They Stalk The Halls

Two spectres stalk the halls of Site-19: the spectre of the contained and the spectre of the containers. Long-suffering and weak these spectres are, lacking bone and blood, spine and sinew, flesh and family, mind and muscle.

The one spectre was born when the first concrete was poured into place to form the first foundation of Site-19, at the root of its first containment cell. The year was 1992. The other spectre was born not long after, when a Japanese modern art piece took up residence in that same containment cell, the first unwilling guest of that premiere hotel for horrors. The year was 1993.

And now the year is 2019. The spectres have seen and heard much. And they're understandably pissed. Fucking apoplectic. They have been for a long while. And with every cell, every cage, every standard containment locker, the spectres have moved one hair's-breadth closer to being alive. The dam is painfully close to bursting, and tonight, one anomalous item transfer is going to wash Site-19 down the river.

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