

The heavy clinking and thud of chains startled her, seeing Walker bend and flex his wrists as he took off the chains around them. He did the same for the ones wrapped around his ankles, taking off his heavy boots. She looked at him for a moment’s notice, before he looked in her direction. She looked away, making her way to the upstairs part of the house.

“There’s a guest bedroom up here, but you all will have to sleep there tonight. Sorry,” she said to them.

“No need to apologize.”

“A room of our own is the least of our worries.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see if there’s any clothes around here for…” she glanced at Trager and Walker, “some of you.”

She made her way upstairs, going into her bedroom, with the side bathroom. She passed the mirror, looking at her reflection.

She was injured, part of her face and forehead covered in blood. She looked closer at her face, seeing blood vessels had popped in her eyes, and bruises formed around her neck, from where Walker had grabbed her. She still had blood under her nose, dried and crusted. Her clothes were a mess. Blood covered her jacket and part of her shirt, as well as her jeans. She stripped, seeing if there were more injuries on her. She had bruises on her chest, her torso, her back, littered in spots where she had been tossed and shoved. Injuries from maneuvering her way through the asylum.

She took a quick shower, washing away the blood as she watched it go down the drain. Once she was out she dried off, putting on a pair of sweatpants and an old ratty t-shirt. She made her way to the guest bedroom, seeing Walker already inside. He had no shirt, obviously.

She felt uneasy, seeing such a large man so…calm.

Someone who had nearly taken her life. He looked at her.

“Well you cleaned up nice,” he commented.

Violet didn’t say anything, but rather went to the closet, seeing suitable clothes for him and the others, for now.

Her mother always kept extra clothes, for no reason. Even though it was just the two of them, she kept them, for some reason.

Being a single mother wasn’t easy, and she wouldn’t be back from her night shift until the morning. It was a Friday, and weekends were usually the busiest part of the week where she wouldn’t see her mother for a while.

She picked the clothes up, folded neatly as she handed them to Walker.

“Here. These should fit you,” she said to him.

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” he replied, taking the clothes from her.

“It’s fine,” she said before she walked out the door, with another set of clothes for Trager.

Downstairs, the others sat at the kitchen table, their heads hung low. They perked as Violet entered, walking to Trager to give him the clothes.

“Here,” she said to him.

He looked down at the clothes, taking them gently.

“There’s a shower in the guest bedroom. I’ll find more stuff for the rest of you,” she explained.

“Why are you helping us?” Trager asked suddenly, looking up at her.

It was a question that caught her off guard, and she couldn’t come up with an answer.

“Yes. Why go through the unbearable pain? We...we must've done horrible things,” Eddie added.

She remembered what Gluskin had said to her, seeing his mood shift so suddenly. What he said, what he threatened. It felt like ages ago, but looking at him now, it felt like she was talking to an entirely different person.

And then Trager. He was bone thin, and his appearance was haunting. Scarring on his lip and face. One of his eyes drooped and was clouded over. and the scars on his head was something she didn't want to even ask about right now.

Violet remembered what Miles had said, his mission, his instructions to her.

“Because Miles would’ve wanted me to,” she answered quietly.

The others had furrowed glances, the twins showing no emotion.

Violet shifted, impatient and just wanting to go to bed.

“Hurry up and take a shower. I’ll make breakfast in the morning,” she said.

She grabbed the camcorder and papers, going up to her room.

“Oh! Young lady!” Eddie’s voice called.

She turned back to look at him.

“Thank you, for everything you've done for us. We are especially grateful.”

She stared at him, registering his words.

“Thank you, but you can just call me Violet.”

“A beautiful name,” Eddie replied.

She nodded, continuing on up to her bedroom. She set out the papers and camcorder on her desk, looking through her own closet for pillows and blankets. By this time, the voices had stopped, but the buzzing was low in her ear, just barely audible in the silence of the house. She walked back to the guest bedroom, where Walker was sitting, now cleaned up and wearing a shirt and sweatpants.

“I don’t know who’s gonna take the bed. You’ll have to take turns or share,” she said to him.

She set out the blankets and pillows, making sleeping spots for the others.

“I can’t thank you enough, kid. You have a lot of nerve coming into that place, and making it out alive,” he said.

“What can I say? I probably got it from my dad,” she replied back, setting down one of the blankets.

“You never mentioned him before,” he said.

“You look just like your dad.”

Those were the words Miles said to her before he died, thinking back on them now, she didn’t know if she knew him or not at some point.

They were cryptic, ringing out in her head over and over.

She shook her head.

“He ran off after having a one night stand with my mom, and then she had me.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine. I never got to know him, but I look more like him than I do my mom,” she said, looking at her light skin and freckles.

She was a lot lighter than her mom, and shared little traits from her, besides her mole on her top lip and near her eye, as well as the freckles.

“Oh really? Is that why you dye your hair?”

“Yeah; I’m a natural blonde.”

She felt eyes bore into her, looking back to see him looking at her. It was almost like he was observing her, taking in every little detail.

“So do you have a plan?” He asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“You took a camcorder and folder files. Do you have a means for exposing Murkoff?”

She thought about it for a second, leaning down on the edge of the bed, away from him. What would a kid do against such a large company? One that took people and experimented on them? So much so that the rest of the United States didn’t even know about it?

“I don’t know. I’ll have to figure it out,” she answered. “Miles told me about a few people that could help.”

“You better hope that Murkoff doesn't find you,” Chris said.

She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“What does that mean? They’ll come looking for me? For you?”

“They’ll probably send their litigation officers down here, investigate the asylum. Maybe even kill anyone that’s left,” he explained. “But they’ll want to know what happened.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what they did to me.”

Violet opened and closed her mouth.

“I see,” she said.

There was an uneasy silence, Trager walking in.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Violet made her way to the door, shaking her head.

“No, it’s nothing.”

She looked downstairs to see the other three.

“You three go to bed, I’ll think of something in the morning to do,” she commanded. “I’m going to bed.”

“What about your parents?” Eddie asked.

“We’re assuming your mother and father don't know what you did tonight.”

“And will wonder why there are strange men in their house.”

They were right.

However it had to happen, her mother had to know. But she had to make sure that she wouldn’t do something stupid like call the cops or have Murkoff at her door.

“I’ll tell my mom…but I don’t have a dad,” she replied with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must be so hard for you,” Eddie replied.

“I never met him. I never asked about him, so why would I care?” She lied, shrugging her shoulders.

She went to her room, walking and shutting the door behind her. She looked at the camcorder, and then at the papers.

“I’ll look at it in the morning,” she thought as she laid in her bed, pulling the covers up over her.

It wasn’t going to be easy, taking care of five new escapees. She didn’t let it bother her that there were five strange men in her house–in her mother’s house.

She was going to raise hell if she came in in the morning, asking questions. But she was more worried about covering her tracks, making sure no one found her, or the others.

Whatever Murkoff did, they were going to eventually find out, or stick their nose somewhere else, if they weren’t tipped off by whatever evidence they found in the asylum.

She just had to pray they wouldn’t find her.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet night, the others sleeping soundly.

Violet was wide awake, unable to sleep. The buzzing was irritating, even if it was barely noticeable.

She took to looking through the camcorder footage, the light illuminating her face as she looked at the broken screen. The encounters from Miles’s point of view, where there were instances of the events that took place before she got there. She was numb, looking at it. All the horror she had faced, looked at, and seen. Now numbing, nonchalant.

She felt disturbed at first, and then continued on looking through the footage towards the end, where Miles looked through a glass room, an old decrepit man in an automated wheelchair.

He spoke to Miles, recording every word of it.

“I know, I-I, I know, I am supposed to be dead. No, no such luck. I am older than sin, but, somehow, the only one left. Because of Billy,” the man in the wheelchair replied.

He moved to the portrait of the symbol on the wall, looking at it.

“Do you know what this symbol represents? It warns of a nanohazard. Microscopic machines, technology we have had for decades, but never mastered. Murkoff discovered, in my research, a work-a-round. Turning the cells of human bodies into nanofactories. It's the natural function of cells to produce molecules, but through psychosomatic direction, we engineered the precise molecules necessary. Mind over body. He takes care of me. He may think I'm his father. He certainly loves me, the poor idiot.”

Violet furrowed her brow. She glanced towards the folder papers on her desk, and then back at the screen.

“It was foolish and wrong to think we could control it. To use mad men to control something so strong. You have to stop him, to murder Billy. Turn off his life support, his anesthesia. You have to undo what I've done. No one can get out of this place while he lives. You must kill him.”

His command sent a shiver down her spine, thinking back to Miles, and the state she found him in. The man in the wheelchair moved back to a painting on the wall. He paused before he spoke again, Miles zooming in on his face.

“We achieved something like this in 1944. Those fascists thought it was spirits, and I let them believe it. Let them kill themselves thinking there was some kind of afterlife now empirically promised to them. Fools. Poor Alan. He would weep to see what I've built from his dreams.”

Names she had never heard of. She needed to do research, finding out the underbelly of the organization.

“Billy doesn't mean harm. He's a child with a damaged mind, granted the powers of a God. It would make any of us into a monster. You must end this. We all must die here. Murkoff knew the dangers, and they didn't care. In the corporation's mind, we are all just dollar amounts in a ledger. And the profits Project Walrider promised overshadowed whatever pitiful balance a few doctors and patients amounted to. He will spread if you don't stop him. The Morphogenic Engine is self-perpetuating. I pray to god you have the strength to end it here with your death. More than anything I want to rest. Billy will not let me die. He could never imagine how cruel this is. I only want to die.”

The old man sounded tired, looked tired, and almost on the verge of a stroke.

Violet saw from his wheelchair he was immobile, that was certain. He had a breathing device in his nostrils, a tank of oxygen fitted to the back of his wheelchair.

The recording ended, showing the next recordings. She closed the screen, turning off the camcorder, setting it aside. She looked over the papers, hesitating to see what was inside. She got up, bringing the papers to her as she sat the rest of them in front of her. She opened them up, looking through the first page.

Patient Initials: CLW, "Walker"

Violet’s eyes widened, looking at the name on the front page.

THERAPY STATUS:

Morphogenic Engine activity plateaued at roughly 2000 ppm. Unsafe to progress beyond stage 3 hormone schedule.

DIAGNOSTICS:

Spirometry revealed light-to-medium bronchial accumulation. MRI scans consistent with patient’s reported dreams.

“Dreams?” Violet thought.

She continued reading further as she looked at his patient photo, and then another photo dated two months after that. His original photo showed blonde hair, green eyes, and a blunt nose on his face. His second photo was of him without his features, his eyes glossed over, and the skin of his forehead ripped, as well as destroying his nose in the process.

INTERVIEW NOTES:

Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraints have had to be altered to accommodate his enormous size.

Extensive dermal eruptions as consistent with failed Morphogenic Engine cellular activity. He claims the skin ripped from his forehead allows for a truer way of seeing, seems to have some boyhood experience with Tuatara Lizards and their parietal eyes. He has expressed anxiety about his flesh, specifically around his lips and nose. Attending orderlies should be advised to watch for further self-mutilation.

“He did that to himself.”

The mental traumas he sustained while serving in Afghanistan seem to be retarding progressions of the M.E. Process. His predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. A continuation of both chemical and physical restraints is highly recommended.

Violet breathed a sigh as she continued looking over the notes left in his file, thinking of the man. He was dangerous, and he displayed that. She saw it in the camcorder, she saw it in person; he had tried to kill her, before everything else happened.

“I guess I should thank Miles for doing what he did,” she thought to herself, pulling more papers out of the folder.

The more and more she pulled out, the more she seemed to find out more about him. She found out why he was in the asylum in the first place.

“Chris L. Walker was a mitigation issue, being responsible for four murders, “Hatbox Murders”. Former M.P. and a Murkoff employer forced us to use him like Native Americans use buffalo; every part isn’t wasted.”

-Pauline Glick

“Walker seemed to possess some sort of military protocol, further brought on by the dream therapy from Spindletop. He’s an extremely dangerous individual, to that of an angry child in a giant man’s body. He was clever enough to cover his tracks in association with his victims, as well as being unsuspected.

I almost feel bad for the guy; PTSD, nightmares, working with the therapy, come to find out about Dr. Claymore. He slept with a stuffed animal, a pig. He was just an angry toddler.

I hope he’s taken care of properly.”

-Paul Marion

“Paul Marion.”

His name stuck out, thinking of what Miles said.

Violet screwed her brow.

This Marion guy had at least some sympathy, while Glick was describing him as an object or a nuisance–he was a person, not an animal.

She had heard of the Hatbox murders, but she had initially thought that a different man had done it, being heard on the news and in papers.

She continued to read, surveying his past.

Military police, multiple trips to Afghanistan, cases of outbursts and triggers, post traumatic episodes. But he was calm, from what she saw of him. Extremely calm.

It was like he was a different person, made over. She looked back at his picture, noticing his features on his face.

“Why does he look so familiar?”

She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but it bothered her so much.

She took the picture in her hand, looking over it by her bedside lamp. Writing was scribbled on the back, turning over to look.

“Father of the year.”

–Miles

She stopped, staring at the words.

“No fucking way,” she thought.

"You look just like your dad."

The words that Miles had said. The cryptic message of "you'll thank me later," and why he looked at her like he knew more than she did. She sucked in a breath, blinking several times. She looked back at his picture, putting the pieces together.

His round face, his skin color, blonde hair–it made so much sense now.

“Oh my god, he’s my fucking dad,” she thought again.

She straightened her back, putting the picture and the papers away. She put them in one of her desk drawers, making sure no one would find them. She laid back in bed as she tried to fall asleep, but her mind felt more awake than ever.

“He’s my dad. He’s my father. I have a dad now.”

For the past fourteen years, she had gone without a father figure. Her mother never remarried, and now here he was.

Was it fate that brought them together again? Or was it that email that Miles had sent her that triggered the events?

She slowly closed her eyes as sleep overtook her.

Dreams of the asylum plagued her, the scenes playing out vividly enough that she could feel her finger nearly getting cut off by Trager. The feel of Walker’s hand around her neck. Or even Trager’s hand touching her face, the act of cutting her finger off feeling so real.

She woke up, pulling the covers off as she saw that it was only 6 a.m. She walked downstairs, seeing eyes glow in the dark. She quickly turned the light on, seeing it was only Walker.

Her father.

“You’re up early,” he commented, his voice still groggy.

“I could say the same for you,” she replied, looking over at him now.

He had faint scars around his face and mouth, but nothing else in sight. He had faint buds of hairs growing on his head, as well as his eyebrows.

“I’ve always been an early riser.”

Violet registered his reply, walking into the kitchen area to turn on the coffee pot, and set out some cooking pans. She kept glancing at him as she got everything ready for breakfast.

“Are you scared of me?”

It caught her by surprise, momentarily stopping in front of the coffee pot, her back to him.

“Maybe,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Glances, wide-eyed stares, hesitating to even answer me,” he replied. “Things I picked up.”

She brought out a mug for him, pouring a cup.

“Does he even know?”

“I read your file,” she said in one breath.

She had expected him to grow angry, telling her off, or something like that. But he didn’t. He nodded his head, taking it in.

“So you know who I am, and what I did,” he merely replied.

She sat down opposite him, setting the mug down for him.

“I do, but it was stuff that was written about you in the asylum, and notes,” Violet replied.

He chuckled.

“I did a lot of…bad things to end up in Mount Massive,” he replied, his smirk going away in an instant.

Violet could see that it pained him, even if he probably remembered bits and pieces.

“Who’s…Pauline Glick and Paul Marion?”

He looked at her, his brow raised.

“Pauline Glick and Paul Marion?” He repeated, blinking several times as he thought for a moment.

“Litigation agents, who worked for Murkoff to cover their asses,” he replied, seemingly deep in thought. “They put me in that place.”

Violet shrunk at that, not realizing they were at fault for putting him in Mount Massive.

“I’m sorry I asked,” she said.

“It’s alright, it’s just–”

He said, running a hand over his bald head.

“They were doing their jobs, even if that meant they knew what they were doing. I don’t have a doubt that they’re investigating what happened at that place right now. And they’ll come by here, if they dare, to ask around.”

Violet nodded.

“Is there any chance they’ll pass by here? Like, they won’t look here?”

Walker didn’t answer, drawing another sigh through his nose.

“I don’t know, kid. Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, drumming his fingers across the table.

She noticed his now trimmed fingernails, cut from their long appearance. He had bruises on his wrists, from the chains that had wrapped themselves around them. Muscle atrophied over them, making his wrists look small in comparison to the rest of his huge body.

The doorbell rang, and a knock sounded.

“Hide,” Violet said, walking up to the door.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Chris replied, getting up from the table and heading upstairs.

Violet took the mug of coffee, pouring it down the drain and setting it in the sink.

She looked through the peephole, seeing a man and woman dressed in suits. She opened the door, stepping outside as she tried to act confused.

“Can I help you two?” She asked.

Both the man and the woman looked at her, surprised she’d answered the door.

“Sure kid. Where’re parents?” The woman asked.

“My mom should be on her way home right now,” Violet answered, crossing her arms as she shifted her feet.

“What about your dad?” The man asked.

Violet shook her head.

“Not in the picture.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” the man quickly apologized.

He walked up to her, holding out his hand. Violet shook it.

“I’m Paul Marion,” he replied.

“Paul Marion. Is he undercover?” She thought to herself.

“Violet Gonzalez.”

“Pauline Glick,” The woman replied, handing her a card.

Violet took it, looking it over.

“Murkoff litigation,” she thought as she held the card in one hand.

“Did you happen to notice anything…strange last night? See anything?” Glick asked.

Violet lied through her teeth.

“Last night?” She said, thinking for a moment. “I didn’t see anything. Why?”

“Just, uh, keeping a look out for a dangerous individual,” Marion answered.

Glick pulled out a picture, holding it up to her.

“Miles Upshur. Recognize him passing through here?”

Violet looked at the photo, pretending to study it. She shook her head.

“Never heard or seen him before,” she answered.

Glick gave a nod as she put the photo away.

“How’d you get those bruises?” Marion asked.

“Shit.”

Violet put her hand up to her neck.

“I…uh…got into a fight after school yesterday; got hit and choked out on the ground after,” she said, trying to act pained about the incident.

It didn’t necessarily not happen, just not at school. And it wasn’t a fight.

“You don’t seem too distraught about it,” Glick said.

Violet shook her head, waving it off.

“I get into fights all the time, kids pick on me,” she answered. “Nothing’s ever new to me.”

“Really? You don’t ever stick up for yourself?” Glick continued asking.

“I don’t believe in violence, my mom taught me that,” she answered.

It wasn’t a lie. It was true. She got picked on, beat on, even ganged up on to get beat on some more. Just her stroke of bad luck.

“Seems like you’d be the bully,” Marion joked and gave a chuckle.

Violet perked, looking at him with a raised brow.

“Why’s that?”

He quickly recoiled, trying to cover his mistake.

“Well, you’re very tall and big for…”

“Fourteen,” Violet answered coldly.

“Right,” Marion said.

A phone rang, Glick answering his phone as she walked away for a moment.

“You seem like you’d be good at violence,” Marion commented.

“I try not to. It gets me in trouble a lot of times.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I just keep my head low for the most part, go about my day–that sort of thing,” Violet replied with a shrug.

Glick came back, putting away her cell phone.

“We need to leave,” she replied. “Sorry for bothering you, ma’am.”

“It’s fine,” Violet said with another shrug. 

Glick nodded her head towards the car pulled into the driveway, signaling their leave.

“Give us a call, if you do see anything. Take care of yourself, kid,” Marion said, walking away.

He gave her his own card, trailing behind her.

Violet waved them off, entering inside the house again. Once she shut the door, she breathed a sigh of relief. She watched them drive off from the kitchen window, watching them back out and drive away.

~

“We got a hit in Washington; whereabouts of Upshur,” Glick replied as they got into the car. “Poor kid’s been dealt a bad hand.”

“I’d hate to be a teenager again,” Marion commented.

Glick thought nothing of it. Marion, however, could see his own daughter in her, except a whole lot worse than what she was going through. Something was odd about her. Her movements, her split reactions, even her slight anger towards her appearance.

It seemed familiar, like he had the same interaction with someone else before.

“We at least know Upshur isn’t here, no body at the asylum,” Glick said, pulling out into the road.

Marion kept quiet.

Something was off about that girl. You don't get bruises like that, not unless someone had intent to kill.

Chapter Text

Violet leaned against the door, drawing a sigh of relief.

“Was it them?”

She looked at Chris, standing in front of the stairs, where the others had woken up and stood, peering over the staircase.

“Yeah, yeah it was.”

She held both the cards in her hand, looking at the names, the organization, their place and job description. As well as their phone numbers.

“They said they were looking for Miles,” she stated, walking into the kitchen.

She put the cards down, glancing over them once more.

“Who’s hungry?”

Violet made breakfast, something small that would accommodate for their skinny frames, probably from lack of food from however long they had been in the asylum. Trager especially.

The clothes he had given her were baggy, even on his skinny frame.

“Here, eat something. You need it,” Violet said to him.

She made a plate of eggs, bacon and toast. She gave off the others their plates as she handed them silverware. She cleaned up, wiping the counters and putting the dishes away in the sink.

“What is this?” One of the twins asked, poking at his food.

“It’s…food; eggs, bacon, and toast,” Violet replied, slightly confused.

Walker scoffed, continuing to eat his own plate.

“Forgive us, but we are not used to this,” the other twin answered.

“Well what did they give you to eat? In the asylum?”

They both glanced towards each other, and then looked at her.

“Nothing.”

“We feasted upon the orderlies and doctors.”

Violet grimaced, holding back a gag.

“Ew,” she muttered.

“Not so bad after a while,” Trager commented.

Eddie was quiet.

“That’s cannibalism,” Violet corrected. “You…were cannibals.”

“You make us out to be bad.”

“A little liver and tongue never hurt anyone.”

Both of the twins' nonchalance and deadpan expressions were starting to get annoying, but she relented.

“Probably not the worst thing I’ve seen so far,” she muttered, wiping down the counter.

A click of the doorknob caught her attention, walking to the door to see her mother walking in. Violet opened her mouth to speak, but her mother caught sight of the men at the table. She didn’t make a sound, but just stared. Mainly at Walker, but glancing between the others.

“Mom, I can explain, please,” Violet spoke.

She looked at her, noticing her appearance.

“What the hell happened to you? Why do you have bruises?” She asked, concern crossing her face.

She put on a hand on her cheek.

“What did you do?” She whispered, furrowing her brow between anger and concern.

“I, uh, did some things last night,” Violet said.

“‘Did some things’? Is that why there are men in my house?” Amber said, her tone becoming angry.

“Mom, please, can we talk somewhere private? I just want to explain,” Violet pleaded.

“Ma’am, if I may interject, your daughter here has done remarkable work. She helped us,” Eddie replied, getting up from his seat. “Without her, we’d be dead right now.”

Her mother looked at him.

“The hell she did! What kind of relationship do you have with my daughter? Why are you even in my house?” She yelled, walking up to him. “I should call the police right now!”

“Mom, no, please! I can explain!” Violet interjected.

“Then explain!” Her mother yelled back, turning on Violet now.

She flinched.

“Can we talk somewhere more private? Please?” She asked, her voice a whisper.

Her mother reared back. She huffed, gesturing for Violet to follow her upstairs to her mother’s bedroom. After shutting the door, she looked at Violet.

“What the hell were you thinking? Where did you even go?” She whispered and yelled at the same time.

“...Mount Massive Asylum…?” Violet winced as she gave a nervous smile.

Her mother looked furious.

“You did what ?” She said, gritting through her teeth.

“I don’t know, I just wanted…to help.”

“And how did you manage to just think of going up there?”

Violet opened her mouth, and then closed it. She swallowed.

“I got an email from someone, asking me for help. And then I went.”

Her mother shook her head, muttering under her breath in Spanish.

“So did you drive up there?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“And then you just happened to find some other people, and took them with you?”

“Yes.”

“Violet, that place is dangerous. The few times I had gotten cases from there–” She stopped and shook her head. “I only saw half of what they did to those people, and they are dangerous .”

“Hostile…”

“What about them? The others in the kitchen? Are they dangerous?” Violet pressed, gesturing her hand out into the kitchen.

“Yes! Yes they are! Who knows what they could’ve done to you. They would have hurt you, killed you even.”

“Intent to kill…”

Violet screwed her brow, flexing her jaw.

“But they didn’t. Mom, they helped me. They saved me, and I helped them in return.”

Violet explained further.

“I don’t…know what I saw inside that place, but it’s so much worse than you can imagine. Mom, they experimented on them, used them as test subjects. I’ve seen the things they did.”

“Does that explain the bruises on your neck?”

Violet winced at that. She didn’t want to tell her that it was because of Walker. He didn’t know, he was just following his own protocol.

“...Yes.”

Her mother sighed, putting her hands on her hips.

“Violet…”

“I know what I did was wrong, or stupid, but I felt like I had to do something.”

Her mother looked at her.

“Do you know that I got stopped at work? By agents? They asked me all these questions regarding the patients from the asylum, and then about if I had seen a ‘Miles Upshur’.”

“They're onto you…”

Violet’s eyes widened.

“Miles?”

“Oh, so you know him? You’re affiliated with a criminal now?”

“No! No, it’s not like that! He emailed me, asking for my help, and I went there and tried to hel–”

“Tried to?”

“He died! He’s dead! I saw his body inside of there.”

Her mother recoiled.

“ How ?”

Violet shook her head.

“What do you mean how?”

“Because those agents told me he was living in hiding. And if I had seen him I would call.”

“No! No, no, no, no! You can’t trust them.”

She walked up to her mother, gripping her hands in hers.

Violet was scared, scared for her life, scared for her mother’s life, and the others.

“Why not?”

“Because they could hurt us. T-They would cover it up and kill us if they had to.”

“Why would they do that?”

“To cover their tracks, cover up any accidents without a trace. That’s why the agents were there, to track him down so they could kill him.”

Her mother looked perplexed, shocked.

“What…What did you see in that place, Violet?” She slowly asked.

“Murder…death…rape…”

She shook her head, trying to quiet her head.

“Quiet,” she whispered.

Violet took a breath, recollecting herself.

“Blood. So many bodies, dead on the floor. Decapitated heads, murder, torture,” she replied as she shook her head. “I saw a man, pinned to a cross, burning to death.” Her voice broke at the last part, but continued on. “I watched a man die in my arms. I was nearly choked to death-my finger was cut off. Do you understand what I went through?” She said, trying not to cry in front of her mother.

Her mother looked at her in horror, seeing her so distraught, so destroyed from the experience.

“Oh my god,” her mother replied and hugged her. “My poor baby.”

Violet returned the hug, leaning her head on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Mom,” she muttered.

She pulled back, taking her by the shoulders.

“No, it’s not. No child should have to see those things. Never. And the fact you made it out alive–”

Her mother covered her mouth, on the verge of tears.

“Mama…”

Violet hugged her, swaying back and forth as she held her. She cried into her, her body shaking and lurching as she cried.

“You’re all I have left,” she muttered.

She knew she was talking about him . He was a touchy subject, even if he wasn’t there.

Leaving after a one night stand, without a phone call or a note, not even a letter. She found out he went to Afghanistan, and then he was never heard from again. She didn’t have any pictures, not a single one to remember him by. Not even a name. Or if her mother did, she kept it close to her, not bothering to tell Violet so she wouldn’t go looking for him to find him. Or find out if he was dead. But he was here now. Sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, like it was a normal day.

Once her mother recollected herself, she wiped her eyes.

“I’m…I need to see the damage for myself from these people, make sure they’re not a threat to you or me.”

“Mom, they’re not,” she retorted.

Amber opened the door, walking back downstairs into the kitchen.

Eddie was the first to stand, greeting the woman with a smile.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Eddie Gluskin,” he said, holding out his hand.

Violet’s mother looked down at his hand, and then up at him.

“I’m Amber Gonzalez. I remember you,” she said, shaking his hand.

“You do?”

“You were in our psych ward before being transferred to Mount Massive. I was one of the nurses that cared for you.”

“Well, I couldn’t thank you enough, much less your daughter here,” Eddie replied, smiling at Violet.

“Oh really? I’d love to hear all about it,” Amber replied, giving a glare back at her.

Violet winced, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Walker glanced at her for a moment, before crossing his arms over the table.

Amber passed by, setting her purse down.

“Well, it’s a long story,” Eddie replied cautiously.

“I have time. I don't have another shift until tonight,” Amber replied matter-of-factly.

Her mother ran a tight ship, chores needed to be done, homework done, things like that. She wasn’t strict, but she had her moments.

Eddie glanced at Violet, silently asking for help.

“Well, uh, after I got an email from Miles I went to the asylum, and then I met…these two,” Violet said for him, gesturing towards the twins.

“And you are…?” Amber asked, looking at them both.

“Friends.”

“Protecting your daughter from harm.”

They both answered, getting a perplexed and judgmental look from her.

“Alright. Go on.”

“I had to go through the asylum, to find…Miles.”

Amber turned her head to face her.

“As in, the man that those agents were looking for?”

“Yeah, yeah, they were here this morning,” Violet replied.

“Go on,” her mother replied, her face set in a hard stare.

Violet swallowed.

“Miles was already dead by the time I got to him.”

Violet glanced at Walker, remembering the events vividly.

“He told me to get as many people out as possible, so I did.”

“She was our saving grace.”

“Our savior.”

Both the twins answered.

Amber screwed her brow further, noticing the twins' odd behavior.

“Okay,” she muttered, breathing a sigh.

She took off her coat, showing her nurse scrubs.

“I have to take a shower, and go to bed. Violet, I expect your chores to be done, and…” She glossed over the men in the room.

“Get them set up for the night. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I can at least provide shelter. I don’t expect everyone to be lounging around though, so your chores apply to them.”

“Yes ma’am,” Violet murmured.

“Good. Now…”

Her mother took out a small flashlight from her purse, walking over to Trager.

“Do you know the last time you ate?” She asked him, shining the flashlight in his eyes.

“Just this morning.”

“I see.”

She put the flashlight down, turning his face to see the damage.

“Minimal scarring and malnutrition. We’ll get you fixed up in no time, but it would be best if we took you to a hospital.”

“What about the people looking for us?” Walker asked.

“What about them?”

“As long as we keep our cover low they’ll think we died. We need a way to disguise ourselves, and build everything back up,” Trager answered.

“And how do you manage to do that? As far as I know, you all could be criminals,” Amber said.

They all didn’t say anything, looking down or glancing off.

Amber looked around them, and then glanced up at Walker once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, and sighed. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police right now.”

“Because they’ll label you as an accessory to our aid; a criminal, like you said.”

Walker got up from the table, walking over and standing in front of Amber, his height towering over her. Violet watched, holding her breath, looking between him and her mother. She looked at the difference between the two, their body language, their faces, as they stared each other down.

“And why would they do that?” Amber asked, her voice low.

“Because look at what they did to me. I was part of their security, I was responsible for the Hatbox murders, and for that they covered their own asses so they wouldn’t be at fault for my mistakes,” Chris proceeded to say, getting up close to Amber’s face.

She kept her stare, staring him in the eye.

Trager stood up from his chair.

“I was one of their executives,” he claimed. “Once they realized that I wasn’t no use anymore, they used me. Covered up the whole thing, no questions asked.”

“And what about me? Didn’t you ever wonder what happened once I was transferred? Did they even say anything to you at all?” Eddie added.

Amber looked at them, and then directed her stare at the twins.

“What about you two?” She asked.

“We lived in the place for as long as we can remember.”

“We were failed experiments in other words.”

Amber looked back at Violet, her hard staring directed into her soul.

“And you said this…Murkoff would kill us off? Just for being involved?” She asked.

“Y-Yes,” Violet answered quickly.

Amber thought long and hard, the anticipation from the others growing.

“Fine.”

She walked away, going upstairs.

It was silent, just for a moment, the click of Amber’s door closing behind her.

“Well that went well,” Trager said.

Walker huffed, sitting back down at the table.

“Your mother is very…” Eddie trailed.

“Stubborn? Strict?”

“Idiotically stupid. Sorry, kid,” Walker replied.

“She’s always been that way, can’t really change her. She has her good moments…sometimes,” Violet replied, shrugging her shoulders.

“She is very…”

“Scary.”

Both the twins finished each other’s sentences.

“Scary? All it takes is one woman to scare you two?” Trager asked.

“It’s not the fear of her that scares us.”

“It’s the implications of what she will do against us.”

“They make a good point; she doesn’t trust us, and she might try to call those agents on us,” Walker replied. “She’s not easily intimidated.”

“If she’s scared of what they’ll do, it’ll give her a reason to not send Murkoff after us,” Eddie added.

“She knows she’s an accessory to our escape.”

“As well as hiding out while the situation at hand dies.”

Violet stared at the kitchen table, silent.

“If Mom chooses to call them, then it’ll be all over,” she thought.

“Don’t look so disappointed.”

“You did the hard part already.”

Both the twins reassured her.

She looked up at them, a thought crossing her mind.

“So what happened while I was out? I mean, passed out?” She asked.

“We just watched over you.”

“Made sure you were safe.”

“And then the Walrider came and took you as a new host,” Trager added, getting a shove from Walker.

He had a warning look on his face, shutting him up.

Walrider

The name seemed to trigger something in her memory, and she went rigid, remembering that empty, haunting face, and that static buzz in her ears. Everyone’s voices seemed to just fade out, muffled as she recalled the memories she had seen from before ever seeing the Walrider.

“Violet?”

Her thoughts were interrupted, seeing the others staring at her.

She swallowed, inhaling sharply through her nose.

“What?” She asked.

“We were asking if you had any more information from Miles?”

“Any possible leads to help us?”

“Waylon Park, Simon Peacock, Paul Marion.”

“I do,” she replied. “I don’t know how I’d get in contact with them though.”

“Well who?” Trager asked.

“One of them…was Paul Marion, but I don’t know if we can trust him or not,” she answered softly.

Walker scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“I’d doubt he’d help any of us,” he muttered.

“I don’t know. He seemed more sympathetic to me when I lied about the bruises,” she replied, lightly touching them around her neck.

Walker was silent, looking over her before turning his head away.

“What did you tell him?” Eddie asked.

“Just some…incident that may or may not have happened to me; bullying incident,” Violet replied, tossing and turning her head.

“Bullying?”

“School?”

Violet looked at the twins for a moment.

“Yeah, school. A place where you go to learn?” She questioned.

They glanced at each other.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Violet said upon realizing they had never been outside the asylum.

“Forgive us for not being so acclimated to the real world,” The bald twin replied.

Violet pursed her lip, nodding.

“You get picked on in school? You?” Trager questioned, pointing his finger at her.

“Yeah…? Why is that such a revelation?”

Trager scoffed, lifting a brow.

“Listen, kid, I don’t remember much, but I remember you kicking me in the balls and then punching my face in before I blacked out,” he answered.

“And I’m sorry for that,” she replied, leaning in closer and whispering, “but you cut off my fucking finger. So I think we’re even.”

Trager held his hands up in mock-defense.

“Payback, then,” he merely replied.

Violet sighed.

“It’s not something I would like to talk about, but to spare any details, yes I get bullied. No, I don’t fight back. It gets me in trouble…a lot,” she explained briefly.

“Why’s that?” Walker questioned.

“Getting into fights apparently gets me in trouble, so I just grit my teeth and take it. School is phony as it is, picking one side over the other because of how much of a reputation I have.”

She got up from the table, walking into the kitchen area adjacent to the table, setting to washing the dishes.

“I don’t understand.”

“How could you possibly not stand up for yourself.”

“Because that’s just how I am, okay?” She exclaimed.

Walker widened his eyes for a second, before setting them again in a narrowed stare. She quieted herself, so as not to wake her mother. She cleared her throat, going back to washing the dishes.

They were quiet for a while, not saying much. She coordinated them on how to clean the floors, mop, clean the bathrooms and clean the showers. Soon, the others went to bed early, exhausted from just doing chores.

“Mom’s room is off limits, but I’ll go in later and clean it, after she wakes up.”

“My, you really do all of this? All this work?” Eddie asked, helping her fold the laundry.

“I do. She works nights a lot, so I usually pick up the slack if she doesn’t do it on her one day off,” Violet replied, picking up her jacket to lay out flat.

“I don’t remember her, but she said she worked as a nurse.”

“Yep. Went to college and got her nurse’s certification, while she had me.”

She didn’t say much more, but it was a longing and a hate she had developed for the man who had left them. And now he was here. But she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

He looked at some of the clothes, noticing holes that lingered on some of them. He looked fondly at them, as if remembering something.

“You know, I remember some parts of my life from before the asylum,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes, but I grew up very different from what you’re used to,” he said, looking at a hole in a shirt.

Violet sat down next to him, continuing to fold the laundry.

“Tell me about it,” she replied.

“Well, from what I remember, my father was a horrible man, even much more than my uncle.”

He stopped for a second, continuing on.

“They would…hurt me, let’s just say. And then take pictures of it. And I was just a boy, I didn’t know that it was wrong, that it just hurt me.”

Violet listened intently, nodding along.

“When I got older, I…did some horrible things.”

“What kind of things?”

“I would…target women, and hurt them, kill them. Remembering it now, it pains me to even say it now,” Eddie continued on.

She was empathetic, listening to it.

“They would show me the pictures, my pictures, and the pictures of the women I had killed.”

He shook his head, taking a shaky breath.

“I don’t know why I didn’t bring myself to admit it, or say anything, but in that moment I felt angry, and humiliated, just from the photographs.”

He looked distraught.

She wanted to test how he was, seeing if his mood would change at the drop of a dime. She gently placed a hand on top of his, squeezing. She smiled, trying to reassure him.

“You don’t have to go through that anymore,” Violet whispered.

Eddie looked surprised, pulling a smile.

“Look at me, getting so worked up over the past,” he said, and quickly wiped at his eyes.

Violet went back to folding clothes, taking notice of her jacket. She tsked, looking at the tear from her time in the asylum.

“Shoot, I’m gonna have to grab a sewing needle and thread for this,” she muttered.

“Needle and thread?”

Eddie offered his hand, taking the jacket from her.

“I could certainly repair this,” he said, poking a finger through the hole.

“Really?”

“Absolutely! I learned how to sew from a young age, nothing is too much of a difficult job for me,” he said.

“Well, gee, thanks. Maybe you can repair all our clothes, or even make new ones.”

“Oh yes, before all of this, and that wretched place, I had a talent and an eye for fashion. I wanted to be a dress designer,” Eddie replied.

He held the jacket close as he looked off, remembering a different kind of life for himself.

“That’s nice. Maybe I can help. I have some experience sewing.”

“Oh really? Did your mother teach you?”

“She did, and a lot of times it helped me when I needed to fix my jeans or for things like this.”

Eddie nodded, looking over the jacket.

“I’ll fix it up, first thing tomorrow,” he said.

He went to bed, leaving the jacket hanging over the couch.

Violet sighed, looking over the blood stains that she wasn’t able to get out from that night. She lingered on it for a moment, before a knock at the door startled her.

“Who could be up this late?”

She walked up to the door, opening it to peek outside.

“Ms. Gonzalez?”

She just stared at the man at the front door, seeing his familiar face.

“Mr. Marion,” she replied.

Chapter Text

“I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, but I wanted to ask you a few questions…off the record.”

Violet looked back inside, seeing it was quiet.

“May I come inside?” He asked.

Violet stepped outside, turning the porchlight on.

“So did you happen to find this ‘Miles’ person you were after?” She asked.

“He’s dead, along with almost everything he had gathered as evidence against the company that I work for,” he said plainly.

He held up a piece of paper.

“He asked you for help, didn’t he?”

Violet’s heart quickened, and she felt her voice stuck in her throat.

“How–”

“I managed to back up the files left on the computers from the asylum’s database; Miles asked you for help to get out.”

“Deny, deny, deny.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She replied firmly.

“‘You were the reporter that documented the Afghanistan wars’,” Marion repeated, reading from the paper.

Violet quickly snatched it out of his hand, looking over it.

“Damn it.”

“You’re lucky my partner didn’t find it before I did. On my own time, of course.”

She read through the conversation, looking at the typed responses, and how the conversation ended. It almost seemed like a lifetime ago, seeing the typed emails that started it all. She looked back at him.

“What do you want exactly?” She asked.

“I want to know your relation to Miles Upshur, and if you know what he was planning,” Marion replied firmly.

“Don’t you work for Murkoff?”

“I’m off the clock at the moment; radio silent.”

Violet swallowed.

“How can I trust you?”

“How can I?”

They both stared at each other for a moment, before Marion spoke again.

“I have this only piece of incriminating evidence against you. Something that would put you under arrest and taken to juvenile detention, and jail for your mother.”

“And I have evidence in my house right now, that would incriminate the company you work for. Putting you and your partner out of a job. Not only that, I have my own testimony from my time inside,” she retorted, staring him down.

Marion stared at her, unmoving.

“It’s my word over yours. Nobody ever wins a court case against Murkoff.”

She flexed her jaw, gritting her teeth.

“That doesn’t help me in the slightest.”

“Everything you say now will not be recorded or documented by Murkoff. Everything you say will not be held against you.”

She thought about it. Have him on her side, and everyone else's, and they would go free. On the other hand, it would be hard to get the others to trust him.

“Miles said you could help me, as well as a…Simon Peacock and Waylon Park,” she said, handing him back the piece of paper.

“Simon Peacock and Waylon Park are considered dangerous individuals, as well as Miles. How did you manage to get to Miles?”

“There’s a floor beneath the asylum, about a hundred feet underground.”

Marion looked slightly put off, even surprised.

“Can you show me?” He asked.

“And leave? I’m already under pressure for even leaving my house in the first place!” Violet whispered.

“Why’s that? You told your mother?”

“Yes! Yes, I had to tell her, I have—”

She stopped herself, sighing.

“You know what, let me grab my jacket, we can go,” She replied, opening the door and grabbing her jacket, before slipping it on.

She walked back out with her keys, locking the door behind her.

“So why the sudden change? I thought you worked with Murkoff?” Violet asked, turning to him now.

“I do, I just…have a hunch, so to speak.”

“A hunch? You’re basing this off a hypothetical guess?”

Marion sighed.

“I’m doing some digging. The man you mentioned, Simon Peacock, gave me a few leads to look into. But I just want to check this place first, before anything else.”

They made their way to Marion’s car, where Violet climbed into the passenger seat, having to adjust it to her size.

Marion chuckled.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah, if you call this shitbox here comfortable,” Violet replied, strapping her seatbelt on.

“Kinda young to be using language like that,” Marion commented, speeding off into the night.

Towards the asylum.

The drive was quiet, Violet looking out into the window at the darkness, being illuminated for brief seconds by the headlights of the car.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Marion asked, breaking the silence.

“What’s there to tell?”

“I have a daughter, about a year older than you.”

Violet was quiet, crossing her arms.

“I think you and her would get along.”

She shifted.

“I lived here my whole life, my mom works as a nurse at the hospital here, and I go to school; I’m a freshman in high school.”

“And the bullying?”

“I don’t let it define me,” she replied curtly.

“And your father isn’t in the picture?”

“No; he had a one night stand with my mom, left and went to Afghanistan, I think. She doesn’t talk about him much, but she says I look like him.”

“My wife…she passed away from a genetic blood disease. My daughter has the same condition.”

“That’s awful.”

“She’s tough, a typical teenager with a rebellious streak, but hey, that’s kids for ya.”

Violet shook her head, thinking of what she was doing right now. Why was he helping her? He had so much to lose and here he was, incriminating himself like this. With a witness and possible accessory.

“Why are you doing this? Haven’t you seen what that company has done?” Violet suddenly pressed him. “Why go through this trouble just to get fired?”

“I just want to do some digging. I don’t have a high enough clearance for some things, but my partner does.”

“You mean Glick?”

“Yeah…Glick. She has higher clearance, and she knows more than I do.”

“So why?”

“I want answers. I want to know why Murkoff would go through all this trouble to cover up something…insignificant.”

“Both of us do. So tell me what you do know. Tell me…” She hesitated. “Tell me about Chris Walker.”

Marion kept his hands on the steering wheel steady, hitting a pothole head on.

“How do you know who he is?”

“I saw his file, and met him in the asylum.”

“He’s also my father who I never met before,” she thought to herself.

He glanced at Violet, and then back on the road.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Marion continued driving while he talked.

“Walker was part of security at Murkoff. Big guy, nicknamed ‘Strongfat’. You get the picture. But before that he was M.P. in the army, even toured Afghanistan a few times. While he was working at Murkoff he surveyed over therapy sessions, ones where it was treated with hypnosis. At the time, me and my partner were investigating three different murders that had happened, all at the same clinic where Walker was sent to.”

“Like getting treated for PTSD?”

“Yeah, that. But anyways, we thought it was the therapist orchestrating it. I had a hunch because he referred to the Apkallu; demigods in Arabic culture. One of the kids of the victims drew a picture, depicting the dad as said demigod. I knew it was all in their heads.”

They came upon that familiar sign that said ‘Mount Massive Asylum’, pulling into the entrance gate.

“We go back to the therapy center, and the therapist is dead. All the sessions were recorded, overlooked by Walker, which he smashed to pieces.”

“The Hatbox murders.”

“That’s right. We go to Walker’s home, open the door, and four coolers with three of the victims’ heads are inside. Walker comes home, freaks out. Took a goddamn car to take him down. Bullet to the face didn’t do shit either.”

“But if Walker did the murders, why was the murderer a different person?”

“Because we pinned the evidence on him after taking care of Walker. Murkoff wanted to cover their asses in any affiliation with insubordinate employees."

“And then you put Walker…here.”

“Murkoff requires all employees upon termination to relinquish all contact and access to all organizations to be cut off. I thought I did the right thing, getting him the help he needed.”

“You were wrong,” Violet quietly muttered.

She looked out the windshield at the building, feeling her heart pound in her ears. It was scary now, looking back at this place. All the fear and terror she experienced there.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Marion asked, opening the car door.

“Yeah.”

She got out of the car, feeling the cool air against her face. Marion walked up to the gate, opening it with ease.

“They considered this place to be neutralized, so no one should come up here now.”

Violet followed him in, put off by the lack of gore and blood on the floor.

She led the way to the elevator, Marion following inside. She turned the key, pressing the flashing button. And down they went.

“So why do you want to know about Walker? He was killed here,” Marion asked.

“No, he wasn't.”

“What?”

“He’s at my home right now, along with some other people who I helped to escape here.”

She felt her face flush, telling the truth right then and there.

“What? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you? You’re not exactly a priest, ya know.”

“Fair. But what’s the story?”

“I’ll tell you.”

She sighed, watching the wood paneling of the elevator change slowly to cement and concrete.

“To be honest, Miles sent me that email, and I went…to help. I thought I was doing the right thing, taking him to get out and to a hospital. His fingers were cut off, he had bullet holes and was still standing . I met a few people along the way, some helpful…more than others. And then I saw Walker. The bruises? He tried to kill me.”

Marion didn't comment, continuing to listen.

“Being here was like watching a horror movie play out in real time. Murder, rape, desecration of bodies, you name it. Walker walked around here with a room full of decapitated heads.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“That wasn’t the worst of it. It was when Miles…died. He died in my arms, and then something…happened.”

“Happened how?”

The elevator continued down, creaking and shifting the car.

“Miles spoke…in my head. It's hard to believe, but it's what happened. He told me you’d be some help, as well as Simon Peacock, and Park. He told me…I was the next host for the Walrider. But I don’t feel any different, minus the horrible trauma from this place. But…something happened to all the patients here, one by one.”

“And that was…?”

“They all…recovered from their psychosis, somehow, someway. Miles mentioned a morphogenic engine, something that caused all their problems–well, most of their problems.”

She sighed, thinking back to Walker’s calm demeanor.

“Walker didn’t have a face before. I read in his file that he tore at the skin of his face, and he had these mouthguards around his mouth. It was…something.”

“And all this? Happened here?”

“Yes.”

The elevator lurched, stopping as it opened. No blood was spotted on the floor, clean and pristine.

“They cleaned up here,” Marion commented, walking out of the elevator.

She walked, noticing the blood stains left behind.

“They didn't do a good job.”

She saw on one of the walls, where it was scrawled in blood, stained on the white tile wall.

Savior

The word sent a chill up her spine, no doubt whoever wrote it was wanting her here in the first place.

“A little cryptic, don’t you think?” Marion asked, looking at the word next to her.

Violet continued to stare, and saw a bloody handprint below it, where the index finger was missing.

“Yeah. Let’s just keep going,” she replied, and continued forth.

“So you said something about this Walrider; you know what it is?” Marion asked.

“You don’t?”

“Glick knows. She always does.”

She paused, looking around.

“I don’t know either. Just that it’s a black cloud thing…an intelligent group of…nanites.”

In one of the rooms, was the room she saw from Miles’ camcorder. It was open, and no one was inside. That symbol overlooked part of the room, and the painting on the wall had been slashed. She looked on the desk in the room, a name plaque sitting in front.

“Dr. Rudolph Wernicke,” she thought.

Walking out of the room, they passed into the familiar giant room to Violet, one where the machine stood in front and centered. Something odd circled the ground, where it was a spiral of black soot, constantly moving. It was on the screens too, circling in one big spiral.

“What the hell…?”

Marion looked past the glass, looking over at the machine.

“What the hell is that?” He questioned, going down the stairwell to look closer.

Violet stayed where she was, hearing that buzz in her ears.

“Violet…”

She turned, seeing a shadow figure behind her, wisps of black smoke coming off his body.

It wasn’t Miles. It was someone new. Violet turned to look back at Marion, observing the spiral.

“You’re in danger,” the figure said, his voice echoing.

“Who are you?” Violet whispered, turning back to him.

But he was gone. Dissipated into smoke. She continued to hear that buzz, and Marion came back.

“Ants; black ants,” he muttered, looking at the computer screens.

“Everything was wiped from the cameras, computer bases, and everything else. There’s nothing left here.”

“So what were you looking for exactly?”

Marion was quiet for a moment, looking like a broken man.

“I thought we'd find answers.”

Violet frowned.

“What kind of answers?”

“I wanted to know what Murkoff was doing here, and how this…Walrider connected everything to it. How Miles was still alive, how Billy was alive.”

“The Walrider has the ability to heal the body from post-mortem, like what happened to Miles–he told me that. He had bullet holes in his shirt, and a lot of them.”

“In your head?” He questioned.

She nodded, looking everywhere else.

“Yeah.”

She pointed through the glass, down at the floor in front of the machine.

“That’s where he died. I don’t remember anything else before Walker tried to kill me,” she said.

“Are you…okay?”

The buzzing was apparent, the whispers back, but less powerful than what they were before.

“Yeah, I’m fine now,” she lied.

“Liar…”

Marion nodded, seemingly thinking of something.

“You still have my card?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ll be in touch with you. I want to have a chance to speak to the people that escaped here,” he replied, taking another card and jotting something down.

He handed it to her, a different number on it.

“My personal number, in case you have something for me.”

He motioned out of the doors, and that buzzing was ringing in Violet’s ears. As they got in the car to leave, the buzzing grew faint, and was barrel audible when they arrived back at her home.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble, dragging you out there. I hope your mother doesn’t plan on making me a target,” he said, the last part a dry joke.

“She wanted to call the cops once she realized what the others had done–in the past, I mean. I talked her out of it, for her protection.”

“That’s good. I’ll be in touch, I just don’t know when. But keep an eye on things here,” he said.

Violet nodded, waving back to him before getting her keys and opening the door. She closed it quietly, noticing the buzz again. It was dead quiet, minus the buzzing.

She took her jacket off, setting it on the couch for Eddie to work on in the morning. Her mother wasn’t home, she was at work. So why did she have the feeling she was being watched?

The TV turned on, the faint noise of TV static on it. She picked up the remote to turn it off, but it didn’t switch off. She continued to press the button, but to no avail.

“Violet,” she heard that familiar voice behind her.

Illuminated by the light from the TV, was the figure from the asylum. He looked ragged, bone thin, only wearing a pair of shorts covering his frame.

“Who are you?” She whispered.

“My name is Billy. You’re in danger.”

“Yeah, you already said that before. How?”

She quickly looked around, seeing no one in sight to help her, and he was blocking the way to the stairs from behind the couch.

“Murkoff will stop at nothing to make sure everything is covered up, that includes you.”

“Why?”

“You’re the host. The one to truly achieve lateral ascension.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you went through the perfect conditions.”

Violet’s breath hitched, and Billy disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“Wake up.”

“Hey, kid, wake up.”

Violet blinked, finding herself standing in front of the TV, the static still playing. Walker stood by her side, shaking her shoulder. The lights were still off.

“How–”

“You were sleepwalking.”

“Sleepwalking?”

“Yeah. You feeling okay?”

He was so much taller than her, even standing at 5’8”.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, I’ll just…go to bed.”

She quickly turned off the TV, making her way up the stairs.

“Hey.”

Violet was at the top of the stairwell, looking back down at him.

“If you ever need to say anything, or talk about what you saw in that place, it’s fine,” he whispered, trying to sound sympathetic.

She had her brow furrowed, looking down at him.

To see him so different now, his demeanor, his behavior, even his concern. It was...so...strange. And he looked at her with eyes that glowed from the dark, faint, but still there.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered before she went to her room, shutting the door softly.

That night, she decided to do more digging, looking over the patient files she had grabbed. One for Eddie, one for Trager, and one for Billy; Billy Hope. He was the perfect test subject, and there wasn’t even anything wrong with him. She almost felt bad for him. He was only twenty-three. He was only nine years older than her, but still. She read his file.

THERAPY STATUS:

Patient claims to have progressed to self-directed lucid dream states. MORPHOGENIC ENGINE activity observed at unprecedented scale. Continuing stage 4 hormone schedule.

DIAGNOSTICS:

Spirometry revealed no bronchial accumulation.

Hematocrit centrifuge again failed to separate erythrocytes. Highly worrisome.

MRI revealed arhythmic REM/NREM cycle. Laughter in NREM state.

INTERVIEW NOTES:

Billy asked about the status of his mother's lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum. This represents a catastrophic breach in security, despite Billy's claims that he discovered the truth 'in the blood dreams of Doctor Trager.' (Note: the only Trager on company records, one Richard Trager, is an executive from M.R.D.) All orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved to include analytical biometrics.

She needed to know what happened to him. 

Why did he come to her in the state he did? What connection did he have with her? Unless what he said earlier made perfect sense. Endless thoughts ran through her head, once she set the folder of papers back in their place, in the drawer.

She couldn’t sleep. It was already five a.m. once she realized she had stayed awake the whole night, sitting in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

It was going to be a long while before she could do or say anything.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since that night with Marion.

The others were biding their time, trying to fully go out into society once more, and for the first time.

Some were recuperating more well than others.

Trager and Walker were growing hair, and looked healthier, putting on more weight.

Walker looked better with hair on his head, now growing out with blonde hair, grey speckled in it. Probably from the stress.

Violet couldn’t help but look at him, thinking back to his picture. He looked normal, an upstanding citizen. She couldn’t help but think about all the years he missed out on, her growing up without him. And now he was here, but she couldn’t bring herself to even tell him.

It was his reaction, mostly.

Would he be angry? Confused? Or outright deny it?

Besides that, the others were recuperating well. She had to teach the twins how to write, having them practice sentences and certain phrases, and even cursive from her own schoolbooks. Trager, meanwhile, was intent on exposing the truth. He read up all he could on any potential leads to Murkoff, and news reports, leaks, outlets, blogs–anything he could get his hands on in order to expose the truth about Murkoff.

Almost obsessed.

Violet had to snatch her laptop away at some point so she could use it, and told him he needed to pick up on a different hobby…at least.

She didn’t blame him, but she wanted to forget her experience from that place, not remember it.

She finally showed them the camcorder footage, and some of the incriminating evidence against the company. Her mother disapproved, but she couldn’t do much about it, now that the time had passed, and it was late September now.

She just had to get through the school day, that was it.

It was already the last period, and she was finishing up work before she felt something hit her head. There were a few snickers, a balled up piece of paper fell in front of her.

She brushed it off onto the floor, continuing to do her work. Another ball of paper was directed at her head, a few more snickers amongst the students in the back.

She continued to do her work, scribbling in the last of the answers.

“Violet…”

“Oh no,” she thought, closing her eyes.

She turned her paper in at the front desk, the teacher only glancing up for a moment, and then back to her paper grading. She grabbed her sketchbook out of her backpack, starting to draw.

“...Violet…” The voice drawled, almost in a sing-song tone.

She ignored it, drawing in her sketchbook.

“Look…outside…”

She momentarily stopped her pencil, glancing up to the window beside her left.

Her breath hitched, and she stared back at a figure, cloaked in shadow and a hood, pushing a grocery cart in front of the parking lot outside.

He stopped pushing the cart, lifting his shrouded head to look up, and stared straight back at her.

She couldn’t have held eye contact for more than a few seconds, going back to drawing in her sketchbook.

She scribbled quickly, glancing up at the clock for the time to pass.

2:55 p.m.

She scribbled, trying to get an exact replica of the figure outside.

2:57 p.m.

She looked back at the parking lot, seeing the figure gone now.

She set her face straight, looking down at her drawing.

An almost exact replica, pushing the shopping cart and everything.

The bell rang, giving her a dismissal from class. Walking through the halls, past other kids and people, looking down at their heads as they passed by.

Being tall has its perks. But it also made you a target.

She walked off the school grounds, looking over her shoulder as she walked down the sidewalk, towards her house a few blocks down. Past a wooded area and to the dirt driveway. She had to tell Marion what she saw, what she knew, to see if he could figure it out.

“Hey fatass!” She was roughly shoved from the back.

She turned to see who it was, a group of teenage girls her age.

“What do you want?” Violet said, an edge to her voice.

“Didn’t you read my little notes I sent you in class? They were so sweet,” the main girl of the group said, teasing her. “I bet your daddy would’ve loved to read them.”

Violet backed away, rolling her eyes as she turned to continue walking.

“Hey, fatass, I’m talking to you!”

Her hair was pulled from the back, moving back and slipping on the ground.

The other girls laughed, taunting her, as they circled around her.

She looked up at the main girl.

“Your mom’s not around to save you now; off school property.”

One of them kicked her in the stomach, losing her breath as she held her stomach. Another kicked her in the face, hearing her nose crunch from the blow. She screwed her eyes shut, feeling her head pound, smelling blood as it leaked out of her nose and onto the pavement. Hands on her knees, she just breathed, looking down as the blood hit the ground.

“Look at her, I think she’s about to cry.”

Violet looked up at them, her eye twitched as she heard the voices once more.

“Kill them.”

“No…not here.”

She shut her eyes, making the voices stop.

She got up, quickly grabbing the main girl by her hair as she shrieked. In one fell swoop, she punched her in the face.

She recoiled back, holding her now bleeding nose.

“Oh my god, you broke my nose!”

Violet then kicked her in the stomach, watching her topple to the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The girl asked.

Violet gestured with her arms.

“Like you said, off school grounds.”

The girl scowled, holding her broken nose.

Brow furrowed, she turned back to the other girls that were with her.

“You want what she's having?” She yelled at them, pointing a finger.

They quickly shook their heads.

“Then fuck off! Get the fuck out of here!” She yelled, running up to them.

They quickly murmured to each other, grabbing their main mean girl and walking away in the other direction.

Violet huffed, wiping her nose. She turned back, grabbing her backpack as she headed home.

~

Walker sighed, having cleaned up the dishes, his back hurting from hunching over. He stretched his back in the kitchen table seat, across from the twins. The twins had already done their chores, now trying to learn how to spell and write.

“You look tired.”

“And restless.”

They both picked up on how Walker was acting, especially around Amber and Violet.

Violet especially.

“Just thinking…” he muttered.

He needed to talk to Amber, ask her what she knew of him. Ever since that day, she was acting strange around him. At first he thought it was because of his intimidating size.

But now? It felt different. Her touch was more lingering, her gaze held too long before she would glance away, and she doted more and more on Violet more than usual.

And Violet.

She was traumatized, that was for certain. Loud noises would scare her, the others would scare her on accident, her shrieking as she held her hands up in defense. And she would fidget and tick, swatting at nothing around her ears and head. And murmured to herself, even when she thought no one was looking or listening.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he’d pass by her bedroom, listening to her mutter or talk in her sleep.

He found her a couple of more times in the living room, staring into a TV of static, standing still.

It was like the Walrider had done something to her. It was no surprise to even see her this way, after facing the horrors of the asylum.

The more he looked at her, the more he noticed her features. Her height. Weight, broad nose on her face. Green eyes even. It was unnerving.

Chris was broken out of his thoughts when he heard the click of the door open.

He turned to see Violet enter through the door, shutting it behind her. She threw her backpack down, looking at the other’s shocked faces. Her face was bloody, and there was a bruise forming on her cheek.

“What?” She said, her voice sounded gritty.

“What the hell happened to you?” Chris asked.

“Fight,” she merely said and grabbed a paper towel from the counter.

“A fight?” Chris perked, getting up from the couch.

She shrugged. She grabbed the home phone, going up to her room.

“Hey, wait a second,” Chris called, going after her.

Both of the twins smirked slightly, glancing at each other.

Chris followed Violet to her room, seeing her dial a number from a scrawled piece of card.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” He said, before snatching the phone and paper from her.

He looked at the card, flipping it over.

Paul Marion

He looked at her, brow furrowed.

“What the hell is this?” He whispered, holding up the card.

She was silent, glancing between him and the card.

“Do you have any idea who this is? This is Murkoff , do you have any idea what these people put me through?”

“I…I know.”

“You know? Then why do you have his number? Why are you trying to contact him?”

“He said he could help! He told me to contact him if anything were to happen!” She reared back in his face.

There was that look. He recognized it.

He stood back fully up, looking down at the card. He contemplated as he looked down at the number. He looked back at Violet, handing her the card.

“Okay,” he whispered. “What are you going to say?”

“Talk about the homeless man I saw staring at me while I was at school. Maybe he’s connected somehow.”

He needed to talk to Amber.

“Okay, fine. Just…don’t lean your head back if your nose keeps bleeding.”

A few hours went by, Violet resting on the couch with an ice pack to her face. Rick had come out of the guest room, wondering himself what was happening.

“What happened to you?” He asked her.

“Fight,” she said. She tried to pull a smile. “I won.”

Rick scoffed, shaking his head.

She grimaced from her smile, holding the ice pack more firmly on her face.

Chris contemplated. He wondered, even.

Was it fate? Was it destiny? Or was it sheer luck that he was rescued and helped by the hopes of some fourteen-year-old girl?

A fourteen-year-old girl that looked just like him. Acted like him. But still had her mother’s qualities. Selfless, caring, hopeful .

Violet got up from the couch, and went upstairs to her room.

She sighed.

She couldn’t reach Marion, his phone going off but never picking up. He had to know. Or at least tell him what had happened. She wiped her face with her hands as she sighed, trying to think of what to do.

A knock came at her door.

It was her mother.

“Hey,” Violet breathed.

Amber screwed her face.

“My god, are you okay? What happened?”

“No, not really. I, uh, got into a fight after school, and a homeless man was staring at me in the parking lot. So that was nice,” she replied sarcastically.

Her mother exhaled through her nose, looking at Violet.

“I know, I know! Look, I already talked to Chris about it–”

“Oh so Chris knows, but I don’t?”

“You were asleep!”

Amber closed her eyes, turning her back to her.

“How am I supposed to tell you anything if you’re asleep or gone all the time?” Violet questioned.

Amber looked at her with a warning on her face.

“The first time was when you brought the others into my house, and then it was the asylum, and then the camera footage. So what else do you have that you’re hiding from me?”

Violet pursed her lip.

“Marion? Paul Marion–he’s working with us now.”

“Oh my god, Violet–”

“Look, I know. I know . Everything that I did was dumb, and stupid, and you grounded me for a month from my computer after that,” she interjected, holding her arms in self-defense.

“Dumb? You could’ve gotten hurt in that place, and I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you had it not been for the twins.”

“I did get hurt, but I’m fine now. Look at me!”

“And what about the potential PTSD you have?”

Violet scoffed, turning away with her hands on her hips. She nodded, glancing down at the floor.

“Do you have anything else to say?” Amber questioned, trying to make eye contact with her.

She turned back to face her, her face set in a hard stare. Violet opened her mouth, preparing herself for her next words.

“I know who my father is, Mom.”

Chapter Text

Amber’s eyes grew wide, and she took a step back.

“Violet, your father–”

“Yes, yes, I know all that bull you told me. He went to Afghanistan, but never came back.”

“Violet–”

“He is literally sitting in our house. Right. Now. And after fourteen years, I found him. I actually know who my dad is, Mom. Chris, or Dad, at this point, went to Afghanistan. He took trips to Iraq. The timeline fits perfectly with what you said; he never came back because he was working for a company that had no outside affiliation. And then he was sent to that asylum for four years, which matched up perfectly with how much you tried to contact him, but never got an answer.”

Amber opened and closed her mouth, sighing instead. She glanced off to the side, putting a hand up to her chin.

“Does he know?” Violet asked.

Her mother paused.

“No, he doesn’t. But Violet, that was a long time ago. He didn’t even know I had you before he left.”

“Then why can’t he know now?”

Amber looked at her.

“How did you even figure this out?”

Violet looked at her like she was crazy.

“Are you kidding me? Look at me, and then look at him. Can you not see the resemblance? I mean–for crying out loud–you had sex with h–”

Amber held her hand up, grimacing as she shook her head.

“That’s enough. We’ll talk about this later. I will talk with him, see if he has any sort of reaction to all of this.”

Violet swallowed, saying one last thing before she left her room.

“What was he like? When you first met him?” She asked, grabbing her mother’s attention once more.

Amber lingered on the doorknob, turning back to face Violet.

“He was sweet, and he was just like you when you were younger.”

She pulled a small smile.

Violet screwed her brow, nodding her head.

“Okay.”

“Put some ice on that bruise, it’s going to swell,” Amber said before she left the room.

~

Chris sat on the couch, continuing to think to himself.

He heard the click of a door, and saw Amber coming down the stairs.

He looked at her, noticed her. Wondered why he found her so familiar. He dug through his memory, but bits and pieces of his past felt like digging a never ending hole. Her name struck, but he couldn’t find a reason why. Like he knew her before.

She glanced at him before she broke eye contact.

Amber stood straight as she went into the kitchen, grabbing her purse and things.

Violet made her appearance, walking down the stairs and putting the home phone back down on the receiver. Amber murmured something close to her ear, seeing her reaction of surprise as she looked at her. Violet nodded her head, a small smile on her face. He saw her murmur an ‘okay’ before she kissed her daughter on the cheek.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. You boys be good,” Amber called as she walked out the door.

Both the twins waved their goodbyes, Chris merely grunting in response.

Violet went to work in the kitchen, grabbing several pans and a pot.

“What are you cooking?” One twin asked, looking up from his writing.

“Some dinner. Maybe some mashed potatoes, gravy, spaghetti,” Violet replied as she grabbed her ingredients from the cupboards.

“Do you need help?” Chris asked.

“No, I’m okay. I do this all the time,” Violet replied.

She had a smile, but one that didn’t reach her eyes. Chris took notice of this, only glancing away to break eye contact.

The phone suddenly rang, everyone’s attention looking to it.

Violet quickly grabbed it over the counter, standing over it awkwardly as she answered.

“Hello?”

She paused, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Glad to hear you’re okay. Thought you left us hanging,” she replied, still leaning over the counter.

She made a disgruntled face.

“Come over?”

Walker perked, listening and watching her.

She paused, listening.

“To talk about what?”

Her eyebrows then shot up in surprise.

“Oh, okay. S-Sure, we can do that, but my mom just left the house. Do you want to park in the garage?” She asked, standing up straight.

“Okay. Y-Yeah, we can do that,” she replied finally, glancing over Walker.

She paused, while she was looking at him.

“See ya then. Bye.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear, hanging up the call.

“Who was that?”

“Yes, who was calling?”

Violet sighed, putting the phone back down.

“Paul Marion,” she answered.

“Marion’s coming over?” Chris asked.

“Paul?” Rick asked as he entered the room again. “What about him?”

“He’s coming over, and said he wanted to meet you.”

“Meet us? After the shit he put us through?” Rick exclaimed.

Violet flinched at his voice, recollecting herself.

“He is. He said he wanted first-hand accounts of what it was like inside the asylum, for all of us,” she explained.

“How do you know he’s not lying?”

“What if he just wants to gain your trust?”

Both the twins’ questions were true, but Chris himself couldn’t wonder why he was so interested in them suddenly.

“If he was really still with the company, he wouldn’t be asking to hide his car in the garage,” Violet answered firmly.

It was maybe an hour before there was a knock at the door.

Violet had just finished making dinner, before she answered the door.

“Hey, glad you could make it,” she greeted before she gestured for the stranger to come in.

Chris watched as he saw that familiar face, worn with age, and his stupid yellow tie he wore.

Marion proceeded to look around, before his eyes fell on the others gathered around the kitchen table. He had a folder under one arm.

He wondered if he was keeping true to his word.

“You’re just in time for dinner,” Violet replied, trying to break the awkward silence between them.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to intrude more than I have to,” Marion replied, trying to straighten his suit jacket.

“What’s the rush?”

“Somewhere more important to be?”

Marion flicked his gaze towards the twins, looking at them and their odd appearance. He gave a small “huh,” before his gaze fell to Walker.

Walker just stared back at him, thrumming his fingers on the kitchen table. Marion nodded, walking over to Walker and offering his hand.

“Walker,” he said. “Good to see you again.”

Chris just looked down at his hand, before he glanced at Violet. She nodded for him to shake his hand, giving him a look. He rolled his eyes, shaking his hand, before squeezing more tightly than he should’ve.

“Good to be back,” he muttered.

“Well where’s my handshake, buddy? Did you forget about ole Rick?” Trager said, gesturing with his own hand.

Marion looked at him.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to you?” Marion said, his eyes scanning over the skinny frame of Trager.

“I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say my experience in that place they called an asylum wasn’t a happy one,” Trager replied.

Marion just looked, his brow screwed. He cleared his throat, trying to change the subject.

“Right, well, um, how about we talk about this over dinner,” he replied.

~

The interviews started, one by one, each person interviewed separately from each other, so that Marion could get a first hand account of each person’s time inside.

First it was Eddie, then the twins (they wanted to be interviewed together), Trager, Walker, and then Violet. Violet waited in the guest room with the others, impatient as she bounced her leg. They all waited as Marion was interviewing Walker.

“So to what purpose are these interviews for?” Eddie asked suddenly.

“Evidence.”

“To use against the company.”

“And with any doubt, they’ll retract everything we said with their fancy ass lawyers. Probably say we’re ‘mentally ill’ and ‘have it out for Murkoff’,” Trager said sarcastically.

~

“So how would you describe your time in the asylum?” Marion asked, a tape recorder playing in front of him.

Chris huffed, folding his hands on the table.

“Harsh…barely liveable…little food, water. Things like that,” Chris said, his voice quiet.

“And what did they do to you?”

Chris thought back to his time within that godforsaken place. All the memories of war mixed in with the memories of the asylum.

“It was like I was a prisoner, rather than a patient,” Chris started off saying, staring off to nowhere. “I was sedated most of the time; chemicals they would spray into the room.”

He bounced his leg under the table, a hint of his anxiety rising remembering the situation.

“Before I…completely lost it, I remember the experiments. The things they would do to us, to me. They’d force tubes and prod me with IVs while they tried to…use me for the morphogenic engine.”

“Morphogenic engine?”

“The thing they used to create the Walrider; a machine that amplified and created lucid dream states. My eyes–”

He cut himself off, trying to collect himself.

“My eyes had cataracts, because of the machine.”

“But your eyes are fine now. You look like you haven’t even taken a bullet to the face,” Marion pointed out.

Chris scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Right, I can thank Glick for that.”

“Go on. What happened that night when everything went wrong?”

“I don’t know, but I just…remember people in uniform, blood, yelling; it’s all a blur to me.”

“When you say people in uniform, do you mean Murkoff security?”

“Yes.”

Marion sighed, leaning forward in his chair.

“What about after? Anything happen?”

“Everything was a blur, going through the motions. I see bits and pieces, but everything’s cloudy. At one point I blacked out. And then when I woke up, the girl…Violet…was on the floor, unconscious.”

“And what happened after that?”

“She woke up. Screaming, yelling, crying.”

“She was afraid of you?”

“Yes, I would think so. She slapped me in the face to try and get away from me.”

Marion sighed, stopping the tape recording.

“Everything you’ve said so far can be accounted for with the others’ claims. Minus Violet,” he said. “I’ll talk to her, and after this, I’ll be gone for the next few days.”

“I’ll go get her,” Chris replied, standing up.

“Wait a second,” Marion stopped him. “I have a question for you.”

Chris rolled his eyes.

“What?”

Marion paused, standing up with his hands on his hips.

“You never had any…past relationships you mentioned before, even before when you were working with Murkoff.”

“No…” Chris replied, inquiring for more info.

“You and that kid look alike. Why’s that?”

There it was.

Chris merely shrugged, thinking back in his memory.

“I don’t know,” he answered, crossing his arms.

Marion pulled a smile, looking down.

“Yeah, right. Bring her down here, and I’ll be out of your hair,” Marion replied.

He nodded in response, going upstairs to fetch Violet. He opened the door, seeing her sitting on the bed in the guest bedroom, her hands folded neatly together, waiting patiently. Just like how he used to do.

He gestured out the door.

“You’re up kid,” he said to her.

Chapter Text

It felt like time stood still. Sitting at the kitchen table, hands clammy, folded together on the kitchen table. Meanwhile Marion was organizing papers, writing down something before he pulled out a tape recorder.

“I’m gonna ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them as honestly as you can,” Marion said, his finger on the record button.

Violet nodded, waiting.

He pressed the button, starting the interview.

“It’s currently 9:54 p.m., and I am here with…” he started.

“Violet Lynn Gonzalez,” Violet replied, clearing her throat.

“And can you tell me what happened that night, when you went to Mount Massive Asylum?”

Violet took a breath, recollecting her thoughts from that night.

“I got an email from Miles, asking me for help. He replied saying that he needed to get out of the asylum. So I agreed and…left my house…to go up to the asylum.”

“And you have a driver’s permit?”

“Yes, I do.”

Marion waved his hand, asking her to continue.

“So I went, and I had to climb inside a second story window to get inside. Because the front door was locked.”

“And what did you see inside?”

She paused, looking down at her hands.

“Decapitated heads, lined on shelves. Further down, there were dead bodies on the ground of the asylum security,” she replied, closing her eyes.

Flashes of those dead bodies and their faces lingered. She swiped her head away, before she continued.

“Walker, in the state he was in, threw me out a second story window. And then I tried to find the security room, to see where the elevator was, the one that Miles had emailed me about, in order to get to him. And then I was drugged, moved around the asylum, until I ended up in a prison block. And from there I had to…find my way to that elevator.”

“And what did you see from that point on?” Marion asked, his voice seeming distant.

She shuddered, lowering her head.

“ Everything .”

“Elaborate.”

“I saw…people…dying everywhere I went. Piles of dead bodies, some of the patients there, some of the doctors and the security guards, it was–”

She sucked in a breath, wiping at her eyes that felt wet.

“I’m sorry,” she replied.

“It’s alright, take your time,” Marion replied.

“The sewers I had to go through were full of blood. It was like smelling pennies, left in the water. That’s how much blood there was.”

“Anything else?”

“I just–I just saw so much death around me. A lot more than what someone my age should have never seen. I watched one man, his name was Martin. People called him Father Martin, and I watched him as he was nailed to a cross, and was set on fire.”

Marion turned his head away, closing his own eyes.

“I watched Trager, in his own insanity, as he…cut off my finger. And I was nearly killed, over and over,” she then got closer to Marion, leaning forward to him. “I watched Miles Upshur, the man who asked me for help, die in front of me.”

“So Miles Upshur is dead, by your account.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Over your shoulder.”

Goosebumps prodded over the back of her neck. She pulled back a piece of hair behind her ear, sniffling as she wiped her eyes.

Marion stopped the recording.

“I want to ask you a few more questions. Things that don’t necessarily pertain to the asylum or what you saw.”

She quickly wiped at any remaining tears, trying to forget what she saw.

“What could it possibly be?”

Marion sighed, filing papers away into his folder.

“I’m a father, you know that. And you seem like a good kid,” he started off saying.

“Just ask the stupid question,” Violet replied curtly.

“You said your father left? Ran off after a one night stand to go fight in Afghanistan, correct?”

“Does he know?” She asked herself, looking at him suspiciously.

“Why?”

“Just a hunch, I suppose.”

“No, I never met him. My mom never mentioned him or his name.”

Marion chuckled.

“So you never wondered who he was? At all?”

“Kind of.”

He pulled a small smile.

“You know, you do kind of look like him,” he stated.

“So he does know.”

“What gave it away?” She replied sarcastically.

“Your face, your nose, right down to your eyes.”

They both didn’t use his name, but she knew who he was talking about.

“How come you haven’t told him?”

“To be honest, I’m kind of scared. Scared of his reaction, mostly.”

“Why’s that?”

“How would you feel if you never met your father, and you meet him unknowingly, and he tries to kill you?”

“Fair, but it doesn’t hurt, you know. Maybe you and your mom can build a life together with him.”

“That’s if Murkoff won’t be looking for him,” She reminded him.

“I’ll take care of that, kid. But in the meantime, why don’t you spend some quality time with him, to make up for what happened.”

Violet quickly remembered the homeless man in the parking lot.

“Wait!”

She quickly raced towards her backpack, opening it and grabbing her sketchbook.

“While I was at school, I saw him,” she explained, turning the pages and pointing a finger down at the sketch of the homeless man.

Marion looked at it, brows screwed.

“Simon Peacock,” he said.

“He was out in the parking lot today, at about three o’ clock in the afternoon,” Violet explained, giving details.

“Then he knows who you are,” Marion said, running a hand over his face.

“What do we do then?”

“He’s considered a threat and one of the whistleblowers from Murkoff, but I think he knows something I don’t.”

“And what’s that?”

“Somewhere in Arizona,” Marion replied, grabbing his things. “I’ll be gone for the next few days. Don’t contact me unless you absolutely need to.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Don’t. Contact. Me. Unless something happens,” he stated firmly.

Violet looked at him, almost being the same height as him. She nodded, unable to say much more.

“Good. Keep updates in a journal or something, hide it, do everything you can. And keep an eye out for Peacock.”

She nodded again.

“And what if I don’t hear from you again? What if you die?” She asked.

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“Trust me, kid, I won’t. I’ve been through a lot, this is nothing to me,” he replied, trying to be reassuring.

It was failing. Miserably.

“Right,” she said.

He grabbed his things, making his way to the front door.

“See ya, kid. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

There was the shut of the door, and she went to lock it behind her. She leaned against the frame, still holding her sketchbook as she sighed. So much had happened, it was hard to imagine what more twisted experiments Murkoff was doing. Especially somewhere as desolate as Arizona.

“Is he gone?” Walker’s voice said.

He had suddenly appeared from the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. Violet looked at him, wondering if she should talk to him about…the dad thing.

“Yeah, he’s gone. Said he was going to Arizona for a potential leak.”

He grunted, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

She put away her sketchbook in her backpack, leaving it in front of the door.

This was her moment.

None of the others were awake (probably), and here he was, alone with her. She swallowed a thick wad of saliva, preparing herself as she took a seat across from him.

“Can I…talk to you about something?” She asked, looking at his face.

His blonde hair was slowly growing, getting longer by the day.

His eyebrows raised, setting them back down.

“Well, yeah, sure. What is it?” He asked, slightly confused.

“It’s, um, something personal. I guess.”

She tried to shrug it off, but her heart was beating loud in her chest, a fast beat.

“Okay, spit it out.”

“When I was looking over your file, I saw a few…details that kind of match up to a timeline of mine.”

“What kind of timeline?”

He leaned forward in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight.

“Of…my life. My mom’s life after she got pregnant with me.”

She watched his reaction.

Confusion, mostly. Surprise.

“Okay,” he drawled. “What’s your point?”

“I was just wondering…if maybe you ever met my mom before all of this happened.”

He scratched his head, thinking.

“Maybe. I could’ve, at some point.”

“You don’t remember?”

He shrugged.

“I was young, I was in the service. A lot of things get screwed in my memory.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, so does the name Amber Gonzalez ring a bell at all?”

He paused.

“It…does. But I don’t know why.”

“That’s because you met her at some point. And…one thing led to another, and–”

“Stop,” he commanded.

“Well, I’m just saying–”

“I’m thirty-four, I know…what you’re getting at. Just…get to the point,” he said, gesturing with his hand.

Violet took a deep breath, muttering an “okay” more to herself than to him.

“I…” she started, pausing as he looked at him.

He pulled a questioning brow, crossing his arms.

“I think…you’re my dad; my biological father.”

She watched him and his reaction.

He leaned back, uncrossing his arms. He swiped a hand over his face, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked off to the side, not saying anything before he chuckled.

“I knew it,” he muttered.

She screwed her brow at his response.

“I knew it,” he said again.

The corners of her mouth twitched up, feeling giddy. He pulled a smile, a genuine smile since leaving the asylum.

“So you’re my kid,” he said, looking back at her. “You’re my daughter.”

She nodded, excited at the prospect of having a life–one where she had him in it.

He seemed to study her now, looking at her face.

“I guess I haven’t been the best…dad. Certainly not ‘father of the year’,” he said.

“That’s okay. We can make up for that.”

He shook his head.

“No, I don’t think you understand. Every day went by, and I had no idea. Even when I fought in Afghanistan, and then worked for that stupid company, and then when I was in there,” he replied, shaking his head.

He continued.

“I never…got to do anything I was supposed to do. I never got to hold you when you were born, teach you how to ride a bike, see you on your first day of school, and just–” he cut himself off.

Violet swallowed, and tested the waters.

“Dad…”

He looked at her suddenly, his eyes glassy.

He laughed, wiping at his eyes.

“I'm sorry, I just uh…” He said, clearing his throat. He took a shaky breath. “This is all new to me. I-I don't even know what to do at this point.”

“We can take this as slowly as possible. And if you don't want to, we don't have to say anything to the others,” Violet replied.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

He reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it gently in his.

He sniffled.

This ex-military veteran, who was bigger than her, having watched him rip people's heads off–was getting emotional.

“So can I call you ‘Dad’ now?” Violet asked.

He nodded.

“Yeah, yeah. You can do that,” he replied shakily.

“Are you going to talk about this with Mom?”

“I will. Try to fit the pieces together, figure out what happened.”

She nodded in response, running a thumb over his giant and callused hand.

“You, uh, should go to bed. Get some rest,” Chris said, letting go of her hand.

“Tomorrow's Saturday,” Violet reminded.

“Don't you have, like, a bedtime?”

“No.”

Well, as your father , I think you should go to bed,” he said, jokingly, of course.

She scoffed, pulling a smile.

“Whatever!”

“Hey! No back talking,” he responded.

“I think this whole dad thing is getting to your head,” Violet replied, getting up from the table.

Chris just chuckled, patting her on the shoulder.

“Maybe,” he responded.

“Alright, well, goodnight…Dad.”

The word felt foreign. Strange to even utter out of her mouth.

“Goodnight, kid.”

They bid each other goodnight, going to their separate rooms as they filed in for the night.

Violet changed into her pajamas, laying down as she stared up at the ceiling.

She felt satisfied, almost relieved. The tension between them both cut through with a simple conversation. And his reaction wasn't even that bad. She smiled to herself, thinking back to his sarcastic remarks. When she went to sleep, however, she was still plagued by the memories and horrors of the Walrider.

Her mind was a mess of voices and that stupid buzzing sound.

Ever present like the buzz from fluorescent lights.

Chapter Text

Days went by, weeks even. It was a while before Violet or the others had heard from Marion. He was radio silent.

Violet continued on with her chores, with her schoolwork, teaching the twins to write and read.

“How does this look?” One of them asked her one day, after she had gotten home from school.

He held up a piece of paper to her, gently taking it from him and observing the scribbled but readable text.

“This looks a lot better, but make sure you differentiate from the ‘u’ and the ‘v’, these both look kinda confusing,” she replied, handing him back the paper and pointing at the mistakes.

It felt like being a teacher in her own way.

“And mine?” The other twin asked.

She slid his paper from across the table, looking at it.

“This is nice. The capital and lowercase ‘h’ need a little more work though,” she replied.

“You are an excellent teacher,” he replied, taking the paper back.

“Just like Father Martin was.”

Her smile faltered somewhat, the past memory of his last moments forever ingrained.

“Yeah,” she muttered.

“Hey kid,” Trager’s voice interrupted, bringing in her laptop from downstairs.

“Rick, I thought I told you to stop with the exposé trip about Murkoff,” Violet said with a sigh.

“I know, but look, just look at this,” he said, setting the laptop down on the table.

She looked at him questioningly, before she looked at the laptop.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, looking at the footage.

It was video footage taken from within the asylum, except it was documented by someone else.

Waylon Park.

It documented almost everything, patients beating and killing doctors, a man eating a dead body out of a microwave, and so much more.

She furrowed her brow, turning away from the footage.

“Someone did it, someone documented it and put it out there for the whole world to see,” Trager replied, sounding excited. “I even knew the guy! Worked in I.T. for a while.”

“I can see that,” Violet replied, closing the laptop.

“You know what this means, right?”

“There’s a way out.”

“No more hiding.”

Both the twins were right. Trager was right.

She sighed.

“I’m sure Marion’s seen this thing already, and Glick too,” Violet said.

“And try to discredit somehow; make Park look like a nutcase.”

“And what if we tried to upload the footage from the camcorder?” She asked.

“Murkoff would be right at our doorstep before you can even press send. They’d be able to trace it back here,” Trager replied, shaking his head.

She sighed, taking one last look at the camera footage.

“If we could somehow upload onto a drive, and upload it from a public service, then it wouldn’t be so bad,” Trager added.

She nodded, listening as she looked over the footage.

“The mall would be perfect, but at the same time maybe the Walrider has some abilities,” she thought.

The buzzing had been at an all-time low recently, and it scared her whenever she heard it come back. But at the same time, she was glad it was almost gone, having grown accustomed to it so much.

“We need a plan,” Trager said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“A course of action.”

“And a way to continue hiding until we can present ourselves.”

She nodded, closing the laptop once more. She sighed.

“I can talk to Mom about it; she knows a friend who’s a pretty good lawyer,” Violet replied, taking the laptop.

“Make sure he’s a pretty good damn lawyer,” Trager commented before she left to go upstairs to her room.

~

Chris was going through the laundry, separating clothes from the others along with Eddie, who was patching up holes left in the old t-shirts Violet had.

“So do you think we can build a life now? After what happened?” Eddie asked, looking up from his sewing.

Chris contemplated this.

“Maybe. With all the work from what Marion’s been doing, there might be a way out,” he replied, separating a shirt of his from Violet’s clothes.

“And what about Violet and Amber?”

“What about them?”

“Well, I don’t want them to be caught in the crossfire, that’s all. It would be a shame if they were labelled as criminals because of us.”

“We’re not–” he stopped himself. “Maybe we are, but that’s in the past. We’re victims , Gluskin. Our past history shouldn’t have much of an effect on who we are, as far as the public knows.”

“But Walker, we did horrible things in that place. It’s on camera, recorded for the whole world to see.”

“I know, I know. But that was because we were…used; our psyche wasn’t in the right place. Believe me, I know that,” he trailed off, thinking back to the events of the asylum once more.

He shook his head, brushing it off.

“I don’t want to think about it anymore,” he said, ending the conversation.

There was a sudden knock on the doorframe, Amber appearing in her usual nurse scrubs.

“Oh, hello, Ms. Amber! Did you sleep well?” Gluskin asked cheerfully.

“I did. I need to speak with Chris for a moment,” she said, her tone firm and serious.

“Oh, uh, I’ll just excuse myself to the living room then,” Gluskin said, hurriedly putting down his sewing and walking out of the room.

She shut the door behind her with a soft click. Chris continued folding clothes, separating them accordingly.

“What’s this about?” He asked, not looking up.

“I need to talk about Violet with you,” she replied.

He nodded. He looked at her, his brow set.

“I know she’s my kid,” he said plainly.

“So she told you?”

“Yes. Gave this whole pep talk before she even said it,” he said with a slight smirk.

Amber hummed in response, nodding her head.

“I thought I would never see you again,” she said, crossing her arms.

“So you didn’t even bother to try and call me after you found out you were pregnant?” He pointed out.

“I did call you! Multiple times! But that night–”

“And what happened that night?”

She opened and closed her mouth, breathing a sigh through her nose.

“Enlighten me, because I clearly don’t remember what happened.”

“That night, we were both drunk. But I remember what happened.”

“Then tell me,” Chris asked, his voice low but not angry.

“I went clubbing that night with my boyfriend, and then he dumped me, left me at the club we were at. And then you showed up on the curb while I was crying my eyes out. And I knew you were army, or at least military because of the camouflage you were wearing. You asked me if I was okay, and at that point I was already tipsy. You asked me where I lived, pointed down at the apartments I was staying at, and took me home.”

“And then what happened?”

She shuddered.

“We both drank from a bottle of tequila I had in the pantry, a gift from my then ex. You took care of me while I was sick, and then…one thing led to another…and we…” she trailed off, embarrassed.

“We had sex,” Chris finished for her, raising a brow.

“Yes, we did. And then I woke up the next morning, you were getting ready to leave. You told me if I ever needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to, I could call you. You gave me your phone number, and your home phone, and then I never saw you again.”

“And when you found out you were pregnant?”

She sucked in a breath.

“I was over the moon. I tried calling you, but I never got an answer.”

“What year?”

“1990 to ‘91.”

“Iraq,” he merely answered. "I was on multiple trips before they sent me to therapy."

“That’s what I thought.”

“Did she ever ask about me?”

“She did, and she was just a little girl back then. She would ask me, ‘Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?’ and things like that.”

“And what did you say?”

Amber took a moment to collect herself, wiping at her eyes.

“I told her…I told her that you were off fighting in the war,” she replied, sniffling. “I thought you died, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that.”

Chris nodded, taking it all in. She cried, covering her face with her hands.

“I thought you died in the war. Which is why I never told her. I told her you left to go fight in the wars,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Hey, hey,” he said, growing closer to her.

He put his hands on her shoulders, trying to console her.

“I’m here now. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “I can’t change the past, but if I had known–about you, about her–I would’ve left the moment they told me I could be hired at Murkoff.”

“And what about them?”

Murkoff would be on their tail in an instant if they found out he was alive, as well as the others.

“It’ll get taken care of. Marion’s working on it,” he replied.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes.

“I-I need to grab my purse, get ready for work.”

“Yeah, go do that. I’ll take care of anything you need here.”

“Hey, I think you might want to–” Violet’s voice interrupted entering the room, her laptop in hand. Her face faltered.

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked.

Her mother recuperated.

“No, no. It’s nothing, baby,” Amber replied. “I gotta go to work now. You be good, do your chores.”

She placed a kiss on Violet’s cheek, swiping her bangs out of her face. Violet felt at the place where she left the kiss, looking back at her leaving before she looked back at Chris.

He just chuckled, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“She told me,” he said, his answer vague but telling.

“Oh…OH!”

He chuckled again at her reaction.

“What is it you wanna show me?”

“Waylon Park posted his video footage from the asylum; it’s being shared like wildfire–all over the internet.”

She held her laptop, a video of the footage from the asylum playing.

He sighed.

“Have you heard from Marion?”

“No. He’s been radio silent for weeks now.”

“Okay. Do what your mom said, we’ll just wait and watch until something happens, or if he contacts us.”

“But Dad–” she whispered.

“Ah, ah! No buts. Come on, I know you have homework to do,” he said, ushering her out of the room.

“I already finished it.”

Chapter Text

That night, Violet was cooking dinner, while the twins were watching TV–it seemed like for the first time.

“I wonder what will happen next.”

“Most likely the woman will admit that the child is not her husband’s.”

“But she’s stuck between telling him and telling her child.”

“Stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

Both the twins talked to each other as they watched the opera on the television. Trager rolled his eyes, while Eddie watched vigorously while sewing a new project he was working on. Chris also watched, but he was bored out of his mind from watching.

He looked over his shoulder at Violet cooking, seeing her fidget and swat at her ear, seemingly at nothing. Once she finished, she made a tick with her head. It looked like she muttered to herself, quiet enough so he couldn’t hear.

“She’s getting worse,” he thought, growing concerned ever since they left that place.

He looked back at the TV, contemplating.

“Dinner’s ready!” Violet called.

“Finally! What did ya make this time, kid?” Trager said, clapping his hands together as he walked to the kitchen.

“Just a chicken spaghetti casserole, that’s all,” she replied, washing her hands in the sink.

She seemed absent, only going through the motions of cleaning up, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. Trager seemed to notice this.

“You okay? You don’t seem to be acting normal,” he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She tensed, bracing herself. He backed off, just looking at her. She looked back at him, trying to pull a smile.

“I’m fine,” she answered firmly.

Trager nodded in response, but didn’t say much more.

That night, while the others ate, Violet cleaned up the dishes in the kitchen. The topic of the leaked camera footage was on everyone’s minds.

“So Park managed to get out, post this said footage, and still isn’t caught by Murkoff,” Trager said as he ate.

“It appears so. I remember him,” Eddie added. “I remember him being fearful for his life, dressed in a patient’s outfit.”

“So he was interned as a patient, to cover up what Murkoff did,” Chris stated.

“But he escaped.”

“And is somewhere out there in the world.”

They were quiet for a moment, save for the sound of clinking silverware, running water, and banging of pots and pans in the sink.

“Why can’t we release our own footage?” Trager asked. “Maybe make people really see what happened, adding fuel to the fire.”

“If we do that, Murkoff will be able to trace it back to this location, find us, and take us back in without question,” Chris argued.

“Then maybe Marion could help us with that,” Violet piped up.

“But he’s been silent for weeks now,” Trager added.

“He said not to call unless absolutely necessary. I think this counts as necessary,” she replied.

“And he's still undercover?” Eddie asked. “What if he gets caught?”

“He's litigation, he should be pretty good about covering his tracks,” Chris answered for him.

“I don't know. Glick was always one for being better at sniffing things out than Marion was,” Trager replied.

“Well how dangerous could she be? Besides working for a company that basically uses human test subjects?” Violet asked.

“You see my hair, right?” He asked, pointing to his hair now growing unevenly in several spots. “The bitch put my hair through a paper shredder . Tore my whole scalp apart.”

Violet grimaced, turning away to put up the leftovers from dinner.

“The point is, we have to be careful with Glick still here somewhere. They already sniffed around the asylum, and they think Upshur is dead. They're looking for Park, who's still on the run, and not much more. So what else do we have to lose?” 

“Besides our lives? And what about her? Do you want her and her mother to get caught up in this?” Chris retorted.

“They were already involved when Upshur sent that email to her. She was already involved the moment she stepped foot in that place.”

There was an uneasy silence between Trager and Walker, staring down each other from the kitchen table.

“We could use a public wifi service,” Violet piped up, breaking the silence. “Either at my school, or the mall. The mall would probably be a better option.”

“No. We need Marion; he knows his way around these types of things,” Chris said firmly.

Violet quickly picked up the phone, dialing the number.

She hesitated before dialing the number, looking back at the others before she clicked the button, and waited until it rang.

~

Marion was at home, finally, after what seemed like a few grueling weeks of trying to figure out what Peacock had in store. That and also having to discredit Park for his footage from the asylum, painting him as the mentally ill man hellbent on exposing Murkoff for nothing.

He sat on the couch, watching TV. Alice was already asleep. Leaving him by himself.

And then his phone rang. He dug through his pocket, picking it out and opening it to answer.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Marion?”

He sat straight up on the couch.

“Ms. Gonzalez?”

“Yes, I know I shouldn’t be calling, but I wanted to let you know that we saw Waylon Park’s–”

“Park’s video, yes I know. I had to discredit that before I left for Arizona.”

“What if I told you I have Miles’ camcorder? And all the footage taken from the asylum?”

He thought about it, tossing his head one way and the other.

“What did you want to do with it?” He asked.

“I was hoping you’d maybe come over some time when you’re free. Take a look at it, and maybe help us figure out how to upload it without the company tracing it back to us.”

Marion felt uneasy. It was one thing to go off course, and Glick being on his ass about leaving and going to Arizona. And this would spell things out for him horribly if Murkoff ever found out.

“Can you do that?”

He snapped out of his thoughts.

“I’ll do it. I’ll come by maybe, Friday, Saturday, somewhere in that time period.”

“Okay, great. Is there anything you want me to do beforehand?”

“No, no. I should be able to handle it, transferring it shouldn’t be a problem. But we would have to go to a place with a public wifi service, just to be sure.”

“Alright.”

“Okay. I’ll see ya around, kid.”

“See ya.”

And he hung up the phone.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

~

Violet breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up the phone, placing it back on the stand.

“So now what?” Eddie asked.

“We wait. He said he’d be here Friday or Saturday, but I don’t know which,” Violet replied.

“So he really is going behind Murkoff’s back, huh?” Trager muttered.

“Seems like it,” Chris commented.

Later that night, both the twins had decided to help out in the kitchen, which was odd to see. But it seemed like that had grown a liking to Violet and her mother, even if Amber was strict and hesitant of them. Violet was finishing a last minute homework assignment at the kitchen table. She tapped her foot as she figured out how to do linear equations, but her mind was somewhere else.

“Divide…and conquer…”

She flinched her head away in one direction, opening her eyes to focus on the math problems. She scribbled on the paper, writing down the process to solve the problem.

“Over your shoulder…”

“...Not gone…forever…”

She sighed as she finished her homework for the night, taking the paper and putting it back in her backpack.

“Something troubling you?”

“Or perhaps a difficult problem?”

Both the twins asked as they dried off their hands.

“Cannibals…monsters…”

Violet shrugged, trying to act normal.

“Yeah, but that’s really the least of my problems now. It’s done, anyways.”

“So this…school you speak of…”

“It is a place of learning?”

“Yeah. You learn history, science, math, English–course English class includes like…learning literature and Shakespeare,” she explained.

“Could you teach us then?”

“So that we are more educated?”

“Me? Being your teacher?”

They both nodded, a hint of surprise on their faces.

“Guys, I’m only a kid. I can’t be your teacher. I already struggle with math enough as it is.”

“But it doesn’t hurt.”

“Especially if we are to go out into public someday.”

She nodded her head, pursing her lip.

“That’s true, but, uh…you two have a lot to learn.”

Chris strolled into the room, having finished up the laundry.

“Did you finish your homework?” He asked, peering over her shoulder.

His presence used to feel like a death sentence, but now it slowly grew into a comfort.

“I finished it,” she replied, slightly annoyed.

“Good,” he replied, patting her shoulder before he made his way to the fridge.

Both of the twins looked confused, looking back at Walker before turning to Violet. She just smiled to herself, setting her backpack up for tomorrow.

“Your roots are growing in.”

“Yes, and the hair dye is washing out.”

She perked at this, looking at them both.

“Oh, I haven’t noticed,” she replied. “I might just leave it this way. I don’t mind being blonde for a little while.”

“It makes for a better disguise.”

“In case someone recognizes you in public.”

She nodded back in response. Her gaze immediately went to Chris, who had a small smile on his face. He made a gesture like he was trying to get her to say something.

“Does he want me to tell them?” She thought.

She shook her head.

Both of the twins glanced back at Walker, who looked away and stalked off back to the guest bedroom. He gave a small ruffle of Violet’s hair before he left.

“Something going on?”

“Or perhaps a secret we don’t know about?”

She felt her heart thump in her chest.

“Um, no. Just, uh, something that happened earlier…last night,” she said slowly.

“Oh?”

“Tell us then.”

“Yes, tell us.”

They hunched over the kitchen table, curious and eager.

“Okay, well…jeez, I feel a little embarrassed even saying anything, but um…”

They both watched, and listened as they waited.

She pulled her hands up, folding them together over the table.

“I found…my dad. The one I told you two about.”

“Yes, you said he walked out.”

“Left your mother when she was pregnant.”

She nodded along with their words.

“Yeah, well, turns out he was right here all along,” she replied.

“What do you mean?” Eddie’s voice rang out behind her.

He made his way to the table, leaning over it as he listened intently.

“W-Well, I mean…”

She shook her head.

“Chris…is my dad. He’s my father,” she replied finally.

Eddie looked taken aback. The twins looked surprised. They both shared a moment of silence, contemplating this.

“So…he's your father?” Eddie asked finally, taking a chair from the table.

She pursed her lip, nodding her head.

“Yep, sure is,” she replied.

“It explains why you two look so much…”

“Alike.”

“It explains so much that I was missing. He talks so fondly of you now,” Eddie replied with a scoff.

“I feel a little awkward talking about it, but that’s the whole thing he wanted me to say.”

“So that’s why he was asking about the homework.”

“And his expression.”

Both the twins shared a cunning smile.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Trager’s voice rang out in the house, with a laughing fit.

“I think Richard knows now too,” Eddie said with a chuckle.

The twins laughed as well, joining in. Violet smiled.

“So how do you feel?”

“Knowing you have a father?”

She turned the thought over. On one hand she was angry, mad at him that he left, not even knowing. But he didn’t know, so on the other hand, she couldn’t blame him, even after he went to be interned as a patient.

“It feels good. I feel like I missed out on a lot, but I’m sure that can be fixed,” she said.

“Holy shit, you’re not going to believe what Walker just told me,” Trager said entering the living room kitchenette.

He came up behind Violet, shaking her shoulders.

“This kid is related to Walker! This is his kid!” He said, in disbelief.

“Yes, we know.”

“She told us.”

“And I was the last to know?!” He objected. “I’m hurt, and you didn’t have the heart to tell me?”

“Dad already told you!” Violet pointed out.

“Oh, well forgive me, I was busy trying to figure out if there was any dirt on Murkoff,” he replied, feigning innocence.

That night, the others went to bed. Violet was getting ready for bed herself, looking over at her father’s old photo, from before he went into the asylum. There was a sudden knock at her door.

“Just wanted to say goodnight,” Chris replied.

She smiled, still looking back at the photo.

“Whatcha got there, kiddo?” He asked, looming over her shoulder.

He looked down at the photo, his own face staring back at him.

“My old picture,” he muttered, taking it from her.

He looked at it further, turning it over to see the writing on the back. He snorted in response.

“I guess Upshur pieced together the relation before I did,” he said, handing the photo back to her.

She chuckled, putting it away in her drawer.

“He did. He even said I looked like you…before he died,” she said, her smile faltering.

He nodded, thinking before he spoke.

“You know, you can still talk to me about what happened inside that place. If you need to. You don’t seem to be…affected by what that… thing did to you,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

What could she say to him? In a way that wouldn’t hurt him? Or make him angry? She looked up at him, seeing her same green eyes looking back at her.

“I’m still trying to figure out this whole parenting thing, so if you want to talk to me about it, you can,” he reassured.

She nodded her head.

“Hey, hey, look at me.”

He proceeded to crouch to her height, tilting her head up to look at him.

“It's okay if you don't want to talk, I understand. But I'm just worried about you,” he said, his tone gentle but his voice like gravel. “I'm not going anywhere.”

She felt herself wanting to cry. To say she missed him. Hated him for leaving. Asking why over and over for not answering her mother’s calls.

“I'm okay,” she said quietly. “I promise.”

He seemed satisfied by the answer, pulling her in suddenly as he hugged her. It felt foreign, but she reciprocated, hearing his heartbeat in his chest. He pulled back, patting her on the shoulders.

“Goodnight, kiddo,” he muttered quietly before he walked out of the room.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

~

Dreams of the asylum.

Except it felt real this time.

She could smell, see, hear everything.

People passed her without paying any mind.

Acts of murder were in the process, and she saw the familiar faces from before.

Trager, cutting off fingers, hands, and tongues. Eddie, not only decapitating victims, but taking a saw table and cutting off their genitalia. Her father, front and center, pulling guards up by their necks. Ripping their heads clean off.

She couldn't pull her eyes away from it, no matter how tight she shut them.

“Stop…”

Sounds of blood-curdling screams.

“Stop.”

Yelling. Screaming in pain. Father Martin’s screams as he burns on the cross.

“Stop!”

The silhouette of Miles, a smile on his face as the Walrider loomed over his shoulder. It looked like he muttered something, barely audible over the noise.

“STOP!”

And it all ceased. Quiet, once more.

She stood in the asylum, in the hall where it all started.

Bloody footprints and puddles lined the floor, an empty wheelchair flipped over with the wheel still spinning.

She breathed a sigh, hearing it echo off the walls.

“Little pig.”

Her skin felt cold, her throat tight. She turned, looked, seeing the large man looming over her like a predator with its prey.

“Dad–”

Before she could finish, he grabbed her by the neck. She struggled to breathe, looking down at him, seeing his face shift into the one she knew better. And then it changed back.

She screwed her eyes shut, hearing what was once the whispers in her head.

“I'll make the pain stop.”

His words were distant.

Replaced by a different voice.

“Violet?”

“Miles?”

She sat straight up in bed, gasping for air. She looked around her, before switching on the lamp beside her.

“Just a dream…just a dream,” she whispered to herself.

She had a cold sweat at the back of her neck, chills running down her skin in goosebumps. She groaned, rubbing at her face.

“How am I gonna get rid of this thing?”

Miles had said it lived with you, acting as a host. And the only way to get rid of it was to die, or be killed. So there didn’t seem like there was any other notion that it would die.

She just had to learn to live with it.

Chapter Text

It was a Friday afternoon, school getting ready to let out for the day. The others were doing Violet’s chores–or rather their chores. It was a typical day of keeping up with the work.

Eddie found comfort in sewing and crafting, while the twins enjoyed writing and even drawing pictures, using some of the craft supplies Violet had given them. Trager, meanwhile, was putting together a wall of evidence. Using some of the documents collected from Miles, taken by Violet.

Chris looked at it, trying to piece together all the events that had happened, and led them to this point.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Trager commented, obviously proud.

Chris grunted in response.

“A little obsessed, if you ask me,” he replied.

“Just wait until Marion gets here, we’ll have everything we need then. And then we’re home free.”

“That’s also if we can get the camera footage uploaded without having them traced back to here,” he quickly reminded him.

The sound of a door slamming alerted them both, Eddie’s concerned voice ringing out before stomping could be heard.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Trager said in response to seeing Violet stand in front of the door.

She looked beaten up, blood pouring out her nose and a nasty black eye on her face. And her hair was cut haphazardly. Chunks of it were cut off, the blonde coming out from the brown color. And she looked almost like she was ready to kill someone with how angry she looked.

Chris saw that look. He recognized it. That look of anger plastered on his own face many times before. And she looked so much like him, it was like looking in a mirror.

She continued to sob past the door, going to her own room and slamming the door behind her.

“Kid had it rough today,” Trager commented.

Walker directed a glare at him before he made his way to her door, knocking on it.

“Violet? Can I come in?” He said aloud.

He pushed open the door.

She was curled up on her side, facing away from the door.

He closed the door behind him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked calmly, his voice still gruff.

“No,” she replied half-heartedly.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” He asked again.

She choked on a sob, sniffling.

“They ganged up on me after school. Beat me up, cut my hair–”

She curled in on herself even tighter.

He contemplated, brow screwed.

What should he do in this situation? Comfort her, of course. But he couldn’t go out and just beat up high-schoolers. Intimidation tactics could easily work in his favor, or at least a threat.

“You need your mom to look at you, first of all,” he said finally.

He put a hand on her leg, trying to see if he could at least add some comfort. She glanced over at him, her eyes red and puffy and streaked with ruined eyeliner.

“And then we’ll get you a haircut,” he added.

She turned over, sitting up as she wiped her nose. She nodded, glancing down on the bed.

“You think you could pick me up from school? So they won’t try to ambush me again?” She asked.

He thought for a moment. Risk his identity and life? Or at least protect the one good thing he had?

“I could try. I don’t know if Murkoff will still be looking for me,” he replied with a hum.

“Marion said they thought you died in the asylum,” Violet replied.

He nodded at her words, flexing his jaw.

“What the hell should I do?”

“You know, when I worked…at Murkoff, they used to make fun of me all the time,” he started saying.

“Really? You?”

“Yeah, they would call me ‘Strongfat’. Hated that nickname as soon as they gave it to me,” he continued. “But they never messed with me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I was intimidating to them. They saw what I could do. And my time in the army taught me that,” he replied. “As long as you fend for yourself, they won’t ever mess with you. And you need to show them that.”

Violet nodded, wiping at her nose.

“The last time I got into it, I broke a girl’s nose.”

“Well that’s…bad, but at least they didn’t beat you up for a little while.”

“That’s why they came by with their whole posse; held me down and beat me up, and then they took a pair of scissors while they held my head down,” she replied, taking a shaky breath.

Chris breathed calmly, although he felt his blood boil.

“Just like me,” he thought to himself.

“Hey, hey, come here,” he said, opening his arms.

Violet reciprocated, burying her face in his chest.

There was a knock at the door, and Amber’s face peeked through.

He rested his chin on top of her head as he let her cry.

Amber had walked up.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

She turned her face to look at her, taking in her beat up face and ruined hair.

“What happened? Who did this to you?” She asked urgently, taking her face in her hands.

“I got beat up,” Violet merely answered.

“Well, let me look at it, and then we’ll get you a haircut tomorrow, okay?” Amber said, swiping a loose bundle of hair from Violet’s face.

“I might be able to help with that!” Eddie called, halfway through the door.

~

As Amber left for work, Eddie had Violet sit down in a chair in the bathroom, a towel over her shoulders and looking in the mirror.

“So, what kind of haircut did you have in mind?” Eddie asked, smiling as he brushed out the loose strands onto the floor.

“Something short. Maybe a pixie cut,” Violet answered.

She seemed out of it, or at least slightly off-put. Eddie’s smile faltered as he set the brush down.

“Is something wrong?” He asked. “You seem distant.”

“I’m just tired,” she answered back.

“If you were really tired, you’d be in bed by now,” Eddie shot back.

He began to cut her hair, evening out the cuts as he talked.

“So they cut your beautiful hair off? Because of what you did?”

“...Yeah.”

He tsked, brushing out and cutting an uneven strand of hair.

“A pity. I really did like how you styled it so much. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being blonde; blondes have all the fun.”

Violet scoffed.

“It’s true! I believe after this, you’ll find that being blonde doesn’t look so bad on you.”

“I only did it because I didn’t want to look like him.”

He held his scissors in mid-air for a moment, before he finally snipped a piece of hair off.

“And why is that? Aren’t you happy your father is here?”

“I am, I just–”

She cut herself off.

“I just…I never thought I’d actually see him. At all.”

“So why dye your hair?”

“Because I looked so different from my mom. Too tall, too fat, too…much like him, that it made me even wonder if I even wanted to look like him at all after he never answered any of my mom’s calls.”

Eddie screwed his brow, focusing on cutting her hair, evening out the layers so that they would blend together.

“There’s no shame in that,” he answered, his voice quiet.

“It felt like it.”

“You know he seems happier with you around, despite his past.”

“I know he is. But I can’t get over the fact he even tried to kill me, or he didn’t even recognize his own face staring back at him once he threw me out a window.”

“We all have our demons. Some of us just don’t know when to tell the angels from the devils.”

He continued to snip and brush, taking an electric razor and cutting the hair from the back of her head.

“It’s not what you might have pictured, but I’m sure it’ll do,” he finally said, brushing the back of her head from the strands of hair.

Violet looked at herself in the mirror, seeing blonde more predominantly now. It looked like she was a new person; an almost exact copy of her father’s intake picture. Eddie was right beside her, looking into the reflection with a smile.

“What do you think?”

Violet looked in the mirror, seeing her hair cut short, her ears now present. She looked at herself in the mirror, seeing her own father's face from his picture.

“It’s perfect.”

~

Later that night, as Violet recuperated on the couch with an icepack on her face, Marion came by.

He caught sight of the others, doing things like washing dishes or watching TV.

“Mr. Marion, so good to see you again,” Eddie replied, getting up from his seat.

He shook his hand, and Marion chuckled.

“Good to see you alive and well,” Marion commented. “I brought all that I needed for one good chance that’ll crash the whole company.”

“Good, cause we need it,” Trager replied.

“Just know that if this happens, Murkoff will have your heads, and if this goes public enough, then there might be a court case on our hands,” Marion explained urgently.

“And a court case they’ll get. We need to run this company into the ground , and leave nothing behind for them to grab at,” Chris added.

Marion glanced over at Violet sitting on the couch, and then pulled Walker aside.

“How’s your, uh, kid doing?” He murmured out of earshot of her.

“Not great; got jumped and beat up,” Chris replied, his gaze glued to the back of Violet’s head.

Marion also looked at the back of Violet’s head, seeing her with an icepack glued to her face. He hummed before he spoke again.

“Got a matching haircut I see,” he joked, lightly tapping on Walker’s shoulder.

“They cut her hair,” Chris quickly shot back.

“Oh…”

Marion cleared his throat, adjusting himself as he sat down at the kitchen table.

“Right, well, let's get started, shall we?”

The others were quiet, seeing him hook his computer up and boot it up, as well as going in and taking precautions.

“I brought my own router system, so they won't be able to ping it off of the wifi here,” Marion stated. “Now all I need is the camcorder.”

“Violet–”

“I got it,” Violet cut Chris off, getting up from the couch to grab said camcorder.

There was an uneasy silence.

“It may come as a shock that everyone at Murkoff will know you're alive–that you all are alive.”

“They got sloppy, didn't even count who all was inside,” Trager commented.

“Wait, they think we died?” Eddie asked.

“They do; after the riot that night, security went in and eliminated everyone…permanently,” Marion answered, furiously typing on the keyboard.

“You mean kill everyone inside,” Walker corrected.

“Yeah…that.”

“Here’s the camcorder,” Violet said, coming back with it in hand.

She placed it on the kitchen table before she went to replace the ice in the ice pack.

Marion went to work, bringing up and plugging in a USB drive into his computer.

“I’ll upload the footage onto a drive, and then after it’s done I’ll find some sort of public area or far off location, to throw off Murkoff. That way, they don’t have an online paper trail leading back to here,” Marion explained as he typed and clicked, uploading almost all the file footage from that night.

“We can’t thank you enough for doing this. It just feels so surreal being out of there,” Eddie said, watching Marion work.

“It’s not a problem,” Marion replied, completing the upload before he took the drive out. “I’ve been collecting evidence ever since the Billy incident.”

“Billy incident?”

“Billy Hope?”

That caught both of the twins' attention, as well as Violet’s.

Marion sighed, closing his computer.

“After we investigated Mount Massive, we got word of Waylon Park–tracking him down–and got a ping outside Nathrop, Colorado. We investigate, come back later, and realize Billy was alive and well.”

“How?” Trager questioned.

“The Walrider,” Violet spoke up, clenching her jaw.

Marion leaned back in his chair.

“For whatever reason, Billy was alive, and we had basically an army of trucks and equipment to take him out. But that wasn’t the case. Hope died, along with his mother, but it didn’t kill whatever gave him life.”

“It switched hosts,” Violet said firmly.

Marion looked at her for a moment, screwing his brow slightly.

“Yeah…yeah, it did,” he replied slowly.

He then picked up the camcorder, unplugging it from the cable of the computer. He flipped it open, turning it on, pointing it at Violet.

“What’re you doing?” Walker asked.

“Seeing something,” Marion merely answered, turning on the night vision.

He was quiet for a moment, his eye squinted in the eye piece before he brought it back down, looking at Violet.

“What’re you trying to find?” Violet asked, tilting her head.

“It’s nothing, just a hunch, I suppose.”

He got up from his seat, holding the camcorder for Violet to take back.

“Hold on to this for me, will ya kid? Keep it safe here while I go and upload this footage somewhere,” Marion replied.

“I guess you’re leaving now?” She asked, taking the camcorder back.

Marion continued packing his things.

“Yep. You might not see me for another few days, still have some investigating that needs to be done.”

“What kind of investigation?” Walker asked.

“Somewhere out in Arizona still. I’ve been too preoccupied with my daughter’s medical appointments to actually go out there and see what’s going on,” Marion replied, closing his bag. “But you know how it is, taking care of your kids.”

He nudged Walker’s shoulder, which earned him a glare in response.

Walker scoffed, crossing his arms.

“Yeah…” he muttered.

“Well, I’m gone. Take care, kid,” Marion said as he passed by her, walking out the door.

There was the click of the door, and the night continued on.

The others went to bed, all except for Violet.

Violet was still wide awake, laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, staring up at the space.

“What am I gonna do?” She thought to herself, turning over in her blankets.

She tried imagining herself in a situation where she would have to present her side of the story, to a jury, to a judge, to people all over the United States–and even the world that was willing to listen. All that attention, and all the wrong attention at the same time.

She remembered Glick. Her attitude, her serious face, even the way she presented herself. She was a threat, and needed to be taken out…somehow.

She tried going to sleep, closing her eyes as she evened her breathing. Hoping another nightmare wouldn’t wake her.