A few days passed in the blink of an eye.
During his time in Silent Hill, Barry made a new friend—Anna.
On his way back to the church one day, Anna tripped and fell. Kind-hearted Barry quickly helped her up and brought her inside the church.
From that moment, the two became friends.
Anna was a girl with reddish-brown hair, a devout believer, and a long-time resident of Silent Hill.
Through their conversations, Barry learned more about the town.
According to Anna, before the town was even called Silent Hill, its ancestors doubled as witch hunters. To keep the town pure, they burned witches to ward off darkness and prevent the apocalypse.
You could say the tradition of burning at the stake ran deep in this town, with the roots of its religious sect stretching back ages, still alive today.
Barry, pretending to be curious, also probed about the Otherworld, the monsters lurking in the dark, and things like that. But Anna always avoided talking about Alessa.
It was as if even mentioning her name would bring bad luck.
Still unfamiliar with the area and wary of running into stray monsters even in the Fog World, Barry explored cautiously.
He hadn't yet found the right chance to solidify his role as a guide, something he hoped would secure his survival in the future.
…
The sky was still a dreary gray, and outside, the world felt lifeless, eerily silent.
"Hmmph, aaaaah!"
After a few hours of sleep, Barry, feeling refreshed, squirmed around on his bed, stretching his arms and legs wildly while letting out nonsensical noises.
A few minutes later.
After a quick wash in the bathroom, Barry strolled to the window, pulled back the dusty, old curtains, and let the light flood the room. He looked out at the bleak scenery and took a deep breath of the ash-filled air.
"Good morning, world!"
"The air quality's still awful. This level of pollution? Even old-school Londoners would say it's got that vibe!"
Knock, knock, knock!
A rhythmic knock came from downstairs, followed by a young woman's voice: "Barry, you awake?"
"Just woke up. Morning, Anna!" From his second-floor bedroom, Barry leaned out the window, hands resting on the sill, looking down at Anna, who'd come to find him.
"Morning?" Anna sounded puzzled. She stepped back, tilted her head to glance at the sky, and after a moment, chuckled lightly. "You seem in a good mood. Had a nice dream, huh?"
Her dirt-streaked face, even with a smile, carried a hint of blankness. But those who knew her understood how unshakable her faith was—a true, battle-tested warrior of the church.
To others, she was fearless. She'd scavenge alone in places no one else dared to go. When others cowered or hid from danger, Anna would stand tall, grab a rock, and start swinging.
If she had a stone in hand, she'd probably even take on the Pyramid Head that ruled the Otherworld without flinching!
That was the confidence her faith gave her.
"Not exactly a good dream," Barry said, his expression turning odd. Last night, he'd dreamed he got caught for joking about the Mamba and was nabbed by a group of cultists. They strung him up on a stake and roasted him into a charred lump.
The dream was so absurd, but the terror of being burned alive like a rotisserie duck made him hum nervously in his sleep, his sounds escalating into beast-like roars.
"Oh! May our faith protect you from fear. Amen," Anna said solemnly.
Though she'd only known Barry a few days, she was drawn to his innocent charm and already considered him a friend.
"It wasn't that bad, I guess."
Seeing Anna pray for him so earnestly, Barry felt a bit embarrassed. He racked his brain for something nice to say and, with a serious tone, replied, "God bless you, Anna."
"God bless you too!" Anna beamed, like a kid who'd just been praised.
After that, Barry headed downstairs, opened the door, grabbed his gear, and went out with Anna to handle some business.
In short—they went scavenging.
…
As everyone knows, Silent Hill has three worlds, but only the real world is truly real, with its cycles of day and night, sun and stars.
The Fog World and Otherworld of Silent Hill are realms split off from reality by demonic forces.
In these strange worlds, there's no clear, predictable concept of day or night.
The Fog World is always daytime, while the Otherworld owns the night.
Since the shift between these worlds doesn't follow a set schedule, the people here tend to stick close to the cathedral, living in houses near one another.
The blurred line between day and night means they don't have regular sleep schedules. They rest when they're tired and scavenge for food when they're awake.
To avoid sleeping too deeply and missing the chance to flee before the Otherworld descends, people here live in groups so familiar faces can warn each other.
As a newcomer, Barry was entitled to pick an empty house as his home.
Silent Hill had more houses than people—way more than they could ever fill.
As long as no one was living there, you could move right in. No struggle, no hassle—just claim a house, or even a whole building!
Among fellow cult members, neighborly disputes were practically nonexistent.
Life for survivors was tough—no steady food supply, no real entertainment. All they had was their obsessive faith.
Even with one foot in the hell they'd helped create, they still believed that if they held fast, they'd eventually drive out the evil, end the apocalypse, and usher in a bright future for everyone.
On the surface, Barry could only nod along: Yeah, sure, totally!
But deep down, he was thinking: Stay away from me, and don't get your blood on my shoes.
In his past life, as an ordinary citizen of a lawful country, Barry had always kept his nose clean. A model student as a kid, a law-abiding adult later on.
He wouldn't dream of doing anything bad.
Pure as I am, hanging out with you sin-soaked weirdos for too long might rub off on me. I don't want to end up as ignorant and twisted as you lot.
So, after some serious thought, Barry chose a modest house near Anna, the reddish-brown-haired girl.
Sure, Anna had the typical cultist mindset, but at least her heart wasn't completely rotten. She was just… a bit dim.
And that was a plus in Barry's book. A little slow? Perfect. Less likely to scheme or stab him in the back.
Not long after they headed out, an air raid siren blared across the town.
Barry and Anna instantly turned into sprinters, joining the crowd rushing to safety.
Before the darkness fully descended, the cultists poured through the church's doors, each finding their usual spot to settle in.
The high priestess, Christabella, led her inner circle in a prayer ritual at the center of the church.
As the bishop sang the final verse, the silent prayers of the congregation filled the air. With closed eyes, they felt the glow of light.
A pure, radiant light, born from their collective faith, outshone the flickering candles, carrying the hopes of the believers.
Barry's hope was among them.
Though, in his case, it was more about his appetite.