Previous on Silent Hill: The Bat - Batman receives a letter from Rachel saying she's waiting for him in town called Silent Hill. He follows a series of clues through the town and two different women who bear a striking resemblance to Rachel, but remain frustratingly out of reach. One of them, named Raquel Diaz, appears to be a psychiatric patient and is terrified of Batman on sight. At the first encounter, she leaves a note promising vengeance upon those that have shed her blood. At subsequent meetings, she manages to elude Batman. Later, in a naturally occurring limestone cavern known as a cenote, Batman discovers a Mayan sacrificial altar with the drawings of a snake creature protecting a woman from a looming bat. He finds the bones of a woman, whom he presumes to be those of young Raquel.

Eventually Batman discovers an audio cassette in a psychiatric file that belongs to Rachel. He goes to the Security Room to listen to it. On the tape, he hears Rachel demanding to know more about a woman called Raquel Diaz, whom Rachel believes to be dead.

Sixteen

The cassette player clicks off on its own.

I listen to Rachel's voice several more times. But then I cannot listen anymore. I can no longer bear it.

A security map offers more ways of traveling through the hospital. There are personnel-only passageways available on the schematic. A careful study allows me to find the way to what the only live monitor shows.

The static clears enough that I can make out a white room. It is tiled in shiny ceramic, blackened in the grout with mold, giving the look of a cage in a sanitarium. There are two rows of large rounded white tubs with covers on top, like submarine doors. Each door has a single, rectangular window, likely to view whoever has been placed inside. All the tubs have two locks on the outside.

I lean in closer when I notice one of the locked tubs moving. It quivers gently every few moments, then sometimes violently like a convulsive washing machine.

The monitor has a timestamp along with a designated abbreviation—HT1. Judging by the wheels on all the tubs, the tall taps with no sinks to catch the water, and the drains placed systematically across the whole floor, I can surmise the identity of the code: Hydrotherapy One.

#

An estimated five minutes later, I know I am headed the right way. There is a hollow thumping in the distance, distorted by the stale air and reflective tile walls which do little to mitigate sound, and in fact seem to amplify them to something deeper, more primal.

I try to run, but hunger, weakness and injury force me to a slow lumber. Whoever wants to escape is simply going to have to wait.

The metallic knocking grows louder, sharper as I near the chamber. I see the swinging doors rattle with the force of the banging inside, surprised to discover the hits from within are that strong. I grip my knife in a more effective combat style, blade extending through the outer side of my right fist.

I lean close to the round port window in one door, searching for danger. I shine the light inside. The filthy glass muddies the cast light into a reddish hue. In the right corner, a tub quivers violently.

I press against the door. It swings into the room with a soft creak. I push it all the way open. It locks that way, flush against the inner wall. There is no one hiding to ambush me.

Banging erupts from within the tub again. Someone trapped inside, perhaps trying to kick and punch their way out. I hurry to the tub, glance quickly at the rectangular port. It's dark within, and I don't bother wasting time looking under the light of my flashlight to see who is inside. I unlock both clasps at once. The banging continues loudly, deafening in this room. It leaves a ringing in my ears.

I fling the lid open. The banging comes to an abrupt stop. My eyes widen in surprise. There's nothing inside but one foot of clear ice water. The ice chips clink together like cubes in a soda.

I sigh and stand. I've come and there's no one to rescue.

A shoe grinds against the concrete floor just behind me. I turn.

He's standing there, just inches away. His shiny, blacked-out eyes squint curiously through my cowl. I attempt to make a break for it, but he's lightning fast. He gives me a hefty push in my chest, knocking me into the tub. The cold shocks me into momentary paralysis, sending waves of icy water rolling. The wind is knocked out of me. The lid rocks back and forth and starts to fall shut. I have the presence of mind the stick my arm out to stop it from closing. The lid smashes down and I give a strangled scream of pain.

I scramble to get out and the quasi-Batman who pushed me raised a black boot and stomps on the lid. I hear bone crack. I scream again. Blinded by water and pain, I grip my knife with my free hand, push the lid with my knees and slash at him. I catch him between the armor plating above the knee. He gives a deep, distorted grunt and bleeds black sludge.

I push the lid open. There's just enough room for me to slither back out. But he uses the opportunity to kick me in the face. My head snaps back against the interior and I sink into the water, stunned.

I feel him take my knife away. It clatters somewhere far off. He picks up my limp, broken arm and folds it inside. The lid slams shut the clasps go on.

I'm already shivering. My voice comes out in shallow gasps as I try to keep quiet and listen to what he'd doing. He walks around briefly. Suddenly water begins to run, splattering onto the tile floor. He walks back over and something unscrews on the lid.

Something drags over the floor, and something screws back into the lid.

He looks at me through the viewing port for a moment. I don't know if he can see me, but then he smiles. A thousand splinter-like teeth crowd his grin.

He walks away and the water stops splattering on the floor. But it's still running. I hear burbling and hissing through the hose he's connected to my tub. Soon water spurts through the hole like gasoline into a tank.

He comes back into view and peers down at me. He grows uncomfortable standing with his injured leg. So he sits down and strokes the viewport.

I bring my drawstring backpack to the front. I use my teeth to open it, because one arm is limp and starting to swell. There's nothing of use inside. The tape player, batteries, empty water bottle, last of my medical supplies. And the gun.

It's water-logged. I drain the water from the barrel and check the chamber. Water drips free, falling on my face, searing my swelling jaw. I have only five bullets.

The quasi-Batman can see me examining the weapon. He makes a gun with his hand, points it at me. Then raises his finger to his temple. He chortles soundlessly. I cannot hear him over the rushing water.

Water rushes in rapidly, filling the tub past two-thirds capacity. I pant nervously, shivering, pushing my head out of the water.

He leans down, presses his face to the viewing glass and studies me with black, liquid eyes, rapt.

I gasp for air, just a couple of inches from his face. My breath fogs the glass.

I drop the gun. It sinks heavily to the bottom of the tub, stopping against my side.

He suddenly raises his head, looking at something.

His head whips around suddenly, like he's been slapped by an invisible hand. He goes limp, and the sludge that runs in his veins begins to cloud up the viewport.

The water continues to fill and there's nothing left but a flat bubble at the top. I suck the last remaining air into my lungs.

I wait, holding my breath for my lookalike's killer.

My throat begins to burn, then my lungs. I purse my lips, pressure building in the roof of my mouth along with panic.

Someone looks past the dead body, through the viewport. I press my hands to the glass, in case she can't see me inside. I see her nod through the smeared blood. She begins to tug at the body. But it's so heavy that she can't move it.

The clasps are undone but the lid doesn't open. I bang on the lid, using the last of my strength to push it open. I use my knees, the heels of my hands. I gulp back my air, feeling like I'm going to black out. I close my eyes and I can hear her grunt with effort as she pulls at the corpse. I start clawing at the opening, trying to get my fingers in to pry it open.

Without even realizing I've released all my air and my lungs have nothing left to expel. I start banging frantically on the lid and feel the body slide a little. White and yellow spots begin dancing around me and I suck in a lungful of water. It's the familiar feeling of having barbed wire dragged through my airways.

The doppelganger's corpse drags off suddenly and completely. Water rushes off me. But I can't move. My eyes close and everything grows dark.

When I wake up I'm lying on the floor of the Hydrotherapy room. I bolt up coughing and gasping loudly, spewing water.

The woman looks startled, jumping back from me. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand. She pats me hardily on the back. "I thought I lost you."

I fall back to the floor in utter relief, gulping in great lungfuls of air. The tub is tipped over onto its side, like the woman tossed its contents—me and the water—out of a tin.

"You're blue," she remarks. "I'll be right back."

She disappears for a couple of minutes and returns with an armful of blankets. She uses one to dry me off, helps me to my feet so I don't have to sit on the wet floor and lowers me onto one of the closed tubs. She wraps me with three blankets, every few moments eyeing the dead creature on the floor. Swirls of sludge continue to worm their way through the water.

A shudder goes through Raquel Diaz' body as water drips from her. She, too, is soaking wet.

She picks up her gun, where it's lying several feet away. A rifle. She aims it at me from across the room. "Who are you?"

I presume she's reloaded the weapon since the kill shot that splattered the creature's brains all over the tub. It's a bolt action single shot rifle, requiring a reload between each shot fired. I get to my feet, knees buckling slightly, and bend down to pick up my things.

"I asked you a question," she says firmly.

I don't believe she'll shoot me. She didn't rescue me only to kill me immediately afterwards. Also, if she fires her weapon as a warning shot, she'll be vulnerable, because the weapon will require a reload.

I go to the dead body, drop to my knees and begin to strip my things off its black, slick corpse. It's the storm-cloud color of an eel, covered in tiny, flexible scales and dark blue veins.

"What are you doing?" She demands.

My actions are lethargic. I don't complain, don't allow myself to feel the exhaustion. It's just something that must be done. "I'm taking my things back."

"Leave it."

"No."

"There's no time for this!"

"You can go."

"I just saved your life. You should be a little more grateful."

It takes me several minutes to strip the lookalike because of my broken arm. He truly looks nothing like me—he only ever did because of the suit. My suit. His eyes are closed, nostrils pinched and slanted, nose upturned and inverted like a vampire bat. His ears are massive, still unfolding after being pressed closed against its hairless scalp. On his back are shriveled wings that are folded and tied down with an intricate, black leather harness.

My hand shakes uncontrollably as I dress. I feel as if I'll black out at any moment.

She waits impatiently, gun trained on me, but sinking slightly. The weight is tiring her arms.

"Where's Rachel?" I ask her softly. My tone is numb. Like taking my suit back, it's a question that needs to be asked, regardless of my present state.

She blinks, confused. "Who?"

"Rachel. Rachel Dawes." I open up one of the compartments on my belt—which is waterproof—and show her the photo of Rachel. "Where is she?"

Raquel's expression darkens. "She's dead."

I replace the photo. I pull my cowl on, adjust it, and feel the cracked bullet hole in the side. My glove comes away covered in the quasi's blood. It burns my own skin slightly, but not like the acid from one of the other monsters. It stinks like rotten fish. I look at Raquel. She's gripping the gun more tightly at the sight of me. She backs away a step.

"She's not dead." I fix my cape and start to leave the room, using a piece of the blanket for a sling for my broken arm.

I watch her lower the rifle, dismayed. "Please, you have to believe me."

I keep walking. I stumble slightly, but catch myself.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find Rachel."

Raquel runs to block my path. "You're in no condition to do anything. And I told you, she's dead."

I brush her aside. "You're the one that's dead."

Raquel's jaw drops. "Me? I'm standing right in front of you! I saved your life! There's a bullet in that thing's head from this gun!"

"Rachel said you were dead on the tape. I believe her."

Raquel runs along beside me, grasps my left arm gently. "Look, just give me five minutes. Let me explain what's going on."