SHE LOOKS BACK, YOU LOOK BACK
warnings: standard outlast mentions of blood/death, gn! reader, no description of reader's clothes/outfit, no use of Y/N, inaccuracies on the order of events because the author didn't play when the project breach was happening
a/n: this is gender neutral but shout out to the lesbians who love Amelia, i see you, and am one of you.
word count: 2.5k+. no ai used.
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They say, a little rat has been running around the facility for some time now.
it snoops where it has no right snooping, and messes up everything that Sinyala has been working so hard to build. Needless to say, the people have been stirred up recently, from the mumbling reagents scattered around the place, to the talkative staff sitting in their regular spaces.
“You heard what's going on? You been keeping your ears open? If you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you, but... God damn, huh? Shit's gonna get interesting” Dorris says in her raspy tone, a smoke trail leaving her lips alongside her satisfied words.
“Some days you wake up and shit is changed. We gotta be careful here. Walls got ears and all that. But holy shit, you must have heard, right? Somebody got out” Noakes rushes out the words like his little workshop will chew him for even daring to speak such a thing.
“You look upset. Maybe you've heard the rumors, about some... rat in the walls. Rumors are all they are. And you wouldn't spread some silly rumor” Emily blurts out with her usual self assured tone, but her gaze bores into yours, and you feel that if you look too closely, you will see nothing staring back.
you slump down in your sleep room's chair, all what they said looping in your brain as you stare off into nothing. a memory from a trial you did not so long ago slowly returns to you, pushing away through the clouds of hallucinogens.
You were running outside the toy factory, blood and sweat coating your face and dripping all down your eyes, as you crouched down behind one of the trucks, the pain of being tossed to the ground like a ragdoll by one of the big grunts still reverberating through your body. You stay there for a moment, just catching your breath, eyes drifting to the metal gates where one guard is usually posed at, a habit only a prisoner could create.
But as your eyes try to focus, you realize you don't recognize what you are seeing. The shape in the distance doesn't seem to be wearing that big helmet and the regular security clothing, making you tilt your head, hand shooting up to wipe off the dirt obstructing your vision, legs stretching up to a standing position.
“Slippery little bastard!”
You barely have time to register the slender figure you see, the booming voice of the big one that has previously thrown you down startling you into running again. you don't look back.
the memory fades, mind beginning to reel at what you might have seen, and what you had now heard among peers. looking to the side you observe your little radio, pressing and tuning it on, an all too well known voice making your ears ring and skin tense up
“There are rumors spreading, fairy stories of some clever Reagent slipping out of a Trial. Just think about that, about how unlikely that would be, how little sense that would make. You're not stupid, are you? No. Not you. Don't believe the lies”
you turn the radio off, having heard enough of his sermon, letting it be the last thing you hear before drifting off into nightmarishly sleep
rats in walls, rats in walls...
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They say, a woman has escaped the trials environment, and is helping others escape too.
you were starting to doubt these claims, just as Easterman had stated they were all lies, he would know best of course, he knows everything.
until you saw her
you weren't looking for anything out of the ordinary, you were just on your way to your task, walking through the dark corridors on the outside of the fun park, when you saw her behind the glass where usually someone in uniform is writing down notes of your and others behaviors. but that person was not there. It was her.
You stood there what felt like forever, stunned, body tingling like a bucket of ice had been dropped over your head, chilling your soul to the core. She was pressing the buttons on the console, and you didn't know what to feel, or think. Normally, you hadn't need to do either, just act on instinct. But seeing her, someone who was allegedly a reagent just like you out of your position, was a shock enough to wake you out of your drugged haze.
your looming presence has her turning her head to look, eyes locking with yours, as you gasp quietly. You take in her appearance, from her shoulder length brown hair, to her different shaped and cracked glasses, down to her bandaged hands. She's beautiful. you muse, before frowning. Where's her ESOP? her night vision goggles? How did she get them off? you wonder for a moment, hand touching where the machinery is drilled in your chest. must've hurt.
She observes your movements, taking in how you seem puzzled and unsure, but not hostile to her presence. From her side of the glass, she can't say or hear much, but she can gesture to communicate. She has things to do, so do you. Raising her index finger, she presses it to her lips, shushing softly, breaking you out of your reverie. right. the trial. You nod, more to yourself than to her, reluctantly continuing on, backing away slowly from the glass with a renowned vigor. I got this. I got this. She watches you go, and she thinks about the small interaction long after you're gone.
At the end of another well performed trial, you sprint back to the shuttle, ready to leave the noisy make-belief amusement park, stopping in your tracks when a thought pops up. The woman. Is she still there? your heart races but you don't know if it’s the adrenaline or the notion. She probably thinks I am dead. need to show I'm not dead. you argue with yourself, the rational side wanting nothing more than to leave and not waste another second in this god forsaken place, and the hopeful side wanting nothing more but to feel what you felt again at that moment.
fuck it
you turn on your heels, mapping mentally the traject you first did upon arriving, to get to the point where you saw her. you push through doors, knock down enemies with bottles, bricks and anything you can find on the way, coming to a halt at the window, heart sinking. She's not here anymore. The corner of your lips turns down. but she was. You reaffirm everything you saw, gaze never leaving the painted white “A” staining the glass, the simple graffited letter making a statement:
she exists, and she is here.
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you haven't seen her for quite some time, but you have heard of her.
Amelia Collier
her name, which you heard from one of the scientists gossiping to each before quickly dialing it back down at your closeness, echoes from the walls to inside everyone's psychic, as a sweet tune you can't quite get rid of but still hums along, or in a certain director's case, like gum stuck in your black pristine shoes.
She seems to be everywhere now, not only from people's mouths, but from her voice distorting in radio frequencies, graffities screaming to fight murkoff on the concrete walls, and once, even through the TV on the way to a trial. She was no longer a murmur or a rumor, but something much more. Not only tangible, but an idea.
you saw her in your dreams, broken glasses reflecting light,hair framing her face perfectly, a hand reaching out. It's a nice change from the consecutive nightmares that plague every reagent that dares to sleep.
And trial after trial, death after death, none of those you were doing to get better anymore, you were not doing anything for him, you were doing it for yourself, for your survivor, for her. you do everything right, your scores are never lower than an A+, but Easterman's skin crawls with disgust anyway, as he sees in you a light that was put out before. His praises come more rough than intended.
“You're nobody. But that's what makes you strong. They keep trying to chain you to identities, to keep you under control. Be nobody. Stay alive.”
you were starting to get sick of his voice, hers in place brought you more vigor to start and finish the trials then a thousand adrenaline needles poking in your veins could ever do.
his control was slipping, and as try as he might to deny it, he knew. from the new look on your face he knew, and he was going to stomp that little rebellion from inside out, starting with his once ‘how high’.
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He wants me dead.
is what you keep repeating to yourself to try and explain what is happening to you right now. you ponder if the other reagents are going through the same depths of hell you are going through at the moment, as you inhale another antidote for the third time in the same trial.
what have i done?
You think about how you should have noticed something was wrong the moment no video played out on the shuttle's small TV screen. no Easterman 's repetitive rambling, or Amelia's incisive words, just pure static noise, followed by the gas spray. but you paid no attention, following your way outside to the police station.
it didn't take long for you to notice things had changed, the first signal being a camera shining a red light as it moved side to side. You learned not to stay in its sight when you got shocked. Alright, I can handle this. Is that all they got?
three minutes later, you got shown it was not.
you were digging a hand inside a body to get the key with a bunny painted on it, gritting with disgust at the squish sound, as you pulled your arm from the dead man's intestine. You inspect the key, shoving it in your pocket. Suddenly an alarm blares behind you, the light on top of the insertion gate flickers yellow, as you scatter to the corner of the room, hiding and waiting to see who or what comes out of it.
from inside it comes out a shirtless and scarred man, wearing a metal mask, and you realise you can only make out these characteristics in the dark because of the molotov he's holding in his right hand.
who the fuck is that?!
you question yourself in panic while he screams, a long and high pitched sound that you swear made your ears bleed. He steps closer to where you are while you stand still, trusting the dark will help you remain undetected. It's not until he is at your face, using the bottle with the flaming cloth to see around, that it dawns the dark will not help you this time.
you run away screaming in pain as he throws the bottle at you, glass shards and flames coating your right arm and leg. you stumble while putting the flames out, not noticing the gas trap planted on the ground until it was too late, the hallucinogens overtaking your senses, making the world distort and bend before your eyes.
you can only cough and choke when a combination of grunts, traps and now new ex pop grinds your spirit down, and tores at your flesh. your hands move hurriedly, searching for antidotes or bandages on your pockets, desperate to fix your state but finding only adrenaline, using it as a last resource to bolt to a farther and safer place.
you reach a quieter part of section A when the adrenaline wears off, leaving only a small frame of opportunity where you can move without feeling the weight of your injuries.
you fall completely apart, hands gripping your bleeding side, breath coming in desperate huffs and puffs, a string of whines and cries scratching your throat as you try and fail to recompose yourself
i'm so tired
you lean your back against a wall, sliding down to the floor with brute force, groaning in the process. You just stay there, agonizing in pain, eyes feeling heavy
This is the end. at last.
you think morbidly, feeling a twitch on the corner of your lips
i can rest now, finally be free
is the last thing you think, before falling unconscious.
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Amelia walks around from the other side of the fence where once again, a guard was supposed to be, but none were. She adjusts the sling bag on her shoulder, crouching down ready to continue her work, when she spots your beaten up figure, laying down motionless like a corpse. her eyes widen in recognition.
she presses closer to the barrier, eyes focusing in your form, noticing a faint rise from your chest, sighing in relief
They are alive. but not for long if they stay.
She examines the environment, taking note of the lack of danger, mind scattering for a way to wake you up without making a fuss and drawing unwanted attention. she pulls at her bag, grabbing from inside it her makeshift jammer, thumb hovering over the red button
this has to work
she presses it, observing small sparkles fly out of your ESOP, your body thrashing like a seizure. When the red arrow reaches the end of the indicator, you jolt up gasping loudly, body tensing and heart speeding up. She lets out a breath of relief, immediately moving for you to calm down
“It's Okay, you are safe for now, it's just me” she reassures when you look around panicked, eyes settling in her worried form
“Amelia”, you whisper her name like a prayer. “you're back” gaining a strength you didn't know you had, you crawl to where she is crouching, palms keeping your torso up.
“Listen, you need to finish your tasks, and get out of here, it's not the time yet, but you will know when it comes” her composed voice is a melody to your ears, but her words do little to smite your suffering. you shake your head “i can't, i can't do this anymore. i'm not like you”
your voice breaks, hands running up the metal, shaking it.
“They got cameras, a guy that runs around blowing fire everywhere, and I can't even work my rig sometimes” you babble, grasping at the words that bounces around your head, trying to make sense.
“I'm just terrible with electronics. It 's over. He won. he got what he wanted” you grip on the wire fence, fingers trembling while you look at her in despair.
Amelia thinks about all the other reagents she came across when running inside the walls and prodding at the consoles and whatnot. Some would only look at her with an empty stare, some would only mumble Incoherences, and one even started screaming to alert anyone that could hear to come and see. She was doing this for all of them, but she couldn't get too personal, too intimate.
not again she closes her eyes, memories of Damon flashing in her mind, the pain and anger too fresh.
until she locked eyes with you on that trial.
and saw that behind them, there still was something. and that something, was what she was fighting for, and couldn't forget about.
you see her eyebrows furrow, pondering on what to say as she reaches out a hand, her own fingers tentatively brushing against yours. Your tired body, despite it all, shivers at the tender contact.
“i'm going to get you out of here, but you must persist. You've done it before, I've seen it, and you can do it again” She reinforces, fingers holding you more firmly “you can't let that bastard get in your head” she points at her chest with the other hand, a single digit pressing over her heart.
“You don't need to be me. You don't need to be anyone. Don't attach to the labels that they shove in you, that's how they change us, but they won't change you”
“And what about you? When will you actually leave? you need to come with us too” you inquire, the thought of her helping everyone escape only to not leave herself makes you sick.
“Once everybody gets the chance-”
“you can't help everyone” you cut her off with urgency
“but i have to try” she replies, seeing the conflict over her safety in your gaze
“you don't have to worry about me” she gives you a small, confident smile. She rubs a thumb over your bruised knuckles, contemplating.
“I'll see you again when we are out there” she stands up, urging you to do the same “and i will teach you how to work around mechanics”
you release a short breath, akin to a chuckle, standing up with her, backing off the metal.
“i'll hold you on to that”
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They say Amelia Collier is going to burn Murkoff down to the ground.
April, 1960
It's time to go. Rally in the Sleep Room. We have to get out the radio barely sounds out from the increasing static.
numerous people walk around the sleep room, groups lumped together, but seemly with a purpose.
"we are getting the fuck out of here"
And they might be right about that.
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happy birthday to her and her only