She wakes to wood splinters jutting over her head.
She tries to feel the others, but the call of the unity of the Flesh is lost in the din from some dark place just in front of her. Crying out, she breaks upward, clawing the moldy wet splinters of wood away from her face.
Her body is square, formed in the shape of…
She climbs out, reaching with the fearsome strength she found inside the Factory, scraping and grasping and clawing with great white limbs and long nightmare fingers.
There is a man she recognizes in the mist beyond her vision.
A man with a curl of rabbit hair obscuring half his face. A man pretending to be an idiot half-trying to be kind.
“You wear that mask like you made it,” she whispers, as a stalactite falls from the ceiling.
So they are both in the cave, then.