A Night in Mount Massive (Outlast Fanfiction)

Chapter Seven

                                               Into the Sewers Part One

Once Miles, Waylon, and I landed, I noticed that the three of us were in another shower area. The coppery stench of blood remained, though by this point, we were all somewhat accustomed to it. The thought of that was really bothersome to me. I didn’t feel like it was normal for us to just see the blood and think, “Well, shit, there’s more”, and just go about our business like it wasn’t even there. Even with how horrible that was for me to think, I had a horrible feeling that it wouldn’t match what we had yet to see, or as Father Martin called it, witness.

“Jesus, the word ‘Walrider’ is all over this place,” Miles commented, astounded as we descended down the stairs into the bottom of the shower area. And he was right. Sickeningly enough, it was scrawled in the priest’s bloody handwriting on the walls beside of us, on the lockers in front of us, and there was a huge puddle of blood all over the floor. Miles, Waylon, and I all happened to be walking in it. Blood was smeared and splattered all over the walls. This is disgusting. There was a piece of what looked to be someone’s spine laying on the floor. I turned away from it, not wanting to think about whatever the person that it belonged to went through, especially with their vertebrae being the only thing left of whoever they were. 

This whole place felt like a huge, sick game. And we were the pawns.

The three of us continued down another corridor, cutting a left into a bigger room. We ended up having to use our night vision, as it was so dark. Thunder continued to boom outside, rain pounding mercilessly outside of the asylum.

“I wonder what exactly the Walrider is.” I said quietly.

“I’m not sure. Chris Walker talks a lot about security protocol and containment. I wish that we could chalk it up to schizophrenic delusion, but as we all know, we’ve all seen it. We all know what it's capable of. Know anything about it, Waylon?” Miles asked, looking at him. Waylon sighed.

“You have to be exposed to the Morphogenic Engine in order to be able to control it, so to speak. The whole idea of putting people through the Engine was to create a suitable host for the Walrider, for only a person who has seen enough horror can activate the Engine and become the host, which would then make the Walrider a sentient being.” Waylon responded. “Jeremy Blaire and the majority of the people here covered it up, making it look like it was helpful therapy to the patients. But instead, it worsened their mental health, making them more insane than they were before, turning them into monsters. So as sick as the people we’ve encountered are, in a way, they’re blameless in this. They were brought here to be helped. But the doctors didn’t do that. And I feel guilty for not trying to put a stop to it sooner.”

“I understand why you would feel that way. But it isn’t your fault. You have a wife and two sons to think about. I understand you wanting to keep silent in order to protect them and keep your job. What matters is that you did the right thing, even though the right thing has been a royal pain in the ass.” Miles replied.

“Yeah, no kidding,” I said, “Waylon, you mentioned before that there was an Underground Lab here. Where exactly is it?”

“It’s deep underneath the mountain here. You have to use the elevator to get to it, which as you two know by now, unfortunately isn’t working. That’s where the Engine is.” Waylon replied.

“And the document you have? What did you mean when you said ‘this is a promise’?” I asked.

“If my suspicions are correct, and hopefully they are, this folder contains the key to reversing the effects of the Morphogenic Engine. Unfortunately, if this is true, it can only be used very sparingly. Meaning that it would work for maybe only one person. And if it didn’t work, it would either make them even worse than they are now or it would kill them. This is just my theory, though. I could be completely wrong.” Waylon replied.

“But you think it’s worth a shot,” I said, amazed to hear this. Maybe there was something we could do after all, even if it could only help one person.

“Yes,” Waylon replied. “It’s not much, but I hope it can at least make up for the silence I’d had about Project Walrider, the experiments, and the pain the patients went through.”

“And that’s if it works to start with,” said Miles quietly.

“Right. Hopefully it will.” Waylon whispered back somberly. He was just as ragged and run down as we were, but after this conversation, I had hope. If we could help someone, and end their mental suffering, that would be amazing to me. But who would we help? 

We all came to a stop when we reached a hole in the floor. I looked down into it, wrinkling my nose in disgust. A musty, dank smell wafted up out of the hole, and it was pretty dark, but from what I could tell, the ground was mucky and wet. 

“The sewers,” Waylon said, stepping up to me. 

“We have to go into the sewers? That’s pretty damn gross, but I guess it’s better than seeing dead bodies and walking through blood.” Miles replied. 

“Seconded,” I agreed, jumping down into the hole. My shoes sank into the wet ground, and I had to crouch down. I had to crouch down, dropping onto a lower portion. Miles and Waylon were right behind me. We continued downward until we could fully stand up again, and as Waylon said, we were smack dab in the sewers. The smell was putrid and foul, sulphuric. It was so strong it made my eyes water, and I seriously hoped I wouldn’t puke again. We continued to walk, treading the shallow water, me feeling grossed out as it seeped into my shoes. Poor Waylon didn’t have any shoes on at all, so I could only imagine how disgusted he felt. By the look on his face, he wasn’t liking this any more than Miles and I. Miles suddenly stopped, reaching down to pick up a folder. The three of us read over it, discovering that it was written by Father Martin. He had a following here, and they all worshipped the Walrider like he was God. 

“That’s just wrong,” I said, frowning.

“He calls it the Gospel of Sand,” Miles replied, looking confused.

I couldn’t fathom what I had just read. I didn’t completely understand exactly what happened in Mount Massive. What I really didn’t understand, however, is why Father Martin was so desperate to keep Miles and I here. Now that Waylon was a part of our little group, I didn’t know what the priest would make of him. The Murkoff Corporation had royally destroyed everything they had built from the ground up, and all for the sake of profit. Personal gain can really drive a person -or persons- to madness. Miles, Waylon, and I soon came upon a passage with a ladder leading down into another part of the sewers, but it was filled with dirty water. I sighed, aggravated and tired. 

“Now what?” I demanded, exasperated. 

“We have to drain the water, Blackie,” Miles replied, walking over to the pipes by the water-filled passage. 

“Prison drain,” Waylon read off, looking at a sign on the wall. “There have got to be some valves around here somewhere.”

“That’s the tricky part. Because I guarantee we won’t be alone down here for long.” I said, glancing behind me, already feeling paranoid. 

“I believe you’re right,” Waylon whispered as Chris Walker crashed into the sewer room.

“Get down.” Miles instructed us quietly, as we poked our heads around the wall. We all crouched down, crawling quietly around a stack of boxes. The ground was cold and damp against our fingertips, chilling me. We all watched as Chris Walker stopped briefly, looking around for us. Then, grunting in annoyance, he walked down a sewer tunnel to the right, chains rattling. 

“Blackie, you’re gonna take the left tunnel. Waylon and I will take the one to the right that Walker didn’t take.” said Miles. Once again, we were splitting up. I didn’t like it one bit. But I wasn’t going to waste time arguing over it. We all had a job to do here.

“Okay,” Waylon and I agreed. Miles wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him, kissing my forehead quickly.

“Be safe, Blackie.” said MIles, smiling crookedly at me. I smiled back.

“You, too, Sherlock.”

Then, the three of us headed in our respectful directions, none of us looking back.