The fog got thicker the closer I got to Miller's Crossing.
It wasn't like natural fog—this moved against the wind, folding over the road like a living thing. My car's headlights barely cut through it, and the GPS kept glitching, spinning in circles like I was driving into nowhere.
The system didn't help.
> [Mission: "Dead Signal" – Time Remaining: 02:42:17]
Objective: Terminate the Broadcast
Threat: Cognitive Interference / Psychic Contagion
Side Effect: You may experience disassociation, identity bleed, or memory distortion.
I muttered to myself, "Great. Another Tuesday night."
The radio turned on by itself. No station—just static.
But underneath, something moved.
A voice trying to speak, garbled, like drowning in wires.
"—Kai… don't turn it off…"
I slapped the power button.
Nothing.
I yanked the cord out of the dashboard.
Still nothing.
> [System Update: Signal Penetration – 12%]
[Mental Resistance: Holding]
The system wasn't lying.
This wasn't just a cursed place.
The signal itself was a living thing.
And I was driving straight into its throat.
---
Miller's Crossing looked abandoned.
The town was just a skeleton of cracked pavement and flickering lamps.
And the radio tower?
It stood tall like a rusted god, bones of metal piercing the black sky. Red warning lights blinked slowly from the top—almost like an eye trying to stay awake.
The station was a squat building at its base. Windows blacked out with paint. Door chained shut with a sign that read:
> "SILENCE IS SURVIVAL."
I ignored it.
Because it was already too late.
---
Inside the station, the air was warm.
Too warm.
Like something had been breathing in here for hours.
> [Warning: Contagion Field Active – Mind Stability Weakening]
[Temporary Buff Applied: Mental Ward Seal – Duration: 30 Minutes]
I moved carefully. The walls were padded with old acoustic foam, some of it melting, some of it twitching like it was trying to breathe.
I passed recording booths filled with old equipment, most of it fried by something that had melted the wires.
And then I found the control room.
The broadcast system was still running.
The screen blinked with a waveform I didn't recognize—one that moved like a heartbeat.
And the speakers whispered my name.
> "Kai. We missed you. Come back. Let us in."
Then the screen flashed violently—
> [Broadcast Contact Detected – Identity Lock Initiated]
[New Threat: Signal Entity – "The Broadcaster"]
Mental Infection Level: 19%
Time to Full Possession: 00:47:31
I hit the power switch.
Nothing happened.
Then I heard the sound.
Not static.
Not voices.
Typing.
Fast. Erratic.
Coming from the broadcast booth.
---
I stepped in slowly.
And I saw her.
A woman.
Thin, fingers twitching over a dead console. Head tilted. Eyes blacked out with ink—literal ink, dripping down her cheeks.
She typed faster and faster. The keys weren't plugged into anything. There were no lights.
But every stroke sent another whisper through the speakers.
I got closer.
And she stopped.
Then turned to me.
Her mouth opened wide—too wide.
Like her jaw had been unhinged.
She screamed—
But no sound came out.
Just the signal.
It tore through me like glass and thunder.
I dropped to my knees. Blood leaked from my ears.
> [System Breach: Psychic Overload]
Sanity: 39% → 28%
Status Effect: Identity Echo – Active
You are now sharing consciousness with the entity's victims.
---
Suddenly, I wasn't alone in my own head.
I felt them.
Dozens of minds—trapped, broken, whispering all at once.
"He made us hosts…"
"We were just listeners…"
"Turn it off, turn it off, TURN IT OFF—"
I staggered backward, grabbing a mic stand for balance.
The woman was gone.
But the room was now pulsing.
The walls beat like lungs, and the control board lights turned on.
> [New Directive: Terminate The Broadcaster]
And that's when the lights cut out.
A shape stepped into the hallway.
---
It wore a DJ's headset.
Suit torn. Hands missing fingers.
But the mouth—oh god, the mouth—was split ear to ear, stuffed with speaker wire, and still broadcasting.
"Kai," it said, voice layered with screams and lullabies, "you listen so well. You always have."
Then it lunged.
---
I dodged, barely, as it smashed into the wall.
It didn't bleed.
It crackled.
Like its skin was full of radio tubes and sparks instead of flesh.
I swung the mic stand hard, knocking it into the glass. It hissed.
The system blinked red.
> [System Trigger: Combat Protocol – Signal Entity Class]
Weakness: Interference / Truth Signal
Environment Weapon Detected: Mic Stand
Buff Applied: Echo Reversal (Temporary)
I jammed the mic into the console and screamed into it:
"SHUT. UP."
The speakers blew out in a blast of static and blood.
The Broadcaster howled—feedback tearing through its body as smoke poured from its mouth.
Then it collapsed, twitching, burning, until it melted into the floor.
---
The console screen turned blue.
> [Manual Override Accepted]
Would you like to End the Broadcast?
Y/N
My hand hovered.
I felt the minds still screaming inside me.
Some were begging for release.
Some were begging me to keep it going.
"I'm not your transmitter," I muttered.
And hit Y.
---
The station went silent.
Not just quiet.
Not just still.
I mean silent.
Like the very air stopped vibrating.
> [Mission Complete: "Dead Signal"]
+3 Attribute Points
+Skill Upgrade: "Sorrowbound Sight" → "Sorrowbound Pulse" (Active)
(Allows detection and disruption of spiritual frequencies for 10 seconds. Cooldown: 60s)
Rare Key Acquired: "Hollow Frequency" (Type: UNKNOWN – Requires Gateway)
> Sanity: 28% → 30%
Infection: Purged (Temporary)
Memory Node Expanded
I stepped outside as the morning sun tried to break through the fog.
My ears still rang.
My head still ached.
But the voices were quiet.
And in that silence…
I realized something.
The system wasn't just testing me.
It was tuning me.
One frequency at a time.