As Wally's back turned the black mass covering the ceiling turned as well, shapes slowly shifting and slithering through the seething substance before settling. Strands of darkness separated before weaving back in, tightening and flattening out until -- just as the last of the tape was torn away from the door -- it resolved into a sleek plaster ceiling, considerably lower than what had been the Institute's roof and making the room look downright homey in the warm light.

And what sprang forth from the doors once they were free of tape was nothing more than a plain black cat, yowling in distress and feline displeasure. The animal had stuck a paw around the side of the frame as soon as enough tape had been ripped off for it to be possible, and as soon as it could shove the sliding door aside it did.

A piece of tape stuck to one paw as it raced away from closet -- for that was what it was, a storage closet with a few unmarked boxes -- and it stopped in the middle of the room, emitting another distressed noise and attempting to bite it off.

If Wally chose to look, the closet revealed little more than those boxes. The ceiling inside the closet was interrupted by a latched panel, clearly one of those rarely-used entrances to the attic crawlspace typical of many standalone homes.