Every beast has a time and place of birth.
For the fire, it was late afternoon in a small room deep within one of the newer high rises that dotted the city. The room had purpose and importance--though it was never pointed out during the frequent tours of the building--and an indefinable odor, characteristic of rooms of its type. It was also a little more cluttered than the usual.
It was shortly after five o'clock when the door to the room opened; thereafter the overhead fluorescents flickered on. There was a long pause, the slight shuffling sounds of something being moved, then the snap of a switch as the lights extinguished. Eyes blinked in the glow from the open doorway, casually inspecting the room for a few seconds. Then shoulders briefly obscured the light from the corridor, the door closed, and the room lost itself in darkness.
But not total darkness. A small spark glowed in one corner of the room, nursed by a frayed cotton strand--the umbilical cord for the beast.
The temperature of the room was a little less than 70 degrees and starting to fall, mirroring the chill autumn air outside the building.