The Weight of Preparation (September 4th – 9th, 1930)

The week following the investigators’ arrival at the Federated Oil and Chemical (FOC) headquarters in Detroit was a study in controlled transformation. Within the fortified walls of the six-story industrial complex, the line between academia and espionage began to blur. The survivors of the Miskatonic expedition—Professor Lilian Neill, Teddy Harris, Sofia Picado, and Peter Goodman—found themselves in a unique limbo: they were guests of the world’s most powerful man, yet they were essentially inmates in a “gilded prison” of high-tech security and clinical obsession.

For Sofia Picado, the week was defined by a rejection of her own perceived helplessness. Haunted by the memory of the bullet that tore through her shoulder in the Science Annex, she traded her laboratory apron for a rifle sling. Under the rigid tutelage of Sam “Captain” Morrison, Sofia spent hours on the underground firing range, mastering the steady rhythm of the Lee-Enfield Mark III. “I’ve spent my life looking at chemicals under a microscope,” she noted to her companions, “but in the heat of that lab, formulas didn’t save us. I won’t let the side down again”. Her analytical mind, however, could not stay away from the FOC labs entirely. She spent her afternoons with Dr. Sarah Matherson, observing the chemical structures of alien biology and the agonizingly slow process of rehydrating the specimens retrieved from the Andes.

Peter Goodman, meanwhile, honed the skills he had learned hunting in the woods of Wisconsin. He moved through the accelerated weapons drills with a lethal efficiency that even the stoic Morrison respected. However, Peter’s primary focus remained the preservation of the group. He viewed the FOC building not as a sanctuary, but as a potential trap. His suspicions regarding Michael Abelard’s ultimate agenda—the “Project” that the staff spoke of with such hushed reverence—only grew as he watched the reclusive millionaire from afar. He knew better than to articulate them, however.

Professor Lilian Neill found a different kind of preparation in the FOC library. She sought solace in the company of Professor David Drake, finding a kindred spirit in his intersection of history and abnormal psychology. Their discussions ranged from the folklore of the Abenaki to the psychological profiles of those who claim to have seen “Sky Creatures”. Yet, Lilian also sought to bridge the gap with Dr. Matherson, recognizing the shared burden of being high-intellect women in a world dominated by men like Abelard. Through these social maneuvers, Lilian began to see the “tells” of the FOC staff—discerning an earnestness in their mission, but also a profound, underlying fear.

Teddy Harris, true to his nature, retreated into the narrative. He obsessed over Abelard’s personal journals, attempting to weave the millionaire’s tragic history into a coherent story that might explain the madness they were about to return to in Vermont. He did the bare minimum of combat training, his hands more comfortable with a pen—or his blood-stained trenching tool—than a rifle. Though there was a strange moment… his writings weren’t all he expected.

The Last Supper (September 10th, 1930)

On the evening of the 10th, the atmosphere within the headquarters shifted from preparation to anticipation. The following morning was “Go Day,” the date set for their return to Cobb’s Corners. To mark the occasion, Abelard invited the group to his private dining room on the sixth floor for a final celebratory meal.

The evening began with the clinical opulence typical of FOC. Selena Preston expertly popped a champagne cork, the sound echoing through the room as Murdoch, the imposing Scottish bodyguard, wordlessly distributed the glasses. Abelard, seated in his wheelchair, raised his flute in a toast. 

“To a successful expedition,” Abelard began, his voice steady. “I am hopeful that this team can discover the truth of these nefarious creatures and help us conquer this blight on our planet”. 

As the investigators raised their glasses to their lips the lights died.

The darkness was absolute. The heavy shutters over the windows ensured that not even the faint glow of the Detroit skyline could penetrate the room. In the sudden silence, the only sound was the rhythmic squeak of Abelard’s wheelchair. “Bloody power company,” he muttered, striking a match to light a series of candles. 

The Descent into Carnage

While Abelard dismissed the failure as a common industrial “brownout,” the security staff reacted with a hushed, urgency that the investigators immediately detected. Morrison and Murdoch exchanged a furtive glance, surreptitiously checking their firearms before planning to head to the basement to check the fuses with the mechanic, Larry Nekler. 

Peter and Sofia, sensing that the darkness held more than a simple mechanical failure, insisted on accompanying them. Following a brief stop off at their rooms, they were armed with a single electric torch and their new weaponry, they descended the stairwell into the bowels of the building. 

As they approached the fourth floor, the silence was shattered by a sound that would haunt them forever: a heavy, wet crunching followed by the smashing of furniture. Through the door, they witnessed a nightmare in the flickering torchlight. The rehydrated specimens in the lab had not been mere “biological samples”—they were alive. 

The attack was instantaneous. Sam Morrison was staggered as a creature lashed out, blood soaking his shoulder. Murdoch, displaying the grim bravery of a man who had seen too much, pushed the investigators back into the stairwell and slammed the door, holding it shut with his own weight as the things on the other side began to tear through the wood and steel.

“I don’t think we can keep them in,” Murdoch grunted, his voice a low rasp of pain. 

The Stand on the Sixth Floor

The retreat was a frantic blur of adrenaline and shadow. Sofia led the way up the stairs, her heart hammering against her ribs as she realized Murdoch had fallen behind. By the time they reached the safety of the sixth floor and the door was bolted shut, the Scotsman was gone, replaced by the sound of another gunshot and a sickening, rhythmic thumping from the floors below.

Within the dining room, the investigators transformed from guests into a desperate militia. Under Abelard’s command, they barricaded the doors with heavy sideboards and propped chairs under the handles. Sofia and Peter took up positions in the hallway, their eyes fixed on the elevator and the stairwell door. To provide light, they set controlled fires in metal trash cans, casting long, dancing shadows across the Art Deco finery.

A creature breached the stairwell door with a violent shove that shattered the locking mechanism. It was not the insectoid Mi-Go they had seen in the Vermont woods. This was a Sea-Dweller — a bipedal, fish-like monstrosity with globular eyes and a mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth. Its movement was loping and sliding, like an eel navigating dry land.

The hallway erupted in gunfire. Sam Morrison, firing with his off-hand, saw his shots ricochet harmlessly off the doorframe. Sofia’s first shot went wide as the creature’s alien physique defied her aim. It was Peter Goodman who held his nerve. With a steely eye, he squeezed the trigger of his Colt, the first shot tearing into the creature’s torso and the second slamming directly into its gaping, needle-filled mouth. The monstrosity stumbled and collapsed, its dark, viscous body fluids staining the expensive carpet.

The Elevator Gamble

The victory was short-lived. A high-pitched, feminine scream echoed from the floors below—likely the kitchen or cleaning staff who had been caught in by a creature. Teddy Harris, his voice shaking but filled with a sudden, fierce resolve, challenged Abelard’s plan to wait it out. 

“If we can’t stop this thing here, where we are strong,” Teddy argued, “how do you expect us to do it in the wilderness? We cannot let this get out into the city”.

Moved by the young man’s conviction, the group decided to draw the remaining creature to them. Teddy used his shovel to create a rhythmic, metallic clanging in the elevator shaft, a sound that resonated through the entire building. 

The response was almost immediate. From the depths of the shaft came a frantic scraping. As the creature began to climb the cabling toward the fifth floor, Peter Goodman made a split-second decision. He retrieved a grenade he had surreptitiously “borrowed” from the training range and prepared to drop it down the shaft. 

“Clear!” Peter shouted, casting the iron egg onto the lift’s metal mesh. 

The explosion was a deafening “crump” that reverberated through the FOC building. Metal screamed as the primary cables were severed, and the investigators watched in grim silence as the elevator plummeted down the shaft, carrying the second creature with it to a crushing end in the basement.

The Residue of Revenge

When the dust finally settled and the investigators descended to the basement to confirm the kill, they were met with a scene of absolute carnage. The lab was a ruin of shattered glass and torn flesh; the staff working late had been decimated. 

Most unsettling, however, was the fate of the “Sea-Dwellers.” Within minutes of their deaths, the corpses began to dissolve, leaving behind nothing but a messy, tacky residue that smelled of putrefaction and ozone. It was the same disappearing act they had witnessed with the Mi-Go in Arkham, a chilling reminder that their enemies possessed a biology designed to leave no evidence behind.

A Sombre Departure (September 11th – 18th, 1930)

The fallout of the Detroit breach was swift. Abelard used his considerable influence to keep the police at bay, but the building was effectively decommissioned for repairs. The “Go Day” was delayed by a week as the team recovered and Sam Morrison’s shoulder was tended to.

The key loss was Murdoch. The big Scotsman survived his ordeal, thanks to a timely intervention by Prof. Lillian O’Neill, but the damage to his arm and leg meant he would not be joining the expedition to the valley. 

Sofia had a recurring dream: it covered a period of days Sofia, during which she felt progressively less and less well. What started as easily dismissed cramps became all consuming pain that came in waves, the frequency of which increased hour by hour. The others were concerned. Doctors were called, but no one could seem to help. Pain became a constant. She couldn’t speak and barely open her eyes it was so intense. Her skin itched. She scratched, unable to resist. Scratching turned to tearing. Something in her hand had snagged and ripped her skin. She struggled to open her eyes as she raised her hand to her face. The last things she saw were a taloned and webbed monstrosity where her hand had been and a distraught Peter with a rifle trained on her.

If there was any reason to be thankful, then she was thankful it was just a dream.

As everything was finally readied for departure on the 18th of September, there was no champagne reception and no celebratory toasts. Not this time. The investigators now understood that the “Masters” were not the only threat they faced. There were other things, ancient and aquatic, that the Mi-Go had seen fit to capture—things that Abelard, in his hubris, had brought into the heart of his empire.

They are heading back to the “belly of the beast” in Cobb’s Corners, but as Peter Goodman noted while he quietly informed the group of the suspicious look Abelard gave Dr. Matherson during the cleanup, they aren’t just worried about what’s in the hills anymore. They are starting to wonder exactly what kind of war Michael Abelard is truly fighting.

Until next time,

Owen