Shuichi Akai's secular worldview was utterly shattered.
He had personally witnessed a disgusting, ghostly entity clinging to his very "soul," refusing to let go until the prayer banished it. He had a terrifying premonition that if left unchecked, that spectral weight would have dragged him straight down to hell.
Although Akai still had many questions for Howard, time was of the essence. The town of Innsmouth needed to be dealt with properly. After all, there was an extremely high probability that the ghostly thing had attached itself to them while they were in Innsmouth.
Thinking of Lovecraft's photographs and the hidden Morse code, thinking of the "disaster," the "bloodline," and the horrific speculation about the "fish," Akai felt a freezing chill run down his spine.
He had never encountered anything like this before. In the past, it was always real, physical gunfights, or at most, some kind of complex biochemical conspiracy. This kind of extremely bizarre, supernatural event would terrify even the most hardened operative.
"…Father, has this ever happened before?" Akai asked, his voice unusually tight.
"I don't know."
Don't know?
"Yes, I don't know any more than you do," Howard admitted grimly. "But just because we don't know something, doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
These words caused Akai to frown deeply.
'Yes… just because I didn't know about the supernatural, did it mean it didn't exist?'
Even within the classified archives of the FBI, there were many things that were real but kept strictly unknown to field agents. So Howard's words made perfect logical sense. But this line of reasoning chilled him to the bone. In other words, he had been wandering freely and blindly into forbidden, lethal territories for years without a shred of protection.
He was truly lucky to still be alive…
"So, do you think Innsmouth is the source of the problem?" Akai asked.
Howard glanced at the seemingly clueless elite investigator with slight disdain. 'Why does he ask me everything? You're the FBI investigator…'
But Howard was also acutely aware of the shifting dynamic. Indeed, professional investigative issues should be solved by professionals like Akai. Just as he had guessed earlier, ordinary people facing such a bizarre supernatural situation would likely be helpless and forced to surrender.
Finally, Howard also clearly understood one terrifying detail: it seemed… Shuichi Akai couldn't defeat the evil fish-man himself by praying. When Akai had recited the words, the pressure only worsened. Only Howard's own prayers and recitations were effective.
Why? Howard's brow furrowed deeply. He wasn't exactly a devout, pure believer—ethically, he wasn't much better than Shuichi Akai. If that was the case, why did he receive preferential treatment and actual power from "God"? It seemed the situation was far deeper and more complex than he had imagined…
"Now is not the time to consider theology," Howard said, shaking his head. He was still desperately thinking about the three young rookies left behind. Now that it was roughly confirmed that Innsmouth was the epicenter of the evil, then… "Could we send more federal agents to investigate?"
'That might not be feasible,' Akai thought, feeling very troubled. 'Would anyone at headquarters actually believe me if I told them the truth?'
He had already subtly probed his superiors about unusual occurrences, but only received a condescending suggestion to visit a Bureau psychiatrist.
"So we can only rely on ourselves?" Howard asked, seeing Akai's hesitation.
"…The situation isn't that bad," Akai replied, his eyes narrowing as he formulated a tactical plan.
All he had to do was explain to headquarters that the Black Organization was highly active in Innsmouth. By conveniently using the Black Organization as a scapegoat, Akai could easily obtain a heavily armed tactical reinforcement team from above.
"There's one more thing," Akai added, pulling out the photos. "Lovecraft... This photographer is not simple. His hidden reminder helped me clarify many things. We need to find him."
Lovecraft's Apartment
Lovecraft was terrified.
He wasn't an enigmatic mastermind as Shuichi Akai had assumed, nor was he someone who knew all the dark secrets of the world. He was simply an internet adventure broadcaster—a streamer—who had incidentally disseminated his late father's strange, handwritten "secrets" in Morse code to give his audience a fun puzzle.
Yes, Innsmouth was indeed his father's hometown. But he had never seriously considered returning there. Because that barren, depressing place wouldn't afford the travel expenses or yield enough interesting content for a big broadcaster like himself.
However, at the persistent request of his fans, he eventually made the trip. But after returning from Innsmouth, he keenly sensed that something was horribly amiss.
As a broadcaster, he was exceptionally sensitive to being watched. Since returning from Innsmouth, he felt like someone—or something—was constantly watching him from the shadows of his own apartment.
'Who is it? A homeless person? A robber? Or something else?'
After suspiciously double-locking the door, he had quickly fallen asleep in a state of extreme tension and exhaustion.
But moments later, he suddenly snapped his eyes open in the dark. His eyes were bloodshot, as if his fraying emotions had finally reached their breaking point.
Something… Something is here…
He sniffed the air, but there was no physical fishy smell. Yet, he felt an overwhelming, suffocating pressure, as if an endless, pitch-black ocean was looming right above his bed, ready to crush him.
'Am I hallucinating because of the stress?' he wondered, trembling. He pondered the exorbitant price of a therapist, glancing around his dark bedroom nervously, cold sweat dripping down his back. 'Maybe… I'm just being too sensitive… right?'
To hell with being too sensitive!
Lovecraft finally erupted in a paranoid rage that had been building up for days.
"Who!? Who is it!?" he screamed into the darkness. "Come out! Come out here!"
He trusted his intuition and keen senses. They had saved him from dangerous urban exploration spots many times before.
However, the winter morning outside his window was still dim and dark. Even the indoor lamp he flicked on seemed insignificant against the creeping shadows. His eyes remained fixed on the bulb, terrified it would suddenly go out, followed by a familiar, gruesome death scene straight out of a horror movie…
No. He had to save himself!
Whether it was a mental lapse or a genuine threat, he couldn't afford to gamble. He only had one life. He pulled out a heavy handgun from his nightstand drawer and flicked off the safety with a loud click.
His eyes bloodshot, he searched his apartment slowly and deliberately, sweeping the barrel across the shadows.
Bedroom, under the bed, wardrobe. Nothing.
Kitchen, living room, storage room. Nothing. Nothing at all.
It was as if he were the only one acting crazy.
'Am I just being too tense?' He paused, stunned. Finding nothing physically amiss, his anxiety eased slightly.
But the next moment, his heart clenched violently.
Out of the corner of his eye, sitting on his desk, he saw the original letter his father had left him on his deathbed. Part of it, which he had typed out in Morse code, had been distributed widely to his fans. But the rest of it remained a terrifying mystery to him.
> [My child, Innsmouth is my home. I need you to go back and see your people.]
> [My child, have you left? Listen to me, you should stay far away from Innsmouth and never return!]
> [Child, have you reached your homeland…?]
The handwriting on the parchment was extremely messy and erratic. He had initially thought it was just because his father was too physically weak on his deathbed.
Now it seemed… his father's mental state at that time was completely fractured, torn between two conflicting, driving instincts.
Go back. Leave.
This bizarre, contradictory request had once intrigued him as a fun mystery for his channel. So he had agreed to his fans' requests, going to the town half-heartedly.
But considering his current, terrified situation…
Lovecraft lunged at the desk and grabbed the letter, his face contorted in desperation as he searched the messy scrawl.
'What is it? What was my father trying to remind me of?!'
His father was right… Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong with that place. That damned "homeland" was a nightmare!
His scalp tightened, his survival intuition screaming at him to find the answer.
'Calm down! Find it! Find the clue quickly!'
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Give me powerstones.
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