#umm this is my first ss fanfic so i hope u enjoy!

[mel0nbr3ad]

Bite Through the Cartilage 

SUMMARY: An asylum for the criminally insane experiences a riot and Bed, one of the patients, tries his best to break out in one piece. But with other patients holding grudges against him and giving chase, he might not even get out alive. (Very loosely inspired by Outlast.)

                                                     PART I: [BITE]

He didn’t remember his life before this. Didn’t even remember if he had a family, or a house out there. Wasn’t even sure of his own age. Because as far back as he could remember, he had been in this asylum for the ‘criminally insane’.

Kicking and screaming couldn’t even begin to express how much he hated this place. And scratching and biting the guards and doctors hardly quelled his fury over being confined in this shithole. Because he knew that he didn’t belong in here but out there, where the skies were blue and the grass was greener. There wasn’t even any grass here in the yard! Just broken concrete! What was even up with that?! There was just one big dead tree!

He had bitten so many guards and doctors that they never tried to get him to take his meds alone. And even when being held down and forced, he always made sure to draw as much blood from them as possible right before the sedatives kicked in.

The ‘meds’ seemed nothing more than drugs to keep patients compliant and quell their violent tendencies, but Bed puked up the little pills when no one was looking. And sometimes he even got away with not being given them at all, as some guards didn’t want to go near him. Or there was corrupt guards like Chief, who cared more to chat with patients than to do much else. Hell, Bed was sure he had seen Chief passing smuggled items to other patients more than once.

But there were of course the bad kind of corrupt guards. Like one that had really had it out for Bed, and had actually chucked him in solitary confinement with a particularly violent patient with red hair. And though the patient had been safely tied up in a straitjacket, Bed had sat in the opposite corner, unable to sleep while the guy’s cold eyes had been on him, piercing into his soul. And they hadn’t even said a word to each other during the agonisingly long hours they had spent together.

There wasn’t really any patients that Bed got along with. It was hard to make friends when he was constantly trying to tear the guards to pieces and threatening the doctors with more than a few colourful words. And then losing track of the days, weeks, and months until he no longer knew how long he had been in this asylum. For all he knew, it could have only been a month.

He didn’t understand how patients like Criken could just be so compliant, and follow the rules without losing his shit. And could keep on a friendly smile and casually talk to the guards as if they were old friends, and not the ones keeping everyone locked up like prisoners. Something about Criken’s positive attitude made Bed wary of him, so he stayed the hell away from Criken as best he could.

Buck was an interesting patient, as while he was loud and sounded intimidating from afar, when you saw his face that fierce image broke. He was almost as compliant as Criken, though he was prone to so many loud outbursts that not all the guards were fond of him, and some patients even feared him. But he didn’t seem to be that bad of a guy.

There was also Zuthar who was timid when caught alone, but would switch his tune when backed up by his various ‘goons’. And weirdly enough he did have many goons, but as menacing as they could be they could be just as stupid (literally his own description of them). And that stupidity had led to many guards, and them, getting injured. Still, watching the riots that the group would incite was fun to watch from afar, as short-lived as they were.

And of course how could anyone forget Lawlman? For some reason, he seemed to have gathered a large following who would all go on and on about him as if he were the air they breathed. Honestly they were kind of creepy with their obsession, not that Lawlman had an issue with all the attention, as they always guarded him from harm.

Supposedly, a prisoner named Zyke had once escaped the asylum by jumping (or falling) from a window but this was just some rumour. To this day, patients scoured the asylum looking for the fabled window he had escaped out of, though it was likely repaired and locked by now.

Bed had definitely tried looking for the said window, between his escape attempts. Because despite being a ‘patient’ this place seemed more prison-like to the point that Bed wasn’t even sure if anyone was actually being cured of their mental illnesses, if they even had any at all. Because it seemed like rather than anyone getting better, instead they just got worse. And Bed was very sure that whoever he was before, had been sane. And now? Well, it wasn’t surprising that he was less so. But he wasn’t all the way insane—not yet.

Today it seemed like the guards were more on edge, and everyone’s meds and appointments with the doctors had been put on hold. And, as so many patients were addicted to all the drugs, more fights were breaking out than usual. And Bed, who had managed to already go a whole week faking taking the pills, was feeling more coherent than ever. His movements were faster, and he was able to think clearly and be more aware of his surroundings.

By the afternoon, Bed had witnessed three different guards be attacked by patients, with one having been stabbed in the neck with a plastic fork. So, unfortunately, all patients were to be put in lockdown and locked up in their cells. And as everyone walked to their cell-blocks, that’s when the power cut out suddenly.

“The fated day has arrived, brothers! Attack! ATTACK!” Lawlman yelled in the dark, and when the lights flickered back on almost instantaneously the guards were frenzied with mobs of patients.

When the guards were all down, the patients began attacking each other, maddened on their highs for blood-lust, and enjoying the drastic change from their boring lives as prisoners. And Bed watched from a corner as patients choked each other, poked eyes out, and bit so hard into each other that they tore out chunks of flesh.

Woah, he thought. What kinda therapy or drugs have these guys been on?

Due to his violent tendencies, Bed often got out of going to therapy as he was put in solitary confinement so much. And he was so glad he did. He knew that it wasn’t just the ‘meds’ that could make patients go crazy. And he had heard whispers of something bigger going on. Of rumoured ‘human experiments’.

Bed dodged through the mob, using his size and speed to his advantage, narrowly avoiding fists and feet. And he made it to where there was less fighting, where Criken was talking to a barely conscious guard in a friendly tone.

“If you give me the keys, then I swear I’ll get us both out of here,” Criken said to the guard, his body language and expression seeming so genuine that Bed couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable, watching the exchange. “I don’t want to die here, and neither do you. I bet you have a nice family back home, and no job is worth risking your life. So what do you say, pal?”

The guard nodded as he trembled and gripped a ring of keys in his hand, and slowly extended it to place it in Criken’s outstretched hand—only for Bed to have swiped them.

Criken turned to Bed, gobsmacked, and looked even more shocked seeing who he was. “Bed? Why would you…”

Bed backed away and quickly spotted the way out, but it was across the cell-block and he had to go back through the rioting patients. And it didn’t look like they were going to calm down any time soon.

“Bed, give them back, please.”

Bed shook his head. “Or what?! You’ll kill me?!”

Criken slowly walked over and for each step forward, Bed took a step back. “Of course not. We’re friends, aren’t we? We can all escape together. Isn’t that what you want?” he said, with such a sickly calm tone, as if Bed were a frightened animal—like a frightened piece of prey to be hunted.

“Friends?! Are you kidding me?! I don’t even know you!” And with that, Bed bolted away.

“BED!”

But Bed ignored the outcry, and continued on towards his destination. And he managed to get through the mob alive to the locked door. As quick as he could, he unlocked it, and winced when it creaked loudly, and was well aware that patients close by had been alerted to the noise.

He didn’t bother wasting time locking the door behind himself, and slipped the ring of keys onto his thin wrist as he ran. And as he ran through the solitary confinement cell-block, he started unlocking doors left and right, but pushed none open. All to cause more chaos, because he knew that more guards would be on the scene. He hoped that these patients were thinking clearly enough to be able to punch a few guards out, rather than be useless and sit around drooling.

The last cell door he unlocked was pushed open by its occupant immediately, who made Bed’s blood run cold at seeing the red hair, and the lack of a straitjacket. And just like the last time they had met, the guy said nothing and merely glared at Bed with malicious intent. If Bed had been feeling less on edge, then he would have joked about the guy’s expression being merely ‘grumpy, having probably just awoken from a nap after being oh so rudely disturbed by all the noise.’

Bed ran, again, not sticking around for a staring match, knowing he was too on edge to try to win (and didn’t want to risk being attacked by the guy). And like he had predicted, guards had indeed entered with nightsticks, beating patients, but seemed to be losing, the patients using their weapons for themselves.

And when Bed risked looking behind, he noticed with dread that the guy was definitely following after him, elbowing guards and patients out of the way, not letting anything stop him. And Bed supposed there was a reason why the guy seemed to be permanently in solitary confinement. It seemed like it was the only thing that could contain his raw fury.

Bed, like his life depended on it (which it did), ran like hell, barely avoiding obstacles, and almost slipping more than once, only able to maintain his balance due to his reflexes. And it didn’t help that there were so many bodies on the ground, unconscious and otherwise, and slippery puddles of blood. Like how rude was it to just splatter blood all over the floor? He couldn’t help but tut at the mess.

After going through a few more doors, he managed to make it to the backyard and when he looked behind himself, no one was there. He could hear distant screaming but his tail had gone. So for now, he was safe. Or as safe as one could be during a riot and murder-spree. So he pushed the ring of keys higher up on his arm, and slid his sleeve over them.

Small snowflakes were drifting down from the sky, and Bed already missed the inside heating. Because if there was one thing he could appreciate about this shithole, it was that. While there was still daylight, the temperate wasn’t too bad outside, but night was fast approaching and long.

In the yard, oddly enough, was Chief, Zuthar, and his gang of goons. And the goons, for whatever reason, were all stuck in the lone dead tree like cats, huddled together and calling down to the duo.

“Tim, I told you to go up there and get them all down,” Zuthar said, bewildered. “Not get stuck too! You’re meant to be the competent and brave one!”

“Since when? And hell, it was fucking Tom that suggested we try and climb this stupid tree. Blame him.”

“Yeah, fuck Tom!” Chief agreed, not at all helping the situation despite being a guard. And he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Fuck me? Fuck you!”

“Hey! Get down here and say that to my face!”

“No, fuck you, pig!”

“Don’t make me come up there!”

Bed approached, as he had to pass through the yard anyway to get to the next door. So he had no choice but to interact with them, though he wasn’t sure why the fuck they were out here, when barely an hour ago everyone had been meant to head to their cells. But he supposed that Chief had slacked on the job and hadn’t taken the lockdown seriously.

“Hey, Bed,” Chief said casually, as if he hadn’t just threatened another patient with brutality.

“Hey.”

Zuthar, less comfortable with Bed’s presence than Chief was (probably due to the fact that he had witnessed Bed stabbing another patient in the eye in the cafeteria one time), edged back a little. He edged towards the tree, probably considering climbing up and being with his goons. But Zuthar’s meekness definitely hid a scarily efficient leader (when he could wrangle everyone to focus on one objective, and not on bullying each other).

“What the fuck is even going on in there?” Chief asked, pointing to where the riot was happening. “Are they holding a party or something? I turned off my radio because it was giving me a headache.”

Oh, well, that does explain a lot. And doesn��t surprise me. “Kind of, but it’s a boring party with a lot of speeches.”

“Boooring,” agreed Chief. “…Why are you covered in blood, though?”

Bed looked at his uniform, which indeed was splattered with droplets of blood. And his hair and face were probably less than pretty. “Got into a fight with another patient. I won, of course.”

Rather than be concerned, Chief merely laughed. Often Bed wondered if the guy had a criminal history, as it was hard to shock him about this sort of stuff, and he stuck around with Zuthar and his boys way too much. As if they had all known each other on the outside.

“Yeah, fuck those other patients up! Less patients means less of you fuckers to keep track of. And hey, if I didn’t see it then there’s no need to report it. Not my pay-grade!”

Chief was one of the few guards that Bed had never attacked. “Haha, yeah… Never change, Chief, never change.”

He went on ahead, walking, not wanting to seem suspicious. And as he went through the next door, he never once stopped or hesitated from warning them of the truth.

If there was one thing Bed knew, it was to not trust anybody, especially those that seemed genuinely nice and friendly. He was going to escape out of this shithole alone one way or another, and not a soul was going to stop him.