Miles’ panicked breaths echo down the halls as he sprints for dear life, a camcorder in his right hand with the night vision toggle on, that big motherfucker Chris Walker chasing him down the narrow corridors of Mount Massive. He’s had enough of this shit: first a note from an anonymous email that blew the whistle on the Murkoff Corporation, illegally entering the asylum through some loose scaffolding, seeing decaying corpses every step he took, and now he’s currently being chased by a huge ex-military veteran. What a great fucking day, right? What was supposed to be a cross-country trip from his home in Washington, D.C. to the mountains here in Colorado, turns out to be one of the most harrowing and disturbing experiences he’s ever lived through—and he’s covered plenty of grim stories before. But, no matter what happens, he needs to get everything on camera.

Miles darts down another corner when he sees an opening to squeeze through. He doesn’t care if it leads to nowhere, he just needs a break from all the horrors of this forsaken place. With the last of his strength on weary, sore legs, he sprints down the hall once more and hurriedly squeezes through the small gap in the wall, falling into the next room when the Variant tried and failed to grab him. The brute soon stalks away from where Miles escaped, seeing as he successfully got away.

Gasping for breath, Miles lays on the floor for what feels like hours before he begrudgingly pushes himself to his feet, closing and pocketing the camcorder in his jacket to store his remaining battery. He takes a brief glance around the room—a few desks, chairs, and a whiteboard on the front wall—before his eyes land on a figure nearby. His eyes roll back, trying to hold back an irritated sigh; he can’t deal with another goddamned variant. Miles slowly approaches the figure, deciding to break the tense silence with grim humor. “I hope you aren’t planning to kill me.”