The Aftermath at Mount Massive

Chapter 9: Days Gone By

"Sometimes I wonder why I keep a personal journal, or blog. It seems childish to me, to keep such a thing when most of my life is spent behind a camera. I already document so much of myself, why do I need to keep a written log too? Even now, in this run down hell hole of an asylum, I'm still writing. It was pretty touch and go those first few days. I was afraid I'd lost myself, and that I wouldn't be able to find me again. But I think I did. Behind the blood and gore and new instincts and annoying brain roommate, I found Miles Upshur. Turns out, the guy never left, just got a bit pointy. Maybe I write so that I know I'm still me, that I'm still here. After everything, I'm still the same guy. If I didn't write I don't know if I could still be me. I've been doing this since I could hold a pencil. First it was just wavy lines on paper, imitations of what I saw my mother doing, then it was crude words and chicken scratch, now it's a different kind of crude vocabulary and my penmanship is still...vastly chicken scratch, but a more sober chicken this time. At least now I can blame my missing digits, can't I? Writing is me, I am my writing. As long as I'm documenting my life or chasing a story I can call myself Miles Upshur. Even if my inner voice tells me I'm not." –From: Still Got Eight, the private journal of Miles Upshur.

"Excuse me, Miles, are you busy?"

Miles looked up to see David standing in his doorway. "I don't know...I'm awfully behind on my research." He glanced at the half completed game of minesweeper before saying, "But I think I can make some time. What's up?"

David entered the room and sat down. "I just want someone to talk to, I'm not in a good headspace right now and I'd love a distraction."

"I'm good at distractions," Miles said with a smirk. "What's got you worked up?"

"You're my friend, not a therapist, don't even try it." David laughed and fell back on the couch. "So Father Morgan asked you to stay another few weeks?"

"Yeah. I found that odd though, what's so important that he needs a few more weeks of my time?"

There was a pause before David said, "Maybe he's just not ready to let you go yet? Maybe there's still some things he'd like to talk with you about? Or he'd like to speak with R? He could just be afraid."

"Why would he be afraid of us leaving?"

"Well, without you around, who will keep order?"

Miles frowned. "You have to realize that you can't all stay here. Not forever. The food will run out, eventually Murkoff will shut the power, sewer and water off...You'll all be dead from exposure or starvation by December, January if you're really lucky."

"We know."

"What are you going to do?"

David didn't answer. Instead he changed the subject. "Did you figure anything else out from the mini raid?"

"Unfortunately no. Only that they were here to wipe everyone out. The tactical group was there to kill the Variants and the scientists in the lower level were down there for a data purge."

"You'd think Murkoff would send more than a handful of soldiers. Especially after the critical security failures of before."

"Maybe they thought that since Project Walrider was supposed to be dead it would be easier? Like maybe they assumed all the Variants would have murdered each other by now?"

"Or maybe they were just a scouting mission and they didn't tell you."

Miles nodded. "That's a possibility. One thing's for sure, they'll definitely know something's up now. Seven of their people failed to come home. They'll either send another small team or one large one to finish us off." Miles shrugged, "Just one more reason why we should get the hell out of here."