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

Chapter 9-Waylon

It all happened in an instant, as did everything over in Mount Massive. Waylon had quickly figured out how to disconnect the system in the Morphogenic Engine through determination and a little luck, it had worked. Miles had been successful too. Billy Hope's life support was destroyed. His body, his organs, his blood, his immune system, along with all the machines hooked up to him---keeping him alive was weakening. He didn't struggle any longer. He was gone at last. For a moment, Waylon could breathe.

But he stayed put.

All movement was lost in his bones. Was this all some twisted fantasy that he lived in? Two tortured souls, trapped in a monstrous environment with no way out. Even with hope and freedom so close, it was all a faded dream, still in the depths of his delusions swimming about.

Lisa and the boys seemed like distant memories, as much as he didn't want them to be. A goal he had set when the riot first began and as he continued through this terrible nightmare. Now he stood, watching helplessly as the man who had joined him collapsed to the ground. Their differences made them work stronger together, even when they didn't always see eye to eye. In any other setting, they would avoid each other. But now, they were all that they had. They were each other's savior, their guide. They could accomplish almost anything if they had each other.

Then it all came crumbling down. When Miles ran towards him without a care in the world, feeling as though the worst was finished. Waylon had waved, forgetting about the Walrider's wrath for a split second.

He heard Miles before he saw him, his thundering footsteps against the flooring. The reporter was all ready to celebrate their victory with an elated grin.

"Waylon!" He hollered, grinning ear to ear. "I'm here! Waylon, we did it! We-" His voice was cut off. He didn't even have time to acknowledge that Miles had called him Waylon instead of simply 'Park'. Then he finally saw it.

A small cluster of nanites swarmed like insects buzzing in his ears. Their dark, cloudy shape flew above Miles' head and formed a humanoid shape. He saw the images flash against his distorted, spotty vision as he was strapped in a chair, eyelids forced open. He heard the chilling screams, high pitched and anguished from terrified men, their flesh and organs and bones pulled apart. Waylon had seen it happen several times.

First, was when he finally was released from his bounds, the handcuffs sliding off his wrists, freeing him from his shackles after a long moment of struggling. A man from the next cell had whispered to him in a flurry of panic. He couldn't remember what he said. It didn't matter.

It had swarmed over him, leaving him nothing more than shredded organs on the damp, bloodied floor. At least insane Variants like Chris Walker had the decency to leave the corpses with some resemblance of humanity left.

The Walrider was nothing like that. The Walrider was a burst of darkness, fueled by the hatred and malice only human beings could conjure up. Because it was made with the sole intention of causing destruction.

And it was heading right towards him, barely passing Miles. He had recalled multiple instances of the Walrider chasing him, haunting him, but those were different circumstances entirely. He had never bothered to actually take a look at the monster. Now he wished he never had.

Waylon could see its true form clearly at last. It had the shape of a human, but with no visible features. It was like a shadow, no eyes, no mouth, no heart, no soul. Just darkness.

He exhaled, eyes wide as he stared into it. A chill shivered up his spine, as he waited for it to embrace him. Rip him apart just like the other men who had suffered the exact same fate.