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Out in the big bad world the most unexplainable things could happen. Mysteries that would always stay hidden in the corners of your eyes or kept unseen behind a curtain. It was heavy with hate and malice and frustration and feral brutality. That's what made you sit in your desk, eyes looking over transcript after transcript of these mysterious 'monsters' and events that existed just behind the walls of your office. You were FBI Agent Y/L/N, and you were about as low level as an actual agent could get while still having their own office away from the general public. You focused solely on curious events, or events that pushed past the laws of normal science or social norms. You weren't Mulder crazy, but about as close as one could get. You never seen an alien before, just people who didn't know morality or kindness.

You dealt mostly with investigating cults and cult leaders. You usually catalogued the newest suspicious activity and handed it out to profilers and the directors of each unit within the FBI. You typically got the jobs no one wanted, and otherwise was forgotten under all the glam of being the hero. So you weren't surprised when one of the top agents from the social profiling department knocked on the door, a megawatt smile on his face and a manilla folder in his hand. "Hey there gorgeous, how's it down here in middle earth?" You simply put out your hand for the folder, but he kept it to himself for now. "Wait, I got a whole stack of liabilities I have to go through before I give this case out, so hear me out." You looked up from your paperwork and at Agent Conners, your eyes looking tired. He was a handsome, popular guy with deep tan skin and perfectly combed chocolate brown hair. He was only about two years older than you, but he had been put through the ringer enough times to make him look about 10 years your senior. And the heart throb of the upper floors.

"I'm listening," you stated, giving him all your attention. He smiled at you and began.

"Remember that fucking nightmare we had a couple years back? Murkoff. Well, we just got the actual jurisdiction of the case," at this point he handed you the folder and you took it as your interest was obviously peaked. You opened the folder to first see three discs; one labelled 'Park Incident', another disc titled 'Upshur Incident', then finally a disc titled 'Security Footage', and then a bunch of grainy photographs afterwards. "We've been asked to investigate Mount Massive Asylum. But the thing is--"

"It's still infested with crazies," you state coolly, looking at him with a raised brow, "Would I have any back up?"

"...No. We wanted to keep the situation as calm as possible, and the more people there are, the more likely we would have an incident. Murkoff had sent their own squad in to dispose of the patients and while they had been able to get rid of a lot of them, the team took more than it's fair share of casualties and didn't make it out," the agent stated with a grimace, "No one is forcing you to take this, but I thought with your success in Pensacola recently, you may want to keep your hot streak running. Plus you have the skills to keep yourself hidden, investigate, and then get the hell out."

"What exactly are you guys hoping to find? The place was picked clean already by interested parties," you questioned him and he shrugged.

"Anything worth interest. We are mostly interested in the company itself and if any information was left behind. Specifically any other locations or incidents that went off record," Conners leaned against your desk. "We can use the insight. And you'll be compensated for the risk and what not. But like I said, no one is forcing you. In fact I'm hoping you'll decline."

"Why's that?"

"So I don't have to be sick worrying about you," he stated honestly. "I don't like it at all, and the risk isn't worth the reward. Blah blah blah." Your features, which were up to this point looking a little cold, began to soften.

"You're sweet," you smiled at him warmly, "Let me do some research, and I'll let you know by tomorrow if I'm going to take the case."

"You got it, beautiful." With that, Agent Conners left your office, quietly shutting the door behind him. You opened a drawer in your desk, grabbing a notebook and taking a pen from off your keyboard and began looking through the photographs one by one. Some were almost too fuzzy to make out. But they did show some key points. One; the asylum still had power running to it, showcased simply by the glow of lights coming from the grounds and out of windows. Two; the patient number still seemed to be more high than it was low. Some wondered the grounds, captured mid-motion when photographed. Three; There was still a violence issue. Pictures of windows splattered with new and old blood and even the spare body part. Four; Someone was feeding the inmates. This was common sense more than photographic evidence. If there were people, then there were two things in supply. Food and water.

You separated the blurry pictures and placed them into their own pile before looking at the ones that were taken with a purpose. They were crisp and detailed, and mostly they showcased specific patients. Some had names written on the back of the image, none that you really recognized. And God... They were tortured souls. Men turned to monsters with forced facial deformities. How did some of them even eat? Even breath? You moved over to your notebook and made a quick scribble. Medical Aid.

Some men still resembled men. They had scars but still clear features. Nose, eyes, mouth, ears. You never thought you would have to see if they had more of these features than they didn't. You finally see a picture of a man dressed differently than the rest. His clothes were sewn crudely, probably by him, and looked to be a forced sophisticated fashion. Probably to look more trustworthy. His features were scarred on the right side of his face, but from the picture you couldn't see what injury could have given those scars. His right eye was darkened and stood out with a red retina and bright blue iris. You turned the picture over and saw a question mark. You set the picture to the side before looking through the rest.

Once you had finished with the photographs, you moved on to the discs. Your curiosity made you get started with the one labelled 'Park Incident' because it was the one everyone knew but only certain people had seen. You never thought to look it up, not needing to see a man being tortured, chased, and almost castrated to get your entertainment, but now it seemed like the most reasonable place to start. You popped the disc into your computer before grabbing your soda that was resting at the corner of your desk. The video starts abruptly, the camera switching on in some sort of dingy brown room. Alarms were going off. Waylon Park, a name almost famous now, was breathing heavily as he turned from one direction to another as the voices if inmates became loud, chaotic, saying vulgar and disgusting things already. You paused the video already, breathing deeply before peeking around your office. This was going to be a long and stressful day and it was only 10am. You stood up and moved out of the office. The video was paused for about ten minutes before you walked back in with an arm filled with snacks, and another arm filled with energy drinks, bottles of water, and cans of soda. You sat back down in your office chair and pressed play and completely immersed yourself in the video.


You watch the cannibals, the smiling psychopaths, the hideous deformities, the disgusting sexual deviance, and most recently, the horrendous bodily experiments. God save these sick and disturbed men. You sit through the whole thing, and you didn't pause for almost every atrocity. However, a familiar face made you click the pause button. He was looking through the glass of a door, wide smile on his face. Darling. You picked up your pile of pictures and searched through them before finding the one of the man that had stuck out to you earlier.

"There you are," you stated to yourself quietly and you turned the picture over and wrote the time in the video that he had made his dramatic entrance. You pressed play as you watched Park turn on his heel and run away as quickly as he could.

Did I frighten you? I'm awfully sorry, I didn't mean to.
We've met before haven't we? I know I've seen your face.

Well-spoken and polite. Frighteningly unlike every other inmates you've seen in this first video. You continued watching carefully, realizing that the man with DID before was mentioning this new man when he said 'The Groom'. You stretched your shoulders as you watched Park's unfortunate capture commence, the shiver that tried to go down your spine remained directly at the base of your neck instead. The locker, the gas, it was obvious that The Groom was used to this by now, the capture and the torture. The camera roll goes black, the last image you saw was the man's face smiling into the locker Waylon was trapped in. Then the camera was placed to the side, away from the locker and facing away from what was happening with this psychopath and some other nameless, faceless victims. You closed your eyes but the screaming and gushing of blood and body parts were still deafening in your ears. Why did all his words sound so familiar?

Love isn't for everybody, darling.

You shake your head, kicking your feet up on to your desk and cross your arms over your chest as a way to show yourself that you're not effected by this demon in men's clothing. Finally a noise echoes through the room, a smash of something and the sound of weeping as a scramble happened afterwards. The camera is back in Park's hands and you are so happy for him. Thank god. Thank every god. And all the saints too. He wasn't about to lose his manhood to that psycho. The chase is on.


Somehow. Somehow, some way, some goddamned miracle, Park didn't hang from that ceiling with all those bodies. Somehow he managed to wiggle and kick his way to freedom and in the process he had caused a makeshift trap to snap, and this raging psychopath was tangled in his own sick delusions.

We could have been beautiful.

There was true heartbreak in this sentence and when the camera panned up to show this person, it was visible that blood was dripping from his abdomen as an iron rod was protruding out the front of him. So... So he should be dead. You finished the video after this, watching all the way till the end. And when the camera roll went black it after the vision of the Wallrider was the last thing this camera saw. This was a mess. You pulled out your phone and called Agent Conners. After a few rings it picked up with a chipper "Hey gorgeous!"

"Hey um, so these pictures. They're old right?"

"No? Those ones in the file were taken last month. Why?"

"Just... I finished watching Park's video. There is someone in there that is definitely supposed to be dead. But his photograph is here," you picked up the picture of The Groom and looked at it.

"I guess he must have survived. Know which one it is?"

"Yeah, he was called The Groom. I don't have his actual name yet. I haven't gone through everything yet--"

"Jesus Christ," Conners sighed quietly, the sound of a door shutting could be heard over the line.


"Well, his real name is Edward Gluskin."

"Gluskin... That sounds familiar."

"It should. He was a serial killer in Manhattan."

The lightbulb clicked in your head, "Oh shit that's right. That's right. Jesus Christ." You wrote the name down on the back of the picture. Edward Gluskin.

"I don't think you should go if he's there. We should get a guy," Conners said quietly and you inhaled deeply.

"He showed here that it doesn't matter it it's a woman or a man," you explained, "If anything it might be better for me because at least I don't have a dick or balls to be chopped off. I don't know." You sat back in your chair again, thinking everything over. "I'm going to watch the rest of the tapes. I'll call you when I'm done." You hung up the phone after he said his goodbyes.


It was 7am the next morning, your eyes red from looking at a screen now for almost 24 hours. You sipped your energy drink as you watched the security tapes. It was a lot easier than the personal ones, your heart was sufficiently broken for the two men who had to go through all that trauma, the security tapes were cold with no personality, no feelings, no fear. You blinked as you watched as scientists fled and scattered when Wallrider had escaped, and watched as the inmates and staff alike were torn apart. But everything was purposely out of order, trying to make the tapes hard to understand. Probably a last ditch effort from Murkoff. You had to write everything down in the order you thought it was, and hope it was right. Towards the end of the video, it became sloppy in what it wanted to hide, because you watched the human experiments in short bursts. But you paused the tape when you watched a dark haired man slam into the glass where the scientists observed on their computers and in their safe little bubble. You got close to the screen as you stared at the man, almost completely nude save for a pair of white underwear. "Sonofabitch." You zoomed in and saw that, holy shit that was Gluskin! You looked at the blonde head he was talking to desperately and oh shit that was Waylon Park. This was only a little bit before the riot. So he had actually seen Park's face before.

You finished the video and sighed as it was all over. Your mind and body was exhausted, but you had come to your decision. You pulled out your phone and called Conners. "Well good morning," his sleepy voice answered.

"I'm going to take the case."

The man sighed quietly and groaned as you imagined him sitting up in his bed. "Okay."