Chapter 25 – The Ties that Bind

Lillian Shepherd and Elle Holloway sat in their dimly lit holding cell. The cold stone walls were a reminder of their failed escape. The ambush played over and over in their minds, from gunfire at the house, the roar of boat engines, and then hands pulling them away from Alex and Adam. Elle last saw Alex falling into the lake and Adam jumping in after him. Now they were trapped, unsure where they were or what the Order planned to do with them.

Elle paced back and forth in the small space. "We should've seen it coming," she muttered. "I should've seen it. We walked right into it."

"Stop it, Elle," Lillian said, sitting on the bench with her hands resting in her lap. "They caught us off guard, but that doesn't mean our fight is over."

Elle stopped pacing and turned to her. "How can you be so calm? We don't even know where Alex and Adam are. Or if they're even alive."

Lillian's expression softened. "Because I know my son. And I know my husband. If anyone can find a way to turn this around, it's them. We have to hold on."

Elle sighed and leaned against the wall, running a hand through her hair. "I hate sitting here doing nothing. It's like we're waiting to… agh!"

Elle stopped what she was saying and pushed and pulled at the cold iron bars of the window. Frustration etched into her face as she tested the walls, hoping for any sign of weakness.

"We were on the lake," she muttered to herself, voice rising with anger as she paced back. "I remember it. We were so close. Then they rammed us." She kicked at the base of the door, the dull thud echoing in the silence. "Damn it! We were so close to getting out of there!"

Lillian sat on the edge of the bench, her hands clasped tightly together. But Elle could see the tension in her body, the way her fingers trembled slightly.

"Lillian." Elle's voice cut through the stillness. She turned, her fiery eyes locking onto the older woman. "What did you mean? Back on the boat, you said you were working with Holloway, my mother. What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Lillian let out a slow breath, meeting Elle's gaze. "I didn't mean it the way you think."

"Then explain," Elle demanded, stepping closer, her voice sharp and accusing. "You were organizing documents for her? What does that even mean?"

Lillian hesitated. "I was helping her sort through old documents she'd collected from the Order: ritual texts, notes, historical accounts. I never understood any of it. It was all cryptic, symbols, strange languages, but she seemed to know exactly what she was looking for."

Elle's expression shifted, confused. "And you just... helped her? You didn't think to question it?"

"I did question it," Lillian said sharply, cutting through Elle's anger. "But Holloway is... persuasive. She at first framed it as part of the town's history, something academic. As Shepherd's Glen's librarian, it was my job to do it. But by the time I realized it was something darker, I was already in too deep."

Elle crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "So what, you just went along with it?"

"No," Lillian said firmly and rose to her feet. "I stopped. I told her I wanted nothing more to do with it. That's when I started piecing together what she was doing. Why she was pushing for control of Shepherd's Glen and its people? Why she was so obsessed with those rituals."

Elle frowned, her anger slowly being replaced by unease. "And what was she doing?"

Elle's pacing stopped abruptly as she stared at Lillian, the older woman's words settling like lead in the air.

"What do you mean, something dark?" Elle's voice was almost a growl, her fingers tightening around the bars of the cell. "You keep dancing around it, Lillian. What aren't you telling me?"

Lillian exhaled deeply. "Because I don't know, Elle," she said. "I don't know exactly what Holloway's endgame is. All I know is that it's not just about Shepherd's Glen or even the Order. It's bigger than that. And... Darker."

Elle stepped closer. "What does that mean? What kind of dark?"

Lillian hesitated, her hands clenching and unclenching as if searching for the right words to tell her. "She mentioned something once... about breaking cycles. About building something new out of the ashes. It sounded almost... apocalyptic." She shook her head as if trying to throw away the memory. "But the way she talked about it, the way she looked at me, it all felt... wrong. Like I was staring into something I couldn't understand, something twisted."

Elle's stomach churned, but she pressed on, eager to know more about what her mother was planning. "And you still agreed to work with her?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Lillian snapped back. "When I realized what I was helping with and refused, she took Joshua, Elle. My baby boy. She... she made it very clear that if I didn't help her, he'd pay the price. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't risk him."

The name hit Elle like a punch to the gut. "Joshua..." she whispered. The younger brother that Alex had been looking for all this time.

Lillian looked back at Elle with regret. "I thought… I thought that if I just played along, I could figure out a way to stop her. Or at least buy time. But I couldn't get him back. And then things escalated, and... Then here we are."

Elle turned away, her hands trembling as she gripped the bars again. "So, what? You're saying my mother used him as a bargaining chip? That she'd stoop that low as to use a child?"

"Yes," Lillian said softly. "She would, Elle… Margaret's not just dangerous because of what she's planning. She's dangerous because she's willing to destroy anything and anyone who gets in her way. Even you."

Elle clenched her fists. "Let her try."

Lillian let out a long, weary sigh. "She's willing to destroy anyone who gets in her way. Anyone. Men, women… yes even children."

"Even Children?"

Lillian nodded grimly. "The Order's always been ruthless, but Margaret… she takes it further. Do you think she cares about the innocent? She doesn't. If even a child stands in her way, or if using one gets her closer to her goal, she won't hesitate, and not just Joshua."

Elle finally turned back, her jaw set, fire returning to her eyes. "We're getting out of here," she said "And when we do, we're going to find Joshua. We're going to find Alex and Adam, James and Wheeler. We're going to stop her. Whatever it takes."

Lillian nodded. "Whatever it takes," she echoed.

But even as the words left her lips, a chill ran down her spine. She had seen a glimpse of Holloway's vision and the darkness behind it. She could only hope they weren't already too late.

Elle leaned against the bars again. "So, what happened to the others? All the missing people from Shepherd's Glen? From Silent Hill?"

Lillian shook her head. "I don't have a clue, Elle. But if I had to guess, the Order took them. That's what they do, use people as pawns, sacrifices, whatever suits their twisted plans."

Elle glared at the floor. "And you think my mother's planning something different? Something worse?"

Lillian hesitated as if choosing her next words carefully. "I don't know everything, but yes, I think she is. Margaret doesn't follow the old ways like Dahlia did. Dahlia had her rituals, her attempts to bring that thing into our world. You've heard the stories growing up, about the god of Silent Hill, about what the cult believed it could do."

"Yeah," Elle said sharply, crossing her arms. "And it always ended in disaster. So what's Mom - Margaret doing that's so different?"

"That's just it," Lillian said. "I don't know exactly what she's planning, but it's not like anything the Order has done before. She's not just trying to summon some ancient power to this world. She's... changing the rules. Breaking them, even. And that much I'm sure of, it's bigger than any of us, bigger than the Order itself."

Elle stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "And you think Joshua... is part of it?"

Lillian looked away, guilt etched into her face. "I don't know what she wants with him, Elle. But if she's gone this far, using him to control me, she won't stop there. Margaret doesn't care about the cost, she never has. She'll burn everything to the ground if it gets her what she wants."

Elle pressed her forehead against the bars. "This is insane," she muttered. "Why does it always have to come back to Silent Hill? To the damn Order?"

"Because it's always been there, Elle. Lurking. Waiting. And Margaret… she's trying to make sure it never leaves."

Elle turned back to her. "Then we stop her. Whatever she's planning, whatever this 'something else' is, we put an end to it."

Lillian gave a weary nod. "We'll try. But you have to understand, Elle… Margaret's not like Dahlia. She's smarter. And she's willing to do things even Dahlia wouldn't dare."

Elle raised an eyebrow, leaning against the cold stone wall. "You keep mentioning this Dahlia, Lillian? Who the hell is that?"

Lillian sighed "Of course you wouldn't know her, Elle. You weren't raised on all this. Most people in Shepherd's Glen barely understand the Order, let alone its history. But if we're going to figure out what Margaret's doing… you'll need to know where it all started."

Elle slid down to sit across from her. "Alright. Start talking."

Lillian nodded, as she gathered her thoughts. "It all began with Silent Hill, back before it was a ghost town. Back when people lived there, it wasn't just a place people disappeared into. There was a group… a cult. They worshiped something they called god, a being they believed could bring paradise to the world. But their idea of paradise?" She gave a bitter laugh. "It was hell, Elle. Fire, blood, and sacrifice."

Elle frowned as she brushed her dirty hair out of her face. "And that Dahlia person?"

"Dahlia Gillespie," Lillian continued, her tone growing darker. "She was once one of their leaders, a true believer. She… she tried to summon their god into the world once. Used her daughter to do it. That's the kind of people we're dealing with, Elle. They'll use anyone, hurt anyone, to get what they want."

"And Margaret's following in her footsteps?"

"No," Lillian said quickly. "That's the just the thing. Dahlia wanted to bring the god here, to make it flesh and blood. Margaret's different. She's not trying to summon something else into this world. She's trying to… twist what's already here. To take control in ways even Dahlia never dreamed of."

Elle's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? What's Margaret doing that's so different?"

Lillian hesitated. "I don't know for sure. But from what I've seen… Margaret doesn't want to just worship the god. She wants to become it."

Elle's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? That's insane."

Lillian's voice dropped to a whisper. "She's using the rituals. Changing them. Warping them to suit her plans. That's why she wanted me to help, why she needed me to organize all those old documents. The writings, the chants… she's rewriting everything the Order has ever done. And Joshua… she's keeping him as leverage, to make sure I don't interfere. To make sure I stay in line."

Elle leaned her head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "So, she's using the Order to go rogue. To make herself into… what, some kind of god?"

"Exactly," Lillian said, her voice shaking. "And she doesn't care who gets hurt in the process."

After a moment, Elle spoke. "Then we stop her. Whatever it takes, we stop her."

"So what's the plan then? We stop her. Whatever it takes, we stop her." Elle said. "We can't just sit here while she does… whatever the hell she's planning."

Lillian shook her head. "We can't do much from this cell. And if we try to go against her without a solid plan, she'll crush us. You know that as well as I do."

Elle gritted her teeth. "Well, I can't just sit here. I won't. There has to be something, some way to stop her."

"We'll find a way," Lillian said. "But it's going to take more than just the two of us. Margaret's playing a game we don't fully understand yet. And she's holding all the cards."

Elle just stared at the floor. Her mother, Margaret's ruthlessness, her plans, the lives she'd already destroyed, it all felt like too much. But giving up wasn't an option. Not now. Not ever.

"If she thinks she can use us, she's wrong," Elle said. . "We'll find a way out of this, Lillian. And when we do… we'll make her pay."

Lillian offered a small, strained smile. "I hope you're right, Elle. I do."

The cell door screeched open. A small group of cultists stepped inside, their faces obscured by masks. One of them, a tall figure with a rough voice, barked, "On your feet. Now."

Elle crossed her arms, glaring at him. "Where the hell are you taking us?"

The cultist sneered. "You'll find out soon enough."

That wasn't good enough for Elle. She planted her feet defiantly. "Yeah, I don't think so." She clenched her fists, ready to fight.

"Elle!" Lillian hissed, stepping closer to her. "Stop."

"What?" Elle shot back. "You want me to just let them-"

"Yes," Lillian interrupted sharply. Her voice lowered but firm. "What do we have? Fingernails? You're not going to fight them off like this. Not now. Just… go along. For now."

The cultist who had spoken first took a step forward, his hand resting on a club strapped to his belt. "Smart advice," he growled.

Elle's muscles tightened, itching to throw a punch. She hated this. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to fight back, to make these people pay. But Lillian's pleading eyes forced her to take a shaky breath.

"Fine," Elle said through gritted teeth, shooting a glare at the nearest cultist. "But if you think this is over, think again."

The cultist chuckled. "Big words for someone in chains. Move it."

With a quiet sigh, Lillian touched Elle's arm lightly, guiding her forward. The two women stepped out of the cell, the cultists flanking them closely. As they were led down the dim corridor, Elle whispered to Lillian, "You better have a plan, because I'm not just going to roll over for these psychos."

Lillian glanced sideways at her. "Trust me, I don't intend to."

Alex and Adam moved cautiously, blending into the flow of cultists moving between the sections of Toluca Prison. Wearing the stolen robes, they kept their heads down, speaking little and listening more as they navigated the compound's layout.

Toluca Prison was massive, far more sprawling than either of the two had imagined. The cult had transformed it into a fortified compound, more than just a prison. What had once been a place of punishment now resembled a nightmarish city, combining a mixture of old and new structures.

"Look at this place," Alex muttered under his breath, in a mixture of anger and disbelief. "How long have they been building this?"

"Years," Adam replied. "Quiet now. Keep your head down."

The buildings told their own story. The main prison block made of iron and crumbling stone, relics of its days as a Civil War POW camp. A nearby building had likely been an old administrative office, now converted into what Alex could only guess was a barracks for the cult's enforcers. Vehicles rumbled through the compound, trucks, and cars moving supplies or carrying prisoners.

Here and there, smaller buildings dotted the grounds, many of them newer constructions built with the Order in mind. A small chapel stood at the center of the compound, its blackened wood and iron radiating malevolence. Smoke drifted lazily from a nearby building, where a furnace burned for some grim purpose.

"Prisoners would've been brought in through the train depot," Adam said quietly, nodding to the tracks that led to a large, decrepit depot in the far distance. "The Union built it to transport Confederate POWs back in the Civil War. Toluca Prison... That place isn't just a prison, Alex. Back during the Civil War, it was a POW camp. The Union built it to house Confederate soldiers, but it wasn't much better than a slaughterhouse. Starvation, disease, executions, hundreds died there, rotting behind wooden fences and iron bars."

"Like Andersonville?" Alex asked, though he wasn't much of a scholar, he had gained something of an interest in history during his time in the army."

"Exactly like Andersonville," Adam said grimly. "Only this one was ours. The North didn't advertise its atrocities, but they were there. And those men... they didn't just die. They suffered. Their screams, their hate, their despair, it's all still here, in the ground, in the walls."

Adam continued as they continued to walk. "Then After the war, they didn't tear the place down. Too much money, too much effort. Instead, they turned it into a regular prison. They threw in some concrete and iron bars, gave it a new coat of paint, and called it progress."

"Let me guess," Alex mused. "It didn't fix anything."

"Not a damn thing," Adam replied. All that suffering... it's like the place soaked it up, and made it part of the foundation. Even as a regular prison, it had a reputation. Guards going mad, inmates turning up dead in their cells, more than usual for a place like that. Some said the prisoners could feel it like the ground itself was cursing them."

"So why keep it open?" Alex asked

"That's just it." Adam continued. "They didn't. After decades of riots, murders, and scandals, they finally shut it down in the '60s. But you know how it is in this part of the country, things don't stay buried for long. The Order started using it after the prison closed. A place like that, with so much history... it's perfect for their rituals."

"Perfect, huh?" Alex asked as he readjusted the robe. It was hot and heavy to wear. "Yeah, sounds like a great vacation spot. And we're walking into it?"

"We don't have a choice. The Order's using that place for a reason. Something about it draws in the worst kinds of people, and the worst kinds of... things. It's like the whole prison is a scar the world refuses to heal. You'll see it for yourself soon enough."

"Guess the Order liked the layout," Alex muttered darkly.

"Fits their purposes," Adam replied. "Remember, we stick to the plan. Observe. Don't draw attention."

The two of them moved deeper into the compound, passing groups of robed cultists carrying supplies or discussing operations. They caught snippets of conversation, mentions of preparations, prisoners, sacrifices, and some unknown event looming on the horizon.

"Look busy," Adam muttered, gesturing subtly to a group of cultists hauling crates.

Alex nodded, stepping in alongside them as if they belonged. His muscles tensed, every fiber of his being on high alert. He scanned the area carefully, taking mental notes of the guard rotations, the vehicles moving supplies, and the locations of the various wings of the prison.

"Alex," Adam said quietly, as they passed by the chapel. "They've reinforced every inch of this place. Breaking in was one thing. Getting our loved ones out is going to be…" He hesitated, scanning the compound. "…A nightmare."

Alex clenched his fists under the robes. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

"Let's hope we have time."

As they continued, a group of armed cultists emerged from a side building, their boots echoed against the stone paths. In the center of the group, two figures walked, heads lowered, chained at the wrists, Elle and Lillian.

Adam grabbed Alex's arm, halting him. Alex froze, his breath catching as he saw their faces.

"Elle," Alex muttered. His heart pounded hard in his chest.

"Stay calm," Adam hissed. "We can't blow this. Not yet."

They watched as Elle and Lillian were marched across the compound, toward one of the newer wings. Alex's fists tightened, but Adam's iron grip kept him rooted in place.

"We'll get them," Adam whispered. "But not now. We need to know where they're taking them."

Alex nodded reluctantly, forcing himself to breathe as he watched the group disappear into the shadows of the prison.

As the group escorting Elle and Lillian moved through the compound, Alex's eyes locked onto Curtis. The man's disheveled appearance and cigarette dangling lazily from his lips belied the menace in his every step. Curtis looked annoyed, clearly displeased with the task at hand. He occasionally glanced back at the prisoners but said nothing, his irritation manifesting in a quick drag from his cigarette.

"That Son of a…" Alex growled.

"Don't," Adam said sharply, grabbing Alex's wrist again just as he took a step forward.

Alex jerked hard against his father's grip, his voice a harsh whisper. "That's Curtis. He's one of the bastards who-"

"I know who he is, Alex." Adam cut him off. "And I know what he's done. But if you run in there now, you'll get yourself killed, and them too."

Alex's jaw tightened, pulse pounding in his ears as he watched Curtis. The sight of Elle and mom shackled and helpless, sent rage through him. He wanted to charge in, rip the chains off them, and make Curtis pay for every ounce of pain he'd caused.

"She's right there, Dad," Alex hissed. "I can't just-"

"You can, and you will," Adam ordered, pulling Alex back behind the cover of a nearby vehicle. "Think about it, son. We don't know how many guards are in that wing. We don't know what's waiting around the corner. You rush in, and they'll sound the alarm before you even reach her."

Alex exhaled shakily, his gaze never leaving Elle and Lillian as the group continued toward one of the prison's newer wings.

"They're tougher than they look," Adam added. "You've got to trust Elle. We'll get her and Lillian out, but we have to be smart about it."

Curtis stopped briefly, turning his head as if sensing something. He scanned the area, his eyes narrowing as he looked over the cultists and vehicles. Alex held his breath, every muscle in his body tense as he stayed hidden. After a moment, Curtis shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and took another long drag from his cigarette before continuing.

As the group disappeared into the shadows of the prison, Alex sagged against the vehicle, his anger simmering just below the surface.

"We're running out of time," he muttered.

Adam released his grip. "Then let's use the time we have wisely. We'll track them, figure out where they're being held, and then we'll strike. But not before we know what we're up against."

Reluctantly, Alex nodded. "Fine. But the moment we have an opening, we're going for them."

Adam gave a single nod. "Agreed. Now let's move."

The two slipped back into the shadows, following at a safe distance, coming up with plans and contingencies. For now, stealth and patience were their only allies.

Alex and Adam moved with purpose, blending into the mob of cultists and workers bustling through the prison compound. Their stolen disguises, the Order's robes and masks, gave them just enough cover to pass unnoticed. This was no battlefield they had trained for, but it was a battlefield nonetheless.

"This isn't exactly what I signed up for," Alex muttered. His eyes darted from the workers hauling supplies to the guards stationed at key points. Every corner of the compound seemed to hum with tension.

"Adapt and overcome," Adam replied without looking at him. This was the voice of a man who had seen too many wars to waste time complaining about how they were fought. "It's their war. We just have to beat them at it."

Alex bit back a retort. He couldn't deny the truth in his father's words. The prison compound wasn't a war zone in the traditional sense, but it was a theater of conflict all the same. Surveillance cameras replaced sniper scopes and whispered plans had taken the place of shouted commands. Every shadow, every unguarded moment, was a potential ambush or escape route.

Adam's gaze swept across the compound, noting the layout as they passed, a series of buildings connected by narrow walkways and stretches of open ground. Guards patrolled in pairs, their eyes scanning for any sign of dissent or infiltration.

"This place is a fortress," Alex muttered.

"It's a mess," Adam countered. "Too many overlapping functions, too many places to hide, or get trapped. Whoever planned this doesn't understand strategy. That's our edge."

As they approached the main yard, Alex caught sight of a group of cultists herding prisoners toward a large building on the far side. His heart clenched as he recognized Elle and Lillian among them again, but he forced himself to stay calm.

"They're moving them," Alex said.

"I see it," Adam replied, his voice steady. "We stay close. Figure out where they're taking them."

Alex nodded, though his hands clenched into fists beneath his robe. Every instinct screamed at him to act, to do something, but he knew better than to tip their hand too soon.

They passed a guard who barked orders at a group of workers unloading crates from an old truck.

"This place used to be a POW camp," Adam said quietly, almost to himself. "I bet some of those old tunnels are still intact."

Alex glanced at him. "You think they're using them?"

"Maybe. Or maybe we will."

The two continued moving, their eyes scanning every detail, every face. This wasn't a war they had trained for, but it was the war they were fighting now. And they intended to win.

As they weaved through the compound, Alex suddenly froze. His eyes locked onto something, or someone, in the distance. His breath caught in his throat.

It couldn't be.

The figure was small, a child in the crowd, dressed in clothes that didn't belong in this grim place. Alex's heart began to pound as the boy turned slightly, just enough for Alex to see his face.

Joshua.

"Josh?" Alex whispered, his voice trembling. His body moved before his mind could stop him, breaking from the flow of the disguised cultists and slipping through the crowd.

Adam, still focused on their surroundings, didn't notice at first. He walked a few more paces before realizing Alex was no longer beside him.

"Alex?" Adam hissed, spinning around, his eyes scanning the sea of robed figures. Panic prickled at the edges of his composure. He had told Alex to stick close, to keep his head down. Where the hell had he gone?

"Alex!" he whispered harshly, voice low but urgent.

But Alex was already too far away, his thoughts consumed by the image of his little brother. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the words of those he bumped into. The figure of Joshua slipped around a corner, disappearing into one of the narrow alleys between buildings.

"Josh!" Alex called, louder this time. He picked up his pace, his desperation overriding any sense of caution.

Adam's heart sank as he realized Alex wasn't anywhere in sight. He cursed under his breath, his mind racing. He couldn't risk blowing their cover, not here, not now. But if Alex had gone off on his own…

"Dammit, Alex," Adam growled, scanning the area again before reluctantly following in the direction he thought Alex might have gone.

Alex reached the alley, his breath ragged as he turned the corner. But it was empty. The boy, Joshua, was gone.

"No, no, no," Alex muttered. Had he imagined it? Was it just another trick of this cursed place?

Behind him, the distant sounds of a crowd grew louder. He turned, suddenly aware of how exposed he was, and realized all too late that he had wandered far from the safety of the crowd and Adam.

James winced with every jolt of the chair's wheels against the floor. The ride sent sharp stabs of pain through his bruised ribs, and the dull ache in his side throbbed in time with every breath. He tried not to groan, not to give the cultists the satisfaction of knowing how much he hurt, but it was impossible to mask all of it.

One of the cultists pushing the chair, a tall man with a hooked nose, smirked down at him. "Not so tough now, huh?" he sneered.

James didn't respond. He kept his head down, his jaw clenched against the pain. The other cultist, stockier and younger, snickered.

"That Enforcer guy sure worked you over good," the younger one said. "I thought he was gonna break you in half."

James stayed silent. The Enforcer's laughter echoed in his ears, that mocking voice describing in brutal detail the feeling of shattered ribs, burned skin, and worse. He hated that the man had gotten to him, hated that the words lingered.

The hallway they were in was dark and damp, the lightbulbs above flickered intermittently. James took in the surroundings as best he could, trying to piece together where they were taking him. He counted turns and noted the heavy metal doors lining the walls, and the faint, distant sound of dripping water.

"Where are you taking me?" he finally rasped, his voice hoarse.

The tall cultist didn't answer, but the younger one grinned. "Soon." He laughed "You'll see soon enough. Got a little… gathering planned."

James's stomach twisted. He didn't like the sound of that.

As they reached another corridor, a door ahead of them creaked open, and a chilling voice echoed through the hallway.

"Bring him in."

James felt his blood run cold. That voice, calm, commanding, and utterly devoid of warmth, belonged to none other than Judge Holloway.

James's heart sank further when he saw Angela, his old friend, bound to another chair, her shoulders hunched and her face pale. She didn't look at him, whether or not it was because of shame or anger, he didn't know. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, her breath shallow and rapid.

Holloway stood beside her, cold and unyielding, her piercing gaze locking on him as though she were dissecting him with her eyes. To her right loomed the Enforcer, his massive frame dwarfing everyone in the room. His skull mask made him even more menacing, the red pentagram smeared across his helmet gleaming under the dim light.

"Ah, Mr. Sunderland graces us with his presence," the Enforcer said, his polite tone mockingly cheerful as he spread his arms wide. "Have you not tired of the Order's five-star accommodations? I hear the room service has left much to be desired."

James glared at him. He refused to rise to the bait.

The Enforcer chuckled as if James's silence amused him. "Oh, don't be so grim. We've got a lovely evening planned for you and your friend here." He gestured a hand towards Angela, who flinched at the sudden motion.

"What do you want?" James spat.

Holloway stepped forward, her cold demeanor like ice creeping through the room. "We want your cooperation," she said flatly. "It's quite simple. You tell us what we need to know, and this can all be over."

James scoffed. "And what do you think I know?"

The Enforcer let out a low chuckle. "Oh, come on, James. Don't play dumb. We've been tracking your little adventures. Silent Hill, the things you saw, the people you met… You've got more in that head of yours than you let on."

James glanced at Angela, who was trembling. He had no idea what they thought he could tell them, but he knew one thing, they were using her to get to him.

"Please, leave her out of this," James said, his eyes darting between the Enforcer and Holloway.

"Leave her out of this?" Holloway repeated mockingly, raising an eyebrow.

"She's got nothing to do with me or your sick games," James shot back.

The Enforcer stepped closer, towering over James's chair. "Ya see, Mr. Sunderland that's where you're wrong," he said. "Everyone has a part to play in this little drama. Some of us get bigger roles than others."

James didn't flinch under the man's imposing presence, though every instinct told him to. He forced himself to look up, his anger pushing through his fear.

"You think this will work? Torturing us until we give you what you want?" James said. "It won't. I've been through worse."

The Enforcer grinned behind his mask. "Oh, I'm counting on that, Mr. Sunderland. The harder the challenge, the more satisfying the break."