The industrial hinterlands of Trentford and Horsingdon barely conceal, beneath the worn veneer of grimy modernity, their own particular horrors. Rumour clusters thick around certain warehouses and facilities, intimating the existence of monstrous presences and spectral fields within their bounds: an unholy and horrifying fusion of occult secrets and fringe technologies, such fields and presences are the speculated products of ethically-deruglated experimentation and unthinkable existential dread once born from the crucible of Cold War nuclear fire.
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