HOMETOWN

   You breathe a sigh of relief and accept the notebook, snapping it closed with a soft & swift motion. It’s not as though you mind anyone looking through – you haven’t written anything incriminating or embarrassing, simply notes here and there of your surroundings – but you’re glad regardless that she didn’t peek in the same subtle gratitude one has when their boundaries are respected.

   “Yes. Thank you,” The bus comes to a stop. Someone frees up the seat behind the two of you, and you take it up, knees drawn together to take up a little less space. “It is nothing special – it would bore you, really. I’m keeping a written record of what I see and learn about the city, so… you could say it’s a diary.”

   “There are better places to be writing, but…” You give a cursory glance around the bus. Still nothing new, but neither is the near-permanent anxiety that hasn’t really left you since you arrived. “I like staying on top of things. Peace of mind. Everything here is new to me.”

   You elect to leave it well alone for the time being. Dropping it once is embarrassing enough – you could simply lose it, properly, the next time it happens. Tucking the notebook away, you allow yourself a proper look upon the girl you’re speaking to. Your expression shifts a little with concern. “If you’ll allow me to say – you look unwell. Have you had enough rest lately?”

A diary... Somehow, those words resonate with her. Her dad used to keep journals hidden around- but she wasn’t quite sure what was written in them. It must be useful to keep a diary. She hasn’t had one since she was in elementary school- but she probably needs one now more than ever.

“Yeah... I should probably do something like that too. Keep my head on straight.”

She tenses a bit when she asks about her well being. She realizes that to most people, she probably does look like a wreck. Silent Hill did a number on her, and she still hasn’t been able to get a restful night of sleep in.

He definitely notices the past tense, and the pause. Hm. He supposes he can understand a little at least- most of the people he’s ever known are what one could refer to as past tense as well. Not the best to dwell on; nor something to prod at a total stranger about or discuss his personal side of things. “I see, I’m sure he was a good author. I’ve considered writing, but I’ve never really tried. I can’t say I’m the most creative when it comes to that sort of thing, though.” A laugh escapes him, but it’s stiff and awkward.

He watches as she shuts the book, looking at it for a second. “Huh… Maybe I should check that sort of thing out first… I don’t exactly know what I’d like at all, so maybe something that lets me puzzle things out would be good.” Boy, this is a little awkward. He can tell she’s upset, so maybe it’d be good to try being a little distracting. Abruptly standing up, he walks to the shelf and plucks a few off of it randomly, not bothering to look what they are before sitting down. He starts to idly flip through one, scanning it over. “It’s sort of funny how humans are drawn to writing about terrifying things, murder especially so. I’ve always wondered why… Maybe it’s the thrill of trying to figure out something, make an answer to something horrible, catharticly. Help something even if it’s secondhand, especially if they can’t personally elsewhere.” He purses his lips, actually starting to read a random paragraph in the middle out of distraction. “Maybe humans are just determined to be good natured, even if it’s through a grim method.” A pause. “I suppose this topic is grim, itself. Sorry.”

“Yeah. He was a pretty good author. It was all stuff I couldn’t really understand, but...” Her mind flickers to the letter he wrote for her. “... It was always really good.”

She pushes those bad memories to the back of her mind. Or, she at least tries to. The memory of her dad never seems to leave her, regardless of the situation. Sometimes it’s painful and sometimes it’s nostalgic, but she always feels a residual melancholy when she thinks of him. It’s a shame, really. That those happy memories were stolen away by some bitch.

“Yeah. I think you’re right. People will do some terrible things if they think they have the right goal.”

She should know. She had to experience that kind of thing firsthand- and so did poor Alessa.

At least reading was a familiar escape here, and there certainly was a whole lot to read to figure out whatever this place is. It’s like starting all over again, cutting back to basics. Really familiar. Guide stiffens as someone suddenly speaks up in his direction, glancing over from the biology book he was reading.

“Oh, uh… I’ve never really read much non-fiction myself… I suppose I could try something new out sometime…” He pauses, glancing over at the book Cheryl was holding. “Are they any good? Detective novels, I mean. I haven’t really heard much about them.”

“I read a lot more non-fiction than most girls my age do.” She says, pressing a thumb to her chin while she distractedly flips through Anthony Wynne’s Murder of A Lady. “My dad wrote that kind of stuff, you know. It’s pretty interesting in the hands of the right person.”

The word ‘wrote’- past tense- makes her pause after finishing her sentence. Harry Mason will never write another book again, she realizes- and that fact fills her with a certain emptiness she can’t understand but absolutely loathes. She quickly closes the book and eyes the shelf again, the characters dancing on the spines of novels somewhat detracts from her pain.

“I have no reason to try. I’m a war vet, I know I look like I’d murder anything I make eye contact with. It’s not going to be you even on the worst days.” 

He takes a moment to catch his breath. He shouldn’t talk in such long lengths like this. 

“I’d like to think so, anyways.” 

Most of the people here were kidnapped much like he was. She doesn’t look like a drug dealer, but good for her to have such an attitude. It’s annoying, but likely born out of living in similar places. He knows that much. 

Not too deep in withdrawal, he can keep urges to kill at bay.

Focusing on breathing, he tries not to make it too obvious. Gotten so far and yet he feels like he wants to rest already. The girl picks up too quickly on what he looks like. He’s not typically concerned with his appearance. 

“Thanks…I wish I was either of those things.” 

A poor idea but not one to Zero. Though dying that way…might be embarrassing. 

“Look. I snuck out of the hospital–” he takes a breath, “–I just want fresh air and some music, then I’ll go back. Okay?” 

“Huh.”

She crosses her arms, looking him up and down with skepticism. She’s not quite sure what to say to his explanation, so she doesn’t say anything at all. Cheryl may have gotten some good fighting tricks from battling with monsters, but she’s definitely not strong enough to force someone back into a hospital. 

So, she’ll roll with it. That way, if he passes out, she can just drag him back no problem. Easy plan. 

“Well, thanks for promising not to kill me. Somewhat.” She laughs a bit. Although she never seemed scared of him, she’s much more relaxed. “Tell you what.”

“I’ve always hated hospitals. They give me the creeps, you know?”

That’s an understatement. Alessa’s terrible memories haunt her even at the mention of the place. It’s gotten worse after visiting Silent Hill, too- now whenever she imagines a hospital she can only see metal rust and bright red. 

Ah... She shouldn’t think about that now. 

Eating chips from a vending machine, Zero lurks in the back alleys because it lacks people–typically. He snuck out of the hospital tonight, and sneaking back in was going to be the annoying part. That’s a problem for later. He wanted to listen to new music, and the closest he could get in the middle of the night were clubs. 

Taking his time, he looks over his shoulder while shoving the empty bag in a bin. Before being run into; grasping the same trash can to keep himself upright. Immediately he straightens out his borrowed hoodie, hiding the bandages over his chest.   

“It’s…uh, fine.” he tries not to cough. 

In general, his clothes look borrowed, and poorly fit. Underneath barely sticks out a hospital gown like a baggy shirt half-tucked into his pants.

She’ll scream? 

[I wasn’t going to murder anyone tonight but if you insist…]  

[My face looks like this every day.] 

>”Why the hell would I do that?”    

“I’m an innocent young girl walking around in a shit hole. I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried.”

She rested her hands on her hips, looking up at him with a smug expression that said I’d fucking deck you if you tried, though.

Because she was jogging with her head down when she bumped into him, she hadn’t gotten a good look at his appearance. He looked like hell. Raggedy clothes and a weak stance... She noted that it looked as if he was the person who got beat up.

She wants to lend him a shoulder, but he seems standoffish- getting too close could be dangerous. 

Cheryl had never been a big reader. Sure, she read a couple of old novels for school- but she never thought too much about it, at least not as hard as her dad did. 

It’s strange, really. How she’s only starting to get back into books after her dad has already gone. Maybe it’s her way of trying to connect with him through the barrier of life and death. It’s all she has.

That’s what takes her to a library, flipping through books she remembers seeing on her fathers shelf.

It wasn’t uncommon for Cheryl to pass through the Red Light District to get a shortcut back home. Rather, it seemed to be the norm. After dealing with all the monsters she’s faced, a dim alleyway doesn’t seem very daunting at all.

Or maybe she doesn’t care about danger anymore. Her dad’s dead and Douglas isn’t here- what’s stopping her from being reckless.

Her shoulders tense as she speeds through the area, itching to get back home as the sky got darker. Dark is dangerous.

As she starts into a small jog, she crashes into another person. Shit.

you’re not a monster, she says, and oh, how the CONTRARY is true. but, he understands the need for this particular distinction. he could be spoken to, reasoned with, while they are the UNSTOPPABLE force who only knows to kill and devour. is he any better? with all his cunning and wiles? the girl has not seen him transform into the wicked beast locked up within his wretched heart. it is INEVITABLE, that he’d rise again with the demon king’s rage, but until then, he’s the victim, the pawn of these stars.

it makes him SICK.

the grip on his weapon remains, but slackens. a knife is likened to a toothpick in his eyes, as he stands taller than most and with muscles to back up his height. but he’s not lasted this long based on sheer FOOLISHNESS. he’s not much a need for sustenance, but what he’s found here could last until this madness would end —- or until he’d finally choose to leave the island; whichever comes FIRST.

❝i am going to assume your mistake is born of PANIC,❞ he responds with a flick of the ears. the INNATE paranoia felt towards the gerudo people by the hylian race still stings like an old wound. ❝i shall not trouble you any, as long as you keep your wits about you.❞ ganondorf pauses, contemplating REVEALING a truth or not. ❝i do not have much more business here. i can assure you, there’s PLENTY left for you to pick clean.❞

Cheryl supposes that she shouldn’t have expected him to be particularly bright and sunny in this situation- but his cold words make her furrow her eyebrows a little bit. There’s something about him that she doesn’t like.

He reminds her too much of Vincent. Cocky and dubious at the same time. She hates that kind of person. 

“Yeah, it was.” She says with her typical sassy teenage girl smile. “I hope I didn’t scare you, big guy.”

She laughs dryly to herself, examining the shelves in the kitchen. He was right, there was enough to feed her for a while. 

   This was – a mistake. Shifting from warm sands and quiet safety into the possibly worst option of all 4; rusted, no doubt haunted to some extent, and teeming with creatures that even Athena doesn’t have the right skillset to take down on her own. The most she’d done was act the bait, exactly once, and helped pin one down; and even just that knocked the wind out of her and drained a little too much energy for her liking.

   At least they have beds. Not that Athena is sleeping– she’s sat, on the edge of one of the mattresses and barely that, headphones on to try and block out the noise from outside with little success. Her eyes are shut tight, wrinkling the lids– and this is how the intruder finds her, in very intense focus, before she starts and quickly stands up.

   “Hi,” She shoots back, a little dryly – and lifts her hands up, in a way to gesture to the other that she means no harm. Her heart speaks of bits of terror & a lot of caution, although Athena doesn’t need to tune in to figure that out – the way she glues herself to the walls is a dead giveaway. “Don’t look so scared, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you! We’re all in the same boat here. Unfortunately. I’m Athena – this is, uh, Haugst. I have no idea what it is or why it exists, but it should be temporary, I think.”

   Her brows furrow. That’s… a strange question. “No? Why would you be? I see them fine. They’re such a pain in the rear to deal with and I swear they’re multiplying or someone just keeps putting more. You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Athena....”

Cheryl repeats the name and stares at the woman until she’s certain that there’s an air of peace between them. She visibly calms down a bit and steps away from the door, but still maintains a distance comfortable enough for her to run away if things get bad. 

“So you see them too, huh?” She laughs bitterly. So it wasn’t all just another terrible dream, or the memories of Silent Hill coming back to torment her. “I’m Cheryl... And I thought I was done with monsters for good.”

Of course not. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Whoever is responsible for this--- she’ll kill them.

Aside from the fact that there was no puzzles required for her to do, Ellen was quite familiar with the atmosphere and monsters that this island provided. While she could definitely go ahead and take the chance to go to a more calmer island, she didn’t feel content enough to leave just yet. Unless her illness suddenly started taking a turn for the worse, then she wasn’t going to leave until she felt like she had caused enough chaos… and besides, she had a lot of anger to get out on some of these monsters.

Some weren’t as simplistic as the ones from the house, but they were just as annoying. It’d be better to get them out of the way… well, at least it was for the smaller monsters.

Ellen had taken on something that seemed easy to deal with at first, but the moment the monster had gotten closer, she realised the problem that was the obvious height difference. Taking down other monsters was easy, they didn’t pose as much of a threat… but figures that towered over her was another story. It still didn’t deter her from attempting to take it down, but it would most likely be interpreted as self-defence and not from anger and boredom.

Eyes quickly looked over to where she had heard someone yell for her to… run? Clearly they didn’t get a good look at the girl; her legs looked far too inflamed for her to even consider running! A consequence of her needing to walk long distances on the island, but not something that was a bother if she could simply take down monsters in her path.

All the girl did for a couple of seconds was merely observe what was going on, showing no intent of running like she had been advised to do. Ellen had spent much time running away from monsters, and it’d be much more meaningful to put whatever skills she had to use to keep herself safe. This would just take a little more… work, that’s all. Just like the other woman, she had a knife, but she had also been able to find a machete in one of the buildings the island provided. The knife had been the only weapon out on display, but now free hand went to go and grab at the machete.

And instead of running away? She was walking towards the monster, machete raised…

…And stabbed it right into its leg. Well, if it even was a leg. The anatomy of these things were confusing and more grotesque than what she was used to, but they were walking on it, so… by definition, it was a leg. With some strength and time, she should be able to cut its leg clean off… but that was only provided that she wasn’t going to get knocked away. So she tried to keep her distance, removing the machete from its fresh wound and backed away from the monster. She needed to see how it would react to that sort of thing.

As well as see how the other woman would react. Ellen hadn’t exactly been doing much when she had been spotted, so this might come as a bit of a surprise!

Cheryl wasn’t very thrilled about this child deciding not to run away when she had the monster completely distracted. She knew that her Dad would be just as concerned- and the reason she so readily turned herself into bait to save that kid was in part because of her father. 

But, in the end- the two were able to slay the monster.

The child’s distraction gave Cheryl the time to rip the rusted pipe against the wall. As if nobody was watching her animalistic instincts, raised the pipe above her head and slammed it back down on the monster.

It squirmed and writhed on the ground. She struck it again.

It let out a howl. She struck it again. 

It suddenly became stiff and motionless. She struck it again.

She kept hitting it over and over again until she knew for certain that it was dead. The noises coming from the monster didn’t bother her at all---

--- She couldn’t hear anything. 

Her ears were ringing. Sounds like radio static. 

“You....” Eventually, her arms needed to rest and she stopped- only raising them again to rub her aching head. “.... Who are you?”