“They say the pens are empty. That’s only half true. The animals left—what stayed behind was worse.”
Overview
Once the final stop for millions of cattle and hogs before slaughter, the Old Holding Pens stretch across several blocks of splintered fencing, sunken concrete troughs, and skeletal wooden walkways. Today, the air is thick with rust, rot, and something older—something hungry. Grass has grown up through the blood-soaked soil in patches, but most of the pens remain barren and bone-colored. The gates still swing on creaking hinges, even when there’s no wind.
Location
At the southeastern edge of the abandoned Union Stockyards complex—just off the crumbling Exchange Avenue and backed up against the Transit House and curved rail lines.
Current Use
The pens are officially abandoned, but the truth is messier. Fear Crew uses the far edge for initiations and blood rites. Veil cults conduct midnight offerings in the troughs. Occasionally, someone sets up a drop point here—nobody stays long. Several missing persons cases are quietly attributed to the pens, but the CPD won’t step foot past the broken archway.
Veil Disturbance
The Veil is heavy here—thick, oppressive, and soaked into the timbers. Sounds echo wrong. Cattle cries sometimes drift up from beneath the ground, and the shadows of butchered animals still stampede across the fences during certain moon phases. The pens seem to rearrange themselves after storms, and time sometimes stutters when walking between specific rows.
Tied Factions
Joe Bagels’ Outfit Crew – uses the site for stash drops, Veil smuggling, and intimidation
Fear Crew – old Irish enforcers view the pens as sacred ground for proving yourself
Independent Veil Practitioners – conduct rites here for reasons no one talks about
Black Cobra Nation – rumored to be scouting the site for an arcane countermeasure score
Rumors & Local Belief
A set of pens in the far northeast corner is always wet with blood, no matter the weather
A massive iron hook once used to drag livestock is still buried in the mud—and pulls back if tugged
People report seeing a figure with the head of a steer walking the fences at dawn, vanishing with the sunrise
In the 1940s, a CPD raid reportedly lost three officers in the pens—none were recovered, and no report was filed
They say there’s a door hidden in the concrete troughs, sealed with bone—only opens when something dies on top of it
Comments