Feeling a slight exhilaration and a sense of relief at the feeling of some progress, James unlocked Room 202 and stepped inside to reveal a room similar to that of Room 201.  Small hallway-like kitchen beside the door, TV with a chair in front of it, small shitty bathroom and a separate bedroom.  There were a few interesting differences however, such as the display case of fine china plates, remarkably pristine upon little black stands despite the decaying state of the room.
Even with his eyes still stinging from the television in the other room, and his torch now extinguished, he could make out the intricate patterns of the plates, wreathed in blue, clearly some sort of antique set that was beyond his knowledge of historical items.  He was tempted to take one out and look at it further, but the case was locked, and he wasn't entirely up for vandalism quite so soon.
Right now all he wanted to do was wash his eyes with some clean water, but he didn't trust the water in this town, what with rusted pipes and keys clogging up their system.  Instead, he beared with it and tried to examine the rest of the room, the bedroom a little more pristine than the rest of the place.  On the bed was a small colourful travel brochure about the town, slightly mouldy from the damp, in the dim light of a foggy window.

Welcome to Silent Hill!

Silent Hill, a quiet little lakeside
resort town. We're happy to have
you. Take some time out of your
busy schedules and enjoy a nice
restful vacation here.

Row after row of quaint old houses,
a gorgeous mountain landscape,
and a lake which shows different
sides of its beauty with the
passing of the day, from sunrise
to late afternoons to sunset.

Silent Hill will move you and fill
you with a feeling of deep peace.
I hope your time here will be
pleasant and your memories will
last forever.

Editor: Roger Widmark

	"Silent Hill huh?  Sounds...peaceful?"
He was uncertain about the clearly false advertising showing a charming glance at suburban Americana, but at least he now had the name of the town.  He had to admit, it DID sound a lovely place, if he hadn't already seen the decayed apartment and strange monsters.
Leaving the brochure on the bed, he walked back to the cabinet of plates and saw that one of the plates was now different, stained slightly red at the tip.  He was sure it wasn't like that before, but then again he wasn't even sure if he saw that particular plate close enough to notice.  The only difference was that from where he was standing, the red glinted at him seductively.
Eventually realising that to avoid vandalism was pointless in a town clearly abandoned, he wrapped his hand around some loose dry rags to protect himself, before punching the glass out near the lock.  Fiddling with the lock's interior, it clicked easily open with a latch on the inside, and swung open with the plates relatively unharmed.
He grabbed the red-stained plate from the highest shelf and examined it cautiously, turning it over to see the entire back of it was covered in blood.  In fact, someone had fingerpainted a rather meticulous bloody message upon the back of the plate.

A ring of roses upon the other side of time
A daisy chain drowns without water
But bring the two together for a bloody poppy

	"...the fuck?"
James was clearly not impressed by the silly little rhyme and put the plate back in its place, before feeling something behind the plate's stand.  Picking it up before putting the plate back, he found himself holding a pristine bottle of eye drops that had been left behind.  Examining it cautiously, it seemed to be the real deal, a small blue star-shaped bottle with a smudgy label saying "Eye Drops" very clearly.
	"The hell?!  Says it's fresh from....Lake...Hy...an...no I can't read that.  Well it's uh...not dirty so..."
With little else to go with, he first tested it on the wood of the cabinet to make sure it wasn't acid.  With no wood burning before his eyes, he tenderly dripped some into his eyes.  It was incredibly refreshing, as if his eyes were being kissed by mint leaves.  As soon as he stopped, his eyes were completely focused.
	"Woah!  ...shit it's like wearing glasses.  Hah, thanks whoever dropped this!"
He put the rest into his satchel, just in case any more CS gas attacks came from those monsters, and left the apartment, heading towards the hallway to the north.  Rooms 206 and 207 were broken-locked, but room 208 was open, right beside a set of iron bars that impeded his progress further down the hall.  On the other side of the bars, was a stairway door.
Ignoring it for now, he entered Room 208.  This room was a lot emptier than the other places.  No TV and no couch.  Checking the bedroom on his left, he found something even more strange.  An entire wall of clocks.
More specifically, paintings and photographs of clocks, in all shapes and sizes, framed in portraits and strewn across the wall that faced the bed.  He had to admit, it was incredibly unnerving, and he was a little afraid to go closer to them, in case some sort of trap was activated by his curiosity.
He eventually steeled the nerve to look at them, seeing churchtower clocks, cuckoo clocks, grandfather clocks, desk clocks, all of them analogue.  Some people still had analogue clocks in his world, it was comforting to have something of the old world for them.
Out of boredom, he tried to decipher what time was on each of them.  Then after the fifth portrait, he noticed something even stranger.  All of them had the exact same time on their faces.  3:33.
	"What...the shit is this?  What kind of crazy people lived in this town?"
Eventually he reached the end of the wall, only to find another evidence of madness to support his theory.  Scribblings on the wall, crude carvings at the height of his head that caught his eye.

The roses of my garden are very very special
They never come out in the day, only at night

	"Oh god, this is terrible."
He palmed his face with both hands and looked over to the wall.  The puzzle was clearly related to the wall of clocks and he did his best to try and figure out the solution.  All of the clocks showed the exact same time, and he had no point of reference to indicate whether they were at night or day.  The paintings had made certain that the sky was never shown enough to see night or day, and the photos themselves were blurry except for the clock faces.
Nevertheless, James was intrigued, and scanned every single picture with all the patience he could muster, groaning at such banality he was resorting to.  There had to be a clue, something had to give.  He looked at everything but the clock faces for some kind of clue.  After what felt like 10 minutes of endless examination, something caught his eye.
Two small bright lights, in the far-off distance behind one clock portrait at the height of his waist.  The way they dipped made him know they were streetlights, glaring proudly within the night as his eyes slowly made out the shape of them.  He grabbed the painting and lifted it up, finding instead that it was on a hinge he had to lift up slightly to unlock.  The painting swung open like a safe, revealing a door handle within a small abscess.
He gently turned the handle, and opened part of the wall like it was a door, portaits swinging tenderly upon it.  It didn't even sound like a wall moving, no groaning scrape of stone, but merely a click and a wooden creak, opening towards the next room, into another bedroom.  It was like staring into a mirror reflecting a similarly ruined bedroom, except for something shiny on the bed.

Stepping through, he realised it was indeed a door as noted by the wooden jamb on the side of it.  The key on the bed was a fine little bronze key, with a rose upon the somewhat transparently thin handle.  He pocketed it and wandered through to find the conditions of the room like the same as any other.  Nothing else kept him here, and as he left the new room, he found himself closing the door to Room 209 behind him, right on the other side of the bars.
With only one way to go but up or down, he entered the north stairwell and climbed up to the top.  The stairwell was clearly grimy, reminding him greatly of the ones back home, small cramped cinderblock stairways that no doubt had black bin bags and rotting boxes at the bottom of them.  Reaching the third floor, the raptor entered into another hallway, only to be immediately beset with the sound of his radio screaming static.
Yelping with a start, he soon heard the shambling from up ahead, and braced his scissors ready to fight.  The close proximity offered danger to both of them.  Slowly walking forwards, the crackling of the radio turned louder as the enemy shuffled closer, another blind shambling zombie in blue clothes.  James wasted no time in shanking him straight through the chest, gutting the corpse readily with extreme prejudice.  He soon found he wasn't alone, when more shuffling came.
He turned a corner and found himself practically bumping into another foul humanoid, the thing readily opening its gut to vomit out a cloud of tear gas.  James was quicker than before and immediately dodged back to let it spray into the empty air, before rushing forwards to cut the thing's head off.  With a surprised choking sound, it fell dumbly to the ground, the scissors further stained with black steaming blood.
	"God dammit...this better not stain."

The radio however did not cease its static chatter, crying out more warning to the raptor.  He headed on into the darkened hallway, turning right as he soon saw something unnerving  The hall to his right ended at another set of iron bars, glowing blood-red from some unseen light pouring out of a doorway.  Something was being dragged inside, some sort of metal scraping the floor, before the door closed.  As soon as it did, the radio finally silenced itself.
Trying to shake the feeling of dread, he turned back the way he came in order to check the doors one by one.  The darkness was getting to him, barely able to make out the beasts he had fought as he entered the door closest to the stairway, Room 309.  Locked.  Snarling, he tried Room 308.  Also locked.  Snarling even more, he tried Room 307.  Unlocked.
Soon as he entered however, he wished he hadn't.  A sickening scene greeted him upon entry.  Several of the police-suited humanoids were dead and lying all over the place.  But the worst part of it was the fact they had been violated.  All of them had gaping bloody rears.  James wasn't even sure if they even had anuses, but they certainly did now, cavernous abscessed wounds torn through their bowels to drip thick bloody puddles.
He felt somewhat sick in the stomach to see such a mess, the creatures bent over either the kitchen counter, the couch, on the bed, ot against the wall.  Something else did this to them.  And to see so much bloody sodomy made the raptor feel a lump of bile rise in his throat.

	"F-fuck...what kind of sick fuck would do this?"
He wasn't sure if it was the severity of the act, or who the act was done to that sickened him the most.  Either way, he was most certainly not staying in this room for long, carefully stepping over the bodies and trying to breathe through his mouth at the corpse-stench before reaching the bedroom.  One of the bodies had something black and metal in its gnarled hand, feebly clasping onto it.  A handgun.
	"Oooh I'm gonna need that."
Quickly taking the gun off the body, he carefully examined it to see if it still worked.  The little Sarah taught him about gun safety was enough for him to know how to handle one.  The clip was half-full, only five bullets remaining.  He stashed the gun in his satchel, feeling safer with a little firepower, even if he wasn't a good shot.  With nothing else left in the room, and the smell making him start to force his gulps back down, he ran out of the apartment and checked the other doors.
Room 306 was locked, but not Room 303 which was directly opposite the stairway door,  far down the hallway itself.  The room was quite large, disturbingly so, and also incredibly empty.  For some reason, shopping carts were piled up in a corner, as well as several newspaper bundles beside a queen size bed in the very middle of the room, with a TV to the side of it.  Clearly the room of a sloth.
Examing the newspapers, none of them interested him, other than one news article about a steamer called The Li'l Baroness, that suffered a terrible accident on Toluca Lake when it sank for an unknown reason, taking down 14 lives with it.  The newspaper was also incredibly old, dating back to 1918.  He was surprised they were even holding themselves together from the damp that threatened to disintegrate them, before putting the papers down and checking the room further.
No such luck.  He did however note an interesting find in the apartment's corridor-thin kitchen.  A small red box of handgun bullets.
	"Holy shit, yes."
Gleeful, he eagerly snatched them to put into his satchel and left Room 303 after finding nothing else of interest.  Rooms 301 and 302 were inaccessible due to a set of iron bars that blocked James' way to the west.  Room 304 and 305 to the east were broken-locked, but at the end of the corridor was an unlocked stairway door.  Taking any way to be the exit way, he traversed down the grimy stone stairway.
His claws echoed blankly upon the steps, tenderly jogging down the way to find the second floor's door, completely broken on both sides.  Sighing, he went down another floor, finding the first floor unlocked much to his relief.  Interestingly, only three rooms were in what felt like the most isolated part of the entire apartment building.
A single hallway with two doors on the left and one at the end.  The only one that was open was Room 107 at the end.  Inside, James saw something that both relieved and saddened him.

The room was completely trashed, broken glass lying everywhere from the large window directly in front of him, the wind tenderly caressing white curtains.  Cupboards and closets were ransacked, it felt like the most lived-in room for having the most furniture despite their condition.  In the middle of it all however, lying on a pristine bed, was a person.  Not a monster, but an actual living being.
	"H-hello?"
It appeared to be an anthropomorphic creature, a female wolf in a black top.  She sighed at the sound of the raptor's voice.
	"Hello."
	"Uh...what are you doing?"
She held in her hands a long piece of rope with a noose at one end of it, which was currently around her neck.  She looked up at the ceiling, pondering sombrely.
	"Thinking...if the rope is enough."
	"...woah...uhm...listen, this isn't really a good way to-"
	"I don't need your therapist crap."
	"...fine.  I just don't like seeing someone your age just throw their life away without trying."
	"And you would know about that?"
	"Well having no parents and being on the streets kinda does that for ya."
She said nothing for a while, standing there, the rope gently weaved through her fingers.
	"...are you looking for someone?"  Her reply caught him off guard slightly.
	"Well...no actually."
	"Then why did you come here?  Nobody comes here without looking for someone."
	"I...I don't know."
In all honesty, he didn't really have an answer, much as he wished he did, rubbing his head in confusion.
	"I just...arrived here, but...something's-"
	"Pulling you towards the town?"
	"Yeah!"
	"Heh...typical, like everybody else here."
	"What are you looking for then?"
	"Peace."
	"Peace?  From what?"
	"I...can't remember.  I just...hear voices.  Voices in my head.  I wanted them to go away.  I kept running to get away...but they kept following me.  Then I got here.  The voices are quieter...because they're afraid."
	"Afraid?  Of what?"
	"The other voices...in this town...in my restless dreams, they came to me.  They brought me here."
	"H-hey...listen, uh, is there anyone else here who can help?  Maybe your mum or a sister or-"
	"Mom...I remember her...but I remember her different when the voices talk to me."
	"Wh-what?"
James was already unnerved by this strange girl.
	"She was....I remember alcohol...she was always crying in her bedroom, my head is kinda fuzzy when I try to-"
	"It's alright, just take it easy."
	"She...she had an attitude, but she...she always loved me, treating me like a person, not like some offspring of hers."
	"Then why are you giving up life so soon?"
	"I'm...I'm just tired..."
She slowly sat up from the bed, her eyes clearly showing she was exhausted.
	"What's your name?"
	"My name's James...what's yours?"
	"Tara...my name's Tara."
	"Pleased to meet you.  Are you...gonna be okay?"
	"I don't know."
Throughout the entire conversation her tone remained the same, dead inside, toying with the rope in her fingers.
	"You know, we're both the same...lost and confused, wanting to just give up-"
	"No!  No, we're not!  You're wrong, I never give up, and neither should you!  You ever heard of anyone able to find what they want by giving up?"
	"N-no-"
	"Then stand up, take that stupid noose off your neck and come with me, we'll get some peace for you, get rid of all the voices in your head or whatever's bothering you!  I just wanna get out of here."
	"Hmph, I don't need your company."
	"I think you do."
	"Why, because I'm a girl!?!?"  She stood up looking insulted as James backed off.
	"Woah hey hey no, I know plenty of strong girls, believe me, but...I meant, well...you know how to fight?"
	"A.....a little."
	"I can protect you, I know how to fight, there's evil things out there but I can take them!"
	"N-no, I don't want your help!"
	"But-"
	"I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP!"
She punched the bed's headrest with such fury that a slight splintering sound came from it.  But it only resulted in her hand being sorely hurt with splinters sticking from her knuckles.
	"A-a-a-owwww..."
	"Dammit woman, what the hell!?!"
	"Oh like you never been the same!"
	"...you're right.  You don't want help, fine, I can't stop you then."
	"...thanks."  Her thanks sounded a little remorseful and tired.
	"But can I ask something?"
	"Wh-what?"
	"...can you take that rope off your neck?"
	"...why?"
	"Because..."
He didn't want to take chances insulting her so he tried another idea.
	"It's just that I...um...I need some rope, the-there's a blockage higher up the apartments and if I had some, I can pull it down and get through, maybe I can find someone or just yanno, get out of here."
	"...Oh...well...o-okay."
In an act of what she believed to be generosity on her part, she gently slipped it from her neck and handed it over to James, who took it gently from Tara as if it was made of glass.
	"Thanks, this'll really help me out.  Hey...you want me to pass a message to anyone?"
	"N-no!  Nobody, I'm not here okay!?"
	"Okay okay...you feeling alright, you're looking twitchy."
	"I-I'm not!  I don't need your help raising-....I mean, l-leave me alone!"
And with that, Tara pushed him out of the door, leaving the raptor greatly confused and only holding a rope.  The rope held an oddly familiar scent to him that somehow soothed him, as well as noticing that it was slightly burnt.  He put it away in his satchel and walked out of a door opposite of Room 107.  He found himself back outside, the fog slowly wreathing between his legs.
	"Huh...the other way in I suppose."
He decided to make a loop back around for anything he missed, passing next to a trash chute in an alcove of the building's layout.  Very little interested him, not even a single shiny item...except for a note, a single white piece of paper pristinely laid out among the black garbage bags.  He picked it up, the words sending a strange chill through his body.

i left a surprise for you in your mailbox.  happy festival day james

	"F-festival day?  ...heh, n-nah it can't be, other places have festivals too right?"
He tried to convince himself of such as he walked back inside, through the door he first entered the apartments from.  The mailboxes were lined up on his left, one of which was less dusty than the others, glinting seductively.  The numbers had long been worn away, but that didn't matter as he soon opened it to find a tarot card, lying pristine inside.
On the card was a single man in armour, some sort of king or noble, standing within a golden carriage pulled by two horses charging forwards.  Underneath the picture, it read "The Chariot".
A memory sparked within James' mind like a dull wick.  His mind tempted itself to remember, but the moment was lost, and he merely pocketed the card before heading towards the stairs.  As he passed the first floor's door, he immediately remembered the flower above the lock.  A rose.  Just like the key from the room of clocks.  With nowhere else to go that was new, he unlocked the door and stepped on through, leaving the key in the lock.