This indeed was the path to the lower levels. After traversing the corridor and dealing with a few minor obstacles, the group quickly located both a staircase and an elevator leading downwards.
Taking the elevator wasn't an option—not only was it old and unreliable, but it also wouldn't provide a quick escape if needed.
The group descended the stairs to the second basement level. This particular staircase only went as far as this floor, and no deeper. Thankfully, the power supply was still functional. Michael (Slade) flicked on the lights, flooding the underground space with harsh, artificial brightness.
The sudden light was jarring for the three civilians, who needed a moment to adjust, but soon enough, they realized the vastness of the facility.
Stretching out before them was a massive space, segmented by hundreds of transparent glass enclosures. Each contained surgical tables, experimental instruments, and other equipment, all surprisingly intact.
"It's all operating tables… keep moving," Michael said, blasting a few stray black insects that had followed them from above. He then turned to Cindy. "Lead the way. We need to get through this place."
The group began moving through the narrow gaps between the glass rooms, almost like they were touring a grotesque museum. Each chamber held old-fashioned surgical tools, stained with dried blood—silent witnesses to their former use.
Not all the tables were empty, though. Some still held shriveled and deformed bodies, grotesque remnants of whatever experiments had taken place here. It was clear that the facility had been abandoned in a hurry, leaving these nightmarish sights intact.
Why this had happened was anyone's guess, but Michael wasn't concerned with the reasons.
After passing through the dissecting area, the group came to a large, thick door, tightly sealed and covered in dust, obscuring any symbols or writing. It wasn't clear how the small creatures they'd encountered earlier had made it through—perhaps through air ducts, drainage pipes, or something even more sinister.
Beside the door was an old-fashioned ID card slot, connected to a keypad for entering a code.
"Your turn. Open it," Michael said, pushing Barbara's wheelchair toward the control panel.
Without hesitation, Barbara began dismantling the card reader, revealing a mess of colored wires inside. From her backpack, she pulled out a small device, connecting the wires methodically to her laptop.
Barbara was not only an expert hacker but also highly adept at hands-on tasks.
"An old-school electronic lock system… The government used these pre-90s. I need to simulate an ID card to bypass this," she said, typing rapidly, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
In no time, she cracked the code and input it into the panel. With a sharp hiss, the heavy door slowly lifted, dust falling like rain.
The scene that greeted them was grotesque.
The room beyond was likely a storage facility, filled with numerous glass tanks. Each tank held a grotesque, genetically modified creature suspended in a blue liquid. Bubbles periodically rose to the surface, indicating the infusion of oxygen. Each monstrosity bore some resemblance to humans, but their other half came from God-knows-what else—so twisted and mutated that identifying their origins was impossible. Some of the creatures were curled into tight balls, while others floated peacefully, as if asleep.
"Are they… alive?" Barbara asked, covering her eyes with her hand, peeking through her fingers.
Michael gently pulled her hand away. "You tell me. Look at the control panels next to each tank. They should tell you their status."
Suppressing her revulsion, Barbara wheeled herself over to the nearest tank. Inside was a grotesque blob—what looked like a severely deformed human, limbs twisted and fused into a spherical shape. She ignored the creature, focusing on the control panel attached to the tank, which looked like an old, standing book with a keyboard and small screen.
"Human-armadillo hybrid. Designed to roll up and infiltrate tight spaces for espionage purposes… Experiment 320… Status: deceased. Recommended for disposal," Barbara read aloud as she worked on cracking the console.
"Armadillo?" Cindy said, tapping her shoulder armor with the back of her blade, producing a metallic clang. "That's a bit exotic. What good would that be on a battlefield?"
"Who knows? The military always encourages scientists to try out crazy ideas. You never know what might work," Michael replied, his expression neutral as he directed Barbara to check the next tank.
Barbara encountered one disturbing experiment after another—a human-dragonfly hybrid, a human-fly mutation, and even human-reptile combinations. As she continued to read each experiment's description, her initial sense of horror gradually dulled into numbness. With each bizarre creation she encountered, her perception of humanity's moral limits sank lower and lower.
Michael's goal was simple: to expose Barbara to the darker side of human experimentation. Even the seemingly noble Amazonian Council had authorized these horrific trials. Despite Cindy's fearsome reputation, when it came to body counts, who could surpass the Amazons?
Yes, Slade had taken innocent lives, but it was always in the pursuit of survival. The steel jungle of this world operated on its own law of survival of the fittest. But what about the Amazonian Council? These experiments seemed less like weapons and more like sadistic amusements.
By comparison, Cindy seemed almost saintly.
Once Barbara had experienced this, she might be more open to assisting Cindy in the future, offering valuable intel when needed. In other worlds, the Oracle had often ignored Deathstroke, but Michael couldn't afford that here.
Besides, any information Barbara provided wouldn't come for free—he'd pay her in full. This would be a practical way for her to earn some extra cash, and Commissioner Gordon would likely thank him for the idea later.
Shifting his focus back to the room, Michael noticed several tanks had been shattered. Whatever had been inside had clearly escaped. These creatures would likely pose a threat soon. To increase their odds of surviving future encounters, Michael asked Barbara to continue cracking the control panels.
One of the tanks next to them was broken, its contents long gone. The blue liquid had dried into a pale stain on the floor.
Barbara quickly typed away at the terminal, decoding the next file.
"Human-bat hybrid. Designed for nocturnal operations, uses echolocation to disable radar systems. Current status: containment failure. Contact security immediately."
Cindy laughed, spinning her weapon idly. "Looks like we've found Batwoman's relative. Wonder what it looks like?"
Michael didn't respond. Instead, he silently pointed upwards.
Hanging from the ceiling, in the shadows, was a large, brown, furry mass.
"Tch, a bat is still a bat," Cindy muttered, pulling out twin pistols. She unloaded her magazines into the creature, the bullets stitching a line through the air.
The bat-monster screeched in pain as the bullets tore into it. With a frantic flutter of wings, it began to stir from its perch, taking flight.