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Chapter Text

Prologue

The heat in Fallujah was almost unbearable, clinging to everything like a second skin. Dust clouds floated through the air, just as the Humvee rumbled through the deserted streets. Private First Class Alex Shepherd sat in the back, his rifle resting next to him, but his attention lay elsewhere. His fingers held a small photograph he tucked in his jacket, where most carried the photo of a significant other, Alex carrying a photo of his younger brother, Joshua. His innocent face stared back at him, a reminder of everything he was fighting to protect. Just how long had it been since he’d last seen him?

His squad mates filled the silence with chatter, their voices crackling over the radio. Private Miller sat next to Alex, leaning on the window. They all had easy chatter, anything to keep their minds off the war. “Hey, Padilla?” Miller called out. “Remember that Camel? Thought you were going to pass out when it bit your hand.”

The others laughed, even as they scanned the streets for signs of danger. But Alex didn’t join in. His mind elsewhere, tracing back thousands of miles across the sea to a little town in Maine called Shepherd’s Glenn. The place he called home. His thoughts kept coming back. Was Joshua all right? Had he grown taller? Did his old flame, Elle, still live in town? Or had she grown past it all, gone to college? More than anything, Alex wondered if his father, Adam, would be proud.

They had all remembered that day a few years ago when the planes hit the World Trade Center. They all wanted to do their part. The Shepherd line had men sign up for service since the days of the Revolutionary War. Alex’s dad was a soldier, his father was a soldier, and so on. It felt natural that after all that, it would be Alex’s turn to sign up. After making his way through basic training and graduating to the ranks of the United States Army Rangers, Alex hoped his father would finally say he was proud of his son.

He tightened his grip on the photo. His father had always been distant, a man of few words, but lots of expectations. Joining the army wasn’t just about serving his nation. It was also about proving something, to himself, and his father. If he came home a soldier, maybe, just maybe, he could finally bridge the gap between them.

A snore broke his thoughts, returning him to reality. Hendricks, the newest of their group, stirred and yawned before mumbling “Man, I had the weird dream… A vanilla milkshake. Does that mean anything?”

Alex and the others chuckled.

“Seriously. Does that mean anything?” Miller asked, rubbing his eyes. “Like is my brain telling me I need sugar or something?”

Padilla laughed, shaking his head. “It means you’ve got a hell of an imagination man.”

Alex smiled, he had trained with some of the guys and had grown close to them. His attention went back to the photo in his hand. As trivial as it sounded, the conversations kept the edge off. But calm never lasted long in a place like Iraq.

Without warning, something seemed to shift. In an instant, those easy feelings evaporated just as every man tensed. The convoy began to move slowly.

And then, the shout came. “RPG!”

The world exploded in a flash of loud and loud sound. The Humvee in front of them had exploded into fire and metal. The second wave hit them, seconds after, throwing Alex and the others to the side of the vehicle. His ears were ringing, and everything dissolved into chaos. Shouting, the ring of machine gun fire, and more explosions. Then, finally darkness.

Alex opened his eyes again, the roar of Fallujah was gone. The smell of smoke and burning rubber was replaced by the fresh smell of rain. He blinked again, vision hazy. He had tried to make sense of the sudden shift. Instead of the military Humvee, he found himself in the passenger seat of an old, beat-up truck. The soft hum of the engine vibrated through the well-worn seats. The steady rhythm of it all pulling out of the edge of a nightmare.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” A gruff voice said from the neighboring driver’s seat.

Alex tilted his head to see the man behind the wheel, Travis. That was the name the trucker had given him just outside a truck stop, just along the endless stretch of the road leading to Shepherd’s Glen.

“You were out cold for a while,” Travis added. “Figured you needed the sleep.”
Alex rubbed his eyes, trying to help himself wake up. Was his head still reeling from the remnants of his dream, or was it a memory? Either way, he was no longer in Iraq. For him, the war was over. He had been discharged and headed home. Though “Home” felt distant.

“Anything for our boys in Uniform,” Travis said, keeping his tone genuine. “You’ve been through hell and back. The least I can do is get you where you’re going.”

Alex nodded but didn’t say anything. He leaned his head back against the seat, he was exhausted. The truck gently rocked as it continued down the highway. The road seemed to stretch forever in front of them, Shepherd’s Glen was close now. He was going home.

But something in the back of his mind nagged at him, something he couldn’t quite shake. The lines between dream and reality seemed like a blur as the familiar landscape of pine trees rolled on. Home didn’t feel like it should have. He still held the photo of Joshua in his hand. But this wasn’t a feeling of comfort, it was one of foreboding.

At any rate, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The cold winds swept over Shepherd’s Glen, carrying with it the scent of wet earth. The trees on the outskirts of town swaying in the breeze, the branches were bare, creaking. To the outside world, Shepherd’s Glen was just another quiet, unremarkable town, same as any. Its streets were lined with old colonial-style houses, the lawns neatly mowed, white picket fences, and familiar faces of the neighbors. But as the wind howled through town, and the alleys and over the rooftops, it carried something older, something darker.

Away from the town, far beyond the view of those who slept comfortably in their homes, a different gathering was taking place. The undesirables, strangers, transients, and drifters unlucky to find themselves in Shepherd’s Glen had been rounded up. Their faces contorted with fear and confusion. They had all been taken in the dead of the night, blindfolded and bound, herded like cattle towards the dense woods just outside of town.

Unfolding amid trees was an ancient ritual.

The captives were cold, terrified, and tired. They heard nothing but the whispers of the masked figures that surrounded them. They moved with quiet precision, their faces hidden behind masks, gas masks, warped animal faces, deformed human features, and twisted symbols none of them could comprehend. They moved in unison, as though connected by an unseen force. Their presence was unnerving.

The captives, men and women, child and elder, trembled as they were being dragged to the center of the clearing. Their bodies were weak, minds racing to understand what was happening. Some prayed, others cried. But all of them knew they had to know. That whatever was about to happen, would not end well for them.

And then, the chanting began.

“Sator arepo tenet opera rotas. INRI natura integra. INRI, INRI, abracadabra...”

Their words were ancient, a weight of history none of the captives understood. The masked figures chanted to one another in unison. Voices rose and fell, growing louder until the very air seemed to hum with power.

“Sator arepo tenet opera rotas...”

The captives felt their hearts pounding. They didn’t know what they were saying, but their bodies instinctively recoiled in fear. The chant filled the clearing, through the trees and the ground, as if the earth itself had joined their ritual.

One of the captives, a young man, strained hard against the ropes binding his wrists. He looked around trying to find something, anything that could explain the nightmare they were in. His gaze fell on one of the masked figures standing away. She, or at the very least, thought it was a she, wore a mask made from the skull of a ram. The curved horns reflected off the firelight. In one hand, she held a torch, flames flickered in the icy wind, casting an eerie glow.

Her voice cut through the chanting like a blade. It was calm, measured, an icy coldness that sent shivers down the captive’s spines. “For one hundred and fifty years, we have honored the covenant.”
The young man strained to listen, terror in his chest growing as she spoke each word.

“This town,” the woman continued, voice rising above the chanting. “Was not built on stone or soil, but on sacrifice and blood.”

The captives exchanged looks of panic, but there was no escape. The masked figures closed in all around them, their movements slow and deliberate. It was as if they were enacting a dark, sacred ritual that was passed through the generations.

The woman in the ram skull mask stepped forward. She raised the torch high above her head. The flames crackled and roared through the cold night’s air. “Tonight!” she said, voice with reverence. “We honor that covenant once more! Tonight, we give tribute!”

The captive’s confusion turned to sheer terror as it sunk in. This wasn’t a random act of violence. This was a ritual, one with roots far deeper and older than any of them could have imagined. Shepherd’s Glen held secrets, and those secrets demanded blood.

The young man struggled hard, the rope burning into his wrists. He tried to cry out, but his voice caught in his throat as he watched the woman approach with the torch, her shadow loomed against the firelight. Around him, the chanting grew louder and louder, more frenzied, as if the masked figures were trying to summon something out of the air.

“Sator arepo tenet opera rotas... INRI, INRI... abracadabra!”

The words pounded in his head, the rhythm beat in sync with his heart. The masked figures began circling the captives, their movements synchronized with the chanting, the hands outstretched to the flames, as if drawing power from the fire itself. Their masks, some human, other gas masks, others animal, shifted and twisted in the dancing light, making it impossible to tell who or what was underneath.

The woman in the ram’s skull mask stopped in front of the captives, eyes hidden by the mask. She raised the torch higher, flames casting a hellish glow on her mask. “By this fire,” she toned “We cleanse the impure. By this fire, we ensure the safety of Shepherd’s Glen for another generation.”

With a slow, deliberate movement, she lowered the torch on the ground, the flames at the grass and leaves. The heat intensified as the fire spread, consuming the gas-soaked foliage at their feet. The chanting reached a pitch, masked figures raising their hands towards the sky as the fire began to roar. The flames grew taller, hotter, and brighter.

The young man screamed. He wasn’t the only one, they struggled against the bonds, and their voices drowned by the wind and the chants of the masked figures. The fire spread all around, flames devouring everything in their path.

Through it all, the woman in the ram skull’s mask watched it silently, the torch held as high as the flames consumed the offering to their god.

Many miles away as this unfolded, Alex Shepherd stirred in his seat. Something told him that the home he was returning to was not the same as he had left. There was something beneath the surface, dark and waiting.

“Almost there, soldier,” Travis muttered as he glanced at Alex. “Almost home.”

Chapter Text

The truck rolled to a stop outside Shepherd’s Glen, tires crunching against the cracked asphalt roads. Alex Shepherd sat still in the passenger seat for a moment, staring out into the fog-covered town that he had once called home. This wasn’t right, it was supposed to feel familiar. The city after all was where he had spent his entire childhood, but something about it felt wrong.

“Looks like this is your stop, Soldier,” Travis said from the driver’s seat, his voice breaking through Alex’s thoughts. He let the engine run idle as he set the brake. “This is where I drop you off.”

Alex gave his nod of appreciation. “Thanks for the lift, Travis. I owe you one.”

Travis gave a faint, weary smile. The kind that came from too many long nights on the road. “No need for that. Anything for our boys in uniform. Take care of yourself, ya hear? The town seems quieter than I remember.”

Alex glanced back through the fog that seemed to cling to every building, every street corner. All he felt at that moment, rather than elation at finally returning home, was one of unease. “Yeah… it’s not what I expected either.”

Without another word, Alex grabbed his duffel bag and stepped out of the truck. His boots landed with a thud on the pavement. The heavy fog closed in all around him, the mist wrapping like ghostly white hands. Travis gave him one last nod before revving the engine and disappearing into the fog. Alex was left all alone in his hometown.

The silence was deafening.

He took a deep breath and started making his way down the main road, each step echoed in the early evening. The fog was so thick he could barely see more than a few feet in front of him. His hometown wasn’t supposed to feel like this. The streets were familiar to him of course, but something about the buildings, the once quaint, well-kept homes and storefronts now looked as though they were forgotten by time itself. Cracked windows, peeling paint, and weeds choked the walkways. It was as if the town had aged decades in his absence for the past few years.
With every step, that feeling nagging in the back of his head grew stronger. This wasn’t the welcome home had had envisioned. He had imagined smiles, waves from familiar faces, and maybe even a surprise party from his old friends. Instead, it was as if the whole town had been silenced by an otherworldly fog.

While the weight of Alex’s duffel bag pulled at his shoulder, it was nothing like the heavy feeling in his chest. There should’ve been people out and about, neighbors, kids playing in the streets. But no one was out.

“Where the hell is everyone?” Alex muttered to himself. His breath came out in a puff of vapor, quickly swallowed up by the fog.

He kept up his pace through town, unease growing with every step. The landmarks were still here, but it was wrong somehow, twisted and decayed versions of what he remembered. The general store was boarded up, the once-colorful sign was faded and broken. The park he used to play in as a kid was now overrun with dead grass and rusting playground equipment.

A knot tightened in his stomach as he passed by the old diner, a place he and his childhood friend, Elle used to frequent together after school. Now the once bustling establishment was just like the others, dark and abandoned. The familiar neon sign flickered, casting a sickly light through the fog.

As he walked, Alex just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. His eyes darted around to the empty windows of the buildings that lined the streets, darkened shops and homes, their vacant gazes almost menacing. The fog was thicker here now.

Then just up ahead, a figure appeared through the fog.

Alex stood in his tracks, narrowing his eyes to focus on the image in the fog. He drew closer and the figure took shape. A woman, standing by the old courthouse. Her coat was dark, and she stood there with an aura of authority. Her sharp features are framed by the fog. Alex instantly recognized her, it was Margaret Holloway, the town’s judge, and mother to his old childhood friend, Elle.

“Alex? Alex Shepherd?” her voice cut through the silence, tinged with a mixture of surprise and warmth. She didn’t move from her spot, but she tilted her head slightly as if to study him.

Alex blinked, relieved that he finally found a familiar face in the deserted streets. He hurried towards her. “Judge Holloway. It’s been a while.”

Her eyes gleamed through the mist, giving an expression between surprise and something else. Something that Alex couldn’t quite place. “It certainly has.” She said, with a faint smile on her lips. “I didn’t expect to see you back in Shepherd’s Glen. It’s been what? A few years now?”

“Yeah.” Alex nodded, adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder. “I just got discharged and now I’m back home. I wanted to surprise everyone, but…” He gestured his left hand around them. “The town looks … different.”

Margaret’s eyes flickered over the deserted streets for a moment, taking it all in. “Yes, well... things certainly have changed.” She kept her tone measured as if she were choosing her next words carefully. “We’ve had our share of struggles, like everyone else. But we’re preparing Shepherd’s Glen for its 150th anniversary. I imagine most people are busy with the festivities.”

Alex frowned, glancing at the abandoned streets and buildings. Festivities? There weren’t many decorations, no signs of celebration. There was much of anything to suggest that a town-wide event was just over the horizon. He looked back to Margaret. “Doesn’t seem like anyone’s getting ready for a party.”

Though Margaret’s expression didn’t waver, something in her eyes darkened slightly. “We are a town of traditions, Alex. Sometimes, things happen behind the scenes.” She gave him another smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But the Shepherd family has always played a significant role in those traditions. After all, the town is named after your ancestor.”

Alex let out a small laugh, unease deepening. “Yeah, I guess the Shepherds haven’t done much to keep the place from falling apart, huh?”

Her lips twitched, a small, almost undetectable reaction to his words. “Times have been difficult, but we’ll manage. We always do.”

There was something in her tone, something that made Alex’s skin crawl. But before he could dwell on it, he decided to shift the conversation. “Have you seen my mom, Holloway?” he asked. “Or Elle? I was hoping to surprise them.”
Margaret paused, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she considered the question. “Your mother is still here, of course. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.” She hesitated again. “As for Elle… Yes, she’s around. She’s been asking about you. You should see them both.”

Alex nodded, though there was a growing tension between them that lingered in the air. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something that was left unsaid. Something Margaret wasn’t sharing with him.

“They will both be happy to see you,” Margaret added, only now softening her voice. “It’s been hard, you know. Especially for your mother. She’s… had a difficult time adjusting.”

“Adjusting?” Alex burrowed his brow. “Adjusting to what?”

Margaret let her eyes flicker, her controlled mask slipped for a split second. “To everything. To you being gone for so long… to Joshua.”

Margaret brought up his kid brother made Alex stiffen. He hadn’t expected anyone to bring up Joshua so soon. He opened his mouth to respond, but Margaret’s cold, authoritative tone returned.

“Your mother has been… waiting.” She said, smiling tight. “You should go see her first. And Elle, of course. They’ve both missed you.”

“Yeah.” Alex swallowed, Joshua’s absence suddenly felt heavy in the air between them. “I was hoping to surprise them.”

Alex noticed again, Margaret’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she spoke to him again. “I’m sure that they’ll appreciate that. But Alex…” She shifted her voice to a more serious tone. The earlier warmth now vanishing. “Be careful.”

“Careful?” Alex asked. “Of what?” Alex was a combat veteran. There wasn’t much that scared him. What did she mean about being careful?

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than was comfortable. Then she finally responded. “Of the past. Sometimes, it’s not as easy to leave behind as you might think.”

The way she said it to Alex, made it seem as though it were a cryptic warning of some sort. Alex frowned, confused but the shift in her tone. He meant to open his mouth just to clarify what she had meant, but Margaret was already stepping back.

“I have to attend a meeting at the courthouse.” She said. “But please, go home Alex/ Your mother will be waiting for you. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the reunion.”

Alex nodded, feeling unease gnawing away in his stomach. “Thanks, Judge Holloway. It’s good to see a familiar face.”

Margaret’s smile returned to her face. Though it was more formality than any genuine warmth. “You too, Alex. Take care.”

With that, she turned and headed towards the courthouse. Her footsteps on the marble stairs echo through the eerie silence of the town. Alex stood there for a moment, trying to make sense of their conversation. Something about it, about her, felt off. Judge Holloway always held a certain distance about her. But this was different. The cryptic way she spoke, the tension in her voice when she mentioned his mother and Joshua. None of it sat right with him.

Alex quickly shook off the feeling and adjusted the strap on his duffel bag. Maybe Holloway was having a long day. He quickly started walking home. He needed answers, and the only place he’d get them was home. He wanted to see his mother, see Elle, and figure out what happened to Shepherd’s Glen while he was away.

The streets seemed to be growing darker. The fog seemed to grow thicker, as Alex took every step deeper into town. Every step felt heavier than the last, as though the town was pressing hard on him. Everything felt wrong.

Finally, he saw it, his family home.

It stood just at the end of the street next to Toluca Lake, just as he remembered it. It seemed more a shadow of its former self than the house he once called home. Darkened windows, peeling paint. But it was still home, at least on its surface.

He hesitated, hand over the handle. The wind was picking up now, making him shiver. Taking a deep breath he stepped inside. He was home after all these years.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 – The Meeting

The door made a soft click as Margaret Holloway entered, her heels tapping sharply against the wooden floor. The other three men were already seated, each of them the embodiment of Shepherd Glen’s ancient legacy. Adam Shepherd, the sheriff, sat stiffly in his chair, resting his hands as he surveyed the newest arrival with a quiet, calculating gaze. Next to him, Dr. Martin Fitch was nervously polishing his glasses with a trembling hand, thin frame hunched over as if a heavy weight was on his shoulders. Across the table, Mayor Sam Bartlett slouched in his seat, reeking of whiskey as he took another sip. His bloodshot eyes darted briefly as Holloway entered but quickly returned to the bottle in front of him.

“Gentlemen,” Holloway said, voice with the authority of someone who was used to being obeyed. She moved to the head of the table, the seat of power in the room. Her eyes looked over each of them, lingering longer on Bartlett, who muttered something under his breath.

She chose to ignore him for now. They would get to that in time.

The room fell into silence as she stood there, waiting for their full attention. There was tension in the air now, something that had been brewing for years, just under the surface of the town’s fragile peace.

“We are on the brink,” she began, voice firm and authoritative. “Our beloved town’s 150th anniversary is upon us. With it, the sacrifices must be made.”

She looked at each of them in turn, her expression hardening. “This is not a choice. Not a matter of debate. Never has been, and never will be. The Order demands it, it always has. Tradition is what binds us, gentlemen. Without it, without the Order, without the sacrifices, Shepherd’s Glen is nothing. We are nothing. We would descend to chaos, living like animals. The Order is everything.”

Bartlett, slouched in his chair, rolled his eyes, and then took another swig of whiskey, not even bothering to fill his cup. He muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. “Everything to you…”

Holloway snapped her attention to him, eyes narrowing into sharp points. “What was that?” she demanded, voice cutting through like a whip.

Bartlett shrugged, though he trembled as he set the bottle down. “I said, everything’s to you, Margaret, Always about the Order. Always about tradition. Meanwhile, the rest of us-“He immediately cut himself off, as he realized he was treading on dangerous ground.

Holloway’s lips thinned into a tight line as she leaned towards him, her voice a dangerous whisper. “Do not mistake your title for real power, Sam. You may be the mayor, but as the head of the Order, this is my town. You’re here to cut ribbons, kiss babies, and smile for cameras. Nothing more.”

Bartlett’s face flushed, but he had nothing to say. He knew better than to push things further.

Adam Shepherd, meanwhile, sat in his seat quietly. He kept his face unreadable as the exchanges unfolded before him. He had seen it all play out countless times before Holloway exerting her control over the others, Fitch cowering, and Bartlett drinking himself into a stupor. None of this was new.

But something else was simmering tonight. Adam’s mind was elsewhere, far beyond the confines of this room. His thoughts, memories of the last time he had tried to defy the order.

It had been over ten years ago. He was a younger man then, more hopeful, more foolish. Upon the death of his father, it had become Adam’s reasonability as the new head to join the Order. He’d refused, dared to question the sacred rites. They answered his defiance with cruelty. His sister, his beloved Mary Shepherd, had been afflicted with an illness no doctor could explain. She suffered with her husband, James Sunderland, a man caught in the crossfire. Her once bright blue eyes dimmed as the sickness, the curse, ravaged her body. Adam had been forced to watch from afar as she withered away, powerless to save her.

He hadn’t forgotten the lesson. The Order’s demands were absolute.

But that didn’t mean he had given up. No, far from it. As Judge Holloway was droning on and on about the importance of tradition and their duty to uphold the sacrifices, Adam was biding his time. Waiting for the right moment. That moment was fast approaching. The town’s anniversary, the sacrifices, it was all coming to a head. He wasn’t about to let the Order take anyone else he loved. Not again.

“Adam?”

Holloway’s voice jolted him from his thoughts. She was staring at him now, eyes sharp, and impatient. “You’ve been quiet this whole time. We need to be unanimous on this.”

He blinked, keeping his face neutral as his eyes met hers. “Of course.” He finally said, remaining calm, though on the inside, his resolve was hardening. “I will agree to the plan.”

Holloway nodded and clapped her hands, satisfied. Though, she kept her gaze on him. She sensed something, but Adam had always been good at hiding his thoughts. He had learned that from his father. In Shepherd’s Glen, survival often depended on one saying a thing, and meaning another.

Next to him, Dr. Fitch cleared his throat, still cleaning his glasses with the corner of his sleeve. His hands shook as he spoke. “It’s… it’s for the good of the town.” He mumbled though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anyone else. “The sacrifices are… necessary.”

Adam glanced back at Fitch, a man whose weakness had become a mark of his presence at these meetings. A doctor by trade, but nothing more than a puppet for Holloway. His hands always shook now, Adam couldn’t tell whether from guilt or fear.

He glanced over to Bartlett, who had stopped drinking for a moment. Bartlett barely contained his frustration. He knew his role like the others, but that didn’t mean he’d have to like it. Holloway never let him forget he was a meaningless title that meant nothing. The real power in Shepherd’s Glen lay with the Order, and Holloway had taken every opportunity to remind them all of that.

Adam leaned back in his chair. Bartlett, the drunken mayor, has no real power. Dr. Fitch is a weak-willed man, too scared to stand up for himself. And Holloway, Judge and head of the order controls them all like pieces on a chessboard. These people he was supposed to trust with the town’s future. The people who already sacrificed too much would continue demanding more until nothing was left. He was running out of friends, he was sure half the people in town belonged to the Order, and the other half knew nothing about it. Sure he had his deputy, but that wasn’t exactly an army.

Holloway continued outlining details of the coming sacrifices. Adam’s mind wandered again. He had agreed to this tonight, as he always did. But deep down, he knew he was already planning rebellion. He had been preparing for months, ever since the anniversary date was set. He knew the town’s secrets, the dark history, and he knew he had to break from the Order’s grip.

War was coming. It was inevitable. When it did, Adam had to be ready.

“Adam?” Holloway asked again, her tone sharp.

He crossed his fingers and met her gaze again. Expression calm. “I’m with you.” He repeated though it felt hollow. He could see the look of suspicion in her eyes, but she was satisfied for now.

“Good.” She said, leaning back on her chair. ‘Then it’s agreed. The sacrifices will commence as planned. The Order demands it, and we fulfill our duty.”

Bartlett muttered something under his breath, but Holloway ignored him this time. She kept her focus on Adam. She knew Adam was critical in this. As a descendant of the Shepherd family, his role was key to this. And yet, she sensed a shift in him, a reluctance that hadn’t been there.

“You will fulfill your duty, Adam.” She said, her voice soft, almost coaxing him now. “Your family’s blood is the foundation of this town. We can’t do it without you.”

Adam met her gaze hiding the storm brewing deep within him. “I’ll do my duty.” He promised. But he wasn’t thinking about the sacrifices. He was thinking about what comes after.

Holloway smiled, satisfied. “Good.” She said. “For the town. For the Order.”

Adam said nothing, his silence heavy. The meeting would end soon, and the others would leave. Adam was already planning his next move. He wouldn’t be there for the sacrifices. This time would be different.

This time, he wouldn’t submit, not like he did for Mary. He was going to end it.

Judge Holloway paced back and forth in her dimly lit office. Fingers tapping anxiously on the walls. A slight tremor ran through her hand, but she quickly clenched it into a fist. She watched the fog outside the window, but inside, she felt tension. She could feel her body rebelling against her, muscles tensing, and mind hazy. The familiar symptoms of withdrawal. The sensation was unbearable, but she wasn’t about to let Dr. Fitch, of all people, see her weakness.

Dr. Fitch shuffled into the room, his meet demeanor evident as he slowly walked and kept his eyes down. He set the small black bag on the table in front of her, filled with what she had been waiting for. He looked at her with worry as he watched Holloway’s posture. The Judge had always been a powerful figure. But lately, he had observed her and noticed the signs, the irritability, the shakes, and the look in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated.

Holloway cut him off. “You’re late, Fitch. I need it now.”

Fitch’s eyes darted back to the bag as he stepped forward. He was timid but he voiced genuine concern. “Judge… are you sure this is a good idea? You’ve been-“

She slammed her fist on the table, face contorted in barely contained anger. “Don’t start with me, Fitch! I don’t have time for your moralizing. Since when have you grown a backbone?”

Fitch recoiled but held his ground. His oath required him to not harm, and he mustered the courage to meet her gaze. “You’re… you’re not well, Margaret. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.” He wavered but continued. “You’re running on fumes, and those… those pills aren’t helping you anymore.”

Holloway narrowed her eyes as she took a slow, deliberate step towards him. Her presence towering despite her physical state. She kept her voice low, venomous. “I’ve been taking these since long before you became a doctor in this rotting town. I took them to get through law school, through my time in the military, through every trial and courtroom where men like you would break. And now you think you know better?”

Her body ached. The withdrawal was hitting her harder today. She could feel the fog creep in around her mind, dulling her thoughts, and she needed clarity. She needed control. Fitch hesitated for a moment, fiddling with the strap of his medical bag. His concern was deepening. He had seen addiction, too many times to count in this town. But seeing it in someone like Judge Holloway, was unnerving.

“You’re pushing yourself too far, Margaret. The pills… they’re not going to keep you going forever. At some point-“

“Shut up!” she spat, taking another step forward. “Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing? You don’t see what’s happening? I’m holding this town together. I’m the one keeping everything in line while you’re scared of your own shadow, while Bartlett drinks himself into a stupor and Adam. While Adam betrays us! I am the only one with the spine to lead this town, and I’ll be damned if I let it all fall apart because of some… weakness!”

Fitch’s hands trembled, trying to find the words. “Margaret... this isn’t strength. This is-“

“Don’t you ever dare to lecture me on strength.” His voice was cold now, shifting from rage to an icy calculation. “I built my strength in the courtrooms, in the military justice system, in every corner of this country where men underestimated me. I earned my position through blood, sweat, and sheer fucking will. Don’t pretend for a second you understand what it takes to do what I do.”

Fitch swallowed hard, his heart racing. He could feel her gaze burning into him, but he couldn’t shake the sight of her. Her face, once composed and severe, now looked worn, haunted by something more dangerous than the town’s dark secrets.

“You can’t keep this up.” He said quietly. “It’s going to kill you.”

Holloway laughed a harsh, brittle sound that filled the room. “I don’t die, Fitch. I don’t fail.” She grabbed the bag, and ripped it open, pulling out the pills she so desperately needed. With a swift motion, she closed her eyes and swallowed one, waiting for the familiar rush of energy and a return to control.

For a moment, there was silence between them.

Then she opened her eyes, and composure snapping her back into place. Her voice was sharp and decisive. “Now stop wasting my time. We have work to do. Adam is thinking of rebellion, and I need every ounce of focus to make sure he commits to his duty or suffers. You’re either with me or in my way, Fitch. Choose.”

Fitch hesitated for a moment, he knew the moral dilemma well. But Holloway hardened her gaze. He knew he had no choice. Ever since elementary school, he had been a follower, not a leader. And in Shepherd’s Glen, those who didn’t follow were swallowed up.

He nodded, reluctantly. “I’ll do my duty.”

She popped another pill as she turned away from him. The pills were becoming less effective. The power they once gave her was fleeting. And deep down, buried beneath layers of ambition, control, loyalty to the Order and to the Incubus, a small terrifying began to take root.

She was losing her grip.

But she would never let it show.

Fitch reached back into his bag and handed Holloway another bottle of pills. His worry was plain on his face as he asked. “Why aren’t any of your… goons with you? You always have someone shadowing you, just in case.”

Holloway shot him a sharp glare, cutting him off before he could say anything more. “Don’t act like you can question me, Fitch. You are not here for a conversation. I certainly don’t need a pack of followers to handle a weak man like you.”

She snapped the bottle open, ignoring his look of concern as she swallowed a few pills dry. The pills were the only comfort she could rely on these days. Fitch shifted uneasily, still rattled by her temper, but Holloway wasn’t interested in his concern.

“I run this town, Fitch.” She continued with venom in her voice. “I run the Order, the courts, the law, it all bends to me. I don’t need muscle to keep you and those spineless fools in line. All it takes is the right piece of paper, and your lives fall apart. That’s how real power works.”

Fitch flinched at her words. “You’re… not yourself, Margaret. This addiction is taking over. It’s making you reckless.”

Holloway’s eyes flashed with fury as she stepped towards him. “Reckless? I’ve fought my way through every courtroom, every battlefield, and every challenge thrown at me as soon as I was old enough to hold my own. Do you think some uppers are going to slow me down? You think I don’t know how to control it?”

Her patience with Fitch was wearing thin. The room seemed to shrink under the weight of her fury, her body tensing as withdrawal fought to claw its way back into her system. The silence was suffocating, broken by only the ticking of the old clock on the wall.

“You think you can stand there and moralize to me?” Her voice was cold and biting. “You’re in this just as deep as I am, Fitch. You’ve been supplying these for me for years. If you think you can stop now, you’re mistaken.”

Fitch meant to open his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He had known for a long time that Holloway was ruthless, but now she had grown more dangerous.

“You want to talk about morality?” she sneered. “Let’s be clear. I know you’ve been over-prescribing to half the town, haven’t you? You’ve lined your pockets from your little side business. And you think that if I go down, you’ll still have a career left? We both know how that’ll end.”

Fitch stammered, and his face grew pale. “I- I’m just worried about-“

“Don’t.” Holloway stepped closer, whispering in Fitch’s ear. “If I go down, I’ll take you with me. Your name will be dragged through the mud, and everything you’ve built will crumble. Your practice, your reputation, everything. Finished. Mutually Assured Destruction, Fitch.

She let the words hang like a death sentence. Fitch felt a cold sweat form on his brow. He had always been afraid of Holloway, but this was different. This wasn’t about pills or the town, or even the Order and its sacrifices. They were all just chess pieces. And in this game, Holloway was more than willing to burn everything to the ground if it meant staying in control.

For a moment, even Fitch considered walking away, leaving the pills on the table and never looking back. But Holloway’s grip on the town, on him, was too strong. The consequences of crossing her were just too severe.

Resigned, Fitch let out his breath and nodded. “I’ll get you more.”

“Good Boy,” Holloway said, satisfied, a small, cruel smile twisting on her lips. She reached into her coat and pulled out a thick wad of bills, and shoved them into Fitch’s palm.

“That should cover your… services.” She said with condescension. “Don’t make me regret this. Keep the supply coming and no one has to know about your little side business. We keep things quiet. Everyone’s happy.”

Fitch stared at the money, but he knew he had no other choice. Holloway’s grip was ironclad, and she wouldn’t hesitate to destroy him if it came to that. He put the bills into his jacket pocket.

“Question me again, Fitch, and I’ll make sure no one ever remembers you existed. Not even your precious daughter’s ghost will whisper your name.”

Fitch stood frozen, trapped in his fear. He knew better than to push her further.

“Good,” Holloway muttered, slipping a pill bottle into her coat pocket. “Now get out of my sight. I have real work to do.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 – Shepherd Family Home

Alex remembered all the moments of his childhood as he stepped inside the house. The home he had grown up in, his sanctuary, felt just as distant as those precious memories, Laughter, arguments, warmth from his mother's embrace, his father's cold reserved gaze.

The interior was dim, air stagnant. His boots echoed off the wooden floor as he called out. "Mom? Joshua?"

Silence.

He stepped into the living room, eyes scanning the surroundings. It looked untouched by time, as if no one bothered to clean or rearrange anything since he left. The same worn-out couch sat against the far wall. The same framed family photos still lined the mantle, dust gathering on the glass frame. One photo, a picture of him and Joshua, was taken years ago. Alex had a bittersweet smile.

Just then, a soft voice broke the silence.

"Alex."

He turned to see his mother, Lillian Shepherd, standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. She looked pretty much the same as Alex remembered her, elegant, reserved, hair pulled into a bun. But there was something different now, exhausted, deep lines of worry etched into her face. It seemed as though time had finally taken its toll on her.

"Mom," Alex said. Without thinking, he moved towards and embraced her.

Lillian stiffened at first, body rigid in his arms. But after a moment, she relaxed and hugged him back, if only briefly. "It's been a long time." She said quietly.

Alex pulled back and looked into her eyes. "I know, I'm sorry, Mom. I wanted to come back sooner, but…" He trailed off, mind racing back to the war, the bombs, the bullets, the chaos in Iraq, everything he had been through. But he didn't want to burden her with that. Not yet.

'Where's Joshua?" Alex asked, looking around the room, half expecting his kid brother to burst through any moment. "I've been looking forward to seeing him."

Lillian darkened her eyes, tightening her expression. She folded her hands and turned away. "Joshua… isn't here right now. He's with a friend." Her voice was soft but intense. As if she was carefully choosing to avoid saying something else.

"With a friend?" Alex asked. "Where? How come no one is answering?"

Before Lilian could respond, the front door creaked open. Alex turned, and standing there in the doorway, was his father, Adam Shepherd. The man had always been a distant, towering presence in Alex's life, both in physical stature, he was over six feet tall after all, and in temperament. Adam's dark eyes looked at Alex with a cold, unreadable expression. He stood tall, shoulders broad, his demeanor as rigid as Alex remembered.

"Dad," Alex said with a mixture of emotions, relief, apprehension, and a desire for approval.

Adam stepped inside his home and closed the door. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply staring at his son, sizing him up. Finally, he spoke. "Alex. You've come home."

There wasn't any warmth to his words. No embrace like with his mother. Just a statement of fact, plain and simple. But Alex could sense something troubling his father, whatever it was, he wasn't sharing. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable until Lillian cleared her throat to clear the tension.

"Adam," she said. "Dinner's ready. We should all sit down."

Adam glanced once at Alex and then back to his wife, nodding. "Fine. Let's eat." He turned and walked towards the dining room.

Alex followed, feeling a knot form in his stomach. He hadn't expected a grand reunion, but still, his father's coldness stung. Lillian, walking beside him, gave a reassuring glance.

They entered the dining room, and Alex was greeted by the sight of a fully prepared meal, the first home-cooked meal he'd seen in years. Steak, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, all classic American staples, just like he used to have as a kid. The table was set for three.

They sat down in silence before Adam led the family in prayer "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Amen."

After the prayer, the clinking silverware was the only sound as they began to eat. Alex decided to break the silence.

"So uh, Dad." Alex started, keeping his tone casual. "What's been going on in Shepherd's Glen? The town looks so…. Different."

Adam's fork paused, but he didn't look up from his plate. "Shepherd's Glen has always had its… challenges." He said flatly. "You've seen what it's become."

Alex frowned. "Yeah, it looks abandoned out there. No one's around and the place is falling apart. What's going on?"

Adam looked up to glance towards Lillian, then back to his plate. "It's nothing you need to worry about."

"Dad, I just came back from Iraq," Alex replied, feeling frustrated. "If something's wrong, just tell me."

Adam finally looked up at him, dark eyes locked onto Alex's. For a moment, there was a flash of something, something Alex couldn't read. Was it guilt? Fear?

"Everything will be fine," Adam said, voice measured. "You should focus on yourself. Rest. Take it easy. There will be time later."

Alex decided to change the subject, deciding not to push it further. "What about Joshua? Mom said he was out with a friend?"

Adam's face hardened, tightening his jaw. "Yes." He said in a curt tone. "He's out with a friend."

"Which friend? Why hasn't anyone heard from him?"

"He's fine Alex. I don't walk to talk about Joshua now." Adam said putting down his fork.

There was a tension in the room. Alex glanced back at Lillian, who seemed to be shrinking away. Her eyes were downcast, hands folded on her lap.

Alex knew better than to push his father further. He had seen his look before, the one that told him it was best to back off. But something wasn't right. His parents were hiding something.

Alex forced himself to take a bite of his food, a fork full of mashed potatoes, he could barely taste it. The dinner he had longed for felt hollow now, just like the house, and just like the town.

"I should see Elle," Alex said suddenly, trying to have a conversation. He remembered his old childhood friend. "Maybe she knows what's going on around here."

Adam snapped his gaze back at him. "There will be plenty of time for that." He said firmly. "For now, just focus on being home."

Alex stared at his father, his instincts were screaming at him, telling him that something was very wrong. But for now, he nodded, deciding to wait.

Adam Shepherd went back to cutting his steak, the sharp knife cutting into the meat, medium rare, just as he liked it. His mind was focused on the task, gaze focused on the plate as if the steak was all that mattered. But inside his head, he felt conflicted. One thought and another pulled him in different directions.

Alex was talking about his time overseas in Iraq, recounting stories from his squad mates with pride. "My squad was tight-knit, you know? We went through hell together. 'Rangers lead the Way', right?" Alex chuckled, pausing to take a bite of the corn on the cob. "We had each other's backs, no matter what. Just like you taught me."

Adam's hand froze for a moment, then returned to cutting his steak. Rangers. Special Forces. They were alike in more ways than one. Both trained to withstand the horrors of war and emerge the other side, stronger. He knew what it was like to lead men into battle, to shoulder responsibility. But right now, he wasn't thinking about that. He was calculating, weighing the odds of survival against an impossible decision. One that had been gnawing at him for years.

He glanced at Lillian, who sat quietly across from him, eyes darting between her husband and her son. She held a reserved smile, though her features betrayed a tension beneath her calm exterior. She was happy to have Alex home, that much was true, and Adam could tell. But she knew that things weren't the same. Shepherd's Glen wasn't the same. Nothing was.

"So, how was it, Dad?" Alex asked, trying to bridge the gap between them. "I mean… being in Special Forces. I've heard stories before, about the Green Berets, but now that I've been through some of it myself, it's different now. I get it, you know?"

Adam chewed his steak slowly, considering his response. How could he even begin to compare wars in distant, far-off lands to the one he was preparing to fight now? His enemies weren't insurgents or foreign soldiers. They were here, his neighbors, in the very town he had sworn to protect. They were people he had known his whole life, and now they demanded the ultimate price.

"The army… it prepares you for a lot." Adam finally said, keeping his voice low. "You think you've seen it all, but something else comes along and tests you in ways that you'd never expect. You survive because you have to. But what you do with that survival…." He let the words hang in the air as if answering was too complex.

Alex nodded. "I get that now. Some of the guys in my squad… well, we didn't all make it back. But the ones who did, we just keep going, because… what else could we do, right?"

Adam grunted in acknowledgment, but his thoughts were far from his son's tales of Iraq. The boy had no idea what awaited him here. He had no idea about the Order, the sacrifices, or the horrors that festered beneath the surface of Shepherd's Glen. And Adam, sitting across from his son, wasn't entirely sure if he should warn him or shield him.

Could Alex help him? Could he be trusted to fight Holloway and the others? Or was it already too late? Holloway had already demanded the impossible. The Order had its rules, its traditions, and Adam was running out of time whether to comply or fight back.

"Deputy Wheeler," Adam thought, spearing a piece of corn with his fork. He was the only one in town who might help. Loyal, smart, tough, a good man. Maybe he and Wheeler could stand against the Order together. But how would he even begin to involve Alex in that fight? His son had just returned from one war, and now Adam was contemplating dragging him into another, this time against their people.

"Dad?" Alex's voice cut through. "You seem… I don't know, distracted?"

Adam blinked, realizing he had barely acknowledged his son. His fork was still in the air. "It's nothing." But as he spoke, he knew that was just another lie. "Just… thinking. A lot has happened since you left."

Alex leaned forward. "I know it's been a while. I'm sorry I didn't get in touch more often. But I'm here now, Dad. We can talk about anything."

Talking wasn't going to solve this. If only Alex knew the truth. His fingers flexed around his knife. A war was coming to Shepherd's Glen, one that would make whatever Alex faced in Iraq seem like child's play. The order demanded blood, and it was going to get its sacrifices.

Maybe Holloway was right. Maybe the only way he could save his son was to end it all before Alex got too close. Before he learned the truth.

Adam stole another glance at Lillian. She hadn't spoken a word since Alex started talking about the military, but her eyes showed a quiet anguish. She knew what was at stake, what the Order would do to them if Adam didn't comply. And yet, here she was, holding it all together.

"Have you seen Joshua?" Alex asked again.

The name cut through, and Adam's chest tightened. Joshua, his youngest boy.

"He's at a friend's house," Adam said too quickly. "We'll see him soon."

Alex lingered his eyes on Adam's, suspicion creeping before he pushed it aside. "I hope so. It's been too long."

Adam stabbed at his steak again, cutting it with more force than necessary. "Plenty of time for that. Let's just focus on you being back home. The rest… we'll deal with later."

Alex continued talking about his army life, his squad mates, Miller and Padilla, and their shared experiences. But Adam's mind kept drifting again. He knew he would soon confront the Order, the building pressure from Holloway, and the possibility of recruiting Alex in the fight. Could his son help him, or would involving him put them both in danger?

He chewed, slowly, considering his next move. Holloway was pushing for the sacrifice. That much was certain. If he moved to defy her, he would need allies. But Alex just returned from one battlefield, was it fair to drag him to another?

Or was it the only way to save him?

Adam's fingers tightened on the knife, grounding him as he wrestled with making his decision.

Dinner had passed, and the clinking of plates and the causal talk of Alex's time in Iraq created an illusion of normalcy, one that neither Adam nor Lillian felt. But Alex, back in the comfort of home, seemed eager to let the thing hold. He was oblivious to the coming storm.

Adam had been quiet, too quiet. He'd been turning something over and over in his mind, considering the possibilities, running scenarios, calculating odds, and reaching conclusions. As they finished a dessert of apple cobbler and vanilla ice cream, Adam made his decision.

He would test himself tonight.

"Alex," Adam said as they stood up from the table, his voice casual, too casual. "Why don't you have a drink before bed? You've had a long journey. It'll help you relax."

Alex was caught off guard by his Dad's sudden suggestion. It was generous and he gave him a small smile. "Sure, Dad. Sounds good."

Adam walked back to the kitchen, hands calmly moving as he poured a mixture of whiskey and water. But there was more to it than that, a sedative, strong enough to put Alex into a deep sleep for the night.

When he returned, he handed Alex the glass. "Drink up son. You've earned it."

Alex took a strong smell, his dad had never offered him alcohol before. He must be proud of him. Without a second thought, he drank deeply. A moment later, he felt tired, more tired than he let on. The drink already seemed to soothe his travel-weary body. Within minutes, he was fighting to keep his eyes open, limbs growing heavy.

"Feeling alright?" Adam asked, voice neutral, though there was tension beneath the question.

"Yeah… just tired all of a sudden," Alex mumbled. "Think I'll head off to bed."

Adam quickly moved to his son's side, helping him guide his way as Alex's legs buckled. "I've got you, son." He said, more to himself than to Alex. "Let's get you to bed."

Lillian watched them from the corner of the room with worry. She didn't say a word, but Adam felt that he could feel her eyes on him as he carried their son upstairs. Alex laid his head against Adam's shoulder, the sedative was taking full effect.

Adam got Alex settled into his old bed, he stood above him, heart pounding in his chest. This was it. The moment he had been dreading for years. The very one that he had tried to refuse so long ago that cost him his sister, Mary.

The Shepherd family had always been bound by the water, by the lake, by the sacrifices made to it, and by the old traditions passed down through blood. The Order demanded it. They always have, every fifty years. And tonight, the water called for Alex.

Adam stood by the door for a moment. He could hear Lillian downstairs, putting away the dishes. He thought about calling her, telling her what he was about to do. But he knew her answer. She would stop him, and maybe deep down, that's what he wanted.

But no. He had to see things through.

He walked down the hallway, to the bathroom. The old tub gleamed in the moonlight, casting a long, eerie shadow on the tiled floor. Adam turned on the faucet, water gushing out, swirling as it began to fill the tub.

The sound of rushing water filled the room, drowning out the silence of the house. Adam stared at it, he remembered when Alex had just been but a baby. He had bathed him in this very tub once. His small, fragile body had fit perfectly in his arm, and Adam had washed him gently, making sure the water didn't get too cold.

And truth be told, he was always cold to Alex. Distant. Detached. It wasn't that he didn't love Alex, he did, more than words could ever express, but the weight of the Order's demands, the curse that plagued their family for generations, had built a wall between them. He had been distant to protect him, to keep him from the truth.

But now, there was no more distance. There was only the decision that lay before him.

The tub was full now, water still and clear, beckoning to him. Adam knelt beside the tub, staring into its depths. His reflection stared back at him, hollow and tired. His hand hovered over the faucet, ready to turn it off, to carry out what the Order demanded, what Holloway demanded.

But he couldn't do it.

The memories of Alex as a baby, his laughter, his tiny hand gripping Adam's finger, all rushed back to him. How could he do this? How could he sacrifice his son?

He stuck his hand in the water to the drain, and with a twist, he pulled the plug. The water began to swirl, and drained away, taking with it the weight of tonight's decision.

Adam stood up, knees aching from the pressure, and then he walked out of the bathroom. Heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't do it, he wouldn't do it.

He passed by Alex's room, and he stopped and looked inside. His son was still asleep, chest rising and falling, peaceful, unaware of how close he had come to meeting the fate of so many before him.

Adam had made his decision. He would not follow the Order's demands. He had other plans.

Quietly, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. The phone sat on the counter, one that hadn't been used much in years. Adam hesitated for a moment before dialing a number had hadn't called in a long time.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times before a familiar voice answered on the other end.

James Sunderland stirred awake in his dark apartment. The sound of his phone ringing pierces his comfortable sleep. Groggy and disoriented, he reached out, fumbling for the phone on his nightstand. His fingers brushed over a box of tissues and a book before they finally found the receiver.

He glanced at his alarm clock: 2:14 a.m.

"Who the hell is calling me at this hour?" he muttered to himself as he brought the phone to his ear.

"Yeah?" his voice was rough, still half-asleep.

The voice on the other end was low, familiar, and sounded urgent. "James… It's Adam."

That name woke James up fast. He sat up rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Adam? What the hell, man? It's two in the morning." He yawned again. James wasn't fully awake yet, but he realized something wasn't right. Adam never called him, especially not in the middle of the night.

"James? It's Adam." He repeated. "I need your help."

There was a pause, and Adam could almost hear his brother-in-law's mind working everything through.

"Adam? What's going on? You sound… off."

Adam glanced over his shoulder as if someone might be listening in. "It's the Order, James. It's getting worse. I need allies. I'm out of friends in this town, but you… I think you might understand better than anyone."

Another pause. This one is longer. "Tell me what you need."

Adam exhaled slowly, feeling a strange mixture of relief and dread. "I'll explain everything when you get here. I think they might be listening in. But hurry, James. I don't have much time before they come for us."

Adam smirked, still holding the phone up to his ear. "I'll buy you a beer when you get here. We'll sit down and talk about this properly."

On the other end, James sighed, the grogginess replaced by something sharper. "Adam, you know I quit that stuff a long time ago. Laura saw to that. AA's been keeping me in line."

Adam went silent for a moment. James's comment hit him harder than he expected. Another thing he'd forgotten, in the mess of his own life that James had been through his battles. Laura, James's adopted daughter, and Adam's niece, that little girl he remembered her as, the one that had pushed James to get clean. She had been the one steady thing in James's life after the hell that Silent Hill put him through.

"Right," Adam muttered. "Sorry, I forgot."

"It's fine," James replied softly. "Just don't expect me to share a drink when I get there. But I'll take a coffee. A Strong coffee.

Adam chuckled at this, though it lacked humor. "Deal. I'll make it strong enough to keep you awake through whatever we have to deal with.

"You sound like you're accepting a hell of a lot worse than a family reunion."

Adam's gaze wandered toward the dark window of his study. "I am James. I am."

There was a silence between them, but they shared an unspoken understanding. Both men had seen things, and been through things that most people wouldn't understand. There was no need to explain further. James knew that Shepherd's Glen had its monsters, just like Silent Hill. And Adam knew that James was one of the few people who could handle it.

"I'll be there in the morning," James said firmly. "You just hold down the fort until I arrive, alright?"

Adam nodded, even though James couldn't see him. "Yeah… I will. Thanks, James."

"Get some sleep, Adam. You sound like you need it."

Adam chuckled again, this time with more sincerity. "You too."

He hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. The weight of what he had just done began sinking in. He had defied the Order. They weren't going to let this go unanswered. He had chosen his son over the ancient traditions. But in doing so, he had signed their death warrants.

But it didn't matter. He would fight like he had fought before, and he would fight again. But this time, he wouldn't be fighting alone.

Adam Shepherd, a retired soldier was preparing to go to war again, against the very people had had once sworn to protect.

This time, he wasn't sure if he would survive.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 – An Old Friend

Alex Shepherd found himself waking up in the early morning, head pounding like a drum. He was groggy and rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. He hadn’t drunk that much last night, had he? It was just one drink, one drink with his father. But somehow, his body felt like it had been hammered.

He sat up slowly, taking a moment to scan the room. The old bedroom hadn’t changed much, same old posters on the wall, and dusty shelves stacked with books, trophies, and childhood mementos. The room felt frozen in time, but something felt …off. The outside world is still blinded by the fog.

Alex forced himself out of bed, taking a moment to stretch his arms and back. He stumbled slightly as his legs struggled to hold him up. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he took a moment to the bathroom sink and splashed cold water on his face.

He took a hot, quick shower, but the hot water did little to wash away his unease. He dried himself off with a towel, and memories of his younger brother, Joshua, resurfaced. He remembered a night years ago when Josh had woken up from a nightmare. Though he had been irritated by having to share a room, Alex nevertheless comforted his little brother. He handed over to him an old flashlight “Just keep this close, and you won’t be scared anymore.” For Joshua, that flashlight had become his prized possession.

Alex went back to his room and dressed in silence. Everything seemed still like the house itself was holding its breath. The tension in the air reminded him of moments just before a firefight back in Iraq. Where one second seemed like an eternity and then everything goes chaotic.

“Mom?” Alex called out. “Dad?”

No answer.

The house was still the same but felt… empty. Too empty.
He got no response from either of his parents, so Alex made his way downstairs. In the kitchen he opened the fridge, hoping to shake off his discomfort with something family. Orange juice and milk greeted him inside. Grabbing both, he made his way to the cabinets for cereal. He found a familiar box, Frosted Flakes, Joshua’s favorite.

Alex smirked. He and Joshua used to fight over the last bowl every time. He poured himself a bowl and sat down at the table. He ate in silence, each bite feeling more surreal. The house was just too quiet.

Where was everyone?

“Mom?” he called out again, louder this time. But still, nothing.

The house wasn’t just empty, it was vacant. Everything was still in its place, so maybe they all stepped out for a moment.

After finishing breakfast, Alex quickly washed his cup and bowl and left them in the sink. This house was just too quiet for his liking. He couldn’t just sit there and wait for his parents to show up again. So he grabbed his jacket and stepped outside for some fresh air.

It was a chilly morning. Shepherd’s Glen greeted him with the same familiar streets and buildings. But the fog continued to cling to the town, wrapping around the houses, trees, street signs, everything. It wasn’t a dream. The streets were still empty, too empty. There wasn’t anyone going to work, kids on bikes, no one chatting over coffee. It was as if the place had become a ghost town in his absence.

Alex continued walking, footsteps echoing through the stillness, and the more he walked, the more realized how run down everything was. Shepherd’s Glen wasn’t the town he remembered. Cracked sidewalks, and broken streetlights, the town had fallen on hard times. It was jarring for him to see it in such a state.

He decided to let his mind wander, back to more pleasant memories of his childhood, the carefree afternoons running through the streets with his friends. Elle Holloway had been a part of his group, always there, always pushing boundaries, even when Alex wasn’t sure it was a good idea. He hadn’t seen her in years. But the more he thought about it, running into her would give him a sense of comfort.

He rounded a corner, and something caught his eye. Up ahead, near the town’s bulletin board, stood someone. It was a woman, her back to him, busy tacking papers up. She was working hard as if racing against time. Alex squinted to see who it was through the mist. His heart skipped a beat when he realized finally who it was.

Elle. Elle Holloway.

She was standing there, stapling yet another poster to the board of the faces of missing individuals. She looked tense. Even from this distance, Alex could see her utterly exhausted, with a more slender frame and more worn than he remembered. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her before he left for the army.

Without thinking, he took a few steps forward. “Elle?”

She flinched at the sound of her name and turned sharply to face him. For a moment, she just stared, eyes wide with surprise. She wasn’t quite sure he was real. Then she recognized him and gave him a softer, warmer look.

“Alex?” she asked, as though she didn’t quite believe it herself. “Is it you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He said, offering her a small smile. “I’m back.”

Elle gave him a good look over, the boy that left her behind in Shepherd’s Glen was now a man standing in front of her. It had been years since the two of them saw each other, just too many years. Alex left for the army and their shared hometown had begun to slowly descend into ruin. And yet, despite the time and distance, the connection between the two was still there.
Elle gave a tired smile “I didn’t expect to see you again.” She said. “I thought you’d be off somewhere far away, saving the world and all, soldier boy.”

Alex chuckled. “Not exactly, I just got discharged and came back home to see the family… but things seem different here, huh?”

She gestured towards the bulletin board, a smile fading as she pointed to the posters of missing people. She crossed her arms. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “You could say that.”

Alex stepped closer, he looked over the missing person’s posters. Faces stared back at him, familiar faces and names all blurred together. Faces of people he knew, had seen around town, people who were part of Shepherd’s Glen, all just gone now.

“What’s going on, Ell? Why are there so many people missing?” he asked, a voice full of concern.

Elle gave a long sigh of frustration. “It all started a while ago. People started vanishing, one by one. No explanations, just a trace left. Just one day… gone. At first, it was one or two, but now…” She gestured back to the board again and gave a sad smile of helplessness. “Now it seems like the whole town is vanishing.”

“Why hasn’t anyone done anything?” Alex frowned as he scanned the names and faces. This wasn’t the town he had left behind. Something darker was at play here.

Giving him a look of frustration and resignation, Elle shrugged. “They tried. But no one outside Shepherd’s Glen seems to care, Alex.”

Her voice started cracking up as she said his name and his heart clenched in his chest. Elle had been a strong girl, stronger than most people he knew. But to hear a sense of defeat in her voice, seeing her look so worn down, it was painful.

“Elle…” he began, stepping closer to her now. “Why are you doing this by yourself? You shouldn’t be alone.”

“Someone has to.” Her eyes softened and she gave him a small, sad smile. “Mom’s been… distant lately. I can’t get a hold of her, and I don’t know what the town’s leadership is thinking. We can’t have an anniversary when there’s so many people missing.” She took a moment to pause, biting her lip, as though something was holding her back. “And now I can’t find Nora.”

Her mentioning her little sister, caused a shift in her demeanor. Alex noticed a certain vulnerability now. Elle had always looked after Nora, her responsibility. And now that she joined the ranks of the missing was hitting Elle hard.

Alex hadn’t known Nora that well, but he remembered her as a sweet girl, always shadowing her big sister.

“I’m sorry, Elle.” He said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

Elle shook her head, brushing it off. “It’s okay, you couldn’t have known.” The pain was still visible in her eyes.

The two of them stood there for a moment, the weight of everything was hitting them both, from the missing people to Nora, everything. Alex wanted to reach out, and comfort her but wasn’t sure how to go about doing it. The years between them felt too wide, and so many things were left unsaid. He wasn’t the same person when he had left when he had returned. Elle wasn’t the same girl he remembered when he left, she had blossomed into a young woman.

“I’ve missed you, Elle,” Alex said, almost without thinking.

Elle snapped her gaze to his, and for a moment, she softened up. She blinked, trying too hard the blush on her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too, Alex.” She admitted.

They stood there, eyes locked on one another. There was an unspoken tension between the two, something that had always been there. A connection, a spark, and yet they never acted on it. Life had gotten in the way, responsibilities, fear of ruining a friendship, and then Alex’s decision to leave for the army. But with the town crumbling all around them, perhaps that spark felt more real again.

Alex cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly, he had never had much social grace when it came to these matters. “Maybe…” he started, trying to find the right words. “After all of this is over, after we find Nora, we could… catch up. Properly, you know.”

Elle blushed again and smiled harder than she had in a long time. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

But then her thoughts shifted back to reality. “We can’t think about that now. Not with everything going on.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, though he did feel a sense of disappointment. Even he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were always on the edge of something more, more than just friends. But they were never quite there yet. “You’re right. First, we find Nora. We figure out what’s going on.”

“Just one step at a time,” Elle said, giving him a small smile.

Alex nodded, but he knew whatever lay ahead of them, it was only going to get darker. They would have to face it together.

Judge Margaret Holloway stood at her office window, a cup of coffee in hand. The town lay before her, shrouded in mist. She took slow, measured sips of coffee as she examined a familiar figure walking the streets of Shepherd’s Glen, Alex Shepherd.
‘
Still alive? Unless the dead walk amongst us.

Her fingers wrapped tighter around the cup’s handle. Adam had failed. She gave him ample time and plenty of warnings. Yet, Alex still walked freely, unaware of the fate that was destined for him. The Order was clear: they demanded his sacrifice, just as they demanded the others. Adam had betrayed them.

“Weak.” She thought, and tightened her jaw in rage.

She paced away from the window, mind racing. Adam Shepherd had always been difficult to control, needing more of the stick than of the carrot. His loyalty to the Order had always been in question. But even so, she hadn’t expected him to betray them so openly. His son’s survival was a problem. Something that needed to be dealt with, swiftly and without hesitation.

Alex wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be walking the streets, much less talking to old friends like Elle. These complicated things threatened everything they worked for. Everything she sacrificed for. If Adam didn’t do his duty, Margaret would have to act herself.

She paced back to her desk, already forming solutions in her mind. She had ways of dealing with loose ends. The Order had eyes and ears everywhere, not just in Shepherd’s Glen, but throughout New England. If Adam lost his nerve, she could still rely on others to do what needed to be done.

She knew her daughter Elle had been close to Alex. But that was years ago. The bonds of childhood meant nothing in the face of duty. Elle was a strong girl, but she was still so naïve, blind to the real purposes that Margaret served in this town for so long. “If Elle ever found out the truth…” Margaret pushed those thoughts away.

For now, her focus had to be on Alex. Adam’s failure was a liability, but there was also opportunity. Alex wasn’t the teenager he had been when he left Shepherd’s Glen all those years ago. He was a soldier now, hardened by war, and that made him a dangerous enemy. But it had also made him vulnerable. He returned home seeking answers, seeking normalcy, and in that, she had an advantage.

Holloway knew she’d have to act quickly and didn’t have time to waste. The Order would soon realize that Alex was still alive. Once they did, they would demand action. She couldn’t afford to appear weak in front of the cult. Not now. There was already growing suspicion about her, the citizens were restless, growing more and more frightened of the list of missing persons. Whispers of conspiracy were spreading.

No, she would take control of the situation just as she always had. Adam would not go unpunished for his betrayal. He had been given a chance, and he failed. Failure has its consequences.

Alex and Adam Shepherd would pay. One way or another.

She took a seat at her desk, scanning the stack of papers in front of her. The daily reports from the Order, updates on the town, and records of the missing people. She didn’t much care about all that now, she had to carefully plan her next steps. Elle and Alex were already too close. They had to be stopped before they pieced it all together.

But how?

She couldn’t be reckless. The Shepherd family were not fools. If she acted too quickly, too rashly, they might slip through her fingers. No, she would have to be strategic, and methodical. Find a way to lure them in, make them vulnerable, just as she had done with all the Order’s enemies.

She leaned back in her chair as she considered her options. There were many ways to break an enemy, especially one who had returned from war. She would start by having Alex watch, study him, and learn his strengths and weaknesses. When the time was right, they would strike.

For now, she would continue playing her role, Judge Holloway. No one would suspect her of anything. Not yet, but beneath that mask, her real work would begin.

“Enjoy your reunion with Elle, Alex.” She thought, a cruel smile forming on her lips. “It won’t last.”

Fitch and Bartlett had fulfilled their parts, and Holloway took satisfaction in that. Martin Fitch had handed his daughter, Scarlett, over to the blade. His grief was irrelevant. What mattered was that he had proven his obedience to the Order. Mayor Bartlett had buried his son, Joey, and while he worsened his drinking, his loyalty was confirmed. His personal demons were merely inconsequential.

Holloway had executed her daughter without hesitation. Nora had been a necessary sacrifice for the greater good. What good was grieving over a sacrifice compared to the power she wielded? The Order had its demands, and personal feelings were irrelevant. Nora’s death had served its purpose. Margaret had never really cared about her, only as a means to an end.

Her other daughter’s distress over her missing sister was a point of irritation. Margaret had no personal attachments to Elle or the rest of her family. Their concerns had no bearing on her larger plans. But Elle’s worries only complicated things, and Margaret had no intention of allowing her to stand in the Order’s way.

Margaret’s face tightened in anger as she considered Adam. His inability to follow through with his sacrifice was a personal attack on her authority. Adam had always been a thorn in her side, a man with dangerous concepts such as “Morality”. His resistance made him unpredictable. Alex Shepherd was a reminder of that betrayal, and now they were in a dangerous situation.

Holloway’s mind was busy thinking of strategies and making calculations. She needed to end Alex but also needed to address Adam’s betrayal. She could not tolerate this challenge to the Order, and she needed to be meticulous in her approach.

Her gaze wandered over to a small, obsidian box on her desk. Inside were tokens of the Order’s dark power. Relics of an older, forgotten time. She picked up one of them, cold, heavy, a reminder of the lengths she would go to maintain control. These relics weren’t just mere symbols, they were tools, instruments of the Order’s will.

Her anger was simmering as she considered the situation they were in. Alex’s continued presence was a challenge to her authority. She would need to act swiftly to eliminate the threat. The Order would not compromise.

She set the relic back in the box, solidifying her resolve. She would not be stopped by sentiment or other’s weaknesses. The Order, and Holloway, were absolute. Her duty as head of the Order was to ensure their demands were met. Alex and Adam would be dealt with.

Taking a deep breath, Margaret began to go over plans and contingencies. She would have to be patient and wait for the time to strike. Her authority would not be undermined.

She would navigate these times with her customary ruthless efficiency. She would use every tool at her disposal to make sure the Order’s will was fulfilled, from the control of the law courts to the cultists themselves. She would not falter.

The path was clear to her now. The final sacrifice would be made, the debts paid in full. Alex Shepherd’s fate was sealed, and with cold precision, Judge Margaret Holloway would make sure the demands were met.

Chapter Text

James Sunderland gripped the steering wheel as he drove from Ashfield towards Shepherd’s Glen. The fog was thick, and the pale light making it through gave the trees a sort of unnatural feel. He hadn’t been to Shepherd’s Glen in years. Haven’t seen Adam since Mary’s funeral. Just like the winding road ahead of him, his thoughts swirled here and there too.

It wasn’t just Adam though, this trip made him feel like he was driving into his past, the regrets. Mary’s face flashed into his. Memories of her laughter her warmth, and her final days. The guilt never really left him, it gnawed at his insides like an open wound. He’d hoped that time after her death the pain would dull. He hadn’t found much in the way of peace. James wasn’t even sure if Adam had found peace either, or even if his brother-in-law would even forgive him for what happened.

“What could I say to him?” James muttered under his breath. “I did everything I could for Mary. I loved her, even to the end. Would he even believe me?”

The road twisted ahead, and he eased the car around a bend. His headlights cut through the fog that seemed to go on forever. Shepherd’s Glen always had a haunting air about it. It was isolated, tucked away like a town that was part of the real world and the other part was not. But James wasn’t coming to reminisce about the good old days. He was coming to see Adam. His brother-in-law had called him out of the blue. It was their first real conversation in years. James had been too deep in his grief to reach out before.

“Maybe, Adam needs help.” James thought. “Maybe he’s in trouble. But why now? After all this time?”

He exhaled, trying to shake the questions out of his mind. Adam was always a tough, cold man. A soldier, he didn’t fall apart and wore his experience like armor. At least to James, that’s how it seemed. Maybe the years finally chipped it away.

James rubbed his eyes with his free hand, he was still exhausted from the early morning. Since Adam’s phone call, he hasn’t slept well, with Mary and the trip haunting his dreams.

“Mary…” The name was a whisper on his lips, just barely audible over the sound of his car. Her memory lingered on with him, more vivid as he drew nearer to her hometown. She was the link connecting him with Adam, his beautiful wife, and Adam’s beloved sister. And when she got sick with that illness, James knew it was tearing up Adam, though he tried his best to hide behind his hardened soldier exterior.

“How do I even begin to bring her up? He’s got to know by now. I told him what happened after… He loved her like I did.”

James sighed, “Maybe he never did forgive me.”

The thought struck him like a slap. Maybe Adam did blame James for Mary’s death, just like James blamed himself. While he had made peace with Mary years ago, it didn’t get easier. It wasn’t a rational line of thinking, but grief rarely was. James couldn’t begin to count the number of times he had replayed their final moments together. Maybe, just maybe he could’ve done something different, James could have saved her.

“Mary… I tried. I swear, I tried.” James whispered to himself in the empty car. “But… you were already gone, weren’t you?”

James continued driving, thoughts wandering in all directions. He remembered his daughter Laura. She wasn’t his by blood of course, but the bond they shared through Mary had transcended such a gap. The poor girl lost her real family years ago, and it was Mary’s final wish he adopt her and give her a real family.

Laura was a stubborn girl when they first met. Full of energy and life, the polar of opposite James was back then. She had reminded him of Mary in a way, resilient, full of hope. But then again, Laura was a reminder of what he failed to protect. Somehow, she stuck by him.

She had grown up, of course, graduated from high school in the past ten years they shared. It seemed so unreal how far she had come, especially after everything. Always a sharp wit and a free spirit, she had managed to make something of herself. From there off to Massachusetts to attend a college that she had picked out. She wanted to pursue a career as a primary school teacher, hoping to help inspire kids the way Mary had inspired her.

James had been there when she graduated, of course, standing quietly in the crowd. He felt more at times as an observer of her life, rather than a father figure. She had looked so proud, diploma in hand, and salutatorian of her class. She was so proud of her accomplishments, full of excitement and optimism. This was something James felt he never really had. Sure he had clapped for her as she gave the opening speech for her class, but deep down, he felt more of an outsider in her life. She deserved a better family, and a better father than a postal inspector could provide for her.

“Massachusetts,” James muttered to himself, as his adopted daughter was so far away now. “She’s off to do better things there.”

Laura had always been an ambitious girl, even as a youngster. As long as James could remember, she had talked about becoming a teacher. She never let anything drag her down, from her difficult childhood, losing her biological parents, and losing Mary. She had fought for her future in a way James couldn’t.

In a way, Laura had saved him too. After Mary, after Silent Hill, James was a wreck. He had originally intended to drown himself in Toluca Lake. Lost and aimless, he was unsure if he even could keep going. But with Laura, he had a new reason to stay. She needed him, and he needed him more than he’d care to admit.

He chuckled to himself, about a time that Laura forced him into AA, refusing to allow him to keep drinking. Laura had been relentless as always, and she made sure he didn’t give up. He owed his sobriety of the last ten years to her, and she’d never let him forget.

“Guess I owe her.: he said, with a hint of fatherly affection.

He had watched her grow up from a rebellious and angry little girl to a young woman with a purpose in life. Now she was off to pursue her dreams. Part of him felt proud for doing something right at least.

“I should call her soon.” He thought, feeling a little guilty. He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks. She was busy settling into her new life, a fresh start. James had avoided making that call. Maybe he just didn’t want to be overbearing.

But Laura, as always, was very perceptive. She’d be able to pick up on his mood the second she heard his voice. Maybe it was better to keep the distance for now. Be sure she’s settled into a new routine.

“But after this.” He muttered. “After Adam, I’ll call her.”
Shepherd’s Glen wasn’t far now. Whatever Adam needed him for, they’d have to face it. He had faced his demons years ago in Silent Hill. But as he thought of Laura, how she had moved on and built a life for herself, James wondered if he could move on. Maybe he could find a way to close that chapter of his life and live again.

At least that’s what Laura would want for him.

“Massachusetts…” James whispered again. Maybe he’d have to make the drive down from Maine to see her. But first Adam took priority.

He took a moment to glance over the passenger seat, where a worn envelope sat tucked away under napkins and a gas station receipt. This time it wasn’t a letter from Mary like when he first visited Silent Hill. No, it was a letter from an old friend, Angela Orosco. He had read it a dozen times already, but the words always drew him back. They kept the letters short, never too emotional. The very fact they were writing at all after their time in Silent Hill had been nothing short of a miracle.

Angela, an old friend, or that’s what they could call each other. Silent Hill had taken much from the two of them. They were both lost in their ways. Angela’s past was more brutal than his, far too much for anyone to endure, more personal. What she had endured at the hands of that monster, her father, the trauma had followed her to that town. It was something James could never truly understand.

At first, James thought he would never see her again. The last time he had seen Angela, was at the top of that burning staircase. Eerily calm she was engulfed by hellish flames. He had called out to her and begged her to come back, but Angela had made it clear to him that peace wasn’t to be found down there with him. Whatever she found at the top of that staircase, had given her the peace she sought. Perhaps she had made peace with her Mama like he had made peace with Mary? In any case, they hadn’t discussed that. After that, it had been some time before they reconnected.

James hadn’t fully believed she would be fine at the time. But when that first letter came, he knew she had found some semblance of peace.

Now as he drove towards Shepherd’s Glen, he reached over and picked up the latest of her letters. She had very delicate and neat writing which was visible in the envelope. Angela had changed in ways he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t perfect, no one was. Her words still carried a certain sadness with them. But he was proud of her for finding a semblance of life after the darkness.

Dear James,

I’m doing better these days. Just okay, not great, not perfect, but better. Okay, I think that’s the word for it. It’s strange for me to say, but “okay” feels like an achievement after everything. You know what I mean.

I’ve found new work that keeps me busy. I’m teaching art classes now, can you believe it? Me? Teaching art? It’s nothing too serious, just small classes with little kids and a few elders. They say it helps them, but honestly, I think it’s helping me too, more than anyone else. There’s something about putting color to paper, creating something that isn’t twisted or broken. It’s a small kind of peace.

The kids are sweet and full of life and energy. They remind me of what it’s like to be innocent before the world claws its way in. It’s comforting, in a way.

I still have my bad days. Some nights are rough. I get lost in my past that I’d rather forget. But I’m finally learning how to pull myself out, bit by bit. My old demons don’t have the same grip they used to. They’re still there, but they don’t own me anymore. Not like when we met in Silent Hill.

I guess that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Learning to live with what we’ve been through. I’m not there yet. But I’m trying.

I remember your last letter, about finding something that gives life meaning. I don’t have the answers, maybe I never will. But I’m trying to build something better than I was before.

It’s not much, but it’s something. That has to count for something, right?

Take care of yourself, James. I mean it. Maybe we can meet up with Laura and we can all catch up? Write me back when you can. It helps to know you’re still out there trying too.

Sincerely,

Angela

He smiled faintly at that. Angela always had a sense of dry humor, even when things felt too heavy for her.

He took it all in, scanning the letter again. She mentioned that she found something to help her heal, teaching art to children, how to draw landscapes, and the like. It seemed peaceful enough. She had also started working with the elderly, helping them to create art to express themselves in ways they couldn’t anymore.

“It’s strange.” She had written to him once. “But I think the more I help them the more it helps me. Maybe that’s selfish, I don’t know. But creating something, bringing beauty into this world instead of more pain, it’s helpful isn’t it?”

James nodded himself as he saw that line, even if she couldn’t see him. It was worth something at least.

They had been pen pals for a while. After Silent Hill, they had all gone their separate ways, and Angela had gone hers, disappearing for a while. But somehow, fate, or coincidence, had brought them back together. She had reached out first, but James didn’t expect that. But when that first letter came, the floodgates had opened. They didn’t write back often, but when they did, they had created a lifeline.

They didn’t have a deep connection, no shared intimacy beyond their time together. But they had an understanding. James knew what it was like to walk through hell and come out the other side. And Angela had done the same. Through their letters, they had built a little support network between them.

In one of her earlier letters, she had even thanked him. Thanked him for at least trying to help her, for offering her a way out, off those burning stairs. “I couldn’t come down.” She had admitted. “But I appreciate you for trying. I needed to find my way. I think I did in the end.”

Truth is James didn’t know what she found up there. Whatever it was, it had given her the peace and strength to move forward, even if just a little.

He knew both of them had come a long way since then. Neither of them was perfect, and neither of them had fully healed. But they were still here, still living, still trying.

“Art teacher,” James said to himself. “Who would have thought?”
He had admired her for it, though. Angela had taken something painful, something raw, and turned it into something that gave her life meaning. In a way, it’s what James had hoped to do with his own life, find purpose in the ruins. Maybe that’s why they kept writing to each other. They were both searching for peace.

He sighed and glanced back to the road ahead. Shepherd’s Glen was closing in now, and so were the answers he needed. But for now, he took comfort in knowing someone else out there understood him. That someone else made it through Silent Hill and found a way to keep going.

James made himself a mental note. In addition to a phone call or road trip to meet up with Laura, he’d have to write back to Angela. Once whatever waited for him in Shepherd’s Glen was dealt with.

He clenched his jaw as the sound of the car’s engine filled in the quiet. Adam Shepherd had always been a hard man to read, even back when they were younger. Before Mary’s illness, before everything. There had always been something beneath the surface of Adam, something he left guarded, locked away. Maybe James never fully understood him.

“I’ll just have to face him and see what happens,” James muttered, glancing at the rearview mirror. “Maybe I’ll never know what he’s thinking.”

The thought was unsettling, but there was no turning back for James now. He had spent too long avoiding this moment, living with ghosts. Shepherd’s Glen was ahead now, and so was Adam.

The town’s outline began to emerge in the fog. James tried to steel himself for the confrontation. He didn’t quite know what was waiting for him.

Maybe Adam had more trouble than he let on. Maybe, just maybe, James could help.

James pulled into Shepherd’s Glen, the tires grinding on the cracked pavement. The early morning fog rolled through the deserted streets. Taking it all in, he couldn’t help but mutter “Just like Silent Hill...” It was an unnerving situation, and the eeriness was too familiar to him. He parked in front of an old diner, the neon light flickering weakly. This reminded him too much of Silent Hill and the horrors he faced there. This wasn’t that place, was it?

Inside the diner, Adam and Deputy Wheeler were already seated in a booth near the back. Faces grim and worn out by unseen burdens. James entered quietly, eyes scanning the room. The emptiness of the dinner echoed, save for the soft conversation of Wheeler and Adam, and the distant sound of dishes in the kitchen.

James noticed a man at the counter. A thin man wearing an old leather jacket. He wasn’t doing much, sipping his coffee and reading the local newspaper.

Adam looked up as James approached, giving him a nod. “James you made it.”

“So I have,” James responded awkwardly. He tried to break the ice further. “How are Alex and Joshua doing? And Lillian?”

Adam tightened his jaw before answering him. “Alex is back in town from the army. Joshua.. is not around right now. Lillian’s holding up.” Then he shifted back to James. “How’s Laura?”

“She’s good. Moved to Massachusetts. Pursuing a career in teaching.”

Adam gave his signature small nod as he processed it. “Teaching huh? That’s good to hear.” He kept his tone neutral, but he softened for a moment. He always liked Laura. “Sounds like she has her head on straight.”

“Yeah,” James replied putting his hands in his pockets. “She’s doing better than I expected.”

After a moment, Adam shifted in his seat and offered him a spot to sit. “We have a lot to talk about.” He slid James a cup of coffee across the table. “Figured you’d need this.”

James gave a tired smile as he slid into the booth across from them. “Thanks, but I’m going to need something stronger.”

Adam raised an eyebrow, before chuckling lightly. “I don’t care about the hard stuff anymore, remember James? Trust me the coffee will do the job.” He glanced back to Wheeler, who was sipping from his cup. The deputy had been darting his eyes to the window and the door, in case he expected trouble.

Deputy Wheeler looked even more haggard up close, years of dealing with things he shouldn’t in town. “You can say that again.” He muttered. “Feels like we’ve been running damage control for too long.”
It was becoming clear to James that this meeting with Adam was becoming more than just catching up. It was about facing their shared past. About Mary, everything they had lost.

“Adam…” James said aloud, remembering what he had rehearsed. “What’s going on? The town, it’s just like Silent Hill. What are we dealing with here?”

Adam took a deep breath, curling his fingers around the mug of coffee. “It’s worse than Silent Hill, James. Here? We have this cult… the Order they call themselves. They’ve been pulling the string in Shepherd’s Glen for as long as anyone can remember. They’ve made me do things I-“he cut himself off and rubbed his hand over his head. “Things I regret.”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Mary’s Illness… wasn’t natural. It was them, James. The Order. My punishment for trying to break free.” James could feel Adam’s anger rise as he spoke. “She didn’t deserve it, James. They did it to get to me. Remind me of my place and make sure I followed their twisted rituals.”

James was taken aback for a moment. Then he felt his jaws clench, and he tightened his hands into fits on the table. His heart pounded, not out of fear, but something else, rage. “A curse? They cursed her?” His voice was more of a growl now. “They … used her to get to you?”

Adam nodded. “That’s the truth of it. My family, the Shepherds, the Holloways, the Fitches, and the Bartlett’s, we’ve been part of this damn cult for generations. Blood sacrifices to keep the town safe from…. Whatever they worship. I tried to get out, spare Alex and Joshua, but…” His voice broke off. “They took Mary to make sure I’d never step out of line again.”

Adam’s words began to sink in between the three men. James was lost in thought. This revelation was too great for him to beat. He thought he had known all there was to Mary’s suffering, the illness, her fate. But this? This was different. It wasn’t fate. It was an act of malice, of cruelty.

“Adam, I spent years blaming myself,” James murmured. “Thinking I was the one who did this to her. But it was a cult all along>” He looked at Adam, who was surprised to see James’s eyes burn with a fierce hatred. “They’re going to pay, Adam. Every single one of them.”

Wheeler had been quietly listening, then cleared his throat. “I’m tired of this too. People going missing, the lies being told to cover it all up. I’m done. If you two are going after them, count me in.”

James felt adrenaline surge through him, as the pieces began to fall into place. The town, the cult, it all had a darkness similar to Silent Hill… But it was more organized, more malevolent. “Then we’ll have to make our move before they do. No more waiting around.”

Adam and Wheeler nodded. “We need to gather allies, what few are left,” Adam said. “We need to prepare. If we’re going to take down the order, we need to be smart about it. They’ve had centuries to build their strength. We don’t have that luxury.”

Wheeler leaned in, lowering his voice. “I know a few people we can trust. Not many. Most of them are in the Order’s pocket or too scared to do anything about it.”

James was still trying to process all of it. He just glanced out the window, to the fog-covered streets. He wanted vengeance, and justice, not just for Mary, but for all the lives the Order ruined.

He looked back to Adam, he was fully convicted now. “We need to stop them. All of them.”

Adam nodded in approval. “Agreed, we’ll make them pay.”

James, Wheeler, and Adam huddled together over the remnants of their coffee, keeping their conversation hushed. Their voices dropped to barely audible, eyes shifting to the windows and doors, staying cautious. They planned to uproot the very foundations of Shepherd’s Glen.

Little did they know, they were being watched.

In the far corner of the diner, the man that James noticed sat, drinking his coffee. He kept his eyes hidden under a baseball cap. He positioned himself just carefully to hear snippets of their conversation, of their treason, but far enough to avoid arousing their suspicion. He watched back and forth and James Adam and Wheeler chatted.

The man at the counter had been observing them ever since James walked in. At first, it seemed like an ordinary catchup between old friends. But as they talked, he knew there was more going on between them, these weren’t casual talks. They were planning something, something big. ‘

He quickly finished his coffee and left a bill on the counter. As he stepped outside, his hand slipped into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. He pressed a few buttons as he walked away from the diner.

“Curtis, it’s me,” he said, keeping his voice. “Adam’s making moves. He’s got Deputy Wheeler and some middle-aged white male with them. Don’t know if he’s with the feds. You need to know this. Call Holloway.”

Inside, Adam, Wheeler, and James were unaware that their every move was watched. Shepherd’s Glen had eyes and ears everywhere. Now the Order knew.

Chapter Text

Alex and Elle, old childhood friends, walked side by side down the deserted streets of Shepherd’s Glen. Despite everything, despite the missing people, their conversation was filled with laughter, the chatting you could only get from reconnecting with someone after years of their absence. Alex was telling tales of his adventure overseas.

“So, there we were.” Alex said with amusement, “stuck in the desert, and Padilla, poor guy, is trying to shoo the camel away from our truck. The thing bites him right on the hand. Hard. We’re all standing there, dying of laughter. Watching it all like a cartoon and Padilla’s yelling at the camel in Spanish.”

Elle burst out laughing. She had to put a hand to cover her mouth, but it was not good. Alex’s story had hit her in the right spot. “No way! A camel? Did it break the skin?”

“Oh yeah,” Alex grinned. “Left a nasty bruise. The medic had a field day with him. I told him straight up he’d need a rabies shot. Padilla was convinced it had a vendetta on him. For the rest of our deployment, he gave the camels a wide range. Didn’t trust any of them.”

Elle clutched her stomach as she was choking from all the laughter. “I can’t believe that! That’s amazing! So much for “Don’t fraternize with the locals.”

Alex smirked, he enjoyed seeing Elle laugh like that. It felt as though the years between them were melting away. “That’s not even the best part.” He continued for her. “Anderson, this big kid from Minnesota, got knocked flat on his ass by a goat. We’re all getting geared up and all and this goat comes out of nowhere and charges him. Poor guy was out for a minute.”

Elle almost doubled over, tears from laughing so hard like she hadn’t done in forever. “Oh my God, Alex. So out of all that crazy war stuff, the biggest threats came from camels and goats?”

“Pretty much,” Alex said with a grin. “You’d probably be surprised what can take you down out there.”

“I missed this,” Elle said wiping her eyes, still giggling. “It’s been too long.”

“Yeah,” Alex replied. “It has.”

The two had a brief pause for a moment, quiet settling again. They both felt something, something left unsaid for years. But neither quite were ready to dive into that just yet. For now, it was just good to be here side by side.

Elle took a deep breath. “I’ve got stories of my own too, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex asked intrigued.

“Yeah, but mine are less dangerous and just weird,” Elle admitted. “Like this one time I go out for my early morning jog and who do I see? Mayor Bartlett, drunk and stumbling around. It had to have been 7 am. That man could barely stand, let alone function. I’m thinking ‘This can’t be real,’ right? But I felt bad and brought him my water bottle.”

Alex chuckled. “Classic Bartlett. That guy’s been the mayor for as long as I can remember. And people still keep voting him into office?”

“Right?” Elle grinned. “It’s funny but sad at the same time. Like we know what the man’s like, but somehow keeps getting elected.”

“Well, it’s either him or nobody,” Alex replied, shaking his head. “Guess no one else wants the job. But at least you’re still out here helping people.”

“I try,” Elle replied, half joking and half serious. “Even if it means I have to play a babysitter to the town drunk. I just… I felt bad for him. He might be kind of a joke, but he’s still a person.”

“I get that,” Alex agreed. “Sometimes with people, you can’t tell what’s going on with them. Everyone has their stuff to deal with. But whether you can see it or not.”

Elle nodded. They both knew they felt something deeper for one another, something left unspoken. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge it yet. There was a mutual crush building for years, but they just didn’t act on it. It hovered around them again, in the way they walked closer together now, the way Elle stole little glances at Alex when she thought he wasn’t looking. The way Alex would gaze at her just a tad bit too long when she laughed.

But now just didn’t feel like the best time for any of that. Not yet. Not with everything in town.

“Maybe once we figure this out…” Alex said after almost reading her mind

Elle looked back at him, a blush finding its way to her cheeks. “Yeah. Maybe then.”

The two of them shared a smile and walked on. Laughter and conversation break the silence in town.

“So, what have you been up to during all this time?” Alex asked, keeping his tone casual, but he was genuinely curious.

Elle laughed and shrugged. “Oh… you know. A bit of everything.”

“Yeah?” Alex raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Well... I kind of flip-flopped between majors for a while.” She admitted. “Like I just couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. Like for one semester I’d take theater to be an actress. The next I’d be in biology, dissecting frogs and wondering if I wanted to be a doctor.”

“Really? Theater to biology?” Alex chuckled. “That’s a leap.”

Elle sighed dramatically. “I know! Tell me about it. I was all over the place like I couldn’t stick to anything. ‘Maybe this is it’ or ‘No, this is what I want’. It just drove my mom crazy.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Alex had always remembered Margaret Holloway as a stern woman. He could almost picture in his mind what looks she’d given Elle every time she changed major.

“Eventually,” Elle said while rolling her eyes, “Mom threatened to cut me off if I didn’t pick something. She gave me this whole speech about responsibility and committing to something. The whole ‘Wasting your potential’ speech. You know how my mom is.”

“Yeah, I can imagine that.” Alex nodded. “So what did you end up picking?”

Elle paused, then gave him a playful grin. “Well, you’re looking at a journalist.”

“Seriously?” Alex was genuinely impressed. Elle had always been a bit of a ditz for as long as he knew her. “Congrats, Elle.”

“Thanks.” She said. “It’s just… it’s just that I didn’t expect to use it like this. Covering missing persons in our hometown isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Alex said. “Still, you should be proud. You’re doing important work now.”

“I guess.” Elle nodded, though her smile faltered. “It just feels... strange, being back here, trying to put the pieces together.”

. “You’ll figure it out, Elle. You always do.”

She smiled at that. The conversation had given them a brief escape. But they both knew they’d have to face the facts soon.

. “And what about you, soldier boy?” she said giving Alex a playful nudge as the two walked side by side. She eyed him up and down. “Guess the army did you favor, huh?”

Alex couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, come on.”

“Hey, it fits.” She grinned. Elle had to admit to herself that while Alex had boyish good looks back in their younger years had become something else. There was an edge to him now, a ruggedness she liked that came from his time overseas. She had always been a bit attracted to him back then. But now? Something about the man he had become tugged at her even more. “You’ve changed in a good way, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” he said running a hand through his hair. “Everything feels so different now. I just got out of the army, and I’m not sure what comes next.”

“What do you mean?” Elle asked as she caught a certain seriousness in his voice.

“I mean, I spent all this time being a soldier,” Alex said. “It became who I am. Now I’m back in Shepherd’s Glen and I don’t know where to fit in anymore. I thought coming back home would help. But now the whole place is different. The town, my family… me.”

“I can imagine it’s hard.” She said, softly. “But hey, you don’t have to figure it out now. One step at a time, right?”

“Yeah… I guess you’re right. It’s just-“

“Different?” she finished for him.

“Yeah.”

They continued walking in silence for a few moments, Shepherd’s Glen was quiet, letting them catch their thoughts.

“You know,” Elle said after a while. “You’re still the same Alex Shepherd to me. Soldier or not.”

“Thanks, Elle.” That made him smile.

As they continued walking, Elle couldn't help but let her mind wander again. If she were honest, truly honest with herself, she wouldn’t mind getting her feet swept off by him, and the two running off together. Under better circumstances of course. Part of her longed for that, an escape. From missing people to the town, and the worry for his missing sister, Nora. If things were different, they could have had something more.

“What’re you thinking about?” Alex asked with a warm smile. Almost as though he knew what she was thinking.

Elle snapped herself back to reality. She didn’t say anything, just hoped to hide her thoughts. “Nothing important,”

Alex couldn’t help but bring up old memories.

Remember when you tried to outbike me?” Alex teased. “Back when you were more tomboy than anything else.”

“Oh please,” she nudged him with her elbow. “I beat you half the time. You were just too stubborn to admit it.”

Alex laughed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Holloway. I was just going easy on you because you were too busy being one of the guys.”

“One of the guys?” She smirked and crossed her arms. “You’re just made I could ride circles around you.”

“Tomboy.”

“Soldier boy” she retorted back at him. “But it looks like the army did you good. You don’t look half bad now.”

“Oh?”

Elle rolled her eyes but blushed as they kept walking. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Shepherd.”

The two of them continued to banter just like old times. But as they reached the edge of the park, something pulled them away from the conversation. Soft, grunting noises from the cemetery.

“What’s that?” Elle asked

“No idea,” Alex replied, shifting his previously light-hearted tone to something more serious as they moved closer to the e noise. The two of them peeked and saw Mayor Bartlett hunched over a freshly dug grave. He was shoveling into the dirt with an intensity that unsettled the two of them.

“What the hell?’ Alex muttered. “Hey!” he finally called out. “What are you doing?”

Bartlett stopped digging, hands tightening around his shovel. He turned to them, eyes bloodshot and wild, filled with a sense of loss, panic, and fear.

“Mind your own goddamn business!” Bartlett growled. His voice was slurred, part by inebriation and part by something else. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving a streak of mud on his face. “You have nothing to see here!”

“What the hell, Mayor Bartlett?” Elle stepped forward. “You’re grave robbing in broad daylight?! What are you thinking?”

Bartlett just glared at her. “I said, this is none of your goddamn business! Get out of here!”

“Mayor, do you need help or something?” Alex asked. “What’s going on?”

“Just leave me alone!” Bartlett’s voice cracked now. “You don’t have any idea what’s happening to this town!”

Elle tugged at Alex’s arm. “Alex, let’s just go. Mayor Bartlett is having a breakdown.”

Alex hesitated. He just watched Bartlett continue digging. Finally, he gave Elle a nod. “Yeah… we’ll deal with this later.”
The two of them walked away, leaving Bartlett to continue digging. That was an unsettling sight for the two of them. Watching their town’s Mayor digging furiously like a man possessed.

“Can you believe that guy?” she asked, voice still full of shock. “Just digging up people’s graves like it’s no big deal? I should’ve brought my camera and taken a picture. We’d put it on the front page newspaper ‘Mayor Gone Wild’”. She tried putting humor into it, but she was anxious.

“What was his problem?” Alex asked, shaking his head. “I mean, he’s always been a drunk. But… grave robbing? That’s one hell of a leap.”

“I’ve seen him wasted before… but. That was something else. Like he’s finally lost it or something.” Elle said as she rubbed a hand through her hair.

“It’s not just him though, is it? This whole town feels like it lost it.”

The two of them went silent. First the fog, then missing people, and now their Mayor digging graves. It was like Shepherd’s Glen had gone insane.

The air had gone chilly now, and Elle began to shiver. Her thin jogger’s outfit had done little to keep her warm. She hugged her arms and looked at Alex who seemed more prepared for the weather than she was.

“I really should’ve dressed for more than a jog,” Elle muttered, wrapping her jacket tighter.

Alex gave her a smirk. “I don’t know, you were always a track star. Thought you’d be used to running in any weather.”

“Says the guy who thought running laps was a punishment back in high school. I could lap you twice on a bad day.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex chuckled “But at least I never got winded. Remember the last time you tried to race me on your bike and I beat you on foot?”

Elle snorted. “Oh please, Shepherd. We both know you were dying at the end. Don’t pretend you were a speed demon.” She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. “Still think you’re tough?”

“Hey, careful!” Alex rubbed his arm dramatically, feigning being in pain. “You’re going to break me. Don’t make me tell everyone this tomboy still has a strong arm.”

Elle laughed. “Knock it off, soldier boy.”

The two of them walked in silence before Elle spoke up again, her breath caught in the cold air. “Let’s head back to my place. I’m too cold out there. Plus I could use some coffee after that Bartlett creep show.”

“You sure about that?” Alex asked incuriously. “What about your mom?”

Elle waved it off, dismissively. “It’s not like she comes around anymore. She has her own thing going on, and I have mine. It’s not like having friends over ever stopped me before.”

“Fair point.” Alex chuckled.

“Honestly, Alex, I’m just glad we’re finally getting to catch up. This town is going to hell, but… it’s nice having a friend to talk to.”

Alex gave her another soft smile. “Then lead the way.”

They walked back to Elle’s home, the Holloway house. It was one of the oldest homes in Shepherd’s Glen. Fit for someone like Judge Margaret Holloway, but it felt empty to Alex, more a courthouse than where a family lived.

“You sure your mom’s not going to freak out if I’m there?” Alex asked, half joking and half serious.

Elle shook her head. “Alex, please, she’s barely around these days. Off doing God knows what. Besides.” She added with a smile. “It’s not like she ever cared when our friend group used to hang out there back in the day. You’d think she cares now?”

“Good point,” Alex chuckled. But a part of him felt uneasy about Margaret Holloway. She was a tough, sharp woman. Too sharp for his liking, easily putting two and two together before he had a chance to explain himself. Always judging him, even before she became the town judge. Still, it didn’t bother Elle much.

“Guess some things never change.” Elle continued. “Still worrying about getting in trouble?”

“Old habits die hard.” He smirked.

Before long, they had reached the Holloway home. The large house loomed in the fog, dark windows like judging eyes watching their approach. Elle unlocked the front door and gestured to Alex inside.

The interior was just as Alex remembered, tidy, too tidy, and cold. The walls were adorned with plaques, framed certificates, and old family photos of Elle and Nora. But still, the hose felt empty, like everywhere else in town.

“Make yourself at home, Alex,” Elle said, slipping out of her jacket. “I’ll get the coffee going. Is instant coffee ok? It’s all we’ve got.”

Alex chuckled. “Instant sounds great compared to the MRE stuff we had. Let’s just say... It’s an acquired taste.”

Elle laughed as she headed to the kitchen. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. I’ll get the kettle started then I’m going to change into something warm. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Alex called after her as she walked down the hallway.

Left alone, he wandered the house, his eyes saw Margaret’s law library that stretched the whole room. Her influence was unmistakable, the room was filled with volumes, legal texts, and others.
As he glanced back into the kitchen, Alex couldn’t help but smile at the memory of him and Elle sneaking a bottle of alcohol from Margaret Holloway’s liquor cabinet when they were younger. He, Elle, and friends were laughing like rebellious idiots as they all took turns sipping the contraband, and a bottle of gin. It had been Elle’s idea, a little rebellion, but Alex was more than happy to play along. Even back then, Elle was a rebel, always pushing the limits.

Alex made his way to the living room. His eyes landed on an older photograph of the Holloway family on the mantel, Margaret, stern expression was rarely softened by a rare smile, standing beside Elle and Nora, who at the time looked younger, and so carefree.

“Things never changed with her mother,” Alex muttered under his breath, Margaret was strict and never really approved of Alex.

Everything in the house in the house felt so stiff. It was unlike the warmth he associated with Elle. The house felt more like an institution than a home so it made sense that Elle would prefer to spend her time out in the world with Alex and his group than under the stifling presence of her mother.

“I can’t believe it’s been so long,” Alex muttered to himself, the memories of their childhood came back in waves.

Finally, Elle returned, and in her hands, she carried two mugs of Coffee. She gave one to Alex who took it gratefully.

“Here you go, figured we needed something warm after the walk. Hope you didn’t get too bored without me.” She said as she took a seat on the couch across from him.

“Thanks.” Alex took a sip, letting the coffee warm himself up. “So, this place hasn’t changed much.”

Elle shrugged. “Mom’s not the decorating type. Nora and I hated it here. It always felt more like a museum than a home.”

“Yeah…” Alex muttered. “It always felt too formal. Especially for your mom.”

Elle let out a laugh. “Yeah... She’s always been strict. But these days, she’s barely around. Too busy with the town.”

“You okay?’ Alex asked gently as he looked at her. It was clear Elle was carrying her burdens.

Elle gave another nonchalant shrug, trying to just play it off. “It’s just... everything. This town. Missing people. It feels like a ghost town.” She glanced back at her coffee. “And Nora…. She’s out there somewhere. I know I can’t think straight until I find her.”

“We’ll find her,” Alex answered. “I promise.”

“I hope you’re right.

For a moment, the two just sat on the couches in silence, sipping from their mugs of coffee.

“You know,” Elle said. “I never really thought you’d come back.”

“Neither did I,” Alex admitted to her. “But I couldn’t stay away. Not after everything. But honestly, Elle, it’s good to see you again.”

Elle grew a warm smile. “Yeah. It’s good to see you again too, soldier boy.”
They shared a brief quiet laugh, and for a moment, it felt as though their burdens were lifted and they were back to old times again. Just two friends, catching up, forgetting about the troubles looming over the town.

But the truth was always there, lurking beneath the surface. The town wasn’t the same, and neither were they.

“Remember the times we stole booze from my mom?”

“Well, maybe just a little.”
The two of them shared a laugh. The two of them shifted and sat closer than they had in years. The warmth of the coffee matched the hat that was building between them. The conversation was slowing down now, moving from playful banter to something more meaningful. Something they have been avoiding for the longest time.

“I’ve missed you, Alex,” Elle said locking her eyes with his.

Alex felt his heart skip a beat. He had missed her too, more than either of them realized. The distance was closing in now, and without a word, he reached his hand out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Their eyes lingered got a long time.

Slowly, instinctively, the two leaned in. But before anything could happen, the front door opened, ruining the moment.

“Elle, I’m home! I brought you breakfast-“Judge Holloway yelled out but she stopped abruptly as she noticed Alex sitting there, in her living room. The air in the house turned cold as she took the sight in.

“Oh.” Judge Holloway said, keeping her tone sharp. “I see you’re here.”

Alex quickly pulled back, and Elle sat up straight, clearing her throat.

“Hi, Mom,” Elle said, trying to sound casual, but failing. “We were just... Catching up.”

Judge Holloway looked disapprovingly at Alex. Then she silently walked to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter, not bothering to hide discomfort.

“Don’t overstay your welcome, Alex.” She said, then pulled out her now-ringing cell phone. “I need to take this call.”

Alex turned to Elle giving her a nervous chuckle. “She’s still not a fan of me, huh?”

Elle shrugged with a smirk. “I doubt it’s about breaking into her liquor cabinet. But if she knew, she never told me.”

Alex still felt awkward. It was clear to him that Judge Holloway wasn’t keen on having him around.

Judge Holloway moved into another room to take her call. Alex then glanced at Elle, who gave him an apologetic look.

“Elle, I should probably head out.” He muttered, standing up. He didn’t want to add to Elle and her mother’s tension.

“Yeah, probably better for now,” Elle said with disappointment.

Meanwhile in the other room. Judge Holloway quickly locked the door behind her and answered the phone with her customary cold, professional tone. It was the right-hand man of the Order, Curtis.

“What is it, Curtis?” she asked sharply.

Curtis was a quiet, tinkering type of man. He rarely spoke unless it had to do with tinkering on a machine, or the business of the Order. He wasn’t the man for idle chit-chat. “Just got a tip from one of my eyes and ears. Adam’s making moves. Looks like he’s rallying support against us.”

Judge Holloway tapped her hands on the table as she listened. “I see. And the man he suspects that may be a Federal Agent?”

“He’s still with them,” Curtis confirmed. “Middle-aged guy. Seems like they’re laying low for now. But they’re getting ready for something. If they’ve got someone from the Federal Government on their side-“

“Then we cut the power to the town.” Holloway interrupted, already thinking ahead. “And all outside communications. Nothing gets in or out without my approval. That should slow them down, and buy us time. Take care of it, Curtis.”

Curtis hesitated “Are you sure? Cutting the power is going to cause a panic.”

“We’re beyond that point. We cannot afford to be weak. That was Dahlia’s mistake...” Holloway kept her voice cold as ice. “If Adam is making moves against the Order, we have to act now. Cut the power, cut the lines of communication. Do whatever it takes.”

“Understood, Holloway,” Curtis said. “I’ll get right on it.”

Holloway hung up the phone. Lost in thought, her expression was unreadable. The line was drawn. Adam had made his choice and she would make hers. After the fall of the Silent Hill branch of the Order, she had seen to it that remnants of Dahlia and the followers of Claudia were purged. The heresies of the Order were to be stamped out. Burned alive, the Order would continue through Holloway or not at all. Adam was just another apostate that needed to be dealt with, painfully.

Leaving her home office, she returned to the living room where Alex was preparing to leave and talking to Elle. “Be on your way Alex,” Margaret demanded. “I have important matters to attend to.”

Alex glanced one last time at Elle. “See you around?”

“Definitely,” Elle replied.

Alex nodded and left the house, leaving the tension between him and Judge Holloway behind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things in Shepherd’s Glen were beginning to spiral out of control

Chapter Text

The makeshift safe house was thick with tension. Adam Shepherd stood over a workbench, methodically stripping down a handgun, his m1911, a .45 caliber handgun, piece by piece. His movements were practiced, precise, almost by second nature. On the table opposite to him, James sat quietly, watching Adam work. His own hands were resting on the weapon that Adam had given him. Each piece weighed on him, physically and mentally, as if they carried a certain responsibility.

“I’m not giving you ammo until you can show me you know what you’re doing,” Adam said, not looking up. “A gun is a tool, nothing more. But if you don’t know how to handle it, it’s a danger to you as anyone else.”

James nodded, he understood the logic. But he couldn’t shake the strain of memories, bad memories. The last time he held a gun, things had ended badly. Silent Hill changed him and left a mark on him that never really healed. But they couldn’t falter now, not with the Order breathing down their necks.

Wheeler had been leaning up against a nearby wall and gave a soft chuckle. “James, you better get that muscle memory down. Adam’s a real hard ass when it comes to guns.”

James gave a half chuckle. “I just don’t want to blow my hand off proving I can strip a gun.”

Adam slid the final piece into his gun, reassembling it with quick and practiced hands. “Alright, enough talk. Your turn, Sunderland. Strip it, clean it, and then resemble it. Don’t rush. Accuracy over speed.”

James took a deep breath and began working. The cold metal felt strange in his hands, the clank reminding him of something he had buried in the past, something dark. Of Mary. Of Silent Hill. Those thoughts had tried to worm their way to the surface. But he pushed them down. “Focus, James. Focus.” He told himself.

He started by removing the magazine, then checked the chamber just like Adam showed him. Then, he began to carefully dismantle the gun. He could feel Deputy Wheeler’s eyes on him, but the pressure didn’t bother him much. This wasn’t about proving something to them, it was about survival.

Slowly but steadily, the pieces came apart in his hands. Each piece was meticulously cleaned, wiping away any dust and oil that had accumulated. As he worked, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, the process almost a meditative experience. No more drifting back to the past. He needed to be here now.

After a while, James reassembled the gun, every piece sliding back into place with a satisfying click. He placed it back on the table in front who Adam, who looked it over with an unreadable face.

“Not bad,” Adam said after taking a moment to inspect the freshly resembled weapon. He pushed a box of ammunition towards James. “You’re ready. Don’t make me regret it, Sunderland.”

James picked up the box and nodded. “I won’t.”

“Good job, man,” Wheeler said, stepping forward. “Now, let’s just hope you don’t have to use it.”

James forced a smile, but… The Order wasn’t going to back down either.

As they gathered their gear, Adam pulled James aside out of Wheeler’s sight. He kept his low, but deadly serious. “James, I know that this isn’t easy for you. You’ve been through a lot, we all have. I do not doubt that Silent Hill messed you up. But right now, you need to be sharp. We’re not just fighting for survival, we’re fighting for the people we care about. Got that?”

“I get it.” James nodded. “I won’t let you down, Adam.”

Adam kept his hard, but it wasn’t unkind. “I hope not. Because there’s more coming your way than just gun training. We’re going to need you.”

James kept cleaning the parts of the gun that Adam gave him. He looked back up at Adam with a faint smile. “I always wondered how you and I managed to cross paths. To be honest I thought you were trying to scare me off Mary way back then.”

Adam chuckled, it felt like such a long time since he allowed himself to. He shook his head as he tightened his gear. “Nah, if I wanted to scare you off, you’d know. Trust me. You were a …. Different sort of man. I wasn’t about to run off the one guy who’d made her smile.”

James’s smile faded at the memory. “But you did try to scare me a little back then, didn’t you? You were intense when we met.”

Adam leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “No, but I did have to scare some creep off once. The kid wouldn’t take Mary’s ‘no’ for an answer. So one day six of my Green Beret buddies showed up, and let’s just say that after, he started understanding the word ‘no’ real quick.”

James said an eyebrow as he heard that. “You didn’t kill him? Did you?”

Adam snorted. “Not my style. Besides, when six Special Forces guys show up, you don’t need to kill anyone. Just making sure he knew Mary wasn’t someone to mess with.”

James nodded, taking the story in stride. “Guess I was lucky not to get the same ‘special’ treatment.”

“Like I said, Sunderland,” Adam replied “You weren’t the kind of guy I needed to scare off. I think Mary saw something in you.” He paused, then added. “You were a good man to her.”

“I tried,” James said somberly.

Adam watched him for another moment as James continued cleaning. “Now finish up. When you’re done, you’ll get ammo. Can’t let you go unarmed out there. Got to know the gear inside and out.”

James nodded and continued working on the task in front of him. He could feel Adam’s respect for him had grown over time. Maybe in moments like these, he’d earned a little of it back.”

“You know,” James laughed softly as he continued working. “That first time you took me out hunting, I thought you were taking me out there to leave me for dead. It crossed my mind more than once.”

“What? You think I’m that cold-blooded?” Adam raised an eyebrow, amused. “Nah, we’re just big on the outdoors in this family. Good for clearing your head. Besides,” he added with a grin, “that’s not my style.”

James chuckled and shook his head. “That’s good to know. But back then… I wasn’t so sure. I mean it wasn’t like I made the best first impression.”

“Honestly? I didn’t know what Mary saw in you at the time. Took me a while to figure it out. But she did, and that’s all that mattered. Guess I was testing you.”

“Testing me?” James repeated. “So all those times in the woods, was just a test?”

Adam shrugged “Call it what you want. Had to know what kind of man you were. How you handled the pressure.” He paused, looking more serious. “And to see if you’d run.”

“Well, I didn’t run,” James said meeting Adam’s eyes.

No, you didn’t.” Adam said with a nod. “Guess that’s when I started figuring out why Mary stuck by you.”

James continued listening to Adam as he worked on the gun. Their conversation was shifting from shared history to something else.

“You know,” Adam said, growing his tone more serious. “Despite everything, there’s something we both shared. We loved Mary. Me, her older brother, and you, the husband.”

James looked up from the gun, meeting Adam’s gaze. In his eyes, James could see his raw sincerity. “Yeah,” James replied quickly. “I loved her more than anything else. I know you did too.”

Adam let a faint show of vulnerability show. “Mary was… special. She was a big part of our lives. Even though we started on the wrong foot, we both had her in our hearts.”

“I guess that’s something that never changed. Even with everything else that’s happened.”
Adam slowly approached James and put a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, she’s the reason we’re here now. Fighting to make things right.”

James returned the gesture. There was an unspoken understanding between the two men. They both mourned their shared loss and in that pain, they found a bond stronger than any past grievances.

“I know what happened between you and Mary, James,” Adam said, voice quiet but firm. I know you were the one to finally put her out of her misery.”

James looked back at him in shock and guilt He had never expected anyone to come out and say it, least of all, Adam.

“How..?” James started

“You think I wouldn’t figure it out? After everything? I’m not blind, James. I knew what kind of pain she was in, and the pain you were in too.”

James swallowed hard, though he had made peace with Mary all those many years ago in Silent Hill, the guilt never really went away. It had been festering inside him for so long. “I didn’t want to… I… I just couldn’t watch her suffer anymore.”

Adam was silent for a moment. Then he signed and sat in a chair next to Adam. “I loved my sister, James. And if I’m honest, I hated the idea of losing her. I hated that it was you in the end with her, not me.”

“Adam, I-“

“But,” Adam cut him off. “I knew Mary wouldn’t want to have lived like that. You did what you thought was right.”

James struggled to find the right words. “You don’t hate me?”

Adam just shook his head. “No. I hated the situation. I hated that it came for her. But I don’t hate you for it, James. I know the man you are. I know you loved her.”

James let out a breath. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“Neither did I. But some things, we can’t control.”

For a moment, neither of the men spoke. The air was thick with the shared grief of the two men who had deeply loved the same woman. They had lost the same woman. It was grim, but the truth.

Adam sat quietly for a moment, holding back his anger. It wasn’t blamed for James, but something else, something darker.

“You know,” Adam, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what happened to Mary.”

James looked up, the guilt still thick in his chest.

“It wasn’t just you, James. It wasn’t just her sickness,” Adam continued, his voice gaining more anger. “It was them. The Order. All that madness... they killed her. Maybe not with their hands, but in every other way, they destroyed her.”

Adam’s fists clenched on the table. “She got caught up in something she never should’ve been a part of. And by the time it was too late, they’d already sunk their claws into her, into us. The rituals, the sacrifices... all of it.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying a depth of emotion James had never seen in him. “They broke her long before her body gave out.”

Adam paused then continued, grimly. “The Order ruined so many lives. Mary’s death was just one of their many casualties. You did what you thought was mercy, James. But they’re the ones who made her suffer in the first place.”

“At the time, I’ve always blamed myself. I always thought it was my fault.”

“And it’s time we made them pay for it.”

Adam leaned against the workbench, glancing at the hunting rifle laid out in front of him. “You know what we’re up against, right?” he said, looking up at James.

James nodded. “Holloway, a zealot. You said she controls most of the town?”

“More than that. She is the town, James. Holloway’s got her claws in everything—the police, the local government, the people. Most of them, they don’t even question it anymore. She’s made them believe the sacrifices, the Order, are the only thing keeping them safe.”

“From what?”

“From themselves, from Silent Hill, form their God, from whatever the Order will do to them if they don’t,” Adam muttered bitterly. “From the truth of what this town is.”

“And Alex? He knows what’s going on?”

Adam hesitated, his eyes narrowing as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “Alex... I’m not sure what to do with him. He’s all I have left.”

“But he’s back from the army, right? He’d know how to fight, wouldn’t he?”

Adam looked down, waving it off. “Maybe… But I don’t want to get him involved if I don’t have to. He’s…he’s seen enough already.”

“Adam,” James said carefully. , “If Alex can help, he needs to know what’s going on. We’re not dealing with normal people here.”

“I know.” Adam let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. “I know. But Joshua-” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if to clear the thought. “It’s complicated.”
“What about Joshua?” James frowned.

Adam quickly changed the subject. “Look, I’ll give you a crash course in what you need to know. A little first aid, some combatives. Basic stuff. If Holloway comes for us, I want you ready.”

James watched him for a moment, recognizing that Adam was hiding something painful. There was something deep and personal about his refusal to talk about Joshua. Now wasn’t the time to push it.

Adam moved over to the hunting rifle, picking it up and checking the sights. “Just... if it comes down to it, we need to be prepared. Holloway’s not going to stop, and she’ll use whatever she can to break us. That’s how she works. Psychological, physical, spiritual, everything’s a weapon to her.”

. “I get it. We’ll be ready.”

Adam paused, his voice lowering. “And James, when the time comes, if something happens to me, don’t let Alex get sucked into this. You may be his uncle, but … He’s still got a chance.”

James nodded solemnly “I won’t let that happen.”

Meanwhile, over at the Shepherd’s Glen power plant, a group of cultists had been busy. The light from their flashlights danced across the wires as they worked swiftly, guided by the whispers of their leader’s orders. One of them glanced nervously over his shoulder before cutting through the final connection.

The entire town of Shepherd’s Glen was plunged into total darkness.

Back at Judge Holloway’s house, Elle was in the middle of her shower, washing her hair when the lights went out, and the water’s temperature suddenly turned cold. She cursed under her breath, shutting the water off and stepping out quickly, wrapping a towel around herself as she shivered from the sudden temperature change.

“Oh, what the hell?” she muttered, rubbing her arms against the cold as she stumbled through the now pitch-black bathroom. “Doesn’t anything work around here?”

Elle groped around for something familiar, eventually finding the door handle. She stepped out into the hallway, frustrated. Shepherd’s Glen was already eerie what with the fog outside, but the sudden loss of power put her on edge.

Fumbling through the drawers in the hallway closet, she found a small flashlight. Clicking it on, a weak beam cut through the darkness, and she let out a small breath of relief. “At least something in this house works.”

She dressed quickly in the dim light and made her way through the house, wondering what had caused the outage. “Power’s probably out for the whole town,” she thought aloud, pacing around the living room. “Great, no late-night horror movie marathon for this girl.”

She pulled out her phone, trying to check for any signal, but the lack of bars confirmed her suspicion. No signal either. Something was wrong. Elle’s instincts told her she needed to find Alex or Adam. Whatever was happening, they’d know what to do.

Her flashlight flickered slightly, and her heart skipped a beat. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she demanded to the flashlight, tapping it with her fingers. The beam steadied, and she exhaled.

Chapter Text

Alex lay in his bed, the old mattress felt too stiff as if the years of absence had made him forget what comfort was like. The Shepherd's home was one familiar to him but seemed twisted by time and memory. Sleep came and went, dragging back to the places he’d rather have left behind. But once he drifted off to sleep, the thin veil was lifted, throwing him into the dark chasm that was his subconscious.

He tossed and turned in another nightmare. The air was heavy, too hot in that dream. Dust swirled in the air, like the fog outside the house. Once more, he was in Iraq, boots on the ground. The sounds of the distant gunfire were different than popping off fireworks on the Fourth of July back home. They were growing louder and closer now. Alex’s hands were shaking now, but he couldn’t look at them. Because if he did, he would see a rifle in his grasp, blood staining his hands.

His squad leader’s cries could be heard through the smoke. “Shepherd! Get moving! Rangers lead the way! We need you now!”

His vision dimmed, and he was breathing rapidly now. The streets of Shepherd’s Glen blurred, merging with the war-torn alleyways of Baghdad: the storefronts and shuttered windows blending into a single nightmare.

Then a figure in the distance, “Joshua? No that wasn’t possible. But who then?” His outline was unmistakable. He stood there looking at him, amid the chaos, unfazed by it all, as if he didn’t belong to this world at all.

“Joshua!” His voice caught in his throat as he ran towards him, but somehow the ground itself seemed to shift under his feet. A chasm opened, a gaping wound in the earth. His legs and muscles protested, yet he fought ahead, every step breaking his mind. Artillery roared with a deafening boom, shaking the city.

Finally, he reached him, but Joshua turned his back on Alex. “Joshua we need to get out of here!” he said desperately.

Joshua turned, but it wasn’t his face. It was wrong, a twisted, hollow parody of the boy he once knew. His eyes were dark, empty pits, blood dripping from his lips.

“Why didn’t you save me, Alex?”
His voice wasn’t his own, it was like a layer: his squad mates’, his brother Joshua’s, Elle’s, and something else, something darker. The figure suddenly reached towards him with skeletal fingers digging into his chest.

Alex awoke with a jolt, bolting upright in bed. He could feel the sweat drip on his forehead. Their heart pounding as if it was trying to break out of him. He was back in his old childhood room now, safe. Yet the dream did not fade, the dreams rarely did. They weighed on him like a shroud. Alex may have returned physically to Shepherd’s Glen, but a part of him will always be left behind in the Middle East.

He pressed his hands against his face, taking long, slow breaths. The floorboards groaned in the hall, and for a moment he was still, muscles tensed. It was how Adam, his father, had always moved, silent and purposeful. But Alex didn’t call out. He didn’t want to have to explain why he couldn’t sleep, why his heart was pounding in his chest.

He took a moment to glance at the time on his alarm clock: 3:17 AM. He couldn’t get back to sleep. With a groan, he swung his legs over and stood up off the bed.

His past was getting to him now, his time in Iraq, what was never said between him and his father, threw in unresolved feelings for Elle and his missing brother, her missing sister.. This wasn’t just another nightmare, it was a reminder. No matter how he tried to shut things out, his past would always follow him, back to Shepherd’s Glen.

Alex stood beside his bed, running his fingers through his damp hair. His pulse was still racing from yet another nightmare. He had reached for the light switch, flicking it up. Nothing. Frowning, he flicked up and down, the familiar click of the switch echoed but no light followed.

“Great.” He muttered under his breath, frustrated. His dad paid his bills, didn’t he? The lights were working when he went to bed.

Scanning his eyes on the room, his fingers traced the edge of his bed table until they found something solid, something familiar, an old army flashlight he had given to Joshua years ago.

He had given Joshua that little flashlight before he left for Iraq, telling him to use it to light his path when things got dark. Joshua let out a small smile at this, it was rare back then.
Alex clicked the flashlight, and it shot a narrow beam through the room. The light danced as he moved it across his bedroom. The flashlight now felt wrong in his hands, even though it shouldn’t. It was once his after all. But it belonged to Joshua now. He had held it in his hands like a prized passion, beaming with childlike excitement. Now he couldn’t find Joshua. He was gone, like so much else in his life.

As he walked, the house creaked all around him. It wasn’t like the groaning of an old building. Shepherd’s Glen always had a way of twisting something so ordinary into something more sinister. Something changed about his home, his family, and the town itself. It was beginning to feel like he was missing a piece of the puzzle.

Alex raised the flashlight higher, sweeping it across the room. Shadows around him danced unnaturally along the walls as if they had a life of their own.

Something felt wrong to him.

The family home was empty again, no Joshua, no mom, no sign of Adam. Alex had nothing to concern himself with, such as waking someone. He came out of his room, the floorboards creaking as he walked. This darkened house, once life with the hum of family life, now felt like a shadow of its former self.

His flashlight bobbed up and down as he walked down the narrow hallway, tracing paths he'd walked a thousand times before while growing up. He stopped at the basement door and paused. He had no reason to hesitate, there was nothing to be afraid of in the old house. Not anymore.

The door creaked as he slowly descended the stairs, the dim light showing the cobwebs along the ceiling. The basement did possess that characteristic smell of old wood and staleness of air, untouched. Various Memories tugged at him such as Joshua briefly playing down here, Mom yelling for them to come up for dinner. Adam's few moments with them when he wasn't shut away.

At the far end of the basement, the breaker box was still intact. Alex walked over and opened it. All of the switches were in order. Everything was OK. The house had power.

That meant the blackout wasn't confined here. It must be the whole town.

Alex closed the breaker box and stood a moment in the quiet darkness. His heart had slowed, and the adrenaline of the nightmare had worn off, but the tension remained. There was no way he was going back to sleep. The nightmare would return if he did. They always did.

He sighed, as he made his way upstairs. He snatched his jacket from the chair in the hall, yanking it on without a thought. His boots were by the door, caked with dried mud from the last time he’d ventured out.

Alex didn't know why, but he couldn't stand the thought of staying indoors anymore. The house was starting to feel like a tomb. He needed air.

He stepped back out into the cool night. Shepherd's Glen stretched out before him under a moonless sky. The blackout had plunged the town into all but complete darkness, the streetlamps that normally lined the streets all dead. Without the electricity, the town seemed even more abandoned, even more of a ghost town than it already was. This fog wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Alex took a deep breath, feeling the chill seep into his jacket. He started walking, letting his feet carry him down familiar streets, the beam of his flashlight cutting through the darkness. The town seemed strange and wrong.

For now, though, darkness was still. The only sound that could be heard was the crunch of his boots upon gravel, as he pressed on, wondering what Shepherd's Glen had in store for him at this hour. He stepped deeper into the fog, the thick stuff that clung to Shepherd's Glen like a weight. The beam from the flashlight in his hand barely cut through the thick veil. It too was swallowed whole by mist.

Everything that had happened since his return to Shepherd’s Glen flickered in his mind. Judge Holloway, with her watchful eyes, had been less than warm the second time around. Alex had never been her favorite, and that was no secret to him. She didn't like him much, either. It was that stern look of hers that was hard to get rid of. Even now, it lingered in the back of his mind, like an accusation of some sort.

But Elle, she had been a lifeline. Seeing her again stirred in him something he was not sure he was ready to face. She was stronger in his absence, more sure of herself. Yet with the same warmth in her smile, he remembered from their childhood years. The way she looked at him, somehow made him feel his return wasn’t a complete loss.

And there was Dad. Adam.

His father hadn't changed much, still cold, still distant. Alex had tried as hard as humanly possible, but he had never been able to crack his father’s shell, to get approval of any kind. But perhaps now, after Iraq, it would be different. Perhaps coming back from war did grant him that respect. He'd seen it in Adam's eyes, just a flicker, but it was there, even if his father hadn't said the words.

“But where was Joshua?”

That was the very question that had been haunting him since he got back home. Every corner of this house seemed to whisper Joshua's absence. In his hand held the flashlight that once belonged to Joshua, a reminder of what Alex had failed to protect.

He stopped walking, the middle of the street consumed in the fog. The face of Joshua was there, in his mind. His little brother looked up to Alex like he was some kind of superhero. But Alex wasn’t a hero. He hadn't been there for Joshua when it counted.

In an instant, the fog around him began to thicken, swirling almost unnaturally, and for one fleeting moment, he could have sworn he saw a figure far off, just out of range of his flashlight.

"Joshua?" he whispered.

It stood there for a moment, then retreated into the fog.

Alex swallowed hard, clenching the flashlight harder. He knew better than to believe in ghosts. But in Shepherd's Glen now, he wasn't so sure what to believe anymore.

Alex ran faster, after a figure that dissolved into fog, boots crushing against the pavement. The mist turned around in chaotic patterns as if it were ridiculing his attempt, dragging him into its clutches.

But nothing was there.

He stopped, allowing the beam of his flashlight to flash across the fog-drenched street. Nothing but emptiness greeted him, empty sidewalks, darkened storefronts, and the familiar dead stillness of Shepherd's Glen.

"Joshua…" he whispered again, this time more desperate.

A chill ran down his spine as he turned back the way he came, freezing in place, as a low growl cut through the silence behind him. The suddenness sent a jolt of adrenaline suddenly coursing through his body. It was close, too close.

Instinct kicked in, honed by army training, and his time in Iraq.

Automatically, one hand went to his waist, his fingers closing around the hilt of the knife he always kept with him. It was a habit he'd never been able to break since his return from war. You never knew when you might need to defend yourself when in a split second your world became dangerous.

He drew the knife free, its weight both familiar and comforting in his hand. His pulse was pounding hard in his ears, tensing his muscles. Whatever was out there in the fog wasn't human.

Louder this time, the growl came closer, and closer echoing through the heavy air. Slowly he spun around, casting his light beam this way and that, forward into the darkness, trying with all his might to see what was stalking him. The beam picked up flashes of movement, too fast, too fluid to be from anything natural.

His heart was racing now, he took a step and peered into the darkness. His hand closed more tightly over the knife. He wasn't afraid to fight if he had to. He'd fought before, even killed before, in places far worse than this one.

Suddenly, a form hurled itself from the fog, staying low and fast. Its shape was only barely defined. Alex hardly had time to react to it. Sidestepping the thing, he swung the knife in a wide arc, its blade whipping through the air.

It snarled, skidding to a complete stop just outside of his knife. Its eyes glinted in the dim light of his flashlight. A large, canine-like creature stood before him, but this wasn’t any dog he’d seen before. It was acting aggressive, like on rabies. Only it wasn’t It was wrong, distorted, twisted, something pulled from his nightmares. Its flesh seemed to ripple and pulse.

He stared it down, chest heaving, heart pounding against the ribs. His mind was racing, but his body was still, steady relying on his highly tuned instincts. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a fight for his life. The streets of Baghdad had taught him that much.

But this wasn't Iraq. This was Shepherd's Glen back in America, and whatever this dog thing was, it didn't belong in either world.

It made another growl, tensing its body, ready for another attack.

Alex swiftly adjusted his stance and the hold on his knife, the handle pressing against his palm. Their eyes focused on the shadowy form in front of him.

"Come on," he said through gritted teeth. "Let's do this."

The twisted, dog thing came out of the fog again, finally coming into full view. The closer it got, the more distorted it seemed to be. Fur patchy, hanging from its body in clumps. A low, menacing growl came from deep within its throat and bared its teeth in a snarl.

But Alex stood his ground. He knew running would encourage the thing to chase after him. He didn’t want to look like weak, easy prey. His combat knife was still clutched in his hand, a comforting reminder of all his training.

The dog, or whatever the thing had become, began circling him. Its snarls grow louder, more erratic. Its movements became twitchy and unnatural. Alex took a breath, widening his stance, as every muscle tightened like a spring.
"Easy," he whispered.

Then, without warning, it lunged after him.

The beast flew at him again with terrifying speed, snapping its jaws, and leaping through the air. Alex barely had time to react, raising his arm to shield himself as the dog's body hit his. The impact was brutal. It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him as he went backward, crashing into the ground. His flashlight skidded across the pavement.

The dog's weight bore down hard on him, teeth gnashing from mere inches from his face. Alex grimaced, his teeth clenched as he fought to keep the thing's jaws from closing in on his throat. The stench of its breath filled his nostrils with something rotten.

He struggled under its weight, his free hand desperately shoving at it as his other hand was fumbling for the knife. Its claws raked across his jacket, ripping through in a tear. Alex grunted in pain as it leaned harder onto his chest, its eyes filled with wild, savage hunger.

The blade was close yet so far.

His fingers closed over the handle of the knife and in a sudden burst of adrenaline, he clasped it tightly in his hand. With all his remaining strength, Alex plunged the knife upwards in a swift desperate gesture. The blade bit deep into the dog's torso.

A high-pitched yelp erupted from the creature as it recoiled. Alex seized on that and rolled onto his side, tossing the dog off him. Scrambling back to his feet, he gasped for breath, the blood pounding in his ears. The dog was staggering, its growls low, pained whimpers, but it wasn't retreating. Still dangerous.

Alex heaved the knife up once more, bracing himself. He had been through worse and fought more dangerous enemies. But this, this was different. The thing before him wasn't a wild animal. It was something twisted, something that didn't belong in this world.

The dog snarled low in its throat, the sound full of pure malice, bleeding by its side heaved while circling Alex, dragging its injured leg yet refusing to stop. The fog hung heavy around them, thick as smoke, making their fight feel claustrophobic and surreal. The beam of his flashlight flickered faintly on the pavement where it had fallen, but Alex had no time to grab it.

His knife was slick with the creature's blood, he could feel the weariness seeping into his muscles. Already, the fight had gone on too long. He didn't know how much longer his body would hold up. But the dog, whatever nightmare had twisted it into this monster, wouldn't quit unless Alex killed it, or it killed him.

It lunged again, faster despite its wound. Alex barely had time to react as it slammed into him, teeth gnashing inches from his face. He took a few steps back, boots slipping on the dampened ground. But this time he managed to keep his balance. The dog's jaws snapped close to his neck, forcing him to shove his forearm against its throat, holding it at bay by pure strength alone.

He drove his knee into the creature's ribs. It yelped, stunned for a moment, and Alex took advantage, rolling out from under it and springing to his feet.

His heart was racing in his chest as the dog went backward, injured but still charging at him. Their eyes burned with a hunger that chilled his very spine, but he didn't back down. Not now. Not when the fight was so near to being won.

He steadied himself and kept the knife raised. The dog lunged again, this time more sluggish but no less dangerous. Alex dodged the attack, pivoting sharply. In one swift, practiced motion the blade found its mark.

With one last, desperate growl, the dog twisted in midair, but it was too late. Alex buried the knife deep into the creature's chest, driving the blade with all the strength he had left. The dog let out a strangled guttural yelp, body convulsing. It staggered and fell heavily to the ground. Its legs kicked once, twice, before stopping.

Alex panted, still clutching the knife. The world fell silent again, eerily so, as if nothing had happened. He stood there and stared at the creature for a moment longer, expecting it to move, expecting it to get back up and attack him again, but it didn't.

It was over.

He took a step back, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His heart was still racing, blood still pumping with adrenaline, but he was calm. He'd been here before, the fights for survival, moments when life and death were separated by the weapon in his hand.

But this time it was different. The dog, if he could even call it that, had been something else. Like something straight out of a nightmare. And that's what made it even worse.

He hunched over, wiping the blade clean before sheathing it. The flashlight still flickered on the ground nearby. He grabbed it, shining the beam over the creature. It looked less monstrous now. Just a broken and twisted animal, like it had once been something normal that had somehow twisted into this.

Alex finally allowed himself to let out a breath, the ache of battle still hounding his body. He had no idea what was going down in this town. But it couldn’t be over. Yet.

Alex stood over the fallen creature, the moment weighing heavily upon him, but his mind was already racing. The feeling that this was only the beginning simply would not secede. Whatever had twisted that dog into a monstrous version of itself wasn't just out there in the fog. It was everywhere, in the very grain of Shepherd's Glen.

He knew what he had to do next.

"Elle." He had to find Elle.

The name was echoing inside him now. She had always been there, he realized. The only person he'd ever truly trusted in this town. If there was something wrong here, which deep in his heart, he knew there was, Elle was the person he wanted to find.

The dog had attacked him, but of all the dangers in this town, it wasn't him alone that was in peril. Elle had to be safe, he needed to make sure of that.

Strong, and kind, the memories of her anchored him as he started to walk with a newfound purpose. She was there for him when he returned, just as she had always been but now, there was no time for distance, no time to waver.

He moved swiftly, his mind replaying the conversations they'd had since his return, the way her eyes lingered on him when she thought he wasn't looking, the way her voice softened when she asked him if he was okay. She had always managed to see through him, more than anyone else.

Pacing quickly down the empty street, every step felt like it echoed. Even with a knife at his side, he was not beyond feeling exposed, eyes watching him from out of the mist.

Elles' house wasn't too far away. If anything was wrong, she'd be there. He quickened his pace, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that the town was closing in on them all.

He had fought enemies, but he had seen them before. But this? This was something far worse.

"I'm coming, Elle," he whispered into the fog.

Whatever was waiting for him in Shepherd's Glen, one thing he knew: he wasn't going to face it alone.

Chapter Text

The fog thickened as Alex pushed down the overgrown path to the park. His breath came pale clouds into the chill night air. Somewhere out of sight, metal rang on earth, steady and measured.

As he drew closer, the figure came into view, Mayor Bartlett, who was hunched over and digging with all fury. His spade plunged into the soil with force, every motion more desperate than the last. His immaculate suit was smeared with dirt, and his face, barely visible in the faint moonlight, was twisted up in an intensity Alex had never seen.

Alex approached slowly, keeping back. "Mayor Bartlett? You’re still here?"

The mayor didn't cease his work, he didn't even bother to look up. He only muttered something barely audible. Alex frowned, watching the man work at a new grave.

Mayor?" Alex called again. “Mayor Bartlett?”

Finally, Bartlett stopped digging, but before anything could be said between them, he put one hand into his coat pocket and brought out a silver flask. From which he took a long drink of whiskey. The reek of alcohol was heavy as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and went back to digging.

Alex stared down at the grave, a dark pit, though nowhere near deep enough. Wasn't Joey supposed to be Joshua's friend? The memory was hazy, but that name stuck in his head. Adam had spoken of one of Joshua's friends. Could it have been Joey? Perhaps if Joey was missing Bartlett was trying to dig up some clue or, no, that can't be it.

"Mayor," Alex tried again. "Joey was friends with my brother, Joshua, right? Is he one of the missing? Maybe I can help you."

To that, Bartlett stopped for a moment. He slowly straightened up, shoulders tense, and for the first time, he turned to look at Alex. His eyes were bloodshot, face was marked by stress and sleepless nights.

“Mind your own damn business, Alex," Bartlett slurred. His hand tightened further around the shovel. "You've no idea, No idea what's going on here."

Alex didn't back down. "If Joey's missing, then maybe I can help you find him.”

Bartlett's eyes flashed, his face filled with rage. "Help?" he spat. "Help? You couldn't even help your own family. You just left. Left us all to deal with the mess. So don't you dare come here, acting like you care."

The words stung, but he wasn't here to. Bartlett was quite clearly beyond reason. He looked down at the grave again, the dirt building up beside it. Something about all of this felt wrong, Bartlett's digging, and digging and digging, his refusal to answer questions, and a feeling of guilt in every word he spoke.

Bartlett turned away, taking another swig of the whiskey before setting the flask down by the gravestone. "Just leave," he muttered "This isn't your business, Alex. It never was. Just go."

The older man went back to his digging as if Alex wasn't even there. He felt a moment of frustration and pity. Bartlett was lost, and he had nothing to say. He didn't have time to dig through Bartlett when Elle was still out there, waiting for him.

"Just be careful, Bartlett," Alex finally said. He knew the words wouldn't get to the man, but it was the best he could do.

Without another word, Alex turned around and headed back. As he was leaving the cemetery, Alex had a feeling there was just something out there starting with Shepherd's Glen/

The graveyard was silent once more around Mayor Bartlett as Alex disappeared into the fog. His hands shook just a little as he clutched the shovel, his eyes fixated on the ground beneath him. The only thing he cared about was dirt falling away with every thrust of the blade. With every clump he turned over, he felt an inch closer to, something. Redemption? Forgiveness? He wasn't so sure anymore.

He paused, breathing heavily, and reached for the flask once more. The whiskey was burning its way down his throat, but it wasn't enough to numb the heartache. Bartlett rubbed his eyes with his dirty sleeve, almost without care that his cheeks were streaked with tears. He sagged with guilt and exhaustion. He exhaled a breath, and as his gaze fell upon the grave, the words came pouring from his mouth. He could no longer restrain his anguish.

"Why didn't I stop her?" he muttered. His hands quivered, as he raised the flask to his lips. "Why didn't I stand up to Holloway? I could've. I should've done something.”

The whiskey didn't wash the shame or guilt away. Bartlett tightened his hold on the flask. Margaret, no, Judge Holloway, had always been so strong, so sure of her vision for the town. And Adam. Adam had been the only one brave enough out of the four families to question her. The only one with the guts to oppose her. Bartlett closed his eyes as if forcing himself back into those moments. Maybe, just maybe, if he had the guts Adam did, things might have turned out differently, and his little Joey would still be alive.

A painful sob burst from him as he fell to his knees. "If only I had been stronger," his voice cracking. The cemetery was deserted, quiet except for the sound of his voice. "Adam... he stood up to her. He fought. And what did I do? Nothing.”

The cold and calculating eyes of Holloway flashed in his mind. Her promises, her reassurances that everything they were doing was for “the greater good of Shepherd's Glen”. He had trusted her, hadn't he? Had let her control things because it was easier than standing up to her. But Adam. Adam had known better. Adam had seen through her lies and tried to stop her. It was Bartlett who had seen it, too, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t brave enough to follow Adam's lead.

"If I'd just…. If I'd just joined him." Bartlett's voice choked. "Maybe Joey would still be here, just like Alex. Alive." His hands were shaking again as he picked up the flask once more, downing the last of the whiskey in a desperate attempt to dull his guilt.

But it didn't work. It never worked.

And then there was Joey, his bright smile. His son had been full of life, just like Joshua. The kid was a talented gardener. Now Joey was gone, swallowed into the earth, another victim of those twisted rituals they were all complicit in. And Bartlett had done nothing to stop it.

“Goddammit!” he swore, slamming the empty flask into the ground beside him. "I... I have to find him. Maybe, just maybe I can save him.”

He reached for the shovel again using the wooden handle to help pull himself to his feet. His mind was racing with the hope that somehow if he could dig deep enough, he could pull Joey out of the ground that had swallowed him up.

Bartlett grunted as he plunged the shovel again, into the dirt. He dug like a man possessed, frantic in every move, trying to find something, anything, that would return Joey. The sweat dripping from his brow mingled with the tears streaming down his face as he dug deeper.

Maybe, just maybe, if he kept right at it, Joey would be saved.

But deep inside, Bartlett knew better. He knew no amount of digging would return Joey to him, any more than it could rewrite the choices he'd made or the cowardice that had kept him silent. The knowledge dug into him, twisting like a knife in his chest.

Yet, Bartlett persisted, it was all he had left.

At the office of Dr. Martin Fitch held the faint scent of antiseptic. What once had been a sterile room was now clotted with old equipment, broken instruments, and torn papers. In the middle of it all sat Dr. Fitch, hunched over his desk.

His fingers trembled as they outlined the edges of a worn, tattered photograph, a picture of Scarlett, his beloved daughter. The memory of her stared out at him with an innocent smile, a smile frozen in time. It was worn because he had held it, touched it, and begged it to forgive him. But no amount of staring at her photo, no amount of whispers to the dead, calling out her name could chase the guilt away that gnawed at his soul.

He had failed her. He had failed Scarlett.

His eyes welled with tears, and his lips moved silently, his voice hoarse from speaking for days to none but her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Scarlett. Daddy didn't mean to. I didn't mean to."

Fitch's hands shook as he reached for a scalpel left on the desk. It wasn't the first time he had used it. His hands, once so clean, were now scarred and bloody from all the cuts he had inflicted on his own body, an attempt at atonement. Each cut, each ritual, had been performed with the idea of appeasing, his guilt, and her.

He laid the scalpel down and His gaze wandered to the corner of the room, where Scarlett's doll sat, immobile and perfect, much like the daughter he had once held in his arms. The pale porcelain face was immaculate, its limbs stiff. He had fashioned the doll himself to preserve some part of her, some piece of what he'd lost.

"I'm trying, Scarlett," he sobbed. "I'm doing all I can.”

But no amount of pain, no amount of self-inflicted cutting, would bring her back. Nothing would. Nothing would clear him of the responsibility and guilt he carried for her death. Still, he could hear her laughter, echoing in his office, mocking him. He saw her every time he closed his eyes, her small hand reaching out for him, pleading for help he hadn't been able to give.

His eyes darted, from the doll to the pieces of paper that littered his desk, symbols, and sketched diagrams of rituals. He had searched through every book, every ancient text of the Order, in search of something, anything that could tell him how to atone, how to bring her back. Some ancient rite, some forgotten incantations that could reverse her fate.

He had nothing to show for it: nothing but bloodied hands.

Then, he sobbed, and Dr. Fitch slammed onto the desk, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Scarlett. I'm so sorry. I can't fix this. I. I can't fix anything." The words felt bitter on his tongue. He had been a doctor, a healer, and yet he could not heal that one person who had mattered most to him.

He barely ever left his office anymore barely acknowledged the existence of Shepherd's Glen or those people in it. All that mattered now was Scarlett, and finding some way to make amends.

Slowly, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. His gaze on the doll again, that eerie, lifeless figure haunting him. It was all he had left of her.
He reached for the scalpel again. "One more," he muttered. "One more offering. One more and maybe, Maybe I can make it right."

The edge of the blade pressed into his skin, and a line of blood welled up from the cut. A sharp pain shot through. Yet it was nothing compared to the agony in his heart.

As the blood fell to the floor, onto the papers and the candles around him, Fitch stared into the doll, his obsession, his grief, had swallowed him whole.

And still, a part of him continued to hope that with enough pain, enough sacrifice, he could somehow set things right and bring Scarlett back. But Dr. Fitch knew better than that. There could never be redemption for him, no forgiveness, and only endless guilt.

"I tried, Scarlett," he whispered. "I tried to make it painless, I swear."

He recalled that scene that night, with clarity. His hands, the cold instruments, Scarlett's innocent, trusting face, blind towards what loomed behind her daddy's smile. He'd told himself it would be quick. Painless. But truthfully, no matter how much care he had taken, no matter how much struggle he had done to convince himself that it was for her good, the good of Shepherd’s Glen, he knew he was a coward.

"Why. Why do I have to be such a coward?" he spat. "If I was stronger, if I was half the man Adam was, maybe I could've done something. Maybe I could've stopped her."

“Judge Holloway.” The name was like poison in his mouth. She had been the one behind all of this, the driving force that had twisted the town that had demanded the sacrifices. She had promised them that it was for the greater good that they were saving the town. And he, weak, spineless, broken, had listened to her. Had gone along with it.

Adam didn't.

Adam Shepherd had stood up to her. He'd seen through her lies and had questioned the Order and their rituals. He'd tried to stop her, even if it meant putting his life and his own family in peril. And where had Fitch been? Hiding behind his desk, cowering in his office, performing his sick, twisted rituals in the hope of appeasing some ancient, unseen force. He didn’t even have the guts to take on Holloway. Not the way Adam had face-to-face.

"Adam," he whispered. "I should have poisoned her and her stimulants. God knows I had enough narcotics in the clinic to do it.”

But he hadn't. He couldn't. Even poisoning her, would have been too brave for him. Too much of a risk. So, instead, he had done nothing. He had stood by and watched while Holloway twisted their town, their lives, and their children into some offering.

He was too big a coward to do even a coward's work. He hated himself. He hated the man he had become. He hated how he had cowered in the shadows while others, like Adam, had acted, and tried to make things right. Had tried to stop the madness.

"But I couldn't." he choked out. "I couldn't stop her. I couldn't stop any of it."

Scarlett's doll sat silently in the corner, staring at him with cold, hollow eyes. It was the only part of her that was left behind. And even that was a lie, a mockery of his daughter.

The guilt, the self-hate, his cowardice, it was just too much. He grasped his hair, pulling at it, trying to ground himself in the pain. He'd murdered his daughter. He'd sacrificed her like a lamb to the slaughter, and for what? To save the town? To appease Holloway and her Order? To follow some kind of twisted, ancient ritual that he barely understood?

No. It was because he'd been scared. Scared of Holloway. Scared of what would happen if he refused. Scared of the consequences.

"I… I deserve this," he whispered. "I deserve all of it."

No pain, no amount of rituals would ever wash away the decision he had made. The coward's decision.

"I'm sorry, Scarlett." he whispered, "I'm so, so sorry."

Now the fog was even thicker, clinging to him as he made his way down the streets of Shepherd's Glen. His mind still thinking of the encounter he'd had with Bartlett, the mayor's disjointed ramblings about his son Joey.

Joey was missing, just like Joshua.

Alex walked and thought to connect the dots in this growing web of disappearance and strange behavior. His younger brother Joshua had always been close with Joey, he remembered them playing together, laughing as kids, inseparable. Thick as thieves. And now both of them were gone.

Joshua, Joey. And now his mom and dad too.

His father, Adam Shepherd, had always been a distant man. Cold and stern, never a comforting presence, never somebody who could offer him some much-needed guidance, not even after Alex came home from the war. And yet, there were a time flickering moments when he felt he saw something else in his father's eyes, something like respect.

But now even Adam was gone, vanished into thin air like Joshua. His mom had vanished too she had left her house empty of her voice and full of the echoes of silence.

He walked, his fists clenched, frustration rising in him. He had gone off to fight a war to finally be the man his father had always expected him to be, and now it was all unraveling. The town, his family, it was all slipping through his fingers.

Maybe if he had stayed, if he hadn't left, things could have been different. Maybe Joshua would still be here. Maybe Adam would have opened up.

Alex shook his head. He couldn't go back in time. He had to focus on the here and now, the present, on finding answers, on finding Joshua.

And now, on finding Elle.

Finally, he arrived at her home, Judge Holloway's house. Alex stood for a moment, standing in the entryway. Judge Holloway had never been fond of him, always looked down on him, even before the war. And since he'd come back, it seemed her disapproval had only deepened. He could see it in the cold, calculating look in her eye, how she spoke to him, as though he were an outsider, someone not worthy of Shepherd's Glen.

But Elle. Elle had been the only one who had been different. Even now, after all these years, the bond between them remains intact. She was his childhood friend, a confidante, and in some ways, his anchor. He knew he had to see her, to know she was all right, and just maybe she'd be able to help him find his way.

He raised his hand to knock but paused, his thoughts drifting back to Bartlett. The way the mayor had spoken. What had he said? Something about Adam's bravery. About how if he'd been stronger, Joey might still be alive.

“What had Adam been doing? What had he been brave enough to fight?”

Alex's tried to connect the dots. His father had always been tight-lipped, and always seemed to carry some burden Alex couldn't quite grasp. And now Bartlett's words added only mystery, “Had Adam been a part of something deeper? Something to do with disappearances? With Joshua's disappearance?”

He shook his head, pushing the questions away. That was for later. Now, he needed to focus on Elle.

Finally, he knocked, louder than he had anticipated, and Alex felt his stomach knot in anxiety.

He heard the sound of movement from inside after what seemed to be a very long time. There were cautious but steady footsteps approaching the door. It creaked open enough to allow Elle to peer through the gap, as the knob turned, her face was one of relief and confusion when she saw him.

She stood in the doorway, groggy but awake, her eyes narrowing down in concern as she took Alex standing there in. She still clutched a bowl of popcorn, and that buzzing sound in the air seemed to come from a generator. Her living room behind her was somewhat lit.

"Alex," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing here? It's-" She stopped to glance at a clock, "the middle of the night. What's going on?"

Alex shifted on his feet/ "Elle, something's happening out here. The town. It’s changing."

Elle raised an eyebrow at this "What do you mean, 'changing'? You look like hell." She waved her hand in the general direction of the dirt caked on his clothes.

"I was attacked," Alex said keeping his voice in a low steady tone. "Some dog-no, something that looked like a dog. It wasn't right, Elle. It was twisted, like something out of a nightmare and it’s not just the dog. The fog, it's wrong. It's like the town's shifting into something else."

Elle stared at him a moment, "You're serious?" She set the bowl of popcorn down on a nearby table and crossed her arms. "I mean, yeah, the blackout's weird, and I've seen some strange things, but…. You’re saying the whole town is-what, cursed? Haunted?"

Alex shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but I have never seen anything like it. I ran into Mayor Bartlett again at the cemetery. He was digging, talking to himself. He mentioned Joey."

In an instant, Elle's expression changed; her concern deepened further. "Joey's missing?”

"Yeah, and Bartlett's losing it. He's obsessed with finding Joey, like digging in that graveyard is going to somehow make everything all right again. But he just wouldn't listen. Something's wrong, Elle. It's not just Joshua, it's more than that."

Elle sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "I knew this blackout wasn't just a coincidence." She glanced back at the TV, the screen from ‘Alien’ paused there. "This whole town's been off for a while. I thought maybe it was just me being paranoid or, I don't know, the stress of everything going on. My mom's been even more controlling than usual. She won't talk about the missing people. I know she's keeping something from me."

Alex looked at her, nodding. "Judge Holloway knows more than she's letting on. I overheard Bartlett say something about my dad as I was walking away. Something about how he stood up to her, how he tried to stop whatever was happening. I think my dad knew, Elle. He was fighting it."

She met his gaze. "If your dad was involved, then… this is bigger than we thought. If he was standing up to my mom, maybe he's why she's been acting so secretive?"

"I need to find Joshua, Elle. I need answers."

She pushed herself off the doorframe. "Then we'll figure it out together. If something is going on in this town, then we're not going to wait for anyone else to fix it." She looked over at the humming generator in the living room. "I've got power for now, and we can use it to map out where we need to go. But I'm not letting you wander off alone, not with whatever's out there."

Alex felt a wave of relief wash over him. Now he didn't have to face this alone. "Thanks, Elle. I knew I could count on you."

She gave him a small, tired smile. "Yeah, well, someone's got to keep you out of trouble." She paused, looking him over. "You're sure you're okay? After the dog, I mean."

He nodded. "I'm fine. Just shaken up."

"Great. Then let's figure out our next step." She stepped back, gesturing to him with her hand to step inside. "We'll have to be careful, though. If what you're saying is true, we're dealing with something a lot bigger than a blackout."

Chapter Text

Alex took a seat in the living room on the well-worn couch. The low hum of the generator was the only sound between the two as they took a seat. Alex began to rub the back of his neck as he tried to process everything happening in Shepherd’s Glen. Elle sat across from him, crossing her arms as she sat without saying anything.

Elle was the first one to break the silence between them. “Mom’s been acting weird for a while now.” She began. “Even since, well before people started going missing. She’s always been strict, but now it feels like she’s gotten worse. Like obsessed with control, over the town, over people, over everything.”

Alex frowned, as he thought about Judge Holloway. He’d always felt a certain tension from her, a coldness But he had always chalked it up to her disapproval of him. But now, as Elle spoke, he felt that it was more than that.

"How so?" he asked. "What do you mean, ‘obsessed with control’?"

Elle looked up to meet his eyes, and Alex could see the years of frustration and fear behind them. "She runs everything in Shepherd’s Glen, Alex. The council? The decisions? It’s all here. The others, Mayor Bartlett, and Dr. Fitch, do what she says, even if they don’t want to. She’s got them all wrapped around her finger."

Alex took a moment to think about it. Bartlett going mad in the cemetery, his son missing Joey, was it connected to Holloway? And Dr. Fitch, had become increasingly isolated, acting strange of late... how much of that was because of her influence?

"Do you think she’s involved with the disappearances?" Alex asked a hint of urgency in his voice.

Elle hesitated before nodding. "I don’t know for sure, Alex. She doesn’t talk about the missing people. Whenever I try and bring it up, she always changes the subject or tells me not to worry about it. But she’s hiding something. I can feel it."

Alex let out a loud exhale. His father had fought against something, Bartlett had mentioned it in passing during his digging. Could it have been against Judge Holloway’s control over the town? And if Adam had tried to resist, had it cost him his life? Was that why he had vanished at home?

"Why would she be doing this?" Alex asked, trying to wrap his mind around everything. "What does she have to gain from all this?"

Elle sighed and stood up. There she began pacing the room. "That’s the part I don’t understand. She’s always talked about Shepherd’s Glen like it’s some sacred place like it’s the most important thing in the world to her. But lately, it’s like she’s obsessed with keeping everything the same. Like she’s afraid of something changing."

Alex began to remember the stories his father had told him when he was younger, tales of the town’s history, of how the four founding families had made sacrifices to begin their lives in Shepherd’s Glen. It had always sounded like local folklore, as a way to explain the town’s odd traditions and strict hierarchy. But now, those stories seemed more like clues to something darker, something more real.

"What if she’s trying to keep control because she’s afraid of losing power?" Alex asked aloud. "If she’s manipulating the town’s leaders, maybe she’s afraid they’ll turn on her?"

Elle stopped pacing back and forth and turned to face him. "I don’t think it’s just about power, Alex.” She said with a serious expression. “It’s more than that. It’s like... she’s protecting something. Or hiding it. And whatever it is, she’s willing to do anything to keep it buried."

The word "buried" sent a chill down Alex as he thought of Mayor Bartlett. Him digging frantically back in the cemetery. What was he hoping to dig up? What had been buried beneath?

"Do you think... my dad knew about this?" Alex asked, quietly, as if he feared the answer.

Elle nodded, her expression softening. "I think he did. And I think that’s why he fought with her. He tried to stand up to whatever she was doing. But..." She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. Adam Shepherd had disappeared, just like the others.

Alex stood up. His father had tried to protect him from this, tried to fight against Holloway’s grip on the town, and now it was up to him to finish what Adam had started.

"Then We need to find out what she’s hiding," Alex said, "There has to be something, some kind of proof of what she’s been doing. If we can find it, we can stop her."

Elle looked at him. "You’re right, Alex. But we have to be careful. If mom’s as powerful as we think, she’s not going to give up so easily."

Alex nodded, already forming a plan. "We’ll need to start digging into the town’s history, into the founding families. There’s got to be something there."

Then Alex stood up. He looked at Elle, who was still sitting there, he couldn't shake the feeling creeping over him.

"What if it’s not just control she wants?" Alex muttered, more to himself than to Elle.

Elle glanced up at him. "What do you mean?"

Alex shifted, rubbing his arm as he chose his next words carefully. "Think about it, Elle. The founding families have always influenced Shepherd’s Glen, but what if Judge Holloway’s gone further than just running the town? What if she’s working with the cult, the Order, to keep people in line?"

Elle blinked, taken aback by the mere idea. "The Order?" she repeated with disbelief. "You think my mom’s involved with them?"

Alex began pacing the room just like Elle was, trying to put his suspicions into words. "It makes sense, doesn’t it? The way she controls everything, the way she’s kept people quiet about the disappearances... maybe it’s not just her being the Judge, but her using fear, using the cult, to keep people too scared to fight back."

Elle crossed her arms and leaned against the couch, considering it. "But the Order’s supposed to be in Silent Hill and that town’s been abandoned for years. I mean, that’s where all the stories came from, right? The cult, the rituals... it was never about Shepherd’s Glen."

Alex stopped and faced her, eyes filled with a realization. "That’s what we thought. But what if it was here all along, hidden in plain sight? What if she’s using it to solidify her control over the town?"

Elle tried to respond but stopped herself, clearly conflicted. She chewed on her lip for a moment, grappling with what Alex was saying. "You think Mom would go that far? That she’d use something like the Order to control people?"

Alex nodded. "It fits, doesn’t it? Bartlett’s losing it, and Fitch is doing God knows what... What if they’ve been manipulated by her, forced into making sacrifices, just like the old stories? The way she’s been so secretive, the way she deflects every time you try to talk about the missing people. It all points to something."

"My mom’s always been... intense. Controlling. But this? If she’s involved in something like that, then... we’re all in danger."

"That’s why we can’t let her keep running things. We need to find proof, something that connects her to the cult, something that shows what’s going on."

Elle looked at him, filled with both fear and determination. "If you're right, Alex, then we’re not just up against her. We’re up against something bigger, something I, I mean, we don’t understand."

"I know," Alex said grimly. "But we have no choice. We can’t just let her keep doing this."

Elle nodded slowly. "Alright. Then we need to find something, anything that can prove what she’s been doing. There has to be a way to expose her."

Alex exhaled. His suspicions that Judge Holloway had ties to something dark, something ancient and malevolent, were growing. It was no longer about finding just Joshua. The town was wrapped in lies, fear, and possibly… something supernatural.

They weren’t fighting against just one person, however. If she truly had the Order behind her, if she’d been using the cult to maintain a stranglehold on Shepherd’s Glen, then the danger was far more real than Alex had imagined. They were up against the whole system that Judge Holloway had created.

"We’re going to need to be careful," Elle said, standing up to pull her jacket tighter around her. "If my mom finds out we’re onto her…. I don’t think she’d hesitate to do whatever it took to protect herself."

Alex nodded. "We’ll be ready."

The old stories, the whispers about the Order. Everyone pretty much always dismissed them as rumors. But now, those rumors felt far more real and far more dangerous.

"What do we even know about the Order?" Elle asked. "We’ve heard the stories growing up, sure, but... what do they even believe in? What are they trying to do?"

Alex crossed his arms, as he tried recalling the bits and pieces of what he had heard growing up. "They worship something... some kind of god. A god that’s supposed to bring paradise into our world, or at least that’s what they believe. I never took it seriously, but... what if that’s what this is all about?"

"You think Mom’s using the town for some kind of ritual? That all of this, the disappearances, maybe deaths, are part of some plan to summon... whatever it is the Order worships?"

"It’s possible," Alex said. "I mean, think about it. The town’s been in decline for years. People disappearing, strange things happening, and now... What if this has been building up to something?”

Elle shook her head slowly. "But why? Why destroy the town? What does she get out of it?"

"Power. Maybe She thinks it’s the only way to keep control, by bringing about this 'paradise' the Order believes in. Maybe she thinks she’ll be rewarded for it, that she’ll be part of whatever world comes after."

"Or maybe," Elle said, filled with dread, "she believes in it. Maybe she thinks that this ‘paradise’ is real. That the town has to be sacrificed to make it happen."

Alex swallowed. The idea that Judge Holloway could be using Shepherd’s Glen, their home, in some ancient ritual made his skin crawl. If the Order’s influence did extend into their hometown, and if Holloway had embraced their beliefs, then they weren’t just dealing with corruption.

"I remember my dad mentioning something once," Alex said. "He didn’t talk about it much, but he said the founding families made some kind of pact. That they owed the town’s safety to it. Maybe... maybe it was a deal with the Order."

Elle’s eyes widened. "So if the pact’s broken, if the town’s destroyed, that might be the final step of whatever ritual she’s trying to complete."

"And if that’s true," Alex said. "Elle, we need to stop her before it’s too late."

"How the hell do we fight something like this, Alex? It’s not just one person, it’s a whole cult. It’s the town’s whole history, centuries of secrets, all adding up to whatever she’s trying to do now."

Alex felt those centuries press down on him. His father, Adam, had known. He had tried to fight against Holloway’s plan, and now it was up to Alex to finish what his father had started. But the question remained: how do you stop a ritual that had been in motion for generations, one rooted in ancient beliefs and blood?

"Then we find proof," Alex said finally. "We dig into the town’s past, into the founding families. There has to be something, some way to break the cycle. If we can expose her, if we can show the town what’s going on, we might be able to stop her before it’s too late."

Elle nodded, though she was burdened by doubt. "And if we can’t stop her?"

Alex hardened his gaze. "Then we fight. Fight her, fight the cult. Whatever she’s trying to bring here, whatever paradise she thinks she’s creating, we have to stop it. Even if it means destroying the town to save it."

The stakes had never been higher. Judge Holloway’s grip on Shepherd’s Glen wasn’t just about power or control anymore, it was about life and death. The town’s very soul was at risk, twisted by ancient beliefs and blood-soaked rituals.

"Do you think she believes it?" Elle asked quietly. "That this paradise is real?"

"If she’s willing to sacrifice the entire town to make it happen, she believes in it. And that makes her even more dangerous."

Holloway wasn’t just manipulating the town, she was preparing it for destruction, to fulfill some twisted vision of paradise. And unless they could find a way to stop her, everyone they knew, everything they cared about, would be lost forever.

"We start with the founding families, we’ll start with Bartlett. There has to be something there with him. A record, a clue, anything that can help us understand what’s going on." Alex stood help, helping Elle to her feet.

"Then let’s find him. Before it’s too late."

They left the house, stepping into the fog-covered streets.

Meanwhile, deep in Shepherd’s Glen…

Adam Shepherd leaned over a worn-out table in an old, abandoned building on the outskirts of town. An old map of Shepherd’s Glen lay in front of him, crumpled from use, marked with red circles and crosses and hastily drawn lines. His eyes were bloodshot. This wasn’t the town he’d grown up in, and it wasn’t the one he had tried to protect for so long. It was slipping away, piece by piece, into the hands of a monster disguised as a judge. His wife Lillian, asleep finally in the old office of the building, curled up in a sleeping bag.

James Sunderland, Adam’s brother-in-law, and Alex’s uncle stood across from him, arms crossed as he looked over the same map. James, unlike Adam, didn’t have the burden of leaving a family tied to Shepherd’s Glen, but his connection through Mary Shepherd, and his love for his nephews, made him just as invested in the conflict. His face was etched with frustration, the weight of the secrets Adam had told him hanging heavily over them.

“This goes deeper than we thought,” Adam muttered. "Holloway’s been setting this up for years, right under our noses. I should have seen it sooner. I should have acted sooner."

Deputy Wheeler leaned against the wall, shotgun resting in his lap. His usually sharp demeanor dimmed by the gravity of the situation they found themselves in. "We all should have, Adam. I always knew Holloway had too much control, but this? Manipulating the town, playing everyone against each other. Hell, I didn’t expect she’d pull strings this far."

James sighed, stepping forward to look more closely at the map Adam had laid out. “You were doing what you thought was best, Adam. No one saw how deep her influence ran. Now, though, we need to focus on what’s next. How do we stop her?”

Adam shook his head. “I don’t know, James. She’s got the whole town under her thumb. The Order, the founding families, they’re tied to her, whether they wanted to be or not. And with Bartlett and Fitch... I don't even know if they have the strength of will to resist her anymore."

James frowned, rubbing his chin. "The Order. You’ve talked about them before. Do you think she’s using them? For power, and control, what if it’s more than just manipulating people? What if she’s trying to bring back... whatever it is they worship? You know the rumors.”

Adam glanced back at him, his expression was unreadable to James. “She’s not just using them for control. She leads the Order. I think she believes in it. The old stories, the rituals... I’ve been looking into it more. The pact the founding families made wasn’t just to keep the town safe. It was to keep it connected to some things that require sacrifices. Holloway sees herself as the one who’ll finish it.”

Wheeler’s eyes widened. “Adam, you’re saying she’s trying to complete some kind of ritual? That she thinks she can bring this... 'god' of theirs into our world?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Wheeler,” Adam replied, keeping his voice low and cold. “And she’s willing to destroy Shepherd’s Glen to do it.”

The room fell into a heavy silence.

“Then we stop her. Whatever it takes.” James said.

Adam nodded. “I’ve been fighting her for years, trying to hold this town together. I thought if I just kept my head down, and played my part, I could protect Alex... and Joshua. But that wasn’t enough. She and the Order are stronger than I realized. And now, Joshua’s gone, and I... I don’t know if I can bring him back.”

James placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. "We’ll get him back, Adam. We’ll stop Holloway. But we need to be smart about this. She’s got too many people on her side, and we can’t take her head-on. Not yet anyways."

Wheeler also spoke up. "If we can figure out how she’s controlling the town, maybe we can cut off her influence. Go Get to the people who are still on the fence and convince them to stand against her with us. But we need evidence, something to expose her."

Adam sighed before responding. “The Order’s rituals, the sacrifices... there has to be a way to prove it, to show the town what she’s doing.”

James nodded. “But we have to be careful. If she catches us working against her, she’d probably come down hard on us. And we don’t know how far her reach goes. For all we know, she could have people watching us right now.”

Wheeler straightened. “We’ll need to move quietly. No mistakes.”

Adam exhaled, his gaze returned to the map. His thoughts drifted back to Alex, who was out there somewhere, likely piecing together the same. He had tried to keep his son out of this mess, tried to protect him from the horrors. But Alex was a soldier now, and he had been drawn into the fight whether Adam liked it or not.

“Alex... he’s stronger than I gave him credit for,” Adam said. “I just hope he’s ready for what’s coming.”

James exchanged a glance with Wheeler. “He’ll be ready, Adam. He’s tougher than you give him credit for. He’s a Shepherd. He’s your son.”

Adam nodded, though the worry remained. “I know. I know. But we’ve all seen what this town can do to people. Holloway... she’s going to throw everything she has at us. And if we don’t stop her soon, it’ll be too late.”

The room went silent again as they all thought about their situation. They were up against an ancient force, a cult. Holloway wasn’t just a tyrant, she was something far worse. And unless they could stop her…

James stepped forward. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, Adam. But we’ve faced worse before.”

Adam gave a grim smile. “Yeah. We have. But this... this might be the hardest fight we’ve ever had.”

Wheeler got up to his feet. “Then we’d better get started.”

Together, the three men began planning their next move. They knew that time was running out. Holloway’s power was growing, and the cult was closing in on them. But Adam, James, and Wheeler were determined to fight back, no matter the cost. As they prepared, Adam couldn’t help but think of Alex, hoping his son would be ready for whatever lay ahead for them.

As the night moved on, Adam Shepherd, James Sunderland, and Deputy Wheeler found themselves, frustrated. They had been knocking on doors, speaking in hushed tones to the few families that Adam believed might stand with them against Judge Holloway. The results, however, had been disappointing, to say the least.

"That’s the third house that’s turned us away," Wheeler muttered. "It’s not that they don’t want to fight back, they’re just too scared. Holloway’s got them, and no one’s willing to risk their lives or their families."

Adam let out a deep breath, rubbing his temples. The stress was beginning to catch up to him. "I know. I don’t blame them. Holloway built fear around her for years. No one wants to step out of line, and the few that did... they disappeared.”

"The last family we visited,” James added “They didn’t even open the door. I saw the curtains by the door shift, but they refused to answer. Something’s wrong, Adam.”

Adam nodded grimly. "The Hendersons. They’ve been close to the Holloways for years. But they’ve been... quiet of late. I thought if anyone would be willing to listen, it would be them. Now, I’m not sure if they’re frightened or if they’re just... gone."

"Gone? What do you mean?" Wheeler asked.

Adam lowered his voice. "I had a feeling some of the families in Shepherd’s Glen aren’t missing just because they’re hiding. Holloway has been cleaning the house. Anyone who stood in her way, or who just might... she gets rid of them. Quietly. The Hendersons might be the latest in a long line of disappearances."

"She’s covering her tracks then.” James angrily muttered to himself. “Getting rid of any threats before they can turn against her. We should’ve seen this coming."

Adam exhaled. "We’re running out of time. I thought more people would stand with us. But I guess the truth is, Holloway’s grip on this town is tighter than I realized. The families aren’t just afraid of what might happen, they’re afraid because they know what’s coming."

"Or they’re being forced to help," Wheeler said. "She could be using them, just like she’s been using the cult. Anyone who doesn’t comply... well, only God knows what happens to them."

James nodded. "So where do we go from here, Adam? If families are either missing or too terrified to help, how do we take Holloway down?"
Adam was silent for a long moment, eyes focused on the map. His mind was racing with the past, of old alliances, broken trust, and secrets that he had tried to keep hidden for so long. Now, it felt like everything was coming back to haunt him.

"We can’t do this alone," Adam said finally. "We need to expose her. If we can show the town what she’s doing, that if we can just prove that she’s manipulating the Order, that she’s sacrificing the town for her twisted rituals, then maybe we can turn the tide."

Wheeler shook his head. "And how do you plan to do that, Adam? We’ve been trying to gather evidence, but so far we’ve got nothing. Just lots of rumors and stories."

"There’s one place we haven’t checked yet," Adam said eyes narrowing as the idea took shape in his mind. "The Hall of Records. It’s where the founding families kept all their documents, their agreements, and the original pact with the Order. If there’s proof that Holloway’s been manipulating the town, it’ll be there."

James raised an eyebrow. "You think she hasn’t already cleaned it out? If she’s as thorough as we think she is, she might’ve already destroyed any evidence linking her to the Order."

"It’s possible," Adam admitted. "But it’s the only lead we have left.”

"Then we head to the Hall of Records. Tonight. Before Holloway realizes what we’re up to." Wheeler said, straightening himself up.

Adam nodded, "We’ll need to move quickly. The longer we wait, the more dangerous this is going to get. Holloway’s not going to sit idly by while we dig into the town’s past."

Holloway’s reach seemed to extend everywhere, her influence corrupting everything it touched.

James glanced at Adam as they walked. "You think we can stop her? After everything she’s done?"

Adam was unwavering. "We have to. For Mary. For Alex. For Joshua. For everyone who’s been caught in her web."

They quickly moved through the town, keeping to the shadows as they made their way to the Hall of Records. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional creak or the wind through the trees.

As they approached the Hall, Wheeler stopped, looking over his shoulder. "Something’s off. You feel that?"

James tensed "We’re being watched."

Adam scanned the streets, his hand moving to the handgun he holstered. "Holloway’s eyes are everywhere. Stay sharp."

They slipped inside the Hall of Records, The building hadn’t been used in years, and it was clear that no one had maintained it. Papers were strewn about, and old ledgers sat forgotten on shelves.

"This place gives me the creeps," Wheeler muttered as he pulled out a flashlight.

"Keep looking," Adam ordered. "There has to be something here that connects Holloway to the Order."

They began sifting through the old documents. The town’s future, and possibly their own lives, depended on what they found hidden in these forgotten records.

Adam stood silently, staring at the rows of documents. Wheeler and James sifted through the old files, their hushed voices in the background. But Adam’s mind wasn’t on the papers or even on the evidence they so desperately wanted. His thoughts were on Alex, his son, a soldier.

It had all come down to this. Holloway had tightened her grip on the town, and his attempts to fight back had hit a wall. Now, he was running out of options, running out of time. And Alex... his son, his only hope, had returned just when Shepherd’s Glen was on the edge.

Adam’s chest tightened. He had tried to protect Alex from all of this of course. From the town’s dark legacy. From the truth behind the founding families and the cursed pact, they had all made. But now, there was no more shielding him. Alex had already been pulled into it all, and soon enough he would learn everything, from the cult, and the sacrifices, to the real reason Joshua was gone.

Adam couldn’t delay it any longer. He knew what he had to do.

“Either I recruit him into this rebellion against Holloway”, Adam thought, “or I pray to God he escapes this cursed town while he still can.”

But deep down, of course, Adam knew there was no escape. Not for him. Not for Alex. Not for anyone who joined him in his rebellion. The pact wouldn’t let him go until it had taken everything from them.

He could hope that Alex would find some way to get out, find some crack in the town, but Adam knew the truth. This town had a hold on them. The Order, Holloway, and the pact, it was all connected. The only way to break free was to stop Holloway and dismantle the system she had built.

Adam clenched his fists as his resolve hardened. He had spent too many years running from his responsibilities as a Shepherd. He had tried to hide Alex from the truth, hoping to keep him safe. But Alex was stronger than that. He was a soldier now. A survivor. And Adam realized he couldn’t do this without him. The rebellion against Holloway was crumbling before it truly began. The other families were either too terrified or already taken. If there was one person left in this town who could help him fight back now, it was Alex.

But what would Alex even say? Would he follow Adam into battle? After all the lies, the secrets he had kept from him? And if Adam brought Alex into the fight, would he ever forgive him once he learned the truth about his brother Joshua? About the founding families, about the ritual that had cursed their town?

Adam shook his head. He didn’t have the luxury of time anymore. Holloway was just too powerful. Her grip on power was too tight. If they were going to stop her, it had to be now or never.

“Adam?” James’ voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back. “You find anything?”

Adam blinked and refocused his attention on the room and the mission. “Not yet, James. But we need to keep looking. If we don’t find something soon, it won’t matter what we know, Holloway will have already won.”

James nodded, but his eyes narrowed as he studied his brother-in-law. “You’re thinking about Alex? Aren’t you”

Adam hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah. I don’t have a choice anymore, James. I’ve been trying to protect him, from all of this, keep him out of this mess... but we can’t do it alone. I need him now.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s the right call? You know what bringing him in means. He’s going to find out everything.”

“I know,” Adam said. “But I don’t have a choice. Either I bring him into the fight now, or we all lose. Holloway’s not just going to stop at controlling the town, she’s going to bring something far worse. And if we don’t stop her...”

“You’re betting a lot on Alex,” James said carefully. “You think he’s ready for this? It’s one thing to be a soldier. It’s another to face your family, and the town you grew up in.”

Adam looked away. “He’s ready. He has to be.”

James didn’t press the issue. He knew Adam was right. If they didn’t recruit Alex now, they might not have a chance later. Holloway’s power was growing, and the longer they waited, the more dangerous she became.

Adam exhaled and pushed away from the table, walking over to the door. “Let’s finish up here. I need to go find Alex before Holloway does.”

His heart pounded with the decision he had just made. Whether or not Alex was ready didn’t matter anymore. He needed his son to join him in the fight. Because if they didn’t stop Holloway now, Shepherd’s Glen and everyone in it would be lost forever.

Chapter Text

The fog hung thick around Shepherd’s Glen, the silence only broken by the sound of footsteps as Alex and Elle walked side by side. It was late that night, but neither of them could sleep. Too much weighed on their minds. For Alex, he was burdened by the past, by Joshua.

Elle walked slightly ahead of him, her flashlight cutting a thin line through the night’s mist. She hadn’t said much since they left her house, but her presence was a small comfort for Alex. He kept close, his mind drifting back to when he and Joshua used to walk these same streets. For Elle, her sister Nora was the most important person she needed to find too.

“Joshua.”

The name echoed in his head, he was always there. His little brother is gone. Missing. Was it His fault? He hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not to Elle, not even to himself fully. But the ache in his chest said otherwise. As the older brother, his job was to protect Joshua, and he had failed. How could he think of protecting anyone now, even Elle?

“You're quiet," Elle’s voice. She stopped and turned toward him. "What’s on your mind, Alex?"

For a moment, Alex wanted to lie to her. He could say something about the town, Holloway, or the danger around them, but the truth pressed hard, and before he could stop himself, it slipped out.

“Joshua,” he said.

Elle’s expression softened. She took a step closer, hand hovering near his arm. She was uncertain whether to offer comfort or give him space. “Still nothing?”

Alex shook his head. "No. And I... I keep thinking I could have, should’ve had more. I was his older brother. I was supposed to look after him you know?"

Elle’s hand finally rested on his shoulder. “Alex... You did everything you could. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”

He wanted to believe her, and he did. But the guilt inside him had been growing for a while now, long before the town started twisting into this nightmare. "I wasn’t there for Joshua like I should’ve been. I wasn’t around. I... I don’t even know how to protect you now."

"You don’t have to protect me.” She said, keeping her voice firm but soft. “We’re in this together, okay Alex? You don’t do this all by yourself."

She was stronger than he gave her credit for. And yet, every time he looked at her, he saw Joshua in the corners of his mind, the brother he couldn’t find. He was terrified that would repeat.

"I don’t want to lose you too," Alex whispered.

"You won’t, Alex." Elle replied "I’m not going anywhere. We’ll find Joshua and Nora together, and we’ll get through this."

Her confidence stirred something in Alex. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t alone. Elle wasn’t just someone he needed to protect, she was someone who could stand by his side too. He still felt guilty over Joshua, but Elle was here now, offering him a hand.

"Thanks," he said.

Elle smiled. "Come on," she said. "We’ve got a long road ahead. Let’s keep moving."

They continued walking, Alex couldn't shake the thought that Elle was more understanding than he thought. She was a reminder of both failure and hope. So maybe that’s why he couldn’t let her go. He needed her help on this, even if he didn’t realize it fully yet. And he would keep her safe, no matter what.

Even if he couldn’t save his brother Joshua, he wouldn’t fail her too.

Not again. Never again.

As Alex and Elle walked side by side, there was tension between them. It wasn’t born of out danger as they walked through the fog, but from something deeper, something neither had yet put into words. The two of them felt it for a long time for as long as they could remember despite Margaret Holloway’s disapproval.

Alex could feel it, beneath their every conversation. Every glance they exchanged, and the ones they gave when they knew the other wasn’t looking. It wasn’t just the fog that was heavy, it was everything they hadn’t said to each other. His guilt, her inner strength, and the connection that had always been there between them. It had only grown stronger since they reunited now that Alex was back from the war. And now, with the town falling apart around them, it was only a matter of time before they were forced to confront it.

They walked in silence for a while. Alex kept catching glimpses of Elle out of the corner of his eye, the way she looked at him to the way she bit her lip as if in thought. She was thinking about something, maybe about him, maybe about something else. Or perhaps she was just as lost in the chaos, trying to make sense of everything as he was.

“Elle,” Alex started, but the words found themselves stuck in his throat. What was he even going to say to her? What could he say to her?

Elle glanced back at him, waiting for a response. “Yeah, Alex?”

“I... I’ve been thinking,” he muttered, unsure of where to even begin. The guilt he felt over Joshua was one thing, but there was another thing inside of him, something about Elle herself. She had been more understanding than he’d expected, more forgiving for him leaving without a word as he joined the army. And that scared him, in a way. She deserved better than that. He wasn’t sure if he could offer her what she wanted.

Elle stopped and turned to face him. “About what, Alex?”

He hesitated. “About us. About... everything.”

That was it, an unspoken bond between them. It had always been there, even when they were kids. But now, this time it was different. It kept growing into something neither of them could ignore. But they hadn’t quite figured out how to acknowledge it yet how to even begin talking about it. Maybe it was the chaos taking over the town, or maybe it was the fact that they were both scared, scared of losing each other, scared of the monsters, scared of what would come next for them.

Elle’s eyes softened, and for a moment, everything, from the fog and the madness going on in the town began to fade away into the background. It was just the two of them now, standing in the middle of some abandoned street, trying to navigate everything unsaid between them.

“Alex, you don’t have to do this alone,” she said quietly. “You’ve been carrying so much. I know you blame yourself for what happened to your brother, Joshua, but... I’m here too for you. I’ve always been here.”

Alex who was unable to meet his friend’s gaze, looked down, unsure of what to do or say next. “I don’t want to drag you into this, Elle. You’ve already lost so much. Remember, Nora?”

She stepped closer. “And so have you. But you don’t need to push me away. We’re in this together, Alex, remember?”

Elle’s words hit Alex hard. She wasn’t just someone from his past, she was here in the now, standing right beside him, ready to face whatever came next. But still, the fear of him failing again. What if he couldn’t protect her? What if, like Joshua, he let her slip away too?

“I’m just... I don’t want to let you down, Elle.” Alex admitted.

Elle reached for a handout and placed it gently on his arm. “You haven’t let me down yet, Alex. You’re here, and that’s what matters.”

There was a silence that followed. It felt heavy with emotion, but it wasn’t uncomfortable between the two of them. It was the kind of silence that spoke louder than any words they could even think of saying. It was the kind that said everything for them when they hadn’t yet found the courage to say anything. There was an unspoken promise between the two. Something far deeper than just friendship or just a shared history. It was a bond forged by everything they had been through together, and everything they were still going to face.

Alex finally looked up. “Thank you, Elle. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She smiled softly, and Alex felt a flicker of hope. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she repeated “We’ll find Joshua, we’ll find Nora. And we’ll figure out what’s going on in this town, and we’ll face it together. The two of us.”

Without another word, they continued walking, side by side. But in that moment, there was something between them, something unspoken yet undeniable. They didn’t need to say it out loud. Now was not the time. Not yet anyway.

They both knew it was there.

The calm that had settled between them shattered when they heard the first growl in the distance. Both Alex and Elle froze, heads snapping towards the sound, the fog concealing whatever nightmare lurked within.

“Did you hear that?” Elle whispered, gripping Alex’s arm instinctively.

Alex’s hand went to his combat knife, a habit he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to. His instincts from his time in the army kicked in, and his body tensed. He was ready. “Yeah. Stay close.”

It was as though the fog itself was playing tricks on them, making it hard to see. Shapes shifted, and shadows loomed over, yet nothing was certain. Another growl rumbled from somewhere ahead. And then, they saw movement, something creeping, crawling in the distance.

“Alex…” Elle’s voice was tight with fear as she pointed.

Alex could barely make out the figure. Something was out there, and it certainly wasn’t human. The thing moved like a marionette, limbs jerking in unnatural ways. The pale misshapen body slithered and twisted in the fog, dragging itself toward them.

“Run!” Alex ordered, pulling Elle with him.

The two of them bolted. Alex didn’t dare look back, he didn’t need to. The sound alone was enough to know the creature, or whatever it was, was gaining on them.

Alex scanned the area, looking for an escape, but it was the mist swallowed everything on the streets. His heart pounded in his chest.

“This way!” Elle shouted, pointing toward an alleyway between two buildings.

The two of them quickly darted into the narrow passage, their breaths heavy as they weaved through debris and jumped over trash cans. The growls were still behind them, closer and closer now. Alex could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Whatever was chasing them wasn’t going to stop.

Ahead, a large chain link fence cut off their path.

“No!” Elle gasped, slamming into the fence. “What do we do?”

Alex glanced back, tightening his grip on his knife. The monster was almost right behind them. There wasn’t enough time to climb over the fence, not with those things closing in. He couldn’t let Elle get caught by them. Not after everything.

“I’ll hold them off,” Alex said, stepping in front of her, knife raised in the air.

Elle’s eyes widened. “No, Alex, we need to stick together-”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Before Elle could argue with him, the creatures emerged from the fog. Two of them, limbs unnaturally long, heads cocked at odd angles. They moved in an erratic, jerking fashion, dragging their claws across the concrete.

Alex gritted his teeth and foolhardily charged forward, knife raised. He wasn’t about to let these monsters touch Elle.

The first creature lunged at him, its jaw snapping open in a shriek. Alex ducked, slashing his knife across its chest. The thing recoiled, black liquid spilling from the wound. But it didn’t stop. The second one was already closing in, its long arms reaching out for him.

“Alex!” Elle shouted her voice filled with fear.

Alex spun around, barely dodging the second creature. The sharp claws scraped across his jacket, just missing his skin. Alex plunged his knife into the thing’s arm, but it only slowed it down. They were stronger than he expected, more relentless. He knew he couldn’t keep this up forever.

The creatures shrieked again, and one of them leaped toward him.

“Alex, move!” Elle shouted.

At the last second, Alex rolled to the side, and the creature slammed its claws into the concrete where he’d just been standing. He scrambled quickly to his feet. He had to end this and end it fast. He couldn’t let them corner him or Elle.

The first creature lunged forward again, and Alex sidestepped, slashing at its legs, bringing it down. But the second one was already behind him, its claws slicing towards him.

A loud clang echoed through the alley. The creature staggered as a metal pipe hit it square in the head, sending it crashing to the ground. Alex turned only to see Elle holding the pipe, her face pale but determined.

“Elle!” Alex shouted in relief.

“Come on!” she yelled, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the fence.

The creatures writhed on the ground behind them, they weren’t dead yet. Elle tossed the pipe aside and scrambled up the fence. Alex followed closely behind, his adrenaline pushing him to move faster than he thought possible. His boots hit the ground on the other side just as the creatures started to rise again.

“We’ve got to go!” Elle urged, grabbing his hand.

They continued running again, leaving the alley and the monsters behind.

The two didn’t stop until they were sure they were safe. The both of them leaned against the brick wall of some abandoned building, gasping for breath. The creatures were gone. For now.

Alex looked at Elle, his heart still pounding. “Thank you. You… saved my life.”

Elle wiped the sweat from her brow. “I wasn’t going to let those things get you.”

There was a moment of silence between them. And in that silence, Alex felt the bond between them strengthen, unspoken, and yet it was undeniable.

“We need to figure out what’s happening,” Elle said softly. “This town… it’s falling apart.”

Alex nodded. There was something more going on here, something bigger than just the fog and the monsters. And he was starting to believe it had something to do with Holloway and with the Order.

The fog never seemed to give way as Alex and Elle made their way through the dilapidated streets. After what felt like hours of running, they finally reached the rusted gates of Curtis Ackers’ junkyard. The metal was old and weathered, just like everything else in Shepherd’s Glen. The yard itself was a graveyard of broken machines and abandoned cars. Curtis was a quiet man, a tinkerer. He could fix anything you gave him that was mechanical. He got his start from his own father’s scrapyard before joining the Air Force as a mechanic. He took over the scrapyard as soon as he returned home to Shepherd’s Glen.

“Curtis always gave me the creeps,” Elle muttered under her breath. She glanced at Alex, but his face was set in stone, focused and unreadable. Whatever guilt or fear he was feeling, he was hiding it well.

Alex pushed open the gate and the two of them stepped inside the yard. Their nostrils were immediately hit by the scent of oil and rust. Piles of scrap metal, disassembled cars, and discarded tools were scattered everywhere. It made the place feel like an industrial wasteland. Curtis was easy to find, hunched over a piece of machinery at the back of the yard, his eyes hidden behind thick and grimy goggles.

“Curtis,” Elle called out.

Curtis turned slowly and wiped his hands on a grease-stained rag before looking them up and down with an amused grin. “Well, well, well… look who’s dropping by. The Shepherd boy and Judge Holloway’s daughter.”

Alex let out a sigh at the mention of Elle’s mother, and he instinctively took a step forward. “We’re just passing through, Curtis. We needed a place to catch our breath.”

Curtis chuckled, widening his grin as he pulled his goggles off. He revealed sharp, almost predatory eyes. “I’d say you’ve got bigger problems than catching your breath, Shepherd. Strange things happening in Shepherd’s Glen, ain’t they?”

“Understatement of the year,” Elle muttered. “We don’t have time for this, Curtis.”

“Relax,” Curtis retorted, leaning back against a pile of scrap. “You’re safe here… for now. No monsters in my yard. Not yet, anyway.”

Alex crossed his arms, his patience wearing thin. “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary, Curtis? Anything that could help us?”

Curtis raised an eyebrow, the grin on his face fading as he looked over Alex and Elle. “Out of the ordinary? Son, this whole town’s been out of the ordinary since before you left for that war of yours. But if you’re asking if I’ve seen things worse than usual… well, let’s just say I’ve noticed people disappearing. Families are up and leaving in the middle of the night. Others who, well, let’s just say they didn’t leave voluntarily.”

Elle’s expression darkened. “Disappearing? Who?”

Curtis shrugged, then he turned back to the piece of machinery he’d been working on. “Whoever Holloway doesn’t trust, I’d reckon. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Elle?”

Elle flinched, yet she held her ground. “We don’t have time for your games, Curtis. We need to keep moving.”

Curtis nodded, then turned his attention back over to Alex. “I’d watch your back, Shepherd. This town’s got a way of chewing people up and spitting ‘em out, especially when they don’t know who their real enemies are.”

Alex didn’t reply. He turned to leave, but not before shooting Curtis a warning look. “Stay out of our way, Curtis.”

The old mechanic only chuckled under his breath. “I’d worry less about me, and more about who’s coming after you.”

Without another word, Alex and Elle left the yard, pushing through the gate and stepping back into Shepherd’s Glen. Curtis watched them go, his smile long gone. As soon as they were out of sight, he pulled a small, walkie-talkie from his pocket.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he muttered into the receiver. “Alex Shepherd and Elle Holloway just left my yard. They’re together.”

He paused, listening to the response from the other side.

“No, I didn’t say anything or let them in on too much. But you’d better move fast. They’re headed toward the west side of town.”

Curtis tucked the walkie-talkie back into his jacket, casting one last glance toward the fog before returning to his work.

Chapter Text

The hospital that Elle Holloway and Alex Shepherd stepped into was eerily quiet. It was the kind of silence that put Alex, a soldier used to the most brutal of environments, on edge. The smell of antiseptics mixed with rot and decay like the hospital was slowly dying. He and Elle moved through the hall cautiously, weary of any other creatures that may be waiting for them.

They knew this was where they could find Dr. Martin Fitch, one of the heads of the town’s founding families. His office was once one of medical help for the citizens of Shepherd’s Glen. But in the state of things, it had become a tomb.

“Are you sure this is where he is?” Elle asked. She glanced around nervously as if expecting one of the creatures they’d encountered earlier to attack at any moment.

“Yeah,” Alex said, his grip tightening on the knife. “This is the last place anyone saw Fitch. If he’s still alive, he’s probably in here.”

Elle didn’t respond, but the look on her face said enough. She didn’t want to be here, and neither did Alex, but they didn’t have a choice. If Dr. Fitch had answers, they desperately needed them.

They reached Dr. Fitch’s office door, a nameplate barely visible under a layer of dust. Alex hesitated for a moment, then they pushed the door open.

The sight inside was worse than either of them had expected.

Dr. Fitch was kneeling in the center of the room, surrounded by bloodstained medical tools and old dolls. All were scattered across the floor. His hands, covered in fresh cuts, trembled as he clutched a surgical scalpel. The man was a mere shadow of his former self, his once clean white coat was now stained with the color of blood, his own. His eyes, bloodshot, stared down at the dismembered doll in front of him as if it were his daughter.

“Scarlett…” he whispered, shaking with sorrow. “Daddy’s sorry. So… so sorry…”

“Dr. Fitch!” Alex called out desperately to him. “Stop! You don’t have to do this.”

But Fitch didn’t seem to hear Alex. He was too far gone, consumed by guilt that had been eating away at him. His hands trembled as he drew the blade closer to his chest, and then he carved another deep cut into his skin. It was a self-inflicted punishment, a desperate attempt to atone for the sins he had made, the sacrifice of his daughter.

Elle’s voice shook. “You… you sacrificed her, Fitch, didn’t you? To the cult.”

Dr. Fitch snapped up, terrified, as if he had only just realized the two of them were standing there. He looked up at Alex and Elle, trembling as he spoke.

“I… I had to,” Fitch stammered, his voice breaking. “She was… she was innocent, but it had to be done. The… the pact. The gods of Silent Hill demanded it. But I tried to make it quick and painless. I tried to make it quick, for her. I swear, I didn’t want to hurt my baby!”

Alex stepped forward, angrily. “You didn’t have to do it! You could’ve stopped them, Fitch! You could’ve fought back.”

Fitch shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “I’m a coward! I couldn’t stop Holloway. She controls everything and everyone in Shepherd’s Glen. I couldn’t… I couldn’t save her. My poor little Scarlett…”

Elle stepped forward utterly disgusted by Fitch. “Your daughter didn’t deserve this.”

At that moment, a loud crash echoed from the hallway behind them. Alex and Elle spun around, raising their weapons, Alex his knife, and Elle her metal pipe. The air grew colder, and the dim hospital lights flickered.

Alex looked back to Fitch just as the ground beneath them began to shake. He grabbed Elle by the arm, pulling her back as a gaping hole tore open in the center of the room, the floor collapsing.

Dr. Fitch remained on his knees, unmoved by the destruction moving all around him. He was too far gone as a man. His own eyes remained fixed on the doll in front of him, oblivious to the dark figure that was now emerging from the gaping hole in the ground.

The creature was a nightmarish reflection of Scarlett Fitch, a twisted, monstrous version of the daughter Fitch had sacrificed and loved. Its body was unnaturally elongated, and its face, though porcelain-like, was cracked and broken, eyes void of any humanity. The creature loomed over Fitch, its jagged, bloodstained fingers reaching towards him.

“Scarlett…” Fitch whispered. “I’m sorry… Daddy’s so sorry…”

The creature lashed out, and in a swift, brutal motion, broke Dr. Fitch’s neck and callously tossed him to the side.

“Run!” Alex yelled, grabbing Elle’s hand and bolting for the door.

The two of them barely made it out of the office before the creature’s jagged limbs smashed through the door. Alex pulled Elle down the hallway, weaving through the halls of the hospital as the monster followed close behind. Its screeches echoed off the walls, and every step it took shook the building.

Alex and Elle burst into a large room, the hospital’s old theater, desperate for a safe place to hide. But there was no escape for the two of them. The doors slammed shut behind them, trapping them inside with the creature.

Alex spun around, raising his knife. “We’re going to have to fight it.” He said to Elle.

Elle nodded. “Whatever this thing is… it’s not Scarlett anymore.”

The creature screeched again and lunged forward. Alex dodged the first strike, slashing at the creature’s arm with his knife. The blade connected, cracking its porcelain skin, but the creature barely reacted. It swung again, forcing Alex to roll out of the way.

“Elle, get back!” he shouted.

Elle scrambled behind a set of overturned medical carts, but she wasn’t going to stay hidden. She grabbed a broken pipe from the floor, determined to help Alex fight the creature, no matter the cost.

The fight between the three of them was brutal. Alex and Elle struck hard at the creature, but its porcelain body seemed almost indestructible. Every blow only caused minor fractures at best, and the creature’s relentless attacks forced them to stay on the move. It screeched with every hit, its jagged limbs thrashing violently.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Alex saw an opening, a crack in its porcelain armor. As the creature lunged at Elle, he jumped onto its back, driving his combat knife deep into the crack that had formed in its chest. The creature let out a final, ear-piercing shriek as its body began to shatter from the inside out.

Alex pulled the knife free and stabbed again before jumping back as the creature collapsed to the ground. Its porcelain form began breaking into hundreds of pieces.

Both Alex and Elle stood there, panting, covered in dust and blood. Elle dropped the pipe, her hands trembling after the battle.

“We… we did it,” she breathed shakily as if she couldn’t quite believe it was over.

Alex nodded, though he couldn’t shake a feeling of guilt that was creeping back into him. This wasn’t a victory, this was just another tragedy in town.

Elle stepped closer, placing a hand into his. “Are you okay?”

He looked down at her, seeing worry creep into her eyes. He wanted so desperately to tell her that he was fine. That they would figure everything out together. But all he could think about was Joshua. And now, seeing Elle so close to danger that guilt only deepened for him.

“I don’t know,” Alex said quietly. “But we have to keep moving. Fitch didn’t have the answers we were looking for.”

Elle nodded, the unspoken bond between them was like a growing tension that neither of them had quite put into words.

The cemetery was quiet, the fog curled around the old tombstones which cast long shadows in the dim moonlight. Alex and Elle made their way through the maze of gravestones, each saying nothing, burdened by their recent encounter with Dr. Fitch.

"This place is… suffocating," Elle whispered. "What could Bartlett still be doing out here?"

Alex didn’t answer her immediately. He had been trying to piece things together ever since their last encounter with the mayor. Bartlett had been digging frantically in the graveyard. It was as if he was a man possessed, consumed by something dark. It wasn’t just guilt. It was deeper than that. Twisted, just like the entire town.

"He’s digging for Joey," Alex finally said. "He’s looking for his son."

Elle nodded. "It’s about the ritual… about the sacrifices. He sacrificed Joey, didn’t he?"

"Yeah," Alex muttered. "They all did."

They approached the center of the graveyard, where the earth had been freshly dug into. Deep holes were scattered amongst the tombstones, each one deeper than the last. And there, they found Mayor Bartlett.

He was on his knees, his hands bloodied from digging, his clothes torn and filthy. He was muttering to himself, his eyes wide, staring into the hole he had been furiously working on.

"Joey… Joey, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I had to do it… for the gods… for the town…" Bartlett’s voice cracked as he clawed at the dirt, his fingernails worn down and caked with mud and blood.

Alex and Elle exchanged a glance with one another before approaching him. The mayor didn’t seem to notice them, his mind lost in the pits of his despair.

"Bartlett," Alex called out. "You need to stop this. Joey’s gone. There’s nothing you can do."

The mayor looked up, expression wild and desperate. "He’s here… He’s here, Alex! My boy, he’s here! I just need to dig a little deeper. I’ll bring him back. I can fix this… I can make it right!"

Elle stepped closer to Bartlett. "This won’t fix anything. You sacrificed Joey. You’re the reason he’s gone."

While Bartlett contorted his face in pain, he didn’t stop digging. "No… no… You don’t understand. I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to. Holloway… she made us. She made all of us. I didn’t have a choice. But Joey… he understands. He knows why I did it. I know he’ll forgive me."

Suddenly, the ground beneath them trembled. The earth around the graves shifted, and a low growl came from the hole Bartlett had been digging. Alex tensed, gripping his knife tightly as he felt something stirring below.

"Bartlett, get the hell away from there!" Alex shouted.

But it was too late.

A monstrous hand shot up from the earth, its skin pale, the fingers elongated and twisted. It grabbed Bartlett by the arm, yanking him down into the pit. The mayor screamed in terror as his cries echoed through the graveyard as he was dragged into the hole by the nightmarish creature that had once been his son.

Alex and Elle could only watch in horror as Bartlett’s body disappeared beneath the ground, his screams suddenly cut short by a sickening crunch.

Then, from the darkness of the pit, the creature emerged.

The creature that had once been Joey Bartlett, now stood before them, an abomination, a nightmarish parody of what was once a human child. Its skin was stretched taut over its skeletal frame, its limbs unnaturally long and twisted, just like Scarlett. Its face was a horrifying mix of childlike features and monstrous deformities, with empty eyes that glowed faintly in the fog.

The creature let out a moan as it crawled out of the grave, its twisted form moving with jerky, unnatural motions. It stared at Alex and Elle for a moment, tilting its head as if it recognized them.

"Alex…" Elle whispered. "That thing… is Joey."

Alex clenched his jaw. "It’s not Joey anymore. It’s just… whatever’s left of him."

The creature let out another loud moan, before charging at them with terrifying speed.

"Move!" Alex yelled, grabbing Elle’s arm and pulling her back just in time to dodge the creature’s lunge. Its arms swiped at the air where they had just been standing, missing them by mere inches.

They scrambled behind a tombstone, catching their breath as the creature circled them.

"We have to stop it!" Elle shouted. "But how? It’s not human anymore!"

Alex glanced around. They needed to fight back somehow. The creature was faster and stronger than anything they had faced so far. But it was also erratic, unsteady. Maybe they could use that against it.

"Stay low," Alex ordered. "It’s quick, but if we can tire it out… maybe we can find an opening."

Elle nodded, readying herself as the creature circled again, its twisted limbs twitching with every movement.

Joey Bartlett, no, the thing that had once been Joey, charged at them again, its arms flailing wildly. Alex ducked and rolled to the side, slashing at its leg as it passed. His blade connected, slicing through its pale skin, but the creature didn’t seem to notice. It screeched, turning its attention to Alex with a roar.

Alex dodged another swipe, narrowly avoiding its claws as it tried to grab him. He stumbled, falling back against a headstone as the monster loomed over him.

"Alex!" Elle shouted, filled with panic.

The creature lunged again, but this time Alex was ready for him. He rolled to the side, bringing his knife up with all his strength. The blade plunged into the creature’s side, and it let out a blood-curdling scream as it recoiled.

Elle rushed forward, throwing a piece of broken gravestone at the creature’s head. The chunk of granite connected, and the creature staggered, its grotesque form wavering.

Now was their chance.

Alex pulled his knife free and drove it deep into the creature’s chest. It screeched one final time, its body convulsing as it collapsed to the ground, twitching violently before finally going still.

Alex and Elle stood there, breathing heavily, staring down at the twisted, broken body of what had once been Joey Bartlett.

Elle was the first to speak. "We did it…"

Alex didn’t respond immediately to Elle. His mind was still racing, as what they had just done settling in. Bartlett was gone, consumed by his madness. And Joey… whatever that creature had been, it wasn’t the boy he once knew.

But Shepherd’s Glen wasn’t finished with them yet.

"We need to keep moving," Alex finally said. "This isn’t over."

Elle nodded, though the look of fear in her eyes told him she knew that too. They walked away from the graveyard, leaving the horrors behind for good.

Alex and Elle walked in silence, every step felt like it dragged them deeper into the town’s fate, and every minute they spent fighting for survival only seemed to pull them further from hope.

The fog swirled around them, thick and oppressive, and in the distance, the echoes of monsters shifted within the mist, stalking them.

Alex found his thoughts wandering back to Joshua. His little brother’s face flashed in his mind, the wide, innocent eyes, his smile, the look of fear Alex had seen the last time he’d held him. Joshua had always been a mystery to him, even before everything went wrong. There had always been something about his brother that he couldn’t quite grasp. And now, with everything that was happening in Shepherd’s Glen, Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that Joshua had been more than just a victim of the town’s curse.

The pieces were beginning to fall into place. Bartlett had sacrificed his son Joey. Fitch had offered his daughter, Scarlett. Was Joshua meant to be a part of that same horrific ritual? Had his own family, his father, the one man he’d trusted, allowed it to happen? Did that mean, Nora, Elle’s sister, was chosen too?

Alex clenched his fist as he walked. The anger boiled inside him. If Joshua was meant to be sacrificed, what did that mean for his father? Had Adam Shepherd, the man who had raised him to be strong, to fight for his family, really been a part of this nightmare? Or was he fighting to break free from it?

"Alex?" Elle looked at him with concern. "You’ve been quiet. What’s going on?"

Alex was unsure if he wanted to voice the thoughts that had been gnawing at him. But there was no escaping it now. He had to confront it, even if it shattered everything he thought he knew about his family.

"I think…" Alex started. "I think Joshua was meant to be the sacrifice. For the Order. For whatever sick pact my father made with the town."

Elle stopped walking, turning to face him. Her eyes widened with shock, but she didn’t look surprised. It was as if a part of her had suspected it all along.

"Alex, you don’t know that for sure," she said softly, though doubt was finding its way into her voice.

"Don’t I?" Alex shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Look at what happened to Bartlett. Fitch. They sacrificed their children to the Order, to the god of Silent Hill, just like… just like my father might have done with Joshua. Just like your mother might have done with Nora."

Elle shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "But your dad’s fighting back now, isn’t he? He’s trying to stop Mom and the rest of them. He wouldn’t-"

"He might not have had a choice!" Alex snapped back, cutting her off. "Maybe that’s why he’s fighting now, because he knows what he did, and he’s trying to make up for it like Fitch and Bartlett were. Or maybe he’s just trying to survive, to save himself."

Alex ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. He didn’t know what to believe anymore. His father was waging a war against Holloway, trying to fight the Order, but for what? To right his wrongs, or simply to save his skin?

Elle stepped closer to him, embracing him in her arms. "You don’t have to do this alone, Alex. We’ll figure this out together. Whatever happened to Joshua and Nora… we’ll find out the truth."

Alex’s eyes softened as he looked at Elle. She had been with him through everything so far, facing horrors that no one should ever have to face. She showed him loyalty and strength, they were the only things keeping him grounded. But at the same time, she reminded him of everything he had failed to do. He had failed to protect his brother. Was he about to fail her too?

"Elle…" Alex began, unsure how to share what he was feeling. "I don’t know what to do anymore. Part of me just wants to get out of here with you, to escape all of this. The other part wants to stay, find Dad, and help him fight all this."

Elle looked up at him. Then she spoke. "You’re not the only one struggling, Alex. This town… it’s taken everything from us. And my mom… I don’t know what she’s planning, but I know it’s not good. If we run, we might be able to get away. But if we stay and fight, we could stop this. End it for good."

Alex searched her eyes, looking for any signs of doubt. But Elle remained solid and unwavering. She had her reasons for wanting to stop the cult, her mother’s betrayal, and the sacrifice of her sister Nora. She had every right to leave like him, but here she was, standing beside him, willing to face the horrors ahead.

"You think we should fight, don’t you?" Alex asked.

Elle sighed. "I don’t know, Alex. I want to get out of here just as much as you do. But part of me knows that if we don’t stop this now, it’ll never end. Mom and the Order will keep taking from us, from everyone, until there’s nothing left."

Alex’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. Running now might give them a chance to survive, but it wouldn’t fix anything. And there was still the lingering question of what had happened to Joshua. Alex needed answers that he could only find if he stayed.

"I just…" Alex paused, voice cracking. "I don’t want to lose you, Elle. I’ve already lost too much."

Elle’s eyes softened, and she reached out, cupping his face in her hands. "You won’t lose me, Alex. I’m not going anywhere."

For a moment, they stood there, their foreheads resting together, sharing the quiet space between them. But the moment didn’t last.

A sudden growl echoed from the fog, pulling them back to the reality of the situation. The monsters were closing in again.

"We need to move," Elle said.

Alex nodded, his mind still swirling with doubts and questions, but he pushed them aside for now. They had a war to survive, and decisions to make.

As they set off again, Alex couldn’t help but feel the growing weight of his choices. Family or survival? Duty or escape? Loyalty to his father or a life free away from the town’s dark influences? And with every step he took, he knew the decision would only get harder.

Alex felt the need to find his father, Adam, and remnants of their previous encounter with Curtis still lingered, but the deeper thoughts about Joshua haunted him more. He needed to know what had happened to his brother, and he hoped Adam would give him some answers.

"Where do you think he could be?" Elle asked. The fog swirled around them, masking the road ahead.

"I don’t know," Alex admitted. "He might be holding up in the police station or back at the house. We should check the station first. He’s been working on gathering support against your mother and the Order."

They moved quickly through the streets, fog closing in all around them. Alex's heart raced with every shadow that shifted in his sight.

The police station came into view, a mass of brick and concrete, windows dark and hollow. The sight was oddly comforting amidst the chaos, this was a place of authority, a sanctuary away from the madness in Shepherd's Glen.

As they approached, Alex felt a mixture of hope and fear. What if his father was gone? What if Holloway had already struck? They pushed the doors open, the creaking echoing inside.

"Dad!" Alex called, stepping inside.

"Alex? Elle?" Adam's voice came from the back office, muffled but unmistakable.
They rushed toward the sound, pushing through the door to find Adam seated at a cluttered desk, maps and papers strewn about, a look of weariness stretched on his face.

"Thank God you're here!" Adam exclaimed, standing up abruptly. His eyes darted between them, searching for signs of injury. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"We fought off some monsters," Alex replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “But I need to know what you know about Joshua. Curtis said something… he might have been involved with the Order."

Adam's expression shifted, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "Joshua... I wish I had better news. I’m trying to piece together what’s happening, but it’s all connected to Holloway and her cult. I fear for him, Alex. The Order’s reach is deeper than we thought."

Elle stepped forward, her voice steady. "We need to find out if he’s alive, Adam. The town is losing its grip, and the monsters are getting worse."

Adam nodded, the weight of their shared burden pressing heavily on him. "We need to act quickly. If Holloway’s plans are coming to fruition, we’ll need everyone we can get."

Alex felt a spark of determination ignite within him. "Then let’s gather what we can. We need to stop her before it’s too late. We can’t let her take anyone else."

Adam's gaze locked onto Alex's, a mixture of pride and concern reflected in his eyes. "We’ll figure this out together, son. But be careful. Holloway will try to use everything against us, especially our connections."

As they gathered their supplies, Alex’s mind raced with thoughts of loyalty and sacrifice. He knew he had to protect Elle, even as their relationship deepened with every shared moment. But with each passing day, the shadows of their families loomed larger, threatening to pull them apart.

"Are you ready for this?" Elle asked, catching his eye.

Alex took a deep breath. "Whatever happens, we face it together."

Chapter Text

The dim light within the Shepherd's Glen police station made the old office where he stood, barely visible. Adam Shepherd held his head over an old map of the town. His face began to show the fatigue that came with years of guilt and war against the Order.

Alex hesitated, staring at the man he felt he no longer knew. Though they shared a conversation a few days ago, the two didn’t feel much of an understanding of one another. His father had always been so distant, cold, and detached. Alex would often find himself wondering why there was a wedge that had driven them apart. Now, after all that had happened, the chaos, the monsters, and the deaths of Mayor Bartlett and Dr. Fitch, Alex felt that he couldn’t avoid this any longer.

Wheeler backed away from them, arms crossed, eyes catching theirs. He cleared his throat and gave an excuse to leave the room, giving space between father and son. Alex's Uncle, James Sunderland remained by the window, hands in his pockets, gazing out at the fog swallowing the streets.

The room remained motionless for a second.

Finally, Adam looked up, his exhausted eyes looking into Alex's. For a moment, his features almost softened before suddenly hardening again. "Alex," he began, the first to break the silence. "I never thought, after everything, that you'd come back here."

Alex stepped forward, unable to form the words. The truth was, he never thought he was going to come back either. Not to this. "I didn't have much of a choice," he said. "The town … it's falling apart.

Adam nodded. "I know. I should have stopped it. I should have protected you… and Joshua.

The mention of his brother brought an ache in his chest. Questions that were never answered, the uncertainty of what had become of Joshua, his little brother. How was he to talk about his brother when he knew full well there was something far more sinister occurring?

Adam turned away, pacing the room to somehow sidestep speaking what neither wanted to discuss. "I failed you, Alex," he muttered. "I was supposed to be your father… but I wasn't. I couldn't be.”
The newfound vulnerability in the voice of his fathers shook Alex. The cold, distant man who had raised him from a baby was unraveling right before his eyes. "Why?" Alex asked. "Why were you so distant growing up? You shut me out, Dad. My whole life."

Adam stopped his pacing and turned to face him. "I was afraid, Alex. Afraid of what was happening in this town, of what I had to do… of the Order. But more than that, I was afraid of losing you. The Order took my sister Mary, your aunt, and James’s wife because I refused to join the Order. You were just a boy yourself then. And because of that, I kept my distance. I thought it would keep you safe." He swallowed hard as he fought to keep his composure. "But it didn't. It just pushed you away."

The fists clenched at his sides as anger and sadness swirled together like a storm of emotion. "You never told me that about Aunt Mary! You never told me anything! Not about the Order, not about Joshua, not about what's going on in this town. I've been trying to work it out with Elle, and it's been hell."

Adam' looked on in regret. "I know, I thought I protected you by keeping you out of it, but I see now that was wrong. This town consumes everyone. I just didn't want it to consume you too."

A long silence followed again.

James Sunderland, who up to that point hadn't said a word came closer to them, his voice was firm but flooded with emotion. "Adam wasn't the only one who failed. I should've been there to see it coming for you and Joshua too. Mary and I were part of this family too, but I have been too caught up in my pain, and this is something I didn’t notice."

Alex turned to his uncle, memories of him fuzzy from the years of absence. There had been a silent tension too between his father and James. It was always something that Alex didn’t understand but now did. He could see it in James's eyes, that same amount of guilt his father carried, a shared burden between the two.

"Uncle James…," Alex started. He was just another ghost of his past, somebody who'd drifted away after Aunt Mary’s death. Now he stood here, in the middle of all this madness, like some kind of fate was dragging him back.

James nodded. "We've all got our demons, Alex. But what's going on here? It's not just the past haunting us, this is something else. What Judge Holloway has planned is tearing everything apart, and if we don't put a stop to her, there won't be anything left.

Alex looked from his father to his uncle and back again. He knew they were right.

Adam leaned in further "I don't expect you to trust me, not after what I've done… or what I didn't do. But I'm asking for your help now, Alex. We need to stop Holloway and the Order. If we don't, this town will take everything from us. And Joshua…

The mention of Joshua once more caused Alex's heart to one more skip. He had to find his brother, had to know whether Joshua was even alive if there was still hope. But could he put aside his anger long enough to fight alongside his father?

"I'm not doing this for you," Alex said. "I'm doing this for Joshua. For Elle. For this town."

Adam nodded. "That's all I can ask."

From the corner, Wheeler reappeared, face grim. "We don't have much time, Adam. Holloway's men are closing in on us. If we're going to take her down, we need to move fast."

Alex looked across at Elle, who hadn't uttered a single word during the exchange. She gave him a reassuring nod. Her eyes told him she'd be with him to the end, no matter what.

Alex could feel one more thing gnawing at him, Joshua. Despite the plans to fight Holloway, the mystery of his brother’s fate loomed larger. And Adam still wasn’t talking.

Alex shifted and looked towards his father. "Dad, we need to talk about Joshua. You’ve been avoiding it, and I can’t do this anymore without knowing what happened to him."

Adam’s hardened his face once more and turned away from Alex’s. The distance between father and son, which had shrunk, began to grow again. Alex felt frustrated by all this. "You have to know something! You were involved in this town’s secrets for years. Joshua was part of all this, wasn’t he?"
James shifted uncomfortably at the tension, while Deputy Wheeler remained quiet, scanning the room as if expecting the enemy to crash through the door at any moment. Elle stood close to Alex’s side, a quiet presence, but even she looked down at the floor, unsure what to expect from Adam.

Finally, Adam responded, but his voice was cold and final. "This isn’t the time to discuss Joshua, Alex."

Alex felt a surge of anger. "Not the time? When is it ever going to be the time? This is our family, our lives! You think I don’t deserve to know what happened to my brother? What did you do?"

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides. "I’m doing what I have to do, Alex. Joshua... Joshua’s fate is tied to everything happening now, but I can’t explain it yet. Not until I know more."

James stepped forward, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder. "Alex, I know this is hard, but we need to focus on stopping Holloway first. Joshua… we’ll get to that. But we can’t do anything if the whole town is under her control."

Alex pushed James’s hand off, still fuming. He looked to his father, trying to make sense of it all. Adam’s refusal to answer questions about Joshua had been constant, but now that they were too deep into this nightmare. It felt like the last threads holding them all together were about to snap.

"You always shut me out!" Alex yelled. "You always shut us all out. First Joshua, and now me."

Adam’s face held the same look that had defined him for years. "I’m trying to protect you, Alex. That’s all I’ve ever done."

"Protect me? From what? The truth?" Alex shot back.

Elle stepped closer, gently resting a hand on Alex’s. "Alex, we’ll figure this out. Maybe he’s right… maybe we have to deal with mo-… Holloway first." Elle corrected herself, not wanting to expose her relationship with Judge Holloway prematurely.

Alex turned to her, his anger tempered by her. She had always been the one person who could ground him back to reality when he felt like he was spiraling out of control. But still, the questions remained, unspoken and unanswered.

Adam glanced between them. "Holloway’s planning something, something bigger than any of us realize. The sacrifices were just the beginning. The town’s destruction, everything, it’s all tied to her twisted beliefs. And if we don’t stop her, none of this will matter."

Wheeler nodded in agreement. "She’s got the town in a chokehold, Alex. We need to break that hold, or we’re all finished."

James crossed his arms. "We still don’t know exactly what her endgame is—destroying Shepherd’s Glen? Her hometown? For what? If she’s trying to bring about some ‘paradise,’ there has to be more to it than just control."

Elle looked at Adam’s cold expression, then back to Alex. "Then we’ll have to stop her before it’s too late. Whatever she’s planning, it’s not going to end with just us."

Adam remained silent. Alex felt his stomach churn with anger, but he knew that now wasn’t the time for more of a family feud. As much as he hated it, his father was right, they couldn’t get caught up in Joshua’s mystery right now, not with Holloway’s threat. But it still ate at him, the not knowing, the feeling that something was being kept from him yet again.

Alex exhaled slowly. "Fine. We will deal with Holloway first. But after that, you’re going to tell me everything, Dad."

Adam nodded, his eyes betraying a hint of regret. "When the time comes, I will."

An uneasy alliance was forged between them. For now, they would face Judge Holloway together. But Alex couldn’t help but wonder what they still didn’t know about Joshua, and what his father was keeping from him.

As they gathered their things and prepared to move out, Alex still felt the tension between him and his father. He wasn’t sure if they would survive what was coming, but one way or another, he would get the truth. And if it meant confronting the darkest parts of his family, he was ready.

James stood a few steps behind Alex and looked from nephew to Adam, He had been through his share of loss, his battles with guilt and regret, and now he could see the same struggles reflected in Alex and Adam. He knew this fragile peace between them was the only thing keeping the group together.

"Alex," James started softly, stepping forward to his nephew "I know you’re angry. I get it. But we’ve all been through hell. This isn’t the time to tear each other apart. You and your dad... you both have the same goal now."

Alex glanced at James, but he didn’t interrupt.

James then turned to Adam. "Adam… I know what it's like to carry guilt. We all do. But we need to face this together. Alex deserves to know the truth, even if it’s painful. But right now, we can’t let Holloway win. We need to stop her, for Joshua’s sake and everyone else’s."

Adam looked away. The years of cold silence and avoidance built up a wall between him and Alex, but James’s words were cutting through. He had always been the strong one, the silent type, the one who kept his emotions in check, but now that resolve was faltering.

James stepped closer to both men. "We’re all hurting. You both lost Joshua, but you still have each other. Don’t let this town, this cult, take any more from you."

Alex looked back down at the floor. He hated how vulnerable he was feeling, hated that he still wanted his father’s approval after everything. But James’s words had struck something inside him, something he didn’t want to admit. He had spent so many years feeling like the outsider in his own family. But now, in this nightmare, he was forced to rely on the one person who had always kept him at arm’s length.

Adam looked over to Alex. For the first time in what felt like years, Adam’s voice softened. "I know I’ve made mistakes, Alex. I didn’t protect you the way I should have. But I’ve always done what I thought was necessary to keep this family alive. You may not understand it now, but... everything I’ve done was to stop this nightmare."

Alex swallowed hard. He didn’t fully trust his father yet, but there was something in Adam’s words that made him pause. Maybe, there was more to his father’s coldness than he realized.

James, who sensed the tension beginning to ease, spoke up again. "We don’t have time to dig through the past right now. But Adam, Alex needs to know that you’re with him. That we’re all in this together. Holloway isn’t just going to stop with sacrifices. She’s going to tear this town apart, and if we don’t work together, none of us are making it out alive."

Adam nodded slowly. "I’m with you, Alex. I should’ve told you sooner. After we stop Holloway, you’ll get the answers you need. I promise."

Alex met his father’s gaze. It wasn’t a perfect reconciliation for the two, far from it, but it was nevertheless a start. And in this town, amid monsters and cults, it was the best they could hope for right now.

"Fine," Alex said finally. "But when this is over, I’m getting the truth. About Joshua. About everything."

Adam nodded, and for the first time, Alex felt like there was a chance they might be on the same side.

James exhaled in relief, happy to see the fragile bond forming between father and son. "Good. Now let’s figure out how we’re going to stop Holloway before this town burns to the ground."

Wheeler, who had been watching from the side, gave a nod of approval. "We’re running out of time. We need to move now before she tightens her grip on the town any further."

Elle, who had been quiet through the whole exchange now stepped forward, her hand brushing Alex’s arm. "We’ll get through this," she said softly. "Together."

Alex felt the warmth in her touch, a pleasant reminder that no matter how dark things got, he wasn’t alone.

With an uneasy alliance between him and his father now in place, with James serving as mediator, Alex felt a small but significant shift. They were fractured, yes, but they were still a family. And in the nightmare that was Shepherd’s Glen that was all they had. But for the first time, Alex felt like they had a fighting chance. Even if their bond was fragile, it was enough to keep them moving forward, for now.

But the tension in the air thickened again. This time, it wasn’t between Alex and his father. Now, it was something else entirely.

Alex stood beside Elle, feeling the weight of what was about to happen. James, who had also kept a close eye on everything, quietly assessed Elle, and Alex knew it was only a matter of time before his uncle connected the dots.

James, as sharp as ever, wasn’t one to let things slide. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Elle, then back to Alex. "Wait a second... Elle, you were about to say something before correcting yourself, Mom, then Holloway?" His voice carried a mix of disbelief and suspicion. "As in Judge Holloway?"

Alex braced himself, knowing fully well that this was going to be hard for Elle. He could feel her tense beside him. James had lost Mary to the cult, and it was Judge Holloway who had played a role in that curse. For him, hearing that Elle was Holloway’s daughter was bound to stir up old wounds.

Elle stood her ground, but Alex could see the look of hurt in her eyes. Before she could say anything, James took a step forward, his voice low and strained. "Alex, are you telling me that the daughter of the woman who’s trying to destroy this town is with us? The same woman who’s behind all of this madness, the one whose cult cursed my wife?"

"James, wait," Alex said quickly, stepping between them. He could see the anger rising in his uncle, and he knew this could spiral out of control if he didn’t stop it. "It’s not what you think."

James shook his head, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "Not what I think? Alex, do you have any idea what she’s responsible for? Her mother-"

"I’m not my mother!" Elle cut in sharply, her voice trembling with frustration. She stepped forward, meeting James’s eyes head-on. "I am nothing like her. If you think I’d stand by and let her destroy everything, and hurt everyone I care about, then you don’t know me at all."
Alex put a hand on Elle, trying to ease the rising tension. "Elle’s been with me this whole time, James. She’s on our side. She’s not part of Holloway’s cult. In fact..." He hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, but knowing that this was necessary. "Elle’s already lost someone. Holloway sacrificed her sister, Nora."

James’s eyes widened, the revelation having caught him off guard. He looked at Elle again, this time with a mixture of confusion and sympathy. "Sacrificed... her daughter?"

Elle’s voice softened the pain of her words. "Nora was supposed to be her ‘perfect’ child, the one who would carry on her legacy in the Order. But even that wasn’t enough. She gave Nora up for this sick ritual, for her obsession with her cult. Do you think I’d ever forgive her for that?"

James’s anger began to fade, replaced by the recognition that Elle, too, was a victim of Holloway’s twisted ambitions.

"I didn’t know," James admitted quietly. "I didn’t know about Nora."

Alex nodded, stepping closer to his uncle. "None of us knew, not until recently. But Elle’s with us, James. She’s fighting against her mother, just like we are."

James ran a hand through his hair. He was still struggling to process everything, but Alex could see that he was beginning to understand.

Elle looked at James, quieter now but no less firm. "Look, I don’t expect you to trust me right away. But I’m not like her. I’m not going to let this town burn for her so-called paradise. I’m going to stop her, even if it means going against my blood."

James exhaled slowly, he regarded Elle with a newfound respect. He had seen enough of Silent Hill’s horrors to know that blood ties didn’t always dictate loyalty. He had learned that lesson himself, painfully.

"I can see that," James finally said. "I’ve seen enough to know when someone’s telling the truth. And if you’re with Alex, then that’s good enough for me."

Alex felt a wave of relief wash over him. It wasn’t easy to get James to trust someone, especially after everything he’s been through. But now that the tension had eased, they could focus on what mattered most, stopping Holloway and figuring out what had happened to Joshua.

"Thanks, James," Alex said. He looked at Elle, who gave him a small, grateful nod.

"We’re in this together," Elle said. "All of us."

James managed to let out a faint smile. "Yeah, we are. But we need to be smart about it. Holloway’s not going to stop until she’s finished what she started. And if we don’t work together, none of us are making it out of here."

Alex looked between his uncle and Elle. He hoped that they might have a chance.

But the question still lingered in the back of his mind, gnawing at him even as they prepared to move forward. Where was Joshua? And what role did he play in all of this?

The fog thickened as Alex, Elle, James, Adam, and Wheeler trudged through the empty streets of Shepherd’s Glen, heading toward the family home. The streets were deserted, as if the monsters that Elle and Alex had encountered knew best to stay out of the way, or perhaps ordered to. Each step was filled with tension, not just because of the silence that filled the town, but because they all knew something was coming. The cult, Holloway’s plans, everything was pushing them toward a confrontation.

The familiar shape of the Shepherd family home came into view and Alex felt a knot tighten in his chest. Memories, both good and bad, resurfaced. Now it felt like walking into a tomb. But they had no other choice. This was the only place where they could regroup, where they might stand a chance of figuring out what to do next.

“We’re almost there,” Alex said quietly, though it was as much for himself as for the others.

. The front door creaked open, and they stepped inside the darkened house.

Lillian Shepherd was already waiting for them, sitting quietly at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of tea. Her eyes, weary and distant, lit up slightly when she saw Alex. But something was unsettling in her demeanor, a coldness as if the weight of years spent in this cursed town had drained her of any hope.

“Alex,” Lillian said softly, rising to her feet. Her voice was warm, but the exhaustion was clear.

“Yeah,” Alex replied. “We needed somewhere safe.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then her eyes shifted to the others. She gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, though her gaze lingered on Elle. It wasn’t an accusatory look, more of a recognition of who Elle was and what her presence meant.

“I knew you’d come back eventually,” Lillian said. “There’s no escaping what’s happening here.”

Alex frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lillian walked over to a window, peering out into the dense fog. “The Order, the cult… they’ve been waiting for this. And they’re not going to stop.”

James, standing at the edge of the room, spoke up. “Then we have to stop them. Whatever Holloway is planning, we can’t let it happen.”

Lillian turned to face them, expression grim. “She’s not planning to take over the town. It’s bigger than that. She’s preparing for something much worse.”

Before anyone could respond, a sudden noise from outside made them all freeze. A low rumble, like the sound of heavy footsteps, echoed through the fog. Adam’s hand instinctively went to his gun.

“We don’t have much time,” Lillian said.

Elle’s eyes widened. “They’re coming, aren’t they?”

Lillian nodded, face pale. “The cult. They’ve been watching, waiting for the right moment. They’re coming for us.”

“Then we have to get ready,” Adam said, his voice hardening with resolve. “We’re not going down without a fight.”

James exchanged a look with Wheeler, who nodded grimly. “I’ll secure the back,” Wheeler said, grabbing his shotgun and moving toward the rear of the house.

Elle moved closer to Alex, her hand brushing against his arm. She didn’t say anything, but Alex could feel her tension. They had been through so much already, but this felt different, more final.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Alex said quietly.

“I know,” Elle replied, but a flicker of fear flashed in her eyes. “But we have to be smart about this. If they overwhelm us…”

“They won’t,” James cut in, stepping closer to them. “We’ll make sure of it.”

Lillian stood off to the side, watching them with a strange detachment. Alex wondered how much she knew, just how deep her involvement with the Order went. But now wasn’t the time to ask.

As they began barricading the windows and doors and fortifying the house, the tension continued to rise. Every creak in the floorboards, every gust of wind outside made them flinch, knowing the cult could strike at any moment.

Alex glanced over at his mother, who still hadn’t said much about what she knew. He wanted answers, but he also knew they were running out of time. He needed to trust her, for now.

Once the barricades were in place, Adam took a deep breath and turned to face the others. “They’re going to hit us hard. But we’re not going to let them win. We fight, we survive, live another day and we figure out how to stop Holloway.”

James nodded in agreement, but his eyes were distant, clearly thinking about Mary and the vengeance that had driven him to Shepherd’s Glen. “Whatever happens, we can’t let them take any more from us.”

The rumbling outside grew louder, and suddenly there was a mob outside, armed, and eager for blood. Adam’s heart raced as he pointed his gun at the window.

This was it. The cult was here.

The nightmare had come home.

Chapter Text

The group was all in the living room of the Shepherd family home, taking an eerie silence before the eye of the storm. Out in the thick fog moved various shadows—thirty, maybe more. Deputy Wheeler peered through the window before turning back to the others with a look of fear.

“There’s got to be at least thirty of them out there!” Deputy Wheeler yelled, voice with dread. “They’re spreading out, surrounding the house!”

Alex clenched his fists in anger. First Joshua, then the monsters, then the cult, everything that was tearing the town apart. Now this. He turned to Adam, his father. The man who had been so distant now stood tall, grim but determined to face the threat head-on.

“Wheeler, James, Alex, take cover,” Adam ordered, snapping back to his army days, and not flinching at the situation. “Elle, Lillian, downstairs. Now!”

“No!” Elle interjected back. “I’m not leaving you guys. Not this time!”

Lillian, pale and shaking, places a hand around Elle’s arm. “Elle, please-“

“I said now!” Adam ordered, cold and sharp. He softened up for a moment, almost pleading with Elle. “We need you safe. Just trust me. Go!”

Elle paused for a moment before nodding reluctantly. Lillian grabbed her hand and they headed towards the basement. As they descended the stairs, Adam, James, and Alex followed behind them before entering his hunting room where he kept his weapons. Adam had always been a gun enthusiast, it was one of the few things he shared with his sons.

Alex hadn’t been down to the basement in years. The memories came flooding back, such as being kicked out of the hunting room when he wasn’t supposed to be in there, Joshua sneaking around, pretending to be a soldier. He had always talked about how he’d like to grow up to be like Dad and his older brother. All of that felt like a lifetime ago.
Adam took out his key ring and unlocked the gun cabinet. There he pulled out an old M1 Garand rifle for himself and quickly slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed a hunting rifle and handed it over to James. His brother-in-law took it and with practiced hands, checked over the weapon.

“Thanks,” James muttered. There was something in his voice that spoke of a shared pain between the two men.

Finally, Adam took out an old M1 Carbine and handed it to Alex. “Remember how to use this?”

Alex’s heart was pounding as he took the gun. He nodded, tightening his grip around the stock. “Yeah, Dad. I remember.”

The trio then made their way upstairs, the tension thick in the air as the shadows outside grew nearer. Wheeler was ready in position, his shotgun ready, but he knew the four men were outmanned and outgunned.

“What’s the plan, Adam?” Wheeler asked urgently.

“Adam glanced over to Wheeler, then towards the windows. “We hold them off for as long as we can. We can’t let them take the house. If it comes down to it-“He hesitated, and looked back to the basement door, thinking of his wife, Lillian, and his son’s friend, Elle. “We retreat and head for the lake. But not before we send a message to the Order and Holloway.”

James shifted uncomfortably, the hunting rifle now resting in his lap. He exchanged a glance with Alex and Adam. “Then we make a stand here,” James said quietly. “Together.”

Alex’s mind was racing now. He couldn’t stop thinking of Elle, how it must feel for her knowing she has to fight her mother. Yet she was very determined to stay by Alex’s side which had surprised him. As much as he wanted to be with her, he knew what had to be done. If they didn’t hold the line here, none of them would survive.

Adam moved to the front of the room, taking the lead, his hands steady on the rifle. “They’re coming.”

They could see the first of the cultists stepping out of the fog, their dark silhouettes, faces obscured by some kind of masks, some gas masks others something more animalistic. Then another cultist stepped forth, and then another. They kept their movements slow, and deliberate almost like a ritual as they crept closer to the Shepherd's home.

Then, suddenly they rushed forward.

“Now!” Adam shouted.

Gunfire began to erupt from the house. Adam’s M1 Garand was the first as it barked out rounds fired through a broken window. Wheeler let loose with his shotgun, barely making a dent.’

Alex gritted his teeth, took aim with the M1 Carbine, and squeezed the trigger. The recoil hit his shoulder, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was keeping these bloodthirsty animals away. Keeping his mother and Elle safe.

James was calm under the pressure, and under Adam’s careful tutelage, managed to pick off one of the cultists that had gotten too close. “There’s more of them coming around the back!” he shouted.

Alex cursed under his breath. The cult wasn’t like the monsters he had encountered, nor a bunch of crazies. They were well-trained, and well organized, strategic. Holloway had trained them for this very moment. Sending them out like wolves encircling their prey, and they weren’t going to stop.

“Adam! We can’t hold them off forever!” Wheeler called out. “There’s too many of them!”

Suddenly, there was a loud crash of breaking glass from around the back of the house. Alex and Adam both turned, their blood running cold as they realized they were trying to batter-ram the back door of the house.

“Damn it, we’re out of time!” Adam growled. “Alex, James, go help Wheeler around back! I’ll hold the front!”

Alex exchanged glances with his uncle. Both men knew what they meant. If they didn’t stop the cultists from breaking through, they were all dead.

James clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “We’ve got this, Alex. Let’s go.”

As they ran toward the back, Alex’s mind was a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline. This was it, the moment that would decide everything. And through it all, one thought kept nagging at him: Holloway was behind this. She was pulling the strings. And if they didn’t stop her soon, none of them would make it out alive.

But right now, all that mattered was keeping Elle and his family safe.

As the battle raged on, Adam glanced at Alex, his grip tightening on his rifle. The sounds of gunfire echoed in the house, but amidst all the chaos, Adam's voice was steady. “Did they teach you how to fight crazy cults back in basic?”

Alex managed a chuckle but his heart still racing. He raised the M1 Carbine and fired a couple of shots. “No, they didn’t. But I swore an oath to defend from all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

He paused and gave his father a smirk. “I guess this counts as domestic, right?”

Adam shot him a quick look, one that might’ve been approval, or something like it. “Yeah,” he muttered, reloading his Garand with another clip. “I guess it does.”

They shared a brief moment of understanding, this wasn’t the kind of enemy either of them had ever trained for, but it was an enemy nonetheless. The cult wasn’t going to stop, and they had to protect their family and each other.

“Just make sure you live long enough to tell that to the brass,” Adam added, aiming at another cultist approaching from the fog.

Alex gritted his teeth. “I plan to.”

The air was becoming thick with tension, gunfire, and the eerie howls of the cultists outside the Shepherd family home. The cult was relentless, their voices chanting in unison “Sator arepo tenet opera rotas”, no quarter was to be given, blending with the sound of boots stomping toward the house through the heavy fog.

Deputy Wheeler took cover near a side window and fired his shotgun. “These freaks don’t know when to quit!” he shouted, strained with exertion.

Alex stayed close to the main entrance, keeping his sights trained on the shapes in the mist. His heart was pounding in his chest, but his sweaty hands were steady as he pulled the trigger again, dropping a figure that came too close. He wasn’t going to let them take anyone else.

James was just a few feet away. Though he was calm on the outside, inside he was feeling a fury of focused anger. He crouched behind the cover, holding the hunting rifle Adam had given him. His face was a mask of rage, old wounds reopened as he finally faced the cult responsible for taking Mary from him. “You bastards,” James. “You think this ends with us?”

He fired a shot, the bullet finding its mark. A cultist fell, collapsing into the dirt, but James’s rage was far from satisfied. His hatred wasn’t just for the cult, it was for everything that had been stolen from him. For Mary, for the years lost, and for the madness he had been dragged into because of Silent Hill. This was his chance for revenge, to make them pay. To make them all pay.

“James, stay focused!” Adam barked, squeezing off another round from his Garand. He was trying to keep his brother-in-law focused, knowing full well that this fight wasn’t just about revenge. They needed to survive. “We can’t let them break through!”

The cult was circling, testing the defenses from different angles, and returning fire of their own. But each time they pushed forward, they were met with gunfire. Still, their numbers were overwhelming. Wheeler was running low on shells for his shotgun. “We can’t hold them forever!” he warned, glancing at Alex.

Back In the basement, Elle and Lillian huddled close together. Elle could hear every gunshot, every yell, but the worst part was knowing her mother was behind all of this. The question hung heavy in her mind “Just how far would her mother go?”

Upstairs, Alex took a deep breath and steadied himself. “We won’t need to,” he called back to Wheeler. “We just need to hold them off long enough.”

“For what?” Wheeler asked, barely hearing over all of the chaos.

Alex didn't answer, he didn’t have one. But his gaze shifted towards the fog, scanning for something, anything, that would give them an edge. He couldn't let himself think about what would happen if they failed. He had to keep fighting. For Elle. For his family. For the future of Shepherd’s Glen.

“We’ll make them regret coming here,” Alex muttered to himself, as the next wave of cultists charged through the fog.

James raised his rifle. “Let’s end this.”

The night dragged on as the battle raged, each side locked in a deadly stalemate. The cultists were relentless, pressing forward wave after wave, their eerie chants growing louder as they tried to breach the Shepherd family home. Alex, James, and Wheeler were holding their ground, but the strain was beginning to show.

Adam kept firing his M1 Garand with the precision of a seasoned hunter and soldier, firing upon cultists who dared come too close. His eyes darted between his son, his brother-in-law, and the chaos outside. “James!” he barked, seeing the man’s rifle drop to his side as the last round was spent.

“Damn it!” James growled, “I’m out!”

Adam tossed him a small box of 30.06 ammunition. “Here! Make every shot count!”

James caught the box and began loading the hunting rifle as quickly as he could. “You don’t need to tell me twice,” he muttered, slamming the bolt forward and popping back up to take another shot. Each round was like a piece of his vengeance, a long-held grudge against the cult that had torn his life apart. His bullets were driven by anger and sorrow, and he could feel it in every trigger pull. He wanted them to feel his and Mary’s pain.

Wheeler, breathing heavily and slick with sweat, had fired the last of his shotgun shells. He cursed under his breath as he slung the empty weapon over his back and switched to his sidearm, a Glock 17 handgun, firing off a few desperate shots toward the advancing cultists. “We’re getting low here, Alex! We’ve got to think of something!”

“We need to fall back!” Wheeler shouted, ducking as gunfire began to tear through the windows and walls.

But Adam shook his head, reloading the Garand. “We stay right here. If they break through, nothing is stopping them from getting to Lillian and Elle in the basement. We hold this line.”

His words hung in the air, reminding Alex of what was truly at stake. His eyes flickered toward the basement door, where Elle and his mother were hiding. He felt a pang of guilt. He had sworn to protect them, but now, here they were, pinned down by a cult that had already claimed too many lives. Was this how it was going to end?

James glanced at Alex. “You still with us, Alex?” he asked.

Alex nodded. “Yeah. I’m still here.”

“Good,” James replied, his voice low. “Because this isn’t over.”

A barrage of gunfire erupted again as more cultists advanced. They were getting desperate, throwing everything they had at the Shepherd house. But the defenders held their ground, each shot ringing out in defiance.

James fired a round, the rifle kicking against his shoulder as another cultist fell. His mind was racing, memories of Silent Hill flooding back as the faces of the monsters outside blurred with those from his time in Silent Hill. “This is for Mary,” he whispered under his breath.

Adam glanced down at the dwindling pile of ammunition near him and frowned. “We’re not going to last much longer like this,” he muttered, reloading one more time. “They’re going to break through if we don’t find a way to push them back.”

Wheeler fired off the last few rounds from his pistol before ducking back behind cover. “You got a plan, Shepherd?”

Alex’s mind raced. The cult was too strong and too organized. But they couldn’t retreat. Not with Elle and Lillian downstairs. He looked at his father, at James, at Wheeler. This was his family now, his only family. He couldn’t let them down.

“There’s an old generator in the shed out back,” Alex said suddenly, an idea forming in his mind. “If we can get it running, we can use the fence to electrify the perimeter. It might give us the edge we need.”

Adam hesitated, scanning the battlefield. “It’s a long shot.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” Alex replied firmly. “I’ll go. Cover me.”

Before anyone could protest, Alex darted for the back door.

Adam watched his son go, the knot in his chest tightening. “Goddamn it, Alex,” he muttered, firing another shot at the approaching cultists.

James moved next to him, his voice grim. “He’ll make it.”

Adam’s grip tightened on his Garand. “He’d better.”

As the gunfire momentarily subsided, the quiet that followed was almost more unnerving than the chaos. The sound of footsteps shuffling through the fog and the crackling of the fire on the porch filled the silence. Alex, still crouched near the back door, froze in his tracks, his heart pounding in his ears.

A crackling voice on a megaphone boomed through the night. "Cease fire! Cease fire!"

The echo of the command sent a ripple of confusion through both sides. Alex glanced back, where Wheeler and James exchanged wary looks. Adam, still aiming through the window, didn’t lower his rifle, his eyes scanning for any signs of deception.

"What the hell are they playing at?" Wheeler muttered, keeping his gun trained on the yard.

"Stay sharp," Adam said through gritted teeth. "This could be a trick."

Alex slowly inched his way back to rejoin the other men.

The voice over the loudspeaker echoed again. "We have you surrounded, Shepherds! You’ve fought well, but this doesn’t have to end in bloodshed."

Adam’s grip on his Garand tightened. "Doesn’t have to end in bloodshed?" he muttered with contempt. "They’ve been trying to kill us for hours."

James shook his head. "I don’t trust them. This is just another one of their games."

The voice continued, louder now, closer. "Judge Holloway offers you a chance to surrender. Lay down your weapons, and no harm will come to you."

Adam let out a harsh laugh. "No harm? After everything they’ve done? They think we’re just going to hand ourselves over?"

Wheeler stood up from behind his cover, wiping sweat from his brow, and turned to Adam and James. "We’ve got two options here: either they’re bluffing, or they’re planning something worse. We can’t sit on this forever."

The tension in the air grew thicker as the voice on the loudspeaker crackled again. "We propose a ceasefire... a parlay. Adam Shepherd and his son, Alex. The Judge wishes to speak with you, and only you."

Adam’s eyes narrowed, suspicion crossing every thought in his mind. He exchanged glances with Alex. This wasn’t just an offer for peace, it probably was a trap, another twisted move in Holloway’s game.

"They think we’re that stupid?" Wheeler spat, reloading his shotgun and taking a step forward. "What makes them think we’ll just walk into their hands?"

James looked toward Adam, his face a mask of barely contained fury. "This could be a distraction to get us out in the open. They don’t want us alive."

Alex shook his head. "It’s not like Holloway to ask for parlay. There’s something she wants... something specific from us." He glanced at his father. "What do you think?"

Adam remained silent for a moment, staring out the window and at the cultists waiting in the dark. His jaw clenched his grip on the Garand tightening. His mind raced, he knew this could easily be a trap. But Holloway wouldn’t risk exposing her position if there wasn’t something crucial at stake.

"I’ll go," Adam said finally, his voice steady and calm.

"No way," Wheeler cut in, his eyes widened with disbelief. "You’re not walking into their hands like that. It’s suicide."

Adam moved with resolve. "She wants to talk. She needs something from us. If we don't at least hear them out, we might not get another chance to figure out what she’s after."

Alex stepped closer to his father. "Then we go together," he said firmly. "If she wants to talk to both of us, we’ll do it on our terms."

James’s expression darkened, but he stayed silent. He knew as well as anyone what kind of danger this posed, but the Shepherds had always been at the heart of this conflict. He glanced between Adam and Alex, then nodded. "If you’re going out there, be smart about it."

Adam took a deep breath, then returned the nod to James. "We go out, we listen, and we come back. No heroics. If anything feels off, we fight our way out."
Elle suddenly appeared from the basement, having overheard part of the conversation. "You can’t trust her, Alex," she said softly, eyes filled with concern. "Whatever she’s offering, it’s not what it seems."

"I know," Alex replied. "But we need to understand what her plan is. This could give us an edge."

Adam and Alex exchanged one last look before stepping toward the door, weapons still in hand. Wheeler positioned himself near the entrance, ready to cover them if things went sideways. James stood behind, watching, ready for anything.

James immediately stepped forward, voice filled with defiance. “There’s no way in hell we’re giving Alex to them!” His fists clenched tightly, fury flashing in his eyes. “They already took Mary from me. They won’t get my nephew.”

Wheeler didn’t hesitate either, keeping his shotgun trained on the cultists. “I don’t trust a word out of their mouths. This is just another trap.” He turned to Adam and Alex. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

Alex remained silent, and yet, there was something deep inside that told him he needed to hear them out. Something was pulling him towards this.

“I’ll go,” Alex said, breaking the silence.

“No,” James snapped, stepping in front of him, refusing to let Alex get closer to the cult. “You’re not going anywhere with them.”

Alex met his uncle’s gaze. “I need to know what she wants, Uncle James. This isn’t just about me. There’s something bigger happening here, and we’re not going to stop it by hiding.”

Before James could protest again, Adam raised his hand. “If Alex is going, then so am I.”

James’s expression hardened, but he stayed silent, knowing there was no point in arguing with Adam anymore. Wheeler looked between the Shepherds and the cultists, his grip on the shotgun tightening, clearly uneasy with the decision.

“Fine,” Wheeler muttered. “But we’ll be watching. Anything goes wrong, we light them up.”

Adam nodded at Wheeler, then turned to James. “Cover us. If anything goes sideways, don’t hesitate.”

James didn’t like it, but he relented, stepping back to join Wheeler. His gaze remained locked on Holloway and her cultists, his fingers itching to pull the trigger if need be.

With a final look back at James and Wheeler, Adam and Alex stepped forward to face Holloway and her followers. The heavy fog swirled around them, and as they walked deeper into the mist.

Chapter Text

The tension remained heavy within the Shepherd family home, the fog lay thick outside, a reminder of the horrors beyond their line of sight. The cultists had fallen silent after the calls for a ceasefire. But Alex couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at him. Adam, his father, stood next to him, gripping the M1 Garand. Neither of them spoke, but the years of unspoken words, buried secrets, and now the struggle of survival loomed over them.

From the window, James and Wheeler held their positions, watching the cult with their weapons at the ready. James's fingers twitched on the trigger of his rifle, his eyes hard and focused, scanning for any sign of a double cross.

“I still don’t like this,” Wheeler muttered. “You think they’re just gonna talk?”

James didn’t answer, but his silence spoke louder than words. He didn’t trust them either.

Alex looked over at them, then back to Adam. “You ready?”

Adam nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

With a deep breath, Alex opened the door and stepped outside. The cold, damp air hit him like a ton of bricks and he shuddered involuntarily. Adam followed, shutting the door behind them. Together, the two walked down the steps and across the yard, slowly approaching the small group of cultists waiting there for them. The leader of the group, a man in a dirty coat holding a loudspeaker, waited for them with a calm, almost eerie patience.

Alex’s heart pounded in his chest as they approached, but he kept his cool, trying not to show them any hint of weakness.

“So you finally came,” the cultist said. “Adam Shepherd and his son. Just like we asked.”

Alex clenched his fists but didn’t speak. He glanced at Adam, who gave him a small nod, silently telling his son to let the cultist speak first.

The leader of the group stepped forward, lowering his loudspeaker. “We didn’t come here to fight. Enough blood has been spilled for now. Judge Holloway wants to speak with you both, face to face. She’s offering you a chance to end this.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “And why should we believe that? You expect us to trust anything Holloway has to say?”

The cultist curled his lips into a thin smile. “I don’t expect either of you to trust her. But I do expect you to hear her out. She has… plans for this town. And you, Alex, you were to play a bigger part in them than you’ve realized.”

Alex felt a chill run down his spine. He didn’t like the way the cultist’s eyes lingered on him like he was being sized up for something. “What does she want?”

“That’s for her to explain,” the cultist said, stepping back. “All I’m here to do is deliver the message. Holloway will meet you both. Alone. No guns. No backup.”

Adam narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on the rifle. “That’s not happening. We’re not walking into a trap without protection.”

The cultist shrugged. “It’s not a trap. She just wants to talk. If you refuse, the bloodshed will come. You know it will. You know what we’re capable of.”

Alex exchanged glances with Adam, there was a decision to make. They were outnumbered and outgunned, and the cult had already proven they were willing to sacrifice everything to get what they wanted. And the men knew that. But going to Holloway without any kind of plan felt like walking into the lion’s den.

James’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkie on Alex’s belt. “Alex, please don’t do this. You know they’re not going to just talk.”

Alex pressed the button. “I know, Uncle James. But we don’t have many options.”

“Damn it,” James hissed through the static. “You’re walking into a trap.”

Alex hesitated, looking at the cultist leader. He didn’t want to go. Every instinct inside of him screamed to turn around and run. But if there was even a slim chance of ending the bloodshed… He couldn’t ignore it. Too many people in town had already died.

“I’m going,” Alex said quietly, turning off the walkie-talkie before James could argue.

Adam nodded in agreement. “We’ll go. But if anything happens…”

The cultist leader smiled darkly. “Nothing will happen, so long as you keep your end of the deal.”

Without another word, Alex and Adam followed the cultist down the path, deeper into the fog and away from the safety of the house and their allies. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of their footsteps crunching on the gravel beneath their boots.

Alex’s heart pounded louder with every step. He didn’t trust Holloway. He didn’t trust the cult. But he had to find out what was going on.

Suddenly, the fog parted to reveal a clearing. In the center stood a single figure, Judge Holloway, they knew it was her despite the robes and ram skull mask, her hands folded neatly in front of her, eyes cold and calculating as she seemed to be examining them.

“Welcome, Alex,” she said, voice like ice. “It’s time we had a little talk.”

Alex felt his stomach churn. Whatever this was, he knew, deep down, nothing good would come from it.

Both men had reluctantly left their guns behind, as agreed, but the tension still hung in the air. Alex glanced over his shoulder one last time, catching a glimpse of James through the haze. His uncle was positioned at the window, rifle in hand, and ready to act in case anything went wrong. An unspoken promise between them, if things went sideways, James wouldn't hesitate to fire.

Wheeler was also in position, shotgun in hand, eyes narrowed with distrust. No one trusted the cult, but they were playing by their rules, for now.

Alex and Adam reached the designated meeting spot, and the outlines of figures became visible through the fog. Judge Margaret Holloway stood at the front, flanked by her right-hand man, Curtis Ackers, who wasn’t dressed in the usual cultist garb. Behind them were other members of the cult, robed figures, though Holloway and Curtis were the ones in charge.

Alex’s heart skipped a beat as he locked eyes with Holloway. The sight of her with that ram skull mask was unsettling to him, but as he and his father approached, she reached up and slowly removed it, revealing her pale face. The corners of her mouth curled into a slight, unsettling smile.

"Alex, Adam," she greeted them with an icy politeness. "I appreciate you coming out here to talk."

Adam’s face was stone-cold, but his fists clenched at his sides. "You gave us little choice, Holloway."

Holloway didn’t seem phased by this. She stepped forward gracefully, her long coat brushing against the wet ground. “I’m sure you understand that we need to resolve this peacefully, if possible.”

Alex studied her carefully. There was something off about the way she spoke as if the politeness was something rehearsed, masking something far more dangerous. Curtis, on the other hand, looked disinterested, leaning back casually with his arms crossed. He caught Alex’s eye and smirked slightly as if to say he wasn’t fully invested in this whole charade.

"Didn't bring my robes today," Curtis said dryly, noting Alex’s glance at his plain mechanic’s clothing. "Never did like playing dress-up."

Alex didn’t respond. He could feel the rising tension between his father and Holloway, though the judge continued to speak calmly.

Margaret Holloway’s eyes moved from Adam to Alex, smile still intact. “Let’s be clear, I have no personal desire to harm either of you. I respect both of you. You, Adam, had been a loyal servant to Shepherd’s Glen for years. Only need to be disciplined once in a while. And Alex… well, you’ve shown resilience beyond my expectations.”

Alex felt chill in her words. Polite or not, there was a sharp edge to her tone, a reminder that she held more cards than she let on.

Adam, however, wasn’t playing nice. “What do you want, Holloway? Because I know you didn’t come here for small talk.”

Holloway’s smile never wavered, but her eyes darkened. “Straight to the point, Adam? Very well.” She stepped closer, and Alex had to fight the instinct to move back. “I need both of you to stop your rebellion against the Order. You are standing in the way of a greater purpose, one that must be fulfilled.”

Alex spoke up first, his voice hard. “The ‘Order’ you’re talking about is nothing but a gang of murderers and fanatics.”

Holloway chuckled softly, but it was a cold, joyless sound. “Is that what you think? That we are simple fanatics? I assure you, Alex, what we are doing is far more important than you can imagine. This town... this world… is on the verge of something greater. The sacrifices we make are not in vain.”

Adam took a step forward, his voice filled with disdain. “What about my son? What about Joshua? You took him from the Bartlett’s didn’t you?”

A shadow crossed Holloway’s face, but she didn’t lose her composure. “Joshua was necessary to ensure your compliance. His role in all of this—”

Before she could finish, Curtis interrupted with a sigh, “Here we go again.” He rolled his eyes and shifted his weight, clearly bored with the formalities.

Margaret shot him a sharp look but continued. “Joshua’s fate is tied to this town’s survival. As is yours, Alex.”

Alex’s fists clenched at his sides. “What did you do to him?”

Holloway’s smile faltered for just a moment. "Joshua... was part of something greater. A necessary part of the process."

Adam’s eyes burned with fury. “You used my son.”

Margaret’s gaze hardened. “The sacrifices we make are not without reason, Adam. And you know that better than anyone. The pact your family made-”

"Don’t talk to me about pacts!" Adam snapped. “You twisted everything.”

Alex stepped closer to his father, feeling the anger rolling off of him in waves. He was right there with him, whatever Margaret Holloway had done with Joshua, it was unforgivable.

The air around them filled with tension, but before the conversation could spiral further, Curtis uncrossed his arms and spoke up. “Look, we’re not here to hash out the past. We’re here to talk about the future. So, are you going to listen to Holloway, or are we gonna have to deal with this the hard way?”

Alex turned his attention to Curtis, who shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. But Alex could see through the casual demeanor. Curtis wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be.

Holloway stepped forward again, keeping her voice soft but commanding. “This town’s future depends on the choices you make now. If you continue down this path of rebellion, everything will burn. The Order will not tolerate defiance.”

Alex met her head-on. “And what if we don’t stop? What if we continue to fight back?”

Holloway smiled again, that same cold, calculating smile of hers. “Then you will be consumed like the rest. You and your father… and everyone you care about.”

Adam’s face was set in stone, his hand twitching slightly as if he regretted leaving his weapon behind. But before he could say anything, Alex cut in.

“I’ve fought worse fanatics than you,” Alex said. “I’ve fought them in Iraq, and I’m not afraid to fight them again here.”

Holloway’s eyes narrowed, and the mask of politeness finally dropped. “You’re a fool then, Alex. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

Alex squared his shoulders, refusing to back down. “Maybe. But I’ll fight for my family. For my brother. And for this town, even if it means taking you down.”

Margaret Holloway’s eyes flickered with something dangerous. “You’ll regret this, Alex Shepherd. You’ll regret it all.” She said.

Curtis chuckled. “Well, this was fun. See you around, kid.” And he turned to to disappear into the fog. He was leaving them to continue talking.

"What are your plans, Holloway?" Alex demanded His eyes burned with fury, but he kept his voice steady. "What is this really about?"

Margaret Holloway, ever composed, tilted her head slightly as if amused by his question. "You’ve been fighting without understanding, Alex. Haven’t you? Isn’t it time you knew the truth?"

"Then tell me," Alex growled, refusing to back down. "Enough games."

Holloway took a slow breath, seemingly taking the time to savor the moment. "Every fifty years, the four founding families of Shepherd's Glen, the Fitchs, the Bartletts, the Shepherds, and of course, the Holloways offer a sacrifice to the God of Silent Hill. This pact ensures the town’s protection, both from the horrors that lurk beyond, and from ourselves." She stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Alex. "The sacrifice must be a child, one from each family. Your family… the Shepherd family… was no exception."

Alex’s stomach churned. He had heard whispers of this before, fragments of conversations his father never explained. But now, hearing it laid out so clearly made his blood run cold.

"That had to be Joshua, then," Alex interrupted, his voice sharp with desperation. He made a desperate look at his father and then back to Holloway. "You took him for that sick ritual, didn’t you?"

Holloway's lips curled into a strange smile, and she shook her head slowly. "Joshua?" She seemed almost perplexed by the mere suggestion. "No, Alex. You were the intended sacrifice."

Alex froze, his heart skipping a beat as her words sank in. "What?" His voice came out barely above a whisper.

"You were supposed to be the sacrifice," Holloway continued, her tone almost sympathetic, as if she were explaining something to a child. "Joshua was nothing more than our hostage, to once again ensure your father would fulfill his role in all of this. But fate, it seems, had other plans."

Adam stepped forward, his voice full of rage. "First your Order took the life of my sister, Mary, then you wanted me to use my sons, both of them, as pawns in your twisted game."

Margaret met his gaze. "They are part of something far bigger than you, Adam. This town’s fate… its survival… everything rests on this cycle. The pact has been in place for generations."

Alex’s mind raced as he struggled to process her revelation. He was supposed to die? He was the intended sacrifice? And Joshua had been taken. For the last couple of days, he had thought his father had just let him go, sacrificed him for whatever sick, twisted purpose the Order had demanded. But this… this was worse. It wasn’t Joshua. It was supposed to be him.

"Where’s Joshua?" Adam’s voice cut through Alex’s thoughts. His father was trembling with barely contained fury. "Where is my son?"

Holloway’s smile faded, replaced by something far more sinister. "It would be more accurate to say that Joshua is everywhere, anywhere, and nowhere all at once."

Adam’s fists clenched, face reddened with anger. "Enough with the riddles! Where is he?!"

For the first time, Holloway’s composure seemed to falter, just slightly. But she quickly regained control, speaking in that same, calm voice. "Joshua’s fate is intertwined with the town, with the ritual. He has become… part of it."

Alex couldn’t hold back any longer. "What the hell does that even mean?" His voice cracked with emotion, his heart pounding in his chest. "What did you do to him?"

Holloway looked directly at Alex, her eyes gleaming with a strange, almost sadistic satisfaction. "Joshua’s fate has been bound to the town, to the very fabric of its existence. He’s part of this place now, just as much as the fog, the monsters, and the nightmares."

Adam stepped toward her, shaking with rage. "You did this to him. You-" He stopped short, too furious to finish his sentence. He had always blamed himself, always carried the guilt, but now… now, Holloway was revealing just how deep her cruelty ran.

"Why?" Alex asked. "Why Joshua?"

Holloway sighed as if disappointed by the question. "Joshua wasn’t meant for the ritual, Alex. But circumstances changed. When your father failed to… fulfill the sacrifice, he became a backup, in a way. A tool to ensure that Adam would do his part, to keep the pact intact."

Adam’s fists shook. "You’re a monster," he spat with rage.

"Am I?" Holloway raised an eyebrow. "Or am I just doing what is necessary for the greater good?"

Alex felt a storm of emotions inside him, anger, guilt, confusion. He had thought he’d known what he was fighting for, what he was fighting against. But now, everything just felt so much more complicated, so much more twisted. His brother, his blood, had been used as leverage in a twisted game far bigger than any of them had realized.

And now… Joshua was gone.

No. Not gone.

“Everywhere, anywhere, and nowhere.”

The words echoed in Alex’s mind, filling him with hopelessness.

Adam’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You think this justifies everything? You think this makes you righteous?"

Holloway smiled again, but it was colder now, more detached. "What I do is for my town. For its survival. You can condemn me all you want, Adam, but this is bigger than you. Bigger than all of us."

Adam stepped forward, keeping his voice dangerously low. "If you’ve done anything else to my sons… if there’s anything more… I’ll make sure you pay for it."

Holloway didn’t flinch. "You already know the answer, Adam. Joshua’s fate was sealed the moment you failed to fulfill the pact."

Margaret Holloway’s voice turned icy as she delivered her final words. "Do you want to know what happens next? Either you fall back in line, or this town burns. With everyone in it."

Adam and Alex stood there, silent and shaking with rage. The battle wasn’t over, but the lines had been drawn.

Now, it was time for them to decide their next move.

Margaret Holloway stood with an air of cold confidence, her calculating gaze never leaving Alex and Adam. Behind her, the cultists shifted, but they remained focused and disciplined. The fog swirled around them, as Holloway, ever aware of her surroundings, glanced briefly toward the house.

James Sunderland was barely visible in the upstairs window, rifle trained on her. She knew exactly where he was.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she pointed a finger up at the window. “Go ahead,” she said coolly, her voice dripping with mock indifference. “Shoot me.”

Alex and Adam exchanged a glance, as Holloway continued.

"Do you think one bullet is enough to stop what’s coming? You kill me, and my men will burn you all alive. This house, your family, everything. All it takes is one spark. And trust me,” her voice darkened, “they’re more than ready to light the fire."

Adam’s hand tightened into a fist at his side again, he could barely restrain his fury. "You wouldn’t dare," he growled.

Margaret raised an eyebrow, almost amused. "Wouldn’t I? You of all people should know by now, Adam, that I don’t make empty threats."

Alex’s breath caught in his throat as Holloway’s words sank in. This wasn’t just a parlay. It was a death sentence waiting to be executed at the slightest provocation. He looked back toward the house, where James’s rifle was still trained on Holloway’s head. Wheeler, too, was ready to strike, ready to pull the trigger. But could that save them?

Alex’s looked back to Margaret, her smirk was gone now. Replaced by the cold, calculated mask she wore so well. "What do you want?" he asked.

Holloway sighed as though discussing something mundane. "I want you to understand, Alex. This isn’t just about survival. It’s about ensuring that the Order, and this town, continue. This is what your father and mother tried to protect you from. But you’re in it now."

"And Joshua?" Adam cut in, his voice harsh and filled with the rage and desperation of a father. "Where is he?"

Margaret’s smirk returned, more sinister this time. "Like I said before, Adam. Joshua is… everywhere, anywhere, and nowhere. I have no other way of explaining it to you."

Adam took a step forward, his anger barely restrained. "Enough of the riddles!"

But Holloway didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned slightly, motioning toward her men, who stood like statues, each one armed to the teeth and ready to strike. "This is your last chance, Adam," she said. "Surrender, and maybe you’ll survive what’s coming. Resist, and you will all burn. Your wife, your son… everyone."

James was still ready to fire from the window, his hands steady despite the rage boiling inside him. Wheeler stood ready as well, but it was Adam’s voice that broke through the silence.

"We’ll never surrender to you, Margaret."

Holloway’s smirk widened, and her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "So be it, Adam."

With those words, Margaret Holloway lifted her fist, giving a subtle signal to her cultists. It was barely noticeable, but it was enough. Adam’s heart sank as he saw the smug look in her eyes, knowing she had more in store for them. He turned to Alex, his voice barely above a whisper, "We need to move. Now!"

Just as Margaret disappeared into the fog, the rumble of engines echoed across the hills. Adam’s eyes widened in horror as two large trucks crested the rise, each mounted with a .50 caliber machine gun, meticulously provided by Curtis. The metallic beasts rolled into position, and the barrels of the guns swung toward the Shepherd family home.

"Oh, God," Alex muttered, watching the scene unfold in disbelief.

Without warning, the Order’s heavy artillery opened fire. The deafening roar of machinegun fire filled the air as the bullets tore into the house. The walls shuddered under the relentless assault, wood splintering, and windows shattering. Dust and debris filled the room as rounds pierced the building, leaving massive holes in their wake.

"Run!" Adam yelled, grabbing Alex’s arm and pulling him away from the incoming fire. They sprinted for cover, diving just as a section of the house exploded in a shower of splinters and glass.

James, stationed at the upstairs window, ducked just in time as bullets whizzed past him, sending shards of wood and glass into the air. He cursed under his breath, scrambling for cover, but his rifle was useless against the firepower bearing down on them.

Downstairs, Wheeler fired off a few rounds from his shotgun in a desperate attempt to hold them off. But it was no use. The cultists had kept their real firepower in reserve, and now they were unleashing it upon them in full force.

Adam pulled Alex behind a crumbling wall as the house continued to be riddled with bullets. "They’re tearing the place apart!" Alex shouted over the noise.

"Stick with me," Adam growled. "We’ll find a way through this."

As the heavy gunfire continued, Adam’s mind raced. There had to be a way out. He couldn’t let this be the end, not for his family, not for Alex, and not after all the sacrifices they had already made. He glanced at his son, and it reminded him why they were still fighting.

"We need to get back to the others!" Alex yelled, voice barely audible over the chaos.

Adam nodded. "We’ll get to the basement, your mother and Elle are down there. They’ll be safer there than out here in the open!"

With the house crumbling around them, Adam and Alex moved swiftly, darting from cover to cover as the .50 caliber machine guns continued their assault. Every step felt like a gamble, and each second felt like a brush with death.

An explosion hit the building, and Adam shielded his son as debris rained down on them. "Go!" he shouted, pushing Alex forward toward the stairs leading down to the basement.

They sprinted for the stairs, hearts pounding, as Wheeler and James laid down what little cover they could, trying to fend off the advancing cultists. They could hear the truck engines roaring in the distance, closer now, pushing the assault.

Just as they reached the basement door, Adam stopped and turned to Alex. "This isn’t over, Alex. We’ll need more than just guns to win this."

Alex nodded, wiping the sweat from his face. "We’re not giving up, dad. Not now. Not ever."

They hurried down the stairs, the sounds of gunfire still echoing above them. The basement was dark, lit only by a single lightbulb. Lillian and Elle huddled together, both frightened, but determined to survive.

"We’ll hold them off as long as we can," Adam said, grabbing more ammunition from his stash. "But we need to come up with a new plan. This isn’t just about survival anymore, it’s about ending this once and for all."

They prepared for the next wave of attacks, the walls of the basement shook with the intensity of the battle outside. The cultists were relentless, and it was clear to them now that Margaret Holloway had no intention of letting any of them leave Shepherd’s Glen alive.

Alex clenched his fists but said nothing. The truth about Joshua still gnawed at him, but now there was something far bigger at stake. This wasn’t just a battle for his brother anymore, it was a fight for everyone he cared about, for Elle, for the town, and for his survival.

And no matter what it took, he would see it through.

As the firefight raged on, a sudden crash as a Molotov cocktail tore through one of the shattered windows, bursting into flames upon impact. The fire spread quickly, igniting curtains and furniture. Thick, black smoke began to fill the house, and the flames added a new layer of chaos to the brutal battle.

“Damn it!” Adam yelled, shielding his face from the heat. “We don’t have a choice now!”

The fire was rapidly growing out of control, the heat was becoming unbearable. Adam turned to Alex, urgency clear in his voice. "We need to retreat! Get Lillian and Elle out of the basement. We’re leaving."

Alex’s heart raced. He wasn’t ready to leave, not without everyone. “What about Wheeler and James?” he demanded. “We can’t just leave them behind!”

James, hearing Alex’s protest, called out from upstairs, where he’d taken cover. “Go, Alex! We’ll cover you!”

Deputy Wheeler emerged from behind a broken doorway, firing off a few more shots as he shouted over his shoulder, “We’ll be right behind you! Get the others out of here, now!”

Smoke was starting to fill the rooms, making it harder to see. Alex hesitated, torn between staying with his Uncle and leaving with Elle. He could feel his chest tightening as the decision weighed upon him.

“Alex, we don’t have time!” Adam grabbed his son’s shoulder, giving him a firm shake. “If we stay, we’re all dead. Get your mother and Elle out, or we’ll lose them too!”

Alex met his father’s gaze, then nodded. He hated the thought of leaving his uncle and Wheeler behind, but he knew Adam was right. If they didn’t move now, none of them would make it out alive.

With a deep breath, Alex turned and rushed back to the basement door. He could already feel the smoke clogging his throat as he descended the stairs, where Lillian and Elle were waiting anxiously.

“We need to go,” Alex said quickly. “The house is on fire. We’re heading for the dock. There’s a boat.”

Lillian’s eyes widened, and Elle looked between Alex and Lillian. But they didn’t waste time with questions. They knew the stakes.

As they gathered themselves, Adam stood guard at the top of the stairs, rifle in hand, his eyes scanning the collapsing house. The fire had spread, and the crack of the .50 caliber machine guns continued outside. But for now, the cultists hadn’t moved in. Yet.

“We need to move, now!” Adam urged, voice commanding.

Alex, Elle, and Lillian hurried up the stairs. The heat was intense, and the flames seemed to chase them out with every step. They emerged into the living room just as another explosion rocked the house, this time from an overturned fuel tank, sending another wave of fire through the back hallway.

“We don’t have much time,” Adam muttered grimly. “Let’s go.”

Alex glanced back toward the staircase, where Wheeler and James were still holding their ground. “I’m not leaving without-”

“You don’t have a choice, Alex!” Adam snapped, grabbing his son’s arm. “They’ll hold the line, but we need to get out of here now!”

Reluctantly, Alex nodded. He clenched his gun, fighting back the fear and frustration boiling up inside him. This wasn’t the time for hesitation. He had to trust James and Wheeler.

Adam led the way out the back of the house, where the dock lay hidden behind the treeline. The boat was old but still functional for police duties, tucked away behind the house. The fire was spreading fast, but they still had a chance if they moved quickly.

As they sprinted across the backyard, dodging bullets that whizzed through the air, Alex could hear the sound of Wheeler’s shotgun roaring from inside the house, followed by the cracks of James’s rifle. The two were still fighting, still holding off the cultists with every last bit of strength they had.

"Keep moving!" Adam urged. "We’re almost there."

The dock came into view through the smoke and fog, the small boat rocking gently in the water. Adam jumped aboard first, helping Lillian and Elle climb in as the crackle of flames and gunfire continued to haunt the air behind them.

Alex hesitated one last time, glancing back at the house, at the flames through the windows, at the dark silhouettes of his uncle and Wheeler still fighting.

James stood at the upstairs window, his rifle aimed and ready, watching over them. He caught Alex’s eye from a distance, giving a small nod.

“Go!” James shouted. “We’ll catch up!”

With a heavy heart, Alex turned and climbed into the boat, gripping the side tightly. Adam was already untying the ropes, starting the motor. The engine sputtered to life, and the boat pulled away from the dock just as another round of machine gun fire rang out, shredding through the air where they had just been standing.

They drifted into the fog. They had made it out, for now, but Wheeler and James were still back there, still fighting for their lives. The battle was far from over, and with Margaret Holloway still out there, with her twisted plans, Alex knew their nightmare was just beginning.

Chapter Text

The house continued burning in the distance, the flames a harsh orange glow against the night sky. Alex could only hope that James and Wheeler would survive and that they’d find each other again.

For now, though, they had no choice but to keep moving.

As the boat engine sputtered to life, Alex, Adam, Elle, and Lillian drifted away into the mist, their gazes locked on the burning house. They could still hear the gunfire from the machine guns, the occasional echo of a shotgun blast from Wheeler, and the crack of James’s rifle providing cover.

The fog swallowed the boat as they pushed farther into the lake, the crackle of fire and the cult’s muffled shouts slowly fading into the distance. Alex knew that James and Wheeler were still back there. He stared at the burning house until it disappeared behind the fog.

Back at the house, the cultists were relentless. Wheeler ducked behind a fallen beam, pumped his shotgun, and fired off another blast at the advancing cultists. “We need to move, James!” he shouted over the chaos, beginning to choke on the smoke.

James, his rifle still aimed through the shattered window, took another shot, managing to down a cultist who had ventured too close. “I know!” he yelled back, his eyes scanning the fog for any sign of movement. “Just a little longer…”

But before he could take another shot, there was a sudden rustle behind him. His instincts kicked in too late, a cultist, who had snuck into the house during the firefight, lunged at him from the shadows. The weight of the attacker slammed into James, knocking him off balance and sending his rifle clattering to the floor.

“James!” Wheeler called out, but he couldn’t break cover, not with the bullets still flying around them.

James grappled with the cultist, fists flying as they wrestled for control. The cultist snarled, trying to overpower him, his hands grabbing at James’s throat. James grunted, using all his strength to shove the attacker off him, but the cultist was determined, his eyes wild with the same fanaticism that had driven them all to this point.

They struggled across the room, crashing into furniture as the fire roared all around them. The cultist grabbed James’s rifle, trying to turn it against him, but James fought back with everything he had. Sweat and smoke blurred his vision as they wrestled for control, the rifle clattering between them.

The air in the burning Shepherd house was thick with smoke, the stench of gunpowder mixing with the suffocating heat. Wheeler crouched behind a half-collapsed wall, his shotgun raised as he fired off another shot at the cultists advancing on their position. “James, we’re running out of time!” he shouted, his voice strained over constant gunfire. But James wasn’t responding.

James was locked in a deadly struggle with the cultist who had snuck in, their bodies crashing into one another as they fought for control of the rifle. They tumbled to the floor, the rifle clattering between them as they grappled with each other. Sweat and smoke blurred James’s vision, and the cultist snarled, his eyes wide with frenzied determination as he tried to turn the rifle’s barrel toward James.

Wheeler glanced over, his heart pounding. He had a clear shot at the cultist—but James was too close. If he fired, he might hit James instead. He gritted his teeth, his hands shaking as he weighed his options. “Come on, James, get out of there!” he muttered under his breath.

James’s face was contorted in a mixture of rage and exhaustion as he struggled against the cultist’s grip. The man’s wild eyes gleamed with fanatical intensity, and James could feel the cold metal of the rifle pressing into his side. They wrestled for control, both men straining with every ounce of strength they had left.

Then, with a sudden burst of adrenaline, the cultist gained the upper hand. He shoved James back, pinning him to the ground with the rifle in hand, the barrel aimed directly at James’s chest.

“James!” Wheeler roared, abandoning his cover and rushing forward, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to act.

With a desperate lunge, Wheeler charged at the cultist, tackling him to the ground just as the rifle fired, the bullet whizzing harmlessly into the wall behind them. The cultist grunted in surprise as Wheeler slammed into him, sending them both sprawling across the floor. James rolled away, gasping for air as he tried to collect himself.

Wheeler landed a few quick punches, his fist connecting with the cultist’s face in a flurry of desperate strikes. But the cultist was strong, stronger than Wheeler had anticipated. He growled, blood dripping from his mouth as he shoved Wheeler off him, reaching for something at his side.

Before Wheeler could react, the cultist pulled out a knife.

“Wheeler, look out!” James shouted as he struggled to his feet.

The cultist lunged, the knife flashing in the dim light. Wheeler tried to dodge, but he wasn’t fast enough. The blade sank into his side, and a sharp pain shot through him. Wheeler gasped, stumbling back as blood began to pour from the wound. His vision blurred, the world tilting around him as the pain threatened to overwhelm him.

The cultist sneered, pulling the knife out with a sickening twist, readying for another strike.

But James wasn’t about to let that happen. Fueled by anger and desperation, he grabbed his rifle from the ground, ignoring the pain in his limbs as he raised it and aimed at the cultist. His hands trembled, but his aim was steady. “Get away from him!” James growled, and with a quick pull of the trigger, the rifle fired.

The cultist froze, a look of shock crossing his face as the bullet tore through him, sending him staggering backward. He dropped the knife, his body crumpling to the ground with a dull thud. The fight was over.

James rushed to Wheeler’s side, dropping to his knees as he examined the wound. Blood soaked Wheeler’s shirt, his face pale and his breathing ragged. “Stay with me, Wheeler,” James muttered, his hands shaking as he applied pressure to the wound. “You’re going to be fine, you hear me?”

Wheeler groaned, wincing as the pain flared up again. “I’m… I’m not done yet,” he rasped, his voice weak.

James could hear the distant shouts of the cultists outside, the sounds of gunfire still echoing through the house. There wasn’t much time. “We need to get out of here,” James said, his voice urgent. He hoisted Wheeler’s arm over his shoulder, helping him to his feet. “Come on, we have to move.”

With Wheeler leaning heavily on him, James led them toward the back door, slipping through the burning remnants of the Shepherd house. The fire crackled around them, and the smoke was thick, but they pressed on, determined to make it out alive.

As they emerged from the house, the fog closed in around them, swallowing them whole. The boat that Alex, Adam, Elle, and Lillian had taken was long gone, lost in the mist. They were on their own now.

But they had survived. For now.

And they weren’t done fighting.

James gritted his teeth as he struggled to pull Wheeler out of the burning house, the weight of the injured man pressing down on his already tired and aching limbs. The flames crackled behind them, casting an eerie glow over the night as smoke mixed into the fog. Wheeler muttered weakly under his breath, "Just... leave me behind, James. I'll slow you down. You need to go."

James shook his head. He hadn’t known Deputy Wheeler for long, but he was a good man, they had been through too much together already. There was no way he was abandoning him now, not after everything. "Shut up, Wheeler," James growled. "We’re getting out of here. Together."

Wheeler groaned in protest, but James wasn’t having any of it. He hoisted Wheeler, his muscles screaming in protest as he carried him through the night. The distant sounds of gunfire had faded, replaced by an unsettling quiet, save for the occasional crackle of fire from the burning house. But they didn’t make it far.

Suddenly, dark shapes began to emerge from the fog, surrounding them in every direction. Cultists. They were armed with a mixture of crude weapons, from pipes, crowbars, and machetes, but some of them carried shotguns and rifles, all pointing at them. Their eyes gleamed with a malevolent purpose. James could feel the tension in the air, the danger pressing down on him.

James’s grip tightened on Wheeler, and his mind was racing. He glanced around, looking for any possible escape route, but there was none. They were surrounded. Before he could act, the sound of engines rumbled from the distance. James turned just in time to see the two trucks roll up, their headlights cutting through the fog. Mounted on the trucks were the 50-caliber machine guns, the barrels pointed directly at them. A spotlight swept over James and Wheeler, blinding them for a moment as a loudspeaker crackled to life.

"A burst from a 50-caliber machine gun can rip a man in half," a voice boomed from the truck. "Surrender now, and you won't be fired upon!"

James cursed under his breath. He knew exactly what those weapons could do. There was no surviving a fight against them, no hope of running or hiding. If they tried to resist, they’d be mowed down in an instant. He looked down at Wheeler, who was barely conscious, his wound still bleeding. They wouldn’t make it ten feet before being cut down.

James took a deep breath, feeling the situation crash over him. There was no way out of this. Not for them.

Slowly, he made his decision. With a heavy heart, James tossed his hunting rifle to the ground. "Fine," he muttered, his voice bitter but resigned. "We surrender." Slowly, he let go of Wheeler and he raised his hands in surrender.

As soon as the rifle hit the ground, a group of cultists surged forward. One of them stepped up to James and struck him hard across the face with the butt of a rifle. Pain exploded through James’s head as he was knocked to the ground, his vision swimming as darkness threatened to overtake him. He tried to stay conscious, but the blow had rattled him hard. He could feel rough hands grabbing him, dragging him across the dirt as they pulled his arms behind his back before zip-tying his hands and feet.

Wheeler groaned beside him, barely able to protest as they zip-tied his wrists together. "Damn it," Wheeler muttered with pain. "Should’ve left me, James."

James blinked, trying to shake off the dizziness as his vision darkened. "Shut up, Wheeler," he muttered, his voice fading as the cultists lifted him to his feet. "We’re... we’re in this together now."

Before he could say anything more, the world went black as another blow knocked him unconscious.

James woke up to the cold, hard ground beneath him and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. His wrists were bound tightly behind his back, the zip ties cutting into his skin. He blinked against the harsh light of a spotlight, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Wheeler lay a few feet away, equally restrained, his face pale from blood loss but still alive. One of the cultists was tending to Wheeler’s stab wound. He would die, but only under their terms.

The cultists surrounded them, their masked faces and dark robes blended into the fog. The trucks loomed in the distance, the massive 50-caliber machine guns still trained on them. But everything went to black as a cultist forced a burlap sack over James’s head.

James's world was spinning, his thoughts muddled by pain and confusion. He struggled to make sense of his surroundings, but the first thing he noticed was the suffocating, almost claustrophobic pressure of a bag over his head. It smelled of mildew and sweat, and the rough fabric scratched against his skin with every slight movement. His hands were still bound tightly behind him, the zip ties biting into his wrists, leaving his fingers numb.

He tried to move, to get his bearings, but the hard surface beneath him was jostling and bouncing. The faint rumble of an engine filled his ears, and it took a moment for him to realize that he was now in the back of a truck. The uneven rocking and the occasional bumps made it clear, he was being transported somewhere.

Wheeler. His first thought was of the deputy. He remembered seeing him, pale and bleeding, back at the house before everything went dark. But now, he couldn't hear Wheeler's familiar grumbling voice. The dull ache in his head throbbed harder as panic began to creep in. Where was Wheeler? Was he even alive? James couldn’t remember the last clear thing before being knocked out. Everything was a blur of chaos, cultists, and blood.

His heart pounded against his ribs as the truck hit another bump, sending him sliding against the cold, metal floor. He heard the low hum of voices around him, muffled by the thick bag over his head. The cultists were talking, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. His pulse quickened, each beat thundering in his ears, blocking out any hope of understanding their words.

He shifted again, trying to get comfortable, or at least as comfortable as he could in his current situation, but the zip ties only tightened around his wrists, sending pain up his arms. He gritted his teeth, trying to remain calm. He couldn't let panic set in, not now. He had to keep his wits about him, for Wheeler's sake. For Alex’s sake.

Alex. His nephew had escaped with Adam, Lillian, and Elle. That much he was sure of. They had gotten out. He’d watched them run toward the docks before everything went sideways. James clung to that small hope. They were still alive, and as long as they were free, there was still a chance.

But that meant he had to survive this.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his thoughts. The cult had gone to great lengths to capture him and Wheeler, so they weren’t planning to kill them outright, not yet anyway. But whatever they had in store couldn’t be good.

The truck continued to rumble along the dirt roads, the engine growling as it climbed uphill. James's mind raced, trying to calculate their direction based on the jerks and turns, but with no clear sense of how long they'd been driving, it was impossible. He thought back to Margaret Holloway's smirk, the way she had calmly threatened them back at the house, the way she calmly gestured at him to fire at her heart, and it sent a chill down his spine. She was playing a game, a dangerous one, and they were her prisoners now. Her hostages. Her pawns.

The truck slowed to a stop, the brakes screeching against the silence. James tensed, his muscles coiling as he prepared for whatever was coming next. He could hear the cultists moving around outside, boots crunching on gravel. The rear doors of the truck clanged open, the sound echoing in the confined space. Rough hands grabbed him, yanking him to his feet. He stumbled, his legs weak and unsteady, but the cultists didn't care. They dragged him forward, his feet scraping against the floor.

He heard Wheeler groan from somewhere nearby, a reminder that his comrade was still alive, just barely. Relief mixed with dread in James’s chest. They were both prisoners now, but at least Wheeler hadn't been left to die back at the house.

James was roughly hauled out of the truck, the ground beneath his boots shifting from metal to gravel. The cold night air bit at his skin through the fabric of the bag, and he could hear the shuffling of feet all around him—the cultists, no doubt, surrounding them like a pack of wolves ready to devour their prey.

With a hard shove, they forced him to his knees. Wheeler was dropped beside him with a loud grunt, his body landing heavily on the ground. James wanted to reach out, to check if he was okay, but the restraints made that impossible. All he could do was wait, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts as the cultists circled them.

Then, a voice broke the silence.

"Remove the bags."

The bags were forcibly yanked off their heads, and James blinked against the sudden light. His eyes adjusted to the dim glow of lanterns scattered around the clearing. They were outside, in some desolate part of the woods.

He glanced around, trying to make sense of their surroundings. Wheeler was slumped beside him, his face pale, but his eyes were open. He was alive, for now.

Ahead of them stood a figure James recognized all too well, Margaret Holloway. Her face was calm with that same unsettling smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She was flanked by more cultists, some wearing the strange ram-skull masks, others with their faces hidden beneath black hoods. Curtis stood nearby, his usual nonchalance replaced by something darker, more serious. He wasn't wearing the cult garb, he never liked it, but his allegiance to the Order was clear enough now.

"Welcome back to reality, outsider," Holloway said, her voice smooth, almost amused as she first addressed James and looked over to Wheeler, who lay next to him. "And Mr. Wheeler. I trust the ride wasn't too uncomfortable?"

James glared at her, his body tense despite the fatigue weighing him down. "What do you want with us?" His voice was low, edged with anger, but Holloway only smiled wider.

"All in good time," she replied, her eyes gleaming with something sinister. "First, I think it's time we had a little... discussion." She glanced over at Curtis, who remained silent, his arms crossed. "After all, we have so much to talk about."

James’s stomach twisted. Whatever was coming next, he knew it would be bad. The cult had taken them alive for a reason, and he could only imagine what Holloway had planned.

As he stared into her cold, calculating eyes, he realized something, this nightmare was far from over, and they had a long night ahead of them.

James's mind raced, his heart pounding. They were captives now, at the mercy of the Order.

He had no idea what would come next. But he knew one thing for certain, he and Wheeler were dead men. But if what little he learned about the Order from Adam was true, it might be better if they were.

Chapter Text

As Adam took ahold of the steering wheel, Alex, Elle, and Lillian huddled together, the distant glow of their once-safe home fading behind them, the crackling of the fire and the roaring of the engines faded into the background as their minds processed the chaos they'd just escaped. The cold wind whipped through the air, stinging their faces, but no one cared. Each was lost in their thoughts, haunted by the burning wreckage and the uncertainty of what was to come next.

Elle, clutching Alex’s arm tightly, broke the silence first. "We need to go back for Wheeler and James."

Alex shook his head. "We can’t, Elle. Not yet. They’re expecting us to do that. If we go now, it’ll be suicide."

Adam, steering the boat, glanced back. "He's right, Elle. We have to regroup and figure out what we’re up against. It’s not just Holloway. The cult's too strong for just us now, we need a plan."

Lillian sat quietly, her eyes distant, looking through the water, lost in thoughts, of the family, of the home they had just lost. "We can’t just leave them. Not after everything. We have to find another way."

Alex nodded. "We will. We’re not abandoning them, Uncle James or Wheeler. But we need more firepower, something. If we charge in blind, we’ll just end up captured like them, or worse."

Elle's face hardened, and she began tearing up at Alex. "Then what’s the plan, Alex? We don’t have time! Every second we’re out here, they’re getting tortured or worse."

Adam sighed deeply, looking out into the fog, into the dark waters. "There's only one place we can go now... Silent Hill. The cult’s roots run deep there, and if we want to strike back, we need to know exactly what we’re facing."

The name hung over them in the air like a death sentence. Silent Hill.

Lillian's voice trembled. "Are you sure you want to do that? We just barely made it out of Shepherd's Glen, and you want to go to Silent Hill?"

"We don’t have a choice," Alex said, gripping the side of the boat. "That’s where all of this started. If we want to end it, that’s where we need to go."

Elle’s hand rested in Alex’s hand and she rested her head on his shoulder. Her touch was firm but understanding. "We’ll find a way, Alex. Together. Just like back there. We’ll find James and Wheeler, and we’ll stop Mom- Margaret." Elle corrected herself, she couldn’t view her mother as her mom anymore.

Adam continued steering the boat into the fog ahead, the outline of Silent Hill growing closer in the distance. The town began looking like a dark shadow on the horizon, a place of nightmares and secrets.

Lillian looked ahead, tension building inside her. "Whatever’s waiting for us there, we’ll face it. But we can’t go in blind this time."

The boat continued moving closer to that cursed town, Alex whispered, almost to himself, "We’re not the only ones looking for answers in Silent Hill."

The boat continued to cut through the dark, fog-covered waters, Alex’s mind swirled with unanswered questions. The shock of the night’s events, the burning of their home, and the unknown fate of Wheeler and Uncle James weighed on him. But there was one thing gnawing at him more than anything else, what Holloway had said before they fled. Her words echoed in his head and wouldn’t just go away.

Alex glanced over at his father, Adam, who was still steering the boat.

Alex took a deep breath and finally spoke up, his voice low but clear. “Dad… I need to ask you something. About what Judge Holloway said back there.”

Adam didn’t look back at him, his eyes were fixed on the horizon, but Alex knew he was listening.

“She said…” Alex hesitated, trying to figure out the words. “She said that I was supposed to be the sacrifice for the Order, along with Scarlett, Nora, and Joey. Not Joshua.”

Adam tightened his grip on the wheel, but still, he said nothing.

Alex’s frustration grew, and raised his voice. “You drugged me that night, didn’t you? When I came home to Shepherd’s Glen. You gave me that drink, whiskey, and water, and I passed out. What was in it, Dad?”

Adam clenched his jaw, and for a moment, Alex thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, after a long silence, Adam finally spoke, his voice rough with regret.

“I had to make a choice, Alex,” Adam admitted, avoiding looking at his son’s eyes. “You don’t understand what it was like… the pressure, of what I was forced to do. I didn’t want this for you, for Joshua, or any of us.”

Alex’s heart pounded, anger boiling. “What choice, Dad? What did you put in that drink?”

Adam exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what he was about to reveal. “It was drugged,” he confessed. “I had to. I couldn’t risk you finding out the truth. Not then. You weren’t supposed to be there that night, Alex. You were never supposed to know.”

Alex felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. His father had drugged him and had kept him in the dark about everything. “Why?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why me? Why Joshua?”

Adam’s face twisted with pain. “The Order… they demanded a sacrifice from each founding family. That’s how the pact with Silent Hill was kept. I was supposed to" He paused, struggling to find the words. “You were chosen. You were supposed to be the one, Alex. Not Joshua.”

This revelation hit Alex like a sledgehammer. His hands clenched into fists. "You chose me, Dad, but Joshua took my place didn’t he?”

Adam’s eyes finally met his son’s, filled with a sadness Alex had never seen before. “I don’t know. You came back, and I… I couldn’t go through with it. You were strong, Alex, always strong. And Joshua… he was a fragile boy, and I thought, I thought I could protect you both. But I failed.”

Alex’ shook with fury. “You sacrificed him instead, didn’t you? You let him die!”

Adam’s face crumpled “I didn’t sacrifice him either, Alex. I didn’t want any of this. I thought I was saving you and your brother. I thought if I rebelled from Holloway and the Order, I could keep you safe. I was wrong.”

His father’s confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Alex turned away, his chest tight with a mix of anger and grief. The person he had looked up to, and trusted, had betrayed him in the worst way possible.

“I can’t forgive you,” Alex said quietly. “Not for this.”

Adam nodded "I don’t expect you to. I just… I need you to understand. Everything I did, I did because I thought I had no choice."

Alex didn’t respond, staring out into the fog.

Alex tried to process everything his father had just admitted—the betrayal, the lies, the secrets that had shaped his entire life. But now wasn’t the time to fully unpack it. He was too hurt, too angry, and they had more pressing dangers ahead. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sound of the boat’s engine and the water breaking beneath them fill his ears.

“We’ll talk about it later, Dad,” Alex said quietly, though anger was still simmering in his voice. He wasn’t ready to confront his father’s decision, not now. He needed his mind sharp for what lay ahead.

Adam didn’t say anything, and Alex was grateful for the silence. Neither Lillian nor Elle spoke up, and he was grateful for that too.

But there was something else bothering him, something even more cryptic. He turned back to his father. Though he was still angry about everything, there were other questions he had for him “What did Holloway mean when she talked about Joshua? She said he’s ‘everywhere, anywhere, and nowhere at the same time.’ What the hell does that mean? She made it sound… like Joshua wasn’t sacrificed like the others. Like he’s still… out there.”

Adam stiffened but Alex pressed on. “She said Joshua was taken as a hostage. That he’s everywhere and nowhere. What did she mean by that? Did she mean… is he alive?” There was a flicker of hope in Alex’s voice, one he barely wanted to acknowledge.

Adam’s face twisted in confusion and something else, fear, anxiety perhaps. “Look, I don’t know, Alex. I don’t understand any of it either. Holloway’s always spoken in riddles, especially when it comes to the Order’s beliefs. She’s obsessed with their doctrine, their way of thinking. I don’t know if Joshua was a substitute, supposed to be…” Adam’s voice faltered as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the word “sacrifice.”

“But if what she said is true,” Alex continued, “then if Joshua wasn’t sacrificed. He’s being held somewhere. I’ve, we’ve got to find him. I have to know.”

Adam shook his head. “She’s trying to mess with your mind, Alex. The Order is built on half-truths and manipulation. Holloway’s using what happened to confuse you. She knows how much Joshua means to you. That’s why she’s speaking in riddles, she wants you distracted, chasing something that might not even exist.”

Alex wasn’t entirely convinced. His heart pounded. It was with a strange mix of hope and dread filling him. Holloway’s words gnawed at him, the thought that his brother might still be alive, still out there, twisted into some kind of cruel game of hers.

“But if there’s a chance, Dad.” Alex said, firmer now, “even if it’s a small one… I have to try. I have to know what happened to him. You owe me that much, Dad.”

Adam’s face softened, but he didn’t answer. His silence still spoke volumes, and Alex knew that his father didn’t have the answers either. Maybe Holloway’s riddles were just that, riddles designed to torment him, to distract him. But maybe, just maybe, there was truth buried somewhere in her words.

“Silent Hill,” Alex muttered. “If there are any answers, they’re going to be there.”

Adam nodded, resigned. "If Joshua’s fate lies anywhere, it’s there. But Alex," he hesitated, his voice grave. "Be careful. Silent Hill has a way of twisting what you think you know. Whatever Holloway meant, the truth may be something neither of us can fully understand.”

Alex stared into the fog. “I’m going to find out. One way or another.”

The boat continued its steady path across the waters, and a tense quiet settled over the group. Elle had moved to sit alone, staring blankly into the distance, clearly grappling with her thoughts. Lillian, who had been sitting silently, suddenly rose and walked over to where Alex and Adam were standing.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice was low but urgent. "There’s something I need to tell you both."

Alex looked up, surprised by the serious tone in his mother’s voice. She had been quieter than usual since they escaped, almost withdrawn, but now there was a strange intensity in her eyes.

Adam glanced over. "What is it, Lillian?"

Lillian crossed her arms as if bracing herself for what she was about to admit. "I haven’t been completely honest with you, either of you… about my involvement with the Order."

Alex straightened. “Mom? What do you mean?”

Lillian sighed heavily. "For years… I was the librarian for the Order. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but I was tasked with maintaining and organizing their archives. I didn’t agree with them, not their methods, not their beliefs, but I did what I was told to. It kept our family safe, or so I thought."

Both Adam and Alex tensed at this, clearly rattled by Lillian’s admission. "You worked for them?” Adam asked, “You never told me."

"I didn’t have a choice, Adam" Lillian admitted, her voice strained with emotion. "Holloway came to me years ago. She knew things, about me, about our family, that made it clear I couldn’t refuse. At first, it was just organizing basic records, history, and rituals I didn’t fully understand. But as time went on, she had me dig deeper, helping her sift through the Order’s older archives."

Alex narrowed his eyes. "Older archives? What were you looking for?"

Lillian shook her head. "I don’t know exactly, Alex. Much of it was in ancient languages I couldn’t understand. It was made up of symbols and texts that didn’t make sense to me. But Holloway… she seemed to understand. I don’t know how, but she did."

Alex felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. "What was she looking for, mom?"

Lillian’s voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes darting toward Elle as if to make sure she was out of earshot. "A ritual. Holloway is preparing for another ritual. One, unlike anything they’ve done before."

Alex’s mind raced, his thoughts leaping to Holloway’s cryptic words about Joshua, the sacrifices, and the twisted riddles that had plagued him. “Another ritual? Why? What is she trying to do?”

Lillian shook her head, her eyes filled with fear. "I don’t know all the details, but I know it’s tied to the ancient texts she’s been obsessed with. She’s convinced that this ritual will complete what the Order started. It’s bigger than just Shepherd’s Glen. It involves Silent Hill, the cult's origins, everything."

Adam clenched his fists, his voice low and dangerous. "And you’re only telling us this now?"

Lillian’s face fell. "I didn’t think she’d go this far. I thought… I thought if I stayed quiet if I just did what she asked, it would be enough to protect you, protect our family. But I was wrong."

Alex’s mind buzzed with questions. "Does this have anything to do with my brother, Joshua? What she said about him being everywhere, anywhere, and nowhere?"

Lillian’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I don’t know. But whatever this ritual is, Holloway believes it’s going to give her, and the Order, ultimate control. Something ancient, something powerful."

Alex’s blood ran cold. He turned to his father, then back to his mother. “If Holloway's preparing for this ritual, then we need to stop her.”

Lillian nodded, her face pale. “If it’s not too late already.”

The boat pressed onward through the fog, and Silent Hill loomed closer, as the weight of their mission, of the unknown dangers ahead, pressed down on them all.

Lillian shifted nervously, her hands wringing together as if she was struggling to find the right words. Alex watched her carefully, sensing that there was more she hadn’t told them yet. Adam, standing beside him, was silent but tense, his eyes locked on his wife.

“There’s more,” Lillian finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if Holloway is continuing Dahlia’s work if she’s trying to bring the Order’s God into the world like Dahlia did… or if it’s something else entirely.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘something else’?”

Lillian took a deep breath, her expression seemed almost haunted. “These rituals… they’re complex. They require much, blood, sacrifices, of time. If Holloway had enough power to use a curse like the one that was placed on Mary, Adam’s sister, and your aunt, she wouldn’t bother attempting another ritual at the same time. It would be too dangerous, and too costly. That’s why… for the moment, we’re safe. She won’t be able to use the same kind of curse on us, not yet.”

Alex frowned, confused. “What are you talking about? Aunt Mary? Curses?”

Adam cleared his throat, finally speaking. “My sister, Mary… that was something from long ago, Alex. The Order used her as a weapon against me, to torture. They believed it would keep me controlled. But if Holloway might be capable of something similar, but… as Lillian said, it takes a lot to make those rituals work.”

Lillian nodded. “She’s focusing all her energy on this new ritual. Whatever it is, it’s bigger than anything the Order’s done before. We’re safe from Mary's fate for now, but if Holloway succeeds…” Her voice trailed off, the implication hanging in the air.

Alex shook his head, trying to piece it all together. “So, we’re not in immediate danger from whatever she’s planning with this ritual, but we can’t just wait around for her to finish it. If she succeeds, it’ll be worse than anything we’ve faced before.”

Lillian looked down, her voice soft but filled with a quiet determination. “If we don’t stop her… there may not be anything left to save.”

The boat pressed on, Silent Hill now looming closer against the mist. The tension hung thick, but Alex’s resolve hardened. Whatever Holloway was planning, they had to stop it, before it was too late.

As the dark, fog-covered lake stretched endlessly around them, Elle, who had been sitting alone near the edge of the boat, suddenly turned toward the group. Her eyes were sharp, her expression tense as she stood and approached Alex, Adam, and Lillian.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Elle said, her voice steady but carrying an edge. “About my mom… about Holloway.”

Alex gave her a questioning look, and Lillian shifted uneasily.

Elle crossed her arms, her gaze drifting for a moment before she focused on the group again. “I don’t know a lot. She always kept me in the dark most of the time. But I know enough to tell you this, everything with her has always been about control.”

Adam frowned, but Elle continued, her voice growing more resolute. “It’s like she’s been trying to escape something… fate, I guess. Look, I don’t know all the details, ok, but when she talked about the Order, it was never about belief or faith. It was about power. She always made it sound like she was playing a game, trying to be one step ahead of whatever was coming. Like she knew something none of us did.”

Alex gave Elle a questioning look. “Elle, Control? Escaping fate? That doesn’t sound like the Judge Holloway I remember, but then again, I never saw the side of her you did.”

Elle nodded, a bitter. “Yeah, well, she was different when it came to me. Everything she did was to keep me in line. She never talked about the rituals or what they were really for. Just that the Order was… necessary. But now, I think she was preparing for something big all along. Whatever she’s doing now, it’s not about the town. It’s about her.”

Lillian looked at Elle, a flicker of understanding passing between them. “Then she’s using the Order’s power for herself. To change things, to control her fate… maybe even escape the consequences of all the horrors the Order has caused.”

“Exactly,” Elle said, trying to find the next words to say. “If mom- Margaret thinks she can manipulate the Order’s power to her advantage. She’s not trying to summon their ‘God’ out of devotion, she’s trying to bend whatever this force is to her will.”

Alex felt a chill creep down his spine. Holloway wasn’t just dangerous because of her connection to the Order, she was trying to use it for herself, for something even more terrifying.

Adam’s voice broke the silence. “That means she’s more desperate than we realized. Desperate people are the most dangerous.”

Elle nodded. “And if she’s trying to control whatever power the Order worships, then we’re running out of time.”

Adam stood silently for a moment at the boat’s steering wheel, absorbing everything Elle had revealed. His eyes drifted out toward the thick fog surrounding them, Silent Hill barely visible. Everything about the situation pressed on him. His mind raced with the implications of Holloway’s plans, but another priority was pushed to the forefront.

“We can’t risk keeping you both exposed,” Adam said as he looked at Elle and Lillian. “It’s too dangerous for you two to stay with us now. Holloway knows we’re a threat to her, and if she’s preparing something big, she won’t hesitate to take you both out of the equation.”

Elle remained defiant. “I’m not running and hiding, Adam! I’m not sitting this out.”

Alex stepped in between them. He kept his tone gentle but firm. “Elle, we need to stop her, and we can’t do that if we’re worried about you and my mom getting caught in the crossfire. You know how dangerous Holloway can be. If she’s controlling the Order, she’ll target anyone who stands in her way.”

Lillian, who had been listening quietly, nodded in agreement. “Alex is right, Elle. The further away we are from Holloway’s reach, the better chance they have of stopping her.”

Adam crossed his arms, thinking hard. “The Order has likely taken Wheeler and James to Toluca Prison. That’s where they’d set up a base, somewhere secure, isolated. The facilities there… they’re perfect for what the Order might need now. If that’s where they’re holding them, that’s also where Holloway might be running her operations.”

Elle frowned, her frustration evident. “So what? You want us to just hide while you go to Toluca Prison?”

Adam nodded. “Exactly that, Elle. You’ll be safe if we can find a place to hide you nearby but out of the line of fire. We’ll go rescue Wheeler and James, and you two can lay low until we know more about Holloway’s next move.”

Elle was irritated but she knew they had a point. The odds were against them, and if Holloway had taken over Toluca Prison, confronting her head-on would be a nightmare.

Alex glanced at his father. “Where do we take them?”

“There are a few places in Silent Hill where the Order hasn’t had control for years,” Adam replied. “Places they’d abandoned, thinking them useless. We’ll find one of those spots. After that, we’re going to Toluca Prison to get Wheeler and James, and to stop Holloway.”

The plan was forming, and while the path ahead was steeped in uncertainty and danger, they knew it was the only way forward.

But before anyone could move or finalize their plans, a sudden, violent sound of another boat's engine roared through the thick fog. The impact came out of nowhere, a brutal collision that sent their boat lurching to the side. Alex barely had time to react as the shockwave from the collision threw him against the edge, his hands instinctively gripping the railing for balance.

“Hold on!” Adam yelled, but it was too late. The boat rocked violently, and figures emerged from the other vessel, cloaked in robes but unmistakable, cultists from the Order. They had found them.

Before Alex could fully regain his balance, the Order’s attackers were on them, leaping from their boat onto theirs. Alex and Adam both tried to fend them off, their fists and weapons clashing with the cultists in the close quarters. The boat shifted dangerously beneath their feet as the struggle intensified.

"Mom! Elle!" Alex shouted, panic rising as he saw two of the cultists grab onto Lillian and Elle, yanking them toward separate boats. Elle kicked hard and fought back, but she was overwhelmed, her screams muffled as a cultist wrapped a cloth around her mouth, her frustration lost in the chaos.

Adam swung wildly with a piece of debris he had grabbed, knocking one of the attackers back. "Stay back!" he shouted, trying to reach his wife, Lillian as she was dragged away to another boat, but two more cultists blocked his path.

Alex felt a sharp impact on the side of his head, pain exploding in him. His vision blurred, but he fought to stay conscious, struggling to get to Elle and Lillian. He barely made it two steps before something heavy hit him from behind, knocking the breath out of him.

The next thing Alex knew, he was slipping over the edge of the boat. His body plunged into the cold, dark water of the lake, the icy chill seizing him instantly. He kicked and thrashed, trying to break the surface, but it felt as though something was pulling him down, dragging him deeper into the murky depths.

The water consumed him, and silence fell over the lake. The cold was numbing, taking his strength as he struggled to breathe. His vision faded, and the last sounds he heard were the muffled echoes of the cultists above, and then, everything went black.

Chapter Text

James Sunderland slowly blinked his eyes open. His head was pounding as if a hammer was making its way through his skull. It felt as if the world itself was spinning all around him. His mouth was dry, and as he shifted in his seat, he felt the sharp, constricting pull of ropes biting into his wrists and ankles. He was bound to a chair, his hands cuffed tightly behind his back. Panic started to rise, but he forced it back down, trying to stay calm.

He struggled hard against the restraints, pulling at the ropes with all his might, but they didn’t give. The thick cords had been tied with deliberate care, strong, tight, and relentless. His breathing quickened as he took in his situation. He was in a dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of damp concrete and something metallic, like rust or blood.

He tried to remember how he got here. He and Deputy Wheeler had been ambushed—the cult. The Order of Shepherd’s Glen had captured them and separated them. He cursed under his breath. Wheeler was God knows where, and James was bound like an animal waiting for slaughter.

As he wrestled with his restraints, he heard the creak of a door opening behind him. Footsteps echoed through the room, the slow, deliberate clicks that sent shivers down his spine. High heels. The sound was unmistakable. James tensed, his muscles instinctively bracing for what was to come.

The figure stepped into his field of view, standing in front of him. A tall, imposing figure cloaked in the dark robes of the cult, their face obscured by a ram skull mask. But it wasn’t the mask that unnerved James, it was the poise, the cold confidence in the way they moved. He didn’t need to see the face to know who it was. The cult had him.

The figure reached up, removing the mask in a slow, deliberate motion, revealing the face of Judge Margaret Holloway. Her expression was calm, almost too calm like a predator sizing up its prey before the kill. Her eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and disdain. She held something in her hand, his wallet. She casually flipped it open, inspecting his ID like it was some trivial document.

“James Sunderland,” she said, her voice dripping with a mocking tone. “Ashfield, Maine. Interesting place to call home.”

James met her gaze, his eyes filled with barely contained rage. “What do you want?” His voice was low, his anger boiling beneath the surface.

Holloway raised an eyebrow, almost amused by his question. “What do I want? That’s the question, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to figure out why you, an outsider, someone from Ashfield of all places, have inserted yourself into the affairs of Shepherd’s Glen. Deputy Wheeler and Alex Shepherd? That, I understand. They’ve been thorns in our side for a while now. But you? You’re different, Mr. Sunderland. You’re an anomaly.”

James said nothing, his glare never wavering from his face.

Holloway took a step closer, eyeing him as if she were putting pieces of a puzzle together in her mind. She was methodical, her movements slow and deliberate as she went through his wallet, inspecting the contents and tossing them with a dispassionate curiosity. “And yet… there’s something familiar about all this. Something that doesn’t quite fit.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she considered him. "James Sunderland... Ashfield... Sunderland… Shepherd… What is it about you that connects you to this?" Her gaze fell on a particular item in his wallet, a photograph, worn at the edges. She pulled it out, holding it up to the faint light. It was an old picture of Mary Shepherd.

For a moment, there was silence between the two of them, and then, like a flash, it all seemed to click in Holloway’s mind.

“Mary Shepherd,” Holloway said, her voice cold as she studied the photo. “Of course. That’s why you’re here.”

James’s body tensed, his jaw tightening as Holloway connected the dots. Her expression changed, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You’re the husband. The brother-in-law of Adam Shepherd. Aren’t you?”

James didn’t respond, but the look on his face confirmed everything. Holloway let out a small, condescending laugh as she placed the photograph back in his wallet.

“So, you’re here for revenge, then?” she asked, pacing slowly around him. “You found out, didn’t you? That it wasn’t an illness?”

Judge Holloway circled James like a predator sizing up its prey. Her heels clicked in a slow, deliberate rhythm as she made her way around him, the air in the room growing colder with each passing second. James could feel his heartbeat rising, the tightness in his chest becoming unbearable as his muscles tensed against the ropes.

She stopped behind him, leaning down just enough to whisper in his ear. “You came all this way to Shepherd’s Glen, thinking you could get some justice for your precious Mary? You wanted revenge for her suffering, didn’t you?” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, with an almost playful cruelty in her voice. “You think you can hurt us after everything you’ve done?”

James clenched his fists, feeling the handcuffs dig deeper into his skin. He bit down hard, resisting the urge to lash out, knowing it would do no good for him at this moment.

Holloway stepped back, crossing her arms and sighing dramatically. “But you really should’ve thought this through, James. Your brother-in-law, Adam, has been a thorn in our side for years. And now, you and your little insurrection… Do you even understand what you’ve done?”

She reached into her robe, pulling out a small file with the emblem of the Order stamped on it. “Six of my brothers, six, are dead because of that little stunt you pulled at the Shepherd home. Do you know what that means for our cause?”

James kept his gaze forward, refusing to look at her. Holloway, frustrated by his silence, slammed the file onto the table next to him, the papers spilling out in a mess. “Do you not care, Sunderland? Six of my loyal men who were just doing their duty are dead because of you and your brother-in-law’s rebellion. And for what? For some pathetic revenge mission?”

James gritted his teeth, his voice low and barely controlled. “Those men were coming after my family. After everything your cult has done… what did you expect?”

Holloway chuckled softly, shaking her head as if she found his response amusing. “You think you’re the victim here, don’t you? The poor, grieving widower trying to avenge his dead wife.” She leaned in again, keeping her face inches from his. “Well, let me let you in on a little secret, James. None of this would have happened if you had just accepted her death. But no, you had to go digging, didn’t you?”

James shot her a defiant glare, his eyes burning with barely contained rage. “You cursed her. You cursed Mary because of Adam. This is your fault!”

Holloway’s smile widened, her mocking laughter filling the room. “Oh, James… poor, poor James.” She straightened up, her hands clasped behind her back as she began pacing again. “Mary was never our real target. She was collateral damage in the Shepherds’ refusal to follow the ancient traditions. If Adam had done his part, none of this would have been necessary. But now… we’ve lost six of our own because of your involvement.”

She stopped in front of him again, her expression growing darker. “And now, James, you owe us a debt. A blood debt.” She knelt, looking him directly in the eye, her face twisted with cold fury. “For each of my fallen brothers, there must be a reckoning.”

James’s heart pounded in his chest, his body shaking with anger and helplessness. “Your brothers chose their fate. You can’t blame me for defending my family.”

Holloway sneered at him. “Oh, but I can. You see, James, you’re not just some innocent bystander in all this. You’ve committed crimes against the Order, and I have more than enough influence to ensure that you pay for them.”

Holloway stopped in front of him again, looking down at him with another smug grin. “Oh, I think you’ll do much more than pay for all of this. You’ve already committed crimes against the Order, after all. Your little stunts at the Shepherd home, do you think that went unnoticed?” She shook her head slowly, almost pitying him. “James, I have connections, powerful connections. The courts, the law… they’re all just tools, and I know how to use every single one of them. A background check is hardly difficult for someone like me. I have a million and one ways to destroy an enemy, even without the Order.”

James felt a cold knot form in his stomach. His expression hardened, but he didn’t answer.

“I’m curious,” she said, her tone deceptively casual, but there was an edge beneath it that made James’s skin crawl. “Did you tell anyone where you were going? You know, family, coworkers?”

Holloway took a few steps toward him, her voice dropping lower, almost intimate, but it only made her words more menacing. “You see, loose ends are problematic for someone like me. I like to keep things clean, tied up in a neat little bow. And if you’ve left loose ends... well, we might need to make sure they don’t come looking for you.”

James tensed, his eyes burning with rage. “You stay away from them.”

Holloway’s smile widened, almost predatory now. “Oh, I’m sure I will. But you know how the Order operates. We can’t leave any threats lingering, any potential interference. And if they come sniffing around Shepherd’s Glen... I wouldn’t want things to get messy, would you?”

James’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He’d been careful, he hadn’t told his father anything about where he was headed. And his adoptive daughter, Laura, was safe back in Massachusetts. But the thought of Holloway, or worse, the cult, going after his family made his blood boil.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” James muttered through his gritted teeth, but Holloway’s gaze sharpened, sensing the tension in his words.

“Really? No one?” she prodded, leaning in closer. “Are you sure? You expect me to believe you just disappeared without a trace?”

James’s jaw clenched, his mind flashing back to Laura, to his father. He needed to protect them, and the thought of Holloway or her cult getting anywhere near them filled him with a powerful sense of dread. He was silent for a moment too long, and Holloway noticed.

She straightened, her eyes narrowing as her smile faded into something more sinister. “If they come looking, Sunderland, we’ll know. And I won’t hesitate to clean up your mess.”

James glared at her, his voice thick with anger. “You leave them out of this. They’ve got nothing to do with you or your Order.”

“Oh, but they do now,” Holloway replied, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “You made sure of that the moment you got involved with Adam’s little rebellion. The moment you stepped into our territory. Now every connection you have is a potential loose end. And believe me, we don’t leave loose ends.”

James struggled against his bindings, his fury barely contained. “You won’t touch them,” he growled.

Holloway gave him a condescending look, her voice taking on a mocking tone. “You don’t have the power to make demands, Sunderland. Not anymore.” She let the implication hang in the air.

Judge Holloway’s demeanor shifted once more, becoming colder, more clinical. She moved back toward James, her steps deliberate, like a predator closing in on prey. The smile she wore now resembled something closer to a practiced courtroom smirk than a real expression of emotion. She was in her element.

“You know, Sunderland,” she began, pacing in front of him with slow, deliberate strides. “This feels familiar, doesn’t it? I’ve spent enough time cross-examining liars and criminals in my time as a prosecutor to know when someone’s hiding something.” She stopped and fixed him with a sharp gaze, her head tilted slightly. “You strike me as a man who knows how to cover his tracks. But no one’s perfect.”

James said nothing. Holloway chuckled softly, her gaze drifting to his clenched fists.

“Let’s play this out like a trial, shall we?” she said, taking a seat across from him, keeping her posture relaxed. “I ask the questions, and you... well, you’ll tell me what I need to know. You see, the truth has a funny way of surfacing, no matter how hard you try to suppress it.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her voice low but charged. “Let’s start with something simple. You claim you didn’t tell anyone where you were going. But it seems... very unlikely, doesn’t it? You’re not some ghost wandering in the dark, Sunderland. You’ve got people. People who care about you.”

James’s eyes flicked toward her, his mind racing, trying to predict where she was going with this.

Holloway smiled again, a cold, calculating thing. “So let’s start with our first ‘witness,’ shall we? Your father. An elderly man, living in Ashfield, right? You visit him on occasion and keep him in the loop about your life. Did you tell him where you were headed when you left for Shepherd’s Glen?”

James set his jaw, refusing to speak.

Holloway raised an eyebrow. “No answer? Interesting. That leaves room for doubt. If I were a jury, I’d start to wonder. Perhaps you did mention something. A slip of the tongue, maybe?”

James’s silence only seemed to embolden her.

"You know, we did a little digging on your father, too," she said. "Surprisingly, he came up clean. No skeletons in his closet, no dirty secrets. Even rescued an abandoned infant once. A regular saint, it seems."

James stared back at her, his jaw tight. He knew his father had nothing to do with any of this, but the mere mention of him made his blood run cold. Holloway, sensing his discomfort, smiled wider.

"But you see, James," she continued, "there’s an old saying in the legal world: 'Show me the man, and I’ll show you the crime.' It doesn’t matter if he’s innocent or not. All it takes is a little creativity and a bit of paperwork, and we can make him look guilty of whatever we want. Fraud, corruption, assault, rape or murder... the possibilities are endless for us."

James’s heart pounded in his chest. The thought of his father, an honest man who had stayed far away from the nightmare that had consumed his life, being dragged into this made his stomach turn. "He has nothing to do with this," James said through gritted teeth.

Holloway raised an eyebrow. "Of course not. But that won’t matter, will it? If the courts get their hands on him, if I get my hands on him, I can make sure your dear old dad spends the rest of his life rotting in a cell. And there won’t be a thing you can do about it."

James strained against his bonds, his anger flaring up. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Holloway's voice was cold and unwavering. "We have connections, Sunderland. Power. You don’t think we’ve kept our grip on this town for generations by playing fair, do you? We’ve dealt with far more challenging cases than your little family. We always get what we want."

"Oh, and as for your father…" she said casually. “I did some further digging. That apartment building he manages back in Ashfield? I’ll see to it that he loses everything."

James’s stomach twisted. His father had always been distant, but he didn’t deserve to be dragged into this. “Please, leave him out of this,” James demanded, his voice low and shaking with barely contained fury.

Holloway raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Leave him out of this? James, dear, you should know by now, that this isn’t just about you. It’s about everyone connected to you. Your family, your friends… they’re all loose ends. And as far as I’m concerned, your father’s been living a little too comfortably for someone who raised a murderer.”

“He’s not part of this,” James spat, his voice rising. “He’s an old man. He doesn’t know anything about Silent Hill, about you, or your goddamn Order!”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “I have ways of making sure he loses it all. Falsified building inspections, city codes… ‘unlivable conditions’ all tend to carry some serious consequences, especially when the right authorities get involved. I can make it all disappear overnight.”

James’s hands trembled against the cuffs, his body rigid with anger. “You’re going to ruin his life for no reason. You’re no better than the monsters you claim to be fighting.”

Holloway leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper, keeping her eyes cold and calculating. “It’s all part of the game, Sunderland. Do you think you can walk into our world, interfere with our plans, and not suffer consequences? You’re delusional. Your father? He’s just collateral damage. Just like everyone else you care about.”

James’s jaw tightened, every muscle in his body straining against his bonds. “If you touch him I swear-”

“Swear all you want,” she interrupted, standing tall again, her smile as sharp as ever. “But in the end, you’re just a man in a chair, tied down by your own mistakes. You’ve already lost. I’ll make sure he loses everything. And you’ll sit here, helpless, knowing it was all because you crossed the Order.”

“Then we have our second ‘witness,’” she continued. “Your daughter. Laura, is it? A college student now, in Massachusetts? You must be so proud.” Her tone was drenched in mock warmth, but her eyes stayed cold. “I bet she’d be interested to know about all of this... about where her father is and what he’s up to. Maybe she’s even waiting for you to check in, isn’t she?”

James’s teeth clenched tighter.

“Do you think you can keep her out of this, Sunderland?” Holloway pressed, her voice now colder, harsher. “Do you believe that if she comes looking for you, I don’t know? That I can’t make sure they never find you?”

James stared at her, seething, but she carried on, unperturbed.

“You see, we ran a full background check on you and everyone connected to you. It’s remarkable how much information is out there, once you know where to look.”

She rifled through the papers before pulling out another file. “Your dear adopted daughter, Laura. Funny thing about her... Did you know she was one of ours?” Holloway raised an eyebrow, watching as James's expression shifted from anger to confusion. “Yes, yes, the orphanage. Hope House Orphanage, a side project of one our leaders, Dahlia Gillespie. The one connected to our lovely little Order. Oh, of course, some of them slip out... get adopted by ‘outsiders’ who think they’re doing something good.” She made the word sound filthy, her disdain palpable. “But the majority? Well, they should have joined the Order.”

She tossed the file onto the table in front of him, letting it land with a soft thud. “It seems Laura was one of the lucky ones. Managed to escape. Or so she thinks.” Holloway leaned in “But the thing is, Sunderland, once you’ve been touched by the Order, it never really lets you go. And Laura... well, she’s still connected. Like a loose thread, waiting to be pulled.”

James clenched his fists, straining against his bonds as he glared up at her. “Leave her alone,” he growled, his voice shaking with fury.

Holloway straightened up, pretending to consider his demand. “Leave her alone? Hmm, I don’t think you understand how this works, James. Laura’s already involved, whether she knows it or not. And now that I know about her... well, it would be such a shame to waste such a valuable resource. Don’t you think?”

James’s chest tightened. The thought of Laura being dragged into this madness, the cult's twisted rituals, made his blood boil. He had taken her in at Mary’s request, and had given her a second chance at life, he couldn’t let them undo all of that.

"Laura’s my daughter now," he snarled. "You won’t touch her."

"Your daughter?" Holloway let out a mocking laugh. "She’s ours by blood, Mr. Sunderland. It’s just a matter of time before we bring her back into the fold. She belongs with us, and deep down, she knows it. Once we find her, once she realizes what we’re offering, she’ll return. Maybe she’ll even thank us."

James’s face twisted with rage. "She’s not coming back to you. She’s moved on. She’s a college student now, living her life far away from this madness."

Holloway leaned in, her voice dropping to a cold whisper. "You think distance will protect her? Do you think a new life will keep her safe? We have ways of bringing people back. And we can be very persuasive. And if we can’t convince her with words, well… there are other methods."

James’s heart raced, fury and fear swirling inside him. Laura had fought so hard to escape her past, to find a future beyond Silent Hill. But the thought of her being dragged back into the nightmare made his stomach churn. James’s blood boiled. He strained against the cuffs, his fists clenched tight.

"You’re not getting her," James growled. "I won’t let you. I’ll protect her. She’s free from this hell, and I’ll make damn sure she stays that way."

Holloway tilted her head, her smile fading as her tone grew colder. "We’ll see about that, Mr. Sunderland. You don’t have as much control as you think. The Order always gets what it’s owed, and Laura, like you, owes a debt."

James locked eyes with her. "Laura’s not like me. She’s stronger than you think. You’ll never break her."

Holloway straightened, her confidence unshaken. "That’s what they all say at first. But time has a way of changing things. Don’t worry, James... we’ll find her. And when we do, she’ll remember where she truly belongs."

Judge Holloway turned back as her fingers drummed idly against her thigh. "Oh, and there’s one more thing I almost forgot," she said, like a lawyer revealing damning evidence to a hapless defendant. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. She waved it in the air for him to see, almost playfully.

James’s heart sank as he recognized it instantly. It was Angela Orosco’s letter.

“You were stupid, Sunderland,” Holloway said with a slow, deliberate smile. “Stupid. Leaving something like this behind in your car? Under the passenger seat, no less. A letter, with her PO box address in Brahms and everything.” She unfolded the letter and began to read aloud, her voice dripping with condescension. “‘Dear James, I’m doing much better now… teaching art, finding peace...’” Holloway glanced at him, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “Touching. Touching. But so stupid of you. In all of my years as judge and prosecutor, I’ve met some really stupid criminals, but this takes the cake.”

James’s eyes burned with fury. He struggled hard again against the ropes, his fists tightening with each word she spoke, but it was useless. She had him bound too tightly. “You leave her out of this!” he snarled through gritted teeth.

Holloway chuckled. “Leave her out of this? James, my darling, you brought her into this by being reckless. Now I have her PO box, her location, and her precious little words.” She waved the letter like it was some kind of trophy. “Do you think a simple PO box is enough to hide her from us? From me?”

She stepped closer, leaning down, bringing the letter inches from his face. “I wonder how Angela would feel knowing you’ve put her life in danger because you couldn’t bother to clean out your car. I imagine she’d be pretty angry with you, wouldn’t she?”

James seethed, his breathing heavy, as Holloway continued her sadistic game.

“The system is thorough, James.” She said “Very thorough. I know you’ve been writing to her for years, a little pen pal of sorts. Now, tell me... how deep does that connection run? Would she come looking for you if she stopped hearing from you? Would she get curious?”

Holloway flipped open another file and pulled out a faded newspaper clipping. “Quite the story. A small-town tragedy. Violent alcoholic father... murdered in his own home. Most people would call it self-defense, of course.” She raised her eyebrows. “But any idiot, even a high schooler could see it was a crime of passion.”

James clenched his jaw, refusing to meet her gaze. His heart twisted at the mention of Angela, someone who had been through more pain than anyone should ever endure. "She didn’t have a choice," James spat. "He abused her. She did what she had to do to protect herself. It was self-defense."

Holloway leaned in closer, her smirk fading into a sneer. "Self-defense? A crime of passion, Sunderland. Any idiot could see that. She murdered him. And now, a murderer is out there, teaching children? Teaching art? We can’t have that, can we?"

James’s heart sank. Angela had finally begun to rebuild her life, and now this twisted cult was threatening to take that away from her. His mind raced, trying to figure out how to protect her from whatever Holloway had planned.

"Please, Holloway, don’t hurt her," James begged. "She didn’t have a choice. He abused her for years. She did what she had to do to protect herself. It was self-defense. She’s made progress. She’s healing. She’s finally moving on from everything that happened to her. Angela’s been through hell, and she’s worked too damn hard to get where she is. I’m proud of her, and she doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this."

Holloway’s eyes flashed with fury. "She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this? You dragged her into this the moment you joined Adam’s little crusade against the Order." She slammed her hand against the table. "You think you’re the only one suffering, James? You and Adam think you can just tear down everything we’ve built, everything we’ve sacrificed for this town? The Shepherds... you and your family are the ones responsible for this mess."

James’s gaze darkened, struggling against the restraints. "This isn’t about Angela," he growled. "It’s about you and your cult taking away everything I had, everything Adam had."

Holloway shook her head, her lips curling in disgust. "You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about your feelings. This is about preserving order. About ensuring the future of Shepherd’s Glen. Angela, your father, your daughter, none of them matter in the grand scheme of things. What matters is the Order, and anyone who stands in our way will be dealt with."

James glared at her, his chest heaving with anger. "Leave Angela out of this. She’s not your target. She’s finally free, and she’s earned that freedom. Don’t take that away from her."

But Holloway’s eyes were devoid of empathy. "James, when you got involved, you brought her into this. Just like you brought your family into this. Everyone you’ve ever cared about is a part of this now. You’ve made sure of that."

Judge Holloway paused, her smirk widening. “Oh, don’t worry, Sunderland. Angela Orosco will face justice. I’ll make sure of it. Twenty years to life in a maximum-security prison for the cold-blooded murder of poor, poor Mr. Orosco. It’ll be quite the trial, ‘a beloved father, taken too soon, by his daughter.’ She’ll be painted as the villain she truly is.”

James’s heart pounded violently in his chest, as he strained against the ropes. “You can’t do that!” he growled. “Angela was a victim. You know the truth! You’ve figured out what kind of man he was!”

Holloway’s face darkened, her smile fading into a mask of cold authority. “Oh, I know the truth, Sunderland,” she said, her voice a whisper, but sharp as a knife. “I know that Thomas Orosco was an abuser, a monster. But the courts? The world? They’ll see what I want them to see. And what I want is to hurt you, just like you hurt the Order. Just like you helped Adam Shepherd betray his duty. You’ve taken things from us, Sunderland, and now it’s time we take from you.”

James’s eyes burned with fury. “You want to punish me? Then do it. But please don’t drag Angela or Laura into this. They have nothing to do with your sick games!”

Holloway tilted her head, her smile returning with a sinister edge. “Ah, but you see, that’s where you’re wrong. They became part of this the moment you got involved in Adam’s rebellion. You didn’t just hurt the Order, James. You hurt me. And you know what happens when someone hurts me? I take everything they care about and twist the knife deeper.”

James slumped back in the chair, torn between despair and rage. He had thought Silent Hill had taken everything from him, but Judge Holloway was proving there was more to lose. His voice was raw as he whispered, “You’re a monster.”

Holloway chuckled, stepping closer to him, her fingers tracing the back of his chair with a mocking tenderness. “You say that as though you’re any different. After all, didn’t you kill Mary in a fit of passion? You took her life. And now, I’m just taking back what’s owed.”

“I did it because she was suffering,” James hissed, trembling with anger and pain. “I didn’t do it for power or cruelty.”

Holloway knelt to eye level with him, her smile twisted with sadistic pleasure. “It doesn’t matter, James. What matters is the result. And the result is that you killed your wife. Just like Angela killed her father. You’ll watch, helpless, as her life crumbles, knowing you could have stopped it if you hadn’t gotten involved.”

“I swear to God if you touch them-”

Holloway interrupted with a cold laugh. “What are you going to do, Sunderland? You’re tied to a chair, a prisoner of the Order, and I hold all the cards. Your threats mean nothing.”

She stood up, smoothing her dress with a satisfied smirk. “Enjoy your time here, James. Maybe take this as a moment of reflection. Think about everything you’ve lost, and what more you stand to lose. Angela will be the first. Your father or Laura, perhaps, will follow. And you? You’ll live knowing it was all because of your choices.”

With one last mocking glance, she turned and left the room, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving James alone with his seething rage and her threat hang over him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19 – The Friend of my Enemy

Angela Orosco had learned to trust her instincts a long ago. It had been almost a decade since she left Silent Hill behind. That place that was no longer a town, but rather a prison of memories. When she first set out, she didn’t own a car, so she walked on foot, unsure where the road would take her. She could have settled anywhere, but it was her gut that guided her.

After leaving Silent Hill, Angela found herself at a literal crossroads, it was a fork in the road with two signs pointing in opposite directions one to Brahms and the other to Shepherd’s Glen. Shepherd’s Glen was the closer of the two, but something deep within Angela recoiled at the idea of setting foot there. That dark intuition, the very one that had kept her alive all these years, screamed at her not to go there. She didn’t understand why, but after everything she’d seen, everything she had been through, she didn’t need to understand, she just needed to listen.

And so Angela turned away and set out for Brahms. Her feet and body ached, tired from the journey, but she knew it was the right decision. Brahms wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the alternative. She had lived quietly since then, doing her best to forget the horrors of Silent Hill and her past traumas.

Returning to her hometown was never an option. That place wasn’t home to her, not with everything that had happened to her there. It was filled with too many dark memories, ones she never wanted to revisit. Shepherd’s Glen, while closer, had given her this deep, unsettling feeling, as if something dark lurked beneath the surface of that town. Her instincts screamed at her to avoid it at all costs, and she had learned long ago to trust those feelings. Those same instincts that had told her to run from home, the same one had guided her out of Silent Hill alive, and now said to her that Shepherd’s Glen was no place for her.

So, with no other options, Angela set out for Brahms, the nearest town that offered her some semblance of a future. So she walked, her legs were tired, but her focus was now entirely on the future, whatever that would mean for her. She didn’t have a plan, no specifics. Just hope that maybe, just maybe, Brahms would be the place where she could have a fresh start. Somewhere far enough from Silent Hill and the nightmares she had left behind.

The path to Brahms was long, but Angela didn’t mind. Each step she took felt like a small victory. It was to her like reclaiming a lost piece that had been stolen a long time ago. The air was crisp, the silence comforting after the screams and chaos of Silent Hill. She had nothing but the clothes on her back and a few dollars in her pocket, but she didn’t need much. She was alive.

As she walked, Angela couldn’t help but reflect on the strange path that had led her here. She hadn’t gone there for answers or peace. No, the brutal truth of things was that she had gone to Silent Hill to die. But now, she was leaving to live. The irony wasn’t lost upon her. She thought of James Sunderland, the odd man she had met in that foggy graveyard. She had been so wary of him at first, so sure that he was just like every other man she had ever known. Another threat. Another danger. She had been nervous around him, just as she was with all men. The scars that her father, that monster Thomas Orosco, left behind made trust impossible. But there was something different about James, something fragile, perhaps even familiar to her.

But Silent Hill had a way of exposing people for who they were. She had learned about his past, and he had learned about hers. And while they were both broken people, damaged by life, they had somehow found a connection in that place.

She had wondered then, as she wondered now, had James come to Silent Hill to die too? Was he as lost as she was?

Angela had tried her best to push James away. She had built walls around herself for as long as she could remember, shielding herself from cruelty, especially from men. She didn’t trust them. She couldn’t. And James was no different. Yet, just as much as she tried to keep him at arm’s length, Silent Hill had a way of revealing the truth, no matter how deeply you tried to bury it. The town peeled away the layers, showing people who they were.

James had learned too much about her past, more than she’d ever want anyone to know. She had seen it in his eyes, the realization of what she had been through. She hated feeling vulnerable, the way Silent Hill forced her to confront it all over again. And yet, as much as James had learned about her, she had learned of his pain too. His sorrow, his guilt over what he had done to his wife, Mary. Silent Hill had him in its grasp, just as it had with her.

Still, Angela kept him at a distance, trying to cling to her solitude. She didn’t need his help. Not James, not anyone’s. But the town had other plans. Silent Hill wouldn’t allow her to remain isolated. And when the thing, that thing, had cornered her, her resolve began to crumble.

It wasn’t her Daddy, she reminded herself over and over again. The creature that loomed before her, its twisted, grotesque form, was just an illusion. It had to be. It was a nightmare given life by the town. But even knowing that even understanding that the creature couldn’t be real, didn’t stop it.

The memories were just too much.

Her father’s face flashed in her mind, his cruelty and nights of torment. She had run from him once, escaping in a night of blood and desperation. She had killed him in self-defense, her trembling hands gripping the knife as she made her escape. The journey to Silent Hill had been her final flight, and in the depths of her soul, she had believed the town would be her grave.

But there, standing before her, was her ‘Daddy’, or something wearing his skin. It was the Abstract Daddy. Its monstrous form was a twisted nightmare of what her father had been. And though she knew it wasn’t him, facing it felt like reliving that horror all over again.

Just when she had felt cornered, broken, and ready to collapse, James had appeared. For all her mistrust and her attempts to keep him away, James had stepped in. He had thrown himself between her and the creature, defending her against the nightmare. Angela could hardly believe it, a man, this man, just as broken as she was, had chosen to fight for her.

She didn’t trust easily, but at that moment, James had done what no one else had ever done for her. He fought not because she asked him to, but because he saw the pain in her eyes. He saw what the Abstract Daddy represented, and even in his guilt and grief, James had chosen to face the darkness on her behalf.

Angela watched stunned, in silence as James battled the creature, her heart pounded with fear and something else, gratitude. She didn’t know why he had done it. Why he would risk himself for someone as damaged as her? But in that twisted room, where her past had come back to haunt her, James had become something more than just another lost soul in Silent Hill. He had become her defender, even if only for a brief moment.

And in that moment, Angela had allowed herself to believe, maybe just for a second that she wasn’t entirely alone.

Even after James had defended her against the Abstract Daddy, Angela’s resolve hadn’t wavered. She still intended to die. Just like James, she thought. She had seen it in his eyes, the same brokenness, and the same overwhelming guilt. People didn’t come to Silent Hill for comfort.

Angela’s mind wandered as she continued down the road. She thought of her mother, of Mama, of the truths she had uncovered in Silent Hill, and of the lies she had been forced to believe for so long. Mama hadn’t been the villain she had always feared. Her father, the real monster, had twisted everything and poisoned her life and mind until she had almost drowned in it. But now, she was free. Free from him. Free from the lies. Free from Silent Hill.

She had remembered how the pull to that cursed town had begun, how it whispered to her in the dark. "Mama," she had thought, even though she knew the truth deep down. Her mother had been dead for a long time, buried and gone long before Silent Hill ever crossed Angela’s mind. And yet, it was Mama's voice, her presence that had beckoned Angela toward the town, something she couldn’t resist.

Why had she listened? Why would she think Mama would be waiting for her there? Angela didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. She had gone there, fully expecting never to leave.

And on that staircase, she had felt it, the call of the void, and the warm embrace of death calling her. She was just so tired. Tired of the pain, the memories, of what her father and brother had done to her. It had never been about surviving; it had always been about finding the right moment to let go.

She had appreciated James’s efforts to pull her back from the brink. He had tried, hadn’t he? Tried to talk her down, to offer some hope. But Angela had seen through it. She knew the truth, they were both just too far gone. Two sick people, drowning in their misery, trying to save one another when they couldn’t even save themselves.

Angela had seen it in James, the way he was haunted by his wife, Mary. No amount of kind words or friendly gestures would change that. Just like her, James was trapped in his hell.

On those steps, as the flames flickered around her, Angela looked at James and felt a strange kind of kinship. They were alike in that way, broken people who had come to Silent Hill searching for an end, not salvation. She saw it in his face. He didn’t belong in the world any more than she did.

“You see it too, don’t you?” she had asked him, her voice quiet, filled with resignation. “For me, it’s always like this.”

James had stared at her, confused, unsure of what to say, but Angela didn’t need him to respond. She had already made her decision. She had been ready to let go for a long time, and now that she had faced the worst of her demons, there was nothing left to keep her in this world.

Even James couldn’t save her just like she couldn’t save him. They were just two sick people trying to survive a town that thrived on their pain. And in the end, the only person who could save Angela was herself. Somehow, she had.

She had walked up the staircase, knowing it would lead her into the flames, and James had stood there, watching her go. She knew he wouldn’t follow. He couldn’t. They were both too far gone.

Angela hadn’t found the release of death at the top of the stairs, though that had been her intention. Instead, she had found something far more bittersweet. She had found Mama.

Past the flames and into a room that had been her mother’s, Angela stood frozen, staring at her mother. The figure wasn’t like the monsters Silent Hill usually conjured up, it was her mother just as she remembered her, fragile and tired. The sight of her had stirred a storm of emotions deep within Angela. She had wanted to scream, to let out all the rage and sorrow that had built up over the years. She wanted to cry until she had no tears left. But when she opened her mouth, all she could manage was a single word.

“Why?”

The word hung heavy in the air, with all her years of pain. Why had Mama left her? Why had she abandoned her to face that monster alone? Her father had loomed over her life, crushing any hope she might have had. But her mother, Mama, had always been her one source of peace. Until she wasn’t. Until she had vanished suddenly from her life, leaving Angela alone with him.

“Why did you leave me?” Angela’s voice trembled. “Why did you leave me with him?”

She had expected no answers. After all, Silent Hill wasn’t a place to find comfort or explanations. But in the eerie quiet of that moment, something shifted. Angela had learned something that tore at her heart even more than the flames surrounding her.

Her mother hadn’t left her willingly. She had killed herself. Her mother hadn’t spoken those awful words that Angela had deserved what happened, that the abuse was all her fault. Those weren’t her mother’s words at all. Those had been lies. Lies constructed by Thomas Orosco, the man who had twisted her life into a nightmare. He had poisoned everything, even her memories of her mother, to keep control over her. To keep her believing she had nowhere to turn, and no one to trust.

Her Mama had been a victim, too.

The realization hit Angela like a punch to the gut. All this time, she had blamed her mother, resented her for leaving, for turning a blind eye to the abuse. But now, standing there, she understood the horrible truth. Her mother hadn’t abandoned her, she had been suffering, too. Trapped, just like Angela had been. Controlled and manipulated by the same man who had taken everything from them both.

Angela’s chest tightened as the weight of it all sank in. She had carried the guilt, the shame, the pain, and anger for so long. And now, knowing that her mother had been as much a victim as she had, filled her with a different kind of sorrow. The kind that comes from realizing you’ve been angry at the wrong person all along.

Silent Hill had brought her mother back, not to torture her, but to reveal the truth she had been too broken to see. Her mother hadn’t failed her. They had both been destroyed by the same man.

Angela felt the tears she had held back for so long begin to fall. But there was no one to blame anymore. No one to rage against. Just the bitter truth of what had been taken from them both. All she could do now was mourn the life she could never have, the family that had been destroyed.

She stepped closer to her mother, her voice soft now, now barely just a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry that she had believed the lies. Sorry that she had let anger consume her for so long. Sorry that they had never been able to save one another from the monster who had taken everything from them.

Angela stood there for what felt like an eternity. She didn’t scream. She didn’t collapse into sobs. She simply stood, letting the grief wash over her, knowing that nothing could ever fix what had been broken between them.

But at least now, she knew the truth.

And somehow, that was enough to help her walk away from the flames, not to die, but with the understanding that she wasn’t the only one who had suffered. Silent Hill had given her that much. And for that, she was grateful.

She didn’t think it was possible at first. She had been ready to end it all right then and there. But something had changed inside of her, something that felt like hope. She had left that room, left the staircase behind, and with it, her past. Silent Hill had taken her to the brink, but it didn’t claim her. Not like she thought it would.

As Brahms finally appeared over the horizon, Angela felt a strange sense of peace wash over her. She didn’t know what the future held, but she knew that she had one. A new life awaited her, and while it wouldn’t be easy, she was ready to face it head-on.

She wouldn’t return willingly to Silent Hill, not now, not ever. That chapter of her life was closed. Now, all that mattered was moving forward, step by step, mile by mile.

Angela Orosco had decided to live. And nothing, not her past, not her pain, could take that away from her now.

Angela’s new start in Brahms was far from easy. After all the horrors she had survived, beginning again felt almost impossible at times. But she was determined. She had chosen to live after all.

Her priority was finding a place to stay. She was fortunate to come across a women’s shelter, a haven for women who had been through rough times. It wasn’t much, but it was clean and dry, quiet, and most importantly, safe. The other women there had their own stories, their scars, and demons, but they didn’t pry into hers, and for just that, Angela was grateful. She wasn’t ready to talk about the things that haunted her, the nightmares that still plagued her sleep. Here, she could begin to heal in her own time at her own pace.

But healing required more than just a roof over her head. She needed to find work, to build something for herself. The thought of returning to waitressing made her stomach turn. The memories of that greasy diner, of lecherous men grabbing at her, and the stench of cooking meat were unbearable. She couldn’t go back to that life. She wouldn’t.

After some searching, Angela was able to find a job at a small arts and crafts store in town. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was quiet and peaceful. She stocked shelves, organized displays, and rang up customers’ orders. Most of them were hobbyists, buying supplies for knitting, painting, or scrapbooking projects. The environment was calm and Angela found a sense of comfort in it.

It was here in this quiet, little store that Angela rediscovered something in herself that she had thought lost forever, her love for painting, of creating art. Surrounded by art supplies, paints, and brushes, the urge to create began to stir within her again. At first, it was small, an experiment with a few colors, a brush stroke here and there. But as she spent more time around the materials, something clicked.

Art had become her way to heal.

She would go back to the women’s shelter after her shifts, and with a few supplies she’d saved up for, she began to paint. Her small space became the canvas for her emotions. She poured everything onto those surfaces, her pain, her rage, her sorrow, the hope she’d found after leaving Silent Hill. Her paintings were dark at first, full of twisted shapes and colors that mirrored the chaos she felt burning inside. But as time went on, they softened. The colors brightened. The shapes became less tortured and more peaceful. It was as if, with every stroke of her paintbrush, she was rebuilding herself.

Angela’s art wasn’t just about expressing her pain, it was about reclaiming something that had been stolen from her. Creating something new out of the ruins of her past.

She didn’t make many friends in Brahms at first, but that was fine with her. She wasn’t ready to trust fully people yet, and she preferred to keep her distance. She had learned to protect herself, to keep people at arm’s length. It was safer that way. But in the arts and crafts store, she found a kind of quiet solace in the customers and coworkers. They didn’t ask too many questions, and they appreciated her talent when she helped them with their projects. She wasn’t the broken woman they might have assumed she was, here she was an artist.

As the months passed, Angela slowly began to rebuild a life for herself in Brahms. It wasn’t perfect, and she still had her bad days. But even in those moments, she had her paintings. She had a way to channel her inner darkness and transform it into something else. Something beautiful.

Angela had gradually built something of a life for herself in Brahms. After a year of steady work and careful saving, she managed to move out of the women’s shelter and into her apartment. It wasn’t much, a modest one-bedroom, but it was hers. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe. Safe from the horrors of her past, from the memories that haunted her, and from the kinds of people she had always tried to avoid.

Her apartment became her sanctuary. She decorated it slowly, filling the walls with her paintings, each one a reflection of the emotional journey she had been on since leaving Silent Hill. The space was cozy, filled with the soft purrs of her two cats, Sebastian and Oliver, a pair of rescues she had adopted to keep her company. They were quiet, and affectionate in their way, and most importantly, they didn’t ask questions. Like her, they had been through things, and like her, they were learning how to live again.

Through time, Angela had made a few friends in Brahms, coworkers from the arts and crafts store, and an elder neighbor lady she would sometimes chat with within the hallway, she kept them all at a distance. Her apartment was her private world, a place where no one else could intrude. She never invited anyone over. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, but after everything she’d been through, she valued her solitude. The apartment was her space to heal, her space to just be. The outside world was chaotic, but inside her home, she had control.

Eventually, it was Angela’s idea to write to James.

No one else knew her the way he did, not after what they’d both been through. They weren’t exactly friends, but they shared a bond that was impossible to explain to anyone else. In that town, they had faced their demons, some of them literally. And while they had gone their separate ways after leaving Silent Hill, Angela found herself wondering about him. Was he still alive? Had he made peace with what had happened to him?

So she wrote him a letter, unsure if he would respond, unsure if he even could. She didn’t know what had become of him, but part of her hoped he had found some kind of resolution with his wife, the same way she had with Mama.

But to her surprise, James wrote back.

Their letters were infrequent but steady. It was strange at first, putting her thoughts down on paper for someone who had been such a big part of her darkest days. But something was comforting in it too. They didn’t have to explain themselves to each other. They didn’t have to hide. They both understood the darkness that was left behind, and they didn’t have to pretend they were better than they were.

Over time, their correspondence became a kind of lifeline for Angela. It was the closest she allowed herself to get to a man, and even then, she kept him at arm’s length, or rather, at letter’s length. There was safety in that distance. They could talk about their lives, what they had been up to since leaving Silent Hill, and how they were managing to live in a world that no longer seemed as terrifying as it once had.

But they had one unspoken rule: “Don’t try to fix the other.”

Neither of them wanted to be anyone’s savior, nor did they want to be saved. They had both made their choices back in Silent Hill, and those choices were deeply personal to themselves. James never asked her to explain what had happened with Mama, and she never pried into his story with Mary. They had made peace in their ways.

Angela had never asked James what had made him decide to live, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Maybe, like her, he had found a reason in the middle of all the darkness. Maybe he had made peace with his wife, just as Angela had made peace with Mama. Whatever his reasons, she was glad he was still out there, somewhere, trying to live. Just like she was.

And in their letters, they found a way to keep moving forward.

As Angela settled into her new life, her passion for art deepened. It wasn’t just a hobby to her anymore, it had become her way of healing, a way to process everything she had been through. Slowly, as her confidence grew, she realized she could share that part of herself with others. She didn’t think of herself as a teacher at first, but opportunities began to present themselves. The store where she worked offered to let her run small workshops on painting and crafts, and though at first she was hesitant, she agreed to give it a try.

At first, it was just a handful of people, a few children curious about painting and some elderly customers looking to try a new hobby. Angela found that she enjoyed it more than she expected. Something was soothing to her about guiding others in creating their art, watching as they mixed colors on a palette, nervously putting brush to canvas for the first time. It reminded her of her journey, how uncertain she had been when she first picked up a brush again after everything that had happened to her.

Working with small children and the elderly felt worlds apart from her old job as a waitress at that diner. Back then, she had been trapped in a cycle of serving people who barely noticed her, dealing with grabby hands and the ever-present stench of greasy food. The diner had been a suffocating place, where she was just another part of the scenery. Now, she was doing something that felt meaningful, something that helped her connect to people on her terms.

The children, in particular, had a way of brightening her day. Their laughter and curiosity about the world brought a warmth into her life she hadn’t expected. She admired their creativity and how uninhibited they were when it came to painting. They didn’t care about making mistakes, they just painted. And the elderly? They had stories to tell, and Angela liked to listen. Many of them had lived through their struggles, and though they didn’t talk about it directly, she sensed that they, too, were finding comfort in the simple act of creating something new.

Angela’s classes weren’t big or fancy, but they were hers. She had found a sense of purpose in them, a way to give back and to keep herself anchored. It was a quiet life, but after everything she had been through, it was exactly what she needed.

She didn’t need grand gestures or big successes. Just being able to paint, to share that joy with others, was enough for her. Slowly, she began to feel like she was moving forward, step by step, but it was moving forward nonetheless.

Despite her quiet existence, the shadows of her past were never far behind. They lingered, always waiting for a moment to reappear, though Angela had learned to push them away. While her demons no longer controlled her, they were ever present in her nightmares. If she woke up with a fright and a sweat, she’d get out of bed, feed her cats, and begin to paint.

As she sat at the small table in her apartment, gazing out the window at the falling autumn leaves, a familiar unease settled over her. Something had shifted. That instinct, the one she thought she had left behind in Silent Hill, stirred within her. It was the same feeling she’d had at that fork in the road all those years ago.

Angela frowned, her hand tightening around her tea cup. She didn’t know why, but the air felt heavy like a storm was approaching. The quiet life she had built in Brahms suddenly felt fragile, like it was about to be shattered.

She sighed, trying to shake the feeling. It had been years since Silent Hill, and she had fought to reclaim a semblance of peace. There was no reason for her to feel this way now.

But still, the unease wouldn’t leave her. Something was coming, something tied to the past she had worked so hard to forget. Angela shook her head, trying to rid herself of those old memories. The past was a place she couldn't live in any longer. Silent Hill had almost destroyed her, she had left it behind.

Or so she thought.

Angela couldn’t help but wonder if, despite her escape, Silent Hill would ever truly let her go.

One day, Angela couldn’t help but notice the silence. It had been a while since James had written back, longer than usual. Sure, they’d have gaps in their correspondence, sometimes life just got in the way of things, but James had a way of staying consistent. He was usually the one who made sure to keep the letters going, checking in on her even when she didn’t feel like writing. Now, weeks had passed without a word, and that silence was beginning to gnaw at her.

At first, Angela brushed it off. Maybe James was just busy, or perhaps something had come up in his life that kept him from writing. He’d always been juggling things, from his recovery and attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, not to mention whatever was going on with Laura, the young girl he had taken in and adopted. Still, the feeling of nagging at her wouldn’t go away. She had grown used to their steady back-and-forth, and now even she couldn’t help but worry.

That afternoon at work, while she was setting up a display of new painting supplies, a coworker of hers, a friendly older woman named Karen, noticed Angela’s distracted demeanor. Karen had been working with her for a couple of years now, and though Angela never shared many details about her personal life, she’d occasionally mention her pen pal, James.

"You seem a little off today. Everything okay?" Karen asked in concern.

Angela hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "It’s nothing. I just… haven’t heard from an old friend in a while. I guess I’m a little worried."

Karen smiled gently. "Well, if you’re that worried, why don’t you try to find him? There are ways, you know. I know someone who could help, a private investigator. His name’s Douglas. He’s good at finding people who might’ve gone off the grid for a bit."

Angela blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion. Hiring a PI to find James? That sounded like a bit much. "A detective? No, that’s… that’s not necessary," she said, shaking her head. "I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just busy."

Karen shrugged. "Maybe. But if you change your mind, Douglas is discreet and he’s helped a lot of people. Like when he caught my ex-husband cheating. Just saying."

Angela thanked her for the suggestion but brushed off the idea. The thought of hiring a private investigator seemed too extreme for a situation like this. It wasn’t like James had completely vanished, he just hadn’t written back in a while. She convinced herself that he’d send a letter soon, explaining everything, just like he always did.

But as she worked into the evening, the feeling lingered. What if something had happened to him? What if Silent Hill had come back to haunt him like it had haunted her?

Angela stuffed her hands in her pockets, trying to shake off the anxiety. She wasn’t the type to go looking for trouble, and James… well, James had always been resilient, in his way.

As Angela stayed behind to help close up the store, she worked quietly, her usual routine making it feel like any other night. The sun had set. It was the weekend, and she had nothing better to do, so she volunteered to take the final inventory and sweep it up. The solitude was a comfort to her, a way to keep her mind busy, but something was gnawing at the edges of her awareness.

That white van.

She had noticed it earlier in the day when her shift started. At first, it seemed unremarkable, just another vehicle parked in the lot. But as the hours dragged on, and customers came and went, the van remained. Stationary. No one ever came or went from it. By now, the store had been closed for nearly an hour, and the lot was empty, except for that van, still sitting there under the streetlights.

Angela’s gut twisted with unease. She had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and right now, they were screaming at her. Something wasn’t right. She glanced toward the front door, the direct exit to the lot, and then at the back of the store. Normally, she would’ve left through the front like everyone else, but tonight… tonight something told her not to.

She quickly grabbed her bag and decided to slip out the back door, where the alley led to a different street. She didn’t own a car, so it would be easy for her to disappear on foot, avoiding the van entirely. Her hand slid into her jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the small can of mace she always carried with her. It made her feel a little more secure, though the chill in the air sent shivers down her spine as she stepped into the alley.

The cold night enveloped her, and soon, the store’s lights faded behind her. For a moment, everything seemed fine, just her, the quiet of the evening, and her footsteps echoing down the empty street. But before she could take more than a few steps, she heard it, a rustle of movement, fast and deliberate.

Before Angela could react, arms wrapped tightly around her arm and mouth, yanking her backward. Panic shot through her body, and her hand instinctively reached for the can of mace, but it was too late. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t even struggle before she felt the sharp sting of something cold and metallic against her neck. Her world spun as the syringe plunged into her skin, the sedative working almost instantly.

Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw before everything went black were shadowy figures pulling her into the van.

Angela's world was a haze, a blur as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Her wrists stung where the zip ties dug into her skin, and every breath felt suffocated by the bag wrapped over her head. The darkness felt suffocating, and her thoughts were sluggish. She was barely able to string together thoughts. Panic tried to claw its way up, but each time, it was quickly pulled back by whatever drugs they had used on her.

She didn’t know how long it had been. Minutes? Hours? Days? The passage of time was meaningless like this, and all she knew was that her body felt heavy, her movements restrained.

Eventually, the fog began to lift only slightly. She was aware she was being dragged, her feet barely touching the ground as she was hauled across what felt like concrete floors. There were muffled sounds around her, voices, and footsteps, but she couldn’t make out any words. She tried to focus, to pull herself together, but her head throbbed, and it was all she could do to keep breathing under the suffocating weight of the bag.

Then, there was a shift. She was dumped gracelessly onto a chair, the cold surface beneath her sending a shiver through her body. The sound of a door slamming echoed somewhere in the distance, and then, finally, a voice.

"Remove the bag off our guest."

Angela blinked against the sudden brightness as the bag was ripped off her head, her eyes struggled to adjust to the harsh light. Her head pounded, her vision still swimming, but as things came into focus, she realized she was sitting in a dimly lit room, facing a lone blonde woman.

The woman sat casually across from her, a table separating them. She was poised and elegant in a way that set Angela on edge. But it wasn’t just her appearance that sent a chill down Angela’s spine, it was that smile, a smile that was far too calm, too controlled. It was the smile of someone who enjoyed having the upper hand.

"I believe we have much to discuss, Ms. Orosco," the woman said smoothly, her voice tinged with confidence.

Angela's stomach twisted. She didn’t recognize this woman, she didn’t like any of this, the room, the zip ties on her wrists, the strange woman’s smug demeanor. Instinctively, her defenses went up, her eyes narrowing as she met the woman’s gaze.

"Who are you?" Angela asked.

The woman’s smile widened, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "Oh, you needn’t worry about who I am. But more importantly, you’re here because of him."

Angela’s heart skipped a beat. She had a feeling she knew exactly who this woman was referring to, but she stayed silent, waiting for the woman to continue.

"You’ve been writing to James Sunderland, haven’t you?" the woman said, leaning in slightly, crossing her fingers. "We’re very interested in what you know."

Chapter Text

Chapter 20 – Beaten and Bruised

Angela blinked and she could feel the sharp sting of dried blood on her temple. Her wrists ached against the zip ties binding her wrists together, and her eyes barely adjusted to the light of the small room. Her heart raced as she took in her surroundings, searching for any detail that might offer a way out.

Across from her, a woman sat with a calm composure, legs crossed, and arms resting on her lap. She looked like she'd stepped out of a nightmare, calm, composed, and calculating. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a strict, unyielding knot, and her smile, too perfectly placed, felt more like a weapon than a greeting to Angela. Her pale blue eyes were predatory, studying her prey with a kind of twisted curiosity, as though examining her every twitch, every flicker of fear.

"Ms. Orosco," the woman began, her voice smooth yet laced with menace. "I trust the accommodations aren't too… uncomfortable."

Angela felt her throat tighten. She swallowed hard, struggling to summon whatever courage she had left. "Who are you?" she managed.

The woman tilted her head, her unsettling smile never faltered. "Ah, where are my manners? I'm Margaret Holloway," she replied with feigned warmth, her eyes narrowed, as if daring Angela to recoil. "But please, call me Judge Holloway."

Angela's heart sank.

Judge Holloway leaned forward, her tone almost affectionate, motherly. "You must know why you're here, Angela. We have a mutual friend, James Sunderland."

Angela's face paled, a sense of dread knotted in her stomach. Holloway's gaze didn't waver as she continued, voice as calm and collected as ever. "It's in both our interests that you cooperate, Ms. Orosco." she continued. "There's so much we can do for each other."

Angela steeled herself, finally meeting Holloway's gaze. But her voice wavered. "What… what do you want with… with James?"

The judge's smile widened, cold and unyielding. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves, my dear. We're going to take our time."

Judge Holloway leaned back, her eyes never leaving Angela, savoring her fear just beneath the surface. She reached over to Angela's purse on the table, plucking out her wallet and turning it over in her hands with idle interest. Her fingers traced the edge of Angela's ID, pausing deliberately.

Angela shifted uncomfortably, feeling her wrists strain painfully against the zip ties. "Wait… wait. You've got the wrong person," she said, forcing her voice to sound casual, almost dismissive, despite her fear she couldn't fully suppress.

Holloway's smile barely flickered. She held up the ID card between two fingers as if appraising it. "Do I?" she murmured her tone ice cold and mocking. She shifted her gaze back to Angela, and for a moment, her expression softened, a hint of condescension in her eyes. "You don't strike me as the naïve type, Angela."

Angela didn't answer Holloway. Her mind raced as she tried to read Holloway's intentions. This was a woman who didn't waste time with empty threats. Holloway wanted something, and Angela could tell she wasn't leaving this room until the judge got what she wanted.

Judge Holloway leaned forward, clasping her hands. "Let's not play games. You and Mr. Sunderland have a… rapport, shall we say? Regular correspondence, letters that seem to delve into things no one else would dare speak of." Her voice dropped, becoming almost a whisper. "Things that could be… useful to me."

Angela fought to keep her emotions in check. "Look, we… we just write. It's nothing serious."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Holloway said, a flicker of amusement flashed across her face. "But you see, Ms. Orosco, he may care more for you than you realize. Or perhaps, vice versa."

Angela tensed, and Holloway's smile broadened, catching the shift in her body language.

"James Sunderland is important to you," Holloway continued, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming. "He's just a man, isn't he? A broken one. But he's also walked through Silent Hill and made it out the other side. Things you and James have seen that no one else has."

Angela's face drained of color, her resolve beginning to wane. "No… No…" she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You don't know him… He's had enough taken from him. We both have. I'm not… I'm not doing anything to hurt him."

Holloway's smile faded and her looks hardened. She tapped Angela's ID against the table. "Ms. Orosco, I don't think you understand. James Sunderland has done something I want to avenge. And you-" she pointed at Angela, "are going to help me fix that."

Angela swallowed, feeling Holloway's gaze. She was trapped, with no escape in sight, and Holloway would do whatever it took to bend her will.

Angela's heart dropped as Holloway produced a faded newspaper article, her smile sharpening. The judge's voice lowered, deliberately slow, each word peeling away layers Angela had spent years building up.

"Thomas Orosco," Holloway murmured, her tone mockingly sympathetic. "A name that must bring you… memories, doesn't it? He was well-known, a violent, alcoholic. Far from the good father, behind closed doors, he was anything but, wasn't he?"

Angela's stomach twisted painfully, she felt ready to vomit at a moment's notice. She kept her eyes down, focusing on the cracks in the floor beneath her feet, but her fists clenched against the bindings, even as Holloway continued peeling away her defenses.

"So tell me, Angela," Holloway went on, her voice was smooth but razor-sharp with cruelty, "how many years did he make you feel small, helpless, a victim? And how did it feel to finally… take back control?" She emphasized the last words, savoring each syllable.

Angela's throat tightened, her skin cold, and she began to rapidly breathe. Her mind recoiled, memories flashing against her will, the stifling weight of her father, his voice seething threats, the helplessness that had nearly swallowed her whole. And now, here was Judge Holloway, dragging every horror back to the surface.

"You're no stranger to pain," Holloway continued, her voice hardening as she leaned closer. "Silent Hill itself could only do so much to you because the worst the world has to offer had already been done to you, hadn't it? It's just as well you found James. Maybe he understands… though it seems he's done little to save you from yourself."

Angela's face remained emotionless, but Holloway saw the look in her eyes, the way her shoulders hunched, every defense braced against the onslaught of memories.

"Oh, don't look so defiant," Holloway taunted, her tone cold and calculating. "I'm not here to judge you, Angela. I'm here because I know exactly who you are and what you've suffered. And you will help me break James. Because if you don't, I'll make sure your memories become reality all over again."

Holloway's smile tightened, eyes narrowing as she watched Angela's every reaction, clearly savoring the moment. She leaned back, crossing her arms as though settling in for a story, her tone turning almost conversational.

"You know," Holloway began, her voice dripping with false warmth, "I've known many small-town cop types. They probably know exactly what happened. Small-town pillars of the community, admired, trusted, secrets safely hidden behind closed doors. And I know those who might have… turned a blind eye, out of convenience." She let her words hang, watching Angela's face pale at this.

Angela kept her gaze locked on the floor, fighting to keep her breathing steady. Holloway noticed, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes as she continued.

"But let's say," Holloway went on, tone shifting to something darker, "that your story was… rewritten." She leaned forward, closer to Angela, voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Beloved member of the community, Thomas Orosco, murdered in cold blood by his daughter. And not because she'd suffered for years, but because she'd finally slipped too far. An addict, a junkie, desperate for drug money. A selfish, ungrateful little girl who snapped and ended a good man's life."

Angela's face twisted with horror, and she looked up at Holloway, her eyes filled with defiance, even as her body trembled. "That's not true," she whispered, though her voice shook. "I wasn't… He wasn't-"

"Oh, but who would believe you, Angela?" Holloway interrupted. "Who would believe the addict daughter, the troublemaker, over the beloved Thomas Orosco? After all, you're just another damaged girl with a dark past." She let that sink in Angela, her smile returning, vicious and unyielding. "A town like that doesn't want complicated stories. They'd believe the version I give them, and they'd mourn your father. And you'd be the villain they'd lock away."

Angela's pulse raced, her heart rapidly beating as Holloway's words sank in. She'd spent years escaping those shadows, the pain, rebuilding herself slowly, piece by piece, and now this woman threatened to tear it all apart.

"Do you understand now, Angela?" Holloway asked, her voice as sweet as honey and twice as poisonous. "Your silence, your cooperation, isn't just about James. It's about you. And if you refuse to help me…" She gestured dismissively toward the newspaper article. "Well, I think you know just how easily the truth can be… rearranged."

Holloway leaned back, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her pale blue eyes as she watched Angela's growing horror. She paused for effect, letting her words sink in, then leaned forward again, her voice dropping to a cold, conspiratorial whisper.

"With the right story… a little push here, a little nudge there… the town would look at you like something out of a horror film." She smiled, the look both eerie and predatory. "Worse than the Menendez brothers, Angela. A pariah. Because people don't just believe what's true, they believe what they're told. And I happen to be very good at telling stories."

Angela's face blanched, her lips parting slightly, but no words came. Holloway's eyes sparkled with cruel delight as she continued.

"Just imagine the headlines, Angela: 'Drug-Addled Teenage Daughter Murders Beloved Father in Cold Blood.' You'd be a villain before the trial even started. And with me prosecuting?" She let the question hang in the air, then leaned back, crossing her arms. "You're looking at 20 years to life… if you're lucky. Perhaps the death penalty, if the jury's particularly incensed."

Holloway knew that the state of Maine had abolished the death penalty years ago. But she had decided to keep that information to herself.

Angela stiffened, her wrists ached against the bindings as the threat loomed over her. The death penalty. She didn't know if it was true or not, but Holloway said it with such certainty, with such a chilling confidence, that she couldn't question it.

"It doesn't have to be that way, though," Holloway continued, her voice softening back to sweet. "You could help me, Angela. And all of this… unpleasantness would disappear. No one would ever need to know about you or Thomas Orosco, or our little chat here today. You could walk free, with a clear name and a fresh start." Holloway's lips curled into a thin smile. "All I need from you is cooperation."

Angela's throat was dry, her body frozen with dread. She felt caged, like a cornered animal, the walls closing in as Holloway's threats wove themselves into her mind, binding her as tightly as the zip ties at her wrists.

Holloway's expression turned harsh now, any softness left behind drained from her voice as she spoke. "I don't think you're understanding me, Angela. I want everything you know about James Sunderland." She let the words hang in the air, watching Angela squirm, and her tone unyielding.

Angela turned away, her mind racing. James had done for her what no one else ever had, he'd been a stranger, sure, but he hadn't flinched when her world collapsed, when the nightmare that took her father's shape had come for her. He had faced that monstrous shadow, her shadow, without judgment. And he had defended her. While no one else ever had, and the thought of betraying him, of handing him over to this woman and her twisted agenda, made her sick.

"I… I don't know where he is," Angela replied. "We haven't spoken in person for years. I just get the occasional letter, nothing… nothing he hasn't told anyone else."

Holloway wasn't amused, her patience began wearing thin. "Do you think I believe that, Angela? You two walked through Silent Hill together. The bond you share, whatever it is… it goes far deeper than some 'occasional letters.'" She leaned in, her eyes sharp and accusing. "I know he means something to you. You can deny it all you want, but I see it in your eyes. And that makes this very simple: either you give me what I need, or we explore the more… unpleasant options."

Leaning in closer, her tone went cold, unyielding. "I want everything you have on James Sunderland. Every detail, every thought you've shared in those letters. It's time for you to stop thinking about your past and start focusing on your future."

Angela's heart quickened, her mind screaming at her to stay silent, to resist. "He… he doesn't know anything that would help you," she replied, her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. "And even if he did, I'm not… I'm not going to betray him. James has been through enough."

Holloway's face hardened a flicker of anger in her eyes. "You're going to test my patience, then? Protect him, despite everything I've just laid out for you?"

Angela stared back at her, summoning a shred of courage she had left. "James has… he saved my life. He faced things. And… he's the closest thing to a friend I've ever had." Her voice wavered, but her gaze didn't break. "I'm not giving him up."

Holloway's jaw clenched, and for the first time, a sliver of genuine irritation cracked through her normally polished composure. She stood up, looming over Angela, her shadow stretching across the room. "Then perhaps," she said coldly, voice filled with a barely contained fury, "you need a reminder of just how little power you have here."

Angela braced herself, but she didn't let her gaze falter. Whatever this Holloway had planned, she would face it. Because some people, like James Sunderland, flawed and broken as he was, were someone worth protecting.

Holloway walked over to Angela, and leaned into her ear, voice dropping to an insidious whisper, each word carefully placed to slip through Angela's skin like a knife. "You may think you're strong now, Angela, but imagine this: a courtroom filled with strangers, each one eager to hear every detail of that night. Every accusation. Every whispered secret. And trust me, they'll believe any twisted version I give them."

Angela's face paled, but she bit her lip, determined not to react. Holloway caught the flicker of fear in her eyes and pressed on.

"Picture the prosecution, painting a portrait of a daughter deranged. Desperate." She smiled coldly. "A girl who snapped and took a life not because of pain, but out of greed, for a few miserable dollars to feed her habits. They'll say you were spiraling out of control, unstable. The media and public will nod along, convinced you were just one bad day away from snapping, and that's why you killed him."

Angela struggled harder against the zip ties, but Holloway's voice carried on.

"Or maybe," Holloway continued, glinting with malice, "I'll talk about how you loved the power of it. How, after years of playing the victim, you finally felt that rush of control. The ultimate defiance. The court will eat it up, Angela. They'll paint you as a monster, a drug-addicted daughter who murdered a father who only wanted to help."

Angela's face twisted with horror, unable to contain the flood of painful memories Holloway was dragging to the surface. "Stop," she whispered, voice trembling, "Stop," but Holloway ignored her, pressing on with a sick sort of satisfaction.

"And just imagine your neighbors, and coworkers from that art store, all those familiar faces, listening as I recount every single detail. As I twist the knife deeper with every word. They'll see you as a vicious, heartless girl. A lost cause. And they'll leave the room certain of your guilt."

Holloway leaned back, revealing a cruel smile as she watched Angela, clearly reveling in her helplessness. "Now, tell me, Angela," she said, voice softer but still laced with menace. "Is James Sunderland worth that? Worth losing every last shred of your name, your dignity, your freedom?"

Angela's breath shuddered, her being caught between terror and defiance. The thought of betraying James, of feeding him to Holloway's ruthless plans, felt like a betrayal of everything she'd fought to hold onto. But as Holloway's words rang in her ears, vivid and damning, she felt her resolve give away, her strength slipping.

Holloway's smile stretched wider. "Or maybe there was more to it. Perhaps you weren't just a desperate daughter. Perhaps you were… willing to do other things, whatever it took to get what you wanted. Maybe there were… other transactions," she said. "A girl like you, broken, lost, wouldn't have much to barter, would she? Just imagine the court's reaction when they hear that."

Angela's heart pounded in her chest, her head spinning with rage and shame. She recoiled as Holloway's words clawed their way into her mind. "Stop!" she choked out, her voice breaking. "Stop! That's not-" Her voice wavered, her words caught in her throat, but she forced herself to meet Holloway's gaze, her eyes blazing. "Please, just… stop."

But Holloway's satisfaction only deepened. "Oh, does that bother you, Angela?" her voice now a hiss. "Because I can go on. I can shred every bit of dignity you think you still have until there's nothing left but the story I tell. Or you can finally give me what I'm asking for."

Angela's hands shook as she fought back the tears, her spirit was battered but refused to give in. But Holloway's threats pressed down on her, every accusation feeling like a fresh wound.

"Or…" Holloway's voice softened, cold and calculating. "Will you finally tell me everything you know about Mr. Sunderland?"

Holloway watched Angela with unblinking intensity, her words final. "Last chance," she murmured. "Betray Sunderland… or…" She let the unfinished words poise over Angela's head.

Angela's resolve wavered, her vision blurred as Holloway's threats bore down on her, each twisted accusation hammering away at her defenses. Memories of James drifted through her mind, his calm presence, the way he'd defended her without question, without judgment, against horrors she couldn't even speak of. He was more than a friend, he was her one reminder that she wasn't alone in this world.

But as Holloway's gaze bore into her, cold and relentless, Angela felt herself break. She lowered her head in shame, shoulders slumping as every ounce of resistance drained from her. Her voice was barely a whisper, each word dragging painfully from her throat. "Alright… I'll tell you what I know."

Holloway's smile returned, sharp and satisfied. "There now," she purred. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Holloway reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a digital recorder, and placed it on the table with a soft click. She pressed a button, the device blinking to life, and folded her hands neatly, waiting.

Angela's stomach twisted as she stared at the recorder, the red light glared up at her like an accusation. The words came out slowly at first, reluctantly, as she recounted her and James's exchanges, places he'd mentioned visiting, thoughts he'd shared in letters, and the rare glimpses he allowed her into his world. She hated every word as it left her mouth, each one feeling like a betrayal she'd never be able to undo.

When she finally fell silent, Holloway reached forward, stopping the recording with a decisive click. She leaned back, a look of satisfaction on her face. "See, Angela?" she said, her voice smooth and condescending. "That wasn't so hard."

Angela looked away, her eyes down as shame and guilt gathered in her chest, and tears began welling up. Holloway picked up the recorder, tucking it carefully back into her coat. "Now that you've proven how useful you can be," she said. "I think we'll be seeing each other again very soon. Thank you for your… cooperation, Angela. You've been most helpful."

Holloway's laughter filled the room, sharp and mocking, growing louder until she was nearly doubled over, wiping tears from her eyes. Angela stared, stunned and horrified, as the woman caught her breath, her laughter gradually fading into a cold, twisted smile.

"Oh, Angela," Holloway said, barely able to contain herself. "Did you think you had a choice?" She shook her head, the satisfaction in her eyes almost gleeful. "You never needed to tell me anything. The Order already has Mr. Sunderland. James? He's been in our custody for days."

Angela's heart sank "What?" she whispered, barely audible.

Holloway grinned, clearly relishing Angela's confusion and despair. "Oh, yes. He's been watching you this whole time, sitting in another room, forced to see every last word you gave up." She leaned closer again, voice dripping with malice. "Breaking you was never the goal, Angela. You were just the tool to break him."

Angela's chest felt tight, and her thoughts spiraled. The betrayal had settled over her, but now it wasn't just her guilt that haunted her. It was the realization that James had been watching, seeing her surrender everything, forced to witness her breaking point.

"And you know the best part?" Holloway continued, in a conspiratorial tone. "James isn't even who we want. He's merely… leverage. Just like you." She let the words sink in, watching Angela's face pale as the full horror of the situation unfolded.

"So, thank you, Angela," Holloway continued. "You played your part wonderfully."

Angela trembled, her vision blurring as the tears welled up in her eyes. No one had ever reached into her past like this, dredging up the worst of her traumas and wielding them against her as a weapon. People in the past would always just pity her if they knew. She didn't want anyone's pity. But this was the first time she'd met anyone who'd weaponized her trauma. It felt as though Holloway had torn open old scars just to watch her bleed, and now, with a look of satisfaction, she was about to turn Angela's entire life into a twisted lie.

Holloway's voice broke through Angela's haze, each word a fresh blow. "Now, Angela, let's talk about that prosecution." Her tone was calm, almost businesslike. "You may have come here clean, but that's not how this story will end. To sell a tale of a desperate addict, well…" She sighed. "I'll need a little time to prepare. A little dose here, a little dose there… just enough to paint the picture I need."

Angela recoiled, pressing herself back into the chair in horror. "You… you can't do this," she choked out. But even as she said it, she knew it was futile.

Holloway smiled as though savoring Angela's fear. "Oh, but I can. And I will. After all, who would question it? A former addict, traumatized by her past, finally spiraling out of control… It'll all make sense to them." Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "I'll make sure it does."

Angela's tears finally fell, and her entire body trembled with helpless anger. Holloway straightened up, smoothing her coat as though this were just another day's work as a prosecutor. "I'll leave you to think about what's coming, Angela," she said, her voice tauntingly gentle. "Once I'm finished with you, no one will ever question the story. You'll become exactly who I say you are."

With that, Holloway turned and walked out of the room, leaving Angela alone to think about what was to come.

"You're even worse than my father. You… demon."

Back in his cell, James sat hunched over, his hands tightly bound, watching the screen in front of him. Angela's image flickered, her tear-streaked face worn and defeated, as she spilled every last detail of their conversations, every scrap of information she had on him. Even though he knew it was trivial, nothing that could lead anyone to him, seeing her unravel, forced to betray whatever small bond they had, left him with guilt.

He closed his eyes. He wanted to scream, to tell her it didn't matter, that none of it mattered. But Holloway didn't care about the details, she only cared about tearing Angela down. James could see it in her smug, calculated cruelty, each word a knife twisted in old wounds. This wasn't about him, it was about making Angela crumble, breaking her as a means to break him.

He jerked against his restraints, straining, to break free, to smash that damned TV and stop this. But the ropes held fast, digging into his wrists.

In his mind, he cursed Holloway, cursed himself for being so helpless, and cursed the town that seemed to haunt him at every turn. All he could do was watch, forced to witness Angela's suffering, with no power to stop it.

The sharp click of Holloway's heels echoed down the hall, growing louder until she stepped into his cell, a smug smile plastered across her face. She stood before him, hands on her hips, as though she were sizing him up like prey.

"That wasn't hard at all." she said. "You'd be surprised how quickly people break when given the right… incentives." She let her words hang in the air, watching his face for any sign of reaction. "Sometimes, I need to play the part of the devoted cult leader." She smirked. "And other times, I'm the concerned prosecutor, doing my duty to protect the community from so-called murderers."

James tensed as he glared up at her. He wanted to lunge at her, to wipe that smug look off her face, but the ropes bound him to the chair.

Holloway's expression softened to mock concern. "You know, James, the community needs people like me to keep it safe from people like you and Angela. All it takes is the right framing, and they believe anything I tell them." She leaned in closer, her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Just like Angela believed that spilling everything about you would save her."

James's fists tightened, his knuckles white against the bindings, burning with fury. Holloway chuckled, the sound cold and clinical.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she said, shaking her head with mock pity. "You've been in our sacred place, Silent Hill. You know how it works. People like you bring out their suffering." She leaned down, her face inches from his, her tone lowering to a whisper. "And I'm more than happy to help… draw it out."

Fury burned in James, unlike anything he had ever felt before. His vision narrowed, focusing only on Holloway. Angela didn't deserve this. She'd suffered more than anyone he knew, haunted by traumas that should have broken her long ago. And now, after everything she'd been through, Holloway had dragged her back into that nightmare, twisted her past, and turned her pain into a weapon against him.

"You…" he snarled, barely able to get the words out, seething. He could feel his pulse pounding, every nerve in his body on fire. "Angela… is innocent." His voice broke. "She didn't ask for any of this. And you… you used her, just to get to me?"

Holloway raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the display of rage before her, the fire in his eyes. "Oh, James," she said, feigning disappointment. "So naïve. You think this is just about you?" She gave a hollow laugh, circling him slowly. "I couldn't care less about your feelings. You and Angela, you're tools, James. Pieces on a board. And I'll use you both however I need to reach my goals, to reach Adam."

James wished he could rip free, knowing Holloway was savoring every second of his frustration. The thought of her breaking Angela down, tearing into wounds that had barely healed, made his blood boil.

"Angela isn't a pawn," he spat. "She's a survivor. She's stronger than you'll ever know."

Holloway tilted her head. "Perhaps," she said, as if considering a minor inconvenience. "But strength won't help her now, not with what's coming. She's already fallen, James. And I'm not finished yet."

As she turned to leave, her words hung in the air like a taunt, echoing in his mind.

James felt the anger inside him twist into something unexpected, a dark, ironic amusement that found its way to the surface. It started as a soft chuckle, then grew into a full laugh that filled the cell, echoing off the walls. The sudden shift in his demeanor caught Holloway off guard, her expression morphing from smug satisfaction to perplexity.

"Stop that!" she snapped. "What's so funny, James? This isn't a joke."

But James only shook his head, his laughter uncontrollable. "Oh, it's just… it's just funny," he gasped between breaths. "You think you're in control, that you have the upper hand, but this is all just a terrible joke."

Holloway's frown deepened as she crossed her arms. "You're not making any sense. Stop laughing and explain yourself!"

James leaned back, his laughter slowly subsiding into a smirk. "What's the point?" he replied. "You've got it all figured out, don't you? You're the powerful prosecutor, the big bad wolf in this story. But at the end of the day, what does it matter? You can't control everything. You think you can twist us into whatever narrative you want, but the truth has a way of breaking through, don't you think?" He paused.

Holloway looked irritated. "You think this is a game?"

"Angela? A drug addict?" he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's a joke and not a funny one. You've read our letters, right? You know she's not that type. She's stronger than that. After everything she's been through, she'd never touch drugs."

Holloway's expression darkened. "You think you know her?" she challenged, crossing her arms defensively.

James' grin widened. "It's funny. You throw around terms at her like 'addict' and 'murderer,' yet there's something you might not have considered." He let the silence stretch. "How long have your symptoms been showing, Holloway? All this control, this obsession, you're projecting. Aren't you?"

"What are you saying?" she demanded.

James couldn't help but chuckle again. "Come on. You've been at this long enough to know that people like you don't just decide to become who you are overnight. Uppers, Holloway. You're not fooling anyone. Tell me, how many times have you chased that next high to keep up appearances? How many pills have you swallowed just to keep going?"

The smug confidence that once adorned her face faltered. James seized on the opportunity. "You think you're the one in control, but you're spiraling. And deep down, you know it. That's why you're so eager to tear everyone else down. It's easier than facing your demons, isn't it?"

Holloway's expression hardened again, but he could see the cracks forming in her carefully constructed facade. "You think you're so clever," she hissed.

James smiled. "No, I just know how this works. I've been to meetings. I've seen the signs in others. And trust me, the last person you want to call a drug addict is the one who's found a way to survive."

James's eyes had caught the subtle twitch in Holloway's fingers, a sign that her composure was fraying. It was almost imperceptible, but to someone who had been through the cycles of addiction and recovery, it screamed for attention. The way she flexed her fingers against her thigh, a nervous habit she couldn't quite suppress, told him everything he needed to know.

"It must be a while since your last pill," he remarked. "You're clearly on edge, trying to hold it all together. But the truth is, you can't. You're losing your grip, and you know it."

Holloway's expression shifted from indignation to something darker. "You don't know anything about me, Mr. Sunderland" she snapped back.

"Do I not?" James challenged. "You're so focused on controlling everyone else's narrative, yet your own is unraveling. It's almost sad. Here you are, casting stones at Angela while you're living in a glass house."

A smirk formed on his lips. "But I suppose it's easier to attack a victim than to confront your shortcomings. You'd rather break someone like Angela than face the fact that you're just as trapped, just as desperate. All that posturing… it's just a mask, isn't it?"

Holloway's fingers twitched again, and he could see the frustration in her eyes. "You think you're clever, James. But you have no idea what you're up against."

James shook his head. "Oh, I think I do, Holloway. I've seen how people like you operate. You hide behind power, but you're just as scared as the rest of us. And sooner or later, that fear will catch up to you."

As he spoke, the tension in the room thickened. James felt a strange sense of satisfaction, even as his situation loomed over him. Holloway was powerful, yes, but she was also fragile, one he had exposed. And that made him feel, for the first time since he'd been captured like he might have a chance.

Holloway's expression hardened at James's words, but then something shifted in her. A chuckle escaped her lips. "You know, it's fascinating how people cling to mementos," she began. "We all have our little tokens, don't we? Things that remind us of who we are, or perhaps who we want to be."

James frowned, unsure where she was headed. "What's your point?"

Holloway continued, "For example, I carry this lighter with me everywhere." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sleek, silver lighter, flipping it open with a practiced flick. "It's from my days in the military. A disgusting habit, I know. Gives you cancer and all that nonsense. I never should have started." She held it up, examining the flame.

James watched cautiously. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it," she replied, slipping the lighter back into her pocket. "It's not just a tool for smoking. It's a reminder. The familiar weight in my pocket grounds me. It reminds me of the fires I've lit and the ones I've extinguished." Her smile widened. "And sometimes, when you have the right spark, it can light a fire that changes everything."

James felt a chill run down his spine. "You're not implying…"

"Oh, but I am," she interrupted. "Mementos are powerful. They can bring comfort or chaos, depending on how you use them. You see, James, I have a particular way of using my mementos. They remind me of the control I hold, the power I wield."

He narrowed his eyes, piecing it together. "You're trying to make a point about manipulation?"

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "Just as I keep this lighter to remind me of my past, I have other tokens, other tools, ones that allow me to ignite fear in others. Just like you and Angela. You both have your traumas, memories that haunt you. But they can also be turned into something else entirely."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Holloway leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It means I can use those memories to twist the narrative. To control the flames of your past and shape your future. Just as I choose when to light a fire, I can choose how your stories burn."

James felt a knot form in his stomach as he realized what she was getting at. "You're sick."

Holloway straightened, a satisfied smile creeping across her face. "No, James. I'm just being pragmatic. The world is full of mementos, and I intend to use every last one of them."

With a calculated slowness, Holloway reached into her pocket and pulled out a small photograph. As she held it up to the dim light, James's heart dropped. He recognized it instantly, it was the photo of Mary, his late wife, the only remnant he had left of her smile, her warmth, and everything she once meant to him. The lost love they had shared was captured in one photo.

"Ah, your sweet Mary Shepherd," Holloway with mock tenderness. "You've held onto this for so long, haven't you? A little memento of your past. But I think it's time to let it go."

James felt panic rise within him. "No! Don't you dare! That's mine!" He struggled against his restraints, desperate to reach for her, to stop her before it was too late. "You can't! That's not yours to destroy!"

Holloway's expression was eerily calm as she brought the photo closer to the lighter, its surface glinted ominously. "Why not? It's just a piece of paper, after all. But to you, it's a crutch. A reminder of what you can't let go of."

"Please, stop!" James yelled. "You don't understand what that means to me!"

But Holloway paid him no heed. With a casual flick of her wrist, she slowly lowered the photograph into the flame. The edges began to curl, and a faint smoke spiraled upward, carrying the scent of burning paper.

"No!" James shouted. "You're sick! You can't do this!"

But Holloway merely watched, eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as the fire consumed the photo, devouring the image of Mary piece by piece. "Look at it burn, James. Look how easily it turns to ash. Just like your memories, just like hope. It's all so fragile, isn't it?"

James's heart pounded in his chest. "You're a monster! That's all you'll ever be!"

Holloway chuckled softly. "Maybe, Mr. Sunderland. But I'm a monster with power. And I can use that power to shape your reality. This is just a taste of what I can do, James. You've already seen how I play with people's lives. I could burn your entire world to the ground if it serves my purpose."

As the photo crumbled into ash, James felt a piece of himself disintegrate along with it. His past, the good moments he had clung to, the love he shared with Mary that he had fought so hard to remember, reduced to nothing but ash.

Holloway flicked her wrist, scattering the ashes of the photo into the air like confetti. "Now I'll give it back," she said, her tone dismissive as she turned to leave.

James's fury finally erupted, a scream. "When Angela and I are done with you, you're going to beg us for mercy! I swear it! I'll see you in Hell!"

Holloway paused at the door, glancing back over her shoulder, her expression an unsettling mix of amusement and disdain. "Send Mary my regards when you get there first."

Chapter Text

Chapter 21 – Out of the Water

Alex drifted down into the cold, dark depths of the lake and consciousness began slipping away like the water through his fingers. His mind, disoriented and weary from the previous fight, latched onto the last image that appeared within him, of his brother, Joshua.

For a brief moment, he saw Joshua’s face clearly, just as he remembered it, young, innocent, and untouched by the horrors that had torn their family apart. His eyes were wide and bright, filled with curiosity and wonder that Alex had never seen in himself.

“Joshua…” he muttered, the name bubbling from his lips as the water pulled him deeper. Memories flooded his mind in a rush, images of his childhood, laughter on the Shore of Toluca Lake, the two of them racing through the woods, their secret games, and their time of bonding. It had all been shattered and broken beyond repair between them.

Guilt clawed at him even now. He’d wanted to protect Joshua, to make up for all the times he’d failed. But he’d been too late. He was always too late. And now, here he was again, caught in a literal abyss, leaving his family vulnerable, unable to save anyone.

“Joshua… I’ll… find you,” he whispered, his words lost in the icy depths. A strange, almost comforting warmth overtook him, and his vision blurred as the last traces of light faded. But even as he slipped away, determination remained behind in his heart. It was a faint spark that refused to be put out by the water.

And in that moment, Alex felt a strange pull, as though something far beyond him was calling out. Joshua’s face faded into darkness, and yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling that his brother was still out there, somehow, somewhere, waiting for him.

The darkness and water around Alex gave way to an all too familiar chaos, and suddenly he was back on a battlefield, but this one was different. He blinked, disoriented, his mind struggling at the sights and sounds assaulting his senses. Explosions echoed around him, not from the streets of Baghdad, but here, in Shepherd’s Glen. His hometown was now a war zone, covered in smoke and fire, buildings crumbled around him, and windows shattered.

Amidst the flashes of fire and suffocating smoke, Alex saw a figure darting through the rubble. His heart leaped as he recognized the small, familiar form. Joshua.

“Joshua!” he yelled, forcing himself up and moving through the thick smoke. But the boy didn’t stop. He only ran faster, slipping between the broken remains of what used to be houses in their neighborhood. Alex pushed forward, sprinting through the debris, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Wait! Josh, don’t run!”

But just as he closed in, something moved in the shadows, it was a twisted figure with jagged, unnatural limbs, skin pulled tight over sharp bones, faces without eyes, their bodies contorted into grotesque shapes that defied reason. They were monsters, the horrors he’d come to know all too well. Yet they were somehow… different. They lurched toward him, their rasping breaths filling the air, clawed fingers reaching out for him.

Alex’s hand went instinctively to his belt, but his rifle, his handgun, everything was gone. All he had left was his trusty combat knife, pressing into his palm as he gripped it tight. The creatures circled him, and he took a defensive stance. He had fought them before and faced unimaginable things, but this was different. This was Shepherd’s Glen. And his brother was out there, alone.

“Come on!” Alex yelled, readying himself as the first creature lunged forward, all sinew and bone. He sidestepped and slashed it with the knife, the blade connected with a sickening crunch. The creature let out a screech, but it was relentless, its distorted limbs swinging wildly.

More were closing in, each one like a nightmare come to life. Alex fought them with everything he had, moving in and out, cutting and dodging, the creatures’ shrieks and groans merged with the sounds of explosions and distant screams. His mind was telling him to keep moving, to find Joshua, but the monsters wouldn’t let him pass.

Breathing hard, he scanned the chaos around him, his eyes darted from shadow to shadow, the knife in his hand slick with blood. His grip tightened. He wasn’t going to stop, no matter how many of these things he had to cut through.

As Alex pressed forward, he caught a glimpse of one creature stumbling toward him, her head twitched in sharp, unnatural jerks and her face was obscured by bandages. The figure was dressed in a tattered nurse’s uniform, her form hauntingly familiar. More of them appeared from the smoke, swaying as if caught in a trance, their vacant eyes hidden beneath stained bandages, their once-white uniforms spattered in dark stains that might have been dried blood or rust.

Another memory of his clawed its way to the surface, he was back in the hospital overseas, his body screaming in pain, shrapnel lodged into his flesh from an IED explosion. Nurses had moved through the dim ward, faces detached, hands mechanical as they worked on him. The feeling had been clinical, cold, and unfeeling.

One of these nurses lunged forward, a metal pipe in hand, swinging it at his head. Alex ducked her blow just barely missing him as it whistled through the air. He wanted to strike back, to end her threat, but he knew every second he wasted here was a second Joshua could slip further away and further away from him.

Gritting his teeth, he dove past her, narrowly avoiding another nurse who reached for him. His chest heaved as he tore through the smoke and rubble, pushing himself to go harder, faster. The monsters’ moans and metallic footsteps echoed behind him, but he forced himself to ignore them, to keep his focus solely on Joshua. He would fight through anything, or anyone, endure any hell, just to find him.

“Josh!” he called out again, desperation in his voice as he searched the broken streets for any sign of his brother. He couldn’t let him slip away. Not again.

The streets twisted and darkened around him, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a small figure ducking behind a nearby building. Without hesitation, Alex sprinted after it, his heart pounding with a painful, relentless urgency.

Nothing was going to stand between Alex and his brother, not the monsters clawing at him, not the smoke that filled his lungs, not even the remnants of the town that had once been his home. He shoved one nurse aside, feeling her brittle bones crack beneath his grip, then turned to wrestle with another, forcing her back and sending her into the others. One creature lunged, and he met it with a hard punch, feeling the impact ripple through his arm. He didn’t care. He was unstoppable. He had to be.

Bursting from the chaos, Alex stumbled back onto the open street, and his gaze fell on something that stopped him, a small, faded Robbie the Rabbit doll, its pink fur worn and stained with blood. It was Joshua’s favorite toy. The one he’d clutched through so many nights, back when they were kids. Alex’s heart twisted at the sight.

He knelt, gripping the doll tight. Joshua was here. He was close.

The sounds of distant chanting drifted toward him, muffled yet unmistakable. The Order. Holloway. She and her cult were lurking somewhere in the shadows, thinking they could keep him from his brother. The rage in Alex flared, igniting his muscles with renewed strength. They thought they could keep him away, twist his family, to hold Joshua hostage like some twisted bargaining chip.

“Think again,” he muttered, his fingers tightening around the knife as he rose. His jaw clenched, his mind sharpened to a single purpose, he would find Joshua, and nothing in Shepherd’s Glen or Silent Hill would stand in his way. He took a step forward, knowing that if it meant walking through hell to save his brother, he would do it without a second thought.

And this time, no one, not Holloway, not the Order, not these monsters, would ever stop him.

Through the smoke and shadows, Alex’s heart pounded as he spotted a small figure huddled on the ground, shoulders shaking as soft, broken sobs reached his ears. Joshua. He was crouched there, clutching his knees, lost and afraid, his head bowed low.

“Joshua!” Alex yelled, holding out the faded Robbie the Rabbit doll, his voice with hope and desperation. He pushed forward, closing the distance as fast as possible, each step bringing him closer to his brother.

But before he could reach him, shadowy hands erupted from the darkness, grabbing at his arms and legs, clawing and pulling him back. He twisted and slashed at them, his knife slicing through flesh, but for everyone that fell away, two more took its place. Twisted forms, monstrous faces, and grasping hands surrounded him, their snarls filling his ears as they clawed and dragged him down.

“Joshua! Hold on!” Alex shouted, thrashing against the swarm, but there were just too many. They wrapped around his arms, and his legs, pulling him down, forcing him to the ground. He fought them with every ounce of strength he had, kicking and pushing, but they were just overwhelming.

Through the mob, he saw Joshua lift his head, eyes wide and full of tears, looking directly at him, his face filled with fear. Alex reached out to him, every fiber of his being focused on closing that gap.

“Joshua! Josh! I’m right here!” he called out. But the monsters held him firm, pressing him down, clawing and shrieking, blocking his path to his brother.

“Joshua!” Alex screamed, his vision blurring as he fought, his hand stretched toward the boy who seemed to drift further and further away, slipping beyond his grasp.

The darkness swallowed him whole again, dragging him down until there was nothing left but the void and the echo of his brother’s name fading from his lips. Then, a sudden jolt. A burst of coldness. Alex's lungs screamed for air as he awoke, coughing and choking, water spilling from his mouth as he gasped for breath.

He blinked, disoriented, his body trembled with exhaustion. Strong hands held him steady, guiding him through each ragged breath, and as his vision cleared, he found himself looking into the face of his father, Adam Shepherd. His father’s face was pale, his eyes shadowed with worry, but relief flickered there, quiet but unmistakable.

“Alex,” Adam murmured, his voice rough and raw, yet there was an unmistakable note of gratitude in his tone. He sat back, giving Alex space as he spat up more water, his lungs aching with each desperate breath. “I thought…” Adam’s voice trailed off, but his expression said everything. For a split second, Alex saw his vulnerability, the loss his father carried in silence. He had nearly lost both of his sons.

Alex managed a weak smile. “Guess I’m… tougher than I look,” he croaked.

Adam’s lips curved into a grim smile, his expression softened by a flicker of pride. “Tougher than most,” he said, his hand gripping Alex’s shoulder with a strength that conveyed more than words ever could. But there was something else in his gaze, determination, hardened by the battles they’d already fought and the ones still waiting.

“You rest,” Adam ordered, patting Alex’s shoulder as he rose. “We’re not out of this yet, son. Not by a long shot.”

Alex’s eyes scanned his surroundings, taking in the cold, damp sand beneath him, the misty shoreline of Toluca Lake stretching out just a few feet away. Adam had dragged him from the lake, hauling him to dry land with whatever strength he had left after the ambush. But as his father’s words sank in, anger flared in Alex’s chest, sharp and hot.

“We were attacked,” Adam began. “The Order ambushed us out there on the water. They came down on us hard, like they were waiting for the right moment. I saw you go under, Alex, and I-" He paused, his gaze darkened as he swallowed. "I didn’t have a choice. I had to make a decision, to save you… or to go after your mother and Elle.”

Alex’s jaw clenched, fury tightening every muscle in his body. “You could’ve saved them both,” he snapped back, voice thick with anger. “You could’ve saved Mom and Elle-.”

Adam’s eyes were hard and weary, but beneath it all was a pain that Alex recognized, even if he didn’t want to admit it. “You don’t think I wanted to, Alex?” Adam replied, his voice low but fierce. “I thought, God, I thought I was going to lose you right there. I thought I’d lose everyone.” His hand ran through his wet hair as he struggled to explain, guilt threaded through every word. “There was no time to think, Alex. You went under, and all I could see was my son disappearing. I couldn’t…”

Alex’s fists clenched, his head pounding with the memory of sinking, of fighting for air, of the weight of helplessness. But he knew his father’s words, as painful as they were, held truth. Still, anger and sorrow churned within him, and the need to save his family gnawed at him.

“And what about them?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with bitterness. “What about Mom? Elle? Where are they now, Dad?”

Adam’s face twisted in frustration and regret, but he didn’t look away. “We’re going to find them, Alex. I swear to you, we’ll find them. And we’ll save Wheeler and Uncle James too” He placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, grounding him in reality.

But Alex’s heart still pounded with the image of Lillian and Elle, their faces disappearing into the darkness as he sank below the surface.

Alex’s frustration boiled over. “You always had a choice, didn’t you?” he spat, voice harsh. “Before, you chose to treat me like I didn’t matter compared to Josh, chose to sacrifice me back then to the Order’s demands, and then chose not to do it. And now, you’re telling me you jumped in to save me when you could’ve chosen to save Mom and Elle?”

Adam’s expression hardened, shadowed by a mixture of pain and anger. He took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “So, would you have preferred to drown, Alex? Is that what you’re saying?”

Alex felt his father’s words like a blow, and his anger faltered, flickering with guilt and confusion. “No, that’s not what I mean,” he muttered, looking away. “I just... I don’t understand why it’s always been like this between us. Why there’s always been a choice to make, and somehow, I’m never the one you choose, until now.”

Adam let out a heavy sigh, his eyes filled with something that Alex couldn’t place. It wasn’t just regretted; it was years of unspoken words, of withheld explanations, a wall Alex had been trying to break down his entire life.

“Look, Alex,” Adam began, his tone quieter this time, but no less firm, “I never wanted to make you feel like that. Never. But some choices aren’t as clear-cut as you think. It’s not just about who I wanted to save or not save.” He searched Alex’s face as if looking for something he hadn’t been able to see until now. “It’s about what I’ve been able to live with. And trust me, son, I’ve lived with a lot.”

Alex’s anger softened, if only for a moment. The words stung less with each passing second, but the sting still lingered. He swallowed, unable to find a response, caught between the bitterness he felt and a flickering understanding he wasn’t yet ready to embrace.

Alex took a deep breath, pushing the tension between them aside for now. They were hidden safely away on the beach, but that safety felt temporary at best. He glanced toward his father, deciding a change in topic might help ease the strain. “So what about your old squad mates, Dad?” he asked, an idea forming. “Any of them… could they help us?”

Adam’s expression darkened with a mix of regret and resignation. He shook his head slowly. “I already tried, son. They’re not exactly around anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Alex pressed.

Adam sighed, his gaze drifting as though searching through the memories. “Steve? He died about five years ago. Extreme sports accident biking in the Grand Canyon. Thought he’d go out like the hero he was, but that was a bad call on his part. Dave… well, he got himself thrown in jail for… let’s just say he took his training a bit too far on the wrong guy. And Jack? He went full conspiracy nut. Moved off-grid in Alaska, claims he’s hiding out from aliens, blue gems, and… something to do with a talking dog.” Adam’s lip curled faintly in a hint of a smile. “Said it was ‘government property’.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose despite himself. “A talking dog? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Adam said with a faint chuckle. “Jack always had a vivid imagination, but he’s… let’s just say he’s not coming back to civilization anytime soon.”

Adam let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he added, “Oh, and Bill. Do you remember him? He’s... well, he’s a different guy these days. Put on about a hundred pounds when he was all muscles before, moved to Hawaii. He’s selling real estate now and runs a pastry shop with his, uh, partner.” A faint smile tugged at Adam’s lips. “Your mom and I visited him a few years back. I have never seen a happier man. We spent the whole trip drinking his homemade rum and Coke and eating grilled shrimp on the beach. Man practically lived in flip-flops.”

Alex couldn’t help but smile at the image. “Bill always seemed pretty intense back then,” he mused. “Hard to imagine him settling down like that.”

“Yeah, it surprised me too. Guess he just found what he wanted out there.” Adam’s face softened for a moment, a glimpse of a more contented time passing between them. “Still, he’s happier than I ever thought he’d be, happier than I’d ever seen him in all those years of service.”

“So, it’s just us now, Alex.”

Just the two of them, against an army of cultish fanatics and whatever nightmares Silent Hill and Shepherd’s Glen still held in store.

Alex ran a hand through his damp hair, his gaze steady on his father. “So… what’s the plan now?”

Adam gave him a reassuring nod. “First things first: rest up, get dry. We’ve both been through hell today, and we both need our strength. We lost the guns in the lake, but…” He paused, a hint of a smirk crossing his face. “I’ve got a little something stashed nearby. Just in case.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you planned for a situation where we’d end up stranded on a beach without weapons?”

Adam shrugged, the hint of a smile lingering. “It pays to be resourceful, Alex. I kept a bow and some arrows hidden nearby, just in case. They aren’t much, but they’ll do until we can scavenge more. Besides,” he added, glancing toward the shadowed tree line, “sometimes the old ways work better in a place like this. Silent. Unseen.”

Alex took a steadying breath, feeling ignited. “Whatever Holloway’s got planned… we’ll face it together.”

Adam nodded, his gaze hardening. “Damn right, we will.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 22 - Masks and Shadows

Adam and Alex Shepherd moved silently through the woods, keeping low and watching for any signs of the Order's patrols along the abandoned streets. Decay clung to the buildings like twisted remnants of what had once been their neighboring town. The air was thick with fog, and every distant sound set Alex on edge.

As they hid behind the cracked stone wall of an old storefront, Alex glanced over to his father. "Dad… you've never really explained it all to me. I mean, the Order, and everything that came before. I know the basics, but… why is Shepherd's Glen even tied to Silent Hill in the first place?"

Adam sighed, casting a wary look around before meeting Alex's gaze. "It started with the four founding families the Shepherds, Bartlett's, Holloways, and Fitch's. They were the ones who left Silent Hill generations ago, broke away from that town and its godforsaken religion to start Shepherd's Glen. They still made… the sacrifices, though, to keep whatever's out there appeased and at bay."

Alex frowned. "So that's what we got, huh? An entire town paying for whatever they escaped from?"

Adam nodded. "They thought they were cutting ties, but they only created a new kind of cage. And over the years, Shepherd's Glen kept making its sacrifices, until… well, you know the rest." His gaze darkened. "As for Silent Hill, the place changed under Dahlia Gillespie's control. She led the original cult there, called herself a 'high priestess,' and tried uniting every splinter group under one name. She thought if she could consolidate the Order's power, she'd somehow wield control over the others."

"But… what happened to her?" Alex asked, feeling a strange chill. "Did she… succeed?"

Adam shook his head. "No. Not long after her rise, everything just fell apart. Something went wrong, and soon after, the entire town vanished. Everyone. All that's left is the Shepherd's Glen faction. They're all we have to worry about now."

Alex nodded, feeling the pieces fit into place. He hadn't realized just how deep the connections ran, how Shepherd's Glen had never really escaped Silent Hill. The cult, Holloway, even his own family, all of it was just an extension of the horror that the town had harbored for so long.

"Well Then this is it," Alex muttered, glancing at the road ahead. "We finish what they started."

Adam nodded, gripping his bow tightly. "We break this chain once and for all."

They crept carefully through the outskirts of Silent Hill. The fog grew thicker as they approached the center.

As they edged around an overturned car, Alex glanced over at his father. "You ever come here before?" he whispered.

Adam's eyes scanned their surroundings, "Once. Not for long," he replied, his voice low. "I knew it wasn't a place you wandered unless you had no other choice. People don't come back the same from here."

Their conversation was cut short by a flicker of movement up the street. A shadow passed, and Alex tensed, pressing himself closer to the broken wall they crouched behind. A group of cultists, draped in worn robes, walked slowly past them, patrolling.

When they were out of sight, Alex turned to Adam again. "So the cult still patrols the town… even with everything that's happened here?"

Adam nodded, "They're protecting something. It's why Judge Holloway's been doubling down lately. She's keeping her grasp tight on whatever's left of the Order's old power. She has to if she wants to keep her version of the Order alive."

When the path cleared, they moved on, skirting down another alleyway. "Then why go through all this? What's Holloway even hoping to get out of this if everyone in Silent Hill is gone?"

Adam looked grim. "Power, legacy… control? Maybe it's about revenge. Maybe she thinks if she holds on to what's left, she can command what Silent Hill was supposed to offer?"

They turned another corner, finding themselves near the edge of a street leading toward a sprawling church at the center of town. The building loomed in the fog, its spire barely visible through the mist. For a moment, Alex felt a feeling of familiarity, he'd seen this place before in his dreams, in flashes and nightmares.

"There it is," Adam muttered. "The old Order's headquarters."

Alex gripped his knife tighter. "Then this is where it ends."

Adam looked at him, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Just stay sharp, Alex. The people here, know how to use your fears against you. Don't let them get in your head."

They shared a silent nod, each steeling themselves for what lay ahead.

The rumble of an engine cut through the mist, followed by the unmistakable metallic rattle of a mounted gun. Alex and Adam ducked behind a rusted dumpster, watching as a technical, makeshift patrol truck, slowly rolled into view. A .50-caliber machine gun was bolted to the truck bed, its barrel scanning the street like a silent, deadly sentry. Two cultists rode in the back, each armed with hunting rifles, eyes sharp even as the fog rolled in thick around them.

"Damn it," Adam muttered, sizing up the patrol. "They've fortified this place better than I thought."

Alex shifted, keeping his eyes on the vehicle. "That's gonna tear us apart if they catch us out in the open. There's no way we're getting close to the headquarters like this."

Adam gave a nod, quickly scanning their surroundings. "We're going to have to circle around and find another way in. These patrols move in cycles, if we're fast, we can catch a gap."

The truck rumbled closer, forcing them to duck down as its headlights swept past, illuminating the pavement. Alex clenched his jaw, watching as the cultists scanned every shadow with trained precision.

"Let's head down that side street," Adam whispered, pointing to a narrow path cutting between a row of buildings. "It's tighter quarters, less chance of us getting spotted from a distance."

They slipped away quietly, their footsteps nearly silent on the damp ground as they moved along the side street. The sound of the truck faded into the distance, but Alex's heart still raced.

As they turned a corner, the old church loomed into view once more, shrouded in fog, but this time without any immediate obstacles between them and its imposing front steps.

Alex shot Adam a look, a spark of determination in his eyes. "So what's the plan when we're in there?"

Adam exhaled, his eyes hardening as he looked at the old headquarters. "We find out what she's hiding, what she's planning, and stop it. Whatever it takes." He reached for the bow strapped to his back, notching an arrow. "Stay close, and stay sharp. We only get one shot at this."

The cultist, lost in his thoughts and distracted by the thin stream of smoke rising from his cigarette, didn't see it coming. Adam's arrow sailed silently through the fog, its path unerring. It struck the cultist in the throat, cutting off his gasp before he even had the chance to scream. He staggered, clutching at the arrow, his cigarette falling to the ground as he slumped against the wall, silent and still.

Alex moved in quickly, crouching beside the body and scanning the area to ensure they hadn't been spotted. The rest of the patrol seemed oblivious, focused on their route around the front of the headquarters.

Adam's face remained impassive, his eyes trained on the distant truck as he slowly lowered the bow. "We're clear for now," he whispered, stepping forward to retrieve the arrow. "Stay low. We're going to have to keep it quiet."

Alex nodded, glancing at the body and feeling a pang of satisfaction. These were Holloway's people, the ones who'd taken Elle and his mom, who had hounded them at every step. There was no room for sympathy.

Adam gestured toward the fallen cultist. "Put on his robes, Alex. Blend in, and see what you can find out from the inside. With any luck, they'll think you're one of their own."

Alex grimaced but nodded, quickly pulling off the cultist's robe and slipping it over his clothes. The fabric was heavy and smelled like smoke and mildew. He pulled the hood up, shadowing his face, and tucked the combat knife securely in his sleeve.

"Be careful in there," Adam whispered, clapping a hand on Alex's shoulder. "I'll circle, try to find another way in, and see if there's a vantage point. Look for any clues about where they're holding Elle and your Mom."

Alex nodded, swallowing his nerves as he stepped back onto the main path, falling in line with the steady patrol of cultists. He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he slipped deeper into enemy territory, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Alex stiffened as the cultist's voice cut through the tension. "Hey, dummy, where've you been?"

He forced a casual shrug, keeping his voice low. "Just took a smoke break," he replied, hoping it was convincing enough to the cultist.

The cultist scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Dumbass. Get in the truck. Curtis wants us patrolling the beaches for Shepherd and his kid."

Alex hesitated for a split second before nodding and clambering into the back of the old, rusted truck. As he settled in among the other cultists, he felt his heart pound against his ribcage. Curtis Ackers hadn't seen the mechanic since everything had gone sideways back in Shepherd's Glen. Now, he was even deeper into enemy territory, but at least he had his foot in the door.

One of the cultists nudged him, mumbling, "Let's just hope we find those Shepherds fast. Curtis said Holloway's getting real impatient."

Alex kept his expression neutral, absorbing every detail as the truck rumbled to life and started toward the shore.

Alex suppressed a sigh, keeping his head low as the car rattled down the dirt road toward the beach. He'd just been there, dragged out of the water by his father. And now, he was headed right back, all while his best chance of sneaking into the Order's Silent Hill headquarters slipped further away. But there was no other option, for now, he'd have to play along.

Meanwhile, in the shadows beyond the Order's watchful gaze, Adam moved with silent precision. He aimed with the bow, lining up his shot at the nearest cultist who was scanning the perimeter. The arrow flew, striking the cultist in the chest before he could even register the threat. Adam quickly slipped forward, retrieving the arrow with practiced ease before spotting another cultist wandering closer to the beach.

Using the element of surprise, Adam crept up behind the second cultist and, with a quick, decisive strike of the hunting knife he'd scavenged earlier, dispatched him quietly. He dragged the body behind a nearby bush, concealing it from view as he surveyed the area. They had to keep moving if they wanted any chance of staying ahead of the patrols.

Back in the truck, Alex kept his gaze lowered, doing his best to blend in with the cultists surrounding him. The cultists exchanged casual, ominous conversation about how they'd search every inch of the shore and what they'd do to Alex and Adam Shepherd once they found them. Alex clenched his fists beneath his robes, fighting the urge to react.

After what felt like an eternity, the truck rolled to a stop near the beach. The cultists started piling out, Curtis barking orders from the front. "You! Check the waterline. You two, head toward the trees. And you," he added, pointing directly at Alex, "You're scouting the cliffs."

Alex forced a nod, muttering an affirmative as he followed Curtis toward the rocky cliffs overlooking Toluca Lake. From the corner of his eye, he scanned for any signs of his father, hoping Adam had managed to stay hidden. His heart pounded as he weighed his options, maybe if he could get Curtis alone, maybe he could get some information on where Holloway was holding Elle and his mom.

As they reached the cliff edge, Curtis lit a cigarette and gave Alex a sideways glance. "You seem quiet. What's your deal?"

Alex hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Just… trying to focus. The last thing I want is to screw up in front of Holloway," he said, hoping Curtis would take the bait.

Curtis snorted, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Smart. Margaret doesn't take too kindly to slackers. One wrong move, she'll make you wish you were dead." He glanced around, the cigarette glowing in the twilight. "Especially with all she's got going on in that old prison. Brought in some new guests last night. Real important, from the way she's been acting."

Alex's mind raced. A prison? Maybe that was where they were holding Elle and his mom. But before he could press for more, Curtis stiffened, turning his head as a faint rustle echoed from behind the rocks.

"Holloway's not exactly thrilled with our little... delay," Curtis continued, drawing out his words. "You know how she gets when we waste time. And she was hoping her good ol' soldier would be a little more efficient." He chuckled, and the other cultists shifted uncomfortably, none of them catching the undertone.

Curtis leaned in closer, lowering his voice just enough for only Alex to hear in his ear. "Let's hope you're not dumb enough to get caught slacking. Wouldn't want Holloway to think she's been let down by her… faithful allies."

Then, stepping back with a slow smirk, Curtis raised his voice to the others. "Alright, slackers! Holloway wants results. Move out." He turned back to Alex. "Lead the way, soldier boy. You have your orders"

Then Curtis hopped back into the driver's seat of the truck, gesturing for Alex and the other cultists to get a move on as he fired up the engine. Alex felt his stomach twist. This infiltration was proving even more dangerous than he'd anticipated, especially with Curtis's knowing, watchful eye.

Meanwhile, in her dimly lit office, Judge Holloway sat alone, eyes fixed on the grainy surveillance monitors before her. She watched Wheeler, James, and Angela in their respective cells, each isolated and exhausted. Wheeler paced back and, muttering curses under his breath, James sat motionless, Angela huddled in a corner, knees drawn to her chest. She hadn't even brought out the physical torture yet. Better to let them squirm for the time being.

Yet as Holloway flipped through the feeds, a scowl began to spread across her face. There were supposed to be two more prisoners, Lillian Shepherd and her daughter, Elle. Where were they? She had given explicit orders, and by now, they should have been locked up like the others.

"Are they dragging their feet?" she muttered with irritation. She tapped her fingernails rhythmically against the desk, her icy gaze never leaving the screen.

The heavy steel door to Holloway's office creaked open, and Curtis stepped in, trailing a faint odor of cigarette smoke. He shut the door behind him, his expression a mix of mild amusement and fatigue.

"Judge Holloway," he drawled, barely concealing his smirk, "good to see you in such… high spirits."

Holloway shot him a glare but let it slide, eyes flicking back to the monitors. "Curtis, where are Lillian Shepherd and my daughter, Elle? And Adam and Alex Shepherd for that matter?" Her voice was razor-sharp, carrying a demand for answers as she tapped her fingers against the desk in rhythmic impatience.

Curtis, ever the master of masking his irritation with sarcasm, shrugged. "Funny thing about that," he said, scratching the back of his neck, "They haven't exactly turned up since that lake ambush. Some of the boys think they slipped away, but I wouldn't worry, Judge. The Shepherds' luck only goes so far."

Holloway's eyes narrowed as she processed this. "Slipped away?" she repeated. "I don't pay for excuses, Curtis. I pay for results."

Curtis raised an eyebrow. "But don't you worry, I'll double the patrols and make sure our search runs like a well-oiled machine. It's still our territory."

Holloway's expression barely softened, but she nodded, still bristling. "Do that. And, Curtis," she added, eyes flicking back to the monitors, "be quick about it. I don't intend to waste resources chasing ghosts."

Holloway's gaze lingered on Curtis, sharp and assessing, a faint smile just touching the corners of her mouth. "We're on the same page about this, aren't we, Curtis?" She said, inviting and yet implicitly demanding an answer she could believe.

Curtis hesitated, barely, but enough for Holloway to notice. His mouth quirked into something resembling a smile as he forced himself to meet her eyes. "Yes, Holloway. You know I'm loyal to the Order. Always have been." The words rang true enough, but she caught the strain in his voice, the almost imperceptible twitch of discomfort at his temple.

She held his gaze longer, scrutinizing the details of his expression, then leaned back with a slow nod. "Good," she replied smoothly, though the edge in her tone suggested her patience had limits. "Because I've just received a report that one of our men was found dead, arrow to the back. Only Adam or Alex would pull a trick like that, and you and I both know it."

Curtis stiffened ever so slightly, then nodded, shrugging with a casualness that seemed a touch too practiced. "Couldn't be anyone else, Judge. But we'll handle it, don't you worry."

"I'm counting on it," Holloway replied, the faint smile never quite reaching her eyes. "If we have strays running loose, I expect you'll bring them in before any more… incidents occur."

Holloway then sighed, tapping her fingers against the edge of the monitor. "Perhaps it's time we call in that… friend of mine."

Curtis just about dropped his cigarette. "You mean that fucking psycho?" he blurted, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice. He looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Yes, Curtis," she replied, her gaze cold and unwavering. "The very same 'fucking psycho'."

"The one you sent after that fish-loving nutjob cult in New Innsmouth?" Curtis lowered his voice to a near-whisper, almost as if mentioning his name alone could summon him. "You think that's… necessary?"

She nodded, a calculated, almost predatory gleam in her eye. "It's not just necessary. It's exactly what we need. If Adam and Alex want to play the hero, I'll show them how fast their bravery breaks."

Curtis took another long drag of his cigarette, his eyes glancing away, uneasy. "Once you set him loose, there's no leashing him again. You know that."

"Good," she replied, a cruel smile curling her lips. "If they think I'm a monster, they haven't seen anything yet from my friend."

Curtis shifted uneasily, the cigarette trembling between his fingers. "Judge, you think we should call him in? Frankly, he… scares the hell out of me. Scares all of us, to be honest."

Holloway let out a low, humorless laugh. "Good. That means you'll all have a bit more encouragement to deal with Adam and his son before he arrives, won't you?"

Curtis swallowed, the unease in his eyes impossible to hide. "Yeah, I guess so."

She gave him a long, hard look. "Remember, Curtis, fear is a powerful motivator. And I intend to use every tool at my disposal to see this done. Adam and Alex won't know what hit them."

Holloway chuckled, a low, menacing sound that echoed through the room. "If Adam decided to call in his outsider of a brother-in-law, James Sunderland… well, it's only fair I bring in my own Enforcer." Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "An outsider for an outsider."

Curtis's face paled. "Well… That's one hell of an enforcer you're bringing in."

"Precisely," Holloway said, the smirk playing on her lips. "Adam's little family reunion is about to get far more interesting than he anticipated."

Chapter Text

Chapter 23 – The Enforcer

Mark Graves sat silently in his cramped cell, gaze fixed on the blank wall in front of him. The shackles chafed against his wrists. They were a constant reminder of the countdown to his execution. Every tick of the clock felt louder, each second biting into his limited time left on Earth. He was just another man that the system had no use for anymore. Another killer is tucked away in a cell, waiting to be disposed of.

The door creaked, snapping him out of his trance. He glanced up to an unfamiliar figure who’d stepped just inside his cell. Margaret Holloway, dressed in her crisp suit, closed the cell door behind her and met his gaze, her expression was one of an eerie calm.

He leaned back, unimpressed with the whole charade. “Another shrink? Here to assess my mental scars? Honestly doc you’re just wasting my time. Tell them I have PTSD or whatever the hell you want. I’d rather smash rocks for twenty more hours than talk through my ‘feelings.’”

Holloway’s curled her lips into a thin smile. “I’m not a shrink.”

“Then you must be another detective, then? Hoping I’d confess one last time to another murder,” he scoffed.

“Not a detective either,” she replied smoothly, her voice steady, unwavering. “I’m your way out, Corporal Graves. Perhaps the only way.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with genuine intrigue for the first time in weeks. “I’ve been stripped of my rank since getting here, just Graves now. And what the hell are you talking about?”

“I have the means to replace you with a complete nobody in that execution room,” she said calmly, pacing back. “The warden wouldn’t even blink. You have exactly one hour before they strap you down for lethal injection, but you don’t have to be in that seat.”

Mark tilted his head, feeling rather skeptical. “And what do I get out of this?”

“A new job,” Holloway replied. “It won’t be for the faint of heart. But if you can handle it, I’ll give you a new life. Free of those chains, free of confinement. Think of it as an opportunity to use your… talents somewhere they’ll be appreciated.”

Mark watched her, calculating, taking it all in. This was no rescue mission, it was just another offer of servitude, bound too by chains, but these were far less visible but equally as strong. And yet the chance to escape death, to gain his freedom, and his skill, was far too tempting for him.

He took in Holloway’s proposal, his mind thinking behind an outwardly calm expression. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered people who claimed to have "use" for his skills, but Holloway’s demeanor set her apart. She was controlled, and purposeful, with none of the usual false promises or veiled threats. There was an honesty to her ruthlessness that he respected that in a way. And the idea of getting out, with a free pass on his past, was tempting.

“You seem confident,” he said, testing Holloway. “But what makes you think I’d be loyal to… whatever this is? Last I checked, I don’t do teams.”

“Oh, I don’t need loyalty,” she replied, brushing off his implication with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Not from someone like you, Mark. I want results. You don’t even have to like us or even agree with us. All that matters is that you follow orders.”

“Orders, huh?” Mark’s lips twisted. “I was starting to think I’d never hear that word again.”

“Good,” Holloway said, her smile as cold as his. “I think we understand each other.”

Holloway inclined her head slightly, watching the calculating look in Mark’s eyes as he mulled over her offer. She could see the gears turning, the prospect of freedom breaking through the indifference he wore like armor.

“There’s a catch, isn’t there?” he asked, his voice sharper this time, as though ready to call her bluff. “No way you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“You’re right, Mr. Graves. I’m not.” She adjusted her suit jacket, expression cold and unyielding. “You’ll be answering only to me. No one else will know of your... existence or your past, but if you cross me, I’ll ensure the next time you’re locked up, there won’t be any second chances. Do you understand?”

Mark nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. He sensed power in her voice, that authority that didn’t come from her physical presence but something much deeper. “What exactly do you need a guy like me to do?”

“You’ll be placed under my command, tasked with eliminating obstacles, no questions asked. You’ll have resources, cover, and my protection as long as you deliver. You’ll be representing The Order. Don’t make me regret this.”

He nodded, a slow, feral grin spreading across his face. “What’s the first order of business?”

“For now, you’ll make your way to Shepherd’s Glen and await further instructions. Once I’m sure you’re there and settled, I’ll fill you in on specifics.” She turned to leave, casting a final glance back at him. “Be ready, Graves. I won’t tolerate failure.”

After a pause, he grinned, cold and crooked. “Ah, what the hell. Sure. Why not?”

There was a brief pause, and then she reached into her bag, producing a packet. She tossed it to him, and he caught it, carefully inspecting its contents, a new ID, civilian clothing, and an Order insignia.

“Get used to the name,” she said, pointing at the ID. “Mark Graves is no more. From now on, you’re just another face in the crowd until I say otherwise. Do your job, and there will be no loose ends.” Her tone shifted. “But fail, and you’re right back where I found you. Only next time, I won’t be handing out pardons.”

Mark glanced down at his new ID, a smirk crossed his face. “Where do I start?”

Holloway’s eyes gleamed. “Then Welcome to the Order.”

With that, Holloway was gone, her heels clicking against the cement as the cell door closed behind her. Mark leaned back, his mind buzzing. The prison walls seemed less confining now, the weight of execution lifting off him. For the first time in years, he had a new purpose, and if that purpose happened to align with the darkness within him, the better.

A few minutes later, a guard entered, knocked on the door, and nodded. “Come with me, Graves,” he ordered.

The two of them walked in silence, and as they reached the perimeter wall of the prison. Mark noticed a tinted window van waiting just outside. The guard shoved him towards the door, and he climbed in without hesitation, eager for what was to come.

Inside the van, he found a black duffel bag. He unzipped it to see his new “tools of the trade”, from a variety of knives, a handgun, some ammunition, and a set of robes, black and worn, marking him as part of The Order. Mark’s grin widened as he felt the familiar weight of the knives in his hand.

The van pulled away, and he settled into his seat, watching the prison fade away in the distance. Mark Graves was a free man.

In the months following his release, Mark Graves ceased to exist, replaced now by Holloway’s grim reaper, the Enforcer. Under the cover of night, he became a shadow, handling the Order’s dirtiest tasks, from eliminating those who opposed her, rooting out dissenters within the cult, and delivering brutal justice to those who dared defy the status quo. The anonymity, the freedom to wreak havoc, to satiate his bloodlust, all without consequence, became a part of his new identity.

But the Enforcer didn’t simply blend into the Order. No, he crafted himself into a specter, distinct and unyielding. Outside the typical uniform of Order foot soldiers, from robes and overalls, to gas masks and animal skulls, he chose something far darker, more fitting to his role. He fashioned a black cloth mask, painted white to form a skeletal grin, and wore it beneath a combat helmet spray painted with a crimson pentagram. The transformation suited him, a deliberate decision to become Holloway’s “Antichrist,” a name that whispered through the cult ranks. To them, he was an outsider, a force as terrifying as the nightmares that haunted the Order’s rites.

With his new role, he discarded any semblance of loyalty or belief in the cult’s doctrines. They were all just players on Holloway’s stage, and he had no personal faith in the Order’s dogma or its promises. All that mattered was the work, the thrill of violence sanctioned by Holloway herself.

The Enforcer had no use for the crude weapons typically issued to cult soldiers. He had his own preferred arsenal, from a reliable handgun for precision and distance, a karambit knife he wielded with vicious skill and a heavy, brutal machete for when things got up close and bloody. Each weapon was chosen not for intimidation like the Order, but for function, a testament to his lethal efficiency.

Whereas Curtis, Holloway’s right-hand man, might serve as the Order’s silver-tongued diplomat, the one to squeeze information from targets over long sessions of torture, the Enforcer was Holloway’s final word. When Holloway wanted someone to reconsider their loyalties, she sent Curtis and his crew. But when she demanded blood, the Enforcer was dispatched without hesitation.

To those who heard the tales, he was both a rumor and a warning, a ghost in the night, faceless behind that skeletal mask, feared as Holloway’s purest expression of violence. He took his assignments with a cold detachment, leaving no survivors when commanded, each mission adding to his legend. Holloway knew that the mere mention of her Enforcer was enough to break some, of the knowledge of his pending approach to doing her work for her.

The Enforcer, Mark Graves as he was known back then, had once been a Marine, when the towers came down, he found himself enlisting like many others. But for him, that call to service was not from a sense of patriotic duty, but instead an opportunity, both to escape detectives, who were closing in on his trail and an opportunity to kill legally, fulfilling his darkest desires under the guise of duty. With his enlistment in the Marine Corps came combat training that would help to refine his brutality into skill, teaching him techniques to master such as joint locks, throws, and efficient striking. He transformed from a blunt, brute-force instrument into a more calculating weapon, gaining control, and learning to exploit weaknesses with ruthless efficiency.

While others saw a noble cause in the wake of 9/11, he saw open terrain and sanctioned violence, a place to hone his instincts into something more calculated. And as he developed his new, lethal skills, he shed any hint of his former self, becoming not just a soldier but a weapon in his own right.

When his antics finally caught up to him, the Enforcer left behind a trail of 23 bodies, victims claimed in calculated strikes, each one a testament to his darker side. His capture was no easy feat; it took seven military police to restrain him, and not all of them escaped unharmed. He fought them like a cornered animal, every movement practiced and deadly, until finally, they overpowered him. Shackled and subdued, he was marched off to a military prison, his days of freedom ending in iron and concrete.

Within the military prison’s walls, he quickly became a figure of both infamy and fear. Guards and inmates alike knew of his rap sheet, the serial killings that preceded his enlistment, and the bodies he left behind. For years, he endured hard labor, awaiting a court martial and eventual execution, yet still as unyielding as ever, harboring something that even prison couldn’t contain.

It was there, in the confines of his cell, that Judge Holloway offered him a second chance. She stepped in with her calm demeanor, her unbreakable gaze, and an air of authority that filled the room. For a brief moment, he’d considered snapping her neck or peeling her skull like an orange. Just one last act of brutality before the end. But it was something about her that held him back, an intensity that felt less like fear like the others and more like recognition. She didn’t flinch, didn’t show him weakness. Instead, she presented him with an offer, a new purpose, one that channeled his instincts into a deadly, yet controlled service.

It intrigued him. Holloway had a calm cruelty that matched his own, a quiet ruthlessness he hadn’t seen in others. She didn’t pretend to be his savior, nor did she offer redemption. She simply needed someone like him, and he could sense her certainty in that fact. He’d serve her for now, he decided, at least until this new role ceased to amuse him.

And so, he became Holloway’s Enforcer.

In time, as Holloway's ambitions grew, so did the Order's sphere of influence, and with it, their conflicts. Other cults, each had their twisted loyalties and beliefs in other gods, saw Holloway’s reach as a threat. From the dark coastlines where Leviathan worshippers chanted to the eerie, ancient forests of Maine harboring a secluded, ritualistic sect, Holloway faced resistance on all fronts.

And when diplomacy failed, it was the Enforcer who answered the call. Methodically, he dismantled these rival cultists, leaving nothing but silent, desolate scenes in his wake. To him, it was all part of the role, Holloway’s grim reaper, wielding death with a cold, calculated efficiency.

For the members of the Order, his presence was both a rallying point and a reminder. They didn’t know if they were following Holloway out of loyalty to her vision or simply out of fear of the Enforcer himself, lurking at the edges, watching, waiting to be unleashed again.

As the Order expanded its influence southward, tension began to simmer between Curtis and Holloway. Curtis had long held to the so-called “gentlemen’s agreements” that kept cult territories separate and respected, it was an unspoken arrangement between these groups that prevented bloodshed and allowed each faction to pursue its ends. But Holloway saw these invisible borders as mere obstacles, outdated relics that stood in the way of control.

Their reach brought them dangerously close to the stronghold of the ancient Order of Dagon, based in New Innsmouth, Massachusetts. This cult, which was steeped in eldritch traditions of their own and legends of oceanic deities, had endured decades of isolation after the town's original destruction in the 1920s, a fallout from a brutal clash with the FBI. While New Innsmouth was rebuilt and the Dagonists went underground, they retained a powerful network, one bound by family and by something far darker.

The old tensions boiled over as Holloway’s forces encroached, pushing too close to New Innsmouth’s borders. Curtis, ever the pragmatist, feared the risks of tangling with a faction as old and dangerous as the Order of Dagon, but Holloway wouldn’t be dissuaded. To handle the impending conflict, she sent the Enforcer himself and a strike team designed to send a message that her Order would not be deterred.

The Enforcer made swift work of his assignments. Over time, he systematically dismantled their outer defenses, and one by one, prominent Dagonites began to vanish. For New Innsmouth, the Enforcer became a specter of terror, a ruthless presence who wielded his knife and machete like the grim emissary he had made himself to be, carving a path through the opposition and striking fear deep into the cultists of Dagon.

Finally, the battle for New Innsmouth erupted in the dead of night, as Holloway’s Order launched its assault with all the ferocity and firepower it could muster. They swept through the shadowy streets, lighting up the coastline with flares that cast a red glow over the town’s damp, crumbling facades. Guns roared, and the makeshift weapons wielded by Shepherd's Glen’s followers cracked against walls and doors, tearing through whatever resistance the Dagonites could muster.

Yet just as the tide seemed to turn in favor of Holloway’s forces, the Dagonites, driven to the edge of desperation, called upon their ancient allies from beneath the sea. The Deep Ones emerged from the waters, hulking figures with slick, scaled skin glistening in the flare light, their movements otherworldly as they slithered onto the shore. With guttural roars and powerful limbs, they surged into the fight, crashing into the Shepherd’s Glen Order and sending men sprawling in terror. The once confident Order began to falter, rifles bucking uselessly as bullets ricocheted off thick hides. Chaos spread among their ranks as they found themselves fighting against foes far beyond human understanding.

But amidst the rout, the Enforcer stood unmoved, his pale, grinning skull mask stark against the darkness. With only his karambit knife in hand, he charged at the nearest Deep One, eyes fixed, unmoved by the sight of these monstrous allies of the Dagonites. He struck with all the cold, ruthless precision he'd perfected, sidestepping blows, slipping through the writhing limbs, and driving his knife into their gills, the tender weakness hidden beneath the thick scales. Dark crimson blood sprayed across the sand as he carved through them.

Around him, the Order rallied, some finding new resolve in the face of their deadly enforcer’s brutal efficiency. With their rifles adjusted, they began targeting the creatures more carefully, the Enforcer's methods providing a crucial edge. One by one, the Deep Ones fell, their heavy bodies crashing back into the water.

The Enforcer himself pushed forward through the foul-smelling sewers beneath New Innsmouth, his black combat boots splashing through stagnant water. Shadows loomed in the narrow tunnels, every corner a potential ambush point. The Dagonites knew their stronghold was compromised, and had decided to flood the sewers in a desperate attempt to drown him and his squad. Water surged through the narrow passages, swallowing his men one by one in a brutal wave, until only he remained in the water, with nothing but his karambit knife and his determination.

As he emerged from the waters, he found himself alone, yet undeterred. Casting his gaze around the dimly lit basement of the Dagonite lodge, his eyes settled on a fire axe mounted on the wall, a crude but deadly tool in the right hands. He yanked it free with a hard pull. He stalked up the narrow stairway, his movements silent and steady, like a lethal shadow descending on the crumbling halls above.

The Enforcer forced open the door at the top of the stairs, stepping into the main hall of the lodge where old Obed Marsh III had taken refuge. The room was lit by hanging lanterns, casting light across faded murals depicting monstrous figures rising from the sea. The Dagonites, pale and gaunt in their ceremonial robes, gathered around the hall, weapons drawn but trembling. Their chants wavered, glancing nervously as the Enforcer advanced, his gaze fixed near the altar where Marsh himself stood, clutching an ornate, seaweed-wrapped staff, a symbol of his authority.

With a roar, the Dagonites charged, some wielding clubs and rusty knives, others brandishing ancient harpoons. The Enforcer responded with ruthless efficiency, swinging his fire axe in controlled, lethal arcs. The blade sank deep, severing limbs and striking down anyone who dared stand in his path. Blood splattered the walls.

One of Marsh’s last bodyguards, a hulking Deep One, towering and hunched over with webbed hands and gills flaring, stepped protectively between the Enforcer and Marsh. The Enforcer smirked beneath his mask, raising the fire axe in a calculated pause. Then, with a savage throw, he hurled the weapon across the room.

The axe spun through the air as it found its mark with brutal precision, embedding itself in the chest of the bodyguard. The Deep One staggered back with a guttural cry, clawing uselessly at the handle as dark ichor oozed from the wound. It collapsed heavily onto the ground, its unblinking eyes fixed in shock. Marsh’s eyes widened in horror as his last line of defense crumpled before him.

Advancing slowly, the Enforcer allowed himself a dark chuckle, his voice cutting through the silence like a razor. “You tried to drown me, Marsh,” he sneered, relishing the flicker of terror that danced across the cult leader’s face. “And you failed.”

Marsh stumbled back, clutching the broken remnants of his staff, muttering half-formed words of prayer or plea, his voice shaking. He gripped his staff tighter, his eyes grew wide with fear as the Enforcer climbed the blood-slicked steps, his skull-painted mask grinning. But no god of the deep would answer him now, not with the Enforcer closing in, his karambit knife flashing in his hand, ready to end what he had come here to finish. But the Enforcer, ever as cold and unyielding, grabbed Marsh and repeatedly slammed his head onto the altar before a swipe of the blade ended the old man’s life.

With their leader slain and their followers decimated, the Order of Dagon was finally broken. The Enforcer had left a brutal, mark on the cult, ensuring that no one would dare challenge Holloway’s Order again without facing the wrath of her reaper.

As the Enforcer stepped outside and surveyed the ruins of New Innsmouth, the faint crackle of his radio cut through to him. He pulled it to his ear, recognizing the voice immediately, Holloway, her tone as calm and commanding as ever.

"Enforcer," she began, a hint of satisfaction undercut by urgency. "I hear your work in New Innsmouth is done. It’s time for you to return to Shepherd's Glen. We have... a new situation.”

He listened in silently, catching the tone of contempt in her voice.

“One of our founding families, the Shepherds, have decided to test the limits of their loyalty," Holloway continued. "An insurrection, if you will. You’ll need to remind them that price."

The Enforcer’s gloved fingers tightened around the karambit still slick with Obed’s blood, a feral grin formed under his mask. He understood what Holloway wanted of him, it was never just discipline. It was about terror, unmistakable and thorough, the kind that would bleed any rebellious spirit dry.

"Understood," he replied. He took one last look at the devastation around him, then turned his back on New Innsmouth, already focused on the next task. The founding family would learn firsthand the consequences of defying Judge Holloway.

Despite Holloway’s request for him to return immediately, the Enforcer had his ideas about timing. In his mind, her instructions were merely suggestions, and he operated on his schedule, not hers. Holloway might’ve been his handler, but she wasn’t his master, he never felt any loyalty to her or the Order, he was there for the thrill, the blood, and the freedom to indulge his darker nature without restraint. Besides, he relished in testing her patience, he found it amusing to push just enough to remind her he wasn’t just another mindless soldier.

So, he lingered in Boston for a little R&R a little while longer than strictly necessary, making sure to arrive fashionably late. The underground fight was one way to pass the time, and he enjoyed the satisfaction of the violence. He let himself disappear into the roar of the crowd, savoring the brief taste of anonymity in the ring, where no one knew him as Holloway’s Enforcer. Here, he was simply another brawler, a man with blood-stained fists, unburdened by the Order’s demands.

The Enforcer’s detour into Boston was a calculated indulgence. He had made a habit of finding underground fights in the cities he passed through, from New England to Appalachia, both for the extra cash and to keep his skills honed. This time, he found himself in a grimy, dimly lit basement packed with rowdy spectators. Word had spread quickly, this mysterious new fighter was in town, and he was already infamous for ending fights in minutes.

The man they set him up against was a brute, thickly muscled with a scarred face and knuckles that looked like they’d been through more than a few walls. He sized up the Enforcer as if he thought he had a real chance.

They circled each other, the crowd around them buzzing, bets flying and cheers echoing off the brick walls. The Enforcer’s eyes remained cold, calculating, as he sized up his opponent. Then the bell rang, and the fight began.

It was swift and brutal, just the way he liked it. The Enforcer dodged his opponent’s wild swing, responding with a quick jab to the ribs, then another to the jaw. The other man staggered but threw a powerful uppercut, barely missing the Enforcer. But he was better, he had years of bare-knuckle brawling behind him and knew every angle, every weak spot of his opponents.

With a jab, a hook, and a brutal knee to the gut, his opponent went down with a thud, gasping for air. The crowd roared as the Enforcer collected his winnings of $5000, barely sparing his opponent a second glance.

As the fight concluded and his opponent lay crumpled on the ground, he could feel the crowd’s energy, their primal cheers reverberating off the walls. He scanned the faces briefly, noting the mix of admiration and fear, savoring it like a fine wine. There was something delicious in it, a reminder of his life before Holloway’s leash, a life of freedom to maim and kill as he pleased. Yet, even now, as her enforcer, he still found ways to indulge that thrill.

With his winnings tucked away, he exited the fight ring. He grabbed a drink of whiskey from a nearby bar, savoring the burn as he tipped it back. He smiled grimly to himself, thinking about the frustration his absence would cause Holloway. She might be seething right about now, watching the chaos unfold without him, questioning his loyalty and patience. Let her wait. If she wanted the wrath of the Enforcer, she’d have to let him arrive on his terms.

Only after dark would he finally leave Boston, slipping through the city’s shadows and heading back toward Shepherd’s Glen. Holloway’s summons, the insurrection, and the impending bloodshed awaited him. But he’d be arriving when he was good and ready. Holloway might be the one in charge, but the Enforcer was his own master.

And as he traveled up the highway, he pictured Holloway’s tight-lipped expression, both a mixture of irritation and a reluctant admiration. She’d chosen him specifically because he was unstoppable and unconventional, a weapon she couldn’t entirely control.

Holloway was a woman who lived for control. A control freak. Every aspect of her life, from the Order’s operations to the smallest details of her appearance, was tightly managed and perfectly in place. She took pride in her planning and the absolute authority she held over her followers. The Enforcer, however, was her one exception, the wild card she had purposefully allowed in her otherwise orderly hand.

As much as it irritated her, she found herself drawn to his unpredictability. It was dangerous, of course, to rely on someone she couldn't completely reign in, but there was a thrill in it, a forbidden sense of excitement. His disregard for Order protocol, his callous brutality, and his knack for operating on his terms were all things that would drive her mad in anyone else. But with him, it was almost... satisfying.

In the back of her mind, she knew the risks. Allowing him to slip the leash even a little meant playing with fire, yet she kept him around in her retinue. Perhaps it was his single-minded focus on getting the job done, no matter the means, or maybe it was the unsettling way he could turn the most hardened men into quivering wrecks. Whatever it was, it added a certain edge to her otherwise controlled existence.

The Enforcer was the kind of chaos she could unleash when necessary, a force that could descend upon her enemies like a hurricane. And as much as she hated to admit it, some small part of her took pleasure in the fact that he couldn’t be completely tamed. There was a thrill in releasing him on her enemies, never exactly certain how he’d accomplish that task. She only knew that he would.

As she waited for his arrival, no doubt later than requested, she allowed herself a smile. Holloway didn’t trust him, but she didn’t need to. He was her weapon, one she could wield without needing to understand. And she liked it that way.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24 – The Rendezvous

Alex crouched low behind some bushes, eyes darting back and forth towards the cliff side, towards the looming structure of Toluca Prison. It all made sense now, out of all the places, this twisted remnant of the Order had chosen one of Silent Hill’s most notorious spots as their headquarters. The prison was an ideal fortress for them, with its maze-like corridors and heavy steel gates. And if Holloway was as methodical as his father said, it’d be tightly guarded.

He exhaled, steadying his nerves. This wasn’t the first time he’d infiltrated hostile territory, he had done plenty of times back in the Middle East. But the stakes were different right now. He wasn’t here for a mission or some faceless objective—his family’s safety hung in the balance, Elle’s safety and Joshua’s safety, and the cult held all the cards. Alex couldn’t risk tipping them off before he was ready.

Moving quickly, Alex slipped through more bushes, his heart pounding as he made his way toward the meeting point where he and his dad had agreed to regroup. A figure came into view, leaning casually against a rusted, abandoned vehicle near the tree line, but the tense look told Alex his dad was just as on edge as he was.

“Toluca Prison,” Alex said as he approached, keeping his voice low so no one else could hear. “They’ve taken it over. It’s crawling with them. The Order I mean.”

Adam nodded. “Figures they’d pick a place like that. They’ll have fortified it heavily. We’re going to need to be smart about this.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Alex replied. “Any way we can get our hands on more firepower?”

Adam looked as he considered their options. “Not easy. We lost our weapons in the lake, and getting anything out here without drawing attention would be a challenge. But I do have a few tricks left.” He patted the small rucksack slung over his shoulder. “Found a stash of supplies a while back, ammo’s low, but there’s a pair of pistols and some flashbangs. Nothing fancy, but it’ll get us inside if we’re smart about it.”

Alex let out a breath of relief. “Good. So what’s the plan?”

“We’ll need to create a diversion,” Adam replied, his eyes narrowing as he studied the prison’s outline. “Draw as many of them away from the main entrance as we can, then slip through a side entry. I could hit them from one angle, make them think there’s a larger force coming in. You use that opening to get inside and find where they’re keeping everyone. Especially Elle and your mom.”

Alex nodded. It was dangerous and reckless, but it seemed like they didn’t have any other choice. This was his chance to end the nightmare for good and get his family back.

“We’ll need to move fast,” Alex said, checking the gear. “You take care of the outside and I’ll take the inside.”

“Remember, Alex,” Adam said, keeping his voice deadly serious. “They’ll be expecting something. Watch your back, keep a low profile as much as you can, and don’t let them catch you alone. These people are dangerous, and they won’t hesitate.”

“I know. I’ll be careful.”

Adam and Alex crouched low, hidden in the dense overgrowth as they watched the new arrivals arrive into Silent Hill. Through the fog, the shapes of dozens of cultists moved in grim silence. This was a larger group than either of them had anticipated, well-armed, many of them bearing fresh cuts and bruises like they’d come from some serious confrontation.

Adam muttered, “The Order must’ve called in reinforcements. Looks like Holloway’s pulling every loyalist she can find to track us down.”

Alex scanned the faces as best he could, hoping to recognize someone from Shepherd’s Glen, but the newcomers were strangers to him. Hardened fighters, and undeterred by the streets of Silent Hill, they appeared far more capable than the usual recruits he’d faced before.

“Any idea where she found this crew?” Alex whispered.

“No clue,” Adam replied. “But wherever they came from, Holloway’s not playing around anymore. She’s rallying everyone who’ll answer her call. We need to be extra cautious. They’ll have orders to patrol every inch of this place.”

Alex nodded, feeling full of unease. Their chances of sneaking out of Silent Hill undetected were dwindling fast with these new forces swarming the town.

“So what’s the new plan?” Alex asked. “We can’t go in guns blazing.”

Adam was already studying the terrain around them, weighing their options. “We wait for them to settle in for the night, then see if there’s a weak point we can slip through. Maybe get close enough to hear if they’re saying anything useful.”

“Right,” Alex replied. “This keeps getting more complicated.”

Adam gave his son a reassuring nod. “Stay focused. This is what we trained for. We’ll get through it, together.”

They watched as the new group of cultists dispersed into the streets, disappearing one by one into buildings, alleyways, and makeshift posts. When the last of the footsteps faded, Adam gestured for Alex to follow him, and they slipped deeper into the shadows, ready to use whatever gaps they could find.

With their cultist robes donned Alex and Adam exchanged wary looks. The larger force of cultists moving into Silent Hill was unusual. Reinforcements? Alex thought back to what he’d overheard while pretending to be one of them, the cultists had been tense, muttering about some “mess” that had to be cleaned up.

“Stay low, and don’t talk to anyone if you can help it,” Adam murmured, adjusting the cultist’s robe. “We slip in, gather what information we can, and get out before anyone gets wise.”

Alex nodded. They fell in step with the cultists as they passed, blending into the crowd as if they belonged.

The roar of the motorcycle echoed as it rolled in, the rider’s presence unmistakable, ominous even among the cultists. The figure wore a black skull mask that seemed to leer from beneath a helmet adorned with a bold red pentagram. The cultists parted instinctively, giving him wider space as he brought the bike to a slow, menacing stop.

Alex’s stomach tightened. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that guy,” he whispered to Adam. There was something in the way the man carried himself, something… off. He didn’t move like the other cultists, and they looked at him differently, as if he was a mad dog just waiting to be unleashed.

Adam’s face darkened. “Holloway must be desperate if she’s calling him in.”

“Who is he?” Alex asked, glancing over at his father.

“Just rumors. They call him the Enforcer,” Adam said quietly, feeling tense. “The stories I’ve heard… this is the man she sends when she’s tired of negotiating.” He paused, watching the man on the bike. “He’s not just another follower of hers, he’s here to finish the job, no matter the cost.”

As the Enforcer scanned the crowd, his gaze passed over Alex and Adam, they both instinctively lowered their heads, shifting further back into the shadowy cover of their hoods. It lingered longer than either of the two would have liked.

Alex watched as the new arrival, continued on his way on the motorcycle. The skull mask is a sinister touch, but it’s the painted crimson pentagram that gives Alex chills. The man’s presence shifted the air. Whoever this guy is, he’s no ordinary cultist.

Adam’s expression hardens as he observes the figure silently. Without a word to Alex, he gestures for them to fall back deeper into the cover of the shadows, gripping Alex’s shoulder as they begin moving. They’d have to be even more careful now, with someone like that around.

Wheeler glared up at Holloway, his face still bruised, and his chest still bandaged up. Every breath hurt, but he was not about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him break down.

Holloway, stood with her hands clasped behind her back, offering a smile, more mockery than kindness. "Quite the fighter, aren’t you, Deputy Wheeler?" She tilted her head. "Not many men can take a knife wound like that and keep pushing. Impressive."

Wheeler grimaced, refusing to look away from the Judge. "You’re not getting anything out of me, you know that, right?"

Her smile widened, and she let out a small, humorless laugh. "Oh, Deputy, I think you misunderstand me. I don’t need information. I already know where your friends are heading… and they’re not nearly as clever as they think."

Wheeler’s jaw tightened, and Holloway took a step closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "The only reason you’re still breathing, Deputy, is because I believe you still have a role to play with us. You may be of use… to draw them out."

She straightened up, glancing at the monitor, where the security feed displays flickering images of the cells. Each captive is shown in their separate cell, heads down, worn down by their imprisonment. She lets Wheeler see the screen for a moment before turning back. "You see if you don’t cooperate, I’ll move on to others who might be more… willing."

Holloway lets her offer linger in the air, as she paced around the room. "But you know, Deputy, Shepherd's Glen will need a new sheriff when all this is over. How does Sheriff Wheeler sound to you?"

Wheeler twisted in disgust, his response immediate. He spits at her, defiantly. "I wouldn’t betray Adam for anyone. Least of all, for you."

Holloway only chuckled again, her smile sharp as she wiped the spit off her heels with a handkerchief. "Loyalty. It’s almost admirable, in a way. But loyalty without reason?" She shook her head, feigning a sympathetic sigh. "Deputy that was your last chance. But don’t worry,” She leaned in one last time, her voice calm. "You’ll find my friend far less forgiving than I am. But he’s on his way now, and he will get what we need from you… one way or another."

With that, she turns on her heel, leaving Wheeler alone in the cell, the cold echo of her footsteps lingering long after she’s gone.

The Enforcer roared up to Toluca Prison, his motorcycle skidding to a halt just inches away from two cultists who barely dove out of his path in time. He doesn’t even give so much as a glance their way, his attention fixed on the building in front of him. The cultists scowled, muttering under their breath, but a sharp, dismissive “Boo” from him shut them up real fast. One even stumbles back, caught off guard by the mere sound, his eyes wide with fear.

The Enforcer stared them down for a moment, his skull-painted mask as expressionless as stone, then strides past without a second look. He had nothing but contempt for their theatrics, their masks, and the robes. They played at darkness and ritual, chanting in shadows, trying to embody mystical power. But to him, they were just zealots playing dress-up. He respected Holloway's pull over them, her influence, that was real power. But the rest? He barely cared if they were swept out of his path.

Once inside, he hardly broke his stride, taking in the gloom of Toluca Prison. The guards and cultists stationed there straighten up, faces tense and wary, exchanging nervous glances as he makes his way down the dim corridors. The Enforcer didn’t need introductions or pleasantries. Holloway's word alone had built his reputation, and here, at Toluca Prison, he wasn’t about to lower himself to speak more than necessary.

He made his way toward Holloway’s office, his presence alone sent silent ripples through the air.

As Holloway steps into the dimly lit corridor of Toluca Prison, she’s greeted by the sharp scent of smoke. The Enforcer leaned against the wall, a cigarillo between his fingers, glowing red in the shadows. She wrinkles her nose.

“You know that’s a disgusting habit,” she remarked, eyeing the smoke drifting from his hand.

He raised an eyebrow, taking a long, deliberate puff. “I find it keeps out the cold,” he replied, his voice low, with a hint of amusement. The glow from the cigarillo briefly illuminates the painted skull of his mask, making his expression all the more unsettling.

Holloway crosses her arms, studying him with her brand of intensity. "Cold won’t be an issue much longer. Our work is… accelerating.”

The Enforcer only exhales a stream of smoke, watching her impassively. "Then let's get to it." His voice had a tone that suggested he was always ready.

The Enforcer listened silently as Holloway laid out the details in her office, his mask now firmly back in place, transforming him back into the skull-faced menace feared by the Order and its enemies. Curtis stands nearby, shuffling uneasily, his gaze flickering between the map spread across the table and the Enforcer’s unreadable mask. A few other cultists glance at each other nervously.

Holloway’s tone is all business. "Adam Shepherd," she begins, her finger tapping on a marked area of the map, "former Green Beret and Airborne. Highly trained, and resourceful, and he knows Shepherd’s Glen better than any of us. His son, Alex, an Army Ranger. A more than capable fighter and... Resilient. He was meant to be one of our traditional sacrifices." Her voice tightened, though she quickly regained her composure. "But they've both slipped through our hands."

She pauses, meeting the Enforcer’s gaze through the hollow sockets of his mask. "They’ve managed to rally allies. Among them, two we've already captured, amongst Adam’s accomplices in his little insurrection, his brother-in-law, James Sunderland, and Deputy Wheeler. Both were... difficult to subdue.” Her eyes narrow, as a flash of irritation crosses her face at the memory of their resistance. “Wheeler,” she continues, “is stubborn but vulnerable to pressure. James… well, let’s just say we have a means to make him compliant.”

At this, she gestures toward another spot on the map. "A woman named Angela Orosco. An old friend of Sunderland’s, and a vital part to break his spirit. We brought her here as insurance.”

“If the girl is important to that Mr. Sunderland. We’ll interrogate them together.” The Enforcer said, not glancing back up from the map.

Curtis grumbles, "All this because Shepherd had to turn the town upside down. They’re making us look-”

“Curtis,” Holloway cuts him off sharply, “you’ll save the complaints for after the job is done.” She looks back to the Enforcer, her eyes calculating. "Adam is resourceful but desperate. He knows he’s outgunned and outnumbered. That desperation may be his downfall, but we need to end this. Quickly.”

The Enforcer leans over the table, his gloved finger tracing an alternate route along the map. "Then let's remind him who’s in control. It’s only fair to give them something to fear."

Holloway nods, a small, approving smile playing on her lips.

The Enforcer takes in the information with a slow inhale of his cigarillo, scanning the layout of the town and the prison on the map. His voice, a low rasp beneath the mask, breaks the tension in the room. "Half the work’s already done for me," he mutters. "The people of Shepherd’s Glen have been sufficiently… educated in the consequences of defiance. They’re too terrified to rally behind Adam now."

He looks up, his gaze briefly flicking to Curtis, who shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "We’ve got leverage, too," he adds, gesturing toward the map where the captured accomplices are marked. "People Adam cares about. If he thought he could rally support, he won’t be getting it now. Not without paying a high price."

Holloway’s mouth curves in a smile as she meets his gaze. "Indeed. But there’s still one loose end we’re waiting on," she says, her tone growing sharper as her gaze slides to Curtis. "Lillian Shepherd. I expect her to be in our custody soon, Curtis."

Curtis scratches the back of his neck, looking a little flustered but quickly nodding. "I’ve got people working on it. She’ll be here," he says, trying to regain his confidence.

The Enforcer watches this exchange without a word, but his posture suggests a kind of impatience. Holloway senses it and redirects her attention to him. "Once Lillian’s in custody, we’ll have all the pieces in place to draw Adam and Alex exactly where we want them. In the meantime," she says, "I want you to do what you do best, Enforcer. Remind Shepherd’s Glen why the Order isn’t to be crossed."

The Enforcer tilts his head, his eyes fixed on Holloway through the skull mask, then nods. "Consider it done," he says.

Holloway watched him with satisfaction in her eyes. She knew that, despite his unpredictability, the Enforcer was the only one who could bring Adam Shepherd’s insurrection to a brutal, and definitive end.

"The three prisoners in our custody are my gift to you," she continues. "In honor of our partnership. Don’t kill them yet, but make sure they suffer. I want their spirits broken, their will shattered, ready for Adam and Alex to see exactly what they’re up against."

The Enforcer nods slowly, a low chuckle escaping him as he considers her offer. "Generous," he replies. "I’ll make it memorable for them."

Holloway’s eyes narrow with satisfaction. There was no one better suited for the task than the Enforcer, her chosen instrument of terror and punishment. He would not only leave the prisoners a broken shell of themselves but leave a message etched into the minds of anyone daring to defy her Order.

Holloway fixes Curtis with an icy glare, her voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "My daughter, Elle, is off-limits," she says, each word as sharp as a knife. "She is not to be harmed, Curtis. Disobey me on this, and..." She lets the silence between them do the rest.

Curtis shifted slightly, eyes flickering away from hers, swallowing whatever retort he might have had. He knows better than to push. Then he gives her a reluctant nod, muttering something like "Understood, Judge," before glancing over at the Enforcer. There’s tension in his expression, a flicker of unease he doesn’t bother to hide.

The Enforcer catches the look, amused but indifferent, letting his gaze drift back to Holloway. He’s already scanning through his options for handling the prisoners. Torture, he knows, is an art in patience, and in leaving marks that last longer than the pain itself.

“Consider it done,” he says, his voice calm and unwavering. “I’ll make sure they understand exactly who’s in charge here.” His gaze shifts back to the map, studying it with the detached professionalism of a man who’s always two steps ahead, already plotting his next move.

Holloway watches him with a slight, satisfied smile, though she’s careful not to let it linger. With everything in motion, she turns her attention back to Curtis. “And you’ll be coordinating with him, Curtis. I want a united front on this. No mistakes.”

Curtis nods, though he doesn’t meet her gaze, keeping his focus on the map as well.

The Enforcer straightens, a smirk forming beneath the skull mask. "I’ll get started then," he says, rolling his shoulders like a fighter warming up. "I’ll give the cop and Mr. Sunderland a bit of... exercise. It’ll be good for them."

Holloway arched s an eyebrow, but there was a glint of approval in her eyes. “Go on, then. Make it memorable. Just don’t forget I want them alive, broken, but still breathing.”

Curtis shifts uncomfortably but says nothing, avoiding the Enforcer’s gaze. He’s seen what the Enforcer considers “exercise” before, and he knows it’ll be anything but routine.

The Enforcer simply nods. “Alive. I hear you, Judge.” With that, he pulls the door open and steps out, ready to make his way down to the cells.

Holloway watches him go, folding her hands together. She knows her prisoners won’t be the same after he’s finished with them. But that’s precisely the point.

Outside, in the prison yard, Curtis lets out a long breath, adjusting his collar as he steps into the cold night air. He spots a few of the cultists waiting for him, their postures tense as they watch him approach. One of them, a man with a shaved head and wary eyes, steps forward to talk to him.

“Holloway talks to that outsider like they’re old friends,” the man says under his breath, glancing back at the building where the Enforcer disappeared. “I don’t like this and I don’t like him.”

Curtis gives him a hard look, making sure the other cultists hear the edge in his voice. “You don’t have to like it,” he retorts sharply. “None of us do.”

He lowers his voice, leaning in slightly. “The Enforcer’s here because Holloway wants him here. Whatever she’s got planned, he’s a part of it, and we’re not the ones who get to make that call.”

The cultist shifts uneasily, glancing at the others, who are nodding in silent agreement. “Just seems like she’s trusting him more than she’s trusting us these days.”

Curtis scowls, then sighs, trying to keep his composure. “Look, the Enforcer’s good at what he does, and Holloway knows it. But make no mistake, he’s not one of us. When she’s done with him, he’ll be gone. That’s the only thing you need to know.”

The group murmurs an agreement, but Curtis can see the distrust still simmering in their eyes.

One of the cultists, a smaller man with a scarred lip, mutters under his breath, “Maybe the Enforcer needs a little… accident. Can’t see Holloway keeping him around if he’s out of commission.”

Another cultist, broader and with a rough laugh, shakes his head and slaps the man’s back. “You saw what he did to those Dagonites. They tried everything, and they’re gone now. You think you’ll have better luck than a whole cult?”

Curtis’s eyes narrow as he looks over the group, silencing them with a cold, hard stare. “Enough,” he says. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll be the ones with an accident. Do you think Holloway wouldn’t notice if someone tried to take him out? She’s smarter than that, and so is he.”

The cultists glance at each other.

Curtis lets his tone soften, just enough to keep them on his side. “Look, we all know we’d be better off if the Enforcer went back to whatever part of hell he came from. But we’ve got to play this smart. Holloway isn’t going to keep him around forever. Until then, stay in line and keep your eyes open.”

The cultists nod back reluctantly, but Curtis can still see the wariness in their expressions. It wasn’t just fear anymore, it was growing resentment, a feeling that wouldn’t stay buried for long.

“Stand down, all of you,” Curtis orders. “The Enforcer isn’t someone you just cross on a whim. Holloway might turn a blind eye if he takes one of you out for ‘disciplinary reasons.’ So, don’t do anything rash. Not yet.”

The cultists shift uneasily, some glancing at each other as if expecting one of them to defy the order. But no one speaks. They all know Curtis’s reputation and that there’s a reason he’s Holloway’s right-hand man, even if he’s just as unhappy about the Enforcer’s presence as they are.

“If we’re going to make a move,” Curtis continues, lowering his voice so even the Enforcer couldn’t hear them. “We wait. Watch how things play out. Let him do his job, make his enemies, and when the time’s right…” Curtis lets the sentence trail off.

One of the cultists, eyes darting to the prison building, finally nods. “Guess we’ll bide our time, then.”

Curtis gives a nod. “Good. Now get to your posts. The Shepherds aren’t going to hand themselves over, and if any of you draw attention to us with some reckless stunt, the Enforcer won’t be the only problem you’ll have.”

As the cultists scatter, Curtis takes a moment to light up a cigarette, watching the windows of the prison. The Enforcer might have the upper hand for now, but Curtis was no fool either. Sooner or later, that outsider’s leash would tighten, and when it did, Curtis planned to be ready.

James Sunderland lay on the cold floor of his cell, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Guilt tugged at him, especially when he thought about Angela. She’d been through enough, been through a hell of her own without being dragged into his mess, without being used as leverage against him. The thought of her suffering for his mistakes burned inside him, guilt tinged with a helpless rage.

He shifted uncomfortably, wincing at the bruises and cuts from his last encounter with the Order. He’d seen Wheeler put up a fight before he was taken down, probably lying in some other cell right now, still defiant, still loyal to Adam and Alex. And then there was Adam himself, the one who had somehow gathered enough strength to stand against these monsters. He was wondering where Adam and Alex were right now, if they were still out there, fighting, planning some sort of escape or rescue, clinging onto hope.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes, picturing them, his brother-in-law with that stubborn determination in his eyes, and Alex, his young nephew thrown into this twisted legacy of blood and sacrifice. They’re out there somewhere, he has to believe that. He has to believe they’re not giving up, even if he feels himself lingering at the edges.

As the sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor, James tenses. The flickering lights outside his cell cast shadows, and for a moment, he thinks he hears something, Angela’s voice, maybe, or Alex calling out. But there’s nothing, only the quiet tap of boots approaching.

The loud, sharp bangs force James out of his thoughts, each echo bouncing off the stone walls. Blinking, he raises his head and finds himself staring at the figure standing beyond the bars, a hulking man, clad in combat gear that’s clearly seen its share of violence. His face is obscured behind a grinning skull mask painted white. A helmet with a red pentagram scrawled across it sits atop his head, completing the disturbing image.

James stares, uncertain if he’s even looking at a man or some kind of nightmare. This wasn’t like the other cultists he’d seen. Their faces might have been masked or hidden, but they still looked human and still resembled people.

This...thing in front of him was something else entirely.

“Up!” The man’s voice is a rough bark. There’s no patience in it, no pretense of anything beyond a demand, and James feels a chill run through him. Slowly, he rises, never taking his eyes off the Enforcer, feeling his heartbeat hammering in his ears. The silence between them feels heavy, but there’s no mistaking the power and brutality radiating off the masked figure.

The Enforcer tilts his head slightly, as if sizing James up, like a predator assessing prey. “Time for exercise, Sunderland,” he growls, the skull’s grim smile fixed in place.

James squinted in the light of the prison yard as he was led out, his hands tensed around the cold metal pipe that the Enforcer tossed his way. Wheeler is already standing in the area, his expression a mix of defiance and caution. It’s clear too that Wheeler doesn’t want to give this man any satisfaction and neither does James.

The Enforcer stands a few feet away, arms folded, his skull mask somehow seeming to grin wider under the night sky. "Breathe it in, boys. Fresh air," he says, his tone mocking, like he's rewarding them instead of leading them into a setup. "Good to get a little exercise."

Wheeler looks down at the pipe, then back up at the Enforcer. “Why should we?” he asks, his voice steady despite the tension in his stance.

The Enforcer tilts his head, tapping his fingers against his helmet. “Oh, I don’t know, Deputy. Maybe you need a little encouragement. You’ve got family down in Atlanta, don’t you? A niece, a nephew?” His voice takes on a cold, menacing edge. "Kids are full of energy. Maybe they'd be up for this kind of exercise."

Wheeler’s jaw tightens, his grip shifting on the pipe, but he doesn’t make a move.

The Enforcer shifts his attention to James, tilting his head. “And you, Mr. Sunderland. Maybe a friend of yours would have a little more… motivation.” He pauses, letting the words sink in, his voice deliberately cruel. "That girlfriend of yours, Orosco, think she’d like to know you put up a fight?”

James felt the taunt sink in, stirring both guilt and anger. Angela was dragged into this because of him because he couldn’t leave well enough alone. The Enforcer’s eyes seem to gleam behind that mask, feeding on their hesitation.

“Well?” the Enforcer sneers. “I haven’t all day.”

Reluctantly, Wheeler and James each grip the cold metal pipes, their eyes flicking from each other to the towering figure in front of them. The Enforcer didn’t even bother to arm himself. Instead, he wrapped strips of cloth around his knuckles, his grin widening beneath the skull mask as he finished, savoring the moment.

“This is gonna be fun, boys,” he says with anticipation. His tone was almost cheerful, as though he’d been waiting all day for a bit of “exercise.” He raises his hands, cracking his knuckles, giving Wheeler and James a mocking little wave as if to say, come on then.

Wheeler glances at James, both of them know what’s about to happen. There’s no way around it. No talking their way out, not with the Enforcer towering over them, radiating eagerness.

The Enforcer rolls his shoulders, bouncing on his feet like a prizefighter, waiting for one of them to make the first move.

James and Wheeler share a tense, wordless look, understanding passing between them. They know what’s on the line, Angela, Wheeler’s family back in Georgia. They can’t lose, even if they don’t stand a chance. With a sharp intake of breath, they dive in, pipes swinging in wild arcs toward the Enforcer, hoping to at least land a hit.

But the Enforcer is quicker than he looked. Effortlessly, he dips and dives, weaving around their blows with ease. To him, their swings are slow, and predictable, as if he’s toying with them rather than fighting. He slips out of range just enough to watch their frustration build, each miss pushing them closer to desperation.

“Come on, boys,” he taunts, grinning beneath his skull mask. “Is that all you’ve got?”

James grits his teeth and lunges forward, his pipe aimed at the Enforcer’s torso. But the Enforcer sidestepped, a blur of motion, and planted an elbow into James’s stomach, sending him stumbling backward, the breath knocked out. Wheeler took the chance to swing hard at the Enforcer’s shoulder, but the Enforcer caught the pipe mid-air, twisting it out of Wheeler’s grip with a brutal yank.

“Nice try,” he sneers, tossing the pipe aside. “But you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Wheeler, clutching his side where the knife wound still aches, grits his teeth and swings again, pouring every ounce of strength he has into the move. With a smirk under the skull mask, the Enforcer shoves it back into him, knocking him to the ground. Wheeler collapses, gasping, clutching his ribs as pain floods through him.

James steps forward, fire blazing in his eyes as he lunges again. His grip tightened on the pipe, as he swung with all his might. The Enforcer merely sidesteps, letting the blow whistle harmlessly past his head before he brings his knee up, slamming it into James’s gut. James staggers, struggling to stay upright, but the Enforcer doesn’t relent, he drives an elbow down onto James’s back, forcing him to his knees.

“You are pathetic,” the Enforcer says, his voice cold, almost mocking. “You think this is enough to keep her safe?”

James grits his teeth and, with a surge of strength, gets back up and brings the pipe crashing onto the Enforcer’s shoulder. There’s a dull thud, and for a split second, he dares to hope it did some damage. But the Enforcer just laughs.

"Atta boy!" he sneers, clearly unfazed. Before James can react, the Enforcer's fist comes down on his ribs, one blow after another, each punch landing with brutal precision. James feels a sharp, searing pain as something cracks under the relentless assault. He gasps, vision blurring, but the Enforcer doesn't stop. The hits keep coming, each one tearing through the last of his strength until he collapses onto the cold dirt, barely able to draw breath.

“Not so fun, is it?” the Enforcer says, crouching down, whispering in James’s ear. “You’ll learn. If you’re still conscious, tomorrow, we can go again.” He stands, wiping his knuckles, and glancing back at Wheeler, who was slumped and barely moving nearby.

James was gasping for breath, his ribs a blaze of pain.

"You know," The Enforcer says, "that pain you're feeling, those cracked ribs that fire in your chest, it's a special kind of burn, isn’t it? Like you’re fighting for every breath."

James glared back at him, anger still simmering despite the pain, but the Enforcer just chuckles.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking. You think I don't know this kind of hurt? Let me tell you something, James. I’ve had bones broken, and ribs crushed just like yours. I’ve had a bit of ear bitten clean off by some desperate bastard who thought he had a chance.” He rolled the mask up just enough to let James see the missing bottom section of a cauliflower ear on the man’s right side. “They even tried prison napalm on me once. The inmates take a boiling pot, add some sugar, and dump it all over you.” He pauses, letting the words settle over James like a weight in the air. "For the record, that burns like a motherfucker too."

The Enforcer then stands up, looking down at James with a cold, detached satisfaction. "But I’m still here. Still standing. And every little bit of pain? I’ve given it right back. What about you, James?" He nudges him with his boot. "You got it in ya to give back what you’re getting? Or are you already broken?"

Wheeler, defiant even though he was in a haze of pain, staggered back to his feet, gripping the pipe like it was his last lifeline. He swings with all he’s got, wild and unsteady, but the Enforcer just sidesteps each blow effortlessly, not even breaking a sweat. With a sharp twist, the Enforcer grabs Wheeler by the wrist, twisting his arm until he has no choice but to release the pipe, which clatters to the ground.

Before Wheeler can react, the Enforcer slams him down, pinning him. Wheeler gasps, wincing in pain.

"I knew it!" Wheeler spat out. "You've been… toying with us… this whole time!"

The Enforcer smirked beneath his skull mask as if Wheeler’s accusation were some amusing revelation. "Of course I have," he replies smoothly, glancing back at James before looking back down at Wheeler. "That’s the whole point, Officer. Do you think you’re here to learn how to fight? No. You’re here to learn how to break. Do you think the Order's just about control, about getting you to obey? No, it's about knowing what you’re made of when every last shred of hope is gone."

He leans in, lowering his voice. "But don’t worry. This is just the beginning."

Chapter Text

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.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 26 – Seeds of Dissent

"Leave us," Holloway ordered as James Sunderland was brought into the room.

The two cultists exchanged glances but obeyed Judge Holloway's order. They left the room without a word. The heavy door shut behind them. James shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wincing in pain as his ribs flared up again. His gaze darted from the Enforcer, still towering in the corner with a smug grin beneath his skull mask, to Angela, bound and trembling in the chair across from him. Her wide eyes met his for a moment before looking away, fear written all over her face.

Judge Holloway stepped forward to him, her heels echoed on the concrete floor. She stopped just short of James, her cold eyes dug into him. "Let's make one thing clear, Mr. Sunderland," she says, venomously. "Your suffering is only just beginning. Beating you to a pulp?" She gestured towards the Enforcer. "That was his idea of a warm-up."

The man chuckles, rolling his shoulders as if he were still loosening up. "Exercise," he says casually, the word dripping with amusement. "Got to keep myself sharp, you know. But this..." He motions towards Angela, sitting silently across from James, "...this is where things get interesting."

James glares at him. "You call breaking my ribs 'exercise'? What's this, then? Your idea of a seminar?"

The Enforcer let out a hoarse laugh. "Seminar? Nah. Think of this more like... interactive learning." He leans against the wall, lighting a fresh cigarillo with a snap of his lighter. "You've got questions to answer, Sunderland. And the Judge here, well, she's got the patience of a saint. Me?" Exhaling smoke into James's face and grinned. "Not so much."

Holloway unamused by the Enforcer's theatrics, crossed her arms. "You've already demonstrated resilience, Mr. Sunderland. Remarkable. But you've reached the limits of what stubbornness alone can accomplish for you. The people you care about? They're the ones who will suffer for your silence."

James stiffened at her words and snapped back to Angela. "Leave her out of this," James begged, "Please."

Angela flinched slightly but said nothing, her wrists were burning from the binds.

Holloway raised an eyebrow. "Well that's up to you, James. You've been running around, sticking your nose where it didn't belong, and trying to unravel the Order's plans. Tell me what you know, every detail, or I'll let my associate here continue his... methods. And trust me, he's very creative."

The Enforcer steps closer to James, his massive frame looming over him. "You're tough, I'll give you that," he says, almost admiring. "But toughness only gets you so far here. Everyone breaks eventually, Sunderland. The question is... how much do you want to lose before you do?"

James gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his composure. His mind raced as he looked at Angela again, guilt gnawing at him. He had to think fast, stall, buy time, anything to keep her safe. But how?

James narrowed his eyes at Holloway and the Enforcer, forcing himself to sit upright despite the sharp pain in his ribs. "I don't know what you think you're going to get out of me," he finally says, defiantly. "Angela and I? We've got nothing to gain by talking to you."

James glanced over to Angela, who looked like she was barely holding herself together, eyes darting anxiously between James and the Enforcer. "Whatever they're planning, we can't give them what they want," James says firmly. "Adam and Alex are still out there. They're still fighting. So should we."

The Enforcer tilts his head, clearly amused by James's defiance. He strides towards James. "You don't get it, do you, Mr. Sunderland?" he says. "You've got nothing left to fight with. But you sure as hell have a lot to lose."

Before James can give his response, the Enforcer walks over to a nearby table where a thick glass panel. With a single motion, he slams it down, shattering it into pieces. The Enforcer picked up a particularly sharp piece, turning it over in his hand as if admiring it. And then, without warning, he walked back over to James, grabbing his jaw with one powerful hand.

"Open wide, tough guy," the Enforcer growls. James struggled hard, but the Enforcer's grip was one of iron. Forcing James's mouth open, he shoves the J-shard between his lower jaw and mouth, the sharp edges cutting into the corners of his lips.

"Careful now," the Enforcer says with a grin, releasing James's face and stepping back just slightly. "Wouldn't want you to swallow. Those little shards? They'll rip you apart from the inside. And I'd hate to cut this chat short."

James glared at him, blood trickling from his mouth where the shard drew cuts. His breaths come sharp and shallow as he struggles to hold the glass in place.

The Enforcer raised a fist and punched James across the face, sending jolts of pain through him. Another punch followed and another after that, and James's head snapped to the side. Blood spills from his split lip and the fresh wounds in his mouth, but he manages to keep from swallowing the shards.

"You're a real piece of work, Sunderland," the Enforcer says, leaning down so his masked face is inches from James's. "I've met hard cases before, but you? You might be worth breaking."

Angela flinches at seeing James hurt like this, fresh tears streamed down her face, but she doesn't dare speak up and draw attention to herself.

Holloway watches the scene unfold in front of her, arms crossed. "I told you, James," she says. "Your silence doesn't protect anyone. All it does is prolong your suffering, and hers."

The Enforcer straightened up and gestured towards Angela with a wave of his hand. "And if you think this is bad, just wait until we get creative with her. Now..." He orders as he's cracking his knuckles. "Spit it out, Sunderland. What do you know? And don't make me repeat myself."

Holloway stepped forward, her voice as cold and sharp as the glass in James's mouth. "Our friend here is still moaning about his little whore of a wife, Mary." she sneers. "It's pathetic, James. Do you think holding onto her memory is going to save you? Save anyone? All it's done is bring you here."

James's eyes blazed with anger, his voice muffled by the glass but still filled with rage. "Don't talk about her like that, you witch!"

The Enforcer doesn't hesitate at this. With one swift, motion, he punches James again in the jaw, the impact causing James to struggle against his restraints. Blood spatter from his mouth as the glass shards shift, slicing into his gums. He gasps, but he refuses to cry out.

"Watch your tone," the Enforcer orders, shaking out his fist like the punch was nothing more than a warm-up. "That's no way to talk about my associate." He looks to Holloway with a mocking bow, as though he's defending her honor.

Angela, though trembling, finally snaps. "Stop it! Stop hurting him!" she cries, voice cracking, desperately pulling against her restraints. "He's done nothing to you! Just stop!"

The Enforcer turned on her like a predator spotting prey. Pointing a finger at her, "Easy there, princess!" he snarls, voice booming. "We haven't even started with you yet!"

Angela recoiled at him, the venom in his voice alone struck her like a physical blow, bringing her back to memories of a past she wanted so desperately to forget. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she glared back at him with as much defiance as she could muster.

James, though barely able to lift his head, spits blood onto the floor. "Leave her alone," he gasps, trembling. "This is between you and me."

"Is it now?" the Enforcer taunts, crossing his arms. "How noble of you. But that's not how this works." He motioned towards Angela. "If she's here, she's in this. Just like you. Just like the rest of them."

Holloway smirks. "You're not a hero, James. You're another failure. Broken. And by the time we're done with you, even you will see it."

The Enforcer rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck before turning his cold gaze back towards James. "And you know," he begins, voice a mixture of sadism and mockery, "I've snapped thicker necks than hers while working with Holloway here. It's not that hard. One good twist, a satisfying little crunch, and-"

Before James could react, the Enforcer moved with swift precision, yanking Angela upright and gripping her from behind in a rear-naked chokehold. His brawny arms coiled around her neck like a constrictor, her small frame trembling against his iron-like grip. She gasped and struggled, legs kicking weakly as he applied just enough pressure to send a message.

"A little jujutsu from my Marine Corps days," the Enforcer explains smugly as if they're in some twisted tutorial. He tightens his hold slightly, making Angela choke out a strangled whimper. His grin widens, directed toward James, a predator toying with its prey. "So, tell me, Mr. Sunderland, do you think her pretty little neck has what it takes to hold out? Or are you ready to open that big mouth of yours and save her?"

"And trust me, James," Holloway adds. "She'll get the easy way out."

James struggled against his restraints, veins bulging on his head as rage and desperation collided within him. "Let her go, you son of a bitch!" he shouts, his voice pained from the glass shards.

The Enforcer chuckles. "That's just not how any of this works, Sunderland. You know that. You've got two choices here: talk, or she pays for your silence. How about it?" He jerked Angela slightly, her head tilting at an unnatural angle as his grip tightened for a brief second. She gurgled and her struggle began weakening.

"Stop it!" James pleaded, the fight draining from his voice. "Just stop!"

Angela's tear-streaked face turns slightly toward James, her expression panicked yet defiant. She manages to croak out, "Don't… don't tell them anything… James…"

"Brave," the Enforcer says, his voice dripping with mockery as he loosened his grip just enough to keep her conscious. "But bravery only gets you so far, sweetheart." He turned his gaze back to James. "So, Sunderland. Hero time's running out. What's it gonna be?"

James groaned, his head tilting forward as if to escape the reality unfolding around him. His voice cracked with anguish and disbelief. "God damn… this can't be happening…"

The Enforcer sneered at this, a dark grin curling just under his skull mask. "Oh, it's happening, Sunderland." He released his hold on Angela, letting her crumple, gasping for air and trembling. Turning his attention back to James, the Enforcer unsheathed his karambit knife, the curved blade gleamed under the dull light.

He leaned forward, the edge of the blade streaking down James's cheek. He drew a shallow cut, just enough to let out blood along the line, before finally slamming the knife into James's thigh.

James let out a howl in agony, his body jerked against the restraints as pain shot through his leg. The Enforcer grabbed James by the jaw, forcing him to look directly into his cold eyes. "Do you believe this is happening now?!" he barked.

He twisted the blade slightly, drawing another cry from James. "My esteemed associate here," the Enforcer motioned his head towards Holloway, "leads the Order. And let me tell you what's coming for you. They'll tear you and that little girlfriend of yours limb from limb. They'll leave what's left of you to rot by the side of the road."

Angela whimpered weakly from her chair, but her words were lost beneath James's agony. The Enforcer let out a dry laugh as he yanked the knife from James's leg with a squelching sound and wiped the blade on James's shirt.

As James groaned, barely able to hold his head up, the Enforcer drew his handgun and leveled it at him. The barrel hovered inches away from James's face. "Tell us what she wants to know," he said, "and I promise… I'll take you out quick."

Holloway's eyes flickered with approval as she leaned in, flanking the Enforcer, hands folded neatly in front of her. "The choice is yours, James. Spare yourself and Ms. Orosco here further misery… or don't."

James hung his head, the fight drained from his body with every breath. Blood seeped through the gash on his face and soaked his thigh where the Enforcer's blade had pierced. Angela's whimpers reached his ears, breaking what little resolve he had left. He couldn't bear to see her suffer anymore because of him.

"I'll talk," James rasped. His eyes flicked towards Angela before looking back at the Enforcer. "Just… just leave her out of this."

The Enforcer smirked, lowering his gun slightly but kept it trained on James. "That's more like it. Go on, Mr. Sunderland. Enlighten us."

James inhaled sharply, forcing the words out despite the pain in his ribs, mouth, and leg. "Adam… he's got a few weapons stashes set up. I don't know all the details, but they're scattered all around Shepherd's Glen. Hidden in places he thought the Order wouldn't think to look."

Holloway narrowed her eyes and stepped closer. "And these stashes, are they civilian or military weapons? What kind of firepower are we talking about here?"

James shook his head weakly. "I don't know specifics. Some hunting rifles, maybe. But Adam… he's resourceful. He's ex-military. He could have gotten his hands on more than that."

The Enforcer leaned in, his cold stare locked onto James. "Is Adam planning to arm the civilians of Shepherd's Glen? Trying to stir up his little rebellion?"

James winced. "I don't know. All I know is that he and Alex… they've likely infiltrated your ranks by now. If I know my brother-in-law and nephew… Adam's a tactician. And Alex, if he's anything like his dad… he'll be the same. They wouldn't just come in guns blazing. They're smarter than that."

The Enforcer straightened up, amused by this. "Infiltrated, huh?" He exchanged a glance with Holloway. "Looks like we might have some rats among the robed sheep."

Holloway's lips curved into a thin, calculating smile. "This information might prove useful. Though, it raises more questions than it answers." She turned to James, her voice sharp. "Where would Adam and Alex go next? What's their endgame?"

James shook his head, his energy fading fast. "I don't know… I swear… To stop you, maybe."

The Enforcer scowled but lowered his gun, pacing back and forth. "If you're lying, Sunderland, it won't just be you who pays. Remember that."

Angela's breaths were ragged, her fear bubbled over into a final, desperate act. As the Enforcer prowled back and forth, she managed to yank an arm free from the restraints with a sharp pull and lunged for his gun. Her fingers wrapped around the grip, but before she could pull it away, the Enforcer reacted with frightening speed, slamming his hands down over hers.

"Oh, looks like your girlfriend's got a little fight in her!" he sneered, mocking her as they struggled over the weapon. The pistol wavered wildly in their grasp, the barrel swinging erratically as Angela fought with everything she had to wrench it free.

"Let go!" Angela yelled, trembling but fierce.

The Enforcer only laughed, his strength well overpowering hers. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to aim guns at people?" His mocking tone grew louder as he pushed and pulled her hand back, forcing the barrel toward James. "They could go off!"

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the room as the trigger was inadvertently pulled, the bullet striking the wall just inches from James's head. James flinched, his eyes wide with shock as debris rained down from the impact.

"Stop it!" Angela screamed, her whole body straining as she tried to shift the aim away from James, but the Enforcer was too strong for her. He forced the gun down, firing another round that grazed the floor near James's feet.

"You're gonna get someone hurt like this, princess," the Enforcer taunted, his lips curled into a grin as he bore down on her. "How about we see if you've got the guts to pull the trigger yourself?"

Angela's face twisted with fury and desperation as she pushed back with all her strength, her hand trembling under the strain. "I won't let you hurt him!" she yelled.

Angela's desperate grip on the gun was no match for the Enforcer's brutal strength. He forced her trembling hand to tighten on the trigger, sending a series of shots into the room. The bullets fired wildly, slamming into the walls, the floor, and the chair James was bound to.

James flinched with every shot as he struggled to remain composed. When a round zipped past his head, inches from his ear, the last shreds of his control shattered. He gasped audibly, the fear coursing through him was overwhelming, and the evidence of his humiliation seeped into the fabric of his pants. He hung his head, shame, and terror.

The Enforcer's laughter was sharp. "That's what I like to see!" he barked with satisfaction. He twisted the gun out of Angela's hands, before raising his hand and struck her across the face with a powerful backhand. Angela staggered from the blow, her lip split, but her eyes burned with defiance even as tears welled up.

"You've got fire in you, girl!" the Enforcer snarled, standing over her. "I like that! Risking your life to protect your little boyfriend."

"We're not like that!" James croaked. He tried to straighten in his chair despite his wounds, his face twisted in both anger and despair. "We're not… Angela has nothing to do with this."

Judge Holloway stepped forward, her voice calm yet icy, cutting through the tension like a blade. "But you've brought her into this, Mr. Sunderland," she said. "She's your responsibility. And now, you're both suffering for your choices."

James clenched his fists. He glanced at Angela, who met his gaze with anger and fear, her cheek already bruising.

Angela spat blood onto the floor, her voice trembled but filled with rage. "You're monsters. Both of you."

The Enforcer smirked, wiping his hands together as though brushing off dirt. "That's rich, coming from someone who just mag-dumped her 'not-boyfriend.'" He chuckled darkly. "You're not in control here, sweetheart. Try that again, and I might not be so nice."

Angela glared up at him, her chest heaving, defiance still burning in her eyes despite the fear she was feeling. The Enforcer let out a low chuckle as he put the gun back into its holster as though the entire ordeal had been nothing more than a game.

"Well, wasn't that exciting?" he said, turning back to James, who sat frozen in his chair, blood dripping from his wounds. "Looks like your little girlfriend's got more spine than you, Sunderland. Maybe I should be asking her the questions instead. But don't worry, princess. You'll both have plenty of time to figure out how this is all his fault."

Angela only glared daggers at him, but she was trembling.

The Enforcer loomed over Angela, his hulking frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light in the room. He rubbed his jaw mockingly as if to inspect for damage she hadn't managed to do, then let out a low chuckle.

"You know," he said, "I deliberately left those restraints loose enough to see what you'd do. And look at you, trying to take my gun. You've got guts, I'll give you that." He crouched to her level, his grin more feral than friendly. "I respect that."

Angela glared up at him, she didn't respond, but her eyes burned with fury and defiance.

The Enforcer turned his attention back to James, his expression shifting to one of utter disdain. "You could learn a thing or two from her, Sunderland. She fights back. Takes risks. You? You're just sitting there, pissing yourself and moaning about how bad it is."

James, humiliated and enraged, raised his head to meet the Enforcer's gaze. His voice was quiet but firm. "She's not your pawn. You don't get to treat her like some game."

The Enforcer's grin widened. "Oh, but she made her move, didn't she? That makes her a player now. And guess what? She's already a better player than you'll ever be." He stood and crossed his arms, looking down at James. "You think your nephew and brother-in-law are out there fighting? Good for them. But if they're anything like you, they'll die like you: whining and weak."

Angela finally found her voice, her words sharp despite her trembling. "You don't know anything about him. Or them."

The Enforcer tilted his head, feigning consideration. "Maybe not, sweetheart. But I know enough to see that right now, the only one here with any backbone is you." His gaze swept back to James, cold and unforgiving. "You're lucky she's here, Sunderland. Without her, you'd have already been in a shallow grave by now."

James didn't reply. He looked at Angela, in shame. Angela refused to meet his gaze, her focus remaining on the Enforcer, her lips tight and her jaw set.

The Enforcer took a step back, giving them both a twisted smile. "Well, this has been fun. But I think you've both got a lot to think about now." He glanced back at Holloway. "What's next, Judge? Should we give them some quality time to reflect on their failures?"

Holloway waved a hand dismissively, expression cold and distant. "Do whatever you want with them," she said, turning toward the door. "I'm delegating all the work of finding Alex and Adam to you. You've proven more... efficient in these matters."

The Enforcer arched an eyebrow, watching her with a smirk. "Efficient, huh? Flattery will get you nowhere, Judge, you know that." He shifted his weight, his voice adopting a playful, mocking tone. "Is this for the Order's grand plans, or that other project you've been so fond of whispering about lately?"

Holloway froze for just a fraction of a second before glancing over her shoulder, her face unreadable. "Stick to your task, Graves," she said. "I have work to do."

As she left the room, the door closing behind her with a sharp clang, the Enforcer turned back to his captives. He let out a low whistle, spinning his karambit knife in his hand. "Now, what do you suppose she meant by another project, huh?" He tilted his head mockingly, his eyes locking on James. "You think it's something fun? Something big? Something nasty?"

James didn't answer, but his mind was racing. "Other project?" He didn't have a clue what they were talking about, but if he could survive this and pass that piece of information on to Adam, it might give them an edge. Anything could help... anything at all.

The Enforcer leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can see the wheels turning, Sunderland. Don't get any bright ideas. You're still mine until I say otherwise."

Angela glared up at him, her voice sharp. "You'll choke one day."

The Enforcer smirked as he pulled his handgun back out from its holster. "I said I'd make it quick," he mused, leveling the barrel directly at James's forehead. His voice dropped into a low, almost playful tone. "Time to die, Sunderland."

James's breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixed on the gun. His pulse thundered in his ears as he squeezed his eyes shut, his voice trembling as he muttered under his breath, "Not like this. God, not like this."

A click shattered the tension.

James blinked his eyes open, staring at the Enforcer, who was grinning from ear to ear. He held up the empty weapon, wagging it mockingly. "Oh, too bad, James. Looks like it's your lucky day."

Angela let out a sharp breath, a mix of relief and anger flashing across her face. "You're sick," she spat.

The Enforcer turned his gaze back to her. "Sick? Oh, babe, I'm just getting warmed up." He holstered the empty gun and crouched down to James's level, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "See, that little scare wasn't for fun... well, maybe just a little. But I needed to make sure you know how serious I am. Holloway's willing to let me off the leash, James. And when that happens? People tend to disappear."

James said nothing, his bleeding lips pressed as he glared at the man before him. He wouldn't give the Enforcer the satisfaction of seeing him break.

The Enforcer straightened up, his expression shifted to something darker. "I hope you're paying attention, Sunderland. Because if you're holding back on us... next time, the chamber won't be empty."

The Enforcer then barked a laugh, standing upright and tossing his knife into the air before catching it effortlessly. "Maybe. But it won't be today." He turned toward the door, his movements unhurried but purposeful. "Sit tight, both of you. I've got some work to do. Don't get too comfortable... I'll be back soon enough."

With that, he strode out, leaving James and Angela alone in the cold, oppressive room. James exhaled shakily, the ache in his thigh reminding him of the blade still embedded there. He glanced at Angela. "I'm sorry," he murmured, guilt overwhelming. "For dragging you into this."

Angela didn't look at him, she was trying hard not to be angry with James. It was, after all, him leaving her letters in his car that dragged her into this. "Just… just save it, James," she said flatly. "You heard them. Something is going on, something outside their 'Order'. We have to figure out what it is." Her voice softened, just slightly. "If we can get out of here... we might still have a chance."

James nodded, though his heart felt heavy. "A chance", he thought grimly. "But at what cost?"

In a dimly lit corner of one of the prison's less active wings, a small group of cultists had gathered. Their voices were hushed yet tense as they shared their apprehension. Curtis stood among them, leaning against the wall with a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate before giving a sideways glance to the younger cultists.

"You're overthinking it," Curtis muttered, though his tone revealed a hint of doubt. "It's not our job to question the timing. We follow orders, plain and simple."

One cultist, a wiry man with a nervous twitch, shook his head. "But it doesn't add up, Curtis. Think about it. Adam Shepherd didn't start his rebellion until after the monsters started appearing. The timeline's all wrong. It's like… what triggered what? Did the monsters come because of Adam's defiance, or was it the other way around?"

Another cultist, a woman with cropped black hair, chimed in. "It's not just that, Curtis. There was a specific date for the sacrifices. All four families knew it. The Holloways, the Shepherds, the Fitches, the Bartletts. Everyone else did it on schedule. Why didn't Adam?"

Curtis frowned, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "You think I know? We weren't exactly privy to the inner circle's meetings. The families kept everything locked down tight. Hell, we didn't even know half the things they were planning until they ordered us to carry them out."

The wiry man looked around nervously, as though afraid their conversation might be overheard. "But doesn't it bother you? Adam was supposed to sacrifice Alex. Everyone knows that. And when he didn't, the Shepherds became the center of everything falling apart. But these monsters... they weren't part of the plan. Whatever this is, it's not like anything we were prepared for."

Curtis blew out another puff of smoke. "I'll tell you what bothers me," he said quietly. "We were told the sacrifices were supposed to keep this town safe. Keep our god happy. So why the hell are things worse than ever? Why are those... things... tearing through our people? Why are we still fighting to hold on to this prison?"

The woman crossed her arms, her brows furrowed. "Maybe Holloway knows something we don't. Maybe this is all part of the plan."

"Or maybe," Curtis said, his voice dropped lower, "there's something she's not telling us. Something the Shepherds knew and we don't. Think about it, why would Adam, a guy who served the Order all his life, suddenly go rogue? What did he find out?"

The wiry man shivered, as though the question itself carried a chill. "Whatever it is, we're the ones paying the price for it."

Curtis crushed his cigarette underfoot. "All I know is, this isn't what I signed up for. And if the Judge or anyone else thinks they can keep us in the dark forever, they've got another thing coming. Keep your heads down. And don't let anyone hear you talking like this. The Enforcer's always listening."

The nervous conversation among the cultists took a sharp turn as one of them, a tall man with a shaved head and a stern expression, spoke up. His voice cut through like a blade.

"Maybe Holloway is lying to us. About all of this. About everything."

The group fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Even the faint hum of the prison's old lighting seemed distant in the stillness. Curtis turned to face him sharply, both in anger and unease.

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Curtis snapped, stepping closer to the man. His voice was low, and dangerous, but carried uncertainty. "You know how dangerous it is to even say something like that? Keep your damn mouth shut before someone hears you."

The tall man didn't flinch. "Dangerous? Maybe. But look around, Curtis. Nothing about this makes sense anymore. We were told the sacrifices would protect this town, protect us. But the monsters came anyway. Adam was supposed to be the problem, that's what she told us, but even after his rebellion, we're still fighting to survive. Doesn't that tell you something?"

Curtis grabbed him by the collar, shoving him back against the wall. "What it tells me," Curtis hissed, "is that you're talking like a damn fool. Do you even know what you're implying? If Holloway's lying... if she's not following Dahlia's vision, then-"

"Then she's no better than a heretic!" the tall man interrupted, his voice steady despite Curtis's grip. "Or a blasphemer."

Curtis froze for a moment, the words cut through his anger like a knife. He didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to consider the possibility that their leader, the woman who had led them with such conviction, could be anything less than the embodiment of their Order's will.

"This is unprecedented," the black-haired woman muttered, breaking the silence. She was staring at the floor, her arms crossed tightly. "The sacrifices, the monsters, the rebellion. None of this is how it was supposed to go. If she's lying to us... if she's using us... then what the hell are we even fighting for?"

Curtis released the tall man and took a step back, dragging a hand down his face. "You don't think I've thought about this?" he muttered. "You don't think I haven't asked myself the same damn questions? But saying it out loud? Do you think that's going to help? You think we're going to just overthrow Holloway and make everything better?"

The tall man straightened his jacket, his expression grim. "If Holloway's leading us astray, then it's not just our right to question her, it's our duty. The Order was supposed to be about devotion to the god, not to one woman's ambition."

Curtis clenched his fists, staring at the floor. "If you're right... and if she's lying to us... then everything we've done, everything we've sacrificed, was for nothing. The Order we've served our whole lives... it's already dead."

The group fell silent again, their unspoken fears pressing down on them. Curtis lit another cigarette, his hands shaking slightly. "Keep this to yourselves," he muttered. "We can't afford to fall apart now. Not yet. Not while there's still a chance to figure out what the hell's going on."

"We need time," Curtis continued, his eyes scanning each of them. "Time to confirm what we suspect. Until then, we keep our heads down and our mouths shut. Act normal, like everything's fine. But keep an eye on Holloway. Watch her moves, her decisions, and who she's meeting with. And while you're at it... keep an eye on that Enforcer of hers too."

One of the cultists frowned, her brow furrowed in confusion. "The Enforcer? What about him?"

Curtis took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose as he considered his words carefully. "That man's been working for Holloway for years, but he's never been one of us. He doesn't share the Order's beliefs and never has. He doesn't care about Dahlia's vision or our god. The only thing he believes in is Holloway, and I don't trust anyone who's that loyal to one person."

The tall man folded his arms, nodding slowly. "He's a wild card, that's for sure. The way he acts, the things he says... it's like he's playing a different game entirely."

"Exactly," Curtis said, pointing at him with his cigarette. "We don't know what his endgame is, but whatever it is, it sure as hell isn't about preserving the Order. He'll do whatever Holloway tells him to, no matter how far off the rails she goes. And if we're right about her... then he's just as dangerous as she is."

The group fell silent, their situation settled over them like a shroud. Curtis took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing it under his boot.

"Stay sharp," he said. "Bide your time, gather what you can, but don't do anything… reckless. If Holloway catches wind of this, we're all as good as dead. And if that Enforcer catches wind... well, you've seen what he's capable of."

The cultists nodded grimly and He turned and walked away, leaving the others to wrestle with their doubts. Curtis turned back towards the group after taking a few steps, a new cigarette dangled from his lips. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but it carried a command.

"Listen to me, and listen good," he growled. "We don't say a word of this to anyone else. Not a damn soul. We're treading on dangerous ground here, and if we're wrong... well, you don't want to find out what happens if we're wrong."

The cultists exchanged uneasy glances but nodded in agreement. Curtis's tone left no room for argument.

Chapter Text

Chapter 27 – The Ritual

James groaned in pain, his head leaning forward as the rope tied around his chest chafed against his bruised ribs. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth and his jaw ached, bits of glass still here and there, and he barely had the energy to keep his eyes open. His beaten body protested against every breath, yet he had no other choice but to endure the pain.

Across the room, Deputy Wheeler lay sprawled on a rusty spring mattress. His hands and feet were cuffed to the coils, and wires trailed from the mattress to a nearby car battery. The mattress hummed faintly, the only sound in the room besides the heavy breathing of those present.

The Enforcer stood beside them, his massive frame towered over everyone else. He gave a slow nod to a younger man, a cultist fiddling with the battery connections. "Torture is simple," the Enforcer said, like a teacher explaining basic math. "You don't need any of that fancy crap. Do you want results? Keep it raw. Direct. Pain is honest."

He glanced over at Deputy Wheeler, who remained unconscious after the first shock had rippled through him. The Enforcer spat on the ground and scoffed. "Cops," he muttered, shaking his head with disdain. "Always thinking they're untouchable. They act like they've got all the power until someone reminds them what real power looks like."

James stirred in his chair, managing enough strength to lift his head to croak out, "He doesn't... deserve this..."

The Enforcer's eyes snapped toward James. Under the mask, he smiled, like a predator toying with his prey. "Deserve? What does 'deserve' have to do with it, James?" he said mockingly. "This isn't about who deserves what. It's about making you talk. And making him suffer."

He motioned over to the cultist. "When he comes to, double the voltage."

The younger cultist hesitated, looking at Wheeler and then back at the Enforcer. "What if he-?"

"What if he what?" the Enforcer snapped back, stepping forward. His massive hand clamped onto the cultist's shoulder, and his voice dropped to a menacing growl. "What if he dies? That's not your concern, kiddo. If I wanted him dead, he'd be dead already. Do as I instruct."

The cultist quickly nodded and adjusted the connections. The Enforcer smirked, his eyes returning to Wheeler. "See, James, this is why you don't befriend cops. They're weak." He looked back at the beaten man in the chair. "And just like you, they bleed and break. You should know all about that by now."

James struggled to speak, the words bubbling up through the blood in his mouth. "You're... a monster..."

The Enforcer only laughed. "Monster? Is that what you think I am?" He crouched to James's eye level, his face just inches away. "You haven't even seen what I'm capable of yet."

He stood abruptly, motioning to another cultist nearby. "Make sure they're ready. Wheeler here is going to be... educational."

The other two cultists began preparing the room, moving items and muttering amongst themselves. James could only sit there helplessly, forced to watch as the Enforcer leaned against the wall, casually lighting another cigarillo. The smell of burning tobacco mixed with sweat and blood.

Wheeler stirred slightly, letting out a low groan. The Enforcer leaned forward. "Ah, here we go. He's back. Round two."

The cultist hesitated for a moment before flipping the switch. A violent jolt coursed through the mattress, and Wheeler's body convulsed, his cries ripped through the air. James turned his head, unable to watch but he couldn't block out the screams.

The Enforcer exhaled smoke and chuckled. "Good, good... maybe this time he'll wake up ready to beg. It's better when they beg, don't you think so, James?"

But James, broken as he was, held his silence.

For now.

Wheeler's screams soon faded into gasps as the mattress buzzed faintly beneath him, the voltage easing after the last jolt. Wheeler's glare burned hotter as he forced his head up to meet the Enforcer's gaze.

The Enforcer smirked as he paced toward his prey. His scarred hands flexed at his sides. "So…," he began calmly, "is this the part where you're supposed to hold out for your friends? Die nobly for the cause?" He snorted. "How's that working out for you so far?"

Wheeler shifted defiantly against his bindings. "Fuck you... psycho," he spat.

The Enforcer tilted his head back and laughed. You've got spirit," he admitted, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "But it'll get you nowhere." He jabbed a finger toward the young cultist managing the battery. "Turn it back on."

"B-but-" the cultist stammered, looking uneasily at Wheeler's limp body.

"Fucking do it." the Enforcer barked.

The cultist scrambled to obey, trembling as his fingers adjusted the voltage. The Enforcer leaned in close to Wheeler. "You think being a cop means you're untouchable, Deputy? Out here, you're nothing. Just another rat scrambling for survival."

Wheeler clenched his jaw as another shock tore through his body, his muscles jerking uncontrollably against the mattress. The Enforcer grinned, reveling in the power he wielded.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to James, who remained bound to the chair, his face pale and soaked with sweat. The Enforcer approached slowly, his presence looming, almost suffocating.

"You're quieter now, James," he drawled, crouching again. "Starting to realize how hopeless this is?" His grin widened. "Good. Maybe you'll be smarter than your buddy over there."

James's reply was short. "Go to hell."

The Enforcer's smile faltered for a moment before he chuckled. "Still feel like fighting, huh? Playing the hero?" he mused. "All right, let's talk about fighting."

He stood abruptly, beginning to pace as he spoke, his voice a mixture of curiosity and calculation. "I know about Alex. That little nephew of yours. You must be proud of him. Army Ranger, right? Impressive... for a pup." He waved his hand dismissively. "But that's all he is. Just a kid playing soldier."

The Enforcer's shifted his tone, his next words dripped with intrigue and respect. "But that Adam, though. The Papa Wolf." He stopped, locking his eyes on James. "Now, he's interesting. Ex-Green Beret, now Sheriff. Battle-hardened. The kind of opponent that gets my blood pumping."

James flinched at the mention of his brother-in-law, his beloved Mary's brother. The Enforcer noticed, sharpening his grin like a knife.

"You know him better than anyone here," the Enforcer pressed. "So, why don't you tell me about him? What else he got up his sleeve?"

James tightened his fists against the armrests of the chair.

The Enforcer's eyes narrowed, and he leaned down, his face inches from James's. "You want to protect your family, don't you? You don't think Holloway's gonna let your pretty little nephew and that daughter of yours waltz right out of this unscathed, do you?"

Still, James refused to answer, his lips held tightly.

The Enforcer sighed, then straightened, rolling his shoulders. "Fine, be a stubborn bastard. But I've got all day... and so does my battery operator over there."

He glanced at Wheeler, then back at James with a mocking smirk. "How about a front-row seat while I keep shocking the life out of your buddy here? Unless you're ready to talk."

He drew a knife from his belt. Slowly, he pressed the tip against James's chest, just enough to prick the skin. "Your call."

James's breathing quickened, and his chest heaved against the bindings that dug into his shoulders. His voice cracked, desperate to change the subject to a different direction. "What have you done with Angela?" She had been dragged out of the room, to God knows where.

The Enforcer paused as if genuinely pondering the question.

"That girlfriend of yours?" he asked, almost casually. "Oh, don't worry about her. She earned my respect back there."

James flinched at the word "respect," mind racing with possibilities.

"A pretty, fragile little thing like that," he continued. "Risking her life to save her good-for-nothing boyfriend. It's cute. Almost touching." His tone shifted to mockery as he leaned closer.

"She's earned my respect... and a rest," he said in a menacing whisper. "You, Sunderland? You've earned nothing but my contempt."

James's stomach twisted, his heart pounding. He didn't trust the Enforcer's words, there was something in his tone that suggested a game was still being played.

"What does that mean?" James croaked out.

The Enforcer stood and loomed over him, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. "It means," he said slowly, "that I've got better things to do than waste time on someone who'd piss himself at the first sign of danger."

The memory of the earlier humiliation burned fresh in James's mind, but before he could speak, the Enforcer's voice boomed again.

"But you want to worry about Angela? Fine. Keep worrying. Maybe that'll motivate you to tell me what I want to know." He tapped the knife against James's shoulder for emphasis.

"She's resting," he repeated, his tone now dripping with disdain. "Which is more than you'll get if you keep wasting my time."

The Enforcer straightened up and James's eyes widened in horror as the larger man held up an old cassette recorder, the device looking as worn and battered as the man wielding it.

"You see, to catch a wolf, you need some bait," the Enforcer said, his voice was disturbingly calm.

James's heart pounded, a sickening dread clawing at his insides. "What are you doing?!" he rasped, his voice cracking with panic.

The Enforcer ignored the question, casually playing with the recorder, the buttons making a soft click as he turned it on. The faint sound of the tape whirring filled the room.

He smirked. "That girlfriend of yours? She ain't my type. I don't like damaged goods like you seem to. But Holloway? Oh, she's got her way of getting people talking. I can respect that the Angela girl put up a fight, and didn't want to talk at first. Takes guts. But everyone breaks eventually. Amazing what a few well-placed words can do."

James's stomach churned. He couldn't help but picture Angela's face, her defiance, and how it might have crumbled under Holloway's manipulations.

"But When Holloway whipped out that little digital recorder of hers," the Enforcer continued, "it got me thinking. What more could you even know about Adam? Is it even worth the effort?" He shook his head as if pondering the futility of James's resistance.

"Nah," he said with a shrug. "I've got all I need to know."

Instead, The Enforcer reached into his backpack and produced a drill with a thick bit designed for concrete. He held it up for James to see, letting the light glint off the steel as he pressed the trigger, the motor roaring to life.

"I ain't gonna lie, Sunderland," the Enforcer said, his voice cutting through the noise of the drill. "This is gonna hurt." He stepped closer, looming over James. "So scream. Let it all out. Maybe it'll make you feel better. Hell, maybe it'll even sound convincing on the tape."

James thrashed against his restraints, terror coursing through his veins as the Enforcer brought the drill closer to his thigh.

"God No! Please, no!" James begged.

But the Enforcer's face remained cold, devoid of empathy. With surgical precision, he pressed the spinning bit against James's leg and began to drill.

James's scream ripped through the air, raw and primal, as pain exploded in his thigh. The sound of flesh and muscle tearing mixed with the high-pitched whirring of the drill.

The Enforcer leaned in closer, the recorder still running. "That's it, James," he said mockingly. "Give me everything you've got."

James's head lolled back as he gasped for air, his face pale and drenched in sweat. Blood pooled beneath his leg, dripping onto the floor.

Satisfied, the Enforcer finally pulled the drill away and turned it off, the room falling into silence broken only by James's ragged sobs.

The Enforcer held the cassette recorder up, inspecting it with a grin. "Yeah... that'll do nicely," he muttered.

James could barely lift his head, his vision swimming. "You're... a monster," he choked out.

The Enforcer chuckled as he wiped the drill bit clean with a rag. "Monster? Nah. I'm just practical." He turned to leave, the recorder still clutched in his hand. "Rest up, Sunderland. You'll need it."

Judge Margaret Holloway leaned back in her leather chair, a smug smile on her lips. Before her, a grid of flickering monitors lit up her dim office, casting shadows across the lined pages of scattered Order documents on her desk. Her eyes darted between the screens, tracking the scenes unfolding across her dominion like a conductor watching her orchestra.

On one screen, the Enforcer loomed over James Sunderland, drilling into his captive's flesh. The camera's low resolution blurred the blood seeping from James's thigh, but the pain on his face was unmistakable. The sound of James's screams, though muted to her ears, played vividly in her mind.

"Efficient as always," she muttered, sipping from a mug of hazelnut coffee, her favorite. The Enforcer was brutal of course, but he got results, and unlike some of her more fanatical followers, he knew exactly when to stop.

On another feed, Deputy Wheeler convulsed against his restraints as electricity coursed through his body. Holloway's lip curled as the cultist at the battery controls hesitated. She reached over to a microphone linked to the intercom. "Double it again," she said evenly, her voice cutting through the static.

The cultist was startled, fumbling to obey her command. Satisfied, she moved her attention to another monitor.

Angela Orosco huddled in her cell, her knees drawn up to her chest as she rocked slightly, mumbling to herself. Holloway noted the girl's eyes and the trembling of her hands. 'Weakness', she thought, a sneer creeping across her face. The girl was damaged goods, no question, but perhaps not beyond use. People like her either shattered or sharpened under pressure. Holloway made a note to decide her fate soon, she had also taken the liberties to make sure that every single scream and moan from James and Wheeler as the Enforcer worked his magic was broadcasted towards her. "Can't let our guest get too comfortable."

Her gaze shifted again. Another screen showed the cult's day-to-day chaos: members walking hurriedly through corridors, others muttering in hushed tones while huddled in darkened corners. In one frame, a single cultist leaned against the wall, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air.

Holloway grimaced in distaste. "A disgusting habit," she muttered under her breath, making a mental note to remind everyone the rules forbade smoking near the sanctified areas.

Her attention returned to the Enforcer's feed as he held up the cassette recorder for James to see. "Bait," he growled. Holloway leaned forward, watching the Enforcer work. His methods were crude, yes, but there was a poetry in them, savagery tempered with a soldier's discipline.

But she also knew he couldn't be left unchecked.

Pulling her notebook closer, she began to sketch out plans. The Enforcer was a necessary evil, but her Order demanded more than brute force. He was invaluable now, but once Alex and Adam Shepherd were dealt with, her other "project" would ensure her absolute control.

Holloway smirked to herself, whispering under her breath, "Everyone breaks."

Her sharp eyes scanned the screens in her office, her lips pressing into a thin line as she observed the chaos unfolding in her domain. The sacrifices, what a quaint and delicate tradition that masked the real power struggles underneath. As she flicked through the feed, her gaze briefly lingered on Deputy Wheeler's convulsing frame, shocked into spasms by the Enforcer's methodical handiwork. James Sunderland's anguished screams crackled faintly through the surveillance speakers, and Margaret barely spared a glance at the feed of Angela Orosco's cell, where the poor girl sat trembling, knees to her chest, hands clasped over her ears to drown out the screams.

Since pity and fairness were entirely alien to nature though, Margaret pleasantly recalled the relentless needling to ensure that Ms. Orosco would never heal.

"Ms. Orsoco." Margaret Holloway said to her prisoner. Angela didn't look up, she had remained quiet after the Enforcer's cruelty, but Holloway wasn't finished with her.

"Did you ever consider how young your father was when you ruined his life, Angela?" Margaret had begun. "Nineteen. A child himself. Barely old enough to understand what it meant to be an adult, yet suddenly thrust into the burdens of fatherhood. Forced to work a job he hated to support a family he hated even more."

Angela didn't respond, she had kept her gaze fixed on the cracked cement floor. The silence hadn't deterred Holloway, only emboldened her to push harder.

"Perhaps he believed you owed him something?" Margaret had continued, the corner of her mouth twitching in faint amusement. "First, you ruined his life. Took away any chance he might have had for a better future. And then, well, you had ended it, didn't you? Did you even feel guilty, Angela, when you ended your father's misery? Or was it simply relief?"

Still, Angela hadn't turned to face her, though her trembling hands and the tears streaming unchecked down her face had given Margaret all the satisfaction she needed.

"Not that you shouldn't have, of course," Margaret mused aloud, her words aimed at no one in particular as she glanced once again at the screen. "Someone had to put the poor man out of his misery, assuming he didn't just resent her too much to live."

For Margaret, it wasn't about the truth, nor even about gaining new information. It was about control, about ensuring Angela Orosco remained broken, trapped in the nightmare Margaret had carefully crafted. Every calculated jab, every cruel reminder of Angela's past, worked to ensure she would never heal, never resist, not in a way that mattered anyways.

And None of it phased her.

The Order's dogma was a carefully crafted narrative, useful in controlling the weaker minds. The "fifty-year sacrifices" had been presented as divine decrees, but to Margaret, they were pawns in a game much bigger than salvation. Her mother used to drone on about their sanctity as if an offering to this supposed god secured their town's future. "Ridiculous." But she had played along, long enough to become the hand that strangled her daughter, Nora. Holloway's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "Yes, I sacrificed my child. I endured that grief. And for what? For their damn rituals to stagnate and fester like the rest of them?"

Her thoughts turned to the Shepherd family. Bartlett was predictable, a coward to the end. Fitch was pathetic, tethered to a ghost. But Adam Shepherd? No. He was different. Dangerous. He had always had a fire in him. She had seen it brewing behind his eyes, that unflinching defiance. But it wasn't that she hadn't expected his rebellion. She had counted on it, relishing the opportunity to steer it into something that would fit her needs. His betrayal hadn't at all surprised her.

Margaret tapped her fingers on her desk as she shifted her gaze back to the screen displaying Adam's brother-in-law.

"Scream, James." She said to herself. "Wail, weep, resist, none of it will change what's coming."

Holloway chuckled dryly, her eyes narrowing on her Enforcer driving a concrete drill into James's leg. That man was an instrument of perfection, the ideal weapon of control. Unlike the rest of these so-called devout idiots, the Enforcer didn't care about gods or prophecies. His faith was in control, and Margaret admired that simplicity. The others gawked at his violence with both fear and begrudging respect, but they failed to understand that his loyalty wasn't to her, it was to results.

Holloway leaned back in her chair, the weight of her true work pressed against her. All these sacrifices were necessary not for their imagined salvation, but for her ascendance.

Adam Shepherd was coming, of that, she was certain. He would bring war to her door. Exactly as she'd planned. He thought he fought for Shepherd's Glen, but in truth, every step of his rebellion only added to her throne. By the time he understood what she was building, it would be far too late for him.

Margaret smirked at the image of Adam gathering his ragtag little force, emboldened by fury. She could almost hear the gathering dissenters in her ranks too:

"How could she betray the Order?"

"Because" she smiled. "I am the Order now. They just don't know it yet."

She leaned back in her chair, the muted glow of the surveillance monitors casting shadows over her sharp features. Her fingers tapped a beat on the polished wood of her desk as she contemplated the events unfolding within her sphere of control. The sacrifices, and rituals enshrined in centuries of tradition, had become inconsequential to her. The blood of children had always been the currency of the Order's devotion, but Holloway saw further than the antiquated dogma.

No, the fifty-year sacrifices were a means to an end. Bartlett and Fitch had embraced them wholeheartedly, weak-willed zealots shackled by tradition. They needed the rituals and craved the validation they brought. But Adam Shepherd? He'd always resisted. Holloway recognized that defiance early on, the fire in his spirit that no amount of persuasion or punishment could entirely snuff out. He obeyed only when the threat of force hovered above him.

And she had counted on it.

Adam's rebellion wasn't a failure of the Order, it was a crucial piece of her plan. His insubordination, and his refusal to conform, made him the ideal distraction. While he rallied his family and allies against her cult, she could quietly advance her ambitions, unchallenged and unseen.

"Mastery of life and death," she murmured to herself, the words reverberating like a chant. That was her true goal, not the appeasement of some antiquated ancient gods, not the hollow promises of rebirth from a blood-soaked pact. She sought dominion over the very forces that bound mortal existence, to transcend the chains of humanity.

Holloway glanced at the screen displaying Angela Orosco, huddled in her cell. The young woman's defiance was admirable but irrelevant. Like the rest, Angela was a pawn, her suffering another component in Holloway's grand chessboard. On another monitor, she observed her Enforcer exacting agony upon James Sunderland with precision. A cruel smile tugged at her lips. The man was breaking beautifully, his screams recorded to draw Adam and Alex deeper into her carefully spun web.

"It's almost poetic," Holloway mused aloud, swirling the glass of wine on her desk. Adam would be so consumed by rage, by his vendetta against the Order, that he would never see the true betrayal of the Order coming. Not until it was too late.

Everything was proceeding according to plan. Adam's defiance had become the perfect cover, his rebellion a smokescreen for her ascension. Holloway sipped her coffee, her thoughts already drifting to the next phase of her plans. With mastery over life and death, she wouldn't just lead the Order, she would become a god.

Judge Margaret Holloway reflected bitterly on the inevitability of her situation, drawing on her memories. While still being a mere initiate of the Order herself, ambitious and eager to climb the ranks, she had consulted an oracle, drawn by whispers of destiny and power. The oracle's prophecy was clear: Holloway was fated to lead, her vision to reign supreme. A hearty prospect perhaps, but with one fatal drawback, it had come with a price. Her reign, though glorious, would be painfully short.

And now, as the cancer ravaged her body, that prophecy loomed with a cruel irony. The diagnosis of pancreatic cancer had sealed her timeline. No amount of rituals or rites had slowed the disease, no prayers to the old gods granted her a reprieve. No specialists in Portland or Boston, recommended by Dr. Fitch could help. The only certainty was that time was slipping through her fingers, faster with every breath. The truth is, she had only mere months at best to live, four to six by the medical professional's best estimate.

But Holloway wasn't one to crumble under inevitabilities. If the gods of her mothers refused to intercede, she would craft her path, one beyond their limited scope of life and death. She was going to outwit both prophecy and mortality. Adam Shepherd, his rebellion, the chaos in Shepherd's Glen, all of it served her plans perfectly. Let Adam think he was striking a blow for freedom or revenge; she would use his rebellion as the smokescreen she needed. While the others fought their petty battles, Holloway pursued a far grander design.

She wasn't merely prolonging her life. No, that was far too small an ambition. She would transcend it entirely.

On the corner of her desk sat an old leather-bound journal, its pages yellowed with age and edges frayed from years of neglect. This relic, discarded and forgotten by Dahlia Gillespie, contained the key to a ritual, only that set it apart from the esoteric rites the Order typically relied upon. Unlike the 21 Sacraments or the Ritual of Rebirth, this ritual offered something far more personal, far more profound: a means to cheat death itself.

The ritual promised the ability to transfer one's consciousness into another vessel, transcending the limits of mortality. For a leader staring down the barrel of her demise, the allure of such a ritual was undeniable. Holloway had spent countless hours poring over every detail of the ancient text, ensuring its translation was accurate and its methods viable. There were seven translations recorded over the years, each slightly different in nuance, but all centered on the same promise of immortality.

Her predecessors had disregarded it, dismissing the concept as heretical or impractical. Perhaps they lacked the vision to see what she saw. They clung to their rituals, their gods, their sacrifices, bound by tradition and their desperate hope for divine intervention. Holloway, however, was different. She had no faith in gods, only in power and control.

Her predecessors' blindness was her gain.

Of the seven translations, Holloway had identified common threads that bolstered the ritual's credibility. Each translation described specific requirements:

A vessel of exceptional vitality, young, healthy, and ideally pliant of mind.

A tether to the consciousness of the original body, forged through pain and suffering inflicted upon the vessel.

The destruction of the initiator's physical form to sever the mortal coil and allow their essence to pass freely into the vessel.

The last point, in particular, lingered in her thoughts. The complete obliteration of her dying body didn't trouble her, it was a necessary sacrifice.

What she needed now was time and patience. Her preferred choice for a vessel was obvious: her daughter, Elle. Young, strong, and forever defiant, Elle had always stood as a reminder of what Margaret herself had lost to time. While she had raised her to think freely, to fight, and to survive, those very traits now made Elle a perfect candidate.

Foolish, pathetic Elle. Her daughter had a strong head on her shoulders if it weren't so stunted from disuse. Yet, Elle would be ideal. The girl was her daughter, after all. A fact Margaret never let the girl forget even as Elle became another pawn in her plans. "Children always struggle to see the big picture," Holloway muttered, her lips curling into a smile as she stared at one of the screens displaying Elle's battered and defiant figure in captivity. "But they'll thank you later. If they survive long enough to understand."

But if not Elle, Holloway's plans were flexible enough that there were backups. That Orosco girl, with her shattered mind, would be easy enough to manipulate if needed. Laura, Sunderland's little stray, also presented an option, though the young woman's untainted innocence might prove more of a hurdle. Holloway even entertained fleeting thoughts of taking one of the Order's acolytes as a last resort, though the idea was distasteful. The vessel needed to be more than a mere shell, it had to hold up to the legacy Margaret intended to craft.

The complexity of the ritual's preparation ensured she could not rush the process. She had time, not much, but enough to ensure everything would proceed as planned. Adam Shepherd and his rebellion served their purpose well as a distraction, ensuring her followers remained divided, their attentions scattered. Even her Enforcer was too focused on Alex and Adam Shepherd to suspect what his master truly sought.

Holloway reached for a pencil and scribbled notes into the margins of the journal, refining her understanding of the ritual. While the cult squabbled over their old gods and traditions, she would ascend, not as a mere ruler of the Order, but as a woman unbound by death's design.

For Margaret Holloway, salvation wasn't divine, it was self-made.

Her consciousness, her essence, Margaret Holloway, would move beyond the constraints of mortal flesh. She had already taken the first steps: her secret project, hidden even from the prying eyes of her closest acolytes, had yielded fruit. The process wasn't flawless, but the foundation had been laid. All she required was a suitable host, a young vessel strong enough to bear her will and cunning enough to thrive under her guiding hand.

"This isn't about you, Adam," she murmured, almost amused at the thought. "It was never about you."

But the chaos Adam stirred in his rebellion, the horror visited on the Order's enemies, oh, that she welcomed. While she moved her pawns with the meticulous care of a master player, Holloway reveled in the looming collapse of everything. Behind her ruthless determination and cold intellect, there simmered a truth that might terrify even her most loyal cultists.

Judge Margaret Holloway wasn't simply saving herself from death. She was aiming to reshape the very foundation of Shepherd's Glen and the Order itself, casting both in her image, fueled by her boundless will. For now, she ruled from the shadows. Soon, she would ascend far beyond mortal comprehension. And nothing, not Adam, not Alex, and certainly not the Enforcer's brutish simplicity, could stop her.

Nothing would be left to chance. Margaret Holloway had long since learned that sentiment was just another weakness and loyalty was a commodity to be bought or forced. To achieve her goals, she had been ruthless, starting with the murder of her own mother. As a young initiate, Holloway had seen her mother's stagnation, and her adherence to tradition as a betrayal of potential. The old ways, the rituals, and the so-called gods of the Order were relics meant to pacify the weak. Margaret ensured her mother's "graceful exit," seizing control of the Order and redirecting its vast resources to suit her ambitions.

As for The Order's so-called soldiers were little more than cannon fodder, pawns to further her designs. From the start, Holloway had directed them toward useless, doomed-to-fail campaigns, wasting lives to eliminate rival factions she cared nothing for. That hippie cult in Washington State, who claimed their god was a sentient, carnivorous plant, their roots had been burned out. Those cannibalistic pig-worshipping zealots in Iowa, slaughtered like their livestock. Most recently, she had sent her Enforcer, Mark Graves, and a team to deal with the Dagonite cult of New Innsmouth, wiping their degenerate order from the face of the earth.

Each mission served a dual purpose, one, to thin out potential threats while ensuring that the Order's most zealous acolytes would be too dead or distracted to stand in her way. She did not fear resistance, but the fewer obstacles the better.

Holloway's long game had always been clear, escape the Order's dying traditions and leave them as ashes and ruin. Let the survivors of her purge fend for themselves, descending into chaos and paranoia as the enemies they had antagonized over the decades came looking for revenge. Let the soldiers and cultists squabble and die in their self-imposed darkness. They would never see the truth of their exploitation. Margaret Holloway had never intended to lead them into paradise. She intended to leave them behind.

Her new path required precision and a loyal blade, one sharp enough to cut down all who defied her. Graves, the Enforcer, had proven immensely valuable in this regard. Though not a believer in the Order's dogma, he was a weapon with unmatched focus and cruelty, a tool of execution. If he remained useful, Holloway intended to make him the first acolyte of her New Order. One forged not in blind worship but in the ultimate mastery of life, death, and control.

Graves' pragmatism and unwavering ruthlessness fascinated her. He understood power in its purest form, and should he survive the coming chaos, he might serve her still, perhaps even as her second-in-command. But she harbored no illusions. If he ever outlived his usefulness, the Enforcer too would fall, left to rot among the ashes of the old Order.

Holloway's lips curled into a thin smile as she watched the screens before her. Everything was moving toward her carefully orchestrated conclusion. Adam Shepherd's rebellion, Alex's desperate struggle, and even James Sunderland's suffering, all of it was part of a grand distraction to keep her enemies occupied while her true work neared completion.

When the time came, Margaret Holloway would ascend, not as a servant of the old gods but as their replacement.

Margaret Holloway drummed her bony fingers on the polished surface of her desk, her face illuminated by the glow of her monitors. The Enforcer's ruthless interrogation played out on one screen, but her mind was far away, entrenched in the complexities of her great work.

The ritual, the key to her transcending death, was far from the spiritual nonsense the Order clung to. She'd long abandoned those archaic rites and chants, understanding that the divine had no place in science. It wasn't faith but precision that mattered. Refinement of technique, a reduction of sacrifice into mere metrics, experimentation transformed into data. What once served as devotion to an eldritch god had become the roadmap for eternity, carved from blood and bone.

The blood. It seemed endless, coursing through her countless test subjects, spilling onto cold steel and worn tiles, staining every fragment of her being. How many had there been? Holloway had stopped keeping count after the first dozen sacrifices. The faces all blurred together, a catalog of whimpers and cries that dulled into white noise as her focus sharpened on her goals. All she remembered was the blood. So much blood.

Then there was Joshua Shepherd.

Margaret's lips tightened into a faint semblance of a smile at the thought of Alex Shepherd's younger brother. How fitting, she mused, that the boy who had inadvertently set Alex on the path to rebellion would be the cornerstone of her experiments. Though initially taken as leverage to force Lillian Shepherd's compliance, another insurance policy to ensure Adam's wife assisted in Holloway's work, Joshua had quickly become something more useful.

Joshua had been a perfect candidate, young, impressionable, and easily manipulated. Holloway needed test subjects capable of enduring the grueling transformation process her research demanded, and a boy so close to the Shepherd family was irresistible. His body became a canvas for her experiments, each sacrifice carefully recorded, every alteration painstakingly measured.

"Everywhere, anywhere, and nowhere," she had told Alex. The phrase was not a lie. It was the truth warped into something Alex simply couldn't comprehend. His little brother no longer existed in the singular, human sense of the word. He was a piece of something greater, fragmented and distributed among her experiments.

What made Joshua unique, what made the sacrifices worthwhile, was the potential of his existence in flux. Holloway wasn't merely chasing eternal life, she was chasing the ability to bend the rules of mortality. To reshape it.

"His essence is scattered now," Holloway muttered under her breath, almost reverently. "A part of this experiment, a part of everything."

Joshua's sacrifice wasn't the first, nor would it be the last. She knew what necessary, bodies, and many more were. Innocents, sinners, it didn't matter. Their screams all bled together into progress. With each test subject, she pushed closer to the brink, closer to a ritual purified by science. And as for Joshua, his role was pivotal. The boy who was "everywhere, anywhere, and nowhere" was now nothing but threads in her tapestry of eternity.

A chilling thought crossed her mind, though Holloway would never admit it: "What would Alex Shepherd do if he learned the truth?"

The memory of Joshua Shepherd's face lingered in Margaret Holloway's mind as she stared at her reflection in the dark screen of her monitor. That boy's death had been a necessity. The testing ground for her ritual, her ascent. When she had experimented, she had known there was no margin for error, but... "Better him than I."

She had learned to live with it of course. To endure it. She was a practical woman after all. What had happened to Joshua was... unfortunate, but his tethering to Shepherd's Glen was merely a lesson to refine her methods. His death was a stone that paved her path to perfection. The creeping fear, was it anger, or judgment, in Joshua's presence could no more deter her than her deteriorating body could. Her mission was absolute.

Still, she couldn't ignore that his tethering might have unintended benefits. If the boy's soul was locked within the boundaries of Shepherd's Glen, it could serve as a perfect example of her true plans. This tethering mistake could yet teach her something crucial, a way to evolve her work into certainty before her time ran out. Holloway knew this: the next sacrifice, the next vessel, would bring her closer to eternity.

She pushed herself up from her desk and swallowed another pill. She frowned, the bottle was almost empty. Fitch had died too soon, and she didn't like having to space out the pills. They had gotten her through law school, and she was determined what little pills she had left would get her through to the final ritual. She turned off the monitor displaying her security feeds. She needed to leave Shepherd's Glen soon. This town was little more than a testing ground now, a decaying symbol of the Order's ancient beliefs. If tethering Joshua's soul to this place was the price for ensuring she could refine the ritual for herself, so be it. The boy's ghost would remain here, long after she transcended.

Holloway smiled grimly. "A small price," she muttered. "The gods demand sacrifice, and I am happy to oblige."

Margaret Holloway froze as the door to her office creaked open. She straightened from her desk, every nerve ending flaring in cautious alertness. Alex and Adam couldn't have made it this far, not past her Enforcer and the gauntlet she had laid before them. The Order knew better than to disturb her sanctuary without permission.

Yet the sound stirred something she couldn't quite place, a chill that ran deeper than logic.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

She reached down into her desk drawer and pulled out an old Beretta, the metal cool and familiar in her palm. A relic from her days in the military, back when she believed discipline could conquer anything. That naivety had long since burned away. Survival wasn't won with discipline but with decisiveness… and force.

The door swung open wider, revealing a shadowed figure, its movements unnervingly fluid, yet jagged, like something animated by spite rather than muscle and bone.

"Nora…" Holloway breathed, gripping the gun tighter. That single word escaped her lip.

The figure shambled closer, allowing the dim light over its grotesque form. It wasn't Nora, or, at least, not entirely. Where once had stood her daughter, brimming with life and rebellion, there now loomed a twisted nightmare. Her daughter had returned as Asphyxia, her elongated body encased in sinewy flesh, hands fused into jagged legs that wavered between.

Holloway's throat tightened. Fitch and Bartlett, her weak-willed counterparts in the Four Families, had been destroyed by retribution, crushed beneath the manifestations of their sins. Scarlet and Joey had returned for their fathers as monsters crafted from pain and vengeance. Now it seemed Holloway wasn't immune to the same cruel justice.

Her daughter stood before her, resurrected by Silent Hill's will, twisted into a hideous parody of vengeance.

"No," Holloway hissed, drawing the gun and taking aim at the creature. She would not meet the same end as those fools Bartlett and Fitch. "Not here. Not now. I worked too long, sacrificed too much, to let you, take me down."

Asphyxia slithered closer, her deformed body moving with a serpentine grace. Her daughter, or whatever remained, stopped only when her faceless head loomed inches from her mother's. There was no voice, no accusation, only the grotesque cacophony of dripping fluids and shifting flesh.

"I did what was necessary, Nora!" she hissed "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

She fired. Once. Twice. The bullets sank into the amalgam of flesh, spraying ichor across the room. But Asphyxia didn't falter. Instead, the creature let out a bone-rattling wail that reverberated through the air, forcing Holloway back a step.

"I am not Bartlett! I am not Fitch!" Holloway spat, readying herself even as she raised the gun for another volley. "You will not kill me!"

Her daughter's monster form surged forward in response, her legs snapping with the force of a predator lunging for its prey. Holloway flung herself to the side, the desk between them tipping over in her haste. She landed hard, the wind knocked from her lungs, but rolled to her knees, Beretta still in hand.

If her creations, her cult, and her ambition had led her here, to face her daughter in this monstrous form, so be it. Holloway wasn't about to die now, especially not by her daughter.

"You should've stayed dead, Nora." and opened fire again.

The confrontation had been as inevitable as it was violent. Nora, no, Asphyxia, had emerged from the depths of nightmares, a grotesque creature of pain, betrayal, and wrath. Her movements were an unholy contortion of limbs, her form a monstrous parody of the daughter Margaret Holloway had once known. The sight might have unnerved others, but Holloway merely stood firm, her lips curling into a mirthless smirk.

Asphyxia lunged forward, her many appendages flailing with aggression. For a moment, the chamber shook with their clash. The creature's rage, born of the betrayal that had ended her life, met Margaret's determination.

But while Nora's return was driven by a need for vengeance, Margaret's resolve was carved from stone. Every strike, every scream, every flash of violence was met with precision and ferocity. The cultists stationed nearby cowered in fear, unsure whether to intervene or flee entirely. None dared approach the office.

Margaret fought not with emotion but with calculated ruthlessness. The very same that had brought her to power. A ceremonial dagger, small and unassuming but sharp and deadly, was all she needed. With a series of strikes aimed at vulnerable joints, she cut Asphyxia down piece by piece, her cold fury relentless. The creature howled in anguish, her monstrous frame buckling.

Finally, as Nora's grotesque form slumped into a lifeless heap, Margaret stood over the shattered remains. Her breathing was steady, her expression unreadable. She gave no sign of triumph or regret, no glimmer of maternal instinct. This was a battle she had long accepted as necessary.

Without so much as a glance at the broken mass on the floor, Margaret wiped the blood from her blade with clinical precision and sheathed it. Turning on her heel, she spoke without emotion, her voice echoing with finality:

"Be a good little girl this time, Nora, and stay dead."