TRANSCRIPT: SOMNARIUM. S.017 – The Blueprints
Case of Marcus Hill. First seen by Dr. Paul Moore on November 2nd, 2015, for disorientation, insomnia, recurrent nightmares, and persistent spatial inconsistencies reported during work on a large-scale construction project.
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INTRO
[HDD spins up]
Okay, so.
Maddy is trying to track down Detective Raynor.
Or at the very least find any information she can on him.
[pause]
May hid that message for a reason…
She clearly wanted Maddy to find Raynor… But why?
[pause]
Anyway, while Maddy keeps digging into that, I’m going to do the only thing I can right now.
Going through the rest of the files.
[pause]
Hmm… This next one is… odd.
It’s heavily fragmented and doesn’t have the usual files.
Let’s see…
Hmm…
Construction worker… Subcontractor… BWF Construction.
Of course… it was only a matter of time before they showed up again.
And… what’s this? Dr. Moore?
[pause]
Wait… who the hell is Dr. Moore?
[sighs]
Alright, fine.
Case of Marcus Hill. First seen by Dr. Paul Moore on November 2nd, 2015, for disorientation, insomnia, recurrent nightmares, and persistent spatial inconsistencies reported during work on a large-scale construction project.
PATIENT APPLICATION
Applicant: Marcus Hill
Date: October 28th, 2015
Referral: Dr. [REDACTED]
Dr. Renwyck,
I’m not really the kind of person who writes letters like this, so I’ll just keep it simple.
I’m not sleeping properly. When I do sleep, I keep having the same kind of nightmare. And lately I’ve started having a hard time trusting what I’m seeing at work.
I work construction. I’m a foreman for one of the crews on a large commercial project. I’m not in charge of the whole site, but I’ve been doing this long enough to know when something on a job makes sense and when it doesn’t. You get bad revisions, late changes, engineers making decisions from an office somewhere that don’t hold up once you’re standing in the actual space. That part is normal. Annoying, but normal.
This doesn’t feel normal.
We’ve been working on the lower levels for a while now. Mostly concrete, utility corridors, access halls, that kind of thing. Ugly work. Everything half-finished, temporary lighting, dust in the air, the same grey walls in every direction. Easy enough to get turned around if you’re new, but I’m not new.
A few weeks ago the plans started changing in ways that didn’t make any sense.
Not big obvious changes. Small ones at first. A corridor shifts slightly on the newest revision. An opening that was supposed to stay gets closed off. A door is suddenly marked on the opposite side. You expect that once in a while, but this kept happening. Every morning there’d be another updated set and some part of what we’d already framed out or poured suddenly wasn’t right anymore.
One day they changed a hallway we’d already worked on so that a wall now cut right through the middle of it.
I don’t mean closing it off properly. I mean putting a wall right down the center so there’d only be narrow space on either side to squeeze around it. Not enough room to move equipment through easily, barely enough room for two people to pass each other without turning sideways. It made no practical sense at all.
We all stood there looking at the revision thinking somebody had to be screwing with us.
But it was stamped, signed, issued like any other change.
So we built it.
Then there was another section where the angle on the next set of plans was just… wrong. Hard to explain without putting the drawings in front of you, but the geometry didn’t feel right. Corners that should’ve opened space up somehow made it tighter. Corridors bent in ways that made the route longer for no reason. Dead space where dead space shouldn’t be. Things you could force into a design if you really wanted to, sure, but there was no good reason to.
It’s not like this project was a standard build anyway.
I started asking questions.
Didn’t get much back. Just the usual. “That’s what came down from above.” “Build to current revision.” “Don’t overthink it.”
So we kept building.
The thing is, after a while it stopped just being irritating and started feeling wrong.
Not haunted, not supernatural, nothing like that. No, just wrong.
There’d be days where I’d walk a section in the morning and then go back in the afternoon and it would feel different even when I knew nothing major had changed. I’d have the plans on me, folded in my back pocket, and still find myself hesitating at turns because the space in front of me didn’t match how I remembered moving through it.
Then I started having arguments with the men on my crew.
One guy swore a section had been wider the day before. Another said he was sure a service opening used to be on the left side, not the right. I blamed it on fatigue, bad lighting, being underground for too long. That explanation worked fine until it started happening to me consistently as well.
The worst was about a week ago.
I was below ground checking progress and marking up a few things that needed correcting before the next pour. I had the current plans with me. I know that for a fact, because I took them out more than once down there.
I went farther in than usual, past one of the newer sections they’d only recently opened up. I wasn’t worried at first. I figured I’d take a quick look, turn around and head back.
Then I realized I wasn’t where I thought I was.
That’s a stupid thing to admit. I know how it sounds. But I’d turn a corner expecting to hit the access route and instead I’d be staring down another concrete corridor. I checked the plans. Took another turn. Wrong again. Backtracked. Ended up somewhere I swear I’d already been before. Same unfinished walls, same temporary fixtures, same feeling that I should’ve recognized it and didn’t.
I must’ve been down there a lot longer than I realized because by the time one of the guys found me and asked where I’d been, I was sweaty, angry and embarrassed.
I told him I was checking the lower section.
He looked at me like I was an idiot and said I was nowhere near it.
That shook me more than I want to admit.
I still told myself it was nothing. Stress. Lack of sleep. Too much time staring at concrete and revisions all day.
Except my sleep had already gotten so bad by then.
At first it was just trouble winding down after work. I’d lie there replaying the day in my head, going over mistakes, trying to make sense of the latest revision changes. Then I started waking up in the middle of the night feeling like I’d forgotten something important.
Now I’m barely sleeping at all, and when I do sleep I keep ending up in the same place.
It’s not exactly the site, but it feels close enough that my stomach drops every time I realize where I am. Concrete hallways. Sharp turns. Low ceilings in some places, open space in others. No windows. No real sense of how deep it goes. Sometimes there are work lights. Sometimes it’s almost dark. I’m always moving, always trying to find my way back, and I always have the feeling that if I could just get to the right corridor I’d be out.
But I never do.
The worst part is that in the dream I usually know I’ve got plans on me.
I reach for them, unfold them, look down at the page, and they don’t help. Either they don’t match where I am, or they make sense for about two seconds and then I turn a corner and nothing lines up anymore.
A few nights ago I dreamed I found one of those same walls again, the kind they had us build right down the middle of the corridor. In the dream it went on forever. Just enough room on either side to keep moving if I turned sideways and kept going. I remember trying to decide which side to take, like that mattered.
Then I woke up.
Ever since then, I’ve been dreading sleep almost as much as I’ve been dreading going below ground.
I’m tired all the time. I’m snapping at people. I keep rechecking things I normally wouldn’t think twice about. And I can’t shake the feeling that the place we’re building doesn’t just have bad planning. It feels like it already has a shape, and the plans keep changing because somebody’s trying to force us to match it.
I know how that sounds written out like this.
That’s why I’m writing to you instead of saying it to anyone on-site.
I need to know if this is just exhaustion. Stress. Anxiety. Whatever the answer is.
Sincerely,
Marcus Hill
CONSULTATION NOTE
Patient: Marcus Hill
Date: November 2nd, 2015
Subject: Initial consultation; transcript of tape recording
Transcript recovered from in-practice tape recording. Only the patient’s side of the exchange was captured.
Marcus Hill.
Before we start, I thought I was supposed to be seeing Dr. Renwyck.
Right.
No, that’s fine. I just… I wrote the letter to her, that’s all.
Yeah. Construction.
Foreman. Concrete crew.
No, not the whole site. Just my men.
Yeah, I know what I put in the letter.
That’s the part I could write down without sounding completely insane.
No, that’s not a joke.
Look, I already put the basics in there. The plans changing, the geometry not making sense, getting turned around below ground, the dreams starting after. You have all of that.
The part I left out is what happened after.
I didn’t put that in the letter because I didn’t want Dr. Renwyck to write me off as some lunatic before I even got through the door.
At first I kept telling myself it would pass. Bad stretch on a bad job, too many hours underground, not enough sleep, too many revisions. I figured once we got through the phase we were in, once things opened up a bit and we were spending less time in those lower sections, everything would go back to normal.
I should’ve called it then and just ended the contract.
I should’ve taken one look at what that place was doing to me and walked.
But the money was too good, and I knew a lot of my men needed the money. A couple of them had been chasing steady work for months before landing on that site. One guy had a second kid on the way. Another was helping his brother keep up mortgage payments. You don’t just look those men in the face and tell them you’re pulling out because the hallways are making you uncomfortable.
So I stayed.
And once I made that decision, I started doing what everyone does when they stay too long on a bad job. I made excuses for it.
I told myself I was tired.
I told myself the dreams were only dreams.
I told myself getting lost once with the plans in my pocket was embarrassing, sure, but not impossible.
Then the dreams started changing.
At first it was always the same thing. Concrete corridors, low ceilings, turns that don’t line up, trying to find my way back out with plans that never quite matched what was in front of me. That was bad enough.
Then I started getting the feeling I wasn’t alone down there.
Not seeing anyone. Not at first. Just knowing.
I’d be walking down one of those corridors in the dream and feel it behind me. Not close enough to touch me, not close enough to hear breathing or footsteps, but there. Keeping pace. Like it knew where I was going before I did.
The first few times I didn’t look. I just kept moving faster until I woke up.
Then one night I did.
There was nothing behind me. Just the same corridor stretching back the way I’d come.
Only when I turned forward again, there was a man standing at the far end of the corridor.
I say man because that’s the shape of it. Two arms, two legs, hard hat, work boots, high-vis jacket. Except it wasn’t a man.
It was too still.
You know how people shift without realizing it? Breathing, weight moving from one leg to the other, head turning just slightly? It had none of that. It just stood there looking like a worker cut out of cardboard and left upright in the dark.
I couldn’t see its face.
The hard hat brim covered too much, and the light behind it wasn’t right.
But I knew it was looking at me.
I woke up before it moved.
Next night I dreamed I was back in one of those narrow corridors, the kind with a wall splitting the middle so you have to squeeze past on either side. I was turning sideways to get through when I heard movement on the other side of the wall. Same pace as me. Same stops. Same starts.
I stopped.
It stopped.
I started walking again.
It did too.
And I don’t know why, but I sped up toward the end of the dividing wall because I wanted to get around it and see what was keeping pace with me.
I made it to the end, turned the corner…
…and there was nobody there.
Nothing.
Just more corridor.
I remember standing there in the dream with my heart pounding, staring at an empty stretch of concrete, and then I looked down.
There were wet boot prints on the floor.
Fresh ones.
Coming around the corner toward me.
But stopping a few feet short.
I shot awake and sat up just trying to catch my breath for a bit.
That was when I started dreading sleep.
I wasn’t just sleeping badly anymore. I was trying not to sleep at all.
I started staying up later because I knew the second I dozed off I’d end up back down there. Then I’d be exhausted on-site, which only made the whole place feel worse, which made the nights worse, and then I’d just be stuck in the same cycle.
The men started noticing something was off with me.
No, they didn’t say it straight to my face, but you can tell. Somebody asks if you’re alright twice in one shift. Somebody else offers to handle a walkthrough you normally do yourself. You catch them looking at you a second too long after you stop dead in a corridor trying to remember whether you’ve seen it before.
One of the guys actually asked if I was sleeping at all.
I laughed it off.
What else was I supposed to do?
But then, it got worse. So much worse.
We’d run late again. I sent the crew home one by one until it was just me down there doing one last check before heading out. Nothing complicated. I just wanted eyes on a section before the next day’s work started.
I remember being annoyed more than anything else. Tired, pissed off, ready to go home.
I was in one of the newer lower sections, walking past a run of fresh concrete and temporary lighting, when I got that same feeling from the dreams. That someone was behind me.
I stopped.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No voice. No movement.
I kept going.
A few seconds later I heard something scrape behind the wall beside me. Not loud. Just enough to make me stop again.
It sounded exactly like a boot dragging over concrete.
I called out, thinking maybe one of the men had stayed behind without telling me.
No answer.
I waited.
Nothing.
I should’ve walked around and checked.
I should’ve turned the corner, looked for myself, proved it was nothing and been done with it.
Instead I kept moving.
Then I heard it again. Same pace as me. Same side of the wall.
And the wall wasn’t supposed to be that long.
I knew that section. I knew roughly how far it ran before it opened up, and I knew I should’ve hit the end of it already. But I kept walking and the wall kept going, and that sound stayed with me the whole time on the other side.
Same drag. Same step. Same drag. Same step.
I stopped again and just listened.
Then I heard something impossible.
A knock.
Three times.
From inside the wall.
Not on the other side of it.
Inside it.
I don’t mean muffled from a room beyond. I mean from inside the poured concrete itself, like somebody was knocking to be let out.
I stepped closer to the wall and put my ear up against it, trying to locate exactly where the sound was coming from.
I stood there and listened for longer than I realized, but I heard nothing.
I listened and listened and listened… and then the floodlights went out.
I froze.
I stood there, in the dark, fumbling to turn my headlight on when I suddenly heard footsteps walking away from me.
I turned to look in the direction of the sound and saw faint light in the distance.
As I approached, I realized I was now in an entirely different section of the underground.
I tried to come up with an explanation… I really did. Nothing made sense.
I sat in my truck for a while after, trying to decide whether I’d finally gone off the rails.
Next morning I almost called and pulled out.
I should have.
I came close.
But then I thought about the contract, thought about the money, thought about my men, and told myself exactly what I had been telling myself the whole time: that I was exhausted, that I was seeing things because I wasn’t sleeping, that hearing something behind a wall on a site full of unfinished sections and echoing concrete isn’t exactly a miracle.
So I went back.
And now every time I go below ground it feels like the place recognizes me.
No, I know how that sounds.
I’m not saying the building’s alive.
I’m saying I can’t shake the feeling that whatever is wrong down there, it got worse the longer I stayed.
And now I’m here.
Because I can’t handle not trusting my own senses on a site where people are depending on me.
So tell me it’s stress. Tell me it’s sleep deprivation. Tell me I need a week off and a prescription and eight straight nights in bed.
Fine.
Anything that doesn’t make it sound like I’m imagining things.
Clinical Summary
Mr. Hill came in looking exhausted, tense, and more than a little embarrassed to be here. He was coherent throughout and did not appear confused, detached from reality, or unable to follow the conversation. If anything, he seemed frustrated by how difficult it was to explain himself without sounding irrational.
Most of what he described lines up with a man who has been overworked for too long and is no longer sleeping properly. He reports long hours on a demanding construction site, repeated frustration with changing plans, a growing sense of disorientation in the underground sections, and nightmares that now seem to borrow directly from the place where he works. He also described one recent late-night incident on-site that clearly unsettled him, involving sounds and a visual impression he could not explain.
Even so, my first impression is not that Mr. Hill is detached from reality, but that he is worn down. Poor sleep, chronic stress, repetitive underground work, low light, and too much time spent in unfinished concrete spaces would be enough to leave many people jumpy and second-guessing themselves. In that state, it becomes much easier for the mind to turn ordinary sounds, shadows, and half-seen details into something more threatening than they really are.
What stands out most is not any one event, but the cycle he seems to be caught in. He is sleeping badly, which makes the site feel worse. Then the site follows him into sleep, which makes the next day worse again. He does not strike me as someone inventing these experiences. He sounds like someone who is exhausted, frightened by his own lack of rest, and no longer confident in his ability to separate stress from perception.
I am aware of the kind of cases Dr. Renwyck has taken an interest in, though at present I do not understand how Mr. Hill’s situation connects to that work in any clear way. For now, I believe the more ordinary explanation is still the most likely one.
I prescribed a short course of anti-anxiety medication to help reduce his baseline tension and improve the chances of more regular sleep. He was advised not to take it before driving, operating machinery, or returning to work, and to use it carefully until he knows how strongly it affects him.
I also advised him to avoid staying alone below ground unless absolutely necessary, to cut back on overtime where possible, and to keep a written record of further dreams, disorientation, or unusual experiences on-site before the next appointment.
Follow-up recommended within 10 days.
FOLLOW UP NOTE
Patient: Marcus Hill
Date: November 12th, 2015
Subject: Deteriorating condition; referral to Dr. Renwyck
Mr. Hill returned for follow-up appearing noticeably worse than he had at the first appointment. He looked more tired, more distracted, and less certain of his own ability to explain what has been happening to him. The medication appears to have helped only slightly with his general tension. It has not meaningfully improved the underlying problem.
He reports continued poor sleep, recurring nightmares, and a growing reluctance to return to the underground sections of the site. What is different now is the degree to which these experiences appear to be affecting him during the day. At our first meeting, he still seemed able to keep a firm line between what he was dreaming and what he was encountering at work, even if that line was beginning to fray. That no longer seems to be the case.
Mr. Hill described another episode of disorientation below ground, this time while accompanied by members of his crew. He stated that he became convinced they had taken a wrong turn and argued that they were moving deeper into the structure rather than back toward an access route. According to him, the others disagreed immediately and seemed confused by his reaction. He was unable to explain exactly what made him so certain in the moment, only that the route ahead felt “wrong” in a way he could no longer ignore. He also admitted that he has started checking behind himself repeatedly while underground, even when he knows nobody is there.
Most concerning is the way his sleep and waking experiences now seem to be feeding directly into one another. He reports that the dreams have become more detailed and more difficult to dismiss on waking. He no longer describes them only as anxiety dreams about getting lost. Instead, he speaks about them as if he is returning to the same place each night and continuing from wherever he last left off. He appears aware that this is an alarming way to describe a dream, and he made repeated efforts to correct himself while speaking, but the impression remained.
I still believe exhaustion, prolonged stress, poor sleep, and the conditions of the work environment are playing a major part here. Repetitive underground spaces, low light, monotony of materials, and the pressure of constant revisions would be enough to erode anyone’s confidence if paired with worsening insomnia. Even so, I am less comfortable than I was at the first consultation dismissing the full picture as a straightforward stress reaction. Mr. Hill does not present as theatrical, attention-seeking, or eager to exaggerate. If anything, he continues to seem embarrassed by the seriousness of what he is describing.
Because of the continued decline, the persistence of the dream pattern, and the increasing overlap between sleep disturbance and waking perception, I am referring Mr. Hill to Dr. Renwyck for further evaluation. I know the parameters she has specified for the cases she prefers to review personally, and I would not normally make this referral without a clearer reason. In this case, however, I do not believe routine follow-up under my care is likely to be enough.
Mr. Hill was advised again to avoid remaining alone below ground if possible, to reduce overtime, and to step back from site duties entirely if his judgment continues to worsen before specialist review.
RECOVERED AUDIO LOG
Wait… that’s it?
Where’s the rest of it?
[keyboard typing]
Wait… huh?
An audio file?
Let’s see…
How do I…
There…
Yeah, thats it.
[RECORDING BEEP]
[background noise: people talking / murmuring]
RAYNOR
Hold on, slow down, what are you trying to say?
You said you found something?
MAY
[panicked]
I made a mistake, I thought I took the necessary precautions but… they traced me.
I-I-I can’t go back home.
They know where I live now.
RAYNOR
I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You have my word.
MAY
You have to do something Mr. Raynor. Put me in witness protection, anything.
RAYNOR
We’ll figure something out.
But before I can do that, I need something credible. Evidence of illegal activity.
Okay?
MAY
Okay…
What about construction plans and addresses of hidden underground facilities?
RAYNOR
[surprised]
…Yeah. That’ll work.
Show me.
MAY
[sound of ruffling through her bag]
[typing on a laptop]
Look at this.
RAYNOR
What am I looking at?
MAY
BWF Construction started two projects in 2001, both completed in 2003.
Two identical buildings.
Built at the same time. Same contractor. Same timeline.
[pause]
One sits on… 23 Alder Street.
The other sits on… 14 Blackmere Road.
RAYNOR
[mumbles to himself]
23 Alder Street… why does that ring a bell?
MAY
Something wrong?
RAYNOR
No, nothing. Doesn’t matter.
Go on.
MAY
So, on paper, they’re two separate buildings.
But the plans don’t treat them that way.
RAYNOR
What do you mean?
MAY
They share the same structural base.
RAYNOR
Like the same foundation?
MAY
Not exactly.
The original design was one building.
[pause]
They split it into two after the base was built.
RAYNOR
So both buildings share the same basement?
MAY
Exactly, in reality it’s one large structure, that runs across both properties.
RAYNOR
Do the plans say what it’s for?
MAY
No, but it’s not just a regular basement.
There’s multiple levels and there’s details in the project folder that there was a dedicated HVAC system and separate power.
RAYNOR
Good god, it sounds like they were building a bunker.
MAY
Might as well be the truth, but I think it’s a lab.
[pause]
It might be what you’re looking for.
RAYNOR
Send me all of the information you have on this.
The plans, how to get in, anything that helps me get into the underground.
MAY
Hold on, there’s something else.
RAYNOR
What?
MAY
So, I found those files on a separate server, but there was one more project.
RAYNOR
Another project, what are you talking about?
MAY
It’s labeled SRF.
RAYNOR
SRF?
MAY
Yeah. I can’t figure out what the acronym means, no public records that match anything like it.
Just internal files. Nothing that explains what it is.
[pause]
Different location.
Different scale.
RAYNOR
What do you mean different scale?
MAY
I mean massive.
The site under Alder and Blackmere doesn’t come even close.
RAYNOR
How big are we talking?
MAY
Big.
More than that, they’ve got deep excavation permits.
RAYNOR
So they can just… keep expanding…
MAY
I’m afraid so…
RAYNOR
Do you have an address?
MAY
No… the location was redacted from the files.
It could be anywhere.
RAYNOR
Hmm…
Looking at these plans, they’d need an enormous construction site to hide it.
I’ll head down to city planning in the morning and see what I can dig up.
In the meanwhile, can you get me a copy of these files?
MAY
[sound of something sliding across the table]
Everything’s on here.
RAYNOR
You did good Kade.
MAY
Call me May, please. I hate that name.
RAYNOR
Alright. May, then.
You did good.
[awkward silence]
MAY
Can I ask you something?
RAYNOR
Uhh, yeah… Of course.
MAY
Do you play StarCraft?
RAYNOR
Do I play StarCraft? What even is that?
What’s StarCraft?
Is it a game? Last game I played is… I dunno… PacMan in the arcades…
MAY
[laughs]
Nothing, never mind.
So… what now ?
RAYNOR
Now. Now we get you somewhere safe.
MAY
Wait.
RAYNOR
What’s wrong?
MAY
There’s a guy watching us.
[pause]
RAYNOR
Where?
MAY
By the counter.
RAYNOR
Shit.
Okay, listen. Here’s what we’re gonna do.
MAY
Two more just walked in…
RAYNOR
Okay, stay calm.
I’m gonna get you out of here.
MAY
You need to take that flash drive and get it out of here.
RAYNOR
Don’t be ridiculous, we’re walking out of here together.
MAY
I don’t think that’s an option anymore…
RAYNOR
May, don’t do anything stupid, we can still get out of here.
MAY
[chair slides back]
[speaks to someone across the room]
It’s alright, I won’t put up a fight.
RAYNOR
What are you doing?
MAY
[quietly to Raynor]
Get that out of here. They won’t hurt me as long as they know there’s a copy out there.
There’s too many innocent people here to make a scene.
RAYNOR
May… I… I’ll find you…
MAY
I’m counting on it.
[RECORDING BEEP]
CONCLUSION
That was… Raynor… and… May?
How is that possible?
Wait, and what does that have to do with this case?
[silence]
BWF Construction shows up again…
Ugh… Every time I get an actual clue I just have more questions.
[pause]
[sighs]
Maddy needs to hear this.
Hopefully she found something on Raynor by now.
NO FURTHER MATERIAL RECOVERED
OUTRO PLAYS