It was designed as a quarantine facility, not by anyone in the state, but by several professors of the Cross Branch of Miskatonic University. I was against the construction of the building, but my opinion didn’t carry any weight on that particular matter.
Over the years various creatures were accidentally – so I was told – summoned by various professors and their adjuncts. These creatures and some people directly affected by them were housed in what was euphemistically known as the Recovery House.
No one, and nothing, that went into the building recovered. To enter, it was a death sentence. Invariably, the people died. The creatures, well, some of them died peacefully, others I later discovered, died from experimentation.
Evidently, the learned men believed that the creatures lacked any rights, seeing as how they were not of this world.
I tried all the rational, reasonable channels first. And I was turned away each time. Politely, but still turned away.
One evening I went to the Recovery House to speak with the staff, to see if I could not convince someone there to allow me in. I sought to at least send the creatures back from whence they came.
No one allowed me entrance.
As I stood on the stoop, arguing with the night watchman, I heard screaming. It was the high-pitched cry of something being tortured and tortured for no reason.
I killed the night watchman where he stood and moved indoors.
The House was a nightmare, and I killed far more people and unknown entities than I wanted to. There was no saving any of them. The creatures were near death, their tormentors unworthy of life.
When I finished, there was nothing left living in Recovery House. When I went to the university, I left none of the offending professors alive.
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