[At 2:11 AM on Monday night, sirens begin to wail inside the facility outside of town. Outside, all is quiet - no horns are raised, and no lights blare. From a distance, in the dark, it's practically impossible for even a studied observer to tell what's happening. Only the very keen-eyed might see the doors wink out for a moment as they are swallowed whole by darkness.
Inside the facility, sirens blare and security scrambles as black clouds cell windows and doors. There is muffled screaming; there is gunfire.
There is a floor that no one goes to, and on that floor, there is the sound of an explosion. The emergency sirens switch from the red of danger to blue - something has broken containment protocols.
It is the better part of an hour of distant noises, muffled screeching, roaring like a tornado tearing through the bowels of a house, and then it all stops. The sirens cease.
The next morning, there is no sign from the outside that anything has happened at all, except a puddle of water, here and there, and behind the front desk, a faint scorch mark someone has failed to completely polish off.]