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Silent Hill: Requiem is a fanfiction in progress.

PlotEdit

The story revolves around Logan Taylor and his experiences in Silent Hill, and his confrontations with The Order and the monsters that dwell there.

CharactersEdit

Logan Taylor - Protagonist

Lucy Harlan - Secondary protagonist who Logan finds in Silent Hill

James Weller - Off duty police officer in Silent Hill

Ellie Strangson - A woman Logan finds hiding in Silent Hill

Nikolai Surkov - A former Russian Spetsnaz officer.

MonstersEdit

Grave - Manifestation of Logan's guilt over his mother.

Blade - Manifestation of Logan's hate toward his father.

Wraith - Manifestation of Logan's insanity.

Hound - Manifestation of Logan's memory of his dog.

The Tide - Manifestation of Logan's overwhelming emotional status, and memories he's repressed.

Spider - Manifestation of Logan's mother's fear of spiders, and the memories of him killing them when he was younger.

Golem - Manifestation of Logan's feeling of inferiority toward his father when he was younger.

Nurse - Manifestation of nurses in the military.

Hangman - Manifestation of Logan's suicidal thoughts when he was young.

Howler - Manifestation of air raid sirens, and in effect, the siren of Silent Hill.

Screecher - Manifestation of Logan's memories of people screaming in a battlefield.

Specter - Manifestation of Logan's former brothers in arms.

Spiker - Manifestation of shrapnel and debris from explosions during wartime.

Stranger - Manifestation of civilians that were killed in war.

The Reflection - Manifestation of Logan's remaining sanity.

The Reaper - Manifestation of Logan's inability to escape his past.

Pyramid Head - It is unknown why exactly Pyramid Head exists in Logan's nightmare, but it may be a secondary production from The Reaper, both made from his extreme guilt.

Other EnemiesEdit

The Order - The primary antagonistic group in the Silent Hill series makes an appearance in Silent Hill: Requiem, with the goal of using Logan's power to control the powers of Silent Hill, and that of Alessa Gillespie.

StoryEdit

PrologueEdit

The night was unusually still when I entered the café. The bells above the door chimed as I pushed it open, and in that moment, everyone in the café had their eyes on me. With my black work shoes, dark blue jeans, white button up shirt, black long coat, fingerless gloves, and fedora, as well as dog tags from the army, I was the odd one out. Most of the customers of this café were bikers and truckers and what-not, along with the occasional thug. I walk over to the front bar and sit on a stool. I make sure my fedora covers most of my face; I really don’t want to attract too much more attention around here.



The waitress walked up to me to take my order.



“What can I get you, hon?” She asked.



“Water.” I reply plainly, without looking at her.



She walks to the left and goes to the back. I notice the biker to my right took a glance at me, a menacing glance, too. Maybe I’m attracting attention after all. Is it the hat? This is a stylish hat, maybe it’s the hat. Yeah I think it’s the hat. Well screw them, I’m not taking it off. Awesome hat.



The waitress comes back less than a minute later and puts a tall glass of water in front of me before returning to the back. I reach out to grab it, but when I do someone else grabs it as well. I look to my right to see the biker, staring down at me.



“You know, you don’t belong here.” He said, in a low tone, like he could actually hurt me or something. “Why don’t you just get on out of here and we’ll pretend like nothing ever happened?”



I take my hand off the glass and cross my arms onto the table, waiting for the guy to take his hand off the glass. I don’t say a word to the guy, since I have nothing to say. He huffs a bit.



“Tough guy, huh?” He takes his hand off the glass. “Alright. Maybe I oughtta teach you a lesson?” He pounded his fist into his palm.



I tried my best not to laugh and took the glass in my hand again, raising it up to my lips. Before I can actually drink it, though, the man makes a fist and tries to punch me. I slam the glass back onto the table and dodge it. I kick him in the chest, knocking him out of his stool, before I grab the bottle of beer he had on the table and smash it across his face, putting him to the floor. I quickly go back to my glass of water and chug it down before putting it back on the table.



“Refill, please.” I say to the waitress in the back, then I dodge another punch from the man who had gotten back up and spun around, landing my heel onto the back of his head, and slamming his face onto the counter. I casually walk to the center of the café and wait for him to pick his teeth up. He charges at me with a bloody lip, and tried to grab me. I duck under the grapple and nail a punch right on his lower jaw, before twisting around and ramming the bottom of my shoe into his face, knocking him to the ground again. I’m pretty sure I broke his nose on that one.



He screams and comes at me again, with a one-two punch, which I promptly one-two dodge, and I kick him in the chest, giving me a small distance. He goes back to the counter and rips a stool right off the floor. Those things are dead bolted to the ground and he pulled it out? I’m glad I’m a good dodger. Speaking of, he throws the stool at me, and I sidestep it, causing it to crash into the window, almost hitting another customer. He tore off another stool and threw it at me. I move to the left and grab the bottom of the stool in the air, and with momentum spin around and throw it back. He swats the thing right out of the air and comes at me again. He tried to grab me again, but I jump over it and land on his shoulders, then I jump over and spin kick the side of his head from behind, hard. He’s once again, sent to the ground, but he doesn’t recover quite quickly enough. I walk over to him, hands behind my back, and place my foot on the back of his head. I rear up and slam it back down, stomping his lights out.



Now that was over, I walk back to my stool and sit back down. The waitress had by then refilled my glass, and I take a sip.



“Well, we don’t see much of that around here.” She says, sitting on a stool behind the counter with a rag and an empty glass. “So what brings you here? Aside from beating the hell out of undesirables.”



“You hear any rumors?” I ask.



“We hear lots of rumors around here. You’ll have to be more specific.” She was cleaning the glass.



“Silent Hill.”



She stops cleaning the glass momentarily before resuming.



“Right. That one.” She says in a low voice. “If you’re here it probably means you’ve got the gist of it. They say the entire place is haunted. Like, the stuff of nightmares. People who go there never make it out.” She places the glass on the table and picks up another one. “If you’re planning on going there, you either got a death wish, or you know what you’re doing. Or you think you know what you’re doing.”



“Right.” I finish up my water and pay the bill. “Thanks.” I say, walking out of the café and onto the street. Looks like she didn’t know any more about Silent Hill than the last guy I talked to about it. Looks like I’d have to find out about it myself.



I start to walk along the road. There was a fog rolling in, off of Toluca Lake, and I walk into its shroud of uncertainty as I make my way toward Silent Hill.

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