Get Out Alive

Mount Massive Asylum ; 02

So. . . how about Outlast, huh? Ever heard of it? You must have -it's this absolutely ingenious first person horror game about a reporter going to investigate an insane asylum. Shit goes down and there is a lot of blood and a lot of pretty awesome -and pretty twisted- characters that try and kill you as you collect info for your story.

Personally, you've never played the game. You've always wanted to, but you just never got around to it. And then you found out Markiplier had posted a walk-through of it and its not-really sequel on his channel, and. . . with the events that follow. . . Yeah, you think that you might be taking a break from the whole horror thing in general. Like, for a few years. Or longer.

Or forever.

It's snowing out and your boss calls you this morning to say that you should stay home. The roads are really icy and there isn't anyone in town, anyways -so why bother opening? You earnestly agree with his decision, because when you lurch out of bed and groggily peel open your curtains. . . the entire world is white and blinding and you just want to dive back underneath your blankets and never surface.

Which is what you do. Only, you can't get back to sleep. You're laying there and frowning at the wall, listening to the wind and the trees and feeling generally more annoyed with each passing minute. But. . . then you start thinking: now would be a good time to finally watch that Outlast play through. You've been waiting for a decent chunk of the day where you can enjoy the entire thing. It might not be as popular as Five Nights at Freddy's 2, because it's been out for a while. . . but you heard that Markiplier loved the game and that it's one of his best plays.

How can you resist?

. . . exactly. You don't.

You're on your side with your laptop open three minutes later, warm beneath the covers with ear buds in. Honestly? You're pretty excited. You've stayed away from any and every spoiler on this game just so you can experience it first-hand through this Let's Play. And. . . and that's when things start getting a little weird. Or maybe a lot weird.

You click on his playlist with wide eyes. You're fully awake, and yet. . . as soon as Markiplier appears at the top of the screen with his usual introduction, this slow wave of dizziness washes over you. In seconds, you can barely keep your head up. And when the image on your computer flickers. . . your face slams into the keyboard and the world blows out like a candle.

Eventually, you wake up again, but you feel. . . sore, and groggy. Like you downed six or seven Five Hour Energies to pull an all-nighter, and then crashed without warning. It's not a great feeling. Blearily, you rub at your eyes and roll onto your back. Weirder still is that your blankets are digging into your skin like rough pavement.

Wait a minute. . .

You spread your hands over your face and squint through the gaps between your fingers. And. . . there are trees swaying above you. Big, haunted-looking trees with twisted branches and leaves painted gold and orange against the setting sun. Which is just, what? You fell asleep outside? That can't be right.

Dull pains shoot through your limbs as you struggle to sit up and, hmm.

Glancing around, you realize that you're in the middle of a small courtyard. A very quiet and an oddly empty courtyard, with one lone vehicle parked just outside of these towering metal gates to the south. And then, on your other side. . . well, you see these buildings, wide and brick-faced and generally normal for the sprawling mansion-type, but you also see another kid passed out in the grass about ten feet away. And that is strange.

All of this is very strange.

You crawl towards the unconscious kid, stray pebbles biting into your palms and catching along the knees in your pants. Yep, it definitely stings. So. . . you're probably not dreaming. These colors are too sharp and the air is too cool and something unpleasantly metallic coats the back of your throat. Everything just feels. . . real, which means that you must be awake. . . doesn't it?