That Outlast II teaser made a really shitty day better. Chris... doesn't care tho.

[littlepig]

[And why would he?]

Little pig, little pig--! [A laborious snort, a hiss through his exposed teeth: barely contained fury.] Put me back! The mission. It's not over. Not yet. No... Obstruction!

Put me back.

['Or I'll snap your neck.' He doesn't need to say it, though. The blood on his hands, his chest, is telling enough. Outlast really won't be the same without you, buddy, but it sounds so promising. Ambiguous morals, making the player suffer-- it sounds so exciting, doesn't it?]

WALRIDER.

[Okay. Nevermind.]

Comments

[silkyyy]

Shh. Shh-- loud. Don't be loud. Please.

[curled in a dark corner and muffled through the bindings over his mouth but clear enough to understand; even if he can tell this is the big one, the scary one who threatens to tear them apart, it hurts his head and he can't deal with it.]

oh my god. you're wonderful.

[littlepig]

[It might have been better for that pleading to fall on deaf ears, because now he's turning, stark white eyes scanning the darkness for the source of that voice.]

I can make it quiet. Let me help you.

[And perhaps the tragedy of it: the ex-soldier genuinely thinks he's helping. This is mercy. Let him kill you before the Walrider gets to you. It's much less painful this way. The tell-tale rattling of chains follows his movements as he starts forward.]

Not safe. Even here. Compromised.

no u

[silkyyy]

[nobody consciously wants to die. it goes against human nature. are you still human if you don't remember your name, if you've become a lump of mutilated flesh and inmate-wear, if someone's strapped up your face and you don't even have the will to tear it off?]

Make it quiet...

[he has a headache today, a big one. the chains sound amplified, clashing together in his brain as chris comes his way. and he cannot defend himself, or really think about the consequences of choosing not to hide or stay silent in the presence of the beast. it just hurts.]

Please, make it quiet. [he begs against his binds.]

[walking_dead_walker]

Mission? Walrider? What are you going on about?

[littlepig]

[If Kieren is hoping for a clear answer, it's not going to come. Chris starts pacing, his thundering footsteps muted only by the chains that rattle noisily around his ankles and wrists.]

Not a ghost. Infection. Spreading-- black, black into red.

Contain it.

[walking_dead_walker]

Uh...right then. [He has no idea what this guy is talking about. He isn't even entirely sure that this guy knows what he's saying.] I'll be sure not to catch any infections.

[He was sure he couldn't even if he was exposed to whatever this waldrider was, considering his current state.]

[bluetooth]

What someone shut this fucking neanderthal up? Seriously, I'm in the middle of a hot yoga session right now and can't even handle this shit.

[littlepig]

[The recognition is nearly immediate on Chris's part, and it's not a good thing. 'You and your men are responsible for the Walrider.' That's what he would say, if his mind weren't jumbled like eggs in a blender right now. ...Is he annoying you, Mr. Blaire? He can fix that. There's nowhere to weasel out, now. No Waylon Park to throw in front of him instead.

He responds by roaring savagely and lumbering much too calmly towards Jeremy Blaire.]