Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Knock

Knock

Knock

"Teddy! Ward! Wake up! It's time for breakfast" A kind womanly voice is heard outside a bedroom door. In the bedroom, there are two beds. One bed has a small boy who wakes up with a yawn. He stretches his arms and gets out of his bed. In his homemade green pajamas, he walks over to the other bed. He kicks the legs of the bed.

"Come on, Ward. Wake up! I don't want Dad to get mad again." The boy hears a groan and goes over to a cabinet. Ready to get ready for the day.
The other bed sheets rustle and move. A taller boy sits up. He gets up to get changed. The taller boy, Ward, rubs his eyes and stretches, still half-asleep. He glances at his younger brother, Theodore, who is already bustling around the room, eager to avoid getting scolded by their father. Ward slowly makes his way to the cabinet, reaching for his clothes to start getting ready for the day.

Ward, being taller than the average of his age (14), looms over Theodore (12). Although he is still shorter than their father, Eddie Gluskin. As they dress in button-down shirts and slacks, both boys appear prim and proper, reflecting their father's influence on their attire.
Outside the bedroom door, the womanly voice belonging to their mother, Sarah, continues to call them for breakfast. The boys know they must hurry to avoid trouble, as their father's mood can be unpredictable.
Having finished changing, Theodore moves towards the bedroom door, ready to join their mother in the kitchen. He glances back at Ward. "Come on, Ward. Let's go already."
They step out into a long hallway that stretches in both directions. The hallway is lined with multiple rooms, some of them locked, while to their right is a locked gate. They turn left and make their way towards the kitchen.
The kitchen is relatively spacious, with steel appliances such as a refrigerator and stoves. In the center of the room is a rectangular table covered with plates. Their mother has made pancakes and eggs for breakfast. A syrup bottle is standing tall in the middle of the table, ready to be drizzled over the pancakes.

Seated at the table is a tall man, his face bearing scars on the left side. He has clear blue eyes, focused as he writes on paper. He patiently waits for the boys to join him, signaling the start of the breakfast. Their mother stands at a counter, carefully placing eggs and pancakes onto a plate, a small smile on her face.

The man looks up from his writing with a wide grin, his eyes lighting up. "Boys! You're finally up! I was starting to think you hadn't heard your mother," he chuckles lightly. "Anyway, there's something I want you to do today." He sets aside the paper and pencil, picking up his plate instead. "I want you to tell your mother what you'd like to have brought during next month's supply day. Tomorrow, she'll need to give the suppliers a list, so think carefully about what you want," he chirps.
The boys exchange exasperated glances, knowing well that their father gives the same speech every month on the morning before supply day. They have heard it countless times before, but they respond in unison, "Alright, Father." They eagerly dig into their breakfast as their father nods approvingly and begins to eat as well. Meanwhile, their mother joins them at the table and enjoys her meal.

After a while of peaceful silence, accompanied by the clinking of cutlery, their mother breaks the calmness. "Honey, what do you have planned for today?" Her voice is gentle as she directs her question to her husband. He finishes chewing his food before responding. "Oh, Darling, I'll be working on some summer clothes for all of us. It's about that time, and well... we don't want our boys to be sweating up a storm," he says, a playful tone in his voice. Their mother chuckles softly, her smile never wavering, and she continues to enjoy her meal.
Their father turns his attention to the boys, leaning slightly over the table, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. Ward takes the lead in answering. "We have school today," he says matter-of-factly. Their father turns his head to their mother, awaiting her response. "It's science class today. We'll be studying biology, specifically cells," she replies. A wide grin spreads across their father's face. "That sounds fantastic!" he exclaims, his pride evident in his voice.
"What else after that?" Their father's eagerness is palpable as he awaits their response. With a cheerful tone, Theodore chimes in, "Well, I want to go to the book room and read the new book we got last month." Their father's curiosity piques, and he asks, "Oh? What book is that?" Theodore's eyes light up as he replies, "It's called 'The Hobbit' by J.R.R. Tolkien. It looks exciting, and it's one of the few fantasy books that got approved." Their father nods, his smile widening. "Tell me all about the story when you're done with it," he requests, clearly showing interest.

Their father then turns his attention to Ward, expecting to hear his plans for the day. Ward simply says, "I'm thinking of going out to the woods and doing some sketching." Their father's expression turns slightly disapproving, and he gives Ward a scornful look. "Well, make sure you stay safe out there. You never know what kind of maniac might be lurking in the woods," he cautions. Ward, not wanting to upset his father, just smiles and replies, "Alright, father." He keeps his thoughts to himself, knowing that speaking up might lead to an argument.

"It seems that we have a full day ahead of us. Is everyone finished?" their father asks, glancing around the table. The boys quickly realize they still have food on their plates and hurriedly take their final bites. "Yes, Father," they respond in unison.
Their father then addresses their mother, saying, "Darling, I'll handle the dishes for today. You need to start getting the boys to class!" Their mother nods in agreement and rises from her seat. She is dressed in a simple, white dress adorned with a pink floral pattern, the hem falling below her knees. Walking to the back of their chairs, she gestures for the boys to follow. "Come on, boys. Let's go," she says with a gentle smile.

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Theodore and Ward find themselves seated at small tables, their notebooks and pencils ready. Their mother, with a warm smile, stands before them, ready to embark on a fascinating lesson.
"Alright, boys, let's dive into the amazing world of cells!" their mother announces cheerfully. "Cells are the building blocks of life, and understanding them is like unraveling the mysteries of our own bodies."
Theodore's eyes light up with curiosity, while Ward sits with a more reserved expression, his mind drifting elsewhere. Undeterred, their mother draws on the whiteboard, creating a captivating visual representation of a cell.
"As you can see," she explains, gesturing towards the diagram, "each cell is like a tiny, bustling city. And just like a city, cells have different components that work together to keep everything running smoothly."
Theodore eagerly scribbles notes in his notebook, capturing the essence of their mother's words. Meanwhile, Ward listens attentively, his interest piqued despite his initial reluctance.

"Now, let's talk about the nucleus," their mother continues, pointing to a specific part of the diagram. "The nucleus is like the cell's brain, containing all the important genetic information. It controls the cell's activities and directs its growth and reproduction."
As their mother delves into the intricacies of cells, Theodore's imagination soars, envisioning a miniature world teeming with life and purpose. Ward, too, starts to become engrossed in the lesson, realizing the significance of understanding the inner workings of these fundamental units of life.

Their mother's eyes sparkle with pride as Theodore poses his question, eager to learn more. She nods approvingly and responds, "Ah, great question, Theodore! DNA, or deoxyribonucleic acid, holds the instructions that determine our physical characteristics. It's like a code that determines everything from our eye color to our hair type and even the shape of our face."

She gestures towards Theodore and Ward, emphasizing their physical features. "Theodore, you have my brown eyes and hair, but your facial structure resembles your father's. And Ward, you inherited your father's blue eyes and dark hair, but your face is a beautiful blend of your father and me."

Theodore's eyes widen with a mix of understanding and fascination, a smile forming on his face. He glances at Ward, who listens attentively, absorbing the information. Their mother continues, "Isn't it incredible how our genetic makeup creates such unique combinations? It's like a tapestry woven from the traits of our ancestors."

Theodore looks at Ward's face, noticing their distinct features reflecting both parents. He feels a sense of connection and pride in their shared heritage. Though more reserved, Ward nods, silently acknowledging the truth in their mother's words.
Their mother smiles warmly, delighted by their interest. "You both carry a part of me and your father within you. Your DNA is like a bridge connecting generations and shaping who you are. It's a beautiful reminder of our family's history."

Theodore and Ward exchange a knowing glance, appreciating the significance of their genetic inheritance. They continue to absorb their mother's words, realizing that their physical characteristics are not just random traits but a testament to their shared lineage.
As the class draws to a close, their mother begins to gather her materials, her eyes shifting to Theodore with a polite smile that barely reaches her eyes. "Be careful out there, Theodore," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of obligation rather than genuine concern. Her hand lightly pats his back, the touch lacking the warmth of a mother's affection. Conversely, Ward watches the scene unfold with a distant look in his eyes, his boredom evident in his detached gaze.

Theodore, eager to please and yearning for a deeper connection, takes his mother's words to heart. His eyes shine earnestly as he nods, determined to heed her advice. "I'll be careful, Mom," he assures her, hoping to earn a genuine display of affection.
Having grown accustomed to his mother's distant demeanor, Ward remains unfazed by her parting words. "I'll see you at dinner, Mother," he says, his tone devoid of emotion. He walks away with a nonchalant air.
Theodore's tiny feet patter excitedly across the floor as he enters the book room, his eyes wide with anticipation. His heart flutters with excitement as he scans the shelves, searching for that one unique book. The room feels like a hidden treasure trove, filled with shelves that reach the sky and hold countless stories within their grasp.

And there it is, standing tall amidst the others, its cover adorned with a picturesque scene of a diminutive figure embarking on a grand adventure. It's "The Hobbit" by J.R.R. Tolkien, a book he has been eager to read since he first laid eyes on it. With a gleeful grin, he clutches the book in his small hands, feeling its weight and texture as if it holds the very essence of the magical world within.

Finding a cozy spot on the floor, surrounded by stacks of books that tower above him like towering mountains, Theodore opens the book with a sense of wonderment. The crisp pages release a gentle scent of ink and imagination, and he leans in closer, his nose almost touching the words as if to absorb their essence.
As he begins to read, his eyes dance across the pages, following Bilbo Baggins on his unexpected journey through Middle-earth. The words transport Theodore to a world of enchantment, where dwarves sing raucous songs, dragons guard their hoarded treasures, and hobbits discover the courage within themselves.
With each turn of the page, Theodore's imagination soars, creating vivid images in his mind's eye. The characters become his companions, their triumphs and tribulations echoing within his young heart. He can almost feel the soft grass under his feet as he walks alongside Bilbo, the thrill of danger pulsating in his veins.

Lost in the magic of Tolkien's storytelling, Theodore forgets the world around him, his surroundings melting away as he embarks on his own journey through the realms of fantasy. Theodore's enchantment with the book abruptly ends as he hears his brother's voice. Ward informs him that dinner is ready, his tone brusque and his hands grimy. Theodore wrinkles his nose and scowls at his brother, silently disapproving of his actions in the woods. He keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to provoke an argument. "Okay, I'll come," Theodore replies, feeling disappointed. He watches as Ward walks away, his mind filled with mixed emotions. He tries to focus on the book again, but a sense of unease lingers, clouding his enjoyment.
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Dinner is a regular event, with their mother preparing chicken and corn for the meal. Their father engages in conversation, recounting his day and sharing his experiences. Theodore sits awkwardly beside his brother, feeling a sense of unease. He patiently waits for the dinner to end, longing for the moment when he can retreat to the solitude of his room.
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Theodore and Ward prepare to go to bed, and their father, accompanied by their mother, enters their room to bid them goodnight. Their father reminds them to get some extra sleep in preparation for the upcoming supply day, emphasizing the need to assist their mother. Both boys acknowledge his words with a simple "okay" and "alright," while their mother softly says goodnight. Theodore slips under his sheets, eager for sleep to embrace him, looking forward to tomorrow.

Today was a good day.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, their father called them aside as the boys were preparing to go out. "Boys, I need to talk to you about something," he began. His voice carried a tone of seriousness. "First and foremost, I want you to care for your mother. You know how delicate and vulnerable women can be, especially in the presence of these rough men you'll encounter on this trip. I don't want her to suffer any discomfort or illness. You both are growing up and Ward, soon you'll be a man. It's your responsibility to protect and watch over her, understand?" The boys listened attentively, their silence serving as a clear affirmation of their understanding. "Secondly," their father continued, "since I won't be there with you, I want you to be vigilant and aware of your surroundings. One can never be too cautious in unfamiliar territory." The boys nodded, acknowledging his words. "And lastly, when dealing with the wall people, let your mother take the lead. Be cautious and let her handle the interactions. Understand?" Their response was swift and unanimous. "Yes, we understand."

Their father's smile widened as he embraced both boys warmly and tightly. "Alright, my brave boys, be safe out there," he said, his voice filled with pride and concern. Releasing them from the hug, he turned to his wife and enveloped her. "You take care too, my darling," he whispered, kissing her forehead gently. Her smile matched his as she responded softly, "Don't you worry about me. You take care of yourself. With your strength, I doubt you'll encounter much trouble." She glanced at the boys, her gaze filled with anticipation and concern. "Are you ready?" she asked, her voice tinged with a touch of excitement. The boys responded eagerly with a chorus of "yeps" and "yeahs," their youthful enthusiasm evident. With their backpacks slung over their shoulders, they stood at the threshold, ready to embark on their journey to the wall.

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The woods enveloped the boys in an eerie silence, broken only by snapping sticks and rustling of leaves beneath their feet. The haunting cawing of blackbirds echoed through the trees, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. Theodore's mind drifted back to a conversation he had with his mother when he was younger about these very birds. She had told him that some were crows and others were ravens, but he couldn't quite remember the difference. "A group of crows is called a murder, and a group of ravens is called an unkindness," she had explained. Intrigued, he had asked her how one could distinguish between the two. Her answer had been enigmatic: "You can't."

 The memory lingered in his mind as they ventured deeper into the woods. Finally, the boys reached their destination: the imposing wall that loomed before them. It stood tall and formidable, stretching dozens of feet into the sky. Theodore gazed up at its dark, smooth surface, marveling at the material he couldn't quite identify. It was a mystery, much like the wall itself. His mother had mentioned that the wall had not always been there in its current form. Over the years, it has been constantly modified and reinforced. Approaching closer, they could see a gathering of people forming a line that snaked toward the supply station. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as everyone awaited their turn to receive the provisions for the upcoming month.

Theodore observed the line and noticed that most men wore uniform-like jumpsuits. However, a distinct trio of men stood out from the rest. Dressed in casual t-shirts and jeans, they contrast with the uniformed crowd. But what truly caught Theodore's attention were the deformities that marked the faces of almost everyone in the line. Noses missing, eyes absent, and deep scars crisscrossing their visages created an unsettling sight. Even his father bore some scars on his own face, although they appeared less severe than others. Theodore couldn't help but notice that his mother, himself, and brother stood as the only ones untouched by such wounds, a stark contrast to the rest of the line.

Theodore and Ward, dressed in neat shirts and slacks, along with their mother in her flowing light blue dress and delicate pearl necklace, stood out amidst the crowd. Their attire contrasted with the worn jumpsuits worn by most of the others in the line. Theodore had once asked his mother about the pearls, and she had whispered to him that they were her secret to hiding a surgical scar she felt self-conscious about. The gleaming and elegant pearls became both an accessory and a shield, concealing the imperfection she wished to hide. Theodore couldn't help but overhear some whispers nearby as they stood in line. "Hey, did you hear? That crazy dude is back!" someone exclaimed in a hushed voice. Theodore's ears perked up, his curiosity piqued.

"No way! I thought he was dead!" another voice responded, a mix of disbelief and fear. "Nah, man, they say he survived somehow. And now he's so fucking hungry, he'd eat anyone he comes across!" The words hung in the air, sending shivers down Theodore's spine. He looked around, noticing the worried looks on people's faces. "Dude, going out there is gonna be a fucking nightmare!" someone swore, their voice tinged with anxiety. Theodore's heart raced, his mind swirling with images of a ravenous maniac lurking in the shadows. He couldn't help but feel a knot of apprehension in his stomach, wondering if they would encounter this maniac.

The line inched forward, people shuffling along as they collected their boxes of supplies. Theodore watched as individuals ahead of him stepped up to the front, where a group of wall people stood guard. These folks were all dressed in black uniforms and had helmets covering their faces. It made them look all mysterious and intense. But what really caught Theodore's attention were the strange contraptions they held in their hands. He had never seen anything like it before. Curiosity filled his mind as he wondered what those gadgets were for. One of the wall people held a clipboard, ready to check off names. As Theodore and his family reached the front of the line, the wall person spoke in a muffled voice, barely audible through their helmet, "Name." 

"Gluskin," their mother replied confidently. The wall person grunted in acknowledgment, rifling through some papers on the clipboard before locating their name. With a quick checkmark, the wall person confirmed their identity. "The boxes labeled Gluskin," they warned sternly. "Don't even think about taking any other boxes or trying to take more. We won't hesitate to shoot." Their mother nodded in understanding, expression serious, and motioned for Theodore and Ward to follow her. They obediently trailed behind, keeping their eyes on the designated boxes labeled with their family name.

"There are three boxes, each with a different weight," their mother instructed. She pointed to Ward. "Ward, I want you to take the heaviest one. Theodore, you take the lightest. Got it?" The boys nodded in agreement and approached the boxes, carefully assessing their weights. Ward hoisted up the heaviest box, his muscles straining under the load. Theodore grabbed the lightest box, finding it easy to manage. They began the journey back with their burdens in hand, following their mother's lead.

As they made their way back, Theodore couldn't resist the nagging question in his mind any longer. He mustered the courage to ask his mother, "Mother, did you ever live outside the wall?" Her response took him by surprise. Her usually warm and affectionate tone had turned cold and lifeless. The smile that usually adorned her face was absent. It was a rare sight, and Theodore knew it meant that his mother was upset. With a blank expression, she looked at him and replied, "Yes, I did. But that was a long time ago. It doesn't matter anymore." Her words hung in the air, carrying an unspoken weight. Theodore recognized that this was a topic he shouldn't press any further.

After returning home, they gathered in the kitchen to unpack the supplies. Carefully, they sifted through the box's contents, organizing the food items and putting them away. Their mother pulled out a pack of pencils and a notebook among the groceries, handing them to Ward. "Here, this is yours," she said warmly. Then, she took two books from the box, her expression betraying a mixture of surprise and disbelief. Reading the titles, she muttered to herself, "I can't believe they approved it." Theodore's curiosity was piqued, and he eagerly approached his mother. "What is it? Did they get the book I asked for?" he inquired. Looking at him, his mother nodded and handed him a hefty volume. "Yes, here you go. 'Lord of the Rings.' Only you would ask for such a big book," she remarked, a hint of exasperation in her voice. Ward chimed in, feeling a bit left out. "Hey, I can ask for big books, too," he protested, pouting slightly. His mother smiled at him. "You can, I'm sure of that, but you don't," she gently teased.

Meanwhile, as the conversation unfolded, Theodore's curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't resist sneaking a peek at the other book his mother held. "'Allegory of the Caves' by Plato?" he exclaimed. Hearing this, his mother quickly held the book close to her chest, a guarded expression crossing her face. "Yes, it's a book dealing with philosophy. You can't read it yet," she declared firmly. Disappointed, Theodore pouted and stomped his foot in protest. "But I want to read it," he whined, his voice growing louder. Glancing around and sighing, his mother relented. "Fine but let me read it first. Besides, you have your own book, and it looks like it'll take a while to finish it," she reasoned. Theodore continued to pout, but he ultimately gave in. "Alright, Mother," he conceded, though the longing to explore the forbidden pages of the book still lingered within him.

She said nothing and continued looking through the boxes. "Heads up, Teddy," She said, and she tossed a bag of lollipops at him. "The other thing you asked for." Theodore caught the bag of lollipops with a grin, thrilled to have received the requested treat.

With the boxes unpacked, their father entered the kitchen, inquiring about their trip. "Hey, you're back. How was it?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. His mother approached him, giving him a warm kiss on his cheek. "Hello, honey. It was fine," she replied, her voice filled with reassurance. "How was your patrol? Did you come across anyone?" she inquired, showing genuine interest in his activities. "I saw nobody," their father reassured a sense of relief in his voice. "That's good," their mother replied, a hint of tension easing from her demeanor. "Anyways, it's around that time you start to make dinner, darling," their father said, catching them off guard. Theodore, Ward, and their mother exchanged surprised glances, realizing that they had lost track of time. The entire day had seemingly slipped away without them even noticing. "Alright, honey," Mother replied, her voice tinged with a hint of concern. "Teddy, Ward, you help your mother with dinner. I have to check something." Their father's words hung in the air as he walked out of the kitchen. Theodore caught a glimpse of his mother's troubled expression as she watched their father's departure, a flicker of worry crossing her face.

"Alright, boys, I'm cooking spaghetti for dinner," their mother announced, and the sound of her words made Theodore and Ward's stomachs growl in hunger. As their mother gathered the ingredients, the anticipation of a delicious meal filled the kitchen. Just as she was in the midst of cooking, their father returned. Their mother welcomed him to stay since dinner was almost ready, avoiding the need to call after him.

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They all sat down at the table, plates filled with steaming spaghetti in front of them. As they began to enjoy their meal, their father inquired if anything interesting had happened during their trip. Theodore, eager to share his newfound information, spoke up. "Well, I heard some things today," he started, his father raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "Apparently, there's a maniac roaming around who eats people!"

His father's hand froze midway to his mouth, and his eyes widened in surprise. "What?" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with disbelief and concern. "Are you serious?" Theodore nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. "Yeah, the people in line were talking about it. They said he eats anyone he comes across!" The atmosphere at the dinner table grew tense as the gravity of the news sank in. "I can't believe it. I need to be more diligent. I can't leave my family alone with a maniac running loose!" His mother spoke up. "Honey, you don't need to be so worried. I'm sure that this maniac thing is all just rumors. Just be-“

SLAM

"How the fuck can you just say that! YOU BITCH! I WILL NOT BE STANDING AROUND AND WAITING FOR A FUCKING MANAIC HURT OUR CHILDREN!" Their father screamed as he slammed his fists on the table, rattling the plates and cups. Their mother just sat in silence. After he was done screaming, Mother softly said, "You're right. It was a stupid thing of me to say." The atmosphere was tense and heavy. Their father made his way out of his chair. Theodore saw his mother clench her fists. Her leg started shaking. He looked up at her face and froze. He had never seen a look like that on her face. It was anger. Pure anger.

As their father stormed out of the kitchen, Ward watched the unfolding scene with a sense of curiosity. Something interesting is happening here.

On the other hand, Theodore felt a deep concern and worry. He couldn't help but be affected by the strained atmosphere and his mother's apparent lack of care for the family's well-being.

With a heavy heart, Theodore mustered the courage to approach his mother, his voice filled with anxiety and longing. "Mother, are you okay?" he asked, his eyes searching for a glimmer of the loving and nurturing mother he had known.

She turned her gaze towards him, her face devoid of warmth and tenderness. Her response was cold and distant. "I have my own worries, Theodore," she replied, her voice lacking the familiar affection he craved. "There are matters I must attend to."

Theodore felt a deep sense of disappointment and confusion. He couldn't understand why his mother had become so detached and seemingly indifferent.

Glancing at Ward, who seemed indifferent to the situation, Theodore realized he would have to rely on his strength.

Theodore said nothing as he made his way to the bedroom. Ready for this day to be over.

Chapter Text

Mother had been acting strangely lately. "Weird" was the only word Theodore could use to describe it. The morning after their father's outburst, everything seemed to return to normal on the surface. But Theodore couldn't shake the memory of his mother's face—the anger in her eyes, the tightness of her fists. It was like a surreal nightmare, something he wished he could forget but couldn't. It didn't help that Ward kept bringing it up. Whenever they were alone, he couldn't resist mentioning that intense dinner. He'd whisper to Theodore, his voice laced with excitement, "Did you see Mother's face? I've never seen her like that before. It was like she was a completely different person." Theodore would shush him, glancing around nervously, afraid someone might overhear their conversation. Ward seemed to get a sick thrill out of it as if he enjoyed stirring up trouble. But Theodore couldn't shake off the unease lingering in the air. He knew there was more to it, something beneath the surface, and Ward's constant reminders only fueled his curiosity. During the day, Mother would put on a façade of normalcy, but Theodore couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. There was an underlying tension that lingered in her actions and expressions. Her glances became more frequent, and her body vibrated with nervous energy. He couldn't help but notice how she tapped her feet and fingers incessantly, creating a rhythmic and unsettling sound. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was as if she was trying to keep herself grounded amidst an internal storm.

Adding to the unease, Father's presence became more pronounced. He would unexpectedly "pop in" during their lessons, checking up on them with heightened vigilance. Theodore loved his father, but this constant surveillance felt suffocating. It was as if Father was trying to protect them from an invisible threat. Yet, Theodore couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and confinement growing within the confines of their own home.
Mother's silence weighed heavily on Theodore's heart. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled within him. It wasn't the first time she had refrained from speaking up, knowing it would be futile to argue with Father. But for some reason, this time, it hit him harder. Theodore couldn't help but wonder what was brewing beneath the surface, what unspoken thoughts and emotions were slowly tearing them apart.

Theodore couldn't shake off the unsettling thoughts that plagued his mind. Why was his mother so bothered by his father's increased vigilance? Did she have something to hide? He started questioning her daily activities, particularly when she claimed to be cleaning. Was that all she was really doing? Doubt and suspicion grew within him as he wondered if there were hidden secrets his mother was keeping from them. The uncertainty weighed heavily on Theodore, leaving him with a nagging feeling about his mother's true intentions and actions.
Determined and curious, Theodore decided to follow his mother discreetly. He wanted to uncover the truth about her mysterious activities during her alone time. It was a risky move, but he was determined to find answers.
He started to follow his mother. All she did was clean and cook. It was normal. Soon he began to wonder if he was just being paranoid. Then on the third day that he was watching Mother, hiding away so that she wouldn't see him, Ward suddenly came up behind him. He whispered in his ear, "Do you really think Mother would do anything while Father is out and about. Watching over every one of our fucking moves. You either think she is stupid, or you're an idiot for not realizing."

Theodore gasped but quickly covered his mouth. He gave Ward a look but then thought. Huh? Why didn't he think about that? Ward saw the look on his brother's face and smirked. Ah, so it was the second option, then. He thought.

Theodore froze as Ward's words echoed in his ears. He had been so focused on monitoring his mother's every move, searching for signs of deceit or hidden intentions, that he hadn't considered the reality of their situation. His father's constant presence and watchful eyes made it highly unlikely for their mother to engage in anything suspicious while he was around. It was as if Ward had exposed the irrationality of his doubts, making him feel foolish for entertaining such paranoid thoughts. Theodore's initial shock turned into a mix of annoyance and self-reflection. He glanced at Ward, his expression a blend of acknowledgment and mild irritation, silently admitting that his brother had a point.

"Here's an idea," Ward said conspiratorially. He pulled up his brother and pulled him away from their mother. They went to the school room, as they called it, and Ward said, "Wait until Father lessens his patrol, and we'll follow her then." Yes, that would be best, Theodore thought. Wait. "You said we? What do you mean we? Don't tell me you want to follow too?" Ward scoffed. "Of course, I'll be tagging along. This has been one of the more interesting things to happen around here, and just like you, my curiosity is peaked."
Ward's proposal caught Theodore off guard. He had expected his brother to dismiss his concerns or ridicule his paranoia. Still, Ward seemed genuinely intrigued by the idea of following their mother. The prospect of having a partner in this clandestine venture both relieved and worried Theodore. On the one hand, it meant he wouldn't be alone in pursuing the truth.

On the other hand, he wondered if Ward's involvement would complicate matters or lead them down a dangerous path. Theodore hesitated for a moment before finally nodding in agreement. "Alright, we'll wait for the right opportunity and follow her together. But promise me, Ward, we'll be careful and not let our curiosity get us into trouble." Ward grinned mischievously. "Don't worry, little brother. I'll make sure we have an adventure worth remembering."

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"It seems like luck is on our side," Ward whispered to Theodore, excitement in his voice. "The perfect opportunity has finally presented itself."

The following day, their father began to act strangely as breakfast was being prepared. He spoke in a dreamy voice, his words filled with an exaggerated sense of affection.

"Oh my Darling, I feel like I'm floating on clouds of love whenever I'm near you,"

Their father swooned; his eyes glazed with an unusual expression.

"Everything is so beautiful, so enchanting."

Their mother approached him cautiously. "Are you alright, honey?" she asked.

"My Darling, I feel more than fine,"

Their father responded; his voice filled with a lovestruck tone.

"My heart sings for you. It beats with a rhythm that only you can set."

Their mother gently guided their father to sit down. "I think you need to rest," she suggested.
But their father couldn't contain his affectionate display. He embraced their mother tightly and began showering her cheek with sloppy kisses, his actions, and words exaggerated in his drugged state. Sensing the need to handle the situation, their mother sighed.

"Boys, I'm going to take your father to rest," she announced, her voice tinged with weariness. "There'll be no class today. Make sure you don't get into trouble. We won't have lunch, but I'll call you for dinner."

Theodore and Ward exchanged a knowing glance as their mother guided their drugged father out of the room and closed the door behind them. This was the perfect moment to put their plan into action.

"Let's go," Ward whispered, his voice tinged with excitement. "We've got to find out what she's up to."

Theodore nodded, his heart racing with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. They quietly left the room, moving stealthily as they followed their mother's footsteps. They were determined to uncover the truth that had been eluding them. Each step brought them closer to the answers they sought. Still, Theodore couldn't help but wonder what they would discover and how it would impact their perception of their family.
Theodore and Ward devised a plan to follow their mother without getting caught. They had a problem their parent’s room was next to theirs, and the hallway had no safe hiding spots. They decided to hide in their room until they heard their mother leave, and then they would discreetly track her movements. With their bedroom door slightly ajar, Theodore and Ward kept a vigilant watch, waiting for the moment. As their mother guided their drugged father into their room, the boys swiftly entered their own bedroom, leaving the door cracked open just enough for them to observe.

Time passed slowly, their anticipation growing as they listened intently to the muffled sounds from their parent's room. Finally, they heard the door open, followed by the distinct creaking of the gate to the hallway. Their mother's footsteps resonated through the place, echoing down the corridor.

Peering through the partially opened door, Theodore and Ward caught a glimpse of their mother's shadow as she moved swiftly down the hallway. It appeared she had turned a corner, her steps quickening. A surge of curiosity fueled the boys' determination to uncover the truth.

Silently, Theodore and Ward ventured out of their room, their footsteps masked by the hushed atmosphere. They followed the faint sound of their mother's footsteps, staying at a safe distance to avoid detection. The dimly lit hallway gave way to a new and unfamiliar world as they passed through the gate.

Their eyes widened in wonder as they took in the sights before them. Expansive rooms stretched before their gaze, adorned with grand staircases and a peculiar metal contraption that Theodore recognized as an elevator from his reading. It was as if they had entered a labyrinth, with twists and turns that beckoned them forward, guided only by their mother's footsteps and the elongated shadow she cast.

The atmosphere was cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by solitary lightbulbs that cast an eerie glow, decorating entire rooms with a somber ambiance. Theodore and Ward couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and trepidation as they ventured deeper into this uncharted territory, their senses heightened and their hearts racing with anticipation.

Navigating the maze-like expanse, they followed their mother's shadow as it danced along the walls and floors, leading them through the maze of interconnected rooms. The air felt heavy with secrets, and every step brought them closer to uncovering the truth within these walls.

Theodore's mind whirred with questions, his imagination racing to make sense of the enigmatic surroundings. What secrets did this place hold? What was their mother's purpose in going into this labyrinth? The brothers pressed on, their determination unwavering, driven by a thirst for knowledge and a desire to unravel the mysteries before them.
They hurriedly made their way to the large room, their footsteps muffled by the piles of boxes scattered throughout. The room was dimly lit, with only a few flickering lightbulbs casting eerie shadows on the walls. As they reached the center of the room, their eyes fell upon a small door tucked away in one corner.

Theodore's intuition told him their mother had likely entered the room behind that door. Its positioning, seemingly without any other visible exit, intrigued and concerned them. They exchanged a knowing glance, realizing they needed a hiding spot that would afford them both concealment and a clear view of their mother's movements.

Their gazes landed upon a haphazard pile of boxes and debris situated to the left of the door. It offered an ideal hiding place, allowing them to remain hidden yet observant. They crouched behind the stack without hesitation, their hearts pounding in anticipation.

From their vantage point, they could still catch glimpses of the small door, ready to react immediately. The room held an air of secrecy and uncertainty, intensifying their determination to uncover the truth.

As they nestled into their hiding spot, Theodore and Ward braced themselves for what lay ahead. Their hushed breaths broke the room's silence, and they held their positions.
In the dimly lit room, as their mother emerged, the details of her attire became more apparent. The room's low lighting cast shadows, adding an air of mystery to her appearance.
She wore a specialized uniform that immediately captured Theodore and Ward's attention. The dim lighting made it challenging to discern the specific colors, but they could make out the distinct features of her attire.
Her outfit consisted of a form-fitting, full-body suit that appeared to be made of dark, sturdy material. The uniform seemed to prioritize functionality and protection. The fabric hugged her figure closely, suggesting a practical design for ease of movement.
Over the suit, she wore a vest, which had a series of pockets and pouches. The vest appeared to be reinforced with thick padding, providing an added layer of defense. The dim light glinted off metal buckles and fasteners, giving it an authoritative look.
Her footwear caught their attention as well. She sported sturdy boots, their polished surface reflecting the limited light in the room. The boots had rugged soles and high ankle support, indicating durability and readiness for demanding environments.

To complete the ensemble, she wore gloves that covered her hands. The gloves seemed to have textured surfaces, suggesting enhanced grip and protection. The dim lighting accentuated the subtle gleam of the gloves as she moved.

Her attire conveyed an overall impression of preparedness and a sense of authority. The dim lighting added an air of secrecy, making her presence even more intriguing to Theodore and Ward.
Her face bore a sternness that was unfamiliar to Theodore and Ward. It seemed as though her features were etched with a hardness they had never witnessed before.

With deliberate movements, she turned her head, scanning the room purposefully. As their mother's gaze swept across the room, her expression remained stoic and emotionless. Her eyes were determined, as if she was searching for something or assessing the situation. Her lips moved, uttering words under her breath, though the boys couldn't quite catch what she was saying.

Suddenly, she broke the silence with a low, resolute tone. "Alright then. Let's hunt a fucking Jackal." Her voice carried a firmness and determination that sent shivers down their spines. The words hung in the air, dripping with a sense of intensity and purpose.

Theodore and Ward exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity mixing with a tinge of fear. The transformation in their mother's demeanor and her cryptic statement left them with more questions than answers.
Theodore and Ward saw something strapped to her back as their mother exited the room. It was a long, sleek metal pole that protruded from behind her. The sight of the unfamiliar object raised their curiosity and concern. Could it be some sort of weapon?

As their mother made her way out of the room,
Theodore and Ward noticed something peculiar on her back. It was an old and
weathered pole. The pole looked worn and rusted, with patches of faded paint clinging to its surface. Its length and shape suggested it had been repurposed as a makeshift tool or weapon.
They continued to trail their mother through the twisting hallways and dimly lit rooms, their anticipation mounting with each step. Suddenly, their mother stopped, and they could hear faint footsteps drawing nearer. In an instant, their mother's demeanor changed. With a swift motion, she reached for the pole on her back, unsheathing it with practiced ease. The boys watched in awe and apprehension as their mother lowered herself into a crouched position, poised for action.

The tension in the air was palpable as the footsteps grew louder, signaling the approach of an unknown presence. Theodore and Ward exchanged anxious glances, their hearts pounding in their chests. What awaited them around the corner? What danger had their mother prepared herself to confront?

With bated breath, they prepared themselves for whatever lay ahead, their curiosity mingling with a sense of trepidation.

Theodore and Ward watched in awe and disbelief as their mother swiftly closed the distance between herself and the figure, launching into a sudden sprint. Before their eyes, she tackled the person, pinning them forcefully against the wall. The figure's identity remained obscured, their face hidden from view, but the sound of their struggle echoed through the dimly lit space.

Gasps and grunts filled the air as the man fought against their mother's relentless grip. He desperately attempted to free himself, struggling for each breath as the pole pressed against his neck. As the figure crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, their mother's grip on the bar loosened, allowing him to collapse in a heap. Theodore's heart raced with fear and curiosity, his eyes fixed on the unfolding scene before him. With a swift crouch, she moved closer to the fallen man, patting him down methodically. Theodore and Ward strained their ears to catch any snippets of conversation or understanding.

"Haha!" their mother exclaimed softly, a twisted satisfaction in her voice. Their eyes widened as they witnessed her retrieve a knife from the man's jumpsuit pants, deftly slipping it into her pocket.

Silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by the sound of the man's labored breaths and their mother's calculated movements. With bated breaths, Theodore and Ward watched as their mother swiftly subdued the man. She tied his hands behind his back using a white rope-like object. She secured his feet together with another white material. She then positioned the man to be sitting against the wall. The man stopped coughing and gasping, and in a cold voice, their mother said, "Why are you here?"

The man quickly said, "I-I'm from the Network! I'm I'm from the N-Network!"

Their mother tssked. "Ah, You're with that rat bastard's group, then tell me. Where is the other one."

She raised the pole to his neck. "T-there is n-no o-other one!"

"Bullshit. There is always another one with your fucking group. If you don't tell me where your partner is. I'll smash your fucking head in!"

"N-no! I came here all alone! T-they said that in order for me to get into the higher ranks, I-I needed to p-prove myself!"

She scoffed and then laughed. "I see now! Judging by the fact you're wearing a jumpsuit and that you're here alone means that you are fucking fodder! Ha!"

"W-Wha What?" The man said. "N-No! I'm here on an important mission!" The man denied it.

"Then why are you alone? Usually whenever anyone of the…." She scoffed, "Network goes out; it is usually in groups. You think they suddenly broke from this just because you needed to prove yourself?"

The man yelled, "No! You're wrong."

She sighed. "Let me tell you how it is. They sent you out on a suicide mission, basically. You're low on their ranks, and you are expendable. They sent you out in the hopes of rising up the ranks, and what they really are doing is sending you out as bait. To see if the rumors are true or not. If you came back, they were false. If you didn't well-" She shrugged. "No harm, no foul. The rumors are true."

"Either way, you lose in this."

The man's face contorted with a mix of anger and desperation. "No! That can't be true! They wouldn't sacrifice their own like that!" he protested.

She shook her head, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "Oh, my dear deluded pawn. You underestimate the cruelty of your group. They see you as nothing more than a means to an end, a disposable tool in their twisted game."

Her voice dripped with a chilling mix of menace and cunning as she laid out her proposition. "Listen up, you poor, clueless fool. I can give you a way out of this mess. I'll take care of that maniac for you. Wipe him off the face of the Earth. In return, you become my inside man, my secret spy within the Network. You'll have all the glory you crave but with a catch. You'll be feeding me information, their dirty little secrets, and maybe even the boss's. It's a chance to save your sorry hide and gain some leverage. Trust me, you don't want to know what happens if you decline." They couldn't see her face, but the wicked delight in her voice was unmistakable as she playfully tapped the pole against the man's head. There was a twisted pleasure in her words as if relishing the power she held over him.

"Deal or no deal?" she taunted.

The man remained momentarily silent, contemplating his options, before relenting and saying,
"Okay."

She crouched again, using the man's knife to cut the restraints on his feet. "Alright, find somewhere to hide, but don't venture too far from this area. Once I'm done, you'll need to gather evidence to show to your group," she instructed, her voice hinting amusement.

The man, still cautious, hesitated before asking, "What about my hands?"

She chuckled softly. "Consider them insurance. I won't remove them until the job is done. I wouldn't want you making a run for it now, would I?"

His voice quivered as he inquired, "And what if you don't kill him? What then?"

"Well, in that case, you'll have the pleasure of freeing yourself... after a few hours of sawing at them."

She snapped her fingers. "Oh! And one more thing, what's your name?"

The man hesitated for a moment before replying, "Harry Powers."

There was a hint of disbelief in her voice. "Really? That's your name?"

He sighed, a tinge of annoyance in his tone. "Yes, that's my name."

The boys felt a surge of worry, fearing the man might head in their direction. However, to their relief, he moved in the opposite direction. Their mother waited momentarily, ensuring the coast was clear, before resuming her determined stride. She let out a hearty laugh, echoing in the dimly lit room.

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.

An overpowering odor of decay and rust filled the air, making Theodore's stomach churn. It didn't take long for them to stumble upon a gruesome sight. The stench hit their nostrils before they even saw it. Their mother, unfazed by the foul smell, pressed on and entered a room at the end of the hallway.

Standing at the room's entrance, their senses were overwhelmed by the putrid atmosphere; their eyes took in the disturbing scene before them. The walls were marred with dried brown stains, telling a story of past horrors. The metal sink bore the same stains on its grimy surface. Directly in front of them, the room led to another space. Still, it was obstructed mainly by metal shelves filled with pots and pans, creating a barrier. A macabre sight hung to their left in another room adjacent to theirs. Bodies, suspended from the ceiling by hooks, swayed gently, reminiscent of the images Theodore had once seen in a book about cattle and meat processing.

They strained to hear their mother's voice as she spoke from another room. Theodore's attention was momentarily distracted, but Ward's persistent tugging brought him back to reality. With a silent nod, they maneuvered through the barrier of metal shelves, narrowly squeezing through the gaps, and entered the next room. It took a moment for Theodore to take in the surroundings before Ward motioned for him to crouch on the floor. Following his brother's lead, Theodore crouched and turned his gaze to the left. Through the giant window, he could see the room where their mother was, stained with the same ominous brown marks that tainted the walls. They cautiously approached the window and caught sight of torn clothes, scattered bones, and patches of decaying skin. A broken microwave sat on the counter nearby, adding to the unsettling scene. Carefully utilizing the items on the counter, they positioned them as a makeshift barrier, providing a hiding spot to observe the room. It required some strategic maneuvering, but they eventually achieved a clear line of sight into the room where their mother stood. Peering through the small gaps between the objects, they focused on the unfolding scene.

The room was dark with no light. During the time the boys were making a hiding spot, their mother was looking for a switch. Then the room suddenly lit up.

"Well, I'll be dammed." She exclaimed. "These lights actually still fucking work after all of this time!"

With the lights on, she moved long rectangular tables in the room. The boys watched intently as she rearranged the room, maneuvering long rectangular tables to create a platform and using three other tables as a makeshift barrier. They noticed two large metal boxes adorned with images of soda bottles: their purpose unknown to the boys. Straining and exerting effort, their mother grunted and groaned as she positioned the heavy boxes to reinforce the barrier she had constructed. Their mother steadied herself on the platform, double-checking her pockets and retrieving the man's knife along with a mysterious rectangular metal box. Curiosity filled the boys' minds as they observed her press a button on the box, causing it to emit a sharp zap and release tiny blue sparks. She securely holstered the device on her hip while the knife was in her boot. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself before unleashing a series of loud shouts and aggressive bangs with the metal pole, deliberately creating as much noise as possible.

"FEED ME! FEED ME!" a raspy howl could be heard. The voice became louder and louder as he shouted, "FEED ME! MEAT! MEAT!" A loud buzzing sound could be heard.

BUZZ

BUZZ

"MEAT! MEAT! MEAT!" The chilling howl grew louder and more desperate as the man approached, his fervent cries for meat filling the air. The buzzing sound intensified, creating an eerie atmosphere in the room.

As the man entered the room, the boys saw his haunting appearance. His emaciated figure seemed almost skeletal, with pallid skin clinging to his bones. His green eyes pierced through the darkness, framed by long, unkempt gray hair that blended into his unruly beard. His nudity was partially concealed by tattered black cloth, now stained and soaked with blood. Intricate symbols marred his chest and stomach, alongside faded marks that held secrets unknown to the boys.
The man's erratic movements and disheveled appearance only heightened the sense of danger in the room. With his grotesque weapon in hand, he twitched and swayed, defying all sense of balance. It was a macabre sight to behold, considering his frail state.

In response to the imminent threat, their mother swiftly retrieved her enigmatic box-like device. Two black wires shot out from it, striking the man, and causing him to convulse violently. Remarkably, he remained on his feet, defying the odds.

Without hesitation, their mother discarded the device and wielded her trusty pole, delivering a forceful blow to the man's head. Finally, he succumbed to the impact, crumpled to the ground, and pressed against the protective barrier she had assembled. His agonized screams gave way to anguished groans, marking the end of his relentless assault. Their mother, visibly drained, struggled to catch her breath amidst the aftermath.

Their mother swiftly hopped over the barrier and approached the fallen man. She reached for the saw, ensuring it was turned off, and placed it safely on the other side of the barrier. Gripping her pole with both hands, she cautiously positioned herself in front of the subdued figure, maintaining a safe distance.

She prodded at the man using the pole, keeping him at bay. Suddenly, he regained consciousness, his raspy voice echoing again, "MEAT!"

Reacting swiftly, their mother struck the man with the pole, unleashing a series of relentless blows. With each strike, she bellowed at the top of her voice, "WEAK! WEAK! YOU ARE MY MEAT!" The man, battered and subdued, succumbed to the force of her onslaught.

Theodore observed the expression on his mother's face, transfixed by the intensity and raw emotion it conveyed. If he had thought her anger at the dinner table was fierce, he now realized it was merely a fraction of the feelings brewing within her. Her features contorted into a mixture of determination, ferocity, and something else he couldn't quite put into words. It was a look that held both power and a touch of something darker, something primal.

She stopped and looked at the man. "You are weaker than me. That makes you my meat. This is the rule of nature."

"Then… you.. will eat me?" the man said with a hopeful look.

"No."

"Then what… MEAT… CAN'T… GET MEAT… SO HUNGRY!" the man wailed.

"Oh, Frankie, Frankie, Frank. "She paused. "Don't you see? The solution to the problem is simple. If you are my meat, then that also means that you can eat yourself."

Her voice dripped with cruel amusement as she taunted the man, reveling in his desperation. The man's hopeless expression twisted into confusion and horror at her words.

"Eat myself? What are you talking about?" he stammered, his voice trembling with confusion.

She chuckled, a sound devoid of any warmth or compassion. "You see, Frankie, when you're weak and hungry, only one source of sustenance is available to you. Your own flesh, your own body. That's the price you pay for your weakness."

"Then… will you help… me?"

"Yes, I will."

She then stands up and makes her way to the barrier. She grabs the saw and turns it on.
Theodore shuts his eyes tightly, attempting to block out the gruesome scene unfolding before him. He covers his ears, trying to drown out the sound of the saw. The man's voice and the cold determination in his mother's voice echo in his mind. He waits, praying for it to be over soon, but he cannot bear witness to the horrifying act.

^ Ward's eyes widen with glee and excitement. This was more than he could have hoped for. For years he only dealt with the small animals in the wood but this! And It came from the one person (other than his stupid brother) he wouldn't have expected. He needed to see all of this. He watched on, observing every gruesome detail.

She starts with the legs cutting off his feet. Grabbing the disgusting feet of this Frankie. It was swollen at the toes. The big toe had a red growth distending out of it. Ward was disgusted. Glad that this pathetic human was going to be killed. With the saw, he watched as Mother cut through the ankle. The sound of the flesh being ripped and torn by the blades, the bones cracking, and the blood spraying out, covering his mother with blood. It was a heady sight. Honestly, it was almost too much for him to handle. He drank in the sound of the man's screams, and the position that he was in gave a perfect view of Mother's face. It was blank, not a single emotion to be found. She looked almost bored. Ah! He now knows that the happy smiling face she always had is fake. A mask she wears as she plays the housewife. This was the real her. Ward is satisfied that his brother is too weak to look. He's glad this is a sight for him to enjoy and enjoy alone. He smiles as she moves to the knees and cuts off his legs, only leaving the thighs on the body. He almost bursts into laughter as she gives the man his legs! What's even more fantastic is that he starts to eat them! Mother was serious when she told him she would help him. How wonderful! The man's screams are replaced by the sound of chewing as the man ravenously devours his legs. Mother then moves to cut off his thighs. Somehow the man hasn't died of blood loss, and he has this look of pure satisfaction on his face.

After she cuts off Frankie's thighs, she stops. Aw! He wishes that she would continue onto his hands. Make the man squirm and wiggle like a worm as he gorges on his own hands. He is a little disappointed by that, but he doesn't have time to ruminate on that as the sound of the man's chewing stops. The man died. The expression on Mother's face hasn't changed. She then starts to lay the man down. She walks over to where his neck and head are and proceeds to cut off his head! What a finale! The blood gushing out of the neck wound and spraying everywhere is like fireworks he has read about. He bets that even fireworks wouldn't compare to this sight. It was magnificent.

*The sound of the saw finally turned off. Theodore finally opened his eyes to a gruesome sight. Theodore's eyes widen in horror as he takes in the grisly scene before him. The room is now stained with blood, and the view of the man's dismembered body sends shivers down his spine. The gruesome images etch themselves into his mind, and he knows that these haunting visuals will continue to plague his nightmares for a long time. He tries to block out the gruesome sight, but the images linger, leaving an indelible mark on his psyche. Theodore's gaze shifts towards his brother, and he is taken aback by the expression of elation on Ward's face. It's as if Ward is exhilarated by the gruesome scene that unfolded before them. Confusion and concern fill Theodore's mind as he struggles to comprehend how his brother could find any joy in such a horrifying sight. Theodore's attention is diverted as he hears his mother mumbling to herself. "It had to be done, Miles," she says, her voice filled with determination and uncertainty. "I know, but-" A beeping sound interrupts her Before she can finish her sentence. She quickly glances at her wrist, a sense of urgency crossing her face. "Shit. We'll talk about this later, man." Still clutching the severed head, she swiftly exits the room, leaving Theodore puzzled by her cryptic words.

.

.

.

Theodore's mind is filled with a whirlwind of emotions as they make their way back, keeping his distance from Ward. The gravity of what they witnessed weighs heavily on him, and the fear of their mother's actions and potential consequences looms large. Questions flood his thoughts, leaving him overwhelmed and uncertain of what to do next. Should he confide in his father about what happened? Would his mother go to such lengths as to harm them or their father if they were to speak up? Can he pretend everything is normal and continue as if nothing happened? The weight of responsibility and the need to protect his family deeply burdens him. Theodore knows he must find a way to navigate this alarming situation. Still, the path remains unclear, leaving him with a sense of helplessness and a desperate need for answers.

Chapter Text

Theodore's mind raced with confusion and disbelief as the boys entered their room. He couldn't comprehend his mother's actions, the brutal killing, and the disturbing aftermath. It was too much to handle, and his thoughts spiraled into shock and fear.

Ward, on the other hand, reveled in the chaos. The gruesome scene seemed to fuel his dark desires, and a twisted satisfaction danced across his face. Theodore couldn't understand how his brother could find joy in such brutality.

Theodore's voice trembled as he broke the heavy silence. "What... what just happened? How could she... how could anyone..."

Ward's expression turned cold as he interrupted Theodore, his voice filled with an unsettling calmness. "You need to calm down and think, Theodore. There must be a reason why Mother did what she did. We can't jump to conclusions and label her as crazy. She's always protected us, remember?"

Theodore's eyes widened, confusion and fear gripping his heart. "But... but this... it's not normal. No mother would do something like this."

Ward took a step closer, his voice lowering to a hushed whisper. "You don't understand, Teddy. We can't let our emotions control us. We need to trust Mother. She's always taken care of us. Maybe she had no other choice. Maybe she did it to keep us safe."

Theodore's mind reeled with conflicting thoughts, his trust in his mother shattering under the weight of the recent events. He wanted to believe Ward's words, to find solace in the idea that there was a rational explanation. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"What about Father?" Theodore stammered; his voice filled with desperation. "We can't keep this from him. He needs to know what happened."

Ward's eyes flickered with determination. "Not now, Theodore. We can't involve Father at this point. It's too dangerous. We need to trust Mother, just for now. She knows what she's doing. We have to keep this a secret for our own safety."

Theodore's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to understand Ward's reasoning. 

Uncertainty hung in the air as Theodore reluctantly nodded, his voice barely a whisper. "Okay, I'll trust Mother... for now."

Ward's face softened into a forced smile. "That's the spirit, Teddy. We need to act normal like nothing happened. Let's practice convincing Mother that we're okay."
Theodore's instincts screamed at him, urging him to dig deeper and uncover the hidden truths within their home. He couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss, that his mother's actions were just a piece of a much larger puzzle. The conversation he overheard between her and Harry Powers echoed in his mind, fueling his need to unveil the hidden secrets in that room.

As Ward continued his lessons on acting normal, Theodore's mind raced with plans and possibilities. He needed to find a way to enter that room unnoticed and uncover the truth his mother desperately tried to conceal. But how could he do it without raising suspicion?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He had to be intelligent, cautious, and patient. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Theodore knew that to discover what was happening, he had to act covertly without his mother's knowledge.

Nighttime seemed like the best opportunity. While everyone else was asleep, Theodore could seize the chance to investigate the mysterious room. He knew he had to be quick and discreet, leaving no trace behind.
"Okay, if she asks any questions about how the day was, you need to be as vague as possible," Ward said.
"What? Why? Shouldn't we give details about our day? To make our story believable."
Ward sighed. "That's not how it works. The more details you give, the more you need to remember and the more opportunities Mother will have to catch you into a trap."
"A trap?" Theodore questioned.
"Yes, she will ask specific questions to trip you up." With a serious look, Ward said. "You can't let your guard down. Pay attention to what you say."
"Okay, I understand," Theodore replied, his voice filled with confusion and concern. The thought of their mother setting traps to catch them off guard was unsettling, but Ward's words carried a weight of truth that couldn't be ignored.

He realized that their mother was a master manipulator, skilled at extracting information and using it against them. The more details they provided, the more ammunition she would have to twist their words and uncover their hidden knowledge. It was a dangerous game, and Theodore knew he had to tread carefully.

"So, we should keep our responses vague and general," Theodore confirmed, trying to grasp the concept. "But what if she specifically asks what we saw or heard today? How do we navigate those questions without raising suspicion?"

Ward nodded, appreciating Theodore's understanding. "If she asks about specific details, we should downplay our observations and keep our answers brief. We can say things like 'nothing out of the ordinary' or 'just the usual routine.' The key is to be consistent and avoid giving her any reason to suspect that we know more than we should."

Theodore nodded, his mind racing with potential scenarios. He knew their mother was astute and would likely be watching their every move, searching for cracks in the act. 

As the evening wore on and dinnertime approached, Theodore's nerves grew more frayed. He realized that every word, every action, would be under scrutiny. Their mother's sharp eyes would be searching for any signs of deception, any hint that they were hiding something.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the challenge ahead. They had to be cautious, vigilant, and above all, united. Together, they would navigate the treacherous waters of their mother's web of manipulation while searching for the truth hidden beneath the surface.

Theodore looked at Ward, determination gleaming in his eyes. "We'll be careful, Ward. We won't let our guard down. We'll stick to the plan and keep our secrets hidden. We're in this together."

Ward nodded, a gleam in his eyes. "That's the spirit, Theodore. We're a team, and we'll protect each other. Remember, no matter what happens, we'll find a way to uncover the truth and keep ourselves safe."

With a newfound resolve, Theodore and Ward prepared for dinner ahead, knowing that their acting skills would be tested. As they entered the dining room, they wore masks of normalcy, ready to face their mother's probing questions with carefully crafted responses.
As they approached the kitchen, they heard their mother humming a tune. She was finishing preparing dinner when the boys walked into the room. With her back to them, she turned around and slightly jumped at seeing them. "Oh! Hello boys! I was just finishing dinner! I wasn't expecting you to be already here!" She motioned for them to sit at the table. She set the plates at the table and went to get the water. She made spaghetti for dinner.
Theodore and Ward exchanged a quick glance at their mother's startled reaction. Theodore forced a smile on his face as the boys took their seats at the table.
As their mother returned with the water, pouring it into their glasses, Theodore couldn't help but feel a strange tension in the air. The smell of spaghetti filled the room. But with a hint of curiosity.
"So, how was your day, boys?" their mother asked, cheerful.
Ward was quick to respond, his tone light and casual. "Oh, you know, the usual. Just some exploring around the area, enjoying the outdoors for me."
Theodore nodded, echoing his brother's response. "Yeah, I was in the book room reading."
Their mother smiled. "Oh, I forgot that your father is still under the weather, so he won't join us for dinner. If you were wondering."
Theodore's heart skipped a beat at his mother's mention of their father's absence. They didn't bring up their father. They just saw him being dragged out of the room that morning, and they did not mention it. They should have asked about their father instead of waiting for their mother to speak. Theodore looked at Ward, but his face revealed nothing.
His smile turned into a slight frown. "Oh, I hope he feels better soon."
Their mother nodded. "Yes, he's resting. I'll make sure to save some leftovers for him."
Theodore gave out a small sigh of relief. Ward is exceptional at this. Then Mother looked directly at him. "How is your book so far?"
Theodore's heart raced as his mother's gaze locked onto him. He tried to maintain his composure, meeting her eyes with a steady look.
"Oh, um, it's good," he stammered, trying to sound convincing. "Really interesting. I've been engrossed in it."
His mother's smile widened but didn't quite reach her eyes. "That's good. It's just because I was wondering why you didn't eat your lunch today. You know I leave it for you to eat in the refrigerator daily, and you are normally consistent with eating it. Ward sometimes forgets, so it's fine for him, but you must have really been engrossed in your book today."
His mind raced to devise an explanation, a believable excuse for the missed lunch. He couldn't let her suspect anything.
"Oh, uh, yeah." He replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "I got caught up in the book and, um, lost track of time. Sorry about that."
His mother's smile remained fixed, but Theodore detected a hint of skepticism in her eyes. It was as if she was dissecting his every word, searching for inconsistencies. He felt a bead of sweat on his forehead, his anxiety mounting.
"Yes, the Lord of the Rings is a good read. I used to read it all the time when I was younger. In fact, I was a fan of the series. I love the main character Frodo. I know you are a fast reader, so you should've read about… What? 200 pages. I think it should be about… halfway through the first book. Come on, tell me what your thoughts are about the book so far? Do you like the shire? What do you think about the ring he finds?"

Theodore's heart raced as his mother questioned him further about the book. He could feel the sweat trickling down his forehead, his mind scrambling to devise an adequate response. But in his nervous state, he accidentally let slip a wrong detail about the book.

"Oh, uh, well, I really liked the part where Frodo finds the Ring in the Shire," Theodore blurted out, realizing his mistake a moment too late.

His mother's smile faltered for a split second. She quickly composed herself and nodded.

"Oh, that's an interesting part indeed," she said, her voice laced with a hint of suspicion. "But, you see, Frodo doesn't actually find the Ring in the Shire. He inherits it from his uncle, Bilbo Baggins, and embarks on a journey to destroy it in Mordor."

Theodore's heart sank as his error was exposed. He tried to recover, his mind racing to come up with a plausible explanation.

"Oh, right, right," he stammered, his voice filled with unease. "I must have misspoken. I meant to say that I enjoyed the beginning of the adventure when Frodo first received the Ring. It was a captivating moment."

His mother's scrutinizing gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she seemed to accept his explanation. She nodded again, though Theodore could still sense a lingering doubt.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying the book," his mother said, her tone slightly colder than before. "Just remember to keep up with your meals, alright? It's important to take care of yourself."

Theodore nodded, his anxiety still gnawing at him. After the disaster of his conversation, their mother turned her attention to Ward. "So, Ward, how was the woods?"

Ward's face brightened up as their mother shifted her attention to him. He paused to compose himself, projecting an air of casual confidence.

"Oh, the woods were great, Mom," Ward replied, his tone filled with enthusiasm. "I had a fantastic time exploring and observing nature. The birds were singing, and I even stumbled upon a small deer grazing in a clearing. It was a peaceful and refreshing experience."

Their mother smiled, seemingly pleased with his response. "That sounds wonderful, Ward. I'm glad you had a good time. Nature has a way of rejuvenating our spirits, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely, Mom. Being in the woods always brings me peace and tranquility." Ward nodded eagerly.

Their mother's gaze shifted back to Theodore briefly, her eyes narrowing slightly before she refocused on Ward. Ward seemed to handle their mother's inquiries effortlessly, but the weight of their secret still hung heavily in the air. Theodore felt a mix of relief and concern.

As dinner continued, Theodore found himself struggling to eat. The taste of the spaghetti felt bland and unappetizing, his mind preoccupied with the day's events. He stole glances at his mother from time to time, trying to decipher any hidden intentions behind her mask of normalcy. Deep down, he knew there was more to the story and was determined to uncover the truth. But for now, he had to play the role of the obedient son, keeping his doubts and fears locked away.

They made their way to their bedroom. Ward whispered in Theodore's ear with a sarcastic and condescending tone, "Great job on that performance, Teddy. You really kept your cool in there."

Theodore felt a surge of anger towards Ward, his resentment bubbling up to the surface. He was tired of his brother's condescending attitude and lack of support. With a clenched jaw, he retorted, "Don't pretend you care, Ward. You're only interested in the results, not me."

Ward's expression hardened, and he glared at Theodore. "You think I want to be stuck with you? You're nothing but a burden. If it weren't for you, I could handle things on my own without any fucking mistakes."

Theodore's eyes narrowed, his frustration turning into defiance. "Well, excuse me for not being as perfect as you. I never asked for your help in the first place."

Ward scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt. "You wouldn't survive a day without me. You're weak and clueless. I'm tired of carrying your weight."

Theodore's fists clenched at his sides, his resentment towards Ward reaching its peak. "You know what, Ward? I'm tired of pretending too. Let's just focus on getting out of here and forget about being brothers."

Ward laughed, a bitter sound escaping his lips. "You fucking forget that we need to act like we at least tolerate each other, you know. And don't you forget I know just as much as you do. You don't think I don't know about your little plan to sneak off at night to investigate that mysterious room, huh?"

Theodore gasped in surprise. "How...?"

Ward snorted, a sly grin forming on his face. "Because, you little shit, I was thinking the same thing. So like it or not, we're stuck with each other. Because I'm not letting this go. Oh no, you won't be getting rid of me that easily."
Theodore knew that Ward was right, and he resented that. "I'm going out tonight," he declared defiantly.

Ward's smile widened, revealing all teeth. "I know, Teddy."

Chapter Text

Theodore looks and basks in the room. The smell of old paper and ink wafts through the room. The books line the walls, the shelves stacking up beyond what he can see. Gold and silver cover the tomes and glitter, shining off the sun's warming light filtering through the windows. He takes a moment to soak in the atmosphere of the room. He holds a fragile egg in the palm of his hands, and a set of bronze keys are tucked away in his pant pocket. After absorbing all that he could, he leaves the room. He has been looking through every room of the lavish house with similar results. The place drips with wealth and luxury. Theodore then comes across a door. The small wooden door contrasts the house. An eyesore, an out-of-place tumor to the pristine place. It's the door to the forbidden room. If he entered, the punishment would be death. However, the door beacons to him, and curiosity grows in him and becomes unbearable. He fishes out the keys and takes out the smallest one.

With a soft click, the door opens to reveal a dimly lit room. The smell of iron and rotting drafts out of the room. The putrid smell hits Theodore and makes the boy hurl in disgust. A sizeable wooden basin sits in the middle of the room. The boy slowly shuffles to the bowl. As he steps, he notices that the floor is sticky, tinged with mysterious brown stains and drying crimson puddles. The outside of the basin is soaked with liquid, the wood soaking the red ooze. Theodore looks into the basin and sees the dismembered body parts of people floating in a pool of blood. Arms, legs, and heads are piled up in the basin. He glances to his side and sees a wooden block with a glistening ax.

In a panic, the boy yells in horror and drops the egg into the bowl. He quickly fetches it out. The egg isn't broken, but blood covers it. He tries to wipe it off to clean the egg. He broke the rule. He was supposed to keep the egg safe and not let anything happen. The boy rushed to the kitchen to wash off the evidence that showed his guilt. He could not clean the egg. He turns to see a figure standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He couldn't identify any features; its face was blank. The only part he saw was the large red eyes staring at him. Looking into his soul. It asked for the egg and key in a grabbled voice. The boy shakily hands them to the figure, the red staining his hands. "You went into the room. Now you will go into it again. Your life is finished." The figure threw him down and dragged him back into the room by the hair. It slammed his head on the block and grabbed the ax-

"Wake up," Theodore groaned as he was shaken by Ward.

"Wake up. Wake up, you little shit," Ward's disdainful voice pierced through.

Opening his eyes, Theodore saw Ward staring at him with contempt.

"Look who's finally awake. Did you forget what we were supposed to do tonight, huh? Or was your dream so fucking thrilling that you just couldn't wake up?" Ward sneered.

Turning to walk away, he muttered, "I swear if you hadn't fucking memorized the way, I would've left already."   

"Oh!" Theodore exclaimed as he quickly jumped out of bed.

"Yeah, 'oh'." Ward replied with venom in his voice. "Let's go."   

The boys crept out of the room, stealthily moving down the dim hallway. As they passed their parents' room, faint murmurs drifted through the closed door. They give each other a look.

Reaching the gate at the end of the hallway, Theodore tried to push it open, only to find it locked. Theodore realized that Mother must have locked it when she returned. He hears Ward sigh in frustration and is pushed aside. Ward fishes out a set of lock picks from his pocket. Theodore had to wonder where he got those tools.

With practice precision, Ward skillfully unlocks the gate with a click. Theodore anxiously looks back towards their parents' room, fearing getting caught. The gate door slowly creaks open, and they slip out. Theodore leads the way as they sneak their way toward the room. The atmosphere of the place is more oppressive than before. Theodore constantly looked behind him, half expecting to see Mother running up to catch them. Whenever he turned around, Ward hit him on the arm to get him to walk again. Time seemed to warp, minutes stretching as they navigated the labyrinthine corridors.

 Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was 30 minutes, they stood before the door. The small, inconspicuous door tucked in the corner of the large room. Theodore's trembling hand reached out, fingers shaking as they grabbed the cold metal handle. The door swung open with a soft creak. The door revealed a small, cramped closet filled with stacked boxes and cleaning supplies. Disappointment washed over him; he was deflated by the realization the room was a dead end. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was to be found within the room. Ward impatiently shoved Theodore aside and began searching the room. His hands delved into boxes, and his fist pounded against the walls. Theodore watched in confusion. "Why are you doing that?" Theodore questioned. Ward let out an exasperated sigh. His frustration was evident. He leveled Theodore with a sharp look. "You are the fucking dumbest person I know," he retorted. "Obviously, she has a hiding spot for her stuff. She wouldn't just leave it out in the open."

Theodore's face flushed with embarrassment. He had to begrudgingly admit that he was greatly helped by Ward, no matter how much he hates his guts. Theodore joined Ward in the search, sifting through boxes and inspecting the walls for secret compartments.  

After an eternity of searching, they didn't find anything. Frustration gnawed at Theodore, but he refused to accept this as a dead end. He remembered Mother disappearing into the room, only to emerge wearing different clothing. There had to be something more…

In a last-ditch effort, Theodore looked frantically around the room, scanning every surface with desperation. And then, his eyes fixed on a small metal grate near the corner of the room. It looked like a vent. He rushed over to the grate and reached out to touch it. He felt the cool aged metal against his hands. He tried to pry it open, but it was firmly secured.

Theodore's mind raced; he needed a tool, some that could open the grate. He made his way over the boxes and rummaged through them. He found a small screwdriver. His hands wrapped around the worn handle, and he returned to the vent. He unscrewed the bolts and took off the grate. He and Ward looked through the vent and saw a metal passage stretched out before them.

Theodore mustered his courage with a deep breath and went into the vent. Surprisingly, the trek through the vent was shorter than he had anticipated. He exited the vent into a dimly lit, tiny room. In the center of the room stood only a small table and metal chair. The table held the man's knife, the black box that had sparks, and scattered papers. On the chair lay a neatly folded pile of black clothes. Theodore assumes that they must be the ones that Mother changed into.

Theodore's gaze shifted to the corner of the room, where the black pole leaned against the wall. A pair of black boots alongside it. Everything was carefully arranged. Theodore made a note of where everything was. He didn't want a single speck of dust out of place lest they reveal to Mother that someone else has been there.

Theodore's attention turned to the door in the room. He made his way and discovered that the door was blocked from the outside. Theodore then heard the shuffling of paper and saw Ward pouring over the scattered documents on the table.

Theodore walks over, and Ward handed over a piece of notebook paper with a “She’s got horrible handwriting”. Without saying a word, Theodore accepted the paper and read it intently.

Murkoff Corporation

Documents=62 63 pages

Project WALRIDER (PW)= 45~47

Operations=8

PW Onsite Inspection, Murkoff Corp. P.G. Maintenance Memo, Morphogenic Engine Maintenance Sched., Gender selection in Mt. Massive, Intro. to WALRIDER myth

Patients=28

BH-7

PW Report, Patient BH, Permission, Warrant

CW-2

PW Report CW

D(LN?)-2

Dissociative D

EG-2(?)

PW Report EG

FM-2

PW Report FM

MA-4

Art, Sand, Calvary, Judas

???  Unknown-7

Bleeding, PW postmortem prep., The Groom (?), Kill Us*, Transfer

?Should probably put this doc. in EG. 

*I know who wrote it but name is unknown. 

Dr.W-7~9

Frankenstein, Modern Prometheus, Note to Personnel, RW Phase out, Death certificate, Obituary, Spirit Breach(?)

? I don't know where to place this. 

MKULTRA 5~6 

Patient: SP

Rose Garden

General  4~5

CIA Hypnotic Homicide, Project Bluebird, Operations of TSD, Project Paper Clip (?)

? Unsure of placement. Might need a new category since it might reference a different project than MK or PW 

RT 3~5

Patient Status Report, Request for Reassignment, Annapurna*, False Pregnancies (?)

JB 2-4

Reassignment for Mental Health, False Pregnancies (?)

(?) False pregnancies have both names so... undecided

Staff 3 

God & Family, Necrotizing Fasciitis, Annapurna*, Samul

*Anna is more criminalizing for RT 

OK. This is all relevant paper docs. I could find. 

Miles why are there more documents for your guys?

The Rat has left little evidence in papers or the database against him, we need to find an in and gather information.

As Theodore immersed himself in reading the document, his attention fully taken by the words on the page, he was unaware of Ward's actions beside him. Unbeknownst to Theodore, Ward carefully folded a paper and discreetly slipped it into his pocket. Ward was excited by this find. In his mind, it was killing two birds with one stone. He smirked to himself.  

Questions swirled in Theodore's head. The words on the page painted a picture of a hidden world. What are the Walrider and MKULTRA projects? Murkoff Corporation stood out. It seemed to be a central figure. The people named in the document He wondered who they were as Mother only put down initials and vague references. Who were they? What part did they play in all of this?

Theodore put the paper in his hands and tried to comprehend everything he had just seen. Mother has been looking for documents and found around 63 pages. She must take them to someone. He thought about the name that Mother muttered it after she killed the man. He believed it was ‘Miles’. He supposed that she didn't have the time yet to do so. It's a lot to consider, but they must return to their room. Theodore doesn't know how much time has passed since they left, but he doesn't want to take any chances. He puts the paper back and tells Ward they should be going. As Theodore enters the vent, he doesn't notice Ward pocketing the paper that he was reading in his pocket.

.

.

.

Walking down the hallway to their room, they pass by their parents' room and hear noises. Theodore thinks to himself, "Are they still talking?" Curiosity peaked; he leaned against the door to eavesdrop for a moment.  

Leaning closer to the door, Theodore strained his ears to catch the conversation within. However, he was met with a series of soft groans and moans that made his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Theodore quickly ran from the door and scurried into his bed. The day had been... too much. He needed to sleep.

As Theodore rushes into the room, unbeknownst to him, Ward stays by the door and leans in to listen. A soft, feminine no is heard through the door. He doesn't go back to the bedroom for the night.

Chapter Text

Theodore groaned as he woke up, exhausted and harboring a lingering headache. With each step of his morning routine, he moved sluggishly, his mind preoccupied with yesterday's events. Thoughts of the Walrider, MKULTRA, the Murkoff Corporation, and Miles floated around in his head, leaving him with more questions than answers. Why was Mother collecting those documents? How long had she been doing this? Theodore's mind raced, desperately searching for answers, but he couldn't find any, leaving him frustrated and bewildered.

Theodore made his way to the breakfast table and noticed he was the last to arrive. Father was standing at the stove, humming and singing softly to himself as he cooked. The tantalizing aroma of eggs and bacon filled the air, causing Theodore's stomach to growl in response. As he took his seat, he glanced at Ward and noticed that their mother was already seated at the table. Ward appeared unfazed; his demeanor unchanged as if the previous day's events were a distant memory. It irked Theodore that his brother could sit there so casually as if they hadn't just stumbled upon important secrets and weren't sitting next to a murderer. Theodore scoffed inwardly, feeling a mix of frustration and resentment building within him.

Mother, however, appeared visibly worn out. Her usual grace seemed diminished, replaced by exhaustion and a hint of unease. Dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes. She wore a dark blue dress that covered her arms and neck, chosen to conceal something, though Theodore couldn't discern what it might be. The beads of sweat on her forehead betrayed her discomfort, as the weight of the dress was not suitable for the sweltering summer heat. Theodore couldn't shake the thought that there might be a connection between what he heard through the door to their room last night and his mother's disheveled appearance.

"Ah, Teddy, you're here. Great!" Father cheerfully said as he brought the plates of eggs and bacon. He sat down in his seat and announced, "Ward, Teddy, since I haven't seen you much yesterday, we are going to have a father-son day! Since your mother is a bit under the weather, she won't be with us, so it will be just us!"

Theodore mustered a half-hearted smile as he took his seat. The words "under the weather" felt like a gross understatement. Nevertheless, he nodded in acknowledgment of his father's announcement, unsure how to respond.

Ward chimed in, "Well, I'm sorry, but I was going to do some reading today."

Theodore added, "Me too! Can we do this another day?"

Eddie looked at his sons, a hint of disappointment flickering across his face. "I'm sorry, boys, but I must insist. Teddy, you bury your nose in books all the time. I believe that we need to spend some time together. It doesn't need to be all day, but I want to spend time with you. I finished making some of your summer clothes. I was planning on showing you and having you try them on. After that, you boys can retreat to your books."

Theodore glanced at Ward, seeing his carefully blank face. Ward then smiled and chirped, "You're right, Father. We can spare some time for you." Theodore sighed and nodded, knowing his father was sensitive about spending time with them. If he refused, it would spiral into an argument. Worn out from the day before, Theodore agreed with his father to save time and spare himself a greater headache.

After breakfast, the boys let their father take them to his sewing room, as he called it. The room was filled with mannequins dressed in clothes, all dresses. Father had once mentioned to the boys that he used to have a different set of mannequins before these ones, but Mother had insisted that he get rid of them. They had become old and started to smell, and Mother complained about the unpleasant odor. He replaced them but mentioned that he had attempted some modifications then. However, Mother vehemently opposed him, citing her aversion to looking at faces.

"I'll go and get your clothes," Eddie said and walked off, leaving his sons with the mannequins. The mannequins held dresses he had worked on for his wife over the years. Some were anniversary dresses, and others were made while she was pregnant. He reminisced about those days with an indescribable fondness. Seeing his beloved wife's growing belly as they awaited the arrival of their first son filled him with immense joy. He had made dresses to ensure her comfort at every stage of her pregnancy. Leaving them on the mannequins served as a tribute to those cherished times. Eddie glanced back and noticed Teddy looking at his mother's wedding dress. With a smile, he walked away.

Theodore gazed at a dress with white stitching. It was an unusual dress made from various white materials, sewn together haphazardly. He wondered why Mother would wear such a dress, but nothing came to mind. Ward paced around the dresses, feeling incredibly upset. He had plans for today involving his mother, but instead of being able to follow her and witness her reaction to what he had done, he was stuck here.

After a while, their father returned with two different piles of clothes in his arms. "Here we go, boys!" he cheerfully exclaimed as he walked towards them. The boys turned their attention to him and approached their father. He handed one pile to Theodore and the other to Ward. "Alright, you know the drill. Go change into your first outfit and come out to see how it fits!" Their father flashed a wide grin. The boys walked away and let out a sigh to themselves.

Over the course of an hour, the boys tried on the summer outfits their father had made for them. The outfits included short-sleeved button-up shirts in various colors and patterns, such as navy blue, olive green, turquoise, striped, plaid, and plain. They also wore knee-high white, gray, and khaki shorts and pants with suspenders that reached the waist. Their father was delighted throughout the process and asked how well everything fit. Theodore wore a halfhearted smile the entire time; he was tired and had a lot on his mind, longing to leave.

After they were finished, their father said, "Are you happy with your summer clothes? If so, I can move on and work and mine and your mother's clothes!"

Ward replied immediately, "Yes I am, Father, they're great. I got to go now!" he ran out of the room. Theodore was about to do the same, but Father stopped him. He touched Theodore's shoulder and gently turned him to face him. "Teddy, is everything okay? I've noticed that you have been acting off for the past couple of days, and today it seems like you had a lot on your mind." His father looked him in the eye. "It's alright. You can tell me if something is wrong."

Theodore looked away, as there was a lot on his mind that he couldn't tell his father. He tried to think of something else to divert the conversation. "I've been thinking about the wall and what could be outside of it," he said, settling on that concern. Father had heard him talk about this before, and it seemed like a good enough worry to bring up.

"Ah, the wall. You don't have to worry about that or what's outside of it for a while," Father reassured Theodore.

"What do you mean I can go outside it one day?" Theodore asked, curious.

"Of course, you can, son. One day, you'll grow up to be a man and leave this place. You can't stay with your parents forever, you know!" Father replied with a chuckle.

"Really?" Theodore's eyes widened with excitement.

Father chuckled again. "Really, you'll go out into the world, and one day, you'll find the perfect girl, just like I did. You'll get married and have children."

Theodore looked confused. "The perfect girl?"

Father sighed dreamily. "Oh, when you have kids, you'll bring them over and have them spend time with their grandparents. I can't wait to be a grandpa!"

"The perfect girl? So Mother is the perfect girl for you? How did you meet?" Theodore asked.

Father smiled and began his story, "Ah, your mother and I met here. You see, before I met your mother, I was on a quest to find the perfect partner with whom I would share my life and have children. It was a long and sometimes disheartening search. I encountered sluts and whores along the way, those who took my heart and callously broke it. There were moments when I almost lost hope of finding my ideal bride. I looked for someone right here, but they all seemed the same. Until I met your mother."

"It was love at first sight," Father reminisced a sparkle in his eyes. "I can still vividly recall the way her eyes looked at me. We engaged in a playful cat-and-mouse chase, and let me tell you, your mother was quite feisty! But eventually, I managed to convince her to marry me. Our wedding was a modest affair. We didn't want grandiosity. Your mother has always appreciated the simple pleasures in life, which, let me tell you, is an admirable quality in a woman. When you find yourself a lady, that's something you should value. Your mother was the one for me, and one day, you will find your perfect match too."

Theodore took a moment to absorb his father's story, but something felt off. It didn't align with what he had observed of his mother's behavior. It added another question to the growing pile in his mind, and his headache started to return. Despite his confusion, Theodore mustered a cheerful tone. He thanked his father before embracing him, using the hug to conceal his troubled expression.

"You're welcome, son. It's the least I can do for you. Now, go on and enjoy your time. I'll stay here and tidy up," Father replied warmly.

"Alright!" Theodore replied and swiftly made his way out of the room. He was exhausted and lacked any answers. Determined to seek clarity, he headed towards the book room, hoping to find a book that might give him the answers he needed.

Sarah

Sarah huddled over the kitchen sink after the boys walked out with Gluskin and vomited. She felt relieved that Gluskin suddenly decided to spend most of the day with his sons. She didn't have to play babysitter for them today, and that was a relief. Honestly, yesterday was a shitty day for her. No, scratch that; it was a shitty week. Actually, scratch that; it was a shitty month. Wait, it had been a shitty 15 years. But since yesterday was still fresh, it felt like an open wound, unlike the constant chronic back pain of life she had endured for a decade and a half.

After cleaning herself up, she shuffled back to her room. Her lower half was sore from Gluskin fucking her throughout the night. And she had to pretend to enjoy it. Sure, she let out a "no" or "stop" at times, but he never listened anyway, so it didn't matter. No, what mattered was looking like she was enjoying it. She scoffed a little. She imagined herself as a prostitute pretending to have the best sexual experience of her life to spare the customer's feelings, except in her case, she didn't get paid; she got killed. She didn't want to dwell on it further. She could never get used to it. She had hoped that it wouldn't hurt as much over time and that she would somehow find a twisted sense of pleasure in it. But she never did. The only saving grace was that Gluskin had somewhat slowed down over the years. It wasn't every night like it had been in the first few years. Great, now she was thinking about it again. She tried to shake off the memories and walked down the hallway, slowly getting accustomed to the pain. She needed to appear okay. If she happened to encounter anyone out there, she didn't want to look like she had shit herself. That would be embarrassing.

She thought about what happened last night. Miles didn't appear in her dreams. Fuck. He was angry with her. Sure, she had killed Frank, but she had to do it. His spree of terrorizing the community (if it could even be called that) had made Gluskin paranoid and overly watchful of her. Fuck that. Not when she and Miles were so close. She wouldn't let 15 years of work go down the drain because of some cannibalistic maniac low on food who refused to switch to a vegetarian diet. So, she had to kill him.

Was that why Miles was angry? She thought for two milliseconds. Nope. He didn't give a shit about that. He had been responsible for deaths before, so it would be hypocritical of him to judge her morally in this case. No, Miles was probably upset about how she went about killing him. She didn't regret it much. She needed to show that she couldn't be messed with, and she needed that Powers guy to be intimidated. It presented a golden opportunity to gain access to the Rat's group. Sarah figured the Rat would send some people after Frank, considering he had been causing trouble near their territory, but the circumstances were too perfect. A guy alone, without a partner or any real backbone, and they just happened to cross paths while she was heading out to kill Frank. She would call it fate if she believed in that. She reminisced about what happened after she killed Frank.

 -Flashback-

Shit. Fuck. Holy fuck. A monologue or eulogy would be more appropriate, but she was never a thespian.

"What the fuck was that?" Miles' voice echoed in her head. He sounded strained and irritated. Why was he so pissed? That confused Sarah.

"It had to be done, Miles," she said.

"You made him eat his own legs, man!" Miles retorted.

"I know, but—" Her sentence was interrupted by a beeping sound. She glanced at her watch in a rush. Shit, there was little time left before she had to make dinner.

"Shit. We'll talk about this later, man."

Carrying a decapitated head was a new experience, catching her off guard. She grabbed the head, which was unexpectedly heavy. It weighed as much as a bowling ball, so she imagined it as one as she walked out of the cafeteria. She didn't bring the saw with her; she needed it later, so she left it next to Frank's corpse. Returning to where she met Powers, she searched and listened for him. He better not have wandered off too far. Removing zip ties without scissors was a fucking challenge, and she had taken away his knife. Hopefully, he didn't find any sharp objects.

Fuck. Cut her some slack; she was on a tight schedule and had to improvise.

Shit, she heard whimpering from one of the rooms. She walked in and found Powers huddled in a poorly hidden corner. It was a mystery how he had survived this long. She approached him. He wore a standard blue jumpsuit and seemed physically unharmed, indicating he was either a staff member or a patient like Pyro and Dennis.

"Hello," Sarah cheerfully greeted, dropping Frank's head in front of Powers. Powers let out a shriek and tried to scurry away.

"Tssk, tssk, Harry," she reprimanded, wagging her finger at him and blocking his path. She knew she was hamming it up, but she needed him to fear her, and it was amusing.

"I'm back, and I didn't die! Isn't that great? I even brought a souvenir."

"Y-you're crazy!" he shouted. He looked at the head with fear and disgust. Definitely staff.

Sarah sighed. "Where the fuck have you been? Under a rock? Everyone's fucked up here. Get over it. You're here too, so it's not like you're any different." She snapped her fingers in his face. "Snap out of it; I need to ask you some things."

He flinched and shook his head, actively avoiding looking at the head. "What do you want to ask?" he spewed out.

"Do you know the name of the second-in-command at the Network?"

He snorted. "Actually, I do. Why do you think they put me up to this?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "What's his name?"

"Quid pro Quo. Why are you doing this?" he retorted.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I want information on the Network."

"Why?" he asked.

"You haven't answered my question yet," she pouted. "That's unfair of you."

Power's eyes rolled. He sighed dramatically. "The heads of the Network are a trio. Nobody knows the boss's name, but I know the other two. The second-in-command's name is Andrew. The third's name is Steve." He looked at her, waiting for her response.

Sarah hummed. She already knew the names of the trio. Miles had figured it out a couple of years back. She was testing Powers to see if he was part of the group. And color her impressed; he knew two out of the big three's names. The three were elusive, never showing their faces to the group, always working in the background, through the shadows, like some cheesy spy movie. The Rat was as dramatic and pretentious as ever. However, the fact that Powers knew their names confirmed his involvement in the group and his potential as a source of information. It made sense why they sent him out to die. After he revealed what he knew, they must have wanted him eliminated to protect their secret. But a direct execution would have caused bad PR, so they used Frank to indirectly assassinate him. Quite the jackpot.

"I want information on the Network because they are a threat to me, and I need to stay ahead of their moves," Sarah explained, only half-truthfully. "I don't want any trouble with them, and it's useful to know things to help me escape sticky situations."

"Do you have any other questions?" Harry asked wearily, getting up from the floor, seemingly accepting Sarah's answer.

"Yep," Sarah chirped, grabbing Frank's head from the floor. "Hold on to this for me." She shoved the cannibal's crimson cranium into Harry's unwilling hands.

"N-No, get it away from me!" Powers shrieked.

Undeterred, Sarah maintained her smile. "Come on, it's just a head. He won't bite." She then shifted to a serious tone, tired of the whimpering. "You need to have evidence that you killed him. Do you think you can go back to your group empty-handed? You need to change your attitude. If you show up squirming and whimpering, your group will suspect you, which won't be good for me. Suck it up." She released her grip on the head and reached for the knife in her boot. While Powers continued to whimper and piss himself (not literally), she cut the zip ties binding his hands.

"Come with me; we need to do something else," Sarah motioned for Powers to follow.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"We need to get more blood on you," she replied without further explanation.

-End flashback-

As she reminisces, she heads towards the secret room. She has become quite adept at performing actions while lost in thought, such as walking. As far as she can tell, it couldn't have been any better than that, and she knows that acquiring the informant was worth it. It's good and bad that Powers is the coward he is. Only time will reveal the outcome of this situation. So, in Sarah's mind, it was worth it. The expression on Powers' face upon seeing the rest of Frank confirms that cutting up Frank was an excellent choice. So what if she let Frank consume himself? He desired it. After all, she didn't take advantage of some poor, vulnerable man. He was a maniac, and Sarah still hasn't forgiven him for attempting to kill and eat her all those years ago. From her perspective, Miles has no right to be upset that she manipulated a man into self-cannibalism and let him bleed to death as she dismembered him.

...

...

...

Damn it.

She needs to find a way to apologize to Miles.

.

.

.

Sarah crawls through the vent to reach the secret room, her back aching. She's getting old. But this is the only room where she can safely store all her belongings. The room's only door is obstructed by debris and rubble from the initial riots and hasn't budged all this time. The only entry point is through the vent connected to the janitor's closet. She wonders why the vents here are so peculiar, but she no longer questions such things after all this time. As she emerges from the vent, Sarah pops her back with a grunt. She starts contemplating how she can apologize to Miles.

"'I'm sorry'? Nah, too insincere."

"'I got you some flowers and chocolates.' Pfft."

Sarah mumbles to herself as she approaches the small table. Finally, she has time to retrieve the remaining papers she could find. Perhaps that could serve as an apology? Delivering the documents to Miles along with the list she compiled. 63 pages may not seem like much for a company that has been around since the 1950s, but it's something. It's better than the corporate bullshit they put out and the minimal leaked evidence about them. Sarah finally snaps out of her thoughts and looks at the table.

What?

There's nothing on the table. No papers.

She frantically scans the room. Could the papers have somehow been blown off the table? She knows it's wishful thinking, but she searches the small room.

Nothing.

No papers.

The list of documents?

Gone.

The last paper that was a pain to find?

Nowhere to be seen.

Where are they? What happened to them? They couldn't have disappeared. Did she drop them? No. NO. She always told herself that she never dropped anything while navigating this place. No. Could she have made a mistake? Maybe she dropped them somewhere? Fuck. No. NO. NO. She remembers they were still there yesterday. She's sure of it. She saw them when she was changing her clothes. No. They were still there yesterday, which means...

Someone took them.

Someone was in this room and took them.

WHO?

WHO WAS IN THIS ROOM?!

Sarah begins to pace the room, walking back and forth as she tries to figure out who discovered this room.

Could it have been the Rat? No. It couldn't have been. The only things missing are the papers. Everything else is still here—the taser, the knife, the pole—items that would have been taken if someone like him or even someone else had been here. Not just the papers. It doesn't make sense! This room has remained untouched! This room had been untouched by anyone except her for years! Could it be... Gluskin? No. NO. It couldn't be him. For one, she wasn't dead. Even if he had spared her life, he would have locked her in the room and left her to starve. No. No. It had to be someone else. If it wasn't someone from the Network, Gluskin, or just a random intruder, then who was it?

Wait...

Oh.

It was him.

It all makes sense now. He has been acting strangely for the past week. He seemed off during dinner, clearly hiding something. She couldn't quite figure it out then, but now it fits. He must have been following her when she went out and killed Frank. That means he knows. Maybe not everything, but enough to ruin everything. Why hasn't he told anyone else? He could have informed Gluskin at breakfast but kept his mouth shut. Why? Is he afraid for his own safety? Is he worried that she would harm Gluskin if he revealed the truth? HA! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That's a fucking joke! Oh fuck. What's going to happen now? Is he going to spill the beans? OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK. NO NONONONO, she won't let that happen. She won't let 15 years go down the drain. She won't let that little fucking bastard fuck this up. She and Miles have worked too hard for this, and this shit happens when they were on the brink of escaping this goddamn hellhole! Fuck, no! Something needs to be done. She can't just let it slide. She needs to take action. She needs to...

She needs to get rid of him.

Chapter Text

*

Nothing.

Not a single word.

Theodore checked. He skimmed through all the books they had, and he hadn't found a single thing related to what he read on that paper. He should have figured. Their books were limited, and only a specific type of book was allowed to be brought from the wall. Of course, he wouldn't find anything. Overall, the rest of his day was a waste. He needed to find out what was going on. He needed to go out to explore the different areas of this place and find out. Honestly, he didn't know how big this place was. During the bi-yearly checkup, he had only been to one other area, the doctor's area. Otherwise, he wasn't allowed to go outside the safe areas. If he didn't, bad things were bound to happen. He wasn't wrong about that in the least.

He walked dejectedly to dinner. Theodore did not want to see any of his family now. His mother was a killer who had secret plans up her sleeve. His father knew nothing about what she was doing behind his back. But he was hiding something, or at least not telling the truth. Judging by the story he told Theodore, something wasn't right. And Ward... Ward was Ward. He had his own plans. Theodore was sure of that. Ward had always been the type to look for exciting situations to cure his boredom and entertain himself. Theodore knew what he did when he went to the woods. It disgusted him. How Ward would torture those poor forest creatures. The sounds they would make. He shivered at the thought.

Now he had his secrets to keep, which was too much for him. A dinner full of lies and suspicion, where he had to smile and pretend that everything was fine.
 
It wasn't.
.

.

. 

Dinner was... intense, to say the least. Theodore couldn't swallow a single piece of food. He could only take a sip of his drink. He felt pinned down by his mother's Medusa stare the entire time. If looks could kill, his mother's gaze would have set him on fire. Mother looked worse than she did in the morning. It wasn't that she was more tired; she was furious. Gripping the cutlery with an iron grip, Theodore was surprised that the fork and knife didn't bend from the pressure. She tore into the food and gulped down her drink, never looking away from him once. She must have found out that they had been in her secret room. Something must have been out of place. They should have been more careful. He scolded himself. It was mistake after mistake, and now it was costing him.
 
His father remained blissfully unaware, seemingly happy with today's events, happily ignoring the ball of rage next to him.
 
Theodore suspected that Ward was gleefully enjoying every single moment. Ward had a smug grin, which he tried to conceal by eating his food, but his self-satisfaction oozed. Judging by his reaction, Ward must have done something to the room that gave them away. Theodore would rat him out if his mother confronted him, though he didn't think Ward would care.
 
The pressure was too much, and it took all of Theodore's will to stay seated and not run far away from the dinner table.
.
 
.
 
.
This tension between his mother and him did not change in the morning. Mother looked worse somehow. She acted the same way she did before she went out and killed. Theodore knew that Mother was waiting for her chance. A predator was hunting its prey, looking for the opportunity to strike. 
.
 
.
 
.
The lesson plan for the week focused on history, specifically the 1970s. Mother talked about the 70s and listed some significant events that happened.
"As we dive into the 1970s presidents," their mother began, her voice monotoned, "we'll start with Richard Nixon. Now, Nixon's presidency had its significant moments. He established the Environmental Protection Agency, oversaw the withdrawal of American troops from the Vietnam War, and witnessed the historic Apollo 11 moon landing. But amidst these achievements, Watergate happened…."

As his mother, filled with suspicion and a piercing glare, began the lesson on Richard Nixon and the Watergate scandal, Theodore could feel her eyes fixed on him. Every word she spoke felt like an accusation, intensifying his fear of what she might do to him. Meanwhile, Ward sat beside him, a sadistic smile on his lips. Theodore sensed that Ward was reveling in the situation but could not discern what Ward did.
 
"In 1972," their mother began, her voice tinged with underlying suspicion, "a break-in occurred at the Democratic National Committee headquarters in Washington, D.C. It was discovered that individuals associated with Nixon's reelection campaign were involved in the plot." Theodore's heart raced. The guilt and fear weighed heavily on him.
 
Their mother continued, her voice alternating between authority and an unsettling edge, "The subsequent investigations unveiled a web of illegal activities and attempts to cover up the involvement of high-ranking officials. It was a breach of trust and the foundation of our democratic system." Theodore struggled to maintain his composure.
 
As the story unfolded, their mother's piercing gaze never left Theodore's face, intensifying his terror. He couldn't help but feel as if she could see through his every thought, suspecting him of being involved in her secret room. The weight of her suspicion and the unknown consequences of his actions paralyzed him with fear.
 
Finally, their mother reached the climax of the story. "The discovery of those incriminating tapes," she said, her tone heavy with significance, "revealed Nixon's involvement in the cover-up and his discussions about obstructing the investigations. It ultimately led to his resignation."
 
Theodore's heart sank even further.
 
Their mother concluded the lesson, her gaze lingering on Theodore with an unsettling mix of suspicion and menace. "Now, are there any questions?" she asked, her voice carrying a chilling undertone.
 
Terrified and unable to muster the courage to speak, Theodore remained silent, his mind plagued by a paralyzing fear and the overwhelming burden of secrets he did not fully understand. At that moment, he felt utterly trapped. 
"No questions?'
 
Silence.
 
"Well then, continuing on to President Ford-"
.
 
.
 
.
After the lesson, Theodore hurriedly tried to get up and leave, but his mother stopped him. "Ah, Teddy, can you come with me? There's something I want to talk about," she said, her smile masking the suspicion in her eyes. Despite his reservations, Theodore reluctantly agreed and allowed his mother to lead him away. Ward trailed behind, observing their every move unbeknownst to both of them. As they moved through the rooms, they came across his father, who greeted them warmly. "Ah, Teddy, darling. I'm glad to see you up and about," he expressed.
 
"Oh, honey! I'm just spending some time with Teddy. You know Ward always wants to be on his own nowadays. I want to have as much time as possible with Teddy before he grows up too quickly," his mother responded, her smile still in place.
 
Theodore saw an opportunity and decided to take it. "Um, Father, can we talk some more like yesterday?"
 
Before his father could respond, his mother interrupted with a tinge of hurt in her voice. "Oh, how unfair of you, Teddy! You had the whole day together with your father yesterday. Don't you want to spend time with me?" Tears began to well up in her eyes, and she sniffled for effect.
 
His father, attempting to console his wife, assured her, "It's alright, darling. Teddy and I will talk briefly, and I will give him right back to you."
 
Still sniffling, his mother inquired, "Eddie, would it be okay if I stayed for your conversation?"
 
"Oh, darling, of course, you can stay. What kind of family are we if we keep secrets?" his father replied with a smile.
 
Theodore had to admit that his mother could play to the crowd well. His father turned to him, his gaze fixed with his piercing blue eyes. He pulled his wife closer, their bodies pressed together. "Alright, Teddy. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" his father asked, the weight of his mother's presence palpable.
 
Theodore glanced at his mother; her smile still fixed on her face, but her eyes filled with an unsettling glare.
Theodore knew that he couldn't say what he wanted to say. Not with those eyes at him. But there was something he wanted to know.

"Father, What do you see as the perfect wife?"

Theodore's heart raced as he posed the question, fully aware of the potential consequences. His father's chuckle sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn't help but notice the tightening grip on his mother's arm. The once fixed smile on her face betrayed a flicker of discomfort though she remained silent.
 
Father's voice filled the room, his tone filled with a disturbing mix of pride and possession. His eyes gleamed with a twisted sense of satisfaction as he elaborated on his vision of the perfect wife.
 
"The perfect wife," he began, his voice laced with an unsettling charm, "is a delicate creature, a reflection of beauty and grace. She must be devoted to her husband's every need, anticipating his desires before he even speaks to them. Her purpose is to please him, to serve him unquestioningly."
 
His hands clenched tightly with an unnerving intensity.
 
"She must be obedient, always yielding to her husband's authority. Her sole focus should be on her husband and their children. And when she fails to meet his expectations," he continued, his voice growing colder, "she must be corrected, disciplined to remind her of her place."
 
As he spoke, Theodore's discomfort intensified. His mother's face hasn't changed.
 
Eddie's gaze shifted to his wife, a mix of possessiveness and an unnerving sense of affection in his eyes. "She should be grateful for the privilege of being my wife, for the chance to bear my children. In return, I provide for her, protect her, and mold her into the woman she should be."

"Isn't that right, darling?"

With the brightest smile Theodore had seen, his mother replied, "That's right, honey! Oh, Eddie, you have such a way with words." As if on cue, his father's hand gently caressed her cheek, his touch possessive yet tender. The atmosphere grew thick with a mix of affection and control.

Moving closer, his father leaned in to kiss her, their lips meeting in intimacy. The sight sent shivers down Theodore's spine. The sight unnerves him. Somethings start to click for him. The secrecy, all the acting and pretending.

"Does that answer your question, Teddy?"

Theodore forced a weak smile and nodded.

"Yes, Father," he replied, his voice betraying a tinge of disgust.

"Thank you for sharing your perspective."

Theodore and his mother wasted no time leaving the room, eager to distance themselves from the uncomfortable situation. As they stepped out, Theodore felt a sense of relief, being away from his father's unsettling presence. His mother's smile remained fixed, but Theodore could sense the underlying tension in her demeanor. They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing through the corridor.

His mother directed them to their rooms, making sure to go in the opposite direction from his father. She opens the gate in the hallway.

She stops and suddenly looks at Theodore.

"We're going out."

Theodore's blood runs cold. Are they going to the room? What is she going to do with me? Theodore made a split-second decision in a surge of adrenaline and instinctive survival. Without hesitation, he pushed his mother aside and bolted, running as fast as his legs could carry him. His only thought was to escape, to distance himself from the situation and find somewhere far away from his mother's grasp. In his panicked state, he didn't consider the direction he was heading; he simply ran, driven by an overwhelming need to get away.
 
~ Sarah's heart pounded as she heard the frantic footsteps echoing down the hall. The taste of Gluskin's presence in her mouth made her stomach churn with disgust and anger. Without a second thought, she abandoned all pretense. She began sprinting after Theodore, her determination fueled by a burning rage that consumed her being.
 
^ Ward stood there, his gaze fixed on the retreating figures of his mother and Theodore. Oh, how he wanted to follow them, to witness firsthand what his mother would do to Theodore. The twisted satisfaction it would bring him to see Theodore's torment.

But alas, he knew better. The risk of discovery was too great.

His thoughts drifted back to the image that had seared itself in his mind. His father's lips upon his mother's stirred a deep-seated rage within Ward. The sounds of their tongues mingling in a sickening display echoed, fueling the fire of jealousy that burned within him. He remembered the other night, the muffled noises coming from behind that closed door. The soft moans, the gasps of pleasure—it was a symphony that filled his veins with bitter envy.

Suppressing himself, Ward bit down hard on his tongue. With a calculated calmness, he turned away from the hallway and wandered off. He was patient. He will wait.

Chapter Text

The smell of decay and mold infiltrated his senses, the suffocating odor threatening to overwhelm him. He fought the urge to cough. Beads of sweat tickled down his forehead, his palms clammy with fear.

He heard the door open. Theodore's muscles tensed, his body rigid. He held his breath, straining to hear any sound revealing her presence. Time seemed to slow, each passing second stretching into eternity. Every nerve in his body screamed for escape.

Theodore's heart pounded in his chest, drowning out all other noises. The labyrinthine corridors twisted and turned, adding to his confusion. Panic surged through his veins, making it hard to think clearly. With every passing moment, the sense of impending danger loomed closer.

In his desperate search for refuge, Theodore stumbled into a room, his body collapsing onto the floor. The darkness enveloped him, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the decaying walls. The room was a grim spectacle, adorned with rusty metal frame beds and shattered remnants of furniture that lay strewn about.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, urging him to hide. In a desperate bid, he darted towards one of the beds, diving beneath it. The darkness in the room intensified, making it difficult to distinguish between reality and the shadows that played tricks on his senses. The air was heavy with the musty stench of mold and decay, invading his nostrils and threatening to suffocate him.

Struggling to catch his breath, Theodore took deep, silent gasps, his body pressed tightly against the cold, filthy floor. The fear gripped him, yet he dared not make a sound. He held his breath, hoping the darkness would conceal his presence and shield him from the impending danger lurking just outside.

~

Sarah's breaths came in short, labored gasps as she pursued the kid through the winding corridors. Her determined footsteps echoed, each one bringing her closer to him. Her body ached with exhaustion, every muscle protesting. Moments like these made her curse her insomnia, wishing for respite from the relentless fatigue. She knew she had to catch him quickly before the adrenaline wore off and she collapsed.

The kid was agile; she had to give him that. But it was clear he had no idea where he was going, darting around like a headless chicken. It reminded her of her own arrival at the asylum when chaos erupted. All this aimless running. Thankfully, they were still within Gluskin's territory, the female ward. But the kid was heading towards the edge, nearing a neutral area.

Fuck.

This needed to end now. They were approaching a zone where the chances of encountering other people skyrocketed. Sarah's heart sank as a door slammed shut, reverberating through the corridor. She spotted the door the boy had just entered. Familiar with the layout of the female ward, she recognized it as a dead end. A brief smirk flickered across her lips. Perfect.

Sarah approached the door cautiously, ensuring her footsteps were as silent as possible. She pushed it open, hoping to make a stealthy entrance. Unfortunately, the door protested loudly with a creak. Damn it.

Oh well, it didn't matter. There was only one way out of the room. As long as she kept an eye on the door, there was no easy escape. Sarah scanned the room, her eyes adjusting to the darkness over the years. She could easily make out the overturned furniture, the rotting beds, and the layers of dust that had accumulated over 15 long years. The footprints in the dust acted as a breadcrumb trail, leading her to a bed where the boy was hiding beneath it, on his knees, poised to bolt. He stared at her, frozen in fear. Sarah turned away from the bed, tapping her right foot as she pondered her next move.

She could go up to him and try to drag him out, but that seemed too risky. If the boy had thought she had found him, he would have already fled. Pulling him out forcibly would be a challenge. But what else could she do?

Ah.

An idea sparked in Sarah's mind, a plan taking shape.

*

Theodore's heart pounded in his chest, his body tense as he held his breath, praying that his mother wouldn't discover his hiding place. The room remained shrouded in darkness, providing a thin veil of protection. He strained his eyes, trying to make out any details in the dim light, and his gaze fixated on the shadowy figure slowly approaching.

As his mother drew closer, Theodore's horror intensified. The outline of her form was barely discernible, but what stood out were her eyes—piercing orbs that seemed to emit an eerie, unnatural glow. They reminded him of nocturnal predators lurking in the darkness, ready to pounce on their unsuspecting prey.

Silently, she moved through the room, her steps methodical and deliberate. Theodore's heart skipped a beat as she stopped near his hiding spot. He held his breath, hoping the darkness would shield him from her gaze. His eyes widened in fear, observing her feet pivot and her foot begin to tap rhythmically on the floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound echoed in the room, amplifying his anxiety.

Her tapping stopped, and Theodore's mind raced, wondering what thoughts occupied her mind. Was she considering where he was? The suspense weighed heavily upon him as he waited in silence, fear, and anticipation. The minutes dragged on as she continued her search, her presence filling the room with an oppressive aura.

Then, a sigh escaped her lips, reverberating through the air. Theodore's heart skipped a beat, his muscles tense with anticipation. The door slamming shut resonated in the room, signaling her departure. He listened intently as her footsteps receded, their echoes fading into the distant hallway.

Relief washed over Theodore, accompanied by a surge of gratitude that he had evaded detection, at least for now. He allowed himself a quiet sigh, his body trembling with the aftershocks of fear. The room remained still, the darkness once again enveloping him. He knew he had to stay hidden, to bide his time until it was safe to emerge from under the bed.

.

.

.

After anxiously waiting for an eternity, Theodore cautiously crawled out from beneath the bed, his body tense with residual fear. He approached the room's exit, his steps slow and deliberate, hoping to make his escape unnoticed.

However, as he exited the doorway, he was abruptly tackled, his small frame forcefully pinned against the hallway wall. Panic surged through him as his feet dangled helplessly off the ground. Desperation took over as he fought back, flailing his arms and scratching at his assailant, desperate to free himself from their grip. His instincts screamed at him to scream for help, but a firm hand wrapped around his throat, silencing his voice and cutting off his air supply.

Struggling and squirming in a desperate bid for survival, Theodore's body convulsed with the sheer intensity of his fight. But as his strength waned, a harsh voice pierced through the chaos, breaking through the haze of his fear and confusion.

"Fucking shut the fuck up."

~

Sarah had had enough of this shit. She was barely holding it together, waiting for the kid to fucking leave the room. Thankfully, he was small and light, making it easy to pin him against the wall. The little shit squirmed and thrashed, but compared to how hard Gluskin hits, it might as well be ants biting her. She noticed the boy was getting ready to scream and choked him. It wasn't enough to make him pass out; she still needed answers to her questions. However, it was enough to make him stop.

*

Piercing eyes blazed into Theodore's as if his mother could peer into his soul, tearing him apart piece by piece in search of answers. Her face emanated a chilling fury, leaving Theodore trembling with fear.

"I am going to loosen my grip on your throat," she uttered in a cold, raspy voice. "You will answer my questions. I will resume choking you if you dare to scream or attempt to escape. Do you understand?"

Theodore whimpered and nodded, his agreement driven by fear and a desperate desire to survive.

For a brief moment, his mother remained silent, her gaze unwavering. Then, she spoke again with an intimidating presence.

"First question. Were you in the room?"

Theodore's throat tightened, making it difficult to speak. "I-I don't..."

Instantly, he was forcefully slammed against the wall, the impact jarring his body.

"Bullshit!" she retorted, her anger palpable. "Were you in the room?"

Theodore's fear compelled him to nod vigorously, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes... yes, I was... in the room."

His mother's gaze bore into him, her cold fury demanding more.

"Now, describe it."

"You could only access the room by crawling through a vent in a tiny storage closet... It's a small space with a chair and a small table. You had black clothes folded on the chair and a pole leaning against the wall," Theodore stammered, his voice trembling with fear.

His mother hummed, taking in the information he provided.

"You were in the room. What did you do with the documents?" His mother questioned, her tone sharp and demanding.

"I didn't..." Theodore began to protest, but before he could finish his sentence, he was again forcefully slammed against the wall. His head spun from the impact, disorienting him further.

"What did you do with the documents?" his mother repeated, her voice filled with anger.

"I... I only read one of them," Theodore managed to say, his words rushed and choked with tears. "It was a list of documents! I didn't do anything with them! I put it back!"

As he spoke, Theodore's tears began to flow uncontrollably. The grip around his neck tightened, causing his breathing to become labored.

"Do you think I'm fucking stupid?" his mother hissed, her grip conveying anger and frustration. "If you didn't do anything, why are the documents on the table fucking missing? Huh?"

Theodore could feel the pressure against his throat intensifies, his panic escalating as he struggled to find an explanation.

"W-W-Wa..." Theodore struggled to speak, his voice barely audible.

Seeing his distress, his mother loosened her grip, allowing him to gasp for air and cough. She observed him with a blank expression, unmoved by his tears and sniffling.

Through his shaky voice, Theodore managed to utter, "W-Ward. Ward. H-he was there with me. I-it was him! He took them."

His mother's gaze hardened as she searched for any sign of deception in his words. Finding none, she sighed and expressed her frustration with a sneer.

"So it was Ward then. Oh fucking great," she muttered, her disdain evident in her tone. She turned her gaze away, a mixture of anger and disappointment crossing her face.

Desperation consumed Theodore as he cried, "So you know it's not me! I don't know anything! Please, Mother, let me go. I'm sorry!"

For a moment, she remained silent, her expression unreadable. Then, with a chilling resolve, she replied, "Sorry, kid. But you know too much. You are a liability to the plan. I need to get rid of you."

Fear gripped Theodore as he felt his mother's grip tighten around his throat again.

Theodore's struggles grew weaker, his vision blurred, his lungs burned, and the darkness closed around him. The grip on his throat tightened relentlessly, cutting off his air supply. The world faded away, and a sense of dread overwhelmed him. He realized he was on the verge of death, his body succumbing to the lack of oxygen.

Finally, everything went black. Theodore's consciousness slipped away, his body limp in his mother's grasp. The weight of his lifeless form hung in her hands.

~

Ward. Fuck, she should have known it would be him. Everything regarding the documents made sense. He would do something like this to fuck with her. Sarah knew what kind of person Ward was. Oh, she knew well. The woods. The fucking woods. She knew of his little hobbies, and fuck, another problem to add to the fucking pile. She was aware of the facade of normalcy that he always put on. Ward was always up to some shit. Now he had some knowledge of the plans. Fuck. That's a problem for later.

"Please, Mother, let me go. I'm sorry!"

She shifted her attention back to the boy she was currently dealing with.

This was fucked up. Sarah knew it was fucked up, but there really was no other option left. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of seeking revenge on the fuckers who started this shit hinged on this. It didn't matter if it was a kid or not. She would not let all the hard work and pain go to waste.

She looked at the tear and snot-stained face of the scared boy.

"Sorry, kid. But you know too much. You're a liability to the plan. I need to get rid of you."

He resisted as she started to choke him. She tried to bury any guilt about this. It was for the plan.

She felt him go limp. It had only been a few seconds. She needed to choke him for at least a minute to ensure he would die.

As she continued, a black mist suddenly lifted Sarah into the air. Surprised, she released her grasp on the boy, and the mist gently lifted him off the ground.

"Miles?!" she shouted, bewildered by his intervention. Why was he doing this? She felt herself being dragged through the hallways against her will.

"Fucking stop, Miles! I need to do this!" She struggled, but it was fucking useless against his control. The black mist started obscuring her vision, and everything faded into darkness. A voice resonated in her head.

"Sarah, we need to talk."

Chapter Text

As Theodore struggled to reorient himself, the relentless brightness of the white light seared through his closed eyelids, creating a fiery sensation that made him wince. The world around him seemed to spin and tilt, causing a sickening wave of nausea to wash over him, threatening to overwhelm his fragile state. When he attempted to swallow, it felt like a razor-sharp blade was slicing through his throat, eliciting a gasp of agony and disbelief. The pressure in his ears mounted as if an invisible force were pressing on them from all sides. At the same time, a pounding headache pounded against his skull like a merciless hammer. Theodore collapsed onto something warm and soft beneath him, seeking relief from the intense sensations he was experiencing. He desperately tried to remember what had happened, but his thoughts remained scattered and elusive. Fleeting fragments of memory darted through his mind, but he couldn't hold onto them long enough to make sense of them. It felt as though his thoughts were slipping away, leaving him confused.

After some time, the pain gradually subsided, allowing Theodore's vision to clear up and the disorienting sensation to fade away. The relentless pounding in his head slowly dulled, allowing him to regain some sense of clarity. Looking around, he realized with a jolt that he was in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unknown surroundings. A sense of unease washed over him as he tried to make sense of his current situation.

Theodore found himself sitting on a comfortable bed adorned with soft pillows and pristine white sheets in a surprisingly spacious room. The walls were rough and rugged, crafted from jagged stones that felt chilly to the touch. As he extended his hand, his fingertips explored the texture of the cold, grey surface, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

Across from him, a massive bookshelf covered an entire wall, filled with an array of unfamiliar objects. To his right, a transparent glass wall revealed another area beyond, guarded by imposing steel doors. On his left, a captivating painting commanded his attention. It depicted a naked man, his modesty shielded by a black cloth, writhing in agony as a menacing brown bird pecked mercilessly at his flesh, leaving behind painful wounds. A deep gash marred the center of the artwork.

Gazing upward, Theodore noticed a ceiling of metallic panels with small holes. Theodore saw the rectangular-shaped lights on the ceiling; he heard the faint buzzing. Some of the lights flickered intermittently as if on the verge of burning out. Standing tall within the room were two sturdy grey pillars, seemingly holding the weight of the room. When he turned around, he discovered a series of captivating images adorning the wall, featuring names like Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Afghan Whigs, and Beck—names that meant nothing to Theodore. Accompanying these unfamiliar names were intricate drawings that seemed to hold hidden meanings, evoking a sense of curiosity within him.

CLANG

Loud metal clanging filled the room, causing him to instinctively turn his gaze to the right. The heavy metal door swung open, revealing a strange figure stepping into the space. Fear surged through Theodore's veins, prompting him to leap out of bed and scramble to the corner of the room, desperately seeking distance from the enigmatic figure. Was it his mother? He couldn't be sure; this person looked nothing like her. The figure halted before the glass wall, their face almost entirely concealed by bandages, with only a glimpse of brown hair peeking out. Dark glasses shielded their eyes, while a white shirt and a stained brown jacket adorned their form. Theodore's gaze shifted to notice the figure's gloved hands gripping a peculiar board-like object.

As the figure reaches into its jacket pocket, Theodore's gaze remains fixed on its movements. He observes the figure's unusual grip, noticing that some fingers appear to be missing. With a sense of caution, the figure clumsily uncaps a marker and proceeds to write on the board. Intrigued, Theodore cautiously inches closer, stopping halfway into the room to maintain a safe distance. Straining his eyes, Theodore tries deciphering the writing on the board, his heart pounding with caution and apprehension. The words come into focus:

HI, MY NAME IS MILES UPSHUR. 

A wave of realization washes over Theodore as he recalls his mother mentioning Miles. The connection between Miles and Mother sends a surge of panic through his veins, and he instinctively retreats until his back meets the wall. Rapid breaths escape his lips as fear tightens its grip on him, a chorus of "Oh no" echoing in his mind.

Overwhelmed by fear and panic, Theodore spirals into a tumultuous state. A torrent of anxious thoughts and physical sensations consume his mind and body. The buzzing sound in his head intensifies, causing his head to throb painfully. He collapses to the floor, curling up desperately to find some relief. Tears stream down his face as his breathing becomes erratic and uncontrollable. The world around him blurs as his vision is distorted by black spots, his heart pounding relentlessly.

During this, a calming voice breaks through the chaos, offering guidance and reassurance. Theodore strains to hear the voice amidst the cacophony of noise. "...br...e..a..the," the voice gently whispers, oddly calming and reassuring. The buzzing starts to fade as Theodore focuses on the figure before him, motioning to breathe in and out.

“You're… ex-pe-ri-en-cing… a… dif-fi-cult mo-ment. Don't worry, it will p-a-ss," the voice reassures him. Theodore's racing thoughts begin to quiet as he follows the figure's motions, breathing in slowly through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. The figure crouches down, its hand making a soothing gesture, guiding Theodore through the breathing exercise.

Breathe in. Breathe out.  The voice's words echo Theodore's mind as he obediently follows its instructions. Gradually, the black spots fade from his vision, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity. Though exhausted, Theodore continues to focus on his breath, finding solace in the presence and reassurance of the figure.

After some time, the panic subsides, leaving Theodore drained but relieved. He opens his eyes, grateful.

"Thank you," Theodore exhales, his voice quivering. The figure retrieves the board and swiftly erases its previous message, replacing it with a new question:

ARE YOU OKAY?

Theodore remained silent as the strange man tilted his head, examining the pictures on the wall. The silence provided a much-needed respite for Theodore to collect himself and calm his frayed nerves. However, the buzzing in his head persisted. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled by the gentle tapping on the glass wall, diverting his attention. The figure gestured and wrote,

CAN I TALK WITH YOU? 

Theodore's confusion grew, but he tentatively nodded. Sensing his confusion, the figure quickly erased the message and replaced it with,

I CAN TALK WITH YOU INSIDE YOUR MIND. IS THIS OKAY WITH YOU?

Perplexed but in need of answers, Theodore reluctantly agreed.

"Alright then. Can you hear me?"  Theodore jolted to his feet, surprised to hear a male voice directly in his head. He gazed at the figure, who was now waving gently at him. "Is that you?" Theodore asked. The figure nodded lightly and sheepishly rubbed the back of its head. "Yes. Sorry about that. This is the only way I can properly... 'talk' with someone," the voice echoed in Theodore's mind. Speechless, Theodore stared in astonishment. He heard the figure let out a sigh. "Yeah, I know it's kinda... well, really freaking weird, but if you want, we can use the board to communicate. Just remember to ask only yes or no questions because I have limited ink in this fucking thing, and well... I need to get it replaced," the figure… Miles said, shaking the marker in his hand. Theodore had to take a minute. There was a disconnect between Mile's voice and his physical form. It was strange.

"Oh. Uh. It's fine. You can talk to me in my… head," Theodore replied, his voice filled with curiosity and acceptance.

“ … Well…”  Miles shrugged. " Any questions to ask?" 

Theodore thought about it. There were too many questions he had. He settled for the easiest in his head.

"Where are we?"

"A room."

Theodore gave a look at Miles.

"Just kidding. There are many answers to that question, so I'll just go from the bottom up. You are in a room, in an underground lab, in Mount Massive Asylum."

"Mount Massive asylum."

"Mount Massive Asylum,"  Miles repeated, acknowledging Theodore's response. "You do know what an asylum is, right?" Miles asked with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Theodore, feeling slightly offended, scoffed.   "Of course, I know what an asylum is!"

"Hey, I'm not dissing you! I just don't know what you know or don't know!"

"Dissing?"

Miles pinched his nose. "Oh my fucking god." His voice somehow murmured.

"I'm not some ignoramus!" Theodore started to shout, his face going red from embarrassment.

"Ignore-what mus?" Miles questioned.

"Ha! You don't know what ignoramus is?" Theodore pointed and started to smugly grin.

Miles slumped his shoulders in exasperation. "Look, this is about something other than who knows more words or who's right. I apologize if I offended you. 'Dissing' is just slang for disrespecting or mocking someone. And yes, it is a word. I'm sure it was around before I was even born." He sighed, trying to diffuse the tension. "Look, we are losing track of the fucking conversation."

Miles started to scratch his bandaged head.

"You know what, since there is too much I need to tell you, I'll tell you a story," Miles stated, prompting Theodore's attention. Though Miles was speaking in his head, Theodore could almost sense the clearing of his throat. Miles began recounting a tale.

"Once upon a time, there was a company called The Murkoff Corporation. This company has been around for a long time, dating back to at least the 1930s. It began as a chemical company selling poison gas to the Nazis. During this time in Germany, there was a certain Dr. Rudolf Wernicke. Now Wernicke... " Miles paused, scoffing in disdain. "He was hailed as this great scientist, renowned in mathematics and the sciences, much like his friend Alan Turing. Wernicke, however, ended up working with the Nazis during World War II, contributing to the early designs of a project called Project WALRIDER. After the end of World War II... You are familiar with it, right?" Miles inquired, waiting for Theodore's response. Theodore silently nodded in acknowledgment.

"Well, there was this operation where the US government was involved. They took German scientists from Nazi Germany and had them provide military 'advantages' against the Communists. After some time working with the government, Murkoff picked up this guy and revived the WALRIDER project. Now, Project Walrider." Miles paused. "It's the reason that we are here."

"And here is Mount Massive Asylum," Theodore clarified.

"Bingo." Miles attempted to snap his fingers but failed.

"Now, the place we called home used to be a run-of-the-mill asylum for the criminally insane. However, it was shut down in the '70s. Apparently, the government was involved in some other shady operation in this place during the Cold War, known as MKUltra." Miles waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Our dear beloved Murkoff Corporation decided to buy and reopen this place in 2009 to conduct the Walrider Project. They were engaged in all sorts of horrific activities for years." Theodore made a move to speak up, but Miles interrupted him. "I'm not telling you." Theodore made a face.

"So, they did this for years until around 2013 when shit hit the fan. The kind people at Murkoff decided it was best to build a wall around the asylum to keep those in there from going to the outside world. The people you've seen, barring me, your mother, and others, were all patients of the Walrider project and have been through some horrific experiences. All in the name of scientific research."

Miles suddenly stopped talking and turned around, looking behind himself. He then faced Theodore again.

"I've got to go and... talk to someone right now. What I told you is just the tip of the iceberg, a highly condensed version of events. I'll try to tell you more later," Miles said as he headed toward the steel doors.

"Wait! You can't just leave me here! I have so many questions! What is Project Walrider? What happened? What is your association with my mother? What are you doing?" Theodore yelled, rushing towards the glass door to catch up with Miles.

"Don't worry! There are answers to all of those questions! I'll be back!" Miles reassured him.

CLANG.

With the sound of the steel door closing, Theodore was left in silence, overwhelmed by even more questions.

Chapter Text

If Miles could, he would have a headache. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he hadn't experienced such aches in years. On the one hand, it was one less problem for him to deal with. On the other hand, Miles longed for those headaches to make himself feel more human. Ever since the day he had come to the asylum for a lead and unwittingly became the host for the Walrider, he ceased to be fully human. While he could still think and feel like a person, he no longer fit the conventional definition of being alive. Being trapped in a body that was neither alive nor dead was incredibly frustrating. Miles couldn't even recall the last time he had taken a shit. He missed those days terribly.

Ironically, the only time Miles felt even remotely connected to having a genuine presence in the world was when he delved into the dreams and minds of others. He referred to this realm as the "mindscape." In the mindscape, he could retain his previous appearance from before everything went to shit. It was there that he could still hear himself. In reality, things like coughing, sneezing, or mumbling did nothing for him, not really. But small details like these kept him anchored, reminding him of who he was.

These past 15 years have felt like being stuck in limbo for Miles—always in between, neither fully alive nor dead, constantly shifting between dream and reality. It is only thanks to the plan and his relationship with Sarah that he finds the strength to keep going.

Miles heard Sarah waking up, knowing he needed to talk with her. These past few weeks had been strange, to say the least. Miles had always respected Sarah because she had survived and remained relatively sane for 15 years—a testament to her strength. That's what Miles would have said if it weren't for the fact that Sarah had just attempted to kill her own son. Miles kept racking his brain, desperately searching for a reasonable explanation, but he couldn't find one. There was no justifiable reason. Miles needed to understand her thoughts, to piece together what might have caused such a drastic shift. He needed answers.

As Miles passed through the sterile white hallways of the underground labs that he had been forced to live in for years, he couldn't help but think about the boy he had just talked with. Granted, his conversation with the kid was very short, but Miles did form an impression of the boy. He appeared remarkably normal, almost innocent, dressed like a 1950s schoolboy. It stood out to the rest of the asylum. From their brief conversation, Miles gathered that the kid had a certain level of intelligence. He seemed knowledgeable in certain areas, but there were also areas where the kid appeared clueless.

Book smart, not street smart, it seems.

Miles couldn't help but dwell on the bruises on the boy's neck and his fearful flinching. It was disturbing to see the kid having a panic attack. The anger within Miles started to intensify. The whole situation was deeply messed up. The asylum, Murkoff, Sarah, himself—everything was fucked up. The only one who didn't deserve any of it was that kid.

The only "bad" thing it seemed the kid had done was being curious.

Miles finally reached the room where Sarah was. When he had taken her from the female ward, she appeared on the verge of passing out. Simply put, she looked like she got hit by a bus. Her eyes were plagued with bags and dark shadows. They were bloodshot, and her complexion was sickly pale. Miles was aware of Sarah's insomnia. Without sleeping pills, she would barely get two hours of sleep per week at best. It was even worse than the sleep schedule of stressed-out college students during finals. Miles had tried to ask her about it, but she never told him a damn thing. Sarah was never the most open person, and getting her to open up and talk about anything regarding herself and her feelings was like pulling teeth. Miles had to force her to at least get some goddamn sleep. He figured Sarah hadn't slept for at least two days straight, and maybe that was why she was acting like a crazy bitch.

He entered the room to find Sarah sitting on the couch, waiting for him. The room he had placed her in was once a break room for staff. Sarah was staring at the ceiling, and silence hung in the air.

"How long was I out for?" Sarah said in a monotone voice.

Miles didn't respond.

"Miles, how long was I out for?" she repeated, this time with more intensity.

" Four hours ," he finally replied.

"Four hours!" Sarah yelled and got up from the couch. "What the fuck, Miles!" She shouted and glared at him.

"Well, I'm so fucking sorry. It's not my fault that you're acting fucking crazy, and I had to fucking stop you from fucking murdering your kid! You looked like shit, and clearly, you hadn't slept in fucking days! Even people on coke benders look like they've had more sleep than you! So fucking forgive me for thinking that you need to fucking sleep! Maybe now that you have, we can fucking talk about what the fuck has crawled up your ass and died to make you act like a crazy bitch for over a week now! " Miles' body remained still as his voice raged in her head.

Sarah heaved a heavy sigh and started rubbing her eyes. "It's nothing. I'm fine now. Let's..." she said dismissively.

"No!" Miles interrupted. "No, I'm not fucking done. You don't get to fucking wave this off like it's nothing. I was fucking willing to let go of what you did with Frank. I could see some reasoning in that but fucking this! Choking out your son?! A kid?! What the fuck is wrong with you! Did you even try to talk with him before going straight to the murder option?"

Sarah said nothing, but her eyes drifted to the side, guilt evident.

" No, no, you didn't, did you? " Miles' voice coldly spat out.

"No, of course. What a great idea! Why bother explaining anything and actually talking! No, it's better to just go straight to murder! " Miles said in a sarcastic tone.

" Why yes, murder! The greatest solution. Why do we even bother with talking when clearly the solution is murder! I mean-"

"I fucking got it, okay?!" Sarah shouted, interrupting Miles' rant.

"I fucked up! I fucked up, and I know I did! I mean, fuck! I... I..." Sarah's eyes started to well up. It was rare for her to actually cry. She always said that crying was a weakness.

"I... I..."

" I what? " Miles asked.

"I was scared! I was angry and afraid. We are so close to achieving what we planned for years, and when I discovered that someone else might know of our plans, I... I..." Sarah didn't finish her sentence. She talked in a fast, panicked way, her head down low, not daring to look at Miles. Her shoulders were slumped, and shame was evident in her body language.

"That doesn't excuse what you did. That doesn't fucking mean that it was okay for you to do that to the kid. That kid is now traumatized because you couldn't get control of yourself. The real victim here is that kid, your kid,"  Miles said in a cold, calm tone. He wasn't going to let this go.

Sarah said nothing for a moment.

"What can I do, huh?"

"What? Do I just walk up to the kid and say, 'Oh hey, yeah, I know I tried to kill you and all, but you're fine, right? Yeah, I know you're traumatized, but hey, it's all water under the bridge," she said in a fake upbeat voice.

"Oh yeah, that will turn out just great," she replied sarcastically.

" You could actually act like an adult and actually fucking apologize. Look, I know what Eddie did to you was fucked up. I know what you see when you look at your sons, but for fuck's sake, don't take out your fucking anger on him. He didn't do fucking anything. He had no say in it," Miles paused. "I'm not saying you must love or even like the kid, but at least treat him with respect. Be there for him. Because, like everyone in this place, he's going through some shit and fucking needs some help ." Miles finished and waited to hear Sarah's answer.

Sarah nodded in agreement.

Miles turned to exit. He needed to talk a bit more with the kid. This was going to take a lot of work.

As Miles approached the door, he heard Sarah softly say, "I'm disgusted with myself."

" Good, " he thought. At least Sarah felt remorse for what she did. At least she was still human.

Miles stiffly motioned for Sarah to follow him.

.

.

As they walked through the sterile white hallways, Sarah asked, "How is Gluskin doing?" Worry was etched on her face.

"Gluskin is starting to get suspicious. I'd say we have about an hour or so before he starts getting really angry and hunting you down," Miles informed her. He had been keeping track of Eddie Gluskin for hours, stretching his powers thin. Keeping track of five people throughout the asylum was draining Miles' energy.

"So, how do we do this? I mean, Theodore and I can't stay here. That's obvious," Sarah said.

" Nope. If you guys stay here, then.. ." Miles began.

"Then Gluskin gets upset and starts tearing the asylum apart, looking for us. He'll either think we got kidnapped or that I kidnapped my son and are hiding from him just to be a..." Sarah trailed off.

" A slut and a whore ," Miles finished.

"And then Gluskin will kill me," Sarah stated.

" Yep, and Theodore can't stay here either since ..." Miles continued.

"Gluskin will assume that I lost his son, and he'll kill me for being an unfit mother and the whore who lost his son. He'll tear this place apart looking for him after killing me," Sarah finished.

" Yep, you can't stay here, " Miles affirmed.

"If Theodore comes back and I'm not there, Gluskin will assume I'm a whore who ran away to be with another man and abandoned him and his sons. He'll hunt me down and tear this place apart, looking for me. If he finds me, he'll kill me," Sarah sighed. "Either way, Gluskin tears through the asylum, and I get killed. Which isn't good."

"No shit. I assumed it wasn't good. I mean, the plan gets ruined if Eddie tears through the place ," Miles replied.

Sarah lightly punched Miles in the arm. "You fucking asshole, you knew what I was fucking referring to."

Miles shrugged. He then says to Sarah, "I've already told him some of the history of this place."

Sarah just stares at him. "Does that mean we're going to tell him our plans?" She asks.

Miles turns his head towards her. "Hopefully. It's the least we can do for him."

Sarah hums. "I hope you know what you're doing."

.

.

 They finally reached the steel door. Miles told Sarah to wait for him and that he would signal her to go in.

" This is going to be interesting."

Chapter Text

*

Theodore's anxiety grew as he paced back and forth in the small room. His mind was filled with a whirlwind of questions, each one intensifying his nervousness. What if Miles didn't return? What if his promises of getting answers were just empty words to calm him down? The uncertainty of the situation weighed heavily on Theodore's shoulders.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, amplifying Theodore's anxiety. The room felt confining, suffocating even. He needed answers, a lifeline to hold on to. The anticipation gnawed at his nerves, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed.

As Theodore continued to pace, his thoughts spiraled. The fear of the unknown became overwhelming, and he struggled to find solace amid uncertainty. All he could do was wait, hoping Miles would return and provide the answers he desperately sought.

Theodore's heart skipped a beat as he heard the unmistakable sound of the door clanging open. He froze in place, his thoughts momentarily silenced. He couldn't help but hold his breath.

§§

Miles opened the door and glanced around the room to see if the kid had caused any trouble while he was gone. It didn't seem like the kid had done anything, but he still looked pretty rough. Miles could tell that the kid was overwhelmed with anxiety and fear. He wished things could have gone differently, but time was running out. Honestly, this whole situation caught him off guard, and he's just winging stuff as he goes along. Now, he had to find a way to gain the kid's trust and patch things up between him and Sarah. Miles let out a sigh in his mind, wishing he could just get some sleep. If push comes to shove, he would have to… well, hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

*

Theodore observed Miles as he entered the room, ready to unleash a barrage of questions. However, Miles raised his hand to interrupt him, signaling that time was limited. Theodore's curiosity intensified. Why was time running out? What was about to happen? He remained silent, waiting for an explanation.

"I understand you have countless questions, but we're short on time. So I'll give you a quick summary of our situation ," Miles began. Theodore nodded, indicating his readiness to listen.

"I've already mentioned the asylum and Murkoff, so let me fill you in on the Walrider ."

Miles gestured to himself and Theodore, emphasizing their importance in the conversation. " The Walrider is an entity, alright? It's composed of these tiny machines called nanites ," he explained, observing Theodore to ensure his understanding. Theodore nodded, although still struggling to grasp the concept.

" Now, the Murkoff Corporation wanted to harness the power of the Walrider for profit; you get me? " Miles continued. Theodore nodded again, absorbing the information. " Remember what I told you about Dr. Wernicke? Well, his research on nanites caught Murkoff's attention. They reopened the asylum to facilitate his experiments. "

Miles made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I  won't delve into the specifics, but they used a machine called the Morphogenic Engine in their research. Its purpose was to induce a lucid dream state and manipulate the nanites within a person's body, turning them into a host for the Walrider ."

"Now, they didn't have much success until they stumbled upon a particular patient named Billy Hope ," Miles continued. Theodore's mind raced, connecting the dots to the initials B.H. Theodore listened intently, eager to uncover the whole story.

" Billy Hope was their star patient. He was the only one who successfully became the host for the Walrider. And guess where we are right now? These Underground Labs, this is where they kept Billy ," Miles revealed. He paused briefly, unable to signal the number four due to his missing fingers. " Murkoff conducted their twisted experiments for four years ," he clarified.

Miles raised his hand, gesturing to move forward with the story. " During those four years, Murkoff engaged in shady and messed-up activities involving patients and the staff. A whistleblower provided me with information that led me to investigate this place. Can you believe it? I didn't originate from here ," Miles remarked sarcastically . "Anyways, things took a turn, and I ended up here. I attempted to stop the Walrider and end Billy's suffering, and in a way, I succeeded. But when I tried to escape, I was shot, and somehow, I became the new host for the Walrider ."

Theodore's mind swirled with disbelief and skepticism, finding it hard to fathom the extent of Miles's claims. However, as he pondered the story, a strange sense of coherence emerged. Somehow, against all odds, Theodore started to believe that Miles was telling the truth.

"The host for the Walrider?" Theodore repeated, trying to grasp the concept. Miles nodded in confirmation.

"But how... how can I know you're telling the truth?" Theodore asked, seeking further proof. A book floated in the air before Theodore's eyes, moving according to Miles's gestures as if in response. Theodore's astonishment grew as he witnessed this inexplicable display.

" I can manipulate objects larger than a book, but I have to conserve my energy ," Miles explained. Theodore stared at him, struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he mustered the courage to speak.

"For now, I'll believe you," Theodore admitted, surprising himself with his acceptance of the story.

Other questions were swirling in Theodore's mind, many aspects he still didn't comprehend. He needed to know more.

"What about my mother? How does she fit into all of this? How are you and she connected?" Theodore inquired, seeking answers about his mother's involvement in this.

" I won't tell her story; it is her own to share ," Miles replied. "However, I can tell you that she and I are partners and share certain goals."

Theodore pressed further, asking, "Which goals are those?"

A weighty silence settled in the room, and Miles abruptly shifted his gaze towards the metal door behind him.

CLANG

The resounding clang of the door opening shattered the stillness.

Time stops as Mother steps through the door.

~

Sarah is nervous, to say the least. She doesn't want to do this, not because she lacks remorse. No, she feels remorse. The shame and guilt she feels for what she did are almost unbearable as she walks toward where the kid is. While waiting for the signal to enter the room, Sarah feels a deep weight in her chest. It's as if someone is stepping on her sternum and breaking all her ribs. She dreads what is to come next. She knows she messed up horribly, and now she needs to, at least, try to make up a little for what she did. She reflects on what happened and, honestly, what was she thinking? Choking out a kid. Sure, the kid reminded her of Gluskin and what he did to her, but it wasn't the kid's fault.

She leaned back against the steel door, the cold metal offering no comfort for her nerves. She let her head gently rest against the door and groaned. Hindsight is 20/20, but it's also a bitch.

Sarah was startled by a high-pitched noise that reverberated in her head. It resembled the piercing sound of a fire alarm. That was the signal. She often questioned why it had to be such an annoying noise, but Miles would just say it would be difficult to ignore. It was why most emergency alerts sounded like that, Miles would say. Sarah knew that that was bullshit.

She straightened herself, took a deep breath, and mustered the courage to open the door. It was now or never.

.

.

.

§§

Miles knew things would go to shit, but it could have been worse. Theodore predictably panicked upon seeing Sarah and is now huddled in the corner. Sarah awkwardly stands near the glass door, looking like a guilty child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It would be funny in different circumstances, but Miles needs to calm the situation. He's growing irritated from dealing with this shit and Eddie Gluskin's presence. Miles is checking in on the man. Miles can tell that Eddie's mood is shifting from annoyed confusion to unrelenting fury. Miles needs to get shit under control.

So Miles motions to Sarah to fucking snap out of whatever the fuck funk she is in and apologize while he goes and tries to calm down Theodore.

.

.

.

After dedicating 20 minutes to calming down Theodore and assuring him that he would handle Sarah if she tried anything, Miles managed to get Theodore to a point where he stood in the middle of the room and could actively listen to what was being said.

Alright, it's up to Sarah now.

~

Sarah was overwhelmed with a sense of guilt and self-disgust. Looking at Theodore, she couldn't deny the bruises on his neck caused by her hands, which hit her like a gut punch. Seeing the color drain from his face as he recoiled and tried to put as much distance as possible between them through the room filled her with shame. Sarah felt frozen, unable to approach Theodore as Miles worked to calm him down, fully aware that her presence would only exacerbate the situation. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

After some time, when Theodore had calmed down enough to listen, Sarah was at a loss for words. What could she say or do to make up for what she had done? The answer was painfully clear—nothing could come close to undoing the harm she had caused. She stuttered and stammered with trembling hands, desperately trying to express her remorse. The kid's unwavering gaze met hers, his eyes penetrating deep into her soul. Finally, she managed to utter the only words that seemed remotely adequate: "I'm sorry." The kid's expression remained unchanged, a blank mask with piercing eyes. After a prolonged silence, the kid's voice broke the stillness with a simple question:

 "Why?"

"... I thought it was the best choice. You knew about the documents and what I was doing. It posed a threat to the plan, and..." Sarah's voice trailed off as the kid interrupted, his voice filled with anger and tears welling in his eyes. He demanded answers, wanting to know what plan they kept referring to and what could be so vital that he was nearly sacrificed for. It hit Sarah like a punch to the gut. She felt like the lowest scum on earth as she witnessed his tears. Taking a deep breath, she sighed and made up her mind. She was going to be brutally honest with him.

*

Theodore couldn't help but be taken aback as he watched the transformation on his mother's face. He had never seen such a shift in her expression before. From the guilt-ridden face to one of openness and honesty, it was a sight that caught him off guard.

"Miles told you about Murkoff, right?" Theodore nodded. His mother took a deep breath.

"We want to make Murkoff pay for what they did. We're determined to expose their horrific actions in the asylum, to show the world the truth. We believe they're hiding more, but right now, we have to work with what we know."

Her voice grew resolute as she continued, "There's a person here, a real scumbag rat bastard, who's responsible for so much suffering. He deserves to pay for the shit that he did, and we won't stop until he does."

Pausing briefly, Sarah looked directly at Theodore. "And we're planning to escape from this place. We're going to break down that fucking wall and get the fuck out of here."

Theodore looked at his mother, his eyes filled with disbelief. The concept of destroying the wall and escaping seemed unfathomable to him. The wall had always been an impenetrable barrier, and he couldn't envision a world beyond it.

Sarah noticed the confusion on Theodore's face. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice tinged with sadness. "Yes, we're going to break out of here. Before all of this, I had a life, a family. Murkoff took that away from me. I don't even know if my parents are alive; if they are, they probably believe I'm dead."

There was a prolonged silence, heavy with the weight of their conversation. Sarah gathered her thoughts before speaking again.

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness, Theodore, but now that you know the truth, we need your help," She said, her voice filled with determination and vulnerability.

Theodore furrowed his brows, puzzled by her request. "Help? What do you need my help with?"

Mother took a deep breath, her eyes focused on him. "We need your help with your father. You and I have been away for hours, and by now, he's probably on the brink of losing his fucking mind, searching every inch of this place to find us."

Theodore contemplated for a moment before a question arose in his mind. "Should we tell him the truth? About what you're doing?"

Something about the suggestion didn't sit right with him. There was an unsettling feeling surrounding his father, and Theodore couldn't ignore it.

Mother shook her head, a solemn expression on her face. "Eddie Gluskin, your father... He won't help us. This place, as fucking horrifying as it is, has become his twisted paradise. Here, he has everything he ever dreamed of— a wife, children, a family, and a home. Why would he want to leave? In fact, he would do everything in his power to stop it."

Theodore had nothing to say. "We need your help because… There's a lot I could say about Eddie Gluskin, but. I can say this, he does care for you. I don't know in what way, but he does care. Definitely a more than me, and for me not to die, I need your help." She stopped and waited for an answer.

Theodore listened attentively, his mind grappling with conflicting emotions. His mother's words painted a complex picture of his father, one that he struggled to fully comprehend. He remained silent for a moment, weighing the gravity of her plea.

Finally, Theodore mustered the courage to respond. "I... I don't know if I can trust you completely," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But... if there's a chance that you're telling the truth and you need my help to survive, then... I'll do what I can."

His words carried a cautious determination, his gaze meeting his mother's.

Before she could respond, Miles interjected, urgency in his voice. "That's  great. Now you both need to go. Eddie is on a rampage, searching for you. "

Her mother's face paled, worry etching lines of concern. "How bad is it?" she asked, her voice tinged with unease.

Miles's reply was filled with gravity. " Remember that incident twelve years ago? "

Her mother nodded. "Yeah."

"It's  that bad, " he confirmed.

"Oh shit."

Chapter Text

*

Theodore's mind swirled with confusion, awe, and a hint of fear as he floated in the black mist. The sensation of weightlessness was both exhilarating and disorienting. He tried to keep his bearings, attempting to stand up straight, but the mist seemed to have a mind of its own, gently guiding him along.

As Theodore glanced at his mother, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Unlike him, she appeared at ease, lying comfortably on her back as if in a peaceful sleep. He wondered how she managed to find such comfortability.

Theodore reached out, trying to touch the mist surrounding him, but his hand passed through it as if it were intangible. It felt like grasping at thin air, a futile attempt to hold onto something he couldn't fully understand. The mist seemed to respond, swirling around his hand in a gentle dance before dissipating into thin air.

As Theodore and his mother made their way through the asylum, they encountered rooms and areas they had never seen before. The vastness of the asylum became apparent to Theodore, and he was amazed by its size. However, what struck him the most was the stark contrast between the upper floors and the underground labs.

Theodore got used to the bright underground labs, where Theodore's eyes adjusted to the intense light that bathed the corridors. The blinding white light surrounded him, revealing the intricate details of his surroundings.

The transition from bright to dark unsettled Theodore. As they ascended, the immediate switch from light to dark disorientated him and filled Theodore with unease.

Theodore couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss with the hastily explained plan. Doubt nagged at the back of his mind, but he remained silent.

After their journey, the mist finally stopped, gently depositing Theodore and his mother in a large room adorned with checkered tile floors. The atmosphere inside was heavy, with a damp smell that caused Theodore to wrinkle his nose in distaste. The room was dimly lit, requiring him to strain his eyes to make out the details. Evidently, neglect and disrepair had taken their toll as layers of dust covered the surfaces.

As Theodore stood there, trying to adjust his vision to the dimness, he heard his mother sniff beside him. He turned his gaze towards her and noticed her stretching, her back audibly popping as she did so. The motion seemed to relieve her, and she took a deep breath, followed by a weary sigh.

"Alright, Miles. I'm ready," she declared, a hint of resignation. She sighed once more, and she murmured. "Let's get this over with."

Theodore's eyes widened in horror as he saw his mother lifted off the ground again, only to be violently thrown onto the hard floor. Despite the impact, she made little more than a grunt of pain. The relentless assault continued, with his mother flung around the room like a lifeless ragdoll. Each collision with the wall and drag across the floor meant bruises.

"Alright! That's enough!" Mother shouted in a firm tone.  

She was lifted in the air and slammed onto the floor.

Mother groaned as she lay on the floor.

"Thanks, asshole." She bit out.

Theodore rushed over to his mother's side, his heart sinking at the sight of her battered and bloodied form. Her face and arms bore scratches and cuts, her hair was damp with blood, and her dress was torn and stained. With concern, he helped her up and said, "I don't see why you needed to do this."

His mother groaned in response, her pain evident. "Well, you aren't in great shape either," she replied. "Imagine if we just walked up to Gluskin, and he saw you all bruised and injured while I waltz in perfectly fine. Do you know what that would look like? Very fucking bad on my part. At best, he would think I ran away while you were being attacked, and at worst, it looks like I did it."

"But you did," Theodore pointed out, his voice tinged with frustration.

"Yeah, I know!" his mother retorted. "But for our plan to work out, it needs to look like we were both attacked." She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "It's fine. I was the reason we're even in this shit. I've made my bed, and I need to fucking lie in it."

Theodore sighed, realizing the reasoning behind his mother's actions. Though he disagreed with the extent she had gone, he understood the necessity.

Theodore grunted as he carefully supported his mother, helping her walk with her arm draped over his shoulder. She breathed heavily, clearly exhausted.

"Okay, do you see that door in front of you?" she asked, her voice strained.

Theodore nodded, his gaze fixed on the door ahead.

"Through that door, we'll be back in your father's territory, alright?" she continued. "Just follow my instructions, and we'll go to the supply room where my secret room is. Once we're there, get ready for part two of the plan. Understand?"

"Yes," Theodore replied, determination filling his voice.

"Great. Here we go," Mother said.

.

.

.

The walk through the quiet hallways was punctuated only by the occasional direction given by Theodore's mother. Finally, they arrived at the door they were aiming for. Theodore's gaze fell upon a figure leaning against it, and as they drew closer, he recognized the smug smile of Ward.

Ward straightened up, his eyes gleaming as he addressed Mother. "Hello, Mother," he greeted, his voice filled with a strange mix of amusement and anticipation. His gaze seemed to scan her, unnerving Theodore. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Ward continued to stare, his unsettling grin intact. Eventually, his gaze momentarily shifted to Theodore. "Hello," he said curtly, his tone laced with a hint of something unreadable.

Theodore and Mother said nothing in response.

Ward continued, "Well, you two have certainly been through something." He motioned towards them. "It must have been fun since you took such a long time to return. In fact, you took so long one has to wonder what happened. Father certainly does."

Father's voice boomed through the hallways, filled with venom and fury. "WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU SLUT! WHORE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SON!"

Ward whistled, seemingly entertained by Father's outburst. "Whoo, Father is certainly in a mood," he remarked.

Mother calmly replied, "We were attacked."

Ward tilted his head, a sly grin on his face. "An attack that lasted for five hours? Quite an attack," he mused.

"We had to hide; the man chased us throughout the rooms. We finally managed to escape," Mother replied.

"Oh, that is so terrible!" Ward exclaimed, feigning concern. "Then we need to find the man responsible! Tell me, what did he look like?"

"It was dark. I couldn't see him very clearly. From what I could tell, he was average height, bald, and had a large scar across his face."

"Wow, I'm impressed you gave such a detailed description that applies to many people. Vaguely detailed. Impressive," Ward remarked sarcastically.

"That is the best I could do. It was an extremely stressful situation," Mother retorted, glaring with cold eyes.

"I bet it was. Tell me, why were you even out here in the first place? Hmm?" Ward inquired.

Mother said nothing.

"By the looks of things, you were up to no good in the first place. What would Father think of all of this? It--"

"What do you want?" Mother interrupted.

There was a moment of silence, but then Ward's smile grew wider, revealing his teeth.

"I want in."

~

Sarah was in pain, obviously, but fuck, things were getting worse. Ward just had to show up at the worst time... fuck him. This whole conversation had been incredibly uncomfortable, to say the least. There was something deeply unsettling, and a thought kept nagging at the back of her mind, though she couldn't quite place it.

"I want in," Ward said.

Sarah figured that's what Ward was getting at. Hah. Now he's resorting to blackmail.

"What makes you think there's anything to get into?" Sarah tried to play the ignorance card.

"Do you think I'm stupid? I've got that fascinating piece of paper you wrote. I know you're up to something. I also know that you let my dear brother in on it." His voice turned cold, and there was a particular disdainful emphasis on the word "brother." He's finally dropping the facade.

She had to be careful here.

"What makes you think your brother knows anything?"

"Well, the fact that he's still breathing is one." Ah, so he set the kid up so she would kill him. The question is, why? Sarah knows that Ward probably doesn't give a fuck about his brother, but why set this all up?

"Also, the fact that you two are working together is another," Ward sneered.

"So I figured that since you let him in on one of your little secrets, you could let me in on them too," Ward said with all the sleaze of a used car salesman.

"What will you do for me in exchange for this?" Sarah questioned.

"What makes you think I would do anything?" Ward retorted.

"You're here, aren't you?" Sarah replied.

"Haha, you got me there. In exchange for the information on what's going on, I will help you with your little alibi," Ward reverted to his fake friendly persona.

"What happens if I say no?" Sarah asked.

"Well, I'll go straight to Father and tell him I saw you two fighting. No, I'll say I witnessed you attacking my dear little brother. Oh, how horrible it is! I mean, for a mother to be attacking her son like that! What a terrible mother you would appear to be!" Ward gave an irritatingly smug grin as if he thought he had her completely cornered.

Sarah chuckled a hint of defiance in her voice.

"Then that will be a resounding 'no' from me," she declared. The smug grin quickly disappeared from Ward's face.

"What?" he exclaimed, clearly taken aback.

"You heard me. I think I'll take my chances facing your father," Sarah replied calmly, refusing to be intimidated.

"Are you crazy? Do you want to get yourself killed?" Ward tried to regain his composure.

"Why don't you go and tell him right now, then?" Sarah challenged. She wasn't going to let him manipulate her.

"Or perhaps it's because you don't actually want me dead, right?" Sarah called out his bluff, her eyes fixed on Ward. He began to look visibly uncomfortable, his facade crumbling.

"If you truly didn't care about my survival, you wouldn't have bothered showing up here in the first place. I imagine you would have simply sat back, enjoyed the spectacle, and watched me meet my demise. After all, you could have easily obtained the information from your brother. Frankly, you don't need me now, do you?" Sarah raised an eyebrow, her voice filled with skepticism.

A heavy silence followed. Sarah felt a surge of satisfaction. She had struck a nerve. Suddenly, Ward's expression transformed, and a wide, vicious grin spread across his face.

"Alright, once you're out of the picture, I'll conveniently let that intriguing piece of paper you wrote, with the names of all the incriminating documents you gathered, slip into the wrong hands. I'm sure the wall people would be thrilled to learn about this little scheme happening right under their noses," Ward threatened with a sinister tone.

That stopped Sarah cold in her tracks. Fuck. Fuck. She could not let that happen. Shit.

She had to make a choice.

^

Ward observed with delight as his mother's face turned pale. He knew she had no choice but to accept his little deal.

"So, what do you say? Let me know your little plans, and I'll provide you with the necessary cover. Deal?" he proposed.

"Fine, deal," she responded through gritted teeth, her expression radiating fury. If looks could kill, he would have been obliterated. A sense of joy swelled up in his chest.

*

Theodore watched the entire exchange with growing concern. What was Ward's plan? However, he knew there was nothing he could do at that moment.

"Well, with that settled, let's get to it!" Ward exclaimed with a disturbing gleefulness.

"Oh, by the way, brother, you don't quite look roughed up enough, do you? How about we add some additional injuries to really sell it? Hmm?" Ward finally looked at Theodore, and there was a malicious glint in his eyes. Theodore could sense that Ward wanted to see him hurt badly.

However, their mother quickly intervened, removing her arm from Theodore and stepping in front of him protectively.

"Just try it, you little shit," she seethed.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I was making suggestions," Ward hastily raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I'll go fetch Father. You better prepare yourselves," Ward concluded before leaving.

As soon as Ward disappeared from sight, their mother released a heavy sigh and turned to Theodore.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"What about you?" Theodore retorted. He knew his mother had endured more during those intense moments than he had.

His mother remained silent for a moment, gathering herself. "Your father is on his way. Are you prepared? Remember what to say," she instructed, her voice unwavering.

Suddenly, without warning, their mother collapsed onto the floor. Theodore's heart skipped a beat, but he quickly composed himself.

It was time. Theodore steeled himself for what lay ahead.

‡

Eddie seethed with fury. That woman, that whore, had run off and taken their son with her! Rage consumed him as he stormed through the rooms and corridors, desperately searching for her. He should have known better. Women were cunning creatures, ensnaring men in their deceitful charms, only to shatter their hearts when they were most vulnerable. They were heartless creatures, capable of such callousness.

Once he found her, he would make her regret her actions. He wouldn't go as far as to kill her—depriving his sons of a mother would be too cruel, no matter how whorish she turned out to be. However, he felt a deep need to punish her for the pain she had caused.

He abruptly halted his rampage when he caught sight of his son running up to him, tears streaming down his face and fear evident in his eyes. Eddie's anger dissipated instantly as concern and worry flooded his heart.

"Father, I was scared," his son sobbed, clinging to him desperately.

Eddie's hardened expression softened as he enveloped his son in a tight, comforting embrace. He realized then that his sons' well-being was far more important than seeking revenge or punishing his slut wife.

"It's alright, son. Tell me have you found anything?"

"It-it was horrible! I-I was s-scared!" His son, Ward, cried out.

"There w-was this man! H-he was chasing mother and brother! He was yelling about killing them! T-they're hurt. I went out to find you! P-please h-help t-them!" Ward wailed.

Eddie's heart sank as he listened to his son's terrified account. The urgency and fear in Ward's voice compelled him to take immediate action.

"Stay right here, Ward," Eddie said, his voice filled with determination. "I will find your brother. Don't worry; I'll make sure he's safe."

"No! I want to come with you! I need to help," his son desperately clung to him.

Eddie looked down at his son, seeing the desperation in his eyes. He understood Ward's desire to help, but the situation was dangerous.

"Listen, Ward," Eddie began, his voice filled with concern and resolve. "I know you want to help, but I need you to stay here where it's safe. It's my responsibility to find your brother. I promise I'll do everything I can to bring them back."

He gently held Ward's shoulders, trying to reassure him.

"I need you to be strong like I know you can be. Take care of yourself here, and if anything changes or you hear anything, let me know immediately. Can you do that for me?"

Ward hesitated for a moment, his grip loosening slightly. He looked up at his father, tears streaming down his face, but nodded reluctantly.

"I'll be right here, Father. Please bring them back safe," Ward whispered.

Eddie nodded, a mix of determination and love in his eyes.

"I will, son. I promise. Stay strong, and I'll return as soon as possible."

^

Ward was furious, to say the least. His father is always ruining everything. Ward wanted to witness it all unfold. He needed to see everything. That man... it didn't matter. Ward would watch the entire scene, regardless of what his father said about it. He felt like he deserved to witness the drama, especially after the performance he had just put on.

*

Theodore's heart pounded as he heard his father's frantic voice. "THEODORE!" His father's footsteps grew louder, signaling his approach. Startled, Theodore quickly reacted, instinctively lowering his gaze and shielding his face with his hands. He knew he couldn't trust himself to convincingly play his part, so he sought refuge in hiding his face from his father's piercing gaze.

His father's voice quivered with concern as he knelt at Theodore's level. "Are you alright?" he asked, his tone filled with both frantic worry and relief at finding his son. Theodore sniffed and nodded, feigning distress. While waiting for his father, Theodore rubbed his face, attempting to intensify the redness. His father's gentle gaze scanned him, but his attention halted when he noticed the bruises on Theodore's neck.

A chilling tone washed over Theodore as his father's voice turned cold. It sent shivers down his spine. Theodore noticed the change in his father's expression, and he froze, his heart pounding in his chest. "A-a man," he stuttered, trying to maintain the act. "Scary man with a s-scar on his face."

His father's rage surged, and he vowed vengefully, "I will kill him. I will rip out his intestines and choke him with them. I will utterly brutalize his body until it is impossible to tell if he was human in the first place. That slut!" He rose to his feet, finally noticing Mother, who lay crumpled on the floor, her eyes fixed on Father.

"It's your fault! THIS IS YOUR FAULT, YOU SLUT!" he howled as he grabbed Mother by the throat and lifted her up. He slammed her into the wall.

Theodore watched in horror as his father proceeded to strangle Mother. He could hear her strangled chokes as she struggled to breathe and speak, but it only made Father tighten his grip. Theodore couldn't bear it any longer and ran over to where his father was, desperately trying to stop him.

Theodore desperately tried to pull his father off, but his efforts were in vain. His father remained unmoving, like a cold stone pillar. Theodore's tears flowed uncontrollably, and panic gripped his heart. "YOU FUCKING SLUT, WHORE, BITCH! THIS IS YOUR FAULT! IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN SAFE! YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Theodore cried and screamed, attempting to drown out his father's words. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" Theodore wailed, his pleas filled with anguish and despair.

Deep in despair, Theodore remained oblivious to his surroundings. He didn't notice the object hurled at Gluskin's head nor saw Ward's enraged expression from a distance. It wasn't until the diversion caught Gluskin's attention that Theodore's cries began to subside slightly. He continued to sob and plead, his voice filled with desperation. "STOP IT! STOP IT! NO MORE!" His tear-filled eyes were nearly shut, rendering him unaware of the horror-stricken look on Gluskin's face or the stunned exhaustion on his mother's face. Theodore cried, unabated even as Gluskin loosened his grip and released his mother to the floor. He cried, rejecting any attempts at consolation, repulsed and terrified by the mere thought of being touched by Gluskin.

Numbness enveloped Theodore as he approached his mother, disregarding Gluskin's presence. Tears streamed down his face as he trembled, repeating, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It was my fault." Through her coughs and wheezes, his mother weakly extended her hand and placed it on his shoulder. Struggling to speak, she utters, "No, it's not.".

.

.

.

Theodore walked several steps behind his father, his eyes fixed on the intimate scene before him. Father's strong arms enveloped Mother's fragile form, supporting her as they moved forward. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her forehead, whispering words of remorse and tenderness. Theodore strained his ears, desperate to catch the faintest hint of what Gluskin was saying to her. His lips moved close to her ear, his voice a low murmur laden with emotions that remained concealed from Theodore's ears.

~

Sarah's throat constricted, a fiery sensation clawing its way up her windpipe. She felt trapped, ensnared in the claustrophobic hold of Gluskin's arms. The air grew thin as his grasp tightened, constricting her breathing and intensifying her sense of confinement. She paid little heed to the stream of empty apologies that spilled from his lips, for she had heard them countless times before. They had rung hollow each time, devoid of genuine remorse or accountability. They were mere words, void of substance, unable to erase the deep-seated pain and anguish she had endured.

As Gluskin continued to mutter his apologies, their meaning fell on deaf ears. Sarah's focus shifted inward, consumed by the weight of her own emotions. The apologies were fucking nothing, futile attempts to quell the storm that raged within her. They did shit to mend the brokenness she felt, nor could they erase the scars etched upon her soul. At that moment, she found comfort in herself and miles, and now, even the kid… Theo,  not the empty words that surrounded her.

She was broken out of this by one sentence Gluskin said to her.

"I'm sorry, darling, but I must punish you."

Chapter Text

‡

Fifteen years. Eddie had been married to his Darling for fifteen blissful years. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew it was love at first sight. It felt like destiny as if their paths were meant to intertwine. Their wedding was a celebration of their deep love for each other, a beautiful ceremony filled with joy and happiness.

~

Fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years had Sarah been "married," quote on quote, to Eddie Gluskin.

Was it love?

No.

Was it fate?

No.

Was it destiny?

Fuck no.

Sarah was only married to him because she had no choice in the matter.

That was it.

A shotgun wedding to end all weddings.

There was no real love in it.

Nope.

Sure, Gluskin could think all he wanted was that there was love in this relationship, but the only one he was kidding was himself.

‡

Yes, there were other brides before his Darling, but they were unworthy of his love. Most were women who did not meet his standards and needed to be transformed and corrected to deserve his affection. After marrying his Darling, he did assist those pitiful women who sought his attention, but only for a short while. Once his Darling became pregnant, his focus shifted entirely to his growing family.

~

Sarah had seen what he had done in the asylum. Oh yes, she remembered the buzz of the saw and the inhuman screeching of those under Eddie's knife. The smell of iron and ammonia. Blood and piss and shit were smells that were hard to get rid of. She remembered. The only reason she hadn't suffered the same fate was that, unlike everyone else there, she actually had the parts Eddie was looking for. That's it.

Sarah had read his file and what he did before he became a resident in everyone's favorite asylum. Those poor women. Hanged like the people he killed here. The only difference was that he didn't cut off any dicks when he was on the outside.

Even after he supposedly found "the one" in Sarah and got married to her, he still mutilated people and turned them into women. It was as if he was making a backup plan in case things didn't work out with Sarah. A plan B, so to speak. If she didn't work out, no worries! He had another one waiting in line for their turn.

Expendable.

Replaceable.

He stopped only after Sarah had become pregnant for the first time. Oh, what a switch it was. So kind and attentive. He ensured she got all the vitamins and nutrients and the "love" she could ask for. So caring and loving.

What a joke.

‡

During the enchanting first trimester of their journey into parenthood, Eddie marveled at the radiant transformation his Darling underwent. It was a time of tender whispers and delicate caresses as they navigated the wondrous path of creating life together.

Ah, the morning sickness, a gentle reminder of the miraculous process unfolding within his beloved. Eddie witnessed her graceful strength as she faced the waves of nausea, her spirit unwavering. He was there by her side with every queasy moment, offering soothing words and tender gestures to ease her discomfort.

The ethereal glow that adorned her during this time held him spellbound. Her delicate form, now carrying the precious seed of their love, radiated a celestial aura. Eddie marveled at how her body responded to the divine rhythm of creation, her curves becoming even more enchanting, her touch imbued with a new tenderness.

Yet, it was the fatigue that tugged at his heartstrings. He witnessed her graceful weariness, born from the sacred task of nurturing life within. Her delicate steps and weary sighs only deepened his adoration. He took it upon himself to be her unwavering support, ensuring she found solace in his arms and respite in his embrace.

~

Sarah remembers those months of being pregnant. They were worse than she could have imagined. The sickness, the pain—the morning sickness was probably the least horrible thing about the pregnancy. Sarah already felt sick about the entire situation. At least she could blame it on the morning sickness. The terrible side effect was that Eddie would constantly be near her, touch her, and whisper the most saccharine shit to her. She wanted to be on the other side of the planet. 

‡

Eddie was enthralled by the stunning transformation of his Darling's body. Once flat and unassuming, her belly became a beautiful canvas of life and growth. It was a sight that stirred a deep sense of awe and adoration within him.

Eddie was mesmerized by the sheer beauty of nature's handiwork as he beheld the expanding curves of her abdomen. Like a delicate blossom unfurling, the gentle swell symbolized the nurturing bond they shared. It was a testament to the life they had created together, an exquisite manifestation of their love.

He found himself irresistibly drawn to her growing belly, his fingertips tenderly tracing the path of its graceful curve. With each passing day, the roundness increased, a visual reminder of the precious life flourishing within.

Eddie would often find solace in placing his hand upon her burgeoning belly, feeling the subtle movements that spoke of the vibrant life contained within. It was a sacred connection, a silent exchange of love and protection. His touch conveyed a sense of reverence and wonder as he marveled at the miracle that unfolded before his eyes.

~

The worst part was seeing her abdomen grow and expand. It was an unsettling sight. The abdominal pain and constant itching only added to her discomfort. Looking at her own stomach felt like watching a horror movie, a constant reminder that something was growing inside her, making her feel sick. And to top it off, Gluskin's constant touching of her belly, talking about their child, and expressing his love, only made her feel invaded and repulsed.

‡

During the third trimester during the first time, Eddie found himself captivated by the sheer intensity and anticipation of Fatherhood. It was a period of excitement and challenges as the final preparations were made for the arrival of his child.

As her due date drew closer, Eddie witnessed the remarkable transformation of Darling's body. Her belly, now prominently round and filled with life, emanated a radiant glow.

The third trimester brought with it a mix of emotions and physical changes. Eddie observed the toll it took on his Darling as her body worked tirelessly to nurture and sustain their growing baby. The weight of the belly became more pronounced, reminding them of the imminent arrival of their little one.

Eddie's heart overflowed with anticipation in these moments as he beheld his Darling's blossoming belly. He eagerly awaited the precious moment when he would hold his little one in his arms, a testament to the enduring love that had brought them to this beautiful stage.

~

The third trimesters were insufferable, to say the least. The aches and pains became almost constant—24/7 pain. During the first time, her breasts started to become... leaky, much to her horror. Then she began to experience fake contractions. She would foolishly think the horror was over and that she would be spared by having a premature birth. But no, life is cruel like that. No, this continued, and the baby would move and shift, crushing her organs and making breathing hard. Then came the discharge. That was nice seeing a thick pink mucus leaking out of her body. And then, the water breaks and the contractions start. Apparently, this doesn't mean that the baby is ready to be born. Nope, the movies are fucking lies. It's only a phase, and the baby is ready when the contractions occur every four minutes and last for at least one minute. Nice.

‡

Eddie felt a sense of sadness and disappointment when he learned that his Darling would not be able to have any more children. While his primary focus had always been on their family, he had entertained the possibility of expanding it further.

~

At least after Theo was born, she could not have any more children. The pregnancy was so bad that she almost died from it. Thankfully, she became sterile after that.

‡

As Eddie reflects on the birth of his two children, he recalls the profound emotions and moments that forever changed his life. The arrival of each child was a unique and extraordinary experience, marking the beginning of their individual journeys in this world.

The birth of his first child, Ward, was a moment of sheer wonder and awe. As Eddie stood by his Darling's side, witnessing the miracle of life unfolding before his eyes, he was overcome with a mix of emotions. The anticipation, the joy, and the deep love he felt for their unborn child swelled within him. He held his breath as the cries of their newborn son filled the room, a testament to the preciousness of life and the bond they had created.

The second birth of their youngest child, Theodore, filled Eddie's heart with similar emotions. As he watched his Darling bring their child into the world, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love. The arrival of their second child reinforced the depth of their connection as a family, and Eddie marveled at the uniqueness and individuality of this new little life.

In both instances, Eddie's love for his children blossomed instantaneously. He saw in their tiny faces the potential, the innocence, and the future they would forge together as a family. Holding each child for the first time, he was filled with indescribable tenderness and a profound sense of responsibility.

~

Sarah is different. She knows it. Maybe something was fundamentally wrong with her even before she went to the asylum. Usually, when a mother sees her baby for the first time, she is overcome with love for the child. At least, that is what Sarah gathers from all those movies that show it and all those books about it. But when she first looked at her first child, Ward, she felt nothing but disgust. It wasn't disgust for the baby. No. At most, she felt indifferent. No hate since it wasn't the kid's fault for being born. She felt disgusted towards Gluskin, their "marriage," Murkoff, and everything. And she didn't remember how she felt after Theo was born. She had passed entirely out by then.

‡

Eddie acknowledges the need to discipline his Darling, as she has failed in her responsibilities as a wife and mother. Such negligence cannot go unchecked. However, in contemplating the cries of his son Theodore, Eddie decides to show some leniency in his punishment this time. Though his Darling may not deserve much mercy, he considers his son's well-being and takes that into account.

~

Sarah thinks back on those times; it is really all she can do to entertain herself in the room she's stuck in. It's the same padded room that Gluskin put her in the first time 15 years ago. Since then, it has become more rancid—the once white walls are now dingy, dirty brown, and the padding within the walls have been torn out by rats and insects. Speaking of insects, they crawl up and bite her, and she can't do anything about it since her entire body is restrained with the bed straps. She wonders what the straps are made of, as they miraculously managed to last all these years. Even the bed they are attached to couldn't survive, with broken springs jutting and poking at her back. It is covered in disgusting stains, most of them her own.

Gluskin frustratingly kept up on the upkeep of the lights, which still shine eye-wateringly bright. She's stuck here for a week as punishment for letting Theo out of sight and not taking proper care of him as a mother should. The other punishment he gave her wasn't as bad as it could have been. No, she has to thank Theo for that. The worst thing he did was twist her ankle. It's still bad; she can't walk properly for at least three weeks now, which royally fucks with things. She had set up a meeting with Powers for information on the rat, and now that's all ruined. She thinks about different solutions, different plans she could go through and comes up with nothing.

She needs to talk with Miles, but she supposes he is currently... resting. It's not really sleeping for Miles, but more like saving up energy. But they must come up with something when he can talk with her. And she also needs to ask Miles to check on something for her. Ward is giving off strange vibes. He is up to something, and they need to know what angle Ward is playing at. Miles is the only person who can glimpse what that kid is thinking. She internally sighs as she prepares herself for a long fucking week.

Chapter Text

§§ 

The procession, guided by the mailbox and the refrigerator, gracefully winds its way through the vibrant yellow and red sands of Oceania. This splendid spectacle is a festival meticulously orchestrated by the imaginative minds of the third-grade class, capturing every moment with their telephoto camera. Those mindful of expiration dates wisely step aside, allowing the procession to proceed unhindered.

The liver of the triangle rulers, symbolic and revered, takes its rightful place, followed closely by the appliances and furniture that populate the everyday existence of the suburban dwellers. They dutifully trail behind, paying homage to the leaders of the festival. Meanwhile, the merry band of frog musicians—flute, drum, oboe, and trumpet players—fill the air with their enchanting melodies, joined by the plastic faces of dinosaurs and dragons.

In perfect synchronization, the five court ladies gracefully dance to the hypnotic rhythm of the frog's flutes and drums. Recycled paper, twirling like intricate computer graphics, swirls around the groups. Cars and streetlights, animated with joy, happily join the procession, harmoniously blending with the surroundings.

As the procession reaches the gates of Torii, a sense of awe and reverence permeates the air. The majestic entrance stands tall, a symbol of grandeur and significance. All eyes turn toward the grand Governor, seated upon a golden dragon throne, his presence commanding respect and admiration.

With a wave, the Governor acknowledges the joyful celebration unfolding before him. Alongside him, his entourage of waving dolls mirror his gestures, their porcelain hands moving in unison, a testament to the unity and harmony that pervade this momentous occasion.

However, amidst the synchronized movements of the dolls, one breaks free from the pattern. Its generic face transforms into that of an ordinary 30-year-old man. Clicking his tongue in dissatisfaction, he detaches himself from the pile of dolls, his gaze scanning the surroundings. This is not the person he seeks.

The man's eyes fall upon a solitary red door in the middle of the vast desert, away from the bustling parade. He strides purposefully toward it.

With each step, he ventures further away from the procession, the distant sounds of music and laughter fading into the background.

Its vibrant hue contrasts with the arid landscape as he reaches the door. He turns the handle and steps through, leaving the procession behind.

Miles sighs, feeling frustrated and resigned as he leaves the dream. He silently curses Sarah for putting him up to this. He wishes he could choose whose dreams he enters, but he has no control over it. He has to go through many other people's strange and surreal dreams before finding the right person, and it's mostly a matter of luck. He never enters the same person's dream twice in one night.

The dreams themselves are all different. Sometimes they're like the one Miles just left, full of nonsense but vivid, while other times, they're just fragments of hazy memories. There are even dreams with some plot, but those are rare.

Miles has a knack for recognizing whose dream he's in, even though he can never see the dreamer's face clearly. It makes sense since people can't see their own faces without a mirror, and mirrors are rare in the asylum. The only dreams where he can see the person's face are those of vain and narcissistic people obsessed with their appearance. The shitheads who probably have looked at their face so much that they have it burned to the back of their eyeballs.

Miles braces himself to enter another dream.

The world is a nightmarish landscape where human souls succumb to their darkest temptations. Darkness engulfs everything, broken only by the flickering flames of a city consumed by fire and the explosions that shatter its walls. The eerie glow casts an unsettling light upon the river that once flowed freely, now transformed into a morbid scene with the frozen bodies of the forsaken souls trapped within its icy grasp.

War and violence reign unchecked in this desolate city as shadowed armies mercilessly rampage through the streets, leaving destruction and despair in their wake. Chaos fills the air, echoing through the streets where figures, desperate to escape the clutches of tormentors, flee in terror. Meanwhile, the horde of tormentors, driven by their wicked desires, sets their sights on a neighboring village, ready to unleash their malevolence.

Amidst this infernal realm, where the flames of destruction intertwine with the evil shadows, the world teeters on the precipice of collapse. Demons rule over the desolate landscape, their presence instilling fear and terror. At the same time, grotesque and mutated creatures feast upon the flesh of mortals. A rabbit carries a bleeding and impaled corpse.

A group of people is ruthlessly thrown into a burning lantern, their agonizing screams merging with the crackling flames. Some are subjected to cruel crucifixion, their bodies impaled upon harps and lutes, serving as twisted instruments of torment. Rising above the chaos, a colossal, decaying tree trunk supports a hollow torso, its grotesque limbs reaching toward the heavens. Adorning its head is a disk adorned with dancing demons encircling a grand set of pink bagpipes.

Amidst the writhing mass of mutilated flesh, a lone figure emerges, striding purposefully through the pandemonium. With unwavering determination, the man makes his way toward a pile of rubble, the remnants of a structure long destroyed. Through the solitary standing door, he ventures forth, embodying resilience amidst the relentless chaos surrounding him.

Miles says nothing. He continues to the next dream.

.

.

.

It goes on like this for a while. Miles gets worn down and increasingly pissed off as he continues his search. Finally, he finds the person he's looking for. Miles looks around the dream, and surprisingly, it resembles a part of the asylum, though not as fucked up. He looks down and sees that he's transformed into a damn cat in this dream. Well, he's been through worse.

As a cat, he stalks through the dream, and it's actually pretty damn bright and devoid of the messed-up shit he's used to. He wonders why Sarah asked him to check out Ward's dream. All she gave him was some vague bullshit about getting "bad vibes" from the kid. Whatever the hell that means. From what Miles can see, Ward doesn't seem all that bad, at least compared to the fucked-up shit he's seen. He continues to walk down the damn hallways, and there's this eerie quiet in the air.

Eventually, he stumbles upon a table where Ward, Theodore, Sarah, and Eddie sit down to eat. Something's off, though, because everyone's faces, except Ward's, look like creepy porcelain masks. It's like those goddamn mannequins or dolls. Miles notices Ward's face is clear as day, no mask bullshit. He finds a spot to perch and watch, curious about what will happen.

^

Everything is the same as usual. The same familiar faces, false masks meant to hide the emptiness within. At least with Ward's father and Theodore. They sit there like empty shells, mere dolls. How predictable. He looks at his mother.

On the other hand, she wears a mask to conceal what lies beneath. The exterior is just a façade, hiding the precious secrets within. Ward longs to uncover what's inside. He has caught glimpses, fleeting glances, but not the entirety. He desires to delve into her essence, experience every sensation, and see the world through her eyes.

He glances down and sees a knife in his hands. Without hesitation, he plunges the knife into Theodore's head. His porcelain head cracks open with the red ooze of blood leaking out. He takes out the knife to let the doll fall onto the table. The blood spilled and stained the table red. With quick swiftness, Ward jumps over the table and slits his father's throat. The porcelain cracks and breaks through the neck. Father's head separates from his body, falls onto the table, and rolls onto the floor, smashing the ground. The crimson blood splatters as the head makes an impact. Immense satisfaction and glee well up within him, and Ward is excited.

He looks over at Mother, who sits motionless, her gaze fixed upon him. Blood splatters her face and dress. It's intriguing how he has never truly noticed her attire or how she dresses. The white dress clings delicately to her skin, molding her form with grace and elegance. He walks over the shattered body of his father to his mother. Ward forcefully shoves her to the floor, causing her body to collide with the unforgiving surface. Yet, despite the impact, her body remains intact. Her expression remains unchanged, those deep brown eyes fixed upon him with an unwavering gaze. It's as if she can see right through him, peering into the depths of his soul.

Ward licks his lips and looks at her body. Immersed in the scene unfolding before his eyes, he lowers himself to the floor, hovering over her fragile form. A primal and insatiable need surges within him, a raging fire threatening to consume his every thought and desire. The intensity builds, reaching its peak as he hovers on the precipice of surrendering to his most forbidden impulses. The overwhelming need to touch consumes him, and he traces his hand up her body with a feather-light caress. Her skin begins to crack and break as his fingertips make contact like fragile porcelain succumbing to his touch. Fracture lines ripple outward, tracing the path of his exploration, revealing the vulnerability beneath her once pristine exterior. The delicate shell that once contained her essence shatters into fragments, leaving Ward captivated by a sight of exquisite allure. A feast for his senses unfolds before him, an intoxicating display that awakens the darkest depths of his desires. He gazes upon her creamy, pale skin, mesmerized by its delicate beauty. The soft brown eyes hold a mysterious allure, drawing him deeper into their depths. His attention fixates on her plush, kissable red lips, yearning to taste their forbidden sweetness. As his eyes roam over her body, a wave of desire courses through him, causing her skin to come alive with goosebumps. Ward looks at her breasts, her nipples perked. He leans in, unable to resist the irresistible temptation that beckons him…

§§ 

Nope. Nope. Nope. NO. FUCK THIS.

Miles fucking bolts, his sole objective to get the fuck out of this twisted nightmare as fast as humanly possible. This shit is beyond fucked up. He tears through the labyrinthine corridors. He tries to block out the moans and the cries of "Ward! Ward! Ward!". His fucking stomach plummets with each step, a sickening knot of hatred growing inside him. Finally, he spots the goddamn exit, and without a single fucking thought, he slams that door shut behind him, leaving that fucked-up scene behind.  

Miles feels an overwhelming urge to hurl his fucking guts out. This place is beyond fucked up, and the twisted people inhabiting this godforsaken asylum are the epitome of fucked up. He desperately needs to bleach his mind of the sick shit he just witnessed. What the actual fuck was that? That sick fuck actually dreams of that? It's like a goddamn nightmare on steroids.

With a mind still reeling in shock, Miles drifts through a series of dreams, his consciousness barely registering anything around him. Fuck, he doesn't even know how long he's been in this dazed state until he stumbles upon a particular dream.

It's Theodore's dream.

In the enveloping darkness, a terrified boy flees through endless hallways that warp and twist in impossible ways. No matter how swiftly or desperately he runs, the malevolent shadows persistently pursue him, their presence an ever-present threat. With malicious grins and taunting sneers, those blackened creatures hunger for his pain and suffering. The boy's heart pounds in his chest, fear coursing through his veins as he fights for his life.

Cornered by the relentless monsters, the boy finds himself trapped at a dead end, his escape routes blocked. Desperation overwhelms him as he realizes there is no way out, his fate seemingly sealed. He crumbles to the floor, his trembling form consumed by fear and anguish. Tears stream down his face, mingling with his sobs as he feels the weight of hopelessness and despair settle upon him. He can only weep in this moment of vulnerability, his cries echoing through the haunting darkness.

Miles watches, his heart breaking as he witnesses Theodore's torment. In this wretched fucking place, if there's anyone who doesn't deserve to endure nightmares, it's Theodore. The fucking weight of injustice settles upon Miles, realizing the actual fucking innocence of this Kid amidst the horrors of the asylum. Determination sparks within him. Usually, Miles refrains from meddling in people's dreams, but he throws fucking caution to the wind. Fuck the rules. If it fucking means granting this young boy a single goddamn night of peaceful fucking sleep, he'll shatter those motherfucking boundaries without fucking hesitation.

With a wave of his hand, the monsters vanish into thin air, and the environment shifts from the dark, cold hallways to a bright, warm, motherfucking grassy field. It's like the backyard of Miles' childhood home, bringing back memories of the good times he had there. Miles can't see Theodore's face but hopes the kid feels some relief. The sobs and cries halt as Theodore cautiously reaches out his hands to touch the soft grass.

Miles approaches the kid carefully, extending his hands and projecting as much warmth and security as possible. He wants to comfort Theodore in this messed-up dream. And you know what? It works. Theodore allows Miles to pat his head, a glimmer of trust and solace shining through the lingering shadows.

After patting his head for a while, Miles pulls Theodore into a goddamn tight hug. He embraces him with every ounce of love and warmth he can muster. At that moment, he makes a solemn promise to himself. No matter the challenges that lie ahead, he will protect this kid and get him the hell out of this goddamn shithole. Nothing will fucking stop him.

Mark his words.

Chapter Text

*

Theodore woke up feeling strangely revitalized, despite the horrifying events of the previous days. He first struggled to fall asleep, haunted by the traumatic experiences of almost losing his life to his own mother and witnessing her near death, as well as the revelation that his entire life had been a lie. The people he thought he knew turned out to be monsters in their own ways: his father, a violent tyrant; Ward, a disturbing individual; and his mother, a cold-hearted person involved in a plot to destroy the wall and a company.

The only glimmer of hope seemed to be Miles, a man he had just met, possessing extraordinary powers thanks to nanomachines, who was working with his mother. Initially, Theodore didn't think he could sleep, but the weight of the day's events eventually caught up to him, and he drifted off. Theodore doesn't remember his dream, but he vaguely remembers feeling terror and fear and suddenly feeling warmth and security. That's all he remembers.

Theodore glanced around the room, relieved not to find Ward in bed. The mere thought of seeing him, his father, or anyone else was overwhelming. The weight of everything that had transpired was too much to bear. However, he knew deep down that he couldn't avoid them forever. Running away wasn't an option, especially after witnessing his father's violent reaction when he wasn't present. If he left, people would get hurt, including his mother. Despite the conflicting emotions he harbored towards her, Theodore couldn't ignore the fact that she was his mother, someone who had cared for him throughout his life.

Cold bitterness and pain consumed him as he realized that everything he had known was a façade, a carefully crafted act for survival. The realization stung his heart, leaving an ache that seemed impossible. But at that moment, a newfound determination took hold of him. He decided to leave this place to go out into the outside world. Regardless of the complexity of his feelings towards his mother, he vowed to assist her and Miles in their plan. Murkoff, the mysterious organization responsible for all of this, became the focus of his bitterness. They were the reason behind the pain and suffering, and he was determined to hold them accountable.

.

.

.

Theodore entered the kitchen with a determined stride, only to be met with an unexpected sight. There sat Ward, wearing a strained smile, occupying his usual spot at the table. But what caught Theodore's attention was the overwhelming abundance of food covering almost every inch of the table. Plates stacked high with pancakes, eggs, biscuits, fruits, toast, cereal, bagels, and other breakfast items. It was an extravagant spread, enough to feed a small army.

As he scanned the room, Theodore searched for his mother, hoping to find her and have a much-needed talk. However, she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his gaze landed on his father, an unusual sight. His father, who rarely cooked except for special occasions like holiday barbecues, stood towering over the stove, expertly cooking sausages. The sink was filled with a heap of used pots and pans.

Theodore forced himself to sit at the table despite his appetite having vanished. The tension in the room grew more substantial, and the sick feeling in his stomach intensified. He mechanically filled his plate, not registering the food before him. He had a role to play and needed to gather information about his mother's whereabouts.

As he settled into his seat, his father spoke up, his voice filled with anxiety and concern. "Teddy, how was your night? Did you sleep well?" he asked, his words coming out hastily. "I didn't mean to scare you yesterday, you know. I was just worried about you. I didn't know if you were hurt or worse. I didn't know where your mother had taken you. I had to do what was necessary."

Theodore listened, his eyes fixed on his father, trying to decipher the underlying motives behind his words. His father's ramblings only served to fuel his suspicion and unease. He had to be cautious in his response, carefully choosing his words to navigate this delicate conversation.

"I... I didn't sleep well," Theodore finally replied, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "There were... things on my mind. But I'm here now, and I'm okay." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Father, do you know where Mother is?"

His father's face went blank. There was a moment of silence. Ward carefully watched.

"I had to punish your mother. You will not be able to see her for a week," his father's words hung in the air, leaving Theodore frustrated and unsatisfied. The lack of explanation and the vague response only fueled his anger and confusion. He couldn't simply let it go. He needed answers.

Just as Theodore was on the verge of bursting with anger, a calm voice interrupted his thoughts. It was Miles, and his presence alone immediately stopped Theodore in his tracks. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, kid," Miles advised, his tone steady and composed.

Confused, Theodore managed to utter a simple "Wha...?" before Miles continued speaking, cutting him off. "I know you have questions, but I can't answer them right now. Find a safe spot to talk, and we'll address your concerns." Miles' words gave Theodore a momentary pause as he closed his mouth with an audible click of his teeth. It seemed there was more to the situation than met the eye.

Meanwhile, Theodore realized that his father had been talking to him, explaining something he couldn't fully comprehend. He remained silent, mechanically eating his toast while his mind raced with thoughts and emotions.

Breaking the silence, Theodore spoke with a monotone voice, making his intentions clear. "I'm going to the book room. Don't bother me," he declared, getting up from his chair and preparing to leave the room. His father attempted to reach out and stop him, but Theodore flinched away, creating a clear boundary. "I won't be back until dinner," he curtly added before swiftly leaving the room.

^

Ward's mind wandered, contemplating his options. On the one hand, he could follow Theodore and try to uncover his intentions. It was clear that Theodore was up to something, and Ward couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity. However, another option attracted him—the opportunity to go to the room where their father was keeping their mother.

Ward's memories resurfaced, recalling the times when their mother would disappear into that room nearly weekly. The mischievous smile on Ward's face grew, reminiscent of the entertainment he derived from those moments when he was younger. He had always relished inventing inventive ways to cause chaos and get his mother into trouble. Father never punished Ward for his actions. As a result, Ward had always pushed the boundaries, seeking the thrill of testing the limits.

Now, standing at this crossroads, Ward contemplated the possibilities. Should he follow Theodore, uncover his plans, or go to the forbidden room where their mother was kept? It was a difficult decision. Ward's mind raced, weighing the risks and rewards, and he eventually made up his mind, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

.

.

.

*

Theodore stood in the book room, tapping his feet impatiently. He was determined to make his offer heard.

"Alright, it seems like we're okay here," Miles began, but Theodore cut him off.

"I want to help," Theodore interjected.

Miles hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Well, you're already helping by dealing with your father, and-"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Theodore interrupted again. "I want to help with your escape plan."

Miles immediately rejected the idea. "No. Nope. No way."

"Why not? Wouldn't it be more effective if you had more people?" Theodore asked, crossing his arms defiantly.

"That's not the issue here," Miles sighed, his voice tinged with concern.       

"Then what is it" Theodore angrily bit out.

"Theodore, you don't understand," Miles said, his voice filled with frustration. "The problem is that it's too dangerous! What you've been through is just the tip of the iceberg. There are more dangerous people here, and getting involved will get you killed."

"Well, I'm already involved in this," Theodore replied, his anger evident in his tone.

"That was different," Miles countered. "Your father cares about you. The other people in this asylum don't, and I won't always be able to protect you."

"I don't care," Theodore asserted. "I almost died for your plan already. I won't back down on this. I will be helping you."

"It's still a no," Miles said firmly.

"I don't need your approval," Theodore retorted. "If you don't accept me, I will do it anyway. I will explore the asylum on my own and find the answers myself."

"Theodore, you're smart. Don't get yourself involved in any more of this craziness. And don't go out on your own. I will bring you back here," Miles pleaded with a deep sigh.

"Then when you do, I'll just go out. You already said that you can't protect me always, so it stands to reason that you won't be able to stop me either. Eventually, you're going to have to relent. It's a game of attrition that I will win," Theodore declared confidently.

Miles let out another long sigh, clearly exhausted. "Urgh, kid, you're killing me," he muttered. "You're just like your mother."

Theodore clicked his tongue in response, a mix of annoyance and amusement.

After a moment of silence, Miles finally spoke again. "We're going to talk about this with Sarah."

"Okay, then, where is she?" Theodore asked.

"No, we're going to talk differently," Miles explained.

"What does that mean?" Theodore tilted his head, curious.

"There is a way. I haven't tried it out, so I don't know if it works, but it's our best shot for now," Miles continued.

"What is it?" Theodore inquired.

"The way I'm talking with you? In your head? It's a connection. A two-way connection that we have. I'm not fully in your mind, but I'm able to interact with your conscious part. When you go to sleep at specific times, I can enter your dreams and interact with them. However, most people don't remember their dreams, so I won't be doing that. No, there are stages of sleep that aren't REM when I can't interact with you, and you will remember what I say," Miles explained.

"But why not just talk right now while I'm awake?" Theodore asked.

"While you're awake, your brain waves are very active. This makes it hard for me to make any deep connections with your brain. To try a three-way connection, I need that deeper connection, and it's only possible during sleep when the brain waves are slower. Also, you can only hear me when you're awake unless someone is sleep-deprived or prone to hallucinating. You can't see me. And, well, there are some things I want to show you so you can get a full view of the situation. Got it?" Miles concluded.

"Will it get the answers I want?"

"Yep."

"And we won't be interrupted or have time be a problem."

"Nope. The way people feel time is different during sleep, so we may be taking longer time during sleep than the actual time in real life."

"Alright then, where do I start?"

Miles sighed.  

Chapter Text

"STOP IT! STOP IT! NO MORE!"

The tearful cries of his son, Theodore, haunted Eddie as he attempted to sleep. He tossed and turned, but the words persisted, echoing incessantly in his mind. 

"STOP IT! STOP IT! NO MORE!"

There was something deeply unsettling about that phrase, the anguish etched across Theodore's face, the torment in his eyes. It clawed at Eddie, a persistent itch he couldn't ignore. It felt like he had met a similar plea before… he can't remember. Where had he heard those words before? The question gnawed at him, demanding an answer he couldn't quite reach.

A little boy cried softly in his bed, hugging his knees tightly to his chest. His uncle sat on the edge of the bed, a slimy, sadistic smile stretching across his face. The boy's heart sank, knowing all too well what was about to unfold. He didn't want it to happen. It hurt so much! With a soft, trembling voice, the boy uttered, "Stop," desperately hoping to be heard. But his pleas fell on deaf ears as his uncle continued, closing in on the terrified boy…

Eddie's head began to throb, a persistent pounding in his brain. He was thinking about something, but what was it exactly? An overwhelming sense of unease washed over him as if something was amiss, something was terribly wrong. The feeling didn't subside throughout the night; it lingered, cycling between half-remembering and forgetting. By morning, Eddie had not slept a single second, consumed by a sickening feeling of unease and an unsettling sense that something vital was missing.

He went through his morning routine, mechanically getting dressed and tending to his personal hygiene. Since his wife had committed an act that warranted punishment, he had confined her to a room for a week. Initially, he had also considered breaking her legs, but Theodore's pleas had persuaded him to show some restraint. Ultimately, he settled for leaving her with a twisted ankle—a small act of mercy on his part. However, this also meant that he would have to take on her responsibilities and handle the cooking for the time being. He couldn't recall the last time he had cooked breakfast alone. It had been years, he believed. Memories of his past came rushing back, mainly when he had to fend for himself as a young man after his mother had abandoned him. A woman's duty is to her family! She was a bitc-

A small, frail woman stands in front of a stove, her gaunt figure barely filling the old, dirty dress she wears. The dress hangs loosely on her, making her appear even thinner. The small boy watches silently as the woman robotically goes through making breakfast. Her movements are slow and jagged, accompanied by quiet hisses of pain. From the boy's angle, one side of her face is swollen, her eye is forcefully shut by the swelling, and her lip is busted. Her greying, greasy hair partially covers her face, cascading down to her shoulders. Nervously, she chews on her chapped and bleeding bottom lip.

"Mommy?" the boy timidly asks. The woman tilts her head to look at him, her smile fixed on her face as she gazes at him with pale, lifeless blue eyes.

"It's alright, sweetie. Go take your seat. Breakfast is almost done," she rasps out with a gravelly voice.

The boy says nothing. 

Eddie doesn't understand why his mother left. Their family seemed normal, even perfect. Looking around, he realizes he is suddenly in the kitchen, having lost track of time. He chastises himself for his cluelessness. He swears he would lose his head if it wasn't attached to his neck! Today, he plans to make a special breakfast for his boys, their favorite dishes, to apologize for the unpleasantness of the previous day. Specifically, he wants to mend things with Theodore. Perhaps Theodore blames himself for what happened. Regardless, Eddie doesn't want any loose ends between them and wants to restore their connection. He knows that time with his sons is limited, just as he had limited time with his father and uncle. Unfortunately, they passed away years before his sons were born. Eddie is confident that his father would have been proud. A soft smile forms on Eddie's face, but then he wonders. How did they die again? 

A young man lies on the couch in his rundown shack of an apartment, fast asleep. The piercing sound of the ringing phone jolts him awake, and he sluggishly rises to answer it. With a satisfying crack from his back, he shuffles over to the grimy kitchen counter and picks up the phone.

"Hello," he croaks, his voice raspy from sleep.

"Yes, hello. Is this Eddie Gluskin?" a deep male voice on the other end of the line identifies himself as a lieutenant at the United States Penitentiary Florence, Colorado.

"Yes," the man confirms.

"We have some information regarding the deaths of your father, Richard Gluskin, and your uncle, Paul Edward Williams."

Eddie's head begins to pound once again. He tries to recall the details of his father and uncle's deaths. Was it a car accident? Or did they suffer heart attacks? It doesn't matter now. What he remembers clearly is the profound devastation he felt upon losing them. But the pounding in his head and the uneasy feeling persist, causing growing concern for Eddie.

Suddenly, the smell of burning bacon snaps him back to reality. He realizes he is cooking and hurriedly removes the pan from the stove. He is taken aback by the array of plates on the table. Pancakes, toast, eggs, biscuits, and fruits fill the numerous dishes, but he does not recall preparing all this food. How did he lose track of time? He notices that his son, Ward, is already seated at the table. When did he come in? Eddie shakes off his confusion, attributing it to just an off day for him. Everything is fine.

Discarding the burnt bacon, Eddie shifts his attention to cooking sausages, ignoring the growing pile of dirty pots and pans in the sink. He can't help but wonder how much food he has already cooked. Eddie tries to engage his son, Ward, in a conversation. He is promptly ignored. 

After a while, Eddie hears Theodore entering the kitchen. He is glad to hear the wooden chair scrapping across the tile floor. He finishes cooking the sausages and joins them at the table, but anxiety overtakes him. It's an overwhelming feeling, a sense of unease. Eddie gazes at Theodore's blank face. He has never seen that. Theodore has always been so open with his emotions. One could tell what he felt with a single look at his face. This is the first time Theodore has been so… closed off. 

He watched as his son robotically filled his plate with random food. Eddie thinks of something to say, and he comes up with nothing for the first time. What should he say? 

Struggling to find the right words, Eddie finally breaks the silence. "Teddy, how was your night? Did you sleep well?" he asks, the words tumbling out without much thought. "I didn't mean to scare you yesterday, you know. I was just worried about you. I didn't know if you were hurt or worse. I didn't know where your mother had taken you. I had to do what was necessary," he rambles, feeling the need to reassure his son and explain his actions. Eddie wants Teddy to understand that his anger was directed at his mother, not him. 

Eddie continued speaking, the blank stare from his son unnerving him slightly. "I... I didn't sleep well," Theodore finally replied, his voice hinting at weariness. "There were... things on my mind. But I'm here now, and I'm okay." He paused momentarily, then asked, "Father, do you know where Mother is?"

The question caught Eddie off guard. He pondered how to answer, not wanting to upset his son. "I had to punish your mother," he decided to be direct with Theodore. "You won't be able to see her for a week." Eddie proceeded to explain the situation, getting lost in his own words. However, a sickening feeling began to well up inside him. He couldn't quite explain it.

Suddenly realizing he had been rambling for quite some time, Eddie fell silent and waited for Theodore's response. To his surprise, his son's voice remained monotone as he simply stated, "I'm going to the book room. Don't bother me." It was not the reaction Eddie had anticipated. What had gone wrong? Did he explain everything clearly enough? 

Eddie reached out for his son, hoping to offer comfort or further explanation. But Theodore flinched away, avoiding his touch. "I won't be back until dinner," he added curtly before swiftly leaving the room. Eddie stood there, feeling………………….

The young boy trembles and sobs, seeking comfort under the safety of his bed sheets. Every part of him hurts. Suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. It's his father. "Why are you crying? It's alright," his father reassures him, his voice taking on a saccharine tone. "It was just some fun, just some playing around. I didn't mean to hurt you. You know that. You know I love you." Despite his father's words, the boy continues to cry.

Eddie snaps out of… He can't remember. He looks to find Ward gone. He sighs and starts to clean up. What is he going to do with all this food? 

.

.

.

Eddie sits at his work table, attempting to focus on sewing clothes for his sons. However, his mind is preoccupied, unable to concentrate on the task. He contemplates the reason behind his sons' distant behavior. Perhaps they simply need more quality time together. Eddie believes spending more time with them will bridge the gap.

He holds a pair of pants, attempting to sew the pant leg together. Frustration sets in as he realizes that the sewing machines are not functioning. Despite this setback, he sees it as an opportunity to brainstorm ideas for activities they can do together. Fishing is a potential option.

The boy cries. The flash of light from the camera hurts his eyes.

No, there are no bodies of water nearby that contain fish. Furthermore, they need more fishing equipment. Eddie questions his fishing skills and realizes he can't teach his sons how to fish. Teaching his sons how to ride a bike comes to mind.

The boy's father and uncle keep laughing. Why are they laughing? Everything hurts. 

No, they don't have any bikes, and there isn't a safe area for them to practice riding. Eddie considers letting his sons watch him while he works, perhaps even allowing them to design their own clothes.

The boy feels gross. There's a wet feeling between his legs. Did he pee? And there's this weird white stuff on his face. It came from his uncle. Why did he do that? 

No. That wouldn't work either! Eddie suddenly feels a surge of rage and frustration. He needs to find a solution to this problem! Determined, he heads upstairs to confront his DARLING about it. It's the bitch's fault in the first place, and she needs to take responsibility. His anger propels him toward where his wife is, and as he arrives, he notices Ward leaving the room.

"What were you doing?" he says, his anger getting the best of him. He grabs his son's arm, but Ward quickly pulls away.

"Are you going to hurt me? Like you did to Mother?" Ward retorts, his voice filled with bitterness. He manages to free his arm from Eddie's grip.

"What? No! I..." Eddie stammers, horrified by his son's accusation. He would never harm his son. Never.

With a hateful glare, Ward runs away, leaving Eddie standing there, staring after him.

He runs into the room with his wife. She is still strapped down to the bed. She looks at him with fear in her eyes. As he approaches her. This is her fault. It's her fault. THE SLUT! He notices her flinch and close her eyes. 

The woman cries in the middle of the boy's room. She is hugging the boy. 

Eddie stops. 

I'm so sorry."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry, Mommy loves you. Mommy is going to get us out of here." 

The woman hugs and rocks the boy. The boy says nothing but cries with her.

His head pounds with an excruciating intensity, as if a relentless stabbing sensation is piercing his brain. The pain feels unbearable as if his head is on the verge of exploding. He screams out in agony, desperately wishing for the pain to cease. He is willing to do anything, absolutely anything, to end this torment. Why? Why is this happening? WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY

The boy peers out of his bedroom window, standing on his tiptoes and hugging himself. He observes his father and uncle carrying something out of the house. Earlier, he had heard yelling and screaming, his mother's voice filled with anger, but he couldn't make out the words. Now, his father and uncle are carrying a large object covered in black garbage bags. They approach their blue car, which his father called a sedan. The boy watches intently as his uncle tries to open the trunk while his father holds up the bulky object. They exchange words, but their voices are too distant for the boy to hear. Finally, they shove the big thing into the car before driving away. The boy steps back from the window and retreats to his bed, waiting for his mother to return and tuck him in for the night. 

It is eerily quiet in the room, and his wife stares at him in shock. He approaches her cautiously, sensing her attempt to distance herself by curling up. Gently, he releases the restraints that hold her in place.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he observes as his wife curls up in the opposite corner, her eyes fixed on him with a mixture of fear and anticipation, like a person trapped with a wild animal awaiting an attack. The silence stretches on, broken only by the rapid rhythm of her breaths.

"I… don't know what to do." Eddie breaks the silence. 

The truth is, he is utterly lost. He has never found himself in such a bewildering situation before. Throughout his life, he had a clear objective: to build a family. He knew the steps to take, the path to follow. Find a job, secure a home, and find a wife. This knowledge guided him through the most challenging moments, the heartbreaks, and the setbacks. When he faced disappointments in his search for the perfect partner, he held the belief that he would eventually find her. When he was mistakenly hospitalized, enduring the probing questions from doctors, he remained confident that he would emerge and achieve the life he had always yearned for. But now, at this moment, he finds himself at a loss. 

Eddie has everything he ever wanted—a home, a loving wife, and two sons. But instead of feeling fulfilled, he senses that his marriage is falling apart. The ups and downs he expected in a relationship have persisted for years, and he can't help but blame himself. To make matters worse, his relationship with his sons is also deteriorating. It's not just a phase of puberty; it feels like something more, something he's entirely out of the loop on. Eddie doesn't know what's happening to his family and is at a loss for how to fix it.

His vision becomes blurry as tears well up in Eddie's eyes. He tries to fight them back, thinking it's not something a man should do in front of his wife. But then he feels a gentle touch on his arm. He turns to see his darling wife reaching out to him. There's fear in her eyes as if she's petting a wild animal cautiously waiting for a possible attack.

Without hesitation, Eddie grabs hold of his wife and pulls her into a tight embrace. He yearns for her to hold him in return, to offer comfort and support. And eventually, she does. She wraps her arms around him, sharing in the embrace.

"It's...alright, Eddie."

Chapter Text

Here's a scenario:

Person A and Person B are actors who have been performing the same play for years. The scenes are the same every time, and the dialogue remains unchanged. It has become routine, with nothing ever changing in their performances.

One day, Person B goes completely off-script in the middle of a scene.

What does Person A do?

Do they ignore Person B and continue with their part unchanged?

Or do they follow Person B's lead and try to keep up?

Now let's add this:

Person A is being forced to act out this play, and if they get their parts wrong, they will be severely hurt or even killed.

What does Person A do?

This is the situation Sarah found herself in with Gluskin. He always followed a set pattern, a specific series of scripts and dialogues that determined how he acted toward her. When Gluskin was happy and content, he played the part of the gentleman, and Sarah had to act as his wife. However, if Sarah did something that displeased him, or if things didn't go his way, he would transform into a monster that she had desperately tried to kill. She attempted various methods, such as stabbing him or poisoning him, but nothing seemed to be able to take his life. In the asylum, people had a habit of surviving the worst, and only dismemberment or destruction of the brain could truly put someone in the ground. She couldn't do it; it was clear that physically, Gluskin was far more powerful than her. It was like a fight between a rabbit and a tiger, and naturally, the tiger would win—leaving the rabbit to only try to outrun the beast. But the rabbit can't. The rabbit is stuck in a cage of other animals trying to eat it. The rabbit can only hope that it isn't eaten by the tiger.

But…

Now that tiger, the monster, is crying.

Sarah doesn't know what to do.

She has never seen Gluskin do this.

She has never seen him cry.

It's strange.

It's surreal.

It's oddly humanizing. To see him like this. It's like looking underneath the masks that he wears and seeing what's looking back.

Sarah doesn't know how to deal with this.

It stirred up too many complicated and confusing emotions that she would rather pretend didn't exist.

Too much shit had happened during the day, and she was frankly burned out.

It started off with Miles, who had "kindly" informed her that Ward, her son, wants to fuck her.

Fuck.

It's so fuck up. On so many levels that, at first, Sarah didn't want to believe it. She wanted to fall into a blissful delusion and pretend she didn't hear that. That she wasn't stuck in a hellhole. That she was anywhere else. She was horrified and disgusted. And while she was dealing with those feelings, who else but Ward just had to come in. So there she was, trapped in the room, strapped to a bed with the person she wanted to never see again. Then one of the most awkward and uncomfortable conversations she ever had in her life preceded, and Ward left her feeling like she wanted to rip her skin off. She wishes that she could do something about him. But she couldn't not a the moment. He had blackmail so that she couldn't just ignore him and pretend he didn't exist, and she couldn't kill him. That would open so many cans of worms. So she had to grit her teeth and bare it. She would have to talk with Miles about what they could do about Ward.

And now, here she is awkwardly comforting a crying Gluskin and at a loss for words. He then pulled her into a hug and…. Honestly, she was lost. What happened to cause Gluskin to do this all of a sudden? What happened? Did something big happen? If so, what? If something happened, why hasn't Miles said anything to her? Did something happen to him? Did someone break into the labs? Is the data on Murkoff okay? Maybe something happened to Theodore? Is he okay? All these questions swirled and bombarded her until she realized that Gluskin was still hugging her, and she had to do something. So with great effort, she forced out.

"It's...alright, Eddie."

She can only hope that Miles gets in contact soon and tell her what's going on.

Chapter Text

*

Theodore walked into the kitchen with a slight pep, excitement coursing through his veins. Yet, a sense of anxiety lingered in the back of his mind. What if he couldn't get it right? What if it didn't work? Theodore actively pushed those thoughts aside, determined to maintain his optimism. He needed to be positive, not just for himself but also for Miles. Surprisingly, Miles had proven to be a good teacher. In contrast, his Mother's teaching style had always been distant, like an unbeatable barrier between them. With everything Theodore knows now, it makes sense.

Miles had practically begged him to go to the kitchen, insisting he needed to eat. Theodore had been eager to head straight to bed and test out the sleep technique. But Miles kept nagging about the importance of having dinner and waiting for their Mother to fall asleep.

Theodore didn't argue and followed Miles' advice. As he entered the kitchen, he was taken aback by the sight of Ward happily making a sandwich. Ward's unusual cheerfulness, complete with humming and a satisfied grin, put Theodore on guard. He was aware that an overly happy Ward led to trouble. Although Theodore felt the urge to flee to his room, he knew Miles was watching, so Theodore steeled himself and headed toward the fridge.

As Theodore rummaged through the fridge, he kept an ear out for Ward. If Ward was going to do anything, at least Theodore would have the fridge door to help him. He listened to Ward and realized he was humming a song that Father used to sing when they were younger. Theodore tried to make out the half-mumbled words Ward was singing.

". . . Just like. . ."

". . . girl I have in mind."

Ward continues to hum and walks away from where Theodore stands.

Theodore remains frozen in place, the chill of the fridge air brushing against his face. He pretends to search for food, his eyes closed as he strains to hear more.

Ward's singing gradually fades.

"-want a . . .irl. . .just like . . ."

The singing abruptly stops.

The cold sensation has numbed Theodore's face, and the only sounds he can hear are the thumping of his heart and the echo of his heavy breaths within the fridge. After a few tense seconds, Theodore opens his eyes and attempts to calm himself.

"Just like the one that married dear old dad."

Ward's voice emerges right beside him, causing Theodore to startle and back up against the fridge door, trapped between it and Ward. A cruel smile stretches across Ward's face.

"Did you enjoy my singing?"

Theodore is rendered speechless, his mind racing to find an escape route. His frantic gaze scans the surroundings as Ward's grin widens.

"I suppose not. Oh well, singing's not really my thing anyway."

Ward nonchalantly shrugs and steps away, granting Theodore the chance to break free. Without concern for food, Theodore seizes the opportunity to sprint away as fast as possible. He doesn't care about eating anymore. His only goal is to get away from Ward as quickly as possible.

^

Ward's grin widens as he watches Theodore hurry out of the room, scurrying like a rat escaping a trap. He can't stop smiling; the day has gone oh so very well for him. Despite a lackluster beginning, things took a positive turn after he visited Mother. Ah, yes... he remembers going to that room.

Flashback

Ward silently navigates the dim hallways and rooms, alert for any signs of nearby activity. He's determined to avoid encountering his Father or Theodore. For one, he must act like a sweet little boy and control the urge to not kill him. As for Theodore, enduring endless questions and repressing the desire to kill him isn't something Ward is interested in. Either way, he has no patience for such hassles. Thankfully, he manages to avoid running into either of them.

Finally, he arrives at a dingy little room tucked away at the end of a desolate hallway. The corridor to the room carries a musty, damp air that chokes Ward, but he bears it. Evidently, not a single living being has ventured here in years.

The heavy, rusty door groans and creaks as Ward struggles to open it. He gags slightly at the rancid air that hits him, blending the same hallway's odor with an overpowering scent of sweat and urine. The room was blindingly bright compared to the dark hallway. Once-clean white surfaces have been marred by years into a brownish-grey hue, speckled with moldy green corners and water stains on the ceiling. The walls are lined with fabric padding, now gnawed and torn by animals. The sole piece of furniture is an ancient bed frame, supporting a rotting, filthy mattress upon which his dear Mother is firmly restrained. Ward was slightly amused that she was trapped in a room where the only thing that remained clean and new was the glaring, buzzing overhead light.

Ward finally turns his attention to his Mother, who is in quite a state. She's still dressed in the same dirty dress she wore yesterday, her face marked by dirt and her eyes bearing heavy, dark shadows underneath. Her hair is tangled and unkempt. She is looking at him with a deep glare full of anger and something else Ward can't quite place. As he steps further into the room, he notices her trying to move away from him, but the unforgiving restraints that hold her in place. Ah, so it's fear he sees in her eyes. How curious. Anger was expected; their little confrontation would make her evoke such a response. But fear? Ward wracks his brain, unable to recall any actions on his part that would justify such a reaction from her.

Ward's gaze shifts to the unsightly purple bruises adorning Mother's neck, and he suppresses the anger that starts to surge within him. Adopting his most charming smile, he halts right before her.

"Hello, Mother. I'm here for you to fulfill your end of the deal, as I've done my part. You're welcome, by the way."

His smile widens as he witnesses the fury returning to Mother's eyes.

.

.

.

After an intriguing conversation with Mother, Ward is pleased to have that piece of paper. It's a valuable piece of blackmail material, and he managed to secure a favorable deal. His spirits are high as he steps into the hallway, but the moment shatters as he unexpectedly comes face-to-face with his Father. Father's seething anger is palpable, and Ward feels the same rising within himself.

He struggles to conceal his disgust as his Father grabs his arm. Summoning all of his pent-up hatred and pettiness, Ward says to his Father.

"Are you going to hurt me? Like you did to Mother?"

He savors the horror that crosses his Father's face as he wrenches his arm away. Clearly, he struck a nerve there. Ward mentally notes this for future use. He can't kill his Father yet, but this newfound vulnerability could prove valuable. Sending a final hate-filled glare to inflict a little more pain, and runs off, not noticing his Father effortlessly opening the door Ward just left.

-End flashback-

Ward hums to himself, relishing in how uncomfortable he makes Theodore. Ward hates him, but he must wait to get what he wants. For now, he'll have to settle for making Theodore uncomfortable—a small consolation prize. With that in mind, Ward returns to the dining table to finish his dinner.

§§

Miles let out a frustrated sigh. They seriously need to do something about that damn kid, Ward. Miles doesn't have a clear solution yet, but he's growing increasingly fed up with Ward's antics. Considering the messed-up circumstances he was born into, he can't wholly loathe the kid. But knowing what Ward's up to, what he'd pull off if given half a chance, just disgusts Miles off to no end.

Right now, their options are limited. Killing Ward isn't on the table for a bunch of reasons, even though he's a fucking shit. But they can't just let him run wild, either. Miles is seriously worried about Theodore, knowing the trouble Ward can cause. For now, though, Ward's hands seem tied in some ways, which is a slight relief.

Miles can only do so much, including trying to comfort Theodore. The kid hightailed it to his room after Ward's creepy episode, leaving Miles to do his best at soothing him. It's a damn tough job, especially since Miles can't physically be there for the kid. He can't offer more than comforting words, which feels pretty damn inadequate.

After a while, though, Miles had to leave Theodore to his own devices. He's got his own shit to sort out, and the whole fucking situation is eating at him. Time's running short, and now he's facing a challenge he's never dealt with. Sure, he's connected with one person's mind, but the key fucking word is "one." He's diving into uncharted fucking territory by attempting a three-way connection. It's like going from walking to reciting War and Peace while juggling and tap dancing all at once. This demands a lot more fucking concentration from Miles, and he's just hoping that things won't go to complete shit.

Chapter Text

*

"I will be dreaming."

"I will fall asleep."

"I will remember I am dreaming."

Theodore repeated this in his head, just like he practiced with Miles. A profound sense of unease and anxiety washed over Theodore. What if he couldn't 'nail' it? As Miles told him. He'd already tried two other techniques Miles had taught him, ending in utter failure. What if he was just incapable? Theodore swiftly shut down that train of thought and pressed on with the mantra.

"I will be dreaming."

"I will fall asleep."

"I will remember I am dreaming."

"I am dreaming…'

.

.

.

Theodore opened his eyes with a start. He hadn't realized that he had dozed off. He scanned the room, finding everything seemingly in its place. It appeared he was still in his bedroom. But then the reality hit him – the techniqe had failed. He'd fallen asleep without any dreams. A deep sadness and disappointment washed over him like a heavy weight on his chest. He heaved a sigh and reluctantly got up, resigned to preparing for the day ahead. He felt a pang of regret for the wasted night.

He glanced around, noticing that Ward's bed was vacant and Ward himself was nowhere to be seen. Theodore felt a wave of relief flood over him. After what happened yesterday in the kitchen, Theodore didn't want to see him. Even more so than usual, anyways.

When Theodore finished getting ready for the day, he approached the bedroom door. As he swung it open, he was confronted with a pure, blinding white void. Theodore stood there, initially shocked by the unexpected sight, but then realization dawned upon him – he was dreaming! The dejected feeling he had soon turned into joy for a few moments. However, new anxiety stirred within him as he gazed at the void. Cautiously, Theodore approached the edge of the doorway, his body tense. He leaned forward, carefully peering into the void. Theodore held onto the door frame so that he wouldn't fall out if anything happened. As he extended his gaze into the whiteness, he noted the door he was holding onto seemed to be suspended, as if floating amid the blankness. This ethereal expanse had no visible ceilings, floors, or walls.

Glancing back, he could still clearly see his bedroom. Returning his attention to the void, he mustered the courage to call out.

"H-hello?"

His voice dissipated into the void, swallowed by nothingness. No echo, no reverberation – just an eerie emptiness devoid of any sign of dimension or space.

Theodore could feel the anxiety deepening within him, its grip tightening as he stood at the precipice of the void. He tried to shake himself out of it. He knew that he had to go through this void. Theodore didn't know how or why he thought this, but something deep within him told him that he had to go through here to see Miles and his mother. He tried to be brave. He remembered what Miles had told him. That he could control what happened in his dreams. He tried to focus and see if he could turn the void into something more familiar, like the hallway to the kitchen. He concentrated on the details: the extended corridor, its beige-white tiles underfoot, and the ceiling painted off-white, adorned with sterile fluorescent lights. Despite his efforts, the void didn't change except for the pearl-white tile floor. It would have to do. 

With a leap of faith, Theodore stepped into the void. Instead of falling, Theodore resolutely found himself standing on the tile floor. With a tentative release of his grip on the door frame, Theodore began to walk further into the void. As he walked, Theodore noticed that he made no sound; as he made his steps, an eerie silence followed him. 

Theodore looked back only to see that the door he had left had disappeared.

It seemed there was no going back, so Theodore just walked in a random direction. 

.

.

.

The lack of sound rattled Theodore's nerves. As he treaded on the repeating tile floor, he questioned whether he was even truly moving. The sensation of his feet hitting the floor provided Theodore any sense of movement. Was he even going anywhere? Or was he just moving in circles? Or not at all? Frustration gnawed at him, the need to establish some sense of direction pressing upon him. Walls? Ceiling? Doors? A trashcan? ANYTHING ELSE? Dread crept in – His breaths quickened, and anxiety threatened to engulf him. He looked around the void for any semblance of orientation, form, or object that could guide him. Yet, the vast white expanse remained indifferent, offering no solace, no bearings. 

Nothing.

 Theodore stopped and closed his eyes. What was the point? What was the point of doing this? He could feel a welling heat behind his closed eyelids. He felt…

" Hey, kid. " 

The sudden voice jolted Theodore, and his eyes snapped open to locate its source. Before him stood a tall figure. Dressed in jeans, a pristine white shirt, and a neat brown jacket, the man exuded an air of casual elegance. Theodore's gaze traveled up to the man's face, which struck him as entirely... average. Even if Theodore had seen more people, he would still say that the man's face was average. There was nothing definitively striking about it. It possessed neither soft nor hard features, and its chin was neither big nor small. The nose was of standard proportions, with no distinctive characteristics elsewhere. The man had short, brown, straight hair, and the man's brown eyes seemed to shift in color whenever Theodore looked away and back to them. The now greenish eyes looked at Theodore as he stared at the face. Theodore didn't want to look away since he felt that the moment he did, he would forget what the face would look like. 

" Are you okay?"

Theodore flinched slightly as the figure waved a hand before his eyes, but recognition quickly dawned on him.

“M-miles?” Theodore stammered.

The figure offered a faint smile.

" Yeah, you got it right. I specifically dressed like this so you'd remember my appearance. "

Miles chuckled slightly and scratched his head. Theodore noticed that Miles had all his fingers. 

Theodore's curiosity was piqued. "Why do you look... different?"

A grin tugged at Miles's lips. " You mean, why don't I have bandages all over my face like the Mummy?"  he quipped, pointing at his face. 

Theodore wrinkled his nose in confusion at Miles. The Mummy? Which pharaoh was he referencing? Tutankhamun? Ramesses? Yet, from what Theodore recalled, Miles didn't look like a dried and embalmed corpse. Theodore decided to let it go. He was just so relieved to see Miles. To see something in this void. 

Theodore raised an eyebrow at Miles, and if Miles detected Theodore's confusion, he didn't acknowledge it and carried on.

"Well , honestly, I prefer to think of myself as I was before all the shi- stuff went down. " Miles paused, changing his sentence midway. Theodore let out a scoff at this. Why was Miles censoring himself? It's not like he hadn't heard curse words before. Besides, after witnessing a man being killed and dismembered, Theodore couldn't care less whether Miles said "shit" or not.

"Anyway, sorry for wanting to look like how I was from before instead of looking like the Monster Mash,"  Miles added. 

Monster Mash? What was that about? Anyways, Theodore should thank Miles, he supposed. 

"Thank you for being here. I was getting scared... What's going on with all this?" Theodore gestured to their surroundings, encompassing the endless white void.

Miles's smile dropped, his shoulders slumped, and he sighed softly.

"Yeah, this place…"  he paused. Looking around at the nothingness around them, gesturing toward nothing. He let his hand fall to his side.

" I guess the best way to describe this place is…" There was a nother pause as Miles appeared to be searching for the right words he wished to use.

"The space in between minds." 

"The space in between minds?" Theodore asked.

"Yep. It sometimes happens when I'm attempting to connect to people's minds. I end up here. I suppose we're here because this is my first time connecting with both you and Sarah at the same time... At least one can alter this space a little bit ." Miles's foot tapped the tile floor.  "But only a little bit. I'm impressed that you managed to manifest a floor, honestly."

Theodore's spirits lifted a bit at Miles's words.

"So… do you like it here?" Theodore asked awkwardly.

Miles took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. " Nope."

"Why not?" Theodore's curiosity peaked.

Miles then spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. " This place might be what death is like ."

In the white void, the whisper rang like a cannon shot.

Miles then looked away, muttering under his breath, " Fuck ." He gestured for Theodore to follow him. "Let's  get out of here. I have a better place in mind. "

.

.

.

Both walked in silence until they arrived at a glass door.

" Well, here we are."  Miles approached the door and held it open for Theodore.

Theodore cautiously moved toward the door.

Giving a questioning look to Miles, who remained silent, Theodore noticed a subtle tilt of his head toward the door. Opting to trust Miles, Theodore stepped through.

Soft yellow lights bathed the expansive room. The walls were constructed from a warm, dark wood, while the floors were composed of slightly lighter brown wood. A counter area stood nearby, accompanied by a display showcasing delicious-looking pastries. Behind the counter and display, peculiar steel machines and shelves filled with cups, plates, and various knick-knacks occupied the space. Adjacent to one of the shelves was a large, elongated green chalkboard covered in inscrutable scribbles and symbols. Along some sides of the room, oversized windows offered views of the outside, where raindrops gently tapped against the glass, creating a soothing pitter-patter melody. Overhead, soft and calming music played, intermingling with the hushed conversations of people in the room and the quiet clinking of cups and plates. Several round tables, paired with sturdy wooden chairs, were scattered throughout. Nearly every table except one was occupied by individuals engaged in quiet discussions. 

All the anxiety and dread melted away, leaving Theodore with a warm feeling of safety. Theodore took a moment to bask in this sensation. Glancing back, he saw Miles leaning slightly on the door frame, a soft smile gracing his face.

"Well, do you like it?"  Miles asked.

Theodore scoffed, gesturing around him and giving Miles a look that clearly said, "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I do… I… What is place?" Theodore had never been in a place like this; he needed to know its name. this

Miles stepped away from the door frame and entered the room. "This place is called a coffee house or a cafe." Miles looked around. " Yeah, I had a date here once. It was pretty expensive, and I've only been here once, but..."  Miles shrugged. " It stuck in my mind. Honestly, I don't even remember the name of this place or my date."

"What do you do in a 'coffeehouse'?" Theodore asked.

Miles gave Theodore an incredulous look. " You buy and drink coffee or snacks here. I mean… do you even know what coffee is?"

Theodore blushed slightly in embarrassment. "I know what coffee is! It's a hot drink made from roasted—"

"Alright, you don't need to give me the definition of coffee; I understand,"  Miles interrupted.  "But since you've never had coffee before, I guess you really can't get it."

Miles then walked over to an unoccupied table, and Theodore followed suit . "This is where I go when I want to relax... or if I really want a coffee."

Theodore couldn't fully grasp the last part of what Miles said. Miles must have noticed the confusion on his face and responded , "Like I said, you won't really get it, but there are times when I would kill for an espresso, hell, even for a mocha at least. You don't understand the pain of wanting a good cup of joe for 15 years. " As Miles spoke, he reached the table and took a seat. Theodore followed suit, sitting across from Miles.

Theodore let out a small huff, still not entirely comprehending. Nevertheless, he decided to change the topic. "So, who are these people?" Theodore gestured toward a table with four people sitting at it.

Miles looked in the direction that Theodore was pointing and smirked . "The people here are individuals I've known throughout my life."  Miles leaned forward on the table, and Theodore followed suit, mirroring his posture.

"The ones you were pointing to? Well, they used to be my coworkers at the newspaper I worked for before I went freelance. See the stern, scary-looking dude?"

Theodore looked over and identified the man Miles was referring to. The man had a serious expression and was conversing with another man who appeared tired, with heavy bags under his eyes. Theodore nodded in recognition.

" Well, he used to be my editor. Always had a stick up his... well, you know. He didn't really like me and always had me rewriting and revising my stories. And the guy he's talking to? He was a journalist like me. We used to work together. He was always drinking coffee. In fact, he drank more coffee than I did. He drank so much that a separate pot of coffee was in the office just for him. Honestly, I'm surprised the guy didn't have a heart attack with all the coffee he had daily…Maybe he has by now."

Theodore continued to survey the café, his gaze coming to an abrupt halt as his eyes widened. At a table, all by himself sat a colossal figure. The man was completely shirtless, boasting muscular arms, but his stomach was bloated and covered in blood. Scars marred his face, with a portion of his nose missing, and he had no lips. Straps seemed to be fused to the sides of his head, pulling his mouth into a grotesque permanent sneer. The man's elbows rested on the table, chains wrapped around his arms, and he clutched a comically small cup from which he drank, his vacant gaze seemingly fixed on nothing. The man was absolutely horrifying.

"W-what about h-him?" Theodore stammered, pointing at the monstrous individual.

Miles turned to follow Theodore's gaze.

"Oh, fucking shit,"  he exclaimed.

Then, facing Theodore again, he said, "Don't worry about him. That big fucker is Chris Walker. A brick shithouse who made my life hell when I first got to the asylum. The fucker stalked me throughout the damn place and tried to kill me more times than I can fucking count. Thankfully, he's dead."

"O-oh, will he do anything to us?"

"No, it's my head. I control what happens here… For the most part. I don't know why he's here. I guess it has something to do with my subconscious or some shit,"  Miles explained, his attention again drawn to Walker.

After a few more seconds, Miles's expression turned into a scowl.

Theodore overheard Miles muttering to himself,  "What the fuck."

After more time passed, Miles clicked his tongue and turned his focus back to Theodore.  "He won't do anything, so… hopefully, you don't mind."

Theodore reluctantly nodded and attempted to divert his attention from Walker. An uncomfortable silence hung over the table.

Tap.

Tap.

Theodore followed the tapping sound and saw Miles rhythmically tapping on the table. Suddenly, a steaming cup materialized in front of Miles. Theodore glanced at Miles, his expression questioning.  "Hey, I've got to have some coffee. Even if it's all in my head,"  Miles explained, sipping from the cup. After he finished, he turned to Theodore.  "You know, you can also get yourself something to drink, right?"

Theodore looked down at the table, concentrating on imagining a cup of coffee. He succeeded in materializing a steaming mug, but when he took a sip, he tasted hot chocolate.

"Why?" Theodore began, but before he could finish, Miles interjected, " Sorry, kid. You can't have coffee."

Theodore gave Miles a withering look.

"What? You can't imagine something you haven't even tasted yet. It's just impossible. It's like asking someone born blind to think of the color red. You have no frame of reference."

Theodore's expression turned sad, his gaze dropping to the cup of hot chocolate in his hands. He remained silent.

Then, Miles suddenly spoke up.

"You know what?"

Theodore lifted an eyebrow, focusing his attention on Miles.

"The first thing I'm going to do when we get out of the asylum is I'm going to get myself the biggest cup of double-shot espresso on earth. And I'll get you your first coffee. Who knows, you might like coffee."

A smile crept onto Theodore's face. He appreciated Miles's sentiment. Before he could respond, another voice chimed in.

"Wow, Miles, planning to get him hooked on coffee?"

Theodore turned to see his mother standing by the table.

Chapter Text

*

Theodore stared in disbelief at the figure standing beside the table. The person had youthful, hopeful eyes that sparkled with warmth and dressed in loose-fitting yet comfortable clothes. Their short brown hair added to the clean appearance, and joy and happiness surrounded her.

Theodore struggled to comprehend that the person standing at the table was, in fact, his mother. It was difficult to reconcile the vibrant and joyful presence before him with the tired and distant woman he had known. Gone were the cold eyes and forced smiles, replaced by a familiar face radiating warmth. Theodore could not do anything but silently gaze as she sat at the table.

Tap

Tap

A tall glass of purplish-pink liquid materialized on the table, adorned with whipped cream and straw, just as she settled into her chair. Miles shot her a questioning look, to which she simply responded with a shrug before taking a sip from her colorful drink. A weighty silence draped over the table, accompanied by the distant melodies of soft jazz and the hushed rhythm of raindrops against the windows.

Before the stillness could become too stifling, Mother concluded her sip. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the table and intertwined her fingers. She sighed with a faint smirk and remarked, "Well, now that everyone's here, let's get down to business." 

§§, ~, *

Miles cut right in, ready to get Sarah's opinion on Theodore joining them. Hopefully, she has some sense and agrees with him. " So, Sarah, your son, " Miles looked pointedly at Theodore. " Wants to join in on our plans. Please tell him how bad of an idea this is… "

Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "You can join us."

Welp. There goes that.

Theodore's face began to light up in excitement.

" What?! Sarah?! What the fuck! You should agree with me on not letting him in on this. It's too dangerous. He's too young. I know you don't care about your kid, but—"

"I get it!" Sarah interrupted Miles' rant. She looked towards Theodore. "Look, if we don't let you in, will you go off alone anyway?"

Theodore nodded his head in agreement.

Sarah looked back at Miles, who was giving her the stink eye. Honestly, she doesn't get why Miles is so angry with her; the reason why they should let Theodore join them is apparent. "Miles, the kid obviously has it in his head to do something, and I would rather have him join us so we can tell him what to do rather than have him off on his own."

Sarah was giving Miles the 'you're a fucking idiot' look, and even though Miles wanted to argue, he felt so tired that he didn't even bother.

"Fine,"  Miles tiredly agreed.

Theodore looked at Miles as if he had hung up the stars and said, "What are your plans? How are we going to leave here? What about Murkoff—" in a quick fashion.

"Alright, alright," Sarah interrupted. 

She looked to Miles, deferring to him to kick off the story. She recognized his knack for storytelling. Another thing was that she was still quite uncomfortable with her son. Theodore was uncomfortable with her as well. Yesterday's events were still fresh and painful.

Despite sipping his coffee, Miles couldn't shake the impending headache or his lingering concern about Chris Walker, brooding in the corner of the room. He took a deep breath, realizing that Sarah had handed him the role of storyteller.

"I guess I have to start, but where to begin?"  Miles took another sip of his never-ending coffee and hummed . "Let's begin with what we've been doing for the past 15 years and how we plan to screw over Murkoff,"  he continued with the dramatics. Miles noticed Sarah's raised eyebrow but pressed on. She'd left this task to him, after all. She can't complain if he decides to be dramatic about it.

Sipping her milkshake, Sarah regretted her decision to let Miles lead.

Theodore waited quietly, eager to hear Miles's explanation.

"Remember that place I took you to?"  Miles asked.

Theodore nodded. " Well, there's more to that area than it being an overblown hotel room. That area is… was called the underground labs. That place was where Murkoff scientists did all of their experiments. The upstairs, or where you live, that was… is the holding pen for all the patients. A front, as one calls it, to keep up the whole "non-profit mental health hospital"   facade."  Miles used air quotes and injected a touch of sarcasm into his voice.  "Oh, and they claim to be 'non-profit' to dodge government taxes—imagine that."  Miles didn't bother to hide his contempt.

"Among the things they had in the underground labs include the big machine of the Morphogenic Engine and a ton of computers with all the juicy data on their little project ," he continued, taking another sip. " Now, when everything was going to hell, and the patients started running the asylum, the people who worked at Murkoff saw to it that these computers and all their data were destroyed to cover their asses and bury all the shit they did."  Miles paused with a smack and a smirk on his lips for dramatic effect. Sarah rolled her eyes. Theodore noted to himself that Miles had given up on censoring himself.

"But one person saw to it to save some of the data. That person was…"  Miles again paused. Sarah had enough of Miles and jumped in. "His name was Waylon Park. He worked as a software engineer for Murkoff, and he's the guy I was supposed to replace when he blew the whistle, and they got rid of him. We have no idea where he is now or if he's even alive."

"Yeah, if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have the data on Murkoff,"  Miles chimed in. There was an awkward pause. "Yeah, if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't be here," Sarah murmured in agreement, her gaze fixed on her drink.

The music became softer.

 The rain came down harder. 

"Anyways,"  Miles continued , "so we had the dirt on Murkoff, but another problem cropped up. No internet connection. Hell, no signals of any kind, really. Murkoff cut us off from contact with the outside world completely. " Miles then motioned toward Sarah. "That's where I come in," Sarah picked up, her fingers ticking off the points on her right hand. "First, I had to get a computer up and running. Then, I had to recover whatever data Waylon managed to save. And finally, I had to establish a working internet connection." She emphasized the last point by counting it on her fingers. "You see, I couldn't actually be in the place where all the computers and equipment were since I was with... your father and occupied with... having you and Ward." Sarah practically bit out the last part of the sentence. She let out a deep sigh. "So I had Miles do the work, and..." Sarah sighed even more deeply. "Let's just say it took a while."

"Hey, I'm a journalist, not a computer expert, and certainly not an engineer,"  Miles leaned closer to Theodore.   " Do you know how hard it is to build a radio and antenna tower using nothing but leftover computer parts and scrap metal lying around? " Theodore shook his head no while Sarah scoffed and took another sip of her drink.

"Look, it needed to be done. Without the internet, we had to set up our own WISP and provide the service ourselves, and that's not even the end of it," Sarah added. "Since we're surrounded by Murkoff's grunts, we couldn't have the towers too high, or they'd be spotted. Fortunately, there's a window of time where we can have everything set up for the internet. It's shitty internet, but it's still internet. And during those times, we send information to Miles's contacts."

Miles took over the explanation.  "I had plans in place for when a company I was covering tried to get rid of me, and I had plans for going off the grid. They definitely came in handy. Over the years, some of the people I know climbed the ranks in big news companies, and they're perfect for getting information out to the public. But we can't send everything because we're waiting for the right moment. Suppose Murkoff catches wind that people inside the asylum are leaking information. In that case, they'll bring down the wrath of hell upon this place, scorched earth style. So, I only shared information unrelated to the asylum, shady stuff Murkoff's into that's not connected to here or anyone here. That way, if there's a breach in my contacts and Murkoff gets to them, they can't trace it back to this place with your mother's help on the computer side."  Miles smirked toward Sarah, who coughed and turned away, trying to hide her embarrassment, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Sarah turned her head toward the area with the counter and the shelves and noticed they were empty. She glanced over at Miles. 

"So that's what you were doing all this time, but how does any of this have to do with escaping this place or getting revenge on Murkoff?" 

Sarah was brought back into the conversation by Theodore's question.

" A company like Murkoff cares about one thing: money. Nothing else matters in the face of profitability. Safety? Morals? Nah, as long as their investors and shareholders are happy, anything goes. " Miles shrugged. "That's  why they cover it up when something bad happens that can make Murkoff look bad. Sweep everything under the rug until everyone forgets about it. The only reason why this place hasn't been obliterated off the face of the earth is that Murkoff wants to study the long-term effects of residual nanomachines in the patients. "

Theodore listened, trying to absorb everything he was hearing. Miles and his mother had been talking about some of the stuff that went over his head, such as what a 'WISP' is, but he kept quiet. He didn't want to appear as a dumb child. So, admittedly, Theodore had a hard time wrapping his head around why Murkoff would care about money. Then again, Theodore had never used money before, either. The same goes for what nanomachines are. Granted, Miles did show him that he had the "WALRIDER" in him and that the thing is made up of nanomachines, but as far as Theodore knows, they have to do with moving items and going into people's minds. That may be why Murkoff wants to learn more about them.

"So they want to know how the WALRIDER affects people for a long time?" Theodore asked.

" Yes and no. As far as the people in Murkoff know, The WALRIDER itself is dead… or destroyed… or whatever the fuck you want to call it. The main thing is, according to them, WALRIDER is no more. Died along with me during the asylum riot. The joke's on them."  Miles sniffed.

The music becomes distorted.

 Hail begins to hit against the windows.

" The info we have makes them look pretty fucking bad, but we can't just let it out in the public like that. No, first of all, when we do, Murkoff comes down on this place. But most importantly, there's a fucking chance that if we get the information out, well, it gets ignored. People might not give a shit, too busy with their own fucking lives to care. So, we've got to make a fucking spectacle. And that's where the breakout comes into place. "

TAP 

TAP 

TAP  

Miles tapped the table, and a giant 3-D map formed on the surface.

It was massive in scale, taking up the entire table. There were multiple large buildings and vast areas of forest surrounding the buildings. A large, imposing black wall surrounded the map at the edge of the table. Theodore blanched. Was that where he lived for all his life? It was so enormous Theodore could barely comprehend the scale of Mount Massive. He couldn't even tell where they lived.

As if Miles was reading his mind, he pointed to one of the large buildings, " This is where you live. " The building suddenly had a glow around it as if to highlight it.

" And this is the entrance to the wall. "

Across from the highlighted building, a giant floating red arrow pointed to a specific wall area.

" Now, this is where Murkoff gives the supplies to the people of the asylum, and it's the area with the most security, " Miles explained. Multiple arrows appeared, pointing to different areas of the wall surrounding the buildings.

" These are the other points of the wall we plan to attack. Now, with my contacts, I can get a good amount of coverage to go to where we are. With all the cameras and journalists there, if all goes well, then… "

BOOM 

BOOM 

BOOM 

BOOM

BOOM 

BOOM

Theodore flinched at the sudden noise and the bright flashes of light. Miles smirked a bit at the sight of the explosions, and Sarah rolled her eyes at the dramatics. However, she noticed that Miles had omitted an essential part of the whole thing.

" With the parts blown up and chaos everywhere, probably with a good amount of people scrambling to get the fuck out… and with Murkoff's people scrambling, there will be no time for them to get rid of the press. With this, " Miles gestured to the wall, which was currently on fire, " huge clusterfuck live and fresh, there's a chance that we can drum up a big enough shitstorm to cause some problems for Murkoff."

Theodore stared at the flames. "And this will work? Will it be enough to 'screw over' Murkoff?" He hoped it would. He hoped that they would be able to escape. He, Miles, Mother, Father, and even Ward could also leave this place and hurt Murkoff.

Miles stayed quiet. He knew that a company like Murkoff could probably survive a public shitstorm if it wanted to. Seriously, they had been around since the '30s and Miles knew the amount of controversy the company had been through, managing to survive it every single time. This would be another point to add to the list. If he was an optimist (delusional) about this, he would say that at least some of the company's executives would get jail time... He would be lying if he said that. No, at most, a fall guy would get fired so the company could save face, and the guy would get a nice 'severance' pay of millions of dollars. But what could Miles really do about it? At least this way, with this stunt, someone would know what happened here. At least he could get something out. Fifteen minutes in the spotlight to make up for the fifteen years of his life and many other lives lost in the asylum. At least that would be enough. Sarah said nothing while staring at the flames, thinking along the same lines as Miles had.

Miles hummed a noncommittal ' yeah ' and continued. " However, we must do some things before we can get everything into motion. There's the problem of explosives. "

With a snap of his fingers, everything except the mugs and the glass disappeared from the table, leaving it empty.

" We currently need the flammable materials we need to make the big booms. You have to thank Murkoff for that, " Miles said sarcastically. " They monitor almost everything that comes into the place, and flammables are banned for this reason. They don't want the patients to build anything that could be used as weapons. " Theodore nodded in understanding.

"Yes. Murkoff don't want anyone getting any 'unsavory' ideas either, so that's why certain books are banned as well," Sarah added. "Oh!" Theodore exclaimed. So that's why he never got some of the books he requested. "Yep, I always ask for books dealing with either escapes, rebellions, or revenge and such, just to see what can get through," Sarah added, pleased that at least philosophy about such stuff was allowed.

"Yep, nobody but one person is exempt. Jeremy Blaire," Miles said the name in disgust. Sarah sneered at the mention of the name.

The smell of coffee in the air was replaced with an iron smell. 

"Yes, Jeremy, the fucking rat bastard, Blaire. Murkoff's once Executive Vice President of Global Development, Jeremy Blaire. Head of Mount Massive Asylum, Jeremy Blaire. Head of Project WALRIDER, Jeremy Blaire. That fucking sneaky, sadistic, misogynistic, white-collar ass, self-serving fucker," Sarah furiously spat out. "I would call him a fucking douchebag, but that would imply that he would come anywhere near a vagina, and that would be clean, so I'll call him a fucking dickhead instead," Sarah's sneer somehow got more contorted, thinking about what he did to the female staff at this place. She also shuddered, thinking about how what he did could have also happened to her. "Yes, he somehow managed to fucking survive for this long like a roach. Made himself a little "group" that he calls the fucking “Network" – fucking pretentious, unimaginative bastard. And that fucker somehow has dirt good enough to get himself 'perks' with what he can get, and he's good enough at hiding it so that Murkoff hasn't killed him already. Unfortunately, we need to somehow get him to bring what we fucking need for our plan and to get him to not fucking rat us out while we're at it." Sarah paused, breathing heavily after her rant, trying (and failing) to contain her rage.

Theodore recognized the name "the Network," realizing that was what his mother was talking about when she interrogated the man. Theodore thought about bringing it up but decided against it. If his mother got furious over him finding her secret room, he didn't want to think about how angry she would be to find out that he and Ward were following her, so he kept quiet.

After Sarah somewhat (not really) collected herself, she continued. "Yes, I finally managed to find an in with a man named Harry Powers. Hopefully, he can find some good information that we can use against the rat. I'm meeting up with him in a week or so."

"Yeah, after we manage to get Blaire to give us what we need, we'll have our guy… He's called the Pyromaniac…"  Miles added because he could see the question on the kid's face. " To make and set up the bombs, leaving the entrance for last. Then, we get the reporters here, and boom, boom, boom. We fucking blow ourselves up and escape. With names taken and shit blown the fuck up,"  Miles finished. He left out a lot of details, such as the entire plan regarding Blaire or what Plan B was if they didn't manage to blackmail him. But the kid didn't need to know stuff like that. The kid didn't need to hear the messed-up things Miles would have to resort to as a last resort. And he didn't need to hear about what he would have to do to the Murkoff staff if they found out. Yeah, Miles was being vague, but he didn't have the heart to say all the nitty-gritty to the kid. He also needed to speed up this talk; he could feel his headache becoming stronger, and it was becoming unbearable for him.

Unfortunately, the kid had to ask. "What happens if something went wrong? What will we do?"

"You mean like with you and Ward?" Fortunately, Sarah saved Miles with that retort. "We'll get to it if we get to it," she deadpanned. Theodore winced, unconsciously touching his throat.

"Speaking of which, there is something you can do while I'm… out for the time being." She leaned in close to Theodore and looked him straight in the eye. "You know that Ward has that piece of paper with the names of all the paper documents that I found, right?" Theodore shakily nodded, uncomfortable with the intensity of his mother staring at him.

"Well, Ward will be going to where I'm at tomorrow and talking to me. I'll try to distract him for as long as I can. Use that time to look for where he might have hidden it and try to get that document back. Hopefully, I can convince him to 'visit' me for the days I'll be stuck in 'that' room, so you'll have more time to find it. And if he's keeping it on his person, I want you to check him for the paper. Either when he's sleeping or check his clothes when he's showering, understand?" Theodore shook a 'yes,' partially scared but also excited. He could finally be a part of the plan!

"Okay, the only thing is that you cannot go outside your father's territory, alright? I don't want you to go missing and have your father freak out. Alright?"

Theodore's excitement was evident as he eagerly replied, "Yes."

His mother nodded in approval. "That's good. So then..."

But Theodore didn't hear the rest of her sentence as he suddenly woke up.

§§, ~

Sarah stopped talking as Theodore faded out of the room. She guessed that someone must have woken him up. She looked over at Miles, who was drinking (chugging) the mug of coffee in his hand. 

After he finished, Miles said,  "So what happened? " The coffee managed to lessen his headache. 

"With whom? Ward or Gluskin?"

"Gluskin visited you?"  Miles asked with a raised eyebrow. " So, how bad is the damage?"  Miles continued to sip his coffee, trying to calm down his migraine. 

"That's the thing! He didn't do what he normally does! He cried to me!" Sarah exclaimed. 

"Huh?"  Miles almost spat out his coffee. 

"Yeah, he started crying, and he said that he didn't know what to do, and I comforted him," Sarah said, just as confused as Miles was.

" Gluskin? Mr. 1950s machismo, men don't cry, Gluskin?"  Miles reiterated, trying to wrap his head around the idea.

Sarah confirmed it, still bewildered by the experience. "Yes! I know, right?! He was actually nice to me, and it felt like I was seeing something real from him for once. It was sad..."

Miles couldn't hide his concern. " Wait... oh no... Sarah! Don't tell me... Are you actually starting to... I don't know... get feelings for the guy !"

CRACK

The sudden hailstorm assaulting the windows interrupted their conversation, and Sarah's voice rose in frustration. "WHAT! Fuck no! My feelings haven't changed! Gluskin is still a fucking delusional, misogynistic, abusive serial killer! The plans for Gluskin haven't changed, and they will never fucking change. I swear to you on that!"

The tension in the room was palpable.

Miles decided to change the subject.

"So what about Ward, huh? "

Sarah sighed, "You were right about... him. Hopefully, he doesn't try to fuck me or anything. Judging by the look on his face, the smell of the room alone will be enough to deter him."

Before Miles could say anything, a deep, raspy voice interrupted him.

Little pig, little pig.

Miles grabbed his head and let out a blood-curdling scream. His head felt like it was going to be ripped apart!

The window broke, and the hail and rain poured into the room.

Little pig with the contamination in him trying to get out.

The music distorted and contorted, morphing into a dissonant symphony of whispers and frenzied shouts. It plunged into an abyss of incomprehensible chaos, where voices collided, overlapped, and melded into a cacophony of hysteria. The other once-forgotten people in the room clutched their heads in desperation. Their anguished cries merged with the chaos above. 

Miles's screams became louder. Sarah tried to help and went over to him. 

The smell of iron, of blood, thickened, hanging heavily from the room, choking the breath from Sarah's lungs. The scent was overpowering, clawing at her throat. 

Hem-orrh-age.

The floor beneath them grew sticky as blood pooled and spread. 

The lights above began to flick with frenzy, casting erratic, disorienting shadows that danced across the room. 

"Miles! MILES!" Sarah shouted, trying to be heard over the screams. She grabbed his shoulders, her finger digging into him, trying to pull him from his mind. He remained hunched over, his hands still clutching at his head, his agonized screams reverberating. 

You've got nothing left to live for. 

"MILES! YOU USED TO MUCH ENERGY! MILES YOU NEED TO WAKE UP!" Sarah's voice cracked with desperation. 

I'm coming. You won't have to kill yourself.

"WAKE UP! WAKE! UP!" She started to violently shake him. 

It'll hurt for just a second.

Sarah stopped shaking Miles and turned to the giant of a man suddenly near them. 

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! FUCK YOU!"

Sarah then suddenly grabbed Miles' face and made him look at her. 

"YOU NEED TO WAKE UP! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE OUT FOR A YEAR, JUST WAKE UP!"

Miles' pupils suddenly expanded, and then…

Everything disappeared. 

The voices stopped. 

The rain stopped. 

The coffee shop was gone. 

The people were gone.

Chris Walker was gone. 

Miles was gone. 

Sarah was left in the white void until she woke up and disappeared.

Chapter Text

Ø
Harry still remembers the beginning of the riots when everything went to hell in the asylum. Harry wasn't a patient or anything like that; he wasn't a 'doctor' or scientist or any sort of manager or executive. He was just a janitor. It wasn't his first job choice, but they were hiring at the asylum, and he needed work. In fact, it wasn't even his only job.

Harry's life had taken a downward spiral since the divorce. He remembered the day he had to explain to his kids why he couldn't see them as often, the tears in their eyes as they hugged him goodbye and the feeling of helplessness that had haunted him ever since.
So, while he had a somewhat respectable job as an accountant for another company, after giving away half of his assets to his wife and lawyer and paying excessive child support, Harry needed another job to make ends meet. Unfortunately, Murkoff was the only one willing to hire him. No other accounting jobs were available in the area, and no pizza place would employ a 40-something-year-old with a degree to deliver pizzas. It was just cheaper to hire a 17-year-old high school student. So that's how Harry ended up stuck at the asylum.
Working as a janitor at the asylum wasn't glamorous by any means. The long hours, the eerie atmosphere, and the ever-present feeling that something was wrong with the place weighed on him daily. He'd often overhear whispers among the staff, strange rumors about inhumane experiments and patient mistreatment. But Harry needed the paycheck, no matter how grim the work environment was.

He'd come to know the asylum's layout like the back of his hand. Mopping the same bloodstains in the same dimly lit hallways became routine. With the way Murkoff was working to cover up what was happening there, Harry wouldn't be surprised if everyone on the outside thought he had just quit his job, take whatever money he had, and fled to avoid paying his alimony. That was such a long time ago. Harry just wishes that his kids had made it into their dream college.

Anyways, the riots erupted. Harry had never seen chaos like that. Patients ran rampant, security personnel were overwhelmed, and a creeping sense of dread consumed the entire facility. He had been cleaning a hallway when it all began, and his janitorial closet became a refuge as he huddled inside, putting on a dead patient's clothing. If he was caught, he didn't want to be identified as staff, that's for sure. After some time, Harry felt like he wouldn't die immediately by stepping out. He escaped the asylum, hoping to escape, only to be shot at and chased back into the hellish building. After that, Harry went through a period of feeling absolute hopelessness, waiting for death to come and take him. But it didn't. He was too weak and unnoticeable to be killed, and somehow, God or whatever was out there wanted him to live for some reason. So he just existed in the asylum, sitting and waiting with the other patients. He thinks two weeks passed, and he didn't die of dehydration or starvation. People were desperate; they fought each other for food scraps, and some even resorted to cannibalism. Yet again, somehow, he didn't die.

That's when they overheard through the miraculously working PA system that Murkoff would supply each patient with a month's worth of food and water every month. It brought some hope back to Harry and many others. However, due to extreme hunger, most people devoured their supplies within a week and attacked others for food. Chaos ensued once again.

About one or two months into the riots, territories, and groups began to form. There were the 'Untouchables,' as Harry likes to call them. These patients were so strong that nobody dared to challenge them, and they claimed their own sections of the asylum. Eddie Gluskin controlled the female ward, the Twins dominated the vocational block, and until recently, Frank Manera held the admin area. These areas were strictly off-limits unless you wanted to meet your demise.
Harry somehow managed to join the Network with his starved, middle-aged body. The name didn't really matter to him. The group claimed the Male ward, while the rest of the people who didn't make the cut lived in the lawless prison area. Harry just went for the safer option.

The Network had a system where you earned privileges based on your work. At the bottom level, each hour of work got you a dollar. You had to save up those dollars to get better things. Now, don't get him wrong, you didn't starve. They fed you, but the food was tasteless and boring, like something out of a hospital. If you wanted something more satisfying, it cost five bucks, which meant five hours of work. You had to put in about ten hours to get two decent meals. Most of them had jobs like cooking, farming, or, in his case, cleaning.
Keeping track of the points and cash was the overseers' job. They were the ones who watched over us at the bottom-level workers. They decided how many hours we worked and handed out the cash.
Sometimes, they could cheat him by claiming he worked fewer hours and there wasn't much he could do about it. So, he had to suck up to them to ensure he got paid fairly. The overseers made two bucks an hour.
Above the overseers were the managers, who oversaw the overseers, and it went on like that all the way to the top. The top levels were called the suits, and they were the ones who made enough money to buy clothes other than the jumpsuits he wore. By the way, those clothes cost a whopping 200 bucks. The lower-level workers were the jumpies, while the higher-ups were the suits.

Harry had been a jumpie for 15 years and desperately wanted out. He dreamed of wearing regular street clothes, watching TV, and enjoying life's good things. So, he worked hard, listened in on conversations, and gathered enough information on the top people to know two of the top three names. He planned to use that information to become a suit. But things didn't go as planned, and it backfired on him. He was sent off to his death, but he managed to survive thanks to the intervention of a scary woman. He had to make a deal with her. She killed Frank Manera, and he had to claim the kill and become her informant, doing favors for her. She didn't reveal those favors, but Harry didn't question it when she forced him to be covered in the blood of a man she had killed. He had heard rumors over the years that Eddie Gluskin, one of the patients, had somehow managed to have a real woman and kids. At first, he didn't believe it, but in Mount Massive Asylum, he wasn't surprised. He did wonder why she hadn’t just killed the man. Harry would have done anything possible to escape the guy if he were her. He guesses that she has her reasons.

So, he made a deal with the devil and secured an upper-level job in security, thanks to his demonstrated combat abilities. Harry knew why they put him in this position. Security meant acting as a bodyguard for whoever they assigned him to, which meant dealing with potential attacks from people. In other words, it increased the possibility of him getting hurt or killed.

Today, Harry was meeting his assignment, a man named Ruben. Word had it that Ruben was a recluse who rarely left his room except for bathroom breaks. As Harry made his way up to the third floor, he entered one of the rooms. It was a decent-sized room with a red square rug in the middle, clearly belonging to a doctor or staff member.

Against one wall was a twin-sized bed.

However, as Harry stepped forward, he heard a crunching sound and looked down to see scattered potato chips on the floor.

The room was messy, with wrappers, empty bottles, and cans.

Every movement he made seemed to create a sound. In the center of the room stood a large wooden desk covered in papers and pencils, where a hunched figure was furiously scribbling away. The floor surrounding the desk was littered with pencil shavings and crumpled paper. The room reeked of stale coffee and body odor, causing Harry to cough. His cough caught the figure's attention, who looked like hell, to put it bluntly. The man had long, greasy black hair that hung past his shoulders. He appeared gaunt, as if he hadn't slept in a decade, and his dull brown eyes were marked with deep, dark shadows and heavy bags. His expression was one of profound sadness and somberness.
They exchanged a moment of awkward silence until Harry managed to croak out a simple "Hello." In response, the man released a surprisingly deep and raspy "Hello" that caught Harry off guard. The man's voice didn't match his frail appearance, as if a gentle breeze could topple him. He seemed to be drowning in his oversized clothes, looking almost skeletal.

The man remained silent, and more awkward staring ensued. Harry would have to take the lead in the conversation. "I'm Harry. I guess I'll be your bodyguard," he said, trying to break the silence.

Still, there was yet to be a response from the man. Harry decided to approach the desk to see what he was drawing. As he got closer, he saw a picture taking shape on the paper.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as he looked at the drawing. It depicted a naked woman with a hybrid of a human and a dog, with exaggeratedly large thighs and breasts. He couldn't help but feel confused and uncomfortable at the sight. Unsure of how to respond, Harry quickly averted his gaze and cleared his throat.

"So, um... Is this your artwork?" he asked, maintaining a neutral tone. The man nodded silently, his sad expression remaining unchanged. Harry felt a pang of unease, unsure how to navigate this conversation or what to make of the drawing. He decided to change the topic, hoping for a less awkward discussion.

"Uh, have you been in your room the whole time?" Harry asked, attempting to engage in small talk. The man slowly nodded again, his eyes fixed on the drawing before him.

The man just suddenly broke down in hysterics. "Yes, I have been here. I couldn't go out. I cannot go out with this shame. I spent years in art school, perfecting my art. I wanted to be one of the greats like Bosch, but here I am during nothing but this filth. But it is all that anybody requests. Can you draw me this? Draw a MILF. Have Sonic and Amy do it. I don't even know who those people are! I've wasted my talents! I have wasted my life! Drawing away. Drawing the most reprehensible disgusting things that people can think of! These sick, perverted minds only want me to draw this. I've tried to show people my other works aren't sexual, and no one accepted it. I was rejected and got asked to continue!" The man then began to sob uncontrollably.

Harry felt sympathy for the man as he watched him break down. The man was upset about his art and how people only wanted him to draw sick things. Harry wanted to help him feel better, so he devised an idea.

"Hey, it's alright, alright?" Harry said, trying to calm the man down. "I know it's tough when people expect you to draw certain things. But you're a talented artist who can create whatever you want."
The man sniffled and looked up at Harry, his eyes filled with tears. Harry continued, speaking in a comforting tone.

"Take a break from drawing what others want. Instead, draw something that makes you happy. Something that shows off your true talent. I'd be happy to see it and appreciate it for what it is."

Hope filled the man's eyes as he wiped away his tears. He nodded, his voice shaky but grateful.

"Thanks... Thanks for understanding. I'll try to draw something for myself."

Harry smiled, glad that he could offer some support to the man. Sometimes, it takes a little understanding and encouragement to help someone feel better. He did sigh internally, however, as it seemed like he would have to clean up the room.

$
Jeremy slumped on his couch, feeling a mix of boredom and frustration. That guy, Henry or whatever his name was, had somehow managed to survive. It annoyed Jeremy so much that those two idiots couldn't even care for him properly. And now, there seemed to be someone else involved, working with Henry. What the hell were they up to?

From what Jeremy knew, Henry was a pathetic weakling, incapable of harming a fly, let alone posing a real threat. But on the bright side, with Mr. Manera out of the picture, Jeremy could take over his territory and expand his influence. It would be a relief to get away from the rest of these lunatics.

The problem was that his group would get closer to Gluskin's territory. And that meant dealing with Gluskin. But for now, Jeremy would push that concern aside. He wished all these freakish variants would just drop dead, clearing the way for him to take over the whole damn place, including the underground labs. Those labs held some valuable secrets that needed to be destroyed.

However, there was a significant obstacle in his way: Chris Walker. He couldn't confirm it, but reports during the riots indicated that Walker was lurking around the area. Jeremy would love nothing more than to confront him head-on, but he had to be realistic. Taking such a risk could cost him valuable resources and personnel, and the potential reward didn't outweigh the potential losses.

In an ideal world, Jeremy wouldn't be trapped in this wretched asylum with these insane lunatics. Instead, he'd be living it up in his luxurious ten-million-dollar mansion, sipping the finest tea on a plush sofa, and getting heads from beautiful celebrities like Anne Hathaway or any other A-lister. But here he was, stuck in this hellhole.

As much as Jeremy had dirt on the executives and shareholders of the company, it wasn't enough to secure his freedom. It wasn't enough to end this ridiculous experiment and clear the entire area. Sure, it granted him some privileges and access to restricted items, but deep down, he knew it was all meaningless. It was like being in a gilded cage. Sure, it might be made of gold, but it's still a damn cage.

Nevertheless, Jeremy could find solace in that they had yet to discover how to destroy the evidence he had gathered over the years. If they had, he would have been disposed of long ago. He sprawled out on the couch, contemplating his options and planning his next move.

Chapter Text

*
Theodore woke up. Found Ward standing beside him, their eyes meeting in a moment. Theodore's brown eyes connected with Ward's cold, piercing ones. The silence between them lingered until Ward finally looked away and spoke.

"It's time for breakfast," Ward said in a voice before leaving the room.

Theodore lay there feeling bewildered by the encounter. It was strange and disorienting, like being submerged in water. With all the odd things happening, he felt off balance and confused. Was it akin to having a concussion? Despite his reluctance, Theodore pushed himself to get out of bed. Part of him wished to go to sleep and continue the conversation with his mother. However, he knew that if he stayed in bed, Ward would eventually come in and forcefully wake him. Theodore wanted to spend only what was necessary with Ward.

Breakfast went by quickly for Theodore. He paid attention to his father’s conversation as his mind was preoccupied with where Ward might have hidden the paper. Could it be under the bed? Maybe, in his drawer? Theodore speculated that he would have to search, hoping Ward hadn't kept it on himself. That would be the worst-case scenario.
"What would he need to do if that were the case?" Theodore wondered, lost in thought, as he contemplated convincing Ward to undress without raising suspicions. Amid his musings, he inadvertently missed his father’s question.

"...Isn't that right?" his father prodded again.

"Oh... Yes, " Theodore quickly agreed, though he had no clue what he agreed to.

"That's great! With your mother temporarily indisposed, it's an opportunity for some father-son bonding time!" his father exclaimed happily, enthusiastically clapping his hands.

Wait, what?

Theodore scanned the faces around the table. His father seemed delighted, and Ward's expression hinted at a potentially dangerous intent.

His father must have noticed Theodore’s look.

"Yes, I know things have been... Different lately," his father acknowledged. "I've realized that I haven't been spending quality time with both of you. So, I've decided we'll make up for it by having moments together throughout the week while your mother is away!" His words were accompanied by a smile and a twinkle of blue in his eyes.

What on earth?

Theodore was left dumbfounded by this proclamation.
The day was spent with the boys helping their father measure their clothing. After a day of supervision from their father, Theodore and Ward were excited for the evening to come so they could finally have some freedom.

However...

"We're having a sleepover!" Father announced with excitement.

"Huh?" Both boys exclaimed, taken aback.

"Yes, tonight we're doing a trial run because tomorrow we're going camping!" Father declared.

"Camping?" Theodore asked incredulously, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Yes, I think it's an opportunity for us to bond and enjoy nature," Father exclaimed enthusiastically, his eyes filled with anticipation.

Theodore and Ward exchanged glances. Camping with their father was quite different from their routine.

Seeing their hesitation, their father leaned in with a smile. "Boys, I know this might seem unusual, but trust me, it will be an adventure you'll always remember. We'll roast marshmallows, share stories by the campfire, and sleep under the stars. It's a chance to try something and connect with nature."

Ward seemed upset, while Theodore felt deeply worried.
Theodore chose to approach the situation with optimism. How long could camping really take? He still had the week to search for clues; surely, his father would slip up at some point.

"Alright, Dad, let’s try it," Theodore said, smiling.

His father’s face beamed excitedly as he patted Theodore on the back. "That's the spirit! It'll be amazing; you'll see."

^
Ward was seething with anger. To say he was furious wouldn't even do justice to his emotions. The burning ache in his lungs and muscles from the scavenger hunt momentarily subdued his simmering rage. Ward couldn't. Crinkle his nose in disgust at the thought of it all. He had tried sneaking out at night. It seemed like his 'father' was either an incredibly light sleeper or had stayed awake all night just to foil Wards’ escape plans. How many times could one use the bathroom as an excuse before it became absurd? Why did his 'father' choose this way of bonding nowadays?

Ward released a sigh, feeling no inclination to bond. Honestly, he couldn’t care less about the reasons behind his 'father’s’ change of heart. As long as it didn't interfere with him, he could ignore 'father '. Unfortunately, it did. Ward now found himself constantly irritated because the only person he wanted to connect with was stuck in that room, unable to escape. Thanks to his father’s newfound sentimentality, a perfect opportunity slipped through his fingers. To make matters worse, he had to endure spending time with his brother, who, unfortunately for Ward, was still breathing.
The entire situation disgusted him.
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Perched on a rock, Ward absentmindedly smacked his lips, which were now cracked and tinged with blood from biting them too hard. It had been a maddening day—with a blue sky and the sun beating relentlessly. Ward detested the arid and scorching heat that seemed to seep into his pores, the itchiness plaguing him and leaving him perpetually thirsty.

He couldn't just quench his thirst like a person; they had to "save their water," as his 'father' had said, which seemed ridiculous since their house was a hundred feet away, clearly visible through the trees. They could easily walk into the kitchen. Get water, but 'father' insisted that such convenience would "spoil the experience." Ward gritted his teeth in frustration. There weren't any animals around to take out his anger on. He had to keep it bottled up. Ward decided he would try to persuade his foolish 'father' that this camping trip was pointless and they should go back indoors. He mentally prepared himself to be polite even though it was difficult.

*
Theodore sat on a rock, swinging his legs lazily in the early morning sunlight. He looked up. Admired the view of the sky painted with shades of orange and yellow as dawn approached. The cawing of crows filled his ears, along with the coolness of the morning breeze. Theodore's day turned out to be more productive than he initially anticipated.

With Ward expressing complaints and attempting to convince their father to abandon the camping trip, Theodore found a distraction.
He managed to slip without being noticed. Started searching for the mysterious document. Although Theodore only checked their bedroom (he didn't want to push his luck), he couldn't find anything. He had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy as it would have been too obvious for the paper to be in the place he looked. He had to try it in case it was a psychological tactic.

Theodore retraced his steps through the forest. Eventually, they found Ward throwing a blown tantrum, strongly objecting to continuing their camping adventure. Theodore struggled to hold back his laughter. Despite worrying about his brother, seeing him throw a fit like a child was oddly amusing and satisfying.

To top off the day, Theodore ate marshmallows their father had made next to the campfire. As he momentarily savored the creamy goodness in his mouth, everything felt normal and right with the world.

Theodore wonders how Miles is doing as he looks at the dawning sky. He hasn't heard from him since the meeting, and it's worrying him. Theodore shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought. Maybe doing the three-way dream took a lot from Miles; he did say that it was his first time. Theodore tries to stay optimistic about the whole thing. Apparently, Father is going to have them look at deer. Theodore hums at that; he didn't know there were deer here; he has never seen one in person. Theodore gets off the rock and returns to where they set up camp, getting himself pumped for the day.
.
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Theodore couldn't hold back his laughter. He leaned against a tree, chuckling at Ward, covered in bird poop. Theodore thought Ward deserved it because, after they had breakfast and Father was preparing for their trek into the woods, Ward had been moping and bothering a crow near their little campsite. He'd been throwing rocks at the bird and harassing the poor thing.

Well, as it turned out, crows hold quite a grudge. The crow must have somehow signaled its friends because soon after Ward stopped bullying the bird, more crows would fly by, either pecking at Ward or leaving him a 'gift' of bird droppings. This continued during their walk in the woods, and Theodore couldn't help but find it amusing.

Theodore laughed even more as Ward complained to Father about the birds. Father said, “Let this be a lesson to you, Ward. Besides, all of this will be something you'll look back on and laugh about.” This made Ward even angrier and Theodore even happier.

They continued walking in the woods until Father stopped before them and held up his hand, signaling them to halt.

Theodore, Ward, and Father stood like statues amidst the dappled forest. As the three stood in silence, a quiet excitement filled the air. The woods whispered with the rustling of leaves and the distant melody of chirping birds. Theodore, his eyes, with wonder, had never laid eyes on a deer before. His heart raced as he waited to hope to catch a glimpse of this creature.

Then, like a living masterpiece unfolding before their eyes, it appeared. A deer and a doe emerged gracefully from behind the trees. Its coat boasted an array of browns adorned with spots seamlessly blending into its forest surroundings. Theodore couldn't. Be captivated by the creature’s elegance.

With grace, the deer moved across the landscape, its legs carrying it with an innate beauty that took Theodore’s breath away. Its large and mysterious dark eyes seemed to hold secrets. At the same time, its ears twitched attentively to every sound in the forest.

Theodore's gaze followed every movement of the deer as it delicately grazed among the undergrowth, occasionally raising its head to survey its surroundings. At that moment, he felt a connection, a sense of wonder he had never experienced before.

However, Ward standing beside him appeared unimpressed and covered in bird poop.
With an exasperated expression and a muttered comment about the time being wasted, Theodore couldn't help but be captivated by the sight of the deer. 
The sight made him want to see the outside world even more. Something within him ached at the thought that he was missing out on the world. What sights and experiences are beyond the wall. 
.
.
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As the group made their way back, Father decided to speak up.

“There's a reason I wanted us to take this little outing,” Theodore continued walking but was puzzled about what his father meant. Father stopped walking, standing with his back to them. Father was a tall man, always towering over Theodore. Theodore used to call him a giant when he was younger and playfully climbed on him. Although Theodore had grown since then, he still wasn't as tall as his father. Silence fell over them. Theodore couldn't help but feel a bit anxious in the quiet. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Ward, who was also watching their father.

Finally, Father turned to face them, his expression serious. Theodore's anxiety grew; Father had never given them this look before.

“What's going on? What are you up to?” Father asked in a stern voice.

“What do you mean?” Theodore stuttered. Theodore tried to sound cheerful and forced a smile, but his trembling voice didn't help.

Father's gaze bore into him, unrelenting. “Lately, things have been strange. I've noticed that things have been... off with you.”

Theodore was at a loss for words. Where did this come from? “N-nothing is wrong. What are you talking about?” Theodore tried to deflect. He aimed for confidence, but his voice cracked at the end of his question.

Father didn't say anything and turned his attention towards Ward. “Anything going on, Ward?”

Theodore turned to see Ward put on a look of confused innocence. “No, Father, nothing that I know of.” With a little shrug of his shoulders and a higher-pitched voice that rubbed Theodore the wrong way, Ward was putting up quite an act, Theodore had to admit.

Father had a contemplative look on his face. Theodore noticed that the eye on the scarred side of Father's face slightly twitched. His piercing blue eyes looked away, staring off into the woods. After a moment of silence, Father finally spoke. “I have something to attend to with your mother. Come inside and have yourselves some lunch, boys.” He said, looking back at them, his face soft and loving and his voice chipper.

Theodore was confused at the sudden switch. It left him at such a loss. Ward and Theodore walked silently as they followed their father back home, an awkward silence befalling them. When they went inside, Father went immediately towards the kitchen. Theodore carefully followed, not knowing what Father was up to.
Theodore watched from the doorway as his father searched through the fridge and took out a pitcher Theodore assumed to be water. He saw that his father had a smile on his face, so he thought nothing terrible would happen necessarily. Father then grabbed a glass and walked off to where Mother was, Theodore supposes. 

Theodore looks behind him to see if Ward is behind him, only to see him slink off to their room. Ward must really want to be out of his clothes. Theodore follows since this would be the chance to see if Ward has the paper on him. 
All Theodore can do is try. 

~
Sarah is trying to keep her thoughts in order, but it's getting harder. Since waking up from that dream, she can't stop thinking about Miles and how worried she is. She knows he's used too much energy lately, causing him to lose control over his powers. She blames herself for being impulsive because, if she hadn't, Miles might not have had to use his powers so much. Sarah can’t help but worry about her only friend in this place. Miles is the only person with whom she can be frank. She continues to try to contact him. She can’t, and her arms and legs feel a strange sensation like ants crawling up her skin.
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She hates this room. She doesn’t know how long it has been. Hours? Days? The straps dig into her body as she struggles to move or shift. Her back stings and aches, and she has lost feeling in her arms and legs. She has tried to go to sleep, hoping to see Miles, but she can't. The lights were too bright, and she was too disoriented to think clearly. The best she manages is to black out occasionally, and even then, she hasn't seen him.
She tries to move, but she feels nauseous. Her body is burning like it's on fire, and she can't see clearly anymore. Her throat burns, and her mouth is dry, so dry. Her vision becomes blurry, and she can't focus on anything anymore.

She feels so tired, so hopeless.
While staring at the ceiling, Sarah hears something at the door. But why is the door open? She turned as much as she could to look at the noise. She can't see clearly, but a blurry figure is at the door.

What? Disoriented and confused, Sarah tries to comprehend what the figure may be but can't. A sudden, intense sense of dread and fear overcomes her. It's almost like an instinctual sense that she's in danger. Sarah tries to move but can't. She weakly struggles to get out of her restraints. She panicked; the figure moved closer to her. Sarah tries to cry but can't. No tears are coming out.
Coming closer and closer, the figure approaches. Sarah begins to panic and cries out.

"MILES! HELP! HELP! MILES! MILES!"

Her dry throat makes her voice come out in a hoarse croak as she screams. A large hand around her throat stops her.

Sarah panics even more as the hand squeezes her neck, and she can't breathe. Spots are beginning to fill her blurry vision. Before she passes out, she hears a familiar, harsh, and furious voice.

“YOU SLUT! WHO THE FUCK IS MILES!”

Chapter Text

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Chapter Text

~

Blue waves gently crash upon the beach.

Back and forth.

A pair of feet are buried underneath the hot black sand by the water, letting the waves bury them deeper.

Back and forth.

The woman who is attached to those feet looks out to the sea.

Back and forth.

She breathes in the tangy, salty air and feels the cold, biting breeze.

Back and forth. 

With every passage of the waves by her feet, her emotions wash away into the ocean. Her anger. Her sadness. Her grief. Everything dissolves to nothing in the vast body of water.

Back and forth.

The woman feels nothing but a sense of numbness. Is it from the cold air? The chill of the water? Or from something else? Where is she? How long has she been standing here? Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? It does not matter. For nothing matters on this beach.

And that's okay.

For the woman just wants to be.

And she is.

Back and forth

Back and forth

Back and forth

Back and forth

Back and for-

Sarah was suddenly returned to reality with a loud slap and a sharp sting across her cheek. For a moment, Sarah forgot where she was until she felt the sheets underneath her and the dull pain she felt in between her legs. The next thing she felt was Eddie's hard cock moving in and out of her pussy.

In and out.

In and fucking out.

It wouldn't be as bad, but the thing is that Sarah is dry. Not only from the dehydration but also because Eddie did not prepare her. So instead of being wet…. Sarah isn't. So, her insides are being scrapped as if with sandpaper. Every moment that Eddie makes hurts even more.

Maybe that's the point, really.

This is a punishment.

For the crime of saying Mile's name. It was really fucking stupid on her part. But being half delusional and dying of dehydration does that to someone. Honestly, that slip-up should have really done it, but thankfully, she came up with the excuse that Miles was the name of a dog that she had when she was a kid and that it would protect her from bad guys. But Eddie took offense that she would ever see him as a 'bad guy' and that he was 'her husband' and that "she should always recognize and call for him no matter what."

Really, what bull-

"ARGH!"

Sarah screamed out with a rough thrust from Eddie and was once again forced to pay attention to her surroundings. She looks at Eddie, and he seems… pissed would be saying it lightly. His eyes have a particularly crazy (even more so than usual) glint, his face is scrunched in a sneer, and he grunts and snarls with every thrust he makes. It's animalistic in a way that Eddie has never been. He's a predator. He is passionate in his words but cold and calculating in his actions. But this? He's more like a rabid dog. Biting and all. Sarah thinks this as Eddie bites at her neck. Hard. Sarah's heart begins to really pick up in fear at this. 'Is he trying to bite out my neck?' she thinks. No, he doesn't bite her neck, but he leaves a giant bloody bite mark. Sarah moves her eyes down along her chest and realizes that her entire chest is littered with bites and hickeys. Handprints and bruises are also forming from his hands' hard grips.  

How long have they been at it?

Sarah doesn't get any time to think about it as Eddie grabs her legs and starts to move them in a position where she is basically folded in half with her knees to her chest. In this position, Eddie can go in deeper until his entire dick is in, and the head is hitting her cervix. The sandpaper feeling is replaced by thousands of razors as he pulls almost all the way out and slams back into the cervix. The motion punches the air from Sarah's lungs as the pace picks back up. Eddie starts to mumble something, but Sarah can't hear it under the sound of her heart pounding out of her chest and her ragged and raspy breaths.

In and out

In and out

Sarah doesn't know how long it goes, either seconds or minutes. Still, all she can do is hold one as somehow Eddie's pace keeps on getting faster and faster until, finally, he stills and almost howls as he spills his hot cum into her. The sharp scraping of razors is replaced by a dull sting as Eddie finally stops. For a moment, there is nothing but the sounds of labored breathing on both sides. But Eddie lets go of her legs, and they flop uselessly onto the bed (not like she was able to use them anyway), and he moves off the bed and starts getting dressed.

"I will get you something to eat," Eddie states as he walks out of the padded room. Sarah says nothing as she looks at the cum and blood spilling out of her. There's only one question in her mind.

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

 *

Theodore belatedly went to the kitchen for breakfast with his head down low. He couldn't find the paper on Ward at all. And it was a monumental challenge to even look and see if his brother had it on his person without tipping him off—close to impossible, safe to say. He tried to check throughout the night, and either Ward was a light sleeper or didn't sleep. Theodore figured it was the second one based on how he acted the night before, trying to sneak out but was always caught by Father.

Speaking of which, Theodore never saw his father after he went out yesterday. That, paired with Miles being silent for days, made Theodore nervous. A sickening feeling of anxiety itched and swelled in him. He tried to shake it off. He couldn't do anything now, and it wouldn't be helpful if he panicked. But the fact that he couldn't do anything left him feeling useless.

Useless and left with the gaze of a brother staring daggers at him as he headed to the refrigerator. Before he could muse more on that, he heard a familiar booming voice call out.

"Boys! It's time for breakfast!"  

Father walked in confidently, dressed cleanly in his usual vest attire. He had a content look and hummed as he walked. Then there was the person next to him.

Mother.

She was both different and the same from when he last saw her a couple of days ago. She was wearing a light blue dress with long sleeves and had a pleasant smile on her face. Apart from that, everything about her made Theodore feel a sense of unease and wrongness. The smile did not reach her eyes, her neck covered in bruises, the standoffish way she stood as if trying to be as physically far away from Father as possible. But what really made Theodore worry was her eyes. Profound tiredness and pain etched themselves in her eyes. Deep shadows tattooed themselves underneath her eyes, and bags hung with them. All the years of buildup were evident. Theodore oddly thought of sedimentary rock. How small grains of rock would build up and, over the years, be compressed into a large stone. That was the best way Theodore could describe the level of weariness he could see. 

Compounded misery.

The more he stared and observed, the greater his concern grew.

What happened?

"Teddy! Ward! It's nice to finally see you again. What would you like for breakfast?" Mother tried to say in a chipper voice, but it came out flat with the harsh rasp she had.

"Oh! Boys, don't go overboard; we're low on breakfast food now," Father said in a cheery tone while he wrapped his arm around Mother. Theodore noticed the way she seemed to stiffen.

Father's comment only made Theodore think of that horrible day when he almost died and when his mother almost died. (Theodore chose not to think of why he almost died and who almost killed him). The only good thing to come out of it was Miles.

Which made him even more worried since he hadn't heard from Miles for three days. Ever since the dream, he has been quiet. He had gotten used to the man's jabs and his presence, leaving Theodore feeling empty and unnerved by the silence in his head. Theodore only had himself, and he was scared. He can't talk with Mother, Ward, and Father around. He needs to learn what's happening and whether plans are affected or changed or WHAT?

The anxiety came back again, and Theodore started to rub and scratch his arms.

"I missed you!" Ward happily said as he rushed and hugged Mother. Theodore could also tell it was hard by how he seemed to squeeze her. Lips twitched as she tried to keep her smile. She ended up with a constipated look as her smile turned into a grimace. Mother didn't hug back, but she started to pat his head. "I missed you too," she murmured. After an awkward moment, Ward let go with an "I want eggs." As he returned, Theodore saw his brother's sharp grin and gleaming eyes and wondered what his brother was playing at.

"And Teddy, what do you want?"

Theodore turned his attention back to his parents and mumbled, "Eggs are fine."

With that, Father hummed and, with his arm still around Mother, pulled her closer and kissed her.

Theodore felt nauseated; something was not right… even more so than usual.

After two seconds of kissing, Father finally let go and sauntered to the dining table. Mother turned around and limped to the fridge to get the eggs.

Theodore stood and stared as Mother limped, almost hobbled around the kitchen, getting her cooking supplies. As she finally stopped at the stove, Theodore looked back to see Father and Ward in the middle of a discussion and nervously walked over to his suffering mother.

"Uhm… Are you okay?" Theodore whispered, not wanting anyone else but her to hear.

"I'm fine," she said automatically. It was second nature for her to say that, and Theodore thought in horror about how long she had to say that for it to be like that.

"I… don't know what happened, but… are you?" He moved closer to her.

Mother stopped what she was doing and looked back, probably to see if anyone else was paying attention. She looked back, and her smile fell. Anger didn't replace her face, but something closer to sadness, but not quite. Theodore couldn't place the emotion on her face. But it said all that needed to be said. She turned her attention to the stove, and before she could do anything else, Theodore blurted out, "May I hug you?" Mother looked at him with a face of utter confusion.

"Uh, I mean, d-do you want a hug? I know you probably don't want one. Y-you don't want one. S-sorry. I shouldn't have asked-" he stuttered and muttered.

"Sure."

It was softly spoken, a whisper of noise that Theodore barely heard. He stopped his little rant and stared. It was the softest smile he had ever seen his mother make. It wasn't fake or malicious. It wasn't a crazed grin or a spiteful sneer. It was an honest, small smile. Theodore slowly and gently hugged his mother as if she was made of dust and could be blown away with a breath. He felt her hug back. It was a small moment. But it felt genuine. It was the first truly genuine and happy moment he had with her. But it didn't last long, and Mother continued cooking as Theodore went to the dining table. Thankfully, neither Ward nor Father noticed he wasn't at the table.

.

.

.

.

.

A couple of days passed, and Theodore noticed a change in how he interacted with Mother. No, it was a change in atmosphere. Something was different. Mother seemed to relax slightly whenever he was around. But she tensed up whenever Ward or Father was present; unfortunately, it was often nowadays. Either his brother or father was around, and if one wasn't present, the other was. It's pretty annoying because Theodore wants to ask his mother many questions, but because of those two, he can't. He still hasn't heard from Miles, so Theodore is left stranded. 

Fortunately, luck was on his side since now he is with Mother, and no one else is around now. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he saw her look down at him and tilted her head in the direction she wanted him to follow. Mother looks better now; most of her bruises are healing, appearing a light yellow compared to the dark purple they were. However, she still limps around. What happened to her leg? Theodore followed her until they were in a secluded area of a hallway. She looked around, probably to see if anyone was around, then leaned close to him and started to whisper, her voice back to normal. "Alright, I managed to get Ward and Gluskin off my back for a bit, so I'll get straight to the point." Her eyes burned fiercely. Theodore decidedly likes them like this. "The meeting with Harry is tomorrow, and my ankle is fucked up. So, I need you to come with me and have my back. If something happens to me, at least you know the information, and you can tell Miles."

Theodore whispered back, "I understand, Mother. But um… What happened to Miles? I haven't heard from him since the meeting. Is he okay? Have you heard from him? Did something happen?"

After he finished, he looked at her, and she had a contemplative expression as if she was considering what she would say. A moment later, she sighed, apparently having decided.

"I… don't know. I haven't heard from him either. But—"

"Then we need to do something! I mean, he could be dead!" Theodore interrupted; his whispering started to turn into yelling at the end.

"We can't do anything now," Mother sighed deeply. "Look. Trust me. Miles isn't dead. He will be back when he's ready. We have to wait."

"How do you know that?"

There was a pause; her gaze turned severe and grim. "I know Miles. He is a survivor. He's been through so much and managed to come out of it. If there's one thing I know, it's that he's the most stubborn bastard I know, and I know that he will be fine."

Theodore took a deep breath and decided to trust her on this. "Okay, Mother." He nodded. Changing the subject, he continued, "How will you distract Father and my brother long enough for this?"

Mother smirked. "I have my ways. I'll—"

Before she could finish, a loud voice echoed throughout the hallway.

"Darling!"

She tsked and stood up straight. "Tomorrow, be ready. I'll come to you, and we'll head out soon after." She turned to leave, but she turned her head before she left.

"Oh, and call me Mom. Mother is a bit of a mouthful."

Theodore was stunned and almost missed the last words Mother Mom murmured.

"Thank you."

With that, she walked away.

Theodore was at a loss for words.

Chapter Text

~

Sarah is preparing the drinks she will give to Gluskin and Ward. For this sort of stuff, she always does it during breakfast. It is when people seem to be the most trusting regarding what they drink and who they drink from. Sarah was in the same boat before getting stuck with Eddie and becoming a poisoner.

Somewhat. 

Sure, when she was first trapped 15 years ago, Sarah tried to kill Eddie with poison since she was obviously outmatched physically, and killing him the direct way is impossible for her. But fuck her if none of the poisons she gave him ever worked. And believe her, it was not for a lack of trying. Everything from an overdose of painkillers, sleeping pills, and rat poison to even salt never worked. 

At best, only his mental state would be affected, but nothing actually life-threatening. She tried and tried until it was pretty apparent that he was immune to poisoning. Eventually, it was more beneficial to keep him alive since it kept people like Blaire away.

She once asked Miles if he knew anything about this immunity. Apparently, extensive exposure to the WALRIDER by the engine made one quite immune to most poisons. The nanomachines acted like a second immune system, protecting their hosts as best as possible. They can be hurt or killed, but it has to be intensive physical damage.

"Basically, the people exposed to the WALRIDER for a long time are like steel-type Pokémon. Immune to poison but weak to fire, ground, and fighting-type attacks. And Gluskin is an Aggron. ” It still kind of surprises Sarah that Miles would be into that type of thing, and when she asked him, he said that he got into it because it was popular when he was in school, and he kept up with it from time to time. Sarah asked him which steel type he would be, and she got this as an answer.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be a steel type. I'm more of a ghost type. I fucking guess."

Sarah asked him what he meant by that since she didn't know much about Pokémon, but he said it didn't matter. She supposed he was right and left the topic be, but she didn't miss a comment he made.

"Probably am the closest to a Mimikyu fucking really." 

Sarah always wondered what he meant by that. She misses Miles. She knows all she said to Theodore about him being 'fine' and all of that, but it was more for herself, really.

Sarah shook her head, trying to clear those thoughts. She put on her best smile as she heard Eddie come back into the kitchen. 

*

Theodore sat at the kitchen table, lost in his thoughts. With today being the day for the meeting, Miles is still missing, and he wonders how Mom will distract Father for long enough, not to mention Ward and how he will factor into everything; he is out of sorts. There were too many questions, things that could go wrong, and different scenarios that distracted him from his surroundings.

He was distracted to the point where it took him too long to notice the odd way Father and Ward acted. Ward sat in his chair, shoulders slumped, a subdued laughter escaping his lips in quiet intervals. The effects of the sedative had taken hold, transforming his usual demeanor into a peculiar blend of lethargy and amusement. An attempt to rise from the chair revealed the extent of lethargy as Ward moved with a deliberate clumsiness that bordered on uncoordinated.

Ward seemed to falter, and as he shifted in the chair, an unsettling chorus of creaks emanated from its metal structure. Each movement was marked by a sluggish quality, with the chair legs scraping against the floor, punctuating his efforts. Ward had a glazed look, and Theodore was getting unnerved by what was happening. He didn't know what was going on. He looked over to Father, who was not in better shape. The once-commanding presence of Father now mirrored Ward's lethargy.  

Father began to talk in the same dreamy fashion as he did that day. As Theodore calls it now.

That day .

A shiver runs down his spine.

Theodore jumped when a voice suddenly whispered in his ear.

"I'll handle your father. You go get your brother and leave him in your room." Theodore turned to see Mom limping around the table toward Father. She extended her arms towards him, and Father leaned into her touch. She slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling him up from his chair. His figure, which usually towered over her, now leaned heavily on her, almost seeming to crush her under his weight. The strain on Mom's face was evident as she supported him, her limping gait further accentuating the difficulty. 

Yet, with a determined effort, she managed to guide him, their combined presence weaving through the room in an awkward farce of shuffling and cussing from Mother and hugging and sloppy kissing from Father. 

Theodore awkwardly stared as they left the kitchen. He turned his attention to Ward, who was scowling at the door Mom and Father had left through. It seemed that even drugged, some things didn't change regarding Ward. Theodore sighed to himself and got up to approach him. As he neared, Ward backed away and hit his chair, falling to the floor.

"Don't come near me, you stupid little squirrel," 

Ward sneered and giggled.

"Squirrel?" Theodore mumbled, confused, watching Ward struggle to get up from the floor. It became evident that whatever Mom gave Ward had weakened his legs. Theodore tried to help him up but was pushed away.

"Go away, squirrel! I don't need your help! I can get up on my own!"

Theodore stopped trying to help and let Ward flop and flail around for a little while until Ward apparently gave up. This time, Ward didn't stop him.

After an embarrassing amount of time spent trying to haul Ward up (he was way heavier than he looked), Theodore finally managed to walk (drag) his brother out of the kitchen. 

"Little squirrel."

Theodore didn't reply, trying his best to get to the bedroom as soon as possible.

"Little squirrel. Little squirrel. Little squirrel. Little squirrel. Little-"

"What is it?" Theodore hissed, annoyed. 

"I wish I could gut you right now. But I can't."

Ward's laughter echoed in the eerie ambiance of the hallway.

"Can't make much of a mess in the house."

He remarked with an unsettling grin.

Theodore felt a chill run down his spine as he stared at Ward, whose glazed eyes seemed to burn with an unusual intensity. The widening smile on Ward's face made Theodore uneasy.

"I would give your guts to Mother as a present. Oh, I wonder how she would react. Maybe she will give me a kiss! Maybe something more!"

Ward's laughter intensified, sending shivers through Theodore. Desperate to move away from the unsettling conversation, Theodore quickened his pace. How much longer did they have to walk? Suddenly, Ward stopped laughing and scowled.

"But then there's Father. In the way, too. I have to get rid of him. But he's not like you, little squirrel. I have to be smart when it comes to him."

A sinister smile crept across Ward's face, accompanied by more giggles.

"Yes, I've been thinking about that. Oh, I can't wait for that day."

Theodore shivered, a sense of dread settling in as he witnessed the disturbing bliss in Ward's eyes. 

.

Theodore couldn't deny the relief that washed over him as they reached the bedroom door. With a swift motion, he pushed the door open with a force that nearly unhinged it. 

Theodore practically tossed Ward onto the bed.

Ward's laughter continued and echoed eerily within the confines of the room. The sound, coupled with the dim lighting, created a surreal atmosphere. Theodore hesitated for a moment, taking in the strange scene before him. Ward lay sprawled on the bed, still giggling, and the room seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. Ward began to hug the pillows on his bed, moaning.

"MOTHER!" 

At that point, Theodore ran out of the room as fast as he could and slammed the door shut. He didn't want to see any more. And he definitely did not see a strange bulge in Ward's pants. 

As he ran into the hallway, he bumped into Mom. She had this tired and disheveled look, but she also had a satisfied grin.

"Theodore! Is Ward in the room?" She asked.

Theodore nodded, hoping the motion would help him forget the last 10 minutes.

"Good. Did you have any trouble?" Mom asked as she looked at the door to his bedroom.

"No," was all Theodore said. He did not want to think about Ward anymore.

Mom raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything more on the subject.

She turned and started walking toward the end of the hallway where the gate was. Theodore rushed to follow her.

"Remember. Don't let anyone see you." Mom looked at him with a serious face as she continued walking.

They stopped at the gate, and Theodore anxiously looked to the other side. It was the same dimly lit hallway and moldy-looking floors. Even though so much has

happened to him, the rest of the world doesn't seem to change. Theodore continued staring as he heard Mom's clanging and creaking unlocking the gate. There was a moment of silence, but the gate didn't move. Theodore stopped staring at the hallway and looked toward Mom. Her eyes bore into him, and the dimly lit hallway cast her in dark shadows. She leaned in towards him and said,

"No matter what happens. If anything happens to me, get yourself to safety. Always look out for yourself. Do you understand?"

Theodore nodded, but his response didn't seem enough for Mom.

"Do. You. Understand." She spoke the words harshly and stared into his eyes.

"Yes. I do," Theodore said with as much confidence as he could. It was terribly flat.

Mom continued staring at him but said nothing. After a long moment, she turned back to the gate. With a horrible loud creak, the gate opened.

"Let's do this then." Theodore heard Mom mutter under her breath.

Chapter Text

Ø

Harry sighed as he made his way (or maybe it was more like a slightly panicked jog) through the dim hallways, heading to a meeting with that mysterious and scary woman. It turns out that adding 'idiot' to his list of roles in the past week wasn't exactly what he had in mind. Navigating the shadowy maze of the asylum felt like a game of 'who's going to jump out at the poor fool.' Spoiler alert: it's him.

Idiot, security guard, informant, and now, a reluctant maid/psychologist for Ruben. Harry couldn't help but rub his neck at the mere thought of the artist. A couple of days with Ruben left him emotionally and physically drained, yearning for his bed to escape from it all. Ruben, with his talents, was a real piece of work. Not only could he create a mess in a blink, but his art also made Harry feel seriously uncomfortable.

All of Ruben's artworks shared a common theme – a nightmarish landscape filled with bizarre demon creatures, people and things on fire, and, for some reason, cats. Regret gnawed at Harry for agreeing to look at Ruben's work out of politeness. Now, he found himself nursing bruises, scratches, and cuts, dealing with Ruben's 'fan,' as the man likes to call himself. Harry doesn't even know the man's name. He sees him standing outside of Ruben's door for hours at a time sometimes. Harry can't forget what the man looks like, though, with a sizeable hideous scar running down the right side of his face and that smile… Harry did not want to think about him anymore. 

Harry, already exhausted, finally reached the designated meeting point with the scary woman whose name he didn't even know. Another nameless person. They were going to discuss who knows what. Harry couldn't help but recall the crime shows he used to watch years ago, with a guy nervously awaiting a meeting with a drug dealer. Now he knows how exactly what that feels like. And, well, it feels like shit.

~

Sarah is starting to feel like shit. As much as she hates admitting it, man, is she getting a bit old, she thinks to herself as she crawls through the vents to the secret room. Carrying (or dragging) Gluskin around has taken its toll, and the added pressure only makes her ankle hurt even more. She grunts and continues crawling. The walk through the hallways was tense, and Sarah thought back to Theodore; he seemed quiet, more contemplative. It could be about what's been happening—maybe he's thinking about Miles. But something in her gut tells her otherwise. She suspects it may have to do with Ward.

Ward... ugh... Sarah knows she's taking a massive risk in sedating (drugging) him. He still has that little blackmail he could use, but she's calling his bluff. The thing about having the paper is that it's a one-time-use sort of deal. And well, he won't use it, not yet at least. But she knows that she's treading a fragile line. How to deal with Ward? She still hasn't come up with a good plan that doesn't include killing him. How unfortunate. 

She approaches the other end of the vent and slowly drops herself to the floor. A sharp pain shoots up from her ankle. Well, shit. Sarah takes a second to let the pain spread out to the rest of her body until it subsides into a dull, tingling ache in her foot. She looked around the room to see everything was where she had left it—her clothes, pole, and newfound empty desk. Sarah now holds a distinct sense of paranoia regarding this place since, well, if kids could find this place, who couldn't find this place. Sarah groans at the thought of needing to find a new secret spot. It was already so hard to find this hole in the wall in the first place.

Sarah starts hobbling up to the chair with her clothes. Hopefully, Harry is going to show up because if he doesn't, she swears to god she's going to find him and chop off his—

"-rah."

What? Wh—

"Sarah."

Sarah stops. Her heart starts to beat quickly in her throat. There's only one person she knows, who is a stupid dumb voice in her head.

"Miles!" Sarah shouted. Sarah actually felt relieved. Wow, how long has it been since she thought that?

"Hey."

Sarah scoffed. "Hey. Hey? Miles, you have been MIA for who knows how long! The last time I saw you… I don't know what the fuck was happening, but… FUCK, man, I've been fucking worried! I mean, what the fuck happened? Are you okay? Like fucking talk with me, man!" Sarah shouted, worried. She's relieved that he's alive, but Miles is unusually quiet. Something happened. She knows that, but what. That was the main question.

"Can't speak much… very hard."

Oh. Sarah didn't say anything as she thought back to when she last saw him, and it made sense that Miles was out of energy. What she had thought had happened, and Miles had used too much of the Walrider recently, seemed accurate. 

"So, if you can't speak much, can I ask yes or no questions?"

"…Yes"

It's not much, but at least it gives her some leeway. At least Sarah knows that Miles is alive. 

"Are you okay?"

"….…Yes ."

Sarah raised her eyebrow at that.

"Are you in control of your powers?"

"Yes."

"Will you be okay with listening in on the meeting?"

"Yes."

"Hmm… Are you secretly into cheesy romcoms from the '90s?"

"Wha.... What? Nah, I prefer the… '80s films," Miles scoffed.

Sarah didn't know how to really take that. On one hand, Miles seems to be getting back to normal, but on the other hand, something is off. She felt a sense of foreboding. She needs to move on. With a shrug, she said, "Just checking to see if you could say anything other than yes."

Sarah heard Miles snort and say, "Sure can."

Sarah just sighed. "Alright then. I'll tell Theodore when I see him- "

She was interrupted by Miles "Nah."

"Nah? Nah, to what? Telling Theodore?" 

"Can't… tell him right away… tell him later."

Sarah felt herself getting angry at Miles. Why can't she say anything about Miles coming back and being okay? The kid has been worried about him, and now what? Leave him in the dark? 

"No. Nope. I'm telling Theodore." She said while shaking her head.

"Just wait after the meeting. Then tell him," Miles urged.

" And why do you want to hold off on telling him?" Sarah snipped back with a sneer.

"Later. When I'm better,"  Miles paused for a moment. "Since when?"

"Since what?" Sarah bit out.

"Y--u... care?" Miles said with a strained voice.

"Care about what? About Theodore? I don't fucking know! Maybe I felt like being nice to him, believe it or not," Sarah sighed exasperatedly. "You know what?! Fine! Fucking fine! Just fuck it! I'm changing, and I'm going to fucking meet fucking Harry. You fucking do whatever! You win, I won't tell him. But-"Sarah pointed at the wall, hoping Miles could see her. "You better fucking explain to Theodore about all of this shit. Got it?!" At this, Sarah waited for a response from Miles. Something is fucking off with him, and she doesn't know, and the more she talks with Miles, the more pissed off she gets. All she wants to do is get this rendezvous over with and finish the day already.

"Yes."

"Okay then. Let me get dressed, then, and fuck off."

Sarah left the conversation at that.

Ø

Harry stood frozen in the dimly lit hallway; his senses acutely attuned to the silence that enveloped him like a suffocating blanket. Each passing moment stretched endlessly, amplifying the tight tension within him.

STEP

STEP

STEP

The sharp, distinct sound of footsteps pierced through the eerie stillness, reverberating off the walls with haunting clarity. Every step resonated like a gunshot in the silence of the corridor, sending waves of fear crashing over Harry. 

His heart pounded against his chest, the rhythm of his pulse synchronizing with the cadence of the approaching footsteps. A shiver slithered down his spine, triggering a primal urge to flee, to seek refuge from the unseen threat lurking in the shadows.

He turned his head toward the source of the steps and discerned a figure steadily advancing toward him at the end of the dark hallway.

STEP

STEP

STEP

As the figure drew nearer, Harry found himself immobilized, unable to move as it came into clearer view. Clad in black attire, adorned with a combat vest and boots, with a pole protruding from her back, the figure revealed itself as the woman. The putrid stench of blood from that fateful day assaulted Harry's nostrils, evoking visceral memories of the wet stickiness and weight of blood, the weight of a man's head in his grasp. Another shudder coursed through him as he fought back the acidic bile threatening to rise in his throat.

Harry's mind recoiled at the vivid recollection of the squishy sensation of flesh beneath his fingers, the jarring hardness of the spine poking out of the neck, and the--

SNAP

The sudden snap of fingers shattered his reverie, jolting him back to the present as he realized how close the woman had crept. She stood mere inches from him, her face partially obscured by the shadows cast by the dim lighting, yet her smile gleamed in the darkness, all teeth and malice.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" she taunted, her voice laced with amusement.

Harry was rendered speechless, his throat constricted by a surge of fear and disbelief.

"Hmm, I guess not. Well then, did your little group like the present I gave you?" the woman asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Harry struggled to regain his composure, desperately trying to stop the rising panic.

"Looking at your new clothes, it seems like they did," the woman remarked.

Harry glanced down at his clothes, noting the stark contrast between his current outfit—a simple t-shirt and jeans—and the suits worn by the higher-ups. It was a significant improvement from the drab jumpsuit he once wore. He had trashed the jumpsuit as soon as he could.

"So, do you still carry a knife around?" The woman's question cut through the tense air, causing Harry to instinctively reach for the weapon concealed in his pocket. He wasn't foolish; danger lurked around every corner in a place like this.

The woman noticed his movement and swiftly drew the pole from her back, pointing it directly at him. "Hand it over. Or do we need to repeat last time?" Her words sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

Reluctantly, Harry retrieved the knife from his pocket and placed it in the woman's outstretched hand. The act made him feel vulnerable and exposed without his usual means of defense. The woman seemed to sense his unease and reassured him, albeit in a manner that did little to ease his apprehension.

"Oh, calm down. I'll give it back when this is over. Consider it insurance," the woman remarked, her tone laced with a hint of amusement. "One can never be too careful. Paranoia is the key to surviving."

Harry begrudgingly acknowledged the truth in her words. That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it. 

She stowed the knife away in one of her pockets but kept the pole ready. "Well then, let's get started," she declared, her voice sharp and commanding.

Harry's attention momentarily drifted towards a faint noise coming from the hallway. 

SNAP

"Hey, keep your fucking attention on me," she snapped, her tone brusque. "I want to know if anything has happened since I killed the Jackal."

"Jackal?" Harry echoed, confusion evident in his voice. "Y-you mean Frank Manerva, right?"

"Yeah, I do," she confirmed tersely.

"Uhm, why do you call him that?" Harry asked.

The woman let out an exasperated sigh, muttering something under her breath that sounded like "fucking really?" before regaining her composure. "I call him that because I fucking feel like it. Now then, did the 'Network' do anything big yet?" she demanded, brandishing the pole menacingly towards his neck.

"Uh, um... The group started moving in on Frank's territory since then. They're still trying to clean out his area, especially the room where he stored his… meat," Harry began, his voice trailing off at the disturbing thought of Frank Manerva's gruesome stockpile. The rumors surrounding the cannibal's meat storage room were enough to churn Harry's stomach – tales of blood, mess, and decay that left stains ingrained in the walls, requiring a full repaint.

"What else?" 

"Uhm, nothing else really," Harry continued, his mind racing to recall pertinent details. "The relationship with the 'Others' is still good, uhm..."

"I meant internally," the woman interjected impatiently. "You're now among the more powerful people in your little group. Surely, you've heard something."

"Well, uhm, there's this hierarchy," Harry explained, his words coming in a rush as he struggled to convey the complexities of the organization's internal structure. "The head is at the top, with his two top men, and below them are the 'managers.' They're in charge of different 'departments.' Like there's one for food distribution, one for the economy, another for security, and so forth. And well, most heads are aiming for the spot as the top two. Apparently, one can't replace the head since he has leverage on the Murkoff people. So, the next best thing is Steve and Andrew's position."

"Hmm. Okay then. Let's say, which department has the most… power?" the woman asked.

"Well, the two most important departments would be Security and Art. With Art having the top spot," 

"Art?"

"Well… uhm… when one is stuck in a prison for as long as we have without access to the internet, then… uhm… well, one needs ways to, uhm, satisfy needs and well… for guys, it's, uhm…"

The woman interrupted him sharply. "Stop. I get it. So the one who controls the fucking porn has the power."

"Well, yeah, I mean… I guess you wouldn't get it with, uhm, you being married to someone, but—"

The woman applied more pressure with the pole against Harry's neck, her expression turning menacing. "Don't fucking presume you know shit about me and my… marriage," she sneered. "If I hear you fucking talking about anything concerning that again, then I will make sure you come to regret it. Got it?"

Harry gulped, feeling the cold pole against his neck. He had thought the marriage was mutual, but one could never assume in this place.

"O-okay got it," he stammered with a shaky voice.

Harry heard a deep breath and a sigh. The woman lowered the pole away from him. "What's your job now?" 

"Oh! Uhm, I work in the security department, and I am now kind of a bodyguard," Harry replied, trying to steady his nerves. The woman scoffed, but Harry ignored it and continued, "A bodyguard to this guy named Ruben, who's an artist—"

"An artist? What does he draw?" the woman interjected, her curiosity piqued.

"He draws… requests that are more sexual in nature," Harry admitted reluctantly.

"…Okay," the woman responded with a hint of disapproval in her tone.

"Yeah, but he can draw more than just that!" Harry felt compelled to defend Ruben for some reason. Harry might not really like what he draws, but it felt wrong to write him off.

The woman sharply turned her head as if she had heard something unsettling. Harry glanced in the direction she was staring at. Still, the hallway remained eerily empty with a couple of piles of empty boxes. After a tense moment, she fixed her intense gaze back on him.

"What does he draw exactly?" she pressed, her tone edged.

"Uh, he draws these landscapes that are, uh, kind of on fire with a lot of chaos, and, uh…" Harry struggled to find the right words.

"Does he draw creatures?" the woman interrupted.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, feeling a growing sense of unease.

The woman tilted her head slightly, her expression tinged with confusion. "Like surreal creatures, demons torturing people?"

"Y-Yeah?" Harry replied hesitantly, sensing that something was amiss.

"Was there this rabbit demon and this giant hollow torso with demons on its head?"

"Y-Yeah. Exactly that," Harry confirmed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Suddenly, the woman sharply turned around and shouted, "WHAT!?"

Harry recoiled, taken aback by her sudden outburst. He struggled to process the situation, unsure how to make sense of the woman's bizarre reaction. She had seemed relatively normal before—well, as normal as someone who kills and decapitates could be—but now, this was beyond comprehension.

With a groan, the woman turned back around, rubbing her face in frustration.

"Okay then, here's what I want you to do—"

"No. I want to know. What is all of this for? What do you want?" Harry interrupted.

"I told you already," 

"No. I want to know what this is really in service to," Harry insisted, refusing to blindly follow her lead. If he was going to be involved in this, he needed answers.

The pole pressed against his neck.

"Oh. Okay then. But first, let's have a little interview. To see what exactly I tell you," the woman sneered, her tone dripping with veiled menace.

Harry held his breath and nodded, feeling the pole's weight against his skin.

"Great. First question. Were you a patient? Or part of the staff?" she inquired, her gaze piercing.

Harry weighed his options carefully. Revealing that he was staff could jeopardize any respect she had for him while lying about being a patient could lead to his death if she uncovered the truth. After a moment of hesitation, he decided on honesty.

"I was staff. I-I wasn't a doctor or anything! I was just a j-janitor! I wasn't a part of the experiment! I—" Harry stumbled over his words, his nerves getting better.

"Okay then, next question," the woman interjected, cutting off his rambling. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the chance to continue.

"Did you have any kids or any special ones? Basically, anyone you would miss and who would miss you as well," the woman said with a cold and calculating voice. 

"I-I have a wife! I had… we divorced before all of this happened… but I have kids. Two of them! They should be in college around now…" Harry replied, his voice tinged with longing.

"Next question. What is your opinion on the 'network'?" the woman chuckled a bit at the end.

"Uhm. I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I really don't like living where I feel like I'm in a job 24/7, but on the other hand, it is the only place where I can survive well," Harry confessed.

"Next question. What is your opinion on Murkoff and the asylum?"

Harry sighed heavily. "This place is shit. So many horrible things have happened and are still happening, and Murkoff is responsible for it. They took advantage of either people who didn't need psychiatric treatment or people who did need that type of help but were tortured and experimented on instead. And for what? Money, that's what. They abuse their power over innocent people. Hell, even if they weren't innocent people, they could have been serial killers whose body count is in the thousands, but that still doesn't mean that they should be mentally, physically, and emotionally tortured for some company's greed. They won't take any responsibility for their actions. So, you could say I hate the asylum, but I would say I hate Murkoff even more since they made this place the way it is."

There was a moment of silence.

"Last question. Would you ever want to leave this place?"

Harry scoffed at that. "Of course, I would leave in a heartbeat if I could."

Another moment of silence followed. Then, Harry heard the woman take a deep breath.

"Okay then. What I plan has something to do with leaving this place."

Harry felt shock, then excitement and joy began to wash over him. The prospect of actually leaving this hellhole filled him with renewed hope. He had long given up on the idea of escape, resigning to the belief that this place would be his tomb. But now, the possibility of freedom seemed within reach. Harry waited with bated breath to hear the details of the plan. Harry grew impatient after an awkward moment of silence, during which the woman raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, what's the plan?" Harry demanded, his frustration evident in his tone.

The woman once again lowered her pole and shrugged. "That's all you're going to get," she said calmly.

"What? Why not?" Harry asked, both angry and confused.

With a tsk, the woman replied, "Look, let's be honest here. If anyone had the inclination to ask you for any information with any force or torture, you would fold like a house of cards. I'm telling you what you wanted to know, and that's as far as it goes. I don't care if you want more answers. But that's it. Take it or leave it."

Her tone was as solid as stone, shutting down any further questions. Harry didn't say anything, but he pouted.

"Urgh," the woman groaned, clearly annoyed. "What I want you to do is to continue gathering information. We will meet up once a month after Supply Day here," she pointed to the floor. "Next, you will try to distribute whatever Ruben draws from this point on."

"But-"

"Don't fucking interrupt me again!" the woman snapped.

Harry winced at the sharp reprimand.

"I don't care how you do it, but make sure that as many people in your group see what he draws that is not porn!" she emphasized the last part of the sentence.

"Tell me about the progress regarding that, got it?" 

Harry nodded.

"Any questions, comments, concerns?" she sarcastically bit out.

Harry didn't say anything.

CLAP

Harry startled at the loud clap the woman gave. "Well, that's that then. We're done here."

The woman suddenly grabbed his shirt and pulled him close to her. Harry could feel her breath on his face. "Oh, and if anyone knows of this and our little meeting, I will do to you what I did to Frank. Only instead of killing a Jackal, I would be killing a fucking Weasel." She shoved him back with that, and Harry stumbled, almost falling to the floor. When he stabilized himself, he saw that the woman had her hand outstretched with his knife. Harry carefully reached and grabbed it, pocketing it. Before he left, he asked one last question. "What's your name?" The woman stared at him for a long time.

"Call me S."

.

.

.

*

Theodore waited for Mom to pass by him as she left, emerging from his hiding spot behind the empty boxes in the hallway. He could tell from the angry look on her face and the heavy stomping of her boots that Mom was upset. Theodore was still processing everything he had heard. He felt a mix of happiness, excitement that the plan seemed to be progressing, and a sense of pride that he was contributing in some way. However, he also felt concern, especially about Mom's sudden outburst. What had happened? Theodore decided to ask later; there was a better time to bring it up. 

After some time of walking in silence, Mom suddenly stopped.

"What the fuck are you fucking thinking, Miles!" she bit out, almost yelling.

Miles? Is Miles back?

"I mean, really? What's going through your fucking head? Like fucking hell. Are you brain dead right now, Miles!?" Mom's frustration was palpable.

“M-Miles?” Theodore stammered.

Mom didn't even look at him at that as she said, "Oh yeah, Miles is here."

"I-is he okay?"

Mom snorted. "Well, according to him, he is," she exclaimed in exasperation.

"W-when did he come back?"

"Yeah, he came back when I was changing for the little meeting and told me not to tell you right away."

"W-Why?" Theodore's voice trembled as tears welled up in his eyes. Whether it was the news that Miles was back and fine, the fact that Miles didn't want him to know, or the intense screaming Mom was doing, he was starting to feel very emotional.

"Well, you have to ask him about that. It was his idea. Just add it to the list of bad ideas, including the one where he fucking uses his powers more than he ever has before, right after literally almost losing control because he used too much energy." She spat out. 

What?

Theodore was crying now at this point. He didn't know what was going on.

Mom continued yelling, "YEAH, FUCKING YEAH, MILES! IT'S A VERY FUCKING BAD IDEA!"

Theodore started to sob. He was very much on the outside of their conversation, and he was lost. 

As Theodore continued, the yelling from Mom stopped. Theodore heard her groan and saw her clutch at her head through his tears.

"I'm…" she sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault or anything," 

Another sigh. "I'm just really fucking pissed at Miles. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it immediately. I shouldn't have listened to Miles."

There was a moment of silence.

Mom then dropped her hands and looked at Theodore. Theodore could see the guilt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry for making you cry."

She slowly walked up to Theodore and offered him her sleeve.

"Here. I don't have anything else, so you can use my sleeve and blow your snot all over it."

Theodore stared at the black sleeve, sniffing as mucus had built up in his nose during his crying spell. He hesitated, not wanting to dirty the sleeve. Mom seemed to know his thoughts as she joked, "Don't worry about messing it up. Believe me, there are many worse things on my outfit than snot."

Theodore took the sleeve and blew his nose for what seemed like a long time to him. When he finished, the sleeve had a giant white and green spot on the cuff in horrible contrast to the black material. Theodore looked to see if Mom was angry at this. Her face didn't change as she quietly kept her arm out for Theodore's use. After blowing his nose a couple more times, Theodore quietly stepped back from the arm.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, it's fine," Mom dismissed as she pulled back her arm.

"Let's go back. Who knows how long we have until the drugs run out," Mom shrugged.

"Oh, and Miles... This isn't over," she quietly said as Theodore walked beside her.

Chapter Text

YAWN

The man, dressed in the standard Murkoff tactical division attire of olive-green fatigues and heavy combat boots, sits at a small desk in front of a computer. The rest of his gear is stuffed inside his locker; after all, what's the use of a gun when doing paperwork? The man is tall and well-built, his frame imposing even as he slumps over the desk. He pecks away at the too-small keys of his laptop, staring at the too-small screen that burns his eyes with its too-bright brightness. Currently, he's checking the shipping orders for the requests from the Variants, waiting for the day when he can be involved in something more aligned with what he signed up for in the first place.

The day he stands around like a dumb guard dog, watching a giant horde of Variants waiting to get their free stuff, is the closest thing to combat the man has experienced in years. If he had known he would end up like this, he wouldn't have joined the company working with Murkoff. He would have gone elsewhere, perhaps even preferred being in a warzone. Anything is better than being a glorified accountant, letting his body grow old and waste away while babysitting crazies who haven't done shit in years.

In the beginning, they did act up, and looking back on it, at least that provided some entertainment. But all too soon, they settled down, and the man thought it was the calm before the storm. However, the storm never came, and now he's stuck, looking at the computer's clock, waiting for the day to end so he can go to his room and sleep. For 'security purposes,' he's spent 15 years living in an overpaid, too-expensive giant wall surrounding the asylum. But on the plus side, most of the Variants at least wear clothing because he has seen more than enough dicks and balls to last him a lifetime. God, he wishes that they could have just killed everything that moved in the first place and not gone through all of this unnecessary shit, but that's just him, apparently.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

A loud, shrill buzzing brings his thoughts to an abrupt halt and instantly gives the man a pounding headache. The old buzzer has gone slightly broken, so there's a weird crackling at the end, but their employer said there isn't enough room in their budget to replace it. And the guy who works it—BUZZ BUUZZZZZZZZZ—is an asshole. The man finally presses the button on the intercom.

"WHAT?" His gruff voice rasps out.

"Sir, Mr. Blaire is here for the monthly appointment," a bored voice drawls out.

The man sighs to himself.

"Bring him in."

BUZZ

The man jumps at the last one.

"Yes, Sir."

The man groans, wishing to get himself a drink, but then, one can never be drunk when dealing with Jeremey Blaire. The doors to his ramshackle office open as the man of the hour walks in.

The tall man confidently strides into the room, dressed in a sharp navy blue suit that fits him like a glove. His polished leather shoes tap lightly against the floor as he moves, displaying a sense of poise and refinement.

Despite the worn surroundings, he carries himself with an unmistakable air of superiority. His hair, once jet black but now showing hints of grey, is neatly combed back, adding a touch of maturity to his appearance.

Approaching the desk, he stands tall, his posture reflecting his self-assurance. His gaze briefly flickers over the small chair before him, hinting at a subtle disdain for its humble stature. In his presence, even the simplest of furnishings seems inadequate.

And God, the man hates Jeremey Blaire with a passion.

Blaire seems charming at first, with a smooth way of talking with a silky tone, but the more one gets to know him, the smoothness turns slimy, and the silk turns harsh. The man is as fake as a cheap knockoff, his charm nothing more than a thin veneer. Each word that drips from his tongue feels calculated. It's a skillful act, but the man sees through it, recognizing the venom beneath the honeyed facade.

As Blaire begins to speak, his voice oozes with false warmth, each word a reminder of the man's disdain for him. Yet, despite his inner loathing, the man maintains a face of professionalism, steeling himself for the inevitable interaction with this insufferable man.

"Hello Sergeant. It's nice to see you again. How have you been doing?" Blaire always starts the conversation with those words.

The man grits his teeth. Blaire knows that he is no sergeant. No, he says it to get under his skin. Hell, Blaire probably doesn't even know his name. The man forces a tight-lipped smile, his eyes narrowing slightly as he responds, "I'm doing fine, thank you." Each word carries a hint of sarcasm. It's a small act of defiance, a reminder that he won't allow Blaire to rattle him, no matter how infuriating the man may be.

Blaire's smile widens, exuding a smug sense of satisfaction as he speaks. "Yes, well, I've been doing quite well, thank you for asking. In fact, it's been positively riveting. The kind of month that keeps one on their toes, you know?" He punctuates his words with a slight tilt of his head.

The man offers a noncommittal grunt in response, his expression remaining stoic as he braces himself for whatever self-serving spiel Blaire is about to launch into.

With the same smile, Blaire continues, "Recent events have unfolded rather favorably, I must say," Blaire begins, his voice laced with an oily charm that sets the man's teeth on edge. "It seems we've managed to resolve a few... nuisances, shall we say, among our Variant population."

He pauses for effect, his smile widening into a predatory grin as he continues, "As a result, I find myself once again in possession of a large portion of our esteemed asylum. Naturally, with this change in circumstances, I want an update on our supplies for the upcoming month. You understand, of course, the importance of maintaining the smooth operation of our facility in light of these events."

As Blaire was talking, with a practiced motion, Blaire retrieved a folded sheet of paper from his impeccably tailored suit pocket, holding it out just beyond the man's reach. The man begrudgingly rises from his chair, a surge of annoyance coursing through him as he leans over the desk to grasp the paper. He takes it with a curt nod, unfolding it to view the contents.

The man's eyebrows furrow as he examines the list, noticing the assortment of tools forbidden within the asylum. He glances up at Blaire, a skeptical look on his face.

"Why are you asking for banned items?"

"Well, obviously, I need tools to make the necessary repairs. Haven't you ever done home repairs before?" Blaire retorts, his tone condescending, as if the man's question was beneath him.

"I'm asking because you are requesting tools that can be used for harm, Mr. Blaire, and I need to hear a good justification for this." The man waved the paper to highlight his point.

Blaire leans forward slightly, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. "Surely you understand, Sergeant, that maintaining the setup of this facility is vital to its operation. These tools are necessary for routine maintenance and repairs. I shouldn't have to justify such basic needs to you."

Trying to maintain a neutral face, the man sits at the desk. "I'm sorry, but I will have to deny this request. I can get you some things not banned for the following month."

Blaire's smile tightens, his tone dripping with insincere concern. "Oh, I understand your worries, Sergeant. But think about the effects of denying these supplies. We wouldn't want any delays in the ongoing operations, would we? It's in everyone's best interest to ensure everything goes smoothly."

The man took in a huge breath and steeled himself. He wouldn't let Blaire walk all over him, especially with that shit-eating grin. "I'm sorry, but that is insufficient justification." The man then slid the paper on the table towards Blaire. "I'm afraid I can't allow your request to go through."

Blaire's smile faltered momentarily, replaced by a cool, calculating gaze. He straightened his posture, his demeanor shifting from faux charm to thinly veiled frustration. "I see," he said, his voice laced with subtle menace.

"Well, if that's your decision, Sergeant." There was a hint of threat in his tone. He took a step towards the man's desk. He stopped, and the grin returned on his face. "You know, I've been talking to some other people here, and, well... it seems like you've been having a rough time lately." His tone was almost too casual. He took a deliberate step back, his smile unnervingly wide. "But hey, we all have ups and downs, don't we?"

The man's stomach churned as Blaire's icy gaze bore into him. "Maybe this job has been too much. Maybe you've gone a bit crazy with all the stress," Blaire remarked. "I should go and see if you can get a break. A vacation, maybe? Or do you need to go somewhere for some mental relief?"

The man's heart pounded as he struggled to keep his cool. Could Blaire really have the authority to send him to the asylum as a patient? The man felt a knot of fear form in his stomach as he remembered the extent of Blaire's power and influence.

The man's expression must have betrayed his fear, unmistakable in the way Blaire's eyes narrowed. It was clear: He was going in for the kill.

Blaire leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You know, I could make your life here a lot easier. All you have to do is approve my request, and we can forget this little disagreement ever happened."

The man shuddered and lowered his head in defeat. And God, how he hates himself for it. For once, the man wanted to not let Blaire walk all over him. But that's impossible.

"I'll see what I can get for your request, Mr. Blaire."

Blaire's grin widened triumphantly. "Good choice, Sergeant. I knew you'd see things my way." With a smug nod, he turned on his heel, and before he strolled out of the room, he made one last remark: "Nice meeting we had. See you next month". Leaving the man feeling defeated.

The man took a moment to recollect himself.

BUZZ

The harsh buzz nearly made the man have a heart attack.

"Blaire told me to tell you: you need to sleep more and that you look like a mess." The bored voice drawled out.

The man sighed and slumped onto the desk.

God, does he hate that asshole.

How I kinda imagine Jeremy Blaire doing. 

Oh yeah I made this so if you want to check out my art (I'm on deviantart🤷): https://www.deviantart.com/slientreader0

Chapter Text

*

The walk back was filled with an awkward and oppressive sense of anger from Mom. Theodore knew that whatever Mom and Miles argued about still stuck with her. Obviously, she wasn't over it. When they reached the door to the secret room, Theodore waited for Mom outside. He wanted to talk with Miles; he wanted answers so badly. So Theodore reached out to Miles.

"Miles?"

There was a heavy moment of silence.

"Yeah."

There was something off about Miles's voice. It seemed to carry a bone-deep tiredness. Theodore couldn't place it, but it made him worry all the more.

"A-are you alright?" Theodore asked, nervously rubbing his arms.

"Yeah, I'm alright, Ted." Miles's voice sounded sad and monotone. 

"What happened? Why were you out for so long? Are you truly alright? What was Mom talking about? Are you planning anything? What are you planning? Why couldn't Mom tell me anything? Why didn't you want me to know?" Theodore rushed out all of the questions he had. The words collided with each other as Theodore spoke without pause. When he finished, he was gasping for breath, his throat tightening and burning. Theodore wasn't sure if he had been loud, but he could hear his heart pounding and harsh, noisy breaths in his ears.

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Ted. Listen. Listen." Theodore shakily nodded his head. 

"Inhale." 

Theodore took a deep breath. 

"Exhale."

Theodore followed Mile's instructions until he felt himself relax, the burning in his throat stopped, and the beating of his heart slowed. After silence, Theodore heard Miles say, "Are ya alright?"

Theodore nodded. 

Afterward, Miles told Theodore that he didn't tell him because he had a hard time and didn't want him to get worried. Considering that Miles was talking in short and segmented sentences with a warbling monotone, Theodore believed Miles. It was just that, why did he have to hear about this in such a horrible way. After the explanation, Theodore was left feeling numb and empty. 

"I need rest. It's getting harder t-t-t…. Need energy."

With that, Theodore leaned against the wall and let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. By this point, Miles had gone quiet as Theodore tried to process what had happened just today. He didn't know how long he stared at the flickering of the old lightbulbs but was startled by Mom's voice. 

"Miles explained it to you?"

Theodore looked at Mom, who was now wearing her dress. He felt a sense of wrongness that he had before; the dress never really suited her. In a quiet, small voice, he got off the wall and said, "Yes."

Mom looked at Theodore, staring right into his eyes. "Did he answer any of your questions?"

Theodore looked away and stared at nothing in particular. "No, he didn't."

He heard Mom mutter under her breath, "Fucking figures."

In the corner of his eye, he saw Mom starting to walk away, slightly limping. "Well, we got to get back. Who knows how long we've been out, and I don't want to be fucking out when Gluskin comes to his senses and comes looking for us. I don't want another fucking shit show." In a louder voice, she continued, "And Miles, you better get some fucking rest. We're not done, and I don't want to play Mad libs with you when we talk."

Theodore ran up to Mom to catch up and follow her back.

"What's Mad Libs?"

Mom looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, uhm, it's this game… Ugh." With a wave of her hand and a sigh, she said, "I'll tell you about it later."

.

.

.

After a quiet walk back, Theodore followed Mom through the gate. While she was locking the rusty gate back up, Theodore strained his ears to listen for any signs of activity. However, there was an eerie silence pervading the dim hallway. Before Theodore could dwell on it further, he noticed Mom moving past him, heading towards her and Father's bedroom. Theodore trailed behind, but just as he was about to catch up, Mom glanced back at him and whispered, "I'm going to see if he's up. Don't say anything."

However, she didn't open the door. Instead, she stood still, closed her eyes, and popped her back and neck. Theodore watched, a sense of unease creeping over him as she smiled and appeared cheerful, reminiscent of the mother he had grown up with. But considering everything he had seen and now knew, a shiver ran up his spine.

With a cheerful knock and a sweet, concerned-sounding voice, Mom asked, "Honey? Are you feeling better?"

She opened the door, and Theodore couldn't resist peeking in. The room looked similar to his, except instead of two twin beds with blue sheets, there was a large bed with dark green sheets.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was his father, hunched over with his head in his hands. When he looked up, the expression on his face sent a chill down Theodore's spine. It wasn't one of fury, like on that day, but it wasn't the cheery look he would almost always have. It was a grim expression, much more intimidating than his usual anger. 

"We need to talk," he said calmly, devoid of any joy or anger, leaving Theodore unsure what to make of this situation. It seemed like Mom was just as uncertain as when Theodore glanced at her; she appeared almost dumbfounded. It took her a couple of seconds to respond. "I… Umm. What's wrong, Honey? Are you still feeling sick from what you ate this morning? If so, I'm sure-" 

"We need to talk now," Father interrupted as he stood up from the bed. Theodore noticed Mom tensing up, her hand silently tapping against the door frame.

"Yes, honey, what's wrong?" 

"We're not talking about this near the boys," Father stated firmly as he slowly approached the door. 

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

The tapping grew louder and faster, echoing through the tense atmosphere. Sensing the suffocating tension, Theodore decided to speak up. "What do you need to talk about?"

Father finally shifted his gaze from Mom to Theodore. After silence, his expression softened, and he offered a small smile, easing the tension. "There is Nothing that you need to worry yourself with. We need to discuss adult matters between your mother and me."

Father reached for the door, reassuringly touching Mom's shoulder as he spoke. She stopped tapping the door frame and placed her hand over his. With a terse smile, she nodded slightly, and everyone awkwardly moved out into the hallway.

While smiling and looking at Father, Mom reassured Theodore, "Don't worry, Teddy, we'll be out for a while. Just stick with your brother for a bit." There was a hint of concern in her eyes as she glanced briefly at Theodore, causing him to silently gulp. Before he could say anything, Mom and Father were already walking down the hallway. 

As they disappeared from sight, Theodore turned his gaze towards the door next to the one he was standing in front of. A different feeling washed over him: a sense of disgust. Theodore had almost forgotten what he had seen earlier and wished he had. But he supposed he should keep track of where Ward was. He sighed to himself and entered their shared bedroom.

Upon entering, Theodore saw Ward changing his pants. Immediately, Theodore averted his eyes and hurriedly backed out, closing the door behind him. It felt strange. It shouldn't, considering he usually changed with Ward almost every morning. But it felt unsettling and wrong to see him like that after what he had witnessed earlier (though he couldn't quite describe it since he didn't know what Ward was doing). Another wave of disgust washed over Theodore, leaving him confused and unsettled.

Theodore stood outside the door for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should go back in. Ultimately, he decided against it. He knew where Ward was, and he wasn't doing anything. Besides, Theodore wasn't particularly eager to engage in conversation with him. He was content to wait in the hallway until Mom returned. If Ward emerged from the room, Theodore would follow him to ensure he didn't do anything suspicious.

However, his plans were disrupted when the door opened, and Ward stepped out, sporting a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hello, brother! It's great to see you!" Ward greeted him, stopping beside Theodore in the hallway. "I heard Mother and Father are off for a talk, and I thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to chat, too."

Theodore couldn't help but feel suspicious. Ward's sickeningly sweet tone was unlike anything he used when they were alone. "Alright," Theodore replied curtly, folding his arms. "What do you want to talk about?"

Ward's smile widened, but something was unsettling about it. "Well, the topic is a bit... sensitive. I'd rather not risk Father walking in on us. So, how about we find somewhere more private to discuss it?" Ward draped his arm over Theodore's shoulders, causing him to tense up uncomfortably at the close contact.

"If what you want to talk about is what I think it is, then I'd prefer to wait until Mom returns. We can talk then," Theodore insisted, attempting to shake off Ward's arm, but his brother's grip remained firm.

As Ward's arm tightened around Theodore, a chill ran down his spine. "So it's 'Mom' now, huh?" Ward's whispered words sent a shiver through Theodore, barely audible yet laden with an unsettling tone. Then, just as suddenly as he had tightened his grip, Ward released him and strode ahead. "You don't want to talk? That's fine, then. I'll be off now."

Theodore hesitated for a moment before calling out, "Wait!" Ward didn't halt, but he slowed his pace enough for Theodore to catch up. Despite walking behind him, Theodore could sense the smugness emanating from his brother. It infuriated him, but he bit back his anger and trailed behind Ward as they passed through the kitchen and out into the open air.

Theodore stopped short when he saw Ward heading towards the woods. He knew he had to follow; there was no telling what Ward might do, and Theodore and Mom already had enough on their plates. Gritting his teeth, Theodore followed his brother's lead into the dense foliage, the tension thickening with each step.

They walked until Ward suddenly stopped, leading them to an area surrounded by dead trees and eerily quiet woods. An awful stench hung in the air, and Theodore immediately regretted following Ward here. "What do you want to talk about?" Theodore asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

"Getting to the point, are we? Okay, I want to know everything," Ward replied, still wearing that unsettling smile.

"What do you mean?" Theodore began to back away slowly, his instincts screaming to flee.

||| "Tsk. You know what I'm talking about," Ward said, suddenly looming close. Theodore could feel his heart racing as panic surged within him. He needed to leave, and fast. But before he could turn and run, a sharp, intense pain pierced his stomach, causing him to collapse to his knees, clutching his sides in agony.

Theodore gasped, his lungs desperate for air that was suddenly ripped away from him. Another wave of excruciating pain crashed over him, doubling him over as he felt himself struck again.

He groaned in agony, collapsing onto the forest floor. Sharp branches poked at his face, scratching his skin, while the pungent smell of rot grew stronger as he lay with the dirt below him.

Theodore groaned, disoriented, as he felt himself suddenly flipped onto his stomach. Confusion and fear swirled in his mind. What is going on? He struggled to catch his breath, panting heavily, only to feel his hands forcefully yanked behind his back. Panic surged, and he thrashed around, desperate to break free. All he could think about was escaping, returning to safety. He screamed at the top of his lungs, "LET GO OF ME! GET OFF! GET—" His words were abruptly cut off by another vicious kick to his side, driving the air from his lungs and silencing his cries. 

Theodore coughed violently, his lungs burning with each breath as he felt his hands being bound.

How was this happening? Where did Ward even get something to tie him with? Theodore attempted to turn his head to look, but a heavy weight pressed down on his back, forcing him face-first into the dirt. He surmised that Ward must be sitting on him, pinning him down, as he felt his legs being pulled towards his back. Theodore tried to kick out, but he was at such an awkward angle, and Ward's weight held him firmly to the ground. Gasping for air, Theodore found himself unable to move, trapped beneath Ward. 

Tears streamed down Theodore's cheeks as he felt the rough binding of his legs. Ward's

movements were callous, each knot tightening with a sense of malice that sent shivers down Theodore's spine. When Ward finished securing his legs, he rose from Theodore's prone form and delivered a swift kick, forcing Theodore onto his back.

Lying on the forest floor, Theodore gazed upward, his vision filled with the canopy of towering trees blocking the blue sky. The rustling of leaves against the dirt punctuated the tense silence, hinting at Ward's movements nearby.

CLANG

Amidst the stillness, a metallic clang echoed through the air, drawing Theodore's attention. He turned his head to see Ward wielding an old, weathered metal toolbox reminiscent of those Father used during repair work.

Ward's grin widened at Theodore's tear-stained face, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Aw, already crying? I haven't even started yet," he taunted, his chuckle dripping with malice. "I guess that makes things easier for me."

Setting the toolbox down with a thud, Ward patted it mockingly. "Since you're my brother... I'll give you the chance to tell me what you know about what Mother is doing."

Theodore's breaths came in ragged gasps, his body still wracked with pain. He knew he couldn't betray their mother or jeopardize the plan. Summoning all his courage, he choked, "I-I don't know anything about what Mo-Mother is doing."

But Ward's smile vanished, replaced by a scowl. Theodore could sense the anger radiating off him, and dread washed over him like a cold wave.

"Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I haven't noticed how close you two seemed to have gotten?" Ward's voice rose with each word, his anger palpable. "I mean, she even took you out to do something while I was the one who was drugged to stay put like a dog!"

With a grunt of effort, Ward stood up, hoisted Theodore up, and began dragging him towards a nearby tree. Theodore struggled against the tight bindings, his hands growing numb with a prickling sensation. Panic surged through him as he realized the severity of his situation.

"Don't bother," Ward taunted, a malicious grin twisting his features. "I made sure to make the ties extra tight. But you might want to answer me quick since the longer they're on, the longer your hands don't have much blood running through them."

Theodore's heart pounded as he searched for a way out of this nightmare.

Now leaning against a tree, Theodore watched in horror as Ward approached his legs and removed one of Theodore's shoes. "Now, as much as I want to try many, MANY, different things with you, I need to make sure that what I do won't be visible to Father, so I'll start with this first."

Ward then walked over to the toolbox and retrieved something from it. It appeared to be a red ball with gray metal protruding from it.

"Pins and needles," Ward remarked with a twisted grin. "I stole them from Father a while back, before everything happened. I wanted to experiment with them. How lucky I get to try this on a human this time."

Ward crouched down, wielding a long, thin needle in one hand while grabbing Theodore's foot with the other. "Last chance. What do you know?" 

Theodore remained silent, unsure of what Ward was planning to do. The silence was suffocating, filled only by Theodore's harsh breathing.

Then, Theodore screamed as an intense, sharp pain radiated from his foot. Ward had inserted the needle under the nail of his big toe, sending waves of agony through his body. Theodore thrashed violently against the tree, the pain shooting up his leg as his toe began to burn and throb.

"Tell me, or I'm going to put another in," Ward commanded. Theodore shook his head in desperation. "I don't know."

Ward took another needle and stuck it next to the first, adding more excruciating pain to Theodore's already tortured foot. Theodore watched in horror as his nail started to turn blood-red under the assault.

"Come on and tell me. Spill your guts," Ward demanded, punctuating his words by wiggling one of the needles in Theodore's toe, causing him to whimper.

Ward raised an eyebrow, but Theodore bit his lip to stifle further sounds.

"Hmm. Maybe I need to try something else," Ward hummed.

Ward's movements were deliberate as he retrieved the rusty pliers, each motion sending a shiver of dread down Theodore's spine. As Ward approached with the menacing tool, Theodore's heart hammered in his chest, the rapid beats echoing in his ears like the ominous drumming of impending doom. His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale a struggle against the suffocating fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

Theodore's senses seemed heightened, acutely aware of every detail—the faint rust on the pliers, the musty scent of the forest, the cold sweat trickling down his back. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation, each second stretching into an eternity of dread.

With a gut-wrenching twist of horror, Theodore realized the true intent of Ward's actions.

Another scream tore from his throat as the rusty pliers clamped onto his nail, the sensation of pressure intensifying with every agonizing tug. The needles beneath his nail dug deeper into his flesh, sending waves of excruciating pain radiating through his entire body.

Theodore's desperate cries for help echoed through the lonely forest, lost in the vast silence. No savior came to his aid, only Ward's mocking laughter, a chilling symphony to accompany the symphony of agony that consumed Theodore's senses.

Time seemed to blur, each moment a never-ending torment of suffering. Theodore's world narrowed to the searing pain in his foot, the relentless tugging of the pliers, and the sickening sensation of blood trickling down his skin.

With a sickening sensation of finality, Theodore felt the nail tear away from his toe, leaving behind a raw, throbbing wound that pulsed with every heartbeat. Blood welled from the torn flesh, staining the forest floor with crimson.

But there was no respite, no mercy in Ward's sadistic game. With a cruel smile, he moved on to the next toe, each rip and tear accompanied by Theodore's agonized screams. In a haze of pain and desperation, Theodore finally gave in, his resolve crumbling under the relentless onslaught of torture.

"I'll tell! I'll tell you! Just stop!" Theodore's voice cracked with anguish. His words were a desperate plea for mercy that fell on deaf ears. He felt a pang of guilt at the betrayal, but the overwhelming need to escape the torment outweighed everything else. 

Ward finally stopped as Theodore told about Mom's plan to escape. He tried to be as vague as possible and didn't say anything about Miles, hoping that what he said would be enough for Ward.

"Who is Miles?" Ward sneered at him.

"What do you mean?" Theodore tried to deflect.

Ward then took another needle from the red pin cushion and stabbed it into the arch of his foot. Theodore screamed.

"Do you think I'm stupid? Did you forget I was also there with you when she killed that man? She was talking to someone named Miles. Now, who is he? Tell me, or I will rip out the next nail!" Ward yelled.

Theodore's heart sank as Ward's words cut through him like a knife. The memory of that fateful day flooded back, the fear and desperation still fresh in his mind. He had hoped to keep Miles hidden, but now it seemed futile.

His body trembled with pain and fear as Ward loomed over him, the pliers poised menacingly in his hand. Theodore's mind raced, searching for a way out of this nightmare.

"I... I don't know who Miles is," Theodore stammered, his voice shaking with fear. "He's just... someone Mom knows. Please, I've told you everything I know. Just... just let me go."

But Ward's eyes flashed with rage, his grip tightening on the pliers. "Don't lie to me," he growled, his voice dripping with malice. "I saw the way you reacted when I mentioned his name. Tell me the truth, or I swear I'll make you regret it."

Theodore's breath caught in his throat as he realized there was no escape. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew he had no choice but to reveal the truth. 

"Miles is Mo-mother's partner; they're working together," Theodore finally said. He didn't reveal anything else about Miles, especially his powers, but Ward didn't need to know that. 

"Partners, huh?" Ward almost seemed to speak to himself with the last question. His face seemed almost contemplative. But the smirk soon returned. "Well then, how about one last nail for the road?" Theodore yelled in anger, "No! I already told you everything!"

"I know, but this last one is for the effort you made me go through to get you to talk. You could've avoided it if you just answered when I first asked you." 

Theodore's whole body trembled with pain and exhaustion as Ward extracted the final nail, each movement sending shockwaves of agony through him. He gritted his teeth to stifle the screams threatening to escape his lips, his vision blurred with tears of anguish.

Ward's callous words cut through the air, a cruel reminder of the torture Theodore had endured. The realization that he could have avoided this suffering gnawed at him, filling him with bitter regret.

As Ward packed away his instruments of torture, Theodore remained motionless, his body racked with sobs. 

Ward returned, forcing Theodore's swollen, throbbing foot back into his shoe, the tightness amplifying the pain. As Theodore's hands and feet were released from their bindings, his limbs felt leaden, almost lifeless. Tears continued to stream down his face as he lay unmoving, wishing he could vanish into the ground. Ward's command to get up was met with Theodore's silent compliance, his body trembling with pain and fear.

Ward's harsh command jolted Theodore from his daze, his body protesting every movement as he struggled to obey. 

Theodore winced as Ward's kick sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through him, but he forced himself to stand with trembling limbs and aching muscles. He pushed himself off the ground, his swollen foot throbbing with each step. He glanced at Ward, his eyes filled with fear and hatred, but he dared not speak, knowing that any defiance would only invite further punishment.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Theodore stumbled forward, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He glanced numbly at his wrists, noticing the angry red lines etched across them, the skin looking almost blue before flushing red with returning blood flow. As they made their way through the forest, Theodore limped, trying to minimize the weight on his injured foot. Despite his efforts, every step sent waves of discomfort through him, exacerbated by the blood pooling in his shoe. |||

Eventually, they reached the kitchen, where Mom burst in, clearly having searched for them. Her gaze fell upon Theodore, and though he couldn't see his reflection, he knew he must look terrible. Yet, seeing her filled him with relief. Mom rushed to him, her eyes filled with anger as she took in his condition, her gaze shifting to Ward, her fury evident.

"You fucker!" Mom spat out, her voice trembling with rage as she pushed Ward against the refrigerator. "What did you do to Theodore?" Ward chuckled breathlessly, taunting her. "Careful now. Imagine what Father would think if he walked in on this."

Undeterred, Mom slammed Ward against the appliance again, her anger palpable. "I don't give a shit. What did you do?" she demanded, her voice a low growl.

Ward groaned, his smirk faltering. Theodore felt a twinge of satisfaction at seeing Ward in pain. "I only made him tell me what I wanted to know over the past week!" Ward admitted bitterly. "I allowed you to tell me, but I resorted to other means after what you did. Blame yourself for what happened. But now, I know everything and want to go with you next time."

Mom laughed, her voice hollow and disdainful. "No chance. And there's nothing you can do to change my mind. What do you have? The paper? Your father? They're all one-and-done deals."

Ward's expression darkened. "I have my brother. And now that I know you care so much for him, I think I'll use him. I can make his life hell, and what will you do about it? Hm? Father will never blame his boys if anything were to happen. No, you're there for that." 

"You absolute little fucking shit, do you think I'll let you walk all over me? You fuck?" Mom's voice seethed with fury, her words cutting through the air like a knife. "I can and will deal with you. The only reason you target your brother is that he is smaller than you, right? You can only deal with little animals and those who can't overpower you. You are a fucking coward. Lower than dog shit." 

Mom's eyes blazed with intensity as she spat out each word, her anger boiling. Ward was silent, his eyes widening and his face red under the weight of her scathing words.

The tension in the air was palpable, suffocating as if a single spark could ignite a raging inferno. For a dreadful, endless moment, silence hung heavy in the room, broken only by Mom's heavy breathing and Ward's labored breaths against the refrigerator. Ward's head hung low, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Then, Mom's gaze shifted downward, and her expression twisted in disgust. "You're fucking disgusting," she spat out, recoiling from Ward as if repelled by his presence. Bewildered by the sudden turn of events, Theodore couldn't comprehend what Mom had seen to evoke such a visceral reaction.

"Get out," Mom demanded, her eyes shooting daggers at Ward. If looks could kill, Ward would have been instantly reduced to ashes.

Ward glanced at Mom, his lips pressed thinly before his gaze flicked briefly to Theodore. Ward collected himself and silently exited the kitchen with a semblance of composure, leaving an aura of tension and unease.

Mom then looked at Theodore, and the anger seemed to leave her eyes, her face taking on a more neutral expression. At this, Theodore felt tears well up in his eyes. Mom watched Theodore with a mixture of concern and tenderness as he sobbed uncontrollably, his words choked by the weight of his trauma. She approached him, her movements gentle, and pulled out a chair for him to sit on. Theodore hobbled over and sank into the chair, relieved to take the weight off his injured foot.

Opening a cabinet, Mom retrieved a blue box and placed it on the table with a soft thud. "What happened?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Theodore struggled to articulate the horrors he had endured, his emotions overwhelming him. Each attempt to recount the events only served to intensify his anguish, leaving him feeling sick to his stomach. "Theodore? Hey, you don't have to go into detail, alright?" Mom's voice was unusually gentle, a stark departure from her usual demeanor. "Just tell me where he hurt you."

Despite his tears, Theodore managed to point to his sides and his stomach, the areas still throbbing with pain. Then, with trembling hands, he extended his injured foot, the shoe now stained with blood.

When Mom removed his shoe, Theodore couldn't help but hiss in pain as the air stung his raw wounds. He averted his gaze from the sight of his foot, the red mess of blood and injury too much to bear. Mom retrieved the white bandages and small packets from the blue box, and her movements were organized and efficient.

Small white squares emerged as she opened the packets, appearing to be wipes. "This is going to sting a little bit," Mom warned before gently beginning to wipe away the blood from his foot. Theodore gritted his teeth as the wipes made contact with the open wounds, a sharp sting coursing through him. He hissed but refrained from uttering any further complaints.

Mom bandaged the wounds once the blood was cleaned off, her hands steady despite the task. Amidst her ministrations, she posed a question that pierced through the air. "Why did you follow Ward out to the woods? That's pretty fucking stupid."

Theodore hung his head in shame. "I didn't want Ward to do anything that could mess up the plan or give you and Miles any more problems. I just wanted to help," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse.

"While I appreciate the thought, remember what I said: always look out for yourself first. Got it? Never ever put yourself in situations like that ever again. You hear me?" Her words carried a weight of authority, and Theodore nodded shakily in response.

"I do need to teach you how to defend yourself, though," Mom remarked as she finished wrapping up his foot, setting it down gently. "You said he also hurt you on your sides, right?" Theodore nodded in confirmation. "Okay then, lift up your shirt. I need to see if he broke any ribs."

Awkwardly, Theodore complied, lifting his shirt as Mom proceeded to inspect his sides, poking and prodding carefully. "Do you have any problems breathing?" she inquired. Theodore shook his head. "Have you coughed up any blood?" Again, he shook his head. Theodore winced as Mom prodded a particularly tender area, his gaze falling to the ugly purple bruises marring his skin. Worry creased his brow as he looked up at Mom.

"As far as I can tell, you've got some fucking awful bruising, but nothing worse than that," Mom reassured him, motioning for him to lower his shirt. As Theodore complied, Mom headed to the refrigerator, retrieving what appeared to be a package of frozen beans. She handed it to Theodore. "Put that on the bruising on your body."

As Theodore applied the cold pack, Mom pulled a chair for herself. "Alright then, I'm going to tell you what's going on," she began. Theodore nodded, his attention focused on her words. "Okay, Gluskin is going to be around a lot since he is preparing to go out during Shipping Day, which means we will be stuck here for the time being." Theodore nodded shakily, realizing he must be around Ward more frequently.

"Why is Father going out?" Theodore asked, curious about the sudden change in their routine.

"That's the thing," Mom replied, her tone serious. "Gluskin is going to be out because he's looking for a therapist for me. He's worried about my behavior and thinks that I need help." Theodore wasn't expecting to hear that, his thoughts racing with questions and concerns.

"I don't know what that necessarily means, but be ready for that when it happens," Mom continued, her expression sad.

"So that's what they were talking about," Theodore mused, re-creating the earlier conversation he had overheard.

"As for Ward, there's not much I can fucking do at the moment. I will have to be around you more to keep Ward off you. But I will also teach you some self-defense stuff I've learned in uni."

"Uni?" Theodore asked, intrigued by the term.

Mom chuckled softly. "When I was in college, I had to learn some tips in case some fucking creep jumps me or whatever. The biggest tip I can give you is to aim for the balls. It doesn't matter if the person is a guy or girl; if you kick them in the crotch, it's going to hurt."

"Okay," Theodore stammered, trying to absorb all the information.

"Yeah, my dad told me that. My mom would always stay on the phone with me if I had to be out at night after a test or something since where I went to uni, it would get dark early and super fucking cold, so I couldn't bike to my dorm. So I would call my mom, so if anything happened to me, she would know right away."

Theodore's eyes widened as he observed the genuine smile on her face. It was the biggest smile he had ever seen on her, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort. As she continued to give tips, like aiming for the eyes or how to escape from a hold if someone grabbed your wrist, Theodore looked on in awe at how animated Mom became, her passion evident in every word. 

Even though his body was still hurting, Theodore started to feel okay again. 

Chapter Text

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Eddy has had a long month. He found himself questioning the state of affairs concerning his wife. He would prefer to grant her the benefit of the doubt and believe that she is not a WHORE who is sneaking out behind his back to meet other men. Even more so, he restrained himself from losing his temper and committing a rash act of violence, no matter how justified it might seem to rid the world of another SLUT. However, he refused to entertain such thoughts, knowing he wouldn't want to deprive his boys of a mother. Eddy had experienced the heartbreak of a mother leaving at a young age, and he was determined not to let his sons endure the same pain. There had to be something else amiss with his wife.

Nothing had seemed awry for fifteen years, so it had to be a recent development. Along those lines of thinking, Eddie attempted to recall his wife's age. Of course, he couldn't simply ask her. Heaven forbid. There were fundamental rules when it came to dealing with women. Rule number one: Never ask a woman about her weight. Rule number two: Never ask a woman about her age. Therefore, Eddy would have to make an educated guess, surmising that his wife would be approaching middle age.

If he remembered correctly, then his wife would be going through menopause. Lord, help him with that. Something clicked. That's why she would be acting erratically! She's bleeding all over Western North Carolina! Then, her behavior would make more sense regarding how women are already so moody and hysterical during their regular bleeding. Imagine how difficult they would be during that time, especially with how ashamed she would be regarding her weight gain. Not that he would care about that. He's a gentleman, after all! He's a one-woman type of man. But then how to deal with her.

He was thinking about dealing with things how he would typically deal with them, with a good, strong hand here and there. But that didn't seem to be working recently. He then thought about resorting to more drastic measures. Still, since his wife did clean and do the cooking, those would be severely affected if he cut off any of her limbs for bad behavior. Eddy wracked his brain about how to deal with the issue when it suddenly hit him. She needs to see a doctor. But not any regular doctor. No, Eddy knew how the hysterical women were dealt with – with a good haul off to an asylum. But due to the circumstances, what was the point of that? So, the next best thing is having her go to a shrink and see if anything can be done to get things back in order.

But he didn't want his wife going out and about like that for any reason other than getting the supplies for the month, so he would have to bring a shrink to them instead. After telling his wife about his plans to go out during the day to get supplies (kill two birds with one stone), Eddy began securing his home with traps and defenses to protect his wife and kids from intruders while he was out.

He kept a close eye on his family before the day he had to go out, and things seemed quite different. Theodore had asked him if he could have his own bedroom. It must be around that time for his boys. They probably want their own space. Eddy felt a bit proud since they were growing up! Eddy never would have guessed that he would see the day! However, he was busy, so he promised his boy that he would get on that as soon as he could after he returned. His wife did start to act normally, but he could never be too sure about that. However, there is a weird tension between his wife and their boys. Eddie couldn't put a finger on it.

But that was another thing that would have to wait since it is now the day! Eddie spruced himself up, putting on his best clothing for his outing. It has been a long time since he was out of the house! He was tidying himself in the bathroom in the large mirror behind the sinks, and he looked at his face for a bit. Eddie tried to remember his face before he came to this place.

The young man looked in the car mirror as he hurriedly fixed his tie and hair while waiting for the young woman to leave her house. She didn't know he was there; the young man figured he would surprise her. The young man looked to the back seat of the car… everything that he would need was there in case he needed to use more persuasive means. The young man looked out his car window to see the young woman leaving her house on the other side of the street…

Eddie couldn't remember; it had been a long time, and he must not have paid attention to his looks in the first place then. He briefly glanced at the bloody maroon-tinted scars that littered almost half of his face before he turned and left the bathroom. He couldn't be late after all! He left for an excellent breakfast with his family and asked what they would learn today. Apparently, they're going over history today. With a nice kiss to his wife and a cheerful goodbye, he was off to find a shrink.

.

.

.

Eddie walked through the halls of his territory with a confident stride and a cheery disposition. He was heading to a part of the asylum where many residents were. He didn't want to deal with the other group… what are they called? It doesn't matter, the other group where some are dressed in suits. The last time he had the misfortune of talking with some of their members, he found them lacking. Lacking manners, grace, common sense, you name it. But Eddie dealt with them rather quickly. He killed a few of them, and the rest fled like yellow-bellied wimps. Eddie didn't feel like starting the day by ruining his good clothes, so he went to the other group, hoping they would be courteous to him.

Eddie hummed as he continued his long walk, observing the distinct difference in the walls of this area of the asylum. They seemed more vibrant, adorned with paintings resembling graffiti, albeit with regular paint instead of spray paint. As he passed by, he found them rather peculiar. In his opinion, why would anyone behave like a child and paint on the walls of their living space? What was the purpose of such an act?

The man uses the blood of one of his victims to write on these walls. His words are affirmations of love, expressions he has heard countless times but never experienced himself. He writes of his hopes—for love, for a wife, for a home. Perhaps, he thinks, if he commits these desires to writing and puts them out into the world, they might someday come true.

Eddie continued walking down the hallway until it opened to the main area. Surprisingly, given the graffiti he had seen earlier, it was cleaner than he expected. The walls were spotless, as were the floors. The heavy metal doors to the rooms that lined both sides of the room seemed clean, albeit with a bit of rust. Eddie noticed the people in the rooms whimpering and shuffling away from him as he walked by. It was clear he was being avoided. Eddie attributed it to his reputation preceding him, or perhaps his towering stature intimidated them. Either way, he knew he would have to wander around to find someone to help him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long before a man yelled, "YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!" Eddie looked around to see a man pointing at him from the second floor and rushing down the stairs. Eddie tensed his body, preparing for a potential altercation. As the man approached, Eddie got a better look at him. The man had hair, which was more than could be said about some of the others currently scurrying away like rats; it was such a shame that he didn't have a nose. He was not as tall as Eddie but still of good height nonetheless.

The man stood before him with his arms crossed, seething silently. Eddie paused for a moment before remembering his manners. Ah, right, he needed to introduce himself. What a clutz, he thought. So, with a charming grin, Gluskin extended his hand. At the motion, the man quickly took a step back. "I am Eddie Gluskin, and I am here to find someone to help me." After a moment without his hand being shaken, Eddie lowered it to his side. The man sniffed. One could do that without a nose? "And what do you need help with?" Eddie felt his mouth twitch at the condescending tone. Here, he was trying to act civilized, and this man couldn't even be bothered to show some effort at courtesy.

"Well, without going too deep into details, I'm looking for a therapist or psychiatrist who can help me with some issues," Eddie explained. He could see the man raise an eyebrow. "And tell me, why did you decide to come here for that?" Eddie was starting to get frustrated with this man.

"I could find someone more… let's just say good at their job. I felt like the best help could be found here," Eddie replied, ignoring that he didn't want to deal with the other group. "Sorry, but I'm not letting you see anyone here," the man said, uncrossing his arms and seeming to put up his fists. Eddie's smile faded as he popped his neck, readying himself. It seemed like he would have to do things the hard way. So much for keeping his clothes clean.

But another smaller man ran between them before either man could do anything. "S-S-T-O-W-P," he managed to utter, his words somewhat muffled and distorted by his lack of lips. From what Eddie could see, this man was bald and had horrendous scarring over his face. He also didn't have a nose. Scarred skin almost covered one of his eyes, and the other was bulging. This man ran over to the other man. "J-J-O-H-N! S-S-T-O-W-P! H-H-E'S THE G-G-G-R-O-O-M," he exclaimed, his speech difficult to understand but still urgent. The man's (John apparently) face dropped from anger into fear.

Eddie felt his smile return with that. John's face went back to anger seemingly, but he cast his eyes down to the floor and muttered, "It's fine. I'm going to deal with it." The lipless man didn't move out of the way. With a horrible-sounding deep breath from John, he looked up at Eddie and spoke louder. "I'll take you to someone. But I will be sticking around to keep an eye on you." Eddie's smile continued to spread. "Thank you." Eddie stepped to the side as if saying, 'You lead the way.' John looked at the lipless man and whispered something to him, and he went around the man. The lipless man stood and looked like he was going to say something, but he saw that Eddie was looking at him and ran off. It seemed like all his bravery had run out. Eddie then followed John quietly.

After some time, they finally stopped in front of a second-floor door. The door was different; it was a wooden door instead of metal. John walked up to the door and knocked lightly.

A muffled voice sounded out, "What is it?"

"It's John. Uhm…” John looked back at Eddie. "Someone's here to see you."

"Can it wait? I'm busy right now, but I'm almost done," the voice replied.

"Yeah, we'll wait," John said, giving Eddie a pointed look. Eddie nodded. He knew that this could happen. He had suddenly dropped in without an appointment. They waited out in the hallway for what felt like five minutes, which Eddie didn't mind. John, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable being around him. That's good. That's what he gets for being so rude.

The door then opened, and a man stepped out. The man who walked out was slightly hunched in on himself. He seemed to be gently scratching himself. Eddie couldn't see his face as he looked away, but he could hear him muttering, "Itchy... itchy… not as bad... want to touch silky skin though." The man didn't say anything else as he walked away. Eddie turned his attention to the open door.

John walked through the door, and Eddie followed him inside. The room had a desk and comfortable-looking chairs. Still, upon looking around, it seemed those were the only pieces of furniture inside, as the rest of the furniture was bare. However, the room had a nice, warm feeling, with soft lighting adding to the ambiance.

The man shifted uncomfortably as he waited, chained to the table before him. He sat in a small metal chair, the cold metal of his cuffs biting into his wrists as he zoned out whatever the officer was speaking about. Something about murders that the man refused to acknowledge. Eventually, the officer faded away, replaced by another man dressed in a white lab coat—a doctor, he called himself. He told the man he was there to help him, asking about his past. The man told him, trying to keep his frustration in check as the doctor continued to insist that he wasn't telling the truth...

Eddie snapped back from whatever he was lost in, realizing he had been standing in the room, likely staring off into space without saying anything. Thankfully, the man at the desk seemed to be doing the same thing. Finally, Eddie thoroughly looked at the man sitting there. He was staring down at his desk, his hand covering the lower half of his face, but Eddie could see sandy blond hair falling over the top half. Eddie couldn't see his face at all with that posture! But as he observed the rest of the man, he noticed his fantastic bone structure, especially in his hands and skin! It looked so soft, and Eddie wanted to touch it, to run his hands across that silky surface. Now Eddie understood what the other man who left the room was discussing.

As he was thinking about the itch he could feel in his hands at the thought of touching, the man finally looked up. Light brown eyes stared at him in recognition. Have they met before?

The man fought with all his might. He didn't want to be put back into their machines to be raped. He resisted vehemently, pushing against the two Jack-booted fucks trying to force him towards the monstrous machine. With a burst of strength, he shoved them off. He made a desperate dash for safety. Spotting a man sitting at some computers, he rushed towards him, pleading for help and begging anyone to help. But his escape was thwarted by the imposing barrier of glass. He clung to the wall, screaming at the man to assist him and prevent this, insisting he could stop them. Yet, the man at the computer only stared, recoiling from his chair. The Jack-booted fucks seized the man and dragged him mercilessly towards the machine.

The man at the desk stared momentarily, then finally spoke up. "I'm sorry for staring. Can I ask for your name?" He rubbed his neck nervously.

Eddie smiled. "Why, yes, you can," he replied, but he said nothing more.

After a brief pause, the man chuckled and smiled. "What's your name?"

Eddie gave a slight bow of his head and introduced himself formally: "My name is Eddie Gluskin. I'm pleased to meet you. I came here to ask for your help. Though I have to ask, have we met each other before?" He tilted his head inquisitively.

The man's smile faded, replaced by a look Eddie couldn't quite identify. Was it guilt? "No, I guess we never really met before. I'm Waylon Park."

"No 'Dr.' in front of that name?" Eddie questioned.

The man shrugged. "That's because I'm not a doctor."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Then why was I brought to you as someone who could help?"

"That depends on what you need help with. I don't profess to be a doctor who can solve all your problems. Really, I'm just willing to listen. And I think that in a place like this… having someone like that goes a long way. And if I could give some advice to help someone, that's just great."

Eddie hummed and thought for a moment. After making up his mind, he began to speak but was stopped when the man raised his hand. "Hold up. Before you talk about anything personal," the man said, turning his attention to Eddie's side. "John, can you leave us for a moment?"

Eddie turned to see John leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He had forgotten entirely that he was in the room! Eddie mentally slapped himself; he swore if he didn't have a neck to keep his head on his shoulders!

John protested heavily about leaving Mr. Park alone with Eddie. Still, after Mr. Park insisted that John could wait in the hallway and come in to help if he heard screaming, John finally relented and shuffled out of the door. However, the door was left open, and Eddie went to close it.

With a motion of Mr. Park's head, Eddie sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and told Mr. Park about the troubles he'd been having with his wife. He explained how he thinks the reason she's been acting like this is because she is going through menopause and how Eddie doesn't know how to deal with her. After he finished speaking, Mr. Park sat silently for a moment. However, Eddie felt much better after finally letting these thoughts out. Maybe Mr. Park did have a point about having someone to talk to who wants to listen.

"So… you want me to help your wife then?" Mr. Park asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes!" Eddie replied eagerly.

"Well… I can't help your wife with her hormonal problems if that's what you're asking," Mr. Park clarified.

"No! I just want you to help her with her emotional behavior," Eddie insisted.

Mr. Park sighed, considering Eddie's request. "Well, it sounds like you need to talk to her."

"But I have! And it seems like she doesn't listen to me!" Eddie yelled out in frustration.

Mr. Park looked at his desk momentarily before meeting Eddie's gaze again. "Alright. I will talk to your wife."

"Thank-"

"But if I feel like I can't help, then…" Mr. Park hesitated, "I guess you would have to find someone else," he added quickly.

"That is fine. Thank you," Eddie replied gratefully, getting up from the chair. "Oh, and when will you be able to come over?"

"Excuse me?" Mr. Park looked surprised.

"Yes, you see, I don't want my wife to be out by herself and possibly get attacked since I would have to stay to look after our boys. It would be best if you came over to her instead," Eddie explained.

Mr. Park considered this momentarily before agreeing, "Okay then, but I am going to have someone come with me."

Eddie inquired about the need for company, and Mr. Park replied, "For similar reasons why your wife can't come here. It's safer."

Eddie nodded in understanding, and they discussed the best time for Mr. Park to visit, settling on next week in the afternoon.

Their conversation concluded with a handshake. Eddie briefly savored the contact with Mr. Park's skin, but the moment ended too soon as Mr. Park pulled away.

As Eddie walked out the door, even John's disdainful look couldn't dampen Eddie's happy and fuzzy feeling, nor could it erase the warm tingling in his hand.

.

.

.

Afterward, Eddie went outside to do the second thing he had planned for the day: getting the supplies for the month. As he walked along the path to the wall, he finally reached the large group of people waiting for their turn. Some glanced at him, their gazes lingering in silence. Eddie didn't mind; he expected this kind of reaction. After all, it had been a while since he'd been out in public like this.

However, something peculiar happened as Eddie walked through the parting crowd. He began to hear whispers and murmurs.

"I can't believe he actually showed up."

"Do you think that guy could actually see into the future?"

"No, the artist must have had some connections and knew he would show up."

"But he looks exactly like how the painting showed him."

"Come on, that's ridiculous; it's just a coincidence."

Did they know he was going to show up? If so, Eddie couldn't possibly fathom how they could find out. He never talked to anyone besides his wife and kids about this. Was someone trailing him when he went out to look for a shrink? And why were they talking about an artist and a painting?

Eddie finally took his place in line (thankfully, it wasn't too long). As he waited, a group of about five men approached him.

They were wearing suits and seemed overconfident. Eddie noticed they were carrying various weapons: one had a small chainsaw, another a weed whacker, two had shovels, and the apparent leader wielded a machete. Eddie tilted his head at them, wondering where they got such items.

The group was laughing among themselves when the leader addressed him.

"Well, look who we have here? Seems like the mysterious Groom finally felt like showing up after all these years," the leader jeered.

Eddie raised an eyebrow but didn't feel like bothering with them. He turned back to the line. However, the leader grabbed Eddie's arm. "Hey! We're talking here!" Eddie merely turned to look at him, not moving to free his arm.

The man sniffed. "What? Not scared?" he taunted. "Well, it seems like you're out here alone. I bet your wife is alone right now. What do you think she's doing while you're out here?".

Eddie started to sneer, his anger growing, and he focused on the man holding his arm.

"I bet I know what she's doing right now." The man licked his lips. "If I went over there right now, would she let me lick it? Her pretty piggy cunt?" The rest of the group began to laugh. The one that had the chainsaw said, "Maybe she'll suck on my juicy cock!"

They continued laughing, and Eddie started to see red.

The leader then continued with his little rant. "Yeah, I'll stick my tongue up her pretty pussy. I bet she isn't fucking satisfied with your old dick. She would really want my fat cock in her. Who knows, maybe she'll want a fucking audience to see her getting ram-"

The man stopped abruptly as Eddie kicked him as hard as he could. Eddie then reached out and yanked the machete from the man's grip. With a fierce glare, Eddie kicked him again, causing the man to crumple to the ground, wheezing.

HOW DARE THEY TALK ABOUT HIS WIFE LIKE THAT! Eddie saw that their little group wasn't laughing anymore. He readied himself, glaring at their pathetic group, daring them to make a move. Eddie didn't mind getting his clothes dirty with the blood of these CUNTS.   

There was a heady silence as Eddie and the group stared at each other. The people around them backed up, giving them a wide berth. Eddie was already planning how he would make them squirm and bleed. Perhaps he'd been away too long, making them think they could walk over him because they had some tools now! Well, maybe a few severed limbs and chopped-off dicks would remedy that. Eddie decided to make the first move and started walking towards them. But before he could progress, the leader pulled himself up from the dirt and stumbled to his group, panting.

"Let's just go," he said, breathless. The others looked at him, arguing amongst themselves.

"We can't just let it go now! We'll look like bitches!"

"Yeah, there are five of us and only one of him! We can take him!"

The leader screamed back, "Are you fucking stupid? This is the Groom with a fucking machete that we're talking about! Don't you know that the people who talk that kind of shit in the movies end up getting killed?"

"Well, if you hadn't provoked him, he wouldn't have needed the machete!" The one holding the chainsaw retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Eddie chuckled to himself. What were they even thinking, going up and starting to talk shit about his wife? Eddie bet the group was trying to make themselves look big and tough with this stunt. The only good thing was that Eddie now had a sharp new weapon.

The leader started to look embarrassed and said, "We're going now!" Eddie stared as the group ran off like a pack of scared dogs. With them gone, Eddie still felt angry, but with no one to truly take it out on, he was left to stew in frustration. He felt himself becoming very tired, and now all he wanted to do was get the stuff as fast as possible and get home as soon as possible. Eddie had become paranoid that something might happen to his family.

Thankfully, the line seemed to disappear when the group of people waiting ran away, and Eddie walked up to the jack-booted man who stood quietly with the gun. Eddie knew they wouldn't do anything as long as they weren't attacked. Gluskin could have killed all of the guys in the group, and they wouldn't have moved a muscle.

Everything else went smoothly as Eddie carried the three large boxes back home to see if his family was okay.

As Eddie approached home, his heart raced with relief and apprehension. He set the boxes by the door and quickly entered, calling out for his family. Relief washed over him as he heard his wife's voice responding from the kitchen. She sounded unharmed, and the boys seemed to be safe, too. Eddie sighed deeply, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders as he joined them.

His wife looked up, concern etched on her face as she noticed the dirt on his clothes. "Eddie, what happened?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Eddie brushed it off with a forced smile. "Just a little run-in, nothing to worry about," he replied, trying to keep the encounter with the group out of his mind. He didn't want to alarm his family any further.

After ensuring everyone was alright, Eddie helped unpack the supplies, his mind still lingering on the unsettling encounter. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on things from now on, especially with his wife. But for now, he was grateful to be home with his family, safe and sound.

Chapter Text

~

Sarah stood still in the middle of the hall outside of her and Gluskin's bedroom, stock still clutching her head, trying to relieve the massive headache or, at the very least, alleviate some of the dull throbbing she could feel behind her eyes. Trying and failing to take in deep breaths, Sarah felt like shit. What else is new? The past month or so has been a long marathon of emotionally draining days filled with panic-inducing worry, drowned in vomit-inducing disgust, with a sprinkle of teeth-clenching fury, and that only amounts to a tiny fraction of what Sarah felt like she had been through. The list of things that Sarah has to worry/deal with and that she's keeping track of within her head is the reason for all of that, in no particular order.

1. Gluskin has a newfound interest in keeping track of where she is all the time.
2. Gluskin now having a fucking machete. (Where did he even get one?)
3. Gluskin finds a "shrink" or whatever to have a look at her. (Can't wait to see how that turns out).
4. Ward now being… Handsy… (The less said, the fucking better).
5. Ward is targeting Theodore if she doesn't fucking tolerate his shit.
6. Ward's incessant asking questions.
7. Ward.
8. Miles, with his decreasing communication. At this rate, it's almost down to one-syllable words.
9. Trying to figure out what's going on with Miles. (WALRIDER. Sarah is sure of that)
10. Missing the meeting with Harry (Thanks, Gluskin.)
11. Due to missing the meeting, Sarah has no idea what's been happening in the little "network" group. (Sarah really wants to know if Miles's stupid fucking plan is having any effect)
12. Watching over Theodore.

On that point, it seems like Theodore is healing unnaturally quickly. His foot is completely healed, and Sarah may not be that much of a doctor, but she highly doubts it takes less than a month for nails to grow back, that's for sure.

13… Oh fuck…

Sarah stops as her headache starts to get worse.

TSK. Sarah must calm herself and mentally prepare to deal with whoever Gluskin brings in.

Sarah stood in the hallway, counting to 100 and wishing she could have an Aleve.

‡

Eddie hums to himself a little tune as he tries to get Mr. Park, lightly swinging around the machete in his hand. He has got to say that he is immensely enjoying the little thing and is having a little too much fun having it around. Eddie doesn't need such a tool when he can quickly kill some SLUTS with his hands, but having the machete does bring him a sense of nostalgia. Ah. Yes. All that time, when he was a bachelor, he was looking for his bride. When he was a younger man looking for love. Eddie would be a liar if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill of the chase when looking for the right one. Yet, alongside it, there was always an undercurrent of loneliness, a hollow ache he's grateful to have left behind. Despite occasional nostalgia for those days, Eddie wouldn't trade his wife and children for anything.

Now that he thinks about it, how he's swinging around the machete reminds him of that movie. Eddie changes from a tuneless hum to Singing in the Rain, grinning as he does so.

The little boy sits in front of an old, battered TV set. The antennas droop and are bent, and the plastic casing is cracked and weathered. The screen flickers and casts a dull, uneven glow, and the sound is a guttering screech most of the time. The boy loves it. He loves staring at the screen; he loves looking at the only channel that the TV plays. His favorite shows play all the time. He especially loves "Leave It to Beaver." Right now, they're showing a musical. The boy tries his best to hear the songs, but with the loud yelling of an argument in the room next to him, it's hard to hear anything. But the boy tries to listen as best as possible, tuning out the yelling.

Before he knew it, Eddie was back in the main area. Eddie looked around and found a big crowd hovering around one of the rooms on the bottom floor. 

"WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE! WHERE AM I! LET ME SEE MY DAUGHTER! I WANT TO SEE HER!" Eddie heard a deep voice scream out. It sounded like he was screaming bloody murder. 

Gluskin tilted his head at the scene. He wondered what to do. He should leave this group to their devices and look for Mr. Park. As he was about to leave, he heard a familiar and annoying voice yell out. 

 "Get back! You're crowding him! He needs some space! Let him handle this!" Ah, yes. John, whatever his last name. Hearing this, Eddie made his way towards the crowd. He could guess who John was talking about. 

He towered over everyone as he reached the crowd and could see what was happening perfectly.

Mr. Park stood in front of a very agitated-looking man. The man seemed to have his nose and lips intact, but unfortunately, the rest of his face was heavily scarred. Eddie could see Mr. Park trying to calm the man down, taking slow and deliberate steps toward him. Mr. Park's hands were held out, palms facing forward, and with each step, he maintained an open posture, his shoulders squared.

Though Eddie could see Mr. Park's mouth moving, he couldn't hear anything. As Mr. Park continued to approach the man, maintaining eye contact, Eddie felt himself tense up. He prepared to attack the man if necessary; after all, he couldn't hurt the shrink! Eddie's grip on the machete tightened as Mr. Park extended his hand and gently touched the man's shoulder.

The man seemed to calm down considerably as Mr. Park gestured toward the room they were in front of. Nodding repeatedly, the man said, "I think I know you. But from where? Do I know you?" Mr. Park smiled and nodded as he guided the man into the room.

As they walked into the room, Eddie had no idea what was going on, but he didn't move, waiting for anything that indicated he would need to use the machete. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait too long as Mr. Park left the room.

Eddie got a good look at Mr. Park. He realized he hadn't looked at Mr. Park before; he had been too busy trying to convince him to see his wife to pay attention to his face. Eddie had already noticed Mr. Park's soft and almost luminescent skin, hinting at a life untouched by harshness.

And his blond, tousled hair seemed to catch the light in the soft glow of the buzzing light like whispers of sunlit beaches.

Now, his face was partially obscured by a veil of hair, the strands falling in a way that seemed almost deliberate. From what Eddie could see, he had manly features, but they were not very extreme. In some angles, Mr. Park could almost pass off as more feminine. A single blue eye sparkled with an intensity that drew him in, revealing a depth of emotion Eddie couldn't resist.

Unknowingly, Eddie made a noise, maybe a hum or a grunt, but whatever it was, it seemed to catch the crowd's attention, who looked back to find Eddie standing still as a statue, staring at Mr. Park, who was now talking to John. As soon as they realized who they were looking at, everyone in the crowd seemed to take one step away from Eddie. Eddie slightly bristled at that, even though it did free up space for him to walk over. Honestly, he felt a bit insulted; they were treating him like he was some criminal.

But with all the commotion the crowd caused, Mr. Park and John stopped talking to each other and walked over. Eddie realized that he still had the machete in a death grip. It seemed like John saw the machete as well since he stepped in front of Mr. Park and held out his arm in a protective motion to shield Mr. Park from Eddie as if Eddie were going to attack him. Eddie would never be as uncouth as to randomly attack someone like that! With a sigh, Eddie loosened his grip and put the machete back in its sheath. Still, John did not move, and the man started getting on Eddie's nerves.

Mr. Park put his hand on John's shoulder and moved beside the noseless man, greeting Eddie with a small smile. "Hello, Mr. Gluskin. I see it's already time for me to meet your wife. Hopefully, you didn't have to wait too long." With a sigh and a slight smile, he added, "I think you can understand, right?" Eddie nodded, but before he could say anything, John shouted, "Enough, you guys. Y'all had your show. Get going! Git out! Go on, git." The crowd started to disperse, but Eddie didn't notice much, as he was beginning to get very annoyed at John and just stared at Mr. No-Nose. Or... what would be a good name for someone without a nose? A question for another time, since Mr. Park started to walk. "I guess we should get going now," Mr. Park said, walking past Eddie with his eyes on the floor but slightly smiling. Eddie wondered what he was smiling at. 

The question was answered with what Mr. Park said next. "John, I wish you'd stop with the whole pig farmer thing." John shrugged. "What can I say? I'm just sticking to my roots." Mr. Park laughed. "The only thing that has pig farming in your life is the bacon you eat." "Close enough," John remarked.

Eddie felt... uncomfortable? No, itchy? No. Whatever Eddie felt, it was a nagging, twisting, and wriggling feeling in the pit of his stomach. The way Mr. Park talked with John, the way John positioned himself between Eddie and Mr. Park as if he didn't want Eddie within ten feet of them, made Eddie want to grind his teeth, made him want to unsheathe the machete. But he kept his anger in check. Instead, he asked a question.

"So, Mr. Park, if it's not rude of me to ask... But..." Eddie paused, thinking about how to best word his question. "What was that situation about?" He settled on that question. They were already out of the main area and walking through the hallways.

"Well, you see, that man was having an episode," Mr. Park said slowly and quietly. In fact, it was so quiet that Eddie had to lean closer to hear. Unfortunately, it brought him closer to John. "An episode? What do you mean by that?" Eddie asked. John looked at him as if he were scum on the bottom of his shoe as if he couldn't stand Eddie being even near him. Eddie wished he could give John a nose, only to break it. 

"The man has Alzheimer's and forgot where he was and who everyone was. So, I talked with him and had to remind him," Mr. Park explained. Eddie could see that the man didn't seem old enough to have such a condition. It seemed like Mr. Park could tell what he was thinking. "Yes, he's too young for Alzheimer's, but the experiments and time in the Engine seemed to have... " Mr. Park trailed off, looking away, his eyes filled with guilt. John then stepped in. "Well, you should probably know about that, judging by your face," he remarked. Eddie felt affronted. What did he mean by that? How dare he insult him like this? Eddie had been nothing if not cordial to the man, and yet here he was being disrespected. But he gritted his teeth. He would be mature about this and not stoop to John's level. So, he ignored John's little remark.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know anything about this 'Engine' as you call it. I don't know what you're talking about when you said 'experiments.' But whatever you mean by it, I feel sorry for the poor man," Eddie stated.

Mr. Park looked at Eddie in disbelief. "What do you mean you don't know anything?"

Eddie then gave a skeptical look himself. "I don't know what you are talking about. I've never heard about such a thing."

Someone, please help him! He can't take it anymore. The images are indescribable. They... He can't even comprehend them anymore. And this feeling... What did they do to him? This pain is unbearable. It feels as if he's being ripped apart. No... it's more than that. Cell by cell, molecule by molecule, he's being torn apart to the smallest particle. He can't even scream; the tube inside his mouth, deep in his lungs, doesn't let him. Stop. STOP. STO-

Mr. Park looks at him. Eddie wants to know what he's trying to look for. John opens his mouth, probably to make an insult or be rude, but Mr. Park gives him a pointed look, and John's mouth shuts with a click.

"It's alright, it's not that important," Mr. Park says, trying to smile, but it's so stiff that it comes out more as a grimace than anything. Eddie smiles back, and there's a moment of incredibly awkward silence. Eddie figures that he needs to change the subject. He doesn't want to make Mr. Park nervous; that would be incredibly rude, and he doesn't want to scare the man off. So Eddie decides on something that he knows he's confident in. 

"Mr. Park, I noticed that your shirt is a bit dirty. Do you have cleaner clothes? If not, then I would be more than happy to make some new shirts for you," Eddie said, the last sentence rushing out of his mouth in an attempt to be misunderstood and make Mr. Park think that he insulted him.

"I... UH... No, it's not that, I just... This shirt's a bit old. I've had it for a long time. Way before... well, uhm... T-thanks for the offer, but-" Waylon stammered as he looked down at his shirt.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I just wanted to know, but I apologize if I offended you." Eddie scolded himself mentally. He felt like a doofus with how he was handling this. Eddie tried to smooth things by once again offering to make some clothing for Mr. Park, but he refused every time, making Eddie even more nervous. Things were not helped by John muttering to himself, trying to hide what he was saying but failing. 

The rest of the walk towards Eddie's home continued along those terms. Eddie was relieved as they finally made it toward one of the rooms that Eddie had cleaned and readied for Mr. Park to use.

"Well, here we are, Mr. Park. My wife is in this room, and you are free to use it for however long it takes. I hope you can help."

"Yeah, I'll try as best as possible, but you don't have to keep calling me Mr. Park. You can call me Waylon. It's just a bit easier that way," Mr... No. Waylon said as he walked up to the door.

"Well, then, Waylon, then I insist that you call me Eddie. Fair is fair." Eddie gave Waylon one of his signature charming smiles to make up for such an uncomfortable walk and watched as Waylon smiled back what a lovely smile and walked through the door.

Eddie was left with John, who was currently giving him a death glare—a look that could melt through steel doors. John then approached Eddie, coming very close, face to face. It was so close that their noses would almost touch if John had a nose.

"I have my eyes on you. I don't know what you're playing at, but I trust you as far as I could throw you. And if I feel like you are trying to hurt Waylon, then-"

"Then?" Eddie interrupted, looking John straight in the eye. He knew the threatening game, and he knew that John was bluffing. Eddie wouldn't be intimidated by this sad, tough act. If push came to shove, it would be regrettable for Waylon to lose his protection. Still, Eddie was sure that Waylon would understand if he had to defend himself.

John narrowed his eyes but stepped away. Eddie thought so. But he didn't say anything else to John, thankful that the man was out of his face because Eddie couldn't stand smelling John's rancid breath.

Eddie stared at the door. He would have to wait however long it took, and he hoped things would turn out well. He would love to have Waylon come back again.

~

Sarah shifted in her seat. She was in a dinky, foldable metal chair like they used in school orchestras or very sad family barbecues. It wasn't the worst chair she had been in, but it wasn't in her top 10 either. Sarah looked around the room; it was relatively big. She assumed that this room was once an office that one of the doctors would use. Still, instead of a large desk and maybe some fake potted plants, the only other thing besides her chair was another pathetic chair, leaving the room feeling very empty in a claustrophobic way. So, instead of a room where one would have a therapy session, it looked more like one of those rooms in the movies where there's an AA meeting. Honestly, Sarah would prefer an AA meeting, if only for the fact it would mean that there was alcohol in this place that she could drink. But no, alcohol was flammable, so it was a banned item that Murkoff didn't let through.

Sarah didn't know how long she'd been waiting since there was no clock for her to keep time (sometimes it felt like Gluskin just did this on purpose to piss her off), but she spent the (however long) time preparing herself to put up the kindly housewife act. It was always strange for Sarah to get into such a headspace and act totally opposite to what her instinct told her. Well, it's shit. Before she could complain, the door opened, and a man entered. He looked normal enough, a bit younger than Sarah would have expected. Still, he seemed almost cute compared to nearly everyone in the asylum. But he also looked familiar, something tinged in the back of her head. It was at the tip of her tongue, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure it out. The man looked around the room and sat down. Thankfully, Sarah took the chair in front of the door so that if she needed to bolt, she would have a better time doing it. 

As the man sat down, he introduced himself shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hi, I'm Waylon Park."

Wait.

What?

Waylon Park?

Sarah's brain turned off for a moment.

.

.

.

.

.

OHMYGODHE’SALIVESHECAN’TBELIEVETHISWHEREHASHEBEENWHY COULDN’TTHEYFINDHIMSHENEEDSTOTELLMILESSHENEEDSTOCONVINCE WAYLONTOJOINTHEMBUTHOWISSHEGOINGTODOTHISWHATSHOULDSHESAYHOWCANSHEBRINGITUPWITHOUTITBEINGWEIRDSHECAN’TMESSTHISUPISHEGOINGTOBELIEVEANYTHINGSHESAYS

Sarah's thoughts crashed into each other. She sat dumbly in her chair, staring at Waylon Park for a long moment before she realized this, and she sputtered, "H-hello. I'm Mrs. Gluskin. Nice to meet you."

Waylon stared momentarily, then shifted from sitting straight to leaning on his knees, hands clasped together. The slight smile he had dropped, and his face became serious. "Okay, I'm going to be honest. I heard the story that Mr. Gluskin has told me, and to be frank, I know it's not the whole thing. And I want to ask you. Are you okay?"

Sarah calmed down and took in Waylon's change in demeanor. Now, she had two ways to approach this: the fake way and the truth. She knew the only way to approach all of this was with honesty.

Her fake smile dropped as she adopted a face similar to Waylon's. "No, I'm not. There are a lot of things I want to ask. First is, how could you tell?" Sarah figured this would be the best way to start things, and she felt nervous. It was the type of nervousness she hadn't felt in a long time. Waylon was the first adult that wasn't Miles she had to talk with honestly and respectfully. She didn't want to lie to Waylon. She didn't want to threaten him. She saw him as an average person she respected and didn't want to mess this up.

With a sigh, Waylon answered, "Well, the first thing that gave it away is that you're an actual woman, which means you're not a patient. Second, I have spent some time with Mr. Gluskin and heard some things about him. I don't have the greatest feeling about him. Lastly, looking at you tells me you're not here willingly."

Wow. Waylon was quite the observant type.

Sarah gave him a smirk.

"You're right on the first part. Hello, Mr. Waylon Park,  former software engineer at Murkoff. I'm Sarah Cantrell,  former replacement for said software engineer." Sarah stuck out her hand in an offer to shake Waylon's hand.

Waylon's eyes widened for a moment, and he shook her hand. His face changed again to a look of guilt. "I-I'm so sorry I got you roped into all of this. If I didn't." Before he could finish, Sarah held up her hand to stop him. "H-hey, i-it's alright. It's not really your fault. I was the one who took up the job in the first place. So, uhm, don't beat yourself up about that." Sarah then started to rub the back of her neck. She felt she needed to comfort him weirdly, but she felt terrible. Waylon was, in some part, responsible for her being here, but it was really not his fault, and Sarah didn't blame him. She felt sorry for herself to see Waylon look so guilty about it.

Sarah decided to change the subject by asking another question. "So what story did my… 'husband' tell you?"

"Your husband told me that he's worried about the change in your behavior and that he thinks it's because of your menopause," Waylon said, appearing to cheer up slightly. The way he said the last part seemed like he didn't believe Gluskin. Sarah confirmed his disbelief, "Pfft. As if. I'm not even forty, so I'm way too young for menopause." Sarah scoffed in her head. Figures.

"I figured. Then tell me, why does he think that in the first place?" Waylon asked.

"Well, he doesn't know much—no, he doesn't know anything about me. I think he thinks I'm closer to his age. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even know my name. That's how much he knows me."

Waylon started to scratch his head. "I think I'm starting to get a better picture, but if you don't mind, can you tell me the whole story about how this…" Waylon gestured to all around him, "Even started?" For the first time, Sarah looked away from Waylon. It's not like she's opposed to telling him the story; it's just that Sarah doesn't like thinking back on things like that. But to get closer to Waylon, she gladly relieved those memories. "Sure, but in return, you're going to have to tell me how a software engineer ends up as a therapist."

"It's going to be a long story."

"Do we have enough time?"

"There's no time limit as far as I know."

Sarah shrugged. "Then it's fine. My story is pretty long as well."

.

.

.

.

So, Sarah told Waylon the whole hacky backstory of how she came to the asylum, how she ran all over the place like a headless chicken, how she got caught, and how she basically got into a shotgun wedding with a demented nightmare theme. The only thing she skipped was the first time she got put into the isolation room. She didn't want to relive that one.

Afterward, Waylon told her of what he did for Murkoff in the time he worked there and how he was basically snake-pitted and forced into the Morphogenic program. Apparently, he was there for two weeks before the breakout happened. He tried to escape, but he was attacked and knocked out for two days. By then, Murkoff was building the wall, but he tried to escape time after time, trying to keep as low of a profile as possible. After three years of trying, he gave up on escaping. For a while, he went into a deep depressive state. Still, after meeting some people, it seemed that a guy named John was the one who gave Waylon the idea to start helping people by being a quasi-therapist since he was so good at helping John with his problems. Waylon decided to stick with the therapist route to help as many people as he could.

"I guess I owe it to these people since I was a part of the system. I did help with the torture and experiments."

"But you didn't put these people in the engine."

"Yes, but I helped. I maintained the Engine. I didn't do anything while the scientists and doctors put people through hell. So I just… I just… I need to do something."

Sarah took in all of Waylon's story, and it's a lot to process. She felt deep sympathy for Waylon and… honestly… yeah… 

Sarah couldn't think about it; there was too much to think about if she let herself go through that. Especially knowing that he has a wife and kids makes this all the more horrible.

Sarah was surprised that Waylon was telling her all of this. But then again, when he told his story, it looked like he wanted to let it all out. Maybe he was holding it in, and he needed someone to listen.

"You know, there's… There's this thing that my partner and I have been working on," Sarah decided to just… fuck it and dive into it. "It's probably why I've been acting up in a way that Gluskin noticed, but… We have a plan. We have been planning an escape from this place and get a lot of what Murkoff did here out in the public, so, uhm…" Sarah stopped; she didn't know how to continue. "You can join us. I know that you can help, especially with the information." Waylon suddenly got up from the chair.

"Thanks, but… I know about trying to escape and… It's not going to work out. Believe me, I tried everything and… no, nothing will change." Waylon started to walk to the door.

"Wait. I know you don't believe me, but it's true! I can't go into it too much, but you must meet my partner. I know he'll tell you more. I know that you probably even know him too! Honestly, you need to believe me!" Sarah stood up from her chair and ran to Waylon to stop him.

Waylon stared disbelievingly at her. "Just… Go to the underground labs, and you'll find him there, and everything will be explained." Sarah gave him the most pleading look she had ever given.

Waylon took her hand off his arm (Sarah didn't even notice that she did that). "I know about the underground labs, and I know that Chris Walker guards that area—"

"No, he doesn't! It was a cover story that we came up with so that no one goes down there. Walker's been dead for years!"

There was a moment of silence. "Thank you for your time, but I think this is our last meeting." As he grabbed the door handle, Sarah almost shouted, "There's a computer there! It's possible to access the internet from 2 to 4 in the morning. I set it up so that Murkoff won't detect any activity during that time. I know you don't believe it, but if you want to use it, then… you can." Sarah knew it was a low blow. Dangling possible information about his family like that. But she didn't have another choice. Waylon's shoulder tensed up, but he didn't say anything; he quietly opened the door and left.

Sarah stood in the silence of the room. A yawning cavern of hopelessness opened in her stomach and threatened to swallow her whole. She tried to hold onto the hope that maybe Waylon would go. Perhaps the hope of knowing what happened to his wife and kids is enough.

It felt empty.

Chapter Text

§§

Miles stood in the cold, white, sterile hallway, thinking of Irish coffee. The bitter taste of coffee beans mixed with the malty woodiness of whiskey, chilled cream, and some nice sugar. Miles tried to sigh through his cold, cracked lips. It wasn't like he was an alcoholic (he could never be like that) or, Miles shuddered at the thought, fucking Irish. But he needed something—anything—to make him feel alive, and well, he's also a bit dramatic.

Thinking about Irish coffee helped him lessen this horrible sensation. This itchy, unnerving, gut-twisting, foot-tappingly nervous feeling. Miles compared it to when he (fresh out of college) was waiting after his interview to see if he got the dream job. Yeah, it's like that, but a thousand times worse.

It's been around three (?) days, and Miles has been waiting for Waylon to show. If he even would show up. Sarah had been pretty heavy-handed. It was the first time he saw her openly desperate in a long while. He asked Sarah about that (with much difficulty), and she tried to say something about acting like that to pull at Waylon's heartstrings. Miles didn't say anything to her about it; he felt terrible about calling her out when she was lying so badly. It's like yelling at a dog for trying to hide something bad they did. He would feel fucking bad about it.

The other thing is that Miles is trying to keep the time he talks telepathically to a minimum. Ever since that dream, whenever Miles uses the Walrider's powers to a large extent, he starts to go completely out of it—a state of only being half awake. Miles can (mostly) still think and knows what he is doing, but it is under a filter of confusion.

The most concerning part is that now there are periods of blackouts. One moment, Miles is aware and then CLICK—black for (to him) a second. He knows it has to do with him entering dreams, but whether anything happens or not, well…

THUD

Miles immediately turned his attention toward the direction of the noise—the distinct sound of metal doors closing. He lifted himself to hover slightly above the ground to make himself wholly silent. He went to check out the person who had entered. Miles hopes it's Waylon and not someone else. One can never know.

.

.

.

It took a bit, but Miles finally came across a shadowed figure walking quickly through the hallways, carefully opening and closing doors. Miles watched the man scurry about before he finally took the plunge and got close to him. The man entered one room, and Miles floated to the door. He decided to be friendly and knocked on the door.

Silence.

Miles waited for another moment until he decided to open the door. It was a dark old break room with scattered chairs and dust-covered tables. Miles was never the cleaning type, so he never bothered to maintain anything except for a few rooms.

The room seemed empty, but Miles could tell the person was hiding behind one of the upturned tables. There were a few ways to go about this. He could go to the table and confront the person, but he wasn't born yesterday. He knew that if he did that, the guy could just run off. Miles did that all the time back when this shit started. Miles didn't want to get into a chase; he was too tired (lazy) for that. So, he went with the other option he had in mind.

Miles let himself down and walked inside, ensuring his steps were heavy and loud. He looked around the room as if he was searching for something. If the man watched, he would assume that Miles was looking for him. Miles slowly walked around the room, ensuring he would not get too close to the table behind which the man was hiding. Then he stopped, looked around for a few seconds, and left.

Miles then hid behind the wall next to the door and waited.

Miles tackled him back inside the room when the man ran out of the door. The man struggled underneath him, but Miles could now clearly see his face. It seemed like the man was Waylon if Miles followed the pictures he had seen in the files. The man wiggled and tried kicking him in the balls. (Un)Fortunately, God is fucking cruel, and Miles can't feel anything there anymore. Miles did nothing but pin Waylon down until he started to calm down and stopped moving as much. Miles used some of his powers to flip the light switch to see better. After the light turned on, Waylon started struggling again and screaming.

Why was he—oh.

Miles had forgotten that he looked like a fucking killer from a shitty 80s slasher movie. Shit. Miles got off the panicking man. Waylon immediately shuffled away.

Miles scratched the back of his neck. Real nice job making a fucking good impression on the guy that he needs on their side. He reached for his back (Waylon flinched) and pulled out the hidden whiteboard. He took out a black marker from his jacket pocket. Miles was going to try to salvage this.

HI, I'M MILES UPSHUR

Miles held out the whiteboard to make sure Waylon could read it. Waylon pulled himself up from the floor. Miles really looked at Waylon's face. Sarah wasn't lying about the guy looking like he was in his 30s. But what Miles did notice was his eyes. There was sadness, but something else too—that faraway stare he had seen in the eyes of soldiers he used to interview. Just what had happened?

Waylon's face changed from fear to skepticism. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Miles needed to be careful. Waylon looked like he would run off as soon as possible if something went wrong.

I KNOW YOU'RE WAYLON PARK

Miles wiped the marker off.

& THE WHISTLEBLOWER

Waylon began to step away, but before he could go further, Miles held up his hand to stop him. Miles began to write as fast as he could.

I KNOW THE EMAIL YOU USED TO CONTACT ME

Waylon stopped and looked at the board for a moment. He squinted. "What?"

Miles didn't expect that reaction. He expected the 'what' part but with surprise. Waylon seemed confused, so he turned the board around and read what he wrote.

LKNOWTHEENALYOWSEDTOCQNTACTllF_

Miles wiped away the marker furiously. He was missing fingers and writing quickly, so of course, it wouldn't be the most legible thing in the fucking world. Sue him.

Miles rewrote the line again, making sure it was clear.

Waylon didn't seem to react after reading it. It's better than him running away. Miles wrote out.

[email protected]

Even after 15 years, Miles would never forget the email that landed him in this shit. FUCKING NEVER.

"That doesn't prove anything. People—my ex-coworkers, my ex-supervisor, my ex-supervisor's supervisor—knew about the email. As hard as I tried, it wasn't a secret. So, if you can prove that you're Upshur 100%, do it; if not, then I'm leaving," Waylon spat out, crossing his arms.

Miles was caught off guard. From what he gathered from Sarah, Waylon seemed to be more on the nice side, like a golden retriever or some shit like that. Miles would have to give definitive evidence that he's himself. Miles reached inside the back pocket of his jeans. He would instead not do this, but he has no choice. In his gloved hand was an old, tattered black wallet. The worn leather was falling apart and bits of it flaked onto the ground as he set down the marker and board. As he opened the wallet, a musty, old smell wafted out.

Inside were old receipts with words faded or scratched off, some spotted with blood. There were credit cards that had expired many years ago, with only the indented card numbers remaining. And there was his driver's license. Worn with time, the black lettering had turned grayish, and the faded photo still showed his face—what he used to look like. Miles took the card out and held it out for Waylon to see. Like a professor during final exams, Waylon studied the card.

After a bit, he nodded.

Now for the worst part. Miles took off his tinted glasses and the bandages covering his head. He heard a small gasp as Waylon flinched and gagged when he looked at him. What the fuck was that about? Was Waylon really that horrified by his face? Seriously? Did he look that bad? Waylon had seen some of the guys here, and really? He was worse than some of the people who looked like they got shredded by a cheese grater? Worse than the ones with stitches that looked like they were done by an arthritic old woman with cataracts?

Realizing that he might have been rude (just a little fucking bit rude), Waylon looked down at the floor. "Sorry," he muttered. Yeah, he should be fucking sorry; he's partially one of the reasons Miles is even like this.

Miles shoved his license back in the wallet and painstakingly put his ratty bandages back on as Waylon shifted awkwardly, now seeming closer than he had been before. Waylon started to talk as Miles was fixing the glasses on his face, apologizing about getting him in this situation and explaining how it was necessary and all of that shit. Miles was only half paying attention to Waylon's monologue as he grabbed the board and wrote down the question he wanted to ask.

WHY ME?

Did Waylon specifically email him, or was it a mass email to any journalist whose names he knew? Was Miles just the only dumbass who took the email seriously and got himself involved?

Waylon looked down to the floor. “You’re a journalist, I thought it was a safer why of doing things. I contact other journalists, but I guess you’re the only one who came.”

Miles could only respond with one thing:

OK

Waylon shifted uncomfortably and changed the topic. "So, are you the partner Sarah was talking about?"

:)

"Uhm, is that a yes?"

:)

"OK, so what she said, is all that true?"

:)

Miles knew he was being petty, but he saw it as payback for what Waylon had done. It wasn't even the worst that he could do.

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but—I think I wouldn't be able to—"

Before Waylon could finish his little rejection, Miles held up a hand and slowly, dramatically motioned for him to follow. Befuddled, Waylon looked on in confusion. Miles wished he could roll his eyes.

I'LL SHOW YOU THE COMPUTER :)

Waylon started to follow Miles as he walked out into the hallway. Miles has to spell everything out for the guy, doesn't he?

Miles walked through the hallways toward the room with the computer.

Miles used it to know if his friends were okay, and it was nice to see how life was going for them (he had a habit of reading their articles a lot). He also uses it to keep in touch with his contacts to let them know that he's alive. Sarah uses it to set up her information network, getting more contacts to use for when it's time to send everything out to the world and maintaining a good reputation in some circles as a trustworthy source.

Miles had once asked her why she didn't look up her parents. She only said, 'Schrödinger's cat' and left at that, which Miles still doesn't fully understand.

They finally arrived at their destination: a server room. Miles opened the door and flipped the light switch. The once-white brick walls were now a dirty brown, and the ceiling was covered with giant pipes. At first, Miles thought they were for water, but Sarah told him they were electrical wiring and cooling lines. The metal shelves, once filled with equipment and boxes, had been scavenged by Sarah to build her internet shit.

Miles continued into the room toward the chain-link fence that separated part of the room. He stopped to look back at Waylon and saw the man looking around the room, appearing to recognize it. Miles walked past the open gate into the tiny space. On one side was an old locker; on the other, two stacks of destroyed servers and a table with the computer next to them.

Miles gestured to the table with the computer, inviting Waylon to take a closer look. Waylon looked at the computer and chuckled, though it sounded closer to choking than a laugh. Miles turned on the computer and accessed the internet. It was around 2:14 am, so Waylon had enough time to get whatever he came for.

Miles pulled the chair for Waylon to sit in and leaned against the wall beside the table. He had to keep watch to prevent Waylon from doing anything that might mess up the computer or something else. Despite the necessity, Miles felt very uncomfortable about this. He might be a reporter, but he had standards on how much he would snoop on an innocent person's life.

Waylon hesitated for a moment before sitting down. He started typing, his fingers moving quickly over the keys. Miles watched silently, feeling a mix of curiosity and unease. He hoped this would be enough to gain Waylon's trust and prove they were on the same side. God, does he know how much they need him. Miles cannot keep up with everything he has to do now that Sarah is essentially grounded by Gluskin.

Miles looked on as Waylon's face was illuminated by the screen.

↉

Waylon looked on anxiously as he typed his wife's name, his fingers trembling. How funny it was that he would end up back here in the room where his life was robbed from him. Maybe it was already taken when he signed the contract. Two weeks became fifteen years; if he had known that, he wouldn't have come. Waylon could have found other ways to make money, but Murkoff paid the most. He sold his soul for money. Waylon thought that he could do something good and expose the atrocities. He had hope.

The first months were difficult—nothing but death and madness surrounded him. Before, Waylon had never seen a corpse outside of a coffin, but now he had seen too many. He forgot how a person should look peaceful and in one piece when they die. He never stopped trying to escape, constantly clawing, biting, and scratching. His nails ripped; his teeth chipped. He made countless plans, ran for his life, broke bones, and lost blood. Months turned into years, each failed attempt chipping away at his hope.

Waylon remembered how his spirit had gradually eroded. The moments of utter despair, when his mind and body were pushed to the brink, had left indelible scars. The desperation had driven him to do things he never considered capable of. Waylon only had the memory of Lisa and his kids to keep him sane. But even that was slowly taken away from him. He was like the other patients here. Waylon had something taken from him. The difference was that instead of being violently ripped away, it slowly bled out, and nothing was pushed in to replace it. He gave up when Waylon realized he couldn't remember their faces anymore. There was no hope.

Waylon spent a month writing down what he wanted to say to Lisa if she ever read the letters. He wrote and rewrote, trying to find the right words and ways to explain everything. However, he never could find the right words. There was no way out of this hell, no way to see their children, and nothing else but the easy way out. Until John intervened.

The screen flickered as the search results loaded, returning him to the present. His wife's name appeared. She finally got into social media despite always saying she would never join because she found it stupid. He looked at her picture. How he had missed seeing her face, soft brown eyes, and chestnut hair. He checked the date: 05/06/2027. She didn't look a day over 30. Waylon remembered how she would fret and worry that when she hit 40, her face would melt like the Wicked Witch. Waylon smiled at that memory.

He brought up another picture. It was Lisa standing next to a young man in graduation robes. He read the little caption at the bottom: "Proud of my son Jason. Celebrating his graduation with a Bachelor of Engineering at Stanford! He's going to go far!" Waylon laughed. He couldn't believe Jason had to get his degree at a rival school. He was not all concerned with his boys going to his alma mater, but he thought it would be nice if one of his boys went to Berkley. He thought of the 11-year-old boy Jason. He would get into trouble all the time, and they had to patch him up so often with how much he would get hurt playing outside.

Seeing the picture of Jason as a young man brought a lump to Waylon's throat. He had missed so much of his son's life. The last time he saw Jason, he was just a kid, full of energy and mischief. Now, he was a college graduate with a bright future ahead of him. Waylon felt a mix of pride and sadness—pride for the man his son had become and sadness for all the moments he had missed.

He clicked on Lisa's profile, scrolling through the photos and posts, piecing together the years he had lost. There were pictures of family gatherings, vacations, and everyday moments that he had been absent from. Each image was a reminder of the life that had continued without him, a life he desperately wanted to be a part of again.

He wondered how Arthur was doing. Arthur was 7 when Waylon saw him, so he should be in college now. He had to know which school his boy went to. Arthur was the opposite of Jason, a shy kid who stuck to himself. Waylon's fingers hesitated over the keyboard before typing in Arthur's name. The search results took a moment to load, and Waylon's heart pounded.

Obituary for Arthur Park

Arthur Park

April 15, 2006 – September 10, 2023

It is with profound sadness that we announce the passing of Arthur Park, who was tragically taken from us on September 10, 2023, at the tender age of 17. Arthur was killed by a drunk driver, a senseless act that has left a void in the hearts of all who knew him.

Arthur was born on April 15, 2006, and he displayed an extraordinary intellect and a kind, gentle spirit from a young age. A senior at Boulder High School in Boulder, Colorado, Arthur was set to graduate as Valedictorian, a testament to his unwavering dedication and passion for learning. He was known not only for his academic excellence but also for his willingness to help others, his quiet confidence, and his thoughtful nature.

Arthur's future was as bright as his smile. He planned to attend the University of California, Berkeley, where he intended to pursue Cell biology. Driven by a deep desire to positively impact the world, his determination and dreams inspired his teachers, friends, and family.

Outside of academics, Arthur enjoyed playing guitar, swimming, painting, and volunteering at local food banks. He pursued these interests with the same dedication and enthusiasm he applied to his studies. His friends remember him as a loyal companion, always ready with a word of encouragement or a listening ear. His family cherishes the countless memories of his kindness, curiosity, and the joy he brought into their lives.

Arthur is survived by his loving parent, Lisa Park, and his older brother, Jason. He also leaves behind his grandparents, Harold and Eleanor Park, and Robert and Evelyn Smith, as well as numerous aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends who will miss him dearly.

A memorial service to celebrate Arthur's life will be held on October 17 at the Boulder Community Center at 9:30 am. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made in Arthur's name to the International Drunk Driving Prevention Association (IDDPA) to support causes related to drunk driving prevention, education, or scholarships.

Arthur's light was extinguished far too soon, but the impact of his life will continue to be felt by all who knew and loved him. His legacy of excellence, compassion, and resilience will live on in the hearts of those he touched.

Rest in peace, Arthur. You will be forever missed and always remembered.

…

Waylon's heart stopped. He stared at the screen, unable to believe what he was seeing. The words blurred as tears filled his eyes.

Waylon's breath caught in his throat. His boy, his shy, sweet Arthur, was gone. Waylon's hands shook, and he felt like he might be sick.

Waylon barely registered Miles's concerned gaze on him. The room felt like it was closing in, the walls pressing down as the weight of the loss hit him like a freight train. Arthur was dead, and he hadn't been there. He hadn't been there to comfort Lisa, to grieve with her, to say goodbye to his son. His son had been dead for eight years, and he didn't know. He had missed all the time he could have spent with his son: birthdays, achievements, family vacations, awkward talks about dating and puberty, little arguments, dealing with teenage angst. And now his son was dead, and he could never see him again.

Waylon buried his head in his hands and sobbed. He felt his heart break. A parent should never have to see the death of their child. It was the child who was supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around. And even so, Waylon couldn't bury his child.

Waylon didn't know how long he sobbed, but he finally looked up and saw the time on the computer:

3:42 am.

There was enough time to see one more thing. Waylon noticed a comment from Lisa in the

obituary website's comment section. It contained a link. He clicked on it and was directed to a social media page with only one post.

To W,

It's not your fault. I don't blame you. I'm sure what you did was for the good of others. I know you're the type of man who always puts others before yourself. People say that you're dead. I want you to know that I have always and will never stop looking. Jason takes a lot after you, and I see more and more of you in him as time passes. I know he will grow up to be a good man like you. I hope that you can see that too one day. Know that Arthur loved you. He always believed that you were out there and that he would see you one day. Know that after all this time, you are still loved.

I have many things to say, too many for this post. So, I'll leave this.

"As long as you feel the pain, you're still alive. And as long as you keep trying, there is still hope."

Waylon stared at the screen for a long time, then glanced at the clock.

4:04 am.

Turning to his side, he noticed Miles leaning against the wall, seemingly lost in thought and gazing into the distance. Waylon cleared his throat, and Miles turned back to him. Though

Waylon couldn't discern Miles's thoughts; he knew what he had to do now.

Waylon had made up his mind.

Chapter Text

Ø

"And behold, there came a figure, ethereal and god-like in its form. It moved without sound, its presence a whisper in the wind. Its eyes pierced through the veils of flesh and soul alike. For it sees into all hearts, discerning the hidden truths and deepest fears. In its gaze, no sin is concealed, no virtue unrecognized. Thus spoke the Lord: 'Fear not the wraith, for it is my watchful eye, ever seeing, ever knowing.'"

Harry had never found himself to be very religious. Sure, he had gone through the sacraments, but if you asked Harry to quote anything from scripture, he would come up blank. Lately, he's been listening nonstop to the man always outside Ruben's room, ranting and raving in quotes. Harry can't tell if they're quotes or just the man's ramblings. Recently, Harry built up the courage to ask the man his name.

Amos (It's better than calling him 'the man' all the time). 

 Harry couldn't really criticize Amos to his face since he had been helping distribute the new artwork that Ruben had made over the last month and a half. Amos was all too happy to spread the paintings around, believing that "a genius such as Ruben should not have his art languish in the stifling decay of obscurity." He declared he would be "more than willing to introduce the ignorant and the dull to the blinding beauty of Ruben's art." 

Harry had no idea how, but Amos was very good at spreading the word. He managed to get many people to start looking at Ruben's paintings, which turned from hellish landscapes and cats to artworks that seemed to predict the future. 

Harry could only think that S had something to do with it. It must be her. She asked about Ruben, and suddenly, he could draw the future. Harry would have to be brain-dead to think otherwise. But how? Did she have a device that somehow beamed microwaves to Ruben, messing with his brain? One of his theories was that S had superpowers like telepathy, akin to Professor X. At this point, Harry wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

After meeting with S, Harry tried to find any information about her, hoping to at least learn her real name. He stalked around the areas he cleaned at night. Someone was always awake, no matter the hour. He didn't worry about Ruben, who would be asleep, and almost no one cared enough about Ruben to break into his room. Maybe Amos would, but Harry forgot about that. He asked if anyone knew about Eddie Gluskin's wife. The results were inconclusive, to say the least.

"I heard that his wife is actually a man that he changed into a woman."

"That can't be possible. They have kids."

"So what? Anything in this place is possible. Who's to say they didn't do something to the men so they could have kids? Besides, the Groom did that all the time. He had a room full of corpses of the men he tried to change. It would make sense if one just happened to work out."

"If that were the case, wouldn't more people have kids by now?"

“…”

It went more or less like that with the others he asked, and Harry certainly got a lot of theories. A genetic factory underground that creates humans, the kids being kidnapped and brought here, the kids being dressed-up adults, S being an android, them being a collective hallucination, manifest projections, etc. None provided actual answers to his questions.

Eventually, Harry gave up. He couldn't go out on his own anyhow. Since Supply Day (S didn't even show up for their planned meeting), there has been a surge of people wanting to see Ruben. Eddie Gluskin had shown up for the first time in a long while. What got people's attention was that Ruben had painted that happening a week before. After that, more and more things in his paintings happened frequently. Now, people wanted to see what else was going to happen. The amount of interest was starting to get scary, almost obsessive. It nearly seemed like a cult was forming around Ruben. It didn't help that Amos was now proclaiming that Ruben connected with God and that Ruben was a messenger of His word. 

It was getting so bad that they assigned another security guard to help out. The Security Manager wanted more guards for Ruben, but the Art Manager refused and got into a heated argument. The Art Manager threatened to shut down the production of porn if more than two guards were ever assigned. People got so angry that the Security Manager relented, fearing he would be removed from his position. So now, Harry had a new co-worker. Harry called him Dick. It wasn't his real name, but Harry refused to call him anything else. Dick didn't do anything because Harry had to give him half of his salary. If not, Dick said he would reveal everything to the manager. Thank God Harry at least got clothing before because now he could barely afford a decent meal because of Dick.

---

Harry checked the time and realized he should check in on Ruben.

After Ruben started to receive the "visions," as he called them, he began to deteriorate. Before, Ruben would get up a couple of times a day to go to the bathroom. Now, he frequently pissed on himself, too focused on painting to get up. He refused to leave his desk lest he "lose the vision received in his dreams." The room reeked of stale piss and body odor, and Harry could barely stand being in there for a minute. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't put a dent in the mess.

Harry quickly walked up to Ruben, covering his nose and trying desperately to hold in his gags.

"So, how is your new painting going?" Harry choked out.

Ruben muttered something as he painted, the dull look in his eyes replaced with a fervent, fevered madness. Harry stepped closer to see what he was painting.

…

Fuck.

$

Jeremy lazily looked over at Andrew and Steve. Most of the time, Jeremy couldn't tell them apart—they looked the same to him, with the same face and blue eyes. He didn't care enough to try. The only reason he knew which was which was that Andrew constantly licked his lips. He always had a thing about licking. Jeremy had dealt with enough issues regarding Andrew's tastes over the years to be somewhat annoyed with the man. Steve, on the other hand, was harmless. Jeremy had nothing to say about him.

The reason Jeremy was looking at the two was because of the recent rumblings happening lately. He knew something was going on that was making many people restless. He could almost taste the tension in the air—it was that thick. Jeremy wanted something done about it. He didn't care about the freaks, but he needed to retain control. He had been feeling restless lately, thinking about the information he had on the CEO of Murkoff. His time was running out regarding that. Jeremy was honestly surprised the man was still alive. Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease was nasty, and Jeremy guessed that the CEO had made a deal with Tyche, considering the amount of luck the bastard had. If something happened to him, Jeremy needed to at least have a secure hold on his group. Now that there are weapons around Jeremy doesn't want a uprising happening against him. It was already bad enough that some dumbass let Eddie Gluskin take a machete from them. For that little fuck up, Jeremy had the man immediately striped of his position, his money, his clothing, and everything else to live as the lowest of the low Jumpie. He would not tolerate that type of shit. 

.

.

.

Jeremy half-heartedly listened as Steve recounted the whole ordeal. Something about paintings and people believing in something or the other. It didn't matter. What mattered was that this little uproar needed to be stopped before it got worse. Jeremy rested his head on his hand and drawled, "So, what are your ideas for solving this?"

Andrew licked his lips. "We can kill the artist making the paintings."

"That'll make things worse. People will see him as some martyr, and things will get out of hand with them demanding answers," Jeremy dismissed.

Steve spoke up. "Step up security."

Andrew seemed like he was going to say something, but Steve continued. "I know the Art Department threatened to stop all 'art' production. What I mean is we need to place more security on the people. Stop the paintings from being spread around."

"That'll lead to the same problem. People will demand answers," Jeremy sighed. Both of them were useless. They continued to spout 'solutions' which were fucking stupid and pointless.

"What are the names of the security guards for the artist right now?"

"Richard Campbell and Harry Powers."

"Okay, then this is what you will do. Get another artist to replicate the style of the paintings. They'll make fake paintings with different content. Have the guards intercept the originals and switch them with the fakes. With enough time, people will get bored, and things will die down when they see the art no longer delivers their little predictions. Got that?" Jeremy instructed.

Andrew and Steve nodded in agreement, and Jeremy dismissed them. Alone again, he sighed. 

What a pain in the ass.

Chapter Text

~

Sarah sat at the dinner table and chugged a cool glass of lemonade down her throat. She hated these summer days, where it's so hot and humid that the mugginess clings to the skin like a blanket. Or, in this case, like Gluskin has been recently. Sarah has barely had a moment to herself; Waylon's sudden departure four days ago has concerned Gluskin. These are feelings that Sarah shares, albeit for entirely different reasons. She hadn't heard anything from Miles since the day she met Waylon. She told Miles about the whole deal, and he basically ghosted her.

Sarah glanced over to Theodore, who was sitting across from her, poking at his ham sandwich. Trying desperately to be as far away from a smiling Ward as possible.  With all the questions he had asked Sarah regarding Miles and how he had been doing, she was sure that Miles still hadn't talked with the kid. Sarah is ticked, and something about it makes her believe something is wrong. Looking at Theodore glumly poking at his sandwich pulled something within her heart. Sarah glanced away and directed her attention towards Gluskin, happily eating his sandwich.

If only he wasn't so… clingy? It's strange; Sarah has gotten used to his closeness over the past month or so. If things were different, she would have found the affection charming in a different world. Anyway, Sarah can see the positives to Gluskin being around her all the time, most of them relating to Ward and the fact that Gluskin drives him away, in a way, dealing with problems four through seven on her list. Theodore had also picked up on this and began to go to Gluskin whenever Ward was around, also taking care of problem twelve.

However, having Gluskin around meant no seeing Miles since he is the world's lightest sleeper and wakes up whenever Sarah moves a centimeter. So, Sarah has been brainstorming some ideas to get Gluskin away for at least a couple of hours, and she came up with nothing. Maybe drugging him, but that didn't turn out well last time, and she's not going to push her luck again.

The best she could come up with is this: since Gluskin's worry about her behavior started all of this, he might stop being so clingy when he feels she's 'back to normal.' At least for him. That's Sarah's thinking, so she turned up the loving wife act to eleven. She would be so sweet and saccharine that even the healthiest person in the world would get diabetes by being near her.

It hasn't been working out. It had to do with the entire situation with Waylon. According to Gluskin, Waylon just silently walked out without saying a word, making Gluskin even more concerned. So here Sarah was, berating herself for doing what she does—acting like a dumbass and making situations worse for herself when…

BANG

BANG

BANG

Loud metal banging rang out.

Everything stopped.

The sound of one of the metal gates being hit echoed throughout the kitchen. Gluskin immediately stood up from his seat and ran to get his machete. Sarah sat still. She hadn't heard that sound for almost 12 years. Sarah unconsciously touched her neck, feeling the phantom sting of old scars. She then looked towards Theodore and Ward. Ward was staring in the direction of the noise like a cat eyeing a canary, and Theodore was glancing around, his eyes wide with fear. Sarah weighed her options. It would be best to stay where she was now. Gluskin could handle almost anyone. If someone was stronger than Gluskin, then the best choice would be to get the fuck out.

It was quiet for a long moment. Too long, in Sarah's opinion. The silence was thick, almost suffocating. Then she could hear footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate. A large man entered the room. He had an otherwise normal appearance: brown hair and street clothes, but he didn't have a nose. He stood at the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the room, a scowl etched deeply on his face. Nobody in the room moved or made a sound. The tension was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone.

Suddenly, the man's expression shifted. He smiled. He scratched the back of his neck, an almost casual gesture that belied the unease in the room.

"Sorry about that. Didn't mean to startle anyone," the man said, his voice deep and calm.

"Name's John. I'm here to accompany my friend."

Sarah said nothing and just stared. Something must be wrong with this man. Theodore and Ward also stared at the man, their expressions mirroring her unease.

The man laughed nervously. "Ha. But I really do apologize for scaring you during your lunch. I didn't mean to. I got a little bit lost. I am very sorry." The strange thing was, the man did look genuinely apologetic. Sarah didn't know what to do, so she nervously said, "Uh... That's okay."

The man's smile widened slightly. "Thank you for understanding." He glanced around the room again, his eyes lingering too long on each of them. "Nice to meet you all."

Sarah swallowed. "Nice to meet you, too?"

Before anything else was said, Gluskin reappeared, his machete gleaming in the light. He positioned himself between John and the rest of them, his eyes narrowing.

"John!" someone shouted. Sarah looked over to see a familiar head of sandy blond hair. Waylon. He walked up to the room, waving one of his arms. Sarah was in a confounding whirlwind of emotions—a dizzying mix of relief at seeing Waylon and confusion at the entire situation in general. Two things happened simultaneously: Gluskin's face immediately lit up at the sight of the waving blond, and John's scowl deepened as he looked at Gluskin.

Waylon walked over to John, smiling, and put his hand on the noseless man's shoulder. "Why did you run off like that? I thought you were supposed to be my bodyguard," he chuckled.

John rubbed his other shoulder. "I was just casing the place out to make sure that he"—John pointed at Gluskin— "didn't have any traps lying around."

Waylon snorted. "You're a terrible liar, John." Sarah glanced back at Gluskin. His machete was lowered, and a smile was still on his face, but his eyes... They glared at the spot where Waylon's hand rested on John's shoulder. Sarah was half expecting that spot to catch fire with the intensity of Gluskin's stare.

Sensing the tension building, Sarah interrupted Waylon and John's conversation.

With her best 'wifey' smile, she sweetly asked, "It's so nice seeing you again, Mr. Park, but if you don't mind my asking, what are you doing here on this fine afternoon?" Sarah hated putting up this act in front of Waylon, but with Gluskin here, she had no other choice.

Waylon's smile dimmed slightly as he let go of John's shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I came here to apologize, firstly. I'm so sorry I left without saying anything. I realize how worried this might have made both of you feel. Something came up, and I had to leave on such short notice." With the last sentence, Waylon looked at Sarah. Then he looked away towards Gluskin. "As I told Mr. Gluskin, I've decided to continue the sessions. If that's okay with you."

Sarah couldn't tell who Waylon was referring to. Still, before she could say anything, Gluskin cheerfully answered, "Of course, we would love for you to continue!"

Gluskin then clasped his hands together. "Ah, but where are my manners! I must insist on inviting you to join our lunch."

Waylon shook his head gently, raising a hand in polite refusal. "Thank you, Mr. Gluskin, but I must talk with Sarah about something important first."

Gluskin's smile widened a hint of steel behind his eyes. "Nonsense, Mr. Park! There's plenty of time for that after lunch.  Join us."

Waylon hesitated, glancing at Sarah. "We insist. It would be rude not to share a meal with us." Gluskin chirped.

Waylon sighed. "Alright, Mr. Gluskin. I'll join you for lunch. But afterward, Sarah and I need to have that conversation."

Gluskin beamed, gesturing to his empty seat. "Excellent! Please, take a seat. Let's enjoy this meal together."

Gluskin then made Sarah go and make some sandwiches for their 'guests' as he grabbed another chair. Sarah took this as a chance to gather her thoughts. While making ham sandwiches, she kept an eye on the dinner table.

John was still standing, leaning against the wall, looking unhappy about not having a seat. Waylon was sitting down with Gluskin next to him. Waylon was talking to Ward and Theodore.

Though Sarah couldn't make out the words from her distance, she noticed Ward's 'I'm just an innocent boy' routine while Theodore looked visibly annoyed with him. Theodore kept his distance from Ward but was actively engaged in the conversation.

Gluskin appeared visibly animated, almost fucking giddy, which felt strange for Sarah to acknowledge.

As she finished the sandwiches and returned to the table, Sarah couldn't help but feel tension thickening the air. She placed the sandwiches on the table and took a deep breath.

Sarah didn't say much, opting to observe everyone at the table. She noticed a strange dynamic between Gluskin and John—Gluskin seemed to hate John. When Theodore asked Waylon about life in the other areas of Mount Massive, and Waylon described his surroundings and experiences, Gluskin would give John the dirtiest looks whenever John chimed in. It was like Gluskin was looking at something lower than dog shit. Sarah had never seen him hate someone this much. Even when he was killing the other patients, there was no malice in him; he genuinely believed he was in the right. But with John, Gluskin's eyes burned with pure disdain.

John, in response, would simply glare back, unfazed.

If Waylon noticed, he didn't say anything. He seemed to enjoy talking with Theodore and Ward. Sarah did notice that Waylon was nicer to Theodore. Maybe he could see through Ward's bullshit. Hard to tell.

After half-listening and half-answering questions, everyone finished their lunch, and Sarah could finally get answers from Waylon.

"Thank you for the lunch. That was very good," Waylon said with a smile. "But now I have to talk with Mrs. Gluskin about some things."

Sarah nodded, giving Gluskin a (hopefully) reassuring look. "We'll be just a moment," she said, getting up. Gluskin looked like he wanted to follow, but Waylon stopped him.

"Sorry, but this is going to be a private conversation."

"She is my WIFE, and I want to know what's going on," Gluskin interjected.

Waylon walked close to Gluskin and leaned towards him, whispering something Sarah couldn't make out. Gluskin's expression shifted slightly, and he responded, "You're right, Mr. Park. Women can get a bit hysterical when it comes to things like that. Especially when it's talked about in front of their husband."

Sarah felt extremely annoyed at whatever Gluskin was implying but chose to hold in her thoughts. With a friendly smile towards him, she led Waylon out of the room and towards a quieter area.

Once they were alone, Sarah turned to Waylon, her expression serious. "So, did you find what you were looking for?"

Waylon also became serious, his eyes narrowing. "Yes. Yes, I did."

Sarah smirked. "Well then. Should I say welcome to the team?"

Waylon said nothing but stared.

"What? You came back here, right? If you didn't decide to join us, then you would've just fucked off and never come back. But since you came here out of your free will, I can only assume you decided to work with me and my partner."

Waylon sighed. Sarah just looked at him, betting he planned to make some grand reveal about how he made his choice and all of that. Too bad for him.

"You're right," Waylon finally said, his tone resigned. "I did come back willingly. But it wasn't an easy decision. There's a lot at stake, and I needed to be sure."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "So, you have questions, right?"

Waylon took a deep breath and asked what Sarah did on the computer since Miles had already told him most of the plan. Sarah then told Waylon about her contact with certain parts of the internet that were associated with leaking documents and whistleblowers. She also told him about another thing she was dealing with.

"Another thing that I do is I'm trying to track down whatever information the rat has on Murkoff," Sarah said.

"The rat?" Waylon questioned.

"Yeah, it's the name I call that bastard Jeremy Blaire." Sarah shrugged. "Anyway, I'm using whatever information we have on the rat bastard to figure out how many locations he has to hide that information and where they could be."

No matter how much Sarah hates the fucking dick, he is still the only way to get the supplies they need for breaking out of this shithole.

"So, do you know what kind of information Blaire has?" Waylon asked.

"I don't exactly, but I know what it could be."

Waylon raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, 'Then tell me already.'

Sarah smirked again. It seemed like Waylon could be pretty fucking sassy.

"It can't be just any old information on whatever crimes Murkoff committed. That wouldn't be enough. A company like Murkoff has probably survived shit like that many times already. It would have to be something that really hurt the top executives' bottom line. My guess would be some damning information that would affect the confidence of the shareholders. That would be my best assumption."

"So the information he has would probably be on multiple hard drives or flash drives," Waylon surmised.

Sarah nodded. "Exactly. We've found a few so far, but it's like looking for a needle in a fucking haystack. I hate to admit it, but Blaire's smart; he's got them scattered and well-hidden. We've found three drives, but there are bound to be more."

Waylon frowned. "How do you know there are more?"

Sarah sighed, leaning against the wall. "Blaire is too paranoid to keep everything in one place. Based on his paranoia, I think double digits would be fair to assume."

Waylon nodded slowly, processing the information. "So what are you planning to do with the information? Somehow get them while stuck here?"

"No," Sarah admitted. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is that we know where they are, and that alone is perfect blackmail material."

Waylon looked thoughtful. "So you're planning to use the threat of exposing this information to Murkoff to have Blaire do what you want?"

Sarah nodded. "The other part of the plan includes disrupting the power structure of Blaire's little group so he can't do shit to us. But we've been here too long; I don't want Gluskin sticking his head in.  I need to ask you one thing." With the response of another raised eyebrow, Sarah continued,

"Can you give some marriage advice?"

“…”

"What?" is the answer she got.

"Yeah, you're the only person I know who's been actually married, and I need to get Gluskin off my back. Can you please help me?" Sarah tried to pull a puppy dog look, which obviously failed with how unimpressed Waylon seemed.

Sarah sighed. "Look, can you just give me some advice here?"

Waylon hesitated but then said, "Well, under normal circumstances, I'd say communication is key in a relationship—" He stopped as Sarah shook her head vigorously. "But the next best thing is to show your husband that you're back to normal or do something that in his mind would give justification to whatever you did to trigger his suspicions. Since you are hellbent on not telling him anything."

Sarah considered this. "Alright. I'll give it a shot. Thanks, Waylon."

Waylon sighed. "No problem. Let's go back."

"Alright," Sarah said, giving him a small smile before they headed back to rejoin the others.

.

.

.

After they returned, everything seemed to go fine. Waylon and Gluskin talked some more while Sarah waited for Waylon and his friend to leave. Ward hovered near her as usual, but Sarah's attention was caught by something unusual. John and Theodore were a bit away from the group. Sarah couldn't hear them, but she could see John talking while Theodore nodded with an unreadable look. Sarah made a mental note to ask Theodore about their conversation later.

Eventually, Waylon called John over, and they prepared to leave. "Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Gluskin. I will see you next week for our session," Waylon said with a smile as they made their way out.

"Do you still not want me to accompany you back?" Gluskin asked.

"No, thank you. We've already taken up too much of your time," Waylon promptly declined while John gave Gluskin a dirty look.

As the door closed behind them and the loud clang of the gate closing was heard, She glanced over at Theodore, who was now quietly watching her. She decided it was best to approach him later when they were alone. For now, she had to deal with Gluskin and his inevitable questions about her conversation with Waylon.

.

.

.

The day continued as usual, with Gluskin's constant questions, Theodore's avoidance, and Ward being his usual self. Sarah couldn't stop thinking about what she needed to do that night. Her usual tricks didn't make Gluskin think she was back to normal, so she decided to do something drastic. She hated the idea, but she figured the only way to convince him was to initiate sex. Gluskin always started things, and Sarah just fucking endured it. This time, she'd bite the bullet and take the lead, even though the thought made her skin crawl.

As the evening went on, Sarah braced herself for what she had to do. It was a necessary evil, a way to get Gluskin off her back and regain some fucking control. She needed to do this for Miles.

When the moment came, she took a deep breath and approached him with a forced smile, trying to hide her disgust.

"Honey," she said softly, touching his arm. "I've been thinking… maybe we could spend some special time together tonight."

Gluskin's eyes lit up with surprise and happiness. "Really? Darling that sounds wonderful," he replied, clearly excited.

Sarah forced herself to smile back, feeling a knot of dread in her stomach. This was something she never thought she'd do, but if it meant getting Gluskin off her back and keeping shit on track, she had to do it.

Fuck it.

‡

Eddie was positively beaming. Today had been a very good day—no, it had been a fantastic day. Mr. Park had come back and decided to continue helping his wife. Eddie was worried when Mr. Park had run out so fast the other day. He feared that his wife had done something to scare him off. But after today, he could see that his worries were unfounded.

The moment Mr. Park walked through the gate, Eddie felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He wanted to make sure his darlin was alright and that Mr. Park was around to support her, which was a huge relief. Best of all, Eddie would get to see Mr. Park more often. Something about his presence brought warmth and comfort to Eddie's heart, making each moment they spent together feel more meaningful.

Best of all, Mr. Park's conversation with his darling wife has helped her with whatever she was going through. He had been partially wrong in assuming she was going through menopause. Apparently, she had been nervous about initiating intimacy with him. That's what had gotten her acting up. Knowing this, Eddie felt a sense of reassurance. His role as her husband was to guide and support her, and now he could address her concerns with understanding and patience. He was relieved to see her returning to her usual self, ready to fulfill her duties as a loving wife. Even though this change is very FUCKING suspicious. The bitch has never acted like this, and suddenly, she is acting like a different person when it comes to intimacy. No doubt it had something to do with what happened last month.

Eddie is the type of guy who looks at the positive side of things. So, he would wait for his darling to start things tonight. As the day moved on to night, he could feel himself getting more and more excited. After making sure the boys were in bed, they made their way into their own room.

Eddie stood by the bed, a quiet anticipation filling the room as his wife gently closed the door behind her. She paused momentarily, her back to him, before turning and walking shyly toward him, her eyes fixed on the floor. The soft rustle of her movements was the only sound as she crossed the room. She placed herself in front of him, her delicate hands resting on his chest. Though his darling was not a short woman by any means, Eddie still towered over her, which he loved.

With a voice tinged with vulnerability, she whispered, "I- I'm so s-sorry." Eddie, his heart aching with tenderness, gently cupped her chin with his hand, tilting her head so that he could look into her eyes. Those beautiful, red-rimmed brown eyes glistened with unshed tears how he wished they were blue.

"What are you sorry about?" Eddie asked softly.

Sniffling, his darling's tears began to fall as she cried, "I'm sorry for being such a horrible wife to you! I-I've been such a wreck trying to figure out how to make up for all you've done for me." Her voice broke. "But since I talked with Mr. Park, I decided to do this for you. I know that this won't make up for even 1% of what you have done, but I hope this will convey my love for you!"

When she finished her sentence, she reached up to his face and gently touched his lips. It was a sweet and innocent kiss, just like her, like he would be.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and deepened the kiss. He swiped his tongue at her closed lips, asking for entry. She gasped, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth. He tasted her, the lingering freshness of toothpaste and the tangy sweetness of lemonade mingling in a perfect symphony. Eddie wondered what Mr. Park would taste like.

[START]

They continued kissing for a few more moments before they finally broke apart, both panting heavily. Eddie could already feel his pants getting too tight. How long had it been since he had gotten hard just from kissing? He felt the pressure of his darling's hands pushing on his chest, and he allowed himself to be moved onto the bed. Then, his wife climbed on top of him and straddled him. Eddie could feel his erection pressing against her ass, sending waves of desire through him.

She looked at him through lidded eyes, her tears already drying up. She leaned in and put a small kiss on his nose. Eddie blushed. She sat back up and started to take off her lovely little blue dress that he had made for their anniversary. Eddie could see more and more of her skin as she slipped it off. How beautiful, how soft it looked almost as soft as Park's skin. She was left in the white underwear he had made for her as a Christmas present. She looked down, her face hidden by her brown hair if only it was sandy blond. He reached to brush it out of the way but was stopped gently by her hand. He paused and watched as she started to take off her bra. Two lovely and firm breasts popped out as she loosened the straps. When the bra was off and her breasts fully exposed, she took the same hand and guided it to grab onto one of her tits.

Eddie felt the softness and warmth of her skin, his thumb beginning to circle her nipple until he felt it start to perk up. With his other hand, he did the same, relishing the sound of his darling panting more and more. He then pinched one of her nipples, eliciting a gasp and a delicious-sounding deeper, sounding moan from her. His darling began pawing at his vest, and Eddie chuckled, allowing her to unbutton his vest and shirt. He let go of her breasts as she started to pepper kisses from his neck down, lower and lower, from his chest to his stomach. She then grabbed his pants and pulled them off, leaving him in his boxers, his erection now more prominent.

She finally pulled off his boxers, freeing his weeping cock, now fully erect. Eddie could feel his dick rubbing against her ass; the only thing in the way now was her panties. He grabbed and ripped them off, revealing her shaved pussy. It looked smooth, almost like a little girl's again. Does Park have hair on him? He could feel how wet her pussy was pressed against his body, the welcoming heat making him want to thrust into her immediately. But he decided to let her take the lead this time.

His darling lifted herself up and shakily grabbed his dick, trying to position herself. Eddie could see how hard she tried to align herself and feel nervous. He gently grabbed her hips and guided her. She then sank down on his dick, and Eddie groaned at the tight, wet heat that enveloped him. Eddie wondered if Park…- no… Waylon is as tight. Even after all these years, her pussy was still as tight as it had been on their wedding night.

She took a moment to adjust to the stretch of his cock, then started bouncing, riding him. Eddie groaned at every bounce, every time he could feel his cock scrape against Waylon's her walls. He let her ride for a bit before he couldn't take it anymore; he needed more. Sitting up, he made his darling yelp and grabbed onto his shoulders. Eddie chuckled and pressed kisses onto his her slender neck, then gently laid her onto Waylon's her back.

Eddie kissed him her roughly, feeling his her plump lips and biting into his her bottom lip as he sank deeper into her Waylon. He continued kissing him her, pumping harder and harder, each thrust driving him closer to the edge. His Darling cried out as he felt his cock reach his prostate her womb.

The rhythm grew frantic, both lost in the moment, a tangle of limbs and desire. He felt her pussy tighten even more as she came on his dick, almost screaming out. Eddie was getting closer to his own climax, looking at his darling laid out before him.

His DARLING

His WHORE

His SLUT

HIS WAYLON

With one last thrust, he cried out as he came hard. Harder than he ever had before, feeling the ropes of cum keep coming, filling his darling more and more. How he wished they could have children.

As he began to calm down, he took a moment to regain his breath. He looked down at his darling.

His eyes widened in shock.

No, nononono NONO. Why is he seeing Mr Park? He should be seeing his wife. Not a man. He's no fucking FAG. He's not like…

His father smiled at him, showing his teeth. "You were amazing. Especially with that tight ass that you got."

He looked down at the scattered Polaroid pictures on the table. They showed him lying on

his back with cum all over his body-

Eddie grabbed his head, a migraine starting to pierce his brain. All he could think about was NONONONONONO.

One of the photos had him with his uncle's cock in his mouth-

Eddie looked again and saw Mr. Park staring at him, still panting. Without thinking, Eddie grabbed his neck and squeezed, an uncontrollable rage surging through him. He wanted to crush his neck. Mr. Park's blue eyes widened as panic set in. He started to claw at Eddie's arms, but his weak attempts only left scratches at best. Eddie pressed harder, staring as Mr. Park's face gaped like a fish and slowly turned blue. He continued until he saw Mr. Park's mouthed out 'honey' and felt a soft touch on his face.

[END]

Eddie's vision cleared, and he saw his wife lying beneath him. He immediately took his hands off her neck. She gasped for breath, coughing harshly, her body racked with spasms. She coughed and coughed until she weakly rasped out a single word.

"Disgusting."

The word hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. He recoiled, horrified by what he had done. He reached out to touch her, to apologize, but she turned away, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and loathing. Eddie's heart sank, and he didn't know what to do. So, he put on his pants and did the only thing he could think of…

He ran.

~

Sarah just laid there, staring at the ceiling. She felt disgusted—at Gluskin, the situation, and herself. Maybe it was all at once.

Anger and shame churned within her, and she felt tears well up in her eyes. She hated this. She hated crying for real, not the fake tears she shed for Gluskin. She tried to stop herself from thinking of other things. She tried to think of the ocean, that sandy beach she always went to during times like this. The beach her parents took her to was her last vacation with them. But it wouldn't come to her no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't feel the sand beneath her feet or the waves crashing on the shore. But the pain kept her in reality—the burning of her neck, the burning of her eyes, the soreness of her core. She hated it. She hated how she got herself into this situation. This was her fault; she was in control. She couldn't blame anyone else but herself.

She wanted to cry out. She wanted to hear Miles's voice telling her that it was okay. She wanted to curl up and disappear.

"My, my. How terrible you look, Mother. I heard a lot of noise coming from this room, and I wanted to check to see if everything was alright." She heard a familiar voice—that oily, wretched voice.

It was Ward.

He stood there at the now-open door, staring at her naked body, his eyes shamelessly running all over her. Little shit. Sarah didn't want to deal with this. She got up from the bed and stomped her way over to him. Ward was saying something else, but she didn't listen, not with that shit-eating grin on his face.

Reaching him, she punched him in the face. She didn't care if he went whining to Gluskin. She didn't give a shit. As he fell to the floor, Sarah kicked his legs out into the hallway and slammed the door shut. She felt a small surge of satisfaction from the act for a moment. Still, it was fleeting, swallowed quickly by the overwhelming disgust and frustration that clung to her. But even those feelings left her.

Sarah stood blankly before the closed door, leaning with outstretched hands to keep it closed. She barely registered the shivering caused by her naked body and the cooling liquid dripping down her thighs. She felt empty. She didn't feel anger or sadness—she felt nothing. Drained would be the closest emotion she could identify.

All she wanted now was to sleep.

Chapter Text

*

Theodore stared at the ceiling in his new room. He was glad that Father finally listened to him, saying something about reaching the age where one wants one's own space. Theodore didn't care; he asked for the room because he couldn't handle it anymore.

After the… incident… which was passed off to Father as an accident, Theodore couldn't stand being in the same space as Ward. He couldn't sleep with how close Ward's bed was to his, separated by only a few feet. Whenever he slipped into a dream, he was haunted by images of what Ward had done to him. He could still feel the pain in his foot. Theodore would wake up and immediately huddle in the corner of his bed, afraid that he would see Ward standing there, ready to attack him again.

His new room was a sanctuary. The walls, the furniture, the bed—all of it was his. It was a place where he could finally breathe without the constant fear of Ward's presence. Theodore still had nightmares, but at least now he had a space to himself where he could try to find some semblance of peace.

However, in this sanctuary, he felt terribly alone. Theodore hadn't heard anything from Miles since that day they went out to meet Harry, and he couldn't even talk to Mom since Father was constantly around her. He didn't want to bring anything up to Father for fear of what he might do. Theodore still remembered the look of fury on his Father's face while he was screaming at Mom, choking the life out of her. Despite this, Theodore had to be constantly around him, as Father's presence stopped Ward from doing anything to him.

Theodore can't do anything by himself, can he?

That thought made him feel so helpless, so pathetic.

So weak.

At that thought, something welled up in his chest—a feeling that Theodore couldn't find words for. It burned in his chest and clawed its way up to his throat. Theodore felt tears start to build in his eyes and furiously began wiping them away. He didn't want to cry. He didn't.

But the more he tried to suppress it, the stronger it became. The fear, the loneliness, and the anger surged within him, demanding to be felt. He buried his face in his pillow, muffling the sobs that finally broke free.

He hated it. He hated it so much, but he was glad he was alone. He didn't want to cry in front of anyone. He didn't want them to see him so pathetic. He couldn't stand to see the judgmental look in their eyes. He couldn't bear the sadistic satisfaction that Ward had when Theodore finally relented to the torture again. He just couldn't.

As the tears flowed from his eyes onto his pillowcase, Theodore couldn't help but think of the words that the man John had said to him. John had spoken with a calm intensity that Theodore hadn't been able to forget.

"I don't know what's going on, but I have a feeling you need to hear this," John had said, his eyes steady and unwavering. "Life goes on. You have to fight, that's all." 1 

For some reason, those words had been stuck in Theodore's head. He kept thinking back to when Mr. Park and John had visited them earlier that day. The experience felt surreal; apart from Miles, those two were the first people he had ever met outside the family, and they seemed very nice.

The visit had been strange, almost like a different world had invaded their little one for a moment. Theodore hadn't known what to expect, but he certainly hadn't anticipated the way John's words would linger in his mind, echoing over and over.

Eventually, Theodore calmed himself enough to fall asleep. However, his nose was blocked with mucus, and a dull, pressing headache lingered.

.

.

.

Theodore woke up and went through his normal morning routine. When he was putting on his shoes, he noticed a folded piece of paper on the floor by the door. Theodore kept his room clean, so the paper immediately caught his attention. With his shoes on, he went over, picked it up, and unfolded it to find a message neatly written in pencil:

---

Finally, I have the chance to see M. I'm going now while HE is asleep. I don't want HIM following me. I don't know how long I'll be, but I'll return within the day. Your Father is (there is a large space with black streaks of poorly erased words) not in the best of moods. If you need to find him, he'll be in his workroom; he normally goes there when he's like this. Go there only if you need HIM off your back. And don't talk to him if he's at his desk.

Destroy this when you finish reading.

---

Theodore stared at the note for a moment. His initial reaction was anger—anger that Mom didn't think to take him with her. Theodore also wanted to see Miles to see if he was alright. Their last communication left Theodore even more worried, and that feeling had festered for over a month. But then the memories of what happened the last time Father found both him and Mom not at home hit him like a rock to the face, and the anger slowly bled out of him. He also took into account that it was best that Ward didn't know where Miles was.

After a moment of panic, trying to figure out how to destroy the note, Theodore stuffed the paper into his mouth. But then he realized he could have just torn it apart, stuffed the pieces in his pocket, and burned them on the stove. Awkwardly, he spat out the chewed wad of soggy paper into his hand, shoved it into his pocket, and tried to ignore the wet feeling on the side of his pants as he walked out of his room.

.

.

.

The walk to the kitchen was quiet and peaceful, and Theodore sighed in relief upon seeing that no one was there at least for the next ten minutes. While he was cooking himself some eggs, Ward slinked in. Theodore didn't notice his presence until he half-turned to take the eggs off the stove. Upon seeing Ward's blank face and cold eyes staring at him, Theodore jumped and almost dropped the pan of eggs.

Theodore felt sick to his stomach, as he always did whenever he was in the same room as Ward. The urge to run out of the kitchen and find Father surged within him. He stared at the eggs, suddenly losing his appetite.

"So, I've noticed that Mother and Father aren't around. Know anything about that, dear brother?" Ward asked as he walked closer. Theodore instinctively backed away until his back hit the edge of the stove. He reached one hand behind him to brace himself, careful not to touch the hot surface. "I-I don't know anything."

"Oh, really?" Ward's tone dripped with sarcastic disbelief. His eyes shifted downward, and a smirk twisted his face. "Alright then, what's that in your pocket?"

Theodore looked down, realizing with horror that his plaid pants had a wet stain on the right pocket. Embarrassment flooded him, his face burning almost as hot as the stove. "I-it's nothing," Theodore whimpered, trying to avoid Ward's gaze.

Suddenly, Ward surged forward, shoving his hand into Theodore's pocket. The force pushed Theodore against the stove, causing his hand to slip. His arm folded awkwardly behind his back, sliding perilously close to the flames.

"Ahh!" Theodore shouted in pain as the heat seared his skin. The sudden rush of adrenaline allowed him to shove Ward away and sprint out of the kitchen, heading straight for Father's workroom. In his panicked haze, he missed the smirk that curled Ward's lips and the knowing glint in his eyes.

Ward casually began to walk out of the kitchen, heading toward the gate leading to the rest of the asylum.

.

.

.

Theodore had always disliked entering Father's workplace. The air inside was perpetually stuffy, with a dim light barely illuminating the room. Mannequins draped in old dresses and unfinished works stood like silent sentinels, adding to the unsettling atmosphere that Theodore could never quite explain. Among them was a dress he never wanted to look at—a large, off-white gown in the center of the room, a mismatched fabric patchwork and stitches. Father claimed it was Mother's wedding dress, placed there to memorialize their union.

Father often recounted the story of their wedding day, describing the events with such a fantastical flair that it seemed ripped from a fairy tale. But now, with everything that had happened, Theodore doubted that anything his Father had said was even close to the truth.

The dress was the first thing that caught Theodore's eye as he stepped into the large, dimly lit room. The second was the sound of scraping and scratching. He squinted, trying to see better, and found his Father hunched over at his desk, his back turned. The slight movements of his Father's shoulders were all Theodore could see. Despite the fear gnawing at him, Theodore didn't want to turn back and risk running into Ward, so he forced himself to walk further into the room.

As he neared the desk, Theodore noticed crumpled balls of paper scattered across the floor. Each step he took felt heavy, the atmosphere thick with tension. The closer he got, the clearer the mess became—broken pencils, snapped in frustration, littered the ground among the papers.

Swallowing his fear, Theodore bent down and picked up one of the crumpled sheets. He carefully unfolded it, revealing a sketch of a figure in a dress. But the face was violently scratched out, the pencil marks so dark and deep that they tore through the paper. He grabbed another sketch, then another—each depicted a different dress, yet all had their faces obscured by the same harsh, jagged lines.

As Theodore tried to process what he was seeing, his mind struggled to make sense of the sketches littering the floor. A prickling sensation crept up the back of Theodore's neck, an instinctual, primal awareness that something was watching him. His breath caught in his throat, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Slowly, almost unwillingly, his eyes lifted from the papers in his hands.

The sense of dread coiled tighter in his chest as he turned his gaze toward his Father's desk.

Theodore's heart pounded as he forced his gaze up to meet his Father's eyes. The man had turned in his chair, his body half-shadowed by the dim light, but his face was unmistakable—yet different. There was something in his Father's expression that Theodore had never seen before. It wasn't anger or disappointment, nor the cold indifference Theodore had learned to steel himself against, like with Mom. It was something else, something raw and unsettling.

Father's eyes were wide, almost wild, and his mouth slightly agape, as if he were struggling to form words that refused to come. Theodore froze, paralyzed by the unfamiliar look, unable to move or speak. That expression… stirred a fear deep within him, a fear that gripped his chest like a vice and made it hard to breathe.

He didn't know what that look meant, but every instinct screamed at him to get away.

Without thinking, Theodore turned on his heel and bolted from the room, his pulse racing as his feet pounded against the floor. He could hear nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and the echo of his Father's gaze seared into his mind. He didn't stop running or look back as he flew through the halls, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

When he finally reached his room, Theodore slammed the door shut behind him and locked it.

His chest heaved as he leaned against the door, trembling from head to toe. The morning's events had pushed him to the edge, and he couldn't take it anymore.

Theodore slid to the floor, his back pressed against the door, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to block out the world. He was fed up with the fear, uncertainty, and helplessness. He just wanted it all to stop, even if only for a little while.

In the quiet of his locked room, Theodore curled in on himself, desperate for some semblance of safety. But even here, he couldn't shake the image of Father's strange, terrifying expression.

 [KS1]Life goes on and life is full of setbacks. You have to fight, that's all.  -Seve Ballesteros

Chapter Text

§§

Miles st00d there, staring b1ank1y at s0mething—was it the wa11? The cei1ing? He cou1dn’t quite te11. His th0ughts were a jumb1ed mess, 1ike his brain was packed with c0tt0n, muff1ing everything.  A fire p0ker was g0ing straight thr0ugh his brain, and it fe1t 1ike shit. He was g1ad that he had sung1asses 0n. The white 1ights were hammering the p0ker deeper. The g1asses didn’t he1p… with the ears. The c0nstant ringing in 0ne ear had become a maddening c0mpani0n, a high-pitched whine that he c0uldn’t shake. Sometimes… he thinks that a cricket had craw1ed int0 his ear cana1 and is sl0wly chewing at his eardrum… 0r something 1ike that.  It was the 0nly way to exp1ain the sharp, constant n0ise that made him want t0 smash his head against the wa11, just t0 make it st0p.

His b0dy fe1t numb, heavy, as th0ugh 1ead had settled int0 his 1imbs. They were dead weight. Use1ess. He may as we11 rip them 0ff; it w0u1dn't make a difference.

0vera11, Miles w0u1d say that he isn’t having a g00d time.

He wanted c0ffee. Bad1y. How 10ng had it been since he’d fe1t the satisfying sting 0f h0t c0ffee s1iding d0wn his thr0at? The thought a10ne sent a shiver of anticipati0n thr0ugh him. The 01fact0ry b1iss 0f fresh1y crushed beans, that dark, bitter ar0ma swir1ing ar0und him—it used t0 fi11 his head with euph0ria, sharpening the f0ggiest of m0rnings into c1arity. G0d, he cou1d practica11y sme11 it n0w, the rich scent cutting thr0ugh the c0tt0n in his brain 1ike a 1ife1ine. Just the mem0ry 0f it made him ache with l0nging, like his b0dy remembered what rea1 energy fe1t 1ike.

0h, wh1t M1les w0u1dn’t d0 t0 h01d 0nt0 th1t g10ri0us m0ment 0nce m0re1

“Hey.”

Miles jumped when he felt a p0ke on his left sh0ulder, letting out a surprised s0und—something he didn’t think he’d ever d0 again after getting shot in the neck. He remembered h0w much that fucking hurt. He turned around t0 see who it was and saw Sarah standing there. What sh0cked him even more was her appearance. Instead 0f the combat 0utfit she usually wore, she had on an 0versized white long-sleeved shirt and black pants, both way to0 big for her. Miles figured they had to be Gluskin’s clothes.

It felt weird seeing her like that.

Sarah l0oked like she hadn’t slept in five years, with deep dark circles under her eyes that could’ve been mistaken for smudged mascara if Miles didn’t know better. Her eyes held that special kind 0f tiredness she got when something seriously fucked up had g0ne down.

It looked like Sarah was having just as rough of a day as he was.

0verall, she looked like shit, but Miles couldn’t exactly judge, since he was pretty (very) sure he didn’t lo0k great either.

Realizing he’d just been standing there staring, Miles fumbled to grab his whiteboard and marker, but it turned into an awkward mess. He struggled to pull the b0ard out, then forgot where the marker was, leading to about ten s0lid seconds of him looking like a drunk g0ose on roller skates. Miles lo0ked up from his fumbling and Sarah just stood there and stared at Miles shit sh0w.

He finally got the dammed shit out and he tried his hardest to write something, but his hand just refused to move n0rmally. If Miles had to describe it, he would equate it to how a gl0ve filled with ground beef would probably move if it c0uld. Be it to say all that Miles wrote out were scribbles on pair with a tw0-year old’s handwriting.

|-/ |

Sarah squinted for a moment, her face otherwise unreadable, then grabbed his arm and started pulling him d0wn the hallway.

Miles didn't resist. Part of him was genuinely too tired to argue, and the 0ther part knew that Sarah's sharp tongue would tear him to shreds if he did. So, t0 preserve his ego, he decided to go with it.

Sarah eventually led them to Wernicke's 0ld room—the one Miles had been occupying f0r the last 15 years. It was the biggest and best room in the asylum, and, more importantly, Miles is petty as hell. The man who started this wh0le mess also led the Walrider project, and Miles found some twisted satisfaction in 0ccupying the once pristine space of a germaphobe like Wernicke.

But despite living there, Miles hated all the stuff Wernicke had left behind. The bo0ks, for example, could only be described in one word: 0stentatious. A pretentious word for an equally self-important man. It wasn't that Miles c0uldn't understand the books—he could. He wasn't some idi0t; you don't become a journalist by being bad with w0rds. He just found them obnoxious.

He'd th0ught about trashing them more times than he could count, but boredom kept him fr0m doing it. So, they stayed.

Sarah pushed Miles onto the bed with a f0rce that sent him down like a ton of bricks, hitting the slightly unmade mattress.

"Stay," she said as she turned and walked away.

Miles bristled at that. He might be a lot 0f things, but he sure as hell wasn't a dog. At least, he hoped not. A second later, the sterile white lights of the r0om flicked off. The room wasn't entirely dark—light from the hallway seeped thr0ugh the glass wall—but the dimming helped ease his throbbing headache a bit. He sat up, waiting for Sarah to return.

When she did, she sat beside him on the bed, a weight settling into the mattress.

"Alright, take it off."

Wait, what? Miles blinked, taken aback. His thoughts immediately jumped to 0ne of those cheesy 70s pornos.

Miles felt a smirk tug at the corner 0f his lips as Sarah rolled her eyes, clearly reading his mind.

"I meant take off your glasses and bandages, jackass," she said, though her words carried no bite.

Miles did as instructed, carefully removing his sunglasses and bandages. As his hands m0ved through the familiar motions, he thought back to the last time Wayl0n saw his face. That reaction had been... well. Being half-dead really did nothing for one's looks. But Sarah, she never flinched. Over the past 15 years, she had seen h0w his face had morphed and deteriorated, giving him her honest thoughts whenever he asked.

15 years ago:

"You look like one of those target practice dummies filled with red goo that leak every time they get shot."

12 years ag0:

"I'd say you look like a body that's been dead for an hour."

8 years ago:

"Well, you still look like shit, but at least you're not leaking anymore. You're... bluer."

Now, Miles raised a (nonexistent) eyebrow, waiting for her newest verdict. Sarah let 0ut a sigh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Time hasn't been kind to you," she said, glancing at his face. "You're like one of those cheap masks they sell at Halloween stores."

Miles rolled his eyes at her, annoyed. Sarah didn't budge as she patted the bed again.

"Lay down."

He stared at her, incredulous. She wanted him to lie down? After everything? He might n0t be in the best shape, but neither was Sarah. Something had clearly happened; if anyone deserved to rest, it was her. So, instead of m0ving, he pointed one of his remaining fingers at her, motioning for her t0 lie down.

Her tired, neutral expression twisted into a sneer for the first time in their strange little reunion.

"I'm not the one who needs to lie down, you idiot," she snapped. "You look like shit—worse than usual—and you can't even write to talk to me! I've been worried about you for over a month, and when I finally get to see you again, you look like a breeze could turn you into dust! So, don't argue with me—lie the fuck down!"

Miles was stunned.

Miles m0ved, but instead of lying on the mattress, he casually rested his head on Sarah's lap. Sarah's eyes widened, clearly startled. HA! This was not what she'd expected.

"W-what are you doing, you bastard… g-get off! I don't want your gross face on me!" she stammered, trying to push him away.

But Miles didn't budge. He watched as her face turned red with embarrassment, and after a moment 0f struggling, Sarah sighed in resignation. She grabbed a pillow and unceremoniously slapped it over his face, covering his vision in darkness.

"I know you can't sleep, so just focus on the black and relax... or whatever... jackass," she muttered, her tone gruff but lacking real bite.

Miles couldn't help but smirk under the pillow.

After several minutes—though Miles wasn't exactly counting—his mind began to clear up. The relentless pounding in his head eased, and he found a strange comfort in the darkness beneath the pillow, listening to Sarah's steady breathing and feeling the warmth of her lap against his head.

Miles removed the pillow from his face to see that Sarah was looking at him with a strangely tiredly fond expression.

Eventually, Sarah broke the silence. "You know, Theodore's been worried about you for a while now. I don't know what you did, but he cares about you."

Miles sat up from her lap and looked around for his whiteboard. Thankfully, he hadn't dropped it—though he wasn't sure if Sarah had picked it up during… whatever episode he'd just had. He wasn't ready to process that yet. He grabbed the whiteboard and scrawled the one thing that felt fitting at the moment:

SO YOU REALLY DO CARE ABOUT YOUR KID?

Sarah blinked at him, utterly bewildered. "Wha–?" she managed, looking at him like he'd just declared the sky was green and the grass was blue.

COME ON, THIS IS LIKE THE SECOND TIME YOU'VE BROUGHT UP YOUR KID AND HOW HE'S WORRIED.

Sarah let out a deep sigh. "No, it's because he's part of our little group and… well… teamwork makes the dream work, right?"

Miles raised his eyebrows—or at least the one eyebrow he still had. It was amusing to see Sarah trying to brush it off. It was like catching a kid lying about eating Play-Doh when their whole mouth was covered in blue.

YEAH SURE

"Well, unfortunately, you seem to be fucking better."

: )

"What's been going on with you?" Sarah asked, her voice sharp. Miles started to write something down, but before he could, she added, "And don't say nothing is wrong. I'm not a fucking idiot."

Miles paused, erasing what he had initially jotted down. How could he explain everything that had been happening over the past couple of months? For someone who used to be a journalist, it was strange how difficult it felt to describe his experience. Still, he decided to list everything, keeping it straightforward.

Sarah took her time reading the whiteboard, her expression unreadable. She remained quiet for a beat when she finished before saying, "You need to stop using the Walrider's powers."

S0mething inside Mi1es rec0i1ed at her w0rds. Anger surged thr0ugh him, fiery and immediate. St0p? He couldn't just st0p using the Wa1rider. They needed it f0r their p1ans. How cou1d she n0t see that?

Mi1es sh0t up from the bed, a burning urge t0 destr0y something bui1ding inside him. His hands c1enched, the r00m narr0wing in his visi0n, the intensity 0f the rage taking 0ver—

The slap hit him before he even registered what was happening.

The sting of it spread across his cheek, and he turned to see Sarah standing there, glaring at him with a mix of anger and fear in her eyes. It was the fear that hit harder than the slap itself. The rage in him fizzled out, deflating under the weight of the reality that was now staring him in the face.

"You know that thing isn't fucking healthy for you," Sarah muttered.

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then groaned and ran a hand through her hair before plopping back onto the mattress. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as if exhausted.

Miles sat beside her, the energy in the room settling, but the words she'd said hung heavy in the air.

They sat silently, as they had so many times before. Miles figured he deserved the quiet. He finally wrote down what had been on his mind, nudging Sarah repeatedly until she cracked open one eye to look at his whiteboard.

HOW HAVE YOU BEEN DOING?

The unimpressed look she gave him said it all—Really? Miles shrugged in response. It was a generic question, sure, but he was genuinely worried. With the way she looked, he had to know what happened.

Sarah sighed and shut her eyes again. "Take a guess."

After a few moments, she glanced back at his board.

GLUSKIN?

"Yep."

WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT?

"…Sure. Why not."

She explained what happened. A visit from Waylon, a fucking intimate (in a thousand quotation marks) moment with Gluskin. But something felt different this time. Sarah's tone was cold and detached as if she were telling an old story she had recited hundreds of times. In a way, that's precisely what it was.

For fifteen years, it had been the same miserable cycle with Gluskin. The same violence, the same torment. Miles hated every second of it even more that he couldn't do anything to stop it. He felt sickened with himself for being so powerless, knowing how little had changed despite the time that had passed.

Sarah's detachment only made it worse. Normally, when she talked about Gluskin choking her, there'd be anger or at least some frustration. But now, it was as if she were numb to it all. Reciting the trauma like a checklist, completely drained of emotion

.

Sarah's voice cracked as she spoke, her words hanging in the air like poison.

"I was the one who started it. I wanted him to leave me alone so I could see you, so in my infinite wisdom, my stupid fucking brain thought—*Hey, if I act like his perfect little wife again, maybe he'll back off.* So yeah, I fucked him…" Her voice faltered, trembling. "I-I fucked him, so I can't even say he raped me this time, huh? I was the one who moved my hips. I was the one who—"

Before she could finish, Miles pulled her into a tight hug, cutting off her words. He couldn't let her say that. Not to him. Not to herself.

Sarah kept talking, her voice muffled against him. "I-I was in control. I-I couldn't even tune it out like I usually do." A bitter laugh escaped her, fragile and hollow. "I felt it all... and it felt..."

Miles knew what she was about to say, which twisted his gut. He knew how she hated sex, how she always talked about it with such disinterest, if not outright disgust. She had confided in him before about never really being attracted to anyone that way. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together—she never wanted any of this, never felt the way other people did about intimacy.

Miles didn't make any move to write anything down as he hugged Sarah for as long as she let him. If he could speak, what would he say? What could he say, really? He started to feel wet tears on the back of his neck. Sarah was crying. That's how bad it was for her—Sarah was never the type to cry. She always said she hated crying because it made her feel pathetic. He let her cry it out.

After she finished, Miles wrote:

YOU SAID THAT GLUSKIN LEFT AFTER, RIGHT?

"Yes," Sarah said, sniffling and narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him.

SHIT, I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE THAT BAD AT SEX.

"Pssh. You fucking asshole," Sarah laughed.

Miles knew Sarah wasn't looking for pity, so he figured the best way to approach this was to cheer her up a little.

"But that makes me wonder—why did he run off? I thought that goes against the whole gentlemanly macho-man thing."

Miles thought about it, and Sarah was right. He went over the events Sarah had told him and remembered the details about how Gluskin was acting during Waylon's visit.

DO YOU THINK IT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH WAYLON?

"What do you mean—oh shit. No... I mean... oh... oh fuck."

It made too much sense. From how Sarah described it, Gluskin seemed jealous of this John guy, and he was being very nice to Waylon. Plus, Gluskin did cut off men's dicks in search of a 'wife' before he got to Sarah, so maybe he was very closeted about being interested in men.

"If what you're implying is the case, then we need to tell Waylon," Sarah reasoned.

Miles made a face, which Sarah noticed.

"Oh, fucking stop it. We're adults. We have to tell him. I don't know about you, but I'd personally want to know if a homicidal maniac has a thing for me and would be *very* angry about it. I don't know," she said in a quite sardonic tone.

Miles couldn't help but roll his eyes as he wiped the whiteboard clean, but deep down, he knew Sarah was right. If Gluskin was starting to fixate on Waylon, they needed to do something about it. Ignoring it wasn't an option—not with someone as unstable as Gluskin.

He scribbled down a response.

I GUESS YOU'RE RIGHT. BUT HOW DO WE TELL HIM? NOT EXACTLY A FUN CONVERSATION.

Sarah leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Yeah, no shit. But better an awkward conversation than… whatever Gluskin has in mind if we don't."

Miles raised an eyebrow at her, adding a sarcastic smiley face to the board before writing, GUESS I'LL LET YOU HANDLE IT. YOU'RE BETTER AT GENTLY BREAKING BAD NEWS.

Sarah huffed, a tired smile forming despite the weight of everything. "Oh, yeah, right. I'm real gentle, especially when it comes to homicidal maniacs and their bizarre love triangles."

Miles smiled, or as close as he could get to smiling. Even with everything going to shit, at least they could still joke about it. That counted for something, didn't it?

He erased the board and wrote one last thing.

THANKS. YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO TELL ME ANY OF THIS.

Sarah glanced at the board, her gaze softening. "I know. But I needed to." She shifted a bit, brushing her hand over her face. "You're the only person I trust with this kind of stuff, Miles."

For a moment, there was nothing but quiet between them. It wasn't a bad kind of silence. Just the two of them, sharing a brief moment of understanding amidst all the chaos.

Sarah then went to the computer room, saying they had wasted enough time and needed to get something done before she had to leave. She was right about that. Miles then looked at the pile of bandages and had to admit he felt ten thousand times better than he had earlier, gratefu1 that the ringing had fina11y stopped.

Chapter Text

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If anyone had asked Harry how his week would turn out, he definitely wouldn’t have guessed that he’d be sitting in a large, imposing room, in a small chair, facing a desk with a decapitated head staring back at him. But then again, that’s just his luck, he supposed. Harry should’ve known better by now strange and horrifying things always seemed to happen to him at the most random of times.

Still, he refused to get used to the sight of a dead body. No matter how many times he’d seen one (which, over the past 15 years, had been a disgusting amount), it never became easier. What was even more disconcerting was that it was Frank Minerva’s dead, milky eyes staring at him. Harry had thought the head would’ve been discarded months ago when he first brought it to the group to prove that he’d “killed” Minerva. But, lo and behold, someone had decided to taxidermy the thing.

Honestly, Harry had been expecting something entirely different when he got called up to Steve’s office. Out of Andrew and Steve, he had heard far more rumors about Andrew and his... habits. Quite frankly, Harry was relieved at first to hear that he’d be dealing with Steve instead—he had no desire to be assaulted, thank you very much.

Up until this point, nothing alarming had been said about Steve, and Harry had assumed he was just a normal guy. But, apparently, that wasn’t the case.

The so-called 'normal' Steve was currently sitting on the desk, casually resting beside the decapitated head as if it were nothing more than a paperweight. He wore a smile—one that, under any other circumstances, Harry might have considered a friendly smile. But you know... a DEAD HEAD and all.

Steve wasn’t saying anything, and Harry didn’t know what to say either. He had figured that the meeting would be about Ruben and his paintings—maybe something along the lines of bribing him to either destroy or manipulate the artwork in some way. Harry wasn’t exactly sure of the specifics, but he knew that Jeremy and the higher-ups would want to squash the rising discourse in the group, especially with Amos’s cult-like preaching gaining traction.

But if that were the case, he would’ve expected to be speaking with the security manager, not one of the seconds-in-command. It felt like a huge leap in the process. Did Steve want to talk about Minerva? Or was this just some sort of intimidation tactic?

Steve’s smile didn’t waver as he spoke again.

“I really do enjoy the work that was done on Minerva.”

Harry kept still, his eyes locked on Steve, who continued to smile, almost disturbingly casually.

“I mean, I heard Minerva ate his own legs—that the person who killed him made him devour himself. That’s... creative, in a sadistic sort of way. But to cut him into tiny pieces afterward? That’s a level of dedication that’s admirable.”

Harry had no idea how to respond to that. He kept his face blank, masking the alarm rising within him. Years of arguing with his ex-wife had taught him the value of silence when someone was fishing for a reaction. Steve’s words, his tone, and the unblinking way he was staring at Harry made it seem like the man was trying to dissect him. But why? What was the goal here? A bad feeling started to churn in Harry’s gut.

Harry decided to play along, though every instinct screamed at him to get the hell out. He adopted an easy tone, hoping it came off as believable. “Yeah, I found it fitting. A cannibal eating himself—ironic, don’t you think?”

Steve’s eyes flickered with something, his smile stretching wider. “You did quite a job on Minerva. He is one of the scariest people in here, and you took him down. Impressive. With your skill, maybe you could take out the others. I bet you could even stand a chance against Gluskin.”

There it was. The underlying bait. Harry's bad feeling now had a name: trap.

But unfortunately when Harry heard that the idea of him beating the Groom in any sort of way was so absolutely absurd that he could contain a laugh escaping him. Like, come on it's like having a baby fight a polar bear. No chance of winning.  Harry cursed internally as soon as the laugh escaped. He quickly closed his mouth, hoping Steve hadn’t noticed. But of course, he had. Steve’s smile only grew, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Ah, I see. You’re very sure of yourself. I like that.”

Shit. He noticed.

Harry raised his hands defensively, trying to backpedal. “No, no, it’s not like that. I just... find the idea funny. I’m not really that good.”

Steve’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, don’t be so modest.” His voice was smooth, almost too pleasant like he was enjoying watching Harry squirm. "You’ve proven yourself capable before. Don’t sell yourself short.”

The casual tone made Harry’s skin crawl. It was clear now—Steve wasn’t just fishing for reactions; he was pushing, testing, trying to get something out of him. Harry opted not to say anything, lest he dig the hole deeper.

After a quiet, uncomfortable moment, Steve continued.

“…but you have your job with that artist. So I guess you can’t do that.” Steve stopped smiling and looked like he was thinking about something.

“How’s that going for you, friend?”

“Ah… well, it’s going pretty good,” Harry said nervously.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed as he stopped looking at Harry and began to lightly poke at Minerva’s head.

“Yeah, you see, friend, I heard something very interesting about that.”

Harry said nothing but started to shake his leg.

“Your partner Campbell has been very helpful in cooperating with us.”

Harry clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. Of course, Dick would sell him out the moment it was convenient. He wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t stop the anger from bubbling up inside him. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. He knew how this game worked—Steve was dangling blackmail over his head to make him compliant. But if Harry played his cards right, maybe he could squeeze something out of it too.

"Well, I guess Di-Richard has always been... resourceful," Harry said, trying to keep his tone casual. "I suppose you’re here to talk about my role in all this."

Steve smiled. "Smart man. Yes, I am. You see, friend, we’re not looking to make this any more complicated than it needs to be. We know you’ve been... involved in Ruben’s little art projects, and that’s fine. We even appreciate it, in a way. But there are certain things we’d like to see managed a little differently moving forward."

Harry swallowed. ‘Managed differently’ was corporate speak for control. They wanted him to be their puppet. He wasn’t sure what they wanted exactly, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that his freedom was on the line. Still, he wasn’t going to give in so easily.

"Managed how?" Harry asked, his leg still jittering slightly as he met Steve’s gaze.

Steve’s fingers drummed on the table, his tone almost nonchalant as he spoke. "Oh, nothing drastic. Just a few adjustments to ensure everything goes... smoothly. You keep doing your job, keep an eye on Ruben, and when we need you to do something for us, you’ll do it. Simple, really."

Harry felt the knot in his stomach tighten. Of course, it’s never that simple. But before he could respond, Steve leaned in, his voice lowering.

"And in exchange, we can make sure your little indiscretions go away. You understand how valuable that could be, right?"

Harry nodded, knowing full well what Steve was getting at. They had him backed into a corner, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find a way to maneuver within it. Maybe if he played along, he could find a way out of this mess—or at the very least, buy himself some time.

"Alright," Harry finally said, keeping his voice steady. "I can work with that. But, if I’m going to be doing these... favors for you, I’d appreciate a little something in return."

Steve’s smile flickered, intrigued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Harry leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Steve. "I would like a raise, after all." Harry figured he needed to make up for the lost money he'd spent paying Dick to keep quiet—though, in hindsight, that had been pretty fucking pointless.

Steve stared, looking slightly stunned, but then said, "That can be arranged."

Harry smiled slightly. He really needed to talk to S about all of this.

Steve clapped his hands suddenly, making Harry jump in his seat. "I suppose that’s all I wanted to discuss with you today. But I should give this back since it’s yours." Steve grabbed Minerva’s head and extended it toward Harry.

“N-no, that’s okay,” Harry stammered, trying his best not to touch the severed head. The first time had already been traumatizing; he didn’t need to go through it again.

"It’s yours. You did kill him, after all," Steve replied in a slightly mocking tone, still holding out the head.

"No, you can keep it. You seem to like it," Harry muttered, looking away. He hoped Steve would get the hint and stop shoving Minerva’s head in his face. The sight of it made his skin crawl, triggering weird, uncomfortable feelings he couldn’t shake. Every time he looked at the severed head, he could still hear the sound of tearing flesh, and see S's cold eyes staring at him as she forced him to cut up Minerva. Sure, Minerva was already dead by then, but still...

"Okay then," Steve said, almost too casually. "I’ll just put this with the others. Do you want to see them?"

What.

The room was large enough to have its own closet space, which Steve was now motioning Harry toward. And if Harry was being honest with himself, he really didn’t want to go there. But considering Steve was shamelessly carrying a decapitated head and talking like this was a normal business meeting, Harry figured it wouldn’t be wise to refuse.

Reluctantly, he followed Steve toward the closet door. It was an unassuming, brown door, slightly worn from age. If Harry had passed it on any other day, he would’ve dismissed it without a second thought.

But now Harry really doesn’t want to see what’s on the other side of the door. Steve in the manner of a businessman going to get coffee opened the closet.

Oh… great. It seems like Steve has skeletons in the closet. No wait. It’s a closet full of dead heads all neatly lined up in selves.

Harry stared into the closet, feeling his stomach drop. The rows of heads lined up in a neat, gruesome display felt almost surreal, like something out of a twisted museum. Each face was frozen in its final moment, some contorted in agony, others eerily peaceful. He recognized a few—people he had talked to over the years, people who had just disappeared without a trace. Now he knew where they had gone.

The casual way Steve stood by as if showing off a collection of antiques, made the entire scene more horrifying. This wasn’t just a warning. It was a statement. A reminder that Harry, like those heads, was replaceable. Disposable.

Harry swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his face neutral, despite the bile rising in his throat. He wasn’t going to give Steve the satisfaction of seeing him rattled. He had to play this smart.

“I… see you’ve been busy,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Steve smiled, that same unsettling smile. “Busy is one word for it. It’s all about control and power. You understand that, don’t you?”

Harry nodded slowly, but inside, his mind was racing. He needed to get out of this room, away from Steve. This is turning out to be a horror movie and Harry doubts that he would be the ones that make it to the end.

"Well, I suppose that sends the message loud and clear," Harry said, forcing a chuckle. He hoped it came off as casual and not the desperate attempt to stay calm that it was.

Steve gave him a sharp look but didn’t push further. Instead, he closed the closet door with a soft click, as if sealing away a dark secret.

"Just keep that in mind, friend," Steve said, his voice smooth. "We wouldn't want you to end up in the collection, now, would we?"

Harry gave a tight smile, his heart pounding in his chest. "No. We wouldn’t."

…

Harry didn’t remember the rest of the conversation, nor did he care to. He just wanted to leave as quickly as possible and never see Steve again. In his opinion, he exited as gracefully as anyone could in such a situation—definitely not fleeing the room and into the hallway.

As Harry neared the end of the corridor, he somehow bumped into someone. The first thing he noticed was a pair of blue eyes; the second was a tongue slowly licking the man’s lips. A chill shot through Harry as he realized he had bumped into Andrew.

“Sorry about that, I have to get going,” Harry mumbled, quickly sprinting away.

NO POV

The pair of blue eyes silently watched the scurrying man until he disappeared from sight. Then, with the air of a prowling cat, Andrew turned toward Steve’s office door. He strode to the worn brown door and knocked, humming softly as his fist made contact.

Shave and a haircut. Two bits.

The door creaked open to reveal Steve standing behind it, a genial smile fading as he saw his unwelcome colleague.

“What do you want?” Steve asked, his tone cold enough to freeze a boiling pot in an instant.

Seemingly unaffected, Andrew replied cheerfully, “I just saw someone run away from your room. This means one of two things: either you showed him what’s in your closet, or you showed him what’s in your pants. Honestly, I don’t know which option is more terrifying.” He punctuated the sentence with a lick of his lips and a toothy grin.

Steve stared back, beginning to close the door, only to be stopped by Andrew’s foot wedged in the doorway.

“C’mon, Stevie, can’t you take a friendly jab?”

Steve’s expression remained stony. “Don’t call me that. I’d rather not spend more time with an old pervert than I have to.”

“Says the man with a closet full of dead heads,” Andrew laughed.

Steve’s eye twitched. “The man who left was Harry Powers. I was trying to convince him to go along with the plan. That’s it. I try not to actively engage in that kind of stuff. Unlike you.”

“If that’s the case, then why the bravado? It should’ve been enough to just talk to him and intimidate him a little. It’s always been like that for all the other times,” Andrew said, tilting his head and ignoring the last comment.

Steve’s gaze shifted sideways as if recalling something. “I wanted to confirm something.”

Andrew leaned further into the doorway, and Steve unconsciously stepped back. “Care to tell me what that is?”

“No.”

Andrew licked his lips again but said nothing. There was a tense moment of silence before Steve sighed.

“What do you want? You obviously came here for something.”

“Why don’t you let me in? It’s rude leaving someone out in the cold like this.” To emphasize his point, Andrew spread his arms toward the empty hallway.

Steve stared blankly, his cold blue eyes drilling into the man before him.

After another silent moment, Andrew put his arms down, clicked his tongue, and leaned further into the doorway, causing Steve’s face to twist in disgust.

The lightheartedness in Andrew’s face faded, replaced by a serious, blank expression. “Look, we don’t have to play nice like we do around Blaire, but I think we should drop the hostility for now. I wanted to talk about what we plan to do if—or rather, when—things go south. We both know that if anything happens, our so-called boss won’t be the one targeted since nobody wants Murkoff coming in and killing everyone off. Sure, the perks we get because of Blaire don’t hurt, but who ends up with the short end of the stick? Us—the second-in-commands, or ‘Blaire’s meat shields,’ as I like to call it. So, it’d be helpful to get on the same page moving forward, minus the attitude.”

Steve’s disgust faded as he considered Andrew’s words. After a moment of thought, he opened the door wider and stepped back to let Andrew in. Andrew’s face brightened as he walked in, and the door closed with a soft click.

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A group of men in gray prison jumpsuits walked toward what was once Frank Minerva’s territory. These men, known as "jumpies," were at the bottom of the social and financial hierarchy. They moved as a group to reduce the risk of any of them "disappearing." No one knew what happened to a missing jumpie, and no one cared. That was why everyone in the group had clamored and fought to get this construction job—it paid far more than the usual labor work they could find. Each of them wanted money, but their reasons varied: some hoped to rise out of the jumpie class and improve their lives; others wanted to buy clothes that weren’t fifteen years old and full of holes; and some just wanted enough money for a decent meal at the end of the day.

They moved as a silent unit through the hallways, each man deformed in one way or another. Whether the damage came from experiments at Mount Massive or was self-inflicted didn’t matter now; at this moment, they were a united group. As they neared the main workstation, one of the men at the front stopped. Before even opening the metal door, they noticed the smell.

The smell.

It was painfully familiar to them all—the metallic tang of blood, the acidic sting of urine, and the foul stench of intestines.

They knew someone had died.

One of the men at the front opened the large door, and the group was met with the sight: the floor smeared with the sticky maroon of old, dried blood; a mess of power tools and half-soaked papers scattered across the floor; and in the center of the room, near an overturned table, lay a body.

The body had been mutilated, the limbs severed and removed, each with deep gashes and wounds. The man’s abdomen was cut open and eviscerated, his intestines ripped out and scattered. His chest was cracked open, white rib bones protruding from the mangled mass of smashed lung and heart tissue. The face was unrecognizable, the front caved in, with eyes ripped out and dried on the crushed remains of the man’s head. It was clear that whoever did this had used the various tools scattered across the floor.

The men who could see the scene stared but made no grand reactions. After all, mutilated bodies were a sight they had seen countless times over the years; one more didn’t make a difference.

But what made this one particularly different was what the body was wearing—a suit.

This man was a “suit,” someone from the upper echelon, near the top of the social ladder. A death people would care about. The men in front had to step into the room as those in the back clamored to see inside. As the group began to file in, some stared at the body while others looked around the room for any signs. Signs of what, none of them knew, since anyone could have killed the suit. They murmured among themselves, trying to decide who they would report it to.

If they had paid closer attention, if they’d noticed a small detail, they would have realized something was off. It wasn’t what was there but rather what wasn’t—an important document.

The blueprints to Mount Massive Asylum were gone.

Chapter Text

↉

Itching. Itching. Itching. Itching.

The horrible prickling sensation beneath the skin. That maddening tingling that makes one want to scratch, scrape, and tear. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

It’s relentless. Cruel. No matter how much I scratch, it never stops. It’s so horrible it makes me want to rip off the outer layer of my flesh. But I know—it’s bone-deep. No, it’s deeper than that. It won’t stop.

It can’t stop.

For a moment, I thought it had gone. That the itch had vanished. But no. It was waiting—lying in wait for me to let my guard down. And now it’s back. I can feel it in the air, crawling, alive. I know it’s here.

And I know everyone else feels it too.

I’ve been looking, watching. I see how they’re moving differently, like there’s something waiting, unseen.

Waylon looked up from the journal in his hands at the man muttering and fidgeting across from him. He doesn’t know the man’s real name—nobody does. No one can recognize his face; it’s too disfigured. Waylon had taken to calling him Silky, as it was the only name the man would respond to.

This was the first time Silky had written anything so articulate, Waylon thought. Usually, his journal entries were little more than erratic scribbles. Waylon had suggested he try writing to help express his feelings, but this entry was different. Reading it now, Waylon couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease settling in his chest.

The thing was, Waylon felt eerily like what Silky had written—not in the itching sense, though reading the entry did make him instinctively scratch his arm. It was more about the shift in the air, the unsettling tension that seemed to ripple through the place. To put it simply, it felt like everyone was waiting. Waiting for something. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. The problem was, Waylon didn’t even know what that would look like—or what it would mean when it finally happened.

To be honest, Waylon was at a loss. His head swirled with too many thoughts about what he had been told earlier, so he decided to send Silky off early. He felt bad about it, but he knew it was better to handle the man with his full attention rather than just a fraction of it.

With his "office" (a room he didn’t even consider his office, though everyone else insisted on calling it that) now empty, Waylon finally had some time to sort through his thoughts.

First, he needed to process what had happened earlier this morning...

-Flashback-

Waylon made his way to the underground labs, a place that always made his stomach churn. The memories of Morphogenic Therapy clung to him, vivid and hard to shake. He shivered as his mind drifted to Andrew’s wet tongue dragging across his cheek and those cold, unblinking blue eyes watching him scream. His hand instinctively rose to rub at the spot on his cheek, as if to wipe away a stain long since gone but never forgotten. Those weren’t the only bad memories tied to this place. He still remembered the chaos of the riots—the blood, the screams, and the desperation.

But as much as he hated being here, he knew it was the best place to stay out of sight and gather information. It was the only area with a working computer and internet access (as limited as it may be).

Waylon did his best to push the feeling aside as he moved through the surprisingly clean hallways of the labs. He supposed that, after fifteen years, there had been plenty of time to scrub away the blood, gather the bullet casings, and clear out the scattered guts.

Still, there was another feeling gnawing at him—awkwardness mixed with guilt. Both would bubble up the moment he faced Miles Upshur. Waylon was sure the man must hate him; after all, it was his fault Miles ended up here, in that state. A chill ran down Waylon’s spine as he recalled the sight of Miles’s face… and the truth hit him all over again. It was his fault, wasn’t it?

.

.

.

Since Waylon didn’t know exactly where Miles was, he found himself once again searching room by room.

When he reached the old maintenance closet where the computer was, he noticed a faint light glowing at the far end of the room, near the aging servers. Curious, he stepped closer and saw someone hunched over the computer, typing furiously. The figure wore an oversized, baggy white button-up shirt, and their long brown hair obscured their face.

Waylon paused, studying them, trying to figure out who it was. Suddenly, the typing stopped, and the person turned toward him. As the brown hair fell away, the faint glow of the computer screen illuminated the face of Sarah.

She looked exhausted, dark bags under her eyes making her features seem even sharper in the dim light.

“Oh, hey,” she said, her tone flat and neutral.

“Hey,” Waylon replied, a little uncertain.

For a moment, Sarah didn’t say anything. She looked like she was lost in thought, her gaze unfocused as if weighing something in her mind.

Sarah hummed softly, her eyes flicking back to the computer.

“So, how did things work out with Mr. Gluskin?” Waylon asked, breaking the silence.

“Obviously, it worked out,” Sarah replied flatly, not looking up from the screen as her fingers resumed typing. She had the air of someone deep in crunch time, reminding Waylon of his classmates during finals week. He glanced at her again, thinking about the timing of her arrival. Unless she was a new patient (which seemed unlikely… maybe) Sarah had probably been hired to replace him. Another name to add to the growing list of people he’d dragged into this nightmare.

“That’s good, at least,” Waylon said quietly.

The steady rhythm of typing slowed to a single, deliberate tap. He barely caught the muttered “Fuck it,” before Sarah turned to face him fully, her expression sharp and direct.

“I think Gluskin wants to fuck you,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Waylon froze, his brain grinding to a halt.

“Huh?” he managed, dumbly.

“Yeah,” Sarah continued, unfazed. “After seeing you and Gluskin together, and how he reacted during my little ‘plan’” (she made air quotes at the word) “I’m pretty sure the guy has feelings for you.”

Waylon was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open.

“I think Gluskin kind of knows this,” Sarah said, her tone detached, “and considering what he did to me during this whole ‘awakening’ thing, I figured you should at least be warned.”

“What... what did he do?” Waylon asked, hesitantly.

“He started to choke me out,” Sarah replied blandly, like she was stating the weather.

What could Waylon even say to that? His mind scrambled for a response, but no words came.

“I just wanted to let you know,” Sarah continued, shrugging. “I think you sort of already know how Gluskin might react to seeing you.”

Waylon did have an idea. He’d dealt with Eddie before, and their interactions, coupled with Eddie’s reputation, painted a pretty vivid picture. His 1950s mindset didn’t strike Waylon as being particularly accepting of anything resembling a gay relationship, let alone whatever twisted obsession this seemed to be.

“So... what do you want me to do?” Waylon asked, feeling more than a little lost.

“I don’t know,” Sarah admitted, shaking her head. “It’s your choice. But if I were you? I have something in mind and if I could, I would have done it fucking years ago.”

-End Flashback-

The conversation had been weighing on Waylon's mind, leaving him torn between two choices: avoid Eddie entirely and never go back, or see him one last time to say goodbye. The first option felt wrong—awful, even. Waylon still remembered the first time they’d technically “met,” and how he’d done nothing to help Eddie back then. Now that he finally understood what Eddie meant when he screamed about how “they were raping him,” Waylon couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for the man.

That said, Waylon wasn’t naive enough to think visiting Eddie would be simple—or safe. Too many things could go horribly wrong. Still, just disappearing without a word didn’t sit right with him either. Eddie deserved a goodbye, at least.

Waylon briefly considered writing a letter and asking John to deliver it, but something about that idea felt off. Impersonal. Cowardly, maybe.

With a heavy sigh, Waylon let his head drop onto the desk, the dull thud echoing in the small room.

What was he going to do?

*

Theodore was still sitting on the floor, staring at the ceiling, when a knock came at the door.

“Theodore?” Father’s voice called out.

Theodore got up slowly, half relieved it wasn’t Ward, and half terrified, the events of the last ten minutes still fresh in his mind. Hesitating for a moment, he finally opened the door.

He had to tilt his head upward to meet his father’s gaze. Father stood there awkwardly, head slightly bowed, an apologetic expression on his face. It was a look Theodore had never seen on him before.

Father’s eyes, full of worry, met Theodore’s. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just… I had so much on my mind.”

Theodore opened his mouth to reply, but his father pressed on, almost hurriedly. “Mind you, it’s nothing you need to worry about. Just… adult matters.”

Father chuckled, offering a small smile, but it didn’t sit right with Theodore. Something about it felt unsettling, mildly disturbing even.

“I’m fine father.” Theodore decided on saying instead of the thousands of questions he had in mind.

Father looked like he didn’t believe him but chose not to press the issue. “As long as you’re alright.”

He began to walk away, but Theodore stopped him.

Theodore’s mind raced, a whirlwind of worry about his father, about what might happen if he returned to his workshop, and about what might happen if he started questioning where Mom was.

Desperate to prevent the worst, an idea formed—a way to kill two birds with one stone. He could help Father and avoid being useless to Mom.

“Do you want to go read books with me?” Theodore blurted out, his voice small and nervous. “I know you said I shouldn’t worry, but I want to help you… in whatever way I can.”

He realized how anxious he sounded and braced himself for Father’s response, his heart pounding in his chest.

Father grinned. “That sounds like a lovely idea. I could never pass up spending time with my son!”

.

.

.

As they walked toward the book room, Father asked, “Have you finished reading The Hobbit yet?”

Theodore froze for a moment as realization dawned on him. Months ago, during Mom’s interrogation, she’d mentioned The Lord of the Rings. She’d gotten the title wrong on purpose, hadn’t she? She’d known he was lying the whole time! His face reddened in embarrassment.

“Ah, yes. I have,” Theodore replied quickly, hoping his father wouldn’t notice the flush on his cheeks. “It’s… not one of my favorites.”

Father chuckled, seemingly oblivious, as they continued on their way.

.

.

.

When they finally reached the book room, Theodore was preoccupied with deciding which book to suggest to his father. He remembered how Father could wax lyrical about Romeo and Juliet when he was in a romantic mood.

Father was scanning the shelves with an appraising eye when Theodore hesitantly suggested the play.

Father’s face lit up briefly but then dimmed. “Ah, a lovely choice, but I’m not quite in the mood for a tragic romance. Shakespeare is a fine idea, though—maybe another play?”

Theodore nodded, relieved to have a starting point. He scanned the shelves for other Shakespearean works. Macbeth? Julius Caesar? Othello? The Taming of the Shrew? He hesitated on each, unsure if they were quite right. His eyes finally landed on a book with a slightly worn cover but a promising look.

Reaching up, Theodore gently pulled Twelfth Night from the shelf and held it up for his father to see. “How about this one?”

Father’s eyes lit up again, his smile spreading wider this time. “I think that’s an excellent choice.”

Theodore felt a flicker of relief, a small warmth spreading through his chest. He’d managed to choose something that suited Father’s current mood—or so it seemed. “I thought you might like it,” Theodore said softly, his cheeks warming at the unexpected praise.

As Father settled into a chair with the book, Theodore turned back to the shelves, searching for something for himself. His gaze landed on a familiar title: Allegory of the Cave.

Chapter Text

Ø
Harry couldn’t catch a break, could he? It hadn’t even been two hours since he got back to Ruben’s room from dealing with the head case that was Steve, and now the whole place was in chaos.

Apparently, some Suit had been killed—and in a gruesome way, too. Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Out of all the people who’d died here, this was the one they decided to make a fuss about? Sure, caring about death was fine, but the double standard was obvious.

Not that any of it really mattered to him right now. Harry had bigger issues to deal with.
He needed a plan.

Should he ignore the orders he’d been given and try to save the original paintings, knowing it’d probably get him assigned to a suicide mission? Or should he follow orders, let the paintings be changed, and risk pissing off the scary psychic (probably) lady?

Neither option felt great, but he had to choose something.

Thankfully, Ruben took his time finishing his paintings, which gave Harry a chance to weigh the pros and cons of each option—

“YES!”

Harry jumped at the sudden shout coming from the other side of the closed door. It was definitely Ruben. Without thinking, Harry opened the door and rushed inside to see what was happening.

The room was a mess—completely trashed. How? Harry had just cleaned it yesterday! Garbage was everywhere, except for one section cleared out and covered in paint splatters.

Ruben stood with his back to Harry, arms spread wide, his chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

“Are... are you okay, Ruben?” Harry stammered, his voice cracking as he asked.

Ruben turned to look at him. Harry froze.

Ruben’s face was smeared with streaks of paint in every color imaginable,. Beneath the mess, deep, dark bags hung under his wide, unblinking eyes. He was grinning—a wide, manic grin that stretched far too much. It was the happiest Harry had ever seen him.

But it wasn’t just happiness. There was something else in Ruben’s expression, something that chilled Harry to his core.

The eyes.

Harry recognized that look, that wild gleam. He’d seen it before—fifteen years ago. And just like that, it all came rushing back.

The screams. The stench of rotting flesh. The suffocating fear.

Harry’s body trembled, rooted to the spot as the memories threatened to drown him.

“It’s done. It’s finally done! Do you want to see?” Ruben’s voice cut through, sharp and eager.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts, his eyes focusing on Ruben—and then the painting behind him.

Before Harry could say a word, Ruben rushed over, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the massive canvas.

Harry’s feet felt heavy, like they were stuffed with cotton, and his stomach churned uneasily. As he got closer, the painting came into full view, and Harry found himself frozen again.

What was the meaning of this?

If she—if S—was behind this, what was her goal with this?

Harry had seen the unfinished version before, but this… this was something else entirely. His eyes darted across the canvas, taking in the strange shapes and unsettling colors. The more he stared, the harder it became to process.

His head felt heavy like it was filling with lead, and there was a faint pressure behind his eyes. It wasn’t quite a headache—it was worse. Harry struggled to find words for what he was seeing. No, not words—he doubted there were any words in human language that could describe this.

He was trying so hard to understand, to make sense of it, but the more he looked, the further comprehension slipped from his grasp.

Harry had to look away, his eyes burning. When he did, he saw Ruben staring at him, unblinking, his gaze piercing and intense.

“Do you see?” Ruben asked, his voice low and reverent before turning back to the painting.

“I have been so blessed,” Ruben continued, his tone swelling with emotion. “Every night, I see scenes and images no one else could even imagine. And I wake up with this overwhelming need to paint what I’ve seen. Such inspiration! Like the great masters!”

Ruben’s arms stretched wide as if trying to embrace the enormity of his own thoughts. “And now—now, my art is finally being appreciated! They flock to see my work!” His voice grew louder, more manic, with each word. “But this—oh, this! They will rush to witness this, my greatest masterpiece yet!”

Ruben’s deep voice seemed to sink into Harry’s brain, reverberating in his skull. All Harry could do was stand there, frozen, watching Ruben rant and rave, consumed by a fervor that felt almost inhuman.

Just as Harry began to feel his body respond, another voice broke through the haze.

“Oh, how wondrous!”

Harry’s head snapped around, and there stood Amos, somehow behind him. He barely registered the open door he’d left ajar when he ran into the room. In truth, he could barely register anything—his brain felt like mush.

“I can see our god’s divine blessing in every stroke,” Amos breathed, his voice trembling with reverence. He stepped closer to the painting, his hand hovering just inches from the surface as if touching it would defile its holiness. “Oh, how great this is! This—this will spread the Gospel of Sand far and wide.”

Harry’s stomach churned at Amos’s words, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt. He was rooted to the spot, his limbs useless.

“I have waited for this moment ever since that fateful day,” Amos continued, his eyes glistening with fervor. “When Father Archimbaud gave himself to our Lord.” His voice grew thick with emotion. “I still remember the light of God, shining through the holy flames that embraced the Father. A divine sacrifice to usher in the new era.”
Amos’s hand trembled, drawing even closer to the painting as if the memory alone was enough to make him weep.

Harry’s breath hitched as he watched the exchange between Ruben and Amos, their fervor growing with every word. Amos stepped closer to the painting, his hand still hovering near its surface, trembling as though the image itself held a magnetic pull.

“This… this is divine,” Amos murmured, his voice thick with reverence. “I can feel their blessing radiating from every brushstroke. Ruben, you are more than an artist.
You’re their chosen vessel. A prophet.”

Ruben’s painted face lit up, his grin stretching unnaturally wide. “Prophet,” he echoed, almost tasting the word. “Yes… yes, of course. To have seen what I’ve seen, to have created this…” He gestured towards the painting, his movements erratic and feverish. “It must mean something far greater than me.”
Harry’s stomach churned. He wanted to speak, to protest, to tell them both how wrong this all felt—but the words caught in his throat. His legs felt like lead, his chest tight with the pressure of the moment.

Amos turned to Ruben, his tone soft but commanding. “This must be shared. The world needs to see this—to understand the truth. This is no mere painting. It’s a revelation.”

Ruben nodded quickly, his eyes gleaming with manic energy. “Yes, they must see. It’s too powerful to hide. Too important.”

Harry’s gaze flicked between them, his mind racing. The painting loomed behind Ruben like a dark, breathing entity, what he saw still burning in Harry’s mind even though he refused to look directly at it again. His fingers twitched at his sides, his palms damp with sweat. He wanted to shout, to plead with them to stop—but his voice felt like it had been stolen, smothered by the oppressive weight in the room.

Ruben suddenly turned his attention to Harry, his eyes locking onto him like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ll help us, won’t you?” Ruben’s grin faltered for a moment, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through his expression. “You’re a part of this. You’ve been with me from the start.”
Harry didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His jaw worked soundlessly, his throat dry as sandpaper. His silence seemed to answer for him, though, as Ruben’s grin returned, wider and sharper than before.

Amos stepped closer to Harry, placing a firm, heavy hand on his shoulder. The touch sent an unpleasant jolt through his body, the weight of it pinning him in place.

“You will help,” Amos said softly, his tone laced with something unyielding. “You’re already part of this, whether you like it or not.”

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow. His mind screamed at him to run, to fight back, to do something—but his body refused to obey. He stood there, frozen and silent, as the reality of this settled over him like a suffocating shroud.

What a fucking coward he was.

NO POV

In the underground lab, Sarah was typing away at the computer, her fingers moving so fast it was a wonder the keys didn't break. She was updating all her online profiles, ensuring that the online presence that she worked so hard on didn't go to complete shit. The weeks she'd been offline had been disastrous for her reputation—people were speculating she was dead, or worse, that the government had gotten to her.
With a glance at the clock on the screen, her stomach sank. She was late.
"Shit," she muttered, jumping up from the chair so fast it spun around and bumped into the desk. She ran out of the room, her mind racing. Hoping that Gluskin didn't notice she was gone. 

She might have noticed what and who she'd left behind if she'd been more rested or even a little calmer.

But she wasn't.

The computer was still out, the screen glowing faintly in the dark room. 

The door swung shut behind her, leaving the room quiet except for the humming of the computer. 

Miles stared blankly at the wall, stuck with the deafening ringing in his ears. 
.
.
.
HOURS LATER
The sterile white hallways of the building were under a heavy silence. The silent buzzing of the lights was interrupted by the forceful sound of a swinging metal door, which made a loud clanging noise. The noise resonated loudly as the door opened, allowing someone to enter. They walked through the hallways with careful steps and constant eye movements, checking each nook and every hidden spot. Each room was investigated as drawers opened and desks were examined without discovering anything helpful. 

Through the complex network of laboratories and break rooms, they discovered an unexpectedly large, well-lit bedroom that stood out against the sterile surroundings. The person turned to see a man standing silently before a bookcase. The figure halted their movement to secure a hatchet tightly in their hand. They took deep breaths before getting ready to kill the man, but he didn't react.

When they came closer, they could see that his face was covered in bandages. His gaze remained absolutely still, focused on the book collection. He didn't appear to notice the person in the room. The rows of books absorbed the man's complete attention.
The time between beats of the heart grew longer with each successive moment. The figure eased up before slowly walking backward to avoid making noise. They did not wish to discover the story behind this man.

After they exited the room, their senses became amplified. The silence became thicker and more suffocating. They continued their journey, which brought them into a massive decayed chamber. The walls were covered with broken and rusting machinery, overshadowing three large glass spheres that gazed at a wholly destroyed life-sized screen. 

The abandoned appearance of the machinery made it unusable because of its severe damage. When the person turned to exit the room, the giant screen produced a brief flash of white light before going black again. The figure stopped and looked, but the screen remained black. After a prolonged, uncomfortable moment, they overcame their tension and continued moving towards the door, their hatchet prepared to strike. T

hey finally found a small room but then noticed something interesting. Something was in the room. With slow movements, they approached what seemed like a computer to stroke the keyboard. Their fingers rested momentarily on the keyboard before randomly pressing one of its keys. The screen emerged from darkness to cast a weak light in the dark room. The person released their breath for the first time in several hours. A quiet smile appeared at the edges of their face while they gazed at the screen. This… this was interesting. 

Chapter Text

~

Sarah somehow both rushed and trudged her way back "home"—or whatever the fuck she was calling it these days. The only thing on her mind was getting back and changing before Gluskin saw her in his clothes.

Her stomach sank when she reached the bedroom as last night's memories hit her. She shoved them aside, her fists clenching at the phantom feeling of his touch. She'd already whined to Miles about it—time to move on.

She slipped into one of the "housewife dresses" Gluskin made her wear, then checked his little workstation. Empty. That was weird—he usually moped there when he was in one of his moods.

Her eyes flicked over the dresses, and she scowled at the wedding dress. Bad memories.

Still, she needed to know where he was. After searching the place, she found him in the library with Theodore, both buried in books. Gluskin was utterly absorbed, but Theodore's face lit up the second he saw her. That was... weird. Judging by his proud look, Theodore was probably why Gluskin was here, but Sarah was too tired to care. She gave Theodore a quick twitch of her lips in acknowledgment and walked off.

She barely remembered Ward was supposed to be around—not that she cared. The less she saw of him, the better.

She returned to bed and was out the second her face hit the sheets.

Sarah barely had time to breathe before the cycle started again.

She slipped to the underground labs every night, careful not to get caught. Every morning, she dragged herself back, dead on her feet, barely making it to bed before passing out. At least she was progressing—she'd found more locations where Blaire (RAT) hid his hard drives. Great.

Gluskin, meanwhile, spent all his time holed up in the library, pouring over books on romance.

That only made Sarah more suspicious. What the fuck was he up to?

Theodore wouldn't stop asking about Miles, either. He was restless, and Sarah, too exhausted to deal with it, brushed him off as best she could. But he wasn't letting it go.

And then there was Ward. Going away and popping up every now and then.. Sarah ignored whatever game he was playing—she had bigger problems.

The pattern repeated until finally—Supply Day.

This was the one day she could not fucking miss. She hadn't contacted Harry in almost two months and needed an update on whatever the Rat's little group was up to.

She tried to come up with some bullshit excuse for Gluskin, but when she found him in his "office," he was humming while working on something… blue, silky fabric spread across his table.

A new dress?

What shocked her wasn't the fabric—it was that he seemed happy. Usually, his moods ended in a screaming fit and a tantrum. But now? Now, he was calm.

That was almost more unsettling.

Still, she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth (or whatever), so she took advantage of the distraction. She asked for approval for the monthly supply run.

All she got was a grunt. Good enough.

Sarah wasn't leaving Theodore alone with Ward. No fucking way. That boy was like a pimple. No, worse—a leech. Clingy, annoying, and impossible to eliminate without making a mess.

So, she braced herself for an argument when she went to grab Theodore.

Except when she found Ward, he just shrugged.

"You can go. I'm fine here, Mother."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. That was way too easy. No complaints? No snide remarks? No insisting on tagging along just to piss her off? What the hell was he up to?

But she didn't have time for this. He didn't know where the important stuff was, and she had a job to do—seeing Harry. So, she let it go for now.

Outside, Theodore practically buzzed with excitement, his eyes darting around like he was trying to take everything in at once.

Then his voice turned serious. "Are you sure he's well, Mom?"

Sarah didn't have to ask who he meant.

"Yep, he's alive."

That should've been enough. But, of course, Theodore wasn't done. He hesitated, then pushed for more details—details she wasn't about to get into.

Sarah cut him off with something else. "I don't know what you did, but it's impressive how you managed to distract Gluskin like that."

She gave him a rare, almost genuine smile—a tiny twitch at the corner of her lips, but they were all the same.

Theodore's whole face lit up, and, to her surprise, he even blushed a little. Not that she pointed it out.

She just kept walking, making a mental note to figure out what Ward was up to later.

The walk to the Wall was nothing new, but Sarah immediately noticed a shift in the air. The line of people waiting for supplies was still long, but something felt off. There was a thick tension in the air. Sarah saw that a large group had gathered in the middle of the line, shouting about something she couldn't make out, and the guards stood silent and unbothered, watching like it was just another day.

Sarah's eyes darted around the crowd. Her pulse was already high, but now it was hammering in her chest. The atmosphere felt wrong—too charged, too dangerous. Beside her, she could feel

Theodore tense up, his head turning as he tried to take in everything happening around them.

"What's happening?" he murmured.

"Nothing," Sarah muttered, though she didn't believe it. Her gaze kept shifting, searching for

Harry. She needed to find him after this.

The closer they got to the Wall, the worse the tension became. The yelling in the middle of the line grew louder—some people were arguing, others just stared ahead, too drained to care. Sarah's stomach twisted when she spotted a man with half his face melted off—whether it was acid or something else, she didn't know. Another man had a gaping socket where his eye should've been. Deformities weren't uncommon here, but today, they looked worse. Or maybe it was just her nerves making it feel that way.

One thing she was sure of—the guards were watching more closely than usual. Their hands twitched near their weapons, helmets obscuring their faces, but Sarah could feel the tension coming off them.

That wasn't normal.

Theodore leaned closer. "Mom… why do they look so mad?"

Sarah didn't answer. She just kept walking. The sooner they got their supplies, the sooner they could meet Harry.

She needed to figure out what the fuck was going on.

And she already had a sinking suspicion. It had to be Miles. The real question was—what the fuck did he do?

Sarah spotted him when they reached the front of the line and gathered their supplies. Harry. Oh, fuck, he looked like a nervous wreck—wringing his hands, shifting on his feet, standing next to a man who looked like he was the head of whatever group was making the biggest scene. Even from a distance, Sarah could see how sweaty and pale he looked. Like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.

Sarah didn't pay much attention to what the group was ranting about—just more religious nutcase bullshit. Until she heard that word.

"Walrider."

Her blood turned ice cold.

Oh. No.

Her head snapped toward Harry, and she stared him down hard. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Harry's anxious gaze finally broke away from the scar-faced man beside him and landed on her.

The second their eyes met, his entire posture deflated. His face somehow became even paler, and his nervous handwringing doubled. Sarah didn't know what the hell her face looked like—but judging by the way Harry wilted and Theodore instinctively shifted away from her—it wasn't pleasant.

She needed to talk to Harry. Immediately.

She didn't break eye contact with Harry until he gave her a shaky nod. Good. He better fucking know what she was telling him without words. We need to talk.

Now.

Satisfied—if only barely—Sarah tore her gaze away and turned on her heel, heading straight back toward the asylum. She hoisted the two large boxes of supplies like they weighed nothing, her rage burning hot enough to dull any strain. Theodore scrambled to catch up, clutching his box, but Sarah barely registered him. Her mind was too preoccupied—no, consumed—by one singular thought.

Miles.

Her brain worked overtime, trying to stitch everything together from the past two months. Miles had mentioned something about the artist (Rubert?) and a plan to disrupt Blaire's little rat group.

At the time, she didn't think too hard about it—just another one of Miles' cryptic mutterings. But now? Now, it was apparent he'd done something.

And the more she thought about it, the worse it got. Mile's behavior lately—it wasn't normal. The blank stares, like he was half-present. He'd zone out mid-conversation, confused like he forgot where he was. Still refusing to use that mind-talking ability and just sticking to that damn whiteboard. (She still needed to get him a new marker.) Then there was his little outburst a few days ago—snapping at her before curling in on himself like he realized too late what he did.

Fuck.

Her stomach churned as the pieces began to slot into place. Miles had definitely used the Walrider's power to influence the artist (Russel?). And now there was a whole goddamn cult forming around it. Fucking fantastic. But the worst part wasn't even that. No, the worst part was how.

How the fuck did he even do it?

And why the fuck didn't he tell her?

Her grip on the boxes tightened until her knuckles turned white. Miles wouldn't just do something like this for no reason—right? Except… she kept thinking about how he'd looked the last few times she saw him. That vacant, far-off stare. The way his hands would tremble slightly when he wrote on his whiteboard. Like he was only half there.

What if he's using the Walrider too much?

The thought slammed into her like a freight train. Her pace quickened, practically storming down the road, but she barely noticed. If Miles was tapping into the Walrider's power that frequently—without telling her—then it meant he was pushing himself to his limit. And if he kept pushing…

What happens if the Walrider takes complete control?

Her breath caught in her throat. Because what the fuck was she supposed to do if that happened? She didn't know how to stop a military-grade, sentient nano-monster. Hell, she didn't even know how it entirely worked. All she knew was that it needed a host—Miles. But if Miles was using it recklessly or the Walrider started acting independently…

She swallowed hard.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Sarah's jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Her mind flashed with the worst-case scenario—Miles wholly consumed by the Walrider, ripping through the Wall, leaving behind nothing but carnage and pieces. No. No. Don't think like that. Miles was still in control. He had to be.

She still had time to stop it. She had to have time.

First step—talk to Harry. Figure out precisely what Miles did and how deep he'd gotten into this mess. The second step is to figure out how to pull him back from it before the Walrider swallows him whole.

Because if it came down to it—if it was him or the Walrider—she already knew what choice she'd have to make.