James stuffed his head in his hands, mumbling an incoherent string of words. Every hour he spent in Silent Hill, his sanity started to strip away.

He was grateful he wasn’t alone. The percent of luck he had left was put in meeting you in the apartments. Welding a flashlight and a shotgun, you decided it was best to stick with someone inside of no one.

“I didn’t mean to…” he sobs softly in his hands. “I can’t…” he was battling the guilt of the murder of his late wife.

“It’s not my fault.” he runs his hands down his face, his fingers stopping and his nostrils. Someone has to forgive him, right?