Eldritch Horror Theatre

Assuming the worst—that this entire situation was a deliberate misdirection—what could the ultimate purpose be?

Focusing on a detail he otherwise should have ignored, Fu Qian of Sangu Laboratory pondered this rather profound question.

In truth, the moment he asked it, an answer of sorts had already surfaced in his mind.

Just as he had noted earlier, a mission that was supposed to involve the Transcendent Tier but didn’t was likely a front for a massive, brewing crisis...

Deep in thought, Fu Qian lightly tapped his fingers against the safe.

It didn’t disappoint him. A few seconds later, the faint, frantic sound of scratching echoed from within.

Sure enough, it’s in there.

Without hesitating, Fu Qian casually unlocked the safe.

A low whimper drifted out.

Clearly in a foul mood from being disturbed, Henry bolted out the moment the door cracked open—only to be snatched firmly by the scruff of the neck.”Hello there.”

Greeting the creature with a smile, Fu Qian hoisted the cat with practiced ease. The Mad Cat Gunner had once again taken the stage.

It seemed that this time, although Oliver had still locked him in here, he hadn’t come to check on him.

And that exact oversight had resulted in the man getting his head blown off.

Was this the consequence of neglecting small animals?

Moreover, Henry’s presence proved that living creatures were the only constants within this ever-shifting space and time.

With every color shift, this fellow instantly appeared right where he was supposed to be, like a stage actor perpetually rushing between scenes.

In stark contrast was the Three-Color Potion the Death Row Inmate had so solemnly pocketed. Theoretically, if someone lingered through enough cycles, they could hoard as much of it as they wanted.

Provided they survived long enough to use it.

Fu Qian tapped Henry’s head in a steady rhythm. The cat wore a ferocious scowl but was completely helpless, a sight that only added an extra touch of mania to the Mad Cat Gunner persona.

The facts once again proved the importance of staying true to one’s original aspiration. If he hadn’t enjoyed his work and constantly strived for perfection in his craft, it would have been all too easy to overlook that fleeting sense of familiarity when he shattered the man’s knee.

...

The real reason he had suddenly abandoned his target when it was right in front of him was his realization that the corpse might be Oliver.

His excellent habit of questioning everything led Fu Qian to cast serious doubts on the entire background of this incident.

In the eyes of the other team members, this place was undoubtedly just a continuation of the first red phase—at most, a different point in time.

Even if he explained the difference to them, they might not think it mattered.

But there was a major flaw in that logic. A decent chunk of time had passed since he left the group, yet the prompt confirming the mission’s completion had never appeared.

Rather than assuming they all shared the same mission but had to fulfill it individually, or that the five highly trained team members had died before they could succeed, Fu Qian preferred a different theory: the object Mask and the others had worked so hard to uncover wasn’t the Origin of Colors they believed it to be.

That target was also the result of a subtle, imperceptible misdirection, silently nourishing all things.

The actual Origin of Colors might not even be in this building.

Which begged the question: if it wasn’t here, where was it?

The next moment, a thought struck him. Fu Qian paused his animal abuse and held Henry up to eye level.

”Let’s go. We’re going to pay your master a visit and have a nice little chat about that dream of his.”

...

Henry’s master was, of course, Paul.

The team had busted their asses up to this point, only for the evidence to suggest that all that information was likely a misdirection. The situation was truly grim.

Losing the trail of the mission was one thing. But walking down the wrong path for too long while feeling falsely confident meant they were likely heading toward an unbearable catastrophe.

The consequences would be far worse than simply failing the mission.

Fortunately, despite the potential for melodramatic emotional entanglements, he had at least managed to identify the very first person who had foreseen the disaster.

...

Unfortunately, it remained an eternal Truth that worldly affairs are hard to predict.

Steering a car he had commandeered off the street with one hand, Fu Qian drove straight to Paul’s residence. He knocked on the door. No response.

He gave it a push. The door swung open to reveal an entirely empty apartment.

This guy went out too? In the midst of all this chaos, where could he possibly go? Was he hauled off by The Company to be ”debunked”?

That wouldn’t be surprising, but unless someone was actively courting death the way Fu Qian had earlier, The Company usually didn’t need to resort to such extreme measures. Generally speaking, publicly admitting one’s mistake was enough to get sent home.

Had he been so confident in his visions that he went on the run?

Paul didn’t seem like the decisive type.

As he pondered in silence, he noticed a sudden twitching in his grip.

He glanced down. The kitten, Henry, was squirming in his hand, seemingly thrilled to be back home.

Wait a minute... Was this a legendary case of mutual devotion? Had Paul gone out looking for this furball?

A possibility flashed in his mind. Ignoring Henry’s squirming desire to run free, Fu Qian marched back downstairs and headed straight for the movie theater.

The theater was one of Henry’s two main stomping grounds. If, for whatever reason, Paul had suddenly developed a sense of responsibility as an owner, the odds of him searching for the cat there were noticeably high.

Of course, if Paul wasn’t there either, Fu Qian couldn’t waste more time finding a needle in the ocean. He would have to head back to the research building to check on Mask and the others’ progress.

Assuming they still had time.

...

The facts proved that even amidst rampant rumors, the public’s passion for cinema remained undeterred.

Standing at the theater entrance, Fu Qian could hear a chorus of howling rising and falling from within.

But one had to look on the bright side. A scene this chaotic was bound to spawn at least a mini-boss.

Guided by the passionate, surging noise, Fu Qian stuck to his principle of heading wherever the action was thickest, quickly locating the entrance to one of the screening rooms.

Through the gloom, he saw men and women coated in glowing fluorescent patterns swarming a set of doors, desperately trying to get inside.

The catch was that they weren’t getting anywhere. The doors were clearly locked shut.

Fu Qian’s eyes lit up. He holstered his sedatives, drew Mercy, and fired a shot without a single word.

As one lucky audience member had their head instantly blown off, the once-chaotic scene fell dead silent for a fraction of a second.

A few seconds later, the crowd finally registered the intrusion and swarmed toward him in a frenzy.

But as a veteran of such encounters, Fu Qian expertly kited the mob in a large circle, taking only a few minutes to loop right back to the locked doors.

Spotting the keyhole through a smear of blood, he unlocked the door in the span of a single breath.

Unfortunately, pushing against it only produced a heavy scrape. The door barely cracked open, completely jammed by a pile of miscellaneous junk on the other side.

I knew it.

The commotion at his back was drawing closer. Peering through the gap in the clutter, Fu Qian’s gaze rapidly scanned the dim theater until he finally spotted a figure crouched in the dark, hugging their knees.

Adele?

That noticeably slender frame didn’t belong to Paul at all, but rather to his neighbor, Adele.

Perfect! Far from being alarmed, Fu Qian was delighted. He simply hoisted the cat in his hand to show him off.

Meow!

And the creature even chimed in with a highly cooperative yowl.