Freelance reporter Miles Upshur calmly tapped his fingers on the steering wheel of his 1997 Jeep Wrangler TJ, feeling an eagerness blossom within his chest. He knew that there was something going on at Mount Massive Asylum that could potentially be the story of a lifetime. A story that he sure as hell wasn't going to pass up. The gravel crunched under the wheels as he drove closer to the imposing gates of the asylum, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation.
"...department of Agriculture Commissioner Salazar said changing weather patterns were to blame for livestock behavior and encouraged ranchers and breeders to attend this weekend's seminar on Beula Avenue in Pablo," the radio blared, and Miles rolled his eyes.
"And if you're out late tonight, you may see some low-flying helicopters near Silverthorne and Leadville. Seems the Arapaho Park services will be spraying for an infestation of box elder bugs," the radio continued before cutting off to static. So there's no signal roughly a mile out. Hm. Interesting, Miles thought he drove through the open front gate and parked his car. Miles grabbed the printed out copy of the email that a whistleblower had sent him, and read it.
You don't know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring. I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems' facilities in Mount Massive. All sorts of NDA's I am very much breaking right now, but seriously, fuck those guys. Terrible things happening here. Don't understand it. Don't believe half the things I saw. Doctors talking about dream therepy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountain. People are being hurt, and Murkoff making money. It needs to be exposed.
Miles put the email back down on the passenger seat, grabbed a couple of batteries, then his camcorder, and loaded the batteries into the camcorder. Miles opened the camcorder, and raised it to his face, checking all its functions, making sure it worked. Satisfied, Miles dropped his camcorder, and exited his Jeep just as lightning flashed across the sky at a distance. Miles pursed his lips, flinching in surprise, when he heard a rattling sound. Miles turned around, frowning when he saw the gates close by themselves.
"What the hell?" Miles breathed before turning back to the Asylum and walking towards it, his camcorder up and recording as he approached the eerie building. The gates closing on their own only added to the sense of foreboding that surrounded the abandoned Asylum, sending a chill down Miles' spine.
I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, was reopened by Murkoff Psychiatric Systems in 2009 under the guise of a charitable organization. Cell phone reception cut off abruptly a mile out, more like a jammer than a lost signal. The Murkoff Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But never on American soil. Whatever they thought they could get out of this place has to be big. Might finally be the story that breaks the bastards, Miles thought as he looked aroundcautiously, and he put his camcorder down. He trudged toward the front door, stopping when he noticed the large military vehicles parked there, making him instantly suspicious.
"Are these army vehicles? Really? What happened here?" Miles asked aloud before something else occurred to him.
"Why is there nobody nearby? And why am I just waltzing in? You'd think there'd be some sort of security. Oh, wait! Demonic horrific infestation," Miles muttered sarcastically as he tried the door, which was locked.
"Goddamnit. Now I gotta find another way inside," Miles said, and he moved towards the right side of the building. Not surprisingly, both gates on the right side were locked, so he went to the left side, internally cheering when he spotted a gap in a gate. Miles crouched, crawling through it, before straightening up. Spying a ladder, Miles hurried over to it, climbed it, and made his way over to an open window.
The second he hurled himself inside, the lightbulb burst, flooding the room with darkness. Miles raised his camcorder, and turned the night vision on. Miles looked around the room, shocked. It looked like a tornado had swept through. Blood was smeared on the floor as well as the walls; shattered glass was everywhere; and the chairs, couch, and bookshelves were all overturned. The scene was chaotic, with no sign of life in sight. Miles felt a chill run down his spine as he felt like he was being watched.
Miles made his way over to the door, left the room, and entered the room on the opposite side of the hall when he noticed a barrier blocking his way. Miles went over to the door, gasping in fright, when a hissing static noise filled the air. Miles looked around wildly before his eyes landed on the TV, which had turned on by itself.
"Jesus, that scared the shit outta me," Miles said, and he left the room. Miles squeezed through a gap, gulping when he saw blood smeared on the floor and walls. Curiously, Miles tried opening a door, only to find out that it was locked, and he frowned.
Suddenly, a terrified voice rang out. "We didn't choose this. Why should we have to pay for it? Why do we have to die? Walker will kill us all just for being sick. We're still people...We didn't choose this!" The voice said, making Miles frown deeper. Who the fuck is Walker? Miles thought before he wandered into the first open room he saw, hoping to find something of use, and he did. Miles grinned victoriously when he spotted a battery, and picked it up, shoving it into his pocket. Seeing nothing else useful, Miles left the room, and walked down the hall, freezing in place when a bathroom door squeaked shut and locked.
After a moment, Miles cautiously entered the opposite room, and glanced over to his left, immediately frowning in disgust when he saw what looked to be an intestine sitting next to an open can of soda. But he did go over and pick up the battery lying next to it. Miles turned around, and spotted an open vent. With no other choice, Miles walked over to it, and heaved himself inside. The vent was tight and dusty, but Miles was just glad he was able to fit.
Miles crawled forward, nearly screaming, when he saw a man wearing some type of uniform burst through the door. "Not you, not again," the man wailed before turning on his heel and running off, shutting the door behind him. Miles continued crawling through the vent, his heart pounding with fear and confusion. As he reached an opening, Miles dropped down, immediately noticing he was in Administration.
Walking over to a door with a sign that signified it as the library, and he opened the door. The second he did, a headless body covered in blood dropped to the floor, causing Miles to scream and stumble backwards in shocked fright. As he stared at the body in wide-eyed horror, Miles noticed that the blood was still fresh, making him realize that person was just recently killed.
Miles slowly entered the library, carefully stepping over the dead body, and raised his camcorder, flicking the night vision on so he could see. As he stumbled forward, Miles noticed the shelves of books in disarray, scattered across the floor. The room smelled of copper and decay, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the musty scent of old pages. Miles's heart pounded in his chest as he realized that something sinister had taken place in this once serene library.
The gruesome scene before him hinted at a violent struggle, leaving him to wonder what dark secrets were hidden within the library. Miles cautiously stepped inside, shaking his head slowly.
"This...is no ordinary asylum. Jesus Christ," Miles whispered and made his way forward. As Miles made his way through the maze of a library, he could see the decapitated heads of patients, doctors, and guards alike decorating the shelves along with blood.
"Oh, my God. This is one hell of a trophy collection," Miles murmured before coming to a dead stop as his gaze landed on a SWAT officer, wearing full body armor, impaled on a 5-foot pole. Miles noticed an open door and made to leave, but froze when the officer gasped sharply. The officer was still alive, but barely.
"How the hell...?!" Miles gasped and stumbled backwards. The officer either ignored or didn't hear Miles and gripped the pole, weakly trying to pull himself up.
"They got out. The Variants. You can't fight them. You have to hide. You can unlock the main doors through security control. You have to get the fuck out of this terrible place," The officer choked out before sighing once and going limp. He was dead. The officer was dead.
I'm inside. Bodies everywhere. Blood. Burn marks. Heads lined up like bottles behind a bar, dead Murkoff scientists hung from the ceilings; their badges said "Murkoff Advanced Research Systems." Murkoff's longtime M.O. has been to profit off the exploitation of supposed charity. Fuck the third world and bankroll another billion. How did Murkoff think they would make money off a building full of crazy people? There's some kind of tactical cop pinned like a pig on a spit. Tells me to get the fuck out and then dies. Would have been a good thing to hear when I could still leave the way I came, Miles thought, feeling dread creep down his spine. Breath shaking, Miles skedaddled out of the library only to freeze in fear and crouch in the library doorway when he heard the clinking together of chains.
Miles frantically glanced around and spied a large figure through the glass of a window. It was a man-the largest man Miles had ever seen. From what Miles could see, the man was really tall. Easily over six feet tall. He was walking the line between overweight and extremely muscular, lean, and buff. Through the blurry glass, Miles was able to vaguely make out the stretch marks on his stomach. He wore no shirt, tan cargo pants, combat boots, and chains on his wrists, waist, and ankles.
The large man stalked past, somehow not seeing Miles, muttering under his breath, and Miles saw that his mouth was forced into a snarl by metal brackets on either side of his mouth. The man went into a nearby room, slammed the door, and locked it behind him. Miles released the breath he didn't know he was holding in, stood up from his crouch, and walked slowly into the hallway. Miles relaxed slightly when the large man didn't show up, rounded the hallway corner, and spied a gap between a pair of bookshelves. Miles hurried over and started to squeeze through.
"Come on. Nearly there," Miles grunted when he was about halfway through, then yelped as a large hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out from between the bookshelves.
"Little pig!" The large man growled menacingly, and Miles could see that there was a white film on the big guy's eyes.
Miles screamed and flailed, trying to wrestle himself away from the man, but was unsuccessful. The man threw Miles out of the window that was behind him and fell 20 feet, crashing onto the floor. The last thing Miles heard was the crash of the window and the fading growl of the man as he walked away before his world became dark.
Miles slowly came back to consciousness a second later to the sound of a male voice humming a song, and ultimately felt relief that the big man didn't kill him. Miles blinked to wake himself up, but that didn't do any good as his vision kept going in and out. Miles blinked once more, and a bald man with sunken facial features dressed in a priest's cassock came into his view.
"And who are you, then?" The man asked, his voice echoing. Miles' vision faded to black, then it returned to see the man looking through the footage Miles had already recorded.
"I...I see. Merciful God, you have sent me an apostle," the man stated, shocked, then looked at Miles.
"Guard your life, son. You have a calling," The man said seriously, and Miles slipped back into unconsciousness once more. When Miles woke up once more, he sat up, touched his head, and stood, checking himself over for broken bones.
I'm already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, cracked a couple of ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, it looks like someone tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall and knocks me unconscious. I wake up, and some doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest's outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for. There are words scrawled in blood everywhere. I'm getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the "Priest" is writing them, and for my benefit, Miles thought, and, satisfied that he didn't break anything important and probably just seriously bruised, he grabbed his camcorder, storing it away, and moved on, determined to shove what just happened to the back of his mind. The event just made Miles want to leave even more, but the doors remained firmly locked.