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Never would Miles Upshur have foreseen the sharp turn- or was it fall- his life had taken. The email had changed everything. Crawling through that open window had changed everything.
Now he felt rage, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Not at the patients of Mt. Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane, but towards the corporation that had done this to them. For most of the higher ups it had been about money. They themselves became monsters. No, they'd been monsters the entire time. Monsters beget monsters.
Money did this. Follow the trail of blood and find the horrific product of greed- the lust for power. Walrider had been about power. Sure, Wernicke wanted to create, to forge a new awful trail of science to change the world. But the instant he'd shared his dream with a god damn company, he'd given way to a new breed of dark.
The dark that now resided in Miles. The shots had been it. He'd resigned to the same fate that met Chris Walker. Death. Unfortunate. Gruesome. He was dead before he hit the ground. It a twist of fate, however, he'd become host as well.
A vicious swarm of nanites, in his bloodstream. Did he still have blood? He didn't know. Surely he'd bled out by now. The screams of the corporate parasites that shot him down filled him with a sensation he'd never experienced. A euphoric, almost erotic sense of justice. The Walrider was in his bones, his body just a vessel. But playing witness? Giving human life to something unholy? He didn't care anymore, and there was a sense of vindication with the whole thing. He was dead anyways.
The dried pool of blood reminded him of who he'd been. He'd never have guessed there was power in being dead. The halls of Mt. Massive were theirs. If the variants kept to themselves they were safe. Safe from the monsters outside. The families who had admitted them in the first place. The ones who had sold them to money, for money.
Walrider hummed in Mile’s being, the malevolent energies always pushing his body to the limits on a molecular level. Occasionally he caught his reflection in shattered window panes, pools of yellowed water in empty bathroom stalls. He was thinner than before, but there was no changing that since the need to eat was almost non-existent. His eyes were what he found unnerving. Yellow, red rimmed, fluctuating between restless and eerily still. Once in a mirror, when he was more Walrider than Miles, they'd shifted black. Like something straight out Trager's nightmares.
Walrider knew he cherished the reflective moments. It wasn't joy that he felt. It was something deeper, a guttural feeling that would leave the kmage lingering in his thoughts for days. The ones they shared- a symbiotic relationship.
Miles sometimes wondered what it was like outside. Waylon had escaped. Waylon, the one who brought him here. Occasionally Murkoff would attempt to send soldiers in, and Miles would realize he cherished destroying what came from outside. Their insides stained his home, the dark brown-red a comfort.
Sometimes he'd pause to admire his work, and Walrider would seep from his skin, a dark swarm, to stand silently beside him. Without Miles, there was no Walrider. And without Walrider there was no Miles. It was them or nothing.
***
Some nights he felt restless. Having the energy of two entities inhabiting the same host pushed his body to the limits, until he was literally crawling out of his skin, black mist flowing in wisps from his eyes, nose, ears. And though he felt the effects of insomnia, gory hallucinations, the paranoia of a lurking threat, it kept him on the edge. Craving relief. It often manifested in a way he wouldn't have predicted at first- heat, pooling in his belly.
Am I ….aroused?
<what is this.>
The perks of sharing the same mind meant that Walrider, his swarm of intelligent nanites, had managed a learning curve. He would communicate with Miles in words, often crude, but just enough that Miles would understand.
The first time it happened, it had been a surprise for both of them. They shared their rage, their fear, their curiosity. Miles laughed, and the noise startled them both, echoing in the burnt Church room. He supposed it made sense that they would share this sensation too. He just hadn't believed he was human enough to experience it.
Miles spoke for the first time in a long time. The idea that anyone still in the walls of Mt. Massive could hear him sickly pleasant. “I uh, I need you to do something for me.” His voice was hoarse from disuse.
<what.>
He felt Walrider creep from his back, a dark torso and head manifesting out of his shoulder blades, an almost human hand resting on his shoulder. The physical weight of the contact eliciting a moan from Miles. Jesus how long had it been since he'd experienced anything like this? A month? Two? A year? He caught the reflection of the two of them in a stained glass mirror, his image distorted in the red and blue glass.
Another laugh escaped him. The irony of the two of them overtaking a depiction of God in the heavens.
<pleasure.>
If Miles didn't know any better, and he did, Walrider’s tone was inquisitive. And he remembered how quick of a learner it was.
“Put your hand, hell anything, in my mouth.”
Walrider hesitated on a millisecond before he brought a hand, solid and real and human, to Miles’ mouth, slipping in between his lips. The human moaned again, his tongue swirling around the appendage. Walrider moved his face mere inches from Miles’, with what he had come to decide were eyes taking in the new sight before him with intense curiosity.
Miles leaned into the touch. If he still felt embarrassment he might have been ashamed at the little bit of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth.
<pleasure.>
Miles nodded, desperately, now sucking on the Swarm’s fingers. The Walrider drew his hand back and Mile’s made an weak noise of disappointment.
<how help.>
It was only then that Miles realized his torn jeans were tighter than normal.
“Fuck.” It had been a long time since he'd done anything like this, college being his best guess, and now it was in a burnt down maniac’s church. With a man-made demon. “Fuck. I need you inside of me.”
<am inside.>
Miles stripped off his pants, actions manic, and he threw them inside before leaning against the wall. Walrider shifted from his shoulders to his chest, his abdomen now visible. He shuddered at the sensation of the dark mist grazing over his skin. He gasped when Walrider slipped a ghostly finger back into his mouth. “Not here. Well- yes here. But uh, fuck- “
Walrider shifted his texture from solid and vibrating to wet warmth. Like a tongue. Miles spine crawled and he arched his back until his head slammed into the wall, barely managing the request between sharp intakes of breath. “My neck.”
The spirit was eager to please and obliged his host, bringing a hand down from his mouth to the human’s neck. Mesmerized by the way it moved underneath his touch. Miles whined.
“Squeeze.” The pressure on his windpipe only made his arousal insatiable, the embers in his belly now a raging fire. His breathing became difficult, the breathes dragging in uneasily, his vision starting to blur when Walrider released his grip, replacing the touch with his face right underneath Miles’ sharp jaw. The sensitive spot where it met his ear. He was still wet to the touch, sloppy kisses left in a trail up and down, across his pronounced Adam's apple, in slow deliberate movements. “Holy fuck. How did you know to do that?”
Inside his bones and tendons, Walrider hummed. <memories.>
With little warning Walrider seeped out from him entirely, leaving him feeling empty. Miles had never fully appreciated Walrider’s form until now. In a semblance of the previous hosts, he had a human torso and arms, muscle mass apparent, and giving him inhuman strength. With one hand he pinned Miles’ down by his throat, with the other, which has shifted into a long tendril, Walrider enveloped his cock in a overpowering damp warmth. Miles bit the inside of his cheek until it bled, the all too familiar taste of copper flooding his taste buds. He wasn't going to last.
<no.>
Miles’ eyes widened, feeling something move into his skin- his balls. It was enough to make him come. He screamed, his body shaking, pleasure searing through his aching body, but he didn't come, his seed still welled up inside him, cock still achingly red and stiff. “Hnng… ah fuck…”
He watched as Walrider’s hand shifted into a distinct form of a tongue, biting his lip till it broke the skin as the Swarm brought it down to his hole.
Shit shit shit this was going to hurt.
Once, twice, it circled around his hole, the noise slick. Miles could feel himself clenching up with anticipation and though he knew it would hurt more when Walrider pushed inside, after all he'd been through he didn't mind a little pain. That's why when Walrider pushed in with the tongue, a tentative inch first and then in quick succession the full length, he let out the filthiest sound he'd ever made in his life- somewhere between a deep moan and a high pitched keen as his voice cracked.
“M-more. Please. Now.”
The tongue pumped in and out of him. He could feel the wetness against his walls. The obscene squelching from his hole turning him into a writhing mess. Before he knew it he was coming again. This time with a twinge of pain at being overworked like this. But again he didn't spill. And he didn't want it to ever stop. Walrider became engrossed, occasionally pulling out entirely from Miles’ gaping abused hole to gaze at his own handiwork.
<you.> The thought was a whisper in his ear, a lingering moan.
Miles lifted his head from the wall to look down at Walrider, who now crouched in front of him, a question in his mouth when suddenly the shape inside of him changed, the girth doubling. He screamed out, the size too much for him to humanly process, and caught through the tears in his eyes his reflection in the glass. A ruined mess of pleasure and aching arousal. A heathenous sight. Walrider paused for a moment, and Miles felt his hole fill with wetness, before the appendage began pumping inside him again. The place slow at first, tentative. Walrider didn't want to break his host. But soon he picked up a relentless pace. The cock- that's what it was, he could feel the enormous head- pushing inside further and further, the friction unbearable.
Miles was now a sobbing incoherent mess, tears streaming down his face, head turned up where he could see the stars through an opening in the burnt cathedral ceiling of his home. His home.
Miles realized as the Walrider brought a comforting hand to rest gently on his chest, a sharp contrast to the ruthless abuse farther down, that he couldn't imagine being somewhere else. Mt. Massive, Walrider. They were synonymous with his existence.
“P-please let me come.” Miles wasn't even sure he was really speaking but Walrider paused, resting his head on the human’s sharp pelvis. Inside him he felt the shape change again, this time subtle, a little bump, right where his prostate was. The next few thrusts stabbed at his g-spot mercilessly and Miles’ screams crescendoed as he reached his breaking point. And suddenly the pressure in his balls vanished and he was coming, for real this time, spilling seed all over his stomach as his cock jumped with pleasure.
Walrider slipped out, and Miles felt something wet drip down from between his thighs, the squelching noise making him shudder. The monster stood, silently, and switching the apendage back to a hand, slid it gently back into his mouth. It tasted like himself, filthy. Miles made a low guttural noise, an animalistic smile spreading across his face. Walrider seeped back into Miles, once again sending an electric tingle down his spine.
<pleasure.>
“Fuck.”
Miles sunk to the ground, unconcerned that he sat in the ashes of a desecrated holy place, his insides just rearranged by a creature indescribable. Because maybe monsters beget monsters. And maybe there was something insidiously comforting in that fact.
f i n *