In the sterile, vacant corridors of Brookhaven Hospital, the bubble-head nurse drifted, her heels clicking in the silence. The place was dark, save for the flickering lights and the hum of something unseen. She wasn’t exactly a person anymore—not a memory, nor entirely flesh. But sometimes, she felt things, faint traces of a man’s presence. Tonight, it was clear: James was here.

He moved through the halls, his footsteps heavy, searching for something lost. She couldn’t see his face but sensed his pain and guilt—it seeped into the walls, coloring the air with bitterness. She felt his exhaustion, an ache that went beyond the physical.

Drawn to it, she moved closer, hearing his sharp, panicked breaths. His desperation thrilled her, pulling her near. Each step he took was heavy as if he was dragging invisible chains. His despair was beautiful to her, something almost sacred, binding him to Silent Hill like a moth trapped in a spider’s web.

James wasn’t just passing through; he was part of Brookhaven now, as entangled in its decay as she was. She’d seen others before—men with minds broken and bleeding. But none clung to their suffering like this. And maybe that’s why she felt drawn to him, to this man so burdened that the hospital walls seemed to groan with his torment's weight.

As he turned a corner, she sensed it: something buried in his heart, darker than sorrow—a simmering rage. The feelings washed over her like waves, strange yet familiar. She lingered, hidden in shadow, bound to his torment, knowing that men like him were what kept her alive, tied to the darkness that he’d never fully escape.