𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴 : 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙸𝚂 𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚈 — ( and all the devils are here. god, they’re all here. i run and i hide and i move. rinse and repeat. the horrors i’ve seen tonight will no doubt shape the man i become from now on. lisa, i have never prayed a day in my life but i pray you never are made privy to the events that happened here. i pray your mind, your beautiful, beautiful mind is kept innocent from the ordeals of your husband. you know not to look at my body, but don’t ask how i died, either. )
he slips forward through an old bathroom, ignoring the squish of gore on his feet. out of the corner of his eye, a battery is spotted. dirty nails reach into the pocket of a dead security guard to reload the device. like it’s goddamn nothing, now. like death and blood and insides being out is regular occurrence. just another fucking day at the office. waylon cleans off the battery on his jumpsuit before popping it into the camera. that’s when her voice can be heard, sending him three feet high and already moving before his mind can catch up. run first, as questions later.
𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴 : 𝚆𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽 - ( there are no women here. you jokingly said that was a good thing when i told you over the phone. i never told you why, though. i never explained the psychosomatic pregnancies and the inmates too violent and misogynist to keep women around the morphogenic engine and its patients. i didn’t tell you how my manager’s baby was made up, either. – i wasn’t allowed to say, then. but i’ll scream it from the rooftops, now. )
a woman. that causes waylon pause. his head pokes out from around the wall he’d hidden behind. camcorder is raised once more in search of this impossible character.
❝ wh— who are you? how did you get in here? do you know a way out? ❞
His footsteps beat heavy on the tile floor; a rabbit running from it's potential assailant. She doesn't have to run to catch up. He backs himself into a corner, hiding, exactly as she's expected. She meets him there at her normal pace, a casual stride, without breaking a sweat. His trust, however, catches her off guard. She's expected to have to follow the sound of heavy breathing, to catch him by the collar of his shirt, drag him kicking and screaming to his feet.
Instead, he allows himself to be caught. He takes a misguided chance on her. The dim lighting of the asylum and silhouette of her makeshift dress are forgiving. She knows he recognizes her for what she is; a woman, a mother. Nurturing. Safe. He isn't able to reconcile that with the potential of her being a patient.
She's focused on him, on all she could do now that he's still; on a slow torture, blood under her nails, the second apostle gasping for breath under the weight of her. The urge burns inside her until it aches, like molten lava coursing through her veins. She's dizzy, always dizzy, on the brink of passing out, though it never comes. She's uncertain if it's a direct side effect of the static, or a side effect of a side effect; the sleep deprivation, the loss of appetite. She doesn't fight any of it anymore. A different perspective is welcome in a place like this.
But… she's one of the few here coherent enough to think. She holds onto instinct like a lifeline, but she doesn't yet act. Later, she assures it. Soon. There's a method to her madness, the strategy of an animal hunting it's prey. She is soft, until she's not. She is soft, with sharp edges threatening to tear through her calm demeanor like tissue paper.
"Consider me your guardian angel." She's closer, hand pressed to the wall he hides behind, looming over him. She exudes confidence; lack of fear is the strongest indicator that there's something terribly wrong.
"I got here the same way you did. He brought us here. Together. This is destiny."
She pauses for only a beat. She knows she needs bait to keep his attention. "I can help you find a way out."
