Ron returned to his hotel late at night, exhaustion weighing on him, but sleep wouldn't come. By morning, a plan had formed in his mind. He sent a message to Bruce, asking if he and Carter could visit. Bruce replied almost instantly:
"Come any time. Bring Carter too."
Carter and Ron drove through the waking city, but along the way, a message from an old friend popped up—Akira Antonito was in town. They agreed to pick him up.
As they approached Bruce's abandoned family villa, Ron parked a short distance from the entrance.
"Akira, wait here," he said. "Or take a walk. We won't be long."
Carter and Ron proceeded to the front door. Ron pressed the third bell, and as before, the hidden underground passage opened, revealing the base below.
Meanwhile, curiosity got the better of Akira. He wandered closer to the villa and, spotting no one around, approached the front door. Though the house had been abandoned for nearly twenty years, a strange energy seemed to pulse through it.
Three bells lined the doorway, and Akira, unsure of their function, pressed the first. A few seconds later, the door creaked open. A tall, handsome man stood there, his face unreadable.
"Is Ron—" Akira started, but the man slammed the door shut without a word.
Confused, Akira pressed the bell again. Same result. Frustration mounting, he pressed the second, then the third, and finally the first once more. Suddenly, the underground passage opened. Akira stepped in.
The man at the door's eyes glowed blood-red, and his body dissolved into a thick black fog. It flowed silently, unseen, and Akira was pulled into it.
Inside the base, Carter and Ron were wrapping up their discussion with Bruce when alarms rang out.
"What the hell is that?" Ron demanded.
Bruce rushed to the monitors. "Someone triggered all the bells at once!"
The CCTV footage revealed Akira entering the passage—and then being snatched by a black fog.
"That idiot!" Ron cursed. "We told him to wait!"
Carter frowned. "What… what was that thing? Where did it come from?"
Bruce's face went pale. "You've got to be kidding me… No. Not him. Not now…"
After a tense few minutes, Bruce steadied himself enough to speak. "That fog… that was my elder brother, Eddie. He was the best big brother anyone could ask for. He gave everything for us."
Carter blinked. "I thought your whole family… died?"
"They did," Bruce said, voice heavy. "But their souls—or twisted echoes of them—are trapped here. They can't move on. They want justice. That's why I became the protector of this city. But I haven't delivered what they need yet."
Bruce wiped his eyes. "Before Eddie died, he built this underground base. Handed me the keys. Told me to live on. He shielded me when the cult attacked… took every blow himself."
He shuddered at the memory. "'Live your life to the fullest,' he said. 'I'm just a figure from the past.'"
Ron placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "You were just a kid. You couldn't have stopped it. But maybe I can help them get the justice they deserve."
Bruce met his gaze. "And what could you possibly do?"
"Leave that to me," Ron said firmly.
Later, Ron approached the upper house alone. Dr. Thomas had trained him enough to enter dangerous locations, though it always strained his body. He rang the first bell.
Eddie opened the door, his stoic expression softening when Ron handed him a sealed letter written in an ancient language.
"Welcome. You should have said Dr. Thomas sent you," Eddie said in that old tongue.
He stepped aside. Ron entered—and the walls of the house transformed into screens of memory.
The entire childhood of Bruce played out before him. He watched as Bruce grew from a joyful infant into a bright, laughing child surrounded by a loving family.
Then came the fateful day. Cultists, disguised as guests, stormed the house. One by one, Bruce's family was slaughtered. They sought an object the family refused to give.
Eddie fought valiantly to save his younger brother and sister. Bruce survived, but his sister did not. Eddie's body was mangled, unrecognizable, yet he kept fighting.
In the chaos, Ron noticed a figure moving calmly through the shadows—DA. He wrapped Bruce in a dark cloth, carried him to the garden, and called the authorities. As the sirens approached, the cultists fled.
DA's eyes met Ron's. The world and the memory began to dissolve, turning into a swirling fog of black, gray, and green. The house itself transformed into an endless mist, coalescing into a towering castle of fog.
Beneath Ron's feet, a path formed—leading straight to it.