THE DEATH KNELL-Chapter 40: THE FORSAKEN EXPERIMENT

The research institute had a monotonous, sterile structure. Metal walls, painted in an almost blinding shade of white, stretched endlessly down the hallways. One after another, the identical corridors created an oppressive, suffocating atmosphere. Slade Wilson had seen his fair share of government facilities, but this one felt less like a cutting-edge laboratory and more like an ancient tomb—cold, lifeless, and unsettlingly quiet.

Boring. Depressing. If he had to work here, he'd lose his mind within a week.

Who designed a research facility this way? Did they really think a few locked doors would make them any safer?

Slade didn't bother trying to understand their reasoning. He simply moved forward.

As they progressed through the next few rooms, they encountered abominations—creatures that had no place in the natural world. Twisted, malformed, and grotesque, they were products of scientific ambition unchecked by morality.

One chamber held a creature they dubbed "Sponge Man"—a humanoid form with an unnaturally porous body, capable of absorbing vast amounts of water almost instantly. A potential anti-Atlantean weapon, perhaps? Dry out an opponent's body, leave them shriveled, dehydrated, dead.

Another experiment resulted in "Convex Lens Man," a being whose translucent, glass-like skin could gather and amplify light. A weapon designed to blind deep-sea adversaries, making them easy targets.

And then there was the most absurd of them all—a half-human, half-fish hybrid. Slade stared at it with a mixture of amusement and disgust. Had these so-called scientists actually believed Atlanteans looked like this? Their ignorance was almost laughable.

One by one, Slade destroyed the creatures in their containment units. There was no hesitation. Whatever purpose they were meant to serve, it wasn't worth the horror of their existence.

This wasn't a research institute. It was a grotesque, failed toy factory—one run by madmen.

Cindy stood by, arms crossed, unsure what to make of it all. Indian Mountain, one of Earth's most infamous underground black sites, had a reputation for danger. But this? This wasn't the high-stakes operation Slade had described. It was worse. It was ridiculous.

The Amazonian Council had turned war into some kind of twisted joke. A sick, experimental playground where they toyed with life in the name of strategy.

"Are they serious?" Cindy muttered, her voice edged with disbelief. "They think this is how you win a war against Atlantis?"

She sighed, resting her chin on the handle of her pistol, watching as Barbara worked on the next security lock. By now, she'd become numb to the parade of monstrosities. The deeper they went, the more absurd it became. Cindy half-wondered if the Joker had a long-lost ancestor who had worked here.

Slade gave her a sharp nod, signaling her to stay focused. He wasn't wasting his breath on the insanity of it all. The technology tree in this world had taken a turn for the bizarre, and the less said about it, the better.

With a quiet beep, the door mechanism disengaged, and the heavy metal frame slid open.

What lay beyond, however, was something they all recognized immediately.

"Zombies?" Cindy's reaction was instant. She raised her firearm and fired.

Slade followed suit, his instincts sharp. His aim locked onto their heads, his trigger finger precise.

Zombies were rare in this world—but not unheard of. There had always been those obsessed with the boundary between life and death, poking and prodding at forces better left undisturbed. Every so often, such experiments would resurface.

These creatures were fast—inhumanly so. They moved with a frenzied energy that defied their decayed forms. But in the end, they were still just mindless corpses. Slade and Cindy took up defensive positions at the doorway, cutting them down with ruthless efficiency.

"Are you sure this isn't a virus?" Cindy asked, swapping out her magazine with practiced speed.

Slade reloaded his own weapon and fired a few more rounds before answering. "No way. If it were a virus, it would need to reproduce itself. That requires energy. Which means infected zombies would need to eat. Or they'd decay faster."

He shot another one between the eyes and gestured toward the bodies littering the floor. "Look at them. These things have been abandoned for decades, but they're still intact. No sign of decay beyond what time would normally do. That means magic."

Cindy exhaled sharply. "Well, congratulations to these lunatics. They finally made something that actually works. At least zombies don't need to breathe. Useless in a one-on-one fight, but if you throw enough at an enemy..."

Slade finished off the last few with his shotgun, ensuring none would get back up.

The room was still. Two hundred zombies had been reduced to motionless corpses. The only problem? Their supply of .45 ammo was running dangerously low.

Stepping inside, they were hit with a new level of rot. The air was thick with decay—a stench so potent it clung to their skin.

The walls bore the marks of desperation—deep scratches where nails had clawed at metal. Dried blood, dark brown and cracked with age, painted the floors. Pooled in the corners was a sickly yellow-brown liquid of unknown origin.

These creatures had been kept in the worst conditions of all. Unlike the experiments before, their containment had been crude—nothing but rusted steel bars. And time had done its work. The rust had weakened the metal, allowing them to break free and roam unchecked.

Cindy nudged one of the corpses with her boot, studying its features—sunken flesh, dull gray eyes, exposed yellowed teeth.

"Yeah, I don't need a closer look," she muttered, stepping back. "Let's not touch them. We don't know what kind of magic was used."

Barbara and the others stayed clear, heeding the warning.

Slade's attention shifted to an object resting within a small glass cabinet. It looked ordinary—like a simple flashlight. But even untouched, it pulsed with an eerie, black glow.

No flashlight did that.

His gut told him exactly what it was.

"I know what this is," he said, his voice low.

Carefully, he lifted the glass cover and reached for it. The moment his gloved fingers made contact, a chill raced through his body—an unnatural, searching cold. It probed at him, seeking something, but found nothing. Then, just as quickly, it withdrew.

He remained unharmed.

Taking a steady breath, Slade tucked the device into his pack. "Black Lantern energy. This came from the Black Death Emperor. I didn't expect these lunatics to be playing with this kind of fire."

Vic had already begun recording, while Cindy frowned. "Black Lantern? You're gonna have to explain."

Slade nodded. "The universe's light spectrum isn't just the seven colors tied to emotions. There's also white light—representing life—and black light—representing death. They're pure forces, beyond emotion. And extremely dangerous."

Barbara hesitated, processing his words. "White light represents life... That doesn't sound bad?"

Slade glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

"It's worse than you think," he said. "Imagine a force that prevents death entirely. Nothing can die. Not people, not animals, not bacteria. If you try to eat, your food stays alive. If you try to drink, the microorganisms in the water won't die. If you try to harvest crops, they won't die either."

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A heavy silence followed.

Barbara's face paled slightly as she pushed her wheelchair forward. "That's... horrifying."

Slade nodded. "Exactly. Death and life aren't just opposites—they're necessary balances. And people who try to control them..." He glanced at the decimated room. "...usually end up like this."

He checked the path ahead, then motioned for the group to move on.

This mission had just become a lot more dangerous.