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.
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.