On the shore of Cauldron Lake, in a certain cabin.
Rumble!
Rain poured down in sheets, thunder rolling.
The "Alan Wake" who had appeared today, along with this storm, seemed like an omen, foretelling that the operation to come would be anything but peaceful.
"Constantine, this is some of the intelligence our S.H.I.E.L.D. investigation uncovered."
Sitting at the table by the window, Grant Ward took out a document pouch and pulled out the files and photographs inside.
Across the table, Constantine set down the red wine in his hand and lazily looked at the photos.
The photos were varied: crows wheeling across the sky, a plane that had crashed near the town, the wreckage of houses that had collapsed for no apparent reason.
"What's this?"
His gaze paused on a black-and-white photograph. Constantine pointed at a building in it and asked.
"Oh, that's a cabin on the island in the middle of the lake.
Forty years ago, it sank to the bottom of the lake along with a poet."
After explaining, Grant pushed another photo in front of Constantine.
"This is how it looked when our satellite photographed it ten days ago."
The two photos were placed side by side. One was black-and-white and old; the other was in color, brimming with the feel of the current era.
"Was this new cabin built by the locals?"
Although the colors were different and the eras in which they were taken were different too, Constantine could not see any difference in the cabin shown in them.
But Grant's answer denied that guess.
"Ever since the cabin sank to the bottom of the lake forty years ago, the locals haven't built anything on it."
"Then this cabin is?"
"No one knows. It was as if it suddenly appeared overnight.
After our agents confirmed