Play@YSDC

The exhaustion peels back from his mind in layers, snaking its tendrils back into itself, and allowing his consciousness to float back to the surface of a sedated world. Jack's eyes flicker open, close, then open again, still drawn to shut by an uncanny fatigue that creeps through his bones. His injuries don't hurt but his neck does and when he twitches his toes he can't feel his left leg. He's lying on something hard, cold, and damp. Tiles or linoleum. Something like that. The air smells musty with a hint of a chemical tang. Above him is the metal underbelly of some sort of table with hydraulic legs that could lift it or drop it. Looking around, he sees several drains interspersed across the floor. The room is lit by several fluorescent lights on a sagging ceiling that has, in places, dropped to litter the floor with ceiling panels. The hiss of his pocket radio plays in his ears. His shotgun is nowhere in reach but he still does have his switchblade at least. Reaching into his pockets, he can feel the warm edge of the small flashlight.

"Am I.... Am I in the morgue?!" Jack tried to stagger up and failed, causing a loud crash. "Crap, more of them are around.... How did I even get here?!"

He flicked on the flashlight and shone it around him.

The small flashlight gives a weak glow but it's hardly needed in a room filled with fluorescent lights. Still, it's good to know the thing still works. The morgue doors are mostly open, some of the operating tables partially pulled out, or dropped on the floor, as though someone had hastily searched through them without regard for the bodies or any general sense of tidiness. The hospital is as quiet as everywhere else, but for the sound of his own breathing and footsteps, he might have thought he'd gone deaf.

Jack tapped on his left leg and tried to get up...

Jack manages to stand but his left leg is quite deadened from how he's slept on it. He also has a kink in his neck which makes it painful to turn his head.

Not an ideal situation to find oneself in. Jack growled.

He limped towards the door. Perhaps he could find a better weapon than his switchblade somewhere outside. Perhaps he could even manage to find some help... Ash said Katie was here, right? Perhaps he could find her as well...

With each step Jack takes, the bodies in the white sheets jiggle and move, as though his very footsteps were drawing them from their eternal slumber. The sheets themselves are each painted with a letter in thick red paint but he can't make out all the letters without approaching them, and in some cases, opening the morgue doors so he could see what was inside. If anything was.

Jack turned from the doors to stare at the bodies. Moved on by some unnatural curisosity, he moved towards the bodies to examine them.

The bodies twitch and shudder with each and every step but seem incapable of moving apart from that. The bodies that he can see each have a red letter: ATMHESOHRE. There are three morgue doors that are shut. Perhaps there are remaining letters inside of those trays that might provide additional insight into what is going on in this mad resort town.

He wordlessly flipped out his switchblade.

"Sure, bodies have been giving me good clues lately. Why should this be different?"

He opened the last remaining morgue doors and dragged out the slabs.

Two more letters: A and N. In the final tray sits no corpse. Instead there are words written on the tray itself in red paint: 4132 brings the kiss of life.

The jumble of words meant nothing to him. Disgusted, he stepped away from the bodies.

"4132... Maybe a room number? Letters? Phone code? Date? What does it mean?" he mumbled. He turned towards the door. He had nothing left to do in the morgue.

The letters mean something vital but he is instinctively aware that he might never determine the answer. Still, that other number could come in handy - though he is guaranteed to forget it if he doesn't write it down somewhere. The morgue door rattles in its frame. Locked. His radio hisses to life: "Jack? Are you there? Are you there, Jack?" It's Ash's voice, if he's not mistaken. Well, he had given her the other hands-free radio / walkie talkie. "Please be there!"

"Ash? Ash?! You are okay?!" he yelled into the radio. He paused as he dug through his pockets for the diary and the pen.

"Where are you?"

He quickly transcribed ATMHESOHREAN on the diary along with the numbers 4132.

"I-I managed to kick it off of me and I ran... I'm in some sort of theatre. I don't know what it's called. I'm hiding in one of the change rooms." She pants into the radio. "I'm hurt pretty bad. I-I didn't even think the radio would ... that you'd hear me. Oww... I-I'm not sure if I'll make it. I lost a lot of blood. I just wanted to say I... I'm... I'm sorry. You should find ... find Rochelle. I think she knows more ... more about what's ... what's happening. The deals ... the drugs ... I know you didn't agree but... Oh shit, they're getting closer. I can hear them. Find her." She coughs wetly. "Over and out." The radio drops back to its regular gentle static.

"Hello? Is somebody out there?" Jack yelled, tapping on the door.

There's no response.

Jack took out his lockpicks and began tweaking at the door. Of course, he did not expect it to work but...

*Click*

Enter Murray's Thread Here.

Re-Entered Thread From Here.

Jack is now down a switchblade and standing in a disused hospital corridor, alone once more, with one last unmarked door left to explore to find that blasted generator. Assuming he can get it working again. Still, short of climbing the brickwork to the second floor and hoping he can smash a window, this is the only option he has left.

Jack sighed. He had to work quickly now, but at least Ash will be safe.

He walked over to the last, unmarked door, and opened it.

The large room contains little more than a large generator and a few diesel drums. Unfortunately, generator mechanics weren't his strong suit. He tried pushing the 'On' button but it didn't do anything. Maybe it needed to be re-fuelled or maybe there was a fuse that needed changing in the generator control panel. It was hard to say. There should be a Safe Operating Procedure somewhere that would outline what needed to be done to make the generator work. Or perhaps some sort of Operational Manual. Perhaps in the cupboard in the generator room? Or maybe in one of the offices he'd passed? Or he could just try re-fuelling it and hope he pours it in the right hole to the right level and what-not.

Jack opened the cupboard in the generator room and dug around.

The cupboard seems to be full of little more than glorified cleaning products. The machine itself does seem to have something etched onto it but it looks like someone has actually tried to file off all of the details. Looks like he'll either need to find the hard copy somewhere or take a leap of faith. Someone, or something, really wants to keep him separated from his shotgun.

"Fuck you, town, I had enough of your shenanigans," Jack muttered as he pushed the barrels of oil close to the machines.

He selected a likely-looking hole in the machine and then poured in the amount of oil which he felt was sufficient.

Then he pressed the on button and made out of the room like rat out of hell before the generator blew.

It takes an irritating amount of time to fill it with oil but the reaction, once he hits the button, is instantaneous. The generator growls to life, rattling and shaking with a dangerous sound, and a final few pops chase him out into the hall, before it finally settles to a low rumble, though none of the lights come back on. He heads up to the first floor, past the two spaces where the bodies of the men were once but are now gone, and finds himself standing before the elevator.

'Do Not Use The Lift In An Emergency' -- a lovely sentiment on that nearby sign.

Still, there's only one way to be sure. Press the 'call button'.

He pressed the call button.

The worst thing that could happen is that he could get crushed to death. Scratch that. Worst thing that could happen was that there was a man-eating monster inside the elevator.

He edged a little bit away from the elevator door.

The elevator doors pinged open to reveal...

...a black-and-white marbled flooring in an elevator large enough to receive multiple hospital beds. A few quick stabs of the flashlight beam reveals that the ceiling, too, is clear of monsters and that the elevator panel just inside the doors and to the right is lit up to show B 1 2 3.

Jack went inside the elevator and pressed the button labeled 2.

The doors close smoothly before him and, lacking the tinny elevator music that would've made this more classic, begins to slowly ascend. There's something strange about elevators that service few floors, they always seem to take longer to get off the ground, and for a moment, in that dimly lit interior (at least there's lights on in here) it almost feels like maybe it won't move. Maybe he's stuck here. Caught. But no, there's a sudden lurch as the elevator rises that single floor in an incredibly slow fashion and, with another ding, the doors slide open.

He didn't trust this hospital at all.

He snuck out of the elevator as quietly as possible and hid in the nearest cover, quickly surveying the area.

The nearest cover is an old hospital gurney with a suspicious lump lying under the moldy and blood-stained sheet but it will do in a pinch.

There doesn't appear to be anyone, or anything, else in this corridor though it is noticeable damper in here with slight puddles across the floor.

At least he knows how to step lightly ... though how much that'll help someone with a flashlight is anyone's guess.

Jack removed the sheet from the hospital gurney.

There's nothing beneath the sheet but a human-shaped burn mark on the gurney's blood-soaked mattress.

Dang!,I've always wanted to do that in every Silent Hill and Survival Horror game I've played.

"There was something here. It's gone now," Jack muttered.

He walked through a random corridor. He didn't have a map of this area and where he ended up was going to be a pure guess work.

The corridors held a simple U-shaped design and there was no reason to doubt that this would hold the same as he had seen the building from the outside. He turned right at the end of the corridor and ended up trying the busted doors that split the corridor in half. There are plenty of doors all around him that he could try, either immediately to the left or immediately to the right being the most obvious choices. The one on the right was labeled 'Nurse's Station'.

Jack opened the doors to the Nurse's station and entered it.

There's a lot of fresh blood and gory giblets splattered all over the floor and lower parts of the cupboards with smears here and there that suggest that someone had a good roll around in it down there. There's also shoeprints that have tracked several ways through the muck, though it seems to have pointedly tried to avoid stepping in the majority of it. There's a door around the other side.

Show,And here you are again.

The nostalgic quality to the building is gone replaced by an icy ... nothingness. It's not cold. Not truly cold. It's just a numbing nothingness that wraps around him like a cloak and he can feel her tear herself away from him with a gut wrenching lurch until he can barely even remember what it felt like to beside her. Yet, as if on cue, as his footsteps slow as he nears the hotel's front doors, he hears his mobile phone go off in his pocket. Putting it to his ear, his footsteps echoing on the tiled floor, he hears a familiar voice: "Oh God, Jack, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should never've done it, I didn't think you were real, or you were human, and I was scared, but I should never have drugged you, I thought you were, Oh God, I thought you were one of them, the Order, you're meant to be dead, but I think they're after me and they may be after you as well ... and Rochelle ... oh fuck, what do I do? What did I get myself into? I think ... I think there's something more going on and I ... you must hate me but I ... but you ... oh God ... it's their fault ... they did this to you ... the Order.... I think they even got Rochelle. Shit, I hear movement. I-I gotta go."

With that, without pause for him to comment (you can add attempts to comment or intervene in the flow of dialogue at any point that she was talking if you wish as it won't change her babble), she hangs up.

"I'm coming for you next, Ash," Jack muttered under his breath as he heard the woman hang up. "Sit tight."

He limp-walked his ways towards the front doors of the hotel and jerked it open.

The streets are dark, dank, and empty, as he steps through the doorway and down to the curving driveway that connects with the car park. As he heads along the street, he notices that he is the only thing he hears. There's no dogs barking, no heavy ambience of thick fog, no faraway creaks of old gates, just perfect silence but for his own breaths and the rat-tat of his shoes against the asphalt as though he were pacing a stage. As he strikes out to the road, he sees that the road is lined by a string of streetlights that wink out around him yet light the air with a flimsy, empty glow in the distance as though it were determined to keep him forever in shadows, the light immediately before and after him winking out as he passed. The shadows seem to cling to him, wrapping around him, but there's no impediment to his movement. The town feels oddly silent, oddly still, oddly safe, and a faraway memory skirts the edges of his mind of a street just like this that he had run with desperate terror down ... but that was another life for him now.

He crosses the bridge and sees a thick spiderweb stretching across the machinery and the little tower that raises and lowers the bridge but its easy to bypass its glittering, thick strings, and ignore the vague skuttlings of insectile legs behind him, as he heads with a sort of eerie precision down all of the right streets toward the theatre. As he draws closer, the sky lightens as though dawn were steadily approaching though he knows the sun will never again shine on Silent Hill. Not here, anyway, and he continues on as the air becomes lit up and foggy and the odd creaks and groans and swish of branches in the wind come to his ears again. As he turns onto the street, he hears a gunshot. One, two. Then silence. The shots came from behind the old building.

Show,You may prepare here as you wish, try to head through the front door, or go around the back and join [b]Murray's[/b] thread.

Blink.

The streetlights near the theatre's main entrance gave out, placing Jack's form hidden under the shadows of the town looming over him. So Ash was here. She sounded so panicked. She said that she drugged him, didn't she? So she lied to him. Tricked him. Didn't even had the courtesy to suggest that he was dead.

He took out a deck of tarot cards from his pockets and picked up a card. The Fool again

Honestly he didn't really care that she lied to him. All he knew was that the dumb broad had no idea what was coming for her.

He put the card inside his breast pocket.

"Welcome to hell, you dumb detective," Jack muttered as he pulled the shotgun out. "Let's see who finds Ash first. You, the person she's running from, or me, a stranger."

He pulled open the doors to the theatre and stepped in. "Ash?" he yelled. "Are you here?"

The lights outside blinked back on as the door closed behind him.

There's no response to his calls. No reason to believe that there's anyone in here. An empty and dilapidated foyer opens up before him, lit only by the greasy, sickly sunlight slanting in through the largely papered over the window glass. It's an old-fashioned theatre, still very much in the 1940s style from when it was last renovated, and that shows in its cracked walls and faded red carpet. There are doors that lead into the theatre itself, or the little box office, or up the stairs. So many places to choose from. So many places for her to hide.

1940s style. Setting of a Noir film? That detective seemed to be straight out of some Noir film.

Didn't really act like one.

He pushed open the doors to the theatre and walked down its aisles. "Aaaaaash!" He was fighting against time here. He knew that. If the detective got to her first, well... That simply won't do.

He turned on his clip-on radio and set it to transmit. "Hello, Ash," he whispered through the radio.

Her voice responds over the radio, slurred, like she's either drunk or hopelessly exhausted. "Jack, you sexy bastard, you're coming for me.... Who would've thought I'd have some hot prick searching for me...."

Jack smiled. "Where in the theater are you, Ash?

I'm here because of you."

She chuckles. A dry, humorless sound. "Don't kid yourself. You got it the wrong way round, honey."

"Guess I always was a sucker for a pretty face and a too good to be true heart."

She sighs deeply and he hears her swallow something. Perhaps she is drinking?

"You really were something. Over."

The radio crackles as she awaits his reply.

"You sound as if you are drinking, hon," Jack said sickeningly sweetly. "Are you at Annie's Bar? I didn't think they stocked liquor in the theater. Unless they did so at the shop inside it."

"I'm always drinkin', ain't that the truth," she slurred at him. Then she giggled abruptly. "Think I'm still at that damn theatre, huh? Been hours. Days even. Y'know, I worried, damn you.... Never trust a pretty face. Ain't that the truth. You gotta finish what you started. You gotta fight your programming. Make 'em burn. Make 'em pay. That's what I'm gonna do. Starting with him.... The director of this whole goddamned farce. Take a look. Follow the money. You'll see what I saw."

"What did you see?" Jack said, suddenly demandingly. "Where did the trail begin? What director?

Are those the people that did this to..."

"Can't remember details, too drunk," she says by way of explanation. "I'm sure you'll find it. One of the offices. Somethin' like that. How's Cecie? She find Katie all right? What happens in this town ... I dunno. Maybe she was never here."

Then she pauses and when she resumes speaking, her voice has a flirtatious tilt to it.

"So, sexy, how're you gonna do it? How're you gonna kill me? Gonna wrap them big hands round my little neck or you gonna fill me full of holes with that gun? Maybe slit me open with that knife of yours?"

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds almost as if you want to die. Do you want to die, Ash? Of course you do. No normal person would've just dropped everything and came to backwater town of Silent Hill unless they wanted to off themselves."

"Oh, by the way, Katie's dead. Cecie's probably moping around at the Lake right now. Maybe she'll drown herself. Maybe she won't. I would like to stop her but..." he chuckled. "She doesn't need me anymore. Besides, that abomination's going to be trying to eat her soon. You, on the other hand..." He giggled.

"Maybe.... just maybe... you can still save her from offing herself. You know, Katie dying is kind of your fault if you think about it. Maybe if you didn't try and drag her into the vacation to Silent Hill, then maybe Katie would've never have done anything so dangerous as to... swim in the lake alone! Hey, wait a second..." Jack paused, smiling. "You weren't hitting on her when you tried to get her to go to a vacation with you, were you? Maybe try out how the fairer gender felt like in bed before you die? No? Pushing it too far? Hmm?"

He laughed.

"It's kind of funny. You've come here to have a final fling and not be a... pain in the ass... to anyone else anymore... and you STILL can't help but be a nuisance to a whole lot of people!"

"But don't worry. I've got a plan for you. I've always got a plan... It combines both excitement and atoning for your sins, so it's the best kind of plan ever. Why don't you and me get together and stop Cecilia from doing a potentially...VERY SILLY thing of a permanant nature... and then we light up the town and then do whatever you want for a while! Maybe get this director fellow and the guy who killed me. You know, doing good things in the name of justice. Oh, and then I kill you. I'll let you decide how you die! By the way, I wouldn't recommend strangulation. I don't think I'm strong enough to do it quickly."

"Oh, and don't ask me why I don't do these things alone. It's a strange dead thing. Don't think too hard about it. It worked fine for me so far."

There's a long silence and then Ash said, "I never really thought about it like that but ... you're right. I've been selfish. I've been so very selfish. I can't even kill the Order because ... Shepherd's Glen, huh? That's what happens when you ignore it. This place ... this is probably the best that this place can be ... other than a wasteland. I'm sorry, Jack. I can't wait for you right now. I have to go. I have to find her. I have to finish what you started. You'll have to wait a little longer for your chance to ... to do whatever it is that your kind do. I need to.... I know what I need to do. Over and out."

The radio returns to simple static.

"Take your time, Ash," Jack said, smiling.

"I can always wait for you."

But then again it probably was too late for Cecie anyways. Jack shrugged on the inside. Based on that lady's mental state, she probably was a bloated corpse somewhere inside a lake by now. He took out one of the cards, a Queen of Cups, and then looked at it with a slight sense of longing before pocketing it separtely from the deck. "Goodbye, Cec. I liked yah, though you could have been a teeny bit more street savvy."

He walked out of the theatre room and began to walk upstairs. While he still had the calm exterior, he was raging on the inside. Cecilia was HIS. Did that little abomination really think that she could get away with stealing her away from him right in front of his eyes?

The little devil was a dead little devil if he caught sight of her again.

But now, he had to find that office before Murray got his dirty little 1940s paws on it.

The foyer is as old-fashioned and dusty as when he'd left it and he passes through it quickly on his way toward the doors that led up the stairs. There were movie posters hanging off the walls, little voyeuristic faded shots of attractive women in dangerous situations, being menaced by all sorts of violent masculine enemies. He reaches the door at the end of the landing and pulls it open, revealing a short darkened corridor that forces him to put the flashlight on. The door immediately to the right is locked but the one slightly further on opens up onto the balcony seats where stale popcorn and spilled coke decorate the old red chairs. The curtains on the stage are swept back (they weren't before) to reveal a large dropped white 'curtain' ready for a cinematic showing rather than the usual theatrical productions. He can see the lighting box at the end of the balcony seats but to get in there he'd have to go in through the other locked door.

Oh well, at least up here he can get a decent vantage point on everything in this large room.

Jack clapped his hand in glee as he caught isght of the lighting box. He pulled out his lockpicks and tried to unlock the door.

Failing miserably, he let out a disappointed grunt as he tried to look for another, perhaps more unconventional path to reach the lighting box. Maybe he could clamber over something?

Or maybe there was a key dropped around here or something... Hmm...

The door is locked over in the corridor but he could always try to break the windows to get inside. While that technique doesn't generally work here, there's no reason not to give it a resounding thwack just in case. There may be a dropped key, perhaps back in the ticket office, or somewhere behind the stage.

Jack gave the windows of the lighting box a resounding thwack with the butt of his shotgun.

The window glass cracks and then shatters noisily under the second blow, allowing him entrance, though the gap is quite small and jagged with inset pieces of glass. He'll have to climb up (roll, please) pretty carefully if he doesn't want to get hurt.

Jack gave the surrounding area of the glass another beating in order to enlarge the hole.

No sense getting gutted now.

The glass shards are largely broken out of their mounting but there's still very small fragments embedded in the window. In the gloomy interior, he can make out a modern projector and a laptop on the table beneath him and a rear wall covered in canisters. The walls themselves have old movie posters in abundance, and the spare space across the table are covered in cigarette butts and energy drinks.

He used his gloved hands to clear up some of the glass shards away before struggling to climb over into the light box. Now didn't they broadcast out messages out from the lightbox or something? Maybe he could use a equipment here to get that detective's attention...

His precautions prevent him from taking any serious damage, and he manages to slowly and uncoordinatedly haul himself through the hole and onto the desk, almost but not quite knocking the projector over. There was certainly a microphone sitting on the wall beside an On button that he could use to draw attention into this room.

Jack smiled at the microphone and pressed the On button.

"Hello there, Detective, can you hear me?" Jack whispered through it.

"Of course you can. Welcome to Silent Hill, detective. I am your... tonight's... entertainment."

"Still looking for Ash?" Jack said, fooling around with the projector. "I hope you aren't hoping that some silly documents will help you find where she is. She's not here anymore. But where is she now, I wonder..."

A soft chuckling.

"Just kidding. I know where she is. In fact, I just spoke with her right now. You were soooo slow, detective, yah know that? She's been waiting in this town for days for you, entrapped. If only you focused on what's important and cut corners whenever you could..." He tsked.

A short pause.

"You have no idea what you are getting into, don't you?"

"Ah, nevermind. I can't hear you anyways. The movie's about to start, Murray. I hope you enjoy the show."

Done. That should get him running into the auditorium soon. He had to act quickly to capitalize on this.

He quickly fiddled with the projector in order to turn the device on.

The projector flicks open though it is currently projecting merely white light as there's nothing inside the contraption.

He may need to pick something.

Jack turned on the laptop and as it powered up (or not...), he wandered over to the canisters to search through it.

Surprise of all surprises, it actually seems to have enough power to start lighting up.

The canisters show all sorts of familiar movie names but one strikes him as particularly appropriate:

Heartless.

Jack placed the canister labeled Heartless into the projector

The Heartless slots neatly into the projector.

He presses the Play button and tries the door leading outisde the booth.

The door isn't locked from this side and it opens smoothly and easily, allowing him into the short stretch of corridor behind where the upper tier seats would be.

[

He walked down the stairs. Might as well get off this floor for now. Didn't want to waste too much time.

He didn't notice any offices upstairs. Maybe they were at the back of the stage? He began to walk towards that direction, walking down the aisle.

Jack finds his way down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the center aisle with plenty of time to spare as the projector lights up the screen with a flickering black image. Every so often, a number can be glimpsed, slowly counting down.

Show,You can see it from inside the Lighting Box. I assumed you'd left the room. Unfortunately, you'll need to sign post it more if you don't want me to make that assumption as 'try the door' often means head out the door. All good. You can always go back. There'll doubtless be ads beforehand anyway! Stupid cinemas....

Jack paused to pick up a few pieces of stale popcorn from the floor and popped them into his mouth mindlessly. Strange, the detective wasn't here yet. Maybe he wised up. Or maybe he just got distracted in yet another tangent. No matter what the case was, he was free of him. For now anyways. He was sure that they would meet again.

He stared at the numbers blankly.

The number count reaches 0 and then the screen goes black. A slow, lingering drum roll sounds through the speakers, followed by a flickering, grainy image of a pine forrest. Someone's moving between the trees, ducking this way and that, peering back over her shoulder on occasion. She almost seems to teleport, as the grainy film seems to jump forward and back, like someone spliced the film reel wrong, so that it appears that she's moving forward, then thrown back in a flicker. The camera follows her from above, seeming to watch her through its lens, and as she moves it's hard not to recognise the gait even before her face is caught in shot. It's Rochelle.

Jack munched on some more stale popcorn that he found in a popcorn bag left behind next to him. Now this was interesting. Maybe this video will help him track her down or something. he watched further on.

The flickers pause and the film goes black with the odd whitish ring that appears here and there from defects in the film. Then there's a crack of light that slowly opens up to reveal a blindingly grey sky, tall pine trees, and the edge of a boot. A man stands by the boot, a shovel in one hand, though his face is hidden by the gas mask part of a Hazmat suit. He reaches in and grabs hold of a woman's arm and yanks her out and over the edge of the boot, she stumbles and almost falls, dark hair in the way, as though he were peering through her eyes. She struggles silently in his arms and he shoves her to the ground.

The camera frees itself from the first person perspective to float up and gaze down at Rochelle as she's dropped to the dirt road, and the man plants a booted foot on her chest, the shovel dangling over her throat, then raising over to her lips. She seems drugged, her eyes roll, and she struggles to rise up beneath the boot, but she's going about it all wrong. There's no way she could apply enough leverage like that to even somewhat manage to shift him.

"Oh Rochelle, you silly twit. What did you get yourself into this time?" Jack muttered out aloud.

He didn't think about who filmed this thing. He learned better than to ask too many questions in this odd little town.

The film flickers, changes, and now shows Murray in black-and-white glory, all long shadows and contrasting patches of light, as he walks down the corridor followed by a local drag queen, practically a celebrity in these narrow-minded parts. The two approach one of the doors and Murray checks it, but the door doesn't open. Locked or stuck, who would know? It looks like its being filmed on a long angle down shot from within the theatre itself. Then there's a flash and the camera's turned around, showing a dark shadow pooling across the ground, coalescing behind them.

"Looks like you and I may meet again sooner than I expected," Jack muttered. He pulled out the shotgun from under his coat and started walking towards the backstage. He was probably in the hallway behind the backstage. He didn't notice anything upstairs or downstairs after all. At the very least he'll figure out soon from the inevitable gunshots and screaming.

Jack heads right along the corridor to where there's a quick bend in the wall, though his movements aren't as stealthy as he otherwise might have liked. He can easily check around the corner, should he choose to do so.

Jack fully rounded the corner, shotgun at the ready.

Jack heads back down the corridor, seeking out the Director's Office, and breezing past doors marked with other things that hardly matter right now. Just ahead, where the corridor folds right briefly, he sees a small fluffy kitten rounding the corner and heading away from him. It looks to be that very same kitten that he'd found earlier.

Jack absent mindedly-followed the kitten down the corridor.

The kitten stood poised outside one of the doors, peering over its shoulder at him. Then it turned around in a little circle, meowed quietly, then turned around again and started scratching at the door for the Publicity Office. Then it looked past him with that sort of intense, rigid neck way cats get sometimes, and hissed, whiskers twitching as it did so. Then it pulled its head back, like it smelled something it didn't like, still staring past him.

Jack tried to open the door. It was probably locked, but it never hurt to try.

Jack tried to open the door. It was probably locked, but it never hurt to try.

The door opens easily with a smooth twist of his hand to reveal a room wallpapered in old, faded newspapers and movie posters with a padded chair sitting in the middle of it. Letters were written in red texta across the paper, interlinked with long lines and circles. Many of the newspapers show pictures of Jack and the case that brought about his death, but others mention White Claudia, Drug Abuse and other scandals.

Jack flipped the newspaper with mild interest. Ash said to follow the trail... maybe he could find one here...

Jack peruses the newspaper sheets plastered to the walls, his eyes flicking from one article to another, taking it all in.

Bartender Stabbed in Annie's Bar

Jack Fifer, 29, was stabbed to death yesterday during his shift at Annie's Bar. The assailant, a homeless vagrant thought to have a San Franciscan accent, is still at large.

Jack was clearing up the tables during the end of his shift when a seemingly homeless man came into the bar and took offense to the way Jack looked at him.

Witnesses say that the homeless man looked wild-eyed and crazy, like he may have been hallucinating.

Jack tried to de-escalate the situation, but when he attempted to walk past the homeless man, the assailant pulled a knife and stabbed Jack three times in the stomach before fleeing the premises.

(He can feel a sharp sensation under his ribs as he reads it, as though the knife had arced up beneath his ribs, rather professional for a random stabbing)

Rochelle gave chase with her shotgun but he quickly disappeared into the gloom.

"It was terrible," said Rochelle. "Everyone loved Jack. He was always such a ray of sunshine. I can't believe something like this could've happened."

(Such a generic response. She probably didn't even reply to their requests to interview here and they made it up as they went alone)

Police are still on the look out for the assailant. He is a caucasion man with short brown hair, narrow brown eyes, and a stooped bag who was last seen wearing a stained, brown sweater and a grey scarf.

-------

Sanity Loss,1/1d6

Does Jack read further articles?

Jack yawned as he flipped through the pages. Nothing that interesting yet.

He read on. What was new? What did Ash find?

Show,they're on the wall damnit! Pasted on! You're reading them, not flicking through them. :evil: :twisted: :D

There's another article:

Vagrant Killer's Body Found

Tourists, today, were given a shock when they saw a man floating in the lake not far from the lighthouse.

"I just looked out there and I thought, is he floating, but he was floating face down," said Nyla Waite, a visitor from Boston.

Witnesses at Annie's Bar identified the man as the same person who killed Jack Fifer.

"It's terrible that the man is dead," said Councillor David Bligh, "but I do feel better knowing that our town is safer."

The man has been identified as Jerry Calaghan, an itinerant worker with no prior criminal record, who has worked in numerous towns across the state.

"Sometimes you can never really know people," said Councillor David Bligh. "I would just like to give my sincerest condolences to the family of Jack Fifer."

"Maybe this Councilor and I should have a chat," Jack mumbled. He trailed his gaze onto another paper.

Family. He had forgotten about them. They were dark, faceless silhouettes in his memory now. Did he have them? Did he love them? He couldn't remember... They felt like someone else's now...

Neighbourhood Watch Calls For Volunteers

Councillor David Bligh is leading calls for more volunteers to join the local Neighbourhood Watch.

"Silent Hill has had a proud tradition of keeping an eye on the town and ensuring everyone's safe at home," said Councillor David Bligh.

"I really want to ensure that keeps happening."

"I know people are a bit reticent as they think it's a bit of an old boy's club but it's really not. We're making great strides to include younger members."

The next neighborhood watch meeting will be in the Town Hall, Trenton Room, at 6.30PM this Friday.

Jack removed the article involving his death from the wall and stuffed it into his pocket. The letters and the lines... Whomever drew this spent much effort doing so... These links had to mean something...

He began to trace his way through the lines on the paper.

The lines all seem to point toward the town hall and some secrets to do with the councillors, especially the lovely councillor he's already picked out, whose address is highlighted in yellow highlighter in the phone book. There's also some articles and advertisements about lake tours on the Indian Runner that seems like another clue that could be followed, and a few other articles on possible police corruption.

"Town Hall it is then," Jack muttered, stuffing the Councillor's address, Indian Runner articles, and Police Corruption article into his pocket. He left the room. It was high time to get out of here. Time was awasting.

The kitten mewls piteously at him as he goes to leave. It raises one paw, cautiously feeling at the age with its paw pad.

There was something about that cat....

What was it?

"What do you want, you little devil," Jack muttered, picking up the kitten. "Are you trying to kill me? HEY, you wouldn't be spirit of Cecie come back to haunt me, right? Or some ferocious beast trying to maul me?"

He stared into the kitten's eyes.

The kitten yawns and swipes playfully at the air, its head pulled back slightly in the way that kittens do whenever a giant's face is placed so close to them.

"No," Jack said. "You are a spy sent to bring me down, I can sense it."

He clutched the kitten's neck and... Just placed the little thing inside his pocket.

"But you are cute, so why do I care?"

He hummed a little song as he left the room.

The kitten curled up in his pocket and purred out its pleasure loudly but, as he pulled open the door, the kitten's purr turned to a low growl.

As Jack heads down the corridor toward the rear exit, he notes a bloody smear striping its way down the corridor toward the direction Murray went, coming from the theatre doors.

The rear exit, itself, which leads to an ante-chamber with the green room, is jammed.

Jack pulled out the shotgun, walked over to the theatre doors; and pushed it open with his shoulder.

Jack opened the door into the back stage, passed the bood smear that comes from the following door, heads through that onto the stage area. There's a spatter on the back of the giant white curtain (currently covered with a black and white imagery projected on it from the other side). He could head around the gaps in the cinema screen (hidden by black curtains on the other side) or head through the door to the right.

Show,Listen check.

Sirens sing in Jack's head, drawing his attention inexplicably toward the rear doors from where he can hear the vague click of tumblers turning, unlocking to allow his passage. There is someone ... nearing. Someone important. They aren't coming here, however. They're coming ... home. They need a ... a drink. He's needed. His shift is about to start.

He had to hurry.

He ran out of the theatre out of the nearest exit and ran down the street towards... Home...

Jack slinks off into the fog from his conversations with Lily and the bizarre nurse he can't remember.

Jack stroke the kitten's fur as he walked aimlessly down the road. "And then she tells me: 'you cultureless maniac, you can't even distinguish between Chanel and Gucci.' I was insulted, duh! Of course I can tell the difference between Chanel and Gucci. I just can't tell the difference between Gucci and Hermes."

He sighed. "Women are crazy, don't you agree you little rascal?"

Jack stroke the kitten's fur as he walked aimlessly down the road. "And then she tells me: 'you cultureless maniac, you can't even distinguish between Chanel and Gucci.' I was insulted, duh! Of course I can tell the difference between Chanel and Gucci. I just can't tell the difference between Gucci and Hermes."

He sighed. "Women are crazy, don't you agree you little rascal?"

The kitten meows sweetly.

"Glad that you agree," Jack nodded. "Do you think the nurse ate the flower girl yet? Maybe we should go back and have a piece ourselves."

The kitten meowed.

"Yeah, didn't think so," Jack said. "We should go fishing. Maybe we can find a fishing rod in the garage."

He walked towards the Lighthouse, the swirly lights yonder.

The fog thickens and swirls around him and within moments the sounds of his footsteps move from asphalt to wooden planks and he is striding out onto the intersection where the jetty heads straight ahead toward some sort of vessel riding low in the water and left toward the lighthouse itself. He can hear the sounds of merriment and glasses clinking coming from the vessel. There is some sort of celebration occurring on that vessel. It sounds enjoyable. There are even the strains of jazz music billowing across the fog-shrouded water. Three lights blink along its length. Above and to the left lies the lighthouse but there is no light there now.

"A boat. An actual freaking boat. And it's next to the light house."

Jack sighed. He'll be back for it later. He let the kitten out of his pocket, placing it on the ground. He pointed towards the boat.

"Food there, and people," he said. "Go." He suspected it was not real, but he was not either and anything that awaited him up the tower wouldn't be any more pleasant.

He began to walk towards the lighthouse.

The kitten sniffs at the air and then follows him, seeming to prefer more solid apparitions. As they walk, a familiar sight coalesces out of the fog. A young woman bent over and picking up a letter.

It's Lily.

Show,post briefly in her thread and then come back here if you're going to keep going.

Jack began to jog once Lily was out of sight. He felt much lighter without the coat.

It's not far until he reaches the lighthouse door. Opening it, he can hear the faint strains of humming coming from the top of the lighthouse.

Jack hummed a song of his own, as if replying to the voice at the top, as he ascended the tower.

The steps slowly lead him ever higher until finally he reaches a door set in the wall that will lead him to Ash.

He can hear her humming clearly now, coming from the circular landing outside.

Jack opens the door and stumbles out into the frigid air outside. That non-descript yet friendly face that somehow stirred familiar memories in others were gone, replaced by a calm yet haunted expression. His coat gone, the torn bartender's shirt was now not sufficient to hide the numerous layers of bandages that now covered most of his body.

"Couldn't find your sister?" asks Ash as he rounds the balcony. She turns to glance over her shoulder and her eyes widen in alarm. "Oh ... it's you." She turns to regard him, one hand lightly pressed against the rail. "You found me. What next?"

Jack said nothing for a long while before leaning against the wall.

"No fucking clue," he said. "I hoped that coming here would solve at least some of my problems... but it didn't. I honestly have no idea what will happen from now on." He looked blankly into the fog with empty eyes.

"You came here before."

"And I keep coming back," murmured Ash. "I'm too scared to jump. Too scared to stay."

"And so, every day, you descend the stairs to the ground, back into the realm of the living, if you can call it that," Jack murmured. "You feel that your entire life's a lie. Whenever you talk to someone, you feel a twinge of guilt. You try to smile, even though you are unhappy. You pretend to be strong when you feel vulnerable. And that's tearing you apart. You haven't felt happy in a long time... until..."

She tossed him a sultry glare and pouted. "And when was this?"

"I was talking to myself," Jack said. He stood up, dusting his pants. "I am the greatest liar the world has ever known, Ash."

"I pretend to laugh, when I am actually angered."

"I pretend to be happy, when I am actually sad."

"I pretend to cry but no tear comes out."

"I tell others to find something worth living for, when I feel that my own life's an empty husk."

"I tell others that the world is a beautiful place full of hope, when I have seen that it's a dark place full of death and evil."

"Are these not all acts of dishonesty? There can be no forgiveness for my deeds, but I will ask for one anyways from you."

"Why would you need forgiveness from me?" she asked ruefully. "Other than a little back chat in the jail, you've been just fine. I - I don't know about you. Or I do. I tried to call out to someone who would help me ... I just needed to dial a number ... it all seemed so simple. But then, nothing really is, is there?"

She gazes out across the lake.

"If you could have one thing from me, what would it be?"

"Nothing but a conversation, I guess," Jack said. "There are so many things that I know, yet so few that I actually understand."

"First things first though. Who was Jack? Who remembers him?" he said. "I remember him, as if he was a different person. He's just a foggy recollection of a life that seemingly never happened. Half the time, even I don't know who I am."

"How do you summarise a human being?" she asked quietly, her hands tightening on the railing. "I wouldn't know where to begin. I didn't know you incredibly well. Rochelle would no more. Or others... You went away for a time to the city to study, I think. You talked a lot, a bit like you do now, with a series of tangents questing to the single question, and you were lively, but you were also ... focused. Now you're a live wire, raw, and I never know how you'll react. I think we've met a few times though the last time we met, in the cells, I only recalled that you were from the pub and that you were.... Yet now I remember more. So strange, this town, so strange...."

"Same way that I feel," Jack nodded. "I didn't know you when I first... appeared... in this town. Now I remember you. Know so much about you. It's as if the town conjures up details to suit some obscure plot, so what am I?" Jack giggled. "Some figment of somebody's sick and depraved mind? A ghost? Some kind of concept made flesh? I don't really know anymore. Perhaps it doesn't matter in the end either. I am what I am now, and that's nothing."

Jack shrugged. "I'm jealous of you, in a way."

"Me?" She looks suspicious. "Why?"

"Because you have a choice," Jack said. "You can just choose to jump over and end everything. If somebody blows my head off I just come back."

He sighed.

"Not a pretty way to go, by the way. Can't have an open casket funeral for all your friends and families to come gawk at your corpse. Those government-paid funeral make up artists are pretty damn skillful too. I once overheard one of them wishing for more business since they were wasting tax-payer money by just sitting around doing nothing. It's a crazy world we live in. Probably wouldn't matter so much soon enough for you."

"You know, I'm not gonna disapprove or approve of your actions, but could you just tell me why the hell you want to off yourself?"

"Childhood trauma, mother murdered my older sister to appease whatever dark gods she happened to be worshipping at the time, tried to live a normal life away from all this but just couldn't bring myself to believe in it, then I finally teach another woman how to live at least a little bit and her daughter goes off and drowns herself," Ash sighed. "Just not sure what to do after all that. This place seems a bit hard to escape as well. Not sure if offing myself is a possibility though."

"That particular lesson didn't really stick, yeah..." Jack said. "But is the daughter really dead?"

"She was in a coma, last I heard," says Ash. "Her mother had seen glimpses of her in her dreams and waking reality and somehow, somewhere down the line, she became a believer and started looking for her. It didn't seem so strange to me. I'd grown up around here. So I encouraged her. I think she's passed through here a few times but things feel different now. They've changed. I think she's found her ending."

"She did," Jack said. "I was with her as long as I could." Jack pulled out a single tarot card, queen of hearts, from his pocket and flung it over the railing, watching it flutter away into the mist. "She's still out there somewhere. Or perhaps she escaped. Nevertheless she's no longer at home. Never will be," Jack sighed.

"What kind of a person was your sister, Ash?"

"She was tough as nails like my mom," said Ash. "I was always jealous of her. Always. She always seemed to be their favourite. I didn't really know what had happened but I guessed. When I turned sixteen mum felt I should know as she'd be passing on the baton to me. I ... well, I balked."

"As you should have," Jack muttered. "I have trouble believing that people actually believe whatever gods rule here. They always sounded more like demons to me." Jack shrugged. "Sick and twisted demons, corrupting men and women and leading them towards their death. Not that I really care anymore. Speaking of death, have you seen some crazy man looking for his sister?"

"Aren't all gods monsters?" asked Ash. "Don't all gods ask terrible things of their worshippers? The Greek gods raped and pillaged. One of their goddesses turned a woman into an animal for being raped on her alter. What about Jehovah? Wives turned to salt. A man rewarded for allowing his daughters to be sodomised in place of his guests - or himself. A cruel world breeds cruel gods. What else can people believe in?"

"History too, has generally been written by the cruelest," Jack snaps back. "Alexander the Great killed his own best friend in a drunken stupor and was hailed as one of the greatest heroes and leaders this earth has ever seen. The Romans raped, pillaged, and burned down everything in their conquest. They killed all the Jews in Judea so that they were no longer a majority population in their own homeland. The cruelest gain power, because they know how to harm others most efficiently. The powerful leaves behind words that are feared, sometimes even worshipped by the meek, thus gods are born, and these gods perpetuated by all the cruel men that comes after. It's not the cruel world that breeds cruel gods, but rather cruel men and women."

"So the bigger question is this. Are you a cruel woman? A countless men and women before you have perpetuated the cycle. The momentum of a thousand years of history written by cruel men and women may have tainted the gods, but the cruel men and women are no gods. The sheer force of their will may be overbearing for a single person, but over time, the path of cruelty may yet end."

Jack folds his arms. "I guess you have a choice. You can choose to continue this cycle of cruelty or you can try your earnest to end it." He grins. "But I'm a cruel person, as you probably know by now. So I'm not gonna tell you which side of the railing will mean perpetuating the cycle. You are gonna have to figure that one yourself. Exciting, huh?"

She scowls at the railing. "I expect both sides of the railing perpetuates the cycle. Can I even leave?" Her tone turns wry. "I doubt you are my final confrontation in this place." She turns her level gaze on Jack. "If I die, I might be trapped. If I try to escape, I might never leave. This railing represents my only chance at freedom. My grab for power." Her heavy gaze on him turns all the more meaningful. "My other attempts didn't exactly work out."

She sighs. "However I have waited here for so long that I doubt my own inner strength in this decision. The water ... I'm so sure that Cecilia is in that water, waiting for me. Was it my fault? I'd distracted her but ... this town, this place ... when it wants its due ... and Cecie isn't the most attentive...." She lowers her head, leaning on the railing. "I looked for her. I did. I couldn't find her. Either of them. And sometimes, I started to forget ... I think I might have died once or twice already ... and that does something to your memory here. Maybe my own assured death is by my own hand. Or maybe once you've been killed here, you can't ever leave. How many of us wander this town here and now?"

"Maybe you're just like me, trapped here, but you've forgotten who you were and me? I never knew."

"Oh, an interesting perspective!" Jack says, looking surprised. "Yes, indeed, both sides can perpetuate the cycle, one more likely than the other, but the cycle continues nevertheless."

"But can you hold on forever?" Jack takes a step towards her. "Eventually, your arms gets tired." Step. "You get hungry. Hell, you might even need to go to the bathroom." Step. "You lose initiative and then the next thing you know is that danger's right in your face, staring into your soul."

He shrugs. "If you looked for her and couldn't find her, than that's just that. You did your best to save a life, but couldn't. It's not your fault beyond that. The game's been rigged against you both. The house always wins, in this case the house is the town.

He makes a motion of dusting off his shotgun. "Here's a tip for you. When you feel trapped, as if there's no way out of a situation, pick a solution and go all in on it instead of being partly in and partly out and just wasting everyone's time. Why do you want to jump anyways?"

Her eyes widen a little at the 'staring you in the face'. She seems to think he's being self-descriptive and relaxes a little once he asks the question. "To be honest, it just seems appropriate. I'm not sure what else to do or where else to go."

Jack blinks. "Really," he said. "That's your reason?" Rational part of his mind threw up his hands. Irrational part of his mind chose this moment to take over.

"Hey Ash," Jack said. "Did you know that your mother was a prostitute?" He raised the shotgun towards her.

"I decided that I won't let you commit suicide with such a stupid reason."

"No, please, it's my only chance to control my life," she says, seemingly frightened. She takes a step back from the railing, hands held out imploringly, before charging into him, getting in around the shotgun in his arms as though meaning to come in for a hug when in reality she is going for a grapple. Yet she misjudged her angle and his double-handed grip on the shotgun makes him hard to pin and he can casually knock her aside (or attack her or grapple her).

"Oh you still have control," Jack said, aggressively jabbing Ash's stomach with the gun to push her away. "You can still choose to jump. It's just that if you do, I shoot you. I shoot you dead so that you don't die from the fall," Jack's eyes which always glistened with a mere hint of madness behind is now fully maddened. "You are gonna fail, Ash. The jump would be the last thing you do in your life... and you are gonna fail in even that!" He cackles. "How does that make you feel?"

"Like you're my goddamn therapist!" she snarls, diving back and to the side, trying to put the lighthouse walls between them.

Silence. "You have a therapist?"

Laughter. "This just gets better and better, huh?" Jack follows her around the corner, slowly and carefully.

Jack hears the door open and close as she rushes inside.

"Yes! Run! Run away! Be free, Willy! BE FREEEE!" Jack lets out a guffaw.

He opens the door and shouts down the stairs of the lighthouse. "Don't make me catch you here again!"

The lighthouse is silent. No sound of footsteps. Nothing. The light at the top of the warehouse winks out. The fog seems to thicken, tightening around him, as though to prove his expulsion from that world. On the platform of the lighthouse is a frame containing flickering images of her facing something terrible in the water, so very similar to what Cecilia had faced, though Ash confronts it with an axe plucked from beside the lighthouse door. The girl feared death so much she was tempted to die. His arrival must've convinced that death would be no release. It was unlikely she'd make it so easily ... but who knew? Maybe this would be the last obstacle.

The images flicker to show Shepherd's Glen.

Perhaps not.

Ash would need to go back to the beginning. Wasn't that always the way?

A little girl's voice chimed in from behind him. "You're not done yet." Her voice is very serious, very level, and very cold. "You need to do something for me."

It is the voice of She Who Must Not Be Harmed. The final order of the Maker who brought all of this to the fore of this world though tainted and twisted as all things are in this realm.

"What if I don't want to?" Jack mused. "But I guess I'm not going to be given that option. Will I ever be done? I guess I'm not going to get the answer for that either."

"Tell me what I need to taint and I'll do it."

"I can end you, if you like, but only as I leave," says the little girls' voice. "Alessa gave me three wishes and I've kept the last. I can wish you unmade or I could wish you made whole and released. Whichever you prefer. But I want to get out of here. Alessa is gone but she dragged me in here and left me behind. I can't leave on my own and you can't take me with you but there are people who can. People who walk in here with a need. People like Cecilia though she left me behind and chose to die instead." She chuckles. "Ironic, really, since her daughter is trapped here but alive yet her mother is now a part of this place and might never let her leave."

Jack blinked as the voice's chuckles faded away. To be ended... or to be made whole? A choice! Jack felt a wave of both elation and apprehension swarm over his body. The real possibility of escape hung before his very eyes. Wasn't to escape from this horrid place what he longed for in the first place?

Yet it all felt...wrong...somehow. Did he want himself to become ended? He thought that he did not fear oblivion, but actually faced with an entity who boasted that it could bring him to an end... that was a different kind of a beast entirely. What was oblivion anyway? To not feel and not *learn* things anymore?

And what did she mean by being "made whole?" To be made whole into a pile of dust in some crematorium out there in the Real World? What was he anyway, a ghost of a man named Jack, a man thinking that he is Jack, or a mere revenant given life? Who was this voice that compelled him so?

No, he could not be free yet. He had to know. He had to learn. He had to discover.

"I think I'll pass on your offer," he said. "What is it that you need me to do?"


Jack found himself unable to let go. Every step forward he took in the game...more secrets he discovered...just filled him with pain and disappointment, but he could not simply end his quest. Obsession is another form of greed: something that Jack in both the real world and this never learned.

"There's a man called Cole who's looking for his dead sister." She screws up her nose to show how she feels about such sentimentality. "He upset Father Vincent and stole an important book so he was cursed to be here until Father Vincent lets up or he manages to pass through to the other side. I don't know what to do about him, though. I need him to think I'm his sister, or at least to try and save me as a little girl, but he just doesn't care all that much. I managed to get him to guide me for a bit but he just left me with that pair of stoners who ventured in here and got themselves trapped in their fear of taking their chance and risking their lives to get out."

Easy enough, Jack thought.

"I'll come get you away from those stoners first. Where are you?"

The world coalesces before his very eyes. An apartment building. A little girl stares forlornly from the second floor window. The glass in the front door has been broken and he can hear something with long claws scratching across the tiles inside. There's something in there. A guardian at the gate. Unfortunately he can't expect any more assistance from She Who Must Not Be Harmed. Odds were even she couldn't do what she wanted to do half the time. There's a slight motion, like an elevator beginning to drop, and then he feels himself more wholly in this place. Ready.

"Killing monsters are so not part of my job description," Jack mumbled. "Actually, I guess I could put "killed monsters" on my résumé now. Maybe find a better job where bosses don't shoot you in the head or put you through intense psychological torture or threaten to vaporize me. A job where a random homeless guy don't stab me for funzies and monsters don't break into the kitchen. Is that too much to ask in this town?"

Jack rubbed his fingers together. He felt real enough. Enough to do this one task. He silenced his footsteps as he entered the building. "Here...kitty kitty kitty..." He said. "My meat isn't delicious so go away..."

OOC: roll for sneak http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4300953/

Jack stealthily opens the door and sneaks inside, stepping gingerly over the glass as he regards the creature that had made its way to the other end of the corridor. While the lurker's gaze is elsewhere, Jack tip toes over to the stairs and heads up to the next floor.

"Well that was easy," Jack mumbled. "Now where is that little girl...ghost girl...girly ghost....thing..." Jack wanders down the hallway towards where he believes the room with the girl would be.

"If she's a ghost, I can just toss her over the window and she wouldn't die, right?"

The door to one of the apartments creaks open and he can hear the gasps of the dying as she steps out into the corridor. An adorable little blonde girl with a limp in one of her legs. "E-excuse me? Are ... are y-you here to save me?"

"Yes," Jack says, walking past her and through the doorway.

There is blood everywhere. A man gutted and emptied out, still somehow painfully alive, lays upon the couch with a bong fused to his hand. He is burned so badly his features run into each other, making him impossible to recognise as being any different to the rest of Silent Hill's more grotesque furnishings. Of course, the other grotesque furnishings might also have been similarly alive once upon a time.

"I like the decor," Jack said to the girl. "Really thematic. Really brings the color of this place alive. Did you do this?"

The girl remains out in the corridor and says in a really small, pathetic voice, "I don't want to go in there."

"I suppose," Jack yawned before turning to the nearly-dead man. "Sorry, man, but you're fucked."

He leaves the dying man behind before exiting out into the corridor. No use in dallying about, he supposed. "So what happened in that room?" he said to the girl. "And who gave you that nasty little limp?"

"I don't know," says the little girl miserably. "I went walking with Cole and my leg start hurting. I don't know why." She gives a little helpless shrug. "We should go find Cole. I miss him."

"Mkay," Jack said. "Did he say where he was going to go?"

"I think he mentioned a playground," says the little girl. "Maybe that really really big playground and amusement park on the other side of the bridge."

"He must have really wanted to go on the Merry-Go-A-Round," Jack mused. "Pardon me, but could you tell me your name?"

"Uhh, Katie," she says shyly, scraping her toe across the floor.

"Right, right," Jack gives a soft chuckle. "Well, Katie, you must be a very brave girl to be in the room for such a long time. Whoever decorated the room had a really really sick taste," Jack shrugged.

"By the way, Katie, there is a very very mean and spooky thing downstairs that likes to eat children for breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner. Children are its favorite food. It can't have enough of them. Do you know what a child must do when it sees him or her? Even if there is an adult nearby?"

She shakes her head, giving him a wide-eyed stare.

"She must run, Katie," Jack said, staring intently back. "She must run as far as her little feet can carry her. Adult nearby may not be able to solve every problem in the world. Giant monsters that like to eat children are one such thing that they usually cannot solve. Maybe I can, but I wouldn't count it. You should still run because adults are happy if children don't die. Even if the adult has to face off against the monster alone, he will be satisfied knowing that the children, at least, are safely away.

If they are unhappy or unsatisfied, than they aren't adults. If they purposefully leave you behind in a dangerous place, they aren't adults either. They are monsters."

Jack smiled.

"Okay enough of that. Let's go downstairs."

Katie stares up at him with big, blue eyes, utterly shocked. Her mouth drops slowly open, eyebrows pulling together in a look of piteous sadness. In that moment, her blonde hair seems to fall lank against her head and the air fills with the smell of charred flesh.

“What about when they set you on fire just to watch you burn?” Her voice is soft, sad. “What about when the only people who hear you scream is only me?” She shivers, holding herself and her voice drops to a near whisper. “I wish I had a Harry....”

Her blue gaze returns to meet his and hardens like ice.

“But I only have a Jack.”

Jack giggled. "Friends in dark places are still friends no?" He says, drawing a switchblade from his pant pocket and flicking it open. "Sometimes, you discover that what you want and what you need may be two completely different things."

He grabbed the knife by the blade and handed it to her.

She takes the knife and gazes at it, fingering the blade so that it cuts but displaying no sign of feeling any pain. "In here there's nothing I can do ... they're protected from me ... from us ... but not from him. Not from Cole." Her gaze raises to meet his and hardens. "Maybe we can find a way to let you leave ... then you can find them and they won't be protected." She frowns. "Father Vincent would know the way."

"Oh, but why..." Jack mumbles. "Would a real and holy man like Father Vincent...want anything to do with bunch of damned and lost souls like us?"

"You're a smart man, Mr. Jack," says the girl. "I'm sure you will find a way."

"Yeah, extorting information and service from a priest is TOTALLY within my job description as a bartender," Jack mumbles.

"Okay, let's get out of here."

"I think it's more like it's within your life's work," says the little girl, reaching to take his hand like any little girl might. "D'you know where we should go first?"