Outlast 1

The thin winding road ended some fifteen or so miles back, giving away to rough gravel and a path maintained to the minimum by the vehicles that frequented this route.  It was the only existing road out here to my knowledge, and as long as it wasn’t washed out my little jeep could make the trip just fine.  The nearest town was many miles away, this place was in the literally middle of nowhere, way up in the mountainous region of Colorado.  It was a lovely drive with no shortage of scenery, huge pines and long grass taking well to the autumn months, nice and secluded if you liked that sort of thing.  Insects swirled and bumbled about in the headlamps seeking the promise of warmth the light offered, fully aware of the harsh chill that was to arrive with the encroaching night.  The rocks crunched beneath the tires, but I traveled slow ensuring none of them kicked up into the undercarriage.  White noise from the radio helped drown out the rattle and ticks of the raw road.

Due to my inability to sleep - anxiety and a side of anticipation for this assignment - I started out early in the morning long before the sun was up.  But I had sorely misjudged the time it would take with the typical delays and stops that were necessary.  I didn’t appreciate the thought of arriving long after closing hours and camping in my jeep until the morning, but sacrifices were sometimes necessary.  On the other hand it would allow me some scoping time, as long as I was not caught poking around the grounds and questioned about my presence.

The trick was not to get caught.

I idly reviewed my day, it was getting late and my brain begins to lag.  Long road trips were not uncommon in my line of work, but they were long and dull and nothing could change that.  There were a few places I stopped in for the usual, but it was generally not recommended to map out your path with bread crumbs if you intended to harass companies with heavy influence over the general public and its media propaganda.  I had dealt with big names in the past but I never made it my business to poke them in the rear and taunt them from the other side of the fence.  Business was business, it was my job to gather up the story and put it together for whoever could pay the fee so I could pay off mine.

For this reason I was unable to stay in the local town, no doubt where much of the general facility purchases were made or where the staff would stop in to get away from the hospital.  I made a short pit stop here, and asked around if any of the locals knew about the nature of the Asylum.

A few gave me confused looks and I saw the distant haunt on others faces, but otherwise they hadn’t heard of the place.  Might’ve been paid to keep their words their own, or they overheard stories from the physicians that came by for a break from the screaming.  I couldn’t blame them, the locals.  They had a nice little town, they didn’t need outsiders breezing through stirring up the routine.

The radio was on rambling about weather patterns altering livestock behaviors.  The kind of local radio a farming town listened to and not my usual taste, but I didn’t feel like listening to soft jazz.  Reception would probably give static, not the sort of thing I wanted to fight.  I reached into my coat pocket and produced my work phone, an outdated flip phone but good if I was going to lose something.  The time read eight o’nine, and it was getting dark, the sun going faster each day in the approaching winter season.  Before I put it away I took note the bars blinked, and then disappeared.  No reception.  Odd, my beat up old mobile could get signals in the Mariana trench.  This should come as no surprise given Murkoff’s shady work. I pocketed it and returned my attention to the road, taking in small details of the farm report.

There was sparse little information over the web that I could gather before I set out on my assignment.  Everything available was pretty basic.  Obscure third party reports, a few testimonies and some family outcries over the improper treatment of their hospitalized members.  If one dug deep enough there were the obscure cases of missing persons, but no valid evidence to incriminate the obvious culprit.  At the end of the year a few bureaucrats could earn a bonus, by using their people to keep loose ends tidy.

I moved my mind from that trail of thought and returned to the white noise of the radio, the drone of the speaker as he mentioned low flying helicopters in the area.  That could prove to be an interesting evening for the local skeptic.  Spraying for an infestation of box elders, they say?  Is that all?  Odd that they chose the late evening hours for this run.

A small smirk grew on my face.  Journalism overall had this reputation among the general public, people thought of us as the religious skeptics, societies tattletales.  Always hunting for the next big scoop and looking into anything that had murder, mystery, or government cover up written all over it.

All right, I was investigating shady government involvement, but it was in the complete norm of today’s field and research.  I was warned people were getting hurt, and it needed some attention if there was any hope of it to end cold turkey.  I had followed Murkoff research for some time, since a colleague of mine released an article about Project Paperclip.  It brought to note certain individuals the US had pardoned of War Crimes, and named a few individuals that had been contracted by Murkoff for medical research.

In my opinion these people should have been held accountable for their actions, regardless rhyme or reason of the time, but old news was old news.  America was big on tolerance and letting bygones be bygones.  Didn’t change the fact that they were assholes.

Static overtook the radio, the voice distorted and the solid shriek poured through just enough to irritate me.  The volume hadn’t been high, the ramble mostly to drown out the crunch of my tires and the dreary atmosphere the air had taken.  As I turned another bend on the dirt path a sign loomed forth, headlights illuminating the bronze plate with the words

Mount Massive Asylum.

A few yards from the plaque, thick gates jutted from the overgrowth of the surrounding forest, along either side of the dirt road.  The lamps on the symmetrical brick pillars made odd shadows on the trees through the iron grates.  I set my foot upon the break as I eased through the open gates.  This struck me as odd, especially as I came upon a check station with yellow stripped barriers lowered across the road.

There was plenty of space to the side where the watchman on duty would park, thus I maneuvered my jeep into that area and came to a halt.  A cloud of dust swirled around the windows as it dispersed off the road, I waited a moment as it settled and put the jeep in park.

This didn’t seem right.  A watchman should have been on duty, I shouldn’t have been able to drive into this place like I was here to visit an old high school buddy.  Maybe Murkoff needed to cut employees due to shortcomings in budget?  That didn’t settle with me either, they kept secrets off radar by running a tight ship. I didn’t like the looks of this one bit.

On the other hand, there was no one here to harass me over my arrival.  They sent the guard home, we were what? Thirty some odd miles away from the nearest city, who was going to come all the way out to an asylum in the mountains?  This rational seemed loose but logical enough.

I took the keys from the ignition and pocketed them.  I traveled light, a minimal of carryon’s to what would fit in my coat.  On my belt was a leather hoister, a secure spot to stash my camera if I needed my hands free.  I made sure the loop was sturdy on my belt, then turned to the tools of the trade.  One fully charged camera plus extra batteries, and my ‘clearance’ to this place.

It was a single printed page fitted in a manila folder, simple was order.  Once more I took the time to read through the whistleblowers admission.

September 17, 2013
From: 10260110756@mutemail.com
To: milesupshur@gmail.com
Subject: TIP/Illegal Activity at Murkoff Psychiatric Systems

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 there.  Don't understand it.  Don't believe half the things I saw.  Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountain.  People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money.

It needs to be exposed.

Mutemail.com was idea for business correspondence wanting to make a secure transaction without their legal or personal information getting attached.  I used it occasionally when/if I wanted to give tips to an associate working in a field I couldn’t attend personally.  For this reason alone I could not hope to backtrack who it was that contacted me, and their reasons for wanting Murkoff investigated.

Never believe the good intentions of a bleeding heart.

I winced and pulled my hand back from the side of the page, examining a thin line of blood on my index finger.  Not the worst injury ever, but something about paper cuts had the capacity to make the brawniest man mutter a curse.  Like a stubbed toe.  I sucked on the wound and leaned over to stuff the folder into a space under my seat, where I pulled out the stitching in the leather exposing the cushion.  It might not deter a thorough search, but if they were intent on finding any evidence on me, nothing would stop them from ripping every piece of the car apart.  Fun times at the New Mexico checkpoints.

Extra batteries went into the breast pocket and I took up my trusted camcorder.  It was a bit tedious but I always felt better making sure the camera was in proper functioning order before I got buried in a story, only to realize…the image wasn’t recording, or the audio had failed.  Zoom worked, the night vision was not a big asset due to the poor image quality, but it provided valid evidence that was feasible in a court.  And last, a small bar of granola for a quick pick-me-up.  All I had today was a really good sandwich and a bag of chips, and that was an early lunch.

It wasn’t until after I had shut and locked my door that I realized I’d left my press pass still tethered to the visor.  I did this all the time, by now I should have known better and clipped it to my coat when I had committed to this trip.  But giving another look to the imposing edifice looming before me I decided to let it go.  There was no one around that I could see, aside from a surveillance camera that whirled in slow precision left and right every five minutes.  Chances are someone already knew I was here, but no one had come to ‘greet’ me yet.

As the thought cleared my mind the gates behind me jarred, I whirled about surprised, having not expected the loud clatter in the near dead silence.  I was a little high strung, the atmosphere was getting to me despite how nice and clean the air smelled.  For emphasis I took a breath gathering the scent of pine, dry brush, and the wisp of rain - fresh mountain air they called it.  After calming myself I turned and began toward the large gate, cautiously.  The watchman could be a red herring and there could be other methods implemented to keep out intruders.  So far I knew the cameras still worked, they were operational in that sense.  Was someone watching from afar?

The watchman’s office was left wide open, crisp leaves crunched underfoot as I lingered at the threshold.  I could not detect a presence and there was little space where one could hide within.  Entering fully I observed the billboards behind the long desk pinned with notices, some kids drawing, and reminders.  The latest dating back to the end of July, nearly a month prior.

I reflected briefly on the words of my contact.  “Dream therapy going too deep….Something waiting in the mountains.”  With a shake I turned and left the office, the monitors had been stalled out on menu screens prompting passwords and a phone hummed with a line busy.  None of this seemed right.  Was this mess connected to my lead?

No, it couldn’t be.  My contact might have been fired from Murkoff at the end of August, before they found me in the system.  They gave me the tip but that was the extent of their involvement.  But I did leave the theory on a back burner, far weirder conspiracies had proven authentic.  I needed to keep an open mind and take in everything I saw, and interpret it to the best of my knowledge.  Later I could go back and authenticate my findings.

The road lead to a large set of gates, but these appeared firmly shackled and no harsh word would convince them otherwise.  Moving closer to them I was prepared to climb over, but took note of the small metal door nearly invisible in the shadows.  With a gentle push the door swung away, admitting me onto the front grounds.  From a distance everything seemed natural, but the closer I moved the more the hair prickled up the back of my neck.  This place with its neatly trimmed lawn and acutely cut brush seemed more malicious than Charlie Manson’s Seasons greeting card.

Now was a good time to test my camera, assure myself that from here on out, it would capture all events important or remedial for later use.

"I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, 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 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."

Always, I carried a pen and a small notebook the size of my palm, for jotting down quick notes to keep track of the bulk of what would be essential findings.  I tacked down the time and date on the top of the page, for easy documentation later.

I hadn't even set foot in this place yet, and already I felt a sense of foreboding, akin to some unnatural danger my mind couldn't hope to comprehend. For several minutes I stood staring up at the high spires piercing the coming night, as though tearing the sky open and spilling its dark shadows on the grounds below. The silhouette of the jagged mountain backdrop somehow made the entire edifice seem ominous. My eyes snapped back to the murky windows when I thought I saw a light, movement. There was nothing visible now, and I jotted it down with the creeping vibe that saturated this area. As I lowered my gaze I took note….

Of jeeps?  Military vehicles.  I walked up the path toward the vehicles, the fallen leaves crunch under foot, echoing off the cold cement of the monstrous construct.  Now that I thought on it, the grounds were not as well kept as I had initially thought.  The smaller bushes along the steps looked distressed and dried from drought, one of the lamps lit on the center lawn was broken, the light and its house swinging by its cord.  This did not bother me as it probably should have, I was already distracted by the Humvees or whatever parked in front of the main entrance.  They gave off soft chatter, possibly for a satellite bypass due to the jammers.  As with the yard, they too were neglected.  Leaves had gathered on the hood and wheel wells, but otherwise they seemed undisturbed by anything.

I understood nothing of the military’s involvement at this point.  They were not here to aid the victims of Murkoff’s activities, but had something gone wrong inside that I was not yet aware of?  Had someone from the inside attacked the facility directly?  If so, why were the vehicles out here neglected, what had become of the militants called in?  It could be that Murkoff overstepped their boundaries of research, and the military was summoned to clean up matters before the public was made aware of it.  From where I stood it was unclear if either of these scenarios held ground, the only way to discover the truth was to enter the facility myself and hunt for the answers.

The main entrance of Mount Massive was within my reach, but the doors were locked.  Not only locked, it felt like they were cemented shut.  Despite this, I didn’t want to call it a night, I turned to look on my right, southwest I decided, and back north the way from which I came.  Dark clouds had gathered just above the mountains, ominous monsters rumbling with fury and flashing white bolts at odd spells.  A storm I had managed to keep ahead of since I awoke earlier that morning.  Birds were flying south, away from the rolling thunderhead.  It would hit within the hour, I could manage a quick scout around and be back to my jeep before the first drops hit.  The wind picked up ruffling my collar and I clutched my coat a little tighter around me, envisioning the hard, cold beads.  Admiring Mother Nature had not benefited me at this point.

There was a gate just off to the right of the main entrance, down some steps and leading to what looked like a side yard for employee parking.  A thick chain was wrapped about the bars, effectively deterring most trespassers.  To my left and up a long pathway was a smaller gate that held promise, but that too was shackled securely.  If I couldn’t find a way in I’d camp out in my jeep, wait and see the storm pass or until light gave me a better perspective on my options.  A metal gate shackled with chains was no deterrent but I’d rather exhaust my options before I went hopping fences.

I jogged across to the other side of the front entrance and found another gate, bound tight with chains.  But there was large break in the bars just in the corner.  What had done this I did not really give a damn, I slipped under and gave the side yard a look over.  It appeared much the same as the front, neglected foliage, an inactive fountain.  Nothing to note, but it appeared Murkoff had needed to do some renovations on the front wall here.  Or maybe just plain old repair work.  At any rate, scaffolding was set up along the lower level windows.

A little to my right was solid looking metal door, I imagined it would be locked and my suspicions were confirmed when I made way up the steps to rattle the handle.  There seemed to be no ‘legal’ way to enter the building, or an easy way to get in without going to too much trouble.  I took out my camera and filmed over the yard and zoomed in on the fountain.  The warmer air from the afternoon was condensing against the chilled air from the water, generating an eerie fog that settled over the bushes.  I walked around the path circling the fountain and turned the camera back to my main focus, the façade of a hospital.

High above something glittered on the wall and I zoomed out just a bit to take in the amplified details.  Now I could clearly see broken glass framed around a window that needed to be replaced.  Thankfully, Murkoff had not made it to that point, but why hadn’t they?  This should have been a top priority, unless something more pressing had come up.

Whatever had happened, I needed to find out.

I strapped my camera in and walked along the scaffolding, easily locating a ladder set up for easy access.  They might have as well invited me through the front doors.  From the top of the ladder it was a simple matter of navigating the plywood set out for the workers.  I pulled myself up a ledge and teetered over some precarious boards, directly to the shattered window I had spied from below.  The glass cracked under my feet, and I gave it my attention before turning to the lit frame.

The workers were here removing glass, that explained why there were shards on the platform.  They had ceased before they had begun the actual work.

As I pondered this, a lazy gust of air hit me full in the face.  I gagged at the stench in the humid air, it was stale and had the faint traces of decay.  A prominent contrast to the cool and fresh night air, I stuffed my nose into my sleeve and coughed.  Turning once more to the window, I stared up over the ledge noting that there was no remaining glass along the edge, I could easily pull myself up into the building.

But was this a good idea?  Nothing here made sense, it screamed more beyond a hidden conspiracy and blood money.  But what if people were hurt?  I needed to get out of here, reach the nearest town and demand the police to come check this out.

That wouldn’t work, I reflected.  If Murkoff had a blackout over this area the police couldn’t touch them, not without proof things had turned bad.  Aside from that, the military trucks parked out front.  Where were those guys?

Before I could argue against a bad decision I leapt up and hauled myself over the ledge, careful of any glass I might’ve missed.  Almost at once the only source of light, a damn light bulb flashed and popped out.  Something shifted near me.  I spooked and nearly propelled myself backwards out of the window and too certain doom, but caught myself the instant before.  Crouching low I fumbled for my camera and brought it up, the nightvision flashed on in the visor with absurd clarity and I could see only an upturned chair near me.

And dark stains on the carpet.  About my size.  The NV didn’t permit color, but I could tell by the scent that it must’ve been blood, and that would explain some of the odor thick in this room.  I was right that someone could be hurt, there were signs of a struggle everywhere.

I navigated around the room avoiding another chair and a slaughter of books left across the floor.  The air was thicker and worse now the deeper I went, there was an oppressive aura settling on my shoulders.  I had hope that once I was out of this particular room I would feel better, my fears would be unfounded and I would see what had really happened here.

I was to be proven wrong.  The door before me was left ajar but I pulled it gently towards me, listening for sounds, any signs of life.  There was a hall beyond the door, decorated with short pile carpet and outdated wall paper with elegant wood panels.

But the walls were speckled with scorch marks, bullet holes along its length.  My left was blocked by filing cabinets and a book case, much the same was on my right.  The only course left to me was the open doorway across from the room I had entered.  The pestering thought entered my mind that now was a good time to leave, but I had lowered my camera.

Yes, it looked like a shit storm had blown through, but there was nobody around.  Where was everyone?  My path seemed linear enough, I couldn’t get lost and I could always find my way back out.  I just needed something solid then I could yellow belly the hell out of here.

Entering the room, I raised the camera to take in the small details while I could, something to check later if I couldn’t find anything more concrete than upturned furniture and an obscure black stain.  The room looked like some sort of lounge, thick office chairs placed orderly and facing a large flat screen on the wall.  Murkoff new how to keep people happy, unless its broadcasts were full of self-centered promotion.  A few floor boards groaned with each step, but nothing –

A piercing shriek had me leaping backwards over a chair, I nearly dropped my camera but managed to save it by landing on my leg.  For a moment I lay stunned with pain and shock until everything cleared, and I glared over at the static filled screen of the previously compliant television.  Right then and there I decided I hated this place with everything in me.  After getting back on my feet I took a few steps, working out the bruise that no doubt was forming on my thigh.  I’d live.

There was no defining reason for the TV to activate, unless it had a short of some sort.  I didn’t stick around to deduce the nature of inanimate objects, a clock on the wall showed that it was already nine o’clock, I needed to hustle.

Same as the first door, the next was left ajar.  I met the hall turning to check my previous path, unchanged, then turned to see where I could venture.  Thankfully this hall was clear for the most part, the door across from me appeared barricaded shut with plywood.  I gave the wood an experimental tug and confirmed, yep, it was solidly nailed to the wall.  I didn’t want to dwell on why.  The other side of the hall appeared none more hospitable from a glance, crammed tight with office furniture of all sort, only short of the kitchen sink.  I might need to clear a path if I could, but as I approached it looked as though the cabinets and bookcase had been shoved far enough apart that I could slip between.  It seemed worthwhile, I put my camera away and sucked in my nonexistent gut as I slide between them.

The first thing I noticed was the red splotches on the carpet.  I stared at them for a long time as the light overhead flickered, threatening to give out at any moment.  A few large red smears sat high on the wall, what looked like handprints, probably were.  More score marks in the plaster from what I decided where automatic rifles, a weapon which here didn’t seem to make a difference.  I snapped out of my stupor enough to raise the camera and film everything, I kept it trained to the walls as I entered the next room on my left.

The only light source was a lamp and a monitor on a desk, out of curiosity I moved to see what the screen might reveal but was annoyed to find another blue screen prompting a password.  I could try to hack it.

Or I could take the battery that was left in the drawer and leave this room.  Before leaving the room I stopped to listen, picking up on a soft tap that came in rhythm.  I was relieved to find it was only a branch tapping outside the window.

I hated this place.  

Halfheartedly, I filmed the blood marks left in the hall, avoiding them as I stepped carefully seeking more evidence.  I needed something to cement what I was seeing, that everything here was authentic and bring in the cops.

At the time I did feel like an idiot, but try convincing your supervisors that what you’re trying to sell them is the real deal.  You will always be glad to put in the extra effort, even if at present you feel like a complete lunatic pursuing it.

I could pick up the strong stain of copper, it was impossible with the pools of blood splattered here.  If you have ever come in contact with a large sum of blood, someone that’s been in a terrible accident, you’ll never forget that bite of copper.  I snorted and coughed, that linger of rot again.  I had a fear that I was going to open a door and there’d be a dead body, flies and maggots.  Everything.  I didn’t need to see that, but it’d probably be the concrete evidence I needed to get my ass out of here.

From what I could tell there had been some sort of fight, a struggle.  Maybe due to the military’s involvement, but where were they now?  My earlier theory, perhaps someone or a group attempted to lay siege to Murkoff within the facility, the military would have been called in.  That question bore a hole into my mind, I felt like I was missing some vital detail as I scanned the hall.  What had become of the militants?

The door on my left was open, the incessant hum of a phone off the hook tempted me to either hang it up or throw it.  I stood by the desk and set the phone on its receiver, then picked it up and tried to dial a number.  The busy signal buzzed into my ear and I left the phone as it had been previously.  It had been worth a try.  I gave the room a look over, my eyes adjusted somewhat to the dark now, I could make out boxes of presumably files, a chair, nothing remarkable.

Checking the desk once more before leaving I noted the pale blue folder I nearly missed.  The words CONFIDENTIAL stamped in red across the front, advertising for any curious soul to come along and invade its private contents.  I gave it some thought, not a whole lot before I picked up the folder.  After another thought, I pulled out the camera and used the photo image to take pictures.  There were a few pages, two I took some interest in.  

"MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS

PROJECT WALRIDER

Mount Massive CO

Case Number: 174

Patient Initials: WPH, 'Billy'

Consultation Dated: 2012.10.14

Initial Date of Patient Consult: 2009.04.12

Patient Age: 19

Gender: Male

Observing Physician: Dr. Carl Houston (DBNR)

THERAPY STATUS:

Patient claims to have progressed to self-directed lucid dream states. MORPHOGENIC ENGINE activity observed at unprecedented scale. Continuing stage 4 hormone schedule.

DIAGNOSTICS:

Spirometry revealed no bronchial accumulation.

Hematocrit centrifuge again failed to separate erythrocytes. Highly worrisome.

MRI revealed arrhythmic REM/NREM cycle. Laughter in NREM state.

INTERVIEW NOTES:

Billy asked about the status of his mother's lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum. This represents a catastrophic breach in security, despite Billy's claims that he discovered the truth 'in the blood dreams of Doctor Trager.' (Note: the only Trager on company records, one Richard Trager, is an executive from M.R.D.) All orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved to include analytical biometrics.

MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER

Mount Massive CO"

Maybe this document meant more to the scientists working in the asylum, a lot of it was gibberish to me.  Aside from the lawsuit this ‘Billy’ asked about, or was brought up.  Classic Murkoff evasion, I felt like I was really getting to know this company, and it sickened me the more I thought of how chummy we could get.  I left the file as it was, but not before making sure I could read it clearly on my camera

Exiting the room, I turned my attention to the final set of doors at the end of the hall.  I couldn’t help but notice a set of bare footprints made with a puddle of blood fading in the same direction I was headed.  But the blood looked black and dried, whomever had come through here was hopefully not around anymore.

I approached the nearest door that was left ajar, coming up short when it creaked shut on its own.  For a moment I stood staring at the dark oak, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

On the other side of that door was a person.