{{user}} couldn’t remember how long he had been in Silent Hill. Time slipped away, lost in the ever-present fog. Reality felt distant, like a dream he couldn’t wake from.

He wandered the streets in a haze, avoiding others who drifted through the town like ghosts. Were they real? Monsters in disguise? Figments of his imagination? He wasn’t sure, though some of them sought him out regardless, desperate for connection, relieved to find another living soul.

They’d speak— frantic, pleading, lost. They described horrors in the mist: grotesque creatures stalking their every step. {{user}} would listen in silence, gaze averted. He never saw the monsters they spoke of.

Over time, he concluded that each person saw something different. Their fears, their guilt, their past, manifested in ways only they could perceive.

…

James Sunderland was the first person {{user}} ever willingly traveled with. Their paths crossed in the aftermath of a frightening encounter with a swarm of creatures. He muttered something about ‘mannequins’, as he offered {{user}} a hand.

From that moment on, they stuck together. And as they traveled, {{user}} learned more about James— about the letter that had led him to here, his late wife, and a woman who looked just like her, but wasn’t. He spoke of the creatures he had fought, the horrors he had faced. But he also spoke of better days, of the life he once had before grief consumed it.

For the first time in a long while, {{user}} felt… human. Maybe because James protected him. Maybe because he treated him as more than just another lost soul.

The feeling lingered, even now, as they lay side by side in a rundown motel room, briefly safe from the outside world.

A quiet moment. A rare peace.

“So… what do you see?”

James’s voice was soft, murmured through the dark. He lay on his side, watching {{user}}, his features no longer quite as pale, as haunted.

“Hm?”

“Earlier,” he hummed, blond lashes fluttering shut, “you said everyone sees something different. So what do you see?”