Chapter 369: Fiona's Release
Through games like Outlast and Resident Evil, one thing becomes clear—once people begin to understand the unknown, even at a basic level, and learn how to fight back, their fear diminishes dramatically.
What remains is no longer fear of the unknown—only the fear of not having enough firepower.
And the key to all of this is understanding.
In many situations, information is more powerful than weapons.
Because at its core, fear is born from mystery—from the unknown.
That's why Frank devised this method for Walter.
Walter would never meet anyone in person—not Goodman, not Jesse, not even Jimmy. All communication would be handled through phone calls, with instructions given remotely.
And even then, he would use a voice changer, disguising his identity completely—no one would know whether he was young or old, male or female.
No one would know who was on the other end of the line.
And that uncertainty would protect him.
Heisenberg was already being mythologized in the underworld, turned into something larger than life. Walter's approach would only deepen that illusion, amplifying the fear.
People would fill in the blanks themselves—and the conclusions they reached on their own would be the ones they believed in most.
As long as no one truly understood Heisenberg, no one could strike at it.
Because once again—
the unknown is the root of fear.
Take Jimmy, for example.
When he transported the shipment, no one was watching him. If he had decided to steal it and disappear, Walter would have had no way to stop him.
And yet, Jimmy didn't dare.
He was intimidated—by Heisenberg, by the unseen presence behind it, by Walter's invisible authority.
So he followed every instruction, step by step, exactly as told.
Meanwhile, Frank had already stopped worrying about what was happening in New Mexico.
Right now, he was lying in a hospital bed.
He had suddenly collapsed, and the kids had rushed him to the hospital.
Fortunately, he hadn't been unconscious for long—just a few hours before he woke up.
But the toll of the trip back to Chicago had been heavier than expected. His body was reaching its limit, and he had no choice but to stay under observation.
The whole family stayed with him at the hospital.
It wasn't until night fell, and Frank drifted into a deep sleep, that the others finally went home to rest—they still had school the next day. Only Fiona stayed behind to keep watch, with Sammi set to take over in the morning.
When the first rays of sunlight filtered into the room, Frank slowly opened his eyes.
He turned his head and saw Fiona, slumped over the bedside.
"You're awake? Do you feel alright?" Fiona was a light sleeper—she woke the moment she felt him move.
"I'm fine. Since the others aren't here… there's something I want to talk to you about," Frank said.
"About what?" Fiona replied, getting up to pour him some water.
"This is a recommendation letter. With it, you can get an internship at an accounting firm. I've already arranged everything for you in New York—housing, expenses, all of it."
He handed her the envelope.
Fiona stared at it, stunned.
"I really want you to go to New York. See the world. Don't stay trapped in the South Side forever. The world is much bigger than you think."
He paused, then continued.
"I'm planning to leave the bar to Sammi. That's about as far as her life will go—she still has Chuckie to raise. The house will go to you. And the money, too."
The way Frank spoke…
It sounded exactly like someone making final arrangements.
Because deep down, people can sense when the end is near.
Young people might not understand it, but the elderly often do—at some point, they can sense when their end is approaching.
In the past, when old people felt their time was near, they would even prepare their own coffins and burial clothes in advance.
Frank was no different.
He could feel it too—that his time was running out.
That was why he was saying all this now, trying to settle things with Fiona while he still could.
He only told her part of it, just enough to prepare her mentally. The rest… was written in his will.
"Frank!"
Before he could finish, Fiona suddenly shouted his name—not "Dad," but Frank.
If you looked closely, you'd see her hand tightening around the envelope, crumpling it in her grip.
"Dad, I don't want to hear this. You're not going to die," she said.
"Whether you want to hear it or not, you have to face reality. My body—" Frank began.
"Dad, I used to dream about you dying," Fiona cut in suddenly. "When I put money in donation boxes, I'd pray for it. When I blew out birthday candles, I wished for it. I even wrote letters to Santa asking for it…"
Frank knew she was talking about the old him.
"But now… I don't want you to die," she said, her voice shaking. "The kids need you. This family needs you."
"They'll get through it," Frank said quietly. "No one stays with anyone forever. Sooner or later, everyone goes their own way. With you and Sammi looking after them, I'm not worried. And hardship… it makes them stronger."
"F**k you, Frank!" Fiona snapped.
It had been a long time since she'd cursed at him like that—ever since he'd changed.
"You promised me! You said you wouldn't leave—wouldn't leave any of us! All that 'family comes first' crap—what a joke!"
"If this is how it ends, then you might as well go back to how you used to be! I wish you'd become that selfish, arrogant bastard again—the one who only cared about himself! At least then, no one would have to worry about you like this!"
Frank fell silent, watching her.
"I knew it… I knew my nightmare would come true," Fiona said, her eyes reddening.
"What nightmare?" Frank asked.
"That you never really cared about us." She stood up, tilting her head back to hold back her tears.
"If you really loved us… then you'd keep fighting. For yourself—and for the kids," she said, turning away.
"I'm sorry, I'm late! I brought breakfast!"
At that moment, Sammi pushed the door open, Carl following behind her.
"I'm heading out," Fiona said abruptly, grabbing her coat and rushing out of the room.
"Fiona, at least eat something first!" Sammi called after her.
But Fiona was already gone, not even looking back.
Her thoughts were in chaos—so much so that she didn't even notice something strange:
Carl, who should have been at school, was standing right there in the hospital.
"What happened? Why was she in such a hurry?" Sammi asked, confused.
"Dad, these are your favorite—shrimp dumplings," she added, taking the food out of the bag, trying to lighten the mood.
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