I kept my arm raised in front of me, trying to ward off the thousand little bits of grit and hundreds of autumn leaves that were picked up and swirled by the … what? The Walrider? Was it still with me? Would it follow me beyond these gates? I paused by the guard station and looked sidelong as it, worried that if I so much as turned my head the swarm would do more than peel the paint from the walls. It had already slid one of the trucks across the dirt road simply at my approach.

It had almost taken out my own car, now stolen. I almost felt bad about close I had staggered toward it and the chance that the occupant had almost had his flesh scoured from his bones but to be honest I was too tired to care.

Besides, it was my car that was stolen. My ride out of here.

At least I had all of my fingers intact.

I paused my train of thoughts about the thief, worried that my anger would knock me into a faint and allow the Walrider to coalesce and take out my rage onto the thief. The thief had been dressed like a patient, but without any tumours or surgical scars, and there was no reason to be angry with him … even though he had stolen my ride.

Which is exactly what I would have done in his place.

I felt the anger ease and exhaled slowly, breathing in through clenched teeth to keep the grit out of my mouth. My fingers. Focus on my fingers. They were back, regrown, just as my lungs had expelled their blood and bullets, tended to by the nano swarm to keep me up and moving. I'd seen the soldiers' deaths. I'd felt their blood splatter me, mingle with my own.

I hope I hadn't caught anything from them.

Anything beyond Walrider-it is.

I chuckled but even that weak form of laughter caught in my throat. I was the host of a monster. Something so desperate to kill, or was it me who was desperate to kill, that even while I was unconscious it slew everything except that damn doctor. Some lingering desire by Billy Hope to keep the old man alive or perhaps just my own assumption it wouldn't kill him?

An assumption that hadn't stopped me from picking up the gun when my lungs had knit themselves together. I think he was glad in the end. The swarm had picked his skin apart, tearing in a maelstrom around me, even as I pulled the trigger.

I still don't know if I killed him.

I don't know anything about guns.

I'd staggered my way up to the foyer, falling ever so often to unleash the Walrider to stalk through the halls to clear my way. My fault? The Walrider's own desires? Where did I end and the Walrider began? Or was I simply mad and there was no Walrider anymore?

I hoped I was just mad.

I took a deep breath between gritted teeth, swallowed grit-infused saliva, and kept on my slow staggering walk. Maybe I could find another vehicle that wasn't as badly damaged as this truck. Maybe I'd find my own damn car….

I felt the Walrider surge forward and pulled it back with difficulty. Holding it in check was kind of like fighting to stay conscious when every muscle and tendon screamed for sleep. Perhaps it was the same thing.

One foot, then the next. Over and over. Endless repetition. Each footfall devoured a little more dirt road and brought me a little closer to freedom.

Freedom … like this?

Hatred surged. I held it in check.

A sound caught my ears over the dull static-hiss-roar of the Walrider in my blood. An engine … a large engine … a vehicle. I couldn't pinpoint the noise. Too tired. Too scared.

I tried to stumble to the side of the road, shocked by the sudden stillness around me. My left hand, thankfully whole, gripped the side of a tree trunk as I swung myself around and behind it, falling into a trembling squat.

A truck. The scraped truck. Still in action. It rushed back down the dirt path.

No … No….

No escape.

Not for them.

Not for me.

I felt the anger well up in me, a piercing wail between the tempers, and I stepped out in front of the truck, staring it down. Let the Walrider 'protect' me.

The truck raced forth, left wheels falling into a rut. They wouldn't stop. The monsters … they would never stop.

I felt myself start to black out. Fell to one knee. What am I doing? Why am I trying to kill people?

I fell to one side, started to crawl away, out of the way. Can't use the Walrider this way. Need to keep it quiet, keep it quiescent. Damnit, it had finally subsided. It might not even be here!

No time to get away. The truck was too close.

Then it braked. It braked and for a moment I was staring up at the grille in this bright new dawn and I felt my gut clench with fear. I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to get shot again. Maybe it had fallen away, finally dissipated, and I was defenceless and even if I wasn't I didn't want to hear their screams.

I waited, down on one knee, staring at an unlit headlight, and heard one of the truck doors slide open and a figure get out.

"Whoa, Red, wait for backup!" called a male voice.

I could see him. The Walrider. He was there on top of the truck. He was ready. I was ready. Were we the same? The buzz intensified. I dropped to the dirt, clutched my head, felt myself behind his eyes, felt him move towards the soldier that ran out toward me.

Miles…

My name. I felt grateful hearing my name as though it had come rushing down through the ages. A female voice. I didn't recognise it.

Miles … Mein gott!

Another voice, barely heard, another soldier coming out of the truck. She's gone German. That's never good. We should know this guy?

Miles Upshur, can you hear me? The soldier reached up and the Walrider snapped into position behind her back.

I managed to lift my head, to see myself staring back at me, ready to plunge a hand that wasn't a hand between the shoulder blades to end this enemy. Yet I didn't want to do it. Didn't want to kill. I just wanted to get away.

I tried to tell them, warn them, scream for them to go away.

The soldier removed her helmet. Short curly brown hair. An angular face a little too masculine to be pretty. Bright grey eyes. You don't know me but I know you.

"Go away," I croaked. At least my voice felt real, sounded real to my own ears, but I wasn't loud enough.

We have to go, said the other soldier, lifting his gun but pointing it in the wrong direction, toward the trees, back up the road. He didn't see it. They couldn't see the danger in their midst. The Walrider. Me.

We'll take him with us, she said and she came forward with arms outstretched and no matter how quickly I tried to crawl away she gained on me and I saw the Walrider grab her arm and wrench it, flinging her aside. She'd been halfway through saying my name, so she screamed the end of it.

That woke me up.

"What the hell was that thing?" asked the guy soldier with her.

"I think we just met what ripped those guys up," she said, looking around but not looking at me. Thankfully. They hadn't worked me out yet.

"Look, we deserting or what?" asked a third guy, wheeling down the side front window.

"We're deserting," she said, clutching at her dislocated shoulder. "We're taking the journo with us and we're getting out of here." She hissed between her teeth, the pain fighting through the adrenaline and clearly winning. "Green, pop it back in for me?"

The guy soldier behind her did so. His arm band showed him as a medic. Then he came forward towards me and hauled me to my feet. "Ay up," he said, and I realised he had a Yorkshire accent.

"They take you guys from everywhere," I said breathlessly. It'd been so long since I'd spoken. Even my voice felt creaky.

"Yeah, MRF's a bitch like that," said the medic.

"All the better to split us from our families," said the passenger guy. "We need to get going, else we'll be late to my very important dinner date."

"Sorry," said the medic, bustling me into the back of the truck. "But we need to go. Only got a small window before they send reinforcements to help out the reinforcements."

"How did you survive?" I asked, reporter instincts clicking on as I sat down on one of the benches.

"We should ditch our helmets, they might be listening in on us," said the main passenger.

"Shut up, Blue," said Red with a smirk as she sat down next to me. "If that's the case, we're already done for."

"She's always so inspiringly optimistic," said Blue. "You'll get to know that."

"We survived, I think, because when things started hitting the fan and that thing started creeping around tearing folks apart, Red here decided revenge was the best policy and she double tapped Johannson in the head. I think the thing liked us doing that and decided to leave us to mop ourselves up."

"He deserved it," said Red. "Goddamn mole."

"We're all meant to be moles on each other," said Greene, smirking. "Company policy."

"Yeah, think it's number 1.8," said Blue. "Right below company values which include, and I quote, 'sadism, compliance and an ability to treat humans worse than animals'."

"We're bitter," said Red.

"A little bitter," agreed Blue.

"This wasn't what we signed up for."

"Appreciate it if you could include that in your article," said Blue.

"Maybe miss out on the double tap thing," said Red.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good on her permanent record."

"Who are you people?" I asked, more than a little overwhelmed. "And where were you a few hours ago?" That thought made me a little angry. All that I'd gone through, getting shot, everything, and here were some sympathetic MRF people who could've helped me out.

The truck rocked a little. A glimpse of vision from beneath the truck.

I clasped my hands together. "Keep it together, Miles," I whispered between gritted teeth. I didn't trust them but they were my best shot out of here and I really didn't want to be alone again, surrounded by blood.

"How'd you get in there anyhow?" asked Blue. "You get kidnapped and made into one of them patients?"

"Didn't you blog yesterday?" asked Red.

I frowned at her. Was it only yesterday? "I … yes." Wait a minute. "You read my blog?"

"Yeah, all the time. I make sure to report back to my superiors whenever you mention the MRF so I don't get screwed but I definitely read the one journo who looks the most into Murkoff."

The truck rocked again, harder this time, as the anger burbled up. "You reported on me!"

"Where'd you learn how to drive?" spat Blue.

"Afghanistan." The driver chuckled. "To be honest, whatever whacked this car must've done something underneath. The road looks pretty clear to me. I don't know what's doing it."

"They already knew all about you," said Red. "They checked on your blog often enough. I kept thinking they'd nab you but reading the blog showed me they hadn't. I didn't get access to your newspapers, though, so I couldn't follow you there."

"No, I wasn't a patient," I said, my voice a little too bitter even for my own ears. I probably should be a patient, somewhere, doped up or dead. I shivered. It was so damn cold in here. Or maybe that was just me. "I got an email from a whistleblower inside the facility so I came down here to check it out. I was already in the area round abouts so it only took me a few hours to reach this place."

"You get much footage on that thing?" she asked, pointing a finger at my battered camera.

I looked down at the thing sitting in its hoister and smiled. "I can't believe I still have it. I'd thought I'd dropped when the Wal-" I paused and shot a look at her face but it still seemed sympathetic rather than suspicious. "That thing almost took me down as well. I must've grabbed the camera up again or maybe I'd never dropped it…. I can't really remember. I'd hit my head so it'd all gotten a bit blurry at that point."

The truck went silent for a long moment. I shivered again. Maybe this was just a friendly form of interrogation. Maybe they were taking me to their bosses.

"Sounds like we've got something to keep 'em busy for awhile," said Green.

"Booyah!" said Blue, thrusting his fist in the air.

"I told you we had to pick him up," said Red, reaching over and giving my hand a quick squeeze.

Maybe this'd work out, after all. So long as I kept everything in check.