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.”