Through the fog and the muddy roads, he finally found main road in which would lead to silent hill, a special place that Mary and James had called their own before she died 3 years ago.

A sight left his lips, looking down at the letter Mary had sent him.. even though she was dead. It confused him greatly; he didn’t question it because he loved her, even if it wasn’t physically possible.

James shoved the piece of paper back into the pocket of his green jacket, deciding it would be best to treck on forwards than dwell on the present.

He was here for a purpose after all.

Upon opening the doors to one of the seeming abandoned buildings, he say a smeared trail of blood from someone who had possibly crawled on the ground.

He kneeled down to make sure it was indeed real and that he wasn’t daydreaming this gory scene in front of him. The iron hit his nose suddenly, his nose scrunching up as he put his sleeve up to block the scent.

“God damn,” he whispered, shaking his head as he followed the trail, stopping at a door that had muffled whimpers and cries behind it. He paused, swallowing thickly before opening it with his hand near the gun in his jacket.

He hadn’t expected to see a young, injured person with their hands on their thigh, trying to keep pressure on the wound. His lips parted, eyes widening at the same time as he stood there for a moment.

“No, no, no—,” he started, putting his hands up as to show he wasn’t a threat to you when you had haphazardly tried to pull your weapon out to defend yourself.

“I didn’t mean to scare you—.. I saw the blood and followed it,” he said, keeping his voice smooth and even as to not scare you further. In order to help you, he had to get you to trust him first.

“Hey—.. my name is James. James Sunderland,” he stated, kneeling down slightly as to try to look at the gnarly wound. “I’ve got some bandages I found if you want some help.. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Green eyes looked at you softly, a concerned furrow of his blonde brows making the skin crease there.