Work Text:
Miles sat in front of his laptop, determined to write an important email. However, his gaze fell on his hands, reminding him of the cruel reality. He was missing two fingers. The index finger on your right hand, and the ring finger on your left hand. a consequence of a traumatic “accident” at Mount Massive.
With a sigh, he began to adjust to his new disability. He placed his right hand on the keyboard and his mutilated left hand on the palm of his right hand, seeking stability. His right middle finger moved awkwardly over the keys, searching for the correct letters.
Every word was a struggle, every phrase a challenge. His pace was slow, but his determination did not waver. The illuminated screen reflected his concentration, while his brain worked to overcome physical limitations.
As he wrote, his mind flashed back to the tragic event that changed his life. The initial pain and frustration gave way to an inner strength that prompted him to adapt. Learning to write with one hand was an achievement, but also a constant reminder of what I had lost.
The email began to take shape, word by word. The slowness became rhythm, and the boy immersed himself in his task. Disability did not define him; His perseverance and determination do.
Finally, after several minutes of effort, the mail was ready. Miles reviewed it carefully, satisfied with his achievement and without any type of remorse.
September 17, 2013. From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subjet: Re: TIP / illegal activity at Murkoff Psychiatric Systems. Waylon. I didn't know you, as you mentioned earlier in your email. I did it anyway after a while. I saw you take my Jeep in broad daylight, leaving me to my fate at the door of the psychiatric hospital. I know you saw me. Idiot. During my stay in the hospital, I exposed myself to deplorable conditions and medical negligence. I saw patients without adequate care, obsolete equipment, and a general atmosphere of decay, deconstruction, and disorganization. My attempt to document this situation led to an accident that resulted in the loss of several fingers on my hand. Accident caused by one of the inmates. I was never warned of the risks I ran by infiltrating, you should have told me, Waylon. nor the seriousness of the situation he would find. Things could have been so different. Why not wait for me? Stupid idiot... My goal was to denounce the negligence and seek justice for the affected patients you talked so much about, you idiot. You ruined my life, Waylon stupid park. I will find out your whereabouts, whether you want it or not. It doesn't matter how many times you change your VPN thanks to your damn programmer hacker brain. You and I will definitely have a talk. AND I WANT MY STUPID JEEP BACK! CLEAN AND WITHOUT ANY TRACE OF BLOOD OR FOREIGN FLUID.
His heart was beating fast, his breathing quickened. Anxiety consumed him. I wasn't entirely sure about sending that return email no matter how much I wanted to.
Many thoughts were stuck in the frontal lobe of his brain. What if it's a waste of time? What if Murkoff already took care of him?
Tears threatened to come and stain Miles's face. As a result, his eyes began to turn black like a block of coal from the impulsiveness of anxious emotion. He could feel accompanied by something else. Something inside him and something around him, as if it were an exorcism.
Miles got heartburn feeling his slimy insides separating from each other inside him. He gave way to Walrider, that entity that now lived with him, for him and thanks to him.
Now, Miles felt a presence above him. Presence that tried to control any type of emotion.
Walrider came out from within his gut to calm Miles whenever he became stressed or overstimulated.
The entity was present. Walrider brought his almost transparent but slimy limbs to Miles' shoulders and slowly slid down his arms while standing behind his back.
he placed a couple of kisses around his neck above the folds of his jacket and also on his cheek. Miles complained and tried to move away in vain. It didn't take much for Walrider to take the hands of thousands and take them back to the laptop, controlling their every movement.
With one click, Miles - through Walrider - sent the email, overcoming another barrier in his life.
The screen blacked out, but his pride and resilience remained lit thanks to the monstrous entity.
Walrider slid back into Miles' body like it was a damn exorcism. It hurt Miles a little.
Miles thanked him anyway.