My Talent's Name Is Generator

I found myself inside the laboratories where the Holts, their contractors, and associates had conducted their twisted experiments.

This place was made of steel and glass. The walls were smooth metal, painted white, but now they were cracked and stained with black soot and dried blood. The ceiling lights flickered, some hanging loose and broken. Now and then, sparks flew from wires sticking out of the walls.

The floor under my feet was smooth, not like the rough stone outside. It was covered in tiles with a light bluish shine, though some spots were burned or dented from falling debris. Above me, the ceiling creaked now and then, a reminder that the chaos upstairs hadn’t stopped yet.

I reached out with my senses and counted. Nineteen large halls lay ahead, each leading to a separate lab. Every lab felt like its own hidden room, with its own walls, its own lights, and its own dark past.

I walked into the first one.

The room was quiet. No machines were running, no lights flashing, just a steady red glow from the corners of the walls.

But the setup was still clear. Surgical tables stood in the center, some with burned or broken restraints. Robotic arms hung from the ceiling like metal spiders. A few had fallen and were sparking on the floor.

In one corner, a half-decayed body, once a man and now mostly bones, was still strapped into a harness. Tubes ran from his chest into cracked containers filled with thick, dark sludge.

The next hall was worse.

This one had a Naga. Or what used to be one. Its long snake-like body had been split and clumsily stitched together with what looked like wolf limbs.

Its upper body twitched now and then, just leftover reflexes. Its eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, but they didn’t react when I got closer. Frozen in its final moment. Silent. Mutilated.

I kept walking.