Chapter 71: The Hunt
In the supply closet, the two inmates crouched in absolute silence. The older man remained pressed under the metal table, his graying hair matted with sweat. His younger companion stayed wedged between the industrial shelving units, gang tattoos stark against his pale skin.
Both men had heard the creature's approach—those heavy, deliberate footsteps that announced death was coming.
Now they waited.
The door handle turned slowly.
Through the gap under the door, they watched massive shadows shift as something enormous positioned itself just outside. The creature's breathing was audible now—deep, rhythmic inhalations with the sound of something wet dripping down.
The older man's hand trembled against the concrete floor. Twenty-seven years he'd been alive, and he'd never been this terrified. Not during his killing spree. Not when the cops had cornered him. Not even when the judge had sentenced him to fifteen years.
This was different.
His companion's eyes were squeezed shut, lips moving in what might have been prayer. The kid had survived gang wars on the outside, but nothing had prepared him for this.
The creature's claws scraped against the door frame. Once. Twice. Like a cat sharpening its claws before the kill.
It knows we're in here.
The breathing grew heavier. Whatever this thing was, it had detected them. The older man could picture those razor claws preparing to tear through steel like tissue paper.
This is it. This is how we die.
The door exploded inward with a deafening crash. Steel hinges snapped like twigs as the reinforced barrier crumpled under the force. The older man bit down on his knuckle to stifle a scream as the nightmare filled the doorway.
The creature stepped into the supply closet, its massive frame blocking out the emergency lighting from the corridor. Its head turned slowly from side to side as it sniffed the air heavily.
The older man pressed himself deeper under the metal table, every muscle locked in terror. Across the room, his companion had somehow made himself even smaller between the shelving units.
The creature took another step forward, its claws clicking against the concrete floor. It paused directly in front of the shelving units, head tilting as it detected something. The breathing grew more intense.
It's going to find him. It's going to find us both.
Then—CRASH.
The thunderous noise exploded from across the corridor as metal containers toppled across the room. The sound reverberated through the confined space like gunshots.
The creature's breathing stopped.
For one heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then the footsteps moved away from their hiding spots in large strides. Heavy impacts against concrete as nine feet of nightmare crossed the corridor in a rush, leaving the supply closet as quickly as it had entered.
The older man felt tears streaming down his cheeks. Lisbon. That was Lisbon making noise. Rather him than me.
Across the corridor, they heard steel being torn apart like paper. The sound of a door being ripped from its hinges. Then Lisbon's voice, high with terror:
"No, please! Dont kill me! I didnt do anythin—"
The scream that followed cut was horrifying. It started human and dissolved into something wet and broken that no human throat should make.
The younger inmate pressed his hands over his ears, but it didn't help. The sounds penetrated everything—flesh tearing, bones cracking with sharp pops, something heavy being dragged across concrete.
"Stop," he whispered. "Please, God, make it stop."
But it didn't stop.
They heard Lisbon trying to crawl away, his fingernails scraping against the floor. They heard him begging. They heard him choking on his own blood.
The older man bit down on his knuckle until he tasted copper, anything to keep from screaming himself.
Lisbon's voice became a wet gurgle. Then silence.
But the creature wasn't finished.
New sounds emerged from the destroyed room—ripping and tearing something. The creature was thorough in its work.
"Jesus Christ," the older man whispered, so quietly the words were barely breath.
His companion was crying now like him, silent tears that he couldn't stop. They both understood the horrible truth—Lisbon had unknowingly saved their lives by making noise at exactly the wrong moment.
If those containers hadn't fallen...
If Lisbon had stayed quiet...
The creature would have found them in the supply closet instead.
Minutes passed. The horrible sounds continued.
Finally, silence returned to the corridor.
They waited. And waited.
"Is it gone?" the younger man breathed, his voice barely audible.
The older man crept toward the destroyed doorway and peered out. Nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Just the distant hum of emergency lighting.
"I think so," he whispered back.
They waited another full minute before daring to move. When they finally emerged from their hiding spots, both men were shaking so badly they could barely stand.
The younger man carefully stepped through the demolished doorway and looked across the corridor. The opposite room gaped like a wound. Dark, wet stains covered the floor in patterns that suggested something had been dragged.
"Don't look," the older man said, though his eyes were already drawn to the destruction. "Just don't fucking look."
But he couldn't help seeing the scattered pieces of orange fabric that had once been Lisbon's prison uniform. Or the dark smears leading deeper into the room where the creature had taken its time.
They slipped into the corridor, moving carefully. Every footstep seemed thunderous. Every breath felt like it might summon the creature back.
Neither man spoke as they fled down the hallway. What was there to say?
They were alive because Lisbon had knocked over some containers.
They were alive because someone else had died first.
They were alive because the creature had been literally seconds away from finding them in the supply closet.
As they reached a T-junction fifty yards from the scene, both men finally broke into a run. Behind them, something wet dripped steadily in the darkness, but they didn't look back.
They couldn't afford to look back.
---
Batman's boots touched down silently outside the cafeteria's destroyed entrance. The aftermath was worse in person than his surveillance feeds had suggested.
The metallic scent of blood still lingered. Bodies were scattered throughout the room like broken dolls—some torn apart by claws, others showing signs of acidic dissolution.
Three pulsing cocoons drew his immediate attention. His medical scanners confirmed life signs in each one—elevated but stable heart rates, brain activity consistent with induced unconsciousness.
"Spared," Batman murmured, processing the implications. The Architect's twisted moral code had deemed these three worthy of preservation rather than execution.
He began scanning the corpses scattered throughout the cafeteria. The readings were uniform—no life signs in any of the bodies. Whatever the creature had done, it had been thorough and final.
His mesh network chimed with an alert. Movement detected in the eastern corridor—something large heading away from the scene.
That creature. The hunt was continuing.
As Batman rushed toward the exit, something cold wrapped around his ankle.
He looked down to see a blood-covered hand gripping his boot. The dying man's chest had been torn open, but somehow his mouth opened to speak.
"Why didn't you save us, Batman?"
In the sudden silence, the Dark Knight stood frozen by a simple question he couldn't answer.
Notes :
Hey guys, there wont be any new chaps for a couple of days coz I am going on a trip. Hope you like this chapter.
**************
Advanced chapters on patre*n
DC : Architect of Vengeance
patre0n*c*m/Lord_Meph1sto