Hey. Chapter two is now up. I'll be switching between Heather's point of view and Julian's later in the story. It starts out in Heather's.
I'm also going to try something new. I'm going to use music cues in here, indicating when a certain song will play. Tell me if they work, or if they impede the flow of the story.
Once again, Konami owns everything except for my characters and monsters, and the story itself.
We're here.
We're now on the third floor of the Hilltop Center office complex. Standing in the hall outside the Monica's Dance Studio office. To our left is their old dance hall, now used to store equipment, mats, and other bits of junk that they don't have room for at their new location. To our right is the rest of the hall, which contains, among other things, a locker room for the dancers that used to come and practice here.
I open the door and walk inside. To my utter surprise, John is sleeping in his desk chair. He's a tall man, with a thin face, and dark brown hair. I decide to wake him. I take a newspaper from the cluttered desk and roll it up…
Smack.
"Ahh, Ahh. What?"
"Evening, John. You mind telling me what's going on?" I say, as he gets his bearings, "No one I know can sleep through a world-shift."
"World shift, what are you…Ohh shit," he mumbles, looking around at his derelict surroundings.
-Smack- "You mind your language in front of Julian," I hiss.
"Whoa. Whoa, easy there, LT. Holy hell…" –smack-
"That also includes blasphemy. Now, John," I say, circling his chair slowly, "Your file said you were a little lazy, but this borders on incompetence. You better have a pretty good explanation ready. And I mean 'I was abducted by aliens' good, and you better have proof."
"Well, I was up all last night and today, and I was wearing earplugs. Do you know how hard it is to keep up with the paperwork for this dance studio and keep up a reliable means of communication between Silent Hill and here? I'm not just sitting back and watching my a…" he eyes the rolled up newspaper still in my hand "…belly grow."
"Wow, I had no idea you found your job so stressful. I'll put in a call and see if I can't get you a transfer back to active duty. They always could use another target…I mean soldier, to help with the cleanup. And from the looks of it, something's up,"
"Yeah," he says under his breath, apparently ignoring my last jibe, "What's with that?"
"I was hoping you could tell me. We're in Normalside here. And there are monsters out there. New ones."
"New ones, huh? Like what?" John asks, interested.
"Needles, all over its body. Fast. Weak though. Three shots or so takes it down."
"Interesting. Did you get any pictures, samples, anything like that?"
"Ohh I'm awfully sorry, Johnny boy, but I forgot. I was more concerned with getting Julian here to safety."
"Ahh, Julian. Right, what's the deal with him?" he says, lowering his voice, "Peripheral?"
"Yeah, got sucked in along with me," I say sadly.
"Aww, that's a shame. Is he armed?"
'Armed? Are you kidding? He's eleven years old. He has been read in, though. He knows about all of it. I figured he may as well get it all from me, firsthand. Better then anyone else giving him distorted facts, even if they don't know it themselves."
"Well he should still have some protection. You remember that wall-burrowing incident at Pete's Bowl-O-Rama last month? You were there, weren't you? Or did you already leave?"
"I was there. And I know for a fact that that it only happened because the squad leader was afraid of being buried alive. Ex-miner. Besides, he isn't here. It's just us," I say.
'Still…"
"Look. I want to keep him out of this as much as possible. I don't want him involved in this war. Right now, he can sign the Secret Actions Act and go back to a normal life. But if we allow him to fight, he may get hurt, or killed. I promised his parents that I'd watch out for him, and come hell or high water," I say in a low whisper, chuckling at the inherent irony in that statement, "I'm gonna do that,"
"So protect him. He may just as well get killed standing in this office. Better to arm him now then bury him later and wish you had," John retorts.
'Okay, fine," I relent, "Set him up. I'm going to talk to HQ and find out what exactly is going on out there," I say, as I head for the door.
"Julian," I say, as I pass him, "John'll will set you up with something for protection. I'm gonna go call HQ."
"You think I'll need it?" Julian asks, looking worried.
"Probably not," I try to reassure him, "But better safe than sorry."
I head over into the dance hall proper. This room serves as a storage area for the things the studio can't store in their new location. As such, it is literally stuffed with the various odds and ends necessary to run a dance studio; mats, balance beams, exercise bars, and other odds and ends in cardboard boxes pushed into corners.
I cross the room to one of these cardboard boxes and open it. Inside is a compact radio with a direct feed to a listening post on the outskirts of Silent Hill. It ended up needing to be blessed by a military chaplain before it could penetrate out into the outside world, but now it is one of the only direct links to the outside from within the alternate Silent Hill. I turn it on, key the wide emergency band, and press the talk button.
"Wayward Soul to Redemption's Gate, Wayward Soul to Redemption's Gate, do you read? We have a 6-0 with a peripheral. I repeat; we have a 6-0 situation with a peripheral out here. I need a sitrep, over. Redemption's Gate, respond," I wait for a few seconds, and hear the crackle of the transmission.
"Roger Wayward Soul, this is Redemption's Gate. We've got a bit of a situation out here. Nothing too serious, just some local terrorist activity. There's still a good number of 'em out there you know. Looks like a few of them decided to throw a party, and you must be getting some fallout. We're looking for the trigger items now, but don't hold your breath. We have absolutely no idea what we're looking for. Could take all night. Over," the operator responded.
"Great," I say sarcastically, "Call in when you find something. Over and out."
I drop the line, pick up the radio, and head back to the office. John and Julian are standing by the desk, which is littered with numerous handguns; a Glock or two, a nickel-plated SIG Pro, a stainless Beretta Cheetah, and a few revolvers I don't recognize. Massfield is holding a large .357 Magnum revolver and is explaining its operation to Julian. He spins the cylinder once and flicks it closed with his wrist.
"Ehy," I call, "You're gonna wreck the cylinder crane doing that,"
"Sorry, Lieutenant," he smiles sheepishly, "Old habit,"
He continues, "The weight's a good thing, it's a sign of reliability, and you always want that. A gun's no good if it jams on you. Then all you got is an expensive bludgeon. Come to think of it, this baby'd make a good one of those too, heavy as it is,"
"He's not going to need to be clubbing anything. And besides, he needs a self defense piece, not a hand cannon," I say, walking over to the desk and inspecting the various firearms strewn across it. I pick up the nickel SIG; an SP2340 in .357 SIG, "How about this one? I used one once. They're great guns," I say.
"Wouldn't happen to have been Corporal Harlinger's backup piece would it?" John asks.
"Yep," I reply, "I was outta 9mm and he had a 12 gauge, so he gave me the gun. Great piece. It's accurate, light, and these .357 SIG rounds pack serious punch. How's it feel?" I ask, passing the weapon to Julian, who looks it over.
"I'll take it," he replies.
"Has a bit of kick though. I'd recommend testing it first," I look over at Julian, who nods.
We head out into the hall and John, after passing out earplugs and safety glasses, instructs Julian to fire at the far wall. (All the damage would of coarse be gone when we shifted out of Normalside) He does, and John tells him to try and hit the same spot again, giving tips on grip and sighting as he goes, as well as the gun handling rules, I.E. finger off the trigger, keep your muzzle pointed in a safe direction, ect. This goes on for a few more shots, after which I'm satisfied that Julian can handle it. He's actually a pretty good shot, better then I was when I first faced these monsters.
We head back into the office and sit down. Minutes pass, Julian looking over his newly issued sidearm, John poking through his cabinets for anything that might, in any way, help us with our situation, and me trying to raise headquarters again.
"I still can't get anything," I say exasperatedly, as the warded radio emits static for the hundredth time in twenty minutes.
"Well maybe…" he's cut off as the lights go out.
"Circuit breaker," John says, "We'll have to turn it back on,"
He's right. In a world-shift fallout area like this one, the lights going off are a very common occurrence. We'll have to go downstairs and trip the breaker. Well, I think ruefully, at least we won't have to worry about any convoluted 'puzzles'. The town only subjects 'target parties'; that is, people who the town wants to test in some way, to its annoying fetch quests. That was what the radioman was talking about when he mentioned 'trigger items'; puzzle pieces. It's more of an annoyance then a serious challenge. Its purpose is to subject you to the full extent of the "Otherworld" and to hopefully drive you mad or something. I don't know.
"You know, a couple of months ago, all this would have seemed really strange to me." I say with a chuckle,
"Who wants to go?" John asks.
"Ehhh, I'll get it, John, cover me." I answer, like I'm just going out to get the mail, heading for the door.
Can't. They've randomized callsigns now that we're in world shift. If they need more information, I need to be here to reply with the proper response. You're either gonna have to go by yourself or take Julian with you. It should be safe. Fallout zones like this rarely have more than one or two monsters in them. Trust me, personal experience," John says with a hint of distaste, "Just cover Julian and you'll be fine. Treat him like an escort, like they showed you how to do with Father Wickwire that one time. All you need him for is to cover you while you fix the fuses. Only one entrance to the breaker room anyway."
"Nonononono," I say, flatly refusing to even consider the possibility of taking Julian along with me, "He's not leaving this room. I don't need cover."
"It's our best option, maybe not the ideal, but it's all we have. Two guns is always better then one. Remember Private Peterson?"
"Ughhh, how could I forget?" Private Peterson went in alone to break a world-shift in Alchemilla hospital and was found later, dead of blood loss. He was paralyzed and couldn't dress his wounds. Must've been a terrible way to go. Now I'm seeing John's point. He's always had this way of convincing you of anything, instentaniously, throughperfectly executed examples, and I'm not so glad to say it worked.
"OK OK, But for the record, this is an insanely stupid and bafflingly irresponsible move. But I guess we don't have a choice," I say, turning to Julian, "you gotta come with me, Julian. I just need someone to hold the shotgun and cover me while I fix the power."
"OK," he says, his voice filled with apprehension.
"Firstly, do you promise to obay any order I give you, without question and without hestitation?"
"Yeah," he replies, an even more worried edge to his voice now.
"If I tell you to run, you will do so?"
"Yeah,"
"If I tell you to hide, will you do so?"
"Yeah,"
"If I tell you to go back and save yourself, you will do so? Without hesitation?"
"Yeah,"
"Good. Then no worries then," I say, putting a reassuring hand on Julian's shoulder, "You'll be perfectly safe with me. Okay?"
He nods worriedly.
"If we're not back in ten…" I say.
"Call the next of kin," John replies automatically. It's a semi-joking sendoff.
We head out of the dance hall and back into enemy territory. The breakers are in the basement so we head for the staircase. We head down. Thankfully, none of the doors are locked. The rest of the complex looks very similar to the dance hall we just vacated, but there's something different; a pervading sense of evil that seems to bleed from every surface, like a disease. It makes you uneasy. To combat this, I decide to strike up a conversation.
"Julian…Julian,' I repeat the name thoughtfully, "Who were you named for, if you don't mind me asking? The saint?"
"My Uncle Julian from Colorado, and the saint too, I suppose," he replies his voice more even now, "Saint Julian of Norwich. I don't know, maybe that's one of the places where they got the name, which would be strange 'cause she was a girl."
"Name goes both ways," I reply.
"I know," he says.
"What was that quote of hers," I ask, "All will be well. All will be well. Everything, everywhere will be well. Something like that, anyway,"
"I think it goes 'All will be well, and all will be well, and everything, everywhere will be well,"
" 's what I said,"
"No it wasn't,"
"Yes it was,"
"No it wasn't,"
"Aarg. This could go on all night. I'm ending this here,"
"Yay, I win,"
"No you don't,"
We eventually reach the basement doorway. It was a small steel door off of the back entrance, pretty unremarkable. This may be easier then I thought, I think as I open it.
We proceed down the stairs and along the basement corridor. I see an opening up ahead. We approach it. It's a widening of the hallway, alongside a basement loading lift. I proceed through first. I recoil in shock, however, when I see what is lining the walls of the hallway, behind sections of grate in the walls. They were bodies, in body bags. They looked like they…no, I'm not gonna describe them here. I'm drawing the line at this. You wanna know what they looked like, you come and ask me in person. But not here…no.
"Freeze, Julian," I say sharply. He stops in his tracks. "Stay right where you are. Don't move a muscle."
This is the absolute worst of Normalside. Usually you don't start encountering things like this until you hit 'Reverse side'. But there are exceptions, and this is apparently one of them.
I walk slowly to the opposite end of the hallway, trying not to look at the spectacle lining the walls. When I reach the end, I turn on the spot. Now I have to get Julian across.
"Julian," I call, "Listen to exactly what I'm saying. Walk towards me. NoNoNo not yet. When I tell you. Keep your eyes on me. Don't look away from me. It's…dangerous,"
"Dangerous,"
"Yeah, dangerous. There's…things in here,"
He nods, and I continue. 'Alright, walk towards me now. Eyes front. That's it, come on. You're doing great," I say. He's walking towards me, keeping his eyes locked onto me, just like I told him.
"Come on. Eyes front, Julian. Almost there. Eyes on me. All right, run. Run. Run. Good. We're past it. Man I hate those things," I say with a shudder. They weren't actually dangerous, but Julian doesn't need to be seeing…things like that. Even I'm a little queasy, and I'm used to it.
Anyway, we reach the breaker room and enter. I turn the breakers back on, Julian covering me, and we head back up to the dance hall. It was pretty uneventful. Only thing of note is that on our way back, I gave Julian a blindfold for the infamous hall. I don't like lying to him, but I feel that it's for his own good. (Later on, he does get wise, but understands, so no harm done)
We head back into our newly relit dance hall office. John is waiting for us there. He reports that he hasn't gotten anything. He also suggests that we, because we may be here all night, try to get some sleep.
We lug the radio over into the dance hall proper, and prop it up on some boxes. We flip a coin for the office couch, and John wins. He heads for his office while we are left with the dance hall.
We get settled in, and I head over to the office to scrounge up any and all blankets I can steal from John before he settles in.
-Music cue: Lost in Here, Silent Hill: Origins soundtrack-
"He trusts you, you know," John says, seemingly out of the blue, as I'm rummaging through his cabinets for something to make a bed out of; a blanket or pillow or anything.
"I sigh, "I know,"
"That's a great thing. No one trusts anymore," John replies.
"Well, I'm trying to earn that trust," I reply, "I don't know. I've never dealt with something like this. I mean, I've lead people before, squads of soldiers and the like. But that's just it, I've lead trained soldiers who could hold their own, soldiers who were drilled and conditioned to fighting and risking their lives. Julian's just a kid. I…I don't know. I feel like…like nothing I do can protect him, and that he could be attacked at any minute."
"Relax," John says, "While you were down in the basement I got this place warded through the roof. Nothing short of Satan himself could get through the blessings that'r on it now,"
"Well if you've done it right, even he shouldn't be able to get in here," I say slyly.
"It was a joke. Seriously, only a full-blown church has better protection. I got the full 'bolt hole kit' from Chaplain Simmons. Every possible blessing and ward the Militia's got are on this place right now. Someone must've thought you were pretty valuable to the cause. And come on, Julian can handle himself. The body instinctively reacts to attack, summons combat skill you didn't even know you had. He'll be fine."
"I know," I say softly, "But still, I dragged him into this, and I'm gonna see him through."
I find the blankets, stored there for employee breaks and the like, and manage to grab the pillow before John finds it. After all, he has a couch; all we have is the floor.
Then we settle in and wait.
Julian's POV.
We're hunkered down now, in this old dance hall, waiting for a transmission from this "Heaven's Gate" outpost. Honestly I don't know what to make of all this. Heather explained it to me, but I'm still having a hard time believing it. But how can't I? The evidence is all around me, and Heather wouldn't lie, not about something like this.
Maybe I should start calling her Cheryl, now that she's using her old name again.
She's sitting here next to me. We haven't spoken since we settled down here. Honestly, I'm glad she's here. Her presence is a comfort. Heck, even if she had sat by the door or at the window, she would have still been a reassuring presence.
Even if she's the reason we're here in the first place I'm glad she's here. It wasn't her fault. She said they'd signed a truce. She couldn't possibly have known. Still, I want to know what our chances are against this.
Heather's POV
"Heather…are you sure we're gonna make it outta this?" Julian asks timidly.
"Of coarse we are. We'll get through this. I've dealt with much worse in my time than this little hiccup." I reassure him, trying to inject a note of humor into the conversation.
He looks me full in the face, his blue eyes glistening like searchlights in the semi-darkness, seeking reassurance, "Promise you won't, Y'know… go anywhere?" he asks softly.
I put an arm around him. "I promise. I'm staying right here," I say.
I can tell that he needs me, now. He needs me to be strong, to help him through this. I know because that was exactly the way I felt the first time I was thrust into this screwed up place. That day, I would have killed for a friendly face in that gloom, a reassuring smile in that endless dark. I've always styled myself as a bit of loner, never needing anyone. My attitude changed that day.
I had never really pictured myself as the needy, clingy type. But there I was, latching onto Douglas, the only friendly face I had seen in God knows how long. Now, my role is reversed. Someone needs me now, and I'm not going to let him feel the same way I did that day.
I eventually suggest that one of us try to get some sleep. I say we'll take it in shifts; one of us sleeps while the other mans the radio. I create a makeshift bed out of an exercise mat and the blanket and pillow I retrieved from the office. After I've laid it out, we flip a coin to see which one of us stays up. I lose, and Julian gets to take it for its first test-sleep. He lays down and after about five minutes, is asleep, breathing softly.
I try the band again, nothing. I try for a half hour. Nothing, not a garbled word or distorted phrase, just static and various sound artifacts. This goes on, like I said, for half an hour. That's when I hear Julian stir. He's rustling around on the makeshift cot, seemingly in the throes of a nasty looking nightmare, pretty understandable, given the situation.
Anyway, It's time for me to play the protective friend card. I move over on my hands and knees and shake him on the shoulder. He wakes up, and sits bolt upright so fast I barely have time to see it. He looks quickly around the room for a few seconds and proceeds to bowl me over in a bone crushing fear-hug. I look down my newly acquired armful of scared boy, and see that he's shaking; actually visibly shaking, like he's cold. But I know that he's just woken up from the mother of all nightmares. I decide to do something about that.
"Hey, hey, whoa kiddo. What…what's wrong?" I ask to the top of his head. I get no intelligible response. Having absolutely no frame of reference on how to handle this, I settle for hugging him protectively to me.
"Hey. Bad dream?" I ask softly. I feel his head nod against my chest. He's still shaking, 'Well that's all it is, a dream. That's all it is. This place'll do that to you. Happens to me more times then I'd care to admit," I say, attempting a chuckle.
"Don't go," he whispers fearfully, clutching my vest. He sounds so scared, so lost. This is Julian like I've never seen him. This is Julian open. This is Julian afraid and needing reassurance. I have to remind myself that he's just a kid, not a soldier, just a kid, an eleven-year-old boy, in over his head.
I continue to comfort him, whispering things like "It's okay," and "It was only a dream," and "Everything's gonna be alright," Tired, stock phrases from parents' lexicons the world over. But it's strange how often we forget how much people sometimes need to hear those words, those familiar, comforting words that seem to drive all the fear away.
After a while he calms down and lays back onto the cot, clumsily wiping his face with his sleeve. "You alright?" I ask, as he settles in.
He's already drifting off to sleep as he responds, "Yeah,"
"Well, get some rest. I'll be right here. Holler if you need anything," I say as he closes his eyes. After a few more seconds, I add, "We'll be okay, kiddo,"
"I know, Heather. I'm with you," he whispers. Julian has always been possessed of a sledgehammer blunt honesty. It shows itself rarely, but when it does, like now, it's both disconcerting and wonderful to hear; the blunt honesty of a kid, something we all seem to lose at some point.
He's still talking in that other voice. That voice of such fear, mixed with such profound trust. Only situations like these can bring out that voice in people, the voice that the ever- grandiosely philosophical Chaplain Simmons calls "The Soul's True Voice" It's the voice only medics hear, the voice of such honesty, not bound by embarrassment or the perceived need to appear 'tough'. It's the voice of you, not society speaking through you, just you, clear as clear, a look into your soul.
Well, if he was honest with me, I may as well be straight up with him, too. "I'm not perfect, Julian," I say, "I'm doing my best, but I'm not…"
"You are to me," he says softly, almost asleep. He mumbles something else, but he's already gone. I make out the word 'trust' before he falls asleep completely.
Right now, I'm a bit shocked. I knew we were friends, but I never knew he trusted me that much. How could I ever live up to that? What did I do to earn that trust? I eventually put it off to him being out of it, asleep, not thinking clearly. Still, I smile; and reach down to smooth his sweaty bangs from his face. "All will be well, and all will be well, and everything, everywhere, will be well," I whisper softly, remembering our earlier conversation.
I return to the radio. His shift comes, but I don't have the heart to wake him.
A half an hour later, I start to feel a chill, and the depressurization that comes with…
I look around. The wallpaper is seemingly cleaning itself. The floor is polishing its surface, and the lightbulbs are fixing themselves back into single tubes of glass, coming together with a slight 'shhhick'
We're back in the real world.
The radio crackles to life, and a tired sounding radioman informs me that they've found the trigger items and lifted the world-shift.
"Yeah," I say with a laugh heavy with relief "I've kinda figured out that one for myself,"
We head over into the office to a groggy, but beaming Massfield.
"Yeaha, we can finally get outta here. I'll just need Julian to sign the Secret Actions Act and we can be on our way," John brings the document forward for Julian to look over.
"Who is he allowed to tell?" I ask, "What's the level?"
"Sorry to break it to you, but the brass sent us down a Black. He can't tell anyone," John informs me sadly.
"But we have to let his parents know, we have to explain what's happened,"
"We can't, Heather. There's no arguing with these people. Black. Nil, nada, no one. I'm sorry. It ain't my call,"
"That's cruel. How could they make him lie to…"
"The operation last night was bigger then they expected,' John interrupts me, "Much bigger. A lot of senior cult members were involved. Something's happening. Something big. The brass assures me they've got it under control but… I don't know. Anyway, that's why Black."
"What if he has…psychological…issues?" I ask in an undertone.
'If he gets PTSD or anything then you have a case, but until then, nothing."
"Oh, yeah, gamble with his mental health. I'd like to get those guys down here right now. They're all up there, safe in Washington. They've never set foot in Silent Hill. They have no right to…"
"You're preaching to the coir, LT. The point is; we have no choice. Besides, Julian seems fine, well except for that nightmare last night, but that was from ambient disturbance, not PTSD. Look, Julian hasn't seen much, just that one monster, you said. He'll be fine. And if he isn't, then we'll talk to the suits,"
"This could all be avoided…"
"I know, I know, Okay. Go home. Get some rest. I'll call you with an updated Sitrep in the morning," he finishes.
"Right," I say wearily.
Five minutes later we're back in my apartment. My ever-faithful Ipod is now belting out "Dissolved Girl" by Massive Attack to the empty room. We pass the rest of the night in silence, neither of us wanting to talk about the situation. We're both just too drained.
In the morning Julian's dad, a tall, brown haired man in his mid-forties, comes to pick him up.
"We should be going, Julian," he says, as Julian gathers his things, "We've intruded on your generous hospitality long enough," he adds, addressing me.
'Right-O, dad," Julian calls.
"I'll bring the car up then." Mr. Kansler says, and heads for the door.
Julian gathers the last of his things, and turns toward the door. He stops, and looks back at me. He looks me square in the face.
"Heather, what I said last night. I meant what I said," he says, gathering his bag in his arms. He turns, and heads for the door.
"Wait," I call after him, "Why? Why…what's so great about me anyway. Why do you…trust me? I mean, I dragged you into a war last night, unwillingly, of coarse, but still… Of all the people on this earth that you should trust, I'm not one of them. I did my best to help, but…"
"Exactly," he interrupts, a little exasperatedly, "You did your best. Last night was not your fault. Really. You did your best and that's all you can do. That's as perfect as you can be. Everything else…is outta your hands," he says flatly, "Once again, I meant what I said."
He turns and heads for the door a third time, "See ya, Heather," he calls over his shoulder.
Well, there's another side of Julian I don't see every day. He apparently has a philosophical streak to rival Yoda.
I think about his words, "…..Once again, I meant what I said,"
I smile. I've done my job; at least as far as last night was concerned.
If, out of all of this, he remembers that, and only that; that's true victory over Silent Hill.
And all will be well, and all will be well, and everything, everywhere will be well.
…..
Credits: (Music: In the Shadow, In the Light – Enigma/Rain of Brass Petals - Akira Yamaoka)
Heather (Cheryl) Mason – Herself (from the games)
Julian Kansler - Himself
John Massfield: Matt Damon
Writer – Cyber 14
A Cyber 14 Production. Copyright 2007 All rights reserved.
What did you think? Read and Review please. That little purple button is your best friend. Spend some time with him.
I may write a sequel in the future. This is just volume 1. Of coarse, that al depends on the reaction to this volume. I also didn't use the music cues as often as I would have liked. I cut out a scene with an additional one. It would have featured "Evil Angel" by Breaking Benjamin.
I know I didn't use Julian's point of view much, it just didn't happen.
Peace out and God bless.