Spoiler Warning.
Read at your own risk.

To say Jeremy Blaire was having a bad day would be an under statement.

Blood and gore stained his $1200 suit, it would take a few runs at the laundry mat to clean it out, his shoes were covered in muck and probably, if he had to guess, more blood and gore, and he was covered in sweat and grime.

Oh, and to top it off, there was what Murkoff called a 'Level 3 containment breech' at the Mount Massive Insane Asylum, and all of the patients have escaped and have murdered possibly almost everyone in the building. Yeah. Can't leave that detail out either.

But, if one thing made Jeremy feel better, it would have to be the thought of him destroying the radio in the Prison Block and leaving Waylon Park behind him, bruised on the floor of the communications room of the Prison Block about to be torn to little pieces by Chris Walker, not to forget about the fact that he beat the shit out of him with a baton of course.

Hell, it was only about one or two hours ago, and the thought of Waylon being torn to shreds headfirst still made him crack a small, sadistic smile.

But yeah, other than that small, happy memory, this day was fucked.

For everyone.

Even Murkoff.

Watching this situation play out infront of him since the beginning, Jeremy would have to say it was like watching money burn infront of his eyes, and it made him angry. Nothing makes Jeremy Blaire more pissed off than the thought of money making opportunities failing, being stopped, or going wrong. It was one of the few things that truly made him get really really mad. That and reporters.

Regardless of how bad this day... Err... Night was going, Jeremy still had a job to do.

Even though he had already destroyed the radio in the Prison Block, he still had the task of getting the fuck out before he either got killed, or lost. The latter of which being unlikely, seeing as to how Jeremy had been working at the Asylum for a few months now and for the most part, had the floor plan memorized, but now it seemed the entire Asylum had been bathed in a darkness unnatural even to the night, and that complicated things.

He had already stepped in a few piles of gore, ruining the bottoms of his expensive shoes, something which also infuriated him, but he also couldn't seem to find his way through where ever the Hell he was at now.

The only companion through all of this he had was a security baton he shamelessly looted off the corpse of a butchered officer. He wouldn't be needing it anymore. And besides, Jeremy was an executive, better than all of them. If anyone deserved it, it was him. You could say that his allies were other Murkoff Personnel, but truth be told, the second the patients escaped was the second they all became just another liability.

So now, here he was, a corporate executive - richer than rich, skulking through the dark halls of the very Asylum he directed. Bodies littering the floor, killed in a wide variety of creative methods. Earlier for instance, Jeremy saw a man with his intestines spewed all over the floor, and a fork lodged in his head.

Judging from the complete lack of any living security guards, and the fact the lights were all out, Jeremy would have to guess all of the containment measures had completely failed. Which also meant that Murkoff Mercenaries would be arriving at the Asylum very soon to clean up the mess, and Jeremy wasn't too sure if he would be greeting them with open arms.

If he had to guess, Jeremy would be a part of the 'mess', regardless of his position in the company. The only one that they would care to leave alive would probably be Doctor Wernicke, that is if he himself hasn't been butchered yet in this mess.

And to be fair, Jeremy didn't really blame Murkoff for going to such epic extents to clean up the mess.

Money was money, and Murkoff, like Jeremy, LOVES money. Loves money so much, that they, like him, would kill anyone getting in the way of money making opportunities. It's a sad way to look at things, sure, but money really did make the world go around.

To Jeremy atleast.

Focusing on the task at hand, Jeremy hid in the shadows as a group of patients mindlessly wandered through the hall, a few walking into one of the many piles of gore.

They all looked as if they were... Dazed. Dizzy, zombie-like. All except one in the middle, who was twitching and muttering to himself about the 'shadows moving'.

He figured he was somewhere near the Male Ward, but the problem with that was that he didn't exactly know the floor plan of the Male Ward as well as he knew other areas of the Asylum. Rarely did he ever go through this path. It was kind of odd, him not knowing the Male Ward plan, but honestly, Jeremy preferred to stay away from the petty minded patients and down in the labs, where he was amongst other bright people.

The one patient who was twitching and muttering to himself suddenly let out a scream and burst through one of the doors near him, and this of course startled the other two patients who began yelling themselves, one of which fell to the floor in a fetal position and began crying.

The one remaining patient Jeremy wasted no time running over to and gladly beating the Hell out of him with his security baton, as he couldn't risk his screaming attracting a more dangerous patient, one which Jeremy could not fight; such as Chris Walker. He continued to beat the screaming patient until he stopped squirming around and making noise, his head being reduced to a bloody mess.

Meanwhile the patient in the fetal position's crying slowed down into a gentle sob, and Jeremy scoffed as he stepped lightly around the cowering patient.

He looked into the darkened room the patient who started screaming had broke off from the group and burst into, and couldn't see anything. The room probably lead down into another hall of the Asylum, and Jeremy really didn't have any interest in getting more lost than he already was.

Getting to the Administration Block was his main objective, that and kill off the sane survivors of this little 'riot'.

He didn't need any of the staff escaping and letting the world know exactly what they had been doing, he didn't need that all.

So, Jeremy took a right and opened up one of the many doors, if he remembered correctly, this would lead him through a hall which would then lead down to the Courtyard.

Continuing into the hall, Jeremy noticed things grew abnormally quiet around him, like this part of the Asylum was somehow devoid of the Hell the rest of the Asylum was subjected to. He hadn't seen any gore or blood, or any bodies for that matter yet, and to top it all off, the lights worked. Kind of. They were slightly dimmed, but they worked none the less.

And it was then, Jeremy started getting a bad feeling in the gut of his stomach; like the type of feeling you get when you're being watched.

"Well, well. Look who it is."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jeremy turned to face the source of the voice, only to see a fist shoot into his face.

Dropping his baton, he fell to the carpet of the hall, his vision clouded with red as he struggled to sit up. "W- what the fuck?" he sputtered as he looked up at his attacker.

The black dots in his vision cleared. "T- Trager? Is that you?"

Trager in response crossed his arms, an amused smile on his face. "Yep it's me. Or well, I was me but not anymore. Now I'm more me than I was."

This response made Jeremy confused, but the most confusing part of this was Trager's abnormal appearance.

Trager's skin was... Rough in texture, it looked like it was dried out, like someone who had a little too much time in the Sun. his body was now grossly thin and to top this off, a patient drip was now embedded in his left arm, which looked like it was transporting blood around... What the Hell happened? He wasn't even wearing any clothes aside from a dirty pair of pants.

Jeremy didn't really know Trager all that well, other than he was an executive, like Jeremy, only Jeremy was 'above him' in the company hierarchy. Other than a few games of golf and occasionally sending an email to each other about business in the Asylum and Murkoff paperwork, he hardly even associated himself with him.

He always acted rather strange, but this was an all new strange. He looked almost exactly like one of the other lunatics roaming around the Asylum...

"Tic-toc sir, 'time is money' you always said." he put extra emphasis around 'sir'.

Jeremy realized he had to pick his next words carefully; "Trager... What the Hell happened to you?" Okay so maybe that wasn't as careful as he would have liked.

"What happened to me? What the fuck happened to you?" Trager pointed a bony finger at Jeremy, a scowl falling into place on his face. "Why the fuck haven't I made the money I was promised? I was told I was being reassigned from my position of executive to a more 'valuable position' in the company' and I have yet to make any cash!"

Okay... So from a few guesses, Jeremy assumed that Trager did something to piss of Murkoff and was admitted to the Morphogenic Engine as a patient. It didn't really surprise him, this sort of thing happened alot. Hell, he even assisted in catching them in the act of doing something wrong a few times, but how the Hell did Jeremy not have any information passed to him about this happening? Did some higher up than him not want him to get ahold of the information that an executive like him became a patient lest he do something rash?

That theory sounded the most plausible to him, but what he really should have been thinking about was the extremely pissed off Variant infront of him. Regardless of not having that much muscle, he sure did knock him on his ass really quickly.

"WELL? I'M WAITING!" Trager moved in for another attack, but Jeremy quickly held up his hands in defense.

"Trager! Wait! We can discuss this! There's still money to be made!"

This caught his attention, and Trager stopped in his tracks. "Alright I'm listening."

"Well uh..."

He realized he had to think fast of a way to get himself out of this one, and he started to think back to the few games of golf he played with him, how Trager always expressed his deep wishes to follow in his father's footsteps to become a great surgeon, and how he regretted choosing the career he chose, and then, a lightbulb went off over his head.

"Look, uh, Trager... The Asylum has alot of uh... Sick and hurt people here. We could definitely use a well-paid surgeon. Lots of money for you."

To his surprise, this worked out perfectly as Trager smiled, clapping his hands seemingly satisfied with the new 'job' appointed to him. "Oh goodie! I've always wanted to be a surgeon! When do I start?"

Another idea hatched in Jeremy's mind, one to solve one of the other problems he had.

"You can start right now, but you have to also start your training. I can see your very very eager to begin, so how about you just start with training on the job? Just start doing as much surgery as you possibly can, to further your knowledge and learn about biology, and you'll succeed!"

Trager's smile grew wider, much to Jeremy's surprise. "Excellent!"

"And remember, be sure to pay extra attention to patients who aren't in their standard patient clothing. They are really really sick and could use your knowledge on biology."

Nodding like a boy being offered candy in a candy shop, Trager helped Jeremy up off the carpet and to his feet. "Alright buddy, so where should I start?

Thinking fast, Jeremy remembered there was a small medical supply room a few halls back that would probably make Trager leave just enough time for him to get the fuck out of there.

"Well you see, a few halls back, there should be a medical supply room. Should have all the things you need in it, all the tools and the scrubs, everything."

Trager shook Jeremy's hand, and Jeremy immediately wiped the grime on his suit. It all really didn't matter to him at this point; that suit was fucked.

"Alright buddy, gotta get going! Lots of surgery to perform, money to make, you know the jazz!" And with that, Trager skipped happily down the hall and entered another hall, leaving Jeremy alone in the dark once more, unaware of the events he had just set in motion.

Surprised as to how long this turned out, I was intending for this to be a one-shot, but eh.
This short story was inspired by the dude who wrote the Outlast Novelization story, BizarroVer, and his story "Not Done Yet". I recommend you go check those out, and also, this is my first Outlast story, so I'd love to hear your thoughts and criticism. I hope to write some more Outlast!

Read on!