Well, here it is. Hell Hath No Fury, Silent Hill Militia Volume 2. Enjoy, and leave a review on your way out.

A note on the timeline: because there has never been anything official put out by Konami regarding exact dates for the specific games in the series, I am assuming the series is set in the "present day" and that the original Silent Hill is set "seventeen years ago" There are several fan timelines out there which, although thorough, make a lot of assumptions, as there are sparse few facts regarding dates. A timeline was released with the Book of Lost Memories supplement, but its most recent entry was for the murder of Silent Hill's mayor, taking place in, quote: "19XX". From this we can assume that Silent Hill was meant to have a floating timeline. This is the theory I support and the Militia universe, at least, is set in the present day.

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"If ya flick 'em, they get brighter," theorized eleven-year-old Julian Kansler as he tapped at a dusty lightbulb with his fingernail. Sure enough, at every tap, the struggling filament elicited a brief upsurge in brightness that quickly settled back to its original state once the white glass had stopped vibrating.

'Quit it," a voice from behind him said, "They're fine. We're lucky they work as they are."

Julian turned and surveyed the room, a dark first floor parlor with peeling greenish wallpaper, moth-eaten rigs, and a clear inch of dust over everything. The light from the weary fixtures barely reached the edges of the small, squareish space. Most of the room's light was blocked by a set of threadbare curtains, which obscured the grayish, sooty outdoor light from penetrating far into the gloom. Outside, the wind picked up, howling down through the fog-shrouded streets and rattling the loose panes of glass in their sockets.

"They're fine?" Julian replied incredulously, "It's pitch dark in here. Usually if there's enough light, you don't need to use flashlights," He gestured to several of the men in the room, who had taken out flashlights to accomplish their various tasks, Sanders was spit-polishing his corporal's pins under the faint red light of his flashlight, while Foley was fieldstripping his Beretta 9000S under the white lens of his.

"Okay, you got me," replied Sergeant Saltzmon, "But we have orders to stay low until we're finished with the sweep. We can't do anything about it or else we'll have all sorts of monsters down on us, and that's the last thing we need," he finished.

"Well how long are we gonna be sitting here in the dark for?" Julian retorted.

"Just until second squad is done with the sweep of next door. Then we'll finally have this block cleansed," said Saltzmon, "They should be finishing up now,"

………

Cheryl Mason advanced down the hall, weapon raised, the molded metal of the trigger guard biting into her finger as the digit rested along its dull gray surface. She swept the IMI Uzi at every shadow and crevice, the light coming from the small flashlight in her right vest pocket illuminating every stretch of dank wall, every dust-lined corner.

Something flicked into Cheryl's peripheral vision, something bloody, like raw meat…a hand…

She spun around. Nothing. Only a length of unused hall, shadows, and silence.

Chuckling to herself and chalking it up to imagination, she turned and continued on into the silent house.

She approached the final door of the hall, the master bedroom, situated at the very end of the hall, much like in a dream where a person runs toward a door at the end of a hall and it just gets further and further away.

This door, thankfully, didn't shrink away, but arrived, solid and unmoving, before Cheryl, who backed up and promptly kicked it open. Hearing no immediate sounds from within, she advanced slowly into the dark space, training her weapon over the moth-eaten bed, the dusty wardrobe, and the - wait a minute – nope, empty adjoining bathroom. Cheryl keyed her radio link and responded, "Clear. Residence 19 all clear, no contact,"

She headed back down the stairs and out onto the foggy street outside, toward the Humvee where Sergeant Gregs was waiting. He looked up as Cheryl approached.

"All clear, eh," he said, in his usual thick Australian accent, "Finally, some tunes," He leaned into the Humvee's cab and suddenly the lonely, twanging guitars of Korn's 'Falling Away from Me' blasted from the vehicle's speakers. Gregs was an ardent music lover, and hosted the Militia's in-town radio station, Radio Silent Hill, that could be picked up on specially blessed vehicle radios.

The rest of second squad filed out. First came Maximillian Tasher, hoisting the sling of the Winchester Defender shotgun he had been carrying onto his shoulder. He was followed closely by Zak Harper and "Oddball" Odd Larkin, the former wiping beads of sweat from his dark skinned forehead, while the latter holstered his two-toned Taurus PT92 into its shoulder rig opposite the 6' barreled Smith and Wesson 686 the rig was also supporting.

"Ahh, Gregs and his music. I knew it." Intoned Harper, "Didn't I tell you, Odd, I knew it."

"What I'm worried about," replied Larkin, his thick southern drawl rolling off his words as he spoke, "Is how Tash over there is gonna pay me back. That house was empty, you owe me seventy five bucks my friend, so cough up."

"Tash" Tasher looked up, his dark eyes fixed slyly on Larkin. "I'll take it off of the hundred you owe me," he said simply.

"Hey, Cheryl," called Harper upon seeing her, "Chaplain Simmons here yet?"

"Nope, still waiting on him, don't know what the problem is," Cheryl replied, "He should've been here ten minutes ago."

"Ohh I'm sure it'll be something suitably heroic and holy," chuckled Harper, pulling a pack of gum from his jacket pocket, "Gum?"

"No thanks," Cheryl replied, "I should probably go tell first squad that we're done."

Straightening up from where she had been leaning against the Humvee, Cheryl started down the street and approached the house where the members of first squad, and Julian, were waiting.

"Heeey, took you long enough," Specialist Foley replied, slapping the magazine back into his reassembled Beretta and looking up, "No contact I presume,"

"Nope," Cheryl replied, "Emptier than a Janitor's booth at a career fair. Bad news is we'll be here for a while. Simmons isn't here yet, and we can't reclaim the block without him doing the reconsecration,"

"You know that never does anything," Corporal Sanders interjected, repinning his rank pins to his collar, "They come back whether or not we consecrate the place or not. It makes no immediate difference whether or not we leave. I say post a guard detail to watch the place and the rest of us can leave."

"In a hurry, Sanders?" Cheryl asked, raising an eyebrow, "Got somewhere to be?"

"I only meant…" Sanders started.

'I know what you meant," Cheryl cut him off, "Look, the spiritual side of this fight isn't always rays of light and miracles. It's not always as…dramatic as this," she continued, gesturing around the decrepit room, "But it's necessary. You can't see it, but it's there. Just because the house doesn't look any different after consecration doesn't mean it isn't. We wait for Chaplain Simmons. Those were his orders."

"I didn't mean I don't believe in…" Sanders started again.

"You didn't say it, but it was part of your question anyway," Cheryl interrupted him a second time, "What I mean that the area isn't fully secured, metaphysically, until Simmons does the reconsecration. Our orders are to secure these blocks, both physically and spiritually, and to remain there in force until they are reconsecrated, and leaving before that's done all the way is the same as deserting our posts. We're stuck here."

Cheryl crossed the room and sank onto a moth-eaten couch next to Sanders, "Simmons should be here in ten minutes, tops," Cheryl addressed the room at large, "So don't look so worried. Gregs and the rest of second squad are outside. If anything's coming, he'll let us know,"

'If I know Gregs and I do," Saltzmon interjected, "He'll be deafening himself with Mettalica right now. I think I can hear it," Sure enough, incoherent notes were drifting in through the half-open door, teasing at the edges of the soldiers' hearing.

"It's Korn this week," Cheryl informed him, "I'm glad. I got so sick of 'Sanitarium' since I got here…" she trailed off.

Silence reigned for a few minutes, punctuated only by the howl of the wind and the faint trill of music bleeding from inside the Humvee out front, the doors obviously shut tight against the wind and the volume cranked.

Foley eventually broke it. " So, LT. How'd you guys get here? You and Julian, I mean. How'd you…uhh, end up in this mess?"

"You don't want to hear that story," interjected Cheryl.

"Yes I do," persisted Foley.

"No you don't," Cheryl repeated, ripping into the wrapper of a ration bar and extracting the pasty lump from within the glittering package.

"We've got time," Foley said, obviously intent on testing the young officer's patience.

Cheryl sighed, dropping the bar onto the table with a thunk. "You really want to hear the story?" she asked, "Really?"

"Yep," said Foley.

"Okay," Cheryl replied, "Julian, heads up. I need your help in this,"

"Don't drag me into this," Julian said defensively, raising his hands in protest.

"Ohh no, if Foley wants to hear this ohh-so-thrilling tale, he's gonna have to live with the guilt of forcing you to help me retell it as well. Can you live with that guilt, Specialist Foley?"

"Yep," said Foley nonchalantly.

"Well don't all rush to my defense at once," Julian said sarcastically, looking around the room at Saltzmon and Sanders. Both of them just shrugged and went back to their game of Crazy Eights.

Julian sighed and sank back in his seat, adopting the air of a famous gunslinger that has just given in to a request to regale the saloon with tales of his exploits. "Well," he started, "It all started a few days before we got here…"

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Cliffhangers rock. I'll post the next chapter soon.

Take notice, everyone, of how a certain Silent Hill veteran kept her finger off of the trigger. That's gun safety rule number one; the first thing they teach you in the military, at the police range, or at hunters' safety. Always keep your finger off the trigger until you have made the conscious decision to shoot and have your target sighted in. Hollywood breaks this rule all the time and it always makes me cringe (although they are getting better). Just trying to spread the word. Be safe, and a gun will never hurt you.

Korn is one of my favorite bands, and 'Falling Away from Me' was the first Korn song I ever heard, so I thought I'd include them in the story. The other song mentioned is "Sanitarium (Welcome Home)" by Metallica.

Hope you enjoyed. Read and review please.