THE DEATH KNELL-Chapter 37: A CITY OF RUINS

Boom!!!

The explosion shattered the silence of Gotham's desolate underbelly. Fire and smoke surged outward from the ruined doorway, sending jagged shards of debris into the stormy night. A concussive wave slammed against the crumbling structures, rattling loose panels of rusted metal and shattering weakened glass. The rain, unrelenting in its downpour, turned the scorched earth into a thick, treacherous sludge as ash and rubble mixed into a grimy pool of filth.

A battered metal sign, torn loose by the blast, spiraled through the air before crashing down at Slade Wilson's feet. The lettering was scorched beyond recognition, save for one word barely visible through the charring: "Laboratory."

Slade's single remaining eye narrowed behind his mask. The implications were clear.

"It seems Falcone didn't bother cleaning up after moving in," Cindy Moon muttered as she dusted flecks of soot from her armored suit, her gaze sweeping across the ruin. "His new Rome is a far cry from the clean grandeur of the original."

"As if Gotham ever cared for grandeur," Slade muttered, his voice modulated through his helmet. He raised his sidearm, angling it toward the hazy interior. Through the swirling dust and flickering shadows, his helmet's sensors registered a field of deep, unwelcoming red—heat signatures distorted by unknown interference.

"Are you sure they brought Commissioner Gordon down this way?" he asked, his tone sharp. "This doesn't exactly look like a prisoner transport route."

"I'm not sure," Cindy admitted, crossing her arms. Her brow furrowed in frustration. "I couldn't find any fresh tracks—too much rain. Maybe there's another entrance through the scrapyard. Finding this place was pure luck."

She gestured toward the half-collapsed industrial ruins looming around them, the skeletal remains of Gotham's once-thriving manufacturing empire.

"Do you believe in luck?"

Slade chuckled dryly. "There's someone in our crew who makes luck a dangerous thing."

His gaze flicked toward Vic Vale, the camera operator who had—once again—led them straight into the heart of something far bigger than anticipated. Slade had never put much faith in luck. Experience, skill, and preparation kept people alive. Luck got them killed. And yet, Vic's knack for stumbling onto exactly what they needed had proven invaluable more than once.

Unfortunately, it also meant she had an unsettling tendency to land in the middle of violent chaos.

"Luck's a funny thing," Slade murmured. "Let's hope it holds out a little longer."

Because Gotham was a battlefield, and tonight, the war was only beginning.

Into the Dark

Slade adjusted his grip on his weapon and took a step toward the entrance, but Cindy cut him off, planting a firm hand against his chest plate. She shook her head.

"Not happening. You cover the others—I'll take point."

Without waiting for his response, she drew her twin blades and slipped into the darkness ahead.

Slade smirked beneath his mask. He wasn't about to argue. Cindy was fast, efficient, and more than capable. If she wanted to carve a path through whatever horrors lurked inside, he wasn't going to stop her.

He followed a few steps behind, scanning the space as they moved forward. Barbara Gordon, Pete, and Vic trailed cautiously after them, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of debris that coated the floor like a burial shroud.

The underground laboratory was a graveyard of broken machinery and shattered glass. Rusted filing cabinets lay overturned, their contents strewn haphazardly across the floor. Cables hung from the ceiling like dead vines, some sparking weakly, remnants of a power system long since abandoned.

"This place looks like hell," Barbara muttered.

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"It is hell," Slade corrected. His voice was low, grim. "Whatever they were doing here—it wasn't just science. It was something worse."

A wet, skittering sound echoed through the ruin.

Cindy froze mid-step, her stance shifting as her eyes narrowed beneath her mask.

Slade's grip on his sword tightened.

Something was still alive down here.

A shadow leaped from the darkness—a blurred mass of movement lunging straight at Cindy. She reacted instantly, her blade flashing in the dim light. A clean slice tore through the creature's midsection, and it collapsed onto the floor with a sickening thud.

Its body convulsed. Even severed in half, the thing still wriggled weakly on the ground.

"Disgusting," Cindy muttered, stomping her boot down hard on its twitching remains. A wet crunch silenced it for good.

Barbara peered over Cindy's shoulder.

"...What is that?"

It looked like a grotesquely oversized maggot, its black, rubbery flesh glistening with mucus.

"A byproduct of the experiments," Slade answered grimly. "There's more where that came from."

More skittering sounds filled the room—multiple sources this time. Cindy exhaled sharply and pulled out a shotgun, leveling it at the darkness.

"Then let's get moving before we find out how many," she said.

Descent

They pushed forward, Cindy leading with her blades, Slade covering the rear with his pistol.

The deeper they moved, the worse the infestation became. The black, writhing creatures scuttled across the walls, dropping from the ceiling in clusters. Cindy switched to her shotgun, each blast illuminating the darkness in bursts of fiery light.

But it wasn't just the creatures that disturbed Slade. It was the realization that this place had been inhabited.

There were human remains among the wreckage—skeletal corpses, some still clad in lab coats, others in prison jumpsuits. This had been more than a research facility. It had been a containment site. And judging by the state of things, containment had failed.

Finally, they reached a large security door at the end of a dark corridor.

"Hold up," Slade ordered, raising a hand.

The door was unlocked.

A bad sign.

Cindy nodded in silent agreement, lifting her shotgun.

Slade reached for the handle—then stopped.

A sound came from the other side.

A low, guttural growl.

The door burst open.

A monstrous figure lunged at Cindy, claws flashing. She barely had time to react before its weight slammed into her, sending her skidding backward.

Slade didn't hesitate. He swung his sword in a clean arc, slicing through the creature's skull. The thing dropped to the floor, twitching.

Cindy kicked the corpse aside and studied it.

It had once been human. But its skull was elongated, its skin hardened into chitinous plates. Its teeth were jagged, insect-like.

Barbara's voice was small. "Was that... a person?"

Slade wiped the blood from his blade. "It was."

Cindy studied the corpse. "Looks like someone decided to skip a few ethical guidelines."

Vic, meanwhile, had been filming the entire thing. She zoomed in on the deformed remains, capturing every grotesque detail.

"This is going to make one hell of a news special," she murmured.

Pete, who had been silent up until now, suddenly screamed.

Slade whirled, gun raised—only to see Pete vomiting violently into a puddle.

His wide eyes locked onto something in the murky water.

A floating human skull, its hollow sockets staring back.

Pete screamed again.

Vic sighed, rubbing her temples. "Oh, for the love of—it's just a skeleton, Pete! Grow a spine."

Pete shook his head frantically. "There's more. There's a lot more."

Slade turned toward the water.

Dozens of bloated skulls bobbed to the surface.

And from the shadows beyond, something moved.

Something big.

Slade tightened his grip on his blade.

The real fight was about to begin.