Chapter 39 : The Workshop Seizure
The abandoned subway tunnels beneath Gotham's industrial district had been forgotten by the city decades ago, their entrances sealed with rusted metal. But Professor Pyg had found them and made them into something far worse than their original purpose.
The Architect moved through the shadows, following the scent trail he'd picked up from the crime family meeting. Pyg's distinctive smell—a mix of antiseptic, blood, and something else, something rotten—had led him through three different hideouts before ending here.
Classical music drifted from deeper in the tunnel—Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries," played loud enough to mask screams. Alex pressed himself against the curved tunnel wall, biomass shifting to match the concrete texture perfectly.
Through the reinforced glass of Pyg's new workshop, he could see the monster at work.
Professor Pyg stood over an operating table, his pig mask gleaming under the bright surgical lights. The grotesque latex mask bobbed as he hummed along to the music, scalpel dancing in his gloved hands. Eight tables filled the converted train platform, each one occupied by a victim in various stages of conversion.
"Now, now, my little piglet," Pyg cooed to the body beneath him. "Squeal! Squeal while the filth leaves you! That's the sound of perfection being born."
The victim on the table couldn't have been more than fourteen—a street kid who'd probably been grabbed while looking for food or shelter. Half of the boy's face had already been carved away, replaced with the blank ceramic features of a doll mask.
"You see, my pretties," Pyg continued, addressing the other victims like a professor lecturing students, "the human face is so terribly flawed. All those expressions, all that individuality. It's chaos! But Daddy knows how to fix chaos."
He moved to the next table, where a young girl—maybe twelve—lay strapped down but conscious. Her eyes, wide with terror above a gag, tracked Pyg's movements. Fresh sutures lined her scalp where he'd been working on her brain.
"Ah, you're awake! Perfect timing, my dear." Pyg's voice took on a sing-song quality. "You get to watch Daddy work on your friend. Educational, isn't it? Soon you'll be just like him—peaceful, quiet, perfect."
On the far side of the workshop, Alex spotted the source of his deepest rage. Two smaller tables, positioned where Pyg could see them while working. Children—real children, not teenagers surviving on the streets. A boy and a girl, neither older than ten, both still unconscious from whatever drugs Pyg had used.
"And my special little angels," Pyg said, stroking the unconscious boy's hair with mock tenderness. "They're going to be Daddy's masterpieces. The younger they are, the more perfectly they take to the treatment. Their little minds are so wonderfully malleable."
Four Dollotrons stood guard around the workshop—blank-faced sentries with ceramic masks and dead eyes. They'd been positioned at key points, watching for any intrusion. Their heads turned in perfect synchronization as they scanned the area.
Alex had seen enough.
The workshop's reinforced door didn't slow him down. His biomass flowed through the locking mechanism like liquid mercury, disabling the security system instantly. He reformed on the other side, his human appearance melting away to reveal something far more eerie.
The four Dollotrons turned toward him mechanically, their movements perfectly coordinated. They felt no pain, no fear, no hesitation—making them ideal guards but terrible victims.
"What—" Pyg began, spinning around from his operating table. Then his eyes widened behind the pig mask as he saw Alex's transformed state. "You! The Architect! I should have known you'd come for me after what you did to my business partners."
Pyg backed toward a wall panel, his voice rising to a manic pitch. "Kill him!" he commanded the Dollotrons. "Protect Daddy's work!"
The Dollotrons moved as one, their enhanced strength and pain immunity making them formidable opponents. But Alex wasn't here to fight victims.
His biomass erupted outward in a dozen directions, tendrils wrapping around each Dollotron's neck. Instead of crushing their throats, he found the specific nerve clusters that would render them unconscious without permanent damage. All four collapsed simultaneously, their bodies hitting the concrete with dull thuds.
"Impossible," Pyg whispered, his hand hovering over the wall panel. "They were perfect. They couldn't feel—"
"They couldn't feel pain," Alex corrected,"But they still have nervous systems. Still have bodies that can be shut down."
Pyg's hand slammed against the panel. An alarm began wailing as steel shutters started dropping over the workshop's exits. Emergency lighting bathed everything in red, turning the medical facility into a vision of hell.
"You want to trap yourself in here with me?" Alex asked, his form shifting as biomass rippled across his frame. "That's not very smart."
"I'm not trapped," Pyg snarled, pulling a modified assault rifle from behind his workstation. "You are."
The weapon had been customized with surgical attachments—hooks, clamps, and cutting tools welded to the barrel. It was designed to wound and capture, not kill.
"I'm going to take you apart piece by piece," Pyg said, his voice manic behind the pig mask. "Study what makes you tick. Then I'll put you back together as my perfect little soldier."
The rifle barked, firing tranquilizer darts instead of bullets. Alex twisted away from the first volley, his enhanced reflexes making him nearly impossible to hit. The darts shattered against the concrete wall where he'd been standing.
"You can't run forever," Pyg taunted, tracking Alex's movements. "And I have all the time in the world. My little piggies aren't going anywhere."
Alex feinted left, then launched himself directly at Pyg. The surgeon fired desperately, darts flying wide as Alex closed the distance in seconds. The rifle's attachments were meant for restrained victims, not combat.
Alex's hand closed around the weapon's barrel, his enhanced strength crushing the metal like paper. The rifle crumpled, its firing mechanism destroyed.
"The only thing you're going to fix," Alex said, his other hand closing around Pyg's throat, "is your mistake of being born."
But as Pyg clawed at his grip, whimpering behind his mask, Alex made a decision that would define the rest of his hunt. Death was too quick for this monster. Too merciful.
"Actually," Alex said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I have something much better planned for you."
His free hand struck Pyg's neck targeting the exact same nerve cluster that would render him unconscious without permanent damage. The pig-masked surgeon crumpled, his body going limp in Alex's grip.
Alex moved quickly through the workshop, checking each victim's vital signs. The two children were stable, their surgeries not yet begun. The older victims were in various stages of Pyg's process, but all were alive. The unconscious Dollotrons breathed steadily—they would recover.
He found a medical transport truck in the adjoining tunnel, keys still in the ignition. It took him ten minutes to load the unconscious victims and Pyg's limp form into the back, along with every piece of surgical equipment he could carry.
As the truck pulled away from the workshop, Alex allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. When Batman arrived at the scene—and he would arrive, because Alex had made sure to trigger every security system in the area—he would find only blood and empty operating tables.
The real work was just beginning.
Notes :
I might have stretched his punishment across multiple chapters — not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one.
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Advanced chapters on patre*n
DC : Architect of Vengeance
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