Eldritch Horror Theatre

This had to count as a unique historical remnant.

Normally, prisons were built in remote areas.

Taking in the crowded downtown surroundings, Fu Qian could almost picture its former glory.

The town's development was easy to guess: during its prosperous era, it had expanded outward, swallowing up this desolate patch of land and inadvertently giving its criminals prime inner-city real estate.

Unfortunately, as the town fell into decline, even a facility like this could no longer be maintained.

That former bustle stood in stark contrast to the deserted silence of the present. Coupled with the unique concept of a downtown prison, it was easy to see why artists favored the place—it even looked like some eccentric masters had set up shop here.

Among the multitude of colorful graffiti, one piece caught Fu Qian's eye.

It used only red and green—the exact same shades he had seen on the graffiti from the breakfast shop—yet it effortlessly depicted an incredibly vivid image.

Vines and blood.

Although the mural was only a few meters wide, the sheer lushness of the vines radiated from the wall.

They weren't just hidden within the wall of flesh, either. The vines extended toward some unseen point deeper inside the prison, clustering together to form a towering—flower of rot?

In that moment, Fu Qian felt his own artistic talent had been validated.

The artist behind this piece actually shared his philosophy.

Driving slowly past, Fu Qian absorbed the artistic impact but didn't stop, rolling straight toward the prison's former entrance.

The site retained its original flavor. The main gates stood wide open, presenting a new atmosphere of inclusivity—or perhaps just the vigorous vitality of that flower of rot.

Looking in from this angle, he could see more than one car parked in the yard.

Just as he had heard, this place seemed to be burning through the very last of the town's vitality.

Though for now, just like the surrounding streets, there wasn't a single living soul in sight.

Fu Qian didn't linger; he just turned the car and drove right in.

...

So, where should he start?

Having successfully gone to prison, Fu Qian—whose empathy had always been a strong suit—quickly entered the cell-selection phase.

This was when the drawbacks of being overly artistic became apparent.

After all, these people were still participants in a market economy, and there were even public galleries. Glancing across the renovated buildings, he could spot quite a few signs.

Unfortunately, as if trying to prove how unique they were, every shop refused to use any vulgar, commercial language. The result was a unified front of incomprehensible nonsense; he couldn't tell what any of these places actually did.

It wasn't a major problem, though. Finding Rachel, who might have skipped work to come here, was just a side quest.

His main reason for visiting was to track down the two missing teenagers.

'Let me think... what kind of style would normal fourteen-year-olds be interested in?'

Fu Qian continued putting himself in their shoes, driving slowly and evaluating each location's appeal to the youth.

Of course, the adjective "normal" was very important here.

While he had undoubtedly been fourteen once, Fu Qian was an honest man; he knew better than to use himself as a point of reference.

Generally speaking, kids at that age were inevitably drawn to dark, edgy, and brutal themes, but the core focus was usually rebellion...

He didn't have to search for long. His gaze soon landed on one particular spot, and he brought the car to a halt.

...

It didn't even have a sign, but the exterior walls had clearly been carefully repaired and painted.

Compared to the rest of the area, the chosen color was incredibly fresh—a striking cyan, devoid of any other patterns.

Although it wasn't particularly tall, it was clearly a standalone structure, much like a Guard Tower, which made it stand out from its surroundings.

As he had noted earlier, teenagers didn't necessarily always prefer dark things; rebellion was the key.

If this building were located anywhere else, they might not have given it a second glance. But surrounded by all the freakish setups here, it became the ultimate contrast—something that would seriously tug at a rebellious teenager's heartstrings.

"Heh... so you made the same childish choice after all..."

However, just as Fu Qian locked onto his target and took a few steps away from his car, a low voice—laced with undisguised disdain—rang out right next to him.

Oh?

Strictly speaking, the comment had sounded like a muttered thought, but it was undoubtedly a critique aimed right at him.

As expected of the artists here, renowned for their Insight—they had instantly grasped the spirit behind his choice.

Although he had only been putting himself in the shoes of a teenager and was immediately rewarded with being called "childish," Fu Qian didn't feel any negative emotions.

This felt exactly like triggering an NPC dialogue—he hadn't even needed to initiate the interaction himself.

It seemed his actions just now hadn't just locked onto a target, but had killed two birds with one stone.

Was this the true power of empathy?

Sighing deeply in amazement, Fu Qian caught sight of the speaker's face.

Not bad. Very artistic.

The face was long and gaunt, with a sallow complexion and sparse hair. It was currently poking out from behind a nearby half-open door.

Looks were one thing, but the most striking aspect was actually the position of the head.

Everything below the neck was hidden behind the door, but the height at which the head protruded was incredibly bizarre.

The unusual posture and unprompted speech could still be chalked up to a creative way of soliciting customers.

However, the ceiling of this building wasn't low at all. It was hard to imagine a normal person standing there and being able to crane their head to that height.

"Just as childish as you stopping in your tracks the moment you heard me."

And it definitely wasn't a fake head. Seeing Fu Qian turn to look, the face spoke again. It even pulled into an exaggerated smile, the sarcasm dripping even thicker than before.

The underlying meaning was easy to grasp: not only did Fu Qian have the childish rebelliousness of a youth, but he was also just as easily influenced by others.

"And what are the benefits of not being childish?"

Taking in this unique conversational technique, Fu Qian didn't pause his steps; he walked right up to the door.

...

"Naturally, it will open your eyes and let you experience something truly interesting."

It felt as though the person behind the door had been fully prepared. If Fu Qian had stopped walking because of that remark, the man would have undoubtedly delivered a triple-combo of mockery.

However, as the old saying went, clashes of presence were very subtle.

Officer Encore's peaceful tone and steady pace seemed to have put quite a bit of pressure on him, creating a feeling of lost control—as though Fu Qian was completely ignoring his rhythm.

Despite that, the man stubbornly chose to answer, refusing to pull his head back in.

"Like this?"

Unbothered, Fu Qian casually pushed the door open.

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