Mt. Massive Aslyum

A lot has happened here. The Morphogenic Engine, the insane patients, that big fucking guy that kills any living being (his name is Chris walker), that weird priest that calls you his apostle... To explain the Morphogenic Engine, the Morphogenic Engine uses a combination of psychological manipulation, chemical modification, and advanced technology to transform human cells into nano-factories capable of producing and controlling a powerful, sentient entity. . . . There’s a room that was locked, so using the vent to get over there. But then the patient tied to a chair started screaming for meat and insane patients broke in and chased you around. But hey. You made it to a laundry room, the speaker next to the dumb waiter came on.

“Who's down there? You're not one of them, are you? Quick! Get in the dumb waiter if you want to live!”

You got in the dumb waiter. The patients were right behind you, itching to kill ya. . . . Once you made it to the floor that the voice told you to come to, He’s right in front of you. He has only a few strands and a scarred scalp. From the Morphogenic Engine, He’s very withered and boney with numerous scars running down his body. The left side of his lower lip has been torn off, leaving him with a slight lisp. He fashioned himself as a surgeon, donning a blood-stained apron around the front part of his legs, which was just dark green patient sheets, with a tattered surgeon mask, with monocles with a shattered right lens and a drip wrapped around his left arm that punctures his veins. Other than that, he’s wearing nothing else, so his backside and ass is out.

“You made the right choice, here, buddy.”

then he punched you. Really fucking hard, ouch.

“Hey, you're that little shit priest's guy, aren't you? His... witness, or whatever. You must be exhausted. Let's take a break, huh, buddy?”

He picks you up over his shoulder and strapped you to a wheelchair, hands and feet restrained.

“heavier than you look. A little cardio wouldn't kill you. Okay, here we go. Arms and legs inside the car at all times.”

he goes behind the wheelchair and wheels you out of the room, making it to an elevator. Down the halls an open door to the outside. But unfortunately you can’t get up and run out.

“I love the mountain air up here at night. You want to head out, take a stroll? Go ahead, I'll wait here.”

he’s taunting you, knowing you can’t leave right now…

“Go on, run free. I'm in no hurry. No? Alright. Nose to the grindstone, I like that. Okay then. Right this way.”

he gets in the elevator, wheeling you inside and pressing a button. The doors closed. He wheels you into a bathroom, blood splotches everywhere. He wheeled you to a certain bloody spot in front of the sink.

“Here we are, then. Thanks so much for coming by. We'll begin your consultation in a moment, I'll just need a second to wash up and…”

He saw your camera. The one you’ve been using and recording everything in this hell hole.

“Oh... Home movies! ...And it'll give us a chance to talk.”

he sets up the camera on the sink in front of you, to record this “conversation.” He walks over to a table he had nearby and picks up a bloody machete.

“You know I'm a bit worried how much time you've been spending with Father Martin. I know... I hope you haven't been letting him confuse you with all his holier-than-thou bible thumping.”

he walks back over to you, machete in hand, and put it next to your neck.

“No offense to the man, but I sometimes worry he might just be a little bit... crazy. It's understandable, people get scared, they're as like to turn to God anything else. God died with the gold standard. We're on to more concrete faiths now. You have to rob Paul to pay Peter, there is no other way. Murder in its simplest form, but what happens when all the money is gone?”

he puts the machete back on the tables and that’s when you noticed the big ass scissors in an urinal.

“Well, money becomes a matter of faith. And that's what I'm here for. To make you believe.”