Hime D. ~創世の錬金術師~ (hime1999) wrote in fm_alchemist,
Hime D. ~創世の錬金術師~

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[fic] SH7 (1/8?)

Title: Silent Hill 7: Purgatory
Author: hime1999
Genre: Supernatural/Horror
Rating: R for gore, blood, violence, and disturbing imagenary.
Series: Fullmetal Alchemist/Silent Hill crossover/fusion
A/N: This is actually something I started last may or June, can't really remember. Then I got the block for like half a year before starting to write it again. Let's see where this one is going.
Thanks: cryogenia for encouraging me to actually write this thing, for giving me ideas, cracks, CCs, and the will to listen to me nitpicking at my own plots without losing the patience. Oh, and helping me with torture ideas, of course. ILU. pikka for helping me remember that German is fun when you know where to look, and the suggestions I found tremendously helpful to make Hei sounds like the geeky German in suspenders he is.
Word count: 5,670 words or so.

* * * * * * *

Chapter 1: Silent Hill

* * * * * * *

If only he could remember how he got here in the first place.

He doesn't think he recognizes the place at all. It is like a seedy beer hall, that much he can gather, but nothing like he has seen in Munich so far. For one, it is small. Beer halls are called beer halls because they are, well, halls. They were meant to be big and able to accommodate tens of people running around having activities that are not limited to one's work. They are meant to be the personification of 'social life', the only time in their daily schedule when they don't have to care about the time because, hey, everything is done and it's time to get some food and drink.

Not bleak and dull like this. It feels, to his discomfort, more like an isolation, especially with the silence and low lights.

"Hallo?" he calls out softly, then scolds at himself for the broken pitch at the end of his voice. He clears his throat and tries again, "Ist da jemand?"

No answer. He keeps hoping that somebody will jump out from the bar or burst in through the door, but still there is nothing. He tries to call out again, ignoring the goose bump on his nape. Walking around the place, trying to find any sign of life.

The place feels like it has been abandoned for quite a while. Dust covers the surface of the few tables and chairs. Electricity is on, but some of the light bulbs are out, while some others keep flickering, threatening to die at any given time. There is staleness in the air, one that he sometimes found after a week or two leaving his own bedroom without opening the window.

He calls out once again, and when a long silence greets him yet again, he decides that maybe it is time for him to look somewhere else.

There are two doors in the hall and one obviously heads to the back of the building. The other one heads outside, as it is obvious from the window installed on it, and he peers outside from it, trying to make sense of where he might be. Only white he sees outside and shadows of unidentified things, so he takes a deep breath and turns the knob.

Only, the knob doesn't even budge.

He tries the door a few more times before he gives up and goes across the room to try the other door.

The other door is a swing one and he only has to push it lightly before it opens before him, leading to a kitchen. The kitchen is decidedly empty (not that he hasn't anticipated that), even though there are evidents that the last time people were here, they have managed to clean things up before they left. Though he wonders....

He looks around for the icebox and finds a large box that seems to be so on one corner. Opens it-- and jumps back abruptly when light bursts out from the inside of the box.

For a moment he is thankful that nobody is around to hear him squeak like a girl. Bracing himself, he reaches out daringly and opens the box again.

It is fascinating how the icebox is actually powered by electricity. He can immediately see how this might work. The low hum emitted by a generator at the back of the box. The way it emits heat. Might be some sort of heat exchange, like an internal thermodynamic cycle, with some kind of substance that can be the cold source, something with high enough freezing point, perhaps gasses.

He feels a very bad urge to just start pulling his sleeves up and dissect the system, but upon trying to find how to turn off the machine, he suddenly gets reminded why he looked for the icebox from the first place, as a very loud protest yells at him from his abdomen.

Thank God there is no lady in the room.

There is some butter in the icebox, along with some milk which he probably shouldn't even think of trying. Rummaging further finds frozen slabs of bacon and sausages, and he thanks whoever invented this system.

He mentally apologizes to the owner of the food, promises to make it up somehow, and stands up, looking around for stove. Said stove looks rather dirty, but a quick investigation shows that it is still usable. Another quick investigation finds him a frying pan, but when he tries the tap for water, it turns out to be dark and murky, so to his dismay, he has no choice but to fry the meats still frozen.

Waiting for the food to cook up, he tries to mull over his options. He hopes that the back door won't be locked too so that he can go outside and see if he can get some help. On the other hand, he should still go out if the door is locked anyway, but that means he will have to use brute force and brute force is not something he excels at. Unless somebody finds him first. But where is everybody anyway?

He looks around, looking for anything that can be a clue to his predicament. Spotting a battered looking (but surprisingly small enough that he has nearly failed to recognize it) radio, he goes and switch it on.

There is only static. He tries to turn the channel, but only static so far. Which is rather uncanny because you'd think that at least one station would be up to broadcast the news or just random music. It is, after all, the main entertainment most people have nowadays.

After getting sick of trying to find a channel, he abandons the radio, right in time to save the bacon and sausages from being burned to crisp. Finding a relatively clean plate and fork to eat with, he puts the food there and starts to eat while continuing his mulling.

He wonders of what would have made the inhabitant of this beer hall go. A quick glance toward a working clock on the wall tells him that it is either mid afternoon or midnight, and the glimpse of light he could see when he peeks out through the window means that it should be the former. There were movements outside, so then maybe he can try to get help from them. Come to think of it, he should have banged on the door to attract attention. On the other hand, he could have gotten arrested for trespassing into one's property. Not that he did it on purpose.

Which brings him back to his original question: how did he get here?

He tries to rack his memories. The last thing he remembers doing is... storming down the stairs away from Edward.


The sausages don't taste as good any longer.

He remembers giving the boy the back of his hand and feels his mouth twitch into a grimace. He really didn't mean it. He only meant to free himself from Edward's grip. It wasn't his fault that Edward's grip was very strong. And Edward has always been stronger than he was anyway, despite being a lot shorter than him. A first look at Edward and you would think that you are looking at a young lady, and that would be a very very big mistake, because that boy can kick your ass with one hand, blindfolded.

But that still doesn't change the fact that he has indeed hurt the boy.

Pushing his plate away now that he has lost his appetite completely, he looks around again and sighs as he spots what he presumes to be the back door. He will have to think of Edward later. Right now, the priority is to find somebody and get help.

* * *

The back door leads to a dark and grimy alley. He nearly changes his mind. The garbage left outside stinks enough to tell him that the place must have been abandoned for more than mere weeks. But if he has to choose between staying in one place doing nothing and walking pass a very stinky alley, he will choose the latter any day. With protest, of course, but it is not like anyone would be listening to him right now.

Stepping carefully as far as humanly possible from the smell, he moves through the alley, wincing every time his shoes step on a murky puddle, hoping that his trousers won't get too dirty by the time he manages to get help. The alley itself isn't very long, and he is glad when he finds himself out of it not long after. But unfortunately, the relief doesn't last long, because as he looks around, only white and white, and yet more whiteness greets his eyes.

He wanders along the street aimlessly, growing more and more uneasy. The fog limits his vision and he can only see about ten meters ahead, but even then he should be able to see lights or hear sounds, anything that can tell him that he is indeed in the middle of a civilization. But not even one light he sees, and the only sound he hears is the wind.

"Hallo!" he calls out loudly. "Ist da jemand? Hallo!" The uneasiness in his stomach starts to get more profound. "Hilfe!"

The wind blows again, and he nearly misses the soft sound coming from his left. Feeling rather relieved, he turns to the left, to the shadow that shows up from the fog a few meters away from him, walking toward him slowly. Finally, somebody who can tell him where he is and what the hell is going on---

He skids to a sudden stop and gapes as he realizes what he is seeing.

The creature, for the lack of better term to address it, is humanoid at least from waist down, that much he will give credit. But above, instead of a torso and its accompanying head and arms, are yet another waist and another pair of legs, dangling in the air, swinging as it moves toward him. It is like a pair of dolls cut on the waists and then the two lower halves got stuck on to each other with glue to make a macabre kind of doll only a nutcase would love to have.

He stares in growing horror as it wobbles slowly toward him, unable to move his legs despite his brain screaming at him to run, run, and RUN!

It stops before him and he can see that it has a mouth-like orifice in the middle of its torso that twitches every few seconds. It is like being hypnotized. His eyes can't help but being drawn to that orifice, its shape and color remind him of the descriptions people has told him about the other sex during the boys' night out, and he feels nauseated as white liquid slowly seeps out from, like a twisted parody of---

"Scheiße!" he yelps as white liquid suddenly squirts out of the orifice and hit his jacket. The jacket starts to smoke and he turns on his heels and runs while trying to get the jacket off him. It turns out to be a very good idea, because another squirt of white liquid flies past his side. He doesn't entertain the thought of having acidic burns on him, not at all.

He doesn't even think of looking back, afraid that if he does, he will probably see the creature running after him. But the rapid rapping sound behind him forces him to turn his head around, and to his horror, the creature is right behind him, down to its four legs, crawling across the ground in inhuman speed like a spider after its prey. If he could spare the energy and air to shout out profanity, he would have done so, but he knows that that is not something he can afford to do, so he settles to forcing his legs to run faster and ignores the cough that is threatening to escape his lungs.

But alas, he has always known that he is not a good runner, and this fact is back to kick his ass, quite literally. The cemented ground welcomes his chin hard, but he scarcely has the time to feel the pain, because he feels one weight step on his leg and another on the other, and he turns his head to find the creature crawling above him until its four legs pin his limbs to the ground, rendering him vulnerable. And its mouth, or whatever it is supposed to be, looks as if it is smiling predatorily at him, like a cat that is ready to have a feast on the canary.

Oh God, he can't help but scream in his head. I am going to be molested by a monster!

Suddenly there is a gunshot and the creature above him jerks, thrown aside as if something hit him from the side. He uses this chance to kick it off him and rolls over, crawling away as far as possible. There are several more gunshots, before everything goes silent, and after a few moments huddling against the nearest wall, he forces himself to open his eyes and see.

The monster is dead, he knows as soon as he sees it. White and red (ugh, is that blood?!) liquid comes out from what is left from its body, a grotesque sigh of carnage. Nearby, a man is standing, aiming a gun at it, prodding at it with a foot before he stows the gun away, back into a holster on his waist, and turns toward him.

He stares at the man for a moment, before he finally utters the first words in his mind. "Herr Huge?"

The man stops before him and extends a hand. "Are you alright, kid?"

He blinks at the man. Why is the man talking in English? As a matter of fact, when did the man learn English? He doesn't think the man ever has the need to know the language, knowing his reluctance to leave Bavaria.

The man tilts his head. "Hello? Kid, you okay there?"

"Warum sprechen Sie Englisch?" he asks back.

"What?" The man blinks at him. "Kid, do you speak Amestrisian?"

Amestrisian? "Was ist das? Herr Huge, Geht es Ihnen gut...?"

"Sorry, kid, I don't understand what you're saying."

He stares at the man for a moment before he blurts out the first English that comes to his mind, one that Edward always spouts off when he thinks he is in trouble. "Shit."

The man raises an amused eyebrow.

He promptly slaps his own mouth shut, feeling heat flooding his cheeks. Very nice, self, he scolds himself, go and shout out profanity toward the man who saved your life. "I am... sorry," he says in embarrassment, both from the profanity and from the fact that he could barely utter out the apology. He has to admit that he has been quite a passive speaker of English, finding its only use in reading papers. Most of the papers he reads on rocketry are published in English and thanks to that, he understands the language perfectly when it is written. But when it comes to speaking it... well, let's just say that he is not exactly proud of his ability, or lack there of.

"No problem," the man says, grinning at him. "I imagine you're a bit frazzled by those things."

Those things? "Es—it gives more of the Kreaturen?"

"Ah, first encounter?" The man gives him a sympathetic look. "Come on, we should get you somewhere relatively safe to talk. It's a long story."

He boggles at the man. "Relatively safe?" he asks weakly.

The man grimaces at him. "Long story."

* * *

"So, what's your name?" the man asks after they went back to the damned beer hall.

"I am---" he pauses. His name... his name? He blinks. Tries to rake his memory again. What is his name? "I know not," he realizes with a sudden drop in his pit.

The man gives him an incredulous look, but instead of accusing him of playing with him, the man puts a hand on his forehead and says, "You don't look too well. Maybe you should take a rest."

Of course I don't look too well, he wants to scream. I got lost in an abandoned city in God-knows-where and I just found out that I can't even remember who I am!

"Ja, vielleicht...," he said instead. Sitting at one of the long seat, wondering when the earth below him will stop swinging like a boat.

The man kindly brings him a glass of water which he sips a little. The water washes his throat and to his own surprise, he realizes that he is quite thirsty. The man has to take the glass away from him after he tries to drink the whole content in one gulp. "Easy there, kid. Plenty of water."

He nods and resumes drinking on a slower pace. After he put away with the water, he lies down for a moment on the seat and does nothing just to clear his head from the grotesque view he saw before. It is not exactly an easy task, because he still remembers the pulsing and twitching orifice of that thing, as if it was staring at him hungrily with non-existent eyes, ready to devour him....

He shudders involuntarily.

"Feeling better?" the man, who has settled down in the chair across him, asks softly.

He nods dubiously. "Perhaps...?"

The man nods and gives him a wry grin. "You'll get used to it soon."

No, thank you, I don't want to, he wants to scream, but he only gives the man a weak grin.

There is a moment of silence before the man asks again, "Is there anything you remember? Any little thing. Even obscure or unrelated at all."

He thinks of it for a while. He remembered this face talking to him as Policeman Huge, but more than that... no, he remembers nothing at all about Huge. And if there is anything he remembers more than just the face.... "Edward."

The man raises an eyebrow. "Who is Edward?"

Who is Edward indeed?

---greeted him as he walked out of the bedroom, a rarity for the boy always slept in. The golden haired boy offered him coffee, made him breakfast, and called him a name he couldn't remember---

"My With-Habitant."

The man gives him a grin. "He must be very dear to you if you remember him more than yourself."

He says nothing, hoping that the man won't ask further, because this is not a conversation that should be happening. The pattern is odd enough because it shouldn't have been a boy. It should have been his parents, or siblings if he has any, or a girl. Not a boy.

But apparently the man isn't fooled, because he then reaches out and ruffles his hair friendly. "Tell you what," the man says. "I'll call you Edward for the time being."

He turns his head and gives the man an incredulous look.

The man shrugs. "Do you want me to call you 'hey you!' all the time? At least just until you remember your own name. How's that?"

He stares at the man for a while, before he cracks out a wry smile. "I think 'Edward' suit me not."

The man guffaws. "I think I know what you mean," he says. "You're nothing like the Edward I know. More like his brother Alphonse, if you ask me."

---fons! He, Alfons! Wach auf, Schlafmütze!

"I like 'Alphonse'," he finds himself saying.

The man grins. "I'll call you 'Alphonse', then."

* * *

The golden haired boy was standing in front of the window, looking at the bleak sky outside with a longing look in his eyes, as if he was trying to find something good in the empty heaven that continues to elude from him. Once a while he would sigh and shifted, but never his eyes left the sky, the golden eyes getting duller and duller as time goes by.

His hands reached to that small shoulders and he could feel himself forcing a smile to his own lips. "Irgendwann werden wir es schaffen." he said. "Wir werden nach dort oben gehen."

The golden haired boy looked up to him and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Ja doch," he merely said.

He wanted to put his arms around the golden haired boy and tell him that they
would go, even if it would cost his life, but he said nothing instead.

They just stood there looking at the dull gray sky---

"--phonse? Hey, kid. Wakey wakey."

'Alphonse' opens his eyes. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before the fog in his head manages to get cleared off enough for him to push himself up to his elbows. He blinks sleepily at the man across him and smiles thinly. "Guten Morgen, Herr Hughes."

The man named Maes Hughes grins at him, but there is a slight lack of mirth in his eyes. "I'd take it that you're telling me a 'good morning'. I sure hope that it will be a good one indeed."

'Alphonse' grimaces at him, but he doesn't say anything to that remark. Instead he sighs, "I have hunger."

Hughes laughs out loud. "I was worried about you just now, but I guess you're faring with this better than I expected. Come on," he beckons. "I took the liberty of checking the building while you were asleep and I think there is still some bacon in the kitchen."

One frying and near accident with the butter later, they sit in the table nearest to the kitchen door and have a quiet breakfast. 'Alphonse' watches between bites as the man divides his attention between eating and listening to the radio he has with him. Listening to what, 'Alphonse' doesn't understand, because all he hears is static noise. He also realizes that the man has also turned on the radio in the kitchen loud enough to be heard.

"For what You hear?"

Hughes' turns his attention from the radio to flash him a grin. "Those monsters."

"What do You mean?" 'Alphonse' asks, rather confused of the relation between the radio and the monsters.

"The static noise gets louder whenever they are near," the man explains. "Like right now, I think there are several of them walking in front of this building."

'Alphonse' leans closer to the radio, listening intently. At first, there was no significant difference in the noise itself, but after a few moments of listening, he starts to be able to hear the small changes in the noise that is not as random as he might have thought. He can hear the amplitude gaining ever so slightly for a moment, reaching a momentum, before decreasing again. "High Amplitude is they near being?"

"Yeah," Hughes confirms. "But only when they move. If they don't, then the radio won't pick anything."

Interesting, 'Alphonse' thinks. He tries to wave his hand near the radio, but there is no change in the static voice. "Them only. Us not."

"Apparently. Don't know why, but at least it's better than nothing."

'Alphonse' can come up with several hypotheses (electromagnetic field surrounding the creatures affecting with particles in the air which in turn caught by the sound frequency, electrons released into the air by some source or nucleus in a monster's body, or just plain non-logical means of affecting sound wave) but he says nothing instead, just nodding in agreement to the man's statement. "Ach," he exclaims as something crosses his mind suddenly. "Und where had You die Pistole find?"

Hughes lifts the handgun he has with him, giving it a grimace. "In the police station, along with the map of the town, I believe."

"The town!"

"It's called Silent Hill," Hughes informs him. "Supposedly a resort town or something, but one look around and you can tell that only the dead or the creep would try to have a summer vacation here."

'Alphonse' grimaces at him. "The town ist groß?"

Hughes snorts at him. "It's gross, alright."

'Alphonse' blinks at him, then he realizes his mistake. "Bitte, I mean, the town is, uh, umm...." He opens his arms wide, trying to gesture the bloody word that just can't seem to surface.

Fortunately, the man is smart enough to understand what he is trying to say. "I think the word you're looking for is 'big'." 'Alphonse' nods furiously, refraining himself from hitting his head against the wall for making such a silly mistake. Thankfully the man says nothing of that particular incompetence and continues, "Yeah, big enough to have two hospitals in it. I think it used to be able to support itself before whatever happened happened."

'Alphonse' frowns. "What happened... Krieg? But, why I am here? Ich bin kein Brit."

Hughes sighs and inserts the last of the bacon into his mouth. "I have my own questions too. Check this out." He takes out a piece of paper, which after unfolding is revealed to be the map of the town.

'Alphonse' looks over the map. Scanning it quickly gives him more information, that the area is basically divided into two, North Vale and South Vale, and Silent Hill, or at least the three of them, since there are Silent Hill, Central Silent Hill, and Old Silent Hill respectively, are located in North Vale. "Where are we?" he asks.

Hughes points at a spot at Old Silent Hill. "Here, Cafe 5to2." He points to another spot, this time at Central Silent Hill. "I found myself here, the police station."

'Alphonse' wonders for a moment before he points at the only road that seems to connect the town to outside world. "This road. Perhaps we can go out?"

The man shakes his head. "Checked that one. There's a huge chasm there and I couldn't find a way to pass."


"Err, hole. Big gap."

'Alphonse' nods, although he wonders why the man didn't try to walk around the chasm instead of going back to the town. After all, judging from the map, there is a hill next to the road and while the map doesn't give the topography of the area, it can probably be hiked. Shaking that thought away, he looks over the map again. "Here," he points at a place that seems to be a resort place. "Has no Boot?"

"I haven't checked," the man admits.

Interesting, 'Alphonse' muses. It is as if the man has no intention of leaving the town. "How are You come here?"

Hughes shrugs. "I don't know. The last thing I remember was talking to Roy in the phone, trying to convince him to come to Elysia's birthday party, which oh! Have I shown you her picture? He is such a beautiful angel, my daughter is." Before 'Alphonse' realizes it, the man already whips out a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and shoves it to his nose. It is a picture of the man, a woman, and a small girl. "Aren't she adorable? My Elysia," the man gushes lovingly, before he suddenly turns to 'Alphonse', a hint of maniacal glint in his eyes. "If you ever dare to as much as to touch her hair---"

"I will not," 'Alphonse' assures him flatly. After all, it is not as if he was interested to be a pedophile. "How will we get out the town?"

"Nice question." Hughes folds his hands and leans back, seeming to be thinking. But somehow, instead of thinking of how to exit this town, 'Alphonse' has a feeling that the man is looking for an excuse to stay. Maybe it is just him being paranoid, because the man does not look like he is going to harm him, but the way he seems to handle the handgun easily reminds him of a military man. Even his clothes, which despite its choice of color (who has ever heard of blue military uniform?), screams military at him, but it is obviously not British nor France. He has seen enough of those uniforms to recognize it immediately.

"Herr Hughes," he finds himself calling the man, but before he can speak out his concern, another thought comes to him.

What if the man doesn't want him to know too much?

So instead, hoping that the man doesn't realize his last-minute decision, he wonders aloud, "Perhaps are other people here."

Hughes stares at him for a while, before he tilts his head. "Could be. After all, I found you."

'Alphonse' nods, hoping that he doesn't look too enthusiastic over the notion of not having to be alone with a man with a handgun. "Where to find?"

Leaning over the map, Hughes scans it for a moment. "Somewhere very public, or very private instead. But schools and hospitals are common place for mass evacuations during a disaster, so I'd imagine that even if we don't find anyone there, there would be at least some clues to what happened here."

'Alphonse' leans over as well. "Midwich Elementary School ist in der Nähe... umm, in the near."

"Yeah," the man agrees. "I'd inspect the church here too. Then we can go to Alchemilla Hospital," he points at a spot in Central Silent Hill. "And the town center. And if we still can't find a thing, there's the Brookhaven Hospital here," he points at South Vale. "Though I certainly hope we don't have to go that far."

'Alphonse' sighs as he leans back against his chair and gives the man a resigned look. "We must food bring," he finally says, allowing no objection.

The man blinks at him, before he bursts into laughter. "At least your appetite doesn't seem to be affected by this."

'Alphonse' grimaces at the man, but he says nothing at all. After all, he is a growing boy. Granted, he might be taller than most of his peers already, but it is not his fault that he tends to be hungry at the most inappropriate time. At least he is not as bad as Edward about it.

* * *

As they are about to go out via the back exit of Cafe 5to2, Hughes suddenly comes to a stop and turns around. "I nearly forgot. Here," he takes one of 'Alphonse's hand and put something in it.

'Alphonse' blinks at the thing in his hand, but it doesn't take him too long to realize that it is a handgun, different than the one Hughes owns, and a few cartridges. He nearly drops them. "Wa- was, warum!?"

Hughes gives him an exasperated look. "You really should quit talking in language I don't understand."

'Alphonse' feels his face reddening. Well, excuse him for not being too fluent in English. "Englisch is not Motherspeak to all people."

"Amestrisian, you mean?"


"Weird, I never heard Amestrisian being called Englisch."

"Und I heard Amestrisian not."

Hughes frowns. "You know, I don't think you speak in Aerugan, because I've heard you pronouncing 'P's easily. Also not Xingese, because you can actually pronounce an 'R'. You also don't exactly have the Cretan accent. It's closer to Drachman and from your looks, I have to admit that I thought you were a Drachman at first, but you don't act like one. Well, at least not like the ones I've met so far."

To say that 'Alphonse' is confused is like saying that the Earth evolutes around the Sol. "Was?"

"I'm merely wondering where you came from," the man says in a way a mother would talk to his idiotic son.

'Alphonse' refrains from growling at the man. "I come from Deutschland."

"Never heard of it," Hughes says.

'Alphonse' boggles at him. "You know not Deutschland? Germany? Bayern? Preußen? Weimar?"

"No," the man says, and judging from the blank look on his face, 'Alphonse' has to admit that the man is not lying. And now he is confused. The man never heard of Germany!? The Germany? Granted that the nation is famous for being the evil side in the Great War, a view propagated by the British and caused so much trouble to Germans like him, what with the whole disaster that is the Weimar Republic, but surely one that is as old as Hughes would have heard of it!

Hughes gives him a confused look, but instead of pursuing, he instead says, "Look, we should go as soon as possible. We solve nothing by just standing here and argue about names of countries."

Probably, but at least I would get the time to nurse the goddamn headache you've just given me right now, 'Alphonse' wants to snipe back at him, but he only sighs and looks down at the gun in his hand. "How I use this?"

After a short lecture in how to use the handgun without accidentally shooting his own foot, 'Alphonse' is finally deemed good enough to handle it. Carefully, he puts the gun inside the bag he found when they searched the place for anything that could be brought with them, and takes the bat he found in the attic instead. At Hughes' raised eyebrow, he only says, "Eine Pistole sollte nur im Notfall verwendet werden," and marches out to the alley, leaving the bewildered Hughes.

It doesn't take them very long to finally come up to Bachman Road, as it is stated on the map. Further consultation with the map shows that they only have to move south for a couple hundreds of meter before turning to the right and go along Bradbury Street until they find Midwich Elementary. It sounds easy enough.

'Alphonse' looks around, taking in the fog filled town's landscape and the general lack of life, and gulps none too silently.

Easy enough.

"Come on," Hughes says, and the two of them starts their way down the road, into the mysterious town of Silent Hill.

* * * * * * *

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