The apartment building yielded him no answers. The air remained cold and pungent with wet mold, the floors soggy no matter which floor he reached, and the walls were stained and dripping with leaks. In the rooms that did allow him in, he found decay and filth; kitchens that were biohazards, living rooms of caked dust and dirt clinging to the poor mockery of hardwood, bedrooms that were lonely and haunting, and bathrooms that.. yuck.

Harry had seen a lot in his prior visit to Silent Hill and already in his new tour. He was accustomed to seeing some disgusting things. But the bathrooms.. the bathrooms. The toilets were greasy and the bowls were slicked with thick and watery substances alike that he really, really didn't want to try to identify. The mirrors were foggy and smeared with someone's attempt at cleaning. They'd missed the mark by ten miles, and Harry didn't think he'd want to see a clear reflection anyway. The linoleum beneath his feet were peeling and creaky, and felt gritty with every step.

The showers gave the impression that someone had a duel with a rogue razor during a routine shaving, while sampling leftover barbecue, and dancing the macarena. Harry had to put some kind of humorous spin on the depraved sight, else he add to the sick in the toilet.

God, the toilets. He couldn't look at it for more than a couple seconds before his stomach folded and swashed the acid around. In every single bathroom there was a stench with the overtone of bodily fluids and the sickly sweet fade of air freshener. The scent was in the background of it, hanging on like a memory, raising uncomfortable awareness in Harry's mind.

The whole scene, odor and all, reminded him of the stomach flu. Someone who was sick, who kept running to the bathroom to expunge themselves, and then accepted their fate and camped out until the worst was over. The saccharine spritz was a courageous crack at hiding it all to make it more bearable to housemates. It was gross, and Harry knew it all too well.

Something nagged at him. The scenario felt awkward. Mortifying. Like the mannequin on the first floor, he felt like he was seeing something that was only making someone else feel worse. Every bathroom held this effect and he was not enjoying it in the least. Every sick, dirt, smear, and splatter was an embarrassment. He felt like he had to clean it up. He also felt like he would be attacked if he did.

The apartments were draining. Harry walked all five floors and found nothing he needed. Every now and then he heard a groan or a hiss, some guttural chatter that sounded inquisitive and threatening. All these noises were safely locked behind doors. To Harry, that seemed even worse. It felt foreboding; the monsters were caged and simply waiting to be released when the town deemed their time.

He wasn't looking forward to meeting them.

Harry returned to the street. He was without a flashlight and without a radio. He felt drained. His eyes were heavy and burning with sleep deprivation, and he knew that there was no reason for it. Whatever Silent Hill was doing it was having just a ball doing it. Harry began to let it sink in that the town had transformed since he was there. The change was drastic and overbearing; it left the weight of peeled eyes staring at him from the fog and a tingle prickling his neck. He hated it. He felt weary and invaded.

Running his hand through his hair, he sighed and continued down Munson St. The intersection gave him the only option of Katz St., so he turned left and ventured down the middle of the road. He approached another apartment building, and his heart sank with the idea that he'd likely have to explore that one, too. Harry was looking up at it as he walked, and at the last moment he took his eyes to the road and stopped, rearing back in surprise.

Upon the asphalt lay an enormous, gleaming red sigil. Its glow lit up his shoes, and nearly reached his hands. There were runes trapped in circles, an eye staring unblinking into the sky, a squared symbol in the middle flanked by three smaller circles. Larger, important-looking runes lay in the spaces that the smaller circles left. It was holy and unholy all at once. It deserved reverence and fear. It was a symbol that both protected, and warned.

Harry felt no familiarity towards it. It spooked him. Its inviting, sinister gleam kept him away from inspecting it closer. Harry took a few hurried steps backward, and, watching it nervously, decided to take the sidewalk.

It was still there when he looked over his shoulder again. The apartments were to be left untouched for now. The sigil's appearance made Harry feel like he wasn't supposed to go in there yet, and oh, how he didn't like that. He walked away with a shudder in his chest, creeped out by the outstanding control the town had.

This was bad. This was worse than he was prepared for. Harry swung his gaze from side to side, looking for any clue, any hope, any reason why Silent Hill was the way it was now. He felt so cold and clammy, sweat clinging his shirt to his back and the pipe slippery in his fist. He couldn't decide whether or not to remove his jacket, as he was hot and cold as though he had the flu, and really, he had no choice but to keep it on. Harry couldn't be bogged down with carrying more than one thing.

He was distressed. His mind turned to the civilian in the park. If he could find him - James, was it? - maybe he could help him get some answers. He really needed to get some goddamn answers.

Harry was back at Neely St. Standing in the middle of the intersection, he saw the Lucky Jade Restaurant, the Grand Market, and Big Jay's. Businesses of all sorts lined Neely St. as far as his eye could see (through the fog) and many were boarded up. He turned slowly in place, and walked away from the lakeside to see what the street had in store for him.

That exact thought made him chuckle. A street packed with businesses, had to see what was in store for him? Oh, he was a funny guy. Heather would have (not) appreciated it. Harry's smile faded. Heather. It's okay, baby girl. He's coming for her.

As luck would have it, there was a door that was ajar. Harry jogged right to it and struggled momentarily with the stiff, bloated door on the sidewalk. He got it open with a good scrape, and heaved a sigh from the effort as he peeked in.

He was in a cafe. Neighborhood Cafe, to be precise. It hit him with the worst kind of nostalgia; he was thrown back to the moment he awoke in the diner on the red vinyl bench. As he forced the door closed behind him, he took in the layout.

There was a counter ahead with a register and empty pastry glass. The menu was missing most of its letters, and the coffee machines were never going to be in any working condition again. Chairs were sparse, tables were pushed into corners. Adjacent to the main lobby, however, was another room.

Harry followed the tiles to hardwood and threadbare rugs. It was darker in here, and understandably: the windows here were boarded, and not simply dirty. He ventured carefully in, and stood in the middle, tapping the pipe contemplatively against his leg.

Without a flashlight, he really was at a disadvantage. Again. That was really starting to grate on his nerves. No clues, no flashlight, no monsters - what was this goddamn town playing at? Harry took careful steps towards the back of the room, squinting to try to see through the dark, when he heard the shuffle of clothes and feet scraping the floor far behind him.

His heart leapt to the top of his throat and he spun around, throwing up the pipe for immediate defense. As soon as he faced the opposite direction he was met with blaring white light that immediately blinded him.

Harry cowered and protected his eyes behind his arm, though the temporary damage was already done. He couldn't see, and he wouldn't be able to while that powerful shine was on him. He was vulnerable, helpless, and scared out of his wits. He needed to be brave and found he was grasping at straws, overwhelmed with the fear that he was going to fail too soon, his death was at his fingertips, and Heather, poor Heather, he's so sorry! He's so sorry, he's so sorry!

As he gritted his teeth and waited for whatever blow was about to devastate him, all he could think about was his little girl, and the dreadful sinking weight of his failure.