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The seventh day of July dawned warm and tepid in Stonemill, much the same as any ordinary Thursday morning in the month of July would have. From the steps of the courthouse a distant train whistle could be heard echoing through the empty streets of a town still asleep. Smoke bellowed from the tall smokestack of the Stonemill Leather & Tannery Company, reflecting orange in the first rays of the morning sun. Yes, this day had only just begun, and already had all the earmarks of being just another hot summer day. This particular day would prove to be no ordinary day, however. It was a day which would whisk Stonemill and its residents out of its complacent Mayberry persona and quickly bring the entire town into the menacing realm of twenty-first century reality. It would seem as though the town had awakened from the sublimity of a peaceful slumber, only to be greeted with an unforgettable migraine headache.