Julio's Auto Parts, like every business here, had seen better days. The place smelled of industrial must and dust. And again, like everything else, the level of disarray was as though everyone vacated in such a hurry that only the essentials were taken - ravaged for, rather - and the whole mess abandoned.

Harry and James conducted the usual ritual of scouring for the next clue. In the adjacent mechanic's garage Harry found the disassembled guts of what once made his Jeep run. He was aghast. No matter how he looked at it, there was neither hide nor hair of reason behind it - and he did his damnedest to find some kind of explanation. But alas and alack, he skipped mechanics in high school and it was finally back to bite him in the ass. All the parts looked dizzyingly complicated. Oh, how he wished he hadn't been so lazy back then, and actually paid attention to his car nerd friends once in a while.

While Harry lamented, James rummaged through papers and the desk. In the drawer he found a slip with a combination, making the next task finding the corresponding safe. It was easily located and opened, the reward being an invoice to Virginia's Bridals.

Scrawled over the print was a reminder to pick up a suit. Lucky for them, the receipt had the address. Unlucky for Harry, he didn't solve the mystery of his Jeep. He left dismayed and unsatisfied.

Outside, a welcome party awaited them. The scorched and dripping women from South Vale had evidently decided they were lonely and relocated across the lake to hang out with their men. In the group of three the radio mimic acted as the leader and attacked first. The encounter lasted a handful of minutes, having gotten their methods down to a T at this point; however in the middle of combat, the real radio suddenly squealed. When the last monster was put down, it abruptly shut off.

"Wow, thanks for the warning! Appreciate it. It's great being prepared," Harry snidely told James's pocket. James grunted agreeably, and the pair moved on.

They jimmied the lock on the bridal shop and let themselves in. Racks upon racks overstuffed with dresses waited for a happy lady and her big day. Mannequins, some missing their arms and heads, modeled the best of the best. Already feeling uneasy in here, the plaster, disassembled women (that they hoped would remain inanimate) worsened the emotion, as they acted like a grim symbol of the wives they'd lost.

In the back rooms they found tons of boxed stock and the seamstress's station. There was one suit there, mostly light blue, that appeared to be in the process of being hemmed. It also needed to be dry cleaned; the rest of it was soiled with blood.

"Somebody's not getting their deposit back," Harry remarked, going for the jacket folded over the back of the chair.

The radio muttered just as he touched it. Both sprang to attention. A fight in this small, crowded space would be tricky. Nevertheless, they prepared themselves for the dance to the soft, melodious tune of static and screech. Seconds ticked by. They waited and waited, then looked at each other questioningly. The radio's meager noise faded. Nothing came of the warning; nobody else was there but them. Harry exhaled sharply.

"That thing's been acting real funky lately." He glanced at James's pocket again, then up at him. "It makes me itch."

"Too bad we can't take a better look at it. Both of us skipped shop."

"You know, you could solve a lot of technical problems by taking a hammer to 'em. Actually, you could solve a lot of problems by taking a hammer to them, but that's pretty sticky territory."

"You think it would help the radio?"

"Thing's technically broken anyway, isn't it? I dunno. I'll bet you that Silent Hill wouldn't expect us to bash it open. Who knows what we could find?"

James shrugged. "Maybe it's a part of a puzzle."

"Say the 'p' word one more time," Harry warned, "and I'll stomp on your toes."

"Mm. That's violent. I don't think I deserve that."

"Yeah, well, you don't deserve a lot of things, but that might be an exception for you."

James inclined his head as Harry returned to the suit. That statement could be interpreted in many ways. Due to the sincerity of which Harry undyingly possessed, it didn't feel like a jab at him. What it did sound like instead made him uncomfortable. His energy continued to drain.

Harry chuckled as he rifled through the pockets. "Heh. Something old, something new, something borrowed , something blue ," he recited. "That's clever. Rent a blue suit out for your wedding and bam, you kill two birds with one stone."

"It's a nice suit. Too bad about the red wine stains, though."

A smile slowly bloomed on Harry's face. He glimpsed James over his shoulder and huffed a laugh. "Yeah. No kidding. Must've been a hell of a party."

To their dismay, the search turned up yet another key for their collection. Harry's groan came deep and grating.

"Seriously? Is it gonna be like this the whole time?"

The conduit tipped his head from side to side. "Mm. Maybe."

Harry growled at the old thing. It was rough and oddly sticky, and he preferred not to know why. No tag was present on this one: just a singular, unmarked, unknown key. "Well, this one deviates from the whole smudged address theme. Still, I'm about ready to blow my head off over this shit."

James hummed. "What should I tell Heather?"

"Tell her that her dad died as he lived: pissed off and craving comfort food."

"I'll pass it on."

"Thanks. Oh, and if you think of it, remind her that I want my urn to be that fish head cookie jar."

James scrunched his face and shadowed the author through the showroom. "A fish head cookie jar?"

"Yeah."

"Why a cookie jar in the first place?"

Harry set his hand on the knob and looked back at him. "Because I like cookies, James." He slapped his thick belly with a grin. "You don't get this kind of hot dad bod without putting in the hard work."

He pushed the door open and they exited the building. James wore an unsure, mildly disgusted expression and glanced at Harry out of the corners of his eyes. The father seemed chuffed to bits about the whole cookie jar thing, and didn't care to acknowledge the way James judged him.

Mentioning cookies made Harry yearn for the normal world. It was a blessing that eating wasn't a requirement in the tortuous carnival called Silent Hill, as nothing here would be of any holy or nutritional substance. When he gets home, he resolutely told himself, he's gonna shove an entire pack of Oreos into his face. Oh man, how he could really go for some pumpkin spice Oreos right about now. That would certainly make him feel a lot better about things.

This was their first riddle without a hint for direction. A change of pace could be appreciated now and then, but of course it didn't soften the frustration over the multiple keys and Harry's complaining about it. James chose to remind him then that he had tempted fate before with the flippant comment about brain teasers. The look he got for being such a smartass jut a half smile into his cheek.

Consulting the map, Harry picked a direction and off they went. They very nearly went off the edge of the world, too, and Harry flung his arm over James's chest as a barrier to back them both up away from the edge of a road turned steep canyon.

James shot the older man a scowl for such a jarring move, then he saw why. Intrigued, he sidled closer and peered into the foggy, dark abyss. Harry carefully shuffled a little nearer as well, taking a much more hesitant gander downwards. They stared down into it in silence, then Harry shook himself out and stepped away. "Well, that's out, huh? We should probably go let the town council know about that pothole."

He began to walk off, but the absence of the click of another pair of boots turned him around. James was still evaluating the pit. Frowning a little, Harry tapped his pipe on his calf and whistled for his attention. "Hey. James. You comin'?" When his companion refused to budge, he took it as a pretty clear no. "What, do you see somethin' down there? C'mon. I don't think Silent Hill sells spelunking equipment and even if we did find any, I'm gonna put my dollar on none of it being up to code."

At last, James lifted his head and eyed his ward over his shoulder. "Is this normal?"

Harry shrugged, looking at the jagged edge. "Yeah. Well, it was. Roads are out like that all over town. Kind of pants-shitting, isn't it?" He smiled. "Sure is a way to test your situational awareness and reflexes, huh? Always look where you're going, and both ways before you cross the street."

James drew his brows lower, took one more look into the deep, and then chose to join him. "That seems gratuitous."

"Gratuitous. Whaddya mean by that?"

"You're already in a dangerous place," he replied. "Slicing a road in half to keep you caged in one spot seems over the top."

"Isn't 'over the top' kind of a part of the foundation here?" They strolled away together, automatically separating themselves on either side of the broken yellow line. "I was just as surprised to see the construction barriers back in South Vale. Hey, I was kind of jealous. Running into a tarp or scaffolding is way safer than getting cornered at the edge of a cliff. Or accidentally running right off it."

Yeah, Harry had a pretty good point, there. One ought to celebrate the little blessings of this damned world.

They made a circle back around to the 5to9 Cafe. Harry couldn't stop thinking about that little mom and pop shop. He felt it was unjust that the sigil was branded there, watching over the place like a security guard armed to the teeth; the diner was like a sacred place to him. But there was something in there for him, he was sure of it. If there wasn't, then why would that thing be up there? It was all part of the grand plan. The pair stood at a safe distance from the storefront and scrounged up a method of attack.

"I say we just go for it. Bust in, look around, get out."

"Mm. That doesn't give us a lot of time for a thorough search. That thing hurts like hell. It affected us from the sidewalk. It'd be easy to miss something."

"Yeah, I know. It'll be hell and high water doing anything in there. Man! That thing's such a fucking mystery. I hate it. Did you ever find shit like this that wanted to blow your head open?"

"Hm. Not really."

"Hm. Weird. I guess you're pretty lucky for that. I wish I knew what it was. We gotta tackle that thing and the red square in the notebook. .. eh.. I imagine we're gonna figure it out at some point."

"So basically we have no other plan other than rushing in."

"Seems that way. Unless you've got something better bouncing around up there."

"Nope."

"Welp, then that settles it. Hold on to your ass, here goes nothing, right?"

So the siege began. Harry charged forth and threw open the door, the sigil's psychic thorn penetrating their skulls before they'd even touched the sidewalk. The pain instantly swelled in their heads when they crossed the threshold, very nearly outright debilitating them. Just to add to their immediate problems, the smell and dusty air of smoke swarming the air made it harder to see anything. They scrambled blindly to make a sweep, not knowing what they're looking for but hoping to god it'd jump out at them.

James got caught on a chair by the way of his jacket and struggled with it, but the swivel and overbearing agony in his head gravely hindered his coordination. He folded over the back of the chair, clawing at his scalp. Harry tried to help but their window was shutting too quickly to spend wrangling him, and so had to abandon James for the time being. He ducked behind the counter and into the kitchen.

Something was definitely burning. The thicker smoke made him cough and its sting watered his eyes. It was coming from the oven. He yanked the door open and let out a billowing cloud of black. Combined with the head splitting throb it made him double over, choking and coughing, and he pushed his arm against his face to attempt to mask it.

Using the pipe, he tried to catch the rack on it, but the hook was on the wrong end, and he hastily fumbled to turn it around. The rack clattered down and the roast pan it held bounced forward. In the pan was a glass bottle. Harry spun in place, desperate to find a towel. One awaited him on the grill and two attempts later he had the item, as hot as expected even through the fabric, in his protected fist.

Harry returned to the dining room, bodily shoving James off his snag, then pushed the pipe across his back to help corral him out of the cafe. They stumbled onto the street and as far away from the place as possible. James tripped over the curb and hit the ground hard, groaning in a new pain and rolling achingly onto the backpack like an overturned turtle. Harry managed to avoid taking a tumble too, instead crashing against a wall to come to a dead stop.

The veteran hacked out the rest of the smoke and gasped for air. Their headaches abated in tandem. Harry slid to the ground and sighed deeply. James lay on the sidewalk, propped up on an uncomfortable angle. He readjusted his body and sank into the cement.

After a long segment of recovery, Harry finally looked at what he had. "Oh— are you fucking kidding me! God fucking dammit!"

James lifted his head and twisted to look back at him. Not a beat later did the radio bubble and tune, forcing them to their feet as a trio of monsters emerged from the mist. Harry took one look at them and declared, "Fuck that!" and motioned to James to follow.

They ran from battle. Halfway up the street the siren started to wail and the neighborhood darkened. There was a convenience store dead ahead and they were lucky it was unlocked. After barging in, they dragged a rack to barricade the doors and trampled its few fallen products underfoot. The radio and siren receded. They were temporarily safe.

James sniffed and looked at his accomplice. Harry was leaning forward on the counter, holding something that clicked and clunked as he handled it. He drew closer, taking a view over the survivor's shoulder. "What'd you get?"

Harry exhaled sharply and held up a glass whiskey bottle that contained a wooden rod, a screw and nut halfway through it, a hooked metal bar shoved through the base and a loose ball rolling around it all at the bottom. Trapped between the nut and rod hung, who would've guessed it - a key. This one, at least, had a thin slip of paper taped around it. Even James rolled his eyes into the back of his head. "Oh, come—"

"Yep. You betcha. Another. Fucking. Key." The contents rattled loudly as he shook it. "And to spice it all up, it's in a literal puzzle. God fucking dammit. This town is determined to take the joy out of everything. I was starting to get into stuff like this, and great! Now it's one more thing potentially ruined for me."

"You're gonna have to really branch out after this."

"No kidding." Harry sighed out the weight of the world and looked it over. "Well.. I'll get to it. Get comfortable, James. It could be a long night."