Victor muttered under his breath as he stepped cautiously into the blood-soaked corridor, the door sealing shut behind him with a heavy click. "Lucky for me, the monitoring room hasn't been breached yet by anyone else."
He moved swiftly but silently, following the hidden shortcut route designed for emergencies like this—a network of narrow service tunnels and concealed passages that bypassed the main halls. Thank god I listened to Lena's endless chatter about these protocols, he thought, a grim smile flickering across his face. Aloud, he whispered to the empty air, "Lena... you okay out there...?"
A faint noise echoed from ahead—footsteps, perhaps, or the drip of something wetter and more sinister. Victor froze, pressing himself against the wall, his heart thumping as he redirected his path to avoid direct confrontation. That blood-drenched figure I saw on the monitor... he said something like 'found you.' Hope that's just empty talk, some psycho's delusion, he pondered internally, his grip tightening on the assault rifle.
Once the sound faded into the distance, Victor pressed on toward a concealed door, hoping against hope that some survivors might still be holding out somewhere in the labyrinthine prison. As he navigated, he glanced down at the dog-eared document booklet he'd grabbed from the locker—a roster of the villains incarcerated here, complete with details on their talents and abilities. "No wonder this place fell apart so fast," he said quietly to himself, flipping through the pages. "These villains have talents that defy logic—shadow manipulation, instant regeneration, mind control. I've got to get to the core room quick."
Pushing through the hidden door into the next section, Victor was met with a slaughterhouse vista: bodies everywhere, twisted and torn, the air thick with the coppery stench of blood. Among them were faces he knew—colleagues who'd greeted him every shift with nods or jokes, now staring blankly at the ceiling. Victor had seen death before in this job, but the sheer brutality here churned his stomach, bile rising in his throat as he fought the urge to retch.
Then he spotted her—Lena, sprawled unnaturally, her body no longer whole, limbs severed in a grotesque display. "Lena... damn it..." he choked out, his voice breaking. "They're all dead... Someone must've tried heading to the core room, but they got spotted and massacred. Odds are I'll get ambushed up ahead too."
Steeling himself, Victor gripped his rifle tighter, chambering a round as he prepared for whatever lay beyond. Isn't this supposed to be the best prison around? Impenetrable, no escapes... This is turning into a total disaster, he thought bitterly, edging forward into the shadows.
Victor pressed onward through the shadowed passages, his assault rifle at the ready, every sense on high alert as he scanned the blood-smeared walls and dim corners for any sign of movement. The prison's layout was etched into his memory from countless drills, guiding him toward the core room despite the labyrinth of carnage.
As he advanced, strange sounds began to creep in—whispers that slithered through the air like phantoms, echoing laughter that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. His vision blurred at the edges, shadows twisting into grotesque shapes that clawed at the periphery of his sight. Hallucinations? Victor shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but it only thickened.
Gritting his teeth, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his homemade doping pills—the same slime-derived junk he'd peddled to Jax and the others for a quick buck. He popped it into his mouth, swallowing dryly. "Never thought I'd dip into my own supply," he muttered, "but if it boosts my odds of making it through this hell, why the hell not?"
The effects hit him gradually—a soothing wave that steadied his nerves, sharpening his focus like a veil lifting from his mind. The whispers faded to murmurs, the shadows retreating to their proper places. "Maybe that's the work of some other villain's talent," he said under his breath, piecing it together. "Poison gas, illusions—who knows? Do I even stand a chance against crap like that?"
Not willing to take risks, he swallowed another pill for good measure. "Screw it," he growled. "I don't care anymore. Just keep moving, hit that button, and banish the doubts. No turning back."
Deeper into the corridor, a sudden presence prickled at his skin—an oppressive aura, thick and malevolent, like stepping into a storm cloud. Victor halted, rifle raised. "Someone's here..." he whispered.
From the gloom emerged a figure, its body grotesque and armored with jagged spikes protruding from its skin like living thorns. The man—or what passed for one—ambled forward slowly, a twisted grin splitting his face. "Hehe, looks like there's a survivor after all. My wait in this sector wasn't for nothing."
Victor dropped into a defensive stance, his finger hovering over the trigger. "Damn it..."
The spiked villain tilted his head, eyeing the sealed door ahead—the entrance to the core room. "Seems like there's something interesting behind there, but I can't crack it open. You know anything about that, Mr. Guard?"
Of course you can't, Victor thought, his mind racing. That door's layered with barriers only accessible via codes known to us guards. No brute force is getting through.
Without a word, Victor swung his rifle up and squeezed the trigger, unleashing a barrage of mana-infused rounds in rapid succession. The corridor erupted in gunfire, bullets streaking toward the villain.
"Oh, how rude," the spiked man chuckled, his body contorting as the thorns extended like shields, deflecting the shots with metallic clangs and sparks. Shards of deflected projectiles ricocheted off the walls.
This guy's a physical talent type, Victor realized inwardly, cursing his luck. Standard rounds won't cut it. He slung the rifle aside and yanked out his mana pistol, the one loaded with concentrated energy rounds designed to pierce tougher defenses.
Before Victor could fully line up his shot with the mana pistol, the spiked villain's eyes gleamed with malicious foresight. "Oops, can't have that," he sneered, lunging forward with surprising speed, as if sensing the weapon's potential to pierce his defenses.
But Victor was ready with a backup plan. In one fluid motion, he yanked a flashbang from his belt and hurled it straight at the villain's face just as the man closed the distance. Victor squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his hands over his ears, bracing for the blast. The grenade detonated with a deafening crack and a blinding flash, filling the corridor with disorienting light and sound.
Seizing the moment, Victor surged forward, blinking away the afterimages as he reacquired his target. The villain staggered, momentarily stunned, his thorns retracting involuntarily. Victor aimed true and fired—a rapid series of shots that echoed through the halls like thunder. The mana-infused bullets tore through the villain's spiked armor, punching into his chest and shredding his heart.
"Akghhh!" the villain howled, collapsing in a heap, blood pooling around his punctured form as life ebbed away.
Victor lowered the pistol, staring at the corpse with a mix of adrenaline and awe. "Hahh... that was insane," he panted. "I didn't think my doping would amp things up like this. Maybe I've been underestimating my own talents all along."
He took a moment to steady his breathing, leaning against the wall as the pill's effects pulsed through him, sharpening his resolve. "Yeah, even if I know I'm probably too late to stop it all," he muttered, "let's focus on the goal."
Pushing off, Victor advanced cautiously, rifle back in hand. "Lucky it was just him lurking here," he said to himself. "And he didn't even know what was ahead—probably because the mind-control types among the villains didn't bother digging for info, or they just don't care."
At the sealed door to the core room, Victor punched in the sequence with steady fingers. The panel beeped affirmatively, and the heavy barrier slid open, revealing an eerily empty chamber. No bodies, no signs of struggle—it seemed no one had breached this far. "My colleagues... the higher-ups... they're all gone," he whispered, scanning the consoles. Without hesitation, he moved to the central panel, initiating the quarantine protocols. Switches flipped, commands entered: the prison's external gates sealed shut, bridges to the mainland severed with explosive charges, isolating Blackgate as a floating fortress adrift in the surrounding sea. No one in, no one out—villains contained, even if it meant starving them out.
His finger hovered over the final activation button, the one that would lock it all in irreversibly. But a primal instinct screamed in his mind—dodge!—and Victor twisted aside just in time. Behind him, the spiked villain he'd thought dead stood there, bloodied and battered but very much alive, his thorns regenerating as he flashed a maniacal grin. "Ohh, so this is the inside," the villain rasped, stepping into the room. "You guards are sneaky bastards, hiding a fancy setup like this."
Shit, Victor thought, his position too exposed to fully evade without abandoning the console. I'm too far to dodge properly and still reach the button.