#leland coyle fanfic

[sleepycatofshimano]

The 44080 Entries ➝ an 'The Outlast Trials' fan-fiction by sleepycatofshimano

Reagent 44080 Entry #2 | originally published on Archive of Our Own

If you haven't read the prior entries, click here -> Entry #1

Content Warnings Leland Coyle/Female Reagent, Non-con/Implied Non-con Elements, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Age Gap, Branding, Semi-Public Sex, Kink Shaming, Asphyxiation, Angst, BDSM, Teasing/Shaming, Obsession, Oral Sex, Mind Manipulation, Electrifying Sex (literally), Enemies-to-Lovers(?), Slow Burn/Slow Build, Bonding, Some Fluff (!), Diary/Journal Format

︙ This work is rated 'R'; do not interact if you are under the age of 18.

Chp. Word Count 6,109

⬐ Summary

=========

6 June 19xx

There was no better place to scribble in this diary of mine than my Sleep Room. While the other Reagents were busying themselves with barbaric arm-wrestling competitions and discussing what rigs work best inside which Trials, I was bedridden; by choice. You see, I would have joined them, but my neck looked more burnt than an abandoned scrap of toast on a Sunday morning. It felt thicker than leather restraints, and stung when my fingers fell upon my larynx.

I know what you’re thinking: What on this abominable earth are you musing about? What could possibly have caused such prominent damage to my neck? Well, you may be satisfied (or revolted) to come to an understanding of the man responsible.

It all started last night, just moments after I had abandoned the few chunks of unnamed meat on the plastic tray. I exited the cafeteria with a fiery passion for utmost success in achieving my goal for the night: confronting Coyle on my lonesome. As such, the Shuttle arrived rather quickly, as no Reagents were entering the horrors beyond without at least one other human. But that was exactly why I stood from the chess’ metal bench within a matter of seconds after requesting to undergo a Trial from the centre console in the middle of the common area; I hadn’t expected a Shuttle so soon. I recall the few faces who stalked the large, dingy room with confusion and intrigue as I took hurried steps to the rusted, rotating chamber-doors. But I didn’t look back once I stepped into the stagnant space of utter claustrophobia, before the chamber rotated me in a swift and smooth fashion, opening then to the inside of the spacious Shuttle; if there was one thing that needed to be quickly snuffed out as a Reagent, it was the underlying claustrophobia that many of us once held. Were you not to crawl into the most restricting and vile of spaces—simply to save your life!—then survival would be quickly off the menu for you.

Once the gas filled my nostrils, that all-too-familiar lightheadedness kicked in, causing disturbing hallucinations and thoughts to surface as my eyes darted rapidly across the dank chamber of the Shuttle. Reagents leaving me for dead… Gooseberry drilling into the faceless abominations of Reagents long past… The Skinnerman shuffling slowly toward my toppled-over frame… hundreds of child-like mannequins being ground to mere wood shavings… and Leland Coyle, making calm and calculated steps toward me as I stumbled back against a wall, taking notice of my dead night vision battery as I heaved and clutched my rig like the Cross of Christ—but he continued to inch toward me, tapping his sizzling baton against his own thigh, and then his abdomen, and then his groin, throwing his head back as he electrocuted his own growing heat.

And then it was over.

I arose furiously from the leather straps of my chair, running quickly into the next rotating chamber, before I was met with the rotting stench of the Thin Blue Line. Immediately, I toppled over against a pile of cardboard boxes, plugging my nose and gagging into the palms of my hands as I curled my legs against my heaving chest. In the distance, I heard the Shuttle squealing away on its rusted rails, leaving me alone (for better or for worse) and to fend for my life for the amusement of Murkoff and Easterman. Fucking pervs and manipulative scum. Just writing about them makes me want to suffocate myself with the leather straps of my E.S.O.P. (a device we Reagents are forced to wear inside the Trials; it holds our rigs, medicinal supplies, and allows us to communicate with the other Reagents inside the Trials; of course, if a Reagent is reading this, then you would know just how tedious and irritating the device gets when sprinting and crouching down). Mannequins of female stature pointed up and down toward the police station in stiff and haunting manners—all roads (literally) leading to Officer-Fucking-Leland-Coyle. I could only grit my teeth as I gulped down bile, rising once more to my feet as I regained my bearings; the main entrance was always guarded by some shit-talking Grunt, so I instead opted on taking a route I had not yet traversed: a narrow opening through the white van.

Entering the building itself didn’t take long; the broken window—most likely been smashed by a prior Reagent or an Ex-Pop—proved more useful than it looked, and I had vaulted myself over the broken shards, only to land square on my feet in a tiny room off to the side of the main corridor. Finding the security room also proved rather simple, as I’d remembered being tossed up over a male Reagent’s shoulder to push further into the building; only this time, there was no other Reagent to lend a hand, so I had to get creative.

Yes, getting creative was possibly one of the worst things a Reagent could have been forced to do in a Trial. Why I state this as fact, is merely due to the concentration and due diligence required to prove successful in said task. And I had decided to build a “stepping stone” of sorts, to act as my absent Reagent to vault me over this next obstacle. Of course, I had not thought this frenzied decision through to its end; I needed to confront Coyle. After what I had witnessed… I just needed to gain more insight on the man. How someone could have fallen into such perversion and sadism… or was it masochism? Could it have been both? But this was what I needed to know—what it was. Answers! I was bored! Lost! Trapped with a bunch of lab rats!

And then I heard it. The distant wails of a young male—perhaps another Reagent? The only way for that to have been possible, was for a Reagent that had been abandoned by his or her teammates in a prior Trial… or severely wounded; so much so, that Easterman didn’t bother retrieving the poor soul. I, of course, felt only rushed now to concoct a small elevation for my body to vault off, before my eyes settled finally on a stack of metal cabinets in the corner of the large room. They scraped and scratched across the glass-riddled ground, but there seemed to be no signs of entry aside from the broken window from earlier. My eyes were glued to that side of the room, and I stepped up onto the filing cabinets as I grunted and coughed up a swab of bile.

I knew a great risk came with causing such a ruckus, but it was either hide like a scaredy cat and risk starving to death in here, or to simply make my merry way to Coyle. I suppose neither sounded like an ideal, but I was never one to back down from a personal goal—or passion, really. So, off I went! Hurling my body over the tall, wooden plank that stood between the narrow hallway to the security room and I, until I came crashing down into a pile of broken glass. Luckily, I had fallen on my side, wherein the leather strap of my E.S.O.P. lay, so not a scratch had followed me out of my first mistake of the night.

Yes, it was the first mistake of many. Entering into a Trial alone could have been counted as the bar for the evening, but it was rather obvious that a lunatic lay dormant somewhere amidst my mind; for if there wasn’t, then why the hell had I been enjoying the rush of fear this Trial had already instilled within me? And would continue to, once I reached the security room with only a half-charged rig and a small battery pack. Upon arriving, the deranged berating and bemused grunts that shot through the musty air had first drawn my eyes to the rusted cage; it separated another Reagent from me and my clutched rig, only to discover the mastermind behind all the ruckus: that damned Sergeant. The man I’d been searching for—here he was, right within my grasp (almost) just on the other side of that metal cage! When the body of the male Reagent slid down the front of the cage, I knew then that this Ex-Pop was not one for patience.

And the first words he spoke to me, once he shrugged his baton back over his shoulder and sucked the dying cigarette deeper between his lips with a shaded look-over, went something (exactly) like: ‘There’s the slippery gal from last night’s shit show.’

It really felt like I had been stung by a death-blight bee, feeling my limbs tense and my posture straighten as I suddenly became more aware of the solitude I had placed myself in than ever before. And fuck—I liked it. I thought I did, until Coyle inched toward the rusted cage with a low whistle and those damned shades resting low, then, on his nose. He had stared straight past the night vision goggles left stranded on my forehead, and instead, decided upon my nude gaze; wide and eager. Eager for what? FUCK. I wanted answers. I only noticed the coarse and bumpiness of his right cheek when his full lips stretched upward into a lopsided grin, tugging lazily at his horrifying wound while only a few teeth peeked through his salmon slick. He caused unease to simply look at—let alone stare at his hanging cigarette wedged between his sluggish grin. He had dipped his slender fingers through the circular divots in the cage, clinging to the metal like his next weapon of sadistic torture had been chosen. I only remember standing there, in the centre of the tiny security room, frowning and heaving still from the fall; but the piercing and thumping and burning pain in my ankle suddenly began to irritate and seduce all senses, and before I knew it, I had braced my hands for impact as I came crashing to my knees with a strained grunt.

Then I heard that damned sizzling. And those words—oh, those damned words that spilled from his filthy lips: ‘Careful there, honey. Murkoff wouldn’t want t’a be caught responsible for an accidental injury in the Trials, now.’ They, too, were doused in that southern twang I had been forcibly familiarised with.

I had winced in pain at his remark, dragging frenzied nails against the swollen skin of my ankle as I cursed at myself for not trying harder to find a makeshift brace for my injury. Easterman couldn’t know I needed further care—no one could. Especially not Coyle. But was I truly that dense? He only wheezed out a bitter chuckle, taking another, long drag from his cigarette before plucking it mindlessly to the side as he then tapped his frizzling baton lightly against the cage a few times. ‘Little sweeting better hold that tongue of hers, otherwise she’ll end up conjuring the wrong side of the law.’

Really, all I could think about was the irritated skin that danced in throbbing pulsations around my ankle, mocking me as I lay against the floor like some wounded animal being stared at in a zoo; and Leland Coyle was the observer and caretaker here, it seemed. He had pressed his nose against the cool metal, baring that lazy grin again as his dark stubble coated the rust with its sable blight. His shades blocked the practical entirety of his gaze, but his stare was more prominent than I had wanted to admit at that moment; he had been evaluating my frame (or state?) twice—thrice over, sucking in his lower lip for only a second before letting out another hoarse chuckle. ‘Gonna make a fella watch a poor rabbit writhe helplessly before ‘im, huh? Got those ‘lil kickers all fragile and overworked, honey. Betters not to waste ‘at energy before I come ‘round and steal ya for myself.’ And then he slid his fingers over every metal divot in his path, stalking along the caged wall with a low click of his tongue and twisted smirk. ‘After all, they say rabbits got them lucky foots, don’t they?’

It was all a blur from that point forward. I had practically hobbled out of the security room after Coyle’s obscene viewing of my show of weakness, and I wanted so badly to steal that baton from the man himself and electrocute my innards for simply allowing such an injury to arise in the first place. I had taken a new temporary residence in one of the many empty and bloodied holding cells, clutching four keys in my hand as I whispered a silent prayer. 44100 had managed to snag all four keys from last night’s Trial, handing them over to me so I could enact a sort of vengeance against Coyle—which had been the plan all along, but curiosity truly had been injecting a sort of lethality into the cat. Waiting for the sizzling of the baton had proven more stressful than reaching the security room in the first place, and I could only wonder why Coyle had disappeared once I had hopped away from our first encounter together; a first of the night. Back into the rotating pod and around the corner I went, stopping first to snag a tiny bottle of medicinal fluids. I had downed the mysterious contents, though they didn’t seem to make my ankle any less inflamed, so I opted on keeping it as a form of distraction for the rest of my treacherous journey.

But the sadistic Ex-Pop was nowhere to be found—and why was I the one hunting him? Decapitation didn’t really so much as cause a well of tears or swell of bile to urge outward anymore, as I had been staring down at a lifeless body. Instead, it only reminded me of the real danger this man—all of them—carried on their belts like fucking trophies or silver bullets. Both, in Coyle’s twisted case. I just needed to hear the sizzling. The sizzling. It felt all tingly when I really closed my eyes to just. Listen. Listen to the electrode static. It popped in a way a flood of butter over an open fire would. Well, the air was then but an auditory stagnant. So. Quiet. Not even the man, depraved of any topwear and branded with the accusatory title of the Snitch, wailed or whined for me to cut him loose. No, it seemed as though I was truly a wild animal, forced now to run rampant around these halls of fresh blood and parted limbs until my objective forced itself into the light. Like hell I’d be pushing this new Snitch into yet another death trap without confronting the sadistic Sergeant responsible for 44100’s distaste and my intrigue.

Oh, but that next confrontation would have to wait—for I’m afraid Easterman has called for me yet again; only this time, it has been requested on my lonesome, which only leads me to believe this has to do with Coyle and I alone. After all, those cameras truly are a work of Christ’s miracle, huh? He sees all. 44100 was a mere stepping stone on these tracks to utter deprivation and electrifying predisposition. And he would surely see my bruised and coarse and singed throat; oh, Easterman! is this what you wanted all along? the fucking rabbit is the ace in this deck! Christ and the law be damned!

Easterman requested a simple check-up. In fact, he hadn’t even so much as touched my body; not like 44100. So, I was merely asked a few questions to, as the mad doctor had put it, ‘evaluate your psyche and find divots or loopholes in the brain.’ But what truly threw my own conscience for a loop, was the fact that Easterman hadn’t once asked about my neck, nor so much as glanced at it. I had found myself scratching absentmindedly at the peeling skin, nodding along to Easterman’s usual preaching into the human psyche and how we would only get better through the Trials. Well, this one in particular left me burnt in more ways than one, but thank you, Easterman! I could only agree and force a smile as my ankle pulsated in sultry irritation, and my neck, dry and itchy.

Easterman did run a gloved hand along the framing of the hospital bed in which I sat comfortably, clutching his clipboard to his chest as his eyes softened on mine. ‘Our employees are doing everything in their power to help you get better,’ he told me. ‘No matter what, they will stop at nothing to see you succeed in the therapy. Trust my words on this matter, 44080. You are getting better, and we here at Murkoff love you and the progress you are making. Okay?’

Okay. I gave him what he wanted. I nodded along with another smile and eager eyes. And then he was off to another wing, still clutching at that wooden clipboard like a malnourished leech. It was then that I grabbed at my neck again, gritting my teeth as I ran the pads of my fingers over the coarse surface. Fuck. Yeah, it hurt then, and it hurts now.

Well, here it is, folks! How my neck had been practically fried!

It all started with my struggle during my lift of the garage door to the basement; Coyle had struck at the main power supply, leaving me to restart the generators. He wanted me to feel even more isolated. Alone in the dark. After all, who isn’t afraid of the dark? Well, I wasn’t. And I remember dragging my ankle across the concrete floor of the basement as I flicked on my night vision goggles, searching for something to restart the damned generators. Unfortunately, I had spotted the large tank of gasoline far too late, as I heard a door creak open on my six. And the accent again: ‘Still out for vengeance, ain'tcha, sweetness? Well, miss, you ain’t find it yet… That’s for damn certain!’ And I felt the concrete slap clean against my cheek as the gnawing of a thousand electrical pins prodded relentlessly at my lower back. I hadn’t even the chance to roll over and face the sadistic asshole for myself, because that son of a bitch had positioned himself stiffly atop my backside. His legs were then straddling my own waist, one hand trained on my nape as the other held still the sparking baton. And his voice only sounded in my ear once I had wriggled my hand out from beneath the E.S.O.P.’s crushing weight, to which his warm hand came crashing down against my thick tufts of hair. ‘Yeah… You ain’t find what you’re lookin’ for,’ he’d whispered sweetly against the shell of my ear with a low whistle.

And then the attempt to swat the baton out of his hand arose, and before I could even so much as make contact with his wiggling wrist, my own had been clutched and twisted down against my back with a wail. And it fucking hurt. My curiosity had truly gotten me executed… Well, I thought that was about to be the case, but you’re here reading this, and I’m here writing this. Huh. Looks like this little piggy escaped! But it wasn’t without a fight, nor exempt from a betrayal of my own dignity. Self-preservation… self-worth… they were all the same in the end, huh, Coyle? Ignore that last part. Anyway, his weight had merely crushed my own, but thank the Lord he hadn’t brought that cursed baton back down against my body—or anywhere near. Instead, the bastard gripped a handful of my own hair as he muttered something low to himself, tugging my face from the cool concrete with a shrill scraping and grunt from the man above me.

I had then spewed my very first words at him: ‘You really think you’re following some sort of law, huh? All you’re doing is terrorising us!’ No, it felt more like a jab at the Ex-Pop than anything, baring my teeth even though he couldn’t see my features one bit.

Well, he didn’t like that very much; he’d practically thrown my body back up to my feet, handling me by the thick strap of my white tank and tossing me like some used gadget. I wonder if the contraband ever felt the same when Reagents found a new, shiny toy to get their hands on. Coyle shook his head with three clicks of the tongue as he slipped both thumbs through his leather belt hoops, fixing his posture to a sluggish thrust into the air as his head lolled to the side with a frown; those shades freaked me out, as his face looked expressionless here and now, even though his actions had proved much different. He’d waited a few seconds more before he spoke in a tongue even my own heart couldn’t resist thumping to: ‘Naughty as charged. Honey, I am the law. And these terrorists you speak of are your pinko pals who think they all hot shit within these walls. But let me tell ya something… I ain’t work like a hivemind. Now, I suggest you start hoppin’ along, sweetheart. I’ll give y’a head start from two. One. Two.’ Yes, my heart had contorted and jabbed erratically against my chest as I ran straight past Coyle—accidentally brushing past his shoulder and badge on the way out from the dark room. Luckily, I had found (almost instantly, might I add) a police vehicle, which was most likely being used as a prop of sorts; a roomy sedan with grime smeared all over the lower edges. Well, the Thin Blue Line stayed truer to its set than I wished to admit. Of course, the back-left door was hanging wide open, which smelled only of danger to me, but the sudden crackling of that damned baton forced any thoughts of doubt from my mind at that moment.

Rookie. Fucking. Mistake. Let me make this even clearer: ROOKIE. FUCKING. MISTAKE.

I was sprawled across the worn leather of the backseat, realising all too quickly that the door to the cop vehicle was still wide open; but shutting it then would have cost me my hiding spot. So, it stayed open. And it was almost comical then what had happened: My rig’s cooldown had finally reached its end, alerting me with a loud beep and click against my E.S.O.P. And, well, that was the beginning of… I was going to write “the end,” but perhaps this was—is—the beginning of something exciting. Coyle had sauntered over to my side of the sedan; I’d seen only his officer hat through the barred windows of the passenger side’s door, and he looked cheekier than a pup that had been cleared of its accused nature in chewing the shoe. The lunatic had slowly propped a leg up against the side of the vehicle and leaned his body into the low frame of the door. A cigarette was hanging again from the side of his lips, and another predatory whistle had sounded in my ears as Coyle shook his head with a chuckle; his voice was so condescending and full of melodramatic disbelief. ‘I tell ya, it’s like the ‘lil buggers hop right into the trap. Each and every time. It ain’t even worth nothin’ if they ain’t fleein’ by a hair. And you, miss, ain’t fled by no more than the length of an anaconda. A neonate.’

He was on me too quickly to react; his one leg had nudged itself between my thighs, while the other was grounded firmly against the leather floor as it straddled the side of the seat. The smoke from his cigarette wafted bitterly against my face, invading my nostrils and teasing the slick of my lips. I remember now how inviting it smelled, but I knew better than to succumb to old habits. Instead, I’d strained my neck to the side as I weighed any sort of options still available to me: kick the bastard in the sack and miraculously complete the Trial and risk losing any further insight on the Ex-Pop, or allow a corrupted cop to enact his sadism on me. Well, it’s only natural to know which had happened—otherwise I wouldn’t have jotted down these events in the damned first place.

I heard the car door slam shut a moment later, and a raspy chuckle followed. Coyle had rolled his hips back, positioning himself over me—only this time, on my frontside—as he slid a thumb across his lower lip with a sneer that lifted his shades up his cheeks in an eerie and deranged manner. ‘I take it you ain’t never been in a police car, sweetness.’ He groaned when I managed to pound a fist against his intruding thigh, but Coyle only chuckled again as he nodded gently to himself in explicit understanding. ‘Bingo.’

And I’d asked what he meant by this, practically yelling into his face: ‘What makes you the harbinger of all these assumptions?’ But he had simply clicked his tongue again, pressing two fingers between his cigarette as he sucked on its molten glow. Then, he drawled: ‘These dandy doors ‘ver here don’t open so willingly from the inside, honey. Sadly, beggin’ don’t work for every criminal offence.’ And I remember glowering at Coyle at that moment—at his perversion of words, and at everything leading up to this! So, in a frenzied fit of short-ended anger, I spat another remark up at Coyle as I lay stiff beneath him: ‘You going to use that baton on me like you did with 44100?’ And, honestly, I felt rather out of breath then and there—understanding only then just how far I had travelled since I’d first stepped foot out from the Shuttle, and just how many times I had to hobble to accommodate for my ankle. Coyle took blatant notice of this, and displayed a most unexpected gesture then; he had grabbed at my chin, holding it between his index finger and thumb as he took another long drag with his other hand. ‘Careful now, honey. Don’t wanna overexert yourself with that cheeky little mouth of yours. All that brain fuzz got you worked up over nothin’. That baton of mine won’t be used on your person. Not one bit, sweetness. You’re too much of a prime asset now… I’m seeing all ‘at for myself. Too much intrigue got me all riled up. These Trials ain’t built for sympathy. They’d stone a fella like me. So, let me remind ya of your place, lucky bunny.’ Those words—all of them—had stuck with me, even after the events of the Trial.

One thing was for certain: Leland Coyle was out of his right mind, but so was I. In fact, I had been imagining how satisfying it would have felt to electrocute his own cock right then and there, but the accursed and eerie sizzling surfaced again. Only this time, the electrical waves danced from the coiled surface of the baton against my larynx. I remember him whispering with a sickly grin, ‘Ain’t even think ‘bout resistin’, sweetheart. The hands of the law won’t allow it.’ His hands! His hands wouldn’t allow it! ‘And you sure as hell don’t want the other fuck-os rippin’ and… tearin’ the pink right outta ya…’ And then he tore his hand through my hair, grabbing at the back of my head to all but force my neck back and forth—back and forth—until he was sure he’d branded every last inch of skin below my chin. 

And I almost believed his words as he brought his face real close to mine, and I was certain the sparks popping from his baton were now frying his dark beard and own neck. ‘Those pinkos with the machetes and drills for daddies ain’t gon’ treat you with the respect I’m showin’ here, honey. You’ll be grateful for my services of the law once one of them commie finks catches your ass for a real cookin’.’

Coyle’s words really piqued my interest, shocked and pondering still wedged beneath his lean frame and electrifying touch (the baton). And I remember asking myself through the numbing pain: why show me any mercy? what have I done to warrant your magnanimity? That thought process ended quickly when Coyle’s baton parted ways with my throat, leaving a cruel sting and dryness as he slid the weapon back into some sort of holster on his hip. What I thought was over had seemingly just begun; his face hadn’t yet followed suit in pulling back from my neck. Instead, I’d only then felt the sultry stick of a soft surface pressing gently upon my throat. Coyle’s nose was wedged snugly beneath my chin as the slow prodding of his lips trailed along the coarse and singed surface; the burning of my skin reacted in an irritated and stinging manner as his wet touch molested the damaged and peeling skin.

‘Smell just like burnt leather,’ he’d mused, now ghosting my throat with warm and laboured breaths as he had moved a hand down his thigh. I finally allowed myself to squirm again, trying everything in my arsenal (bare hands at my only disposal) to free myself from the man above me. But it shocked me—even more now, as I’m writing this—when he suddenly removed himself from my body, leaning back on his knees as he watched me, a young lady, blatantly disoriented and wounded, looking around the police vehicle with knotted hair and dried drool down my chin. Seconds later, (if I’m recalling it as such) I began pounding on the window above me, crying for help and making my position known to anyone else in the area.

Nothing.

Again, I pounded and wailed.

Nothing.

It fucking HURT not having anyone else to care for your life in a moment of distress and need, and I knew I couldn’t look back once the hoarse wheezing of Coyle’s deranged laugh began to sound behind me. ‘These vehicles are made to keep criminals like yous in, not out! You a crazy bitch, but I ain’t complainin’,’ he’d begun, before his voice came eerily close to my neck with a low whisper. ‘Now, then… Are ya finished playin’ this busted game of Cat and Mouse?’

And that was when the window above me shattered in hundreds of tiny pieces. Before I could even piece together what had just happened, Coyle hissed irritably with a guttural grunt in the aftermath. ‘Lord! A bitch gonna pay in spades!’

Finally, I can talk about the woman who truly saved my life; not some ninnyhammer like 44100, no. This woman knows the Trials. And she knew Coyle—for that nasty brick had hit him square in the chest, toppling him back against the opposite door with a banging thud; and that got him extremely riled up. It felt like he was toying with me specifically, not making any actual attempts on my life, but the anger that doused his voice then and there… That woman had placed herself in danger for me. Not even another second passed before the bright flash of hot, white light and the sweltering numbness of being caught in a stun rig (for the first time ever) washed over me. I was unable to so much as open and close my jaw. Anything, really. But a pair of arms had suddenly hooked themselves beneath my shoulders, dragging me quickly out from the police vehicle through the broken window.

She had waited to introduce herself; about fifteen seconds later, Coyle had unlocked the vandalised door with a key of his own, grunting as he stumbled out from the vehicle. I had been carried behind a stack of wooden planks, near where one of the generators lay dormant in the dark. Coyle had stormed off into a room opposite of our position, screaming out in enragement, ‘Gone and taken my lucky rabbit from me, have ya?! Always the cops bein’ fucked in the end, ain’t it, Clyde! Just like you wanted… The law means nothin’ to ya.’ The mysterious woman (Reagent?) waited until his rampage was over to release a low whistle and shake her head with a chuckle—just as Coyle had done in that fucking sedan.

Lucky rabbit. Lucky bunny. Luck. Rabbit. Bunny. Those fucking words. Those fucking words meant something. But here was the million-dollar question: why the fuck me?

‘You’re lucky that depraved fascist didn’t take your ass seriously, else you’d be overcooked meat for the next Reagents to puke and trip over.’ Those were her first words to me.

When I’d asked for her Reagent number, she merely sighed and shook her head twice over. ‘I don’t go by that fuckin’ number in here, sweetie. It’s Dorris, or it’s nothing. No freakish numbers to objectify ourselves.’ I had questioned what she meant by that last word: ourselves. But she only eased a brow and glowered. ‘Follow and don’t fuck us over with that peppy mouth of yours. That’s right. I heard your remarks to the blue bastard. Bold, and I like it. But out in the open, kid, this ain’t no place to fuck around.’ And we had shortly after reached a rickety ventilation shaft (clearly been opened by Dorris and potentially any other Reagents who knew the layout of this set; but why?), to which she had practically shoved me inside the slender cavity. Claustrophobia; exactly why you couldn’t entertain it here. Why couldn’t Easterman have been studying the effects of claustrophobia on the psyche instead? After a few bumps and inclines, we’d reached a rather spacious opening in the ventilation system; here, a few single-person mattresses lay, magazines similar to the one Miss Barlow had been reading, contraband I’d never seen before (looking rather tinkered with and unique to the stuff sold by Mister Noakes), basic toiletries and canned food, and a single, discarded E.S.O.P. that was riddled with scratch marks, imprints of odd drawings, and a clear burn mark on its right side.

Of course we didn’t stop here; instead, Dorris guided me through another opening in the vents, and after falling headfirst down to the concrete floor below after her (granted, it wasn’t a very high drop), I could never forget the audible gasp that escaped my hoarse throat.

‘The Shuttles.’ That was about all I could muster with my singed throat.

Dorris had patted my shoulder in a motherly fashion, but she had turned quickly on her heel. Motioning back to the Shuttles, I was confused as to why she would choose to go back into the Thin Blue Line. ‘I’ve got some unfinished work that needs doin’, kid. You’ll see me back there in time, but don’t keep an eye out. That appease your curiosity?’

It didn’t. I needed to know more. But for now, those Shuttles were the damn-near Gates of Heaven. So I left—not looking back once to so much as scan the open area for him: for Coyle. I’d grabbed absentmindedly at my throat, wincing in pain as the skin began to peel off beneath my finger nails, and I decided quickly that scratching at it was a terrible idea.

Well, I just scratched at it now, as I write this. But, on a far brighter note, I’ve acquired a sort of makeshift ankle brace from Mister Noakes; it’s really just a weighted towel of sorts, but once wrapped around my ankle, the immense pressure that had been constantly pounding against it had raised a tad. But not even he asked about my neck; no one had. Was this normal amidst the Reagents? Were injuries of such severity normal? It was honestly all so interesting to me, and I found myself almost flaunting my acquired lesion, as if to say, hey, I’ve been through horrors far worse than you, to any passerby.  But at the end of the day, seated back here in my lonely bed, I can only ponder over who Dorris truly is, and why I’ve not seen her around the Sleep Room. Or anywhere, really. Who is she? And how did she know exactly when to take aim at Coyle? Why did she help me? Oh, God. Coyle. Is he okay? Maybe I need to go back in to find out for myself. Maybe that’s what she’s doing? I should be doing that. What the fuck am I going to tell 44100 now? My next task was meeting with 44100 and making up some sort of… lie. 

Fuck. Would 44100 become the next Snitch? Or worse… Me?

[makeucrawl]

can u pls make a Dr. Easterman x coyle training session short??👉👈

((Nsfw plss!!))

“ShockTherapy” Ship

“Training”

!!WARNING!!NSFW!!

Inside Dr. Easterman's office, Coyle's breathing was labored and noisy.

"Sergeant…Don’t tell me you’re finished already?" The doctor asks knowing the other couldn’t respond.

With a bone-shaped gag in his mouth to keep his noise levels down, the officer was strapped to a metal table. His legs spread wide as a machine was pumping a fairly large vibrating toy in and out of him.

He gives out a little pathetic moan.

He was completely exhausted and overstimulated.

“I believe I heard you tell a reagent that you could go all night. It’s only been…”

The arrogant bastard looks at his watch.

"Two hours. I think you can keep going..”

Hendrick approaches the machine and turns a dial, increasing its speed.

The prime asset cums once more, making a strange sound that he, himself, did not recognize.

"You poor thing." Easterman tuts, as he removes the gag from Coyle's mouth.

���I-I can’t..I can’t..P-Please..." As the machine continues to thrust inside of him, the policeman whimpers. The sweat and cum on his skin made his body feel sticky.

Never had he felt so used.

"Aw..Of course you can." The strapped man's throat is encircled by a firm hand.

"Leland Coyle…you are such a good boy." He leans down and covers the other man's pleads with his lips.

The doctor smiles warmly and affectionately as he replaces the gag.

He sits down nearby and pours himself another drink, observing the scene with a satisfied sigh.

Coyle could endure his training a little longer.

[recreats]

- I'll slit your throat, you creature," Michelle growled loudly and viciously, glaring at Leland with a deep and hateful gaze.

At the same time, she jerked her hands sharply and with aggression, and this movement caused a loud and ominous creaking of the chains that were put on her limbs, the shackles seeming to grow even tighter with each movement.

The sergeant, with a smirk on his face, looked at Glick.He cleaned up the blood that was dripping from Michelle's lips with his thumb, and leaned closer to her face.

— 'You know,' began Coyle, 'I'll take that as a well-deserved compliment! - At the same moment he pulled away, and struck the girl on the cheek with the taser.

Feeling the powerful blow, she couldn't hold back a shriek from the sharp sense of pain that pierced her entire body. Michelle began to cough, and each time she did so, her throat filled with blood, which flowed out of her mouth again.

- Leland, your continued aversion to women seems to be extremely depressing," Hunter interjected into their conversation with undisguised anger in his voice and a slight sneer in his eyes.

At that moment Coyle, letting go of Michelle's hair, which was under his palm, turned to Hunter and looked at him with a displeased expression, exhaling acrid smoke into the air, taking the cigarette between his fingers.

- You can lecture anyone you want, but not here. This woman is so unpredictable that she could use a little discipline," Coyle continued, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaling the thick tobacco smoke into the air.

@nicktremblaywayfu

[rymaninlimbo]

Can we see what outlast fics you have written and what characters inside ?

Sure! I actually have them posted on my Ao3 acc!

I do want to write more for Outlast in general but here’s what I got so far! Under the cut~

The first one is with Leland Coyle and my reagent OC, basically it’s his first trial alone and gets spooked by Coyle and strikes up a deal with him- if he does what Coyle wants then he might be let go (general warning: smut, m/m, oneshot)

The second one is with the Slepoer Ex-Pop I lovingly named Sammy, it’s definitely a shameless self insert but I thought I’d post it anyway lol basically after Sammy gets spooked and runs away, he accidentally bumps into my reagent and instead of hitting him he latches onto him in a hug instead (general warning: smut, slight dub-con, m/m, one-shot)

[fmoe1997]

Hey all! Dropping my latest fic for y'all to peep at, a commission for @kittymagooart based on The Outlast Trials! It's a lovely mix of the horror of the game and some very kinky smut that I'm sure many of you will enjoy. But just in case, please be sure to read the tags first in case there's anything there not to your tastes.

That aside, it was a treat to do another commission for them, especially something separate from the Hellaverse community and based on a game I myself am thoroughly looking forward to playing. It was nice to work through and outline this story with Kitty, figuring out Coyle and really bringing him to life with the limited information we have on him and the game itself. While I did enjoy the grander smut portion of the fic, I personally loved setting up all the necessary background and recreating the environment of the game through words. Really getting the reader in the position of our main character Lucy as she wonders through the police station.

And I did mention smut didn't I? Cause whew boy, it is some spicy stuff. Really intense and rough, I honestly don't want to speak more of it lest I spoil it. Again, it's all tagged, so please give this fic a look and let me know what you think! As always, I do hope you enjoy ❤

Link

[theravencawsatmidnight]

I AM SO FUCKING BACK

Leland Coyle x F! reader.

W! Nsfw, dubcon, swearing, insertion.

WOOOOOO ENJOY I HAVEN’T WRITTEN FANFIC IN LIKE FOREVERS .

If this is liked ill do more!!! It has build up but i love it!!!!!

Every trial you managed to give Coyle the slip, whether you slipped by him, barricaded a door or just teased him from a distance. You were always one step ahead of the officer and each and every time he would bite his smoke in half while he watched the transporter take you away , the only sound of your snickers bouncing off the cold walls. But this trial would be different, he told himself . He would catch you. And he would do whatever he wanted.

The next few trials he was nowhere to be seen, the other nuts would be out and about while he hung back to watch you and your tactics, every move, every hiding spot, every little room you snuck off to just to get a quick heal fix. How would he catch you though? Should he do it outright? The man puffed out heavy smoke from his mouth watching you scramble around, you looked like you were in a bitchy mood. Rolling your eyes each time you got cornered and it was not him. Groaning when you could not sneak away to finish a task on your own. Poor thing. He let this go on for a bit, watching your friends distance themselves from you as the trials went on until they just went off on their own once they arrived leaving you all alone. This was perfect, a perfect opportunity.

The doors opened letting you and your friends into the dark parking lot riddled with cop cars, immediately they went off without you leaving you with a huffy face and hands on your hips. “Whatever, i don't need any of you to do this” you yelled off to them just for it to fall on deaf ears. Instead you stomped around the parking lot hearing the alarm go off inside the building only you did not bother to see who it was, Coyle was nowhere to be found lately so you had no one to toy with. “Probably dead, damn bastard” you said with a grunt under your breath as you wiggled into an open cop car door to pluck free some small medicine that was under the seat. “Everytime” you said with a satisfied tone. Tucking away the bottle you went on with your trial ducking from screams, gunshots and whatever else seemed to happen. Just when you had gotten inside the door you always went through to get to the main office was shut oddly enough. “Did they not come through here?” you asked tilting your head as you grabbed the knob to whip the door open only to get stabbed in the chest and fall on your ass. “ fuck!! FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!” With great haste you yanked the object out, dropping it to cover the bleeding hole in your chest and crawling under a desk panting heavily as you fumbled around the medicine, unscrewing the knob and hanging it over the wound just for nothing to come out. “What… its ITS EMPTY?!” you tossed the bottle away in a fit of rage swearing up a storm. “What the fuck?! How the shit is it empty, who just leaves an empty fuckign bottle ?! and who knew my stash was there…..” it made no sense, but you had more, more heals, antidotes, everything you needed in other places in this fuckin trial…

Meanwhile Coyle was lifting his baton to light his cigarette while he watched you from inside an old room, a smirk crawled up his face as he puffed out smoke. “Working so far” he thought to himself. Ignoring the bleeding wound you stumbled into the main office finding bandages placed.. Conveniently on a desk . Without thinking about it you quickly patched yourself up feeling great relief. It was… oddly quiet. Where was everyone? Your friends could not complete the Kill the Snitch trial without you. And where were the nuts? Is this some kind of new test? Whatever. “I just need to find them so we can finish and leave.” you told yourself as you made your way around the trial only to come up empty. Every hiding spot had junk shoved into it making it impossible to squeeze in. every little stash had empty bottles and even your secret room was flipped upside down. And… where was the Snitch? Your friends? You checked the electrifying room to find the chair empty and your friend's terminals already full. “What? But they can't do it without me…” something was not right… you decided to poke at the terminal as if it would help but no luck. Even pressing the button was left unnoticed. They had already left. “What the fuck? So i just have to stay here till a new trial starts?”

“It seems that way” said a voice behind you. Quickly you turned around to some Bambino standing there pointing his shotgun at you. “I'm here to deliver you to your DATE” he laughed wildly. While he was doing so you rushed off into the trial once more, trying to find any kind of hiding spot. Heavy footsteps were growing louder and shotgun shots were bouncing off the walls. Sliding down a corner you spotted an open door rushing in slamming it shut and barricading it with a heavy inhale of breath. “Fucker… maybe i can hide out in here.” you told yourself , unaware of the small burning light behind you that got brighter with each breath the mouth around it took. You stepped back a few steps tripping over some garbage onto your ass and felt your wrists get grabbed and tied together behind your back. “HEY!!! whatTHE !!!!” a cloth was tied around your mouth and your body was shoved to the center of the room till your back hit a flipped over chair. Your ankles pulled apart and tied to a leg of the chair leaving you very exposed to whatever had caught you , you thrashed about which led to an arm wrapping around you pulling you to the chair to tie your chest to it keeping you in place. And here you were, hands tied up, legs tied apart and chest tied to a god damn chair..

Heavy footsteps filled your ears making your heart thump in your throat , you were starting to sweat out of fear and your eyes were straining to see who had caught you in this dimly lit room. The figure stopped in front of you sliding on his heels with a cattle prod in one hand and his other on his belt. Your heart fell all the way to your ass as Coyle leaned down with the biggest grin on his face , he took in the fear on your face making him feel so nice inside . “well sweetness, whos got who now?” he asked with sarcasm on his tongue, he laughed up at the ceiling while you thrashed about as if it would free you .

“Ya know you been pissin me off,” he told you as he twirled his electric prod around. “Always making my day so fuckin hard and annoyin sweetness. “ his free hand found your breast sitting firmly above the rope , slowly he rubbed it watching you through his shades , every struggle, every bite down on the cloth, every bit of drool that fell from your mouth turned him on. “I was getting tired of it.” he got a firm grip on the shirt around your chest ripping it off you , the excess hanging off the rope exposing your chest to the cool air. “So cute, so I devised a plan, I know, crazy right? “ Slowly his hand traveled down to your raggy pants, he grabbed hold of the garment, ripping it to shreds with ease, leaving you with just your panties. “Always so snarky, bitchy and just flat out annoying” the hand with his cattle prod curled your clit in small circles and your body twitched. No no no… “mmhgg!! “ you tried to plead, beg, anything. You would never do it again… never ever ever… “haha!! Whats that?!” he held his free hand up to his ear to mock you. “Cant hear ya!!!” the circles turned into up and down rubs from the cattle prod as Coyle had his fun with you, he loved this to bits. You on the other hand, your body was reacting against you and a wet spot was forming from all the stimulation, your body was feeling heavy and your vision was fogging over. Coyle used his other hand to squeeze a nipple and twist it around, lifting it up getting a loud muffled scream out of you and what sounded like pleading for him to let go, when he did your body fell limp in your restraints but you were not allowed rest because he just did the same thing to the other poor nipple. All while Coyle tortured you you could feel yourself getting close to climax.. This stupid fucking body. Coyle had glanced down seeing your pussy twitch around and the wet spot leaking from the sides. The officer looked back up at you resting his free hand on his cheek freeing your nipple from its squeezing. Just when you thought you were about to climax the man smiled and moved his prod away sending you into a frenzy as your orgasm faded away. “ MFFFF” you thrashed around biting the cloth hard trying to get any kind of friction, any kind of stimulation … you just wanted to cum. Just once. Just one time and you would learn your lesson… Coyle did not tease your clit again till you had fully calmed down just to do it all again .Every climax you chased disappeared like it was never there. You were a mess, a sweaty huffing mess. The white panties were covered in your juices by now and left a spot on the floor under you. “Ya know sweetness this all could have been avoided … if you were such a bitch…” he tried to sound sympathetic but his body language said otherwise. Every time he moved the prod away he would smirk at you, or tilt his head or blow smoke in your face. The hours were lingering… your body was needy and tired… you were a sweaty mess.. And just when you were about to pass out an alarm went off waking you back up. Coyle threw his head back with a satisfied groan. “Finally a new trial, i'm feelin frisky though. “ the man looked back down at you brushing the wet hair from your forehead” do me a favor sweetness?” the man ripped your panties off and shoved the prod up your pussy just enough so it would not fall out but not enough to cause any damage to you. “Keep this warm for me, im goin scarin!” he laughed getting up leaving you tied up with an electric prod shamefully shoved up your needy pussy. Coyle opened the door and looked back, tipping his hat to you. “Dont worry, your my little toy, i wont let anyone in here” the door closed leaving you in the dark, the sound of the lock echoing in your head.

Tags/ @outlastrabbit

Thought you might enjoy this!

[uhmbrella98]

Daddy is a cheater

Going into this, note this is a fanfic I'm writing for @makeucrawl.

Oc intro!

Vivian Amberson (Small design change but backstory and stuff linked) The fic is in her POV!

LETS GET INTO THE FIC

Daddy is a cheater (Leland Coyle x Dr. Easterman)

Franco was throwing another fit, I tried to make his bottle, I tried snuggling him, I tried reading him a story, but he's been all fussy. Not of it had worked it drove me nuts.

Mommy Gooseberry was out for the day, doing whatever momma's do. I guess she was grocery shopping. But daddy was off of work, he should be in the facility somewhere.

I started to look around, but hearing Franco cry in his room broke my heart. Poor baby probably just needed his mommy and daddy.

"I'm trying buddy, stay strong." I mumbled to myself under my breath as I continued to walk around the facility, trying to see where our father- Leland Coyle- was.

He claimed he was never our father, but it just works out perfectly. He seems to really like mommy, and mommy really likes him. Even Papa Futterman noticed how much she seemed to like him.

"Daddy?" I asked as I looked around, trying to be quiet in case he was busy, but there I saw him, with Dr. Easterman.

I hid behind the corner of the slightly cracked open office door and peered in, noticing what all he was doing.

My heart stopped. Was daddy cheating on mommy? He had the doctor's mouth on his and he was getting called "good boy"?! I was appalled.

"My little k9, oh how you know what gets me going." Dr. Easterman whispered to daddy as my father was straddled on his lap. Daddy just grumbled in response as they continued to kiss.

Daddy and Doctor were kissing?! No way!

I was heartbroken, appalled, hurt. My perfect family was getting destroyed! I didn't know if I should tell mommy or just keep everything a secret.

That was a big secret for met to keep. I definitely couldn't tell baby, he was already fussy, but if he finds out about daddy's infidelity, he'll be crushed.

Think Vivi, think. What should I do?

"Daddy?" I croaked weakly. Daddy shot a nasty glare at me as he noticed me. He got off Mr. Doctor's lap and stormed up to me.

"Hell do you want missy?" He hissed in a dangerously low tone. He seemed so annoyed and pissed off at me for interrupting him.

I nervously gulped before speaking up. "Frankie is fussy again, he wants mommy but mommy is doing mommy stuff and I don't know what else to do." I explained hesitantly.

Daddy rolled his eyes before starting to scold me. "Franco's a grown ass man, he can take care of himself for fucks sake! Can't you see I'm a lil busy?" He shouted at me before I started to tear up.

"Daddy y-you-" *I was interrupted by my father.

"Vivian you're a grown ass woman too, don't go callin' me 'daddy' like I'm responsible for you or some shit!" He continued to shout in anger.

I hung my head low in hurt and sadness. I mumbled out a weak apology before just turning around and went off to find Franco again.

I wiped my tears, having to deal with that terrible fact.

The fact that daddy is a cheater.

The End

Author notes:

Sorry if this is short, I haven't made many finished fanfics before and I don't write too often, but I felt like writing some good ol' angst.

This is based on the fics that @makeucrawl makes and I wrote this with their permission, so thank you for that.

Everyone reading this, have a nice day/night/whatever, drink some water, have a small snack, thank you for supporting me

Y'all are all amazing <3

[minnophee-writes]

Fandoms I Write For~

This is the list of fandoms I am willing to write for or have written for before, and you can also send asks with fanfic requests! Down below is my list of fandoms, and who I write for, and will be updated when I can think of more fandoms to add to the list.

You can also send in fanfic requests and I'll eventually get to them when I can ❤

Fandom List:

Avatar: Way of Water - Miles Quaritch

Stranger Things - Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove

Star Wars: Survivor - Cal Kestis

The Walking Dead - Daryl Dixon, Rick Grimes

The Purge - Leo Barnes

Far Cry 5 - Jacob Seed, John Seed

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare - Captain Price, John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Phillip Graves, Rodolfo

Detroit: Become Human - Connor, Nines, Markus, Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson

Elden Ring / Darksouls - Blaidd the Half-Wolf, Maliketh the Black Blade, Crucible Knight, Tree Sentinels, Creighton the Wanderer

Bloodborne - Father Gascoigne, The Hunter

Outlast - Chris Walker, Eddie Gluskin, The Walrider, Richard Trager, Waylon Park, The Twins, Frank Manera, Jeremy Blaire

The Outlast Trials - Big Grunt, Skinner Man, The Screamer, Berserker, Leland Coyle

Resident Evil - Leon Kennedy, Karl Heisenberg, Carlos Oliveira, Luis Serra

Bullet Train - Tangerine, Ladybug

Avengers - Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Texas Chainsaw Massacre - Nubbins, Bubba, Johnny

Friday the 13th - Jason Voorhees

The Hobbit - Thorin, Fili, Kili, Bilbo, Legolas, Thranduil

Assassin's Creed - Connor Kenway, Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Eivor Varinsdottir

The Witcher - Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

Overwatch - Cole Cassidy, Hanzo, Gabriel Reyes, Reinhardt

Snowpiercer - Curtis Everett, Edgar

Knives Out - Ransom Drysdale

Mission Impossible - August Walker

Predator - Yautja

Dead by Daylight - Trapper, Wraith, Hillbilly, Knight, Vittorio, Huntress, Ghostface, Michael Myers, Pyramid Head, the Trickster, Oni, Blight, HUX-A7-13, Leon Kennedy, Alan Wake, Jill Valentine, Dwight Fairfield, Jake Park, Jeff Johansen, Nemesis, The Doctor, Bubba, Demogorgon, The Deathslinger, Albert Wesker, The Unknown

Apex Legends - Mirage, Octane, Fuse, Bloodhound, Crypto, Pathfinder

Sons of the Forest - Kelvin

Criminal Minds - Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan

The Boy - Brahms Heelshire

Haunt (2019) - "Mitch" The Ghost

Red Dead Redemption - Arthur Morgan, John Marston

Will update the fandom list in the future!

[sleepycatofshimano]

The 44080 Entries ➝ an 'The Outlast Trials' fan-fiction by sleepycatofshimano

Reagent 44080 Entry #1 | originally published on Archive of Our Own

Content Warnings Leland Coyle/Female Reagent, Non-con/Implied Non-con Elements, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Age Gap, Branding, Semi-Public Sex, Kink Shaming, Asphyxiation, Angst, BDSM, Teasing/Shaming, Obsession, Oral Sex, Mind Manipulation, Electrifying Sex (literally), Enemies-to-Lovers(?), Slow Burn/Slow Build, Bonding, Some Fluff (!), Diary/Journal Format

︙ This work is rated 'R'; do not interact if you are under the age of 18.

Chp. Word Count 2,849

⬐ Summary

=========

5 June 19xx

It wasn’t all bad. That was the first thing I told myself while I watched three Reagents hobble out from the rusted-metal shuttle, chuckling and cursing amongst themselves as their eyes lay wide and alert. Curious, though, how their lips twitched sadistically at their own shared amusement. Was it simply because of some magical bond obtained through the Trials? Well, I had yet to form such bonds; even after partaking in three Trials myself, the other three Reagents never so much as turned my way once we had exited the Trial. And it remained as such… every single time. Perhaps I wasn’t yet as well-versed in the set design to meet their incredulous standards, but at the end of each tiresome day, I craved some sort of connection in this lonely facility.

Well, there was one Reagent who had recently taken to liking me—or was it the opposite way around? I wasn’t sure. But she was kind enough to uphold my attention, anyway. We had only participated in one Trial together—my third, which was only as early as last night—and already, I knew we had a vigorous understanding of one another’s strengths and weaknesses in the Trials. I was never the greatest at sprinting in times of sporadic need, yet she was there to help guide me through the winding corridors of the Thin Blue Line; even though the other two Reagents had long since made for the Shuttle, she had chosen to jeopardise and extend her time in the Trial to lend a hand. She was foolish and brash, and she would absolutely end up getting herself killed someday soon—but for now, she made an excellent ally to buddy up with for the upcoming therapies.

Though there were no windows in the Murkoff facility, I could tell it was a day of constant downpour and overcast haze; which was why I sat alone, pondering over how many poor souls were left stranded on the streets today. How many did I know? Or, rather, how many knew me? I hoped that number was well below freezing.

‘44080, you’re needed in the infirmary.’

That was the scratchy speaker’s first announcement for the day (eve?), and I do remember choking out a piercing sigh as I rose carefully from the cool, metal bench of the chess table. I had to drag my right leg across the sticky ground of the common area; an area littered always with crumbs, gunk, and sometimes even blood. In doing this, my eyes glazed lazily over every Sleep Room in sight; the second-floor rooms appeared a lot more lively than the first-floor ones, which just so happened to be where my own Sleep Room resided. Reagents were travelling in and out through each others’ rooms, speaking loudly amidst one another as they fidgeted around with the contraband bought from the general store below.

That store was always so tacky—selling chuckas like pink, plastic dildos on mallard mantles and mechanical fingers that could just barely fit through the hole of those stale doughnuts. I never onced dared to put the finger to use.

But my eyes darted thereafter to the large, double-glass window that sat lonely beside Miss Barlow. Her blonde curls looked far frizzier than normal today, and I took silent notice of the smeared lipstick that dragged down one side of her lip. When her large, doughy eyes caught wind of me, she purred sweetly as she rolled forward on her tip-toes, leaning her slender weight against the metal surface of her tiny, medicinal shop. Then, she spoke in a southern twang that many employees and Reagents here held: ‘Darlin’! You miss little ‘ol me already? Awh, Doctor Easterman would be flattered to hear of such admiration all strewn about his precious, lil’ Reagents! A pretty little thing like you, ‘specially!’

I didn’t so much as bat an eye her way, opting to instead continue toward the rectangular window, which peered straight into the hospital wing of the facility. Miss Barlow scoffed at my display of ignorance toward her, and returned quickly to her Harper’s Bazaar magazine for women’s 1950s fashion.

One of the many armed guards nodded toward my slow-moving frame as I passed Barlow’s shop, though he grabbed quickly at my forearm, yanking me through a heavy, iron door as another guard pulled me forward on the other side; I was used to being tossed around in the Murkoff Facility, though with a twisted ankle, not so much… So, I could only wince in pain and hiss through grit teeth as the armed guard merely berated my hobbling frame, without so much as a pint of sympathy.

When I arrived at the curtain-enclosed room, the length of four single-person hospital beds across, I mustered a lopsided grin at the young woman who lay in wake for me.

‘You came!’ she exclaimed, and, ‘Doctor Easterman will be here soon. I’m just elated that you’re here to prove and solidify my case against him.’

The ‘him’ she spoke of was most obviously none other than Leland Coyle; a deranged, middle-aged lunatic who stalked the Murkoff Trials with a reverence far more electrifying than any thrill possible for a human of mortal malevolence and belief. I was no saint—nor was I from the Catholic church. My views were rather… secular, as one could put it. Well, I’m putting it, at least. In this diary. And Leland Coyle was a most secular man of the law. He was known infamously amongst the Reagents for lashing out against us and even some of the Murkoff Corporation staff themselves. Because of this, I often avoided him during Trials—not so much as looking his way when I heard that godforsaken baton sizzling into the musty air of the Thin Blue Line. Of course, it came as no surprise when news broke out amongst the Reagents that one of the female patients had been assaulted by none other than Coyle, and how she now wished to testify against the Murkoff Corporation; a snitch, Doctor Easterman had once said about one soul not so different from the rest of us Reagents.

I remember watching 44100 sob loudly once Doctor Easterman appeared through the large, iron door to the hospital wing. She sat trembling on a thin, cream mattress—as supportive and comfy as cardboard—as he took her in his arms, allowing her to clutch and grasp at his ivory lab coat and chest. Easterman took caring for his patients to a whole different level of the act itself, and it didn’t bode well amidst some of us—no less amidst Miss Barlow. She was in love with Easterman; that damned fool! A manipulative scumbag as cunning as Easterman was not a trap any woman wished to fall upon, but once a lady falls in love, it takes something as stinging and blunt as Coyle’s baton to snap her out.

‘He grabbed me by my ‘lil ‘ol wrists and pinned me against those dirty walls!’ 44100 started, crying hysterically into the pristine white of Easterman’s coat; her southern twang was far more prominent now than it had ever been when the two of us conversed over petty manners in the other’s Sleep Room. ‘It just wasn’t fair—taking advantage of a lady like that!’

Easterman didn’t so much as frown or ease a brow at her pitiful display of trauma from the damned Ex-Pop, and instead, he ran a burly hand through her long, feathered locks of strawberry blonde. He pecked his lips against her forehead, removing her snot-riddled face from his chest as he slid both thumbs under her red and welling eyes.

‘And what did he do next?’ he asked with a sickly sweet lilt.

He knew damn well what Coyle could have possibly done—the cameras! They’re everywhere in this place! Everywhere!

She sobbed again. ‘He spat in my face! Tellin’ me how he’s an officer of the law, and that I was simply a criminal that needed to be tied up like the rest of ‘em sorry souls here!’

It was certainly odd hearing what sort of trauma 44100 had undergone, though it also sounded like the basic nonsense that Coyle would spew at nearly every Reagent to fall into his line of sight. Well, I wouldn’t know this in its entirety, since I had never actually been cornered by Coyle—no less faced him on my own.

Tonight would change that. Tonight would be the night where I would enter a Trial on my lonesome. You see, the fact of the matter was that I had grown bored of stalking the common area from my usual seat at the barren chess table; the Reagents had slowly been falling into their own groups, and that was merely because of the Trials they had undergone. Together. I was merely treating this place like some common prison, when I should really have been utilising the therapy provided with the long stay.

‘44080, do you have any additional insight for both 44100 and I?’ Easterman cooed, turning then to face me. I was seated on the edge of her bed, one hand clutched loosely at my upper thigh while the other hung lifelessly at my side.

‘I only saw the tail end of it all, Doctor. Coyle had been long gone by the time I rounded the corner with my rig. The other Reagents managed to distract him with a bottle or a brick of sorts. I don’t know. It’s all rather hazy now.’ But the truth did not lie in my words; I knew exactly what he had done, and why 44100 had called me here to help testify against Coyle.

And then, Easterman stood from the rickety hospital bed, leaving 44100 to lay in a desperate state of longing for human touch and a physical connection. And I really couldn’t blame her; it had been far too long since the last time I so much as held hands with another, but Easterman had told us to leave it all behind—for the sake of the therapy. And it was working. I was forgetting the pathetic shell of a person I once was—dependent on constant desire and affection—and instead, focusing on getting better. And then he spoke: ‘Then that will be all for today. I thank you for your time, 44080, and I bestow to you my deepest apologies for our staff’s recent behaviour, 44100. But I assure you, this conversation proved only insightful for us here at Murkoff. I wish you two only the best in moving forward with the therapy.’ He dragged a hand across 44100’s slender back, stopping to squeeze tenderly at her shoulder. ‘Until next misfortune we may yet meet.’ And then he was off, without so much as a nod or wave in lieu of a proper good-bye.

It would be a foolish lie to say I wasn’t the least bit jealous of the physical attention 44100 had received during our time in the hospital wing. Immediately, I reached for her shoulder, but she ripped herself violently from my grasp—clutching her shoulder as she stared daggers into my worried gaze.

‘Don’t touch it!’ was all she said.

And it was enough said.

Later that day (eve?) I lay awake in my bed, thinking back to the events of yesterday’s Trial. How Coyle had forced her up against the wall. How he had spat in her face. How he had spoken like a right looney to her and all other passersby (Reagents). How he had toyed with her—the way his sparking baton was dragged slowly up her inner thigh, stopping at no verbal or physical objection from her… How it had reached her core within a matter of seconds… How it had been thrust between her protesting thighs, sparking beautiful sprinkles of blue and white, as though some perverted allegory had engulfed Coyle’s very baton… How he had practically gotten her off with his own fucking weapon supplied by Murkoff… It was all too much—too difficult to forget.

How do I remember all this, you may ask? As Jonathan Harker had mastered in his characterisation in Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel ‘Dracula’, writing in shorthand and acting as (for lack of a better term) a human stenograph has proved quite useful for my writings—so, alas! Here it is. My diary; the only form of contraband keeping me sane… until it is time to get better, I suppose.

I had been so deep in reminiscence over that last Trial, that I couldn’t even pinpoint the exact moment I had started touching myself to the thought of… “him”? It certainly wasn’t 44100’s soft and round face of natural femininity that clouded my mind, but instead, that all-too-familiar baton that sizzled low in the distance of most every Trial I had undergone thus far. Because I had never seen his face up close, it was becoming quickly tricky to materialise any sort of facial expression for Coyle in my mind; his beard looked scruffy—albeit from afar—and his uniform held odd wires that slithered around certain ligaments. His shades were always blocking his own, perverted gaze, and his frame was far lankier than one would expect from an ex-Marine (I had found this out previously from a misplaced file lying atop the chess table one time). This was all I had to go off, yet it still seemed to be enough as I twirled my index fingers against my growing heat, plunging deep beneath the rushing slickness of my folds as I allowed the shitty, single-person bed to conceal the rocking of my own hips—if just for now.

How many Reagents had he forced against the wall?

I imagined myself in 44100’s place; how thrilling it must have been to have had a man as authoritative as Leland Coyle spitting in your face, berating you and praising himself and his duties as he utilised his own weapon for the sake of your own pleasure. Fuck. This. Place. I am going mad! But I couldn’t just bring the fantasy to a halt, you see—it was nearing that time. My thighs clenched together as they sang sweet slickness to me, and I knew that any Reagents passing by my Sleep Room would most surely have heard me, but I didn’t mind. I couldn’t have. Coyle’s baton and that scruffy beard of his were all that surfaced now, and my mind had been long lost to the cosmos of enticing promise(s) and delusional grandeur.

It really didn’t take long to whine out into the stale air of my quarters. The lonely poster of a rat hanging diagonally across the wall was the only thing I made proper eye contact with, and even then I felt ashamed of myself. A clarity of sorts, you could say. You would always hear the muffled chatter and cries of other Reagents, both across the hall and up above, but it was never grounds for distraction when I pleasured myself; especially not now. Not when a deranged lunatic now took the forefront of all fantasy from here on out.

After taking a moment to come down from my high, I decided upon travelling to the communal shower room to clean up before heading up to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. Of course, there were no other Reagents taking a shower before their Trial, as most all of us cleaned ourselves after the chaos that the Trials brought forth. But I had my reasons, and only I had to know this.

Eating the usual slab of unnamed meat and canned, off-brand soup, I was only able to imagine just what may lie in wait for me during my first-ever (and possibly final) Trial alone. Would it prove any more difficult than a regular day in the Trials? Or would I succeed in ways unimaginable? What I meant by the latter, I couldn’t really say; but what I did know was that there was a clear objective at the forefront of my mind: Leland Coyle. Find the man responsible for 44100’s trauma(?) and unfurl just what this Ex-Pop truly had to offer. How dangerous was he? When compared to the other Ex-Pops, just how much of a threat did he pose in the grand scheme of the Murkoff Trials? It felt demoralising and foolish to place my trust in Doctor Easterman, but if I were to garner the courage to go in—alone—I needed to place my hand in Easterman’s own, willingly succumbing to his puppeteering of the other Reagents and hope that the Trial wouldn’t swallow me whole; like it did to others, perhaps I would become simply another prop for the Murkoff Corporation. Would my limbs be strewn about one of the Trial’s sets, or would my body be left untouched—only to be shoved as a distraction to save another Reagent’s very life? Well, on this, neither the former nor latter sounded ideal, and I instead decided to once more lose myself in the idea of Leland Coyle, and the Trial that I would soon be entering. Alone.

Fuck you, Murkoff! Fuck you, Easterman! Fuck you, 44100! And fuck you, Leland Coyle.

=============

-> Entry #2

[makeucrawl]

I would love to see a Coyle/Eastermen drabble id your still up to requests 🥺👉👈

Maybe Eastermen realising hes not the only guy who thinks Coyle is hot and getting jealous? Perhaps reminding Coyle who owns him (Nsfw)

“ShockTherapy” ship

!!WARNING!!NSFW!!

Dr. Easterman had been sitting at his desk, working on paperwork for what seemed like an eternity. He tapped his pen on the desk, feeling slightly bored. His gaze moves to the screen on his desk.

There was a trial going on, and he watched as Sgt. Coyle stabbed a man in the chest with his cattle prod. The officer looked pleased with how the unfortunate reagent's body thrashed on the ground.

Just as the doctor pondered about visiting Coyle later, he noticed something else.

One of the guards behind the enclosed area appeared to be trying to grab the prime assets' attention.

Coyle appeared interested and walked over to the barrier. The two appear to be having a little talk, leaning dangerously close to one other on the fence.

Hendrick felt nothing towards the situation.

Coyle had always been a dog, so witnessing the officer flirting with someone didn't bother him.

It was only after the guard reached through the chain-link fence to grab the prime asset straight between the legs, did the doctor feel his eye twitch.

Coyle leaned closer to the barrier, a wild grin on his face.

The primary asset was thoroughly enjoying the attention.

He was enjoying attention.

From someone else.

Easterman looks away from the screen when he feels something wet on his hand. He had broken his pen, and the ink was all over his hand and on his documents.

With a heavy deep sigh, he shuts off the screen and stands up from his desk.

Coyle was being taken to the director's office. He didn't mind the chains on his wrists and ankles because he knew they would be removed soon. As they neared the massive doors, he smiled broadly.

He wondered what kind of fun they were going to have.

The guards lead him into the office before leaving the two alone.

"Ya just couldn't wait to see me huh?" The officer taunts and shakes his wrists, which are still tied behind his back. "Ya gonna come over here an take these damn things off or what?"

"What happened in the trial today?"

Leland raises an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "The hell you talkin about?…HEY! You said you saw all of my trials!” Coyle scoffs and continues. "Heh as usual I served justice to those stupid fucks." He puffs his chest up proudly, expecting praise.

"What else happened."

The doctor's dark tone was beginning to dampen Coyle's mood. What was it he wanted the officer to say?!

He started to think about everything that happened throughout the trial.

It hits him.

Easterman notices the officer's expression suddenly changing.

"Dunno what yer refferin’ to." Coyle struggles awkwardly on his feet as the cuffs begin to dig in. "Just get over here and get these fuckin’ things off of me! I am the law!!" He realized he was in trouble and wanted to at least try to defend himself.

As Dr. Easterman rose from behind his desk, the cop began to sweat slightly. "Oh come on! It ain’t a big deal! ‘Sides! It ain’t like you've been payin’ me any attention!”

"Oh? Are you looking for attention?”

The doctor grabs the sergeant's tie, tugging him close.

“Allow me to shower you with attention then.”

Leland was surprised when the other kissed him. It wasn't what he expected, but it was preferable to whatever punishment the doctor had planned. He was really enjoying the kiss the deep slow kiss.

Until he felt the other man begin to bite his lower lip.

Coyle struggles, but it seems to make matters worse. Easterman only stopped when he tasted blood.

"You f-fuckin psycho! T-That hurt!" The police officer stuttered, felt blood forming on his lip. He lets out a painful grunt as he is forced back into the couch. His breathing quickens as he watches the doctor crawling over him.

"Heh I uh..I think I've gotten enough attention.." Coyle smiles faintly, but Easterman simply stares down at him with those dark eyes.

The director loosens the prime asset's tie before working on opening his jacket and shirt. Easterman began kissing, beginning with the exposed bare skin of the other's neck.

Again, he was gentle and slow at first before becoming intentionally forceful and rough.

He works his way down Coyle's neck to his stomach, leaving bites and dark markings in his wake.

"Y-You…fucker!" Leland snaps as he sees what the other has done to him. Not even his collared shirt could hide the marks on his neck.

He watches as Hendrick takes something from his pocket, and when he realizes what it is, he begins to thrash.

It was a bright crimson collar with a big bell on it.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Easterman effortlessly places the collar around the huffing “dog's” neck. "You're honestly lucky I don't put a muzzle on you." The doctor spoke in a low, deep tone as he tightened the collar.

"But I actually have use for your loud mouth."

Hendrick now adjusted himself, practically sitting on Coyle's chest. He takes off the other man's sunglasses and cap before grabbing a fistful of the dark graying hair. His free hand proceeds to undo his belt and finally his zipper.

When the doctor notices the officer's face getting red, he smirks.

He taps the tip of his cock on the other’s lips. "Open."

When Coyle refused, Hendrick continued to press the tip against his lips and cheeks until he finally did.

The doctor brings Leland's head forward and shoving the entire length down his throat.

Almost immediately, the man choked and his eyes began to water.

He glances up to Easterman, pleading for air.

"Breathe through your nose, Leland."

Hendrick lets out a breathy laugh as he feels the other exhale heavily against his skin.

"So you can listen…”

He began moving Coyle's head, using his hair as leverage. The big bell on the collar loudly jingled with each movement.

"Then listen carefully….You're mine. Do you understand?"

The possessive doctor stares down at the gagged officer.

"You are mine. Y-You are goddamn mine."

Instead of cumming down the other man's throat, he pulls himself from Leland’s mouth before stroking himself to completion on his face.

Coyle clenched his eyes and winced as he felt the warm, thick fluid strike his face.

He groans weakly as he opens one of his eyes and looks up at the doctor. Easterman stood up and got off of the badly humiliated man, tucking himself back into his pants.

Poor Coyle lay there panting and his hard on twitched against his jeans.

"Do you understand now, Leland?"

"Yes..hnnn D-Doc..Cmon..”

The officer whines for his own release.

Easterman just chuckles at him.

"No."

He says this as he approaches his office's big doors. He opens one and addresses the guards waiting down the hall.

“You can take him."

"W-Wait!"

Coyle sat up quickly on the couch, not wanting to be seen this way.

"Goodbye, Sergeant. Have a good night's sleep. Remember what I told you.”

Easterman assists the police officer in standing and kisses his forehead before allowing the guards to remove him.

As they left, the doctor could hear the tinkling of the collar's bell and the guards mocking the prime asset.

Coyle would do well to remember who he belongs to.

[makeucrawl]

I saw your Young Dr.Easterman art…

C-could you write an AU with young Coyle and Easterman?? 🥺

(((Nsfw….bottom easterman PLS)))

🚔whoop whoop🚔

[sleepycatofshimano]

'The 44080 Entries'

Hello! I have begun writing an The Outlast Trials fan-fiction in diary/journal form, which follows a first-person narrative about one of the many Reagents of the Murkoff Corporation Trials. The story takes place during the 1950s testing of human subjects, and follows Reagent 44080 and her maddening descent into love, lust, and obsession for Ex-Pop Leland Coyle.

BE ADVISED: There is heavy subject matter that follows this narrative, and all trigger warnings and proper tags have been listed on the Archive of Our Own website.

With further ado, attached below is the full synopsis of my story, as well as the link that follows!

WARNING: This work has been fixed into book format. It was originally discovered as diary entries in a Reagent's own usage of personal contraband, written in excessive form of shorthand and intensive detail about her experience during the 1950s Murkoff Corporation Trials, held within the Sinyala facility where human beings were used as test subjects for further testing into brainwashing and absolute mind control over other living, sentient beings during the Cold War. What you are about to read is highly disturbing. This work follows the story of Reagent 44080 and her slow and maddening obsession over former Murkoff employee, Leland Coyle. The diary entries remain unaltered, and have been translated by shorthand professionals, so as to paste every last detail in full on these pages. This story should not act as a form of inspiration or interest to visit the Sinyala facility, but instead, to keep the outside world as far away from the horrors of the Murkoff Corporation as possible. We cannot disclose any personal information on Reagent 44080, nor former Murkoff employee Leland Coyle. The Sinyala facility remains closed to the public. Any trespassers will be executed on-sight, as stated by Colorado state law. Read at your own risk.

[theravencawsatmidnight]

Writing RQ open

Welcome to my blog! I write for MHA/HQ/Genshin Impact, , Harry Potter, Resident Evil Village, Fortnite & The Outlast Trials ( mainly Coyle)

Personal> @catwomanhoe 🖤

Tag) .Raventalks if you wanna filter out my interactions! (When i remember to tag them)

Latest Work🐓