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A college student named Leroy Burnham was found hanging in his apartment above a record shop, an apparent suicide note was found. It detailed repeated dreams of being inside a concrete box. What the police did not know was that the body is made from wood shavings, obituaries, wire and plastic wrap. He had gone to join his flock.
A car owned by an Edna Abner swerved off the road and combusted after it was hit by a 14-wheeler on the road to Nevada. Her family grieved, but the wreck burned so thoroughly that they can't find any trace of her. She had gone to join her flock.
A trailer home owned by a Travis Fullman had exploded. Police found a stash of weaponry, and the alphabet organizations started to dig into Travis's background based on criminal suspicions. They found none, for he had gone to join his flock.
A convenience store owner was killed by his trusted employee, Theo Ferdinand, just as his night shift was ending. Theo and five others garbed in animal masks dragged the body into the store's freezer, but the cameras never saw anything but static. The body, and the other six people, was never found, for Theo had gone to join his flock.
A hobo known as 'Sleepin' Ed Lamarck' was never seen again after he wandered into the woods, witnessed by the other homeless folk. They suspect depression has claimed another one. They did not dream that night. He had gone to join his flock.
A young woman by the name of Rachel Eduardo had been seen in her neighborhood after she went missing a year ago. She disappeared after taking a taxi to the local cemetery. As an urban legend gets propagated around her sighting, she had gone to join her flock.
Francis Marquez couldn't sleep again that night. There seems to be something wrong to this place. It could be that the stress of his new assignment here's getting to him. It's been two weeks since he got here.
"So, you keep having nightmares after you were transferred here?" Dr. Jameson, one of the site's therapist asked as he scribbles nothing on his notebook. The man in front of him, Francis, is a member of the Protection division. Paperwork and history seems clean.
"Yeah doc, I keep having these dreams where the entire site's got no doors." Francis responds, deliberately trying to forget some of the finer details of the nightmare, like the dust crusting the corners, or the things fluttering within the fog.
"The entire site, you say? Then how would people get around?" Dr. Jameson thinks that Francis should get reassigned from his current post on RPC-559. The thing inside might be subconsciously influencing Francis' mind.
"I don't know, doc… In those dreams, I can hear other people, but I never see any other person. And I feel like I need to get out of the place." The voices Francis heard never made a sound, other than screaming.
"Must be just work-related anxiety, then. I'll prescribe some medication for you, some for general anxiety, and some to negate any subtle effects RPC-559 might have on you." Dr. Jameson did not say that the latter is mostly placebo. And a bit of short-range amnestics, to boot.
Then a detail jumps out into Francis' consciousness. "Oh, yeah, there's always this door that appears just as the dreams are about to end. May I draw it, doc?"
Dr. Jameson picks up a sheet of paper. "Sure, why not?"
Francis picks up a pen and started drawing. "So, this door, it keeps appearing when I feel the need to get out getting so strong, y'know? Just appears there on a wall when I'm not looking. And it was covered in these scrawling things…"
The picture perfectly captures the strange door, complete with its runes. As Francis and Dr. Jameson watches in shock, it seems like the door grew out of the paper. Then, as the blood-red handle turns, Dr. Jameson was about to reach for his office phone - intent to call a security breach. He never made it, as six people dressed in animal masks and wielding strange wooden instruments entered the room. One of them took aim with their cosmoline-runed stick, and a dusty line shot into Dr. Jameson. In his place were dozens of moths fluttering, eating into the therapist's clothes.
"W-who are you?!" Francis stammered, his hands reaching for his gun on his belt.
"Rest easy, you will not have nightmares anymore." Another cloud of dust, and Francis is no more. A hand picked up his access cards, along with Dr. Jameson's.
"The uncertain fire will belong to the Moth-that-Was." The group exited Dr. Jameson's office, and deeper into the secret facility.
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