<span style="font-size: 110%; line-height: 116%;"><table width="100%"><tr><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-right:10px;">A long interstate stretching through Maine's untamed woods led out of Ashfield's northern half, traffic slowed after the end of summer's busy back-and-forth. A long drive would take one to a branch in the road, one directed towards the popular tourist town, Silent Hill. The other led to its neighboring town of Shepherd's Glen, a much quieter, smaller place that served more for easygoing life than attracting outside attention. Past visits identified it as a nice, if comparative isolated place next to its larger, older sibling, but hardships fallen upon the place after a mass disappearance of its inhabitants led to a rapid decay, rotting like a carcass left out in the sun on a hot summer day.<br/><br/>Jacob's idea of raiding the abandoned structures of the town for garage supplies had been a plan had and discussed for a while. Barring the legal implications of what was essentially theft, there was often a trove that could be discovered by looking in the right places. And with reconstruction efforts coming in to salvage what could be saved of the dying town, what crime was there in lending a hand in cleanup? It wasn't like they'd be going into private properties and taking the heirlooms of families long gone, or uncovering any dark town government secrets implicating corruption. Merely taking a few parts from abandoned cars, tools from sheds, and if found, money from registers. It was just recycling, really.<br/><br/>The tires of Jacob's hefty vehicle, a large pickup truck holding a camper repurposed as a proper trunk, moved steadily across the asphalt as he drove through the woods. While not alone on the road, traffic was minimal. Someone behind him, another far off in front that turned off the branching highway and into Silent Hill, and people coming to Ashfield on the other side of the road. A mercifully low number of cars kept things moving quickly and smoothly. Inside the cabin of Jacob's truck, the radio was tuned into a local station, broadcasting classic rock music intercut with talking from the broadcaster. With windows down, the wind flowed through the vehicle, and the pleasant not-too-harsh warmth gave a soothing breeze. Long drives were something Jacob found a peace with, whether he was behind the wheel or just a passenger. Out here, for however long he was on the road, problems and worries were second priority. He could focus instead on the freedom of the wilderness, and the atmospheric calm of the road. <br/><br/>Jacob smiled. The road, his home away from home, was where he would be spending the next couple hours. It was perhaps a bit lonely, but still, it felt nice. The journey itself was very uneventful, just a long midday drive.</td><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-left:10px;">Some hours after leaving Ashfield, Jacob passed by Shepherd's Glen telltale welcome sign. "Where family comes first," the wooden construct read. Maybe this was true in years long passed, but now, Shepherd's Glen was hardly a place one would willingly take their family. Urban decay and the effects of abandonment turned it into a downtrodden ghost city, no longer the ideal small-town-life sanctuary it had been in the past. Jacob felt a sense of some unease as he passed the sign, and the long road gave way to an intersection. The turn signal did not work, but there was nobody else really around. His follower on the road had turned off ages ago, leaving him alone in the outskirts. <br/><br/>The anxiety was formed from purely mundane fears. Out here, where hardly anyone lived and those who did were likely under the influence of some illicit substance, what were the chances of someone looking for quick cash trying to steal his car or mug him? Self defense was priority in places like this, and while he knew the city proper wasn't as bad as the far-reaching outskirts of the town, he was still very suspicious of the near-empty streets as he drove through them. Resting in the seat beside him was a metal bat, bought from a sports shop under the guise of an interest in baseball. Jacob had nothing against the sport, but found the utility of a self-defense weapon more attractive than trying to run around on his leg, or lack of one thereof. <br/><br/>He lowered the volume of the radio as he turned into a more lively part of town. While not a bustling urban area like Ashfield, it was significantly less dead. People on the street, however few, were moving around in the remnants left of the dying city. Perhaps holding out for the reconstruction efforts, but not willing to move on. Perhaps for other, less agreeable reasons. Whatever their goals were, Jacob had one: meet up with Logan. He'd been given an address to stop by, and by following signs and more functional street lights, he eventually found himself approaching the city cemetary. Rose Heights was a macabre place to set up a meeting, but a darkly appropriate one. Where better to begin the scouring of a dead city than the place where the dead themselves rested?<br/><br/>It soon became evident that other things were happening, and Jacob turned his car toward the sidewalk, parking it in a way that offered a convenient step down from the driver's seat directly onto the concrete pathway. For a few moments, he watched the altercation, hoping it would not become physical. Logan's approach toward the other man make Jacob nervous. What was he doing? <br/><br/>Shutting off his vehicle's engine, Jacob wrapped a hand around the bat's handle, his other one going to the door. With furrowed brows, he watched as the stranger kicked away the homeless man's cart, then approached Logan with a shovel. He did not hesitate to strike him, and at the impact, Jacob flung open the truck door and stumbled out onto his still-attached leg. His footing wobbled slightly as he limp-ran up the sidewalk, metal bat in hand, ready to threaten the shovel-wielding aggressor away or defend himself from any incoming retribution.<br/><br/>Before he got the chance to, Logan was up again, and a swift fist wrecked the anatomy of the attacker's face. Jacob felt himself cringe, a nausea welling up as bright red blood flowed from the shattered nostrils of the man. He swallowed involuntarily as if to keep his stomach's contents where they remained, and continued his approach as Logan moved on to strangling the man instead. As he finally reached the pair, Jacob let go of his bat, the aluminum clinking against the sidewalk as it fell. Jacob himself knelt beside the two, and put both hands on Logan's shoulders to give a firm push, in the hopes to stop the fight.<br/><br/>"Logan," Jacob stated in a firm, but as always subdued and smooth-flowing tone. "Get off him. He's had enough." A quick glance down at the offender's face confirmed the previous statement. "You fucked him up pretty good already. Leave it at that."</td></tr></table></span>