Miles Upshur 2

My Outlast (and Outlast: Whistleblower) fan-fiction. I wrote it before playing Outlast 2. I want to share it with other Outlast fans.

     He saw us.  I felt the Walrider reach out to him, touch his mind.  But I pulled him back: not here, not now, I just wanted to get a look at our target.  There is a piece of me that really does not want to kill him.  After all, he is doing the right thing: exposing Murkoff for the fucked up company that they are.  That was my own mission, after all.  If it weren’t for Murkoff, I would not have this demon living in my head; I would have all ten of my fingers.  But, then again, he did steal my Jeep.

     The Walrider has something against him, that’s for sure.  I was useful for setting him free, but now Waylon poses a threat to the knowledge of his �" our �" existence.  Once people start tromping around Mount Massive, they will find the paperwork, the files, the Engine, Billy Hope’s body…  Hell, wait, I think they already did a sweep to retrieve bodies and relocate the remaining patients.

     But one thing at time.  We will take care of Waylon in a more private manner.  I do not want a repeat of the convenience store incident.

     “The house,” he hisses in my head, “get to his house.”

     “Help me find it,” I whisper back and a piercingly shrill shriek fills my head.  No matter how many times I hear it, I never can get used to that one �" the first time I heard that sound was when I turned the first valve to shut off Billy’s life support.  I feel like Billy must have, like I am losing control; I just can’t let him know that.  Slipping further and further away…  But hey, at least I am not strapped inside a giant hamster ball.

     I just noticed that I am outside the courthouse, walking down the street.  At least one of us seems to know where we are going.  I stop, turning and stepping up to the curb.  This is ridiculous, I am not going to walk all the way to Waylon Park’s house, wherever that may be.  I raise my arm to hail a cab and one pulls over to me almost immediately.  I climb into the back seat.

     “Where to, mista?” the driver asks.

     “Um…” I realize that I have no idea.  “I’m meeting a friend, but I lost the address.  I think he lives on…” an image begins to form in my head, a street sight, “Cedar Lane.  Just drive along the street, I’ll know the house when I see it.”

     He gives me a look, but drives on.  He slows down when we reach Cedar Lane, and the Walrider lets out a scream as we near a house on the right.  “Hey, stop here!” I say.

     We pull up in front of the house.  It’s nice: not too big or too small.  I climb out of the cab and start to walk to the house.

     “Hey.  Hey, mista!  You still owe me fare!”  I keep walking as the guy keeps hollering.  I can hear the Walrider inside, getting angry.  “Hey!  Get back here!”

     I whip around and face him.  His expression changes and he shifts the car into Drive, speeding off down the road.  I must have gone dark, like in the convenience store.  Good; I really did not want to kill him.  I turn back to the house and take a deep breath.  I walk up the driveway, around the back, taking care to make sure I am not seen.  I walk up to the sliding glass door overlooking a currently-empty inground pool.  A swing set near the pool indicates children and I cringe; I hope they are not here, I know that the Walrider will not be merciful to anyone.

     I ball up my fist and smash it through the glass; this isn’t my first break in.  I reach through the broken door and grasp the handle, unlocking the door.  I can already feel the Swarm healing the minor cuts on my hand as I enter the house, closing the door behind me.  I turn around to see that I am in the kitchen.  I hear footsteps on the stairs and a woman appears in the doorway.  She likely heard me break the glass door.  And to think I bitched at the Walrider about subtlety.

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees me.  I stare at her, wide-eyed, my mouth slightly agape.  She stares at me as well, her eyes filled with fear.  I want to tell her that I am not going to hurt her, for her not to be afraid, but that would be a lie; she should be afraid.

I take in air to speak, but the Walrider launches from me, hurling himself at her, grabbing her by the collar of her shirt and slamming her against the kitchen wall.  She lets out a startled cry, nothing more than a gasp as the air is knocked out of her.

“No!”  I finally manage to yell, trying to reel the Swarm back in, running over to where the Walrider has the woman pinned against the wall.  He ignores me completely and I run into his center, engulfing myself in the thousands of nano-bots.  I reach up and grip her shirt as well, the Walrider and I now sharing a silhouette.  I try to pull her down, but he is stronger than me.  Up close I can see just how afraid she really is.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say; I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.  I have lost what control I had over the Walrider, in my moment of shock I let my defenses down and he took advantage of me.  I just pray that the kids are not home.

“You’re the Walrider…” she says in disbelief, looking me up and down.  “But… how… Waylon-”

At the mention of the Whistleblower, the Walrider lets out a shriek and throws the woman to the floor, still keeping her pinned down.  I walk over to her, kneeling beside her as the Swarm holds her firmly in place.  I notice a bracelet on her left wrist that reads ‘Lisa.’

“Lisa,” I say out loud, but my words no longer feel like my own, my own voice even sounds wrong, almost sadistic.  “My name is Miles Upshur.  I’m a journalist.  Your husband did this to me.”  I flourish my hand over her to indicate the Walrider.  “I had my whole life ahead of me and just like-” I snap my fingers, “it was all taken away.  Two of my fingers… my mind… my body… my f*****g Jeep.  All taken away.  All because he wanted to be the hero, to expose the evils of Murkoff.”

“Is that so bad; wanting to do the right thing?  To stop Murkoff from hurting more people?”  She is struggling to speak from the Walrider pushing so hard on her chest.

I lean over her, smiling and shaking my head.  I turn and stand, walking partway across the room.  “Waylon Park took my life from me,” the smile leaves my face, “and now I’m gonna do the same thing to him.”  There it is again, that rage; I never had anger issues before all of this.  I turn back to face her and the Walrider lifts her off the floor so that she is floating in the air as if she is nailed to an invisible crucifix.

The buzzing fizzes up in my head and I clamp my eyes shut, pressing my hands over my ears, trying to make the sensation go away.  For a moment, I feel like myself.  I look up at Lisa Park, who is shaking all over, looking down at me.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t want to hurt you.  I’m losing

control-” I cry out as the Walrider shrieks inside my head.

I hear footsteps outside and Waylon appears on the other side of the glass of the sliding door.  He stops abruptly when he spots me.  I’m sure I’ve gone dark.  Then he sees his wife floating behind me, being held up by none other than the Walrider.  He lets out a cry; he winces and pinches the bridge of his nose.  I know he can feel it too; that humming buzz in your bones after being exposed to the Engine.  He opens his eyes and looks at me pleadingly.  “Please… don’t hurt her.”

“I don’t want to,” I say back, hoping against hope that I can stop the Walrider.

I see him shift his gaze to the Walrider.  I can feel it looking at him.  It lets out a wail, then vanishes from sight, Lisa still somehow held afloat.  She begins to scream.

“No!”  Waylon cries, but he is too late, Lisa’s insides are everywhere, the Swarm bursting out from inside her, her limp body falling to the floor with a thud.  As the Swarm fuses with me once more, I see a look of recognition come across Waylon’s face.  “You…” he says slowly, pointing at me.  He looks down at Lisa, then back at me, a tear rolling down his cheek.  “You!”  He yells angrily and lunges for me, the glass door getting in the way.  I take a step back and the Walrider puts up no resistance.  This is my chance.  I turn and run for the front door.  I look over my shoulder as I run out into the street.  Waylon is no longer chasing me �" for now.  I see him in the kitchen, bent over Lisa.

“Why did you make me do that?” I ask him through tears; only now do I realize that I am crying.  “We were supposed to kill him!”

“To hurt the Whistleblower.”

“We could have just killed him if that’s what you wanted to do,” I snap back.

“No �" worse.”

I clench my jaw.  He’s right.  He fed on my anger.  He tricked me, he killed that woman, and he is happy about it.  I wish he’d just killed me when he had the chance.  Or that he had died with Billy Hope.

“What now?”  I am almost scared to hear the answer.  I sense the answer, see an image in my head.  “Why?  We just escaped from that place.”

“The Engine… now that I am free… no one can know.”

Author's Note

My Outlast (and Outlast: Whistleblower) fan-fiction. I wrote it before playing Outlast 2. I want to share it with other Outlast fans. That being said, if you have not played the games or do not have an extensive knowledge of them, the story will likely not make sense, seeing as I literally picked up my story where they left off.