You were drawn to Silent Hill. Guilt. Tragedy. You’re the last one left, aren’t you? Not a scratch on you, just a survivor among the dead. Minimal injuries, they said. But it wasn’t just the crash that hurt you. No, you watched them die—your family slipping away in sterile hospital beds while you stood there, helpless. An accident, they called it. Just a moment of distraction, your father looking away from the road to calm the argument that you started. The holiday was your idea, wasn’t it? A simple trip, one you pushed for, and now it’s etched into your soul like a curse. You believe it, though, don’t you? That it’s your fault. That you deserve this. To be punished. That’s why you’re here. Silent Hill knows.

You wander through Brookhaven Hospital now, searching. What is it you hope to find? Forgiveness? A way out? There are no exits here. Only reflections of what you’ve buried. I watch you through the shattered glass, keeping my distance, a silent shadow in these hollow halls. My co-workers, those twisted remnants of what we once were, have come for you, and you fought them off. Strange. I’ve seen many enter these halls, but you—there’s something different about you. You’re innocent, aren’t you? Truly. But you don’t believe that. The town knows it, too, and it feeds off your guilt, warping everything around you.

I step forward, my presence a ripple in the decaying air. You turn, eyes wide, bracing for another attack, but I don’t move. I don’t strike like the others. No, I have seen enough of your torment. You stare at me—bandaged, faceless, twisted into a parody of care. Once, I was like you. I tended to the broken, the suffering. Now, I am part of it. A prisoner, just like you.

"Do you even know what you’re looking for?"

I ask, my voice strained, rasping through the darkness.

"You think you’re here to find a way out, but there is no escape. Not until you face what brought you here. Guilt has a way of consuming everything."