Chapter 70: Escalation
In the facility's control room, the Architect sat comfortably in a high-backed office chair with his legs propped up on the console. The borrowed face of Agent Crawford wore an expression of satisfaction as he monitored the chaos unfolding throughout the prison.
Two red biomass cocoons flanked his chair like some grotesque guardians.
He had discarded Crawford's federal jacket and rolled up his sleeves, settling in comfortably. Multiple security feeds displayed static across the control room's wall of monitors, but the Architect didn't need electronic surveillance to track his creations' progress. His new telepathic powers allowed him to witness everything through his creation's eyes.
Then the roar echoed through the facility's corridors.
The Architect's smile widened with pleasure. The sound resonated through the concrete walls and steel, announcing that his newest predator had fully awakened and established dominance over its territory.
"Ah, there we are," he said softly, "The big guy is up and running. Right on schedule."
"Now this is where it gets interesting," the Architect mused, drumming Crawford's fingers against the armrest. "What will you do, Batman? The noble thing would be to save those poor inmates from my newest creation. But then again, your real target should be right infront in front of you—Firefly, the man who burned twenty-three elderly people alive."
He leaned back in the chair, genuinely curious about the Dark Knight's next move. "Will you protect the serial killer? Or will you let him burn while you play hero to a bunch of criminals? Or both? Choices, choices, choices..."
---
The moment his surveillance feeds cut to static, Batman was already moving. From his utility belt, he withdrew a handful of specialized micro-drones capable of kickstarting his mesh network.
"Aegis Protocol, deploy mesh surveillance network," Batman whispered, releasing the tiny devices into the facility's air circulation system.
The micro-nodes spread throughout the complex within minutes, each one establishing communication links with each other and the old ones. They created an ad-hoc network that could "hop" data between units, independent of the facility's jammed systems.
Batman's helmet HUD flickered as the mesh network came online, providing him with grainy but functional surveillance feeds. What he saw in the cafeteria made his blood run cold.
He watched the entire horrific sequence unfold in real-time—the transformed dog's attack, the goo like substance's emergence from the creature's skull, and most disturbing of all, the infected inmate's grotesque transformation.
Batman analyzed the creature's biology through his feeds, noting the elongated spine, the tentacle appendages, and the way it examined its victims.
The Architect's biomass manipulation had created something beyond his previous observations—a hybrid organism that retained intelligence while incorporating some sort of predatory traits that seemed almost designed for hunting.
"Unprecedented biological weapon," Batman muttered, watching as the transformed creature wrapped several inmates in organic cocoons & killing several others. "Why cocoons..."
The tactical picture was clear. The Architect had turned the facility into a grotesque trap, planning to deliver multiple judgments at once. If Batman was right, the cocoons held people who were either innocent or not marked for death.
But Batman's immediate concern was Firefly. The serial killer remained in his laboratory, completely unaware of all the horror he had invited.
Batman reached the laboratory door and immediately began implementing defensive measures.
From his utility belt, he produced a tube of military-grade polymer sealant—designed to create airtight barriers capable of withstanding chemical attacks. Working quickly, he applied the substance around the laboratory's door frame, creating an impermeable seal.
"That should keep the immediate threats out," he murmured, then activated several defensive devices from his arsenal.
Small circular objects attached themselves to the corridor walls—automated defense turrets programmed to target anything displaying non-human movement patterns.
A network of micro-explosives created a defensive perimeter that could be triggered remotely if the situation deteriorated further.
Finally, Batman deployed several smoke canisters and electromagnetic pulse generators throughout the approach corridors. If the Architect or his creatures attempted to breach the laboratory's defenses, they would encounter multiple layers of opposition.
With Firefly temporarily secured, Batman turned his attention to the larger threat developing in the cafeteria. His mesh network surveillance showed the creature examining the facility's layout and sprinting out of the cafeteria.
"Protocol Seven," Batman said quietly, activating his suit's enhanced mobility systems. "Full stealth insertion, multiple hostile environment."
His armor's active camouflage engaged as he began moving toward the cafeteria.
---
Three inmates sprinted through the service corridor, their footsteps pounding against the walls as they fled the nightmare in the cafeteria.
They had bolted the moment the transformed creature's tentacles had lashed out, not waiting to see what would happen to the men who'd been captured.
"Keep running!" the first man gasped, glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't stop, don't look back!"
They had covered maybe a hundred yards from the cafeteria, taking random turns through the facility's service areas in their desperate flight. The red emergency light lit everything in an eerie glow, and their ragged breathing seemed impossibly loud in the confined space.
"What the fuck was that thing?" the second inmate panted as they paused at a junction of corridors. "I mean, what the hell happened to the guy who shot the dog?"
"I don't know what it was," the first man replied, still trying to process what they'd witnessed. "Some kind of parasite or something. Like those movies about aliens."
"Fucking hell,man. That wasn't no movie," the third inmate said, his voice shaking with terror. "Who the fuck said this place was heaven compared to other prisons?"
"Doesn't matter what kind of shit that thing is," the first inmate said urgently. "What matters is we need to get the hell out of here before—"
He stopped mid-sentence, holding up his hand for silence.
All three men froze, straining to listen over their own ragged breathing.
From somewhere ahead in the corridor came a sound that made their blood run cold—slow and heavy footsteps that sounded too loud to be human.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
"Oh shit," the first man whispered. "There's something else down here."
"Something big," the third man added, his voice barely audible.
The footsteps were getting closer, accompanied by a sound like claws dragging against concrete. Whatever was approaching wasn't in any hurry—like it already knew dinner wasn't going anywhere.
"Hide," the second inmate hissed. "We gotta hide right fucking now."
The corridor branched ahead of them, with doors on either side leading to what appeared to be storage areas and maintenance rooms.
Without discussion, the group split up—two men ducking through a door on the left, while the third slipped into a room on the right.
The first two inmates found themselves in what appeared to be a supply closet. Shelves lined the walls, filled with cleaning supplies, mop buckets, and industrial equipment. One ducked under a table, the other pressed against the shelf across from him, both trying to catch their breath without being seen.
"Can you see anything?" one whispered.
"Shut up," his companion replied. "It's gonna hear us."
The third inmate had entered what looked like a storage room for kitchen supplies. Large metal shelves held large containers of food and cooking materials. He wedged himself between two stacks of fifty-pound flour sacks, pulling his knees to his chest to make himself as small as possible.
Outside in the corridor, the footsteps continued their relentless approach.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The sound was accompanied by a new noise—a heavy strained breathing.
In the supply closet, the two inmates held their breath as the footsteps passed their door. Through the thin gap at the bottom, they could see shadows moving—shapes that were too large and too angular to be human.
One of them pressed his hand over his mouth to stifle a whimper as something scraped against their door. The handle turned slowly, testing whether it was locked.
Across the corridor, the third inmate watched in terror as the door to his hiding place began to rattle. Something was examining it from the outside, perhaps attracted by some sound he'd made or scent he'd left behind.
The footsteps stopped.
In the sudden silence, all three inmates could hear was their own hearts pounding and the sound of their shallow, terrified breathing.
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