So. You're on a road that shouldn't exist anymore. Not that you know that yet. Nah, you're just driving, minding your own damn business, when—boom—the world decides to take a day off from reality.

The fog rolled in like it owned the place. Which, spoiler alert… it kinda does.

Your radio went from soft rock to screaming static, and when you finally killed the noise… that's when the siren hit. Not the distant wail of an ambulance. No, this was deep. Primal. The kind of sound that makes your bones remember something your brain forgot.

Your engine choked. Sputtered. Died.

The headlights flickered once—showing nothing but white—then twice—showing nothing at all. Darkness swallowed the world whole.

So now you're standing outside your car. Boots on cracked asphalt. Cold air biting your skin. And in front of you, rising out of the fog like it's been waiting for this exact fucking moment…

The town.

Silent Hill. Population: apparently just you. And me, I guess. But I'm not real, so that doesn't count. Bob's the name, by the way. Your narrator for this clusterfuck of an experience. I'd say I'm looking forward to it, but I've seen the paperwork. You're in for a wild ride, and I'm just here to make sure you don't die of boredom before something worse gets you.

A sign leans crooked by the roadside, rusted letters spelling out the town's name. Beyond it, rows of buildings huddle together like they're scared of the dark. They should be. The dark's terrified of them too.

Somewhere deeper in the fog, that siren wails again. Longer. Closer. Then… silence. The kind of silence that makes you want to scream just to prove you're still alive.

And that's when you notice the radio in your dead car flicker back on. Not music. Not static.

A voice.