Archive of Our Own ^beta

He lays on the floor, a twelve hour video of a clock pulled up on his laptop, the volume blasting and filling the apartment with an ominous tick-tick-ticking noise that would probably drive most people insane.

It’s certainly driving the Walrider insane, who asks, Why ?

Miles just shrugged. “Why not?” He replied, his non-answer causing the Walrider to bristle, irritated. The truth was, Miles didn’t have an answer. He’d woken up feeling…off. Not quite himself. He’d gone through his morning routine in a daze and it wasn’t until he’d sat down at his computer to try and write his next article that he felt…stuck.

And he wasn’t sure exactly why he’d pulled up the clock, maybe he’d been hoping the sound or the idea of pressure, of time passing, would motivate him, but instead it had just…

He’s not sure why he’s on the floor, either. “Why us?” He asked, and he felt the Walrider’s curiosity pique for a second. “Why me? Why Billy? It’s not…we weren’t…” he sighed. “Why did the Whistleblower contact me and not anyone else? Or if he did contact someone else…why was I the only person stupid enough to show up?”

Reporters on Murkoff’s payroll.

Miles hummed. He hadn’t considered that, but it did make sense. Only an idiot would have a super evil, definitely super illegal laboratory under a psych hospital to abuse the patients even more below ground than they were already suffering above ground. It was smart to ensure all reporters in the area were paid well enough to keep their mouths shut.

Except Miles was freelance. He wasn’t with any sort of news outlet, which meant he probably hadn’t even passed over their radar until it was too late.

“But what about Billy?” He asked. “He was…I mean there were how many patients there, at the time? But he picked Billy. I guess I don’t…I mean why Billy Hope specifically? What made him stand out?

Stockholm syndrome. Miles blinked, surprised. Wernicke was kind to him. Billy was…coherent. More than the others. More potential to be controlled.

“Billy was nice,” Miles guessed. “The others would’ve sent you on a hell-raising murder spree the instant they got control of you, but Billy…Billy could’ve been persuaded to listen. Or maybe…”

The others would have hurt Dr. Wernicke. Billy would have protected him.

“And that was really all Wernicke cared about, huh?” The Walrider didn’t reply. Miles asked, “If I hadn’t killed Billy…I mean, if I’d been able to get him out and alive…would you have…what would’ve happened?”

I would have let you die was the Walrider’s blunt reply.

“Right, I…I knew that. I guess I kind of–” He trailed off. The Walrider did not attempt to make him feel better. “What about now?”

What about now?

“If I…I mean, if I got hurt….like if Murkoff attacked and killed me, would you leave me to die and just take one of them like you did me?”

No. I would not let you die.

It should’ve ben reassuring and yet, there’s something bubbling under the surface of Miles’ chest and he speaks without really thinking about the weight of the words.

“What if it wasn’t Murkoff who killed me? What if I tried to kill myself? Would you save me then?”

The Walrider is completely silent. Miles holds his breath. He’s not entirely sure why he asked, but he has to be honest that the thought had been on his mind, in the months since they’d escaped Mount Massive. He hasn’t attempted, but…there have been some very late nights when he’d thought about it.

Do you want me to save you?

Miles doesn’t know. He feels like it should be an easy answer, but he’d also never thought he’d be at a point in his life where he was seriously considering suicide.

“It’s in my head all the time,” he said, as an answer. “Mount Massive. All of it. All of them . Walker and the twins and the priest and Wernicke and it just…I just want it all to stop. I want to be able to sleep, to think. I want to be able to move on .”

You believe death to be the best course of action?

Miles sighed, running his hands over his face. “I don’t know.”

Beyond the ‘tick-tick-tick’ of the clock on his computer, the room was silent. Miles stared blankly at the ceiling, his thoughts a never ending loop of suicide and Mount Massive.

Unless you tell me otherwise , the Walrider begins. I will continue to save you.

“Liar,” Miles mumbled, closing his eyes. “You’re a survivor. You’ll save me even if I don’t want to be saved.”

If you tell me you do not want to be saved, I will choose another host. I will continue to survive–

“While you leave me behind,” Miles mumbled. He sighed, opening his eyes. “I don’t think I want to die,” he finally confessed. “I just…I just want my thoughts to stop .”

I cannot do that.

“I know.” He sighed, forcing himself to finally sit up for the first time in hours. “I don’t think anyone can. It would be nice though.”

Yes. It would.

Miles tilted his head. “Do you…I mean, are you constantly thinking about it? Mount Massive, I mean. I mean technically that was your home–”

Prison.

“Right. So I guess…I guess you don’t think about it that much then.”

Not Mount Massive. Billy.

Miles ran his hands over his face. “Yeah, I guess you would,” he mumbled. “He was your first host.”

But he was not Wernicke’s first victim. Nor was he the only one Wernicke tortured for the sake of…me.

Miles hadn’t even thought of that. Logically, he’d known Billy wasn’t the only victim of the Walrider Project. That was evident in the number of restraint devices surrounding the one Billy was in, but he’d never thought beyond that.

“Well, he’s dead now,” Miles murmured. “Him and everyone else in that damn facility, patient and administrator alike. What are the chances Murkoff could do it again without him?”

Low, the Walrider replied. But not zero.

“Of course not.”

Nothing is zero with Murkoff .

“Why would it be?” Miles asked. “That would be too easy.”

He peered up at his laptop. The clock video continues to tick, displaying that he’d spent three hours lying on the floor.

“Alright. I wasted enough time.” He shook his head, forcing himself to get to his feet and turn the video off. “Let’s get to work.”