When the now defunct Pacific Archetech corporation decided to construct their archology, one of the very first, in the small town of Dakkon in what is now known as Salish they knew they were planting it on top of one of the largest burial sites in the area, the home of around 50,000 deceased individuals, more then half of them Native Americans. Taking advantage of the Resource Rush of the first decade of this century they procured a large plot of what mostly consisted of Indian land and quickly drew up plans for one of the world's first archologies, a project they code named Research Facility R2-12. After only six months of preparation Archetech moved in, at times using deadly force to remove the many who chose to challenge the order to move off of the land. A few days later the land was secured. At that point a large construction crew went to work on a structure that would take them twelve years to complete.

From the beginning they were plagued with problems. Half of the construction crew bolted just as construction began in early 2010. One worker's description on her reason is as follows:

"I was a back hoe driver in Pacific's fleet of construction equipment. Although a formal ground breaking ceremony for the suits had taken place a few day's earlier, we on the foundation crew knew we made the first dent in the dirt that really mattered. We decided to turn the whole thing into a party of our own, drinking the night before and finally deciding to draw straws to see who got to dig the first hole. Guess who won. Well, the next day I wish I hadn't, worst hangover of my life. But almost all of us made it and a crew of about 80 gathered around my monster back hoe waiting for the first strike. I wanted to make it as dramatic as possible and brought the shovel to its maximum height before slamming it into the ground. Immediately we saw them. The skulls, the bones, the full skeletons crushing and snapping and flying at us. I sat there in shock for a minute, the shovel still crashing through the earth, exposing more death. The sky seemed to darken, the ground seemed to cry. Screaming, I ran from the site. Most of us did."

Another crew could not be assembled for a full year due to the stories of horror, many exaggerated, which leaked out to members of the work force, making hiring difficult. It wasn't until another eighteen months had past before the foundation was completed, again due to the problem of so many people leaving because of fear. After the laying of the foundation things calmed down and by the year 2013 construction of the actual archology had begun. Everything ran smoothly until the passing of the Resolution Action of 2016 and Pacific Archetech's crews began to experience many of the freak weather phenomenon which plagued the military's operations. At this point the corporation was beginning to get nervous. The archology's construction was already tremendously over budget, and many investors were in the process of pulling out. It was also about this time when the company's president, Samuel McKey, began to rapidly lose his sanity. He became paranoid and unpredictable this resulting in his decision to move what was left of his corporation to the actual construction site, along with a large compliment of heavily armed, and very expensive, hired mercenary and security personnel along with enough supplies to last several years. Months passed and he quickly became obsessed with the completion of the project, using violence and fear to keep his worker's from leaving. When the Great Ghost Dance took place in 2017 McKey snapped. Now with no financial support from other corporations, and no military support from the United States he was alone in the wilderness. Quickly he turned the site into a small police state, with many ruthless personal guards laying down the law and all the while forcing the workers to continue construction of the archology. The first Native attempts to remove Archetech came in late 2018. They waged a small war against the company and then, mysteriously, ceased all aggressive actions against them. Construction continued, although a lack of supplies resulted in a smaller structure with major structural flaws, and by 2022 Research Facility R2-12 was finally completed. Samuel McKey who by now had completely lost touch with reality, beamed a five minute, almost incomprehensible speech, to several locations around the world, only two of which were still around to receive it. He, and all but three of the crew, were never seen or heard from again.

Of the three "survivors" who returned from the construction site, only one could talk. Samara Kiel could only mumble the words "the ground took them", the only other visible adverse effect being that her pupils constantly remained dilated. Doctors reported the damage her pupils sustained could only occur through extremely rapid dilation brought on by an incredibly powerful burst of emotion, most likely that of fear. The others, who appeared normal except for their pupils, remained in a catatonic state until their suicides, one in 2030 and the other a year later.

Since 2022 several individuals have attempted excursions into the area, most achieving the same result: disappearance. Those who have succeeded were either Native Americans or under the watch of a Native American guide. In either case the visitors would not discuss their visit, the Natives by saying they can not and the non natives by completely ignoring the question. These are only the reported attempts, however. Rumors regarding a cache of research, weaponry, money, and other treasures being located within the structure abound, along with the rumors of the attempts to retrieve them. In addition to the possible dangers of R2-12 itself are the dangers of trying to get there through miles of awakened forest on foot. The Salish military tends to maintain tight surveillance around the site, especially in the air, although no aircraft seems to get within four miles of the actual archology.

From a distance Research Facility R2-12 can be seen through a strong pair of binoculars, revealing a beautiful work of art, a structure one may expect to see in an elite Seattle district. But alone in the wilderness, a tower of desolation, it projects a different emotion. One of loneliness, isolation, and pain. A glistening monument to death. To death and nothing else.